#but that’s mostly because growing up we weren’t allowed to play Christmas music in the house until after we celebrated thanksgiving

[leonsliga]

The American way🎄🎅🏼

[potter-imagines]

Not Like The Movies (Fred Weasley)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader 

Request: Fred Weasley imagine where him and Angelina are kind of “talking” but the reader and Angelina are really good friends and she doesn’t know that there “talking” so when Angelina tells her, she seems okay with it, “it’s not like I’ve liked him since first year.” And since she’s on the quidditch team, she kind of drops out. And starts to hung out more with Cedric and that’s when Fred gets jealous and realizes it was never Angelina but the reader. the whole reason he liked Angelina was because of some letters she gave him but she never wrote them, the reader did...Happy ending with Fred and reader.

Warning: None, just swearing and lil angst

Word Count: 11.7k (got carried away, soooo sorry)

Falling in love with your best friend was nothing short of a curse for you. Sadly, life was not like the movies and sometimes, the person you’re in love with just simply does not feel the same. Movies promised you magic. Laughing and crying, music swelling, camera panning, and always a happy, or satisfying ending. Late at night when you would fall asleep, the image of your best friend would flash across your mind, encapsulating your subconscious. You pictured him lying beside you, telling you jokes and holding you in his arms. You dreamed about what it was like to be his, to call him yours. You thought about how it would feel as  he gently strokes your cheek with his palm and his lips find yours. The camera sweeps and falls. We fade to black and everytime, your eyes open from your sleep and the movie comes to an end.

Having grown up with the boy and his twin, falling in love was the easy part; admitting your feelings became the obstacle. It put a slight wedge between your friendship with Fred. You hated how easy it was to fall for him. His stupid laugh, stupid smile, stupid heart, stupid kindess, everything about him was so stupidly loveable.

Although Fred didn’t exactly give you reasons to not feel this way. In actuality, Fred Weasley made it nearly impossible not to fall in love with him. It started with meeting you in the common room each morning and escorting you around the castle, sometimes with George but mostly alone. He’d ‘jokingly’ hold your hand, swinging it widely back and forth as you skipped down the halls. During Qudditch, his attention always trailed off the tracks to you, even when he was miles up in the sky flying around. His eyes would dart to you, just to confirm that you were okay. He was your go to study buddy- although it would typically consist of whispering jokes and talking about your day, rather than studying. Fred was always the one to invite you to his home for break, not that his other siblings didn’t want you, Fred just wanted to be the one who got to ask you. During parties in the common room, you were glued to his side. Fred would toss his arm around your shoulder casually as you sat with your friends. He’d cuddle you on the couch while you chatted away with your friends. You two were never safe from the teasing of your friends, especially George. George Weasley had been pawning for you and his brother to get together since his second year.

Now, there was never an official title given to your uh, predicament. This didn’t mean that people weren’t aware of what was occurring. Hell, even Ron was in on the loop. So, it wasn’t hard for everyone else in the Gryffindor common room to comprehend your shock and anger when you walked in only to find Fred Weasley practically snogging Angelina Johnson on the main couch. Your mouth dropped instantly and your eyes were bugging. And everyone was looking between the pair, and your sudden entrance.

You felt like the ringleader at a circus and all the audience had their eyes on you, the crowd consisting of your few friends who knew your feelings. The voice in your head screamed at you to take action- to go rip Angelina off Fred’s lap and toss her to the ground. It was a vile urge, one that never popped in your thoughts before now. Burning holes into their heads you narrowed your gaze as Angelina snaked her arm around Fred’s broad shoulder, leaning her body into the touch. As if it was second nature, Fred’s arm slipped around her wait, snatching her body forward with a cheeky wink. Your mouth went dry, sahara desert dry. The inside of your stomach coiled into tight knots, a sickening sensation budding. An echoing scream filled your mind, yelling at you to look away, just look away Y/n. Something building, maybe curiosity or maybe disbelief, simply wouldn’t allow this.

Hermione pulled at your hand, silently begging you to walk away with her. You hear the sound of her demanding voice whispering to you, although you neglected to process them. Neither Fred nor Angelina seemed to notice all the attention- if they did, they did a good job hiding it. An indescribable mix of emotion brewed; Angelina Johnson was your close friend next to Hermione. Since first year, she has been your roommate, your potions partner, a chaser just like you, and an amazing friend. She even spent a month of the summer holiday at your home, for crying out loud! You wanted to be angry, you wanted so bad to just scold Angelina and tell her how bad the sight was before you hurt to watch, but you couldn’t. Despite your solid friendship, Angelina was never informed on the feelings you had developed for Fred. In second year you had confessed to her that you had a small crush on the twin, but nothing else ever came. Of course you didn’t know Angelina had liked Fred either. Angelina, Fred, George, and yourself were all in the same school year and house so naturally a friendship arose. As years dwindled on, Angelina drifted away a bit and started spending more time with Alicia Spinott and Katie Bell. You still made time for each other- not to mention living together and spending at least a few hours each day together.

But when Angelina shifted groups, it left you room to grow closer with Fred and George. By your third year, Lee had filled in Angelina’s spot and the four of you raked havoc among Hogwarts. Lee Jordan was a great friend, he always let you sit up in the announcing booth during Quidditch matches when Gryffindor wasn’t playing. In those cases, he was vocally cheering you on through the microphone as you raced around the pitch. When it came to Fred and George, there was a different type of bond you created. You had spent nights on end sprawled around the dorm room of the Weasley twins, chatting about everything and nothing for hours. They invited you in on their pranks, showed you their prized Marauders Map, brought you to The Burrow for holidays, bought you presents for Christmas/birthdays, visited you during the summer, and more. The three of you always sat together in class, sometimes making Lee move a table over. It was always the three of you. Somewhere along the way, you started looking at one twin in particular in a different light. Both were handsome, but something about Fred made your heart race. Everytime his hand brushed against your during class, an electric tingle shot through your spine. He was protective over you, in a brotherly way you assumed, but it was sweet nonetheless. Even during matches Fred always kept an eye out for you on the Quidditch pitch. Never did he miss the chance to gloat about how he basically saved your life three different times. After a long day of class, the two of you would sometimes cuddle on the couch in the common room or in his dorm while talking with George. It was a running joke among your friends about the two of you dating. George loved to tease you two, making kissy faces and telling the two of you to ‘get together already’. George was certainly not the first, nor only, person to make such comments to Fred and yourself. Hermione asked weekly when you would start dating, Harry would question every so often, Ginny asked every hour when you’d get married, and Ron hardly paid enough attention to notice anything occurring.

Pestering and prodding, their questions remained unanswered. You never quite knew what to say, but George, Hermione, Ginny, and even Harry, knew. They kept silent in your presence. Behind closed doors, they seemed to have figured it out. Ron was present for all this but once again, he really didn’t care much to give an overload of input. He wasn’t too interested though and only came to feel a part of the discussion.

The person they couldn’t figure out was Fred Weasley. For the first time in his life, George couldn’t give a solid answer on how his twin was feeling. Typically, George always knew. He was certain Fred had fancied you when they were younger but now in your sixth year, it was hard for him to tell. The two of you had been flirting for years and even though it increased with every year, no actual moves ever came. George wondered if it truly was just flirting in Fred’s mind. Everytime he tiptoed near the topic of Fred’s feelings for you and if he had any, Fred shut it down in an instant. He’d tell George to ‘sod off’ and refused to speak on it. It gave George jumbled ideas.

So when Hermione came up with the idea of you spilling your feeling for Fred in an anonymous letter, it was an appealing thought. George toyed with the plan, a strange pang pulling in his guts told him this was a bad idea. He didn’t know why, but George was scared something would go wrong. He still hadn’t gotten a proper grasp on Fred’s feelings yet. If there was even a chance Fred would decline your confession of heart, George would feel terribly guilty for setting you up to fall. Harry sat this conversation out with Ron, not feeling like it was his place to be this involved. Ginny was in agreement with Hermione, of course, but George kept pushing for them to rethink. Although it was too late, you were already mentally planning a letter.

A week later you nervously handed George a small envelope. Inside was a folded up piece of parchment and in black ink was the words of your emptying out your heart to Fred. You dedicated a small poem to him, then on another page, you dropped small hints about your identity. You included memories, such as meeting on the Hogwarts Express, playing Quidditch together, trips to Hogsmeade, late nights talk, and more. Part of you hoped he solved the mystery right away. The larger part of you crossed your fingers that he felt the same way.

Taking your letter, George was sweating in fear. He had never been so unsure of his brother’s reaction in his life. There were many different ways this could go; the main two being either really really well, or really really bad. For some reason, George was leaning towards the latter.

Hermione on the other hand insisted Fred felt the same. She could sense it, whatever that means. You knew your friend was the most brilliant witch of your time, but she seemed wrong about this one. And now, as you stood staring at your roommate and best friend snuggled up on the couch you were just cuddling with him on last week, Hermione most definitely seemed to be wrong about this one.

Before you got the chance to see Fred and Angelina take their exchanges any further, a tall frame stepped in front of you, blocking your path of sight. Tilting your head up you were met with the soft, pitiful eyes of George Weasley. The other half of your trio reached out and held your shoulders in his hands, gripping your focus.

“We need to talk.”

Hermione followed George up to her door without creating any commotion. They didn’t want to catch anyone’s attention who would question their exit, especially Fred or Angelina. Speaking of which, Hermione led you and George to her dorm as it seemed to be the only chance of you not having to face either of the pair. Slamming the door with a huff, Hermione spun around and pointed to the tall Weasley shifting awkwardly.

“So what the bloody hell was that, George?” Hermione cut through the tension with her sharp words. You refused to meet either of their eyes. The lazer like study of George  melting into the side of your head. Your friend slugged over to the bed across from Hermione’s and plopped down. A heavy, tiresome, sigh fell from his lips.

“I just found out last night- I had no clue until Fred told me last night. She was leaving and… I’m just as lost as you guys.”

“What about the letter?” Hermione crossed her arms, starting over at George in anticipation.

“Lee told Fred ‘bout how he saw Angelina by our dorm earlier last week so Fred thinks she’s the one who wrote the letter. Guess it made him interested in her- I don’t know if he asked her about them or not but I guess they went out last week and now they’re… a thing? I don’t know, I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t know what to say, he just told me about it right before you came in. I wouldn’t have let you walk in that otherwise- Y/n I swear on that.” Shaking your head, you could feel the emotions bottling up to a spillage. Running a hand over your reddening face you expressed,n

“I know, George. It’s not your fault, I’m not mad at you, I could never. Just mad at the situation. I was stupid to think it would work between us.”

Hermione sat on the end of her bed, her eyes glaring out the window. Her head snapped in your direction. Mouth crack open ajar, her angry expression turned to disbelief and guilt. Shaking her head back and forth she exclaimed,

“It was my idea for you to write the letter, Y/n. I’m the one who should be apologizing for getting you into this mess-”

“No really, it’s not your guys fault. It’s no ones. If Fred likes Angelina then, he likes Angelina. I can’t change that and telling him I was the one who wrote the letter certainly won’t change that either. Love fucking sucks!” You shouted. George’s hands fumbled in his lap as he desperately tried to avoid your frame. He wasn’t sure he could handle the image. To George, the responsibility lay upon his shoulders but his heart suddenly broke into  million tiny pieces when he registered the small sobe choking out. The tears uncontrollably began to roll. You covered your mouth as you fell back into the bed sheets. Salty tears streamed down your cheeks, skipping down the skin. They poured from the side of her skin, splashing against the blanket underneath her.

The familiar grip of George wrapped around your body in an instant. Hermione attached herself as well, the two of them comforting you together. It was soothing to feel his hands rubbing against your back, and Hermione’s head resting on your shoulder.

“Y/n, no, no, please don’t cry, love. Please- shit Y/n, I’m so sorry.” You slumped into their arms, allowing their hugs.

George decided to stay for a few hours. The three of you just laid in Hermione’s bed chatting quietly about everything and anything except Fred Weasley. They made an effort to weave every conversation away from that danger zone. George placed a pillow in his lap, allowing you a seat for your head. Hermione’s bed wasn’t big enough for the three of you to sit spaciously so, he made do. Besides, George was your best friend so it was far more natural for him to cuddle with you than Hermione. He was sure Ron would have an earful for him if that was the case. Hermione sat with her back against the bed frame similar to George. His hands petted your hair delicately, lulling you into a deep sleep. Exhaustion from tears and disappointment, your slumber arrived quickly. As your light snores bounced off the stone walls of Hermione’s dorm room, she nudged George. He looked over in a second with a curious gaze.

“Does he really like her? Angelina?” She whispered the words so faint, they almost went unnoticed to George.

“I don’t know, Hermione. I mean… he’s my bloody twin and never has he ever even mentioned finding her attractive let alone wanting to date her. It’s all just… shocking. I should get going soon, though. Catch him before he goes to bed and maybe then I can get some answers.” George slowly lifted from the bed. He set his hand behind your head for support as he moved the pillow. As light as a feather, he placed your head down on the pillow and backed away as quiet as a mouse. The clock was approaching two in the morning and his heavy lids were starting to collapse. It wasn’t a terrible walk to his room, but it also wasn’t lightning speed. His sleepiness was taking over and if he fell asleep in Hermione’s bed with both her and you, he’d be expelled before sunrise, no matter the circumstance.

Hermione nodded and slipped down so she was laying in her bed. She

“Alright, George. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Taking a step out the door, the tall boy stuck his head back

“You want me to carry her up to her room?” He asked kindly. Hermione looked up at him, clearly doubtful on his offer. “For some reason, I don’t think Y/n will be too pleased to wake up in the same room as Angelina.” They both laughed, careful not to wake you. George mentally face palmed.

“Right. Can’t say that doesn’t make sense. Uh, goodnight, Hermione. Thanks for staying with her.” George mumbled awkwardly. The young witch just smiled and waved to him.

“Of course. Goodnight, George.”

By the time George had trudged back to his room, Fred was passed out, sleeping on top of his blankets instead of under, so George decided to hold off on setting his twin right. As he fell asleep, his thoughts worried about you. He was scared you would hide yourself away, detach from him in order to keep distance from his twin. George considered you to be his best friend, and having you hurt by the actions of his brother made him feel like shit. He found himself praying to whatever god might be listening that when the sun peaked up behind the darkness, you would be okay. Although when morning came, no one could find you. Hermione informed George that you had sneaked out early when the sun rose and she had yet to see you since.

Fred stumbled down the steps and into the common room around noon, rubbing his eyes in a groggy state. His feet dragged across the floor resembling more of a zombie than a human. Just as he entered, George, Harry, Ron and Hermione were standing from the leather sofa heading for the portrait. Ron was the one who noticed Fred and happily invited him along for their lunchtime run.  This earned an overdramatic roll of the eyes from Hermione and an awkward wince from Harry. The not so subtle gesture made Fred tilt his head. Nonetheless, he agreed, placing himself at George’s side and giving him a side hug.

The five took off for the dinning hall, making small talk as they went.

George’s jaw hit the floor as he waltzed into the Great Hall only to find you sitting at the end of the Hufflepuff table with Cedric Diggory. He stood, the wind knocked out of him in utter astonishment. Based on the events of the night before, he was expecting you to be still cuddled into Hermione’s bed, or eyes brimming with tears, but you were the exact opposite. A bright, million dollar smile shined from your face. George could hear your laughter from the adjacent direction of the dinning hall. Cedric was sitting beside you, his arms resting on the table as his eyes gazed at you. Everyone knew you guys were friends but it was more, acquaintances or classmates rather than best friends. He pondered if this was your act of retaliation against Fred getting with Angelina- or maybe you truly were trying to move on. No matter the reality, George knew this wasn’t just two friends catching up, and if that was the case, you two had a weird way of showing it.

The sight made a large grin creep to Hermione’s lips. Harry and Ron were completely lost in translation as to why you were sitting with him and Fred, well Fred was livid. So livid the shade of his cheeks was an exact match to the shade of his hair, and everyone saw it. He stopped walking and, quite loudly, choked on the thick air of the room. Some looked over at the sound, intrigued George kicked at the back of his shoe, signaling Fred to keep walking. He obliged, but his focus stayed trained on you and Cedric. At their movement, he slowly lifted his head and was greeted with the fiery eyes of Fred. A teasing smirk hit his lips which only made the fire burning inside Fred blaze harder. Cedric leaned down softly to whisper in your ear, his words making your turn to glance at your friends. You sent them a wave, then turned back to Cedric. You’d be lying to yourself if you said it didn’t bring you a slight joy to see the visible reaction of Fred.

George dragged his brother to the Gryffindor table, practically shoving him into a seat. He sat down next to him as the rest of the group took the seats around them. All their friends were staring at Fred, waiting for his next move.

Smacking his fist on the tabletop in vexation, Fred fumed,

“Is… is that Y/n and Diggory? That’s Y/n and fucking Diggory!”

George met his brother with a deadpan expression.

“Thanks, Fred, couldn’t tell. I mean, they have been friends since our second year.” He muttered. Although this was true, you only recently started talking again. Cedric was popular among students at Hogwarts so as the years trialed on, it became harder and harder to keep a close bond with him. You never had a nasty falling out- you still waved and smiled at each other during class and in the halls, you just stopped spending your free time together as often. Cedric was constantly with his little group of friends and you were rarely disconnected from Fred and George’s hips.

But when he saw you wandering the halls, tear strokes staining your cheeks, he rekindled the friendship with his natural kindness. Wordlessly, Cedric halted his journey to the Great Hall and kneeled down in front of you, asking you what was the matter. Blame it on the lack of sleep or the heightened emotions, you spilled your emotions and confessed everything to him. His presence felt nostalgic and comfortable, it felt like the old days. After crying to him for sometime, Cedric offered to keep you company for the day.

He showed you around the greenhouse, pointing out which ones he planted and all his favorites. You then took him to the Great Lake where you walked around for an hour and shared what you had missed from each other’s lives. It was exactly what you needed to feel a little better for a while. You guys ended your trip down memory lane, and survey of the grounds, in the Great Hall, Cedric’s original destination. He invited you to sit with him and, not wanting to sit alone, you kindly tagged along. Since then, the two of you hadn’t left your spot at the Hufflepuff table. When Cedric saw your friends walking in, he decided to do you a favor and scoot a little closer, purposely making Fred twitch from the opposite side of the room.

Scoffing heavily, Fred lifted his eyebrow and motioned to Cedric and yourself.

“When the bloody hell have they ever sat together- I mean look at how fucking close they are! He’s basically on top of her… I should go see if she’s okay-” Pushing himself up from the table, a quick hand grasped at his side, snagging him back down with a thump. “No, Fred. Just let her be, she had a rough night.” The snarky cut sounded from Hermione. The curly haired girl gave a sneer to Fred, irritated soaking through her words.

“What happened? I never even saw her come in last night.”

“And why’s that?” Hermione asked, head cocked to the side, daring Fred to reply. But when he didn’t say anything, she huffed and continued, “She went to bed right after she got in- uh, I think she said something about an essay or exam. Can’t remember.”

An awkward silence took over, no one else wanting to speak up. George was scrapping around his lunch, taking small bites as he waited for someone to change the topic. Fred glared once more over to you then begrudgingly stated,

“Guess I’ll just have to ask her about it at practice tomorrow. She seems occupied.” The green-eyed monster had fully awakened in Fred. He contemplated strutting right over and yanking you away from Cedric. His blood boiled, envy tainting his circulation. A small part of Fred was beginning to believe you had feelings for him as well- well that was until now. Now, he knew you didn’t and it ripped his heart in two.

Sucking in his cheeks, Fred’s teeth toyed and bit at the skin. His knuckles remained clenched and his eyes cold.

A new group of students made their way into the Great hall, with them, Angelina Johnson.

“Hey Fred.” Angelina was smiling, a sickeningly sweet smile that made the skin under her eyes crinkle. Hermione noticed the unfamiliar tint of peach kissing her lips. She rolled her eyes, annoyance growing at Angelina putting in the extra effort to look nice for Fred. She never wore makeup, and Hermione had to resist the urge to throw her glass of water on the girl’s face. Although younger than you, Hermione was extremely protective of you as you were with her. She was your closest girlfriend and Hermione was not about to let Angelina stomp all over you.

Fred Weasley broke his gaze from you to turn to Angelina. A fake smirk hit his face as he greeted her.

“Angelina, hi.” Ron and Harry listened in, trying to act like they weren’t paying attention. They weren’t huge on drama like this- it was a lose lose for Ron to get involved seeing as Fred was his older brother. Harry preferred to remain in his own conflict- Merlin knows he had a laundry list of those.

The older Gryffindor girl had her hand in her hair, fingers twisting a strand absentmindedly. Instead of dressing down for the sluggish Sunday, Angelina had on a tight red and black plaid skirt, and a tight, slightly unbuttoned white long sleeve.

“I was wondering, you wanna go back to the common room with me? Thought we could hangout for a while.” Leaning to her hip, a seductive gleam twinkled in her eyes. Ron could feel the gag creeping up his throat. Everyone, even Fred, had to hold back from scoffing at the girl. Right as Fred went to decline her proposal, his eyes drew over to you. The resentment and fury hit his bloodstream again when he saw Cedric leaning in so close that his lips were almost brushing your cheeks. He narrowed in on you moving towards his touch, the laughter that cascaded from your lips at his whispers. Out of spite, Fred grinned up at Angelina and nodded his head.

“Sure,” Fred propped his hands on either side of the table, lifting himself up, “I’ll see you guys later.” He commented before taking off with Angelina out of the Great Hall. George pushed the food around on his plate, trying to think of a way to make things right. He hated having his two best friends in a standoff, one that his dim twin seemed to not even understand. Looking up, George saw your eyes watching Fred and Angelina leaving the hall, hand-in-hand.

Cedric reached out for your hand, giving it a tight squeeze in an attempt to distract you. His hands were warm in your cold grip and the comfort was slim. If it were Fred’s hands in your own, maybe it would feel different. Resting your head on the wooden table, Cedric could barely make out your sorrowful mumble.

“See, I told you. He’s not interested.”

The kind Hufflepuff shook his head, the sandy brown locks in his hair swinging as he did. To him, it was obvious. Maybe it was a guy thing, but Cedric could feel the heat fuming off Fred from the other side of his room. It was obvious to him that seeing you and Cedric so close together, got under his skin.

Setting his fork down, Cedric wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side.

“Y/n, darling, that is the exact opposite as not interested- he’s only leaving with her because he got jealous that you’re with me! You can’t tell me all that glaring and pouting and red face was because he’s ‘not interested’ in you.” You sat stunned at his words, not having a comeback ready at all. He made a valid point- one that infected your thoughts. Was Fred actually upset that you were with Cedric? No, you declared, he had Angelina, why would he care about who you were with. An answer for Cedric still hadn’t come so you shrugged to him, and started digging into the food on your plate.

A hearty, childlike, chuckle eliminated from Cedric as he gave you one last side hug,

“See, I told you.” He mocked teasingly. You glared at him playfully then glanced over at the Gryffindor table. George Weasley had already turned towards you, silently pleading for you to come over. You mentioned to the east entrance of the dinning hall, signaling for him to meet you there. Excusing yourself politely from Cedric, you promised to return later in the evening, telling him you needed to take care of some business. He of course sweetly obliged, waving to you as you left his table, then joined up with his friends.

George jogged off after you, quickly meeting you outside of the hall. Before you could say hello, he was already diving in.

“You’re mad, woman. Absolutely mad! Do you see how angry Fred was? Cause I was sitting at him and he was incensed! I swear- he was about to leap over there and fight Cedric!” George’s hollar rang to the tippy top of the Astronomy tower. Passerbys leered nosily, wanting a taste of the gossip. Shoving George lightly, you started walking towards the Gryffindor side of the castle with him on your tail.

“Doesn’t matter- he’s with Angelina.” You stated. As much as you wanted the conversation to vanish, George wasn’t about to let you go that easy. Following by your side, an ear shattering laugh came from George.

“Y/n, he only went to hangout with her because he was livid about you and Cedric!”

The traffic in the hall was overwhelming. For a Sunday, there sure were a lot of students roaming the halls. The younger students basically ogled over the two of you as you passed by. First and second year Gryffindors always thought of the Weasley twins and gods for their notorious pranks, and by association, you as well. A group of first year Gryffindor students were crowded around the Cobblestone Courtyard, trying to sneak points and stares at you two. George and you waved over to the boys, their eyes widening at your gestures, but returning a shaky wave back nonetheless. You both continued walking, trying to keep the conversation as light as possible. “Whatever, George.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you sent him a pointed look, stopping dead in your tracks. Turning to a softer tone you asked, “Would you do me a small favor?”

His eyes squinting, George flattened his lips into a thin line.

“What kind of a favor?”

“Just come to McGonagall’s office with me and I’ll explain on the way.” You insisted. Having nothing better to do and wanting to probe your brain for a bit longer, George agreed. However when you made it to the tower of the teacher's offices, he started to regret coming along. The two of you climbed your way up to the fourth floor, and George’s mouth went dry to the bone when you started knocking on the door of Professor McGonagall. Dots started to connect and before George had the chance to stop you, McGonagall’s door creaked open and the beloved Professor

“Miss. Y/l/n, Mr. Weasley, what can I do for the two of you? You didn’t explode a laboratory again, did you?” The tiredness in her voice was noticeably as she prepared herself to deal with the consequences of your reckless pranks. Instead, you reassured her by shaking your head.

“No, Professor, not this time. I was wondering if I could speak to you about leaving the Quidditch team?”

“What?” Both McGonagall and George asked in unison. The seriousness in your gaze answered their questions. McGonagall gave you a bewildered look, not expecting your request in the slightest. George couldn’t move. His feet were cemented to the floor- not giving a single budge. Ever since you were age qualified for tryouts, Fred, George, and you had been on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Your third year you were all starters and it hasn't changed since. Everyone could agree, even your opponents, that you were the top chaser in the school, next to a seventh year Ravenclaw boy. You were faster than most, strategic, quick on your feet, and were an excellent flyer.

George went to pull for your hand, destined to make you rethink. But you moved your hand away before your skin touched. He couldn’t think of the words to yell at you to stop, for once in his life. McGonagall flicked her eyes between you two, then stepped to the side, opening her office door.

“Come in, dear- both of you, come in.”

On Monday evening, the Gryffindor Quidditch team was pooled together on the pitch making conversation before practice started. Angelina Johnson stood a few feet from, giggling and whispering with Alicia and Katie. The girls would glance over to the twins every few seconds, then giggle turning back to each other. As time passed on, Fred found it quite annoying. He wasn’t dating Angelina although he wondered if that was clear to her. For the last week and a half, the pair had been sneaking around the castle, snogging in dark corridors, flirting during practice, getting handsy during class and sitting awfully close to one another in the common room. To Fred, he was just having fun and if he was being honest, it was getting a bit boring but he felt that Angelina deserved a chance.

When he found the heartfelt letter on his bed, he felt he owed it to Angelina to at least give it a try. The way she poured her heart to him on paper- it made him feel special, cared about. Fred couldn’t say with one hundred present confidence that the writer was Angelina, but Lee Jordan was certain it was her.  

Although he had been devoting most of his time to hanging out with Angelina and trying to sort out if he had any feelings, Fred noticed a change in you. After that night in the common room, seeing you became a rare occurrence. No longer did Fred walk you to and from class, Cedric did now, and sometimes George. Fred almost had a heart attack the first time he spotted you walking through the corridors with Cedric Diggory close to your hip. That was four days ago and since then, the two of you still hadn’t really spoken.

Fred kicked at the grass and sand surrounding his feet. He didn’t have the motivation nor the energy to flirt with Angelina when his mind was stuck on you. He hated the jealousy that took over when he saw you with Cedric, but he couldn’t shake the image. The sound of his younger brother shouting brought Fred back to reality. George had been standing by his side, but he had been far too quite as well. It made Fred feel like he was going crazy- like he was left out on whatever had been consuming George and yourself. He was distressed over the situation, but Ron’s screeching was too distracting to come up with any solutions. Fred peeked over to his brother as Ron demanded,

“Where’s Y/n? She’s our top Chaser- where the bloody hell is she?” Ron was frantically scanning the pitch for you. Walking up from behind the group, Oliver Wood announced his arrival with an annoyed, and irritated voice.

“McGonagall let me know this morning that y/l/n will not be joining us for the rest of the year. Guess she was falling behind in classes and McGonagall and she felt it was best to quit the team… I don’t agree, but I can’t do anything.” He clutched his broom in his left hand, nearly snapping the wood in half. Everyone crowded around could feel the anger radiating off Oliver. His lips were pressed in a stern line, and his body was stiff as a board. The rest of the team shifted under his heated glare. Oliver had a way of killing with his eyes and the baffled Gryffindor players could sense it was going to be one long practice.

Giving the team one last overlook, Oliver pivoted on his back foot and stomped off. The rest of the group exchanged quizential gleams, separate groups of chatter running amuck.

Fred could hear Alicia and Angelina talking about you. You were the third party to their line of Chasers- they had no idea what to do without you on the team anymore.

“What? She never told me that.” Angelina Johnson crossed her arms in thought, puzzled by the entire announcement. If you were behind in classes, why hadn’t you told her? Leaning her weight on her hip, Angelina looked over the twins. She knew the three of you were best friends, so she assumed they’d have answers. Fred was already looking over to her, only for some sort of answers as to why you quit. Burrowing her eyebrows, she sent him a question leer. She was just as left in the dark as he. Suddenly, a light bulb flicked in a flare. Fred turned to his twin, who was far too quiet, meaning he already knew.

“Y/n tell you she was quitting?” It was more a demand than a question, but Fred still wanted to hear George admit it. Awkwardly, George scratched at the skin of his neck. It was such an uncomfortable situation for him to be stuck in the middle of, but he loved both of you and it hurt him to see you hurt. George shrugged, switching his broom between his hands.

