#nialls mom has black hair but like. the NAME

[robobee]

you're telling me niall dated a woman with his mom's name and then dreamt her again as his wife?? I don't wanna read gw, but this is sooo messy I kinda got to

not only did he date her, he killed her uncle. their families also had prolonged "bad business" whatever that means

[mattybsluvr]

still in love with you.

matthew sturniolo

pairings: matt x fem!reader

warnings: angst, fluff, kissing.

summary: you and Matt were dating for over a year when you suddenly broke up because he moved to LA for his career, you knew it would break your heart but you knew he needed to follow his dreams and you didn’t want to stop him from success. what’s happens when you see Matt at a bar in boston?

authors note: this is my first time posting shit like this on tumblr so pls bare with me!!! also this is based on “still” by Niall Horan 😍

—————————————————————————

when your best friend, Amelie called to invite you out to the bar in your hometown, you were very hesitant.

“babe it’ll be fun! besides you can get your mind off of you know who!” amelie says with excitement in her voice. she knows you can’t say no to her, which is exactly why she’s already at your house with all of her tools. which is also why she didn’t even let you answer. she hung up and knocked on the door. you walk downstairs and open the door, and there she is, the blonde girl who’s mouth is open with a smile, holding up her bag.

“i can’t believe you drag me into this mess.” you say to her as you roll your eyes, but she pushes you upstairs and into your bathroom, doing your hair and makeup.

“i didn’t know what you’d want to wear so i brought a couple of options so-”

“amelie that’s really not necessary!” you say with urgence.

“it really was.” she gives you a blank stare while setting out the outfits she brought on the bed. every single option being way too revealing for your taste but she loves to say “you only live once” so you pick out the sleek black dress and the cute heels. once you changed, you were out the door. she was very excited for this night out. not that you knew why, exactly.

“so why are you excited to go out?” you ask with your eyebrows hinting your confusion. she just waves her hand as if to say “don’t worry about it” but of course you did. how could you not? the car stops and she walks out of the car. you open the car door and walk into the bar.

“don’t be nervous, you look amazing.” she says holding my hand. i look at her, perplexed.

“i’m not nervous? what makes you think im nervous?”

“your steps are small and your hand is a sweaty mess.” she says, but you know it isn’t to make you feel bad.

“oh.” you say. you take a deep breath and walk into the bar with all the false confidence you can muster, the bar smells of sweat and alcohol, not a great mix if you say so yourself.

when you walked in, something about matt’s demeanor changed, he was more grumpy and just wanted to leave, of course nick and chris were confused about it, since he was having fun five minutes ago.

“what’s your deal, kid?” chris asks while resting his chin in his hands.

“nothin” he says with annoyance. he’s looking at his phone when he sees both nick and chris stare directly behind him. they look at eachother.

“is that y/n? what do you think she’s doing here?” nick asks, quiet enough so only chris can hear.

“well she lives here you idiot, so i assume she’s doing what everyone else is.”

“what are you two idiots talking about?” matt asks, curiously.

“oh we just thought we saw y/n.” his eyes light up with the mention of her name, a name you’ve missed. the girl you miss.

“is she here?” he asks. he looks around the bar, searching for the specific girl. nick and chris eye eachother while he’s looking around and nick goes to text someone, Amelie.

nick: he knows

amelie: she’s getting drinks, she has no idea.

nick puts his phone down and gets up.

“i’m gonna go get a pepsi.” he tells the two brothers. they both nod. that’s when nick spots her.

“y/n?” nick sort of yells out. y/n’s whole body turns and her face lights up.

“nick! oh my god! what are you doing here” she asks as she wraps her arms around the boy.

“we’re visiting mom and dad, and trevor of course.” he laughs at the mention of his small dog. she laughs too.

“is chris here too?” she asks and he nods. he points over to the table they are sitting at, and she spots Matt right away, swallowing hard. she walks over to see chris, maybe Matt will say nothing.

“y/n!” chris gets up and jumps in her arms like a little kid. she hugs him hard, closing her eyes. she’s missed them so much. then the hard part, to look into matt’s eyes.

“hey matt.” she says with a smile, but a part of her is breaking inside, seeing him and not kissing him.

“do you think we could talk?” he asks, with his sad eyes. she nods and they walk in stride to the front of the bar and walk outside.

“bab- y/n, i’m so sorry. i really am.” he says, slipping up.

“what do you have to be sorry for? for being successful? that’s all i wanted for you.” you fidget with your hands to distract yourself from wanting to touch him. he sighs.

“it split us apart, and it doesn’t feel right.” he says with a pain in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. you’re eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“doesn’t feel right? what do you mean?”

“i mean that just because i live in a different state, i still feel you everywhere. i can smell you everywhere. like you’re right next to me.” he says, continuing on about how he’s feeling. you feel tears well up in your eyes because you’ve been feeling the exact same way. you don’t remember thinking about it, you just wrapped your arms around him, holding his head with your hand.

“i’m sorry, matt. it’s been terrible, hasn’t it?” you ask while he’s nuzzled into you.

he nods his head and he looks down at you.

“i still love you. im still in love with you.” that was all you needed to hear before you smashed your lips to his. his shock caused him to falter but he never pushed away, as soon as it hit him, his mouth is devouring yours in hungry kisses.

—————————————————————————

authors note: this actually made me want to cry because of how sweet it is 😔. (i need love) but let me know if u want a part two cus ill make one fr. if people don’t read this or whatever ill just do a different story but lmk! also i kept changing tenses but i wrote this at like 5 am so im becoming hysterical and delusional!

i love u!

[writteninthesewalls28]

Love forever and always

A/n: This work is published as a part of the "be my valentine challenge" for the day one prompt. It is based on an old story I wrote but never published because it simply wasn´t good enough. now that I rewrote it for this challenge, it turned out pretty good!

Summary: Charlie (Reader) has published a Romance novel and is Niall Horans wife. Charlie wins an award and holds a speech.

Warnings: none

"And the winner of book of the year is…." He wouldn´t say my name anyways. "Charlotte Kings!"

Everyone around me suddenly jumped up. My mom, my dad, my best friend Taylor, her parents, my husband Niall. What was happening?

"Charlie you won!!!" Niall screamed into my ear. The moderator called out my name? I won? No way. I made the most shocked and confused face the world had ever seen. But I just absolutely couldn´t believe it. There was no way I just won this award.

I had been writing this novel for over 10 years now, but not a single publisher would take it. Niall was the only one cheering me on to fulfill my childhood dream and just- well. Publish it myself.

And so I finally did, after another 3 years of waiting for the right moment. First, there had been the wedding. Then Taylor had this massive break up with Joe. It just didn´t felt right.

But this year? This year was my time.

And now, I won book of the year. Wasn´t it crazy how quickly things can change?

"You have to go to the stage!" Taylor shouted and grabbed my arm to push me forward.

Stage.

Speech.

I forgot my whole speech.

Don´t panic, Charlie, you were a good improvisor, I told myself, trying to keep my nerves together.

My emerald green dress, fitting to my black hair and dark teint, was a little too long, so I nearly fell on the stairs to the stage.

"Congratulations" the man, who held the award in his hands, said to me and placed the golden award in form of an open book in my hands. "You deserve it."

He walked me to the microphone. Oh no, what should I say?

I had written this long and beautiful speech together with Niall, two days before we arrived here in London. And now, I forgot all of it, what a shame.

I nervously looked around and spotted Niall in the crowd, looking at me with a proud smile in his face, he knew how much this means to me.

What he didn´t knew, was that my favorite character Theodore in my book was actually him. Or, at least what he is like. Funny, soft, caring, kind, loyal, supportive, the best man you could ever imagine.

"Thank you so much for this." I said, pointing at the award in my hands. I heard lots of applause and screaming from the audience. Where that fans of mine, in the back of the room? "The world is so full with crime, murder, and war that I sometimes even wonder how we all can still even exist on this planet. Sometimes it looks like, there are more bad and evil people living than good ones. And then you just feel like dying and leaving this place behind. But poetry, love, romance. That´s what we stay alive for." Why were these stupid tears coming to my eyes right now? "And I am so lucky to have that in my life. My parents give me unconditional love."  I said, looking down at them, seeing that my dad has to hug mom because she is crying so bad. They were so proud of me. "Taylor, my best friend gives me poetry to listen to through her incredible music." I gave her a little smile and she made a heart with her two hands. "And, last but definitely not least, my husband gives me all of this combined, poetry, romance and love. Thank you." I laughed a little and shyly waved at him. He had tears in his eyes, he had actual tears in his eyes. "And thanks to my amazing readers, I got the chance to share my love, poetry and romance through my characters with the world. Thanks to you lot, at the very end of the room, yes, I can see you! I got to write this book and share my story full with love with the world and hopefully make life a little more enjoyable that way." I sniffled, my own tears ran down my cheeks. It was time to get off this stage. "And I really want to thank you for that. You are the best." Were my final words before I walked off the stage, back to my family and friends, who all wrapped me in a big hug together.

"No need to make us cry like that, though." Taylor said, smiling at me.

"Yeah, exactly. I really hate you. The whole world now knows how I look when I cry." Niall added and hugged me again.

Oh, how proud I was to be here and hold this award in my hand.

I really have the best people in my life.

[flowcrbcds]

dylan  o’brien.      he/him.      cis  man.      ›      spotted    at    the    met    steps    ,    isaiah    kensinton    ,    most    likely    listening    to    the  show    by    niall  horan    with    their    airpods    pro    .    the    twenty-nine    year    old    gained    quite    a    reputation    ,    known    to    be    -indecisive    yet    +jaunty    to    anyone    who    knows    them    .    you'll    easily    spot    them    when    you    hear    about    sleepless  nights  as  spent  in  front  of    a  computer  screen    and  researching    ,  always  wearing    mismatched    socks    ,    random    metallic  stickers  coming    out  hair  ,  taking  photographs    at    the  most    inopportune    times    ,    followed    by    gucci    mémoire    d’une    odeur    .    latest    nepoupdates    article    talks    about    how    he    was    seen    walking    out    of    a    room    that    was  later    said    to    be    a  crime  scene    ,    but    i    guess    any    reputation    is    good    reputation    .

STATS

FULL  NAME  :  isaiah  peter  kensinton  . NICKNAME  :    zay  . GENDER  :  cis  man  . AGE  :  twenty  nine. DATE  OF  BIRTH  :  january  20th,  1994  . ZODIAC  :  aquarius. BIRTHPLACE  :  new  york,  ny  . SEXUALITY  :  heterosexual  . OCCUPATION  :  photographer  /  podcaster  . HEIGHT  :  6'0"  . TATTOOS  :  tba. PIERCINGS  :  n/a  .

BACKSTORY

  —  the  kensinton  family  has  been  an  established  name  in  new  york  for  many  years.  they  are  known  throughout  the  upper  east  side  for  their  vast  riches  and  entitlement.  they  come  from  old  money  and  are  very  confident  in  their  place.  however,  isaiah  was  brought  into  the  world  by  the  black  sheep  of  the  family,  bridget.  his  mother  was  set  on  defying  their  family  in  any  way  she  could  and  rebelled  at  any  chance  she  had.  this  led  her  to  have  isaiah  way  too  young  in  her  life,  when  she  was  just  shy  of  eighteen  years  old.

  —  her  family  was  not  happy  with  that  and  judged  her  for  her  actions.  eventually,  she  left  them  to  raise  isaiah  on  her  own.  the  beginning  of  his  life  was  tough;  after  all,  no  one  wanted  to  hire  an  entitled  rich  girl  with  no  experience  when  no  one  was  vouching  for  her.  so,  his  mother  had  to  work  hard  to  provide  good  things  in  life  for  him  and  give  him  what  he  deserved.  his  mother  never  stopped  isaiah  from  meeting  his  family,  although  the  visits  were  few  and  far  apart.  but  bridget  was  still  too  proud  to  take  any  help  from  any  of  them.  his  great  aunt  was  the  one  in  the  family  who  mostly  reached  out  to  him  and  made  him  feel  a  part  of  it,  as  she  always  had  a  soft  spot  for  his  mother.

  —  as  he  grew  up,  he  grew  closer  to  his  mom.  it  was  them  against  the  world,  a  single  mom  and  her  son.  he  became  protective  of  his  mom,  and  although  she  had  boyfriends,  none  of  them  stuck  around,  and  isaiah  never  had  a  father  figure  in  his  life.  their  life  was  tough,  and  they  struggled  for  the  most  part,  but  it  was  a  good  life  once  his  mom  managed  to  get  things  to  work  in  their  favor;  after  all,  she  was  very  charming.  when  isaiah  was  a  teen,  his  mom  got  pregnant  with  his  little  sister  by  her  current  boyfriend,  who,  just  like  every  man  before,  flaked  on  her  when  she  needed  them  the  most.

  —  even  though  both  isaiah  and  his  mother  were  incredibly  excited  and  loved  his  sister  dearly,  her  arrival  in  the  world  put  them  in  a  bit  of  a  tougher  financial  situation,  and  they  were  no  longer  stable.  now  that  his  mother  was  older  and  more  rational,  she  accepted  the  helping  hand  of  the  family,  and  they  moved  in  with  isaiah’s  great  aunt  in  the  azalea  building.  suddenly,  he  was  thrust  into  the  expectations  of  old  money  and  a  higher  status.  his  great  aunt  insisted  that  he  transfer  to  the  best  private  school  in  town,  and  he  accepted  her  offer.  it  was  a  lot  of  change  to  take  in,  but  he  was  happy  to  go  with  the  flow  of  things.

  —  he  settled  well  into  this  new  environment.  he  was  always  a  happy-go-lucky  and  enchanting  person,  so  he  soon  won  the  favor  of  everyone  around  him.  he  had  a  better  understanding  of  the  world  than  your  average  stuck-up  brat  he  went  to  high  school  with  and  had  more  compassion,  which  led  him  to  be  liked  by  all.  just  as  he  was  with  his  mother,  he  became  extremely  protective  of  his  little  sister  as  she  grew  up.

  —  death  tw  not  too  long  after  his  eighteenth  birthday,  his  world  practically  shattered.  his  seemingly  healthy  mother  passed  away  with  no  rhyme  or  reason.  it  took  everyone  by  surprise,  and  isaiah  was  struck  with  a  pain  he  didn't  think  was  possible.  because  of  his  age,  he  also  gained  guardianship  of  his  little  sister.  even  though  he  wanted  to  let  the  pain  consume  him,  he  didn't  allow  himself  to  because  of  her.  thankfully,  their  great  aunt  was  still  happy  to  have  them  in  her  place,  so  they  didn't  have  to  worry  about  that  aspect.  however,  he  had  to  forgo  college  so  he  could  provide  for  his  sister  in  other  areas.  end  of  tw

  —  isaiah  always  had  a  curious  mind  and  wanted  to  figure  out  things  around  him,  even  if  he  sometimes  drew  the  wrong  conclusions.  his  mother's  passing  always  nags  at  the  back  of  his  mind  like  a  problem  he  could  never  figure  out.

  —  he  started  working  with  photography  before  even  graduating  high  school  and  always  had  a  passion  for  it.  he  absolutely  loves  capturing  the  world  through  his  lenses  and  showing  everyone  how  he  perceives  them  and  the  world  around  them.  however,  he  only  started  making  a  profit  from  his  artistic  pictures  (as  opposed  to  paid  photography  gigs)  more  recently  in  his  twenties  and  is  now  working  with  his  passion.  

  —  more  recently,  his  great  aunt  decided  that  she  wanted  a  change  of  pace,  so  she  moved  to  a  retirement  home  in  a  warmer  state.  she  left  the  apartment  for  isaiah  and  his  sister  and  visits  from  time  to  time.  her  move  shifted  the  dynamics  within  the  family  unit  once  again,  but  he  has  found  joy  in  the  way  things  are  going.

SUBPLOT  INFO

𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭    #𝟏𝟗  :  built  in  the  early  1900s,  the  azalea  is  one  of  the  grandest  apartment-style  homes  on  the  upper  east  side.  and  while  grand,  the  complex  has  been  rife  with  scandal  since  its  conception.  fraud.  embezzlement.  even  rumors  about  a  death  that  took  place  in  the  building  !  muse  trix  and  muse  isaiah  have  known  each  other  all  their  life,  recently  inheriting  their  apartments  from  their  respective  families.  muse  2n  moved  to  the  city,  renting  the  apartment  from  a  relative.  somewhere  along  the  way  the  three  bonded  and  muse  2n  is  looped  into  muse  trix  and  muse  isaiah’s  true  crime  podcast  dedicated  to  the  walls  of  the  azalea.  and  while  the  podcast  becomes  a  hit,  the  group  finds  themselves  being  drawn  into  different  directions.  muse  trix  has  another  podcast  that  they’re  focusing  on.  muse  isaiah  has  ideas  of  their  own  and  wants  to  expand  on  the  current  podcast.  and  muse  2n  is  quite  frankly  not  used  to  the  media  attention.  the  fate  of  this  podcast  remains  uncertain  with  conflicting  interests.  can  the  three  come  to  a  conclusion  or  will  this  be  the  end  of  the  podcast  trio?

PERSONALITY

  —  growing  up  in  a  challenging  environment,  isaiah  learned  to  find  joy  in  the  little  things.  his  mother's  ability  to  maintain  a  positive  attitude  even  during  tough  times  influenced  him,  and  he  adopted  a  carefree  approach  to  life  as  a  way  of  dealing  with  hardships.

  —  he  has  a  natural  charm  that  draws  people  to  him.  his  charisma  and  enchanting  demeanor  make  him  likable  and  approachable  to  others.

  —  being  raised  by  a  strong,  empathetic  single  mother  taught  isaiah  the  importance  of  compassion.  because  of  that  he  has  a  strong  sense  of  compassion  and  kindness.  he  will  always  show  understanding  and  empathy  towards  others  first  instead  of  judging  them.

  —  isaiah's  early  life  was  challenging,  and  he  learned  to  be  resilient  in  the  face  of  adversity.  he  is  determined  to  provide  for  his  family  and  create  a  better  life  for  them,  even  if  it  means  making  sacrifices.

  —    zay  is  someone  who  is  very  good-natured,  but  a  bit  clueless  at  times.  he  might  not  always  pick  up  on  subtleties,  but  his  warmth  and  sincerity  shine  through.

  —    he  embraces  change  and  new  experiences,  as  seen  when  he  transitions  from  his  old  life  to  a  more  affluent  one.  isaiah  is  open-minded  and  willing  to  go  with  the  flow  of  things.

  —    he is a bit indecisive and will gladly let other people take reigns on what to do next instead of having to face it on his own if he can.

[petersnya]

SOMETIMES

PETER PARKER X FEM!READER

---NOT MY PHOTO/GIF---

PART ONE

Prompt/Summary: “...some people fall in love with the wrong people sometimes…” /// Peter Parker meets the love of his life. But is he the love of hers? Having a bad past always affects the future.

