#at least that's how it was for me and James

[pucksandpower]

Nothing to Prove

Charles Leclerc x Vettel!Reader

Summary: it’s a tale as old as time — every female sports fan has been told to “prove” her fandom at least once in her life — but the man quizzing you quickly learns the error of his ways

The Miami sun beats down relentlessly as you make your way through the bustling paddock, your destination the familiar red and white of the Ferrari motorhome. The air buzzes with pre-race excitement, mechanics and team personnel darting about like worker bees in a particularly colorful hive.

You’re so focused on navigating the crowd that you almost don’t notice the young man who steps directly into your path, phone held aloft. His grin is a touch too smug for comfort.

“Excuse me, miss,” he says, voice dripping with false politeness. “Mind if I ask you a few questions for my TikTok?”

You hesitate, torn between ingrained courtesy and a gnawing sense of unease. “I’m actually in a bit of a hurry-”

“It’ll only take a minute,” he insists, already hitting record. “So, tell me, what’s your favorite thing about Formula 1?”

The question seems innocent enough, but there’s something in his tone that sets your teeth on edge. Still, you decide to play along for now. “Well, I love the strategy, the technology, the way the whole sport pushes the boundaries of what’s possible-”

He cuts you off with a laugh. “Come on, be honest. It’s the hot drivers, right? That’s why most girls watch.”

You blink, momentarily stunned by his blatant misogyny. “Excuse me?”

“No judgment!” He says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I get it, they’re all rich and fit. But let’s see how much you really know. Who won the 1976 World Championship?”

You open your mouth to answer, but he barrels on.

“What’s the difference between understeer and oversteer? How many points do you get for fastest lap? Come on, if you’re a real fan, this should be easy!”

Your initial discomfort has morphed into full-blown anger. “Look, I don’t have to prove anything to you. My knowledge of the sport isn’t-”

“Ah, so you can’t answer,” he says, triumphant. “Just as I thought. Another pretty face here for the-”

“Is there a problem here?”

The smooth voice comes from just behind you, followed by the warmth of a familiar body pressing against your back. Strong arms wrap around your waist, and you instinctively lean into the embrace.

The TikToker’s eyes go wide as saucers as he takes in the newcomer. “You’re ... you’re ...”

“Charles Leclerc,” your boyfriend finishes for him, voice deceptively mild. “And you are ...”

The young man sputters, clearly thrown off his game. “I’m ... I mean... I was just asking your girl here some questions about F1.”

Charles’ arms tighten fractionally around you. “Is that so? Because from where I was standing, it sounded more like an interrogation.”

You turn your head slightly, meeting Charles’ gaze. His green eyes are blazing with a protective fury that makes your heart skip a beat.

“It’s fine,” you murmur. “He was just leaving.”

Charles raises an eyebrow at the TikToker, who’s looking increasingly desperate to be anywhere else. “You heard the lady.”

But the young man, perhaps realizing his video is about to become internet gold, rallies. “Wait! I mean, no offense, but how do we know she’s not just with you for the fame? Can she even name your teammate?”

You feel Charles tense behind you, but before he can speak, you’ve had enough. You step out of his embrace, squaring up to the TikToker.

“Carlos Sainz Jr.,” you say, voice hard. “Currently P4 in the championship. And since you’re so keen on quizzing people, James Hunt won in ‘76, understeer is when the front of the car doesn’t turn enough while oversteer is when the rear steps out too much, and you get one point for fastest lap if you finish in the top ten. Any other burning questions?”

The TikToker gapes at you, clearly unprepared for this turn of events. Charles, for his part, looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh.

“I ... but ...” the young man stammers.

You press on, building up a head of steam. “Oh, and fun fact — my brother has four World Championships. But I’m sure you knew that, being such an expert and all.”

The TikToker’s face drains of color as realization dawns. “Your brother? You’re Sebastian Vettel’s sister?”

Charles can’t contain his amusement any longer. He laughs, the sound rich and warm. “I tried to warn you. You’ve awakened the beast.”

You shoot him a mock glare. “You’re not helping.”

He holds up his hands in surrender, still grinning. “Far be it from me to interfere with your righteous fury. Please, continue.”

The TikToker looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. “I ... I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize-”

“That women can be genuine fans?” You interrupt. “That we might actually understand and love the sport for its own sake? Or just that you shouldn’t make assumptions about people based on their gender?”

He winces. “All of the above?”

Charles steps forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. The touch is gentle, but there’s steel in his voice when he speaks. “I think it’s time for you to go. And delete that video while you’re at it.”

The young man nods frantically, fumbling with his phone. In his haste to retreat, he trips over his own feet, sprawling ungracefully on the ground. Charles moves to help him up, ever the gentleman, but you put a restraining hand on his arm.

“Let him sort himself out,” you mutter. “A little humiliation might do him some good.”

Charles chuckles, pulling you close. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

As the TikToker scrambles away, face burning with embarrassment, you allow yourself to relax into Charles’ embrace. The adrenaline of the confrontation leaves you feeling a bit shaky.

“You okay?” Charles asks softly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You nod, letting out a long breath. “Yeah. Just ... frustrated. Why do people still think like that?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I wish I knew. It’s not fair, the assumptions people make.”

“It’s not just about me,” you say, turning to face him fully. “It’s about all the female fans out there who get treated like this. Who get quizzed and belittled and have their passion questioned at every turn.”

Charles nods, his expression serious. “You’re right. It’s a bigger problem than just one idiot with a TikTok account.”

“Sometimes I wonder if it will ever change,” you admit, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

Charles cups your face in his hands, his touch impossibly gentle. “It will,” he says with conviction. “Because of people like you who stand up and call it out. Who refuse to let ignorance go unchallenged.”

You lean into his touch, allowing yourself a small smile. “When did you get so wise?”

He grins, some of his usual playfulness returning. “I have my moments. Don’t tell anyone though, it’ll ruin my reputation.”

You laugh, the tension finally starting to dissipate. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Charles leans in, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m proud of you, you know,” he murmurs. “The way you handled that ... it was impressive.”

“Yeah?” You ask, a hint of vulnerability creeping into your voice.

“Absolutely,” he says firmly. “You were brilliant. Fierce. Passionate.” His voice drops lower, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Incredibly sexy.”

You swat his arm playfully. “Behave yourself, Leclerc. We’re in public.”

He affects an innocent expression that doesn’t fool you for a second. “I’m always on my best behavior.”

You snort. “That’s what worries me.”

Charles laughs, the sound bright and carefree. It never fails to make your heart soar. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. “Come on, let’s get to the motorhome. I think we both could use a moment of peace before the craziness really begins.”

As you walk hand in hand through the paddock, you can’t help but reflect on the incident. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth, but there’s also a spark of hope. Because for every misogynistic TikToker, there are countless fans — of all backgrounds — who love the sport for what it is. Who appreciate the skill, the strategy, the sheer spectacle of it all.

And maybe, just maybe, standing up to ignorance one interaction at a time is how change really happens.

Charles squeezes your hand, pulling you from your thoughts. “What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours?”

You smile, leaning into him slightly as you walk. “Just thinking about how lucky I am. To be here, doing what I love. To have people in my life who support me and believe in me.”

He brings your joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “The luck goes both ways, mon cœur. You make me better, on and off the track.”

As you approach the Ferrari motorhome, its bright red a beacon in the sea of team colors, you feel a renewed sense of purpose. There will always be challenges, always be those who try to tear others down. But with love, determination, and a refusal to back down from what’s right, anything is possible.

Even changing the world of Formula 1, one small interaction at a time.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

childhood sweethearts and paper rings

james potter x reader where you both realize your love through paper rings

↬ word count : 3,438 words ˎˊ˗

↬ warnings : fluff overload, pining, a sprinkle of angst but resolved quickly, excessive paper rings

↬ inspired from : (a bit) ➺ paper rings by taylor swift ♡

↬ author's note : childhood best friends to lovers is james potter’s ultimate trope. argue with the wall.

navigation┆james potter masterlist┆request here 𝜗𝜚

James Potter was seven years old when he decided that he was going to marry you. He didn’t understand much about marriage—only that it meant you’d be together forever, which sounded like the best thing in the world. After all, you were his best friend, and if forever wasn’t you, then who else could it be for?

The Potters and your family were close friends, and most weekends, you were bundled into the fireplace to floo to their house. James would meet you on the other side, grinning wildly and already tugging your arm to drag you outside. The two of you were inseparable, whether you were building forts in the garden or chasing each other around with toy brooms.

“Sunny, you’re supposed to catch it!” James exclaimed one summer afternoon as he tossed a quaffle your way. His glasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them up impatiently.

“I’m trying!” you yelled back, laughing as the ball sailed past your outstretched arms. You were too busy giggling to notice James running to retrieve it. He came back with dirt on his knees and his hair even messier than usual.

“We’ll practice until you’re as good as me,” he declared, puffing out his chest in mock importance.

You scrunched up your nose, sticking your tongue out at him. “What if I don’t want to be good at Quidditch? What if I want to be the best cake-eater in the world?”

James grinned, his own cheeks turning pink. “Then I’ll be the second-best. We can do it together.”

By the time you were eight, James had discovered the fine art of crafting paper rings. It started when he saw his mum making origami flowers for a party. Naturally, he wasn’t allowed near the good parchment—but his dad handed him some scraps, and the rest was history.

The first paper ring James gave you was lopsided, crumpled at the edges, and had a faint ink smudge from where he’d tried to draw a flower on it. You’d accepted it with wide, delighted eyes, slipping it onto your finger like it was made of gold.

“What’s this for?” you’d asked, holding it up to inspect the crooked folds.

“It’s…” James hesitated, suddenly bashful. “It’s a promise. You’re my best friend, and I’ll always be there for you.”

You grinned so brightly he thought his chest might burst. “I’ll always be there for you too, Jamie!” you chirped, and the name stuck, much to his parents’ amusement.

At nine, you and James built a treehouse. Or at least, you started to. James had insisted on using magic, and after much begging and wheedling, his mum had charmed a few planks of wood into place.

