#esp when you’re in a hurry and someone just comes out the blue

[gojoest]

one of my biggest pet peeves is ppl using the exit in subway stations as an entrance or vice versa

[magpiefngrl]

Hi. Im sorry you are hurting. Im feeling a similar way myself currently and it sucks. If you're up to it im really in the mood for a drarry soulmate AU. Maybe a red string of fate? No pressure tho. Hope you feel better.

Hello!

Thank you for your wishes <3333 I’m better, thank you: writing fun drarry ficlets helped. It gave me a lot of joy to write this one, and I hope you like it!

Eighth year, 1.3k, Mature, unbeated.

*****

When Blaise offered Draco a potion that would make him discover his soulmate, Draco only drank it to humour him.

‘There’s no such thing as soulmates,’ he said, twirling the blue vial. The potion inside gave off a strong smell of iodine. He wondered if it was a harmless Muggle medicine or an illegal hallucinogenic drug—both real possibilities where Blaise was concerned.

Blaise was leaning against the frame of his bed. ‘There is. That’s how I learned that Padma is the love of my life.’

Draco scoffed. ‘It’s all right to say you’re smitten, you know. You don’t have to justify it with metaphysical mumbo-jumbo.’

Blaise’s eyes flashed. ‘Just drink it and you’ll see it.’

Draco couldn’t be arsed to argue; he drank it. ‘And now what?’ He deposited the vial on his bedside table.

‘Now fate will contrive that you meet them, and when you see your soulmate, they’ll glow.’

‘You mean my soulmate is at Hogwarts? Out of the entire world? How ridiculous! What if my soulmate is a Brazilian underwear model?’

‘Well then your Brazilian underwear model will somehow, through mysterious circumstances, find himself at Hogwarts tonight.’

‘What a load of bull,’ Draco said and gathered his school bag. ‘Come on. We have Intelligent Plants at Greenhouse Six. Hey, maybe a plant is my soulmate? I could swear my ficus winked at me the other day.’

Blaise didn’t look impressed or amused. ‘You’re mocking now, but you’ll eat your words.’

He followed Blaise out of their dorm, his chest heavy. He didn’t want to tell Blaise the real reason he didn’t want to know about soulmates. It’d be so disheartening to be in love, desperately yearning for a person, and then to get confirmation that he wasn’t the One. That someone else was, someone that perhaps you hadn’t met yet. Even if it was better in the long run, Draco didn’t want the pain of disillusionment. He didn’t want to know the right bloke for him when his heart ached for the wrong one.

Because there was no way that Potter was his soulmate. They’d barely had a conversation these days that wasn’t fraught with tension, weird looks and awkwardness. Potter—who, in former years, had been capable of returning Draco’s jibes with sharp wit—was tongue-tied around him. Avoided looking at Draco even.

It hurt. Potter’s distance hurt, and Draco had no idea how to bridge it. He distracted himself by thinking about their next class when he froze a few metres from the greenhouses. He’d forgotten to bring the ingredients Professor Sprout had asked them to for this lesson. Curse Blaise and his stupid potions!

‘I need to go back,’ he told Blaise and strode back to the castle without another word. He crossed the Entrance, silent and empty now, and was about to head to the dungeons when he saw the school’s psych-healer walk his way. Oh no.

Luckily, she hadn’t seen him, her attention on her folder, and Draco glanced around him in panic and dashed inside a broom cupboard. He shut the door firmly and leaned his forehead on it, trying to listen to her footsteps fading away.

‘What are you doing here?’ said a voice behind him.

Draco froze. Honestly, this day couldn’t get any worse.

He turned around. A weird glow hovered in a corner, which illuminated the silhouette of Potter’s head. Draco’s heart—the traitor—thumped giddily. He swallowed. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I…er…. was looking for something.’

‘So am I,’ Draco hurried to say.

Murmurs came from outside. Draco pressed his ear to the door and groaned. Dr Bells had stopped right outside their door and was talking to someone—McGonagall probably.

‘You look like you’re hiding,’ Potter said.

‘So do you,’ Draco replied.

‘Maybe I am.’

Draco’s eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could see Potter a little more clearly, shrouded in that golden haze. ‘What’s that around your head?’

Potter glanced above him. ‘What thing?’

‘That— oh dear Merlin!’ Blaise’s words shot through Draco’s brain like a lance: your soulmate will glow.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, yes,’ Draco answered quickly, his heart hammering in his chest. Was Potter…? Was it possible? Draco’s breath came shallow, his lungs straining for air. They strained harder when Potter left his corner and leaned on the door beside Draco. He put his ear on the door, then glanced at Draco with a half-smile.

‘Hiding from Dr Bells?’

In his confusion it didn’t occur to Draco to lie. ‘Yes. She keeps asking me to go see her and talk to her.’ He mimicked the counsellor’s voice. ‘ “How about a chat, Draco? I haven’t seen you in my office yet. How about you tell me about your worst nightmares and biggest shames and—”.’ Draco bit his lip. He hadn’t intended to say all of that and waited for mockery or laughter.

But Potter looked serious. He still leaned beside him, his face turned towards Draco. ‘I’m hiding from McGonagall. Same—well, similar reason. She wants me to make plans about the future, decide on my next few steps, and—’

He didn’t finish his sentence and Draco didn’t hurry to fill the silence. They stared at each other in the dim golden glow. ‘I can’t stand people being understanding,’ Draco confessed. ‘Helpful. Kind.’

‘It’s pity,’ Potter said. ‘It infuriates me. People checking in on me all the time.’

Draco was distantly aware that, outside, the conversation had ended, and he could leave. He remained where he was, breathing quietly, side by side with Potter. ‘All you want is to be left alone,’ he whispered.

‘Yes,’ Potter said, voice equally low. Then, he lowered his face but glanced up at Draco through his lashes. ‘Well, maybe not all alone.’

Draco swallowed. He kept his eyes on Potter’s, desperately trying to keep his knees from collapsing. His voice rasped only a little. ‘You want someone by your side.’ Potter nodded. Draco continued, ‘Someone who’s not kind, though.’

‘No,’ Potter said, coming closer. ‘Not kind, not understanding, not helpful.’ He’d stopped an inch from Draco’s lips, his breath hot. ‘I want someone who’s fierce. And clever. And a bit rude. And—’ he stroked Draco’s cheek. ‘Resilient.’

The word loosened something inside Draco’s chest, and he propelled himself forward. His mouth fell on Potter’s, his hands pulling him close. Potter kissed him back enthusiastically, making small, painful sounds, as if it hurt. And perhaps it did hurt: to be granted this joy. Draco found himself pressed against the door, Potter’s thigh between his legs and Potter’s hot hands under Draco’s shirt. He kissed him breathlessly, relentlessly, savagely, while a voice inside his head rang with joy: soulmates!

Late that evening, Draco lounged on his bed, his skin flushing at the memory of Potter—Harry, sweet Harry—kissing him and stroking him and gasping in his ear. He looked up to see a disgruntled Blaise enter the room.

‘What’s up?’

‘Daphne’s sister, that annoying Sixth-Year, got a hold of the potion, tested it and said it was a tiny strain of Felix Felicis with some other shit which would make someone’s pupils dilate when they saw the person they had a crush on? I didn’t understand it, but—’

‘You wanted it to be soulmates.’

Blaise sat heavily on his bed and held his head with his hands. Almost inaudibly, he said, ‘If we’re not soulmates, Padma might fall out of love with me.’

Draco sat up. ‘Well, then you’ve got to treat her right, don’t you? But if it helps, I did meet someone today. Under unexpected circumstances. Perhaps there is something in that potion; something that hints at fated love.’

Blaise cast a sideways glance. ‘Your Brazilian underwear model?’

Draco leaned back on his pillow with a smile and a half-hard cock. ‘Someone better.’

***

Please note that it’s my fervent belief that therapy is a godsend and that finding the right therapist can be life-changing for everyone. I’d urge everyone who can afford it to seek some therapy, esp during difficult times. The attitude of these two idiots in the fic isn’t an example to emulate. (although it’s, unfortunately, quite realistic.)

[h3adcarsbending]

Be Mine(craft) - UNI!Van McCann x Reader

a/n - dedicated to my best pal lmao. i decided to write someone other than matty, but the 1975 fics will return soon. esp once NOACF comes out!

Y/N spent a lot of time observing her roommate’s behaviour. After all, she was somewhat in love with him, so why wouldn’t she? 

So naturally she noticed when Van - oh, her lovely mopheaded Van - started to spend an abnormal amount of time online. “Schoolwork kicking your ass, dude? I can help you out.” she’d asked once. He’d given a dismissive, slightly detached  “Nope.” She figured it was best to leave it at that. However, she found his response slightly off-putting. Something was up and Y/N was determined to find out what it was.

For a while she debated going through his phone or his laptop, but she figured that’d be a little too intrusive… or was it? Well, yes. But also no. He wouldn’t care - they told eachother everything. They were best friends (unfortunately) so it didn’t matter. It did, though… back and forth, back and forth, blah blah blah. Conveniently, though, her dilemma was solved for her when she was on the couch watching The Office with Van at about nine p.m. when he excused himself to the washroom - leaving his phone on the table. She studied it for a moment, not once averting her Y/E/C gaze from the object.

