#so if all they can say is the unforeseen circumstances thing ok but put it up on social media matt vines what the fuck are you doing

[lhrry]

x

[twopoppies]

for your financial advice anon:

so, talking about actual numbers isn’t usually very helpful because how much you can/should save is very dependent on where you live and how much you’re making. ergo, point 1: establishing the *habit* of saving is actually more important than how much you’re saving.

however: as a rule of thumb, it is good to get to a point where you have 3-6 months worth of all your expenses (rent, food, meds, etc) in a savings account. that can seem like a really daunting number! but, it’s a good goal. if that feels too hard, start with one month, and once you’ve achieved that, go for two, etc. this kind of saving gives you the wiggle room and comfort to know that, if something goes wrong, it’s not an immediate disaster - you have some time to handle things.

once you’ve hit your “6 months of all expenses” saving goal, i recommend starting some targeted savings goals - you can create separate accounts for these if it keeps you from touching them, or you can just have them in the same savings account as your other savings, it’s up to you. the ones i have are “emergency”; “travel”; “oh shit the car”; “adoption”; and “house”. i have set goal amounts for each of these, and dump a little into them each month.

emergency is an arbitrary 9k because of the cost of living where i live - it’s meant not so much for income replacement like the original 6 month goal is, but more things like, “giant medical bill” or “giant vet bill” or “we suddenly have to buy a new car” or whatever. this is your Unforeseen Circumstances fund. travel i usually try to keep around 3k, cause that’s a reasonable amount for two people to take a trip somewhere and not have to nickel and dime it. “oh shit the car” is meant to cover registration, any accidents, any unexpected repairs, etc, and i keep that at about 2k. “adoption” has a goal of 27k, because that’s what the lawyer we talked to suggested (we’re also looking into foster to adopt, but that can also cost, and so do babies, so the category is more general than the title suggests); and the house account was for a down payment for our house, but is now just “oh fuck ___ needs fixed” and its goal is to stay around 20k.

now. all of this is very personal! if you don’t want kids, you don’t need a savings account for them. if you don’t have a car, there’s no need to save for car repairs. but once you have that savings cushion, it’s good to sit down with yourself and think both of contingencies (car, travel) and future plans (house, kids, whatever), and then to begin actively designating money for those things.

a helpful thing also is, if you have a set amount you’re contributing each month to each account (let’s say $10 to start, so, $50 a month across 5 categories), then when you’ve hit one goal (ok! my “oh shit the car” account is at 2k!), don’t stop saving that $10! divert it to the next lowest category. so now “adoption”, “emergency”, and “house” are getting $10/mo, but “travel” is getting $20/mo. that means that goal will be met faster, and then i can put $30/mo to the *next* one, etc etc. or you can just bump what you’re putting in all of them if you prefer. the tl;dr is, don’t reduce the amount you’re saving, ever, if you can help it.

ALSO omg start a retirement savings. if you have a job that has an IRA or a 401k, start contributing. the money will come out of your paycheck untaxed, and many employers will do a matching contribution. with this, you want to start saving at whatever the matching level is (for my company, it used to be 3%, now it’s 5%), and then increase that by 1% every year until you’re at at least 10%. if you do it this way, it’s very painless, and you will be very happy about it in 40 years when you can retire and no one else can. if you *don’t* have a job that does this, do it yourself. same deal - start an account and set up an automatic bank transfer for 3% every month that comes out as soon as your paycheck goes in. when it gets to say, 5k, you want to put it in something that will get you good interest, like a mutual fund, and keep contributing but never touching. that money is dead to you for the next 40 years.

i hope this helps!!

This is super helpful and so detailed. Bless you! I think this is helpful for people of any age.

[crab-in-a-pocket]

Maybeeee the bachelors and their crush with a playful back and forth teasing and flirting relationship? They just don't admit they like each other yet but its fairly obvious, and one day their crush just straight up admits they like them. How would the boys deal with that?

guess who's back bitchez!! thanks for the ask, anon, this was really fun to write :D brief hiatus over btw!! i'm back in business <33 seems short but i wrote this on my phone and i have no way to tell if it really is short or not but i hope yall enjoy nonetheless !! i'll edit it and add a "read more" sometime later when the wifi isnt as crappy on my laptop because the tumblr app is horseshit

tw: swearing

alex:

ok, wow, that was blunt and bold and super super hot

you two werre always pretty damn flirty but this is-- this is WOW

fucking speechless. eyes are flickering from your determined face, the bouquet in your hand, your suddenly extremely kissable lips (the kissability has been quadrupled due to this unforeseen circumstance)

he really didn't see it coming and nearly dropped one of his weights on his foot

he has no doubt about it because he can read the expressions on your face really well and damn it if you're fucking with him

but you're not and the bouquet in your outstretched hand is a little bit right in his face and his view of you is slightly obscured by the flowers

he plucks it from your hands, tosses it on his bed, takes you by the waist and kisses the living daylights out of you

sweetest shit ever but you are now alex's blunt translator

it's not a bad job, you get kisses for it

sam:

blush, blush, blush

ok, you two flirt exorbitantly but he has never blushed so hard in his life and... neither have you

nearly drops his guitar on his toes mid-jam

okay, you just BARGED in outta nowhere, regardless of your intentions, he gets startled

his mind registers your words and the bouquet and holy crap

you're standing in the middle of his bedroom, a little hot and sweaty from a typical day's work, holding a bouquet in your hands with a determined look in your face

sam's 70% sure he's in love when you tell him that you like like him and the sparkle in your eyes when he says "i'm in like with you, too" makes him feel like he's on cloud 9

he puts down his guitar, takes a flower from your bouquet, tucks it behind your ear, and then kisses you, slow and soft and so very heartfelt

is the one who goes on a tangent about how you confessed to him because he thinks it's the sweetest and coolest thing ever

sebastian:

surprised pikachu

he's awkward but he knows that all your flirting was leading somewhere

when you handed him the bouquet, a determined but strangely uncertain look in your eyes, he was so fucking relieved

so, he originally planned to confess to you in an unspeakably cheesy way

and THANK YOBA that you've saved him from himself

so, he just gets up from his desk, takes the bouquet and places it atop his computer and pulls you in a tight embrace

then, he kisses you. this part is surprisingly romantic-- he places his hand under your chin and presses the softest, lightest kiss on your lips, soft as a feather

he has a bright, endearing blush on his face and he could certainly say the same for you

he privately tells you some details about how he was going to confess but he stops after you fall over laughing

dork but he takes your sudden confession like a fucking champ

shane:

poor boy is wondering if you're fucking with him until he realizes you two are alone and the hint of hestitation on your face and the bright bouquet has him REELING

so, you really aren't joking or anything

i mean, you two teased each other and flirted a lot and he was usually on the receiving end of it so he takes everything you say with a healthy pinch of salt

he wants to ask you "what's that bouquet for?" in a calm, casual voice but when he says it, his voice is unusually quiet and strained

he didn't hear what you said and so you repeat it: "i like you. romantically. do you like me back? i mean, you don't have to tell me right now, you can think on it--"

shane very nearly tackles you. he hugs you so, so tightly, the bouquet crushed between your chests. and he tells you that yeah, i like you back.

