#imagine that though he literally re grows an entire arm and no one seems to notice...

[muttsterion]

What do you think Mysterion does after he gets some battle wounds? Does he pack it in for the night to properly recover or does he like patch up and brace through it until his shift over? (Or is it both depending on the extent of the injuries? It seems like it's canon that if he suffers from a crippling, but non-fatal injury or is just badly wounded that he'll rather succumb to them than hope for an ambulance, since it'll mean a brand new body and promptly going back to work the next night.)

I could see Mysterion trying his best to just fight through his battle wounds no matter how bad or painful they get. He may carry a first aid kit with him anyways more so to use it on others than himself but he might make an attempt to patch himself up . Sadly Kenny might feel like it doesn't really matter if he succumbs to the wounds or not since if he dies he'll just come back. He might not even willingly seek any help or rest up. If someone comes to his rescue and tries patch him up or get him to a hospital he may insist they don’t need to worry about him. In fact Kenny might even be leery of hospitals considering when he did go there his deaths were more prolonged(not to mention the one when the doctors literally ripped out his guts and replaced his heart with a baked potato). So he might even prefer letting his injuries run their course than to seek any aid.

And then I do wonder what happens when Kenny gets badly injured but doesn’t die from it.  I’ve played around with the theory that in connection with his immortality Kenny can heal from severe wounds that aren't immediatley fatal. I'm  pretty sure they would have limits though. The only canon we have of Kenny being badly injured but not killed is when he had both his arms and legs hacked off. By the end he apparently didn't die but by the next episode he was whole again. I don't know if my HC healing powers would include being able to heal his limbs back into place or have them regenerate like a salamander but that would be pretty cool. But probably not happening. :-P

[dooandpoo]

Boo’s clown thoughts about Dan

I just re-watched the Heartthrob video from 2018. I have listened to Dan and Phil playing Heartthrob in 2021. I have watched compilations of Dan and Phil’s liveshows and ✨ gay moments ✨ throughout the years. I am officially qualified to make reaching assumptions about Dan’s psyche, and his taste in men 💅. (I am a clown.)

Dan hides many of his feelings under sarcasm. This essay is predicated on a combination of assuming many of his jokes are actually his real feelings, and also taking into account things he has said with sincerity.

First, he wants to fix people. His whole perspective of Bobby changes when the card “never been kissed” is added — Dan gets all soft and literally says “that’s a game changer”. Phil thinks the same, suggests that everything else of Bobby is bravado, to which Dan heartily agrees. Dan loves himself some 💪 meaty men 💪, but gravitates more to the men that seem soft or personable. “Never been kissed” is a big deal for a cool sexy rich guy in high school, and Dan just knows that he could take care of him. It brings Bobby back down to earth, makes him feel real, makes him someone that Dan could relate to. Dan is obsessed with cleaning, takes forever to plan things, gets worked up when things aren’t perfect, must be in control. But he’s drawn to the imperfect, knows that he can do something with it. Someone that’s already perfect isn’t interesting to Dan. But Bobby, who’s rich and sexy but never been kissed? That’s interesting to Dan, that’s someone he can work with.

Dan is a gold-digger 💷💰 (let me explain). Even before the kissing detail is learned about Bobby, Dan chose him to go to the party with just because he’s rich, because his house would be cool, and Dan could pretend to like him for a night of luxury. Dan is a minimalist, he enjoys things to be simple in his life (as stated in the pizza mukbang video), but he loves opulence .... but not for himself. This is fascinating — Dan doesn’t parade his current wealth around, actively works against it. But. He wants to go to a party at a fancy house with a pool, hang off the arm of some cool guy. He wants to have a “team of stylists” for red carpet events to choose his outfits and dress him up all pretty for the world to see. He loves his fancy trips to beautiful places. He gives his Sims elegant and gaudy accessories and furnishings, splurging in a way he never would in real life. This boy loves him some extravagance and attention, wants to parade around looking like a snack, even though most of the time he prefers being low-key.

Dan loves cultivating a specific image for himself. He spent much of his teenage and young adult life trying to fit in, making sure his hair is perfect, making sure his photos are from the perfect MySpace angle, not being “gay”. His Instagram is a wall of black, broken up by only a few things. This is partially because he doesn’t like choice, can’t commit to things when it’s his decision. He can’t choose something “wrong”. See the mukbang video where Phil suggests just picking different clothes from along the line in his closet, and Dan says “that’s how you get ensembles that look like this” indicating Phil’s absurd get-up. Dan can’t imagine just throwing things on willy-nilly, he must present a completely unified vision of himself to the world. In the Attitude shoot, he was devastated that he couldn’t wear the cool boots, that his hair was too long. He secretly wished that it was a nude or horny photoshoot, joking about this during their first Stereo, because he wants to be noticed in that way. He wants to be seen as sexy and cool, he loves it. He wants positive attention. His mid-2020 thirst post on Instagram is a perfect example of this, playing it off as silly when he clearly was really into it. He does this with most of his photos, needing to look a certain way so that the world sees him as cool and sexy even when he’s masking it behind sarcasm. He knows he’s cute, and flaunts it, even though “flaunting it” means he has to be in control of everything all the time.

Let’s go back to the 2018 Heartthrob. One of the boys’ personality traits is revealed to be “can’t wait to have kids”, and Dan is not having it. 🙅‍♂️ Now, Dan would describe that as his fear of commitment. But let’s look closer. Earlier that year, Dan and Phil met Louise’s newborn baby. Both boys go completely gooey the entire time, entranced by her. Dan gets this look in his eye when he hands Pearl to Phil. He watches Phil closely to make sure he’s holding her correctly, hovers and touches her, needing to protect and feel the inherent trust of a baby. He and Phil keep smiling, and then Dan — out of the blue — gets a far away look and comments that there will be phanfiction of him and Phil adopting a baby. Dan was thinking about having a baby with Phil. But he’s scared, because even though Dan would take care of his baby so well, he’d probably worry his ass off making sure the baby has everything. It’s not just the fear of commitment, it’s that he can’t trust himself to do it “correctly”. Even though he’s been with Phil for years, I think Dan second-guesses himself constantly. A baby, or even a dog, for that matter, would send his anxiety into overdrive, because he can’t be in complete control (even though he’d be the best dad and partner ever).

Time to think about thot Dan. In the end, Dan is horny. He visibly reacts to each of the Heartthrob boys that have their “guns out”, and doesn’t easily deny that he’s interested in Bobby for his arms. And Phil knows that. When Dan asks Phil why he thinks Dan chose Bobby ... Phil stalls. Phil does his best to justify his guess that Dan likes Bobby because of his random personality traits, because Dan would like being driven around in a nice car and to ask Bobby about his dream of being a secret agent, but Phil clearly thought Dan would choose Bobby because he knows Dan loves the meaty lads. Phil knows Dan well enough to know that this boy loves him some skin and some muscle showing. (Hmm, interesting that Dan likes his boys meaty 👀, and frequently refers to Phil as such, even at the beginning of this very Heartthrob video …. hmmmm ... says he’d like to receive a lapdance 💋 from Phil “for the spectacle” .... hmmmmmmmmm.)

Back to “commitment” 💍 issues. During a liveshow from the early danisnotonfire days, Dan is asked for relationship advice. Here, he is surprisingly honest and serious. He says to not stay in a relationship where you’re not happy. It seems simple, but Dan really digs deep here. Dan says that if you’re not going to marry a person, don’t stay with them for even a day longer. Dan said that. Dan is scared of trusting others, he is constantly sarcastic and talks about himself disparagingly, but he is self-aware enough to know that he wants commitment. He wants someone to love him forever, to be by his side. That’s why he says there’s no point in remaining in a relationship if you and the other person can’t see yourself together in 50 years. And Dan had been with Phil (in whatever way that means for them) for a few years at that point, completely comfortable with each other. They were already making huge decisions together, like living together and moving to London and starting a radio show and considering moving to New York together. Dan had committed to Phil at this point, knew that he could see himself still with Phil in 50 years. And Phil had committed to Dan, regardless of if Dan felt sure of that or not.

Even earlier than that, Dan had told a fan on formspring that he loves sleeping in the same bed as other people, not even in a sexual way. He loves human contact, sharing space 😌. We know this because he’s so open to hugs with his fans, wants people around to make him feel safe (by people I mean Phil), and is so exasperated by quarantine because he needs more touch and contact. (Tangent — Phil also loves physical touch, as stated in an old liveshow when he said he prefers cuddles to kisses, and is very handsy 👐 with Dan.)

This doesn’t end in physical touch though. He needs other people around. He wants a companion through life. He misses Phil when he’s gone because he’s scared of the house being empty, because Phil makes him feel safe. He wants another person in his bed because it feels nice to be with someone, knowing they’re there. He wants to have someone to work with, to connect with, to make music with, to share moments with. And now this boy has all of that. He has for the last ten-odd years. But this is scary. Dan isolated himself growing up, built barriers between himself and everybody else. He needs to be control of the situation at all times, embarrassed when he’s not. Dan uses self-deprecating language constantly, complains about his inability to connect with people. But he has Phil. Every day they’re together, I think Dan accepts just a little more that he can deserve happiness, that he won’t lose Phil, that Phil is not temporary. Phil shows him that he is worthy of affection, physical and otherwise, that Dan is allowed to reach out and it’s safe to do so. Dan doesn’t have to be alone anymore, he can reach out and Phil is there.

These nonsense ramblings are just to say that Dan has the perfect life partner in Phil. Phil balances him out, lets Dan be himself loudly and quietly, jokes when Dan is too serious. Phil will never leave him, proving that every day, making plans with Dan in mind. Phil is confident and self-assured where Dan is not. They ease each other’s anxieties, approach their fame in similar ways. They genuinely enjoy being together, not just in their personal life, but professionally as well. They are a perfect match, soulmates. 💕

[broadstbroskis]

surprises- pt 8 | mat barzal

oooffff it’s been quite a long journey and thanks for sticking with me through the wait! it’s finally here- the next and last part of surprises! thanks to everyone for reading, thanks for all your lovely feedback and kind words throughout this series, and all the support as i worked through this last part! it’s meant the world to me and i hope you all enjoy this last part!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

When you wake up one morning to absolute silence, you get suspicious. No baby cries, no sounds of Mat breathing next to you, nothing.

But when you investigate, you find Mat sprawled out on the couch, holding Maeve against his chest, and they’re both passed out. She’s grown, definitely grown a lot since you brought her home, but his hand still covers most of her body. You reach for your phone, snapping a picture (to add to the many you’ve taken of the two of them over the past month), only to fumble it when you see the instagram notification on the front screen. 

Mat’s tagged you in a post and you sit down on the floor in front of the two of them as you slide to open it. And then, you gasp, immediately reaching to cover your mouth and hide the sound, as you look through the roll of pictures that Mat posted.

One Month with Maeve: You Like: eating, sleeping, anything your mom does You Dislike: tummy time

When you look up, Mat’s watching you, with a hopeful look on his face. “Hi.” He says quietly.

“Hi.” You return, flipping your phone around to him. “I call bullshit.”

He laughs-gently and quietly, so as not to wake Maeve-and then grins. “Oh yeah? On what?”

“That she likes anything I do.” Maeve’s just...so content anytime she’s in Mat’s arms. Anytime he’s just in her proximity. She’s recently started to recognize his voice, turning her head for it anytime she hears it...sometimes even over FaceTime. “You are definitely the favorite.”

Mat kisses the top of Maeve’s head gently; it’s a favorite thing for both of you right now, you’re pretty sure. “Maybe, but we still like anything you do.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “We?”

“Yeah, both of us.” Mat says, like it’s something he says everyday, totally normal and casual.

Cheeks flushed, you stand up. “I’m going to go make breakfast.”

“We’ll come.” Mat stands, careful not to jostle Maeve too much.

“You don’t have to.” You offer. You know how tired he is all the time now, between Maeve and playoffs. He could use all the rest he can get.

“I want to.” Mat settles himself on one of the chairs by the counter and re-adjusts Maeve. “I feel like I barely get to see you guys right now.”

“Somebody’s gotta pay off that nice, big house.” You chirp, pulling out the eggs to make omelets.

Mat laughs. “Can’t even move into it yet and it’s already costing me money.”

“Don’t think about the price tag until you get paid this summer.”

“Once again. You cannot max out my credit card in the Target Home Section. Even with a bonus this year.”

“I gave you the most perfect human ever and this is how you repay me?’

Mat looks down at Maeve, unable to stop the smile that grows over his face, and in return, you feel one spread across yours as you watch him. “Go crazy.”

-----

Two Months with Maeve: You Like: the new hockey mobile Uncle Tito bought you, when your mom and i talk to you You Dislike: the carseat, more tummy time

When you slip into Maeve’s nursery in the new house (just barely unpacked, but still the most unpacked room in the entire house by far), Mat’s got the same sad look on his face that he’s worn for the last three days, standing in the middle of the room, watching her sleep. You give him a minute, see if he notices your presence, and when he doesn’t acknowledge you, you slide behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, dropping your head between his shoulder blades. “You’re still amazing.”

Mat’s laugh is hollow and you know he’s thinking about how he was held scoreless for the last two games this series, thinking about all the things he could have done differently so that they weren’t eliminated. “You’re biased.”

“Like I’ve ever held back from telling you that you suck before.”

It’s not a smile, but the corner of his lips do turn up. “Fair.”

You smile, hiding the grin in his back. “We’re happy to have you home more.”

“Even though this means we won’t get to put Maeve in the cup?” You can picture his eyebrows raise with the question, even though it’s dark and you’re not even looking at him.

“I mean, she would have looked really cute in it.” You poke his side. “But I’ll get over it. We’ll just have to take cute baby pictures with her somewhere else.”

“You mean, like this new house we just moved into?”

“This new house we just moved into where every room is either filled with boxes or has no furniture?”

You feel Mat hesitate. “Maybe there’s a park nearby.” He says and you laugh. 

“Maybe.” You agree, slipping around to curl into his side, so you can both watch Maeve sleep.

-----

Three Months with Maeve: You Like: that new activity mat, music, afternoon walks You Dislike: pop goes the weasel, noisy birds on the walks

“These came out so good.” Molly enthuses, beaming as she stares at the pictures of Maeve that you and Mat had professionally taken, shortly after your conversation about it, to send out in cards to everyone you know.

“Right?” It had taken a little to decide where you wanted to have the pictures taken, the house still not finished and immediately eliminated. Almost all the parks nearby had been eliminated by your photographer due to lighting and the one that hadn’t, had been nixed by you. You and Mat had both scrunched your nose up at the thought of bringing Maeve to the beach already, as well as a few other suggestions. In the end, though, you can’t imagine anyone will be shocked to see the ice rink in the background of a few of the pictures, and it seemed only fitting. 

As usual, Maeve’s perfectly at ease in Mat’s arms, who’s beaming down at her, in your favorite shot of the afternoon, as you hang onto his arm gently to keep yourself upright, the same wide grin on your own face as you look at the two of them. There are so many other shots from the day- Mat skating while holding Maeve; the two of you laughing while you move easily on the ice; close ups of Maeve sleeping peacefully in Mat’s arms, just happy to be close to him (unless it’s the proximity to the ice- she is definitely his daughter). And then there’s all the candids.

“Some tough choices for the photo wall.” Molly muses.

“Gonna need lots of frames.” You agree, as the back door opens and Tito walks in, bouncing Maeve gently in his arms, closely followed by Mat and Brian. 

“Alright, patio’s done.”

“Perfect!” Molly claps her hands together and you give her a look because she sounds too excited. “Great timing.”

Tito huffs, still bouncing Maeve, who’s smiling away at him and probably going to start giggling at any minute. She’d laughed for the first time last week and it felt like since then, she hadn’t stopped. “We said we’d have it done in time, didn’t we?”

“In time for what?” You press, skeptically.

“Yes, “Molly ignores you completely. “But I honestly didn’t believe you.”

“Rude.” Brian teases. “The lack of faith.”

“Yeah.” Tito adds. “What’d we do to deserve this?”

“What are you three talking about?” Mat huffs, and you feel ten times better already that you’re not the only one left out.

“Oh!” Molly blinks, like it’s only just occurred to her that she hasn’t actually told you what’s going on yet. “Right. You two are going out tonight. We made you a dinner reservation and we’re going to stay here and babysit while you do.”

You hesitate, relieved that when you look over to meet Mat’s eyes, you see the same look. “I don’t know.”

“We’re not going to force you to go.” Brian says, before Molly or Tito can jump in, with what’s certain to be a much less soft comment. “We just thought you could use a couple hours out. Without having to worry.”

It’s not...the worst thought, if you’re honest, and you can see the idea growing on Mat as well. “I mean, we’re probably still going to worry.” He says, even as you can see him start to grin.

“What, now, you don’t trust me with your kid?” Tito says, feigning hurt. “And to think, I almost made godfather.”

“Because YN’s brother almost didn’t show up.” Mat throws back at him.

“Classic Christopher.” You grin at the memory of your brother literally running into the church last month for the baptism only just in time. 

“You two go get moving; we promise to take perfect care of your baby.” Molly says.

“Team Baby.” Tito sticks his free hand, the one not holding Maeve to his chest, into the center of the circle you’ve all formed, and stares at you all expectantly, until each one of you piles a hand on top of his. “Team Baby!” He cheers again, and then he steers Maeve over to her activity mat and lies down on the floor with her.

“Go.” Molly gestures and it doesn’t take much more for you and Mat to turn and start getting dressed because that’s her I mean business face. “Dress nice!” She calls after you. “Suit, tie, dress, heels. The works!”

“Where could they possibly be sending us?” Mat mutters as the two of you climb up the steps toward your room, and you hide your snicker much better than he does.

“Mathew!” Molly calls, warningly.

“First shower.” You call dibs to him, and rush past him for it, laughing at the look on his face.

While Mat showers after you, you fix your hair and makeup, and then step into your closet, already pulling a face at all your dresses before you even look at them. 

You’re starting to feel more like yourself after giving birth, finally, after three months, but you don’t feel completely there. You’re not sure you ever will, that’ll you’ll ever feel that easy and carefree again, or that you’ll ever look the same again, and you’ve talked with Grace and Lauren, and are coming to terms with it. Have come to terms with it, really. The trade-off for Maeve’s smiles made everything worth it.

But.

But you don’t have a single dress that fits the way you like now.

There are four dresses on the floor of your closet and at least five more that you couldn’t even bring yourself to try on before you find a charcoal colored slip dress that’s covered in a pattern of dark sequins. The strappy heels that go along with it are an old comfort; they, at least, still fit you.

Mat’s holding a tie up in the mirror when you come out of the closet, like he’s debating if he actually has to wear it, but the second he sees you through the glass, his eyes go wide and the tie drops from his hand.

“Now those hands aren’t going to earn you that new contract.” You tease, unable to handle the thick silence that’s fallen between you.

“What?” It’s like he didn’t even hear the joke; his eyes are roaming up and down. “Fuck. You want to skip dinner?”

You actually kinda do. You’d seen Mat leaving the old apartment all spring in a suit on his way to the airport or the arena, all the way up until they’d been eliminated, so maybe it was just the context of the evening, but he looked unreal tonight. You nod, but then immediately bite your lip...which just makes Mat groan. “They’re not going to let us just stay here, though.”

Mat grins, reaching for your hand. “Trust me on this.”

“I do.” You smile at him, squeezing gently in return,

And it takes the two of you almost thirty minutes to leave the house after that, despite the heated looks in your bedroom, because neither of you wants to leave Maeve again once you see her, but Molly shoves you out the door with threats about missing your reservation, and once the door’s closed, that’s all it takes for Mat to turn his gaze right back to you.

There is, blessedly, still furniture in his old apartment, still his as he continues to decide whether to sell it or rent it, and you’ve never been so thankful for his unusual moment of indecisiveness as he lies you down into his old bed, pressing kisses onto any spot of skin he can find.

-----

Four Months with Maeve: You Like: playing with your toes, sitting, laughing and babbling You Dislike: when anyone takes a toy from you

Expecting Mat, you’re a little surprised when you turn and see that the form that’s flopped down in the shade beside you and Maeve is actually Tyson. “How’s my best girl?” He coos at her, as entranced with her as anyone else has been since you and Mat had come up to Canada last week to see Mat’s family.

Maeve giggles, babbling some noises back at him, and reaching her hands out for his curls. “Don’t.” You warn him, but he’d learned that lesson already this week, and he intercepts her with his thumb instead, a wide grin on his face. “Sucker.” You tease.

“How can you say no to this face?” He cries and yeah, when she’s laughing and smiling like that, you can see what he means. Especially because it’s Mat’s smile she seems to have inherited, even if it looks like the rest of Maeve’s features might be all you.

“Mmmm, you get used to it.” You tell him anyway, and Tyson grins knowingly, so you close your eyes, relaxing in the sun for a moment, confident that someone is watching your baby and you can get a few minutes of rest.

It doesn’t last long, because shortly after closing your eyes, you feel something heavy and wet plaster itself to you and you open one eye to glare, which is as much as you can be bothered with out by the lake. “Mat!”

He’s already grinning down at you, water from the lake dripping from his face to yours. “You looked a little hot.”

“I was very comfortable.”

Mat lays his head down on your chest. “Well, now I’m very comfortable.”

“You are the most annoying person I’ve ever met.” You say, and you don’t need Tyson to laugh to know that you don’t sound serious at all.

“Liar.” Mat says, and you can feel him grinning against your skin. “You love me.”

You pause for a moment, unintentionally, as you move your hand up to play with his hair, but it’s long enough that you feel the smile start to slip from his face. “Yeah.” You tease. “I guess I do.” 

Mat’s grin returns and he presses the softest kiss to whatever piece of skin he can reach, but before he can say anything else, Maeve starts babbling away. “I know.” Tyson coos at her. “They’re so cute it’s disgusting.”

“Hey!” Mat frowns. “Let go of my baby so I can push you down.”

Tyson laughs. “Well thanks for that get out of jail free card!”

-----

Five Months of Maeve: You Like: hide and seek, bananas, applesauce You Dislike: peas (can’t blame you, kiddo)

“Do we really want to try peas again so soon?” You frown at Mat, holding up one of the other jars of baby food.

He shrugs. “Gonna have to jump back in eventually.”

You pull a face. “Spoken like the man who didn’t get puked on.”

“We get puked on like ten times a day!”

“It was green!”

He laughs. “I’ll do the peas this time.”

You laugh. Sucker. “Deal.”

It’s super gratifying then, to see that Maeve hates the peas this time just as much as she had before. She’s not about Mat’s airplane noises once she realizes what’s on the spoon he’s trying to feed her with and none of his usual tricks are working to try and calm her down once she starts crying. 

But when Mat looks at you for help, you don’t do anything but laugh, continuing to film the entire disastrous event. “Really?” He gives you a look.

“Not so cocky now, huh?” You fire the video off into, like, three different chats- the one with his family, to Team Baby, and the Islanders Moms chat, because he could probably use the ego deflation- and then reach for Maeve, who settles almost instantly against you, her crying quieting as you hold her against your side.

“Sure.” Mat grumbles, dropping the spoon against the high-chair’s table. “All calm now.”

“Oh hush.” You tell him, with a smile, knowing exactly what he’s annoyed about. “You’ll go back to being her favorite in an hour; don’t worry.”

Mat tries to hide his grin by ducking his head to clean the high-chair but you see right through him.

-----

Six Months of Maeve: You Like: bouncing, rolling, wiggling, literally any kind of movement You Dislike: teething (but we dislike you teething too), staying still

“I think she’s going to really start crawling soon.” You remark to Mat, the two of you both seated on the floor, opposite sides of the room, to catch her before she could wriggle into any walls.

She hadn’t quite pushed herself up there yet, but she scooted around pretty well.

“Don’t say that.” Mat groans, reaching out for Maeve and ignoring her cry of protest as he placed her back on the ground, safely away from the wall. She gave him a look, but then went right back to rolling around, rolling onto her back and then over to her stomach again, scooting toward you. “Fuck, imagine when she can walk. Chasing after her.”

“Inability to sit still for sure comes from you.” You try to distract Maeve with a toy, watching as she puts it in her mouth and starts to gnaw on it. Her first tooth had come in the other week, an absolute nightmare, and you were pretty sure another one was following. 

“Can’t prove that.” Mat says, eyes fond as he watches Maeve.

“Wanna bet?” You tease. That’s an easy phone call to make.

“Have I told you how pretty you look today?” Mat beams at you and you burst into laughter because you haven’t showered and you’re covered in baby formula.

“That’s what I thought.” You grin, and then reach out to pull Maeve away from the coffee table.

-----

Seven Months of Maeve: You Like: blocks, knocking down block towers, clapping blocks together, anything blocks You Dislike: noise-cancelling headphones

“These are so cute.” Grace beams, scrolling through the pictures on her phone and simultaneously bouncing a wriggly toddler on her lap. “I’ll send them out as soon as we get upstairs.”

You smile, thanking her already, fixing the earphone covering Maeve’s tiny head. It’s the Islanders’ home opener, Maeve’s first game actually attending, and there’d been a well-documented photo shoot with all the kids prior to the group of you heading down to the glass, to wait for warm ups to start. 

She wasn’t a big fan of the headphones you’d placed on her ears, constantly reaching up to bat them off, but she was looking around, eyes wide as she stared at the crowd around her, even after both teams skated out for warm ups, unable to grasp what exactly was happening.

But she was smiling, beaming the whole time, a grin that only got wider when Mat skated up to the glass in front of you and put his fist up against it. She reaches for it as you bring her closer to the glass, grabbing out for it as he taps it with a grin, and then she babbles a bunch of nonsense when she’s stopped by the glass, retracting her hand immediately.

You and Mat both laugh and he gives one last tap on the glass to you both before skating off to rejoin warm ups.

He absolutely lights it up that night, but the gifs of the the three of you at the glass during warmups cycle through the internet for days.

