#how many drawings can I make of these two being inexcusably soft?

[whentommymetalfie]

"I'm happy you're home."

"So am I, sweetheart."

.....

Aka the one where Alfie comes home from a long business trip and Tommy is clingy and sleepy and very happy to see him. Featuring the yellow knitted jumper and fuzzy socks.

[whythinktoomuch]

Something’s wrong. 

Kara can tell the moment she steps into Andrea’s office because Andrea’s avoiding her gaze. And pacing. And fidgeting, meticulously tugging at her own fingers before dropping her hands away altogether with a sharp exhale. 

Andrea was uncertain and nervous, her entire body riddled with unease, and something so clearly had to be wrong. 

“What is it? What happened?” Kara hisses, her shoulders already squaring, ready to be draped by a red cape at a moment’s notice. 

Andrea’s cheeks swiftly lose all color and her heart starts pattering just a tiny bit faster, but her scoff sounds just as natural as ever when she says, “Nothing happened, Kara.” 

“Okay...” Kara crosses her arms, her frown unassuming though unconvinced. “Why did you call me in here then?” 

A darkened scowl tugs at Andrea’s sharp features, her jaw clenching tight and determined. But the moment quickly passes without consequence, and Andrea’s shoulders eventually drop, and she draws back every so slightly. “Just... wanted to make sure you were working.” 

Kara stares, bewildered. “Well, I was.” 

“Good,” Andrea says flatly. “Get back to it then.” 

“All right,” Kara says, her abject curiosity thoroughly unsatisfied. “I’ll go do that.” 

She can feel Andrea’s stare burning a hole into her back as she leaves the office. 

—

Kara notices her right away. It’s impossible not to, even with her senses slightly dulled by the pleasant buzz that could only come from consuming an exorbitant amount of Chinese food in one sitting. 

The sight is unexpected, but not unwelcome, and there’s no point in trying to convince her heart otherwise. So, even though she shouldn’t, Kara can’t help herself as she bursts into Andrea’s office, her heart thundering and stuttering in her ears in equal measure. 

“What are you doing here?” she demands, the question cutting through the air, sharp and splintering.  

Lena barely looks up, hands still carelessly sifting through the various documents spread across Andrea’s desk, her expression somehow bored. As if she had any right to be there. To disrupt Kara’s entire life with a simple look. “What does it look like I’m doing?” 

“Andrea’s not here,” Kara informs her coldly, and Lena just rolls her eyes so heavily, never pausing in her task. And, well, it’s unfair. “Lena, you can’t just—”

“Really?” Andrea’s clipped tone rings out as she stomps into the room. “You’re just going to show up like you—what—own the place?” 

Lena flashes a smirk, her shrug small yet utterly self-satisfied. “Well, you weren’t exactly answering my calls, babe.” 

Andrea’s scowl deepens considerably. “Get out.” 

“Fine...” Lena sighs, tucking a small flashdrive into her pocket. “Already found what I came for anyway.” 

She saunters out, but not without throwing one last look over her shoulder. A frown, apparently, for Kara’s benefit. Her eyebrow raised in such a pointed fashion that it must mean something. 

It twists at Kara’s stomach, already swirling unhappily in the wake of Lena’s perfume. 

Kara quickly glances back at Andrea, who was now taking her seat at her desk with a weary sigh. “Was that something important? Do you need me to get it back for you?” 

“It’s fine,” Andrea says, waving her hand dismissively. “You can go too.” 

Kara blinks, taken aback. “Andrea, I work for you, so if you need me to—”

“Yes! You do,” Andrea all but snaps, cutting Kara off with an icy glare. “And I’m telling you to get out of my office.” 

After a prolonged, teetering moment of holding her tongue, Kara just shakes her head in disbelief. “You’re the boss,” she mutters, fastidiously reminding herself to not slam the door on her way out. 

//

It’s been a long day of putting out literal fires all over downtown for Supergirl, and Kara’s tired, covered head to toe in soot, and in desperate need of a hot shower and a warm bed. And so, it’s only natural that she hears a bona fide emergency unfolding on her way home. 

The unsavory combination of a distinct click of a hammer being pulled back and a panicked wait! has Kara hurtling straight for L-Corp without a second thought. Within seconds, she has her cape thrown up and over Andrea’s trembling form, bullets ricocheting uselessly off the heavy fabric. 

Tugging Andrea close to her chest, Kara throws her cape aside in a sharp flourish, and blows out a gust of freeze breath that scatters the gunmen like veritable dominoes. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Kara can’t help but demand, her tone verging on the more exasperated side of incredulity. “Why are you snooping around Lena’s office?” 

Andrea snorts. “I wasn’t snooping,” she says in a slight sneer, and the wave of whiskey hits Kara as a solid wall of sickly sweet because, oh, Andrea was so very clearly and oh so thoroughly drunk. “I was just... well, it doesn’t matter. Just let go of me.” 

Kara backs off, shaking her head. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Lena right now, but whatever it is, you need to fix it. Fast. Because it almost got you killed tonight.” 

“They weren’t after me,” Andrea says, rolling her eyes. “They were after Lena. I just happened to be here, and well, collateral damage, I suppose.” 

“But you would have died just the same. How are you not getting that? You could have died, Andrea, and—” 

“Stop,” Andrea snaps, her eyes wild, yet terribly, terribly focused. “You don’t have to do this. I’m not some pathetic damsel in distress like your precious little Lena. I don’t need—”

The next thing Kara knew, Andrea’s staring up at her, mouth slightly agape, her delicate wrist somehow encased in Kara’s tight grasp. “Never... talk about Lena like that,” she gets out between painfully gritted teeth, and Andrea’s breath falters in a half-hearted scoff. “She’s a friend. Mine and yours, and she’s the most...” 

A pained whimper tumbles from Andrea’s lips and stops Kara cold, and she promptly snatches her hand back, cheeks burning furiously in realization and shame. 

Andrea rubs at her wrist, where Kara’s grip remains readily apparent, an inexcusable brand of angry pink and slight bruising. “A friend,” she repeats, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Right.” 

“I’m sorry...” Kara reaches out instinctively, her heart sinking with heavy regret, but Andrea flinches away from her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you...” She sighs and backs off even more with a ducked head. “Listen, just go home, okay? Take care of yourself.” 

With one last apologetic nod, Kara grabs the pair of still unconscious, would-be assassins by their shirt collars and takes off into the air, desperately fighting off the inevitable guilt still hanging over her as she flies over to the nearest police station. 

// 

When she hears the persistent knock at her door, Kara wastes no time super-speeding out of her bed and right to the door in question. Because it’s practically four in the morning, and anyone knocking at her door at four in the morning has to be having an emergency of some sort or another. 

But even so, it comes as a complete shock when Andrea ends up being the person standing on the other side of the door. 

“Andrea?” Kara blinks, the exhaustion slipping off her bones as bewilderment settles in its stead. But Andrea hardly seems to notice, shoving her way into Kara’s apartment like she belongs there. “... How did you know where I live?” 

“What the hell is your deal with Lena?” Andrea says, whirling around in a fury, and it’s immediately evident that she was somehow even drunker now than she had been at L-Corp. “Why are you so fucking obsessed with her anyway?” 

Kara’s jaw drops in outright disbelief. “I—ex-cuse me?” she sputters out. “You show up to my house in the middle of the night to interrogate me about Lena, and I’m the one obsessed with her?” 

“You’re changing the subject,” Andrea says, words sliding out of her mouth careless and slurred. “I’m just asking a simple little question, and all I need is a simple little answer, so if you would just please get—”

“It’s none of your business.” 

Andrea blinks. Then blinks again. Then stares. 

“It’s... none of your business how I feel about Lena,” Kara says with a defiant shrug. “Or anything about us really, okay? Just try to focus on your own issues with her, and stop making everything so messy and complicated.” She then shakes her head, sighing. “This is all highly inappropriate, by the way. You’re my boss, Andrea. You can’t be drunkenly berating me about personal matters like this. Like, at my apartment? This late?” 

“So, you meant it then?” Andrea asks softly. 

“Meant... what?” 

“What were you going to say?” Andrea asks instead, now tugging at her sleeve, rubbing insistently at the imprint that Kara’s hand had left around her wrist. “Before you stopped yourself, what were you going to say about Lena?” 

Kara’s stomach drops, the implications behind Andrea’s simple line of questioning striking her where she stands, where she lives. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about...” She goes to adjust her glasses, but her hand closes around empty air, and Kara’s already made so many mistakes today since getting out of bed this morning, and yet somehow, it seems that she’s made even more just in the last five minutes. 

“Don’t be like that,” Andrea says, pressing closer, looking up at Kara so earnestly that Kara’s ears start to burn, as if in solidarity. “Just tell me.” 

Kara forces a laugh, eyes darting helplessly around her sparse living room. “She’s just... really important to me, okay? Happy now?” 

“Even with everything going on between you two?” 

“Well, yeah. Nothing’s ever going to change how I feel about—”

Kara’s cut off as Andrea’s lips crash against hers. 

All higher brain function snuffs out, and Kara freezes in place. She can barely process the firm press of Andrea’s mouth, soft lips moving against her own slowly yet insistently, the bittersweet taste of whiskey spreading across her tongue... 

Then Kara grabs Andrea’s shoulders, shoving her at arm’s length with a strangled gasp. “What are you doing? You can’t—Andrea, you’re drunk!” 

“I’m... not.” Andrea sighs, almost resigned, and Kara could almost laugh out of sheer incredulity. Or maybe hysteria. Perhaps both. 

“Um, yes, you are. I can literally taste the whiskey off your breath,” Kara says, before abruptly coughing and shaking her head. “I mean, smell. I can smell the... you know, the whiskey...” 

“No,” Andrea growls, her eyes growing sharp, alert. “I’m not... Andrea.” 

Kara takes a step back, her entire face scrunching into a deeply perplexed frown. 

She studies the face staring back at her. The sharp features, the pouting red lips and the jagged scar across the brow, all deeply familiar and completely at odds with the assertion that had just spilled forth from those very same lips. 

But Kara wills herself to look harder, to look past the obvious, and meets the insistent gaze before her head-on. Her heart pounds painfully in her chest, somehow recognizing the eyes before her brain can even catch up. 

They’re the wrong color, but it’s the very same softened expression that had accompanied the words that still drift into Kara’s awareness at the most inconvenient moments. 

I know you believe that everything is good...

Kara swallows hard.

And kind...

She blinks and shakes her head, but it clears up absolutely nothing for her. 

And that is one of the things I love about you. 

Kara holds her breath, and dares to venture, to believe, to hope. 

“... Lena?”

[missameliep]

Somewhere In Time - Desire & Decorum (Modern/Time Travel AU)

Book: Desire and Decorum Pairing: Prince Hamid x Elizabeth Foredale (OC) Characters: Elizabeth (OC); Prince Hamid; Briar Daly; Edmund Marlcaster; Earl of Edgewater (Vincent); Maria (OC); Dowager Countess Dominique; Countess Henrietta; Annabelle Parsons; Harry Foredale. Rating: M  Warnings: mentions to death (non-descriptive); minor characters’ death. Word count: 8k

Summary: If you had the chance to fix the past and allow someone else’s happiness at the possible expense of your own future, would you do it? Elizabeth faces this dilemma when she wakes up one morning and realizes she is no longer in 2019. How will her actions impact the future?

Notes:  * All characters belong to PixelBerry, except OCs. * English is not my first language. * This is my submission to CFWC Nerd Week - Prompt: Day 2 - Time Travel. Thank you for hosting this event @choicesficwriterscreations​ and congratulations on the blog’s 1st anniversary!

December 24th, 2019.

Calmness had settled over Edgewater manor.

Marking the passage of the hours, a centuries old pendulum clock stands like an imposing guard at the foyer, ticking regularly, reminding time do not stand still. The smaller hand points at eleven. Ticktock. And the bigger one approaches the three.

One could mistake that for any ordinary night and even forget Christmas would be celebrated the next day, if not for the greenery and fairy-lights from the elegant decorations and the persistent smell of cinnamon from the rabanadas[1] Elizabeth prepared with Briar and Mrs Daly’s aid and were eagerly devoured by some and eyed with suspicious or disgust by others – and by others I mean Countess Henrietta, Elizabeth’s step mother.

Once, Christmas’s Eve used to be more festive at the manor with friendly gatherings, singing and children’s anxiously inspecting the pile of presents under the decorated tree at the drawing room, guessing the contents of the boxes wrapped in colourful papers and tied with perfect bows. However, those days are in the past and the Earl of Edgewater’s daughter never partake in any of those joyous celebrations for a myriad of inexcusable reasons.

Except for the two couples at the living room, cosily snuggling in blankets, everyone else had retreated to their rooms after dinner. Most of the staff was dismissed by the Earl to celebrate the holidays with their own families, and the few employers working that day were given the night off. Only the Countess complained about it. For Elizabeth and Hamid, this was a chance to have the kitchen entirely to themselves.

Before the four started binge-watching Outlander, Elizabeth prepared popcorn and brigadeiro[2] with her boyfriend’s help, which consisted mostly of handing packages and distracting her with teasing kisses on her neck while she stirred the mixture in the pan and begging to taste it despite being too hot. On their turn, Briar and Edmund took all the time in the world retrieving bags of chips and cans of soda and beer from the pantry next doors.

The soft yellow glow from the fairy lights of one of the many Christmas’s trees decorating the house was the only other source of light besides the television. A bowl of popcorn on her lap, Elizabeth has her eyes glued at the large screen, despite having watched the series before. Amused, Hamid throws an arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer. The woman smiles and nestles on his chest, earning a kiss on the top of her head.

“How do you like it?” she asks him softly.

“The series?” Hamid says, “It’s good.”

“I cannot believe you guys never watched Outlander…”

“Better late than never…” Briar says and leans closer to Elizabeth, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone, “By the way, does it make me a horrible person that I was totally turned on by that whipping scene?”

Elizabeth chuckles at the unexpected remark, but the man massaging Briar’s feet is not as amused.

“I’m right here, baby,” Edmund complains.

Scooting closer, Briar wraps her arms around his neck and kisses his cheek.

“I love you, Eddie, and no one else, but I have functioning eyes. Just like you.” The blonde’s eyebrows raise almost reaching his hairline, at the knowing look his fiancée’s throw at him.

A chuckle rumbled into Hamid’s chest, and Elizabeth playfully shoves more popcorn into his mouth before he can say anything, and the others’ hushed conversation soon die down replaced by remarks about the series’ plot.

“Can you imagine how cool it would be going back in time like Claire?” Briar asks excitedly.

“Not cool at all,” Elizabeth replies. “Why would I go back to a time when there was no potable water or basic sanitation? People did not know about germs.”

“People smelled,” Edmund adds.

“Don't forget the rotten teeth,” Hamid points at his white smile before retrieving a spoonful of brigadeiro.

“No heating.”

“No antibiotics or vaccines.”

“Gosh! You guys are no fun!” Briar raises her hands in the air with exasperation. “How can you not see how amazing this experience can be? She can prevent horrible things from happening!”

Without missing a beat, Edmund states, “Two words: butterfly effect.”

“I need more elaboration on that, Eddie…”

“It’s a theory. Changing one event in the past, even a small one, can impact the future and even erase people’s existence. And it doesn't necessary mean whatever she is doing will make the future better.”

“And sometimes an isolated fact seems bad on its own,” Hamid pondered, “but it actually is part of a greater picture and contributes to other events and the overall consequences are positive.”

“True. Without World War II there wouldn’t be the United Nations nor lots of treaties on Human Rights,” Elizabeth adds, “I remember a passage from one of Hannah Arendt’s books when she was analysing the –” Elizabeth stops talking, acknowledging Hamid’s grin and the adoration in his eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I love when you talk nerd.”

Hamid kisses the tip of her nose, and she giggles. The faint light concealed the way her cheeks still blush at his attention.  

Another episode starts and the group shares impressions about the impacts of Claire in the past.

“Will she make it?” Briar whispers her question to Elizabeth.

“If I tell you that, I’ll spoil the show… for you and everyone else.”

