#christi is a gift and as such she deserves gift

[f1version]

ONCE UPON A DECEMBER ‧͙*̩̩͙❅ CS55

pairing: prince!Carlos Sainz Jr. x princess!reader ( she/her )

summary: Once upon a December, be loved by Carlos was something your heart used to know.

warnings/info: royalty au — not in the present, angst, fluff, non explicit character death (you don’t see it happen), fighting, revenge, reader is 20 and Carlos is 22. also lewis and lando are extras in this, charles is mentioned.

word count: 1.2k

note: literally how did we get here. this was supposed to be holiday-themed, but i guess is just winter-themed, kind of. In my defense, the story starts on the 25th and mainly happens in December. I couldn't resist, this song just transported me to another reality.

i was deeply inspired by the song: once upon a december by christy altomare. i listened it for as long as it took me to write this. enjoy!!!

snowglobe, a holiday special

You stood by the window, red dress covering the high heels on your feet. Almost eight minutes had passed since you asked to be left alone in your chamber. You are anxious; a small part of you is afraid of the royals in the ballroom, which is why the golden band on your finger is twirled over and over again. It's calming. Fourteen days ago, there was a red diamond surrounded by white. Fourteen days since those lovely days in early December, warm brown eyes shimmering as your world watched you walk down the aisle.

You smile. Loving Carlos is past, present, and future now, wrapped in his arms for an eternity. 

“Mi amor,” a deep voice reverberates around the room; it’s not foreign, yet you give a small jump out of your feet, caught off guard. You turn around, and Carlos is standing before you in a black suit, adorned with medals and a sash wrapped around his figure. He gifts you that blinding smile of his as tender fingers reach your hand, prompting you to twirl for him. “You look beautiful." There’s a pause. “I don’t believe there are enough words to let you know.”

“Thank you, mi vida,” you smile. “So do you.”

Hands travel to your waist, holding you close. His fingertips slide down the red fabric, roaming your corset as he leans down to press a chaste kiss on your lips. “Are you ready?” He asks, “It’s almost time to greet our guests.”

“I am ready,” you answer, looking down, verifying your theory that Carlos doesn't have shoes on. “Though you don’t seem so ready, Carlitos.”

“Pequeños detalles, mi amor,” Small details, my love, he teases, and you laugh, “It’s snowing, did you see?” He changes topics, holding your waist firm as he turns you around, avoiding any small incidents. “White Christmas for us.”

You had barely noticed, too focused on remembering. The gardens, kingdom, and beyond are covered by a thin layer of snow, the sun glimmering over them. “It’s beautiful”

“It is,” he mutters, walking forward so his chest is pressed against your back, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Almost as beautiful as you, mi princesa,” he plants two kisses down your neck. “Soon to be Queen."

You giggle, never been happier. Having Carlos by your side, giving you all the love one could wish for—the love that you deserve—is calming, so for the first time in months, you allow yourself to think about turning 21 early next year, the crown falling over your head as the rightful ruler of this land, Carlos by your side as Prince. It isn’t as nerve-wracking as it used to be.

You turn around, lips looking for his and falling in perfect rhythm. “I love you.” 

“I love you more.” 

You’re home building in the eyes of the others when there's a knock on the door, and as permission is given, Ms. Danielle appears. “Excuse me, Your Majesties, it’s time for your entrance."

“Oh god, Carlos, please go put on your shoes!" you exclaim, pushing him slightly. Carlos laughs, sneaking a small kiss on your lips before running away. “Thank you, Danielle."

One blink of a memory takes you down the stairs, the dim glow of the ballroom wraps around people you know and soon will. You and Carlos have parted ways to create small talk with said people; he's across the room, laughing at one of the awful jokes the Prince of Monaco loves to tell. Around you, there’s a group of kings and queens, dukes and duchesses, lines of royal blood enchanted by your presence, questions and anecdotes, laughter, and gossip taking your attention.

A firm grip on your arm turns you around, and now Sir Lewis Hamilton, Head of Army, is in your line of vision. You smile, except unsettling eyes meet yours, and suddenly, if you remember well, laughter fades into screams. People you know, will know, and could’ve known run frightened. You are under attack, and soldiers start defending. Carlos is screaming, giving them orders. He's helping people get to safety, but nobody is giving it to him. 

You want to run towards him, but you are ushered away. You can’t see him any longer; the hands keeping you safe are not the same as they used to be. And you try to leave the safe room, knowing you are trained to fight for it, but they don't let you. They don't let you fall by his side.

Memories fade, jump, and dance. You’re in a meeting room, tension is building up as seconds prance through time. Sir Lewis is defending a point. You feel anger strangling your body. “You must have kept him safe!”

“They took him way before we could reach him, Your Majesty,” he argues.

“How?” You scream. “Do we not have enough people? Where were those who swore to protect his head?”

“They were defending, protecting, or dead before we noticed,” he defends. “Carlos was focused on protecting the people too.”

“I do not care.” You feel lightheaded, fury arrogating your body. “He must have been moved to the saferoom with me.”

“You are more valuable than he was."

“He was soon to be your prince!”

“And you are our future queen,” he shouts back.

Silence falls over the room, and you've never hated your future title so much. You feel eager for it, yes, but not for the right reasons.

“I wish for you to look me in the eye and repeat all of it, Lewis,” you say. He stands still, dropping his tense shoulders, and doesn't say anything. You walk closer, eyes buried in his, searching for malice—there’s none; they’re grieving. “Know your place, Lewis.”

He nods. “My apologies, Your Majesty.”

“I want you to find him,” You demand, not breaking eye contact, “No matter what you must do or how much time passes, I want the man who killed Carlos gone.”

There’s a sudden hunger in his eyes as he nods, leaving the place. You turn around, but you’re no longer in the meeting room. Scaping the sea of memories, you face your reality.

You stand by the window, red dress covering the high heels on your feet, patiently waiting for the right person to enter the room. There’s no anxiety in it; there’s anticipation—the golden band twirling around your finger over and over again.

It’s a beautiful snow day. Fourteen years ago, you were standing right here, mid-December, with a pair of brown eyes loving you, caressing you, and not having enough words to describe you. That type of love is barely a memory, buried six feet below his statue in the gardens he so dearly loved.

There’s a knock on the door. “Your Majesty?"

“Yes, Lando?"

“Sir Lewis is back; no severe injuries,” the boy announces. You hum, already knowing his next announcement: “He’s dead.”

You smile, looking down at your ring. “Thank you, Lando. Get back to your duties now.”

And as the curly-haired leaves, you wonder if this is what revenge feels like. Cold loneliness with a sense of fulfillment. There’s a crown heavy on your head with a target on it, but you are not bothered enough to care about it. Long ago, you could have held mercy over the man terrorizing kingdoms around you, fought until his defeat, but now feelings as such are things your heart used to know.

Your faint memories of Carlos lie in rest, avenged on a white December morning.

taglist — @smartstupyd @ziarah @nouvellevqgue @iloveyou3000morgan @carsgovroomm . . . add yourself here

[hearts4hughes]

congrats on 100!! you deserve every single follower<333

can you please do halley’s comet (from your song imagines list) with trevor zegras? ty!!

halley’s comet - trevor zegras

trevor zegras x fem! reader

warnings: talk of abusive relationship (doesn’t go into detail), swearing

notes: not proofread!! little quick writing for trevor because i feel like i haven’t written for him in forever

gif is not mine

i’ve been loved before, but right now in this moment

i feel more and more like i was made for you

you never planned on falling in love again. especially not with trevor zegras- a hockey player that could get any girl in the world.

after being in a toxic relationship for two years, you vowed to never be in love again. and you had stuck to that vow for a long time. you couldn’t endure another relationship that consisted of fighting, jealousy, and abuse. your perception on relationships was boggled. you had never experienced a loving, healthy relationship, and it didn’t bother you that you didn’t. however, one particular hockey player changed that.

christi- your best friend- dragged you to an anaheim ducks game one night. she was looking for fresh bait, in need of another one night hook up. it didn’t take much to drag you there considering your huge love for hockey already.

while sitting in the stands, trevor locked his eyes with yours. you were the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. he felt adrenaline rush through his veins at the sight of you, so he came to one conclusion… he needed you.

you even thought yourself that trevor was gorgeous and incredibly gifted at hockey.

at the end of the game, trevor rushed off the ice, wanting to find you. he had ran through the crowded arena in his hockey gear and crocs- which definitely sparked some weird looks and girly screams. he finally spotted you buying a duck’s stuffed animal. he swallowed nervously before approaching you.

“hi,” he began, causing you to turn around in shock. “i’m trevor.”

you swear knees started to buckle, but you remained to keep composure, not wanting to embarrass yourself.

“hi i’m y/n.” you blush, clutching onto the stuffed animal.

“not much of a talker, huh?” trevor giggles at your shyness. you break out into a toothy grin, looking anywhere but into trevor’s eyes.

“you played really good tonight.” red blush paints trevor’s cheeks at your sudden compliment.

“thank you.” he moves closer to you. goosebumps cover your skin at the small movement. “i was uh… wondering,” he nervously stumbles over his words. “if i could get your number?”

your eyes go wide. he seems nice and adorable, but so did your ex. “oh, um, i’m not sure, trevor. i’m really sorry.”

ouch.

his expression falls. he’s not too used to being rejected. “it’s ok.” his lips fall into a frown.

“i’m really sorry. i just don’t know if i’m ready for a relationship. my last one was really toxic, and i’m not looking to relive that.” you nervously ramble, trying to make him feel better.

“i get it,” he smiles. “but can i please just give you my number. just for if or when you are ready to date again?”

taking a moment, you consider his request. he’s only giving you his number. there’s no harm in getting a guys number. “sure.” you cave in.

his eyes light up like a child’s, and his signature smile comes back. he gives you a quick ‘ok’ before exchanging his number to your phone. you send him a quick text so he has yours.

that night, you and trevor texted for hours and hours. you told him you don’t know when you’d be ready to date again, and he said he’d wait for you no matter how long. his way with words just broke down the barrier around your heart. slowly overtime, he wiggled his way into your heart.

since then, you and trevor have been inseparable. you and trevor were meant to be and everyone saw it.

“baby,” you say into trevor’s chest. you’re both cuddled up on the couch. your body on top of trevor’s while he watches hockey reruns.

“yes, lovie?” he replies, pulling you closer into his chest.

“i’m so glad you completely embarrassed yourself the night we met, and asked for my number while still in hockey gear.” you giggle, kissing his bare chest.

trevor doesn’t respond, causing you to look up. his lips are pouted and eyebrows furrowed. “you thought that was embarrassing? i thought it was romantic.” he teases, tickling your sides.

swatting away his hands, you bark out in laughter. “stop it- trevor!” your words are broken up by laughter and squeals.

“not until you confess it was so romantic!” he yells, continuously tickling your body. while trying to squirm out of his hold, he flips you over. his body now traps yours underneath.

“fine, but stop and i’ll confess!” you whine. finally, he takes his hands away from your body and moves them on either side of your head, holding his muscular body up. “trevor zegras, nothing you can do is embarrassing… and when you asked for my number in the middle of honda center in your gear and crocs, that was the most romantic thing i’ve ever experienced. it was romeo and juliet type shit.”

“ok, ok, now you are over doing it.” he quirks an eyebrow before letting out a wheezy laugh.

catching your breath, you lay against trevor’s bare chest. you let his scent fill your nose. if you could get a candle that smelt like trevor, you would. he just smelt like home.

thinking back on previous relationships, you realize you’ve never had a moment like this. of course you had cuddled with your significant other before, but you never felt like this. you never felt this loved.

“i love you so much.” you breathe out, closing your eyes and bathing in his embrace. trevor’s arms return to their resting place around your body.