And it pinged, the screen beginning to glow with blue light showcasing his lockscreen, a picture of Mary. A notification popped up, an Instagram DM from a user called SnowflakeSmasher86. It read; Goodnight my love. <3 :3

What the fuck? Who the fuck? Why didn’t he say anything? Millions of thoughts raced through Y/N’s alarmed, panicked brain, and quickly she opened Instagram on her own phone. She frantically typed the mysterious love’s username into the search bar, and found one result.

SnowflakeSmasher86, real name Simone, was an almost too gorgeous fashion student from Iowa. She appeared to be a Republican farm girl with a penchant for art and Minecraft; she extended her work designing real clothes to designing Minecraft skins. Odd, but since Y/N found it somewhat funny and endearing, she figured Van found it very much so.

Simone looked a little too perfect. Seemed a little too perfect. She looked somewhat familiar; from where, though, was a fact Y/N could not put a finger on.

Soon, Van returned to the couch, unpausing the television. “Hey. You look mad.”

You sighed, glaring at him from over your screen. “Should I be?”

“I’on think so.”

“Okay.”

Hey, at least she found an answer.

The next Sunday, Y/N slept in, but once she finally did wake up she found herself in the kitchen making coffee alone. Odd, she thought, considering Van usually woke up with her; they liked cooking breakfast, hanging out, vibing. She decided to check on him. He was probably fine, stayed up late or something - but she worried about her best friend, and often her anxieties surrounding his wellbeing got the best of her.

So she hurriedly made her way to his room, knocking lightly before letting herself in. She wasn’t quite sure she liked what she saw.

Van was sitting on the side of his bed, hunched, an acoustic guitar in hand as he played a slightly awful rendition of Help! by Oasis. He sniffled, and as he looked up at her - clearly startled - she saw tears welling up in his admittedly gorgeous eyes.

A concerned look spreading across her face, Y/N hurried over to Van, sitting beside him and wrapping her limbs around his body in a warm embrace. “Van, love, what’s up?”

He sighed, putting his guitar on the bed. “I just got fuckin’ dumped. For some hillbilly wanker named fucking Matt. Matt! Whitest twat on the planet. Redneck piece of shit. A-and the girl, we were long distance, and she was perfect, and she left me for that bellend. I’m pissed, but I feel like shit, because I lost me girl,” he said, crying a little harder, burying his head into the crook of Y/N’s neck, which prompted her to rub his back in an attempt to soothe the obviously grief-stricken boy.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’ll be alright…” she whispered, furrowing her brow. “You’re better than them. You’re a lot cooler than some dickhead named Matt. I doubt Matt has any talents beyond herding cattle, y’know? Did your girlfriend know you’re in a great band, are super smart, anything like that?”

“I think so. I might’ve written a tune about her.”

“She’s missing out either way!”

“You’re just sayin’ that cause you’re me best mate. You don’t have to, y’know that? Can just cry and eat ice cream with me if you’d like.”

Y/N squeezed his hand. “You’re more than my best mate, Van… I want to help you.”

He smiled slightly, lifting his head to meet her eyes. “Why are you so good to me?”

“I don’t know. You’ve helped me through a lot… I owe it to you.”

“You… you’ve been a lot better than any of them. Shit. It’s you, innit? Always been you,” he said, laughing a little as he shook his head at himself (although not unkindly.)

“What?” Y/N was confused, yet relieved, yet happy, flustered… too many things at once for her liking.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he replied, a smile on his tear-dampened face. “Loveliest bird I’ve ever met, you are. You’re… there’s just something about you, love.”

“I-uh-same to you. I l-love you too,” she responded, her brain failing to process what the hell was going on.

He grinned his toothy grin. His pretty, pretty grin. “Then how ‘bout we finish The Office. But, like… together, d'ya know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” she said, a wide smile on her face. “I’d love to.” 

[svechnikoffee]

take me back to where i belong

take me back to where i belong – nokantrol for @babrielandeskog

words: 6k, last time i checked?

warnings: language & one brief, brief mention of the blackhawks. beyond that, nothing I can think of beyond a gratuitous love letter to whataburger with a side of tyler seguin/jamie benn

notes: a belated happiest of holidays to you, b! thanks for your patience on this wild behemoth of a fic. the holidays are just as good a reason as any to bring together dumb colorado boys and dumb dallas boys, esp over airplanes and biscuits & gravy.

as one of my favorite writers ever, it was an absolute honor to be able to write for you—hope you enjoy!!

title taken loosely from “home” by morgxn, which I only came across after it played in the background of a dylan larkin video haha

It’s dawning on you that you definitely should’ve taken up your mom on her offer of earplugs and a sleep mask as you were hurrying out of the house this morning. It’s been a headache of a day—you’d woken up early to help her cook Thanksgiving lunch, then spent the rest of the afternoon catching up with your cousins and tickling the little ones while their dads sat around the TV watching football.

You’d even managed to slip away into your old bedroom to FaceTime with Tyler and Jamie, and Jamie’s friend Tyson. He seemed nice enough, though clearly unprepared to meet new people given that he was in the middle of shoveling down a DQ Blizzard when Tyler turned the camera to him. You might’ve been preoccupied with stuffing your belongings back into your suitcase, but you were genuinely relieved that Tyler had found someone to hang out with during the brief holiday.

Tyler had straight up begged you to stay in town for Thanksgiving, claiming he needed your company to get through the loneliest holiday for a Canadian in America. You just snorted and patted his head, which had been in your lap like always, shushing him with a finger to his lips.

“You’re so full of shit, you know that Ty?” He waggled his eyebrows in response. Part of you did feel sorry for him, though. He’d spent last Thanksgiving with Rads “going stag”, as they called it, but the older man had worked out a visit from Makar and his parents over the long weekend and looked like he was going to keel over from excitement. Which wasn’t really a stretch from his normal self, but still.

Last you’d heard, Jamie was having a BC friend visit, and even Jackie had booked an Alaskan cruise with her girlfriends after Tyler insisted he’d be fine on his own. Now, you just feel bad for the poor guy. He’d been taking a break from going out—I’m just trying to look out for my liver, (Y/N)—and you knew he’d be a sad sack and spend the night in with the pups.

So you compromised and took the beginning of the week off to spend with your family in Chicago, and promised Tyler you’d be back by Thursday night at the latest. It all worked out perfectly since he and Jamie didn’t have a game again until Saturday…which brings you to this moment right here, sitting in a darkened plane with the hottest guy you’ve ever laid eyes on. And you regularly find yourself around some pretty fucking beautiful people. Klinger still won’t tell you what he uses for his skin.

The worst part about flying from Chicago to Dallas is there are never any direct flights with a legitimate shot of you getting on. You can’t complain, considering the fact that working for an airline means you fly for free, but after a jam-packed day like today, you’d like to put your feet up and skip the layovers.

Luckily, the flight you’d managed to get on flew through Denver without a plane change, which meant you were peacefully out for the count while the second batch of passengers got on. You’d been on so many flights for work within the past few months that falling asleep was just second nature to you now. Plus the luxury of a window seat? Score.

Of course, things don’t always work out like they should, so you were jolted from your nap with a loud snort and slurp before spotting the straight up god sitting at the end of your row. Seriously, you’d taken enough flights to know that meet-cutes just didn’t happen, but here you were now.

The blond man has his reading light on, which is a definite faux pas in your mind, but you pause at the fact that he’s actually reading a physical book. Not just any book at that, but you recognize the dark purple cover and intricate detailing of one of your favorite reads of the year. He must notice you staring, because he just turns the page and smiles before asking, “See something you like?”

You blush and scrub at your cheek before realizing the man hasn’t even lifted his eyes from the page.

“Actually, I do.”

That’s enough for him to raise his head and give you a full look at his face. He has gentle eyes that you can just bet are a blue you could get lost in, given what you can see in this lighting. The man’s beard is cropped clean and short, and you wish you could send a photo of his face to Tyler with a message reading, Real men don’t leave spaces in their mustaches.

“And what might I interest you in?”

“The book you’re reading, it’s one of my favorites,” you admit. You know you’re not the type to play coy and charm the pants off this guy, so you decide to do the best with what you’ve got. If he doesn’t like that, it’s not your problem.

It must be a good open though, because his eyes light up in response.

So it begins, from talking about how good All You Can Ever Know is, and how the author makes the nuance surrounding adoption and racism so poignant and real to their audience. You find out the man’s name is Gabe, and there’s a barely noticeable lilt to his words that he attributes to being from Sweden. Gabe glares at you when you jokingly ask for help setting up the new IKEA bookshelf in your living room, and in turn you offer him the extra cookie you’d saved from your earlier flight.

He tells you his plans got derailed last minute and that he was planning on crashing a friend’s Thanksgiving, because there just isn’t enough time around this holiday to head all the way back to Sweden. After a few hours with him, you’re not sure you want to let him go just yet, so you offer to drive him to his friend’s place since you’d left your car at the airport anyways.

You cringe inside when you realize how creepy that must sound and are a second away from laughing it off when he looks you in the eye gratefully and accepts.

