#mostly a joke i see my future and even less likely than a wedding is me in a lehenga. unfortunate but the nine yard sari is in my future

[cosmicrhetoric]

found out my friends bridal lehenga is around the same weight as a 13th century suit of armor so when i get married im going to ask the tailor to make sure the embroidery is thick enough to protect from wayward arrows

[seedsinmygarden]

HLC REACT: Watching MC Marry Someone Else

I think this was my very first one of Scarlet's that I did! It was a lot of fun, and I think it was meant to be sadder than it was, but I liked to think that most of them would be happy that MC found happiness.

Word Count: 1,622 words

Tags and Warnings: Some angst, mostly nice and fluffy (though platonic).

--

OMINIS GAUNT: He stood by Sebastian as he watched MC walk down the aisle in their gorgeous attire. He wished he was the one standing in Sebastian’s place, he wished he was the one speaking vows to MC, he wished he was the one wearing the grooms’ robes… but he had a smile on his face regardless because while he wished it was him, he was still ecstatic that his best friend had found happiness after such a tumultuous era in Hogwarts. He always knew that MC would never want to marry a Gaunt— truly, who would? It would only lead them to a future of pain. At least as a Sallow, they would have freedom.

SEBASTIAN SALLOW: He had less grace than Ominis did and when he watched MC walk up the aisle to Amit Thakkar. He had no clue why they had invited him, truly— MC and Sebastian’s relationship was strained after their time in Hogwarts. Perhaps they only invited him because Anne was in the wedding party? It didn’t matter— what mattered is that he wasn’t the one up there, holding MC’s hands as they spoke their vows softly to each other. As soon as the ceremony ended, Sebastian extended his wishes to the couple through Anne and left early, using the excuse of ‘work emergency’ to get out. Thank Merlin he was an Auror, because then it was actually a valid excuse…

AMIT THAKKAR: MC’s wedding with Garreth is absolutely lovely! It’s so quaint and cute and cozy and MERLIN he wished he could have taken some inspiration for his own wedding with Samantha Dale-Thakkar UGHHHHH. He laughs to himself a bit as he watches the lovely couple dance their first dance at the reception, remembering the schoolboy crush he had on MC back during their time in Hogwarts, and the one utterly disastrous date they had gone on before agreeing they were better off as friends. He was glad that he and MC were able to move on (in fact, it was MC who helped him get a date with Samantha in their seventh year!), but he would always find himself wondering what-ifs. Regardless, he was happy, MC was happy, and that’s all he could have ever asked for.

GARRETH WEASLEY: MC had asked Garreth to officiate their wedding with Imelda Reyes, and he had eagerly accepted. How he had the certification to do so? No one knows, not even Garreth himself, he knows he just woke up with it in his pocket after a night at the bar with the boys. After checking that it wasn’t just a false certification and seeing that there was a fee to reverse it, Garreth kept it and it made to be a great joke around town— if you get married by a Weasley, that means a lot of kids are to come in the future! Either way, here he stood, in front of MC and Imelda as they had linked hands and looked at him, ready to begin the ceremony. He grins and with a glance to his own husband, he takes a breath and sets off to marry his sixth-year crush to the love of their life. He didn’t mind it, really, he had moved on a long time ago and found love with a particular blond Slytherin.

NATSAI ONAI: Natty was in the wedding party as MC gets married to the lovely Adelaide Oakes. Natty and Addy had grown closer to the point that Addy had asked Natty to be one of her bridesmaids in the wedding when MC proposed. MC was excited, happy that Addy had grown to love all their friends just as much as they did to the point that she wanted to have some of them in the wedding party. Natty was excited as well, but when she went to bed that night, she had wondered if this was the right thing to do. She never wished their separation— she had lost her chance and accepted that fact a long time ago. She just could never get over MC. In time, she will. She knows that much. And so the wedding went on, with Natty smiling brightly as she watches Addy and MC share their first kiss as married partners.

POPPY SWEETING: Watching MC get married to Anne Sallow was certainly something she wasn’t expecting, especially seeing as Anne wasn’t even there during their fifth year. Yet they had met, through Sebastian, and, well… here they were, standing in front of each other at a makeshift altar in the fields near Hogsmeade. It was a beautiful summer wedding, a nice cool breeze passing through every so often. Poppy was partially working that wedding, but she had some assistance to be able to fully enjoy it— Eleazar (the Phoenix!) was going to fly their rings down the aisle, there was a little petting zoo of all the less-harmful animals in one corner, and then last but not least, Highwing would be flying the two away back to Feldcroft, where they would enjoy their first night together as a wedded couple after the dinner and reception. Poppy could almost imagine herself in Anne’s place— truthfully, she wished she was, but she had lost her chance long ago. Now, she was going to be happy that MC had found happiness.

IMELDA REYES: EVERETT. FUCKING. CLOPTON. First of all, HOW. Second of all, WHY? Third of all, MC, blink twice if you’re being held hostage and forced to marry him against your will. In all seriousness, though, Imelda could see how MC grew attracted to the guy in the first place. He may have still had his squeaky voice and not great hygiene when they first met in fifth year, but his voice had grown deeper and he finally cleaned up his routine by the time they graduated Hogwarts. Really, who WASN’T chasing Everett? He even cleaned up so well for his wedding that Imelda was almost jealous of MC! The feeling of a hand slipping into hers distracts her from the train of thought she was one and she looks over to her own wife, the former Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain and her partner-in-crime on the Hollyhead Harpies. Imelda fell in love with MC wayyy back in fifth year, but then she had also properly met the woman that would become her wife and, well, one thing led to another… Regardless, Imelda was happy for MC and her crush on them had long since diminished, long before her own wedding. EVERETT THOUGH??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN—

ANNE SALLOW: Watching MC marry Natty was much more painful than Anne had anticipated it being. She genuinely did believe that she had a chance with them, but that could have been the ‘rescue romance’ talking. Ever since MC had saved her life from the curse that had plagued her, the curse that had stolen an entire year at Hogwarts from her, she felt indebted to them in more ways than one. It wasn’t healthy to romanticize it, she knew that, but she couldn’t help herself— there were so many other things that furthered the connection she felt. And then her heart broke the day that it had gotten around school that MC was dating Natty. That they were the ‘it’ couple, that they were going to get married and have beautiful babies— why was that a topic of conversation, Anne will never know. Then, five years after that day, they got married. Anne was there in the audience, watching Sebastian as he stood by MC’s side with a proud grin and she matches his pride for MC with a smile of her own. She can mourn this loss, yes, but then she will move along. Perhaps she can see if Amit would like a dance…

EVERETT CLOPTON: Everett kind of expected it. He knows he was an ass with poor hygiene throughout school, there was no way that MC would have ever wanted to be with him. At least romantically— they were kind enough to be friends with him, which he was still so eternally grateful for. It’s how he landed an invite to their wedding, a witness to their marriage to Poppy Sweeting. Everett couldn’t deny, the wedding itself was beautiful and there was the promise of a little petting zoo at the reception, with a phoenix even! There had been times where he wished he was the one standing up there instead of Poppy, but he pushed those thoughts down. He should be happy for MC finding happiness, even if that happiness doesn’t quite lie with him.

LEANDER PREWETT: Like Everett, Leander expected it. He was also an ass but at least he had better hygiene than the Ravenclaw Quidditch-pro wannabe. But he was more of an ass than Everett, even if he didn’t actually mean it half the time, tormenting first-years was his primary form of entertainment. Regardless, he was still MC’s friend, and attended the wedding ceremony where they would get married to the loveliest Samantha Dale. How could he ever compete with the plant-loving beauty of Ravenclaw? Even he held a small liking for her at one point— who wouldn’t— and MC was lucky to have her hand in marriage. Leander wasn’t close enough to the couple to be standing up there with them, but he was invited to the ceremony and the dinner that would follow, and he happily went, eager to see some old friends as well. Unlike Everett, however, Leander had already come to terms with it— that MC had found happiness, and that it wasn’t with him. All too common in his lifetime, but hey, he had a great plus one partner in one of Sam’s friends from Hufflepuff, Leonora Everleigh.

[celestie0]

HI ELLIE!!! Omg, I just started reading IHM. I was originally going to hold off until it was done (or mostly done), because I'm a serial monogamist when it comes to a series (RIGHT NOW I AM LOYAL TO KICKOFF lol), but I ended up reading IHM anyways for some reason. I LOVE IT SOOOO MUCH. I know that we're only two chapters in, but I always love and adore how much thought goes into your characters and writing. I found myself giggling the whole way through lul. One thing I noticed after chapter 2 is as much as Gojo annoys reader, he's also strangely attentive to her needs and is a complete foil to Choso. I'm sure this was supposed to be obvious, but I thought it was very sweet how he called her beautiful in the dress (the same dress that Choso didn't acknowledge her in) and how the ring he picked for her was similar to one that she had saved in her wedding mood board. I'm pretty sure it's not exactly intentional on Gojo's part (or maybe it is?? hehe), but I thought it was an interesting detail. Also, I know this is within spoiler territory, so don't feel obligated to answer this, but how angsty will it get between reader and Gojo's relationship? :,) I know that they're both still healing from personal trauma from their past relationships, so will that come into play as they develop feelings for each other? It seems that Gojo is hesitant to talk about his divorce, so would that be a factor or an obstacle that will hinder him from getting too close to reader? Can't wait for future chapters!!! <3 Thank you for spoiling us *__*

OH MY LOVE THIS IS SO SWEET N CUTE N MADE MY ENTIRE DAY!!! PLS???

omg i feel you about the serial monogamy towards one series/show at a time 🤣 except for me it’s probs just hyperfixation 💀 but i’m so happy you decided to give ihm a read 🥺💕 it means sososososo much to me n i’m really excited for the seriesss

AWW IM GONNA SOB TYSM i have put quite a bit of thought into the characters in ihm bc i really want it to be like a web? of interactions btwn them all, and i’m so glad you saw that choso is foil to gojo!! yes!! he is very attentive to her, and i think sometimes it’s intentional n other times it’s just bc they’re meant to be honestly 😭💕 we’ll see that reader too is very vigilant too despite everything she’s got going on :”) i LOVED writing the scene where he calls her beautiful in the dress, every girl deserves to be called pretty in a dress she really adores!! and yeah the ring was totally coincidental but 🤣 again i guess they’re meant to be? hahaha

yesss i think there will be quite a bit of angst between the too, mostly surrounding their ex lovers, and just in general their pasts. i kinda wanted it where reader has lived in town her whole life (childhood home) whereas gojo mysteriously moved in next door less than a year ago, so they both don’t know much about each other despite being next door neighbors. but honestly i think a lot of the angst actually comes from secondary plotlines that end up bringing reader n gojo together!! but there will still be angst between them for suuuure 😭😔 yes gojo is very hesitant to speak up ab his divorce, sorry i simply cannot write gojo without avoidant personality bc i feel like he bottles up a lot in the show too so it just felt fitting 💀😞 but for reader too, i think she kinda…doesnt care to learn much about him as of right now bc she finds him annoying lol, and then later on when she has feelings i think it’ll be too painful for her to learn ab certain things too…so yes definitely i can see how they both would avoid their feelings and instead do the thing most adults do and joke about their feelings to lighten tension or completely avoid them all together 😃😃 (or do i just need therapy loool)

THANKS SO MUCH FOR THIS ASK my love :”) hope you have a wonderful day/evening/night!! much love from me <33

[darkdeadlylove]

The Rogue Prince Chapter 7

Masterlist 

Summary:   I was meant to marry the king and become the next queen. That's what I was meant to be doing here. Become queen and bear more heirs, that was it. My whole life planned out by my father wanting to be a united front with the Targaryen's. What no one planned for was Daemon. It is hard to plan for chaos. It’s even harder to plan who you fall in love with? Daemon has a bad reputation. One he has earned and is proud of. That should be enough to make me stay far away from him and in the safety of who I supposed to be wed to. Too bad, I couldn’t help myself.  

Triggers:    Age gap, violence, arranged marriages, cheating, love triangles, lose of virginity, cnc, just all around bad ideas. (I will add more as needed. Chapters will have their own individual if needed.) 

 Disclaimer:   This is more of an AU. This is nothing at all like the show or book. I am mostly taking the characters and putting them into another situation. This has very little game of thrones lore and I will probably get a wrong or have misinformation. If you don’t like that, don’t read.

A/N: Sorry this took so long. I had a depressed spell and school. I will have more coming soon with some one-shots. 

 Ellaria

Why couldn’t I get that kiss out of my head? It was like he had gotten inside my head with it. That is exactly what he wanted. He wanted to get in my head and under my skin. He wanted to make sure I would mess this up. I know it. He doesn’t want me to become queen. He has made that very clear. He didn’t think I could do it. He didn’t think I could even make it as queen. I would show him. When I get power…I will show him….I hope. 

I sighed as I moved about my room trying to figure out my next move when I heard the door open to my room. I didn’t look up thinking it was one of the maids until I heard a voice. “I thought you were going to spend all day with your head in those books.” Eleana voice came. I smiled as I got up from my bed. “You know that I could spend all day with my head in those books,” I said with a giggle. “I was reading some of the history of the wars. There are some great battles there.” Eleana shook her head at me. “I don’t know how you can sit there and read things like these. I wouldn’t even know where to begin with that stuff. I prefer reading fairy tales or maybe even romance.” “I do like a good romance or a fairy tale,” I admitted. “But I like to read other things as well. I love history and learning about all the battles. I love war stories.” I said remembering all the stories my eldest brother used to tell me when he got back from war. The ones my dad and even a couple knights would tell me. They were happy to tell someone willing to listen to their stories. 

“I will never understand that,” Eleana giggled. “So have you talked to the king after last night? I am sure he would want to see you.” 

I shook my head. I really hadn’t. I didn’t want to see him either. A bit less than his brother. Both made me nervous. Daemon even more now than before. I couldn’t tell Eleana what had happened in the garden. She would lose her mind. I did a great disrespect to my future husband by kissing his brother. Even worse, I think I actually liked it. 

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” I sighed. “I looked so stupid last night just being the butt of his joke. How can I even come back from running off like that? I didn’t look like a queen. I looked nothing more than a fool.” Eleana sighed. “You didn’t look like a fool. You looked like someone who was blindsided. I still can’t believe Daemon can get away with saying those things about his brother’s future wife. He must do something and you need to do something now to show you aren’t a coward. Stand up for yourself. You are going to face far greater things than Daemon Targaryen. You will be a great queen, Ellaria, you just have to get over your fear of sticking up for yourself and this is the start. He is a very good place to start. Show them who is boss.” 

She was right and I hated it. Almost as much as I hated Baelor being right. I needed to stick up for myself and this was the first way too as much as I hated to admit it. I

I sighed as I got up from the bed. “I guess you are right. I should go speak to the king.” I fixed my dress as I gazed at myself in the mirror. I made sure my hair looked presentable to see the king. 

“Do I look alright?” I asked her as I looked over at her. 

She nodded coming up behind me. “You are as beautiful as ever. Any man in all seven of the kingdoms would love to have you. There would be wars over you.” 

I blushed as I let out a soft giggle. “Stop, you are just saying that.” 

“It is nothing but the truth. Now, go.”

❤️~❤️~❤️

I took a deep breath as I knocked on the king’s door. I wasn’t sure if he was taking visitors or would even want to see me right now. It had my nerves on the edge. I didn’t want him to be mad at me, but I knew I had to do it. The longer, I put it off the harder it would be. 

“Come in,” He called from the other side of the room. I entered as I walked inside. He smiled at me as he looked up from what he was doing. I couldn’t help but smile back. He was making a model of what looks like the kingdom. I had never seen one so realistic. “Wow,” I said taking it in. “You made these?” I asked as I looked at them. I walked closer to them, but I didn’t touch them. I wouldn’t want to ruin such good work. 

He nodded. “Yeah, I made them myself. I have been working hard on them for a long time.” He said as he placed the one he was working with down. “Now, what would you like to speak to me about?” He asked as he looked up at me.  

I bit my lip as I nodded. “Yes, well, I um, want to talk to you about what had happened last night.” 

He sighed. “I am so sorry for how my brother behaved. I should have said something to him earlier. I spoke to him though.” 

“You did?” I asked. My mind raced as I stood there. I did my best to look like it wasn’t affecting me, but I couldn’t help, but wonder if he had told him about the kiss. He didn’t seem mad. Is he not mad? What kind of family am I marrying into? 

“Yes, he needs to understand his behavior is unacceptable no matter how he feels about things. He was very close with my late wife and I think seeing her replacement has made him quite upset, but that doesn’t excuse how he has behaved. I should have said something last night, but i did not want to make anymore of scene.” 

I looked down. “I am sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to make a scene. It was just a lot. This is all just alot.” 

He nodded as he slowly got up and reached for me. He pulled me close to him as he held my hands. “This is a lot on both of us. It’s a big change. I will have a different wife and you will become queen. It is a lot for anyone to take on. But, I think you can do it.” He said rubbing my hand with his thumb. “I like you, Ellaria. I really hope my brother hasn’t scared you away. I want you to stay.” 

I nodded as I looked up at him. His eyes looked so genuine. Like he really meant it. Maybe this would be okay. “I will stay, my king. I want to marry you.” 

He leaned down and kissed my head. “Good, now don’t worry about Daemon or what he has to say.” 

“I won’t. Can I help you with your models?” I asked. 

He nodded as he pulled up a chair for me to sit down in. “I would love that.”

[sasquapossum]

Kind of a weird question, but what is it like as a parent when your kid moves out for college? I know what it felt like to me as the kid, but I’m curious about the other side

I don't think it's a weird question at all. In fact I think it's an excellent question, and I thank you for it. I'm still working through it, so here goes.

Part of me is devastated. There, I said it. I don't think we're supposed to, but I'm also sure that I'm far from the only parent ever to feel this way. I've spent nineteen years - since before she was born - trying to make sure she'd be healthy and happy. That's longer than the entire time I was in school, including college, myself. That's far longer than any job I've ever had. Longer than anything except my marriage (and I'll touch on that in a moment). Being a parent of a still-at-home child has been part of my identity for a long time. Even if I wanted to, it would be hard to give that up.

On top of that, there's this feeling of ... helplessness. I know that everything's up to her now, and it must be up to her, and even that she must be allowed to stumble from time to time. I believe that very strongly. I wouldn't be who I am, where I am, if I had been coddled as I see some parents do with their children. I'll always have her back, but it is her back. She leads. As necessary as it is, it's hard to get used to this feeling of reduced agency.

And lastly, I no longer get to see my best friend every day. There's another thing I'm probably not supposed to say, but it's true. My wife is also my best friend in a different way, because those relationships are separate and distinct. They do not compete with one another. As the metaphor goes, whenever you love someone you have to build a new room for them but the old room will still be there (even if it’s empty). When you have a spouse and a child, you have two rooms. Another child, three. (I suppose, anyway, and likewise for another spouse, but I don’t have personal experience of those situations.) My daughter and I are still very much in contact when we want to be, but it's not the same as hearing her (and her boyfriend who I've also "lost") right across the upstairs hallway, or in the car with me, and so on. Especially since she was our only child, and also since I'm retired, this house seems way too empty and quiet now. Not enough people right there to appreciate my memes and jokes and random observations. That part's also hard.

As another famous saying goes, everything before the "but" is bullshit. I put these paragraphs in this order with that in mind. I miss her but I'm also amazingly proud of her, and glad that she seems to be doing well so far, and excited to see what the future brings for her. I feel that just as much as the sad parts. I have less to say about it only because the future is less knowable than the present. I can already see how I might come to welcome the quiet, and the reduced workload, and the freedom that comes from not having to be The Provider. I already went on one mid-week hike, which I could not have done otherwise. This winter I'll probably snowboard more. Maybe I'll travel more. Meanwhile she'll be growing and thriving in her own ways. Some day the joy on both sides will be more present, but right now it's more future and thus more attenuated.

Transitions can be hard no matter where they lead. You can get the job of your dreams, and still have a rough first day. You can marry the person of your dreams, and still get the wedding jitters. You can see your little bird start to soar, and still feel the emptiness of the nest. I think a lot of parents struggle with that. The admissions folks, who have seen this play out more times than any of us, have made it clear that their mission to support students during this time often requires supporting parents as well.

In conclusion, at this point it's still a bit of a waiting game. Trying to strike that balance of being available without being in the way. Mostly that means doing my own things, like running and making resin things and posting here, while I wait for the next bit of news, for the next part of the new pattern to emerge. Fortunately I'm pretty good at waiting. It'll be interesting a year from now, to read this myself and see how things have changed. Thanks for the question.

[liathebookwyrm]

Wait, we can do that?

AU, where Wei Wuxian's brain-mouth filter deserts him before the control on his temper does (sleep deprivation be like that sometimes....). So during the Phoenix Mountain hunt he is even more done with Jin nonsense than usual and impulsively (and publicly) snaps at Jin Zixuan that if he really wants to marry Yanli why not join the Jiang sect after marriage rather than subject the woman he supposedly loves to the utter fuckery of Jin power plays. Yes, I am aware that it would never work seeing as the unlucky bastard is the heir. Mostly I'm giggling picturing whose jaw would hit the floor faster when Jin Zixuan equally impulsively says he'd do it. Meanwhile Lan Wangji is in the background like "wait, that's an option?"

So basically that's how the Jiang sect rebuilds itself post-war - they just make everyone marry in. Suddenly, all the sect leaders find themselves losing their heirs in marriage to one of the Jiang siblings. Except Nie Mingjue, who loses Nie Huaisang to all the wedding planning.

Imagine if you will, Jiang Cheng, completely straight-faced, looking down at a very uncomfortable delegation: "I have no idea what you're talking about. No outsiders here that I, as sect leader, know about." In the background, Nie Huaisang slowly backs out of the room before anyone sees that he'd tried to rush in and ask Jiang Cheng's opinion on another load of red fabrics.

Now, imagine the different sect leaders' reactions to all the Jiang weddings:

Jin Guangshan: "Wait... so I either have to sleep with my actual wife and get another son, or recognise one of my bastard kids???" (His wife has many things to say about the fact this would all have been avoided if he had a) spent more time with her so they might have had another kid and b) not had so many kids with everyone else)

Lan Xichen -in the utterly serene smile people should dread-: "Weddings are such joyful occasions."

The utter existential dread the Lan Elders must have collectively experienced when they realised the next in line unless Lan Xichen has children in the immediate future is precocious two year old by the name of Lan Jingyi.

Once Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji have adopted A-Yuan (and people have nervously reassured themselves that surely Wei Wuxian's "I birthed this child" is probably a joke), the elders make Pointed Remarks about the importance of early education. They are faced with an extremely offended response from Jiang Cheng because how dare they assume they have the best educational model around?

Lan Xichen sees how twitchy Lan Qiren gets about little Jingyi being his heir, so he goes fully into troll mode and starts wearing his Nie robes more often (and in public) and talking about how nice the Unclean Realm would look decorated in red. Nie Huaisang gleefully aids and abets because the more time his brother spends flustered out of his mind the less time he hounds him about saber practice.

As always co-authored with/enabled by @sswangxian.