-----

8 Months of Maeve: You Like: your favorite blankie, Cheerios, cheese You Dislike: i really tried with those peas, kid

You’d do literally anything for some sleep right now, even just a power nap. Mat had been gone on a road trip for a few days now, due back shortly, but Maeve had been so clingy the entire time he was gone, not even wanting to be held by Molly when she’d stopped in to visit, and fussing anytime you’d walked away from her. 

She was playing with a couple of her toys on the floor right now, and it took everything in you to keep your eyes open to watch over her. You contemplated moving her into her bouncer, even as she kept side-eyeing you to make sure you were still close, just in case you accidentally dropped into a nap. 

Suddenly, an arm drops over your shoulders and Mat’s pressing a kiss to your temple. “You look sleepy.”

“I’m exhausted.” You lean against him immediately. “When did you get in?”

“Just now.” He squeezes gently, smiling and waving as Maeve, who’s abandoned her toy the moment she saw him, clapping her hands together and beaming at him, babbling at him happily. “She keeping you up at night?”

“She’s just…” You trail off, not sure how to describe what Maeve is right now. Because on one hand, she’s not normally this clingy, and it’s certainly a change of pace. But it’s not a bad thing to have her so close to you all the time, for her to want to be so close to you- you don’t dislike it at all. “I’m just tired.”

He presses another kiss to your forehead, but before he can say anything, Maeve reaches her arms out for him. “Da!” She’s frowning, probably because Mat’s been ignoring her in favor of you. “Dada!” She reaches out again, and this time Mat’s face lights up, both of yours do, as he sweeps her into his lap.

“Say it again!” Mat prompts, tickling her, which of course doesn’t get her to do anything but giggle.

“Dada.” You try, leaning closer, and she repeats it then, but won’t say it again, for all that Mat tries, struggling out of his arms right after that, to go back to playing.

Mat runs his fingers through his hair, looking absolutely floored, and you still haven’t stopped smiling either. Your baby’s first word! You have to tell everyone! But there’ll be time for that later; Mat’s comfy to lean against right now and he doesn’t look like he wants to go anywhere either, so you press a kiss to his cheek and then lie your head back against his shoulder, content to watch Maeve play with her blocks.

-----

9 Months of Maeve: You Like: walking, giving your mom and I heart attacks while walking You Dislike: sitting still for any length of time (stop laughing at me mom)

“You,” Mat sweeps Maeve off her feet and up into his arms as she toddles past him. “Went from walking to running in like two days! Give your mom and I a rest, kiddo.”

“She gets that from you.” You tell him, tiredly. He’s not wrong though. She’d started pulling herself into standing not long ago, and then shortly after, taken her first steps, and then it felt like the next day, she was off to the races. You spent most of your day chasing her around the house now; she almost never wanted to be picked up anymore.

Even now, she was squirming to get out of Mat’s arms and be back on the ground, already starting to whine about it. Mat obliges, and she takes off- or as well as she can; she hasn’t quite mastered it yet, her feet make that distinct slap noise on the floor that you associate with all babies walking. 

Mat chases and brings her back, but you two quickly have to settle each on one side of the room, eyes watching Maeve and turning her between the two of you. “She needs a friend.” You mutter, steering her back towards Mat, for what seems like the hundredth time in ten minutes.

Mat nods furiously. “Suddenly I understand why people have more than one of these.”

You burst into laughter, loud enough that it stops Maeve for a second. But only a second; she’s right back to toddling over toward you, throwing herself at you, giggling along with you for a moment there. “One of these?” You call Mat out, and he joins you in laughing, as Maeve uses your arm to pull herself back up and starts walking again.

Mat shrugs it off laughingly. “You know what I mean.”

You do. “God, I used to not even imagine being able to have another one of her, but god, if another one meant they could entertain each other; I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“I’d have five more if it meant we didn’t have to chase her like this.” Mat pulls Maeve back into the room, a small noise of protest coming from her until he puts her back on the floor.

You give him a look. “You can find someone else to have five more with.”

When Mat smiles at you, it’s softer, not his usual bright beam. “Alright.” He says. “We won’t have five more. Two or three more.” You side-eye him, trying to gauge how serious he is, but he must take your silence for agreement, because then he does beam.

-----

10 Months of Maeve: You Like: patty cake, waving, causing chaos You Dislike: bananas, apparently, even though you loved them last month

“Tito!” You gasp excitedly, only just remembering to pick Maeve up and bring her with you, ignoring her fuss in favor of Mat and Tito walking in the door with something much more exciting. “Why didn’t  you tell me you were getting a dog?”

Luckily, she’s easily swayed by the dog, eyeing the wriggling puppy in Tito’s arms. She still doesn’t look like she’s 100% certain about it, but it certainly captures her attention; she stops moving in your arms entirely, blinking at the dog, unmoving.

“Uhhh.” Tito says, in response to you, looking at Mat and then back at you. “Not exactly what happened.”

Mat grins. “So you wanted a dog, right?”

Your jaw drops and the next words are out before you can even think about stopping them. “Shut the fuck up.” And then you immediately wince, because you’ve been on Mat recently about watching his language around Maeve, who’s soaking up words now like an absolute sponge. 

But Mat only laughs, reaching to pull the puppy into his arms, and stepping closer to you and Maeve slowly. “Her name’s Blue, but we can change it.”

“Boo!” Maeve repeats, which really ices the cake on that one, and brings a smile to both of your faces. She’s reaching out for the puppy as Mat steps closer, and you prepare yourself for the worst, but Maeve bursts into happy giggles the second her hand touches the puppy.

Blue sniffs her tiny little hand tentatively, and then licks it happy, and Maeve giggles even harder as she does. “I might cry.” You announce. “This is the greatest day. I thought you’d never cave.”

Tito snickers. “He was worried he’d come home one day and you’d brought a stray home.”

“I considered it.”

“Thought this was better.” Mat agrees. “At least I got to screen for a good one.”

“All dogs are good dogs.” You state firmly. “Let’s put her down and let her explore a little.”

“Come on, Menace.” Mat takes Maeve from your arms, who goes happily, reaching for his hair as she does, but you’ve both caught onto the move by now, so he intercepts her hand with his thumb. “Let’s go follow your new best friend.”

-----

11 Months of Maeve: You Like: baby dolls, baby doll stroller, your fancy new cup, Blue You Dislike: puzzles- you’re not really about toys you sit for anymore

“How soon,” Mat starts one night, when you’re getting ready for bed, both child and dog already asleep in crib and crate from an exhausting evening of playtime. “Is too soon, do you think, to bring Maeve out for a skate?”

You’ve got a mouth full of toothpaste, but you think you still manage to convey what you want with a look. “You’re asking me this question?”

“Good point.” You rinse your mouth out and join Mat in bed. “Maybe we’ll start with mini-sticks and a soft ball.”

You burst into laughter. “You think she’s ready for that?”

“Oh she’s got this walking thing down now.” He brushes that off. “My girl’s an expert.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, we knew that was coming.”

Mat grins. “Work on that hand eye coordination now.”

You give him a look, trying to decide how serious he is, and then when deciding that he’s absolutely 100% serious, you press a kiss to his shoulder-the nearest spot of him that you can reach. “Please don’t kill our baby.”

Mat’s already scooting in closer to you, already half asleep because this asshole somehow manages to fall asleep like the second his head hits the pillow basically, and he throws an arm over your waist. “Mmm, kay, promise.”

-----

It was a mistake to sit down, you knew that before you even did it, but you’re exhausted from the day. Between spending your morning getting ready for Maeve’s birthday party, playing hostess throughout the afternoon, and then starting the clean-up process, you honestly think you could fall asleep right here against this wall that you’re leaning against.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you slip it out-it’s another message from Molly, probably just more pictures that she took throughout the afternoon-but it’s the instagram tag from Mat that really catches your attention.

The app opens to a picture of the two of you standing on either side of Maeve and her smash cake, both wearing happy parent smiles, as her hand brings another fist of icing to an already-covered face. There’s a picture with the three of you standing with his parents and sister; another with Maeve, Tito, Molly, and Brian; and the last one, just you and Maeve, sitting on the floor and her trying to play with the party hat Molly had put on your head, right after you’d fixed the bow on her headband.

1 Year of Maeve: Happy Birthday to our favorite girl! It’s been an entire year with you already and your mom and I can’t wait to see what comes in the next one

You can’t help but smile at both the caption and the pictures, unable to settle on one and still scrolling through the post when you feel Mat sit down next to you. “Somebody’s getting sleepy.”

The same dopey, fond smile is definitely still on your face as you turn to look at Mat and Maeve, who’s curled in his arms in a way she only does now when she’s absolutely exhausted. But she’s fighting it for sure, eyes fluttering shut and then popping back open again. “Big day.” You agree with him. “And it was a nice day. But I’m happy it’s just us now.”

“Yeah.” Mat says, and it almost sounds like his thoughts are completely in another place for a second as he shifts around on the floor for a second. “It was a great day.” It was; it truly was, and even though there’s still a mess to be cleaned, you’re perfectly content to just sit here for a while longer with Mat and Maeve. When he settles, you lean your head against his shoulder, reaching your hand out to rest it on Maeve’s tiny little wrist. “Hey.” Mat says gently.

“Hmm?”

“Marry me?”

“What?” You laugh, until he brings a hand out to you and opens his fist to show off a diamond ring, and then suddenly you’re not laughing at all. “Oh my god.”

“I just-I want a million more days like this with you,” Mat smiles. “I want forever like that. Marry me.”

“Yes.” You breathe. “Yes, god yes, of course.”

And immediately, Mat’s kissing you, or well, trying to, because you’re smiling and kind of crying, and he’s still holding Maeve in his arms, so you both pull away pretty quickly. “I love you. God, I know I don’t tell you that enough, but I do. So much. It-”

“I love you too.” You cut him off. “I really can’t imagine doing this with anyone else.”

Mat beams at you and you reach your left hand out, biting your lip to avoid giggling as he fumbles a little, one-handedly sliding the ring onto it. But he succeeds, and you admire the ring on your finger, as you lean back against Mat’s shoulder.

The silence that follows is comfortable; the only sound the slight wheeze of Maeve’s breathing. “I think she’s finally out.” Mat says quietly, after a moment. “I’ll take her up?”

“Nah.” You clutch at his arm. “Just-let’s just stay here for a while.”

Mat smiles against the side of your head before he kisses it gently. “Okay.” He kisses it again. “But you know you’re stuck with me forever now, right? Not going anywhere.”

You squeeze his arm. “Not stuck.” Mat beams. “Well, I guess I might feel differently in a month or two.”

“Brat.” Mat says fondly. 

“Yup.” You grin and then throw his own words right back at him. “But you’re stuck with me forever now.”

“Never stuck.” Mat says, and it sounds like such a promise that you can’t help but lean over and try to kiss him again.

[cherriesfineline]

MEET HALFWAY OUR NEEDS - one shot

a/n: hi! this is my first time ever posting one of my writings online (I'm about to shit myself but oh well). I literally wrote this so fast I'm impressed, but anyways I (kind of) proof read this -not really- just quickly read through it after I finished it. English isn't my first language (I'm so self conscious I'm probably gonna say that every time I post something) but besides that, I really hope you enjoy this <3 feedback is truly appreciated, it helps me improve!

-Joey

Pairing: Harry x Y/N

Warnings: detailed sexual content

Word count: 9.2k (of mostly smut??? sorry)

the one where Harry wants to get married but Y/N doesn't.

As you grow older, you start realizing life isn't as easy as it seemed when you were a kid. Not everyone gets lucky enough to have a job they're passionate about. Not everyone can satisfy all their necessities. In fact, you realize it's most people instead of "not everyone".  Friendships and relationships won't last you a lifetime (those promises of being there for each other forever now seem like genuine naiveness) if you don't put enough effort in them. When you are young you believe that being able to play for hours straight without getting bored is what true friendship is about. And maybe it is, during those years.  Adult relationships require a lot of time, and effort. And sometimes, sacrifice. Conversations have a different weight, and being able to trust someone with your most uneasy thoughts and experiences is hard. To find and to keep.  When it comes to love, you start realizing that the thrill and intensity of teen romance isn't what true love is about. It's not about getting into fights, hardcore jealousy and toxicity behaviors. It's about being able to just be there, with that someone. Being able to coexist in each other's worlds, share what you're passionate about without any fear or remorse, being able to communicate. To ask for help when needed. Now, that doesn't mean things can't get complicated.  For the past two months, Y/N and Harry's relationship has been balancing on a very, extremely, thin line.  After six years of being together, and three of those living together, being the happiest they've ever been, everything started to look different for Harry. He was ready to take a step Y/N wasn't.  Harry always knew he wanted to get married, have kids, move to a pretty house outside New York (it's been his favorite city ever since he visited when he was 12, then moving all the way across the globe from Manchester to attend Columbia University). And when he met Y/N, he knew she was the one he wanted all that with. But Y/N... she wasn't so sure that was the life she wanted. Having kids was a no at least until she was in her 30's. And even then, she knew she'd have to re consider if that's what she really wanted.  She loves kids, she has a couple nieces a nephew's (coming from a big family has it's perks) and she's a preschool teacher. She's good with kids, but she wasn't so sure she'd be a great mother. Not for a specific reason, but she really feels like that's the case. Taking care of someone else's kids versus your own is extremely different. Now... it gets even more complicated when it comes to marriage. She doesn't believe that a piece of paper kept in a legal's office will make any changes in their relationship. It will all stay the same, married or not, so she just doesn't think it's important, nor worth the money.  Harry, on the other hand, thinks marrying her will change everything in his life. For the better. He loves her more than he'll ever be able to put into words. And because he can't put it into words, he feels like it's the actions, small and big, that help him communicate his love a bit better.  He still remembers the moment he mentioned marriage to her (not for the first time, but definitely the first time he actually thought 'ok i really want to marry her right now') like it happened yesterday. He remembers exactly what it felt like to physically feel his heart shatter inside his chest, and the way he silently cried himself to sleep that night with Y/N in his arms.  "Would you ever, uh... consider g-getting married? like, I don't know, if we ever have, like, an actual conversation about it, would you consider it?" He asked her in the middle of their Lord of the Rings marathon.  Harry could feel her intense staring at the side of his face. She was quiet for so long, it killed him. He truly wanted the cushions of their pink couch to just suck him inside the furniture piece.  He wouldn't dare to turn his face. He couldn't look at her, no. Not to face the rejection of his lifetime.  "Uh, I don't think so." She said, and Harry only nodded, thinking the conversation was over

once he felt her move her head to face the television again. "You know how I feel about you and how I feel about marriage. I honestly think it's useless. You don't need a signed paper to know how much I love you, Harry." Her tone was soft, but the words that left her mouth felt like a million knives inside his chest.  That conversation sent him spiraling over a thousand thoughts, overthinking their entire relationship and how he now felt like they were getting nowhere with it.  He respected her decision, though. That's why he didn't bring it up again.  Y/N sensed his mood change that same night. She kept her mouth shut, because she truly didn't know what to say. She didn't understand where he was coming from, or why it was so important to him. At first, she didn't think his mood was affected because of her not wanting to get married, maybe he had something else going on and was struggling to talk about it, but after many sessions with her therapist going over and over their conversations and trying to decipher why everything was so weird between them, she came to the conclusion it might have to do with them not getting married.  She just didn't want it. And she didn't know how to make him understand. But she couldn't lose him either. He was her everything. It took her months to be able to sit next to him like she did the night he was watching The Little Mermaid in the living room of their small New York apartment.  It's been months since they last shared a movie night, or a date. They've been eating dinner while having awkward small talk about their jobs and friends, going straight to bed after cleaning everything up, each to their side. They haven't touched each other except the occasional greeting peck ever since that night. And it was killing both of them, but neither knew how to approach the other.  As she sat down to his right, she saw him tense immediately. It broke her, to see him so on guard around her. Y/N couldn't look away from him, with her body facing him and her head rested on the back of the couch, she wanted to grab his hand so badly, but she didn't know if he'd reject her.  The doorbell rang, and he looked at her for the first time that night. His eyebrows had the cutest frown and she wanted to kiss his forehead to make him relax, but of course, she didn't.  She sent him a shy smile and stood up, going straight to the door and picking up the cash she left prepared on the little table next to it. She could feel his stare burning holes in her back, which sent chills down her spine.  "Thank you so much." Harry heard Y/N say, immediately hearing the door shut. From where he was sitting he didn't have a clear view on who was on the other side of the door. Y/N made her way to their kitchen (to do God knows what, Harry thought) only to appear seconds after with two tubes of ice cream (from his favorite place) and two big spoons.  She sat back down next to him with her legs under her, a little closer than moments ago but still out of Harry's reach.  She handed him one of the tubes, and Harry immediately noticed it was chocolate chip mint, his favorite, he might add. He looked up at her, who gave him a small shrug of her shoulders and a side smile, and he couldn't help but smile widely at her, his deep dimples on full display.  God, I missed those dimples so bad. Y/N thought.  But what she didn't know is that Harry was thinking about how much he missed her. Entirely. He hated himself for overthinking every small detail, and for thinking so lowly of their future. But he couldn't help it. "Thanks." He shyly took the ice cream and started eating right away. Not five minutes later, he grabbed her by her thigh and dragged her next to him, only to have her close to his body. And because he missed her. And her body heat. And her addictive smell of clean soap and vanilla. And a lot of other things which would take a lifetime to enumerate.  She looked at him from her new spot, and due to the proximity, she had to shift her head slightly up to look at his face. She slid her right arm around his left,

carefully looking at him to see any kind of reaction that might show discomfort, and when she noticed his smirk slowly and barely making an appearance, she relaxed next to him, fitting half of her body under his arm, with his elbow resting on her stomach and her head on his upper arm. Half way through the movie, with their ice cream tubes forgotten on their coffee table, Y/N looked back up to him, and even though she's been doing it every two minutes, Harry knew she wanted to say something this time. He doesn't look at her, though, thinking it might shy her away, but right when he was trying to concentrate back on the film, he heard her say something.  It was barely audible, almost like she didn't want him to hear it. Did he imagine it? Maybe he's so deprived from her and her touch and her words that he's finally going insane.  Harry looked at her this time, and looking straight at her grey eyes so closely for the first time in two months felt like a thousand fireworks exploding violently on his stomach.  "Did you say something?" He looked at her confused, and the look on her eyes is so hard to decipher he thinks she definitely said something she's scared to repeat.  "I miss you." Y/N repeated herself, barely louder. But then he knew for sure he didn't imagine it.  His Y/N missed him. For so long Harry thought he was losing her, that after distancing himself from her she finally realized she not only didn't want marriage, but a relationship with him at all. But she missed him. And he missed her.  "You miss me?" He asked, almost like he didn't believe her, his tone was low and his voice sounded deeper that ever.  Y/N nodded, but she felt pathetic. She felt like he didn't miss her like she missed him, maybe he didn't miss her at all. For two months she's been feeling like he wanted out, that this relationship felt like an obligation to him.  Harry felt her slowly sliding away from his arms, and that's when he realized he's been so stuck in his head he still hadn't replied.  "Don't," he quickly grabbed her by her thigh with his hand closest to her body "please, don't go." She stayed still in her place, looking at him with soft but sad eyes. "I miss you so much, Y/N." Harry turned on his spot so he's facing her, and softly cupped her jaw with his free hand, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "You have no idea." He whispered, slowly getting her face close to his while closing his eyes. He kissed her forehead so lovingly she literally burst into tears. Y/N's soft sobs alarmed Harry, lifting her head up by his hold on her jaw. "Please, don't cry baby. It breaks me when you cry."  Y/N shifted on her place so she was with her body facing the back of the couch, her knees pressed against it, but she tilted her body to the side so she could hug Harry. She slowly draped her arms around his torso, resting her head on his chest.  A sigh of relief left Harry's lips, resting his chin on top of her head while he hugged her back. One of his arms was resting low on her back, while the other one rested on her shoulder, his giant hand cupping her head to softly caress her hair.  They stayed in that position for a long time. Y/N could feel Harry's heartbeat, and how it slowly picked up speed when she pressed her lips to his chest. And even though he was wearing a shirt, Harry could feel the heat of her lips through it. He pressed his own lips on top of her head, leaving them there for a while, almost like a very long, still kiss, until he felt her head shift underneath his lips. He pulled away just barely to allow her to look up at him, and when she noticed him quickly looking down to her lips, she stretched her neck up to press their lips together.  It was a short, very sweet kiss. With fear as an undertaste and nervousness written all over her. She was just scared he was going to leave.  When she pulled away from him, she didn't have time to open her eyes as she felt Harry press their lips together again. This second kiss was almost the same as the first one, insecure.  It's funny, if you think about it. How similar their

feelings were and how scared they were of messing everything up with a single wrong move.  Once Harry pulled away from the kiss he initiated, they locked eyes, yet again. But this time, it was written all over their faces how badly they missed each other, and how much they dreaded to feel the effects each had on one another after so long.  The third kiss they shared, it's initiated from both sides, almost as they were able to read each other's minds. Their lips moved in sync, and as Harry softly captured Y/N's bottom lip between his own to slightly suck on it, she put more pressure into it. The kiss slowly started to gain force, passion and need. But she was scared to take the next step. She wanted him to take the full lead, as opposed to what they were used to, just because she didn't want him to feel like he owed her anything.  And then, he did take that step. The hand he had holding her jaw moved under her hair to grab her by the neck, while slowly tracing her bottom lip with his tongue, asking for access to her mouth. And once she allowed their tongues to meet, his hold on her lower back got stronger, draping his arm completely around her waist to pull her closer. That action made Y/N's body lift up from how strong he was holding her, and she took this as a sign to move. She straddled him on the couch, sinking (almost on slow motion) to sit on top of his thighs. Harry groaned in frustration. She's too far away, he thought.  "Closer." He said in a pleading tone, and Y/N complied immediately. She slid her body up his thighs, and he forced her chest to collide with his. The hand that was holding her neck slowly traced her entire spine, to join his other one on her lower back.  Her tongue felt so warm and soft, so inviting. He had always loved the way she kissed him, with so much passion but with a gentleness that was so her. She managed to fully relax in his hold once her hands found their way to his hair, right behind his ears, and he couldn't help but whimper at the feeling of their groins pressing together.  This sparked a burning fire inside both of them. A fire that burned so good they'd rather die caught on it, than to never feel it again.  Harry slowly slid his hands up and down her sides, all the way from her outer thighs to her side boobs. And when he did it for the second time, on his way up he slid his hands under her shirt instead of continuing their path over it. When his hands stopped at the higher part of their path, he caressed her side boobs with his thumbs, doing the same afterwards right below them, and when she finally grinded down on him, letting a deep groan leave her lips, he cupped her breasts with his hands.  But when she pulled away, he dropped his hands automatically.He started eating his brains out thinking he really messed up, he was taking things down a road she didn't want to take yet, which was okay, it's not like he only wanted her body back, but he was scared he made her uncomfortable.  Only then, his dick grew incredibly hard when she grabbed the hem of her oversized t-shirt to pull it up and off her body. Her perfectly perky boobs bounced slightly when Y/N dropped her shirt on the floor, resting her arms on her sides.  He looked up from the lovely sight of her boobs thinking about how badly he wanted to devour them, only to find her with an uncertain look on her face. And he hated it. He hated the thought of her doubting herself so much.  Harry ran his hands up and down her soft stomach, and then slid them up, softly but barely touching her boobs. His destination was somewhere else (for now), and he grabbed Y/N by her neck to pull her close.  Their lips met again in the softest kiss they shared that night so far, and Y/N melted in Harry's arms like the forgotten ice cream behind her. He kissed the corner of her lips as he pulled her hair slightly so he could start kissing her jawline, down to her neck, leaving pepper kisses all over her skin.  When he reached her collarbone he started sucking and biting (she loved when he bit her) knowing he couldn't do it to her neck

due to her job. She let a moan leave her lips, and when Harry slid one of his hands to grab her by her hip, she grinded down on him again, with more confidence this time.  Harry lowered his face a bit more so he could finally reach one of his favorite features of his Y/N, her boobs. He took her left breast in his mouth, sucking on Y/N's nipple, making her whimper and jerk forward, tightening her hold on his brown locks to pull him even closer. He slid the hand that was holding Y/N's hair down so he could pay attention to both nipples at the same time, while using his hand on her hip to keep a steady peace to her grinding. Once she caught up with the slow but rough peace he wanted, he let go of Y/N's hip to grab the nipple he had in his mouth with in his hand, and he pinched both of them at the same time, rolling the hard buds on his fingers, then moving his mouth to the other one.  He spent a lot of time paying attention to Y/N's nipples, nibbling, sucking, groping, knowing damn well they were extremely sensitive (she could orgasm just by nipple stimulation if done correctly, but she really wanted him right now). Y/N pulled from his hair enough to let him know she wanted something else, and when he let her nipple fall from his mouth, he looked straight into her eyes.  Harry's cheeks were tinted a pretty shade of pink, and Y/N couldn't help but admire the beautiful man under her.  He looked at her with such pure eyes, but lustful at the same time. She didn't understand how he could look so innocent but so fucking hot at the same time, it was unfair how angelic he was.  She grabbed a handful of his shirt, to let him know she wanted it off. Once Harry complied, throwing his shirt somewhere near Y/N's, he immediately reached for her cream silk shorts, tugging the elastic band down as a silent plea for her to get out of them for him.  She stood up from the couch, knowing Harry loved when she undressed herself for him, and still in between his legs holding eye contact, she slowly slid her shorts down her thighs along with her underwear.  Harry couldn't keep eye contact for long, though. His eyes were glued to her glistening core that was slowly making an appearance, and he was getting frustrated at how slow she was being.  He sat straighter on the couch so he could reach for her, and slid his hands down the front of her thighs, and on their way up he slowly slid them to their insides, getting close to where she wanted him. He slid one of his hands down again, but this time he grabbed her right leg from behind her knee, to pull it up. He made her rest her feet outside his thigh, which was now in between her legs. In this new position he got a clear view of her pretty pussy, all on display for him.  "So wet, baby." He whispered, and she couldn't help but return her hold on his hair to pull him closer to her. "All for me?" Harry asked her, looking up to stare at her right in the eyes. When she nodded, he hummed in response. "Let me take care of you, it's been so long. You probably need it so much, don't you?" His voice was so fucking deep and raspy she nodded desperately in response. Y/N couldn't handle much teasing, and she let Harry know by tightening her grip yet again, and forcing his face to be so close she could feel his breathing on her.  "Please, Harry." She pleaded. Harry loved teasing her, but he knew it's been a long time, he didn't want to frustrate her much.  He finally licked very slowly up her folds, all the way from her opening to her clit, humming when he reached her sensitive bundle of nerves. Y/N let out a long sigh of pleasure, her eyelids fluttering shut. She felt like she could literally come just by that, and when he closed his lips around her clit, she grind her hips against his lips. He started switching between sucking and pressing his tongue on her clit until he started to move it, creating undefined figures with the tip of his tongue.  They missed each other so much, so so much. And they both knew sex wouldn't magically fix everything. They knew they needed to work things out. But

