#i was literally drawing this while a birthday party was raging at my house. let it be known that i love you fuckers and also hubert

[stergeon]

> None of the above.

Well. You have certainly chosen something different, haven’t you. It is a bolder outfit than you would typically choose, but you suppose it could have been much, much worse. It will all be worthwhile if FERDINAND is pleased with your adventurous spirit.

The final accessory for your outspoken outfit is your TIMEPIECE. You received it as a gift from HER MAJESTY and THE PROFESSOR exactly one year ago today and you do not leave your room without it. Truly you have been blessed by the explosion of modern technology now that such developments are uninhibited by the maneuverings of ANCIENT DRAGONS in positions of ecclesiastic power. Never again need you scurry to the window to make out the clocktower or attempt to recall precisely how many times the church bells last rang: now, you are wholly your own man, trapping time in your POCKET.

As you squandered your first glance in a stupor of admiration, you spare a second glance at the TIMEPIECE and see that it is currently half past seven. You have some time before your meeting with your ASSASSINS at nine, but you still need to complete your PRE-BREAKFAST TO-DO LIST and also have BREAKFAST.

Your PRE-BREAKFAST TO-DO LIST is a standing list of tasks you do every single day:

Dress

Water PLANT

COFFEE

Remove FERDINAND

Your next task will be to water your PLANT. Your PLANT was a gift from BERNADETTA, coincidentally also received exactly one year ago today. You regard your PLANT and are satisfied with its condition. When you saw BERNADETTA last week, however, she objected to your handling of the organism: she insisted a plant ought to have a given name. You are not so taken to sentimentality as she, but when you made to mock her to FERDINAND, he��to your disappointment, if not your surprise—agreed, and tasked you to assigning one.

This exercise does not please you. But to acquiesce would require little effort on your part—and besides, you only need hold to this practice until the end of the month, after which time FERDINAND will not be here to badger you about the issue.

... You would prefer not to think about FERDINAND any more, but you will consider a suitable name.

#006 | << | <- | -> | JOURNAL | HOW TO PLAY | ALL POSTS

[heybeybey]

Ready, Set, Don't Go

Words: 1,833

Genre: Angst/Family

Rating: G Summary: Levi may have resigned from the military, but he'd underestimated how much his daughter is as much of a fighter as him and Petra. (Set almost 2 decades after canon events)

Happy Father's Day, folks!

I'm sorry for contributing slight angst today but don't worry, nobody dies. 👍 Also here, have some wheelchair Levi and a teenage Ackerbaby.

And thank you to @levis-petras for being my beta for this fic 💖

- - - -

Levi wasn't much for celebrations ever since he was young. In fact, he only recognizes five dates that are worth commemorating:

His wife's birthday.

His daughter's birthday.

His twins' birthday.

His and Petra's wedding anniversary.

And Mother's Day, but that one wasn't just for Petra. Truthfully, it was also the only way he gets to celebrate his late mother. He barely remembers her birthday, and he wasn't even sure he knew in the first place.

So, you see, he only celebrates when it's all about the people he holds dear. He doesn't really see the point in All Hearts Day or even his birthday. A more cost-efficient option too.

However, it still hurts that he's spending Father's Day this way.

The day started off normally. He woke up to Petra peppering kisses down his neck, greeting him a Happy Father's Day. The twins—Luke and Philip—then came bouncing in, both boys eager to show him the cards they drew for him.

He came down to Izzy brewing tea—a blend his daughter bought for him as a gift—and greeting him with a hug. He'd have to admit that it's been nice to be coddled by his family.

Then came dinner time.

He noticed that Izzy had been uneasy the past few days, and all those nerves seemed to have culminated during dinner. The brat had been on edge the whole day that he had to snap at her to just spill it.

It first started with an off-hand comment about how there will be a ceremony the next day for new military recruits. He sees his wife give Izzy an encouraging look from the corner of his eyes as she stumbles through her words.

Izzy, who's not much of a great liar to begin with, quickly muttered 'I signed up for the military.' and refused to meet his eyes.

"What?"

"I know that you might not agree now and that you and mom had been through a lot," Izzy starts to explain in a rush. "But I know this is what I'm meant for dad! I think there's not going to be a lot of battles to fight and it's more just—"

"No," he cuts off.

Her squeaking words quickly turned into a hiss, and it only got worse when he demanded that he drop her spot.

Soon, Petra was ushering their twins up to the second floor, knowing how arguments between father and daughter can get nasty.

"This is not fair!"

"The answer is no, Izzy," he said, matching his teenage daughter's tone. He rolls his wheelchair to follow her all the way to their house's front door, hearing her rage around the house. "Oi brat, what did I say about banging on the fucking furniture?"

He distinctly hears Petra scold, "Language, Levi!" from upstairs, but both father and daughter ignores her.

"I'm 16 now, dad," she snaps back, ignoring his last comment. "You can't tell me what to do."

Izzy finally turns around to face him, never one to back down. She's looking at him now with fury in her eyes and a retort ready on her lips.

Definitely her father's daughter.

"Do you even know what you're doing, Izzy?" He said, voice finally softening as he takes in the loaded backpack on her back. He feels the weight of her decision then.

"I wouldn't have signed if I didn't."

He'd always had a hunch that Izzy was fond of the military. Too fond for his taste, if he's going to be honest about it.

Guilt pinches him a bit whenever he thinks back to his promise that he would stand by his children no matter the choices they make. Even at the age of 56, he remains steadfast to his belief to live a life with no regrets.

But he'd be damned before he even allows any of his children to enlist.

So the first time she daydreamed of becoming a soldier at the tender age of eight, he had quickly shut down the idea.

"Here, girls like dolls right?" he had said as he pushed the plushie to her arms. He doesn't really give a damn whether she likes toys that are meant more for girls or boys. He'd buy her anything she asks for, budget permitting. But for some reason, that moment had settled uneasily in his gut. "I bought this for you today."

"But I want that one!" she'd screech, pointing at the display of two toy dual broadswords.

Petra had reprimanded him, telling him that he shouldn't discourage their child just because of their experiences. He could only give his wife a worried look in return.

Izzy was 11 the next time she approached the topic, asking him about his time as Captain Levi Ackerman. While he and Petra had moved out of Paradis since the Battle of Heaven and Earth, never even thinking of looking back, Petra was able to keep a few portraits of their team and the other Scout veterans.

Izzy, the curious young teen that she was, found them.

"See, it says here that you were a captain!" Izzy exclaims, eyes sparkling with excitement and reverence. She'd been bouncing to and from the box with the portraits and other memorabilia during his and Petra's time in the Scouts. She then settled down, looking from the portrait of a younger version of Levi with Erwin to her father's scarred face now. Levi feels his hands clenching on the armrests of his wheelchair, his vision starting to blur the more he looks at his former commander's face.

"It's so cool that you were in the military. And that you even had a high position! Do you think I'll also become a captain in the future? Maybe you can train me so I can reach that level! Please dad, can you tell me more? Is that why you have that badass scar? Mom won't tell me anything—"

Brat didn't know that he was there until the end. He doesn't know what they teach in history classes to children nowadays, but he and Petra had agreed that there's no sense in mentioning their time as soldiers and the literal hell they've been through to any of their children.

Not really a good bedtime story for kids.

The thought of his own child witnessing the same shit he and Petra went through was enough to give him a new set of nightmares every night.

"She's young, Levi," Petra consoles him after he sat up sweating from a nightmare. Tears were also streaming down her cheeks as she clings on to his bare shoulder. "She might still change her mind."

The last time Izzy mentioned it, she was 14. Everything was starting to pick up again during that time. Paradis' military, unsurprisingly, was the strongest.

Armin came over to tell them that a new order will be established—a neutral party from different nations that they all hope would promote and retain the fragile facade of peace they all had before one side goes batshit crazy. Arlert had been the same level-headed young man that he was since Levi had to revive his charred ass back in Shiganshina as he explained everything to the former captain.

With this change came a new branch of military for implementation.

Izzy had been starry eyed since then.

"This might be the world's chance to truly fix things," she babbled on that whole day—a mixture of rants about the current state and how everything is being handled, and reverence at the possible future this change might bring.

"Imagine... Imagine being a part of that..." Izzy had trailed off then, eyes faraway but lit up with optimism.

All Levi can hear and see is another Isabel from years past.

Back then, he'd chalked it all up to the fanciful thinking of a child who doesn't know any better. Now, Levi desperately wants to believe that maybe this is just a rebellious teenage phase. He'd been around a lot of teenagers during his time and he'd witnessed how crazy they can get.

Like Eren and—

He tears himself away from the memory before his mind fucks him up further. He and Petra already deals with it on an almost nightly basis, and it's a thought he'd rather not dwell on during his waking hours.

The living room was quiet for a moment as both father and daughter stare each other down. Levi looks at his first-born now—committed and kind like Petra, blunt and fearless like him. The best of his and his wife's qualities mixed together.

But who knows when shit will go down again? Things were shaky enough in this damned world as it is. While he and Petra were able to find their own safe spot to raise their children in, one can never be too complacent.

He'd already lost too much, and most days he wakes up thinking that even his family is temporary. There one day, gone the next.

"I can do my part this way, dad," Izzy finally replies, drawing her father back to the present. She sighs, dropping down her bag and kneels on one side of his wheelchair so they'd be at the same level. "Like what you did. Like what you and mom did."

He remains quiet as he takes in the determination in her eyes. It's the same look Petra would have more than two decades ago when she saves another soldier from being titan shit. The same look his daughter would have whenever she refuses to let go of a toy before bath time back when she was a toddler.

He knows then that there's no swaying her from her decision.

"You're too much like your mother," Levi says, resigned. They even have the same strawberry-blonde bob, he notes. Izzy gives him a sad smile then.

"You're just too old to 'deal with my teenage bullshit', dad," Izzy retorts to lighten the mood, doing her best to imitate her father's previous rants.

He doesn't tell her that maybe what he's too old for is the possibility of losing another person he holds dear.

- - - -

When he sees her off the next morning, already in the uniform issued by the military, he decides that he'd rest easier at night knowing that Izzy believes he's there to support her. He fought for Paradis' freedom for half his life. Why would he rob his daughter from her freedom to choose the path she wants?

"I'm proud of you, Izzy," Levi whispers against her ear as she hugs him tightly, fighting against his desire to beg her to not to go. It may be uncharacteristic of him to want to sob out and cling further to her but damn it, this is his daughter.

But Izzy's breath hitches at his words, and tears soon started to fall. His own arm encircles tightly around her while he supports himself with a crutch. She looks at him gratefully, true joy in her eyes, and that was enough to stop him from forbidding her further.

"You're not allowed to die," he mutters instead—so similar to the 'encouraging words' he gave the young recruits he guided before.

Izzy laughs through her sobs and teases him, "Is that an order, 'captain'?"

"Damn right it is, brat," he replies, fondly ruffling her hair.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @jjustonemorething @sassy-sara @wedarkacademia @coolguyssyndrome @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane @odi-et-amo85 @watermelonlover-123

~^~

Saturday, 13:20

Song: Benny - Boys Will Be Boys

Jens watches the story again, watches a redheaded girl he doesn’t know wrap her arm around Lucas’s neck and pull him into the frame. The two of them grin cheesily at the camera, Lucas’s eyes squinted exaggeratedly, happily, as the girl hollers a ‘happy birthday’ and presses a kiss to his cheek. Next is a full shot of the party, reposted from the same girl, then a recording of Lucas’s own, with a shorter girl with a head of curls who Jens thinks is Isa, and then the boys he recognises as Kes and Jayden. All of them giving Lucas the same cheerful, enthusiastic wishes.

Happy birthday.

He had woken up to Lucas’s post, with the balloons leaving no doubt as to its purpose.

He’s startled from examining further when his door opens and Moyo slips inside, smiling easily at him and instantly flopping onto his bed. “Hey man. Oh, is that Lucas’s party? Why the fuck didn’t we know it was his birthday?”

Jens stares at him, brows raised and lips slightly parted. “What are you doing here?”

Moyo raises a brow back. “You invited me?” He gives a small laugh as Jens continues to look on in confusion. “Dude, where is your head at these days? Remember on Thursday at lunch when Lucas was talking about going home and you got all pouty so I asked if you wanted to hang out? And you said to come here?”

