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aminiatureworld · 4 years ago

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A Sea of Fragments II

Part I here

Word Count: 2,516

Warnings: None

Author’s Note: Second chapter here we go! I’ve been very excited to continue this series, and I hope you find it as fun to read as it was to write. I already have mapped out a plan for where the story is going, though I’m not sure how many chapters it will take. We’ll see how it goes!

Dear Signora,

I am happy to inform you that the task you sent me has been completed. The fortune teller, though they still refuse to reveal their name, appears to be somewhat legitimate. I’m not sure what you’re going to do with this information, but I hope you’re prepared for a difficult time, as…

Scaramouche sighed, putting his pen down, although not after scribbling haphazardly on the paper in front of him. It had been two weeks since he’d first recruited the mysterious clairvoyant, and altogether nothing of consequence had happened. Not for lack of trying, of course; the Harbinger had taken to banging on the door of an inn almost every day, demanding that the unwilling coworker inside come out and do something. Honestly Scaramouche was surprised he hadn’t been asked to vacate the premises at this point, though of course that wouldn’t’ve stopped him. Still it was becoming a tiring ritual, and though Scaramouche himself wasn’t entirely sure what he’d meant when he suggested you work with him, he was certain this wasn’t it. Something had to happen, and soon. If not, well the Harbinger wasn’t above kidnapping unwilling colleagues; regardless of their threats to burn down his living space.

“At the very least I’m getting them out of that damned inn.” Scaramouche muttered to himself, for the time wasted was appalling, the inn being located not in your own village, the closest villager to the camp, but in one farther away. Standing up, crumpling the unfinished letter in his hands and throwing it into the trash, Scaramouche walked out of his tent and towards the now all too familiar road. He wasn’t doing this anymore.

Walking along the road, unfortunately there were no waypoints in villages this small, Scaramouche thought over the whole matter once more. He’d not expected you to agree to his offer of working with him, especially not after supposedly reading his future. Nor had he expected to truly believe you. And yet something about your demeanor had certainly changed since you’d looked into his future, accepting his proposal aside. Scaramouche wasn’t one to pry about such things, he didn’t really care what you saw in his future, especially after your revelation that doing so wasn’t an exact science. He had to admit though that the longer this went on the more he wondered what exactly you had seen. What had you seen to make you agree to his proposal, then refuse to even open your door to him? Or had you simply said yes on a whim and were now regretting your decision?

It was baffling to Scaramouche, and what he didn’t know or understand irritated him. He was a harbinger, and though you might’ve been blessed by the gods or some such thing, you’d still agreed to work with him. He’d see this through, if it was the last thing he did.

The inn was just as rundown as it had been the day before, and Scaramouche’s feet dragged as he made his way up the stairs towards the offending door. Knocking as softly as he could, not wanting to bother the other rooms and get kicked out, he called out. “It’s time for you to get to work. You’ve had two weeks to recover from whatever shock you’d had in the woods, and now you must uphold your promise.”

You stared at the door, still lying on the bed, the place where you’d spent most of your time recently. This routine had played out for two weeks, and you were becoming tired of it. Honestly, couldn’t the idiot realize when he wasn’t wanted? You thought that you’d made it clear enough.

Ignoring the banging for a moment you stared up at the ceiling. Two weeks, for two weeks you’d agonized over what you’d seen. What you’d expected to be dulled by time still came as a shock, and if you closed your eyes the image of you smiling at the Harbinger danced around in front of you. You didn’t regret your decision to work with Scaramouche, the determination for a better future still lay firmly in your heart; but you hadn’t realized how much personal agony it would cost. Certainly your now conflicting feelings weren’t helping, as you couldn’t help but wonder if your sudden awareness of the person now knocking on your door was caused by anything genuine, or simply by what you saw might come to pass.

The knocking was louder now, and you groaned, dragging yourself out of bed, thankful that you’d at least had the sense to have changed out of your pajamas. You were going to answer him today. It was what you’d been telling yourself all morning. You couldn’t live at this inn forever, the bill was beginning to rack up terribly. And, conflicting feelings or not, you weren’t about to steal away in the middle of the night. That would be perhaps the stupidest move one could make when dealing with a Fatui harbinger to whom one had made a promise.

Scaramouche let out a huff of surprise and relief as the door suddenly began to make way. This was some progress. Usually your early morning conversation was shouted through the closed door. Although you barely appeared from behind the door at first Scaramouche could see the improvement in your health. At least now you didn’t look to be constantly seconds away from once more passing out. As if reading these less than generous thoughts you scowled. Looking around, as if making sure there was no one around, you grabbed Scaramouche by the wrist and dragged him into the room, closing the door with a firm click behind you.

Though the inn was certainly bedraggled, the room you were housed in seemed nice enough. The furniture was sparse, only a bed, a small table, a chair, and a pair of sad looking dressers. Sitting down cross legged on the bed you pointed towards the chair. Smirking, Scaramouche sat down.

“Are we not talking today?” He asked snidely.

“Nice to know your personality hasn’t improved.” You shot back.

“Maybe I’d be a bit more amenable if you had left this room at all in the past two weeks. Do you even eat?”

“Thank you for so graciously caring for my wellbeing, but I’m doing just fine, thank you.”

“We had an agreement.”

“I know.”

“Then why won’t you hold to it?” Scaramouche narrowed his eyes, his temper wearing increasingly thin. He didn’t like yelling, found it beneath him; yet right now he wanted nothing more than to find some secluded area and scream. Letting out a hiss of a breath he shook his head. “Why did you let me in if you won’t even look at me?”

As if on cue your head snapped forwards. Although it seemed as if you were about to say something your expression quickly shifted into something unreadable. You said nothing, simply staring at him, that odd, opaque expression leading him to silence as well. The transformation was so sudden that it managed to throw the Harbinger completely off guard, and he found himself scrutinizing you, wondering what you could possibly be thinking of.

As you continued to stare at him Scaramouche realized that he was losing time. Shaking his head slightly, he spoke again.

“I want you to move into the camp.”

“Over my dead body.” You replied venomously, the spell obviously broken. “I refuse to live surrounded by members of the Fatui.”

“Well then where are you going to live, you can’t stay here forever.”

“I’ll… figure something out.”

“I’m offering you a solution to your housing problem. You can even live on the edge of the camp; but I refuse to continue this song and dance of walking six miles just to get you up. Consider it part of your work benefits.”

“What a lovely benefit, being housed against your will.”

“You made it perfectly clear you have nowhere else to go. You abandoned your village, you’ve holed yourself up in a random inn, you made a promise, an agreement, to work for me. Have you forgotten that?”

“Of course I haven’t!” You snapped, once more tilting your head towards the wall. “How could I forget after what…” You trailed off.

“After what?” Scaramouche pressed, but you shook your head, merely glancing at him once more.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does if it’s affecting our bargain. Something must’ve happened. You’ve been acting, strangely.”

“How would you know how I act?” You scoffed. “Anyways, my behavior is none of your business. I promised to work with you, and I will, if only to stop this stupid conversation. But I won’t move in with the Fatui. They’re the worst sort of organization. Besides,” you added, voice lowering slightly. “I’m not comfortable staying in unfamiliar places.”

There was a pause in the conversation, as Scaramouche wracked his brain. He needed to get this to work. He couldn’t stand this; no matter what, he’d make sure this conversation didn’t drag on any longer.

“Fine then,” Scaramouche finally sighed, “let’s make a deal.”

“We seem to be making an awful lot of those.”

“It’s the only way apparently to get you to do anything. Here’s the deal. I arrange it so you’re allowed to use your own furniture and belongings in your tent. You can use one of the extra harbinger tents, they should be big enough for that. If I promise to do so, will you promise to move out?”

“I’m not letting random Fatui members sack my house, not even on your orders.”

“Then do it with the. I’ll just send some men to carry the heavier furniture, you can handle the rest. Agreed?”

You paused, staring at him, expression much more readable this time, being one of distrust. Still, eventually you nodded your head and Scaramouche finally began to feel some sort of relief.

“Good. Now pack whatever you have. Thankfully it’s early enough to have this finished today.”

And with that he stood up, not bothering to look behind at you as he walked across the room and out the door.

---------

Scaramouche entered the tent, nearly running into you in the process. You glanced back at him, letting out a quick “sorry”, before scurrying over towards your cot – your bed had ended up being too bulky to move.

“I see you’ve finished.” Scaramouche spoke up, feeling slightly awkward, not sure how to converse with you in a way that wasn’t arguing. Luckily you didn’t seem to notice, nodding enthusiastically.

“It’s so odd to seem my dresser on the grass floor.” You giggled softly.

The Harbinger stared for a moment, realizing that this was the first time he’d seen a genuine smile out of you. It was almost transformative, and for a moment he found himself forgetting all the haggling it took for you to get here. Walking towards you, slightly unaware of what he was doing, he stopped a few inches away from you. You seemed caught unaware, and as you stared at him your smile slowly faded, instead replaced once more by that odd expression you carried when you look at him. This time you seemed a bit more agitated however, and instead of lingering you shook your head slightly, walking sideways towards the dresser you’d just mentioned. Suddenly aware of himself Scaramouche mimicked the gesture, stepping back towards the tent opening.

“Well,” he said, voice stilted, “I’m glad that we’ve finally resolved this. I’ll let them send dinner to your tent tonight, though I expect you to eat with everyone else afterwards. I’ll see how you are later.” And, not wanting to start another argument and still trying to process what had just happened, Scaramouche marched out of the tent.

The late afternoon air was finally beginning to cool down, and Scaramouche took in several deep breaths. Not wanting to deal with the presence of various underlings he made his way out of the camp and towards the woods, the woods in which, about five miles away from here, he’d met you for the first time. Now, leaning against a tree, he thought back on that night, on everything that had happened since then. Mostly he thought about the odd experience in the tent.

Scaramouche hadn’t really meant to walk up to you, he found being the proximity of people odious most of the time. The action was completely instinctive, devoid of any motive to intimidate or to scare. It was just, it was just the fact that he’d liked your smile, it had drawn him in, literally, apparently. As had your expression, what was that expression? He wanted to ask about it again, wanted to know what was going on. This whole experience was alien to Scaramouche, your interactions all the more so. A normal underling would’ve never talked back, would’ve never forced concessions out of him. And yet that wasn’t the only abnormal thing. A normal underling would’ve never been so important, and, more importantly, would’ve never drawn such a strange reaction out of him. A reaction he was still feeling the effects of.

It wasn’t simply walking up to you, no, nothing was that simple. It was how he’d felt, the way he didn’t mind being that close, wanted it even. The way a part of him was somewhat disappointed when you – rightfully – drew away. Even now he still felt those lingering feelings, that alien want to be closer to someone, to learn about them, to… what? That was the beginning and the end of it, wasn’t it? He wanted something, and he didn’t even know what that something was. Information he supposed. It was always that in the end; something that he could use, a bargaining chip. Maybe he just was getting tired of these concessions.

It was dark by the time Scaramouche returned to your tent. You were slouched forward on your cot, a book held up to your face, your attention utterly captivated. Looking up at the shuffling of feet you saw the Harbinger staring at you, as opaque as before. Although your initial instinct was once more to look away you instead met his gaze, letting out the faintest crack of a smile.

“Thank you for doing this.”

“It was nothing. If you’re going to be my clairvoyant assistant, well, this was for the best.”

Your whispered something and Scaramouche leaned forward.

“What?”

You repeated the word again and the Harbinger’s brow furrowed.

“What does that name have to do with anything?”

“It’s mine, idiot.”

“You could’ve just said that.” Scaramouche scoffed, glancing away. “Thank you.”

“It’s my thanks, for doing this for me.”

“I see.” Scaramouche stood there silent for a moment. Eventually he looked around and nodded. “All seems to be in order. I hope you’re an early riser, tomorrow we’ll get to work. So make sure to sleep. I…” he began to turn towards the tent opening. “I hope you’ll be comfortable.”

“I’m sure I will.”

“Good. Go to sleep.”

The sound of your name whispered into the night by him was something that would keep you up for a while longer.

#series #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #my writing

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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

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Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Chapter 11

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: Smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo… a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter - references to verbal abuse and a neglectful mother.

Author’s note: After an accidental one month hiatus, I’m back! I’m nervous about posting this because I haven’t updated December Magic since I saw WW84. As you may have noticed, I have rebranded this fic and the name is now called ‘Sugar and Spice’! There is a slight time jump in this chapter, and it’s just a short one as I ween back into it, but I realised I was struggling so much continuing this fic after seeing WW84 because it just didn’t feel like the Max Lord we ended up with was anything like the Max Lord in this fic. This chapter is my attempt to make amends and draw a link between Sugar and Spice and WW84.

While I’m here I want to give a shout out to my new on-going Max Lord series ‘I Believe In Love’, which you can read here. I Believe In Love is like my baby and I am so so proud of it thus far. Anyways, enjoy chapter 11 of December Magic!

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER ELEVEN - NEXT

He hadn’t come home for Christmas. He hadn’t come home for two months. It was fine at first. He called you as soon as he reached London, just like he promised. He expressed to you how busy he was with work commitments and how difficult it was for him to cope with the timezones. The distance between the UK and USA was devastating. Your hour long phone calls gradually became more spread out and only lasted a few minutes, and honestly? It broke your heart. There you were; living in Lord Manor, and Maxwell had kept his word: “you want for nothing”. You had everything. His weighty black AMEX card, a house staff such as a butler and a chef and your own personal driver to take you wherever you wished to go. Any material possessions you wished for… they were yours. You weren’t even working for the privilege or the money. Max was far away and yet, he made sure you still had a home and a life, and he made sure that you were safe.

But there was still an extreme void in your heart. You were missing Maxwell. You’d try calling him but there was always a dead line. Not even Raquel would answer. You felt like you were drifting apart and your whole body ached with dread as you wondered if Max had forgotten about you. You’d kept in contact with Maxwell’s three assistants at Black Gold and they had no information on the work commitments that Max was supposedly seeing too. The romance you had shared during December may have been a whirlwind, but you knew him better than any other person on the planet and you felt like he was deliberately avoiding you.

There was something not right.

***

“Kitty!” Maxwell cried, his cheeks burning red and his eyes flicking with bewilderment as the child was thrust into his arms. A ghost from his past. Kitty was an ex lover of Maxwell’s, and honestly one of many. He hadn’t thought about her in years.

“I’ve brought him up for the past six years, he’s your problem now!” Kitty spat, an evil smirk crossing her lips. “I see you on the television with all your fame and fortune, if you don’t want him then the least you can do is pay a nanny to watch him. I have nothing Max. A shitty little apartment in the east of London. I’m working for a modelling internship but it’s hard to find luck when I’ve got a six year old kid dragging my heels behind.”

“Dragging your heels?” Maxwell repeated, furiosity burning his lungs. “He’s your son for Christ sake! How can you say that? Right in front of him!”

Maxwell turned back to the child who was standing as still as ever in the centre of the hotel room, nervously looking at his feet. Everytime Kitty raised her voice, the boy winced, and it crushed Max. This situation was all too familiar to him.

“He’s your son too!” Kitty glared, her face just as cold as her heart. “I want nothing to do with him. Goodbye.” Kitty said, her voice venomous, before leaving the hotel room and slamming the door behind her.

Maxwell’s knees felt weak and wobbly and he stumbled to his bed, sinking down with an exasperated sigh. Max’s hands cradled his own face and he blinked away unshed tears before sitting back up and looking at the six year old boy. The boy was silent, and his dark eyes matched the sadness of his father’s. How could this have happened?

Maxwell Lord had a son.

Max didn’t know what to say. What could he possibly say? He remembered doing work in London back in 1977; it was the start of his big break, and his bachelor persona hadn’t changed much since then. When Kitty found out Maxwell was back in London, she used it as her one final chance to track him down. Turns out, a big name CEO such as Max Lord was hard to get a hold of, especially when he lived on the other side of the world. Kitty never had pure intentions. Of course the pregnancy was unplanned and the sad reality was, Alistair was unwanted by his mother. Kitty was an aspiring model, fueled by ambition and goal, much like Maxwell. She didn’t have a single maternal instinct in her. Only there was a significant difference between Alistair’s parents. Whilst Kitty cared so little about her son, Maxwell knew that from this day forward, Alistair would be his top priority. He would never let his job intervene with his son. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes his own parents did.

Maxwell never thought about children, or considered bringing any into the world. He told himself he’d never want to be a father. He had such a terrible upbringing himself and his mother was wicked, he’d be too afraid. He’d never want to hurt or disappoint a potential child of his the way his own parents had hurt and disappointed him. But when he looked into his son’s eyes he felt nothing but determination. He’d been an absent father and that was not okay. Max just wished he’d known about his son before now. But it’s not like he could turn back time. Max knew he had to make amends and he knew he had to do it now.

Maxwell opened his arms and held Alistair’s hands, bringing him close and holding him tight against his chest. “My son,” he whispered, trying to refrain from crying. “I love you so much. I know you don’t know me, but you will, and I will spend the rest of my life making you proud. You are my everything.”

“You saved me daddy,” Alistair whimpered, tears spilling and dampening his father’s pinstripe shirt. “Thank you.”

***

You waited every day for Maxwell to return, but you never expected him. You were laying on the living room sofa, a blanket wrapped around you, half asleep as the muse from the television drowned out your thoughts. When you heard the lock on the front door click open, you thought you were dreaming. There was no way. No way. Footsteps. Hell, there was more chance of an intruder than it was Max. You rubbed your eyes and cautiously rose to your feet.

Your heart sank when he entered the room. It was him. He was home. Tears filled your eyes and you couldn’t hide the excited grin that painted your lips. “Oh my god Max!” you squealed, running up to him. He looked tired, but he was smiling too. You were inclined to run into his arms, but your focus on his face left you without realizing the small sleeping child he was carrying in his arms.

You blinked in confusion, your gaze flicking between Maxwell and the boy. “This is Alistair, my son.” Maxwell informed you, his voice hoarse and low. At the mention of his name Alistair stirred in his sleep and Maxwell immediately, on instinct, shushed him.

“You-what?” You were speechless. You knew something was wrong the second Max had distanced himself. The second the phone calls had stopped and he hadn’t come home. You knew something was wrong when his assistants said his work schedule was clear. But never in a million years did you expect your sugar daddy to come home with a son.

“I didn’t know,” Max whispered in avoidance to wake up Alistair. “It’s a long story but I promise I’ll tell you everything. I’m sorry I didn’t come home for Christmas like I promised. I’m so sorry baby. I’ll make up for it.”

You couldn’t even gather words. You swallowed the hard lump in your throat and contemplated everything. You sighed. You believed Max - how could you not? Of course, you were very interested in learning all about his secret son but you supposed that didn’t matter too much right now. All that mattered is that Max was home, and safe. You smiled and rested your hand on Alistair’s forehead, brushing his straight black hair out of his face. Alistair smiled sleepily under your touch. Max’s cheeks grew warm with admiration as you comforted his son. It meant a lot to him that you took a liking to Alistair and that you accepted the fact Alistair was in his life now, and nothing would change that.

After all, Max Lord was still hopelessly devoted and in love with you.

“Come on,” you whispered, bringing your hand up to cup Maxwell’s face. You brushed your thumb over the height of his cheekbone and Max found himself subconsciously leaning into your touch. “Let’s take him to bed and go to bed ourselves. We clearly have a lot to catch up on.”

Max nodded his head in affirmation and you followed him upstairs. He took Alistair to a guest bedroom and gently tucked him under the blankets, pressing a caring kiss into his son’s forehead before turning back to you. As you watched his gentle actions, it was like you were witnessing a whole new side to Maxwell. And it was beautiful.