“Alright,” she concedes and looks around. “I can’t believe you guys wouldn’t risk changing anything to make the present better…”

“I have played many games and watched many movies to consider that a good idea,” Edmund states.

“Lizzy mentioned World War II… Picture this: someone goes back in time and prevent Hitler from killing all those people. Imagine the lives that could have been saved! Is it not worth the try? Even if things get a little messy…”

“You mean killing Hitler?”

“There’s plenty of ways to stop him without actually killing him, Eddie…”

“The time traveller could help him become a successful artist. Maybe he would be less frustrated and murderous… Who knows?” Hamid suggests with an amused smile.

“See!” Briar says grinning. “An easy solution. No murder. Totally doable. Just buy the man’s crap paintings and no war.”

“And what about the others?” Elizabeth ponders, “Hitler never acted alone… and there was Mussolini too… and all the others… it was not a one man’s thing.”

“Alright, maybe we need to work some more on this one…” Briar sipped the beer and started over. “But consider this, don’t you think it would be amazing to help at least one person. I bet Lizzy’s great-grandma would be pleased if someone helped her with that Duke thing… With our knowledge we could totally prevent her from getting engaged to that git and it would not blow on our faces!”

Elizabeth gnawed at her thumbnail, pondering. “Maybe time travelling could work in particular situations like that… What you think?” she asked, looking at Hamid, but it was Edmund who spoke up.

“If Lady Clara does not get engaged to the Duke,” Edmund points out, “she would not learn about his schemes. Therefore, she would not prevent the coup he was orchestrating… Which means there is a chance he and his group could overthrow the monarchy in the end… Imagine all the outcomes.”

Hamid agrees. “And perhaps, changing that, Lady Clara and the Prince could marry earlier, and could have other children, affecting the Foredales’ offspring and Liz could not be here now.”

“Oh! I do not like that alternative!”

“Neither do I,” Hamid agrees and kisses her hand.

“Alright. Got it. Not messing with Lizzy’s great-grandma either… But I still think there are things we can change that could make things better and not erase our friends or blow up the entire world,” Briar mused.

“I think we should focus on the present,” Hamid muses, “That’s the only time that actually exists and when we can improve the future…”

“You’re so wise sometimes, meu amor[3]…”

“I know.”

“Baby, can we go to bed?” Edmund says softly, nuzzling against Briar’s neck. “I’m tired and Christmas’s day always starts very early in the morning. Despite us all being adults, lady grandmother still expects us to get together and open presents… And did I mention I’m tired?”

“I hope not too tired,” she teases, and he whispers something unintelligible that makes her laugh.

Switching off the television, the group bid goodnight, and each couple withdraws to their chambers.

After brushing her teeth, Elizabeth changed into her pyjamas, while Hamid was lying in bed, playing a game on his mobile. His eyes followed her, lost in her thoughts, slowly walking back to the room. The contemplative look he was too familiar with.

When she pulled the covers to get into the bed with him, he smiled at her and immediately put the mobile away.

“You don’t have to stop,” she says softly, kissing his cheek.

“I was just killing time until you came...” He tilted his face, capturing her lips for a kiss. “And I’d much rather do this!” When she smiled against his lips, his mouth trailed a path down her neck. His warm breath giving her goosebumps.  

“Are you enjoying your first Christmas?”

His response was a hum against her sweet-scented skin.

“I have brought you a present. It’s under the tree.”

“Really?” Her voice raised with surprise, and her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “What is it?”

“You’ll see it in the morning.”

“Please…”

Still peppering kisses on her collarbone, he mouthed, “No.”

“Why did you have to say it? Now I’m curious and won’t stop thinking about it...”

“I’m confident I can provide a better distraction to your mind…” His hands travelled down her body and a soft pleased moan escaped her lips.

“So, I was wondering, do you think there are things we can change about our past that would not impact other people’s lives?”

His head tilted up and his dark eyes met hers. “Your dirty talking is getting weirder…”

She chuckled, and her fingers delved into his soft dark hair.

“Indulge me,” she pleaded, with the puppy eyes he cannot resist.

Hamid pondered for a moment until a playful smile curled the corners of his mouth.

“Our past shameful haircuts.”

“What?”

“Think about it. Fixing horrible hairstyles can’t possibly have lasting results other than improving ones’ own life and confidence... Imagine going back and helping your past self, preventing revolting nicknames that would follow you for years… It would be worthy telling ten-year-old Hamid to not let Hande cut his hair. One Youtube video is not enough to turn a girl with a scissor into an accomplished hairstylist, despite what that girl with the purple hair said.”

“Your ten-year-old self was already too cute and self-confident,” Elizabeth says, caressing his cheek. “That bad hair-cut was essential to help build your character.”

Both laughed at their silliness for a while, until Hamid gave in to his curiosity.

“So, what are you thinking about changing?”

“Why do you think I want to change anything?”

“Because I know you, hayatım[4],” he replies, propping an elbow and looking her straight in the eyes. The green eyes he adores. “Is it a test you want a do over?”

She hits his arm playfully. “My life is more than my studies… you know that.”

“Is it about me?” he teases, “I know you wanted to kiss me that day in my flat…”

She propped on her elbow too and faced him. “I wanted to kiss you many days in your flat, Hamid…”

“Ooh! Miss Foredale, that’s quite a revelation!” he quips, “But not grand enough to avoid my question…”

“Well… If I could, I would have been honest with my father. About my mother’s disease. I thought I was doing the right thing, but now I regret not telling…” she says, voice cracking while she blinked away the tears blurring her vision, “If I were given a do over, I’d do that… I would give them the chance. Maybe they could have been happy.”

“Even if it could impact your own future?”

The tips of her fingers traced random shapes up and down Hamid’s shirt, while she organized her thoughts and formulated an answer.  

“I guess so… And… I don’t know… Maybe there could be a way to save Harry too…”

The flow of emotions completely blurred her vision, before the tears streamed down her cheek, and she averted her gaze. Immediately, Hamid pulled her flush to his chest, whispering soft comforting words against her hair. Despite her silence, he was aware the holidays prompted her to revisit too many memories, and the conversations earlier were just the last straw...

“I’m sorry. That’s silly. I’m being silly –”

“You are not,” he assures, and she sniffs.

“– I should not be sad over this…”

With her palms, she wipes the tears from her eyes.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine…” She lied through her teeth, and tries to change the topic of conversation from herself, “Would you change anything? Besides your hair?” 

“About my past? Never. All I am, all I did made me who I am and brought me here and to you, so no. I’m absolutely satisfied with my life.”

They went silent for a moment, and Elizabeth nestled on his chest, while Hamid stroked her curly hair.

“Do you think we would have fallen in love if we met under different circumstances, Hamid?”

“If I was to live a thousand lives, I would fall in love with you in each and every single one of them.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. My heart would just know you were out there, and I would travel the entire world to find you.”

“Aww that’s sweet…”

“That’s the truth.”

The light filtering through the curtains invaded the room and her dreams. Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered open, and she flinched at the unexpected brightness for a winter’s morning.

A few seconds and realization dawned on her.

“Oh, no! We overslept!” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “Grandma will be so angry.”

Sitting on the bed, she was about to call Hamid when her fingers retreated at the touch of the fabric covering her body. Instead of the grey stripped duvet, her hand pushed away a light summer blanket in lavender that wasn’t in her bed last night.

“Hamid, did you –” she interrupter herself when she reached for Hamid but did not find him beside her, which was an odd occurrence considering he rarely woke up before her or his alarm. His mobile was not by the bedside table, and she noticed she was not in the same room. The walls were covered in a pastel pink wallpaper with a delicate floral pattern, and there was no sign of her books over the desk.

Oh, God. Where am I? Do I sleepwalk now?

She got up and stared for a moment at the pink slippers waiting for her feet. A pair she hasn’t seen in years.

Is it a prank?

“Hamid?” she called him, but there was no answer and not a sign of him or his belongings anywhere. At the en-suite bathroom, a single bath towel was hanging and one toothbrush over the sink. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she froze and stared at the reflection. Her curly hair was longer, with golden highlights and her jaw dropped revealing the braces attached to her teeth.

“Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Oh, my god! This is impossible!”

Running back into the bedroom, she found her mobile with its Yoda case over the side table. Had she not sit on the bed, the device and herself would have hit the ground when she read the date on the screen: July 3rd, 2013.

She googled the date, then the news, confirming the impossible. Her body fell back on the bed and she stared at the ceiling. A million questions running through her mind. Her heartbeat raced, and she rubbed her moist hands against the bedcovers.  

Am I fourteen again or have I been dreaming everything else, including Hamid?

Her stomach sunk at this hypothesis. Reaching for the mobile, she googled his name and there were a few magazine articles from 2011 praising the looks and intelligence of the handsome teenager son of the Turkish ambassador at the United States. A sigh of relieve escaped her lungs.  At least he is real, but this information does little to help her understand what is happening.

Closing her eyes, she inhales deeply. She pinches herself in the arm again and again. The pain is real, and she does not wake up.

Mobile in hand, she goes through her latest texts and finds the ones exchanged with her mother. A lone tear escapes her eye, and before she remembered the ocean between them, her fingers pressed the picture and the phone dials. It rings a few times before the husky voice speaks in Portuguese:

“Hello?”

“Mamãe[5]?”

“Liz, my dear, is something wrong?” her mother asks, her voice carries more worry than sleep.

“Nothing,” Elizabeth dismisses her concern, her throat tightening at the sound of her voice. Not even the videos feel so real. “I just wanted to tell you I love you. Sorry for waking you up for this –”

“I love you too, sweetie,” her voice was tender. “If you need to talk –”

“I’m fine. I’ll call you later. Bye.”

Her body was shaking when the happy tears stopped streaming down her cheeks. Another deep, calming inhale, and she got up. Even if it is merely a dream, she will not pass the opportunity to speak or see her mother.

Going through the wardrobe, Elizabeth picks one of the several fancy summer dresses her grandmother provided her every year and tied her hair in a single braid.

On her way downstairs, her eyes inspect it all. The house looks the same, yet so different from last night as if she is walking into an old movie or picture.

The sound of voices and the clinking of cutlery attracts her. At the terrace, like they do every summer, the family is gathered for breakfast. Her father, the Earl of Edgewater has his back turned away from her, sitting at the end of the long table filled with delicacies. The man’s hair is darker, less grey streaks pepper his head. Calmly, he spreads butter over a toast while chatting with Lady grandmother, who looks exactly the same, as if not a single day has passed. Henrietta sits across from her, sipping tea. By her side, on his usual chair is Edmund, who still had his cheeks tinted rosier by acne. By his side, hiding his mobile under the table, is Harry.

Elizabeth fails to hold a gasp at the sight of her younger brother.

Without a second thought, she runs and hugs him tightly. Startled, the boy drops the bagel he was taking to his mouth and it hits the ground.

“Eliza,” he squeals. “My bagel!”

“Vincent!” Henrietta roars, “that girl is attacking my son!”

“Sorry about that,” Elizabeth mutters under her breath, but leans again and kisses the boy’s cheek and hugs him more gently. “But I missed you so much!”

“What are you talking about? We played videogames until 2 in the morning…” he grumbles, trying to extricate himself from her embrace.

Finally, she lets him go and every pair of eyes stare at her.

“I – Sorry. I had a bad dream.” She grabs another bagel from the tray and hands it to Harry.

Taking her place at the other side of the table, besides her grandmother, she cannot stop staring at her brother.

“Two days to your birthday. Are you excited, Eliza?” Vincent asks,

“I could not be more excited, dad.”

Noticing the persistent stare, Harry makes a face at Elizabeth.

“Do not forget, after breakfast, we’ll go to Moorfield for the final fitting of your dress,” her grandmother says, and explains every little detail about the schedule for the next days, just like she remembers.

The entire day goes by and she cannot shake off the sense of déja vu. With every passing hour, certainty grows that she is living this same day again. She can predict everything that’ll happen.

Outside the store at Moorfield, the same dalmatian puppy runs loose after he escapes his owner. The man screams for people to get out of the way, and the dog bumps against Elizabeth’s leg on his way down the street until he enters a restaurant, its leash entangles around the legs of the waiter and he stumbles, dropping a tray of food with a loud clatter.

While her grandmother looked horrified at the scene, Elizabeth realized this could be the second chance she dreamed for so long.

Later that same day, as promised, she called her mother and asked about her health, just to be sure. The woman stifled and went silent for a long moment.

“Liz, you promised you would respect my wishes and not tell your father...”

“Don’t you think he should know?”

“I – Darling, it is probably nothing…” she paused, “Cancer is not a death sentence anymore.”

Her words carried her smile, like they so often did, and Elizabeth swallowed hard, knowing how this story ends.  

The evening before her birthday, pacing in her room, Elizabeth considered her options. She will tell her father about her mother. Should he know about Harry too? Perhaps she should not tell him that…

At the hallway, she peeked inside the Earl’s study. Her father was working on his computer, and when he saw her at the door, he greeted her with a smile and noticed the worry frown in her face.

“Is something the matter, my dear?”

“Can we talk?”

“Of course,” he replies, and immediately raises to his feet.

Elizabeth closes the door behind her and joins her father at the small sofa.

“I have something important to tell you,” she says, trying to muster the strength to not stutter or abandon this task.

For the next ten minutes, she speaks without interruption. The man’s jaw drops, and his fingers delve into his hair, raking it back repeatedly. 

When her mouth stops, it is his time to speak and he asks when Maria died.

“June 10, 2018.”

“Five years.” His hand covers his mouth. His shoulders droop and he leans forward as if suddenly his body gives up at the weight of her words. The man’s eyes return to his daughter’s face, and he asks, seeking a confirmation, “And we never talked about it?”

Elizabeth shook her head, and Vincent rubbed his face.

“Harry was such a skilled skier… so confident…” incredulity filling his tone. “When?”

“2018. The accident was on January 14, and he died two days later…”

“My God…” he sighs, and Elizabeth considers if this was too much to throw at her father.

She reaches for his hand, and gently squeezes it. “It sounds crazy. I sound crazy. Trust me, I know…”

“But how did it happen? How do you -”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I don’t know if I dreamed it all, or if I am dreaming now… I keep expecting to wake up any moment now… But at the same time, if it is happening for a reason, I wanted us to have another chance… I needed to fix this… even if it changes the course of everything else.”

He stared at her for a moment, and her lips rolled inside her mouth.  

“You don’t have to believe me, dad.”

“I believe you.”

From that day on, the Foredales’ lives took an unexpected turn.

When Elizabeth went back home to Rio de Janeiro at the end of the month, Vincent accompanied her. At the airport, Maria was surprised to see him. For the first time in years, they talked. Frankly. It wasn’t pretty to watch, and Elizabeth actively tried not to listen to them talking in her mother’s room.

They stayed there for hours, revisiting painful memories and broken promises. However, in the end, they reconciled and decided to give themselves a second chance.

Surprising everyone, the Earl of Edgewater took a licence from Parliament, and convinced Maria to move to London to seek a better treatment plan. The news rekindled the paparazzi’s interest, and they followed the couple and their daughter everywhere. Her disease become known to the public while they visited many doctors.

This time, the Earl stayed by Maria’s side at the hospital and Elizabeth could not hide her happiness while both took turns watching over her mother.

With every passing day, she was certain she did the right thing.

By the end of the year, the Earl and Henrietta were divorced. And during the process, and the scandals that followed, it took a few weeks and a lot of Vincent’s patience for Harry to speak to him again.

Three months later, the Earl married Maria at the chapel at Edgewater in a small private ceremony, that only Elizabeth, Edmund, Harry and Lady Dominique witnessed. Maria had just left the hospital after a surgery, and the long sleeves of her dress covered the IV marks, but nothing – not even the tears rolling down her cheeks – could conceal the joy overflowing her heart.

And Elizabeth knew it was worth it.

“Fuck the butterfly effect,” she muttered under her breath outside the chapel, breaking her rule of not swearing, and lady grandmother chided her for being ill-mannered.  