[mrs-hollandstan]

Make Me Love You || Frat Boy!Tom [epilogue]

Warnings: sexual comments, pregnancy and children, marriage and weddings, just cuteness, mentions of IVF, mentions of parental issues, language, mentions of marital issues, mentions of fuckboy!Tommo

Word Count: 7,996

Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you, for those that have stuck with me through all of this. It's been a journey and I'm so grateful for those that stayed for the whole thing. This series has been such an important part of my life and writing and I don't know how I'll function without it, but I'm grateful to have finished it and gotten it out there for others to enjoy. 💖

Series Masterlist || Add yourself to one of my taglists

                                          Welcome to Our Forever

                                               Thomas & Y/F/N 

                                                August 5, 2023 

White roses and eucalyptus line the wooden board announcing your wedding to the man of your dreams. Maybe not the best decision to have a summer wedding, but Harrison and Ivey had only wed some three months before, and you refused to take away her shine. As it was, when she sat beside you in her auburn colored dress to have her hair and makeup done, she was glowing, reminiscing on her big day with a brand new wedding band to go with her engagement/wedding ring, and a new ID showcasing the Ivey Eleanor Osterfield namesake. 

It wasn't necessarily the first time you four girls had been together since graduation, but the time that you spent together had dwindled since going out into the real world. Phoebe was making bank as an emergency room nurse at UW Emergency just off campus and she and Keaton had started living together in University District. Cole had moved Scarlett into his apartment once Keaton had moved out and she's been working as a financial analyst the past two years. He'd mentioned proposing to her, but hadn't officially done so yet. Ivey and Harrison were living in an apartment not far from you and Tom, Harrison working at the Seattle Art Museum, and not too far from him, Ivey was working as an editor in downtown Seattle. Still, after two years, the four of you were meeting up for date night often, you and Ivey mostly discussing wedding plans and crazy stories from your day, while the boys talked sports and alcohol. 

Since graduation, you and Tom had adopted a little gray pitbull from a local shelter, similar to Tessa, whom you named Rosir. With the help of your dad and the first few paychecks from your therapy office, you were able to purchase a car, a Subaru Crosstrek, which you and Tom used for weekend getaways and vacations. He'd even taken the time to revisit the same house he and the group stayed in in Oregon two springs ago with you. 

"You remember how you told me you wanted something like Ivey and Harrison that night shit went to hell?" He had asked you as you lay in bed one night, bare chests pressed together and Rosie laying just off to your side on the floor, squeaking her toy. You had hummed and nodded, leaning on his chest, 

"I regret that." 

"Don't say that. I just hope that it's been better than what they have. I've tried to make you happy." You smiled up at him and nodded, 

"I've never been happier than I am now." You had reassured him. He'd smiled and leaned in to kiss you. You'd discussed the shitshow that was the last two years of your relationship and how now, you couldn't see being with anyone else and you were convinced that your kids wouldn't have what you did, with a fractured family. Most of Tom's wounds had healed and he was focused on you, his career path, and your future. You were putting everything that had happened in the past behind you for the better now, focusing on your wedding, your marriage, the future. 

"You nervous?" Phoebe asks as an artist drags a brush with eyeshadow across her lids. You shrug as you're drawn from your haze, 

"Less nervous about marrying him than I am about graduation." You admit. She smiles, 

"I'm in love with you two. He's fucking lucky to have you." She murmurs, closing her eyes again. Ivey sighs, 

"I think you've beaten me out at being the most gorgeous on your wedding day." 

"No, don't say that. You were absolutely stunning." 

"Yeah, but are you seeing yourself? Tom is going to lose his shit." She explains. You smile, staring at yourself in the mirror as your makeup artist brushes blush along your cheeks. You giggle, 

"Okay, fine, I do look hot." You murmur. The three of you laugh along before Scarlett sighs and moves into the room, 

"Your dad and Cole are fighting again." You roll your eyes, 

"I almost just wish they hadn't tried to reconcile." You tell her. She smiles, 

"I mean... at least they're trying for you and all of our future kids." She reasons. You sigh, 

"Yeah, I guess." She sits behind the three of you, waiting until you're all finished before she helps you slide into the a-line dress you'd chosen, the girls gasping, 

"Oh Y/N, you look gorgeous." Ivey says. Phoebe and Scarlett agree and when Nikki enters the room, she gasps and covers her mouth, tears springing into her eyes, 

"Oh Y/N darling..." She mumbles. You smile, taking her hands when she approaches, 

"Do you think he'll like it?" You ask her about her son. She nods, sniffling softly, 

"Oh I think you could wear a burlap bag and he'd think you were exquisite, but this..." She nods, "he'll absolutely love you in this." She assures. You smile, 

"Great. You look amazing yourself." You tell her, looking her over in her maroon colored mother-in-law dress, 

"Well thank you sweetheart." She murmurs, a dusting of red coating her cheeks. She clears her throat, 

"I uhm, I have something for you." She says. It's only then that you notice the worn black box in her hands. You follow her to the small couch, sitting just beside her before she opens the box and reveals an old pearl necklace, "My grandmother got this as a gift and it's been passed down through our family. My mother wore it on her wedding day, I wore it on my wedding day. If you'd like... I want you to have it, wear it today and any day in the future as my first daughter-in-law." She tells you. You stare at it, mouth agape, 

"Oh gosh... Nikki... are you sure?" She nods immediately, 

"Of course. They're to be passed down. Hopefully you get a daughter to do the same to and the tradition can continue in our family." She tells you. You dab at your eyes with a tissue, 

"Thank you so much. It's beautiful." You tell her, moving forward to hug her. She hugs you back, kissing your cheek softly. She helps you latch it around your neck and by then, the girls are completely ready, 

"It's time Y/N/N." Ivey tells you with a cock of her head. You take a deep breath, 

"Gosh... really?" She shoots you a sympathetic smile and nods, 

"Fortunately." She tells you. You allow Nikki to fasten your veil into your hair and hand you your bouquet, the girls each collecting theirs before you stand before the full length mirror, staring at yourself. You take a deep breath, 

"The next time I step foot into this room, I will be Mrs. Tom Holland." You murmur more to yourself more than anyone. You watch Ivey smile in the mirror before you turn to them and nod, 

"Okay, I think I'm ready." You tell them. They each nod before leading you from the room, walking the short distance to where the boys are waiting at the end of the hall. Tom had more groomsmen than you had bridesmaids, but you didn't really care. Three of his seven groomsmen were walking alone, his brothers leading the pack down the aisle together. You honestly thought it was cute. Cole maneuvered his way over to you to kiss your cheek as your father appeared, 

"You look beautiful." He tells you. You smile, glancing up at your dad, 

"Thanks Cole." 

"You know mom would be more than proud of you." He reminds you. You nod, indicating to the veil, 

"And she's with me." When your dad had offered up the diamond encrusted lacy material your mother had bought for her own special day, you sobbed and agreed without a second thought. It was such a simple yet meaningful gesture, especially coming from your dad and you haven't thought twice about it since. Cole's eyes are glistening as he nods and Scarlett slips her hand in his bicep. 

Sam, Harry, and Paddy are the first down the aisle together, Tom's smile wide when he sees them. Ivey and Harrison are the first couple down the aisle with her as your matron of honor. Scarlett and Cole are next with her being your maid of honor, but you told Phoebe she was also your maid of honor. You weren't letting her feel left out in this situation. Gil was last down the aisle, helping your flower girl and ring bearer, both younger cousins of yours, down to their respective sides. You take a deep breath as you watch Tom stand at the head of the aisle, nervously swaying side to side, hands clasped in front of him. Your father flexes his bicep to imitate a squeeze, 

"Don't pass out on me. At least let me get you to him." He jokes. You smile, 

"Course not. But... this is the last time your little girl will be a Y/L/N." You tell him. He hums, glancing down at you when you look up, 

"You'll always be a Y/L/N, but I'm okay with you being a Holland. Tom is a good man." He reminds you. You smile and nod, 

"I agree." You murmur before "Canon In D" starts, giving you your cue. You take another deep breath before your father starts the walk, and all of your guests stand. Your dad reaches out and pats your hand as you walk out into the sunlight, your videographer (thank you dad) crouching beside your fiancè to capture his reaction which is quite honestly, the sweetest, most heart touching thing you've ever seen. He reaches up to brush his tears away, pivoting from foot to foot quicker as he takes a deep breath and blinks away the flood of tears that threaten to spill. You smile up at him, walking steadily with your father until you're standing just before him. He takes a deep breath as your minister asks who gives you away. Your father replies and hands you to Tom who helps you onto the small pedestal across from him. He sniffles softly, staring down at you with so much love in his eyes. 

The ceremony progresses quickly and before you know it, you're announced as Mrs. Tom Holland. Tom smiles wide before he's wrapping an arm around your waist, the other curled up your back as he dips you, sealing your deal with a final kiss. You hold him to you, staring up into his eyes when he stands you straight before he pivots on his feet, smile as wide as it can get as you're announced as husband and wife. He gives your hand a squeeze and waves it in the air as your guests cheer and clap. 

You scurry off, holding onto Tom as he kisses you over and over again and continuously tells you how beautiful you look while your wedding party makes their way back down the aisle, your bridesmaids and his groomsmen all crowding around you with congratulations thrown your way. You flaunt the ring, and before the guests pour from your venue and towards the large brick building for the reception, Tom's family and your dad and Heidi follow your wedding party to the designated picture area. 

The pictures, you can tell, are going to be absolutely gorgeous. Harry and Nikki were both more than happy to be the wedding photographers, and absolutely denied being paid for the work. But you'd seen sneak peeks of some of the shots they'd snapped of your wedding party and you were in love. You'd finally sobbed, and Tom had let you when Nikki flashed you a photo of yours and Tom's foreheads pressed together, his hand brushing along your cheek, wedding band shown off blatantly. It hadn't hit you, how serious getting married was and now it was. 

You'd been the last to depart the area where your professional photos were taken, Nikki and Harry leaving you for a private moment to yourselves, the first in nearly two days since the boys stole him and the girls had stolen you. You'd stood in silence for a moment, admiring the scenery of the woods around you before he'd untucked a hand from his pocket and reached out for yours. You'd threaded your fingers together, 

"Has this been the wedding of your dreams so far?" He asks softly. You smile, nodding, 

"Since I was a little girl I dreamed of marrying a prince. Now I have him, and this," You gesture around you, "This is more than I could ever ask for. It's been beautiful so far and merging our families has been a dream." You tell him, taking a step closer to him. His smile widens, 

"Good." He murmurs. Standing on your toes, you lean in and kiss him. He hums, 

"Can't believe I married the girl of my dreams." He murmurs. You giggle, 

"It is all very surreal. All of the times we talked about marriage and kids and now we're here, doing it." 

"Hell yeah, I don't fuck around." He jokes. You roll your eyes, 

"But... now that we have a moment... what do you think of the dress? Your mom said I could wear a bag and you'd still think I look stunning." 

"Oh definitely, but... yes... this is absolutely gorgeous. You look stunning darling. More so than ever." He tells you, holding you at arms length to look you over. You twirl for him, the bodice of your dress flourishing around you and Tom smiles, 

"So beautiful." Dragging you back in, he leans in to kiss you, arms bound around your waist, your hands rested on his shoulders, smoothing down them. He hums, 

"We should sneak off and have married sex now." You giggle, tipping your head back which draws him in to trailing kisses down your throat, 

"Yeah, I'd like to see you try and do a quickie in this dress. You'll get lost in it." You tell him. He chuckles, 

"I believe you. You've got a lot of tulle goin on here." Nodding, your rest your hands atop his shoulders, staring up at him, 

"You've made me so happy the past four years... I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you." You tell him. He smiles, 

"The feeling is so fucking mutual." He tells you, hands curled around your back. He presses his forehead to yours and sighs, 

"I promise to make you happy every day of my life. You mean the world to me." He tells you. You sway him softly, holding his waist, 

"I promise to do the same." 

"And after tonight, we'll go to Fiji and have a good time, just the two of us, and then we'll come back and try for a baby." He starts. You giggle again, 

"You have our whole lives planned out then huh?" You ask. He nods, 

"Definitely. Won't be long now before we're house hunting and moving a sweet little babe in." He murmurs in your ear. You sigh, 

"Is it bad that I kinda wanna stay in the apartment for a little while after having a baby?" You ask. His eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head, 

"No, not really. We... did talk about turning that spare into a nursery for her. We could go through with it." 

"And we're still stuck on them being a her huh? You do know I'll kill you if we have a boy first and you even think about being disappointed." You tell him. He hums, eyebrows knitting together again, 

"No, of course not, I would never. Any baby that comes from you is loved by me darling. You don't have to worry about it." He confirms. You nod, letting the silence permeate between you for a moment before you sigh, 

"We should probably be heading back. No one can do anything without us." You tell him. He chews the inside of his lip for a moment before sighing himself and nodding, 

"Yeah... let's go get a beer." Smiling, you hold your hand out for his again, lacing your fingers with his. He smiles as the prongs of your ring scrape against the pad of his finger and you give a tug of his hand to lead him up the trodden path towards your reception. Once on the concrete, leading up to the building, Tom squeezes your hand, glancing at the sign announcing you as husband and wife, 

"I cannot believe I am Mrs. Thomas Stanley Holland." You say. He chuckles again, 

"Sounds so fucking amazing." He tells you. You smile, 

"It does. I get to change my nameplate at work. Mrs. Y/N Holland. So exciting." He smiles before you round a corner and your wedding party is there, beers in hand and cheering directed your way. Tom waves his hand, cheeks flushing red and chuckles leaving his lips, 

"Stop, stop-" 

"You're a married man now Tommo!" Haz starts, 

"Yeah, what happened to the forever bachelor thing? Who are you and what have you done with our Tom?" Gil jokes. Tom rolls his eyes, 

"A beautiful girl crashed the party and roped my ass in." He admits. You smile and accept a beer from Cole, another handed to Tom, 

"Well congrats. You two make a beautiful couple. And... now you're my brother." He tells Tom, dragging him in for a hug. You smile, watching your husband and brother hug before Cole turns to you, 

"And you look beautiful Y/N/N. Mom is so so so fucking proud of you. I just know it." He tells you again. He leans in and kisses your cheek. Ivey pops up from inside the venue, 

"Alright guys. We're headed inside. Back into formation." You smile, looping your arm through Tom's. You'd chosen to have your DJ announce your wedding party, the group dancing in and once you make your way inside, it leads into your first dance. The other Holland boys lead, both sides of the families laughing at their antics. Ivey and Harrison follow, then Scarlett and Cole, and Keaton and Phoebe, finishing with Gil. Tom squeezes your hand in his arm as the DJ speaks again, 

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for, I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Tom Holland!" He cheers, the roaring from your guests loud as Tom escorts you in the door, twirling you and showing you off to your family. Your cheeks hurt from the smile you carry and Tom let's out an airy laugh as you hand your bouquet off to Ivey and he wraps you in his arms, holding your body close as the first notes of your first dance song play through the speakers, all eyes on you. But none of it matters. All that matters are the chocolate colored eyes you know every inch of. The ones you've come to love and the ones you get to stare into for the rest of your life. He's yours, and you're his, and this is what forever feels like. 

                                                          --- 

You giggle and cling to Tom as he carries you across the threshold of your suite. He gently sets you on the bed, watching you lay out beneath him, 

"So stunning." He murmurs. You roll your eyes and sit up a little to pull your veil off, 

"I see the cheesiness hasn't dissipated." 

"Well no. It'll only get worse from here. Instead of taking it as my girlfriend or fiancèe, you're taking it as my wife. Now you for sure aren't going anywhere. It's so much worse." He tells you. You giggle, kicking your heels off. He sighs, raking a hand through his hair, 

"Is it bad if I say I'm glad that part is over?" He asks with a cock of his head. You shake your own head, 

"No... it's stressful. Especially for me when there was so much for me to trip over." You tell him. He hums, 

"You did great. You looked amazing all night and you were such the little party host." 

"I'm the bride, I have to be." He sits on the bed beside you, clearing his throat, 

"Yeah, I guess." Sighing, you roll so your body is pressed into his side. He leans back on the bed on his elbow, loosening his tie, 

"It was a pretty good night. You did good on the planning love." He chides. You smile, 

"Thanks babe. I put my heart, soul, and money into this perfect day." He nods, raising his eyebrows, 

"That's for damn sure." He murmurs. You giggle, 

"I couldn't imagine any other wedding being more perfect than ours. It was really fucking beautiful." 

"To be fair, your dad paid for a lot and my parents contributed too." He reasons with a shrug, staring up at the ceiling when he moves to lay back on the bed fully. You smile, leaning in on his chest. He sighs, 

"I loved every minute of it." 

"That's all that matters. You only get one wedding and it should be perfect." 

"It was. I love you." He smiles and leans up to kiss you, 

"Love you too darling." You sit in silence for a moment before you sit up and take his hand, 

"Unzip me, I have a surprise for you." You tell him. He hums, sliding the zipper down your back and moving to lean on his elbows again as he watches you slip from the wedding dress, revealing a beautiful set of ivory colored lingerie, an intricate piece that draws Tom's eyebrows up again, 

"Well that's one hell of a surprise." 

"I had every intention of wearing blue but this is a wedding night set and I couldn't pass it up." 

"Yeah, no, you'll have all kinds of opportunities to test out different lingerie. Heaven forbid you pass up this opportunity for wedding night lingerie." He murmurs. You smile, stepping from the puddle of tulle, lace, and satin at your feet and leaning in on his knees, 

"So I assume you like it." You coo. He snorts, 

"When have I ever not liked lingerie on this sweet little body?" He asks. You giggle, 

"Never." 

"Exactly." Moving his hands onto your hips, he drags you into his lap, your lips covering his. He hums into the kiss, moving his hands up your back. Your fingers move down to unbutton his shirt. You smooth over his stomach, his hands traveling down to hold onto your hips, 

"Shall we try and figure out what's so different about married sex?" You ask him. He smiles, pulling back to look into your eyes, 

"I think that'd be quite great actually." He murmurs. You smile down at him, 

"Just think... you don't have to worry about getting me pregnant now because we're already married." He chuckles, watching you reach behind you and unclip your bra, tossing it aside. He licks his lips, 

"I'd love to know what these'll look like when you end up pregnant." He murmurs, moving to massage your breasts into his hands. You tip your head back, holding his shoulders. You slide your hands beneath his button up brushing it from his shoulders. He sighs, 

"So perfect." 

"So yours." You murmur. He chuckles, 

"You're damn right." You giggle before he's leaning back, pulling you with him. You lean on the bed over his shoulders, leaning in to kiss him, 

"I love you husband." He smiles wide, 

"I love you, wife. More than you'll ever know." You lean back in to kiss his throat, his hands skirting down to your hips until the cold metal of his wedding ring is pressing into your lower back. 

The next night, after landing in Fiji and checking into your bungalow, Tom slides down into the sand beside you. He sighs, squinting in the setting sun and holding a beer out to you. You take it, thanking him softly and sipping from it. He does the same as you look him over. He looks calm for the first time in months. His hair is flat and he's wearing a tee and a pair of cotton shorts, no shoes on. You smile when he looks at you and his eyebrows furrow, 

"What?" He asks through a laugh. You shake your head, 

"Nothing, I just love you. You look good right now." You move to lay your head over his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, laying his head over yours and reaching out to squeeze your knee, 

"Happy first night of forever." He mumbles. You squeeze his body against yours, 

"So far, so good." You tell him. He hums, 

"Can't go wrong with me." Giggling, you sip from your beer again, leaning your arm on his knee, 

"I will admit, seeing "Mr. and Mrs. Holland" on the door was a really surreal thing for me." You tell him. He smiles, moving his hand up into the light to look at the ring on his finger, 

"I've always been called Mr. Holland in a professional sense but... hearing Mrs. Holland and knowing that it's in reference to my wife and that you're finally, fully mine is like... insane." He admits in return. You nod, 

"I agree." You murmur. Nudging the neckline of his top down, you brush a finger across the hickey you'd left the night before. He smiles, 

"The markings of a spoiled little wife." 

"I really don't think I'll ever be over the whole wife thing. Like... hearing you say it blows my mind. I definitely thought I'd be your girlfriend for the rest of my life and you'd never be ready to marry me." 

"I was ready to marry you the second you came back from New York after Spring Break." 

"Liar." 

"I did. I never wanted to let you go again. I had fucked up and never wanted to risk losing you again." He explains. You smile, looping your arms under his and leaning your head on his shoulder, 

"That's truly adorable. You've still had your moments but... I have no doubt that all the growth you've done since that whole mess has helped you. Really." He nods, 

"I feel a lot better, that's for sure." He tells you, sighing. You hum, 

"I'm glad. You know... we both have to be in a good mindset to have a baby." 

"Speaking of, you are okay with having a baby like... soonish right?" He asks. You shrug, 

"Yeah, sure, why not?" 

"I just obviously wanna make sure you're comfortable and we're on the same page." He tells you as you move to lounge between his legs. You scoff, 

"Bitch I just married you. There isn't a thing you could do to make me uncomfortable. We're one now." He chuckles, laying his hands over your stomach, 

"But you would tell me if something is out of your comfort zone right?" He asks. You nod, eyebrows knitting together, 

"Course." 

"Good." Leaning your head back against his chest, you sigh, closing your eyes. He presses his lips to your temple and leaves them there, breathing you in. The setting sun provides a nice warmth, 

"I say we just never go back to America. We just run away and become permanent travelers." Tom chuckles, 

"And abandon my very expensive diploma, I think that's a dumb idea love." He tells you. You hum, 

"You could very well get a big break in Europe without the degree." You reason. He hums, 

"That'd be great to take you back to my home." 

"Well since we'll be traveling, you very well could give me a better tour of your little hometown." You confirm. He nods, 

"That sounds really good." A silence settles over you, the sound of the waves crashing being the only noise around. He reaches up and rubs over your shoulders, 

"I'm glad we're here." 

"Me too." You tell him quickly. He smiles, 

"I'm really glad you agreed to marry me." He says. You giggle, 

"Me too." His smile widens. He leans in and kisses you softly when you rise to your knees and turn to face him, 

"I think we should revisit the newlywed sex." He implies with a raise of his eyebrow. You hum, 

"Me too. Definitely." He chuckles softly before he's standing and taking your hands, leading you back through the sand to your bungalow, pushing you on the bed softly once he slides the door closed. 

                                                          --- 

                                           *Seven Years Later*

"Mia darling, please don't do that." Tom calls to your oldest child, hoisting Harper, your current youngest into his lap with her holding his fingers and climbing his chair. He focuses on the two year old, her hair falling down her back and her legs tangled up in her dress. He rubs her back once she snuggles into him, kissing her forehead. 

Not long after your wedding, you were pregnant with Mia. The second Tom found out she was a girl, he couldn't drop the smile, convinced that the talk of having a girl first all throughout college was just divine intervention. Seeing your husband as a father that first time was unlike anything else. He couldn't put his baby girl down. You were his girl, and he followed you around like a lost puppy, but the second you gave birth to little Mia Faye, he was hooked. And the process continued with your first son three years later, Wyatt James was held in Mia's lap, who was always in Tom's lap. And then again with his second baby girl, Harper Monroe. And now here you are, pregnant with your final baby, another sweet boy who Tom talks to daily, first thing in the morning before he wakes your three older kiddos to bring to bed and see you and at night, right before you go to bed, wishing your little wiggly bean goodnight. He already has a name, Oliver Ethan, and you're excited to have a complete family, four kids to grow up together and travel with, something you and Tom have loved doing since being out of college. 