Warnings: ANGST, FLUFF, SMUT(light smut towards the end xxx tehe) ECT. 

Word count: 3026

[A/N]Wattupp! So I have been busy with volleyball lately but I finally have the time to write! I got this idea while I was in class and it seemed like it would be perfect lol. I love Marvel so much like I grew up reading the comics so I’m excited to write this ( I'm in love with Peter Parker/Tom Holland too ). I'm thinking this should be a series??? Idk. Let me know what you think! ENJOY AND SHARE WITH YOUR FRIENDS!! Explicit content ahead…(this was also inspired by a song I love called moral of the story. tehe I love Niall Horan bruh) 

-J.T.S xxx

“Sup Parker, ” a tall, curly-haired girl rushed through the front door of Peter Parker's apartment. “Aunt May here?” the girl questioned the brown-eyed boy who was frantically following the girl with his eyes from his seated position on the couch. 

“No, uh, she's not. She's at work actually- wait what are you doing here MJ?” Peter questioned the girl, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. He stood from the couch, approaching the kitchen counter that MJ was standing behind, putting whatever she had run into the house with in the kitchen drawer. 

“Uh, just… Hangin’ out, ” MJ explained, shrugging her shoulder as she hopped onto the counter facing Peter, swinging her legs with an innocent look on her face. 

“Yeah sure, I'm not gonna believe tha -” 

“MJ! The hell is wrong with you! Give them back you oversized giraffe!” a loud banging on the door caught MJ and Peter’s attention making them turn their heads towards it. MJ, not looking shocked at all, but Peter having a tariffed look on his face. 

“We’re the same height dumbass!” MJ shouted back to the girl on the other side of the door with a smirk on her face. Peter was confused by the situation. Turning his head back at MJ, who was silently snickering, he questioned, “Who the hell is that?”, the tan girl, who was now standing next to him, made her way to open the door. 

“MJ gets the fuck out here and give me my-” the mystery girl on the other side of the door was cut off by the door opening in her face. She stood there in shock, looking past MJ at the curly-haired boy standing next to her. Peter looked away from MJ then at the girl who was standing in the doorway. He couldn’t help but stare at her, taking in the beautiful sight in front of him. Peter was taken aback when suddenly, her lips curled into a wide smile. She pointed her finger at MJ, the at Peter, and back again. Peter had no idea what was going on until MJ’s smirk that she had faded off of her face.

“No. No, no, no, ” she said grabbing the girl's hand and pushing it down to her side. 

“And who is this MJ?” she said slyly. 

“This is…” MJ paused, glancing back at Peter then back to the girl at the door. “Penis Parker.” she then said with a slight chuckle. 

“Hey! Wha- no! That’s not my name! MJ I swear to-“ 

“Your mom named you penis?” She said, raising an eyebrow in confusion. MJ laughed walking out of the door and next to the girl. “And this is my cousin, Y/N.” 

“Sup man,” Y/N said to Peter with a big goofy grin on her face. 

“Alright we’ll be leaving now,” MJ said grabbing her cousin’s hand, dragging her away from the door. 

“Penis is kinda hot cuz. How have you not fu-“ 

“We’re leaving!” MJ shouted over Y/N, dragging her out of the way to where Peter couldn’t see them anymore, but just in Peter’s favor, he heard everything.

\\\

The next day, Peter was walking out of school with MJ and his best friend, Ned. 

“So MJ, I heard you have a cousin. Y/N…” Ned said, leaning forward, looking across Peter to see MJ who was walking on the other side of him. Peter hit Ned on the shoulder with his, silently telling him to stop talking about it. MJ chuckle. 

“Well uh, I gotta go. See you guys later! Good luck Pete.” Ned said with a wink as he walked towards the bus.

“Wait, Ned! We ride the bus- together… whatever.”

MJ and Peter walked down the stairs talking about all their classes, the teachers they hated, and other things. As they made their way to the sidewalk they heard someone yelling at them, causing both of them to turn their heads towards the loud voice. 

“Ah. I forgot, Y/N’s picking me up today.” 

“Y/N? Oh…” Peter said, trying to hide the blush on his face. Every time he thought about her, he couldn’t help but re-play the words she said yesterday: ...he’s kinda hot… Peters has never had that sort of attention given to him by a girl especially one that looked like Y/N. To him, she was an angel. But Peter, being the typical person he was, wouldn’t even think about approaching her- being afraid of rejection. 

“How old is she?” Peter asked curiously, the thought lingering in his mind. 

“Our age. She’s home-schooled.” the tall her said, stuffing her hands in the side pockets of her jacket. Peter looked at her curiously, if she’s home-schooled then why is she with MJ all the time now? 

“Her uh, her dad just recently passed, due to health difficulties, so she and her mom moved down here to get a new start. While her mom is trying to get their new house and a stable job down in Queens she will be staying with me for about… a year I think. I, of course, let her stay with me. She’s my favorite cousin and I don’t want her to be alone during this ruff time.” she explained, practically reading Peter’s expression. He nodded in response, his eyes glued to his feet.

“MJ! MJ come on! Harry Potter re-run of the first two movies start in T-minus 10 minutes and I have to go pick up my new sweatshirt!” Y/N yelled from her car while honking the horn. The upper half of her body sticking out of the driver’s window while her forearms supported her on the roof of her car.

“Annnddd, she kinda a nerd, but she considers herself just ‘well educated’.” Peter chuckled as he looked at Y/N. Once they got to the car, MJ threw her backpack in the passenger window. Y/N slide back into her window, shoving the bag in the back. MJ then opened the car door and hopped in, clicking her seat belt. She waved bye to Peter.

“Bye Peter Parker.”

“Later MJ.”

“Oooh, so his name isn’t penis… I knew it! Peter, it’s cute. Sup Parker!” 

Peter started to blush but it was hard to see from his face already red from the heat of the sun. He smiled and waved to her, noticing how her Y/E/C eyes glistened in the sun.

“H-hey, Y/N.” He said toying with the strap of his bag, his curls in his face. 

“Heyyy! You should come watch the Harry Potter movies three and four with me and MJ Friday! You can even bring that one guy you guys are always talking to.” She said leaning on the steering wheel, looking at Peter through her long, mascara coated eyelashes.

“Sure I’d love to come… wait- do you have your driver's license?” the question lingered in Peter’s mind.

“Nope!” Y/N yelled as she sped away, the tires of the car screeching on the road. Peter could still hear their loud laughter of the two cousins as they drove away.

That night while Peter was patrolling as Spider-Man, he stopped and landed on the building next to MJ’s place. There was a window that was the only lit room. He thought it was MJ so he was going to go up and scare her, but once he got closer, he could see that it was Y/N. His heartbeat quickened as he watched her walk over to her bed, putting her hair in a ponytail. She was wearing an oversized black T-shirt. As she was putting her hair up, she stretched her arms causing her shirt to reveal her very small underwear. Peter could feel his suit beginning to get uncomfortable at the view in front of him.

Quickly, Peter swung away from the building making his way home before Y/N or anyone could see him.

He crawled back into his window making sure to stay quiet so that Aunt May wouldn’t hear. Once he had his suit off, he showed and got into bed. Peter couldn’t sleep that night. He couldn’t help but think about Y/N. She was tattooed in his brain and, of course, tattoos don’t go away. 

///

The days went by slow, well, they went slow to Peter. He was overly excited to go to MJ’s place and watch a movie with Y/N. That was the only person on his mind, her. But those slow days soon went by and it was Friday afternoon. Peter was so anxious he practically ran home to put his school stuff away and then ran to MJ’s. 

He approached the door to her place and knocked on the door with his fist. Peter whipped his sweaty palms on his flannel, waiting for the door to open. 

“What up Pete! MJ said you would be here around this time. Come on in man.” Y/N said as she flung open the door with a soft smile on her face. Peter couldn’t get enough of her energetic personality. He followed Y/N, closing the door behind him. The brown-eyed boy couldn’t help but admire her as she walked in front of him. Her outfit consists of high-waisted but loose jeans, a plain black tube top with a very large flannel that was left unbuttoned. 

“Uh, Michelle and your other friend… Ned! That’s his name, I can never remember,” she chuckled nervously, “they uh- went to the store to go get snacks and food so they should be back in a little while. I’m gonna go get some blankets and stuff from my room for the movies, there pretty long so I wanna be comfortable. Wanna help?” Y/N said as she started to walk towards her room, looking over her shoulder to see if Peter was following.

“Oh, yeah, sure I’ll help you,” he said, slowly trailing behind her. As they went into her room she started to grab blankets and pillows, tossing them by the door. Peter couldn’t help but admire her well-decorated room, it fits her personality so well, he thought to himself. He walked over to her tall nightstand and saw a pair of glasses sitting on them. For some reason, they intrigued him. 

“Do you mind?” he asked. “Nah, not at all,” Y/N replied not looking up from the pile of blankets in the corner, waving her hand in a ‘go ahead’ motion. Peter shrugged and turned his attention back to the glasses. They were small and black, they didn’t look like they would fit her face. He picked them up, examining them curiously. Y/N looked over at Peter, immediately dropping everything in her hands and rushing over to him. She snatched the glasses out of his hand and put them in her drawer. Peter was taken aback by this sudden action, raising his hands in a surrendering motion. 

“Don’t touch those,” Y/N said harshly. She looked at Peter’s face that was plastered with an apologetic look. “I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. My… my dad gave me those,” she explained. Peter mumbled an ‘it’s ok’ under his breath. 

She walked over to the edge of her bed, scooting over to give Peter room to sit down. He took the hint and went to sit next to her. Y/N sat there, her leg bouncing as she tried to take steady breathes to calm herself down, fiddling with the many rings on her fingers. 

“Hey, you ok Y/N?” Peter asked, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. She looked up at him with glossed-over eyes. She let out a shaky breath and nodded. Licking her lips, she began to explain. 

“Well uh, m-my dad, he uh… he passed away about two weeks ago. When I was younger we used to always read together and I would have trouble saying some of the words. My mom thought it was just cause I couldn’t read properly yet but my dad always said ‘my little girl is the smarts little girl I know… she’s just as blind as a bat, like her father,’ Y/N paused, sniffing while wiping the tear that rolled down her cheek before continuing, “He bought me those glasses after the eye doctor told me my vision was terrible. The day before he passed away, he took the glasses off that he had and handed them to me. I tried to stop him and tell him that I had some, but all he did was look at my mom and then back at me and said, ‘she’s just as blind as a bat, like her father.’” the last part came out in a whisper. 

Reaching over to her bedside table, Y/N grabbed a pair of circular glasses that looked like they were from the Harry Potter movie. “My dad loved Harry Potter, I never wear them though cause I-I’m just...scared. I don’t know why though. It’s just silly.” she said with a slight smile. “MJ took my contacts from me just a few days ago to get me to wear them and I still haven’t gotten them back.” so that’s why she came over that day, Peter wondered. 

Peter was about to say something but MJ and Ned came into the apartment, yelling that they were back with the snacks and food. 

“T-minus 10 minutes Y/N,” MJ yelled from the kitchen.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a second,” Y/N shouted back to her, “you should go ahead.”

Peter got up to leave the room, but before he did he turned to say something,  “I think that your dad would want you to wear them, Y/N. Trust me,” he said with a soft smile that caused Y/N to smile back at him.

///

“Dude, where’s Y/N? She’s never late for an H.P movie,” MJ questioned. Peter and Ned looked at each other shrugging before looking back at her. Only two minutes later, Y/N came walking out of her room, they all turned their heads to look. 

“Ok, I’m ready for the movie,” she said with a big goofy smile on her face. Peter and MJ looked at her in shock. Ned had no idea what was going on and just sat and ate popcorn. Y/N had on some shorts and a Slytherin sweatshirt, but that wasn’t the shocking part. She was wearing her dad’s glasses. 

“What? Do you guys not like my sweatshirt?” 

“I think it’s great,” Ned said giving her a thumbs up. 

“Thanks, Ned, glad to see someone appreciates it,” Y/N said sarcastically. MJ and Peter looked at each other. Peter was about to say something but MJ put a finger up signaling for him not to. Y/N sat between MJ and Peter on the couch, grabbing a bag of chips while adjusting the glasses on her face. She looked over at Peter mouthing the word ‘thank you’  causing Peter to blush but hid it quickly.

About thirty minutes into the movie, Y/N got comfortable and snuggled her head into MJ’s shoulder while MJ laid her head onto of Y/N’s. Y/N had her exposed long, smooth legs draped over Peter’s thighs. This sent Peters mind wondering: 

As she slowly straddled my lap, I placed my hands on her thighs, keeping her steady. My large hands squeezed at her exposed skin. I ran them to her ass, repeating the motion causing her to jerk, rubbing her core against jeans, making her moan quietly in my ear. Her arms hugged around my neck. She moved her head to where her lips were perfectly leveld with mine. She connected her lips with mine in a soft kiss, but I wanted more. I needed more. I ran my tongue over her bottom lips, squeezing her ass in my hand once again. Her lips were parted slightly, giving me access to slip my tongue into her mouth. She surprised me with her next move. She wrapped her lips around my tongue then released it with a slight smacking noise. This made me harder than I was before- if that was even possible. We sat there for a second, staring into each other’s eyes, noticing how they were filled with lust. Before I could even think my actions through, I removed my hand from her ass, grabbing her jaw and pulling her facing into mine, catching her lips and lustful but passionate kiss. My tongue almost immediately won the dominance against hers. I flipped us so that I was on top and started to trail kisses down her exposed stomach. Her thighs wrapped around my head as her back arched off of the bed. I put my hands on her lower back. I started to tease her soaked-

“I don’t see how you like Draco Malfoy?” Ned’s voice snapped Peter out of his daydream, turning his head over to Ned who was munching on a handful of popcorn.  

“What!” MJ and Y/N screamed. Ned and Peter both turned their heads to them, wondering why they seemed so upset. “What do you mean why do we like Draco Malfoy,” MJ said.

“What type of question is that?” Y/N said, finishing her sentence. This caused MJ and Y/N to go into a whole ordeal on why Draco is their favorite character. All Peter could do was watch the way her pink lips moved as she explained. 

This helped Peter calm down from his daydream and stoping his hard-on to be seen. Thank God…

///

That night, Peter laid awake in his bed, thinking about how Y/N looked in his fantasy. He wished that it was really like so so badly. He couldn’t help to feel this attraction towards her, from the first time he saw her. It wasn’t just her good looks, even though to Peter she was stunning, it was her style, her personality, the way her eyes squinted and her cheekbones rose when she laughed. The way she would ramble about anything and everything. His last thought before he drifted into sleep rang in his brain,

Does she feel the same? 

[A/N] Hey bestie :))) hope you liked this chapter! Thank you for the support and make sure to send me ideas for imagines you guys want! IM GONNA TRY TO UPLOAD EVERY DAY OR EVERY OTHER DAY AT 5:30/6:30 PM. 

 DISCLAIMER!!! THE NEXT CHAPTER IS FULL OF SMUT.. are you ready?

-J.T.S xxx

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

Fri 11 June ‘21

LT band news! Guitarist Isaac posted a pic of himself with the other guitarist and bassist, plus LTHQ team member Jessie! Things are happening…idk what things, but THINGS! We know tour shows aren’t for a long while now so what might they be rehearsing or meeting for? Hopes are up that it could be to do promo for a single!! But really whatever it is would be exciting as hell. The shopping list for the recipe Louis will be following for his video is out and it does not look like it’ll be challenging- it’s a fish finger sandwich! I’m a little confused by the addition of waffles (not to mention sugar) in the ingredient list but overall how hard can it be right? I guess we’ll find out. And a fan who met Louis the other day says she had him write HOME for a tattoo and “told him that the song is extremely important for the whole lgbtq+ community” and that he “smiled and said thank you and bless you darling,” and we got more video from yesterday of him out by the studio; he was wearing the skull/ laurel/ rose/ triangle ‘new era’ cap again, nice, and how appropriate for the exciting LT2 era things he is cooking up (not the fish fingers, the other stuff.)

The much hyped Our Song behind the scenes video is finally here! We see the part where Niall pretends to be afraid of the dog that was hired to bark at him, but as we were told, the dog does not bark and was therefore fired; maybe the poor dog was just starstruck, leave her alone! Plus Niall and Anne are cute and look to be having fun, of course. And last night Niall was papped in Hollywood, looking good in all black with gucci loafers, oh lala.

Behind the scenes videos hype continues, with one for Lima’s NFT as well- it opens with a voiceover saying “stop being scared of who you are, you’re not negative you’re vulnerable” and other uplifting soundbites, then shows Liam drawing and walking in a beautiful forested glade, but mostly in his house he recently moved out of- Winston the dog has a sleeping-in-the-background cameo- and he and the other collaborators (musician Zedd and animator Gabe Damast) talk about how they worked out the concepts over zoom and tell us about Liam’s concept for the piece. They also talk about (and show one of) the physical objects and fancy packaging for it that they’ve made to sell along with the NFT, presumably because simply buying bragging rights of ownership of an intangible digital item isn’t actually terribly satisfying, so they need to provide some actual thing. Besides the dinner in Vegas that the buyers will be invited to join them at that is; we also learn more about that and oh my GOD wtf… uh I mean what they said is that it will take place in a literal glass box in the middle of the resort I honestly didn’t know they could make it sound MORE UNPLEASANT to me holy crap, not even to hug Liam would I do that. Liam also did a live where he tells us some stuff we already knew about Louis and Harry; about Louis he said that he’s working on music right now and “god he’s got long hair now doesn’t he”, I KNOW RIGHT, and about Harry that “he looks great in his policeman uniform,” Liam you WOULD like that, and “name a man who can pull off every look.”

Harry followed musician Pauli the PSM on insta. And as he’s often used his follows to tell us about people he is working with/ preparing something with one always wonders… For example as his scheduled shows for this year draw ever nearer with no rescheduling announcement yet, we’re all becoming impatient to know if he’s planning to play any of them this year. And if so, I know I wouldn’t be at all surprised if brand new mom Sarah Jones chose to sit a few out, so today’s follow of a British drummer… well, <eyeballs emoji>, right?! Honestly though it could be for any reason, that’s just wild speculation.