Sugar and Spice taglist: @100layersofdaddyissues @mrschiltoncat @honeymandos @thisisthe-wayson @this-cat-is-dea @blonde2bomshell @maiyaaaa0130 @autumnleaves1991-blog @justanotherblonde23 @softly-sad @laaadygisbooornex3 @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @drinkingwhileblogging @kesskirata @honestlystop

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat

#maxwell lord #maxwell lord x reader #max lord x reader #max lord #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #ww84 #max lord series #maxwell lord series

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hyperbali · 4 years ago

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Agatha Harkness Was Right, And Here’s Why

Alright. Finally had to sit down and write my way out of this quiet, internal temper tantrum, and a few people were interested in seeing what I had to say, so I present to you:

Agatha Harkness Was Right, And Here’s Why

Disclaimer: MASSIVE spoilers for the entirety of WandaVision, and I am not nice about it.

I’ll start off by saying that, for all its foibles, WandaVision was genuinely a good example of a property within the MCU/Disney umbrella that stepped out of the usual ‘good guys fight bad guys action extravaganza’ in a way that pushed the envelope. The pseudo-horror aspect of the first few episodes is something I would really love to see engaged with on a more thoughtful basis in future projects.

I would say that it proved to be more than a vehicle to promote toys, but… well…

Yeah. Anyway.

I’ll assume that you watched WandaVision if you’re reading this, but quick recap: In the aftermath of ‘the Blip,’ Wanda is left broken and alone with no one in her corner. Her biggest mentor willingly abandoned his team to get his own ‘happy’ ending (do not get me started on Steve, that’s a document in and of itself), her other biggest mentor is probably off enjoying his family while ignoring the incredibly racist killing spree he’s been on for the past five years, and her lover is dead. When she goes to claim the body, she’s told nuh-uh, that’s government property, please leave.

So she goes to a plot of land in the middle of some nowhere town in New Jersey, which Vision apparently bought despite the fact they were living a pretty decently comfortable life in Scotland, where she looks at the deed that Vision drew a heart on and wrote ‘To Grow Old In’. Very sweet. Kind of weird, considering nothing of this caliber had ever been suggested for either of their characters and they’d been actively running from specifically the U.S. authorities? But sweet.

She has a breakdown and, in her grief, contains the entire town of Westview and all 3,892 of the people in it in her own personal paradise, where nothing bad ever happens beyond sitcom hijinks, no one dies, and every problem is tied up and neatly dealt with by the end of an ‘episode’. Except we learn that this is only paradise to Wanda, who apparently shares the aspect of having to relate everything to her favourite pop culture with Tony, because everyone else in Westview is more or less being psychologically tortured by the incredible amount of pain she’s in, forced to be puppeted actors to make her happy.

Bear in mind, Westview might have been bigger at some point - we have no idea how many people survived the Blip, or how many have been brought back to life within the past few weeks of the current setting. Either way, this is a town that has already dealt with a lot of trauma being dragged into yet another awful, much more specific kind of emotional damage, thanks to ‘the heroes’. Nice.

Agatha Harkness, a witch who’s been up to who-knows-what in the 340 years since she drained the coven that tried to kill her for getting a little too ambitious into jerky, feels the massive expenditure of magical power and decides to investigate. All the while, she carefully uses her own magic to try and peek into Wanda’s psyche, her motivations, all while keeping up appearances and not letting slip that anything is amiss.

I’ll point out that she’s no saint here, either - she specifically keeps one Westview resident at her mercy, and knows what’s happening to the rest of them, but doesn’t attempt to stop it. I’ll chalk that up to her pragmatism; their ‘sacrifice’ was fine to her as long as she could figure out how Wanda could have done something so unheard of in terms of power.

What we come to learn over the course of the show is that, given everything that happened, Wanda didn’t mean to take over an entire town and tool it into her own personal slice of heaven. She very quickly became aware of it; we know that she knows it’s her own personal bubble as soon as episode three, when she’s confronting Monica about how the latter could possibly know about Ultron. Wanda is made further aware of how much damage this is inflicting on others in episode five, when Vision himself tells her that these people are scared. But still, she has everything handled! It’s okay! The outside world is worse, trust her!

Her handling of the question, ‘where are all the children of Westview,’ is one that bears some thinking - and, y’know, kind of more than a little concern. They’re allowed to walk around as part of the ‘Halloween special,’ but as Vision walks further and further out towards the edges of town where Wanda doesn’t have as much full control, people are just frozen in place, or conducting the same few seconds of action over and over. And fully aware of being trapped.

How are they being sustained? Eating, sleeping? If someone isn’t part of her storyline, is she just locking them down into a coma? What made Wanda decide that keeping the children ‘out of the way’ was somehow kinder than involving them, especially given her later argument that she’s been trying to keep the entire town safe and happy?

The fact of the matter is, she only actually starts to feel remorse for any of this after she’s confronted with the fact that, after weeks of being at her mercy, the townspeople of Westview would rather be dead than endure another moment of having to play nice for her enjoyment. She finally opens the ‘bubble’ to let them out - which leads to the ‘epic’ finale of three different entities trying to take down Wanda and her happy family: the S.W.O.R.D. military led by Hayward, the White Vision, and Agatha.

Winding back to how we got here: after Agatha uses her own trapped resident, Ralph Bohner (who, given his casting and the props in place during the last episode, I’m willing to bet is actually the missing witness protection person Jimmy was looking for) in an attempt to lure out Wanda’s reasoning - and fails - she’s pretty much done pretending. She tricks Wanda into her basement, nullifies her powers, and makes her face her own past to get to the truth of the matter.

Not going to lie, favourite moment of the show. Kathryn Hahn killed Agatha’s slightly-amused-slightly-irritated observations about Wanda’s coping mechanisms, and the whole arrangement was extremely meta. I would have paid real money dollars to see her do the same thing to the likes of Tony, Strange, and Loki. Hell, even just having her meet the rest of the Avengers? Augh. If wishes were fishes.

When Agatha comes to the conclusion that Wanda is the vaunted, nigh-indestructible force of nature that she’s literally spent her entire life reading about is the ultimate source of chaos magic and will likely bring about the end of the world, she’s pretty understandably taken aback. To that matter, the fact that Wanda… has very little control over any of it, and is using what she does understand to play housemaker? After how long Agatha has spent learning control, hiding in plain sight, just to be child’s play compared to what Wanda has at her fingertips? I’d be pretty pissed off, too!

The way that WandaVision handled both of the major ‘fights’ - Vision versus White Vision ending in philosophy, and Wanda ending up beating Agatha at her own game of deception - is excellent. A little grating that they had to go with the beat down angle before they got there, but this is MCU; punches and thrown cars had to get shoved in somewhere. And, given that this series very much played with the idea of grey morality, I was sort of hopeful that Agatha would end up in a not-quite stalemate arrangement with Wanda. She’s not as powerful as the Scarlet Witch, but she has the know-how that Wanda sorely lacks; in recompense for her own deeds, she would be able to teach what she knows while also kind of scheming on her own time.

Y’know, like what they did with rehabilitating Loki?

Except that Wanda, who has just gone through the entire rigamarole of coming to terms with the fact that she trapped thousands of people into a nightmare scenario against their will, rendering them helpless to her mercy… traps Agatha into a nightmare scenario against her will, rendering her helpless to Wanda’s mercy.

That moment actually shook me. Oh, my god. We’re supposed to still look at Wanda as a good guy after this?

This isn’t even covering the incredibly awful confrontation with her and Vision where she tries to gaslight him into believing that everything is A-OK, or the fact that the person she gets most violent with (apart from Agatha) is Monica Rambeau, a black woman who spends most of the show bending over backwards trying to say that what Wanda is doing is understandable, justified, and just needs a gentle touch to be dealt with.

That could be its own document, too - how Monica, much as she’s incredible and definitely looks to be a really exciting addition to the MCU roster, more or less gets used as the Good One to absolve and enable Wanda’s actions. One of her last lines to Wanda, after seeing how the people of Westview (rightfully) look at Wanda like she’s monstrous, is “they’ll never know what you sacrificed.”

Sacrificed what? The fake husband and fake kids she made out of her own compulsion to pretend that everything is okay? None of that would have existed if she’d been given the proper resources to actually cope with how much loss she’s had to deal with. None of that would have existed if she hadn’t caused this problem in the first place.

In the end, Wanda flies off in her fancy new gear before the FBI shows up, avoiding any real consequences to her actions - which has pretty much been the running theme of her character ever since she was introduced to the MCU in Age of Ultron. The worst kind of direct consequence she’s ever gotten was being grounded to her room for a while, then kept in the Raft for, like, maybe a day - and both times, she was broken out post-haste.

Meanwhile, she worsened the issues in Sokovia (which, I will say upfront, was Tony’s fault to begin with), unleashed the Hulk on Johannesburg, got a pretty significant amount of civilians killed as bystanders in Lagos (hey, how come Wanda keeps turning a lot of black people into casualties?), and stood back in Wakanda to let their people try to fight off Thanos from getting to Vision until it was clear that there was no other option than for her to get involved.

Great Power Comes With No Responsibility At All, Actually.

Wanda, in the several years she has maintained her identity as an Avenger, has proven time and time again that she takes on innumerable risks without any full understanding of what they mean, allows others to take on the brunt of the fallout for her, and looks sad until she’s forgiven and moves on to the next problem. She has no business casually throwing around the kind of power that being the Scarlet Witch entails, not until she’s actually made any kind of headway into making reparations for what she’s done and tried, really tried, to get a handle on what she’s capable of.

Which she’s apparently doing in the last post-credits scene, astral reading the literal Book of the Damned on her lonesome in the mountains, but… without anyone to guide her, or give her any kind of boundary?

[I ran out of images I could post, but you know exactly what image I am referring to here]

Agatha Harkness was right. And that should terrify everybody that has to deal with Wanda in the future.

(P.S. Do we know if she actually even killed that dog? We never see her holding anything but a blanket, and characters go in and out of that show all the time. Granted, she wasn’t great with the cicada-turned-bird... hmm.)

Additional Notes:

“Well, you’re a Tony Stan, of course you think Wanda’s a villain”

I like Tony because he’s such an awful mess, and the narrative isn’t exactly kind about telling him what a piece of shit he can be! He reaped a lot of problems, created practically half the villains in the MCU, and ended up dying a martyred hero. Thanks to being the tent pole by which this franchise hoisted itself into a cultural powerhouse, he will always be their golden savior. If you want to read about how he’s the true villain of this entire affair, feel free to look up any number of takedown pieces about him that are out there. He’s a dick. I will never “uwu sad baby who did nothing wrong ever 🥺” him the way people do about Wanda.

“Why are you so pressed about this”

Because something as good in concept as WandaVision could and should have been about anyone other than the whitewashed, antisemitic take on Wanda Maximoff that MCU brought upon us. They put crucifixes on her wall in Civil War, for fuck’s sake!

“Weren’t you mad about them not including Aaron Taylor-Johnson”

At this point, I am almost kind of relieved the real Pietro wasn’t resurrected for this, because god knows they probably would have killed him all over again just to inflict that much more pain on his sister.

“Anything else you’d like to tell us, turbo nerd”

This was literally itching at me all weekend to write, so it’s more or less just to get it off my chest. If you powered your way through it, uh… thanks? Sorry if I yucked your yums, but I tried to be as clear with the disclaimer as I could. 🤷‍♂️

#blah blah #long post #marvel #mcu #wandavision #wandavision spoilers #wandavision critical #anti wanda maximoff

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mopeytropey · 4 years ago

Photo

a beer buds series: chapter 10

author’s note: When I originally told my wife of the idea for this series, she immediately suggested an entire rewrite of 'a pleasant undoing' but told from Lexa's perspective. So I'm counting chapters 9 and 10 as honoring her wishes. The continuation of this series will reprise our almost strictly Lincoln + Lexa formula, but I'm not naive enough to think that at least 99% of you weren't going into this also hoping for some premium Clarke + Lexa content. (Forgive me for the deviation ... and the smut)

Timeline: essentially, we're just picking up where chapter 9 left off ...

Beer: Lil’ Heaven: Two Roads Brewing (Stratford, CT) SESSION IPA

Made with three exotic hops - Azacca, Mosaic and Equinox. Taste is of tropical fruits, specifically passion fruit, grapefruit and apricots. Finishes with just enough toasted malt character to balance.

ABV 4.8%

Posted on AO3 here, or below the cut:

:::

“Hey, don’t I know you?”

“I saw you two days ago.” Lexa affectionately rolls her eyes, nevertheless smiling while accepting an exaggerated hug from Lincoln as if they are reuniting after a long separation.

“Work doesn’t count. You’ve been completely off the radar for a week, socially speaking.”

They’ve met for an impromptu breakfast at a local diner not far from Lexa’s apartment. She’s back in her neighborhood for practicality reasons, having left the idyllic bubble of Clarke’s bedroom in order to do some loads of laundry. But, it’s also a nice excuse to see her friend.

Lincoln has already procured them steaming cups of coffee and a pair of red vinyl stools at the breakfast counter that faces the busy griddle top. He is grinning at her as they sit, awaiting her response.

“I’ve just been … busy,” she says, not even able to curb the bashful smile that follows as she removes her coat and hat.

Lexa pretends not to blush, knowing full well her time spent with Clarke has superseded any other social obligations as they have begun a long overdue exploration of new and exciting facets of their relationship.

Namely sex. A good portion of her week has, in fact, been absorbed by unspeakably good sex.

“Uh-huh,” Lincoln laughs warmly. “I wasn’t even sure you two had remembered how to physically separate at this point. Thought maybe Clarke would be joining us as well based solely on the fact that you two haven’t surfaced for anything other than work responsibilities in a full week.”

Lexa sips her coffee through a growing grin to prolong any acknowledgement of Lincoln’s playful accusation.

“Morning, hon’.” A familiar waitress says in passing, leaving two menus beside Lincoln’s coffee cup. “Let me know when you’re ready to order.”

“Thanks, Helen,” Lexa smiles. It’s not often that she indulges in big breakfast meals, preferring her protein smoothies or avocado toast, but Lexa has nevertheless fallen into a routine of frequenting the diner as a way of establishing new roots.

In her old Brooklyn borough it had been the Chilo’s taco bar where she and Anya would meet every Friday to decompress from the work week over carnitas tacos and cheap beer. In her new portside life in Massachusetts, it’s Angie’s Diner. The coffee is palatable, at best, but the atmosphere is welcoming and Lexa has always enjoyed seeing familiar faces when forced to dine alone. Helen’s gruff, New England endearments in a seasoned, smoker’s voice, have consistently been a comforting presence.

When the woman shuffles off to tend to the other, early morning diners, Lexa turns to see Lincoln still watching her expectantly. “Clarke had some tasks at Dockside to attend to, and I really need clean clothes.”

“And, you’re functioning okay in her absence? Breathing okay and everything?”

Lexa laughs at his continued teasing, but easily concedes to an honest answer. So much uninterrupted time spent in Clarke’s company, sharing the myriad truths about their feelings, has apparently begun to bleed into her other relationships as well.

Lexa has almost always been able to leave herself unguarded in Lincoln’s presence anyway.

“I’m probably more dysfunctional when she’s around, actually.”

Lincoln stifles a laugh around a sip of his coffee. “That sounds like a fair assessment. Everything’s going as well as expected then?”

“Yeah, it’s—” Lexa tries, and instantly fails, not to picture Clarke lathered and laughing in the shower while Lexa fights to stand beneath the warm, steaming spray; Clarke pressing her against the kitchen countertops with hands roaming while the coffee steeps; Clarke cuddling into her on the sofa with the lights dim and the TV volume low “—it’s been really good.”

“Oh no.”

“What?” Lexa smiles unsurely, eyes widening at Lincoln’s grave expression.

“What’s with the hesitation?”

“What hesitation? I did not hesitate.”

“I know that hesitation.” Lincoln narrows his gaze at her, dark eyes assessing for signs of Lexa’s concession. “What are you in your head about now?”

She really needs to stop associating with people who can read her like a book.

“Okay, fine,” Lexa exhales. She flips open the worn menu, its once glossy, laminate pages now dulled from years of loyal patronage. “I’m just adjusting to the intensity of it all.”

“You’ve made a major life change. Totally normal to feel overwhelmed,” Lincoln shrugs.

“I know. You’re right. I haven’t even slept at my apartment in almost a week.”

“And, this is somehow a bad thing?” Lincoln laughs.

“No, I have absolutely zero complaints,” Lexa clarifies. “But, we’re spending literally all of our free time together—and portions of our work days, too.”

Lincoln chuckles after another sip of coffee. “Also totally normal. In the beginning, Octavia used to impose all of these ridiculous sleepover schedules—like, spending three nights a week together is the maximum, or whatever—only to completely abandon her own, dumb rule and would end up sleeping at mine for weeks at a time.” Lincoln thinks better of it a second later and warns, “Don’t ever tell her I told you that.”

The legitimate fear she can see in his eyes makes her laugh, and suddenly she doesn’t feel quite so overwhelmed. “I’ve always considered it wise not to let on that I know just how obsessed Octavia is with you.”

“Smart woman,” Lincoln winks. “So, other than acclimating to new sleeping arrangements, what is it that’s stressing you out? You think you’re spending too much time together?”

“That’s the thing—I like being able to be with Clarke as much as possible. This past week, spending time with her, I’ve felt calmer and happier and more settled than I have in ages.”

Lincoln smiles so warmly, Lexa can feel it in her chest. “Don’t you think Clarke feels exactly the same way?”

“I’m pretty confident that Clarke enjoys having me around, yes. It’s not like she’s trying to kick me out of her house or anything yet.”

“But?”

“But, I keep wondering what the long-term implications are. Because the way that everything is changing between us: it feels … significant.”

“Yeah. That’s because you’re in l—”

Lexa looks away with a groan that drowns out the rest of Lincoln’s statement, rubbing a hand against her forehead. “Oh my god, please stop saying that.”

“Okay, okay,” Lincoln laughs. And then, after a moment while clearing his throat, he not-so-subtly reiterates: “But, you are.”

Lexa studiously ignores any truth in Lincoln’s playful accusation and further expounds, “I guess if anything is stressing me out, it’s not knowing if Clarke is experiencing something similar to what I am right now.”

“Knowing Clarke like I do, and having had the pleasure of a front row seat to all of this from day one, I can confidently assure you that she is right there with you. That being said, have you ever considered—I don’t know—asking her yourself instead of sitting here having a hypothetical conversation about it with me?”

“I do plan to speak with her about this,” Lexa assures an openly skeptical Lincoln. “I do.”

“I mean, you’re in the first week of a new relationship, Lex. I get it. That is usually not time that’s predominantly spent talking.”

Lexa is saved from her sudden flush of embarrassment by the return of their waitress, Helen, who kindly disregards the red tint on Lexa’s cheeks as she orders her scrambled eggs and rye toast.

“The point is,” Lincoln continues once their orders have been placed, “you guys have this really solid and established friendship going into this thing. In my experience, that can sort of push you ahead at a faster clip than you’re probably accustomed to in relationships.” He drains his coffee, placing it back onto the counter with a dull clink. “So, what would make you feel better about the rate at which you and Clarke are headed?”

Lincoln has a uniquely comforting way of simplifying Lexa’s life. He’s so genuine and forthcoming, and she could hug him again for all his supportive logic. Instead, she takes a deep breath to clear her head and pledges to hug him later.

“I want to be up front with her about where I see this going, to determine whether or not she and I are on the same page. I want her to know that I’m—”

“—in love with her?” Lincoln grins.

Lexa punches him, with unintentional force, and regrets it only when Helen—a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper curls and kind eyes—glances at them in mild concern as she refills their coffee. “I would ask if he’s bothering you, hon’, but I have a feeling you’re more than capable of handling yourself.”

“Don’t worry, I deserved that,” Lincoln assures their waitress, laughing at Lexa’s menacing scowl while rubbing his arm.

“I was going to say, I want Clarke to know that I’m not interested in dating anyone else.”

“Oh, right, right,” Lincoln nods, still smiling. “See, I just keep forgetting you two haven’t already been dating exclusively for, like, six months.”

“Why do I hang out with you again?”

For all her feigned exasperation, she is instantly wrapped up in an embrace, not unlike an older brother might lovingly harass his younger sibling. “Because you love me.” He pulls her in closely for a monstrous hug—right there at the diner counter—despite Lexa’s sharp elbow to his abdomen as she playfully fights against the forced affection.