Cole sighs as he sits beside Keaton who holds his and Phoebe's daughter, Emma's tiny purse, glancing up at his ex-roommate, 

"'S the matter? Being the father of the birthday boy is tiring?" He teases. Cole rolls his eyes, 

"Not only that, but when his papa decides it's time to spoil him and he wonders why mommy and daddy don't do the same, it can get interesting." Cole explains. You smile, rubbing the baby bump over your dress. Tom watches you, 

"I'm just glad that he has a papa. You and dad have gotten along pretty well since he's moved out here." You tell him, reaching up to stroke through Tom's hair to soothe you both. Cole crosses his arms watching his daughter, Daisy, follow Scarlett around, Logan and Ashton, Ivey and Harrison's older boys by her side like they always are when the group is together, 

"I guess so, yeah, it's been... weird. He avoids bringing up mom which makes it awkward but... he's a good enough grandfather. The kids like him and if Scarlett needs help and I'm not available, he's been there." He explains. You nod, leaning into Tom's side. Harper twirls your hair around her finger sleepily, Tom leaning in to kiss her pudgy cheek, 

"Regardless, you guys are talking and actually acting like father and son. Now we have like an actual family again." He nods, 

"Yeah..." Keaton yawns, 

"And what about you Ke? Now that dad's back here and starting that branch of his company here and you're working for him again, how's it been?" He glances up as Phoebe slides into the chair beside him, 

"Yeah, it's good. Back to better payment, being the assistant. It's pretty nice." 

"And no such luck with the baby making?" You ask. He smiles, looking to Phoebe, 

"We're getting there. It's been a hard process but... IVF has been going pretty well." 

"I'm trying to calm the fuck down." Phoebe starts, dragging her fingers through her hair, "I know that going through all of this, the IVF'll fail and then I'll get pregnant naturally." She says with a roll of her eyes. Keaton smiles, 

"The embryo we transfer next month is a girl. Our little Sophia so... hopefully. Fingers crossed." He says. You smile and nod, 

"All our fingers are crossed." You tell them. Keaton smiles, glancing up as Wyatt runs up to you, 

"Mommy..." 

"Yes my love?" You ask of him as he leans in on your legs, 

"Can I go with Mason to his room to see his toys?" He asks you. You brush his hair from his eyes, 

"Did you ask Auntie Scarlett or Uncle Cole if you could?" You ask him. He glances around, 

"Mason asked auntie." 

"If she tells him yes, you can go with him but- hey, Wyatt... but if you go in his room, you need to be careful and don't do anything bad okay? Pick up after yourself like we tell you to do at home." You tell him. He nods before running off to find his cousin. Tom is smiling when you look to him again, 

"What?" You ask. He shakes his head, 

"You're just a really great mum is all." He mumbles, helping Harper slide from his lap again, "Where are you headed love?" He asks, but she ignores him and runs off towards the jumper. You giggle at the pout on his lips, glancing up when Ivey sighs behind you. Her and Harrison slide in between you and Keaton and Phoebe, the little green blanket she left with half an hour ago to quiet the crying cradled in her arms again, 

"He okay?" You ask. She nods and rolls her eyes, 

"He's had a little bit of colic so... he's just cranky but... he's fed and asleep. He should be good for a little while now. Logan and Ashton been good?" 

"Yup, only pulled Daisy's pigtails once." You joke. She huffs, 

"I believe you. Ashton, if you don't tend to him in time, pulls your hair to get up on your chair or whatever he wants. I swear... sometimes if Harrison doesn't collect them while I'm feeding or something, he's sleeping on the couch." Harrison snorts, 

"Yeah, we've had to take up stock in ice cream to keep the boys away from mum." He murmurs. You giggle, watching Ivey roll her eyes before she reaches an arm out and rubs over your belly, 

"How's this little one? You're about in your eighth month huh?" She poses. You nod, pressing a hand to the base of your belly, 

"Yeah... he's doing good. He was super rambunctious last night. We were up all night last night watching him swim and kick. He's gonna be our biggest baby I think." You tell her. You carry a huge smile and taking a glance at Tom, you see he does too. He's so proud of this family you've created. He loves you and all three, almost four kids you have, 

"And Rosie is back to being her protective little self with new little man?" Harrison asks. You nod, 

"Soooooo much. She's normally with the kids but if I sit down, she's right in my lap, head laid over the bump." You tell him. He smiles, 

"She's been pretty great eh?" 

"Oh and her and Tessa get along so damn well when my parents bring Tess down." Tom pitches in. You smile, 

"They've both been great. We were blessed in a lot of ways." 

"That is so good. She's been such a great girl for you." 

"She really has, and Y/N never had animals growing up so she's been a great little companion for Y/N's first time." Tom explains. Ivey nods, glancing up at you, 

"And she's grown up with the kids technically." You pose. Ivey smiles, 

"That Christmas card... so damn cute. You guys with the matching kids and Rose. I can't believe how tall Wyatt is getting. I bet he'll be taller than Tom before we know it." She winks as Tom rolls his eyes, 

"Ha ha. Very funny." She smiles, 

"You know I'm kidding. He's so cute though. All those freckles. He looks just like you Tommy." 

"Well he's lucky then." Your husband murmurs, smiling when you swat at him. He leans over and kisses your cheek, 

"He's hooked on his mumma though. Doesn't ask me for shit. Goes straight to her." 

"Well you've got two baby girls that go to you. So... I'll keep him." You defend. Tom chuckles 

"Who is that? Is that Auntie Y/N/N?" You glance up just in time to see a tan little boy move into your line of sight, giggling. You smile up at him, 

"My little Hunter!" Gil chuckles as you take his little boy, laying him in your lap to tickle him. Tom laughs along as the little boy squeals and Gil leans in to kiss your cheek and then Ivey's, 

"Bout time you showed." 

"Mmm, Minah kept changing his outfit." He mumbles. You hug Hunter into you, smiling as Tom ruffles his hair, 

"Why didn't she come?" Harrison asks. Gil rolls his eyes, 

"Uhm, her mom's in town. But... I don't think she would've come anyways." He tells him. Ivey cocks her head sympathetically, 

"Still having problems?" 

"Yes, and she wants another baby like that'll magically save our relationship." He remarks. You smile up at him, 

"Well I dunno about you but I think this little one is great." You tease, tickling Hunter again. Gil's smile returns when Hunter giggles, 

"He's the only thing that keeps me sane." He tells you. Tom nods, 

"That's how it works." Reaching out again, Tom brushes long strands of hair from Hunter's eyes, 

"I think Wyatt and Mason went to Mason's room. You wanna go see?" You ask him. He nods, squirming from your arms and running off. Scarlett catches him in the doorway, standing on her toes and pressing a hand to his head. She smiles before walking to the table you all sit at, 

"Are we having fun? I see there's only one kiddo here right now. Hi sweet boy." 

"He's not so sweet right now." Ivey mumbles as Scarlett leans over her shoulder and coos into the blanket in her lap. Surprisingly, the little one smiles a toothless smile up at his aunt, the smile growing wider when she reaches down and pokes his nose, 

"Not feelin good baby?" Ivey shakes her head, 

"Colic still." 

"The gripe water didn't work?" Scarlett asks, 

"Very briefly." Ivey confirms. Scarlett clicks her tongue, 

"Damn. Poor thing." Ivey nods, rocking the bundle. When both girls look up, they find you smiling at them. Ivey giggles, 

"What?" You shake your head, blinking tears away, 

"Nothing... just wondering how we got here. What happened to the girls I was introduced to eleven or so years ago? We were so young and carefree and look at us now. We're all moms. We're all wives and killing it all." Tom hums, reaching out to brush the stray tear that falls away. Ivey clicks her tongue, blinking rapidly, 

"Oh babes. You pregnant and me coming down from postpartum doesn't help this shit." She moves in, laying her head over your shoulder. Scarlett whines before she's brushing Tom aside and wrapping her arms around you and Ivey. Phoebe's heeled boots click as she rushes in to join the group hug, Owen, in Ivey's arms cooing up at her too. She smiles, 

"I know I was quite the party girl but... these little ones are the best things we could ever do. Ten... almost eleven, twelve when I get a clear head, these are our greatest accomplishments." She tells the three of you. You nod, pressing her hand over your belly, 

"Definitely." Your baby boy kicks out against her hand in agreement, making the four of you giggle. Tom smiles too, watching you and the girls hug before you part and you take his hand, squeezing and pressing it to your belly. He hums as he rubs the bump, 

"He's gonna be a rambunctious little thing. Reckon we'll be exhausted after chasing just him around." He says, scooting closer to you. You smile, reaching up to drape your arm over the back of his chair, trailing up his back, 

"Well you're the one that had the years of experience of chasing girls around so I think you're suited for the job daddy." His smile widens, 

"Please never mention that in front of the kids. I don't need my little girls knowing and my little boys thinking it's okay that their dad was a womanizer in this very gender equalizing, accepting time." He murmurs. Leaning into him, you kiss his cheek, 

"I promise not to." 

"Thank you." Scarlett, who had previously walked away, starts back towards you, wide smile on her face, 

"I have another tiny slice of cake. I know you and baby boy want it Y/N." You gasp, holding your hands out, 

"Oh my God yes, you're a lifesaver!" You squeal. Tom watches, chuckling softly as you snatch the thin slice of chocolate cake with vanilla buttercream frosting from your sister-in-law. You offer some to him, but he shakes his head. He glances up at the bouncy house, clearing his throat after a moment, 

"Uh oh. The sugar monster's coming. You made a grave mistake accepting cake behind her back like that." You glance up, watching Harper trot towards you, climbing back into her father's lap. He holds her steady moving his legs closer to you to allow her to chomp the piece of cake from your fork. He tucks hair behind her ear, 

"That's good huh lovey? You are never getting to bed tonight little one." You giggle, watching a sparkle flash through Harper's vibrant brown eyes, 

"But with her daddy's puppy dog eyes, no one can resist her." You reason. He nods and leans in to kiss her cheek, 

"Well that's for sure." He murmurs. Once you've finished the cake, Tom holds Harper close, the little one allowing her daddy to love on her. He glances at you and raises an eyebrow and you know exactly what he's asking. The second she saw the cookies upon entrance, it's all she was stuck on for a while. She's such a daddy's girl because he spoils her and you just know he's asking if he can give her a cookie because she's been so good with no tantrums. You chew the inside of your lip, 

"Just one." 

"That's all I'm asking for anyways." He confirms. You nod, 

"Fine then. Nothing more though." He nods, pulling her from his shoulder, 

"Harp, I have a surprise for you, you wanna know what it is?" He asks her. She nods, standing on his thighs, holding onto his hands. He smiles, "You want a cookie? I know you wanted one earlier." Her eyes light up and she nods, bouncing on his legs gently. He chuckles, 

"Alright sweet girl, let's get you one then, yeah?" She nods again, clinging to him as he stands and your heart flutters. To believe that the same man that fought you on a relationship and constantly pushed you away, is now holding your two year old daughter to his hip at a kid's birthday party is beyond imagination, and it is the most beautiful thing ever. 

                                                         --- 

You smile as Tom grabs your wrist, pulling you flush to his body, 

"I know you're exhausted love, and I'll go get you some ice cream after the kids are in bed but... I missed seeing you with all of our friends. You looked stunning all glowing and pregnant out there." He tells you, pressing a hand to your belly. You smile, reaching up to stroke his cheek, 

"You're the sweetest." His smile widens before he leans down to kiss you, 

"I've spent a long ass time loving you and it's not going anywhere anytime soon. Especially when you're pregnant with my baby. You and those three... almost four in there, I'd kill for." He reminds you. You sigh, 

"I really lucked out in the husband department then huh?" You ask. He chuckles softly, 

"Guess so, yeah." Popping open the passenger side door, Tom waits until you climb inside to close you in. He climbs in beside you quickly, turning the car on before Mia speaks up, 

"Daddy?" 

"Yes love?" He asks, turning in his seat to face her, 

"Can we listen to Frozen?" 

"No," Wyatt speaks up, "put on Cars." 

"How about we meet in the middle and settle for some Brother Bear or... Lion King?" Tom poses, settling the argument your kids'll inevitably have. And it works. Tom finds the soundtrack for Brother Bear in his phone, quickly shuffling it and stuffing the device in the cup holder. His Spotify has slowly become Disney movie playlists since he's become a dad and he loves every second of it. Harper swings her feet, staring out her window as she hums along to a song, Tom watching her in the rear view mirror with a smile plastered on his lips. You reach up and stroke over the back of his neck, leaning over to kiss his cheek, 

"You are so perfect Tom Holland." You tell him. He draws his eyes off the road for just a moment to look at you, 

"Well that makes two of us Y/N Holland." He says, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles. Squeezing his fingers in yours, you sigh and twist in your seat to look at your babies. 

Wyatt resembles his daddy the most. He has the same signature curls and eyes and you can already see he's starting to inherit the same nose Sam has and those Holland freckles have emerged. He's definitely a little mama's boy and with the way the girls favor Tom, you hope Oliver will follow in his big brother's footsteps. Mia has Tom's eyes too, but her features resemble you a little bit more. She has your hair type and color, and your nose and eye shape. Tom loves that about her. Harper has more of your features as well, but she's a near perfect combination of the both of you, a gorgeous little girl that Tom coddles the most because she'll let him. He's been in love with all of your babies since the day they were conceived, the most amazing father and husband, getting up at ungodly hours to let you sleep in and him take care of the kids. He's always been an early riser because of golf and now, being a dad, he has the skill to master it like he was never sure he'd be able to. His true calling in life, the cure for his anxiety, has been you and his babies. 

Dragging his hand back up to your lips, you kiss it, 

"I love you so much Tom Holland." You whisper. He smiles, taking his eyes off the road for just a second to look at you, 

"And I love you. More than you'll ever know." He replies, dragging your hand up to kiss it. Tears spring into your eyes again as you stare into his eyes and recognize that boy you met nearly eleven years ago, the one that only wanted to be with you sexually and wanted to avoid you emotionally. You recognize the boy that tore apart your relationship again and again, but always chose to get better for you. And now he's the most perfect husband and father. And that's all that matters to you. 

Yes, you were nervous moving to Seattle, starting new, but your friends, Tom, they've made it easier to live. They've changed your life for the better. They’ve given you immense amounts of love and Tom, himself, has given you a love like no other that created four beautiful babies. And you wouldn't change a thing. Moving from Beverly Hills to Seattle, has proved worth it.

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[imerdwarf]

Under The Wakandan Sky

Requested by @tieddown-withbattleshipchains: Hii <3 I hope it’s okay to send in another Buck imagine. Maybe where you’re a technician and you get send to Wakanda to help Shuri with his new arm. During the time there you get really close to Buck and he starts opening up to you and recovers really fast. One night he sees you then sitting at the lake where his cabin is, watching the stars, so he joins you and you end up sharing a meaningful kiss. The next morning Shuri looks out for you and sees you coming out of his cabin with a grin? :)

Pairings: Recovery!Bucky X Reader

Warnings: Some cute fluffness 💜🥺

Author's Notes: My dear @tieddown-withbattleshipchains you are always welcome to send in as many requests as you wish! 💜 Thank you very much for this beautiful request and I hope you like it 💜

Divider was made by me.

It's only been a couple of weeks since you've arrived in Wakanda to help Shuri work on Bucky Barnes new arm. The beauty of Wakanda was out of this world, the yellow and orange sunsets that seemed to bounce off the rippling water of the lake that made this decision totally worth it.

The neighbours were friendly, mostly some bleating goats that loved to munch on your free slices of bread and headbutt you for attention.

Your hut was adequate for you, room for a small chair and table just inside and a small single bed at the back. The pillared candles made it even more so cosy and your human neighbour next door made it all the better.

Bucky lived in the hut next to yours. He was quiet and you rarely heard a peep out of him. Some mornings you'd find him digging holes in his farmland to bury some potatoes and other vegetables. T'Challa had told you Barnes wanted to contribute as much as he could, as a thank you to everyone for not giving up on him.

Bucky was somewhat shy around you at first. Shuri joked that you rendered the man speechless with your good looks and could see the heart eyes palpitating from his eye sockets.

The truth was it was exactly the same for you, every time he would enter the lab your heart would beat so loudly that you were so sure he could hear them. Your hands would also turn clammy and your sentences would come out jumbled.

It was on the fifth week of your stay that you really started to notice the change. Bucky was becoming more open with you, telling you snippets from his past, the littlest details that he could remember he would come straight to you with them. You were so proud of him. He was forgiving himself for all the things hydra made him do, he seeked forgiveness from Tony but that was still early days.

Bucky was handfeeding some of his goats while you looked on from your hut. It was the first time you've seen him smile this much. His laugh reached your ears and pulled on your heart strings when one goat was becoming frisky and tried it's hardest to pull his outfit off.

As the days went on, you would find yourself spending more and more time with Bucky. Taking midnight strolls, sitting outside your huts and just talking until sunrise if that's what he needed. The more time you spent with him and got to know the real him, the more stronger your feelings were becoming and it was the scariest thing you've ever experienced. Shuri knew all the signs and she has been telling you since you arrived that he liked you.

Maybe Shuri had a point, maybe, just maybe there was some kind of possibility of Bucky liking you.

Bucky was recovering more quickly, he had more good days than bad and his arm was nearly ready for testing. It was painted in a matte black with a gold design that Shuri designed. You made the suggestion of adding an indent to the ring finger should Bucky ever choose to get married one day in the future. Of course, this prompted a wedding joke from Shuri that maybe you would be his spouse and started to tell you how weddings worked here in Wakanda.

On the seventh week, Bucky's new arm was finally functioning thanks to your help. It was stored away safely in a brief case, ready to be fitted the next day. His scars were still healing, and the doctors in Wakanda still had a lot of work to do to make them less painful. But at least this arm was built for comfort.

It was also the summer months, the hot humidity kept you awake at night and you found yourself sitting on the bank of the lake staring up at the bright twinkling stars. The calm water would ripple occasionally from the dozen of fish that lived in the lake and the distant bleating of the goats brought a smile to your face.

This was most definitely not something you'd find back in New York, and the longer you stayed here, the more sure you were that you didn't really want to leave. You realised a while ago that going home wouldn't be the same anyway, especially if it meant you had to leave Bucky here.

The ruffled grass from behind you made you look over your shoulder. You didn't even attempt to stop the growing smile when you saw Bucky approach you, looking handsome as ever with his bun half up that the children did while he was sleeping.

"Hey you. What are you doing up?" You asked him, your voice seemed to evaporate in the quietness of the air.

"My hut was like an oven." Bucky laughed and took a seat next to you. A bead of sweat glistened on his forehead and down his chest from the summer's heat. It really did feel like you were suffocating.

His right arm brushed against yours and despite the hot air, a shiver ran down your spine. The silence between you was comfortable, but it did feel like there were unspoken words between you.

"It's beautiful." You meant the clear night sky, but your eyes were focused on Bucky. He was grateful it was dark out to hide the rosy pink blush he was sure would appear on his cheeks any second from your words.

"So are you." Bucky licked his lips. His eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips, a silent question that you answered by closing the gap and connecting your lips with his. Bucky couldn't help but moan into your mouth from how perfect it felt. This was something he had wanted to do from the second he laid eyes on you. His envisions of how your lips would feel and taste became a reality and for you, it felt like fireworks were going off in the pit of your stomach.

Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck to deepen the kiss. Your lips were tingling and you don't remember anyone ever kissing you so passionately, with so much raw emotion before.

The way he was kissing you was like he was pouring all of his feelings out, silently telling you how he felt and you reciprocated those feelings by kissing him even harder and moving to sit in his lap.

**The next morning**

Shuri was looking all over the place for you. In just an hour it was time to attach Bucky's arm and give him some new clothes. Shuri checked your hut multiple times, and almost gave up when she saw you were practically skipping out of Bucky's hut with a super wide dopey grin on your face and oh my, were those hickeys on your neck?

"Eh, eh!" Shuri teased, giggling when you blushed and waved her off. "I told you it would happen!"

"Yes, yes you did. Please don't make it awkward for him."

"Aw don't worry, I'm sure the goats will tell me the juicy details." Shuri laughed with you and threw Bucky a double thumbs up when he walked out of his hut feeling like a brand new man.

The two of you couldn't wait to embark on a new adventure together. The future was bright, like the burning sun that was shining down over Wakanda. And it was under the Wakandan stars that held all of your secrets.

[desiredmalfoy]

True Love Is Eternal (D.M x Reader + F.W. x Reader)

Pairing: Draco x Reader, Fred Weasley x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Note this is going to be changing from 1st person to 2nd and 3rd person.

Enjoy the final installment of the Dear Malfoy Series! Fred’s POV! Thank you for everyone who has shown love to my writing! You don’t know how much I appreciate it (it means a lot to me). 

Dear Malfoy [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]  (Masterlist)

The invitation to your wedding invitation came suddenly in the mail. It came addressed to the Weasley family, which I guess includes me. No, it did include me. You put that in the invitation. I didn’t even realize that I was holding in my breath as I opened up the intricate wedding invitation. The Malfoys are not sparing any expense on this. He would give you nothing but the best in life. He had been fine for the past couple of years, he had managed to get you out of his head for the longest time. He had even been in a serious relationship but that did work out. But it seems like the news of your wedding brought all these feelings back. Maybe all these old feelings resurfacing because of the news of your marriage but not because he actually still loved her. Or maybe in the back of his mind, he’d always wish you would have a moment of revelation where you realized who truly loved him.

                                 We are honored to invite you to

                                       the unity of marriage of

                                         Draco Lucius Malfoy 

                                                       &

                                        (Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N)

Your name is written in beautiful intricate gold cursive. Taunting me with every letter written. He ran his fingers over where your name was printed, reminiscing of the moments he had with you.

It was the middle of summer and the both of you were laying on the grass outside the burrow. You were looking up at the night sky admiring the millions of stars. Moments like these were the ones he hoped were forever.

“What do you want to do when we leave this place”,  Fred had asked her out of nowhere. 

“Get my own place. I love my parents but I want to have my own space.” 

“Oh! And get a kitten!” (Y/N) excitedly added. “I really want to get a kitten.”

“I’ll get you as many as you would like”, he said as he hugged her tightly.

“Is this your way of asking me to move in with you”, she teased him and his cheeks had become red from blushing. 

“Not yet but one day in the future hopefully.” He answered as he envisioned them with a few cats and maybe a baby or two. “And you know I’ll have my shop by then too.”

He wished he could go to the past. 

——-

Fred dwelled on the thought of going to your wedding. The invitation had been extended to the entire family, including him. After everything that had occurred, (y/n) had always been on good terms with the rest of the Weasley family. She had even eventually forgiven George for not telling her. George had explained to him that she forgave him to let go of the past and move on. 

Fred had thought he would keep on seeing you every summer as the previous ones before. You had always come to stay at least for a couple of days to see Ron and Ginny before you dated him. But the summer after his 7th year and (y/n)’s 5th it all changed. He anticipated your arrival but didn’t want to ask any of his siblings if they knew you’d be coming over. He stupidly thought that he would be able to at least fix your friendship that summer. It wasn’t until he had overheard a conversation between Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and Harry that he knew you weren’t going to show up.

“I received an owl from her today.”, Ginny said excitedly as she sat down, a white envelope in her hand. 

“How is she? I miss her greatly this summer.” Hermione asked as she reached for that same envelope from Ginny. 

“She said she’s definitely enjoying Paris with Draco.”

“He took her to Paris”, Ron asked, shocked at the revelation. “The bloke has only been dating her for like eight months and he’s already taking her on expensive trips?’

