#anyway this wedding took yrs off my life

[softerpixels]

just hitched!!!!!!!!! (♫)

[st0ryf1lms]

dancing with our hands tied ➳ stephen strange

pairing: stephen strange x reader 

word count: 1.9k

genre/warnings: NO SPOILERS FOR DSMOM IN THIS FIC, 50% angst, 50% fluff but its happy ending, just one 'asshole' there & no more, toxic family & friends, stephen & reader have an age gap maybe 5-10 yrs at best, typical stephen being an ass HAHAHSHS, stephen might be a little ooc

synopsis: after receiving too many comments about you & stephen's relationship, you just had enough of it and burst.

a/n: the synopsis doesn’t really do the fic justice im just really bad at making synopses im so sorry 😭 but anyway, this is my first mcu fic in this blog yay! i’ve been thinking abt it for a long time now & i finally did it! i hope yall enjoy it as much as i super LOOOOOVED writing it hehe ok i’ll stop now happy reading!!

edit: this is now cross-posted on ao3!

"Y/N, c'mon, he's older than you. You can do better than this."

"Oh, come on, Strange. Really? A kid? She's young, she's still got a lot to see in the world. You could do better."

"You can do better."

You tossed and turned in your bed, trying your very best to drift off to a peaceful slumber without any interruption. You took in a deep breath and let out a big sigh before pushing yourself up to sit up on your bed. Apparently, the words of your family members and their friends had gotten their way to you and you asked for a break with your lover. You felt guilty, of course, who would want to push the love of their life away for a bunch of gossip and hearsay?

Last week, you came to your annual family reunion held at your grandparents' house. You went without Stephen because he didn't want to intrude into your family's traditions. The moment you arrived, you were bombarded with so many questions not even a celebrity surrounded by paparazzi could handle. They took the opportunity of your boyfriend's absence to ask you all about him. Questions that included "Y/N, honey, I don't like that boy", "are you really sure about him?", "is there no way we could change your mind? There are other men out there, my dear", and the one that struck you deep like a knife — "Y/N, sweetie, you could do better than him."

Stephen had been receiving a lot of those comments as well. He recently attended the wedding of Dr. Christine Palmer, who felt ecstatic for the sorcerer because he finally found the happiness he deserved. He can't say the same about the other doctors, though. Every time they approached him, they would ask him — "why her?", "Stephen, she's so young for you", "she could leave you for a younger man for all we know", and that one six-word sentence, "you could do better than her."

Stephen went back to the Sanctum, exhausted and drained, not wanting any more contact with the world outside. You, unsurprisingly, decided to go and stay at the Sanctum as well — wanting to see your lover's face for comfort. He'd always invite you to move in with him for easier access to him but you'd always reply, "c'mon, Stephen, where's the fun of getting married when I've already moved in with you while we're still dating?"

"Honey, I'm home!" You called out to Stephen which erupted a chuckle from the said man. "You always love to do that, don't you?" He made his way to you, arms partially spreading out which you took as an invitation to jump into. "That bad, huh?" He asked, burying his head and hands on your hair. "Oh, God, you wouldn't even wanna know." You groaned. "But, how about you? How was Christine's wedding? You gave her my greetings, didn't you?" You asked continuously. Stephen gave you a small smile in which a sigh followed. "It was okay. Just exhausting. You know, pictures and stuff." He said, shoulders slightly drooping.

"Oh, yes, I forgot. I was dating the most famous sorcerer in the world." You mockingly rolled your eyes with a chuckle. "Haha, funny. C'mon, honey, let's get you to bed." He retorted back before dragging you into his bedroom.

The next week after the wedding and the reunion turned out to be the best and worst week of your almost two-year long relationship. You had decided to stay the week at the Sanctum, mainly because 'you just wanted to' although your boyfriend didn't buy it, he still believed you. What he didn't know was you wanted to stay because your family's words was already getting to you. Multiple messages from your aunts contained them getting you multiple blind dates with other men even if you said you didn't want to, they still tried in case you'd ever change your mind.

You wanted to prove to yourself that this was just one of the few challenges you and Stephen would face. You wanted to prove to yourself that your love for him was stronger in spite of your deep fears that the world would divide you. Every morning, you'd make breakfast — even cook lunch and dinner enough for the both of you and Wong. Every night, you'd have deep late night talks about the most random things — turning the bedroom into a sacred oasis for the both of you. So, yes, you were a mess.

You were able to keep that mess at bay until that fateful Friday evening.

"Auntie, please stop. Please! I don't want any of them. I am more than satisfied with Stephen, I don't need anyone else." Stephen heard you arguing with your aunt on the phone in the kitchen above his office upstairs. He went down to see you and immediately rushed down to your side when he saw you sobbing on the floor with your head buried in your arms and knees.

"Honey, you okay?" He asked gently. "No." You replied, voice muffled. "Do you want to talk about it?" He asked again, more carefully than the last one. You finally lifted your head up, revealing your puffy red eyes and tear-streaked face. You let out a shaky sigh, before speaking. "It's just that, my aunt has been forcing me to go on these blind dates with men my age, thinking that you're not good enough for me." You said with a whimper in your tone.

"Well, what did you say?" He asked. "I told her, no. I don't need those. But she kept on insisting and, I don't know, I just burst out, I guess." You cried out. "Oh, I see. Do you need time off then?" Stephen asked out of the blue. Your eyes widened in disbelief and horror, still not processing completely what he said. "W-what? Stephen, what are you saying?" You asked him tearfully. "Y/N, I think you need some time to think about it. Now, I'm giving you the time you need." He said it like it was nothing. Now, the tears had started rolling down again.

"Stephen Strange, how dare you?! I fought for you, now this is the treatment I get?!" You stood up and so did he, shouting at him at the incredulity of the man that stood before you. "Y/N, I'm just saying that maybe you need to think about what your aunt said." He attempted to clarify himself but it was to no good. You had been looking at him a look of hurt and terror in your face, unable to comprehend the words that had just come out of his mouth.

"God, you're such an asshole, Strange! If you want that, then so be it!" He flinched at the use of his last name, you never called him that. You stormed out of the Sanctum and went back to your apartment.

Which is where you are now. At 3AM on a Sunday, facing your phone at the nightstand — wishing it would light up with a text from your lover. Thinking it would be useless to wait for a man with a pride higher than the Burj Khalifa to show up, you faced the other side — hoping to at least get a reasonable amount of sleep.

Just as you were finally about to get a blink of sleep, the doorbell to your apartment unit rang. Muttering a string of curses to the person who rang your doorbell at the wee hours of the night, you got up from your bed and walked over to the buzzer.

"Who is this?" You asked groggily. "Y/N, it's me. Could you buzz me in, please?" A voice you knew all too well replied from the other side. That same baritone voice you grew to love so much that also turned into one that you so deeply despised. Upon hearing his voice, it seemed like all forms of sleepiness was knocked out of your body. You took a deep sigh and closed your eyes, thinking you were dreaming and this would all go away if you opened them again.

"Y/N, are you there?" The voice spoke up again, startling you, causing you to open your eyes and groan loudly because it, in fact, wasn't a dream. "Stephen, what are you doing here? I thought you said you wanted to give me time." You said exasperatedly, just wanting to go back to the comfort of your bed. "Y/N, please, just give me 5 minutes of your time. After that, I'll be gone." Stephen begged one more time and even through the speaker, you could see the look of desperation on his face. Feeling pity for the man on your porch, you decide to buzz him in and sat down on the sofa of your apartment's living room — waiting for the sorcerer to knock on your door.

Not long after, you heard a knock on your door just as you expected. What you didn't expect though, is to see him appear ragged, eyes surrounded by dark circles most likely due to lack of sleep, and even puffy red eyes. His look is almost identical to yours, only difference is you looking more haggard than he is. You stepped aside, signaling him to head inside your apartment. He sat down on your sofa as you shut the door behind you.

"Want anything? Coffee, tea, perhaps maybe beer?" You asked your guest. "No need, Y/N. I'll be gone after a while anyway." He, to your surprise, politely dismissed your offer. "Alright. What's your business here, Stephen?" You asked him straight to the point, sitting across him in one of your beanbags.

"Okay. Firstly, I want to apologize." He started off, pausing for a while to let you speak if you ever have anything to say but is met with your unwavering gaze and crossed arms to your chest. "Y/N, I am so, so, so sorry to have said those things to you. I know it's a very asshole thing for me to say, especially right after you risked your relationship with your relative just for me. I really am truly sorry." He continued.

"Believe it or not, I've been experiencing the same, too. At Christine's wedding, the other doctors there were also telling me to find someone my age and that you were too young for me. It definitely took a toll on me and I took it out on you which was wrong and I shouldn't have done so. This past week without you has been the absolute hell and I know now that you're worth more than what others think and I've lost you to those. So, I understand if you choose not to accept this apology. I'll just be on my way." He finished off, standing up and preparing to leave.

"Stephen, wait." You spoke, stopping him on his tracks. "I'm sorry, too. I should've been there with you and we should've faced this together as one and not divided. This isn't a 'you' nor a 'me' problem, but an 'us' problem. We should've dealt with it that way. So, yes, I accept your apology and I hope that you accept mine, too." You said, standing up to face your lover by the door.

You made your way to him, cupping his face in your hands and pressed your forehead to his before whispering a small "I'm sorry, love." He gave you a small kiss on the lips as he said, "It's alright, honey. I forgive you. Let's go home, yeah?"

He pulled you out of your apartment, holding each others' hands with smiles plastered on your faces.

[xiaq]

Hi, I have a question re:sex and Christianity. Small background: I still go to church, and I still live with my parents even though I'm not much younger than you, because housing is very very expensive where I live (pretty common here, I would say about 2/3 of my friends live with their parents and we are decently privileged kids)

Anyway. How does one get over purity culture? To be clear, I've never been told in church not to have sex, I've never gotten the gendered lessons that you got. But I am terrified of having sex. My first real, multi-year relationship just ended and while there was hand stuff etc, there was never any p in v sex (lol I feel 12). But I still had insane anxiety about being pregnant despite being on bc. And I think its because I know my parents would be so disappointed if I had sex. And if I was pregnant I could imagine all the gossip. And honestly I think im from a pretty open church, b/c one of our previous ministers kids recently got married at 8 months pregnant and lots of church people were at the wedding and supportive and her parents were there and everything.

I dont even think I particularly like sex, i might be on the ace spectrum, but how do I remove it from all the anxiety that's tied to it so I can even give myself the chance to find out???

(Asking because it seems like you've been pretty open about purity culture/removing yourself from it)

CW for sex talk (again)

How does one get over purity culture?

Oh man. That really is the million-dollar question, huh? Obviously, I can only answer re my personal experiences, and this is something you should talk to a therapist about, but I can tell you how I’ve tackled it with my therapist at least.

Purity culture is, at its core, an ideology that is perpetuated by shame. If you’re indoctrinated into purity culture when you’re a kid, the concepts become baked into the way you construct your identity, your perception of self, and your perception of your sexuality. It’s practically intrinsic, by the time you’re an adult, to feel shame any time you’re reminded you have a body, much less a sexuality.

According to the chapels I sat through every week as a kid, a girl's body could be 3 things: an intentional stumbling block for men, an accidental stumbling block for men, or unnoticeable. Women were to strive for the third option so as to keep their (and their male friends/authority figures) purity intact. After all, if a boy, or even your male teacher, had impure thoughts about you, it was your fault for tempting them (which, holy shit. I still can’t believe that was a thing I bought into for so long. If my 45 yr old grown-ass teacher had impure thoughts because he could see my 12 yr old collarbone, that sure as hell wasn’t my fault. But I digress.) The Only time a woman’s body can be something else, is when she gives it to her husband, at which point she must suddenly flip the switch in her brain that she is now allowed to be a Sexual Being and she must perform Sexual Duties despite living in outright fear of her own body and sexuality for years (decades?) up until this point. Jesus take the wheel.

Purity culture isn’t a thing you can just decide to walk away from if you’ve grown up in it. Because its ideology is insidious and internalized. So first you need to submit to the fact that you’re going to be fucked up about sex. It sounds like you’re there. Second, you need to interrogate what you believe. If you’re leaving religion behind entirely, you’ll approach removing yourself from purity culture differently than if you still identify as a Christian. It sounds like you might be the latter, which meant, for me, separating what’s actually biblical and what’s shitty, contrived, doctrine that I was told is biblical but is actually more political than spiritual. This helps you address the shame issue.

You need to throw away I Kissed Dating Goodbye and Lady in Waiting and all those ridiculous books you read and reread in the hopes of somehow obtaining impossible marriage perfection and look into actual scripture interpreted within its historical context. I could write a book on this, but the TL;DR is that the text of the Bible was written, translated, curated, and changed multiple times over thousands of years by human beings with human biases and, often, personal and/or political agendas. It contradicts itself! Reading it as it is—a flawed historical document—rather than some sort of God-breathed perfect document—is incredibly freeing. When you do, you’ll probably realize that purity culture is bullshit on a spiritual level. Which is a good start, if that matters to you. Because any time you start to feel shame or guilt you can ask yourself: does God actually care if I wear a bikini or touch a dick I’m not married to? Probably not. Wear the bikini. Touch the dick.

The most important therapy session for me was when my therapist asked what I would do if I got to heaven and God was actually the God I’d been raised to fear. What would I do if he condemned me for being bisexual and having premarital sex and becoming educated, for arguing with men, and failing to isolate while menstruating, and wearing mixed fabrics? If Montero had come out at the point, I probably would have said I’d pole dance down to hell. Instead, I said I would spit on heaven’s gates. If a god that cruel and that pointlessly demeaning really exists—a god who would create in me condemned desire—I won't worship him. The good news is, I’m 99% sure he doesn’t exist. At the very least, he isn’t supported by scripture.

Okay. The final thing you need to do is figure out what you actually want, sexually speaking. This bit is probably the hardest. I’m still in the early stages of this myself. You say: “I dont even think I particularly like sex, i might be on the ace spectrum, but how do I remove it from all the anxiety that's tied to it so I can even give myself the chance to find out???” Bro, I wish I had an easy answer for you. For me, whenever I’m feeling anxious about Sex Things, I tell myself: 1. My God does not equate my worth to my sexual habits. 2. My partner does not equate my worth to my sexual habits. 3. I do not equate my worth to my sexual habits. It seems silly, but reminding myself of those three things is massively helpful. If, after I’ve sorted through those, I’m still anxious or uncomfortable, I stop doing the thing. I evaluate. Am I overwhelmed and I need to try again some other time? Do I just not like the thing? Sometimes it’s hard to tell. Sometimes you change your mind. Sometimes you just don’t know. That’s why having a partner who you trust and who’s willing to patiently explore your interests (and respect your disinterests) is so important. Half the battle, for me, was having a partner who told me they’d be ok with no sex at all. Because that took the pressure off me. If the bare minimum they need is nothing, then anything more than that is a bonus! Hooray! This is maybe TMI, but let me tell you. I thought I was asexual* right up until I was able to have moderately non-anxious sex. Never in my life did I think I would initiate a sexual situation but… I do now. It’s a fun thing to do with a person I love and, holy shit. I am furious that I nearly missed out on it.