:::

Clarke emerges from her silver Saab just as Lexa ambles across the snow-dusted gravel of the marina, icy rocks crunching beneath her boots. Cars are parked at odd, misfitted angles wherever they can find space between the boats set up on large blocks in their bright white winter wrappings. Clarke is wearing her plaid scarf and bulky winter parka, and Lexa’s chest tightens with equal amounts of excitement and trepidation at seeing her again after a short span apart.

“You should have let me pick you up,” Clarke says by way of a greeting.

“It’s not a bad walk from my apartment.”

Their breaths dissipate in the air between them after briefly appearing in frozen clouds. Lexa can feel her teeth about to chatter because the air on the water is properly freezing, but she attributes the chill along her spine to the nervous energy of being near Clarke.

Clarke’s gaze narrows in judgement. “Stubborn.”

“Those in glass houses,” Lexa counters, arching her brow in a way that brings that pleasant tint of blush to Clarke’s cheeks.

It could very well be the wind; except Lexa knows that it isn’t.

“Okay can we further reprimand each other once we’re inside where it’s warm?”

Clarke’s gloved hand wraps around her coat sleeve and tugs until they are both headed towards the blue front door of the coffee shop. A welcomed gush of warm air envelopes them instantly, and Lexa’s skin begins to tingle where the harsh winds had chilled her face. There isn’t much of a line, nor is the shop crowded with other people. The moderately-sized open room is sparse with patrons, enjoying their steaming drinks under natural lighting and softly playing music.

It’s been six days—not that Lexa has been meticulously keeping track, but it’s been six days—of near-constant kissing and unrestrained touch; of perpetual orgasms and an intentionally precise exploration of Clarke’s body; of general sensory overload when it comes to redefining her relationship with her best friend. Hardly a week has transpired since they began testing the waters of this mutual attraction, which has nevertheless consumed Lexa entirely.

Maybe it’s only been six days, an insignificant length of time under normal circumstances, but it feels much more weighted than that.

Between the kissing and the touching and the orgasms, nevermind the sudden influx of unveiled honesty, she can hardly keep her head above water. Her mind hasn’t stopped spinning since that first kiss on Clarke’s doorstep, and she’s only slightly concerned with contracting vertigo if they don’t stop and address what is happening between them sooner rather than later. Lexa needs to sit in a familiar, public space in the light of day with her best friend to discuss the implications on their relationship as it progresses at full tilt.

Lincoln’s advice rings in her ears as they enter the shop: just talk to Clarke.

“Hey, strangers!” A barista greets them happily as she and Clarke approach the cash register. Her name slips from Lexa’s memory, but Clarke returns her greeting for them both.

“Hey, Morgan.”

“Oh my god, I thought you two got lost at sea or something. We haven’t seen you in ages.” Morgan is young, perhaps just out of college, with bright pink hair and a septum piercing.

Clarke’s head shifts so that she can give Lexa a strange look, which Lexa promptly returns before offering a brief smile. “Oh, um, yeah. Just busy during the holidays,” Clarke answers.

Lexa gives her order and Clarke pays, brushing off Lexa’s insistence on paying her share. In seven months, if she’s learned anything, it is not to question Clarke’s generosity. They move to a deserted sofa beside an old wood stove fireplace to wait for their drinks and begin removing their coats and hats. Lexa’s toes begin to tingle and thaw within her leather boots as the heat from the fire permeates.

The harborside shop is the same as always: natural light streaming through the windows facing the water; a smattering of locally produced art hanging on brightly colored walls; and, a handful of other patrons sitting in mismatched furniture with computers or paperbacks. Everything is the same, except for her and Clarke.

They sit closely, quickly finding small, innocuous points of contact. Clarke tucks into one end of the sofa so that her knees rest gently against Lexa’s legs. Their hands seek touch as the barista delivers their drinks, separating only briefly to accept the steaming mugs and offer their gratitude. Once Morgan leaves them to attend other customers, Lexa falls into the comfort of their secluded, sun-drenched pocket of the shop.

“It’s so cold outside. I think my feet are still thawing.”

“It feels nice in here,” Lexa responds, smiling because Clarke inches closer to her anyway and she was only outside for under two minutes as it is.

Lexa senses a buzzing from her coat where it sits beside her and reaches into one of its deep pockets to check her phone. A text from Lincoln confirms their plans to meet up later for drinks. She types a quick, one-handed response before replacing her phone and returning her full attention to Clarke.

“Lincoln,” she explains, although Clarke doesn’t look poised to ask.

“Does he miss you already?”

Lexa laughs, shaking her head. “No, he’s not nearly as codependent as you.”

Clarke attempts to withdraw her fingers from where they are slotted between Lexa’s, but Lexa tightens her grasp with a widening grin at Clarke’s dropped jaw and feigned affront.

“Are you still hanging out later?”

“Yeah, he was just confirming the time.” Lexa’s thumb smooths across the back of Clarke’s hand in a slow, repetitive arch. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”

Clarke shakes her head firmly. “No, this is your sacred time together—I can’t encroach on that.”

“It’s beers and appetizers, Clarke. I wouldn’t call it sacred.”

Clarke’s eyes widen dramatically. “I’m gonna tell him you said that.”

The empty threat makes Lexa smile again. They’ve always had a particular talent for banter, and the added layer of their recent sexual experiences makes it all the more delightful to trade taunts and harmless barbs.

“How was your laundry adventure?” Clarke asks while reaching for her coffee, and Lexa smirks.

“Thrilling.”

Despite her instincts to stay within reach of Clarke at all times as much as physically possible, there is also the issue of personal hygiene. In this case, it was Lexa’s growing pile of clothes that needed attending.

“And breakfast with Lincoln?”

She can’t tell Clarke how she is actually reconsidering a lifelong friendship with Lincoln because he had spent a majority of the morning brutally teasing her. To reveal that would require Lexa to also elaborate on his specific proclamations about her feelings for Clarke.

And so, Lexa tells her, “It was good.”

“You can always do laundry at mine, you know.”

“Is this just another ploy to keep me tethered to your house for longer intervals?”

An exasperated look flashes across Clarke’s face while she swallows down a mouthful of steaming coffee. “Yes. Have you not been paying attention at all over the past week?”

Lexa swallows through a grin of her own. There’s really only one, notable thing they’ve been engaged in over the past week, and to think of it now has Lexa’s face warming as she becomes acutely aware of Clarke’s proximity in a public space.

“I’ve been a little preoccupied lately.”

Light laughter escapes her as Lexa’s right hand fiddles the ribbing of Clarke’s sweater between her fingers. She is dressed in something off-white and oversized that cuts at a low vee below her neck so that Lexa’s eyes begin to wander to its shadowed opening. It’s a sweater she remembers from the time before—when all of Lexa’s cultivated interest in Clarke (including her wardrobe) was something unspoken and dutifully ignored.

Lexa remembers that Clarke had been dressed for a dinner at her mother’s house, and Lexa had been granted a chance encounter for quick minutes in which they danced around a thrumming attraction. She can feel it sparking in the air between them now, their pocket of relative privacy threatening to implode from the calculated looks Clarke is giving her.

“Busy week?” she further teases, eyeing Lexa’s blush over the rim of her coffee mug as she takes another sip.

Lexa purses her lips and narrows her gaze at Clarke’s self-satisfaction. “Exactly how much joy does it bring you to torture me?”

“So much,” Clarke laughs. She slips her fingers between Lexa’s so that they are loosely held together. “But only because you’re so adorable when you’re exasperated.”

“Flattery is supposed to absolve you?”

“Obviously.” Clarke rolls her eyes, bringing Lexa’s fingers to her mouth and brushing them quickly with a kiss.

With affections such as this, Lexa would forgive her of almost anything.

“So,” Clarke says through a sigh while bringing their joined hands to rest again on her knee. “What did you want to talk about?”

Now that Clarke has given her the floor, Lexa practically swallows her tongue in nervous vacillation. She had strategized a few, well-devised talking points during the process of cleaning her clothes, not to mention procuring some sound advice from Lincoln over breakfast, but sitting here in front of Clarke has made Lexa forget how to string together words and phrases to construct complete thoughts.

In a desperate attempt to find her resolve, she reaches for the cup of english black tea she’d ordered. Lexa takes her first sip, wishing she’d asked for a pinch more sugar but nevertheless hoping it will soothe her racing thoughts.

“I just wanted to … check in.”

Pathetically underwhelming start. Lincoln would be so disappointed. She takes another sip that is more like a gulp.

Clarke nods slowly. “Okay.”

“About us.”

“Okay,” Clarke repeats, her smile looking apprehensive at best.

“Our friendship has evolved significantly over the past week, and rapidly, at that. I just thought we should—” Lexa wavers and Clarke comes to her rescue.

“Check in?”

“Yeah,” Lexa nods.

“Okay. Are you—are you feeling okay about everything?”

Lexa begins to tangle her fingers around Clarke’s more fervently. “Things with you are almost too good.”

Clarke’s smile changes instantly, full and bright and genuinely pleased. “I feel the same. I’m actually feeling incredibly, fucking lucky, to put a finer point on it.”

“Good,” Lexa smiles, exhaling a modicum of relief. “I do too.”

“Oh my god, you had me scared.” Clarke leans back into the couch, dislodging their hands to run her fingers through her hair. “I thought you were going to say you want to date other people or something.”

“What? No.” Lexa’s breath has been lost to a vacuum of panic so that her ask is hardly audible. “Do you?”

“No! No. I’ve dated, Lexa. I’ve dated plenty,” Clarke laughs lightly, reaching for a surer hold on Lexa’s fingers. “But, you—I mean, you’re single for the first time in over three years. You must have thought about it.”

Not single, Lexa says to herself before thinking better of it and rephrasing aloud:

“Clarke, I could date a hundred women and none of them would be you.”

“Yes, I am fairly certain I’ve yet to be cloned.”

“Are you going to stop being a smartass so I can say this?” Lexa smiles in mock irritation.

“Sorry, sorry.” Clarke pinches her lips together, attentive. “Continue.”

“What I mean is, no one else would compare. I’ve never met anyone like you—this connection I feel with you, I’ve never experienced anything like it.” Lexa takes a breath, licking her lips before forging onward. “I can’t say where this is going, but I can say, unquestionably, that I have no interest in dating anyone else for the foreseeable future.”

The words leave her in a rush of honesty. It feels like she’s said too much too soon, but Clarke leans forward with a smile and Lexa interprets the gentle press of her lips as having said exactly the right thing.

“Do you think we can take these drinks to-go and finish this conversation elsewhere?” Clarke’s voice is pitched low and seductive, and Lexa senses a chill tingling at the back of her neck.

She resolves to stop doubting her honesty, if also to reconsider hanging out with Clarke in public spaces for a while until they can get their rampant sexual urges under control long enough to enjoy a cup of tea.

“Did you have a specific location in mind?” she grins in response as if the gleam in Clarke’s eyes isn’t a clear enough indication.

:::

Part 2

:::

The sex is consistently noteworthy, and Lexa had never really doubted that she and Clarke would be compatible in that way, but so is the intimacy alongside it. Lexa has never before distinguished between the two so markedly. But, with Clarke, the intimacy is so distinct. When she is coming around Clarke’s fingers, letting her watch the strains of pleasure in her face and shoulders, Lexa registers the vulnerability of being caught in Clarke’s gaze as an orgasm ricochets through her.

Ordinarily, a week into any new relationship and Lexa would still be clinging to well-practiced safeguards. She would be withholding some parts of herself for safekeeping and ultimate preservation should things go sideways.

But, not with Clarke.

She likes that Clarke watches her so carefully. The way that she feels when held by Clarke’s gaze is a kind of certain safety that Lexa hasn’t known before. She kisses Clarke fully, holding nothing back as the pulsating aftershocks of her orgasm begin to ebb. When Clarke slowly removes her fingers, Lexa bites Clarke’s lip, swallowing the soft moan that follows.

“Does this mean you want to be exclusive?” Lexa asks, still breathless, when their lips have parted.

She feels Clarke’s laughter against her face before she’s being kissed again. “Yes, you idiot.”

“Good. Because I want to take you out.”

“Tonight?”

“Not tonight. It’s going to require some planning. I’d like it to be a proper date.”

Clarke’s elation is instantly visible. “Okay. I’m going to be honest, I’m highly intrigued to find out what a proper Lexa date looks like.”

Lexa kisses her again and considers, not for the first time, if she’ll be able to stop now that she’s started. Clarke’s warm tongue and soft lips are now vital to Lexa’s existence. She craves the sensation of their mouths sliding together at random intervals throughout her days.

“Kissing you has not been a disappointment,” she says, bringing more of Clarke’s bright laughter as they shift their limbs to reposition against the mattress.

Clarke’s leg wraps around her waist as Lexa brushes stray hair from Clarke’s face where they now lay facing side-by-side. “Oh, my god, I’ll second that. I knew you would be a good kisser.”

“Did you?” Lexa smiles at the confession. She likes that Clarke had thought of her in similar ways. She had not been the only one lost in questionably scandalous daydreams over the course of their friendship.

“Yes. I may have thought about it, once or twice.”

“I had a pretty good feeling about your talents as well.”

It’s such a simple, shared admission that nevertheless makes Lexa’s heart trip in its rhythm. “And now, I think about it constantly.”

For that, she is rewarded with another press of Clarke’s lips. “Me too. I’m pretty sure I’m regressing into a terrible excuse for a restaurant manager as a result of constant distraction.”

“And the bar for your professionalism was already set so low as it is.”

“Hey!” For that she gets a finger plunged sharply between her ribs, and Lexa squirms away from Clarke’s violent tickling.

“I’m kidding. You are an elite and respected paragon of your field.”

“You’re damn right I am,” Clarke affirms with pride.

“Honestly, I was so lost in thought the other day, I dropped a six pack on my foot.”

“Lexa!” Clarke laughs, kissing Lexa again anyway. “Oh no.”

“No permanent damage,” Lexa smiles. “Can I tell you what else I really like?”

Clarke could not look more delighted. “Yes, please.”

“I really like your sweater.”

“Wait—which sweater?”

Lexa props up onto an elbow, separating their warm skin as she casts her eyes around the room before locating the sweater in question. It sits near the foot of the bed where it had been discarded moments before. “That one,” she says. “It looks really good on you.”

Clarke seems both surprised and amused by the compliment. “Come here.”

Lexa allows herself to be pulled closer when Clarke wraps both hands around the back of her neck and their limbs slot back into place. They kiss lazily as if time doesn’t exist while Lexa’s hands begin to drift along the pathways she has started to chart across Clarke’s skin.

“I like seeing you in such a good mood,” Clarke eventually tells her.

“The effect of midafternoon orgasms cannot be underrated.” The frank sentiment makes Clarke laugh again as she rests their foreheads together and begins smoothing over Lexa’s skin with the tips of her fingers. “Also, I like being able to tell you things—things I wouldn’t have been able to say before.”

“I like when you tell me things.” Clarke tucks a strand of loose curls around Lexa’s ear. “Anything else in that busy head of yours you feel like sharing?”

Three words ring prominently in Lexa’s ears, and she fully blames Lincoln’s stupid taunting for the sentiment being at the forefront of her mind. It has nothing to do with the soft, swirling blue of Clarke’s eyes, or the subtle tilt of her mouth, or the fact that Lexa has memorized the sound of Clarke’s laugh. She swallows roughly and presses her lips to Clarke’s, sealing the unspoken words between them for good measure.

She instead tells Clarke a different truth, “I’m feeling much better since we talked.”

“I’m glad,” Clarke smiles. “I feel better, too.” She runs a hand down Lexa’s arm, finding her fingers.

“I was sort of anxious to say anything,” Lexa admits, feeling brave while cocooned in Clarke’s bed despite her earlier insecurities. She had worried, yet again, about saying too much. There was always the risk of Clarke pulling away if Lexa revealed too much. “I spent at least two days debating with myself.”

Clarke’s exaggerated surprise results in Lexa’s quiet giggles. “No, you did? You tortured yourself for days with unnecessary internal debates? That is highly out-of-character, Lexa.”

“You really are a lot more like Lincoln than I ever realized.”

Clarke’s laughter somehow brings them closer together, and Lexa shifts her legs where they are staggered between Clarke’s. “I’ll take that as a compliment. And, I’m glad you finally talked to me about this. I mean, I wasn’t totally expecting you to propose in the way that you did, but—”

“Clarke.” Lexa buries her face into the pillow and clenches her eyes to stave off her creeping mortification. So much for embracing her honesty.

Of course, Clarke is endlessly humored by watching Lexa suffer and only continues her assault on Lexa’s heartfelt admission. “I mean, correct me if I’m misquoting, but you said: ‘for the foreseeable future,’ which basically translates into asking me to date you, but like, forever.”

“Oh my god,” Lexa mumbles, her face still pressed into the soft cotton of Clarke’s pillowcase.

Clarke is not deterred by Lexa’s mounting humiliation, pressing kisses full of laughter into her neck and shoulder until Lexa finally turns to face her. Using the leverage of her leg wrapped around Lexa’s hips, Clarke has since wrestled her onto her back.

“See?” she says, running an index finger down the slope of Lexa’s nose and effectively smoothing the furrow of embarrassment between her eyebrows. “So adorable.”

It’s hard to keep hold of her ire when Clarke is naked above her and straddling her hips. Perhaps Clarke knows this as well because even as she shifts imperceptibly, Lexa feels it straight through her core. Her hands come to rest on the tops of Clarke’s thighs, and though she senses a residual scowl tugging at her lips, most of her regret for being too honest has faded.

“I’m sorry for making fun,” Clarke says while her thumbs rub circular patterns on Lexa’s ribs.

Lexa has never seen anyone look less apologetic in her life. “I would be more inclined to believe you if you weren’t actively trying not to laugh.”

“No, no, I’m serious,” Clarke reiterates, although she is fully laughing now. She clears her throat, aiming valiantly for composure. “What you said was so sweet, and, I mean, in case you couldn’t tell, I sort of plan on dating you for a really long time, too.”

Lexa fights her own smile rather poorly. “Well, that’s very convenient.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” Clarke nods.

It’s the perfect segue into more unrestrained fondling, more languid kisses, and Clarke seems to be on the same wavelength as she leans her weight onto her hands and begins to roll her hips. It’s easier falling into this rhythm when for six days they have perpetually cycled the same routine: intimate talks bookended by multiple orgasms that are interspersed with brief intervals reserved for sleep and nourishment.

Lexa gasps into their first kiss from their well-timed movements—the feeling of them sliding together in that way has a heated sensation building quick and low. Just the pressure of Clarke on top of her and the way her slow, purposed movements are hitting Lexa in the all the right spots, has her close to a second orgasm in minutes.

She can hear Clarke’s breathing accelerate as well, the forced puffs of air through her nose that Lexa feels against her cheeks as their kisses grow more urgent. Clarke’s hand moves first, skating down Lexa’s abdomen as she lifts her hips to slide her fingers towards Lexa’s clit. It’s been no more than twenty minutes since her last orgasm, but Lexa’s body instantly responds to the circulating pressure of Clarke’s fingers moving against her.

They are still figuring things out, learning how the other responds to physical arousal, but this—Clarke on top of her, easily working her towards climax with deft fingers and filthy, open-mouth kisses—will do the trick every, single time. Lexa could probably come with much less stimulation at this point, when brushing touches while fully clothed are sometimes too much for her to function. Never mind the visual currently hovering over her—Clarke’s bouncing chest, grinding hips, and blown pupils. An image of her fingers sunk into Clarke in this position is enough to send Lexa over the edge. Her back arches off the mattress as the orgasm rolls up her spine, and Lexa catches her breath only after Clarke starts kissing her again.

A familiar dilemma has Lexa torn between using her hands or her mouth as the tingling sensations of her own orgasm have barely begun to fade. In the end, her urgency to feel Clarke’s arousal, and see it to completion, has Lexa moving a hand between their bodies to slide eager fingers into Clarke’s folds. There will always be time later to bury her face between Clarke’s legs.

