#james is thriving and glowing and i’m so happy for him

[heavnlyhetfield]

oh my god PLEASE

[partlystiles]

Thank God For Quidditch - James Potter

Thank God For Quidditch - James Potter

james potter x fem!reader (smut)

summary: After Gryffindor fails to win a Quidditch Match, the other team’s captain’s teasing causes something in James to snap and the next thing he knows, he has her falling apart in his grasp.

word count: 4,795

warnings: NSFW, thigh riding, unprotected sex, praise, choking, hair pulling, swearing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing inflates someone’s ego like praise. Y/N L/N knew that all too well, spending her days basking in every single compliment thrown her way for whatever she did whether it be someone liking her outfit or talking about the Quidditch game she had won the previous week. Whatever it was, Y/N thrived off of it all and the only thing more buzzing than an actual Quidditch match was the aftermath where people talked about it for hours on end and asked the team captain, Y/N, for a full recount of the match.

The biggest match was the one at the end of the year between the two houses in the finals. Also known as the one that her team had just won, their seeker catching the snitch in her hands with a loud laugh as the crowd erupted with noise and the commentator screamed about her skills. It was always the crowd that spurred Y/N on, their screaming smile and happy shouting making her feel proud of her team and her skills whilst she zoomed after the small little ball in the air.

“Yes, Y/N!” The team yelled in different variations as she flew down to the ground with the snitch still in her hand as the crowd raced each others out of the stands to come down to the field. She dismounted her broom and left it in the pitch before she raced over to her friends and threw herself into the Keeper’s arms and he twirled her around.

The cheering became louder as he lowered her and their heads snapped over to every tower where students were filtering out and running behind Madam Hooch who was approaching with the Quidditch cup in her hands. Other teammates patted her back in congratulations as she took the cup in her hands from Madam Hooch with glinting eyes at her accomplishment.

“Woah!” She exclaimed as the two beaters lifted her onto their shoulders and she was lifted above the shouting crowd with the cup in her hands. Even people supporting Gryffindor in the match were crowding around them and shouting congratulations, cheering with their friends banners instead of their red ones.

There was another sea of red further away from the ones in the crowd and Y/N’s eyes zeroed in on the large number 7 printed on the back of the Gryffindor Captain’s uniform as he walked not-so-calmly towards the changing rooms. He looked on the verge of a temper tantrum and Y/N smirked at the memory of his earlier words.

“Enjoy the pity party after the match, L/N.” James Potter had said, glaring as the two of them shook hands in the centre of the pitch. The grip was tight, both of them seeming like they were trying to cut off one another's circulation so the Chaser couldn’t carry the Quaffle and the Seeker couldn’t grasp the snitch.

“I’m sure you’ll throw it great, I’ll be at the actual party with the rest of my winning team.” She replied, a bitter smile on her lips as her crescent nails scraped over the material of his glove in the tight grip.

“It’s nice to have dreams, even if they are pathetically unrealistic.” He shrugged his shoulders as they let go of each others hands on Madam Hooch’s orders and walked away from each other to mount their brooms and fly up to their starting positions.

She had vowed to make him eat his words which thanks to her wonderful Quidditch skills, he had and now he was storming back to the changing rooms one second away from snapping his beloved broomstick in anger. Sirius Black was walking close to him and the other members of the team were walking back up to the castle instead of the changing rooms. 

“Put me down, put me down.” Y/N laughed as she tapped one the heads of the two team members holding her up in the air; they let her down with a laugh and being up there was definitely better than being down on the floor where people were still cheering. “I’m gonna go rub it in Potter’s face.”

“Have fun.” Cory Michaels, one of the Beaters who had held her up, leaned down in excitement to kiss her cheek before he pushed her away and she started to worm her way through the crowd.

The praise followed her out of the clump and she soaked it all in with a smile whilst squeezing through the gaps between people  who milled around the edge of the large ground, someone yelled and she glanced back with a scoff to see Cory being held in the air with cup that she had given to Cressida Bridge in his hands. 

Jacob Jones was one of the last people who complimented the game on her way out of the circle, after she had passed him she broke into a small jog to get to her destination. The changing rooms weren’t that far away from the centre of the pitch but it was a fair distance, Y/N would do her bragging then return to her common room for the afterparty...there was always something inside her that itched to make James angry especially after Quidditch matches. 

It was the way his eyebrows scrunched in irritation or the way that his cheeks flushed a bright red from the effort and sweat glistened on his skin from flying around the pitch and tossing the Quaffle around. Y/N was sweaty too, slipping the gloves off of her hands as she walked so they were free of their confines and the breeze hit them almost immediately because of her jogging.

Slowing down into a walk as she got closer to the changing room, she took off her shin guards and held them with her gloves. She was half-tempted to take her ponytail out but decided against it until she was having her shower and could cool herself down. 

A few metres in front of her, the doors to the changing rooms opened and Sirius Black came out with pursed lips as he shut the door behind him and went to start walking but he froze at the sight of the opposite teams captain walking towards him. She had a smirk on her face, her eyes glinting with mischief as she stared at Sirius and he shook his head slowly towards her, his own smile peeking up.

“Not a good idea, beautiful.” He said as she got closer but all she did was smile at him and give him a small chuckle as she passed and he started walking with a smile. “Your funeral.”

Disregarding his comment, Y/N slowly pushed open the door to the changing room and saw Potter tugging a shirt on with his back to her. It was a simple white t-shirt and black jeans but he tugged the top on so aggressively that she wanted to laugh but just settled on closing the door and leaning against it before throwing her gloves and shin guards down onto the nearest bench with a clatter.

“I don’t want to hear it, Padfoot, you made your point.” He grumbled as he grabbed a bottle from his bag and put it up his shirt, spraying it in the direction of his armpits and Y/N wrinkled her nose up in disgust. “I’m overreacting.”

“I don’t know what a padfoot is-” She began to say and James jumped out of his skin as he whirled around and nearly stumbled whilst putting the cap back on his aftershave. “- but I’m not it.”

His expression turned sour as he stared at her and he turned back to his belongings to start packing his uniform in his Quidditch bag quickly, more aggressive now that she was in the room. “Come to gloat?”

“Yes, actually.” Y/N nodded with a smile and pushed herself off of the wall, walking closer to where James was packing his stuff up and she leaned against the wall beside that instead, meeting James’ eyes as he glanced at her. “What happened out there? You’re bad anyway, but today you were horrible.”

“Shut up.” He scowled, grabbing his red jersey and stuffing it into the bag on top of the Quidditch sweats they were all made to wear. Y/N only smirked slightly wide as she saw that she was affecting him.

“I mean, the Finbourgh Flick was a good tactic.” She continued casually as the rustling of the clothes got louder and James breathed more heavily in anger. “Too bad it didn’t work.”

“Quit it, will you?” He snapped at her, eyes flaring as the eye contact was made but he looked away with a rising and falling chest. 

“The reverse pass was good on your part as a Chaser.” Y/N continued and James’ hands fumbled with his stuff whilst his face heated up with the humiliation and the anger. He glared heatedly her had the urge to just...push her into a wall and kiss her right on the mouth so she would shut up.

What?! He blinked for a second, erasing the thought from his mind with a shake of his head...the thought of kissing her should disgust him but through his angry haze he didn’t seem to be bothered whilst looking away from her features that glowed and glistened with a thin layer of sweat that looked disgustingly enticing in that moment.

“But that failed too...” She frowned mockingly and he glanced back up, eyebrows furrowing in anger and his hands itched to press her shoulders against the wall she was leaning on. Rendering her speechless. So he could have a moment of peace. “Your chasing skills were okay but same couldn’t be said for your captaincy...should’ve brushed them all up on their passes. That’s on you.”

He snapped, jerking away from his bag and towards her, his hands reaching to her arms as he slammed her back against the wall she was leaning on in anger and shoved his lips against hers to shut her up. She jolted slightly at the impact but she accepted the kiss as he stood an inch apart from her, hands gripping at her arms and eyes closing but still full with anger at the sight of her though they softened slightly behind is eyelids when he realised he had just pinned someone against the wall, kissed them roughly and let his anger get the best of him.

He pulled away just as roughly, panting whilst his eyes searched every detail on her face in fear he had made her uncomfortable in any way; it hadn’t been his intention but she just made him so mad. “I’m, uh, sorry.”

She panted just as heavily as him, her breath having been stolen by the way he slammed her against the wall and then his lips had pressed against hers with vigour. Though as his blazing eyes searched her face, he found no sign of uncomfortableness or disgust, instead he saw the smirk twitch at her lips again.

“Don’t apologise.” She breathlessly told him, licking her lips and James eyed the wetness that now covered them as he gulped at the sight and his eyes flicked back up to hers again. “Do it again if you’d like.”

Then she winked at him and James swore he went into cardiac arrest for a moment but he regained himself quickly before looking at the wetness on her lips and diving in again, pressing his lips roughly against hers before pulling back and doing it again and again and again. Like he was addicted. But he was still angry which he didn’t understand...James’ grip tightened on her arms slightly as he took a step closer so their noses nearly touched and he kissed her on the lips again.

Y/N responded as best she could, but the kisses he delivered were short and rough, not ones were she could give him the pleasure of kissing back. So she just let him attack her lips with his, feeling them bruise with every bit of pressure was put onto them with his endless kisses that came again and again and again. Every kiss got him more worked up it seemed and for one of them, he planted his lips onto hers and just pressed them there for longer, letting the feeling consume him.

She had no problem with it, just wished he would do something else to stimulate her building arousal. James grunted at one point and she prepared herself for his touch, his tongue pressed against her lips and she opened them immediately, welcoming him inside with a small, escaped breath. His tongue circled around hers, moving around her mouth as they groaned in unison. 

Y/N desperately wanted to touch him somehow, but he still had her arms in his tight grip despite the fact that he was almost pressed against her completely and there wasn’t even any way she would want to leave now. She moved her tongue too and he grunted again, finally moving his hands from her arms to her his but still keeping her pressed against the wall.

She moved her arms out to wrap around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to her and letting her hands play with his hair, tugging at it slightly and making him groan as his hands travelled slightly higher but he stopped when he realised she was more or less still in her full Quidditch Uniform

He disregarded that fact for a minute and let his lips travel down across her jaw to her neck where he ducked his head down and she leant hers back to give him more access, his lips sucked gently at the skin as he kissed her neck and gave the occasional blow which caused a shiver down her back and the slightest arch.

James chuckled lowly at her back arching slightly and she groaned slightly at the sound and the breath on her neck, his kisses went further up her neck until he was dangerously close to her and she felt them skim her earlobe before his voice invaded her hearing. “I knew you liked me.”

She could practically hear the cocky smirk through the small laugh as he nipped gently at her earlobe before travelling his kisses back down to her neck. Y/N rolled her eyes and used her hands to grab James’ face before bringing him to face her. Both of them were breathing heavily and James quirked his eyebrows up at her as she made them meet eyes.

“Shut up.” She said to him breathlessly, pulling him back in to connect their lips and he smiled into the kiss they shared before he went serious again and stuck his tongue into her mouth again. 

And again she welcomed it eagerly, the muscles circling around each other as they engaged themselves in a rough and passionate make out. James grabbed at her waist and pulled her right up against him, off of the wall so he could unzip the back of the jersey and push it off of her. He didn’t bother to unbutton the cape that attached at the bottom of the jersey so he just let it fall with it. 

So now she was just in her long-sleeved black shirt, her black joggers and her boots. Y/N quickly discarded of her shoes, throwing them to the side and letting her sock-covered feet land on the hard wooden floor below her before she pulled her socks off too.

 James didn’t waste any time in grabbing her by the back of her thighs and using his remarkable strength to hike her up so her legs wrapped around his waist and they engaged back in a heated kiss with his hands squeezing at her thighs and her hands running through his already messy hair.

He moved backwards as they kissed, both of their lips surely bruised by now from the roughness of their kissing. The feeling of her body against his was intoxicating and she craved so much more. James lowered himself onto one of the benches so she was now straddling him and they kept kissing one another, their heavy breathing loud amongst the thickening air of the changing rooms. 

Caught up in the moment, Y/N grinded against James who groaned into their kiss and put his hands on her ass, squeezing as she grinded again and their tongues found solace touching the other. Soft breathy moans from Y/N and small groans from James filled the changing room and she felt thankful for the rest of the team deciding to shower back up at the castle instead of in the changing rooms.

James started to kiss at the skin on her neck, sucking and pecking it as Y/N continued to grind on him with her small moans. “Want you to ride my thigh.”

“What?” She breathed out, breath catching in her throat as he started sucking in the same spot for a while, surely leaving a mark. 

“I want you...” He smoothed his tongue over the spot where he’d been sucking and Y/N exhaled shakily, bucking her hips. “to ride” He peppered kisses across the extra expanse of skin until his mouth had trailed up to her ear and he lowered his voice down to a whisper. “my thigh.”

“Okay.” Y/N moaned out softly and moved from straddling both of his thighs to straddling only one and looking at him to make eye contact, his eyes were alight yet dark with lust as he looked at her and before she started moving, his fingers ghosted over the hem of her shirt.

He pulled it off of her and she raised her arms so it slipped off easily and he threw it across the changing rooms without looking for an exact place to throw it. He then pulled his own shirt off and threw it away too. 

His eyes were too busy travelling over the sight of her bra-covered chest and marvelling at the way it perfectly pushed up her breasts to where he could bury his face in them and kiss at the skin which made her moan out again as his hands groped at them hungrily. She tilted her head back as she felt his thumbs trace over the material of the cups and her nipples began to harden in arousal.

His fingers travelled around to her back and he unhooked her bra, pulling it off of her shoulders and throwing it in the direction of her shirt. He put his hands on her breasts again, groping at them and kissing them too, his hands just felt better now that it was skin on skin. 

“Move, baby.” He whispered against her skin and she breathed softly as she began to drag herself along his thigh, feeling the faint stimulation as the joggers pressed against her knickers and her knickers pressed against her vagina.

A shiver went up her spine as she continued to move against him, breathing shakily and getting faster with every rut. He flexed his thigh from underneath her and moved his hands away from her breasts towards her ass to move her faster against his thigh which had her gasping and gripping his shoulders and moaning whilst the stimulation against her clit got faster and rougher and his hands were squeezing her ass harshly. 

He groaned as she bucked faster, moaning whilst her fingers pressed into his skin and muscle. James even started to bounce his thigh which sent sparks of pleasure through her as her tits started to bounce on her chest and James watched them hungrily whilst they went up and down over and over and over again until she was a moaning mess on his body.

“I’m gonna-” She cut herself off with a loud moan, rutting faster in chase of her release as James leaned forward and stuffed his face into her neck, kissing and sucking and even nipping slightly at the skin there as he continued to bounce his hip. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum for me, L/N.” He whispered roughly into her ear, squeezing her ass hard enough to leave a bruise as he bounced quicker and listened to the pretty noises that she let loose. “Do it for me.”

“For you,” She breathed out in a moan, tilting her head back whilst she thrusted faster and the lewd noises escaped her with no hesitation. “All for you.”

“All for me.” James chuckled into her ear and with one last loud cry of pleasure, Y/N released and continued to shake and stutter in her rhythm as she rode out of her high and James softly kissed her through it. “Well done, my girl.”

Y/N let her hands loosen their tight grip on him as she panted after her orgasm, letting her palms massage his shoulders instead of gripping them tight. James rubbed her ass before moving his hands up her back to smooth over the skin of her back whilst she calmed down.

“We’re not done yet.” He whispered into her ear and she moaned softly again at the declaration. James began to stand, making Y/N stand too and he slowly lowered his hands to pluck at the waistband of her joggers. 

He crouched slowly, bringing the joggers down with him until they were pooled at her feet and she stepped out of them. His fingers travelled back up to get the waistband of her knickers and he pulled them down next, smiling cockily at the sight of the glistening wetness inside of it. She stepped out of those too and James stood back up with them still in his hand, her grabbed her face in his hand and showed them to her as her cheeks squished in his hold.

“Made such a mess.” He tutted, moving his hand that held her face so she was shaking her head. The confidence and dominance radiated off of him like he was a raging fire spreading smoke up into the air, Y/N loved it and the way he held her face in one hand made her go crazy. 

James threw her knickers away too and she was left naked in front of her half-naked Quidditch nemesis. Who knew that this is where they would end up? Y/N moved her hand, getting the urge to make him feel good and she reached out towards his joggers, wanting to touch the bulge that had grown there but James grasped her hand before she could touch it and tutted again.

“I wanna make you feel as good as you made me.” She told him, words muffled by his hand squishing her cheeks but he understood her anyway by the way he smirked at her.

“You will make me feel good.” He released her cheeks and grabbed her hips instead, pulling her against him so her breasts pressed against his bare chest and she groaned slightly at the feeling. “By letting me fuck you until you can’t remember your own name.”

Y/N moaned at the thought, trying to pull him down for a kiss but James pulled away which made her whine slightly. He chuckled at her noise as he began to walk them back against the wall and she shivered once her back pressed against the cold tiles and James towered over her with an aura of dominance. The rustling of his pants made her look down to where he was pushing both his joggers and his boxers down his legs before stepping out of them.

Y/N’s eyes trained to his erection and she licked her lips at the sight before looking up to James who smirked at the look in her eyes before wrapping his own hand around his dick and pumping it just to tease her because he said she couldn’t do it before. He let go of his dick, crouched and looped his arms underneath her thighs, guiding her legs to wrap around his waist like they had before as her weight was supported against the wall.

She moaned slightly as her pussy touched his bare body and he just smirked at her before pushing his hard dick into her with no prior prepping and enjoying the way her head tilted back against the wall with a large moan scraping at her throat. He went in slowly, watching her mouth fall agape further as one of her hands pressed against the wall behind her another grappled at his shoulder, with every inch that went in, the wider her mouth fell with the pleasurable pain he was delivering.

James bottomed out and held himself in there for a couple of seconds, kissing at her neck and sucking another mark whilst she got comfortable. His other one he had made stood out as a bright red blotch on the side of her neck and James kissed at that again, Y/N whimpering at the touch.

He began to pull out in a slow pace before taking his time pushing back in, he continued the slow pace as he let her get used to it. The feeling was remarkable and Y/N moaned softly as he slid in and out of her agonisingly slow.

“Faster.” She panted, her chest heaving and James stopped altogether, bringing her to whimper but then his mouth was against her ear again.

“As you wish.” He said, his raspy voice heavenly in her ears and she allowed herself to revel in it for a moment before her peace was interrupted by James�� hips slamming into her and causing a loud moan to pour out of her lips as he kept thrusting into her whilst she balanced herself against the wall.

His thrusts were relentless, in and out over and over. He spoke through gritted teeth whilst slamming and thrusting into Y/N. Moans were spilling from her lips with no mercy and her tits were bouncing up and down over and over as James   kept up his rough pace. He pulled out all the way and then slammed back in over and over and over again with praise and profanities spilling shamelessly from him. 

“Yeah, my good girl, fuck yeah.”

At his words, she let out moans which were met with groans from James as he thrusted in and out with his eyes on his girlfriends breasts which were bouncing for his view and Y/N attempted to bounce herself back on his dick with a screwed up face from the pleasure whilst her eyes tried to peak down at where James was thrusting into her but he reached back and pulled their hair so they were looking up at the ceiling of the changing rooms.

“James-” She cut herself off, their eyes rolling back in their head as James put a hand around her throat and laughed at their fucked out expression and went impossibly faster into her. The moan that she wanted to let out was blocked by his hand gripping her neck tightly, his fingers pressing into the skin whilst the sound of skin slapping echoed around the rooms.

“You like my hand around your pretty neck?” He grunted and she nodded, her hand on his shoulder going to touch his arms as a whimper made its way out and James laughed lowly. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Y-Yes.” She choked out, moaning as James loosened his grip slightly when he felt his orgasm approaching. Y/N could feel her own, the coil slowly tightening in the pits of her stomach as her eyes rolled back again and James groaned louder. “James, fuck me.”

“Come on, baby.” He moaned, going faster and Y/N whimpered repetitively as his dick brushed against her g-spot and it prodded at the pressure point repeatedly. “Come on. Cum all over me, my good girl, cum on my dick.”

His words sent multiple shivers down her spine and finally, with motivation from James’ thrusts against her g-spot and his hand tightening on her neck again at the chase for his own release, Y/N let go and had her second orgasm all over James’ dick that was still pounding into her but starting to stutter in it’s rhythm. She clenched around him and it took a lot of self-control for James to pull out and let his own cum squirt up all over her torso.

Once both of their orgasms had mulled over, Y/N leaned her head forward and rested her forehead on James’ as they both panted and their chests went up and down in unison. James tilted his head so his lips could catch hers and Y/N responded softly, the kiss softer than their rough ones which had started the whole thing off.

“Thank god for Quidditch, huh?” Y/N muttered against his lips and he managed a chuckle, the two of them naked and sweaty but still laughing with each other after a failed match for one of them.

[angryinternetduck]

Cocoa

hellooo and merry christmas <3 lmao. here's 4.5k words of a christmas fic in august. sorry about that. but it's written and it's here so hope you enjoy! [harry styles x famous!reader]

masterlist | ask

The party’s fun, no doubt. You can feel the Christmas cheer radiating off of everybody, glowing from the lights and sprinkling down from the mistletoe over every doorway. It seeps under doors and is swirled in the mystery punch in the kitchen, it echoes in everyone’s laughter and fills you with warmth.

Despite all of this, all of the joy and happiness, you’re a bit sick of people at the moment. You’re not sure how long you’ve been there, but it must have been a while. You feel like you’ve talked to every person in the room three times over - except for one guy, who, if you’re being honest, is the only one you really want to talk to.

That one guy seems to have disappeared a while ago, however, and you try to look for him as discreetly as possible as you look over the head of the small, plump, bald man you’re talking to at the moment. He mumbles, gesticulates with his hands in a way that makes it look like he’s being electrocuted, and talks about record deals and what he could do to help you thrive in the industry.

“Really,” you murmur on cue, “wow, that’s interesting.”

“Isn’t it?��� he says excitedly, apparently oblivious to your apathy, and keeps talking.

Finally, you give up on finding him. He’s probably left. You stare at your drink for a moment, debating how to get out of this conversation. “Hey,” you say, interrupting the bald man with a sugary smile, “hey, I gotta go, okay? Let’s, uh - let’s continue this later, yeah?”

He frowns for just a second and then smiles again. “Sure! Wanna give me your cell? We can discuss details -” You laugh and shake your head, sliding away. “Sorry!” you say breezily. “I don’t have a phone.”

That’s a lie. It’s sticking out of your purse, and the man frowns at it. He doesn’t bother to smile again this time and just turns around, muttering to himself. You sigh, amused despite yourself, and then wander away.

You’re planning on grabbing a drink, or maybe finding that guy, when you see another man who looks like he has a plan for you heading your way. You grimace, avoiding eye contact, and then duck into a curtained area to your right, praying there’s nobody hooking up inside.

It’s dark in there, but you don’t really look, just peek back out into the main room.

You see James Corden, the host of the party, talking animatedly with Shawn Mendes, and Camila Cabello a few feet away looking bored as she talks to the same guy you just escaped from. You feel bad for her, and are thinking of rescuing her when -

“Woah,” somebody breathes from behind you.

You gasp, whirling around.

There’s a guy on the couch, running a hand through his hair and looking tired. A small smile curves your lips when you realize it’s the only person you haven’t talked to: “Harry Styles,” you say, and he grins, saying your name back to you.

Then you frown. “What are you doing in here?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” he says through a yawn.

“You were the one sleeping,” you say back, and he laughs sheepishly. “Right. Yeah, I’m a bit, erm - I’m a bit tired.” You raise your brows. “Yeah, see that much.” He laughs again, standing up and stretching up to the ceiling.

“Wanna turn on the lights, then?” he asks, nodding towards the switch next to you. “Unless you’re planning something else, of course.” You mimic his smirk and, even as you flick on the lights, reply, “No plans here. I’m pretty flexible.”

He grins. “I’m sure.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you’re not as embarrassed as you should be as you let your eyes flick over him since he’s doing the same to you. He’s wearing a black suit, trimmed red with designs on the sleeves you can’t make out. It fits him well. Then again, you think, letting your eyes drift back up over his sharp jawline and dimpled cheeks to his green eyes, most things do.

“Not a fan of the party, then?” he asks.