“It’s Malfoy. Did you expect anything less”, Harry answered with a slight eye roll. “He’d buy her a castle if she would just let him.”

“I knew Malfoy always goes all out but I didn’t think he would take her on vacation so soon!”

“What do you expect?” Ginny laughed at Ron’s still confused expression. “He’s madly in love with her. He’s even nice to Harry of all people just for her.”

“That was the most surprising thing of all”, Hermione agreed with her with a giggle. “Who knew all it took to stop Malfoy from being such a prat was for (y/n) to date him.”

“I mean he even called Harry by his first name the last time we saw him instead of Potter”, Ron added to the conversation. 

“I still miss her this summer”, Ginny complained with a groan. “It’s not the same without her.”

That was the beginning of you spending every summer with Draco instead of at the Burrow with the Weasley’s like every other summer. 

———

He was walking along Hogsmeade after a long day of work. He was headed towards the Three Broomsticks to meet up with George who had taken a few days off from the shop that day. He hadn’t been feeling well the past few days and Fred had told him to stay home. He was finally feeling better and to celebrate, George had asked him to meet there for a couple of drinks. It was a pretty calm evening with a few people walking about the area. Fred mostly went unnoticed by others just trying to get home for the night. 

That’s when he saw you coming out of the dress store with your mother and Narcissa Malfoy by your side. (Y/N) had a huge grin on her face as she carried a large white box with a beautiful ribbon to tie it all up. It was your wedding dress. He just knew it was that. A large smile decorated your face as you seemed ecstatic about the contents of the box. He turned quickly into a different alleyway to avoid running into you. 

He was going to be needing something stronger than butterbeer tonight. 

——-

Fred and George were currently on their way to their parent’s home to visit them for the evening. Life had been hectic and he hadn’t had a chance to see them in a couple of days. Plus it was one night where he would not have to cook for himself and George. Nothing beats a home-cooked meal from your mum on days like these. 

They didn’t even bother knocking as they entered the home. 

“Mum your favorites have arrived”, Fred announced loudly teasingly as he saw Ron sitting on the couch. 

“I didn’t know Charlie and Bill were dropping by”, Ron said without lifting his gaze from the book on his lap.

“That hurts Ronnie”, George played around as he wiped a fake tear from his cheek.

“Anyway, where is mum?”

“They’re upstairs trying on the bridesmaid dressed for the future Mrs. Malfoy’s wedding”, Ron said with a snicker. “Mione and Ginny I mean.”

“I still can’t believe that it’s coming up so soon”, Fred responded as he sat next down to his brother. 

“I am just excited about the food”, George said with a laugh. “I know it will be good.”

“Nice to know you care about me”, a teasing voice said from the stairs. Fred knew that voice and giggle anywhere. They all turned to where the voice was coming from.

“You know what I mean”, George said with a smile. He got up and greeted (y/n) with a hug. “It’s nice to see you again.”

He caught a glimpse of your engagement ring shining in light. Only the best for you.

“I’ve been busy”, she answered simply. “Weddings are a big thing to plan. Especially one that is only a about a two weeks away”

“How the joke shop?” (Y/N) questioned George. “Ginny has told me it’s been going amazingly for you two.”

“Right it has been”, George agreed. “Those Hogwarts kids are great customers. Right, Freddie?”

“Way to make us seem old Georgie”, Fred laughed as he looked directly at her. “It’s nice to see you (y/n).”

“Nice to see you too Fred”, she said, giving him a friendly smile. Not the same one she would give him years ago. 

“Are you staying for dinner darling”, mum said as she came down the stairs with Ginny and Hermione trailing just behind. 

“I’m sorry Mrs. Weasley”, (y/n) apologized. “I would love to but I had promised my parents I’d be eating with them tonight. Plus I still have to get home and see if Draco is back from work.”

You’d made a home with him already. One that he had promised you all those years ago.

“Don’t worry darling.” Mum said with a gentle smile. “You’re invited to dinner whenever you would like.”

“Thank you so much.” (Y/N) said as she hugged mum goodbye. She waved to everyone else and she was gone out the door. 

———

The day of the wedding finally came and he had decided to go. He wanted an opportunity to see you dressed in white. Fred walked over with his family to the Malfoy Manor. They’re escorted to the garden in the back to wait for the beginning of the ceremony. It was decorated with your favorite flowers, white roses. Flowers that symbolized innocence, youthfulness, eternal loyalty. 

The eternal loyalty you were about to pledge to Malfoy for the rest of your lives. 

Fred anxiously waited for the ceremony to start. He looked around the space and saw many of his former classmates interacting with each other. It wasn’t long before the ceremony started. 

Draco enters….

Your wedding party enters….

Everyone stands for your entrance….

The wedding march starts….

You walk down the aisle hand in hand with your father. You looked stunning in your wedding dress. Darling how I wish I was the one watching you walk towards me. You don’t spare a glance to where I’m standing. I’m probably the farthest thing from your mind. And I’m glad you don’t because I don’t think my heart would take it. He watches on a Malfoy cries at the sight of you walking towards him. Fred knew if he was in his place he’d probably do the same.

Because even though all I want to do is run up to that alter and tell you exactly how I feel, I simply won’t. I've seen how happy you are with him, and I can't ever do that to you. Even though I sit here to watch you wed another man and break my heart in the process. 

Why am I even here? Why did I even come? 

He watches as you pledge your love for Draco. Vowing to stay with him every moment of your lives together. He watched as you said “I do” through your tears. 

You make such a lovely bride. Maybe in another lifetime or reality, you’re mine. But in this one darling, we just weren’t meant to be. 

Maybe in another lifetime, I’ll be able to hold you close and never let go. In this one, I foolishly took you for granted and let you slip from my arms into the firm grasp of another man. 

I knew I shouldn’t have come, but I couldn’t resist seeing you in white. 

Because sometimes two souls are only meant to just be in each other’s life for a while; awaiting the lifetime where they’ll meet again but this time forever. 

Alternative Ending:

Fred stood alone in his shop tonight. Wanting to throw himself into work to ignore the pain in his chest. He took another swing of the bottle of fire whisky in an attempt to drown out all the intrusive thoughts running through his mind. He spent the evening thinking about how he wished it was him marrying you, waiting at the end of the aisle. You’d be getting married next week and he couldn’t do anything about it. He knew he messed up all those years ago, and he’d do anything to turn back time. 

He heard the door chime as someone opened the door. He must have forgotten to lock up in his current state. 

“We’re closed”, he yelled out towards the door. He didn’t bother to lift his head to talk to them. Not wanting to be seen in this state. 

“Freddie?”

This caused an instant reaction from him. He’d know that voice anywhere.

“(Y/N/N)”, he whispered. He was afraid you’d disappear at any moment. A hallucination.

“I missed you. I need you.”

“I missed you too.”

I know it’s not the best alternative ending but I kind of left it open for the reader to decide. It is a little something for those who would choose Fred instead. Do they realize they actually loved Fred after all this time? Is Fred just losing it and imagining this? It’s up to you to decide!

Click here for Valentine’s Day Shipping

Taglist: @keepsmilingandstayhappy @sarcasticallywitty15 @adrianpuceyishot @dracoismybabey @little-me204 @loveforreading @stephaniewinchester-weasley @cronen 

Reminder: None of my work can be reposted anywhere. It doesn’t matter if you give credit, please do not repost!

[tedturneriscrazy]

🎶Knock, Knock, Knockin' On Hooty's Door🎵

I wonder if anything will happen in this episode.🙂

(I say as if I didn't watch the episode twice before going to bed and writing this post)

I don't think I'll ever not be amused by the way Hooty just...does things with his face

Seems like he found a thesaurus at some point

Okay so it's canonically spelled "Hootsifer," good to know

Also, this is really all we get of Lilith, huh?

His little hoot/coo at Lilith's letter❤❤❤

To borrow a meme format: If I had a nickel for every time Alex Hirsch was involved in a show where one of the characters was experiencing pubescent voice cracks, I'd have two nickels, which isn't very much but it's weird that it happened twice

Eda's face🤣

As much as this bit is played for laughs, Eda's clearly still shaken by what happened last episode

Jeez, Luz, priorities /j

Pictured: Hooty

The way King talks about being pelleted implies this is something Hooty does on the regular

Hooty's plan to help King is literally a Buzzfeed quiz? Okay then

Betcha never expected lore from Hooty, eh?

"DO NOT INTERRUPT"

Officially a "type of worm"

The dance being a grievous insult wasn't exactly from nowhere, but still funny nonetheless

WE DON'T TALK ABOUT THE FUCKING COCCOON

Tiny Nose playing Switch definitely seems to be drawing from Dana's real life experiences

Wait, Hooty and Tiny Nose are friends?

Well shit, turns out she could use magic this whole time. Guess her going Super Saiyan wasn't just the power glyph.

I am extremely skeptical of your medical credentials, TN

I have so many questions about the methodology they used for the blood test(s)

I think Hooty may have misinterpreted what King was looking for

I'm still amazed at how King has had, and continues to have, moments in the show with some of the greatest emotional weight

Ooh, sound powers!

"IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A CRUMBLE!!!"

It just occurred to me that that segment consisted mostly of Alex Hirsch talking to himself

Hello not-at-all obvious setup

Today I learned that Hooty is the baker of the house. Maybe he'd critique Amity's fairy pie.

Aaaaand there's the sleep inducing

Oh shit

In hindsight the Owl Beast being part of a dream sequence is rather obvious

Wow, Eda, tell us how you really feel about the Owl Beast

Oh we're just gonna ride aboard the Trauma Express today, huh?

Oh, I guess Lilith did make an appearance, after all

Damn, Gwen, not even looking

Oh shit dad issues

Sandy Cohen?! (To anyone who gets that reference, hi. How are your 30s treating you?)

Well, I know who Peter Gallagher voices now, anyway

Oh dear...

(Also, bright flashing lights triggering the curse? There's an epilepsy allegory in here somwhere)

Blood and eye injury? Gotta stretch that Y7 rating

Now we have some context for that look on Eda's face when Lilith mentioned their dad: good old fashioned guilt!

I desparately want to make a "Dude, you're getting a Dell!" joke, but I'm better than that

New memory! Raine!

Oh no...

I get the feeling I'll hate this part, too

They were exes!😢 Guess the fandom called that one

The reasoning for them being exes is understandable, all too real, and goddamn heartbreaking

That said, the fact they never stopped loving each other🥺😢😭

I do hope we can see Raine again under less...traumatic circumstances. Maybe that wedding that was mentioned?

Oh shit, are we getting into the Owl Beast's memories?!?! What a tweest!

Bet nobody expected Cloaked Moonface to show up in the frickin Hooty episode

(Also, holy shit I briefly forgot this was the Hooty episode)

Who is this mysterious cloaked figure? And why are they so tall and long?

So the curse was a sealed beast this whole time. Damn.

And it was just picked up as beach junk to sell as a trinket. So much for it being connected to Belos. (Not that people will stop trying to do so)

Who had "experiencing sympathy for the Owl Beast" on their Bingo cards for this episode? Yeah, me neither.

And here we have the necessary Eda coming to terms with her curse segment. More accurately, Eda and the curse coming to terms with each other.

Goddamnit why does it have to be cute

"It's like sandpaper" IT'S LIKE A CAT I FUCKING CAN'T

Insert Steamed Hams reference here to kill the mood

New transformation!

Oh no she's hot!

No, Hooty, you made it surprisingly much, much better!

She might have a problem pushing people away and holding onto guilt, but Eda always knows that she looks damn good

Oh right, Luz having girl problems. Fuck, so much is happening in this episode!

"Cotton-candy-haired Goddess" LUZ! 🤣

Attuned to other people's emotions = being a fucking creeper

Oh Luz, what happened to you back home?

Also, 99.999% certain Amity would love your cheesiness

That's...rather morbid, Hooty

So much lore development, including the fact the Owl House has a basement

Classic inanimate object silhouette fakeout gag. Subversion in 3...2...1...

There it is!

I can't imagine being pelleted is a fun experience.

Honestly I have so many questions about how Hooty got Amity there in the first place, but I'm not so sure I actually want to know the answers to any of them...

Cue much panicking

Wow, I'm really getting some Into the Bunker flashbacks

Oh this is gonna be amazing isn't it

I commend Luz for not actually dropping dead of embarrassment

Seriously, how can Hooty set all this up so fast yet not hold a pen?!?!?!

Poor Luz, she thinks this is destroying her chances

Meanwhile Amity is just "Oh, Titan, is this actually happening?!"

The way she's fixing her hair!❤

Goddamnit Luz let this play out, she's so clearly into this!

"Again?!" Okay who do I have to kill?

Luz is luzing it

Nooooooo....

JUST TALK FOR FUCK'S SAKE (aka how like 95% of issues in literally any plot could be solved)

Noooo Amity's so heartbroken right now💔

This isn't what either of them wanted!

To be fair, Hooty, Luz had a part in this too. Not that she can be blamed entirely. Poor thing clearly had some awful experiences back home...

Now Hooty is McFucking losing it

Why did I think he was gonna say "Looks like I'm gonna have to JUMP!" I think I've watched too much Homestar Runner (jk there's no such thing)

Those pulsating organs are still gross

Eda swooping in to save her son (No, really, he actually is now)

I'll say things get weird when Hooty gets upset!

Yes, King! Save them with your voice powers!

Damn that is some romantic lighting, and Luz is enjoying the eye candy (cotton candy, if you will)

Luz's reaction to Harpy!Eda is the family-friendly summation of how the fandom has reacted.

Hooty really just tearing up the landscape in remorse

Mother-daughter moment about love life!

I appreciate not just Eda's encouragement but her actually asking Luz what she wanted

God, Eda is best mom

Also, OH FUCK IS THIS HAPPENING?!

OH SHIT

THESE ADORABLY AWKWARD NERDS❤💜💙

"I'm not as cool as you think" could be interpreted as self-deprecating, but here it seems...oddly reassuring?

The way Luz eloquently says how she wants Amity in her future...beautiful❤

Luz making some good faces

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

YOU CUTE DORKS I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

THERE IT IS AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

LOOK HOW HAPPY SHE IS

WE WERE LOSING OUR SHIT OVER A PECK ON THE CHEEK THREE WEEKS AGO AND NOW LOOK WHERE WE ARE HOLY FUCK

Awkwardness is still there, but that's to be expected

BET Y'ALL DIDN'T EXPECT THAT TRAILER SHOT TO BE IN THE HOOTY EPISODE HUH

THE WAY LUZ RUBS AMITY'S HAND😭😭😭😭😭

(And yeah, it's gonna still be scary, but only because it promises to be so wonderful)

Let's give it up for Hootsifer, goddamn!

Let'a also appreciate just how fucking funny it is that Lumity becomes official in the Hooty episode

Fus ro WEH!

Hooty actually saying "Luz's new GF" out loud...

In just about any other show the love interests getting together would be a climax/culmination of the entire plot. Here? It's actually used to advance the plot, and that is brilliant!

Dana Terrace and the crew really just knocking it out of the park again and again, huh

"They're adorable, and deserve all the happiness!" Well said, Hootsifer. Well said.

Probably for the best they had Hooty promise that. As much as what happened/progressed, there was a lot of property damage.

OH SHIT ONCE AGAIN

King's dad/relative! And he's voiced by Kevin Michael Richardson!

GODDAMNIT HOOTY

Wow. Just...wow. This episode.

King has voice powers! Harpy!Eda! Lumity are girlfriends for real!!!!

How do you pack so much into a single episode?! And so expertly?!

I had my suspicions before, but this confirms it: The Owl House is the greatest show of all time.

And we have two episodes left until the hiatus! And 11 episodes in the season after that! What are we in for?!?!?!

I, for one, can't wait to find out!

[lumosandnoxwriting]

Enough - George Weasley

Title: Enough Pairing: George x Fem!Reader, Adrian Pucey x Fem!Reader Summary: Losing the girl of his dreams was never in George’s plan, and watching her marry someone else certainly wasn’t either. He can only hope that it’s not too late to make things right. Warning: mentions of vomiting, alcohol abuse and comments that can be references to child abuse, but nothing is specifically mentioned.  A/N: I combined two different requests for this one because they were pretty similar! So this is for the anons who wanted George crashing the wedding off the woman he loves! Feedback is always welcome!! Tags: @feltondarling​ @pandaxnienke​ @raerae27​ @thefifthweasley 

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

“There’s my girl,” George greets happily as Y/N skips towards him out of the Arithmancy classroom. He’s still slightly out of breath from running there from Herbology, but it doesn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around Y/N’s waist and lifting her up slightly.

“George!” Y/N giggles, wrapping her arms around his neck when he finally puts her back on the ground. “You can’t have missed me that much,” she teases, before pulling him down into a brief kiss. “You could have just waited for me in Transfiguration.”

George kisses Y/N again briefly before he grabs her hand, intertwining their fingers. They head towards McGonagall’s classroom slowly as the hall starts to fill with students heading towards the last lesson of the day. “I could have waited for you. But I wanted to walk you to class. I’m a gentleman after all, Y/N.”

“Mhm, sure you are,” Y/N teases, a pink flush on her cheeks.

George truly is her prince charming come to life. Despite the fact that they’ve been together for over three years, George is still finding ways to surprise Y/N and make her feel special. Every evening before a big test there’s a red rose and a bar of her favorite chocolate on her pillow, whenever she gets ready to leave school for a holiday break one of George’s jumpers ends up folded neatly in her trunk and most days George runs across the castle to make sure he can walk Y/N to class, even if it makes him late for his own.

“You break my heart, Y/N,” he jokes, using his grip on her hand to twirl her in a circle. He watches as a smile spreads across her cheeks, his heart pounding in his chest.

From the moment he first talked to Y/N his heart has beat for her and only her. George often feels like he gets lost in a sea of Weasleys, like he’s the one everyone glazes over. To George it seems like all of his siblings stand out in some way, Bill is the oldest, Charlie has his cool job with the dragons, Percy is the smart one, Fred is the loud charming one, Ron is the goofball who’s friends with Harry Potter and of course Ginny is the strong willed younger sister, while he’s just kind of there. He’s always felt like an extension of Fred, he’s George of Fred and George. And he loves being half of the dynamic duo that they are, he loves causing mischief and chaos with his brother. But sometimes he wants to be just George.

Y/N was the first person to just see him. He remembers the day it happened like it was yesterday. It was dinner time, and most of the people at the Gryffindor table were watching Fred recount their great escape from Filch after they charmed his broom to fly away every time he tried to grab it. Everyone seemed to be entranced by him, except for Y/N. She was sitting on George’s other side, completely oblivious to Fred’s antics. She had nudged him and asked what he thought of the transfiguration quiz they’d had the day before. Despite the fact that they were in the same year, George had never spoken to Y/N. She was pretty quiet and kept to herself, far away from the chaos George and Fred created.

But that night she had sought George out, and it made butterflies erupt in his stomach. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but he enjoyed it all the same. They had sat there and talked about which transfiguration spells they found most useful until dinner was over, and they had to head back to the common room. From then on just the sight of Y/N increased George’s heart rate and made butterflies appear in his stomach. Every time he felt himself getting lost in Fred’s shadow Y/N was there, usually with some kind of thought provoking question that would distract him.

When he finally got the courage to ask her on a date they had sat in the Three Broomsticks for hours, sharing shy glances and talking about anything that came to mind. George had asked Y/N how she knew transfiguration was his favorite class, and she revealed that she often watched him in the common room, and it was the only book he ever seemed to open. George had kissed her right there in the middle of the pub, his heart feeling like it was about to pound out of his chest. Y/N had seen him. Just him. And it made George feel like the most special person in the world. From that day on George didn’t care that most people only saw him as that Weasley boy. Or that he was only known to the masses as George of Fred and George. Because Y/N saw him as just George, and that was enough for him.

They reach the Transfiguration classroom then, and George pulls Y/N in for another brief kiss. “You’re my everything,” he breathes, holding her face in his hands.

“Everything okay, George?” Y/N asks, turning her head to press a kiss to his palm. While it’s normal for George to be affectionate, he usually saves such sentiments for when they’re alone and away from prying ears. Mostly Fred’s ears, but it’s unlike him to say something so meaningful while there’s students swirling around them.

Before George has a chance to answer McGonagall is sticking her head out of the classroom door and ushering them inside so class can begin.

-

“Next week? What do you mean we’re leaving next week?” George asks Fred incredulously.

Fred shushes George and looks to make sure no one heard before leaning in closer to his brother. “Yes, next week. I’m tired of dealing with mega bitch Umbridge and everything else is ready to go. The sooner we get into the space in Diagon Alley the sooner we can open up business and start taking over the world.”

George sighs and rubs his hands over his face. “I thought we would have more time. Leave closer to the end of the school year.”

“You’re not chickening out on me, are you, Georgie?” Fred jokes. When George doesn’t say anything Fred’s face drops. “Are you?” he asks again, his tone more serious.

“I wouldn’t say chickening out,” George mumbles.  

Fred slams his fist down on the table, causing George to jump. “We’ve talked about this, George. We’ve dreamed about this, for years. I can’t do it without you, you know that. How can you just abandon me?”

“Oh, stop being such a drama queen,” George responds with an eyeroll. “I’m all in, of course I am.” He bites his lip. “It’s Y/N that I’m worried about.”

“You’re such a fucking sap George, honestly,” Fred teases, ruffling George’s hair. “So, you’re dipping out of school a few months early? What’s the big deal? She’ll graduate, you guys will get married and make a fuck ton of ginger babies. You think she’s going to stop loving you because you don’t finish school or something?”

The thought of his future with Y/N spikes George’s heart rate, and he has to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. “I don’t know. Something like that. What if she doesn’t think I’m good enough for her anymore? Or she forgets about me or something?”

“Now you’re being an idiot. Y/N is crazy in love with you, George. Like you’re the center of her universe sort of love. Mum and Dad kind of love.” Fred watches George for a moment, frowning when his brother refuses to meet his gaze. “Invite her to come with us if you’re so torn up about it, Georgie,” he suggests softly.

“What?” George asks, unable to believe what he’s hearing. Fred usually loves to tease George about how Y/N has him wrapped around her finger, and usually his remarks are accompanied by him pretending to crack a whip. George knows that it’s his way of showing his approval of their relationship, so it doesn’t bother him too much. But it doesn’t make it any less weird to hear Fred be so blatantly supportive of George and Y/N.

“Invite her along. Having an extra set of hands while we start everything up wouldn’t hurt, and Y/N is the perfect candidate. She’s way smarter than the two of us combined and she’s the perfect balance to all of our chaos. She’ll keep us grounded.” Fred rolls his eyes when George still doesn’t seem satisfied. “Okay, spill it. You clearly have been worrying about this for a while. What’s going on in that big ‘ol head of yours?”

George leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. His and Fred’s grand exit from school and how Y/N fits in to all of it has been weighing on his mind for weeks. The thought of bringing Y/N along crossed his mind ages ago, and as much as he wishes it was a viable option it’s not. For one, Y/N has always dreamed of being an Arithmancer. Arithmancy fascinates her to no end, and George has spent endless hours admiring her as she pours over different books, always making sure to listen to everything she tells him. He doesn’t want to take that away from her. She’ll need her NEWTS in order to work in the field, and if she comes to work at the joke shop now she’ll never be able to.