“i would tell you how much i love you, but i can’t put that into words. you wouldn’t be able to comprehend how much love i hold for you.” he admits, causing your cheeks to flush.

almost eight billion people on this earth, and your love was made for one person only- trevor zegras.

[somnolenthour]

𝔾𝕠𝕕 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕤

This is a gift drabble based on chapter 5 of @makeyoumine69 's fic "Till death do us part". Please check it out! Becca my beloved♡

Content warnings: Drug use and overdose

Loss of control.

His upbringing was specifically tailored to teach him how to always be in control of his situation. His father (the hardass he was) made sure that if anything were to ever happen, he could rest easy knowing that his son knew what to do. But that accounted for things like finances, sudden family emergencies, maybe even the fall of man. But Patrick couldn’t think of any scenario that involved what was happening to him; His body seized at first, muscles knotting themselves tight as he collapsed with a grunt of pain before a flash of heat broke him out into a sweat. The only thing he was thankful for was that he was still on his bed when he collapsed like a stack of cards.

The girl he hired was gone in an instant but it wasn’t like he could ask for her help when his jaw was laced so tight that instead of crying “Christie!” like he swore he had enough strength to, all he could muster was a croak from the back of his throat. That’s when he dipped below the surface, eyes too heavy to keep open anymore. His body was lead and his sheets became an unending abyss of sterility that once brought him comfort even when he was restless. His heart was clawing at the bars of its cage as it beat hard enough to cut off his hearing. He hoped he was still breathing because every intake of air was met with a twist of copper and he was sure his lungs were filled with it.

What a way to fucking go…

Would he be remembered fondly? Would people cry?

Would he be remembered at all?

It seemed so easy to just let go, let death take him. Fuck his eyes suddenly stung… Maybe he should…

“Patrick, Patrick, can you hear me?!”

Light brimmed his eyelids and he wanted to tear his eyes open, move just enough to see her. If he was going to die maybe she could see his eyes and know everything he’s held in his heart. God he felt so fucking cold, beads of sweat crystalizing into painful shards of frost against clammy skin. Something parted his lips and breathed life into his crying lungs, his oxygen starved body begging for more.

Hope.

God, how he forgot that emotion..

He needed to hold onto it, make it his own. With newly found strength he grabbed for it, wrapped his arms around it with what little grip he had. He parted from it when he could breathe again, finally able to fight the current and open his eyes. His angel before him wiping her mouth and saying something but it was hard to hear, parting from his side again like everyone else in his life… No.. Becca wouldn’t leave him.. Would she?

She returned to him, bringing him a shaky sense of comfort as she caressed his cheek. He was still struggling to breathe but he’d be fine, he’s had worse.. Would it always have to get worse? Would she lea- The prick of the needle in his arm distracted him for a moment before his eyes welled and blinded him with tears that seared his skin. He was so fucked up to her and she still found it in her to spare him, save him from a death that others would’ve thought he deserved. “Thank you” were words heavy on his heart and mind but instead he took her hand. “Don’t…Don’t leave me…” His voice cracked as he struggled to find his voice again, another wave of sobs shaking his body. She didn’t know how much he loved her at that moment and she’d never know how much he always did.

Becca talked about medicine and his family’s private doctors.. He couldn’t care less, her life was in his hands and he let her have it for now. He trusted her. God, he was terrified.. “Y-Yes…I understand…” He used what strength he regained to crawl a bit to her, wrapping himself around her, pulling her close because he needed her. He buried his head in her neck, her scent so comforting to him.

Then he remembered.

“I’m doing everything in my power not to break your fucking neck right now!”

The slam of his door, the venom in his voice. His hands shook as he balled up her scrubs in his hands, curling into her. “Oh God…” He was such a piece of shit. How could he do that to her? “I’m sorry… Please don’t go…” His tears stained her shoulder and he promised himself he’d buy her new scrubs later. “Don’t go..”

Her lips were soft..

He loved her so much…

He just didn’t know what to do..

“I love you Patty..” Her words echoed in his head.

[kazamasthings]

tekken characters and short relationship headcanons

characters: christie monteiro, jun kazama, sergei dragunov and jin kazama

christie monteiro

our beloved christie is a very cheerful and positive person! she is always seen fighting for other people and never for revenge or to just harm someone for no reason, it makes me think that she she would be a lover who would always put her lover's needs above her own. christie genuinely cares about you. she always tries to cheer you up if your down but if you just want a hug its ok her hugs are the best in the world. as a brazilian, christie will obviously take you to brazil. she's always like "honey, you're gonna love it when you try coxinha with guarana for the first time". if you watch the world cup together and you don't support brazil she will be upset (until the match ends)

jun kazama

this woman deserves all the best in the world. she is a sweetheart! jun is such a loving woman with such a big heart, but at the same time she is also very strong and mature. a relationship with her will always be covered in love and understanding. jun is always there for you, she can tell what youre feeling just by looking at each other and then she'll give you the best advice and then the sweetest kiss ever. I also see jun as someone who likes to present you with self-made gifts, like lovely, smelling letters... she definitely wants to adopt a pet with you!

sergei dragunov

ok if you think he is a man who is merciless to his enemies who serves his country above all else and takes pride in it...you are totally right! but who says even the cold sergei can't fall in love? he has a strong personality but inside he is kind to you! if you like to cook and welcome him with your favorite dish after a long period of work, you will melt his heart. sergei is someone serious And he wouldn't enter a relationship without being sure he wanted to be with you for the rest of his life. his favorite cuddling time is when he's with you on a cold winter day, he makes you hot drinks and snuggles up to watch a good musical. he really appreciates music and enjoys singing to you. he also writes poems while he is away from you and gives you when you meet again. you have a box of his poems.

jin kazama im sorry but im a jin, hwoarang and steve fox enthusiast so i always want to write about one of them or all of them hahaha

this poor babe has serious trust issues so if he got into a relationship with you it's because he completely trusts you. don't break his trust! during part of his life he can live well and happily with his mother, he learned to love, so some part of him still wants to love and romance. jin is destroyed inside because he was betrayed by people who should love him, so he is insecure about showing his feelings, in fact he doesnt even know how. he carries a heavy burden, but you've always been so good to him... even if he has the blood of a demon, you still love him and tell him, that's why he looks at you with so much love. he is filled with hope when he thinks of you. jin kazama's thoughts while looking at you: i need to end this hatred to make a better world for everyone, but especially for you.

[el-gilliath]

It’s All in a Hat

Otherwise known as Five times Michael told people off when they touched his hat and one time he didn’t Also known as the fic I wrote @christchex to show her my undying love and gratitude for being who she is.

And also completely written because of this post by @monluna-dreamer

Small note of warning for Wyatt Long being a class a racist douchebag

1. Michael’s hat is a no go zone. Everyone knows this, and everyone respects it, because if they so much as lay a finger on the black cowboy hat Michael will either a) tear you a new one or b) outright punch you. 

Liz Ortecho, however, has been gone from Roswell for ten years, and as she wasn’t there when Michael got the hat, she doesn’t know just how attached he is to it. Which is why she casually picks it up one night they’re in the Pony and starts to look at it, turning it in her hands to look at the seams and inside, frankly curious about the hat that spends so much time on Michael’s head.

“Where did Mikey get this hat?” She looks up, looking for someone to answer her but instead freezes at the way they’re all looking at her in shock. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because, Ortecho,” Michael says behind her. He does not sound pleased. “There’s three rules about the hat.”

“Oh?”

“One, don’t ever touch the hat.” He plucks it out of her fingers and places it on his head. “Two, don’t make any kind of remarks about the hat. And three, don’t ask about the hat.”

Her eyes follow him as he turns around and walks out of the Pony. From the look on Isobel and Maria’s faces this behavior when it comes to the hat isn’t new, though Max looks like he’s slightly annoyed. Probably because Michael just left when they were there to discuss important things. 

“He’s not kidding, Liz. Don’t ever mess with the hat.”

She looks at Max. “Why, though?”

“We don’t know,” Isobel replies. “He never told us where it came from. Just that it’s sacred.”

Her voice turns nasal when she says the word sacred. Liz frowns at that but doesn’t say anything. Maria just looks pensive. Like she has an idea but doesn’t want to share for her own peace of mind. Liz is curious, maybe one day she’ll get the story. Until then; point taken. 

2. Kyle Valenti likes to use the same excuse, he hasn’t been in Roswell for ten years so he doesn’t know things. Never mind that his mother is the sheriff and keeps him apprised on all things Roswellian, no matter if he wants to or not, he will still live by the “I didn’t know” if he can. Luckily for him he’s charming enough that it usually works when he does do something wrong.

Of course there’s people that don’t buy it. Arturo is one, Alex the second, and Rosa the third. Isobel will give him the benefit of the doubt if in a good mood, Liz is to kind not to believe him, Maria just shakes her head and Max just frankly doesn’t care.

Then there’s Michael Guerin, who sees through all kinds of bullshit Kyle talks about, so much so that Kyle has started to test the limits of what he can get away with. He’s tried it with cars, he’s tried it with alcohol, he tried it with the Evans siblings(which did not go well) and he’s tried it with the Airstream. The number is currently 0-1 in Guerin’s favor, but he still tries. He likes the challenge.

He decides to try it with the hat, because he’s had a few beers to many, sitting at the junkyard with Alex, Guerin is being a broody shit, and he’s bored without any alien shenanigans to deal with. Which is something he never thought he would think.

“Hey, Guerin, what’s actually up with the hat?”

“None of your beeswax, Valenti,” is the reply he gets. Rude.

“No, tell me, what’s up with it?” He asks as he reaches out a hand towards the hat on Michael’s head. He doesn’t expect the mighty punch he receives to the shoulder. “Ow! What the fuck, Guerin?”

“Kyle.” The disapproval in Alex’s voice is enough to let him know how much of a brat he’s being.

“Sorry, Guerin.”

“Whatever, Valenti.” He knows Guerin isn’t done being pissed off, but he still hands him a beer so he guesses he’s sort of forgiven. For now.

He realizes he’s wrong when he gets up to pee about 15 minutes later and he falls over because his shoelaces are tied together, to Guerin’s roaring laugh and Alex’s coughing that means he’s trying to hide a laugh. Stupid telekinesis.

3. Wyatt Long is a douchebag, it’s known, it’s heard, it’s just a fact of life. He’s a white privilege, New Mexico 1st born son of the worst caliber, who spews racism like it’s fact, slurs like they have meaning, offence like it’s the law, be it against latinx, black or native people. He doesn’t care who he hurts, who he offends, who hates him.

What he does care about is who he hates, and Michael Guerin is on the near top of that list, just underneath Max Evans.

Stupid fucking Michael Guerin, who runs around like he owns Roswell in that stupid, fucking black cowboy hot.

Only good, proud, ranger sons like Wyatt should be allowed to wear hats like that. That Michael Guerin, whore and drunk that he is, runs around in one is a disgrace.

One night in the Pony, Wyatt decides to do something about that after a bourbon of eight. Guerin is sitting at the bar as usual, flirting with the DeLuca chick. She’s hot as fuck, but a bartender is beneath his standards. Even if he would like to fuck her to check if she’s up to par.

“Hold up guys, I’mma get Guerin’s hat,” he tells his group of friends, grinning as they holler and yell after him as he walks up to the bar. He might be a little unsteady, but who the fuck cares.

“What do you want, Long?”

“Well I could always do with a night in your bed, gorgeous,” he replies, giving DeLuca his most winning smile. The look of disgust on her face just fuels the rage, as does the snort Guerin lets out. “What, you think you’re so much better than me, Guerin? At least I have a house, not a tin can.”

“That the best you can do, Long? Cause that’s just sad, I happen to like my tin can, and guess what, so does Maria.”