Finally, re birth control: I don’t know how you can approach that fear in a way that works for you. If you don’t want to ever have penetrative sex, that’s fine! If that’s a point of anxiety you can’t get rid of, then don't push yourself to do it. If you find out you like other sex things, do the other sex things! If you don't like doing any sex things, don't do any sex things! Also, have you considered sleeping with people who can’t get you pregnant? Always an option if it’s an option you want to consider. ;)

Okay. I hope this was even a little bit helpful. Sorry if it’s a little convoluted, I typed it up in bursts during my work breaks.

*This is not at all to say that asexuality can be “fixed." Rather, it’s to say that things like purity culture can drastically confuse your sexuality in general. If you’re asexual, then this process is still important to discover what you like/dislike. Then you can be explicit about those necesities and find a partner who’s a good fit (if you want a partner at all, that is).

[iguessweallcrazyithinktho]

Will you marry me again?

Summary: requested by 💋:

You asking Chris "Will you marry me again? Even in a different life time?" And he decides to show you he will however many life times later by doing a wedding vow renewal ceremony on your 10th anniversary. Your 4yr old & 2 yr old sons are the ring bearer 💍 and your 9 yr old & 6 yr old daughters are the flower girls 💐. Just your families and closest friends get together for the lovely day. - 💋Anon

Warning: fluff

Word count: 1.1k

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader, Dad Chris

Masterlist

Please don't post any of my content anywhere else without my permission.

Comment and reblogs welcome!

It's been 10 years since you married Chris. You gave each other 4 beautiful kids, two girls and two boys. You gave each other happiness and so many memories that you will cherish at an older age. You loved him dearly and you wanted to ask him a question you've always wanted one to ask.

-

You walked into the living room seeing Chris and your 4 kids sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table. They were drawing in some coloring books they got a few days ago. 

"Hi honey." Chris looked up at you. "Yes beautiful?" You smiled at the nickname before talking. "Can I talk to you?"

Chris nodded, getting up. You walked to the kitchen and he followed behind you with a little jog. "What do you want to talk about?" He stopped in front of you as you leaned against the counter. "I wanted to talk about something that's been on my mind for a while now."

Chris nodded as you continued. "You smiled, looking up at him. "We've been married for 10 years now and I love you so much and…. I wanted to ask you if you would marry me again? Even in a different lifetime?"

Chris threw his head back as he laughed. He was Terrified you were going to break some horrible news to him.

"I was so scared for a second." He said laughing. Once he calmed down He took your hands looking you in the eyes. "I'll marry you a million times if it's even possible. He slowly slides your wedding ring off your finger before getting on his knees. You smiled at him. "Will you remarry me honey?" You laughed as you muttered out a yes. 

Chris put your ring back on your finger before He leaned in, pressing his lips against yours. You can feel him smiling against your lips and you would be lying if you said you weren't smiling as well. You were going to remarry the love of your life, this time with your 4 kids. What's not to smile about.

--

It took about two weeks for you and Chris to set up your ceremony to get remarried. You decided to wear your actual wedding dress from your actual wedding. On the day of your remarriage, you and your daughter got dressed in beautiful dresses while Chris and your two sons got dressed in their suits. You felt nervous, almost as nervous as you did on your first wedding. 

Your oldest daughter Mallorie noticed. "Mommy, you look very nervous." You turned to her and Chuckled, "I am very nervous." You kneeled down to her height. "I'm going to marry daddy again and it's just like the first time I married him. So I'm very nervous but in a good way." 

You smiled at her before turning to your second daughter, ireland. "This is very big and I'm very happy you two and brothers can be a part of it." You smiled at them before standing up, "okay, you both ready? Got your flowers?"

You stuck out your hand for them to take. They took your hand nodding, "yeah." 

"Okay, let's go."

You walked out of the room you were in, through the chapel halls. Chris was already at the altar waiting for you. Just like you, he was nervous. He hasn't seen you all day and it was killing him. He just couldn't wait to marry you again.

Before you could go out the kids were first. Your daughters scattered out some flowers while your son's brought the rings. Before you knew it, it was your time to go. 

Scott led you down the aisle to where Chris was. The whole time as you walked you had a smile on your face that made your cheeks hurt but you couldn't help it.

When you reached Chris you took his hands in yours, looking in his eyes. Chris' heart skipped a beat as he looked at you. Even though it has been 10 years, you looked just the same even after 4 kids.

The priest (is that who talks. Never been to a wedding. Anyways) started talking but your eyes stayed locked on Chris's. You weren't even sure what the guy said until he told the both of you that you could kiss.

It didn't take Chris long to seal his lips with yours. The few family and friends in the room interrupted into cheer and you could hear your mini mes doing the same. 

After a few seconds Chris pulled away looking at you. You smiled and took his hand in yours. Chris leaned into your ear, whispering something to you. "I need to talk to you in private before we do anything else. "

You nodded to him before you both walked back down the aisle. Before the ceremony started, Chris pulled you away. You both walked down the hall hand in hand until he found an empty room. 

He let you walk in first before he followed, shutting the door behind himself. 

"What do you want to talk about?" You asked. Chris grinned as he cupped your cheek. "I just want to say thank you for asking me to remarry you. Thank you for being my amazing, stunning wife. Thank you for giving me 4 beautiful kids that I love dearly. I couldn't ask for more than I've gotten from you, it's just a dream so thank you."

He gave you a quick passionate kiss before pulling away. Before you come get a word out a knock on the door interrupts you. You could hear the chatter of your kids whispering on the other side.

"They're not in there." "Yeah they are." You heard arguing on the other side.

You and Chris looked at each other shaking your heads. You walked up to the door opening it to see all 4 of them. They looked up at you both. "Mommy daddy. Can we eat cake now?"

Your son asked. You nodded, "of course, come on." You and Chris took them back to the room where the cake was. As you both enjoyed the rest of the day in the back of your mind you were thinking. Thinking about Chris's words and how you felt the same. 

You were also thinking about the next decades you would be spending with him. Someday when you're both old and your kids are grown, you both will look back on this moment. You know you were forever going to be grateful you married him again and Chris was forever going to be grateful you asked.

----

[villainship]

[& We Won't Always Be So Lucky, But We Were Once]

Young Zahied, recovering from being injured in the field, has very bad new memories but a very good husband at his side. (Follows after the scenes in these doodles)

This is possibly the longest fic I've shared here.

I. . . I told myself I'd write a cute scene of the domestic couple dynamics between him & his husband, w/ fish-kissing. In spite of that goal, it immediately veered SUPER dark before I got it turned around.

GENERAL Content Warning: very bad memories = flashback to overly realistic violence in the intro of the fic. (Specific content warning under the read-more)

- Specific content warnings - Violence: grievous facial injury from the firsthand perspective, with secondhand, traumatized-military-person perspective of other soldiers' nearby deaths (and the bad-brain time of ensuing, unmanaged survivor's guilt). It’s not that gory, but again: the mood is Dark. Shipping intimacy: yes there IS kissing & mush in the same story. Shirts are off before 'fade to black' at the end, with explicit follow-up 100% implied—but nothing more. Giving them -some- privacy. Lol

ANYWAY...!

What a life he had, barely 30 yrs old (if even. My timelines are indistinct; he might be under 30).

---

It’d been three weeks since the ambush that had him sent home from the front.

Three weeks since a separatist grenade had been lobbed into that small, grey building the Republic used as a watchpost. The spray of plasma and superheated shrapnel in an enclosed space was more than a match for the average, light-duty armor of three guards.

His colleagues who took the brunt of the blast hadn’t survived: neither the woman at the door, who tried to call for them to take cover, nor the man in the chair next to his. He, like Zahied, had removed his helmet for their meal break.

Zahied was the lucky one.

His ears still rang sometimes, and occasionally his right eye showed strobing spots in his vision. White pulses and persistent shadows. His reflex to raise his arm may have helped him keep from being blinded altogether. The body of the other soldier at the table had also sheltered him from some of the heat and debris of the blast.

At the time, he had only known the panic of liquid fire coating the side of his face. His arm was smoking—burning. The soldiers with him: both were burning. One moving along the floor, the other collapsed—barely twitching. Bleeding out. The floor was burning.

Blasters fired from the street. Body halfway out the door, the crawling soldier finally lay still. Zahied didn’t recall his own escape as clearly as he remembered her bolt-scorched helmet and the outline of that doorway. 

He knew he had staggered to the back room; he shut the door between him and the flames. Already they had faded from piercing blue to molten yellow. Every surface fuel had touched, the sizzling and sparking tested for something to feed on. The smoke had the smell of a battlefield: chemical fumes and the burning dead.

He had put out the fire on his arm with his bare hand, apparently. His palm was blistered and bloodied. He didn’t chance the back door (in his mind’s eye was a helmet, and the echo of a gunshot).

It wasn’t long—it hadn’t felt like enough time to think of what else to do—before he heard the sounds of a skirmish flowing in the other direction, replaced by voices shouting in concern. He answered. Geared-up troopers rushed inside, getting him clear of the building before they brought in fire extinguishers.

He had walked himself to medical. There was nothing wrong with his legs. Nothing badly wrong with him, overall—though the injuries had looked messy, on the... face... of it.

It didn’t feel fair to feel sorry for himself, when he’d survived. But he remembered thinking about the photos from his wedding. It was good they made time to get married before this happened.

Half his face still looked like it’d been turned inside-out; the color and texture of someone’s guts, much pinker and paler than his cheek should be. It was healing fine. The bandages were mostly gone. That was why he, and everyone else, could have a good look at the raw, ragged patches that were still too glossy and surrounded by uncomfortable swelling.

He’d started taking less painkillers. That’s why he was awake now. 

Lying on the pullout bed in the living room, reflecting on all that led here. Wondering, again, what the rest of his unit had been dealing with while he had been in the care of med droids and his anxious husband.

He smiled a little to think of Nathuur, who had heard the news ahead yet still turned weepy-eyed the instant he caught sight of him swathed in bandages at the hospital. They had both cried, of course. It was a grim cause for a reunion, and there’d been a lot of emotions to process.

Those kept him awake, too.

He was full of relief to be home: to be with his husband, to be safe, to be alive and (relatively) healthy. He was guilty to be home. To be safe. 

Alive and well—far from the dangers that had marked him.

This didn’t feel like the place he should be. He wasn’t badly injured. It was fortunate, but it made a bad excuse for three weeks of rest. 

The separatist attacks had been growing more frequent and aggressive before the one he was caught up in. What about now? No one could offer much of an update. He had a holo-call or a note here and there, wishing him well—(there was a potted plant from the Gunner girlfriends sitting on the windowsill; they’d been guests at the wedding, not so long ago)—but of course security concerns limited the details. 

Besides: no one wanted to see him preoccupied about work. Not-knowing might not do much to stop him from worrying, but they must have hoped it would help. He didn’t fault them for trying.

“You’re awake, Lover-guy?” A familiar voice, muffled-sounding, with a bit of a rasp and a distinctive squeaky pitch, spoke quietly out of the dark. 

Nathuur.

It was impressive that he hadn’t heard his selkath husband coming down the hall. His feet were huge, his legs weren’t long, and the massive, fluffy slippers he wore around the house never did much to make him quieter. 

Either being hit by an explosive did more damage to his hearing than he knew, or Zahied must have been very lost in his thoughts.

He could hardly make out the shape of his husband’s silhouette (the pattern of glow-in-the-dark spaceships and planet designs on his pyjamas gave a hint), but he knew Nath’s vision was better. He’d see the in-house patient sit up against the back of the couch, adjusting in his bedcovers. 

He might be able to see Zahied’s half-smile. “I’m awake. Why are /you/ up?”

“Snacks.” The shuffle of comfy slippers approached his bedside first, instead of carrying on to their kitchen. “I get hungry with a baby on the way.”

Zahied laughed readily, no matter how many times Nathuur made fun of stereotypes of ‘the human experience’. “You’re going to miss messing with people about that when it hatches.”

“I really am...” He sounded like he was smiling, too, as he sat himself on the edge of the mattress, then left his slippers behind to pull his feet up. “The faces people make when they’re thinking really hard about questions they know they shouldn’t ask—Ha.”

As Nathuur shifted closer to him, Zahied made space for them to be side-by-side, moving carefully into position to put an arm around his shoulders and pull him into an embrace. “You’ll find something else to short-circuit them.”

Nath, conspiratorial in his chuckling, gently bumped Zahied’s chin with the dome of his head. “Can you believe we could turn into parents any day now?”

Short, thick arms wrapped around his torso, but the pressure in Zahied’s chest felt like it was coming from something else.

He hated the idea of crying again, just now. To avoid it, he’d have to start thinking of something other than his emotions about being reunited like this: holding his favourite person in this galaxy again. Being held.

Thinking of the near arrival of their firstborn wasn’t /less/ likely to make him well-up in tears, but at least there was elation and excitement he could focus on. Some nervousness.

Instead of turning his face to Nathuur in the dark, he stared towards the window to his right, where light from the street filtered in as soft yellow lines at the edges of the frame and between the shutters. “I can’t believe it.” He patted his hand on Nath’s shoulder. “No one else will, either, when they see me taking a baby selkath on a walk.”

“That would be close-minded of them.” Nathuur laughed again.

Zahied smiled again, making his beard and mustache feel crooked while he was avoiding too much movement on the scabby, pock-marked side of his face.

They could feel each other breathing. He got the impression Nathuur might be listening to the beat of his heart. And then his husband drew away enough to look him over again.

“Zahied—”

He heard the start of a question, but it was too much to resist kissing him on the flat of his nose, amid the patches and flecks of color that became a larger, bolder pattern further up his forehead.

Nathuur’s nose wrinkled (...which was also adorable), but the twitching of his whiskers suggested he was still smiling.

“—ah. You know that tickles.”

“I’m sure it does.”

He couldn’t help but laugh longer when his husband’s reprisal was to nose under his ear, taking nibbling bites at the side of his neck. It was a successful tactic to make Zahied squirm. “What were you going to ask—?”

Nathuur set his chin to rest on his human spouse’s shoulder, stuck with a face full of his loose, long hair. Not bothered by it, apparently.

“Do you really want to go back?”

They both knew the answer. They’d been over the question many times—though he never resented that Nathuur would ask again. There had been times his dedication wavered. This was one of them.

“Yes,” he said, nonetheless.

“OK.”

Nathuur never resented the cause he’d chosen. When they met, he was already a soldier of the Senate: trying to protect the peace and the people of the Republic. 

Zahied had never needed enthusiasm or support for his career from the kind and gentle-hearted man he loved—the acknowledgement of the choice was enough. 

And his acceptance: Nathuur didn’t look for an apology when the answer hadn’t changed.

What he DID look for was a nuzzle against Zahied’s face (thankfully there was still one side safe to rub against), which was accompanied by the quiet, trilling sound of Nathuur consoling him (or himself...).