and you two are kissing, kissing, kissing in his coop, charlie clucking at your feet and his blue chickens clucking in confusion

harvey:

confuzzled at the sight of the bouquet until you flat-out tell him that you like like him

his face just drains of color and you stop in the middle of your ramble, asking him if he doesn't feel the same way and if he's ok

he reassures you with a faint voice that, yes, he feels the same way but he also says that he thinks he's having an out of body experience and needs to have a quick lie-down

ok, wow, you actually like him and you are no longer just going to tease and flirt non-stop because you two are going to be an actual couple holy shit

you're bewildered but elated so you acquiesce and help him onto his doctor's bed, a concerned look on your face all the while

so you're just sitting next to harvey, tentatively stroking his hair while he has his out of body experience

he comes to a little later then sits up and asks you if he can kiss you. you beam and lean in for a kiss, soft and slow and so, very sure

elliot:

speechless. has Zero words for the way he's feeling right now and he is just so damn happy but he keeps opening his mouth like a fish in a tank because he keeps thinking of something to say but it's not enough

like, DUDE, he's used to your sly flirtations, innuendos, and suggestive smiles not... you being a mumbling, blushing mess.

he was super surprised when you walked in, holding a colorful bouquet of random flowers and shoving it at him, mumbling something so quickly he failed to catch it the first time

"i... what?"

"oh for the love of yoba, i said i like you romantically."

speechless, fucking speechless. so, he does the next best thing instead of talking. he takes you in his arms and pulls you in for soft, tender kiss

he deepens the kiss and presses you against the wall-- there really are times when actions speak louder than words

[himooonlight]

who are you? pt. 1 (reggie x reader)

pairing: reggie x reader word count: 3k warnings: sad stuff i guess? this is mostly fluff though plot: you dream about reggie constantly and when you see him perfoming with julie, you decide to ask her about him A/N: english is not my first language and this is my first fanfic, so please, be nice ok? hope you like this. oh, and i'm thinking maybe 5 parts? who knows

- I know this is going to sound weird, but do you know any Reginald who likes country music?

The girl in front of me looks at me as if I have just said the biggest nonsense she has ever heard. Her smile fades and she checks around us as if looking for someone who had also heard my question.

Julie is an intriguing girl. She seems very understandable and kind, but I feel like my sanity is in her hands, which makes her figure weigh too much on me. I can't look away from her worried features, feeling bad for making her feel like this. I know she had a terrible year having to deal with her mother's death and all the block to play and sing, but I can't help it.

Not knowing the truth is going to consume me.

- What did you say? - She asks.

Julie and I have never spoken before. I am a year older than her and our school schedules have never crossed, even though I’ve seen her in the halls before. Everyone knows the incredible voice she has, the artistic talent that seems to run through her fingers - it would be impossible not to know about her reputation. What made me talk to her, though, was Reginald.

Reggie.

A boy I thought didn't really exist until three days ago.

- I asked if you know any Reginald who likes country music. - I repeat in a lower tone. - Do you think we can talk?

She doesn't hesitate to agree and soon steps forward to go to the music room. I only know about the existence of that classroom because some of my friends like to go there during lunch hours to sleep a little before afternoon classes. She opens the door, lets me go through, and closes it behind me, making sure we're alone.

We sit in the back of the room, near the windows. The horizontal blinds are open and the weather looks happy. The sun shines brightly and there are no clouds to tell the story of the crazy girl who has been dreaming of someone unreal for months and had fallen in love with a non-existent being.

It's funny how the figurative tranquility makes me uneasy. The day seems peaceful, serene while chaos is established inside of me. The blue, maroon and white paintings on the wall seem to make fun of my nervousness; the delicate yet majestic instruments seem to want me to leave considering that my madness is too much for anyone to bear.

Julie looks at me not knowing that she is my hope and that also makes me anxious. Possibly even more apprehensive than comparing my problems with the calmness of the place around me.

- I'm not sure where to start or if you're going to believe me, but I need you to listen carefully. If it doesn't make sense to you, if you don't know what I'm talking about, please just ignore it, ok?

Julie nods and moves her chair closer to mine. Her eyes look worried and I can see that she is an ordinary person. As much as many people have put her on a pedestal, she looks normal and comprehensive at close range. She doesn't look like someone who would be evil and bitter of her own accord and it's comforting to know that even if she can't help me, maybe she can understand my torments in some way.

I let the air enter my lungs, my shoulders going up and down slightly. She doesn't pressure me to speak even though I can interpret by her fingers tapping on her leg that she wants me to say something soon.

Without thinking too much about word choices, I open my heart to her because some things need to be shared.

Even when it's not easy to start.

- A few months ago I started having dreams with Reggie. He looks just like the guy you sing in that band with, the bass player. A friend of mine showed me a video of you a few days ago and I know it's him, it can only be him. - Without thinking too much, my hands reach for hers, as if begging her to believe me. Julie doesn't back down or make a move to start laughing and that encourages me to continue, with as many details as possible. - Do you know who he is? My friend said they are holograms, but probably it's inspired by some real person, right?

My speech starts to get tangled up and Julie continues with the same expression as when we arrived, just listening to what I have to say. I feel pathetic because I seem to be performing a show for something that in the eyes of others may be irrelevant. I wish I could explain to her that I am usually a very rational person. I like reasonable explanations, the feeling of being in control of where I am going, of having a detailed plan on how to achieve my goals. In general I know that unforeseen events can happen, but the relief that organization and rationality bring me is too comforting and important for me to be able to accept Reggie in my life under normal circumstances.

However, he quickly became someone important to me and it's scary how just the thought of him can make me feel nice and peaceful.

Reggie brought me peace of the kind that you often seek while sleeping or resting. Peace of the kind that we look for when looking at the sky, at flowers, at children playing in a park happily. He, someone I didn't know, offered me happiness by just appearing in my dreams, smiling at my sleeping version. It was something about his adorable smile, his small teeth, his upturned nose and expressive eyebrows. It was something about the way he made me laugh, how he had genuine intentions about everything, how his beautiful eyes lit up when he talked about something he liked.

- I don't know anything about creating holograms, sorry. - Julie answers, smiling weakly and clearing her throat. She looks uncomfortable, so I let go of her hand. - But if I find anything about it, I'll let you know.

- Julie, you really don't know anything about him? He loves pizza, has a very peculiar sense of humor and likes children and animals. He likes it very much. He is not very close to his family, but he regards his two best friends as if they were brothers. He is kind, understanding and real. I guess truthful is a better choice of words, cause I don't know if he really exists.

I know she can see my distress from the way I'm letting the words flow, but I can't help it. Reggie not only brings me peace but also a feeling of belonging that seems to go beyond the moment.

It's not like I'm getting to know him, it's like I'm recognizing him.

- Look, are you sure you are not confusing him with someone else?

Julie herself doesn't seem to believe or agree with her question. I'm being too specific and I know it. I know this because Reggie asked for my help on Thursday night's dream, saying that he didn't know if he could make it. I know this because he told me the name of his band. I know this because he said he didn't recognize me, but that he felt the same way about me, about us.

