#he always seems to be friends with their young french players too

[everybodylovesmusiala]

mathys tel and sacha boey at the bayern frauen women's champions league game against arsenal

[nebuladreamerrr]

Kylian Mbappé imagine where he’s so nervous to meet your family. Especially nervous for your parents. Your family isn’t really a football family they’re more into basketball. They’re not that impressed by him.

Oooo and maybe when you get to meet his family,

And his mom tells him to the side that she has a real good feeling about you

I hope you enjoy it 💗💗

Lakers fan | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

Summary: Despite being a confident man, Kylian can't help but feel insecure and nervous about meeting your family. But will everything turn out okay?

Warnings: English is not my first language

Kylian couldn't stop mentally going over all the plans he had been mapping out for months. When you mentioned that you wanted to spend your vacation in the United States so that your family could finally meet him, his mind started working overtime. He couldn't stop thinking about everything he needed to remember: not to mix up French with English, not to forget the gifts for your family (soccer jerseys for your younger brothers, flowers for your mother, and a bottle of wine for your father), and to make sure not to address your father too informally. All of this seemed like a simple plan, but the fact that everything was in English made Kylian very nervous.

From the moment you met him, you didn't hesitate to tell him that his English was very good and that he should be proud of mastering a language that wasn't his mother tongue. Still, a few lessons with you were enough to turn him into a professional in the language.

But this wasn't what made the French footballer nervous. It seemed unbelievable that before a match against the best players in the world, he had the strength and courage not to doubt his abilities. There's no denying that the young Frenchman is one of the best players in the world, but even the biggest stars tend to get nervous and review the matches of the stars they are going to face. However, Kylian wasn't like that. He could play in a big stadium with millions of fans chanting his name, and in his mind, it was as if he were playing a match with his childhood friends.

Without a doubt, that's what made you fall in love with Kylian: that ability to make even the most exclusive and extravagant events seem like a simple gathering in the park after school. Kylian always showed you that side of himself whenever he could, whether it was when you entered a clothing store and he mentioned how he used to have a shirt with the same pattern when he was little, when you ate at different restaurants and he always compared them to the ones in his hometown (which obviously always won), or even when he had a very important meeting with his representatives and afterward told you, "Phew, I almost fell asleep. For a moment, I was transported back to when my school principal gave talks that were supposed to last ten minutes and ended up lasting 100 hours."

But having to navigate in another language and meet your parents and entire family made him extremely nervous. Especially since he discovered that they weren't big soccer fans; in fact, they rarely watched soccer matches. Instead, it was rare for the TV not to be showing an NBA game. Kylian was a basketball fan too, but with so many matches, training sessions, and competitions, he couldn't watch all the basketball games he wanted or keep up with the big stars and promising future talents.

Kylian wasn't just worried about his own nerves; he was also focused on making sure you felt comfortable and happy. Although the United States was your home country, you hadn't been back in a long time. Since moving to Paris and more recently to Spain, your sense of home had spread across these three places. He knew you'd be thrilled to reunite with your family and make plans with all your friends, but he also understood it would be strange to return to a home that had changed since you last saw it. That's why Kylian planned every detail of the trip to the United States meticulously.

Kylian worked hard to learn a few phrases in English that might impress your parents and practiced how to behave in social situations that might be different from those in France, like not greeting your parents with the typical three kisses. He knew this visit was important to you, and he was determined to do everything possible to make it a success.

Additionally, Kylian had organized a special surprise for you. He had reserved a dinner at an elegant restaurant atop a skyscraper, with stunning views of the city. This was the perfect place for you to reconnect with all your childhood friends—those you had shared moments with since kindergarten, those you had spent so much time training with through cheerleading routines, and, most importantly, those you had shared countless laughs with. He wanted your family to see how much you meant to him and how much he valued every moment with you. He also thought it was a great opportunity for them to understand that he didn't want you to isolate yourself from your friends.

Furthermore, he had prepared a speech with the help of your best friend to express his feelings and gratitude for welcoming him into your home. This would demonstrate his commitment and dedication to both you and your family, making it clear that he had made a genuine effort to integrate into your life and roots.

On the day of departure, while waiting at the airport, Kylian took your hand and looked at you with a calm smile. "Everything will be fine," he confidently assured you. "We've planned everything, and most importantly, we're in this together." His words gave you the reassurance you needed. Together, you boarded the plane towards a new adventure, confident that whatever happened, you would face it with love and mutual support.

The arrival in the United States was emotional. Your best friends welcomed you with hugs and tears of joy, and Kylian introduced himself with the kindness and respect that always characterized him. The first few hours flew by with laughter, memories, and the joy of being together. However, you quickly headed to the hotel you had reserved for your stay to recharge for that special evening.

You had slight suspicions when Kylian warned you to dress elegantly that night because you were going to dinner at a city venue. You thought he might have something up his sleeve, but you quickly dismissed the idea because these spontaneous dates were normal in your relationship. Often, these getaways were the best way to relieve Kylian from stress.

Upon arriving at the restaurant, the waiters guided you to a reserved area. Your suspicions grew when you saw this area was covered by a curtain. Upon opening it, a loud "Surprise!" rang out, and you were greeted with a multitude of hugs and questions about how your recent years had been. Meanwhile, Kylian quickly adapted, chatting with some of your friends he had met that morning or conversing with their partners.

The dinner at the skyscraper was a resounding success. Your friends were surprised to see Kylian, and he quickly won their affection with his warmth and simplicity. The speech he prepared was emotional and sincere, eliciting applause and tears from everyone present. In his words, you could clearly see how much he loved you. He thanked you for following "this crazy head" and for never doubting him, even in his wildest plans. He promised to always make you the happiest person in the world, to take care of you, to be your unconditional support, and above all, to plan your future together with both of your interests in mind.

Kylian felt much more at ease knowing that your friends had accepted him. However, the great challenge of being accepted by your family still lay ahead. He had tried his usual routine to calm his nerves: a cold shower in the morning, a light breakfast, and an intense gym session. But it didn't seem to work today. So, when you informed him that you were going to take a shower to start getting ready, Kylian didn't hesitate to call his mother.

She had always been there for him, not only as a professional and great agent capable of negotiating with major clubs but also emotionally. She was the person who had been by his side during his first breakup, and luckily, she had already had the opportunity to meet you.

"Hello, mom," Kylian said softly as he sat on the hotel bed. "I need some advice… Today is the day I'll meet y/n's family, and I can't help feeling nervous."

His mother, with her usual wisdom and affection, reminded him that being himself was the most important thing. "They will love you for who you are, Kylian. You have shown yourself to be an incredible person, and take the opportunity for them not to be your fans but to fall in love with the real Kylian and not the superstar. Besides, y/n loves you deeply. Trust in that."

His mother's words gave Kylian the reassurance he needed, knowing that everything she said was true. Ten months ago, Fayza had the chance to meet you at a gala organized by Mbappé's association. She was completely captivated seeing you interact so naturally with young children, showing your genuine interest in ensuring everyone was happy and enjoying the day. When you finally made sure all the children were content and had received a small bag with the association's logo, including coloring books, crayons, and a soccer ball, you approached Fayza, apologizing for not being able to do so sooner. So when a child clamored for your attention again, Fayza discreetly approached Kylian to make sure to tell him that she knew you were the love of his life.

After hanging up, Kylian felt more prepared for the meeting. At the end of the day, it wasn't just about impressing your family but showing them how much you meant to him.

When you arrived at your parent's house, your mother opened the door with a big smile, politely greeting Kylian and enveloping you in a warm hug, welcoming you both into your childhood home with her natural charm. Entering the living room, you spotted your siblings with your father. After the initial greetings, you all managed to sit in different parts of the room before Kylian handed out the gifts he had brought, carefully considering your family's preferences.

It's true that your younger siblings weren't big fans of soccer and hadn't heard of Kylian before, but they knew he was a great athlete. Above all, they had seen in recent videos his dedication to the sport and the good values he promoted on the field, so they didn't hesitate to excitedly rush to put on their jerseys while shyly hugging Kylian.

Your mother was delighted with the flowers he had given her and asked about the florist where he had gotten them before quickly running to get a vase and put the flowers in water. But your father was different.

He had always been like this: very affectionate but also very overprotective and, above all, a joker. He had always taken every opportunity to scare the boys you brought home.

"A bottle of wine, Kylian, huh? Interesting. I hope this isn't an indirect way of wishing me to kick the bucket soon, young man. And I also hope this isn't in your regular drinks, because if it is, I'll doubt your sporting abilities."

Nervously, Kylian began to stammer, "Monsieur, I mean, sorry, sir, it wasn't my intention, I…"

"Dad, stop making him nervous and behave yourself. We have a cellar at home, I don't know who you're trying to impress," you replied annoyed, giving Kylian a reassuring look.

The tension had already set in, and even though you tried to calm Kylian by gently caressing his hand, you understood that this wasn't entirely calming him. With each passing minute, his discomfort became more evident.

A few minutes later, your father insisted again with another uncomfortable question: "So, Kylian, tell us, what makes soccer the best sport in the world for you?"

"Uh, well, there are many good sports and I appreciate several of them, but soccer has always been the sport I've practiced. I just enjoy it like a little kid when I play with my teammates. I really enjoy playing a team sport," nervously replied Kylian.

"Well, I value your opinion, but let me question what you've said. I'm not sure if you've considered that soccer is a sport where many people win titles, but only one player from the team stands out. That doesn't happen in basketball. Everyone must stand out, whether as a team, training hard individually, and respecting the coach's decisions. The latter you've had a hard time with in the last year, haven't you, Kylian?"

Kylian didn't know where to put himself. He didn't expect his girlfriend's family to criticize his sporting actions. He agreed that many times he hadn't had the best reactions, but he was working on that. "Yes, sir, I know it's something I need to work on and…"

"Dad, stop it. It's the last time I tell you," you responded firmly, with a challenging look.

"But if we're just having a conversation, right, Kylian?" your father said.

"Yes, yes, calm down, honey," Kylian replied, trying to smooth over the situation.

Taking advantage of the uncomfortable pause, your mother entered the room with a tray of refreshments and some snacks, trying to ease the tension. "Let's relax a bit, okay? We're here to have a good time and get to know each other better," she said with a smile.

Grateful for the change of subject, Kylian dove into conversation about some childhood memories and funny anecdotes from his career. Your younger siblings, fascinated, started asking him lighter questions about his training sessions and encounters with other famous athletes.

The evening continued with ups and downs, but gradually everyone relaxed. Kylian took the opportunity to show his more human and approachable side, which slowly won over your father's sympathy.

The tension continued to build in the room when your father, with a cunning smile, asked, "And tell me, Kylian, are you a fan of any basketball team?"

"Yes, sir, I'm a big fan of the Lakers," Kylian replied with a tentative smile.

"I can't believe it, the most wretched team of the season. Do you really support a team like that? If you consider yourself a great player, which I'm still not convinced of, you should support a great team like the Celtics," your father replied, not hiding his disdain.

Kylian had lost all the energy he had. He felt mentally exhausted and didn't know what to say anymore. He lowered his head, ashamed, feeling like he had failed to impress your father.

"That's enough, we've had enough. Kylian, let's go," you said, getting up quickly. Kylian was astonished, not expecting you to take his side and confront your father.

"No, honey, it's okay," Kylian tried to calm you, though he clearly appreciated your support.

At the end of the night, when the atmosphere had calmed down, your father approached Kylian with a softer expression. "You know, soccer may not be my favorite sport, but I see how hard you work and how much you mean to my daughter. I just want you to know that you have a family here that will support you, as long as you make her happy."

Kylian touched and shook your father's hand firmly. "Thank you, sir. I promise to do everything I can to take care of her and make her happy."

When you finally retired to the hotel, Kylian looked at you with a mixture of relief and happiness. "It's been a tough day, but I think we passed the test."

You smiled, feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders. "Yes, we did. Together, as always."

That night, as you prepared to sleep, Kylian was reflective. "You know, I always knew meeting your family would be a challenge, but I didn't expect it to be so intense."

"My father has always been protective, but over time he'll see how amazing you are," you replied, gently caressing his face.

"I hope so. I want them to know how much I love you and how much you mean to me," said Kylian, with renewed determination.

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

the french exit | chapter 01

kylian mbappé x original female character [+18]

synopsis: alice is a lonely rich girl whose biggest fear is to become a lonely rich woman. ever since they moved to paris, her fiancé doesn’t seem to be interested in her anymore. so alice decides to find comfort in the arms of another man. warnings: cheating; angst; smut; i have never been to france; minors dni.

masterlist | next chapter

Chapter 01 | Blank Space

“'Cause we're young, and we're reckless

We'll take this way too far

It'll leave you breathless”

Alice Morgan-Webber is a classic Ralph Lauren blonde girl. Summer at the Hamptons. Kate Moss poster on her wall. Her father owns a hotel chain and is the CEO of a company specialized in luxury goods. Her mother is a fashion designer. Alice is an only daughter and heir to an American dream empire. Her highschool sweetheart boyfriend, David, proposed to her in the summer. Their families have been friends for generations and when their mothers got pregnant at the same time, they knew it was meant to be. His family have their own inspirational story about their generational wealth.                       

A couple months ago David got a job at his family's company's French headquarters, and now they’re living in Paris. It didn’t take long for Alice to get an internship in a fashion magazine – in fact, all it took was a phone call from her mother. The couple’s perfect french pronunciation and overall cool behavior made them a perfect match for the city of light.

Their European fairytale didn’t last longer than a month. Very quickly David got bored of playing house. He started to spend his nights and weekends away from their cozy luxury apartment, always with the excuse of being busy with work. That was expected, in a way, so Alice wasn’t exactly disappointed; but she was surprised, his lack of interest in the very first month was a disaster. They weren’t even married yet.

“Men are complicated, honey. But maybe he really is busy with work.” Her mother, Caroline, told her over the phone. David’s family owned a holding company that was currently in the process of starting to invest in a fashion brand – owned by Alice’s family. So her mother soothed her, told her to wait. It is in everybody's best interest if they could find a way to be happy together. “You’ll be married in the spring and everything will be perfect, dear. I promise. You just need to be a little less controlling.”

It was a destination wedding, in Greece. Her mother would design her dress, of course. On her left hand she was wearing David’s grandmother’s ring. A colossal diamond that felt heavier every time he left the house without making eye contact. “Bye, love.” His strong voice, that once made her legs shake, now made her nauseous. He could at least look at her when saying goodbye, right? That wasn’t too much to ask, right? Alice thought to herself. 

Part of Alice’s job included getting invited to luxury brands promotional parties, the kind she was already used to. But this time was different, she was working. Alice was supposed to post pictures of the event on social media and later report it to her boss. How the food tasted, was the music any good, what kind of celebrities showed up. It was a sports brand, so there were a few french athletes present – one specifically caught Alice’s attention. Kylian. She saw him in person before, in another one of those parties long before she moved to Paris. Back then David was present, a possessive hand around her waist. Warning her of the depraved behavior of football players. Now she was alone and Kylian was staring right back at her.

Later she would have a hard time recalling the food and the music; the French football player was the only thing on her mind the whole time. They were formally introduced at some point, he graciously shook her hand.

“Beautiful ring.” His eyes were on her left hand. She blushed.

“Thank you.”

“When’s the wedding?”

“In the spring.”

Quickly and smoothly, without anybody else seemly noticing, he whispers in her ear:

“So I still have some time.”

Alice laughs and nods at him, still blushing. They don’t talk for the rest of the evening, but when she comes home she gets a notification on her phone that makes her heart beat faster: k.mbappe just liked your post / k.mbappe just followed you. He answers one of her stories; it is a picture of her living room, beautifully decorated solely for the purpose of impressing her future in-laws. 

k.mbappe you have good taste 

alicemwebber thank you

k.mbappe i’m a buying a new apartment need help with the decor you should visit give me some tips

Kylian’s new apartment was just outside of busy Paris; it was modern and spacious, and smelled brand new. There wasn’t a lot of furniture or items that identified the owner, so Alice felt like he wasn’t entirely lying to her. Who knows how many times he used that trick, but Alice didn’t need a very convincing excuse. She just wanted to see him, to be in the same room completely alone with him and to feel desired by him. Her lust was aggravated by her anger. In her messed up head, what she was doing felt like revenge. 

“So, what do you think?” He was standing behind her, so much taller than her. His perfume was intoxicating and she was fighting her own brain, trying to keep herself focused.

“It’s a really nice place, but it needs more… Personal touches.” She guides her right hand to his, without even looking, her thumb slowly caressing him. Kylian takes a step closer to her, his body now fully flushed against her. He holds her hand and rests his head on top of hers.

“I agree. Like I said, you have good taste.” He gives her a soft kiss on the cheek. “That’s why I invited you.” He continues to softly kiss her face, lowering his kisses down to her neck. “Are you going to help me?” Their bodies are even closer and she can feel he’s getting hard behind her.

“Yes, I will. Whatever you need.” As she says that he puts both of his hands on her hips, pushing her back onto himself, making her feel him.

“Whatever I need? Are you sure?”

Alice nods, and when she opens her mouth to properly answer him, he kisses her. She turns around, holding him by the neck. The kiss feels like a perfect match. They instinctively know exactly where to touch each other, their tongues know the exact moves. Their breaths and the small noises of pleasure Alice makes echoes in Kylian’s almost empty living room.