Those kind of noises always sounded not-quite-right out of water. It was usually the selkath who had to make accommodations in their inter-species partnership, favoring the one who couldn’t survive an airless environment.  Zahied just had to compromise with humid conditions in shared accommodations—which was why he had to sleep on the guest bed while his skin was healing: it was too damp in their room.

“I’ll miss you,” the soldier admitted, which was something they also knew.

“It’ll freak me out if you get hurt again.” Nathuur met his hand to hold it, looking him in the eye again. His attitude had the sadness, and the relief, of seeing him go through something bad which could’ve been much worse. “—I love you.”

“Same here.” Zahied squeezed the hand in his. For the sake of stroking the top of Nathuur’s glossy-soft head, he lifted his right arm. The motion still brought twinges of pain where he felt thin skin and new scar tissue stretched too tight—but with Nath smiling at him like that, it was easy to tune out anything else. 

Zahied mirrored the warmth in his expression, returning a softer smile.

Those were his truths: he loved him—he’d miss him—he needed to go back.

If he couldn’t always be with him, at least they had each other now.

He kissed Nathuur again lightly—this time on the ridge of his brow. One finger of his right hand followed the same line above his eye, then skimmed down to the tendril twitching again on the left side of that teal-toned face.

“Are you still hungry—?”

Nathuur raised his eyes again, which had just started to get sleepy-looking a moment ago. He caught Zahied’s slow tone, and he recognized the coaxing of the finger and thumb teasing his whisker.

“I’ll put it off.”

Nathuur palmed his chest, with Zahied laughing faintly. He made the hasty motions to unbutton his own baggy, well-worn sleep shirt, welcoming familiar hands: long-fingered and extremely strong; unfailingly gentle.

He could immediately get lost in having Nathuur’s hands move over his skin, but before he did he wanted to stroke his own fingers against the bony ridge at the back of his husband’s head, watching him slowly close his eyes. He drew the touch forward after that, running fingertips toward the front of Nathuur’s throat, then underneath his jaw while he kissed him on the mouth. “—This is the medicine I needed: cute face to kiss.”

“I’m here to help.” Nathuur struck a coy pose with a tilt of his head, then re-examined Zahied while he copied the gesture of petting at his neck. “YOUR face is a mess, but it's still sexy. Maybe more sexy. You look like you fought a huge, ferocious squid or something.”

“Hell—is that what they’re into on Manaan? I need to read more selkath romance novels.”

“Who ISN’T kinda weak for the brave warrior type?”

“Oh?”

“—haha, I got you blushing.”

Nathuur was right, whether he could actually /see/ the flush of Zahied’s face or if he was only guessing. “I’m personally more attracted to the friendly, charismatic kind of guy,” he argued, “And great Dad material, you know? The ones who take care of people.”

The subject of his flattery was probably not blushing, though he enjoyed it. Nathuur started playing with Zahied’s hair between his fingers, chuckling at his comeback—and at the way he shivered. “A homebody? Sounds boring.”

“Not when they take you to bed,” Zahied sighed, letting his eyes fall closed. “They really know how to—Mm!”

Nathuur, with another laugh—more like a giggle—had begun to drag him insistently down the bed. When he had him flat on his back again, his chosen ‘homebody’ descended to more nibbling and teasing, flicking licks of his tongue up and across Zahied’s neck and throat, then at his upper lip.

A little breathless, his next plea came as a soft moan. Wordless anticipation. The awareness of everything he had missed about being back in loving arms, and how desperate his desire was now that they finally had a chance to engage in long-delayed intimacy.

Nathuur found his left hand and nipped gently at his fingertips, then brought Zahied’s inner wrist to his mouth for kissing, cupping the human’s shorter, five-fingered hand between his palms: big and smooth.

In turn, Zahied kissed the knuckle of Nathuur’s middle finger (the only one between thumb and 'pinky'). He smiled again, flush-faced. “Lick anything except the side of my face or this other arm, along here, and I think we’re good.”

“Anything and everything?” Nathuur teased, eyes raised to his face before skimming over the rest of him.

Zahied stretched out playfully, making another breathless sound as they exchanged a grin. “Whatever you want. All yours.”

He felt Nath’s hand move to lay on the top of his head, and felt as the tip of his tongue delicately touched to the bridge of his nose. A very light, slightly clumsy kiss found approximately the same spot.

There was a bandage there, but Zahied didn’t feel the cut underneath it enough to flinch, not even with selkath mouth-shape-related awkwardness as a hazard. He was too full of warmth, preoccupied with Nathuur’s presence: his husband’s hip warm against his side, his chest over Zahied’s. Those goofy, soft-feeling pyjamas meeting his bare skin where Nath leaned close. He snuck his fingers to the edge of the shirt and started to unbutton from the bottom up.

Nathuur sat back to let him, beaming down at him. 

Zahied lowered his eyes, shyly dodging his gaze. “How’d I get lucky enough to have you,” he murmured, unavoidably aware of how close they had come to never having had this moment—to him never making it back to the family they would have together, soon.

“Haha. Yeah, the love lottery.”

He cracked a grin that did hurt the still-healing side of his face.

Nathuur stroked fingertips at his forehead, feeling through the hair at the edges of his hairline, looking proud of himself.

“That’s one way to make it sound cheesy as hell.” Zahied finished freeing the last button, petting down the loose fabric at Nathuur’s chest once more before letting him wiggle his shoulders free.

“OK—“ Holding the shirt over an arm, Nathuur climbed down from Zahied’s temporary bed. “If you’re thinking like I’m thinking, you should probably come with me.”

“But I was so warm here, and so /dry/,” he protested insincerely, teasing Nathuur while eagerly moving to follow him at the same time.

“You’re gonna need a whole shower anyway, with what I’ve got in mind.”

“Oh—the licking.”

Nath’s laughter led toward the hall, where he flicked the light switch to help them both find their way. “Well, yeah. And lube. You’ve got nothing below the waist that’s bandaged-up, so...”

Excitement hit like a buzz at the base of his neck, flooding warmth to his face. Now he was sure that Nathuur could have seen him blush, even if his complexion camouflaged it, and—as he realized in a passing thought—even if his right cheek was going to be red all over for a while, until it fully healed.

He finished taking his own shirt off carefully: the unhurt side first, then the patched one.

When they reached the door of the bedroom Nathuur turned and opened his arms to Zahied, who leaned into them and met his shorter husband for a hug that would let him rest his head against his heart again. 

Nathuur tilted his face up to bump his nose softly at Zahied’s bearded chin like a prompt.

Zahied answered with a small, fond laugh, and by running his hand along Nathuur’s shoulder to the central ridge along the back of his neck. 

In the area beneath the base of his skull and his jaw, the skin of a selkath was a texture unlike a human’s: it was finely wrinkled, loose and thin—and sensitive to being stroked gently.

While Nath relaxed, leaning his weight into the hug, Zahied’s other hand sought the button by the door, opening the hatch to the climate-controlled space of their room. “You’re right. Should be worth it.”

[thebirkenstocksocialist]

How many fandoms were you in before YR? And how did you get into YR?

Hi thanks so much @echocoffee 💜💜💜

My first fandom was Harry Potter circa 2002 when we were waiting for OotP to come out. It was a wild time of speculative FanFiction and checking the news constantly for updates. I read fic on and off until well after the 7th book was published. At the time I really didn’t deviate from cannon except I love a good Remus/Sirius ship. Now I’ll dabble in Drary.

Around 2008/2009 I was into Twilight fandom. This is a bit embarrassing but I find honesty is better than shame. Anyway, mostly I found fic here because I was pissed that all that pining led to a fade to black wedding night. So I had to find one of course. But I made my first real fandom friend and beta read for the first time and that was super special.

For the past couple of years I have been pretty deep in Schitt’s Creek. This is where I learned to use discord and really connect with people on a much more personal level. I wrote my very first fanfic in this fandom (also Taylor Swift inspired ad I am a Folkwhore). I met one of my best friends in the whole world, made and sent rosebud necklaces to friends all over the world, and have had fandom friend meet ups. I can’t believe how lucky I have been to meet and love some truly wonderful people during the pandemic from Schitt’s Creek - the town where everyone fits in.

I also dabble in Ted Lasso. Huge fan of the show and I’ve read quite a bit of my favorite ship - Trent/Ted!

How’d I come to YR? Well I came out as queer late in life. Well over a decade into a hetero appearing marriage (Love you so much Mr. Squig!). David Rose was the first mspec person I saw in media. And I related so deeply to him. Then Patrick came along - a true late bloomer - and inspired me more.

I realized I was in my own sort of queer adolescence. I always have loved coming of age stories and like, teen dramas, so I decided to watch YR after I had heard really good rumblings about it on the internet. My heart just craves good queer media. Then I watched it and was just stunned with what such a small, simple show managed to do in six episodes. And the gorgeous queer joy, and heartache, of it all. I fell in love with the unlabeled representation too. So I took to twitter and found my way to the incredible besties on discord and the rest is history. 💜

[theninjazebra]

10 Things from 2020  

1. it started badly. 5 hrs into the year i felt like a cartoon of someone stepping on a rake. new years is my favourite holiday so i always start the year with irrational optimism which wears off over the next few days. 5 hrs is a new record. 

2. the summer of ~*~ l o v e ~*~  was really something, and took on a sort of dreamy mythic quality as the year stretched on. having said that, nz was blanketed by the hazy ash of australia. so, romance set against the backdrop of an apocalypse. much like the rest of 2020.

3. started the year with a house hold of 4, half of which got married and moved out by lockdown. 

4. nz had 5 weeks of the one of the strictest lockdowns in the world. i work from home anyway, but was bubbling with my sister who worked as a checkout supervisor in a supermarket (effectively the only place open, as even drs and pharmacies were call-ahead-only). it was a weird time. absolutely terrifying, but also weirdly calm compared to the chaos before and after.

5. came out to family and church. 

6. V moved into the sleep out under the trees. bit like having another little sister. or like a foster-vegan from a vegan-rescue that i’m teaching how to make risottos and curries and lentil lasagnes from the vintage hippie recipes handed down from my mum and her friends.

7. work has been up and down. either two busy or dead, which is kinda the way with freelancing. 

8. dad’s wedding was pretty great, all things considered. 

9. M moved in. life got so much better.

10. i turned 30. we’re a house hold of 4 again. there’s been a somewhat ferocious celebration of xmas. life is A Lot, but compared to the last 5 yrs it’s pretty good.

10 Things for 2021

1. I’M GETTING A KITTEN. 

2. oh yeah, and engaged. but from a content-of-this-blog perspective the kitten is bigger news. 

3. i’m doing some study for the next yr and half because i’m over being broke and stressed. i actually would like a future now thanks.

4. i get to play Terrifying Nurse for M for two months.

5. honey harvesting in jan, hopefully.

6. may or may not be working in a bakery/cafe. 

7. kinda looking forward to stepping back from the freelancing for a bit, get into a proper routine, and not be dropping everything every 5 mins because Paid Work.

8. AND GET THAT WEBCOMIC GOING

9. AND GET MY TEETH INTO ODF

10. AND THE OTHER ONE.

feel free to steal the format, but tag me! i want to see all your thoughts. 

[purplesurveys]

944

Things won’t get better unless you make them better Survey by emptyspaces

Do you agree with the quote in the survey title? For the most part, yes. A lot of the good things that have happened or come to me did so because I did something about them to some extent. I wouldn’t have begun dating my girlfriend if I didn’t ask her out, I wouldn’t have gotten this internship offer if I didn’t send a letter of interest, etc.

How many windows are on the front of your house? There’s one tiny window on the left side, then on the right is one big window but with three panes.

What common problem have you never experienced? Commuting at rush hour or getting the chickenpox.

Alternatively, what's an uncommon problem you have experienced? Being chased by a giant bird that I was trying to take a quick snapshot of from a distance.

Do you know anyone who opposes marriage equality? You mean the entire Filipino population who isn’t a millennial or from Gen Z? Sure. I can give you a novel with a list of names.

Are you an early riser or a night owl? I’m...both. I barely sleep. I have a 9-6 day shift but I also accompany Gab for a few hours on her 9-6 night shift, but honestly I don’t get tired from it at all. I seem to do well with only 3-4 hours of sleep.

What was the last thing you got really emotional about? Her and I.

What's the longest amount of time you've been ill for? That week-long fever I had a few months ago. Prior to that I only ever had quick overnight fevers, so you could just imagine my horror when my fever turned into 2 days, then 3, until a whole week passed and I was still playing around 38-39ºC.

What's your cure for hiccups? I hold my breath but it doesn’t always work. I don’t have other cures for it and I just let it naturally go away.

Who is your closest male friend? My eldest cousin on my mom’s side. Or Hans, but we only ever talk when Angela’s present or involved.

Do you track your spending? Yes. I only get an allowance so it’s not much, and I especially had to track it when I was still in school because back then I had to allot for gas, food, and course readings. 

Are you addicted to anything? I love love love my dogs, but I don’t know if that counts as an ‘addiction.’

What was your life like 5 years ago? Where were you living, working, etc? I was in my senior year in high school. It was two months after I went through a bad breakup, less than a month since I went through a grandparent’s death for the first time, and it was around the time I had taken the ACET. Not the best of times, and I can’t believe my life is as turbulent five years later. It just doesn’t feel fair, lol.

Have you ever let a mental health issue go untreated? It’s been untreated for around a decade now. Idk man, it will take a lot for me to be convinced to share my life story and most inner thoughts to a therapist who is also a stranger.

Do you know anyone who hunts for meat? No.

Have you ever lived with a boyfriend/girlfriend? I haven’t. I wouldn’t want that at 22, I think it’s way too early to be doing it. I don’t even have my own place yet.

What do you wash dishes with? Sponge, scrub brush, rag, something else? A sponge and the wire ball thing that makes it easier to scrape off dried rice.

Is there anything you prefer to do the old-fashioned way? Weddings. I will always fall head over heels in love over weddings where the color scheme is super simple and there aren’t a lot of over-the-top gimmicks that will kill the vibe of it being a serene ceremony.

How old were you when your parents first let you have a TV in your room? Well I shared a room with my parents and siblings up until I was 10 and we had a TV. When I was 11 and we moved in to a new house, my new room already came with my own TV. They eventually removed it when I was around 17 because I never used it anyway.

Are you more practical or creative? Practical. Not a creative bone in my body.

Have you ever seen Requiem For A Dream? I have seen it twice, unfortunately. I really should’ve seen it just the one time. I felt for the women the most, especially Marion. That girl had a goddamn dream, man.

Do you put your glasses and mugs right side up or upside down on the cabinet shelf? Upside down.

Are you planning to make any big purchases soon? Like what? For how much? Nothing big. I’m just trying to save my internship allowance so that I get to buy my parents nice things. The only purchase I’m planning for myself, admittedly, is a vape lmao and that’s like ₱199 or a little under $4. Otherwise everything is going to either savings or treating my loved ones.

Are you a recent university grad? I am indeed.

What changes to the environment/climate have you noticed in your lifetime? The highway I live on used to be peppered with trees, now there are buildings everywhere. It’s also impossible to see the stars at night, especially in Metro Manila; thankfully it’s not as bad where I live.

Do you own any power tools? We have some at home but none of them are mine.