sometimes conversation needs a little push, something to remind them why they need to fix things. The magnetic pull they felt towards each other was unbearably strong. They needed each other, in every imaginable way, but at that moment, they needed each other's bodies and emotion, no words needed. Just feel each other close.  Harry gave her clit a sweet kiss, and looked up at her while his fingers traveled up and down her folds, until they found their home in her opening. He searched her eyes for approval, and when she whispered a soft 'please' he slowly sank his ring and middle finger, knuckle deep. She whimpered loud at the sudden pressure, and he groaned at the tightness of her hole.  He rested his forehead on her navel for a second to let her adjust, and when he felt her grind on his fingers, he held her gaze while lining his mouth with her clit yet again. Harry started to work his fingers in and out of her, sucking on her clit. But what turned him on the most was her slow grinding on his face and fingers, like she was fucking his fingers nstead of his fingers fucking her.  Harry used his free arm to slide it under her leg that was up on the couch, and grabbed her ass with a tight grip to pull her even closer.  The pleasure was beginning to feel overwhelming, the pressure deep down on her belly begging for release was making her desperate. Y/N's moans and breathy sighs were becoming louder and consistent and the way he could feel her legs slightly shaking gave away how close she was to her release.  Harry wanted her to make a mess on his face, so badly. He lowered his head and replaced his fingers with his tongue, not before he moved his fingers one last time to massage her spongy spot at the front of her insides. He fucked her with his tongue as he used his soaked fingers to stimulate her clit, circling in the fast and rough peace he knew she enjoyed so much.  Her insides felt like a rocket about to launch, between his moans sending vibrations through her entire body and his fingers stimulating her clit the way she exactly needed, she became a moaning mess. Y/N couldn't comprehend how she was still standing up, even though Harry's arm under her thigh was holding most of her weight up, her knees were about to give up soon.  "H-Harry, I'm so close," Y/N spoke as clearly as possible, knowing her panting was messing with her words, "please don't stop." He admired the way her jaw tightened and relaxed, her mouth opening shortly after, making a perfect 'o' with her eyes pressed shut.  With one specific movement of Harry's tongue, she finally let go. With her eyes rolling back she let a couple of continuous 'fuck's quickly leave her mouth. Her entire body jolted forwards, bending a bit over him while his mouth was still attached to her core, helping her ride her orgasm, making it last for as long as possible.  Y/N pulled Harry away from her with her grip on his hair once it became too much, and looked down at him. Without a second thought she bent down to lock her lips on his, with so much force it threw him back into his original seated position on the couch.  "Take your pants off, now." She demanded, but adding an almost inaudible 'please', mostly for her. He happily obliged, taking his boxers down with them, imitating her previous actions. His cock sprung free, and he hissed at the feeling of freedom. Harry was so focused on her he didn't realize how painfully hard he was. He could feel his own heartbeat thundering in his chest with so much force it was almost alarming. He needed her so, so badly. Once his pants and boxers were thrown and forgotten on the floor, she straddled him.  Giving him a quick but soft kiss on the lips, she began making her way down his neck, reaching back up again to (what she knew) was his most sensitive spot behind his ear. Y/N sucked a small bruise, and he whimpered. God, Y/N loved those small noises he made. She kissed her favorite beauty mark on the right side where his neck meets his shoulder, and that small action alone made his heart feel like someone was squeezing and

twisting it. He missed those small loving details from her.  Y/N kept making her way down his chest, leaving wet, open mouthed kisses all over him, not forgetting to suck and nibble at his nipples. She loved taking care of him. All of him. And the way he enjoyed her playing with his nipples was something he was always scared of admitting, but he knew he didn't have to ask her to do it, because she just knew.  She sunk down to her knees, still sucking and licking the skin all over his stomach while caressing his thighs (Oh, those thighs). Y/N finally grabbed his dick and slowly stroked him all the way from his base to the tip, collecting some of the precum leaking from his deep pink, swollen head. He groaned loudly, lifting his hips to fuck her fist once. She took that as a sign to lower her head even more, his cock now in front of her face.  "Want my mouth, baby?" She tapped her plump lips with his tip, and when he looked down at her, she moved her closed lips around him, almost like she was using his precum as lipgloss, her hand still slowly moving up and down his length. She got him hypnotized. "Hmm?" She raised her eyebrows at him.  "Y-yes, please." He heavily sighed. His begging made her drip down her thighs, he knew how much she loved it, and she knew he loved begging too, maybe even more than her. She always took such good care of him.  She swirled her tongue around his tip once, then proceeded to lick up his shaft a couple of times like his dick was an ice lolly. Once she finally wrapped her lips around his tip, he sighed in relief, and relaxed his shoulders. Harry's hands grabbed her neck to pull her head down, and she surprised him when she suddenly deep throated him before even working her way there.  "Fucking hell, Y/N." He moaned when he felt her humming around him. Harry grabbed her hair making a shift ponytail, to help her get her hair out of the way, and using his grip on it to lift her head, her mouth left his dick, and he smirked at the small pout on her lips. "You are so perfect." She ignored him and tried to lean forward again, which made him smile at how desperate she was. He let her get what she wanted, allowing her lips to wrap around his tip again. She licked up his slit and swirled her tongue around him, and hollowed her cheeks to suck on his tip. She took more of him in her mouth, using her right hand to work on his base and her left to gently cup his balls and play with them.  Harry knew he wouldn't last long. It's been a while since they've done anything remotely sexual, and his hand... his hand wasn't her. So even though he could get himself off, nothing in the world would compare to how it felt when it was his Y/N pleasing him.  His breathing became irregular as she bobbed her head up and down his length in a steady rhythm, and when she tugged on his balls he knew he had to pull her away right that second, or he would come. And he really wanted to, but not like this.  "Baby, please," he tried to pull her head away with a tug on her ponytail, but she didn't oblige. Instead, she looked up at him through her eyelashes, still bobbing her head up and down on him, and that sight alone could make him come in a heartbeat. But he kept it together. "I wanna come inside you, p-please."  And that made Y/N pull away, her mouth making a 'pop' sound when she let his dick fall from her lips. She then straddled him, her hands finding their home right behind his ears, grabbing him by his hair, while his made their way around her body, hugging her close. His dick fit perfectly between her lips, and Y/N grinded on him to feel his wet cock slide through her folds, creating the most delicious friction. Harry kissed her passionately, trying to pour everything he felt in the kiss. And Y/N did feel it, because she was trying to do the same. They repeated the action a couple of times until she reached in between them to grab a hold of him, positioning him on her opening.  And when she finally sank down on him, they locked gazes. They sat still, connected. They were so close. They felt so close.  Harry

nudged her nose with his, softly brushing their lips together. He then noticed a single tear run down her cheek, and reached for her face quickly. Right before it got in her mouth he caught it with his thumb, and she leaned in his touch.  They didn't say a word. Just sat still.  With Harry caressing her cheek, and Y/N looking straight into his eyes. Y/N leaned forward to capture his top lip between hers, leaving the sweetest kiss, repeating the action with his bottom lip. After, she went for the right corner of his mouth, his cheek, his jawline, his pulse point, behind his ear. And repeated the exact same trail on the left side of his face, finishing with his top and bottom lips, one last time before starting to slowly grind and circle her hips on him.  Harry just couldn't stop staring at her. The amount of love and adoration he held in his heart for that woman was beyond words, and actions. And he then understood. He understood that he could live a life without marriage if it meant living it with her. He could handle it. He would get over it.  He involuntarily dropped his head back and shut his eyes with so much force, while hissing through gritted teeth when she finally lifted her weight on her knees, sliding up on his dick until he was almost entirely out, only to sink back down roughly, going so deep it made both of them moan loudly at how tight she was.  She slid one of her hands around his neck to grab him by his chin, forcing him to look at her. Y/N kissed him again, and this time their kiss was messy and desperate, between crashing teeth and loud moans due to her fucking him with all she got.  She let go of Harry's mouth to sit straighter, using his shoulders as support to move faster. This position gave Harry a view he wouldn't trade for anything in the world. He could see his cock, so drenched of her arousal, and her pussy taking him so well. The wet sounds leaving their connected centers were magical, so erotic, accompanied with the small whimpers and moans coming out of her perfect lips.  Harry thought she looked like a fucking goddess, with her round and perky tits bouncing up and down every time her tight pussy took him entirely.  "You're being so good, baby. Letting me fuck you just how I like it." She whispered to him, staring at his heart shaped, swollen lips. The lips she was so addicted to.  "You take such good care of me, angel. Always." He replied, looking into her eyes which were still glued to his lips. She licked her own, and moved forward to crash them against his on another messy kiss.  They both were so close. Harry couldn't understand how he managed to hold his release for so long, but he was proud of himself.  Y/N separated their lips for a moment to make him suck her point and middle finger, which he complied immediately, knowing exactly what she was doing. He then watched her lower her hand between their bodies again, but this time to reach for her clit, where she started to gently rub circles, stimulating herself.  Harry started thrusting up with force, to meet her halfway, tightening his grip around her middle. Y/N bit down his shoulder to stifle a loud moan, which only made Harry thrust faster.  "Please come for me, Y/N, I wanna feel you come all- all around my cock." He managed to plead between breathy whimpers. And it only took a few more thrusts from him to make her insides explode in the most blissful sensation, like electricity running all the way from her belly to her toes. She stiffens in his hold, her inside walls tightening and clenching so hard it almost sends him out of her, making his balls tighten right before he lets go. She could feel him emptying inside her, his spurts of cum filling her up, leaving both of them exhausted, satisfied and utterly fucked.  None of them moved for a while. Y/N's breathing calmed him, almost like a lullaby, and the way Harry was gently stroking her back made goosebumps erupt all over her body.  Without any warning, Harry stood up, making Y/N wrap her legs around him, she hissed through the feeling of his dick moving while still

inside her, and she bit down his shoulder again. She didn't question what he was doing, she didn't care.  Harry sat her down on a cold surface after turning the lights on, and when she opened her eyes she realized he sat her in their bathroom counter. He put some space between them so he could finally look at her again. The fact that they barely spoke during sex today (when they were usually pretty vocal) made everything so... different. Not in a bad way, though. It made them both enjoy sex as the pure performance of just loving someone. No need of crazy positions, weird kinks or edging each other the way they're used to. Just love. The need to feel connected. The need of physically demonstrating each other's love. How they are each other's entire world.  "I'm gonna clean us up, okay?" Harry told her softly, and she only nodded in response. She leaned in to give him a soft kiss, which honestly caught Harry off guard now that the sexual act was over. But made him happy nonetheless. She was scared of him shutting her out again. But he was scared of her getting tired of him.  He knew she was a free soul. She wanted so many things, and settling down to start a family like he wanted to wasn't in her near plans, maybe in her plans at all. And he knew that. He understood it, and he respected it. He just thought about how badly he truly wanted that life with her. He was just scared she would let him go.  They both looked down and hissed the moment he slid out of her. Harry had the perfect view of their mixed cum dripping down her core, making a mess on the marble counter under her. And Y/N saw his dick twitch at the sight, but decided against commenting on it. Even though it made her slightly smirk.  Harry took his time cleaning both of them, and Y/N didn't look away from him. Not even for a second. He lifted her up again and literally sat her down on the toilet so she could pee. They've done this a thousand times, it was normal for them, she wasn't modest about him seeing or listening to her pee.  After they brushed their teeth next to each other, stealing curious looks (especially Harry at Y/N's boobs through the mirror), they went to bed together.  And for the first time in two months, she rested her head on his chest, with his arms wrapped around her.  The only thing she didn't notice was that once Harry knew she was asleep, he couldn't keep it in. He cried himself to sleep that night. But it wasn't any different from what he was used to from the past couple of months.  The only difference was that this time, he knew he'd give up his dreams if it meant he could keep her around.  &  The next morning, Y/N felt something, or someone, shift behind her. She knew it was Harry. His arm was thrown over her waist, resting dangerously close to her boobs (she secretly loved the way Harry seemed obsessed with her boobs) and she could feel his breathing hit the back of her neck.  She hugged his arm closer to her body to let him know she was awake, which made Harry shift even closer, cup her left breast and press his pretty pink and warm lips to her neck.  "Good morning." She said with a breathy laugh, her morning voice was a sound that drove Harry mad. She sounded way too sexy for her (or his) own good.  "Hi." He nuzzled her neck with his nose, "how'd you sleep?" He left another lingering kiss, this time below her ear.  "Amazing. Haven't slept this good in a while." She replied honestly, wiggling her body back towards him so their torsos were pressing together.  "Mhm, me too." He whispered, tightening his hold around her, his morning wood pressing on her lower back. She could already feel the pool of her arousal in between her legs, and when she arched her back so now his dick was pressing against the curve of her ass, he groaned in her ear.  He slowly started to grind himself against her ass, moving down on the bed a bit so he could better his position. And when she grinded back against him, he reached in between them to position himself on her opening. He pushed the tip in, just enough to feel her tight hole around

him.  "Can I?" He asked her to make sure they both wanted this. When she sighed deeply in pleasure and murmured a 'yes', he slowly thrusted into her, both moaning a bunch of profanities.  They both were huge lovers of morning sex. It increased their moods during their days, helped them relax and carry their days with a carefree feeling. So, he fucked her. Hard. Not even close to how loving they were last night. He woke up with an unbeatable energy, and he wanted to take advantage of it. He fucked her in the position they woke up in. He turned her to her stomach and fucked her while (almost) laying completely on top of her (she loved feeling his weight on her) and he fucked her on all fours, only to end up in their initial position, with her back against his chest on their sides, so he could play with her clit to help her come.  That morning they spent it in bed, Y/N made them breakfast, Harry read a book. They both knew they needed to talk, but they wanted to enjoy some time where everything felt normal between them again. So they avoided the topic.  But the conversation they owed each other kept being pushed. And for another two months, everything slowly started to feel normal again.  Usually, avoiding conversation will lead up to more hurting. But with Y/N and Harry, it ended up becoming a realization point.  Harry got in terms with the fact they wanted different things. He decided she was worth anything and everything in the world, because she was his world. But what he didn't know was that Y/N spent those entire two months imagining what a life like the one Harry wanted with her would be like.  And after one day, on Harry's 28th birthday, during a small walk they were taking on Central Park, she realized she would do anything in the world to make him the happiest man he could ever be. She kissed him so passionately that day, interrupting their walk. He looked at her with a confused look when she pulled away with the brightest smile on her face. But that smile made him confirm he was willing to give up his dream of getting married.  That's why in mid February, Y/N found herself shopping in a very expensive jewelry store. She knew Harry liked that place since his 'H' and 'S' rings were from there. They had an amazing section of handmade rings that she spent a long time going through. She wanted to pick the best one she could find.  She found the prettiest, most fine silver ring with a red stone adorning it's top. She knew he would love it. It definitely didn't look like the typical engagement ring, but nothing about Harry was typical. It would match the rest of his rings lovingly, and Y/N knew he would simply love it. Not only because it was a pretty ring, but because it would mean something big for them.  Three days later, Y/N came back from work to find Harry sitting on their living room couch watching the forecast. Why? Who the fuck knows. He never watched cable TV.  Y/N just stood there for a while, just staring at him.  "Hi, love." He greeted her. "Are you alright?" He asked with his eyebrows furrowed. The crease between them made an appearance, even though it was there most of the time.  "Hey." She finally moved, dropped her keys on the little bowl sitting on top of the small table in the hallway. "All good, gonna put some comfy clothes on really quick." She lied. She just couldn't wait any longer. Watching him sit there all frustratingly beautiful doing absolutely nothing was fucking annoying, it was so unfair how beautiful he was. She had an entire evening prepared but she just couldn't wait any longer. She wanted to do it now.  She dropped her purse on their bed and quickly got rid of her shoes, but didn't change into anything comfier. She just grabbed the small black velvet box from her t-shirt drawer and went back to the living room, sliding it in the back pocket of her jeans so he wouldn't be able to see it.  Harry looked at her with a confused look, wondering why she was still in her work clothes walking directly to him when she said she wanted to change.  She sunk to her knees in

between his legs, which only made him even more confused. "You sure you're alright?" Harry gently asked her. She just hummed in response and grabbed the remote sitting on the coffee table (moving as little as possible, she didn't want him seeing the small bump on her jeans because she knew he would ask about it), and turned back around.  She rested her ass on her ankles, and her arms on top of his thighs. "So..." she started.  "So..." Harry repeated, confused.  "I love you, so very much." Y/N started and Harry's breath got caught in his throat. He wasn't expecting this at all. "So much, you don't even understand." Her voice was barely louder than a whisper. They haven't told they loved each other in so long, scared of the other not saying it back. God only knows why, because it was clear as water they still loved each other with their whole beings. "And I know we both always wanted different things."  This is it. Harry thought. She's breaking up with me.  "And I know there are some things I believe that you will never understand, and there are some things I- I didn't understand, for a long time." Harry furrowed her eyebrows further at this last part. Now he truly didn't understand what she was trying to say. "For so long I thought I wanted something, you know? Like I was sure I had it all figured out for myself, the life I wanted. But I actually- I was searching for a life that wasn't mine. And I didn't realize that what I already have is everything I could possibly want." Y/N's cheeks were flushed, tears streaming down her face so fast they were drenching his hands that were now pressed against her cheeks, softly caressing them. "I know now, that love is about finding common ground. Meeting each other's needs. And sometimes we have to step out of our comfort zone to do that. And I came to a conclusion." She swallowed the big lump on her throat, and that finally allowed her to let a long breath leave her chest. "I love you more than anything in this world. I hope you know that, and I know I struggle sometimes with letting you know how much I adore and admire all of you. But I promise to do my best today, and for the rest of my life, to make sure you know how loved you are. How much I'm willing to do for you. And this took me a while to understand, but I do now. I understand why you felt like you needed to take that 'next step' with us. And I understand why it'd make you as happy as you always said. So, it'd make me really happy to ask you to," Y/N reached her pocket and heard him gasp when she pulled the box in front of him, revealing a beautiful ring for him, "marry me." Harry was speechless. Truly, ultimately speechless. Not only was the love of his life asking him to marry her, she was saying she truly wanted this. Harry's gaze kept going from the ring back to her eyes. And after a while of no one saying anything, Y/N cleared her throat. "H," she whispered, "Will you marry me?" She asked, the soft tone on her voice and the question he dreamed so many times asking her knocked him back to life.  "Yes, yes, Y/N, yes- oh Y/N-" he choked a sob, and the biggest smiles appeared on both their faces. Y/N threw herself to him, wrapping her arms around his neck so tightly. He helped her straddle him so he could wrap his own arms around her.  They held each other for a few seconds, both crying the happiest tears they ever let drop, and when she pulled away to put the ring on him, he surprised her by crashing their lips together.  They shared their most passionate kiss in the entirety of their relationship, both still crying, smiling, spilling so much love and adoration with each stroke of their tongues. When he pulled away, she finally placed the box in between them again.  "Can I put it on you? I know you like to wear your 'H' ring on your ring finger, so we could put it somewhere else, you know? And make it our own thing-" Harry interrupted her giving her a soft peck, "or we could-" another kiss, "I don't know." She finally gave in, pressing her lips harder against him.  After another long kiss, he finally told her

where he wanted his ring, and with a last kiss he patted her ass to let her know he needed her to stand up.  "Wait here." He pointed at her, and she sat on the couch with a soft 'okay'.  He returned moments later with his hand behind his back and a lopsided smirk. He sat in the same position she was for her proposal, in between her legs.  Before he said anything, he moved his hands in between them, opening a red velvet box. She gasped like Harry did moments ago when she saw the beautiful ring with a small red stone (yes! Like his own ring) placed on top of a very thin and delicate silver band that was sitting inside the small box.  "It was my grandmother's." Harry said in a quiet tone. "She gave it to me before she passed away a couple months after we met, remember?" She slowly nodded, lifting her gaze to meet his eyes. There was so much love written all over his face. "I told her you were it for me. I knew I wanted this with you ever since we met at our university library. She gave it to me in hopes I could... give it to you some time." He gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I kept it hidden from you all this time. Didn't want you to find it and make everything weird between us. But I'd really love if you could, um... wear it if you want?" He shyly asked.  "It'd be an honor to carry her ring with me, Harry." His face lit up so fast at her response.  "Yeah?" He asked, perplexed.  "Yeah." Y/N replied with a big smile.  "Will you marry me, Y/N?" He asked her this time, and she couldn't help but giggle.  "I asked you first." She pecked his lips. "But yes, Harry. I'll marry you." And she kissed him again, and he couldn't help but smile so widely she ended up with her lips against his teeth.  After putting his grandmother's ring on her, they shared another night of pure, loving sex. None remember how many times they made each other come, but they did have another important conversation between rounds.  "Something else I wanted to tell you..." She said, in between kisses (they loved giving each other soft small pecks all over each other while they were talking). She was straddling him in their bed, his back against the headboard. He didn't want to pull out of her just yet, keeping his cum inside her for as long as possible.  "I know you're ready to have kids, like, right now." She said, and he raised his eyebrows playfully at her. "I can tell by your breeding kink, honestly." He let a loud laugh leave his chest, making her smile too. It was honestly hilarious, I mean, look at their position.  "I decided I really want to have kids with you." He gasped, "But..." he sunk down in his position, a visible pout on his lips, which she kissed away from him. "Promise me you'll wait for me, until I'm in my 30's" He locked eyes with her. She really wanted this. So much.  "Only three more years?!" He asked with so much hope.  "Three more years and we can start trying, I promise. I just thought that- that we could get married now, have some time as a married couple, you know? To enjoy ourselves." She shrugged and he couldn't help but smile widely and her, nodding frantically. "That way we are both adapting to each other, you know? Meet halfway our wants."  "God, I love you so much." He chose to say, instead of replying straight away. "I'll wait a lifetime to have kids with you if that's what you wanted, just please- decide before you reach menopau-" He couldn't even finish his sentence since she shut him up by putting her hand over his mouth.  "Don't even say it. God, I don't wanna be old." She sighed in frustration.  "I honestly can't wait to grow old with you." Harry said with such a loving tone, like an enamored teenager, hugging her closer to him. And she couldn't help but smile back at him. Because even though ageing scares her, she's ready to spend the rest of her life with him.  "I love you, my angel." Y/N told Harry, before kissing his lips, yet again. 

"I love you, my Y/N." Harry whispered to her, keeping her face close to his. 

X

Thank you so much for reading! Have a lovely day <3

-Joey

[writingtoforgetreality]

Happy Birthday - The Devil´s Daughter Chapter One (Lucifer Morningstar x Daughter!Reader)

[Lucifer-Masterlist], [The Devil´s Daughter-Masterlist]

Next Chapter 

Summary: Being the Devil´s daughter was not particularly fun but it was something you could not change, unfortunately. What would you do on your birthday when you finally had the chance to leave heaven? Leave everything behind and start over on Earth?

Words: 1,702

Warnings: Lucifer Season 5 Part 1 spoilers, nothing too crazy yet (pretty much introducing everything), Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, God, (Y/A) = your age, (Y/E/C) = your eye color

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

Heaven. Everyone has their own imagination of this place. Of how beautiful it is. Some people believe while others don´t. You, though, you did believe in heaven. How could you not? You had been there your entire life. Why, you ask? Well, you were an angel and angels were supposed to be up there. You were not an ordinary angel, though. What made you special was your father. The Devil. Yes, you heard that right. The daughter of the rebel, someone who was “disliked” by pretty much every single existing angel. We don´t need to talk about his reputation. Even though you had never met your father, you had been excluded from all angelic doings. Therefore, what other people saw as paradise, you saw as hell. Ironic, wasn´t it?

In all your years of existing, you had met a total of three other angels and, the one and only, God himself. Apparently, nobody else wanted to be close to you. You were the devil´s daughter, you did not have the best reputation either but you had never hurt anyone and never would. As you can imagine, being pretty much alone most of the time was rather boring. Once a day, Micheal came by to keep you company for a while. The two of you were close, he always made sure you felt comfortable and never judged you by your origin. It was not something you could change anyway. On lucky days, all three angels, archangels to be precise, were at your chambers. Mostly you guys chatted but sometimes you even had game nights, your absolute favorite. To say you were thankful for Michael, Gabriel and Raphael would be understatement. Without them, you would have gone insane ages ago. To you, heaven felt like a prison. You were not allowed anywhere but your chambers. “(Y/N), it´s for your own good, trust me.” God had told you this sentence way too many times and you were starting to grow tired of it.

While you were alone, the one thing you loved doing was watching Earth and humanity. How they lived so freely without any restrictions. It was no secret that you wanted to leave heaven as soon as you would turn (Y/A). By then, you would be allowed to go anywhere you liked, without God telling you what to do. Especially Michael listened to your complaints and wishes closely. You were sure you had his support since he had told you many times before. One person you did not tell. God. Maybe because you knew his answer. Maybe because he would try everything to keep you up here, even if you had not felt happy in years. Humans did not know you were the Devil´s daughter, your reputation down there would be just fine. At least that was what you had told yourself. It did not matter anyway, your mind was set. Your birthday was in one day. One day and you would finally be free. Away from the negative energy heaven and its angels were giving you. You knew you were about to make the right decision even if it meant that you disappointed God. But this was different from what your father did, right? Rebelling meant something completely different. You simply wanted to feel free and you knew you could never achieve that if you stayed in heaven. Would God hate you forever, like Lucifer?