[allsassnoclass]

hazel hi !! for the wip ask game, 'warm', 'beanie', 'cheeks', 'star' and 'glasses' <3

hi myle!!! let's see what we have going on here

warm

Stopping their call early turns out to be pointless, anyway.  He stays up half the night, too warm under the covers but too cold without them, playing Michael’s “I miss you, too” over and over in his mind, searching for any of the hidden meanings Luke had in his.

beanie

The man pictured in the photo at the top of the page is beaming at the camera, black framed glasses highlighting his eyes and a beanie stuffed over his blonde hair.  He looks vibrant and energetic, with no circles under his eyes or heavy slump to his shoulders.  Still, Calum is absolutely certain that this is the same stranger that keeps breaking into the house.

cheeks

After a moment of silence he glances up at Michael and finds his cheeks tinted a splotchy pink.  It’s much cuter than it has any right to be.

star doesn't appear in any of my wips as is???? so here's one with rockstar instead

Ashton texts a congratulations on the video and tells Luke that he looks like a proper rockstar in it, which makes Luke feel better than any tweet from Niall Horan ever could.

glasses was also more difficult to find than I anticipated (i need to work on that smh I LOVE the boys in their glasses)

The first practice goes about as well as Michael expected it to.  Mason has some trepidation about leaving his side to participate in the group activities, but one of the kids who arrived first is super outgoing and immediately decides that they’re friends, pulling him in.  His name is Oliver, and he has bright orange hair and glasses strapped to his head like goggles.  By the end of practice, Michael has exchanged numbers with Oliver’s mom at the behest of their kids.

lots of these were difficult to find but I did it! Beanie, cheeks, and glasses are all from different malum wips, warm is from a muke, and star is from a lashton

send me a word and I’ll scour my wips for a sentence that includes it!

[alloftheimaginess]

Tell All

A/n: I cried when I got this request. It literally took me back to being 14 years old writing cringe fanfics on wattpad of one direction and their super stereotypical likes and dislikes lol also before I found out that black people wrote imagines so I was always reading "and Yn brushed her long blonde hair up into a messy bun and decided she looked good and was ready to go about her day, making sure she applied sunscreen because her fair skin burned easily" those were good times. Also changed it up a little reader and Harry stayed together and are in an amazing relationship because who wouldn’t want to be exclusive it’s Harry fucking styles. Also it’s my first Harry imagine so it definitely sucks lol

Warnings: a few swear words, sucky writing and probably a ton of mistakes.

"Let's welcome our guest" Lauren the host says and I run on stage and she pulls me into a big hug as everyone cheers and I hug her back, rocking us back and forth.

"Oh my god, how are you?" I ask kissing her cheek as I pull back.

"I'm so good, super glad you're here" she says.

"You and me both" I say pulling away fully and turning to the audience and I smile at them.

"And how are you all?" I ask and they all cheer so I laugh.

"That's good to hear" I say sitting down and I smile.

"So I have yet to read your book, your tell all as it has yet to come out officially. I'm hoping you could read just a little of it" she says handing me the book I sent her yesterday and I nod opening it to the chapter I want to read from.

"Keep in mind everyone, if you haven't already preordered Yn's book do it. It comes out in four days and I seen online from your official site it’s already sold out" she says and I smile at her nodding.

“Yeah but I’ve partnered with a bunch of stores so if they have books you can buy it. Also I’m donating a bunch of books” I say and she smiles.

“Really?” She asks and I nod.

“Yeah, with every book bought it’s a meal for a family so I bought out like 3 thousand copies and so that’s 3 thousand families fed and not even to mention all the copies that have been ordered from everyone. So now I have all these books and will be giving them out starting today” I say and everyone in the audience cheers.

“Sounds like you guys are actually excited so I’ll start with you” I say and they cheer even louder and I laugh.

"Ready?" She asks and I nod.

"I'm so nervous" she says giggling and I laugh.

"You're nervous, how do you think I feel? You guys are the first people besides my mom that are hearing anything from it. But the chapter I chose is called ‘Oh No I'm Pregnant’ so we’ll start there" I say and everyone starts screaming in the audience and I have to cover my ears as I laugh, even Lauren is in shock and I laugh waiting for the screams to die down.

"This isn't what I needed at all. The band is broken up, I don't know what to do with myself. We're only 21 and 20 this can not be happening" I read and she leans in smiling at me.

"I remember my thoughts. Maybe this is for the best. Maybe the break is exactly what we needed at this time so I can focus on being a mother, yes this is exactly what I need because now I can give you all of my attention" I read and the pictures of Winnie pop up on the screen and Lauren turns to look at them.

"Oh my god, she looks like Harry!" Someone screams and I giggle behind the book.

"Look at those curls" Lauren says.

"How am I going to tell him? How will he look at me. Will I just be the woman he made an accidental child with that he won't even want? Will he hate me and say it's not his? What will his family think? His family is some of my biggest supporters. We have been together for a while but we’ve never even talked about kids" I read.

"Do I tell him immediately or do I tell him later? I have all these questions and no one to help me answer them" I read flipping the page and everyone is listening while watching videos of Winnie and I, some of them from when she first started walking to now as she's almost five years old and she's in gymnastics doing flips.

"Moving past my doubt of pregnancy. This is called dedicated to Winnie" I say and everyone cheers.

"The minute I heard your heartbeat you took over my every thought. I have to be an amazing mother to you, I have to give you all that you deserve. Then I found out you were a girl. My little girl with a beating heart and I knew your name. As soon as I seen you I knew you were my little Gwyneth" I read and the video pops up of Harry playing the guitar and everyone starts cheering

"We'll be a fine. We'll be a fine line. We'll be a fine line" he sings playing the song on the guitar.

"What are we going to be?" He asks and the camera points towards Winnie who's sat in my lap.

"We'll be alright" she sings bouncing with him to the music.

"Again" he yells over the music and she giggles.

"We'll be alright" she sings through her giggles.

"Why?" He asks still playing the song.

"Because of mommy" she sings to the beat of the song and I tickle her and she giggles doubling over from laughter.

"Because of mummy" Harry sings and I smile at him.

"We'll be alright" he sings standing up and she sings with him and he kisses her head before he quickly pecks my lips and I laugh.

"Holy shit!" Lauren yells as the audience is losing their shit.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up" she says freaking out.

"I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry I know I'm not supposed to swear but how could I not? Did you just see that fucking video? Yn you are going to give everyone a heart attack" she says and she stares at me with wide eyes.

"I can't believe this is real" she says laughing and the audience is still losing their shit and I just laugh through all the chaos.

"You came onto this show letting us think we had the upper hand because you have to answer every question we ask but really you had all the power over us" she says.

"I'm literally crying. Play that back" she says wiping her eyes and they play it again.

"How old is she?" She asks.

"She's four. Almost five" I say.

"What's her full name?" She asks.

"Gwyneth Anne Styles" I say and she covers her face.

"After Harry’s mom? Who all knows about her?" She asks.

"Yes and my family knows, his family, the boys aka Zayn, Niall, Louis and Liam, the food delivery guy that brought me food the whole time I was pregnant from that Chinese food place, the people that help Harry with his albums so everyone in the studio. James Corden and now all of you" I say.

"Harry is a dad. Oh my gosh" she says covering her face and I hear some of the audience crying.

“So are you two like officially together?" She asks and I nod.

"Yeah" I say smiling at her.

"Like dating or marriage because after the news of a whole five year old I can't trust anything else you say" she says and I laugh.

"Just dating, I'm only 25. I'm still trying to figure myself out" I say and she laughs.

"I wouldn't believe that even for a second" she says eyeing me and I laugh.

"Good" I say.

"Good" she says back and then she pauses.

"Wait what?" She asks and I nod.

"What do you mean good?" She asks.

“Ooh that looks like it’s time” I say.

“Uh uh, I need information” she says.

“We have to move on” I say

[xxmyhomexx]

Flower From Tiamat's Fire: Salute to The Five, Part 1

I keep getting ideas for writing after seeing all the posts people keep putting up! This will be a couple of parts, as it is about Kingu and Nikkal's daughter as an adult! It has no connection to the game, and is once more about The Five!

~~~

"Since Kingu is stepping down, it is mandatory to balance the thrones. Once she reaches age 25, Laney must take her Father's place."

"Your daughter controls Chaos better than anyone. She is perfect."

Laney's yellow eyes snapped open think over the events that transpired over her life. She remembered meeting The Five for the first time, sleeping in Ishtar's bed and eating cookies with Enki. It was only a handful of times they welcomed her, but those times were the warmest the world's rulers treated her. Now, just as her parents' taught her, her 25th birthday was here, which was also the annual Salute To The Five Ceremony.

Sitting at the vanity in her old bedroom, she observed her reflection. Her skin reflected her father's pallor, midnight black hair falling in waves down to the small of her back. Her angular face produced high cheekbones, and her yellow eyes reflected her mother's. The cherry-red lip paint on her lips glossed as she puckered, sighing deeply in her chair.

Her dress was outfitted in a style that suited her tastes, a simple but elegent lavender with a flared out bottom and off the shoulder sleeves. The Five ceremony would start in two hours, and she still hadn't moved a muscle to get to the door. Why was she like this? She had the confidence of her father, but the timidness of her mom.

"By Lahamu and Lahamu, curse you." She sneered.

"Curse me? I hope not, because I bring gifts!" A man's voice startled her from her chair. He wore orange robes, his dark brown hair tied back in a manbun, green eyes dancing on her while carrying a basket with ribbons, a dagger, and other trinkets. Laney's muscles relaxed as she recognized Kishi, a boy from a neighboring village near The Academy, and one whom her mother rescued from an Annunaki.

"Kishi," she hugged him as he sat the basket down. "By the name of Irkalla, never scare me like that again. I could've scorched you and fed you to the Annunaki.

"Psssh, bitch please," Kishi scoffed. "A little thing like you could never."

They both laughed as she sat back down. Kishi leaned forward and massaged her shoulders, figuring out how to style her hair. He fanned out her locks to her face, asking her if she had any suggestions.

"I'm thinking braided buns and curls going down your back," he scratched his chin. "Or maybe clipped back in a crown?"

Laney's lips formed a thin line. She had always loves long hair, and she swore to never get it shortened unless the ends needed trimming. Now gazing at her reflection, she inhaled through her nostrils and nodded to herself.

"Cut it off."

Kishi froze. "Excuse me?"

"I want it short," Laney leaned back. "Maybe down to my chin. Yeah, let's go with that."

"Darling," Kishi was perplexed. "You never wanted anyone to cut it short."

"Times are different, Kishi," Laney relaxed her shoulders. "I'm about to...become a part of The Five."

"Oh, Laney," Kishi rubbed her head. "You never asked for this life."

Chuckling, she shook her head and lowered her lashes. He was right, she never asked to become Kingu's successor. Enki wanted a replacement, and Tiamat's thrones needed five people to rule over the world. Humans and mages lived in harmony now, and the peace following Tiamat's demise lasted years and years. She thought she'd be at the House of The Lion practicing sparring with Aunt Su, listening to Uncle Iyar plucking his strings, or listening to Guardian Niall and her parents reminiscing about her childhood.

Instead, she was privately tutored, trained twince as hard from any other mage, and learned the ins and outs of ruling as part of The Five. Kingu and Nikkal taught her as much as possible, preparing her to their best for her 25th birthday. Now it was here, and a part of her wished it'd end as fast as it started.

"Me too, but I'll make best of it," she finally answered Kishi. "I won't let The Five down, or my family. I'm not weak, and I sure as Irkalla am not someone to give in. I'll be the best damn ruler Ur has ever seen."

"That's my girl," Kishi rubbed her head. "Now, how do you want the cut?"

"In waves."

~~~

Outside her daughter's room, Nikkal's hunched shoulders rolled back in anxiety. Clutching her blue dress's wrap tightly around her chest, her long fiery hair tucked tightly above her head in a braided bun with ringlets framing the sides of her face. Today, she'd guide her only daughter to the Ziggurat, where she'd start her rule alongside Enki, Ishtar, Shamash and Enlil.

She was so strong-willed, but her poor girl had to learn faster than anyone to fight and learn magic. Never once did she complain, cried a few times, but never gave up. Now, on her birthday The Five Ceremony would take place, which meant her induction as well. She was a proud mother, a very proud one.

"Are you all right, My Lady?" a familiar figure wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest. Kingu, her child's father and husband, wore black robes with a long flowing cape. It was traditional Five clothing, although he'd be inducting someone else. His hair was fastened in its normal style, but looking at him, she'd fallen in love with him all over again.

"Yes," Nikkal turned around to kiss him. "Just trying to delay the moment our girl takes her place with Enki."

Kingu pursed his lips. "A part of me feels guilty."

Nikkal's eyebrows rose. "Why, dear?"

"It should be someone else, not Laney. If it were up to me, I would've never have left if they told me she needed to take my place."

He closed his eyes and frowned. Nikkal cupped his face, forcing him to open them.

"Laney chose to accept this, Kingu. She is scared, but she understands her duties. Believe me, as her mom, I'd have change fate as well."

The two leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. For a few minutes, they remained together, in a mental embrace hoping the hours of the ceremony wouldn't come. Unfortunately, reality wasn't fantasy, and they needed to face Enki and the others sooner or later. Kingu released his wife and walked to the doors, grabbing both handles and opening them to reveal a shocking display.

Their eyes widened when they saw Laney facing them, fanning out her dress. She looked like an angel, although they notice Kishi sweeping the strands of her hair into a pan on the floor. Her once long, lush locks had been chopped off, reaching now her chin in wavy strands. To keep it out of her face, Kishi clipped two strands back with silver and purple hair ornaments. Her makeup was minimal, only cherry red lip paint and pink powder to accentuate her cheeks. A matching shawl draped over her shoulders completed the look of her beautiful gown.

"Mom, Dad?" Laney tilted her head. "What time is it?"

"It's still early, but we came to get you," Nikkal smiled. "You look gorgeous, my dove."

"Yes," Kingu smiled wide. "Like an angel."

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, as close as any father could. He did not want to let her go, to start a new life, he just wanted her to stay here and keep on nurturing and loving her. But as any father, he had to let her grow into an adult, an adult who was now going to be a new member of The Five.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered in her hair. "I wish things were different."

"Father, no," Laney shook her head. "Don't say that. I know it wasn't the life you wanted for me, but I've come to terms with it. The Four needs a successor, and I can control Chaos. I'm not afraid."

Kingu stroked her cheek and smiled. "You're a terrible liar."

Laney smirked. "I guess you can never truly be ready, huh?"

"Things will get easier," Kingu gripped her hand. "Trust me."

Nikkal walked in the room and pulled her daughter close as well. She may not have been a special mage unlike Kingu, but she was still an equal in this family, and her daughter was her everything. As a mom, she envisioned her life as a free spirit, choosing her own path and creating happy memories.

"Just know we are still proud," her breath hitched. "So, so much."

Tears threatedned to spill out of her eyes, but Laney shook her head and cleared her throat as the family separated at a knock on the door. A servant entered her chambers, bowing to the family.

"Pardon my interruption, but Lord Enki has arrived. It is time to take Laney to the square."

Laney braced herself as she followed her parents out of the room.

[1dclicheficfest]

The time has come, my dears! We’ve compiled, organized and sorted your submissions and we’re ready to share them! We’ve had so much fun reading your clichés and we hope it’ll give you a good laugh.

Important disclaimer because it has to be said: we do not endorse any of the clichés submitted and these are not meant to spark Discourse™ . This is all in good fun, to spark your imagination and perhaps inspire some prompts!

Before we get to the fun part, don’t forget that prompt submissions open on February 1st and will run until March 28th. The full schedule can be found here.

And now, without further ado, here are your brilliant clichés.

HARRY

Green eyes

Huge eyes

Dimples

Always smirking

“The flirt”

Jobs: Works in a flower shop/Used to be a baker/Frat boy/LA socialite/Mermaid

“Quirky”

Clumsy/balance issues

Health nut/Workout junkie/Eats a lot of avocado and kale/loves yoga/gross green health smoothies

Very slow speech

Paints his nails

Beautiful long luscious curly hair

Long legs/large hands

Tall/large/big

Nudity/loves walking around starkers

Obsessed with being pregnant/babies

Kind to everyone

Bites his lip a lot

Tells terrible jokes/loves puns

Naive and oblivious

Clothing: Pearl necklace, Chelsea boots/gold boots/boots in general/Gucci everything/Flared, high-waisted trousers/’red and black sheer floral shirt with black skinny jeans’

Always unbuttons his shirt to show off tattoos

Baby seal laugh

Bad at driving

Hipster/takes artsy photos

Acting out for attention/Petty jealousy for no reason or because of a misunderstanding or when anyone comes near Louis

Bad dancer that gives it his all/makes awkward shapes with his limbs when trying to dance

Cat mom/Wine aunt

Resting bitch face

Rides a motorcycle

LIAM

Little clueless

Insecure

Louis is constantly messing with him

Roommates with Louis

Puppy/a lost puppy/puppy in human form/puppy eyes/puppy who doesn’t know how hot and strong he is/loves puppies

Manly muscle man/buff af/loves working out/sweet himbo beefcake

Bullied in the past

Giant heart/incredibly kind/soft/super loyal

Worry-wart/mother hen of the band/gets nervous when things don’t go to plan

Voice of reason/the responsible one/Daddy Direction/level-headed/most serious of the five/keeps the others grounded

Doesn’t know how to let loose and have fun

Lacking in experience/innocent about sex things

Oblivious to his feelings/other people’s feelings for him

Jobs: Firefighter/boxer/athlete

Super soft for Zayn

Protective

“Wants to cry as soon as Louis opens his mouth and doesn’t know if it’s because he’s scared, because it’s too funny, or because he just can’t handle any of it.”

Fear of spoons

Timid/

“being very shy/awkward in the beginning and then getting more confident because of Louis”

Snake habitat turn around!