How old were you when you first flew on a plane? 11.

Does everyone in your family get along with each other? My brother and I don’t.

What did you have for dinner last night? My dad prepared sisig and munggo, but I only ate the sisig.

What was the worst part of your childhood? The alcoholism and domestic violence I was exposed to the second I was born.

What grocery items do you buy the most frequently? I don’t buy my own groceries yet but I would say my parents go for eggs, bread, onions, garlic, frozen meat, and some veggies the most.

Have you ever seen a high school relationship last long-term? (like 10+yrs) Not from my own high school, but someone I used to work with from my first internship has been with her guy for like 15 years now or something.

Do you know any cancer survivors? Yes.

What color is your bed frame? It issssss black.

How old were you when you first started dating? I’ve never really...dated around. Doesn’t happen as a demi. I started liking someone for the first time when I was 16.

What's the highest-level science course you've taken? I’m from a humanities/arts course so I never needed to push myself when it came to science courses haha. I took only the most basic biology and physics electives because that was all that was required for journalism students in my school.

Have you ever had something stolen from you? Yes.

Leftover pizza for breakfast... yay or nay? YAY. Cold, fast food pizza is my guilty pleasure.

Do you personally know anyone who's a psychopath or sociopath? No. Again, what’s up with surveys asking the exact same questions? Y’alls telepathy games are strong, lol.

What is your most used kitchen appliance? I don’t use any of them other than the refrigerator.

[musedblues]

Always Something There To Remind Me [Part: 1]

summary:  Home is where the heart is. You're working on finding yours. After a handful of misfortunes, your old friend Joe helps to unravel life's greatest mystery while adding a bit of extra grief to the mix.

warning: Major character death, mentions of car crash, angst, and general sadness

w/c: 2k

a/n: Proceed with caution this fic will probably break your heart. This first part deals with a lot of backstory. It's been really cathartic for me to start writing this. It will be my first full-blown chapter fic, so stay tuned for more sorrow! (but it gets sweeter, I swear!)

Part 2

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

"I'll just miss you." Joe cast his sad eyes to the airport gates. You would miss him too, but you knew you'd end up back together. You always seemed too.

"Just try and remember what it was like before we met. But don't forget to call me!" You teased, full of adrenalin that surged through your feet and charged you away from your home, family, and very best friend.

///

For a little while, you measured time before and after moving to New York. Your father split before New York. Your mother had a break down before New York. Then you moved. Your mother became a sought after wedding photographer in New York. You started and finished high school in New York. You made a very best friend in New York.

As hard as it was to leave Joe behind, that timeline was eventually skewed after you moved to Wales. You met Kris in Wales. Then, every single thing before Kris faded into relative obscurity. Even the dream you had in every place you lived before.

You wanted to play the piano. You played every dance recital, choir practice, and bar mitzvah that came across your highschool bulletin board. Through a series of whims after graduating, you decided to move to London to play the piano in shopping malls and hotel lobbies while waiting for better gigs.

Kris singled you out during a show one of those late-night low down venues and demanded you play some Eton John number. He utterly charmed you and raved about your talent, and showed up every night you were on the bill with another outlandish request. His request eventually blossomed outside of the musical universe. He asked you to come up to his hotel. He asked you to go to dinner. He asked you to move back to his home town, Wales.

You were hot on his trail, blinded by his pretty blue eyes and the fun you'd been having together. Kris played the guitar. He drove you deep into the lush green fields where sheep roamed between castles and posh shops popped up across the road from his tiny brick one-bedroom flat, where you moved in no questions asked. Kris took you to all of his gigs, which mostly consisted of county festivals and birthday parties. Kris eventually stopped opening party invitations to strictly play bar gigs. They would barely bring in enough money to pay rent, but Kris gained more of a following and he swore that was more important.

You picked up a job tending one of the more hip pubs trafficked by college kids and hardly any creeps. That's where you met Tegan. She had long dark hair, and you'd never seen her without a smear of dark eye shadow surrounding her big green eyes. She trained you on the drink specials and Welsh slang, and in turn, you told her all of your secrets.

Kris started traveling to bars in the surrounding cities, drinking more than he played the guitar but somehow scraping up enough money to go out and do it again the next night. You stayed behind your bar top and bonded with Tegan like a long lost twin. She understood you, and you respected her. Not only for her values and opinions but for the way she let you take extra long breaks to call your best friend, Joe. The one from New York, before Wales.

"When are you gonna come home?" Joe whined like a little boy through the cell phone static that represented the time and space between you.

"Why? You're never there. You're in L.A. and Australia and everywhere but New York." You laughed bitterly into the phone. You weren't upset with Joe at all. You just missed him. You missed walking across the street from your porch to his, to wait for the school bus. You missed ditching school dances to drive to Coney Island without telling your parents. You missed movie nights, and cheating on homework, and spying on each others dates from across your favorite diner.

Life was easier back then, and no not just because you were young and dumb. There was plenty of sadness. Like on your senior trip to Canada, when your drink got spiked. Or when Joe nearly died of pneumonia. The time you got kicked off the volleyball team for covering up one of your teammate's terrible pranks. And the time Joe got punched in the face and needed stitches, when some new bully moved into town and found out your best friend was the "whiny prick" from Jurassic Park. But you were together for it all, and that's what you missed. It was the way you could tell Joe anything and the way you made him laugh that coated your memory in a golden sheen. He visited you in London once. And you flew home one Christmas not so long ago, and celebrated with his family across the street, like always. But you hadn't seen Joe since you moved to Wales, and your vision was going grey around the edges.

But Kris was all you could see, anyway. He was outlandishly handsome. He read all your favorite books. He held your hand on rollercoasters and taught you how to cook traditional Welsh food. He listened to you play the piano and encouraged you to go out and perform. That was the whole reason you traveled overseas. He would ask you to play your keyboard when he practiced his guitar and you spent the majority of your time in that corner of the room where you kept your instruments. But Kris wasn't getting enough gigs, so your night shift was becoming more demanding, and you stopped practicing. He started to drink. He said it was because he felt bad for the way you'd had to pick up shifts to support the pair of you. So he decided to prove his musical worth by going out every night, booking gigs far and wide. Kris played new bars every night, one's you'd never heard of till he told you on his way out of the door.

Then he stopped telling you when he'd be home. Tegan would come over to keep you company on weekends. Kris would miss birthdays and holidays. Tegan was always sleeping on your sofa via your invitation. You traded stories about your favorite things and your childhoods. You talked a lot about Joe, because he used to always be around. Tegan listened, and eventually started joining you on weekly facetime calls with Joe. He was glad to see you'd made such a valuable friend and to talk to Tegan like he knew her just as well. He was still the best friend you ever had thousands of miles away.

Tegan took you on a trip, one odd summer day, calling it a distraction. When you ended up in Dan yr Ogof, you knew you'd made a life long friend in Tegan. The lush green park was decorated with life-sized dinosaur statues and the cafe on grounds served dino shaped nuggets. When you sat down to eat you facetimed Joe, and took him on a digital tour of the dinosaurs scattered around the entrance. He was thrilled that you thought to call and show off the wonder you were surrounded by, and seemed so sad to hang up. You wished he could be there to spew made up dinosaur facts and pose for pictures. But you had Tegan. She was all smiles, holding your hand while you toured the caves and admired the nature all around you.

In the years you'd lived in Wales, you'd never heard of Dan yr Ogof, but were glad to have wound up there with your Tegan. It was like the best of both of your worlds. When strolled around the park and found a couple fake velociraptor bursting from falsely hatching eggs, you just stopped and stared for a moment. Tegan came around to look at her paper map of where to go next, and you wished for an option to go all the way back to freshman year. When Joe was embarrassed to tell you about the movies he'd been in, and how normal every day felt doing homework at his dinner table. You missed that normality. You wished it was normal to see him... to see anyone each and every day.

You tried to fix that by calling your mom every morning. You rambled for hours and even kept your phone turned on behind the bar during shifts. Tegan worked with you most days, but she had her own life. You even stopped hearing so much from your best friend, Joe. Texts would be responded to too late and voicemails only reminded you how far away you were. Messages from Joe were peppered between a few from Kris, who would call you drunk with promises he'd be home soon.

The day's your boyfriend did make it to your shared bed, you would just be getting home at sunrise from a shift. He would be gone when you woke up, out to another gig.

Then Kris skipped out for a whole month, and wouldn't answer any of your calls. You tearfully sold your keyboard for cash to keep groceries in your cabinet but practically lived behind the pub counter to make sure you'd never run out of money again. Tegan took you out to dinner and to films, but movies made you sad. They reminded you of Joe, who you'd see pop up on the television screen more than you heard from him directly, by then. Tegan would ask about him, knowing your old stories were like stars in the black ink darkness, but she learned to stop asking. Why wasn't anyone around anymore? Your family and friends remained frozen in photographs on social media, and you spent Christmas alone in your boyfriend's house.

When he came back home all you did was fight. He refused to tell you where he'd been, and you snapped his vintage mandolin in pieces in a brokenhearted rage. You slept in the same bed but stopped speaking to each other, just floating through the motions like ghosts- for weeks. And then he was gone again. I could just leave too, ya know?  You realized. I could get up and be gone the next day. But where to?

You spent one long day on the phone with your mother, talking over what to do and how you felt and how much you missed Joe.  

"He's in London now. Didn't you know that? Has been for a while." Your mother gently revealed. She would have known because his family lived right across the street. Because his parents loved your mother, and she still attended every cookout and birthday party even after you moved away. The Mazzello's were more than just your neighbors. Your mother was privy to everything Mrs. Mazzello told her on their weekend shopping trips and scheduled brunches.

"I didn't." You breathed heavily. Maybe you should have known. Maybe Joe had warned you in one of his voice mails you'd let pile up.

"He's filming there. You should call him, Y/N." Filming meant staying. Joe was five hours away from you, but you'd never felt further apart.

"Well, I might not be here much longer anyway." You reminded your mother.

Something in your gut was telling you to get out of Wales, that there was no point in your sticking around. But what about Tegan? You would wither into a humorless husk without her banter from the other end of the bar top. What about those dog-rose flowers you planted outside of your tiny little home? What if Kris stopped drinking and you could start listening to records together again? You built a life here. You made friends with the women at the market and the men at the bank. You didn't even care if Kris's mother hated you, because he hated her, and you each got a kick out of every passive-aggressive Christmas gift exchange. But you'd barely spoken to Kris since the last time he left, and the days before then, you'd only swapped venom.

You mopped around the flat, wondering if you should dust the shelves, and considered how to salvage your situation. Soon, you dozed off on the sofa as the sunset and wished you didn't have to make up your mind.

You were awoken to a house without any lights on, and a pounding at your door. There was a muffled voice crying outside and your heart speed to a million miles a minute as you hurried to your feet and rubbed your tired eyes. You flipped on a light and opened the front door to find Tegan in tears, black makeup streaking down her cheeks. She threw her arms around you and mumbled cries into your neck. You managed to pull her inside and shut the door for a bit of privacy amidst her break down.

"What is going on?" You demanded calmly, holding your friend by her shoulders and looking at her face.

"You wouldn't answer your phone, I've been trying the whole way here." She explained in a rush, sucking in a shaky breath. "The car... your car. I passed it on my way home. I only knew it was yours because the guitar-shaped the air freshener was still on the mirror."  

"What?"

"I know it was your car. It's wrecked. It's..." Tegan stopped speaking to search your face. There was no time to wipe her black tears away before another one fell, she looked as if she'd seen a ghost.

"It's wrecked? You saw the guitar-shaped air freshener?" You confirmed.

"You weren't answering your phone," Tegan whispered gravely, as her lip quivered once more. Whatever she saw on the way to your place mustn't have been good at all. As you stood there watching Tegan's tears fall in silence, sirens started to whir in the distance.

Time froze to a halt as the noise grew louder and louder, piercing through your ears from just outside your window. Your heart was beating so fast you couldn't feel it until a few sharp knocks came at the door you stood next to. You didn't want to answer it. You didn't want to hear another word. But your instincts took over and you released your grip on Tegan, and opened the door.

A couple of stone-faced officers stood on your steps with no good news.

You came to find out that Kris played a gig that night, and the bar paid him in Guinness. Kris was well beyond the legal limit when he stumbled behind the wheel. Officials decided he must have swerved to avoid colliding with another vehicle and crashed through the rails of a bridge and onto the roadside below. Your boyfriend had been found without a beating heart, and yours nearly stopped at the news.

His mother blamed you for treating him so poorly, for running him off. Tegan only left your side for a couple of hours, while she went to collect a few things so she could stay over at your place. You planned a funeral and moved through the motions. But before you called your mother to tell her you were coming home, you called Joe. He didn't answer.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[jadedadultritsu]

Hey ummm, I'm looking for that LeviHan AU fanfic/the writer wherein Levi and Hange were bff's and they were staying in this vacation house (owned by Levi's CEO dad??) and the story started off with an April Fools jk planned by Hange (kissed him but then jokes on them bc Levi was sooo into iiiiiiit and then Hange pulled back and sweat laughing yelled it was just an April Fools prank). Levi also escaped the situation by saying it's their fault and Hange's not the only one pulling pranks 🙄. The rest of the story tells that LxH were struggling to fight their feelings for each other bc apparently, admitting won't do them any good. Kinda broke the rule anyway bc they'd sleep for a few times. Things get more nasty when Levi became an emotional mess laying on a couch, drunk, and bc Hange have this botanist job, they're needed to be deployed to somewhere far. They both had a huge fight bc Levi was jealous of Hange's job and how it's taking away too much of their time. Hange left the house and cut communications for a really long time and lived separately. Time skipped and Levi just got married to Petra in church and she skjcjxjzks frickin' INVITED his bff and Hange actually came while carrying a wedding gift and congratulated them (w/o Levi's knowledge of the invitation???).

Last scene was something along this line, "brown locks splayed across the pillow..." implying LxH are having a frickin' love affair and Hange was like, again, "what if it doesn't work out for us?". And Levi gave her reassuring words like FCK???? You're married and author-sama just crashed my heart.

Same author wrote a LxH AU soulmates, a musician/violinist Levi, and in a painting museum AU. If anyone has read something similar to this, pls msg me I'm dyiiiiiiingg to read it again. I read it some yrs ago when I was still an anon. And I know that the writer took their tumblr acct down for some reason (I tried to find it at some point). I binge read LxH fanfics in AO3/tumblr long time ago but hardly now (bc life). To author-sama, if you're reading this I want to let you know that your brilliant fics are all in my mind right now and just wanna send my looooove.❣️💕💞💓💗💖💘💝😭😭😭

[exolstice-blog]

Fall | Chanyeol

Genre: someFluff ; Angst

Description: “Chanyeol had this utmost capability for burning your throat like spiked oxygen, and setting you off into a frenzied symphony that made you want to dance to no music and laugh to no joke and burn to no fire—"

Featuring: Kim Jongin, I'm Yoon-ah

Warning: Age gap (7 yrs), sexual themes, angsty overall; please do not read if you feel uncomfortable with any of these.