Wyatt completely misses DeLuca’s hissed out “Guerin!” Or Guerin cringing at the tone in her voice. All he can hear is the angry rush of blood in his ears. 

“The fuck do you have this hat for anyway, Guerin? You ain’t no fucking ranger and you don’t fucking deserve to wear it.” He picks up the black hat and crunches his fingers around the top of it. 

He doesn’t realize he’s been punched until he’s already falling backwards with a hell of a pain in his nose, his head this close to smacking into the ground as he lands, hard. He can already feel the blood starting to gush from the broken nose. 

“You wanna talk smack about where I live, go right on ahead. But don’t you ever fucking touch the hat, or question why I wear it, Long.”

He’s too busy trying not to cry from the pain to notice as Michael steps over him, hat on his head, and leaves into the night. 

4. Maria DeLuca is not a woman who doesn’t know herself. She has far to much of a psychic ability for that, has had far to many struggles in her life for that and has sacrificed too many things for that. She knows who she is inside and out, she knows what she’s worth and she knows that she deserves. She doesn’t have to fool herself into anything. Even if she did, her ability wouldn’t let her for long. Most times it’s a gift, sometimes it’s a curse.

“You’re never gonna let me touch it, are you?”

She knows it’s the wrong question when Michael leers, drunkenly, at her. “Gorgeous, you can touch it any time you want.”

“Your hat, Guerin.”

She watches him quickly pick up the hat from the bar, putting it into his lap instead of anywhere near she can reach from behind the bar. It’s all the answer she needs, isn’t it. 

“Maria-“

“Don’t.” She smiles at him, a small smile she knows is full of sadness. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Michael answers. His eyes, though drunk, mirrors her sadness. It makes her feel a tiny bit better because she knows they both do want this to work, in their own way. 

“Yes, it is. You can’t help how you feel.” The words Liz told her echoes in her head. She knows Michael likes her, truly likes her, but she can never compete with Alex. And while she knows Alex is fine with Michael and her, she doesn’t know how fine she is by always coming in second place. Even if Michael chose her out in the world, she’s very rarely first in his head. “Did he give you the hat?”

Michael just looks at her. She won’t be getting a reply any time soon. For some reason, she’s okay with that. Maybe because she knows it would hurt more if he did.

“If there’s any woman in the world I would let touch the hat, it would be you.”

She surprises herself by laughing. For Michael Guerin that’s the perfect endearment and she adores him for it. Especially since she feels how much he means it. 

“I need some time.”

Michael nods, unsurprised but still saddened by it. “Text me, yeah?”

Maria nods in reply, maintaining a smile on her face as Michael, and the iconic hat, leaves her bar. It’s only when the door closes behind him that she lets herself feel the sadness of what could have been. 

5. Arturo Ortecho is used to tourists. It’s the one big thing you have to deal with owning a diner in New Mexico, but as they are his biggest revenue stream, he doesn’t mind them. In fact he welcomes them gladly, with his alien themed menus, alien themed outfits and antennas. He loves their ooo’s and their aaa’s, he loves giving them genuine mexican cuisine that they all seem to enjoy, he loves his old jukebox with silly old songs that adults fawn over and children thinks are stupid. He loves it all.

The only thing he might have a slight issue with is when they come in and don’t respect other people’s property. He’s far to used to people trying to destroy the diner after… But he doesn’t negotiate when it comes to leaving his other customers things alone.

“You should leave that hat alone before the owner sees you,” Arturo says with a look at the three teens who are now frozen by Michael’s hat, one of their hands reaching out towards it. “He doesn’t take kindly to it being touched, a true cowboy never does. The hat is what makes the man, you would do well to remember that.”

The kids look from the hat to him, to the antenna on his head (which is fair), before they nod respectfully, leaving it alone and walking back to their seats. Funny, it’s been a while since anyone nodded respectfully to him. Especially kids. 

“Thanks, Mr. Ortecho.”

“Bah.” He turns towards Michael, who’s coming out of the kitchen wiping his hands. “You fix my fridge?”

“Needs a new part, but I got one at the junkyard so I’ll be back later.”

“Good. Take some meatloaf with you when you go, you’re too skinny.”

He doesn’t need to see Michael to know he’s smiling as he picks up the meatloaf, and the hat, on his way out the door. He’s a good boy, that one. 

+1 “Has anyone besides you ever worn or even touched the hat, Michael?” Isobel asks, one night as the entire group sit in her living room, bottles of tequila and bourbon cluttered on her living room table. They’ve been celebrating life, just because they can, just because everyone is alive and just because they want to.

“Why is everyone so damn curious about the damn hat? It’s just a black cowboy hat.”

Maria snorts. “That’s a damn lie and you know if. You start fights over that hat. You punched Wyatt Long so hard he broke his nose over the hat.”

Michael sighs, and looks down on the floor. “Long deserved it.”

“Long deserves a lot of things. But he’s not the first you’ve punched over it,” Max interjects, giving Michael a look when he looks up from the floor.

“Come on Mikey, just tell us,” Liz says, pouting as Michael’s gaze swings over to her. His eyes does the round after that, from Isobel, Kyle, Rosa, Maria, Jenna, Max and finally landing on Alex. Alex doesn’t do anything but smile encouragingly. Because Alex Manes, last son of Jesse Manes, current Captain of the United States Air Force, resident of Jimmy Valenti’s cabin in Roswell, New Mexico, is the only one, besides Michael, who knows the origin story of Michael’s hat. No one has ever asked him if he knows and he would never tell anyone.

“Oh my god, Alex knows?” Isobel asks, shock and delight on her face. They all look curious now, even Maria, who’s been the biggest advocate of them figuring out their shit since her and Michael broke up.

Michael smiles, and gives Alex a small nod. Guess he is telling someone after all. “Of course I know. I bought him the hat.”

There’s silence for a second, before questions hurtle at them from everyone in the room. How and why and when but Alex and Michael doesn’t answer any of them, they just look at each other and smile, remembering a dusty, hot weekend in Kansas when Alex was on leave. A weekend without cares, without fear and without worry, where Alex found the perfect black cowboy hat while out buying sustenance, and brought it back to their motel room. A weekend that like all others ended on a sad note, but was perfect the way it was.

“Does he let you wear it?”

Both Alex and Michael look at Jenna, before they turn back to one another. A second later the black cowboy hat floats from the hallway and lands on Alex’s head. It’s still a bit big on him, but it still makes him smile.

“Yeah, I do.”

They only have eyes for each other, as the room explodes in a symphony of joyous noise.

[izloveshorses]

ok but can u imagine going to Taco Bell and christy altomare is there and she’s explaining her usual meal order to her phone and she gives u her Cinnabon delights bc u never tried them before 

[nanowrimo]

Don’t Let Your NaNoWriMo Engine Idle

Now that November is over, you may be taking some time to rest, recover, pursue things other than writing—or possibly continue to work on your story! Today, author and baker Amy Wallen shares some ins-pie-ration for moving forward with your novel:

Coming off the adrenaline rush of NaNoWriMo, so many feelings rush through us—relief, pride, and exhaustion are just a few of them. 

Relief because, woohoo, you survived! Those last few days as you rounded the bend when your family wanted a pie, and you had to be nice to your in-laws, you just about gave in, but instead you bought a pie at the store, kept your mouth shut, and got your writing done. Or, like me, maybe you wrote extra before and after to make up for taking that day or two of rest (shhh, don’t tell) over the holiday. But, whew, you typed the 50,000 words by the end.  

Pride! You should be dancing the Snoopy dance because you did it, you met your goal; or even if you didn’t quite meet the goal, you kept at it and reached the finish line—first draft of a novel, or a hell of a start. 

Exhaustion because even though you let the laundry pile up, ate more prepared than fresh foods, and your exercise regimen may have slacked off, you still had to go about your regular day (some of us had to keep earning a living). 

You are on the other side and it feels so good. Reaching a goal does that—makes us feel exhilarated and gives us the incentive to keep trying for more, to reach another goal, and another. 

NaNoWriMo is just the beginning. “Beginning?!” you ask. “You want me to do that same big push forever?” 

Why not? Agatha Christie did. Okay, maybe we aren’t all Guinness Book of World Record writers, but we are all writers, every single writer has one thing in common with all other writers—we write. Every day.

Maybe there’s that adjustment made for getting around the holiday bend, but November was the perfect warm up for getting that daily habit revved up and set into place. 

December has a few holidays in it too, and more pies to be baked. But your writing still needs to be nurtured. Don’t you hear it calling to you? That draft is ready to be revised and rewritten, submitted, and then out in the world! NaNoWriMo provided the jumping off, so don’t let your novel freefall with no one to catch it. Let the laundry pile up a little longer (clearly everyone survived wearing their sweater an extra day or two), buy your pies from your pie baker friend, and give your novel that gift of attention it deserves. Keep the momentum going, because it’s a whole lot harder to get a cold engine started again than to stay warmed up because January is just around the corner. 

January, the month of resolutions. No one ever made a resolution to do more laundry, but plenty of resolutions have been broken to finish that novel. If you stay with it, by spring you could have the first of two novels written for the year, like Agatha. Or, at the very least, another draft. 

Set a goal, then another. When you’re exhausted, stop and make a pie. Then pick up your pen again and keep writing. How else are we ever going to get to read your book?

Amy Wallen is most recently the author of How to Write a Novel in 20 Pies: Sweet & Savory Secrets of Surviving the Writing Life. Bestselling author of a novel, and a memoir, she teaches writing workshops in California, France, and anywhere she’s invited, usually with pie. She was associate director of the New York State Summer Writers Institute for 7 years and founded DimeStories—three-minute stories told by the author and featured on NPR. https://www.amywallen.com/

Illustrations by Emil Wilson.

[philtstone]

but not alone

in a shocking twist i really was able to finish this on time for it to be a birthday gift to myself lmao -- done with 2 minutes on the clock

some background: i watched "why didn't they ask evans?", remembered i adored agatha christie novels, and immediately had to try writing this. depending on what you guys think and my Life schedule i may write part 2 because the potential latter half of this plot is so fun it really deserves to see the light of day -- but anyway. The Premise: bucky didnt fall off the train, steve still sacrificed himself, and a whole lot of characters were born multiple decades earlier than in canon. a big thank you to @firstelevens and @parlegee for their emotional support and plotting help and also to @flyinghome-againstthewind for their lovely encouragement and enthusiasm re the fic concept! i wrote more, as promised, and here it is!

the title is from fellowship of the ring because i am insufferable, and every little comment and kudos makes my year

Summary: After the weird-looking carpet cleaner has whistled three times the man says,

“You don’t look like a German spy,” muttered, like he’s really thinkin’ about it.

“Seriously?” splutters Sam. He says this so forcefully that the other guy has the nerve to look a little offended. But now, come on – come on, Sam thinks. It’s a fair question. Only Sam’s been having a really difficult forty-eight hours, so he doesn’t appreciate it.

It’s here that something big and important feeling clicks in Sam’s head. He’s seen that scowl before – just yesterday, ignoring poor Miss Dollie.

And just this morning, in the papers plastered all over his motel lobby.

“Oh,” says Sam, “you gotta be kidding me.” 

But alas, there’s no kidding to be had. 

“From the paper – they think you killed him, man!”

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes pales three shades under what little tan he has, but otherwise doesn’t react. 

OR: Sam, Bucky, and a Post-War murder mystery that demands the power of friendship.

Excerpt:

The thing about Peggy is that she understands him, which is just a bitch and a half sometimes.

“You threw the weapon out.”

She’s repeating this, flatly, but with enough inflection that Bucky comprehends the are you perhaps a massive idiot implied therein. Peg would say it like that too — use perhaps and massive and arch her eyebrows.

Bucky presses his hands harder where they’re clutched at his temples and grimaces. “Look, I wasn’t thinking clearly, alright?”