After telling him about your travels, which is something you have in common, Gabe probes deeper and asks about the things that make you you, and something stops you from giving him the canned answer you give everyone else who asks.

“I’ve always wanted to be a writer. Walk into a bookstore and see my name on the shelves, you know?” You sigh wistfully at the dream you’ve had since you were a kid toting around a notebook and pen everywhere you went.

“Imagine that: (Y/N)… what’s your last name?” He quirks an eyebrow at you.

“You’re not getting that out of me—you could be a stalker, for all I know!” You laugh when he rolls his eyes in response. “It’s (Y/L/N),” you finally offer. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Worst comes to worst, he’ll probably just find your LinkedIn and ask to connect or something.

“Wait…(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” His eyebrows scrunch up and you can see some kind of gears turning in his head. You’ve never seen this guy before in your life (you definitely would know if you had), so you wonder how he could suddenly be so familiar with your name. There’s nothing to do but laugh again when his face literally bursts into a sunbeam in recognition, the smile overtaking his eyes. You want to take a photo of it; it’s too much to take in with the naked eye all at once.

“You wrote that article in the inflight magazine, the one about the travel tips to Chicago!” You freeze, your grip running tighter on your phone.

“How do you even know that?” You exclaim, eyeing him suspiciously. “I was asleep for like 10 minutes before you started talking to me!”

“I get bored,” the man explains easily. “And I always check the Hidden Gems features because I travel a lot for work. It didn’t hurt that you wrote about one of my favorite cities.” He winks at you and you know you’re blushing now. Guys don’t really bother to flirt with you, let alone big, beefy ones with big, rugged hands and soft blue eyes.

“Oh, well. That’s quite a compliment, considering I write all of them. Thank you,” you manage to get out. Goodness, why did you have to be so awkward all the time.

“You’re welcome,” he replies earnestly.

“Listen, if you’re not in a hurry to get to your friend’s place…have dinner with me.” Something about Gabe makes you feel bold, like you’re the Sun and it’s up to you to rise and seize the day. You know you shouldn’t trust this stranger you’ve literally just met (your mind supplies that you were the one to offer him a ride in the first place) but the alarm bells aren’t going off in your head just yet, so you figure it’s worth a shot.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I know a place.” Actually, you can’t think of any places that might be worthy of housing Gabe, but you’ll act first, and deal with the repercussions later.

“Sure, let’s do it,” he replies easily, smiling up at you from his perch atop his carry-on.

Of course, you have to keep up the bravado from just moments before, all the while racking through every restaurant you can think of nearby. You’re not sure where Gabe’s headed, and while you’ll most likely stop by Tyler’s before heading back home, you want to stay relatively close by.

“How do you feel about fast food?” You blurt out, your mind immediately jumping to the Whataburger you frequent on your way to work in the mornings.

Gabe smiles wryly at you before nodding. Patting his stomach lightly, to which you vehemently fight against imagining the abs that must live beneath his sweater, he musters out a nonchalant, “I’m sure I can break my diet tonight, just for you.”

You roll your eyes and shove at his arm; you feel like you’ve known Gabe for years as opposed to the few hours you spent with him 35,000 feet above ground. Maybe time doesn’t exist that high up in the air.

“Your parents live in Chicago. You live in Dallas,” Gabe checks off as he shoves a spicy ketchup smothered fry into his mouth. “What’s the deal with that?”

“It’s not that complicated, really. I grew up in Chicago, loved it, got an internship in Dallas during college and loved the work, and I’ve been here since I graduated. I get homesick a lot though, so the flight perks come in handy.” You bite your cheek to keep from getting emotional; any mention of missing your parents still gets you teary.

“Wow,” Gabe breathes. You’re too preoccupied with trying to discreetly blink the tears away before he notices, that you don’t have time to gauge his reaction.

It’s the truth, though. You never thought you’d leave the Midwest, with its ability to shift through all four seasons in a day. But you did, and you can’t feel bothered to apologize for the fact that you’re still not sure where you would call home. What you loved about Dallas the first time around was that it was your space. Everyone you knew in Chicago had practically known you since you’d been in diapers, and you never realized how heavy that burden had been until you left.

You’re just about to say something when Gabe clears his throat to speak.

“(Y/N), I can’t believe you moved over a thousand miles away from home right out of college and have been sticking it out this entire time. You’re really brave.”

“Oh, um. Thank you?” You wipe your nose and sniff before taking a bite of your burger. No one had ever reacted like that before. You’re used to people ribbing you for your flight benefits or joking about how there’s no way you can go back to Chiberia after a few years in the South.

“I get it, though,” Gabe continues. “I moved to Canada when I was in, what do you call it, high school? Then after a few years, I settled down in Denver for work, and that’s where I’ve been ever since.” You quirk an eyebrow, wondering if his parents had been in the service given how he’d had to move all over the world. Now, your move seems small in comparison.

“And you mentioned you were born in Sweden, right? I’ve always wanted to go,” you say wistfully. One day, you’d get your backpacking trip around Europe. One day.

Gabe nods eagerly, and thankfully doesn’t comment on your blatant change of subject. He reminds you of a big golden retriever with how often he smiles and seems to enjoy every moment he’s in. He runs a hand through his hair before diving into what it was like growing up in Stockholm, and how he feels like he’s back home anytime he can smell salty sea air. It’s not all too different from Jamie’s childhood, you realize belatedly. You think they’d get on well.

The two of you continue to trade stories back and forth in the tiny Whataburger down the street from Love Field, and you can’t ignore the want bubbling up from deep within.  

When Gabe inputs the address into Google Maps and holds it up for you to see, you have to blink and bring his phone closer to your face to get a better look.

“Wait. Gabe. Whose house are you going to?” Gabe pauses, looking uneasy for the first time since you met just a few hours ago.

“I told you, he’s like my best friend’s best friend. Jamie.”

“Oh. My. God. Oh my God. Gabe. Gabe.” You burst into peals of laughter and have to hit your steering wheel multiple times over because no fucking way. This cannot be real life, right now.

“(Y/N)?” He still looks hesitant, and you’re sure you know why.

“Gabe,” you wheeze. “Gabe. Oh my god. You’re going to Jamie Benn’s house right now? How do you even know him?”

His eyes narrow for a long moment, assessing your frankly embarrassing stature, and he shifts to take his phone back. You’re aware of how you probably look, like a huge Jamie Benn stalker or something, but this turn of events is just too ridiculous to wrap your mind around, let alone, stop laughing at.

“Do you…know him, too?” He asks warily.

“Gabe,” you repeat. “He’s one of my best friends here in Dallas.”

If real life played out the way it did in cartoons, you know you’d see a series of anvils falling from the sky or something equally ridiculous to depict his surprise. Gabe looks flabbergasted, and at a complete loss for words if his sputtering is any indication.

“No fucking way, (Y/N). You sure you’re not just messing with me right now?” He’s finally able to squeeze out right when you start wheezing again. You nod and wipe at the tears streaming down your cheeks; it’s unbelievable how this guy’s got you crying twice for two astronomically different reasons, all within a span of 30 minutes. Gabe must be just as delirious or amused as you are, because he joins you quickly after.

When your giggles finally subside and you trust yourself to drive, you slot your key into the ignition and get started on the drive over to Preston Hollow. You make this exact drive nearly every day, what with the airport being so close to work, but the drive from the airport to Jamie’s house is one you know all too well, having literally gone straight from various work trips to movie nights at his place numerous times over. Just a few weeks ago, Tyler had been walking Gerry over and you’d nearly run the puppy over when he bounded into the street at the sight of your car.

“So, (Y/N),” Gabe starts when you pull out of the Whataburger parking lot. “How exactly do you know all these Stars players?” You bite back a groan; Tyler always gets a kick out of how much you hate telling this story.

“I told you I interned here during college, right?” Gabe nods, and you just barely keep yourself from slamming on the brakes when he flits his tongue to swipe across his upper lip.

“I fell in love with Dallas, and with my line of work being what it is, it’s all about who you know. So after I moved back to Chicago to finish school, I knew I had to make some connections if I wanted to find a job in another state. There weren’t many networking events here, so I kind of had to improvise. My friends took me to a lot of Stars games when I was interning, and I remembered that Casino Night was coming up…” you trail off as you slowly come to a stop at the next red light.

“So I’m guessing you went and seduced some big, sexy hockey players, huh?” Gabe moves closer to dig his elbow into your arm.

“That’s exactly what happened, how did you know,” you deadpan.

“No, for goodness sake’s, Gabe, I didn’t seduce them. I’ve never followed hockey that closely, so I didn’t recognize their faces. Jamie talked to me for almost 20 minutes about working in the Metroplex before a random PR girl came to take him away.” You laugh at the memory of a bumbling Jamie Benn trying to talk to you about taxes and insurance benefits before Tyler had swooped in and hip checked him before winking at you.

With the help of alcohol and some distance from the cameras, Jamie was all soft excitement and fun innuendos while Tyler had just melted into a literal puppy after the event ended. Jamie had asked for your number after you shared some drinks with him and Tyler that night, and you’d always wondered what would’ve happened if you hadn’t had to fly back home the next morning.