The months went by, and her days had fewer dèja vu. She still talked to her friends at Brazil, and video called them, but she settled on her new routine and slowly made new friends.

During the celebration of Easter in 2014, the Parsons were amongst the families invited to lunch at Edgewater, and Elizabeth and Annabelle finally met.

“Annabelle! It’s so good to see you,” Elizabeth blurted out when Harry introduced them, and their eyes widened at the effusiveness of the usually shy teenager.

“That’s the first time someone gets so excited to meet me,” the other girl laughed, sharing a knowing look with Harry, who rolled his eyes.

“My sister was not properly socialized,” Harry teased, “and she does not know how to interact with people.”

Elizabeth slapped Harry playfully, and addressed Annabelle. “Sorry. But Harry talks so much about you that it just seems like we are already friends…”

“I’m not complaining, Elizabeth.”

They shook hands, sealing the beginning of their good friendship, and the trio was inseparable ever since, despite Harry’s initial disapproval on sharing his friend. 

With time, Elizabeth and Annabelle grew even closer.

For the second time, instead of Oxford, Elizabeth chose to stay close to her mother at London and went to King’s College Law school.

Eventually they met Briar – and this time around, Elizabeth had to put an extra effort for this to happen, since her friendship with Annabelle changed a lot of things, including the habits, routines and the circle of friends Annabelle had at uni. 

And since the first day, she wondered what would it take for Briar and Edmund to fall in love again.

The years passed and not a day went by without her sparing a thought - or plenty more - about Hamid, wondering where he would be or what he would be doing.

On a notebook concealed in a bottom drawer, she wrote down everything that she remembered about him and could matter someday: tales from his childhood and stories about his scars, the names of his sisters and family members, and more practical details like the probable date when he moved to London, or when he started working with her father, his mobile number and e-mail address. From time to time, she would pick it up, and read it all, afraid she could be forgetting about him.

Sometimes, when missing him was unbearable and her heart ached inside her chest, she would take a look at his Pictagram. The sight of his pictures, specially the ones with his cat Princess Leia – who she missed so much! – often made her smile. And she laughed at the jokes exchanged between him and his sisters, and even got a little jealous of the comments of some of his thousands of followers, thirsting over his physique, even though she had no right to feel that way.

One evening, while watching a movie, she was lost in her thoughts, and picked her mobile to text her mother, but ended up looking at Hamid’s profile again.

Annabelle and Briar shared a knowing look.

“Are you daydreaming about that mysterious mate again, Lizzy?”

“Excuse me?” Elizabeth was startled by the question, and when she met Briar’s stare, she tried to hide her mobile. However, the other gently pulled her wrist to take a better look at the screen.

“Hmmm… Shirtless. Sexy. I like what he has done with his hair, by the way. Why are you not liking his pictures? You definitely should!”

“No!” Elizabeth pulled the mobile away from her.

“Why not?”

“Reasons.”

“Are you ever telling who is he?” Annabelle asked from her seat where she was painting her nails.

Elizabeth sighed, and looked away before she replied. Despite hating lies, there were some truths that were not easy to handle.

“He is just… someone I knew.”

“Really? When did you meet him?” Annabelle asked surprised.  “He seems a little... old.”

“Long ago. It seems like another life now...”

“When are you asking him out?”

“I’m not.”

“So, you’ll keep stalking this mysterious guy online while not dating anyone else?”

“I’m not stalking him…”

“Right…”

“And I don’t have time to date right now. Uni is already too much. And I’ll start my internship with Sinclaire soon… Too much…”

“Lots of people do both,” Annabelle said, and raised her hands in the air when Elizabeth glared at her. “I’m just saying.”

At last, August, 2016 arrived.

By her counts, by the end of the week, Hamid would already have moved to London and started working at the embassy. Just a few blocks away from the house, and she knows by heart all of his favourite places.

Anxiety chastised her nails, which were bitten to its last piece, and she started gnawing at her cuticles and only the metallic taste on her mouth made her stop.

“Sweetie,” Maria called her softly one morning, and took her hands in hers and inspected them. The concerned look she spared at her nails were less about the aesthetic or the wounded cuticles, and more about what prompted that behaviour. She knows her daughter too well to realize when something is going on. “I worry about you, Liz. You have not been eating properly and you seem so absentminded… Do you wish to talk?”

“I’m alright,” she replies, forcing a smile. Maria’s knitted brow indicated she did not believe her words. “Really, I’m just tired…”

“I’m not dying. Not right now.”

“I know,” Elizabeth smiled, and this time she meant it.

“I will not force you to speak, you know that… But if you change your mind, I’ll be here.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “I’m leaving now. I’ll cycle at the park.”

“Good. Fresh air will do you good.”

Her mother kissed her on the cheek and Elizabeth felt her chest tightening.

Anytime her heart wishes the sands of time would trickle faster, rushing Hamid’s arrival, it means her mother’s time would be running out faster too. 

One cannot have it all.

That morning, she cycled until the Turkish embassy’s street, and stared at the building from the corner, wondering if Hamid was there.

Almost every day she would walk by that building or by one of Hamid’s favourite places. Some days she would grab a coffee and a sweet and sit by the window at the place he first took her after they met; other times she would ask the drive to circle past the street of his flat, even though he only moved in about six months after he was at London. Illogical as it was, she asked him to do so anyways. Her eyes stared at the windows, as she remembered watching movies together, talking, laughing, eating the dinners he prepared and all they did. Her heart raced at the thought of the first I love you he professed, and she blushed at the reminiscences of their first time.

Weeks went by and there was no sign of him at London.

The tabloids barely posted anything about him lately, which was really odd considering how many articles about him there used to be, focusing on his many adventures and famous affairs with all those gorgeous women.  

October, 2016

By the end of October, Elizabeth was done with waiting and wondering.

For weeks, whenever possible, she would bring Turkey or any related subject to the conversations at the house, hoping her father would eventually speak about Hamid to no avail.

Therefore, mustering all her courage, she decided on a more direct approach. Halfway to the Earl’s study, she questioned her decision.

Peeking inside, she saw her father sitting behind the imposing mahogany desk, where several piles of papers were sitting, while he typed on the computer’s keyboard.  

What am I even telling him?

Growling, she pulled her knuckles away from the door before knocking and gnawed on a cuticle.

If I wait even another minute, I’ll have no more nails left. Or sanity… Sure, this can never be weirder than our previous conversation… I can be smooth…

While Elizabeth debated whether she should go inside or not, Vincent caught a glimpse of his daughter pacing in front of the door, biting on a nail.

“Eliza,” he called, “do you wish to speak to me?”

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and peeked inside. A polite smile on her lips that did not reach her eyes.

“I was curious about your work,” she said, wriggling her hands, “but if you are too busy…”

“I’m never too busy for my children. Take a seat.” He pointed at one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. “There was a time you would need no invitation and just come running inside and sit on my lap.” Her father’s face brightened with the memory, and her laughter joined his.

“I must warn you, nevertheless, that it is still as boring as it used to be when you were five.”

“Eighteen-year-olds don’t share the same interests of five-year-olds…” she quipped, “There’s hope I might not sleep now.”

“That would be an improvement.”

For the next minutes, Vincent summarized the bill about medical care he was working to present at Parliament on a week’s time. Despite being proud of her father’s engagement in that subject – the knowledge and experiences acquired these past three years while accompanying Maria’s treatment certainly contributed to that dedication, she was certain –, however none of this would involve Hamid, who only ever worked with her father on commercial treaties between the United Kingdom and Turkey.

“… then Maria suggested a fundraiser to raise awareness and mother is working with her. Their many suggestions include a silent auction; but I’m still considering the options.”

“That is interesting.”

“Is it?” he remarked, noticing how her attention kept shifting to the leather covered appointment book over the desk. “What is really on your mind, my dear? You seem distracted lately…”

“It’s just… I’ve read about the issue with the immigrants and refugees, and I know Parliament will be discussing it soon…”

“That subject truly concerns me as well.”

“Do you have anything scheduled about it?”

“I have a meeting with the Prime-Minister and another one with the Italian diplomats next week.”

“Isn’t there a meeting maybe with another group of diplomats? Perhaps from Turkey?”

“Not that I am aware of.”

The disappointment on her face was unmistakable.

“Let me check if Arthur updated my schedule.” He clicked a few times, eyes scanning the screen, until he finally confirmed there was nothing scheduled with any group of Turkish diplomats, and his daughter thanked him and flashed a polite tight-lipped smile.

The man took off his glasses and placed them on the desk, while her hands occupied themselves with scattered notes that were neatly arranged in piles.  

“I have not failed to notice you took a recent interest on Turkey…” he says, voice soft and an open smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes, “There were the trips to Istanbul with Annabelle. Also, the questions about foreign politics recently… Is there a special reason?”

She shook her head in reply, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

“Not long ago, you would not hesitate on sharing your concerns with me... What is troubling you, my dear?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Every time you say nothing and that you are fine, it means the opposite.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this…” Her lips rolled inside her mouth, and she stirred uncomfortably in the chair before looking back at him. “…It involves a guy.”

“Oh, are you going to tell me you are dating?” His words were accompanied by an even warmer smile, clearly amused with her coyness.

“It is about someone I knew. From before.”

“I see.”

“And you knew him too. He was a diplomat. From Turkey. By this time, you would be working together on a treaty…” she replies, fidgeting with the notes she was now rearranging. “But so many things changed… I think… that maybe, this changed too… We actually met in 2018… after mamãe and…”

Reaching for her hand, he asks softly, “You love him?” 

“I do,” she admits. “Well, I did. But I fear I’m in love with the idea of a person that no longer exists… Sometimes it seems I will only be able to truly breathe again when we meet…”

“Once you asked me about your mother, and told me that if I still loved her, I should act upon my feelings. Be fearless, because doubts and regrets are not the best companions in life, you said. Perhaps, this could be your turn to take your own advice.”

“But that’s different… What do I even do? We haven’t met!”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t really know… Istanbul, I think.”

“Reach out to him.”

“What would I tell him?” she sighed and her father squeezed her hand gently and smiled.

“How about hello?”

Elizabeth chuckled, then got up and circled the table.

“I’ll let you go back to work,” she says and kisses her father’s cheek. “Thanks for listening to me. And have a good night, dad.”

“You too, Eliza.”

Returning to her chambers after that conversation, Elizabeth sat at the desk and stared at her mobile. Fingers hovered over the screen, and her mind elaborated many excuses to text an unknown man. From complimenting his cat to a cute remark about one of Istanbul’s famous landmarks. 

Fifteen minutes later, however, worries smothered hope and she put it away and went to bed.

Maybe tomorrow.

For the next two days, she would check Hamid’s social media frequently, hoping for news. But there were none. The last picture posted dated from five days ago and was tagged at a restaurant at Istanbul.

One morning, despite her better judgement she liked that last picture with her official and very public profile, and tried not to think about it for the next hours. A mere heart in a photo could not disturb the balance of the universe that much.

When classes were over for the day, she fished the mobile inside her bag and checked the notifications. Amongst unread texts from her mother, Annabelle and Harry, and some missed calls, one particular notification called her attention and her hand covered a gasp. In one of her last pictures, a like from Hamid. A tiny heart that caused her very real one to beat at a similar cadence of the percussionists of a samba school.

After the initial joy, doubt crawled its way and took over.

Was it intentional? Maybe he accidentally hit the button. Or was just being polite.

Just in case, she liked another one of his pictures and waited.

An hour later, a ping and another notification from him. Hamid liked another one of her pictures. Then another when she was still holding the mobile. Her finger hovered over the follow button, then she pressed it. Hamid accepted it and liked yet another picture. This time, it was a picture from her family posted long ago.

Unable to find the necessary courage, she did not message him; however, she liked two of his old photos: one of Princess Leia, and another from his family celebrating Eid. 

The mobile was lying on the desk, when it vibrated with a new notification. Something new on Hamid’s stories, and she clicked on it.

I’m definitely a stalker now...

The video showed Hamid singing the chorus of Your song, one of her favourite songs of all times, and then he changed to Girl from Ipanema, which he sang during their first outing after she told him where she lived. Dumbfolded, she watched the video twice.

That’s too much of a coincidence. Maybe I should DM him…

Clicking on his picture, she started typing. 

After a lot of erasing she sent her messages and quickly regretted it, watching the app indicate he was already typing. 

She couldn’t believe her eyes. Almost the exact same dialogue they had before. Her hands were shaking so much she had to place the mobile down. Her fingers went to her hair and she pulled it back. There was no need to retrieve the notebook; his number never slipped her mind like so many other things, like the equation to calculate the gravitational force had.

Clicking on the small camera to video call him, it rang only once before his face was occupying the entire screen. Her breath hitched at the familiar smiling face looking directly at her. The same cheek-dimpling smile that brightened her days.

“Hamid,” she breathed his name.

“Can you please say that again?”

“Are you not listening to me?”

“You don’t know how I’ve longed to hear you call my name again,” he says softly, and his smile grows impossibly wider.

“You truly remember me?” He nodded, and she took a deep breath and fought the tears pricking her eyes. “Then why didn’t you look for me?”

“I did, but I wasn’t sure you remembered me… And until not long ago, I think it was probably illegal to do so… And butterfly effect.”

There’s a lot of undistinguished noises around him, and a robotic voice speaks in Turkish.

“Where are you?”

“Airport.”

“Where are you going?”

“To meet you.” His face disappeared when he turned the mobile away to film his surroundings and the carrying case resting in the seat beside him, where an angry cat hissed at the camera. “Leia and I are on our way.”

“I cannot believe! How did you –” the words toppled, and she interrupted herself.

“You reached out and I was sure it was the sign I was waiting for. So… here I am. You know I’ll just jump at any opportunity to travel.”

“I missed you,” she sighs.  

“And I you.”

“There’s so much to tell, so many questions…”

“In about five hours we’ll see each other, but I must confess that talking will not be the priority of my tongue…” he winked at the camera, and she blushed, as she always did.  

“You haven’t changed.”

“How would you recognize me if I did?”

They both chuckled and a comfort silence settled between them, as if they have not spoken to each other in years. They simply stared at the screen, and there were tears clouding their eyes.

Hamid’s face tilted with a new announcement at the speaker.

“That’s my flight they’re calling.”

He raised from the seat, balancing the backpack, carrier and the mobile.

“Have a safe trip, Hamid.”

“Thank you, hayatım,” he says softly. “Get some rest, I’ll call you when I arrive at the hotel.”

“Come to my father’s house.”

“Is it a good idea?”

“I told him about you. And I want you to meet my mother.”

“Alright.”

“Hamid!”

“Yes?”

“I love you!”

He took a deep breath, his grin almost reaching his ears, and the words flowed from his tongue as melodic as music, “Seni çok seviyorum. I love you. Eu te amo. Je t’aime – I don’t think I have the time to say that in all the ways that I’ve planned, but I will when we meet.”

The screen darkens, and she lies in bed, letting the mobile fall right next to her.

No more weight in her chest, and she can breathe – she can finally breathe and relief washes over her.

Hamid is fine.

Hamid is coming.

Hamid loves her.

Before she can fight it, slumber claimed her vision and her mind.

When her eyes flutter open, the room is completely dark, and she cannot find the mobile. Stirring under the covers, she stretches her arm to continue the search until her elbow connects with something hard.

“Ouch!” 

Following the painful moan, a husky sleepy voice asks, “Did you hit my nose?”

“Hamid?”

Turning around, she hits the light switch and finally can see his face. The man blinks to adjust his vision to the brightness, and Elizabeth throws herself at him. Her hands cup his face, and his eyes widened at the sight of her.

“Oh, my God! You are really here!”

The man pulls her closer with a similar sigh of relief and kisses her with so much passion that she gasps for air when they part.  

“You cannot imagine the dream I had” she sighs.

“It can’t be as weird as mine…”

“Wanna bet?” she teases. “I was fourteen again. Braces and all. And mamãe and Harry were alive… And I remembered everything of my life, which was so odd, because no one else did… And all those years I didn’t know if I was dreaming and was gonna wake up or if this life was the dream… And I missed you so much and – What?”