Can’t spell

His turtle losing a foot

“Smelly pasta house”

Loves batman

Being alpha in ABOs

Unruly curly hair then trimmed to a crisp buzz

LOUIS

Blue eyes: ocean blue/blue as the sky on a sunny winter day/twinkle eyes

Arse and/or tummy as a defining feature

Sassy/sass master/feisty/snarky/cheeky/witty/playful/funny/sarcastic/joker

Flamboyant

Heart of gold/”Louis IS the sun”

“Does not suffer fools gladly (that’s your job you fooking loosah)”/hot-headed to pick fights only in defense of those he loves

Protective/Mama bear/loyal/Daddy of the group

Small/Dainty stature emphasized

Runs fingers through his fringe/hair always styled

Jobs: Footie player, teacher, drama teacher, actor, plays in a band

Loves music and writes songs

Plays footie (even if it’s not his job)

LOUD

Can’t cook/chicken wrapped in parma/”Can’t cook to save his life and if he does the kitchen ends up in flames”

Soft with Harry

School: Studying drama, being the bad boy, pop!punk Louis

Bratty/petty/snappy

Smoking

Zayn’s partner in crime

Rooms with Liam

Calls everyone ‘love’/uses too many terms of endearment

Yorkshire accent emphasized/always talks about Doncaster

Clothing: Vans or Adidas shoes/Toms/trackies/braces/red jeans/dressing in comfortable clothes only/no socks/scarf

Very good with kids/loves kids/family-oriented/looking after siblings/having a huge family

Eats junk food only

“The gay who cannot drive”

NIALL

Drinks a lot/Drinks everyone under the table because he’s Irish/Guinness lover/fun drunk/Will sing Gaelic folk songs when drunk/big social drinker-always making friends via alcohol/will kiss anyone when drunk

Food: Eats all the food/doesn’t season his food/loves Nando’s/”100% will take the last slice of pizza and not feel bad about it”/can and will eat you out of house and home/actually eats and cooks healthy but everyone thinks the opposite

Irish/Irish and proud/Wey Hey lads!/leprechaun Niall

Carefree/nothing bothers him

Romantic: falls fast and hard

Captain Niall!/Captain of the ship(s)

Music: guitar always present/Goes into the zone when he has an instrument in his hands - nothing will distract or get through to him/The Eagles fanboy/Damien Rice fanboy

Funny/always laughing/joking around/head back cackle of a laugh

Single/hooks up with a ton of people but no serious relationships/sleeps around/Serial Ladies man/Friends with benefits with multiple people at once/

Turns up the charm 100% and never half-asses it/”Scrunches his hair in thought and knows he looks cute doing so (like girls that purposefully bite their lip)”

Friends with literally everyone/has a thousand surface-level friends that think they’re close to him but keeps all at arm’s length/the greatest friend but also pickiest about who he becomes friends with

Clothing: Constantly shirtless/shorts over trousers/flip-flops as house shoes/gold chain/coin necklace/hoop earring/”golf dad that tucks in his shirts and unironically wears polos”

Obsessed with golf and football/practices his putt in the hallway with an empty loo roll

A bro

Secretly insightful/Tactless but gives essential advice as a result

Secretive/keeps his shit quiet/Definitely the guy with the most secrets

The blond one

Hairy chest

Worst poker face

Finger guns/peace signs

Blushes when he’s excited

Adores Shawn and Lewis

Cares a lot about what others think

Says no judgment but really judges a lot/judges you based on music taste

Rings in at 0 on the gaydar but could surprise you/the only het one

Tries to avoid conflict by remaining ‘on the fence’ and not picking a side

Always the roommate

Face mask selfies

Emotions rotate between sad, sexy, and fun - combination vary

Never a villain

Close with Harry

“Violent masturbating in the next room”

Constant pet names for everyone/”Even has pet names for his devices (like his vacuum robot”

ZAYN

Super smart/nerd/wise/The Ravenclaw

Smokes a lot

Secretly very soft/gentle/biggest heart/”His confidence and aloofness hide a sensitive heart of gold”/Bad boy secretly soft

Heart-eyes at Liam/Soft with Liam/”Lee-yum”

Mysterious eyes

Best friends with Louis

Jobs: Artist, tattoo artist, English teacher who loves art, works in comic book store,

Shy/withdrawn/mysterious/brooding best friend/quiet/”Seems intimidating until you realize he’s just shy”/bad boy outside, soft boy inside/”not as cool as he seems but way sweeter”

The artistic one/tortured artist/art student/skater/also does graffiti/spray-paint

Marvel fan/comic book fan/superhero fan

Clothing: Wears his clothes like armor/leather jacket/”He’s the only one with good taste and he knows it”

Most ‘devil may care’ about his sexuality

Family-oriented/family man

Involved with his religion

Model figure/carved by gods/vain but not obnoxious about it

Catchprase is ‘sick’

Needs time alone to recharge

Changes his hair a lot/that one strand of hair that falls over his eyes

Thinks Malibu is called Malabami

“Eats candy underwear off of Harry’s crotch”

[goodmorninglou]

Red Thing

this is from a request by @cheesy2mac and it’s kinda trashy but i also kinda love it !! :)) anyway hope you enjoy and stuff idk have fun

pairing: larry stylinson

warnings: oblivious!lou, pining!haz, pizza, mentions of a red thing ;)