Regardless, you kept in touch with the boys until you got a full-time offer with the company you’d interned for the previous summer. When finally making the move to the Big D, you suddenly had 15 fully-grown hockey players at your service when you pulled in with your giant U-Haul. No way could you have imagined any of that from your failed attempt at networking.

“So…your best friends are hockey players, then,” Gabe trails off. You’re not sure where he’s going, but you just nod.

“Yeah, I go to their games and I can finally tell them apart on the ice, but I’m more of a baseball girl myself.” It’s true, you’d grown up in Cubs territory and their World Series win ranked in your list of favorite moments from your entire life.

“Do you know any other hockey players?”

“Mmm, I don’t think so. I guess I know who Sidney Crosby is? But that’s only because Tyler’s obsessed with him.” Gabe laughs brightly and you hear an of course he is under his breath.

“Wait…do you know Tyler, too?”

“Um, yeah (Y/N). I kind of have to, considering I play hockey, too.” This time you really slam on the brakes, which is just fine because no one’s on the road, anyways. You’ve only got another mile or so until you make it to Jamie’s place, and you’d like some time to wrap your head around the fact that this dream of man regularly plays against your best friends.

“You’re a hockey player from Sweden…who plays in Colorado,” you utter our slowly. “You’re somehow friends with Tyson, who’s friends with Jamie, which probably means that Tyson’s a hockey player too, right?” Everything is wild and nothing makes sense.

Gabe at least has the courtesy of looking sheepish. He scratches at his neck and shrugs.

“Yeah, Tyson’s one of my best friends in Denver. You can’t tell him that, though, or else he’ll get a big head.”

“Okay, just give me a second to wrap my head around this. Also, get out your phone because we need to record their reactions when we walk in together. Good thing I have a key,” you whisper conspiratorially.

“I think I kind of like bossy (Y/N).”

You know Jamie’s already expecting you, especially since Tyler had texted he was still hanging out with the guys. Gabe’s already got the video rolling on his phone when you slide the key into the lock. You call out a hello as you slip off your shoes and gesture for Gabe to follow when you hear an “in the kitchen!”

Marshall and Cash come bounding up to you while Gerry takes a moment to survey the new guest. Gabe gives him a generous amount of pats, which has Gabe on his knees scratching the puppy’s belly in no time.

“And that’s why we gave a key to (Y/N) in the first place—she somehow always brings us free Whataburger.” You roll your eyes at Jamie’s bravado, he’s clearly raised his voice so you could hear him.

“Holy shit! Landesnerd!”

You turn and mouth Landesnerd? to Gabe in question, to which he shrugs and probably just zooms in on your face with the camera.

Tyson runs over to see Gabe, bypassing you completely. Jamie’s slower to stroll out and he raises an eyebrow at you before pulling you in for a squeeze. He smells like cedar and soap like always, and it’s so familiar to you now that it almost hurts. Tyler comes steamrolling out of the kitchen yelling your name and throws himself into your arms when Jamie finally lets go. This one’s all Aveda shampoo and Armani cologne, and you playfully bite at his shoulder, which has him yelping and jumping away as always. It’s only been a few days, but you’ve missed your boys something fierce.

Plus, it’s only a matter of time before they realize who you walked in with.

“Hold up, hold up, hold up.” Tyson finally pauses, literally scratching his head at the sight of you. “Do you guys know each other? Gabriel, how did you even get into this house?”

Gabe’s still getting everything on video, and you’re so glad it’s all getting caught on tape. Tyler tilts his head side-to-side, glancing between you and Gabe before finally turning and elbowing Jamie in the ribs. He makes a few contemplative noises before finally whispering to Jamie, who’s eyes shine with mirth when he lands his gaze on you, of all people.

“Hey, Landy, what’s up man? How do you know our girl (Y/N), here?” Tyler continues smoothly, pulling Gabe in for one of those complicated handshake turned bro taps. Jamie does the same, but you can tell from the way Gabe shoves at his chest that Jamie’s chosen to chirp him. Of course.

Tyler just waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively when Gabe finally responds, ruffling Tyson’s hair at the same time. 

“It’s just gotta be fate, right? We were on the same flight over, we had Whataburger together, and here we are now.”

“You watch yourself, Landeskog, throwing around words like fate and together. Our (Y/N)’s too good for Colorado scum like you!” You lunge to tackle Tyler to the ground, which just begins an all-out brawl once Marshall and Cash get word of the fun. 

Jamie just sighs all too knowingly, and stops in the kitchen to grab the bags of chips he only saves for special occasions. Something tells you it might be a Goon night after all.

When Jamie officially deems it too late for you to go home, he sends you to the guest room on the second floor to spend the night, just as you have numerous times before. You’re thankful he’s pulling the trigger and has a shit ton of extra rooms for everyone to stay in, one of which already has a new toothbrush and one of Jamie’s spare hoodies.

When you wake up the next morning, it’s to the smell of hazelnut which has you out of bed and downstairs almost immediately. Tyson doesn’t even look half awake yet, but Jamie slides over a mug of black coffee to you wordlessly. The shower’s going down the hall, which tells you exactly where Gabe is.

“Can we do breakfast,” you whine at Jamie. He’s become the big brother you’d never had, and you know he dotes on you as a result of being a lifelong youngest child. Jamie just grunts in response as Tyson flops his hands over his ears with a long, pronounced groan.

“Let’s do Norma’s, I want biscuits,” you continue. Jamie nods and pulls out his phone, presumably to check in with Tyler. 

“It’s good, I promise,” you reassure Tyson. You pat his head of curls gently and get another sad moan in return. Poor guy, sleeping in must definitely be a BC thing.

You and Gabe are the first ones to arrive at Norma’s an hour later, Tyson texting that he and Jamie would pick Tyler up on their way over. You knew if you were to confront either of your friends about what they were trying to do, the big dumb cow eyes would come out to play, and you really didn’t have time for that right now. You just want to enjoy the time you have with Gabe before he leaves, and be able to keep moving forward without even more unrequited feelings weighing you down. Fuck, you don’t even know if it’s been long enough to characterize these feelings as feelings.

As Gabe steps into the bustling diner, you can see the exact moment everything begins to process in that big, blond brain of his. He opens his mouth, then shuts, just smiling down to himself. He stands off to the side while you give your name to the hostess, and make your way over to join him against the wall.

It smells like heaven, if the celestial beings cried tears of grease, and the diner itself is packed with people of all ages. There’s a booth just next to the bar that’s opened up, and you can’t suppress the giggle that erupts when you imagine yourself and four massive hockey players squeezed into it. Gabe calls your name quietly, and you look up to see mirth dancing in his blue, blue eyes.

Completely unaware of the image burned in your brain, he asks, “What’s with all the Texas flags everywhere?”

You have to chuckle at that. Norma’s is known for straight-up Southern comfort food, and their infamous booths decked out in full Texan attire. It was the first thing you’d noticed your first visit, after the giant pies up front that were easily the size of your entire torso. You still remember trying to take sneaky photos to send to your parents all those years ago. Now, they all knew you by name.

“G, it’s Texas,” you reply simply. There really is no other way to put it. “Sweet tea, Whataburger, and good ol’ American football—that’s the Texas way,” you drawl exaggeratedly.

It’s only a couple minutes before the rest of the boys make it to brunch, and if y’all didn’t stick out before, you definitely do now. Tyson’s the closest to you in height, but there’s no denying he’s just as capable as the others in easily benching your weight.

While the people in Texas can be a little softer in the middle, they’re that much kinder in spirit. The city boy in Tyler has slowly been weathered away over the years, and you can’t even pinpoint the Canadian in Jamie anymore. Which is why Gabe with his perfect face and eyes and hair and everything sticks out like a sore thumb in this establishment. It’s like trying to stuff the Sun into a one story home, and telling yourself you still need a lamp.

Tyler kicks at your foot lightly, and it snaps you out of your reverie. The hostess is already leading Jamie, Tyson, and Gabe to a larger booth in the back, so you and Tyler pull up the rear. He offers you his arm, just like always, and he leads you to your seat with a flourish. Jamie’s already saved a spot for Tyler right next to him, patting the cushion with his paw-like hand, which leaves you with the seat next to…Gabe. Of course.

Jamie’s smirking at you when you look up, so you pointedly gesture to the arm he has stretched out behind Tyler to get him to stop. His smirk turns into a shy grin then, and he just shrugs good-naturedly before turning back to his menu. You already know what you’re getting—a Number 7 with extra gravy, as always—so you turn your attention back to Gabe, who’s bouncing between studying the laminated menu and looking around the diner to see what everyone else is eating.

“The biscuits here are the best things I’ve ever tasted,” you offer. Gabe’s brow is still furrowed, eyes flicking back and forth between the menu choices.

“Okay, but can it beat Denver Biscuit Company?” Tyson all but yells from Gabe’s other side. Some other customers nearby turn their heads in interest, and the curly-haired guy is straight up lucky there’s no one with a fishing vest on in your vicinity right now. Don’t mess with Texas is right.

“Oh my god, Four, we can’t take you anywhere,” Gabe hisses, reaching under the table to pinch at Tyson’s thigh.

“Gabe! What the fuck! It’s a free country, Landesnerd!” Tyler’s straight up giggling now as he leans even further into Jamie’s side, and you’re always a sucker for his giggles.