Word Count: 5000

Author’s Note: FINALLY. I DID IT. Very angsty, very emo, I cri, I hope u like 💕 and e n j o y. 

“I do,” overgrown weeds tickled at your feet, so itchy your toes curled up like cashew nuts. The lace trim of the dress was annoyingly excessive–and orange, yuck–giving you a sour face.

“I do,” Chanyeol kept tugging at his tie, and there was only so much you could do to keep yourself from jumping up and swatting away his hand. 

“Great, now,”–a deep inhale– “KISS. THE. BRIDE.”

“HEY. That wasn’t part of the deal,” Chanyeol dropped both hands, making the white strings that held his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle tie snap back against his neck violently, making him choke down to his knees.

“Yoo,” you narrowed your eyes at her face, cheeks smushed between her hands expectantly. You let your head fall backwards in a groan, your neck almost snapping, with the slip of the few flowers you had gotten into a fake bouquet. You weren’t going to just go about the procedure for the third time in a row because Chanyeol couldn’t get his lines right, or because Yoona couldn’t stop her squeaks, and now because he had to give you a freaking kiss (which—gross). You had people to see, and places to be, and a very furious Mr. Jun to meet for cake and tea.

“But it’s your wedding,” she made a terrible sound that made you cover your ears. You wanted to throw mud at her face. 

“Yes, then, we’re over. Chanyeol and I are married, can we go inside now?” You pointed exasperated at your haven, where the party continued, where Mr. Jun should be waiting, and where you knew the location of the jam jars–the Park’s house. She screamed, trashing around in the pretty ribbons of her sleeves. You screamed too, “This is my wedding. This is my wedding. If you want a kiss then be the bride.”

Yoona’s screams worsened, “I can’t kiss him–HE’S MY BROTHER.”

You covered your ears with your hands, shaking your head fervently, “Me too–HE’S A BOY.”

The both of you screamed, because, God forbid, Chanyeol was a boy.  “AYAAAAAAHHHH."

“SHUSH UP!” Chanyeol stood tall, plugging his fingers in his big, big, big ears. Yoona and you started, grabbed each other by the arm, and fell backwards. “Can we finish this, please? My friends have to be looking for me, oh God, I hope they didn’t hear you.”

Yoona huffed, and you stood up, shaking leaves and dirt and flowers off your lap, “My friends are waiting too, Mr. Jun–”

“He’s coming?” Yoona was starry-eyed, puffing her cheeks up in a smile. 

“Father’s bringing him,” you showed her all your teeth, taking her hand.

“Talk about the rabbit later, let’s finish getting married,” Chanyeol took your hands from Yoona’s, almost lifting them up because he was so tall.

“This is stupid,” you muttered, and both their eyes widened, because if Ma’am caught you cursing they knew she would tell your mother, and you’d be done for. “Why do we have to get married just because Yoona says so?”

Chanyeol picked up one of the dirtiest flowers from the ground, placing it behind your ear, and you made a face. “Because that would keep her quiet.” He whispered it, so that she wouldn’t hear. But there wasn’t a need because he was too close to you and too far from her. He kissed your forehead, grinning, “Happy Birthday.” 

You gave him a funny smile in between Yoona’s screams, “Happy Birthday.”

Chanyeol and you didn’t share a birthday, not really. In fact, you two weren’t even as close to sharing a birth-date. He was sometimes eight years older than you and other times seven. Funny, wasn’t it? 

Chanyeol’s parents worked for yours in a big company back then you couldn’t even pronounce the name of. All you did understand was that they were a very important part of it–an asset, you’d heard Ma’am calling them. ‘Ma’am’ was Chanyeol’s and Yoona’s mother, and ‘Sir’ was their father, that’s the first thing you’d learned. You would have liked to call them something else, something like Aunt and Uncle, although they were nothing but. But your parents insisted otherwise, fervently. 

Anyway, the name stuck. You called them by that still, if not by their full names. It ought’ve to be something scandalous for any other teenager, to address people older than them without due respect–and by their name, even! It wasn’t the case for the heir of a company, the girl—the student—that would become absolute top dog once she turned the right age. 

That didn’t stop them from being actual sweethearts with you from the moment they met you, up until the moment you realized you’d be their future boss, and beyond. The Park’s relationship with your parents began long before you were born, and that’s why you spent more of your childhood at their household than at yours. Exactly the reason why Chanyeol and you celebrated both your birthdays on the same day. 

Your birthdays did share something in common, in truth. That one-month gap that made him seven or eight years older than you. It was at your four years old when both of your parents decided to celebrate your birthday together, on a separate date, and at your fives when Chanyeol accepted it. Maybe because he’d taken pity on yours and Yoona’s crying faces when you wished to become older too–when you dreaded the month in which he was eight years older and bossed you around (and Yoona, of course) to do his chores for him.

You had always wanted to be older, grow taller; perhaps because since so much was expected from you since birth you now realized you could’ve only had it in your veins to want to be over with it. Or perhaps it was just a mere thing of yours, a personal goal. And so, Chanyeol let you be just seven years younger than him that day you turned six and he thirteen, and a bunch more years to come. 

Just a bunch. Not all. It stopped–your little fun and tease filled parties–when he left for college and found his own apartment; started on his life. And when you did the same. 

Business became tighter for you when you truly began taking on your parents’ steps. Age: thirteen. Your own tiny tea gatherings (more like afternoons padded with quirky questionable music and terrible dancing) with Mr. Jun and Yoona at the Park’s becoming promptly replaced by business meetings with people thrice your age that, if you got lucky and well behaved, would offer you a peppermint. 

You grew up faster, matured quickly, just how your parents and their business partners—and now your business partners—had wished. Just how you'd wished. Of course, there was still always that month. That dreaded month that made you feel like a locked-up thing, a manacled creature that was still eight years younger, eight years more ignorant.

It never really bothered you, not as long as Chanyeol kept his mouth shut and didn't tell you to do things that Yoona would normally do when he visited. To get him a beer, to fetch the remote, to purposely lose to him on games. Like you were his tiny pet.

But there was a day when you felt bothered. You felt itchy and hot and truly bothered. You two didn't share your birthdays anymore, no, but that wouldn't stop him from coming over for yours, alright.

You found it sweet. And annoying. He was Park Chanyeol, your best friend's big brother, your big best friend—if that meant anything at all—he wouldn't wait a tenth of a bloody second to poke at you about your age. Most particularly: at him being eight years older still.

So, it surprised you, of course, when he didn't mock you on the day of your fifteenth birthday. Well, what could’ve been done when he was clearly well accompanied.

It was what brought that kid-ish memory first to your mind. Because when he took her hand and helped her with that heavy bowling ball, all you could think about was your sham marriage with Chanyeol—he's mine, mine, mine! —and him saying "let's finish getting married" in that stupid fake tie.

Yes, you were bothered, especially when Jongin asked you if you were alright because you had to lie and bite down a barf that threatened to slip down your throat. Yoona was an angel, bringing you to the ladies' room towards the back of the bowling alley that was her brother’s favorite.

You stared at the mirror and saw a child that had been made to grow up way too fast, and was disgusted. You had to remind yourself that you were really but turning fifteen—and that you just didn't know how to feel after not seeing him for too long. Right, and the lights were far too dim and were the ones giving you that headache.

You ran a hand through your hair, furious because it wasn't the first time. Not the first time you'd imagined tripping one of his lady friends and generously helping them up by the hair with sharp nails. Stupid. But you laughed. And what you saw in the mirror was a fifteen-year-old truly laughing. Maybe you could stop your little fucking pretense about being any more tough—any more mature than you were. Maybe you could be the hormonal stupid kid that you were supposed to be instead.

Yes. Chanyeol was hot. There. And he was eight years older than you. There. Nothing wrong about that, really. It was, like, yes, G-Dragon. The man was fucking older than Chanyeol and you still found him incredibly yummy. But not ever more than that. Just like Chanyeol! He was sweet, he was gentle, he was devastatingly handsome—but that's just all there was to him. To him and to what you felt. Right?

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you slapped your face with water, pressing at your shut eyes until you saw weird things, until it stung enough you could almost only feel that.

This sucked. This was gross. This was childish. And you weren't a child—at least, you weren't supposed to be one.

Static-like particles cleared from your vision and you saw a child. A stupid, stupid child. Maybe it wasn't so wrong. Maybe, for a day, you could be a child, grow up the right way, learn from heartbreak, from your big best friend that was fucking older than you and that made you feel disgustingly maniacal. Maybe you could allow yourself to fuck up for a day.

Maybe one only ever truly majorly fucked up when one was fifteen.

At least that must be the reason why you chose to bring him into your bed that night.

"Ah," you jumped a little now, when the door suddenly opened and a gigantic shadow entirely covered your form. Dim light illuminated what bit you could see of the house. You stepped inside, almost shooing him away. "Yoona's supposed to meet me at eight, but she told me to come over—is she here?"

Chanyeol closed the door, worrying at his lip—annoyed, you guessed, "Good night to you too."

You hummed, "I thought you'd leave by Tuesday."

He made a chuckling noise, "Wanted me gone too soon?"

You sat on the edge of the couch, picking up an almost empty can of a drink, possibly alcoholic, "You've made yourself at home, I see."

He chuckled again, "It is my home."

You looked at him, and smiled. You smelled the contents of the can and, ah, yes, beer. "You're not finishing this, are you?"

He gave you a look but did not approach you, the chuckles all gone, but he mocked you still. "Aren't you like sixteen?"

You gave him your thinnest smile in dark velvet lips, "Going onto eighteen, actually."

"Technically, you can't drink yet."

"Technically, we're going clubbing—so might as well give it a head start," you tilted your head, downing the last small sip of the drink in one go and heaving out a deep sigh. You licked a rebellious drop off your mouth and quirked a brow when Chanyeol abruptly groaned and turned around.

"I sure hope Yoona's not drinking," he didn't look at you when he pulled a new beer from the fridge and cracked it open. You bit your lip, surely blushing, just realizing he'd probably been drinking those last gulps of a can.

"Can't promise anything," Chanyeol looked at you in a way that made you shiver—with cold brown eyes almost hidden behind his disheveled black bangs—in the way that left you breathless and could make you fall. Shit. You smiled, deciding to challenge him, "Come on, she's old enough to have fun. Make mistakes. Fall in love," you shook your head, grinning, "Screw some guys."

His face made you grin, "She's only seventeen, and so are you—"

"Eighteen," you hissed. You were almost there, alright, God. You swallowed the blasphemies you could've spat at him, crossing your legs in a ladylike manner with a smile, "And, besides, weren't you seventeen the day you came crying because you thought you'd left your girlfriend pregnant?"

Again, his face managed to make you laugh—and you almost hated it. You shook your head, "You can quit being this 'responsible' big brother for a day, Chan. Let her live her life. Didn't you tell me that too?" And he did. He told you to live if just a piece of your life. Back almost two years ago, when you were sixteen and probably had been to more business appointments than high school parties.

But he denied it now, "I don't want you making the same mistakes I did. Neither Yoona or you."

Well. "What makes you think I haven't already?"

He gave you this look—this pity-look that made you want to smack his face because you were sure all he saw was a stupid child in you. A kid that believed a mistake was kissing the wrong guy under a mistletoe, buying the wrong color for nail polish... But it made you smile in a sickening way knowing that he didn't know—he couldn't even grasp your worst mistake.

"You two are not fighting, are you?" Yoona's steps came too sudden, bringing you back by the neck and forcing you up. "Gosh, you look stunning!"

You let Yoona tackle you in a hug that was all giddy from side to side, making you laugh. "Haven't washed my hair in the past three days, and this is literally just a button up, so that's a compliment," you pulled away, squishing her cheeks until her mouth was a pout and a few of her glittery freckles stained your fingers. You swiped her head from right to left, "So pretty, so pretty."

"Yes, yes, very pretty, both of you," Chanyeol gave you two a look. "Just keep that prettiness away from guys."

Yoona scrunched up her nose, through a pout, "But Jongin—"

"Specially Jongin." You grinned, knowing how very infatuated Yoona was with Jongin and how very truly against it her brother was. Chanyeol did know Jongin better than anyone, after all.

"Oh, come on!" Yoona flailed her arms around like a tiny octopus in a frenzy.

You clicked your tongue, "Then what's the point if we don't get to get laid."

Yoona laughed out loud, clapping her hands in a manner quite similar to Chanyeol. She knew how you rolled, your admittedly distasteful jokes, so she just went along, the pretty doll, "Right. You're not going to let that go to waste."

Yoona checked you out with a wink and you grinned. But only until you felt Chanyeol scan your shape, as if he could touch you with his eyes—then you could scarcely take a breath. You felt very conscious. And that wasn't entirely bad.

You were a bit flustered about wearing your white button up—your “meeting-to-go”—but you were happy that you'd paired it up with a black see-through-fishnet-like top and a leather skirt. A fit for you, somehow. The blend between classy and foxy and 'I own the goddamn world'. You were proud, alright, and maybe that's what made you feel like you were bigger than yourself. Sometimes even bigger than anyone else.

So, you were happy that Chanyeol was looking at you, at least, because you could sense that feeling of being massive and absolute and beautiful—even as you dreaded the hitch of your breath when he did so.

You felt yourself grow bolder, "Precisely." You offered Chanyeol a wink when he finally decided to stop staring at your legs and grinned as he heaved a breath, "I’m on the pill too, so worry not about my sexual encounters, dear," you tilted your head so innocent, letting your hair all drop to the side, exposing your neck, "Unless you're up for lending me some condoms, then be my damn guest."

Yoona was laughing all along. She'd always found your antics amusing and that couldn't make you any happier. She inhaled a sharp breath, however, once she caught Chanyeol's look towards you both. Particularly when he pointed at you and gestured you to follow him as he took off towards the hallway without further notice.

"Oh, you're in trouble," you shrugged, walking past Yoona with a grin. You heard her yell, "Don't take too long, he must be waiting for us!"

You giggled at her evident eagerness and total adorableness. Until a hand caught your arm. You faced Chanyeol with that same grin, relishing in the way his eyebrows were virtually glued together in a funny frown. You giggled, standing almost on your tip toes to poke at his forehead, "You're angry." It couldn't be helped, Yoona made a child out of you sometimes.

Chanyeol grabbed your wrist, forcefully, "What the hell was that?"

You watched as the pad of his fingers dug into your skin, angry but delicate enough to not hurt you, "It was a joke, Chanyeol, a joke. Ever heard of them?" You pulled your hand back with a hiss, and he seemed astonished, as if he'd just realize what he was doing.

"I'm sorry." Then, "But what the hell. Don't joke like that, not in front of my sister."

Oh my God. "Are you being serious? We're not six anymore, we're not kids that get scared about getting caught saying the word 'stupid' or 'bull crap'. I think I can joke about my morals, or rather, my lack of thereof, any bloody weekday if I want."

Chanyeol was shaking his head, "It's not only that. It's the drinking, the partying, the seeing boys," his jaw was set and you needed to stop thinking about how handsome he looked while doing that, shit. "It's not something... appropriate."