“Right,” Jens eventually allows. It does poke vaguely at his memories, but it’s quite unclear. Still, it isn’t as if he’s going to turn Moyo away. He has no reason to. It’s better than staring at his phone any longer. “Cool.”

Moyo snorts. “Okay, cool. I also texted you when I was leaving my house. And you didn’t reply. Which is why your mom had to let me in.”

Jens furrows his brows before drawing down the notification bar on his phone. He purses his lips when he sees the text from Moyo, wondering how he had taken on such an absentminded focus that he missed it completely. “You did.”

“But I can see you were preoccupied,” Moyo raises his brows. “Didn’t you already see them when you woke up?”

“Yeah,” Jens mumbles.

“So what’s the obsession?”

“I’m not obsessed. Just, trying to see who I know.”

Moyo snorts again. “If you know anyone other than Lucas in those dark, blurry ass shots, I think that’s a little bit obsessed. I know he’s your new favourite toy but surely you can survive without him for one day.”

Jens feels angry, suddenly. He isn’t sure if he’s right to be, knows that Moyo probably doesn’t mean anything by it, but he’s already upset and so incredibly tired. It leaves him wrinkling his nose in distaste and sitting up and away. “Why do you always have to make it out like everything is so gross? You know there’s a way to make a point without fucking making fun all the time?”

It feels surprisingly good to get it out, and where he expects regret to claw through his chest, a small stream of relief flows through him instead.

However, it leaves Moyo’s brows shooting towards his hairline. “Sorry, man. What has you so pissy?”

He sits up next to Jens, bumping his elbow gently, and now he begins to feel a little bad. Still, the upset hasn’t quite run out. “Why do you think it’s so wrong for me to care about Lucas?”

“What?” Moyo frowns. “I never said that. Lucas is cool, I’m glad we’re all friends with him.”

“He’s not my friend.”

The words slip out before Jens can stop them, and then there’s no taking them back.

Moyo’s frown melts away in his confusion as his brow furrows again. Then he lets out a small, somewhat nervous laugh. “What, are you that pissed you didn’t get to join the party?”

“I am,” Jens agrees easily, then has to pause, has to center himself. He thinks of Robbe yesterday, so happy and understanding, and of Lucas just before he left, so happy and excited, and of Moyo a year ago, laughing at the idea of anyone being bi, nose wrinkled at how ‘gross’ it appeared to him.

Then he thinks of how that was a year ago.

Then he says, “I am pissed, because my boyfriend didn’t even tell me it was his birthday and I don’t know why and because it doesn’t surprise me that the first thing you did is make fun of it.”

Moyo’s lips part, and he simply stares at him as they fall into silence. Jens looks back, trying not to let himself falter, trying not to let his fissures show or crack any further. It’s difficult, more so than he thought it would be, and he puts it down to the tumultuous feelings already raging through him after the surprises this morning. It also feels somewhat more terrifying to be voicing it in this room, under this roof. Perhaps this is where it should feel easiest, that it should be a safe place, but he finds his eyes flickering towards the door instead, making sure it’s shut tight. It’s not like it had been, wrapped up in Lucas’s warmth in their own little universe or under Robbe’s gentle gaze in a familiar setting. It’s nerve-wracking and nauseating, to listen for footsteps and watch Moyo look away from him.

Jens is inches away from pulling his hair out when Moyo finally turns back, appearing cautious as he licks his lips. “So you’re...you’re bi, or something?”

Jens’s heart clamours as he nods.

“And you’re with Lucas?”

“Just for about two weeks,” Jens says quietly.

Moyo’s brows raise, but he nods, once again licking his lips and averting his gaze. He focuses on a spot on the duvet as he speaks again. “Like...you’re into him? Like you would want to have sex with him, and everything?”

The little flicker of irritation returns. “Yeah, man, maybe, and I don’t need you telling me how it disgusts you or whatever, okay? Just—“

“I don’t think I ever want to have sex. With anyone.”

Jens snaps his mouth shut as his friend meets his gaze, surprised to have been interrupted.

He certainly hadn’t expected to be interrupted with that.

“What?”

Moyo makes himself small, hunching his shoulders slightly, but he keeps his gaze on Jens. It’s oddly full of nerves, alive with apprehension, overcast with doubt. Below it all, there’s a small hint of relief. Jens suddenly understands what’s happening.

“You don’t like sex?” he carefully pushes.

Moyo curls in on himself further, shrugging without opening his shoulders back up. “I’ve never had an actual experience to base it on, but the idea of it doesn’t actually appeal to me, no.”

All of this is admitted quietly, almost tersely as Moyo picks a thread loose in the sheet. Jens lets him, watchful and thoughtful, wondering where it is he’s supposed to take it from here. He hadn’t been prepared to come out to anyone today, but he hadn’t even considered the possibility that someone else would come out to him.

He has to admit, however, that he’s a little confused.

“But you talk about it all the time. About getting with girls, about what you’d do, and all your shitty dirty jokes?”

“That’s what we all talk about,” Moyo points out. “Aaron was whining over getting laid for months before Amber and it’s not like you’ve ever been shy about it. It’s what we’re supposed to talk about. Even Robbe isn’t as shy about it now. Like shit man, what else am I supposed to say?”

Jens eases up, letting his expression soften as he shifts slightly towards him, setting his phone aside entirely. “The truth,” he says gently. “Anything other than digging yourself into a deeper hole.”

“Yeah, because I wouldn’t have been the butt of the joke, the prude, if I just said I didn’t want to join in right?” Moyo scoffs, shaking his head as he turns to lean back against the headboard. “Don’t give me that.”

“Moyo,” Jens tries, but the words aren’t there. He knows, no matter how much it disappoints him, that his friend is right. They would have joked, and Jens would have been the main instigator.

He realises, with a sort of derisive amusement, that he’s as much the reason Moyo hadn’t come out to them as Moyo is the reason Jens hadn’t come out himself.

“I didn’t even realise what was wrong with me, why I revolted against it even while making dumb jokes or random passes. I thought it was just like, frustration, or jealousy even, that I didn’t actually have the experience. I knew that talking about it, wanting it, was the normal thing, the guy thing.”

Jens’s heart twists, and he’s instantly shaking his head back. “Bullshit. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Moyo snorts, shaking his head. He still won’t look at Jens. “Isn’t there? Fuck, I didn’t even understand it until Noor came onto me and I had to literally shove her away.”

This is another new surprising piece of information.

“Noor? Seriously?”

Moyo closes his eyes, nods his head, doesn’t say anything else. Jens remains quiet, as well, absorbing the information and giving Moyo room to think. It’s a dead sort of silence, not comfortable or awkward, but heavy. It’s only when Jens realises that Moyo isn’t going to offer anything else that he pushes a little further.

“When was that? I mean, the thing with Noor?”

Moyo shakes his head slightly, shrugging again. “Like two months ago maybe?”

“Two months?”

“I know.” Moyo purses his lips, picking at his nails as he stares down at his lap.

Jens thinks. “You’re not...forcing yourself to do anything, are you?”

Moyo finally looks at him, head whipping around as his brows knit together. “What? No. It’s not like that. Since then, she’s been helping me figure my shit out. Because I...I don’t know, I went into like this panic mood. It wasn’t even about kissing or sex it was like I realised I wasn’t attracted to her at all. Not physically. Like I know that Noor is beautiful, but it’s like I didn’t care. My mind could understand it and my body just didn’t feel it. And then I started to think about it and I’ve never actually been attracted to anyone. Not just Noor, just in general. Girls or guys. It confused the hell out of me, because I thought I did like her but I just...don’t think I can like anyone like that. Sexually.”

“Okay,” Jens nods slowly. “I’m still just not really understanding all your talk about something you have no interest in.”

“I’ve already told you. That’s what’s expected, y’know? That’s how you be a man.”

“Where is that shit coming from? Because I know it’s not your parents, and I hope it isn’t us.”

“No, not my parents, but what about the rest of my family? My uncles and even some of my cousins, I don’t know, it’s like fucking ingrained in them. I’ve ingrained it in myself. Even with you and Robbe, it’s different. They’d see it as like this minor error, but at least everything still works the same. With me it’s like...I don’t work, like this thing just isn’t there at all and—“

“Hey, hey, Moyo, woah,” Jens cuts him off, laying a placating hand on his friend’s shoulder. He waits for Moyo to steady himself, taking a deep breath with a clenched jaw, and then he gives a light tug to his shoulder. He has to do it again before Moyo actually gives in and looks at him, and then Jens keeps his expression serious. “Everything about you works whether you have sex with someone or not. Look at it like this. Your dick could be chopped right off, never able to use it, and you’d still be Moyo.”

He makes a cutting motion with his hand and then a sweep to the side as he makes a ‘phew’ noise through his teeth. It has the intended effect of making Moyo crack a smile even as he cringes, slapping Jens’s hand down with a shiver.

“And you said I make everything fucking gross, man. Jesus.”

Jens cracks, too, letting a small laugh escape as Moyo’s smile widens and his shoulders relax just so. “But it feels better, right?”

Moyo shrugs again, drawn-out and ashamed. “Still abnormal either way.”

“You’re not. You’re just asexual, I think.”

Moyo’s brows instantly shoot upwards. “You know what that is?”

Jens blinks at him. “Do you?”

“Dude, it’s been the only word in my head for weeks. Why do you know about it?”

“I kind of researched into everything when…”

He trails off, letting Moyo pick up on the implication himself, watches him purse his lips and give another nod. “Have you told anyone else?”

“Robbe, and only yesterday,” Jens admits. “You? Apart from Noor?”

Moyo purses his lips, shakes his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t react better to you actually...I mean, Jens, you know I have no problem with it right? What I said last year, it was really stupid. That’s not how I think anymore. Or at least, I’m trying not to think like that.”

“It’s okay,” Jens says softly. “I think I definitely understand a little better now. I’m sorry I haven’t made it easy for you to tell me, either.”

“We can circle back to me, okay? Right now we’re gonna talk about Lucas. You really didn’t know a thing about his birthday?”

Jens kind of wishes they could continue talking about Moyo, because in the last few minutes, he’d forgotten all about his own predicament. Now he’s forced to face it with a groan as he drags a hand over his face. “No. And I was telling myself it wasn’t that weird, because maybe it just hadn’t come up or he didn’t like celebrating or something, but now that you’re asking I feel like it’s weird.”

“Well maybe it is that. It looked kind of like a surprise party,” Moyo offers. “Maybe he just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Not with a new relationship.”

Jens isn’t quite sure why he flushes at that, but it makes Moyo’s lips tick slightly upwards. “Yeah,” he blows out a sigh, “but he also hasn’t messaged me. Like things were good yesterday before he left, and he fell asleep on the phone to me last night, and then like an hour later,” Jens makes a vague gesture, only waving his hand back and forth, but Moyo nods with a grimace.

“Maybe he’s stuck in bed. Hungover.”

“Maybe. It just freaks me out, ‘cause I know this is what he does when he’s pissed, or when something’s wrong. Gives me this radio silence. And I can’t go see him at his flat when he isn’t there.”

Moyo hums, then simply says, “Fuck. I’m kinda glad I’m not in this relationship game.”

Jens snorts, rubbing his hand over his face again as Moyo locks an arm around his shoulders and gives him a brief squeeze. “I thought Luc was going to be easier. These past few weeks have been, but,” he breaks off on a sigh, slumping back against his pillows as Moyo slips his arm out from behind him.

“You know what I think?” Moyo says. He waits for Jens to look at him before producing an unopened bag of weed. “I think you need some of your chill back.”

Jens only hesitates for a second before grinning and snatching the bag out of his hand.

[orangeflavoryawp]

Jonsa - “Red Curtain”

My first modern Jonsa piece.  Definitely a different voice than I usually use, but loads of fun to write.

If you’re interested in the accompanying playlist at all, here you go.

Red Curtain

Chapter One: No Take-Backs

“He’s pretty sure he left that closet at least half in love with her.”  -  Jon and Sansa.  Summer’s for lovin’, after all.  

Oh, and crisis.  That, too. 

Read it on Ao3 here.

Part 1 | 2

* * *

"No, no, but you see, gravity doesn't matter here," Theon argues. "You're up in space. It's like a fucking swimming pool up there, just, you know, minus having your trunks hauled halfway down your ass every time you surface."

"Theon, it's not gravity keeping your jizz in your dick," Jon laughs, reaching for the ice bags Robb hands him over the edge of the pickup truck.