His face scrunched, as his fingers scratched the growing stubble on his jaw.

“Is it a couples’ thing? To have similar dreams?”

“Why you ask?”

“I dreamed I woke up at my parents’ home at Istanbul six years ago and I thought I was loosing my mind… Then, I got to read about you at the tabloids, without knowing if you remembered me, which you did, but I didn’t know then… And for years I was just wondering if I would ever have the chance to meet you again… or if I had to move on with my life… And it pained me… Specially when I saw you too soon at Istanbul. I couldn’t risk saying hello, because what if I talked to you and like the butterfly causing a typhoon I just messed everything –”

“You saw me?”

“With Annabelle.”

Her jaw dropped and she couldn’t articulate words while her mouth moved.

“It was a dream, wasn’t it?”

“I guess,” he sighed and kissed her again. “What other explanation could there be?”

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation, and a masculine voice she was not expecting to hear startled her.

“You missed breakfast, love birds! If you don’t hurry, we’ll start opening the presents without you!”

The couple looked at each other and without changing from their pajamas, they held hands and went downstairs. They did not find the owner’s voice on their way to the drawing room, where Elizabeth and Hamid were welcomed by laughter and a soft melody.

Briar and Edmund greeted the couple, and their attention returned to the gifts they were exchanging.

Standing in the center of the room holding a box with a large red bow, Lady grandmother acknowledged their presence with a glare. “I thought you would not join us,” she says without holding back the censure in her tone.

Not missing a beat, the Earl says with a smile, that crinkles the corners of his eyes, “It is Christmas morning, mother.”

“And they are here now.”

Elizabeth’s eyes search the familiar voice, finding Maria behind her father. The woman is sitting on the couch, a blanket covers her legs, but nothing can hide the joy brightening her features. Vincent hands Harry a box, then sits beside her and holds her hand. Both smile at Harry, who is focused on the wrapping paper he was tearing apart.

Elizabeth freezes in place, tears blurring her vision.

Without a second thought, letting go of Hamid’s hand, she presses forward and kneels in front of her mother.

The troubled expression intrigues the woman, who whispers in Portuguese, “Are you alright, dear?”

Without uttering a word, Elizabeth hugs her, and the woman repeats the question.  

“I had a dream... maybe I’m still dreaming… I... Sorry. Are you alright, mamãe?”

“I couldn’t be happier,” Maria replies, her famous open smile curling her lips. “Was it a good dream?”

Elizabeth meets her gaze, and lets her hand gently wipe the tear that streamed down her cheek.

“Excellent.”

“Hamid, don’t you just stand over there,” Vincent calls. “Come join us.”

“Yes, please. I have a present for you too, querido[6],” Maria says and asks Elizabeth to retrieve one of the boxes from under the tree.

Hamid shared a look with Elizabeth, whose expression mixed too many emotions, and did as they told him. As he approached the trio, his mouth curved into a smile that confusion prevented from reaching his eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Hamid.” Maria handed the box to the diplomat, who thanked her politely for the token. An elegant watch. “I hope it pleases you, and remind you of the things that matter.”

“I love it. Thank you very much, my lady. However, I don’t think I have bought a gift for you,” he says, sharing a questioning look at Elizabeth who shruggs. "I’m terribly sorry.”

Taking his and Elizabeth’s hands, Maria whispers, “I have everything I could ever want.”

Her words earn a smile from Vincent, and Elizabeth could not agree more. At last, they have everything that matters.

===============

Notes: 

[1] Rabanada – Portuguese word – Sweet traditionally served in Brazil during the holidays, and consists of bread that, after being soaked in milk, wine or sugar syrup, is passed through eggs is fried or baked in oven, and is served sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar.

[2] Brigadeiro – Portuguese word – a Brazilian dessert made of chocolate.

[3] Meu amor – Portuguese – It’s a term of endearment and means ‘my love’.

[4] Hayatım – Turkish – a term of endearment that means ‘my life’.

[5] Mamãe - Portuguese – term of endearment that means ‘mother, mum, mummy.’

[6] Querido – Portuguese – a term of endearment that means ‘dear’.

[spiralhigh]

ranking the sdr2 cast by how much their formal wear hits

this is just my opinion, but my opinions are great and i know what i’m talking about! this will be long so it’s under a cut

S TIER:

s tier is reserved for only the best of them all, the cream of the crop, the fit that i would gladly lay down my life for. s tier is the crown jewel. s tier is what everyone else should strive to be... but only one can take the prize.

#1: AKANE OWARI

the undisputed champion. this look is everything to me. EVERYTHING. the red-trim cape with the fur. the contrast of the airy, gathered blouse with those skin-tight shiny (leather? vinyl??) pants. the pumps. the belt that screams disco style. the necklace accentuating the tasteful titty window. the red white and gold color scheme  are you FUCKING WITH ME miss owari this look could bring ARMIES to their KNEES in an INSTANT. whoever drew this deserves full creative control of the danganronpa franchise and i’m not kidding

A TIER:

a tier is for the fits that frankly own bones. they’re not as jaw-dropping and legendary as owari, but they’re still razor as hell and deserve to be met with riotous applause.

#2: KAZUICHI SOUDA

kazuichi, i didn’t know you had it in you, but this FUCKS. the character of the pins on the lapels, the sneakers, and the mispinned tie. the absolute CLASS of the suspenders, watch, and tiny round glasses. the handsome slick in the hair now that the greasy beanie is gone. the tasteful highwater. he looks like the host of the larry king show if the larry king show was exclusively about ska bands and he has never looked better

#3: HIYOKO SAIONJI

tell me this isn’t the cutest shit. the colors here are EXQUISITE. the bright notes from the blue on top, the way the soft pink is a perfect middle ground of the pink + white flowers on her sleeves, the subtle way the green in her bow matches the green in her collar, the white petals breaking up the sky blue that might otherwise look out of place? remarkable. stunning.

#4: PEKO PEKOYAMA

the ELEGANCE is EVERYTHING here. the monochrome is offset by just a splash of red that ties everything together with her eyes and the flower in her hair, the checkerboard pattern is visually interesting but not distracting, and her hair in that loose ponytail with the little white ribbon? ugh. ADORABLE! but most of all, look at those BOOTS. those CUTE LITTLE HEELS on those SICK LACE-UP BOOTS..... QUEEN shit!!!

#5: CHIAKI NANAMI

rounding out our a tier is chiaki in this adorable little dress just LOOK at her!!! she looks like a little rose, a perfect flouncy skirt with a glittery mesh overlay, a fun and fresh over-the-shoulder collar, a fucking big old bow tied in the back?? i can literally feel the way this dress would feel in my hands. it’s simple and perfect and frankly a GORGEOUS color on her this is flawless

B TIER:

b tier is a perfectly respectable place to be. these fits lack the lustre and flavor of the a tier entries, but they’re still dressed to impress and they still look fine as hell.

#6: TERUTERU HANAMURA

say what you will about teruteru (and i do) but this suit is ADORABLE and it fits in with his theme + talent better than any other mfer on this list. the tasteful white/brown/red palette gives it a flashy chocolate cookie look, which is amplified in the fun pattern on the jacket. the chef’s hat switching out for a little top hat and the way the cumberbund looks a lil bit like a chocolate bar is also VERY cute

#7: THE IMPOSTOR

now on its own, the suit is just alright. a vibrant pinstripe blue three-piece with the classic red tie wouldn’t land the impostor in b tier on its own... but that FUR COAT, LUXURIOUSLY DRAPED OVER THE SHOULDERS does WONDERS to pull this look together. not only is it worn with “yeah, it’s real mink, no, you can’t touch it” confidence, but it also ties the otherwise arbitrary white loafers into the structure of the look. it’s subtle and class as hell.

C TIER

c tier is full of looks that are... fine, but ultimately either are boring, lack cohesion, or have a confusing design choice or two that make it hard to get all that amped about. c tier is a passing grade, but nothing more.

#8: NAGITO KOMAEDA

there’s a lot that’s good about this outfit, but there’s also a lot that doesn’t really work. let’s start with the good: the slutty loose bowtie and collar, the tight-fitting vest that ends before the hipbones so you can see the belt, the cute little ponytail? (chefs kiss) exquisite, all of it. but the suit itself is boring as sing, and who the hell decided to put the t-shirt symbol on the sleeves??? was it to add visual flavor to an otherwise bland suit? this does NOT have the black/white/red elegance that peko had.

#9: FUYUHIKO KUZURYUU

the silver and gold mob-boss look, complete with matching shoes vest and fedora, are a nice nod to fuyuhiko’s talent! the plaid is teetering on the edge between fun and garish to me, but the fact that it’s consistent and the only pattern means it isn’t too offensive. quick question though: why are his pant legs rolled up like that?? this isn’t a cute “cuffed at the ankle” look, dude looks like he had to wade across a pond to get to the venue. what gives

#10: GUNDAM TANAKA

out of everyone here, gundam’s suit might be the most boring of all. the scarf is just his normal scarf. the red tie and trim don’t do anything to tie the look together. the only mild point of interest is the asymmetrical vest, and i can’t even tell if that’s intentional. simply put, this “““fancy”““ outfit isn’t even in the same ZIP CODE as the level of ostentatious chuuni that gundam serves us every single day in his casual wear. maybe even worse than being ugly... it’s disappointing.

#11: IBUKI MIODA

now, look. is this dress buckwild and ugly as hell? yes. but you know what else it is? it is IBUKI MIODA’S DRESS. there might not be a single cohesive thing about this dress aside from its color scheme. the huge poofy ruffles of the skirt and arm things with the spiked bow and corset are baffling. the artist somehow managed to draw the awkward, clumping shape of the skirt to make it look exactly like an emergency cosplay sewn four hours before a convention. frankly, i can’t justify ranking it as a c! but i’m doing it anyway, because the sheer level of craftsmanship demands it, and in this house we respect diy queens that are totally off the shits.

D TIER:

d tier is for outfits that aren’t offensive, exactly... but like, they sure don’t look good! d tier is not a respectable place to be. those in d tier won’t be laughed out of the ceremony in shame, but they should really run their outfit by someone else first next time.

#12: NEKOMARU NIDAI

now don’t get me wrong: i have nothing but respect for the titties-out look. keeping the shirt unbuttoned all the way down to where the lapels of the jacket end? that’s sexy as hell. however, this flawless idea has a confusing execution. why emerald green and orange? what’s with the... long-sleeved printed (hawaiian?) shirt? why the red pocket square? and the jacket itself, while fitted perfectly along the chest and midsection, has a weird, unflattering scallop shape flaring out at the bottom. i want to like this fit, but there are just too many bad choices.

#13: HAJIME HINATA

oh, hajime... literally nothing about this ensemble is it. the creamy manila suit might have had potential if there were literally any color variation in the vest (or potentially shoes) to give it a little more shape, or even if you just went with a white shirt underneath it! i could get behind a light, off-monochrome look! but that leprechaun-green shirt is downright perplexing to me. it looks like a mistake! did you get dressed in the dark? did you spill something on your other shirt? this is a mess.

F TIER:

f tier is inexcusable. f tier should never have happened. how does it get this bad. who did this? who’s responsible for this?

#14: SONIA NEVERMIND

y’know, the colors are pretty! i dig the white and teal! but... girl... what the fuck is this construction. the ruffles are all over the place. the bodice looks like it has less fabric than space it needs to cover. the bottom half of the skirt looks like it was sewn on as an afterthought because the top half was too short for dress code. what’s with the weird choker collar detached from everything else. why is the hairband a slightly different shade of green. so many decisions were made here and none of them are flattering

#15: MAHIRU KOIZUMI

yknow, i like the idea behind this. i can see what you were going for! the dress on its own might have worked, even! but everything else about it is just... so ugly. what the fuck is happening with those shoes??? the sheer black tights aren’t the sexy OL look you think they are. the collar of the dress looks like it’s... braided for some reason??? those earrings are so huge for no payoff, statement jewelry with nothing to say, and worst of all... that headband. GIRL. that headband and that belt...... there’s nothing here. also i love orange but it’s not her color.

and finally... the worst.

#16: MIKAN TSUMIKI

what the fuck. what the fuck is this. this is straight up cheap rubber fetish gear. why is the HAT rubber? that skirt ruffle makes this look like fucking polly pocket clothes. why the fuck is she wearing that. the clothes are so bad that it makes her hair look like rubber too. was she dared to wear this? is this some cruel punishment? i don’t even know what to say. this is the worst possible outfit. there is not even one redeeming quality about it.

[i-write-about-anything]

Abandoned Part 7

Prompt: Dean is forced to be a single father after the reader left them. Three years later she shows up out of no where. (bc there’s always fics of girls being single mothers to Dean’s kids and bc i saw this episode again and thought of it overnight lol)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Daddy!Dean (let’s face it, it’s a damn warning.)  

PARTS:

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

The roar of the impala was the only thing they both heard. Dean didn’t know what to say, he had so many things to say, so many things he wanted to ask her, but at that moment all of it was thrown out the window. (Y/N) on the other hand had been silent for too long. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I never meant to hurt you. I was doing this to protect you.” Her eyes looked at the road, scared to see the pain in his face. “For years I thought I was never going to see you again, to see Mason again. I was alone, for four years I was alone and the moment I have a chance to get out you just push me back in.” She wasn’t going to cry; she had done that too many times the past years. 

“I was alone too.” Dean’s voice was stern, pulling into his driveway but neither of them attempted to get out. 

“No, you weren’t. You had Sam, you had Mason, Cas, Jodi. I had no one.” Her voice rose as she faced him. “I was trapped, alone, I went weeks without talking to anyone, I went weeks being tortured.” She gulped, her eyes shutting as the images of the torture she endured flashing through her mind. “I had no one.” She repeated, her voice a small whisper. 

“Why didn’t you come to me, that night, why didn’t you come to me? I could have handled it.” His voice was soft, it reminded her of how he used to be, how they used to be. “I could have handled it, you could have stayed, with me, with Mason.” Tears were already welling up, but he didn’t let them spill. 

“I wanted to, I know you would have done anything to protect me and Mason and that’s why I did what I did. You had already done so much for me, you left the hunting life for me, saved me multiple times from the supernatural. I wanted to save you for once, I wanted you to be happy, I wanted you to live the life you deserved.” Her eyes met his green ones, she missed them, she missed him. 

“I would have done anything to keep you safe, you know that. You left me with our newborn, do you know how hard that was? For years you made me believe that you left because you didn’t want this anymore, you didn’t want me.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, tears slipping passed it. 

“I love you Dean; you have to believe that. Your face was the only thing that could get me to go through all the pain, I imagined how good of a father you were to our son. He’s perfect, Dean. He’s such a loving little boy and I couldn’t thank you enough for letting me see him, for letting me love him when I know I don’t have the right to, not after I left.” She looked down to her hands, her fingers fiddling with each other. 

“He asked about you, too much. I hated you so much, burned every photo of you, except this one.” His hand reached into his pocket, pulling out a photograph that his eyes fixated on for ten seconds before handing it to (y/n). She looked at it, tears forming in her eyes, she had never seen this photo. “I didn’t know I still had it, until Mason practically shoved it in my face the day you showed up.” Her eyes focused on it, the smile on both their faces, the small baby in her arms, no doubt Sam had taken this photo. Her mind spiraled to the memory, Sam chuckling as he made a joke about Dean changing diapers now. “I don’t know how long he’s had it but I presume it had been a while. If I had known about the witch, I would have done my best to get you back, you know that, right?” This was the Dean she knew, the Dean she had been in love with, he was no longer angry with her, not like he had been for the past week. 

“I know Dean.” She nodded wiping the un-spilled tears from her eyes. “But she was smart, used you against me multiple times when I didn’t comply. I wanted to die, tried to kill myself so many times but she was always on top of it all. I didn’t know what she wanted from me, I thought she was going to kill me the second I sacrificed myself for you but she used me for things I can’t-” She closed her eyes, freezing when she felt his hand on hers. “I can’t get them out of my mind.” She whispered; eyes still shut. 