“It’ll be our secret hideout,” James said as you hammered nails into the rickety ladder.

“For what?” you asked, holding the ladder steady. Your hair was sticking to your forehead, and there was a streak of mud on your cheek, but you couldn’t have been happier.

“For… secret plans,” James decided. “Like how we’ll sneak extra pudding without anyone noticing.”

You beamed. “And maybe we can put all the paper rings here too. Like a treasure chest!”

He thought that was the best idea ever.

By ten, James had made you more paper rings than either of you could count. Some were decorated with little doodles, others with clumsy attempts at flowers or hearts. You kept them all in a shoebox under your bed, treasuring them like the precious artifacts they were.

One rainy afternoon, you and James sat cross-legged on the rug in his room, watching the droplets streak down the window.

“Sunny,” James said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Do you know what love is?”

You tilted your head, considering. “Not really. I think it’s when someone makes you really happy. Like my mum when she bakes my favorite cookies.”

James nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. I think it’s when someone does things for you. Like… like when you gave me the bigger half of your pie last week.”

You grinned, your toothy smile making his cheeks heat up. “Then I think love is when you gave me your scarf when I was cold.”

He grinned back, lopsided and bright. “Maybe love is when we’re best friends forever.”

When you turned eleven, everything began to change. A letter arrived, delivered by an official-looking owl, and James practically dragged you across the room to celebrate.

“We’re going to Hogwarts together!” he exclaimed, lifting you off the ground in his excitement. “This is going to be the best year ever!”

You squealed, clutching onto him as he spun you around. “Jamie, I’m so excited!”

Later that day, he gave you another paper ring. It was neater this time, folded carefully with gold-trimmed parchment he’d begged off his mum.

“This one’s special,” James said solemnly as you slipped it onto your finger.

“Why?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Because it’s the last one before Hogwarts,” he said. “But I’ll make you loads more when we’re there.”

You beamed, clutching the ring to your chest. “Best friends forever?”

“Forever,” he promised.

And that was the thing about James Potter. Even when he didn’t fully understand what love was, he knew one thing: it was always going to be you.

At Hogwarts, you quickly became part of the infamous Marauders. James, Sirius, Remus, Peter, and you. Whether it was sneaking into the kitchens for late-night snacks or plotting pranks on the Slytherins, the five of you were inseparable.

James had a knack for getting the group into trouble, and you had a knack for talking your way out of it.

“It’s not my fault Snape looks so funny when his robes turn pink,” James argued one day, as you all hid in an empty classroom after a particularly successful prank.

“You used an entire bottle of dye,” Remus pointed out dryly, though he was biting back a smile.

“Totally worth it,” Sirius said, high-fiving James.

Peter chuckled nervously. “Do you think he’ll ever figure out it was us?”

“Who cares?” you said, laughing. “Jamie, you’re brilliant.”

James beamed at your praise, his grin so wide it threatened to split his face.

But while James was fearless in most things, there was one subject that turned him into a bumbling mess: Lily Evans, although you understood the feeling, cause she was gorgeous.

“Merlin’s beard, just look at her,” James sighed dreamily one afternoon as the five of you sat under a tree by the Black Lake. Lily was a few yards away, reading a book and flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“You’re staring again,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

James turned red. “I am not!”

“You absolutely are,” Sirius chimed in, smirking. “If you’re going to pine, at least do it with some dignity, Prongs.”

“I’m not pining!” James protested, though his voice cracked slightly.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “You drew a heart with her initials in your Transfiguration notes yesterday.”

“I did not!” James said, horrified.

Peter nodded enthusiastically. “You did. I saw it too.”

You burst out laughing, leaning into James as he groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Jamie, it’s okay to have a crush. Especially if it's on Evans. I do too but the difference is you’re terrible at hiding it.”

“You lot are the worst,” he muttered, though he couldn’t hide the small smile creeping onto his face.

Despite the relentless teasing, you were always James’ biggest supporter. When he finally worked up the courage to ask Lily out in your fifth year, you were the one who gave him the pep talk beforehand.

“You’re James Potter,” you said firmly, gripping his shoulders. “You’re charming, funny, and completely brilliant. If she doesn’t say yes, it’s her loss.”

James smiled nervously. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” you said confidently.

And even though a small part of you felt a twinge of something you couldn’t quite name, you pushed it aside. Because James was your best friend, and you’d always be there for him—just like he’d always be there for you.

It happened gradually, so slowly that you didn’t notice at first. The paper rings, once a constant in your life, became fewer and fewer. By sixth year, they stopped altogether. You told yourself it didn’t matter—after all, you and James were still thick as thieves. He was busy with Quidditch, the Marauders, and his relentless pursuit of Lily Evans.

But deep down, you missed them.

Then one day, an owl from your parents arrived during breakfast in the Great Hall. You tore open the envelope eagerly, only to feel your stomach drop as you read the letter.

The treehouse at the Potters burned down.

Your chest ached as you reread the words. The treehouse, your secret hideout, the place where you’d kept all the paper rings James had ever given you—gone. Reduced to ashes.

You left the Great Hall in a daze, clutching the letter as tears blurred your vision. It wasn’t just a treehouse. It was years of memories, laughter, and promises that now felt lost forever. You needed to tell James. He would understand.

You found him in the courtyard, a broad grin on his face as he spoke animatedly to Lily. She was laughing, her green eyes sparkling in the sunlight, and for a moment, you hesitated.

Then you saw it: a paper ring in his hand. Your heart clenched painfully as he turned it over in his fingers, showing it to Lily with the same excitement he’d once reserved for you.

You felt a lump form in your throat. It was silly, really. You’d known for years that James fancied Lily. You’d encouraged him, teased him, supported him. And yet, seeing him with a paper ring—your paper ring—meant for her…

It felt like losing a part of yourself.

You turned on your heel and walked away before he could see you, the letter crumpled in your hand. As you hurried back to the common room, you tried to push the image from your mind, but it clung stubbornly.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. Maybe Lily had finally agreed to a date. Maybe the ring wasn’t even for her. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

But the ache in your chest told a different story.

You didn’t sleep much that night. The weight of the treehouse’s destruction—and the memories it held—pressed heavily on your chest. When morning came, you dragged yourself to breakfast, your usual bubbly demeanor dimmed.

James was already there, sitting with Sirius, Remus, and Peter, recounting some Quidditch play. He caught sight of you as you approached, and his grin faltered.

“Morning, sunny,” he greeted, nudging the bench beside him. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink.”

You plopped down next to him, twisting the edge of your sleeve. “James… the..the treehouse, it burned down.”

His face froze, confusion quickly giving way to shock. “What?” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

You handed him the crumpled letter. He read it, his expression shifting to heartbreak. “Our treehouse? The one we built with my mum’s old cushions and all the fairy lights?”

You nodded, your throat tight. “All the paper rings… they were in there, James.”

For a moment, he just stared at the letter. Then, without warning, he pulled you into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around you like they used to when you were kids, and you buried your face in his shoulder, letting the familiar scent of parchment and pine comfort you.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t think—I didn’t realize—”

You missed the way his breath hitched, his soft oh of realization. Missed the quick glance he threw across the table to Lily, whose knowing gaze met his. Her lips curled into the faintest smile, as if she understood something neither of you had quite pieced together yet.

But you were too caught up in the hug, too lost in your own heartbreak to notice anything else.

James Potter was not one to do things halfway. The moment he realized how much those paper rings had meant to you, he made it his mission to bring them back into your life in abundance. It started small—a single paper ring folded neatly and tucked into your Potions book during class.

“James,” you whispered, holding it up with an amused smile. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”

“Trouble’s my middle name,” he whispered back, grinning mischievously before turning back to Slughorn’s lecture like he hadn’t just slid a tiny masterpiece of folded parchment into your life.

But James Potter didn’t stop at small. Soon, the paper rings started appearing everywhere. One in your bag during Transfiguration. Another tucked into your scarf at breakfast. A stack of them slid under your pillow one night. He even charmed one to float down from the owlery like a paper snowflake as you walked past.

The grandest moment came during Defense Against the Dark Arts. James, thinking he was being discreet, crept over to your desk mid-lecture to slip a particularly colorful ring onto your parchment. Just as he leaned down, a shadow loomed over both of you.

“Ahem,” Professor McGonagall’s sharp voice cut through the room like a knife. The class went silent, every head swiveling to witness James Potter caught red-handed.

James straightened, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Just delivering a very important piece of classwork, Professor,” he said smoothly, holding up the paper ring as if it were a prized essay.

McGonagall’s lips twitched, though she worked hard to suppress a smile. “Very well, Mr. Potter. But if I catch you again, you’ll be writing lines until your quill runs out of ink.”

“Yes, Professor,” James said solemnly, though his wink to Sirius betrayed him.

As McGonagall turned back to the blackboard, you swore you saw her glance over her shoulder and wink—wink—at you. For a moment, you questioned your sanity.

By the end of the week, you had more paper rings than you knew what to do with. You didn’t have the heart to throw them away—not after all the effort James had gone to—so you started collecting them in an old chocolate box you found in your dorm.

Every night, you added the day’s rings to the collection, tracing your fingers over the creases and folds as you smiled to yourself. It was ridiculous, really. They were just bits of paper, after all. But each one felt like a tiny promise—a reminder of a boy who made the world brighter simply by being in it.

It was another morning at the Gryffindor table, and James was unusually quiet. Normally, he’d be drumming his fingers on the table, bantering with Sirius, or laughing at something Peter said. But today, he was poking at his eggs, lost in thought.

Remus noticed first. Of course, he did. “You haven’t mentioned Lily in a while,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow. “What happened? Did she finally hex you into silence?”

Sirius barked a laugh, and Peter snorted into his pumpkin juice. But James just shrugged, looking nonchalant.

“Oh, yeah, about that,” he said casually, as if he weren’t about to drop a bombshell. “Well… that’s not happening.”

Your fork clattered onto your plate. “Really?” you blurted, a little too loudly. You immediately ducked your head, heat rushing to your cheeks.