"Then tell her that, holy shit," you waved your arms around, as if he were the child and you were the adult. "Look, honestly, I'm not listening to this. Mostly because I think I'd have the right to do whatever the heck I want. These parties, these jokes, these 'seeing boys'," you actually laughed, "Chan, I'm just doing what you told me. I'm living life."

He knew what you meant by that, he knew almost more than anyone. He was the one who told you—that night in his room, you remembered, when his hand covered yours over the strings of his guitar, teaching you how to play—no, he ordered you to be happy. To do, for once, what you wanted, not what you were meant to do. Although, if you'd done what you honestly wanted to do, up to this point, you would've truly, undoubtedly, terribly fucked up.

You would've let yourself give in to the arresting and absolute starlight that was Park Chanyeol—let yourself fall before he could even catch you. Before you could even catch yourself.

He dismissed the latter, "I know Yoona, I know she wouldn't do anything—"

"I would do?"

"No, no, I wasn't going to... What I mean is," he was frowning now, worrying at his lip, biting the insides of his cheek and shifting his weight from one foot to another—things he would normally do when he was flustered, confused. You hated that you knew every little thing that made Chanyeol Chanyeol. "I—I'm worried. About you, I mean. I don't want to be responsible for—"

"Anything I do?" So that was it? He wanted nothing to do with your childish fuckery? You laughed, holding in so much, "Why, you could've just said that! I won't hold anything against you if I'd were to, say, majorly fuck up."

That wasn't exactly true. Your "fucking up", you felt, was also partly his fault. While your devastatingly big slip up at fifteen wasn't exactly because of Chanyeol—it just was. You wanted to blame him, make him all accountable. But simply because you were tired sick of having to bear its entirety, and because you were selfish and scared. And it disgusted you, exceedingly, because you felt like a coward and because you were one. A girl playing pretense on high heels and button ups that couldn't own up to her mistakes and blamed it all on others.

Now you were enraged, "Chanyeol, I'm not a kid, okay?" See me as a woman. You shook your head, almost convulsively. "You have to understand that."

He laughed, dryly and even sinister, "But you are! Look at the way you're acting—the way you behave, the way you deal with things—"

"You don't know how I 'deal with things'," you quoted in the air, making a face that possibly looked like a grimace. "And, certainly, you wouldn't know how I behave, you've barely been around the past two years."

"Oh, well, pardon me for getting my life straight, Miss 'I've changed in the last two years'."

You despised it. Despised that he made fun of you, that he pulled it all off with a grin, and that he looked very attractive while doing so. You breathed, "Chanyeol." That seemed to shut him up—either your voice, or your look. At least he was quiet while you had the courage to tell him more than you had the past year or so.

And the courage to let him know you weren't having any more of his bullshit, "I basically manage a company now with my parents. I am in a place men twice my age virtually crawl to get to, and I got here when I was thirteen." You laughed, though obviously forced, "I think I'd know more about 'getting my life straight' than you ever would."

You were sure that stung him. And while you were usually pretty good with words, often you felt you couldn't hide anything from him at all. Not even if it hurt. Of course, there was this one thing, this one exception, but still.

He wasn't used to keep any harsh words from you either, anyway, "I think it shows just how childish you are that you have to rub off your position in my nose to prove that you've matured somehow."

Alright, if there was ever any time you'd wanted to smack Chanyeol more than now you'd had to be delusional. He was right and you knew it. And he knew it too.

He grinned, "I'm right, aren't I?"

You almost reached a hand back to slap him—he closed his eyes, too—but opted against it. Instead, you softened, you were delirious. Because, shit, Chanyeol had that effect on people. 

You brought your fingers down against his black hair, brushing wild strands back from his eyes. These snapped open, and you guessed he asked 'what are you doing?', but there was only this sharp intake of breath against the skin of your wrist.

Your breaths were shallow and in the back of your throat and you wondered how was it that you had the courage to do it—to touch his hair, to stand this close to him without tripping and falling in an attempt at bringing yourself back to reality because this wasn't real. Of course, it wasn't.

You let your hand drop, almost as if his hair had stung you, and allowed yourself to fall forward. He didn't exactly catch you, he didn't need to, he was just there. You stood with your forehead against his chest and mused at how wonderful it felt to hear his heartbeat this close to your ear. Quick and pounding.

You chuckled. Because even if Chanyeol had this utmost capability for burning your throat like spiked oxygen, and setting you off into a frenzied symphony that made you want to dance to no music and laugh to no joke and burn to no fire—even if you were completely out of your fucking mind and driven to a scape of oddness and hellish fever, he was there with you still, all tangible, and hot, and living, and there, there, there.

He didn't say a word when his hand came to rest on your head and then follow the trail of your hair. Chanyeol was trying to make you feel better, he was trying to comfort you. He meant better, you knew, but you couldn't help feeling more weak and small and vulnerable. And you despised and loved every second of it.

"(Y/N)," your name felt so intimate when he said it, like a secret you'd told him and no other. It made you raise your hands to his sides, to ball the fabric of his sweatshirt in your palms so as to prevent you from doing something any more stupid. "Everything I said—maybe I could've said it differently, maybe..." he chuckled, God, so close, "Maybe I was the one behaving like a child. I knew it annoyed you, so I kept pressing, I'm sorry. But."

You thought he would stop then, but he swallowed, and hooked a strand of hair between his fingers and behind your ear, "But I'm scared, and it feels really shitty. I—Yoona is my sister, so I can tell her what to do—what not to do. But you. You are...someone different. Someone that grew up too soon. Someone that had to be told to be happy because you wouldn't do it on your own. I..."

You felt like he expected you to look at him in the eyes while he said so, but you couldn't bring yourself to let him draw you more. You wouldn't, and he continued, "I can't find a way to take care of you, and it's scary, hell. I... I know you don't need me for that now, you never needed me for that, anyway, and yet there I was, like a nuisance." He laughed a little, and it made you close your eyes, the way you could feel it. "What I mean is, I want you to be careful, alright? To take care of yourself. And what I mean by that—shit, how do I even... There are some things you can never get back, so—"

Was he—was he giving you some kind of sex talk? You laughed, truly astonished. "You really think I haven't had sex before?" He stiffened.

You couldn't believe it—couldn't believe he still saw this little girl-friend he felt entitled to take care of, like he had any right to treat you like something of his property. You were bloody livid.

His 'what?' of incomprehension made it all far worse.

"You truly are dense."

And he was, because he didn't notice you changing ever since you turned fifteen. He didn't see your smile faltering with things that before would've made you laugh. He overlooked the details that were there to anyone but him—your sudden haircut, your change in wardrobe, your slimming body; the toll of a job that had come far too early for you and would have for any other.

He dismissed your appearing less at his home. And while he did have the chance to question it, it didn't go beyond a rushed guitar lesson in which he felt the greatest shit of all, giving those bull crap suggestions about "following your dreams" and "finding true happiness".

But most importantly, he missed you looking at him like his eyes held the stars and everything luminous. He missed you blushing savagely whenever he brushed your hair behind your ear. He missed you giving this looks to the girls that visited him, this looks to their hands while they were held by his. He missed you remembering your wedding in that bowling alley and letting your eyes chant mine, mine, mine when even Jongin noticed and he didn't.

He missed you falling in love with him, and he missed catching you.

He also missed the way you caught yourself before sinking in too deep.

You pulled back, not quite expecting to feel relieved but being rewarded when you did. But there couldn't possibly be any bigger reward than fixing Chanyeol with a look of grandeur and absolutism as you said the words you'd meant to spew every time you tripped and almost fell.

"Fuck you, Park Chanyeol."

You turned to leave, not smiling, making sure he didn’t miss it. Let Chanyeol see the way he made the sole bloody thought of breathing a complete impossibility. How he made breaking away from him a deeper cut that was infectious and that stung and that when sealed only but brought him deeper. Allow him to take a look at what a good fucking liar you were for making your stumbles go unnoticed. For making a hoax out of yourself, making believe you were grander than what you actually were. A girl that flipped him off because she was too scared to say ‘I like you’ and then immediately ‘get out’ because everything was ever so entirely full of him. Because she could only hope he didn’t miss the way her eyes said that she’d fallen and couldn’t feel her breath. 

[rezilient-m3]

February 19

Wow, it's been awhile since I've written anything. Tbh, I've been putting it off. So much has happened...

I'll start off with my sister S, the one that had liver failure. She passed on Feb 11. What a week it has been. Before that tho, she came stayed with me. Her and her daughter came to my house, late on the 2nd, and surprised me. I wasn't expecting it, and to be completely honest, I was annoyed. Not at her directly, just at them not preparing me for the chaos and who's gonna sleep where and dealing with an even fuller house lol. (There was me, my 4 kids, nanny neph, sis, niece, her bf and kid.) They all stayed until Thursday. (I won't get into Wed night, when they all went out and left me and my sick sister with her 2 yr old. I wouldn't have minded, but I had work and wouldn't leave that little girl with my sister, cuz my sister was sick and could barely go up and down my stairs.) Anyways, my sister stayed when her daughter and family left. So, that's Tuesday to Friday I had with her. And I barely spent any time with her. I was working, then I'd come home and do the usual (cook, clean, kids), and she was always in bed. Now, looking back, I regret not just laying there with her. I had that chance to just be there and chill. But how was I supposed to know that would have been my last time with her?

Friday, my mum and our older sister, R, show up. I did not know, at the time, that their main reason coming to the city was to spend time with me and my kids. Anyways, they came and took 2 out of 4 kids, to go swimming at the hotel and spend the night. Cool, right? So, I'm sitting here, wondering what my plans should be. Then it hit me, I should go home to visit my dad, since he's practically home alone. It was already 430, and it's a 4 and a half hr drive, but I still decided to go. I had to ask my sister R if it was alright that I leave her with the 2 kids she had and asked my twin brother to come house sit. Then, it was set. I didn't end up leaving until 6 ish. Anyways, point being, my sister S was going to stay here with our brother, but decided, last minute, that she'd just go home for the weekend and come back with us on Sunday.

We drove, and she's talking, but I can barely hear her. But stuff about her accident. Blaming the ppl that were involved. I always wanted to tell her she shouldn't carry that shit in her heart. It was nobody's fault that she drank that day, nobody's fault they got kicked out of that party at the cabins, nobody's fault they rolled that day, and nobody's fault that she took Tylenol since to help with the pain she had afterwards. (Well, I can see how she could blame some things on some ppl, but realistically, she drank to be in that accident and she took those pills to accelerate her inevitable liver problems). But I couldn't tell her these things to sound like I don't care, or to further make her feel worse than she already did. Idk. I stayed quiet. About an hour away from home, we stopped in a town to pick up drinks and whatever. She was texting her friend and decided to stay with her. I didn't question anything, cause the drive alone seemed unbearable to her. She was nauseous and in pain. So, I took her there and that would be the last I got to hug her and tell her I loved her. I left.

Fast forward to Sunday, I didn't think anything of her not coming, I figured if she wanted to come, she would have called to make sure I picked her up. Plus, she probably wasn't feeling her best. All I texted when I passed that town was, "I love you". She wrote back, a few hours later, "I love you too my bean". And that was it.

Monday morning I had a missed call and voicemail from the friend I left her with, and a few msges from our sister R telling me S was in the hospital again. I didn't check the voicemail. All I thought was, "good, she can try get better again." And went to work. Later on my break, I got updates from R saying it wasn't good. They were allowing her and our mum to visit, but nobody else because of covid. Understandable. I still didn't think anything of it. But, I kept getting updates from R, of how worse she was getting. She said the Dr's were consulting with the hospital in the bigger city to see if there was anything they could do for her, or if she should stay there to be closer to family... They kept her. Plus, Monday night would be the last time she had a conversation with our sister. She'd now be on morphine to make her comfortable, which didn't help her be aware of anything. Now, it's Wednesday morning. I'm at work, on my first break I get all these msges saying she got even more worse and they were going to start allowing family come see her 2 at a time. This is when I knew it was really bad. I cried a bit in my car, msging Alex about how my sister might be dying and I didn't know what to do. I actually thought I'd finish the rest of the day and call in for the last 2 days. But, when I went in class and tried telling my teacher what was up, and her hitting me with that sympathetic "omg, are you okayyyy?" look, with the rubbing my arm thing, I teared up and shook my head no. She told me it was okay with her if I left. But I also had to go talk to the principal about it too. I cried in his office as well. But they were very understanding and gracious. Blessed for that.

Alex decided to leave work. I had a sitter to stay with kids, since they still had school. But he said he'd come anyways. I told him not to worry, but how could he not, right? I was glad he did, in the end, cuz he was what I needed later. So, I left, without getting to see him, cuz I was going the 3 hrs to get to the hospital, and he was coming the 7 hours home.

Anyways, I get there. All our family were taking turns going in to her room to see her. She wasn't awake. It was weird cuz her eyes would open, and be looking, but it was like she wasn't seeing. If that makes sense. That night me and my sister R spent the night with her. When we walked in, she was very agitated and restless. She was crying, hurting, and obviously very uncomfortable. She wanted to sit up, lay down, and scratching everywhere. It was very hard to watch. It scared me. Once the morphine kicked in, I seen her body just relax. The, sitting there talking about her, and her life, what we thought, we both said it would be better if she just let go. She was suffering and we just wanted the suffering to end. But it sucked cuz that's our sister. We weren't ready to lose her. But what could you do? She noticed that her breathing was a little raspy and her feet were cold. She said those were tell-tale signs that the end was near. Sad. Next morning, we leave cuz our mum wanted to come in. We went. All the family was back to taking turns visiting. This time it took me longer to get my turn, cuz more people were showing up. We all just stayed in the parking lot all day. I went back in about 230 or 3. She was obviously worse. I was hoping her hand and tearing, saying, "I'm going to miss you. D's gonna miss you." As soon as I said his name, she squeezed my hand and her bottom lip quivered like she wanted to cry. Then I said, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to make you sad. Don't be sad. We'll be okay. Don't be scared. I love you so much." And kissed her. Now, I was in the room with one of her daughters, and I could tell her couldn't really say want she wanted cuz I was there. So, I gave her time alone. Mind you, I was still thinking ill be back later anyways to spend another night with her. That didn't happen tho.

She took her last breath at about 4. I was sitting in the back of my dad's truck. My dad, my twin brother, and my mum were in there. Nobody showed any kind of reaction. I was crying. Frantically typing to my bf. Then, my niece J, opened the door and asked if I was okay. I get out and immediately started hyperventilating. I was crying, ugly crying. In shock. Standing there not knowing what to do, I sat in my vehicle, that was next to my dad's. Still felt weirdly uncomfortable cuz my nany neph was in there not saying anything, too. My best friend, A, came out of nowhere and I broke down again in her arms. I calmed down, and laughed in that moment cuz I seen one of my nieces bf wipe out lol. Good timing. Anyways, my friend said she was going to take her husband home and be right back. I ended up sitting in her truck for the next cpl hrs. I realized way later that I didn't even go hug any of my siblings lol.