“Yeah, I went with her to go talk to McGonagall, I told her not to but y’know how stubborn she is. Had her mind set.” He confessed. George kept checking for their captain, for the first time he was eager for practice to begin. He didn’t care if Oliver was going to take his frustrations of you leaving the team out on them- he just wanted the conversation between himself and Fred to be over. Flying 100 laps around the pitch in one cycle was much more appealing than standing there any longer. Although his twin wasn’t about to let him slide that easy. Taking a step forward Fred seethed,

“Wait, she asked you to come with her? She didn’t even tell me anything about leaving the team. Also didn’t say anything about Diggory...” His tone was a mix of shock and jealousy. The envy dripping from his words was harsh. The white bones of his knuckles peaked out from beneath his skin as his fists clenched at his sides. This caught George’s attention but not in a positive light.

It made him tick in an unfamiliar way. To George, even though Fred was his twin, he didn’t have the right to be upset with him for being your shoulder. Yes, Fred didn’t know what exactly was going on, but he knew something was up. He had to have some sort of inkling and it irritated George that Fred was mad at him.

Scoffing deeply, George threw it right back at him,

“Not like you’ve even been around that much lately. Seems like you’ve been a bit,” His eyes shot over to one particular Chaser, then again to his twin. “Busy. Didn’t tell her about that one either, I assume.” Cold were his words and his face twisted in a scowl. Eyes wide as the moon, Fred gestured to the girl standing next to her friends.

“Angelina?” He asked in surprise. As dumbfounded as his brother seemed, George’s annoyance only extended at an alarming rate. Oliver rented the pitch and was trudging over to the group. Shaking his orange locks George scrunched his nose.

“I mean, did you tell Y/n about whatever the hell this is going on between Angelina and you. Don’t be surprised if she doesn’t tell you shit when you don’t tell her either.” He spat jarringly. The tension was boiling between the two of them and Fred was lost as to why. Stepping away, he lifted his hands in defense. “Woah, where did the attitude come from? I don’t even know what I did, George. It’s not like Y/n will even glance in my direction lately. Help me out.”

Fred was completely disconcerted, pleading to his brother with his eyes to give him some guidance. It was unlike George to keep things from his twin, and Fred needed to get to the bottom of it. Why would you confide in George? To Fred, the two of you were always a bit closer than George and yourself. There were different boundaries, different normalities between you and each twin. A weird conjunction of irk and bitterness brewed inside him. “For some reason, I don’t believe that. You know, Fred, Angelina didn’t write that letter.” His words struck Fred like a bus. Nearly giving himself whiplash, Fred snapped his sharp eyes to George as his mouth parted open. George’s focus remained on their captain who was nearing. The matter-of-fact tone to his voice had Fred even more confused. Grabbing his brother by the shoulder to force his attention, Fred gasped.

“What-” An abrupt hollar from the Gryffindor captain rang out causing the team to quiet down and look over to Oliver. With a gruff expression, Wood wasted no time diving into instructions.

“Okay everyone, gather ‘round. First piece of business, Katie, you’ll be taking over for Y/n, second piece of business…”

Fred drowned out the sound of Oliver moaning on as his mind raced to the letter. His brain repeated the sweet words over and over again. There was an extremely slim pool of people who could know all those things about him, and some of it, Fred was almost positive Angelina didn’t know. Yes, he met her his first year, but Angelina didn’t know Fred was afraid of the dark. She had no idea he hated socks. That was something he shared with you over winter break when the harsh winter forced him to wear the constricting material on his feet. Didn’t know about the scar on his knee he got last summer when Fred, George and yourself went exploring in the woods and he fell into a hunting trap. You knew all these things- but if you were the true author, Fred was almost certain you would’ve said something by now… right? That’s what made the whole situation so frustrating to him. He thought about asking Angelina, getting a straight forward response but if she did say no, what was he supposed to do. If Angelina didn’t write the letter, then who did? Did the prank king himself fall for a prank? Fred’s judgement remained clouded for the rest of the practice, despite how hard Oliver pushed them. He needed to find you and at least figure out why you had been avoiding him.

While your former teammates were hard at work on the pitch, you were sat in the courtyard with Cedric. The two of you were propped up on the brick wall, sitting half inside the corridor and half outside. Students walked past as dinner was nearing, mummering about the two of you while walking by. Those who were unaware of your history gossiped about a possible relationship. A relationship was the last thing either of you wanted for each other.

Cedric was busy telling you a story about a holiday him and his father took to Greece the year before, a country you had been dying to visit. You were invested in his story about traveling to see authentic Greek God statues when the figure of a familiar boy came into view from the corner of your eye. Behind Cedric was Fred Weasley running up to every student in his perimeter, saying something to them, then running off to the next one. He reached a Slytherin girl, asked her something, then much to your surprise, she turned around and pointed at you. Fred followed her finger until his eyes found yours. Rushing over, Fred thought you were alone until he was a foot away and the shoulder of Cedric could be seen poking out behind the pillar.

Fred stopped next to Cedric, trying his best to appear intimidating, which would’ve caused you to giggle recklessly if the situation were different.

“Y/n… Cedric. Fancy running into the two of you.”

“Hey Fred.” The confidence in Cedric’s voice almost made you laugh. He was toying with Fred because he knew he could. You didn’t have an attraction towards Cedric, and he saw you as a great friend. Fred didn’t need to know this all yet.

Now that Fred was face-to-face with Cedric, you could see that your friend was correct about noticing the jealousy. Fred snarled at the Hufflepuff, a scowl painting his face. Once he looked over to you, his features softened. Biting your lip you echoed,

“Hi.” Fred was pleased with your response, even if it was minimal, at least you were willing to acknowledge him now. That was a step.

Reaching for your hand, Fred laced his rough fingers around your own. It was a familiar feeling you had been missing for over a week. Having his attention on you was something you missed- just having him around was something you missed.

Cedric coughed awkwardly, awaiting Fred’s move. The Gryffindor glared over again then took a deep breath, resisting the ticking urge to shove the boy away from your vicinity.

“Y/n, uh, can we talk?” He paused for a moment, “Without dear Cedric around.”

“Sure. I’ll see you around, Ced.” You leaned up to hug your friend, then watched as he walked away, smirking to himself.

“Ced?” Fred muttered under his breath, earning a small frown from you. “Sorry…”

Scratching at his arm, Fred tried to figure out where to begin. There were so many questions- so many. It was impossible to declare the perfect place to start. Realizing he wasn’t going to speak first, you broke the ice.

“You just want to talk here?” The corridor was empty, expect a Ravenclaw couple stealing a nap before curfew. A pair of students would walk by every so often, but they never strayed from their path.

“Uh, I suppose. I mean you haven’t really been talking to me at all for a week, so I’ll have a conversation wherever I can get one.” Fred chuckled uncomfortably, the lack of humor on your face building tension. You were staring out at the bare courtyard, viewing the scenery of flowers and greenery. Tall trees whooshed in the wind, leaves tumbling to the green grass gracefully. Branches swung against each other, the noise helping to create a distraction.

Slipping his thumb under your chin, Fred lifted your head locking his eyes on yours. You finally peered back at him, and the look in his eyes almost made your heart crumble. A slight glossy, sadness glazed his typically wild, gleaming, happy orbs. His hand tightened on your face, although not enough to hurt.

“Y/n why won’t you even look at me, love? You’re obsessed with Quidditch almost as much as Oliver and you just upped and quit. Don’t even try the excuse of ‘falling behind in school’, we both know that’s a bold lie. You’re the brightest witch in the castle. Look at me please, love.” He pleaded. A sudden rush of irritation surged through you, irked at his words. Pushing him back, you tried to rid yourself of the boy. Stubborn as he was, Fred didn’t move a muscle.

“Stop. Stop it. You can’t say that.” Sternly you scolded him. Fred ran his free hand across his face, his frustration getting the best of him.

“I can’t say what, darling?”

Finding the strength to push him away, you glowered intensely, “You can’t call me love, and you certainly can’t call me darling. You have Angelina for that.” The last part was thrown in more to jab at Fred, wanting to make him feel even an ounce of the pain you were experiencing. It was exactly the most adult choice, but who could blame you. It’s like they say; hurt people, hurt people.

Despite the coldness of your presence, Fred wasn’t backing off. Tugging at your wrist, he pulled your attention in again. His hands were gentle yet his features were sharp.

“So, what? Can only Cedric call you that? Cause just a week ago you were fine with it- loving it actually. This has nothing to do with Angelina-” The vein in his forehead was popping out from all the emotions Fred was draining at once. The last time you saw that sort of a reaction was when Fred nearly murdered his brother Percy for delivering him personally to Snape for exploring the castle after hours. It was quite an interesting Christmas break after that stunt. Fred attempted manslaughter roughly five times during that month off.

You heard his words but all you could see was red. You couldn’t stand to hear him say her name, it made the hairs on the back of your neck rise at the thought of Fred with Angelina. A week’s worth of heartbreak, anger, and hurt exploded without warning as you leaned close to Fred and shouted feverishly,

“This has everything to do with Angelina, Fred!” The anger boiled into a scream as you shoved your finger into his chest, poking him harshly, “You were supposed to be my best friend- her too- and you never told me. You led me on, you made me think you actually had feelings for me, that I had a chance, then you went and got with my roommate, and didn’t say a word to me! You just want me to pretend everything is fine and dandy but it isn’t! You hurt me- her too, but you more than anyone. I’ve been friends with both of you since first year- I’ve been in love with you since first year- and you never even said a thing, you coward! I fucking left clues in neon signs in that letter and you still ignored them. You could’ve just told me, Fred. I can’t even look at either of you the same now. Why didn’t you tell me?” The tears were pouring like a broken faucet at this point. Salt kissed the corner of your mouth then splashed onto the stone floor. Your head fell, allowing the cries to smack right to the ground. A black shoe came into view as it stepped towards you. Refusing to look up, you silently begged for Fred to do something- anything. Soon enough, his large hand clasped around your shoulder, yanking you tightly into his chest. His arms encapsulated you into a hold, hugging you like he never had before. Instead of fighting him off, you felt your body sinking into his arms as the sobs continued. Fred’s hand reached to your head, petting at your hair in a soothing manner.

Pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, Fred lingered his lips against your skin. This was something he had down a million times but with the circumstances, it felt different this time, more genuine.

“You wrote those letters?” Fred uttered faintly. All the stars were aligning in his mind as the confession coated the air. He wanted to kick himself endlessly for putting a blindside up to all the flags. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine you, his best friend, would share the love he felt for you. He started to think back on all your little antics in a different light. How you’d hug him first after every Quidditch match- win or lose. How you’d hold only his hand when you walked to class and never George’s. How you’d braid his hair in the common room on the weekends and spend all night spilling your secrets to him. How whenever there was a party, you stayed close to his side clutching his hand, not that Fred ever let you wander far. It caused his heart to skip a beat as he fixed all the pieces together into a neat puzzle.

“Of course I fucking wrote the letters, Fred! Who else could’ve known all that, hm? I’m sure you ruled George out right away so that only leaves one of us. You didn’t want it to be me- you wanted it to be her.” Your voice cracked at the admission, turning away from Fred while the tears took control. You wanted to run off so bad, to go cry in a corner and never face anyone again. Wiping your eyes, Fred snatched your mascara smudged hand and frantically exclaimed,

“No, that’s not true! I wanted it to be you, I wanted it to be you so bad Y/n, but it was just too good to be true. When I found them on my bed, Lee said Angelina was standing outside our room right before he came up so I… I guess it was just… I don’t know. I didn’t want to risk it, I was just scared if it really was you.” Your eyes rolled in disbelief, was he really driving the dagger in even more? Was it really necessary? The message was received loud and clear as you sneered up at him.

“I get it, Fred, okay? I fucking get it so you don’t have to spell it out for me. You’re with Angelina and I’m just your friend-” For the first time in the long years of your friendship, Fred Weasley snapped at you. Never had you heard his scary, angry voice directed at you, but this time, you were the only one around to be on the receiving end.

“Will you just shut up! I’m not with Angelina- I had a thing with her but I could never be with her, Y/n. She’s just… just-ugh! She’s just not you and it’s infuriating. And if I see you in Diggory’s arms one more time, I think I’m gonna explode.” He finished, out of breath and huffing. His hand around yours had gripped harder, your fingers nearly numb. This was the least of your concerns. All you could comprehend was the rapid words of the boy in front of you.

A triumphant sensation hit your stomach. It made you a little happy to know Fred was envious of Cedric. He had no reason to be, but it still made you smirk a tiny bit. Shrugging half heartedly you mumbled,

“Now you know how I feel…”

Fred’s head shot up at this. Confusion written all over his face he questioned,

“Wait, you’re not with Cedric?”

“No, Fred! He’s my friend- unlike you and Angelina, I don’t snog Cedric.” Dragging your words out, you sent a knowing flare at Fred. He didn’t deny it though, which was what you wanted. If anything was going to happen between the two of you, you needed to be entirely honest and Fred was ready for that. Lifting your hand to his face, you opened your grasp fully, allowing it to rest against the warmth of his cheek.

“It was only once, darling. Just to see if something was there and… well, don’t tell Angelina, but it was bloody terrible. I was expecting it to be like that time we uh, ‘accidently’ kissed last year. Don’t know if you remember it but I certainly do. But um, yeah it was nothing like that. I remember when I kissed you, it felt like that feeling of comfort that I get whenever I step inside The Burrow. And with Angelina, it was more so empty. With you, I had fucking butterflies for weeks! After I kissed Angelina- I vowed I wouldn’t do it again. I never want to kiss any girl who isn’t you, I mean that, Y/n. I’ve had a crush on you since George and I sat next to you on the train to Hogwarts. I’ve been in love with you since we got off that train our first year, and I haven’t stopped since.”

“I remember everything about that day, you were my first kiss after all.” A smile graced your lips at the memory. You had joined the Weasley’s for the last month of summer break, only months ago. Fred, George, and yourself were up late one night in their room gossiping about the new drama you had missed while apart. You laid on your stomach on Fred’s bed, and George on his. Fred sat cross legged beside you, his arm lying on your back. After a few hours, Ginny knocked to inform you she was heading to bed. Taking a risky gamble, Fred begged Molly to let you sleep in their room on a makeshift cot. It took him a little over three weeks to get a yes from her- but with the limitation that the door stay open no matter the hour.

Ginny would stop in every night to wish you a good sleep. Although small in retrospect, this was a big reason Fred fell even more in love with you, the way his little sister looked up at you as if you were the most beautiful creature to ever lay foot on this earth- not that Fred would deny this. He agreed fully, but it made him happier than ever to know that his family loved you and consider you an honorary Weasley. He hoped one day he’d be able to make you an official Weasley, but that would come further down the road.

George crashed around three and Fred and yourself decided to lay in his bed for a few more hours before hitting the hay. You knew you’d have to sneak back to your cot before sunrise or Molly would execute Fred- not you of course, just Fred. She never found you guilty for any of their disastrous plans.

After an hour or so, you were laying next to Fred, staring up at the ceiling as he explained to you all the reasons on how he was superior to George in Quidditch, a conversation that he would only win when George was passed out. For some reason, this led to Fred rambling on about the first time he saw you flying, how he knew you would be an exquisite flyer. Maybe it was because of the kind compliments and the admiration it created inside of you but you placed a soft kiss to the corner of Fred’s lip mid sentence as he gushed about your Quidditch skills. 

As you pulled away, Fred pulled you forward again, this time initiating the kiss himself and smacking his lips entirely on yours. Although it was your first kiss, you caught on quick. Fred moved to hover over you which caused your kiss to break and reality to set in. You both went as white as a ghost, frozen in place. Fred just stayed on top of you, unsure of what to do next. His heart urged him to kiss you again but the look of shock on your face made him doubt this idea. After an awkward minute of this, you slowly slid out from under him and sprinted to the makeshift bed, hiding under the covers until morning. It was embarrassing to say the least but neither of you mentioned it since. You went back to normal the next day, pretending the kiss was a figment of your imaginations. But it was as real as your feelings and it happened. You pondered now if you had kissed him again back on that night, maybe you would’ve been together sooner.

Pulling you back into the moment, Fred peeled your hand from his face and scattered a line of kisses to your knuckles,

“If you’d let me, I’d like to be your last.”

“What exactly are you asking me, Freddie?” You smiled, a sugary confection grin, like the world was finally turning in your favor. A gleeful grin took over Fred at the nickname your gifted him. Leaving a chaste peck to the back of your hand, Fred leaned into your touch. “I’ve missed that so much, love. You’re the only one besides mum and George that can call me Freddie. But,” Eyes meeting your, you could feel your heart melting under his gaze. “I want to ask you if you’d be my girlfriend?” If you weren’t standing so close, his whispered words would’ve gone unheard. Luckily for the both of you, they fully registered in your head and heart. Pinching at the skin of your arm, you reassured yourself this was in fact real and not a dream. Fred really was standing in front of you confessing everything you had been dying to hear since your first year. You figured you must have been staring for far too long as a look of fear flashed across Fred’s face.

“Freddie, of course I’ll be your girlfriend!”

“Merlin’s beard- you had me scared, darling.” He hugged you close to his chest, the rhythmic beat of his heart pounding against your ears. You could hear the nerves in his voice causing you to giggle against him.

“Did you really think I was going to say no?”

“I mean I have been a down right git these last few days so, can you blame me for being worried?” He pulled away to glance down at you with a funny expression. Scrunching your nose as if deep in thought, you shook your head.

“Nope.”

Skimming his thumb across your cheek again, Fred took a different approach this time. His body leaned in slowly to yours, stopping just before connecting to brush his lips against yours. The tips of your noses touched, making you laugh at the tickle. He took his time admiring every detail of your face so up close and personal. His eyes surveyed the miniscule dark spots kissing your s/c skin, the paint strokes of e/c in your eyes, the indented dimples in your cheeks and all the beautiful little details that crafted you.

Drawing in, Fred closed the inch of a gap by pressing his pursed lips against your own. Your knees gave out almost immediately at the intense passion and spark soaring through you. As if expecting you to stumble, Fred’s free arm was wrapped securely around your waist, supporting your body to a stand. Snaking your hands around his face, you mimicked his movements by enticing him in with your lips and kissing him deeply. You moved your hand down to his tie, gripping the satin material in your hand then whipped it towards yourself. Fred crashed further into your lips, a groan of pleasure emmitnating. His hand trailed from your waist to your hair, returning the action by tugging at your hair.

You gasped at the sensation, giving Fred the perfect window of opportunity to take the lead. The warmth, and wetness of his tongue slipped around your lip, then entered your mouth. You fought with him wanting to dominate the kiss but Fred was far too skilled.

His tongue danced with yours before flicking across your lips in a teasing manner. You giggled into his lips, a smile rising to Fred’s lips. Detaching himself from your embrace, Fred pulled back, then kissed your cheek. His hands found their previous position around your face. As he held your face in his hands, he leaned down to rest your foreheads against one another. Like a child whose mother just purchased him a puppy, Fred abruptly gushed,

“I can finally call you mine now, isn’t that wicked! Like… you’re my girlfriend now! Bloody hell, this is amazing. I should’ve asked you out years ago!” He chuckled giddly, squeezing your cheeks lightly in his hands. You pulled away, smacking his hands playfully.

“Tell me about it. Would’ve made this a whole lot easier.”

“Ah c’mon, love. Nothing worth it ever comes easy, right?” Fred smiled down at you, intertwining his large hand in yours. You peeked at the interlock, a grin rising to your face. Despite the annoyance of how long it took him, you couldn’t be happier now that he was truly yours. He was right, the wait was finally worth it. For once, your life was aligning with the script of a Hollywood film and it had never felt better.

Gripping Fred’s hand loving you tilted your head up at him,

“Is that your excuse for taking, what… six years?” His cheeks went red at this and he attempted to cover his face in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, darling! Oh wait- am I allowed to call you that, or is it still reserved for Diggory?” Wiggling his eyebrows at you Fred broke into a fit of chuckles. You hit his side, causing him to step back, though the laughter roared louder. Narrowing your eyes, you feigned anger as you spun on your heel and started to walk in the opposite direction, away from Fred.

“Shut up, Freddie! You want me to break-up with you already?” Fred knew you were joking, but he was a sucker for games. It didn’t take him long to catch up to you- his long strides were no match to your average ones. Wrapping his arms around your body from the back, Fred pressed his lips to the shell of your ear, blowing a rush of air in causing you to leap in surprise. 

“Oh, stop it, love! Don’t start with that, let’s at least make it a full day before any talks of breaking up.” Fred placed a ‘boop’ to your nose, then rejoined you at your side as you walked together to the dorm room. The other students had emptied from the halls. Passing by the large clock, you realized you were minutes from curfew. Pointing at the time, you motioned over to Fred. He swiveled his head to read the clock, a wild smirk marking his face. Speeding up the pace, the two of you were jogging to the common room, neither of you wanting to end up in detention. Just as you reached the fourth floor, a silvery and translucent figure swept across the opening of the corridor. You yelp in freight at the unexpected jump scare of a Hogwarts ghost. The Bloody Baron snapped his head at you with a nasty scowl. A silver, heavy chain hung around his neck, a punishment for his crime of murder. Although ghosts of Hogwarts weren’t ghoulish or frightening, The Bloody Baron had never been your favorite. Despite deceased, the throw of his glare felt real and caused your skin to crawl in fear.

Fred interjected, greeting The Bloody Baron kindly and apologizing for your reaction. The ghosts at Hogwarts were rather sensitive to their state. Besides, he always had a softer side for the twins. The Bloody Baron and Peeves were connected in a way so the Weasley twins always got a pass.

The ghost gravitated to the side of the entrance, allowing an opening for you to pass. You thanked him, apologizing for your previous reaction as you stepped past. As you made it out of his earshot, a stream of laughter poured from Fred. Tears pricked his eyes as he chuckled endlessly. You glared at him, warning him with just one look to keep quiet. Fred threw his arm around you, pulling you into his side. He leaned down to place a lingering kiss to your lips before chuckling again,

“C’mon, darling. I’ll protect you from all the ghosts.”

[featherymalignancy]

This is totally up to you if you want to answer this ask: What were Nesta's parents like? Their names, personalities, jobs, where they came from etc. Also curious about Nesta's aunt and uncle too :)

Okay, I SWEAR, I was gonna try and keep this brief. I literally whisper-screamed said to myself, “Keep it brief, Cara.”

Nesta, Elain, and Feyre’s Parents: Tim and Ines (neé Afonso) Archeron. Tim was a third-generation native Californian, Ines was, as we know, from Portugal 🇵🇹

Archeron Grandparents:

Tim’s dad Rick was an attorney (and an antisemtic prick, see Nesta’s mention of him in Fucking Lawyers for an example).

His mom Marie was a housewife.

Rick was a functional alcoholic “big drinker” and died when Nesta was 14, Marie died while she was in college.

Afonso Grandparents:

Ines’s father Sebastião was a professor of Antiquities at The Univeristy of Coimbra

Her mother Heloísa worked in her father’s butcher shop until she had Ines (she a dope cook, y’all).

Sebastião died two years before In Vino Veritas starts. Heloísa is the only of the four grandparents still alive.

(SIDENOTE: can we fucking TALK about what she’s gonna say when she meets tall dark and gorgeous Portuguese-speaking wine expert Cassian??)

Heloísa: *in Portuguese* Amorzinho, why have you not married this man yet?

Nesta: Avó, stop!

Heloísa: *still in Portuguese and well within earshot of Cash* If I was forty years younger I would marry him myself!

Tim & Ines (background):

They were both lawyers, they met in law school at Stanford (high achieving runs in the family).

Tim was worked as an M&A (mergers and acquisitions) attorney (can be boring shit but a lotta moneyyy). Ines was a special prosecutor trying drug companies for malpractice and fraud (social justice warrior FTW)

They both worked a LOT, especially when the girls were really little, so the girls were raised by a nanny named Benigna (Beni). Ines had insisted on a nanny who spoke Portuguese, and Beni was from Brazil.

Beni got unexpectedly sick when Nesta was 10, and she died after a too-brief battle with breast cancer.

It was Nesta’s first real experience with loss and she was inconsolably heartbroken, making Tim and Ines realize that they’d allowed their children to be almost completely raised by someone else, and that the girls had basically just suffered the loss of a parent.

At that point Ines decided to cut back to working half time to spend time with the girls, who were 10, 6, and 4.

Between losing Beni and her parents having been gone so much when she was little, Nesta was incredibly anxious to please her parents and make them proud. She was involved in a lot of activities and was very hard on herself, especially for a child. She was serious and dedicated, and though Ines tried to calm the best of Nesta’s outward fretting, she didn’t know how to cope with the more deeply-routed issues of Nesta’s compulsion to be the best. Instead she wrote it off as Nesta being incredibly bright and kept signing Nesta up for activities and paying for any private lessons, competitions, workshops etc. that Nesta expressed interest in. (Look, Nesta had to have something to tell her therapist about)

Starting the year Beni died, they began to take trips to Portugal every summer to see Nesta’s avô and avozinha.

before that, they’d only gone a handful of times, and Sebastiâo and Heloísa were thrilled.

Tim wasn’t close to his parents because of his dad was verbally abusive and his mother was permissive and enabling, so Nesta and the girls were much closer to her avô and avozinha.

Her grandfather spoke English but her grandmother didn’t really, so they spoke almost exclusively Portuguese when they were there (Tim was just sorta...j chilling with his incredibly mediocre Portuguese—he only usually stayed a week anyways, and he worked the whole time).

At home they spoke a mixture, Ines often spoke to the girls in Portuguese and they replied in English unless she insisted otherwise.

Family Ties...

Tim’s closest friend from law school (and the best man at his f*cking wedding) was Beron Vanserra.

Ines was not really a fan but she just sort of tolerated Beron for Tim’s sake, and Beron was clever enough to mostly behave when she was around, though he was definitely the friend who was always trying to coax Tim on a coke-filled bender to Vegas every time her back was turned

Whereas Tim and Ines had children later in life (Ines had Nesta at 35, Elain at 39, and Feyre at 41), Beron married his college sweetheart right out of law school, popped out two boys—August and Adrian—and fucked off for a younger wife. They got divorced without kids after like...a year

His third wife, Flavia, became good friends with Ines. She had her first boy, Eris, three years before Ines had Nesta. They were both pregnant around the same time with their seconds, Lucien and Elain.

The two couples were close and they took vacations together etc. AKA...the kids played together a lot as kids.

Tween/teen Nesta had an ENORMOUS crush on Eris. A senior in HS when she was a freshman, he...did not give a shit. When they ran into each other three years later (Nesta: 18 and two years into raising her two tween sisters and Eris: 21 and a swaggering senior prick at USC) and he hit on her that she was decided she hated him, lol

When Nesta was 14 (Eris: 17, Elain/Lucien: 10, Feyre: 8), it came out that Flavia had been having a longgggg term on-again, off-again affair with her college sweetheart. Screaming matches and paternity tests ensued...and it came out that Lucien was not Beron’s

Ines supported Flavia when Beron filed for divorce and came after Flavia with a VENGEANCE. Ines got Flavia a sick-ass divorce attorney, and sis cleaned up in the divorce 🧹 🧼 🧽 💵 . She and Beron had a very strained custody agreement, where Lucien mostly lived with his mom and saw his “dad” (Beron) only occasionally. Eris, who was about to go to college and was mad at his mom for this embarrassing secret, lived with Beron.

Tim, put off by how Beron handled Lucien’s paternity, distanced himself from Beron, and they were never close after that.

When Tim and Ines died, Flavia was one of the people who stepped up the most to help. Nesta was fiercely independent about the whole thing, but Flavia did babysit for Nesta when she had her own activities, and sometimes she would fill the Archeron fridge with groceries or do the mountain of laundry or take the younger girls back-to-school clothes shopping. Still, she was quiet about it knowing that Nesta considered herself a failure for any little thing she couldn’t do for her sisters.

Tim and Ines (personalities):

Tim

Tim was easy-going and fairly mild.

Of the three girls, Elain is most like him in temperament.

Like his dad, Tim was a total workaholic. He loved his daughters a lot, always bragging about them to colleagues and friends, but he wasn’t really around enough to really show them.

As a result, his main role as a parent was spoiling them with things.

Tim’s dad had been the diciplinarian, so Tim hated “being the bad guy” and was thus incredibly permissive. On the rare occasions that he was in charge of the girls alone for a weekend, there were...literally no rules.

Had he been alive, Tim would have strongly encouraged Nesta’s decision to pursue law school. He likely would have been more skeptical of Feyre’s choice to pursue fine art.

Ines

Ines was more type-A in her personality

Of the three, Nesta is most like her

As the daughter of a classics professor, she had a great love of classical art and music. She would have been pleased that Elain planned to be an academic like her Avô. She also highly encouraged Nesta’s pursuit of opera even though HS Nesta secretly would have rather done musical theatr (like literally any other teenager?)

Ines had been very close to her parents growing up and had planned to return to Portugal when she graduated law school; even though she loved Tim, she was sad when that didn’t happen

She was very nurturing with her girls, but less tolerant of them acting out. Appearances were important to her, and she expected her girls to be well-behaved.

Nesta, always desperate to please, was praised by every adult who ever met her for being perfectly well-behaved

Elain, easy-going and somewhat shy, was quiet and complaint by nature. She never caused problems and rarely even cried

Feyre, a fiercely independent spirit from day one, did not give a FUCK about making a scene if the need arose. Oh, it’s Christmas and Mamã bought Feyre a pretty dress to wear in the Christmas photos? Who cares; not Feyre! She wants to wear her Jasmine costume from Halloween, and if Mamã says she can’t, Feyre is PERFECTLY happy to make a good huge scene in the middle of the bougee photography studio...

OKAY FUCK THIS IS WAY TOO LONG BUT REAL QUICK THE AUNT AND UNCLE

Ines was an only child, Tim just had the one younger brother named Mike. Mike was the “disappointment” according to Rick, because he chose to major in communications and had no interest in law school.