word count: 1,791

rating: let’s say PG-13

~~~~~

When Harry steps into his flat, grocery bags weighing down his arms, keys in one hand and mask in the other, one of the last things he expects to see is his roommate sitting on the floor whispering to a box of pizza.

Quarantine has been long, okay. Harry understands that. He was getting nauseatingly tired of his same four walls, honestly, and even today’s excursion to the grocer’s felt like a cross-country adventure, something new and exciting. But he’s also got a whole myriad of books, and he bought a new pack of journals to scribble lyrics and entries into, and even took up knitting for fun. He’s halfway through his first quilt. The point is that he’s got stuff to do. And, at the end of the day, Harry’s a homebody. He loves his home.

Louis, on the other hand.

Not to say that Louis didn’t love their flat, he did, and Harry knew that. But after a roughly a thousand FIFA matches, four full run-throughs of Call of Duty: Modern Warfare, and a toaster fire that burnt down his house in the Sims 4, he’s. Well. He’s losing it a little.

Hence the pizza, apparently.

Louis’ eyes are bright and focused and ringed with bruise-colored bags as he lifts a piece out of the cardboard box. He’s wearing Harry’s shirt, swallowing his thin shoulders, and his legs are crossed beneath him. “Om nom nom,” he whispers, almost fanatically, messy hair forming a spiky halo around his skull. “Delicious.”

For a moment, Harry stares.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Louis barely starts, azure eyes flashing up to glance into Harry’s stunned face for half a moment before returning to his pizza, folding it in half and biting into the end. “I ordered pizza.” He says, with a full mouth that Harry shouldn’t find endearing.

That’s the real problem with quarantine. Being around Louis. No escape.

Harry snorted softly and nudged Louis’ foot as he passed. “Come help me put these away, will you?” He asks fondly, tossing his keys on the counter and setting the groceries on the floor. Their kitchen is small, commonplace for a flat in London, but it’s nice. Homey, even. Harry doesn’t know if that’s because of his mom-like wall hangings and punny dish towels, or Louis’ dishes in the sink and the crude drawing he scribbled on the fridge whiteboard. Maybe a bit of both.

Louis abandons the rest of the pizza on the floor of the front room but keeps the half-eaten one with him, pinned precariously between his teeth as he shuffles into the kitchen and heaves himself onto the counter beside where Harry is washing his hands.

“How’s the outside world?” Louis asks, reaching over to wrap one of Harry’s curls around his finger. Harry tries not to jerk away from him.

“Quiet.” Harry answered honestly. And then, “But crazy, too. No hand sanitizer again.”

Louis pouted exaggeratedly, then hopped off the counter. Harry’s shirt flies up around his waist, and Harry looks away before he can glimpse the black of Louis’ boxers, the curve of his soft thighs. “Sad. Did you get chips?”

“Yes, Louis, you told me eight times.” Harry sighs, only half-seriously, shaking his head a little.

Louis bounds over to press a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “You’re fantastic.”

Harry doesn’t answer. Just turns to the bags and starts unloading.

That’s the problem with quarantine. He’s falling in love with his roommate.

=====

The next day, he comes home to Louis singing songs with Harry’s knitting needles speared through his hair and a massive notepad balanced on his knees. The paper is defaced with thick Sharpie drawing of exed smiley faces and penises.

Harry doesn’t ask.

He doesn’t ask, but his heart stutters, and he shuts himself in his bedroom until the next morning.

=====

“Let’s get a cat.”

“We’re not getting a cat.”

“Please!”

“No, Louis,” Harry mutters, shaking his head a little and tapping his pen against his knee. “Haven’t you seen all those stories about people getting pets in quarantine because they’re lonely, only to realize they have no idea how to care for pets? The poor things end up in pounds, and then...” Harry’s eyes go a little misty against his own will. “Well, you know what happens then.”

Louis pokes Harry’s thigh with his toes. “Being stuck inside has made you morbid.”

“Being stuck inside has made you crazy.”

Louis leaps on him, his journal falls to the floor, and the cat conversation is forgotten until they’re far too tired and giggly to bring it up again.

=====

Screw falling. Harry’s in love with his roommate. Full, tacky, gross, fantastic love. The kind that makes his tummy knot and his cheeks flush.

And Louis’ oblivious.

=====

It all comes to a head one day, when Harry awakes to find Louis standing on the countertop in only his pants, reaching precariously for the chips on top of the cabinet and nearly tumbling to the floor in the process. His back is slim and gold and stretched and the curve of his delicate thighs are right there and when he stretches again, the bottom of his pants rides up and the pale curve of his arse is on display and.

And.

Fucking hell.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry mutters sharply, too sharply, startling Louis. Harry darts across the kitchen to grab onto his calf when he starts to slip, steadying him, and Louis makes a sound like “oh.” It’s pretty.

“Good morning, Haz.” Louis greets cheerfully, one hand splayed across the top of the cabinet, chips within reach. “How’d you sleep?”

“Why the fuck are you on the counter? What are you doing?”

Louis frowns. “Not well, I see.” He mutters. And then, holding out a hand, “Help me down.”

Harry slaps his hand away, grabs him by the hips, and lifts him down.

It’s a mistake. That much Harry knows the second he’s got Louis’ skin under his palms, warm and smooth and rolling with delicate muscle, body so small between his hands. So moveable. Louis’ hands fist in the front of his shirt, tight and unstable, and when he looks up, his cerulean eyes are wide. Shocked.

His mouth parts. Harry wants to kiss him.

“Thanks.” Louis whispers. His tongue darts between his teeth, wetting his pinkish lower lip, quick and nervous. His lashes cast shadows over his sharp cheekbones. Kiss him. Kiss him. He says again, “Thanks.”

“Crush.” Harry blurts.

The whole world goes quiet.

Louis blinks. “What?”

Harry’s going to have to start looking for flat listings.

“Crush.” He says again, flushing rose, and then crimson. “I have a crush on you. A big one. And, somehow, you going absolutely bananas during this quarantine has only made it worse.” Harry pauses. “You really have gone crazy, by the way.”

“I have not.”

“You told me you were going to start writing poems about the effectiveness of capitalism vs. communism on Wednesday.”

“Because someone has to do it!”

“No one has to do it—”

“Harry.”

He likes the way Louis says his name. It’s so soft.

“I just like you.” Harry murmured. “It was driving me crazy keeping it to myself. I tell you everything, anyway, so. Yeah. I have a crush.”

He’s still holding Louis’ hips. His hands are cold when he lets go, colder than they’ve ever felt before, and they hang uselessly at his sides like he’s forgotten how to work them. Maybe he has. Maybe his hands were made for holding onto Louis.

Louis watches him blankly, lips parted, pale eyes wide and thick with confusion. He inhales, like he’s going to say something, but nothing comes. Then, he does it again.

Harry takes a step back as his heart crumples inside his chest, like old paper. A step back is all he can take.

Louis steps forward.

“I never...” he starts, ever-so-quietly, as his gaze rakes up and down Harry’s body like he’s seeing something he never thought to look for before. He crosses his arms over his bare stomach, and then drops them. “I never thought about you like that.” He says. And then, “Before.”

“Before when?”

“Right now.”

And suddenly, his gaze sharpens, sliding with unabashed intrigue over Harry’s body, his shocked face, a smug confidence curling the edges of his mouth. His eyes glitter. Assessing. Like... like he’s deciding if Harry is good enough. If he’s interested.

This Louis, Harry knows.

It feels like years of silence before Louis laughs, gently, just a delicate sound from the base of his throat, and crosses his arms. His biceps bulge. “I’d say you have to take me on a date, but restaurants aren’t open.” He murmured.

Somewhere in Harry’s frozen chest, a heart starts beating again. “So...” he began, veins sharp and vibrating.

The smirk widens. “So, it might be in your best interest to replicate one in this kitchen. Tonight. At seven. Wear the tie I like.”

“Wear the red thing I like.” Harry shoots back, a grin breaking so far across his face that his cheeks begin to ache.

A pause. Then, “Only if you’re lucky.”

Harry grins and turns towards his room, fully prepared to sift through all of his nicest clothes and refuse to decide until he inevitably rings Niall and gets no help from him, when Louis’ hand wraps around his wrist.

They’re kissing before Harry can register the fact that he’s stopped moving.

Harry’s thought a lot about kissing Louis, clearly, considering he’s half in love and Louis is the most beautiful creature to ever walk the earth. But his fantasies did nothing to compare to this. This is rapture. This is Elysium. This is, over and over and over, the greatest moment of his life to date. This.

Louis’ mouth is hot and soft and wet and his hand is tight around Harry’s wrist, spasming like he isn’t entirely sure Harry isn’t going to run away. As if he could. He smells like lemon and baby powder. The whole expanse of his torso presses against Harry’s chest when Harry threads an arm around his waist, yanking him ever closer, shuddering and shivering, heart beating out of his chest. The whole world is on fire and Louis is right there and Harry’s brain is silent. His tongue brushes Harry’s lips. Parts them. Harry grabs onto his hip and squeezes. This is definitely what his hands were made for.

Louis is panting when he pulls away, one hand lying flat over Harry’s heart, like he likes the way it pounds, the other still clasped around his wrist.

Harry’s in love with him. One hundred percent.

Louis reaches up to pat his flushed cheek and grins.

“I’ll wear the red thing.”

Harry drags him in again.

[not-to-be-gay-but-holy-shit]

The Barns in Sims 4

So I started this project on Sunday and spent all week working on it, finding every mention of The Barns in all the books and taking notes, drafting and redrafting the upstairs THREE TIMES >:( and getting as many details right as I could. It is a 4 bedroom, two and a half bath farmhouse with a basement and a shed (both shed and basement are empty, I was too fried to finish them!). The outside is based on a farmhouse that Maggie herself tweeted about, and, with a lot of advice from my mom as to what a farmhouse actually looks like, I made the interior (Disclaimer: I have the base game + City Living, Cats and Dogs, and Get Together, so I'm sure something from a different pack might have been better in some places but I am also broke! So I'm working with those three!)

The kitchen. Described as a mixture of decades and styles, with white cabinets, butcher block counters and grubby laminate. It has stools for the counter, and a door to the backyard, like in the books.

The living room. The living room has a black leather couch and a plaid couch (I didn't have plaid, so stripes have to suffice!), as well as a fireplace, coffee table, TV, and various games. The door leads to a half bath, not mentioned in the book, but something I thought it could use.

The dining room. The dining room has a round table with a variety of different chairs. There is something to play music, and CD's. The shield and sword above the window acts as a placeholder for the nightmare mask. It is also stated to be a separate room from the kitchen and living room.

The sitting room. The sitting room is described as being storage for everything that didn’t have a place elsewhere, hence a lot of clutter. Aurora’s chair sits in the middle, under the light that looks like planets. Across the room is a sitting area with three clashing chairs, as well as Niall’s desk, and two light fixtures that are also potted plants. In the books, there are rugs in the corner that Matthew and Ronan use to hide, but I don’t have that option in the game, so instead they are racks of paintings (which your sim can still hide in!) The door leads to the basement (which is empty, sorry). It also has no windows, because Ronan mentions in The Dream Thieves (?) that there are no windows in that room.

Next is Aurora and Niall’s bedroom. They have white bedding, picture frame on the nightstand, as well as plenty of room for storage across the room, like the boxes that Ronan goes through in Call Down the Hawk. There is also supposed to be a framed photo of Niall and Aurora above the dresser, which I took in game and put there, but it wouldn’t let me upload the build to the library as non-modded because their outfits/hair were mods :(

Declan’s room. We don’t get to see his room that often in the books (once, when Adam sleeps over), so I made it very clean and sparse.

Matthew’s room. My first version of Matthew’s room was a lot brighter and messier than Declan’s, but in Call Down the Hawk, Ronan mentions that his room is actually fairly empty and free of messes, so I gave him yellow wallpaper and green bedding and called it a day.

Ronan’s room. Ronan has a lot of clutter in his room, whether dirty laundry or dream objects, so I tried to capture some of that chaos. Although my version of The Sims 4 doesn’t have a skateboard or bagpipes, I managed to include the shelves of toy cars like in the Raven King, and, to the right of the top picture, there is a plant similar to the one Ronan describes briefly in Call Down the Hawk.

The backyard. Obviously I don’t have the acreage within The Sims to fully capture the expanse of The Barns, but I still tried to allude to its nature. The ground is slight bumpy, and the grass texture changes often. There is a pond like in the Opal short story, as well as a grill, and a shed. The shed is empty, but there is a staircase that leads to a part of the roof, where a miniature light show is, like the ORBMASTER scene in The Raven King. The paint stuff was my choice, I just thought it was a fun way to represent that constant state of change or improvement, like the house really is being lived in and worked on by the characters.

Not pictured (I hit the image limit on the post sadly) but I still want to talk about: There is a table with blue flowers in the hallway outside the kitchen, like the ones in The Dream Thieves. Also in the Dream Thieves, there is a mirror in the entryway. There are two staircases upstairs, and no hallway connecting the two wings from the second floor. This is because the boys’ rooms are described as being upstairs, yet Ronan also mentions fixing the wooden staircase that led to his parents’ room. Since there wasn’t room in the attic for the master bedroom, I elected to just make two different staircases. Additionally, there are two other bathrooms not mentioned, and a laundry room, like Opal talks about in the Opal short story. I also added a mudroom, that, while not mentioned within the novel, my mom mentioned that farmhouses usually have one, so I felt it fit with the house. No garage, because I didn’t have space, and I don’t have a pack that allows cars in the first place!

I have uploaded this house to the Origin gallery, if you want to download it! Once again, it has stuff from Cats and Dogs, Get Together, and City Living, although I believe (don’t quote me on this) it’s mostly just furniture that you could replace pretty easily, if you want to try it out anyways! Look for a residential lot named The Barns by semipeaceful. Thanks for reading all the way through, ily <3

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 14: Fever]

A/N: I’ve written a lot of chapters for Tumblr, but this one was by far the hardest. Thank you for reading. 💜 

Chapter summary: Queen enjoys an American tradition, Y/N struggles to be optimistic, John offers distractions, Roger makes questionable decisions (what else is new).

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, accidental intense flirting, inconvenient erections, drugs, overdoses, near-death experiences, medical emergencies, hospital stuff, pregnancy, babies, miscarriage, drama, sexual references, do I even need to say angst...? Y’all already know.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @stardust-killer-queen​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​ @pomjompish​ @writerxinthedark​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 

It’s November 12th, 1977, and you’re six weeks pregnant.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be a grandmother!” Your mom is positively giddy, beaming ceaselessly, patting the back of Roger’s hand at least once every three minutes. I was right about this delightful English boy and my future gorgeous, doe-eyed grandchildren, that look says. Your parents either never saw any headlines, or—a possibility that seems increasingly conceivable—didn’t believe them.

“I know it’s early to announce,” you add nervously. “But we figured...you know, since we’re here now...and who knows when we’ll be back in Boston...”

“Oh, I’m so happy you told me!” your mother peals like a wind chime. “Here, have some more sweet potatoes, and some salmon too, they’re so good for the baby...have you thought about names yet?”

“Roger Junior,” Roger jokes.                                                        

“Freddie Junior,” Freddie offers with a flamboyant flourish of his hand; his fingernails are jet black with glinting flecks of silver.

“A few,” you tell your mother, rolling your eyes at Freddie. “But there’s still plenty of time to figure that out.” In truth, this whole having a baby thing still feels rather nebulous and untrustworthy, like it’s a dream you might wake up from, like it’s a desert mirage that will evaporate as soon as you stumble too close, parched and ravenous and aching for it. Roger slips his arm around your waist, and you don’t exactly dislike that; but it feels a little like a mirage too.

“We’re so happy,” he says, with a gentle wistfulness that is striking on him. Roger is happy, as happy as you’ve ever seen him. He drinks only in moderation. He does his physical therapy. He’s taken up meditation. He fucking meditates. He wants to get clean for the baby, for you, for this second chance at a future together. And you don’t entirely trust this—because everyone lies and everyone disappoints and everyone carries around mortal shadows in the marrow of their bones—but you are beginning to let it make you happy too.

“You’re next, Fred,” Brian says. “You’re the only one left. Come on, it’s your turn. Cough up an infant.”

Freddie cackles. “All my children have whiskers and tails and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Your mother shoves a glass baking pan of sweet potato casserole, topped with a layer of gluey burned marshmallows, towards you. “Eat!” she commands.

You warily spoon yourself some, grimacing; you’re more or less constantly nauseous. Then you stare down at the heap of lumpy orange root vegetables that—to you, at least—contains a choking quantity of cinnamon. The sweet potato casserole stares menacingly back. John leans over and scoops himself a bite off your plate.

“Mmmmm!” he exclaims, to your mother’s delight. Then, more quietly to you: “Not to worry. I’ll help.”

“Everything is delicious, as always,” Brian tells your parents, ever well-mannered. “It’s always such a delight when work brings us to Boston. This was so kind of you!”

Your mom and dad wanted to treat Queen to the band’s first-ever American Thanksgiving dinner, even if actual Thanksgiving was still two weeks away; the table features a monstrous turkey with brown crispy skin, stuffing and mashed potatoes and gravy, homemade cranberry sauce, green beans almondine, ham, Atlantic salmon, buttered rolls, pumpkin pie, and of course the loathsome sweet potato casserole. You endeavor to taste at least one bite of everything, sipping sparkling apple cider cautiously, biting back waves of nausea that surface at random like breaching whales. The tablecloth is speckled with autumn leaves and inappropriately jolly cartoon turkeys. Your parents are glowing, proud, thrilled...although they’re visibly channeling effort into not being offended by the fact that Brian won’t try the turkey.

“It’s our pleasure, of course,” your father deflects as he puffs on a cigar. He’s mixed a drink for all of the non-pregnant attendees: Apple Cranberry Moscow Mules for everyone except John, who requested his usual Manhattan. “And you’ve timed it perfectly. There’s no better time to be in New England than the fall.”

“Oh, the foliage is just stunning, and the skies are so clear, you can see all the constellations!” Brian cranes his neck and points out the dining room window. “Look, there’s the winged horse Pegasus, and Cassiopeia, and Perseus...”

“The scenery is gorgeous! Creatively rousing!” Roger agrees.

“Oh, planning a Boston-inspired sequel, are we?” John quips. “I’m In Love With My Lobster Boat?”

“I’m In Love With My Revolutionary War Memorabilia?” Freddie suggests.

“Get a grip on my extremely unreliable and difficult to load musket...” John sings.

Freddie points his fork at him and grins. “Yours wouldn’t be so difficult, Deaky dear.”

“How long did those old muskets take to load?” Bri asks.

“About two minutes,” your father pipes cheerfully.

Freddie snorts. “Sounds about right.”

John bears the laughter with a good-natured, smug sort of smirk. I’m not bothered because I know I’ve got nothing to worry about, that look says. You wiggle your eyebrows at him. He winks back.

Roger groans as he stretches his hands up towards the ceiling. “Am I really expected to play after all this?! Jesus christ. I’ve gained a stone in the past hour. Alright, one more slice of pie, then we have to get going...”

Queen has reserved your parents front-row seats at the show, as well as a limo to shuttle them there and back. While your mother fusses over whether you’ve eaten enough and what appropriate rock concert attire is—“leather and feather boas and riding crops, darling” Freddie informs her—your father circles the table snapping photographs, first with your Canon and then with his own Polaroid. You and Roger pose together, lean into each other, plant giggling kisses on each other’s cheeks. And you marvel at how a photo is a snapshot, a split second, nothing less and nothing more; that it’s instantly and mechanically captured, impersonal even, cheap to print and easy to burn. As your mother begins gathering up plates and glasses, you stand to help her.

“No no no,” Roger says, wiping the crumbs from his chin with an orange napkin. “Not allowed, Boston babe. Sit down, I’ll do it, I’ll help clean up.”

“I want to,” you insist. “I feel better when I’m moving around.” Less likely to vomit into anyone’s sweet potato casserole.

“You sure?”  

“Absolutely.” You smile down at him fleetingly, ruffle his short bleached hair, then disappear into the kitchen.

Your mother is scrubbing plates in the bubble-filled sink, her hands turning pink under the hot water, humming Rhiannon in a bright merry voice. She’s wearing a sparkling crimson dress that reminds you of blood. Your stomach lists like a sailboat.  

“I’ll wash if you want to dry,” you offer.

“I raised such a kind girl. My beautiful daughter, a future mama. Mrs. Roger Meddows Taylor.” She twirls a lock of your hair affectionately, then steps aside so you can reach into the sink. “That John Deacon is a bit strange, isn’t he?”

You resist the reflex to bristle, to snap at her; it’s not her intention to be cruel. It never is. “No, not really. He’s wonderful, he’s a genius. He’s my best friend, actually.”

“Oh alright, dear. I’m sure he’s lovely enough. He’s just so terribly quiet. He fades away next to the others. And certainly next to Roger.” She sighs, infatuated, dazzled.  

You hear Roger’s voice echo in your skull: Watch out, baby. I get everything I want eventually.

Maybe he was right about that.

You’re trying to be happy, really you are; you’re trying to fall in love with this future Roger has planned for you. But you can’t shake the gnawing sensation that—somewhere along the way—your life stopped being written by you. You’re anxious all the time; you bite your lips until they bleed and wring your ringless hands and rarely sleep. You feel restless and ineffectual and nervy, like there’s some inescapable horror crouched behind every door you open, every page you turn. You feel the opposite of free.

Your mother notes casually, drying a china plate patterned with pink roses and edged with gold: “It must get difficult sometimes, having to share him with the world.”

You gaze into the nest of pearlescent bubbles that pop around your wrists like interrupted dreams, like broken promises. “You have no idea.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s December 21st, 1977, and you’re twelve weeks pregnant.

Blood trickles down your palm, the underside of your wrist, your velveteen-soft forearm. You hold the wad of gauze against the Scottish roadie’s pouring nose. What’s this one’s name? Nick? Nate? Niall? You’ve lost track. Whoever he is, he sustained an accidental elbow to the face as the crew was unloading the band’s luggage from the tour bus and is now slumped on the marble floor of the New Orleans Ritz-Carlton, splattered with drops of blood like the freckles sprayed across his pale cheeks. Giant red bows and Christmas trees trimmed with twinkling white lights rim the lobby.

“Alright, let’s take a look.” You lift the gauze away; the bleeding has slowed considerably. You gingerly probe the bridge of his nose as the roadie moans in pain.

“You trying to kill me, lady?” he jests.

You wrap an ice pack in fresh gauze and press it against his swollen face. “It’s not broken. Keep the ice on it, apply pressure, come get me if the bleeding doesn’t stop in ten minutes. Okay? You might have black eyes but you’re gonna be fine. You’ll look extra badass for the babes at the club.”

“Okay.” The roadie smiles gratefully. “Thanks, Florence Nightingale.”

You smirk up at Roger. “Did you have to teach them that?”

“You’ve cultivated quite the reputation, love.” He grins, takes a drag off his cigarette, glances around the lobby through his opaque prescription sunglasses. And you’re struck by how pertinent he looks here, in grand rooms with chandeliers and towering ceilings, in famed cities littered across the globe. He belongs in the spotlight. He belongs to the world. He doesn’t belong to just me, and he never will.

You reach for your duffel bag, but Roger yanks it away and slings it over his own shoulder.

“Will you please stop trying to lift heavy things?!” he pleads.

“I’m pregnant, I don’t have brittle bone disease.”

“Brittle bone disease!” Freddie cries, horrified. “Is that an actual ailment?!”

John snickers. “Yes, and it’s sexually transmitted, so watch where you stick your bone.”

“Oh, ha ha ha, you are hilarious!” Freddie says, rolling his large dark eyes. “Worry about your own performance, Mr. Misfire. Bri, you’ll join us for a drink tonight, won’t you?”

“Well...” Brian hesitates, and you suspect you know why. He’s been looking forward to this stop for months, Queen’s last in the States during the News Of The World tour; after two days in New Orleans the band will fly back to London, spend the holidays there, resume the tour with shows throughout Europe beginning in April. In just a few rotations of the Earth, Brian will be back at home with Chrissie and the twins. But tonight he has plans to see the girl he calls Peaches.

“You undependable poodle,” Freddie scolds. Then, saccharinely, batting his eyelashes: “But you’ll surely come along, won’t you Nurse Nightingale?”

“Fred...I hate to disappoint, but...”

“This is unacceptable!” he exclaims. “I am distraught! Not even an orgy with spicy Cajun men will lift my spirits!”

“I doubt that,” you reply, smiling. “I’m exhausted, Freddie. This making a kid business isn’t easy.”

“Oh, but you’re not too exhausted to cart around luggage like a fucking alpaca!” Roger massages your shoulders, enfolds the slight bump of your belly with his hands, lands a series of featherlight kisses down your neck. He’s still clean, he’s still effervescent, he’s continuously devoted in a way that is unusual for him, tender and sensitive, simultaneously ecstatic for the future and nostalgic for the past. “Want me to stay?”

“For fuck’s sake!” Freddie laments.

“That’s alright. John said I can help him wrap Christmas presents for Veronica and the kids. I’m learning how to be all maternal and domestic, isn’t that exciting?”

“I’d say you’re fairly effortlessly maternal,” Roger says, rather proudly. “Want me to bring you back anything?”

“No, I’m okay. I’ll send a roadie for chili cheese fries or something.”

“You can send them for lobster and filet mignon. Whatever you want.” He reaches into the pocket of his fitted black jeans and pulls out a small ring box.

“Roger...?”

He opens it, grinning, and taps an antique gold ring with a ruby stone into his calloused palm. “I found this at a shop in Miami. You remember the first time we were ever there? March of 1975. Hotel room with a view that looked out onto the beach, taking photos on the balcony with the ocean crashing behind you, feeding the seagulls chips until the bitches started attacking us.”

“I never forget.” And that’s true; there have been times you wish you could, but you don’t.

Roger takes your left hand and slips the ring onto your wedding finger. Then he lifts your knuckles to his lips, bites them gently, leaves faint burning indents in the flesh.

“I love it,” you breathe, turning your hand back and forth, watching the lights from the Christmas trees glimmer off the ruby. It feels real in a way that sharing a future with Roger hasn’t for a long time.

“Now don’t get all emotional over it. It doesn’t mean anything, you know.” Roger winks and lands a parting kiss on your forehead. Then he passes your duffel bag to a roadie, who vanishes with it into an elevator. “Deaks, you’ll take care of my girl?”

“I always do,” John replies.

“Have fun,” you tell Roger, beaming up at him. “But not too much fun.” This could work. This could really work.

Freddie crosses himself like one of Veronica’s Catholic great aunts. “Depravity? Us? Never in a million years, darling.” Then he hooks an arm around Roger and leads him towards the glass hotel doors. They’re engulfed by a crowd of Queen’s roadies, laughing and shoving each other playfully: Ratty Hince, Paul Prenter, Chris Taylor (dubbed Crystal by the band), Brian Spencer, John Harris, others whose names you haven’t committed to memory yet.

“You ready, Emily Post?” John asks, heading towards the nearest elevator, and you follow him.

In his hotel room is a messy stack of gifts accumulated over the past month and a half from tour stops all over the United States: tiny model Liberty Bells from Philadelphia, Yankees baseball caps from New York City, a slot machine that spits out gumballs from Las Vegas, red socks embroidered with the logo of—what else?—the Boston Red Sox, NASA astronaut action figures from Houston, teddy bears wearing Cubs t-shirts from Chicago, plushies from the Miami aquarium: a hammerhead shark for Laszlo, a dolphin for Anna, and an octopus for the newest Deacon due in mid-February. You and John sit on the floor together in a flurry of tubes of Christmas-themed wrapping paper, stick-on bows, name labels, greeting cards, and pens. John flips through the tv channels until he finds It’s A Wonderful Life. You send a roadie to get dinner from a New Orleans-based fast food chain called Popeyes, and you take leisurely breaks between gift wrapping to chomp on crispy chicken wings and biscuits and mini apple pies and to guzzle down towering cups of Southern-style sweet tea.

“Octopuses are gender-neutral, right?” John asks, floundering as he tries to wrap all eight tentacles individually.

“Totally.” You’ve been brainstorming how best to package the slot machine for fifteen minutes. You take another contemplative bite of a flaky biscuit. “These kids are gonna be super confused when it comes time to pick a favorite team for the World Series.”

“Well obviously they’ll have to be Boston fans or I’ll disown them.”

You sigh contently. “This is just too adorable. I want to wake up early on Christmas morning and open presents with some hyperactive children. Please adopt me into your family.”

“Done. You’re in.”

You laugh. “I don’t think Slavic Jesus thinks highly of polygamy.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, who said anything about a second wife? You can be the live-in nanny but also the filthy secret mistress. Take it or leave it. Final offer.”

“Alright, Mr. Misfire. But you’ll have to fuck me for at least slightly longer than two minutes.”

Oh god, I should not have said that.

John stares at you. You stare back. And something flies between you, something like a pop of static electricity or a firing neuron, something hot and lightning-quick. There’s blood flushing his cheeks, but it’s not quite embarrassment; you know because the same heat is swirling in yours.

Stop, you order yourself.

But it’s too late, now you’re thinking about it, what it would be like: what he would feel like, taste like. Not like wildfire, reckless and consuming, disaster nipping at its heels. Something different, something constant and dependable and soulful, something that feels like home anywhere in the world.

It wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about me. You’re My Best Friend wasn’t about me.

John grabs a sheet of crinkling wrapping paper patterned with chortling Santa Claus faces and drags it over his lap to conceal the sizable bulge growing there in his white pants. You pretend—unconvincingly, you’re sure—not to notice.

Finally, he chuckles uneasily. “However you want it.”

“I’m so sorry. That was wildly inappropriate. I’m hormonal and stupid.”

“I kind of like you hormonal and stupid.”

“Well don’t get used to it, this is a temporary condition.”

“You really can come over,” John says. “On Christmas morning. You and Roger can come over if you want to. The kids love you both. And honestly neither of them are old enough to remember this year anyway, so no pressure if you fuck up Christmas by being accidentally slutty or whatever.”

The smile ripples through the muscles of your face, uncoiling all the tension there. He really does make everything better. “Okay. But you have to promise to behave too.”

He shrugs coyly, lights a cigarette, watches you as he exhales smoke. “You’ve always said I have game.”

There are voices out in the hallway, uproarious laughter, the pounding of irregular footsteps, thumps against the walls. You can hear Freddie giggling: “Rog, darling, come on, get it together...!”

John furrows his brow at you. He doesn’t say anything, but you know that look. What John means is: Is he okay?

“I’m sure he’s fine,” you reply. He’s been fine all tour.

And then, more desperately: He HAS to be fine. Not just for me anymore.

“Rog?!” Freddie shrieks, and now the voices are louder, more numerous. There’s one massive thud. Someone screams for help.

You and John scramble to your feet. You snatch your kit off the dresser and bolt out into the hallway. Roger is sprawled on the floor in the center of a reeling crowd, unconscious, gasping for air, his skin a starved bluish. Freddie and Crystal are hovering over him, shouting and horrified.

“Oh my god,” John says.

“Call an ambulance,” you tell him, and John sprints back into his hotel room.

You shove Freddie and Crystal aside and kneel beside Roger, jostle him awake, pry open his eyes and shine your flashlight into them. His pupils are pinpricks. His breathing is shallow and uneven. You close your fingers around his right wrist; his skin is drenched with sweat. Roger’s pulse is erratic, fading.

“Roger, can you hear me?”

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs. Then he blacks out again.

“What did he take?” you pitch at Freddie.

Freddie and Crystal exchange a glance, hesitating.

“If you don’t tell me what it was he’s going to die, what did he take?!”

“He wasn’t in the same room as us,” Freddie says, his voice quaking. “We don’t know—”

“So you left him alone,” you seethe. “Of course you fucking did.”

Roger’s hand shoots up and seizes your shirt, twisting the fabric in his gnarled fingers. “Speedball,” he rasps. His vivid blue eyes—like bruises, like veins, like cold rain—are huge and bloodshot and frantic. He’s begging for his life. He’s begging you to save him. “The guy said it was a speedball.”

You know exactly what a speedball is; it’s your job to know things like that, to know all the chemical combinations that errant rock stars love destroying themselves with. “A speedball has heroin in it, Roger!”

“I can’t breathe,” he sighs dispassionately, as if it doesn’t bother him at all. His eyes are glassy now, unseeing.

“Don’t you fucking die on me!” You rake through your kit for the vial of Naloxone that you thought you’d never need. That’s not for bands like Queen, you remember thinking when the record company insisted you carry it. That’s for people like The Rolling Stones or Black Sabbath or maybe even Fleetwood Mac on a bad day, but not Queen. Not my boys. Not my Roger.

Oh, but has he ever really been mine?

You pull a syringe out of your kit, throw off the cap, and hold the vial of Naloxone upside down. You stab the needle through the rubber stopper and measure out 1cc—an entire syringe’s worth—of the drug that can reverse opioid overdoes. CAN, not will. It doesn’t always work.

Freddie is sobbing as Crystal drapes an arm over his shoulder and turns him away. So they don’t have to watch. So they don’t have to see him die.

You don’t have the luxury of not watching.

John is back. “What can I do?” he asks.

“Shake him. Keep him awake. Hit him if you have to.”

John kneels, cups Roger’s face in his hands, smacks his cheek each time Roger begins to nod off. Roger gazes up at him numbly, breathing in haphazard wheezes. “Stay with me, Rog. That’s it. Stay with me, you’re gonna be fine...”

You pinch a tiny roll of fat in Roger’s upper arm and jab the needle in. You push down the plunger and 1cc of Naloxone vanishes from the syringe barrel as it surges into Roger’s disordered bloodstream. You toss the syringe away and rub his arm as crimson blood beads from the injection wound.

“Come on, Roger,” you beg him. “Come on, Roger, please...”

You fill another syringe and inject it an inch below the first puncture mark. Roger’s eyes—those eyes that you’ve been trying to claw your way out of since you first saw them across a hospital room in the June of 1974—flutter closed. His sweated rib cage stills.

“Roger?!” John roars, shaking him. “Roger, Rog, wake up!”

“Roger!” you scream.

He sucks down a sudden breath—deep, clear, life-giving—and his intense blue eyes fly open.

“Oh thank god!” you cry, clutching your chest. “John, help me, help me get him up...”

Together with Fred and Crystal you drag Roger to his feet, force him to walk, parade him up and down the hallway until the paramedics arrive and ferry him away—still dazed and ghastly pale, still grasping for you and muttering things you don’t understand—and then your adrenaline rush evaporates and you crumble to the floor, one shaking hand covering your face, the other on the small swell of your belly.

I’m so sorry, little guy, little lady. You deserve better than us.

“I have to go after him,” you tell John when he reaches for you, trying to lift you off the floor. “I have to make sure he’s okay, the Naloxone, it could wear off before the heroin does, and it...it...it can stop an opioid overdose but speedballs have coke in them too and he could still have effects from that...”

“Okay, no problem, we can go, come on, we’ll get a cab and we’ll be right behind them.”

And you remember what Roger once told you as the planet rolled into 1975, under streetlights casting islands of luminance in an ocean of cold darkness: But I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage. And isn’t that what this was all about for you anyway?

But Roger was wrong.

My life does feel like a cage. It feels exactly like a cage.

You sputter weakly: “He’s not, he isn’t, he can’t...”

“What?” John presses. “Slow down. Breathe. Tell me.”

“He’s never going to change, John,” you whisper. The weight of the ruby ring is heavy on your trembling left hand. “He’s never going to change.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s February 15th, 1978, and you’re nineteen weeks pregnant.

The kitchen phone rings, and you answer. The date for your twenty-week ultrasound is circled on the calendar in red ink. “Hello?”

“Do you need to get out of the house?” John asks. “Because I really need to get out of the house.”

You do, incidentally. Yesterday was Valentine’s Day, and Roger did everything right: a bouquet of pink roses and carnations waiting on the kitchen table when you woke up, a new Ferrari parked in the driveway, a candlelit dinner at Mon Plaisir. It was a little too right, actually, like Roger was trying to coax you into serenity, like he was proving how illogical it would be to consider ever being unhappy with him, like he was making up for something; and that’s how things feel a lot of the time, now that you think of it. Roger is fine, mostly. He’s home, usually. He’s clean until he isn’t, and then afterwards he’s so dazzlingly radiant and kind that you can’t stand the thought of not being there to help if he needs you, can’t remember your frustration or your anger half as much as your fear of losing him. And it’s incredible how good you’ve gotten at pushing the memory of that News Of The World headline out of your mind, like it was something from a soap opera or a cheap romance novel, like it was just a slice of scandalous fiction that happened to somebody else. That’s the way the body works too, isn’t it? Wounds close over, livers regenerate, old cells slough away and reveal fresh tissue beneath with no recollection of the pain that comes tangled up with all the other eventualities of existence. Times like Valentine’s Day are a revival, a resurrection: brand new cells, a healed fracture, a shot of Naloxone to restore the blood to equilibrium. But today is not Valentine’s Day, and Roger isn’t home. You aren’t entirely sure where he is, and you don’t know if you’d want to be. “Yeah, I’ll pick you up. I can show you my wicked new ride.”

“I’m intrigued. You’ll have to let me drive it one day.”

“What, directly into a cop car?”

“You’re awful and I hate you,” John says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “See you at 8? There’s a new disco in Soho I’m dying to check out.”

“Sure thing, I just have to make myself glamorous first. It’s quite a process now that I have all the elegance and svelteness of a large marine mammal. But I’ll rise to the occasion. I’ll be the most attractive whale you’ve ever seen.”

He chuckles. “I don’t doubt that at all.”

You roll up to John’s Putney house in your maroon Ferrari, the convertible top down despite the biting cold, a bomber jacket—just a tad too tight to zip up over your bump—concealing your short black dress. Pregnancy has finally started to look good on you, aforementioned marine-mammal-ness notwithstanding: your hair is thick and gleaming, your skin clear, your face fuller and emitting a mysterious, ethereal sort of glow. You check your hair and makeup in the rear view mirror as John jogs out of his front door. He stops dead in the driveway.

“Wow.”

You pat the passenger’s seat. “Hop in, felon.”

“He bought you a freaking Ferrari?!”

“Am I not worth it?” you joke, flipping your hair.

John slides into the car. “How do I become married to Roger Taylor? Tell me your secrets.”

“Well, to receive a Ferrari, you’ll probably have to get pregnant with his firstborn child too.”

“Ahhh. A minor obstacle.”

You laugh as you spin out of the driveway and cruise towards downtown London. Then you peer over at John, really taking him in, reading him like heart rates or units of measurement inked to the barrel of a syringe. His elbow is propped up on the window sill, his chin nestled in the heel of his hand, his blue-grey eyes unfocused as they gaze out into the night sky and streetlights that flicker by like the episodic flashes of a firefly. “Are you okay, John?” you ask seriously.

“Yeah,” he replies, a prospect that seems implausible.

“I’m glad you called.” You both know what that means: Roger isn’t home, I don’t know where he is, I don’t know when he’s coming back or what condition he’ll be in when he does.

John smirks wryly. “You have a shit husband. I am a shit husband. We should stick together, people like you and me.”

The disco is a small place called Lo Asilo with neon blue lights rimming the entrance way like vines laced through a trellis. John orders a Manhattan for himself, goes back and forth with the bartender for a while about the virgin drink options, ends up passing you a non-alcoholic raspberry mojito.

“I love it,” you pronounce after a tentative sip. This kid loves fruit. And sugar. And you feel a abrupt groundswell of affection for that sometimes inconvenient, frequently anxiety-inducing little person who temporarily shares your blood and bones: who they are, who they one day will be. These moments are coming more and more often, as your future solidifies in some ways and becomes more imprecise in others.

“You’re almost halfway done,” John says, pointing at your belly like he can read your mind.

You sigh. “Do we have to talk about me?”

“We definitely can’t talk about me.” He studies you for a moment, makes mental notes like someone browsing through archaeological artifacts in a museum. Then he realizes: “You don’t want to have to stay home.”

You nod, downing your sort-of-mojito. No offense, kid, but I could really use some mind-numbing inebriation right now.

“Because you don’t trust him...?”

“It’s not quite that,” you reply. “I can’t stand the thought of not being there if something happened to him. If something happened to any of you. If I wasn’t there to at least try to help and someone ended up...you know...” Goddammit, I’m so much more sensitive these days. You force it out. “If someone ended up dying, I wouldn’t be able to live with that.”

“No one’s going to die, love,” he says gently.

“People die all the time. Especially rock stars. Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison, Murcia, McIntosh, Bolin. I could go on. There will be more names a year from now. Maybe some we recognize.”

“What do you want me to do? You want me to haul him off to rehab? You want me to handcuff him to his hotel bed every night we’re on tour? I’ll do it if you think that would help. I’ll do whatever you want. Obviously I don’t want to lose him either. But I’ve never known Roger to be someone you could force into anything.”

“No, he’s definitely not,” you agree softly, in surrender.

The opening notes of Fleetwood Mac’s Go Your Own Way rumble from the stereo. John knocks back the end of his Manhattan and sets the glass on the bar.

“Alright, congratulations, you get your wish.” He grins, holding out his hand. “We don’t have to talk about you anymore.”

“I’m warning you, I am zero percent graceful in my current state.”

“I’ll manage somehow.”

“Loving you

Isn't the right thing to do

How can I ever change things

That I feel?”

John leads, pushing through the crowd to a spot near the center of the kaleidoscopic dance floor. Then he knots his fingers through yours, sways with the music, dances comically sluggishly as you struggle to keep up, twirls you randomly until you’re giggling against him, blushing and not thinking about Roger or the tour or your impending career change at all; and you suspect John isn’t thinking about Veronica either. You belt out the lyrics at the top of your lungs, flouncing around like an extremely ungainly Stevie Nicks, and after a moment John joins you, pumping his fist in the air:

“You can go your own way

Go your own way

You can call it

Another lonely day...”

And it feels good. It feels more than good. It feels almost like being free.

Lindsay Buckingham’s guitar solo splits through the fog-filled room, and your smile begins to fade, recedes like the frothing ocean waves at low tide. And you think, more clearly and more inauspiciously than you ever have in your life: Something’s wrong.

The body knows when it nears catastrophe. There’s a primal dread that sparks up in the blood and nerves and endocrine system, seeps from your pores like smoke, cloaks you in that bleak, biological premonition. Dogs can smell it, can be trained to alert people before that nascent calamity manifests into a cardiac arrest or diabetic coma or asthma attack or stroke; and humans can feel it when that inevitable devastation creeps close enough, when it sharpens its fangs and scrapes them down the jugular. You’ve never truly been able to understand that before. But you recognize it now.

There’s cold sweat springing up on your skin like goosebumps. There’s a stormy rush of blood pounding in your ears. You can’t remember the name of the club, the city, the type of car Roger bought you for Valentine’s Day, the stone gleaming in your ring. The air that you wrench into your lungs is thin and fleeting, without the relief of oxygen. There’s an indescribably heavy iron twist of fear buried in your guts.

John freezes in the middle of the dance floor. “What?” he asks, alarmed.

There’s pain; sudden, sharp, low. Your eyes follow it. There’s blood snaking down your bare thighs. There’s indigo darkness crumbling around the edges of your vision as you sink to the floor. Your knees bruise against cold tile.

Someone is screaming for help; you aren’t sure who. But you reach for them, because they sound so irrevocably strong, because they sound like home. Your fingertips collide with John’s leather jacket.

“Make it stop,” you choke out through bared teeth, as claws of glass and barbed wire tear at where your future once lived. The agony is unnatural, razored, almost surgical.

“I can’t. Here, we’re gonna get you help, hold on, hold on to me—”

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” you sob into John’s neck. His skin is stubbled and dusted with nicotine and flare-hot. He’s trying to drag you to your feet, shouting over his shoulder for someone to call an ambulance. “I don’t want this anymore, I don’t want any of it. I don’t want to see the world. I want to go home.”

“Don’t say that, everything’s going to be okay, they’re coming, listen to me, listen to me, I’m going to get you help—”

“It’s too late,” you whisper. And every light in the world blinks out.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s February 16th, 1978, and you’re not pregnant at all.

You’re a registered nurse, and so you understand perfectly the terms that the doctors use when they explain to you why it happened, after they do the ultrasound to make sure the miscarriage was complete; when they tell you why it was doomed from the start. Stage 4 endometriosis. Placental abruption. Difficult to conceive, nearly impossible to carry to term. An open and shut case. That’s the genetic lottery, and some people roll straight sevens, blood-red sevens rimmed with fool’s gold.

What you have a harder time understanding is how this could have happened to you. How is it possible to have all of that organic poison building inside of you, all that latent ruin, and yet not know it? To have never had any symptoms besides slightly-more-annoying-than-average periods? To have a nursery set up in one of the five extraneous bedrooms—the one with the blue-grey wallpaper, to be exact—with a crib your child will never use, never peer out of with their tiny fists curled around the wooden bars, never cry out to you in the middle of the night from? To have a list of names scribbled on a notepad stuck to the refrigerator—Roger favors deeply Anglophile possibilities like Arthur and Jasper and Alice, while you tend towards names with a Southern European flair like Aurelia, Callista, Felix, Augustus, although you both quite like the idea of incorporating some variation of John—that you suddenly have no use for? To have to inform your husband, your parents, your friends that there is no baby, that there most likely never will be, and that it’s entirely your fault: So terribly sorry, due to a genetic glitch my womb is rendered inhospitable, we’ll have to leave that ultimate trophy of womanhood off the shelf indefinitely I’m afraid.

You’re in and out through the night. The dreams are murky and fragmented and ominous, jolting you awake four times an hour. John never leaves, except to periodically phone the Surrey house from the nurse’s station. And there’s pain now, of course, even through the haze of the morphine drip—your uterus cramping down to collapse the void, your head splitting from the shock and hormonal bedlam—but it’s almost like that pain belongs to someone else, someone you might have heard of but don’t know especially well. The pain doesn’t surprise you. What surprises you is the totality of the darkness that rolls over you like a quilt, like a second skin.

Shouldn’t I feel at least some infinitesimal amount of relief, of liberation? Shouldn’t I feel free?

“I don’t feel free,” you murmur, your voice hoarse and very quiet.

“What?” John leans into you, takes your hand in his, lays his palm on your forehead and smooths back your hair. Harsh morning sunlight streams in through the window. “What did you say?”

“I don’t feel free at all. I just feel empty.”

His greyish eyes are slick and anguished. “I am so fucking sorry,” he says, his voice breaking.  

You whisper: “He’s never going to be able to love me now.”

“Shhhhh, don’t,” John pleads. “He’s always loved you. As much as he can, and in the way that he can.”

“You’ve been here all night.”

“Of course.” And he hasn’t managed to tell Roger. Which means Roger hasn’t come home yet.

You shake your head groggily. “No, you have your own family. You have to go home.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he says tersely.

“John, you have to go home. You have to call at least. Veronica could have gone into labor or something.”

“No, seriously, it’s fine, she pops out one a year no problem. I’m staying.”

A scalding tear slinks down your cheek. “You’re lucky to have her.”

“They must have you on a lot of drugs.”

You laugh, then begin to cry.

“Hey, don’t do that, please don’t do that, shhhh...”

John climbs into the hospital bed and you fold into him, burrow into his warmth that smells like cigarettes and dusky cologne and Manhattans, sob against his chest as he locks his arms around you and pulls you in until there’s no space, no air, no line between you at all.

“You have to be okay,” he murmurs, his lips to your forehead. “I need you to be okay for me. Because when I was messed up I didn’t get better for me, I didn’t do it for me, I got better for you. So now you need to get better too, okay?”

“Okay,” you promise, not meaning it at all.

And he makes you promise again and again until you drift back to sleep with his steady heartbeat drumming against your palm, just loud enough to keep the dreams away.