Her breath always stutters at that first touch—it’s slick and warm and Clarke groans appreciatively when Lexa extends two fingers just as Clarke sinks onto Lexa’s hand. That she is open and intimate with Clarke in a way she never thought possible has not fully registered as her new reality, and for a brief second, Lexa’s mind goes blank.

In another breath, Lexa shifts, guiding Clarke to change her position just enough that she can take one of Clarke’s nipples into her mouth. The quick suction and slow laps of her tongue produce a groan from Clarke that Lexa will be thinking about days later.

“Fuck, Lexa,” Clarke pants, her hips now thrusting quicker against Lexa’s hand, pressing harder against her fingers as they slide in an out.

Clarke’s arms shift, palms flat against the mattress on either side of Lexa’s head where she is still holding her weight.

“Are your arms getting tired? Do you want to switch positions?” Lexa absently moves her hand that had been massaging one of Clarke’s breasts to lightly hold her bicep.

“No.” Clarke smiles and kisses her softly, in direct contrast to the way she is currently riding Lexa’s fingers. “You’re very sweet, but I’m good.”

“Okay, good. Because I’m really appreciating this view,” Lexa grins, moving her hand again to swipe a thumb across Clarke’s nipple.

“Do you think you can—”

She doesn’t let Clarke finish, relying instead on her still-developing intuitions, and takes the other nipple into her mouth.

“Yes, fuck.”

Lexa celebrates her victory of predicting Clarke’s needs by altering the position of her hand to reach Clarke’s clit with her thumb, the result of which has Clarke nearly collapsing onto her as her elbows buckle and her hips jerk forward. Lexa finds a well-practiced rhythm after that and works Clarke all the way to climax until the movement of her hips becomes erratic and she is no longer able to string together coherent profanity.

The comedown is soft and fun, quiet giggles and breathless kisses. Clarke collapses onto the mattress beside her, arms and legs finally relieved of their tension, and Lexa curls onto her side so that she can rest a hand onto Clarke’s stomach where she lies flat on her back.

Lexa is so content, she feels like her body might levitate in a boneless mass above the bed. Clarke’s breathing is still coming to rest, and Lexa watches her hand rise and fall with each inhale and exhale.

Into the greying stillness of the bedroom, Clarke asks, “Hey, what time are you supposed to meet Lincoln?”

The serenity Lexa had felt shatters in an instant. “Oh shit!” She flails about for a moment in search of her phone, having completely forgotten about her plans. “What time is it?”

She locates her phone before Clarke can answer. It’s already half past three, and Lexa’s stomach plummets. The text from Lincoln says: where you at?

“Are you late?” Clarke has come to sit behind her where Lexa’s legs hang off the mattress near the bedside table where she’d found her phone. Lexa feels soft kisses against her shoulderblade. “What did he say?”

Below Lincoln’s text is a picture of two full pints of beer sitting on a bar counter. She holds her phone at an angle so that Clarke can see Lincoln’s texts.

Lexa runs a hand through her hair as her heart hammers from the sudden jolt of adrenaline. “Shit.”

More than the shame of accidentally standing up one of her closest friends, Lexa dreads the fallout of this enormous misstep because Lincoln is never going to let her live this down. Worse yet, there is a good chance that he’ll share the story with Anya, which will mean, essentially, Lexa can never again return home.

“Why don’t you get dressed and go? I can drop you off,” Clarke offers sweetly, still pressing reassuring kisses along her back.

“I’m going to ask him if we can reschedule,” Lexa decides.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Lexa answers, turning her head to smile at Clarke over her shoulder. “I don’t

really feel like putting on pants at the moment.”

Clarke kisses her shoulder cap and grins in return. “You’ll get no argument from me there.”

“Let me give him a call really quickly.” Lexa reaches for a shirt on the floor—something of Clarke’s she’d worn to bed the night before—and stands to slip it over her head. Something about calling a close friend while completely naked and still coming down from an orgasm makes her slightly uncomfortable.

“Take your time,” Clarke tells her, also rising from the unkept sheets and blankets to pull her hair back into its messy bun. “I’m going to go downstairs and reheat our drinks from earlier.” She tugs at the hem of Lexa’s tee shirt and places a kiss at the corner of her mouth on her way to the bathroom. “Do you want a snack, too?”

“Okay.”

Lexa grins, following after Clarke’s lips as she starts to move away. A soft hold on her wrist is enough encouragement for Clarke to lean up into another kiss, reminding Lexa just how shaky her legs still feel from their exertions in bed. Perhaps sustenance to replenish her blood sugar is necessary instead of relying solely on a steady drip of oxytocins.

Lexa appreciates the view of Clarke’s retreating backside even in the fading light of the bedroom as the sun has started to move towards the horizon. She runs a hand through her wild curls and exhales, preparing to make her phone call while perched on the edge of the mattress.

Lincoln answers on the first ring. “Hey, buddy. Did you get lost?”

“Something like that,” Lexa says. “Clarke and I went for coffee, and then I sort of … lost track of time.”

“Say no more,” Lincoln laughs. “It’s your turn to ditch me for a girl now, right? I hope the sex was worth it.”

The fact that she is wearing nothing more than a thin tee shirt has Lexa covering her face with her hand. “Lincoln, I didn’t—”

His laughter persists, and Lexa wonders how loud it must be within the confines of the bar. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. It’s totally fine. Honestly, I’d be more upset if you weren’t standing me up for time with Clarke right now.”

“I’m really sorry, Linc. I can be down there in like fifteen minutes.”

“Don’t you dare.” For the first time since he’s answered the call, Lincoln’s voice takes on a serious tone. “I swear to god, if you show up here, I’m frogmarching your ass right back to Clarke’s house.”

“Okay, fine,” Lexa laughs. “Let’s hang out early next week though. Beers on me.”

“Don’t even worry about it. I’m serious. I actually ran into some people from the gym plus the rep from Two Roads is here doing a tasting—I’m good, I promise.”

“I’m going to make this up to you,” Lexa reiterates. Despite Lincoln’s assurances, her guilt does not fully dissipate.

Clarke chooses this moment to step out of the bathroom, wearing just as much clothing as when she’d gone in, and Lexa’s brain lags at the sight. Her expression seems to be asking if everything is okay, and Lexa smiles in response.

“Lex, would you stop? Tell Clarke I said hi, and I’ll see you at work on Monday. Oh, hey, ask her if she’s tried the new session IPA from Two Roads. It’s intensely enjoyable.”

“Okay. I will.” She smiles up at Clarke, who has stopped to stand in front of her after slipping into a tee shirt and sweatpants. Lexa’s hand settles on Clarke’s hip like a magnet snapping into place. “Clarke says hi, too.”

“Sorry, Lincoln!” Clarke says, projecting her voice towards the receiver while tucking strands of curls behind Lexa’s ear. “It’s all my fault.”

There is more laughter down the line before Lincoln reiterates that everything is fine and he could never actually be angry with either of them.

:::

“So, since when do you source your unhealthy caffeine intake from elsewhere?”

“Huh?” Clarke smiles.

They’ve taken up seats at Clarke’s kitchen island with their reheated drinks from the coffee shop and Clarke’s version of a snack: smoked turkey and cheddar sandwiches on toasted potato rolls with homemade aioli.

They’re both wearing slightly altered versions of the same outfit—soft tee shirts and loose sweatpants, Clarke’s cut off into shorts so that Lexa’s fingers are continuously tempted to trail across all of the exposed skin within reach.

She sips her tea and returns Clarke’s smile.

“The barista at the coffee shop seemed shocked to see you,” she clarifies. “Don’t you practically pay rent there by spending so much of your time buying their coffee?”

For a brief moment, Clarke can’t seem to find her voice. She practically chokes on her sandwich, taking longer than expected to swallow her first bite. Lexa raises an eyebrow expectantly as their drinks emit swirling strands of steam into the air between them.

“I—I could ask you the same,” Clarke volleys back, not unkindly, as she dabs the corner of her mouth with a napkin and reaches for her coffee. “Morgan seemed just as surprised to see you there.”

Lexa bites her lip and looks away. She had asked out of genuine curiosity and confusion, and now it seems yet another bout of confessions is forthcoming.

She clears her throat. “Do you have any beer, actually?”

Clarke laughs lightly before shifting her expression into something like mild offense.

“Um, hi. My entire existence is practically centered around craft beer—do you even know me?”

“Right,” Lexa laughs. “Stupid question. Would you like one?”

“Again: do you even know me?”

Lexa starts to slide off her stool with a bright smile that belies the low buzz of nerves she is withstanding as an unspoken conversation simmers between them. Clarke is dislodging their legs from where they had sat in a close tangle at the island. “Stay,” she directs her, brushing a kiss to her temple. “I’ll get them.”

Once Lexa has pulled open the fridge door, she turns to look at Clarke over her shoulder. “Do you have a preference? Lincoln was asking if you’d tried the new IPA from Two Roads.”

“Are you actively avoiding answering my question by distracting me with beer inquiries?”

Lexa pinches her lips together to ward off a sheepish admission, and Clarke rolls her eyes affectionately. “Look on the left hand side, bottom shelf.”

Lexa ducks down to retrieve two brightly colored cans of IPA before closing the fridge door and returning to the island. “Not to split hairs, but technically, you avoided my question first.”

“Okay, fine,” Clarke sighs dramatically. She takes one last dreg from her coffee before shoving it away in favor of the can of beer Lexa has just opened for her. “I was—” Clarke actually ducks her head so that Lexa can see her thick eyelashes fluttering “—I was afraid I would run into you during the, uh, when we—”

“Broke up?” Lexa supplies. She is still holding a small smile for Clarke when blue eyes finally snap up to meet hers.

It had felt like that. A relationship ending—a significant one at that. And, Lexa had been left broken in the aftermath.

“I was going to say when we stopped talking,” Clarke continues. “But, it was more than that. It did feel like a break up. And, we didn’t decide anything—I cut communications all on my own.”

“Clarke—”

“I’m really sorry, Lexa.”

Lexa is already shaking her head, part disbelief at what she’s hearing, part exasperation that Clarke has mistakenly absorbed all of the blame.

“Clarke, I know you have this bizarre obsession with always being right, but I can assure you—what happened in November was all on me.”

“I just vanished, Lexa. I didn’t even tell you why or allow you to explain anything.” Clarke’s eyes are downcast and her voice softens in unmistakable regret as she fiddles the silver tab on her beer. “I freaked out and hid away. And, it was really shitty.”

Lexa can’t help the way her mind creates distinctions between Clarke and Costia—the contrast of Costia’s distance from their relationship to Clarke’s sudden disappearance. With Costia, it had often felt like abandonment and disregard. The space between them had been a disappointment, a mild discomfort that Lexa sustained over time. Losing Clarke—and it had felt like that, as if she turned around one day and panicked to find Clarke had vanished—left her devastated and painfully bereft.

“Not seeing you was horrible. Not being able to talk to you was even worse. But, I’m glad you stepped back and took that space. It was shitty, but not because you did anything wrong.”

“I hated not seeing you, too,” Clarke admits, and they share another small smile across the kitchen island, tinged with a distant, remembered sadness.

“I couldn’t avoid Dockside, contractually, but I—I didn’t want to encroach upon your other spaces.”

“So, you stopped going to the coffee shop.”

Lexa confirms with a short nod and takes the first sip of her beer. She’s glad they’ve had this talk, but she’s also more than eager to segue out of November’s gloom that is better left in the past. She takes a cleansing breath and sets down her beer.

“In the end, I was glad you created that barrier between us, Clarke. I was miserable, and Lincoln will tell you that I was insufferable to be around, but it made me realize what a massive idiot I’d been.”

Her admission elicits an actual laugh, and Clarke shakes her head fondly. “So much for that Ivy League education.”

There’s a lot more that could be said, and it’s a much longer conversation that they will likely parse out at some point. But, today has been exceptionally good, and Lexa isn’t quite ready to lose the momentum of their good moods. Even for the sake of honesty.

“I’m a slow learner,” Lexa shrugs.

“Based on the activities that occurred in my bedroom this afternoon, I can attest to that being entirely untrue,” Clarke says, voice pitched low and taunting.

At the return of Clarke’s brazen flirting and sly smile, Lexa ducks her head as her cheeks warm. Because, despite the fact that they have spent a good portion of the afternoon swapping orgasms, she still sees Clarke as her best friend, in many ways, who she has only recently had the distinct pleasure of seeing naked.

“I’m sort of a quick study in that department,” Lexa smirks.

“I’ve noticed,” Clarke laughs. They sip their beers in weighted silence for a few beats, sharing glances as they drink, and then Clarke adds to the mounting tension by asking, “So, when do I get to hear more about this date?”

“The details of the date itself are highly classified,” Lexa explains in all seriousness, despite her stomach swooping.

“Classified, huh?” Clarke laughs into another sip of beer.

“Do I honestly strike you as someone who is going to halfass a first date?”

“You don’t strike me as a person who has halfassed anything in their entire life.”

“Correct,” Lexa smiles. She shifts smoothly along the island’s edge until she is again stood on the same side as Clarke, who accepts Lexa’s proximity with a slow-spreading smile. “You know, I could potentially be persuaded to provide a sneak peek of some post-date activities,” she offers, already moving to enter Clarke’s space more fully as their drinks are gingerly slid a good distance away.

She slowly spins Clarke’s stool just enough that she can slot between her legs, and Clarke is already leaning into the touch as Lexa’s hands curve around her jaw. The kiss is like regaining breath after being submerged under water. Their conversation on past events hadn’t been strenuous, by any means, but Lexa registers a sense of relief to have resumed their previous activities all the same.

She sinks into the warmth of Clarke’s lips and tongue, exhaling after several, languid moments. When her hands move to slide up the length of Clarke’s thighs, eliciting a distinctly strained exhale as Lexa teases her fingers beneath the cut-off edge of Clarke’s shorts, it’s abundantly clear where they’re both headed.

They make it as far as the sofa.

Lexa can’t be bothered to maneuver the stairs when there are so many other available surfaces on which to make Clarke slowly shake apart. She does so on her knees while making good on her earlier intents to spend a long stretch of time between Clarke’s legs. The last shards of sunlight are nearly gone, leaving them in golden shadows and dim light from the kitchen while Clarke moans soft encouragements and cards her fingers through Lexa’s hair. There is no rush, no urgency, hardly a sense of time moving at all. Lexa feels calm and confident, content to bring Clarke closer to release at a measured pace as she begins to gently rock against the pressure of Lexa’s tongue. Everything feels languid and slow, like running through water.

It’s not lost on her, as Clarke’s orgasm eventually echoes through the quiet house, heels pressing into her back and Clarke’s fingers threaded into her hair, that this very sofa had been the impetus for their time apart. The innocence of that encounter, as she and Clarke gave in to the comforts of shared sleep, had propelled them toward a shift in their relationship. Looking back, everything that has transpired between them since that singular event seems inevitable.

Falling asleep with Clarke that first time had been rife with implications that they would eventually end up right back here: a cozy, nondescript, weekend night spent on Clarke’s couch with nowhere to go.

The insignificance of an otherwise mundane Saturday is outweighed by the way Lexa’s mouth curves into an easy smile as she kisses the warm skin of Clarke’s inner thigh. Clarke is coming down from the aftershocks of a slow-rolling orgasm when Lexa registers a sharp uptick in her heart rate as they lock eyes while Clarke is still catching her breath.

And, this too holds weight—for all their recent honesty, there are still things Lexa has left unsaid.

“Get up here,” Clarke gently demands. Lexa complies without pause.

Clarke’s sated and satisfied groans melt into scratched laughter that dovetails with their kiss, and the magnitude of what Lexa feels is underscored as their mouths meet.

“I’m going to be honest with you,” Clarke tells her some breath of time later, when Lexa has moved from the floor to the sofa at Clarke’s urging. “If this type of activity is in the cards for date night, I don’t really give a shit what the actual date itself looks like.”

They lay along the length of the sofa, limbs over lapping at certain intervals, and Lexa’s hand flat against Clarke’s stomach beneath her tee shirt.

“Good to know I can scale back my efforts,” Lexa smirks, feeling no less satisfied that she has reduced Clarke’s expectations with one, albeit exemplary, late-afternoon orgasm.

Clarke’s laughter echoes Lexa’s contentment, and her smile grows. She can feel the subtle shaking of Clarke’s diaphragm beneath her fingertips.

“This has been such a good day,” Clarke says, adding further reinforcement to Lexa’s equally satisfied mood. “I really like having your here. Have I mentioned that?”

Lexa grins into Clarke’s close gaze and presses her lips to the edges of Clarke’s smile. “Once or twice.”

“Lincoln is the kindest, most-deserving creature on the planet, but I’m really glad you stayed here instead. Just this once.”

Lexa’s contented smile slips and she nearly groans as her head falls onto the armrest. “I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

“What do you mean?” Clarke laughs.

“I pride myself in being reliable—no excuses. If I say I’ll be there, I’ll be there. Especially when it comes to Lincoln or Anya.” Lexa exhales and glances up to find Clarke’s eyes. “The fact that I neglected our plans for—”

“The best sex of your life?” Clarke supplies with swagger. Lexa’s smile returns without her consent. “I mean, you looked like you were about to say: the best sex of your life.”

As laughter bubbles up from her chest, it vanquishes Lexa’s lingering criticisms about her snap decision to break plans with Lincoln. Clarke’s commentary is a reductive synopsis, at best, but also not entirely untrue. “Yes. Something like that.”

A beat of silence passes and then Clarke says, “If you’re worried he’s going to give you a hard time about breaking plans, wait until you tell him you proposed.”

She buries her face against Clarke’s shoulder to the delighted rasp of Clarke’s giggling laughter and concludes, yet again, that it is the absolute best sound in the world, even at her own expense.

:::

#a pleasant undoing #brewkru!#a beer bud series #clexa fic

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homeformyheart · 4 years ago

Text

simply be mine - adam du mortain x f!detective (twc)

author’s note: i needed to write a fluff piece after my last fic, “cottage by the sea,” and got inspiration while listening to a couple songs (see prompt line below) for a new years’ eve party fic. i hope you enjoy!

copyright: all characters, except my oc detective, are owned by mishka jenkins @seraphinitegames. series/pairing: the wayhaven chronicles – adam du mortain x f!detective (regina bishop) rating/warnings: 14+; descriptions of drinking word count: 3.1k based on/prompt: “only girl in the world” by rihanna / “one and only” by adele summary: adam struggles to understand why anyone would care about human new years’ eve traditions, but when he finds out regina enjoys them, he finds himself intrigued.

simply be mine

when regina walked into the warehouse living room an hour before the agency’s new years’ eve party, she was pleasantly surprised to see unit bravo somewhat dressed up, even if they were standing around brooding like usual. she was both surprised and excited that she was invited to attend as well, without having to be someone’s plus one, even though she had been assured by both nate and farah that they would’ve invited her. she giggled internally at the memory of farah practically jumping off the walls of the warehouse living room in excitement, yelling what seemed like a hundred words per minute about going shopping and getting ready together.

she quickly learned that the rest of unit bravo hated attending agency work functions and avoided them as much as they could. however, everyone was “strongly encouraged” to attend the new years’ eve party, which she gathered from both morgan and adam that what the agency meant was “we better see you there or we’ll give you the worst cases next year.” she thought they were probably exaggerating a tiny bit, but let it slide.

perhaps to make up for the fact that they’d have to spend the night in a brightly lit and loud room for several hours with colleagues they didn’t care for, regina found that unit bravo had already started pregaming before she arrived, and they pregamed hard. she saw firsthand the sheer amount of alcohol they needed to consume just to feel a little buzzed.

another rare upside to being human, regina noted, a couple of shots of any brown liquor and she was good to go. of course, she only managed one shot of nate’s vintage prohibition-era whiskey before he snatched it away and started lecturing her on its rarity and history and had to settle for farah’s tequila.

“regina, do a shot with me!” farah practically screamed, bounding over to her with a half-empty bottle of tequila and limes in one hand and a pinch of salt in the palm of her other hand.