James smirked, but it wasn’t his usual mischievous one—it was softer, more thoughtful. “Yeah, she kind of pointed out that I might have feelings for someone else.”

The table went silent. Even Sirius, who rarely let anything keep him quiet for long, was staring at James in surprise.

“And?” Remus prompted, leaning forward like he already knew the answer.

“And I realized… she was right,” James admitted, his voice quieter now.

“Oh,” you said softly, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing. “That’s… interesting.”

“Yeah,” James said, turning to look at you with a curious expression. “It is.”

For a moment, his hazel eyes seemed to search yours, like he was trying to figure out if you knew what he meant—if you felt the same.

But before he could say anything else, Sirius, who clearly couldn’t handle the suspense, interrupted with a loud, “So, who’s the lucky person, Prongs? Don’t leave us hanging!”

James flushed, the tips of his ears turning pink as he grabbed a piece of toast and stuffed it into his mouth, muttering something unintelligible.

“Oh, come on,” Sirius teased, elbowing him. “Out with it, mate!”

But James just shook his head, laughing nervously. “Not telling,” he mumbled through a mouthful of toast.

The conversation shifted after that, Sirius dragging Peter into a heated debate about whether or not owls secretly judged their owners, and you found yourself staring at your plate, your thoughts spinning.

You didn’t know what to make of James’ words. Who was he talking about? Was it someone you knew? Was it… you?

You glanced at James out of the corner of your eye. He was laughing now, teasing Peter about his messy handwriting, but there was something different about him—something softer.

You pushed the thought away. It couldn’t be you. Could it?

The Owlery was quiet, save for the soft hoots of the owls roosting in their perches. You had just tied your letter to your parents onto a barn owl’s leg, stroking its feathers as it took off into the morning light. Beside you, James was doing the same, his handwriting as messy as ever but filled with his usual warmth and charm.

As his owl soared into the sky, you lingered by the ledge, watching the horizon. James leaned beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence was comfortable, the kind that came with years of friendship. But you couldn’t stop thinking about breakfast, about what he’d said, and about the way he’d looked at you.

“So,” you started, your voice soft, “this… someone else you might have feelings for.”

James froze, his hands gripping the stone ledge. “Oh,” he said, his voice an octave higher than usual. “That.”

You turned to face him, your heart thudding in your chest. “Yeah, that.”

James rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “Right. Well…” He hesitated, his usual confidence faltering. “It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated how?” you asked, taking a step closer.

He glanced at you then, his hazel eyes searching yours. “Because, well because it’s you,” he said quietly.

The words hung in the air, delicate and trembling. You stared at him, your mouth slightly open in surprise. “Me?”

“Yeah,” James said, his cheeks flushing pink. “It’s always been you, I think. I just… didn’t realize it until Lily pointed it out. And then when I thought about it—about us—it just made sense, you know? You’ve always been there. You’ve always been you.”

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “James…”

“I know it might be weird,” he said quickly, misinterpreting your silence. “And if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I just thought you should know, because I—”

“I feel the same,” you blurted out, cutting him off.

He blinked at you, his mouth hanging open. “You do?”

You nodded, a shy smile spreading across your face. “I do.”

For a moment, James just stared at you, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Then, slowly, his lips curled into the biggest, brightest grin you’d ever seen.

“Brilliant,” he said softly, almost to himself.

You laughed, the sound light and bubbly, and he joined in, his joy infectious. Before you knew it, he was stepping closer, his hand reaching for yours.

“I, uh, don’t have a proper ring,” he said, his voice nervous but warm. “But…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a familiar folded strip of parchment.

Your breath hitched as he gently slipped the paper ring onto your finger, his touch lingering. “There,” he said, his smile soft and a little shy. “Perfect.”

You looked down at the ring, your chest swelling with warmth. It was so James—simple, sweet, and utterly wonderful.

“Perfect,” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

When you looked up, he was already watching you, his hazel eyes filled with something so soft and tender it made your knees weak.

“Does this mean you’re stuck with me?” you teased, your cheeks aching from how hard you were smiling.

“Forever, if you’ll have me,” James said, grinning.

And as the owls cooed above and the sunlight bathed the two of you in gold, you knew you would. Forever and always.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

thinkin bout magneto's lil list of aliases from that One Shot of his government file or w/e in 97 and how it lists the three main men who've played him (David Hemblen, Ian McKellen, Michael Fassbender) and kinda cackling at the idea 1.) if they included All his names 2.) having 'michael' on that list twice

[moutainrusing]

hear me out

691 words, jegulus, platonic prongsfoot

They’d decided to have a ‘hear me out’ cake in the dormitory.

James remembered how it started – as per usual, he was awoken to Sirius waving something in his face. This time it had been a phone screen, open on a bunch of random videos about people putting their most out-of-pocket crushes on cakes and revealing them to the horrified faces of their friends, who turned out to either have a crush on the exact same person, or a crush on someone (or something) worse.

“We’ve got to do this,” Sirius had pleaded.

James had patted his head affectionately, “Mate, you don’t need to ask for my permission.”

Things had spiralled from there, as they often did when they were left up to Sirius. He’d assembled all four Marauders and arranged for them to have printed out or drawn all the pictures of their most embarrassing or unflattering or disturbing or secret crushes, while he’d get a cake from the Kitchens in time for their… ‘hear me out’ thing… at night. Was it a party? A celebration? James didn’t know.

He did know what face he was putting on the cake.

Remus stifled an unbecoming snort when he saw it. Peter wrinkled his nose and prepared for the worst.

Sirius was blissfully ignorant for at least ten seconds before he suddenly clocked it and began squawking, “That’s my brother! Oh my— You want to shag my brother?!” he whipped around to face James incredulously, then got to his feet and began shaking James’s shoulders, “Answer the question!”

And James poked his tongue in his cheek, reluctantly smiling at Sirius with his gums, “Uh… Surprise?”

Sirius scoffed, “I can’t believe this. Keep it to yourself. Don’t get involved with—”

“We’re dating,” James’s brain decided that was the moment to confess. It was a good moment.

“You what?!” Sirius roared. “But that’s my brother! Regulus?! You— what— this isn’t cool, man. Can’t believe neither of you told me. I’m eating your slice of cake now. And tell Regulus he must offer me full custody of Leonie or our brotherhood is through.”

“Leonie?” James questioned.

Sirius huffed, “You don’t even know the first thing about Regulus. Leonie is our stuffed toy lioness,” he turned his nose to the ceiling. “And now she will be mine, ‘cause you’re both traitors.”

In the background, Remus and Peter laughed (traitors) while James tried to placate his best friend.

“You can have Leonie, Sirius—”

“That’s not enough! Firstly, are you even being safe with him? Is he being safe with you?! AND ARE YOU SHAGGING LIKE DISGUSTING CORRUPTED HEATHENS?!”

“We’re safe, and we’re not shagging—”

“Am I the first to know, or have you kept this filthy secret from me specifically?!”

“Sirius, right now is the first time I’ve told anyone, and I told you, Remus, and Peter—”

Sirius gasped, “Did you have Reggie’s permission to tell us?!”

“I’d never do anything without Reg’s permission,” James said seriously.

Extending his pinky, Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Promise?”

“Promise,” James assured him, linking their fingers.

Sirius sighed. “Fine. Have him on your stupid hear me out. But I’m still eating your slice. And after I do, we’re finding him and having a conversation like adults do.”

- - -

“Regulus!”

“Sirius.”

Regulus crossed his arms while Sirius looked at his brother carefully, before nodding wisely, “I’m glad.”

Despite the roll of his eyes, Regulus was smiling, “Thanks.”

James was very confused about the whole interaction.

Then Regulus went back into his dormitory, but Sirius was still standing outside. After a minute of just dawdling, a stuffed toy lioness flew out of Regulus’s door and landed in Sirius’s arms.

Beaming, Sirius cradled Leonie to his chest and told James, “We can go back now, or you can stay with Reg. His dorm’s empty,” Sirius tilted his head towards it.

“How do you know—?” James was cut off by Regulus pulling him into the, as Sirius had correctly predicted, empty dormitory.

“Hi,” Regulus greeted, wrapping his arms around James’s neck and pulling him down into a kiss. “Thanks for telling them,” he mumbled.

“I wanna tell the whole world I love you,” James whispered back.

[theladyofshalott1989]

"Carpe Diem" (An HCU Winter One-Shot)

Summary: The HCU has returned to Hogwarts after their various holiday escapades. On a snowy day in January, they make up for lost time.

Word Count: 2,187

[ AO3 Link ]

4th January, 1893

// 5 AM //

“Why in Merlin’s ever loving name are we up this early?” Alvin asked Matty through a yawn. 

Matty, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, donned bright red antler ears despite the terrible hour. Naturally, she’d already perched a matching set on Alvin’s unsuspecting head. With a wide grin, she piped back, “Pastries, of course!”

“Right.” 

“They need to be done before everyone wakes up!” 

She was too perky. Too perky and then some. Though Alvin had to admit he found it rather endearing. But he was so tired, darn her!

“Remind me,” he continued. “Why are we baking Christmas pastries in January?”

“Because not all of our friends were here over the holidays, silly!” Matty leapt over to Alvin and dolloped his nose with a touch of flour. She giggled.

“Right.” Alvin waited for her to turn around before bringing his hand to his nose, touching it delicately, smiling, and then scrubbing away the evidence.

Just in time, too, as she swiveled around and said, “Now help me with the dough, please.”

“Anything for you, dear,” came Alvin’s playful reply. 

The day may have started early, but beginning it with Matty made it all worth it. 

// 6 AM //

“Get up! Get up! Get up, Sebastian!”

Sebastian jolted awake, scrambling up in bed with a speed that could rival a Hippogriff soaring over the Black Lake. “Damien! What is it?” he shouted, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest.

“Snow, Sebastian! Snow!”

Sebastian sighed. Ah yes, of course. How could he forget? Damien and snow were practically soulmates. “...And?” he asked, peeling the sheets off of his body. 