Mike is incredibly unassuming and lived in Tim’s popular, affable shadow. Not lame but definitely unremarkable

The Archerons grew up in the affluent Beach town of Santa Barbara, but Mike was so vexed by his parents he move 385 miles away to Sacramento (if you know California, WEIRD flex on Sacramento of all places, but you do you Mikey)

He married a very sweet middle class girl named Linda and got a job in Insurance

They never had kids of their own, and though he and Tim were friendly, they didn’t really get together much because they just had vastly different lives/lifestyles

Mike and Linda were shocked and sort of bewildered when Tim and Ines died and they were awarded custody of the girls (literally do you not really know what it is to agree to be someone’s legal guardian, Michael ???) and they sort of started haphazardly making plans to move the girls up to Sacramento, even though every time Nesta called they weren’t much farther on arrangements.

Elain and Feyre FREAKED out when they were told they’d be leaving home and their friends and moving to Sacramento with Uncle Mike and Aunt Linda (10 yo Feyre: I HATE Sacramento, it’s a shithole!) and when Mike and Linda still didn’t really have any helpful insights on schools, etc (the Archeron girls all attended private school) Nesta decided the move made no sense.

She basically announced that they weren’t gonna move and that she was just going to handle the girls. Mike and LInda sort of (vaguely) protested before being like “yeah you right, we suck at this”. They still controlled Tim and Ines’s estate and helped Nesta deal with all that, but she took it over the MINUTE she turned 18 and they didn’t really have any part after that besides sheepishly calling like “so...hows everything going? Are you liking school okay?” 🤦‍♀️

Nesta tried to make an effort to be closer with them when they were all younger but like...as adults the Archeron girls have sort of tacitly agreed that Mike and Linda are sweet and they’re family but like...they aren’t that much fun to be around. They’d much rather go to sushi and get drunk on Christmas Eve rather than go to Sacramento and force polite conversation with their aunt and uncle

Okay so yeah! There is a far too detailed thing about her parents, hope you enjoy!

[animatedminds]

Film Review: On Jingle Jangle

Spoilers for the subsequent review: I liked it. And what’s more, there are things about it that make me happy on a conceptual level both as a writer and as an African American writer, and just as a lover of musicals and fun adventures. Read on after the jump!

It’s been a while, and I promised a review on Jingle Jangle - the Netflix exclusive film starring Forrest Whitaker, Madalen Mills and Keegan-Michael Key which came out a few weeks ago - sometime last week and never delivered. Well, here it is. And if you want the abridged version of my opinion, well, look above.

To give a short summary, Jingle Jangle is an clearly intentionally chintzy film written in the vein of classic Christmas fantasy movies. It focuses on a toymaker - a great gadgeteer renowned in his universe as the greatest of all time - who is able to see the world in amazing terms and make toys function like magic. However, on the cusp of his greatest invention, his apprentice - and the invention itself, who turns out to be egotistical and vile - betrays him and steals all his designs, breaking his heart so badly that he cannot bring up the spark to invent ever again. His apprentice grows rich on his work, while the toymaker - one Jeronicus Jangle - grows old, in the process losing his wife, after which his daughter estranges from him. And that’s just in the first ten minutes. Depressing enough for you? Well, the rest of the movie is more than sweet enough to make up for it. As you might expect from a set up like that, the turning point comes when Jeronicus’ granddaughter Journey finally gets the chance to visit him and discovers his one last, unfinished invention. Suddenly Jeronicus, now a bitter old hermit, has the opportunity to find the love he lost within him again and rekindle his spark, his daughter (played by a criminally underused Anika Noni Rose) has the opportunity to reconnect with him, and the toy shop - Jangles and Things - might finally have a future again. But look out, Jangle’s old apprentice is out of blueprints and needs one to keep his fame and fortune - and Jeronicus’ last invention is looking very profitable... As you might expect from a the description above, this movie is very by numbers plotwise. But I’ve never considered that necessarily a bad thing, as long as a film captures the charm that makes those numbers typical in the first place. The movie is very obviously trying to capture a feeling, a kind of story that - perhaps because they’re so well known by our generation - you don’t see much of any more, and so plays all those archetypical traits to the hilt. The last invention runs on “belief” - if you don’t believe it’s real or in yourself, it won’t work - and you can imagine why. The apprentice is a money grubbing showman who never understood the real point of toymaking. The narrator is an old woman who, surprise! (not really), turns out the Journey herself! Are those plot points groan-worthy? Sure, sometimes. But it also delivers those warm fuzzy feelings those groans intend, and that’s... well... magical. It’s not trying to be avant-garde, it’s only trying to make us feel joyous for a few hours. And you know what? I can appreciate that.

Because of that, my primary criticisms instead are about elements in that regard that the film doesn’t fulfill enough. The story is obviously about Jeronicus’ journey from disillusioned miser to the optimistic, loving man of his youth, but this happens too fast: he goes from yelling at Journey for messing with his stuff, to begrudgingly having a snowball fight with her that he turns out to enjoy, to suddenly having to make the crossroads to use his spark again to save her because he loves her so much, with barely anything in between: I wanted more - more stages in-between Jeronicus two poles, so that we can see him develop in a stronger way rather than kind of jump between the points we know he’s going to go through like a connect the dots drawing. His daughter's relationship is a primary plot point, but she doesn’t even show up for more than a cursory line or two until the very end, so we don’t get to see that develop much either. While Journey and her goofball sidekick carry the film, as they should, there is perhaps a bit too little time dedicated to the characters around them - seeing as they’re explicitly the impact characters affecting their family’s change for the positive. Even the villains are responsible for the whole thing are mostly are present in the story for comedy and they don’t get a lot of face time with the people they’ve affected either, all of which adds up to parts that could have had a lot more substance to them but which didn’t. The film overall is great, but the limits it puts on its own pacing and development hold it back from being as great as it could be.

However, as I noted before, there’s more than what I've just talked about going on here. There are conceptual aspects that made this one of my favorite movies this year, rather than necessarily the plot: which is only why this movie is engaging to watch. What the movie is built around is what makes it so special. First of all, a fantasy adventure movie with an entirely black primary cast is rare - entirely too rare - because African Americans simply don’t get those kinds of films in the mainstream. Realistic urban dramas, lurid romances about failing marriages, uplifting stories about rising out of the hood, etc - that’s the genres Hollywood typically allows for African Americans to star in: movies that hinge on archetypes about black existence in America and thus only sell attempt to themselves as “black movies” without widespread appeal, if one wants to go one step beyond. A musical about a magical inventor who creates a robot that lets you fly if you believe in yourself enough? Not especially, unless it’s a preachy DTV film about community. The primary villain is a Spanish matador doll with delusions of grandeur - Gaston as a toy - and its a weird and strange and outright wonderful idea. And interestingly, while this movie is themed and framed like a Christmas movie - I mean, just look at the name - there isn’t anything particularly Christmas about it beyond being about a toymaker. Jangle isn’t a Santa analogue, Christmas itself is never mentioned, nor is much of the imagery (beyond snow and winter) exceptionally Christmas reminiscent, being more of a Victorian Steampunk instead - full of gears and automatons and top hats (whoever did the costuming for this thing ought to get a medal, especially for the costuming in the bright period we see in the initial flashback). Its stuff like that that’s noticeable simply because African Americans in film don’t generally get to interact with those sorts of strange and weird and wonderful ideas. And this extends to the music. As both a fan of musicals, a Disney fan in particular, and a black writer, something I’ve noticed with no small amount of dismay is the way certain genres of music have been skipped over by mainstream. You have to go off the beaten path to find musicals that seriously incorporate hip hop, or R&B, soul, funk, etc into soundtracks and anything other than “party time” numbers that are just about the characters getting down and don’t engage the plot or the characters in a meaningful way - which gives off the impression that on a writing and developmental level, there is a lack of respect for those genres as having serious merit for meaningful usage. Oh, for sure, there’s musicals like “In The Heights” (which was fantastic, and I’m eagerly waiting for the film), but those are rare, and the closest you tend to get is Lin Manuel Miranda’s (much as I enjoy him) long bouts of recitative which are called “rap” by reviewers but aren’t really what I’m talking about when I mean genre. This film makes a point of kicking that trend in the pants, however: starting with a bombastic character establishment hip hop number, going into Motown-style R&B numbers and soul ballads and all sorts of wonderful genres of black music that have been long since lefts out of the mainstream. It’s something that I’m especially happy about and which leads me into tomorrow - when Soul arrives (and you better believe you’re getting a review of that as well) and hopefully delivers the same thing.

As a black writer, and a lover of music, and a lover of bringing new avenues of representation to film and media, Jingle Jangle made me happy in a way no film since Black Panther has, and for that along it immediately landed a spot on my list of classics even if it weren’t also a quite enjoyable movie. So as you might have guessed, thus, from the preceding - I quite recommend it for anyone looking for a wonderful cheesy time this Christmas, and also for someone looking to see how black musicals are growing and evolving.

[reliciron]

Notes on Redeeming Arcann: Part 1

Ok, here are my thoughts on redeeming Arcann. This is just my own current analysis of his character and where I might take him in possible future fics. If someone has a different interpretation I would love to hear it as my own ideas on him continue to shift. If anyone is struggling with his character, I hope this might give you a starting point or jog some new ideas. And if you’re just reading this because you like character analysis (I do too), then I hope you enjoy it and it’s not too incoherent.

This first part will focus more on redeeming Arcann. The second will be my thoughts on his character motivations.

Part 2

Alright, this is going to be very, very long, so strap in. 

Ok, so since I don’t have a lot of experience writing, I felt my own grasp of what it takes to redeem a villain was a little too shaky to do Arcann’s redemption justice on my own. He’s admittedly a pretty horrific character at his worst, and the game itself really doesn’t do a very good job of giving him a believable redemption arc. I feel it would be very easy for an inexperienced writer like me to fall into character apologia and try to ignore what he’s done in favor of ‘it’s not his fault’. Fiction is full of men who act like jerks and excuse it with daddy issues, and I’m really trying to carry that awareness into his redemption so I can avoid that pitfall. The atrocities he committed were his choices, but understanding why he became a character who would make those choices does not mean that he wasn’t ultimately at fault for what he did.

So with that in mind I did a quick search, looked through a few guides on redemption, and eventually settled on this one.

In an effort to make this smooth, I have copy/pasted the major points from the article and put them in brackets with my responses following each one.

[Realism is derived from a multitude of factors, but one of the most important is having authentic motives. Villainy is a dark path for a reason – it’s hard to come back from – which is why you need a super-bright ‘why’ torch to help your baddie see the light.

The best way to create a ‘why’ (or a motive) is to understand where it comes from. For example:

Maybe your villain wants a bigger pay off and this is how he thinks he will get it

He could be taking an order from someone more powerful

A more emotional reason might be that the hero appeals to his heart by saving someone the villain cares about

Or perhaps the villain just wants to right a wrong or past mistake]

-----

Ok, so Arcann has a little of the last 2 of those reasons. Now that he’s gone through the Force Healing dishwasher, he wants to try and make up for all the horrible things he did (Mostly the people he killed for shits and giggles while hunting down the Outlander. War is war, and he might not beat himself up over the people he personally killed on the battlefield. They made the choice to be soldiers/Jedi/Sith, and they knew they might die when they went up against him.)

He was also swayed by the Outlander letting him and Senya go, and how they cared for her while he was figuring things out.

-----

[Whatever the plot point for justifying your villain’s redemption, you can create added depth to their motive by linking it to an old wound in his past.]

-----

His mother left, and it’s possible that he still wonders what would have happened if he and his siblings had gone with her (I can’t remember if he touched on this in one of his cut-scenes during KOTFE). But more importantly, no one has ever come back for him except his brother. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t expect Vaylin to care about him enough to help him unless it benefits her, so after Thexan’s death he feels like he’s alone and nobody would miss him if he died. And that’s… really not a good place to be.

He doesn’t feel connected to his people since I doubt he ever saw much of them while growing up, so it’s easier to treat them like dirt if he can’t empathize with them. Also, the closest person to him, and the only one he seems to care about, is Vaylin, and she’s even more messed up than him so they just echo each other’s cruelty and drive each other to new heights of awfulness.

So that’s why it’s so important to him and game changing that his mom shows up after he’s been defeated.

Now the scene in KotFE goes like this: Senya finds Arcann dead (unconscious) and pinned under a bunch of debris. She drags him out and cries because she thinks he’s dead. Then Vaylin shows up, and while Senya is focused on her, Arcann blinks awake. Vaylin starts to attack, and Arcann stops her. Blah blah blah, Senya saves Arcann because he tried to protect her and she “feels the good in him”.

Ok.

(Keep in mind, my computer chugs much worse if I have the background music on, so I always play with it off. So scenes that maaaaay be relying too much on the music to carry the emotional weight, don’t have that crutch to lean on when I see them.)

Putting aside some dumb stuff, like why didn’t Senya sense that he was alive, and why didn’t she “sense the good in him” until after he pushed Vaylin away, here’s a few tweaks I might make:

Senya finds Arcann badly injured and pinned under debris. She realizes that he’s still breathing so she drags him out, sits down, and cradles him in her arms. She fully expects that he’s going to die, and her resolve crumbles. She rocks him gently and sings to him, her voice breaking here and there as the ship comes apart around them. She left her children once, and she refuses to leave Arcann again. She’s going to stay with him until he succumbs to his wounds, or the ship disintegrates.

To her surprise, he begins to wake. He turns his head into her chest, instinctively remembering her voice and the way she’d sing when comforting him and his brother after a painful day of training. He opens his eyes blearily with a mumbled “Mother?”. And now, finally, after years of being apart, she senses the conflict in him. Buried under years of pain and rage, is the tiny flicker of the boy she used to know.

The ship shudders underneath them and she makes her choice.

She hauls him up and throws his remaining arm over her shoulders. He can barely support his own weight and is fading in and out of consciousness as she drags him off the dais. They’re almost to the door when Vaylin appears and cuts them off.

Senya pleads with her, but Vaylin refuses to see reason and moves to kill her. Senya tries to throw Arcann out of the way, but the minute his arm is clear he manages to force push Vaylin away, where she appears to be crushed under falling debris.

Senya can’t save both of them, but she didn’t feel any conflict in Vaylin. So she chooses Arcann and takes him to the shuttle.

After they’re far enough away, Vaylin comes to in a rage, only to find that she’s missed her chance. She too, escapes in a patrol vessel.

-----

[Epiphany Redemption

Sometimes we don’t realize we have bad habits until someone tells us or we suddenly become aware of them. One of the most famous epiphany redemption examples is Scrooge going through an awakening. With the help of the Christmas ghosts, he’s shown the impact of his actions which causes him to see that he’s been leading a terrible life. The end of the story show him as a changed man, being kind and charitable to others.]

----

This sounds like what happened to Arcann.

It could be that with his mind clouded with pain and a likely concussion, he forgets his anger enough to think that, if his mother cared enough to save him and feels there’s still good in him, maybe there is.

It could be worked into the healing ritual, instead of this nebulous “light sapping the dark from him while he lays unconscious” thing. It could be that the ritual lifts all of his emotional baggage up so that he can view his past choices through a clear lens. Kind of A Christmas Carol speed-run, where his actions flash by in his mind and the horror of what he’d become slowly builds and replaces some of the rage. So the healing ritual doesn’t cure him of the darkness, so much as it’s a cold dose of the reality of his actions without the rage and bad justifications covering it up. The pain and rage is still there, and he’ll have to deal with it naturally later (get that boy a THERAPIST), but it no longer gets in the way of his decision making and he’s free to make better choices.

This explains why he was so panicked when he woke up that he didn’t notice his mother was still alive. And her “death” was just one more horrible thing he’s done. That even in healing, he still manages to kill the people close to him.

(It’s also why I always take the choice to tell him that Senya’s still alive right before he flies away, to spare him from that extra self hatred.)

-----

[It takes time. Just as a hero takes an entire novel to overcome her flaw, it will take some time for a villain to make this monumental change. Don’t let them flip-flop like a beached fish between good and evil – the change needs to build slowly throughout the book.]

----

I think this is the main issue that a lot of people seem to have with Arcann’s redemption. The healing ritual was such a hand-wavy “ok he’s better now” cop-out for what would normally be months or years of interesting character development.

I understand of course. This is a game, not a book series. There isn’t time to give Arcann the kind of focus that sort of development needs, and they weren’t allowed to weave his redemption too much into the story because not everyone spares him.

We can lessen the impact of this by ignoring some canon things and writing around others, but it would take a major rewrite of a large chunk of KotET to integrate this point.

-----

[Foreshadow, foreshadow, foreshadow. Readers don’t like to be cheated. You need to drop breadcrumbs throughout your story to let your reader know subconsciously that the villain is going to change, otherwise they’ll feel cheated. It doesn’t take much – the occasional soft glance from the villain, a nicely spoken sentence, and action that is ‘good’ rather than evil. Tiny clues.]

-----

There were tiny hints here and there, but not really enough for my taste and they were very easy to miss.

Some examples I can think of are:

He sort of yells at Vaylin at one point and without her saying anything, he immediately backs off, calms his voice down, and tells her that he’s not blaming her. She’s flippant about it, but it made it clear that he cares about her enough to treat her with respect and what little affection he’s capable of at that point.

@swtorpadawan made a good point in this post about how Arcann’s hesitation in destroying the Gravestone might’ve been because he sensed his mother’s presence.

And while I don’t think it was supposed to be hesitation on Arcann’s part, just the game forgetting about the time as we are shown Koth lining up the shot, he technically DID hesitate in killing the Outlander after he stabbed them (assuming you refused Valkorian’s power). There was a decent length of time where he had them, mortally wounded and defenseless, and he hesitated so long that Koth discovered the scene, figured out a plan, and shot out that big thing on the ceiling.

-----

[Don’t make it easy. It’s hard for the hero to overcome her flaw and likewise, it should be hard for a villain to overcome his. A quick way to make it harder for the villain to redeem himself is to catch him between two of his values. For example, while this character isn’t a villain, it still illustrates the point: Ned Stark in Game of Thrones values loyalty and wisdom – his wisdom tells him if he helps his King it will inevitably lead to his death, and yet, his loyalty forces him to help the King anyways.]

----

This one is closely tied to the “it takes time” point, and is also horribly ignored in the story. Once he’s healed he’s practically a different person. Now I don’t know if it’s because they didn’t devote much time to his writing since he’s an optional character, or if they meant to write him like this, but it’s still unfortunate.

He strikes me as determined and ruthless (like his mom). His interaction with Thexan and his commitment to the Outlander seems to imply that he’s loyal once he’s found someone worthy of it. He’s intelligent, but can be arrogant sometimes (of course this will have been knocked down a few pegs since the Outlander kicked his ass).

An easy point of conflict between his values (especially soon after he joins the Alliance), would be between his loyalty to the Outlander and his ruthlessness.

He could be on a mission with the Outlander, and have an enemy defeated but alive. The Outlander might want to spare them, while his ruthlessness demands their death. He knows how people like this work, that sparing them is a good way to get stabbed in the back, and if the Outlander is too softhearted to look out for themselves then he will.

BUT the Outlander is showing him trust by letting him accompany them, both trust that Arcann won’t kill them and that he will follow orders. Their trust is extremely precious to him (especially if he’s already crushing on the Outlander) so he really wants to do as they say.

He’s forced to balance their trust against his need to protect them.

------

[Don’t let them go soft. Villains are villains for a reason. Keep them authentic by retaining some of their sharper personality edges. Just because their actions are good doesn’t mean the whole of them will be.]

-----

I feel like this one is especially important, and also terribly overlooked.

Arcann learned some bad habits while being a villain and even when growing up, some of those should carry over into his healed self.

They might lessen with time and careful retraining, but he will always have sharp edges.

He will probably have a temper (although this must be handled very carefully to avoid making him look childish and abusive).

And if someone he cares about is threatened he may fly into a rage until they can calm him down. This rage may be followed by flashbacks of the battles he’s been through and the way the hatred felt in his gut, leaving him panicked and shaky once it’s over.

He probably has nightmares regularly, and care must be taken in waking him up to avoid a violent response, same thing with sneaking up on him: DON”T.

Honestly, the dude went through so much and did so many horrible things that I don’t see how he wouldn’t have PTSD. He certainly has self-hatred up to his eyeballs.

-------

One more thing:

Once he’s joined the Alliance, I think we need to be careful when writing him to make sure that his goal of trying to make up for the horrible things he’s done isn’t overlooked. I mean yeah, he’s helping by coming along on missions with the Commander, but that is super small time stuff compared to what he’s done and I don’t think he’d be satisfied with it for long.

He’s an intelligent man with experience commanding armies on the battlefield, and an extremely talented Force-user. At minimum, and when not accompanying the Outlander, he should spend most of his day immersed in Alliance reports giving tactical advice (once they trust him enough, of course) and helping with combat training in the Force Enclave. When they trust him more, he can maybe become the official liaison between the Alliance and Zakuul, using the resources and tech of his home world to help the reconstruction on the planets he bombarded and getting Zakuul what they need as well.

Of course, once the Republic/Empire war starts up again, his position will change and he may take on a more military role, commanding offensives on behalf of whichever side the Alliance has picked.

My point is, wallowing in emotional hurt/comfort and developing romance is really fun and satisfying, but don’t forget his promise to atone for his misdeeds.

[courtorderedcake]

Hallow : ch I - CSSNS 2019

Thank you for reading this, it's my baby that I have written over and over for two years now.

Countless people have given me advice, changed my way of thinking, changed the way these characters think, and given me love and support. It has been a labor of love and terror, as I have been unwilling to let myself publish this out of fear of reception. What if people hate what I have loved so long?

What if people dislike the characters I've watched grow in my own words, from two flawed characters in their own right, to two flawed characters who know their strengths and use them? Will anyone understand the idea of two unlikely and hopeless people in the worst circumstances coming together? Will the choices they make over all make sense in the greater story?

Without the people I have had cheering me on, I don't know how I could have gotten to a point where I could have asked those questions.

So this is for you, my loves. Kmomof4 for being an unending supply of positivity, even when I wanted to give up all together.

UltraLuckyCatND, for being the best, most patient, understanding, detective of context without context, punctuation machine level efficient Beta a lady could ask for. Your commentary was like waking up to Christmas presents, especially when you liked my curse words.

Shireness, Bleebug, Clockadile, Svenja, ResidentofSB, Salem, Doodle, Sherlockwhovian, K-Whump, and Hollye for always answering my off the wall questions with very little detail perfectly, and with no judgment.

To the newcomers to the Fandom who I may (definitely) stalk, and who unknowingly made me realize that this pairing can go to space, infinity, and beyond. That means you Satellites, Prof, Cyn, and Raines.

To the many others who I Tag, message, who have sent me kind words about Riptide or my Horticulture problem, those who read my crack fic(s) and didn't blacklist me from CS events, those who know I will go to bat for them, and that I know will go to bat for me, and those I know will hate this with every fiber of their being but be unwilling to say so outside of private spaces that collect dust in their stagnation.

I present, Hallow.

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"The Goblin King was prepared to host the Darkness, stealing Fae women away to their corrupted lands underneath the ground as concubines. The Darkness chose another in his stead, but not before this selected vessel enacted a devastating attack in its vengeance, revealing its hatred & rage. The battle was a lesson the old kings had forgotten; never underestimate an opponent.

Many more lives were lost as they razed over any who dared defy The Goblin King's will. Only the pure love of our rulers united in matrimony, breaking the Vorpal Dagger, sealed the darkness and the Goblin menace away. The light flourished under their fair rule, and the queen bore a child as pure as moon beams, swan feathers, and starlight. They lived happily ever after, and shall be written in history as Heroes for All Time."

This is the history Princess Emma memorizes from the day she is born, paraded about and presented only with the highest protection. The palace is a cage she wishes to escape, desperately. Not careful what wishes she made, Emma discovers history is written by the victors - The Dark One has an entirely different version of the events that took place.

Rated E for explicit themes, Mature situations, and Fae fuckery.

Read on AO3 here.

Ch 1 / ??

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It started when Emma was young and mostly alone. There were very few other children in the Royal Court, let alone the palace lands. Emma had no siblings or cousins to play with either as Fae birth was rare and arduous. She had her parents when they weren’t busy appeasing some Duchy or Lord and Lady, those in the court who tolerated her, or the staff when they weren’t busy with their duties, but it wasn’t enough. Emma felt as though no one really gave her any real one-on-one attention, and with no need for a nanny (the ones nannies they had tried and she drove to madness as proof positive) in the confines of the palace, Emma roamed from room to room and hallway to hallway in search of anything to do or anyone to be with.

  Her parents loved her fiercely and she grew up knowing this; the times they spent together were wonderful. She especially loved holidays and the spare moments where her mother conjured her namesake snowflakes, or her father whistled at elk to come closer to nibble apples. Her father thrived in the sunny plains, wildflowers and crops bending to hear his whispers, winds obeying his laughing commands. Her mother preferred moonlight on branches covered in silver ice, blue birds in spring singing while red birds in winter cracked seeds in their beaks, the way water moved in gurgling streams, and the coziness of a nap in root hollows. Palace life kept them away from their special places more as Emma grew. 

  The palace of the Fae was the grandest in all the realms, or so she had read. Most of the structures were newly built after the Great War , but some pieces had been brought through a portal from the mortal realm, their stunning beauty remarkable. The palace itself was huge, sections unused but for celebrations happening only every few centuries. The main palace consisted of the kitchens, the Royal suites, the courtier suites, dining areas, library, music room, receiving rooms, the grand halls, and servants quarters. She found refuge in the kitchens occasionally, their excellent cook Granny allowing Emma to help, or on some days play with her granddaughter Ruby. They had originally played tag and made mud cakes, but Ruby's grandmother had been in such a snit after, that she punished Ruby with forbidding her to play like that again. They instead played dolls or made bead necklaces, but Granny kept a watchful eye, usually making Ruby work instead. 

  Granny said she was strict because their friendship wasn't properly sanctioned, although she had petitioned. The King and Queen had written they were to be away a few more weeks, so it was unsurprising. Promising to be careful, Granny eased off slightly, and Emma looked forward to those few hours each week as she wandered lonely halls. 

  It was in one of the older sections of the palace that she found him during her weekly wandering.

  He always answered her, no matter the time of day or night, and most importantly he was kind. He had a wiseness in his voice that as a child was soothing, as he happily watched her play with dolls or spin a hoop. 

  When she began her schooling, she read to him in passing moments. 

  “And thus, the Goblin horde released a great evil that corrupted their land and sought a host. The Goblin King was… was… Pre…” She faltered on the word. 

  “Prepared. The Goblin King was prepared,” he corrected. 

  “Thank you! The Goblin King was prepared to host the Darkness, stealing Fae women away to their corrupted lands underneath the ground as concubines. The Darkness chose another in his stead, but not before this selected vessel enacted a devastating attack in its vengeance, revealing its hatred and rage. The battle was a lesson the old kings had forgotten; never underestimate an opponent. The Fae Navy was culled, all but a few regiments surviving. We honor those lost to The Dark Massacre on Gray Day." Emma felt her throat tighten at the thought of the dreary holiday and its muted muslin gowns. They sat in silence for a whole day, lighting candles as those who had lost someone made their pilgrimage. Liam made a soft tutting noise when she didn't continue after a long moment. 

  "It was no matter, for the Goblin King had a special blade to command the Darkness, the Vorpal blade. Many more lives were lost as they razed over any who dared defy The Goblin King's will. Only the pure love of our rulers united in matrimony, breaking the Vorpal Dagger, sealed the darkness and the Goblin menace away. The light flourished under their fair rule, and the queen bore a child as pure as moon beams, swan feathers, and starlight. They lived happily ever after, and shall be written in history as Heroes for All Time. Long live the Fae dil N'lans Court, long live The King and Queen dil N'lans.”

  “Lovely job Emma!” her painting whispered. 

  The name plaque below revealed his name. ‘CAPTAIN LIAM JONES, FAMILY BLACKWATER, IN MEMORIAM’ she read, tracing her fingers on the raised golden letters. He had been in the Fae Navy, the same that had their sails on display in a tapestry room. The same Navy that had sacrificed everything, her lessons making sure to remind her. She dutifully laid flowers and folded banners across stone cairns when she was trotted out at Navy remembrance events with some understanding. Death and the wars seemed to be such abstract thoughts, never having experienced them but in her studies. In fact, Emma wasn’t sure what memoriam meant in its entirety. Having a vague idea of someone being gone was the only thing she had to compare, but when she asked Liam, he told her not to worry. She trusted him and followed his advice. 

  As she grew into a woman, Emma learned what it meant, and understood his reluctance - and her own subconscious'. The painting that had been her closest confidante and holder of all her precious secrets (for example when she had stolen a plate of cinnamon pastries meant for a Lord, eating them all high up in a tower) was just that. A painting. A painting of a man that had been a captain in the Great War, until he had perished in the Dark Massacre. There was no real Liam - just an imaginary friend that kept her company until time passed and she could truly take her place among the court. 

  This realization did not stop her visits nor his wise voice in her head. She visited as often if not more than before, bitterness from stretched days of being told how to sit just so, or how to cover her glare when a noble acted like a pretentious ass in her presence seeped into her conversations. He soothed her loneliness as it leaked further into her life, and she would not part with him. 

  She told Liam about her parents. 

  How she couldn’t leave the palace without a royal escort, a dozen men accompanying her to pick a bouquet as their horses trampled the meadow, destroying the flowers. Or how she snuck down to a grotto and swam, sometimes in just a slip for the thrill of the indecency. Emma longed for any of the village children as playmates, but her royal duties, courses, and “proper decorum” (as her mother would say) kept her from any sort of real connections. Her books, all of the tales of the realms and the old world weren't enough anymore without being able to see outside of the palace, but any talk of change was ended in heated argument. She knew nothing but the safety of her palace, but how could she dare opine, and to who? Not for lack of trying or arguing - King David passed down his courage, and Queen Snow had passed down her stubbornness. Emma heard their remarks of what a combination it was every quarrel. 

  While some of the other young ladies of the court had taken suitors or begun courting, Emma was sure the result of any such thing happening to her would cause her father to go truly mad. King David had almost caused interrealm diplomatic incidents in trade with his attitudes towards certain sons of Lords that had looked at Emma too long.

  She told Liam about her tutors. 