You shrug. “It’s not too bad.”

“Don’t worry,” he mock whispers, “you can be honest. I won’t tell James.”

Shaking your head, you laugh and reply, “No, no, it’s fine. Just, um - need a break.”

“Right,” he says.

“And you?” you ask. “So boring you’re sleeping, huh?”

“Nah. Just had a late night last night.”

You feel yourself smile. “Right,” you echo.

“Should probably get back out there,” Harry muses, walking closer to you. He stands beside you and looks around the other side of the curtain. “Think there’s any champagne left?” You glance over at him. “Only one way to find out.”

He bites his lip, brow furrowing. “Maybe we shouldn’t come out together,” he muses. “Might look a bit suspicious.” You nod. “Yeah,” you say, and are about to offer to go first when he sighs heavily, dramatically. “Well, I suppose I’ll go first.” He grins at you. “Cover me.”

“With pleasure,” you reply, and he slips out into the crowd.

You wait a second, watching him slide through the people, say hi to a few, brush them off. He finally makes it to the bar, and then turns around and glances at you, brows raised. You bite back a smile and walk out. You make your way towards him, maybe not as smoothly as he did, but you make it and stand next to him.

“Hey, I know you,” he says.

“Been a while,” you say back.

“Ages.”

You smile, placing your hands on the counter as you lean forward to look at the selection. “They should serve hot chocolate,” you say. “Something Christmasy.” Harry shrugs. “Eggnog,” he replies, and you tilt your head back and forth. “I guess.”

“What, not good enough?” Harry asks with a grin.

“Hot chocolate’s better.”

“Maybe we should get some.”

You raise a brow and look over at him. He’s smiling. It’s almost a smirk, just a hint of smug confidence in the sweetness of his expression. “Now?” you ask hesitantly, and he nods, slipping his keys out of his pockets. “Yeah, c’mon. James won’t mind.”

You grin, shaking your head, and echo, “Won’t mind. He’s been trying to set me up with you for months.” Harry laughs, leading you towards a back room. “Still don’t know how you got out of guesting while I was on.”

“Hey, nice on that, by the way,” you say, unable to keep from smirking. “I’m flattered.”

Harry flushes red, eyes darting away from yours, and you can’t help but feel supremely smug that you’ve managed to put a crack in the oh-so-strong cocky exterior of Harry Styles. At the moment, you consider making Harry Styles blush your greatest accomplishment.

He’d not so deftly dodged a question about you during Spill Your Guts or Fill Your Guts, and had been just as red as he is now, ears aflame, stuttering madly. Though you’d never officially met, you’d both been asked about each other plenty of times.

Then, after making it through a question about Kendall and certain songs on the album, she asked about his feelings for you, holding up a particularly flattering picture of you from your last album photo shoot. He chose to eat a large chunk of jellyfish instead of answering, which was just about as much an answer as anything.

If nothing else, he at least proved they weren’t aware of the questions beforehand.

Now, he coughs into his hand and gives you a smile. “You’re welcome,” he says, and his gaze darts away from yours as he explains, “Not sure anybody knows about this, but, erm - well, here we are.”

He’s led you to what looks almost like a drawing room, with huge windows that face the backyard. And the windows open, evidently, because he gently unlatches them before stepping out into the cool night air. He beckons to you, a glint of mischief in those green, green eyes.

“Wow, really know your way around this place, huh?” you murmur as you follow him.

He shrugs. “Been around a few times.”

“Enough times to know a close place to get good hot chocolate at this hour of the night?”

“Maybe,” he says slyly, shoving his hands in his pockets. You grin and follow him to his car, letting the nighttime quiet linger around you. He’s not parked too far away, and when he opens the passenger side door for you, you slide onto the soft leather with a smile.

“Right,” he sighs as he gets in on the other side, “so we have a few options here.”

“Lay ‘em on me, Styles.”

He puts the key in the ignition, checks his rearview. “Well, there’re three places. Total. One right around the corner, one five minutes away, and one… maybe fifteen.” He pulls out onto the road. “The one farthest has the best hot chocolate, but it’s also the busiest. The closest one’s pretty… mediocre, but it also has fantastic chocolate scones. And we’ll have to go through the back to the one five minutes away, but it’s not too bad most of the time… and its hot chocolate has a little… erm - kick to it.”

“Five minutes,” you reply immediately. “Never got that champagne.”

He glances at you, a smirk tugging on his lips. “What, can’t stand me sober?”

“Exactly.”

“I could always drop you back at James’s,” he hums.

“What, and get hot cocoa all by your lonesome?” you reply with a grin.

He shrugs. “Better than being insulted, hm?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be nicer once I have some cocoa in me.”

“Better be,” he murmurs. “Not exactly in the Christmas spirit to be bullying the guy getting you hot chocolate.” You smile, letting the silence hang in the car before sighing and resting your elbow on the door and your chin in your palm. “I can’t believe it’s Christmas already,” you say softly.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Harry glance at you before he replies.

“Yeah,” he says. “Feels like just yesterday was Halloween…” You nod. “Yeah, really. I went to grab a candy or something from the kitchen - you know, from my Halloween stash, only to realize that I’d finished it a week ago and Halloween was two months ago.”

Harry laughs, nodding, and tells you about his own Halloween stash.

The five minute drive seems more like five seconds.

***

Going out in public always has a certain element of stress about it.

It’s a pain to go out by yourself, let alone with a guy. You’re always worried about paps and fans, and where to go to avoid said paps and fans. Not that you don’t love your fans, of course, but you don’t exactly love the idea of spending your entire date taking pictures with adoring fans.

Not that this is a date.

This is just… two people. Two people, getting hot chocolate.

Whether you’re holding his hand as he slips in through the back door of the cafe is unrelated. He lets go as soon as you’re inside, anyway, straightening the sleeves of his shirt and smiling at you broadly.

“Harry!” somebody calls immediately, and the crowd of chefs parts to let a plump lady wearing a lopsided chef’s hat come through. “Harry, Harry,” she coos, wrapping him in a hug. “It’s been so long!”

“Yes, yes, it has been. Hello, Mary, how are you?” Harry asks pleasantly, and she laughs and pinches his cheeks as she pulls away. “Much better now that I’m seeing you,” she says, and then turns to you. “Who’s this, then? Do I… recognize you from somewhere?”

“Um - possibly,” you admit, and tell her your name. You’re about to go for a handshake, but she pulls you in for a hug instead. Harry grins at you over her shoulder. “Oh my goodness,” Mary gushes, “it is so nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you, too,” you laugh.

She pulls back, smiling at you, and then gasps, hands lifting for a moment before she spins around, gesturing for you to follow. “Come on, come on, right through here,” she says, leading you through the doors of the kitchen.

As you duck your head instinctively at the noise in the room, you feel Harry’s hand slide into yours, guiding you to the booth Mary’s stopped at. It faces the kitchen, its back to the doors and windows at the front of the cafe.

“Here you are, you two!” Mary says cheerily as Harry slides into the booth after you. “I’ll be right back with menus.” She bustles away, and Harry turns to you with a big smile on his face. “I come here a lot,” he says.

You smile back, unable to help yourself. “I can see that.”

It’s only a few moments before Mary’s back with the menus. She tells you all about the specials, and you can’t help but get an order of fries to share with Harry as well as the promised hot chocolate.

Conversation flows much too easily while you eat, and you find yourself learning all about Harry Styles. He tells you all about growing up, and stops when he gets to auditioning for The X Factor. He tells you about his hobbies, his hopes and dreams, and his favorite color.

You’re entranced in his voice, and barely even notice yourself talking. You almost forget where you are, forget about the food or the drinks or the chatter around you. You tell him about your own childhood, about your own hopes and dreams, and you tell him what books you love and where you want to travel and your favorite movies.

The minutes tick on, and your conversation never dulls. You don’t talk about your last album, or his movie, or any of his music. The pressure of the public fades away, the pressure of the media or the paps or anything else.

And for the two hours you’re together, it’s just you, him, and your delicious hot cocoa.

***

Three Months Later

The cafe’s pretty empty for a Sunday morning, and you get your coffee fairly quickly. You’re grabbing it from the counter when you hear the bell on the door ring, and you catch a glimpse of who it is before turning back to your coffee.

Then you freeze, your coffee half way up to your mouth.

That’s Harry Styles.

You lower your coffee without taking a sip, debating for a split second how awkward it would be to just pretend you hadn’t seen him. But you realize you made eye contact, so he probably saw you, too.

So you turn around, and smile at him.

He smiles back, and your heart flutters.

As you weave around the tables towards him, you feel a flash of old irritation - he’d never called or texted after that Christmas party. Then again, you think, meeting his green eyes and seeing those dimples, neither did you.

“Hey,” he says.

“I know you,” you say back.

“Been awhile.”

“Ages,” you agree, biting back a smile.

“Good coffee?”

“Great coffee,” you tell him, holding up your cup.

He nods towards the line, and you don’t really think as you fall in with him even though you’re already holding your own. “Saw you’ll be on Late Late,” he says, and you nod. “Yup. Can’t wait for that.”

“Know what games you’re playing?” he asks.

You smile at him. “Anything but Spill Your Guts.”

“Lucky duck,” he says, holding your gaze with a smile for a split second before glancing away. “James asked me to guest, too,” he tells you, and you nod again. “Yup.” He looks back at you, a brow raised, and asks, “Was that your idea, then?”

You shrug, smiling mischievously. “You’ll never know.”

“Guess I won’t.”

This time it’s you who breaks eye contact, and he nudges your arm gently as he says, “Got that book you told me about.” You feel yourself light up as you look back at him, unable to hide your excitement. “Yeah? And? Did you like it?”

“Loved it. Ending was spectacular.”

“Right?” you gush. You tell him some of your thoughts, and he tells you his. You go back and forth, and you forget your surroundings again, losing yourself in him. He, apparently, does the same, because you both snap out of it when you reach the front of the line.

He orders, and you hold up your coffee to show the girl behind the counter that you’re already through. She blinks, nods, seems a bit awestruck as she glances from you to him and back again and rings him up. You clear your throat when he’s through, too, and look at your cup.

“Well,” you sigh, smiling at him, “I should probably go.”

“Oh,” Harry says. “Right.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then, finally, you pull yourself out of it. “Um - I’ll… see you later, I guess.” Harry cringes, his eyes going out the window. “Probably on a front cover,” he says, and you sigh again. “Right,” you mutter, following his gaze.

“Call me,” Harry says, softly.

You turn back to him, nodding. “I will,” you say back, “but text me. Make sure I do.”

He smiles. “Sure.”

The doorbell rings as you leave, and you look over your shoulder.

Harry grins at you, and gives you a salute.

You laugh, salute him back, and then mime Call me with your hand.

And that, of course, is the picture People Magazine uses the next week on the front cover.

***

“Hiiiiiii,” he sang through the phone.

“You asked me to call you. Well. You asked me to text you. To call me.”

He giggled. His words were slurred.

“Thinking of you, though.” He was mumbling, now. “Thinking of you a lot, lately. Can’t get you off my mind…” He fumbled with something in the background. “Wanna see you. Wanna see you now, wanna - I dunno. I wanna talk to you. You’re funny, you know that? You’re funny. Nice voice.” Another giggle. “Oh, right. You sing. Of course you have a nice voice. I sing, too. Know that? I, erm - I sing. A lot. Not really. I dunno. You should… you should listen to my songs.”

He coughed, moved again.

“Been writing a lot. A lot a lot. Dunno why I’m telling you this. Wanna write with you. You’re a proper good writer, you know that? Brilliant writer, you are.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “Wanna write with you. Wanna sing with you. Wanna be with you…”

Somebody called to him, and he called back, then shuffled again and cleared his throat. “I gotta… go now. Mitch says I should sleep. Don’t wanna sleep, though… You should come over. Come over now. ‘s not too late, don’t think. Dunno.”

A pause.

“Right. Erm - call me, please? You never… never did. I didn’t call you either, though… not till now. We should get on that. Suck at communication already, and we’re not even together yet. But I called you! I called you, so, er - the ball’s in your court… I guess… So bye, now. Please call me, love, I, erm…”

He faded off, and his voice was just a whisper when he spoke again.

“Miss you. Call me.”

Then he hung up.

***

You realize you’re smiling as his voice fades out. You like hearing his voice. He’s got a nice one. Really nice. He sings. You smile more and your finger hovers over the call back button. You hesitate for a split second and then hit it.

It rings.

Rings, and rings, and rings and rings.

“‘lo?”

“Hey,” you say.

He pauses for a second, registering, you imagine, and then talks, hurriedly, like he’s afraid you’re going to hang up on him. “Oh my God,” he breathes, then says your name apologetically, “I am so sorry. About the - the -” Another pause. “Wait. Erm - did you get the -?”

“Yeah,” you say, almost sheepishly. “Yeah, I did.” You laugh. “I’m flattered, honestly.”

He groans, but doesn’t sound as panicked. “I’m sorry about that,” he says again. “Really. I, erm - well, dunno if you could tell, but I was a bit… intoxicated… so. Sorry about that.” He laughs a bit. “Kindly erase it from your memory, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh, no, Styles,” you giggle, “no way. I’m not even gonna erase it from my phone. That’s gold, right there. You have a nice voice, too, by the way…” Another groan, laughing. “You’re cruel,” he says. “Absolutely cruel.”

“That’s what they say…”

There’s a pause, and you picture him smiling. You wish you’d hit FaceTime instead. You want to see his face, you realize, and then feel a trace of embarrassment. “Heard your interview with Grimmy,” you say. “I guess James told him about us disappearing on Christmas.”

“No doubt about it,” he replies. “Asked me about it and only shut his trap about it because I begged him.” Your brows jump, a grin on your lips. “Harry Styles, begging?” you ask, and he says, “Yeah. That hot chocolate better have been worth it.”

You fiddle with the hem of your t-shirt, humming in agreement. “It was. Worth it and more… Should probably do that again, huh.” A split second of quiet, and you almost worry you were too forward.

Then he says, “No way,” and you’re just confused.

“Wow, at least I don’t have to worry about you lying to me,” you say, laughing despite yourself, and you can hear the smile in his voice when he talks again. “We can’t get hot chocolate,” he says matter-of-factly, “because it’s April. It’ll have to be dinner.”

You grin. “Dinner it is, then.”

***

You look cute in the picture they got.

And in love.

They got it as he walked you to your door. Your hand was in his, a huge smile on your face as you looked at him. His other hand was pushing hair behind your ear, his smile as wide as yours. You were close, too, and you were happy whoever had taken the photo didn’t get the kiss afterwards.

It was a good dinner, admittedly. He picked you up, cooked for you, got wine drunk with you and giggled about everything and nothing on his couch with you after you’d eaten. He was a proper gentleman, too, offering to drive you home when you regrettably told him you had an early morning and couldn’t stay over.

You forget about being cool or distant or trying not to look desperate and text him the next day, joking about the pictures online and various fan reactions. The conversation is so lighthearted that you absently invite him to the museum with you, forgetting that you’d seen him less than twenty four hours ago.

That keeps happening with him, the casual hangouts and meetups, and it’s not a problem until the kisses at your doorstep after every occasion turn into you waking up with him in your bed and butterflies still in your tummy.

You turn and look at him, sleeping next to you peacefully with the soft morning sun spilling over his cheekbones, and realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re just a little bit in love with him.

***

“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for two of the biggest singers on the planet -”

You smile and wave as James Corden introduces you and Harry, still amazed after all these years at the rambunctious applause that follows your name. “Here I am,” James goes on, “with two of the biggest singers on the planet… who still haven’t admitted to being the most iconic power couple since, well - since ever, really.”

You and Harry laugh, hiding your faces from the hoots and hollers from the crowd, but neither of you says anything. James looks at you, an expectant look on his face, and prods, “Well?”

Awkwardly, you and Harry look at each other, and then start nodding. “Yup,” you say together. “Yeah. Mhm.” James groans dramatically, spinning away and shuffling his cue cards on the desk. “You know, I always thought Harry was the best at dodging questions until I met this one,” James sighs, pointing at you.

The audience laughs, and you shrug, still smiling big.

James starts, “Right, well, I’d like to take credit for this relationship, because -”

“Alleged relationship,” Harry cuts in.

“Of course, of course,” James says, rolling his eyes at the crowd. “But, in case you haven’t heard, it was, actually, my Christmas party where they first met.” You start to shake your head, and James raises a brow. “Is that not the case?”

“Well - actually, you know, it’s kind of awkward, but, um - well, you see -”

“She was a fan of One Direction,” Harry interrupts smugly.

“Okay, you could say that,” you say with a smile as a cheer goes up from the crowd.

“Really only one guy,” Harry goes on, bouncing his brows.

“Yeah, I think his name was Zayn, actually -”

Harry scoffs, putting a hand to his chest in mock hurt as the crowd gives you a laugh.

“Ooh, drama,” James sings.

“Um, but yeah, no, we met at an awards show a few years back when I, uh… quite fangirlishly approached them,” you explain. Harry nudges you and replies, “It was an even amount of awestruckness, though, since she’d just come out with her first album…”

James plugs your next album here, and you smile and throw a thumbs up until the crowd quiets and he says, “You really met at my party, though, wouldn’t you say?” Harry laughs, shaking his head. “I won’t give you the satisfaction.”

“That means yes,” James mock whispers towards the crowd. “So, erm, any plans you can share, then?” he goes on. “Should we be expecting a new song? Or a movie, perhaps?” He looks at you, spreading his hands, and says, “Your first movie debut?”

“Well… there is something in the works,” you tell him, and Harry nods, putting a finger to his lips to show the secrecy of it all. James claps giddily with the crowd. “Between the two of you, I won’t expect too many details, but I have a bit of a proposition…” He gestures at the side stage and says, “Behind that curtain, I have a table. On that table is a variety of disgusting foods…”

Harry’s face falls jokingly, and he gives a horrified look to the crowd.

“Now to get out of playing our favorite game, all you have to do is admit-”

As scripted, you and Harry kiss each other through smiles. The crowd goes nuts, and James shouts to announce the commercial break through the noise as your little kiss gets a standing ovation and deafening cheers.

The something in the works happens to be a song, and two months later, it’ll come out. Harry will have gotten to write with you - and your nice voice - and the song will be called Cocoa.

***

hi!!! okay so there's that, and i know this doesn't really make sense and neither does my last fic, but there's a rhyme and a reason haha i'm just. idk. lol. ANYWAY hope you liked it and if you did some feedback would be great!!!!

masterlist | ask

[hecksee]

3 Times The Cubs Struggled Alone, And 1 Time They Had Each Other

This is ficlet number two for the wonderful @kielemarie, means the fucking world to me, and I love her so much. She is the older sister I always wanted. Thank you Marie for always being there, and Happy Birthday! 

The characters, are, as always, from the amazing @lumosinlove. Go give Haz a follow! 

This ficlet is meant to show how mental shit can impact someone’s life and that is okay. People can still thrive with mental shit, and they can still be amazing people.  

Finn 

For the first time since he met Logan, Finn knew he wasn't going to see Logan anytime in the near future. And god he was worried. Worried about Logan, worried about Logan getting hurt, worried about what will happen when he stops repressing his feelings, just worried about Logan in general. And god, that's when he wasn't even thinking about his current season; rookie on Gryffindor Lions, his dream team. 

Finn was playing with some of the greats, Pascal Dumais, Kasey Winters, Sirius Black, and James Potter; to name a few. But the stress could be too much sometimes; the pressure on his shoulders during every game was never lifted. All Finn could think about was how he was some little kid's idol; how they were rooting for him. 

Normally, that was enough for him to get through the day without worrying about Tremz, but today was different; it was one of the days were he woke up on edge, where he was missing Lo so much that it hurt, where the only thing that was keeping him from calling was what had happened before he'd left. 

Practice had ended up making him miss Logan even more; the sound of pucks slapping on sticks reminded him of doing drills with Lo, doing their handshake before they went out onto the ice, all of their memories together came flooding back. 

And god he was even more worried about Lo than he was before. It all was too much, his chest was crushed underneath the weight of his worry; what if Logan slipped on the ice and fell, what if he got into a fight, what if something happened and Finn wasn’t there to stop it. What if he never spoke to Logan again and they ended on bad terms? Logan meant too much to lose him that way. And what if Logan got drafted, but to another team? He’d lose all contact.

 Finn’s head was filled with static, his thoughts were getting louder and faster, his heart was pounding, and his breaths were coming in short pants. In the back of his mind he vaguely registered Dumo skating over, but his mind was in too much distress to care. 

But then, as suddenly as it started,  everything stopped. His mind seemed as though it had been covered in a fog, his thoughts were still there but they were quiet and muted. Everything seemed fake, as if he was in a dream. The world was softer. He was gripping the side of the arena, with no recollection on how he had gotten there. 

Dumo was gripping his arm, waiting for a response to something. When it became evident that Finn didn’t know what was going on he repeated the question. “Harzy are you okay?” Finn knew he wasn’t going to leave without a response so he waved Dumo off with a mumbled ‘I’m fine’. 

Remus was waiting at the side door, opening it when Finn skated closer. “Come on, that looked nasty, let’s check you out.” Finn nodded and Remus ushered him into the PT room. Things were - for Finn at least, still moving slowly, as if he had just woken up but felt like he didn’t sleep at all. “That looked like a nasty panic attack you just had there. You feel fine now yeah?” Remus’ voice jolted Finn out of the slow reality, everything still looked like a dream, but he was less disoriented. 

“Yeah Loops, I’m just tired. Want to go home and take a nap” Finn sat down on a chair near Remus’ desk, waiting to be examined.

Remus nodded. “That’s understandable, panic attacks take a lot out of someone. How about you head home, eat and drink something, and get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

After a quick thank you and an even quicker cool down, Finn was driving home. On the drive he debated calling Logan, but decided against it. He didn’t even know if Logan wanted to speak with him. Finn knew talking to Lo would make him feel better, but he didn’t want to be a bother. Plus, they had left on bad terms, he didn’t want to make anything worse.

As soon Finn got home he dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and headed  towards the living room. Since calling Logan was out of the question he’d settle down and read. And there was only one book that would help him out of this disconnected state. 

Finn pulled a glossy new copy of The Song of Achilles from the shelf. His battered, annotated copy must have been forgotten at Harvard, even though he distinctly remembers putting it in a box. A part of him wishes that Lo took it out and kept it, to always have a part of Finn with him even when they were apart; like he did with Logan’s favorite snapback, but he knows that’s just wistful thinking. 

Finn quickly grabs a blanket and settles down on the couch, ready to lose himself to the familiar story of Achilles and Patroclus. 

Logan

Logan woke up to the harsh beeping of his morning alarm. It reminded him of Finn - which, to be fair, wasn’t difficult because Logan’s head was always filled with thoughts of the older boy. But the alarm was always a harsh call to reality. If Fish was there, Logan would be awoken by Finn’s soft shuffling as he tried to get ready for practice.

But Finn wasn’t there. He was off in Gryffindor, hundreds of miles away. Finn was off playing for the Lions, probably not thinking about Logan at all. It wouldn’t be fair to distract him from his dream.

Logan missed him so much. It physically hurt to be away from him. Oh how he wished he could just cover Finn in kisses. How he wanted to hold hands. Logan just wanted Finn to hold him and tell him that he was loved.

But Finn didn’t feel the same way; he couldn’t. Logan didn’t know what he would do if Finn felt the same. They’d have to hide their love, and that surely would end in disaster. They’d be kicked off the team, out of the league.

And hell, why would Finn even feel the same. Finn was a golden boy, perfect grades, tall, good at hockey, recruited by the best team in the league. Why would someone that perfect want him. Him, with average grades, who half the time can’t read the words on a page because the letters spun, who represses his feelings, who won’t let himself be happy. Why would Finn ever want someone as flawed as Logan. And even if Finn did want him Logan wouldn’t let him, he wouldn’t let Finn ruin his career over someone as insignificant as himself.

Logan knew he had practice, but he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed. He didn’t have the energy to move from the warmth underneath his covers, let alone go to practice. He heard John rap on his door, yelling at him to get up for practice, but he didn’t have the strength to respond. He’ll tell the coach he didn’t feel well.

Logan knew that Finn was one of the few things that caused him happiness in this world, and with him gone, nothing seemed to matter. The days all bled together in a pattern of practice, eat, cry, sleep. Occasionally, when it hurt to even think about Finn, Logan would take a bottle of vodka to his room and drink himself silly before crying himself to sleep. He knew that Finn would hate what he’s doing to himself, but it doesn’t matter. Finn wasn’t there with him.