“This has to be a Colorado thing, why are you guys like this?”

“Oh yeah, Benny? Wanna tell Tyler and (Y/N) about the shit we got up to in Kelowna? Don’t kid yourself, bud, you’re not that great.” Tyler’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline and he mouths over a what to you before turning back to Jamie, who’s huge eyes are looking extra cow-like with a side of feigned innocence.

This time, it’s Gabe’s turn to laugh and turn the conversation to shenanigans he and Klinger got into when playing at Worlds together. You don’t know for what, but you feel like you’ve been rewarded with something when he turns to give you a private smile after ordering an extra side of biscuits.

“For us to share away from the hooligans,” he whispers.

Jamie and Tyler had a quick practice over in Frisco after breakfast, so you’d brought Gabe and Tyson back to your place to hang out before meeting the guys again later. Tyson had holed up in your den to call his girlfriend Emma, and last you had checked he had fallen asleep on your futon. You hadn’t expected anything less. Now, you and Gabe are left watching Love Actually in your living room while sipping on some leftover apple cider you’d reheated on the stove.

“Hey Gabe?” It comes out as barely a whisper, but his eyes flick to yours as he murmurs in response. He taps your ankle with his toes, stupid fuzzy socks nudging against your bare skin. You wish you had the liberty of reaching over and tucking your hand into his, pulling him to wrap his strong, wiry arms around your frame. He looks like a scene on your couch, with your favorite throw strewn across his frame.

“Yeah, (Y/N)?”

“What happens now?” You’re scared to even utter the words, afraid he’ll just brush it all off. Luckily, he seems to have given this a lot more thought than you have.

“Well, I know I really like you, and I think you like me,” he replies easily. “We can be really good together, and I want to give it a shot—give us a shot.”

This is crazy. You’d met him only 24 hours ago, and here he was talking about a long distance relationship. Friends of yours had done this in the past, but you never imagined a whirlwind meet-cute like this for yourself. It was ridiculous to even wrap your head around—this legitimately only happened in rom-coms.

“You sound crazy right now, Gabe.”

“Here’s the thing, though. I’m all in. I don’t mean to sound cocky or presumptuous here, but I have the means to fly us both back and forth even if you didn’t get free flights. I don’t know how we got here over the past day, but I do know that I trust you and I’m willing to try. Are you?”

“Pinch me.”

“What?” Gabe barks out a surprised laugh.

“Pinch me, Gabriel. Prove to me that I’m not dreaming.” And because it’s Gabe, he does.

“Ow! Okay, I get it, I’m not dreaming. You didn’t have to pinch me so hard with your dumb big hockey player fingers!”

“(Y/N), come on. Seriously?”

“I have thin skin! Also…if you’re that committed to this, I can be too. I really like you, too. Also, mess with my heart, young Gabriel, and I’ll send the dogs after you.” You point a finger at his amused face and realize that yeah, maybe it’d be nice to allow good things to happen to you.

“Don’t worry, I can take Tyler in a fight. Jamie…maybe not. But you can’t tell him that.” You don’t get the chance to respond as he pulls you in for the first kiss of the rest of your life.

One Year Later – Chicago, IL

“I love Chicago—ever since a buddy of mine forced me to explore with him a few years ago, I fell in love with the architecture.” You expect the tips of his ears to go pink sheepishly or something equally indicative of embarrassment, but he sounds bold, confident. It’s always a turn-on when guys are unapologetic about their passions, but you never would’ve expected his to be architecture—even then, that of your hometown.

It makes you love him that much more.

“It’s the clean lines of all the modern buildings,” he continues, “and the way it contrasts with everything around it. Look at the Wrigley building or the Tribune building and compare it to the Sears Tower.” He sighs contentedly as he peers out the window of the train car, skyline still just about the size of your thumb from this distance.

“You really know your stuff, eh, Blondie?” Gabe’s head whips around at that, and you bite your lip to keep from snorting right then and there.

“Blondie, huh?”

“It figures, though,” you continue. “Big head must mean a big brain for all that random shit you know.” If anything, spending time with Gabe and the boys in Denver has only provided you with more material to help keep the big Swede in check. It must show, since all you hear is a muffled, “Fuckin’ Four” in response.

It feels good to hop off the Orange Line and feel the cold air on your face. Having spent the last few winters in Dallas, it’s disorienting to feel the pins and needles pricking your face again. Gabe slots his fingers through yours and smiles toothlessly as he presses a chaste kiss to the back of your gloved hand. This city might not be home for you anymore, but this smart, kind, hilarious, ridiculous human being next to you has proven himself more than worthy of that title.

“Oh come on, you sap. You said we had dinner reservations!” Gabe had, indeed, told you in explicit detail what he looked forward to doing to you that night, and it encompassed a lot more than just dinner plans. You’re glad it’s so chilly outside, because you can blame your cheeks flaming pink on the weather.

The two of you walk for a bit in comfortable silence, and the familiar streets make way for a slew of old memories. You remember running from campus to the old train station with your college roommate so you could catch the last train to Schaumburg, sitting in front of the Bean with a box of macarons crying over your ex-boyfriend, and even the time you’d somehow ventured into the shady part of town late at night and had called your dad in a panic.

They’re all fond memories, of course, crucial parts of the saga you call your life. But when Gabe tightens his grip and smiles down at you with so much warmth in his eyes, you can’t imagine ever looking back at this city without thinking of him and all that he adds to every moment of your life. You have all the tools and willpower to make your life yours—just like he pointed out that first night, you moved to Dallas on your own and made an entirely new life for yourself. But he adds so much color and meaning you’d never even considered before, that he makes everything more. If you were functioning on a solid 7, he’s the one that dials everything up to a 12.

And you’re struck with this huge revelation as you’re walking down Wacker in the freezing cold that you want this, want him, forever. It doesn’t make any sense, but your heart starts pounding in your ears, and you never really were very good at keeping a poker face, because all you want to do is tell him all of it now now now.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, babe.” Gabe chuckles and runs a thumb across your cheek. “But I have a feeling that’s not all you want to say.”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

His eyes widen almost comically, and if you weren’t so nervous about what you’d just said, you might be making fun of him for it.

“Seriously, (Y/N)? You couldn’t wait just three more hours?” His voice is suspiciously watery, and he sounds like you’d just sucker punched him in the solar plexus.

“Wait. What?”

Gabe shakes his head fondly. “Look up,” he whispers.

Too caught in your thoughts earlier, you hadn’t realized where he’d brought you. The sun’s just setting and the sky’s an inky violet lit up by the various buildings comprising your favorite skyline. You look up and gasp at what beholds you because, goddamn.

The first time Gabe had come to Chicago with you, he’d brought you to this exact building on his impromptu architecture tour of the city. Gabe had told you how it was urban legend that the architect of this building had scrapped all his original designs after the death of his fiancée, and designed the building to take after her engagement ring when looked at from the sky.

“No. No fucking way. Gabe.”

There’s no response, so you turn to grab his arm but he’s no longer where you left him. Panic comes over you for a brief second, but it all melts away when you turn to find him kneeling on the ground next to you. He has a huge smile painted on his face, and it almost distracts you from the little jewelry box engulfed by his huge hands.

“(Y/N), I should’ve known that you’d ruin the surprise somehow, but I guess it’s okay because it just brings you one step closer to being my wife. When we came here the first time and I told you that story of the architect, that was me promising you that one day you’d be back with an engagement ring of your own.  

“You complete me in a way I never could’ve imagined—you’re it for me, you complement me in every way. You inspire me every day because I see how hard you work for every single thing, and I’m so damn lucky to have found someone that brings that kind of resilience into our relationship. I love you to the end of this earth, and there’s no one else I would rather choose to build my life with.

“Man, it’s really fucking cold down here, (Y/N). Marry me?” The tears have been spilling down your cheeks for quite some time now, so it should come as no surprise to Gabe when you nod and throw yourself into his arms.

“Of course, Gabe, of course. I love you so much.” Gabe presses a loud, wet kiss to your temple in response and laughs heartily when you groan.

“Thank you for choosing me,” he whispers before untangling your limbs and taking your left hand in his. Pulling off your glove and holding it between his teeth, as he does, he slips the ring onto your finger, and you know you’re crying again at just how perfect everything feels. So you pull your new fiancé close and press your lips against his, while Gabe sweeps his tongue in little kitten licks against your lower lip in an effort to deepen the kiss. It only serves to make you laugh though, pure joy coursing through your veins.

“I can’t wait to be your wife,” you say when you finally pull back.

“Don’t you mean, you can’t wait to be Mrs. Babriel Landeskog?” You shove at his shoulder as he smiles unapologetically, taking the opportunity to nuzzle his face into your neck.

Your ring finger suddenly weighs more than it ever has, your favorite human has his arms wrapped tightly around you, and you can hear faint remnants of the carolers singing just a few blocks away at the Christkindlmarket. But what really gets you is the promise of the future as you feel Gabe smile against your skin. A crucial part of what makes a home is having him by your side, and luckily, that’s where he’ll be for the rest of your lives.