“You know there´s literally no need for you to knock. We´ve talked about that, Mike.” you chuckled. Mike. That was the nickname you gave Michael a while ago. He seemed to like it so you kept calling him so.

“Yeah but what if you´re changing.” he entered, wearing his smirk. His appearance made you smile. Only a few more hours until you would be gone. Looking at him made you realize that, maybe, you would miss one thing. One angel. Him. He always had your back, told you stories about your father. Because of him, you knew you were nothing like Lucifer. Everything he had done? You used to be disgusted by sharing one bloodline. Michael, though, he helped you through all of your dark phases, telling you that you were so much better. Could do so much better. He knew you were no Devil. So did Gabriel and Raphael but Michael was another story. As mentioned, he meant a big deal to you, kind of being the father you always wished you had.

“What are you doing here? I thought you said you were busy today?” confusion was shown all over your face.

“Can´t miss my favorite´s birthday now, can I?” Micheal answered, stepping closer to your bed were you were currently sitting.

“Yeah...the big (Y/A), huh?” your eyes were focused on your hands in your lap. All of a sudden, you felt a wave of guilt hitting you. Micheal was far older than you yet had never left heaven. And you, you saw the first chance and were about to leave right away.

“You´re leaving, aren´t you?” you could feel his eyes on you but you did not dare to look at him. You would break down, something you definitely did not want to do.

“I never made a secret out of it.”

“Except for Dad.” Michael interjected.

“Except for him.” a door opening made the both of you look up.

“Father, we just talked about you.”

“Mike!” you glared at him.

“(Y/N), do you really think I don´t know what you´re planning?” God gave you a look of what you read as sympathy.

“But I never-”

“(Y/N). I´m God, did you forget that? I knew you were up to this for as long as you, trust me.” he made his way over to Michael and you, stopping right in front of you.

“You are mad.” again, your eyes drifted to your lap. You felt exposed in front of him.

“I`m not. I just want you to know that you will never feel this type of safety on Earth. Humans are...well, humans. You don´t belong there, (Y/N). You belong in heaven, like me, like Michael.” God tried reasoning. You were right, he wanted to change your mind.

“I might not be as safe but at least I would have freedom. Space to move. Not just one single chamber for eternity.” by now, tears of frustration were forming at the corner of your (Y/E/C) eyes. How could he be so convinced of himself? He had no idea of how you felt being locked up.

“(Y/N), sweetie, he just wants to keep you safe.” Michael said, putting one of his arms around your shoulders, something he did to calm you down.

“Are you serious, Mike? I thought you supported my plan? Have you been lying to me?” you shook his arm off of you, looking at him with a hurtful expression.

“No, never. I would never lie to you. (Y/N), just think this through.” Michael changed sides right in front of your eyes.

“Mike, you know I want that. You should, too.” by the last part you made sure to look straight at God.

“(Y/N), you´re special. Nobody will-”

“MAYBE I DON´T WANNA BE SPECIAL!” you screamed. This was the first time you ever raised your voice but you were so frustrated, so angry, that you did not know what else to do. Both, God and Michael were taken aback by your sudden outburst.

“All my life, you told me I was special. Well, for instance,  I wouldn´t say being Satan´s daughter is special when I have never met him! I´m an angel with wings like everyone else and I happen to be Lucifer´s offspring BUT that doesn´t make me special, okay? What´s special about being in my chambers all day long, doing literally nothing but daydreaming? I´m leaving and you won´t be able to change my mind. I´ll be gone soon then you don´t have to worry about me anymore.” by the time you finished, you were facing the wall away from Michael and God.

“If you are leaving, don´t think about coming back. I gave you everything. Kept you and your not so special wings safe and that´s what I get in return? I´ll see you when you´re begging on your knees in front of heaven´s doors. Happy Birthday, (Y/N).” and with that, God left.

“Sure, special wings. Just because they´re not black like the others.” you mumbled under your breath. When you turned around, you still saw Michael sitting on your bed, looking at you expectantly. He did not leave with God and you were not quite sure why he was still with you after everything he just said.

“What?” you questioned after the staring became too uncomfortable for you.

“Just know that I still support you. Go to Earth, have adventures. If you ever need anything...I´m only one prayer away. Happy Birthday, sweetie. See you soon.” he was about to turn towards your door when you ran into his arms, hugging him with tears in your eyes.

“Mike? Thank you for everything you´ve ever done for me. You were the only one who accepted me from the first moment on. My wings didn´t matter to you, my origin didn´t matter to you. I mattered and I am forever grateful for that. I´d be happy if you visited me once, Mike. You´ll always be welcome to stay with me. Besides, you´ve never been to Earth either. It could be fun.” your eyes shined when you looked at his face, releasing the hug.

“It could be, yeah. Bye, (Y/N), take care of yourself.” before you had the chance to say anything back, you found yourself alone in your chambers. This was it. The moment you had waited (Y/A) years for. A few more minutes and your life could finally begin. Really begin. Without anyone judging you by your wings, by your father. Just (Y/N). You were ready for it. What city would you visit first? Paris? London? No. There had always been a city you were drawn to. Ironically, it was called the City of Angels aka Los Angeles. LA. Name it as you want. That would be your first stop. What would be waiting for you there? You were eager to find it out.

~to be continued~

Next Chapter

Published (08/24/2020) by Cathy

Tags: @fandomqueen2003, @natashaashleymarvelromanoff, @severewobblerlightdragon, @tenderlyunlikelyexpert, @zoseph, @comicbucky-s, @dad-ee-drea (let me know if you want to be tagged <3)

[beca-mitchell]

brain is in the back seat (heart's in drive) (1/1)

Summary: Life has a way of not working out like the movies. Not like Beca likes movies anyway. Beca and Chloe’s first kiss.

Word count: 4,125 words.

Fic title from the song "the movies" by Nightly. Part of the daylight au. As always, many thanks to @asimplefavors for letting me cry at you re: this fic which I’ve been sitting on forever. I’m just glad it’s done. 

Read below or on AO3.

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LOCATION: Brookline, MA MONTH: March AGE: 15/16

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 Beca hates movies, so it makes sense that she’s kind of getting the feeling that her life is turning out like one.

After the Winter Formal, Beca kind of just wants things to go back to normal, not that she really has a baseline for that anymore.

It also doesn’t really help that she has to endure Valentine’s Day amidst all her peers. If there’s something people never really grow out of, it’s the excessive gift giving and over-emphasis on the quantity of candy grams received in one’s locker on that specific day.

...And it further didn’t help that Beca had quickly shoved the Valentine’s card she had been planning to give to Chloe into her own locker upon seeing Tom walk down the fall with his arm snugly around Chloe’s shoulder, a small bouquet of roses pressed into her arms. Beca had thought it inappropriate at the time—figured Chloe didn’t need extra Valentines when she was so obviously taken...even though it had been their tradition for years.

And of course, the fact that Chloe hadn’t given her a valentine either. That was telling enough. Not that Beca gave her much reason to, with how much avoiding she had been doing since January.

That February break that follows immediately after is one of the most relaxing breaks Beca has ever experienced. She spends most of it sparsely replying to texts from Chloe and begrudgingly visiting her father and his family for the short break.

It’s the time apart (again) that really only cements that the nauseating feeling in her stomach is because she’s not getting over her feelings for one Chloe Beale anytime soon.

The more selfish part of her—the part entirely consuming her heart—doesn’t really want to give up on her feelings, but the rational part—somewhere between her heart and her head—knows that she’s just setting herself up for more heartbreak, if the Instagram updates from Chloe and Tom are any indication. It’s horrible, really because they’re not even together in person. Beca knows this solely because she knows Chloe’s family takes a trip to Stowe every February break for a ski trip.

It’s like the social media back and forth is just designed to hurt her. The little comments they leave on each other’s photos. The hearts. The inside-joke emojis.

She knows rationally that her thoughts are spiralling and it’s entirely untrue that Chloe would ever want to hurt her purposefully. It’s just that, well, Beca wouldn’t blame her. She knows that her avoidance of Chloe over the past few weeks has been more than obvious and less than desirable.

So when Beca sits down with her father and his new family, the sensation of being replaced never really gets old even if she knows that she has no real right to feel that way. But it’s hard, looking around her and feeling so out of place, and then knowing that when she returns home, the one person who she had always considered the literal embodiment of home is also starting a new segment of her life in which Beca has no real place.

And even sitting in her father’s home in New Haven, she imagines what it would be like to blurt out that she’s in love with her best friend—a girl—simply to see the disdain cross his face like a shadow. It would be enough to make her forget about her current plight. Plus, she’s just so tired of feeling like shit all the time.

She sees it, in all honesty. Like her mind has two screens, she sees the mildly foggy memory of her father saying something disparaging against homosexuality on one screen while the other gleefully rolls imagined footage of Beca sweeping his pretentious dishes off his dining table and declaring her love for her best friend, the very girl she grew up next two for the past eleven years.

Still, as appealing as that sounds and looks, she bites her tongue and listens to her father spout off something about psychology or some other academic topic that Beca has zero interest in. She would normally be texting Chloe, but she just can’t bring herself to pick up the phone.

Chloe doesn’t text her either.

It all sucks.

February break sucks.

She sucks.

Her thoughts follow her all the way back home to the desolate wasteland she calls home (classic Boston-in-February weather) where her mother (shockingly) greets her with a hug and the promise of a sit-down meal. The thought warms her for a moment before Beca remembers that her mom probably just feels guilty without really wanting to do anything. Not even apologize for being absent. Emotionally distant. Neglectful. Beca’s sure the list could go on.

As she sits at the dinner table thinking about a myriad of things floating around her mind in an attempt to distract herself including the dreaded first day back at school, the assignments she should probably work on, seeing Chloe again—

Her fingers twitch towards her phone on instinct.

She draws back with a flinch, resisting the urge to mindlessly text Chloe even though it’s what she wants most in the world at the moment. Quickly, she spares a glance at her mother who hasn’t looked up from her own plate.

With a sigh, Beca furrows her brow and returns to staring sullenly at the table until it is an appropriate enough time to retreat to her room.

The next day passes without incident. Beca decides to walk to school early instead of catching a ride from Chloe’s brother like she normally would. She’s not sure what the point is. Chloe will just figure out a way to corner her later regardless.

Even with that in mind, Beca isn’t expecting to see Chloe sitting on her bed when she opens her bedroom door. In fact, she’s kind of expecting her room to be exactly as she left it that morning before heading out for school—empty, her bed unmade, and cold.

But now—

“What are you doing here?” Beca asks, harsher than she intends. She swallows, willing herself to reign in her emotions as best as she can.

“Your mom let me in,” Chloe says softly. Her palms glide briefly over Beca’s bedspread before she’s pushing herself off the bed and moving awkwardly to the middle of Beca’s bedroom. “I…hope that’s okay?” she asks hesitantly, like she is no longer sure of her place in Beca’s house; in Beca’s life.

Beca steadies her grip on her backpack for a moment before dropping it to the floor unceremoniously. “It’s fine,” she says finally, trying to ignore the way her heart pulls and tugs at the mere sight of Chloe—Chloe, out of her school clothes and wearing comfortable loungewear. Chloe, with her hair down instead of up in a ponytail. Chloe, whose lips are slowly spreading into a hesitant smile. “I just…” Beca blinks, turning to walk to her desk quickly to be safe. Distant. “Why are you here?” she asks again, softer.

“I…” Chloe takes a deep breath, but she thankfully does not seem to move closer to Beca in any capacity. “Are you mad at me?” Chloe asks with a delicate softness that only makes Beca’s heart ache more.

In her mind’s eye, she plays out the variety of expressions Chloe could possibly be wearing. An expression designed to elicit the highest amount of sympathy in a willing audience. Outwardly, Beca stares hard at the notebook on her desk, reaching out to run her finger along the spiral. “No,” she murmurs. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Did I…” Chloe sighs, like she can’t quite bear to finish that question. But Chloe, as resilient as ever, pushes through, though she doesn’t finish the question. “Beca, please just look at me.”

Beca bites her lip but she complies nonetheless, taking her time to drag her eyes up to Chloe’s face.

She hates that she immediately wants to break into a smile upon simply seeing Chloe’s face—a natural by-product of the happiness she usually feels upon seeing her best friend’s face, though her more recent emotions have obviously been veering towards the romantic.

But more than all of that—more than the positive emotions—she hates the hurt she sees there, especially knowing that she had actively contributed in some way.

“Did I do something?” Chloe asks rather quickly. Nervously. Her hands come up to grip her own arms, hugging herself. “Did I do something to you to make you…”

“To make me what?”

“Like this,” Chloe says quickly. “Like you can’t stand being around me.”

It’s not you, Beca thinks. It’s me and I’m so sorry. “It’s…nothing,” Beca says evasively. “I…” Her eyes narrow as her brain catches up with the rest of her emotions. She fully processes that Chloe is in her room. After school. On a nice evening. “Didn’t you have plans today? With Tom?”

A blush rises on Chloe’s cheek at the mere mention of his name, as usual. And as usual, Beca finds herself reacting viscerally with something akin to nausea. “I cancelled,” Chloe admits. “I wanted to see you. It’s been a while since—”

“—Well, you’ve seen me.” Beca tries not to let some of the acidity seep into her tone because Chloe doesn’t deserve it, but it does anyway. Too late. Beca sighs. “I have homework to do.”

Chloe brightens. “Great! So do I. We can do it together.”

Chloe’s chipper tone, while normally something that Beca finds charming and attractive, grates on her nerves today. Beca glances at Chloe out of the corner of her eye. It’s then that she notices Chloe’s full backpack resting on the floor by her feet. “Don’t you have to do it with Tom? Like you guys normally do? He made that pretty clear.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Chloe says in a tone that Beca can’t identify. She doesn’t know if she has the energy to identify anything at this point.

Beca grits her teeth. “I still think you should go.”

“Why?” Chloe challenges. When Beca doesn’t respond, Chloe continues, this time with an angry tone. “Do you know how worried I am about you? What’s going on? Why are you avoiding me? Is it Tom? Did he say something to you?” The way Chloe says his name then is so distinct that it makes Beca’s ears perk up. It reminds Beca of so long ago—of Chloe immediately demanding the names of people who had hurt Beca’s feelings.

Her own knight in shining armor.

Beca exhales noisily and finally meets Chloe’s eyes head-on. “Chloe, no. We’re not doing this right now.”

Blue eyes flash like lightning. “Oh, well at least you’re looking at me now.”

“Chloe,” Beca says, exasperated at the bitterness in Chloe’s tone. It is absolutely well-deserved, but the sting makes Beca’s hackles rise nonetheless. “Come on.”

“No, I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s been going on with you.” Chloe literally stomps her foot on the ground. “I swear it, Beca Mitchell.”

Chloe kind of looks like she might stomp her foot again. Instead, she crosses her arms and stares at Beca defiantly.

It’s like the dam breaks all at once. Beca bursts out laughing at both the sight and the sound. “Did you just—? A foot stomp? Really?”

Chloe freezes, like she isn’t quite sure what’s going on. “Oh, I…” The mild confusion in her eyes causes Beca to smile again, unable to hide her own adoration for her best friend even if she tried.

(Which she has been. Trying, at least.)

For a moment, it is finally silent in Beca’s room. Chloe’s stance softens and she is suddenly staring at Beca with a different kind of expression on her face. “What?” Beca asks, not realizing that she has the tiniest smile on her face still.

“There you are,” Chloe says affectionately. “My favorite smile.”

Beca blinks, feeling the sudden urge to cry. All kinds of emotion well up inside her, each warring for some kind of dominance; each warring for attention. Beca feels like Chloe is really looking at her for the first time in a while.

It also occurs to Beca that they’re finally alone and Beca has no idea what to do.

“Stop,” Beca says quickly. She averts her gaze. “Stop doing that.”

Chloe’s confusion is immediately visible. New tension grows palpable between them. “Stop doing what?”

“Stop…” Beca gestures wildly. “Doing those things. Saying those things that make me…” she trails off, licking her lips. The air feels thick. Difficult to breathe. “Stop,” she whispers.

Her heart races uncomfortably, like what Beca imagines a heart attack to feel like. Or if she’s being less dramatic, what she imagines a panic attack to be.

“Beca,” Chloe murmurs. “You can talk to me. Please, you’re scaring me.” She steps closer, right in front of Beca. Beca sees Chloe’s annoyingly cute socks in her line of vision and slowly lifts her head. “Hi,” Chloe says softly upon catching Beca’s eyes with her own. “Beca,” she starts. “It’s okay.”

Is it? Beca thinks. Will it ever be?

It’s then that Beca realizes how close they’re standing. How nice Chloe smells. How much softer her sweater looks up close. The very light freckles on Chloe’s face, now faded compared to how prominent they had seemed during the summer months.

I love you so much, Beca thinks, her traitorous mind breaking down every last confine as usual. I don’t know what that means, but I know that it’s true.

Beca isn’t sure what comes over her then.

(She kind of knows, but still. It’s easier being ignorant to her thought processes.)

In reality, it feels like the oddest fog passing over her brain while her heart beats with startling clarity. Her fingers graze Chloe’s cheek before she realizes what is happening and her lips meet Chloe’s with force that surprises both of them. Beca feels the tension leave her body immediately replaced by the most peculiar warmth—a warmth that fills her chest unexpectedly and so wholly that her body all but sags into Chloe’s.

To her surprise, just as she is about to pull back, Chloe’s hand comes up to cup the back of her head while the other hand curls around her hip with, Beca realizes with a jolt of fire to her chest, stark possessiveness and protectiveness. For a few blissful moments, Chloe’s lips move in tandem with her own, as soft as Beca always imagined. The initial shock of experiencing her first kiss wears off, but…

Chloe is kissing her back. Chloe is kissing her and Chloe is not moving away except—

She does.

Chloe finally moves back, their lips separating with suddenness and abruptness that leaves Beca reeling.

“Oh my God,” Beca says immediately. Her throat feels tight and her voice is high and rough with the fear that courses through her body. “God, Chloe, I—”

“You just kissed me,” Chloe interrupts. Her voice trembles even as she continues. “You kissed me, Beca.”

There is something more than accusation in her tone. There is a hint of desperation that Beca recognizes all too well and further, something almost foreign in terms of their interactions with each other. Chloe has never sounded unsure or insecure when talking to Beca. The fact that she did just then breaks Beca’s heart a little bit.

“I’m…” Beca swallows. Pushes down the emotion threatening to spill over. She isn’t even sure what there is to really say. All she can think about is how Chloe pulled away first—essentially pushed her away. It stings more than Beca had anticipated even though it had been what she entirely expected. “I know. Chloe, please, just listen."

“I’m dating Tom,” Chloe responds immediately. “I’m dating Tom and I can’t…you can’t just spring this on me and just…” Chloe’s eyes well up with tears and Beca feels her own eyes sting at the sight. “I can’t cheat on him.”

“We didn’t,” Beca says quickly. Desperately. “Chloe, please, can we just…” Beca feels the last false shred of happiness finally crumble away as she sees the despair in Chloe’s eyes.

She doesn’t feel the same way.

She never did.

She was just caught up in the moment.

“I don’t know what I expected,” Beca says in a small voice. “Fuck,” she murmurs, running her hands through her hair. “I’m sorry.”

She feels so fucking embarrassed.

Chloe hesitates. “Beca, wait.”

“No, you should just go. You should go and just.” Beca turns back to her desk and grips the edge of her chair tightly. “Just go do your dumb homework and go be with your boyfriend. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I just need time—”

“Chloe, now.”

The way Beca’s voice rings around her bedroom weighs heavier than the silence that follows. She thinks she hears Chloe sniffle once, but she can’t bear to look. She can’t bear to see Chloe’s expression and even more viscerally, the metaphorical imagery of Chloe finally crushing the last pieces of her already-shattered part as she leaves Beca’s bedroom.

The door clicks quietly, but the sound still makes Beca jump. Unfortunately, not like a movie, these end credits close out with nothing more than a whimper from her own mouth.

She finally allows herself to crumble, finally unable to outrun the magnitude of her emotions.

Not like running had worked very well before.

 * * * * * 

Chloe I shouldn’t have left, i’m sorry

That’s the text message Beca receives the next morning.

Beca I wanted you to go

It’s one of the few lies Beca has ever told Chloe over the span of their eleven-year friendship.

Beca I’m sorry too

She bites her lip at the added-on text, sending it on impulse because she doesn’t want Chloe to be upset with her. Whether she’s apologizing for the kiss, for her feelings, or for chasing Chloe out of her bedroom, she’s not sure at this point.

It doesn’t matter, however. Chloe doesn’t reply; doesn’t even call her out on it.

 * * * * *

Beca goes a few days with some relative quiet in her life. She drags herself around aimlessly doing her best not to be too rocked with guilt and discord as her mind traitorously replays the kiss at unfortunate moments.

“Beca, wait!”

Beca does her best to steady herself and she takes a breath. It does feel like self-sabotage, knowing that Chloe is equally likely to spend time at this specific spot—their spot—so Beca supposes a part of her wanted so badly to just see Chloe’s face again. Just to see if Chloe would be disgusted or upset with her.

All she sees is desperation written across Chloe’s face. The same desperation that had been on Chloe’s face just a few days ago in her bedroom. Since then, Beca had been avoiding her as best as possible, weaving around people whenever the opportunity presented itself (which was often, due to Beca’s smaller stature).

Beca had never been so grateful for crowded high school hallways. Blending in and being nearly invisible never felt so good.

“We need to talk,” Chloe says quietly. “You know we do.”

“There’s…” Beca presses her fingers tightly into the metal bar in front of her, unable to look at Chloe directly. She should have expected Chloe to come here. Self-sabotage, she supposes. “Nothing to talk about.”

“That’s crap and you know it.”

Beca refuses to acknowledge that. “I can’t right now, Chlo.”

“Please,” Chloe says, a bit closer than before. “You…” Chloe sighs. “You can’t just kiss me like that and—and—” Biting frustration seeps into her tone. “I shouldn’t have left you alone like that,” Chloe whispers after a moment of silence. “But there’s no way you can just expect me to ignore what happened between us.”

Beca takes a brief moment to marvel over how Chloe somehow manages to be good with words. Or at least that she manages to get words out at all. It’s something Beca envies.

“I’m trying so hard to understand, Beca,” Chloe murmurs, taking a step closer.

Beca continues to focus on anything but Chloe. “There’s nothing to understand. I made a mistake. You can forget about it.”

The air seems to still around them. Beca can hear the shouts of their peers, sharp and crisp in the brisk, chilly air.

Finally, Chloe responds, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to forget about it, Beca.”

That makes Beca look at Chloe. She twists so sharply and quickly that she think something cracks in her neck, but she brushes off the brief twinge that runs through her body. “Why?” she asks, hating how weak her voice sounds. “You should, it’s for the be—”

“I don’t want to forget about it,” Chloe repeats, firmer than before.

“Why?” Beca asks quickly as curiosity and hope win out.

Chloe says nothing, simply watching Beca with a near-inscrutable expression. Finally, she sucks in a breath. “Why did you kiss me?” she asks, in lieu of responding, like it’s all the response Beca needs. The challenge in Chloe’s voice is familiar. It makes Beca’s heart race. She resists the urge to reach out and grasp onto Chloe’s forearms or shoulders to steady herself. Instead, Beca forces herself to keep her eyes on Chloe steadily.

In that moment, Beca just wants Chloe to steal the words right from her mind. She wants Chloe to speak so she doesn’t have to—Chloe has to know at this point. She has to know, there’s no real reason for her not to know. It becomes evident that Chloe isn’t going to let her off the hook so easily. Beca sighs. “You know why,” she finally murmurs. “You know,” she presses.

Chloe’s eyes flash with emotion—finally something akin to the familiar passion that Beca has come to know over the years. It sends Beca’s heart into a tangle of emotions as she attempts to steady her own breathing. She could go on. She could keep talking. She feels the urge—she recognizes it in its rarity—course through her with startling sincerity. You know why, her own words echo back at her. Tell her, she begs herself. Please.

I like you.

I’m in love with you.

I love you.

“Then you know why, too,” Chloe finally says after a long silence.

Beca’s eyes must do something—she feels some muscle in her face twitch—because Chloe takes an immediate step back after the words leave her mouth.

“Chloe,” Beca breathes, like it’s the first breath of pure air she has taken in and expelled in a long time. Tom, Beca thinks frantically. But Tom is—it can’t be—

“I—I should go. But—um.” Chloe shifts, drawing her lower lip between her teeth as she assesses Beca once more. Beca doesn’t dare breathe, wondering if Chloe is going to kiss her—whether Chloe will kiss her first this time. Or if Chloe will hug her. Or if Chloe will say more. She longs to ask more questions, say more words, but she’s too afraid of the thick air between them suddenly.

Chloe finally takes a breath; she finally takes a step back and lifts her hand in a half wave, like she realizes she needs to leave. “I have to go,” she repeats. “But I...Beca,” Chloe murmurs. She lifts her hands together, like she might take the necessary steps to close the distance between them, but she casts Beca a sad expression, clenching her hands into fists and drawing them close to her chest. It is so vulnerable and unexpected for Chloe that Beca has no idea what words could possibly come out of her mouth then. “Don’t give up on me.”

That alone steals Beca’s breath from her once more. She can do nothing more than nod, because how can she even fathom the thought. It had been nice to indulge in the possibility of not loving Chloe Beale—not being with her, even as friends—but this reality, however half-formed is more than Beca could have ever dreamed of.