“Do you own a bed, at least?” She asks, face still close, afraid of moving away from him and breaking the spell. Kylian laughs warmly.

“I do own a bed, yes. Let me show it to you.”

He guides her to the bedroom while still kissing her. By the time they lay in bed together half of their clothes were already forgotten along the way. She’s lying on her back and he’s towering over her, he already feels big just standing over her, looking at her. His body is warm, he’s kissing her like he’s in a hurry. A real man. Wanting her, tasting her. Paying attention to her. She surrendered herself to him. Alice tries to take off his pants but he holds her hands above her head. She stops the kiss.

“Please. Please.” She guides her hand once again to his jeans. Kylian sits on the bed and brings Alice onto his lap.  He takes her left hand and bites the side of the finger with her engagement ring. Alice moans. “Do you like that?” He whispers in her ear, she eagerly nods in agreement.

“I like it too.” He kisses her finger. “I also like knowing I only had to ask you once.”

“You’re being mean.” Alice takes the rest of her own clothes off, tired of waiting for him. Kylian laughs. His eyes shining bright give Alice butterflies. He looks beautiful like that, horny and teasing her. She feels lucky to get to experience it.

“I’m being mean?” He gets up and holds both of her legs, carefully making her seat at the end of the bed. Then he pulls her legs apart and admires the view of her dripping wet core. “Alright, let me be nice to you, then.” He gets on his knees and starts kissing her feet, almost in a devotional manner. He continues his kisses up, firmly holding her legs. After what it feels like forever he finally kisses her cunt. Kylian can’t help moaning with her. She tastes amazing and he can’t get enough. She cums screaming his name even before he puts his fingers on her. “What about now? I’m still mean to you, baby?” Alice is laying on her back again and he’s fingering her roughly.

“Ye–yes, yes, you are.” She’s stuttering, can’t control her voice when she’s so close to another orgasm. On her third orgasm she has his cock inside of her. She’s on all fours and his hand is holding her hair, keeping her head up. Her mouth is open, her moans somehow still getting louder.

“You’re so big.” Alice mumbles, eyes closed, feeling full and satisfied. Kylian is proud, both from her words and the state he managed to get her.

“You should always feel like this, baby.” He’s still behind her, but they’re both on their knees in the middle of the bed, his hand never leaving her hair. “It’s what a pretty girl like you deserve.” He kisses her shoulder and neck, restraining himself from biting her.

Later, after she showers, he politely offers for her to stay. She can’t, of course, and he knows. At the apartment door, kissing goodbye, she says:

“There’s a lot of work to be done in this place, don’t you think?”

He agrees, grinning at her. “You should come often, I need all the help you can give.”

***

David doesn’t know anything about football, but loves talking about it. It never bothered Alice before, she used to find it amusing; his lack of knowledge over tactics or stats. It used to be cute, even. They were at a private box in Parc des Princes, together with some of David’s work colleagues and a potential client. The guy was a family man and a PSG fanatic, so David decided to take his lovely bride to a football match in hope of luring the French millionaire into doing business with him. Alice is nauseous the entire time. She deserves it, she thinks. Maybe this is God punishing her somehow. Still, she has her eyes on Kylian the entire time.

“Alice, are you feeling good?” David asks her, his hand on her back. Her head is spinning. God, why is he being so thoughtful.

“I… I don’t think so.”

Alice sort of disassociates, only fully regaining her consciousness after she throws up a couple times at the Saint-Germain lounge bathroom. David is by her side, holding her hair. His action only made her more nauseous, reminding her of a few nights before.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” 

Her fiancé asks and she weakly slaps him.

“How can you ask me that this way?” Alice is angry, but her voice is weak. David laughs, brushing her hair off her face and kissing her forehead.

“Well, there’s still a few months till the wedding. I want you to look good in your dress.”

Alice stares at him in shock, trying to gain courage to ask him what she really wants to know. To tell him how she feels. It was the first time he even mentioned the wedding in weeks.

“Do you really? You still think about our wedding?”

“Of course, love. Where’s this coming from?”

Her hair is a mess and her make up ruined, they’re both still sitting on the bathroom floor and Alice feels like this is the lowest so far in their relationship. David's tone of voice makes her feel like she’s delirious. Maybe she overreacted. She should have asked him sooner.

“I feel like you don’t want me anymore.” She’s fully crying and David tries to dry her tears, confused. He takes out a handkerchief embroidered with his initials and hands it to her.

“What? Love, that’s not true. How can you say that?”

“I’m sorry I ruined your business meeting.” Alice says in between sobs. David shakes his head.

“You didn’t ruin anything. It’s actually a pretty good look for me, coming to help you.” He chuckles. A few minutes later, Alice recomposes herself, quickly fixing her hair and make up. When they walk out, holding hands, it is like nothing happened.

“Oh, look, Messi scored!” David points at one of the Tv’s on the lounge. Back home, getting ready to bed, Alice tries to initiate a kiss but he points a finger on her lips.

“Love, you threw up today.” He looks at her with disgust.

“Are you serious? I’m feeling better, you psycho.”

“Well, let’s wait a few more hours. Just to make sure.”

On her phone there’s a new notification. An answer to her stories on the stadium. It was a group picture, David had his arm around her, kissing her cheek.

k.mbappe  enjoyed the game?

alicemwebber not really wasn’t feeling well had to leave early

k.mbappe  feeling better now?

David was sound asleep beside her, she stared at him for a while before answering.

alicemwebber yes much better

[miyakuli]

The Divine Speaker

The Divine Speaker is a BL visual novel set in a fantasy world in which we follow Raen, a young orphan who is about to discover the truth about the world around him, in the company of 3 men who will soon become his friends (and maybe more xp) and help him on his journey.

To be honest, I launched this VN without expecting much, just to pass the time. In the end, I found myself quickly becoming involved in the story and genuinely enjoying its characters, I'm even almost sad to leave them now that I've finished the game entirely ;v; It therefore remains a good surprise overall even if it remains only rather banal overall, with its strengths and weaknesses.

❤ The characters are all super endearing and this even more thanks to the work of the dubbing actors whom I warmly salute because really, they bring a real freshness to their roles and also a lot of humor (especially Jonah Scott and his perfect cynical tone ;D). Kudos to them! ❤ The art direction is very pretty, whether in the varied scenery or the charming chara-design, or in the illustrations, some of which are truly magnificent. ❤ For such a little indie game, I think the music is really good, with several pretty themes that are easy to remember.

+/- The game offers us 3 very different love interests in their interactions with Raen so each player can find their own personal tastes and their favorite route (humhumFawnobviouslyhumhum). There are even "hidden" routes with the secondary protagonists. However, I found them uneven in terms of chemistry and progression; some felt too rushed and underdeveloped. This is all the more apparent as the LIs' routes follow a similar pattern, the only difference being the scenes about their past and the few intimate scenes with Raen. As a result, once one route has been completed, the others will seem rather repetitive and therefore less impactful. +/- The scenario quickly grabs your attention and its universe is interesting enough on the whole, but everything is quite predictable and certain points of the story are resolved a little too easily for my taste.

✖ Although I said earlier that all the characters were endearing, I find Raen, our main protagonist, to be sweet as can be but far too bland compared to the rest of the group. He's definitely evolving, but he has much less depth than his companions, which unfortunately makes him a rather forgettable character on an individual level (because yes, as a couple he's still cute :p). ✖ Some of the transition visual effects look really cheap and unnecessary (like the old Windows Movie Maker effects from the 2000s lol). ✖ This is completely personal, but I think it's a shame that once Raen confesses his love to each of the LIs, the remaining illustrations become nothing more than sex scenes XD I've got nothing against that haha, but I was still pretty frustrated not to have any more SFW illustrations to at least conclude the routes in a soft way……but I've always been more fluff than smut, that must be why x)

The game has a good lifespan (18 hours for me) and I managed to get attached to the characters and their trials and tribulations right to the end, despite the fact that this visual novel is only more or less decent ; is it the power of this Divine Speaker I wonder….

➡ My personal VN ranking (in french) ➡ My Steam page

[ukiyokki]

mars reads too much dreamnotfound fanfiction for their own good

a dreamnotfound fanfic recommendation list by your resident dumbass (me)

this took way to fucking long... i’m tired

below is a (very extensive) list dedicated to all my favorite dnf fics, ranging from quick one shots to 100k+ word monstrosities that devour the storage on my computer, forever incomplete masterpieces to ongoing works of art, you get the idea. i provided links for each fic/series for your reading pleasure. there will be no smutty/nsfw fics on this list, that’s just not my vibe lmao. this list goes in no particular order, and i’ll update it from time to time when i feel like it. now, without further ado, let us begin.

Heat Waves (complete) by tbhyourelame

(wtf else did you expect, looking at a dnf rec list?) amazingly well written, and while it’s not my favorite dnf fic it’s damn near close. in the midst of a brutal heatwave, a suffering dream comes to terms with the fact that he is desperately in love with his best friend. everything i could say about this fic has already been said by nearly everyone who’s read it, so if you haven’t yet caved into the hype, just go for it. you won’t be disappointed.

Gonna be around (completed) by georgescatcafe

(mc irl) my favorite dnf oneshot to date. just read it, i don’t wanna spoil for you :)

Inferno in the Sky (ongoing)by zairielon

(star wars au) an ongoing star wars au currently clocking in at almost 200k words. need I say more? everything about it absolutely slaps, each chapter is amazingly written, and it’s just good. also, can we just appreciate dream and tubbos dynamic in here? 10/10, amazing, must protecc. oh right, a summary: george, an exiled padawan turned engineer, must return to the jedi temple after attacks on it from an unknown assailant threaten the safety of himself and the other jedi.

Like Magic (ongoing) by KangarooKen, NotGra55 (Gra55)

(harry potter au) the unofficial official dnf harry potter au. we watch the young unlikely wizard pair grow up together throughout their years at hogwarts as they battle good old fashioned wizard racism. beautifully written, incredibly fun and suspenseful, and just an overall blast and a half.

GeorgeNotFound, Son of Poseidon, and the League of Minor Gods (ongoing) by Clichewho_69, Cygnvs, Trash_Kinggg

(percy jackson au) percy jackson au? check. “road trip” (technically quest but u get what i mean)? check. enemies to friends to lovers? check. this fic follows the plot of the lightning theif (albeit loosely), but everything is explained enough where you don’t have to read percy jackson to understand what’s going on. basically after moving to the usa, george gets taken to camp halfblood where he learns that a) gods exist. b) he’s the son of poseidon and c) he needs to prove that he didn’t steal zeus’s master bolt.

Protected (completed) by aenqua

(royalty/camelot au) my favorite piece of dnf media of all time. dubbed the official dnf camelot au, where dream is the heir to the throne and george is a servants son with a secret that couldp get him killed. these childhood friends grow up together and learn trust, love, and acceptance. (that summary did not justice to the masterpiece that is this fic) here’s the directors cut

The Hunter (completed) by HederEgo

(mc irl) a choose your own adventure fic with 13 different endings, where dream the hunter must kill george and stop him from beater the ender dragon. enough said.

The official dream team cowboy AU (series)(ongoing) by antsu_in_my_pantsu

(cowboy au) cowboys and outlaws horses and shit. and the big gay. it’s a cowboy au, what else did you expect? fucking yee haw (all seriousness this is a great read, i loved it so so so so much and i can’t wait for the final chapter to release).

This is a Drista moment, let's just accept it (completed) by Qekyo

dnf fic from drista pov. considering its unique perspective, it’s perfectly done. beautifully showcases a sibling relationship through drista and her memories/moments with dream, and it just works, y’a know? also drista supremacy.

Dear Dream (completed) by Qekyo

(wwii au) i don’t cry when watching/reading anything sad. translation: i’m a heartless bitch. however, this fic is the only exception. it caused me to cry so hard my mom walked in my room and asked if i was ok. ‘nuff said.

TECHNOlogical Wingman (completed) by Closeted_Bookworm

techno is the autocorrect ai on dreams phone, and he gains sentience. interesting concept, and the author fucking nailed it. great fic.

It Was Only a Fic (ongoing) by imagineitdear

dream starts reading a dnf fanfic (we’ve all been there buddy).

Teacher’s Pet (ongoing) by niyuha

(teacher au) in which dream is a high school english teacher and george is the new comp sci teacher in room 297.

Saltwater Secrets (ongoing) by earlgay_milktea

(mermaid/high school au) a great example of the shear amount of variety in fics this fandom has to offer. when i started reading dnf fics i would have never thought i’d find one about a mermaid george hopelessly crushing on his human friend, who happens to be his schools star swimmer. yet here i am, and i am far from disappointed.

Smash My Heart (incomplete) by dontrollthedice

george and sapnap are commentators for duper smash brothers tournaments, and george develops a crush on an up and coming smash streamer named dream.

roleplaying in the dark is harder than it seems (completed) by Alienu

laser tag. 10/10

solar system (completed) by quartzfia

(mc irl) george vists dream in pandora’s vault.

Ramblings of a Lunatic (completed) by jungkooksfic

ahh communicating through a notebook left on a shelf in a bookstore- what a perfect way to start a relationship.

Paint me like your French Girls (It's Charcoal, Actually) (completed) by Turtle_ier

(artist au) george is an art student, and dream is a model.

00:00:00 (completed) by isleofdreams

(soulmate au) 00:00:00 is the moment you meet your soulmate, as indicated but the clock ticking down on your wrist until the moment you meet. i’m not a fan of soulmate aus; this fic is the exception.

Blue Skies Smilin' At Me (completed) by kivy

(artist au) i don’t usually cry while reading stuff, but this brought me damn near close. george is a painting conservator and chats it is with the ghost of the artist if the painting he is working on. they fall in a love.

Current Location (incomplete) by hendollana

(influencer au) george simps for a hot american instagram model. who knew he’d actually follow back?

The Withering (series) (series ongoing, 1 work completed) by App1e_Juice

(mc irl) lore and world building and fight scenes and everything i crave. what’s not to love? something starts making the plants and crops around dreams village wither, and must team up with new friends to find the cause of the mysterious disease plaguing the land.

Minecraft, But You Can't Leave (complete) by facadecake

(mc irl) dream and george are sucked into their own private minecraft world together and must beat the game to escape.

Free The Game, Beat the End (incomplete) by goatgoatwasfound

(mc irl) a glitch in minecraft causes thousands of players from around the world to be trapped inside minecraft, with only one way of escape- beating the ender dragon. first dnf fic i ever read, and it’s still 10/10 for me.

Why don't you come a little closer? (completed) by lifeofandoms

george gets stood up by a date, and Dream pretends he’s the date to save george from the embarrassment. simply adorable.

lightning bug (completed) by saintachesP

(band au) while on tour, dream realizes his feeling for george.

Hold me closer (completed) by Treesofmyheart

(mc irl/dsmp) i just,, really like this trope.

Dizzy on caffeine (completed) by GleamingGreenGoggles

(coffee shop au) best dnf coffeeshop au i’ve read. periodt.

living a life of crime isn’t always easy (series) (completed) by itisjosh

(mafia/assassin au) stockholm syndrome except it’s not weird.

Inhibitions Make Interesting Situations (completed) by Ship_On_The_Sea

i pissed myself laughing. it’s just a dream and george being hilariously dense, flustered idiots. serotonin central.

thy eternal summer shall not fade (completed) by gracequills

(high school au) that moment when you recite shakespeare to your crush in your ap lit class instead of confessing (hate it when that happens).

All is Fair in love and Football (ongoing) by graciegirl2001

(college au) #1 favorite college au. in which george is a cheerleader, and dream is the football teams rising star player. this one gets extra points because of the amazing karlnap moments sprinkled throughout. *chefs kisses air*

online love (completed) by andbutso

(high school au) online classes go zoooooooom

Can’t help falling (completed) by isleofdreams

dream re-learns the guitar to sing to george on his birthday. beautiful. fluffy. amazing

dance in the rain and my arms (completed) by lazy_kitkat

george is a rain god, and dream is a wind god

Weather Boy (completed) by DaintyDiizzle

wouldn't you like to know, weather boy? (where dream can control the rain)

The color orange (completed) by anon

(mc irl) dream describes the colors of a sunset

Family Mode (completed)by Strawberry_flavoured_tears

they’re dads :,)

Breathing Room (incomplete) by papercranes

(band an) an amazing band au. the mad lad author wrote original songs for each chapter. above and beyond, mad props :). unfortunately, it’s incomplete

Piece of Clay (completed) by carbonbrine

(artist au) george is a sculptor and his sculpture comes to life- but oh no he’s hot.

Try (completed) by Not4typicalwriter

(royalty au) george must choose a suitor, but none of them are up to dream, his head knights, standards. or dream is hella jelly. also protective dream is perfect

When the Roses Bloom (completed) by HederEgo

(royalty au) close second for my favorite fic. go to royalty au for a quick serotonin bost. it’s all fluff and flowers and crushes, and i love it. criminally underrated.

Heavenstruck (ongoing) by dontrollthedice

george is dreams guardian angel, and dream want to find out more about him and his past life. bittersweet :,)

Bang and Burn (completed) by App1e_Juice

(spy au) george accidentally falls for target number 1 on sapnap’s secret agency’s hit list. this ones great, i love me a spy au :)

Can I get a uhh… (completed) by lemonskies

dream keeps pulling up to the drive through mcdonald’s that george works at drunk.