Robb heaves another bag over. "This is literally the dumbest conversation you two have ever had."

Jon points at Robb accusingly. "Hey, okay look, I can guarantee you this isn't the dumbest conversation Theon's ever had." He swings the offending finger over to Theon in point.

"Dude, how do you know how that shit works in space? You ever been?" he defends, fumbling with one of the coolers.

Jon rolls his eyes. He hadn't really expected he'd be arguing the finer points of masturbating in space when he got up this morning, but in hindsight, he probably should have, considering the day's company.

"I'll be back with the beers," Tormund calls out, coming around the truck as Robb jumps down.

Jon tosses him the keys in answer. "Grab some spritzers, too."

"You got it, Buttercup," Tormund says, winking, climbing into the driver's seat.

After a glare his buddy's way, Jon looks back to find Robb and Theon staring at him with matching smirks.

He shrugs. "What?"

"Spritzers?" Robb asks, closing the truck bed with a cocked eyebrow.

Jon grabs the cooler handle opposite Theon's hold. If he's lucky, maybe he can upend him. "Your mom likes 'em," he mumbles. And then he throws an arched brow Robb's way. "Actually, your dad, too."

"You're such a fucking suck-up," Robb laughs, shaking his head, piling in what bags of ice he could fit into the cooler.

"Your boyfriend's kinda cute, you know. He's not staying?" Theon asks with a nod sent back at Tormund as he peels off in the truck.

Jon throws a swing Theon's way and he guffaws in answer while ducking, before nearly dropping his end of the cooler, scrambling for balance.

Serves the fucker right.

Between the two of them, they get the cooler up the driveway. Robb trails behind them with a bag of ice on each hip, looking every bit the expectant father he is. "Tell Tormund to come by. He always makes a party more eventful," Robb goads.

"You mean more expensive," Jon throws back.

He's still paying off that bill for the pool table Tormund wrecked back at The Crow, after all. And yet, it's him who gets all the dirty glares from the bartenders now.

And really, what's up with that? It's not like he's the man's mother.

Jon shakes his head, glancing back at Robb. "Anyway, he's got a shift tonight."

Theon wrinkles his nose. "The brewery?"

"Yeah."

Robb mock pukes.

"What? It's a good gig," Jon defends.

"It's where you met Ygritte," Robb points out, shifting the ice over his hips.

Jon refrains from rolling his eyes. Only barely. "She's not a bad person. We were just... bad for each other."

"Ever heard of that river in Egypt?" Theon quips. "De-nile?"

Jon throws him an exasperated look. "Why do you hate her so much anyway?"

Theon's smirk instantly dips into a frown entirely too somber for such a face. "She borrowed my copy of 'The Thing' and never gave it back."

Jon actually laughs at that one.

"See!" Robb butts in, "Those are the worst kinds of people. She's a taker, man. What you need is a giver."

"Someone like Tormund," Theon supplies cheekily. "Seriously though, what is it with you and redheads?"

Jon drops his half of the cooler weight for a brief moment in response, just before catching it again, and Theon's yanked hard left with the motion.

"What the fuck, man?" He rubs his shoulder, glaring at Jon, but Jon's too busy laughing, before he stumbles over a sprinkler head when they dip off the driveway. "Agh, fuck, that hurt."

"Karma's a bitch, Snow," Theon taunts. "And she's my bitch."

Jon opens his mouth but Robb cuts him off, ushering them off the driveway. "Guys, left – go left. We gotta take the cooler round back anyway. Dad's already in the yard."

So they shuffle left, crossing over the Starks' large front lawn toward the side gate to the backyard.

"Watch the zinnias," Robb directs.

Jon and Theon stop simultaneously to look back at him.

"Dude," Theon deadpans.

Robb comes up short, glancing between the two, shifting awkwardly with the ice in his arms. "Mom will kill you," he says in answer.

"Do you want to carry this thing?" Jon asks with a pinched brow.

Robb brushes past them toward the side gate. "Just don't step on them. Come on, come on."

They trudge onward, and Jon really does roll his eyes then because of fucking course he still takes pains not to step on the goddamn zinnias.

Maybe Robb was right. He really is a suck-up.

They make it to the gate and drop the cooler, thank god.

"Dad! Dad, open up," Robb yells over the gate, rocking back and forth from foot to foot with that cold ass ice at his sides.

"We brought your shit!" Theon hollers, and Jon throws a smack to his chest in reprimand.

"Ow," he draws out dramatically, a hand to his chest.

Robb frowns at the gate, the gate that isn't opening. He wiggles the ice higher up his hips. Stares hard at the fence.

Theon cocks a brow at him.

"Call him," Robb says, chin jutting toward Jon.

He reaches for his phone, hands flattening over empty back pockets. "Shit, it's in my bag." The bag he left in Tormund's truck.

Theon makes a similar show opposite him.

Robb throws his head back with an exaggerated groan, dropping the bags down on the top of the cooler. "I'm not picking that shit back up again," he swears, an unexpected shudder rippling through him when he's suddenly ice-free. He clamps his hands over his chest, his t-shirt already damp and sticking to him. "Shit, my nipples," he curses.

Theon barks a laugh.

"Look, I'll call him," Jon says through a laugh. "Where's your phone?"

Robb shoos his hands away. "I got it, I got it." He pulls his phone from his back pocket, dials, waits a moment. "Yeah, Dad, we're here." He glances to the gate. "No, it's not open." He ushers toward Theon to try the latch.

It swings free as soon as he tries the handle.

Robb glares at the offending gate. "It's open," he mutters, hanging up.

Jon cocks a brow at him. "We cool to go in or...?"

"Yeah, they're coming," he assures, pocketing his phone.

And then Jon catches sight of Ned Stark coming down the long stretch of grass lining the side of the house. He's in checkered shorts, a short-sleeved button down, flip flops that squelch at his heels with each step, and Jon hides a chuckle behind his fist, because he fucking loves this man, summer fit and all. And then Benjen comes around the corner behind him, dressed similarly, jogging to catch up, a hand raised in the air in greeting and before Jon knows it, it's a rush of hugs, and claps on shoulders, and a kind of rough jostling that makes him beam, a rowdy tousle of welcomes, smiles stretched wide.

He misses this. God, he fucking misses this. The only family he ever truly felt a part of.

And then that useless, familiar guilt ripples through him.

The thing is though, he thinks his mother would have appreciated the closeness he feels with the Starks. After all, she and Ned Stark grew up living next door to each other for fifteen years, near as siblings as anyone could be. And then years had passed, and suddenly they were all adults, and maybe Ned made some better choices, and Lyanna hadn't. Maybe all of this was supposed to be ancient history. And he doesn't really know if history is supposed to be a lesson, he really doesn't. And he doesn't fucking care. Because his mom did a hell of a job with what she had, and he loved her, more than he knew he could love anyone, and she was good for him, she really was, right up to the moment that she died.

She never stopped being good for him, really. Even after she died – when Ned Stark wrapped his arm around his trembling, nineteen-year-old shoulders at the funeral, let him cry into his perfectly starched collar, took him home to a warm house, gave him some hot soup and his first glass of whiskey, told him stories about his mother that had him laughing as hard as he'd been crying just earlier – that was his mother right there. That was his mother bringing Ned Stark, and all the rest of them, into his life full force. No take-backs.

It's not something he thinks too hard about most days – how his first real birthday party, when he was seven years old, was a cowboys versus dinosaurs theme, because he and Robb Stark, the stupid, loudmouth boy next door, had gotten into such an argument weeks before (and they've never really settled that one since, to be honest.) Or how the boy across the street, Theon fucking Greyjoy, had knocked on his door in the middle of the rain, holding up the tail-end of his pet iguana with a look of exasperation far older than their eleven years with a sigh of 'He keeps getting into my sister's bathroom'.

And he tries not to think about the day he attempted to teach Arya to drive in his busted up Jeep and became witness to such road rage that had him shrinking in his seat, fingers curling around the hand-hold along the roof, or the way Bran quietly demolishes him every time they play a round of Modern Warfare, sipping his perfectly iced root beer with a hint of superiority, or the way Rickon had wailed when animal control took away that stray dog they'd found in the park, huddled under a bush, whining and licking at its broken leg. Or how Sansa had –

Jon swallows thickly, mind fizzing out.

Because he remembers how Sansa helped him pick out a new suit for his first day at the firm, when his nerves had been frayed all to hell. And he remembers how she helped him sneak Robb back into the house through her bedroom window, nagging the whole way through, when he and Theon had gotten her brother drunk for the first time in highschool. And he remembers back in middle school how she helped mend the jacket his mother had given him because he didn't want her to find out that he'd ripped it riding bikes through the construction site she'd warned him to stop playing in.

And sometimes, when he least expects it, he even remembers the morning after his mother's funeral.

After spending the night, he'd been sitting out on the Starks' front step just before dawn, his hands linked between his knees, mouth fuzzy from the whiskey Ned had given him the night before, and he remembered looking up at the sky. Barely a cloud in sight. This pretty sort of blue, just on the verge of daybreak, and he remembered absolutely hating it. Wanted to throw something up into that stupid, pretty blue, make it crack and break, blow a hole straight through it, watch the pieces trickle down.

And then Sansa pushed the front porch door open.

He'd turned back to look at her, squinting in the half-light. She was standing there in the same sweatpants and tank top she'd gone to sleep in the night before, holding an opened yogurt in one hand, a spoon in the other, keeping the door open with her hip.

He's sure he'd meant to say something, but nothing really seemed to be worth saying right then, so he just looked at her. She watched him a moment, like she was still deciding whether to step out onto the porch entirely or not, and then she offered a light quirk of her lip and let the door slip off her hip and shut behind her. She sat down beside him and started to silently eat her yogurt.

It was that probiotic shit he'd seen her eating dozens of times before, lemon flavored, and it was so normal suddenly – here – the morning after his mother's funeral, sitting next to Sansa Stark at the crack of dawn.

She looked at him, lip caught between her teeth. "Want some?"

And he'd let out a breath finally, all the anger bleeding from him instantly. He shrugged, a chuckle leaving him. "Sure, why not?" He opened his mouth and she spooned a dollop in obediently.

It tasted terrible. And he must have made a face, because her lips tipped down in an imperceptible frown and then she was glancing back at her yogurt. "It helps with indigestion," she said despondently, turning the tiny carton around in her hand, peering at the label.

And then Jon laughed, only it hurt. So maybe it wasn't a laugh at all. All he knew was that his eyes burned, and he couldn't look at her, and the air built up in his chest and it wasn't leaving, it just felt like choking, and he was sure he was laughing now, awkwardly loud and clipped off at the end, like his own tongue hadn't expected it, and then he was pressing his knuckles into his eye socket, like he could dig the very tears out if only he could clench his fist hard enough.

The sky was so stupidly, frustratingly blue.

And his mother was dead.

"I think it's supposed to get better with time. Easier, I guess," she said quietly beside him.

Jon looked at her, brow crinkled. "What?"

"Missing her."

He frowned at that, stared hard at the half-eaten yogurt held in her limp hand as she glanced out over the lawn.

She looked at him, and her eyes were blue, too. And maybe that was supposed to mean something, but it didn't. It didn't mean anything.

"You believe that?" he asked her.

She shrugged, an earnest look on her face. "It's what everyone says."

"Sure." He looked back to his hands linked between his knees, pressed the toes of his boots into the wood beneath him, just to feel it. "I guess."

"I'm sorry she's gone." She dipped her spoon back into her yogurt but just twirled the tip of it around languidly. She shook her head, and she looked so unbearably sad. Too sad for any seventeen-year-old to ever look. "I'm so, so sorry, Jon."

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. "Yeah, me too."

Maybe she caught the quiver in his voice. Or maybe she'd just grown tired of playing with her yogurt, hands fiddling with the spoon. Fuck if he knew. But she looked at him then.

Jon turned to look out over the lawn where the lip of the sun had just begun to peak over the houses across the way. "I don't - " He caught the break before it could fully form, swallowed it down, tried again. "I don't really know how to talk about it," he admitted. Because it was true. "Not yet."

She gave it a moment, and then, "Okay." And he figured she'd leave then. But she didn't. Or maybe she just didn't know how. But he – he –

"Can you..." And then he looked at her again, caught sight of the new sun slanting over her face, and it was bright, too fucking bright, and she raised a hand up to shield her eyes, squinting at him, and he wanted to laugh again, but he didn't know how to make it not sound like crying. So he simply cleared his throat. "Can you just sit with me?"