He squinted at Damien, who was bouncing up and down near the window. The sunrise streaming through the curtains cast a dull red glow on Damien’s dark blond hair, making him appear as if he’d been dipped in firelight. Thank Merlin Damien’s roommates were still away for the holidays. Otherwise, they’d surely be awake by now, thanks to Damien’s overflowing excitement.

“You promised me we’d make snowmen together!”

“...Now? It’s—” he groped for his pocket watch on the nightstand, squinting at the face before groaning, “6 AM. Can it wait?” 

“No,” Damien said, pouting. 

“Right. Fantastic.” The sarcasm was implied. Damien was lucky he had a pretty face. “But breakfast first. Please .” His stomach growled in agreement. 

Damien beamed back at him, too excited to be put out by Sebastian’s grumpiness. “Yes! Hurry, hurry,” he said, tossing Sebastian’s clothes onto the bed in a messy pile.

“I’m hurrying,” Sebastian grumbled.

It was shaping up to be a very long day indeed. But at least there was food first, and Damien, too, he supposed. Ugh, fine. 

// 7 AM //

“Wheeeeeeee!” Florence’s hair flopped into his face as he sped down the hill, his sled propelled by the hefty push James had given it mere moments before. 

James was surprisingly strong, wasn’t he? Quite impressive, really. 

“Again!” Florence called, catching sight of James at the top of the hill, grinning like he was king of the hill, or maybe just king of Florence’s heart. 

James cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered back, “It’s my turn though!”

“Alright, that’s fair.” Florence doubted James could hear him from this far away, but he leapt to his feet and began the trek back up the hill, his sled bumping along behind him. 

Today was going to be a great day.

// 8 AM //

Jo and Silas had kicked off the day early, determined to make sure everything was perfect. Later this morning, they planned to surprise their friends, all of whom had returned from their various Christmas holidays, with belated gifts—something they’d been scheming for weeks.

Well, perhaps ‘scheming’ wasn’t the best choice of word. It was, after all, a very kind gesture on their part.

Jo smiled, picking up her third gift box of the morning, checking its contents and then beginning the process of wrapping. 

“What’s in that one?” Silas asked, pointing at the present in her lap. As he did, his thigh brushed against hers, and Jo’s cheeks instantly flushed.

Stay calm, stay calm, she told herself. It’s just his thigh. Don’t panic.

“Erm, it’s a hat and scarf I knitted myself,” she somehow managed to eke out.

Silas’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know you knitted.”

Jo’s gaze dropped to her hands. “Oh, uh, there’s… there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she mumbled, adding quietly, “but, uh, maybe you’ll find out more… eventually.” 

Smooth, Jo. Very smooth. 

Silas laughed. “You’re adorable, you know that?” 

Jo blinked. “Am I?” 

What was happening?

Silas picked up the closest present from the floor, hopped back onto the sofa, and settled with his back against her chest. Jo’s breath hitched, her heart fluttering. 

“Yes, you are,” he murmured, taking her hand in his and planting a soft, lingering kiss upon it.

Oh my.

If the events of the day thus far were any indication, Jo might just find herself getting used to this. 

// 9 AM //

“Why is it always so dark in here?” Tori muttered to herself as she stepped into the Three Broomsticks. The night before, Poppy had sent her an owl asking to meet here at 9 AM. For what, Tori hadn’t the foggiest idea. Still, Poppy could be trusted… except for that one time with the dragon. But Tori tried not to think about that. 

The inn was unusually quiet at this early hour; Sirona wasn’t even haunting her usual spot at the bar. 

“Surprise!” Poppy cried, popping out from behind a table with a grin. 

Tori placed a hand to her heart, feigning surprise—well, mostly feigning it. It had been a few weeks since she’d last seen Poppy, and in that moment, her beauty completely stole Tori’s breath away. Better to not let that show. 

Poppy smirked. “Happy to see me?”

“That depends,” Tori said, one eyebrow raised. 

“On?”

“Why we’re here.”

“Oh! You haven’t figured it out by now?” 

Tori only just noticed that Poppy was holding something behind her back. She had been too distracted by more important things, like Poppy’s entrancing, deep brown eyes. 

“I bought you something!” Poppy continued, holding out a giant red and green box with a massive ribbon that looked entirely too large.

Tori blanched. “For me? You didn’t have to—”

Poppy cut her off. “Oh, please. You deserve it.” 

Tori looked down at her feet, so she was startled when the present entered her field of vision. Poppy had shoved it into her chest. She grabbed it instinctively, her fingers brushing against Poppy’s for the briefest moment. 

“You’re too good to me,” Tori whispered, glancing down at Poppy shyly. 

Poppy’s eyes met hers. She smiled. “Maybe, but I think you’re worth it.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Tori’s cheek. 

Tori’s heart skipped a beat. She looked forward to finding out what was inside the box, but mostly she was just happy to have her Poppy back on this lovely January day. 

// 10 AM //

Ale was not in a good mood. He glowered at Val and Cal, who were all but wrapped around each other in the corner of the room, whispering and giggling like they were the only ones here.  Meanwhile, Jo and Silas were busy arranging Christmas presents to hand out to the group, their cheerful chatter doing nothing to lift Ale’s sour disposition. 

Damien and Sebastian were at the table with the pastries, which had been baked by Matty and Alvin in the wee hours of the morning, apparently. Damien, as always, was stuffing his face like he hadn’t eaten in days, while Sebastian looked on with a bemused smile. Across the room, Alyn and Ominis sat on a sofa sipping warm hot cocoa. They were laughing, probably at some bit of gossip that Ominis had just divulged. James and Florence were drying off by the door, clearly still buzzing from what seemed to have been a rousing morning in the snow. James's hair was soaking wet, and he shook his head like a wet dog, sending droplets of water flying in all directions, showering Florence in the process. Florence didn’t seem to mind.

The scene was chaotic, but Ale had grown used to it. He hadn’t grown used to seeing Val with Cal. 

And now they were kissing!

“Excuse me! There are other people present!” he growled. 

They kept kissing. It figured. 

Perhaps a change in subject would be amenable.

“Where are Alex and Cassie?” Ale said as Sebastian ambled over in his general direction. 

“No clue,” he replied. “I slept in Damien’s common room last night.” He said it so nonchalantly, like it was the most casual thing in the world. 

Ale hadn’t realized how lonely he was until now. 

“They’re probably still asleep,” Jo said, answering Ale’s question as she handed him his present. “How are you holding up?”

Ale narrowed his eyes. “Fine, thank you.” He didn’t need anyone’s pity. He was a Salvatori. Salvatoris didn’t need anyone. Especially not Valentine Black. 

Oh, Merlin. She was still kissing Cal. 

Today was the absolute worst. 

// 11 AM //

Alex and Cassie had slept in. In fact, they were still asleep. If someone had strolled by the Slytherin common room, they would have heard Alex’s snores through the heavy stone walls of the dungeon. 

They could very well sleep the day away, wrapped in the warmth of their blankets, lost to the world outside. 

// 12 PM //

Ellie and Freddie also appeared to be asleep on a sofa in Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower. They weren’t actually sleeping, though. They were “resting their eyes,” as Freddie put it.

Ellie, however, seemed to think that Freddie had an ulterior motive behind this so-called “rest.” It was only noon after all. Not that she minded. She was rather enjoying having his towhead cradled in her arms. She could feel his heartbeat through her hand, light and fast, like the flutter of butterfly wings. 

She was about to open her eyes when:

“Good morning, Ellie and Freddie!” someone shouted. Their voice was bright and far too cheerful, so it could only be Poppy.

Ellie tensed and her eyes burst open. Freddie startled to attention as well. They sprang to their feet in unison, caught in the act. No one yet knew they were together. Well, that was about to change. 

“Isn’t it afternoon?” Freddie said, ruffling his hair. 

“You’re right,” Tori said, looking at them apologetically. She was holding hands with Poppy. “Let’s leave them be, Poppy.”

“Oh!” Poppy’s face turned bright pink. “Right, yes. We’ll go.” 

“There’s no need…” Ellie began, but the two of them had already headed out the massive oak doors. 

Freddie let out a long sigh. “Well, it looks like we have some explaining to do.” 

“Later,” Ellie said, sinking back into the sofa and patting her lap, a silent invitation for Freddie to rejoin her. 

Today, maybe. But not yet.

// 1 PM //

“Oh! It’s just past one!” Alyn exclaimed.

Ominis blinked. Time tended to slip by when he was with Alyn; she had that effect on him. It was a bit unnerving. Welcome, but unnerving. 

They were still lounging on the sofa, lost in conversation, drinks long consumed, when Alex and Cassie made their extremely tardy entrance. 

“Are we late?” Alex said.

Cassie said through a yawn, “Where is everyone?”

“Hello,” Ominis said, waving in the direction of the sound of their voices, “we’re everyone.” 

“Har har,” Alex replied, but he must have been distracted by something because the tone and volume of his voice changed abruptly. He shouted, “Oooo, Cassie, look! Pastries!”

That explained that then. 

Though the pastries had more than likely gone cold by now, the muffled chewing and hum of satisfaction from Alex told Ominis all he needed to know.

Cassie plopped down onto the sofa next to Alyn. “So, what have you two been chatting about?”

“Everything,” Alyn said. There was a mischievous lilt in her tone that Ominis caught easily. “As you’d expect.” 

“Everything, hm?” Ominis raised an eyebrow. “I’m not so sure about that, but I do appreciate the vote of confidence in my conversational skills.” 

“Everyone knows you’re the person to come to for all Hogwarts-related gossip.”

“Is that so?” Ominis asked, keeping his tone casual. He knew it, of course, but it was always more fun to play coy when the topic came up. 

Before anyone could respond, Alex’s heavy footsteps came from behind, followed by a squeal, as he, presumably, grabbed Cassie from the sofa. 

Alyn burst into a fit of giggles. “I think that means you have to kiss him, Cass,” she said once she managed to stifle her laughter. 