Tears were starting to fog Logan’s eyes as he reached for Finn’s battered copy of The Song of Achilles. He’d taken it to remember Finn by, knowing full well he may never seen Finn again. He opened it up just to see Finn’s handwriting, to remember the late nights they had shared where Finn would read this story aloud.

Logan’s face was wet with tears now, they were flowing freely down his cheeks. Regardless to that fact, Logan pressed his face into the pages of the book. He knew it wouldn’t smell like Finn anymore - it hadn’t in months, but it was worth looking for anyways. When it inevitably didn’t the sobs came. The heart wrenching, aching sobs that came from the bottom of his chest. The sobs that were making his grief known to the world. The sobs that showed just how much pain he was in. He didn’t know when they stopped, or how long they went on for, but after time they turned into small sniffles; and Logan fell into a restless sleep, still curled around Finn’s book.

Leo

There was nothing to do and that was gnawing at his senses. Normally it’s enough to re-tie his skates, tighten his gear, repeatedly drink his water, and turn his gloves in his hands, but today that didn’t seem like enough. The fact that he had nothing to do was making him want to rip his hair out. There was nothing to do and that was bringing his mood down to zero. Everything was not enough but simultaneously was too much.

The lights of the arena were too bright; the sound of the crowd seemed to be grating at his brain. Leo’s foot was moving without control, flicking up and down at high speed, seemingly unaware of the fact he had what essentially was a knife strapped onto his foot.

Leo’s mind was going into overdrive, his thoughts were going too fast for him to comprehend. He needed to get out, but he couldn’t, he had to be there, even if it pained him. He looked up at the scoreboard, but the glowing red numbers hurt his eyes and made the migraine that was already approaching intensify.

Leo closed his eyes and rubbed them with his palms, attempting to make all the light disappear and make the sound a little more bearable. But the noise was still grating at his senses, making his brain feel as though it was melting. The crowd cheering, the announcers commentating, the skates scraping against the ice, the sound of the puck hitting the sticks, and the chatter of his teammates on the bench was becoming too much for him to handle, if another sound was added to the mix he’d have to leave, consequences be damned. Leo squirted some water into his mouth, things always felt worse when he was dehydrated and the odds were he probably was.

But then Coach was calling him in, something about Kasey’s leg acting up again, and Leo knew he’d just have to put up with his senses being in overdrive for the rest of the game.

Together

Things get better after they get together. The bad days don’t disappear, they just become less frequent. Not by much; but by a little. When Finn got stressed about something Leo and Logan were there with words of encouragement and reassurance. How they’d always stay with him, they were going to be okay. When Logan had days where everything seemed hopeless and he didn’t want to get out of bed or when the letters on the page refused to stay still, Finn and Leo were there by his side; whether whispering sweet nothings, giving soft kisses, or just staying by him, reassuring him of their presence. When Leo’s senses were in overdrive and everything was too much Logan and Finn were there, keeping him company and trying to make everything more bearable. The bad days were still there, but now they had each other to lean on. 

[shinewithalltheuntold]

WIP meme

pepperf: Can I ask you about the Sanctuary "Haunted HJ" one?

Ah...John and Helen.  My beautiful tragically doomed babies.  I wrote a Helen post Haunted fic but I also wanted to write something from John’s POV while he was free of the energy creature and (relatively) sane.  The basic idea was that he left a hell of a bruise when he hit her earlier in the episode and he pushed Helen to let him see while they were trapped in that room together.  I’m just going to go ahead and post what I have written because it’s not very much:

“It will heal,” she dismissed his concern as she slipped back from his remorseful hand.

 “Will it?”  His voice was soft and full of the pain that only this freedom could provide.  He was grateful when she did not pretend to misunderstand his question.  Grateful when she gave him an honest answer, even as it tore at the tattered remains of his soul.

“I don’t know.”  There was no dismissal in her tone now, just a painful uncertainty that covered an endless ache in both of them.  “I hope so.”

And that was the fundamental difference between them.  She still possessed hope.  Had always possessed it, in such great measure that he could not help being dragged out of his melancholy existence to warm himself in its happy glow.  She had always been the optimist, the one who was certain events would work to her advantage simply because she willed them so. Strengthened by the fact that they so often did.

 I’m just going to jump off this cliff and hope I sprout wings.

 James had always known her so well.

 But lately, her will had not been strong enough to prevent the terrible tragedies she had endured.  There had been no wings this past year.  No flight to safety for James. Her father.  Her Sanctuaries.  Ashley.

 Ashley had done what even he himself had never truly accomplished.  He had diminished Helen Magnus’s hope.  Her faith in herself and her ability to not only survive, but to thrive in an ever-changing world.  She who could entice others to bend, and sometimes break, with nothing more than the sheer force of her personality, could not save that which was most precious to her.  First Gregory, then John himself, and now Ashley.  Father and lover and daughter, all lost and found and lost again.  

 Because he had already accepted what she had not even begun to contemplate.  He had no idea how to destroy the entity inhabiting the walls of her <I>their</I> her home.  Neither did she, nor any of her staff he was certain.  Despite their combined gifts, they did not understand the creature well enough yet.  But he did. And he knew that for all the power it possessed now, loosed inside the cavernous walls and extensive wiring of the Sanctuary, it would never be content in its current state.  Oh, it would enjoy the killing and the destruction it would cause, but it was not enough.  The creature craved the sensations that only habitation inside a human body could provide.  Wreaking havoc through elevators and labs, doors and walls and circuitry, was nowhere near as satisfying as the warmth of blood spreading across flesh.  The intoxicating scent of fear, the rush that came in the moment it looked into its prey’s eyes and saw the flash of understanding that death was here and it was inevitable.  Mass destruction would appease it, but only the intimacy of flesh upon flesh, the engagement of all senses available inside the human form would quench its terrible thirst.  It entered the Sanctuary out of necessity.  It would re-enter John out of unshakeable desire.

 “John.”  Helen’s soft voice was echoed by the softer hand that ghosted across his cheek.  He allowed himself a moment more to stare at it, the contrast of hope and hatred played out on the silk of bra and bare skin.  A moment to wish things were different, that he might have the chance to find out if Helen’s fragile hope would prevail.  A moment to absorb the pain that came from the knowledge that there was a better than average chance that it would.  Not that they would ever be what they once were; even if Helen reached a point somewhere down the long line of years ahead where she could bear his touch in more than these passing moments, he would never taint her with the sins he carried within the very marrow of his being.  It did not matter that he had not wanted to become what he did; it only mattered that he had not been able to stop it.  To fight harder, to be stronger.

 It only mattered that, willing or not, he had tried to murder the very thing he loved most in the world.  He had promised to love her, and instead had done his best to destroy her.  For all eternity.  

[heli0s-writes]

As it Was II: His Girl

Summary: You haven’t always been his girl. Pairing: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader A/N: ANGST! Thank you for all the feedback and love! As it Was will be a 3 part series. Part 2 is told from Bucky’s perspective. See you next time for Part 3 :)

It’s always relief that washes over him first when he pulls into the road, seeing the house the same as when he left. The pinwheels, the mailbox, the swing you shove him into even though you know he doesn’t fit.

His playful girl with a stubborn streak.

It’s been two weeks without his girl and his home. He’s been on longer missions, but two weeks is two weeks too long, just as they all are.

The second emotion he feels is anticipation. Excitement for the embrace he’ll give and receive. The kisses, the fingers through his hair, the knowledge that you will be rushing downstairs and into his arms.

Sundown arrives late in the evening when summertime’s daylight spans nearly fifteen hours in the heat of June. The meadow buzzes alive in the breeze, ruffling winged insects through the tufts of wild grass and blown dandelions. His boots tread through the path, startling the idyllic soil beneath them.

There are no footsteps to herald his return, today; Bucky comes home to your back in front of the kitchen window. The door creaks open as he steps in, duffel bag in tow. He always imagines he would surprise you after these long trips, but that damn door and its loud hinges will never allow him the chance.

“Darlin’?” He calls, pushing it shut gently with his foot, “You alright?”

You turn, chin tucked into the hollow space of your collarbone and shoulder. The loosened braid of your hair sways over your spine, saffron half-wilted blossoms of Black-Eyed Susans gazing at him sadly.

The setting sun scatters against the window, streams through those sheer embroidered curtains you love so much, even though he says baby, they don’t do anything. His stubborn girl scoffs and fluffs then anyway.

He’s glad for those useless curtains now as the light illuminates your side profile. The corona of your shape from across the house makes him sigh in wonder.

His girl, wrapped in floating cream gauze. His girl, standing by the sink with oranges. His girl, soft and beautiful and bright, waiting for him.

You haven’t always been soft.

You haven’t always been his girl.

He knows something is wrong when you remain immobile, clutching the edge of the counter, abandoned cup of hand-squeezed juice and the carcasses of two halves next to the reamer.

“Honey? I’m coming over to you. Stay right there.”

You collapse in his arms before he gets the chance to lock them around. You smell crisp and clean, just a little briny with sweat from time spent outside. The jars on the counter and table are full again, this time accented with plucked sprigs of lavender and a small cattail from the pond.

“Oh, Buck,” You press your face into his shoulder, scrubbing your brow on the rough fabric of his jacket, “I love you.”

“Love you too.” He pauses, fingers prodding lightly over your body, searching for some physical aspect that might explain your ailment. Nothing. You hold tighter to him, letting your weight press down, and he supports you easily, nose rubbing the exposed skin of your neck.

“Where’s our little guy?”

“He’s sleeping. He chased ducks and then they chased him. Planted completely in mud. Bath time was… exhausting.”

Both of you chuckle at that. Little James, that precious boy had a rowdy streak in him, always too eager to rile something up— sometimes even his mother.

The laughter subsides as he continues to rub your back, waiting patiently for the other shoe to drop. Your heartache seeps into him, dampens his eyes and mouth, licking its way into his belly.

This happens, sometimes, because it’s bound to. The grief comes and goes, and when it arrives hard and grim, he cradles you in his arms regardless of how much he wishes his love is enough to keep you happy.

Today seems to be one of those days.

And it’s because you haven’t always been his girl.

He used to worry himself to sleep, straining to see your outline in the deep darkness of the bedroom. The house, sheltered by tree and leaves, lies so far away from the city that on a moonless night, he felt lost in a sea of ink.

The house once belonged to someone else. His place in the bed, too. The impression of a body larger than him, grander than him, a body you loved more than him. It would cradle him in its unsympathetic crease, and he would lie awake, listen to your deep breaths, soothe your nightmare sobbing, call your name when you would stutter Steve.

Steve. Steve. Steve.

The shadow that had hung over you both.

Steve was always ‘til the end of the line, until he wasn’t.

He wasn’t for Bucky, and he wasn’t for you.

Bucky had come back into the world five years later, found you and Steve elbow deep in the trenches of alien bodies and death—watched a love that had bloomed so fully continue to thrive, and it gave him hope.

Hope for himself, hope for the next day. Until it just… wasn’t.

Steve left Bucky, and Steve left you.

The cabin that evening had been illuminated by a single campfire in the front yard. The smell of burning objects and scorched kindling coaxed him forward. In front of the blaze, you stood, hair fixed into a tight knot. That shaved side he always liked glowed orange and red diagonal lines.

You knew, of course, way before he even arrived. You were always the quickest of them— alert, perched, could give Clint’s arrows a run for his money.

Hey.

He had never heard that gravel in your voice before.

In the flames were photographs, corners eaten away and twisted with heat until they turned black. Clothes, bed sheets, books, even the sketchbook— that old, leather-bound thing Steve always kept close to his chest. You had thrown them all in.

Wanna roast some marshmallows? Let’s get fat on sugar and chocolate. The world is safe.

A spark crackled in the fire the same time your voice did, but Bucky closed his eyes. Let you regain your composure because he knew you wouldn’t have wanted him to see you cry. Your voice was strained, full of resentment.

Everyone’s gone back to where they should be.

He smiled, lopsided and broken.

Not me. I’m here eatin’ marshmallows with you.

And then, joylessly, you had pointed to the dwindling pile of Steve’s fossils strewn about.

Throw some shit in. It feels good.

Your hand links itself inside of his as you tug him out of the kitchen and towards the living room couch. You place the glass into his palm, watch him drink the juice and kiss the corner of his mouth where a droplet remains. He loves it when you’re sweet, told you once it’s his favorite thing about you—that you can rot his teeth and hurt his stomach and he’ll still come back for seconds.

Thirds. Fourths. You scoffed, fixed on the anecdote of food, your appetite will bankrupt us.

He agreed then, kept the joke running.

“What is it?” Bucky’s hand finds your jaw, lifts it gently until he can see your eyes crawling with veins and lined in red, puffed, swollen. Crying again. “What is it, hon?”

Since James, you’ve started crying a million times more than he ever thought a person could—when he gets a fever, you cry. When he falls, you cry. He thinks it’s ridiculous, that you—his girl who can stab a man better even than he can—that when James cries, you cry. Darling, he is two and he will cry because a leaf dropped.

But you haven’t cried like this in months, almost a year—not like this, not split open and prolonged.

Bucky heart swells with dread when he thinks about why your face is raw with rubbing. “Is it?”

“Yeah.” You mutter, “Steve… he’s back. Stopped by earlier.”

His tongue feels like lead, sinking into his throat to strangle him. He hadn’t heard Steve’s name from your mouth in almost a year. The world had turned and turned without Steve Rogers, and when it seemed like both of you might have finally let go of the ghost, he comes back.

Where does Bucky start?

His girl, burrowed into his chest, tucked away in his arms, hides her face now. His girl, will she still be his girl?

It was only a few years ago that a new love sprung from the ashes of a dying one. And the corpse had lived a long life, full of memories that haunted you both. Bucky and Steve had quite a long life together, too.

He clutches tighter, rubs his arms up and down yours, squeezes like he is hoping you might just sink into his chest. Stay safe inside of him where the pain can’t find you anymore.

“Can we go to bed?” You sob suddenly, shaking in his hold, “Please let’s go to bed.”

He hated that bed for so long.

You used to lie in it for days at a time. He would come by and you would be upstairs in the loft on your side and staring out the window. Hey, Buck. The whole house smelled like earth and salt, as if you had flooded the wood with tears and it was still drying out.

Have you eaten? Have you slept? Have you done anything?

You only laughed dryly and burrowed deeper into the brand-new sheets, like everything else that used to be shared between two people. Do what? Go where? Sleep to dream of him? No, thank you.

Bucky had stomped downstairs, rummaged through the cabinets, found the half open bag of marshmallows from three weeks ago- stale and slightly stiff, and shoved handfuls of it into your mouth. You said we’d get fat on sugar. You better fucking eat this.

When both your cheeks were full and the sad tears turned into happy ones, he sat back with his arms crossed at the edge of the bed and huffed. And you’d spit the enormous, drenched, sticky pile out down your shirt and held your head in both your hands. I’m so fucked, Bucky. I’m screwed. I’m fucking screwed.

He didn’t know what you meant, because he was grieving too, but that string of panicked statements rang a thought more desperate than any he could have. Bucky didn’t feel fucked without Steve. Bucky felt… discarded. He felt… abandoned, forgotten, small. But he didn’t feel fucked.

It took two more visits, two more weeks, and an extraordinarily rainy night before you told him the truth.

There was shattered glass against the wall and your body slumped down on the opposite side of the kitchen. There was wracked sobbing, fingernails digging into your scalp and shoulder until he peeled them away pricked in red. Two months had passed, and you were pregnant. Did Steve know? Did you tell him? He would have stayed, if he knew.

Bucky had suddenly grown hopeful for a past that already passed. Steve would have stayed. Did the chance slip from you, to tell him? Did you know too late?

I had just found out. But then he told me his news first and … fuck him. Fuck him for leaving. Why would I tell him? So he could stay for a clump of cells and not me? So he could love an obligation and pine for a ghost? Fuck him.

And then suddenly, the clawing resumed, and Bucky wrestled to keep your hands away from your body, wrapping his legs over yours, holding you tight until your squirming died. He pressed his chin to the top of your head, gripped your back to his chest, and you both rocked on the floor. It’s gonna be okay. I got you. I’m here with you.

It rained the night you told him. It rained again when the boy arrived.

Nine months you carried him inside of you, hated him, hated his father, hated yourself.

Helen came to the cabin, because you couldn’t be bothered to leave. You were happy to die in labor, you had said with a grin. Bucky stood by her side, mouth set in a firm line and told you to shut the fuck up.

At that, you genuinely laughed so hard you had to cover your entire face with your hands and when you pulled them away, suddenly, Bucky thought that the glow some women get when they’re pregnant must have been twice as true for you.

The boy came with a clap of thunder.

Bucky had known carnage, but the birth was terrible and horrific and when you went pale with the loss, he swore that if you got what you wanted, he would die with you. Helen yelled at him to get the water, get the rags, and the bucket, and the needle. Wash the boy, wrap him, hustle, Sergeant!

The bundle thrust into his arms was softer than sand, wetter than water, crimson and sluiced with blood. Two blue eyes gleamed out of the swath of blanket and even though people say newborns are beautiful, he could only see a red and angry thing, tearing the life from you with the eyes of his old best friend.

Now his old best friend has returned for his old girl and his new baby boy.

And Bucky’s girl is still in his arms, pleading for him to let her rest.

“Okay, darlin’, let me clean up first. I’ll tuck you in.”

You grip his collar and tangle your hands in his hair, clambering to get into his lap. The skirt of your dress folds over all four entwined legs and you suddenly press your mouth to his in a blistering kiss.

“Let’s make a baby,” you sob distraughtly. “W-we… I-I want to make a baby with you, Bucky.”

He quiets your rambling, stills his own heartbreak for the sake of attending to yours, and returns your fever with softness.

“We’ve got one, hon’. He’s in bed.” He presses his forehead against yours and smiles, tries to make it look real so that you believe him, “Baby, we got a boy and he’s wonderful, even if he makes his mama chase him through mud.”

He loves that boy. He loves him like his own flesh and blood, and he’ll be damned if Steve thinks he can take him away.

Upstairs, a whine signals your attention, followed by a sound of choked crying before the wail of your son breaks loose. “C’mon,” Bucky urges.

He climbs slowly, waiting for you each step of the way. You linger, feet heavy along with your heart. By the time you make it through the doorway, Bucky already has James in his arms, rubbing his back, humming to him.

The boy fists Bucky’s hair, squeezing a handful in pulses, blubbering and singing a tuneless song. “Daddy’s home. Daddy, daddy. Sunnyshine outside.”

Bucky laughs, “James, it’s nighttime.” He kisses the top of James’ head anyway, “Can’t blame you, though, you’re too small to see out the window. We gotta teach you how to tell time.”

“Time t’ play?”

“No… time to go back to sleep.” Then, Bucky puts his head on top of James’ and pretends to snore loudly, the sound vibrating from his chest and into those golden locks. A shrill giggle escapes him and he pulls away just to come back and press his cheeks to his father’s face.

Bucky walks over to where you stand with your eyes pressed to the heel of your palms and tilts James up to your face. “Mama’s tired too, let’s all go to bed, yeah?”

Blessedly, the boy relents. He reaches over almost teetering out of Bucky’s arms and pulls on the thumb by your ear. “Night mama, love you.”

 On the edge of the bed, the old imprint has been pressed out. Bucky takes off his shoes, stretches his back and motions for you to come next to him. He kisses your fingertips and brushes the hair from your face, combs out the wilted wildflowers and you lean into his touch.

It’s been silent since James fell asleep. He can hear crickets and cicadas outside the window, woodland creatures coming alive in the twilight.

He watches the way your lips bend and fold inside your mouth to keep yourself locked away.

Sometimes your love is hidden inside a puzzle his hands are too clumsy to place together. There are pieces missing, he thinks, but still, he tries. Sometimes you blissfully help him with the task and sometimes you’re away from the table.

Tonight, you’re far from him. Lost somewhere in the memory and possibility of two hands many times more delicate than his.

Steve. Steve. Steve.

And he wonders if your heart will ever beat his name like that old rhythm it had known so well.

Your weight dips the mattress, and you lean your head onto his shoulder. “I love you.”

He hears it, but he never really hears it.

Not in the way it used to leave your tongue. Stevie, I love you. You giant idiot! You meatball, Steve! Full of ringing laughter right before you would crush your mouth to his, tug him by the collar into the dark of Cap’s compound bedroom.

The only flames Bucky knew were shared in moments of desperation, when the pain was too much and the fire was necessary.

James tucked into his crib, you crumpled on the floor. Bucky would sit by your side night after night, as he had been doing for the last thirteen months. It was dark, then, not even illuminated by a moonbeam.

You held on to his shirt, pushed him down, pressed both your hands to his neck and whispered. Thank you. Thank you. I love you. I love you.

The first kiss shared was wet and salty, tears slipping into the space between two open mouths. Teeth clicked, nails scratched, and you wouldn’t even let him pull away enough to ask if you were sure about it.

He knew you were beautiful. Seen it for years and years. But when you slipped off the shirt from your shoulders, the moon seemed to shine right out from your skin.

He worried himself to sleep next to you that night.

 “What do you want to do?” He asks now, pushing his fear away, “I’m here for you, whatever you want. Whatever is best.”

Your chin jabs his shoulder, “You are best. You are best for me, and James, and Bucky—d--” Tears roll down your cheeks, plop big, wet, crystal balls onto his arm. “Don’t you dare.”

For the second time that night, you crawl into his lap, straddle his waist, and his breath is punched out of his lungs in awe of your beauty. “I love you, idiot. Don’t ever say that to me again.”

“Alright, sweetheart,” he mumbles against your mouth, “I won’t.”

The flame burns tonight. You undress him with deft fingers, yanking his clothes, hissing when he pulls away to peel the shirt off— as if not touching him pains you. The dress stays on your waist, rucked up, its straps tugged down and the top pulled open to expose your chest—soft, heaving with love and agony.

Bucky. Bucky. I love you. I love you. I love you so much.

Desperate, again.

He’s not sure if you’re convincing him or yourself.

You tug his hair, grip his chest and back, kiss him until his head spins. The bed creaks softly, as if it doesn’t want to interrupt the sounds that your bodies create together.

He makes love to you, and even though he is bone tired from the mission and the drive, he doesn’t feel it until you tremble in his arms and slump against his chest. He doesn’t attend to himself until you’re underneath the covers, breathing deeply.

Then, Bucky lies down too, runs his hand through his hair and sobs into that inky night.

“Bucky?”

His heart stops beating in his chest. He’s frozen and caught.

You turn on your side, hand finding his damp cheek with some difficulty in the dark. “Baby,” you sigh, “Oh, Bucky...” A loud sniffle, a choke, and then your nose rubs against his. Your lips pat his tears away, kitten licks over the line of his sharp jaw.

“You’ve always been so good to me, baby. Always so good.”

 He’s heard those words before from your lips, after the boy came with the rain. Your eyes had fluttered and closed as Helen leaned against the doorframe, tearing off her gloves.

She’s okay, Sergeant. She’s just resting. You should, too.

He refused her, watched the baby in the makeshift bassinet as Helen unpacked her overnight bag in the guest room. He wiped your forehead with a damp towel, listened to the rain crash against the window, and sat down in the chair.

The room was a closed chamber trapping in the smell of wet pennies and sweat. He tugged the windowpane open and placed towels on the floor to catch the downpour. You woke with a yelp, jerked awake by thunder and a streak of lightning. It was only for a second, but Bucky held onto your hand, let you slip back to sleep.

Helen roused you both in the morning, let you hold the baby, taught you how to turn him on his stomach, how to settle him down, how to nurse. Bucky had stood up, ready to dismiss himself before he caught your wide eyes, terrified of the life in your arms.

He stayed as Helen guided your hand to massage the boy’s cheek. Little fists clenched the slipped-off hem of your shirt, his mouth opened, and you cried when he latched on.

The rain had subsided in the late hours of the night and the sun was rising high, streaming luminously into the loft. Helen moved to draw the curtains and give you some reprieve from the rays, but Bucky stopped her; you needed the sun and its warmth.

She nodded and agreed, and he slowly went to the bed and kneeled, looking up into your red eyes soaking your face.

Hey. He had smiled, wiping the trickling streams, Look. He nodded to the illuminated window, bent finger stroking the boy wrapped in cloth. No more rain, darlin’, it’s sunny out.