With that, Chloe finally twists and darts away from under the bleachers. Beca watches her go with bated breath, and when she finally exhales, she watches the way the air condenses in front of her, like a flurry of thoughts and emotions finally making themselves known in Chloe’s wake.

She breathes, allowing herself to think of their shared kiss in Beca’s bedroom just days ago. Maybe even a week now.

“I won’t,” she replies, speaking to nobody except the ghostly presence of the memories past, present, and future.

And she finally feels like the future—whatever sequels may follow—might not look so bleak.

fin.

[banalbones]

The Petite Prince: Chapter 6

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8

Chapter 6: The Prince’s Plan

Summary: Roman is a child. Virgil and Logan have finally found him, no one is pleased with Patton and Patton just wanted to give Roman some brownies.

Words: 2510

Ships: Familial prinxiety, logince and Creativitwins. Eventual familial royality, roceit and DRLAMP  

Genre: Fluff with a side dose of angst

Warnings: A few swears, arguing, falling, tell me if there’s any more!

Taglist: @pricklyfish777 @sunflowerblondeuwu @itriedandimtired @draw-your-perfect-world @cemmy @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @nonbinary-lizard-2

________________________

Patton was glancing around Remus’s room when the ceiling fell in, two figures with it. Two figures who were…

Logan and Virgil?

Logan and Virgil!

And Remus was watching them, a hysterical grin on his face.

And then… a child?  

Patton was really confused.

It looked to him, and it’s face crumpled.

It then let out a small “Wha?” and began shrinking rapidly.

Is it regressing? And why did it seem so sad when it saw me? And who is it?

Regardless of who the child- well, now the baby- was, Patton needed to help it! He rushed over to the baby, only to be stopped by an arm barring his way.

“Hey!”

“Stay away from him,” Remus’s voice snarled. The grin had completely faded from his face, leaving only a stormy expression in its place.

All I wanted to do was give Roman brownies. What is happening?

___________________________

Remus grinned madly as the left brain boys fell through the ceiling, screaming their heads off.

Hehe… imagine if their heads actually fell off.

“Why hello there! Enjoy your trip?”

Virgil looked up and whacked Logan on the arm, whispering something to the logical side. Logan’s head whipped towards him, his expression something Remus couldn’t quite place.

“Wha?”

Remus turned his head towards his baby bro, grinning wider.

Then he saw Patton.

The grin faded from his face immediately.

The Duke looked back towards the smol one, and saw him growing smaller.

What?!

It was Patton. It had to be.

Remus moved closer to the even littler prince, before seeing that the moral side was doing the same.

He whipped his arm out, stopping the dad from getting any closer.

“Hey!”

“Stay away from him,” Remus snarled.

Like hell was he going to let the cause of this extra regression go anywhere near his brother.

________________________

Virgil screamed as the floor crashed beneath him, arms flailing madly.

He landed in a heap in the rubble of the floor (ceiling?), with Logan sprawled out beside him. He then spotted a bewildered looking Roman sitting on the floor.

“Why hello there! Enjoy your trip?”

The emo turned his head, looking for the source of the voice, and found Remus. He whacked Logan on the arm.

“Logan,” he hissed, “Remus is here. And so is Roman. He kidnapped him!”

Virgil was aware that that wasn’t the only possible thing that could have happened, but it was the first thing that his (admittedly shook up) mind came up with, and it was the thing he decided to cling to.

At least the bean seemed to be okay.

“Wha?”

Virgil heard the small, adorable voice of the petite prince and once again turned his head to see him regressing.

Wait, regressing?!

What was the cause? Regression only happened when sides were feeling too many bad feelings, or when they were overwhelmed.

Was Roman feeling overwhelmed?

Was he making him feel overwhelmed?!

And then Virgil saw Patton.

Now, Virgil loved Patton, he was like a father figure to the anxious side, and he had always been there when Virgil needed it. But at this moment in time, after hearing all of what had just happened with the dad, snake and prince, his feelings were changing.

And fast.

It was obvious that Patton was the cause of the beans re-regression, and so when he moved towards the small royal, Virgil was ready to jump up and shield the precious child-or baby.

And then the trash gremlin flung out an arm to stop the dad.

Was he… protecting Roman?

“Hey!”

“Stay away from him.”

Maybe Remus wasn’t as bad as he first thought.

______________________

Logan, though he would never admit it, screamed, as he fell through the floor.

Ow.

Wait, where am I? I can’t see. Why do I have to be blind?

The logical side looked around, seeing a few wall shaped blobs, and then a figure in red and white.

Roman?

Maybe the miniature prince could summon him a new pair of glasses.

That would be nice.

Logan was saw caught up in his thoughts of longing for clear eyesight that he missed the voice speaking to him.

Then he was whacked on the arm.

Once again, ow.

“Logan,” Virgil’s voice hissed in his ear, “Remus is here. And so is Roman. He kidnapped him!”

That doesn’t seem entirely probable.

But Logan still looked up and gazed around until catching sight of a green and black blob. It wasn’t moving much.

That really doesn’t seem likely.

“Wha?”

Well, Roman is definitely here.

He looked back to where the red and white blob was, and saw a bright teal one move towards it, only to be stopped by the green and black one.

“Hey!”

Was that Patton?

“Stay away from him.”

Logan decided that something bad was happening, and closed his eyes.

It would be much easier to deal with this if I could see.

Seriously, having less than 20/20 vision was annoying.

_________________________

“Wha?”

Roman wasn’t sure what was happening. There were too many big people! And they were getting bigger!

Roman, in the back of his mind, knew who these people were, but he couldn’t- he just couldn’t! Not now, anyway.

Then the loud noises started.

The big people were shouting at each other, most of them at the blue one.

Roman didn’t know why, but the blue one made him sad.

Sad, sad, sad.

Tears leaked from the miniature princes eyes, his lips wobbling as he held back full on sobs. He didn’t want the big people to shout at him.

But then the shouting got louder, and he couldn’t help himself.

He let out a loud wail.

The shouting stopped almost immediately.

Oh no.

__________________________

Virgil was getting mad.

Both he and Remus were trying to keep Patton away from the bean, but the moral side kept on arguing back.

“You’re the one who’s making him so upset!”

“How? I don’t even know who he is!”

“He was five before he saw you, he was getting better!”

“Well I’m sorry I wanted to give Roman brownies-”

A loud wail sounded throughout the room, and the three realized their mistake.

For in trying to protect the petite prince, they had caused him greater harm.

I made the bean cry.

I…

Holy crap what have I done?!

______________________

Logan heard the cry of the red and white blob and made his way towards it. He was now 93% certain that the blob was Roman, and that he was crying, and that crying wasn’t good.

The other three sides had fallen silent as soon as the wail sounded, so Logan decided that he was the only one who should go near the child.

Logan knelt down next to the small royal and picked him up, causing the cries to stop. The prince was a lot smaller than he remembered. What had happened?

…

A small hand reached up and whacked his face, before tapping the logical side’s nose.

And suddenly, Logan could see!

The familiar weight of his glasses on his nose was surprisingly comforting.

The same small hand from before whacked his face again, prompting him to look down.

What in the name of god…

Why is he a baby?

Logan knew that the younger the age of regression, the more intense the ‘bad’ emotions, but a side growing younger whilst already regressed? That was unheard of.

“What the fuck did you guys do?” Logan asked, at last acknowledging the other sides, “He seems to be fifteen months old. That’s the youngest any side has gotten!”

The nerd looked around, spotting the horror on Virgil’s face, the anger and shock on Remus’s and the guilt on Patton’s.

The idiot list was back and stronger than ever.

Then a quiet “Mama?”

Logan glared at the other sides before turning his attention back to Roman. “Yes?”

The small prince chubby little face broke into a grin.

“Mama!”

Logan normally would have felt overwhelmed at the cuteness in his arms, but he really needed to know what had happened.

“Well?”

Silence.

This would take longer than he thought.

__________________________

“Who… is that Roman?” Patton whispered.

Logan rolled his eyes.

“Yes.”

Patton frowned.

Roman had regressed? That wasn’t good.

That was terrible!

And he was apparently the cause? Even worse!

“I didn’t mean to… I was just trying to protect him! But I hurt him more… what if he hates me now? What if he got so sad because of me that he never grows up again? What if I broke Roman?!”

Virgil was obviously panicking, and was going on a tangent because of it.

Patton wanted to help him so, so much, but he knew that it would probably cause more harm than good.

Swallowing down his words of comfort, the dad turned to Remus, who was being strangely silent.

Roman was obviously affecting the sides in drastic ways.

And he had regressed twice.

Patton didn’t know what to do.

Because he had caused this.

____________________

I did this. I did this to my baby bro. I made him get younger all because I wanted to pull a prank.

Remus walked up to Logan.

“Do you have the crown?”

Logan frowned, before nodding towards a satchel amidst the rubble of the ceiling. Remus walked over to it and took out the piece of crinkled yellow paper.

The little prince had really wanted the crown, so it was time to give it to him, and then go.

Possibly forever.

The Duke placed the paper crown on his literal baby bro’s head, trying to ignore the big green eyes staring at him.

“Br-br-ReeRee?”

Remus gave a watery smile to the smol one, before turning on his heel to leave.

“Don’ go!”

_____________________

Roman was confused.

The big people, two of which he had identified, were all so sad.

He had thought they would be mad at him for making so much noise, like with Big him, but they were just sad.

Determination filled the little prince’s eyes.

Sad=bad.

Mama no sad, so ReeRee and the other two no sad!

And so with this excellent plan in mind, Roman’s mission began.

Just because he felt sad, that didn’t mean other people should too!

_____________________

That’s a really cute mindset!

Yeah…

It’s cute for a child, but not for an adult.

You shouldn’t push assside your own pain to sssstop others.

Oh. I guess that makes sense.

_____________________

Logan looked at the prince in his arms, at the determination in his eyes and smiled softly.

The baby had a plan.

Roman pointed to the floor, most likely wanting to be put down. Logan nodded and obliged, then watched as the tiny prince crawled over to Remus before latching himself onto to his big brothers leg, almost like a koala.

Remus then looked down at the child, who was now pouting and saying “Stay.”

The Duke stared sadly at Roman, before relenting as the prince made puppy dog eyes.

Logan smirked.

Smart kid.

The royal’s face then broke into a wide, happy grin.

“YAY!”

I think the little prince is much smarter than we give him credit for.

________________________

It’s true. I am extremely intelligent.

The child version of you is, don’t misunderstand.

Rude!

________________________

Virgil watched as the little prince grinned up at his brother and felt his heart melt a little.

So. Cute.

But the cuteness didn’t fully eliminate the creeping suspicion that Remus was up to something.

Virgil hated it.

He knew that Remus cared about his brother, he knew he knew this, but being the literal embodiment of anxiety made him think about every possible outcome, almost to a fault.

So the emo took a deep breath, focusing on the bean.

He had to admit, Roman being so clingy with Remus kind of made him jealous, especially with Remus grinning with contentedness. Maybe that was the ‘Dark Side’ overprotectiveness shining through.

Yeah, probably.

_________________________

Roman laughed loudly as he was scooped up and tickled by his brother, who was grinning happily.

Part one of his plan: success!

_________________________

Patton watched the twins (well, the brothers) grinning and laughing and smiled softly.

That’s adorable!

He wished he had a camera, this would look great in the family photo album.

As you can see, Patton often tried to ignore the bad in life in favor of the good.

The moral side then turned to Logan, who was also watching the creative sides.

“Brownie?”

Logan blinked, looking a bit disoriented.

“What?”

“Would you like a brownie?”

Paton smiled brightly.

“Are… are you serious?” Logan looked shocked.

Patton swallowed.

His smile wavered.

“Yeah! I was going to give them to Roman, but since he’s so young now, I don’t want him to damage his teeth. So…” he looked at the logical side questioningly, “Want one?”

_________________________

Logan was slightly annoyed.

A brownie?

A… brownie?!

This was the side who had pressed skip, the side who was one of the main factors of Roman’s regression.

But, Logan reasoned, he knew that Patton hadn’t meant to be a factor, and that he had tried to comfort Roman with his (to the princely side at least) meager ‘We love you.’

With the skip though… Logan knew he was overwhelmed, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

But… Patton was trying.

In truth, Logan didn’t want to forgive Patton, especially not so soon after the whole ‘event’.

But, perhaps the brownie would be good. Eating chocolate has been shown to increase levels of the neurotransmitter serotonin, which helps reduce the stress that leads to anxiety, which would definitely be helpful for him and the other sides in this situation.

Logan sighed but accepted.

“Sure.”

________________________

Remus‘s insides were screaming with joy. His baby bro wanted him to stay!

The little crown on the prince’s head sat slightly askew, causing it to cover Roman’s eyes.

Remus pushed the paper coronet away, then ruffled his brother’s dark brown curls.

Despite the moral side being in his room, the smol one’s love washed away most of the bad feelings.

The precious little prince.

________________________

Roman was glad that stage one of his mission had went well, but there were other sad big people too! And sad=bad.

The small royal narrowed his eyes and gazed around the room, before his line of sight landed on a Virgil who was anxiously chewing his thumbnail.

Next target spotted.

And so phase two of his plan began.

_________________________

Virgil saw the little bean staring at him.

Why was he staring at him?

Did he do something wrong?

Had he upset the prince in some way?

Did Roman hate him?!

His worry dissipated as the petite prince’s grin widened and he tugged at Remus’s sleeve, pointing at the anxious side.

“VeeVee!”

You know what, battling that dragon was so worth it.

So frickin’ worth it.

_________________________

Logan looked back to the small royal, seeing the adorable transfer of Roman from one side’s arms to the others.

He gave a subtle smile before returning to his conversation with Patton.

Everything was going to be fine.

Hopefully.

_________________________

Thanks for reading this chapter of the Petite Prince!

This chapter could alternatively be called ‘he’s baby. Literally.’

Any feedback would be great, so don’t be afraid to give constructive criticism.

Thanks again!

[imagine-all-the-things]

Imagine Balthazar finding you alone and bleeding after a hunt with the boys (Re-written)

Author: imagine-all-the-things Reader Gender: N/A Word Count: 724 Warnings: Blood and Cursing Note: Rewrite from a One-Shot I wrote 5 years ago "Damn" you hissed in pain, looking down at the ever growing blood stain that was seeping through your clothing. It seemed that the Acheri you were hunting had given you one hell of a slash in your side. What a lovely gift. You rolled your eyes and started to look around, realizing you had no fucking clue where you were... and Sam and Dean were nowhere in sight. Dammit. You must have gotten separated from them in all the chaos. Although, it's not like this was the first time this ever happened- in fact it happened way more than you would like to admit... but Sam and Dean always found you- They would always come back to you. They were your family.

With a huff you leaned up against a wall, weighing your options. You could leave and try to find the boys with the hopes that you won't run into the Acheri again, although with you bleeding out like this you'd probably exhaust all your energy- risking passing out in your search. You could stay here and scream their names, but at the risk that they won't hear you and something else will... orrr you could just stay here, hide, save your energy and wait for the boys to come looking for you. Yea... That sounded like the best option.

You wince in pain, pressing your hand against you wound, applying pressure in hopes to stop some of the bleeding as you slid down onto the floor. You started to think of all the ways you could die on these hunts, hoping this one wasn't it... what a pathetic way it would be to die; In a cold, dark room... Alone. You let out a silent laugh at the depressing thought- because you rather laugh about it, instead of crying.

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

Minutes felt like hours... you weren't entirely sure how long you had been sitting here.. just thinking... waiting. Desperately hoping this wasn't the one time they would decide to leave you behind.

With a hiss you pull your hand away from your wound, trying to assess the damage done and just about how long you had till you completely bled out. If you were being honest with yourself- It wasn't looking too good. The slight, light-headed feeling that was creeping up on you only solidifying that fact. God dammit... Sam... Dean... Where are you? Please Don't let me die... not here.

You close your eyes, praying that someone... anyone will come save you. It remained silent for what felt like an eternity, though in reality it was only a minute at tops. You could feel your mind fading from blood loss, when you heard the familiar sound of wings flapping. You opened your eyes weakly, expecting to see Castiel in front of you. However, you were slightly surprised to see Balthazar instead... but only slightly.

"Balthazar..." Was all you managed to get out, only realizing now that just talking was painful.

The Angel knelt down in front of you, a hint of worry in his eyes, though the look on his face did not match. He started to speak and although his voice was calming, the words that left his mouth were not as pleasant.

"You really are a terrible hunter"

"And you... really are... an ass..."

"Oh, that hurts" He said sarcastically, with a slight chuckle, putting a hand over his heart. With your last bit of energy, you roll your eyes at him. Of course he would be the one to make jokes while you literally bleed out in front of him.

You close your eyes, not having the energy to keep them open anymore and not long after, you feel yourself being picked up by Balthazar. It feels nice in this arms. Warm. It was comforting in comparison to the cold hard ground you had been sitting on just moments ago. Plus... the snarky angel- although he was a pain at times- had secretly grown on you.

Balthazar spoke once more, but you couldn't quite make out what it was as you started to completely fade out out consciousness.

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

"You will be alright, love"

[mariamermaid]

Dark Rituals

Draco X  fem. Reader

Summary: In order to flee from their death eater families, the two young lovers search for a way out…

Words: 3.2k

Warning: Blood, dark curses…

 Halloween Masterlist.-->

 Come to me

In the night hours

And I can´t sleep

´cause thoughts devour

Thoughts of you consume

 Your cold feet almost lost feel as you snuck through the corridors. The heavy book in your arms was dusty and the pages felt old and dry against you skin. You couldn´t allow yourself to get caught again, but you had to find him. Now.

 You had a milder judgement, especially since Snape was director. But he knew that the other students shouldn´t become too suspicious. Your sudden friendship with a certain Slytherin boy was too much already. Times had changed. You caught a glimpse of the moon outside the walls of Hogwarts. In a few days would be full moon. It was now or never.

 You waited patiently until the teacher had left the hall, then you toddled to the room of requirement, your breathing heavy with adrenalin. You didn´t knock and the sudden swung of the door, let Draco recoil.

“I thought you already slept.” He mumbled, his body sitting up on the satin couch. Your letter had caught him by surprise and then you had asked him to come at a time like this. He was worried.

“I think I found a solution.” You exclaimed and watched how his tired eyes enlightened by hope. You dropped the book onto the couch and sat down, searching frantic through the pages. Draco´s hand caught yours and made you look up again. Unlike you, he was still calm, he was always the calmer one. The one, who thought before talking, who, remembered the table manners. At least he wasn´t a disgrace for his family…

You sighed and pushed the open book to him, his eyes wandering over the words. Then you could watch how they suddenly grew big, then stopped at the very last words and his head slowly turned back into your direction.

You´d lie saying that you weren´t nervous. Hell, your entire body was shaking.

You proposed a risky spell with several consequences bigger than ever imagined.

“I´d understand if you don´t-“, he didn´t let you finish.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked instead, now both of his hands grabbing yours.

“I.. I don´t know, but it´s the only thing that could work.” You explained quietly, your eyes now searching everything in the room in order not to look at his waiting face.

He jumped up, so quickly, you flinched. Then he walked up and down the room, his hand running through his blonde hair.

“Draco, I understand that you don´t want to do this… I mean we don´t even know if it´ll work.”

With the same rapidity he kneeled down in front of you, the solemn light of the waxing moon hitting his face.

“I want this. I really want this.” He reassured you, the explicit certainty in his voice almost made you scream.

“I want to marry you.”

 I can´t help but love you

Even though I try not to

I can´t help but want you

I know that i´d die without you

 “Hermione please listen to me!” You grabbed her arm, pulling her back. You had seated her at a bench outside. The wind was piercing cold, the autumn air searching through your heavy jacket.

“How could you?!” She asked you again, her voice filled with anger and disappointment.

“I didn’t have a choice; they would have killed me or my family. Do not tell you wouldn´t do anything in order to protect your parents? Your family?”

Your words brought her to stop and slowly she turned back to look at you. She knew you well enough to know, that you were saying the truth.

“I´m sorry”, she mumbled, but you shook your head. “It´s fine.” You reassured her.

“No, it´s not. I know that you would never possibly do something like this.” You nodded and silently accepted her apology. There was no point of arguing now.

“I have found a plan, it could make the mark disappear, free me from this curse. But it´s risky.” You explained carefully, but Hermione nodded quickly. She was ready to help.

“What do you need?”

“Well, first and foremost, I need you.”

Her eyebrows furrowed as she starred at you and the wind blew a few strands of her locks into her pale face.

“I need you as my… witness.” You explained even more carefully, but she didn´t understand yet.

“Witness?”

“A witness to marriage.”

Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. Within a second she stood so close to you, her hands grabbing your arms.

“You want me as you maid of honor?!”

You nodded again, nervously biting your lip. “Yes, I found a ritual, very dark and very old. It certifies a marriage in order to remove all marks and curses laid on the pair. I´m talking about the old magic from the Salem witches.”

“Wait, but you´re talking about a ritual that removes the marks on the both of them. You´re planning on marrying a death eater?” You couldn´t even speak up, while Hermione finished her thought. She gasped for air once again. “Is it Malfoy? Are you planning on marrying Draco Malfoy?!”

 Stay with me a little longer

I will wait for you

Shadows creep

And want grows stronger

Deeper than the truth

 You needed two witnessed to confirm the marriage and you needed people, who would lie for you and were able to fulfill the high standards of the old magic. Hermione wasn´t your closest friend, well you had lost many of your friends, when you started staying away from them in order to protect them. But you had always got along so well, having easy conversations. You understood her struggle as a muggle blood, you found it hard yourself and bounded over the very first year in Hogwarts. You were a disgrace since your beginning at Hogwarts, where you were parted into Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin like the rest of your family.

 You had asked Draco to find the second witness. Luckily, he understood that he couldn´t just chose Zabini or Goyle. So, he knocked at the door of probably the only person that might help him.

“Mr. Malfoy, how can I help you?” Snape asked in his monotone voice as always.

“May I come in?” Snape nodded and closed the door behind him, but not before glancing down the halls again.

“I need your help.” Draco didn´t bother to sit or talk around it. “I want to get out. I don´t want to be a death eater, I never wanted this.”

Snape barely nodded. “I understand, but I can´t help you with that.”

“Yes, you can.” He took out a semi neatly folded piece of paper from his jacket. He handed it over to Snape, only two words were written on it.

“Mr. Malfoy, what your proposing here is…” Snape flinched while reading the words. He had heard of the ritual, but never imagined to put use to it.

“Risky and dangerous, I know. But it´s my only chance, our only chance.” Snape watched him, he saw certainty in his eyes, he saw a chance he never had.

“You know, it´ll only work if you really love each other.”

Draco shrugged, but Snape stormed closer to him. “Draco, do you love her? Can you imagine living with her till the end of days?” He asked sharply, but Draco held against his stare.

“I do and I will do anything to keep her safe with me.”

 I can´t help but love you

Even though I try not to

I can´t help but want you

I know that i´d die without you

 The night was only a few hours away, you had started avoiding Draco at all costs. You had literally run off into the girls bathroom and then chatted with Myrte for half an hour, just to be sure he was gone. You didn´t know what had come over you, but the fear that it couldn´t work was just too big. You were literally about to blow off the ritual, well the entire wedding.

The moon was rising and you cursed at the perfectly filled circle for looking down at you.

When you entered the room of requirements you were surprised to find Hermione already there.

 “What are you doing here?” You asked overly annoyed, she still shrugged innocently, ignoring your angry tone.

“I don´t fully approve of this, but it´s a wedding and I´m gonna help you get ready.”

Goosebumps crawled upon your skin when you heard the word wedding.

“Yeah, you can leave then, the wedding´s off.” You snarled, but Hermione remained ruthless.

She ignored your comment and pulled your arm towards the closet. You gasped when eyeing the dress.

“Hermione, it´s…”

“Stunning I know, it´s why I picked it.” You couldn´t help but laugh. “For somebody who doesn´t approve, you are pretty supporting.” She softly grabbed your hands and you turned back to her.

“I can´t stop you, I know that. But you deserve all the happiness in this world and if that´s the way to get it, I´ll help you get there.”

She smiled sadly at you and you felt yourself tearing up. Before you could even weakly speak, she hugged you tightly.

“Oh Hermione”, you sobbed against her shoulder. “What if it doesn´t work?”

“Do you remember the Yule ball?” She asked whispering.

“You went with that Brick from Durmstrang and Draco was dying of jealousy, he didn´t talk to Pansy all evening. He even dropped her on the dancefloor. He couldn´t help but stare at you.” She paused. “You never knew it and I didn´t tell you, but when I was sitting outside and you were grabbing something to drink and I cried about Ron and his stupidity, he ran into me. He was all over the place, and then I straight up told him; He should´ve asked you in the first place then. You should´ve seen his look, I´ve never seen him so vulnerable. You make him a better person.”

 I can´t hep but be wrong in the dark

´cause i´m overcome in this war of hearts

I can´t help but want oceans to part

´cause i´m overcome in this war of hearts

  You knew Hermione tried everything and in any other situations, those words would have been reassuring. But not now. The thought of seeing him dying because of this old, stupid ritual; it was too much.

You left Hermione´s warm hug and stormed out of the room of requirements, right into a hard chest. You looked up to find Snape right in front of you, his face neutral as always but his mouth slightly opened. He seemed ready to speak, but now words left his mouth. A certain glimmer was in his eyes, you thought he looked more friendly with it. It might have been dead since Lilly Potter…

“Y/n…” You hadn´t noticed Draco, he stood a few feet behind Snape, a white shirt and dark pants. His hair was sleekly put back, he looked good. But the look in his eyes, you couldn´t even bare it.

“I´m sorry, Draco”, you sobbed and ran past the two Slytherins. 

Tears started rolling down and uncontrollable sobs escaped your mouth. Your dress, which was mostly made of thin materials, flew in the air as you stepped outside. You ran down the hill from the castles as fast as your feet could carry you. You reached the black lake in a record time and completely breathless. The night was young, but the moon shone bright.