“who taught you how to do a tequila shot?” she asked incredulously as farah poured a generous shot for them both and handed her a lime.

“i looked it up online!” she said with such a proud look on her face that regina could only smile fondly at the person who had become her best friend on the team.

they both knocked back the shots and cringed, the salt and limes providing little relief to the burn; regina could only assume it was maybe ten times worse for farah. but then farah drained whatever was left in the bottle and let out a loud whoop before wrapping regina up in a big hug.

“i am soooooooo glad we get to celebrate with youuu!! you are the best person on this teammmmmm, after me, of course,” farah shouted and regina couldn’t help but laugh.

adam raised an eyebrow. “you mean she’s the best human on the team, don’t you, farah?”

“nopeeeeeeeeeeee. regina’s the bestttttttttt of us and you can’t convince me otherwiseeeee,” she said in a singsong voice, much to everyone else’s annoyance.

“hey farah, why don’t you put on some pre-party music?” regina suggested. farah’s eyes lit up and she sped away and disappeared before regina could blink.

she felt adam’s large presence behind her, casting a figurative shadow over her in the living room. the room was softly lit by the chandelier farah herself had selected, much to morgan’s annoyance. regina let herself lean back slightly without actually touching adam’s chest, knowing it would tempt him to wrap his hands around her waist.

except he only kept one hand hovering near her hip as he said in a low murmur, “you really shouldn’t encourage her, you know.”

the corner of her lips twitched as though it wanted to break into a smile, but regina knew adam wouldn’t appreciate being teased about being a ‘stick in the mud’ considering each member of unit bravo took their turn throughout the day telling him to lighten up.

“you know she’s not going to stop, so just let her have her fun,” she winked as a familiar song started vibrating through the walls, followed by farah’s vocals. “we’ll be heading out soon anyway.”

morgan let out a sound that was a cross between a loud huff and a growl as she stomped outside, cigarettes in hand.

“i want you to love me, like a hot ride,” farah sang out as she appeared in the living room, twirling gracefully as she leaped over the table to land in front of regina. “be thinking of me, doing what you like.”

regina laughed as adam sighed loudly, intending obviously for them to hear, before he walked over to where nate was leaning against the bookshelf with a glass of wine. she immediately missed the warmth of his body behind her, or rather, the tingle she got in her spine from the prospect of his touch. she took a long sip of her whiskey, willing herself to actually enjoy tonight and not dwell on the lack of progress between her and adam.

“come on, regina, sing with me!” farah grabbed her hand and started twirling her around, whatever was left of the whiskey sloshing out of the glass and on to the floor.

“want you to make me feel, like i’m the only girl in the world,” regina belted alongside farah, throwing her head back. “like i’m the only one you’ll ever love; like i’m the only one who knows your heart.”

farah grabbed the wine bottle on the table by nate before he could intervene and put it to her mouth like a microphone. “only girl in the worlddddd,” she crooned, before collapsing into a giggling fit on the couch, bringing regina down with her.

despite wanting to roll his eyes at farah’s antics, even nate couldn’t help but smile at how cheerful his family was and how nice it was to celebrate the holidays together.

“we should get going soon,” he said, finishing his glass of wine.

“no, wait, regina’s not dressed!” farah said, immediately standing and pulling regina up with her.

“what are you talking about? i am dressed,” regina protested, motioning toward her tailored dress pants and blouse.

farah wrinkled her nose. “oh honey, no. this is a fancy party and you need to dress like it. come on!” before she could protest further, farah had dragged her back toward her room.

* * * * * “you know, regina might appreciate it if you partake in some new years’ traditions,” nate said quietly, glancing over at his longtime friend, who was staring out the window.

adam looked over at him with one eyebrow raised. “and what traditions would that be?”

nate smiled mischievously. “well, the one that seems to be really popular among humans is kissing someone at midnight.”

nate could feel adam’s shoulders tense a fraction of a second before he saw the physical movement itself. “that is an impractical and inane tradition. i would think the detective to be above such childish antics.”

now it was nate’s turn to raise an eyebrow at him. “and i think she’d appreciate the romantic gesture. it’s not childish to want to ring in the new year with someone you care for.”

before adam could retort, the sound of heels clacking along the hallway and the gentle swishing movement of fabric drew his attention toward the only thing that was capable of unraveling centuries of carefully architected walls with a single glance. regina appeared in the living room, farah’s arm looped in hers, dressed in a strapless black floor-length gown with a sweetheart neckline and slit that went all the way up to her mid-thigh.

adam’s eyes followed the length of the slit; the creamy complexion of her skin drawing him in. his gaze traced the way the fabric clung to her curves, dipping at the waist before cupping her chest. her hair was styled in soft waves to one side, leaving her collarbone and neck exposed. he didn’t realize his eyes were continuing to trace the delicate lines of her neck and jaw, before they landed on her red lips. they were lighter than blood and yet, just as, if not more, enticing to him.

he watched as the corner of those luscious lips quirked up into a smirk, which seemed to snap him out of his trance. his gaze shot upward to meet her teasing blue ones, not realizing that his feet seemed to move of their own accord until he was standing right in front of her.

“can i help you, commanding agent du mortain?” regina said, the low and sultry tone of her voice sending warmth south in an unfamiliar, but not wholly unpleasant way.

adam’s throat suddenly felt dry – an odd, human-like sensation that made him pause, until he realized that regina was suddenly very close. too close. he inwardly begged his legs to take a step back, but they wouldn’t budge, and he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to anyway.

“your… dress. it’s impractical. what if you were to get attacked?” he said slowly after clearing his throat, clasping his hands behind his back.

regina smiled and gazed up at him knowingly, a look that was both infuriating and intoxicating. as though she could read every piece of his soul back to him and love all of him anyway.

“don’t worry, i have my volt gun strapped to my thigh, see?” she reached for his hand, her touch sending a jolt up his arm that would worry him for medical reasons if he were human, but instead was stoking a deep primal urge within him as she moved it toward the back of her thigh.

the familiar rectangular gun was firm underneath his fingers and even though regina had let go of his hand, he held on, not quite allowing himself to graze her skin, but feeling her body heat at the tips of his fingertips all the same.

“besides, i know you all will be keeping an eye on me,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him. adam could hear the flutter of each lash against the air and found himself wondering how they’d feel against his skin as she kissed her way down his chest.

“of course, i— i mean, we, won’t let anything happen to you,” he said, moving his hand back behind him, flexing it once before resuming his stance.

“well, i only care that you are keeping an eye on me, commanding agent,” she said, giving him a flirty wink before putting on her coat and following farah out to the car.

adam let out an audible groan and rubbed his face with his hands. nate clasped a hand on his shoulder and he looked over to see his best friend was smirking at him.

“it’s okay. but if you’re going to pretend like there’s nothing between you all night, then you won’t mind if we all take turns dancing with her, right?” his smile only widened as adam’s mouth parted in stunned surprise. “come on or we’ll be late.”

* * * * * adam stood, tense and rigid, in a corner of the ballroom near the balcony doors with morgan, who ducked out every so often when the lights and sounds got to be too much, while nate and farah took turns dancing with regina. it baffled him how an entire room full of trained agents could let themselves potentially be compromised by partaking in such celebratory activities. even his own team, although he would admit only to himself that they needed the break.

farah loved the upbeat songs that allowed her to twirl regina around as fast as she could, and he wondered how regina could handle what must be incredibly dizzying and nauseating for a human. and then there was nate, who took advantage of the slow ballads and classic waltzing music sprinkled throughout the evening, to lead regina around in simple box steps. it was very unlike adam to care what his team did during events like this, as long as they behaved themselves, but something about how nate would lean in every once in a while to say something and make regina laugh made him want to crush every glass in sight.

he crossed his arms and glared at the back of nate’s head, knowing he was doing this to antagonize him, somehow. he felt his gaze unwillingly soften, however, whenever he felt regina’s eyes glance over at him. he quickly looked away when he realized she was walking toward him, surveying the room as though he was being vigilant.

“not fond of dancing?” she asked, the words coming out in soft gasps as she sought to catch her breath.

“i don’t see the point,” he said quickly, the defensiveness in his tone catching even him by surprise. surely, he didn’t need to explain himself.

“sometimes things don’t have to have a point to be enjoyable,” she offered, her voice pleasantly cutting through the din of the party. “and i really like dancing.”

regina let out a soft hum as nate arrived and handed her a drink. she drank it gratefully, giving nate a gentle smile that made adam grit his teeth. morgan appeared next to her and swiftly took regina’s drink, finishing it despite her half-hearted protest.

“so, regina, what is your favorite new years’ eve tradition?” nate asked, hiding his smile behind his glass of wine and ignoring adam’s pointed glare.

“oh well, i always like how excited everyone gets and parties like this are definitely fun,” regina answered, pausing for just a moment to look down at her glass hesitantly before continuing, “but the best one is of course getting to kiss someone at midnight.”

“it’ll be midnight soon, do you have anyone you plan to kiss yet?” morgan asked, slinging an arm around regina’s shoulders. “i’m free at midnight, if you’re interested.”

adam cleared his throat. “that would be unprofessional, agent.”

morgan brought another cigarette to her lips. nate stopped her hand with the lighter and motioned to the balcony. “let’s get some air, morgan, and leave these two alone.”

“sure, if you think that means he’ll actually kiss her before i do,” morgan snickered, too soft for regina to hear but it was obviously directed at adam.

a soft romantic melody started playing over the speakers; a love ballad that regina was familiar with, judging by the way she started humming along and swaying gently in place.

i don't know why i'm scared i've been here before every feeling, every word i've imagined it all you'll never know if you never try to forget your past and simply be mine

regina blinked at adam’s sudden appearance in front of her, his large figure towering over hers and blocking the chandelier from her sight.

“you like this song.” it technically wasn’t a question.

“um, i guess?” she asked, puzzled.

“you should dance,” he said, his hands itching to reach for hers.

regina tilted her head to the side and looked up at him searchingly, her blue eyes delicately framed by her long dark lashes. “are you asking me to dance?”

he pursed his lips into a thin, straight line. “you would need a partner, and seeing as no one else is around, i can… dance with you. if you’d like.”

her eyebrows shot up in surprise. she was not expecting adam du mortain to willingly admit to asking her to dance. she quickly looked around and noticed that most of the agents had gone out on the balcony to watch the fireworks.

she smiled and tucked her hand gently into his and led him to the dance floor. they settled into a swaying rhythm as regina wrapped her arms around his neck. adam hesitantly placed his hands on her waist, and a sweet heat bloomed throughout her body, making her feel flushed.

“i thought dancing was pointless?” she asked teasingly after encouraging him to shift his weight between his feet to match her movements.

adam lowered his head, as if he didn’t want anyone reading his lips or hearing what he was about to say. “with you… it doesn’t seem that way.”

regina shook her head fondly. “you continue to surprise me, commanding agent.”

i dare you to let me be your, your one and only i promise i'm worthy to hold in your arms so come on and give me the chance to prove i am the one who can walk that mile until the end starts

“i hope so,” he muttered quietly. “i have lived over nine centuries, yet every day with you seems new and uncertain.”

regina was afraid to ruin the moment by saying anything and decided to step closer and rest her head on his shoulder instead. she smiled when his hands tightened around her waist, bunching the fabric in a way that she was sure would leave wrinkles.

“10…9…8”

her head shot up at the sound of the crowd outside counting down the last few seconds to the new year. “i didn’t realize it was almost midnight, we should go join everyone.”

adam’s green eyes bore into hers and she was close enough that she could see little specks of gold reflected in them from the chandeliers and ornate décor throughout the room. “you… you want to kiss mor—ahem, someone at midnight.”

“7…6…5”

“oh, i didn’t mean anything by it,” she said quickly, giving him a reassuring smile. she tried taking a step back only to find that adam was holding her tightly in place.

“but it’s a tradition you enjoy.” it was a statement, but he was looking for confirmation while trying to maintain his composure despite his heart hammering so loudly in his chest he thought regina would be able to hear it.

“4…3…2”

she dropped her hands from his shoulders and let them rest on his chest, fiddling with the lapels of his jacket nervously. “oh well, i— i suppose with someone i care for, yes.”

the final second and cheers from the balcony faded into the background as adam leaned forward and touched his lips lightly to hers; they were softer than he imagined, even with the layer of faded lipstick between them.

regina’s body instinctively arched closer to his as she sought to deepen the kiss, her hands scrambling for some part of his shirt she could hold on to. she barely registered that it was over all too soon as adam pulled back, her head spinning from the kiss in a good way.

“happy new year, detective,” he whispered hoarsely, resting his forehead against hers briefly before stepping back and walking away.

regina touched her lips to savor the pleasant tingling feeling the kiss had left behind. happy new year indeed.

* * * * * mentions: @kelseaaa; @kat-tia801; @anotherbeingsworld; @crackerdumortain; @pearlsandsteel; @gloynporslen; @sosolenoo; @alyssalauren; @wayhavenots; @gingerbreton; @takemyopenheart; @writer-ish; @fhauvilles;

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lame-adventures · 4 years ago

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Authors Note: So I know this is more than a week late but I got really busy and haven’t had a chance to publish it until now. I considered abandoning this, but I want to make it apart of holiday themed series. Enjoy!

A perfect Halloween

October 31st, 2020 - A Muggle Quarantine AU

“Oh bloody hell.” Lily murmured to herself, taking in the messy sight of her bathroom. “James! Harry! Get your butts in here.” She stuck her head out the bathroom door and hollered down the hallway.

“Yes love?” James Potter said, clambering down the hallway, holding his two year old daughter at his waist.

“What is it Mum?” Harry asked politely, hoping to avoid an overly-dramatic scolding from a nine-month pregnant Lily Potter.

“Someone care to explain?” Lily said, gesturing to the mess scattered throughout their bathroom.

Wet towels sat in piles on the floor, a whole roll of toilet paper was wrapped across the sink and shaving cream had been sprayed into the toilet itself.

“What the-?”James began, stopping himself from cussing in front of his children.

“Mum you’re a nutter. I would never.” Harry began lamely, rolling his eyes.

Lily eyed him suspiciously, her thirteen year old boy had been known to stir up quite a bit of mischief. And being quarantined inside for the past eight months, had spurred a new level of prankster in the boy.

(Of course it didn’t help that her husband egged on their child every chance he got.)

“Harry James.” James began sternly, his daughter shyly nuzzling her head deep into his shoulder. “This is too far.”

“I didn’t do that.” Harry whined, “I’m not a bloody child.”

“Oi. Language!” Lily snapped at him, she crossed her arms delicately on top of her protruding belly, and tapped her foot anxiously.

“Well? Who did this then?” James asked, setting down the two year old Sophie.

“Why doesn’t Hannah ever get this sort of inquisition?” Harry asked, referring to his eleven year old sister.

“Why are you using words like inquisition?” Lily asked while James bellowed down the stairs for Hannah to join them upstairs.

The Potter’s were, of course, a very rambunctious bunch. Constantly bugging each other and playing childish pranks. But Hannah took after her Mother, the same brightly colored ginger hair and vivid green eyes. Childish pranks were not Hannah’s forte, and her eyes went wide at the mess of the bathroom once she finally met the rest of her family upstairs.

“Oh,” She said, somewhat sheepishly, eyes turned downwards. “That was Sophie.”

“Soph?” James asked incredulously, the two year old in question cowered behind her Mother’s legs.

“Yup it was all Sophie. I saw her a little while ago, before you guys got up.” Hannah tattled.

“And why? In Gods name,” Lily began lowly, “did you not stop her?”

“Or get us?”

“Not my responsibility,” Hannah said firmly placing her hands on her hips.

“Han.” Harry said lowly. “You know this isn’t fair to Mum and Dad.”

“Well Dad kept yelling at me for being a tattletale.” She replied, a knowing smirk growing on her face. It was true in fact, that James had scolded her several times over the past few months for consistent need to tell her Mum and Dad whenever Harry did something slightly wrong.

“Welp. I’m going to put Soph in time out.” Lily said, bending down slightly to pick up the two year old who now sat innocently on the floor, sucking contently on her pacifier and purposely ignoring the conflict in front of her.

“You got this?” Lily asked James, before walking down the long hallway to their shared bedroom.

Lily heard yelling and groaning behind her as she shut the bedroom door, eyeing the armchair that sat in the corner of her bedroom. It had a pile of clothes on it, and with her free arm, Lily pushed the clothes on to the floor and set the squirmy toddler down.

She squatted as best as she could, with her large tummy in the way, and met Sophie’s eye level.

“You do not play in the bathroom.” Lily spoke sternly. “You do not make messes.”

The toddler stared at her mother, suppressing a smile as she sucked on her pacifier.

“This is not funny Sophie Lynn Potter.”

Sophie squealed in response, and Lily groaned loudly in frustration, standing up and pulling the pacifier out of Sophie’s mouth. This prompted the girl to begin screaming, and Lily walked towards her dressing table in agitation.

Her baby sat low inside her, kicking a sore spot near her ribs all morning, and Lily was in no mood to put up with screaming a two year old and bickering children.

It was the morning Halloween; normally her kids would be bouncing with excitement at the thought of classroom Halloween parties, and a night of trick or treating. Unfortunately this year, their new normal involved isolation inside their home while the world raged on outside in a mix of political chaos and a health crisis.

Lily still shudders thinking back to March earlier that year, in the same week the world had shut down and Lily had found out she was pregnant with her fourth child.

For the safety of both her and her unborn baby it was decided Lily would not leave their home at all, lest she come into contact with the virus. And Therefore, Lily has not left her home in eight months.

She looked sadly into her mirror, and took in her worn down appearance. At 33, Lily was at the typical age in which one would have babies. She was always attending some sort of baby shower event for her work colleagues, so getting pregnant at this age was completely normal. Of course she and James had done things a bit out of the normal when they started their family. James was at university, working on being scouted by some of the national football teams, while Lily was working towards a degree in journalism. They had only been dating for eight months when Lily fell pregnant for the first time. They were terrified of course, having a child so young, with so many unknowns of their future hanging in front of them. But once Lily gave birth to Harry, and she held him in her arms for the first time, they fell in love with the baby boy.

James earned a spot on Manchester United’s team, as a second string forward, and Lily got a job as a political commentator for BuzzFeed England. They bought a three story townhouse in the bustling downtown area of Manchester and got married on a chilly Halloween night, soon after they learned that Lily was once again pregnant.

Hannah was born, and for eight years the young family of four lived boisterously and happily. Her friends fawned over her children, and her co-workers cooed in delight when she announced once again she was pregnant when she was 30.

Sophie joined the Potter family in May, albeit her addition was unexpected, and Lily’s children were thrown for a loop with the shock of having to share their parents. Sophie was welcomed with so much overwhelming love that the youngest Potter quickly became spoiled with attention.

When the world locked down, and the five Potter’s learned that they would become six, Lily had been shaken with anxiety this time around. Frustrated with her government, growing bored with being home bound and irritated with her kids constantly yelling, Lily felt like crying.

She buried her face in her hands, and felt her baby kick her gently on the inside. She smiled softly, with as shitty as 2020 had been, there would definitely be a good ending for the Potter family.

James walked into the room, and pointedly ignored the screaming two year old. James and Lily quickly learned that the best way to deal with Sophie’s tantrums was to not give her the attention she was acting out for.

He walked around the side of the bed and wrapped his arms around Lily.

“Happy Anniversary love.” He said, kissing her cheek. “I’m sorry our kids had to start the day out like this.”

“Eh,” she shrugged, sinking into his arms. “I’d be bored without the chaos.”

She moved away from him, peeling off the large tee-shirt she had stolen from him years earlier and threw on a bright orange sweater. A big pumpkin displayed proudly across her belly.

“I made Hannah clean up, Harry is supervising.”

“That’ll end well I’m sure.” She laughed, throwing her hair up into a sloppy ponytail.

“You still up for our plans tonight?” He asked, scooping up Sophie in his arms once she finally stopped crying, and sitting down in the arm chair. He picked up the remote and flicked on the Telly to the morning news.