“James.”

James, full name, not Jim like when she’s being chummy and of course Agent Margaret Carter of His Majesty’s Royal Service never quite got around to following Steve’s lead on the Bucky front. Bucky grimaces harder. Peggy will stare and be sardonic and, God help him suspicious until he explains.

“I dunno what you want me to say, Peg – it was there in the drawer and I couldn’t bear lookin’ at it anymore.” 

Her resultant expression is just a touch too understanding for his taste. 

“How the hell would I know that tossing a Colt into the Hudson in the middle of the night would get Howard killed?” Bucky adds, to move past it.

Minutely as possible Peggy flinches. Balls of steel, he’s always said. The other guys thought the same, but none of them had the guts to say it aloud. Speaking of other guys –

“Dugan’s coming over.”

“Like hell he is,” Bucky says.

Peggy takes an elegant drag of her cigarette. She’s sitting at the dull brown edge of his made-up bed and being careful enough that the ashes don’t spill. What difference that’ll make Bucky’s not sure. His apartment’s the definition of sad. Becca nearly cried last week when she visited, but then instead of crying yelled at him ‘til he relented and got a pillow. 

“Evidently,” says Peggy, still on the topic of Dum-Dum, “he has not considered the double agent angle. His wife made you casserole.”

“Mm,” says Bucky, grim. He walks over to his meager kitchen, pulls a dusty bottle out from the cabinet and unscrews it. “Gonna get him killed one of these days.”

“Given my ongoing conviction that you are not in fact a spy –”

“Jury’s out on you though,” Bucky says, raising the bottle at her.

“-- you do realize that you are a prime suspect in the murder of our close personal friend.” She blows out. “If we can’t rely on our comrades, we’re rather fucked.”

“I am, you mean.”

Her mouth turns mulish and she looks away to the window then back. Maybe she did mean we, lumping the two of them under the tarp of some morbid umbrella. Steve’s dead and gone and sacrificed nobly, isn’t he.

“You didn’t kill Howard and he didn’t damn well kill himself,” says Peggy, steely. “I’d like to know which bastard did.”

Read More on ao3

[snow-in-the-desert]

Dramione Recommendations

Ok so, 2020 has been A LOT but on a personal note one of the most surprising things to happen was me discovering Dramione fanfiction and becoming unashamedly obsessed with it. I really didn’t see that coming but I’m here now and I’m here to stay. 

I think I started reading in the Dramione fandom around mid July last year?? (In all honesty I’ve lost any true sense of time’s progression at this point so I could be well off the mark with that) And I’ve decided to compile a list of all my favourite fics I’ve read so far. Why? I really just want to gush over all the amazing writers I have found through this fandom because y’all deserve it. 

Side note: If any of the authors actually sees this post just dm so I can buy you coffee or post you writing supplies or something idk I feel like that’s the least I can do for all your amazing work x

Remain Nameless by @heyjude19-writing

Ok I have to start with RN because this fic is pretty much the sole reason I decided to create an account with A03 or a tumblr or just decided to get involved with this fandom at all. 

I headcannon this story hard. But I think even if you aren’t a fan of Dramione you should just read this because it is so unbelievably good and well written and poignant and Draco’s sarcastic personality in this is truly a thing of beauty in this - I relate to his inner monologue’s on a deep personal level. 

I could rave about this story any time, any day of the week, just ask me. In fact, maybe I’ll just start a HeyJude19 fan club to fulfill that urge.

There are so many elements that I love but for the sake of brevity, RN is a beautifully told story of Draco and Hermione finding love and healing in a post-war HP setting. Heyjude19 had the very special ability of making me want to simulatenously laugh, cry and swoon with the power of her words. Just stop what you are doing and go read it now if you havent already, ok?  

I also really enjoyed reading Bells on a Hill, Beers, Potions and Unwise Notions and A Shift in Focus, if you are looking for smaller fics, definitely give these a go. They are all funny and heartfelt stoires that will make your tippy toes wriggle with glee. 

The Rights and Wrongs Series by @lovesbitca8

The Right Thing To Do, All The Wrong Things and The Auction are the holy trinity of Dramione writing. I have christened it thus, so mote it be. And frankly I’m not interested in any other opinion than that one, thank you very much!

After reading this series I don’t think I’ll be able to look back on the orginal HP books without thinking of Hermione’s and Draco’s memories of their time at Hogwarts in these fics as anything other than strictly cannon. 

So many things to love about this series but I think one of the major highlights was Hermione and Draco’s use of occlumency. LoveBitca8 created such beautiful visuals with how occlumency works as a magical practice and seeing Draco and Hermione so devoted to eachother to the point of safeguarding their inner most feelings to protect eachother was unbelievably romantic and poetic. 

Also the smut is divine ;)

Manacled by @senlinyu​

My heart will never be the same after reading this story. Like I actually can’t think about this fic without getting a lump at the back of my throat. I have never felt so emotionally ruined after reading anything, compared to the likes of this fic. Just please, please read it. To badly quote HP, reading Manacled will make you suffer but you’re going to be happy about it.

The flashbacks are a rollercoaster in of themselves but the way Hermione inadvertently refers to them when she is still in a state of memory loss was so heartbreaking to read. My heart still aches for them both. Also its a truly satisfying to see Draco and Hermione written in a way were they are both so fiercly protective of one another. They make my insides go soft. 

I also really enjoyed Snow Fall, Now Is A Gift and All You Want by the author but to be honest anything written by Senlinyu is always thoroughly enjoyable and worth a look. 

The Erised Effect by @adaprix​

Ada is QUEEN of dramione smut but ‘The Erised Effect’ is top tier. Its equal parts funny, romantic, sentimental and oh so sexy. Ada really knows how to build and build on sexual tension and doesn’t disappoint on the final delivery. I’m a big admirer of her writing style and just veraciously read whatever she posts but ‘The Erised Effect’ is just golden. A must read. (Also Pansy’s sexual fantasy in this story is a visual I don’t think I’ll ever be able to remove from my brain so thanks for that Ada)

Also quick side note: Adaprix’ stories were the first I read when I was looking into this fandom and it was enough to get me hooked on the pairing from the get go so I have that to thank Ada for too. I remember devouring all the stories she had posted to A03 and when I was done I was like... now what am I supposed to do with my life?? And that’s basically when I began to look deeper into the fandom and thus the course of my life in 2020 changed for the better. 

Some other stories I love by her are Break for Me, All My Sins, The Big 4-0, The Fucklust Series and The Flat in Bath. 

Clean by @olivieblake​

This 6th Year AU where Draco and Hermione work together on a class assignment and end up falling in love had me feeling all kinds of ways when I read it. I almost don’t know where to start but I think one of the stand out things for me was how immersed I felt in reading it. 

Hogwarts is captured really well, you get a good sense of class atmospheres, character nuances and behind the scenes of events that happen in HBP but from a Draco and Hermione’s perspectives. It’s well executed and intricate tapestry of a fic. With an excellent plot twist ending! 

Also Hermione and Draco’s relationship in this is equal parts fluffy and smutty and it just ticks all the right boxes that you want to see for those characters ;)

Breath Mints / Battle Scars by @onyx-and-elm​

The angst in this one is just *chef’s kiss*

God I love this fic. The way Draco is portrayed is very true to his defensive and tetchy character in the original books but he is also given so much more depth. The way his diary entries are written are just so well executed. It’s a true testament to the author’s creative writing skill. And I LOVE how even though Draco is clearly in such a messed up place, he still has a basic level of self respect and dignity that he won’t tolerate being used or undervalued in his relationship with Hermione. 

Yep, I really love Draco’s characterisation in this one if you can’t tell.  But Hermione is also well written too. Her stuggles and trauma of returning to Hogwarts after war is described in a believable and grounded way. And my heart definitely ached for them both. I just wanted to wrap the pair of them in a big fuzzy blanket and tell them that everything will be alright. 

WANDS OUT! by @persephonestone​

This murder mystery / Dramione / Theo x Harry / AU crossover is everything I didn’t know I wanted until I read it. I felt like I was picked up and plonked right into an alternative dimension where all the characters of HP are just living it up in an Agatha Christie novel. 

It’s a funny and clever story that I found refreshing to read amongst all the other fanfics that are usually cemented in the HP timeline or universe. Theodore Nott in this fic is perfection he should be written like this in every fic from now on in my opinion. I couldn’t stop giggling any time he had a scene in the story.

And the ‘only one bed’ trope in this fic is 10/10. I don’t want to give spoilers but ohmygod. It hits all the right notes. 

The One With Technical Difficulties by cassielassie 

Cassielassie has an excellent three part series of Dramone called ‘The One with...” but I have to give special credit to this story in particular for one main reason. ELEVATOR TROPES. I can’t get enough of em. I think I have my early childhood viewings of NCIS to thank for my obsession with elevator tropes they just do something to me that simply cannot be explained with mere words. The palpable sexual tension of being in a broken down elevator with an ‘enemies to lovers’ pairing, a heated arguement breaks out followed by a discovery of mutual feelings and a romantic embrace...

Eugh. It gets me everytime. And this fic is no exception. I loved it for all the reasons I’ve already stated above but also for the attention to detail in Draco and Hermione’s careers makes this one particularly immersive. The dynamics between them established in this one-shot are convincingly portrayed and the chemistry between them is so undeniably hot. 

The Light is No Mystery by @masterofinfinities​

Yooo if you want to read a dramione fic that is a deep dive into Pureblood culture and Post-War recovery but is also a perfect allegory for discrimination and today’s political landscape of moral grandstanding for votes then look no further than this one. 

This story has a bit of everything. Intrigue, mystery, ptsd and recovery, enemies to lovers / secret relationship, government conspiracy and humour, to name a few. I eargerly await every update to this story and am anxious to know how it ends!

The Eagle’s Nest by HeartOfAspen 

Finally! A fic that gives me the Ravenclaw representation I crave. I think I could recommend this fic on the lore depicted of Ravenclaw house alone. ‘The Stacks’ and Rowena Ravenclaw’s own ‘come and go room’ are just such cool details that I could see being real in the HP universe. 

This fic is so cosy and makes me feel like I’m just popping back into Hogwarts for another year. You get to see all the usuals like prof. Mcgongall, Nearly headless Nick, PEEVES, Hagrid, as well as learn more about minor characters from the other school houses. The story follows Hermione going to her day to day classes and there are interesting concepts about magic and alchemy that are explored. 

Draco and Hermione’s relationship in this one is of course very fluffy and heartfelt. But it’s the attention to detail that really makes this fic outstanding and the experience of reading it feels fleshed out and true to HP universe.

A shorter fic by HeartofAspen that I recommend is one called Set in Stone, it has an adventurous, Indianna Jones vibe to it, that I am so down for. 

Teachable Moments by @purplesugarquills

In this fic Hermione is an innocent little virgin determined to learn everything about sex. And Draco Malfoy is her tutor. If that isn’t enough to get you on board then I don’t know what is. Both Heartfelt and Steamy. PurpleSugarQuills writes smut so well but it’s the progression of their growing attachment and the nervous treading of new uncharted waters of romantic relationships for both of them that just adds a whole other level of feels to the story. Also chapter 9 is like reading poetry - its so good. Eugh just give it a read if you haven’t already.

Les Pèlerins by @pacific-rimbaud

This story is high art. It’s transcendent. Reading this story feels like the emotional equivalent of standing around a hundred glowing fairy lights, sipping hot cocoa and being wrapped in the loving embrace of a s/o. I can’t speak my praises highly enough or even become passably coherent in my words when I try to articulate a review. 