  Ruby, a woman beyond skilled in tracking was easily her first real, and royally approved, friend. The Queen herself had allowed the girl further privileges in the palace, placing Ruby in the same decorum classes as Emma, much to Granny's delight and Ruby's dismay. Ruby made do by skipping them, a feat that Emma could never attempt. Ruby's talents were wasted on sewing, curtsies, or dancing; her quick wit and ridiculous half true stories leaving her as cunning as a wolf. She easily talked King David into letting her have a tutor position teaching Emma about snares, edible plants, and tracking game or predators. Afterwards, Granny would bake Emma and Ruby treats with their foraged items, with extra to stow around for the Court. 

  Emma adored her tutors August, a wood elf who specialized in History, and Jefferson, a pixie that taught the Arts. They had come together to the court after being married during war time and were easy to feel safe with. Jefferson could sing well enough to rival Queen Snow herself, and August gazed at him in constant adoration. While Emma studied her history quietly, August would make small wooden flowers or other creations that she would find in the music room the next day, lying on the piano or near the harpsichord. Jefferson’s prized possession was a broken and battered violin August had carved for him in the old world, the wood from the same tree as their small cabin. It was the only thing he took when they fled. 

  There was Graham, a Fae that didn’t hail from any court that Emma knew of. Although, for a princess, or any woman of the court for that matter, it was rare to use a sword, The King and Queen demanded it. Graham was easy pickings next to her father. Her father had hired him to teach her sword play, but had since made no qualms about regretting it for various reasons. Emma was sure it was due to Graham's gaze beginning to linger too long on her lips. 

  Liam had heard about her various refusals to court anyone due to her father, but when Graham brought Emma flowers at the beginning of a lesson and her father saw, he heard her rant about Graham's idiocy for hours. Now, the King stood sentry over every lesson, watching Graham sweat from swordplay with the addition of knowing that any slight flirting could end with him having to search for another job with one less arm. Emma hated that her father watched them.

  The newest member of the court was a renowned bowsmith, one Mr. Locksley, hired by the Queen to teach Emma and fuel her passion for archery. Emma had never really felt a use for it, but dutifully accepted another task to fill the hours of her days - particularly if that task was avoiding her tutor of magickal arts, decorum, and deception. Regina.

  She studied magical forces for harm with Regina, decorum, potion making, alchemy, lying, seductive disarmament (it was all in the cleavage, lewdly enough), state secrets, cryptography, political history, strategy, and trained herself against poisoning. Regina was one of her favorites to complain about. 

  “She hates me, Liam. She makes it her mission to make me feel stupid. I can’t tell you how much we go over the same things, about how my parents united the realms with their marriage, how the realms are all connected but for one, and how the Goblins are banished until their next appeal,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “How many times do I have to hear the stories about brides getting stolen or my parents sealing the Darkness? I’m the proof they were successful, that the Darkness and Goblins are sealed away! Every appeal the Goblins have made has been either a disaster or violent. Sometimes both. Nothing is going to change.”

  “Never bet against things changing, Emma,” Liam spoke in his low voice as she sat next to his painting, blowing blonde hair from her face. 

  “Now you sound like her,” Emma pouted.

l

“Good. She’s teaching you something. Education is important and so is knowing your history. Our history.” He emphasized the last words, and Emma felt a pit in her stomach. 

  “I hate that you’re right.” 

  “You wouldn’t come here and sit with me if you liked me being wrong.” She could hear a smirk in his tone, though his portrait always showed him with the same determined grimace.

  Sometimes Emma asked him about his life, on which he mostly stayed silent, his few answers vague.

  “What were you like?” she'd whispered by candlelight as snow fell one evening.

  “I loved my family and my land,” he told her, in an even reply.

  She sighed, annoyed. “Yes, but I mean, were you a good man? A good leader? Did you deserve the love you were given?”

  He was silent for a time, before speaking slowly as if with great thought.

  “Emma, you'll learn this one day. Being good is subjective. What one man may think is good, another will see as monstrous. A good man can fall into darkness, someone steeped in the farthest trenches of evil can find the strength to redeem themselves. I believe I was good.” He paused, sighing lightly. “And no man can ever tell you if he deserved the love he received. Only the one who gives it willingly can.”

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

    It was bright outside as Emma walked barefoot in the grass. Ahead of her, Graham stood as stars fell from the sunlit sky like diamonds. 

  Graham offered her a bouquet as he had last autumn, filled with buttercups, lavender, tulips, baby’s breath, cone flowers, and daffodils. His hands had lingered, warm and rough, as he stepped closer to her form. Her breath caught and her heart beat faster than any swordplay could bring. He’d looked at her lips, but this time her father hadn’t taken the crook of her arm to pull her away. This time, he stepped in closer, a hand cupping her chin as he led her to his lips and -

  A hard smack of a book against her head pulled her out of her dream.

  “Princess Emma.” Regina’s clipped tones were unmistakably irritated, even more so than usual. “Since you are so keen on paying attention, I suppose you’ve memorized the realms and their unique histories regarding our own?”

  Emma sighed. No luck, she was still with Regina, still trying to fend off her parents’ worry as the Goblin appeal moved closer. 

  “I’m sorry Regina.”

  “You should be. The King and Queen have been up for days now preparing for the upcoming appeal, and the judgement of the realms. Do you think anyone but you are taking having Goblins in our realm lightly? Or that having the Royalty of the United Realms here will be easy?” She glowered at Emma, and Emma squirmed in her chair. 

  “No I don’t, but I am ready to finally be apart of something more -”

  “Princess, this meeting is more important than you will ever know. The outcome of this will change everything for you. You've been too young for the last three, and this one is more important than ever.” Regina smacked the book down on Emma’s table. “Recite.”

  “And thusly, the accord was struck. The Darkness sealed in the old palace. The Goblins may appeal their desire for peace every 250 years in the service of a fully seated council. Regardless of the appeal’s outcome, trade will continue between realms, and the Goblin kingdom will present Dwarves with the iron they need to forge what Fae cannot, to mine Pixie Dust crystals for the Fae realms.” Emma recited from memory. She winced at the thought of iron. She couldn’t imagine how painful the burns would be, and envied Dwarves for their ability to work with it.

  Regina smiled. “Good. Continue.” She paced, opening a fan to provide a breeze for herself. The Baroque style was her favorite to wear, deep cut necklines and a fan her go to wardrobe choice any time visitors were in the palace. 

  “This trade must occur, or the Forge of Seven will cease to enchant the tools to extract dust and Pixie dust will be unable to be cultivated for the stability of the realms portals, shields, and wards,” she intoned. 

  “And?” Regina asked, extending her fan. 

  “Which in turn could let the Darkness, hidden somewhere in the realms free, destroy the realms, or allow banished Fae in, creating turmoil in the face of thousands of years of peace.” Emma finished, and looked up, still indifferent. 

  “Alright. Now off to your music lesson. You’ll be playing for guests in the Blue Parlor.” Regina’s face had gone back to its normal dour expression and she shooed Emma off.

  Emma hated visitors, never knowing when she would run into a dignitary, ambassador, or royal who expected her to hold conversation; or, as she was now, never knowing when she would be forced to entertain. Her parents’ worries had become an itch under her skin. No one believed she was ready for the Appeal. Admittedly, her decorum was… at best, icy. None of the Royals or courtiers were terribly interesting, content to discuss trade or gossip. Whenever possible, she bucked formality and toed the line with rules she thought were preposterous. Rituals and traditions she found unfavorable were done robotically and with constant sarcasm or little joy. Her reputation as a beautiful and quiet princess was paired with warnings of her lethal verbiage, and unwavering disdain for the older laws in Fae culture, leaving her circle of courtiers almost entirely closed. Those that sought her favor were quickly shot down, and those that persisted played on the razor-sharp edge of the Princess's amusement. Emma wanted more. 

  She still visited Liam, even with the visitors milling around. His wing was dusted and set up for the lower courtiers who would not arrive until the appeal was in motion, which made it relatively safe. They wouldn’t be here for another few days. 

  “See this?” she said, pointing to a picture in the book she found in the library. She showed him a picture of a bear. “They’re tiny in the old land and they can’t talk well. Have you been there? Or to any of the other realms?”

  He didn’t answer, only made a humming noise of amusement.

  “I just… I want to see everything.” She closed the book, tracing its peeling leather binding. “Liam, can I tell you something?”

  “Of course.”

  She sighed, letting her head knock back against the stone. “I don’t want to rule.”

  “It’s your duty, it isn’t a matter of want,” he said after a moment. He almost sounded wistful. 

  “I know, but…” She looked up at the frame of his painting, trying to pretend that for just a moment the expectation of her birthright wasn’t a duty. “I just wish I’d had a chance to see anything. To do anything. To change things, and not sit rigidly until someone decides I can take my place in step with the set tread. I am going to be three thousand years old before I’ve even been kissed at this rate.” She thunked her head against the stone again. “I just want to know what the world has to offer before ruling it.”

  “The world outside these walls isn’t everything. It’s good and bad, and a lot of in between.” His words were slow, and tired sounding. “Not everything is always going to be this way, no matter how much things seem to stay the same. Even you. Change can sneak up on you in an instant, Princess. You may find in time, the throne seems less like a cage and more like its own pair of wings.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She gathered up her books, heading back to her chambers. “I’ll see you after the appeal.”

  She didn’t hear a reply.

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

    “Emma!” Her mother sounded so surprised to see her, having only spoken in passing for weeks now. “Oh, Emma, you look beautiful.” 

  Emma sighed, the white dress beautiful on her frame. She fidgeted, and heard the seamstress hiss before a pin poked her thigh.

  “Ow!”

  “Sorry, Highness. Just, please stop moving -”

    Emma huffed, uncomfortable. The appeal was starting soon and today had been a blur of misery. Her mother had managed to take time to see her here, and soon they’d walk to join her father in a greeting line. They’d greet the realms in order, lastly welcoming the Goblin envoy to their appeal, beginning the proceedings. This was the most important event she would have to attend at her station, her role heavy on her mind. All day she’d been puffed and preened, Regina had quizzed her for hours as she endured an ungodly amount of undergarments tied onto her. 

  “There. You look stunning, Highness.” 

  Emma looked in the mirror, and surveyed herself. Her hair was long and curled, white flowers and baby’s breath braided in a complex style along her crown, pieces pulled in loose waves that traveled down her back. The dress was fitted, the sharp square cut of the neckline made softer by the long lace sleeves falling about her wrists and a flare at the waist where layers upon layers of lace had been placed over traditional formal skirts. An over corset in the same white lace, pulled far too tight for her liking, finished the dress along with a train that fell behind which was only slightly less annoying. 

  It was another reminder that it was for no one. She was a naive, protected princess who would have a match picked for her one day. Emma sighed. 

  “Emma, you look radiant. Just beautiful,” her mother gushed, helping her off the seamstress’s pedestal. Emma's satin slippers made no noise on the stone floor. Another reminder that she was barely here at all, an ornament in an ongoing display. 

  “Thanks.” She took a step, and to only further her annoyance, realized she’d have to hold up her skirts as she walked if she wasn’t to trip down a set of stairs. Emma huffed, but when her mother's head snapped up, she hid it behind a cough. 

  “Are you ready for this?” Snow asked her, eyes gentle. Emma nodded, all emotions buried deep. ”Good. You’ll be fine.” She led Emma down the hallway, her father joining on her other elbow with a small, tired smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.

  “There you are,” he whispered. “The two most beautiful women in all the realms.” Emma couldn't help the blush that crept up her cheeks, even if it was only her father saying it for kindness. She'd always been closer to him and his sunny disposition, finding comfort in his dismissal of the Royal Court’s norms. Lately, he chafed at her brisk dismissals, requests for freedom, and soured attitude regarding her duties; but today, it had been made abundantly clear, was about peace. 

  He held the rigid posture and thin lipped smile that the weight his title demanded. Emma looked down at her slippers. The beading caught the light as they stepped into the chamber where a procession of their courtiers awaited. Everyone was dressed in their most garish finery, most chatting quietly amongst themselves. August and Jefferson were quarreling over if they looked too matched, August assuring his jittery husband that they looked fine and shooting a wink towards Emma. 

  Ruby was talking animatedly with the others her age, telling tales as she often did to spook the courtiers. 

  “Watch the Goblins… they'll take you as a bride if you aren't careful! They make you drink their blood and you get married in the dark all alone, no one to hear your -”

  “Screams!” Graham jumped from behind them, causing several shrieks while he and Ruby laughed. Emma felt a flare of jealousy, not realizing Ruby and Graham had grown so close. It wasn't surprising, her docket had been full of late, and they were allowed more free time. They were allowed fun, and rendezvous, no chaperone or appointments to keep. Taking a breath, jealousy joined the other feelings that were neatly bottled away within and concealed. 

  Regina stood apart, giving orders to several servants with Granny, confirming finishing touches and coordinating various tasks to solve anything that had gone amiss. Emma watched in bemusement as her archery instructor Locksley tried to gain a moment of her time to give her a rose for her hair, only to be ignored. He'd gone to tap her on the shoulder, only to have her scowling form round on him.

  Emma didn't hear their conversation, but giggled, her parents both shooting her a look. She stifled it quickly.

  With a clearing of her throat, Snow called the court to order.

  “To another peaceful Appeal, and to the realms!” Snow proclaimed.  

  The court echoed her, their voices carrying as they led the procession to the meeting hall, where royalty and representatives were arriving.

  There, guards on either side of the archway leading to the Receiving Hall and Grand Reception beat their staves to grab attention. The hall hushed into quiet anticipation. The Receiving Hall steps had been decorated with a plush purple runner, covered in luminous dust and moon flower petals, white flamed chandeliers making the polished marble floor gleam like bone in contrast. As her parents were announced, Emma swallowed the stone in her stomach as she stepped forward when her turn arrived. 

  “Princess Emma Swan N’Lan.” After a pause for bows, the guards used their staves to make three more echoing beats. “All may rise, and proceed to greet the Royal family.”

  The procession that made its way to them was led first by their close kin, other Fae that held themselves to the Royal family's rule. Wood and Dark Fae greeted Emma with excitement, the latter in silvery clothes and kohl, the former in soft silk the color of autumn leaves. Pixies joined them shortly after, the rainbow of colors in their clothing shimmering only when hit by the light, reminding Emma of a beetle’s shell. 

  The Dwarves came next, short and full of pride, jewels and ribbon braided through their long beards or coiffed hair. Many of them offered rings or jewelry to Emma or her mother, but protocol dictated she must decline as to not show favor, much to her dismay. Her mother wore a Dwarf fashioned tiara, and snuck in rings or jewels regardless of perception, but she showed favor to most - on the surface, at least. 

  Their other close kin, the Elves, followed after. Tall, prideful, and very reclusive, they kept to themselves in a strict caste system. Emma had heard her father bemoan their interactions, calling them snobby and boring. Emma only thought they were beautiful, even without the ability to bend magic without a wand or channeling tool. They also could have children easier, which led to being reclusive in the first place, and the restrictive caste system leading to strong, ‘pure’ genes. Emma found that less beautiful, often decrying it to Regina in heated debate. 

  The elementals that followed next were thin, tall, robed Fae, in a rainbow of colors and swathed in a myriad of shimmering auras that corresponded with their element. Shape-shifters, they were a delight to the eye to behold. Dark brown or moss-green elementals stood tall as trees, root and vines or wildflowers climbing their skinny limbs. The few silver or albino wore halos of moon flower on antlers, glowing faintly under the chandeliers. A few simply looked human, wearing court finery that was barely distinguishable between Emma's own. 

  Their queen came last, a tall Hol blessed with the ancient curse of elemental enlightening, followed by her attendees that carried the same heavy gift. Snow had told Emma many times that it was these touched souls that had granted Emma her light magic, as it was written in their culture that her birth heralded a cosmic shift in balance after the war. They were a neutral party, never fighting unless the balance of the world had leaned, seeing all that could be and all that wasn't at once. Many of them traveled through time and the pocket realms to maintain the magic there, and prevent passage with unsanctioned portals or magic. Whatever side the scale tipped to in the end, they would find itself an ally in the Elementals. 

  In an absurd twist, one of the younger of the Elementals had been appointed to Emma for a small amount of time. He had measured her magic, disconcerting at first due to his brilliance and his shifted appearance of a young child. Named Henry, the Elemental turned out to be mischievous, making plans with code names, and reviving Emma's love of pranks. After she was chastised soundly for 'Operation Cricket', the Duke terrified to open his closet to retrieve his trousers, their friendship had been mitigated. They had been cordial, but Regina had loved having a child (even just in appearance) around the palace again, and took over separating them from each other. For to short a while it was like having a sibling. Henry had chosen another form since then, no longer a child but a man. He gave a sly wave and Emma winked at him. 

  The Seafolk (Sirens, Naiads, Mermaids and Nymphs) followed after, many wearing charms that allowed them to walk on land or suspending themselves in water. Emma shook hands with a curious crimson haired Mermaid princess encased in salt water, King David watching them amusedly as he spoke to the King of the Seafolk. The Anisapi tensed, but said nothing in that regard. There had been a long fight between the two races over the treatment of a race cast out by the war. Regina made it clear that Emma should know as little as possible about the entire sordid debacle, as not to ever show favor to either the Anisapi or the Seafolk. Any excuse to escape a lesson seemed good enough. 

  The procession finally ended, the court taking a reception with the different realms as they awaited the Goblins. Emma felt exhausted, her cheeks aching from the fake smile she had been wearing. An Anisapi approached her, a tall monkey with golden fur and large brown eyes in a dark emerald waistcoat. He spoke for several minutes during which she nodded politely and enthusiastically, until his paw had found its way into her hair, and his reedy voice had lowered. 

  An Anisapi female hurried over, another monkey with green ribbons braided in her reddish, bristling fur. She pulled the Lord away with multiple apologies and platitudes, and Emma composed herself. Anisapi were rarely so forward. Being primarily Fae and animal, they were trickster spirits yes, but not to their kin. Their Vizier, Pann, lounged on a chaise in his velveteen emerald vest coat, his goat haunches twitching as one of his satyr attendant boys fed him grapes. He gave Emma a saucy wink before pouring wine down his throat. 

  Emma marched over his way, shooting glares at giggling fans and satyrs that Pann kept in his clutch, their self placed moniker of Lost Boys disconcerting at almost a millennia old. The court whispered rumors about him being a treatise breaker, but her parents had never caught him and had only pleasant dealings to speak of. Many still swore that he broke their laws with flagrant disregard, returning to the human world with impunity. Some even said he had a realm of his own, a terrible lair of horrors beyond imagination, called ‘Neverland’.

  Emma was unfrightened. The Anisapi leader, Heston, was a wise and honorable Anisapi; one of the last true forest Gods of the old world. He was ancient, but very brave and incredibly strong, a boar the color of a thundercloud, tusks long and unforgivingly sharp. Pann stood no chance against him, even with deceit and trickery. 

  “Do you mind Pann? Drinking before we begin seems -”

  Pann snorted, arrogantly and without conceit. His snide tone reminded her of the trail a slug left, sticking to her skin like autumn leaves after rainfall. “Princess, I know you'd normally be in bed by now with a glass of milk, but wine is how some of us get these droll events over with. It's not like we can ritualistically disembowel a human anymore for fun.”

  When her eyes widened and she gasped, he let out a loud guffaw echoed by his tittering following. 

  “Oh, Emma. Do calm down, we never did that at political events.” When Emma let out an indignant sniff, and whirled to turn away from him, she heard his snide reply call from behind her. “That was only on the solstices, darling.” More laughs came from behind her. 

  Stomping away, Emma retreated to a window to get away from the growing din of the excited crowd. She gazed out a window, waiting for the Goblins to appear at the castle gates. The sound of a throat clearing caught her attention, and she turned to look at a scaled man, green and gold mottled pale skin, topped with a shaggy head of brown hair mixed with eagle feathers. The Goblin, or half Goblin, had one brown eye and one reptilian gold, his teeth and nails sharp. Emma stood taller. 

  “I'm so sorry, good sir. I was unaware the Goblins had arrived and I beg pardon.” Emma curtsied, bending low. The man chuckled throatily. 

  “You must be Princess Emma. Your beauty becomes you, a truly beautiful woman and Fae." Emma blushed, the compliment so direct and forward, but within convention. The Goblin was well mannered, and it caught her unaware. 

  "I am, yes." Raising her head, she gave her hand for him to kiss, surprised by the delicate way he held it. His palms were a mix of soft and scaled smoothness, a long claw scraping along her wrist sending a chill across her skin. Emma pulled away harshly, his eyes narrowing in a way that made her feel increasingly uncomfortable. "Who do I have the pleasure of addressing, with and without such formality?" 

  "I am Prince Nil of the Goblins, it is my pleasure to see you ripe. I have heard that we are both kindred spirits who push at formality and it's bindings. Is this true, beautiful one?” He gave a small bow, his words and the way he leered made Emma's skin crawl. His tongue flicked out, long and shinily wet, unmistakably forked as he licked his lips with not only far too much suggestion and luridness. Emma took a step back in spite of herself. 

  “I'd have you remember yourself, my Prince. It is… It is unbecoming for me to listen to or respond to such lewd language even given as a token of flattery. I beg of you to be less coarse.” Focusing with all she could muster of Regina's teachings, she glared pure ice. 

  “Ah, but it is me who must beg in your court.” He pinned her to the glass, his breath hot against her skin. Dragging a nail down from her ear to her neck, he grinned lavisciously. “In my own kingdom, I would not. I'd have you without treatise, without meetings, without conversations over diplomacy. Goblins take what they want. Formality has no place in true law.” 

  “Luckily for the both of us then, that I have a voice here to say no. I would keep my diplomacy and any other manner of dignity.” Emma ducked out from under his arm, eyes steely. “Good day, Pri-”

  He snarled, harshly pulling her arm and yanking it with violent force. Emma let out a yelp but his hand clapped on her mouth as he pulled her head back by her hair. 

  “You do not dismiss me, you pompous Fae wench. I dismiss you. You are beneath me, a tool for a greater cause. I dismiss you, and in the underground, bitches like you have no voice." She bit at his hand, and the hiss that escaped his serpent mouth not in pain but something darker. Emma struggled, but his long fingers pushed against her tongue sharply, the sharp movements making her gag. "You are such a prize, my golden treasure, I will have you as mine."

  Nil's breath was hot on her neck, withdrawing his fingers alshe took a gasp of air as he wiped them on her bodice, groping there, her embarrassment and rage at his lewdness finally snapping her out of surprise. 

  "Let go of me, you weasel swallowing, ill mannered, swine tongued -" Emma punched and kicked, his hand falling from her hair as she pushed Nil away. He caught her arm in mid blow, twisting to spin her into him, his front against her back so that she had to feel his body. He smelled like mildew, soil, garlic, and Emma gagged again. 

  The prince chuckled at her reaction, rubbing against her in a rolling motion that pushed him against her in ways left for a marriage bed. "We take them, just like we take our women, and that goes without questioning. Remember that Princess. I have a feeling you'll find it ever so important in your formalities .”

  All etiquette fled her mind as she fought, trying to get away from the nightmarish creature. With an ungrateful twist, he wrenched her back further, grinding his pelvis against her lewdly before throwing her to the ground. Emma hissed up at his face, but Ruby and Graham interrupted them as the Goblin prince turned away, happily striding back to the party. Ruby ran to Emma's side, immediately worried. 

  “Emma, are you alright?” Ruby whispered, and Graham looked her over before glaring in the direction of the Goblin. 

  “Emma, did he -” Graham started, but Emma pushed herself up and shook her head with her best regal smile. 

  “I'm fine. Go back to the party, I'll speak with my parents about this. Don't worry, and no mention of this, it'll be fine.” Emma watched the two exchange worried glances, but they bowed and made their way back to the party with a few quick looks back. Emma let her face fall, chewing her lip. So much for everything going smoothly. 

  Hurrying to talk to her parents, she could hear their raised voices from the council chambers far before she entered, the council in place early by a quarter hour at least. Something was very wrong as a heated discussion was taking place. 

  “Absolutely not, Gold. We haven't considered it for various reasons, and feel maybe in the next couple centuries -”

  “You're acting as if it will be a choice when it's clearly a demonstration of unity, strength, and power, bringing the realms together finally -”

  An Elf spoke, “If that is the case, all kingdoms and realms should have claim, and a chance to give their dowry, not just you,” she cleaned her fingernails, bored. “Although it is a beneficial union.”

  “My daughter has a choice in this!” her father hissed, and a few nobles laughed before realizing that it was not a joke. “She is a grown woman, and has made it clear she is not ready for -”

  “I'm not ready for what?” Emma said, fury set in her resolved face. She walked towards her empty seat, her mother looking at her warningly, and her father looking ashamed and apologetic. “I believe that at last time I checked, I did have my own voice,” shooting a perfunctory glare at those who had laughed, she continued, “and I definitely have the power of choice.”

  Her father sighed and started to speak before the Goblin cut him off, his voice registering as the man her father had called Gold. Rumplestiltskin Gold of the Gold bloodline, King of the Goblins. 

  “Princess Emma, my son and I have requested your hand in marriage to unite our kingdoms.” He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes and looked unnatural on his face. Emma stared at him, the taste of unsaid truths pouring off of him. This was not an ally. Something was wrong. “My son is taken with you, and begs of me to modernize. We -”

  “Your son accosted me earlier, Your Majesty.” Gasps went around the table, the nobles shifting uncomfortably. Emma heard a dulled bang from far off, but ignored her parents exchange of looks. “And I am not some trophy to be won or pet to be caged. I am afraid that I will be declining your offer, even with the well deserved belief of modernization raised. I may be an outspoken critic of the way we go about our traditions, laws, and rituals, but I am also an outspoken critic of throwing them and decency out the window.”

  “Well.” The scaled man slumped his shoulders and looked down, greasy strands of his stringy hair covering his face. “That is bad news then. I'm sorry to hear it.”

  Snow moved subtly and slowly in Emma's peripheral as her father tensed. The Goblin King began to laugh, a strange giggling thing that shook his shoulders. Emma took a step back as he looked up, eyes full of impish glee and a true, sharp toothed smile on his face. 

  “I thought we might be able to do things the easy way, Dearie.” He cocked his head with that too large reptilian grin, and chaos rained down on the room. Powder exploded in different shades, guards leapt up while magic shot past from hands, wands, staves and who knew what else. Emma was transfixed until her mother yanked her through a wall panel and into a dark corridor. 

  “Mom, what -”

  “Emma, hush. Listen, we're under attack and I… They're targeting you, alright? It isn't safe for us here. It's not safe for you.” Pushing open a loose tile, they dropped into a small closet as Snow raised a finger to her lips. Moving the tile back into place, she slid another panel open revealing more stairs that they used in haste. Catching their breath, Snow caressed Emma's cheek. “I need you to be braver than you've ever been, and more cunning than ever before. Your life depends on it; everyone's lives depend on it.” 

  They moved through the walls, her mother sometimes stopping to peer through a portrait as Goblins flooded the palace, iron weapons in hand. Other times her mother would open a passage for them to run through into another path, full of winding tunnels, spiraling staircases, and peepholes Emma had never known about, circling deep into the castle's depths. 

  They eventually reached a latched door that dropped into a crawlspace, both dropping down before coming up to stand in a windowless room the size of a larder. A small box rested on a lone shelf, and The Queen held it gingerly. Opening the lid, she pulled out a silver chain with a jagged piece of steel at its end, putting it over Emma's head where it lay coolly against her warm skin. Emma examined it carefully, noting the pointed end looked like either a sword tip or an arrowhead. 

  “Mom, What is this? Where are we going -”

  “There's so much I don't have time to explain, and so much we tried to protect you from, Emma. I regret it now, but we don't have time to get into that either.” Her mother was crying, digging at the tiles on the floor that revealed a deep, dark, stairwell into rock hewn walls. “That's a piece of an ancient blade, the Vorpal blade, used to control the Darkness that tried to destroy everything in all worlds. It wanted, no, wants to cover everything in shadow, in pitch, and your father and I destroyed the blade with our love… and you. You're the purest light this world has ever known. With this shard, the Darkness cannot hurt you. We’ve kept you away from everything to keep it so, and now you are the only one who can fix what we couldn't.”

  “I don't understand, what do I need to fix? What do I have to do?” Emma whispered. Her mother looked at her pleadingly as the wall in front of them began to shake. 

  “The Darkness had taken a vessel, and we… We decided that it deserved a chance, just like the Goblins. Your father and I tried, but it… He… He can't be redeemed, he can't see beyond his revenge. He's too dangerous, too dangerous to ever let out, until now. You have to seek his help, and not fall for his tricks, his offered deals, or his diversions, and then destroy him. You were born to destroy the Darkness and save us.”

  The wall cracked, splintering. Her mother kissed her forehead and guided her down the stairs in front of her, pushing Emma into the murk of what lay below. 

  “I still don't know what -”

  “I'm sorry, Emma. You are so strong, and so powerful. We are so proud of you, and believe in you. You are our daughter, our goodness, and love, and everything we've ever dreamed of you being. Go. Go and be safe.”

  Letting go of Emma and pushing the tiles back in place, Emma called for her mother but stopped when she heard the outer wall splinter as her mother screamed. 

  “Snow… I tried -” Her father's voice, ending in a gurgling wet rasp. 

  “Quiet now, King David. Wouldn't want me to cut out your charming larynx in front of your wife, all because you were trying to play hero.” Gold’s voice, laughter mixing with his son's who was somewhere nearby. 

  “Don't hurt him. Please. You have our willingness to comply with whatever demands you make,” Snow said calmly. “I just ask you to please, let my husband and daughter go.”

  “Your daughter? She's with you, you had her with you -”

  “We lost each other when we came across some guards,” Snow raised her voice, convincingly selling the tale of her missing daughter. “She was supposed to hide. I told her to hide, and I would -”

  “My concern involves finding your daughter, and the missing piece of the Vorpal blade I have in my possession. Find the princess. I want a true unification of the realms to begin as soon as possible, and everyone will suffer until I get my way,” Gold seethed. Emma held her breath as she heard footsteps move away. Quietly, she moved down the dark stairs into the damp underbelly of the caves to see what awaited her below her home. 