Sansa's hand lowered, one eye still squeezed shut from the light, her mouth dipping into a frown. But it wasn't the sort of frown she'd always given him before, like the one she wore when he spilled soda over her homecoming dress, or the one she wore when Arya chose go-karting with him over swimming lessons with her, or even the one she wore when he punched Joffrey in the middle of the hall her sophomore year. No. This one was softer at the edges. And maybe it was just the morning light coming over the neighbors' roofs. Maybe it was just him being uselessly sentimental. But for some reason, her frown didn't bother him this time. Didn't bother him at all.

And damn. Was that supposed to happen?

Jon swallowed thickly, throat parched. "Will you just sit with me?" he managed again.

She set her yogurt on the step, forgotten. And then she braced her hands back on the porch ledge behind her, palms going flat over the wood. She nodded, the frown settling out into a thin, unassuming line. "I can do that," she said softly.

Jon took a breath, let it go. And then he was sure. Sitting there, staring at Sansa Stark at the ass crack of dawn, the day after his mother's funeral –

He was sure.

This was not supposed to happen.

But then, the morning passed, and so did the months, and one day Jon woke up and realized he was doing alright.

So no, he doesn't think his mother would begrudge him this happiness. Even though he misses her every damn day.

Benjen's hand on his shoulder now steadies him, and the merry-go-round of memories settles into a low hum in the back of Jon's mind. There'll be plenty enough time to get sentimental later. It's the Starks' annual cookout, after all. The first day of summer – when they stay up to the crack of dawn to greet the new season. It's got something to do with their family way back when or whatever. Making it through the night, a celebration of life, and all that cheese. Catelyn tried to explain it to him once but he was nine, and really, could she blame him for zoning out? Anyway, afterward, he'd just turned to Robb while they sat at the kitchen island, Catelyn pulling chicken nuggets out the oven for them, eyes wide as he whispered in awe, "She lets you stay up all night?"

Robb had nodded smugly, grabbing for the ketchup bottle with bravado, and after dinner at the Starks, Jon went home to beg his mother to let him join the party that year. She had an unofficial invitation herself for years, anyway. Why couldn't he?

Jon can now safely say that this annual cookout of theirs is the longest commitment he's ever made in his life.

"Your mother's in the kitchen," Ned tells Robb.

"Ooh, is she making deviled eggs?"

"When has she ever not made deviled eggs for this thing?" Theon interrupts.

Ned only offers up a hand and a raised brow in a gesture that easily says True. And then he's nodding back toward the front of the house. "Use the front door. You know how she is." He reaches for one handle of the cooler, Benjen already going round the other side.

"Yeah, yeah," Robb waves off. "Shoes off in the foyer and all."

Ned gives a smile, lifting then. "Why don't you boys try to give her a hand?"

Jon feels suddenly nauseated at the idea of traversing a kitchen where Catelyn Stark is wielding any kind of sharp cutlery. "Where are the girls?" he manages to gulp out.

Stupid gulp.

Ned shifts his knowing smirk his way. "Arya and Lyanna are somewhere about, I'm sure. Jeyne's at the store getting the grill meet with Sansa and Margaery."

Okay, so maybe his palms get suddenly sweaty, and maybe his jaw ticks, and maybe he gives a disinterested shrug (a very disinterested shrug, yes, very disinterested), but dammit, she wasn't supposed to be here this summer.

"Oh," he gets out.

Oh.

Like a fucking idiot.

"Jeyne's at the store?" Robb asks, brows furrowed.

Oh thank god for overprotective Robb. Jon feels infinitely less under the microscope when the collective attention shifts to him instead.

"What, does she plan on carrying that all back herself?" he asks, huffing.

Ned blinks at him. "Like I said, she's with Sansa and Margaery."

"She's nearly eight months, Dad."

Theon claps a hand on his shoulder. "Dude, she's pregnant, not incapacitated."

"You're gonna be incapacitated pretty soon, I swear to god."

Ned rolls his eyes at his son, hefting the cooler up with his brother on the other side. "Calm down, Robb. If you only knew some of the things your mother did when she was pregnant with you," he starts off, smile twisting.

Benjen barks a laugh at that. "Ned, do you remember when she – "

"Oh god, let's not do this, please," Robb groans, face pulled back into a grimace.

Ned just shakes his head, smile wide. "Go help your mother." And then the two older men shuffle off back into the yard, cooler and ice bags held between them.

Jon shoves his hands in his pockets, thumbs hooking at his belt loops. "So?"

Robb pulls his phone back out. "Give me a sec."

Theon throws his head back in a dramatic sigh.

But Jeyne picks up pretty quickly it seems, because Robb perks up instantly at the sound of her voice on the other end. "Jeyne, hey, babe. Dad said you were at the store?"

Jon pretends not to listen in.

Robb pouts. "We could have gotten it, babe. You know I brought Jon and Theon back today. You didn't have to – " He silences, pout turning into a slight purse of his lips. "Yeah, I know, but – " Another silence. He huffs. "Your feet aren't hurting?"

Jon grins wide at that, try as he might to smother it.

In a way, Robb and Jeyne have become a strange sort of model for Jon these last years. Not a bar, per se, but an example, at least. That much, at least, for sure. It's one of the things that threw his relationship with Ygritte into such stark perspective. Where their relationship was enduring, his was combustible. Where theirs was comfort, his was a trial. Where theirs was honest and open, his felt like a never-ending minefield.

And now: "Your feet aren't hurting?"

Jon wants to laugh. It's such a simple, unloaded question. But Robb may as well have said 'I'm in love with you' and it'd have meant the same thing.

So yeah. Not a bar. But a hell of a lot closer than he's ever gotten to it himself.

Theon lets out an impatient groan at Robb's phone call. Robb only glares at him. "Okay, babe. Yeah. That's fine. But wait, uh, can you pick up some of those chips I like? You know the ones. The onion thingies. The – yeah! Those! Get me some funyuns." He smiles blindingly. "Thanks, babe. Oh, and tell Sansa not to make you carry everything!" He stops, frowns. "I mean, it's not like she's – " Robb stops again, looking down. "Alright, I'm sorry, babe. Yeah. Yeah, okay. Love you, too. See you at home." He hangs up.

Theon immediately makes a whipping sound, gesture and all, a crooked smile breaking over his features, and if Jon hadn't valued his life so much, he might have done similarly. As it is, Robb is only trying to strangle Theon at the moment, which is fine by him.

"Sansa's coming?"

There. He said it. He asked.

Not so fucking difficult, after all.

Robb stops his attempt at throttling Theon to look over at Jon. "Of course, she's coming. It's the annual Starkfest." He gives him a disbelieving face.

Jon's brows hit his hairline. "I'm sorry, the what?"

"Starkfest."

Jon shakes his head as though clearing his ears. "Yeah, still didn't get that."

"Come on, doesn't it sound epic?"

"Sounds lame as fuck to me," Theon pipes up.

"That's your problem, Theon. You think your opinion matters."

Theon gives Robb a dramatically wounded look, hand to his heart. "Oh spare me, cruel viper."

Robb throws his hands in the air. "What? Bran likes it."

Theon drops his hand from his chest. The look, too. "I'm sorry, but Bran is most definitely not the measurement of coolness here. What are you on?"

"I think Bran's cool," Jon says on a shrug, hands still in his pockets.

"Okay, you've forfeited your right to speak in this convo," Theon says.

"Oh come on," Robb says. "'Starkfest' is perfect."

"I thought she was staying at Margaery's this summer," Jon says before his courage can fail him.

And fuck, are his palms still sweating? Jon bites off a growl of frustration at himself. Fuck that shit.

Robb blinks at him. "What, Sansa?"

Jon nods. Maybe because he's afraid of saying more.

"Yeah, she is, but she's not missing the cookout. Brought Margaery, too. They've been staying at the house for like, four days now. Heading back south tomorrow though. I hear they're going to a concert down in White Harbor before they get back to Marg's."

Jon furrows his brows at that. "She's leaving tomorrow?"

Robb nods.

"She's not staying up with you guys?"

Robb waves him off. "Ah, don't worry about it. She never made it to sunrise before, anyway. Always passed out at least an hour or two away. She'd probably appreciate the sleep more, actually," he shrugs out.

Jon purses his lips. "Right."

And all at once, he's wondering if she still keeps her hair long. If she still carries that dragonfly keychain on her phone. If she still pulls at the edge of her skirt when she's nervous.

If she still hates him for last winter.

Jon clears his throat, nodding back toward the front of the house. "Your dad said Arya was in?"

Robb smiles at him, thankfully oblivious to his desperate change of subject. "Yeah, she's not taking summer classes this year. Come on."

And then they're making their way back across the front lawn. Jon still takes care to avoid Mrs. Stark's zinnias.

He wonders, briefly, if Robb isn't the only whipped one here, but he doesn't think too long on it.

They're just fucking zinnias anyway. So maybe he just cares too much about the things he shouldn't. Attaches to things that give no promise of attachment back. And damn, there's some psycho-analytic bullshit somewhere in that mess, if he looks hard enough, but he doesn't.

He's gotten pretty good at loving the transient, after all.

Sansa Stark shouldn't be any different.

It's not really something that needs another look, he finds. Not then. And not now.

They make it to the front door before he can linger long on it, and then Robb is jiggling his key into the lock, and then he's pushing the door open, and then he's hollering Arya's name into the open foyer. Something about it sends Jon to beaming.

Home.

He's home.

Thunder seems to come down the stairwell. Jon looks up to find it's Arya. He barely opens his arms in time. She launches herself at him, jumping into his arms, winding her legs around him.

"Jon!" she cries, ecstatic.

And oh fuck!

"Arya, fuck, my back! My back!" Jon nearly crumples from her attack, stumbling against the end of the stairwell. "Holy shit, get off me," he chokes out beneath her bone-crushing hug.

She slips from him effortlessly, huffing a strand of hair out of her face. "Old man," she grouses, punching at his shoulder with affection. She grins up at him, crooked and earnest.

He softens at the sight. "You're getting too old for that."

Arya rolls her eyes. "Or you're just getting all rickety."

"That's my vote," Theon says at his side. He opens his arms wide for Arya with an expectant smile.

"Ew," she deadpans, one hand settling at her hip.

"Missed you too, runt," he says, ruffling her hair.

"Oh fuck off, Theon." She shoves his hand away, but he just brushes further into the house.

"The boys back from school yet?" he asks into the open foyer.

Bran suddenly crosses the threshold travelling from the dining room into the den with his face almost adhered to his phone. "It's summer break, dumbass." He promptly disappears around the corner.

Theon plants his hands on his hips. "Ah, that's a yes, then."

"Hey, babe, your Dad wants you and Rickon to help get all the pool stuff out of the shed," Lyanna Mormont says then, coming down the hall toward them before sidling up beside Arya with a hand at her waist.

Arya swings an arm around her shoulder. "Lyanna, you remember my brothers," she says, motioning to the three in the doorway.

"Unfortunately." Lyanna grimaces, and it makes her already dour face even more so. And yet, her hand at Arya's waist is tender, her glance toward her girlfriend softened somewhat, and Jon has learned by now to keep his smile in check.

He watches Arya's hand curl around Lyanna's shoulder and wishes for nothing else in that moment but many more such years ahead of them.

"Good to see you're still in high spirits, Lyanna," Robb smiles brilliantly at her.

"Yeah, well, you're not my brothers, thank god, soooo," she smacks her lips, turning to Arya. "Babe, you gotta get Rickon."

And just like that, the moment is shattered. Jon heaves a sigh.

"Rickon!" Arya yells up the stairwell behind Lyanna's head.

"Arya, what the fuck?" she snaps, hand to her ear.

She shrugs down at her girlfriend. Footsteps thump at the upstairs landing. "What?" an annoyed voice calls down, only a pair of socked feet in view as Jon cranes his neck up the stairs without success.

"Dad wants you."

"I'm not falling for that again."

"Fine," she says, shrugging, steering Lyanna into the kitchen. "But the boys are here."

Silence for a beat, and then the socked feet take a few cautious steps down, and Rickon's head pops out beneath the second floor obscuring the rest of the stairs. His eyes go wide. Smile, too. "Jon!" he beams, bounding down.