From the very first paragraph I felt like I was just whisked away on a Parisian holiday and I’ve never even bloody been to Paris but damn it if this story didn’t make me feel like I was there. The writing style is just so tactile and intense it’s like I could feel the cold winter air brush against me as I read it. Eugh I just completely fell in love with the story and the writer. 

New Year’s resolution. Read everything PacificRimbaud has ever posted online. 

[fighterkimburgess]

This Wasn’t Supposed to Happen Chapter 22 - Epilogue

Summary: At Andy’s second birthday party Sylvie and Kelly share their happiness. Series Masterlist here

Words: 869

Warnings: none

Wanna join my taglist?

—

When the buzzer on the condo went Sylvie leaned back, frustration clear on her face.

“It’s ok, I’ll get it. Finish feeding Matt.” Kelly pushed a kiss to the top of her head as he went past, Andy holding his hand.

“Happy birthday baby!” Her mom and dad were the first at the door, Violet and Kevin just behind them to celebrate Andy’s second birthday. When they’d decided to do a birthday party for Andy she’d thought it’d be a disaster, but he deserved a day to himself.

Matt was born right on his due date, a birth that went off without a hitch with Kelly there to cut the cord. Their family had expanded, Andy getting used to the baby better than either of his parents had expected.

But the previous night, after they’d come home from the courthouse with Andy’s adoption confirmed, Kelly had gotten down on one knee with Sylvie’s original wedding ring to ask her to marry him.

She’d hidden the ring in the back of her nightstand, a memory that she didn’t know if she wanted to remember. But he’d found it when getting something for her, and his words when he proposed would never be forgotten.

“It’s probably bad karma to use a second hand ring but I know this means as much to you as it does to me. I love you, and I love our sons. I love this family that we’ve built together. I know that it’s not exactly the way we expected things to go from that night in Vegas, but I can’t imagine my life without you. Will you please marry me?” It was cleaned and in a new ring box, the shiny rose gold and silver ring in his hand. It was much plainer than a normal engagement ring, but for her it was perfect.

“Yes. It would always be yes.” She’d kissed him deeply, holding him close and remembering that this time was for keeps.

“Can I see my youngest grandson?” Monica was straight over to Sylvie, arms out to reach for Matt. Sylvie just smiled at her mom, indicating to the bottle in her hand but it was no match for Monica who lifted him without skipping a beat in the feeding. She’d settled on the couch with the baby in her arms when she spotted the glint of metal on Sylvie’s hand.

“Is that…?” She trailed off, the others gathering around at Monica’s words. Kelly slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close with a wry smile.

“I asked Sylvie to marry me last night, and she said yes.” It was cheers and celebration before the party truly got underway, their friends from 51 and outside of work - the few there were - there with them. 

Andy ran semi wild with Terrance and Kenny, the two older boys pulling him along and playing. He got gifts from everyone, “tank yewww” drawled as he took them and handed them over to one of his parents. When Christie and Antonio arrived they hugged him almost as tightly as Kelly and Sylvie did before speaking to them, nods and smiles between the four adults.

They’d explained to Andy that he was adopted, but he didn’t fully understand it yet. A photo of Matt and Gabby on their wedding day was on the wall, beside Kelly and Sylvie with Andy. His birth parents would never be forgotten, and Sylvie knew they’d be proud of who he was becoming. They’d stepped up and he would always know that he had two sets of parents who loved him.

It was when she was putting out the cake that her ring was spotted by the rest of the guests, sly comments and hugs to her and Kelly. They sang happy birthday to Andy, Matt in her arms as the four got in for a picture with a grinning toddler. It was one of the pictures that would end up on their wall, their little family there happy and healthy and whole.

That night, after a sugar high two year old was in bed and they were curled up on the couch with Matt against her chest, Sylvie cuddled into Kelly’s shoulder.

“I love you,” she murmured, a kiss his initial response.

“I love you too. I’m sorry for how I acted when you first joined 51, you didn’t deserve it.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” She turned around to look into the eyes of her fiancé, the father of her kids, the same eyes she saw in their youngest every day. “Us? This family? This wasn’t supposed to happen. But now it has, and we get to live together and be happy. I’m going to choose to be happy.”

“That sounds pretty perfect. We’ll choose to be happy together.”

He took her left hand, raising it to his lips and pressing a kiss to the cool metal of her ring. “This is back where it belongs.”

“And yours is going back soon too.”

They sat there quietly, light snuffles from Matt the only thing to break the silence, as Sylvie tried counting all her blessings. But soon she wasn’t able to keep count, smiling as she leaned back and relaxed.

[the-astromeners-bakery]

How the Wayne’s reacted to meeting Cassandra’s girlfriend (Me) and also the gifts I brought them-

Bruce Wayne-

He was pretty nice. He told me that as long as I treated Cassandra right and made her happy, we would have no problems. He even asked Cass my allergies so he could plan the meals accordingly. It was hard to get a gift for a BILLIONAIRE, but he seemed to like the fruit basket-

Dick Grayson-

He was very excited. Apparently, I’ve been the first person to ever beat him at Star Wars trivia. He said he wanted to meet me in a week for a rematch. He really like the playing cards and chess set I got him.

Jason Todd-

Pretty chill. Asked we what I read and if I wrote. We had a long discussion about grammar and the best writing tactics. He offered to teach me Spanish. He appreciated the pack of rare novels I got him, and even offered to pay me for them. I said no but I still found 300$ in my Paypall.

Tim Drake-

He shared his coffee maker with me, so that’s a win. He asked me the stereotypical questions, how we met, how long we’ve been together, etc. He also said he’d been willing to help me if I’m struggling in anything. He said he’d out the coffee mixtures I got him to use, as well as the new laptop.

Stephanie Brown-

She gave me a semi-tour of the mansion, told me if I ever wanted to move in there was always room. She also admitted that she was the one who ordered that giant load from my shop just so I could have extra spending money, which made me glad I choose to see her some purple dresses.

Damian Wayne-

I knew he would be tough to please, so I brought a basket with all the kittens in it to hopefully a good impression. He didn’t say much to my face, just leaning down to pet them, but Cass told me I had his approval. I decided to take the risk and get him a peacock… I almost thought I saw a smile.

Duke Thomas-

Listen, this dude is a sweetheart. He ate the majority of the baked goods I gave him, and quietly asked if he could have more the next time I visited. He’s about Christie’s age I think, so I offered to tutor him in literature.

Harper and Cullen row-

I put these two together because they never left each other’s side. Harper was pretty open about it, while Cullen took a little convincing. They both liked the art supplies I gave them, and Harper asked if I wanted to meet again to draw with them.

Helena Wayne/Bertinellie-

Are they twins or something? No clue. I got them both gift cards because of last minute shopping- they still seem to like and respect me.

Luke Fox-

Also a sweetheart. Challenged me to a few rounds of basketball while asking me questions. I lost most of them, but it was good game. When I gave him a ball pump, he pat me in the back and thanked me.

Barbara Gordon-

Lovely woman. Said she’s ‘grateful that Cass is dating an empath’. How did that woman know?! Anyways, she loved the headphones and wheelchair bag, so that’s great.

Carrie Kelly-

Really energetic kid. Cass told me she wanted to get into sewing, so I bought her a beginners kit and taught her the basics. Safe to say, I might be her favorite non-sibling.

And of course..

Alfred Pennyworth-

Sweet old man. If anyones hurts him I will personally kill them. No one deserves him. I brought him some herbs I grew and he seemed to appreciate them. He called me “Young Master” as first. When I told him I wasn’t comfortable with that, he didn’t even blink before calling me “Young Lass” instead. Sweet old man.

Safe to say, I’m pretty much welcome back anytime. Apparently, there’s still some family I haven’t met that just couldn’t make it, but I’ll see them at what Mr. Wayne called “Introduction part 2”. I’m glad it all worked out fine.

[invincible-selfxmade-punk]

I posted 23,755 times in 2022

That's 3,258 more posts than 2021!

1,033 posts created (4%)

22,722 posts reblogged (96%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@polkadotmotmot

@mr-e-gallery

@soberscientistlife

@allhailthe70shousewife

@lghockey

I tagged 2,558 of my posts in 2022

#art - 167 posts

#aew - 116 posts

#youtube - 104 posts

#coffee - 94 posts

#texas - 69 posts

#teaching - 57 posts

#cm punk - 54 posts

#dreams - 49 posts

#good morning - 45 posts

#books - 39 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#im not sure if chrono tags work on mobile... if it shows an empty search you can just go to (in your browser) tinyurl.com/readmourner

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

The mood for fur today

96 notes - Posted October 1, 2022

#4

Sir Gray, first of his name unknown age about 15 years was taken home by the Lady Bast today.

He is survived by his little sister Stripe and his two humans who gave him the best home they knew how for the last 12 years.

Gray began his life as an abandoned cat in The Candlewood apartment complex in Corpus Christi Texas. He found his new humans there and they never let him go.

He was moved to Big Spring and then to Fort Stockton.

His favorite pastimes were begging for treats and roaming around outside. His only real shortcoming was his tendency to pee on his mama when she was sleeping. Other than that he was the best Kitty anyone could ever ask for.

His human parents loved him very much and are grateful every day for this time they were gifted with him.

See the full post

132 notes - Posted January 24, 2022

#3

We are programmed and manipulated to believe that Thanksgiving is a holiday of utter abundance and gluttony. If you are barely getting by, and barely have enough, your holiday is still just as valid as anyone else's.

If you are displaced, homeless, disabled, disowned, alone, if you have no money for gifts, if you have no money for food, if you are barely getting by, you deserve the holiday season as much as anyone else does.

Don't let any post or picture on here shame you into thinking that your existence is not enough to be thankful for.

Just because your life does not match up to the images you see on this site, it doesn't mean you don't count.

You are a blessing to all those you encounter.

I am somewhere out here wishing you the best.

143 notes - Posted November 20, 2022

#2

I saw this on Facebook last night.

The basic question asked when you were a little kid what did it mean to you to be rich? Like if you were to look at another person's family what would constitute being rich to you.

For me it was pretty easy to answer: in the late 70s and early '80s when I was a kid, rich people had cars with power locks and windows. They also had large garages with automatic garage door openers and the richest of the rich lived in two-story houses.

So I started to read through other people's replies and these were some of the things that I saw.

If you were a rich kid, your family had:

✅hot water

✅Could afford to eat meat

✅ a washer/dryer

✅Got to go out to eat. ..ever

✅ a bathtub

✅ a bike

✅ clothes that weren't homemade

✅ a microwave

✅ central air

✅ a car with AC

I came away feeling so humbled. I've always thought that I grew up poor. I always considered my upbringing to be very much lower class, at least compared to everyone else I do.

But growing up we had central air which we got when I was probably 8 or 9 years old, we had hot water and a bathtub, we ate meat every night, we always had a washer and dryer, and when I was about eight we got a microwave. I had a bike when I was 10, and I never once wore had me down or homemade clothes unless I was playing dress up.

@sophiaslittleblog

@bitter1stuff

@allhailthe70shousewife

@vaspider

@allnightsong2

I'm curious to know what your representation of being rich was when you were a little kid.

196 notes - Posted July 10, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

@allhailthe70shousewife

Look what just appeared on my Facebook feed

1,457 notes - Posted June 16, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[real-jane]

Stupidity or Serendipity? - chapter 8, sweetness

[draco malfoy x hermione granger]

summary: hermione and draco talk through some boundaries and have a christmas do-over.

series masterlist

🧶

“Happy Christmas,” Hermione said sleepily, rubbing her eyes. She stood in the doorway to her kitchen where her childhood nemesis and husband of twenty-four hours stood, frying a few eggs for breakfast. They had both slept fitfully--it was tricky getting used to sleeping next to someone when one lived alone, and Hermione was prone to flip-flopping to get comfortable. Luckily, Draco didn’t snore, which recommended him greatly to her as a companion… for however long it would last.