[ill-skillsgard]

The Promise - Bill Skarsgård

Title: The Promise

Description: He is a good lawyer, a great liar and he never breaks a promise.

Warning: 18+ for swearing/sex/cheating/cuckold/impregnation/Daddy-kink etc.

A/N: This fic was 100% inspired by Qarni and is in no way original at all. Still smutty though.

"They don't know that you belong to me.”

"Are you sure you want to wear those all night?" I looked down at my black patent pumps and then back at my fiancé. "Yes. I'll be fine."

He simpered at me. "Don't you remember the Christmas party?"

Of course, I remember, I thought. Bill was wearing the best fitting black pants, a blue shirt and a black tie. He got his hair cut too. He looked so fucking good that night.

"I broke a heel. That doesn't mean I should stop wearing heels."

"I don't know how you girls wear those things."

Looking down at them again, I turned my ankle out and took a moment to appreciate the way the shoes made my legs look. I always had a big thing for shoes. I thought maybe it was because I didn't have much growing up and I always loved the way women looked wearing them. Once I started a new job at a big law firm I could afford the kind of shoes I always wanted to wear and I had gone a little overboard the first year. But I justified my obsession by comparing it to my fiancé's collections and habits so it didn't seem quite as bad. Plus, they encouraged it at work so I had another excuse to add a pair or two to my collection each month.

After applying the finishing touches to my makeup, I was ready to go. We were attending an after-hours office party in celebration of how successful the year had been so far with two birthdays mixed in. Bill made the announcement two weeks prior that he was going to allow us to have a celebration to accommodate all the happy and well-earned milestones that seemed to be in no short supply. It would also double as an engagement affair for us.

We were a little late to the party but when we showed up, there were many people excited to see us. I always thought it was so surreal hanging out with my coworkers in a non-professional setting, where everyone had drinks in their hands and worse stories to tell than the regular drivel that was spilled during our weekly nine to fives.

What was really, really surreal though was seeing Bill and my fiancé talking.

He went home to change his outfit from earlier. I wonder what cologne he put on. Knowing Bill, he probably showered and shaved too.

It wasn't uncomfortable approaching Bill when my soon-to-be-husband was already shaking his hand and exchanging more-than-pleasantries.

Fuck, he's so good at keeping his cool. I suppose that's why he's one of the best.

"And there is your beautiful bride-to-be!" Bill announced my arrival after I had found myself a drink and joined them. "We were just singing your praises."

He smiled at me, "that's my girl! Or should I say, my wife."

"Ah, ah! Not yet. Fiancé."

"Yes but, come on. How long have you two been together now? Four... Five years?" Bill inquired.

"Four," he replied.

"Three and a half," I corrected them.

Bill looked me over again but only with his eyes and it was very quick. Even but a short glance, I could see heat building behind his light green eyes. I knew the look because I had seen it many times before. Bill was a good lawyer and a great liar but I could tell the difference between his glints and glowers.

The night carried on and Bill was eventually pulled away by one of the many other people that sought an audience with him. It was fine though, I had other people to talk to; wishes to give and congratulations to receive. After a couple of drinks I had mostly caught up with everyone else and we all began to loosen up. There was music playing, food, drinks, all my co-workers and their significant others were talking or laughing together. It was easy to get lost in the din until somebody turned down the music and clanged a fork against a half-full wine glass.

"Good evening everybody," Bill's voice broke over the murmurs and dulled beat of the music. "Thank you all for coming. I just wanted to say a few things to the collective before anyone gets too out of hand. I'm looking at you, Trisha."

A dainty red-head of a secretary turned pink after being called out by Bill. The year prior, Trisha had gotten too drunk at the office Halloween party and vomited on the carpet in front of everybody. Not that any of us would judge since the vast majority of the people we worked with were also well known for getting too liquored up from time to time. It was all in good fun the way we made jabs at each other. We were a tight-knit team and everyone knew everyone's personal business. 

So far, our closeness had caused no rifts in the firm. Well... Any rifts that anyone knew about at the least. There was one scandal that had been carrying on for some time. Something that was so obvious to me but unthinkable to anyone else. Not even my fiancé suspected anything. I could tell because he treated Bill like his equal and he only did that when he perceived another man to be a non-threat to our relationship.

My fiancé was great, and he kept himself fit but he was definitely territorial; A trait that caused more problems than it solved. If he thought another man found me attractive, he would puff up like a blowfish and act like I needed protection. It got to the point where we stopped going to clubs and bars because he would get into fights with guys that tried to talk to me. If I was honest with myself, I would say that I liked the attention though I had never admitted it out loud. I liked the way he treated me usually, but we weren't without our issues.

Alas, he was there to support me and made sure all eyes were on me when Bill spoke of the happy couple during his speech. 

I had the attention of being newly engaged and earning a spot for myself as a partner which meant I got to have a nice big office all to myself. Not that it came as a surprise to anyone else in the firm. I had been doing great all year in the eyes of professionalism.

"With everything being said, I'd like to wish you all a wonderful evening! Here's to many more causes to celebrate." Bill rose his glass and everyone followed suit.

After Bill's short speech he mingled for a few minutes before inching his way towards me and fiancé again. 

"Would you mind if I stole your wife for a minute or two?" Bill asked once he had managed to break away from other conversations. "I'd very much like to show you your new office and give you the keys."

"Of course, take all the time you need. But I'll need her back by midnight!"

I smiled at him and then at Bill. With a slight bow, exhibiting his ability to appear solemn, Bill honoured the agreement and before I knew it I was following Bill away from our conference rooms and down the hall. As soon as we were out of anyone's sight he reached his hand out and grabbed my ass, giving it a firm shake as we walked side by side down the hall towards the corner office.

Bill had been promising me that office for a long time and I knew that he would give it to me if I proved myself. But he wouldn't just hand it over so easily. No, there would be a great deal of bargaining between the both of us even if I displayed enough intelligence and prowess in my position to earn us some big-name clients.

So many of our agreements had gone unspoken except for one. Our affair. The ongoing scandal of my life.

When he opened the door and allowed me in first, I turned to him immediately, waited for him to shut and lock the door and then opened my arms so he could put his hands on me wherever he liked. He backed me up against the desk, all lips and limbs tripping until he had me pinned firmly with his hips.

"Oh... I've been waiting to touch you since the moment you walked in." He whispered before kissing me hard with his hand threaded through my hair so he could tip my face up to his.

"Bill... Jesus. This is so risky."

"No, no kitten. Everything is fine. The door is locked, the guests have free alcohol and if anybody comes knocking... I'm just showing my very best employee-turned-partner her new office. Very professional. Nobody will suspect a thing."

I blushed as he ran his hand up my neck and jaw. "You're insatiable."

"Don't pretend like you weren't thinking about me. Oh... You might have them all fooled by the way you hang off your new husband-to-be but they don't know... They don't know that you belong to me... Isn't that right?"

His hand gripped my chin a little tighter as he whispered close to my ear, sending chills through my body with his voice and the way his pelvis had me forced up against the big oak desk.

"And that pussy... Mm-hm, that pretty, pink little pussy is mine too."

When he got close to me and hissed all of his nasty little words in my ear, I couldn't help but feel myself melting, breasts tingling, lashes fluttering underneath his work. All of those salacious promises that spilled from his pouting lips made it impossible for me to resist him. I had tried many times to say no to him but he made it so difficult with the way he dressed and how his fingers always got to toying with some part of my outfit when nobody was looking. Whether he was admiring my ponytail after a meeting or commenting on how my skirt was just short enough to cover what needed to be covered, he always had something to say to me in private that made me swoon.

"You wore my favourite heels too. Goddamn it. You look so fucking good in those shoes... The stockings too... Fuck. You knew what you were doing, weren't you? Putting those shoes on because you knew it would drive me crazy... You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"I just want to look good for you, sir."

"Oh, fuck." He groaned. "I knew it. I knew it because you're my dirty little girl, aren't you? You're mine... He might be marrying you but your cunt will always belong to me."

"Yes... Yes, sir."

"Call me Daddy. Do it. Say, oh yes Daddy, my pussy belongs to you."

I obeyed him and earned myself another nice, long kiss. His hands ran down my hips and gripped my thighs so he could pull me up on top of the desk and force himself between my legs. He sighed as he ran his hand over the sheer material of my stockings.

"Oh fuck. Open your legs... Show me your panties."

When I spread my legs apart Bill took a small step back to see. I watched his eyes flutter and his teeth dig into his bottom lip when he saw what I was wearing underneath.

"Thigh-highs? How dare you." Bill seethed.

He reached his hand out and ran two fingers up the front of my underwear, eliciting a soft moan from my throat. "Daddy." I breathed.

"Mm, yes. That's right. I'm your Daddy. And who does that wet cunt belong too?"

"You, Daddy."

"Yes. Even though you're marrying him, that pussy is still mine, and it will always be mine. You belong to me."

He leaned over so he was at eye-level with me, making sure I didn't look off or close my eyes while he began to give me gentle little strokes over the material of my panties with the tip of his thumb. He cooed when I whined and smiled when my lips fell open.

"Does that feel good? When I just tease you a little?"

"Yes, sir."

"You want more, don't you kitten?"

I nodded my head and spread my thighs wider for him but he stood back up with a smirk on his face.

"I want to hear you beg. Say, please sir. Please touch my pussy. Please play with my clit and finger my wet cunt. Do it. Beg for me. Otherwise... I might just feel inclined to leave you like this and go back to the party. You wouldn't want to go back out there all wet and bothered, would you?"

"No, sir. Please... Please touch me. Please, I want to feel your fingers inside of me."

Bill groaned as he listened to the words he wanted to hear. He was a man that truly enjoyed indulging his senses. From visual to auditory to the way certain materials felt against his skin, I knew he was an intense creature of passion. Stimulation was something he always craved and when he had found out about my little crush on him a couple of years ago, he had used that information to get me to fulfill all of his little office fantasies. Although, the fantasy was becoming more and more muddled and marred by our own selfish lusts. It had become less of an obscene chimera that we would occasionally sneak off to and more of a blinding everyday reality.

"I think you can do a little better than that." He told me.

"Please, Daddy. Please, I need you to make me come. I need you inside of me. I'm so wet for you."

"Oh... You're such a good girl... and I'm not mad that you're marrying him. In fact, it makes me even more excited to take you whenever I want. Just knowing that he has no idea how much of a filthy little whore you are for me makes me so fucking hard."

Bill got down on his knees in front of me and began kissing my stocking-clad thighs. A small sweet kiss on one and then he would switch to the other side, gradually working his way until he was inches away from my aching wetness. It was another thing he loved to do; teasing me until I couldn't take it anymore. Until I felt his hot breath right there against me.

I brushed my fingers through his soft brown hair, pushing it away from his forehead as he stared up at me with those big, enthrallingly green eyes.

"You want my mouth?" He asked.

I nodded.

"Promise to keep quiet?"

I nodded my head again, but it wasn't a good enough answer for him.

"Say you promise."

"I promise."

With that, he hooked his long index finger underneath the fabric of my panties and pull them to the side. He immediately had this look in his eyes like he was seeing me for the first time, sitting on the desk with my legs spread. Like he was in love.

There was something irresistible about Bill. I had to have him. He had to have me. I wasn't sure what to do about it besides give in to my desire. I knew it was wrong, but I didn't care. Not when it came to him.

"What to do? What to do?" He sang. "Should I... Finger you? Lick you? Should I just... Fuck you? What do you think, honey?"

"Whatever you want."

"Oh yeah? Is that what he does? Does he do whatever he wants to you? Huh? Does he make you this wet? Does he know how to eat your pussy just right? Can he make you come as hard as I do?"

"No." I whispered, squirming against the fingers he used to hold my panties over.

"No," He growled. "Nobody makes you come like I do. Because this..."

He leaned in closer to me, lips so close to my clit I bristled beneath his heat. "This is my pussy."

I let out the most helpless whimper when he stuck his tongue out and licked the slowest, hottest and wettest trail all the way from my opening to my clit. Then he moaned against me and it felt so good I thought I could turn to liquid on the desk.

I watched him, his lips, his tongue. I watched how he used his mouth against me, lapping at my clit and licking up the juices he helped draw from the wells of my weakness for him. He made it look just as good as it felt.

The sounds he made were dripping with carnality. He moaned incessantly as he tasted me and made sure I knew just how much he was enjoying every second of it. It sent sweetly sick vibrations through me every time he groaned or whispered against pussy.

He pulled away for a moment and said, "fuck... I love the way your cunt tastes."

"Mmm, yes Daddy. Yes."

"Oh, my good girl. My sweet, sweet girl."

His lips hung open as he brought his other hand up, turned his wrist and stroked two fingers up over my folds a couple of times before slowly working them inside of me.

"Oh yeah. You like that feeling? You like it when my fingers are inside of you?"

Hooking his fingers up, he rubbed that sensual little spot inside of me and smiled up at me like he was happy to do so. Really the reason he was smiling was that he knew he had complete control of me and when he started working those digits in and out my head fell back and I moaned.

"Quiet, kitten. Remember your promise."

It was a challenge not to make any noise after he started fingering me rigorously. Clapping one palm over my mouth, I watched with choked breaths as he worked those two long fingers in and out for a minute or two before flicking his tongue over my clit again. All of it was enough to leave me gasping and clenching my muscles. My thighs started to shake and Bill let out a soft giggle.

"Are you going to come for Daddy?"

I nodded my head, hand still clamped over my mouth. It was so easy to get to the edge with him. Nobody could make me come as fast or as hard as he could and it only took another minute before I was close enough to climax that he could feel me tightening around his fingers, angling my hips up so I could watch him slather me with his wet tongue.

"Yes, yes, yes... Come for me, baby. I need you to. I want you to come. Right in my mouth."

His free hand grasped my thigh, wrenching my legs further apart so I had a full view of what he was doing to me. It only took one more cast of his eyes up at me to bring me to my peak. I rode the deep tingling sensation until it was too much and my body began convulsing in orgasm.

"Yes! Oh, fuck. That's it, baby. Give me all that cum, yes. Mm, so good."

I shuddered and relaxed my body after he took his fingers out of me and began kissing my thighs again. His lips were red and when he stood up, I could see he was hard.

"Are you ready to get heading back? Surely people are wondering where we went off to?"

I shook my head. There was no way I could hop off the desk and go back to the party without at least giving myself a minute to calm down. When I saw the look in Bill's eyes I could tell he also had other plans. 

"Get up. Turn around then, I'm not done with you."

The clinking of his belt sounded after I scooted off the desk and turned around. He pulled my skirt up again and yanked my panties all the way down, palm on my back forcing me to bend over for him.

"Daddy's going to give you something," Bill whispered. "Something that will remind you every single day that you're mine."

I felt the head of his cock pressing against my opening and ever so slowly he pushed himself inside of me, teasing every inch until he was engulfed in my warm wetness. He groaned as he did so, relishing the feeling of how tight I had become from my recent orgasm. After giving me a light slap on the ass he started thrusting into me forcefully and I had to plant my palms on the desk to keep my balance in my black high heels.

"You like getting fucked hard, don't you? You love it when Daddy gives you his nice hard cock, isn't that right baby girl?"

"Yes, Daddy," I drawled.

"Yeah... You're going to take my cum too. All of it. That's right..."

My chest tightened, as did his grip on my hips. When I looked back at him his expression had changed. Normally he looked so euphoric when we fucked but this time it was different. His eyebrows were knit together like he was angry and his teeth clenched as he forced himself into me with a renewed ruthlessness.

"You heard me. You're going to take my cum... Yes. Yes, you are." Bill pulled my hair back, bringing his lips to my ear so he could whisper, "you're going to have my baby."

"Bill..."

"Yes. You will come to work every day, go to meetings and meet new clients and soon enough you'll start showing and everybody will think it's his but... you and I know that's not true. It will be my child inside of you."

I whimpered as his thrusts grew faster and harsher. Try as I might have to turn around, he only wrapped me up in his arms so I couldn't struggle against him. He had the height and power over me and when he sighed against my neck I felt every hair on my body rise.

"You will always be mine." He told me. "Always. It doesn't matter who's ring is on your finger. You're my good girl."

The sounds of his hips slapping against my ass filled the office and mostly drowned out my whining. I gasped as he bucked into me hard. It wasn't too late to stop him but he squeezed me when I tried to push off the desk.

"You're going to go back to the party... Back into your fiancé's arms with my cum still inside of you. Nobody will know except for us."

"Bill, please."

"Who do you belong to?"

When I didn't answer he slapped my ass hard and asked me again. "Who does that filthy, whore cunt belong to? Hm? It's mine and I'm going to fill it up with my cum."

When his thrusts grew faster, I knew he was almost there and the faster he came the quicker we could go back to avoid suspicion. I leaned my head back on his shoulder and he kissed my neck lovingly. 

"Oh, fuck... I'm gonna fucking blow. You ready to take it all, baby?"

My emotions started to get the better of me and I closed my eyes to stave off tears and whined. "Daddy..."

When he tensed up and pulled my hips back onto him I felt the throbbing sensation of him unloading every drop of cum he had inside of me. The way he shuddered and wrapped his fingers around my neck was as obscene as it was playful. He released with a storm of fucks and low growls that resounded through my entire body, reminding me I was just as filthy as he told me I was. With long, languid thrusts, he fulfilled his promise and poured himself inside of me with no remorse.

After he pulled out, he started to giggle again and bent down to pull my panties back up from around my ankles. He kissed my cheek and forced me to turn around so he could press me against the desk once more.

"Tell me one more time... Who do you belong to?"

"You, Daddy."

"That's right. You will always belong to me, that is a promise." 

[hellowallflowerfriend]

For it is in giving that we receive. -- Saint Francis of Assisi

During our last yoga teacher training, we talked a little bit about Christmas traditions. It made me think about my family and the things we have done to honor this special holiday which is so important to so many. 

At the end of our weekend training, we shared our different holiday traditions with each other. We sat criss-cross in a circle and told each other the things which make this day so special to us.

I remember a few memories with so much fondness. Kelsey, my twin sister, usually woke up before my younger sister, (Keaton,) and myself. She would climb into my mom’s bed and wait until my mom said it was time to wake up. One morning, Kelsey heard something -- who knows what -- maybe a plane flying overhead. My mom told her that it was the sound Rudolph’s nose makes, and that was more than enough to help Kelsey quiet down. As an adult, I think this is so sweet and precious, that my mother helped my twin sister ignite her imagination: “That is the sound Rudolph’s nose makes!” I imagine my mom whispering it, covers warm and safe, Kelsey lying next to her, just a little girl and full of wonder and hope.

The day after Thanksgiving, we always put the tree up. Some of my favorite ornaments included my mom’s antique ornaments, so fragile and light. I have always been afraid to touch her antique ornaments. They were so breakable, so beautiful, and so full of history. Some of the ornaments were even passed down from my great-grandmother!

We also put up a few ornaments my mom made as a little girl -- including a, “snow globe,” which was made inside one of those plastic containers which toys came inside of out of those quarter machines. There is a little tiny snowman and tiny, “snowflakes,” in it. I have spent several hours perhaps looking at this ornament, imagining my mom as a little girl, with her small hands and hopeful smile, creating a miniscule Christmas scene.

There is a sparkly, beautiful angel that I gave my little sister, made out of a clothespin, which I remember spending money on (from my Mom, of course,) at a school function. I love this ornament because of how happy it made Keaton when I gave it to her.

My mom also used to put skiing tickets on our tree. These are from when my mom and my dad were married. I remember watching her face, the sadness and loss that she seemed to try to hide as she placed these tickets on the tree. They are some of my favorite ornaments because they tell a story of love and recovery.

My great grandma was also quite a master at crocheting. She made some ornaments, the, “God’s eye,” ornament, as well as a miniature basket full of yarn which she crocheted. I love the family history that hangs on evergreen branches each year.

My mom created a tradition with us on Christmas Eve which is in some ways non-traditional. We went to Mass at the Catholic Church, and then we came home to eat appetizers for dinner. We ate summer sausage, cheddar cheese, crackers, midget pickles, and mozzarella sticks. We baked cookies for Santa and set out carrots for the reindeer. We even sprinkled the lawn with reindeer food. Afterward, we were allowed to unwrap one present, and we always pretended to not know what was inside. But, every year, my mom neatly wrapped matching pajamas for us Wylie sisters. We almost always took a picture in our pajamas together in front of the tree.

The next morning, we would wake up -- Kelsey first, then Keaton, then me. (I have always been a sleepy head!) We weren’t allowed to go downstairs until my mom played Christmas music. Then, we would run downstairs, and yell excitedly about what Santa brought.

The carrot always had a big bite out of it. The cookies were always left in crumbles. The milk glass was empty. My mom even admitted to going outside to pick up the reindeer, “food,” we put out, (straw and sparkles,) so that we would continue to believe in Santa.

Christmas morning, the first thing I would do is kneel by the tree and pray. I thanked God for giving us Jesus as I sat by the sparkly tree. (How many times had we played, “I Spy,” looking at that tree before?) I bowed my head and thanked God that He gave my family someone who loves us so much.

My mom and dad would sit by the fireplace and watch us unwrap our generous gifts. My dad had a way of laughing, almost sounding like Santa himself, that sounded something like, “Oh-Ho-Ho!” His eyes would sparkle as he watched our happiness unfold on Christmas morning.

As I grew older, I started to question things. I had always been such a believer, but I started to wonder how Santa could be anyone but my mom. Heck, even the labeling on the presents looked like they were in her handwriting, just shakier. My wish-lists to Santa began to mostly be letters of gratitude. In my letters to Santa, I told Kris Kringle how grateful I was for everything he did for us and how much I loved him, suspecting all along that it was my mother.

After my parents’ separation, it was all girls for the first time: it was me, my twin sister Kelsey, and my younger sister Keaton. We also had Molly (our dog,) there with us. My mom had already started a tradition that we could not go downstairs until we heard Christmas music resounding downstairs. Upon hearing those beautiful notes, we would run down the stairs and first look in our stockings. I usually trailed behind, looking deeply at my mother and knowing that she was probably Santa, knowing from our shared nights together the tears which it took to leave my father.

My mom let us eat a cookie and some Christmas candy for breakfast, and she usually prepared Stratta (one of the last vestiges of our German heritage, an egg casserole with cheese, sausage, and onions.) We opened our presents one-by-one, and usually had a, “fashion show,” after all the gifts were unwrapped.

Fast forward to this year:

It will be the second year that my mom has lived in her small, one-story home. My sisters and I have never lived in this home, but it still feels like Christmas. I think this is because, in our minds, wherever my mom is feels like home. Kelsey, Keaton, and I will spend the night with her on Christmas Eve, and we will eat appetizers for dinner. Eventually, my mom will invite us to open one present. We will pretend to not know what it is, but we will know that it is our matching pajamas. We will put them on, full of smiles, even as adults -- our matching pajamas, and we will line up for a picture in front of the tree.

I will search the Christmas trees for my heritage hanging on a hook. I will stare deeply at the flickering lights. I will not pray, but I will meditate on the beauty which surrounds me in my life. I will think of all the sacrifices, the love, and the beauty which my Mom has made to make my life so meaningful.

We will have a big sleepover, all girls. My mom will wake before us, and she will play Christmas music loudly enough to wake us. We will get up and walk into the living room to see the presents she snuck out overnight -- as if Santa was still real. We will take turns opening presents, one-by-one, savoring the beauty that comes with sharing love in the form of gift-giving.

We will eat cookies, candy, and stratta for breakfast. 

I believe still more than ever in the Love which surrounds this holiday. I still kneel by the tree and reflect on everything which I am grateful for. I hope that each and every one of you find Love more than anything else during this holiday season. I hope that the Good in me helps grow the Good in you. If any of you are having trouble finding meaning, love, or purpose during this time, please feel free to reach out to me -- your Wallflower Friend.

I also want to give a special dedication here to my mother, Joie Rathbun Wylie. Thank you, Mom, for making sure that the Magic always lives on with our little family of girls. I love you and am so grateful to have learned the Reason for the Season through your example.

Merry Christmas everyone, and Happy Holidays! Namaste, dear friends.

[let-it-raines]

Love your prompts! If it's still open - CS and baby's first xmas?

I’ve gotten quite a few of these, so if you’ve sent me one, I hope this is okay as the answer, even if it’s not your original ask. Canon is not my cup of tea, but I try and take a few liberties. Also, holy holiday fics, you guys :D

There’s a large tree in their living room, green branches smelling of pine and lit up by multi-colored lights with colorful baubles hanging on the branches. At the top rests a star and at the bottom rests boxes wrapped in colorful paper like the baubles all tied up with ribbons. Above the fireplace there are four red and white stockings, each one respectively inscribed with the names Killian, Emma, Henry, and Hope, and on the front door there’s a wreath, fake red cranberries sticking out of the vibrant greenery. At night, and only at night, there are white lights lit up that are strung across the rooftop, something that caused him a hell of a lot of annoyances and pains until he said screw it and asked Emma to flick her fingers and string the lights so that he wasn’t climbing atop their pointed roof while white snow covered the black shingles.

His entire home looks like festivity vomited on it – a phrase Emma has assured him does not match up with the Christmas holiday – and while a part of him can’t help but think that they’re going to have to take this all down, he mostly thinks that it’s as magical as his family is.

And he means that literally.

His family is actual magic, the kind written about in storybooks and spell books and projected across the television screen in fantasy, but to him, it’s all real.

He didn’t celebrate Christmas in the Enchanted Forest – he definitely didn’t celebrate in Neverland – but there were similar holidays. The firelight festival was held in the winters in certain kingdoms. Candles would be lit to imitate Christmas lights, though no one knew that at the time, and they’d line the streets while people stood outside and sang songs and traded goods and food while drinking ale. It was bloody wonderful the few times he got to celebrate, but he spent most of his winters out at sea, whether he wanted to or not.

But then he came to Storybrooke and met a woman – though he didn’t exactly meet Emma here – and everything changed.

There was no time for holidays his first few years here, not that he would have been invited anyways, but in the last few years, things have calmed and everyone has been allowed to celebrate whichever holiday they please.

What Emma pleases is Christmas.

And he’d do anything to make Emma happy, including stringing lights on the roof of their house and ordering a Santa Suit online so he could play Santa for all of the children in town when no one else would do it. He looks absolutely nothing like whoever Santa Claus is – though he thinks that may be one character who isn’t real – and he’s not sure any of the kids believed it, especially when Alexandra asked why he sounded like Killian.

Last year, Emma had been six months pregnant during December, and she was ready to get a move on things. He can’t begin to count the amount of times he caught her muttering about speeding along the pregnancy, wanting to fit into her jeans again, not having to pee in the middle of the night, and finally, getting to meet their daughter. It was an adventure like all of their other ones, and his quests to the market in the middle of the night to buy her chocolate ice cream only to have to return with pickles instead were a quest if he ever went on one.

But it was always worth it. He’d come home with the goods she wanted, and sometimes she’d eat them, other times she wouldn’t, but it always ending up with them in bed watching late-night television. He thought he knew Emma before, thought there was very little left of her book to be read – though he’d never tire or rereading it and discovering new passages he might have missed the first time – but then during those nights, he’d learn more about his wife than he ever thought possible.

She took to resting against his side, her body pressed against his from shoulder to toes, while his arm wrapped around her waist and either played with the loose strings of her hair or found itself resting on her ever-growing belly. Hope was quite the kicker, always moving around, and they both found comfort in feeling her move. During those late nights, especially around Christmas time, Emma would share a little more insight into how she felt growing up alone, all of the hopes and dreams she had about what Christmas could one day be like. He understood it all, childhood memories of wanting and wishing for more and for different in the back of his mind.

They weren’t in the past anymore. They were in the here in now with a bright future ahead of them, a happy beginning really.

So the things they talked about weren’t always melancholy. Emma would teach him more about the music she likes, varying between Motown and Rock of the past and the Pop music of today. He quite liked the classical, the ones without words, but Emma only liked those for background noise. So they’d take to talking about music or movies or television shows, which always lead to real life stories that gave him peeks into his wife’s mind.

Then, without fail, he’d be weaving her an intricate tale only for him to look down and hear soft snores against his chest.

He’d smile before leaning down and kissing her forehead and her stomach, wishing his loves a good night’s rest while he watched over them both.

But this year Emma is not pregnant, and they have a lively little bundle of energy bouncing around the house. Well, actually, she’s crawling and can prop herself up to stand with a few steps that get a little longer every day. From all the books he’s read, and it was a lot, she’s progressing just fine, if not the slightest bit advanced…or maybe that’s just his thinking. He’s biased, but his daughter is bloody brilliant and has been since the day she was born.

Gods, that was a beautiful moment.

Bloody and loud and uncomfortable, but beautiful.

He hears Emma’s footsteps pad down the staircase. From the way she’s walking, she’s avoiding the creaks, but he knows that she’s still going to hit the one on the left five steps from the bottom. Right on cue, the stair moans and Emma groans before continuing on and coming to stand in front of him. She’s got on naught a thing but one of his old pirate shirts, something she’s taken to sleeping in because the necks allow easy access for breast feeding, and her long thin legs are on full display to his gaze, expanses of creamy skin right before him.

“Killian,” she whispers despite no one else being around, “what are you still doing downstairs?”

He hums before splaying his knees apart and tugging on her (his) shirt before she stumbles forward into the open space, her hands falling against his shoulders and the shirt dipping open in front of him. “Well, I’m playing Santa, and I hear there’s a song out there about mommy kissing Santa Claus.”

Her face scrunches up, and even though he knew it was a joke in bad form, he still had to say it.

“That’s not your best flirting, Mr. Jones.”

“Aye, I know. But I was still kind of hoping you’d kiss me.”

Her legs bend before she settles down onto his lap and her arms wrap around his neck. She’s warm, always so warm except for her damn feet, and he closes his eyes the moment her lips slant over his and his arms begin rubbing up and down her back, tugging her as close as he can get her.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” he whispers when they pull back from each other.

She reaches to the side and pulls his left arm up, placing a kiss against his stump and holding it against her chest while her other hand caresses his stubble. “Merry Christmas, babe. Do you want to come to bed now? The Grinch isn’t going to come and steal our Christmas tree. I think you might be safe.”