Pretty Stranger (completed) by anon

when looking for dream in the terminal, george sees a cute guy and decides to flirt.

Take my Hand (completed) by latinbias

(royalty au) another royalty au? poggers. surprise twists? double poggers. love this a lot.

seconds, minutes, hours, lifetimes (complete) by meridies

ROAD TRIP ROAD TRIP ROAD TRIP ROAD TRIP *inhales to compose herself* roadtrip au. unrequited love, ignored feelings, longing, pining, you know the drill. absolutely love this one, its the best roadtrip au i have ever read, in any fandom. (maybe cause i identify with it a little too much, but thats not important. whats important is that you read this fic. right now. im waiting).

Message redacted (complete) by justyouraverageloser

(text fic) dream asks for a girls number and realises hes been given the wrong number. however, an unexpected relationship starts to form between him and the stranger on the other end of the line.

the waves (completed) by anon

(mc irl) this fic was written by the same anon who wrote the color orange, which is up there on my fav dnf oneshot list. dream and george know they have a higher purpose. they don’t know where they came from, or why they are seemingly the only humans in the world, or how they feel about eachother, or even where the skeletons come from, but they are sure of one thing: they have to beat a dragon.

The Dream Doll (completed) by PeppDream (Pep_Pizza)

(voodoo i guess) i’m a real big fan of fics with really out there or unique concepts, so naturally this one makes the cut! i really liked it, it’s really sweet and made me think a lot about what matters to me in the world. george finds a strange doll in an antique shop, and would really like to just stuff it in a drawer and forget about it. sadly (?), the doll has other plans.

last updated February 6th, 2021

[edelegs]

Reading Way Too Much Into Petra’s Language

So basically I study second language acquisition and I have been meaning to do a deep dive into Petra’s language use from the moment I first read her dialogue. (On a slightly unrelated note, the Black Eagles house really is just targeted content for queer linguistics grad students). I’d intended for this to be some grand project where I take Petra’s speech patterns and classify them according to theories in second language acquisition (SLA) - but that involves explaining too much Fire Emblem lore to Serious Linguists, so instead I’m going to use my class notes to analyze Petra’s speech patterns and explain why I feel she is a good representation of how narratives should treat non-native speakers of the majority language. (sources will be fast and loose, I’m sorry professors) 

I first want to mention the idea of “native speakerism”, particularly the fact that its use as a measure of proficiency and/or an expected standard of language use is flawed. Today, there are more non-native speakers of English than native speakers as a result of globalization, native speakers do not use language perfectly, and not all varieties of English are viewed equally (e.g. “native English speaker” never seems to refer to Indian English or AAVE). Much of today’s literature on SLA advocates for a focus on successful communication rather than native-like competency. From this perspective, Petra has achieved this goal: she seems to have no problem communicating with her peers outside of some trouble with idioms. Her peers always understand what she is saying, regardless of misconjugated verbs or odd phrasing. However, it is clear that Petra holds herself to these native-speaker standards. She is also the only non-native speaker of Fódlandish to be portrayed as a language learner. Despite this, I will try to avoid describing her language according to this standard. 

Of the non-Fódlan nations in the game, only Brigid, Duscur, and Dagda speak a different language than Fòdlanish. (I don’t recall anything about Almyra’s native language, because I’m 99% sure Claude didn’t mention it). Dedue in particular gives the audience a concrete timeline for his language acquisition - in a support with Dimitri, he mentions that he didn’t use honourifics for him in the past because he was still learning Fòdlandish. This puts him in a Fòdlandish-speaking environment from a young age. Shamir references speaking Dadgan in her A support with Byleth, but there’s no mention of how long she had been learning the language. Her background as a mercenary would be a logical justification for her strong proficiency (training one’s accent away is rare and often not feasible, but I sincerely believe the writers did not put this much thought into that). 

This means that language in the game only seems to matter for Petra’s character. Her background as a political pawn serves as her motivation. Petra is sent to the Empire five years before the events of the story as leverage against a Brigidian uprising. In their C-support, Hubert mentions that Petra could barely use the language when they met. This suggests that Petra has interacted with Adrestian nobility prior to attending Garegg Mach. At school, her environment is still largely made up of members of the nobility, especially as a member of the Black Eagles. (Not all noble speech is created equally, however. Put a pin in that). 

There are three notable features of Petra’s English: over-reliance and misuse of verbs “to be” and “to have”, an overgeneralization of the suffix -ness, and contraction avoidance. In general, Petra uses “have” to describe states of being: “I have gratitude”, “I have sorrow”, “he has much concentration”. This pattern reminds me of the French auxiliary verbs “être” and “avoir”, which leads me to believe that Petra is experiencing transfer from her first language. An English learner of French might say “je suis 24 ans” (I am 24 years) instead of the accepted form “j’ai 24 ans” (I have 24 years). Petra is likely making a similar mistake. From this, I suggest that Brigidian might use an equivalent form of “have” for states of being (or uses the same verb for “to be” and “to have”). What is strange is that this pattern does not significantly change in her A-supports with the others. She does make more use of “to be”, though it remains largely unconjugated (e.g. “we will be winning”, “I will be sharing my heart with all of you”, “I want to be smoking the meat, so that we can be preserving it”). 

There is an order for the development of English morpheme accuracy (Pienenmann’s Processability Theory, 1989). -ing is typically acquired first, which is seen in Petra’s language. It is followed by plural -s, then -be, when to use “a” versus “the”, irregular past, regular past -ed, third person -s, and possessive ‘s. Petra does not seem to follow this pattern exactly. She does not typically misuse articles (a/the), but her use of be is still largely unconjugated. She also uses the past perfect form more often than the simple past (from Hubert/Petra C: ”I had more youth then”, “I have learned much . . .” “and meeting you and Lady Edelgard has had great value for me”). There are instances when she does use the simple past (Caspar/Petra: “you are not the one who did the killing”, “our parents had conflict”) but this use is inconsistent. This blatantly contradicts Anderson and Shirai’s (1996) Aspect Hypothesis, which states that simple past is acquired much earlier on than past perfect. Similarly, Petra’s overuse of -ness is likely a similar developmental issue (though I cannot find a developmental hierarchy outlining this). 

One explanation for this (aside from “I am reading way more into this than the writers/translators did”) lies in Petra’s social networks. Since coming to Fòdlan, Petra has largely been surrounded by nobles. The use of past perfect, as well as contraction avoidance, might’ve been influenced by the noble’s speech patterns. A side effect of transcribing literally every line of Petra dialogue for the bigger-scale project I’d initially planned was noticing which Black Eagles use contractions and which don’t. Those who are concerned with maintaining their image - Edelgard, Hubert, and Ferdinand - either do not use contractions or use them much less than the others. Linhardt, Bernadetta, and Caspar all don’t care about how others perceive them, and as a result their speech is much more casual. Petra is a highly conscious learner who likely aspires to achieve the speech of the former group. As the future Queen of Brigid, she aims to be perceived as Edelgard’s equal and bring more respect and dignity for her nation. One way for her to do this is through language. Petra perceives herself as lacking proficiency and is embarrassed by her grasp on the language. She is a perfectionist in everything she does and this extends to language. In her supports with Byleth, she corrects herself often. One of her advice box questions expresses frustration about her lack of progress with speaking. She is proud of herself when she uses an expression correctly (e.g. [smiling] “I have had practicing of that phrase”). The realism of her tense acquisition aside, Petra’s aspirations lead her to model her speech after that of her distinguished peers. 

Should Petra’s language have been written to more closely mirror real-world English acquisition patterns? Considering that I doubt this question has crossed other players’ minds, this is largely unnecessary. What should be asked is this: how is Petra treated by the narrative as a second language speaker? The answer is: surprisingly well! Though there are times when her misunderstanding of common expressions is used for humour, nobody treats Petra as if she’s lesser for being Brigidian or a non-native speaker. In fact, the person who’s hardest on Petra’s language is Petra herself. There are no incidences (at least within the Black Eagles) where others perceive her as less intelligent or less worthy of respect. It could be easy to read her character as “quirky foreigner”, but that dismisses the fact that her peers do not see her this way. This game is far from perfect at portraying differences in race/nationality (looking at you, Dedue), but Petra Macneary--hunter, friend, and badass queen--is a pleasant surprise. 

[the-romantic-lady]

Surprised to hear you like Henry VI and Margaret of Anjou, given that you're a fan of Richard, Duke of York. Isn't that a conflict of interest or something? Lol. What's your opinion on Elizabeth Woodville and the Woodville clan, Margaret Beaufort, Warwick and the Neville clan, and George, Duke of Clarence? (Basically what's your opinion on the rest of the players of the Wars of the Roses lol.)

Gosh, anon you are encouraging me!! I love that you care about my thoughts <3. Alright then, let's start.

I used to be very anti-Margaret of Anjou. Until I started to look at things from her perspective. York was dangerously popular with a lot of children and a formidable wife. Margaret must have felt insecure. Also, there is this theory that Margaret's mentor and confidant William de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk was murdered under the order of the Duke of York. That must have been a tipping point. But I still think that York was the better ruler and person. I will get a lot of hate for this, but women in general were not suitable rulers for the Middle Ages. They were often driven by more personal ideals (Empress Matilda vs. Stephen is a great example and Margaret was no different). Ofc there were men like that too but women seemed to always be like that. As a woman, I understand and the later periods were more suitable for female leadership. York was a much better ruler. He was driven by the stability of the realm rather than his personal issues (he put his own son-in-law in prison and Margaret wouldn't even budge on her failure advisors). And her entitlement was mind-boggling. I love how messed up she was. And Henry...I just feel sorry for him. The Middle Ages also were not a time for artistic and kind kings lol.

Elizabeth Woodville and the Woodville Clan:

As I have said, I pretty much like everyone before 1485 lol. But Elizabeth Woodville was annoying af. That made her interesting but I can't get over how incredibly greedy she was. She was the daughter of a minor gentry and widow of a Lancastrian knight. Edward makes her queen and she abuses that power so much. She has problems with everyone. Warwick, George, Richard, any noble who didn't kiss her arse and even Edward. Queens were meant to level the mind of King. Edward III's queen famously saved French clergy by going on her knees to beg the King for mercy. Ofc that was a bit dramatic but many Queens did this. It was called the Queen's mercy or something like that. But boy was she a hell of a woman. Despite being raised in a pretty privileged household, she was shrewd and survived to the end. She could have learned a thing or two from Cecily Neville about how to put that strong personality to better use but regardless. Also, I love how she was shunned fron Henry Tudor's court when Richard welcomed her to his with open arms. I mean...karma. But all in all, I like her. Its as they say "well behaved women seldom make history". She had flaws (so did the everyone else!) but her character is interesting and admirable. And despite that shaved forehead, she is a gorgeous woman. So I get where Edward was coming from XD The other social climbing members Woodville..not so much. The shameless way that they tried to push themselves in and take hold of power when they had literally fought on the losing Lancastrian side is embarrassing and oh so disgusting. Like Warwick secured the throne for Edward and they were given precedence over him. I just...yeah. John Woodville legit married a 65 year old duchess (he was 19) for money and power. They were a hungry bunch and courting them was Edward IV's biggest mistake and towards the end of his life, I think he saw that.

Margaret Beaufort

I will keep this short since I don't know much about her but I dislike her. I understand that she went through a lot. Her father apparently suicided when she was 1 and that is traumatic. And back then suicide was mocked and disgraced. She ofc blamed the Duke of York....cause at this point why not? She ofc went through a really young and traumatic birth at 13. Her husband was gross and that's that. And we know that Edward kept her son exiled so she couldn't see him. But despite all this, I just don't like her? I suppose its the super impressive Plantagenet women who just make me look at the sleezy and dull Margaret with disdain. And she gives me real phony vibes. Like at times, she just seemed to cosplay Cecily Neville lol. When you see women like Cecily Neville and Margaret of Anjou taking charge in the way they did, Margaret and her deceptive ways are just cringe worthy.

The Earl of Warwick

This man. Just this man. The way that England seemed to revolve around his whims is amazing. He was a real Duke of York stan and so I have to appreciate him. But he was so fearless. Henry VI, Edward IV, Margaret of Anjou, you name it. He stood against them. The Duke of York seemed to be someone he admired but other than that, he fought for himself. He helped Edward take the crown and worked hard to keep Edward's throne. He was embarrassed with the whole secret marriage saga but still stuck by. But Edward clearly forgot who he owed his success too. The man escaped an assassination by Henry VI's men and saved his father and uncle from it. He actually took charge in the first Battle of St. Albans in 1455 because his rivals the Percys were mocking him. I just love him. Ngl, sometimes when I read about him, I just blush. A man if there ever was one. There were so many attempts at disgracing him. He was the Captain of Calais and in that role fought Medieval pirates! And he was ruthless at it. People loved him and he carried that popularity well. I should stop fangirling over a dead guy. I think I made it pretty clear that I love him XD.

Neville clan

I like them too. Warwick's father was pretty much York's best friend and I love him for it. They were also social climbers like the Woodvilles but so much better at it. They didn't have the entitlement that the Woodvilles did and managed their powers well. Cecily Neville was ofc a Neville and she is one of my favorites. One of my favorite thing about them is how courageous they were. Like all of them. Unfortunately, Anne and Isabel are both obscure figures. I wish we knew more about them. They were pushed around like prizes. Good on Richard for giving Anne a position to make her own decision. I feel bad for those girls. Although the York brothers were known to be good looking so lucky them?

George, Duke of Clarence

Ah, George. I love this man. If there was one son of York who inherited his father's glamour and charm, it was George. And I love that he stood up to his brother and sister-in-law. He was sometimes too problematic but I still love that! Glamourous and problematic. How can one not love the man? Although his betrayal of Edward is kind of sad considering that Edward really tried to be like a dad to his brothers. George took Edward's love for granted for too long. His breakdown after his wife's death is really sad too. Interestingly, this seems to be a pattern with the Plantagenet men. They all have breakdowns and downfalls after the death of their wives. Their women are so much stronger emotionally.

I know this was long! I hope you enjoyed the post :D. I would love to know your thoughts too and if you agree or disagree. Seriously, thank you for letting me talk about this. Nothing makes me happier than to discuss these people!

[mymelodyheart]

All I Want For Christmas Is You Chapter 2 ~It’s Her Cue~

Previously in Sparks Will Fly ...

A slap on his back tore his gaze away from Claire. "Easy now lad," Willie said in a low, amused voice. "Ye look like ye could use the same drink as her."

Jamie glanced back at the subject of their conversation. "Aye, but make mine a double," he whispered.

"On it," Willie replied, laughing as he walked off.

What the bloody hell?  He should be withdrawing himself away from this attraction because this mad instant bond between them was like an overloaded electrical fuse, capable of incinerating him alive. He'd already learnt his lesson from his last relationship. He'd been there and done that, but yet he didn't have the will to stop himself from finding out how their connection would play out.

Oh, Christ, this is bad. So, so bad, I'm in so much big trouble.  Taking a huge sigh, he found himself a stool nearest to the pool table and watched Claire steal the show from the best snooker player in Broch Mordha.

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

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"Just polishing my balls for the lovely lass, here." 

The people around her howled with good-natured laughter.

Claire kept her head down as she sat on the edge of the stool, chalking her stick, waiting for Hugh to stop showing off and blathering with his mates, and to finally break. She felt eyes on her, and when she looked up, she met Jamie's gaze where he sat with his brother at the high table. 

Annalise leaned in from behind her and whispered, "Ginger can't stop looking at you."

Claire drew in substantial deep breaths. She'd watched Jamie play shinty earlier, and she thought he looked impressive then. Tall, strong, lithe, covered in mud and the epitome of a Highland warrior. Not that she had any idea what a Highland warrior would have looked like. After all, she only had the movie, Braveheart to go by. But who would have thought he'd show any interest in her. Perhaps, because she'd probably looked like she was about to climb him. Who could blame her, though? The moment he'd looked into her eyes, he stirred something inside her, which no man had ever done before him. And by some feat of willpower, she wondered how she'd succeeded not breaking into song right then and there. Up close earlier and now, sat only a few feet away, Jamie looked even better. Wavy auburn hair touched the collar of his plaid flannel shirt and the way his jeans hung low on hips, it shouldn't be even allowed. 

"He probably thinks I'm easy. You know how some rural folks think city people like us have loose morals."

Annalise gasped. "Why do you think he would think that?"

"I think I came on too strong and flirty," she confided in a low voice. "He's a man, so of course, he'd respond, and it probably works a treat for him too since I'm only here for a holiday. But my God, he's one fine specimen of a man, isn't he? I'm even getting butterflies, and the last time I had them ...goodness, I can't even remember." 

"Don't be daft ...you don't even know what he's thinking. Besides, you're single, and you're allowed to show interest if you fancy someone." The ice in Annalise's vodka and tonic clinked behind her. "This is the twenty-first century, and you're welcome to it. Flirt away and get butterflies. Let yourself go a little. I don't know if it applies here, but I'll say it anyway ...what goes on in the Highlands, stay in the Highlands." 

Aww, bless her.