~~~~~~~~~~

John finally reaches Roger at 9:47 a.m. Roger arrives at the hospital twenty minutes later, his hair a chaotic tangle, his eyes shielded by prescription sunglasses, still wearing the sapphire blue suit he left the house in the night before, his tie undone and several buttons missing from his shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” Roger begins. “I was at this party and met some guys who wanted to collaborate on my solo album, and it turned into a whole...oh, fuck, it doesn’t matter. Is she—?”

John grabs him, pushes him against the hallway wall, yanks off Roger’s sunglasses and pries open his eyes. Roger flinches, but doesn’t struggle.

“What—?”

“I’m making sure you’re not high.” John observes normal pupils and shoves Roger away, disgusted. “Get in there. She needs you.”

“You’ve done a lot for us,” Roger says.

“It’s mutual.”

“Thank you.” There are tears in Roger’s crystalline blue eyes. “Thank you so much, John.”

John nods towards the hospital room. “Just go.”

She wakes up when she hears the door open, and she knows it’s Roger instantly. Of course she does. Everyone knows the way a room changes when Roger walks into it, the way he lights up people and places like wildfire, the way he gets humans addicted to his innate magnetism the same way some are hooked on coke or alcohol or heroin. John isn’t that kind of man, and he knows it. He will never be that kind of man.

“I’m so sorry,” she tells Roger.

Roger shakes his head, cradling her face in his hands. “Baby, I’m not mad. I don’t blame you. I’m not mad at you.”

John watches as she explains everything, as Roger embraces her, as he says all the right things, all those beautiful and hopeful and effortlessly spellbinding things, as she begins—slowly, yes, but unmistakably—to light up again like rising sunlight glinting off quicksilver waves.

And only then does John leave.

[off-in-the-moors]

TRC rewrite: Main characters

Why? Because The Raven Cycle is a mess. From the setting, through characters and to the plot, everything is a mess on a foundations of good ideas. It feels like Margaret took three to four different drafts, stitched them together and switched around events, e.g. things that should be in book 1 are in book 3, etc.

So, here is my attempted to rewrite the Gangsey.