But mostly, he’s completely and utterly terrified of the joke shop failing. He and Fred have found success with their products within Hogwarts walls, but taking them out to the world at large is a huge risk. They’ve put every ounce of energy and what little money they have into it, and if it fails they’ll have nothing to fall back on. And George can’t subject Y/N to that. She deserves to have the world handed to her on a platter and even though George’s love for her reaches the end of the universe, that’s not enough to give her the life she deserves. They’ve talked about what they hope their future holds, and George wants to give Y/N everything her heart desires. But he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to do that, and his worst nightmare is letting her down.

“There’s a lot going on,” he admits honestly, choosing to ignore Fred’s tease. “I think I know what I have to do about Y/N and I’ve just been trying to deny it. But it’s the only option.”

“What’s that, George?” Fred asks, but he fears he might already know the answer.

George looks at Fred, a sullen look on his face. “I have to break up with her.”

-

“Tell me what’s wrong, Georgie. Please,” Y/N asks quietly, looking up at George.

It’s Saturday afternoon, and they’re laying together on George’s bed. It’s a Hogsmeade day, so they’re completely alone, just enjoying being together. George is laying on his back with Y/N cuddled on top of him, one of his hands is under her shirt, pressed against the small of her back while the other is holding one of her hands in his. He and Fred are leaving Monday afternoon, and George is trying to enjoy his last fleeting moments with Y/N.

“It’s nothing, baby. Just thinking about stuff,” he responds, his eyes refusing to leave the ceiling and meet hers.

Y/N presses a kiss to George’s bare chest before nuzzling the soft skin. “Thought we didn’t keep secrets from each other?” Ever since the day George walked with her to Transfiguration Y/N has been able to tell that something is off with him. Usually she can read him like an open book, and the fact that she can’t tell what’s going on in his head scares her.

George digs his fingers into the skin of Y/N’s back. He can feel her heartbeat against his chest, and he’s sure she can hear how loudly his heart is pounding in his. “Baby,” George coos, finally looking down at her. “Look at me, please.” When Y/N finally looks up at him George can see tears pooling in her eyes and it breaks his heart. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in this world. You know that, right?”

“George,” Y/N breathes, squeezing his hand tightly. Normally George confessing his love for Y/N makes her feel dizzy, and makes her heart beat out of her chest. But this feels different to her. Like it’s the last time he’s ever going to say those things to her. “Don’t do this, George. Please.”

George swallow thickly. “I can’t be with you anymore, Y/N. I’m not. I’m not good enough for you. I don’t deserve you and I never have. You deserve the universe and try as I might I’m not the person who can give that to you. I’ve been telling myself I am, but I’m just not, Y/N.”

Tears stream down both of their faces and when Y/N surges forward to kiss George she can feel his tears mixing with hers on her cheeks. She kisses him hard, desperately trying to get him to return it. “Georgie please. I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything before.”

“I know you do,” George says sadly. “But I don’t deserve your love. I’m sorry, Y/N. But it’s over between us.” George watches as Y/N scrambles out of his bed before turning on his side so he doesn’t have to see the woman he loves walk out of his life for good. The sound of the door slamming shut behind Y/N punches a crater in George’s chest, and he finally lets himself sob into his pillow.

-

“Turn that frown upside down,” Y/N’s mother tuts as she enters Y/N’s bedroom. “Today is supposed to be a day to celebrate. You should be happy.”

Y/N is sitting in front of the vanity in her bedroom, and she locks eyes with her mother in the mirror. Today is her graduation party, a day Y/N had been looking forward to since her parents started planning it at the beginning of the school year. But then George Weasley shattered her heart to pieces two months ago and she’s failed to find the joy in anything since. Y/N is surprised that she even managed to make it through the rest of the school year. The last thing she wants to do is pretend to be hopeful about her future in front of a room full of people when the future she’s spent the last 3 years dreaming about no longer has any possibility of becoming a reality.

“I don’t want to be happy,” Y/N responds lamely. “And I don’t want to pretend to be happy either.”

Y/N’s mother’s expression turns cold. “Your father and I have put up with your dramatics long enough, Y/N and we will not tolerate you embarrassing us today. So get yourself together, get dressed and put a damn smile on your face. This party is happening whether you want it or not.”

“Ugh!” Y/N huffs once her mother is gone, knocking her brush off of her vanity. Of course, today isn’t about her. It’s about her parents showing her off to all of their pureblood friends. Not only had George been the love of Y/N’s life, but he’d been her salvation, her savior from the horrid life her parents had been grooming her for. Y/N’s parents had raised her traditionally, and from a young age it was clear to her that she was going to marry a pureblood boy whether she loved him or not. And even though the Weasley family doesn’t prescribe to many of the pureblood traditions Y/N’s family does, their blood is as pure as can be and her parents reluctantly approved of their relationship.

Y/N and George had talked about what their future would look like, and they both easily came to the conclusion that it would include getting as far away from Y/N’s family as possible. Y/N sparred George from the more intimate details of her childhood but told him enough to make it clear she didn’t want anything to do with her parents once she was an adult. They decided on a large house on a hill in the country, near where George grew up. So their kids could run around barefoot and free, causing all the chaos they want. As graduation had neared, Y/N figured along with it would come a ring on her finger. George had promised to whisk her away from her family as soon as he could, he promised that he would be her new family and it was all they would need. But George had also promised to love Y/N forever. And now all she has left of him are his broken promises to match her broken heart.

Of course, Y/N’s parents had been thrilled when she returned home from Hogwarts with the news that she and George had broken up. All they’ve ever wanted was for Y/N to marry a pureblood boy that would take care of her and give them perfect pureblood grandchildren to spoil. Y/N is their only child, and therefore the only hope of their family legacy continuing on. They had been okay with Y/N marrying George not because they wanted her to be happy, but because they thought giving her what she wanted would give them the opportunity to instill their values in her children, so their traditions could carry on. But now that Y/N and George are no longer together, her possible mates are endless, and they’ve spent much of the past week discussing which son of their friends is best suited to marry her.

Not wanting to face her mother’s wrath, Y/N complies with her wishes. She fixes her hair just right, and puts on enough makeup to accentuate her features, before she changes out of her pajamas and into the expensive silk ballgown her mother had custom made. Y/N is sure it costs more than what most wizards make in a month, and the feeling of the smooth fabric against her skin makes Y/N want to throw up.

“There’s my princess,” Y/N’s father greets as she comes down the stairs.

Every click of her heels against the marble floor makes her stomach lurch, and Y/N can see her hand shake as she reaches out to take the arm her father has offered her. Guests have started to arrive, so she plasters her best fake smile onto her face. “Hi Daddy,” she greets, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Y/N lets her father guide her around the room, shaking the hand of every person they meet and pretending to be interested in what they have to say to her. Y/N is great at pretending, she’s spent her whole life watching her parents pretend to love each other. They had been paired together in an arranged marriage and while they love to put on a show as the perfect couple for their friends, Y/N knows that they sleep in separate bedrooms and her father has had a string of mistress’ her whole life. Everything they do is for the sake of appearances. They don’t care about genuine happiness or pure love, as long as they give off the illusion that they hold those things. George had made Y/N feel both of those things, and now she’s not sure if she’ll ever get to experience them again.

After taking Y/N around the room to greet everyone, her father gets distracted in a conversation with Lucius Malfoy and Y/N takes the opportunity to get away. Her mother has strategically placed a few of their house elves near the staircase so Y/N can’t sneak back up to her room. Instead she finds an empty table as far away from everyone as possible and sulks over to it, sinking down in one of the chairs.

“Why the long face?” a familiar voice asks as they approach Y/N.

Y/N looks up, mustering up the best fake smile she can. “Oh, Adrian! How nice to see you!”

Adrian rolls his eyes as he takes a seat next to Y/N. “You don’t have to pull that crap with me. You know that, Y/N.”

Y/N sighs in relief, and lets her sullen expression take over again. Adrian grew up in the estate next door to Y/N, so Y/N spent a lot of time with him growing up. She spent time with the children of her parent’s other friends as well, but Adrian is the only one she truly considered a friend. He found many of the things his parents taught him utterly ridiculous as well, and it allowed them to grow closer. Their friendship had ultimately faded when they arrived at Hogwarts and Adrian was sorted into Slytherin and Y/N was sorted into Gryffindor, but Y/N still considers him a friend.

“Thanks. I think if I have to pretend to smile one more time my face will actually freeze that way,” she jokes.

“Yeah, I heard about that. About George. I’m sorry.” Adrian reaches out to give Y/N a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Pretty sure the whole fucking world has heard about it at this point. You should have seen how happy my parents were when they found out. Pretty sure it was the only time either of them has felt genuine joy.”

“Yeah, I heard your dad talking about it with mine the night after we got back from school,” Adrian says. “I see he went out and bought you that diamond bracelet,” he comments, gesturing towards the piece of jewelry on her wrist.

Y/N snorts in laughter. “Graduation present my fucking ass. Only my parents would give me a present to celebrate my heart getting stomped on. Fucking pricks.”

Adrian reaches out and puts his hand on top of Y/N’s, giving it a sympathetic squeeze. “I really am sorry, you know. I could tell how much you loved him.”

“He was my everything,” Y/N admits sadly. As weird as it sounds, it feels good to be talking about this with Adrian. Her parents clearly think one week is a sufficient amount of time to get over a three-year long relationship and she’s been dying to talk about her feelings with someone. “We had plans, you know? Turns out he had plans of his own.”

Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes has been the front-page story of the Daily Prophet since it’s opening last month. The store has been breaking records left and right and people can’t seem to get enough of it. The store was packed with people when Y/N went to Diagon Alley with her mother for a dress fitting earlier in the week and the sight of the store alone made her want to cry.

“You didn’t know? About the store?”

Y/N shakes her head. “I knew he and Fred wanted to start one. He had talked about it loads, it always made him so excited. I just didn’t know how close they were to making it a reality. Though I suppose that was on purpose, since he dumped me right before opening. I guess the future we talked about starting wasn’t good enough for him.”

“He’s a dick, Y/N. You’re amazing. He should have been on his knees praising you everywhere you went. Any guy would be tripping over themselves to give you anything and everything you could ever want,” Adrian comforts, squeezing her hand again.

Y/N smiles her first genuine smile in months, completely unaware that her mother is watching her intensely, a plan forming in her head.

-

Y/N wakes up the next morning to a soft knock at her door. She lets out a yawn and stretches before muttering a soft ‘come in.’ She figures it’s one of the house elves, so when Y/N’s mother enters her room with her father trailing behind her stomach lurches and she sits up. “What’s going on? Did Nan die?”

“Oh of course not, it’s nothing like that Y/N,” her mother assures with a laugh, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

“We just have something to talk to you about,” her father says from his spot in the doorway.

Y/N sighs a breath of relief. Ever since her grandfather passed away Y/N’s Nan has become much more vocal about her distaste for some pureblood traditions and she’s the only family member Y/N can even remotely tolerate. “Thank God. What do we need to talk about then?”

“Your father and I have been talking a lot since your graduation about the next steps in your life,” her mother starts. “Marriage, children, things like that.”

“And we know that you thought that Weasley boy was going to marry you but it’s time to be realistic about things,” her father says firmly.

Y/N rolls her eyes to keep from crying. “Do we really need to talk about this right now? I just woke up.”

“Yes, we do. Because I saw the way you were talking with Adrian Pucey yesterday, and told your father all about it so he could have a conversation with his father.”

Y/N’s stomach drops, and her chest starts to tighten. “No. No you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.” The tears she’d tried to avoid a moment ago start to form in her eyes.

“I did,” her father confirms. “He agrees that you and Adrian would be a perfect match. Adrian already has a job in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry making good money, and his father has agreed to pay for your estate if your mother and I pay for the wedding.”

“No,” Y/N cries softly, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. Adrian isn’t a bad person, but Y/N always hoped she’d marry for love, not for connections.

“Oh quit the dramatics, Y/N. Adrian comes from a good family, you should be happy,” Y/N’s mother squeezes her leg a little too tightly to be comforting as she stands up. “Now get out of bed and get yourself ready. Adrian will be by with his family this afternoon to formally propose so that the announcement can be printed in tomorrow’s Daily Prophet.”

Once her parents have disappeared Y/N collapses back into bed and sobs.

-

“Will you at least act like you’ve touched a woman before, Adrian!” Adrian’s mother scolds from somewhere behind the camera.

Adrian sighs and gives Y/N an apologetic look before placing his hand on the small of her back. They’ve been trying to get the perfect photo to include with their engagement announcement for the past 20 minutes, and Y/N feels like a doll being played with. Her and Adrian are standing facing each other, and per her mother’s demands Y/N has her left hand on his bicep to show off the fat diamond sitting on her finger while her right hand rests on Adrian’s shoulder. One of Adrian’s hands is cupping her cheek, while the other rests on the small of her back. At least now it does, Adrian has spent the last five photos with it just hovering over her body.

“Okay, now look at each other like you’re in love,” Y/N’s mother demands. Y/N looks into Adrian’s eyes and plasters her best fake smile onto her face and she can hear her mother make a satisfied noise. “Now as the picture is taken Adrian I want you to lean in and kiss Y/N’s forehead.”

Adrian opens his mouth to protest, but Y/N gives him a look. “Just do it,” she murmurs between gritted teeth as she continues to smile. “I just wanna get this shit over with.”

When the photographer tells them to move they do, and the flash of the camera nearly blinds Y/N as Adrian kisses her on the forehead to complete the photo. Thankfully the photo seems to satisfy both their mothers, and Adrian and Y/N can finally break apart as they head into the other room with the photographer to write the announcement.

“I’m really sorry about all of this,” Adrian apologizes.

Y/N collapses onto the couch with a sigh. “It’s not your fault our parents are the way they are.”

“I know,” Adrian responds, sitting down next to her. “But you’re very obviously still in love with George. This can’t be easy.”

“It really fucking sucks,” Y/N admits with a sad laugh. “I always thought we’d skip all of this bullshit stuff and just get married in his parent’s backyard or something. I don’t care about all of this traditional crap. I mean who even reads those stupid engagement announcements? Why do people care who’s getting married?”

Adrian laughs. “I’m sure no one we know does. It’s just for them to show off to all of their friends. Your mum can show the picture off and brag about how big that stupid diamond is, and my dad can show it off and brag about how hot of a wife he found me.”

“Ew,” Y/N grimaces, a shiver running down her spine. “I really hope no one we know sees it. Not because you’re a bad person or anything, but just because of how embarrassing that photo is gonna be.” In reality, Y/N hopes that no one in George’s family ever sees that picture.

-

“Nice of you to finally join the living,” Fred comments as he watches George shuffle out of his bedroom. It’s Saturday, so the shop opens a bit later than usual and George has decided to take full advantage and sleep in. Fred puts the Daily Prophet down and pours his brother a cup of coffee as George sits across from him.

“Very funny,” he groans, grabbing the cup and taking a large gulp.

George should feel like he’s on top of the world. Their shop is a huge success, he and Fred are living on their own and they’re finally making some real money. But in reality he feels like shit. He hasn’t felt the same since he broke up with Y/N. His chest feels empty and hollow without her in his life, and he spends all day at the store pretending to be his usual jovial self only to lock himself in his room with a bottle of firewhiskey every night. He knows drinking is not the way to solve his problems, but the firewhiskey burns his throat as it goes down, and it’s the only time of day where he truly feels alive.

“You reek, George. How much did you drink last night?” Fred asks, his voice full of concern. Over the past two months Fred has watched George slowly become a shell of the person he once was. He fakes it quite well for everyone else, but Fred can see through all the bullshit. He feels absolutely helpless as he watches George destroy himself, and Fred’s starting to get desperate.

George shrugs, taking another sip. “I don’t know. Half a bottle, maybe more. Who cares?”

“I do,” Fred insists. “You can’t keep living like this George. I’m worried about you.” Fred pauses. “I know you still care about Y/N-“

“Don’t,“ George says harshly, cutting Fred off. “Don’t talk about her, don’t even say her name. She’s all I can fucking think about and it hurts too much to hear you say it.”

“Okay,” Fred says softly, picking the paper back up. He starts to flick through the pages mindlessly, just trying to seem occupied to give George some space. Fred wants to help him, but he also doesn’t want to push him deeper into his depression. He’s just turned the page to the engagement announcements when George clears his throat.

“You get to the engagement announcements yet?” George asks. When Fred looks up at him confused George rolls his eyes. “Lee and I have a bet going, to see how long it takes for someone from our class to show up in them. You know how those traditionalists are, they pair their kids off before the ink on their diplomas starts to dry.”

Fred laughs, and let’s his eyes scan the page for a moment. He’s about to hand the paper to George when his eye catches a rather large photo. He gasps and immediately crushes the paper up. “Nope. No one from our class yet.”

“You’re full of shit,” George chides, narrowing his eyes. “Come on, give it here. If there’s an announcement in there I win 10 galleons.”

Fred holds the paper just out of George’s reach. “I told you there’s nothing in there. No Galleons for you. Now drink your coffee and get ready so we can head down into the shop.”

George gets up as if he’s going to head towards the bathroom, but he ends up charging at Fred and grabbing the paper from him. “I don’t know what your problem is, did Lee promise you part of his winnings or something?” George opens the paper, letting his eyes scan the announcements. He’s not really paying attention to the photos, just trying to find a name that sounds familiar. “Ha! There it is! Adrian Pucey, who would have thought.” But as George continues to read the announcement bile comes up his throat and he throws the paper down so he can run to the bathroom and heave into the toilet.

-

Y/N strolls through Diagon Alley slowly, basking in the freedom. Ever since the engagement announcement appeared in the Daily Prophet her house has become wedding central. Gifts and cards from distant family members and acquaintances arrive in droves every day, and Y/N’s mother is driving her crazy with the plans. Every day from the moment she wakes up until the moment she goes to bed is filled with wedding decisions that she truly doesn’t give a shit about. She doesn’t care about the seating chart or the color scheme. The only thing she cares about is that she’s not marrying George Weasley, and no matter how many plans they make that fact will never change.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Y/N apologizes. She’d been so lost in thought she ran right into someone. She looks up at the man she bumped into and her heart stops beating when she looks into a pair of familiar brown eyes and spots a shock of fiery red hair. But a moment later she realizes it’s not who she thinks it is. “Oh. Fred.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Fred sneers, suddenly filling with rage. He knows what happened between Y/N and George is not her fault, but his resentment towards her has started to grow since the engagement announcement. George has stopped leaving his room at all, and the sound of his drunken sobs keep Fred up at night. It kills Fred to see his brother hurting, and he can’t help but blame Y/N for all of it.

“You saw it then?” Y/N asks, hanging her head in shame.

“Even if I didn’t that god-awful gaudy diamond on your hand is a dead giveaway.” Fred clears his throat. “George did too.”

Y/N’s head snaps up and she can feel tears forming in her eyes. “No, no, no. He wasn’t supposed to see that. Is he okay? How’s he doing?” Y/N watches as Fred’s jaw clenches. “Please, Fred. I need to know.”

“Why do you care?” he practically shouts. “So you can go and laugh about it with Adrian? I can’t believe you, Y/N. George gave you his all. You were his entire world. You were apart what? Two months? And now you’re about to get married to some other fuck head. Why? Because he has money? Because his family has a better status?”

Y/N wipes away some of the tears that have started to fall down her cheeks. “Fuck you, Fred. I don’t care about any of that, you know that. And do I need to remind you that George is the one who broke up with me? I trusted him with my heart, and he crushed it. All I ever wanted was George, all I still want is George.”

Fred takes a deep breath, needing to calm himself down. “Then why the hell are you marrying Adrian? George is beside himself. He doesn’t even come out of his room anymore.”

“You think I have a choice?” Y/N asks, her voice cracking under the weight of the emotions she’s feeling. “I’m not marrying Adrian because I love him, I’m marrying Adrian because my parents arranged it to be that way. My parents are vile, Fred. They don’t see me as their daughter, I’m a pawn for them to play with. It’s either submit or be punished and I’m not going to stand here and let you make me feel even worse than I already do.”

Fred grabs Y/N’s wrist as she turns to walk away, and he pulls her into a tight hug. “Y/N, I had no idea. George said your parents were traditionalists, but he never mentioned anything like that.”

“Because I never told him,” Y/N admits as she pulls away from Fred. She wipes away a few of the lingering tears as she looks up at him. “George is too innocent, too pure to know about the shit they put me through growing up. George is the only person who ever truly made me feel loved and without him I feel like I’m in a horrible nightmare that I can never wake up from.”

“You can’t marry Adrian, Y/N. You and George, you guys are soulmates,” Fred says quietly. “You have to be together.”

Y/N scoffs. “Tell your brother that, he’s the one who dumped me out of nowhere. Clearly he doesn’t feel the same away about me as I do him.”

“You can’t seriously believe that, Y/N. George is going crazy without you. He barely eats, he barely sleeps.” Fred swallows thickly. “He’s been drinking. A lot. Way more than anyone should. It’s scary. Every time I try and talk to him he shuts me out. He’s lost without you.”

The ache Y/N has felt in her chest since the day George ended things intensifies with Fred’s every word. It kills her to know that George is hurting just as much as she is. “I still love him, Fred. With every fiber of my being. But I don’t know if that’s enough anymore. Everything’s gotten so complicated.”

“Just promise me one thing. Promise me that you won’t walk down that aisle and marry Adrian until you talk to George.” Y/N opens her mouth to say something, but Fred puts his hand up to stop her. “I’ll take care of George. I’ll Stupefy him and drag him to you if I have to. Just promise me you won’t marry him until you see George.”

“I promise, Fred. The wedding is next week on Friday. I’ll wait for George until the moment I have to walk down the aisle. But if he doesn’t make it.” Y/N shakes her head. “It’ll be too late.”

-

When Fred gets back to their flat after his conversation with Y/N he’s filled with determination. George is the person he cares most about in the world and he’ll be damned if he lets him ruin is life. He goes straight to George’s bedroom door, using his wand to unlock it. He throws it open, flipping on the light switch.

“What do you want you fucking prick?” George groans, rolling over in his bed.

Fred carefully moves around the firewhiskey bottles strewn about on the floor and heads over to the window. He throws the curtains open, letting the sunlight shine on George for the first time in weeks. “Get your ass out of bed. You’re done wallowing in self-pity.”

“Fuck you,” George grumbles, opening his eyes to glare at Fred. “What’s the point in doing anything anymore? I ruined my chance with the only girl I’ve ever wanted. She’s supposed to marry me, Fred. Not that fucking moron Adrian. He doesn’t love her like I do, and he never will. But she doesn’t deserve me. Not anymore anyway.”

Fred sighs and sits down on the edge of George’s bed. “You’re right, he doesn’t love her like you do. And she doesn’t love him either.”

“Nice try, Fred. But I’m not getting out of this bed no matter how many lies you tell me,��� George sighs, before turning over in bed.

“Her parents are making her marry Adrian, George,” Fred says firmly.

George turns back to face Fred and sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I’m sorry what did you say?”

“I ran into Y/N, when I was down in Diagon Alley. I really let her have it, Georgie. I told her off for getting with Adrian so soon after you ended it with her, and she just broke down crying.” Fred reaches out and puts a comforting hand on George’s knee. “She’s in love with you, George. Not him. Her parents arranged their marriage, she doesn’t have a choice.”