Claire was grateful for her friend's presence in her life. If Annalise hadn't been there to constantly coax her out of her self-consciousness and to confide in to, she'd probably still be living a secluded life, and London would have eventually eaten her whole. Now here she was, openly flirting with a handsome stranger and she'd agreed to let him take her out.

Claire smiled. "How about you? What's happening with you and Willie?"

Annalise made an exaggerated sighing sound behind her, making her laugh. What a tart! 

"Hey, by the way, Jamie asked me out. So I guess, after this game and a round of drink, we're going to split. He wants to take me on a Christmas night tour. Will you be alright with Willie?" Claire asked. She had to make sure as this was their holiday together and she didn't want Annalise feeling abandoned.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. The boys seem like decent blokes, but as a precaution, I took photos of their driving licences and sent them to Geillis. She'll have them thoroughly checked out. Really handy to know someone whose boyfriend works with the police."

Claire's eyes widened, and she turned around to face her friend. "You didn't! I told Jamie I trust him." Geillis Duncan was their mutual friend they'd met in London at a party. After hitting it off, they'd forged a tight friendship, and the three of them became close until Geillis had to move back to her home city of Glasgow when she met the love of her life. Claire and Annalise were going to visit her before flying back to London.

"Of course, I did, silly. We're both on our own. Just because we're on our holidays and having fun doesn't mean we have to be lax when it comes to precaution. Don't worry, it'll be fine." Annalise reassuringly squeezed her arm. "Speaking of protection ...do you have condoms?"

What!?!  Sex was the furthest thing from her mind. But she didn't have time to reply as she saw at the corner of her eye, Hugh finally, leaned across the pool table and broke. As Claire stood up to take her turn, their audience cheered and whooped. 

Ignoring the hoots and whistles, she watched in concentration as the colourful balls rolled, not one of them dropping into a pocket. She began to walk around the pool table, taking in each position of the balls as she tapped her chin. Alrighty Beauchamp, let's have a look, shall we? This should be easy-peasy, lemon squeezy. We'll go for stripes. 

"Ye ken how to play, hen?" Hugh teased, extracting laughter from his friends. "If not, I promise to go easy with my shaft." Another round of loud laughter ensued.

Claire ignored the innuendo, and the sally going on and focused.

First, I'll down that nine-ball hanging over the pocket and use the rail to tap out the eleven, crammed against the twelve. That'll leave open the six, thirteen, and fifteen. Once I drop the fifteen, using a little side spin, that should bring me to the other end of the table. Then I'll sink the eleven and the fourteen into the same corner pocket, gently hitting the ten off the rail in the process, so I don't get stuck later having to bank shot it. Knock in the eight, then I'm clear to finish it off. Good God, Beauchamp, you're so good.

Satisfied with her strategy, Claire leaned over the green felt and positioned herself. Although Hugh's loud wisecrack didn't rattle her, the intensity of Jamie's stare was another matter. Taking a deep breath, she redirected her concentration on her game plan and took her first shot and then another, working clinically and accurately. Unfortunately, their encounter earlier kept creeping back into her consciousness and playing in loops in her head. It didn't help that his scent stuck on to her when he'd caught her after the fall. He smelled of forest and fresh laundry. None of that heavy musky expensive perfumes London yuppies liked to bathe in. It made her want to lean in, bury her face in the crook of his neck and take a deep breath.

Bent at the waist, Claire stretched over the edge of the table and focused on the fifteen-ball and tried not to wince at the memory of openly flirting with Jamie. In her defence, it wasn't every day she was rescued by a very manly bloke who stared at her like he didn't want to let her out of his sight. She wondered if she'd appeared too eager and was totally misunderstanding the look he was giving her. There had been a hint of wariness lurking behind those beautiful translucent blue eyes when she'd agreed to go out with him. Had she said something to cause him to throw up his guard?  

Having gone to a Catholic, all-girls, boarding school, her experience with the opposite sex was limited to the ones she read in romance novels. Orphaned at a young age, her guardian uncle Lamb didn't believe, dragging her across the globe with him was an ideal way to raise a girl, especially when he worked mostly with men in archaeological sites. So he'd decided the best place for her upbringing was with the nuns, right through college.

So when it finally came for her to start adulting and dating in a big, bad city like London, she'd been like a deer caught in the headlights. But she quickly found her feet with the help of her friend and flatmate, Annalise, a Parisienne by birth and a Londoner at heart. The French girl had been a mentor to her, initiating her to the trappings of singlehood and city life. Though the dating and getting-to-know-a-guy part was also an exciting discovery, she quickly realised every date she'd been to, after having gone through a handful of them, was a recycled version of the last. Same lines, same latest fashion, exaggerated backstories and trying too hard to impress instead of being themselves. So at the ripe age of twenty-five, she still had to experience what it was like to have a boyfriend. Annalise accused her of being too picky, but Claire always reasoned she just hadn't met the right one. She'd envisioned her first boyfriend to be someone endearingly awkward, not too loud and maybe a little shy. But Jamie was the least awkward man she'd ever met. He was easy on the eyes, and he lived inside his skin like a well-worn pair of jeans. He was far from a starter boyfriend she'd envision - definitely, not a boy anything.

"Go, Claire! You can do it!" Annalise shouted at the sidelines.

As she marked her shot on the eight-ball, she glanced up at Jamie and felt her focus wobble a bit. When one of the lads emitted a low whistle as she moved her hips to settle herself at a conducive angle, he didn't have a smidgen of amusement on his face. More than anything, he looked liked he was about to knock the front teeth off of the offender.

She didn't want a pub brawl to start in her honour, even if it sounded romantic in movies or books.

Straightening up from her position, she gave Jamie what she thought was a sexy smile. "Hey, Jamie," she called to him. "You got that single malt ready for me? This shouldn't take long." She tried not to blanch for sounding overconfident and cocky. It seemed cheeky for presuming she'd finished this game in a jiffy, but the pleasure of seeing his piercing blue eyes creased at the corners was definitely worth the minor discomfort her behaviour had caused her. Oh, Lordy! There were hushed oohs, followed by a round of testosterone-laced jests, making Jamie shake his head in amusement. At least, to her relief, he stopped looking like he's about to wallop anyone. Trouble averted in the knick of time!

As Jamie turned to get the attention of the bartender, she quickly lowered herself back over the table in the same position and sunk in the remaining balls. When she finished, her opponent, Hugh looked, well …not the least bit pleased about it. It probably didn't help she'd earlier acted cocksure about winning the game and might have dented his macho ego in front of his mates. 

Claire watched Hugh purposely marched towards her as their audience clapped, cheered and teased him for losing to a lassie.

"Ye got me at a disadvantage. I must admit I went easy on you since ye're new around here," he said loud enough for everyone near the pool table to hear. 

Claire gave him a charming smile, even though she felt like throttling him for not being man enough to congratulate her. "I know. Too bad, you assumed I couldn't play because I have a pair of boobs."

Hugh's eyes dropped down to her breast, and his cheek twitched, as he openly leered at her. "I must admit, ye have a lovely pair, and it might have distracted me from playing a good game, now that I come to think about it. Ye ken what ye need? Ye need a good ..."

"Stiff drink?" Jamie interrupted as he handed Claire a glass of single malt. "That's what ye were about to say, aye?"

Jamie's words were mildly pleasant, but she detected the underlying warning in his tone. Hugh didn't look like one to back-off, but when Jamie took a small step forward, he eyed the height and breadth before him and thought better of it. Splitting a forced smile between her and Jamie, Hugh raised both his hands as a sign of truce and slowly walked back to his mates.

With a sigh, she placed her cue stick on the pool table and faced Jamie. "This is fast becoming a habit of yours, isn't it?"

"What?" he asked, taking a step inside her personal space. It was another one of his moves to add to that growing habit list of his. Her old fashion side, the side influenced by her upbringing in the boarding school, wanted her to take a step back. But the side, that suspiciously sounded like Annalise, was shouting at her to hold her ground.

So she held her ground and arched an eyebrow at him. "You coming to my rescue. Again!"

When his mouth expanded into a smile, she couldn't help noticing his full, beautiful lips. With a cleanly shaven angular jaw, they made him looked like an angel who'd spent time in hell. Her breath caught in her throat, and she quickly looked back up, hoping he hadn't noticed her wandering eyes.

His amused expression told her he had. "Ye could say, rescuing ye is one past time that's beginning to grow on me." 

She laughed out loud. It was something she did whenever she was nervous or when shyness overtook, and the most annoying part of it, it was almost always accompanied by a snort. She quickly sobered up. Acting like a loon was definitely beginning to be her nervous signature move.

As if sensing her unease, Jamie quickly changed the subject. "By the way, that was some show ye put on. Ye'll be the topic of everyone's conversation for the next few days. And Hugh the butt of jokes."

"I didn't realise I was playing with a sore loser," she said, taking a sip of her whisky. When the heat slid down her throat, she tried not to flinch. Acting cool wasn't her forte, but she was determined to work on it. "If I'd known, I would have given up my slot."

"Dinnae fash. Hugh's all mouth and no trousers, but he's harmless. So where did ye learn to play like that?" His eyes scanned her face, and he cocked his head a little like he was committing each of her features to memory.

"My uncle taught me. We'd play for hours whenever we get time to spend together."

"Ye're close to yer uncle. That's nice. I hope I'd be that type of uncle one day."

She beamed. Jamie looked like the type of uncle who would have boundless of energy playing with children. "My uncle's for the most part, both a father and mother to me when I wasn't in the boarding school. My parents died when I was young."

His face turned serious. "Sorry to hear that. My parents have always been part of my life, so I can't begin to imagine what it was like for you growing up without them."

Claire gave him a grateful smile as she pulled a vibrating phone from her pocket. "Oh, bummer," she whispered, glancing down at the screen. "I have about fifteen missed text messages. I didn't feel it going off. I must have been caught up with all the excitement of the game." 

He ran a hand along his jaw. "Some lad missing ye back home?"

She hesitated, glancing up at him. "No." She shook her head, vigorously. "It's my friend, Geillis." She skimmed through the messages wondering why there were so many of them. Annalise had sent the photos of the brothers' driving licences to Geillis, and probably something had come up.

"Is everything alright?" he asked as she continued to read the messages.

"It's fine," she squeaked, looking for any incriminating data Geillis might have found. She found none. Instead, what she was reading was making her face heat up.

"Are ye sure? Ye have a troubling frown forming on yer face. Maybe I can help."

She sighed and rolled her head. "Annalise sent the photos of your driving licences to my friend Geillis. And a selfie she took with you and your brother earlier. You know ...to have you check out and see if you're legit. Geillis' boyfriend works with the police you see."

He arched an eyebrow. "And?"

Is he upset? "Don't look at me like that. I told you I trust you."

He laughed. "Like what? Ye're the one who's giving me an odd look. I told ye I was alright with it. So what did she say? Do I get her seal of approval?"

She winced. "Yeah, Geillis says it's all good."

He picked up his whisky from the nearby table. "Geillis sounds like a verra nice friend. I think I like her already. What else did she say?"

She felt the colour drain from her face. "I swear you wouldn't want to hear the rest of it. Geillis is raving mad."

"Try me."

"I think we should leave it ..."

"Come on, Sassenach. It cannae be that bad."

"I'd rather not."

"Go on, humour me." His blue eyes danced, and she marvelled for the umpteenth time at how handsome he was.

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you." She shut her eyes for a few heartbeats and puffed out a breath. "Well, she said if you're the same bloke who competed against her boyfriend at caber toss last spring and won ..." Oh dear, God. "...I ...um ...I should let you ground my corn."

He practically choked on his whisky.

She grimaced and wondered if she should thump him on the back. "I'm sorry. Geillis has an odd sense of humour. I'm afraid it's just her way of saying that her boyfriend thinks you're ace ...well, that's if you're really the bloke who he thinks you are."

He recovered quickly and grinned. "How about ye? What do ye think of me?"

She ignored the question. "You haven't confirmed anything to me yet," she said, speaking into her whisky glass. "Did you really win the caber toss competition?"

He looked smugly amused, and the smile that spread across his face already answered her question.

"So you're a tree surgeon who plays shinty and tosses poles in your spare time ...whatever next."

He nodded at her phone when it lit up again. "What else is your friend saying?"

She put her drink down and glanced at the screen. "'She said, the men who participated in this year's caber toss, including you, posed with nothing on but their kilt for a charity calendar."

He smiled. "Aye, that's right."

"And she asked me to ask you if you're wearing anything underneath the kilt because I'm getting the calendar as a stocking filler."

His booming laughter made a few heads turn their way.

"See I told you, she's raving mad." She took another sip from her glass and realised it was empty. Ah, fiddlesticks! "I thought her boyfriend would have mellowed her down a bit, but I have a feeling, she's worse than ever."

He eyed her glass and grinned. "I definitely have to meet this friend of yours."

She felt a twinge of ache in her heart, which took her by surprise. "Annalise and I are stopping at her place in Glasgow before we fly back to London on Three Kings. So you won't be seeing her."

He leaned in closer. "I ken we've only just met. Ye think ye're going to miss me when you go back?" His eyes twinkled mischievously.

Even though she was a right bumbling mess around him, she had to admit she was having too much fun in his company. So much so, she didn't really want to think about leaving yet. Her mind was already racing and wondering if Annalise would agree to celebrate Hogmanay here instead of in Edinburgh. "Well, that depends ..."

"Depends on what?"

Her curiosity to explore the dynamic between them made it difficult to keep her guard up. It was useless trying to fight whatever this was when she was so drawn to Jamie. Surely he must be feeling this too. She swallowed hard and decided to be brave. "If I'll have a reason to miss you," she blurted out before she could change her mind. 

A tiny fraction of the playfulness displayed on his face was replaced by uncertainty ...and Claire's stomach coiled at the proof he wasn't prepared to act on the attraction between them. Whatever his reason was, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know as her guard began to scramble back into place. Oh, God, how could I be so dim? Maybe he's got a girlfriend or a wife ...

"Arbroath Smokies."

Stunned, she looked at him. "Wot?"

"Have ye eaten?"

"Uh, um ...not since midday."

"Weel, hard to fall in love with ..." He took a huge deep breath. "...Broch Mordha on an empty stomach."

"Huh?"

That playful smile was back on his face. "Have ye tried Arbroath Smokies?"

"No. I don't even know what that is."

"Ye have to try it. I know just the place." Jamie glanced over his shoulder. "Come on, let's have a quick drink with Willie and Annalise so we can get out of here." 

And then just like that, he wove his fingers through hers and tugged her towards the bar.

[fallin-4-ya]

 The Follies and Vices of You

cedric diggory x reader- part iii of series

 based off the novel and film ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen

summary: Being the beloved sister of the incredibly wealthy Mr. Potter, you felt no need to rush into marriage. But one day, when you come to meet a new acquaintance, the proud Mr. Diggory, your views of love and follies change.

warnings: none! (gif is not mine, credit to owner!)

part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v

‘Maybe it’s that I find it hard to forgive the follies and vices of others, or their offenses against me. My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.’ -Jane Austen 

‘Y/N, I’m afraid we must have a most dreadful topic to converse upon.’

‘If such a conversation is dreadful, Harry, then why must we speak of it?’ you chuckled half-heartedly.

‘My dear sister, it pains me to speak such foolishness with you, but it must be done. As you well know you’re two and twenty and I’m in most distress telling you that perhaps it is time to make your way in the world.’ He spoke, then gazed at you for a reply.

‘Dear Harry, I don’t think you mean that I am to be married soon!’ you said, and Harry simply nodded. ‘You cannot be serious. You know well as I that two and twenty is far too young to be eloped in such an unhappiness. Harry, please. I want to stay with you.’

Mr. Lupin came to the door, ‘Now, now what is all the commotion about. Miss Y/N, tell me dear, what in heaven’s name is the matter?’

You couldn’t help but to hold back a tear, ‘Harry has suggested that it’s time to make my way in the world by… well, by getting married. Oh, Mr. Lupin! Do tell Harry how young I am to be engaged to someone, and how unhappy I would be. Please, I do beg!’

‘My dear Y/N. There, there.’ He sat comforting you, rubbing circles on your back, ‘I understand well my dear how troublesome life can be. While perhaps you may be a bit young, Harry is only worried for you and your wellbeing. If something was to happen to your brother there would be much trouble; but, perhaps having a husband can avoid such troubles. You know well that we all love you very much.’

‘Yes, I do understand. I’m terribly sorry, I just fear of unhappiness and I cannot live a life where I am not free.’ You said as you dried a tear, ‘Oh Harry, please do forgive me for my sudden irrational behavior.’

‘Only if you forgive me for my stupidity and lack of brotherly compassion.’ Harry replied sorrowfully.

You told only Miss Ginny of the conversation that occurred the previous day.

‘My dearest Y/N! How dreadful a life with men can be! I am truly sorry dear; well, I’m sure that Harry truly didn’t mean it.’ She exulted.

‘Oh, Ginny, I know. My brother is just ensuring me a well life full of prosperity. Though while I thought to be two and twenty and unwed was normal, the rest of society deems it as not.’ You sighed.