Blue

curly, damaged, black hair kept short; brown eyes and light brown skin

short and stocky, with a big eyes; untamed, arched eyebrows; and round nose

1/4 black, 3/4 white (Maura is 1/2 black, and Artemus is welsh)

her father, Artemus, was a history professor, focusing on British Isle (especially Wales)

when she was 14, her father's ghost appeared on Saint Mark's Eve, he suddenly died few months, leaving Blue devastated

was very close with her dad, didn't forgive her mother for not trying to save Artemus

straightens and clips down her hair to make it resemble hers dad's

owns a pink switch blade, which was once red, she stole from her father's stuff, uses it mostly to cut plants

knows a lot about plants, helps cultivated and collect them for the family business

interested in and actively looks for paranormal (magic, cryptids, you name it), interest seeded by her parents

went to public school, but after middle school was pulled out for homeschooling

works two part-time jobs, as a waitress at Nino's and a dog-walker, to have her own money

a psychic but her power makes it impossible to work as one

makes and remakes her own clothes, isn't good at it but she loves it

loves knitting sweaters for her friends and family

wears colorful, often clashing outfits with a lots of accessories

loves color blue, always has something blue in her outfit, even if only as an accent color

vegetarian

knows Adam from middle school, keeps warm relations with him (introduced her to his friends)

spends her Sundays with her family (e.g. hitch-hiking with her mother, helping with Calla, making sweater and clothes with Persephone, painting nails with Orla)

know few phrases in Estonian, thanks to Persephone

opinioned, independent and bold

environmentalist

Gansey

tousled, always preciously styled, brown hair; dark brown eyes, light skin

average but quite square built (looks stiff), straight nose, shadows and bags under eyes, often has pieces of mint leaves stuck it teeth

the shortest guy of the Gangsey

born with a silver spoon in his mouth

at ten, almost died from wasp stinks but survived thanks to "Glendower", obsessed with finding him ever since

insomniac, his grands and health suffers from it

was in the rowing team, until he slept through training and hit team-mate with a oar

has the power to commend people, but it's weak

loves mint-flavor things, borders on obsession

owns five different types of mint plants (Ronan named them)

makes mistakes in his research and normal day to day actions from lack of sleep, needs help of others

his mom buys him clothes

doesn't understand the value of money, mostly throws it around and leads people with no need to return it

needs glasses but often losses them (even worse with contacts), in the beginning of the story he's on his seventh pair

doesn't have friends outside the "Gangsey"

awkward about feelings and crushes, can't deal with them

has slit ADHD, needs to do something with his hands

perfectionist, fixes mistakes of others, brushes problems off

good at social interactions but horrible at maintaining relationships

after his grands suffered too much and his search for Glendower effected his school life, his parents cut him off from finances as a punishment

with Adam's help, found a job as a cashier at a grocery store, actually loves it

needs time to remember people's names

Ronan

curly, dark brown (almost black) hair, always shaven; blue eyes, pale skin (burns easily)

tall (tallest of the Gangsey) and quite muscular, angular face, narrow eyes, multiple scars on arms and few on face (oddly proud of them)

he's a copy of his own father, Niall Lynch (looks like a younger version of him)

shaved his head and got tattoos, after he discovered he's a copy, to resemble Niall as little as possible

dresses in what his father would never wear

has only one real tattoo, a Celtic cross on the back of his neck base, the rest of his back is dreamt up

the dream tattoo always changes, reflecting Ronan's mental/emotional state, but always has motifs of wings/feathers and branches twisting into Celtic knots

tried to stop dreaming up stuff multiple times, but it caused him headache and nausea, eventually ending in physical harm, went the dream "gets out"

confused about who or what he is

self-destructive, has no regards for his own safety

has a very strain relationship with Declan, envies his "realness"

vegan, loves animals and hates people who harm them

loves speed and racing, oddly proud of his speeding-tickets

believes for a long time, only Kavinsky understands him, but their "friendship" is complicated

doesn't allow anyone to touch Chainsaw (dream creatures are very personal to a dreamer)

tries to figure out what HE likes, and find his OWN path (even if it means craving it out)

touched starved

loves nature, can spend hours outside just sitting and thinking

acts and speaks before thinking, got himself in trouble for that many times (gets physical quiet often)

helps in the family "dream trade" business, doesn't want any of his creations near him, Chainsaw is the only exception

feels drawn to Cabeswaters, but he preferably would just burn it

knows Irish, speaks it when frustrated

before Niall's death, trained tennis and played on bagpipes (uilleann pipes), but stopped after his father's murder hates boxing

Adam

short, self-cut, light red-ish brown hair; grey eyes, tan skin with a lot of moles and freckles

skinny, deep-set eyes and a downturned lips

has only a backpack of his own stuff and a bike

deals with Gansey's antics only for a chance to escape his father and his living situation

lives with Gansey, Ronan and Noah in Monmouth

prioritises his education over his friendship with "Gangsey"

very frugal, keeps a "change jar"

mostly wears his wash-out Coca-Cola t-shirt, he bought with his first pay

the most sceptical about magic, still very cautious of it

hates loud sounds and physical contact

hates taking money from people and having money spend on him, but he knows he needs it

has three part-time jobs, including his favourite at the garage

loves cars, dreams about buying his own one day

afraid of heights and flying, childhood trauma

opportunist

highly values his independence

never refuses food

sacrificed his "hands and eyes" to Cabeswater, not only to wake the Ley Lines but also to escape his former life for good, seeing it as the only way (partly tricked by the forest)

deaf on the left ear but hears Cabeswater whispering to him through it

actively "fights" with Cabeswater for control (his way or the high way)

owns a old Nokia phone, only bought it to stay in contact with Gansey knows how to sew and dress a wound

Noah

messy, pale blond hair; light blue eyes, pale skin with a dark spot on the left side of his face

faded and lean; small, lively eye; bright, wide smile

kept him pretty much the same, but also add

sarcastic with a dry (and sometimes dark) sense of humor

"I'm the oldest one, so you should listen to me sometimes."

his Aglionby uniform always looks crinkled and dirty

doesn't remember most of his "living life"

gets his memories back from seeing/visiting people/places he knew

his emotional state effects his corporal form, e.g. strong negative emoticons make him less visible

music helps him stay visible

still loves Blink-182 (Ronan pirated him all their albums, including those he missed)

misses skateboarding, swimming, spending time with his old friends and family, and filling the weather

doesn't remember his death, only the pain

likes to wander around Henrietta

likes anything glitter, reminds him of his sisters

gave Adam permission to take his old Mustang, "If you can bring it to live, Parrish."

his disappearance is still a talked subject in Aglionby

sometimes mumbles or swears something no one understand, took Gangsey time to figured out it was polish

+ Bonus

Chainsaw

Ronan's first dream creature (or at the time Ronan believes so)

quite small for a raven

senses Ronan's emotions, always tries to comfort him by burying into his neck or "grooming" him

can speak single works but they sound very corrupted, e.g. "kerah" is a corrupted version of "cara" (irish for "friend")

at the beginning called Ronan Greywaren, but with time it change to "creātor" (creator), "somniator" (dreamer) and finally "cara" (friend), reflecting Ronan's own view of himself

likes to collect and bring Ronan small things, e.g. pen caps, leaves or pieces of newspapers

gets close only to people Ronan likes and/or trusts

If you have any questions or opinions to share, please send me an ask.

Thank you, for your attention :)

[atlafan]

Take it Slow - Part Fifty-Six

a/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry.

Warnings: Smut and Fluff.

Masterpost (all previous parts can be found in the masterpost)

A couple of weeks had gone by, and you were feeling a lot better. You and Harry hadn’t tried doing it from behind again, and you both were fine with it. When you truly felt ready he knew you’d tell him. You had been getting up early almost every day to go to the gym, and you felt like it really gave you the energy you needed to get through the day.

Harry had taken the pictures of Louis proposing to Eleanor, and she of course said yes. It was an extremely beautiful moment that he genuinely was happy to be a part of. You had surprised him with an evening in for Valentine’s Day. He came home from work and there were rose pedals everywhere. You had bought a skimpy silk robe, and you both ate chocolate covered strawberries and made love in the kitchen.

You’d be meeting your mom at Bernie and Phil’s this weekend to shop for dining room furniture. You were excited to finally set up that area. Once it was done you’d be able to plan a house warming party. You and Harry were coming back from grocery shopping when Michael, the desk attendant, called out to the two of you.

“Mr. and Mrs. Styles, you both have packages.” You and Harry walk over to him. A smile creeping on his face on the thought of you being called Mrs. Styles.

“Oh, Michael.” You giggle. “We’re not married.” Harry’s smile fades.

“My apologies…guess that’s why this says Y/F/N Y/L/N on here.” He hands you the package. “Here you are Mr. Styles.” He hands Harry his.

“Thanks.”

“Do you need help bringing anything up?” Before you can answer, Harry cuts you off.

“Think we can manage, mate, thanks.” You both go into the elevator. “These are from the same address.”

“They’re from Lou.”

“Oh! What do you think’s in them?”

“No idea.”

You both get into the apartment, and once all the groceries are put away you open the boxes.

“Oh, he’s so cute.” Harry says. “Look.” He shows you a framed picture of the two of them and a shirt that says Best Man Mate on it.”

“He wants you to be his best man?! Oh my god, that is cute.” Harry feels tears prick at his eyes.

“I’m so honored, honestly. This is such a nice picture of us too.”

“Your hair so long.”

“I know, it was forever ago.” He smiles. “Open yours.” You tear it open.

Inside was a note and t-shirt. The note said: I know we’ve only known each other a short while, but I’d be honored to have you in my wedding party. You’re important to Harry, Harry’s important to Louis, so you’re important to us too. You were surprised, but delighted. The shirt said Bridesmaid on it.

“How sweet! Let’s call them to accept.”

“Okay.” He takes his phone out and puts in on speaker.

“Oi! How’s my favorite lad doin’?”

“Good! You’re on speaker just FYI.”

“Oh, so I shouldn’t say how lovely I think your fat ass is?” You burst out laughing. “Hi Y/N!”

“Hi Louis, is El with you?”

“Yeah, lemme get her. El! Harry and Y/N are on the phone!”

“Oh! Hi guys!”

“We got your packages.” Harry says.

“And we both happily accept.”

“Oh wonderful! I didn’t know if it would be weird to ask you to be in the party or not. I sent one to Sarah too since Lou asked Niall to be a groomsman.”

“Not weird at all! I’m honored.”

“Loved the picture of us, mate.”

“That was all El!”

After talking a little while longer, Harry takes the phone to catch up with Louis privately. You get some homework done while they talk. You hear Harry giggling every few minutes, and then you hear a giant belly laugh come from the loft. You look up and see him wiping away tears. He hangs up and comes down the stairs and sits next to you.

“He’s so fuckin’ funny.”

“What he say?”

“Nothin’ in particular, he’s just so quick.” You hum in agreement. “Workin’ on homework, baby?”

“Mhm, almost done though. Just responding to some people’s posts.” He watches you type quickly.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Type so fast?” He starts laughing.

“I don’t know.” You start laughing too. “Let me just finish this up, okay? I’m telling this person how much I agree with them.” You roll your eyes.

“Definitely don’t miss that about school.”You finish up your responses and close your laptop with a sigh. “What time are we meetin’ your mum tomorrow?”

“Um like eleven I think. We’ll wanna leave here around ten to get there on time.”

“Alrighty.” He looks at you. “Hey, come sit on my lap.”

He spreads his legs and stretches out on the sofa while you crawl into his lap. You rest your head against his neck. You enjoyed your lazy days together.

“Downstairs earlier, you laughed when that guy called you Mrs. Styles.”

“You know his name is Michael. And I simply giggled because it made me nervous.”

“Why’d it make you nervous?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug.

“You know that’ll be your last name someday.” You scoff at him. “What?”

“Who said I’ll be taking your last name if we get married?” You play with the curls on the nape of his neck.

“When.” Your cheeks blush and you feel butterflies soar through your body.

“Alright, when.”

“You don’t want my last name?” He pouts.

“S’not that I don’t…what if I go for my PhD someday? I’m the one doing the work, why should you get the credit?” You laugh. “I’d probably hyphenate it…maybe. I don’t know, is this something we need to discuss? Even if I didn’t legally take it I’m sure plenty of people would refer to me as Mrs. Styles.”

“I just think it has a nice ring to it.” He smirks.

“You act like we’re already engaged, babe. We’re a ways away from that, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.” He nods. “Am I gonna have to like check in with your dad before I do anythin’? You know, when the time comes.”

“I’m sure he’d appreciate it, but you certainly don’t need his permission, I’d be the one marrying you, not him.”

“What kind of wedding would you want?”

“Where’s all this coming from?” You giggle.

“Talkin’ t’Lou. Him and El literally just got engaged and they already have all these plans in motion.”

“Well, they’ve been together a long time right? I’m sure there are things they’ve thought about before.”

“Right, so I’m curious to know what you’d want.”

“It’s not just about me.” You kiss him on the cheek. “But I suppose an early fall wedding would be nice. Like late September? Some of the leaves have started changing, it’s still warm, but we wouldn’t be sweating. I’d want it to be at a hotel with an outside space for the ceremony. I’m not really into the whole reception is at a barn thirty minutes from the hotel so catch this shuttle at this specific time thing. I’d want it all in one place.”

“You don’t want to be married at a temple?”

“Well…I don’t think we could because you’re not Jewish. I’d want my cantor there maybe to bless us, but I’d be just as happy having a friend officiate. It doesn’t need to be religious.” You shrug.

“Fall weddings are less expensive too. So I’ve noticed.”

“Yeah! You know my style is pretty simple, so I think if things looked clean and elegant I’d be fine with whatever theme. I’d want to plan everything myself though, like with you only. I hate when there’s too many cooks in the kitchen.”

“Agreed. It’s for us, no one else should stick their nose in.”

“Exactly.”

“What kind of dress do you think you’d get?”

“No idea.”

“Really? I thought girls thought about that all the time.”

“I think it’s better to not have an idea and just go in with an open mind. I watch these people on Say Yes to the Dress and it’s exhausting.” You think for a moment. “I certainly know what I wouldn’t want. I know my taste well enough. I’d want something with lace probably.”

“Love when you wear lace.”

“What kind of suit would you want?”

“Somethin’ eccentric. I hate plain black suits. Somethin’ with a pattern maybe? A pop of color?”

“Anything you wear would look good.” You nuzzle your nose to his and he smiles.

“You’re cute.”

“No, you’re cute.” You both giggle. He presses his soft lips to yours for a tender kiss.

You lightly lace your fingers through his hair as you open your mouth for him. He licks into your mouth, getting a good taste of you. He moves his mouth, nipping at your jaw and then your neck.

“Don’t leave any marks, I don’t want my mom to see.” You roll your hips down on him.

“You can just wear a scarf.” He says against your neck.

“Please, bite me anywhere else.”

“Lift your shirt.” You take your shirt off. “Bra too.” You reach behind and unclasp it, letting it fall off your shoulders. Harry gets it the rest of the way off you.

His lips connect to one of your nipples. He sucks on it lightly at first, and then with more vigor, really getting his teeth into your skin. You let out a gasp. It felt good, too good. The way he would swirl his tongue around your pebbling nipple while also twisting your piercing with his teeth was incredible.

“Fuck.” Your head rolls back. He lets it go with a popping noise. He gazes at it while it turns a dark purple. He smiles and looks up at you.

“Y’like that, dontcha?”

“Mhm.” You smirk. “Let me do it to you. I’ve never sucked on your nipples before.”

“Mine are all hairy.”

“Not really. You manscape pretty nicely actually. I appreciate it.”

“You appreciate it down under.”

“True, if you had a full bush I would just not be able to suck you off.” You both laugh. You tug at the hem of his shirt and he helps you take it off. “M’gonna give you a good one.”

“Please, be my guest.”

You lean down and kiss one of his nipples. You start sucking on it, and he chuckles.

“What?”

“Just feels weird, keep goin’.”

You continue with your biting and sucking. You feel him raise his hips to yours, and you can feel how hard he is against you. You kiss down his chest, and torso, and lower stomach. He knew he was in for a treat. You undid the button on the top of his jeans and slowly undid the zipper. He lifted his hips so you could pull down his pants just slightly. You reach inside his boxers and pull out your not so little friend.

You kiss your way up from the base to the shaft and then to his tip. Your lips were already swollen, but you didn’t care. Harry loved the way you looked. His hands lightly graze through your hair, and you kiss his tip again. You open your mouth and lick up his shaft.

“Jesus.” He says through gritted teeth.

You lick up up and down a couple more times, and then make eye contact with him as you take him into your mouth. He bites his bottom lip as you work your way down. You close your eyes as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head up and down on him.

“Mm, baby, feels so good.” His head falls back.

Your hands tug his boxers down his hips so you can cup his balls. He bucks up further down your throat. You groan against him, feeling yourself getting wet from pleasuring him.

“Shit.” He pulls your head off him.

“What?” You say trying to catch your breath.

“Wanna be able to fuck you, love.”

“Oh.” Your cheeks flush. He pulls your face to his to kiss him. He bites down on your bottom lip and sucks it into his mouth. You groan again feeling the ache in your lower stomach grow.

“Do you want it here, or in the bedroom?” He says against your lips.

“Bedroom.”

“Alright, up we go.”

He holds onto you as he stands up, you wrap your legs around him. He steps out of his pants and boxers, leaving them behind in the living room, as he carries you into the bedroom. He lays you down, and reaches for your leggings, tugging them and your panties off in one motion. You part your legs for him, and he smirks when he sees that you’re glistening. You reach a hand down and rub on your clit, which was throbbing at this point. He stands there for a moment, just watching you play with yourself. It’s when you let out a soft moan that makes him get on the bed, and he moves your hand away.

“Please, allow me.” You giggle.

His fingers trace over your folds lightly, collecting all the wetness. He moves up towards your clit and your back arches slightly. He was being soft and slow, and it was turning you on so much. Light touches, like you could only just barely feel him. It was enough to drive you over the edge. He slips his middle and index finger inside you while his thumb stays on your clit. You gasp as he curls his fingers up, reaching that spot inside. Your walls tighten around his fingers, and loves how soft and velvety you are. Your hands clutch at the blankets. You grind your hips against his hand. Your head was far back in the pillow. Sweat was starting to form at your brow, and you were panting.

“Come for me baby, go on, you know you want to.”

“Fuck.”

Your back fully leaves the mattress as you release onto his fingers. He doesn’t let up though, he pumps in and out of you faster, and you clutch his bicep.

“Shit, Harry!”

“Gonna make ya come over and over, angel.”

“Fuck, shit, oh, OH!” You release again, and he retracts his fingers from you. You were drenched, absolutely fucking soaked. He sucks his fingers into his mouth, and moves to hover over you.

“Ready f’me?”

“God, yes.”

He lines himself up with you and pushes inside. You both moan at the delicious contact. You wrap your legs around his waist as he begins to move. He pushes some hair away from your face and your hands move to his broad shoulders.

“So beautiful.” He kisses you, and your tongues collide.

Your hands rake down his back, and your nails find themselves sinking into his ass. He groans into your neck. He was making you moan and pant like never before, you weren’t sure what it was about tonight.

“Harry.” You whimper when you feel him bottom out. You bite down on his earlobe.

One of his hands moves up to caress your breast, and he kneads it. He was really paying attention to your entire body tonight, you couldn’t get enough.

“You feel so good, Harry.” You moan. “Your dick is so fucking big.” You tighten around him.

“Like the way I take care of ya, baby girl?”

“Fuck, yes.” Your hands move to his hair and you tug at his roots.

“Shit.” You tug on him harder how you know he likes.

“Harry, I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, I’m gonna comeeee.” You moan loudly into his ear as your third release comes.

His thrusts become sloppy and quick as his own release comes. He grabs one of your hands to hold as his come spurts inside of you.

“Oh god.” You say as you feel it fill you up.

He pulls out of you slowly, and he collapses on top of you. Your hands play with his hair as you both catch your breath. You feel his come start to drip out of you and you scrunch your face. He kisses your cheek before he gets up to use the bathroom.

“What do you feel like eatin’ f’dinner?” He asks when he comes back out.

“Pizza?”

“I’ll pop it in the oven.” He puts the robe that you bought for him on and leaves the room.

You get up and use the bathroom and put your own robe on, meeting him in the kitchen. You wrap your arms around him, and hug his back to your chest.

“Hi baby.” He says.

“That was incredible.” He chuckles and turns around to face you.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe after dinner we could do it again?” He kisses the top of your head.

“It would be my pleasure, love.”

//

Harry woke up cuddled in your arms around 8:30 when your alarm rudely woke him up. Sometimes he wished you weren’t so punctual. He didn’t want you to end the warm embrace you had around him. But he soon felt a kiss to his cheek, and you move away from him. He turns over watches you stretch and yawn. You rub the sleep away from your eyes before you get up to shuffle into the bathroom. He moves to the middle of the bed where you were just laying, just to bask in your warmth for a moment longer. Your pillow always smelt the same as your shampoo; apples and cinnamon. He was grateful that your mom wanted to buy the two of you some furniture, he just wasn’t thrilled to be sharing you today.