- Julie, I know about Sunset Curve. I looked them up and I know they died 25 years ago. - I answer, looking at my own feet. I don't want her to think I'm a threat and that I'm going to expose her secret. I just want answers, I just want a chance to understand my connection with Reggie. - I just want to know if you know Reggie. If there is anyone I can ask why he appears in my dreams, why I…

I can't complete it out loud, but mentally I say "fell in love with him".

I know why I fell in love with him, to be honest.

Reggie is physically familiar. More than that, it's like meeting someone special who means a lot to me. He's someone whose beauty comes from his smile. The kind of person who is always trying to see the positive in things. Who never believes that he has actually lost anything or that he is in the wrong place. He's the type to believe that every thing he dropped on the floor and didn't see, every umbrella forgotten somewhere, every delay unintentionally; everything means something. An arrangement so that he could be in the place he is in right now and that this place could not be a mistake. He's the type who doesn't bother with something that broke, with something unexpected, with something he isn't planning because he is convinced that maybe he broke a plate today so he could go to the market and find money on the floor or just feel how pleasant the day is. That maybe he was late because the bus he was going to take was going to break down halfway. He is the type who thinks that regardless of the situation, he is in the right place, where he should be.

Reggie has an engaging aura, as much as I couldn't even explain what exactly it means. He is affectionate, funny and I don't think I could ever create him.

- Why you…? - She insists.

- Why I feel this way about him.

Julie seems to think about what I said and I choose not to press her. I pay attention to the room, on how the sun comes through the window and makes me think of the day I met Reggie.

My first dream with him was at a book club. It was a friendly place that I had never visited before; a two-story white house with a big backyard. The meeting took place outside and the residence looked like it was turned into a cultural center. About five people had books in their hands and were talking excitedly about the story, going on about the metaphors the author had used to explain the parents' suffering when they lost their child. Near the boundaries of the place, three boys who seemed out of place were talking quietly. At their feet, boxes of instruments looked like misunderstood foreigners while snacks and sweets on the table near them were very much welcomed. The blond boy next to Reggie was talking to another boy about something I couldn't hear and Reggie seemed to shine.

It was late afternoon and the sun was passing through the trees in the yard. The white fence he leaned against contrasted with the black clothes he wore, while the darkness of the fabric contradicted with the gentleness of his face. He had caught my attention the minute my eyes met his.

Without saying anything, Reggie came towards me, making me nervous. In the dream, however, I was a man. As much as I was living and seeing everything from my point of view, my body was masculine and taller. My hands were calloused for some reason that I did not know and my clothes were extremely large, almost sloppy.

- Hi. - Reggie said, smiling as if he knew me. His eyes were shining and I was sure mine were too. - Do you have a name or can I call you mine?

We were not too far away from his friends for them not to hear us. Soon they started laughing out loud, embarrassed by the pick up line. I couldn't help but laugh, even though in some part of my brain I knew that maybe if the situation was rationalized, I would find it weird. However, I felt the same way about him. The desire to meet him, to know his preferences, to feel what his hand would be like in mine.

- Maybe I went too far with that one. - He said, giving me no chance to answer. - I think I have the right to remain silent.

- Reggie, you have the right to remain silent. What you lack is capacity. - The blonde said, making the other friend laugh even louder. Some man behind us asked us to speak quietly and right then the sun stopped touching the man in front of me. It seemed that we finally understood that moment; seemed that the universe made sense.

Reginald was speechless, just like me. We looked at each other for a while, admiring each other's details. Because of that exact moment I would know how to point the timid freckles on your nose even with my eyes shut or on the way his eyes seemed to have at least four different shades of blue and green. At that moment I fell in love with his skin, his dimples, how well his hair was combed and how he smelled of jasmine.

- Hey. - I replied to him, holding out my hand. He looked into my eyes, then my lips and then took my hand in his. Time seemed to stop around us. - I guess you do have a name, Reggie, but can I call you mine?

Julie touches my arm, pulling me out of my memories.

- I don't know if I would have answers for you. - She says. - I'm sorry.

Julie gets up and goes to the door. I can't ignore the fact that my throat is dry and my hands are shaking slightly in anticipation of any more response that she wants to give me. Anything, any explanation that might justify how I feel about Reggie.

She suddenly stops and turns to me with wide eyes.

- You can't see, right? - She asks.

I don't know what she's talking about, so I just shake my head.

- Where's Reggie? - She talks again.

When I open my mouth to say that I don't know, he appears near the piano. His eyes are more intense than in my dreams and he does not smell of jasmine, but it's still him.

My Reggie.

I get up quickly and almost trip over the chair, making Julie look at me with even wider eyes. I look from her to him, repeating the process a few times.

He wasn't there a few seconds ago.

He appeared in the middle of nowhere.

Him.

He exists.

- What's going on here? - He asks Julie, but his body is turned towards me. I look him straight in the eye and walk slowly because I'm afraid this is a dream and I want to spend more time looking at him like that. - Julie, why does it look like she sees me?

- I see you, Reggie. - I speak softly, not diverting my attention from him. - You exist.

He opens his mouth a few times, not understanding what is happening and I feel the same thing that I felt in that book club.

Feels like I'm coming home, that I love him, that everything makes sense. I feel that there is too much of him in my heart.

- Can you see me? - He asks, walking slowly towards me. It seems the same distance from my first dream; the same strong feeling of belonging, of finding something that I had already given up looking for. - Do you really see me?

- I see you, I can really see you.

My vision starts to blur and I hear Julie talking in the background, but I can only look at him and ask myself if he knows who I am, if he feels the same. When a tear falls from my eyes, Reggie walks faster, ending our distance and extending his hand to touch my face. When I feel a shy and almost unnoticed contact, I close my eyes and throw myself into his arms, but I can't find his body.

Confused, I open my eyes again.

He's not there.

He disappeared in the middle of nowhere.

Him.

He does not exist.

- It's just a dream, isn't it? Is this my farewell to him? Will I never see him again in my dreams? - I ask Julie. I touch the piano that seemed so close to Reggie before and let my fingers roam the black top of the instrument. I just wish I could feel him the same way. - I could have swore that this is real, but I think I love Reggie so much that he made me like being asleep more than being awake. It is terrible to love him in my dreams and not have him when I wake up in the morning.

- You love me?

I hear his voice behind me and when I turn, he's there.

- Who are you? - I ask, like an idiot. I know who he is, but I need to understand a few things before I completely freak out.

Julie walks over to me and touches my wrist. She seems to be asking me not to scream or pass out. Something in Reggie's eyes is apologizing silently and I'm afraid of his answer.

- I'm Reggie. - He smiles weakly and it hurts me because it's a sad smile. - And I think you're my unfinished business.

[woah-were-halfway-there]

Can you do one where Mia gets a bad cold or something and you freak out and take her to the emergency room because Auston is away on a road trip or something but everything is obviously ok with her.

A/N: Yesssss of course, here you are my dear!

Word Count: 2k

The chances of you sleeping at all that night were slim to none.

Mia had come down with some sort of cold, and it was taking a lot out of her. What started as the sniffles just the day before, soon turned into a nasty cough and an all-around uncomfortableness that really showed.

Gone was your bubbly toddler who was so amazed by the world around her and replaced by a way less upbeat version of herself that refused to leave your side. Not like you wanted to be away from her either, though.