‘Well, Y/N, I have six older brothers and you may have your pick at whichever one you’d like!’ she laughed, ‘Although, with Charlie in Romania for studies, Fred and George being the handful they are, Bill married to that French woman we met two summers ago and Ron being totally in love with Miss Hermione Granger; that leaves you with Percy, which I do not think to be a good match for any girl with a functioning head on her shoulders.’ You both busted out laughing. How strange it was to think as the Mr. Weasleys as anything other than your dear friends, you said to yourself. So, you immediately shook the idea out of your head and said a firm no.

‘Oh, Y/N! How about the young Mr. Malfoy! He is very amiable indeed. Comes from money, commonly handsome; he would do you well!’ Ginny said excitedly. You pondered over it for a moment, you and Mr. Malfoy. Certainly, a most predictable match, but how well would he suit your happiness?

You thought often about the potential engagements you could elope in. Taking each into most focused consideration, not wanting to miss out on any information that could sway your opinion. Sure, you thought, Mr. Malfoy was a most suitable man. He had money, relations and not to mention you would live comfortable for the rest of your life. But there was something about his air, he had a matter of secrecy to him that you couldn’t quite uncover; and you longed to know more.

You sat at your pianoforte, as practicing your music had always given you such joy and peace. As your fingers danced on the keys, you seemed to feel your troubles pass; until you heard a floorboard creek. Your head shot up to see no one other than Mr. Diggory, looking almost panicked.

‘Mr. Diggory, what a most pleasant surprise! Shall I call for some tea?’ you smiled kindly.

‘Oh no, that won’t be necessary.’ Mr. Diggory answered. You stood in a silence, much like the two of you had before.

‘Would you like to sit down, sir?’ you offered hoping to release some tension. ‘No, thank you, Miss Y/N. I was just, I was only admiring your playing. My sister had a pianoforte much like that one.’

‘What wonderful a player Miss Diggory must have been, after all it is such a fine instrument! And thank you, my brother had gifted it to me some time ago. Would you like me to continue my playing?’

‘No. I wish not to be a burden.’ Mr. Diggory replied, ‘Good day, Miss Y/N.’

And with that he left abruptly. Harry walked into the piano room passing Mr. Diggory on his way out, as you stood there in all of your shock and confusion. ‘What on Earth have you done to Mr. Diggory?’ Harry exclaimed.

‘I have no idea.’ You said in all of your confusion.

(end of part iii! okay i mightttt have lied when i said this was only going to be three parts, i think it will be five parts + an epilogue! thank you for reading and let me know if you want to be part of my tag list!) tag list: @freddieweasleyswife @truly-insatiable @annasdani @mullthingsoverinthehotwater

[adhd-disaster-willie]

Seventeen and strung out on confusion; chapter 1/4

Summary: Just some snippets of backstory for the one and only Alex Mercer; aka my comfort character. Each moment will have a date attached so you can understand the timeline. Angst with fluffy found family moments :)

Warnings: Homophobia, swearing

---

As I’m sure you could guess, there are numerous problems that come with being the only out gay kid at your school in 1994. It’s not so bad if you keep your head down and persuade your friends not to get into a fight with everyone who throws a slur your way, but regardless. That pink hoodie that you’ve been wearing since you were 14 and is honestly too small at this point but your parents refuse to buy you another one? Well it’s a target on your back and apparently everyone at the school is now a professional archer. Or at least, they’re all very proficient in the art of unoriginal insults that cut deeper than they should. All of this is to say, don’t come out to your religious parents in 1994. Ever.

---

Alex Mercer was born into a perfect nuclear family, in a two story house with a white picket fence, brick columns, and a clean cut yard that was unsettlingly green. His parents were as religious as anyone could get; straight-laced, good Catholic parents who kept their hands tight around Alex’s shoulders. He went to church every Sunday and tried to ignore the way his neck itched from the too-tight collar and his mother swatting at his hands until he had to sit on them to refrain from drumming on the nearest surface. He was good at hiding the way he payed undivided attention to his little sister’s ballet classes, good at pretending to stare at the girls in the hallways that all his friends drooled after, and especially good at convincing everyone that he drummed and sang to… impress said girls. Right. But unfortunately, Alex was even better at accidentally outing himself a day into the New Year, consequentially losing all of his parents’ affection.

He didn’t even exist to them anymore. Maybe it would’ve been better if they’d given him a million restrictions and curfews and basically chained his hands together, because this was unsettling. And lonely. Family dinners were a thing of the past, and he’d really begun to sympathize with Reggie and his microwaved, half-cold meals every morning and night. But it could always be worse. They hadn’t kicked him out… yet.

---

January 25, 1994

“Alex, dude!”

Alex flinched upon realizing Reggie’s hand waving in front of his face. He looked up and smiled guiltily, realizing the way he’d frozen, spaced out staring at the wall and absentmindedly hitting his sticks against his legs with a beat that didn’t at all match the song they were supposed to be rehearsing.

Luke sighed, wiping the pout off his face. “Alex, come on man! We aren’t gonna get any gigs if you keep…” He waved his hands vaguely and slapped Alex’s shoulder. “Just, pay attention dude.”

“Right,” Alex replied, his voice strained. He was staring down at his shoes and he could feel his bandmates having a silent conversation above his head which he could only deduce Luke was not happy with, probably meaning they were stopping rehearsal. He didn’t want them to stop for him; it made him feel like a burden, and Luke was right, if they were gonna make it anywhere, they had to be all in.

“Alex, you okay?” Reggie asked, his eyebrows knit together in concern.

Alex nodded briefly and kept his gaze trained on his feet. His sneakers were too small and he had to curl his toes in for them to fit but he was afraid of the reaction he’d get from telling his parents he needed something.

“It’s not one of those homophobic jackasses again, right?” Bobby asked, moving closer, his eyes narrowing. “I swear, this time I will cave Josh’s fucking face in-”

“It’s not!” Alex clarified, finally lifting his head. “It isn’t…” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look it’s just my parents alright? They…”

Reggie’s eyes widened and he began fiddling with his flannel sleeves. “They didn’t… they didn’t hurt you did they?” He asked, his voice small.

“No, no they didn’t hurt me… not physically at least.” He laughed ruefully. “They’re just being stupid, alright? Ignoring me like they have for the past 3 weeks.” Alex stood up, well aware that at this point band practice was a thing of the past. He walked to the couch, the other three boys in tow.

“Hey!” Luke elbowed Alex’s side before throwing an arm over his shoulders. “That new Green Day album is coming out in like, a week.” He grinned, eyes lighting up. “I’ve been saving up to buy it, and we can use that new cassette player I got for Christmas to listen to it.”

Alex nodded, smiling softly and letting his head relax on the back of the couch. “Yea that sounds great. Promise you won’t listen to it without us?”

“Of course ‘Lex; we all gotta be there to find which songs we’re gonna cover.”

Reggie wrinkled his nose in confusion. “I thought you said we’d moved past being a cover band?”

“It’s Luke, he’ll make an exception for anything if it involves Green Day,” Bobby chuckled.

Several beats of silence passed in which the sun seemed to get increasingly lower in the sky, before Bobby sighed in resignation. “You’re all staying here tonight, aren’t you?”

Luke beamed, clapping Bobby’s shoulders. “You know us so well.”

“Sleepover!” Reggie laughed, pumping a fist in the air. “Does it count as a sleepover if we all basically live here at this point?”

“Shhh ‘Lex, don’t ruin our fun,” Luke responded.

Alex smiled hesitantly. Yea, he was okay.

---

May, 1994

Michael Williams had dark hair brushing the tips of his shoulders, eyes that were almost golden in certain lights and a smile that gave Alex butterflies. Not to mention he was in theater and had a reputation for flipping off the homophobic jocks that were constantly on Alex’s tail. Not that he did it specifically for Alex, but still. The only problem was that talking to cute boys that he hadn’t known since 3rd grade was far from Alex’s strong point.

“Come on Alex!” Luke groaned, sliding into the last open seat at their lunch table. “Just talk to him before I literally combust.” He punctuated his sentence by waving at Alex with a cold french fry.

Alex grumbled something, his face in his arms in a futile attempt to hide the red dusting his cheeks.

“Hey Luke, if you explode because Alex refuses to talk to his crush, can I have your CD’s?” Reggie quipped, a lopsided grin on his face.

Luke gasped in mock offense. “Reginald-!”

“Still not my name.”

“I will be buried with my music,” Luke said. “Both of my guitars too-”

“Even your amp?” Bobby questioned.

“Yes.”

“Seems like a waste of space. Can you even fit all that in a coffin?”

Luke shrugged. “You guys can figure it out. Don’t betray my dying wish.”

Something that would’ve been silence had Luke ever been taught how to chew like a normal person passed over the table, in which Alex’s attention drifted lazily back to Michael Williams, who was chatting enthusiastically with one of the girls in his theater class. Alex didn’t know her name but they had biology together and she never gave him dirty looks, so he liked her.

“10 bucks if you go talk to him,” Bobby said, nudging Alex and waggling his eyebrows.

“No. No,” Alex said. “Not happening.”

“15.”

“Where is this money coming from?” Alex squeaked, although the prospect of $15 was all too tempting. He could get some decent shoes for that.

“20,” Bobby continued, grinning maniacally.

“Dude!” Luke laughed. “How are your parents gonna like you asking for money to fulfill a bet?”

Bobby slapped a hand over Luke’s mouth.

“I’m gonna regret this,” Alex sighed, already moving to stand up.

Reggie giggled like a child and offered a shit-eating grin to Alex, who promptly flipped him off before heading across the cafeteria.

---

December 17, 1994

Alex was screwed. No. Alex was completely fucked. Alex Mercer was likely seconds away from living in a ditch. Because of course it had to be his sister who caught him making out with a guy after school. And of course she was too young to understand why she couldn’t tell Mom and Dad. Because she would’ve done the same if he’d been kissing a girl because kissing is gross and it’s funny to tell your parents that your big brother was kissing someone.

“Hey Mom, guess what Alex did today?” Angie asked, giggling. She was perched on the counter, licking frosting from her fingers while their mother brushed cookie crumbs from her dress. And Alex was frozen at the top of the stairs, crouched down, his heart pounding so loud he was sure it could be heard downstairs. He dug his nails into his palms and prayed that his mother would pretend he didn’t exist when he wanted her to. It was one thing, them knowing. But this? This was something else. Alex’s parents lived on the philosophy that homosexual thoughts got you an eternity in hell, but homosexual actions got you shunned and thrown out. So yea, he was screwed.

“What did Alex do today?” His mother asked, plastering a false smile onto her face, her voice sounding like she was already packing his bags. Alex wanted to get up and run. He wanted to go to his room and jump out the window and fly away. But it was like the sweat on his palms was superglue keeping him stuck to the carpet, and his brain had short-circuited.

Angie laughed again, trying to get it out through her snickering. “Alex was kissing someone today.” She sang, her small feet swinging back and forth, the noise of her heels against the counter like knives in Alex’s ears. “That boy Michael that used to go to our church.” The innocence in her voice made Alex ache.

“Angie.” His mother’s voice was cold now. “Leave please.”

Angie’s brow furrowed in confusion, but she scurried up the stairs anyway, giving Alex a tearful hug on the way because even at ten, she knew that that voice meant trouble. “Sorry ‘Lex. I shouldn’t ‘a told your secret,” She whispered, before sprinting to her room and leaving Alex wondering if he’d get to see her after tonight.

“Alex Mercer, please come downstairs.” Her voice chilled him to the bone, like shards of ice penetrating his skin and seeping into his blood. But he walked down anyway.

Alex tightened the muscles in his hands and feet, willing himself to stay still and planted to the wooden floor, facing his mother head-on, as if the look in her eyes wasn’t terrifying him to the point of tears. But he wouldn’t let her see that she was getting to him, he wouldn’t. So he bit his tongue and counted down from ten inwardly.

“What is this nonsense?” She hissed, reaching out and gripping his forearm, her nails a millimeter away from digging into his skin.

Alex swallowed roughly. “I- I don’t know. Angie’s just… she’s-”

“Don’t lie to me!” His mother snapped. She brought her hand back, curling her fingers in with a look of disgust, as if she’d been touching fire. And then she was speaking again, but Alex couldn’t hear her over the pounding in his ears. He tightened his jaw and shut his eyes momentarily. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“Get out.”

His eyes snapped open. Alex stood still in front of her, searching her eyes for the slightest bit of remorse. But there was nothing but ice. So he left. He left with tears running down his face and he couldn’t even bring himself to say goodbye to Angie. It wasn’t until he was halfway down the block when he realized that he had nothing but the clothes on his back and a backpack full of everything he could fit, and no where to go. He collapsed on the ground, the cold night air finally hitting him, seeping into his bones. He looked up and wiped his eyes, sniffling. It was odd, the way that the Christmas lights were able to look so beautiful when he felt so broken inside. It felt almost unfair that everything outside of him was moving at a normal pace like nothing had changed. But Alex knew better than that. Everything had changed.

---

These are the people who expressed interest in reading this when I posted about it a few days ago :)

@edgeofgillespie @herequeerandcantdrinkbeer @lookingthroughmirrors

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

[kaysayshey]

les preludes || d. sawamura

i was thinking about daichi, go figure. a big virtual hug to anyone who can guess what i play based on this.

thinking about sitting in a concert hall for a piano recital, surrounded by others who appreciate the arts just as much as you do. how the stage is lit by an incredibly ornate chandelier of gold and bronze, the lights reflecting off of the polished black lid of the fazioli sitting center stage.

how the pantsuit you had dressed in suddenly seemed too simple when surrounded by the exquisite gowns of high-class concert-goers, those who could recite the board of directors' phone numbers by name. the ones relishing in the luxury of incredible seats per their season tickets, a luxury that you would potentially sell your soul for. after all, years of classical training only made you yearn for more.

a high-pitched giggle has you rolling your eyes before the lights dim. another socialite in a powder blue gown, the fakest grin you've ever seen plastered on a picture-perfect face. stifling the urge to groan, you plop your head into your palm, one elbow resting lazily on the armrest.

you had taught as many lessons as possible for the last month, filling in for any accompanist that would let you, just to afford these seats. there was no way you'd let this opportunity to see a soloist perform go to waste. no, never.

as you waited patiently, a cough interrupted the scarlatti running its da capo through your mind. a delightful interruption, to be honest. working on the same sonata for the past week with no reprieve? absolute madness.

the cougher in question was standing at the edge of the aisle, his navy suit a beautiful contrast to the brilliant red of the carpet and the dazzling gold of, well, everything else. dark brown hair and coffee-colored eyes with a polite smile to tie the boy-next-door look together. plastering a smile of your own onto your face was the task of the evening - after all, the chatty cathy's surrounding you had the potential to ruin this performance. as a result, you were feeling less than pleasant.

"might i set your bag down? i believe this is my seat," the man asked, his baritone voice as comforting as a a glass of wine after a long day in the studio. what you would give to hear him more was merely a quick thought as you placed the offending bag beneath your feet, gesturing for the man to sit beside you. with a nod, he did, all the while you thumbed through the program with the best of intentions. which, of course, was to avoid staring at the man you were now stuck next to for the next hour and a half.

what a time to be alive.

"what brought you tonight?" he asked in that same rich voice, smoother than any brandy you'd ever sipped. a cello player? french horn? vocalist? your head rushed at the possibilities, but with all the self-control you could muster, you smiled to answer his question.

"just needed some inspiration of my own. hard to practice the same thing over and over without hearing something new, you know?"

he nodded at that, his brow slightly furrowed, a gesture that only made him more attractive. like he was truly listening to what you had said, not just a mere pleasantry before silence.

"i can only imagine. a friend of mine suggested i come, so i guess i don't really know what it's like to understand it."

at that, you cocked your head. to... understand it. as a performer, there was more than just understanding. the headspace, the rush of applause, the tingle of anxiety from behind the curtain. the hours spent with your best friend, the metronome. the dull throb in your joints after hours with the piano.

"i don't think you need to necessarily understand it to appreciate it," you began absent-mindedly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "sure, knowing the theory and history is important. but that's not as important as how it makes you feel."

as you spoke, he nodded along with you, eyes as bright as when he had asked to sit beside you. almost a silent thank you. for what?

"and besides, you picked a good night to come. a solo transcription of one of liszt's tone poems? the perfect introduction," you prattled on, glancing to the stage in anticipation. "it's a beautiful work. who cares about the theory from the seats?"

at that, a dazzling grin flashed across his face, bright enough to put the chicago skyline to shame. enough that just temporarily, the stage didn't matter, the socialite crowd didn't matter. all that had been or could ever be was that smile.

"sounds like you know what you're talking about, miss-" he drawled off, suddenly sheepish.

"y/n. y/n l/n. and you?"

"sawamura daichi, but just daichi is fine, miss l/n."

before you could stop it, a girlish giggle escaped you. who are you, and what have you done with y/n l/n?

"just y/n is fine, thanks. i don't even have my students call me miss," you replied with another chuckle, the lightest blush on his cheeks sending butterflies from chest to stomach.

"you're a teacher?"

a nod, and yet another ramble to which daichi listened intently. your beginning piano studio, working with kids as young as three on their motor-skills and note recognition. older kids with the drive to perform, a pulse in their veins begging them to compete. recitals and accompanying and more well-tempered clavier than you were willing to admit. and love. it was always based on a simple love for music.