We got to see her body one last time before they took her to the funeral home. I was one of the last people to get a turn, and I went in with one of her sons. I thought it was gonna be horrible, and I'd break down over her body. Instead, my dumb ass started laughing. Lol. Her one eye was open and looking right at me, and she looked like she was smiling. I apologized to her son about laughing. And him and I just talked about before, about him as a baby. My sister didn't raise him since, and I was always with her before, so we knew that about each other. Guess that was all we had in common with his mom; my sister.

So, when all was said and done that night, everybody went to the hotel. I just dropped off everyone who was in my suv and said I was going to go home to my dad's. He was the only one who went home that evening, so I knew he was home alone. So, I left. I wanted to be alone, and I wanted to just sleep in his house, where I felt safe. Before getting there tho, I tried so hard to cry. I felt like I wasn't experiencing her death like how I thought I would. Like, yes, I cried, but not like how I thought I would. That bothered me. Still kinda does. I listened to sad music. Got some tears, then thought, I probably looked stupid and just laughed again. Idk what's wrong with me hahaha.

Before getting home, tho, I msged my son and said I was going to stop at his house and hug him. I had to make sure he was okay. My sister was his Godmother, and although they barely had a relationship, I still had to make sure. Plus, it felt nice to just go be with him for a few minutes.

Next day was funeral home. The last drive home, with her down the highway. The wake. I made her a wreath. That was fun. Got crafty at the wake super late that night lol. But the flower shop in that town couldn't make enough, because there's a lot of families within our family and everybody wanted one done. So, I made my own. That was special.

Alex and kids came Saturday morning to be with me at the funeral. (I forgot to mention that this was the sister he was with first before me). Plus, this was also his first funeral experience with how we do funerals. They don't do wakes, or last goodbyes, or church.... The last goodbye I broke. I cried ugly and loud. He cried too. It was a sad day.

I didn't really feel anything afterwards. It still bothered me that it didn't affect t me like how I thought it would. Not until last night. I always loom at my fb memories, and she was all over my old posts, liking them, hearing pictures, commenting. Then it hit me, that she'll never do that again. I cried. Then, I went on her timeline to see what would be the last posts she wrote, or shared. They were from last summer. Mostly, obvious drunk posts, where she would be misspelling and not making much sense. I go to comments and there's me giving her shit. Wow, I thought. But then I remembered always being disappointed and let down. Those times I'd get upset was because she'd promise me to be sober, to visit, but turn around and drink anyways. That would offend me. Cuz I missed the sober her. I missed just hanging out with her. I hardly got that in our last few years, especially since I had quit drinking. I was sad. The thing that really hit home was seeing a post she shared, "All I need is for one person to not give up on me." Like hf. That hit hard, cuz I immediately felt guilty. Why couldn't I be her person? Why would I just easily give up on her when I knew she'd always choose to drink over me? I resented her. I was mad at her for it. So, I wouldn't try. That sucks.

But that is my next thing. I know I can't hold onto negative feelings like that. I can't regret anything. Anything and everything that happened, happened already, and for whatever reasons. She's gone. But most importantly, she's not suffering. Maybe witnessing her being in that much pain helped me be more okay with her dying? Cuz I wouldn't want her, or anybody, to go through something like that. It was horrible. I need to work on letting her go, in a way that I'm happy with the memories, and all that crap people say you should be doing lol. Idk. I will. But for now, I'm sad. I will miss her. Especially for the big things in my life. I'm still going to think of her, for the big events I'd know she would have been there for me. Sad. ~Rip S. I love you.❤

Anyways, another big thing happened for me right after the funeral. A happy thing. That is why that day was bitter sweet for me. But I won't get into that rn. I'm tired and it's late. I will be back soon. Plus, court happened today. That's another thing to get into. 😒 Nothing really happened there. But, as always, I will be back.

Until then. ✌

P.s sry if there's any mistakes in any of my posts. Not going to go over and read everything. This was a long one too haha.

[purpleshellsforyou]

March

Daddy Jefferson

Part 3 of 7

Original writer (@yrs-forevr) version here!

TW: Childbirth

Time: Hamiltime   

Word Count: 1688

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3- you're here!| 4 | 5 | 6 | E

Thomas Jefferson x Reader

Jefferson’s offer for her to live with him had been discussed over many days with the Everetts. There were extensive conversations about how it would help or hurt her, especially at this point in her pregnancy and how potentially drastic changes may affect the baby. It certainly wasn’t desirable to have an expecting mother move, but everyone agreed that space for her to comfortably and safely spread her wings was too good to pass up. Especially since this wasn’t exactly the greatest change during her pregnancy thus far.

Several dinners were arranged between both the Jefferson and Everett estates, switching locations in order to give Y/N a feel for the house without turning her world on its head.

It took her quite a while to think over, but Y/N settled on easing her way into Monticello. Thomas seemed thrilled with the idea, expressing his willingness to help by immediately having a nursery furnished in a westward facing room in the massive estate. Her room was right next door- although he assured her that it could be moved if she wished as the baby got older.

It took her three months to move herself across town. She started staying there more and more frequently until she was adjusted and living there full time. The Everetts seemed happy with this placement as well, both of them joking that their patient was recovering well and growing up. Her move wasn’t without a promise to visit them often- for both checkups and chats.

The nursery was a pale brown color-something that fit the wing of the house but still allowed for any spills on the walls to go unnoticed. A small basket was set up in Y/N’s personal room, while a small bed was set up next door along with some miniature toys and books meant for young children. Some of the books were written by Thomas himself- something he claimed was no problem and barely took any time- but she couldn’t ignore the way his face beamed when she saw them.

All of them were regarding politics in some fashion but one in particular made Y/N gasp. There was a meticulously strung book entitled “My Father”. She spent the night reading through it over and over again. Sometimes she read it aloud, and other times she kept herself quiet. Thomas explained that he looked through all he could find about Hunter and gathered it together. He claimed no child should go without knowing their father and how heroic he was.

Dinners felt different in the large dining room without the Everetts alongside her, but Y/N soon found a topic to discuss with Jefferson. Although their political views didn’t always agree, there was an element of respect when regarding each other.

They both walked down to the graveyard together, which was a bit closer to Monticello than the doctor’s office. It became a daily occurrence to find the two of them walking (or in Y/N’s case, waddling) down the road with a flower in her hand to place on her husband’s grave.

The baby was due in a week and she couldn’t see her feet anymore. Jefferson had given her a pair of shoes that were too small for him to walk in. Although they helped, Y/N still found it uncomfortable.

At 9:30, no matter what he was doing, Thomas would stop working and go to the foyer to meet Y/N. He would tie his shoes on her feet and they would be off. They would briefly stop in a small flower shop in the town, picking out a singular flower for the day and making their way to the graveyard. Today Y/N had chosen a white camelia- Hunter’s favorite flower.

“But I want to take you and the baby to France! You would love the culture and I want to introduce Mini-Abraham to politics.”

“Thomas, let me have the baby first.”

“Okay, okay. But I’m still introducing him to politics.”

Y/N stopped walking. Shaking her head lightly, she gathered her thoughts before she started again, catching up to a confused Jefferson that had stopped a moment after her. She bit her bottom lip, staying silent until she sat down on the bench 5 minutes later.

“You said him...” It took Thomas a moment to realize what she was referring to.

“I suppose I did.”

“Hunter always said that he thought our first baby would be a girl- he said that she would be the only princess that he would allow in the colonies.” Her smile was bittersweet, feeling better but still somewhat guilty about her husband’s death.

Life can be difficult at times, but it’s going to make you stronger. You were meant for this moment, so show the world what you can do.

“Y/N, Dr. Everett said that you should lay down. You’ve been in labor for 3 hours now.”

“I’m in labor. I’m in pain. I’m doing what makes me feel better, and that’s walking. Sit down if it makes you feel better, but you need to shut up, magenta man.”

Thomas held up his hands in mock surrender, smirking inwardly at her snarkiness despite the pain she was surely in.

“Yes, ma'am.”

She was wearing a cream colored and loose fitting nightgown as she paced back and forth in the small bedroom of the Everett’s guest house. Her water had broken around 9 pm, and Thomas had immediately rushed her into a carriage and to the doctor’s.

Annabelle had welcomed them inside and showed them upstairs. She almost immediately left to get blankets and some hot water, something her husband had asked her to do. Jefferson had left the room and Dr. Everett had checked her dilation. She was at 2 cm an hour ago.

Two. Damn. Centimeters.

Y/N felt like she was about to explode and two centimeters meant that she wasn’t ready to get this done. Thomas was sitting in a chair off to one side of the room. His knee was bouncing up and down as he kept staring at her walk back and forth around the small bed.

“Does the pacing make you feel better?”

“Not really, but moving feels okay.”

Jefferson tried to ignore the small grunts that she made from pain, but when her teeth gritted for the 10th time, he couldn’t help but ask.

“Are you sure there’s nothing that I can do? May I get Doctor Everett?”

Y/N nodded with her bottom lip between her teeth, and the doctor came in a few minutes later when Thomas got back. He motioned for her to sit on the bed and she did so, leaning back as Jefferson stood behind her facing the wall to give her privacy. There was a nurturing tone as Samuel asked:

“Do you feel any need to push?”

“Yes, but I don’t know if I’m ready to-”

“You’re all set, Y/N. You’re dilated, and this little soldier wants to greet the world.”

It was hard to say whether she growled or whimpered in return, but she grabbed Thomas’s hand, surprising him and turning him around. He couldn't’ see anything due to the fabric that had been set up for privacy but he still looked a bit uncomfortable. He was careful not to overstep any boundaries. Y/N’s voice was exhausted, but she gritted out: “You’re my friend, Thomas. Please, just help.”

Three and a half hours later, Asher William Abraham was happily sleeping in his mother’s arms and Thomas Jefferson was being treated for two fractured fingers. The blood was somewhat cleaned up, but Dr. Everett had told her to spend the night there because the bleeding may continue, even after post-afterbirth. She agreed, paying more attention to her son than the doctor’s warning.

Her entire world had shifted and for the first time since her wedding, Y/N let a few tears of joy escape.

“How’s your prince?”

“He’s sleepy right now...”

“Sounds like the queen is sleepy too.”

‘Mmmmhm.”

Her eyelids were drooping, but she didn’t take her eyes off her son. She was going to fall asleep finally, and when she did, Thomas scooped up Asher to make sure that he didn’t fall from her arms.

He had never held children before, even with his many siblings, but when he looked down at the sleeping newborn, he felt his world turn upside down.

“Shhh, Ash. Let’s not wake up your mama.”

“Thomas?”

Y/N walked sleepily into Asher’s for-now-nursery, which was a large walk-in closet attached to her room. She didn’t want the baby far from her when he was this young. Thomas was holding the week-old baby in his arms, looking tired but focused. Asher’s green eyes were intently watching him, showing no signs of sleeping anytime soon.

“I was working in my office right down the hall when I heard him crying. I know you’ve gotten up all week and I wanted to let you sleep.”

Her heart clenched involuntarily at the gesture. She sighed, making her way over and looking at her son in his arms.

“Thank you. I’m sorry that you were interrupted... Why are you working this late anyway?”

“Oh, just some legislation that I need to get set. He isn’t a bother at all.”

Y/N almost made a remark about his work ethic and ask if it had improved with the company but she stopped herself.

“Dr. Everett said that his eye color may change, but I don’t think they will... Hunter had the brightest green eyes, and they’re not going away. I can feel it.”

Those wide eyes stared up at her, awestruck and listening to her voice.

“Thank you for calming him down.” She looked up. “You should be asleep too.”

“It wasn’t a big issue, just some things to tidy up.”

“Still, you need sleep too.” She placed a now drowsy Asher back in his basket filled with fluffy blankets. She watched for a minute as he drifted off to sleep. “Goodnight, Thomas” was all she trusted herself to say before she went back to bed, glancing briefly into the hallway to make sure the man was walking past his office and to his room to sleep.

[mrsgilmoredanes]

what were your five favorite parts of the revival?

oh God this is hard can i pretend i didn’t see the “five” yes i can so yeah i have A LOT of fave parts in the revival and most of them are luke and lorelai parts (i know, shocking). also, this user mrsgilmoredanes started her rewatch (again, i know) bc it was their 1 yr anniv but anyway here are my fave parts:

winter

the first few minutes of winter!!!- the lorelais’ reuniting scene + luke and rory’s reuniting scene is just so pure. luke being proud of his daughter rory is so sweet and the 3 of them talking about how they all forgot about paul is so hilarious and the way they talk to each other is so familial i am overwhelmed!!!!- then there’s the puppy pjs scene that i will never get tired of watching they look so domestic and i’m like…are they like that EVERY night God i hope so. the oscar and felix exchange, “you should find my bedtime rituals endearing by now what’s taking you so long!!!” UGH and the way luke patted lorelai’s butt and how she caressed luke’s arm with those huge goofy smiles on their faces wow what a time to be alive!!!! and then they talk about their rollicking lovemaking like… after being together for more than 10 years they still discuss their sex life excitingly you know what i mean??? and that goodnight kiss is my fave kiss of all kisses in the revival. cleared my skin saved my crops cleaned my room organized my stationary collection.- the flashback to richard’s funeral was so sad but i love every second of it. lorelai saying she’s happy, luke and emily’s hug, lorelai staying to watch over emily, emily and lorelai’s fight (no fights no drama and i love drama so i love fights what can i do)- then luke saying “rory’s a lil bit of mine” brings tears to my glasses everytime (then it gets blurry and dirty and i have to clean it again damn u @ luke danes)

the diner scene with rory lorelai and luke i’d die for my family!! and also uhm can i still complain about getting only one (1) diner scene with the 3 of them??????? yes i can.

lorelai dressing paul anka with a flannel and everything just like his daddy.

spring

the holding hands scene + the bwr theater scene ofc. they’re holding hands fcol!!! “it’s kinda scary, you’ll have to hold me” “i can live w that” it’s like they do that all the time what the hell imagine lorelai pretending to be scared and she leans on luke and he wraps his arms around her what the hell. “the love couch, definitely” pls define in love.

i love the town meeting. so nostalgic it gives me comfort. i love stars hollow.

luke, lorelai and rory walking around the spring international food festival and luke and rory, the father and the daughter, talking about who’s gonna take care of lorelai. what a fam.

summer

the family dinner ofc. april being there is so important to me. lorelai complaining about luke’s movie night habits, rory calming april down, luke’s thumb drawing circles on lorelai’s knees on their snug movie night routine. i love my family. (this is the only thing i love in this ep i think. tbh i like watching the fighting scene between lorelai and rory and the LLs too. oh and i used to hate the musical bc it took so much time when they could’ve just replaced it w more LL scenes or babette/patty scenes or whatever but i kinda like it now because let’s be honest the musical’s so funny)

fall

is it ok if i say i love every part yes it is. the hiking?? the first person she calls is luke and…that says A Lot. then when she does the “hiking” she realizes things and she calls emily and tells her the pretzel story am i still crying yes i am. then she goes home and tells luke that she thinks they should get married and oops don’t forget about luke's speech about needing her more than anything in the world???? 💯💯💯 and then that kiss ofc i’m me after all so ya. and don’t forget about the rory and christopher part. i hate that arsehole but i love that scene bc rory was like…my mom and my real dad are getting married so pls f*ck off and p.s. just a reminder uhm why were you (and still) an awful father to me ok this coffee is humongous but it tastes ridiculous ok bye….amirite??? then there’s emily finding happiness in nantucket feeling free like a bird. i also love the part where the lls were arguing about the guests for the wedding and ms. celine being like you really chose a fine hunky sexy piece of meat lorelai i’m proud of ya so come here and let me make you the perfect dress for the perfect man. the part where rory woke lorelai up to mend fences with her and they talk about lorelai finally getting married to luke the way she said “finally” is like she had been waiting for that moment for so long. what else?? uhmmmm lorelai finding the annex i know i’ve mentioned this a lot but i really i love her outfit there what a queen. and pizza and kitchen scene before the impromptu wedding “i feel like we should be married already? yes. right?” and i’m always like damn right you should be married 100 years ago are you guys kidding me??? and of course the wedding. let me tell you, i couldn’t listen to reflecting light for 3 months after the revival bc it made me cry whenever i heard it.