“I’m sorry.” He bit his lip, the anger he once felt for her was replaced by sorrow. He was sorry, sorry that she had to endure too much shit, guilt washing over him as the hate he once had for her was completely inexcusable. “I’m so sorry.” He repeated, mostly sorry for hating her and treating her like shit. She shook her head, opening her eyes to meet his green ones. “I’m sorry.” He repeated once more, squeezing her hand. 

“I don’t want you to apologize Dean, I know how hard it must have been, I left you, you had every right to be angry.” She gave him a small smile which he didn’t return.

“I didn’t have any right to be angry, you were getting tortured and god knows what else, even when you returned, all the hatred I gave you, all the shit I put you through, I hurt you.” His hand retreated from hers.

“I hurt you too.” Her voice was soft, too soft for his liking. 

“Stop trying to make me feel better.” His fist connected with the steering wheel making her jump. “I hurt you, I put my god damn hands on you.” His eyes shifted from her to the steering wheel. “I just, when I didn’t find you that day I thought I lost you forever, Mason cried, so much the first week and I couldn’t even handle myself, my mind raced from broken to angry so fast, the thought of Mason growing up the way I did, without a mother, it only made me angrier. I’m so sorry.” His apology made his voice break as his forehead rested on the steering wheel. (Y/N) gulped, moving her hand to rest on his back, slowly easing into rubbing it up and down which made his tense shoulders relax. He had missed her, terribly, and having her here was overwhelming. She had only seen him this emotional once before, the birth of their son. Her body moved closer to his as her arms went to wrap around him, she had hesitated but she needed this, he needed this. His body shifted under her arms, his eyes on hers before his arms made his way around her too. Her head rested on his shoulder; she had only imagined this was what she was going to be met with when she escaped the witched trance. She closed her eyes before breathing in, his scent traveling though her nose as memories of him exploded in her mind, she missed him terribly. She didn’t notice when he started crying only when he started to shake, her eyes opening before she pulled away from the hug. Her hands cupped his face as he continued to cry, she had never seen him this vulnerable and she had known him a very long time. 

“Dean.” She whispered, her voice breaking. He looked at her, the tears spilling from his face, he had been so selfish, even after hearing what had happened to her he couldn’t help the anger in him which only made him feel like a complete ass now. “Dean.” She repeated, her thumbs wiping the tears on his cheeks. He had always been the tough guy, never letting anyone see the fragile boy he could be. “It’s okay.” She whispered, her thumbs wiping the never-ending tears. His lips crashed into hers taking her by surprise making her pull away, his green eyes looking at hers, silence overcoming them for a half a minute before she reattached their lips. His arms wrapped around her waist before pulling her onto of him. 

“Please don’t leave me.” He whispered in between kisses causing her heart to break, she hadn’t thought how broken he truly had been, her main focus on the small boy that resembled Dean. She pulled away, resting her forehead against his, he kept his eyes closed, scared that this had been some sick trick someone was playing on him. 

“Dean.” Her voice traveled through his ears causing his eyes to snap open. “I’m here.” She reassured him. “For as long as you’ll have me.” She offered him a small smile, which he returned this time. They stayed that way, for ten minutes, embraced in each other’s arms before they decided to move into their once shared home. She sat on the couch while he desperately tried to pick up the mess in the living room. She couldn’t help but notice the small drawing on the wall, no doubt Mason had drawn it. It was three stick figures, a smaller one with two identical ones, a family photo she presumed. 

“I’m sorry.” Dean huffed as he sat next to her, it had been the hundredth sorry to come out of his mouth. “I don’t usually have time to, pick up.” He cleared his throat, his nose still red from the shed tears in his impala. “Can I get you something to drink?” Awkwardness, it had been too long for them to just pick up where they had left off and (y/n) knew that. 

“No, thank you though.” She smiled slightly and he sighed before silence consumed them once more, her eyes wondering around the living room noticing a photo of Mason, he couldn’t have been older than one. She stood abruptly and moved towards it, taking it into her hands as she examined it, his hands up as he stood tall. 

“That’s the day he learned how to walk.” Dean’s voice startled her; he had gotten up to join her across the living room. “Sam and his pictures.” Dean huffed out a small chuckle before he heard (y/n) sniff. She hadn’t been there for any important milestone of Mason’s life which made her feel terrible. “Hey.” Dean turned to her, tears spilling from her eyes. “What’s wrong?” She shook her head, she was being stupid, she hadn’t expected to live to see them ever again yet something pulled at her heartstrings, everything Mason had done so far, he had done without her and that, was heartbreaking to her. 

“I didn’t get to see him take his first step, or hear him say his first word, eat his first food, I missed everything.” She continued to look at the photo, his smile bright. 

“Hey come on now, it isn’t your fault.” Dean sighed, hesitating before wrapping his arm around her shoulder pulling her into his side. “Besides, you haven’t missed everything. He still doesn’t know how to ride a bike, his first tooth still hasn’t come off, he hasn’t graduated kindergarten, you’re here now, that’s all that matter to him, to me.” He whispered the last part. Her eyes shifted from the photo to Dean, a small smile on his face, she hated that his eyes had been puffy from his crying. “That’s all that matters.” He repeated, reassuring her. She rested her head on his shoulder, the tears dying down as she continued to look at the photo of Mason, even then he looked exactly like Dean. She didn’t know where this was going to go and neither did, he, but one thing was for sure, they were both happy to be in each other arms once more.

____

forever tags; @bojabee @imperfect-circle @dakotapaigelove @a-gir1-has-n0-name @riverdalehoeeeeeee @sabertooth-potato @heyitscam99 @peterstarksstarker @royal-fanfic @vixengustin88

story tags; @king4thesirens @the-nonsenseblog @heythereamigodude @parksandrecmyass @alexwinchester23 @calaofnoldor @isapapertime @lizblinder @spnfamily-thewinchesters @sasbb23 @supernaturalidjitjess @spellbinding10 @joannie95 @heyyy-hey-babyyy

[eternityunicorn]

Elijah’s Eternity: Smutty Oneshot - Goodbye, Hello +18

Author: eternityunicorn 

Genre: Romance/AU

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x OC

Warnings: Smut, pure unadulterated smut! (*Smut chapters marked +18)

Summary: Lost to monster behind the red door, Elijah goes on a killing spree, killing anyone who dared to stand in his way and even a few innocent bystanders. Eternity attempts to bring him back from the brink, but her pleas fail to reach him. Therefore, in a desperate act, she leaves him, which does the trick to free him from the monster. Devastated, he believes all is lost, but then she returns one day and he takes her for a drive to apologize - and to beg her to stay.

NOTE: OC is from my up and coming novel series!

AUTHOR’S COMMENTARY: This is a fic based off of a request by @hawaiianohana31. I hope you like it! Enjoy!

———————————————————————————————————

Elijah Mikaelson was a man of impeccable taste and flawless control. He never raged. He always remained cool, collected, and rational, unlike his more hot tempered brother, Niklaus or his bloodthirsty brother, Kol. Because of this, he was often more terrifying to his enemies than his brothers, but also more capable of mercy. 

However, Esther, his witch mother, had devastated that control he had in a twisted mind game that left him fractured and untethered from it. He went on a rampage, becoming as mercilessly violent as his hybrid brother, but worse, for he had no mental stability to speak of and slaughtered others in cold blood. He tore through his family’s enemies, killing many in the name of protecting his family, no matter if they deserved death or not. 

Elijah’s wife, Eternity Mikaelson, had bore witness to these terrible acts that would have left the sane version of himself horrified by his own actions. She attempted to reach him, time and time again. She tried to call him back from the darkness, to help him cage the monster behind the red door, but not even her pleas could bring him back to his sanity. 

Finally, she couldn’t take anymore. While she refused to kill him, she also couldn’t stay and watch him descend further into darkness. She believed that a separation might do him some good, that maybe it would wake him up from the black void of horrific violence. It was a gamble, as it could have the opposite effect and make his out of control behavior worse, but these were desperate times and she’d do anything to get her husband back.

That had been a month ago and quite frankly, it had worked. Eternity leaving him had the right effect, calling Elijah back to himself at last. However, he remained grieved. Of course he did. His wife had left him because of his inexcusable behavior.

Instead of being a murderous beast, the Original divulged into a mournful and lonely man, haunted by his own choices. There seemed to be no hope for him, only a more painful darkness - one without his wife by his side.

Then, when all seemed forever lost, Eternity came home! 

Elijah found her standing on the balcony of their bedroom one night, as he sought solitude for himself. At first he didn’t believed she was there. At first he thought he was seeming things. Yet, it wasn’t a hallucination. She was really standing  there with her back toward him and her long white hair billowing loosely all around her. 

He moved as casually as he could toward her, coming to stand in the doorway that lead out onto the balcony, not daring to move any closer. “Hello, Sweetheart,” he murmured cautiously. 

Eternity turned gracefully to look at him over her shoulder. She did not smile and there was a deep sadness in those sapphire eyes of hers as she gazed at him. Furthermore, she didn’t speak. It was as though she was waiting for him to say something.

In truth, he didn’t know how to begin. He didn’t know what to say. 

Then he remembered what they used to do when they had arguments. After some time to cool off, they would come together to try and resolve whatever rift lay between them, while trying to avoid prying ears. To do this, they would always jump in his car and go for a drive, driving to the lake front on the other side of town, where they would park and talk until they had finally rebuilt whatever bridge had been broken between them. 

This was certainly one of those situations.

“Let’s go for a drive,” Elijah quietly requested, unsure if he should. “We can talk privately.”

Eternity remained perfectly still. She didn’t blink or seem to breathe as she looked at him blankly.

He thought she was going to reject his suggestion. He worried that she was going to tell him that it was over between them and that she was leaving for good. He held his breath as he waited for her to say something - anything!

“Very well,” murmured Eternity finally. “Let’s go.”

Letting out the breath he had been holding in his relief, Elijah lead her out of the bedroom and down through the courtyard to the basement garage where the cars were kept. They climbed into his black Porsche Panamera and quickly drive away into the night, heading toward the lake.

They didn’t talk the whole way, waiting until they reached their destination to do so.

Once they were parked in front of the beach, Elijah shut his car off and turned toward Eternity. “I want to apologize for...well, everything,” he began. “I never meant to hurt you or to drive you away with my actions. When my mother broke me, I lost all sense of control. The monster within came forth, untethered from my carefully laid discipline over myself. I’m sorry. I swear to you to do better, to be better.”

Much to his surprise, the ethereal beauty smiled softly, “I understand. In truth, the note I think about it, the more I realize that I should have rescued you sooner from that harpy. Then perhaps this whole thing could have been avoided.”

“This isn’t your fault,” insisted Elijah. “Only my mother and myself are to blame.”

“We are all to blame,” she responded. “Even so, neither of us are strangers to violence or death, killing those who deserve it. We both would do anything to protect those we love. However, what you were doing, what you were becoming, was far beyond that desire. You were killing people unnecessarily, those that didn’t deserve death. Quite frankly, you were acting like Niklaus or better yet, like Kol.”

“I know,” he admitted. 

Eternity gazed at him contemplatively, “It does seem as if you have recovered from your brokenness or at least, you have begun to. The light of your humanity has returned to your eyes. I can see it there.”

“I have recovered,” he nodded, reaching over to brush back the soft hair that framed her face and then cup the side of her neck tenderly. “Listen to me, I’ll never put you through something like this again. I’ll never lose control again. I won’t be so easily broken. Ever. I promise you that.”

The ethereal beauty grew deadly serious, “I should hope not, because next time, I won’t be able to simply walk away. As it is, I shouldn’t have this time. If there is a reoccurrence of this madness, I will do whatever is necessary to put a stop to it. So we will have to be vigilant in ensuring I am not forced into a situation where I will have to stand against you, or worse, be forced to live my life without you.”

“You won’t,” said Elijah with determination.

His wife leaned forward until her nose was nearly touching his, reaching to cup his cheek lovingly as she whispered, “Good. I love you, Elijah.”

Then she kissed him passionately, her tongue prying his mouth open and darting inside urgently. 

From there, things took a heated turn quickly. Elijah felt his body respond to her needy kiss immediately. Not one to be outdone, he took control of the situation, fisting the hair at the back of her head and tugging her head back so that their mouths disconnected. He stared at her lustfully and she mirrored him, licking her lower lip with a hooded gaze.

Without a word, his mouth reattached itself to hers in a demanding kiss, his tongue dipping into hers this time. Their tongues battled for dominance until Eternity finally relented, letting him taste her throughly. He listened as she moaned into his mouth, while the delicious scent of her arousal waffled up to his nose.

“I missed you,” Elijah murmured against her lips, between kisses.

Eternity smiled lovingly, with lust sparkling in her eyes. Then she grabbed his face in her hands. “It’s been too long. Make love to me, Elijah,” she moaned, drawing her mouth towards his again. “Fuck me.”

He groaned and growled, closing his eyes briefly as her words stirred his own lust for her to new heights. Then opening them again, he smirked cheekily at her, “There is a difference between making love and fucking, Sweetheart. Therefore, the questions is: which one do you want? To make love or to fuck?”

Eternity gave a warning growl of her own at his playfulness. She took matters into her own hands then, bringing his mouth to hers and kissing him hungrily. As she did, she transported them into the backseat of his car magically. She had him sitting in the center with her straddling his lap, while she continued to kiss him needfully. Her hips rocked, grinding into him, making him hard beneath her. 

His wife’s little hands set to work removing his clothes. First, she stripped him of his suit jacket with his help, then she undid his tie, tossing both over the front passenger seat. Her hands deftly reached and began undoing the buttons of his shirt until she had his shirt open enough to touch the bare skin of his chest with her soft hands. 

Elijah pulled his mouth from hers to gaze up at her briefly before he once again took back control. He took the flimsy fabric of her silky dress, knowing she was bare beneath, and tore it from her body in two strips that he tosses aside aimlessly. Immediately, his mouth latched onto her throat, suckling and nipping at it with his human teeth, while his hands ran up her back beneath her long wisps of white hair. Then his mouth trailed lower to kiss over her collarbone and then over one breast, as his hand reached to kneed the other one. 

The immortal queen moaned and leaned back to give him better access. She gripped the back of his head, holding him to her, as she enjoyed his attentions. Then, a short while later, she gently pushed him back against the seat and quickly returned his affections in kind. She kissed along his jaw and then his neck, taking things further by reaching a hand between their bodies and undoing his pants and reaching inside to caress his hardened length. 

The Original leaned his head back and let out a throaty groan as he bucked into her touch. He watched her face as she grinned at him, bitting her lower lip mischievously as she stroked him. 

“Impatient, are we? Elijah smirked, as he panted slightly.

Without missing a beat, she nodded, “Yes!”

Then Eternity removed her hand from his cock, but not before lining him up with her entrance. She lifted herself fluidly and slammed down onto his length until he was buried to the hilt inside her. 

They both threw their heads back and groaned loudly at the sensation of being joined. 

Eternity didn’t sit still for long and began a swift pace, moving up and down on him rapidly. As she did, her mouth descend upon his again, kissing him breathlessly with her tongue keeping time with her hips. Her hands cupped his neck, keeping him there as she kissed him passionately.

Because of the urgency in their need for each other, it didn’t take long for them both to reach their peaks. This was especially true as Elijah began to rock up into her as she descended, over and over again. Soon, her walls were fluttering around him as pleasure took hold and then they clamped down, squeezing him as she came, tearing her mouth from his as she did to cry out into the air.

Her orgasm triggered his own. With a few more thrusts, he was spilling into her with a loud roar that he muffled by burying his face in the crook of her neck. 

Elijah allowed them to rest, but only more a moment. He was not quite done. He wanted more.

Before long, he was changing positions, pushing Eternity onto her back against the backseat of his car, while he hovered over her. He grinned down at her, brushing back her hair as he gazed lovingly at her. He enjoyed the way she smiled back, glad to know that she had forgiven him for his wrongs. 

Then, after briefly kissing her lips, the Original moved into position, thrusting into her with one hard push, seating himself inside her to the hilt again. Eternity’s limbs wrapped around him tightly as she was once more filled by his still hard cock. Her mouth found his as well, kissing him without stop as he began to move inside her. 