Ah, Alex must have found some mistletoe, Ominis thought, tilting his head in amusement. 

Cassie said, “I don’t need mistletoe as an excuse to kiss you, my love.”

“Mmph,” Alex replied, the sound smothered as he was likely being kissed. 

Speaking of kissing, one day soon—perhaps even today—Ominis would muster up the courage to kiss Alyn.

You know what? Yes, today was going to be the day. What was that Muggle saying? Ah yes, carpe diem. Seize the day, indeed. 

MCs mentioned:

matty & cal & silas by @girl-named-matty ; freddie by @freddiestheproblemchild ; ellie by @accio-bagel ; tori by @espressoristretto-patronum ; alyn by @ps-cactus ; ale & val by @savingsallow ; jo by @ravenwind-75 ; alex & cassie by @acslytherpuff; florence & jaimsen by @leaping-toadstool-caps ; damien (mine) <3

[graceisinthelibrary]

How about #2 from the prompt list.

Sorry, but this took a while and it's too long... It's set between the episodes 5.5 and 5.6.

“You’re burning up! Like a match!” 

“Nonsense! Bugger off!” The mere idea was preposterous. Siegfried stared at his brother, the smug beggar, and wished him to the moon or at least back to Doncaster. He did his best to ignore the heat in his cheeks and hoped his beard would sufficiently cover his unease, before anyone else noticed it. 

Tristan chuckled and picked up the manuscript, the tome, as Siegfried had baptised it and gave the title a closer look. “Ancient Persia, eh? A memoir… anything racy?” With another giggle he dropped the volume to the desk. Dust exploded, dancing in the sunlight of the late spring morning. 

Siegfried wished his embarrassment about his feeble attempts at dating were less distinctive. It rubbed him the wrong way that everyone thought he was a lonely old man without any prospects in love. Well, he was getting older, no doubt about that. His aching bones spoke volumes about his age and so did his reading glasses, but none of this meant he wasn’t interesting to women. He was rusty, admittedly. But he wasn’t past his prime. Mrs Hall had said so, Carmody had reminded him about it, but Tristan had a field day with it. 

Somewhere behind him, he heard Mrs Hall moving about. She was giving the dining room a thorough dusting and although she would never say anything to embarrass him, he knew she was well aware of his interest in Miss Grantley. There was nothing happening in this household that she wasn’t aware of. He felt the heat in his cheeks intensifying as he tried to fathom whether she had an opinion about the matter or not. 

Did she think of him as a fool for trying his luck? 

Did she find him pathetic by getting into Miss Grantley’s good graces by reading her book? 

Tristan apparently did and he knew Helen good enough to know, she was thinking the same. James was perhaps the only one who didn’t bother to phrase his opinion and he was glad for his partner’s discretion. 

He had read his way half through the manuscript by now and didn’t know what to make of it. Catherine Grantley’s grammar lacked some things to be desired, and the story of her life seemed indeed racy. A bit too racy for his taste, but then what did he know about life and love in Persia? He wasn’t stuffy, but he wasn’t sure he enjoyed various descriptions of liaisons in the desert. 

In the corner of his eyes he watched Mrs Hall as she picked up Evelyn’s picture and cautiously cleaned it. She placed it gently back on the piano before she moved on to the next object, a small clock. The almost loving way with which Audrey Hall looked after Evelyn’s memory touched him and made him wonder about Miss Grantley and the late husband she barely remembered. 

The phone rang and sensing this was the opportunity to get rid of Tris, he barked at his brother to answer ‘the bloody phone’. Tris’ refusal, rooting in his amusement, vanished when Mrs Hall used her feather duster and her stern gaze on him. Once again she had saved him, but he didn’t want to show her how much Tristan’s teasing bothered him. 

“Just ignore him,” she said softly. “You know how he is.” 

“You mean he’s an annoying busybody. Worse than the vicar’s wife!” 

“He means well. He wants you to be happy.” 

“Well, I would be a lot happier if people stopped bothering me!” He snapped. Mrs Hall was the last person who deserved his gruff, but he didn’t know how to cope. He stared at the manuscript and sighed, annoyed with himself. “Is it that bad?” She asked, leaving it open if she was referring to the book or the woman herself. 

“Bosworth was right, you know.” He shoved the book into his drawer and shut it forcefully. “I’m all played out. Maybe I should join him for some bingo session on Friday night in the church hall.” 

Now it was her turn to chuckle. “You better not. You have no idea how the widows long for an eligible widower who’s still in possession of his own teeth and hair.” Despite his wish to be grumpy she just made him laugh. He looked at her and realised how cute she looked. The duster was stuck under her armpit and one of the feathers had come loose and was entangled with her hair. He longed to pull it out, but that would perhaps be considered overstepping. There was a roguishness about the way she smiled at him, that restored his good mood though and so he let her go without mentioning the feather. 

His eyes followed her trail down the hall. Suddenly he thought that he maybe should tell Miss Grantley about her grammar mistakes and some minor content-related improvements for her literary work. 

On her way into the kitchen Audrey thought about Siegfried and his sudden wish to impress that archeologist or whatever that lady did for a living. She couldn’t help but feel that she had put the bug in his ear when she had told him not to compare himself to Bosworth and that there was plenty in life ahead of him. And she had meant it. Their temper aside, the men didn’t have much in common. 

So, why did it bother her that he was trying to get into the good graces of this exotic stranger? From what Carmody had told her, Miss Grantley was an alien figure to begin with. Nice, but also… aloof? If Richard Carmody noticed as much she must be a handful. 

Lost in her thoughts, she entered her pantry and listlessly collected the ingredients she needed to prepare lunch. As she put the pan on the stove, Siegfried entered the kitchen and filled the kettle with water. 

“I can do that,” she offered and looked at him. 

He just smiled and shook his head. “Mrs Hall… May I?” 

Confused, she blinked, as he raised his hand and pointed at her head. 

“Course…” 

He slowly pulled out the feather and showed it to her. “A bit rogue that one,” he said. She took it and smiled at him. “Thank you for restoring me dignity.” 

“Thank you, Mrs Hall,” he said and when she crooked her eyebrow, puzzled, he added, “For being you.” 

[hbpseverus]

for all that us snape fans say how we love his character because he is flawed and complex, i find it disappointing how many of us can't extend that line of thinking towards lily, while pretending that young severus was entirely innocent. i've noticed this a lot recently and it's been bothering me quite a bit so i've felt the need to defend lily, or to be exact, analyse the downfall of their relationship without basically giving her all the blame and instead looking at both characters and especially lily more critically.

so. let's talk about the conversation between her and severus after the werewolf prank. some snape fans harshly criticise her in this scene because she insists that james saved severus and doesn't acknowledge how serious this prank was, while insisting that at least the marauders don't use dark magic.

and i agree that she should have been more on severus' side in this case. after all he could have died or gotten seriously injured, turned into a werewolf etc and she downplays the severity of the situation and generally doesn't acknowledge how the marauders bullied severus very much. so yes, she could have been a better friend here.

but at the same time, from her perspective, she was already noticing that severus was spending more time with his housemates, all of them aspiring death eaters, how he had always looked up to lucius and was slowly heading down that same path. how he didn't truly disapprove of his housemates disgusting actions towards muggleborns - her own kind. even though it's not entirely logical, since we see through the marauders that light magic can be used to do harm aswell, this also explains her dislike of dark arts, which these (aspiring) death eaters all were fond of and using to do awful things to her friends (and hogwarts also pretty much teaches that dark magic is pure evil). by this point she had most likely also experienced discrimination at hogwarts for being muggleborn. she knew the situation in the wizarding world wasn't favourable for her, and now her best friend was starting to agree with those people?

the next notable event was of course snapes worst memory (sigh, here i go talking about it for the millionth time). and i really don't like how some people on our side of the fandom talk about lily in this scene (of course, this is not all of us).

first of all we saw that she initially smiled upon seeing severus be bullied, and yes, this was honestly quite disgusting. we know that severus saw this and was rightfull hurt, and this very well could be the reason why he snapped at her. but that is her only 'crime' in this scene. because she then does quickly turn against james and this entire crowd and defends severus. only for james to insult and threaten her, and severus to call her a 'filthy little mudblood'.

now, people say she should have done more to defend severus, that her attempt was quite half-hearted. i don't know. maybe she could have done more, but she did tell the marauders to stop, you can't say she didn't try. some say she should have hexed james herself or bring up her prefect role (although i'm not sure it's confirmed she was one at this time). but say she was a prefect, her job would be to stop fighting, which she tried to do, not to get involved in fights herself. and you can tell that james is entirely dismissive of her and clearly won't let her stop him no matter what, even threatening her in the process. lily also genuinely seems to still hate him at this point in time, she is described to have been disgusted with him to the point where even harry questions his parents marriage. so i don't believe it's fair to say she was just 'flirting' with james here.

furthermore, people believe she should have forgiven severus for being called a mudblood. i used to agree that it wasn't that serious, but i feel differently now. because it wasn't just a word, it wasn't a one time mistake or slip up or even the first time she noticed that he was slowly turning into a future death eater. that's why i brought up their conversation after the prank. lily knows that severus' descend into the death eaters arms had been going on for months, years even. being called - not even just mudblood, but hearing the words "i don't need help from a filthy little mudblood like her" out of the mouth of her former best friend was just the final nail in the coffin. it was her confirmation that severus was finally too far down that road, and she, as a muggleborn, could no longer justify surrounding herself with him. so she abandons him at the scene, and i can't blame her one bit.

of course this post is not meant to be severus bashing in any way, he is and always will be my favorite character, but i don't enjoy pretending he was completely innocent, even his younger self. this is also not to excuse the marauders, as their bullying never had anything to do with severus possibly being a death eater and was really just for fun and because they could, and because he was an easy victim. but i truly believe that lily deserves some grace and also to be analysed as a complex character like severus, rather than painting her as one dimensional, either fully good or fully bad.

severus becoming a death eater is the tragic result of his background and surroundings, and when we analyse him we factor all of this in. lily was wealthier, had a better family, was pretty, smart and popular and had a good support system in and out of hogwarts. she couldn't understand why severus made the choices he did. maybe as an adult she would have looked back and understood it all better. but as it was, she was just a teenage girl watching her best friend turn against people like her and not knowing what to do about that. and what's also important to me to point out is that it was not her job to try and stop this, to try and fix him or whatever. it was first and foremost the adults in severus' life who failed him over and over again, not lily.

finally a lot of us can't understand how lily ended up marrying her former friends abuser and use this as an argument against her, but i honestly don't want to go too deep into this topic. i personally strongly dislike this relationship, because james treated lily herself like shit too, aswell as other people. we have to believe that he truly did change, even if there is not much to prove this. even if he did, i personally wouldn't have been able to forgive him. but i don't believe that marrying james makes lily a bad person by extension or anything. ultimately, if she was able to find happiness, i'm happy for her.