[cedarmoons]

written for my fic trade with @4biddenleeches,​ featuring Julian and her apprentice Aredhel! references events from her awesome one foot in the grave fic, but you don’t have to read that to enjoy this! vaguely nsfw esp at the end.

*

Once, Julian had not thought himself a particularly lucky man. He still remembers that night he’d broken into her shop, and she had presented him with Death’s sickle-shaped grin. But in the year that she has been with him—him! of all the people she could have chosen to love, she chose him, not once but twice, even knowing what he has done, to other nameless innocents, to her—he knows one truth:

Not even Fortuna herself could find another man luckier on the whole of the wide, wide earth.

Their visit to Vesuvia will be short—a break from their constant travels, to reacquaint with old friends and family, to allow themselves a plan for where they wish to travel next. They have sailed to the archipelago of Aransia; crossed to the wooded fjords of Hjallnir and its shining city built in the center of a mountain lake; traversed the desert of Nopal to Drakr, that verdant paradise where she had whispered of perhaps, one day, making a home.

(And oh, how badly he wants that—a home, nestled in the mountains, perhaps, with a well he could draw fresh water from while she leaned out the window of their bedroom and called out to him—)

But as Julian stands on the deck of the ship that is taking them into Vesuvia, his eyes on the horizon—red, he sees, and his mouth curls into a smile. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Surely, a sign, an omen of good fortune: the second time in two years he has returned to Vesuvia, yet this feels like a welcome home. He is not a hunted fugitive convinced of his own inevitable death, but a man in love, a man with a future.

(A future with her: he should have known, he thinks, even with his missing memories, that his twisting paths would have only led him back to her.)

A true year they will have been together, in one week’s time. A year since he had broken into her apothecary a second time, seeking Asra for answers yet again. Asra had not been there—but she had. She had, and that night his life had changed and his luck had turned.

He doesn’t want the day to pass without... some sort of celebration. Some way to mark this milestone, this anniversary (and how short, how inconsequential this one year would be, compared to the years, decades, he hopes to spend with her—a lifetime!).

He thinks of the apothecary’s rooftop garden. He had held her there, with Asra, watching the dawn until she’d been lulled to sleep in their embrace. There are other places, but it... it could be poetic, he thinks. To celebrate the year they’ve shared in the same place they spent what they thought would be her last night. Underneath the hawthorne tree, maybe. A warm blanket underneath her, to block the chill of the rooftop; candles to light the darkness, and rose petals—ah, were rose petals too much?

It matters not, a voice whispers. She will love it anyway, because it comes from me.

Once that thought would not have come with such surety. Now, the certainty brings him comfort, and curves the corners of his mouth into a wistful smile as Vesuvia breaks the horizon, a skyline against the sea.

He would plan the rest of the day, of course. But it would end with a dinner under the hawthorne tree, and he would lay her down and love her, an amendment to the promise he’d made all those years ago (I will lay you down in golden fields; we will rumple the grain as I make love to you); the sky will not be blue, but indigo, and sprinkled through with diamond-glittering stars. Their tapestry is barely woven, barely begun—he wants to add another memory to what is theirs (a thousand memories; a hundred thousand), like a weaver introduces another color and make the design all the more brilliant for it.

Vesuvia approaches; smiling (for there is a red sky at morning, and Fortuna is always smiling upon him these days), he turns and goes belowdeck, returning to her side.

*

They catch Asra the day before he’s to leave for a journey north. He’s glad to see them—dines with them and Nadia in the palace—and freely hands Julian a key to the apothecary, after Julian has pulled him aside and asked for permission to stay there.

“And where are you off to, then?” Julian asks with a sly smile, pocketing the key. “Scaling the Blood Mountain? Pub crawl from here to Prakra? You know, if you do want recommendations, my favorite one is right between Drakr and Hjallnir, it’s—”

Asra shakes his head, cutting Julian off. “Ah, no. I’m spending a week with someone in Nopal.” He half-smiles, and oh, Julian knows that look.

“Oh-ho, someone, he says,” Julian says, waggling his eyebrows dramatically. Though Asra rolls his eyes, he laughs, color rising in his cheeks.

“You don’t know her,” he replies, clasping Julian on the shoulder. “Let’s get back to dinner?”

Julian nods, letting it go, though his curiosity still has its tenterhooks buried in his chest. He would hold his tongue, for now, but the day Asra departs for Nopal Julian knows he will be on Portia’s doorstep—ah, no, Nadia would be more likely to know the truth—he will be at the palace doorstep, asking Nadia if she knows anything.

*

(It turns out Nadia keeps Asra’s secrets as well as Asra himself does—Julian gets nothing from her, other than a slight, warm smile.)

*

He is meticulous in his preparations when that joyous day comes; Aredhel spends the morning with Portia and Mazelinka, both claiming her on pretense (or convenient excuse) of completing errands that absolutely require her assistance. He uses that time to check the rooftop garden, just to make sure it isn’t dead—it isn’t—to buy fresh bread and fruit, and roses and rose petals from the florist. He also buys the ingredients for a meal Mazelinka has made for them countless times. Can’t quite remember the name of it, but Aredhel had always enjoyed it immensely.

Mazelinka is the one who comes by the shop that afternoon, to find Julian standing in Asra’s kitchen, staring helplessly at the counter, where the ingredients are arranged in a semi-circle without rhyme or reason. 

“I don’t know what her favorite meal is,” he says, staring at the ingredients. “We’ve known each other for years. She’s the love of my life. But I don’t—oh, God, I don’t know what her favorite meal is! She knows mine, why haven’t I asked—” His eyes widen and he spins around, gaping at Mazelinka. “I don’t even know her favorite color!”

“Ilya,” Mazelinka says, arching an eyebrow as she perches her hands on her hips. Ilya steps aside, sheepish, as she walks up to the counter, eyeing the ingredients with a critical eye. He watches her take a pinch of the basil he’d put in a small wooden bowl and lick it, grimacing soon afterwards. “Pah. Expired.”

She tsks, slipping a wooden spoon from an earthenware jar holding utensils as well as tithonia blooms. “Aredhel is on her way here,” she says. “You will take her out to that play you bought seats to see, and I will handle the dinner.”

Ilya’s shoulders slump. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Of course I know that,” Mazelinka scoffs. “But you are hopeless at cooking, and you have not spent one minute with Aredhel. I haven’t seen you since that whole business with Lucio ended—and thank Hashem you took care of that nasty Count. We’re all better off without him. This will be my treat, if you come to Shabbos dinner with me and Portia on Saturday. It’s been too long, my boy.”

“Of course,” Julian says, bending down to kiss the top of her head. “Aredhel can come?”

“Da konesho, what kind of question is that? How many Shabbos dinners has she been to? Bah. Too many to count.”

Julian grins, despite himself. “Just making sure.”

He hears the door open downstairs, and Portia and Aredhel’s voices, lost in the blur of conversation. He hurries down the stairs, nearly skipping, and looks up just long enough to see Portia is carrying a basket, and Aredhel’s hands are free —and then the space is crossed, and his hands are on her hips, lifting her up and spinning her in a circle. 

Aredhel smiles at him when he sets her down, steadying herself with a laugh.

Once he had, only half in jest, called the two of them the Hanged Man and his undead bride. Yet here, having spent the morning in the warmth of the day, she is life incarnate, cheeks tinged red (not with fever, no, only exertion from the day!) and sunlight caught in her hair. Her green dress and her flaxen hair—she is spring, summer, Flora and Pomona, and he is but a (newly) mortal man in love.

He tucks her hand into his arm. “And what angel have you brought into this home, Pasha?” he asks, grinning. He tears his gaze from Aredhel to Portia, who is carrying a basket, and springs forward, gently taking the basket into his own arms. “One moment, I’ll be back!”

He deposits the basket on Asra’s dining table. Mazelinka, already rifling through the cabinets, does naught but raise her wooden spoon in acknowledgement—and then Julian is back downstairs, tucking Aredhel’s hand into his arm once again. Portia clasps her hands together and gives him a fond, long-suffering look. He shrugs, unapologetic.

Let him shout his love from the rooftops. Let the whole world know how much he loves Aredhel Mooney.

“Ilya,” Aredhel says, laughing, “what’s the rush?”

“What’s the rush?” Julian asks, arching an eyebrow and smiling as he reaches into his coat pocket, withdrawing two tickets printed on orange paper. “Why, we have a show in half an hour, and the Countess herself has been gracious enough to loan us her box. The production was a personal recommendation of hers.”

“Oh? What’s it about?” Aredhel says. Portia, smiling, goes upstairs. Aredhel looks after her, but doesn’t move to follow her. Instead she refocuses on Ilya, and he grins at her.

“A tragedy about two lovers in fair Verona,” Julian tells her. “Sounds right up our alley.” He pauses, that old anxiety rearing its ugly, ugly head. “If you’re interested, of course. If not, why, there’s a thousand other things to do in this city, did you hear Nadia tore down the Coliseum—”

“Ilya,” Aredhel interrupts, kindly, and Julian closes his mouth, offering a sheepish smile. Aredhel smiles back and lifts herself up, kissing him hungrily enough that he ends up gripping her hips and holding her flush against him, until he remembers that Mazelinka and Pasha are upstairs and he abruptly breaks the kiss.