Outside was gold. Like the boy’s head. And you thought, like Bucky’s heart.

You’re so good to me. You cried, even though he quietly asked you to stop, because if you didn’t, he would start, too. You’ve always been so good to me.

Nine agonizing months and Bucky Barnes had been your rock and center and lighthouse in the dark.

Bucky, I love you.

It was a sunny morning when he wept and held his little family in his arms.

Next 

[partyinthemysterymachine]

we went on dates at the lake // hi again, dad

Hello, firefly.

Hello, angel.

(The water glimmers when he laughs. His ears don’t work as they used to; they’re as clear as the thick and sticky mud that coats the bottom of the lake. When Harry speaks, when he laughs or sighs, he can hardly hear him. James smiles at his husband as he drifts past. No, he can’t hear him very well with such cruelly clogged ears, but Toluca likes Harry well enough to have given him another way to speak to a never-forgotten mechanic.)

I love you.

(Ripples crash into his hands; his neck; his legs; his body. They’re sent from one man to end at the other, vibrating their spot in the lake, and James hears his voice. Like echolocation. (Dolphins.) His ears don’t work like they used to - that is to say, not much at all - yet Harry’s voice translated to waves sounds just as heavenly.)

I love you, too.

(Heavenly; heavenly is appropriate, because Harry’s been nothing but an angel to him since day one.)

I missed you.

You missed me? You’ve been right here with me all day, angel.

And I’ve missed you when you’ve been asleep right next to me.

(Harry hands slip beneath James’s arms from behind and tugs him back against his chest. (James glows orange, so beautiful and rare.) A rush of water blows past his cheek; a chuckle, and then a kiss lands on his jaw. James has a smile of his own to say about it, and lays his cold hands over his husband’s forearms.)

You’re clingy, aren’t you?

A little. (Not that it mattered any to him. It was nice to be wanted.) I’d spent years without you.

I know. I’m sorry, angel.

Shh. (His kisses feel different now under the water. Harry isn’t fully Harry anymore, but neither are themselves. When he kisses him, his husband’s lips feel like a brush of silky seaweed and moss; James never thought they could get any softer than they’d been before. He didn’t know if he was happy about it, or mournful as to why. (Don’t worry about it, honey,) he’s said before. So for him, he tries not to.)

I love when you glow for me.

I don’t glow for anyone else. I can’t.

Because you’re stuck with me. That was my grand plan of gluttony all along: to steal you away, take you all for myself, and never let anyone try to have you at all.

It worked.

Sure did. (James closes his eyes. Harry’s arms are home. His hold is strong, encasing him in his love and protection. There’s nothing to get them now; they are, in fact, safe, yet Harry makes him feel even safer. He hasn’t heard the voice in awhile. It’d shut up when he hit the water. (His did, too.) Its silence meant peace, and how inhumane he was to put that above the family he’d found and truly adored so much.

One day, he hopes to be rid of any guilt altogether. (He does, too.) How can it be that it lingers like this? Of course, ‘punishment’ is the only reasonable answer here. Toluca Lake is vicious and bartered steep prices for their residency, yet James agreed to all the terms so he could rest in the arms of the angel who ripped his wings from his back for him.

(‘Angel.,’) he calls him. (How many times, sweetheart, will he have to correct you that you’re the angel?) Forever. Harry can never change his mind. (Then this is a war that he’ll be happy to fight for the rest of eternity.))

Whaddya say we take a trip to the garden today?

The garden? What’s the occasion?

Do we need one?

(He tries to look over his shoulder, but the old scamp has his face pressed behind his ear. It sure makes it difficult to see him, and for Harry to see the smile on his own so pale. (He knows it’s there.))

No, I guess we don’t.

I’m glad you agree.

(When he chuckles reprise, the vibrations tickle his skin and drum a dead, once beating heart, and reminds it how it’d thrived years ago. James sometimes misses his regular heartbeat. Then again, that very feeling holds him in its arms. That just might be even better than any of that nostalgia.)

When did you want to go?

Right now, if you’ve got the time.

I think I can clear my schedule.

You spoil me, firefly.

Yeah? Is that what it takes to spoil you, angel?

It doesn’t take much for you to spoil me, honeylove, (he says, and that coveted pet name rolls through him like sun on a perfect spring day.)

(It makes him glow as such, too. Harry’s eyes don’t work as well as they used to. The water contains blinded secrets even during the wealth of the afternoon sun. James has drawn him up to the surface before - never breaking their shield, always immersed, forever bound beneath - to feel the thin heat upon their glittering but still waters. But for Harry, that’s all of the sun can offer, for his world is the pit of night. (Nothingness lies beyond the dark, earthy eyes that James liked to watch take in the living world around them; the very same that he still likes to watch search the deep, and light up when they fall upon him.) No, honey; that’s not true. He can see you, and he can see him. They may not be as clear as they were, but they can see each other, and that’s all that matters.

Amber has always been James’s color.)

(James turns in Harry’s arms and slings his own over his shoulders. The everlasting warmth of the author’s smile greets him, and he smiles back. (James is at his most precious when he smiles. Harry’s savored every single one of them since the beginning. How extraordinary it is that a man woven from galaxies and gold can exist as James does - did - and bless him with that heavenly gift.) Heaven is no place for a sinner, (yet they talk about it all the time,) and no matter how he tries to deny it, (heaven is a place on earth, and it’s better known as) Harry (James) Mason.)

(Do you know what that’s worth?)

(No, because there’s nothing that could ever dream to be so valuable; and yes, because he’s lived in its riches since he met you, angel.)

(His husband is smiling and Harry can’t see it like he used to. James glows because he always has, from the night he met him in the grass to where they flirt in their shared grave. He’s not crystal clear in the permanent halo, somehow solid and transparent at the same time, yet enough that he can see when he smiles, feel when his arms loop around his neck, and when his glow pulses three times whenever he’s near.

James is beautiful.)

If you wanna go right now, we should get a move on.

(And when he speaks, Harry hears him like a whisper behind his head that tingle his ears.)

I guess I’ll have to let you go, then.

Won’t be for long, angel.

You’re my eyes, sweetheart.

(He doesn’t understand what Harry sees in Toluca’s abyssal waters. His husband has described it over and over again, each time more tender and reverent than the last; a natural storyteller, that man, whose written word in the past ten (more than ten, my love) years was preceded by a dedication page to his family. (To my favorite daughter, who needs to do her homework, and to the one I held in my hands.) James liked to read his books. Harry reading them, or anything else, to him was his preferred way of consuming any story.)

(James has tried to tell him what he sounds like now. The mechanic was never good with words, and that suited Harry just fine - and that hasn’t changed. His husband is verbose by the way of his touch. That hasn’t changed since they reunited in her ill-fated deep. He’s said he loves to listen to him speak (always have, always will) and Harry loves his angel’s voice (no, no, that’s always been you, darling), and every word he speaks is filed away in his cherished memories. James (Mason) tells his stories when he takes his hand and pulls him into his arms. Sometimes his tales are three simple words that are a story that Harry never tires of. That’s when he glows like that hot summer night in the grass.)

(This is our favorite spot.)

(We call it the garden.)

(It’s a sad place,)

(‘bittersweet’ is the more appropriate word,)

(but we love it.)

(It’s ours.)

(The Masons like to float amongst the reeds here. They tend to start their visit in silence, listening to the water and its muted life. Today is the same, two men hidden in the liquid fog, holding hands two arm’s length apart. James remembers the time when letting go would have meant forgetting. Since then he’s feared that hollow, and Harry’s refused to let him meet it, the world be damned. The patriarch is a persistent man, always has been,)

(always will be. After all, it’s that quality that got him where he’s sought to be all his life. He’s tried to share it with James, for persistence is laced in things deserved, wanted, needed. But when he’d just begun to think that his lover had finally understood, Harry also discovered what sort of persistence had been fermenting within the last Sunderland all his life, too. More than a few times, he tried to blame him for following through. Then he spun it around to blame himself. After all, would it be right to punish the one he loves for something that he knew was always in his own future?)

(Hypocrisy 101.)

(Only when it suits me.)

(Like I said..)

(Pot, kettle.)

(The best of friends.)

(Their fingers are loosely hooked together. They’re comfortable in their distance - one is never far from the other.)

I can’t believe she’s getting married.

Me, neither. I think she’s nearly thirty-five. She was still working on her masters.

For..?

Psychology. She wanted to work with trauma and PTSD patients.

Ah. That’s right. That’s a long time to still be in school. Thirty-five?

By now, honey. She’d gotten her degree when I left. (The water’s a bit colder all of a sudden.) Don’t worry about it. .. you know.. it feels strange. I’m not sure I have her age right.

(He (and he) feels guilty for not knowing, either.) It’s fine. It’s coming up soon, though.. I think.

Mmhmm. (The glow dims. Don’t despair, honey.) She’s alright, James. Eileen is a lovely girl.

She’s from..?

Ashfield. She and Heather met in a thrift shop of all places.

Heh, oh yeah?

She said that she was one of those rare full price items. (That makes him laugh, and the light pulses each time. How extraordinary.) She’s nice. I think she was getting into nursing, but was thinking of changing careers.. I don’t remember.

I don’t expect you to.

She’ll be alright, James. Our girl’s a tough cookie.

I know. She takes after you.

And you, honey. She’s got your silent judgmental face down pat.

(The vibrations are warm and induce waves noticeable on the surface when Harry laughs to James’s indignant yank on his arm. His husband glides close to him, an excuse to gather each other up in their arms. (Not that we ever need one.))

(There’s a town that overlooks the lake. It’s sprawled from north, to west, to south-east. Each of these smaller precincts have names and personalities of their own. James remembers a few of them. Harry only remembers one. There’s a

town that overlooks Toluca Grave. It never liked us, and we once tried to like it. We’re still not so sure what it had against our family. James was always connected to it. I was naive to think moving away would put it out of sight, out of mind. But that town

that overlooks my lake - my real home - can’t do us any harm. From the time I was small to my adulthood, I knew that she was meant for me. As much as I loved and lost, then lost and loved all over again, there’d only be one answer, one place, where I’d come to rest. I used to think Harry didn’t belong here.

But I do. Wherever you go, honeylove,

I follow.)

—

Heather’s fingers link with Eileen’s and together, they test each other’s strength. There’s nothing to say as they gaze out across Toluca Lake. Silent Hill is to their left and right, but from where they stand, it doesn’t exist. Her new bride leans into her side and folds her other hand onto hers, holding fast; a wordless show of love and support.

Fireflies dance as an ensemble on the water, bizarrely grouped over one spot. Their eyes don’t deceive them when they think the natural, flitting halo moves closer and closer to their place by the shore. The wives daren’t move, their breath trapped in their lungs as the summer’s lanterns come to a stop mere (three) feet away from the lapping water line. Heather steps into the lake as though in a trance, immediately ruining the nice, white leather shoes she’d paid a pretty price for, and the white slacks that she won’t let be cleaned. Her wife, Eileen, feels her bride’s hand grow limp between her own two, and yet she doesn’t let her go; and she, too, will not be sending her wet gown to anyone’s cleansing steams.

The lightning bugs patiently retreat until the women - Heather and Eileen Mason - are submerged just below the knee. White silk and tulle billows on the water. Their eyes (green and brown; green and brown) are transfixed on this abnormal, miraculous, private light show just for them.

Heather’s breath hitches. From the cloud of yellow rises one, then two, of these precious summer jewels. Eileen’s gasp is so soft beside her. But it’s the way she laughs right after, so enchanted and excitable, that overflows the tears that had blurred her vision. Down they roll, hot and abundant, over her cheeks; and she smiles. She smiles, and laughs with her, and grabs Eileen’s hand stauncher than before.

‘Hi, dad,’ she wants to say. They seem like the right words and they sit high at the back of her throat. Yes, they seem like the right words, but they aren’t the right words for the moment. In her peripheral vision she sees her wife raise her hand to an orange firefly curiously swerving before her eyes. Heather can’t look there yet, because there’s a twin orange firefly lighting up her tear-streaked, freckled face in amber.

Eileen gasps again when the lights suddenly switch position, inspecting the women bound in love. It’s too quick - too early! - when those two zoom away.

The golden cloud parts, and then they follow as a nighttime sun, into the twilight.

There were three, then two, then one; then two; then four. (The family’s together again. Our family.)

Heather’s choking sobs turn to Eileen’s shoulder. Her lovely wife cradles her blonde head and holds her close; now and then she brushes the tears from her eye. The newlyweds stand in the cold waters of Lake Toluca, their feet numbed and wrinkling in ruined shoes, gluey mud seeping into the soles.

Heather wants so badly to say something. ‘Hi, dad’ or ‘You guys suck’ or ‘That was really fucking cheesy’ or ‘Does that mean you like her?’ or even, ‘I love you.’ There are tons of words in innumerable combinations that she feels ought to be said right now, and they won’t be. She’s in mourning and in love, and her wife mourns with her, and loves her more.

They finally turn to slog out of the water. There’s a blue pickup truck parked three feet away.

Eileen suddenly yelps, breaking the reverent, solemn night. Heather’s reflexes snap her forward before she can tumble back. Movement beneath the water, and the oddly directed drift of Eileen’s dress suggests that something pulled at it. She frowns, guiding her spouse to the safety of the shore, yet remains ankle-deep in the mud.

Heather studies the lake, half-listening to Eileen gathering her dress and exclaiming that something tugged at it. That’s when she sees something peculiar out there in the deeper dark. A beacon; a strangely throbbing beam; it’s dim in this shitty, horrible lake; but it flickers three times. Her heart flutters hopefully (if she’s hallucinating now, let her be happy in her newfound craziness forever more); there are ripples that originate from no discernible, physical fault on the water, and they quickly spread far and wide.

All those tears come running fresh over a big smile.

“You guys are fucking cheeseballs,” the Mason matriarch croaks through a chuckle. “That was all way over the top. First the fireflies, then you’re gonna bully my wife, and then whatever the fuck that was..? Jesus. I’m gonna take all this and I’m gonna put it together in a script, and then I’m gonna sell it to TLC or Hallmark and reap in the big bucks, because this shit that just happened, here? It’s going to get eaten. Up. By aaaalllll those people who love chick flicks and tragic gays.” Her smile wavers. Behind her, Eileen’s peering curiously at Dr. Heather Mason, and then out at the lake.

“That was them?”

“I’ll put two shakes to it.”

A quiet settles between them for a moment. “How?”

“I dunno. Maybe they get a guide book like in Beetlejuice.”

“‘The Handbook For The Recently Deceased.’”

“Yeah, that.” Heather looks back at a tense, worried woman. “Hey. It’s okay. I know how you feel about the paranormal, sweetie,” she soothes, leaving the water at last to pull her younger bride into her fold. “If that was really them, they didn’t mean any harm. They didn’t know. They’re just.. dorks.”

Eileen appears to be a little comforted by her wife’s voice and kiss, then looks out over Toluca again. “.. yeah. I guess.. I’ve thought about it, Heather,” she says, looking back at her reddened, freckled face. “It weirds me out a bit because of..”

“Yeah.”

“.. but.. for you? .. for me? I’d like to get to know them.”

Heather’s relieved, adoring smile flusters Eileen’s heart, and those uncomfortable, persisting fears suddenly lift away.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll take it slow,” Heather assures her, giving her a squeeze. “You can set the tone.”

“I know, sweetie,” she sighs through her smile, leaning into her taller wife’s chest; she’s just at the right height in her dirty heels to kiss her chin. “Thank you.” Her dark eyes search Heather’s pretty, glassy green. She loves that green.

Maybe one day, she hopes, Heather won’t cry when Eileen chooses that very color to wear, or to upholster the couch, or in the blanket she uses to wrap her up in when they cuddle. She has a good feeling about that day being very close, indeed; something in those gorgeous eyes she can’t get enough of tells her so.

In her sweetheart’s earthy brown eyes, Heather can tell that Eileen’s ready to heal. The years have been long from the time it all happened, to them working together, to Eileen seeking shelter in Heather at night and even during the daytime. Her heart broke for the poor woman, but she was vigilant. Eileen wants her freedom back and those brown eyes hold stubborn determination. Heather knows she’s scared of the lake and what (who) rests in its reeds. But Eileen loves her; she barely knew Harry, yet she loved him; she never knew James, and yet she wants to love him, too.

Heather loves the color of Eileen’s eyes.

It’s three steps to the blue pickup truck. The sodden wives climb in and shut the doors tight. The engine turns over and roars, almost drowning out the laughter of two women bound in love - Eileen Mason, formerly Galvin, and Heather Mason (a doctor of psychology). This old blue pickup truck’s tires and mechanics hardly muffles the blaring music (The Dixie Chicks, Eileen’s favorite band) as it leaves Toluca Lake behind, just for now.

—

(Ripples on the water; Harry’s laughing. (Orange flickers; James chuckles along with him.))

I like her.

I like her, too. Poor girl. I didn’t mean to give her a scare.

She knows, angel.

Maybe we were over the top.

Doesn’t matter. It was worth it.

Can’t disagree. She said they’d be back.

Mmhmm. I wonder what’s wrong.

Whaddya mean, honey?

Well, didn’t you say that Heather mentioned how she knew how she felt about the paranormal? (James frowns then, and darts a questioning glance at his husband.) Are we paranormal?

Yeah, she did. Beats me. I guess we’ll find out. (Harry finds James’s glow to shrug at him.) Maybe. Whatever; it was fun.

Yeah, it was.

Come to bed, firefly. We’ve had a long night.

(James gathers Harry up in his arms, and closes his eyes as he’s locked secure in his embrace, too. They tuck their heads to their soulmate’s neck, their bodies as close as physics allow. He balls up a maroon sweater in his fists, and can feel the tension pulling at the back of his green military jacket. The water is cold and they don’t care. They were one, once, then were forcibly separated to find each other again. They found each other, to never separate again.

This is how they sleep, James and Harry Mason: two puzzle pieces with sharp edges, two sheets of crisp white paper and charcoal. Toluca Lake is their home and their grave, but their real home has always been in each other’s arms. They’re together.

Just a firefly, and an angel.)

[willowwzz]

𝕺𝖚𝖗 𝕾𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙 𝕻𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖚𝖒 ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 1

Hey guys! Eeek...Chapter 1 is here!! Any comments, feedback etc is much appreciated! Please be kind haha...hope you enjoy. Side note...don’t own anyone or anything bla bla in the story. All totally made up and a figment of my imagination...here we go..

                                              𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝟣 

You opened your eyes slowly, expecting to see light filter thru the half shut curtain's that covered your bedroom window. It was still dark with a small dusting of light coming over the hills. Looking up to your alarm clock, the time read 4.47 am. Rummaging around your bedside cabinet, you finally found the remote, flicking the telly on and immediately muting the sound. The last thing you wanted to hear was a high pitched squealing woman having an orgasm about an amazing vacuum cleaner that does this, that and the other, plus you didn’t want to wake James. Rolling over you came face to face with him and watched him sleep in the glow from the television. He always looked so peaceful and content when he slept and it had seemed that lately the only time you could tolerate him was when he was asleep. You watched his chest rise and fall slowly, listening to the soft moan that escaped his lips with each breath. 'Why do you have to be such a bitch?' you scolded yourself. You had an amazing boyfriend, who had done nothing but love, cherish and sacrifice for you for the last 4 years, yet you did not love him. It was James who was there for you when you’re mum died, arranged the funeral when you couldn’t, and took you away after it all. It was James who worked his arse off when you couldn’t work for 6 months after a nasty horse riding accident, supporting you, your business and your 20 horse's. And it was James that put up with all your bullshit. He never once lied, cheated or hurt you, when there were probably a lot of times he could of. Your thoughts turned to when you first met. You were both 19 when he had turned up at the racing stable's where you were working at the time to put an extension on one of the stable block's. You were having problems with a young colt that had been dropped of that morning. Taking the horse off the truck, he leapt and bound on the spot before standing on your foot and nearly running you over. He reared up and lashed out with his front legs, getting one over which had forced you to let the horse go, watching as he ran down the lane way, only stopping to reach over the fence to try and bite another horse. "Little shit" you mumbled to yourself as you walked thru the barn to shut the gate so he couldn’t get back out towards the road. Just as you were walking back outside you spotted James, leading the colt at his side like it was an old schoolmaster. He stopped just in front of you, patting the horse as he grazed happily at his feet. "Looking for this?" he laughed as he handed you the rope. After seeing James' vibrant smile and hearing his childlike laugh, you couldn’t be angry any more. "Thanks" you laughed, hand out to take the lead rope from him. Instead he placed his hand in yours, shaking it thoroughly. "I'm James" he beamed. "And you are...?" "Morgan" you replied shyly, actually taking in how good looking this guy was. "Well Morgan" James smiled, his hand still gripping yours. "Let's put this boy away, then you can get me a coffee before we start...Oh didn’t I tell you you’re helping me? Well your are now!" he laughed, dragging you along the path before you had any chance to resist....

Next thing you knew it was 2 years later and you were moving into your new place. An old, neglected, 300 acre horse property with everything you needed. Arena, stables, yards, a huge shed for James and hundreds of acres of fields and forest to ride over. As you moved the last box from the truck into the house, dumping it in the middle of what was to become your bedroom, you walked silently over to the window, taking in the amazing view of the sun setting behind the hills. You knew then that you didn’t love James, and in the back of your mind you knew you were making a mistake. 'But this was what you wanted all along wasn’t it?' you asked yourself. 'What more could you want?’ Feeling James' arm's slip around your waist, you shut your eyes, trying to fight back the tears. "Do you know how happy you've made me?" James whispered in your ear. "I love you". Squeezing your eyes tighter, all you could do was nod...

Day by day and month by month went by until it was your 2nd anniversary of moving onto the farm and yours and James' 4th anniversary. Waking up that morning to a surprise bunch of roses by your bed with a card from James, you knew there couldn’t be a 5th. Throwing your dressing gown on you walked over to the french doors that had once been a wall before you redecorated, and opened them. Walking out onto the small deck that over looked your back garden and looking out. From there you could also see part of the drive and some of the back paddocks with horses of all colours and size's grazing happily in the warm sun. Pulling your dressing gown around your neck you headed back inside, thinking to yourself that soon it would be winter and you would hardly use the little deck that you had had breakfast on nearly every day that summer. The old farm that had once been barely livable was now a beautiful, thriving Equestrian business that you had slogged over since the day you brought it. It was your baby. James had built two self contained, small houses about a hundred metres away from the main homestead that were rented out as a source of income over the winter months when the lesson and trekking horses were turned out. That didn’t mean you were never busy. Winter was probably your busiest time. You loved winter and all that it entailed. Plus you still had your regular customers that you gave lessons to, worked certain horses and winter was generally when you got a lot of horses to break in, which you absolutely loved. There was no better thrill or sense of accomplishment that you achieved from having a wild horse that you couldn’t touch, to riding it, willing and happily thru your forest.