“Yes, It’ll have to get done soon anyways.” She said, patting her tummy, and smiling when she felt a small kick near her hand. The baby was due in two weeks, and they had yet to put the nursery together.

With four children, their house would quickly become crowded and James had taken to several quarantine projects in effort to make more room for his family. He began with converting the upstairs attack into a room for Harry, complete with his own Telly, a new gaming system and a mini fridge. James then began the task of converting Harry’s old bedroom into a nursery for the new baby.

They had decided to wait on the sex of their child, and opted to paint the bedroom yellow. Marlene had come by a week prior and painted a mural of characters from Lily’s favorite book to read to her kids, Winnie the Pooh.

Harry and Hannah would be spending the evening at the Weasley’s and James’ Mother would be stopping by this afternoon to pick up Sophie for an evening of spoiling, giving James and Lily some much needed alone time. They had incredibly exciting plans, of eating take-away and preparing the nursery.

Soon enough, James had declared he was taking Harry and Hannah to the market to do a little bit of shopping, and Lily sat at home with Sophie. She planted the child in front of the Telly in her bedroom, whilst Lily sat on her bed, editing her latest article for Buzzfeed. This was the last article she had to write before starting maternity leave, and she was hellbent in making it one of her best ones yet.

Her back ached, and she sighed as she noticed Sophie beginning to get restless. Quarantine had been rough for everyone, and being locked up with a whiny toddler began to take a toll only Lily’s nerves.

She slammed her laptop shut and sighed out in frustration, taking in the sight of her daughter. The girl mimicked her Mother, with curly red hair and freckles skin. But she took James' playful smile, and his aptitude for mischief. It wasn’t Sophie’s fault that she misbehaved so often of course, she was bored. Two year olds needed to be out exploring the world, and Sophie was locked inside with her anxious parents.

When the shut downs began, Lily was still required to work. Most days, she was shut away, writing articles and having conferences over zoom. James hasn’t worked since March, and he was tasked with entertaining the kids most days.

Thankfully Harry and Hannah could occupy themselves with school, and once summer came around they got to see their friends again.

But poor Sophie rarely got the sole attention from her Mother anymore, and so Lily took this as an opportunity to spend some much needed one on one time with her youngest daughter.

They made sugar cookies, and the rest of her family came home to find Lily and Sophie sitting in a mess of orange icing, surrounded by dozens of pumpkin shaped cookies.

James presented Lily with a bouquet of sunflowers and she squealed in delight when Harry gave her a box of chocolates and a card.

“It’s from all of us.” He said nonchalantly. “Happy Anniversary.”

James grinned, rustling Harry’s hair and pointed towards a framed photo on the wall next to the stove. It was of James, Lily and Harry as a baby. The day they got married.

“It’s a shame you don’t remember it. You were throwing up from all the cake Uncle Sirius let you eat.”

“It was a beautiful day.” Lily said, shoving a cookie towards Harry. “Let’s not dwell on when Harry threw up all over me.”

At three that afternoon, Mia Potter entered their home, with bags of Halloween treats for Harry and Hannah. She came with her digital camera, demanding the kids get dressed in their costumes for an impromptu Halloween photo op. James had struggled to get Sophie into her Peppa Pig costume, and Harry and Hannah had squeezed into their wizard costumes from the previous year.

Lily begrudgingly got through the picture part of the afternoon, and sat patiently in the living room while James served the tea.

“Any signs of arrival?” Mia asked, the elder Mrs Potter was nearing eighty now. She waited nearly fifty years for her only son, and was more than thrilled when her grandchildren had been born.

“Not yet,” Lily said. “Unfortunately. I’m starting to feel like I’ll be pregnant forever. But I’m trying to enjoy it, because this is definitely the last one.”

“You said that after Hannah.” Mia reminded her.

“We mean it this time.” James said, sitting next to Lily and handing her a mug of tea. “We are stopping at four.”

“Yeah we are out of room here.” Harry said assuredly. “And you don’t want to turn into the Weasley’s.”

James laughed at that, he couldn’t even fathom seven children. The thought of having four was already quelling lots of new anxieties.

“Oh well. I’ve already got four perfect grandchildren.” Mia said, standing up and patting Hannah on the head.

“We best be getting off though, I have quite the evening planned for this sweet girl.” She said, picking up Sophie and kissed her cheek.

Lily kissed her goodbye, and made her way to the kitchen while James accompanied his Mother outside.

“Harry go help Mum clean up.” She heard Hannah whine.

“Well why don’t you?”

“You two better not bring this bickering over to the Weasley’s.” Lily interrupted the brewing fight.

“Sorry Mum.” Hannah said sheepishly, taking the kettle of her Mother’s hands. “We’ll behave.” She said pointedly, staring at Harry.

“Yes. I promise.” Harry said, kissing his mother’s cheek. “Enjoy your night with Dad.”

“What time are they expecting you lot?” Lily asked, leading the way to the kitchen.

“Dad said he’ll drive us over there at seven.” Harry said, moving to load the dishwasher.

“Make sure you take some of those cookies over there with you.” Lily said, it broke her heart slightly. That her kids were at the age where they would rather spend Halloween with their friends rather than their parents.

Halloween had always been a bit of a weird holiday for the Potter’s. It began in their first year of University, when James and Lily met at a party that James and his friends were throwing. Remus had practically begged Lily to join him at their party, insisting she would get along greatly with his friends. Lily’s roommate Marlene had excitedly encouraged Lily to “get drinks and get laid.” Lily did get laid that night, after immediately hitting it off with James. They spent hours talking together, laughing and drinking and dancing. They ended up in bed, in a drunken tangle of limbs, and Lily fell in love. (James had been in love the moment he laid eyes on her.)

The second Halloween spent together was presumed to be when Harry was conceived, again at a party that James had been throwing. Sirius had given Lily a brownie with a little “surprise ingredient,” and she had failed to make sure that James was using a condom that night.

They would never forget their fourth Halloween together. It left a number of scars, and an emotional strain on the young couple for years to come. It had begun with a disasterly dreadful dinner with her sister and her oaf of a husband. They had met at a posh restaurant near Lily’s hometown and the night had ended with Lily in tears after Petunia’s verbal attack. It was the same old conversation; that Lily was a disappointment to her Mother, that Lily was a freak, a failure. A slut for having a baby at such a young age.

She was silent as she walked to the car, hand in hand with James while he struggled to carry their crying infant son at his hip. She insisted on driving, that driving was calming, and James didn’t want to upset her further. He strapped his son into his car seat and climbed into the front seat, plugging in his phone and scrolling through his playlist to find Lily’s favorite artist.

He didn’t notice the red light, the rain was coming down too hard and he was focused on trying to calm the screaming baby in the back. A truck had barreled into them, flipping their car and nearly killing the young family.

Harry was left with a terrible scar on his forehead. The baby had a concussion and slept for days after the accident. James too had a concussion, and shattered his arm. Lily had been in a coma for nearly a month.

They nearly died that Halloween, James and Lily shudder at the thought of everything they could have lost. And they are thankful everyday for the family that they have.

The following year they decided to make Halloween into a happy memory. That morning Lily had taken a pregnancy test and a pink plus sign glared back at her. She cried for most of the morning, frustrated with her inability to use contraception. James was quick to ease Lily’s frustrations, reminding her that they wanted more kids in the future anyways, and that Harry was unplanned and ‘look at how good we are at making babies’. They took Harry Trick or Treating for the first time, dressed in a dog costume and laughed at Uncle Sirius’ tricks.

Afterwards they eloped, James had declared that they waited long enough, and they found a twenty four hour chapel. Halloween was the anniversary of when they met, and when they became a family. It was the day their family lived, and the day that their family was growing. It was the perfect day to get married.

Halloween in 2020 would be different of course. Harry and Hannah hadn’t bought costumes that year, and Sophie would miss out on her first chance to go trick or treating. Lily sat at her kitchen table and thought about this sadly, she had a few hours left before Harry and Hannah left and she wanted to make the most of it.

“Would you like to watch a movie?” She asked, smiling at her kids as they finished cleaning up from their afternoon tea.

“Erm.” Harry said, anxious to get upstairs on his Xbox before he left tonight.

“Han? C’mon guys. We never get time like this. We can watch something scary.”

Hannah agreed, and after Lily said she would make cheesy popcorn, Harry agreed too.

James joined them, and excitedly picked out The Conjuring declaring that Hannah was old enough to watch it.

Lily sat contently, as her daughter curled up next to her and they shared a bowl of popcorn. She observed James as he sat cross legged on the floor, leaning up against the couch, throwing popcorn at Harry.

Lily dozed off after a while, and her family dared not to wake her. Once the credits rolled, Lily stirred and found Harry and Hannah at the front door with their overnight bags.

“Behave.” She told Harry sternly, “I don’t want any calls from Mrs.Weasley tonight. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him Mum.”

“Please don’t.” James interjected, “that will just cause a fight. Don’t embarrass yourselves.”

Hannah rolled her eyes, and Lily laughed as she planted one last kiss on her daughter’s forehead.

“Any requests for dinner love?” James asked her before leaving to drive the kids to the Weasley's.

“Something fried.” Lily said, shutting the door behind him.

By the end of the night Lily was ready to sleep for a century. Once James had returned with bags of take-away, she had eaten her weight in fish and chips and spent the rest organizing the nursery. James had mastered putting cribs together by now, and had easily built this new one within an hour. He had put together the dresser, and was now working on the changing table while Lily began to organize the drawers of the dresser.

“You know this is probably going to be the last time we are alone for a long time.” James said, sitting down on the floor and throwing his tools back into the tool box.

“Yeah.” She bit her lip sadly, things were about to get chaotic. They both knew that when they decided to have a fourth baby. “I just wish this was happening at a different time. I mean I won’t even be able to give birth in a hospital. It’s really scary.”

“It’ll be alright.” He said, she moved to sit down next to him. It was awkward of course, she moved slowly, and James reached his arm around her waist to help steady her to the ground. She sat with her legs stretched out infront of her, and her hands resting carelessly on top of her belly.

“Just a few more weeks.” James mused, setting his hand on top of hers. “Are you nervous?”

“Very.” She nodded.

“Me too. But it’ll be fine.” He willed himself to believe it. He had hoped that the pandemic would have been controlled enough by now that Lily would be able to go to the hospital to deliver their baby. But her doctor had advised against it, saying that Lily was healthy enough to deliver on her own and to do so in a hospital would be an unnecessary risk.

“We have a plan for the moment labor starts. Mum, Sirius, and Marlene are ready to spring into action the second we call them.” James spoke simply, the best way to calm down a spiraling Lily was to talk her through it.

He turned his head to kiss her on the temple, and he softly whispered into her hair. “You’ve done this three times already Lil. You’re great at it. Everything will be okay.”

“I guess it will be kinda nice being at home this time. And in my own bed.” She said lowly.

“See? Look on the bright side. And just think love, in a few weeks she’ll be here and things will be better. I promise you.”

Lily looked at him incredulously, “she?”

“Yea. She. It’s a girl, I know it.”

“It’s a boy James. We’ve talked about this.”

“Blah blah. ‘Mothers intuition’ and all that.” He rolled his eyes, “you have been wrong about our other two girls. I don’t trust your intuition.”

“I want Harry to have a brother. It’s not fair he’s going to be outnumbered.”

“You and Hannah were outnumbered for years.” James laughed, reminding her of the years spent with Sirius and Remus as part of her family.

“Exactly! I don’t want Harry to feel like that.”

“Whatever, I’m happy with whatever we get. Even if it means you're wrong.”

She was wrong of course. Her baby came later that night, weeks before her due date, and after hours of screaming at James for putting her in this spot; she gave birth to a tiny, precious girl.

They called her Phoebe, she was small, and wrinkly and very pink. She had a mess of thick black hair and her tiny fingers curled around Lily’s finger while she held her daughter in adoration.

Labor came suddenly, and Lily couldn’t remember her other children hurting this badly. She laid in her bed and cried for her Mother, while James panicked. He called Marlene over, she was a nurse and Lily had insisted that she would only feel comfortable giving birth at home if Marlene was there to act as a midwife.

By midnight Lily was crying into James' chest as she pushed her daughter out into the world.

James held Lily tight, as Lily held her daughter to her chest and began to feed her. He took a quick picture of the newborn, and sent it to Harry and his mother. And whispered to Lily, “you did amazing. Again.”

She looked up at him, smiling wildly. “Shes lovely James, we did this.”

“Well obviously. But you did the hard part.”

“It’s okay.” She sighed, labor had been a bitch. She was horribly sore, and exhausted. She smiled down at the baby in her arms, “it was worth it.”

“Happy anniversary love.” He said.

“Happy Halloween.” She beamed at him.

Halloween was good for the Potter family. They had another happy Halloween story to add to their collection, the day Phoebe was born.

This year may have been shit, but it was ending happily within the chaos of the Potter home.

“Happy Birthday.” James leaned down and kissed his daughter's tiny head.

#jily #harry potter #james potter #lily potter #jily fanfiction #marlene mckinnon #remus lupin #sirius black #Marauders #jily fic #pregnant Lily #muggle au #Lily Evans #aaron taylor johnson #Sophie Skelton #jily fandom #hp marauders #hp fanfic #jily fanfic

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scarletwinterxx · 4 years ago

Text

First and Last pt. 1

Welcome to my new series! I’m so excited to write this one, I hope you guys like it.

For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2020 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

PART ONE || PART TWO || PART THREE || PART FOUR || FINALE || BONUS

“I do have a girlfriend”

The moment those words left Donghyuck’s mouth, he knew he was in trouble.

There’s room for mistakes with the statement he just made, like for one he doesn’t have a girlfriend, two he wouldn’t know where he could find a girlfriend and number three he knows atleast one of his friends knew he was lying.

“Finally moved on from Lia?” Jaemin asked, making the rest of the boys turn to him and for Donghyuck to make a face

“I thought I made it clear we don’t say that name out loud” Renjun not so subtly said

“You know I can hear you right?” Donghyuck asked his three bestfriends

“Just pretend that you didn’t” Renjun told him. The rest of their lunch period was spent on talking about random stuff and what to eat for dinner tonight but Donghyuck was still thinking of a way to get himself out of the little white lie he just said.

“Yuta hyung texted, he said they’re throwing a party this Friday. You should take your girlfriend” Jaemin just when Donghyuck thought they let go of that topic

“I’ll ask her” He mumbled, Renjun eyed him before asking the ultimate question

“Do we know her? What’s her name?”

That made Jeno and Jaemin look at Donghyuck too, waiting for his answer.

At that exact moment, Y/N was in his line of sight. She was just walking past behind the three boys, her earphones on and a book clutched in her hand

“Y/L/N Y/N”

“Y/N? Like the same Y/N in our Chemistry class?” Jeno asked, he was trying to recall if he ever saw the two talk or have any kind of interaction but he came up empty

“Yea, but please don’t corner her. We’re trying to keep it on the down low” Donghyuck quickly added, a loophole he was lucky enough to thought of

“No promises, we need to go now or else we’ll be late again” Renjun said then pulled on Donghyuck’s arm, going the opposite direction his supposed girlfriend went.

What has he gotten himself into.

For the entirety of this semester, Y/N is probably the only student in this campus that hasn’t gone out to party atleast once. It’s never been her thing and she honestly doesn’t see it being her thing now.

“Why don’t you come with us this Friday? There’s a party we’re going to” one of her classmates said earlier, she was already thinking of an excuse to say as to why she can’t come.

Y/N thinks they’re used it by now. She does feel guilty saying no all the time. It does feel like she’s being a bad friend but the mere thought of being in a house with a bunch of people she doesn’t know is already making her feel very anxious.

“Call us if you change your mind” her classmate said with a smile before exiting the room

Y/N was just about to exit the room too when she heard someone call for me. Turning around to see who it was, it was a bit surprising.

Lee Donghyuck or Haechan as his friends and most people call him, was now walking towards her. Y/N knows him because they did an assignment together back in freshmen orientation week .

He was the kind of guy who is her total opposite, unlike her who cowers away from parties he was the life of it. He was always surrounded with his friends and everyone liked him. He has this aura about him that just makes you feel comfortable, she can’t quite pinpoint it.

Y/N looked behind her to see if it was really her he was calling out to, which was kind of dumb since he was calling her name.

“Me?” Y/N said pointing to myself, now he was standing infront of her.

“Hi, I’m-”

“Donghyuck, right?” she asked, cutting off his introduction

“I was going to say Haechan but yes I’m Donghyuck” He said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and pulling on the strap of his bag with the other

“Can I help you with anything?” Y/N asked him, it’s not like she felt uncomfortable talking to him. She did think it was weird that even people like her, someone who is very anti-social, feels comfortable around him.

“Yes, uhm this might sound a bit weird but I need to ask you a favor”

“What?”

“A favor”

“Yes, but why would it be weird?” Y/N asked, shooting him a confused look

He looked around the room, which was now empty before his eyes landed back on me

“I kind of told my friends you’re my girlfriend”

There’s so many things Y/N should be asking about, but of course the first one she thought of is,

“Why me?”

“You were walking past us when my friends were interrogating me, and we worked together before right? So I just thought why not, I kind of know you already” he answered. Y/N has never seen him nervous before but she guess this is how he looks like when he is.

“You’re friends with other girls though” Y/N mumbled, emotion flashed across his face. Was it rejection or hurt? She wasn’t sure but she’s already feeling guilty and anxious.

“I know, but my bestfriends know them too. You’re kind the only one who they don’t know yet. If you’re up for it, I totally understand”

It shouldn’t be her problem really. Why should she care? He doesn’t know her, why would he pick her to be his fake girlfriend?

A thousand things were already running through Y/N’s mind

“I’m not sure- I”

“Hey, it’s okay. If you don’t feel comfortable that’s totally fine with me” he showed her a small smile, before looking around the room again

“I’ll think about it”

Even Y/N was surprised with what she just said.

“What? You will? I mean that’s cool but like I said if you’re not up for it, it’s fine. I absolutely understand”

“Okay” she shot him a smile

“Okay, we can talk more about it later? At the cafe near town square?” he asked me. Y/N thought about it for a second, she really didn’t have anywhere to go.

“Sure” she agreed, he shot me a big smile before saying a quick thank you and then walked out of the room.

What did she get herself into?

Y/N’s last class for the day was done, Donghyuck texted her earlier to confirm our meet-up time.

He probably still had Y/N number from the last time they met, so she shot him a quick text that she was on her way.

Y/N’s not going to lie she did consider not showing up and making up an excuse like she didn’t feel good or she had a paper due tonight but for once she mustered up the courage to go out.

This being the only out-of-the-box thing she’s done her whole life seems a bit sad and disappointing, she kept thinking how other people her age would have double the amount of stories to tell.

As she walks to the cafe, she was already thinking of questions to ask him. But Y/N also thought what if she sound too pushy or something.

Y/N was a bundle of anxious nerves when she got there, she searched around the room to see him sitting alone in a booth.

Donghyuck was on his phone so he didn’t see Y/N come in, she made her way to where he was before clearing her throat which made him look up

“Hey, you made it”

she almost didn’t

“Hi, sorry I’m late” Y/N mumbled then took the seat across from

“It’s fine I wasn’t waiting that long, should we order something?” he asked her, they both stood up again to see the menu. Y/N was just looking around while he was beside her reading the menu,

“Do you want coffee or tea?” Donghyuck offered

“Uh, no thank you” she answered with a polite smile.

“You sure?”

“It’s like 5pm, I won’t be able to go to sleep if I drink coffee now” she told him

“Okay, how about those cookies?” He saw how she was looking at the cookies on display

“It’s fine really-” “My treat, I owe you anyways”

Y/N thinks she knows why she feels comfortable around him. There’s something about his eyes or just him in general that makes him look so innocent in certain moments. It’s not there often but you can see it if you pay attention

“Okay, thank you”

“Think of this as our first date”

That made Y/N turn to look at him so fast she thinks she gave herself a whiplash, he just chuckled at the girl’s expression

“What? Okay I’ll take you out somewhere better if this doesn’t cut it for a good first date”

“This is a date?” Y/N asked, again the boy just chuckled at her

“We can pretend it is, I did tell my friends that you’re my girlfriend”

Every time he says those words, Y/N get this feeling she don’t quite understand. Was it panic, anxiety, or excitement she wasn’t sure.