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat, averting his eyes and ignoring the blush suffusing his cheeks. Aredhel’s laugh is husky and rasping, and he squeezes her hand. “To the theater, then! Allons-y, chérie!”

*

It’s dark by the time they exit the theater, hand-in-hand. Julian knows he should be talking about the play, asking her what she’d thought, but all he can think of is the heat of her hand.

Which she had rested on his upper thigh for the entirety of the play.

She had done no more than that—no, no more than an occasional coy smile in his direction whenever he’d shifted, or cleared his throat, or tried to distract himself from her hand’s proximity—but it had been enough to... divert his attention from the play. He wants to hurry back to the shop, get her onto the roof where they could be alone and he could do his part to rid the rooftop of its negative memories—he could reach under her skirt, and his hands would find naught but bare skin and the promise of pleasure.

“—Ilya?”

“Ah, apologies, my dear,” Julian says, offering her a shameless smile. “I found myself too taken with your beauty—what did you say?”

Aredhel rolls her eyes, but smiles nonetheless, lifting their intertwined hands to kiss the back of his hand. His breath catches and his grin deepens. “Why, ’Red, you’re a romantic!”

“You knew that already,” she accuses, playfully.

“Ah, but the play, the play has dragged that particular secret from its hiding place,” Julian says, gesturing dramatically toward the night sky, sprinkled through with stars. Strings of lanterns between the street hang over their heads. Not a single house is marked with indigo and black drapings. Not a single one of these families—not a one!—have lost someone to the plague.

What’s a plague doctor with no plague? he’d once asked. He’d thought himself purposeless, drifting, a wreck and a lost cause of a man. How blessedly wrong he’d been—how thankful he is now to see it.

The moon is heavy and full in the sky, and Julian is invigorated, heartened, joyous. It makes him throw his head back, beaming at the night sky and the lanterns that block off globe-shaped spaces of it. “Look! The moon knows the truth! Only she, and me.”

“And will you keep this secret?” Aredhel asks, eyes glittering. She’s playing along, and that only encourages him. “Will the moon?”

“Why, the moon has her own secrets,” Julian says, “it’s why she disappears each month. She can be trusted. As for me... well.” His smile softens, and he looks down at her, pressing a hand over his heart. “I will keep your secrets. This I do swear...” he arches an eyebrow, grinning, “’til my second dying breath.”

They reach the shop, after devolving into a conversation about the play itself; Aredhel unlocks it with a fluid gesture and pulls him inside, snickering at Julian’s dramatic renditions of Mercutio’s death scene. A plague o’ both your houses!

“You did community theater, didn’t you?” she asks, closing the door behind him.

Julian smirks. “What gave it—mm—”

She kisses him, pressed hard against the door, hands already working at the buttons of his coat. He hears his breath hitch and his head thuds against the wood as he helps her rid him of his coat, leaving it to puddle on the floor around his boots. His hands roam her body, and he can’t help but picture—

Aredhel laid out on the blanket on the roof, underneath the stars. His bare hand on her bare thigh. Her face, twisted in pleasure.

His cock twitches in interest, and he groans, pulling her closer, seeking out her mouth hungrily. Aredhel is in the middle of sucking a bruise into his neck, right where he likes it (where she knows he likes it), when her stomach growls and they both stop.

“Erm,” Julian says, blushing, “right. I had something for that.”

“I hadn’t even noticed, really.” To her credit, she doesn’t look embarrassed—and truly, it is he who should be embarrassed; he had planned everything except the meal. And he had told Portia about his plan for a rooftop dinner, but had she told Mazelinka—wait, had he really told Portia, he wasn’t sure, had the dinner been waiting in the kitchen all this time?—stop.

“Well, let’s get that taken care of, anyway,” Julian says.

He leads her upstairs, and there, the hatch already open—the ladder up which he had carried her, with Asra’s help. 

Aredhel stops. When he looks back at her still, unreadable expression, he suddenly remembers what had been a vague thought at the back of his mind, utterly banished when she had placed her hand upon his thigh.

“You sit there,” he says, gesturing to a seat at the kitchen table. “I have to—I’d planned to—I wanted a dinner on the roof. Is that all right, love?”

He doesn’t like the look on her face. He doesn’t know if she’s been up on the roof since that night he’d carried her up to watch the dawn, but if she hasn’t... he can’t blame her, if she now thought of that night as a bad memory. (Though he doesn’t, not quite: this is such happiness, she’d sighed, between the two of you.

Fortuna had been kind, not stealing her away from him that night.)

But the stillness eases, and Aredhel nods, sitting in the kitchen chair and watching him with a faint, amused smile. “Go on, then,” she teases, flicking her fingertips at him. Julian kisses the top of her head and clambers upstairs.

The food—still warm, oddly enough—is set on the blanket he’d draped over the platform under the tree, which has a hole in it that he doesn’t remember from four years ago. Anchoring the blanket is a clear vase full of fresh roses, a bottle of wine, votive candles, and the bag of rose petals he’d bought specially. 

The food is still warm; he spends time carefully dishing it out, placing a plate at each side of the blanket, giving them a not-too-bad view of the rest of the city. He lights the candles and uncorks the wine, but leaves it unpoured. He sprinkles the rose petals over the blanket, feeling foolish and also giddy for indulging this whim (why, Ilya, you’re a romantic!).

When he returns to Aredhel, he has only one request for her: that she close her eyes.

This she does willingly enough, though she wobbles on the ladder. He steadies her, of course, and once she is on the rooftop and led by the hand to the platform, he tells her to open her eyes. She does, and her breath catches. 

“One year ago today,” Julian says, “I broke into your shop and you threw a bottle of petrified leeches at me, which, strangely enough, was probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” His debonair grin fades and he looks down, swallowing as he feels his cheeks heat. “I wanted... I wanted to show you, erm, how. How important you are to me. How grateful I am that we got a second chance.”

Aredhel’s eyes are wet. Julian sits, reaching out for her, and instead of sitting beside him she straddles him. “In more ways than one,” she says, thumb brushing the apple of his throat. Julian swallows, and he feels her thumb press against his skin.

“In more ways than one,” he agrees.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she says, fiercely, eyes bright in the darkness. The hand on his throat curves around, fingers tangling in his hair, and before he can stutter out a reply she’s kissing him, somehow hungrier than before. Her weight rocks forward, and he leans back on his elbow, one hand curving around her waist to cup the swell of her ass, helping her rock slowly against him as he moans into her mouth.

“Ah,” he rasps, when they break apart, “’Red, don’t you want—”

“You,” she interrupts, and oh, his mouth dries at that gleam in her eyes. He nods, glancing behind him once to look at the blanket behind him. He pushes the plate of food away and sweeps his hand out, at the same time the wind turns the flame toward his sleeve—

“Oh, fuck—”

He panics, slightly, flapping his arm in an effort to put out the flame that’s caught on his shirt. Behind him, Aredhel is laughing, and the flame jumps from his shirtsleeve to the blanket. Julian manages to put out the fire, but not before it eats the laced cuff of his shirt and a few holes in the blanket, as well as a single rose petal.

“Well,” Julian says, “that could’ve gone better.”

Aredhel’s still laughing.

His nostrils sting with smoke from a recently extinguished flame, and Julian blows out the nearest votive candle, setting it aside before looking at Aredhel. She takes his arm, exposing the pink burn on his skin, the pain of which hasn’t quite sunken in yet for all that he can smell his singed hairs. 

With her kiss, she heals him.

(Quite fitting, really.)

“You don’t have your mark anymore,” she says, gently scolding though her eyes glitter with mirth. “You have to be more careful, Ilya.”

Ilya grins, arching an eyebrow. “Do I? Whyever would I do that when I have you to take care of me, my dear?”

Her eyes narrow, playfully. Shaking her head, she kisses him again and lays him down, and there is no one to witness their lovemaking under the stars—none except themselves, and the moon.

[vernons-laugh-is-my-aesthet-blog]

Question Tag

Thanks @softlysweetlystan for tagging me 

1. Are you named after someone?

After Aphrodite(goddess of love and beauty lol that’s fucking lie), all my sisters have ‘A’ names that end with ‘elle’

2. Time you cried?

Had a vivid, almost realistic feeling dream where a boat was sinking like the titanic, but instead of my family and I running out, we all just hugged and died together (like the old couple in the movie)

3. Do you like your handwriting?

When I try hard hell yeah it’s nice, I write in cursive, unilke alot of my peers. When im in a hurry/dont wanna try, bitch I cant even read it. One time a guy told me “you look like your writing the declaration of independence”

4. What’s your favorite lunch meat?

Chicken? idk thats a weird question tho

5. If you were another person, would you be friends with you?

I guess. I like to think of myself as very sarcastic and joke alot, but I make sure to never step over the boundaries (for example: the “roast” thing people do, I NEVER mention something  that could be a person’s actual insecurity, instead I call them stupid or something like that)

6. Do you use sarcasm?

I wouldn't use it for people I dont know well, because it could be intense; but when I do know you well, then might as well rename myself as “sarcasm”. I use a shit ton of sarcasm in my post too

7. Do you have your tonsils?

Yup

8. Would you bungee jump?

Hell nah one time I rode this one roller coaster that was just a series of ups and downs ONLY and at the end my family was telling me I had purple dots all over my pink face, I guess i couldn't take it and it cut off my oxygen? So when ever I ride a roller coaster I make sure there is no intense drop. (bungee jumping is prob just like that feeling)

9. What is your favorite kind of cereal?

Rice crispy, and frosted  flakes

10. Do you untie your shoes when you take off your shoes?

My shoes are perfectly tied so I can take them off and put them on, but they still stay snug

11. Do you think you’re a strong person?

Im very sensitive when it comes to certain words (about my insecurities) other than that I could say I’m pretty strong. I’m physically strong?