And fuck, it's a man coming down the stairs now, not some socked feet or a boy he remembers, but a fucking beast of a man. Jon teeters back, shooting straight from his lean. "Rickon?" he asks, eyes wide.

The boy – man – jumps the last three steps and comes hurtling toward him, arms wide. Jon opens reflexively, afraid he'll be mauled otherwise, and Rickon slams into him, rocking him with his hug. It warms something instantly in Jon, even if the teenager's head now sits higher than his own. He frowns at that a moment, pulling back to look at him.

Theon claps a hand on his shoulder. "Shit, Rickon, what have you been eating?"

Rickon smiles down at Theon.

Holy shit, he's smiling down at Theon, Jon realizes in horror. And then he squints at Rickon's chin. "What is this peach fuzz?" he laughs, letting the boy go, fingers flicking at his baby beard.

Rickon slaps his hand away good-naturedly. "You've been gone too long, man."

"Clearly."

"No hug for me?" Robb asks with a mock pout.

Rickon levels him with a dead stare. "You were literally here this morning."

"Doesn't mean I don't miss you," he croons, looping an appendage around Rickon's neck and tugging him into his chest.

"Oh god, no, stop it!"

"Come here," Robb smooches, wrestling with him through the hallway toward the back of the house. Rickon's protests drown out somewhere past the hallway bathroom.

The smile comes easy and wide along Jon's face.

Home, he reminds himself.

No take-backs.

[crazytxgradstudent]

If I Was Your Vampire (pt4)

 The next few days went by in a flurry, with all the preparation for my birthday taking up so much time. Never in a million years had I thought that I would have one of those birthday parties that you see on television, the over the top and way too lavish 'sweet sixteens'. But I did, and it was more than I ever dreamed of. It seemed like the whole island was here, and it was definitely more than I’d invited, so I could only assume that Vlad had something to do with it. The birthday went on for hours, the pool party was a hit, and the local band playing music was everything I could have ever wanted. Well, except for Marilyn Manson to show up…in person. That would have been great, but whatever.

In honor of turning 16 and getting my actual license, Vlad bought me a new Mustang, purple of course, with black, leather seats, complete with all the upgrades. My friend, Sofia and I, took it for a spin to the cheers of all my friends and who I now considered family. Vlad looked incredibly proud of himself, and I was incredibly happy. After the car, he left and went to where I didn't know. The party eventually wound down, and only a few remained: Sofia, Jennifer, and Chloe, as well as a few boys, Kevin, Ethan, and Aiden. Aiden, I was particularly fond of, and may have a had a bit of a crush on, so I was very happy that he’d decided to stay over in the pool house. Another benefit of having a vampire as your guardian, I supposed: no stupid rules about no boys in the house.

Once all the others left, the seven of us had disappeared out back to get in the pool, and that was when Kevin produced a bottle of tequila. Now, I knew that alcohol was not allowed for kids my age, even as mature as I was, but it was my birthday, right? I was only gonna turn 16 once, and so I decided, to hell with it, and let loose. Shot after shot we did, until we were all very, very wasted. Well, them more than me, because I literally couldn't stomach the stuff, and started to get sick way before I should have. At some point after 10pm, Kevin and Chloe had disappeared somewhere, while Ethan and Sofia were currently making out on one of the pool loungers. Jennifer was softly snoring in the chair right next to them, her phone clutched against her chest. I stumbled around, grabbing towels and trying to dry off, when I felt Aiden wrap his arms around me, and pull me back into his chest. I stiffened, the memory of the last boy that did that to me popping up in my head and triggering all the worst feelings.

“Let me go,” I told him, firmly. Aiden laughed in my ear, and turned me around in his arms so that my chest was pressed to his. We were only wearing our bathing suits, and through the thin fabric, I could feel his erection pressed at my stomach. I swallowed, bile rising in my throat again. I pushed at his chest, but he wouldn’t let go.

“Aiden, stop fucking around. Let. Me. Go.” I pushed at him again, and again he ignored me with a laugh.

“You stop fucking around, Sarah!” Aiden pressed his mouth against my forehead as he squeezed me. “You and I know the only reason you invited me here was for this, so why are you acting so weird now?”

“I didn’t invite you for this, Aiden!” I wiggled away from him, finally. I wrapped the towel around my body and hugged myself to ward off the chill.

“Well what the fuck then? Did you just want me to spend the night with you, like some lame-ass slumber party?” Aiden approached again, his hands flung wide with his anger. I started screaming at him, and he at me.

*****************************************************************************************************

From upstairs, Dracula watched out of his window, his form concealed in shadows. His jaw clenched, his fists squeezed tight together as he watched the interaction between Sarah and this boy. He scowled. Was this all boys were interested in? Surely there was more to life than this constant need for sex. It was taking everything in him to not go downstairs and destroy this boy just like he’d done Sarah’s last boyfriend, but he’d promised her that he wouldn’t interfere in her little party. That he’d be on his best behavior.

He was not the praying sort, but he hoped, with all his might that this boy would leave, 'ere he had to go down and kill him like he had the last one.

*****************************************************************************************************

We argued for some time, until eventually, Aiden got fed up, and he, Ethan, Sofia, and Jennifer all left the party. I was left there, alone on my birthday, sat by the pool feeling entirely pathetic.

I wiped at my eyes, feeling so stupid and so very sorry for myself. The seat next to me dipped as someone sat down.

“Are you alright?”

“Go away, Vlad,” I whispered, turning from him and giving him my back.

“You should be thanking me that I didn’t come down here and take care of that boy myself,” the vampire returned. There was a slight edge to his voice, an unmistakable grit to his normally-lilting accent.

“You saw?” I asked, sniffling again.

“And heard. You forget, I have excellent hearing.” Vlad reached over and tapped the empty tequila bottle with the toe of his boot. The bottle fell over and rolled away.  “And aren’t you a little young to be drinking? 21, I believe is the age limit.”

“Are you, a vampire, seriously going to lecture me about drinking things I shouldn’t?”

“Touché,” Vlad replied. I could hear the smile in his voice.

“And I didn’t bring it, Kevin did. And I didn’t really drink. It makes me sick.” I tugged at the towel, drawing up my knees so I could rest my chin on them. "I can't even drink like a normal person."

“So, I take it they are gone?”  Vlad looked around, and saw that the chairs were all empty. I shrugged.

“Pretty sure Kevin and Chloe are still in the…uhhh… pool room.” My cheeks heated with the unspoken, and Vlad chuckled.

“For all your pretense, you are still so naïve, aren’t you? That the mere mention of intercourse should bring the most delightful of blushes to your cheeks.”

“Is that your fancy way of saying I’m an immature idiot?” I grumbled, feeling shame wash over me again at how inept I was. Especially around him.

“Oh, quite the contrary, little one. It’s refreshing, indeed, to see a person of your age not already... awash with sin,” Vlad leaned over towards me, and dipped his head so that he could meet my eyes, and he smiled. Playfully.

“Huh,” I mumbled, wiping at my nose again, not believing him at all.

“I am sorry your party didn’t go as you hoped.”

“My party was fine. It’s just, why does everything have to come with some kind of strings attached?” I started crying again, straight-up ugly crying, and before I knew it, Vlad had pulled me back and tucked me at his side. I sat there, hugged to his hard form, and cried. His hand at my shoulder, and the other at my cheek, as he murmured soft words of consolation against my hair.

“He’s a boy, little one. One day, when you get older, you’ll find someone to treat you better. To treat you how you deserve to be treated.”

“Is that true though?” I cried harder, remembering my father. “My dad was an asshole. He beat my mother so much that she killed herself. That’s what happened, whether he wanted to believe it or not!” My hands were shaking, my fists balled up with repressed rage that had never been allowed to come out. No school counselor had heard this, no community ageny had ever heard this from me. No one but Vlad, and deep down, I unloaded it on him because I knew because he could take it.

“Your father was a terrible man, Sarah, and I am sorry for your lot in having to have him for so long.” He turned me, cupping my face with his large hands, and smiled. “But not all men are that way, though they are few and far between.”

“So, like what, are you a good guy?” I asked, my voice a mere whisper. I was fixated on his eyes, on the way the lights from the house reflected back at me in their murky depths.

“Hardly.” He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing just a bit. “I’m probably the worst kind there is.”

Maybe it was my drunkenness. Or maybe it was my teenage hormones, or maybe it was my naivety, although I’m pretty sure it was nothing more than my huge, completely-inexplicable crush I had seemingly developed overnight on him, but I did the dumbest thing in the world right then and there, and pressed my lips to Vlad’s, seeking a kiss. I kissed him. His eyes popped open wide, and I saw that they did, because, like the inexperienced idiot I was, mine were still open wide as well. He pushed me back from him with what sounded like a snarl, and I fell back onto the lounger. Vlad stood up, wiping a hand over his face as if he were wiping away any remamnts of my lips. I started crying harder at the dejection.

“Are you insane? What the hell are you doing?” Vlad snapped at me. He started pacing, his hands on his hips as he walked back and forth in front of me. I started sobbing, clutching the towel to my breasts and pulling it up to my chin. With a sigh, Vlad stopped in front of me, and knelt down. His hands rested on either side of my thighs.

“Sarah, listen. I’m sorry I snapped at you like that, but you cannot do that with me. Never with me, do you understand?” Vlad reached up to caress my cheek, but I turned away, still awash with embarrassment. He sighed again, dropping his hand as he stood back up.  

“You know what I am, don’t you?” His voice was soft as he peered down at me. “A monster. And you are much too young, little one. There are things about this world that you have no concept about, terrible things. People are terrible, and will do terrible things if you let them.”

“Yeah, no shit!” I snapped at him, finally finding my voice. I was so mad. Mad at him. Mad at myself. Mad at my stupid life. Just mad. I jumped up, and pushed my way past him with a shove at his shoulder, and ran upstairs. I slammed my door, and cried myself to sleep in my pillow.

*************************************************

Vlad paced his room, one hand in his pocket, and the other wiping at his jaw. Occasionally, and perhaps subconsciously, he would run his fingers over his lips, remembering the feel of sweetness pressed against him. The warmth of innocence. How it had snaked down his icy body like tendrils of the sun, reminding him of all the good that was still left in this world. He traced his mouth again, remembering. Remembering the scent of alcohol mixed with vanilla and cinnamon, the forbidden and the unforbidden. He sighed and walked back over to his window to stare down at the spot where it had happened, and he remembered.

He was no mortal man, and was certainly not constrained by the laws of this land, or of any land. A meal was a meal, and blood was blood, whether it came from an infant or a geriatric. But Sarah…he mused….Sarah was forbidden. The most forbidden type, and he would do well to remember that. He had made a promise to her grandmother, one bound in blood, and dare he say faith, and he meant to keep that promise that he’d made. If he never kept another promise, he would keep this one. To see her to adulthood, and to provide her with every opportunity that he’d sworn he would. And then his commitment would end, and she and he would both be free. He was trying to do better, to be better, as much as his being would allow. If he was fated to walk this earth for eternity, he was determined to do it with at least some modicum of decorum. And this one thing, he wanted with all his might for it to come to fruition, maybe just to prove to himself that he could do it. That he wasn't a mindless beast. A monster incapable of basic things.

He sat down in his chair with a weary sigh, his hands clasped at his thighs.

He only hoped he could manage to get her there, unscathed, and unharmed, by him or anyone else…

[randomized-ice]

I adore you and your blog so I am handing over all my best headcanons and opinions with a warm blanket <3

Hawks

Opinion: He should be more critical of Endeavor in canon. I hate that he still makes a big deal out of being supportive of Endeavor especially with his horrible home life and the grooming of the Commission. He should hold Endeavor at arms length or at least have SOME kind of onscreen conflict about working with him.

Headcanons: I have said this before but I think Keigo would be a stupid child that eats out of garbage cans and fights anything for food. As long as it’s breathing and it has something edible, he’s throwing hands. It’s the circle of life.

Also he picks up swear words like shiny coins. Nobody knows this until he runs into a window with a scoring hot coffee in his hand.

Dabi

Opinion: He’s one of the most emotional villains in the entire series. Even though he says he’s emotionless he’s really not.

Headcanons: Knows a lot about organs and stuff. If you need tips on anatomy, he’s your guy.

Has a good palate and good at cooking. He can find a lot of good flavours and substitute things so they make a good dish. When he cares enough to actually put work into cooking something he can pull it off well.