"Hey Hun?" James called from downstairs. "What time do you want dinner?” Sitting up on the edge of the bed, you rubbed your eyes, trying to wake yourself up. "Hang on" you called out, lying back down on your bed. Downstairs you could hear the familiar clang of pots, water running and the way the old pantry door squeaked every time it was opened. Lately you hadn’t felt like eating, as much as James made sure you did. "Don’t want my baby getting sick!" he would laugh, placing yet another plate in front of you. Finally getting up and pulling a jersey on you noticed the time, realising that you had slept a lot longer than you had planned and still had to feed the horses. You made your way quietly down the stairs, hoping not to catch James' attention...but it was too late. "Come...Sit!" he ordered, taking you by the hand and leading you over to the breakfast bar that ran nearly the entire way around your huge, farm styled kitchen. You sat motionless as you watched James whirl around the kitchen doing ten things at once. You smiled to yourself. 'And who said men couldn’t multi task?' you thought. "Sorry, it’s not much" James said, placing a plate of bacon, tomatoes and eggs with toast in front of you. "Didn’t get home till late". "No probs, sorry I wasnt up when you got home" you replied, sculling your glass of water to ease the hunger pains that had set in as soon as you smelt the delicious food. "No probs" James beamed. "You need the sleep" he replied, kissing you gently on the forehead. "Now eat before it gets cold". You picked up a piece of toast, the whole time feeling James' stare on you, and took a bite. Once he was satisfied that you were eating he mentioned something about meeting someone to rent a cabin, but you weren’t entirely sure. You hadn’t been listening, instead you were watching a bird flutter about with a feather that he had found...your mind drifting off aimlessly. Staring out the window you watched James as he climbed into the old farm truck, holding the door open for his trusty old Labrador, Goldie, to jump in beside's him and head off into the words. Scrapping the food into the scrap bin you felt abit guilty over wasting the food that James had cooked but snapped out of it when your thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing. "Hey mo mo!" you heard squealing down the phone. "Sam" you replied, an instant smile spreading on your face. "I’m coming to stay...see you in a few days...gotta go...bye!" she laughed before hanging up. That was Sam! You had meet Sam the first week you had arrived there from New Zealand. The first thing she said to you was that she loved your funny accent. You knew right from the start that you would be best friends. Sam always had a way of knowing exactly how you felt, even when you lived 5 hours apart. And you knew that Sam would always be there no matter how serious or amazing the situation was. Sam saying she would be here in a 'few days' meant that she could either be here in the morning or in a month. You were never too sure with her. She definitely lived in the moment which you loved about her. Walking over into the office you looked up at your pin board which was covered with pictures, phone numbers and photos of Sam and you and remembered when you had been as carefree as her. Opening the diary, you reserved one of the cabins for Sam, writing a note that you weren’t entirely sure when exactly she was coming. Flicking thru the other pages you noticed a booking for the other cabin, in James' writing. The log, 2 bedroom cabin had been booked for 3 months, but James hadn’t left a name. Wow...3 months. you gave a little sigh of relief at the small, but important income, that would bring to the farm. As you heard the familiar sound of the truck heading back up the drive, you looked up at the photo of Sam and you that was taking at a beach about 3 years ago. You had a large sun hat on, with a fake coconut bikini top on and Sam had a top hat on and was wearing a fake moustache! You couldn’t wait until she arrived....you had a lot to talk about....    

[killmongerdreams]

dinner [dissonance extra #1]

summary // There’s more to James than just being a god.

warnings // extreme cuteness

notes // here’s the first of my dissonance extra scenes! i hope you guys enjoy!

Y/N leads James by the hand through the farmer’s market, sporting a bright smile as he sulks behind her. It was an ungodly hour in the morning, the sun still a serene orange glow in the sky. James’ eyes watered with exhaustion behind his sunglasses. 

He loved the happy, skipping flower goddess, but he was not a goddamn morning person. 

“Oh, don’t be so grumpy.” Y/N tugs on his hand, giggling. “Mornings are the best thing in the world.”

“Easy for you to say.” James grumbles, yawning. “You thrive off seeing the best in even the most terrible things, like mornings. Seriously, what kind of sadist actually enjoys throwing sleep away? You, apparently. I’m marrying a sadist.”

“I think that’s the most I’ve heard you say since you’ve woken up this morning.” Y/N laughs again, and James’ frown only deepens.

“You mean since you yanked me out of a wonderful, deep sleep against my will? This is kidnapping, love. I could go to the authorities with this.”

Y/N rolls her eyes fondly. “You’re theatrical.”

“Oh, little one, you haven’t even seen theatrical yet.”

James thinks Y/N has more than reaped the benefits the farmer’s market. They find themselves walking - more like staggering, in James’ opinion - the path to Y/N’s home with arms full of paper bags filled to the brim with an ungodly amount of produce. He forces the door open with a bit of his magic, keeping a careful eye on the little goddess as she nearly trips over the threshold.

He’s pretty sure she has the bag full of eggs, and god forbid those smash to the floor. Though - it wouldn’t have been a problem had she not nearly bought out the entire egg stand.

James huffs out a breath of relief as she places her bags safely on the counter.

“Oh, thank you, fate. We all made it here in one piece.” James feigns wiping sweat off his forehead. “I thought we weren’t gonna make it.”

Y/N casts him a glare over her shoulder, heart warming as he smiles big, laugh lighting up the room. “Dramatic.”

His eye drops into a wink. “You know it, little one.”

“Quit gabbing and help me put these away, mister.” Y/N opens the fridge, removing old food from the shelf to replace it with the things she’s bought. 

James goes to the counter to start unbagging what they amassed this morning. “What are you going to do with all of this?”

“You, sir are going to cook dinner for me tonight.” Y/N grins at the brow he raises her way. 

“What makes you think I can cook?”

“Ilyse.”

James rolls his eyes. “That traitor.”

James stands at the counter dicing vegetables, barefoot and shirtless, only in a pair of jeans that Y/N forced him to buy.  She’s lounging on her couch in one of her usual sundresses, book in her hands and Lumina in her lap.

He finally let that aggravating feline come topside, and she was loving every minute of it. She relished in the attention the goddess gave her, behaving just like the little kitten she made herself be. 

“Spoiled brat.” James comments under his breath, and Lumina just waves a paw at him, eyes shining smugly. 

“You’re so mean to her.” Y/N turns the page, sparing James an admonishing look. 

“Well, she’s stealing all of your attention.” James narrows his eyes at the feline as she snuggles closer to his fiancé. “Here I am, wearing denim of all things, slaving over a hot stove like an ordinary human, and I’ve yet to get any of your attention.”

“Here we go with the dramatics, again.” Y/N laughs, the sound like a tinkling bell, gently moving Lumina to the arm rest as she rises to her feet. She slides behind James as he continues his knife work, confident and quick. Her hands slide cheekily over his stomach, moving lower to tug on the belt loops of his pants. “I like these on you.”

“Denim is atrocious and you should be condemned for having me wear these, no matter how “incognito” it makes me.” He scoffs, turning over the rack of lamb as he slices between the bone in even portions. “And quit trying to solicit me, woman. I’m cooking.”

“You’ve been particularly ornery today.” Y/N ignores him, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the back of his neck. He sighs, ever so quietly. “I think I can fix that.”

“Who are you and what did you do with my future wife, minx?” James chuckles, shaking his head fondly. He turns his head as she rises on her toes, meeting her in a gentle kiss over his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you more, handsome.” she wraps her arms around his waist, watching interestedly as he turns on the stove, oiling a pan and setting it on high heat. “Herb-crusted lamb, on a bed of vegetable quinoa with a side of roasted potatoes.”

“Sounds fancy.” Y/N kisses his cheek. 

“Only the best for you, little one.”

[looselucy]

The End

Harry was talking to my belly again. It was one of his favourite things to do.

I was sat on the counter in our shop, swinging my legs merrily, looking down to Harry who was at my side, leaning against the countertop so unnaturally, almost horizontal so he could be on level with my ever-growing bump, his balanced elbows just about keeping him afloat. “And then I was like, Niall, just play the bloody show-” “Harry.” I tried to get his attention. “-and he was like, but I’m nervous about it, and I said, Niall, pull yourself together! And this is why Uncle Niall is hard work.” “Harry, we have work to do.” “Florence, I’m busy talking to our child, thank you very much. Now if you’ll excuse me…” He continued mumbling away about the gig Niall was nervous about, because it was his biggest yet. When I’d first gotten pregnant, Harry did the usual baby-talk when it came to my stomach, but now I was eight months down the line, he spoke to our child so casually it was like he was having an actual conversation. It was beautifully endearing, and even though I often rolled my eyes whilst he did it, I loved it so much. “I knew we’d be fucking useless at this.” I huffed, shoving the bridal magazines a little further away from me. “Don’t swear in front of the baby!” He called. “Harry, I have to! The baby is always with me! And planning a bloody wedding is stressful and it makes me swear and I hate it and I don’t wanna do it anymore, please. Okay. Good.” “Are you calling the wedding off?” He smirked up to me. “Yes.” “This is the fifth time you’ve dramatically called the wedding off. Your empty threats mean nothing to me. Now pick a dress.” It was late December, and we weren’t getting married until the summer, so I felt like I still had plenty of time left to continue putting off choosing what I would wear on the day. Every time we hit a slight hurdle and I couldn’t bring myself to make a decision, I’d sulk and whine and say we weren’t getting married. Harry would always just laugh. Thankfully, and to no one’s surprise, Harry was exceptionally good at everything to do with weddings. Almost every decision had been made by him, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Really, all I’d been left to choose was my dress, and I couldn’t even do that. Harry finally pushed upwards, walking so he was in front of me, standing between my legs and laying his hands upon my stomach, his eyes glistening fondly. I blushed, expecting a compliment to spill from his full lips. “You look extra pregnant today.” “Oh.” I baffled. “Am I looking really big?” “Just very… pregnant… in general.” “Am I glowing?” I joked, lifting my brows. “You’re always glowing.” With a little difficulty thanks to the sheer size of my bump, he leaned inwards to land his lips on mine, soft hand reaching up to shelter my cheek, the two of us not paying too much attention to the bell ringing and letting us know someone had just come in from the cold. But then when Mo started yelling excitedly, and it was impossible not to give him our attention. “GUYS, I’VE GOT IT!” He beamed, marching towards us, holding three loose teabags, for some reason. “You should call the baby Barnaby!” “Mo, it’s a girl!” I cried. “Sasha and I believe, that names should be genderless.” “Barnaby just… I don’t think it’s right for her.” Harry grinned. “But it almost says baby in the name! If you take the first bit and the last bit, boom. Baby.” “She won’t be a baby forever!” I laughed. “Mm. Fair point. Who wants a brew?” He scuttled into the back of the shop to prepare us our drinks. We’d ran out of tea earlier, and since Mo was in charge of our stock, he’d said he would get more in. I couldn’t make sense of the fact he’d just managed to find three individual teabags from somewhere. Harry waited until he was definitely out of earshot before he turned back around and whispered to me. “I think it’s probably time to tell him that we’ve already decided her name.” “Awh, but he gets so excited about it! He’s having fun.” We’d finally decided on Violet around a month earlier, but how excited Mo would get and all the ridiculous suggestions he would throw at us, was something I’d actually started to cherish. He’d been a brilliant support throughout my pregnancy, with the mood-swings and the tantrums I’d thrown on my particularly bad days. He’d been faultless throughout, and I knew for a fact I’d been hard work. “Just give him a little more time.” I pleaded. “Fine. Mo comes first.” He smiled. “Of course.” It had been just over three years since our night on the docks, where we found our way back to one another, and both myself and Mo had been working alongside Harry now for almost two. Harry was utterly magnetic in every sense, and that had leaked into his work life wonderfully. People from all over the city would travel just to go to his shop to get what they needed. He’d offer a place to sit and brews or even beers to people who frequented, and developed such a healthy rapport with so many of them, that the business became too thriving for him to run it alone. To say myself and Mohammad jumped at the opportunity would be alarming understatement. None of us were earning a fortune, but we were exceptionally happy at work, and with our lives, and that was something we’d all been craving for as long as I could remember. “HOW ABOUT CORNELIUS?” We heard Mo scream from the kitchen area. “NO!” Harry yelled back immediately. “MO, THE NAMES ARE GETTING WORSE AND WORSE!” “BETTER AND BETTER, HARRY. BETTER AND BETTER.” With the two of us still kind of laughing, Harry leaned inwards and kissed me sweetly, his smile wide and his hands still laying atop my stomach. It was nice to have a few brief moments where the only thing in the world I had to concentrate on was Harry’s lovely lips, but I should have known that all too soon I’d be dragged back, kicking and screaming, into talking about the wedding. My phone was ringing on top of the counter, and whilst still kissing my fiancé, I glanced down to my side from the very corner of my eye. “Nooooooo!” I whaled, dramatically pulling from him and picking up my phone. “It’s bloody Beatrice.” “Answer. I need to sort out some arrangements anyway.” He shrugged, wandering over to the flowers he'd gathered to create another masterpiece. “But she’s just going to be screaming about the wedding and I can’t, Harry. I can’t!” “Maybe she’s just calling to catch up!” He knew he was lying through his teeth. I sulked a little bit more before grimacing, and swiping my thumb across the screen to answer her call, trying not to cry down the line. She didn’t even give me the chance. “Florence, it’s about the venue.” She started instantly. I kicked my feet, slamming them against the counter behind me and still supressing sobs. Beatrice Valentine was extremely animated when it came to our wedding. As soon as Harry had proposed, Matilda had warned me straight away that our mother would be a nightmare, just as she was throughout hers and James’ engagement. He'd proposed six months earlier, down on the docks. He’d asked me to meet him there, completely casual, but when I arrived he was already set up at the far end, daisies and sunflowers lining down each side like a runway, a massive grin on his face because he knew full well I was going to say yes. He wasn’t nervous, at all, he was just ridiculously happy. I’d ran down across the concrete and smacked into his body so hard I’m surprised we didn’t end up in the water behind us. I’m not even sure I ever got around to vocally saying yes. I just cried, and kissed him, and he knew. “It’s not a venue, mum, it’s a field.” I told her for the millionth time. “This is exactly my point. What if it rains?” “Then it rains! It doesn’t matter. We’re getting married in Harry’s field, and you’re not gunna change my mind.” “But what about afterwards?” “We’ve got permission off the man who owns the land to get a shit load of-” “Language, Florence!” “A lot,” I corrected myself. “Of teepees there, and they’re big ones. So, it’s sorted. Don’t worry!” “I’m still thinking a nice church would-” “Mum… Please don’t make me yell again. I am less than a month away from pushing an entire human being out of my vagina and my mood-swings can be terrifying, so don’t push me!” The sound of Harry giggling in the distance was enough to keep me calm all by itself, but the fact my mother sighed and backed down also helped to dull my mood. Harry had always wanted to get married in the field where he picked flowers with his father, but once he'd actually proposed, I knew he’d automatically started panicking that it wouldn’t happen; that we wouldn’t be able to use the land. It had been a dream of his, for as long as he could remember, but he felt as though the reality of the situation wouldn’t run smoothly. To be honest, I was kind of convinced that if it was anyone else, it wouldn’t have. But Harry had pretty much charmed the owner of the land into it. Things just seemed to work around Harry, like the world was feeding him love and goodness, maybe compensating for the former pain it had previously nourished him with. It felt as though he was finally receiving back all the good, and kind energy that he had always released into the world, and it was glorious to behold. Things seemed to fall into place around him, his fingers tips emitting magic, his footsteps producing gardens of gold beneath each step. It was beautiful. “Okay. That’s fine.” My mother finally replied. “But, the dress…” “Don’t mention the dress, I’m begging-” “I was wondering if you would like to wear mine.” Suddenly, I was seven years old again, tracing my tiny fingers down images of my mother in her wedding dress, my eyes alight and a photobook laying on my lap. Myself and Matilda had always been obsessed with her dress. It was beautiful. Timeless. I knew then when my sister got married, she’d been silently praying that my mother would offer to pass it down to her, but she never had. I had never expected her to offer that to me. I placed my hand on my chest, my whole body shaking. “Wh-what? Are you serious?” “It would look wonderful on you. I’ve always thought so.” I burst into tears, and before I could say anything else Harry had rushed back to my front, eyes wide but also filled with rage, automatically jumping to the conclusion that my mother had said something awful and that’s why I was suddenly sobbing hysterically. The relationship between me and my mother was the best it ever had been, but we were never going to be that close. A lot had happened, and the truth was we had different views on the world, we were never going to be similar and we were never going to have the kind of mother / daughter relationship I would have loved us to. I’d accepted that, and the thought that I was in the process of creating my own family helped to bring me peace. I could create that bond with my own daughter, and that was one of the greatest feelings in the world. But me and Beatrice were as good as we physically could be, and we were both exceptionally happy with how we’d bonded and healed and learnt to accept one another over the past few years. It was more than I could have asked for, and more than I ever expected from us. I had never anticipated her offering the dress to me. Crying too profusely, I wafted my hand in front of my face dismissively, trying to tell Harry that he had nothing to worry about, and they were happy tears, but I knew he’d need some kind of vocal confirmation or he wouldn’t stop worrying about me. It was a little too soon to offer that. “I’ve kept it in perfect shape.” My mother continued. “It also saves you from searching for something, since I imagine that’s not going too well.” “No.” Was the first word I managed to blubber. “So, I would like to offer the dress to you. It would… be an honour, to pass it down to you.” “Yes. Yes yes yes, please, I’d love it. I’d die for it. Are you serious? Holy shit.” “Language!” She huffed again. “Not around the baby!” Harry joined her. To say I was technically being told off, hearing them both say that was such a happy moment of time for me. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. It was genuinely hurting my cheeks. “Mum, I would love that so much.” I laughed and cried at the same time. “You have no idea how much this means to me!” “I’ll come and visit you at Daniel’s soon and pass it over. You have to take good care of it!” “I promise I will! I will… not be myself at the wedding all day which means I won’t spill on it, or trip over it, or do anything that I would usually do, I promise!” “So I’ll see you soon.” “Okay. Okay. Thank you, thank you very much a lot.” “Goodbye, Florence.” “Bye, mum!” I hung up, and surprisingly, somehow managed to start sobbing even more, hiding my face as Harry lay his hands on my stomach once again, because he always worried even the most minor thing could affect our daughter, including me crying. “Is she giving you her dress?” I nodded, and he cheered, and I wished I could have been celebrating with him, but I was too overwhelmed to do anything other than cry. Harry began littering numerous kisses against my cheek, because even he knew about my love for my mothers dress. It wouldn’t have even surprised me if he’d called her up and bribed her into it, just as another way of making me happy. But I didn’t question him. “I KNOW THE PERFECT WAY TO CELEBRATE!” He gasped. “MO, PUT ON THE GREATEST CHRISTMAS SONG OF ALL TIME!” “COMING UP!” We heard from the other room. I was silently hoping I’d hear the gentle beat of Stop the Cavalry, but I knew for a fact that I wouldn’t, because year after year, myself and Harry had the same debate over the best Christmas song, and I knew he would never back down from his one true love. I finally revealed my face and laughed lightly when the pianos that introduced Fairytale of New York began filtering through the speakers dotted around our shop. Harry stepped away from me, holding his arms up high and wide, immediately immersed. “IT WAS CHRISTMAS EVE, BABE,” He yelled, grinning. “AND FLUR DE DURBY SHPUR!” “Harry, learn the god damn words!” “A FLURDY GUR DE GUR, WON’T SEE ANOTHER ONE! See, I do know some of the- DA FURDY SANG A SONG, A SHPLUR NUR NUR DA FUR! I TURN MY FACE AWAY, AND DREAM ABOUT YOU!” It never got old. I would always roll my eyes and pretend I was protesting his terrible singalong, but in all honesty, I thought it was the best thing ever. Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without Harry attempting to sing The Pogues. “A DUR DA LUCKY ONE, A FUR DE SHPUR A BLUR, I’VE GOT A FEELING, THIS YEAR’S FOR ME AND YOU!” He belted, and neared me once more, gripping his hands against my cheeks. “SO HAPPY CHRISTMAS, I LOVE YA BABY! I CAN SEE A BETTER TIME, WHEN ALL OUR DREAMS COME TRUE.” His singing had stopped me crying, but my following laughter was stopping the kiss he was trying to bless me with as the song picked up, Mo doing some pathetic form of Irish-Jig from the back office all the way to the front of the shop. I wasn’t sure I’d ever been happier. I wasn’t sure that myself or Harry had any more dreams left that needed to come true. We had everything. Mo continued dancing around the shop, Harry realising my smile was far too large to even attempt at kissing me, so he soon joined Mo dancing, and I continued shaking my head. They were so busy skipping around the shop together that they didn’t even hear the bell ring, letting us know we had a customer. Thankfully, it was someone we were familiar with. “Dr Jackson!” I beamed. “When will you learn to call me Bryony?” She smiled, seemingly utterly unfazed by what Mo and Harry were doing, their arms linked as they skipped around on the spot. She was a very regular visitor of ours. She probably turned up around once a fortnight, bought herself a bunch of flowers and asked of our wellbeing, and then she’d leave. I think she just liked seeing us, really. There was a supermarket round the corner from her that would sell flowers for much cheaper than we did, but I think her main aim was to come and check up on us. She liked to see us doing so well, being so happy, because she hadn’t really seen much of it before. She’d been around myself and Harry when we were going through the most difficult and complicated times of our lives, and I think she just liked to finally see us thriving, and to be aware that she had helped us both reach such a wonderful stage of our lives. We liked seeing her, too. I tried to get off the counter, shuffling forward, my feet still feeling like they were miles off the ground, and the weight of my child always made me feel like I was going to fall face first to the ground. “Curls, can you help me down?” I asked, looking down to the floor like I was looking over the edge of a cliff. He stopped dancing and was with me in seconds, tenderly giving me his hands and helping me hurdle from the counter down to the floor, keeping me as steady as he could when I had a slight wobble, and then I was on my way. I waddled over to Dr Jackson as she scanned over some flowers, pinching their petals and smiling, Harry just behind me. “How’ve you been?” He asked her, keeping his hand on the small of my back, almost like he had to guide me over to her. “I’ve been well, thank you. How’re you two?” She turned to look at us as we reached her, and her eyes widened. “Oh! You’ve gotten so big!” “Everything is difficult and everything hurts.” I grinned happily. “Well, you’re glowing?” “Isn’t she?” Harry beamed. “How’re my parents?” “They’re doing really well. Much better.” Janine and Adam had seen various therapists over the years, and they’d never really felt like they were talking to the right person, until Harry directed them towards Bryony. It meant that they had to travel for their sessions, but for the past year, they’d come so far by talking to her. Even being open with Harry had helped the two of them feel better and begin dealing with their grief, but they’d needed a little more help, and that was something that Dr Jackson was offering them in the exact way they needed. I was convinced she was a genius. She’d always been important to Harry anyway, but I knew his admiration for her had grown considerably since she started helping his parents. “Good. I’m glad.” Harry nodded. “Thanks again.” “Don’t worry about it.” “Are you looking for anything special today?” He asked. “We’re trying to… flog sunflowers. We overstocked again.” “You always overstock on sunflowers.” “Yeah…” Harry cringed. “I don’t learn.” He used to have things the same way at home. Our flat was drowning in sunflowers, but Harry’s hay-fever had gotten so bad he, reluctantly, agreed to tone it down at home. He agreed to no such thing when it came to the shop. If people didn’t call it Daniels, it was often referred to as The Sunflower Shop. “Do you have mistletoe?” She asked. “I’m trying to prepare for Christmas.” “Um, I think so-” “It’s in the back. I’ll go get it!” Mo perked up, running to the back of the shop once more. Bryony continued to trail around the store, always smiling just slightly and eyeing up every single flower available, always in awe of their beauty. Harry was the same. Every single day when we opened our doors, he’d look around the shop as though it was his first time amongst flowers, as though he was utterly dumbfounded by the beauty around him. It never got old for him, and that’s how I knew he was exactly where he belonged. I watched Dr Jackson mull around our store before Harry nudged me, silently encouraging me to talk to her, ask her something we’d been discussing. “Uh… Bryony?” I began, Harry gently shoving me a little closer to her, and she turned quizzically to face us. “We… We were wondering if you’d like to come to our wedding?” Harry gently held my hand as we nervously awaited her reply, her emotions hard to read since all her features seemed to have dropped completely. I couldn’t tell if she was flattered or bloody offended. “You mean a lot to us.” Harry choked. “And… I wouldn’t… even be marrying her, if it wasn’t for you and the sessions and… what you’ve done for us. She’s… the love of my life and… it’s kinda thanks to you that we met. And you’ve done so much for us, and my family… It would mean so much to us if you came.” “We know it’s a bit weird,” I joined his rambling. “Because our history with you is… slightly bizarre, but we’d really love it if you could come.” I didn’t know much about Bryony Jackson, really. It was strange, because she knew everything about me. She knew the ins and outs of my life, what made me tick, how I dealt with situations and dealt with emotions. Dr Jackson understood me more than I understood myself, and I didn’t even know if she’d need a plus one to the wedding. So, it was a little strange we were inviting her to our wedding, but I hoped she understood why. She finally gave a hint at her emotions, and it was probably the most I’d ever seen from her. She was always so calm, and still. But then, her eyes filled with water. She really didn’t want us to notice, but we both had. I think the two of us meant more to her than we’d ever realised. “I’d love to.” She whispered. The three of us shared a nice moment there, no matter how brief, where we just smiled at one another. She came to terms with what she’d done for us, and we came to terms with the fact that our progress actually meant something to her, too. She’d once told me she wasn’t in that job for the money, and I could see that written upon her face then. She truly cared about her clients. Mo came and cut the moment short, passing over the mistletoe to her. “TAH-DAH!” He cheered. “I used this on my girlfriend the first time we met, and it went down a treat. So… get busy.” “Thanks for the advice.” Bryony giggled, taking the plant from him. “It’s on the house.” Harry nodded. “Merry Christmas.” “Merry Christmas. Thank you!” She shook, heading back towards the door, obviously eager to leave due to how overwhelmed she’d become. We just watched her go, timid smiles on our faces as I tried not to cry. I was having an extremely emotional day. “We’ll sort your invite.” Harry sighed. “Thank you. I’ll be back soon. Maybe in the New Year.” “Have a good one!” I just about bleated. “You too!” She waved shyly and got out of there as quickly as she could, and I swear, I loved her before but I loved her more after that minor reveal of emotions, and how she’d wanted to keep those emotions hidden. I think it made her more human for us. “I love her.” I mumbled. “I’m dizzy.” “Okay.” Harry giggled. “Let’s get you sat down. Mo, can you keep an eye on the shop?” “Sure. Niall and Molly are coming round soon, don’t forget!” “Okay!” Harry walked me calmly into the back office, as worried and concerned as ever. I’d been getting the dizzy spells for months, and he knew exactly how to handle me by that point, but he was still so worried about me. I found it adorable. He sat me down on the leather armchair in the office, kneeling down ahead of me as I lolled my head back, closing my eyes and letting it pass. “D’ya need anything?” He asked, voice so deep I felt I was trapped within the grooves of his tone, and it was there I wanted to stay. “Just stay with me.” I whispered. “Always.” He stayed kneeled ahead of me, watching my carefully, this thumb rubbing soothing circles at the back of my hand as I eased, glad to have him there with me, as ever. There had been something about my relationship with Harry, from the very first day we met. We just worked so well together. It seemed we could just slot together, and without any discussion or planning, we worked. It had always been that way, and over the past few years, we’d built one life together, joined at every axis. Our existences had become so linked, way beyond what we’d had before, and it was perfect. Even before I was pregnant, we felt like a family. We were stable and strong, and everything we had always tried to be and ever wanted to be. I couldn’t picture my life without him, and I knew he felt the same way about me. We’d grown into a garden over the years, and it was one we wanted to remain in, and keep adding to. We wanted to keep planting seeds, to feel our roots continue to tighten together. “Ren, I need to tell you something.” He whispered once he knew I was feeling a little better. “What’s up?” I lifted my head, looking down to him. “Y’know you’ve been dreading moving? Well… I don’t think we have to.” “We do.” I groaned. “I don’t want to but, Violet will need her own room. We’ll all need a little privacy.” “No, I know that, but that’s why I bought the flat next door.” “You… You did what?” He grinned, incredibly smug he’d kept that hidden from me, and pleased with the reaction he was getting from me. I felt dizzy again. “I had a little help from our parents, so there’s no mortgage-” “Harry-” “-and now we own the flat next door. We can… knock the wall down, and… build it back up how we need it to be. Neither of us… wanted to leave, and now we don’t have to.” “Are you joking?” “No. It’s ours.” “I want to scream but I’m still quite dizzy.” He laughed, lifting up slightly so he could kiss me again. I’d never really thought I’d be one of those people who could boldly claim they were completely happy with their life. I always thought I’d be battling. I always thought I’d be reaching out for something new or cowering backwards to something old. I didn’t believe that I would ever reach a stage in my life where I felt as though everything was perfect; everything was as it should be. And yet there I was. I never found myself wanting any more than I had. As far as I could see, my life was simple and seamless. I was surrounded, always, by people I loved. People who loved me and supported me and made me happy. And then Harry. Harry, a boy who I had always loved, someone I always thought was too good for me. Somehow, we’d figured everything out, and now every up and down we experienced was finally something we took on together. I never shunned him or blocked him out, I welcomed him, into every joy and every trauma of my existence, because that was what he wanted. He wanted me. Every single aspect of me. That moment, that day, was one of my happiest. I didn’t know at that point that in just two short years I’d find out I was pregnant with twins, two beautiful boys. I didn’t know at that point that myself and Harry would raise a family so beautiful, with their big brown eyes that contained flickers of green and gold. I didn’t know that we’d somehow manage to learn from our parents mistakes and create a family that homed nothing but love, and honesty, and healthy support. I didn’t know any of that, but when I looked into his eyes that day, I could sense it, almost see our future and what it held for us. The image was vague and hazy, but it was there. And that was when all my worries and trepidations disappeared, blew away in the wind as snow began to gently fall outside, tapping with delight against the windowpane. Harry’s nose brushed against mine, pressing a few more delicate kisses against my lips. “How did I get this lucky?” I gasped, my fingers searching through his hair. “How the hell am I lucky enough to have you?” “It’s fate, Sunflower.” He shrugged. “We were always meant to… be this way. In every fucking timeframe, you’re mine. It’s just how it’s meant to be.” I could tell that was something he thought of often, because the words he was saying made me stomach jolt and giggle, but it was so casual to him. Just another passing thought, another flippant sentence. There was no doubt in his mind that we were meant to be together. We would always find our way to one another, in whatever life and whatever universe. It was me and him. Always. “I love you so much.” I blushed. “I love you too, Florence Daisy Valentine.”