George puts his head in his hands, letting Fred’s words sink in. Of course, it all makes sense to him now. Y/N had once briefly mentioned that her parents never loved each other, George had brushed it off at the time, but it’s all becoming clear. Arranged marriages between pureblood families is pretty commonplace, and he feels like an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

“I’m such a fucking idiot, Freddie,” George groans, looking up at his brother. “I never should have even dumped her in the first place. What the fuck was I thinking? I was scared of disappointing her when in reality I was being a big fat idiot.”

“Big fat idiot is right,” Fred teases, trying to get George to smile. “But the important part is that it’s not too late. I made her promise not to marry him until she talks to you again.”

“Why didn’t you start with that?” George asks, finally cracking a smile. “So what’s the plan then?”

Fred grins at George, his eyes alight with mischief. “We’ve got a wedding to crash.”

-

Y/N fidgets as she stands in the middle of her room, unable to keep herself from glancing at the clock. She’s standing there in her wedding dress, thirty minutes away from walking down the aisle and she’s yet to see George or hear from Fred. The possibility that George doesn’t want to see her ever again makes her want to throw up, but she has to hold out hope that he’s going to show up. She knows now more than ever that George is the person she’s supposed to end up with, and she prays that Fred made him realize that too.

“There’s my girl.”

At the sound of George’s voice Y/N turns around a smile spreading on her face. “George,” she greets. In the blink of an eye George is across the room and wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling Y/N into his chest. Y/N wraps her arms around George’s neck and presses their lips together in a desperate kiss.

“I love you,” George murmurs as they pull apart. “I have always loved you Y/N. Breaking up with you was the worst decision I made in my entire life.”

Y/N can feel the tears falling down her face, and she presses their foreheads together. “Why did you do it, George? You mean everything to me. I would walk to the ends of the earth to be with you. You have to know that.”

“I do baby, I do,” George whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I was scared of letting you down. You are a Goddess, Y/N. You deserve to have the world handed to you on a silver platter and I wasn’t sure if I would ever be able to give that to you. You deserve the future we dreamed of having, and it killed me to think you’d never get that with me.”

“I don’t care about having any of that. All I care about is having you,” Y/N admits, kissing George briefly. “You made me feel safe, and happy and loved, and that’s all I need, George.”

George kisses Y/N again, needing to feel her lips on his. “I know that now. And I really hope it’s not too late to give that all to you, Y/N. You are the only person who has ever made me feel special, the only person who’s ever bothered to look at me. And if you let me I’m going to spend the rest of my life making you feel special too.”

“I love you, George. It’s always been you. It will always be you.” Y/N breathes in deeply as George kisses her again, finally feeling like she’s home.

“I love you so much and as much as I would love to stand here and kiss you forever we gotta go. Fred should be almost done setting things up by now. Get changed and grab some stuff, okay?”

Y/N nods and gets undressed, throwing on whatever clothes her hands reach first. She throws a few of her favorite things into her school trunk, which is still packed with her things from the end of the school year. “Good riddance,” Y/N mumbles as she yanks off her engagement ring and throws it onto her dresser.

“Ready to go?” George asks, grabbing Y/N’s trunk.

Just as her hand closes around her wand explosions start to go off and people downstairs start screaming. “What the hell is that?” she asks, hooking an arm around George’s.

George grins down at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “A new line of whizbangs we’re testing out. A little goodbye present for your parents and Adrian.”

-

“Well would you look at that,” George chuckles as he reads the paper.

Y/N presses a kiss to the side of his head as she sets his coffee down on the table, letting George pull her into his lap. “What’s that, love?”

George puts the paper down so he can rest one of his hands on Y/N’s ever-growing baby bump and the other can cup her cheek and pull their lips together. No matter how many years they’ve been together, kissing Y/N makes him just as giddy as the first time. “Adrian’s getting married.”

Y/N laughs and rests her hand on top of the one George has on her belly, intertwining their fingers. “Think we’ll get invited?”

“Considering the way we ruined his first wedding? Not a chance in hell.” George teases with a smile, pulling Y/N in for another kiss.

They might not have as much money as Adrian, or a big rolling estate to show off. But Y/N and George have each other and their growing family – and that’s enough for them.

[cherry-glade]

all that is in a name

pairing: aged up!damian wayne x fem!reader

summary: you come to him, and his name is on your hand like you’re showing off to the world that you’re his. damian doesn’t know if he can handle it.

warnings: just a whole lotta sweetness, implications that reader is of south asian descent, unintentional love confessions.

a/n: i am very, very nervous about posting this, but i’ve procrastinated for way too long, so i hope whoever ends up reading this enjoys it!

w/c: 2876 words

Damian notices it as soon as you greet him at the door with a smile and a kiss to his cheek, the rich colour of mehndi on your hands. You’re holding a plastic bag in your hands which he takes from you as you toe your shoes off and then follow him into the kitchen.

“Wedding food,” you explain when he looks through the bag and finds various sweet dishes, as well as little boxes of food and slices of wedding cake. He remembers you telling him about a distant relative’s wedding, remembers expressing his remorse about not being able to accompany you because of prior commitments.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he says, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before you both try your best to fit the food into the fridge and then head up to his bedroom after you’ve had a glass of water to quench your thirst.

“I’ve missed you,” you say once you’re there, both curled into each other, and there’s a pang in Damian’s chest. You haven’t seen each other in a while, and it’s mostly his fault, because of missions, but he knows you understand.

“I missed you too, dearly,” he responds, squeezing an arm around your waist as he presses his mouth to your forehead in a chaste kiss, lingering there for a moment so he can breathe in the scent of your shampoo.

You part after a moment or two and Damian’s eyes fall to the second bag dangling from your fingers, smaller than the first. He looks to you, a question on his tongue, but you know him and so you beat him to it.

“The last time I wore mehndi, Cass saw and wanted me to put some on her too,” you explain, reaching into the bag and pulling out a handful of mehndi cones. “So I brought some today for us to try out on her.” His heart warms at the kind gesture, and then he remembers that you’re wearing mehndi too, dark against your skin, and wants to see more of it.

“Show me,” Damian requests, looking down at the deep reddish brown staining your nails and palms. You sit down on the rug with him, placing the bag down beside you and hold your hands out in front of you with your palms up like an offering, an offering Damian will gladly accept.

He carefully takes your hands in his and studies the dark swirls on your skin, the flowers and curling lines and then—letters. Small and almost delicate, tucked away underneath the petal of a flower, but they’re definitely letters spelling out his name.

“Damian?” He hears you say, and looks up to see your face, concerned as your eyes scan over his body like you’re checking for injuries of some sort. “What’s up? You’re not hurt, are you?” You ask, frowning at him.

“It’s my name,” he blurts out, thumb tracing reverently over the letters, and your hands tense up almost imperceptibly, then start to tremble in his. Damian looks up at you, concerned when you avoid his eyes and just stare down at your joined hands, face pale other than the blotchy redness high in your cheeks.

“It’s nothing, really, just a joke,” you try to play off with a wavering smile, but Damian can see right past it. You’re nervous, maybe even a little scared, and it worries Damian because he’s quite certain he hasn’t done anything to frighten you, watching carefully as you try to tug your hands away, but he holds on tight.

His eyes scan over your face, looking for any tells other than you biting your lip and blushing even more each time you meet his eyes or see his name on your hand, and that’s when it hits, and Damian can feel his own face turning red at the implication.

“It’s not—it was my cousin’s idea, not mine,” you begin to explain, still not looking at him, looking at anything but him like you can’t bear to see his face as you say it. “It’s just a little wedding tradition in our culture, where the bride has mehndi applied, and then her future husband’s name or initials are hidden somewhere in the patterns and—”

“And then the groom tries to find it,” Damian finishes your sentence, unable to meet your eyes for fear of you running away after seeing the look in his eyes, the want, the desire to someday take part in this tradition with you.

It scares him, how much he wants of you. With you. But it thrills him too.

“If I’d known beforehand, I wouldn’t have let her do it, I promise,” you swear, and as hard as you might try to hide it, your voice is definitely trembling. “I only noticed afterwards, and if I’d tried to get rid of it, that would’ve just ruined the artist’s hard work and the rest of the design.”

Damian looks up at that, blinking. “Why?” is all he can get out, throat tight. His voice comes out sounding like he’s being strangled because of all that he’s holding back.

You frown, still looking down at your hands. Your cheeks are still red, and Damian wants to kiss you so badly, until they’re a rosy pink instead. “Because it’s all very intricate and close together, so trying to wipe if off would just smudge it all,” you say, clearly misunderstanding what he’s asking you.

“That’s not what—Y/N,” Damian starts, pulse racing. He’s pretty sure he’s sweating a little. He hopes that you can’t smell it. “Why would you want to get rid of it?” Damian asks, irrationally terrified that maybe you don’t want the same things he does. That you don’t want him as much as he wants you.

You finally look up at Damian with wide eyes. “I—we’re not—I guess I just assumed that it would be a bad idea to keep it there,” you say slowly as your eyes flicker over his face, hesitating on the last few words like you’re not sure that you actually want to say them to him.

He should say something. Anything.

You assumed wrong. It wouldn’t be a bad idea. I want this. I want you.

I love you. Always.

But instead, all that comes out is, “You know how to apply mehndi yourself, yes?”

You frown and nod, a confused look on your face at the sudden change of subject.

“I want you to put some on me. Please,” he remembers to add onto the end, and you reward him with a gentle smile, even though Damian can tell that you still don’t understand what he’s thinking.

“You’ll have to fetch me a pair of scissors then, and a few tissues. Maybe a ball pin too, if you have any,” you say as you turn away to fetch a mehndi cone, bag rustling.

Damian takes that as a dismissal and goes to follow your instructions, coming back to find you waiting for him with one of his pillows on your lap, the back of it facing up. You take the scissors from him and snip off a tiny section from the cone, then use the sharp end of the pin to pry it open slightly before holding it near the top and applying gentle pressure until a steady flow of mehndi flows from the open end of it onto a tissue.

“Right or left?” Damian looks away from your hands and into your eyes. You must be able to tell that he doesn’t know what you’re talking about, because you grin as you clarify that you’re asking which hand he wants it on. He places his left hand on the pillow.

He may have trained himself to be ambidextrous, but he uses his right hand more out of habit, and would like the stain, your stain, to last as long as possible.

“You want it on your palm or the outside of your hand?” You say as you wipe the tip of the mehndi cone off and lift his hand into your own, studying it like you could find the secrets of the universe within the lines of his palm.

“Outside,” he says.

You look up at Damian with a quirked eyebrow. “Sure? What if I mess it up?”

“I trust you,” he says.

Damian swears his heart skips a beat when your mouth curls into a fond smile as you press a kiss to the centre of his palm before flipping his hand back over and placing it onto the pillow again, fingertips tracing over his scarred knuckles. “Any type of design in particular? I can freestyle or we can look up pictures on the internet if you’d like.”

“I trust you,” he repeats, and settles down to just watch as you trace out the lines of an intricate flower onto his skin, stopping in between to rub the feeling back into his hand once it starts to feel cold and a little numb. The designs on his fingers are a little simpler but no less beautiful, and each and every dot and swirl is practically perfect.

Somehow, you’ve managed to get a little bit of mehndi on your own finger. But you don’t know this, so it smudges onto your skin when you reach up to scratch the side of your nose, leaving a dark little smear on your cheek. Damian rushes to pick up a tissue and wipe it off so that the stain left behind is as faint as possible, a light orange in colour.

He ends up just looking at your face as you finish off the design, nose wrinkled in concentration, so doesn’t realise you’re done with him until he hears his name being called. Damian looks up to see you smiling at him as you wave your hands with a flourish over his.

“All done. You like it?”

“I—it’s beautiful.” He struggles to meet your eyes. “You’re very talented, beloved.”

You blush and smile even wider until your eyes are crinkling at the corners. “Thank you. Just leave it on for a while now and take it off in the evening, maybe even tomorrow morning if you’d like it to be darker. If you leave it on overnight, you’ll need to wrap your hand in cling wrap, then scrape it off in the sink, but don’t use any water.”

“But—”

“Oh, and if you want it to be darker, once you’re sure it’s completely dry, you can use a cotton ball to dab a mixture of lemon juice and sugar over it, then once it’s scraped off, rub mustard oil on your hand,” you remind Damian as you place the mehndi cone down, not even realising you just cut him off.

“Y/N, it’s not done just yet,” Damian says, breathing in deep and summoning the courage he seems to have lost after looking into your eyes.

“Oh?” You’re frowning, a quizzical little smile playing on your lips. “I’m pretty sure it is.”

“No,” he says, and his voice must be harsher than he’d expected because you just blink at him before frowning even harder, smile completely gone. It makes Damian’s heart hurt.

“Why not?”

Damian looks down at his hand, at your hard work, and notices that the centre of the flower is blank, which gives him an idea. “I want your name on me too,” he says, and it’s almost painful for Damian to be so honest, even though the truth never comes to him more easily than it does when he’s with you.

You stare at him for a while, not understanding. “I want your name on my hand,” Damian clarifies, using his free hand to turn yours over and trace over the letters of his name as he looks straight into your eyes.

“Damian,” you splutter as you try to take your hand back. He lets you this time. “This isn’t a joke. You doing this. I can’t—”

“Please,” he says softly, begs. Damian doesn’t usually beg for things. “It doesn’t have to be your whole name. It can just be your initials,” he tries to bargain.

“There’s nowhere to—”

“You can do it here,” Damian says, eagerly pointing to the empty centre of the flower. “Please, beloved,” he says once more in the hope that you’ll give in to his pleas.

You swallow thickly and pick up the cone again, holding his hand steady as your own fingers tremble their way through tracing your initials onto his skin, and then you let go of him like you’ve burnt yourself as he stares down at his hand, fingers hovering just above it.

“Is that okay?” You ask, uncertainty evident in your voice. He doesn’t answer, too mesmerised by what you’ve just done.

“Damian.”

Still no answer.

“Damian—”

“It’s perfect,” he cuts you off. “I love you.” Your head snaps up and Damian immediately realises his mistake. “It. I love it.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

That didn’t come out right, but... fuck it.

“I love you,” Damian confesses, and he’s not going to look away from you now that the truth is out. He refuses to hide it any longer. Your eyes are wider than he’s ever seen them, and his heart is about to leap out of his throat.

“You... love me?” You repeat, and for some reason, you look shocked. Like it’s a surprise to you that Damian ended up falling in love with you, though it shouldn’t be. Damian’s quite certain that it was basically inevitable.

“I love you,” he confirms, and your face softens.

“You love me,” you repeat, with the softest of smiles. “And I love you. That’s quite convenient, isn’t it?”

Damian’s breath catches in his throat. “You love me?” He asks, just to be sure. He’d be embarrassed by the way his voice cracks if it weren’t for the fact that he’s waiting for you to say those words again, to reassure him that this isn’t just some dream of his destined to turn into a nightmare—it’s reality.

“I do,” you reassure him, and Damian’s heart swells until it feels like it’s almost too big for his chest, far too full of love to be contained by something so very small.

“I see,” he breathes out shakily, and you snort at him, eyes shining with laughter and—and love.

“You’re such a dork,” you murmur, fond. You lift a hand to cup his cheek and Damian leans into it, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment before opening again. “I basically took part in a wedding tradition for you. What about that says I don’t love you?”

“Nothing. I was just... being silly, I suppose,” Damian whispers as he leans in close enough for your noses to brush, making sure to move his hand out of the way so nothing smudges. Your eyes close as you smile, bright enough that Damian has no choice other than to smile back at you, even if you can’t see it.

His fingers come up to circle your wrist, his own eyes closing as the two of you gently press your foreheads together, and then his hand is moving to keep your palm pressed to his face, fingers tangling together.

You both sit there in a comfortable silence, just existing together for a while. Damian can’t stop smiling every time he opens his eyes to peek at your face and finds you looking right back at him. His love for you makes him feel giddy with happiness, as it should.

Soon enough, his siblings come to bother the two of you. First, it’s Richard, coming to coo at how cute you both are and almost forgetting that Damian’s hand is still wet when he pulls you into a hug. And then it’s Cassandra, silently waiting for you to attend to her too with a pleased smile on her face as she notices the way you’re both looking at each other, unwilling to be parted.

Eventually you give in though, pulling Damian to his feet and opening the door for him even though he has a free hand. Perhaps it’s because you know that he wants to hold yours. Perhaps it’s because you want to hold his too.

You all gather in the kitchen, where Timothy is already waiting with a mug of steaming coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other. He lets go of both though to greet you with a hug, complimenting your own mehndi. It’s as you and Cassandra are settling into chairs and scrolling through designs on your phone for ideas that Timothy notices Damian’s hand, attentive as always.

“Is that—?” He starts to ask, looking down at your initials. Damian looks over to you, laughing at something Richard has just said as you check how much mehndi you have left in your open cone, probably wondering if you’ll have to use another one.

It might have been unintentional on your part, but you unabashedly wear Damian’s name on your hand like you don’t care about the possible consequences, if there are any, of showing people that you’re his.

“Yes,” Damian answers, turning back to face his older brother.

He’s not afraid of letting the world know that he’s yours either.

[blank-space-daisy13]

Why I won’t invite my biological father to my wedding.

I wanted to post this on Instagram or Facebook but I don’t want to deal with people saying I’m “drama.” But I wanted to write this out just in case someone is ballsy enough to ask me.

Let’s start off with the fact that after he got with my step mom, he wasn’t really around. He also never really cared or tried to take care of us (my brother and me) unless he absolutely had to.

Before my step mom and when we still lived in the apartment, On nights he had us my mom would drop us off already fed, he’d turn the tv on and go play on his computer until we had to go to bed. If he had us on a weekend, same thing. We’d wake up and he’d feed us breakfast, then tv with him in his room on the computer, lunch, tv, dinner, tv, and bed. When we moved from the apartment we stayed at his buddy’s house where he rented a room but guess what? He’d send us down to the basement all day to watch tv, and let us up for meals.

When my stepmom came into the picture, we started going to Canada. On every single one of his weekends. She was nice, at first. Sooner or later everyone shows their true colors. But she started slowly to get a hold of my dad. (My dad had no boundaries with us and she wanted to “help” my dad learn to discipline, but she’s a little extreme.) I once got punished for saying the word “butt” because we only say, “bum” and he yelled at me. Yelled. I was about 7 or 8. Then I heard my future step mother telling him how good he did. Also while we were there, I remember very few times we actually hung out with my dad. It was always being shoved into the playroom with my brother, future stepsister, and sometimes future stepbrother. (Step mom never had full custody of stepbrother.) We’d never leave the playroom other than for meals like the TV. But at least we weren’t rotting our brains, I guess.

After awhile he decided he wanted 50/50 custody. My stepmom at this point could be brutal emotionally. I remember getting yelled at for not knowing any of my immediate family member’s birthdays. I was about 8 or 9. Kind of shitty don’t you think? Going back to the wanting 50/50 custody, he didn’t actually want us. Looking back I understand this now. He just didn’t want to pay as much child support, and that’s probably the only reason my step mom agreed to this. They treated us (my brother and i) horribly. He moved close to my mom’s to prove he’d be willing to do the 50/50 custody, and at that point it was hell. If we did something wrong, immediately we’d get soap in the mouth. My brother later on was getting hot sauce. It would be for things such as, “not sharing with your step sister,” (which she would’ve lied about) or “talking back,” when as a kid I was asking a simple question about their rules. They had so many rules to the point you didn’t realize you were breaking a rule until they told you it was one. My *fondest* memory was when they’d send us kids to the basement for a few hours during the weekend and then got mad when we went through boxes and such to find toys to play with. Because when they first sent us down there, they sent us down there with nothing at all. Sure we probably shouldn’t have gone through boxes, where my brother and I found our toys that they never put with our step sister’s toys, but they sent us down there with nothing at all. They expected us to “imagine” things with no toys. I also got yelled at one weekend because they asked us to clean our bathrooms. (Step sister and I shared a Jack and Jill bathroom and my brother had his own bathroom as well.) We went and picked things up and went back to play. They both yelled at us and said, “If I had meant pick up I would’ve said pick up. I said CLEAN.” At this point I had never cleaned a bathroom in my life. They gave us the cleaning supplies and we went to work. I did what I thought was the best I could do and then my stepmom yells at me, “That wasn’t nearly long enough!!!! Haven’t you ever cleaned a bathroom before?!” Uh no ma’am, I was literally 10. But that was her favorite way to make us feel like shit. To yell, “Haven’t you done XY&Z before?” Or “You don’t know (blank)?! So disrespectful! You should know these things!” (That was said about the birthdays. Again I was a decently young kid.) But going forward, towards the end of them living there, they had a baby together, my other brother J.

Luckily for my brother and I, he eventually gave up going for the 50/50 custody. But with doing this, he left and we didn’t see him for a long time. 5-6 years approximately. I was 15 when he decided he wanted to see us again, and because of everything we had gone through before, we didn’t want to. I had a choice but my brother didn’t, and I was forced to go.

At this point he had married my stepmother, and was living in the same subdivision, and one road away, where had had a house with my mom when they were married. Kind of awkward but ok.

And I have to say, they were better. To a point. They wanted us to feel bad that we didn’t want to be there. At the time I had a really old phone, not a smart phone, that didn’t lock, but they expected my phone to be on the counter at 9pm every night. They read my texts and held them against me, but when I called them out on reading my texts, they told me I was crazy. I would text my friends that I didn’t want to be there, and that I was uncomfortable. They asked me, “Why don’t you want to be here? Why are you uncomfortable? We understand what we did in the past was wrong, but the past is the past and you have to forgive us!” (One wrong thing I was always taught was you always have to forgive. You don’t always have to forgive for things that hurt you.) Finally at the end of this period, they sat us down and tried to make us feel bad by saying, “If you don’t want to be here, we don’t want you here. We want you to want to be here.” At 15 I tried to explain why this was hard, but they didn’t care. It wasn’t their way so they weren’t ok with it.

Fast forward to my Senior Year of high school, I don’t remember how, but my father and I got in touch. My step mom wanted nothing to do with me because of a dumb YouTube video I made at 14 where I “talked shit” about her daughter and herself. Yes, I did, but who didn’t do something dumb at 14? I wasn’t allowed around their house because HER son had a “drug problem.” (Marijuana) Whatever, I didn’t care. Slowly we lost touch because I was the only one calling, and I got sick of it. I was done. But I was still young.

Fast forward to me being a sophomore in college. I was 20 or 21. My brother had an issue that got the police and CPS involved. My father decided to text me and ask me what was going on. I called him and told him that he had “no fucking reason to know what was going on” because he was never around. He gaslighted me into feeling bad because I cussed him out for 10 minutes. But we kept contact after that because I had thought about it and I wanted to get to know my little brother J more. We did lose contact again but then we gain it back later on.

Skip forward a couple years and I’m talking to my cousin, (another thing was he kept us from his side of the family and I had lost contact with most of them until I was an adult.) my cousin told me he was going to MY little BABY sister’s 1st birthday. My father had been talking to me for a few months at this point and NEVER mentioned I had a baby sister. He told me, “I thought your aunt posted about it. I saw it on Facebook and assumed you knew!” It doesn’t matter whether I saw it on Facebook or not. He should’ve told me. But whatever, I let that go too.

Here is where I get frustrated. I wouldn’t call for a couple weeks because I didn’t think about it. I’ve only seen him twice in the past 9 years. But he would blame me for us not talking, when he’d never call or try to talk to me. It drives me crazy when people think like that. It’s not just my responsibility and mine alone.