He chuckles before leaning into her palm. “I don’t know. Weird things happen here, and I think Hope may lose it if there’s no tree or presents in the morning.”

“She’s not even ten months old. She doesn’t understand the concept of Christmas.”

“But she understands the concept of shiny things and new toys. And we understand the concept of Christmas. Wasn’t it you who said this is more for us than for her?”

“Hmm, I don’t recall.”

“Liar.”

Emma gasps, even if it’s exaggerated, and he rolls his eyes. “How dare you call the mother of your children a thief. And at Christmas time no less. You scoundrel.”

“Dashing rapscallion.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She tugs at his t-shirt collar before leaning down and kissing him again, her lips barely brushing over his. “Let’s go to bed, dashing rapscallion. The real Santa won’t come if we’re down here, and I may have a nice little red surprise waiting for you upstairs.”

He quirks his eyebrow while his body begins to tingle and Emma rises from her perch on his lap.

“Really now?”

“You’ll have to come if you want to find out.”

She begins to walk away and he leans forward to playfully smack her ass, which only makes her sway her hips in a more obvious fashion. Yeah, he loves her a hell of a lot.

“That’s the plan.”

He wakes the next morning to Emma splayed across the entire bed, her head resting over his stomach, and to the sounds od Hope’s babbling through the static of the baby monitor. In the video screen, she’s just sitting up in her crib, but she likely needs to be fed and changed, so he slides out of bed, pulls his pajama pants back up, and wanders down the hall to her nursery. He’s got no clue what time it is, but Henry hasn’t woken to go downstairs to open presents yet, and if it’s anything like last year, he won’t be up anytime soon.

“Hi, little love,” he greets the moment he walks into the room, and Hope’s blue eyes find him almost immediately before she screeches. She’s adorable but holy hell can she make some noises. “Okay, okay,” he soothes, stepping forward and scooping her up so that she’s squirming in his arms, “daddy is just going to change your diaper and get you dressed in the pajamas we bought for mommy, okay? Because it’s Christmas, bug. Yeah, Merry Christmas, Hope.”

Hope doesn’t talk back because, well, of course she doesn’t, but he likes talking to his daughter anyways. One day she’ll be able to speak and she’ll very well talk to him like Henry sometimes talks to him, angry and dismissive and pissed that he said no to staying out until three in the morning. But right now, wishing he’d thought to put his brace on to help hold her down, she babbles as he changes her, and he’s content to listen to her little noises. He quite loves her little sounds, and as much as he loves watching her grow and watching the milestones, he kind of wants it to all just…stop.

He doesn’t want her to grow up. He wants to be able to hold her in his arms forever and listen to her squeals and dress her in pajamas with a tail on her bottom likes she’s a human reindeer.

Ten years ago, if he’d had a thought like that, he would have assumed he was delusional and dying, but it’s not ten years ago. It’s here and now, and while he’ll gladly challenge anyone who dare hurts his family, he’ll also gladly be gushy and sentimental for his family. He wasn’t sentimental, or at least he claimed not to be, for so long, and now his treasure chest isn’t simply a box of things. It’s a home of memories.

Once Hope is changed and dressed, her blonde curls pinned back with a bow, he walks her down to he and Emma’s bedroom, quietly sneaking in and getting back under the covers while Emma slumbers away…until Hope squeals again and gets her chubby hands on Emma’s face.

“Hi, baby,” Emma sighs, her eyes almost instantly transforming from terrified to affectionate. She moves the comforter, the blankets rustling, making sure that it’s still covering her bare chest until her hands are free and she’s sitting up against the headboard. “Did daddy come take care of you while I was sleeping? Yeah? That’s because I put him in a good mood last night.”

“Swan,” he chastises, though no part of him means it.

“She’s a baby, Killian. She doesn’t know what sex is. It’s not like having Henry in the room. We can’t traumatize her like that yet.”

“I know.” He leans over and kisses his wife’s head before pressing a kiss against Hope. “When should we wake Henry up? I know he’s sixteen, but the lad sleeps like a rock.”

Emma hums beside him, still rocking Hope on her lap while their daughter continues to touch all of Emma’s face. “Let me enjoy some cuddles with this little reindeer, nice choice by the way, before we go wake him up. We’ve got to get our stuff done before we head over to mom and dad’s.”

They end up waking Henry around seven, and for someone who has not been a fan of waking up before noon on his break from school, he shoots out of his bed pretty quickly, ambling down the hallway with a determination in his eyes that must be some kind of Christmas thing. He practically bounds down the stairs until Emma stops him, handing over Hope and claiming that she needs pictures of the two of them coming downstairs to see what Santa brought. Henry grumbles a bit before Hope slobbers over his face, and then he smiles down at his sister and talks to her, telling her all about Santa and Christmas while trying to get her to pose for the camera. It’s a disaster, but he’s sure that he and Emma will treasure the pictures and memories regardless.

Henry rips through his presents almost instantly, his face lighting up with excitement over the new laptop they bought him for his writing. Of course, he knows that the lad will likely use it to watch Netflix, but maybe some actual writing and work will be done.

“Thank you, guys,” Henry gushes, getting up and hugging Emma’s neck before he moves to come hug his.

“You’re welcome, my boy,” Killian whispers into Henry’s ear while patting his back. “I think there are some other things under the tree for you, too.”

“I know, but I already know what all of those are.”

“Kid,” Emma chuckles, wrangling Hope in her lap, “what the hell? Did you sneak peeks?”

“No, but you ordered them on Amazon, and it’s hooked up to my email.”

Emma’s mouth gapes open while Henry smirks, and Killian throws his hands up in the air. “See, darling, modern technology is bloody wonderful, but if we’d gone to the store, none of this would have ever happened.”

She huffs in response before looking down at Hope. “Your daddy and your brother are ruining Christmas, and you’re just happy to be playing with the wrapping paper. They should be more like you.”

“She’s a baby, mom.”

“Yeah, well, you’re my baby, too.”

“Mom,” Henry whines, but he smiles anyhow.

The rest of their morning is a blur of red and green wrapping paper being tossed around and thrown away, toys and books and clothes scattered all across the living room. It looks like a tornado has blown through, but for one day, he won’t bother to clean up right away. He’s just going to enjoy this time with his family.

They get Hope several sets of new clothes, none of which she cares about, and several new toys, all of which she cares about for ten minutes before moving on. Meanwhile Henry is sitting in the recliner messing with his computer, mumbling under his breath as it chimes in his lap. Emma opens her gifts, a myriad of clothes and books as well as some Granny’s gift cards. They’re not a thing, but he convinced the Widow Lucas to make them a thing for Emma. But then she opens a small box filled with a diamond necklace, and her eyes light up.

“Killian, we weren’t supposed to do any nice gifts like this.”

“Aye,” he scratches the back of his head and smiles down at her, “I know. I just saw it and thought you’d like it. And that maybe one day you’d go back to wearing necklaces again.’

“Will you,” she begins, scooting over on the couch so that her thighs press against his, “will you put it on? Hope will probably yank it off, but at least for this moment.”

She hands him the silver chain before sweeping her hair over her neck, the thick blonde strands all falling to one side. It takes some maneuvering, but it’s nothing he’s not capable of, and he gets the chain to clasp behind her neck, pressing a soft kiss just below where it rests.

“Beautiful,” he sighs, and Emma smiles. They both know he’s not talking about the necklace.

Though it is a damn beautiful necklace. He has become quite adept at gift giving if he says so himself.

He eventually gets around to opening his own gifts, some sea charts from Henry. He says they’re vintage, which is Henry’s way of saying they’re old, and Killian sometimes wonders if that’s how Henry describes him to his friends…as vintage. Emma’s bought him some new clothes, some of them too bloody bright for his liking, as well as a telescope and new vacuum. Henry practically falls out of his chair laughing at him being excited over a new vacuum, and that’s when he promptly tells Henry that the lad can use it to clean all of this up tonight.

And then maybe he’ll use Henry’s new laptop to “Netflix and chill” with Emma.

Both Emma and Henry gasp, but he chuckles along with Hope. She has no idea what’s going on, but her little baby laugh makes the entire room melt and forget that he just scandalized both mother and son.

Possibly.

Henry may remember that forever.

After all is said and done, it’s a wonderful Christmas morning with just the four of them in their home before they’re all on their way to different houses and celebrations with the complex, wonderful family to which they belong.

“So,” Emma asks, coming to stand next to him and wrapping an arm around his waist while Hope is snuggly perched on her opposite hip, “was operation baby’s first Christmas a success?”

He leans down to kiss her hairline, lingering a tad bit too long and letting the scent of her shampoo and flowery perfume invade his senses. “It was perfect.”

[slipping-through-my-fingertips]

“I Love You” Will Still Sound the Same

AO3

Summary:

Rachel Berry hosts New Directions reunions every year in McKinley's auditorium, which include a singing competition.

Years after McKinley was turned into an all art school with many competing glee clubs, the former New Directions still got together. Rachel Berry often planned these get-togethers. They were able to indulge themselves in the better memories of high school. Although Kurt Hummel considered his experience to be more negative than positive, he was standing in his father’s house in his childhood bedroom buttoning up his shirt getting ready to relive those four years.

Lima never really changed from year to year. Burt and Carole were happy to have the company of their favorite sons (Blaine often corrects them to “son-in-law” but it was always in vain). There weren’t many holidays celebrated in Ohio anymore, except Christmas and New Years. Some years, the Fourth of July made the list. Still, Kurt and Blaine tried to visit every other month if their schedules allowed it.

“Baby is down for the count,” Blaine announces, entering Kurt’s bedroom.

“Can you believe your parents offered to take the twins to the movies?”

“And your parents wanted to get up every hour with a newborn?”

Kurt smiles as Blaine’s hand brush over his shoulders. McKinley’s auditorium was probably all set up for their annual New Directions reunion party. Students from all the years since Kurt’s graduation came to Rachel’s gathering each June. It was a different mix of people but everyone seemed to stick to their own age groups. At least, they did until the competition started.

Everyone wanted the bragging rights that came with first place. It didn’t matter who was in your group so long as each member was willing to pull their weight. This year Kurt convinced Blaine to limited their number to a duet.

“I can’t believe you don’t want to win this year,” Blaine says.

“We won last year, let someone else take on the challenge.” Kurt slips into his suit jacket, which he leaves unbuttoned. “I just want to sing a silly love song with my bushy hair husband.”

Kurt catches Blaine’s blush in the mirror’s reflection as Blaine straightens his bowtie.

“Let’s go!”

They bid Burt and Carole goodbyes and Kurt can’t help but give them more instructions for baby care. Blaine has to pull him to the car.

Mckinley’s front doors are wide open with balloons tied to the door handles. Once inside, Kurt spots Sam and Puck by the food. As they approach them, Blaine is drawn into their argument about Star Wars, which Kurt immediately tunes out.

“How goes the show, Hummel?” Santana asks, bumping his hip.

“Grows increasingly difficult to leave Blaine with the twins and a newborn every night and twice on the weekends.”

“Britt feels that way too about accepting dancing gigs. I told her to go on tour but she refuses because of, well, you know…” Kurt's eyes fall to Santana’s rounded belly. “Even local gigs, she won’t do.”

“It’ll be harder when the baby’s here. Trust me,” Tina chimes in. “Mike almost didn’t want to come tonight because of our little ones at home.”

“Isn’t Izzy seven now?” Santana asks.

Tina looks pointedly at her. “Yes, which is exactly my point. She’s fine with his mom.”

“Baby talk?’ Blaine asks, having finished making his Star Wars opinions.

“What else?” Kurt kisses his cheek.

No more baby talk is added when Rachel comes over to the group.

“So, what is everyone singing tonight?” Rachel asks. “Or better question, who’s singing with who?”

“None of your business, Berry. I won’t let you steal my song again,” Santana says, with a quick turn back to her bride.

Brittany is sitting with Artie and Jake, Puckerman’s little brother.

“Let’s join a table,” Blaine suggests, adding a roll to his dinner plate.

The couple ends up sitting with Mike, Tina, and Mercedes. Rachel’s menu includes vegan, vegetarian, and meat options, unlike previous years when she had decided to only supply vegan snacks. After the threats of skipping the following year’s reunion, she added more variety.

“Rachel is trying to get a leg up by asking people to spill their song choices,” Blaine warns.

“Shocker,” Mike replies.

“She always does this,” Tina continues. “I’m sure whatever she decided on will be great.”

“Are we bashing Rachel ‘cause I have some thoughts,” Quinn says pulling out a chair. “We may be out of high school but she still manages to get under my skin sometimes.”

Puck takes the seat next to her and Sam chooses the one beside Mercedes. She was mostly joking, Quinn and Rachel had patched up their relationships years ago. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much more time for talking as Rachel had taken to the stage to announce their first group performance of the night.

“Heard a rumor that you chose to duet with hubby here, bold choice,” Kitty says, pulling an extra chair to their table.

“We’re all about bold choices,” Blaine smiles at her.

Several group performances start out the night and one marvelous solo before Rachel is practically beaming on the stage. Kurt knows her ‘showface’ as Jesse St. James would call it means Rachel is actually friends with the next performer or performers.

“Okay!” Rachel says. “Two of my very good friends are up next, Kurt and Blaine Anderson-Hummel.”

Blaine leads Kurt up to the stage. There are already two microphones set up, Blaine walks to the one farthest from the stairs and Kurt hands the sheet music to the live band.

“I love you,” Blaine tells his husband.

“Oh honey, I love you too.” Then the music begins playing, Kurt sings the first half of the verse.

“Could you see yourself

Growing old with me,

Watchin’ my head turn to grey?”

With a smile thrown Blaine’s way, the other boy picks up the second half.

“Could you live with me

In my mistakes,

And the ones I have yet to make?”

The audience seems to like the slower song choice. It’s a simple duet and the meaning matches the pairing. During the chorus, the boys take the microphones off of the stands in order to stand toe to toe. Not facing the audience at all, Kurt and Blaine sing in sync.

“So when our eyes have seen their better days

And our hearing starts to fade

Put your arms ‘round my neck, and your heart on my chest

‘I Love You’ will still sound the same

‘I Love You’ will still sound the same”

There’s plenty of applause when the couple finishes. They join hand and take a bow before moving off the stage back to their seats.

“Not trying to win for a second year?” Santana asks.

Kurt shakes his head. “Always knew I was a winner but I’m not a needy winner.”

With an eye roll, Santana turns her attention back to the stage as Rachel announces the next group. Blaine leans over to whisper to Kurt while Rachel talks more than is necessary, “It will, you know.”

“What will?” Kurt replies, confused.

“Every time I hear it, a shiver runs down my spine and my heart pounds just like it did the first time I told you in the Lima Bean. Sometimes when you tuck the kids into bed and you kiss their foreheads and murmur ‘I love you’ my palms get sweaty and my legs tremble. I think I always knew I wanted to grow old with you. There was a time where I just didn’t want to admit to myself how in love with you I was and how it would never fade.”

“You do know, we’re always married. You got me forever,” Kurt says with a fresh blush on his cheeks. “There was also a time where you claimed to be terrible at romance but that speech was pretty damn romantic.”

“I love you.”

Blaine takes Kurt’s hand and rests their joined hands on the table.

[arizonatotoronto]

legalization of weed in canada means stoned sex.... right?😄

SO, I decided I wanted to do this prompt but with the boys making and eating edibles. NSFW! 

(Everything in this particular headcanon comes from my own experiences and may differ from others’, of course.)

The legalization of weed in Canada is pretty cool, but not exactly life changing for Auston and most of the people he knows.

Like, it means he and Mitch can grow a plant or two if they want, but as far as Auston is concerned, anyone who'd wanted to smoke the stuff has been smoking it already, legal or not.

It's the truth for most of the team, anyway. Auston and Mitch included.

For the most part, Auston will smoke the occasional joint during the season if it's offered to him, and he's not super secretive about using it to relax while he's been nursing various injuries. Weed is fantastic for pain. It's something the NHL tests for, but doesn't exactly punish, and while Auston isn't huge on smoking while training or competing (he needs his lungs functioning at their max), it has its uses.

It's early into the 2018 season when Auston goes down with another fucking bummed shoulder. His friends suggest trying CBD oils, which would definitely help with the pain and are super easy to order online now -- which, yeah. Canada is awesome. There's also the bonus of not having to smoke it to reap the medicinal benefits.

The thing is, Auston's got some good bud laying around at home already, and a tried and true butter recipe that won't stink up the place too bad. It's been a pretty long time since he's had edibles, and just thinking about that amazing full-body high has him popping out to the grocery store to grab cheesecloth and cookie ingredients.

It's definitely not the kind of recipe his Mama had had in mind when she'd given him a Crockpot for Christmas the previous year, but what Ema Matthews doesn't know can't exactly hurt her.

Auston starts making the butter fairly early in the morning, because the longer it simmers, the better the results. Mitch comes home from morning skate to find him in the kitchen, stirring gently at the mixture of butter, weed, and water.

"What are you cooking?" he asks, coming up behind Auston and going up on his tiptoes to hook his chin over Auston's shoulder. He peers down into the Crockpot curiously.

"Hi, baby," Auston says. He presses a soft kiss to the side of Mitch's head, inhales the scent of the shampoo from the arena showers. "It's weed butter," he adds with a laugh, scoops up some of the melted butter and dried green leaves into a ladle for Mitch to see better.

"Oh, shit, seriously?"

"Mm," Auston says. "I haven't made it in forever. You ever had edibles?"

"No, actually," Mitch admits, but he looks interested, and Auston is sort of weirdly excited about maybe getting to share something new with him, if he'd be willing.

"I was thinking I'd make cookies. Like, obviously my mom can never know that we're using her famous recipe to make weed cookies, but."

"Obviously," Mitch echoes in solidarity. "This is cool. Can I help?"

"For sure," Auston says, and this time he's pretty sure his excitement is obvious in his voice. "There's not a lot to do until tonight. It's sort've gotta cook all day for max potency, and then we strain out all the weed bits with the cheesecloth and put the leftover liquid in the fridge so it can clarify."

"And then tomorrow it's butter?"

"Totally. And, like, it'll be *green*, too."

"Wicked," Mitch says, sort of reverantly.

"Do you, uh. Do you think you'll wanna try one? Of the cookies?" And like, Auston obviously doesn't care either way. Plenty of people find edibles intimidating, especially if they've heard stories about other people eating them and then having a bad time. But Auston's done this enough to sort of know how it goes, and he thinks Mitch will enjoy himself.

Mitch takes a moment to consider the question, his fingertips drumming against the countertop.

"It'll just be the two of us?" he asks finally.

"Of course, Mitchy. Whatever you want."

"And like. You'll tell me how much I should eat and stuff?"

"Half a cookie to start, babe, and we can go from there."

"I-- yeah. Yeah, we can-- okay."

"I think you'll like it," Auston says, because he does think so. Mitch enjoys being high when they get the chance, loves getting fucked high, too, and Auston can't wait to show him what it's like when it's a body-high instead -- every sensation amplified in the best way.

"Mm. So how was physio?"

--

They decide to eat the cookies when Mitch has two days off between home games.

Auston sets them up on the couch in his living room, stocks up on water bottles and takeout food so that they won't have to go anywhere. Mitch looks particularly comfy in a tshirt and a pair of Auston's sweats, cuffed at each ankle because of their height difference.

It's sweet. Mitch looks just... sweet. Eager and excited, as he always is when he gets to try something new with Auston that Auston has promised him will be fun.

He looks the tiniest bit nervous, maybe, too, which is pretty normal. Edibles can be an absolute trip if you have no idea what you're doing (and yeah, Auston's had a few weird experiences that he wouldn't repeat, let alone want Mitch to experience. He knows he can make this as good as possible for him.)

It's important to be somewhere you feel safe and comfortable, at least the first few times, Auston has told him. So they stick to just the two of them, cuddled together at Auston's -- where Mitch spends most of his time these days, anyway.

(That's definitely a conversation they need to have, and soon. It's been long enough now that Mitch really doesn't need to keep paying for a condo that sits empty more often than it doesn't. They're happy at Auston's, and just... Just the thought of Mitch having this safety net place, this backup plan, makes Auston's stomach squirm uncomfortably, go cold with dread.)

They end up baking only two of the cookies. Auston freezes the rest of the dough in pre-formed cookie lumps for later -- easy to throw into the toaster oven whenever they want one.

The cookies come out of the oven looking gooey and smelling fantastic. Mitch is sort of puzzled that he can't smell the weed, that they look just like normal cookies.

"I've kind of perfected the recipe," Auston tells him, feeling oddly proud. "I used to use coconut oil instead of butter, but this is way better."

"You've done this a lot, huh?" Mitch asks, and it's not judgey or anything -- Auston can tell that he's just curious.

"Honestly, I've made a lot more butter and baked a lot more cookies than I've actually eaten," Auston laughs, and then rolls his eyes as he adds, "Most of the guys from the Program weren't allowed to go anywhere near the oven. I got nominated."

"I can see why!" Mitch says, and Auston lets the smug grin spread across his face.

Auston has them eat a small meal before they get to the cookies. He remembers how not awesome it is to have edibles on an empty stomach, and Mitch eats his sandwich happily.

They have the cookies for dessert, standing barefoot in their sweats in Auston's kitchen.

"Half, right?" Mitch asks, his lower lip caught gently between his teeth.

"To start, yeah," Auston confirms, as he breaks Mitch's cookie and sets one piece aside. "We'll see how you feel in an hour. You might not need the other half."

"Okay," Mitch agrees easily. He takes his half of the cookie and looks it over, before tilting his head up to give Auston a small smile.

"Cheers?" He asks, holding the cookie out between them. Auston laughs, feeling so damn fond, and taps his whole cookie against Mitch's half.

"Cheers," he confirms.

Mitch takes a tentative little bite, his eyebrows drawn together like he's honestly expecting it to be gross, and then, "Oh," he says brightly. "That's not as bad as I thought."

"Nah," Auston says, and then he's tearing into his. "Tastes mostly just like cookies, huh?"

"I taste the weed a little bit," Mitch says, and shrugs. He finishes the rest of his piece, and adds, "But yeah. Mostly it's just cookies. Good cookies."

"I'll tell my mom you said so," Auston grins.

They end up on the couch, water and snacks in easy reach. Auston suggests a simple itinerary of video games, some Netflix binging, and maybe some music (which he knows Mitch will interpret as "making out while listening to music" because that's sort of their thing when they're high).

It takes just about an hour for the weed to start kicking in. They're wrapping up another round of Mario Tennis when Auston feels it, that tightness in his face, the tingles that start in his knees and spread slowly outward, like ripples.

He can literally feel himself relaxing in increments, body melting slowly into the couch. It's fucking awesome.

"Oh," Mitch says, around ten minutes later. "Wow, I think I-- yeah. Here we go."

Auston snorts a laugh at the look on Mitch's face, nervous and excited at the same time, like he's trying to decide how the early signs of his high are making him feel.

"Yeah?" Auston asks, interested. "You feel it, too, huh?"

"Yeah," Mitch echoes. "It's... Really, really weird. But a good weird, I think?"

It's early, yet, but they decide to set aside the video games for now. Auston thinks he'd much rather lay back and just let it ride at this point, maybe with an episode of The Office on in the background. Something they've seen before, mindless without requiring too much focus.

He switches the TV over to their Netflix and takes a few minutes to decide on the perfect episode. Before long, he's queueing up "Company Picnic" with a cursory glance over at Mitch.

Mitch, unsurprisingly, is in enthusiastic agreement.

He's pretty quiet throughout the episode, but Auston isn't too concerned by it. Mitch always goes near-silent and contemplative when he's high, and this time he's got so much more sensation to focus on than he's used to. Auston is absolutely in love with getting to see it all play out on Mitch's expressive face.

"Everything is in, like..." Mitch eventually says. He trails off, and Auston thinks he's not even aware of it, the way he's suddenly stuck inside his own head and unable to finish his thought.

Sometimes, when Mitch is really, really ripped, he thinks he's saying things out loud that he's actually only thinking, and it's fucking hilarious how he'll contribute to a conversation long after the topic has changed and everyone has moved on to something else.

"What's that, baby?" Auston prods with a lazy smile. "Everything is what?"

"It's like. Surround sound. But... In my head?" He says, so seriously, and Auston has to bite back his laugh.

"Like," Mitch continues, "Like the sound filters in through one of my ears and out the other? It's... It's really cool. And really weird."

Auston stops for a moment to ponder that, and, huh.

"Shit," he says, sort of awed by the discovery. "Yeah, shit, you're totally right."

Everything begins to sort of unravel after that.

Auston gets lost for a really long time, just *listening*. He's completely let go of the thread of the episode, focused instead on just the sounds and the way they filter in and out, just as Mitch had said.

Every glance over at Mitch reveals him to have become more and more liquid, his body oozing into the cushions. Eventually, he's slid so far down the couch that he's practically flat, his chin resting on his own chest and his feet flat on the floor, sprawled out in front of him.

It's probably not nearly as funny as Auston finds it. He dissolves into giggles that he can't seem to stop, and every time he thinks he's got it under control, another look at Mitch sets him right off again.

"What?" Mitch asks, with a dopey grin. "What's funny?"

"You-- you're--" Auston manages through his hiccups for breath, "You're gonna fall."

As soon as he's said it, Mitch is sliding right off the couch to land on his ass on the floor.

It takes a really, really long time to get either one of them to stop howling with laughter after that.

They break for snacks a little while later. Auston reheats his own Thai curry, but Mitch (predictably, and like a heathen) eats his cold, right out of the styrofoam container.

When Auston checks in with him after, asks how he's feeling, Mitch relays with interest that his limbs are, like, really heavy, and everything feels like it's thrumming with electricity and warmth.

"S'good, though," he says again, and then his face screws up into a sort of unreadable expression, like maybe he's embarrassed about what he says next. "I think I'm kind of-- um."

"Yeah?" Auston asks. He scoots even closer to Mitch on the couch, squeezes gently at Mitch's hip with the arm he's got wrapped around his waist. "Tell me."

Mitch has got this beautiful, faraway look on his face, his big eyes gone glassy from the high.

"I think I'm just-- like. Really horny?"

"Oh," Auston says in realization, because yeah, totally. Auston's been in a low, simmering state of arousal since the cookie -- is always a little turned on when they get high together.

"It's. Um. Like, I want-- I want you to fuck me but I feel like I'd-- I feel like I'm gonna shoot the second you touch me."

And, jesus. Auston hadn't realized just how worked up Mitch has gotten himself. They haven't even been touching, not like that, but...

He reaches down to snag the pillow that Mitch has been resting his elbows on, tugs it out of Mitch's lap. Sure enough, Mitch is fully hard in his sweats, a damp patch already blooming there, darkening the fabric.

"Baby," Auston says, and his voice has gone low and dark, his sex voice, without him even really meaning for it to. "You're already all wet for me, and I haven't even touched you yet."

"God," Mitch breathes, and his hips twitch up almost imperceptibly. He's all flushed and so sweet, his teeth closing around his lower lip as he looks at Auston.

"I don't know why I'm so-- fuck. I just. Even just thinking about it feels so good, like I could-- like I could come without even-- oh my God, Auston."

Auston grabs blindly for his phone. He shuts off the television and tells Google to play one of his playlists, something slow and intimate that he associates with Mitch and sex.

(Because obviously fooling around is on the menu today.

Mitch absolutely loves being touched and kissed and fucked and played with when he's high or drunk. It's something they'd negotiated a long, long time ago.

Auston had just figured they'd maybe get around to making out at some point, enjoying the slow burn of it all. But Mitch is clearly at the peak of his high, and he wants. And Auston will give Mitch anything and everything he wants, every time.)

He pulls Mitch into his lap, gets him settled there with his legs spread wide. Mitch's lip is red and wet from where he's been biting at it, and Auston smears a thumb through the saliva there.

He leans in for a filthy kiss that has Mitch moaning.

"Look at you," Auston says against Mitch's mouth, feels him shiver so hard in his arms. "Wrecked already, just from thinking about my dick in you."

"God, god," Mitch whines. "I want it so bad but I can't-- Aus, I can't--"

"It's alright, baby," Auston says, because Mitch is so close already, and obviously a little bit overwhelmed by it. "Let me make you feel good, yeah? I can fuck you later, okay? Just let me--"

And really, Auston just wants to mess Mitch up, wants to get him off right here, have him come all over the inside of Auston's sweats.

He runs a soothing hand down the length of Mitch's spine, loves the way Mitch arches into the touch like he's starving for it. He gets both hands around Mitch's waist and rocks him forward, hitches his hips against Auston's muscular thigh.

"Yeah," he croons encouragingly when Mitch gasps and repeats the motion. "Just like that, Mitchy, okay?"

And Mitch keeps going, keeps rubbing his pretty dick against Auston and making the most amazing sounds. His eyes are squeezed shut and his mouth has gone slack, and Auston needs to see him *come*.

Auston sucks at his own middle finger, gets it sloppy wet. They don't have lube in the living room, but spit is fine for a single finger -- especially with how close Mitch is to the edge already. He slips his hand down the back of Mitch's pants and gets right up between his cheeks.

Mitch *howls* at the blunt press of Auston's finger at his hole, spreads his legs wider and just opens so fucking easy around the thick slide of it inside.

Auston, for the most part, is content to just watch at this point. The way Mitch is shoving forward to rub off against Auston's leg, and then back to take his finger deeper inside means Auston doesn't really have to do much more than watch, anyway -- Mitch is going to get there all by himself.

"Oh, oh," Mitch gasps. His knuckes are white where he's gripping tight, tight to Auston's biceps.

"Fuck yeah, Marns, feels good?"

"Matty," he says, as he's swallowing hard and tilting his head back to bare his throat. "Matty, m'gonna--"

Auston dips down to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to Mitch's Adam's apple, feels Mitch's feverish moan against his lips.

"Oh, fuck, Auston, fuck," he nearly wails, and then his ass is clenching tight around Auston's finger and he's rocking in uncoordinated thrusts against Auston's thigh, jerky little grinds with no proper rhythm.