Your strength was gone and you collapsed next to a tree. There was no snow, but the temperatures were freezing. You knew the ground was dirty, but all you could do, was fall onto your knees and continue to sob.

You hated yourself for thinking you could go through with it. Afterall you were stupid teenagers, too young to be adults, too old to be children.

 It hurt even more, because you knew what it meant. You were a prisoner of Voldemort’s followers; you would never be free. And you had lost Draco. 

It was truly hopeless.

 “Y/n?”

You froze.

You hadn´t noticed that Draco had followed you. But you felt his presence right behind you. He stood there, the silver light hitting his skin in a perfect angle. You didn´t turn however, you remained sitting on the ground, your eyes facing the lake. You had stopped sobbing, but the tears didn´t stop.

“I´m sorry”, you croaked and swallowed. You voice was rough and sounded harsher than expected.

“I´m sorry”, you repeated with steadiness. “I shouldn´t have brought the idea up. It was a mistake.”

You heard how the ground beneath his feet ruffled and within seconds, he kneeled in front of you.

“Don´t.” He cupped your face with both of his hands. “Don´t be sorry. We´ll get through it, together. Married or not. Marked or not. Because we have each other.”

Finally, you had the courage to look up and stare in his mesmerizing eyes. “We´re marked even if we´d win, we´ll go to Azkaban.” You smiled sadly, but Draco didn´t let go.

“What made you think, it wouldn´t work?” He asked with such intensity, you let out a rough, sarcastic, laugh.

“Why? Draco, we´re young! Do we even know what love is? Don´t tell me you were not worried! We could die trying this!” You sighed and swallowed the tears that came up again.

“People tried it before. The mark didn´t go away, it absorbed them. They died. I don´t want to see you dying.”

“Why do you think I would die?”

You couldn´t help but stop and stare at him. The question was so full of truth, it hurt you to answer. So, you didn´t.

“You think I don´t love you enough? Is that why?”

You shook your head, not knowing what to say. But he knew it was the truth.

“Do you know how you make me feel? When I look at you, my heart hurts because I love you so much. You don´t know how many times I went over my future plans, they all sucked, unless you were there with me. I love you, Y/n, with my entire heart and if you still want to, it would be an honor to me, if you´d became my wife.”

You listened to each and every word he said and the more he talked, the more you smiled. Draco wasn´t one to talk about his feelings, but now you were surer than ever.

“Okay.” You nodded.

“Okay!” He finally closed the gap and kissed you.

  I can´t help but love you

Even though I try not to

I can´t help but want you

I know that i´d die without you

 You came back, hand in hand with your fiancé. Hermione smiled and you even caught a glance of Snape´s small grin.

“Glad to see you stuck up with her, Malfoy”, Hermione added smiling and padded Draco’s shoulder.

“I don´t want to interrupt you two lovebirds, but the moon is dropping. This might be your last chance…” You looked up to Draco, he already was smiling.

“We´ll do it.”

  You had sat down in a circle of red candles; a bigger one with white candles included Hermione and Snape. The room was dark, through the window was the last bit of the full moon.

Various symbols decorated the floor, you sat across Draco, he tightly held your hands.

A dark flower crown sat on your head and red lipstick rounded your lips perfectly. In the middle, between you and Draco were four bowls, a chalice and a long silver dagger. The four bowls were symbols for the elements, one with water, fire, earth and feathers for air. The smell of burned sage laid in the air. A dark shadow settled across your and Draco´s heads like a veil. Hermione and Snape had their books opened in front of them. They exchanged looks, but then nodded, as did you and Draco.

“Blood turn black and heart turn stone

Two lovers shall bound

Two lovers shall hound

Brought upon them, Head to toe, skin and nerve

The curse will break, blood will turn black

Hearts will turn gold”

Hermione and Snape spoke synchronized, even though the books laid in front of them, they didn´t need to look down. As the spoke, Draco took the dagger and cut his dark mark, a thin line of blood was opened and slowly, but surely more blood followed. You saw that he didn´t flinch, you bit your lip as you cut your mark only seconds later. Then you took each other arms, pressing the open wounds against the other. As the blood mixed, a few droplets fell down into the chalice.

 “Enemies of ocean and sun, elements of night and day

Hear us

We´ll curse your eyes, we´ll curse your lies

Protected from evil we shall be.”

Draco then continued.

“I can´t help but be wrong in the dark

´cause i´m overcome in this war of hearts.”

You smiled as he spoke and he nodded again.

“I can´t help but want oceans to part

´cause i´m overcome in this war of hearts”

You lifted the chalice to your lips and took a sip, then you offered it to Draco, who did the same. As the taste of blood remained on your lips, you kissed Draco.

Then you felt a slight sting, both of you looking down as you watched how the dark mark disappeared, nothing but a scar from the dagger was left then.

 ***

The war was over.

It was almost a year later and you hurried through your apartment in the middle of London. “Draco, they´ll be coming soon, where is the wine and the champagne?” Then you heard the bell rang and Draco, who hurried past you. He pressed a kiss on your head and went then to open the door.

Potter, Ginny!” He greeted them, giving Potter a friendly hand shake, patting his shoulder and hugging Ginny. Shortly after them arrived Hermione and Ron and last but not least Neville and Luna. Hermione hugged you tightly as you stood a little on the side of the group.

“You look stunning, Y/n”, she nodded and the rest said their welcomes. You smiled. “Yeah, it´s going well, we´re happy here.” She pressed you arm and offered a genuine smile.

In the meantime, Harry had approached Draco to help him with the champagne. “I would´ve never dreamed of this day”, he explained smiling and Draco chuckled. “If you had told me in the first or second grade, I would have killed you!” Harry laughed, but then his face went serious again. “I´m glad you decided this way, you know?  I know it wasn´t always easy, especially for you, but I know you chose the right side.” Draco nodded in agreement. After all this time, they had made peace.

Ron interrupted the round as he clumsily beat a glass of champagne with a knife.

“I want to make a toast!” He announced and the rest gathered around, smiling and laughing.

“To Y/n and Draco, who stood against it all!” All of your friends and applaud, Draco next to you looped his arm around you and pressed his lips against your cheek.

“To Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy!”

[go--ask--alice]

Ephemeris

One

Alice Napier.

To say I am merely happy is an insult to the english language and to the emotion in itself. I feel as though I am in a state of euphoric bliss!! Yesterday may be the single most incredible day of my life. The runner up being the first time he said 'I love you' and a close third that night on the rooftop in London.

Being that this is the first entry into my new journal, let me get out as many details as I can, for posterity sake!

This had to be the most traditional non-traditional wedding that has ever taken place in Gotham City. It pains me to even write this but I fear that the man officiating lastnight is probably dead in a ditch somewhere! Otherwise only myself, J, and the ever loyal Frost were in attendance but it was still a lavish affair. Unlike most bride-to-be's I was left in the dark for most of the planning of this wedding. He kept mumbling something about "project: royal wedding.." and "must be perfect!" then scooting off to meet with Johnny. This went on for a good month or so after we got back from overseas, and while I knew it would be a very short engagement I did not expect that by year's end we would be married.

We had returned to Gotham just in time to see the leaves change color. No sooner had the first snow fallen was I informed that we needed to pick a date. After much consideration and bickering it was decided that we would be married on the first day of winter. The snow would be blanketing the earth and there was the perfect little space on the far edge of the property. A small alcove of trees obscured it from any prying eyes that may be keeping tabs on my elusive Joker and it allowed us the privacy that J so desperately strived for.

The one thing I was given control over was my dress. The only soul to see it besides me was the seamstress that created it. J had relinquished this tiny bit of power to me so it could remain a surprise for him until yesterday, you can never say this man isn't a traditionalist! The woman who made the dress has worked for him for years and is responsible for many of his most iconic looks. If anyone has ever come across The Joker when he purposely places himself on display in one of his clubs has seen her exquisite work. My needs for the dress were few; I insisted on pure white in the finest silk available, a (faux) fur capelet, and Chantilly lace imported from England. Beyond that I let her have fun, I trusted the final product would rival anything J was planning to wear. An apprentice of hers was tasked to tailor J's suit for the ceremony as well as both of our shoes which were custom made and imported from Italy.

I woke up yesterday morning at the literal crack of dawn with as much excitement as a kid on Christmas morning. To the best of my knowledge J didn't sleep at all which isn't a surprise but I didn't even hear him come upstairs, he was supposed to be sleeping in the room across the hall for the night while I stayed in our bedroom. I'm sure he was holed up in his office til all hours of the night, my beautiful brooding man.

There was a note slid under the bedroom door from my love. That note will be between these pages forever.

Knowing that I wouldn't be seeing him until the afternoon I had to calm my nerves on my own and resorted to taking an incredibly long bubble bath followed by some tea and lunch in my room. I began the arduous task of getting ready a few hours before I was due to head downstairs. Frost had my dress delivered to the room sometime in the late morning and refused to give me any clues as to what J had in store for us, though he did seem genuinely excited and I even caught a grin on his stoic face.

I am no professional but I think I did a pretty wonderful job with my hair and make up. Dark and classic. My hair left long and flowing just how I know my J likes it. I had it re-dyed not long after we came back state side so the sapphire blue was as vibrant as possible. My make up was a bit harder to pin down, I've learned in our time together that smudge proof is my best friend! A dark smokey eye and deep crimson lips, the lipstick imparticular needed to stay in place as the our night began.

I managed to be ready and downstairs mere minutes before 3:30 and as I descended the stairs I was met with quite the sight. Johnny Frost in the most dapper suit I've ever seen him in was anxiously tapping his foot and checking his watch while peaking out the large stained glass doors. No doubt unsure what to do if I was late coming downstairs. After a few moments I had to put him out of his misery and make my presence know, the look on his face was pure relief. I can only imagine the stress J had put him under to get everything ready, perfectionist is an understatement when discussing The Joker.

Wordlessly I linked my arm through his waiting elbow as he opened the door to the garden. I can only hope to transcribe the magnificence that awaited me on the other side! The sun was low in the afternoon sky, this being the shortest day of the year, and it illuminated the pine trees that bordered the back of the property. On the ground was a path of small blue lights like will-o'-wisps just starting to glow leading through the trees to the small clearing where I knew my love was waiting for me. As we began to walk I was hit with a wave of emotions so strong that I stumbled for a moment and Frost had to steady me. He leaned down and in his gruff voice whispered, "I've never seen Mr. J so excited, he really does loves you Miss Alice." This of course only spurred on my emotional roller coaster and I squeezed his arm as confirmation that I was okay to continue.

Inside I was an absolute wreck. I was literal moments away from marrying the man I had dreamt about for years, obsessed over in the media and in print, the man I isolated myself from the world for. He could have killed me the moment we met yet somehow here I was about to vow my life to him again this time officially. I will never say that I am the woman who fixed The Joker, there is no fixing his tortured soul, but I genuinely believe I have opened his heart and proved that all creatures are deserving of love. That we all have someone that sees we are worthy of that love.

I was so lost in my own thoughts that I almost didn't realize we were only a few steps away from the tree line, I could see his silhouette against a sea of blue roses, the light bouncing off the stone wall making the flowers appear to glow around him. He was speaking very low to a nervous man who was nodding profusely at him with terrified wide eyes. It took only the briefest of moments for him to see me. Frost had silently let go of my arm and was walking around the perimeter of the small clearing til he was at J's side. Our eyes met for the first time all day and time ceased to exist.

There he stood, my Joker, my love, my forever, his shocking green hair slicked back perfectly from his face, his lips a bright cherry red were spread into a toothy smile I had rarely seen. It was hard to pull myself away from his magnetic blue eyes to take in the rest of him. Faintly I could hear music playing and I slowly began to walk towards him. My beautiful Joker had spared no expense on his suit, perfectly tailored to his slim muscular body. The jacket was inky black with a faint brocade pattern in silk thread, the pants were the same luxurious fabric as the jacket only solid. A black silk shirt pulled tight over his slightly heaving chest, I could see the rise and fall as I walked closer to his side. This was one of the few occasions where I have seen J with a proper tie done up correctly, I believe it was a trinity knot, and a gorgeous new tie pin made of black cobalt with onyx stones. The shoes were a favorite of mine, I actually pick them out in a shop in London and they were custom made by a cordwainer based in Italy. And of course in proper Joker style his powerful hands were adorned with all of my favorite rings, the only flashes of gold in his entire outfit, I was giddy with the anticipation of adding a new one to his left hand.

I had chosen to not carry a bouquet down the aisle, instead I wore a single perfect blue rose in my hair. This particular bloom was laying atop my new journal when I found it yesterday morning so it was only fitting to wear it to meet my Joker at the alter.

When I was finally only a few steps away he reached his pale hand out to take mine and pull me close. I could see the restraint plain as day on his face as he let go and took a step back, he gave himself a long moment to look me over and I could see the lust growing in his eyes when they met mine again. The anticipation we both felt in that moment was beyond our imaginations. Later in the night J told me it took all his control not to shoot the officiant between the eyes and send Frost away so he could have me right there on the spot! Dramatic? Yes, but I believed him completely.

The ceremony itself was brief, the man brought in was obviously terrified but did a fine job. I only found out after the fact that preforming this act was in exchange for a large debt that was owed to The Joker. In doing this favor it would clear the debt but also thanks to the man's connections within the local government it legitimized our union and would secretly have the necessary documents sealed and notorized. I swear I heard a muted gun shot not long after we exchanged vows but I am not going to question it.

Our vows were succinct but incredibly powerful. They are the one small piece that I will forever keep to myself. Suffice to say, the love that lives in our hearts is something that will never be broken, not by time, space, or anything the world throws at us. He is my King and I now proudly stand at his side, his Queen and his partner.

As I write this we are currently on a very brief Honeymoon, one of business and pleasure, J had some pressing business to attend to so I am here patiently waiting for him to return to the rarely used penthouse we have been staying in. I still want to record the events that transpired after the actual wedding, hopefully I'll have some time soon to write them down. For now I want to be prepared to greet my husband when he returns, I have not yet had my fill of his devilishly powerful body.

-Alice

[itsclydebitches]

Clammy

Summary: Aziraphale's molt is upon him. He has to decide what to do with the feathers

A park bench and supernaturally beautiful weather. A basket of sandwiches, fruit, crisps, and a rather large selection of chocolate truffles. A bottle of Pinot Noir between them. Crowley stretched out his legs and thought that if this was it, all they ever managed to wring from this world, it just might be enough.

“Divine,” Aziraphale proclaimed, polishing off the last raspberry truffle. The sun had left chocolate coated over his fingers and he set to licking it off, heedless of decorum. Crowley designed to watch.

“Not precisely the word I’d choose,” he said. “Considering I bought them and all.”

“But Mrs. Sutherland made them.”

“But you don’t know what I did to them between here and the bakery.”

Aziraphale froze, thumb halfway between his lips and a smear of chocolate on his cheek. The shock lasted only a moment before he was rolling his eyes. “Of course I know. You forgot to chill them so now they’re a half-melted mess.”

“...touché.”

Not that half-melted messes had ever stopped him. Aziraphale continued to work his way steadily through dessert while Crowley watched the foot traffic in front of them, sneaking glances every now and then from behind the safety of his glasses. It was while he was most assuredly looking only at the changing leaves past Aziraphale’s shoulder that he noticed—

“That time of the century, huh?”

Aziraphale froze for the second time, eyes widening just a bit. But Crowley didn’t call him out on the absurd little wiggle he’d been trying (and apparently failing) to do subtly against the back of the bench. There was no one looking but Crowley and if he didn’t mind chocolate-covered fingers or crumbs down the front of his vest, there was little reason to think he’d mind this. With a sigh Aziraphale gave up and shoved the box away, reaching to scratch rather ferociously at his back.

“It’s so undignified,” he said, tone just this side of petulant. “I am meant to be an ethereal being. A creature of unsurpassed glory and wisdom—”

“Think rather highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“Not some, some, some common avian enslaved to his biology. I don’t even have biology. Not technically.” The last part was definitely a whine.

Crowley indulged in a snort and slid further down the bench, nearly boneless against the wood. Literally. His body bent in ways not generally allowed by spines and pelvises, but no joints dared raise a complaint. “You’ve got it easy, angel. I go through two of them.”

“Two?”

“Wings and,” Crowley gestured down his entire body, suddenly looking a little unsure. “You know. I am a snake.”

“Right.” Nothing like the embarrassment of another to sooth a bit of your own. Aziraphale cast him a crooked smile. “That’s... well. Quite sorry to hear it, dear boy.”

“You and me both.”

Another quick press against the bench and then Aziraphale deliberately went still. He let out a breath. Popped another truffle into his mouth and closed his eyes, trying to savor it. When he opened them again he could see Crowley’s concerned look, even behind the glasses.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “Over sixty molts since the beginning. You’d think we’d grow used to them by now.”

Crowley barked out a laugh. “Grow used to what? The incessant itching? Constant pain in your back? Exhaustion? I slept for a month after my last molt. Only woke up because Beez themselves was looking for me. Molts are proof that She’s more than a little sadistic, angel.”

“Hush.” But the slap against Crowley’s arm was half-hearted at best. “I suppose I could return Upstairs. It’s always easier without a mortal body compounding things...”

“You really want to spend the next few weeks up there?”

No. He didn’t.

There was a certain understanding that came with annoyances shared across thousands of years. Without being asked Crowley miracled together the rest of their lunch and sent a quick thought towards the London traffic, urging it to thin out. He’d drive Aziraphale back to his shop, say goodbye like it was any other day... and then proceed to only call and text for the next three to four weeks. Their first substantial time away from one another since the Tadfield airbase, but they’d been expecting this. Molts, for all the grumbling, were intensely private things.

And as Crowley stood just outside the bookshop’s entrance, pressing the basket of leftovers into Aziraphale’s hand, he didn’t dare ask that they might change that too.

***

The bookshop was a disaster.

The space had grown considerably in the last two weeks, making room for a collection of supplies that would have rivaled any doctor’s office. Electric heating pads were a marvelous invention that Aziraphale now hoarded, along with the small pharmacy of mortal medications that didn’t seem to do much, but he was inclined to try nonetheless. Safe from the books were melting ice packs he used when unexpectedly feverish; weighted blankets when, a mere hour later, he was suddenly chilled. In the leftover space surrounding his most comfortable couch was the food, a veritable feast of everything salty and sweet. Some of it he’d ordered in, slipping the containers through the smallest crack in the door and slipping exorbitant tips back out. The rest came from Crowley. Per the unspoken promise he hadn’t stopped by again in person, but he could easily miracle things directly into the shop. Aziraphale often looked up from one of his books to find chocolates or tarts or freshly made bubble tea now sitting on the table. He gobbled it all up with a hunger he wasn’t supposed to feel.

Where there weren’t supplies there were feathers. A stunning collection of white that settled into every nook and cranny; an ethereal blanket of snow. Aziraphale didn’t bother picking up after himself whenever an old feather dropped and a new one began the arduous process of growing in. Most would disappear over the next week, fading out of this reality entirely. It was a rather convenient thing (perhaps the only convenient part of this whole process), with just a handful of flight feathers to deal with in the end.

Which was precisely what Aziraphale dealt with now, curled up on the couch with Persuasion resting forgotten in his lap. Disposal of these feathers was no minor thing. It required patience and careful thought.

...Which Aziraphale was quite happy to ignore once his phone buzzed. It took him a full minute to find it amongst all the mess and another to remember which button allowed him to light up the screen. Two more remembering his passcode. Really, he could appreciate humans’ continued advancements in technology, but did they have to keep making them so hellishly complicated too?

Ah. Now that he thought about it, that drive might have been Ligur’s doing.

hows it going?

Aziraphale smiled. Three simple words from Crowley and he already felt better. Though admittedly only a bit. One breath later and that incessant itch reared its ugly head again, along with the familiar ache in his lower back. One wouldn’t think that losing and re-growing feathers would be such a monumental feat, yet here he was, taking a moment to breathe before daring a response.

Crowley,

I’ve been better, as you know. Nothing to be concerned with, however. I expect only another week of this nonsense before things return to normal. Shall we get lunch together next Thursday? I greatly appreciate the food you’ve sent over, though I find myself craving something a bit more substantial after all these sweets. Italian would do nicely.

- Aziraphale

The response was immediate.

sure, angel.

There was a beat of silence except for the tick of the clock and a very low hum emanating from two of the heating pads. Then,

need more time to gift your feathers?

Aziraphale’s throat tightened. He blamed it on his poor health.

Crowley,

No, I don’t expect they’ll be any travel this time around. It’s quite nice of you to be thinking about my needs though.

- Aziraphale

His words had the desired effect. Aziraphale’s phone suddenly buzzed as ferocious as a beehive, text after text coming through about how Crowley was not nice, they’d had this discussion, he was actually being selfish, if you’d just listen, and by the way texting isn’t the same as sending a letter you stuffy, outdated, impossible—

With a chuckle Aziraphale let him keep going, well aware that no answer was the best response of all. As he leaned further into the cushions another primary dislodged and settled in his lap. This one didn’t look like it was going anywhere.

Aziraphale stroked the feather tip to tip, thinking.

No. The person he wanted to give this to wasn’t far away at all.

***

Angel feathers had, shockingly, once been a part of an angel. Imagine that. As such, they had a bit more significance to them than what came from your average hawk or peacock or whatever else might be leaving bits of themselves behind. Aziraphale didn’t know why some primaries remained while the rest disappeared—another question on the tip of his tongue that he’d never dared ask—but every angel knew that they’d wind up with a small handful after their molting and those must be dealt with in the most careful fashion. There was a vault up in heaven that catalogued and stored each deposit, perhaps with the hope that the feathers might one day be turned into weapons against the enemy. For those on Earth, however, there was the expectation that they not allow these pieces of divinity to fall into the wrong hands.

Aziraphale knew it was the same among the demons, another similarity that others were too scared or blind to question. They would molt and be left with feathers that gave off what one might term a bad aura: nasty thoughts and feelings that radiated outward, soaking into the back of a mortal’s mind and strengthening the longer they held on. Aziraphale didn’t know what Crowley had done with his own feathers over the years, whether he simply tucked them away where they’d never be found, or handed them off to those who were later remembered as the more unhinged individuals throughout history. He’d never had the nerve to ask. He, however, had always considered the remains of his former wings to be a gift and gave careful consideration to who would receive them. Angel wings had rather the opposite effect, promoting feelings of goodwill, creativity, and a general sense of peace when held. Aziraphale had thus handed his off to writers who fashioned them into quills, great chiefs who wore them with pride, poor mothers who might not have jewels or vases to display in their homes, but they could set this on their mantelpiece and know that someone was watching over them. It was a process that deserved his utmost attention.

Though in truth, Aziraphale had an inkling of what he'd do with his next molt in 1941. Now, with Armageddon behind them, he was quite sure of his decision.

Crowley,

My deepest apologies, dear boy. I meant to say that you’re quite considerate. Is that better?

- Aziraphale

P.S. It’s hardly my fault humans have forgotten how to properly write to one another. Besides, you ought to be proud of me. Convincing this tech to put in line breaks was no easy task!

His phone blew up once more as Aziraphale shook out his wings, trying to encourage the remaining stragglers to finally let go. He must look a right mess, physically done in and sporting only half his usual plumage. It was perhaps no surprise that molting had become a rather private affair over the millennia. Anyone who saw an angel in this state might second-guess their supposed superiority. Aziraphale hadn’t bothered with a mirror in weeks.

The heat was doing wonders for the muscles surrounding his wings though. The ibuprofen, while perhaps not effective under normal circumstances, seemed to be taking the edge off his headache. Crowley kept up a vibrating litany in his lap. He was clearly busy, yet just a moment later Aziraphale caught the scent of garlic and looked up to find a takeout box of pasta sitting on the table.

Fondness surged, helping his new feathers to grow and his mind to settle. Aziraphale placed the primary on a stack of books beside the couch, safely away from his newly arrived lunch.

Crowley,

Thank you <3

~Aziraphale

He’d made his decision. Best to start the implementation of it early.

***

A week and two days later Aziraphale finally left the bookshop. He was what, in human terms, might be called an introvert. Had anyone asked him on an average day whether he’d enjoy spending nearly a month by himself, nothing but books and films to keep his attention, he would have gasped in pure pleasure at the idea. Now, having lived that life once more—one always tended to forget such things as the years went by—Aziraphale recalled how little fantasy matched up with reality. Taking that first breath of fresh air was an unexpected pleasure.

“Angel!”

As was the company. Though perhaps ‘unexpected’ was quite disingenuous of him.

Crowley waited for him down the street, Bentley parked and providing the perfect object to lean against. Aziraphale took in his appearance, identical to when they’d last met with the exception of a pendant necklace spicing up his outfit and rather longer hair. Crowley must have encouraged the growth. Aziraphale was rather sure hair didn’t get to that length in just three weeks time, no matter how much Crowley might yell at it in the mirror. He had most piled up in a bun with the occasional wisp framing his face.

Perfect. Aziraphale couldn’t have planned it better if he’d tried.

“You don’t like it,” Crowley said, noticing his gaze, assuming the worst. One hand lifted instinctually to his hair, twitching like he wanted to start tearing it out. “I’ll change it back. If you want.”

In that moment, with Crowley framed by London traffic and the quickly fading light, Aziraphale had the uncomfortable realization that he could ask him to do anything. Anything at all and it would be done without question or hesitation. The power made him hesitate. Aziraphale knew now that he had to guard his words: ask for nothing more than what Crowley deserved to give; certainly nothing worse than what he’d forced him to endure before.

Wait for me.

“Not at all,” he said. “I love it! You’re just missing that final touch.”

“...final touch?”

They knew separation well. One month was nothing to them. Aziraphale slipped back into Crowley’s space, easy as you please, allowed to turn him slightly and gain access to his bun. Crowley was so focused on the hand Aziraphale had placed on his arm that he didn’t notice the object until it was slipped beneath his hairband.

“What the devil did you put—” Crowley stopped, catching sight of his own reflection in the Bentley’s hood. Aziraphale watched his eyes blow wide behind his glasses.