[akariitsuki42]

Spirit Saga

Here; Ch17

Chapter 16

Zacky asked, "Who is this Onyx?" "She told me that it's her brother," said Jimmy, "I hope I didn't find the wrong one and you are being robbed right now." "Now why would I do that to my own sister?" asked Onyx. I smiled when I saw him, then he said, "You told me that she needs company within her new house, so I'm here." "Which is a good thing that you did Jimmy," I said to him.

"Yeah, why is that?" he asked. I answered, "He is the only one who trusts me and I keep him at bay with what he is fighting within him." "Oh shit, inner conflict, I suppose," said Zacky. Once I got situated finally in my new home, I booted up my PS4 and starting to watch Markiplier, Onyx sat right beside me, Zacky who was still here, "Look I hope the guys don't see me talking to someone who they do not see, they will think I'm talking to no one." "He's not going anywhere without my say so," I said, "I even told him." "Yep, she did," said Jimmy, "She's the boss here."

After a while, Zack's friends came in, starting to talk loudly, which I do not approve, I just went into my bedroom, it just made my nerves stand on edge. Rev shows up, "You can talk to me until they go away." "It's just I don't approve people showing up talking loudly," I said, "I was raised somewhere so peaceful, I love to listen to nature sounds and I can't with that going on." "I see, well, it's going to take a while to get used to," he said, "I'm the loudest, by the way, no one tops me." "But, I don't see you doing that," I said to him, "Then again I did threatened you if you did do that, I would not hesitate to send you to Hell, which you do not want." "Nah, I want to make sure I live in peace," he said, "Not rot."

Jimmy was so friendly and sweet while talking to me, it made me feel special inside that maybe he is not that bad after all, I can finally see why the guys favor this guy so much, I went downstairs where it was quiet. I went into the room where everybody was, they were all looking at me, Brian asked, "Who were you laughing at?" "Someone on the phone," I said, trying to keep it hidden about me seeing and talking to the old drummer.

I looked around and sat where I am in between Onyx and Zacky, I see Rev standing in the hallway, making sure I was alright, Brian asked, "So, what are your favorite things to do?" "Write, sing, dance, read, basically I love to keep myself busy," I said to him, "Anything else?" "Are you interested in going into college?" asked Brooks. I tell him, "I'm interested in Writing." "Of course a cousin of ours, he says that she won't make it out as a writer," said Onyx, "Which really pissed her off, she is really sensitive about her passion." "Which I can kick everyone's ass in this very room," I said, "I can even put Dwayne Johnson to shame."

"You are not that tough!" shouted Matt. I got up, pointed to Brian, "You, let's go!" "Alright," he said, "Don't cry when I hurt your precious wittle face." I quickly pulled out my hair piece so I do not ruin it and handed to Onyx, I instantly elbowed Brian in the gut, then karate kick him on the side of his head, basically I was making him lose his balance. Brian then said, "I yield! Forget what was said!" I dropped him in the hard floor, I heard all the guys empathy on what Brian had to witness firsthand, then I asked, "Anyone else want to tango with me?"

All of them, "No thanks!" "I would not," said Onyx, "I still remember when I could not sit or lay down for a long time." "I keep telling you that I was not in the best mood," I said, "I can only go to certain extremes like that if I'm not having a great day, that was one of them." "Zacky, what is going on with your girlfriend here?" asked Brooks. I shouted, "I am not his girlfriend!" "That is not what I meant, you are a girl and you are his friend," said Brooks, clarifying on what he meant.

I just waited until everyone but Zacky to leave, I don't care if his friend Matt won't listen, I won't hesitate to make him leave! I need to have my privacy on certain times and I don't think these guys are going to be TOO happy that Zacky sent me here for a reason. That is putting his friend at rest and hopefully to be at peace, but I think Rev wants to live again and I can give him that if he choses to be on the good path.

I hid my falchion and my other weapons for everyone's safety, but I did not hide Velvet's lucky daggers and her gauntlets, I need all the luck right now to help me through what ever is about to happen. At this point in time, I don't think anyone misses me back in Karakura, so I need to clear my mind and hope that this will go smoothly.

4 months goes by, everything is going great right now, I'm very good friends with Brian, Johnny, and Brooks, I'm working my way up to Matt because I get the feeling that he knows that something is going on. My conversations with Jimmy was nothing but friendly talks and goof around, I guess Jimmy was only doing that to calm my nerves down on what was going on.

Zacky was on the level of being like a brother to me, I didn't even know that Onyx had left. Basically, I had the confidence to put everyone at rest of worrying about someone vice versa. I may be Half Hollow and Half Shinigami, I still need to do my duties as a Soul Reaper to put souls at rest or send them to Hell. I already told Rev that since he passed away due to an unfair cause of death because I was now told on what happened to him, he's not going to Hell for what had happened to him, surprisingly he hasn't turned into a Hollow yet.

He was a great company, he keeps me happy day after day, including at night, I thrive on laughter, I know I have a path a head of me. But, this request Zacky sent to the cottage's mailbox, I could not ignore because it would've been burned or thrown away either way. I had a huge argument with my OWN brother on what I stand for, I know that Love is not my true element but I stand for something else. Onyx saw the different change and he didn't like it one bit, all because I was defending a friend who needs to put at rest, I was not allowing him to do anything on what I still stand for.

Rev even told me that I didn't had to fight for him, that's when I tell him that I was seeing on why he hasn't turned yet. Rev asked, "What do you mean by turned?" "Where I am from, within a short period of time, Souls who has not found help with Soul Reapers, would turn into Hollows," I explained, "I and many of my friends, we are a special kind of Hollows, we are elemental Hollows, we fight to protect our home from evil. But that's some of what the case that you are going through, you were supposed to be a Hollow by now, but you are still remaining on what you are now."

"Is that a good thing?" he asked. I nodded, "But it will happen to you if you want to fight for your life again, do you wish to be alive again? If so, come with me, I'll train you to becoming alive again, I can make it happen for you." "Do you only have this ability?" he asked, "This is a lot for me to process and hear that from you. Wouldn't your friends and family be upset that you are doing this without their help?" "That does not matter to me anymore, James Owen Sullivan!" I yelled at him, "I was sent here by Zachary Baker because he wanted me to put you to rest, but I think that you don't want to be put to rest, you want to become alive again."

He looks behind me, I look to see Brian, or should I say Synyster Gates, with a shocked expression, "You were sent here by Zacky? I knew that you had a thing for him." "No, that's not what he sent me for," I said, "He was right, you don't know a bloody thing on what is truly happening, stupid fool." I turned my back, facing Rev again, Jimmy was shocked that I was taking this situation like this was nothing, I've dealt with many things, this is nothing compared to what I fought against.

Rev asked, "What do I have to do? Should I train with someone else?" I shook my head, softly spoke, "I said I was going to train you." "Oh yeah, but how are you going to train me without anyone seeing us?" he asked. I held up my hand, he went silent, I turned to Gates, "I order you to leave my house at once!!" "Whoa, I don't think you know me," he said, "I don't follow orders for someone who is younger than me." "Oh yeah, I might have lied about my age and name, Brian Elwin Haner Jr, son of the Guitar Guy," I mocked his tone of voice.

He just looked at me like I've lost my head, then left, I locked my front door, closed all the windows, locked them, darkened my entire house, "Alright here is what you need to do." "I'm listening," he said. I made my hand glow and out came a katana, smiled at him, "You seemed to pass my test of being a good soul." "What the hell is that?" I hear the word, I pulled it back, "Now here are my rules, before I hand this and your powers to you." "Great, rules," he groaned. I snapped at him, "Do you want to devour your entire friends and family as a mindless monster?!"

He got the idea, I'm doing this so he can defend on what he stands for, I'm standing for the person's spirit on believing that they take on anything. I'm trying to motivate Jimmy here, it's going to be rough since I was invited to go on tour with Avenged Sevenfold, how am I going to pull this off without them knowing that I'm bringing The Rev back to life.

That was 4 months ago, now he is ready to get his own power, because I sort of made his Zanpakuto spirit being the Deathbat, I was fulfilling my promise to make sure he gets what he needs on what he was most comfortable with. He turns to me, "By the way, I need to give a message to someone who I have not seen in ages." "Sure, who is it?" I asked. He chuckles, "She goes by this nickname that I gave her, it was Lady Luck." "Luck? You mean Velvet Nikano?" I asked.

He sighed, "That's not her true last name." "What is it?" I asked. He gave me a look saying if I was stupid or not, then it clicked, Velvet has the same bone structure as him, and she only acts crazy if she can't be heard. "Your her brother?" I asked. He nodded, "How is she doing?" "She's doing wonderful, she's a part of the Defenders of the Elemental Realm," I said, "Her power is Luck." "Is it possible for me to have a power like her?" he asked.

I got a message from Esperanza that the speed elemental was right next to me, I looked at him, "I think it's time to unlock your power." "Oh, yeah," he said, "What is it?" "This power, not only does it give you the power to move fast but you are going to be alive again," I said, "But, you have to accept on whatever I tell you." "You all are Half Hollows, I get it," he said, "I can tell on why you gave me the Deathbat spirit because I did say that I wanted my Hollow form to be a Doom Bat, similar to the Deathbat." "Wow, you are quick to learn," I said, "Wait, it told you on why I gave it to you?"

"Yep, and thank you for making a huge effort to do this for me and Zacky," he said, "But when everyone sees me with you, they are NOT going to take anything lightly." "I understand on what will happen if they do," I said, "But I'm doing on what the soul wants, either to be alive or crossover to Heaven."

[citizenscreen]

As the new year approaches I reflect on the last twelve months and gather my hopes for those to come. Unlike most people I also think about The Thin Man, specially about William Powell and Myrna Loy who play Nick and Nora Charles in the memorable six-movie series released between 1934 and 1947.

When I saw that Steve of Movie Movie Blog Blog was hosting The Happy New Year Blogathon I chose to focus on Nick and Nora Charles right off the bat for several reasons, not the least of which is that there are few other people I’d rather celebrate with to close out the year. I rewatched the first two movies in the series, W. S. Van Dyke‘s The Thin Man and After the Thin Man both of which are centered around the holidays, Christmas and New Years to be specific. As I watched these movies I’ve seen many times before I began to think about why Nick and Nora are so enjoyable. Why is it that everything they touch is so entertaining? In trying to answer that I came to the realization that what they have is what everybody should have, a Charles kind of life, the kind of life where quips rule the day and love abounds and friendships glow and no one judges. And so I’ve put together the 10 things we all need in order to celebrate New Year’s like Nick and Nora Charles.

  1. The Perfect Union

I begin with the obvious ingredient, the one without which the others would be for naught. This is common sense, but not easily obtained. What you need is a debonaire, detail-oriented husband who is as comfortable in intimate settings as he is in big crowds. This man is aces at feigning surprise, doesn’t mind that his wife gets her own Christmas presents, gets up to make her breakfast and can hold his liquor. AND HOW! The wife is just as important to this union, of course, She has to be beautiful and fashionable and must crinkle her nose on demand. Although Mrs. perfect union comes from high society she doesn’t mind – or rather, is excited by – the prospect of hosting suspected murderers for dinner and doesn’t mind getting her own Christmas gifts on behalf of her husband. As one of the coppers refers to her, Nora’s “a girl with hair on her chest.” Of course, Mr. and Mrs. perfect union must be perfect together, compliment each other and have the same goals in mind. For instance, Mr. and Mrs. Charles are each adept at physical comedy, they excel at fast-talking and self-deprecating humor and good-natured jabs, which are key to keeping things spicy in the marriage, and they both look great in fancy pajamas.

  2. A Murder

Under most circumstances murder is grim and painful, but if you want to have a Nick and Nora experience during your New Year’s celebrations then…sorry…someone has to die by suspicious means. There’s just no way to get around that.

As you know, Nick Charles is a former detective who left the business upon marrying Nora. Since her father’s death Nick spends his time balancing drinking, romancing and running her businesses with the latter taking up almost no time at all. In truth, former detective Nick spends a lot of time detecting, trying to figure out who murdering low lives are as dead bodies have a way of falling at his feet. Nick’s talent and stellar reputation for crime detection ensure the police and past associates turn to him for assistance. Due to that the Charles celebration is always centered on crime in some way and there never was another couple who makes the best of the macabre happening. Not only does Nick thrive on solving the puzzles, but Nora is excited by his talent. Needless to say then, a murder is necessary as the driving force behind any and all holiday celebrations. Oh, and it helps if newspapers report the incorrect suspect or details of the crime.

From THE THIN MAN (1934)

From AFTER THE THIN MAN (1936)

  3. Colorful Friends

This one’s simple. If you have no friends called Face, Fingers or Willie the Weeper, find them. There’s no way you can enjoy the festivities without a motley group. In fact, if possible find the establishment where these characters go and spend New Year’s Eve there. You can use the Lychee Club featured in After the Thin Man as a guide. Or…the investigation will lead you to the perfect place. A warning, though – the husband has to be flexible and easy-going enough to ignore remarks about his wife by these character, and the wife has to ignore the comments overall, but it will no doubt be a fun way to bring in the New Year.

Mr. and Mrs. Charles at the Lychee Club surrounded by Nick’s friends, most of which are past jailbirds

The entertainer at the Lychee Club is involved in the mystery

Nick and Nora welcome the New Year at the Lychee Club

    4. A Rich, Snooty Family

We know Nora comes from money although she hasn’t a shred of snootiness. Still, her family is as snobbish and judgmental as they get, especially her Aunt Katherine (Jessie Ralph) who can’t even stand Nick. Still, I suggest you add at least a few of these old money types to your celebration. Not only do they provide an important contrast to Nick’s seedy friends, which is sure to add interesting goings on, but also because these rich people provide lots of opportunities for enjoyable fodder between the hosts themselves.

Nick gets gets a disapproving nod from Nora’s Aunt Katherine

  5. A Brilliant Pet

It doesn’t matter if the husband or the wife or both are at the top their game where quips and looks are concerned. The situation will always be improved by an intelligent, funny pet. The Charles are uniquely lucky in that their pet is wire-haired terrier scene-stealer Asta (played by Skippy). Asta is hilarious, has perfect timing and adds oodles to the Charles’ exchanges whether they’re at home relaxing or he accompanies Nick to an investigation. Asta completes the Charles trifecta and it’s doubtful whether another trio comes close to these three in style and grace. I admit, however, that this might be the most difficult of the ten ingredients to obtain, but you will not likely have the same kind of heightened continuous fun if you don’t have your own Asta-esque pet. Consider that this pet must be an integral part of the family, he/she must hide when you expect him/her to attack an intruder, he/she must eat a piece of a clue if the opportunity arises and has he/she to be judgmental like when Nick and/or Nora are not present, Asta supplies the double take.

The Charles family

Asta eats part of the clue and hides the other piece

Asta and Nick investigate crimes together

The Charles family with the munchies

  6. Comebacks at the Ready

I know most of us don’t have writers we can count on to ensure every single word we utter is witty and spot on, but you gotta try. I think that if you are paired with the perfect match this becomes easier. Having a similar sense of humor will help as will all of the other ingredients mentioned in this list. For instance, if you find a partner who is from a completely different world then, as mentioned, that in itself is food for fodder. Here are a few examples of what you should aim for:

Nick Charles: Come on, let’s get something to eat. I’m thirsty.

  Reporter: Say listen, is he working on a case?

Nora Charles: Yes, a case of scotch. Pitch in and help him.

  Nick Charles: I’m a hero. I was shot twice in the Tribune.

Nora Charles: I read where you were shot 5 times in the tabloids.

Nick Charles: It’s not true. He didn’t come anywhere near my tabloids.

  Nora Charles: Waiter, will you serve the nuts? I mean, will you serve the guests the nuts?

  7. Shadows

Since the mood we’re aiming for is comedy with mystery overtones, you’ve got to set up your lighting so that there’s plenty of shadow to enhance the drama. Mr. Charles is often encased in shadow himself thanks to his detecting interests, but you can set up the “whodunnit” mood and ensure the colorful characters previously mentioned feel at home. For instance, shadows in stripes on a wall to mock a jail cell might do the trick. Or, you can give flashlights as party favors and not turn on lights at all. You can use The Thin Man as your guide, but know that the bar is set quite high by a master of noir lighting, James Wong Howe.

  8. Dim Policemen

Part of the fun in The Thin Man is supplied by the great Nat Pendleton who plays Lt. John Guild who’s  in charge of the murder investigation. As Guild, Pendleton is not the brightest bulb in the deck – or however that goes. Guild brings Nick into the investigation semi-officially, which highlights just how talented Mr. Charles actually is. Lt. Guild is usually days behind the now retired investigator and he even goes by the papers for facts about his own case. In the final dinner scene where all of the suspects are invited, Lt. Guild is as in the dark as the rest of the guests, which is fun in itself. All you need to do in this case is make sure than one or two of the dumber people you know surround you during these celebratory times. Dumb people tend to be happy and the fact that they automatically give the host a sense of superiority can’t hurt.

Suspect Nunheim (Harold Huber) is interrogated by Nick instead of Lt. Guild

  9. A Gathering

There’s hardly a reason for any of these ingredients to come together unless there’s a final gathering to look forward to. Mr. and Mrs. Charles always bring together the motley crew for a get-together during which Nick shows off his superiority with flare. Nora assists with perfectly timed comments and fashionable, if snooty looks of her own to add to the festivities. The surrounding must be of the highest order with just a touch of street-level guise coupled with the air of mystery.

  10. A Train

Nick and Nora take trains between destinations (and after both the Christmas and New Years celebrations) and I think everyone else should too. I get that the Thin Man stories were produced many decades ago when travel on trains was necessary and in vogue, but man, after a good old-fashioned party where your colorful friends are drunk and mingling with your snooty relatives I can think of no better way to unwind. Not to mention that the likelihood that the close quarters will make Mr. and Mrs. perfect union even more perfect is high. Then there are the close quarters, which will no doubt help in the laughs department with your intelligent pet in tow. If you’ve paid attention and have secured every single ingredient mentioned here then Mr. and Mrs. perfect union will remain fashionable, blissful, will be able to laugh about her snooty family and his colorful friends, and there will no doubt be some mystery just around the corner.

  ♦

Be sure to visit Movie Movie Blog Blog and The Happy New Year Blogathon. Then go off and enjoy life like the Charles. Here’s hoping you and yours have a happy and healthy 2018.

How to Celebrate New Year’s Like Nick and Nora Charles As the new year approaches I reflect on the last twelve months and gather my hopes for those to come.

[lilacmoon83]

Dreaming Out Loud

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 103: Way Above the Chimney Tops

Snow sighed in contentment, as she lay atop his chest and he cuddled her close. It had been a night full of passion and love and neither of them had ever been happier. She mewled sensually, as he kissed her throat and she ran her fingers through his hair.

"I love you so much…" he rasped, as they bathed in the afterglow of many bouts of lovemaking that had kept them up most of the night. But neither of them minded losing sleep. He knew that soon, she'd have to go back into hiding and he would have to return home. They were fairly safe at the spring cabins and there magical protections around the meadow, but they could never be too careful. So they always made good use of their time.

"Wanna go out and spend the day at the falls?" she purred.

"That sounds wonderful," he agreed, as he kissed her.