[myriadparacosm]

Black Beats Black - snippet 2 chapter 9: Blazing Star

because this part still makes me laugh

"How come you're so fine with it?"

"Wormy, shut it," James says with a scowl. "I'm starting to think you're actually plotting— are you?"

Peter throws him a flat look and glances at Sirius. "Why would I do that? I just find it weird that Sirius almost threw his brother in your arms."

"I can't just be a nice supportive brother?" Sirius argues but he doubts that Peter is actually trying to mess with them. "And I didn't throw them in each other's arms. I just saw good— opportunities."

"Well, you and Regulus don't really get along. Until now. And then Prongs is all— Prongs."

"What? What does that mean?" James asks when he sees Remus nodding wisely at Peter's words.

"And that's exactly why."

"Oi, insult me to my face at least."

"It's a compliment, Prongs," Sirius dismisses.

"I'm pretty sure we agreed that we never date mate's siblings. Don't you remember with Marlene's sister?"

"What's that?" Remus perks up at Sirius' gasp.

"Shut it!"

"She had this gigantic crush on Sirius."

"It's not my fault!"

"Meryl?"

James nods. "And Peter has always been sweet on her-"

He gasps. "That's not true!"

"Oh, you liar," Sirius hisses because it's his fault that it was even brought up.

"What happened?" Remus asks.

James grins viciously. Sirius kicks at the table's foot instead of his shin as he throws him a dark look. "That was the first time Sirius could sleep over, back in second year, and we had Marlene over with Meryl."

"She studies in— Belgium, right?"

"Yeah at the Naaszcademy. Meryl was pretty much always into Magizoology so she only did her first 4 years here, passed exams to enter the school and studies there for— another year, I reckon? She is doing a speciality or something."

Sirius busies himself with his butterbeer. Peter shoots him an accusing look, to which he replies with a scoff and foam spitting around.

"I vaguely remember her. She was in Ravenclaw, right?"

"She was. Wormy and I knew since we were children and he had this huge-"

"I didn't!"

"You let her do everything on you."

"Woah."

"We were playing healers!"

"And potioners. And tailors. And magizoologist."

Peter glares at James with flaming cheeks before turning on Sirius. "Anyhow, she met Sirius once when we slept over at James and Sirius broke his heart."

"I didn't!"

"You did!"

James shakes his head at them and leans across the table to reach Remus. "See, Wormy liked Meryl who was seduced-"

"I didn't seduce anyone!" Sirius exclaims.

"So it was an awkward weekend."

Remus chuckles, amused eyes pausing on Sirius as if it's his fault. "I can imagine."

"I didn't do anything," he insists with a scowl. "I was just having fun with my mates and she was there!" His head snaps toward Peter muttering in his drink. "How is it my fault?! I was only twelve! And you could have told her something."

Peter blushes and his jaw tightens in indignation. "Not with you around."

"Merlin, you're a prat."

"You're a slag!"

"Obviously nothing happened," James resumed. "Marlene got pissed that Meryl pestered her about Sirius and she made this huge scene after the break that no one is dating anyone's siblings because that would be disgusting. We all agreed."

Peter scoffs. "And yet you're dating Sirius' brother, hence breaking the deal."

Remus bursts out laughing at that and Sirius straightens in his seat to look at James.

"That's true!"

"No! We promised about sisters, si-sters," James insists. "And back then you weren't even talking to Regulus."

"Oh, this is such a low blow! You know it counts and we did say siblings!" He argues, despite the half-truth. At that time, Regulus had been barely on his mind. How foolish.

"Brotherfucker," Peter mutters.

Sirius slaps his hand on the table. "I should have tattoed-" Remus quickly hushes him- "that on your lying arse!"

"Regulus wasn't part of the deal!"

"He is my brother!"

James pauses. "Well, it was about sisters."

"It was about siblings!"

[lordmevolent]

I just watched Back on track with Mr. Le Man on Viaplay and when they're doing the seat fitting for Tom Kristensen and he tries Oscar's seat he goes "he is smaller than me, no?" and the McLaren guy goes "he's getting bigger, you'll find. Oscar is getting quite..." *does a little gesture where he lifts his elbows out to the side*

and I can't get that little moment out of my head cause there is something to be said here about the F1 teams watching their young drivers grow both physically and just in general as people, and something something about how your employer know everything about your weight, size, exact measurements and how your body is changing over time and how that must feel at least a little invasive sometimes

but also that scene made me snicker because excuse me Paul James but where was that sentence going before you went abort abort and made a little chicken wings gesture instead?? and the way he said it really made it sound like it had been a topic of conversation and with Oscar breaking a rib cause the seat wasn't perfect I'm imagining how that conversation went now...

[thesun4ndthestar]

•Stargazing•

Regulus was sitting on a bench at the end of the shore, looking at the stars, drowning in that familiar feeling of comfort he used to get when he was still a child, stargazing with his brother.

His mind in the last few weeks was restless.

As Sirius did when he was younger, Regulus had just escaped the nightmare that was his home, and now he was living with his brother’s best friend and, of course, his brother.

He couldn’t resist the tears that started falling from his eyes when thinking about how he had just betrayed his parents. The same people that he always hated, the people that ruined his childhood, that never supported him. The same people that encouraged him only when he did what they strictly wanted, the people he was growing to please with whatever they wished him to do. All things that he never really wanted to do, but always did feeling the urge to meet some expectations, their expectations, that were actually unattainable, too high to meet for anyone with at least a little bit of humanity.

“Is everything alright?” someone asked him sitting beside him on the bench.

“What are you even doing here, Potter?” he replied coldly.

“I saw you sneak out, I knew something was wrong so I followed you.” James replied giving Regulus one of his smiles, for which every girl (and non) in Hogwarts immediately melted after seeing.

“Neve heard of something called privacy?” Another tear escaped Regulus’ eye.

“That’s is hardly a thing while living with Potters and you should know that since you’ve already spent a month with us. Besides you’re crying.”

“No shit, I didn’t notice, smartarse.”

“Is that Regulus up there? Sirius taught me a bit about stars.” James asked trying to change topic, not minding the insult he had just received from the boy next to him.

“Yes, it is.” Regulus replied, his eyes up again on the night sky.

“Aren’t you cold? You don’t seem to be wearing anything warm.” James asked worryingly.

“Asks the one that’s in his pyjamas and a jumper.”

“Hey, don’t be mean! At least I have a jumper on!” said that, an idea flashed in James’ mind and he started talking off the jumper. “Here, take it, I don’t want you catching a cold.”

“If I take it, you’ll be the one catching a cold.”

“Since when do you care about me, Reg?”

“I don’t, and it’s Regulus for you.”

James smiled as Regulus reluctantly took his jumper. They spent almost two whole hours stargazing and making small talk, which both of them actually hated, but every time James tried asking something more deep to the younger one, he frowned and scolded the older saying “too personal, you don’t have to know”. What both didn’t realise though was that even the smaller questions such as: what’s your favourite colour? or do you have a favourite pen? or also what kind of music do you listen to? made them get closer, more than Regulus would have liked if he realised, but less than how James secretly wanted.

[fandomnerd9602]

Could you please make a story where Illyana Rasputin meets Reader's (Male Reader) human parents and Y/N's little sister plays with her?

Family

Illyana Rasputin x Wolverine!Reader

This was a big step for you. An even bigger step for her. Illyana was nervous to say the least. She was meeting your family after all.

Illyana didn’t have the best experience with the word family and yet here you were inviting her and driving her to meet your family in the Canadian countryside.

“What is your parents like?” Illy asked, her thick Russian accent melting thru.

“Dad’s a little gruff. Mom’s the softer side one. And then there’s my little sister Laura.” You chuckled, “it can be a lot but…it’s home to me”

Illyana couldn’t believe how lucky she turned out to be. You were originally sent to the Hospital as a mole. Someone to find out the secrets, escape and report back to Xavier. But you and Illy met and fell head over heels in love. Sure it was bad in the hospital but now there was only good times ahead for you.

You pull your car to a stop outside of your family’s cabin home. A little five year old girl came running out as you and Illy exited the vehicle.

“(Y/N)!!!” The little girl you call your sister shouted happily

“Laura!” You scooped up the little gal in your arms and hugged her tight. Illy couldn’t help but smile, so much love in so little time.

“This is my girlfriend, Illyana. You can call her Illy” you whispered to your sister.

“Illy. Hi” the young girl smiled “I’m Laura. Laura Howlett”

“It is nice to meet you-“ she couldn’t even finish it without the little girl hugging her tight.

Your mom and dad came out of the house. Your father was a gruff looking lumberjack of a man with mutton chops and a sturdy muscular frame. Your mom was a smaller frame with brunette hair and kind eyes to match.

Your mom quietly gestures for your dad to put out his cigar.

“Sorry” he mutters as he puts out his cigar.

“Mom. Dad. It’s great seeing you again.” You hug them both tight.

“Welcome home, sweetheart” your mom hugs you tight.

“Hey bub” your father chuckles as he gives you a hug too.

Illyana cautiously walks up to your parents, little Laura clinging to her hip.

“Mom, Dad,” you explain, “this is Illyana. She’s my girlfriend”

“Hello” illy offers a small shy smile.