He pulled out slowly, enjoying the way her walks clung to him as he did, and then slammed back inside hard. He moved this way at a steady pace, finding the perfect rhythm that had his lady panting and moaning, begging him for more in between kisses. He held her close, as he brought them both to their peaks again.

“Please, Elijah,” Eternity panted quietly in his ear. “More...more! I’m so...close!”

With her pleas, Elijah moved harder - faster. He slammed into his lovely wife that clung to him tightly as she was growing closer to falling off the edge, feeling his own body following suit all over again. 

Then Eternity’s walls clamped down on his cock for a second time as her orgasm took her. Her limbs tightened around him as her body seized. 

As before, her end triggered Elijah’s and he spilled into her once more. This time, instinct took hold and his vampire visage emerged to sink his fangs into the ethereal beauty’s neck. He drank from her greedily, enjoying the taste of her sweet blood, while simultaneously triggering Eternity to experience a third orgasm that closely followed the previous one. 

Once Elijah had his fill, he dislodged his fangs and let his human visage return, lazily lapping at the stray bits of blood from the already healed puncture wounds on her neck. He rested there with his face buried in her neck, finding contentment in letting her hold onto him as they came down from their pleasure highs. 

“I love you, Elijah,” Eternity murmured contentedly, as she cradled his head in her hand. “I have missed you so much.”

“Does this mean you’re coming home, Sweetheart?” Elijah asked with a small smile, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it from her. “Does this mean you’ll stay?”

The immortal beauty laughed slightly, “Of course it does! In fact, I hope to never have to leave your side again. I want to be here with you always.”

Shifting and sitting up slightly, so that he could look at her face, the Original kissed her forehead and then rested his against hers as he whispered, “I swear, you and I will never be forced to separate again. We will remain together - always and forever.”

Eternity smiled lovingly at him and nodded, “Yes, always and forever.”

The End

———————————————————————————————————

Tag List: @elejah-wonderland @dendrite-lover @missnmikealson @inmylifeilovedthemall @xanderling @esclisa @fandom-princess-forevermore @elejahforever @elizamonet @freshsuitcasewinnereagle @loulouisa @teekillerin @x-memi12 @lolelijahishot @elijahandkollover

[acabloe]

Soon Goodbye, Now Love: Chapter Three

chapter one

chapter two

tw’s: cursing, religion? kinda? depression, anxiety 

still based on this song lol

a/n: psa I have done surprisingly little planning for this fic beyond the synopsis and basic plot-point interactions and ending so if you have some specific fluffy (or non winky face ((JUST KiDDING ⁱˢᴴʰ))) moments in mind for future chapters, my inbox is SO open and welcome also this will pick up pace after this chapter I promise, I just really needed to set up enough emotional stuff to make ur eyes wet later. ok das all read it n sheep.

Chapter Three: Draw the Oceans

Chloe stopped in her tracks and stepped backwards at the sight of such distress on the girl’s face. 

“Oh my God, I’m totally invading your privacy! I’m so sorry, I’ll leave you alone.” The girl had stopped as well and after a second of Chloe standing back with her hand over her mouth she reached forward and touched her back gently. Hoping she could add at least a small amount of positive energy into the situation, she quickly added “...Although, um, don’t take this the wrong way, but I can also stay with you if you just need to vent to someone who isn’t gonna judge you and who you’ll probably never see again- if thats what you need. Just let me know okay? It’s kind of my thing to go out of my way to make people feel better.” She smiled and made the kind of eye contact that she hoped would give off the most telepathically generous vibes.

The girl stared at Chloe, taken aback but still in consideration. A small split in the cover overhead had opened up briefly to illuminate the pair of them and Chloe saw her face for the first time. Her lips were sucked in and her eyes spilled shimmering streams down her cheeks . “I’m fine. Really. Thank you. I um...It’s...it’s complicated. It’s Really complicated.” Her voice broke on the word ‘really’ and her quaking hands passed to her face to rub at her eyes. Chloe begrudgingly let her do this contrary to her instincts of taking the girl’s wrists away and hugging her- she didn’t want to violate this stranger’s privacy more than she already had. She waited patiently for the girl to think about the situation while she kept her hand on her shoulder to stabilize her.

-

Beca’s stomach churned and she chewed her lip as she weighed her options. The three best responses that sprung to mind were not the most reliable ideas she’d ever had, but they would be better in the long run than simply to lay on the ground and give in to a breakdown.  Firstly, she could reject Chloe’s help and give no explanation for her current state, but ask her to keep walking with her ‘for comfort’ to hopefully form some kind of closer connection which she would use later to see her again. Secondly, she could, as fast as possible, concoct a story similar to the truth but somehow without mentioning the factors of reincarnation, the confirmation of some kind of legitimate higher power’s existence (or at least a medium power), that Chloe was supposed to die almost two years ago, and the matter that Beca was a fucking guardian angel. Or thirdly she could just tell Chloe the truth. The last one was, she admitted, both the worst idea and the most tempting one. No. She doesn’t know you, remember, she’s going to think you're high or something. (her brain did feel very unprepared for this sudden mental gymnastics, she thought.) Her heart physically ached with want to hold Chloe tightly and sob into her shoulder about how she thought she’d never see her again and how exhausted and lonely she felt. She sighed heavily and tried her best to smile without letting her emotions contort her face (harder than she expected) and prepared herself to express the second biggest lie she had ever told to her best friend.

“Thank you. I really appreciate that. Let’s keep walking...um, I’ll try not to bore you too much.” 

“No, no, please! Onward!”

Beca frowned as the comforting warmth in her shoulder from Chloe’s hand left her shoulder blade.

“Well...basically, a few years ago I had this friend. We...cared about each other a lot. We’d been really close since high school and we’d gone through some really tough shit together. She was there for me and I did my best to do the same. We were kinda like each other’s moms in a sense.” Beca chuckled softly. “Then about a year and a half ago...she...my friend was in an accident. She was hit on the highway by a drunk driver and she wasn’t found till a few hours after. When she was, they did their best but...um...she didn’t make it.” Beca paused, to both protect herself from crying again and also to stall for a second to think about what could possibly replace the concept of swapping places with the dying girl you love and returning to earth a guardian angel. 

“I was um...My mental health plummeted and I was in a really bad place for a very long time...I developed a bad drug and alcohol problem. I did some horrid, inexcusable things to a lot of people I cared very deeply for, which left me basically without my friends and family...But starting two months ago, I decided to get better for her. I’ve been sober for um...a few months. I was in rehab in Massachusetts up until a few days ago and I came back to New York for the first time in over a year today...honestly, I don’t know why. Closure? A message from her?! Maybe I needed to see you- her. Sorry, I’m just really disoriented. This is the first time I’ve been in the neighborhood where we used to live since...” Her tears were back, this time as equally fake as they were real. “I reached out to a few friends but no one will talk to me. I’m just filled with so much remorse. Like, immeasurable guilt. You have no idea. Fuck, I don’t even have a place to stay, I’ve only been here a few hours.” She hunched her back and hid her face in her hands taking deep shaky breaths. She did pride herself on her woven web, however, especially the bit about her friends.

Chloe had been quiet and patient with Beca through her whole story and finally when Beca had made it clear she had finished Chloe placed her hand on her shoulder again. She then spoke such soft and warm words that made Beca’s stomach tighten even further with emotion and nerves.

“Wow. I am so sorry. You’ve gone through so much, I really appreciate you sharing your story with me. You are such a strong human being and...I really admire how far you’ve come after everything you went through. Can I...Do you want a hug? I don’t want to invade your personal space.” Chloe’s voice grew somehow even kinder as she said those last few words and Beca nodded, not wanting to seem too eager. 

Chloe enveloped Beca in her arms and tightly held her to her chest as Beca’s sobs became involuntary and incessant. She had not felt so many emotions at once since...well, since as long as she could remember. Her knees were week and she almost clung to Chloe to stay upright. Chloe rubbed slow circles on her back and murmured comforting words to her.

“Shh. It’s okay, everything’s gonna be fine. You’re okay.”

Her familiar soft and sweet scent was painful with lost memories and Beca fit just so in Chloe’s arms as if Chloe had retained the experience of hugging her even through Chloe’s memory-obliteration. 

Finally after three or four minutes, Beca’s sobs became sniffs and she staggered gingerly away from her, afraid of making Chloe uncomfortable.

-

Chloe had such a curiously strong impulse to take this stranger in and help her restart her life and make amends with her friends. She knew how potentially dangerous it would be to let someone she had only spoken to for about fifteen minutes into her home but the girl’s story was pretty believable and she had a lot of spare time. The nearest police station was less than a four minute walk away from her home and she was confident that she was safe and unafraid to call if anything happened. She was surprised at herself for how much pity she harbored for this girl, but for some reason her tale struck an empathetic chord that Chloe had not heard before and was unaware had even existed. As their embrace broke, her impulsive thoughts got the better of her and she acted quickly as to not change her mind or overthink.

“Okay, you know what, hear me through. How would you feel if you came back to my house and you can sleep on my couch for the night? I have to stay up anyways. I can drive you in to the city on my way to work tomorrow and you can look at places to stay or job ops, if thats what you need. I have a friend at a café that could use an extra hand! Do you have anyone in New York you can talk to or trust?”

Even though it was still dark out, Chloe could tell the girl was stunned by her sudden advance. 

“I...uh...thank you, that’s really generous of you. I...guess? Wow, I feel like such a creep right now, I promise I’m telling the truth. If that’s really okay with you, I would so appreciate the help. Also, no I don’t think so. I mean, there might be someone, but I’m gonna need a couple days to figure out how to even get in touch with her.” She combed her hands through her knotted hair in a fluster. 

“Yeah dude of course! Here, come with me. Do you have any bags or anything?”

“Um, no. Most of my stuff is in a storage unit in town. I didn’t really bring anything with me when I left. Thank you so much, I don't think I’ll ever be able to repay you.” Chloe found that odd and questions of how the girl had even come from New York without possessions filled her mind but she pushed them aside.

Half an hour later of Chloe walking the weak girl back to her house in a comfortable silence (Chloe wanted to overwhelm her as little as possible with questions or conversation in her fragile state), they came through the door and she went to the tap to get the girl some water. When she checked the little yellow clock above her sink she was surprised to see that she’d been out for almost two hours and it was nearly 1:00 in the morning. The lights were dim coming from her living room but just bright enough for her to finally see what the girl looked like as she handed her the glass. She was small and frail with long, mousy brown hair and deep set blue eyes that were again cascading tears down pale blanched cheeks. Her minimal tank top and sweatpants were a little grassy but otherwise free of stain or dirt, Chloe supposed she had sat or perhaps lain in the field earlier. When she looked down, Chloe realized the girl’s feet were bare and bruised but said nothing.

“Drink all of that. The bathroom and shower is just through that door behind you. I’m going to run upstairs get you some spare clothes, and sheets for the couch, will you be alright down here?” The girl gave a small nod as she chugged down the water with huge gulps.

-

Beca shut the bathroom door behind her and immediately slid to the floor, breathing rapidly with her hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs.

The house was exactly as she had left it. All her belongings were gone, but most everything else was the same. Same couch, same photographs covering the stairwell, the same colored walls. Even the odd yellow clock Aubrey had bought them as a housewarming gift was still in the kitchen. She managed to push herself upright and turned on the faucet to the temperature she had grown so familiar using. She leant over the sink and forced herself to breathe evenly as steam rose to the ceiling and filled her lungs. 

She was here though and everything was going to smoothly. Everything that she had planned (or rather hoped without depth or consideration) was happening! She was home with Chloe and Chloe was taking care of her! She felt the corners of her mouth twitch as her thoughts grew more hopeful.

An instantly recognizable sensation reached her fingertips and she was no-longer concentrating on her good fortune. Her palms grew hot and it quickly spread to her wrists. Shit. 

Her hands were glowing bright white and her veins were accentuated by visible electric currents racing down her arms under her skin. This isn’t supposed to happen, you’re not supposed to glow on earth, it’s literally impossible. Her heart beat faster. This was a regular behavior in the Higher City. It was completely random with no rhyme or reason and it was also another phenomenon that the head-angels refused to digress. But they had strictly told everyone that it wasn’t supposed to happen after they had left to earth. It’s gotta be a glitch or a kink in the system when I changed my fucking assignment. You bitch! Beca Mitchel, you have fucked up so royally. The light had spread down almost the entire length of her arms and she felt her knees grow hot as it climbed up her legs as well. She threw off her clothes and rushed to the shower, desperate that the water could somehow stifle the course of electricity running through her bloodstream. It did nothing but scald her skin and she yelped in shock.

five or six seconds later a knock came to the door which startled Beca to jump.

“Everything okay in there?” 

“Yeah, um, I turned it too hot haha,” She laughed nervously.

“Okay, I’ll leave these clothes by the door. There’s fresh towels under the sink.”

“Great, thank you!” She groaned quietly in frustration, but when she looked back down to her hands, they were back to her own pale skin. She sighed heavily in relief. Usually it lasted longer; around five to ten minutes, but she guessed because it was only a glitch it would affect her to a much lesser extent.

Twenty minutes later she sat on her made-up bed in Chloe’s pajamas waiting for Chloe to bring her tea she hadn’t asked for. She had been considering maybe telling Chloe the truth after all. The level of gullibility involved with people she cared about was something that the two of them had been working to correct before everything was shoved at them left and right. Beca had begun to worry that one day in the future she would not be immediately accessible to force Chloe to see every angle of the situation and to hold herself over others when the circumstances required. A significantly large piece of Beca’s mind suggested that Chloe would swallow the whole story with complete belief and acceptance. However Beca had not seen her in so long and she had romanticized their friendship so laboriously during their time apart. There was a chance that the more stripped down version of Chloe that Beca remembered was not as surface-level innocent and credulous as was reality. There was too much of a risk that Beca’s tale would turn her out onto the streets and she would definitely never see Chloe again after that. She was woken from her musings by a warm mug of lavender-smelling steam being gently placed between her palms.

“Here you are! It’s hot, careful. So, I’m leaving around 8:00 tomorrow and I’ll drop you off wherever you need to be?”

“Um, yeah that would be great. Thank you so much for all of this. You have no idea how much it means to me.” No really, she had No. Idea. 

“Yeah, no worries! I totally got your back! Um, I’ll just be right here in the kitchen finishing up some work. If you need anything just holler.” Chloe patted Bec’s leg affectionately and stood, still facing Beca. Her eyes suddenly somehow grew wider than her already enormous size and she exclaimed. “Wait, oh my God! I’m such an awful person! I don’t even know your name! And you don’t know mine! What the hell is your name, dude?” Beca laughed and looked down sheepishly.

“It’s Beca. Mitchel.”

“Well, nice to meet you Beca, my name is Chloe. I think we’re gonna be really fast friends.”

A/N: Hey friends just wanna say thank u sm for all these positive responses I’m really enjoying this process n it’s my first proper fic since my 2014 doctor who days. if you can’t tell I've been trying really hard to write different pov’s in styles closer to how I think the characters think idk we’ll see how it goes ::,,))) ps. if someone wants to make me a fic cover I will love you forever and ever I would do it myself but I can’t edit for S H I T :// woohoo what a ride this is gonna be I really hope y’all keep reading !!

[shachaai]

[Ficlet] Meow

Short bit of single mothers human AU, nyo fruk at the very start of checking each other out, for Halloween. If it’s not clear, Marianne = f!France, Elaine = f!England, Madeline = f!Canada, and Abigail = f!America.

   There are not many things Marianne Bonnefoy will not do for the sake of her daughter. So if her Madeline - sweet, dear, charming little Madeline - wishes to attend a Halloween party/sleepover being thrown by one of her friends, Marianne will make sure she is finished work early that day so she can take Madeline to the party.

Even if the mother of the girl who invited Madeline is one of the few parents of the children in Madeline’s class - or possibly the whole school - that Marianne would happily throttle with a smile.