"But first...I'm going to make you breakfast," he said, as he got up and she enjoyed the view, as he slipped his pants on and she fell back to the pillow and he went to work in the kitchen. David's mother had taught him to cook and he was very good at it. He loved cooking for her and she was only too happy to let him. She sighed, as she soon smelled the aroma of cooking eggs and homemade bread.

~*~

James marched along with the other soldiers, as they were led by a mysterious warrior that his father called Leviathan. Apparently, this man was some kind of super warrior and rumor was that you never saw him coming once he struck. They had been ordered by Arawn to travel to the east to assist the Royal Vizier in some quest. James knew they weren't being told everything and he had a gut feeling that they were being led into something that would be over their heads. This whole war was senseless and coming from him, that was saying something. He had never been one to shy away from a battle. In fact, he had often thrived on it, but fighting in this war the last few years had changed him. It left him seeing his life differently and yearning for more than just the next fight. But it didn't matter what he wanted. As long as Arawn was in control, the warring would never end. He just kept conquering Kingdom after Kingdom and soon, every single one would just be chess pieces on his board in one big Empire. It was unsettling, but he was trapped in this life and he didn't much like the fact that death quite possibly would be his only escape.

"Excuse me...Leviathan is it?" James called out. The man stopped and turned, before motioning James forward. He watched the man remove his helmet, revealing a dark skinned man, though he didn't show his face to the other soldiers.

"Is that what they are calling me?" he asked, with a bit of amusement.

"Yeah...I thought it was ridiculous too, but where exactly are we going?" James asked.

"Soldiers are to follow orders without question," the man responded.

"Not this soldier," James refuted. The man smirked.

"I respect that actually," he said, with a nod.

"We are going to a place called Bald Mountain," the man stated.

"Why?" James questioned.

"Not even I am privy to that information...but I know that whatever is there could give supreme reign to whoever controls the ancient entity that supposedly exists there," he said.

"And you're okay with that being Arawn and his deviant Royal Vizier?" James questioned.

"I've been paid to do a job," the man replied vaguely.

"Fine...but the men are tired and I think we should make camp here for tonight. There's a fresh water source nearby. I can hear the waterfall from here," James stated.

"Then we agree...we'll make camp here tonight," the man said.

"What do I call you? Because I'm not calling you Leviathan," James stated shortly. The man smirked.

"Lancelot," he stated.

"Of the round table?" James questioned.

"Not anymore," he responded.

~*~

Two Days Later

Frollo gazed up at the cone shaped mountain, as they had finally arrived at the location. The stars atop the hat, in its dormant form, had morphed into the constellations, which had led him straight to the mountain. He had no idea was awaited him inside, but he was determined to have victory for his King. He had full faith that Arawn would rule this land with a firm hand and rid it of the undesirables that plagued it. With this power, they could cleanse the land and destroy the wicked.

The Apprentice's words did echo in his mind and he wondered if he was fair in blaming his impure thoughts on anyone other than himself. But he quashed any doubts the old man had put in him. He was a man of religion and had taken the vow of celibacy. Witches like Esmeralda, a gypsy of all things, had tested him and almost broke him. He had failed to eradicate her and her kind, but he would not fail again. He thought the temptation of the gypsy had been bad, but the wiles of Snow White, daughter of the Underworld, were perhaps even more seductive. She was the second dark haired beauty to tempt him, but he had resisted and truly believed if he succeeded in burning the temptress at the stake, that it would release him from her spell.

Firstly though, they needed the power of the ancient creature that was said to be imprisoned inside this mountain. And now...that power would work for them.

He approached the mountain and saw a crevice that looked to the entrance. With a smirk, he motioned to the soldiers with him and they ventured into the narrow pathway into the mysterious mountain. And Frollo was astonished by what he found inside once they made it through the pathway.

They stood upon a ledge that overlooked a basin of churning magma that seemed half molten and half cooled. They saw water pour from some sort of man created reservoir into the magma pit, keeping it cool and steam billowed around them.

"Inconceivable," Frollo uttered, as his eyes searched the cone shaped mountain and he took the hat in his hands, willing it to open, but it would not. He shook it slightly and it glowed, which made the magma below begin to twist and churn. He smirked.

"Rise Chernabog!" he commanded and the lava began to rise into the air and take form.

"Yes…" Frollo seethed in anticipation, but what took form was not the monster he had been promised. Poofs of light blue magic gave the lava form and several black baby centaurs came flying at them, neighing in amusement, as they ducked away from the creatures. More lava bubbles formed and in blue puffs of smoke, baby cupids flew about, shooting them with hearts. And if he wasn't certain he was being mocked before, he was now, as more lava bubbles formed and formed into walking brooms that marched toward them. He snarled and looked up to find Hades and Persephone on the ledge opposite of them.

"Did you really think that I did not put magical protections in place?" Hades questioned smugly.

"Then this is your doing?!" Frollo demanded to know. Hades crossed his arms over his chest.

"Merlin may have trusted that old fool he calls an Apprentice to keep the hat safe, but I'm not known for my faith in others, save for a few," Hades retorted, as he glanced at his wife.

"I put these protections in place centuries ago, in case someone managed to get the hat. You'll never raise the Chernabog," the God of the Underworld stated. Persephone smirked, as she hooked her hand on his elbow.

"I am a little surprised by the nature of the protections though. I mean, baby centaurs, cupids, and dancing brooms?" she teased. He smirked back.

"I could have gone with the usual spikes, hellfire, and hot coals, but what is life without some whimsy? This is more fun," he replied.

"You think you're denying me?!" Frollo roared angrily.

"That's exactly what we're doing. No mortal or God should possess the power of the Chernabog," Persephone refuted. Frollo smirked.

"You will raise the Chernabog for me then," he stated.

"You really have lost it if you think we'd do that," Hades protested.

"You will...or they will die," Frollo countered. They frowned, as they saw a Knight they recognized as Lancelot of Camelot and Prince James lead in two people. The russet sacks were removed from their heads, revealing Snow and David…

~*~

Two Days Earlier

Snow moaned sensually, as he kissed her lazily and they waded idly in the water. Her legs were still hooked around him and he was still inside her, as they slowly came down from another powerful bout of lovemaking, this time in the lake by the waterfall. As always, it was amazing and they were determined to make the best of their honeymoon.

"Oh David…" she uttered breathlessly.

"I love you so much…" he said in a husky tone, as he kissed her again and she tilted her head, as his lips moved to her neck. Their lips met again and then parted, as she pressed her forehead against his.

"I guess we should probably head back and build a fire," he mentioned. She nodded. Building a fire around a campsite meant sleeping under the stars in his arms and that was always something very appealing to her. They dried off with their blankets and managed to get dressed, before venturing back to their campsite, hand in hand.

"Mmm...looks like Mother packed all our favorites," he said, as he peered into the picnic basket.

"Good...I'm starved. We worked up quite an appetite," she said, giving her husband a hungry look. He smirked.

"We did...and that was only the beginning," he promised, as he swept her close and they started swaying. She giggled.

"There's no music," she mentioned. He shrugged.

"That's okay...I think we can make our own," he responded, as he kissed her tenderly.

"Mmm...I like the music we make," she said dreamily, as they continued to sway.

"Me too...but I better get that fire going or we're going to freeze," he said, as he went about gathering some wood, while she started getting the food out. She opened it and happened to look up toward the woods and froze. She blinked in disbelief at what she saw by a tree. She gaped and glanced back at her husband and then back at the identical man by the tree. The man that looked exactly like her husband seemed just as stunned, as he was looking around her at David.

"What is this?" she uttered, as he started toward her, which made her back away. He may have looked like David, but she knew he wasn't.

"David!" she cried and then gasped, as she saw Deimos there and he had her husband in a headlock.

"Well, well...Snow White, just the fugitive that we've been looking for," he leered.

"Let him go!" she demanded, as she grabbed her dagger, as she was grabbed from behind by another man that she did not recognize, while her husband's doppelganger stood stunned, eyes still locked on the man that looked exactly like him.

"This must be a surprise to you, Prince James...I take it you were both unaware that you each had a twin," Deimos revealed. Snow fought and struggled against the man, but it did no good, as they were both shoved into a prison carriage.

"Charming…" she whispered, as she cradled him in her arms, while he tried to get his breath from practically being strangled.

"Who are you?!" Snow demanded of the dark skinned man. But he did not answer that question.

"Lord Frollo has requested that you both be delivered to him at Bald Mountain," Lancelot stated simply. Deimos disappeared, while the other two men mounted the horses that pulled the carriage and it began to move.

~*~

Two Days Later

"No…" Persephone uttered, as their daughter and son-in-law were prodded forward, hands bound. That was enough shock that they had been captured, but it was clear that James and David were now both well aware of the other's existence and the shock of that had not passed.

"You let them go...or I swear that you will suffer an afterlife that will be nothing short of horrific. And that goes for all of you!" Hades roared. But they didn't seem deterred and that didn't really surprise him. He wasn't as feared as he once was. He knew it was known that family life had softened him and while he was glad for that, it didn't help him any in situations like this.

"Your demon daughter and son-in-law will remain unharmed if you raise the Chernabog," Frollo stated.

"Don't you understand?! Raising the Chernabog will destroy us all!" Persephone shouted back.

"Not if he is controlled with this," Frollo retorted.

"You don't even understand how that hat works. Not just anyone can wear it! This will not end the way you think it will!" Hades yelled.

"Save your diatribe and raise the Chernabog...or they die!" Frollo hissed, as Deimos snapped his fingers and suddenly Snow and David were suspended in a cage above the churning magma. And the cage was slowly inching its way down.

"Damn you…" Persephone growled, as she disappeared and reappeared before Deimos, ready with a blast of magic for him. He countered with his own fireball and they dueled each other in a fiery display. Frollo chuckled.

"That's one way to burn a witch and her lover," he goaded, as Hades clenched his fist and he glared at the evil man. He glanced at his wife, who was holding her own against Deimos, even against his monstrous strength. That meant it was up to him to save Snow and David, without raising the monster in the magma pit below. Hades had plenty of magic and strength of his own on his side. But words and wit were where he excelled and so he decided to appeal to a man that had once been a hero and offer a path back from his fall from grace.

"So...this is what it's come to for you? The great Lancelot is now a mercenary that will have the blood of innocents on his hands?" Hades questioned, directing it to the former Knight.

"I've been hired to do a job," he said simply, but he was clearly uncomfortable with what was happening.

"If this man you're working for gets control of the beast that is dormant in this mountain...then you'll be responsible for the deaths of thousands. Can you really live with that? For money of all things?" Hades questioned.

"Stop stalling or I will use this to see that they fall much faster," Frollo warned, as he brandished his plasma weapon.

"It's out of my hands," Lancelot said regrettably.

"That's too bad...you would have once been admitted to Elysian. A place for only the mightiest heroes. Now...you'll be lucky if I don't sentence you to one of my rivers when your life is done," Hades replied, as he looked at his step-daughter, who clung to her husband.

"It's going to be okay, snowdrop…" he promised, as he met her eyes.

"Papa Hades...you can't release that monster. Not even for us," Snow said tearfully, which made him swallow thickly.

"She's right…" David agreed, as he looked at her.

"Even if we die today...at least I know where we're going and that we'll be together," he said, failing to notice the conflict on Lancelot's face and strangely on James' too.

"He's your brother, Prince James. I know you have questions and they die with him if you let this happen," Hades called.

"This is your final warning, you demon! Anymore attempts at deceiving my men and they will be permanent residents in your realm!" she warned.

"Do something...or she might be one of this man's victims when he uses the Chernabog's power," Hades warned one more time and met Lancelot's eyes as he did. As God of the Underworld, he was well aware of the deception that Camelot's King had them under and that included his Queen, whom was truly in love with the disgraced Knight. Lancelot shook his head and turned on the other soldiers, dispatching them easily.

"You fool...you will regret your treason," Frollo hissed, as he aimed the weapon in line with Snow and David, preparing to use it to shatter the cage and send them falling into the molten death below. But he was the one that was suddenly holding his arm in pain, as James had used his sword to separate Frollo's weapon from his body, along with part of his arm. Hades disappeared in a puff of light blue smoke and then reappeared before them.

"You both have made wise choices," he said, as he used his magic to relocate Snow and David from the cage to the spot next to him. They sighed in relief and Snow hugged her step-father tightly. David met his twin's eyes for the first time and they could only stare at each other, with questions that were obviously overwhelming them both.

Deimos noticed that the tides had turned and abruptly disappeared in a puff of black smoke. Persephone hurried back to her family, glad that Deimos had run like a coward, and promptly hugged her daughter and son-in-law tightly.

"What are we going to do with him?" Lancelot questioned. Hades smirked and picked the man up by his collar with one arm. His eyes flashed with blue fire, as he used his powers to assault Frollo's subconscious with images of what awaited him in the afterlife. Frollo cried out in horror at the images and held his head in anguish.

"You're too dangerous to stay alive...but I will give you one chance to walk out of here and rethink your life," Hades hissed, as he dropped him unceremoniously to the ground at his feet. Frollo glowered up at him, as he turned away and back to the people in front of him.

"There is much to discuss I sense, but perhaps this isn't the best place," Lancelot suggested. Persephone nodded.

"I agree," she agreed and almost didn't see the man at her husband's feet getting up. Fortunately, she saw his movement out of the corner of her eye and the dagger he had brandished from his robes, aiming it at her daughter.

"Hades!" she cried, as he turned and together, they blasted the evil man with their magic, vaulting him over the edge and sending him falling into the churning magma below. His screams of agony, as he burned, echoed through the mountain and Snow shuddered against David, as he pulled her close.

"Let's go...this is no place for anyone, let alone the two of you," Persephone said, as she prodded them out. Hades motioned to the Knight and the Prince, urging them to follow. They did so, having made their choices. And they knew there was no turning back to their former side now. Hades suspected that neither wanted to turn back though and took heart in that. Perhaps this would be the turning point in the battle against Arawn that they needed.

After they left, there was an inhuman roaring from the pit, as the magma churned and boiled. The roaring continued ominously, bubbling violently. The evil that lay dormant inside the mountain was dormant no more.

~*~

Rumple watched the scene on the small crystal ball with great interest. He never had much use for the objects, as his seer powers usually told him what he needed to know. But the Sorcerer's hat had drawn great interest. He had longed to possess the object, but with it back in Hades' possession, he knew that it was unlikely he would get the chance to have it. Frollo's demise gave him pause and he had no desire to fight against Hades or Persephone for it. Essentially, in theory, the hat had the power to free him from the restraints of the dagger, without taking away his powers. But as seen when Frollo tried to open it and failed, the hat was unpredictable and that meant there was no guarantee that it would do what he wanted.

Instead, he was going to keep his efforts focused on the curse and that meant bottling true love from Snow White and her charming shepherd. Interesting enough though, David the shepherd had now come face to face with his twin brother, Prince James. Additionally, Prince James had actually betrayed his post by disobeying Frollo and this would translate back to King Arawn as treason. That made him a fugitive right alongside his brother and sister-in-law.

It was a very interesting development, but did little to get him what he needed from the pair that would give life to the Savior. That was when he was assaulted with a new vision and it was hazy at best. It had to do with Bald Mountain though and he felt the evil stirring inside the mountain. He couldn't be sure what that meant, but that wasn't all he saw. Less surprisingly, he saw Cora and Arawn in the same room, but he expected Cora to try for a deal with him after what Regina did to Zelena. And yet, as usual, he somehow saw Snow and David at the center of all of it. And then he saw why, which led to him letting out a high pitched giggle.

"Oh dearies...no more hiding for you. It's time you take back your Kingdom and become the legends the stars speak of. I will make my potion, you'll conceive the Savior...and then I will find you, Bae," Rumple stated, as he prepared for the final phase of his plan that would end with the casting of the dark curse.

~*~

They reappeared in the meadow they called home most of the time. A frantic Eli, Sera, Ruth, and Robert rushed out of the house and to their son and daughter.

"Snow..." Eli cried, as he swept his little girl into a hug.

"Oh my goodness...where were you?!" Ruth cried, as she hugged her son fiercely.

"We've been worried sick," Sera fretted, while Robert was silent, but his face was ashen and marred with worry.

"We had a bit of trouble and it's a long story," David said, as he could see all three of his parents looking over them and at his brother in awed disbelief.

"James…" Sera uttered and David kept her from collapsing to her knees.

"No…" James refuted, as she slowly walked toward him with tears in her eyes.

"James…" she repeated, as tears streamed down her face.

"No...he said you were dead. You got sick and you died!" James shouted.

"Don't scream at her!" David snapped.

"He lied to you, son...I was taken away. I should be dead, but a Knight spared me and I went into exile. If he knew I had survived, he would have sent someone to kill me," she said.

"Why?! You were his Queen...you were my mother!" James snapped. She looked destroyed by his use of the past tense.

"Because he knew I would interfere with what he wanted for you. I did not want to raise you to in his image. He knew I would raise you with love and compassion," she replied.

"So...you just replaced me with my brother?" James questioned.

"It wasn't like that...I was alone for several years. Then I met Ruth one day and took her and David in when they had no place to go," Sera explained.

"It's true...your mother, Ruth, left me and it was my own fault. I was an alcoholic and she was right to go," Robert added.

"Sera and I fell in love," Ruth said.

"Were you ever going to tell me about him?" David questioned all three of them and they looked down shamefully.

"We didn't know how...we thought you'd never meet and it would be too painful," Ruth said.

"We shouldn't have kept it from you," Robert added.

"We were only trying to protect you, David," Sera said tearfully.

"King George already took one son from me," she said, as she looked at James.

"If he knew about you...he'd kill you on site," she added. James snorted.

"She's right about that," he agreed.

"You don't know how lucky you are," James added.

"Excuse me? Aren't you a Prince or something?" David challenged.

"I am, but you grew up with three loving parents. I grew up with a King that loves power more than anything, including me," he spat. "

And you're married to a Princess, which makes you a Prince too now," he reminded.

"You got our biological mother and our adopted mother," he continued bitterly.

"At least he tried to come for me," James said, as he looked at his father.

"Then you remember…" Robert realized and James nodded curtly.

"What's he talking about?" David asked.

"It's a long story…" Robert replied.

Perhaps the house is a better place for all of this," Persephone suggested.

"She's right...I know emotions are running very high here, but this is still a family," Eli added. James shrugged.

"Why not? It's not like I can ever go home again," the Prince said bitterly.

"Or maybe you can…" a voice said, as it was followed by a giggle. Hades sighed.

"If you're here for the hat, forget it," the God warned.

"As much as I'd like to have it, I know there's no deal we could make where I get it. But that's not why I'm here," Rumple responded.

"Then why are you here and what do you want?" Persephone questioned.

"Hmm...what indeed. Perhaps I'll join this little family meeting and offer all of you a way to not only fight Arawn...but eventually defeat him," Rumple replied.

"What's in it for you?" David questioned, making Rumple let out a shrill giggle again.

"Such a loaded question, dearie. But trust me, Arawn's demise is in the best interest of everyone and I can help you make it happen," the Dark One offered.

"Even for you, that's a tall order. But we'll hear what you have to say," Persephone agreed, as they went inside the cabin that belonged to Snow and David...

[jessica-doom]

A Day in the Life of…Us? - Part 25/30: Sex in a Weird Place

Teddy was checked out. He was quiet and he was aloof. He was…off. There was a stale, quiet quality to their relationship that James had no idea how to fix. If it was even something he was supposed to be fixing…. If it was even something he had broken in the first place.

Whether it was his fault or not, James had hatched a plan. They needed a jolt, a push, to get them back on track. It needed to be rash and jarring and it needed to be a shock. A passionate and memorable shock.

And that led James to this very moment. To the cold breath of early autumn covering his bare legs in gooseflesh as he stood in wait. Naked and bared to the world, a grand gesture to his slack-jawed boyfriend. A stunning surprise that needed no explanation and no words. Just a single finger crooked towards Teddy to summon him closer.

"Is there a reason you're starkers on a Spanish beach?" Teddy chuckled, soft and confused.

"You know why."

That seemed to be enough. Teddy followed James' insistent eyebrow raise with too much pleasure. His grin was the widest it'd been in weeks and he wasted no time in shedding his own clothes. His arms were gentle when they circled around James and his voice was husky when he whispered the dangerous things he wanted to do. "Pretty ballsy," Teddy ended with, so perfectly palming James' bollocks. "Luring me here…to the villa where I spent my honeymoon with my wife…. To the beach where I rejected you."

"Are you gonna reject me tonight?" James whispered back. "Would you reject me if I asked you to fuck me? Really fuck me…." He nudged Teddy's hand backwards to affirm his suggestion, shivering as a mere fingertip grazed his asshole.

"I promised myself some time ago that I would never reject you again." Teddy pressed ever so slightly inside of James. "You've slicked yourself up for me, haven't you? You're rather gagging for it."

James wasn't sure he would describe it so vividly. It was more of a necessity. It was a rare, calculated move made to ensure their relationship continued to thrive. It was Teddy's deepest wish, growled into darkness during the stranglehold between orgasm and sleep. Although James might not be 'gagging' for this, he knew Teddy was and he would oblige this desire if it meant reigning Teddy back in where he belonged. "Just for you," he whispered. "Only ever for you…so, go on then. Take me."

Only too happy to oblige, Teddy pushed in further and pulled a stunted gasp from James' lungs. "I just want to make you happy." His words tickled James' ear, putting him on absolute edge. "I just want to make you feel. I just want to make you mine…."

"I'm yours for as long as you want me." James couldn't keep his words from breaking, especially not with a second finger filling him. Equal parts pleasure and discomfort were settled into his nerves. He didn't know if he wanted to moan or cry. Which had him wrestling quite uncomfortably with the motives behind this endeavor. "I just hope that ends up being forever because I love you more than my own happiness or safety. Now fuck me before I change my mind."

The wet sand was glaringly cold against James' back. The chill bit into his skin, feeling like thousands of tiny needles digging in at once. Feeling like just punishment for the deception of this moment. Not that it wasn't the exact magic Christoph had promised it would be. James would swear he'd never felt more whole or more real than in the moment Teddy took him. But he couldn't help how wrong it felt in his gut. He couldn't help but to feel slimy even in his afterglow.

"I'm never leaving you," Teddy whispered and it was a definite promise even as he pulled out and left James empty. Leaving behind nothing but phantom sensations and oozing spunk. "We are forever. I promise you."

James bit his lip, trying to hold back his concerns. Trying and failing. "Lately it doesn't exactly feel that way. Lately…it feels like I might be temporary? Like maybe you've checked out."

The cold of the night sunk into their bones as silence stretched out between them. As a gust of wind carried the chill of the sea closer, Teddy burrowed his nose into James' neck. Kissing him gently, likely as a means of distraction. "I promise you we're okay."

"Then what's the matter? Why is this the first time we've had a real conversation in weeks?"

"Victoire is pregnant."

James frowned but beneath that he was angry. He was no longer cold, not with the promise of uncontrolled violence looming in his fingers. "What?" he snapped and sat up quickly.

Following him at a more reasonable pace, Teddy reached for James' hand. An advance he deftly avoided. "It's not mine. It's no one's. She's up the duff all on her own, apparently. She didn't need me, even though we had planned for this since we were kids."

"Is this regret, then?"

Teddy's shrug was exactly the opposite of reassuring. "In a way? I guess." He groaned, head falling into his hands. "A year ago, all I wanted was to get pregnant with the love of my life. Now, I guess, I don't know what I want. Aside from you," he rescued. "I know I want you for the rest of my life. In whatever way you'll have me." He didn't give James the time to reject him this time, pulling him into a lip-splitting kiss. "I shouldn't be grieving a child who was never mine. I know that and I'll get over it. This helps." Teddy gestured between them. "Talking and…and being together. I'm starting to feel better already."

The Spanish moon bathed Teddy in a haunting glow and James had to stop himself from seeing an ending looming in the shadows.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

[naireides]

Hold on Hun, We’re Gonna Bunny-Hug (pt1)

“I’m not cruisin’ for a love connection,” she warns him with pursed lips. He still has her pinned to the door, one leg thrown around his waist as they grind into each other ever so often.

James doesn’t miss a step, just drags his teeth over her pulse and says, “Good. Me either.”

or, 'I slept with you the other day and I didn't know we had a mutual friend and now we’re sitting across each other for brunch and it’s awkward' 

wc: 3.7k rating: M

read on ao3

The pub is raucous tonight. It seems like everyone and their mum decided to hit up the Three Broomsticks, and Rosmerta only had time to sling their drinks across the counter before hustling off to deal with another round of patrons. It just errs on the side of uncomfortable; the close packed bodies, the almost deafening levels of chatter, the slowly building humidity that leaves his skin damp, even after he rolled up the sleeves of his flannel in an attempt to cool down.