[purpleshellsaremyfavorite]

March

Daddy Jefferson

Part 3 of 7

Jay (@yrs-forevr) x Thomas Jefferson

Reader insert version here!!

Beta Readers: @aaronburr-sir-imagines @tenduelimagines

TW: Childbirth

Time: Hamiltime

Word Count: 1688

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3- you're here!| 4 | 5 | 6 | E

Jefferson’s offer for her to live with him had been discussed over many days with the Everetts. There were extensive conversations about how it would help or hurt her, especially at this point in her pregnancy and how potentially drastic changes may affect the baby. It certainly wasn’t desirable to have an expecting mother move, but everyone agreed that space for her to comfortably and safely spread her wings was too good to pass up. Especially since this wasn’t exactly the greatest change during her pregnancy thus far.

Several dinners were arranged between both the Jefferson and Everett estates, switching locations in order to give Jay a feel for the house without turning her world on its head.

It took her quite a while to think over, but Jay settled on easing her way into Monticello. Thomas seemed thrilled with the idea, expressing his willingness to help by immediately having a nursery furnished in a westward facing room in the massive estate. Her room was right next door- although he assured her that it could be moved if she wished as the baby got older.

It took her three months to move herself across town. She started staying there more and more frequently until she was adjusted and living there full time. The Everetts seemed happy with this placement as well, both of them joking that their patient was recovering well and growing up. Her move wasn’t without a promise to visit them often- for both checkups and chats.

The nursery was a pale brown color-something that fit the wing of the house but still allowed for any spills on the walls to go unnoticed. A small basket was set up in Jay’s personal room, while a small bed was set up next door along with some miniature toys and books meant for young children. Some of the books were written by Thomas himself- something he claimed was no problem and barely took any time- but she couldn’t ignore the way his face beamed when she saw them.

All of them were regarding politics in some fashion but one in particular made Jay gasp. There was a meticulously strung book entitled “My Father”. She spent the night reading through it over and over again. Sometimes she read it aloud, and other times she kept herself quiet. Thomas explained that he looked through all he could find about Hunter and gathered it together. He claimed no child should go without knowing their father and how heroic he was.

Dinners felt different in the large dining room without the Everetts alongside her, but Jay soon found a topic to discuss with Jefferson. Although their political views didn’t always agree, there was an element of respect when regarding each other.

They both walked down to the graveyard together, which was a bit closer to Monticello than the doctor’s office. It became a daily occurrence to find the two of them walking (or in Jay’s case, waddling) down the road with a flower in her hand to place on her husband’s grave.

The baby was due in a week and she couldn’t see her feet anymore. Jefferson had given her a pair of shoes that were too small for him to walk in. Although they helped, Jay still found it uncomfortable.

At 9:30, no matter what he was doing, Thomas would stop working and go to the foyer to meet Jay. He would tie his shoes on her feet and they would be off. They would briefly stop in a small flower shop in the town, picking out a singular flower for the day and making their way to the graveyard. Today Jay had chosen a white camelia- Hunter’s favorite flower.

“But I want to take you and the baby to France! You would love the culture and I want to introduce Mini-Abraham to politics.”

“Thomas, let me have the baby first.”

“Okay, okay. But I’m still introducing him to politics.”

Jay stopped walking. Shaking her head lightly, she gathered her thoughts before she started again, catching up to a confused Jefferson that had stopped a moment after her. She bit her bottom lip, staying silent until she sat down on the bench 5 minutes later.

“You said him...” It took Thomas a moment to realize what she was referring to.

“I suppose I did.”

“Hunter always said that he thought our first baby would be a girl- he said that she would be the only princess that he would allow in the colonies.” Her smile was bittersweet, feeling better but still somewhat guilty about her husband’s death.

Life can be difficult at times, but it’s going to make you stronger. You were meant for this moment, so show the world what you can do.

“Jay, Dr. Everett said that you should lay down. You’ve been in labor for 3 hours now.”

“I’m in labor. I’m in pain. I’m doing what makes me feel better, and that’s walking. Sit down if it makes you feel better, but you need to shut up, magenta man.”

Thomas held up his hands in mock surrender, smirking inwardly at her snarkiness despite the pain she was surely in.

“Yes, ma'am.”

She was wearing a cream colored and loose fitting nightgown as she paced back and forth in the small bedroom of the Everett’s guest house. Her water had broken around 9 pm, and Thomas had immediately rushed her into a carriage and to the doctor’s.

Annabelle had welcomed them inside and showed them upstairs. She almost immediately left to get blankets and some hot water, something her husband had asked her to do. Jefferson had left the room and Dr. Everett had checked her dilation. She was at 2 cm an hour ago.

Two. Damn. Centimeters.

Jay felt like she was about to explode and two centimeters meant that she wasn’t ready to get this done. Thomas was sitting in a chair off to one side of the room. His knee was bouncing up and down as he kept staring at her walk back and forth around the small bed.

“Does the pacing make you feel better?”

“Not really, but moving feels okay.”

Jefferson tried to ignore the small grunts that she made from pain, but when her teeth gritted for the 10th time, he couldn’t help but ask.

“Are you sure there’s nothing that I can do? May I get Doctor Everett?”

Jay nodded with her bottom lip between her teeth, and the doctor came in a few minutes later when Thomas got back. He motioned for her to sit on the bed and she did so, leaning back as Jefferson stood behind her facing the wall to give her privacy. There was a nurturing tone as Samuel asked:

“Do you feel any need to push?”

“Yes, but I don’t know if I’m ready to-”

“You’re all set, Jay. You’re dilated, and this little soldier wants to greet the world.”

It was hard to say whether she growled or whimpered in return, but she grabbed Thomas’s hand, surprising him and turning him around. He couldn't’ see anything due to the fabric that had been set up for privacy but he still looked a bit uncomfortable. He was careful not to overstep any boundaries. Jay’s voice was exhausted, but she gritted out: “You’re my friend, Thomas. Please, just help.”

Three and a half hours later, Asher William Abraham was happily sleeping in his mother’s arms and Thomas Jefferson was being treated for two fractured fingers. The blood was somewhat cleaned up, but Dr. Everett had told her to spend the night there because the bleeding may continue, even after post-afterbirth. She agreed, paying more attention to her son than the doctor’s warning.

Her entire world had shifted and for the first time since her wedding, Jay let a few tears of joy escape.

“How’s your prince?”

“He’s sleepy right now...”

“Sounds like the queen is sleepy too.”

‘Mmmmhm.”

Her eyelids were drooping, but she didn’t take her eyes off her son. She was going to fall asleep finally, and when she did, Thomas scooped up Asher to make sure that he didn’t fall from her arms.

He had never held children before, even with his many siblings, but when he looked down at the sleeping newborn, he felt his world turn upside down.

“Shhh, Ash. Let’s not wake up your mama.”

“Thomas?”

Jay walked sleepily into Asher’s for-now-nursery, which was a large walk-in closet attached to her room. She didn’t want the baby far from her when he was this young. Thomas was holding the week-old baby in his arms, looking tired but focused. Asher’s green eyes were intently watching him, showing no signs of sleeping anytime soon.

“I was working in my office right down the hall when I heard him crying. I know you’ve gotten up all week and I wanted to let you sleep.”

Her heart clenched involuntarily at the gesture. She sighed, making her way over and looking at her son in his arms.

“Thank you. I’m sorry that you were interrupted... Why are you working this late anyway?”

“Oh, just some legislation that I need to get set. He isn’t a bother at all.”

Jay almost made a remark about his work ethic and ask if it had improved with the company but she stopped herself.

“Dr. Everett said that his eye color may change, but I don’t think they will... Hunter had the brightest green eyes, and they’re not going away. I can feel it.”

Those wide eyes stared up at her, awestruck and listening to her voice.

“Thank you for calming him down.” She looked up. “You should be asleep too.”

“It wasn’t a big issue, just some things to tidy up.”

“Still, you need sleep too.” She placed a now drowsy Asher back in his basket filled with fluffy blankets. She watched for a minute as he drifted off to sleep. “Goodnight, Thomas” was all she trusted herself to say before she went back to bed, glancing briefly into the hallway to make sure the man was walking past his office and to his room to sleep.

[elmozzosays]

June 9 2020 “The “crush” effect”

As promised to you all, I’m about to lay down and explain the reason we all have crushes in our life, even if you have a significant other, you still have a crush, we all do. It’s undeniable, no one can say the contrary. From real people to celebrities, crushes are part of our lives. This applies to men and women, either heterosexuals and homosexuals, the effect applies the same. I am about to describe all the crushes I used to have and currently do (all those i can remember anyway) and on typical Jaime way, I will keep their names unknown. 

It might have been 1990 or something like that, military school which I hated to the bone. From ‘89 to ‘93, Those years were absolutely awful, I was considered the misfit. Imagine, no friends, people making fun of me (at the time it wasn’t called bullying but I was a victim of it) for the way I look to the economical status of my parents to anything the could pick on. Looking back now, I wish I could punch those idiots in the face, no wonder I accumulated so much wrath from those years and heavy music made that an easy process to smoother my anger. The only credit I could give military school was the sense of discipline. It formed my core as a man and without it, I could have become a deranged individual. Anyway, on the crush subject... My first crush happened when i was 7-8 yrs old and she was my teacher. Oh my dear Lord, how beautiful she was. Blue eyes, tall, dark brown hair woman and at the time she was expecting. Very weird huh? by that time, I was already charging my sexual appetite at that young age. Let’s be real: once you start having a crush on someone, sex becomes involved in the process. I might have been very young to what sex meant at the time but the adoration I have for her was undeniable. She might be in her 50′s now if my math makes sense, hope she retained all the beauty I saw back then. Alright, same school, but  a bit grown was this young girl I used to like. She might have been a couple years older (let me make a break here: I have always like older women, not that old but a few years ahead of me) I never made it evident that I liked her but tried to make conversation. On my vague memory -in which people admired because of its accuracy for time and places- this one, I have traces of memory. If the year is correct, it was 1992. I could barely remember her name now, but her face I can picture, shew was tall too (which I liked). As a student, she might have been the only one I laid my eyes on... but then again, it was just that, a simple crush. 

1994 arrived and I was merely 11. I moved to a school near my house which it was very convenient. Never took a bus to go home, a 20 min walk was more than enough. There, on one of my classes sat a girl very attractive. She sat in front of me. Her name I remember but not much of her face though. Weird right? She was brown-skinned and her hair was dyed blond but i know she was a brunette. This is something that have plagued my life for the longest: i was a very shy kid. Having said that, it might have hindered my ability to date back then, I'm sure. This shyness... it took a very long time for me to get rid of it. I will credit life itself for making me get out of the nutshell. Sometimes the hard way shall shake you better. Most of my time in that school (from 1994 to 1998) was amazing. I do remember it fondly, This english teacher I had around that time was so tender to me, I think she saw me as a kinda son love, but it felt kinda different to me. She always smelled nice and since I handled the basics of english, it wasn't a problem for me. When it was about to choose careers, the school i was in did not have the one I wanted, that meant to transfer somewhere else. That also meant saying good bye to my friends in which mostly I hung out after school with. All that went straight to nowhere once i went to my last school back home. I stayed there for over a year til I came in to America but my stay was not pleasant. I was like going backwards to the military school days, except for the bullying part, at least here they were respectful. On any school I was in, I was never a popular student and neither I wanted it to be, simply because i despise the attention. I never like to be the center of attention of anything, til this day. 

On that particular school I never found someone attractive. I don’t know why. I’m lying, This teacher i had was such a babe. i know every male student wanted to get to her pants. She was only there for a short bit though. What is it with teachers and myself? That kinky aspect comes to my mind when I actually remember them with great fondness. Alright, time travels and let me mention a girl that actually caught my eye and for this reason i believe in love (or crush) in first sight, if there is such a thing. it was on my second job which I lasted for 5 years or so and because of her mum, I got that job. She used to work at the Bakery section right next to mine (which was Prepared Foods) and she approached me or something and there she was. Obviously younger, full of life and very cute. At that time, she must have been in her early 20′s, whilst i was past my mid 20′s. She introduced herself with kiss on the cheek and that very second, I was on cloud 9. For a couple of weeks I was like that til my friend at the time told me she already had a boyfriend. Ugh, I know right? When I saw the dude I was like WTF???? This can’t be. The cutest girls always with the ugly  looking dudes. Anyway, the crushing happened right there but later I found she left her boyfriend and dated another one right away and became a mum. End. That crush just lasted a couple of months to be honest and move to someone else. I also had a crush on a girl that worked on my same team. Someone told her I had a crushed on her but she was totally cool and told me straight that friends mode could work since she was dating already. Another one on the fold I guess. 

Til this day, I never dated any of my crushes since doing that, the crush status is lost and immediately you become attached, which is a good thing. On the 2 last jobs I held, I had countless crushes but all were just in my head. The rule here is that your crush is not supposed to know you have a crush on that person. If that person finds out, you got crushed because the chances of dating that individual are slim to none, at least on my experience. If you have a different one, congratulations. I still have crushes but 3 sections apply at least to me: either she is married (or boyfriend), lesbian or ignores me. I still haven't been able to break those 3. Take this for an example: My current crush, she is married (I saw her ring before someone even noticed she was married and i also saw a picture from her wedding day) but I still like her. She makes me nervous when she arrives. I miss her long straight hair, her face and how she is shy on the eye when we talk. I know on my weird mind something else happens, but in reality, that’s not the case. Because of the pandemic, I have not seen her because she has to work from home. I hope I see her someday, at least for my own pleasure. 

There you have it kids. This last paragraph will be save for the common celebrity crush. We all do have them. From magazines, tv, movies and music, we fall deeply in love to whoever your crush is. We even might not meet them in real life but that will take the magical crush part to the ground. We all imagine them perfect, larger than life and a perfect fit for us but in reality they are just like us, having a better job or better status. Now, the question that will remain unsolved is (drumroll) I wonder if any girl I have crossed paths with, had a crush on me. I will never know that and better off I guess. The mystical part of the crush thing is this one. You will never know who has a crush on you. Til next time! 

-jaime