It wasn’t the first time Mia had gotten sick and surely wouldn’t be the last, but you weren’t expecting it to be as bad as it was. You felt terrible, but what made it even worse was how Auston knew nothing about his daughter’s state.

He was in New York for an away game against the Islanders and wasn’t expected to return home until the following day. When the two of you Facetimed earlier that afternoon, he witnessed just how clingy Mia was with you. She kept quiet, not being as chatty as she usually was with her dad while she leaned against your shoulder and cuddled her stuffed whale. Auston knew it was because she wasn’t feeling well, you made sure to tell him that, but because of how busy he was with having to go to practice and play hockey, you weren’t able to give him any updates on Mia’s condition. Which, unfortunately, had only gotten worse.

Whenever she coughed, you could tell it wasn’t comfortable with how she’d look at you with teary eyes before hiding her face in the crook of your neck. Your heart was breaking just watching her, so you immediately called your doctor for some guidance. When you called, the office was due to close in less than half an hour, and you knew there was no way you’d make it through Downtown Toronto traffic in time to get there. Calling was your best option at the time and did help temporarily.

Your doctor told you that honey should help with Mia’s cough and how it was safer than ordinary cough medicines for a child her age. After giving Mia some honey, she then said for you just to watch and see if your daughter got worse or developed any more symptoms. If she did, you were advised to take her to the hospital’s emergency room to get the proper care she may need. You absolutely hated the thought of a hospital trip being a possible outcome but still did as you were told and waited to see what would happen.

The honey helped. After giving it to Mia and explaining how it would help make her better, her cough became less aggressive and seemingly less painful, putting your daughter in a much better mood. She was still very clingy with you for the rest of the evening, which was fine because you knew she still didn’t feel great.

When it came to bedtime, she did not want to sleep in her room at all.

“No, mommy,” she pouted and clung on to you harder when you went to set her in her crib for the night.

“Oh, baby girl, you want to stay with me until you fall asleep?”

She nodded in response, and there was no way you could argue. You and Auston developed a bedtime routine for Mia that she had done really well sticking too. It was still a bit early for her to transition from a crib to an actual toddler bed. However, she had gotten used to going to bed in her own room at the same time each night without you or Auston being nearby until she fell asleep. However, this night was very different, and there was no way you were going to force her routine. So, you settled on taking her back downstairs to watch a Disney movie, knowing the songs would probably put her to sleep like they usually did, but even that didn’t happen.

Throughout the film, you would glance down at your daughter as she stayed curled up beside her and see how she was fighting to keep her eyes open. She was utterly exhausted, but whatever it was she was feeling kept her awake, and you hated it. Even Frank seemed to know something was up with how he laid on the couch near Mia and was always nearby wherever you took her.

As the movie came to an end, she looked up at you with sleepy eyes, and it felt like your heart shattered into a million pieces.

“My sweet girl, I’m sorry you’re not feeling good,” you said as you went to rub your hand through the mop of dark hair, she had grown but paused when your fingers brushed her forehead and felt how hot she was. “Oh, no.”

You were immediately standing up off the couch and carrying your daughter into the kitchen to grab the ear thermometer you knew resided in one of the drawers. Once you located it, you sat her on the counter and took her temperature. She didn’t fight, just sat there and rubbed at her eyes tiredly until the device beeped a moment later with the answer you were looking for.

“Oh no, no, no,” you whispered when you read the tiny 104F that flashed on the screen. “Crap, ok. Mia, we’re going to go see a doctor, alright?”

“Tired, mommy,” was all she said while cuddling into you again as soon as you picked her up.

“I know, baby, but we have to make sure you feel better soon.”

“Frank come?” She asked as you put on her coat and boots before setting her down briefly so you could put on your own.

“No honey, Frank has to stay here,” you replied and leant down to pet the Goldendoodle that waited nearby. “We’ll be back soon, buddy.” And with that, you picked Mia back up, grabbed your keys and wallet, and headed out the front door.

It wasn’t until you climbed into the driver’s seat of your car after buckling Mia into her car seat, that you realized how much of a hot mess you looked like. Your hair was in a messy bun, and the baggy hoodie of Auston’s that you stole did not match the track pants you wore, but you didn’t care. There were more important things to deal with, so after a quick text to your husband telling him to call you as soon as possible, you put the car in reverse, backed out of the driveway, and headed to the nearest emergency room.

It was around 11 p.m. that you finished talking with a nurse and finally received a call from Auston.

“Hey, is everything alright?” His voice sounded through your phone as soon as you answered. “I got your text, are you at home?”

“No, uh, we’re at the hospital,” you sniffled, trying to recompose yourself after all the crying you did while sitting in the waiting room with your sick daughter.

“Wait. What?”

“Mia got worse,” you explained. “Her cough went away for a bit, but it came back, and she now has a fever.”

“Fuck,” he whispered, and you could only imagine him stressfully pushing his hand through his hair like he always did in similar situations. “Is she ok? Have you talked with a doctor?”

“Not yet, just a nurse as she took us to a room. The doctor should be here soon. Mia is passed out in my arms right now, she couldn’t sleep earlier even though she was exhausted, and I feel awful because she’s going to get woken up again once the doctor comes in.”

“I see, so she’s not doing great, huh? And how are you, babe?”

“Not good,” you blubbered, feeling as though you were on the brink of tears again. “I’ve cried a bit tonight. I called your mom and sobbed, and she told me to stop thinking I was a terrible mother because I’m not. I swear she’s a mind reader sometimes.”

“You and me both,” he chuckled. “But she’s right. You need to stop beating yourself up over this.”

“But Aus-.”

“No, buts,” he cut you off. “You’re doing the best you can, babe. I wish I were there right now, but I know Mia is going to be perfectly ok with you watching out for her.”

At that, you smiled.

“She misses you,” you told him, not to make him feel bad for not being there, but to let him know how even in her sick state, Mia still very much so wanted her dad. “Was asking about you when we first got here.”

“God, I want to be there so I can give her the biggest hug.”

“I know, Auston, I’m giving her one for you. I promise.”

“Thank you,” he responded, before falling silent for a moment. “Do you mind if I stay on the phone until the doctor comes?”

“Not at all.”

The two of you caught up and talked about each other’s days. Auston told you all about the game you missed due to these unforeseen circumstances, and you shared the details of your exciting day at home with Mia and Frank. About ten minutes later, someone knocked on the door before it opened, and a woman popped her head inside.

“Hello, I’m here to check up on an Amelia Matthews,” she greeted as you stood up from your seat.

“Yes, this is her.”

“And you’re her mother?”

“I am.”

“Perfect,” she smiled while writing on her clipboard. “If you don’t mind, please bring her over to the examination table and we can see what’s bugging your little girl.”

You did as you were asked, and stood back to let the doctor do her job. However, after you set her down, Mia woke up and wasn’t long before reaching out towards you as she started crying.

Not missing a beat, Auston immediately ended the call before Facetiming just a second later to see his daughter. At the sight of her dad, Mia relaxed. The stress of waking up in a foreign place seemingly vanished as she sat there, leant against you listening to Auston speak.

As that unfolded, the doctor could retake Mia’s temperature and check everything else without interruption.  Once she was done, it was determined that Mia had the flu.