It’s a bit chaotic, but then again, he thrives off of chaos. At least, that’s what he says after watching some bloke spill his drink on a girl in an attempt to feel her up, only to receive a punch to the jaw. It results in a minor scuffle and he just sits off to the side observing it. It reminds him of an Andy Warhol painting for some reason; just a blur of colour and movement.

James Potter is not good at flip cup.

Or, more accurately, he’s not good at this blaspheme of flip cup that Sirius came up with. He’s making them chug a bitter stout instead of beer, and James grimaces the whole way through, costing him and Remus significant time.

He gives up after the third round of losing- he doesn’t hate himself that much, plus he’s sure that if he doesn’t wash down the taste with something else, his tastebuds would never forgive him- and Sirius pats him on the back.

“Oh don’t be sad, Prongs,” he says, pinching his cheeks.

James bats his hands away. “You’re a sadistic bastard.”

“Funny, that’s what my mum used to call me growing up.”

He doesn’t even bother to deign that with a response, just flips him off and picks his way through the crowd to get to the bar. It’s bit of a challenge to get to the bar, but he has the advantage of height on his side and is easily able to push past a gaggle of teenagers who look way to young to even be here.

Rosmerta hands him a beer and he raises the bottle in silent thanks before heading over to the side exit. It’s becoming increasingly hot inside here, and he can feel the intermittent bead of sweat slide down the back of his neck before getting soaked up by his collar. There are still Christmas lights draped around the doorframe and he tries to remember if they were always there when he yanks it open.

At the end of January, winter is still holding on with a stubborn grasp. The chill immediately nips at him and he shakes his sleeves down. His coat is still inside, bunched up between the seats of the corner booth they had appropriated for themselves earlier in the day.

Only when he leans against the wooden railing does he realise he’s not alone. There’s a girl with her back turned towards him, wearing nothing but a pair of stretchy leggings and a cable knit jumper, both too thin for this kind of weather considering she was standing unconcerned in a pile of grey slush. She holds a spliff lazily between two fingers.

He watches her as she brings it to her lips before puffing out smoke. She looks both harsh and ethereal all at once. The watery moonlight makes her skin look silver, but the orange glow of the street lamp sets her hair on fire. She breathes in another puff of smoke.

“Those things are illegal you know,” he says easily, taking a swig of his beer.

She barely even turns towards him. “You gonna rat me out?”

It must be the alcohol talking when he says, “Not if you share.”

That gets her attention, and she finally looks up at him. There’s a thick line of black smudged around her eyes, which are red rimmed. He’s not sure if it’s intentional or not, her makeup, and the redness can’t just be from the weed. Her free hand comes up to thumb away a piece of rolling paper left behind and he lets his eyes linger on the dip of her cupid’s bow.

After a moment of contemplation, she offers it to him, and he trades it for his beer. He watches the bob of her throat as he takes a hit, and then tries not to cough as he holds the smoke in his lungs. It’s been a while since he’s done this; James doesn’t really make it a habit, but he knows Sirius keeps a box stashed away in his room.

He exhales roughly, watching the smoke swirl and disappear in the night air, and hands it back to her. She clings to his beer though, refusing to give it back, and he laughs.

“You know there’s a bar right behind you,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. It’s a little more than cold now, and he has no idea how she’s surviving without even a hat.

“It’s my birthday, I deserve something special,” she snarks, wrapping her candy colour lips around it again. James is gentleman though, so he tries not to think of that in any other connotations.

Instead he just leans on the railing next to her and says, “Well happy birthday.”

“Thanks.”

They lapse into silence and he watches as tiny powder white flakes start to float down again. The Christmas lights inside filter through the window and turns her hair into a kaleidoscope. His glasses start to fog.

“Not to pry,” he says, ruffling his hair, “But why spend your birthday out in the cold behind a bar?”

She cocks her head to the side. “Because all my friends are either dicks or live more than a day’s drive away, and my sister’s a bitch,” she says in that easy way you talk to someone you know you’re never going to see again.

The airy way she speaks throws him a little, but he still tosses out a, “Well fuck them then,” a beat later.

Her laugh is low and smokey, and it causes something warm to coil in his belly. “How about you fuck me instead?” she says, sly, and he can’t help but smirk as he looms over her a little. Her jumper slinks down and he’s treated to a flash of lace before she rights it in place.

“As fun as that sounds,” he drawls, “I don’t screw around with girls who can’t properly consent.” He looks pointedly at the blunt held between her two fingers and she scoffs.

“I haven’t even made it through half of it as yet,” she says, and the words would sound whiny coming from anyone else, but not her; not with the corners of her mouth upturned exposing a glint of teeth. “If anyone’s compromised, it’s you. You smell like a bar.”

“Funny enough, we’re standing in a bar love.”

“We’re standing outside a bar,” she corrects him, rolling up on the balls of her feet.

He tugs on a lock of her hair. “Nitpicker,” he grouses, and her laugh is like the first day of spring after a long winter.

“Hey, how am I to know that you’re not drunk?” she says, leaning into him. Her eyes look impossibly green, and he feels his cheeks warm when he realises that he’s staring.

“Because I say I’m not obviously.”

“Prove it then.”

And, well, she’s standing too close, smelling like wildflowers under the sting of smoke while the Christmas lights twinkle across her skin. He can’t help but duck his head and kiss her, soft and a little questioning, pulling back before the moment is over.

“Does that prove it?” he asks, voice pitched shy of a whisper.

“Mmm, prove what?” she replies. Her eyes are still closed, lips parted just a bit, and he wants to kiss her all over again.

“That I really wanted to kiss you.”

She slowly blinks her eyes open and gives him a toothy grin. Her fingers are like ice as they creep up the back of his neck, and he hisses when they brush against his skin. She thinks it’s funny and does it on purpose.

“I think,” she murmurs, tiptoeing so that their noses just brush, “I think I’m going to need some further clarification on that matter.”

The hand that curls in his hair tightens, and he bumps his nose against hers at the sweet sting of it.

“My pleasure,” he rasps out before kissing her in earnest.

Her lips are cold and chapped, but her mouth is hot, opening for him to lick into. She tastes like smoke and cheap beer and, strangely enough, cinnamon, and she gives as good as she gets when it comes to kissing. The hand in his hair makes it its mission to rumple it as much as possible, and she doesn’t protest when he does the same, tugging on those long locks until she moans with it. His other hand is free to skim her body as they trade kisses, tracing the curve of her breasts, palming her ass, and she lets him, rubbing up against the hard lines of his body.

When they finally pull back, they’re both breathing hard, and her eyes are sparkling.

“That proof enough?” he pants. His hand is still resting dangerously low on her back.

She just responds by kissing him breathless once more.

“Well now that we’ve established that both parties are enthusiastically consenting,” she says after they managed to extract themselves from each other long enough to speak. That little sly grin is still pulling at her now slightly bruised lips and James is finding it hard to stop touching her. “I think we can finally get on with the show.”

His thumbs dip into the waistband of her leggings, brushing her tailbone. “You gotta venue in mind? Because I gotta say, my house is a bit too far right now.”

The sly grin turns sharklike and she leans in to tug on on his earlobe. “I think I can up with something,” she says, ghosting her lips across his cheekbone.

He flashes a lopsided grin at her. “Lead the way.”

Her ‘something’ turns out to be the handicapped stall of the women’s bathroom and James barks out a laugh.

“Classy,” he smirks as she twists the lock in place. It’s small and cramped and he crowds her up against the door, nipping at her lips. “Real classy.”

“What can I say, I’m a high end kind of girl,” she jokes, though it comes out thready as he leans in to lick a stripe down her neck.

They get lost in each other again, conversation petering out into a murmured phrase here and there, interspaced with long pauses and hot kisses. It’s only when he makes the mistake of asking her name do things get awkward.

She falters against his neck, nails digging into his biceps as she pulls back. He lost the flannel a while ago to her wandering hands, and his have been very happily plucking at her nipples through the soft cup she’s wearing.

“I’m not cruisin’ for a love connection,” she warns him with pursed lips. He still has her pinned to the door, one leg thrown around his waist as they grind into each other ever so often.

James doesn’t miss a step, just drags his teeth over her pulse and says, “Good. Me either.” He doesn’t have time for a girlfriend, not when he’s supposed to start his new job in a few weeks, and he’s heard firsthand just how hard this firm works their recruits.

“Just making sure we’re on the same page,” she says, pulling his back up and kissing him. “I’m Lily by the way.”

“James,” he mutters against her lips, tugging on them before he starts kissing down her neck, over her chest. He drops to his knees in front of her, scraping his teeth against the bump of her abdomen.

“Fuck,” she says, voice hitching, “You don’t have to-”

“It’s your birthday. You deserve something special,” he interrupts, parroting her words back to her, and a slow smile pulls at her lips.

“Alright,” she says, moving her hand from his forehead. “Treat me then.”

He gives her a two finger salute and tugs her leggings off before throwing one of her legs over his shoulder. It causes her to slump in an awkward half crouch against the door, but she soldiers on, grabbing a fist full of his hair. “For balance,” she winks, and he can’t help but roll his eyes.

There’s a small tattoo over her hipbone that he drags his lips over, and he rubs his thumbs into her skin.

She’s wet, but he still takes some time to prime her with his fingers, tapping a careless rhythm on her clit as he strokes her, until she’s shivering above him. Only after he’s gotten her nice and slick does he lick into her, and there’s a dull thump as she throws her head back against the door, a high pitched whine leaving her throat.

It’s been a while since he’s done this too, hooked up, and he tries to make it last, fucking into her cunt with tongue, sucking on her clit, before backing off with soft kitten licks as she sighs and groans above him. She’s mostly quiet, pulling on his hair a lot, but when he does something that gets a noise out of her, he does it again and again until she gives a little choked off sob that he comes to think of as a job well done.

Eventually, there’s only so many times her can push her to the edge before dragging her back, and by the time his tongue curls around that little bud, teeth gently scraping against her hypersensitive flesh, her legs are shaking, and when she comes, her hips jerk helplessly against his face. He lets her, lapping it all up as she rides out her high, and when she finally slumps boneless, she pushes his head away.

“Fuck,” she says again, pulling him up. She gives him a messy kiss, licking her taste out of his mouth and at this point he’s painfully hard against the zipper of his jeans, and he can’t stop the little helpless jerk of his hips when she bites his lip.

She pulls away, gasping, and her hands immediately go to his belt, undoing it with nimble fingers and he can’t help but thrust against her palm.

When she gets to her knees, he groans, throwing his arm across his eyes, almost knocking his glasses off.

“My turn to repay the favour,” she smirks, and then proceeds to suck him off wet and messy, her mouth and tongue and throat driving him wild to the point that he can’t even talk anymore.

After he comes, they both take a minute to catch their breaths. He hands her a wad of toilet paper to clean up while he rubs his smudged lenses against the soft material of his t shirt.

“Thanks for that,” Lily says, looking a little pink faced as she tugs her pants back up. It’s kind of cute to see her flustered after all the big talk she was pulling all night, and James bite back a smile.

“No worries,” he says, his belt clicking into place, “And uh, happy birthday.”

“Thanks.”

Lily leaves first, with a dorky half wave, and this time he doesn’t even try to hide his laughter. In fact, it gets even louder when the wave turns into her flipping him off, and she huffs and rolls her eyes, but he can see her smile as she pushes the door open.

He follows a few minutes later, taking the time to try and compose himself. It’s all for naught though because the minute Sirius sees him he rolls his eyes.

“So that’s where you went off to,” he says, sipping his dirty martini, “Of course you did. The one time all four of us finally get to spend some time together without this stupid ‘adulthood’ cloud looming over us, you go slagging off with some girl.”

“Shut up Padfoot,” he grumbles, shouldering him just rough enough that his drink threatens to slosh over.

“Leave the man alone, Sirius,” says Remus, kicking him from under the table, “We all know the only action James has been getting for a while was his left hand.”

“Thanks mate.”

“Was she hot?” Peter asks curiously.

“A total babe.”

“Did you get her number?”

He hesitates just long enough for Sirius to scoff, “Of course he didn’t. He’s a bloody wanker trying to play it cool.”

“I’m not,” he objects, pouting a little, “She didn’t want to do anything serious.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, because Sirius gets that glint in his eye and then proceeds to simper in the most sugary voice possible, “Poor Prongs here just didn’t want to get his heart broken.”

“I didn’t- shut up, that’s not true,” he says, feeling his ears burn. He pushes back from the table. “I’m going to get something to drink; you all want anything?”

“You owe us the next round for bailing,” Remus says, draining the last of his pale ale.

“I’ll buy the next two if you drop this by the time I get back.”

“Deal.”

The crowd had cleared a bit as it got later, and he can’t stop himself from inconspicuously scanning the room. There’s no sign of red hair and he feels his heart give a strange kind of twinge. Moving up to the bar, he tries to push all thoughts of her out of his head, rattling off his friends’ orders seamlessly.

“Oi hurry up you prick!” It is quickly followed by a thump that rattles the door as Sirius throws a shoe towards it. “We’re going to be late!”

“I’m coming, jeez,” says James, pulling his bedroom door open while he shrugs on his coat, “Keep your knickers on.”

“Honestly, I don’t even know why you take so long to get ready,” he says, ignoring him, “You obviously don’t put any effort into looking good.”

“Thanks.”

Sirius glance at his phone. “We have twenty minutes to get there. Evans is going to rip my balls off if we’re late.”

“Who the fuck even does brunch?” James grumbles, unlocking his car.

“Cultured people, you fuck,” Sirius shoots back at him. “Don’t expect you to know anything about that.”

Sirius likes to pretend that going to art shows and listening to indie rock bands croon in hole in the wall coffee shops that charge way too much for a macchiato makes him cultured. James on the other hand is as mainstream as one can get, and he purposely flips the radio over to the top forty hits just to piss him off.

His responding theatrical groan sounds better than whatever electro-pop music is being blasted through his speakers.

“I hate you,” he says, and then tries to block it out with his earbuds.

The restaurant they’re going too is the exact kind of thing Sirius would be into; everything is sleek and black and geometrics galore.

“It’s what the kids call minimalist,” he says smugly when they pull up.

“It’s what I call an eyesore,” says James, “Why couldn’t we do something else like, I don’t know, normal lunch. Or invite your friend over for dinner and video games?”

“Shush, Evans loves this place. She says the food is to die for,” he says absentmindedly, too busy searching the crowd for his new friend.

Apparently they met a few weeks ago when she moved into town to take up a job in the communications department of the company Sirius works with. They bonded over their shared love of Freddie Mercury, leather jackets, and motorbikes. It’s the first time Sirius has made an actual friend in a while, and James can’t help but be intrigued by this mysterious Evans.

He must find her, because the next thing he knows, he’s pulling him forward, weaving through the tables.

James doesn’t know where exactly they’re going, and as a result he almost walks into Sirius’ back.

“Jesus fuck, give a guy some warning,” he grumbles, pulling off his glasses to clean the new smudge across them, but Sirius either doesn’t hear him, or ignores him, choosing instead to say, “Evans!” and hug some stranger.

By the time he’s plopped his specs back on, pleasantries have been exchanged and Sirius is in the middle of introducing him.

“-my mate James, the one I’m always telling you about; Prongs,” he says, and James goes to offer his hand and a smile before realising exactly who’s in front of him.

His hand stills awkwardly in the air, smile freezing on his face as he just stares at her. Her poker face is much better than his though, because besides the slight widening of her eyes, she doesn’t react much.

“-Prongs, this is Lily Evans,” Sirius says excitedly, oblivious to it all.

“Nice to meet you,” she says, and her voice sounds a bit different when she hasn’t been smoking, more silvery, and he finds that his mouth has gone dry.

“Right,” he says, and his voice comes out a bit strangled. He clears his throat and offers his hand properly this time, trying not to think about what else she could do with her hand when she wraps it around his. “Yeah, nice to meet you too.”

“Wait until you meet the rest of them, Evans,” Sirius says as they all pull out their chairs. It’s a three person table so no matter where he sits, he still ends up next to her. James is pretty sure his face is doing something very weird right now, but no one has called him out on it, at least not yet. “If you can stomach Prongs here, you can handle the rest of them.”

“Don’t worry,” she says, and there’s that glimmer in her eye, the same one she had just before she kissed him the first time, “I’m sure James and I are going to get along just fine.”

Something about her expression makes him swallow thickly, eyes dropping to the black matte table instead.

God, he is so fucked .

[amuelle]

The Mistress of every home.

I always imagined her to be a tall, slim light skinned beauty with high cheek bones. Her hair in a mid-length bob like Doris Day and curled with absolute precision. A real femme fatale wearing a form fitting black dress with a train, long black gloves and a pillbox veil hat with a bold red lip and a smokey eye. I always imagined her lover to be an impeccable image of male perfection, well built and dark skinned, wearing a tuxedo that fit splendidly with a crisp white shirt. Together, they were simple, elegant, dark perfection and the masters of all our destinies. Death the mistress of every home and her lover Time the delicate artist who weaves the fabrics of our lives. A perfect match and inseparable. In my youth I had courted her and took him for granted. She had not called my number and he had let me continue to wander. Yet both had ways to touch my life.

Imagine life as a ball where we all dance to the same songs, paying bills, having children, building houses and trying our best to enjoy our time on the dance floor. She walks in enjoying the music having a hearty laugh with her lover Time. He holds her gaze and captivates her as long as he can but when the moment strikes, she is compelled to take another dance partner. One by one she calls us to dance and after that dance we leave the ball. Some to fanfare, others quietly and alone. Our circles will contract and expand as she moves from home to home. She whispers in the ear of those whose clocks have winded down, dances with them and in the blink of an eye they are no longer of this earth. They become fond memories and reminders of how fleeting the whole human experience can be. A reminder that love is really all you have to give in your time on this earth before death visits your home too.

I met Jacob in my youth when he still called himself Motloang. I’d love to say I found Jacob but I know he found me. Who would have thought those two kids from Ms Puri’s chemistry class would come to share a deep affection and understanding of each other. I can confidently say no one understood us or our layers but that would be the incubator for a wonderful friendship that flourished. We were born on the same day worlds apart brought together by the delicate decisive hand of the creator. You can live your whole life never knowing what you need. However what you need the most will always find you to you, grow you and leave you forever changed, like delicate foot prints on the sand that get swept away by the tides of our lives.

Jacob and I had danced together in the ball of life, made many memories, shared secrets and conversations that I now know I would only ever have with him. We grew up and sometimes drifted but like ships lost at sea he was a light house to me and we always found our way back to each other. He went from cornrows to dreadlocks and I went from relaxer to a shea butter baby. Our skin cleared and we shed the angst of our teen years, got a little education and turned into adults in the blink of an eye. The last time I performed spoken word he was there.  He moved around the world thriving and pursuing his passions. I became everything I always wanted to be and recently after losing touch for a few months we found each other again…as always.

I remember I walked the length of the Maseru Mall parking lot in four inch stilettos after a dental appointment to see him at Primi, when my fav was in town I always threw it all the way on. He was late (as usual) and when he sauntered in I remember feeling like I had found the final piece of the complicated puzzle I am as a woman. I couldn’t have known the reconnection we would make would remind me of a person I had lost. A me that I hardly recognized that only Jacob could bring out of me. A passionate daring darling, with a wild spirit ready for the world and all its adventures. Id become so jaded trying to build myself according the one size fits all that society says is happiness. I remember leaving our meeting and to go meet my then lack luster boyfriend who would turn out to be one of the biggest wastes of time of my life. I said I’d come back later but I didn’t. I look back on that time with the deepest regret. Knowing what I know now, I should have stayed longer, shared more laughs and memories. The most unfortunate of women are the ones who convince themselves they are in love. At the time I was trying hard to believe I loved this man. I didn’t and I wasted too much of my life and energy when I could have been with Jacob dancing and reliving the tales of how we ended up who we were, where we were.

I had prayed for happiness and it came when I finally broke up with the boyfriend. I had a deep yearning to reconnect with all the loves of my life he had helped me distance myself from. And there bright as ever exactly where I had left him was Jacob. A friend, an ear, my diary and a piece of me I had forgotten existed. Excited about life, living like he knew he was on borrowed time. His energy was still comforting to me and his laugh still contagious. I know he touched the hearts of everyone he ever met with the same glowing warmth. An AMAZING person through and through and I had him back. Having him back in my life helped me start being amazing again. I patched up friendships, found the words to say difficult things to people and most of all I stopped feeling sorry for myself.

Now living in Malaysia doing…whatever he did for a living. Jacob and I would traversed the difficulty of maintaining a friendship cursed by a six hour time difference. It was always early morning or late night but we managed. He took me on a video tour of his apartment and showed me the view from his window where he could look out over the city and remember how wide and ever changing the world was. That was before that day came.

On that day I remember sending him a meme of Papa Penny, never having have been tickled by something so much and he didn’t respond. He was always terrible at responding. He had to make a point to remember not to let texts sit in his phone for days. But this day was different. Something was wrong. Something was deeply wrong. The universe was amiss. I got the call and remember I felt my heart splinter into an infinite number of pieces. How could you of all the people to walk the earth be gone? I couldn’t cry and I had to work. So I worked into the early hours of the morning and then cried myself to sleep. The power of my denial drove me through the next could of days while I figured out how indeed it could be that he was gone.

It was like I had found you again on the dance floor after dancing with too many people who had two left feet. Dressed in a beautiful white ball gown while you dapper like James Bond with dreadlocks. We had danced together again and as always it was unforgettable. I felt as if I turned my back for a second to pick up the train of my dress and The Mistress of Every home had come to whisper in your ear and you vanished. I was left on the dance floor wondering where you had gone, knowing you would have been powerless to resist The Mistresses call. Surrounded by all the other people whom we were dancing with, huddled up mourning the loss of you as the music played and the ball continued.

The last time I had felt such a deep pain I didn’t know what it was. It was as if there was a gaping hole right through my chest and a cold wind was passing through me. It was a deep sorrowful grief. Just hollow and cold. Incredibly unbearable. The most difficult part to reconcile is that it felt like the part of me that was brave, loved fearlessly and took on the world had left with him. The desire to do things that we always talked about waned. For a while I was numb and in disbelief. I spoke the words of someone grieving but had no actual feelings. How do you explain the feeling of losing the brightest star you have ever seen in the darkest night sky?

 Dear Jacob,

For our last date, I was late. You were already there, I sat in the back for I was a sorrowful mess. I couldn’t speak because I knew the first thing that would leave my lips would be WHY? Why you?? After standing to support a friend who was sharing my words and the words of other friends with the other people who came to celebrate your life I sat down. Dumbfounded and truly wondering what I was doing there. Was it really you we were laying to rest? How unbelievable! I couldn’t hold back the tears and finally let the wave of emotion I had resisted for so long take me. I am still inconsolable. I just move different, I know you would disprove if I had excuses for not being all that I could be. I still understand that for every day you had on planet earth was exactly the same amount of life I had lived. And every day after your death has been a day more that I have been gifted to live without you and it is the deepest grief one can ever experience.

The last thing I said to you was that you should know I love you deeply and so much has changed since then. I still love you deeply. I started writing again and even posted on my blog again like I said I would and you told me to. I miss you every day and I ache to my soul knowing I’ll never hear your laugh again, but who could resist the call of The Mistress of Every home when her lover says that’s all the life you have been given? Who was I to think that I’d continue giving condolences to others and never know The Mistresses touch? She is The Mistress of every home. Sweeping every neighborhood missing some of us as she checks off the names on her list and calls out our numbers. Her lover can only give us so much time on the dance floor. One day she will call me to dance and I too will vanish from the ball but before then, because I had the pleasure of knowing you, I’ll keep dancing, living and laughing because I know I’m on borrowed time, you have taught me well.

To a friend, a true love and a fearless soul. Rest in power my friend. Your loving, infectious energy and kind heart will never be forgotten but eternally cherished. It was an honor to have shared a part of my life with you and for you to have touched my life so deeply. I am eternally grateful.

Love Amo.

In loving memory of Motloang Jacob Matabane (May 4, 1987 – October 16, 2018)

Bisou…bisou