He had arisen long before her--that much was clear from the look of the living room, which he had taken great care in arranging with a few small packages on the coffee table. The basket that had carried a breakfast for her just a few mornings prior now sat beside the hearth with a few bottles inside, though Hermione couldn’t tell what. Draco must’ve been able to contact his house elf, Ermina, which was yet another subject they had yet to breach. Had he managed to keep a house elf while living out of a hotel room? From the look of him, he had at least managed to get a change of clothing. He was wearing his green jumper from the first day of their Christmas shopping, as well as a pair of brown corduroy trousers and shearling-lined slippers.

“Aren’t you cozy?” he said, taking in the sight of her. Hermione’s hair stood on end and she was enveloped in her bathrobe. “Happy Christmas, little wife.” They had made an agreement the night prior that they would carry on being married… they would talk about it frankly, refer to each other with whatever spousal nicknames struck them in the moment, and stop spending so much time fretting over what was proper. Three days was a breath of a moment compared to the four years she had spent in a relationship with Ron, but it just… sat right with her. All things considered there was a settled feeling to it. Why fight what felt right?

They hadn’t bothered discussing the L-word. Maybe it would come in time, maybe not. They had a spark, that was good enough for them.

“I could say the same about you,” Hermione said bashfully. She stood on her tip-toes to kiss his cheek. “I see you’ve been busy this morning.”

“Sit,” he said with delight. Once she was sat at the small kitchen table, he set before her a plate with a full english breakfast and a cup of tea. “Ermina brought a few groceries by quite early, I hope you don’t mind. She’s been bored out of her mind with me being away from Oxford and a house elf can only take so many bubble baths in a suite at The Waldorf.”

“I was wondering what you were doing with your hotel room,” she laughed. “You put your house elf up in style!”

“She deserves it,” he said, sitting down with his own breakfast. “Lucky for me, she wasn’t subject to my ridiculous contract and could come and go as she pleased from the hotel once I left Oxford. I’d have been lost without her.”

Hermione gave him a look. “I hope you don’t rely on her too much.”

“Don’t look at me like that, madame,” he laughed. “Besides, you’ll love her. She’s a fiend for Agatha Christie novels and she teases me to no end.”

“If you say so,” she hummed, taking a large bite of her breakfast. “You’ve been holding out on me--you’re an excellent cook!”

Draco was indeed a very excellent cook. He also had excellent taste in Christmas presents. He had re-wrapped the book he had given her on what they were now referring to as their second date, which had remained in her shopping bag up until that moment, and was in fact a first edition of Jane Austen’s Persuasion . She had given him what-for about it (“This is priceless! It’s too much--you can’t give me gifts like this!”) and he’d insisted it was nothing (“I can give you whatever I like, besides: I’ve already read it several times.”). Aside from the very valuable book that was most certainly much more than nothing , he had given her a chocolate orange, a little pillow with lavender inside meant to soothe an aching head, and a Slytherin scarf (“I absolutely will not be wearing that!” “I’d wear a Gryffindor one for you! ” “No, you wouldn’t.” “...no I wouldn’t.”).

It was a lovely Christmas morning, all in all. When the morning post arrived via Draco’s owl, there was no mention of either of them in the Prophet. There was a letter from the Burrow, but Hermione put it on top of the fridge, unopened.

They took their tea well into the morning on the sofa, chattering away.

“We ought to do something nice today,” Hermione said.

“What did you do for Christmas day last year?” Draco asked. He pulled her legs over his and rubbed her shins.

“Hmm. Well, last year I was seeing that muggle bloke, Terrence,” she said. “But he didn’t want to introduce me to his parents yet.” She laughed. “He told me that I was ‘too much’ for a small family gathering. So I dressed up fancy and took myself to the V&A. It was a great day, actually.”

“He sounds like a prize idiot.”

“Nah. He was sort of embarrassed by me, and I think he just didn’t really know what to do with me,” she shrugged. “By the time he and I met, I was running my own department at the Ministry, which was difficult for him to fathom. I was having my robes custom-made. I had weekly salon appointments. I was obvious that I really didn’t need him, and he needed to be needed by a woman. Since then, I’ve relaxed a bit with my personal care… let my hair go wild a bit. I shop a lot of resale shops, find quirky things.” She smiled when Draco reached out and ruffled her curls.

“Still don’t need anyone,” he said proudly.

“Yes, well,” she laughed, leaning into his hand, which found purchase on her cheek. “Need and want are two different things.”

“Is that so?” he asked. His eyebrow crooked.

“Mhm,” she said, sitting up on her knees. “For example: I don’t need to own a cat, I want to. He’s a crotchety old man with hard opinions on cat food, but he’s been a better companion to me than most human beings ever have.”

“I’ve never seen him,” Draco laughed. “Some companion he is!”

“He’s skeptical of new people!”

“This is a tiny flat; where could he even be? The way you describe him I’m waiting for the day I wake up with an ancient cat standing over me with a knife!”

“Leave my poor baby alone,” she laughed. “You can’t bully him into liking you.”

“He’ll have to get used to me eventually,” he said.

“Like someone else I know, it can take him a while to warm up,” she said, poking him in the chest. Draco gasped in mock indignation.

“Excuse me, I’ve been nothing but warm!”

“Only took you twelve years --”

Draco tackled her into the sofa cushions and pinned her down. “Madame, you still have a lot to learn about me--I’m neither cold nor a bully anymore .” He flopped down on top of her.

“Oof!” she laughed. “What do you call this, then?”

“Smothering you until you concede.” He snuggled his head into the crook of her neck.

Hermione managed to get her hands free and tickled his sides… to no avail. He didn’t budge. “You’re joking! You’re not ticklish?”

“Nope,” he said smugly. “Just on my feet, but you can’t reach them.”

“Ugh!” Hermione huffed. “That’s not fair.”

“Why not?” he asked, raising his head to look at her. “Are you ticklish, Granger?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “No comment.”

“I promise not to tickle you if you tell me,” he said. He gave her an innocent smile.

“I am,” she admitted. “But I hate it, so don’t do it! Please.” Her fingers gripped his shirt.

Draco braced himself over her with his hands on either side of her head. Her face had turned from laughter to panic. “I won’t. Not ever,” he said softly.

“Thank you,” she peeped. She was flushed. Draco sat back and took her hand, helping her sit up. He smoothed her top. He braced on arm on the back of the couch and rubbed her hand.

“Perhaps we should… talk,” he suggested gently.

“We’ve been talking,” she said.

“You know what I mean, darling.”

“Alright,” she agreed. She cleared her throat. It took her a long time to say anything; there were many thoughts to sort through. “Um. So. This is all… overwhelming. A bit. This relationship business. Being in one. All of a sudden.”

“Mmm.”

“Aren't you overwhelmed?” she asked.

Draco nodded once. “I’m still convinced this isn’t really happening,” He said. “I feel not unlike a comet hurtling through space right now.” She blinked.

“And… Are you attracted to me?”

Draco couldn’t help the smallest smirk of a smile cross his face. “Quite.” She nodded and looked down at their joined hands. Draco touched her cheek. “Are you attracted to me , Hermione?”

“Mhm.” She squeezed his hand but still didn’t look at him.

“I will never touch you without your permission,” he said. “Or push you to do something you’re not ready for. I know what it means not to have control over your body. I will do what I can to make you feel safe.”

Hermione leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his chest. She made an exasperated sound into his shirt. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her. “If and when you decide that you’re ready, I’ll still be here.” He laid his cheek on her head. Hermione huffed again. “Why do you keep sighing?” he asked in amusement.

“You’re being too nice,” she grumbled.

Draco traced circles on her back. “All this is assuming that you’d like to continue seeing me with regularity,” he said.

“I married you, didn��t I?” she said, her words muffled.

“Yes,” he laughed, “but that was as a favor to me. And plenty of married people live apart, live separate lives… the fact that they’re married is secondary to their goals and such.”

“I don’t want that.” Hermione snuggled deeper into his chest and Draco leaned back so they were lying comfortably on the sofa. He brushed her hair off her face. She closed her eyes for a moment. “Do you want that?”

“No.”

She looked up at him. “Do you want to go back to Oxford?”

Draco nodded. “I’d like to. I have a good thing going, there. And a good team.”

The wheels in Hermione’s head began to turn once again. She smiled, finally. “So… what if I go with you?”

“Would you?” he asked. “I think you’d love it there.”

“I don’t have to live in London anymore,” she said, “and I don’t have any emotional ties to this flat. I like the idea of access to the university, presuming you’d be willing to smuggle me into at least the library.” Draco nodded.

“Piece of cake,” he said. “I’ve been hoping to buy a little cottage there; you could help me find something cozy.”

“I’d like that,” she said. “And. I like you, which helps.”

“Do you?” he asked slyly.

“Is that news to you?”

“No. I can’t really fathom why, though.” His eyes glinted with a challenge. She rested her chin on his chest.

“Are you so desperate for validation?” she asked.

“Consider me needsome in this moment.” Draco tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

She sighed dramatically. “Fine,” she said. “Would you like a dramatic monologue or an itemized list?”

“A dramatic list.”

“As you wish,” she said. “I warn you: I know some very large words.”

“Consider me warned!”

“Alright. But don’t look at me, I’ll get embarrassed.” She reached up and covered his eyes. Draco closed them and held her hand over his heart. “Good. Well… number one, but in no particular order… you’re very good looking.” Draco crooked an eyebrow but said nothing. “Sometimes I can’t look at you for too long because I get heated. Looking you in the eye for prolonged periods of time makes me actually lose track of my thoughts. Also, you’ve grown into your height and now you’re all… muscle-y, I don’t know--”

“And you’re the one who’s going to be embarrassed!” he exclaimed, peeking at her through one eye. His cheeks were pink.

“Close your eyes!” She waved her hand over his face again. He acquiesced.

“Number two: I knew when we were young that you were neck-and-neck with me for high marks, and we’re still well matched in wits. It makes me stupidly happy that you’re such a voracious reader, or at least I assume you are given your appetite for book shop browsing.”

“I read almost seventy books this year,” he bragged. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Yes, but you read for your job , so I’m sure many of those were ancient texts and not what you read on your own time.”

“Honestly! They were all personal choices on my own time,” he said. “I kept a log! My therapist made me track them.”

“Number THREE! YOU GO TO THERAPY. Gods, I can’t tell you how refreshing it is not to have to decipher a man’s emotions…”

“Just remember that when I do or say something insensitive at some point,” he coughed. “I still have a proper brood every once in a while.”

“Noted,” she said. “And number five: so far, you go along with my hare-brained schemes.”

“I think I’ll spend a lot of time running after you to catch up,” he said, “but you’ve got a sharp brain and I know you think things through. And I could use some spontaneity.”

“I’m not spontaneous,” she scoffed. Draco opened his eyes and looked at her pointedly.

“I’m sorry, that’s a scandalous falsehood against yourself in the last four days.”

“Number six ,” she said, tapping him on the lips but giving him a scowl. “You call me out when I’m… wrong. I can get carried away on a cause and I need reigning in.” Draco kissed her finger.

“Big of you to admit it,” he said. “Alright. That’s enough of that. A man can only stand to have his ego stroked for so long and I don’t take compliments very well--”

“Seven! Humility!” Hermione giggled at the way he rolled his eyes.

“Come on, you,” he said, heaving himself upright and taking her with him. “Let’s get up! We can’t just lay here all day long. Let’s do something .” Draco pulled her up off of the sofa.

“Like… going to see your mother?” she suggested. She rubbed his arm as his face fell. He nodded.

“Would you come along?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“If you’re sure. And for the record,” he said, kissing her sweetly. “I like you . I like your muchness,” he said. “I’m proud of you. And… I want to tell my mother that we’re married.”