She then explained to you (and Auston, virtually) how the flu was common in toddlers and that Mia should be much better in 24-48 hours. You were given tips on how to treat the flu but were mainly advised to let your daughter rest. That’s all she’d be wanting to do for the next day or so anyway.

The doctor then told you that you had nothing to worry about, and how you did the right thing by taking Mia to see someone, before eventually leaving the room and saying you were good to go and that she’d contact your family doctor about what happened.

“Well, I guess it could have been a lot worse,” you said to Auston as you buckled Mia into her car seat again.

“I know, still sucks a lot, though.”

“You’re telling me, but at least we can go home to bed and not stress too much.”

“True,” he replied. “I can’t wait to give her all the cuddles once I’m back tomorrow.”

“I’m sure she’ll love that,” you stated. “Anyways, babe, I’m gonna have to let you go so I can drive back to the house.”

“Ok, sounds good. Call me as soon as you’re back, please.”

“I will. Love you.”

“And I love you,” he responded. “Bye, babe.”

After that, you hung up the phone and drove home. Once you put Mia to bed, you called Auston again, and he reminded you of how much he loved you, and that the two of you were doing fine as parents. You couldn’t help but agree, knowing that Mia was always going to be ok because you or Auston would make sure of it and not too much later, you were finally able to fall asleep without any more stress.

[erixyin]

Idk where i saw this but i need to write my own

MLQC Boys React - MC wearing their shirt/tshirt as a dress in public.

Note: have been dating for a while, like 6 months?

A little NSFW but not too bad x

Victor:

You had stayed over at his for the weekend and now it was Sunday and you had run out of clean none-casual clothes. And you had forgotten to pack any with you or go shopping because you had been very distracted all weekend. By victor without a shirt on wahhhhhh

You rummaged through his closet quickly. Boi was already at work he had a 6am meeting. You dont know how he has the energy to do that. You would literally die if someone said you have to be out of bed before 6am

He looked at his long fancy shirts and you had an idea. You grabbed the one that felt the nicest and that was not the boring grey shirts he usually had. It was a purple silk shirt and it came down to about your knees. MC is so small.

Little did you know that that was literally one of the most expensive shirts he owned...

NOT IN THE CAPACITY TO KNOW FANCY BRAND NAMES OK

You sinched it in at the waist with a belt you had worn over the weekend and put on some gold earrings and necklace. You finished the look with black tights and your black doc martens, PRAYING that no one at work would mind that you looked more SMART CASUAL than SMART.

You thought u looked hella cute in the mirror so u went to work at 9am.

You had forgotten you had a meeting with Victor at 11am.

he did a double take when you walked into the room.

He squinted at your “dress” and you could tell he was going through his memory bank of where he had seen it before.

“Is that... new?” He asked eyeing you every so often before glancing back down to your weekly report

“Uh... yeah relatively. Do u like it?” You asked innocently batting your eyes.

“Where’s it from?” He passed you back your report, forgetting to give any negative comments unusually. He thought you looked hella cute but he totally wasn’t going to tell u that.

“I-I can’t remember.” You blushed hiding behind the report a little.

He stood up and leaned against the front of his desk, now towering above you casually. “I thought you had enough clothes, without needing to borrow mind”

Ok. Now you were bright red.

“D-d-do you not like it?” You stammered and then flashed him a cheeky smile, “i can take it off and give it you back”.

Victor’s hear stopped momentarily before going “Dummy” and patting you gently on the head.

You walked out of his office 2 hours later feeling on top of the world. that’s not the only thing you were on top of

Mr CEO was surprisingly in a good mood for the rest of the day and even gave Goldman a small smile. GOLDMAN IS FREAKING OUT.

Lucien:

It had been a last minute decision sleepover... totally innocent absolutely nothing happened what are you talking about.

Lucien had already left for a lecture he was giving at the university. You had promised to meet up with him once he had finished his schedule.

Now you totally COULD simply go back to your apartment and pick out something you’d worn a few times and Lucien had seen you in. OR you could actually conduct an experiment of your own and make Lucien hella blushy - even if boi went a little red it would be a triumph in himself. BOI HAS A BETTER POKER FACE THAN VICTOR HOW

Being a little bit devious you decided to raid Lucien’s closet. BOI LIKES TO BE STYLISH

He has everything coordinated by colour and by season/activity. Jumpers go in the bottom right next to the winter coats and shirts were hung up towards the left for those “casual days”.

Boi doesnt own a tshirt, he only knows smart casual and smart. Loungewear? Sweatpants?? Boi has never heard of em

Most of his clothes were black and white with a tad bit of grey and brown in there but you found at the very back of the wardrobe a white shirt with pink butterflies patterned over it. Masculinity is so fragile, let the man wear pink. He can OWN it.

You decided to go for it and match it with thigh high suede wedges to give yourself a little extra height. You sinched it in with a simple black studded belt and added nude tights. You put your hair up into a “cute messy” bun and popped a pencil in to keep it in place. You paired it with a little black satchel and “natural” makeup with maybe a red lip tint? Lucien likes a red lip and you can’t tell me otherwise

It was about 2pm and you decided to head over to the university. A little spring in your step.

You knew his schedule by now so you knew he’d be in his office round about now. You checked the times 2:30pm. Half an hour before his next and final lecture.

You entered his office, you didnt need to knock anymore. He knew it was you. Students would always giggle LOUDLY outside his office before knocking. Mainly female students and you PRETENDED not to notice.

He could totally tell you noticed and were trying to hide it

You saw him tapping away on his computer, eyes lost in data.

You plopped your bag over the sofa and walked over to his desk. Kinda annoyed he hadn’t noticed you but also kinda excited because of the build up?

He had a light smile on his face, “Hello MC, i was expecting you a little lat-“ he glanced at your outfit. Boi actually halted his sentence. You were delighted.

You saw the tips of his ears turn pink. successs

he gulped and brought a hand up to his face as his eyes looked at your outfit in detail before looking you directly in the eye, a michevious look on his face, “i haven’t seen that shirt in a very long time. Have to say, it looks better on you”. He watched as you leant over the desk resting on your elbows.

“I think the thigh highs are a nice bonus” he said making it very obvious at where he was looking.

“What time is your next lecture again Luci?” You asked sweetly, leaning over to boop his nose gently.

“Actually my last lecture had to cancel due to some strange unforeseen circumstances”, he said typing the email as he spoke.

“Isn’t that lucky?” He chuckled while glancing at the office door

You gave him a brief kiss on the cheek, “very lucky”

He didn’t make it to the 3pm lecture

Gavin:

He had left some of his clothes at yours before heading out on a mission. He’d been gone for a few days but he had called and said he would be home soon. Weekends were usually spent with you waiting for gavin. He had promised he would stop going on big missions now he had something to come home to.

You kinda got bored waiting for him, because he said he’d be home today. You had told Eli that if he came back with a new bandage you were going to kill him and make him sit in a salt bath. Eli knew you weren’t joking.

You decided to pull out one of the many tshirts he had left at yours. It was an old rock n roll band tshirt. You didn’t know them too well but Gavin had liked to listen to their music every now and then. He didn’t wear it that often anymore, it was a bit too tight on him since he had bought it in his college days.