Skip forward to a few months ago when he brought up politics. I hated this because I’m mostly liberal/democrat and he’s 100% republican. He called liberals “libtards” and goes, “you’re not a libtard are you?” And when I tell him it’s offensive he says, “It’s just a joke!” But now we’re here and yet again it’s been 2 or 3 months since we’ve spoken because he’s blocked my number. It goes straight to voicemail and my texts aren’t going through as iMessages. I’ve decided after trying for over two months, he’s uninvited to the wedding. He’s never met my fiancé, ever. We were only inviting him to be civil. But if he can’t even speak to me, I feel it’s not my problem, and it’s one less drama issue to worry about at the wedding.

My family can believe what they want. There are so many things left out of this 15 year drama circle of my father just disappearing. And I don’t care anymore. I hope someone asks why he wasn’t invited because I know for a fact he’ll be at least telling the whole family that he wasn’t invited. And I don’t mind sending them this so they can know why.

[nobodyfamousposts]

Miraculous Salt: Bustier

Fair warning: There are some dark and potentially triggering things discussed. Assault, domestic violence, drug use, overdose, and attempted murder are implied if not outright mentioned.

“Today, class, I’ve asked a special guest to come speak to you!” Bustier greeted them all with a smile. She gestured to the woman next to her, a young adult they hadn’t seen before. She seemed a bit nervous awkward, but was dressed professionally and tried to appear confident.

Bustier clasped her hands together.

“Vivienne is a former student of mine from a few years back. She going to talk to us about positive examples and appropriate behavior in the classroom.”

Marinette slumped in her seat, already knowing what this was about and just whom this lecture was meant for. Bustier’s frequent looks at Marinette weren’t even necessary. The fact that several of the other students shot glances back to her made it clear they knew as well.

Apparently Bustier’s lectures to Marinette about the high road and helping her classmates weren’t enough anymore. Now it just felt like she was making a spectacle to prove a point.

The woman, Vivienne, looked to Bustier in confusion.

“I thought I was supposed to give a lecture about preparation for the future?”

“Well certainly.” Bustier agreed, smiling brightly and indulgently. “And about how a good future for everyone can be started by setting an appropriate example in the here and now.”

Several of the students around her nodded. Lila sent a smug look back at her. Marinette merely wanted to crawl under her desk.

The woman stared at Bustier in open-mouthed surprise.

“Are you joking?”

Bustier appeared startled. “I’m sorry?”

“Are you actually joking? Did you mean to tell me you brought me here. All this way. On a weekday. To give a lecture to students about your downright toxic classroom habits?”

Everyone’s eyes widened. Their mouths opened. Because…no one just talked to Bustier like that. She was a teacher! And she was so nice!

Bustier herself was frozen in shock.

“Excuse me?”

“No. No. You’re right. You had me come to give a speech to your class. Fine. I’m going to talk to them.”

She cleared her throat and turned to the class.

“Listen to me. All of you, but especially you in the back because it seems you are Bustier’s target of the year.” She said, looking around to everyone in the class though her eyes remained mostly on Marinette. “You have the right to feel angry when you are wronged. You have the right to be upset when someone hurts you. You have every right to not forgive the one who does it. It is not your fault when someone does wrong. It is not your responsibility for someone else’s choices. You are under NO obligation—ABSOLUTELY NONE to make the person hurting you feel better about it! And at some point, you need to consider what is best for yourself and your life, even if it means cutting people out of it and letting them face the consequences of their actions.”

“What are you doing?” Bustier demanded, outraged.

“Telling them the truth.” Vivienne stated flatly. “It’s the least I could do after what you did to me and my class thanks to your ‘approach’.”

“But you were a great example for your classmates.”

“No, I was their stepping stone and in some cases, their punching bag. And look how well that turned out! I’m STILL in therapy because of you!”

Bustier gaped in horror.

“Yeah, turns out that constantly pushing myself to take on the burden for everyone else’s choices isn’t actually healthy! Either for me OR anyone else.” Vivienne huffed. “And I have you to blame for a huge part of that.”

She pointed at Bustier in outrage.

“Because of you and your lessons, I lost my ability to be assertive. I became passive to the point of being a doormat, and it’s something that STILL affects me today! Because under YOUR guidance, I was taught that other people’s behaviors were MY fault. That if someone was being cruel or hurting me, it was because I wasn’t trying hard enough. That it was MY obligation to make bad people better rather than their own. And that if I tried to speak up for myself, I was the one in the wrong. Especially when you dragged my parents into things and portrayed the entire mess like it was my fault for not being okay with my treatment instead of concern over how I was being treated.”

“Now now, you’re over-exaggerating.” Bustier argued in that annoyingly placating tone.

“You made it MY job to try and better people who didn’t WANT to be better. I was thirteen! I was a student in your care! How was that supposed to be MY job? My only job was supposed to be to learn, and because of you, I’ve learned all the wrong lessons!”

She rubbed her face, frustrated and exasperated and just done with this whole thing.

“I don’t know what’s healthy or not. I don’t know when I’m being selfish or when I’m supposed to let something go. I still freeze up when dealing with people because even years later, I still have your voice ringing in my head about how I need to be ‘the better person’ regardless of whether I actually CAN.”

She stopped and took a breath. Then turned on Bustier, appearing truly angry with the woman.

“You pushed me to the point of self-destruction and said that was love.”

“I’m sorry that you apparently had a rough time of things,” Bustier fumbled. “But I can’t be held responsible for how every student turns out.”

“THEN YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE BECOME A TEACHER!”

Bustier reared back as if struck by a physical blow.

Vivienne breathed deeply, trying to get herself back under control.

“You had a position of power and authority over me. And you used it to push your responsibility on me. To push the responsibility for EVERYONE in that class on me. On top of my own schoolwork. My own issues. My own responsibilities. I had to deal with yours and everyone else’s. Their well being. Their futures. Their selfish little wants and requests I didn’t have time or energy for but was still expected to fulfill. All of that. On me. And now you’ve even gone so far as to bring me here to advocate for you doing the same thing to someone else? And you don’t see anything wrong with that?”

Vivienne gestured to her chest, agitated and hurt and just…finally letting years worth of frustration out.

“Doing what you did? Pushing things the way you did? You put an unreasonable burden on a child. All in the name of being a ‘good example’ for how other people should be. Guess what? The only thing being a ‘good example’ accomplished was showing people what to expect from others rather than anything they should expect from themselves.”

She glared at Bustier.

“I did some reading on psychology after leaving your class. Turns out the thing you missed about modeling is that it’s the ADULTS who are supposed to model for their kids, not other kids under their care and especially NOT the ones being victimized.”

Bustier forced herself to speak. “But…everyone deserves a chance.”

“You have students that struggle. It’s common. They need extra care. That’s understandable.” Vivienne agreed. “The problem is that instead of being the teacher you are supposed to be and giving them that care yourself, you instead push that responsibility on your other students when it should never have been their responsibility in the first place!”

“They can’t change and do better if everyone is expecting them to fail.” Bustier reasoned.

“Maybe so, but they’re certainly not going to change if they don’t see a reason they should. Giving bullies a free pass and then lecturing their victims on ‘being the bigger person’ after they’ve been hurt because of the bullying is NOT going to motivate the bully to change anymore than it’s going to motivate the victims to keep trying! Was it any wonder so many of your students just gave up?”

Bustier’s eyes widened in shock.

“What?”

“Yeah, it turns out that I’m not the only student who left your class with problems down the line. Big surprise, but being reprimanded for feeling hurt and being told that their feelings are less important than those of the ones harming them isn’t exactly motivation to keep going out of their way to do their best. Not in grades, which unsurprisingly fell amongst students in your class by the final year. Not in activities, which—surprise surprise! Your students stopped being invested in because you kept pushing for everyone else to work twice as hard for something that you were letting other students get full advantage of with nowhere near the same effort! Was it any wonder that I was the only one you were able to browbeat into doing anything by the end? It was because everyone else got disillusioned and stopped trying! Because you rewarded the bad students and admonished the good students if they took issue with that. They weren’t blind! They know favoritism when they see it!”

The class was staring. Unsure what to say. Or if they even should speak.

“Oh, and on the subject of favoritism. You surely remember Candace—my bully whose behavior you defended and minimized? Yeah, she’s in jail. Again. For causing a scene in a public setting. Again. And even assaulting police, which is actually a new one for her this time around. But it’s her standard behavior. It’s all she knows how to do. Because you and people like you catered to her tantrums and brattish behavior, gave her whatever she wanted, and admonished anyone who complained about how she treated them.”

“Well…” Bustier simpered. “Treating her cruelly isn’t changing her now, is it?”

“Because she’s an adult used to getting her way!” Vivienne exclaimed. “The time to teach her better was when she was young. It was when she was still a student under YOUR care! Instead, you solidified her into the messed up adult she is today! Speaking of messed up adults, how about dear old Henrik? You remember him?”

“He…he was…a perfect student…” Bustier muttered, uncertain and wary.

“Sure was. Your model student. He sure road your high horse all throughout school and even all the way to his own wedding to Delia—your OTHER favorite student to coddle. You must have been so proud of how that turned out. And even after she’s cheated on him. Among other things. He’d be the picture of domestic violence at this point…you know…if he could actually acknowledge that the relationship is even abusive.”

She sighed.

“But he still insists he can ‘change her’. That he can ‘help her be better’. And some other reasons about ‘make a bad person be good’ that sounds like the sort of tripe you fed him. You know, most of us just thought he was a wannabe stud who like having girls rubbing themselves all over him. It never occurred to us that he was uncomfortable and just didn’t know how to ask them to stop.”

Several of the students gasped in shock. Adrien in particular appeared uncomfortable, like the story was a point for him in particular. Remembering the way Chloe and Lila hung off him, Marinette had to wonder if Adrien and this Henrik didn’t have a few concerning things in common.

Vivienne, however, continued. And even started to tick off on her fingers. “Elodie joined the police force and is so caught up in her own brand of ‘justice’ that she jumps into things without thinking and a number of her arrests ended up going free regardless of the charge due to her not following procedure. Arthur was always the sort to ‘go with the flow’ rather than stand up for anything, so he ‘went with the flow’ all the way to a strip club where he spends his nights, still waiting on some new job opportunity Delia promised him years ago. Kent and Morgan were arrested for embezzlement of some charity’s funds. Michael works at a repair shop, so he has a steady job at least. Sam’s charged for property destruction from illegal street racing. Again. Vincent is claiming some close relationship with Jagged Stone that I don't even want to consider. Randall died from drug overdose last year, otherwise I’m sure you would have called him up instead of me.”

Everyone gaped at her in growing horror. Alya and Max both seemed to be looking at their phones, only to wince or appear more agitated with whatever they found—Marinette assumed it was likely proof of Vivienne’s claims. Bustier looked almost ready to faint at the news of what’s become of her former students.

Vivienne just tapped her chin.

“And you know, now that I think about it, it makes sense that you called me out of everyone to come lecture your class because I think I’m probably the only former student NOT a complete wreck—if only because I’m a few steps away from it thanks to therapy.”

She sneered at Bustier in downright disgust.

“All these people you said it was my job to save. All of them—every single one of them fell apart when I finally gave up. Though they were admittedly barely hanging on as it was while they still had me to dump on. And I’m pretty sure that I could have been a millionaire by now if I’d held firm on charging people for the things they wanted from me instead of bowing to your insistence on doing things for people for free to be ‘nice’. Or, you know…NOT wasting my time and giving up on my own opportunities to pull everyone else out of the fires they kept starting.”

Feeling the weight of everyone’s gazes on her, Bustier spoke up to attempt to defend herself.

“To make a healthy classroom—”

“Your classroom isn’t healthy!” Vivienne shouted. And it was only now that Marinette realized there was a growing number of people hovering outside the door and listening in. “It says something that we have a magical emotion-based terrorist running around and his most frequent targets other than a guy obsessed with pigeons have been your students! Hell, in the past year the majority of akuma attacks have all been from this very class! If i didn’t already know you were doing this all along, I would think you were grooming these kids to be taken by Hawk Moth!"

“They’re not...that bad...” Bustier weakly defended.

“One of your students is the girl who tried to CRASH A TRAIN! And it didn’t take me all of five minutes after entering to see you catering to what can only be a chronic liar.”

Lila immediately started the waterworks. “How could you say that about me?”

“Actually, I hadn’t pointed you out. But thanks for doing it yourself, and while we’re on the subject, GOOGLE. Five minutes is more than enough to debunk your stories. Anyone could do it if they bothered to. Which might have gone a long way in preventing the classroom from becoming toxic, Bustier, if you had helped to develop your students’ critical thinking skills so they could figure things out for themselves instead of demanding they become doormats to make other people ‘feel better’.”

“I—I—” Bustier looked almost ready to cry.

“Couldn’t be bothered to tell them they’re being lied to?” Vivienne asked, sarcastically.

“She has a condition! I didn’t want to impair her ability to make friends!” Bustier exclaimed, making the class stare at her in growing horror. Others turned on Lila in outrage at the confirmation. Lila in turn started to shrink in on herself, realizing that this had not been the best time to draw attention.

“So you protect one student by letting the rest be used and manipulated. It’s not like that can go wrong! Just ask Henrik…as soon as he gets out of the hospital.”

One student—Rose—actually raised her hand. “What…what happened to Henrik?”

“Officially, food poisoning.” Vivienne replied. “Unofficially, Delia only married him because he’s rich and good as arm candy, but she only needs him alive for one of those two things and his moral righteousness makes him less appealing as the latter.”

Bustier wobbled, her strength giving out. She quickly made it to her chair and almost fell onto it as the sheer magnitude of what was happening hit her.

“But…I don’t understand. It can’t be me. I’m…I’m a good teacher…”

“No.” Vivienne interrupted. “You’re a nice teacher. At least to certain students. For everyone else, you taught pretty words and preached about love and kindness to help build up a rose-tinted view of the world and the people in it. It’s no wonder nobody knew how to deal afterwards.”

“But…it can’t be my fault.” She insisted. “I’m only one influence! There are parents! Guardians!”

Yeah, no. Vivienne was not letting her pass the blame.

“Whom YOU spoke with. Whom YOU influenced with your position to put focus on the wrong problems—not what needed to be addressed but what you wanted to make your classroom easier for you. Parents don’t know what their kids are doing during school hours other than what they’re told is happening. And when they’re told that their kid is ‘problematic’ or ‘causing conflict’ or ‘not a team player’ but they’re not being told WHY? Or not being told that their kid is being mistreated, bullied, or outright assaulted? And those parents then turn on the kids?”

She shrugged.

“Honestly, what were we supposed to think?”

Bustier shook her head, now crying.

“I can’t fix everything!”

Vivienne stared, solemnly.

“But you could have helped. You just…choose not to.”

She looked back to the class.

“Don’t trust blindly. Stand up for yourself without pushing on others. Remember that you are allowed to have limits. And sometimes…” Her eyes fell back on Marinette. “Sometimes, it’s better to just cut out the weeds than hope flowers grow.”

With that, she turned and left the classroom, the various students and faculty listening in parting before her.

It was cold outside. Almost matching the feeling in her chest.

And yet, she let out a sigh.

“Now that’s the closure I’ve been looking for.”

And she carried on.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Callbacks & Cannoli Cake

Requested by: The wonderful Wignony! (“If I haven't missed the cut off, could I request an imagine with Joe and reader? Something sickeningly sweet and romantic, maybe along the lines of a proposal/ wedding day/ honeymoon?”)

Summary: Joe got good news at work, but tonight you’ll have something even better to celebrate. 

Warnings: Language, literal sugary sweetness, a tiny bit of angst (I’m sorry, you know me, I couldn’t help it! 😂).

Word Count: 1.5k.

You’re reading the text for the fifth time when he walks through the front door. I GOT THE PART!!! See yo fine ass at 6:15 ;)

“Hey, firefly!” Joe calls brightly, racing into the kitchen and linking his arms around your waist from behind, kissing the back of your neck with loud, comedic smacks as you giggle and try not to massacre the icing you’ve been painstakingly smoothing with a spatula. He’s called you that since your first date, a picnic in Grand Hope Park that was supposed to just be lunch and turned into drinks, tapas, dinner, and ice cream for dessert as fireflies crept out of their shelters and freckled the sky with their harmless, inborn lightning.

“Joe, babe, stop, please stop, I’m going to ruin the cake—”

Joe gasps, spying it for the first time. “A cannoli cake? You made me a cannoli cake?!”

You lift up the heavy glass cake plate and gingerly show him, wearing a sheepish smile. “I thought we should celebrate. There’s lasagna in the oven, it’ll be done in twenty minutes.”

“So we get to eat the cake first.”

You laugh, ferrying the cannoli cake to the kitchen table as Joe picks up the spatula and licks it like a lollipop, moaning orgasmicly, mascarpone frosting peppered with miniature chocolate chips dotting his nose and chin. “Tonight, Mr. Mazzello, you get everything you want.”

Today was his third callback for the part, a co-starring role of the protagonist’s best friend in a romantic comedy directed by Richard Curtis. And while you are firmly of the belief that Joe is more than worthy of lead roles—especially in romantic comedies, a genre in which he has been criminally underutilized—you know he’s thrilled to have landed it. Rebel Wilson, Colin Firth, and Zendaya are involved in the project as well, and filming will take place mostly in the gorgeous island paradise of Turks and Caicos. Which means that Joe will soon be jetting off to the Caribbean for months on end, leaving you here in Los Angeles to tend your bakery and catch up on your reading list and snuggle with the cats and try not to grow bitter about the fact that most people don’t have to give up their significant others for vast, volatile stretches of the year, most people don’t constantly feel like they’re battling to keep a surfboard level over waves of impermanence. And that’s what you’re really trying to do tonight: not just celebrate Joe’s accomplishments, not just make him happy, but to make sure he doesn’t notice the sadness around your eyes, the mournful slump in the set of your shoulders.

But as he sits down at the table and cuts two messy, hulking slices of cannoli cake and gives you the bigger one, Joe does notice something. His dark eyes catch on you and narrow. His brow furrows in concern. “What’s up, firefly?”

“Nothing,” you reply, slipping into the chair beside him, running your fingers through his hair and forcing a smile. “I’m so proud of you, Joe. And I know you’ll love it. I just...you know.” You take an unenthusiastic bite of cake and shrug, apologetic, feeling childish and selfish and ridiculous. “I’ll miss you.”

“Aww, I know, firefly. I’ll miss you too. But we’ll talk all the time, we’ll text and call and I’ll comment heart-eyes emojis on all your Instagram posts, and you can take a few long weekends to come visit me...and we can FaceTime so I can say hi to the cats and our beloved apartment!”

“Our apartment,” you murmur; because it doesn’t feel much like both of yours. You’ve only shared it for three months, and Joe has easily been out of town for two of them. And although you have no right at all to be disenchanted with an arrangement that you knowingly signed up for, you can’t help but fear that it all has an inescapable aura of transience, that one day Joe won’t come back home at all, and that the apartment won’t even feel that different without him in it; like he’s a comet that comes with the decades, a passing marvel that you can see but never own.

Joe reaches out and takes your free hand, the one not holding your fork. “Hey,” he says softly. “I know. Believe me, I know.”

“I’m not mad, I’m really not, I want you to have this. I know it’s what brings you happiness, I know it’s what you’re brilliant at, I just...I guess I just wish this all felt a little more permanent.”

That seems to surprise him. “What, like, you and me being permanent?”

“Yeah.” You take another bite of cannoli cake. It’s good. It’s really freaking good, actually. Joe’s massive slice is gone already; he cuts another, peering uncertainly over at you. He still doesn’t appear to get it. “What I mean is that I feel like you’re never here long enough for the apartment to start feeling like ours. You’re more like a guest. Petunia and Iris might think you’re just my hot friend who occasionally sleeps over and takes bubble baths with me.”

“I don’t think cats have a particularly deep understanding of commitment anyway.”

You laugh, mostly to break the gravity. This is the precise opposite of how you wanted this night to go. “Never mind, I’m being dumb. Forget it.” You smile again, as convincingly as you can. The scent of lasagna now fills the small kitchen; the orange-pink light of the sunset pours in through the open windows. “Enjoy Turks and Caicos. Make a hilarious movie. Slurp down your weight in daiquiris served in coconut shells. And try not to get too sunburned, I want to be able to touch you when I fly down to visit. We don’t need a repeat of Miami, lobster boy.”  

Joe sets down his fork, crosses his arms over his chest, and grins at you thoughtfully, craftily.

“Uh oh. What?”

“Well, you see, it’s interesting that you brought up this whole permanence thing.”

You shake your head. “Joe, really, I don’t want to make tonight about me. I just want to celebrate. Can we do that?”

“Oh, we’re still celebrating, firefly. But I have one more thing to tell you about.”

“It better not be another cat. That’s really not the solution to this problem. Is it another cat? Jesus christ, if your mother is trying to get us to adopt another one of her rescue cats, I’m going to fucking scream—”

“It’s not a cat.”

“Then what is it?”

“Well,” Joe begins, grinning broadly now. “I guess it’s less of something I have to tell you and more of something I have to ask you.”

“...Ask me...what...?”

His hand slides into the pocket of his Hawaiian cargo shorts—not his best look, if you’re being totally honest about it—where for the first time you notice the faint outline of a tiny square. He takes out the ring box and sets it down between you on the table. Your fork tumbles out of your grasp and hits the floor, splattering frosting and cake crumbs. An ecstatic gasp rips from between your teeth. Your hands fly up to cover your mouth.

“No way...”

“Yes way.” Joe gestures to the box. “I don’t know what continent I’m going to be on six months from now. I don’t know how often I’ll find myself home in our apartment. I don’t know how great of a cat dad I am. But I know that I want you with me every step of the way. So, if you’re down to make this thing permanent, and to bake me cannoli cakes for the remainder of my earthly existence, I’d like for you to marry me. I’d love for you to marry me, actually. And if you need some time to think it over before giving me an answer, I completely understand—”

You rush out of your chair and into his shocked but welcoming arms, almost knocking him out of his seat as you climb into his lap, laughing, crying, kissing him as tears stream down your cheeks. “I don’t need time. I’m saying yes. Right here, right now, Mr. Mazzello.”

“You don’t even want to see the ring first?” he teases.  

“Nope. I’m in no matter what it looks like. I swear on our neglected feline daughters’ lives.”

“Oh thank god, because my bank account is super sparse until this new gig starts paying and it’s a literal Ring Pop.”

Joe’s joking, of course; he’s joking almost all the time, which is one of the innumerable things you love about him. But you really don’t care what the ring looks like. You care about what it means, about the promise it holds, about the peace it gives you to carry around like armor against all the uncertainties of the world.

And Joe whispers, beaming: “Now, future Mrs. Mazzello, I really do have everything I want.”

[cassandraclare]

The Anniversary Party

Someone asked me about the flash fiction this month, and I realized I’d sent it out in my newsletter, but forgotten to post it! So here’s the whole Jan/Feb story, in which we get a bit of background on Cordelia and her family. Art by Cassandra Jean, of course! This is the last of the flash fiction stories, and it’s been a pleasure to share them with you!

THE ANNIVERSARY PARTY

FRANCE, 1899....

Cordelia did not like Menton very much. She should have, in theory. Menton was a pretty seaside town, a jumble of pink and yellow buildings along a small harbor, mostly slips for sailboats and some fishing boats. The air was warm and Mediterranean, the fish was exceptionally fresh, she could see Italy from her bedroom window across the far side of the harbor. What was there not to like?