After getting drinks and snacks they went back to the table they were previously occupying,

“So I was thinking-”

“Actually I came to tell you I can’t do it” Y/N cut Donghyuck off

He looked straight at Y/N, after a few seconds she looked away. Feeling a little conscious under his gaze

“You can’t do it?”

“Yeah, uhm. I’m sorry but I’m not the girl for you, Donghyuck. Even if we can make up a pretty convincing story, I don’t see how you would like a girl like me”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he looked genuinely confused.

Y/N took a deep breath before starting the explanation she has thought over and over during the whole day

“You’ve said it yourself, you only picked me because I was passing by. You wouldn’t have even thought of me if I didn’t. We’ve never hung out during or after school, the last time we talked was last semester, you’re clearly the life of the party while I avoid them like a plague”

“So you’re saying we’re too opposite for me to like you?” he asked,

“You don’t like me, we’re just pretending. What I’m saying is no one’s gonna believe it. I’m not anything like Lia” Y/N said, referring to his ex-girlfriend. She wasn’t the one for campus gossip and all that but it was hard not to know when literally everyone in every class she was in was talking about them.

At the mention of her name, Donghyuck looked away. Another emotion flashing across his face but went as soon as it came. Y/N thought maybe she shouldn’t have brought her up.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring her up” she mumbled, already feeling the guilt set in

“Don’t worry about it, I’m used to it”

“Doesn’t make me any less sorry” her reply made him chuckle, taking a quick sip of his iced coffee before looking at the girl sitting across from him

“It was messed up, what happened between her and I. I’m also sick of people looking at me with the pity eyes” he told Y/N, “That’s why I said I had a girlfriend. To get my friends off my back.”

“I’m sorry about that”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault, I’m the one who pulled you into this mess” he shot her a tight lipped smile.

Y/N did give his proposition a lot of thought. It will be so unlike of her to go with his plan but also she doesn’t have anything to lose. After hearing why he did it, he sounded like he did need her help but Y/N’s doubts about herself were already eating her away.

She was thinking about him and Lia, how similar they were. How pretty she is, how popular and kind and talented she is. She was nothing like any of those things. How can someone ever believe Donghyuck is dating her? Her of all people.

“I should be get going, I have some work to do” Y/N said, an excuse that she just made up. It was overused, even she was tired of hearing herself say it but she was so used to cowering back to her shell all the time.

“Okay, thanks by the way. For hearing me out atleast”

“Sorry I couldn’t help you” Y/N told him, he shot Y/N a small smile while shaking his head at her “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you around”

They bid goodbye to each other and went their separate ways for the night.

If Y/N only knew this wasn’t the last time Lee Donghyuck would be invading her mind.

A few days passed since their meeting at the café, Donghyuck was still thinking of an excuse to say when he arrive at the party alone. Which was happening hours away from now.

He thought about not going but that seemed like he was avoiding something, so that option was out of the window.

He didn’t want to push Y/N, she seemed like a great girl. Too great for him if he’s being honest. But she looked really unsettled with his plan so he decided not to insist.

Donghyuck would just have to live with his friends pestering him about his lovelife.

When Donghyuck arrived at the party, he quickly searched the crowd for his friends. They texted him saying they were already here, already asking Hyuck where he was and if he was taking his girlfriend with him.

He made a beeline for the kitchen to grab a drink, not in the mood to get drunk or anything so he took a can of cola from the fridge before leaning on the counter.

“Haechan, is that you?” at the sound of the voice calling out to him, Hyuck’s body felt frozen.

Why was she here? Why did no one told him she was coming and why was she talking to him

“Hi” he awkwardly said, mentally slapping himself for sounding too awkward

“Haven’t talked to you in a while” Lia said with a smile on, as if she didn’t just break his heart less than a year ago

“That’s because you broke up with me” He told her, his face stoic. Lia looked at him, she was still sporting an innocent smile on. Once upon a time that would have made Hyuck’s heart beat faster but now he just wanted to get out of this kitchen and find his friends.

“We should talk, Haechan-“

“I have nothing left to say to you. You’re the one who broke up with me remember?” he told the girl, this time the smile disappeared from her face. “I just wanted to say I miss you”

It was a lie. He knew that.

He would be the biggest fool if he believed that but Lia can be persistent if she wants to be

“Well I didn’t” Hyuck mumbled, he walked around her trying to get out of the kitchen and away from her but Lia’s hand caught Hyuck’s arm making him halt his steps.

“That’s a lie, we both know that’s a lie”

“Don’t put words into my mouth, Lia. I don’t miss you, not anymore”

“The last time I checked you’re the one who hasn’t moved on” she told him, in that statement he knew what she was trying to do. Lia knew she had Hyuck on the palm of her hands, but he didn’t want to be anymore.

As if the heavens heard him, someone pulled his arm away from Lia’s grasp and stood in between them

“And who told you that?” Y/N asked the girl, this was a surprise to everyone in the room. Donghyuck haven’t talked to Y/N since that day on the café, where if he remembers correctly he was turned down.

“Who are you?” Lia asked back, not in a bitchy way but in a confused way

“Donghyuck’s girlfriend” Y/N answered without missing a beat, Hyuck wasn’t going to lie he wanted to cheer her on out loud but he kept his mouth shut. Y/N’s hand was still around his arm, holding on to it tightly as she stood in front of him about to put his ex-girlfriend in her place.

“Donghyuck? Girlfriend?” Lia asked, looking behind Y/N to see Hyuck looking at his ‘girlfriend’ with a proud smile on.

“Yes and yes, I’m not the one to be territorial or be one of those girls who stop their boyfriends from being friends with other girls but I think you got the wrong idea here. Lia right?”

Hyuck wanted to laugh out loud. This was a side of you he didn’t know and he liked it.

“Well, Lia. I would like to say I heard so much about you but I honestly haven’t. But I would greatly appreciate it if you don’t ask my boyfriend if he misses you because clearly he doesn’t” Y/N said then sent Lia a smile.

Hyuck let out a little chuckle, this made Y/N loosen her grasp on his arm so Donghyuck took this chance to snake his arm around her waist and pull Y/N closer to him.

“This is Y/N by the way, my girlfriend” He said to the other girl, the gloomy night doing a full 180.

Lia looked between the two, a sour look evading her face before she quickly replaces it with a smile. A fake one. After that she walked away without a single word.

“Holy shit, I just that” he heard Y/N mutter to herself, “You’re here” he mumbled back making her turn to look at him

“Yea, Hi” she awkwardly said making Hyuck let out a laugh, “I thought you didn’t want to.. you know”

“I took some time to think about it, I don’t really have anything to lose here. And with just happened I think your friends are the least of your worries” Y/N said, referring to the scene earlier

“Yeah that was unexpected”

“You looked like you needed the save” she told him, her statement made Donghyuck smile.

He doesn’t know why but he was glad Y/N changed her mind and she was here. And she was right, he did need the saving. He just wasn’t aware that he did.

“Thanks”

“So boyfriend, are you ready to go out or was that enough show for the night?” she asked her with a smile

He held his hand out to her to which she just looked at, “You okay with this?” Hyuck asked, his voice quiet. Y/N shot him a smile before intertwining their fingers

“Don’t let me go or I might get lost” she mumbled, making Donghyuck laugh

“I won’t”

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forestwater87 · 4 years ago

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I'm screaming. I just realized this was the legendary Forest Water from Ao3, the creator of the fandom last names Santos and Greenwood, and I didn't know all this time?! What?! I can't actually believe it. Your stuff is legendary! I really enjoy your fanfiction, and you're a great creator. Any advice for a fanfic writer who starts to write a Gwenvid longfic? Any tips on how to become a sucessful fandom memeber? Sorry this is so long, I just really enjoy your work!

These two happened to dovetail really nicely, so I wanted to respond to them in a single (very long) post. I’ve talked a little about getting started writing in the past, but specifically about writing Gwenvid? That’s a little different, and interesting to explore.

I think, anyway. But I always find Gwenvid interesting.

1. Thank you!

I don’t consider myself especially famous or special -- certainly not anymore, when my updates to my flagship fic are annual at best -- so it’s a little weird that there are people looking at me like that. However, it’s also really touching and encouraging, so I’m at a loss for words. Not sure how to respond to such kind comments, so . . . you know, thanks.

2. Writing Gwenvid -- especially longfic

Here’s the thing: There isn’t a single fic I’ve written that I expected to become long. The first “Tigger & Eeyore” was supposed to be like 5 chapters and then ballooned into 14 and a sequel (which it’s now looking like is going to explode into its own sequel, so yikes).

There’s a reason they’re called plotbunnies: they multiply like crazy. So if you have a single-shot idea or shortfic that you’re not sure will have legs, just start writing it. It might end up wrapping up rather quickly and you can move on to the next idea without it hanging over your head, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it becomes something much larger totally organically.

Also, keep your plots kind of . . . vague? At least, in my experience I’ve found that helps. A generic idea of the world you want to build and a couple set pieces (i.e., major conflicts or story beats) gives you room to play around without pressure to make it “add up to” something. I’ve never written a fic that had a story in the first 4-5 chapters, and that’s how I like it. It’ll . . . just sort of materialize, while you’re exploring the world.

I mean, if you want to write a tightly-paced epic with a twisty, intricate plot, then you’re going to want to find an author who does that sort of thing. My stories tend to be a lot more meandering.

OH! Also get really flowery with your language. Eats up word counts like Wheaties.

Okay, but Gwenvid specifically: if you want to be mostly canon-compliant, the big thing is that we only see them in the context of this one improbably long summer. There are years of story before and after that point that we’ll never get to see, and I think it’s really interesting. (Especially the before part; I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone write a “prequel” to Camp Camp, but how fun is that idea???) When it comes to “fill in the blanks” fanfic writing, it’s really nice to have a story, relationship, and world with so many blanks. There’s a lot you can do just by writing about what they’re up to the rest of the year.

As for AUs: go nuts. Fucking go wild, you funky lil person. Groundhog Day. Ghostbusters. Lost in Translation. Movies that don’t star Bill Murray, probably. Find a straight couple and make them Gwenvid, and go goddamn bonkers with the possibilities. Find a world with Gwenvid-like characters and make them Gwenvid. The possibilities are literally endless.

3. Fandom engagement and being a BNF

Huh. Not sure where to go with this one.

Like I said, I don’t consider myself much of a BNF (that’s “big-name fan,” for those of you who might have a life outside of tumblr) -- certainly not anymore. And honestly, becoming “popular” in this economy fandom isn’t . . . necessarily going to be super easy.

I mean, don’t get me wrong! The fandom isn’t dead by any means; people are still writing, and still being read. But if you look at the track record over time:

Average kudos counts of Forestwater’s fics by year:

2016: 574

2017: 277

2018: 79

2019: 60

2020: 50

(if you ever wondered why I had a serious emotional crisis about the quality of my writing and general popularity in 2018 and 2019, that drop should tell you a lot)

Now, some of this is certainly my fault. The most important thing when it comes to fandom success is engagement: the more you write, the more attention you’re going to get. If you can stick to a regular update schedule, you’re going to be on the front page and in the top of the tags, and people will see your stuff and be more likely to read it. And attention is self-generating, because the more kudos and hits you have, the more people are going to check out your work just to see what the big deal is. So getting laid off and deeply depressed, then not updating at a time when the fandom was already beginning a pretty steady downward trajectory anyway . . . was not my best move in terms of relevance.

And engagement doesn’t necessarily have to mean updates, by the way! (Though you should update regularly if you want the attention.) Sharing headcanons, answering asks, starting fandom drama and ship wars . . . that’s all the kind of thing that establishes you as an authority; even if people think you’re wrong, they’ll think you’re someone whose opinion is worth disagreeing with, if they see you mouthing off in the tags enough.

I’m not confident this is a good call, but Snowqueens Icedragon didn’t get massive fandom success by not starting flame wars, is all I’m saying.

If you have the spoons to answer questions, people will want to ask them. No one wants to talk to someone who won’t reply to them. The most popular artists and authors are always going to be the ones who interact with the fandom the most. Higher output, more attention, more praise. I’m not saying it’s fair -- in fact, it very well might not be -- but that’s the nature of the beast.

Also, play to the fandom. Camp Camp fans want to see dadvid. They want to see dan/vid. They want to see Max-centric content, and they probably want it to be angsty. They want to see self-inserts dating David. If you can give them some of that stuff (none of which is inherently bad, to be clear, nor is it inherently good; it’s just what’s popular, and tbh if you can cram it all in one fic that’d be amazing), you have the benefit of giving people exactly what they want.

To be clear, don’t write about things that don’t inspire you; aside from it being a soul-crushing endeavor, it’s noticeable when someone’s heart just isn’t in it, and it’s even harder to keep those regular updates. But if the things you’re passionate about happen to be the things the fandom really wants to see at the moment, then you’re much closer to riding the kudos train, my friendo.

But here’s the thing: even if you do everything right, you might still get screwed.

Some of this is just due to the fact that Camp Camp is always a dead fandom in the off-seasons, and we don’t know how long this current off-season is going to last. Hell, we don’t have to look at me for this:

This is “How to Foster an Asshole” by emiartse. It’s one of the fandom’s most popular fics, with a whopping 962 kudos. Hot damn, look at that engagement. That’s a fucking fic right there!

This is the sequel, which has 122 kudos. Nothing to sneeze at, to be sure -- I think we’d all be delighted to have 122 kudos -- but even the general tendency of sequels to have less attention than a series debut doesn’t entirely explain such a precipitous drop. And emiartse is doing everything right! This is dadvid! And momgwen! It’s just as well-written as the first; it’s not like we suddenly experience a decrease in quality or anything. It came right on the heels of the first one ending, and the updates have been more or less like clockwork, in keeping with the previous story.

So what changed?

Well, HTFAA was first published in 2019, right on the heels of Season 4′s finale and when fandom hype was pretty high. HTAAA was published in September 2020, during this whole “world pandemic and every political disaster all at once” thing that’s got us all fucked up -- and especially, during a period where we all knew Camp Camp wasn’t coming back for the year, and maybe not ever.

It’s . . . not a great time to be a writer for Camp Camp if your goal is popularity. I mean, it’s never a great time to be a writer if your goal is popularity -- consider the tragic difference in notes between ellohcee’s gorgeous art and their equally-excellent writing just for comparison -- but it’s especially tough now. If you really want to be a huge name in the fandom, my suggestion is to travel back in time to 2016 and establish yourself as the pioneer of something (seriously, it can be anything; there was basically nothing in the fandom at that time. Every idea was a new one).

So . . . what do we do when we can’t be popular? Maybe you don’t want to chain yourself to a strict update schedule, or write the twelve-thousandth iteration of the most popular fandom tropes, or you exist in 2021 when everything is terrible and no one cares about a web cartoon series. What happens then?

4. Do it anyway.

I know, I know -- that sounds hella cheesy. “Write because you love it, not for attention” is one of those statements that everyone rolls their eyes at, because seriously? Please. What’s even the point of sharing something you write if no one reads it?

Well . . . because you made it. Because it’s something that wouldn’t exist without you, and because even though there are such a tiny number of readers in a very small, very dead fandom -- those people still exist. And seeing what you wrote will make them happy. And if they have the spoons, they’ll let you know that you made them happy, which will make you happy.

I haven’t updated my major fic in a year -- haven’t updated any writing in several months. But what keeps me going is the excitement that my ideas bring me, and the pride I feel in watching them come to life. It’s like giving a gift to someone; I get really nervous and giddy whenever I post a sentence.

And does it suck when it feels like your present goes unappreciated? Yeah. If you write the first chapter of your awesome long-form Gwenvid fic and it gets like 5 or 3 or even zero notes, that’s a huge bummer. That hurts a lot, and it can crush your self-esteem worse than even the most vicious hate. But your fic isn’t going to just be around for the few hours or days that you’re watching the engagement. It’s going to be there, growing as you update it or just sitting happily in its tags, and someone is going to find it.

Your story is going to be someone’s favorite fic. I promise.

And hell, let’s make it my favorite fic!

If you post something -- you know what, even if you post something in a trope or ship I hate, or a fandom I’m not in, doesn’t even have to just be Camp Camp; times are hard right now and we gotta support each other -- send me the link in a personal message. (Don’t tag me, I won’t see it. I never see anything on this terrible, terrible site.) I’ll like it; I’ll give it kudos. I’ll probably even share it*, because we’re going through the lean times in this fandom. And we’re writers, so the lean times are extra lean; it’s the bone-and-dust times.

*Okay, but I reserve the right to not support someone’s work that makes me very uncomfortable. I’ll share things I don’t personally stan, but I’m not gonna platform your “why Hitler was good, actually” essay disguised as a fanfic or anything. My 6 followers deserve better.

Write something that excites you, and then tell me about it. If you need help brainstorming, tell me about that too.

I might not have the spoons to keep this up for a prolonged period of time, but I’ll do what I can and you’ll do what you can and together we’ll . . . idk, do something. I’m losing the thread of my great inspirational speech here.

Uhhhh TL;DR let’s just do the dang thing. If we fail we all fail together. Yay team!