The sound he makes as he stiffens all over and comes, *hard* in Auston's sweatpants, is a mind-blowingly sexy sob of relief that blazes in Auston's veins.

Auston's got an armful of a pliant, satiated Mitch that he tips over gently to slump against the arm of the couch -- so that he can get his own sweats pulled down enough to tug his own leaking cock out.

The sensations are overwhelming, and his own dry hand feels nothing short of incredible as it works over the hot skin of his erection. When he comes, it's with a muffled grunt that he buries into Mitch's shoulder, his hand catching most of his come as it pulses out of his dick, sticky and abundant.

"Jesus," he says, in wonder, after he's finally managed to catch his breath. There's still a puddle of come cooling in his palm and it's pretty fucking gross but...

He really can't manage even thinking about moving right now.

(It takes a lot of prodding and coaxing to get Mitch up and into a nice, hot shower, but they get there eventually.

The spray of the water feels so good on Auston's sensitive skin, and Mitch's moan of satisfaction makes it pretty evident that he feels the same.

Originally, Auston had planned for round two to take place in their bed, somewhere comfortable where he can take his time fingering Mitch open, maybe fool around with one of their vibrators before getting to the main event.

And well. The way Mitch looks right now, naked and gorgeous and so trusting, has Auston getting hard all over again, already.

"Fuck it," he thinks as he shoves Mitch back against the tiled wall of the shower, "We can always go for round three.")

[swiftlymoniquesblog]

Tonight I’m Going to Wrap You- Donnie Wahlberg

A/N: So, this is a little imagine I wrote up for a dear friend of mine, Jaelynn! She’s probably the biggest fan of New Kids on the Block I’ve ever met and because she loves Donnie the most and has met him on a few occasions, I thought I’d dedicate this to her!

Song and lyrics provided by New Kids on the Block (I don’t own any rights to the song!)

*Lyrics are in italics

For the sake of this imagine, Donnie isn’t married! More fun this way 😉

Warnings: Little bit of angst but mostly fluff!

Word Count: 3,423

Check out my other works down below!

Holiday Masterlist| Masterlist of all Masterlists

The holidays were always your favorite time of the year. The music, the movies, the food, the lights, and just being with those who matter the most, is what you loved the most, and Christmas, was your favorite holiday. Yet, it always made you a little sad, because you wouldn’t know if your boyfriend would be home or if he would have to work. Dating Donnie Wahlberg wasn’t easy due to his demanding schedule. If he wasn’t touring with the New Kids on the Block, he was on set filming Blue Bloods or another project entirely; you just never knew. He was usually always off doing something and although you loved him for it and you were so proud of him, it would be straining on your relationship. You didn’t want to sound needy, but you were just as important as his career and he didn’t always show you that. When you were together, all his attention would be on you, but he could easily be distracted by his social media. He was super loyal to his fans and would interact with them a lot and while you admired him for that, you felt as though you were on the back burner of his mind.

As the big day grew closer and closer, you kept yourself busy, not wanting to think too much about how Donnie made you feel. The diner you worked at kept you busy, with tons of tourists coming in from out of town. Almost every shift you worked, you’d be running around, taking orders, and getting them to and from the kitchen, as quickly as possible. However, not everyone had the patience for slow service and some customers would take their frustrations out on you.

“Hey waitress, you got my order wrong!” One angry customer yelled to you, as you set drinks down for the table you currently were serving.

“So sorry Sir, I’ll be right there,” you say apologetically. Rushing off to where he sat, you heard where the mistake was before you were being dragged to the next table, who wanted their check. Acknowledging them, you darted back to the kitchen to fix the wrong order and printed the tab for the waiting table, just as a table of ten sat down in your section before your boss came up to tell you how slow you were and how many complaints, he was getting because of you. It wouldn’t have been so bad if there were more than four waitresses on staff that night, but that’s all that was available to work that night. All four of you felt the pressure intense as the night wore on and more and more customers came in for a meal. And finally, when the dinner rush died down at 8:30, you felt as though you couldn’t handle the job anymore. There was only one person who could make you feel better and he wasn’t due home for another three weeks.

Taking out your phone, you see one of the many photos you had with him and it brought a smile to your face but also made you feel sad. Sneaking off out of the dining area, you make your way in the walk-in cooler and press his name on your screen, and held the phone to your ear, counting the rings as you waited.

“Hey baby,” he said, answering on the fourth ring, right before the phone would go to voicemail.

“Donnie, hi,” you speak, your breathing separating your words.

“What’s the matter?” He asks, knowing right away something wasn’t right with you. Not even allowing any words to come out, your body started to shack and sobs fell past your lips, tears freely falling from your eyes.

“I-I c-can’t do this a-anymore. People, a-are so mean and-and I just-m-miss you so much,” you say in between hiccups and sobs.

“Oh no, another bad day?” His voice revealing, he was worried.

“Yes, I don’t know if this job is worth it, I may need to quit,” you say, able to fully speak once you stopped crying.

“Well, you might need to do that, just, don’t do it tonight,” he says, causing suspicion to arise in you.

“What do you mean, why can’t I do it tonight?” You ask, walking out of the cooler and behind the bar, where you saw him sitting, waiting for you.

“Because I was supposed to surprise you at work and I can’t quite do that if you leave now,” he says, a sheepish smile gracing his lips.

“Donnie!” You cry, leaning across the counter to kiss him in front of everyone.

“Jaelynn! Get off the counter! You can kiss your boyfriend later; you have tables to clean!” Your boss yells at you again, and Donnie tenses up, sitting back on his barstool. He gives you a look as to ask if he needed to step in, but you shake your head, knowing you could handle your boss.

“Look, Jack, I don’t need to take this anymore, you are abusive, you leave us short-staffed every night and you keep all the waitresses tips for yourself, which I have proof of so you can expect to hear from my lawyer. I quit, and I’ll see your ass in court,” you untie your apron from around your waist and toss it on the floor, the other three waitresses following your lead.

“Come on, girls,” you say, walking in the back to grab your belongings with your coworkers and the four of you walked off, arm in arm, Donnie right on your heels. When you all made it outside, tons of photos and hugs were exchanged as you all celebrated leaving a terrible situation.

“This is great, I’m so proud of you, Jaelynn,” Donnie says, kissing your temple, but you tense up beside him.

“Thanks, but uh, we need to talk, Donnie,” you say, walking to your car, unlocking it, and sitting behind the wheel.

“Oh no, what’s going on? You’re not ending things, are you?” He wonders, going to the passenger side of your car and sitting beside you.

“No, but I might have to,” you look to him as you start the engine and warm the car up so you wouldn’t freeze.

“What? Why? What’s wrong?” He grows increasingly more nervous about what you had to say.

“Well, I feel like I don’t matter to you anymore,” you admit, crossing your arms over your chest.

“What? Why would you say that?” He questions, genuine confusion playing across his features.

“Because, you’re away from me more than you’re with me, and I get it, your job leaves you busy, but then when we are together, you get distracted by the fans and social media and I just don’t feel like I’m really important to you anymore,” you say and he just hugs you.

“No Jaelynn, that’s not true! You are the most important person to me, besides my Mom and my family. I am so sorry I have made you feel like you weren’t more important; I get so caught up in things. But that’s no excuse for you to feel like this so I’m going to make it up to you,” he says, an invisible lightbulb going off above his head; he had an idea.

“How?” You ask.

“I’m bringing you home for Christmas so you can meet my family and I can show you where I grew up. You need to be reminded of how special you are to me, so I’m going to do just that. I’ll call you later with all the details; I love you,” he leans over to peck your lips quickly before jumping out of the car and into the darkness.

“What the hell just happened?” You say aloud to yourself. Throwing the car into reverse, you make your way back to your apartment where you couldn’t wait to wash the day's events off your skin.

A few hours of self-care later, a knock on your door brought you from your Netflix binge-watching session.

“Donnie,” you say, stepping to the side to let him in.

“Hey, babe. Okay, you need to pack up, we’re leaving tonight,” he says, walking into your room to find your suitcases.

“Whoa, Donnie, slow down. Where are we going?” You say, grabbing a hold of his hands so he would stop to explain.

“I told you, I’m taking home to see where I grew up. I want you to meet Alma; she’s been asking to meet you for a while now,” he says, a childish grin played on his face.

“Wait really? Does she want to meet me? Why?” You ask, your insecurities surfacing.

“Are you crazy? You’re amazing and smart and brave and beautiful. She keeps asking to meet the girl who took her ‘Baby Donnie’s’ heart,” he says, red tinting his cheeks at the last part.

“Well then, we better get going. We can’t keep Alma waiting,” you say, kissing him just a bit longer than usual, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of him but soon breaking apart. He helped you pick out different outfits and pack your suitcase and soon, you were ready to go. Taking his hand, you walk back out front to lock your door and rush off to the waiting SUV that rushed off to the airport. One very important thing about dating someone with a status like Donnie’s was that he had his own airplanes and could tell the airport when he was ready to take off.

Walking down the thin aisle between seats, you choose one right by a window, him taking the empty one right beside you, as the crew loaded up the plane and prepared for take-off. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, he couldn’t help smiling at your excitement; flights were always fun to you. When one of the attendants came and told him the pilot was ready to take off, he makes sure his and your seatbelts were fascinated tightly, before bracing for the take-off. Holding your hand in his, the plane raced down the runway and soon, floated about the earth, soaring higher and higher to the tops of the clouds. Your eyes stayed glued to the window, seeing the world grow increasingly smaller the higher you went. Once the plane was leveled, you closed the curtains over the window and snuggled closer to Donnie, who had asked for a blanket just in case you fell asleep. It was getting late and he knew that you had been emotionally drained from your day, so he lulled you to sleep with a song in your ears.

When you woke again a few hours later, Donnie told you to look out the window as the skyline for Boston was coming into view. You sat up and drew the curtains back to see the lights from the skyscrapers blinking and shining bright against the dark background of the night.

“Wow,” you said, taking in the beauty of a city still asleep.

After landing and gathering your things, Donnie leads you off the plane and down to a waiting car that drove you to a hotel, where your room overlooked the city. Dropping your bags on the bed, you rush over to the window, pull back the curtains, and peer down at the pool that was lit up by lights in the water and around the area, and the city surrounding you. You could feel arms snaking around your waist, and were met with lips pressing against the skin on your shoulder.

“This is incredible,” you say, leaning back into his chest as he holds you close.

“Only the best for my girl. Now, we should get some sleep because I have a lot of fun things planned for us,”

With just packing the things you needed for the night, you pull on pajamas, brush your teeth, and climb into bed. A few minutes later and Donnie was right next to you, both of you falling into unconsciousness.

----------------֍-------------------

Waking up the next morning to a beautiful singing voice, you smile seeing Donnie with a tray full of food and coffee, sitting in on your lap once you’ve sat up.

“Wow, is this all for me?” You ask, taking the coffee from the tray and taking a sip, savoring the feeling of the hot liquid falling down your throat.

“Of course, it is! Well, it’s for the both of us but your reaction was adorable so we can say it was for you,” he gives a shy, sideways smile.

Flipping the TV on, you both watch a movie and eat all the food Donnie had ordered from downstairs. When the food was gone and the movie ended, you and Donnie got dressed for your day of “holiday adventures” as he described your day ahead. Turning on some Christmas music, helped get you in the holiday spirit.

“Wow, you look great,” Donnie said, grinning at your outfit. You wore a simple dress and tights, your makeup was done just lightly but enough to draw attention to your face.

You blush at his comment, avoiding his stare on you and saying, “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“You ready?” He asks, and you nod, linking your arm with Donnie’s and heading downstairs.

There was a car waiting to take you to Alma’s house, where she was waiting to greet you with open arms.

“And, you must be Jaelynn, the girl who finally took my Donnie’s heart,” she says, giving you a big hug.

“Oh, um, yeah, I guess I am,” you blush again, those Wahlberg’s surely knew how to make you embarrassed.  

“Come, sit, tell me all about yourself!” Alma asked as you all sat around with coffee and snacks.

-------------------֍--------------------

Quite a few hours had passed and you felt like you really were apart of their family. Alma had fully accepted you and thought you were the perfect girl for his “baby Donnie.” As the sky had turned darker, Donnie grew more anxious, as he wanted his plans for you to go well. You felt his nerves starting to get the best of him, his leg bouncing nervously, so you lean over in your chair to ask if he was alright.

“What’s wrong, Donnie?” You ask, turning to see the entertainer beside you, with a ghostly look on his face.

“Nothing is wrong really, I just want tonight to go well,” he says, wide eyes falling to you.

“Okay, well, if we need to go, we’ll just tell Alma, I’m sure she won’t mind,” you try soothing your nervous boyfriend by placing your hand over his and squeezing it gently. He nodded to you before you went to the kitchen, where you saw Alma busy with the dishes.

“Can I help out?” You ask the woman, who was busy humming a New Kids song, as she worked.

“Oh no sweetie, you’re my guest, you two can just relax, but by the look on his face, seems like you two need to get going,” she comments, knowing how her son was feeling without having to ask him.

“Boy, you’re good at that,” you acknowledge her motherly intuition.

“When you’ve been a Mom for as long as I have and with nine children, you learn a thing or two about them,” she offers you a small smile, which you returned and said,

“You’re incredible for raising them mostly on your own. I can’t imagine what that was like for you.”

“It wasn’t without its struggles, but I always made the kids had everything they needed as best I could. And I think they all turned out pretty good considering,” she adds.

“Oh definitely!” You say with a bit of enthusiasm.

“What are you two talking about in here?” Donnie suddenly says, coming into the kitchen.

“Just about how much of a wonderful Mom Alma is,” you say, smiling to the older woman, who just beamed at her eighth child and the look of love on his face.

“Oh, we all know that is a true statement,” Donnie says, going up to his Mother and kissing her cheek.

“Alright enough of all that, I know you two need to get going,” she says, bringing Donnie in for a hug and another kiss to his cheek before she turned to hug you. “You guys be careful out there,” she comments.

“Will do, Ma,” Donnie says, walking towards the door.

“It was so great meeting you, Alma. Thank you for everything,” you say, reciprocating her hug.

“Well, you’re very welcome, and keep a good eye on that one,” she says, motioning towards her son at the door.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, I got a good grip on him,” you say, sharing a small laugh with Alma.

Walking to the door to meet Donnie, he holds your jacket out for you to slip right into. Bidding Alma one final goodbye, Donnie takes your hand and helps you back into the waiting car. He sat close beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“What’s next?” You ask, looking to the man beside you.

“Well, I thought we’d drive around the neighborhoods, especially where I grew up, and see some lights? We could go get some hot chocolate and I have some music ready to play as we drive,” he offers, another shy smile finding its way on his lips.

“That sounds perfect!” You say, excitement bubbling over, as you let your inner child come out. Driving around and looking at all the houses decorated for Christmas was one of your favorite traditions you held since you were a kid, so knowing Donnie wanted to continue that tradition with you as adults, meant a lot to him. He was right, he really was trying his hardest to show you how much you meant to him and it made your heart swell; he really loved you.

Stopping off at a local coffee shop, Donnie orders two large peppermint hot chocolates with whipped cream, and hands one to you when they were ready. Taking the lid off, you wipe some cream onto your finger to then wipe onto his nose. You chuckle at the look on his face, a look of surprise, before he pops the lid off his drink, and wiping cream onto your nose. You gasp and laugh as he kisses the creamy white substance from your skin. When your favorite holiday-inspired New Kids song came on, you ask the driver to turn the volume up, as you and Donnie scream/sang the lyrics to Unwrap You.

Baby, it's Christmas, how could I miss this? The work and the worry and the wait is through, tonight I'm gonna unwrap you. Baby, it's Christmas tonight, I'm feeling the feeling inside, and old Santa told me what you want me to do, tonight I'm gonna unwrap you.

A few times, you and Donnie would jump out of the car to take photos in front of different light displays around town, before hurrying back inside to get warm again. When the car came to a stop outside the house where the Wahlberg family spent many years, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. The hard work put in by all the kids, to provide a better home for their Mom and their own families, made you tear up just the slightest. It wasn’t easy what Donnie or even Mark or Paul had to do to get to where they were, but boy, were you proud.

----------------------֍----------------------

Growing tired from the days’ events, Donnie told the driver to head back to your hotel, as he noticed the exhaustion starting to creep up on you. Snuggling closer into his side, he held you close and did all he could to make you feel more comfortable in the small space you both sat. It wasn’t long until you were back in the room, dropping off any goodies you had collected from Alma before heading to bed for the night. He originally had different plans of how he wanted to end the night, but he knew he would have to save them for another night. Just before you fell asleep, you heard a whisper of a beautiful promise, that rang in your mind the whole night, a promise of commitment and love.

“I’m glad you had fun today. I am so sorry I ever made you feel like you weren’t important to me, but I promise to always remind you how special you are to me. I love you so much, Jaelynn.”

[jynandor]

What are your favourite Jyn/Cassian fics ?

Okay, so at first i tried to get this as short as possible? But i’ve read so many amazing fics these last 7 months, i couldn’t leave anything out. I added exactly 60 fics here (and i am pretty sure i forgot to put some i also loved). I’ve rec-ed several fics back in january too, you should also check them out (x) …sadly some of those WIP fics aren’t finished yet.

Anyway, i sorted these fics by rating: 

NOT-RATED:

1. floating, sinking (by @shu-of-the-wind) 

Somewhere in her is the sinking feeling that they weren’t supposed to survive.

[Jyn’s not entirely sure how they lived. She just knows that they did. She’s not sure how the Rebellion lost the plans, either, but she has half a plan to fix that. Maybe. Mon Mothma has other ideas.]

[Post-Rogue One. Runs through A New Hope. Eventual Rebelcaptain.]

2. the violet hour (by @mellamymake) - modern AU

Jyn can’t sleep. Thankfully, it sounds like her neighbour can’t, either.

Or, the one where Jyn gets a new neighbour — one who turns out to be rather musically inclined.

3. slowly, and then all at once (by @mellamymake) - modern AU

It’s probably sheer stubbornness, Cassian thinks wryly. Even so, it doesn’t mean he’s just going to leave her like that.

Or, the one where Jyn has a habit of falling asleep around the apartment, and Cassian develops a habit of carrying her back to bed, because he’s a Gentleman, and a Good Friend.

4. run to me in the rising dawn (by @leralynne)

Jyn has never had anyone stick around before. The battle is over now, but the war rages on and Jyn is already preparing for the day when she loses Cassian, too. (She doesn’t realize he’s terrified of the exact same thing.)

5. lay down my shields (by @leralynne​)

Jyn comes down with a strange reaction to a foreign plant, but it doesn’t seem like a big enough deal to bother anyone with. That is, until she faints in the middle of the hallway.

6. closer (by muggleindenial28) - slight adult themes

“They don’t speak on the way down.They don’t acknowledge the distant shrill screams of TIE Fighters and X-Wings outside.They don’t think about how they’re not going to get out in time.”

They make it off Scarif, but not without scars.

RATED G:

7. if only (by @ohstardustgirl)

A fix-it: “If Only”, as in “If only Krennic had never went to the data tower, how different things could have been.”

How Cassian and Jyn would have survived Scarif, and what would have happened after.

8. places we break and bend (by @incognitajones)

In which Jyn is injured, and frustrated that dealing with her hair one-handed is impossible.

9. until the dust settles (by @jynersoandor)

Here were the facts. One, Jyn expected to die on Scarif. Two, that had allowed her to be more open with Cassian than she normally would have been. Three, that against all odds she had not died. Four, that currently she was lying in a rebel base medical room. Five, that if she had lived, then maybe Cassian did too. Six, since they were both alive, that now she had to face their changing relationship and all that came with it. Now it was beyond a tragic tale of what could have been, and was what could be, and that scared the hell out of her.

10. long odds (by mosylu)

When Jyn and Cassian notice that they seem to be getting an awful lot of attention from the other rebels lately, they check in with Bodhi to see what he knows about it.

11. with difficulty and grief (by @ladytharen)

“I’m fine,” he murmurs as she curls up next to him in the ship’s bunk. They are well on their way home and he’s patched up as best he can be, but the sight of him going down under three blaster shots burns brightly in her memory. She’d been shot once, getting to him, and they are both littered with bruises and small injuries.

(But they are both alive.)

“I know,” she says, curling her arm around his chest, and it’s mostly true.

12. the ghosts that survive (by @anghraine)

Love doesn’t cure Jyn’s and Cassian’s many problems. But it helps.

13. use the sleeves of my sweater, lets have an adventure (by @jynersq)

Back in the engine room, he goes to her, more confidently this time. But still carefully, as though she’s a wounded animal. Holding the jacket in his hands. Kneeling beside her, Cassian draws the material, dry and worn-soft, around Jyn’s shoulders like a blanket.

(Or, five times Jyn Erso wore Cassian Andor’s clothing, and one time she didn’t.)

14. when we were young and crossed the stars (by @leralynne)

He tells her he’s been given his own ship, his choice of his own crew. When she asks who he’ll be picking, he cocks his head at her.

“You and K, of course,” he says, like he can’t believe she’s even asking the question when she’s been griping about it for almost six years.

Jyn and Cassian meet as children caught up in the rebellion and grow up together.

15. the forces of others (by @ofhobbitsandwomen)

Everything’s going according to plan on Jedha, until Jyn spots a strange man watching them. She makes a split second decision on how to subvert suspicion.

16. it’s tempting (by @vaultfox)

Cassian’s gone to work with a myriad of ailments before, but maybe that’s because he’s never had the luxury of someone holding him back

RATED T:

17. nothing but water  (by @operaticspacetrash)

Jyn and Cassian find a moment of quiet together, as well as a working shower with real warm water.

18. the kiss on your lips, it should be mine (by @incognitajones)

In which Jyn can’t concentrate.

19. a single heartbeat between your two (by @ladytharen)

He steps closer to Jyn, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.

(As always, there was nowhere else to go.)

“Hi,” he says softly, and the voices outside key in the code. Her eyes flick up to meet his and a smile plays at her lips. “Hi,” she echoes.

When he kisses her this time, he kisses her like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. His hands wrap around her waist and she slides herself against him, her hands steady and warm on his chest. Her fingers curl in anticipation as he kisses her openly, as intently and with as much emotion as he can convey.

(For a brief instant, he thinks she is trying to tell him something too.)

 20. a proud, upleasant sort of man (by angel_deux)

It takes Cassian Andor and Han Solo an embarrassingly long time to realize that they aren’t each other’s rivals.

21. kindred (by simplyprologue)

“I left the next-of-kin space blank on my enlistment form,” she whispers, taking the datapad from his loose grip, logging in with her own restricted access codes. Draws up her contact forms, and gives it to him to place his name.

“I’d like that.”

He brings up his own next.

22. hold back the river (by alemantele)

Jyn and Cassian, meeting through a series of unfortunate lives

(and maybe just one happy ending)

23.  comfort me with apples (by miraphora)

The problem was that these covers required a certain level of…performative public affection. And there was nothing professional about the way he felt around Jyn Erso.

24. magnetic pull (by accidentalrambler)

Jyn loves playing with Cassian’s hair.

25.  only fools rush in (by @andromeda3116) - modern AU

“Jyn talked herself into a corner with her grandma,” Han explained. “Now she needs a fake boyfriend for Christmas.”

“Why doesn’t Cassian do it?” Luke asked, and Jyn scowled at him.

[In which Jyn, in an attempt to get her mother’s overbearing, gossipy, and traditional family off her back for one freaking Christmas, conscripts Cassian to join her as her (fake) boyfriend for the whole week in England. Shamelessly, wildly, gleefully AU.]

26. one night and one more time (by @baenakinskywalker) - modern AU

I found you a date,” Bodhi says with all the nonchalantness of her super dropping by to ask about rent. Jyn nearly drops the wine bottle on the ground. “Y’know,” he adds, noticing her deer in the headlights look, “for the reunion.”

or, Jyn is a little more than reluctant to go to her high school reunion until Bodhi finds her a total stranger to go with.

27. we hold on so tight (by @clarkescrusade) - modern AU

AP Literature teacher Jyn Erso and AP World History teacher Cassian Andor are natural rivals, have been since the day Jyn arrived a year ago. Between bickering, they mostly just try to hide the fact that they care about each other. It can get pretty complicated.

Or, a rival!teachers au feat. Jyn and Cassian

28. i was made to need you (by @leralynne)

Three times Cassian and Jyn couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and one time they could but chose not to.

29.   semantics (series, by @leralynne)

      AKA lots of bed-sharing

30. we’ve been here before  (by angel_deux) - character death (groundhog day AU)

She dies on the beach, in his arms. It isn’t the first time. It isn’t even the second. “We’re trapped,” she tells him, blood bubbling up between her lips. His fingers spasm on her wound and he shushes her, his voice shaking. She draws a shuddering breath that rattles in her lungs. “It’s my turn, but it’ll be yours, next. We’re trapped here.”

Or: Jyn has to keep reliving Scarif until she gets it right.

31. a memory lifted from her lips (by @ladytharen)

“Jyn,” he murmurs, his voice a bare whisper as he tilts closer. In a heartbeat, she answers the only way she knows how. Her arms slide around him, closing the space between them, and tentatively, hesitantly, she brushes her lips against his, uncertainty falling away. They only had moments left.

(Welcome home.)

He sighs in a heavy exhale over her and her eyes slide shut as he presses into the kiss, a sweet memory forming for the rest of her life. His arms circle her, weakened but not dismayed, and she tilts her face up to lengthen the kiss. His lips part under hers as she steps closer, a kiss drawn out to a lifetime.

32. before I wake, before the dawn (by redfantasyfox) - slight adult themes

Or: The Four Times Jyn Climbs Into Cassian’s Bed and the One Time He Sure As Hell Climbs Into Hers.

33. if love is the answer (could you rephrase the question) (by @rain-sleet-snow)

Jyn hasn’t admitted that she really cares about anything or anyone since Saw Guerrera, and look where that got her: alone at sixteen with a blaster and a knife and a broken heart. She likes to think she’s better now, smarter and stronger, but really, she hasn’t got any further than that frightened girl in a bunker by herself with shattered beliefs at her feet.

***

They kissed for the sake of the mission, and Jyn desperately wants to do something about it.

34. acts of intimacy (series, by @rxbxlcaptain) 

series of one-shots, non-sexual acts of intimacy 

35. too close, not close enough (by ivyspinners)

In which they kissed for the sake of the mission, and Jyn can’t stop thinking about it.

36. falling like a feather, soft and light (by @incognitajones)

In which Jyn is convinced that she’s hallucinating due to hypothermia. How else could she be safe and warm in Cassian’s arms?

37. what is decayed in you shall be made clean (by imgoingtocrash)

“There’s no need to return this favor for him, but there is a want: To show him she’s capable of this trust, this care, this softness she’s rarely known.

He turns to her, this quirk to his lip that she only sees when they’re teasing and he can’t seem to hold back some sort of reaction to her. It peeks through his layers of careful movements and disguise and personality construction and cuts to his core, to the person he might be in a world without need of a Rebellion.”

Injured and tired, Cassian and Jyn share a shower and take turns caring for each other.

38. this here now (it’s where we touch down) (by mosylu)

With the war over, Jyn knows their time serving the Rebellion-turned-New-Republic is over, too. It’s time to move on and do something for themselves.She’s not too sure about this farming gig. But as long as Cassian’s there, she’s there.

39. my words on your lips (by @yavemiel)

Jyn wants to surprise Cassian for his birthday.

40. for you (by @kyberchronicles)

But who could’ve known?, Jyn wondered. She hadn’t mentioned it, let alone celebrated it, since Saw pulled her up out of her secret hideout on Lah’mu. She hadn’t even remembered it that morning until she glanced at the date on the datapad she kept by her bed.

41. clothes (by @jeeno2)

Jyn shows up to breakfast wearing Cassian’s clothes. Cassian’s the only one who’s surprised.

RATED M:

42. a bad idea (by @moonprincess92nz) - modern AU

“Ok, this is bloody ridiculous,” Jyn finished her drink, before slamming it down onto the coffee table in front of them. “Let’s just have sex.”

Cassian choked on his beer.

43. pain my spirit gold (by spacenarwal)

On the books Captain Cassian Andor and Sergeant Jyn Erso have officially shared quarters for over four months, but Jyn thinks she can probably count on both hands the number of nights they’ve actually spent there together. The Rebellion’s war keeps them both away, sometimes together, but more often than not apart. It feels like a luxury to come back and find him there, sitting on the bunk, legs crossed beneath him in a way that makes him look unusually young, dark hair falling into his eyes as he fiddles with a gutted datapad on his lap.

“You’re back.” She says, dropping her things on the floor by the door, next to his own duffle, dusty and cracked from sun exposure. She doesn’t know where they sent him but she hopes wherever it was he was at least warm.

44. kiss me (like you want to be loved) (by @jynersq)

Jyn settles back on her heels, and doesn’t look back over her shoulder as she walks toward the ship.

If she had, she’d have seen Cassian staring after her in something like bewilderment, his hand drifting up to the place where her lips had been.

(Or, five times Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor kissed.)

45. five things cassian andor only says at night (by @jeeno2)

So no one will hear him.

RATED E:

46. cast some light ‘verse (series, by @brynnmclean)

loosely connected, standalone rebelcaptain fics. 

47. i fought the war (but the war won) (by @incognitajones)

They meet on a battleground, of course.

48. hiding and revealing  (by @incognitajones)

In which Cassian figures the odds of him getting punched in the face are about 50-50.

49. need is always pending on how much you can get (by @incognitajones)

In which Jyn is determined to make Cassian say what he wants.

50. kill the lights and kiss my eyes (by @ohstardustgirl)

Jyn and Cassian’s first mission alone together doesn’t quite go to plan, and stranded on a planet there is nowhere to hide from each other.

She wants to chase the raindrops with her tongue, follow them down below his shirt.

51. opening (by @ohstardustgirl)

Jyn thinks about how much trust it takes to sleep with someone, and how much trust it takes to sleep with someone.Jyn and Cassian have their first time.