On the other side of the scale, he can and will put his bowl of cereal in the fridge so it doesn’t get warm when he comes back like twenty minutes later.

Spinner

Opinion: He deserves a lot more credit than he gets. Man survived a direct All Might Smash and then was ready to full on fight a few minutes later. He’s super strong.

Headcanons: Mario Kart Champion and builds those model cars

May not be the safest driver but he’s damn good at it. Pulls off risky maneuvers and tricks without flinching. With a lot of YouTube videos and a bunch of practice, he can fix up minor damages to a car with no problem. If the league frequently used cars, he’d be the mechanic!

I just really like Spinner and cars

On another note, he and Shigaraki have the same video game rage streak. If he loses a level he was working hard on he will screech and that is a threat. If you mess him up expect to have something chucked at you.

Shigaraki

Opinion: He deserves to be the one of the ones to kick the crap out of AFO.

Headcanons: He would dress fancy if they had the money from it. Half from going around with AFO and Kurogiri and half from his somewhat wealthy childhood. Wearing hoodies while the other people in the house wore suits makes him feel a bit too young. He wouldn’t be all the way dressed up but at least a nice turtleneck or something.

Strategic video games are the ones he crushes easily. He’s great at them, hands down.

He played the newspaper games with Kurogiri when he was younger. Now if you put one in front of him, you’ll probably come back to see the sudoku filled out or the crossword puzzle done.

Toga

Fact: She deserves the entire world for all the shit she has to put up with.

Headcanons: A great hunter. Like literally. She can knock birds out of trees with one knife. She can find and stalk anybody with the precision of an apex predator. She wins at darts hands down. She is at the top of the food chain and everybody knows it.

Queen of the temporary tattoos. Makes them herself, slaps them on people when they’re asleep. She can’t get an actual one because it’ll make her easier to find but the temporary ones are free real estate. Her designs are cute and the colors always pop 💕

Makes fancy invitations for her birthday party and excitedly hands them out to the League members. She was planning for it the entire two months before (She gets her dream party with the League of course)

Mr. Compress

Opinion: He should glow actually. I think that’s be cool for him. Like his predecessor.

Headcanons: King of card towers. He can build massive card towers anywhere. It’s like magic. I respect him.

He writes plays! Always with a Robin Hood type protagonist. He’s amazing at writing and he lets Toga draw up covers for his plays.

Has an actual human skull :)) nobody knows where it came from :))

Good at sewing and fixing up outfits for the theatre!

Kurogiri

Opinion: HE SHOULD NOT GO BACK TO BEING OBORO!!! Kurogiri may be made of Oboro’s body but he’s his own person with his own life and I don’t think he should be reverted back.

Headcanons: Buys those monthly magazines for fun!!

Likes the clinking of glass and the sound of pouring drinks. That and the sound of rain is very comforting to him.

If you sit in silence for long enough you can hear his mist going woosh woosh.

He can create sort of an asmr for himself with his clouds and has used it on Shigaraki and the League before.

Twice

Opinion: He deserves to live 😭 I mean at least bring him back with some fake death Jeanist tactics :(( I was emotionally attached

Headcanons: Good at math! I don’t know why but he seems like he’s good at math! He’s also somewhat decent at business dealings.

Even when he has the option for expensive cigarettes he’d rather use the cheap ones so that he can be smoking buddies with Giran. He only buys that brand no matter what 🥺

Emojis and emoticons! He’d use a ton of them! They’re tiny pictures inside your phone! He types and regularly uses random emojis and emoticons in his texts

If you need more I am always willing to help! :D

I'm so tired from work send me dumb lov and Hawks opinions

[sirius-archive]

How did you find out about Harry Potter? I always like learning about other people's love of harrh potter

Alright, my dudes, gather around, I have a smol story to tell you…

There was once a miserable and bored little girl called Georgie. She is ten years old when our story begins. Georgie used to stack shelves in the school library after school while she waited for her mother to come back from God knows where. One cloudy Tuesday afternoon, she comes across a book with a boy on its cover that looks a lot like her crush, Aaron. Black, messy hair and glasses (though Aaron’s are square rather than round but Georgie overlooks this mistake). And then she reads the title. ‘Harry Potter’.

The instinct to toss the book to the other side of the room is devoured by an overwhelming sense of curiosity. Georgie’s overly righteous and strictly religious parents have banned the name 'Harry Potter’ from the household in case it summons the devil himself. She can just see her mother narrowing her eyes on the book and shrieking a demand for her to wash her hands with bleach.

Georgie, however, is a curious person by nature, and she wants to know about the boy who looks so much like her beloved Aaron. She opens the first page and waits with bated breath for something to happen. Nothing. She continues. 

Georgie is immediately enraptured by this strange boy, and she sinks to the floor in the corner of the library, hidden away by shelves of books, as she delves head first into the Wizarding world. The brunette girl has to physically tear herself away from the book when its time to leave.

The next day, she returns to the library, intent on finding out what the Philospher’s Stone is exactly. She is - perhaps - the perfect reader; she gasps at all the right moments and grasps the sides of the hard cover book with white knuckles. When it’s all over, and she waves goodbye to Harry from Hogsmeade station, She closes the book and searches the library frantically, eager to find out what awaits Harry during his second year at Hogwarts.

Georgie eventually does find the second book and she devours that in two days, spending her recess and lunch breaks in the library. She even arrives at school early so she can sneak into the library and consume the adventures of Harry Potter.

When she finds the third book, Georgie is introduced to the Marauders, and she is instantly drawn to them. She gets the sneaky suspicion that Remus Lupin is actually Sirius Black and is using Polyjuice potion to conceal this fact, however, she is startled to learn that Sirius Black is actually an illegal animagus, who shifts into a black dog at will. She loves dogs, and she’ll never look at another black dog again without thinking of Sirius. When she learns the truth, she dedicates a place in her heart for Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs.

Two weeks pass, and she’s already on the last book. She’s cried with Harry, laughed with him and shared his rage. She doesn’t want to let this go, she wants to cling onto Harry for the rest of her life. She wishes that someone would perform an obliviate spell on her memory so that she could start again from the very beginning. She’s held onto Harry until the very end. She’s not letting go anytime soon.

And then, at thirteen minutes to five, she reads the final words; All was well. But it isn’t. It isn’t well. This is the end, and Georgie had always hated goodbyes. She starts to cry, for the millionth time, tears pour over the pages of the book.

Meanwhile, Georgie’s friends, who she regularly abandons for no apparent reason, are getting rather cross with her. They find her in the library, sobbing into the book, face flushed and cheeks damp with salty tears. As they comfort her, Talya (Georgie’s best friend and Aaron’s younger sister) suggests that they read the books together. The girls beam at this idea. Georgie is excited already.

This next day, she’s sitting in the library in a circle with her friends, hidden amongst the shelves as they begin reading Chapter One aloud. They hide lollies between the shelves and chew on them languidly as they make their way through the books. Their reading group does not go unnoticed by other students, and they join the group, too, the only rule being that they bring food. Soon, the group that once started as five has turned into fifteen, and the number increases as each day passes. Georgie now has more friends to ramble to. They are all still friends, to this day. They coin themselves ‘Dumbledore’s Army’, and it’s quite literally an army. The librarian can’t believe so many children are in the library.  

Talya invites her to a sleepover for the weekend, saying that she owns the movies, and that they can watch them with her other friends. Georgie begs her mother to let her stay at Talya’s house, and her mother concedes, somewhat reluctantly, and the next day, Georgie and her friends are huddled in a pillow fort around the TV. Aaron is there, too, and he kindly gives her his Gryffindor scarf, saying that he’s already got another one lying around somewhere. She still has it in her draw, and she thinks of Aaron when she sees it.

As they move through the movies, Georgie is entertained, but disappointed. Mostly because Harry looks nothing like the Harry she imagined (in other words, he doesn’t resemble Aaron. The actor doesn’t even have the same sea-green eyes). There are so many changes in the movies, Georgie finds it difficult to accept them.

Months later, Gerogie and Talya arrange for Dumbledore’s Army to go and see the first part of the Deathly Hallows. Georgie’s parents are under the impression that she’s seeing a different film, so they give her permission blindly. Georgie wears her Gryffindor scarf and they watch the film together at the cinema, accompanied by Talya’s parents. Some parts scare her; some parts thrill her, and she’s grateful that Aaron is sitting next to her. When the movie ends, they go to MacDonalds and sit around in a circle, talking loudly about the movie.

A year passes, and she’s read about Harry’s journey countless times. She’s got the books hidden in a loose floorboard underneath her bed. Her parents don’t know, not even her siblings. Dumbledore’s army is now a mixture of student, and it includes Aaron who, much to Georgie’s delight, is a huge Potterhead fan. They make their own Sorting Hat and sort new members of Dumbledore’s army into houses. The original members are all Head Girls; Georgie is Head Girl of Gryffindor, Sophie of Hufflepuff, Chloe of Ravenclaw and Talya of Slytherin. Georgie elects Aaron as Head Boy (no surprises there).

When they see the second part of the Deathly Hallows film, Georgie cries and Aaron kisses her cheek. They go to Timezone in an effort to cheer Georgie up, but Georgie’s been walking on clouds since Aaron kissed her cheek. Not long after that, Georgie moves houses, but she remains in contact with Dumbledore’s Army. They send each other ‘Howlers’, until, one day, she receives a package from Talya. It’s the old Sorting Hat. Georgie cries for an hour.  

Eventually, when Georgie is thirteen and no longer innocent, Georgie’s parents find out about her secret. They are outraged and they take her books and burn them. Fortunately, they don’t find her scarf nor the old Sorting Hat. Georgie can’t find it in her to care anymore, and when Aaron sends her an invitation to a beach party with Dumbledore’s Army, Georgie accepts without hesitation.

Dumbledore’s Army are still in contact, in fact, they hosted a Karaoke evening for her seventieth birthday. Aaron ends up being her first crush, her first kiss, her first time and her first boyfriend until he moves to the otherside of the country. Georgie still has the old sorting hat, and she once visited the library where it all began.

All was well

(not really)

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Styles & Co. - Part 11

Authors Note: Hey everyone! I am like swimming in my ideas and slowly drowning because I just don’t know which ideas to use and how to piece them together. Which is why it is taking me so long to get the chapters written. Again, I apologise for the dialogue. I can’t help it! Enjoy. Xx

You can find my Blurbs HERE and the other Chapters HERE

It has been a week since I first started working at Meyer Enterprise, being his assistant isn’t really that bad. I honestly thought it would be worse.

I have barely seen Harry, he hasn’t managed to come home for too long; I think the longest he was at the house was Sunday when he accidentally slept in. I haven’t really been too concerned about it, I am more concerned about the prenup we are yet to discuss and the fact that I am meant to go to New York with Logan next weekend. Logan said it had something to do with a charity event and clientele, I didn’t get the logistics of it. All I one-hundred percent know is that it will be three days in New York, two of those days strictly for business and the third a free day.

I step into the house and wander into the living room where I am surprised to view Harry.

“You finally decided to come home,” I comment with a raised brow, unsure of why he is home so early. It is eight at night and I wasn’t anticipating him to even think about leaving the office until at least two in the morning. He nods, his eyes dropping back to his laptop. I only assume he is working and going over a client’s portfolio for the night.

“I need to go to New York this weekend,” I inform him, not even bothering to ease him into the idea smoothly, either way, he is going to have his fit and make it known that he is more than likely against the idea. I know him far too well to even think for a second that he will be forthcoming and accepting of a business trip.  His eyes immediately gaze up at me with their dark silvery luminosity narrowing on me as he bites his tongue. He doesn’t say anything, he just continues to stare at me with a displeased look. “Are you going to say anything?” I question, his silence not settling well with me.

His silence is like the calm before the storm. You think everything is perfect and serene, no wind, no rain, a small ray of sunshine peeking through the eclipsed clouds, then abruptly it is a twister of a substantial downpour and tremendous winds with rolling thunder.

For a moment I think he is going to keep calm and collected, but he proves me wrong the moment he opens his mouth. “I think the fuck not.” He bluntly answers, shaking his head at me disapprovingly.

“Ha-” I am promptly cut off before I can say his name.

“I think the fuck not, Elise. Don’t even bother trying to ’Harry’ me. No!”