“Hardly the devil, my dear.”

With the molting finished Aziraphale had been left with eight primaries still in existence on this plane. He’d told Crowley as much over text and had patiently sat through reading the same thoughts he’d already had: it was suspiciously convenient, one might say miraculously so, that he had just enough feathers remaining to number the humans involved in stopping Armageddon. Well, seven humans and one antichrist. The brats deserve it, Crowley had said, voice surprisingly tender down the line. They’ll appreciate it, angel.

No doubt they would. Appreciation wasn’t quite what Aziraphale was going for though.

Upon getting the text that Crowley was outside he’d miracled one of the feathers into the fern he’d gifted him two months back, the only plant in his apartment given the honor of a room to themselves and (Aziraphale would bet) the occasional kind word. The white beauty would be the first thing to greet Crowley when he opened the door, stark against the otherwise dark space.

As Aziraphale donned his coat he’d sent the second feather into the pocket of Crowley’s favorite coat, a surprise for when the weather turned cold and his mood predictably plummeted. The third appeared pressed between the pages of The Extremely Big Book of Astronomy; the fourth now slipped beneath his pillow. By the time Aziraphale was descending the steps of his shop the sixth feather was on its way to Lesley, accompanied by instructions to deliver the inconspicuous envelope at a future date and time, to be decided. It never hurt to have another pick-me-up waiting in the wings. Pun most certainly intended.

The seventh currently rested on the Bentley’s dashboard, yet unnoticed because Crowley was reeling from the feather Aziraphale had slipped into his hair.

“Angel.”

Just that. A breath. So much packed into one single, reverential word. Aziraphale had to swallow hard before he could speak himself.

“I know,” he whispered, trying for steady and failing spectacularly. “We needn’t speak of it if you don’t wish to. Simply know that this decision was the easiest I’ve ever made... and you look quite beautiful, my dear.”

Crowley’s hand rose to brush at the feather, shaking enough that Aziraphale could spot the emotion even in the fading light. He was steady enough to open the door for Aziraphale though, stumbling back around to the driver’s side, managing up until he spotted the second feather on his dashboard. Aziraphale watched him double over and thought that perhaps he’d made a mistake...

No. There’d been enough doubting between them and the care with which Crowley cradled the gift said it all. Even as the rest of him shot the Bentley recklessly through the streets.

For once Aziraphale did not call Crowley out on his driving. There was silence—not even any Queen—all the way back to Crowley’s apartment. Aziraphale caught the tinniest noise, like pain, when Crowley saw the feather in the fern and then he was moving again, nearly tripping over himself in an effort to get to the closet.

It was a door Aziraphale had never seen opened before. He couldn’t even be sure the space had existed before this moment. But the trunk Crowley pulled out was certainly real enough. Aziraphale sucked in a gasp at its age, wood now held together through will and more than one demonic miracle. Crowley hesitated only a moment before flipping the lid.

Inside were black primaries. A couple hundred at least. More than enough to account for one individual’s molts across the centuries.

“Never gave them away,” Crowley said. One hand gripped his feather while the other dove into the trunk, finding and extending a handful of himself. “I was waiting for you.”

Aziraphale tried vainly to keep the tears out of his eyes. He’d never been very good at that. Too soft. Too soft by far.

“Well... I’m here now.”

And he was. As Aziraphale knelt and took Crowley’s face in his hands the feather in his hair slipped out, drifting into the trunk. A spot of white among the black. New amidst the old. It nestled there, settling in.

As did those who had born them.

[sleepymarmot]

Re-liveblog: eps. 4 & 10

Here's something I've been planning to do for a while -- rereading the liveblog of The Untamed I wrote a couple of months ago and looking at my own initial reactions to Jin Guangyao's storyline with new eyes. Returning to old liveblogs is always fun, but particularly when the perspective on something changes so much by the end of the story!

Of course, this turned into a monstrosity with word count in thousands that sat in my drafts for about a month, and involved rewatching most of the scenes the liveblog mentioned, and some that it didn't. Please be warned: this series of posts is not meant to be a comprehensive analysis, and will jump from one point to another or highlight only the things I have changed my mind about, or haven’t talked on this blog before. It is going to include some very personal interpretations and opinions, sometimes possibly (or definitely, in the case of this very post) unpopular or negative. I am here to reflect on my own experience of watching the show almost as much as to write meta about the show itself.

[All re-liveblog posts]

[ep 4]

is this shy illegitimate son the same person who summoned WWX in the first episode, or are they two entirely unrelated bastards? I don’t think the ages match up…

Oh, so that's what I was thinking during Meng Yao's introduction scene: trying to figure out whether he was the same person as Mo Xuanyu or not. That's funny.

[negativity ahead!]

Of course, I was also admiring Xichen's elegant way of Using His Privilege For Good, but I thought that was self-explanatory enough not to put in the liveblog. It didn’t occur to me this scene could be interpreted as a sect leader openly hitting on a disadvantaged youth, or that such an interpretation would be popular, especially in a literal and positive way as opposed to a dark or subversive headcanon. So even if this is ever confirmed to be an intended message of the scene, I’d just say “I recognize the council has made a decision...” and continue to disregard it. Kind of incredible how it manages to squick me in at least five ways -- and xiayo is one of my main ships in this fandom! And not only squick -- in my eyes, sexualizing LXC’s intentions in this scene not only adds something that I don’t like, but actively detracts from the textual, surface meaning and narrative function of LXC’s actions (establishing LXC as a Model Authority Figure who masterfully manipulates the social power dynamics not for self-interest, but for justice, kindness, and peaceful conflict resolution; see also the following scene with the Wens). And from the other side, I think Meng Yao is shocked and impressed specifically because someone like LXC would do this for someone like him without an ulterior motive; I suspect that if he saw this as LXC making an excuse to touch someone attractive, he would only be turned off: a sect leader who can’t keep his hands to himself is nothing new and nothing good from the point of view of JGS’s illegitimate child.

But if this brief brushing of hands holds any in-universe significance in addition to a possible foreshadowing of this relationship’s future importance -- I think I just finally realized what it must be! This interaction is an adaptation of the following scene from the book (which, to be fair, happens when MY and LXC already know each other, not during a first meeting):

Meng Yao had been a famous joke for a certain period of time, which was why a few recognized him. Likely thinking that the son of a prostitute perhaps also carried some unclean things with him, the cultivators didn’t drink from the cups that he had presented with both hands. Instead, they put the cups to the side and even took out white handkerchiefs. As though it felt too uncomfortable, they repeatedly wiped the fingers that they’d touched the teacup with, either intentionally or not. Nie MingJue wasn’t someone mindful to such things. Wei WuXian, though, caught sight of this through the corners of his eyes. Meng Yao acted as if he didn’t see anything, his smile unfaltering as he continued to pass around tea.

As Lan XiChen accepted his cup, he looked up at him and smiled, “Thank you.”

He drank a sip of the tea immediately afterward. Only then did he continue to converse with Nie MingJue. A few cultivators began to feel uneasy as they saw the scene.

(Chapter 48)

So CQL!Meng Yao’s eyebrows twitch in pleased surprise because the sect leader not only personally approached to verbally support him, but took something directly from his hands, not even trying to avoid him or flinching at skin contact. As if it didn’t even occur to the majestic Zewu-jun to think of Meng Yao as dirty or disgusting.

I don’t know if this is an intended interpretation either, because I don’t remember anyone specifically avoiding physical contact with MY in the show, and on the contrary, there were examples of both friendly (from Huaisang) and unfriendly (from the commander) touch. But I certainly prefer it to the other interpretation, and ignoring the interaction altogether seems a bit intellectually dishonest.

[/negativity]

On another note, much is said about JGY’s performativity, but check out LXC’s! Someone’s being bullied in his classroom? Not on his watch! Time to descend from his pedestal like truth coming out of her well, Very Pointedly and at length explain how this person Has His Official And Personal Approval And Is Very Welcome Here, then take the gift from him personally instead of letting a disciple do that. Note how in the following scene, he also personally accepts the gift from Wen Qing as a peacemaking gesture. I love how LXC’s character establishing event is about defusing not one but two uncomfortable situations in a row. Of the two brothers, all social skills went to him...

I have no comment on the goodbye scene. Just sadness.

Oh wait, after rewatching the entire show and coming back to the post, I do have something to say. This episode is the only time I can say with all certainty that all of Meng Yao’s words and reactions are fully sincere. After this point in the timeline, it will never happen again. :(

It’s a shame that the gifs I’ve seen of this scene end with the iconic stopped bow, because the final shots are also great! As soon as MY turns away, his face becomes clouded again, and seconds after the Sect Leader himself held his arms and assured they were peers, he felt the need to bow and lower his eyes as some unnamed disciples walked by. And the bitter look he sends after them tells the viewer how much he is aware of falling from the dreamland where a nobleman would compliment him like three times within three minutes, back to the regular life where it is better not to be noticed at all. Meanwhile, Xichen looks him in the back like “I want it to grow strong and healthy, I want to tell my friends and neighbors about it”.

[ep 10]

Alright, when 10 minutes ago I thought “Meng Yao, sweetie, kill that clown”, this is not what I had in mind

SOMEBODY GIVE MENG YAO A HUG (after some emergency medical care) HE HAS DONE NOTHING WRONG IN HIS LIFE. Can Xichen adopt him now?

Ah, the joys of the first viewing. 

At this point, I was thinking of both Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue exclusively as of father figures for Meng Yao. For LXC I think I slowly started to notice the romantic tension later but made a complete flip to the romantic interpretation only during the "late light talks... no sign of curse on his body" conversation. For NMJ it was during the head flashback. And as much as I like these pairings, it does feel like a loss that their existence displaces the very different pseudo-family dynamic. I think a story in which NMJ, LXC, WRH and JGS are all openly presented as competing father figures would be interesting; has anyone written that?

On rewatch, I was outraged by all of the blatant manipulation that I bought completely on the first viewing. MY is very good at playing a wounded bird -- especially when he's literally wounded. I had wondered why he just limped away without treating it, but now it's obvious he is using Stoic Suffering to invoke pity and admiration. Just like, a few minutes earlier, he showed NMJ that he was ready to be struck down, and it saved his life. He tells NHS with a sad but brave face “I won't be able to take care of you anymore” and on first viewing it worked on me just as he intended -- I thought “Poor boy, so trained to serve, he puts his duty to others above his own feelings even in this situation”. Ha...

And NMJ is only helping his case. He had the chance to explain everything and share the truth of MY's actions. And in the novel, he does take this chance, retelling the incident to Xichen (who chooses to turn a blind eye). Instead, NMJ basically confirms MY’s narrative: by hiding the reason for the exile, he makes it seem like there was no respectable reason at all. NMJ, all by himself, makes himself look like an irrational tyrant, and MY like a victim of an arbitrariness. And he does it in front of Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian, no less -- an heir to a major clan and his brother! By trying not to discuss internal problems with outsiders, he achieves an opposite effect. Luckily for him, JC and WWX don't give a shit... But imagine how different the plot would be if they had this information from the start?

What I still don't understand is -- what was Meng Yao’s plan in this episode? Who was he working for? Who was his accomplice, whose feet we saw in the later flasback -- surely not Xue Yang himself, he’s supposed to be under arrest! Was he working with the Jin secretly already? (I don’t think so: in a later scene, JGS asks him about this incident, seemingly ignorant.) Or with the Wen (I don't remember -- did Xue Yang go back to the Wen afterwards)? Or just with Xue Yang directly, setting him completely free just on the promise of future cooperation? This seems most plausible -- but to risk and lose everything over such an uncertain gamble doesn’t make MY look very smart.

I have some other things to say about the events of this episode, but they’ll be in the post about the flashbacks in episode 41.

[scoundrels-in-love]

Apodyopis and/or Gymnophoria for JB

Thank you for prompting, sweet anon! I haven’t written much of the simmering stuff, but I hope I did it justice. Also so sorry for taking literally, like a month. I wrote this halfway up and then deleted, plus, work’s been kicking my ass so… Again, very sorry.

This takes place in a Actor!Jaime and Makeup artist!Brienne verse that I started writing one shot of a while back, hopefully it will see light of day sometime, too. (Would love to hear if anyone’s interested in it!)

Apodyopis - The act of mentally undressing someone.Gymnophoria - The sensation that someone is mentally undressing you.

Also on AO3.

_____

The wrap up party has barely begun when one of the stylist assistant approaches her and Podrick. Brienne politely tunes out their conversation, tries not to pay attention to the girl’s slightly smudged eyeliner that her hands immediately itch to fix (professional habit) and almost misses when Podrick asks her if she won’t mind.

“Of course not,” Brienne says, only about seventy percent sure to what she’s agreeing, but it seems she was right and as she watches Podrick being dragged to dancefloor, a smile on his face that implies he’s still processing this turn of events, but rather happy with them. She hopes her expression is encouraging when he glances back at her.

After exchanging nod of mutual, pained understanding with Sandor, Brienne tugs hemline of her dress down (again, because it refuses to stay there for more than five minutes or twenty steps) and sets off to wander among the crowd. She isn’t exactly looking for Sansa, as she hasn’t figured excuse to leave early just yet, but there’s hope inspiration will strike her soon.

It’s not that she hates her coworkers or the startled, pleasant warmth in her chest when someone stops her to praise her design and work on Night King - quite the opposite, really. But she always feels adrift during social gatherings and parties that come with show business. 

She’s gotten better at it, in part because as a friend and employee she can’t exactly say no to Sansa’s invites, yet she still always feels like a salmon trying to make its way upstream - a success, but at what cost?

Brienne catches glimpse of redhead then, she’s standing with Jaime and eyerolling at one of his jokes, while most of the other women in the small group giggle. Gauging a good time to approach, Brienne watches them. Tries to not pay attention to the way his costar keeps touching her hair and his elbow. He ignores it better than she does.

“I don’t mix work and pleasure,” he always says, but every woman who has been kept at bay by this thinks it’s free game now, at the wrap up party. They’re not co-workers anymore, not really. Tonight, they don’t hide the way their gazes pop open the next button on his blue shirt, slide the pale jacket off of his shoulders and run caresses down his arms.

Brienne swallows then, suddenly almost feeling the texture of his shirt under her fingers - just yesterday, she fixed his collar in passing when he rushed out of his trailer, almost late for lunch meeting with Tyrion. But it hadn’t been like that, she hadn’t thought of the way muscles in his stomach tense at her touch when they’re in makeup trailer and she’s applying bruise to his torso. The heat of his skin and the way his Adam’s apple bobs when she leans in close to add a final touch to his face. The moan he makes when taking bite of his favorite takeout on their movie nights. The weight of him when he had pressed into the couch in attempt to reclaim remote control she had wrestled from his hand a minute earlier.

She’s thinking of it all and so much more now.

There is no way she can go talk to Sansa, face Jaime, until her splotchy blush has subsided, so Brienne turns away and does her best to distract herself from distressingly, increasingly familiar detour her thoughts had taken.

She succeeds so well that when Jaime surprises her by the buffet table, she almost jumps at the sound of his voice.

“You should probably stop doing that.”

Her fingers freeze where they’ve been trying to discreetly tug the skirt of her short black dress down at the seam. It doesn’t look horrible, but Sansa’s jealousy of her long legs manifests in fierce attempts to have Brienne show them off as much as possible and sometimes she succumbs, only to regret later.

She finishes the tug, out of principle, but when she looks at Jaime’s face, it’s not the usual light, amused expression her displays of stubbornness. Instead, there is something tense in the line of his jaw, quirk of his mouth.

“Every time you do, I end up staring at your legs even more.”

Her first instinct is to coil up in defensive position at the echo of hurt, reminiscent of their early acquaintanceship days. But she knows Jaime now - this isn’t the tone, the expression with which he’d imply her legs are so unsightly redirecting gaze to them is an offense.

She’s seen this tension, too, but never deciphered quite what it means and it unnerves her, makes her wonder if she knows him after all.

“Sorry?” Brienne keeps her tone neutral, trying not to show the mounting irritation, but doesn’t succeed entirely.

He shifts closer to her, as if to slip by the barrier she is building. “Oh, I don’t mind in the slightest.”

Jaime’s tone makes her gaze snap to his face from where its been wandering aimlessly over his shoulder. His voice is low in a way that makes her shiver almost and when he catches her eye, he has the gall to smirk before deliberately looking down at her legs to prove his words. 

The heat of his gaze is so palpable it almost feels like caress on her skin - light, appreciative fingers starting their journey upward from her ankles until tips of his fingers tease their way under the hem of her dress, resting there. The imagery is so vivid in her mind, Brienne lets out a shaky breath she can barely hear over her heart’s hammering. By the way he’s looking at her, glowing with smugness and something more, her little fantasy must’ve been written clearly on her face.

Or maybe he was thinking the same.

The mere idea sends another rush of heat to her face (and elsewhere.) She must be her splotchiest red now, the color blaring through her light makeup like a firetruck. She opens her mouth, without knowing what to say, but he beats her to it.

“I am not sure that’s the result you’re going for, though.”  It sounds like a question, somehow, as if he’s asking if she minds. And Jaime’s expression is almost tentative now, in a way that makes no sense to her.

But she would take offense if it was anyone else, wouldn’t she? A little more and the caress would become leering sort that makes her shudder instead of shiver in anticipation (of things that will not come).

It’s not a new realization, this want. She keeps hoping it will die unattended in a corner of her heart, but it grows like a beautiful weed from the slightest scraps thrown its way. And tonight, staring in his hesitant (hopeful) eyes, she almost has the words to express it. Something flirty would do, borrowed from Margaery’s repertoire, as she leans in closer and glances down to his lips –

“Brienne! There you are!” Sansa’s voice bursts the shimmering bubble and Brienne jolts, her mouth parted around the unsaid words, looking like an utter idiot. She thinks she catches a dazed look and then a sea spray of annoyance on Jaime’s face before he schools it into polite smile for their host.

“I was afraid you had slipped away without a word,” her friend seems oblivious to all this, thank the gods, and loops arm through Brienne’s. “You should spend some time with someone else than a Lannister for a change, Brie. Especially if he’s just wasting your time.” She doesn’t have time to process odd exchange of looks between her friends before Sansa tugs on her arm: “Everyone here has such high praise to you and your team, you ought to hear it yourself.”

“Oh no, it’s fine-” she tries to protest, but this is not a tide she can sail against, and now that she has regained her faculties, it doesn’t seem like a bad idea to be busy and as far from Jaime as possible. She must re-calibrate her Jaime-translator before she ends up looking like an utter fool. So she lets Sansa sweep her away into the crowd, imagining Jaime’s gaze clinging to her back and willing her heart to calm down in both heart rate and longing.

[antiadvil]

Comet Me, Bro

summary: Dan and Phil are chosen to be the first colonizers of Mars. They’re the perfect choice: they get along incredibly well, they graduated training at the top of their class, and they’re both incredibly ready to spend years, perhaps an entire lifetime, as far away from humanity as possible.

The problem? Dan has a crush on Phil. And Phil doesn’t know.

OR:

“Phil? We meed to have a talk,” Dan said.

“Wow,” Phil said. “You look so serious. Sa-turn that frown upside down.”

“See, that’s what it is,” Dan said. “Your space puns are driving me literally insane.”

rating: G

wc: ~2.4k

notes: this is for @itsmyusualphannie and was betad by @sudden-sky, both of whom are lovely people and writers you should go follow

read on ao3 or after the cut

Mars was cold, Dan thought during one of his twice daily walks between his botany lab and the Hub. Mars had always been cold, but there was something especially cold about it today. Maybe the seasons were changing. He genuinely had no idea what season it was now, or which season was up next, or how long it would last, or how seasons even worked on this planet. All he knew was Mars’s cold seeping under his suit and into his bones. He shivered all the way back to his semi-possibly-maybe-permanent home, and after going through the airlock and stripping off his spacesuit, he entered the common area to find Phil setting their table for dinner.

“I don’t know why you always get the plates out,” Dan said. They ate the same meal three times a day: glorified, nutrition-filled goop. Putting it on a plate or in a bowl before putting it in their mouths didn’t make that much of a difference.

Phil shrugged. “It makes it feel more like home, don’t you think?”

Dan ignored the implication that this was a home. That this was their home.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want it to be. Dan and Phil got along well. Their names went well together- Dan and Phil. Phil and Dan. They almost never argued, and when they did, it was almost always resolved in hours, or even minutes. They even had the same taste in anime, for god’s sake. They literally could not be more compatible as roommates. There was just one issue: Dan had a crush on Phil. He had for the six months they’d known each other. When it first surfaced, he had assumed it was a temporary thing that would be gone within weeks. Oh, how wrong he had been. Spending a month in a cramped spaceship with Phil followed by two months together on a deserted planet had not helped the situation. Dan had hoped he would become immune to Phil’s presence after this long, but he had no such luck. Being in Phil’s presence still made him feel that weird combination of warm, cold, and tingly all over. Eye contact was torturous. Physical contact was the best kind of hell.

If they were any other kind of coworkers or friends, Dan would have made his move by now. But they weren’t. They were literally the only two people on the planet, and if Phil didn’t feel the same way, or he did and it didn’t work out, things could get really awkward in the 100 square foot building Phil was calling their home.

It was better to say nothing. Hopefully this would all blow over.

Dan sat at the table. “What’s for dinner?” he asked, going along with Phil.

Phil smiled proudly. “Well, here we have liquified protein. Supposedly it comes from some kind of animal, but it definitely doesn’t taste like it.”

“Sounds delicious,” Dan said. He had been vegan back on Earth, he remembered. How far away that seemed now. He had known it probably wouldn’t be realistic for a space mission, and he had never been very good at sticking with it anyway. Still, he missed it.

“And here we have our vitamins and minerals! Again, suspended in some kind of liquid. I asked if they could make it flavored, like those fun vitamins they have so kids will eat them, but these do not taste like citrus, so I’m guessing they didn’t get the memo.”

“How unfortunate.” Dan could feel the fondness seeping into his voice. He shuddered.

“Really unfortunate,” Phil agreed. “And here’s this one. I’m not actually sure what this is. It doesn’t really matter, they all taste the same.”

Dan nodded. “I never thought I would say this, but right now I would literally die for a vegetable.”

“I mean,” Phil said. “That’s your job, right?”

Dan shrugged. “I don’t think we’re supposed to eat the plants I grow, Phil.”

“Then what are they good for?” Phil demanded.

“I don’t know. What are your rock samples good for?”

Phil puffed up his chest. “Science.”

“Then that’s what my plants are good for,” Dan said. “And maybe if we’re lucky, NASA will let us eat them once I’m done experimenting on them. We can’t eat rocks, therefore, I am the superior team member.”

“Oh, yeah?” Phil said, “Comet me, bro.”

Dan literally facepalmed.

“Get it?” Phil asked. “Come at, like, comet?”

“Phil,” Dan said. “Phil. I got the joke. You don’t need to explain it. It just wasn’t funny.”

Phil looked deeply disappointed.

“I guess I’m just not a puns person,” Dan confessed.

“How did I not know that by now?” Phil asked.

Dan just shrugged.

“You will be a puns person by the time I’m done with you,” Phil promised, and Dan’s heart did the little pitter patter thing it did whenever Phil did dumb shit. He ignored it.

“Phil, I promise I will not be,” Dan said.

That was the end of it, he thought. They went through multiple Martian days following their usual routine, and Phil didn’t make any more puns. In fact, Dan and Phil didn’t even see each other that often. Phil was busy with some sort of issue with their rover, and one of Dan’s plants was looking like it was about to sprout, so he was spending way more time than his circadian rhythm found acceptable in the lab.

This was the first plant to grow on Mars. He couldn’t let anything go wrong.

Of course, sometimes it wasn’t up to him. He woke up the next morning to blaring alarms.

It took a moment for reality to set in. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but the sky was pitch black outside his window. He couldn’t even see the moons.

Dan stumbled out of bed. Phil was waiting in the common area.

“Dust storm,” Phil said, his face pale and his voice deathly quiet.

Dan froze. “I mean, it can’t be that bad- It’s just a storm-”

“I don’t know. But the alarm-”

“What does the control console say?”

Phil ran his hands through his tangled brown hair. “I didn’t check,” he admitted.

Dan turned to the control console. He took a deep breath. “That’s a lot of red.” Dan took another deep breath. Where to even start? Another deep breath.

Thankfully, Phil seemed to know what to do. “Error 4962,” he read from the main screen. “What does that mean?”

Dan’s mind raced. Two was an even number, which meant it was a technical error. Four was an even number, too, so the issue was with hardware somewhere, not software. He searched quickly through the secondary screen. “Airlock breach in Laboratory A.” He sucked in a breath. His laboratory. The plants.

“Dan,” Phil warned.

“I have to suit up,” Dan said.

“It can wait. Dan, I-”

“I’m sorry, Phil. My plants-”

“Your plants can wait,” Phil snapped.

“No they can’t,” Dan said. “Phil, they’ll die.” Exposure to the Martian atmosphere would kill anything given enough time. Even plants. He wouldn’t let them die. Not his plants. Not after all the hours he had spent nurturing them, coaxing them into growth. Not now.

“You can’t go outside right now.”

Dan quickly stepped into his spacesuit, strapping his boots on and then working his way up. “Phil, if these plants die-”

“Dan, you are literally the only person on this planet. I cannot lose you.” Phil’s voice wavered.

Dan stopped.

“Please don’t go,” Phil said, his voice breaking. “Please.”

Dan sat down on the floor. “My plants,” he said.

Phil sat down next to him.

“I’m sorry.”

Dan’s eyes burned. He swiped at them with the back of his hand. “It’s not your fault,” he muttered.

Phil didn’t reply, just folded his arms around Dan and let him cry. Dan allowed himself to fall back into Phil’s arms, shaking and crying a lot more than what was socially acceptable for a man his age to shake and cry. They stayed like that, even when Dan was calm again, until the storm died down and Dan sat up awkwardly.

“I should probably check the lab,” He said.