You had washed it already because you sometimes slept in it. You had been binge watching DIY youtube videos all day when you had a great idea. You really liked the look of the cut out ladder look the girl had done in her youtube video so you decided to do the same. You grabbed a pair of scissors and got to work.

You also decided to give the thsirt a little bit of a v-neck but leaving a piece around the neck for that fake choker look. You looked at your handy work and decided you really quite liked it. The back wasn’t too exposed because of the laddered look but you could always wear something underneath like a mesh top.

It came down to just lower than your thigh. You looked at yourself in the mirror. Considering it was the only piece of clothing you had on right now besides your little running shorts, you thought you looked really cute.

You spun around happy when you saw gavin staring at you COMPLETELY RED outside the window.

“Gavin!” You squealed excitedly as you went to open the window and let him in.

The wind blew underneath your dress/tshirt a little to lift it. You quickly pulled it back down.

Bird cop has stopped working

“You look...” Gavin stood in front of you staring at you. You could see there was a new scar on his neck and arm but no bleeding on any of his clothes.

“I’m so glad you’re home!” You wrapped your arms around him, breathing in his scent

He hugged you bag but went even more red - is that even possible??? - when he felt that the back was laddered and an entrance to your bare back.

“Um you look... very cute” he was now imaging you wearing all of his clothes. Boi was beetroot red someone help him.

“I could pair this with some denim shorts and it would be a date night outfit yeah?” You said taking a step back and spinning round for him

MC why u wanna make this precious boi jealous?? XD

He pulled you in for a quick kiss, “no this is just for me. You’re mine. No one else can see you looking this...” he paused as his ears started to go red again, “good”

Safe to say you didnt kill him for discovering he had several bruises across his back. BUT MC U SAID NO BANDAGES OR BLEEDING SO TECHNICALLY ITS FINE

Kiro:

You had woken up super late - like 11am - after gaming and doing other stuff.... all night. Your body still kinda hurt and ached a little... clearly from doing all of that just dance marathon stuff. If you think kiro isn’t a just dance kinda man i will fight you

The bed was more spacious than normal and you didn’t have a cute blonde cuddling up next to you. Odd. You looked over towards the bathroom but the light was off.

God what day was it? You reached over sluggishly to the bedside table and looked at your phone. It was Wednesday but thankfully you were having a week off after finishing a big project with Kiro’s help.

You had worked the hardest with the late nights and the weekends you had sacrificed. Anna and Kiki thought it was best for you to have a little holiday.

You stretched and sat up. You looked around. Kiro’s jeans were gone and phone. Maybe he had gone to the shops?

You honestly couldnt remember if had anything in his schedule today. Even though he was taking a mini holiday himself - you both timed it perfectly - he still had to do interviews here and there to make Savin happy.

You rubbed your eyes. You didn’t remember where you’re clothes from last night were but they were in NO state to wear. Clearly because of all the sweat from just dance AND NOTHING ELSE ;)

You opened Kiro’s walk in wardrobe. You lazily looked for something to just wear so that you could walk round the house, comfortable but not just nude. Kiro’s house was big and Savin had a key

You picked up a signature yellow and white tshirt that Kiro often wore to events and fan signings. It matched his hoodie but it was perfect for the warmer weather.

Boi was only a few inches taller than you so it JUST came to below your butt. You’d have to bend from the knees and not the waist. Unless you want your butt to be on show.

You found some black unused underwear and popped them on. You debated onto weather you could be bothered putting socks on or not. Then you remembered that Kiro had central floor heating so nahhhhhh

You wandered round the house looking for Kiro. Your bare feet making a gentle thudding noise across the marble floor.

You gave up home when you couldnt find him in the games room or living room so you decided to go get yourself a snack.

You walked in and froze as you saw Kiro. In front of a camera. A LIVE camera. And Savin sat just out of frame.

You just remembered that wednesday afternoons were the weekly Kiro livestreams.

KILL ME

Boi instantly caught your eye and then looked at what you were wearing - barely anything

Whatever he was saying before he was silent. Boi was SHOOKETH. He COUGHED LOUDLY and went a bright scarlet red from his neck to his face.

The livestream chat was going mental as they couldnt see you from the camera angle positioned on Kiro’s face. They were wondering what he was getting so worked up about. It was a really good job that the camera could only see from the waist up

“H-hey guys, sorry I’m gonna have to cut the livestream short.” Savin had his head in his hands, “I’m just not..” he stole another glance at you while you were trying to reach the top of the shelf where the cookies were and his tshirt lifted up higher exposing more. “I’m just not feeling too good.” He chuckled bashfully as he rubbed the back of his neck embarrassed.

The chat soon filled up with #get better soon kiro as well as #curiouskiro was trending. Some people speculated that Kiro might have a lover. The fan theories went mental.

“I’ll see you guys next week bye!” And the livestream ended. You blushed as you saw Kiro’s gaze and you crunched on your cookies while looking at the floor.

Savin got up to go and leave and sort things out for Kiro online, to make ensure his reputation wasn’t going to fall because of this unexpected situation.

“Thats my tshirt!” He said as he came over to you still red

“Yeah... and?” You mumbled a mouth full of cookies. Thats not the only thing your mouth’s gonna be full of in a minute miss chips - I’m sorry please forgive me i had to XD

“Miss chips is not allowed to look that good” he whined, “i was doing an interview, i was gonna be back in like half an hour and you looked so peaceful-“

You pressed a finger to his lips to shush him, “well we can still go back to bed now...”

SAY. NO. MORE

Boi picked u up and carried you upstairs, bridal style.

A week later you made your relationship public. At first the fans were a little upset but then soon adored you when you revealed a little of why Kiro was so blushy the previous Wednesday. #blushyboikiro was trending for a MONTH

BONUS: Shaw:

He had to rush off to his exam in the morning after promising to meet up afterwards for breakfast/lunch

This was at 8am. [bitch you aint getting out of bed at 8am on a day off? Beauty sleep is very important]

His exam was three hours long [the pain of uni exams, i get you Shaw i get you] and you woke up at 11:39

SHIT

You scrambled for your things but the night before outfit was not really brunch appropriate so you settled for something a lil more casual [and devious]

You grabbed one of his favourite tshirts which fell down to your mid thigh, and cut a slit at the bottom and safety pinned it together [ya know for that EDGY look] [i dont know what the kids are up to these days but i saw my friend do it and she’s cool so]

You grabbed ur cropped zip hoodie, put on some thigh high stockings, put on ur black boot heels from last night and you were ready to go. [you also sprayed some perfume on ur neck, wrist and garter while u were at it. LOOK SIS YOU DEVIOUS AND U KNOW THAT SHAW LIKES IT]

You rushed out the door and thankfully the subway wasnt busy and you got there just as the doors opened and the students came plodding out. You stood there with a coffee in your hand and the other one twiddling your hair in an OH so cute way. [you know how to look cute mmkay]

Several students walked out through the doors but you didnt end up seeing him. Darn you for being so short.

So you sat down on the low wall near the university’s fountain. Your little safety pin glistening in the sun and the tshirt putting your garter on show. [we like that casual but i secretly put in loads of effort kinda vibe]

You started scrolling through Moments incase he got out early but the shitty university wifi meant that it wasn’t refreshing. Furthermore the sun was shining in ur eyes so you couldnt really see much even when your phone was on full brightness

Then a tall shadow blocked the sun and you looked up and saw Shaw stood over you with a sleepy but piercing gaze.