52. trading favours (by @mellamymake) - modern AU

“Come on,” she wheedles. “I’ll do the laundry for two weeks. I’ll pay for beer the next time we go out.” She waves her hands in the air, momentarily flailing around for more ideas. “I’ll go down on you.”

Cassian looks up then. “You’re not going to go down on me.”

She snorts on sheer impulse. “You underestimate the depths of my desperation.”

53. a good thing (by @operaticspacetrash) 

After weeks apart, Jyn takes a transport to be reunited with Cassian for a special kind of reunion.Based on two prompts: “Reunited after too long apart” and “He knew they had to be quiet.”

54. behind closed doors, your hands in mine (by @leralynne)

It keeps happening—his hands on her body, his lips on her skin. It’s strange, and rather wonderful, but they never talk about it. Jyn kind of wishes they would.

55. holding a heart here in my hand (by @leralynne)

Jyn kisses Cassian for the first time when she thinks they’re about to die. But then, they don’t die.

56. it’s really good (to hear your voice) (by cooper_nails)

The private comm link is a gift that Cassian doesn’t admit to giving.

57. in these hallowed spaces (by bittersnake)

She’s bruised, battered, and scarred but not broken.

58. just a taste (by miraphora) 

“I didn’t think this was what you had in mind when you said we had time to kill.”

59. to have a fraction of your life (by @ladytharen)

“Does it hurt?’ he asks and she shrugs, rolling her shoulders to test herself.

“I’ve had worse,” she says. Her voice is becoming a distant and faraway thing as Cassian’s breath travels across her skin, taking in the truth of her words. Marks from Wobani, marks from her time with Saw’s partisans, and all the ones in between.

She leans forward on the tips of her fingers, letting Cassian inspect her. At first, his touch is light and studious.

A moment later, it’s not.

60. just put your sweet lips on mine (by @ladytharen)

In the dark, she pulls a fresh shirt on from the drawer by the bed and crawls into the cot. Tugging the blanket around herself, she breathes deeply and smiles to herself.

It smells like Cassian.

Her last thought before she slides into sleep is to wonder whether he’s been sleeping in her bed while she was gone.

(She likes the thought.)

[inhalingwords]

2017 HP reread: thoughts on Philosopher’s Stone

Always a nostalgic and wistful reading experience, Philosopher’s Stone is definitely a book I can never read without crying at least once.

Basically, PS is a prelude and introduction to the HP series in the shape of a fun children’s fantasy adventure story; we get to know the central plot, characters, and settings of the series, all the while being entertained by the mystery surrounding the Philosopher’s Stone.

PS isn’t exactly a masterpiece in terms of writing and whatnot (it’s a pretty decent children’s adventure but not exactly that special if I disregard all the nostalgia attached to it and the larger context of the series) but having read all of the books a billion times, being a longtime fan, and knowing what's going to happen later on in the series and how much the world and the characters are going to change and grow, it's absolutely impossible for me not to love this book.

Top 5 Chapters:

Chapter One: The Boy Who Lived nostalgia like wOAH. this is a fun chapter, mainly because we get stuff from Vernon’s PoV (like can you BELIEVE the HP series begins with Vernon’s PoV because i think about that sometimes and it’s hiLARIOUS). and then there’s a total aboutface when we get to the end part with Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Hagrid and there’s a lot more sadness and it’s all mysterious and magical and i always get teary-eyed. there’s just this feeling of something big about to begin ♥

Chapter Twelve: The Mirror of Erised the christmas chapter! there are so many heartwarming moments and harry has the best christmas ever (presents!!) with the weasleys (i cry a bit every time when percy comes in to investigate why harry, ron and the twins are making so much noise and then the twins say, ‘Christmas is a time for family’ and do you just ever get emotional bc of percy, like, i definitely do) and it’s fantastic. it’s also probably the saddest chapter in PS and my heart breaks clean in two every time i get to the mirror of erised parts. ‘mum? dad?’ :’( his  n o s e  is nearly touching the mirror and it’s just so sad

Chapter Nine: The Midnight Duel the flying lesson! oliver wood’s first appearance! ron being the best bro ever! first nighttime adventure! the whole thing is just really funny bc it’s a total setup and they still go and hermione’s absolutely infuriating and neville gets roped in on it by chance and it’s just all so ridiculous. i love these kids so much. (also, i laugh so hard every time i get to that part when they’re trying to avoid filch and they’re trying to be silent and sneaky and then neville just can’t take the pressure, squeaks, tries to run, trips, grabs ron, and they both topple right into a suit of armour. ohmygOD.)

Chapter Fifteen: The Forbidden Forest some more nighttime adventures, except this time during detention and there’s no ron. this chapter marks our first look at the forest, we meet the centaurs (i wish we’d got to see more of them in the series tbh!!), quirrell is super fucking creepy (i had nightmares about that unicorn blood drinking scene when i was a kid what the fuck jkr??!!), and there’s some foreshadowing about harry dying in the forest #nobigdeal. like, when i reread PS for he first time after DH had come out i literally couldn’t believe my eyes, THE CENTAURS KNEW!!!

Chapter Five: Diagon Alley harry’s first time in the magical world, harry and draco’s first meeting (it’s horrible!! draco’s horrible!! i love them), harry and hagrid bonding (‘I know it’s hard. Yeh’ve been singled out, an’ that’s always hard.’ ;___; ♥) and some important tidbits on wandlore.

Top 5 Characters:

Neville Longbottom i love how neville’s story arc in this first book kinda mirrors his bigger story arc in the entire series. he gets more and more confident in his abilities and, in the end, isn’t afraid to stand up for what he believes in. ‘Don’t you call me an idiot!’ is probably one of my fave lines of his. i’m so happy with how he gets a scene of recognition at the end when dumbledore gives him the 10 points, and i also love the quidditch scene where he tries to single-handedly fight crabbe and goyle and is still out cold hours later lmao.

Hermione Granger hermione will probably always be one of the most important literary characters to me. when i was a kid i related to her so much, and i still do. in this first book, she’s overbearing, kind of awkward and insecure about a lot of things, and she tries so!! hard!! it’s not easy for her to make friends and sometimes she comes across as too bossy or too abrasive, and i love that these are characteristics that she’s allowed to keep as the series goes on!! she does change and become a bit more understanding (both in PS and later on in the series), but she still continues to have moments when she kind of steamrolls others, dominates and is flawed/unlikable. i just love it. from the get-go, she has a multifaceted personality, and it’s really rare to have a girl character who comes off this strong be one of the main characters and heroes (and not be villanised for being a person basically).

Harry Potter harry is, and always will be, my number one favourite character in the series. in PS, he’s mostly this slightly naive, hard-on-his-luck kid who, despite everything, persists and believes strongly in goodness and fairness. the strength of his moral fibre is already astounding, and his little speech about voldemort and doing the right thing towards the end of the book always makes me kinda cry a bit. it’s such a good scene that shows some of harry’s core values and his most dominating personality traits, but at the same time i can’t forget that he’s only eleven!!! and he’s already being groomed into this weapon against voldemort :’(

Katie Bell she’s 12, playing her first game of quidditch ever, gets hit by a bludger in the back of her head, BUT SHE KEEPS PLAYING!! the game isn’t even stopped!! (compare to 6th year Harry who gets a bludger in the face and gets a cracked skull like what the fuck those things are made of IRON why are children allowed to play this game??? why is the wizarding world so fascinated by danger??)

Parvati Patil her first words in the series are: ‘Shut up, Malfoy’ and i think that’s fucking great. what a legend.

Top 5 Funny Moments:

ron punching malfoy. i cannot believe all three of them have totally whooped malfoy’s ass at one point or another. poor kid, i almost feel sorry for him except, you know, he’s a dick and kinda deserved to get his ass beat each time so  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (it’s also interesting to note that malfoy managed to give as good as he got and even gave ron a nosebleed, taking into account that ron has six siblings and malfoy is an only child)

THE HOGWARTS SONG. we should not have been denied seeing this masterpiece on the big screen. ('Ah, music. A magic beyond all we do here!’)

lee jordan’s quidditch commentary. he’s such an underrated character and i love him ♥ (“hit hard in the face by a bludger, hope it broke his nose -- only kidding, professor”)

‘Do you mean ter tell me,’ [Hagrid] growled at the Dursleys, 'that this boy – this boy! – knows nothin’ abou’ – about ANYTHING?’ Harry thought this was going a bit far. He had been to school, after all, and his marks weren’t bad. 'I know some things,’ he said. 'I can, you know, do maths and stuff.’

'Yes – of course – but there’s no wood!’ Hermione cried, wringing her hands. 'HAVE YOU GONE MAD?’ Ron bellowed. 'ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?’

Top 5 Emotional Moments:

the troll fight and ron and harry finally becoming friends with hermione :’) best. friendship origin story. ever. (“There are some things you can’t share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.” ♥ )

‘If you want to go back, I won’t blame you,’ [Harry] said. 'You can take the Cloak, I won’t need it now.’ 'Don’t be stupid,’ said Ron. 'We’re coming,’ said Hermione.

harry and ron’s first meeting. lmao, it’s so awkwardly lovely and i love these two so much. 

hagrid giving harry the photo album. (”Harry couldn’t speak, but Hagrid understood.” ♥ )

‘Bless my soul,’ whispered the old barman, 'Harry Potter… what an honour.’ He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed towards Harry and seized his hand, tears in his eyes. 'Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back.’

Top 5 Quotes:

Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you’d expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn’t hold with such nonsense.

'There are all kinds of courage. It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends.’ --Albus Dumbledore

Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid.

'It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that.’ --Albus Dumbledore

‘The truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution.’ --Albus Dumbledore

[msviolagreene-blog]

Backpara 🍻 Santana/Vi

Who: Santana and Vi. What: Attending the Same Party. Also, mistletoe. Where: Waynesfield, Ohio. When: Thursday, December 29th 2016. Night.

Vi had met her friend, Michelle, at Acoustix at one of the open mic nights over the summer. Vi didn’t partake because she only sang at karaoke, and she certainly didn’t have any poems to read, but she liked to chill out there on occasion, especially in the summertime because the atmosphere was just better. They hung out every so often since the summer and once the holidays came around, Michelle invited Vi to her between holidays party. It was at her house out in more of the boondocks area and it was hoppin.’

There was music in the living room with a small dance floor. Lots of snacks in the living room and drinks flowing in the kitchen. There were tons of holiday cheer, fake snow and a hot chocolate fountain, which Vi thought was the coolest. Michelle even provided a marshmallow and recommended shots list to add to the cocoa for those who wished to partake. She also had a huge bonfire outside with more music, hot dogs, and marshmallows to roast.

Vi didn’t know anyone at the party and she hadn’t thought to bring anyone, since Michelle hadn’t said anything either way about bringing a guest. But Vi also didn’t mind that because she could get along well with most people. She ate some food and had some drinks, then headed outside to chill with those around the bonfire. She chatted and drank some more and was a bit drunk already, but she found another girl who lived close to her and they agreed to grab an uber home and then the girl’s boyfriend was gonna drive them back the next day to pick up their cars. Vi thought that was totally cool of them and she thought this was a fun sort of way to spend a night on her break. She was all about this bonfire and party out in some country territory.

It wasn’t that Santana never went out. She did, but not as much as she had in college. Teaching and coaching had forced her into a really strict routine of not going into work with a hangover and very little sleep. You learned really fast that those days were miserable for everyone involved. Plus, it was kind of odd to now be responsible for advocating against teenagers drinking, doing drugs, and having sex, but you just got a whole new perspective when you thought about the fact that they were actually children, and how if you knew then what you knew now…it was kind of trite, but it had definitely impacted Santana’s partying habits.

And it was only because she was on break that she’d agreed to attend this random party with a group of her friends. She wasn’t really looking for anything out of it because drinking and having a good time. Plus it gave her a reason to pour herself into her new dress. The atmosphere was mostly chill. People were already a few drinks in by the time she and her friends had arrived, but they’d pregamed, and she it took her about two shots before she was pleasantly buzzed.

Vi headed inside because she had to pee and then after, she found herself back in the kitchen, getting another drink. There was a keg, which was cool, so Vi got herself a beer and then was checking out the backside of this hot girl, which she quickly realized was Santana. Her Santana. Well, not her Santana, but it was Santana, and Vi was confused because she had no idea that Santana was even going to be here. Like. Holy shit. She felt she was seeing Santana a lot over this break already.

It certainly didn’t help her feelings for her, which were still burning hot, especially after Santana had taken her out to dinner for her birthday. They had a /really/ good time, Vi thought. They just talked and chilled, and Vi still tried to gauge if and when she should make a move, as Brody had suggested. He was right. She needed to sort of just deal with it. Either see if Santana was into it or not. But Vi had to get the courage to do it. That was the problem. But she was totally kinda drunk now so all of these seemed so much easier to deal with. She sidled up beside Santana and paused before speaking.

“Hey,” she said simply, trying to be totally cool right now.

Santana had been drinking out of a beer bottle when she heard someone walk up beside her. She was about to turn around and tell whomever was speaking that she was definitely not interested when she saw who was standing there. She did a double take because for one, she didn’t believe who she was seeing, and for another because of what Vi was wearing. She looked...good. She took another drink and lowered her bottle. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

“Hey,” Vi said again with a soft chuckle. Her cheeks started growing warm. Yup, she was drunk. “I’m friend’s with Michelle, we met at Acoustix. What are you doing here? I mean, friends with Michelle?” And that’s when her gaze shifted downward and she checked out Santana in that dress again. Fuck, her body was so nice.

It took her a moment to follow what the other woman was saying, but then Santana chuckled. Vi was clearly a few sheets to the wind. “No, I don’t know Michelle, but I think my friends might. I didn’t even ask. I just let them drag me to this...thing.” She noticed Vi’s eyes scanning her body, and she flushed with pleasure.

She realized she was no longer making eye contact and her gaze shot back up with a sort of, wide eyed expression that she quickly shook free. “Um, yeah, it’s tooootally cool. Like. There’s a fire. Outside. There.” She pointed to the door that led out to the back yard. Vi didn’t know what to say after that. She took a drink of beer then licked her lips. “You look good. I mean, hot. I mean, great dress.” She almost face palmed herself, but she resisted the urge.

Santana glanced in the direction that Vi mentioned, an amused grin on her face. “Yes, I’m familiar with the idea of how a bonfire works.” She chuckled. “How many drinks have you had?” She was a little taken aback by how forward Vi was being, but she attributed it to the alcohol. Still it made her hyper aware of the weirdness that had been floating around their relationship. “Yeah? Thanks. You look nice too.”

Vi thought over Santana's question and if she hadn't been intoxicated, it might have thrown her off a little, thinking Santana was judging her amount of drunkenness. “Mmm… Well… This is beer, and I've had at least two of these and then… there was a couple other drinks. I've been here a bit.” She grinned and gave a slight nod. She licked her lips again at Santana's small compliment. “Thanks,” she said and paused a moment. “Do you need a drink? I can get you one.”

Holding up her beer bottle, Santana chuckled again. “I’m good for right now. We pregamed before we got here. I’m feeling pretty good.” Her gaze flickered to Vi’s lips when she ran her tongue across it, and she took another sip of her beer. So maybe she was a little attracted to the other woman. It probably had a lot to do with the fact that Vi didn’t annoy her like the average person did. She couldn’t even really put her finger on it, but they just got along in a way that she rarely did with other people.

“Pregame,” Vi repeated and nodded. “Good call.” She grinned. “I'm feeling /really/ good too.” She laughed lightly and took a sip of her beer. She didn't know what to do now. Santana had shown up with friends and Vi certainly didn't want to butt in, and besides, Santana probably wanted to hang out with her friends. But then part of Vi didn't want to leave Santana's side. But damn, she wanted to be chill too, and fretting over this wasn't chill. “I know I texted you about it, but that 3D pen is really baller. Like, I haven't been able to stop playing with it since you gave it to me.” She smiled again and then took another drink of her beer.

“Wanky…” Santana joked when Vi talked about the pen. She was happy Vi liked it. A part of her was relieved that she seemed to know the other woman so well. “But yeah, it looked really awesome. I’m enjoying my plankton too. I see them in my kitchen window, at night, they look really pretty. My mom wants one,” she replied with a little laugh. “I think my abuela was a little disappointed you weren’t there for Christmas. I think she might have a crush on you.”

Vi smirked when Santana said wanky. She wondered what it would be like to full on flirt with Santana. There had been some words said, phrases, little hints here and there, but nothing that was obvious flirting between the two. She wondered if it was time to change that. “Oh yeah? You’ll have to text me a pic or something so I can see it at night. Or I could just come over.” She laughed lightly. “Awwwww, I love Abuela Lopez. She’s the coolest. If only I was into cougars…” She grinned and then winked before finishing the rest of her beer. “You tell her I’ll be there for the next holiday though. Can’t have her missing me too much.” She smirked again.

The thing with Santana not letting co-workers come to her house had started when she'd moved to Lima. This was a place where she'd be living indefinitely, and every teacher she knew had warned against living places close to students. It had extended to her colleagues just out of a sense of propriety, but now it was just her thing. A running joke that hadn't yet led to her allowing them into her domain.

She could feel a little shift in the conversation and decided to just go with it. “I'll send you plenty of pictures.” She grinned. “As for my abuela, I'll give her your number. Maybe she can change your mind about cougars. Hotness runs in the family.”

“And if the pictures could have you holding it like, you know, a model, that would be cool too,” she replied with a grin. She was trying hard to be both sly and cool right now. “It sure does,” Vi agreed and then added. “But I've got my sights set on someone else.” And with that, she held Santana's gaze for a long moment but finally glanced away. She couldn't just confess her feelings while she was drunk at somebody's party. She wanted Santana to take her seriously on it, not think she was messing around or something.

“Those sound like the lamest sexts ever.” Santana grinned because she suddenly had the vision of super awful sexts between her and Vi, and it was hilarious. She finished off her beer just as Vi caught her eye. They were having one of those moments again, and she didn’t know what to do with it. All she knew was Vi was basically making it seem like she was into her, and a part of Santana was into that. It was just a really complicated situation.

“They can’t be lame if one, you are in them, and two, if you’re holding glowing biomass thingies. Like glowing thingies.” She actually hadn’t seen what it looked like all glowing and cool, only what pictures could show. She wished she could see it in person. Maybe one day. “So, you gotta send ‘em, that’s all.” Vi shook her head slightly, smirk still present on her face. She was feeling so good right now. She was drunk and talking to Santana, and Santana was /smiling/ and this was so the best.

“I have to send you sexts now? Is that what you’re saying?” Santana found herself flirting, but she kind of liked it. It had been a while since she’d had any kind of real connection, and not just something that would lead to her having a hook up with the person and then going home and never speaking to them again. But that just made it sound a lot heavier than she wanted. She reminded herself that they were just having a conversation, and she needed to relax.

“Yeah,” Vi answered and laughed. She nodded, a stupid grin still on her face. “That’s totally what I’m saying. And the bio glowing thingies need to be in every. Single. One.” She was really enjoying this. She was really enjoying Santana. And she thought it crazy that they had known each other for a while now, but it was only recently that these feelings developed.

Santana shook her head. “You’re the most ridiculous person I know, and we work with Rachel Berry, whom I’m not entirely convinced was not raised in a tree baking cookies with the other Keebler elves.” She brushed her hair over her shoulder. “I will keep the sexts in mind. We don’t even text as friends. That would be a hell of a jump.”

Vi laughed at that because it was really funny to think of Rachel baking cookies in a tree with elves. It took her a moment to recover. “You should totally submit that to the gossip blog thingie.” She laughed again and then pulled herself together. “Not so much of a jump. Wait!” She pulled her phone out and sent Santana a quick text that said ‘hey what's up ;)’ Vi grinned and then put her phone away. “Oh, you have a text.”

“I haven’t even looked at that gossip blog thing. Ain’t nobody got time for that…” Santana laughed. Maybe she would just because she could. Something like that was just ridiculous enough to be funny. When her phone buzzed, Santana pulled it from her clutch and looked at it. She shook her head. “You’re really thirsty for those sexts, huh?” She wasn’t sure why she found it flattering, but it just made her laugh instead of annoying her.

“I've checked it out here and there,” Vi told her. She never submitted anything because she didn't have much to say. She didn't hear anything that was worth submitting and she couldn't think of anything funny that would be fun to submit, but what Santana said was super funny. She watched Santana with anticipation and held back laughter as she looked at her phone. Her jaw dropped slightly and she scoffed. “Thirsty? Me? No way. I'm never thirsty. Just a little parched.” She grinned. God this was so much fun. She was so glad for all the little things that happened to get Santana here with her tonight.

“Parched is worse than thirsty!” Santana couldn't take Vi seriously like this. She just kept laughing. “So are you just parched because of the fact that you're not getting laid because that's easily fixed.” She raised an eyebrow with her question.

“It is??” Vi asked, eyes wide, and then she laughed. She really hadn't a clue. “Then what's a word for like… you could drink but you're good not to, too?” She had no idea of there even was a word for it. And then she was into territory with Santana that she was very uncertain about. “No, no, no, just barely needing a drink. Yeah. That's me right now. Totally. Fine.” She was trying to play real cool right now. God this was scary and thrilling and fun.

Santana shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not a walking thesaurus. I don’t want to have to be on my brain game while I’m not at work.” She needed another beer, but she didn’t want to just up and move, especially when she felt they might be getting to the heart of whatever was going on with them. “But...if the drink was being offered, you’d take a sip is what you’re saying? Any drink or just one in particular?” She wasn’t usually one for speaking in metaphors when it came to situations like this, but she couldn’t bring herself to just be straight up either. She didn’t want to look like she was the thirsty one.

Vi laughed again. She kept laughing a lot, she felt like, but Santana was funny. She liked that about her a lot. Funny but in a sarcastic way, too, and Vi certainly wasn't much like that herself. “I'll try to look it up later.” Vi tended to have to look up things quite a bit. It took her a moment to understand what Santana was saying but when she did, she realized they were going /there/. She placed the tip of her tongue just between her front teeth and pressed on it as she thought over the question, figuring out how she wanted to answer. “One particular. No other drinks will work.” And then she went to sip her beer only to find her cup was empty. Damn.

Her stomach immediately bottomed out at Vi’s answer, and Santana was a little surprised despite having had the suspicions for weeks. It was just there out there, and now everything was on her. Was she going to take it or leave it? She had to make a decision and she just wasn’t sure what the right one was. She cleared her throat and looked around for a moment, though the smile never faltered from her lips. “Good to know.” There. She’d bought herself sometime. “I will definitely keep that in mind.” She took a deep breath and decided to be a little honest. “I’ll be real and say, I’m not saying no. I’m just not saying yes...yet. I...we haven’t exactly been in this situation before.”

Vi stared at Santana for a moment, not even sure she heard her right. She didn't say no! And sure, it wasn't a yes but it wasn't an immediate flat out refusal and that put a flutter of hope in Vi’s chest. Sure, it could not happen anyway but at least there was a chance, and Vi was pretty good with chances. She nodded along with Santana words. “Yeah, no, I totally know,” Vi replied and ran a hand through her hair. “I wasn't even sure, you know, about ever sort of, saying or… hinting at? anything like this because, you know, of complications that could… come up.” She wasn't sure if that made sense but she hoped Santana could sort through it. Her drunk mind was not keeping up with the sober thoughts Vi had when she thought about potentially having something with Santana.

It was Santana’s turn to nod. “No, that was a good instinct. I’m not usually one for complications. But we’ve spent time together outside of work, and you did spend the holidays with my family. Which is, in retrospect, a little weirder than I was admitting, but it didn’t feel like it at the time. But you weren’t all over the teachers’ lounge with it, and I appreciate that.” She shrugged it off. “I mean...I kind of had an idea, but you never said anything so I just didn’t think anymore about it. So now I will, especially since I know you know why it would be complicated.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it was fun to go with your family, I mean, with you to your family,” Vi replied and licked her lips. She was having a lot of feelings right now and she was glad the alcohol was toning her down a little bit. She nodded. “I didn't, um, I didn't honestly think you'd go for it. Not because of like complications but because of me so there was like… two things that kinda made me like pause it. But yeah I totally want you to think about it. And then just… let me know.” Now she had this coy smile. She drew in a breath. “You want a drink or anything? Another one? Now?” Because Vi wanted more beer. Or alcohol. Just something.

Santana wanted to address the part about her not going for it because it was Vi, but she wasn’t here to stroke egos. So she said nothing. Plus she’d already said she wasn’t opposed so that was definitely enough validation. “I am thinking about it,” Santana replied, her gaze flickering to Vi’s lips. She forced them away and looked around again. “Yes, I want another beer...maybe a shot,” she joked.

Santana was thinking about it. Santana was thinking about dating her. Vi was still having trouble wrapping her mind around it. But Brody had been right. Hinting at it, outright saying it, but maybe not so outright, but it had worked. Santana knew now and she was thinking about it. This was one of the best nights of Vi’s life. She grinned at that. “I can make you a shot. An awesome shot. Hold on.” Vi didn’t bartend or anything, nor even pretend to, but she liked to play around and make drinks and shots that tasted good. She set out making a shot with coconut and dark rum, then some pineapple juice and a dash of cinnamon, which took a minute to find as she rummaged around in the cabinets in the kitchen. Finally, she returned with the two shots and handed one to Santana. “Here you go!” She smiled.

Santana watched Vi moving around the kitchen, fixing her a drink. Now that she was alone for the moment, she took the opportunity to check the other woman out. Vi wasn't, at all, her type, but Santana thought she was cute. Her body seemed decent from what little she could remember of it in passing. She was curvy, and Santana wasn't opposed to that. She didn't have much of an ass, but she had nice sized tits. So that was a plus. Overall, if she was a decent kisser, Santana would be down for a roll around. She averted her attention when Vi came sauntering back, shot in hand. It smelled like cinnamon and looked a little brown. Her nose wrinkled and she looked at her...friend? Maybe… Vi had been around more than most of Santana's actual friends. So she probably deserved a promotion from coworker. “What is it?”

“A shot!” Vi answered and then laughed because she thought she was pretty funny. “Um, there’s rum in it and... stuff. You’ll like it! I’ve made it before. It’s good. Promise. Oh! To the New Year.” Vi held up her shot so they could toast because she thought that toasting to the New Year was a great idea. And then her gaze went to Santana’s lips a moment before she met her eye again.

Santana was dubious, but alcohol was alcohol. She lifted the shot glass and clinked it against Vi’s before she drank it down, hissing at the burns. It was strong, and it tasted weird but not bad. It was actually surprisingly good. “That was a decent shot,” she complimented.

“Thank you!” Vi was pleased with that. She would take that. “I just like to play around.” She set the little shot cup down. Now what? She actually didn’t know. Should they hang out somewhere and chat? Or would Santana rather go hang with her friends instead? “So, uh, you gonna be hanging around a while then or…?”

“Am I going to be hanging around where?” Santana’s brow furrowed. Maybe Vi was drunker than she thought because she couldn’t figure out where Vi was referring to. “Like at the party? I just got here.” She laughed lightly.

“Oh yeah, that’s what I meant, here,” Vi replied. “I didn’t know if you were just poppin’ in and out, you know?” She smiled at Santana. Damn, she was so beautiful. “So uh, you wanna go check out the bonfire for a bit? I know it’s cold but it’s great by the fire and we can take some beers and chill or… yeah.” She could really get used to this hanging out with Santana thing.

Santana supposed that if she was going to actually consider seeing where things went with Vi then she should probably spend some time with her. “Yeah, we can head out to the fire. I've got some time before my friends send out a search party.” She offered the other woman a genuine smile.

Vi laughed lightly at that. “Okay good, ‘cause I wouldn’t want them out for my arrest or anything,” she joked back. She grabbed them each a bottle of beer from the fridge and handed one to Santana before she led the way toward the dining room, where the door led out to the yard. That’s when she saw it, the mistletoe, hanging in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. She passed through and then stopped to face Santana.

The smirk on her face was wicked as she blocked the doorway and then, once Santana was near to her, she leaned up as she tugged her down just a little with her free hand and went in for a kiss. It was bold and firm and her lips parted just enough to latch Santana’s bottom lip gently and she worked it slightly between her own lips.

It took a moment for Santana's brain to catch up with what was happening. They'd been heading outside, and then suddenly Vi’s lips were in hers. She kissed back for a moment partly because of reflex and partly because she really liked that Vi had just gone for it.

Santana didn’t immediately pull away and Vi thought that was a total win. But then the sober part of her mind was starting to kick in, asking her what the hell she was doing. She didn’t want to give in, but she had to, so she sucked just slightly on Santana’s bottom lip before she pulled away. She felt a breathless and her grin returned. She released Santana and pointed up. “Mistletoe!” she said and burst out laughing.

Feeling a little dazed when the kiss was broken, Santana frowned in confusion. “What?” She looked up to where Vi pointed and tried to figure out what she was looking at. “Oh..” Her lips bowed into a grin, and she shook her head. “I guess I'm going to have to watch where I step next time. Though...that was nice.”

“Yes, you prolly should, I’ll get you every time,” Vi teased with a slight slur to her words. Damn, she wished she was less drunk for this right here. She licked her lips and nodded. “Really nice. You have very nice lips. Not that I’ve, like… stared at them or something sometimes.” Well. That just gave that all away. “Anyway, fire.” She smirked again. Damn, she wanted to kiss her once more. She took a quick sip from her beer instead.

Santana could only stare as Vi spoke, her eyebrow arching as the other woman started on her lips. Her lips quirked, and she glanced up again. Leaning in, Santana kissed Vi again, but this time, she took control. She pressed her against the wall and slanted her mouth over the other’s, kissing her deeply. Then just as quickly she’d done it. She pulled away, grinning smugly. “Yes, let’s get outside to that fire.”

Vi was taken by surprise when Santana kissed her and it really did her in. Being pushed back against the wall like that with that kiss… completely turned her on. She hummed softly and let out a breath once Santana had broken the kiss. Wow, she could do that forever. She licked her lips again and nodded, a lot. “Yeah. Fire. Yes.” She grinned then laughed lightly and got the door for Santana before heading over to the bonfire with her.

Laughing in return, Santana didn’t bother to comment. She just followed Vi out to the fire.