I sigh as he pushes his laptop lid close with a rage of frustration. He stands to his feet, continuing to shake his head as I cross my arms and raise a brow.  

“Are you done with your fit?”

“Elise. This conversation is over.”

“Like hell it is.” I shake my head, accompanying him as he wanders to the kitchen. “We are going to discuss this,” I comment, watching as he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. His hand twists the cap with ease and he stares over at me.

“There is nothing to discuss, you are not going.”

It is not very often he forcefully tells me, ‘NO’  he isn’t usually unreasonably possessive or against my concepts and ideas. But, anything to do with Logan he is always on edge about now that we are working together. At some point in time, he will have to get over his bad blood.

No matter what I say it will lead to an argument, Harry is not going to win this disagreement, I don’t stop him from his business trips, I trust him fully not to do anything stupid with his assistant….

“Drop your pants,” I mutter while rather enraged with harry and his ridiculous antics and whines. We have been at it for at least an hour and I am getting sick and tired of going in circles. He is relentless and I am not giving in.

“You’re irriarional— wait, what?” He stops mid-rant, catching onto the request I made, confused and caught off guard at my comment.

“Do you need me to play with you because you’re being a grouchy child who clearly needs playing with.” I roll my eyes with a heavy huff, exhausted of this argument that is principally because of his jealousy and need to control things.

“That’s not nice,” he shakes his head, “and I don’t need fondling.” He utters with stern eyes.

I can’t help my thoughts and words, letting them slip effortlessly, “You sure? Sounds like it since you’re not getting enough attention.”

“Are you offering?” He crosses his arms over his chest, forming a smirk across his smug face, infuriating me further. He has the nerve to offer me that smug grin across his face, that damn grin that sends my head spinning at times.

“No! You’re fucking annoying. I am going to this business thing!” I groan, throwing my hands up in the air out of frustration, “you, you are just so damn—” I huff, unable to find the right words to illustrate how I feel about him.

“You’re not going to New-fucking-York with that twat, it’s bad enough you’re working for him.” He shakes his head, refusing to budge on the New York trip with Mr.Meyer, “I know how these business trips work with the assistant.” He continues, my eyes narrowing down on him,

“Be careful what you say. You have a fucking assistant who isn’t exactly hideous.” I bring to his attention, keeping my tone of voice relatively calm considering the fact he is insinuating that I and my boss are going to become scandalous and do the cliche thing that happens in devious movies.

He shakes his head, clearly not wanting to change his mind about my trip to New York. “You are not going.” His voice is firm, but not firm enough for me to back down.

He needs to learn to draw a line between business and our relationship. His CEO glare and firm tone isn’t going to work with me.

“Yes, I am.”

“You’re my fiancée and I say no.” I raise a brow as the words escape his lips, the fact that he’s trying to label our relationship as a way to stop my business trip is just irritating. He takes a step closer, his eyes dark as they narrow down on me, his lips pursed into a fine line.

“You are being an overly controlling twat at the moment,” I inform him, not approving his CEO side that’s unleashing itself in the midst of our disagreement.

“You are mine,” he continues, making it known that I am in fact with him. He doesn’t need to say it out loud for us all to know that we are fucking dating, engaged for that matter.

“I am not your possession, Harry.” I softly remind him as he shuffles closer to me while I lean against the armrest of the couch.

“No, you are not, but I don’t like the man, Elise. I don’t want you on a business trip with him.” He continues, his hand pressing against my thigh as I stay perched against the armrest of the couch, “I don’t want him getting ideas, or doing this.” He continues, his hand slowly rubbing his thumb on my inner thigh. I roll my eyes at him, refraining from telling him how fucking stupid he truly is. Like I am going to allow Meyer to even put his hand near my thigh. It is pretty clear that is Harry’s territory.

“You’re jealous. You’re all I want, he’s just my boss.” I assure him with a grin, entirely admiring his determined eyes, firmly pressed lips, and his ‘I’m a fucking CEO, I run this show’ gaze. There’s just something about the way he looks when he doesn’t get his own way that’s enticing.

“’M not jealous.” He mumbles as he shakes his head, drawing a delicate giggle from my lips. He’s lying through his teeth. Jealousy is the definition for his behaviour. “And it is my birthday weekend, that twat is literally taking you and my birthday celebrations.“ He brings up the fact that it is, in fact, his birthday weekend that I am meant to be going to New York, but it isn’t like we can celebrate.

I can’t throw him a surprise party, he hates surprises and getting him to show up on time, or at all would be astonishingly troublesome, he barely manages to make it home before the sun rises. He is literally strung out on coffee and presumably will be this way for a few more weeks until things settle down within his business. He doesn’t tell me much detail, but apparently, the business world is in cahoots. Maybe Logan will fill me in if I pry enough.

“Harry, you are so busy I figured you would spend it working.”

“Did you at least consider that maybe I would want to do something?” He crosses his arms, sounding a little childish at the moment, I honestly believe it is the coffee and the lack of sleep currently talking. He doesn’t tend to give two fucks about his own birthday. I had to remind him last year when he woke up that it was his birthday.

“Harry, you don’t even care about it. You are just bringing it up for ammunition in this argument.” I shake my head, “Not to mention you missed our five year anniversary. FIVE, that trumps me missing your birthday.” I remind him of how he neglected to even enable me to plan anything for our celebrations. He did not have time to get breakfast, lunch, or dinner, so I showed up at his office with takeout and forced him to eat with me. Although, I can’t complain too much because he did send me his signature gift of roses- this year he sent one-hundred roses to my office and was gracious enough to add my favourite chocolate to the mix, along with a vinyl to add to our collection.

“You are not going.” He shakes his head, seeming determined to win this disagreement. I roll my eyes before walking away from him. “Elise, would you want me to go on a business trip with my assistant?” .. “Fuck, bad example.” He huffs as I turn on my heel to glare at him.

I don’t need to remind him of the many business trips he has taken his clients and previous assistants on.

“Do I get a say in anything?” He follows me up the staircase and I ignore him, continuing to ignore his comments as he trails me to the bedroom. “Elise…” He insists on dragging my attention over to him, my eyes meeting his. I bite my lip, delighted by how annoyed he looks. It is positively a turn on.

“Harry..” I grin, holding back my chuckle has he frustratedly sighs, biting his lip.

“Elise, do I get a say in anything?” He raises a brow, seeming to want an answer. I shrug, still grinning as he stares at me.

“You are so damn frustrating sometimes.” He mutters in an irritated tone.

‘Oh, baby, I know I am.’

I step closer to him, pressing my hands to his chest, my fingertips brushing the softness of his t-shirt. I caress my lips to his neck, leaving wet kisses along his skin, a small moan escaping his previously exasperated lips. “Elise… What are you doing?” His voice is raspy as I tenderly bite down, making it obviously known what my attentions are. If he allows it.

“I’m frustrated, too.” I murmur against the smoothness of his skin, “really, frustrated.” I whisper, sucking lightly on his neck, tenderly dragging my mouth away to view a small red mark beginning to make itself known. I glance up and see him grinning, his eyes denoting an intrigued gleam.

“Elle, we are meant to be mid-argument.” He breathes out as I deliberately move my hand down to glide against the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Shhh.” I touch my finger to his lips, “I don’t want to argue.” I whisper as I remove my finger and press my lips against his, drawing him in for a passionate kiss….

***

I gradually open my eyes, an irritating knocking sound on my door removing me from my slumber. I launch the heavy hotel covers off my body before groggily making my way to the door; I open it slightly, peeking through the crack, only opening it widely when I notice the familiar head of curls.

“Harry, it’s like two in the morning,” I mumble, confused as to why he’s standing in front of my hotel room, in New York at this ungodly hour.

“Didn’t think I’d let you stay here alone, did you?” His eyes are dark, his tone of voice making it known that he isn’t too satisfied with the arrangements of me being in New York. “Are you going to let me in? Or did Meyer manage to weasel his way into your room?” His voice is raspy and irritated.

I let him into the room, his bag brushing against the wall as marches his way in. I close the door and let out a heavy sigh, observing as he slides his thick coat down his lengthy arms, draping the coat over the desk chair before his hands rest at the hem of his sweater, he turns to me with a raised brow, “reason why you’re staring?” He questions,

“Because I’m allowed,” I respond, crawling on the bed as he slides his sweater off his body, stripping himself down to nothing but his boxer briefs, wasting no time with crawling into the comfort of the linen sheets. “This conversation will arise in the mornin’ won’t it?” I exhale, pulling at the comforter as he rolls onto his side, allowing me to take up most the covers,

“You fucking know it.” He responds dryly, clearly expressing his distaste for me being in New York against his desires.

I warned him I was going to get on the plane and go… He just refused to acknowledge that I was not bluffing.

Harry arriving last night was somewhat unexpected; I figured he wasn’t over his childish fit, but I didn’t think he’d get the first flight out the minute he realised that I was in New York.

I let out a heavy breath, my mind already circling the various thoughts I have regarding the day I am about to endure. Logan said something about a fresh project he is wanting to start on— what it is I have absolutely no idea— although it would justify why he arranged for me to rearrange his schedule for the day. The minute we landed he had me changing his client meetings and what not.

Who knew he would have so much to do in New York, yet so little time?

In my opinion, there’s no way he can manage everything in three days, but that’s not up to me to decide. His wish is my command.

I peer over and notice Harry fast asleep, half the covers off of his body and bundled up on my side of the bed. It’s on rare occasions do I ever find him snuggled up with the covers, he is warm-bodied and tends to kick the covers off himself in the middle of the night.

For a few moments, I watch him sleep, content with how peaceful he looks and how he is belatedly sleeping for more than three hours at a time. I can’t help but admire the way his eyes flutter when he’s dreaming, how his lips twitch imperceptibly and how his hand is always close to my body if it isn’t touching me. Even when we are exasperated with each other he keeps his fingertips close to me; I’ve always assumed it was a comfort thing for him and I’ve never really questioned it. It’s comforting for me to know that I’m at the tip of his fingers no matter what, it’s a little bit of a safe haven type of feeling.

I let out a heavy sigh as I come to terms with the fact that I need to pry myself from the warm bed and my sleeping fiancé. I carefully inch to the edge of the bed, promptly forcing myself off the bed with as little disturbance to Harry as possible. I hear him moan and the sheets rustle. I bite my lip and glance over my shoulder to look at him, appreciative that he’s still fast asleep.

I glide my grey coat up my arms, adjusting my scarf as I overhear the sound of Harry moving within the bed. I turn on my heel and observe him moving erratically, mumbling a few incoherent things, a few moans escaping his lips.

I press my hand mildly to his exposed arm, rubbing it benevolently as I attempt to lure him away from what I am assuming is a nightmare.

“Harry, hey, hey, it’s okay,” I murmur and he abruptly opens his eyes, his body jerking insignificantly with a heavy breath. “It’s okay, it’s just me,” I assure him with a tender smile, my hand pushing back his hair as he lets out a few heavy breaths. He lifts his hand to rub his drowsy eyes before gazing up at me. He tilts his head to the side and closes his eyes, making me chuckle somewhat.

I have always found it extremely charming the way he is after he’s experienced a nightmare. He tends to stare at me for a brief moment, never saying a word as he comes to terms with the fact that it was all just a dream. Without a doubt, he always moves within the bed and falls back asleep relatively instantly, half the time he doesn’t even remember me waking him up when I ask him about his nightmares. I reach over and carefully pull the sheet over his body, his hand now resting on my side of the bed. I lean down and kiss his warm cheek before leaving him to continue sleeping.

***

Logan Meyer has been reserved the past twenty minutes as his driver takes us to a site that has yet to be disclosed to me. I asked just specifically where we were going and Logan told me it was just a short drive.

I step out of the car and view towards Meyer, puzzled as to where the hell I am and what the hell we are doing.

“Elise, this way.” He motions towards the left and I immediately take his side, “Brooklyn, one of New York City’s five boroughs, sits on the western end of Long Island.” Logan starts, expressing the fact that we are no longer on 7th Avenue, but now in Brooklyn for a reason, I’m still unaware of.

Considering the fact I am his assistant, he seems to have kept me in the dark with today’s shenanigans. “Well, I’m sure you can read up on the history yourself.” He chuckles, and I nod.