12. What is your favorite ice cream flavor?

coffee,strawberry, cotton candy,vanilla bean etc.

13. What is the first thing you notice about people?

facial structure, and then personality 

14. Red or pink?

red, a deep red

15. What is the least favorite physical thing you like about yourself?

(personal)

16. What color pants and shoes are you wearing now?

no shoes,black spanks

17. What was the last thing you ate?

I ate a tomato omelet  and a mango

18. What are you listening to right now?

Seventeen’s AI1 album and myself breathing

19. If you were a crayon, what color would you be?

A very dark blue (kinda like my blog background)

20. Favorite smell?

citrus body soap and FUCKING MINT

21. Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone?

my fatha

22. Favorite sport to watch?

I like being in and watching a live Volleyball game , I dont watch it from the tv

23. Hair color?

black, hints of brown

24. Eye color?

black as my soul

25. Do you wear contacts?

nah

26. Favorite food to eat?

egg, steak, everything?

27. Scary movie or comedy?

I LOVE watching scary movies with people, cant do it alone tho.

28. Last movie you watched?

Train to Busan 

29. What color of shirt are you wearing?

grey with white pattern

30. Summer or winter?

Winter; the cold is a blessing you can add as many layers and as for the summer- BITCH you cant take off your skin can you? (I mean you can try...)

31. Hugs or kisses?

 hugs make me uncomfortable if not done right/done too long and kisses are weird to me

32. What book are you currently reading?

it’s summer babe, book who?

33. Who do you miss right now?

my friend; she coming over later tho

34. What is on your mouse pad?

Nothing

35. What is the last program you watched?

man vs.food, playfull kiss

36. What is the best sound?

Rain/thunder, tapping of SVT’s feet during choreo vids (esp aju nice), sound of the guy you like’s voice

37. Rolling Stones or the Beatles?

dont listen to em, I’m a piece of shit

38. What is the furthest you have ever traveled?

‘Merica to half way across the world

39.Do you have a special talent?

Art, singing, editing?

40. Where were you born?

Asia

[starsfadingbutilingeron]

wip meme

rules of the meme: list all the things you’re currently working on in as much or little detail as you’d like, then tag some friends to see what they’re working on. this can be writing, art, vids, gifsets, whatever.

i was tagged by @ghoststrawberries thanks babe💕

okay im gonna put this under a read more b/c i feel it will get long and also. yeah. that’s just what i’m gonna do. 

i tag @thefireinthewire @celty-sturluson @mer-birdman and uhm anyone else who wants to do this!! if u want to be like. officially tagged just pm me and i’ll slap ya on here!!

p.s. if any of the fics sound interesting y’all should tell me/subscribe to my ao3  p.p.s if you like any of my writing (esp my original stuff) pls tell me it makes me feel good :^)

okay let’s see what i can dig up.

well, the first wip that came up in my docs is a bnha oneshot in which kirishima finally loses his patience w/ bakugou and it’s only in outline form rn so i’ll just leave u with this from the doc:

alrigh t next we have. my super self-indulgent pride and prejudice tododeku au and uh. haha. i have a few snippets written but i’ll just tantalize u guys with this little blurb from The Scene (p&p fans will know): 

“I love you,” Shouto said, hurried and all at once. It was the most unrefined delivery Izuku had ever heard slip from the imposing gentleman’s mouth, so much so that it gave Izuku cause to lift his gaze to Shouto’s.

 He found the other man’s face white as a sheet, as if Shouto could scarcely believe what he’d said himself. Izuku fumbled for something to say in reply, denoting that Shouto was waiting for him to speak next before continuing his own declaration.

 Izuku drummed his thumb in time against the hammering of his heart, wanting nothing more than to tear his eyes from Shouto’s, but finding the task impossible. “You...love me?”

then i’ve got another fic in-progress for the milk series which is. simply put. a mp100 au where mob gets a cat and names her milk. i would like to leave the plot a surprise, but here’s a snippet i have written:

As for Milk? Well, Milk was a cat. And if there was one thing she loved, it was running up to meet the new clients Reigen brought to the office in a selfishly motivated quest for a few pats on the way to Reigen’s desk and maybe a spot curled up on a new friend’s lap during the interview. Most customers were obliging, offering the small striped cat a brief scratch behind the ears before continuing with their meeting; a few even ended up wasting their entire session time playing with Milk, but still left saying they felt completely rid of their evil spirit problem and would be sure to come back if the problem resurfaced.

now let’s move into my grouptale au

the first wip is from the next chapter of Fallen Down which is a prequel to my original fic for the series. this chapter’s going to tell the story of how alex (the orange soul human) fell down. here’s an excerpt: 

Alex watched the pair of them go further down the sidewalk, staring after them until they turned a corner and were out of sight. Turning back around, Alex couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at what that little kid had. The safety and security of someone else’s arms was something Alex had never known.

my next wip is for Birds Of A Feather which is abt robin reuniting with their three older biological siblings. i don’t have anything written for chapter 4 yet, but here’s something from the outline that sums the plot of the next chapter up pretty well:

i’ve also got a fic for bell planned. it’d be abt them reuniting with their family. more specifically reuniting with their twin brother, blue. it’ll be about two chapters long:

“You were such an idiot, Bell. It’s your fault you fell down,” Blue muttered after a moment, glaring out at the backyard as if he could set it on fire with an angry grimace. “You and your stupid bets.” 

 “I know,” Bell said, blushing and pushing their curls up off their forehead. “I know and I’m sorry.” 

 “You should have listened to me when I told you not to mess around on Mt. Ebott,” Blue continued. “But nooooo...There’s no way that the invincible Bell Beaumont could ever fall down that chasm,” he threw a glare over his shoulder. “Except that they did. And their twin brother had to tell their parents just exactly why they hadn’t come home with him that night.” 

a fic i’m excited about but probably won’t get around to really working on for a while is a fic about hop. and basically it’s about their birth mother reinstating custody after she finds out hop is alive and back on the surface. here’s a bit of the outline i think is funny (mel is hop’s birth mom’s name):

the last two things are gonna be completely original content so yeAH. know that. 

i’m bad and none of my stories have titles. but uh. first up is my clone story. which features my two ocs estrella and charlotte who were part of my first original story back when i was about twelve/thirteen years old. i scrapped that story a long time ago but i held onto those two b/c i loved them a lot but i just. never had any story for them so i would write little blurbs of them in different settings. and it started as a little joke that they were “dimension-hopping” but now that’s kind of canon? 

basically. they’re lab-created clones who have psychic powers and they’ve lived their whole lives in this lab building as part of their mother rhea’s experiment. and one day they bust out and try to adjust to living without the pressure of other people deciding their lives for them. all while the lab people badboy finger snap in the background. and here’s a summary of the two main characters:

last but not least is my main project that i’ve been working on for a little over six years now. and if i had to sum the plotline up with one screenshot it would be: 

and that’s the truth okay. so without giving too much away. the main character leah is adopted and. through some events i’m gonna leave vague. her older half-brother johann finds out about her and contacts her to come meet him and her other siblings (all of whom have different mothers from each other except hans and hinton). so she goes to meet all of these family members w/ her three main girls and the Drama ensues when their father franz shows up. 

it’s basically an ode to shitty parenting and those Family Secrets that you learn when you get older that just shine a light on everything fucked up in your family. here’s a blurb i wrote for when my personal fave character horatio is first introduced:

“You what?” Cyrano sputtered. “How did you lose your phone? You haven’t left the house since Andrew Jackson got elected!”

 “Actually, not since Nixon got elected, but whatever,” they rubbed the back of their neck. Leah caught a glimpse of their bare arm, it was battered and scarred like someone had gone at it with a dull knife.

 “Anyways,” Horatio groaned a little, sounding pained as they lowered their arm back down. “I didn’t lose my phone, per se. I threw it out the window.”

 “Why did you do that?” Cyrano sighed, crossing his arms as if he really didn’t want to know.

 “That fucking uhhh....That fucking alarm thing wouldn’t turn off,” they said, opening their eyes again. They seemed to notice Julienne this time, squinting up at her in confusion, but not saying anything. Leah flew under their radar completely. “I kept hitting the red circle with the phone in it, but just like every ten seconds it would start again.”

 “The red circle with the phone only pops up when you’re getting a phone call,” Cyrano said, furrowing his eyebrows and looking a bit insulted. “That was me trying to call you. And you threw your phone out the window.”

 “Ohhhh…” Horatio nodded, tapping their chin thoughtfully before giving a shrug. “Two birds with one stone, I guess.”

thanks for reading!! hopefully some of these actually get finished in the near future.