"well," he spoke slowly, as though the words were heavy on his tongue, "maybe you could teach me a thing or two sometime. over coffee?"

the lights began to dim as you opened your mouth to speak, the most unwelcome silence you'd ever experienced. in place of words, you gently took his calloused hand in your own, a light squeeze speaking where you couldn't.

yes.

[heavyarethecrowns]

As Kate re-emerges more tanned and confident, a new Middleton girl takes a bow - May 2007

Amid the clatter of small talk and social niceties, it was a well-meaning attempt to rally a young girl's spirits: "Keep your chin up. Don't let them get you down. You'll be fine."

But when Tara Palmer-Tompkinson delivered these words of wisdom to Kate Middleton at a fashionable book launch, what was striking was not the kindness of the older woman's words but how superfluous they appeared.

For, since splitting from Prince William, Kate Middleton seems to have had very little trouble in keeping either her chin, or her profile, high.

ndeed it has become a much remarked oddity of Kate and Prince William's break-up that, in the weeks since her apparent heartbreak, she has never looked better...or happier.

Far from appearing shattered by the very public end of a romance that many - including Kate herself - predicted would end in marriage, Kate sans William is cutting a frankly far sexier figure.

Her hair is shinier, her skin more tanned and her dress sense more youthful than during her tweedy William days.

Far too dignified to accept the vast sums on offer for a royal 'kiss and tell,' she has, The Mail on Sunday has learned, drawn on the support and advice of a trusted few.

And, in the process, one figure has emerged above all as key among the newly single Kate's loyal coterie: her younger sister Pippa.

At 22, Pippa is three years junior to - and 4in shorter than - her more famous sibling but she has had an enormous impact on the emergence of this increasingly sleek and confident Kate.

She is, according to those who know her best, more sassy than Kate, more direct and, tantalisingly, less discreet.

And though these days she may pass largely unrecognised she is unlikely to do so for long.

After all, it was Pippa who joined Kate at the launch of Simon Sebag Montefiore's book on Stalin at Asprey's, Pippa whose hand Kate held as she left trendy London nightclub Boujis at three in the morning four days later, Pippa who will be at Kate's side when the girls attend the Kuoni World Class Cup Polo at Hurtwood Park, West Sussex - a tournament at which both Prince Harry and Charles have played.

In the weeks since her split from William, Kate has gleaned style advice from an executive at Vogue, discussed strategies for dealing with the media from Tatler editor Geordie Greig and, fascinatingly, turned to Guy Pelly, one of William's best friends, for entrance to some of London's coolest clubs. But it is Pippa who has been her ever present consort.

For where Kate's entree into high society was as the prettier 'add-on' to a powerful partner, her staying power may owe much to establishing herself in another, formidable, double act.

And according to one well placed source: "Kate and Pippa have already been dubbed The Wisteria Sisters - they're highly decorative, terribly fragrant and have a ferocious ability to climb.

"Pippa has just graduated in English from Edinburgh University and while other students are taking advantage of the last weeks of term to lie around in the meadows, have late breakfasts and long lunches and generally do very little, Pippa couldn't wait to get down to Kate and to London.

"She'll go back for the graduation ball at the end of June but it's clear that Kate is the key to unlocking a new social life for Pippa and Pippa is there to support Kate.

"So many doors were opened to Kate when she was with William and she's certainly not going to let them close now."

Certainly Pippa seems more than up to the task of putting a well-shod foot in the way of any door that threatens to shut now that Kate and William are no longer together.

According to one university friend: "As soon as Pippa arrived at Edinburgh, she was assiduous about joining the right social circle.

"At Edinburgh, the aristo crowd are divided into two social sets - one crowd who go to London for the weekend and are really into partying and hard drinking and the other who are more staid and go off to each others' country houses for weekends.

"Pippa joined the country set. She was very charming about it but quite ruthless in cultivating the "right" friends.

"If she found out that someone had impressive social credentials - the right title, standing, connections - she would immediately pay them a lot of attention where before she wouldn't have shown the least interest.

"She would leave notes in the pigeonholes of people she coveted as friends, desperate to arrange a time or date to meet.

"She was always well turned out to the point of being prim, always conscious of projecting the "right" image and, if she heard of other girls' "naughty" behaviour - too much drinking or partying or risque behaviour - she'd pull a face like there was a bad taste in her mouth."

Like Kate, Pippa attended Marlborough and, like Kate, her university ascent into the social elite was rapid. By the end of her university days, she could count Ted Innes-Ker and George Percy as flatmates - the sons of the Dukes of Roxburghe and Northumberland respectively.

And her boyfriend, who graduated two years before her, is JJ Jardine Patterson, an Eton friend of Edward and George and scion of a highly successful Hong Kong banking family.

"She met JJ through the boys," a friend said. "It really wasn't the family millions that attracted her to him but the social cachet."

Someone else who has met Pippa on many occasions recalled her as: "A charming girl who hung out with absolute toffs, most of whom are named after counties.

"She is incredibly well mannered and well-brought up. At dinner she always makes sure to speak to the person seated to her left and right.

"She has a lovely figure, much better than Kate's really. She's a very keen and aggressive tennis player. A mother's dream, in many respects.

"But she makes no secret at all of being very socially ambitious - almost aggressively so. She wants power and money."

Which explains perhaps, in part, the mixed feelings that Pippa has expressed to friends since her big sister split from her famous boyfriend.

According to one: "Pippa absolutely loved the fact that Kate dated William because of the cachet it brought but she's also quite pleased Kate's single again.

"She sometimes felt that her mum and dad tended to put Kate first, above her and her brother James, when she was dating William simply because of the extra responsibilities and practical considerations that went with that.

"And she was a little bit jealous that her sister was dating the future King of England.

"It didn't help that James, who's also at Edinburgh, would go around saying, "My sister's going to be the Queen of England." He can be very indiscreet.

"Also, Pippa's glad to "get her sister back". The two are very close and she never got to spend much time with Kate when she dated William. Kate would always put William first."

Indeed, Kate put William before all other considerations - personal and professional.

It is worth noting that, since their split, she has been promoted from assistant accessories buyer to accessories buyer for High Street store Jigsaw.

Pippa is similarly bright, but she is yet to fall upon a career path of her own. She enjoys travel and writing and has expressed an interest in journalism.

However, such thoughts are not foremost in the girls' minds this summer.

Instead, Pippa has moved into the Chelsea home that the girls' parents Carole and Michael bought for Kate and, according to a friend: "The two of them are enjoying being quite girlie together.

They have a mobile tanner who comes round and does their spray-on tan. They love shopping on the Kings Road.

They get ballet pumps at French Sole and Pippa loves Chloe clothes and has her hair done in Richard Ward's VIP section just like Kate.

"Kate gets sent a lot of free clothes and gifts and Pippa is very keen to get in on the action as far as that's concerned. She's happy to go along to parties and events on Kate's coat-tails."

Certainly there has been no shortage of invitations. On Wednesday, the girls will be at Mahiki - a favourite haunt of Prince William and the site of his infamous I'm Free! 'celebration' following his split from Kate.

The marketing for the club is looked after by Guy Pelly and it is Guy who is believed to have invited Kate and Pippa to Wednesday's Johnny Cash-themed party.

Kate and Pippa have also been invited to Richard Branson's pre-Wimbledon party - and have received invitations to the members' enclosure for the tournament.

They are on the guest list for Royal Ascot - though whether or not they will venture towards the Royal Enclosure remains to be seen - and have been invited to the Cartier Polo at Windsor Great Park on the last Sunday of July.

Ahead of them both lies the tantalising prospect of a summer of sisterly fun - with a social agenda writ large.

One close friend says: "Obviously, Kate and William aren't together any more but they have an ongoing arrangement. They will go to a couple of things together - things that were planned before they split and which William will honour.

It seems a bit of a habit among that set not to entirely sever relationships. There's rarely a clean break."

As we reported last week, William will go to the wedding of Kate's cousin on July 21. It is understood that they will also spend a weekend together in William's cottage in Balmoral in August.

Being in such close proximity to the man she once hoped to marry - and being so as 'just friends' - must be a prospect that Kate regards with profoundly mixed feelings.

However glossy her image and admirable her poise, there are, in the weight she has shed and the cigarettes she has started smoking again, clues to the effort required in presenting a positive face to the world she knows is watching still.

The importance of Pippa's place at Kate's side right now cannot, friends say, be underestimated.

"Pippa and Kate really are very close," says one. "Sure, they have a very like-minded approach to life and if Kate is leaning on Pippa at the moment who can blame her?

"The whole Middleton family were thinking of holidaying in Scotland this year but Kate felt it was too much of a thorny reminder of the last time that they were all together in Scotland, earlier this year, when they rented a great big house in Perthshire and waited for William to show up for New Year and he never did.

"Instead, they're looking at renting some fabulous villa in Tuscany or Umbria for a few weeks in August at the end of the summer.

"And goodness, I'd have thought by the time they reach August, the girls will need a break."

[stevesharrlngtons]

Snow being shoved down the back of your coat + Roman or Mickey

@screechingexpertpruneneck & @girlinthecorner also requested this prompt for roman

Tremors from ice and anger still vibrated through you as you made your way through the lobby. The snow that had been unceremoniously pushed down the back of your coat had long melted and left your sweater and undershirt wet and sticky with condensation and sweat. The water that your clothing had soaked in had begun to freeze against your clammy skin and you were beyond the meaning of uncomfortable.

You were uncomfortable with a thick helping of rage draped over the top.

All thanks to Roman fucking Godfrey.

Your family, along with his, were in Aspen for the holiday break. Your mother and Marie Godfrey had met in college as doe eyed sorority girls, and remained close through the years as they both went on to marry high level executives. Heartbroken that their executives chose to run their companies on opposite coasts, your mothers had insisted on bi-annual joint vacations -- one in the winter and one in the summer.

Two years into the extravagant vacations, Olivia Godfrey nosed her way into the festivities. Your mother and Marie were less than pleased, but Norman had insisted it was the right thing to welcome her with open arms on the vacations. It would be good for Olivia and her two small children to have some socialization. And so, Olivia, Roman and Shelley were added to the bunch (though, not without any reservations from the two matriarchs).

The destinations varied, but they were always somewhere festive and approatite. Winter: Sweden. Summer: Hawaii. Winter: Iceland. Summer: Puerto Rico.

This year it had been decided that you all would pack up and head to Colorado for two weeks of icy December fun.

While some of your peers dreaded family vacations and time spent away from their friends, you never minded. Your father kept you happy with a credit card in hand and your mother was too busy with Marie to provoke you. You were free to shop with Letha or swap novels with Shelley, or venture out on your own in whatever new and exciting landscape you were in.

And then there was Roman.

There was always Roman.

Over the years, Roman had morphed from reluctant player in your and Letha’s fantasy realms, to cruel preteen ready to insight chaos if looked at wrong, to outrageously charming and good looking young man who knew every trick and how to use them. He hadn’t lost the glint of wonder from his childhood, or his deep seated anger from his adolescence, he had just gained a sauve charisma that was dangerous when he used it correctly (and he always did).

You and Roman had a flirtation, one that sometimes blossomed in chaste touches and charged glances; or through amorous conversation and zealous foreplay.

Each and every vacation things were the same; you and Roman resumed wherever you had last left off, just to press pause the second you boarded separate airplanes.

Sometimes you would yearn for more, when he’d send you the occasional tender text or call in search for phone sex on the off season from your vacations. But, you shooed away any lingering warmth that he quelled in your stomach as soon as you recognized it. Roman Godfrey was no good for you, no matter how delicious he tasted and how blissful it was to surrender with him.

You could only indulge so much in a good thing before the repercussions reared their ugly heads. And Roman most certainly had repercussions, and pitfalls, and isms that you hated. And with enough time spent with him, you would see them all in spades.

His immaturity. His possessiveness. His stubbornness. His short temper. His inability to apologize.

Somehow all of your least favorite traits that he possessed came out one morning before he, Letha and yourself were set to go skiing.

Bundled in thick layers of wool and cashmere, down-feathers and ski bags slung off your shoulders, you three headed out to the slopes. You had spent two semesters at a private school in Whistler when your father was sent to Canada for work, and because of this, the only one out of your little group with any ski experience. You were excited to revel in your skill and teach Letha and Roman how to make it down the hills in one piece (lots of pizza and french fries to come…). But before you all headed to the chair lifts from the resort, Letha wanted to stop for something warm to drink and a bathroom break.

“I really think you’re going to appreciate all the expertise I can offer you,” you commented to Roman as you stood in line.

He blew an indigent puff out through his nose, “I don’t think I’ll need any help.”

A grin pulled at your lips, “Roman, with your long legs, you’re going to be like a baby deer out there. You are going to need my help.”

Roman glanced down at you with an amused expression, growing his own smile at the sight of yours.

“Yeah? You think I’m gonna go up there and eat shit? Fall on my ass so you girls can laugh at me? Fat chance.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll kiss all your bruises afterwards,” your grin smooths to a smirk and you can see his eyes light with the pictures of the after hours activities you two could yourselves into.

“Next!” the barastisa called out and you and Roman removed yourselves from your bubble long enough for you to order.

Your ordered Letha’s usual (a white mocha with a splash of peppermint) your usual, along with Roman’s (a black coffee with two sugars).

You hadn’t thought the barista was flirting with you. You hadn’t thought you were being overly friendly. You didn’t even think Roman had been paying any attention at all, he had been clicking away at his phone at the time. Though, after you paid and were waiting for your drinks to be made, it was clear that any and all banter that had begun in line would not continue.

Roman’s posture was ridged, as he stood two full paces away from you. His lips in a hard line and his hands stuffed deep in his coat pockets. You wanted to ask what had happened. You wanted to ask if he was ok, if something on his phone had upset him, if he was having second thoughts out the day you and Letha had planned? But you didn’t. Roman had angled himself away from you, and was looking over his shoulder every few seconds to search for Letha.

When she returned from the restroom, you silently handed her her mocha as she naively asked what she missed. You simply shrugged and you two shared a moment of knowing eye contact that Roman was in one of his trademark moods.

With linked arms and an effort to disregard Roman’s shift, you both clenched your paper cups, and headed toward the mountain in high spirits, ready to ski.

You were beginning to feel the pleasurable surge of adrenaline and the thrill of excitement the closer you got to the chair lifts. You were buzzing with anecdotes and tips and memories from your time abroad. Letha was playing along, nodding, oh-ing and ah-ing at the right moments, and thanking you for your know-how.

You and Letha were nearing the line for the lifts and you were about to pull her aside and help her onto her skis, when you were suddenly yanked backward.

Within the lapse of a blink, Roman had gripped the collar of your coat and jerked you back with such a power and haste, that your dwindling coffee was clamped in your fist and exploded onto your gloved hand and sleeve. When he had roped you closer by your protruding collar, he then continued to take a heap of snow and shove it down your back.

The snow shocked your senses, and your skin blistered from the cold and your muscles flinched and recoiled from the temperature change.

When it was all over, Letha was horrified, Roman was laughing and you were mortified. He had made such a spectacle of his antaic, that most of the line had turned to see what had happened. Not surprising by the decibel of Roman’s laughter and your scream.

“Roman!” Letha reprimanded as she fled to your side, doing her best to wick away some of the coffee from your sleeve and the snow from your neck, “What is wrong with you?”

“What? Never had that happen with any of your fancy french ski instructors?” he bit out maliciously, still laughing, but in a forced way. He was only laughing to continue your humiliation.

“You’re such an asshole!” you screeched.

“No, I’m funny. That was funny. It’s not my fault you can’t take a joke.”

“You’re not funny, Roman,” you whipped around, almost topoling a fretting Letha as you did, “you’re just a cruel little manchild who acts out when no one is giving his tantrum any attention!”

“Yep, see,” Roman gave a patronizing grin, “Can’t take a joke.”

He looked at you with condescending eyes, and he only seemed to grow happier the angier you became.

No matter how much you had been looking forward to the excursion, you refused to spend the day with him after this pathetic stunt. You picked up your discarded ski bag and let it hit Roman hard on the shoulder as you began back down the mountain.

“Aw, come on! Aren’t you the savant? Aren’t we getting ready to watch you show off your Olympic skill? Can’t do that if you throw a bitch fit and pout!” he called after you.

You could hear Letha’s frail calls as well, but at least she knew better than to come after you. You wanted to be alone and away from anything Godfrey.

When Letha and Roman came back later in the evening, he knocked on your suit door and was greeted with silence. He called your name, he dialed your number, he texted, but was left with no response. He was sure you were just enacting your silent revenge on him for the snow incident and he decided to let you. No matter how much he was looking forward to having his hands all over you (it’s all he had been thinking about for months).

But the next day, you were still nowhere to be found. Letha had been sworn to secrecy on your whereabouts, and even she was sticking her nose up in contempt when he entered a room.

He knew that you were serious about your indignation for him and what he had done, and he was becoming restless. He was only awarded fourteen days of your time twice a year, and he liked to make the most of the moments he was allotted. There was usually a day or two you would punish him for something he had said or done, but you always caved soon enough. Roman wished he knew what was so different about this time that had destroyed your usual refractory period for his bullshit.

“You embarrassed her in front of everyone,” Shelly’s automated voice informed him on the third day of silence.

Roman himself had taken to sitting in his suite, laying in bed with a scowl and an obligatory nasty bark when anyone commented on his new hibernation.