We arrive at a moderately comprehensive building. I take a glimpse around as we step in and I take notice of how it isn’t entirely completed with renovations. I glance over at Meyer, awaiting an explanation as to why we are here. I highly doubt he chose to meet a business client in the midst of a building undergoing maintenance. “This is one of my other locations and investments. Soon to be fully renovated with a contemporary and classy look to it.” He begins, promptly giving me a small tour of his building.

In my opinion, it seems like this was an impulse sort of decision, the structure doesn’t represent anything like his London one does. Not to mention this seems like a very odd building that Logan would want to use purely for busines. It does not strike me as an office type of building. I would much prefer it to be something more in the range of a modest business, perhaps a first-time partnership just starting, or even a building devoted to Art.

“What do you think, Elise?” Logan distracts me as I admire the barren wall that would be perfect with three large canvases hailed across it, perhaps three black and white works of art to convey a positive connotation.

I look towards Logan and ponder for a moment on how to answer his question. “Honestly, I don’t understand why you chose a building like this. The architecture does not seem like it would be very beneficial for a business such as yours.” I answer honestly, curious as to why he chose this specific building.

“Observant, I see.” He nods, “But, I saw potential in the building. Let’s just say everyone had their eyes on this precious building. Why? I am going to find out.” He smirks with cunning eyes. I furrow my eyebrows, uncertain of what he means by everyone and what he intends to find out.

I take another glance around, “Logan, what do you mean?” I curiously challenge.

“Just that I want to know why people were so interested in this building.It must be sentimental or something. Come on, I should get you back so you can get ready for the charity event.” .. “I expect you re-read my speech for me.”

I nod, “I did, it is well-written.” I inform him, following him out of his building.

“You will be expected to make a donation at the event and to make me look good.” He begins as we commence to walk back towards the car, my heels sounding against the concrete, my coat barely shielding me from the freezing harshness of the weather.

“I will make a donation.” I nod, “And I will make you look good.” I assure him. It isn’t like I would make him look bad at a charity event, public humiliation is not my thing, not to mention he writes my cheques and I at least want to receive my first cheque before pissing my own boss off.

I step into my hotel room and notice Harry awake and relaxing on the bed, flicking through the television stations; a sight I don’t see too often. Usually, he has his phone or his laptop occupying him and the television playing in the background. He glances over at me and I give him a small smile, assuming that he’s far from satisfied with me and that there’s no chance I managed to avoid our conversation he dearly promised me when he arrived last night.

I glide off my coat, enabling it to hang over the desk chair as I slide off my heels, relieved to finally have a few hours without a pair of tight heels around my feet.

“How was working?” I’m taken back by his question, I was expecting him to pounce on me with his reasons for still being pissed.

For a moment I glance at him with a perplexed expression, my brows furrowed and my lips pursed into a straight line. “It was fine,” I respond, leaning against the desk, my fingers curling over the edge, my eyes continuing to meet his. “Harry, I’m surprised you’re not ripping into me with a whole essay on why you’re pissed with me.” I bring to his attention, uncertain of why he is so calm and collected while lying on the bed.

“Well, I did have a whole argument set out and ready, but, I don’t really feel like arguing. You’re here and I quite appreciated sleeping, so I guess we can just move on.” .. “but, don’t fucking pull this shit on me again, making me think I won and then sneaking away to New York without telling me.”

“I did tell you I was going.” I remind him, “you just refused to listen.” I add, making sure it is known that he knew I was going, he just didn’t want to accept it.

He shakes his head, “No, we ended the argument which sounded like you were siding with me and not coming here.”

“I’m sorry you thought that us having sex meant that you won. I just found you attractive as fuck while enraged.” I shrug, watching as he rolls his eyes at me. He sighs before pressing his hand beside him, gesturing for me to crawl on the bed and lie beside him.

“Your Birthday is tomorrow. What would you like to do?” I softly challenge, uncertain of what the hell he would like to do.

Dinner? A movie? Something extravagant?

“I don’t know.” … “I’m kinda disappointed that I’m stuck in New York sharing you with the twat on my birthday.”

“Harry.” I sigh, biting my lip and taking a breath, “I’m sorry it isn’t what you wanted. Tell me what you want to do. Do you want to do something adventurous? Ride a helicopter? I don’t fucking know what you want to do.” I huff, having no decent ideas on what to do for his birthday. 

He chuckles as I crawl onto the bed, settling down in front of him. “Baby, I don’t want anything extravagant. I want something low key, preferably just me and you.” He reveals, destroying my thoughts on seeing if his sister could possibly fly out tomorrow and surprise him, they haven’t seen each other in a while. Coming to think about it, he hasn’t made the drive to see his family since he visited last June for his Mum’s birthday. Seven months ago. That is far too long. 

“You need to go visit your family.” I inform him, “It has been a while.“ 

"I know, I know.” He sighs, “You know things have been busy. We are going to drive up there soon.” He announces, gently pulling me into his lap, my body straddling him. 

“We?” I raise a brow. Last time he went on his own, I didn’t mind because he really needed time with just his family. 

“Yes, WE.” He emphasises the we. “They want to see you.”

“Yeah, but it should be just you guys, you need family time.”

“And you are going to be apart of the family.” He smiles, pressing a sweet kiss to my lips. 

“Mhm, okay.” I nod with a grin, “Have you told your parents?" 

"No, I was going to do it in person. They knew I was proposing at some point though.” He informs me, “I assume you haven’t told yours.”

“Nope wanted to do it in person.” .. “Hey, I need to get ready for this charity event. While I get ready think of something you want to do for your big day.” I press another kiss to his lips before getting off of him with him whining, wanting more than just a few kisses. 

While I get ready, Harry splits his attention between the television and admiring me. He doesn’t do it subtly, he makes it obvious when he is appreciating his view. 

“Quit yeh gawking.” I chuckle, sliding my dress up my body, “Can you help?” I softly challenge, unable to zip the back of my dress up. He promptly gets off the bed and shuffles himself closer to me, kindly zipping up my dress. 

I turn around to face him, a smile curved on his lips, “You look beautiful.” He compliments me, causing butterflies to flutter in my stomach. Even after so many years he still praises me and manages to arise butterflies in my stomach. 

“You look nice yourself.” I wink, leaning up and kissing him sweetly. “But, I need to go. I think he is waiting on me already.” I groan, watching as Harry rolls his eyes.

“Okay, be careful, and if he pulls a move while you look this good, call me and I will deal with him.” He smiles, probably picturing his fist against Logan Meyers cheek. Harry would like that far too much.

“I love you,” I whisper between us, falling for his eyes for the hundredth time.

“I love you, too, Elle.” He kisses me again before enabling me to finally leave.

I pull my coat tighter around me as the swirling cold air sending shivers throughout my body on this cold night. My gaze meets Harry’s as I reach the corner of seventh Avenue, his black coat draped around him, his scarf around his neck. 

“Do I need to kill him?” He questions, “Is that why you got me to meet you here?” I continue, his eyes dark and full of fury. 

I shake my head, leaning up and kissing him sweetly before stretching away.

“It is midnight,” I inform him of it just passed midnight a few minutes ago. 

“Yes. And?" 

"Happy Birthday Birthday boy!” I exhale a little loudly, an eager grin painted across my face as I kiss him again. 

“Thank you.” He chuckles against my lips, “Is that why you got me out here?? It is bloody freezing… I was looking forward to knocking the hell out of your boss.” He sighs with a small pout. I roll my eyes and take his hand, gently leading him to step into the small shop he had been standing outside of. 

I smile politely at the woman who was kind enough to stay overtime so I could pick up my small order. 

“I am so sorry,” I breathe, instantly opening my purse as she places a white box on the glass counter and Harry grabs it. She shakes her head with a sweet smile 

“It is no problem, sweetheart.” She assures me. I recognise Harry’s hand sneaking to try to take a glimpse of what is in the box and I tenderly nudge him.

“No,” I mutter, not wanting him to open the box, not yet. 

I pay the lady the amount promised when she agreed to extend her hours just for me before I again thank her and pull Harry out of the dimly lit shop. 

“Now can I open the box?” He questions curiously, seeming eager to open the box even though he has no idea what is inside it. 

“How do you know it is for you?” I raise a brow at him, standing in front of him on the corner. He shrugs, his lips pursing into a fine line. 

“Wel… I don’t. But I am curious.”

“Mhm. Happy Birthday.” I gesture towards the box, allowing him to open the white box. 

He is a hard person to surprise or to buy things for; Harry has the means to buy whatever the hell he desires, when he desires it, not to mention, he said he wants things to stay low-key. 

He chuckles as his eyes view twenty-six cupcakes decorated flawlessly and in his favourite flavour and colours.

“You are so cute. Thank you for my cupcakes.” He smiles, placing a delicate kiss on my cheek.

Everyone loves cupcakes and since he wanted to be low key, there is nothing better than allowing him to indulge in the best cupcakes recommended to me in New York.

“You are welcome, there should be thirty.” I joke playfully as we walk side by side towards the hotel.

“Alright, I am not that old. You are not much younger than me.” He reminds me of how I am indeed decently close to his age. 

The small walk back towards the hotel is full of soft chuckles and sweet conversations, along with some playful banter. 

We reach the room and he sits on the bed, still holding his box of cupcakes while continuing to tell me about the hockey game he went and saw while I was at the charity event with Meyer. I smile to myself, his voice continuing to enchant me, even though I have no idea what the hell he is talking about. Hockey is not my kind of sport, I have no clue about it, besides the fact that there is a black puck that needs to be hit into the net. 

“Oh, Babe, I met this artist tonight too. He showed me a few of his designs and they are really nice.” He changes the subject as I pour some wine into two glasses. “I showed him the rose tattoo, and he said it was neat.” He continues like an overly excited child. 

“So, he is a tattoo artist?” I glance over my shoulder to look at him and he nods, 

“Yes, love.”

“Are you thinking of painting that beautiful skin of yours again?” I softly ask, turning around with the two glasses in my hands. 

“Well… I don’t know, what do you think?” He smiles up at me as he takes the wine from my hand.

“I think that if you touch your rose tattoo I might just stop talking to you,” I respond, being remarkably fond of his rose design. It is so perfectly composed into his skin. 

Nobody really gets to see his few tattoos, I am one of the only ones who get the privilege, and that rose is my favourite.

“I know how much you like it, wouldn’t dream of touching it.” He assures me as I sit on the bed, positioning myself to sit in front of him. 

“To the Birthday Boy that I love a little too much, even when he babbles on about Hockey and tattoos.” I wink, holding my glass up to him. He rolls his eyes cutely before adding to my speech. 

“Thank you. And to my fiancee who forces me out of bed at midnight just so I can meet her on the corner to receive cupcakes.” He clinks his glass against mine and we take a sip each. 

“Oh wait!” I smile, getting off the bed, remembering the candle that came along with the cupcakes. I step back towards the bed and open the box, taking out a candle and pressing the candle to sit inside it.

“Are you serious?” He chuckles, watching me light the candle. 

“Mhm, make a wish.” I smile, handing him the cupcake. He laughs to himself, the cupcake in his hand, his eyes diverting their attention down to it. With a smile on his face, he blows out the candle. “Did you make a wish?" 

"Yes. Did you buy a lighter just for this one candle?” He takes the candle out of the cupcake and hands it to me, already taking a bite of it.

“Mhm, never know when you will need one.” I wink, chuckling as he indulges in the cupcake.

He proceeds to tell me about his night, from the Hockey Game to the new people he met, to somehow getting lost with one of his business mates. Such an intelligent man, and yet he manages to get himself and his friend lost in the streets of New York after a hockey game. 

I would not be surprised if they had a few beers which resulted in them getting slightly lost. 

“How did you get lost? MSG is literally a straight drive from here.” I promptly question. 

He gives me an innocent smirk, his eyes shining a beautiful shade of grey.

“Well, we had a few beers and we were trying to find a restaurant.” ..“I mean, we weren’t drunk, but the person in charge of directions was a bit too giggly.”

“Was that person you?” I raise a brow, his glass of wine reaching his lips. He shakes his head. 

“No, I took charge and got us lost further because I typed in the wrong address on my phone.” He informs me and I can’t help but giggle. 

Hearing him being lighthearted and not so uptight is one of my favourite things to hear. It is not too often he has funny stories to tell me.

Maybe, this small trip to New York has benefited him.

The smile on his face is enough for me to just sit and listen while I sip on the wine, admiring his eagerness to for once have the liberty to appreciate his time and to inform me about his day without being exhausted.