Phil let go of Dan. Maybe he imagined it, but it Phil’s hands seemed to linger on his body. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Dan shook Phil off. “I’ll be fine.” He didn’t need Phil to see him have another breakdown over the death of a bunch of plants.

“Okay.” Phil didn’t push Dan, but his eyes were much softer than normal. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Dan nodded. “I will.”

The lab was just as much of a disaster as he expected. Even though the breach in the airlock was barely visible to the human eye, the sudden burst of air escaping had sent lab equipment scattering across the room. The fine, powdery dust that covered the Mars surface had also gotten into the lab and spread across the previously pristine, white tables and floor.

His plants were dead. Of course they were. He had known they would be. But there was something heartwrenching about seeing them like this, torn and uprooted.

Dan scowled. First the whole thing with Phil, and then his plants, and they weren’t even halfway through the mission. If the mission was ever even going to end.

Dan cleaned up what was left of his plants. He swept up all the Martian dust on the floor before resealing the airlock, waiting for the room to re-pressurize, and planting the backup seeds. Then he walked back to the Hub, his mind numb and exhausted. Phil was waiting for him.

“Hi,” Phil said. The sun was rising. Now that Dan could see Phil’s face in natural light, he realized how tired Phil looked.

“I’m going to go back to bed,” Dan said.

Phil nodded.

“Good night, Phil.”

“Yeah,” Phil said, smiling wryly at the sunbeams shining through their window. “Good night. I’ll wake you up if I need you.”

“You’re not sleeping?”

“Something’s still wrong with the rover. I haven’t figured out what. People who know what they’re doing are supposed to be running diagnostics today. I have to be awake in case they need anything from me.”

Dan nodded. “You’ve been working so much lately.”

Phil shrugged. “You have too.”

Dan laughed bitterly. “And look how well that worked out.”

“I know. But it’ll be okay. You planted the backups, right?”

Dan shrugged. Technically Phil was right, but he didn’t want to think about starting over right now. He just wanted to sleep.

-

By the time Dan woke up, the sun was setting again.

He wandered back into the common area. Phil jumped, a spoon clattering from his hand onto the floor. Dan jumped too. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing his arm sheepishly.

“Yeah, you just startled me,” Phil said, picking his spoon up.

“Why are you eating nutritional goop with a spoon anyway?” Dan asked.

Phil shrugged. “It makes me feel less sad about it,” he said. The tips of his ears were red.

“Sorry about delaying your vegetables,” Dan said.

Phil shrugged again. “It’s not your fault.”

Phil still looked tired. Dan was struck by a sudden urge to protect Phil from everything around him- from the harsh Martian landscape, from the long hours, from the toll being so far away from his family and friends was slowly having on him.

“Hey Phil,” he said. “What did the head of NASA say about that Russian meteor strike?”

Phil looked up. “I don’t know. What?”

“No comet.”

Phil laughed. Dan smiled triumphantly.

He regretted it the next day when the puns started up again. Honestly, they were cute the first time. The twenty-seventh time? Not so much.

After Phil made a particularly egregious joke about Dan remembering to update his spacebook, Dan decided that enough was enough. He went through his duties for the day, eating quickly on his own once he was done (Phil had figured out what was wrong with the rover and was trying to repair one of its circuits. Dan, who failed an electrical engineering class in college, chose to stay out of Phil’s way).

When Phil came back, Dan gave him just enough time to eat before confronting him. “Phil? We need to have a talk,” Dan said.

“Wow,” Phil said. “You look so serious. Sa-turn that frown upside down.”

“See, that’s what it is,” Dan said. “Your space puns are driving me literally insane. Also, I might be in love with you.” He froze. “Uh, I mean, just the first one. I don’t know why I said that. I don’t have a crush on you. I’m actually straight, very straight, I don’t know if you knew that-”

“Dan,” Phil said. “We’re friends on spacebook. I know you’re not straight.”

“Uhhhh,” Dan said, his eyes crossing.

“And between you and me, I’d always hoped that our relationship might become more than plutonic.”

“Uhhhh,” Dan said.

“I think you’re out of this world, actually.”

That finally snapped Dan out of it. “I am literally going to kill you.”

“Come on. Why do you have to take everything so Sirius-ly?”

Dan squinted. “Did you just say Sirius, as in the star?”

“Maybe?”

Dan sat down on the ground. “I need a nap.”

Phil patted his shoulder, sitting next to him. “How do you get an astronaut baby to fall asleep?”

Dan looked up. “Are you calling me a baby?”

“What? No! Unless you want me to? And the answer is you rocket, by the way.”

Dan let his head fall again.

“Dan, I’m just trying to show you that I’m over the moon for you.”

“Show it by using less space puns please,” Dan mumbled.

“I’m Neptune-ing you out,” Phil said. “It’s important to ignore the haters.”

Dan sighed. “Phil. I have something really important to tell you.”

“What?”

Dan beckoned Phil closer. “It’s really important.”

“I’m listening,” Phil said, eyebrows furrowing.

Dan looked him dead in the eyes. “Get outer my space.”

Phil’s lips parted as he stared at Dan. Dan stared back. “That was the best pun I’ve ever heard,” Phil said breathlessly. He pulled Dan into a passionate kiss.

Outside, the sun was beginning to set. Dan knew it must be his imagination, but with golden light playing across his body and Phil’s lips pressed against his, he felt just a little bit warmer.

[chibikinesis]

some surrender/redemption!ending Sean/Jacob ideas because my shit brain just can’t let that shit go, son. Body wasn’t even cold and my brain was like ‘kay now so how can your rarepair-ass ship still possibly work after all that?

Borrows from my idea that Sean’s taken to wandering/drifting for a while maybe because he’s just sort of struggling to acclimate himself back into society, let alone everyone’s lives, and he’s just sort of lost. He struggles with the needs to be self-sufficient and the need to talk about it, but feels like a bother when he tries to talk to those he’s close to. He hopes maybe something will spark along the way. (I guess Michel has confirmed that part about Sean taking to wandering again so that’s cool)

Also borrows literally everything from this list of my headcanons about Jacob and Sarah’s lives after fifteen years.

This starts out like... a super lite fic and will probably end in bullet points/drivel but it’s... what I’ve got for now. This got longer than I thought <<; ♥

It’s sometime in the winter when Sean finally stumbles upon the town they’re living in. He stops at a store there to buy a few more supplies, and he sees a young woman, around Daniel’s age, who seems vaguely familiar to him. She has long,wavy, brunette hair and a beauty mark under her left eye. She calls out to, he assumes, a friend of hers, a few displays across the way, where he sees a head poking up.

“I’ve gotta’ go, my brother’s leaving! See you tomorrow, okay?” She turns on her heel, arm extended to wave them goodbye, and calls out to, he assumes, her brother. “Jake, wait up!”

Sean looks and is taken aback by another familiar-looking face, with more tidy facial hair than he remembered, a few more creases, and a somewhat different hairstyle, and some glasses that feel new somehow, but he stands, stupefied, for too long to act. He’s not entirely sure he wanted to anyway. The girl and her brother head out the door, and Sean wonders if he made a mistake in not acting. He’s not entirely sure if it’s actually them, or if it’s just his mind is so desperate for a connection that it’s looking for things that aren’t really there. But he proceeds through the checkout and makes his way towards the door, a bit disoriented and distracted by it all.

So disoriented, in fact, that he crashes into another incoming patron as he exits - muttering a couple profanities before apologizing profusely. The customer apologizes as well, and bends down to help Sean pick up his things from the cold concrete.

“Wait a minute... Sean? Is that you?”

The voice draws him back to reality and he looks up to see the same man from before looking him square in the eye. The man has suddenly forgotten why he was coming back into the store in the first place. He looks hopeful, but he’s also second-guessing on the off-chance that he got it wrong. He hopes he hasn’t, but he backpedals a bit anyway. “S-Sean Diaz?”

Maybe he wasn’t imagining things after all. “Holy shit...Jacob?”

The man releases a pent up air in his lungs in the form of a breathy laugh and a big grin. “It is you!”

It’s only a moment before Sarah gets out of the car and comes to investigate. The two barrage him with questions, and end up inviting him back to their house. “Are you in town for a few days? Do you have anywhere to stay yet? Why don’t you come have dinner? You’re more than welcome to crash with us for a bit.”

Jake is asking half out of the urge to catch up and spend some time with and old friend (and to pay him back for helping them out all those years ago), and half out of his sense that Sean’s just... not okay. Jake also has a vague sense that he’d probably just sleep in his car otherwise - and it was too damn cold for that.

Sean reluctantly accepts.

He gets in his car and Jake leads him to their home. They’ve made a nice little life here. Their place is small, but it’s cute and cozy and very lived-in. It’s comforting to Sean.

He and Sarah cook a nice meal for the three of them. They all share some photos - Sarah pulling out her phone to flip through, and suggesting he look at Jake’s album. It helps Sean to feel less empty for a little while, but as the evening winds down, he’s left thinking of all the time he missed out on with Daniel and his family. All of the stories and moments he didn’t get to be a part of. All of those voids that’ll never be filled. It feels selfish of him, and he doesn’t like feeling this way, but he can’t really help it either. He grows quiet and pensive.

It’s starting to get late and Sarah retires to bed. Jake offers to take the couch so that Sean can have a bed to sleep in, but Sean of course denies. Jake’s not the least bit surprised, so he smiles to himself, and goes to fetch some blankets and a pillow for him.

He comes back with those, and an old-looking envelope. He lays the blankets on the couch next to Sean and looks a bit sheepish as he fidgets with the crinkled old edges. “Another reason I was glad you came back here tonight was... I had something I wanted to give you.”

Sean looks a bit dumbfounded as Jake extends it to him.

“I know you never gave this to me with any intention of me having to pay you back, but... I wanted to. There’s a bit of interest in there, too. Or maybe just call it accounting for inflation. I saved it back... damn, probably eleven years ago or so. Just on the off-chance that I... might finally see you again.” 

“You didn’t have to-”

“I-I know, Sean, I... I wanted to. Because you did so much for me and Sarah without even realizing it. And I want to be able to do more. That’s why I opened our home to you. You’re welcome here... anytime. And I mean that. You can stay here as long as you need, or even just want.” He offers a warm, sincere smile, but it falls to something that feels more bittersweet. “And... forgive me for assuming, but you seem... downtrodden-”

“- I’m a fuckin’ mess, Jacob.” Sean scoffs quietly. He’s not angry with Jake for assuming - he’s more upset that it’s so obvious.

“I want to help you with that, too. If... if you’ll let me.”

“You don’t owe me shit-”

“- I owe you my life, Sean.” There’s a new intensity in his tone as he cuts off Sean’s sentence, but it’s not malicious. Jacob’s eyes grow misty and his expression shifts between three or four different emotions. He draws a shaky breath, trying to keep his composure. “Because if you and Daniel hadn’t come into the picture... if things hadn’t happened the way they did, and if we didn’t get them out of Haven Point... if anything had happened to Sarah, I can honestly say that... we probably wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. Because I’d probably be in some makeshift grave back in Humboldt somewhere. And I still think about that so often.”

Sean’s surprised by his bluntness, and he’s not sure what to say. There’s an awkward silence on Jacob’s part as he struggles to find the words, but he continues on anyway.

"I feel like... maybe you’re having trouble readjusting, or re-acclimating since you got out, if you will, but I also feel like... you’re not really telling anyone about it, either. You don’t have to do this alone, Sean. You don’t have to be the strong one anymore.” Jacob beams warmth and sincerity. “Talk to me. Even the stuff you’re not proud of for feeling. Our minds let us think some pretty shitty things when we’re in that kinda’ mental shape, I get it. And I promise I won’t judge you for it. But you need to talk to someone about it. Even if it’s not me. And if it is me, it doesn’t have to be tonight. But please. Don’t keep harboring it.”

There’s a long silence as Sean considers it, and Jake grows anxious he said too much, or the wrong thing, or-

“Goodness, that got really heavy, really quick. I’m sorry, Sean-”

“Don’t be. I think I... needed to hear that from someone other than myself.” He concedes. “Seemed like you needed to get that off your chest, anyway.”

“I think you might be right.” Jake laughs. “I mean it, though. I know you’re the type to try to shoulder everything on your own, but... you don’t have to. Remember that. And if you need anything we’re able to provide, don’t ever hesitate to ask.”

Sean nods, and Jake can tell it’s coming from a place of appreciation and honesty. “Thank you, Jake.”

“Anytime.” He smiles. “But if I’m being honest, I don’t see myself sleeping too well after that, so, uh... you want some coffee?”

“I would love some, actually.”

They sit on the couch and chat over their hot drinks, and Sean flips through Jake’s album of photos, for about an hour before he starts to open the flood gates. They’re both surprised by it, but Jake offers his undivided attention, with only a few affirming and encouraging words as he lay everything out on the table.

His feelings of anger and bitterness over everything. That he spent almost as many years in prison as he’d gotten to live his normal life. His feelings of both jealousy and happiness that Daniel got to live the normal life Sean wished he could have. His loneliness, and how he hated being out here solo. Feeling like the lone wolf. His lamenting all those years he missed, regretting he couldn’t be there. Lamenting everything he missed out on. His feelings of being so out of touch with reality and having trouble doing anything but meandering and just sort of existing in this changed world. His immense distaste for the way his perception of time is so skewed now -

And as it all boils over and the tears start streaming down Sean’s face, Jake puts his mug aside and grabs the box of tissues from the coffee table. He scoots closer and rubs Sean’s back to ease his nerves, and continues to offer soft-spoken encouragement. They’re not sure how long they sit there and talk, but when Sean mutters a small I don’t want to be alone right now, Jake knows this is where he’s stationed for the night. 

Sarah finds them in the morning, Sean lying at one end of the couch with his head on the pillow and one of the blankets draped over him, and her brother at the opposite end, sitting upright with Sean’s legs flung carelessly over his lap, arms folded across his chest, and his head fallen back against the plush backing of the piece of furniture. Neither one had bothered to change into pajamas, and their half-empty mugs had long since grown cold. All she can do is smile and presume it had turned into another late-night therapy session. 

They wake up to the smell of breakfast being cooked, and a fresh pot of coffee, each of them with headaches, for different reasons. Jake gets them some aspirin and they all share breakfast and chat some more. He and Sarah both make sure to get Sean’s contact info, and even Daniel’s. Jake reinforces all of his points from their talk the night prior - they’re fully preparing to say their goodbyes when Sean’s car won’t start because plot reasons asdasdf

That’s right about the time he wishes hed paid more attention in Esteban’s garage. But anyway, he ends up staying with them for a few more days while he waits for a friend of theirs to come look at it for him.

"Or you can take it to the shop in town, but either way it’ll probably be a few days.” Jake explains. “But you’re welcome to -”

“Stay here!” Sarah interjects enthusiastically. 

Sean’s a bit surprised, but Jake smiles back at him and shrugs. “I’m certainly not opposed. It’d be nice to spend some more normal time with you after such a heavy night.”

~ This is where stuff lost momentum, but I have a few more ideas like:

They probably talk a bit more about Sean’s feelings now that he’s had a chance to vent them and is more able to discuss them in a stable manner, and how he can better cope with them.

Sarah borrows Jake’s car on his day off so he and Sean end up wandering the town for a bit, probably getting lunch, and maybe checking out a winter market not terribly unlike the one in Beaver Creek. 

Sean definitely having an “Oh no, he’s still cute” moment in those few days. And suddenly feeling a bit more self-conscious. At least it’s winter and he can pass the beard off as practical and warm.

Jake remembering his feelings from all those years ago back in Haven Point: wait a second, are these just misplaced feelings of affection because he’s one of the first people to show me such human decency or is this an actual crush? I don’t know. But oh shit I think it’s coming back, whatever it was. Oh shit, it is.

"You should come back in a few months when the weather’s decent and we can actually go do something. Camping would be fun.” Jake suggests.

After a few months of regular correspondence, Sean finds himself in a better headspace. He still struggles with a lot, but he’s doing considerably better. He has good days and bad ones, but he’s getting better at keeping in contact with everyone in general. But especially Daniel. And it feels good.

When he finally comes back in the spring for a visit, this much is apparent just by looking at him. Jake and Sarah are both so glad to see it.

“See, Jake? Told you there's still a face under that beard!” Sarah teases.

Her giving Sean a much-needed hair cut to match his tidier facial hair before they leave.

Daniel and Chris showing up to surprise them. Group camping trip!

Sean and Sarah and Chris all sitting and drawing at some battered old picnic table.

Jake definitely taking his camera along and taking a lot of photos. Including one very nice one of Sean that he got while they were hiking, when he was actually smiling, and the sun was streaming through the trees just-so. THIS KILLS THE MAN.

One of them getting hurt on the trail and the other patching them up.

All 3 kids definitely catching onto something there and quietly chattering amongst themselves about it. 

They go on a hike on their own and find a nice spot to chill for a bit and just shoot the shit. Sean coos about going back to Arizona, to Away for a little while.

“It sounds really nice.” Jake smiles as he tries to imagine it.

“Next time you have some time off, maybe you could... come with me, if you want. I’m sure mom would be excited to see you again, too.” Jake’s cheeks darken and Sean realizes his err, and he knows there’s been too much of a pause for an addition to seem plausible, but he tries for it anyway. “- a-and Sarah Lee, if she wants to.”

Probably accidental hand or shoulder touch or something because I’m a trope-y ass bitch.

[yayninjabob]

Author Commentary

Ramblings from Yay Ninja Bob about her monstrous creation~

Besides working on my fic, I personally try to journal every day, and I realized that a lot of my journaling has become me pretty much rambling about the process of writing this damn fic lol.  So I thought I'd share some of that for those who may want to know more behind my chapters from my author's perspective. 

It's certainly not everything I can say, but it is a lot haha..

Chapter 1 - Thirteen

Behind the title:

    Well, when I first began writing VillainR, I hadn't planned on having chapter titles at all.  Mainly because coming up with chapter titles (or titles for stories in general) has always been something I struggle with personally.  Anywho after I decided I wanted to challenge myself with chapter titles, I went back and named chapter 1 "Thirteen."  Why?  Well, it is the PpG's thirteenth birthday, of course there is that.  VillainR as a whole is many things, but one major thing is it is a coming of age story for Buttercup/Joey/Jojo, as well as a story of self-discovery.   There's a few important ages I wanted to cover and 13 is around the age where many kids start to "develop" and being a super-powered kid,  Buttercup finally begins to develop her own "special power" at this age.  I wanted this "growing pain" to be the catalyst for the events of Part One.  So, I gave the chapter the title of "Thirteen" to try to highlight the significance of that age for Buttercup. The self-discovery made at this age is that special power (although they are unaware of it at this point).  It's considered an unlucky number, and as it turns out, it is an unlucky year for our main character.

During the writing process:

     First draft was written on Halloween night 2019 and pretty much all of it was completely scrapped haha. 

     I started writing it in first person, like the original Villain, in Buttercup's POV.   I kept the events but approached it again in third person and liked it so much better that way.  One major thing I wanted to improve on with the rewrite was character development which is pretty hard to achieve when writing in a limited POV of a character who eventually loses sight of much around them.  I debated briefly on maybe doing alternating POVs between Blossom, Bubbles and Buttercup, but then I felt like it would still exclude a lot for other major characters like Mojo and Princess.  I could add them too but I thought alternating too many POVs would be overwhelmingly difficult (for me as the author for sure but I imagine for the reader too)  Third person seemed to be the best way to handle everything and really my only challenge with that was tweaking the whole "unreliable narrator" trope which I will be honest is my favorite trope ever. It is a challenge to try to recreate the same effect in third person, but I decided that a close third person was the best way to 1) tell a broader story and 2) still set limits on the reader's perspective, and control when and how I drop information and attempt to recreate a similar experience in an entirely new way I've never tried before heh.  (I guess I will spend more time on this on my notes for Chapter 6)

     Second draft I scribbled out in another few days with this new approach.  It began at the start of the carnival and ended where it ends.   Simultaneously I was reworking my overall outline for the fic and began to narrow down all the characters I wanted to be my key players for this epic.  Once my outline was expanded to include everyone, I added the scene with Mojo and Him.  For me, that's when I was like "Ayyy it's all coming together 👍👍" haha.

     Another thing I wanted to improve on was setting and world-building.  So final draft I decided to include some "history" behind Townsville and that's when I worked out the final draft.

    This chapter definitely had the most trial and error during the writing process than any other chapter other than 5 so far.

Inspirations:

     Townsville world-building/history - much of it is inspired by the city I grew up in (for the most part) which is Los Angeles. I mean it has all the sort of settings we've seen in the show which are all pretty diverse right?  Townville had to have a diverse cityscape ranging from a busy downtown setting to quite suburbs to upperclass mansions, beaches, an island, forests, etc.  Well I knew LA had all that and so I tried to re-imagine Townsville as basically an alternate universe LA lol. Monster Isle, I based on research I did on Catalina Island.  I imagined the Utonium household was in a middle class neighborhood like Pasadena- close to the heart of LA but still a relatively "calmer" part of the city.  Morbucks Manor would be in the Hills like Beverly Hills.  Downtown was the heart of the city like Downtown LA.  I debated briefly whether or not to have the Gangreen Gang be from an area modeled after South Central or East LA, but eventually I went with East LA because TBH I am just more familiar with it since that's where my mom's side is from and where I grew up early on in life.  PLUS East LA actually has a pretty big punk scene so that fit the story too with Ace being in a punk band and all that. 

1998 PpG Show References:

     "Oh my gosh they have giant Bunny-Bunny's at the prize tent!"

    (Super Zeroes)

Pop Culture References:

   (OK most of my pop culture refs are just punk references lets be honest lol.  Why Punk?? - because it is rebellion and rebellion is the heart of this fic)

     The Clash - OK in original Villain I established that this was Buttercup's favorite band so I HAD to have that back for the redux. Here's all the refs I crammed into chapter 1 lol:

   "Oh, Man! It's so hard to choose, like, I love literally everything by them. But I gotta say it's a tie probably between their first album and London Calling."

"Hell yeah. Jimmy Jazz is my jam."

"You know, my band does a cover of White Riot," Ace continued to talk music with the teenager as he lit his cigarette and took a deep drag. He held the smoke in his lungs as he continued, "Only we call our version Green Riot."

Blondie:

     The one artist Buttercup had introduced Robin to that she instantly obsessed over was Blondie.

(Some) Symbolism:

     - Blossom is 5'9" and Buttercup is 5'8" - Buttercup is always falling one step behind Blossom.

     - Bumper Car scene - has some foreshadowing and well...

Blossom sat behind the wheel of a red bumper car at the opposite end of the metal floored rink. Buttercup crossed her arms in protest, "No way. I'm driving." she demanded.

Blossom also crossed her arms from where she sat behind the metal wheel. "So you can just rampage and crash into everybody here? No way." She fastened her seat belt with a quick snap and placed her hands firmly on the steering wheel again.

"Ugh. That's the whole point of bumper cars! It's to bump the other cars! You're supposed to try and bump everyone before the times up!"

"You always take it too far, Buttercup. I'm driving, so get in." The redhead grasped the steering wheel in her hands firmly, and refused to move.

And...

"You drive like an old lady," Buttercup shook her head in disbelief as her sister managed to avoid yet another collision.

"Well, that's your opinion," she shrugged off the insult, "Personally, I think it takes just as much skill to avoid every single car in here, as it does to hit every single car," she smiled at her sister.

And finally a brief allusion to the OG Villain lol...

"Blossom!" Buttercup shouted louder so she could get her sister's attention. She pointed at the fast approaching purple car that zoomed towards them from their right side. Behind the wheel of that car was Bubbles who wore a rather determined look on her face as Robin cheered for her.

Blossom saw, but by then it was too late. Bubbles and Robin's car slammed into Buttercup and Blossom's car at full force, spinning Buttercup and Blossom's car into the wall of the arena. The loud buzz which signified the end of the ride then sounded.

    - the roller coaster is Buttercup's ideal carnival attraction; it's got the thrills, twists, turns, ups and downs.  And makes Bubbles sick.

     - the Ferris Wheel is Blossom's ideal carnival attraction; it's a staple of any fair, grand and big, overlooks everything, and traditionally romantic

YNB's favorite scene:

     Personally, I loved writing the whole exchange between Buttercup and Blossom in the car.  Establishing their rivalry, Buttercup's jealousy over Blossom's special power and heroism, Blossom's projection of her own insecurities, their differences, and their commonality. 

Final thoughts on the chapter:

     I was pretty satisfied with how it turned out but I did wait to post it until I had a decent headstart on chapter 2.  I was pretty nervous about whether or not I could stay personally committed to writing this fic so I just wanted to make sure I was really feeling it first, lol.  It had been so long since I'd written fanfic so I just needed to be sure.

     When I outlined everything I estimated the chapter length to be around 6-7k words... And I was surprised that it was double that at about 12k.  Which was wild because on my outline each opening chapter for Part 1, 2 and 3 were supposed to be shorter and more like preludes to everything else.  Well, I guess they ARE shorter chapters but STILL definitely longer than any chapter I used to write for my multichaptered stories.   At the time I thought "Ok obviously my writing has changed but surely I wont go much longer than 12k for future chapters...."  Hurr hurr.

     Personally, I was pretty proud of myself for spending so much time on it and rewriting it over and over and all that.  In the past, TBH whatever was my first draft was pretty much also my last draft haha.  I cranked out a chapter in one sitting usually and edited it mayyyybeee lol.  I just wanted to get it posted so I could move on and get to that next point in the story.   But I suppose now that I'm older and a bit more self aware, I realize a lot of my own anxieties manifest a lot in my writing though and I can recognize it in my old works like the OG Villain where I JUST WANNA GET TO WHAT I WANT TO WRITE RIGHT NOW OK??  I forced myself to slow the hell down this time, take it one scene at a time, and when things felt off I took breaks, slept on it for a few days and came back with new approaches or ideas.   And so far that's how I continue to work on it.

   Also, CHVRCHES.  I listened to a ton of that band while working on this chapter especially.