“You always teased her but this was different. You laughed at her and belittled her. She has every right to ignore you.”

Roman knew she was right, but only rolled onto his side so his back faced his sister. He didn’t want to admit that he was wrong, he didn’t want to have to tuck his tail and apologize. Because while he had embarrassed you, fessing up to his actions would embarrass him. He didn’t do well with putting his pride aside and accepting that what he did was wrong.

But as he spent the rest of the day holed up under hotel sheets and eating fresh potato chips from room service, Roman realized that maybe it would be worth it in the end. His moment of discomfort would pay off. Swallowing his ego and apologizing would be ok if it got him back in your good graces (which he so desperately craved).

That night, everyone gathered to have a nice dinner together. “Nice” entailed thousand dollar tabs, the highest quality champagne and whiskey, caviar and prime rib, and whatever anyone desired.

Roman had arrived before you, and made sure that the seat beside himself and your mother were the only two open by the time you joined them. As mad as you were at him, you would never willingly sit next to your mother, lest you want to spend the evening being picked apart by her freshly manicured fingers.

And sure enough, when you entered oh God, had you always been that beautiful? you spotted the seating arrangement and scowled. Your step faltered briefly in front of the open chair by your mother and Roman’s heart sank, before it slowly pushed its way back to the surface as you decided against your choice and rounded the table to take your place next to him.

“You look stunning this evening,” he whispered to you as you smoothed your napkin over your lap.

“You look like a kiss ass,” you replied, curtly thanking the waiter who was currently filling your glass with wine.

“Am I not allowed to compliment you now?”

“Stop talking to me. I don’t like you.”

Roman sucked in a breath and turned back to his appetizer. This was going to be a long evening.

Roman spent the rest of the dinner slowly chipping away at your resolve; with flirty jokes, jabs at your parents, reminiscing about your shared time together, and heaps of compliments and praise. He even pulled out his nickname for you at some point.

“I love when you run your fingers on the stem of the glass like that, sweet girl.”

Roman saw you put a strained pressure on the glass as he spoke.

Even after pulling out all the stops that he could, Roman didn’t seem to be making headway with you, which he despised. There was a flurry of fear in his chest.

Had he fucked up one of the very few good things in his life because of some stupid bout of jealousy?

As the night drew on, and all the parents were fat and happy with fine food and wine, they all drunkenly dismissed the four of you to do whatever you pleased.

Letha and Shelly, who had sat on the other end of the long table from you and Roman, fled away together. Maybe in hopes to avoid the tension between the two of you, or in hopes to force you both to reconcile. Either way, it left you and Roman to walk to the elevator alone.

Taunt, uncomfortable tension lay between you both on your path to the elevator. When you got to it and pressed the button for the upper levels, you tapped your foot impatiently for it to arrive.

Roman decided to strike.

“Are you going to be mad at me forever?”

Silence.

Roman frowned, “I’m sorry, alright? Is that what you want to hear?”

Silence.

“It was -- fuck, I don’t know. I don’t know what possessed me to do it. But yeah, I just, it was wrong. I’m sorry.”

More silence. You stepped forward to press the button again.

“Jesus Christ! I’m sorry! I said it, can we just put this behind us now? I was just tugging on your pigtails or whatever moms say. That and I don’t know, immaturity of something…”

“It was all immaturity.” you finally spoke.

So, Roman decided to steer into the skid. He told himself that he was only admitting to all of this so you would blow him later, but he secretly knew that everything he said was absolutely and undoubtedly true.

“Yeah, ok, it was immaturity and the old Godfrey gene of not knowing how to grapple with emotion.”

“Letha can express her emotions quite healthily,” you countered, still refusing to look at him.

He sighed, “I think only the men in my family got it… and my mother. But she’s a whole bag of fucked up, so…”

There was another bout of silence before Roman heard you let out a breath.

“You really hurt my feelings. You embarrassed me and stained my coat.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Roman replied, his face crestfallen.

“You tugged me back so hard that my neck was all red and rashy from the pressure and my clothes for the rest of the day.”

Roman felt despair bubble in his stomach, “Fuck, I’m so sorry sweet girl. I’m an asshole, I know that.”

“Yes, you are.”

The elevator at last opened it’s steel doors and you and Roman entered and pressed the number for your floor (Roman pressed the button before you could, in his search for forgiveness and to be gentlemanly).

As the elevator started up, Roman inched toward you until his hand rested on the hollow of your back. You didn’t flinch away, and after a moment you placed your temple to his shoulder.

He felt a feeling of overwhelming relief as he took the chance at creeping his nimble fingers toward your waist, to gain better traction to turn you into his chest. You went easily and willingly, and nuzzled your nose into the hollow of his throat in the way that he loved and longed for on lonely nights in Pennsylvania.

Roman held your waist tight with one hand and brush your hair away from your neck to trace tender lines up and down your vertebrae. He felt a tremor quake through your body and smiled. He continued his ministrations until the doors opened to reveal the floor you were both staying on.

You let Roman lead you to his suite with no hesitation and let him worship your body for a majority of the night. And later, you let him feed you ice cream in a hot tub and you let him snuggle your naked form so he could go to sleep.

Indulging in Roman Godfrey always had its bitterness, but as he laid sleepy kisses across the expanse of your skin, you thought made the sweetness was worth it.

[wlntrsldler]

Chérie (Bucky Barnes Imagine)

yoncexl submitted:

Can I have a enemies to lovers with Bucky? Pleaseee where y/n is a sunshine and Bucky a grumpy old man tysm 💖💖

Anonymous said:

64 from the prompt list w Bucky? hehe love u (“I think your cat wants to kill me.”)

PROMPT: Bucky doesn’t understand why Y/N is always so happy. He never thought he would be one of the people who got entranced by her until he was. 

Warnings: fluff, some language

Song: Cherry by Harry Styles

-

Sure, maybe Bucky was being irrational. It wasn’t like he meant to be annoyed by your bubbly personality but how could someone be so goddamn happy all the time? 

Clearly there were more things to complain about and mourn than there was to celebrate. You were in the midst of a pandemic, Steve came back as a wrinkly old man, you lost two good friends, the world was burning to ashes and yet, here you were. Happy as a peach.

You squealed loudly, interrupting a napping Bucky in the common room, after ripping open the 70th package (It was more like 4th package but Bucky liked to exaggerate) you received in the mail. He opened his left eye, wanting to revert back to the moments before your arrival when there was peace and quiet. He saw you stare fondly at the new record you just bought. Another pop album, he assumed. That’s all you ever listened to.

“Do you mind?” He huffed, twisting his body to face you. His eyes were now wide open, unable to return to his peaceful slumber. “Some of us are sleeping.”

Bucky knew he didn’t really have a right to be mad at you. He had his own room to take naps in and he could easily just walk over and do just that. He just liked giving you attitude, hoping you’d return it one day. But that day was not today.

“Sorry,” You blushed, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Just got carried away. Look what I got.”

Bucky’s expression remained cold. It was a sight to see, really. The young, bright, and cheerful expression on your face. The wide smile traveling from your lips to the crinkles by your eyes. Your head was peeking up above the large record in your hand. 

And then there was Bucky. Big and built, hair in disarray, with his lips pressed in a thin line. His arms were crossed on his chest, biceps prominent. He stared at you with a blank expression, counting the seconds before you finally retreated the record you shoved in his face. 

“I wanted to get the limited edition one but that was sold out.”

Harry Styles: Fine Line, he read the tag on the corner of the plastic. The name was familiar. He remembered it displayed on the car radio in the last mission you two shared. Bucky remembered the loud, off-key, singing of you and Peter in the backseat of the car, as he sat beside a driving Sam. Sam wasn’t a fan of the music but he was a fan of seeing Bucky’s irritated expression so he let you and Peter control the music for the four hour drive back. 

It was hell. 

You finally removed the record from his space and admired it. You sighed in adoration, clutching the disk close to your heart. You began to pick up the scraps of delivery papers that littered the floor and started walking towards your bedroom. 

Finally, Bucky sighed in content, some peace and quiet.

Just as a small smile started to form on Bucky’s face while he started to get comfortable again on the couch, a faint noise was heard from down the hall. He groaned loudly, grabbing one of the couch cushions to cover his ears. Of course you’d play it the minute you got it to your record player. 

It didn’t fully drown out the noise in the background, irritating Bucky some more. So much for sleep.

He wouldn’t ever admit it to your face but your music wasn’t that bad. 

-

“Uhhh, Buck?” You questioned from behind him. He rolled his eyes, earning a slap on the arm from Sam. Be nice, that’s what his look told Bucky. “I think your cat wants to kill me.”

“That means I taught him well.” Bucky muttered under his breath. A part of him didn’t want you to hear it, but he secretly hoped you did. 

“Dude.” Sam smacked him behind his head.��“Really?”

You laughed wholeheartedly, emerging from the kitchen with Alpine in your arms. “Never mind, he just wanted me to pick him up.”

Bucky’s eye twitched upon seeing you cuddle with his pet. He wasn’t necessarily jealous, per se, he was just aggravated that everyone and everything seemed to love you. It was like they all gravitated towards you and he didn’t understand why. 

Okay.. maybe he did. You were a good person. Nearly perfect, even. But that’s why Bucky didn’t like you. There was no way someone could ever be that perfect. 

Firstly, it wasn’t really fair. Nobody should ever be this like-able. Or kind. Or funny. Or pretty. Or strong. Or passionate. Or fucking perfect. It was really just unfair.

Secondly, Bucky knew he had some problems. He knew he didn’t really think much like everyone else. Sam called him mentally unstable for not being able to be civil with you, more than a few times, and Bucky actually agreed. Had he met you before all of this happened, he would’ve liked you. Hell, he may have even had a crush on you because back then he was like you. He was hopeful, the “glass half-full” type of person. But after everything that happened in his life, he changed. He just didn’t get how you managed to always look on the bright side even when the world was crumbling at your feet. 

It was Alpine’s purring that snapped him out of his thoughts. The cat was now rubbing against his calf after you put him down to exit the room. Bucky smiled softly at the cat that Steve got him a few weeks ago. Alpine licked Bucky’s metal hand a few times before making his way to his little cat bed in the common room. 

“You need to play nice.” Sam warned him, taking a sip from his coffee mug. “I still don’t get why you hate her so much.” 

“Something about her seems off to me.” Bucky shrugged, cleaning up his finished plates. That wasn’t necessarily a lie. “I don’t know.”

“No,” Sam replied, following Bucky’s actions. He dumped his plates on top of the ones in Bucky’s arms. “Something about you is off.”

He glared at his friend who was already halfway out of the room before he tried to call out for him to do his own dishes. Bucky accepted defeat and made his way to the kitchen to start washing the dishes. He saw your washed dishes placed neatly on the drying rack, clear that it had just been washed. He silently thanked you for always cleaning up after yourself. His eyes drifted to the pile of dirty plates that slowly accumulated from the Avenger’s breakfast festivities. Unlike the rest of them, he sighed. 

Bucky placed the plates down for a quick moment to retrieve his phone and airpods from his pockets. He unlocked it and searched through the Spotify app. He started to look at the rest of the Avenger’s playlist. For a special agent who valued confidentiality, you sure did want people to know exactly what you were listening to. Bucky learned to turn that feature off after Sam bullied him after he saw that Bucky was listening to the Hairspray soundtrack. 

His eyes locked at your Spotify playlist. Hmm, he thought, why not? Bucky pressed at the familiar title of the album the link took him to. He inserted the airpods in his ears and hit shuffle. 

The songs made the chore of cleaning up after the Avengers a little less tedious. 

-

You were silently reading the new book that came in your subscription box on the balcony of the tower. Nothing could be heard for miles besides the sounds of nature and the faint noise of cars passing by the highways. 

Most of the team had gone out to get dinner but you opted to stay in and get caught up with your book. A blanket was draped carelessly over your legs, shielding your bare legs from the cold. You turned the page, your thumb finding its way between your lips. It was a habit you could never seem to break. You did it subconsciously, especially when you were deep in thought or extremely focused on something. 

You were engrossed in your book, not hearing the knocking that came from the other side of the balcony door. Bucky looked at you from behind the clear, sliding door. He squinted trying to read the cover of the book you were reading. It was different from the one he saw you reading a month ago. Your ability to read and finish books quickly intrigued him since he was someone who could never sit in a chair without fidgeting, much less read a 300-something page book.

He realized he was staring for far too long. Bucky entered the balcony and cleared his throat, causing you to drop your book and look up at him. You offered a warm smile, “Hi, Buck. What’s up?”

“Me and Wanda are ordering in,” He explained, his eyes drifting to the cover of your book. Only Love is Real by Brian Weiss, he noted in his head. “Did you want anything?”

You pondered the question for a minute, “Maybe some fried chicken.”

“Okay sounds good,” He replied. “You should come in soon, it’s getting late.”

You looked around. It had gotten significantly darker than when you first came out. The lamp beside you that helps you with reading masked the sinking sun. “What time is it?”

Bucky pulled out his phone to check the time. You caught a glimpse of his lock screen, eyes growing wide when you noticed the too familiar song and album cover in the front. Cherry by Harry Styles. “9:21PM.”

He looked up to see you fighting back a small smile. His eyebrows furrowed, staring back at you. You noticed his worried look and immediately straightened up. “Thanks, Buck. I’ll come in soon.”

Bucky nodded and turned around to return back into the compound. You stayed quiet about what you saw but you couldn’t help the large smile overtaking your features. You’ll tease him about this one day, just not tonight.

You focused back on your book, your mind becoming one with the words on the page again. You spread out the blanket some more to cover your legs better and cuddled into the softness of the outdoor sofa. The sounds of the city was being drowned out, however, by the faint sounds of strings and the French voice of Camille Rowe.

-

“Y/N ordered another package.” Sam laughed, picking up the boxes left at their doorstep. “Oh, hold on a second.”

Bucky’s head perked up at Sam’s words knowing that there’s going to be some teasing that will follow. The mundane boxes were almost, always yours. You were the only one in the tower who liked to spend your money on things like clothes, accessories, and sometimes snacks. The rest of the team just ordered it from Stark Industries and it would magically appear in their compound in less than 24 hours. 

“Did you order something from Ebay, Barnes?”

He snatched the box from Sam, grunting in response to his question. “Isn’t it a federal offense to go through people’s mail?”

“No, it’s a federal offense to open people’s mail. There’s a difference.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and brought the package to his room. Once the door was shut, he let himself smile at the brown box in his hands. He sat down on his bed and started unwrapping it. His eyes glossed over the vinyl record. Limited Edition, the sticker on the corner stated. It was the one you told him about.

Maybe it did dent his bank account more than he would have liked it to but he knew you would love it. He was just sitting in his bedroom and he heard you quietly sobbing, a few nights ago. If he didn’t have super-soldier hearing he would’ve definitely missed it. It was quiet but it was there. 

The familiar tune of Cherry played from your record player. Bucky sat up in his bed, not knowing if he should come in and comfort you. It was the way that you halted your sobs, to make yourself more discrete, when the song ended, that broke his heart into pieces. He couldn’t stop himself from getting up his bed and walked over to the room beside him. 

Before he could knock, he stopped himself. What would he even say to you? He just stood there in front of your bedroom door, not knowing what to do next. He hasn’t necessarily been the kindest to you, even when all you’ve been was pleasant. He really didn’t have the right to even try to comfort you. 

He sighed sadly and retreated back to his bedroom.

So now here he was, three days after that night, with the vinyl you’ve wanted for a while, that he paid extra for expedited shipping for. Bucky dusted off the plastic covering of the vinyl and made his way to your room. His plan was to place it on your bed and walk away, he wasn’t expecting you to be there. You were supposed to be on a mission.

Bucky’s eyes widened, frantically hiding the vinyl behind his back. Your eyebrows furrowed, looking at him confused. “What are you doing here, Buck?”

“I thought you were out.”

“Decided to stay in. What are you doing here?” You asked again. “Not that I don’t enjoy your company and all, but I’m just curious.”

Of course, Bucky thought. Only you would be trying to assure him that you enjoy his company when he invaded your privacy by barging in your room. “I have something for you.”

Your eyes lit up at his words. You turned to face him on your bed, your legs criss-crossed. “You do?”

Bucky extended his arms out, showing you the vinyl that he got for you. You gasped, leaning over to touch it. Tears welled up in your eyes, words getting stuck in your throat. “I hope you like it.”

“Oh, Bucky,” You sighed, holding the vinyl by your chest. “I love it.” 

“I’m glad.” He said nervously, rubbing the back of his neck as he answered you.

“Why did you get this for me?”

“I heard you the other night,” He confessed, taking a seat beside you. “I heard you crying. I-I was gonna come in and try to comfort you but I don’t really have much expertise on that. Plus, I haven’t really been the nicest to you, I wouldn’t know where to start to try to make you feel better. Then I remembered you talking about this record. Music seems to make you happy, I think, so I bought it.”

You placed the vinyl safely beside you and engulfed Bucky in a tight hug. He was stiff for a few seconds, not knowing how to respond to such physical affection, but he later warmed up. His arms wrapped themselves around you, letting himself bury his face in the crook of your neck, smelling your sweet perfume. You heard him sigh under your touch and you started to wonder when was the last time he was held like this. 