Hermione tugged on his shirt. “What if she remembers me?”

“Even if she remembers you, which is doubtful given her lack of lucidity last time I saw her, she’ll be happy if I’m happy.” He kissed her forehead. “She protected me…” He stopped as if it was too difficult to elaborate without causing himself distress. “I’ll tell you about it sometime. But know that she had renounced all the blood purity nonsense prior to the whole memory loss thing.”

“Alright,” she peeped.

“Yeah?” he asked hopefully.

She nodded. “I’d do anything for you,” she said simply. The queerest look crossed Draco’s face. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. He breathed out slowly.

“What have you done to me, Granger?” he whispered.

“Well,” she said softly. “Besides dragging you all over London, getting you a front page story in the Prophet, and subjecting you to quiet torture at the hands of the Weasley family?”

Draco laughed. “I told you. So spontaneous! ” He pulled her up against his chest so her feet were no longer touching the ground. “Mmm! Can I treat you to a Christmas dinner tonight?”

“If you like,” she said. His breath of delight tickled her cheek, but as it was an accident, she managed not to flinch.

When they arrived at St. Mungo’s, they made certain not to show outward affection to one another. No hand-holding, no lingering looks. Just two… fairly famous people… visiting a famous defector. It caused more of a stir than they would’ve liked to arrive together and all they needed was a secondary story in the Prophet. They knew it was a possibility now that they were on the Prophet’s radar. Still, at least the medi-witches knew why Draco was there to visit the hospice wing, and Hermione’s presence wasn’t questioned (at least outwardly). Witches in white robes scurried around them in hushed whispers, but Draco affected an air of ease and smiled warmly at whomever he made eye contact with. Hermione nervously smoothed her hair.

Narcissa Malfoy had been staying in room 157 in the hospice wing at St. Mungo’s for seven years; since the death of her husband and Draco’s father, Lucius, in Azkaban, Narcissa had been slowly losing her memory and had become unable to channel her magic any longer. It was happening naturally. This made it even harder for Draco to deal with. There was nobody to blame for cursing her, no poison to find an antidote for, just the effect of trauma on an aging brain.

Christmas was always a cheerful time in the hospice wing; the medi-witches had games and biscuits for the residents whose families were visiting for the holiday. Narcissa was sat at a card table with three other witches as they played a facilitated game of dominos when Hermione and Draco were shown into the community room. Four other families were there, too, sitting with their loved ones and sharing a cozy moment. Draco had grown to love this tradition. Everyone gathered together, even if they weren’t related. And Narcissa did love it, and she seemed to have her wits about her today. She looked up as he entered the room and her eyes lit up. She remembered her only son, and on this particular Christmas, he had brought her three specific gifts.

One: a shawl that Ermina had crocheted out of nubbly yarn in a lovely crimson color.

Two: a copy of her favorite book that Ermina had liberated from the Manor under the Parkinson’s nose.

And three…

“Happy Christmas,” he said softly, touching her shoulder. Narcissa looked up at him with a placid smile.

“Hello, darling,” she cooed. Draco kissed her cheek. “Who’s this?” she asked.

“Mum, this is Hermione,” he said. He held his hand out to Hermione and she took it. Narcissa nodded.

“I know you,” she said, a look of recognition coming over her. The smile remained on her face and she patted their joined hands. “How are you, dear? It has been ages.”

“I’m well,” Hermione said, stunned. “And you?”

“Now that you’re here,” Narcissa said, nodding to the two of them, “I’m happy as a lark.” Draco knelt down at the arm of her chair and a nurse brought one for Hermione to use.

“Mum, I have a bit of news for you, if you’re up for it,” he said softly. Hermione put her hand on his shoulder in reassurance. He glanced up at her.

Narcissa touched his cheek. “You can tell me anything, darling boy.”

“Hermione and I are--”

“Married,” Narcissa finished. “Yes, I know.”

Draco and Hermione exchanged a look of worry. “How do you know? Has someone told you?”

Narcissa placed one of her dominos where the nurse indicated it should go. “It’s obvious, just look at you.” She touched Draco’s cheek and then looked dreamily at Hermione. “Now, darling, stop talking and listen to the music, it’s my favorite.”

There was no music on, just then, but he understood. She had another world going on in there. But she was delighted to have them there and she kept telling the medi-witches that her son was visiting with his wife. It was such a wonderful Christmas, Hermione felt like her heart was going to burst. Watching Draco with his mother… he was so loving. So tender. He took such delight seeing her open her gifts and helped her wrap the shawl around her shoulders.

Finally, a group of carolers arrived for revelry and the patients were settled in their chairs by the fire. Narcissa requested that Draco and Hermione sit on either side of her. The carols were jovial and everyone joined in. Narcissa, in one of her clearer moments of lucidity, leaned over to Draco and asked, in a low voice: “My love… did you at least get my jewelry, when…” she trailed off. Draco hung his head and shook it.

“No, Mum. I barely got that book for you,” he said, indicating the book on ancient plant life that Ermina had pilfered for him.

“No, I mean…” Narcissa pressed her hands to her temples to will herself to remember. “The deposit box.”

“Gringotts?” Hermione offered and Narcissa’s face lit up. She held out her hand to Hermione.

“Yes. Thank you.” Narcissa squeezed Hermione’s hand tightly. “ Lady Malfoy .” She giggled. “Suits you. I have a ring that would fit you in the deposit box, I think. It’s a small sapphire. Lovely on you. Draco will get it for you.”

Hermione’s eyes welled with tears immediately. “Thank you,” she whispered. Narcissa kept on holding her hand for as long as the carols lasted, and Hermione was in a perpetual state of wanting to cry. She ventured a look at her husband, who had his arm around the back of his mother’s chair. He sensed her looking at him and glanced up. As soon as he saw the sheen in her eyes, he smiled and nodded. He understood. His eyes were red, too.

“Thank you ,” he mouthed to her. "All this?" he indicated the room and then his mother between them. "Your fault." He winked.

🧶

spoiled sincerity

[sylvies-chen]

Your newest prompt for brettsey has me wondering if we’ll ever see Matt’s mom again (like on the show) or if Sylvie would actually even get to meet her.

Sis didn’t even make her brothers funeral! Christie and Matt didn’t even sound surprised by it either.

The more I think about it, the more my head cannon is solidified. The Bretts take one look at Matt and how he treats and looks at Sylvie and instantly love him. They fold him into the family and it’s natural thing 😭

Good people deserve good people!

Matt Casey deserves to have SO many people love and adore him!!!

I mean the actress who plays her, Kathleen Quinlan, is still alive so I think Derek should consider doing something with that down the line and bringing Nancy Casey back for an episode. She probably wouldn’t stay for long if at all. They could even just mention something about her, like Sylvie meeting her off-camera over zoom and her and Matt talking about it. There’s a lot of ways they could slip her into there in the future!

She really didn’t go to her own brother’s funeral! Matt and Christie weren’t surprised AT ALL by anything that went down with their family in 9x09– from their uncle Jake’s confusing gift to the tension on the family zoom meeting— and I honestly think they’re used to it by now which is the sad part. That, however, is also part of the reason why I love Matt Casey so much! He’s just such a solid, supportive, genuine guy— not because of his upbringing, but completely in spite of it. The majority of the growth he’s had has come uniquely from everyone in the firehouse, which adds this whole other wholesome layer to the found family dynamic 51 has. Good people truly do deserve good people, these two characters especially. Also, you are so right, anon: the Bretts would adore Matt!

[thinkinem]

seeing discussion of lgbtq+ representation in one chicago on the dash so I’m taking this as my opportunity to float my overindulgent head canon* that Matt Casey is one superbly repressed queer.

*this quickly got out of hand and is likely well into au territory, but if I have to think about-- it as incoherent as it is--then you do too!

The reason he botched his moment with Sylvie so hard was that when things slowed down and Sylvie asked her Gabby question, Matt got majorly overwhelmed by the reality that he was about to jump into another relationship with a woman that already has all these ideas about who he is as a man and as a boyfriend. 

Usually he can ignore the dull feeling of disconnect that always comes when he’s first intimate with a woman. But dammit, he really thought Sylvie could be The One. He really thought this time those feelings of affection and aesthetic appreciation that he could conjure when he pressed himself to meant something. He was so sure that he was going to feel that spark people write songs about with Sylvie. That it was going to redeem him for all the ways he couldn’t be enough for Gabby, for all the times he looked Hallie in the face and wasn’t truthful.

But that spark, swoop, tingle, whatever it’s supposed to be, it isn’t there. Sure, he’s got the motions down, a smooth execution of the classic moves, and he likes feeling strong and needed and scooping Sylvie up without hesitation does that for him. But it’s not the aha moment he was expecting. The moments they’d shared over the past two years, the little glimpses of a future with this woman in his arms turn stale just like they always do when he goes to seal the deal. 

When Sylvie pulls back, Matt’s heart stops. He’s sure this is it, that if anyone is going to finally see through him it’s going to be Sylvie Brett. And in a lot of ways he’s relieved. Sylvie is a safe space, a trusted confidante, he knows she won’t mock or laugh. But also the idea of putting words to the way he feels scares the life out of him, to say it out loud would make his Otherness too real. (Even when he and Kelly were in the middle of whatever it was they had, Matt could never fully admit to it out loud, not even just as a whisper in the dark to the man that had already seen all of him and stayed close anyway). 

But Sylvie doesn’t see through him. Or she thinks she does, but really she couldn’t be farther from the truth. So when she asks if he’d go with Gabby, it feels easiest to say he doesn’t know. 

But his “I don’t know” was less about going with Gabby as an individual, and more about the idea of committing himself to another/any woman again. The divorce gutted him. It forced up a lot of thoughts and feelings that he was relying on that relationship to keep a lid on. But also, it felt a lot like checking off a task from a to do list: he did his due diligence as a man to have a wife and attempt a classic version of a family just like he was always expected to do (and in a lot of ways it felt like a big fuck you to his father and every one of his sneering insults).

The thing is, Matt knows in his bones that he wants someone like Sylvie Brett by his side for the rest of his life; she’s amazing, loyal, funny, understanding, everything he’d want in a partner. But in that moment Matt decides he cannot go down this road again. Sylvie is all those wonderful things and more, and she deserves a guy who wants all of her, not just the idea of her. 

For a moment he thinks it’s going to work out. He gets out the cliched “it’s complicated” and is almost ready to do it, ready to own who he is right there. But the words get a little stuck and then Sylvie is filling in the blanks with all the wrong colors (and, Jesus, isn’t that familiar). Then the next thing he knows, he’s breaking Sylvie Brett’s heart exactly the way he vowed to never do. The moment is quick and messy and feels terrifyingly unsalvageable, but it’s happening, then it happened, and there’s nothing he can do about it. (He sleeps with Sydney because that’s what he does when a relationship ends: he sleeps with a stranger, always female, and does everything opposite what he did in the relationship, just to double test the theory that it really is something in him and not just around him. Sydney: sexy and funny and charming; The Theory: confirmed)

And suddenly Matt is exhausted. He’s got decades of built up secret and accumulated grief on his shoulders and he can’t move with it all weighing him down. So he just sort of stops fighting it. He puts up the token efforts with Sylvie, tells her he doesn’t regret it, that she’s still very important to him, then lets her walk away when she informs him that it can never happen again, that he is a man still in love with his ex wife. On net, she’s actually kinda half right, and he lets himself have a quiet, sardonic chuckle at that.

Matt’s got the job, his rank, his men, the city. They’re more than enough to live for, to love, to give his all. They’ve got expectations of him too, and they’re ones he can meet with an ease that doesn’t exist anywhere else in his life.