Your mom gently shakes her hand and hugs her, “Kayla. Kayla Howlett. You’ve already met our little honey badger Laura”

The little girl giggles. Your father shakes her hand too.

“James Logan Howlett” your father smiles, “nice to meet you Illy”

Illyana couldn’t help but find herself easing a little bit. Your family was everything she had hoped for. You were all loving and supportive of each other.

She couldn’t help but chuckle when you and your father went out into the front yard to wrestle.

“Try not to hurt each other!” Your mom gently warned you both.

“Kayla, it’s fine” your father exclaimed as you and him stripped off your shirts. “(Y/N) is a chip off the old block”

You and your father ready yourselves. You give Illyana a little wink. She couldn’t help but blush.

You and your father pop out your silver, razor sharp claws. You give each other knowing and playful battle looks before charging at each other. The two Wolverines.

[dedeinthewild]

Heyy would you do prompts 20, 44 and 2 for Marcus Armstrong? Please and thank you💜

it took a while, and I'm really sorry for that! x

marcus armstrong x reader, bestfriends to lovers

 “I might have gone a bit overboard,”

"Remind me why we didn’t book that place you love?" the girl asked as she sliced salmon, a black elastic band wrapping her arm in the crook of her elbow.

"’Cause you cook way better than them," the driver replied.

"Have you ever wondered why they own a restaurant and a massive villa in some tax haven?" she teased, glancing up from the fish to the New Zealander, who was peeling avocados and washing the bowls she handed him.

It was early August, and after spending two weeks at home with his family, the IndyCar driver had decided to celebrate with friends, enjoying a night of fun like he used to as a kid. And what better way than with a load of seafood, a few of his favorite dishes, and good company?

She had filled the house with the kind of aroma only her chaotic cooking could produce—messy enough to make him smile but still his favorite. If anyone had caught Callum Ilott drunk after a bad day, he probably would’ve told them the story of Macau: how, during the famed race, the New Zealander had spent an entire night in a feverish haze, hallucinating about her focaccia.

"Could you just shut up and have a little confidence?" the IndyCar driver grinned at her.

"You’re so complicated, guys," James interjected as he entered through the door, holding two boxes that looked packed with liquor and wine.

"Get that out of this house," the girl gestured dismissively.

"Party," the Brit dragged out the word, savoring every syllable just to annoy her, as he greeted Clem and Marcus.

The house was one of those typical villas with massive glass windows you only ever saw on Mexico’s touristy coast—large dark stone pools, rounded conversation pits, and bedrooms the size of apartments, all in raw concrete or wood. The idea of spending the next two weeks there was, to say the least, enticing.

It had all been a happy coincidence since the New Zealander’s original plan was to celebrate just with his two Screaming Meals co-hosts and the girl. But some old friends from his junior formula days happened to be in Mexico, and he couldn’t not invite them.

"How many are we going to be?" she asked to make sure she’d prepare enough food.

"Me, you—" Marcus began.

"Yeah, that’s it," Clement joked, grabbing a chip from the open bag in front of him with a smirk on his face.

"Oh, screw you," Marcus shot back. "Me, you, them, JM, Mick, and his girl."

The girl nodded, watching as James, with a single-handed motion, pulled off his shirt and made his way toward the pool just outside the living room.

"Want me to help?"

She looked up at Marcus, locking her eyes on his pale ones as a soft smile spread across her lips.

"Alright, I’ll go," he chuckled, knowing how much she hated being helped in the kitchen, even if he felt guilty about leaving her to do all the work.

Once outside one of the sliding doors, sunglasses perched on his nose, he leaned around a column, his enormous white smile on full display.

"Are you a hundred percent sure?"

"Go, Marcus, for god’s sake," she said, the same playful expression on her face as a strand of hair fell across her forehead and she chopped tomatoes with a rhythm that mesmerized him.

"You could’ve just said you wanted to listen to that questionable playlist of yours," he teased.

She watched him walk toward the pool, his t-shirt in one hand, the other scratching the back of his neck, his confident stride practically designed to make him look taller next to shorter people. They were so chaotic.

She was sure the guys would drink themselves into oblivion that night, leaving her to deal with them the next day—herbal teas, paracetamol, and pounding headaches included. But deep down, they were good guys, and since they’d started spending so much time together, she’d had more fun than ever before.

"You and Mick are down to settle?" James asked, sitting in the hot tub corner of the pool with his arms crossed.

"What kind of question is that?"

"There are only two girls tonight," he shrugged.

"I’m really, really sorry that my birthday party won’t be real-life Tinder for you," the New Zealander quipped, bowing mockingly to him with an amused snort.

"Have you ever thought of taking her out?" Clem asked, floating gracefully on the water’s surface, his gaze shifting to the trees that shaded part of the house.

"He did," James answered for him, watching as Marcus leaned against the edge of the pool, his arms spread out and his lips pressed together as he stared into the house.

The glass wall acted like a filter, reflecting their images and the backyard—complete with trees and a vast lawn leading to the beach. But in the transparent sections, he could see her moving occasionally, tasting something with her fingertip or swaying her shoulders to the rhythm of a song she was quietly singing.

"He undoubtedly does," Clement laughed, thinking how clichéd the moment was. If it had been someone else in their place, they’d probably poke fun at it in one of the Screaming Meals episodes.

"You see, I could never, like, think of her romantically," the IndyCar driver said, splashing some water onto his chest and shoulders before wetting his hair. "You know what I mean?"

But she was just a few meters away, wearing her light fabric shorts, her favorite t-shirt, and a sunburnt nose, preparing dinner for the evening and tidying up a bit.

"I don’t know what you mean this time," the Frenchman muttered, maybe a bit more grounded than the Brit.

And perhaps Marcus didn’t know either, something she confirmed about half an hour later when she emerged through the same glass door he’d been watching her through. Now in her swimsuit, she seemed ready to cool off after finishing her preparations.

"All set, birthday boy," she said, easing into the water bit by bit, lowering herself with her arms as her legs slipped into the pool.

"I would marry you," James declared, making her laugh as she soaked her hair, her lips curling into a smile as she closed her eyes and sighed.

"What did you say Mick’s girl was called?" she asked, curious.

"Laila, a Nordic blonde. She’s really nice," the Frenchman answered, having met her by chance at an ELMS race they’d both attended as spectators.

She nodded, instinctively leaning against the pool’s edge, unaware that Marcus’s strong arm was just behind her, ready to drape itself over her shoulders. He kept his hand at a respectful distance, so she’d only feel his presence, a few centimeters from her skin. He mentally traced every freckle, every mole, every imperfection the droplets highlighted. How many times had he thought about how similar they were and how much they had in common, all while he tried to hold together a relationship born under the wrong star and pushed to break into IndyCar?

She let him be the twenty-four-year-old he actually was outside the track, with her bright smile and witty comebacks, while she was simply awkward and adorable.

"What were you saying, Marcus?" the Brit teased before diving underwater.

This place was incredible, and the company even more so.

I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like this, but Marcus was at a point in his life where he’d let anything happen—friends that made him feel alive, a job that fulfilled him, and a whole lot of passion. So, with a bit of warm air, eyes as blue as water, and forgotten shoes, he was on cloud nine.

"That’s a lot of stuff," he said, looking at the table she’d prepared as the others showered and she dried off with a towel.

"We should celebrate your womb escape for what it is," she smiled, joining him and looking at the table from his angle.

"Did you just call my birthday my 'womb escape'?" he asked, staring at her as she wrapped herself in the towel like it was her cocoon.

"Did I?" she shot back, keeping up the game, a playful smirk on her face.

He leaned in slightly, her familiar scent brushing over him like a caress, as Clement yelled from the bathroom that the body wash had run out.

"I wish they were like you," the New Zealander murmured, smiling against her cheek.

"You don’t, believe me," she replied.

He pressed a gentle, friendly kiss—at least to the untrained eye—just below her ear before disappearing into the bathroom, where he stayed until everyone else arrived.

"That’s what I was thinking about," she joked, seeing him emerge like Bradley Cooper in The Hangover. He wore a white shirt paired with lightweight trousers made of the same material, perfectly complementing his tanned, athletic figure.

"I never disappoint," he shrugged, flashing her a wink.

"After an hour, it’s understandable that you don’t disappoint," she teased, adjusting the final touches on the table, dressed in a black t-shirt and similar lightweight trousers.

"You’re so feisty today," he pretended to pout, stealing a pretzel and turning on the living room lights.

She laughed, leaning against the wall as Clem and James came out, already slightly tipsy before the evening had even begun. Each held four shot glasses, which they placed on the kitchen island.

"You know I don’t drink," she reminded them.

"This is some bullshit without alcohol, smartass," the Brit ruffled her hair, holding up the bottle.

"Almost forgot you’re some liquor connoisseur," she quipped, sniffing the shot glasses’ contents before everyone grabbed one, clinked them against the concrete, and downed them in one go.

"This sucks," Marcus grimaced, his face twisting in disgust as he tried to wash away the taste of the liquor by swallowing repeatedly.

The others laughed, patting him on the back just as the rest of the guys arrived, flashing bright smiles and wearing the carefree expressions of people on vacation who had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

“God, she's gorgeous,” said the girl as she caught sight of Laila approaching.

“Sometimes I think you're way fruitier than you let on,” Clem teased.

“You’re so childish,” she said, giving him a playful punch on the arm before following him to introduce herself to the girl and her boyfriend, whom she hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting yet.

And maybe she had imagined that, within a couple of hours, they’d all end up sitting together under the villa's patio, alcohol flowing through their veins like transparent blood and laughter echoing in a way that was anything but sober, as the evening began to devour the Mexican coastline. Even in the neighboring houses, parties were in full swing, with loud music, beautiful girls twirling in wide, flowy skirts, and someone serving appetizers that they seemed to enjoy almost as much as their cocktails.

Mick and Marcus were dancing like those girls, trying to mimic their graceful movements but ending up with clumsy moves that made the others laugh, while Clem and the other two guys stayed seated on a sofa, chatting about this and that.