“You’re amazing,” You murmured in his shoulder, pulling away. You kissed his cheek sweetly, a blush creeping up your cheeks once you saw the redness on his. “Thank you, Buck. I can’t explain how much this means to me.”

He smiled at you, genuinely. It was the first time he smiled at you without it being partnered with a smart, witty remark. It wasn’t sarcastic or anything, just pure fondness. “Anytime, Y/N.” 

You two just sat there staring at each other for a few moments before he cleared his throat and got up. “I should leave you to it. I know how you like to listen to records the minute you get them.”

Your heart swelled at his words. You never noticed how much he actually paid attention to you. “Wait, Buck. Do you wanna stay and listen to it with me?”

He took a look at you, staring up at him with hopeful eyes. He was silently hoping that you would ask him to stay but now that those words did leave your lips, all the life was winded right out of him. You liked his presence. He would be lying if he said he didn’t love yours. 

“Let’s see what all the hype is about.” He teased, taking a seat beside you again.

“Oh you’ll love it,” You smirked, remembering the time you saw that he was listening to the album on his phone. “He’s great.”

“I doubt it.”

You continued to fight off the goofy smile on your face as Bucky tried to act like he hasn’t listened to the album before. You looked at his expression when the familiar tune of Cherry started playing. You pretended to look away, getting on your phone to look busy. Your eyes looked up at Bucky who was discretely mouthing the words to the song. 

[amydancepants-peralta]

(maybe this time) I’ve hit a home run ⚾️♥️

(a one-shot inspired by @jamy-peraltiago‘s fandom challenge prompts, written in a flash of inspiration!) (x) 

*

“Okay, so run me through this one more time.”

Squinting against the sun; Jake turns towards his girlfriend of nine months, a frisson of joy running through him as he realises how seriously she’s taking the task in front of her.  “Fry first, then gummy worm.”  He demonstrates with a grin.  “Another fry, then dip the whole thing into the sundae, and enjoy.”

Amy shoots him a dubious look, following the instructions carefully and trying her very best not to cringe as she shoves the unnaturally colourful combination into her mouth.  From his position closely beside her, Jake grins, and vaguely he hears the commentator’s voice crackle through the speakers around them. 

Today he and Amy are attending a Mets v Phillies game at Citi Field - Amy’s first live baseball game ever - and once they’d made it to their seats, Jake had been eager to show her the combination of snacks that he has long since considered tradition.  “Amazing, right?”

Licking her lips, Amy reaches out to rest a hand on his leg, squeezing gently.  “Two things,” she begins, and Jake nods.  “First, I love you.  And second, please don’t ever make me eat that again.”

Incredulous, Jake lifts up the Peralta Combo in veneration.  “French fries, sour worms and ice-cream?  That’s the perfect combination of salty and sour and sweet, Ames!  It’s a culinary delight.  How can you not love it?”

Shaking her head, Amy takes a sip of beer to wash the taste away, and Jake leans in to kiss the remnants of froth from her upper lip.  “There is SO much sugar in that, babe.  If you ate a whole tray of that, I’m certain you would be able to hear colour and smell sound.”

“And who wouldn’t want that?!”  Tilting his head to the side, he grins.  “You know, I bet magenta has a real screech to it.”

“Definitely a high vibrato of some sort,” Amy nods, and he bends down for another kiss.  “But probably not something we’re ever meant to hear, you know?”  She winces, adjusting the tip of her baseball cap and craning her neck upwards.  “I’m sorry, babe.  I know it’s your favourite snack, but I don’t think I could stomach more of that.”

“Ames, it’s totally fine.  More for me, anyways.”  Giving a reassuring smile, he lowers his treats to the empty seat beside him and wraps his free arm around Amy’s shoulders.  “And I love you too, by the way.”

(It’s still a little exciting, finally being able to vocalise those three little words, and the way they both returned the sentiment so eagerly makes it all the better, every single time - rolling eyes from surrounding audiences be damned.)

The Phillies fans in the stadium cheer as Eickhoff's swing hits the ball with a heavy crack, and as Amy leans forward to watch the action Jake sneaks a peek at her expression, desperately curious to see if she was enjoying the game or not.  He’d been oddly anxious about today; worried that she wouldn’t feel the same thrum of anticipation amongst the crowd, or - even worse - that she’d find the whole thing ridiculous.  Baseball was something that had been a part of his life since he was old enough to remember, and while he wanted to share it with Amy, the fear of her not enjoying the game was stronger than he’d anticipated.  

But then he’d been waiting at his apartment earlier today, nervous as all hell, when she’d shown up in a newly purchased Mets jersey and sneakers that matched his own.  Stood in his kitchen with a proud smile, spouting out stats on some of his favourite players as he’d finished getting ready (all of which had clearly been recently researched); and he knows that this probably sounds ridiculously schmaltzy, but he swears he fell even more in love with her right there and then.  

Eickhoff stops his run at second base, eyeing off the Mets’ shortstop Cabrera as he lobs the ball back to the pitcher, and Amy joins in on the applause that litters the crowd.  “Shortstop - that’s what you used to play, right?” 

Jake nods, his eyes suddenly trained on a moment a few rows forward; watching as a young boy no older than six shares a joke with his father, meeting his offered high five with obvious glee.  “When I was in little league, yeah,” he mumbles as the nostalgia washes over him.  

There was a time when that would have been him; wearing his team jersey with pride as he ate too many hotdogs, laughing with Roger, riding high on his shoulders as they waded through the crowd on their way home.  When they were watching baseball, there weren’t screaming matches filtering through closed doors, or strange lingerie stuffed in-between carseats for him to ignore on the way to school.  At the stadium, it was just Jake and his Dad - a place where, for nine blissful innings, the rest of the world seemed to simply fade away.  

It had been mid-season and a month after Jake’s seventh birthday when Roger had walked away from it all, and now - much like the tin of baseball cards that Jake had stashed far to the back of a cupboard - the value of his memories are only sentimental (but priceless all the same).

Amy’s knee nudges against his thigh, and Jake’s met with a pair of beautifully gentle eyes when he turns towards her.  Her voice is soft as she asks him if he’s okay, and he adjusts the back of his own cap, running a hand along the base of his neck.  “Yeah, I’m fine.  Just … thinking.”

She nods, twisting in her seat and resting her elbow along the back of his.  “Did you keep playing after Roger left?”

Nodding, Jake leans back into his seat, fiddling with his hat again as the memory of sitting at Sal’s Pizza for hours after the game, just in case Roger might swing by, surfaces from the corner of his mind.  “Just for the rest of the season.  I guess for a while there, I had sorta convinced myself that he would be coming back any day now.  My plan was to just keep doing everything I normally did, so that when he did come back, it would almost feel like he’d never left.”  Amy’s hand falls onto the nape of his neck, sweeping slowly in soothing strokes, and he sighs, relaxing into her touch.  “But as the months went by, and the phone calls grew fewer, the idea of putting the uniform on again just seemed … I don’t know … wrong.”

Letting out a tiny hum of assent, Amy’s fingers card into the bottom of Jake’s hair.  “You still like watching the game, though?”

He nods again, a smile growing onto his face as he explained his mother’s insistence on taking him to games after Roger left.  “She’d never quite gotten a grip on the right terminology, and always cheered for both teams regardless of who was playing; but her enthusiasm was definitely contagious.”  It had worked incredibly well at reigniting the love Jake once had for the game, and over the years he’d branched out and watched matches with college buddies and friends from the academy alike.  

It was unexpected - but also so completely typical of dating someone like Amy - for today to be the day when all of his childhood memories came out in force.  “Sorry, babe.  I’m really dragging the vibe down here.  Maybe we should - mmmh - ” Jake’s last few words die in his mouth as his girlfriend presses her lips against his, the palm of her hand resting against his cheek in a kiss that he only knows as being quintessentially Amy.  

She smiles when they part, brushing away a stray lock of hair from his fringe.  “You don’t ever need to apologise for talking about your past, Jake.  I want to hear all of it, regardless of where we are.  If it matters to you, it matters to me.”

Mumbling another I love you, Jake draws Amy in for a longer kiss, hand wrapping around her waist and pulling away only when the crowd cheers at Herrera’s fly ball.  It was pretty amazing, how talking about memories with Amy rarely felt painful, and on days like today he has the strongest instinct that it’s largely because with her, he can already see his future taking shape.  

Leaning her body into his, Amy’s arm comes to rest comfortably on top of his upper thigh as she turns her attention back to the game in front of them, and softly she murmurs, “This is way better than watching the game in Manny’s living room.”

The sun feels warm against Jake’s skin as he links their fingers together, planting a kiss to the top of her baseball cap in silent agreement.  It was a beautiful day in a lot of ways - the Met’s current lead of 2-0 a fine example - and getting to spend it with Amy made it all the better.  

It’s at the bottom of the third inning that Amy twists away from Jake, rustling through her backpack before returning to her previous position and holding up a bag of nuts with unconstrained pride.  “I thought we might get snacky.”

“You really are the perfect woman.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls you bring here.”

Wrapping his hand around Amy’s wrist, Jake squeezes gently.  “Apart from my mom, and occasionally Gina, you’re the only girl I’ve brought here, Ames.”  It’s a small distinction, but one he feels is important to make, and the soft smile that Amy gives him in return reaffirms his instinct.  

She kisses his cheek, brushing her lips against his skin as she moves to whisper in his ear.  “Keep talking like that Peralta, and you’re going to see some solid third base action tonight.”  Another kiss, this time to the base of his earlobe.  “Maybe even a home run, once you see what I’ve got on underneath this jersey.”

(It’s an entirely new experience, trying to avoid getting an erection in a stadium while your girlfriend chuckles softly beside you - but one that Jake doesn’t totally hate, if only for the knowledge that the wait is going to be completely worth it.)

He’s fully reclined into his seat, one arm wrapped around Amy’s shoulders when the Kiss Cam pans onto them at the top of the fifth inning, breaking into laughter as he watches Amy’s face quickly turn a delightful shade of pink.  He’s still considering a humble peck to her cheek when she swivels in her seat, coiling her hand around his waist and pulling him in for an almost non-PG13 kiss before another moment can be wasted, and as the crowd cheers and Sixpence None The Richer plays in the background, Jake knows that he is totally, utterly and madly in love with the one and only Amy Santiago.    

There’s an oversized foam finger occupying Jake’s right hand, and his girlfriend’s fingers twisted around his left as they leave the field hours later, riding the high of another Met’s victory as they shuffle towards the exit.  He listens contentedly as Amy chatters excitably about the potential for statistical analysis of the game - something about sabermetrics that only makes him think of Star Wars - and it’s as they head towards the carpark that Jake finds himself completely distracted once more.

He watches as a family in front of them move along the footpath, both parents holding onto one hand each of their child as they swing from their parent’s arms, the overjoyed giggles filtering through the noise of a departing crowd as they bounce on and off the pavement.  

It’s the feeling of Amy’s hand in his, and the still unspoken assurance that both of them are in this for the long haul that allows Jake’s mind to wonder of the possibility of such a moment ever belonging to him.  He can almost see it: a chuckling toddler bounding between his and Amy’s arms, wearing their favourite jersey and singing the team song as they head home, just in time for bath and bed and some well-deserved Mommy and Daddy time (aka, falling asleep on the couch).  It’s a future so simplistic, but for the longest time seemed unthinkable, and Jake breaks out into a wide grin at the sheer notion that something so great as a lifetime with Amy could ever be more than just an unrequited dream.  

Amy’s hand squeezes his as they draw nearer to her car, her face growing curious as she looks up at Jake.  “What’s got you so smiley all of the sudden, Peralta?”

Shrugging nonchalantly, Jake hunches slightly to drop a quick kiss to Amy’s lips.  “I’ve just spent an afternoon in the sunshine with a beautiful woman beside me, watching my favourite team win.  There’s a lot of reasons to smile right there, babe.”

Resting her weight against her passenger door, Amy rests her hands on either side of Jake’s waist and looks up at him with an equally happy grin.  “Thank you for taking me here, Jake.  I loved every second of it.”  Lowering her grip slightly, she digs her fingers into his side in a request for closeness; and Jake bridges the gap for another kiss, letting both of them sink into it as the lack of surrounding strangers lends to a sense of privacy.  

The subtle scent of her perfume lingers over his senses as Jake pulls away, held closely still by Amy’s curled fingers around his belt loops, and he leans his forehead against hers.  “What was that you were saying earlier about hitting some bases tonight?”

He chuckles as she pushes him away with a gentle shove, giving him the Santiago wink (also known as a slow blink).  “How about we head back to my place and I show you what I mean, detective?”

The car fills up with laughter and the easy conversations of two best friends in love as Amy navigates them through the streets of Brooklyn - and as they head closer to home, Jake already knows that whatever the future may hold, with Amy by his side, they were going to knock it right out of the park.  

[morningstarinwinter]

The real story of Danique Winter

I can't remember, but I somehow ended up talking about my real headcanon story of Dani with Moonie and she said I should share it. I'm afraid at first, then I realized no one cares to read it anyway lol so I will write about it.

It was the reason that I didn't finish her profile because when I entered the fandom, everyone is the mc and kinda stick to the plot.

First of all Danique is not the mc in the game. She isn't the one who has to enter the cursed vault shet. Because :

I don't like heroic character, help everyone and save the day? No. Not my cup of tea.

It gave me too much Gryffindor, which I don't like that😂

I wanted her to have relationship with her older brother because his character and the death of her mother, he is very protective of her. He will never leave her like the real Jacob. Speaking of him his real middle name is Deloy and the meaning of his name, Rasalas, is the northern star of the lion head (the constellation Leo)

Soooo she is just a friend of mc (a girl), which I just used my other oc to be them😂. Danique met them in year 1 because Rasalas knew her brother (they are Gryffindor) so he protects mc from the curious students since he has big bro energy. Dani and her then became friend, but she didn't enter the vault till year 3 because of her protective brother (They are 5 years apart so she did it when he graduated).

She is not an extrovert and full of positive energy, just somehow became friends with the canon characters because of mc🤣 And yeah, they are only her friends. In this canon, she is both a quidditch player and prefect. Because of her kickass and protective over bullied students, Professor Sprout then came and asked her to be one. My girl is too tired here so the now canon, she is not😂 About quidditch player, she is a chaser, but gained the role in year 2. (Because I want big bro and lil sis fought against each other in matches🤣)

Anddd she has 2 other handsome boi by her side! (Didn't think of the names too since they have a bit of role here😂)

The first one has Dani's mom as a godmother. He is a Slytherin and 4 years older than her, 1 year younger than Ras. He is a French pureblood boy and a prefect. Acting like Dani's brother, he always fight with Ras, the real one, that he took care of Dani better than him (Nerd vs Jock, also Sly vs Gryff🤣)

The second one is the son of her dad's bff. He is 3 years older than her and studied at Durmstrang. His dad is a former curse breaker which now works at Romanian Dragon Sanctuary. Dani spend time there when she was young (after her mom died) while her dad is at work. She has the portkey to here at her house, so when her dad finished his work, he went there to pick her up. This also the reason why Bill and Charlie are in her closest friend list. She took them, mc and Barnaby there in the summer break at year 5. So Charlie can meet the dragons and Bill will take about curse breaking with her dad's bff and his son, which he also wanted to be the curse breaker, also share their knowledge from both schools.

Back to the main story, Dani help mc with the vault and almost die in year 6. Her protective dad then sent her to study at IIvermorny. She graduated and became an auror there. Just at the beginning of the war, she came back and fought with the Order.

About the relationship with Barnaby ;

My headcanon about Barnaby is that he is not that naive. What did you expect the one who lives in that kind of family? To be that pure bean?...I mean, I thought he had been taught to be the proper person like other pureblood familes. JC made him to be too dumb, smh. (Now beat me Barnaby stan) I don't know how to describe him in my canon, but he seems to be less puppy or innocent bean. He still be a cute pure boy, but less and a bit quiet preserved boy. Like, he did that only with his friends.

Dani and Barn became friends in year 2. She just somehow found him stuggle with some assignment and help him. They usually met at the black lake and took care of the creatures together. She has a crush on him in year 4, but didn't make a move. Meanwhile Barnaby liked her since year 2, but noticed that fact in year 3 at the vault. He is the one who asked her to go to the celestial ball with him. And after that Dani just freaked out and avoided him (she also did that in Artenique😂) because she is a shy ass and doesn't sure that Barnaby really likes her or just because they are in a good term and he is just mixed up the feeling. He then came to her and yeah, they ended up together.

At year 6 when she almost died, she didn't tell him about the exchange at Ilvermorny. She doesn't want him to wait for her and better let him have a relationship with other than a long distance one. (No, I just wanted an angst okay?)

They met again at The Leaky Cauldron after 5 years. Danique in short hair, sitting at the counter alone, was being flirted by some drunk wizard. Barnaby helpped the girl and found out to be his first love. She apologized to him and they became friends again. After Harry killed Voldy aka the war ended, they were there and he asked her if they can be together again since he still loves her. And the story end here, they have 3 kiddos which are....

Didn't think of their names but ;

The first born is the cute Hufflepuff boi

The second one is sass Slytherin, threaten someone with cold smile

The last one is shy Gryffindor bc why not?

That's all. If you read till the end, thank you so much for interesting in my silly idea *bow*