“What are you doing wearing my Black Sabbath Tshirt?” He looked you up and down. Boi was clearly shook but he was damned if he was going to let you know this. Even though you already knew this.

“What you don’t like it? How did your exam go?” You said getting up to give him a quick hug. You knew Shaw had expressed he wasn’t a fan of physical affection but he secretly enjoyed the odd hug/hand holding or head scratch from you. Though he would never share this

“You really think you can distract me from your lazy sense of style?” He raised his eyebrows and looked you up and down again. You could see the twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

“Your rebelliousness has rubbed off onto me” [in more ways than one] you gave him a little spin raising your arms a little so that the top of the stockings and garter would come on show.

You could see that his nose went a little red along with the tips of cheeks. He coughed and placed both hands on ur arms firmly. “Let’s go get something to eat.” He swung you around so that you were now walking back to the subway, with his arm round you.

“But this is the way home...?” You started as you turned to look at his face, still walking

“Well we’re skipping straight to dessert” you could see the glint in his eyes and you allowed yourself to be lead.

Now that thsirt was his absolute favourite, especially whenever you decided to surprise him with it after an exam x

[hedgehog-o-brien]

OK, but there must be hundreds of thousands, if not millions of angels (of all shapes, ranks and sizes) in Heaven

So 

Where’s the fic in which a couple (or maybe just the one, a young and impressionable little fledgling angel whose wings have barely started molting for the first time) listens to Gabriel briefing everybody on the Official Reason The Apocalypse Is Cancelled and thinks to themselves this is a load of bullcrap

(Bc you know. You just know Gabriel would say all the wrong things. Like, what do you mean ‘unforeseen circumstances’? We’re Heaven, our job is to foresee. Circumstances. And how could it be that an angel as wicked and evil as Aziraphale is still, you know. An angel? And hasn’t fallen? Something does not add up here).

And so the young fledgling starts to wonder

And they’re not alone

Soon, there are clusters of angels everywhere, heads bent together and talking furiously in low voices.

... gave away his sword ...

... what? why? ...

... thought they might need it ...

... I don’t understand ...

... love for humans ...

... and demons from what I hear ...

... but why ...

... saving the world ...

... more important ...

... ineffability ...

... good guys? ...

... are we? ...

... is he? ...

... Fucking Gabriel that’s for sure ...

And as the whispers spread (especially that last one), the young fledgling decides to delve into the Earth Observation Files to go see for themselves what Aziraphale has been up to in the past six millennia.

And there’s no time in Heaven, but if there was, it would take them a lot of it before they came out again, looking very thoughtful.

They spends some more not-time in a quiet corner (somewhere the harp music isn’t too obnoxious), a deep frown on their angelic face and eyes red-rimmed and shining. There’s a sniffle, occasionally.

And then, finally, they seek out the nearest Whispering Angel Cluster and tells them what they’ve seen. And the conclusion they’ve come to.

(One or two angels in the cluster gasp, unbelieving. They decide to take the matter to Gabriel, despite the fledgling’s protests and ask is it true? About Aziraphale and his demon, is it true that they saved humanity? Is it true that they saved humans? Not just from the Apocalypse, but many many many times before? Is it true?

And again, Gabriel scoffs and laughs and says exactly the wrong thing (’Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that naughty angel, sweet child. He and that wily serpent of his won’t bother us any longer.’) and that’s all the proof the young angels need that Something Is Not Right.

They return to Fledgling #1, wings drooping and head bowed. There are more whispers (... can we? ... Gabriel would murder ... Hellfire, they said... Should we?) and eventually, after eons of deliberation, a decision is made.

And so it happens that on a bright, sunny Saturday morning in SoHo, the door to a bookshop tingles open and half a dozen remarkably bland looking humans walk in. And after Aziraphale has called Crowley back to heel and has wrested the nice, leather bound and heavy first edition of the Principia Mathematica out of his demon’s hands, and after the angels have been persuaded to come down from the top of the bookshelves...

He asks them why they’re here. The answer leaves him confused and makes Crowley laugh so hard he almost cracks a rib:

Teach us

Teach us compassion

Teach us to be kind

Teach us about humans

Teach us about what we’re meant to protect

Teach us how to protect

Teach us how to be the Good Guys, like, for real

And Aziraphale is confused and touched (mostly confused), but he agrees. Under one condition: they will have to listen to the demon too, because Aziraphale knows he would be nowhere near the angel he is today if it hadn’t been for Crowley.

(Crowley goes oddly quiet at that for a moment, before he realises Aziraphale is basically giving him shared command of a mini Host. Then he starts howling with laughter again).

Then the rest of the fic is basically just Aziraphale, Crowley and their mini Host of fledglings getting into various kinds of (food and non food related) shenagigans. 

(‘Angel, when they said teach us, I’m pretty sure they did not mean teach us about the best place to get Vietnamese Pho!’ ‘Shut up, Crowley. Also, don’t think I didn’t hear how you told Amriel about how you were aboard the RMS Carpathia in 1912. And let me just say, I knew it.’ ‘Shut up, angel.’)

At a certain moment, Gabriel and the others get wind of aforementioned shenanigans. But by then, it’s too late as the Mini Host has communicated all their efforts and findings back to the various other MIni Hosts that are still in Heaven and now everybody is thoroughly convinced Gabriel’s a fucking prick who Should Not Be In Charge. It’s not a second Rebellion, per se. It certainly involves a lot less sulphur and brimstone and screaming. But when all’s said and all’s done, Gabriel finds himself permanently retired, along with Michael, Sandolphon and Uriel, as a New Policy is put in place:

To Be The Good Guys, We Have To Be The Good Guys

‘Eloquently put,’ Crowley sniggers. Aziraphale tries not to laugh before he tsks and shakes his head. ‘They’re learning, dear. Give them time.’

[taendrils]

cloud delivery! — preview

― ❝sometimes other fairies really can’t tell what goes through your head or if anything at all does, but your kind’s wonder reaches its peak as they spot you interacting with min yoongi: the closed-off garden fairy. you choose not to mention how you deliver things to him on the daily and how you may or may not stop at nothing until you get to see him smile.❞

• genre: fluff, comedy, romance, idiots to lovers, disney fairies au • warnings: swearing, mentions of anxiety and perfectionism issues • pairing: garden fairy!yoongi x fast-flying fairy!reader • preview wordcount: 2.8k words

An old knowledge with ties back when humanity couldn't trace says that when a child laughs for the first time, a new fairy is born. Back when the first humans came to be, once their hearts bloomed with genuine joy, fairies followed their path and helped their surroundings grow along with their smiles. Water fairies purified their rivers and those of light have sown the sun into rays falling from the sky to give humans guidance and brighten their circles. Gentle braids of blossom that they called flowers started rising from fertile soil and frost dusted the tops of the mountains where fairies flew to give colour to this world.

As much as humans depended on fairies, the same could be said from the other perspective: with fairies learning new ways to care for the world and building routines often broken by events impossible to imagine for those who kept an axis of seasons and light. Many curiosities have arisen in young minds but humans meeting their helpers was rarer than the eclipses or red auroras that were painted for them. Despite that, sprinkles of magic still caressed heads on pillows and brought consciences along the path of pleasant dreams.