“They’re little kids stuck in grown men’s bodies,” Laila said, handing her a small gift bag. “I thought you’d like a little something.”

She smiled, taking the bag as she leaned against one of the house’s walls, her expression lighthearted and carefree, as if she had no intention of thinking about anything other than enjoying herself and celebrating with the lively group that had suddenly burst into her life.

“That’s so nice of you,” she said gratefully, opening the bag. But before she could reveal its contents, Marcus’s voice cut through the others’.

The speakers set up in the garden were playing a catchy playlist, and there he was, standing in those linen trousers that fit him perfectly, with one of his signature smirks on his face and his piercing eyes looking straight at her with an intensity that could break through any barrier.

His gaze wouldn’t slip past any filter, and above all, it wasn’t just the result of a few too many drinks downed in good company on a day dedicated to celebration.

“Look at her, guys,” he said, an arm slung around Mick’s shoulders, while Mick looked at Laila with concern.

“Who are you talking about?”

Then the blonde girl shifted slightly, revealing the shy yet amused face of Marcus’s friend. She had let her soft, fragrant hair down, letting it fall over her shoulders and partially obscure her face—only to end up accentuating it.

“It’s not like I’m that special,” she laughed toward the German girl, trying to divert attention away from herself.

But Marcus was focused on how she played with the little piece of paper she had pulled from the bag, twirling it between her fingers, and on how she leaned against the wall, feet crossed in front of her, her face slightly lowered, drawing attention to the pendant necklace that stood out against her black shirt.

“I told James not to bring alcohol,” she said, shrugging as she glanced at the other girl, her nose slightly crinkled.

“He means it. I don’t think he’s looking at you like that just because he’s drunk,” said the German girl with an accent that made her smile, noting how perfectly her white dress fit her.

“We always joke around like that. We can’t take anything seriously.” She could have talked for hours about Marcus, about how he was often irreverent and silly, and how he always made her laugh without stopping, finding it hilarious when she cried tears of laughter.

Marcus had always said he’d never see her that way, that he’d never have romantic feelings for her. Yet, that night, she was the main topic of his conversations, and the only gift he seemed to want for his birthday was her voice—bright and cheerful—scolding him when he didn’t tidy up or spent the afternoon asking him how he wanted his tacos.

“I just hope he doesn’t jump into the pool fully clothed or pull one of his dumb tricks,” she laughed, watching the New Zealander approach with open arms.

“You’re not loosening up,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“I’m celebrating in my own way.”

“I want you to tell me if you’re having fun. If not, I’ll kick everyone out.”

She shook her head, once again captivated by his green eyes.

“Don’t worry about me,” she told him, smiling.

A few minutes later, the two women were sitting in the living room, chatting as the girl taught her how to make flower garlands—a skill she had learned from an elderly local woman on their first day there. Between words and smiles, they hadn’t noticed what was happening outside.

“They’re probably at the karaoke phase,” she said with a grin, recalling all the karaoke sessions she’d ended up in with the New Zealander, having the time of her life.

“Mick isn’t exactly the best singer,” the German girl replied, mimicking her hand movements and feeling as if she had found someone quite similar to herself. “How did you and Marcus meet?”

“He gave me a lift to the track, and I didn’t even recognize him at first.”

The blonde raised her eyebrows, holding her garland up before turning around to look at the guys beyond the glass door. But the reflections from inside masked what was happening outside.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, it must be Clem’s beach stuff. He always leaves it there,” she replied.

But Laila wasn’t referring to the sandals and straw hat resting near the fireplace, which, of course, they had never lit.

“No, what’s that?” she emphasized the last word, standing up and moving closer to the glass door with a puzzled smile, catching sight of some messy letters.

“I love” was what someone had started writing on the glass.

“Mick’s so cute,” said the other girl, moving closer to her, the garlands they had made draped over her arms.

But the person writing wasn’t Mick. He wasn’t even remotely blonde, nor was he wearing a black polo with blue eyes and silver rings. Outside, there were thick arms, a delicate touch despite the alcohol, and the concentration it had taken to write the letters backward so she could read them from inside.

“You, yes, you” completed the phrase.

Clement and James were standing next to the New Zealander, arms crossed and enormous grins on their faces, while he worked on finishing his masterpiece, likely borrowing something from the nearby partygoers. After adding a heart, they all pressed their faces and hands against the glass, trying to gauge her reaction as her hands trembled slightly under the garlands.

“At least he’s still smart; the letters are in the right order,” the German girl said with a smile.

Their faces squished against the glass made her laugh so hard she had to cover her mouth with her hand, trying to contain herself. The scene was simultaneously ridiculous and adorable. Laila, beside her, watched with an amused smile. “Well, I guess that’s their way of being romantic,” the German girl commented, trying to figure out which one of them was responsible for the message.

But she knew exactly who it was. Those green eyes, so intense, had been fixed on her all evening, leaving no room for doubt. Marcus had always been like that: unpredictable, playful, but with a sweetness that surfaced in the most unexpected moments.

She turned to Laila with a smile that hid a mix of embarrassment and joy. “I think he’s drunk,” she said jokingly, though part of her knew it wasn’t just the alcohol driving him to do such things.

“Oh, honey, drunk or not, that’s a bold move,” Laila replied, giving her a gentle nudge toward the glass door. “Go see what he wants to say.”

She hesitated for a moment, then approached the sliding door, slowly opening it to step outside. The cool evening air brushed against her face, mingling with the sound of the distant sea and the laughter of the others.

Marcus, his hands still dirty from whatever he had used to write, turned toward her with a guilty but hopeful smile. “I might have gone a bit overboard,” he admitted, raising his hands in mock surrender.

She crossed her arms, trying to keep a stern expression, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Only a bit?” she asked, gesturing toward the glass behind him. “Do you plan on cleaning that up later, Mr. Birthday Boy?”

He laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Depends. Did it work?”

“Did what work?”

“Making you smile.” His voice softened, becoming more serious, and for a moment, his expression changed, revealing something deeper beneath his usual playful facade. “I just… wanted to make sure you know how special you are to me.”

His words hit her like an arrow to the heart. She didn’t know what to say, at least not immediately. She felt her cheeks warm, and for a moment, she lowered her gaze, playing with the hem of her shirt.

“You’re impossible,” she finally said, but her tone was affectionate.

“Why couldn’t you tell me the old-fashioned way?” she asked as Clem and the others left them to their moment, shifting their focus to the cake she had baked for him.

“I thought this was the old-fashioned way,” the New Zealander replied with a smile, towering over her, sunglasses hanging from the open buttons of his shirt and his bare feet on the villa’s tiled floor.

As if realizing that everything was becoming real, she blushed, feeling her heart skip a beat.

“You were right about drinking. I do dumb stuff when I drink.”

“I’ve noticed,” she said with a smile as the driver’s hand reached her cheek, caressing it gently.

Clem peeked out from the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame, a bit of whipped cream in his hair.

“Does that mean I can keep this? It was supposed to be your womb escape gift,” he said, holding up a gray, short-sleeved vintage-style T-shirt with the girl’s name written in large blue letters and her face printed in various sizes and angles.

“Why is everyone calling it ‘womb escape’?” the New Zealander laughed, turning toward the Frenchman.

“So you’re not going to ask anything about the questionable gift?” Juan Manuel said, raising a glass of water to his lips.

Marcus sighed and turned back to her.

“Maybe I should have done this when we were alone.”

“Blame the vodka,” she said with the sweetest, most beautiful smile as he gazed at her with those green eyes she had always loved, even if she had tried to ignore the way they lingered on her.

“You love me too. Admit it,” he teased, running his hands through her hair, brushing it back.

“Unfortunately for my own good, I do.”

I really hope you all have enjoyed it, Marcus has been my first feeder series favourite, and I still have the softest spot for him... if you're watching Indy or are a fan, could you give me some advice to start and facts overall/things to know before starting?🍀

[theannoyingurge]

Some of the most beautiful prose I've ever read was from a fanfic written in "broken" English. It taught me a lot about my own perfectionism and bias. Similarly, Flowers for Algernon continues to be one of my favorite books - despite Charlie's intellectual decline, at no point did I fail to understand him. That isn't at all remarkable. It's human nature to understand each other. Emotion is universal. Art, and the human experience, are universal. Sometimes language creates mental barriers that obfuscate these core truths, isolating experiences that should be shared. I'm reminded of Hemingway's "six word story" and how little language is truly required to deeply resonate with an audience (at least, one who is willing to open themselves to it). We moralize grammatical "errors" by multilingual speakers while aggrandizing poets like e. e. cummings for breaking the rules of capitalization. Readers "don't want to have to re-read a passage to understand the author's intent" while upholding novels like Gravity's Rainbow and James Joyce's stream-of-consciousness puzzles as "literary masterpieces" specifically because they demand insufferable hours of debate and analysis to derive their meaning. This is racism and ableism with more steps.

I can't possibly know the pain of writing in English when it's not your first language, but what I do know is that the agony is real.

I admit that in my younger years,I didn't bother reading stories that weren't in perfect English. I've done some growing up now and I have more respect for other people's art, no matter what form it comes in.

I just want to say that let's do our best to support fanfic stories written by our fellow writers whose English isn't that great yet. Let's try to see the art in between the lines.

It's much harder for them to write than it is for us who can write good English and yet they resiliently and courageously continue to contribute to our beloved fandoms.

To everyone who is still writing despite this challenge, and striving to improve every day, you guys are the real ones. Mad respect🤝 your constant effort can only lead you to greatness in writing.

Don't let this shortcoming discourage you. This is not your fault, and It doesn't make you any less of a writer

[cowardlycowboys]

parents empowered need to hire like I dunno young people because I swear they are just driving kids to want to drink

[houseswife]

[dreamsrunfaster]

james t. kirk, tarsus survivor, whenever someone needs help and support: we should get hotdogs. in fact we should get two hotdogs. i’m going to get cookies. we’re going to split the cookie.