Abigail Kirkland, bright, bubbly and one month older than Madeline, is a loud but extraordinarily friendly six years old who Marianne thinks of with great fondness, because Abigail had taken one long look at a nervous Madeline on Madeline’s first day in her new school and instantly declared herself to be Madeline’s best friend. And had stuck to her oath. She had stayed by Madeline ever since: Madeline speaks, shy but happy, of how they help each other out in class, play together at playtimes, and swap treats and stories and fraying friendship bracelets made of ribbons and thread.

Elaine Kirkland, Abigail Kirkland’s single mother, is a lithe mid-twenty-something sent straight from hell in a pencil skirt to make Marianne’s life a hell whenever the both of them show up to the same PTA meetings. How Kirkland birthed or otherwise gained a child as amicable as Abigail when she herself is such a sharp-tongued wilful creature is a mystery known only to God, because Marianne has found herself at loggerheads with the woman on multiple spectacular occasions, the last of which had seen them both forbidden by the school’s headteacher from ever again running or otherwise contributing to the cake stall at the school’s summer or winter fairs.

(Words had been said that should not have been said in the presence of under-10s. Two plates had been damaged, and a Victoria sponge had hit the wall. A blouse had certainly been torn, and the rumour-mill still cannot agree on whether there had been hairpulling.

Kirkland still insists the problem had been Marianne’s attitude, as though attitude sent projectiles flying down the length of the school hall with a harpy’s shriek.

Marianne still blames, firstly, Kirkland’s rock cakes, which had been hard, grey and definitely more rock than cake, and secondly, Kirkland’s inability to realise her contributions to the stall counted as lethal weapons - both when thrown and when imbibed.)

Many others - however grudgingly - sing Elaine Kirkland’s praises, and Marianne just does not get it. Kirkland can be brusque with others - never the girls; Marianne would whisk Madeline away if she thought for one second that Kirkland had so much as dared to dream of hurting Madeline’s feelings in some ways those times Abigail had had her friend stay for dinner at her house after school -, but the only person she seems to reserve her most particular ire for is Marianne. Something about Marianne seems to get on Kirkland’s nerves, and, well, everything about Kirkland - from her blunt words and smug expression down to her poisonous cooking, wilful stubbornness and terribly ugly shoes - gets on Marianne’s.

But Abigail is Madeline’s dearest friend, and Madeline does not have many friends, so if that means Marianne must occasionally tolerate Abigail’s awful, awful mother, Marianne will gracefully grit her teeth and do so.

For Madeline.

Marianne is a wonderful mother, even if she must say so herself.

That still doesn’t stop the first words coming out of her mouth when Elaine Kirkland opens up her front door in all black and cat ears from being:

“Oh, ma chérie, did you get tired of being a demon the other 364 days of the year?”

Madeline, an angel too precious for this terrible world and currently looking too adorable for her mother’s heart in her yellow-and-black-striped leotard and matching tulle skirt, doesn’t get it. Still holding Marianne’s hand, she tilts her head back to look at her mother, making both the gauze wings on her back and the sparkly antennae on her headband bounce and flutter. “But, maman, Miss Kirkland doesn’t wear costumes?”

Miss Kirkland, whose once-pleasant smile has frozen on her face in the familiar rigor mortis it suffers whenever it chances across Marianne, does the honourable thing - for once - and ignores Marianne’s comment. Perhaps it got lost in the wall of noise coming from the house: pop music and happy children’s shrieks.“Madeline, what a pretty costume! I love your skirt.”

Madeline, who really does not get as many compliments as she deserves despite her mother’s best efforts, beams. “I’m a bee!”

“So I see,” says Kirkland, and smiles a great deal more genuinely down at the girl between them, making the black whiskers painted on her cheeks shift with her smile.

Marianne would be able to forgive the woman many things if only she smiled that way more, preferably at Madeline - and also preferably, Marianne is slowly realising, whilst wearing the very shimmery, very sheer gauzy black top she currently has on, which all the world can just see through enough to see Elaine Kirkland’s surprisingly sexy black lace bra beneath.

Elaine Kirkland is a pretty lithe mid-twenty-something from hell (how old is she? Surely she’s younger than Marianne), and looks very, very good in black. (Such a shame about everything else about her.) She makes an interesting cat, and is certainly feline enough to pass the look off: her eyes are very green in the night when she smiles - a lot more sharply - at Marianne. “And I see your maman came as a hag?”

“Uh,” says Madeline, confused, and misses entirely the way her mother is glaring over her darling head at her best friend’s mother. That had been an exceedingly cheap shot; Marianne is disgusted for all of their sakes. “Maman?”

Marianne doesn’t get the chance to comment. Elaine had already pushed the door wider, letting out even more noise from the party within, and yelled over her shoulder: “Abigail, Madeline is here!”

There is the immediate thunder of many young feet from inside the house.

“Why don’t you come in?” Elaine gestures at both Madeline and Marianne, though she speaks to the girl first. “Abby will show you where to put your overnight bag, dear,” which Marianne is content to pass into her bewildered daughter’s hands from where she’d been carrying it on her shoulder for their walk to the house, Abigail appearing in a blur of Wonder Woman red, blue and gold with at least three other girls behind her and immediately hauling Madeline away with a cheerful hi, Ms. Bonnefoy! “Some of the other parents have stopped for a little while to have a drink and chat, and we can discuss what time it would be best for you to pick up Madeline tomorrow.”

“I drove here,” says Marianne flatly, in reply to the drink. With no innocent ears around to hear her, she need not be so polite any more.

Elaine rolls her eyes, and steps back further. (Rather than a cat, she should have dressed as a witch.) The hallway behind her is festooned in cotton-wool cobwebs and strings of electric pumpkin lights. “It’s a children’s party, Bonnefoy. We have soft drinks. Or tea, coffee, if you’re worried about sugar.”

Marianne caves a little, if only for the excuse to peer around the house of the woman in front of her a little more. Before, she had always picked up Madeline at the door. “...Then coffee, please, if you have it.”

She follows Kirkland in, and after the other woman to the kitchen when Kirkland shuts the front door - and regrets it abruptly, every step of the way.

Along with the sheer shirt and gorgeous bra, Elaine Kirkland is wearing a tail pinned to her beautifully fitted trousers, and, with every step she takes, it sways, drawing the eye - Marianne’s eyes - inexorably to Elaine Kirkland’s beguilingly long legs and the faint curve of her arse.

Marianne has gladly dated men and women with legs and arse less beguiling. That one such combination should try and seduce her whilst Marianne is surrounded by plastic bats, spiders, skeletons and neon orange things, on a body belonging to such a pain in the metaphorical arse, is an affront to Marianne’s good sensibilities.

Some things should be inexcusable.

“You are a menace to decent society,” Marianne mutters, not meaning to be overhead - but is, because of course she is due to the universe suddenly deciding to hate her, Elaine turning to look back over her shoulder before Marianne has lifted her horrified eyes from where they are still firmly fixed on her cat hostess’ swaying tail.

“...Excuse me?” Kirkland has gone abruptly, terribly, quite fetchingly pink. In the face at least, Marianne cannot see any pink on her chest yet under the sheer black shirt.

Marianne is saved from wishing she had showed up that Halloween as the Invisible Woman by the reappearance of her daughter, still being happily hauled around by Abigail. Both girls screech to a stop so Madeline can seize her mother in a hug about the thighs, Madeline’s cheeks already red and eyes bright with excitement, headband lopsided on her head.

“Maman, there’s a piñata!”

Marianne loves her daughter so very, very much. And in that moment, for aiding her in providing a distraction from the repercussions from Marianne’s roving gaze, Abigail too.

“Vraiment?” Marianne crouches down a little to return Madeline’s hug, smiling over the girl’s shoulder at Abigail since her daughter’s friend seems just as excited. “What shape is it?”

Perhaps it is cruel to use the excited chatter of children to stop Elaine Kirkland and her watchful green eyes from probing Marianne any further, but Marianne does so anyway until her hostess takes the hint and leaves for the kitchen without her. Besides, Marianne is actually interested in what the girls have to say, happy about whatever it is making her Madeline so happy.

And if it means Marianne can leave a message with Abigail about what time she plans to pick Madeline up again the next day rather than having to talk again to the cat-demon- witch that is Abigail’s mother? All the better.

(There are not many things Marianne Bonnefoy will not do for the sake of her daughter. Some things, however, she definitely does not mind delaying for as long as possible.)

[secondgenerationnerd]

Why don’t they like me?

So, Kinda been in a Robstar mood lately. I was going through a bunch of the Mar’i Grayson pictures that @dar-draws has made (side note, you are amazing and I love your Mar’i) I came across this favorite of mine and then I came across this comic that I hadn’t seen before. Well, this kind of got me thinking and reminded me of a few headcanons that I have about how Mar’i was treated since she’s a hybrid. Total credit for the art goes to @dar-draws who you all should totally follow.

Alternate Title: The Mar’i Grayson Angst No One Asked For

----------------

It’s been a long day. After running around Bludhaven as Detective Grayson and then following up with the Titans, he wants nothing more than to be home with his family. A smile comes to his face remembering that Mar’i would be home from her first day of preschool. Both he and Kor’i had dropped her off, but an emergency made it impossible for him to help pick her up.

“I’m home,” Dick calls out. He tosses his keys onto the table and sets his bag down. He waits. Mar’i always flies right into his arms with a massive smile on her face. But the apartment is quiet. “Kor’i? Mar’i?”

“We’re in the living room, Dick,” Kor’i calls out. Dick smiles when he sees his girls, but the smile fades at the serious look on Kor’i’s face. Mar’i doesn’t look at her father.

“What’s going on?” He asks. 

“Mar’i got into a fight today,” Kor’i tells him. Dick instantly looks at his daughter. She’s a little small for her age, just as he had been, but he knew how powerful she is. After all, this was the same little girl, who at 2 years old, had lifted up the Batmobile just to get a ball that had rolled underneath. She’s much better at controlling her powers now, but this was inexcusable.

“Is this true?” Mar’i looks at him and nods,”Mar’i, you know better than to fight other people. What if you used your strength? Or, God forbid, one of your starbolts?”

“This is very serious,” Kor’i scolds her daughter. They had only just gotten home before Dick had. Kor’i had made her apologize to the little boy (whom she found to rude, but Mar’i needed to learn that violence was not how they handle things) and they’d talked to the daycare director.

Both her parents keep telling her why fighting was wrong and how they try to find a smarter way to handle a problem. But they don’t know what that boy had done to her all day long. What all the kids in her class had said about her. Mar’i starts crying making both her parents stop. 

“Starshine?” Kor’i voice is softer now. She hadn’t wanted to make her daughter cry. That’s the last thing she ever wanted to do.

“I don’t like school,” Mar’i sobs. This shocks both her parents. For at least a month, all she could talk about was today.

“Hey,” Dick kneels in front of his daughter. Mar’i throws her arms around his neck and cries into his shoulder,” Starshine, what’s wrong? What aren’t you telling us?”

“I don’t wanna go back, Daddy,” Mar’i cries,” Don’t make me go back.”

Even though they had been scolding her, they couldn’t bear to hear her cry. It takes them a few minutes to calm her down. Kor’i wraps her arms around Mar’i and Dick. Both of them press kisses into her dark curls and try to get her little body to stop shaking. Her beautiful green eyes, just like Kor’i’s, are tinted red. 

“Why don’t people like me?” Her voice is soft. 

“Why would you think people don’t like you?” Dick asks.

“People treat me different. Grown-ups look at me funny. The kids made fun of me,” Her eyes well up with tears again,” They kept saying I don’t belong here. They made fun of my eyes. They said I was ugly. I don’t wanna go back.”

“Did you tell a teacher?” Kor’i asks. Mar’i nods. She and Dick exchange a look over their daughter’s head.

“Mrs. Pearson said that I should try being nice to them. I did try, Mommy. I tried really hard. But that boy kept saying that his mommy told him not to be friends with me.”

“Why’s that?”

“He said she called me a abobination and that God hates me.” She starts crying again,” And you always say God loves me and I got really mad. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.”

Dick wipes her tears away and makes her look at him,” Starshine, why didn’t you tell Mommy this earlier?”

“No one asked me. The boy pushed me and then I hit him, but Mrs. Pearson only saw me hit him. No one asked me what happened. They just started yelling at me.” She sniffs.

“So you hit that boy because he said mean things and pushed you?” Mar’i nods,” Bumgorf, that is still not ok.”

“I know. I am sorry, Mommy.” She wipes her nose,” What’s a abobination?”

Neither Dick nor Kor’i know how to answer that. Mar’i is smart for her age. She won’t just accept any random answer. Kor’i pulls her daughter onto her lap.

“My star, you know that you are special right? Not just because you are you, but because of Mommy and Daddy and where they are from,” She nods,” There are some people that do not believe that we should be a family.”

“Why?”

“Because they think since I am not from this planet, I do not belong here. Becuase Daddy is from Earth, he should be with someone from here. Those people believe that us having you was not ok.”

“Did you not want me?”

“Of course, we wanted you,” Dick reassures her,” Don’t you ever think for a single second that you aren’t wanted and loved.”

“But why don’t they like me? Why do they say mean things?” Mar’i desperately wants answers, ones that she is simply too young to really understand.

“Starshine, there will always be people who say mean things about someone. They will say it because a person is from another place or because they love someone who others have decided they should not or for reasons that one cannot change. But for ever person like that, there are many more who do not care about those things.” Kor’i wipes her daughter’s little cheeks.

“Like Puro Dad?” Dick can’t help but smile at her Romani. Bruce likes Puro Dad better than Grandpa in any case.

“Just like Puro Dad, Auntie Barbara, Uncle Jay, Auntie Rae, Uncle Gar, Uncle Vic, Auntie Kate, Auntie Cass, Uncle Tim, Uncle Dami, Auntie Steph,” Dick lists about thirty other people who love and accept her. A little smile comes to her lips,” And of course, Mommy and Daddy.”

“That is right,” Kor’i tuck a curl behind Mar’i ear,” Mommy and Daddy will always, always, always love you.”

There isn’t much more they can say on the matter. Mar’i is uncharacteristically quiet the rest of the night. She cuddles up with one of her parents while the other attempts to do some things around the apartment. Attempts being the key word. After an hour, the small family just resigns themselves to an early night. They order pizza and watch movies in Dick and Kor’i’s bed. Mar’i falls asleep, snuggled up in her daddy’s arms.

“Is she asleep?” Kor’i asks after a while.

“I think so,” Dick doesn’t set her down. He holds Mar’i tightly to his chest, just like when she was a baby. He tries not to think about the day that she’ll be too big to sleep like this.

“I do not want her to go back to that school.” Kor’i shakes her head. She hates that she made Mar’i apologize to that boy without knowing the whole story. Dick sees the anger on her face. 

“Babe, we both knew this day was going to come sooner or later.”

“I know. I just thought it would be later rather than sooner.” Kor’i leans against his shoulder, reaching over to stroke Mar’i’s curls.

“Kids can be cruel.”

“This is not about what the children said. It is their parents who said it to them. They do not know her, yet they pass judgment anyway. They tell their children that God hates her after you have spent so much time teaching her the opposite.”

“You’ve heard people say that be-”

“They were not saying to my daughter,” Kor’i shakes her head,” I do not care what they say about me or to me, but they do not get to say such things to my baby.”

“Babe,” Dick wraps an arm around,” I know you want to protect her. Believe me, the only reason I’m not going down to the school right now is the fact that it’s closed. And I am not denying that what happened was fucked up, but we aren’t always going to be here to protect Mar’i.”

“But we are now. She should not have to fight this alone.”

“She isn’t alone. Just like we told her earlier, for as many rude assholes out there, there are like double that many who will love her. That’s gotta start with her family.” Kor’i smiles a bit at her husband’s words,” You wanna know a secret?”

“I feel as though I know all your secrets,” She chuckles. He laughs and she can feel him kiss her hair.