Five weeks after Matt decides he’s really only meant to be Captain Casey, he wakes up on Christie’s couch with the mother of all hangovers. He gets a solid five minutes of laying awake, nauseous and self-loathing before his older sister comes in with a steaming cup of coffee and smile more gentle than he’s ever seen her wear. She digs her hand into his shoulder and tells him about coming home from her freshman year of college for Thanksgiving. 

She tells him about letting herself be dragged back to the high school stadium by friends she hadn’t quite lost touch with yet for the annual cross-town rival Turkey Bowl football game. She tells him about not watching a single moment of the game, about missing the moment when Star Quarterback John Murphy’s collar bone snapped. She tells him about becoming the most committed high school football fan in the five minutes after the ATs got John Murphy off the field, and the coach decided that what the hell, they’d finish the game anyway, that scrawny freshman Matt Casey would finally get some playing time after a whole season of sitting the bench. She tells him about flying off her seat, about going hoarse the next day from telling everyone in the stadium “that was my brother, Matt Casey, the kid who made the final point, that’s my brother.”

Matt, sitting up now, gives Christie a soft smile and mumbles that it was fluke really, that he didn’t see a second of playing time again until his junior year, that he was always more of a hockey guy. Christie reaches across him again digging her nails into his shoulders, says with the mean kind of love only older sisters are capable of, “Matthew Michael, you are not a fluke.”

A week after Matt pulls himself off Christie’s couch Sylvie tells him she is done needing space, that she misses her friend. He’s grateful for that and does his best to not be annoyed when she starts looking surprised that he isn’t ‘fighting’ for her or doing whatever charming manly bullshit he would’ve done even just a few months ago. But Matt is done fighting for things he doesn’t really want, is done fighting himself at every turn and is ready to start fighting for himself. He isn’t a fluke and one of these days he’s going to prove it. 

In fact, he proves it when he goes to dinner at Stella and Kelly’s new place on a warm fall night just under a year since he was standing in the hallway of Sylvie’s apartment exhausted of himself. It’s him, Stella and Kelly of course, Sylvie but not her boyfriend, and Sam Kidd, Stella’s older brother who just moved to Chicago and is “desperate enough for friends that I’m hanging around my baby sister, I know it’s--ow, Steve, don’t hit me!”

Sam Kidd is funny and charming and tells terrific stories about a precocious preteen Stella. And after dinner when he and Matt end up alone in the kitchen having volunteered for clean up duty, Sam puts a firm hand on Matt’s shoulder and says he appreciates how Matt has looked out for his baby sister these past years, that he was skeptical of the stories Stella told him about her Captain right up until he shook Matt’s hand earlier that night. Sam readily agrees when Matt insists that Stella has never needed any looking after but his hand lingers in an appreciative squeeze on his shoulder anyway. 

They walk down the block toward their cars together after seeing Sylvie safely to her Uber. When they get to Sam’s sleek black sports car (he’s in marketing and apparently very good at it), Matt is less surprised than he thought he would be when Sam crowds him against the passenger side door and sweetly asks “would it be alright if I kissed you?” (Matt says yes, to the kiss and a date, as well as a second date and third one too).

They don’t make a big announcement or anything, but they also don’t hide it. When Stella and Kelly get married in the Spring, Sam pulls Matt out onto the dance floor and holds him close right in front of everyone. For the first time in his life, Matt doesn’t mind the attention a single bit because he’s finally where he fits.

When Matt is all danced out, and Sam is cutting in to dance with his sister, Matt finds himself in the little anteroom straightening out gift bags and taking a moment to feel quietly pleased with himself. Sylvie comes in then, eyes shining to compliment the new ring on her left hand. For a moment Matt worries she’s upset with him, but then her face breaks into a soft grin and he barely catches her “oh, Matt” before he’s catching her. When they pull away from each other Matt gives her a grin of his own, one that he hopes says I’m sorry I hurt you, I’m sorry it all got so messy but I can’t be sorry for who I am. Sylvie must understand him because she’s still grinning as she says, “you’re happy.” It’s not a question, but Matt nods anyway because finally, after years and years, it’s fully and all the way true. He’s happy.

[strangeandforlornbooks]

best books with morally ambiguous narrators!

all y’all’s problematic faves and villains! :) also included are third person narrators but in books with morally ambiguous leads/themes 

Sci-fi

Scythe by Neal Shusterman: in a future free from pain, disease, and war, people can live forever. ‘scythes’ are given the power to decide who lives and who dies to preserve the balance. sad and kinda gives of hunger games vibes, if you like that.

Neuromancer by William Gibson: basically invented the cyberpunk genre. strange and removed protagonists. (a team of computer hackers have to face off against an evil AI). you kind of dislike everyone and suddenly you’re crying over them. one of those trippy sci-fi classics.

The Sirens of Titan by Kurt Vonnegut: very beautiful and very very sad (same author as slaughterhouse five). the richest man in america has to face a martian invasion. more about free will and bad people doing good things than a plot that makes any kind of sense.

The Man in the High Castle by Philip K Dick: set in an alternate universe where the germans and japanese won world war two. not really like the tv show at all- it’s not an action story, and there’s not really the hope to somehow fix the world that drives a lot of dystopia stories. instead its about how people survive and connect to one another in a hopeless society.

The Scorpion Rules by Erin Bow: a supercomputer convinces the leaders of the world to keep the peace for hundreds of years by taking their children hostage and obliterating any city that disobeys. what happens to the hostage protagonists when war seems inevitable? lots of morally fraught decisions and characters slowly losing their identity. (plus a fun lesbian romance)

Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson: a brilliant mathematician and a dedicated marine fight to keep the ultra secret in world war two. fifty years later,  a tech company discovers what remains of their story. one of the most memorable sequences in the book is a japanese soldier slowly becoming disillusioned with his nation and horrified by the war even as he continues to fight.

Blade Runner by Philip K. Dick: another one of those sci-fi classics that’s not at all like the movie. there is a bounty hunter for robots, though, as well as a weird religion that probably is referencing catholicism and a decaying society with a shortage of pets. kind of a trip.

Wilder Girls by Rory Power: girls trapped in a boarding school on an isolated island must face a creeping rot that affects the animals and plants on the island as well as their own bodies. the protagonists will do anything to survive and keep each other safe. very tense (and bonus lesbian romance whoo)

The Fifth Season by N K Jemisin: three women are gifted with the ability to control the earth’s energy in a world where those who can do so are forced into hiding or slavery. some veryyyy dark choices here but lots of strong female characters.

Historical Fiction

Fingersmith by Sarah Waters: two victorian lesbians fall in love as they plot to betray each other in horrific ways. lots of plot twists, plucky thieves, gothic settings, and a great romance.

Quo Vadis by Henryk Sienkiwicz: a powerful roman soldier in the time of Nero plots to kidnap a young woman after he falls in love with her, only to learn more about the mysterious christian religion she follows. very melodramatic but some terrific prose. 

All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr: a blind girl in France and a brilliant German boy recruited by the military struggle through the chaos of the second world war. ends with a bang (iykyk.) very sad, reads like poetry.

Boxers by Gene Luen Yang: graphic novel reveals the story of a young boy fighting in the boxer rebellion in early twentieth century china. the sequel, saints, is also excellent. beautifully and sympathetically shows the protagonist’s descent into evil- the reader really understands each step along the way.

Fantasy

Three Dark Crowns by Kendare Blake: three triplets separated at birth, each with their own magical powers, have to fight to the death to gain the throne. lots of fun honestly

Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo: everyone in these books is highly problematic but you love them all anyway. a ragtag game of criminals plan a heist on a magical fortress. some terrific tragic back stories, repressed feelings, and revenge schemes.

The Dark Tower series by Stephen King: idk how to describe these frankly but if you can put up with King’s appalling writing of female characters they’re pretty interesting. fantasy epic about saving the world/universe, sort of. cowboys and prophecies and overlapping dimensions and drug addicts galore.

The Amulet of Samarkand by Jonathan Stroud: lots of fun! a twelve year old decides to summon a demon for his cute lil revenge scheme. sarcastic demon narrator. lighthearted until s*** gets real suddenly.

Elegy and Swansong by Vale Aida: fantasy epic with machiavellian lesbians and enemies to lovers to enemies to ??? to lovers. charming and exciting and lovely characters.

The False Prince by Jennifer Nielsen: an orphan boy must compete with a few others for the chance to impersonate a dead prince. really dark but very tense and exciting and good twists.

The Grace of Kings by Ken Liu: fantasy epic. heroes overthrow an evil empire and then struggle as the revolution dissolves into warring factions. interesting world building and three dimensional characters, even if they only have a small part.

Circe by Madeline Miller: the story behind the witch who turns men into pigs in the odyssey. madeline miller really said, i just used my classics degree to write a beautiful gay love story and now im going to write a powerful feminist retelling because i can. queen. an amazing and satisfying book that kills me a lil bit because of the two lines referencing the song of achilles.

Heartless by Marissa Meyer: the tragic backstory for the queen of hearts in alice in wonderland. a little predictable but very fun with a compelling protagonist

A Song of Ice and Fire (Game of Thrones) by George RR Martin: ok I know we all hate GRRM and rightfully so but admittedly these books do have some great characters and great scenes. they deserve better than GRRM though. also he will probably never finish the books anyway....

A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket: not really fantasy but not really anything else either. plucky, intelligent, and kind children fight off evil plots for thirteen books until suddenly you realize the world is not nearly as black and white as you thought. 

Classics

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier: gothic romance!! a new wife is curious about the mysterious death of her predecessor in a creepy old house in the British countryside...good twists and lovely prose.

A Separate Peace by John Knowles: not really morally ambiguous but one awful decision suddenly has awful consequences and certain people are haunted by guilt forever.... really really really beautiful and really really really sad. boys in a boarding school grow up together under the shadow of world war two.

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy: while imperial russia slowly decays a beautiful young woman begins a destructive affair. a long book. very russian. the ending is incredibly tense and well written.

Lord of the Flies by William Golding: I think you know the plot to this one. the prose is better than you remember and the last scene is always exciting.

And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie: one by one, the guests on an island are slowly picked off. one of Christie’s darkest mysteries- no happy ending here! very tense and great twists.

Contemporary

The Secret History by Donna Tartt: inspired the whole dark academia aesthetic. college students get a little too into ancient greece and it does not end very well. lovely prose but I found the characters unlikable.

Honorable Mentions

The Dublin Saga by Edward Rutherford: has literally a billion protagonists, but some of them are morally ambiguous ig? follows a few families stories’ from the 400s ad to irish independence in the 20s. beautifully captures the weight and movement of irish history.

Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer: how morally ambiguous can you be if you’re, like, eleven? a lot if you’re a criminal genius who wants to kidnap a fairy for your evil-ish plan apparently!

Redemption by Leon Uris: literally my favorite novel ever. the sequel to Trinity but can stand alone. various irish families struggle through the horrors of world war one. the hero isn’t really morally ambiguous, but the main theme of the novel is extremely bad people suddenly questioning their choices and eventually redeeming themselves. sweeping themes of love, screwed up families, redemption, and patriotism.

The Lymond Chronicles and House of Niccolo by Dorothy Dunnett: heroes redeem themselves/try to get rich/try to save their country in early renaissance Europe. if I actually knew what happened in these books I'm sure it would be morally ambiguous but its too confusing for me. in each book you spend at least a third convinced the protagonist is evil, though. lots of exciting sword fights, tragic romances, plot twists, and kicking english butt.

Bonus: Protagonist is less morally ambiguous and more very screwed up and sad all the time

The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt: you know this one bc its quoted in all those quote compilations. basically the story of how one horrible event traumatizes a young man and how he develops a connection to a painting. really really really good.

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro: hard to describe but strange... not an action novel or a dystopia really but sort of along those lines. very hopeless.