“Baby?” You say, voice still thick with sleep, after you come back from the bathroom.

“Hm?”

“Time to get up, my doll.” You rub your eyes again and move to the dresser to grab some clothes.

He popped up at the new term of endearment. You had never called him that before, and he wondered where it came from from. He wondered who else, if anyone, got to a point with you where you’d call them that. He flips the covers back and gets up.

“M’gonna turn the lights on now.” You say as he gives you a kiss to your temple, and goes into the bathroom.

You flip the lights on and grab a pair of black jeans from your dresser. You put on a baby blue sweater and throw your hair up in a high pony. You put on some fuzzy socks, and go into the kitchen to make a quick breakfast. You think oatmeal is a good idea for today, something nice and warm.

Harry comes into the kitchen just as you’re pouring the hot water over two bowls of oatmeal. He smiles and thanks you for the breakfast. You both sit at the island and scroll through your phones, neither of you really awake to talk yet. You both sip on some coffee, and you get an incoming call from Rachel.

“Hey girly.” You say.

“Hey! Do you have plans next weekend?”

“Um….” You look over at Harry. “I don’t think so, why?”

“Planning a girl’s night out for Sarah’s birthday.”

“Oh hell yeah! She doesn’t have plans with Niall?”

“They’re doing something Friday night. Figured we could all get together Saturday. Go to the club, have a sleepover after. She said she’s into it.”

“Yes! Yes, a thousand times yes.” You look at Harry again who’s looking at you. “Um, one second.” You put your hand over the speaker. “Harry, next weekend would you mind if I went out with the girls for Sarah’s birthday? Rachel wants to have a sleepover at their place.”

“Which night?”

“Saturday.”

“Sure.” He shrugs. You didn’t need to ask his permission, but he still appreciated the consideration.

“Okay, yeah, that definitely works.”

“Please don’t tell me you just asked Harry if you could come out to play like he’s your father.” She groans.

“You know I never asked my dad for permission for something in my entire life.” You smirk. Harry raises an eyebrow at you.

“True, you’re very good at telling someone you’re doing something instead of asking.” She laughs. “Cool, this’ll be so much fun. We should go to Pinz, they have the best dance floor.”

“Agreed.” Harry taps you on the shoulder. “What?”

“Ask her about when she wants to see Mariah.”

“Harry wants to know if you still want to get together with Mariah.”

“Definitely! We’ve been texting a lot. I think we’re both nervous to make a move for some reason.”

“Maybe we could do that Friday night then.”

“Works for me, I’m wide open.”

“Alright, I’ll have Harry set it all up since he’s been so adamant about it.” You giggle. “Talk to you soon, bye.” You hang up the phone and look at the time. “We should head out.”

“Okay.”

You and Harry head down to the lobby, hand in hand. Michael gives you a warm smile and you give him a little wave. Harry furrows his brows as you walk down to his car.

“The Weeknd has some new singles out, do you mind if I play them?”

“Go for it. When does the album come out?”

“March I think, so really soon.”

“Would you ever want to see him in concert?” Your jaw drops.

“Um, yeah. His tickets are on sale already, but I’m such snob I’d wanna be up close. The tickets at the Garden are way too expensive.”

“Hm.”

“Don’t, we’re not paying an arm and a leg for something so silly.”

“So you won’t be buyin’ them yourself then?”

“No.” You sigh. “My trip is going to set me back a bit. It’s too bad too, he’s coming in July. I love a summer concert.”

Harry already bought tickets for the two of you of course. The second he saw them go on sale he bought two seats relatively close to the stage. Your birthday was in August, he thought it would be a fun, early present. He couldn’t wait to give them to you once they came in the mail.

He watches as you listen very intently to After Hours. How you gasp when the beat picks up, and how you start laughing out of excitement.

“What?”

“This, it sounds a lot like is second to last album, I’m so excited. Heartless is really good too. God, he’s so talented. I read once that he makes music that would play in like a haunted strip club, and it just makes sense you know?” Harry chuckles.

You make it to Bernie and Phil’s and your mom is there waiting for you.

“Hi kids!” She says cheerily, giving you both a hug and a kiss. “You took measurements of the dining area?” She asks you as you walk into the store.

“Yup, got them on my phone.”

“Perfect. Now, are you two thinking square, rectangle, oh maybe round? Round is good if you’re very social. Do you want it to be more of a social space or formal?” You look up at Harry and he just shrugs at you. He truthfully doesn’t give a fuck about the shape of the table.

“Round might be nice. Let’s just look at everything and see what catches us.”

“Sounds good.”

Harry knew exactly what you were going to do. You were going to stay quiet while your mother made comments here and there. You were going to scan over every piece of furniture and make mental notes of all the pieces you liked. He watches as you’d brush your hand over tops of tables, and your fingertips would drape over certain tops of chairs. Afterwards you came up to him.

“I think a darker wood would like nice. Not black, but a nice dark brown.”

“I agree.” He says. “Show me the ones you liked best.” You take his hand and lead him around to three different options.

“Mummy, what do you think of this one?” You say pointing to a long rectangular table. “I looked at a few round ones, but you’d need stools for all of them and I just don’t think I like that.”

“I like this one a lot actually. I like the chairs that go with them too.”

“No padding on them…” Harry says, and you both look at him.

“We can buy cushions. It’s better to do that so you can replace them easier. Then you don’t have to pay to have each chair reupholstered.”

“Ah.” Harry nods.

“Do you like this one Harry?” You ask looking up at him with those big green eyes that he loves so much.

“Yeah, seems like it’ll do the job.”

“Why don’t you both sit down and see how you like it.”

You both do as she says and sit at either end of the table. The chairs were comfortable and proper. With a rug underneath, this table would be perfect in the dining area.

“It’s perfect, mumma.” Harry had never heard you refer to your mom like this either. Maybe you were just extra soft today. She kisses the top of your head.

“Then it’s yours.” You stand up and hug her.

“Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome. Now, let’s go find some cushions and a rug to go with it.”

“Good idea.” Harry stifled a groan. Shopping like this practically knocked the wind out of him.

“C’mon, babe, you can pick out the cushions. Anything you want.”

Harry perks up and goes over with you and your mom to where the accessories were. Harry loved yellow, so he found some yellow cushions. You and your mom approved and found a yellow and grey patterned rug to go with them.

Your mom goes up to speak with a sales associate to get everything in order. You give your mom another hug after she pays for everything.

“How about some lunch kids? The Texas Roadhouse is just down the road.”

“Oh my god they have the best bread and butter. Up for it Harry?”

“Sure. Thanks again for everything.”

“Oh, you’re more than welcome honey.”

You all drive off to the restaurant, and get a table to sit at. You all order salads, and plenty of bread. You fill your mom in on how your class is going, and Harry tells her about his trip to Florida.

“Honey, we should go shopping next month to make sure we have some fun outfits for Aruba. God knows your Nannie is going to have the best bathing suits in the business with her.”

“Yeah!” You giggle. “It would be fun to bring some bright colored outfits down. I don’t need much though from the shopping we did last year.”

“Harry have you ever been to Aruba?”

“No, can’t say I have.” He tries to smile.

“Maybe some year we can have you come down too. Nannie’s place isn’t that big, but if we plan it out we could always see if she could switch one of her weeks with someone who has a two bedroom.”

“We could just us an air mattress.” You shrug. “The only time we spend in the room is for sleep as it is, we wouldn’t need a whole separate space.”

“I know, but it’s nice to have privacy. I could always bunk with Nannie and you two could take the pull out. Just something to think about for next year.”

“True. Would you like that next year Harry?”

“If you’re Nan’s okay with it.” He smiles.

“We can put a bug in her ear.”

“God, I can picture all the old biddies at the pool now.” Your mom laughs. “They’d go gaga over you.”

“I think Nannie would pass out seeing all the tattoos on Harry’s body though.”

“You have more than just your arms?”

“Yeah, he’s got these swallows on his collar bones, a giant butterfly here.” You point to it. “And these ferns right above his hips. And then you have that tiger on your thigh.”

“Oh right I remember you mentioning that.”

“And then he’s got a couple on his knees and ankles. They're all really cool.”

“Please don’t suede my daughter into getting one.”

“Would never dream of it.”

“Although I may get my nose pierced soon. A nice hope right here.” You touch your left nostril.

“Oh that would like nice actually. Those are really in style right now.” You nod along.

“So you were against her getting her be-“

“Harry!” You shake your head no and cough. Your mom squints at you.

“Let him finish his question.”

“Oh, I was just curious, um, because Y/N mentioned she wasn’t allowed to have her belly button pierced. So, um, you don’t mind her nose?”

“Nose piercing doesn’t get infected as easily. A naval piercing just says hello I’m open for business.”

“Jesus, mom.” You put your palm on your forehead. “Can you not be so judgey?”

“I’m not being judgey. I just think they send the wrong message is all.”

After lunch you and Harry thank your mom again for everything. All of your items will arrive in just four weeks. As you get into the car, Harry asks the obvious question.

“Wait so, your mum doesn’t know you have your naval pierced?”

“No way! She flipped when I got this fucking stud in my cartilage after I turned eighteen, no way in hell I was going to tell her about this.”

“So what do you wear on vacation?”

“Oh, I just take it out.”

“She doesn’t notice the hole from it?”

“She’s not inspecting me. I also tend to wear a one piece on family vacations. No need to be so revealing.”

“And she’s never seen a picture?”

“My Instagram is private, and I would never post anything too revealing on my Facebook.”

“Do your siblings know?”

“Erica does, but she’s the only one. I swore her to secrecy, she has hers pierced too.”

“You guys are wild.” He chuckles.

“Sometimes leaving things out is more convenient. Less of a headache. She doesn’t need to know everything about me.”

“True. Would’ve been helpful if I knew it was a secret.”

“I didn’t think it would ever come up.”

“So, when are we gettin’ that little nose of yours pierced?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. I’d love to have the hoop in before I leave. Mariah said I need to get the stud done first.”

“Why don’t we go one day after work? It could be fun, I could get a new tattoo while you get it done.”

“I’d want you to hold my hand!” He chuckles.

“Alright.”

“What tattoo would you get?”

“Absolutely no idea.”

He did have an idea. He wanted to get a small sunflower where he had space on his left arm. Sunflowers were your favorite, and he wanted a tattoo for you, but he didn’t want to get anything crazy just in case.

“You’re so spontaneous, I love it. Yeah, maybe Wednesday after work?”

“I’ll make an appointment for us.” He smiles.

“I can pick out a new stud for my stomach while I’m there. I’m sick of this one.” You lift your shirt slightly to show him.

“What would get instead?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you can help me pick something out?”

“Sure.” He pats your belly and you giggle.

This weekend was a very good for you two. You were feeling happier day by day, and you knew seeing Dr. Mara consistently had something to do with it. You and Harry had been working on so many things, and you both noticed the small changes.

[wontlastimokwiththat]

Witches Mates- Chapter 1

Hey my loves! This is an actual, full length, WIP I'm working on. It's one of the things that takes up a lot of my time. I have a few (maybe 6-7) chapters written and I’m working on more. This story means a lot to me, I've put a lot of time and effort into it. I hope you guys like it.

This is an all 4 5SOS boy fic. All of them are with one character but they aren't with each other. I'm not sure how it will be taken but I want to put it out there and see if y'all like it.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

"I thought we were going to surprise her," I heard someone say as the door to the shop opened.

"I need her help," a familiar voice countered. I walked out of the back of the shop with a smile.

"Whose help?" I asked my long time friend, Liam. I noticed his pack was with him and four others I didn't know. Yes, pack. Liam and his friends, Harry, Louis, Niall, and Zayn, are werewolves.

"Yours," he stated. I walked out from behind the counter.

"My services will cost you," I said. He smiled.

"I wouldn't expect anything different," he said before hugging me. "I've missed you. Happy birthday."

"You know I don't celebrate." I pulled back. "Who's your new friends?"

"J, meet Luke, Ashton, Calum, and Michael. Our parents are close friends," Liam explained, pointing at each one. "Guys, this is Jessica Lebeau."

"Nice to meet you all," I smiled as Harry cleared his throat. "Shut up, we talk all the time."

"That hurts, J," he said, putting a hand over his heart. I rolled my eyes before looking back at Liam.

"What do you need?" I asked.

"Danielle's hiding something from me. I need you to tell me what," he said.

"I'm not a mind reader, Li," I stated.

"Call her and ask," he told me.

"If she knows you're here, she won't be stupid enough to tell me. That's one reason I like her, she's smarter than you realize."

"It says outside something about tarot card readings," Calum said. "Don't those answer questions?"

"Most of the time, the cards give generalized answers," I told him. "I don't see the harm in trying, though." I walked back behind the counter and grabbed my tarot cards.

"Liam, have you ever had a tarot card reading?" Louis asked.

"Once and I didn't like the outcome," Liam said.

"You didn't like it because the cards told you someone was lying to you and it turned out your girlfriend was cheating," I reminded him as I spread out the cards. "Dani isn't like that so I'd say you're fine. Now, pick three cards."

"Fine," he sighed as he and the others walked to the counter. Liam pointed at one and I flipped it.

"Ten of Cups," I smiled. "You feel whole with her, completely happy."

"True," he nodded before pointing at the second one. I flipped it and frowned slightly. "What? Is it bad?"

"No, it's good. Four of Wands typically means you're on the right path," I said.

"Why'd you frown?" he asked.

"Ten of Cups can mean family and Four of Wands can be marriage or pregnancy," I explained.

"You mean-"

"Pick the last card, Liam," Niall interrupted. Liam pointed at his last card and visibly held his breath as I flipped it.

"You should call Dani," I mumbled.

"Why?" Liam quizzed.

"The Empress represents the life cycle, celebrates love, and the three cards together almost certainly means she's pregnant," I said. He pulled out his phone as he came behind the counter and walked to the back of the shop. The others started walking around the shop but Ashton stayed at the counter, staring at the tarot cards.

"I've never seen tarot cards like this," Ashton told me, running his hand across the back of one. "They're beautiful."

"They're handmade family heirlooms," I told him. "My mom's side of the family has done tarot card reading for generations. This symbol is our family crest." I pointed at the symbol on the back of a card.

"I've seen it before. It's the Firelight symbol," he mumbled.

"My family was around before witches chose the name Firelight," I lied. Actually, my family is the Firelight witch family. His eyes snapped up to meet mine.

"You know?" I laughed.

"Sweetheart, I live in New Orleans. Of course, I know."

"Hey. Is any of this stuff actually cursed?" Michael asked me, looking around one of the shelves.

"I wouldn't touch anything if I were you," Zayn told him. "You never know when it comes to J and her mom."

"J, what's the theme for the party tonight?" Harry asked.

"Witches," I told him as the shop door opened.

"And warlocks, right?" Calum quizzed.

"Language!" my best friend, Damien, exclaimed as the door closed behind him.

"What'd I say?" Calum asked.

"Warlock means oath breaker and is highly offensive to male witches," I explained. "Witch is a gender neutral term."

"Sorry," Calum said and I turned my attention to Damien.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Everything's all set up at your house," he told me. "The invitations have been sent and flyers have been posted."

"Great. Thanks, Damien," I smiled. He eyed the tarot cards and the three still flipped.

"Who's pregnant?" he asked me.

"Possibly Dani. I was reading for Liam," I told him.

"Damn," he whistled. "Tarot cards isn't how you want to find that out. I guess it's better than his last reading, though."

"Wait, you read tarot cards, too?" Michael asked him.

"Yeah," Damien nodded. "J taught me when we were, like, eleven."

"How long have you been doing it?" Ashton asked me.

"I learned to read tarot cards before I learned to read books," I told him. "I told you it's a family thing and Damien's practically family." Liam walked out of the back of the shop with a stupid happy smile on his face. "She's pregnant, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is," he nodded. I smiled as the congratulations rang through the shop. The standing clock in the corner chimed five and I looked at Damien, who smiled. I felt the wave of power rush through my body so strong I would've fallen to the ground had I not been resting against the counter. I closed my eyes to prevent the new comers from seeing my eyes glow a bright purple and I felt someone place a hand over mine.

"You good, J?" Niall asked. I nodded slightly, opening my eyes and looking at him.

"Never better," I smiled. I knew he realized what had happened because he smiled right back at me.

"Happy official birthday," he said with a wink.

"It's closing time," Damien announced. "Let's get the hell outta here."

"Go on. I'll meet you guys there," I said.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. I'll have to get my stuff together and lock up. I won't be far behind," I assured.

"I'll stay with her," Liam told him. "We need to catch up anyways." They nodded and left the shop. Liam looked at me. "Was that what I think that was?"

"If you mean me getting my full witch powers, yes, it was," I nodded.

"Have you already chosen a witch name?" See, here's the deal. A witch is given a name at birth, just like mundanes. But when a witch turns 21 and gets their full powers, they have to choose a witch name. The name they'll go by with their coven and other people of the supernatural world. My mother's witch name is Constance Firelight and her mundane name is Maria Lebeau. Damien's witch name Lejend Emberglow.

"I have."

"What name did you chose?"

"Mystia Firelight," I told him.

"It fits you," Liam smiled.

"Thank you." I collected my tarot cards and put them in their case. I put the case in my bag and threw my bag over my shoulder. "Ready?" Liam nodded. I grabbed the keys from under the counter and followed Liam out of the shop. I locked the door and made sure the protection spell was still intact then walked with Liam through the French Quarter to my huge house just outside of it.

Damien and the others were already there when we arrived. While they got into their costumes for the party, I went around the property's perimeter putting up a spell of protection from spirits that could rise and cause harm to me, my friends, or the party goers. Once I was finished, it was time for the party to start. Damien stayed outside greeting guests while I went to my room to change.

I changed into a black dress that hugged my body tightly and ended just above mid thigh. It was low cut in the front, going between my boobs, and was backless. The long sleeves were tight until my forearm then they flared out. I paired the dress with black, high heeled, over the knee boots and brushed out my long hair with brightly colored streaks. I did makeup with dark smokey eyes and deep red lipstick that looked like the color of blood. Once I was finished, I went down stairs.

I lit the elemental candles on the coffee table in the living room, deciding to call the elements to protect the party goers tonight. I lit the green one first. It represents earth and faces north.

"Earth, I call you tonight to keep my visitors grounded." I lit the yellow one next which represents air and faces east. "Air, I ask that you blow away any evil spirits that may try to do harm tonight." Next, I lit the red one that faced south and represented fire. "Fire, I call you to protect and guard my visitors tonight while they are here and while they go home." I lit the blue one next, facing west and representing water. "Water, I ask you to drown out any evil in my visitors hearts and minds tonight." Finally, I lit the purple one in the middle that represented spirit. "Spirit, I bring you into this circle tonight to ensure everyone is happy and has a good time."