They had come for her father’s health—why else did they go anywhere, after all—and Cordelia could understand why Menton had a reputation as a healing destination for the sick and the elderly. Indeed, her father’s health had rebounded since their arrival a few weeks earlier and he was in a period of good spirits, willing to dance with her in the parlor and even managing to drag a smile out of Alastair on occasion. Alastair had entered a turbulent adolescence, as Cordelia overheard her mother say to her father. Cordelia hoped that when she was Alastair’s age she would maintain her composure a little better than he was managing.

But Menton’s charms quickly faded for her. Its popularity with the sick and the elderly meant that the town’s population had a large proportion of both, and while Cordelia wished them all well, they did not offer her much in the way of companions or even adults interested in conversation with a girl for whom French was her third language, and not very strong. The beach turned out to be made not of sand but of large round pebbles—Cordelia had never heard of such a thing, a beach made of rocks, very uncomfortable on bare feet, not pleasant to lie on, and offering no opportunity for building castles or digging trenches.

Worst of all, her parents continued to be as antisocial as ever, making no efforts to reach out to the local Shadowhunter community (the closest Institute being in Marseilles). And so Cordelia was alone. Sometimes she was alone with Alastair, but he mostly ignored her, and even so they were both duly sick of each other’s sole company after a week.

The only source of relief was the knowledge that this, too, would pass—the Carstairs family moved constantly, obsessively, for the sake of her father’s health. Cordelia could never understand the logic of it, except that she agreed that it was worth doing anything if it meant her father’s wellbeing. In this case, it was a bit of a relief. She knew they would not stay in Menton more than a few months.

This was, she felt, why she was so alone. Her family never stayed anywhere long enough for her to meet anyone her age, much less make friends. Her only real friends in the world were Lucie and James Herondale, and only because, Cordelia knew, Will and Tessa Herondale had always worked very hard to make sure that their children saw the younger Carstairs. It was still a rare treat to see them, as the Herondales ran the London Institute, and thus were usually in London, and occasionally in Idris, while Cordelia and her family were all over the map.

And here again, the Herondales came to her rescue, this time in the form of a letter her father read aloud at the breakfast table.

“’Good morning, Elias and Sona,’ – I say, how would he know what time of day we’d read it, the man is mad as a hatter—”

“We are reading it in the morning, though,” Cordelia said. Her father gave her an indulgent smile and went on.

“’It is a capital day here in London, and I hope it will be a capital day in Paris six weeks hence, when Tessa and I will celebrate our nineteenth wedding anniversary. As it is not the custom of any known culture to make a to-do out of the nineteenth wedding anniversary, we have decided to throw an enormous party.’”

“A ball!” cried Cordelia, but a worry poked at her. Would her parents attend such a thing? Her father was frowning at the letter, but possibly he was simply trying to make the words out better without his glasses.

“It’s not a ball,” said Alastair, who had stopped halfway down the stairway to listen.

“’A ball, if you will,’” her father read on. “Well done, Cordelia.”

Cordelia stuck out her tongue at Alastair.

“’We would love if you and your darling children would join us…if you would do us the pleasure of responding…,’ et cetera, et cetera…” Her father scanned the letter. “And then it has the date and the address and all that.”

“It started out strong, but it ended in something of an anticlimax,” Alastair said.

“Can we go?” Cordelia said eagerly. “Can we please? I would so like to see Lucie and James. And maybe  I’d meet some of the people Lucie talks about in her letters!”

“I would like to see anyone at all other than you lot,” said Alastair mildly. “No offense intended.”

“Alastair!” Sona scolded, but Cordelia was not about to let Alastair distract from the main point. She redoubled her efforts in the direction of her father.

“Papa, can we go, please? You’ve recovered so well, surely a trip of only a few days would be possible. Don’t you want Shadowhunter society to see how well you are?”

“Hm,” her father said. He looked at her mother, who looked back. They exchanged a series of incomprehensible looks with one another.

“If you think it would be a good idea,” Sona said to Elias. Cordelia’s father gave Cordelia a long look. Cordelia tried to catch Alastair’s eye, but he’d turned away and was looking with disgust into the middle distance, a typical expression for him these days.

“I think we could manage a train trip and a few days in Paris,” her father allowed. “I do adore Paris.”

Cordelia threw her arms around him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

#

Cordelia spent the next weeks in a state of constant dread. She didn’t dare remind her parents of the upcoming trip, lest they remember that they had intended to cancel and not attend after all. It had happened before, but never before for an event in which Cordelia had a strong investment.

But when the event was a few days away, her father brought up the timetable of the Calais-Méditerrannée Express train at breakfast. Tickets were bought, bags packed, and still Cordelia could barely believe it when she found herself the evening before the party, pulling into the Gare du Nord in an elegant blue train car, clutching her hands in her lap in anticipation: Paris, at last she was in Paris! She would see her future parabatai, and her brother, and the cream of Shadowhunter society, and she would do so in Paris.

The next day found her gazing into the full-length mirror in their rooms at the Hôtel Continental on the Rue de Rivoli and wondering that she was even the same girl who had been miserably pining away a few days before. Her mother had helped her select her dress, a frothy lemon confection of lace and silk. She wasn’t entirely sure it suited her, but it was very elegant.

Even Alastair regarded her with something in the neighborhood of admiration when he came in to fetch his gloves. “You look surprisingly mature,” he told her. Cordelia thought that was probably equivalent to a full swoon, for Alastair. For his part, he was clearly aiming at “mature” as well, having put on a brown sack coat with only one of its buttons buttoned, and having dared to apply a dab of pomade to his black hair, which, Cordelia had to admit, did make it shine compellingly.

“You look like you’ll be trying to impress someone at the party,” Cordelia teased him. “Anyone in particular?”

“Everyone,” Alastair sniffed. “Everyone that is anyone.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes.

Her father was in high spirits as they entered the carriage a short time later, joking and laughing. Her mother was quiet, watching her husband with a smile and a considering expression, and that is how they were for the entire ride to the Paris Institute.

#

She had been practicing her French, and when the imposing figure of Madame Bellefleur greeted them at the Institute door with a paragraph of rapid-fire enthusiasm and questions, she understood them: welcome, how was their journey, isn’t it frightfully chilly tonight. She began to think of a reply, and found that her entire speaking ability in the French language had departed her brain in exactly that moment.

Her father’s French was fluid and expert, and Cordelia felt a little rush of pride as he said, “Madame Bellefleur, dear! You are looking as lovely as ever, Odile. But what has become of you, that you’ve fallen so far to be working the door?”

Madame Bellefleur laughed, a hearty chuckle that made Cordelia like her immediately. “I sent the maid off to enjoy herself. I like answering the door, Elias — it may be the Herondales’ party, but it’s my Institute.”

Inside, Cordelia slipped away from her parents as soon as it was feasible and went to look for her friends. It took her all of five minutes to become hopelessly lost. Unlike any Institute she had been in before, this one was laid out as a labyrinthine series of interconnected salons. Each looked much like the last, and was crowded with adults, none of whom Cordelia knew, and most of whom were speaking in rapid French. She had not spotted a single Herondale, and the clatter and chatter of the party guests was beginning to make her feel less like a young sophisticate at the ball and more like a little girl who had lost her mother at the market.

Out of nowhere came a whirlwind of petticoats, which turned out happily to be Lucie Herondale, throwing herself into Cordelia’s arms with great force and a squeal of delight. “Cordelia, Cordelia, you must come, Christopher is going to teach us how to eat fire!”

“I’m sorry?” Cordelia said politely, but Lucie was already pulling her toward the door to the next salon. “Who is Christopher?”

“Christopher Lightwood, of course. My cousin. He saw a man eating fire in Covent Garden and he said he’d worked out how to do it. He’s very scientific, Christopher.” Lucie’s progress was stopped short, and Cordelia looked up to see a tall, slender older girl, with dark hair braided atop her head and a striking look. She was wearing a lacy blue dress without much enthusiasm. She raised her eyebrows and stared Lucie down. “And this is his sister Anna,” Lucie said, as though she’d planned the encounter.

“Christopher will not be eating any fire,” said Anna, “or indeed anything other than the canapes tonight.”

Lucie said, “Anna, this is Cordelia Carstairs; she’s going to be my parabatai.” Cordelia felt a rush of affection for her friend—she felt so alone so much of the time, but she wasn’t, not really. She was going to have a parabatai; neither she nor Lucie would ever fully be alone again. Or that’s how she had come to understand it would feel.

Anna, however, merely arched an eyebrow. “Not if Christopher burns the Institute down, she won’t.” She turned her piercing gaze onto Cordelia. “Carstairs?” she said curiously. “What Carstairs?”

Cordelia knew what that was about. She gave Anna a smile. “Jem Carstairs is my second cousin. I only know him a very little bit, unfortunately.” Jem, who had been Lucie’s father’s parabatai, had a long and tragic story that ended with his having become a Silent Brother. He was Brother Zachariah now.

Would he be here? It was strange to imagine among the sparkling, laughing conversation, the clinking of glasses, a parchment-robed silent figure drifting about. But why wouldn’t he be? Lucie spoke of him all the time. Cordelia felt a little frisson of nerve at the thought of meeting him again—eagerness but also worry.

“Any Carstairs is welcome,” Anna smiled back airily. “And obviously any parabatai of Lucie’s is essentially a member of the family. Speaking of which.” She turned back to Lucie. “Don’t encourage Christopher, Lucie. You know how he is.”

“It wasn’t my idea!” Lucie protested. “It’s Matthew who set him on it. You know how he is.”

“I don’t,” said Cordelia mildly.

Lucie gave her a look of wide-eyed horror. “Oh, dear, what kind of host am I? Here is my best friend in the world, and I haven’t even introduced you to everyone! Anna, we must go.” She reached for Cordelia’s hand again.

“It was lovely to meet you,” Cordelia said to Anna.

Anna tipped her glass in Cordelia’s direction with a small smile. “Likewise.”

“All right,” Lucie narrated as she pulled Cordelia into yet another salon. “Matthew is Matthew Fairchild, he’s the consul’s son but don’t worry, he’s all right and not a bit stuck-up about it, and anyway Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Henry ran the London Institute when my Papa was young—he lived there, you know—and they’re over there, actually, hullo Aunt Charlotte!” Lucie waved a hand madly.

Cordelia looked over and quickly spotted Charlotte Fairchild—even someone as socially deprived as she was recognized the Consul—who was in the middle of saying something very serious to a group of equally serious-looking people, and didn’t notice Lucie’s wave. It was funny; Charlotte was tiny, bird-like, and towered over by the men around her, but she had a presence that dominated the room regardless. It was an admirable way to be, Cordelia thought.

Next to Charlotte was a red-headed man in a Bath chair, who did see Lucie wave, and waved back madly himself with a grin. Henry Fairchild. He was too far away for them to speak, but Lucie pointed at Cordelia and raised her eyebrows. Henry raised his hands and exclaimed in pleasure, and Cordelia waved too, a little less madly than the others.

“Is that Matthew with them?” Cordelia said. “The tallish one with his father’s hair?”

Lucie snorted. “Oh no! Matthew would be so offended. That’s his older brother Charles. He’s, well….”

“What?” said Cordelia.

“He’s a little dull.” Lucie had the good manners to look ashamed at her admission. “He’s very interested in politics and Shadowhunter business and all that, and he treats us all like children.”

“We are children.”

“Yes, so is he!” Lucie said impatiently. “But you wouldn’t know it from the way he acts.” She sighed. “He’s an all right sort, though. Next salon!”

With rapid speed Lucie took her through the remainder of the people Lucie considered it important for Cordelia to know. Her Aunt Cecily and her Uncle Gabriel—Gabriel also turned out to be among the group surrounding Charlotte—who were Anna and Christopher’s parents. Her Aunt Sophie, who had worked at the Institute as a mundane and then Ascended and married Gabriel’s brother Gideon.

Gideon, Lucie explained, was not here, because Thomas—oh, it was a shame that Cordelia was not going to meet Thomas, and also Thomas would never have allowed Christopher to get within a mile of fire to eat it, if he had anything to say about it, but anyway Thomas had broken his leg and Gideon had stayed home with him.

“Also there are the older girls,” Lucie said darkly. “Barbara and Eugenia. But they’re not much like us. They’re not even here; they had something else tonight. Can you believe it?”

Cordelia wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to believe it or not believe it, having never met either girl, so she only shook her head understandingly.

“Lucie!” A woman with heaps of curly scarlet hair was advancing on them at speed. “I need someone to help me put out the silver. Congratulations, girl, you’re hired.”

“Bridget,” Lucie protested. “Bridget was my nursemaid, when I was young enough to have a nursemaid,” she explained to Cordelia.

“And now your repayment of my kindness to you continues,” Bridget said sharply, “with the putting out of the silver. Come along.”

“I can help,” offered Cordelia.

Bridget looked offended. “I’ll not have a guest doing work at a party. This one here is hosting the thing.” She dragged off Lucie, who gave Cordelia a beseeching look of apology as she vanished into the crowd.

This left Cordelia back to meandering a bit aimlessly. Perhaps, she thought, she would go back and speak more with Anna, who had been so kind. Perhaps she would seek out her own family and see how they were making out.

Where were her family, though? After a few minutes’ wandering she spotted her mother, who seemed to be unusually in her element, animatedly telling some story to a captivated audience. But she couldn’t find her father, or Alastair, anywhere. It was a large party, surely, but she would have expected her father to be with her mother, or if not, captivating his own audience. Cordelia had been able to tell that he was the second-most excited to go to the party after herself. So where was he?

Perhaps, she thought, he had slipped away to the library. She wanted to get a look at the Institute’s library herself, anyway. She managed enough French to ask directions from one of the waitstaff.  It was down an iron spiral staircase, and Cordelia allowed herself to feel like a princess descending a tower.

The library had a tremendously high ceiling, which gave it an airy feel, but on the ground it was crowded with ancient, heavy oaken bookshelves, all of which were piled so densely with books that they were bent over by the weight, and it was astonishing that they had not already collapsed. Cordelia loved the place immediately. It was crumbling, in the most beautiful way possible. The light was warm and orange, and dust motes floated in it. It smelled pleasantly of must and old paper, and here and there were chairs of cracked, heavily aged and stained red leather.

Down at the other end of the room there was indeed a figure seated on the windowsill, curled up with a book, but it was obviously not her father. As she got closer, the dark-haired figure raised its head to peer at her, and she realized: it was James Herondale.

Part 2

“Hello,” said James Herondale. He peered up at Cordelia owlishly, as though he’d just come out of a reverie and wasn’t quite returned to the fully waking world.

“By the Angel, I’m awfully sorry.” Cordelia couldn’t help feeling she had interrupted something. She had met James before, of course—Will Herondale had been nothing if not diligent about making sure that his children and the Carstairs children knew one another—but she would not have described him as a friend, necessarily. He was a bit unknowable, in his odd way.

“No need to apologize,” James said mildly, “it’s me who’s skiving off this party to read.” He sat up rather suddenly, as if he’d only just realized he had been splayed casually across the windowsill and he should seek some kind of propriety.

“Most people don’t skive off parties,” Cordelia said, amused. “It’s usually lessons and chores, that sort of thing. Do you not like parties?”

“I like parties just fine,” James said, a bit defensively.

Cordelia crossed her arms and said sternly, “Well, I am in the library because I wanted to see the Paris Institute library, but also because almost the whole party are strangers to me. But they’re your friends, aren’t they? Wouldn’t you want to be with your friends? Matthew, and Thomas and the rest?”

James gave Cordelia a long look. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “They are my friends, I suppose, but really they’re more like relatives. I’ve always felt out of place among them.”

The thought of James being out of place anywhere struck Cordelia as funny. Compared to herself, he was self-assured, charismatic, effortlessly interesting. Compared to her awkward discomfort inside her own body, he was graceful and strikingly handsome—

Good Lord, Cordelia thought, where had that come from?

It was true, though. Among the pillars and medieval arches of the library he looked as at home as a marble statue, an oil painting of a classical youth at study. How could someone who matched his environment so perfectly be uncomfortable?

“I always feel out of place too,” she offered. “But I thought it was just because my family is always traveling so much. I’ve never stayed in one place long enough to make friends.” She looked down at the ground. “Maybe it’s more complicated than that.”

James said, “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Cordelia gave a little laugh. “Well, yes. We are. But how often do we see each other? Once a year, maybe twice, if we’re lucky?”

He shrugged. “I don’t see most of the people at this party more than that, anyway. We’re always in London and they’re usually in Idris. Although we’re meant to go to Idris this summer, so perhaps I’ll see them a bit more. And of course, we’ll all be at the Academy this fall.” He sighed. “Maybe I’ll start to think of them as real friends at some point. I just feel so different than them. Like…like everyone else is looking out at the world, at other people, but I am always looking inward, instead.”

Since to Cordelia James appeared to glow from within slightly, this struck her as an odd facet of his personality, but she supposed that the shy and retiring came in all shapes and sizes. “‘All man’s miseries derive from not being able to sit in a quiet room alone,’” she quoted. “My father always says that.”

“Your father sounds very wise,” said James.

“Actually,” said Cordelia, “I think Blaise Pascal said that, and my father was only quoting him. You’d get along with my father,” she went on, surprised to find herself saying it out loud. But it was true; both her father and James had the same sense of the world being a bit too much for them, of preferring solitude, of seeking refuge in books. “I should go find him,” she said. “Again, I’m so sorry for interrupting your reading.”

James put the book down on the side table next to the window. “Again, please don’t apologize, I’m always happy for the opportunity to talk with you.” Cordelia found herself blushing, a bit, but James didn’t appear to notice. He stood up and said, smiling, “I shall escort you in your endeavor.”

On the way out of the library they fell silent, and Cordelia began to feel a bit awkward. It was usually so easy to speak with James, and yet she was unaccountably tongue-tied. Finally, desperate for a conversational gambit, she blurted, “Did you know that the original Paris Institute library burned down in 1574 when someone opened a Pyxis containing a Dragonidae demon?”

James raised his eyebrows. “I did not know that, Miss Carstairs,” he said, and Cordelia burst into giggles.

The smile was wiped quickly off her face, however, by the arrival of Alastair, who looked grim. “There you are,” he said, but he sounded more relieved than angry. He had a tired look in his eyes. “Father’s not well,” he said. “He’s asking for you.”

“Oh!” said Cordelia. She felt a brief, uncharitable flash of annoyance — her father’s sickness had spoiled so many parties, even Cordelia’s first rune-day. She turned to James. “I should go to him.”

“Of course,” said James. “I’m so sorry to hear he’s not well.”

“There’s an old monk’s chamber down that hall,” Alastair said, gesturing. “Father said he wanted to be someplace cool and dark.” He shook his head, agitated. “Sorry, Cordelia.”

Cordelia wasn’t sure what he meant—perhaps that it was usually her that Elias asked for when he wasn’t well, and not Alastair? She hoped it didn’t hurt Alastair’s feelings. She assumed it was because Elias believed girls made better nurses than boys, though she wasn’t sure that was true.

She left James and her brother there, looking askance at one another, and went down the hall until she found a short little heavy wooden door set in the wall. It swung open at her tentative push, and inside she found only a bit of dim light and a sparsely furnished room, with a small platform bed in the corner on which her father sat, his arm over his eyes.

“Papa,” she said, “I’m here.”

He groaned. “Cordelia, my love. It came on so suddenly.”

Cordelia felt a wash of guilt at having resented her father. “I know. I’m here, Papa.”

She went over to the bed and sat down next to him. The room was suffused with the strong smell, herbaceous and strongly bitter, that she associated with his episodes—the medicine that the Silent Brothers gave him to keep his health under control, she assumed.

“I’m sorry to ruin your party, Cordelia,” her father said after a moment. His voice was throaty, his words slow, as though it pained him to speak.

“No,” said Cordelia gently. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. I know you had looked forward to the party as well.”

He looked up from his arm and gazed at her fondly. “I already feel better now that you’re here.” He reached out and took her small hand in his larger one. “You’ve always been my best charm for getting well.”

Cordelia rubbed his hand anxiously. “What can I do, Papa? Is there anything you need?” She glanced around the room, looking for anything that might be helpful. Her eye fell on one of the room’s few decorations, a small shelf with a selection of cloth and leather-bound books arranged haphazardly across it. “I could read to you,” she said. That was what she would want if she were feeling ill, after all. To be read to would be the greatest act of love she could receive, so it only made sense to offer it here.

“Yes, that would be very nice.” Her father closed his eyes and smiled, as if in anticipation.

Cordelia went to examine the shelf. Doubtfully she said, “Well, in English we have either the 1817 classic How to Avoid Werewolves—”

“You mean, socially?”

“I’m not sure,” said Cordelia. “Your other option is the classic travelogue of the Shadowhunter Hezekiah Featherstone, Demons With Whom I Have Had Relationships.”

“Should you really be reading that second one?” her father rumbled.

“Papa!” said Cordelia, scandalized. “I don’t think they are romantic relationships.”

“Well then,” said Elias, settling back on the bed, and Cordelia thought he did already sound like he was feeling a bit better, “surprise me.”

#

James thought, it wasn’t Cordelia’s fault that he had been left alone with her older brother. It was only an unfortunate side-effect of the situation.

Though only a couple of years apart in age, James had always thought of Alastair as impossibly older than him, and Alastair, for his part, had treated James as impossibly younger. James supposed this was a natural result of being an older sibling. Certainly he could not imagine taking anyone fully seriously who was only his little sister’s age. In this circumstance, however, it left him unsure what to say to Alastair, or whether to wait for Alastair to speak, or whether to simply bolt from the room at top speed and assume Alastair was too slow to catch him.

Alastair ended the mystery by saying, in an odd tone, “My apologies for all this. My father is often unwell.”

“It’s all right,” James said, feeling strange to be reassuring an older boy. Tentatively he said, “Your father is a hero, after all.”

“What?” said Alastair, thrown off guard.

“Your father,” James said. “He killed the demon Yanluo.”

“Not by himself,” said Alastair.

“No,” said James, “but still. My father says an experience like that can leave scars. It’s a kind of sacrifice that heroes make, taking those scars so others don’t have to.”

He had meant it kindly, but was dismayed by the way Alastair’s face shut down. He became a blank, and when he looked at James, it was clear that he had ceased to regard James as being present in the room, or indeed, existing at all. “Quite,” he said. Without further comment he headed down the hallway toward the library..

“I’ll see you at the Academy,” James offered, one final try. “This fall. I’ll be starting.”

Alastair turned back, and in the same oddly neutral tone, he said, “That’s right. I suppose you will.”

After Alastair departed, James stayed where he was for a while, alone in the narrow, whitewashed corridor of the Institute. There was a party shaking the very rafters of the building, and yet here there was only silence. James thought of Cordelia, comforting her ill father, of Alastair stomping off for the sake of stomping off, obviously with no destination in mind.

His father had always made such an effort to get the two families together, the Herondales and the Carstairs. He had told so many stories about them, and was always encouraging their spending time together. And James had always been fond of the Carstairs, especially Cordelia. But now he thought, it’s odd, really, how little I know them as people.

He thought of the cousins, the parents’ friends, the Enclave members celebrating above. Other than his own family, he knew so little about any of them as people. And while he felt safe here, in the quiet, in the dark, he could tell that the world would not let him remain there for much longer. He would be out in the world, and he would need friends, and family, to help get him through.

Perhaps at the Academy, this fall.