#campcamp #fanfiction #fanfic writing #yeah i'm putting these in the main tags #i wanna start a revolution here #a small revolution #of me and my 6 followers #let's do it #also yes i'm still working on my t&e fic #it's the first week of the semester so things have been insane #writing this post was the first time i've had 20 consecutive minutes to sit down and do anything since like january 4th #ask forest #absurdly long post #sorry not sorry #campcampfanfan #no 'keep reading' mark bc this all feels Important to me #scroll away my friendos

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mismashedsocks · 4 years ago

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so riordan made a half assed lame excuse on his lazy/racist writing on piper yesterday and on top of that he made another one on samirah and i’m muslim so i am going to talk about it

damn i’m so sorry these people have been pushing you past your comfort zone about your wildly popular racist caricatures of minorities that have great impact on your young, impressionable target audience. while its fine that if he takes a break for his mental health he still needs to deal with these problems you can’t just take a break and hope they go away.

why does he think everyone is bullying him. if they talked in all caps, cussed at you, or didn’t stop bothering you, i’m sorry they’re just trying to get you to realize how racist your books are, which you keep refusing to believe. i can believe that a few of them were doing it for attention, but it couldn’t be the majority. and my god, god forbid people want you to write your books the way you preferred, without racist stereotypes. 🙈

you can set your boundaries but you keep ignoring the people, you don’t listen. like you put yourself out there as a writer you are open to criticism

why does he keep doing this to seem like the good guy. you give excuses and don’t do anything and just say that its up to you, you can think whatever you want 🥰🥰. like its such an obvious excuse not to take any action.

i’m sorry but no matter how many muslims you’ve interacted with you haven’t gotten the full experience and last time i checked teachers aren’t the kids best friends soo uhm. anyways the rest of it is just him telling his experience with muslimah students so its just there.

so uhm you just said your students ‘unwillingly’ become an ambassador to everyone she knew’. and then you went to talk to them about islam to make sure you were TEACHING THEM YOUR SOURCE MATERIAL CORRECTLY. i’m sorry imagine. these are kids not some scholars you go to consult. there are so many muslims all over the internet and youtube sharing their experiences for you to access on how to ‘represent their experience’ correctly. you’re the teacher here. picture this:as a muslilm, i teach at a public school and while teaching about Christianity in class, no i would double check or some dumb shit with the students. like educate yourself i’m sorry. anyways apparently he blames his mistakes on himself then goes on to deny he ever made any mistakes i can’t.

so this is a blatant lie. 99% of muslims i’ve met have never read all of sahih bukhari and sahih muslim. usually only scholars do that when they are studying islam for YEARS. and FIVE different interpretations of the quran on top of that. ok so sahih bukhari is 9 books that are over 300 pages each and sahih musilm is 7 volumes with also about 300+ pages each. and then the english versions of the quran are 600 pages. and he claims he read five of them. i’m so sorry but no he didn’t. he writes books so fast and he released mcga around the time toa was being released almost one book per year so he did not have a lot of spare time. the rest ig i can let slide. also and if he did do all of that why does he make so many mistakes in writing samirah. and even IF you accept his excuses reading ALL of this source material is great for teaching your class or whatever but not for writing a modern day muslim. you don’t need to lie to us rick ��️

most of this is just describing what she’s like but his writing did also add in the model minority, smart kid trope. like no they don’t have to be a terrorist or a A+ student who is the best at everything. there is a middle ground to their personality.

i actually used to love his rep in sam. that’s how i got into the series. i saw a hijabi girl on his website. i got excited and read all of his books. i loved piper, leo, hazel, percy, annabeth, sadie, carter, nico, everyone. now that i look back i was younger and didn’t see anything wrong with it back then. its great that he tried to portray minorities but he did it so badly and now is just denying the faults that his now older readers are trying to tell him.

hey, uhm didn’t you read all of sahih bukhari and muslim? hmm i didn’t think so. anyways the way he dealt with it honestly wasn’t that bad. but the whole ‘whoops’. like why does he keep portraying himself as the innocent old white man just trying his best.

honestly how he wrote samirah as a hijabi was the dumbest thing i’ve ever read. its is totally fine if she wasn’t hijabi, many muslim girls aren’t, and that is their choice. but he decided to make her like a weird middle ground. it was so lazy and inconsistent. in the first book she says she wears it when she needs to, like in situations like going to the masjid. this was fine, since many muslim girls do that. then in the next books she wears it all the time except when she’s in valhalla for some reason. hijabi girls take of their scarves when they’re at home or with family, but making her claim the entirety of vallhalla as her family. that was just demeaning and stupid to me. it takes away its value. and i fucking hated that last sentence. for hijabis, their hijab is important and not a toy or weapon or a MAGIC ITEM. and then on top of that she would have to take it of to hide. he could’ve made it anything else. her hijab isn’t some token item istg.

i love how he admits that they are a big problem and abusive and usually engage with child marriages. i’m relatively he doesn’t understand what the people even meant by it. the practice is a problem that isn’t supposed to be seen in a nice light. the only possible way it could be slightly ok is that if ADULTS agree they 100% do not want to choose who they want to get married to and let their parents choose, and both sides agree. samirah was a child and he decided to make her wedding life decided since the age of 12. and it was ok because amir was conventionally attractive and she loved him. WHAT IF SHE DIDNT. this literally is a dangerous arranged marriage. and arranged marriages are not ok, and mostly perpetuated by victims of it who will end up passing it down their family lines. my parents got an arranged marriage and I HAVE NEVER SEEN THEM DISPLAY ANY SIGNS OF AFFECTION. arranged marriages are not a trope that your can turn around to be a quirky personality trait for your characters.

i’m sorry that’s not how arranged marriages work. most likely if she said something her grandparents would have shut her done and continued with the marriage, as that is what you usually happens. do not portray the small amount of consented, ‘happy’ arranged marriages as the majority. it is a huge problem that many desi/middle eastern cultures are trying to erase. even on top of that he writes situations where she’s going to be in trouble for acting up and ‘jeopardizing the marriage agreement’ and that her grandparents think she’s ‘lucky that she could get the fadlan family to agree to marry their son to her’. these statements are often used in forced and dangerous marriages, so don’t try and justify your actions. if you wanted to show traditional customs in a positive light, there are so many richer parts of samirah’s culture you could’ve focused on and you chose arranged marriage. 😻 all you’ve done is given parents and authority figures a westernized resource to justify arranged and forced marriages, especially with the minimal explanation on how the marriage isn’t forced in the actual books. and yes, your books do condone child marriage samirah is clearly deemed into this marriage ever since the young age of 12. she lived her life knowing she would marry amir. no one has only one crush throughout their life. imagine how she would’ve grown up. sorry you only consider opinions that align with those in you mind.

i’m going to be honest i did like that one scene it was written nicely and accurately but the explanation he gives just ruins the entire thing. the way he just if this strikes you as islamophobic, or samirah as a hurtful, uhm no explanation i just disagree 😽. the way you wrote her is a hurtful stereotype sorry you can’t see it.

oops, you did. too bad you don’t want to do anything about it.

why do you think people are painting you in a negative light, so many of your characters are written on hurtful and negative stereotypes. people aren’t painting it that way, you need to calm down w your ego and listen. dang i’m sorry your best is giving half-assed excuses and not actually doing anything. i’m even more sorry people are mad that a highly privileged author that has a lot of influence is done talking about his racist depictions of minorities in his books.

dang must be lucky to take a break from the social media, imagine what all the minorities you wrote about have to go with everyday weather they are on social media or not. people aren’t bullying you this is valid criticism you refuse to listen to.

fuck you

obviously these are my opinions do not judge every muslim based on what i’ve said come to me if you have a problem with it

anyways support jewish, muslim, black, brown, asian, hispanic, indigenous, lgbtq+, disabled, and other minority authors and creators.

#anti rr #fuck him at this point #samirah al abbas #she deserved so much better #i probably made so many spelling mistakes smh #long post #mcga #rr crit

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notveryglittery · 4 years ago

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birthday prince (5)

summary: happy birthday, roman!!! words: 2,900 / ship: dlampts (deceit/logan/virgil/patton/roman/thomas/remy) author’s note: this is part five of my Giving The Gay Anything He Wants series for roman’s birthday (june 4)! all ships are written implied romantic but i’m not stopping you from interpreting it otherwise. check the end notes on ao3 for credit on these gifts (bc i don’t know where to put them in this post)! i hope you enjoy!!

part 1 (roceit) | part 2 (logince) | part 3 (prinxiety) part 4 (royality) | part 5 (dlampts) | read on ao3

— — —

“Rise and shine, buttercup!”

Roman swatted at the air, as if that would send away the voice trying to wake him. “Five more minutes,” he grumbled, burying his face back into a pillow.

“You said that ten minutes ago, sugar,” drawled another.

If Roman really thought about it, he’d remember that, yes, he was guilty of this charge. That didn’t mean that he would admit to it, of course! Besides, even if he did, today was his day so he should have been able to do whatever he liked.

Oh.

Oh!

Energy shot through him as he jolted up. “It’s my birthday!”

Patton’s laugh was musical, the most beautiful sound Roman could ever ask to start his morning with. “I knew we’d get there eventually.”

“I dunno, I was sure it’d take him at least another half hour,” Remy teased, standing in the doorway.

"Good morning!" Roman exclaimed, swooping in for a kiss from Patton. He happily obliged, taking it also as an opportunity to comb a hand through Roman's tangled hair.

Were it not for Remy clearing his throat a moment later, the two might have lost track of time entirely. They pulled apart, only a little sheepish about it. Patton took Roman's hands in his and gave him a tug, urging him out of bed. Thankfully, now that Roman knew what was being celebrated, he followed easily, lips curled into a grin that seemed it'd never go away.

"What's on the agenda?" He asked eagerly, curious how early it actually was and how long it'd be before his first gift.

"Get yourself dolled up first, hon," Remy told him, tilting his tumbler in the direction of the closet.

"Remy!" Patton hissed, a hint of a scolding reminder in his tone, if Roman was hearing right.

Apparently, this was all it took for Remy to remember whatever Patton was trying to say. They swapped places faster than Roman thought possible, especially with his sleep addled brain not quite keeping up. Remy looped an arm through Roman's and began leading the way to the bathroom.

Patton waved at them as he left, "see you in a bit!"

"You're up to something," Roman accused without hesitation.

"Why I never," Remy said, pouting. "When have I ever been up to anything in my whole life?"

It was, again, thanks to Roman's still half-asleep state that he could level Remy with his best unimpressed look.

"Here I am, just trying to help you look your absolute best, and you're claiming me a criminal. That's just plain unfair."

Roman couldn't deny how wonderful that sounded, actually. Doing his own makeup and hair was a regular occasion, so much so that it almost got boring to do anymore. Remy, without a doubt, could be trusted to make sure Roman's winged eyeliner would be sharp enough to kill a man. Not that Roman would ever admit it, but Remy might have been even a better makeup artist than he was.

"Alright, alright," Roman yielded, "I supposed I'd be lucky to have someone of your talent dress me up today."

Remy looked equally smug and delighted at this. He shooed Roman along to take a shower, ducking back out of the bathroom to, presumably, pick an outfit for Roman for the day. The prince used the hair and body care products that he liked to save for special occasions, singing (of course) various Disney love songs as he did. With what must've been some sort of sixth sense, Remy was on him again as soon as he was wrapped up in a bathrobe and towling his hair dry. He got to work without wasting a moment, making sure that Roman's luxurious locks were fluffy and styled just right. The swoop to his bangs had never been so perfect, if he was being honest! The makeup look was bold, reds and golds and glitter; thankfully, Remy reassured him he'd used all waterproof brands so that Roman could cry all he liked without issue.

They returned back to the bedroom, where Remy had the outfit displayed on a mannequin. It shouldn't have been a shock that he'd picked some of Roman's favorite pieces but he was pleasantly surprised all the same.

"I really do just know you that well, I guess," Remy said, nonchalantly.

Roman, lightning quick, pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving behind a lipstick print. "You do and I love you so much for it!"

While Remy blushed and stammered at the sudden affection, Roman darted ahead and began to get dressed. Remy didn't need to turn away to give Roman his privacy, all things considered, but he did anyway, fiddling with the jewelry on Roman's vanity. It took some deliberating, but he decided finally that, above all else, the rainbow jewel encrusted crown was a must for today's ensemble.

"How do I look?"

"Babe, I don't even need to—" Remy's words died on his tongue as he faced Roman. Sure, there had been no doubt that Roman would look handsome as hell, but the beaming smile and light in his eyes and bouncy excited posture… He looked so happy and radiant and— "Wow."

"Stop," Roman said, giggling.

Remy took the crown and approached. He gave Roman a half-bow, smirking up at him. "May I have the honor, your majesty?"

“Stop!" Roman repeated, squeaking.

"Never," Remy promised, standing and reaching up to nestle the accessory on Roman's head. Each strand of hair still fell perfectly into place. "Now then," he said, taking Roman's arm in his, "shall we begin the festivities?"

Getting downstairs took no time at all, though Remy did dart ahead and down the steps first, so that he could loudly announce Roman proper. Patton and Thomas cheered for him as he descended, which added only more to the warm blush that he had a feeling might be a permanent addition today to his makeup. The pair ooh'd and ahh'd over Roman's look, showering him in compliments and praise. If this was just the beginning, then he sincerely was unsure whether he'd make it out of the celebrations alive.

They gathered at the dining room table, where Virgil and Deceit were laying the finishing touches on breakfast. The spread looked delectable, every one of Roman's favorite foods, and all of it hot and freshly cooked. Logan joined them last, carrying a plate with a single biscuit on it. There was a lit candle, too, and they'd all started singing before Roman could even catch up. He blew the little fire out and made a wish - though they'd nearly all already come true at this point, anyway.

"We're breaking a record today of how many times we can sing happy birthday," Thomas said with a wink, "fair warning."

Breakfast was full of fun and light chatter. They talked about the rest of their plans (at least, the ones they weren't keeping secret) and reminisced on old milestones. Roman felt full and happy, content to just sit and listen to his loved ones talk and joke around him. He was never left out of the conversation, though, always pulled back into a topic or started one anew with. He was listened to, unequivocally, and the attention was pleasant.

Soon, the food was finished, and the group moved to the kitchen. Patton and Deceit worked together on dishes while Logan presented what would be the first of birthday treats. They were muffins with Crofter's jelly in the middle, a flavor that Roman didn't recognize.

"Roman's Razzleberry," Logan explained, looking mixed on his feelings regarding the name. "It took some experimenting, but this combination of raspberry, strawberry, and dragonfruit came out the metaphorical winner."

"It's delicious!" Roman exclaimed, taking another from the tray. "My own jam! Thank you, dearest."

They gathered in the living room next, where the furniture had been rearranged to give them space for various activities. They did start with a movie, to let their meal settle, all huddled together on the couches. Roman was squished between Virgil and Thomas, the former playing absentmindedly with Roman's fingers while Thomas trailed his hand up and down Roman's arm, leaving tingles along the way. He might have dozed off a little, warm and cozy as he was.

The short nap energized him for their next game. Charades was one of his favorites as it gave him an opportunity to really practice his acting skills. What better way to hone one's craft than by not being able to use all the normal necessary components? Playing a part without any speaking lines and having to hope he'd do well enough that his companions could guess… It was a challenge he always looked forward to!

Virgil popped out and back in shortly with snacks for them all, the apparent second birthday treat: popcorn and candies and chips and soda, all easy and quick but not any less appreciated. They split into teams of two, leaving one to be their referee, and then each round, swapping out so that they all could have a turn to play. Roman ended up the winner, to absolutely no one’s surprise, though Deceit did come in a close second.

Lunchtime had rolled around and this time, they took to each making sandwiches for themselves. Patton and Remy surprised them (well, surprised Roman) with the third and fourth birthday treats: heart shaped cookies with exquisite frosting doodles and red velvet cake pops, respectively. They were sweet and delicious and baked perfectly and Roman only resisted eating more than he could count because he knew he had to save room still for whatever Thomas and Deceit had made. After they were finished and the dishes were washed, Patton led the way back upstairs. They stopped in front of his room.

“Would it be okay if we took a trip down Memory Lane?” He asked, holding Roman’s hands. “I was thinking we could visit some birthdays past!”

Roman looked to the others, nearly overwhelmed with how much affection and love he had for them all. “Whatever you have planned, I’m all in.”

“Nap time,” Remy and Virgil chorused.

Deceit rolled his eyes while Logan stifled a laugh.

“Shh,” Thomas hushed, giving them pats on the head. It was an amusing sight, to say the least, as Remy had a couple of inches on him and Virgil’s hunched over form was shorter than them both.

Memory Lane was as warm and fuzzy as Roman remembered it. He didn’t come through here often, usually only when he and Remy needed something for a Dream, but the consistent feeling it carried of being embraced by Mom or Dad was nice. The memories they visited were nice, too: old visions of time spent with friends, trips to amusement parks, parties that ran late into the night. While they all had their moments, Roman couldn’t help but feel that his birthday today was the absolute very best of them all. By the time they exited, he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt quite so relaxed. Logan and Virgil, on the other hand, looked like they were a little tired from the adventure. He took to their sides, planting himself between them, and grabbing each of their hands. Their quiet, grateful smiles were enough to give him pleasant shivers down his spine.

“Kitchen’s off limits,” Deceit announced as they all arrived back downstairs. “None may enter.”

“Except me!” Thomas piped up.

“Except you,” Deceit agreed, giving him a not-so-secret smitten smile.

Before Roman could ask why, they’d both disappeared. His attention was quickly stolen by Remy anyway, who was dragging him down onto the couch for his and Virgil’s aforementioned nap time. Patton giggled, making sure that they had enough blankets and pillows to be comfy.

“You sleep well, okay? We’ll wake you up in a little bit!” Patton said, taking Roman’s crown for him so that it wouldn’t get in the way, and setting it carefully on the coffee table.

If Roman wanted to ask Logan and Patton to join their cuddling, he didn’t get a chance to. Remy was carding a hand through his hair, draining him of his energy with each gentle scrape of nails against his scalp. He would have declared Remy a cheater for using his powers like this, but Virgil was falling victim to it as well and having his emo nightmare curled up with him was too pleasant to allow any upset feelings, regardless of how joking or serious they were.

Roman did, in fact, nap well, especially thanks to Remy’s presence.

When he woke, his limbs were only a little stiff, but he was overall very warm and relaxed. Virgil was gone but Remy had his face tucked into the crook of Roman’s neck. His sunglasses had been removed and Roman decided it might be worth dealing with the possible attitude of rousing Remy before he was well and ready if it meant getting to see his pretty eyes.

“Pstt,” he whispered, cupping Remy’s hand in his cheek. “My sweet dreamcatcher, it’s time to wake up.”

Remy grumbled, leaning into Roman’s hold. “Sweetie, I know you aren’t trying to coax me out of slumber right now.”

“Why I never,” he teased, echoing Remy’s earlier faux offended tone.

It took a moment longer, but Roman was blessed with getting to watch Remy blink away the lingering sleep. He thought this might be the best present of them all, seeing the swirling and shimmering shades of brown in Remy’s eyes, never one color at a time. It didn’t last long, what with Remy letting his eyelids slip back closed, but that was because he was leaning in to kiss Roman, and that sort of made it worth it.

“I should’ve known better than to leave you two alone,” Virgil groused suddenly, startling them apart.

“You’re just jealous I got to kiss the most handsome prince in the world before you did,” Remy said cheekily, reaching over to grab his sunglasses from the table and sliding them back on.

Roman couldn’t have prepared even if he wanted to. Virgil moved so quickly, thanks largely in part to those flight reflexes, swooping in and capturing Roman’s lips with his own. The kiss was fierce and passionate and even as Virgil pulled away, Roman followed after him. He sighed, disappointed for it to have ended so quickly. Virgil stuck his tongue out at Remy and then shot away as Remy lunged for him. They chased each other around the living room, laughing and throwing playful insults back and forth. Roman watched fondly from the couch, warm still in their nest of blankets.

Hands pressed down on his shoulders, massaging the post-nap aches away. Roman looked up, finding Logan above him. Logan smiled, bending slightly to give him a kiss on the forehead.

“Troublemakers, the both of them,” he said, only pretending to be disappointed.

“You’re one to talk,” Roman pointed out. “I’ve seen what you and Deceit get up to.”

“Shh,” Logan hurried to interrupt. “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Dinner’s ready!” Patton called suddenly from the kitchen.

Roman’s stomach growled, surprising him; he wondered how long they’d slept for. Logan came around to the front of the couch and helped Roman up. Virgil and Remy had already darted away to try and steal bits of food.

“Has your birthday been so far satisfactory?” Logan asked, taking a moment to return Roman’s crown to his head. It was a testament to Remy’s hard work that his hair still looked flawless.

“It’s been perfect,” Roman answered enthusiastically.

Dinner consisted, once more, of Roman’s favorite foods. The cupcakes were courtesy of Thomas, another birthday treat, and while he seemed embarrassed about the messy frosting, Roman thought it overwhelmingly endearing; he especially liked the edible glitter and fondant stars. As they were nearing the end of their meal, Deceit procured the final birthday treat: champagne glasses for them all, filled with bubbly cider. There was another happy birthday song as Patton brought the cake out to the dining room. Roman had definitely started crying by now, as it all came together just how much they’d done for him today.

“A toast,” Deceit began, holding up his glass. The others followed. “To our favorite author, poet, artist, actor.”

“To the prince of our dreams,” Remy chimed in.

“And our hearts!” Patton added.

“To the best Creativity I could ask for,” Thomas continued.

“To the greatest hero,” Virgil suggested.

“To a wise and clever leader, one whom we can always trust to take care of us,” Logan rounded out.

Roman wiped frantically at his eyes, uncertain whether his makeup was smudge proof as well, but not caring one bit. “Thank you,” he said, voice wobbly and thick with tears. “I love you guys more than I can say.”

Deceit, from his seat beside him, used his free hand to take one of Roman’s. He pressed a kiss to his knuckles and then held that hand to his cheek. “How unfortunate for your wellbeing,” he threatened sweetly, “because I think that we can say plenty.”

And they did, praising him on anything to everything: from his appearance to his creations, his traits and what made him tick, and the cute faces he made without realizing, and every tiny simple little thing they adored about him. It was, to say the least, the best way to end what had been the best day.

#sanders sides fan fiction #roman's birthday #roman sanders #sanders sides #dlampts #ts deceit #dani writes #gifts for roman's bday #it's basically dlamp + thomas + remy but focused on the roman ships #IT'S PUBLISHED BEFORE MIDNIGHT PST HALLELUJAH

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