“I promise you don’t know this one. I fall more in love with you every single day,” Kor’i laughs at the cheesy statement,” That’s not the secret, just the introduction. I fall in love with the way you look in the morning. I fall in love with the way you tickle Mar’i so she wakes up laughing. I fall in love with the way you compromise on her outfit so she doesn’t go outside looking like a hot mess. I fall in love with the way you sing to her, the way you two slip in and out of Tamaranian, the way you tell her how much you love her.”

Dick kisses her forehead and rests his head on hers, both of them looking at their daughter,” I fall in love with our daughter every single day. I love her smile, her curiosity, her sense of humor. I love the way that she can remember exactly when we promised to take her somewhere, but can’t remember where she put her tights or toys. She’s brave, strong, sweet, kind, intelligent, and beautiful, just like her mother. And the secret is: there are times that I know life would be simpler if we were what people considered normal, but I wouldn’t give this up for anything. I wouldn’t change where you’re from or how you look or what you can do to make some asshole happy. I love you for you. I love Mar’i because she is ours and she is perfect.”

“It would be simpler though-”

“I don’t care. I am lucky to be your husband and Mar’i’s father. I am lucky to have both of you and I will spend every day for the rest of my life fighting to prove to myself that I deserve you. I love you. I love Mar’i. I love our life, all the good days and all the bad.”

Kor’i shakes her head,” It amazes me sometimes how passionate you speak.”

“Surprises me too, ves’tacha,” Kor’i recognizes this word. Dick didn’t speak much Romani, having forgotten some of the language since he was a child, but he loves to say this one word to her. She kisses his stubbly cheek.

“Mar’i is lucky to have you as a father,” She says as they nestle down into the covers, Mar’i sleeping between them.

“I’m lucky to have both of you,” he repeats, believing it with every part of his heart,” I love you.”

“And I you,” She kisses him softly before pulling her daughter to her chest. Dick pulls both of them close and the small family falls asleep. In the morning, they would wake up, a mess of limbs and poor Mar’i squished between her parents. They would go to the school and face the problem head on. But for now, the family sleeps, the sounds of their city echoing in the stillness of the room

-------------

I hope you all liked this. Again credit for the drawings that inspired this story goes to @dar-draws . Please comment and let me know what you think!

[journalxxx]

January 17th, 2013

Albeit coded with my most complex cipher, the delicate and personal nature of the events that have occupied my mind for the past hours makes me hesitant to record them in writing. However, my thoughts have been spinning in circles for so long that I think that even the simple process of establishing a chronological and causal narrative order among them could be of some use to me.

First off, something I had genuinely forgotten until this evening. During my travels, I once found myself temporarily detained in the small jail of a local custom house, for reasons which have no bearing on the topic at hand. The cell opposite mine was occupied by two fascinating jellyfish-like creatures, whose appearance strongly resembled that of our Pelagia Noctiluca species here on Earth, except nearly as tall as an average human being and perfectly adapted to terrestrial survival and ambulation. Since my translator had been confiscated by the authorities and we were such fundamentally different organisms, all my attempts at talking with them were unsuccessful, and the three of us spent the long hours of imprisonment without interacting in any meaningful way. That is, until they started interacting with each other.

To this day, I have no idea what they were actually doing. They may have been fighting, or playing, or even simply communicating. What I do know is that their actions were extremely intriguing to watch. Each movement seemed incredibly slow and cautious, almost lazy at times. They kind of drifted towards each other at first, lightly and gradually, as if they were somehow fluctuating in an immaterial sea current. Their thin and lucid tentacles brushed, then slid along each other, and finally tangled and coiled like the strands of a rope, or the superhelix of a protein. Their appendages seemed to meld as they grew closer and, at one point, when their limbs were so deeply tied that they appeared impossible to unravel, their bells flipped sideways and their rims adhered perfectly, creating a roughly spherical shape above their bodies. They stayed like that for quite a while, at least half an hour, squirming and ondulating slightly against each other.

I remember wishing that the room had been more brightly lit, to allow me to observe the phenomenon more clearly, maybe even catch a glimpse of their inner anatomical structures through their translucent tissues. I remember squinting in the darkness to make sense of the dim reflection of the outer light on their skin, trying to gauge whether their position had changed or the situation had evolved. I remember the strange, subtle scent that slowly pervaded the area, something akin to ammonia. I remember most vividly the noises they made, the soft and wet rustling of their fringed tentacles sliding and knotting, the sharp smacking sound of their bells suddenly misaligning, and then quickly sticking back together like powerful suction cups. I remember, not without shame, my interest gradually turning into something other than purely academical, something of much less intellectual nature. I did not question it at the time, nor would I know how to interpret it even now. I can only imagine that something in their attitude, regardless of what their actual intent may have been, must have resonated with my own human schemes of behavioral interpretation. What may have been the most normal and ordinary social interaction in those aliens' society did look to me as... uniquely intimate and suggestive. I wish I could say I only went as far as acknowledging that bizarre interest, and then promptly and discreetly shrugged it off. I did not. I wish I could blame the hours of boredom, or the years of loneliness, but the recent developments warn me to be wary of such simplistic excuses. As much as it pains me to admit it, I did allow that peculiar sight to rouse me beyond reason and dignity, to the point that I couldn't do anything but relieve that troubling pressure as I could, then and there. The creatures didn't seem to notice in any way, nor did the curious incident have any kind of material or moral consequence. It may have indeed remained buried in my memory for another decade or forever, if something deeply different yet somehow similar hadn't sparked its recollection. I have already written about Stan's penchant for indulging in brief and casual dalliances in most of the towns where we happen to dock. It isn't uncommon for him to spend an entire night out once in a while, nor to display unexpected familiarity with the most diverse individuals, in spite of every and any linguistic or cultural barrier. He is as discreet about it as any man with my brother's particular character and brazen sense of humor might be, though I'm glad to say that this habit of his has never caused us troubles or misunderstandings. However, I now find myself incapable of thinking about this matter like I did before, like an innocuous and abstract piece of information about his usual past-times. And once again I can't help but draw the conclusion that I don't know my brother nearly as well as I thought. I didn't notice anything remarkable about the plain diner we went to yesterday evening and, on Stan's suggestion, today as well. Everything from the food, to the furnishing, to the friendly waitress taking our orders looked absolutely nondescript and ordinary. I did notice the abundance of warm smiles and lingering glances the two were trading but, well. I surprised Stan practising cheesy pick-up lines both on his pet axolotl and on a miner copper statue, so I've always thought that flirting comes as natural to him as breathing. I definitely didn't notice anything strange when he excused himself to "take a leak", as he eloquently put it. Therefore, when I went to the bathroom as well a couple of minutes later, I didn't expect in the slightest to catch a glimpse, behind an ajar "Staff Only" door, of him and waitress clutching at each other, his mouth latched on her neck and his hand under her skirt. Paradoxically, the most remarkable aspect of the whole thing was how strangely unremarkable it was, in some ways. They remained mostly quiet for the entire time, save few hushed encouragements and instructions. As strange as it may sound, it looked like they barely moved, once they started properly. They barely even looked at each other, or rather they did, but only at their bodies, cheeky winks and bright smiles unexplicably gone. For some bizarre reason, the incident in the custom house popped in my mind, and, just as inexcusably as that time, I simply observed, instead of discreetly going my way. I left only after they were done, and I finally headed to the bathroom to gather my thoughts for a minute. I must confess that, if I had witnessed such a scene just few months ago, I fear it would have left me completely unimpressed. I probably would have spared it very little thought, and many denigratory judgements. However, I believe - I want to believe - that I have learned something about Stanley since my return, and that's that he is, despite the appearances, a very whole-hearted man. It boggles my mind that he may be so careless and superficial with something that, in the life of every human being, I believe should be treated with at least some modicum of consideration. I may be reaching, but I feel that, just like with the jellyfish aliens, I may be missing some crucial contextual element, something critical to let me understand exactly what the hell have I stumbled into. Otherwise, it just... doesn't make sense to me. For the sake of honesty, I can't omit the fact that, despite all these puzzling and troubling thoughts, the sight didn't leave me unaffected. I did not indulge my 'interest' - for lack of more delicate definition - like the last time, as I also want to believe that I have some modicum of consideration as well, but I would be lying if I said that I didn't consider the idea, however briefly. Whatever the source of this questionable fascination may be, it wasn't remotely slighted by the fact that one of its objects was my own kin. I don't really know what to make of this either. When I got back to the table, Stan was casually picking the last fries from my plate, calm and cheerful as ever. Not a single word or gesture was out of place when we paid, and the amicable looks and smiles were back in their place. Sometimes I forget how much of a good liar my brother is. If his good mood was even a facade. Maybe not. I honestly have no idea. We set sail to our next destination a few hours ago. I never quite noticed how utterly unaffected Stan seems to be by the idea of leaving his occasional acquaintances for good, people whom he must have bonded with to some degree, I suppose. It strikes me as beyond odd, now, though I may be just overthinking it. We're scheduled for almost a full month of navigation before hitting the next port, so I guess I'll have plenty of time to try to make sense of my doubts.

[paceunknown]

high school musical, often abbreviated “hsm”,

is quite literally one of the best musicals ever released. it draws on old, often overused tropes that any audience would recognise and be able to identify with (chance meeting/running away at midnight - cinderella; main characters on opposite sides of the tracks - romeo and juliet; etc). said tropes tug on memories and expectations that make the movie interesting enough to want to see through to the end but aren’t boring and predictable enough to steer one away, as the plot itself can play out in a multitude of ways with the promise of a cute and happy ending still present. 

troy bolton’s characterisation is the one of the driving forces behind why the franchise as a whole is so successful and you can fight me on it. he’s just… so nice, so thoughtful, his character breaks all the stereotypes and makes you love him and therefore the whole movie because you’re rooting for him to open his eyes and be himself. he’s the typical jock, yes, number one star player with narrow, one-track minded friends and a pushy dad, and that’s how he’s introduced in the exposition. but that’s quickly broken during the countdown to midnight scene where he’s honest with gabriella about having enjoyed singing and how he’s genuinely, earnestly interested in keeping in contact (and absolutely solidified when he does everything in his power to ask for gabriella’s forgiveness). completely off trope, he’s nervous and awkward with her instead of cocky as expected, and we immediately understand that troy is a lot nicer and conflicted than we’d originally thought; when we see him back at east high laughing at chad’s dig at sharpay it’s confusing, as it should be, since he’s been established as a Good Guy™, but it makes sense because we also know he has an image to uphold (see: “why are you whispering?”). further, though gabriella coerces his love for music out of him, troy ultimately comes to the conclusion for himself. she made the joke about auditioning, but it was him who lingered on the poster, let the idea of singing influence his basketball practice, hid at the back of the theater, and decided to do the callback. that’s something we don’t usually see in these kinds of love stories: the boy didn’t need the girl to be his end-all-be-all savior—all she did was give him that little push which he used to make his own decisions.

and while we’re on the topic, let’s talk about troy and gabriella’s relationship that has set my standards high since 2006. first of all, even though gabriella is sweet and soft spoken, she doesn’t take any shit (“nice penmanship” blew my eight year old mind; when she came for sharpay in hsm 2 I lost it). from the jump she’s interested in troy, clearly, but she doesn’t go all goo-goo over him like I’m sure he’s used to: running away to find her mom at the party, basically ignoring him to find her classes, not being so willing to accept it when taylor revealed the webcam thing was plotted. it’s not something that’s been unseen, but it’s definitely out the norm to see the nerdy girl not let the cute jock engulf her life. in fact, it’s pretty much the opposite way around: troy asks for her number, troy risks getting in trouble to call her in class, troy is the one off his game when gabriella stops speaking to him whereas gabriella’s sad but she keeps on keepin on. this role reversal is key in not only further establishing how much he’s unlike his stereotype but cementing hsm’s Groundbreaking Originality. on this as well, it ends up being troy who convinces gabriella to do the callback (both times, pretty much) which again breaks the stereotype. also, they’re just so fucking cute together it makes me wanna die?? it’s natural cuteness (probably because zac and vanessa had that real life chemistry but), not “these are our love interests and they’re supposed to be in love” cuteness. they’re goofy together (practice room with kelsi, detention when they’re humming breaking free, when they're on the court together), honest with each other (rooftop garden, scene after darbus’ class), genuinely care for one another (gabriella’s pushiness to get troy to do what he enjoys and not what’s expected of him, troy’s understanding of gabriella’s stage fright and taking the first verse of breaking free/telling her to just look at him). their entire existences don’t become all about each other, which is so incredibly refreshing, but we still get to see their relationship happen over the course of something longer than a three-minute song. and it’s apparent that they aren’t even technically dating/haven’t had That talk yet by the looks on their faces when troy kisses gabriella’s cheek after breaking free. that’s what really gets to me: we were supposed to assume they were together but ,, they weren’t! and that’s due to good world building and character progression! are y'all hearing me the ENTIRE MOVIE we #thought but they were still in the beginning stages of their relationship! when has any romcom ever! talk about slow burn I LOVE that their relationship actually grew and wasn’t just written to have happened spontaneously WHEW BOY okay.

let me also discuss the whole webcam incident. what troy said was dumb and inexcusable, definitely, but the fact that both sides realised what they did was wrong and conspired to fix it not even for their personal gain (the upcoming game, the decathlon) but because they genuinely cared about their friends’ happiness and even helped to devise this ridiculously complex plan to help get their friends to the callback!! everyone changed, it wasn’t just troy and gabriella. even though troy still struggled internally with his love for singing all the way up until the end of the last movie, it was never a thing where their friends continued to conspire against them or they had to keep proving their worthiness to be on stage. they realised their friends were more important and that was it, and that’s such a beautiful message and, again, one you don’t see too often: typically the leads have to be together in secret, or run off together, or only one or two of their close friends accept them. like I said! Groundbreaking Originality!

now onto the music. I was listening to the rent soundtrack a few weeks ago and recently bopped the hsm soundtrack, and I couldn’t help but be reminded of the former. not because of content, obviously, but the range of styles and a lot of the styles themselves were reminiscent. the hsm soundtrack wasn’t your typical disney musical, it wasn’t all bubblegum and legato and, just, old school disney. it’s like rent, it’s new and fast-paced and used fuckin guitars and one song literally made a beat using basketballs like bro. so many different influences went into the music. hsm was ahead of its time, at least where made-for-children musicals were concerned, and it’s success musically has been copied so many times but never to the same level, there can never be another musical like hsm. it’s just impossible. you had your typical musical theater-esque tunes, you had your modern tunes, you had your ballads, you had a little bit of everything, everyone can find at least one song they like because there wasn’t a strict motif being followed (like rent wow). not only that, but the songs are BOPS and I’m genuinely not being biased. there aren’t many songs that can hold the test of time, especially not songs from musicals, ESPECIALLY not when those songs were everywhere due to the massive commercial success of said musical (prime example: frozen) and the fact that hsm’s music can still be enjoyed with just as much fervor as it was 11 years ago speaks volumes. not to hate on 2 and 3 because I would die for those movies too, but out of all three soundtracks, the first is the one most would pick for replayability (that’s not a word I know but it works). there’s just something effortlessly timeless about it, catchy but not annoyingly so, nostalgic but not saddening, something that forces you not to hit skip and just belt out the lyrics. I’ll skip you are the music in me (reprise) all day but let what I’ve been looking for (reprise) come on. I just wanna be with you could catch that swift next but my finger will never come near that button when breaking free is on. it’s like the second two movies worked too hard to continue to capitalise off the commercial success (for example, hsm 2 made sure to have multiple easy-to-learn dances because of the reaction to we’re all in this together) whereas the first movie didn’t have anything it clung to or had ties to so it was free to just exist. please don’t get me wrong: the entire trilogy owns my ass, music and storyline alike, but the first one just has a special touch musically.

I could quite possibly go on forever but moral of the story: high school musical is a masterpiece, deserved a grammy, deserved an oscar, deserved a golden globe, deserved a vma, deserved a brit award, deserved a people’s choice, deserved an AMA, deserved a much music award, deserved an ARIA, deserved a SAG award, deserved a critics’ choice, deserved an emmy, deserved five stars on imdb and a 100% on rotten tomatoes,