Eras have passed and happiness took different forms, yet no matter the timeline, they all kept the same core belief. Fairies were shaped by the experience of euphoria, and laughter trailed after them in their early stages with the same purity and open heart they were created from.

Yoongi doesn't know what kind of laughter lightning must have struck the child who made you appear, but he's sure that wherever they are, that baby must have had some future sight and is having a field day with watching him interact with the bane of his existence. That's what must have caused the laughter, unforeseen circumstances that no fairy kingdom ruler or human scientist could have explained, because you were too out of this world for him to explain otherwise.

Well, you or your head, that is.

If his house branch sharer Namjoon, fawn fairy extraordinaire also held residence in Yoongi’s head where dramatic monologues were played more ardently than those on a slow roll of a film, he might’ve reprimanded Yoongi, stomped on his dreams and overall existence by telling him you were not so bad. Or worse, tell him that he’s exaggerating and that this grudge he’s holding over you has no place on moral grounds like those where fairies existed in.

Ok, fine. Maybe he was being a little dramatic. Blame it on his nature, on the talent he was born under, or just pin it under the mentorship of Rosetta, head garden fairy and symbol of house behaviour. It is her fault that garden fairies are thought to have a stuck-up reputation, therefore many are surprised when they meet the other fairies with the same talent, like sweet Jimin, who bared resemblance with the snowdrops he carefully bloomed every spring season.

Yoongi doesn’t mind the reputation, might even be true in his case. He’d like not to be approached. It sounded about festive right now.

But eternal life doesn’t go the way we want it to, honeydew, Rosetta’s words ring into his head, pushing aside the unfinished monologue still tapping at the back of his head. There might be some truth to that, as no one would wish to share her experiences of being dragged in the mud and stuck in a carriage hundred times their size in The Mainland. Yoongi shudders, the roses in his hair rattling with the rhythm of his vibration.

Still, he wishes he could sleep in a hollow deep enough for fate to spare him the responsibility just this day. And the following one. And the next season, until autumn comes in and he gets to do what he has been meaning to all this time. See, another reason why he loathes being assigned on spring, besides having no way out of meeting with you. His conscience finds itself pouring magic dust on the monologue which takes the spotlight as it returns, and fine, he is exaggerating. You were not a bad person. Ahem. Fairy. 

Not a bad fairy.

In a sense, he knows that he can’t deal with you due to the differences in your kind and how you stood out from his perceptions. By nature you lacked tints of responsibility and regard for every other living creature, not for the fact that you chose not to care but you just forgot. Whatever the consequences were, you had no mind for those either: you were more inclined to brush them off and continue on with your duties, excuses and pretences of living in the present almost synonymous with your name. Yoongi had a word for that: human.

From what he learned about humans and their characteristics, you were eerily similar, it scared him sometimes. Only on the inside, where he liked to keep any thought which could give you an advantage over him. The first ‘oh well, I forgot’ from you in his presence brought a month’s drought on the eastern region and a near heart attack from Yoongi, while your first ‘oops’ stuttered with the most radiant smile followed after gentle, idiotic Namjoon trusted you with leading a lost mandarin duck and ending up on the other side of the world with it.

Although the similarities don’t make him lose his balance and fall face-down on bulbs nowadays, you’re still a constant surprise. Might be due to the fact that you are so far from the usual fairies he interacts with, preferring to stay away from fast-flying fairies and their tempers. Those often found him with his tongue prodding at his cheek, snarky remarks growing in his head like forest fungus but blocked as they glide closer towards his mouth. Might be due to the fact that you’re the fastest fairy he’s ever seen, speed intertwining with such positivity and enthusiasm that Yoongi is sure you could circle the world before it grinned sunset if you wished.

You were so far off what he had expected and all over the place that he used to hear about you only in emergency situations, wandering around with desires of helping and without a department, carrying every task your kind couldn’t. Not even Vidia, made of dark purple, confidence and sarcasm stepped up in times of crisis quite like you did.

Current crisis? Yoongi himself. At least that’s what he thinks, because he couldn’t explain your visits otherwise without shame dusting pretty cheeks pink.

Meeting with other fairies, it often left him on edge, small changes he would make picking apart at his brain and tightening inside his chest, scared of lashing out at others but obviously uncomfortable. Fairies needed routine, moves not missing the smallest element, but mistakes were prone: a package here, a honeysuckle with its vines intertwined there–one second of not paying attention and no one was doing things the way he wanted. And oh, how aware he was of it but how futile were his attempts to control his fixation as it ate away at his will to express it.

More often than not, the means of speaking up forced his heart into erratic pounds, coming down from the interactions drained and exhausting every resource in his body. He wishes for quiet, for slumber into tulip petals, wishes the warm wind breezed through the static air, widening the space between his fingers. Like now. Pixie dust stars fall upon his ground with you getting closer, and your grip on the strap loosens, the leaf cover of the pouch now held gently by your palm. He recognises the sensation without bringing his focus into it, the breeze that changes the direction of the heat and instead of descent, it’s brought into a spiral that surrounds the being. 

But then your mouth opens. 

“Ten bowls of clay, taken straight from under the sunlight,” you beam as you drop the luggage down, crouching to detangle the cover. Used to hearing the fairy’s instructions, you waste no time to put the items one over the other, bending to in your arms. Yoongi stares at you with his mouth open, and for once the shock in his eyes has a pleasant warmth rising the corners of your smile.

“Are you sure you can handle that?” Yoongi says slowly, syllables forming in reluctance as he watches the pile grow until it reaches your chin. It's going to fall.

“Of course, of course, I got it, just give me some space so I can move.”

His heart starts to pick up the pace at your mismatched steps, part of him wondering why didn’t you just fly over? Hello? He’d love to have the time to judge your transportation choices more, but his instincts kick in as his eyes land right on one bowl slipping from under your chin. It will fall.

He moves faster than his thought, diving to catch it, but he is no wind person and ends up hanging in the air, wings pulling his weight with shame as he finds himself face to face with the fallen bowl levitating in front of him.

“You think I’m some sort of fool, Min Yoongi?” you reprimand and the pixie dust you used on the items seems to form its usual sparkle, mocking his attempts. “All you do is nag me about getting flower paint on your precious cutlery. I can’t begin to imagine what would happen if I broke one of these limited edition bowls. What do you do with these anyway.”

He doesn’t even have the brain to be offended, questions about your word choices puzzling him and setting a fog over the remains of his previous scare. “Limited edition?”

What the hell.

“Well, of course,” you say as if Yoongi truly is some fool, and truly doesn’t know anything. “You think Jungkook likes playing with dirt?”

“Isn’t that what he always does?” Jungkook, that talented, curious and awful, awful tinker fairy who lived to torment him as well, Yoongi was sure Jungkook said this to you so you could rub it in his face.

“Yoongi! You know he has more important business, trying to decipher all this lost stuff. Tinkerbell never lets him breathe.”

Ah yes, the lost stuff, Yoongi recalls. The pieces of plastic with strobes of wires and organised circuits. He grimaces thinking of where those could have come from.

“Very fun,” he says despite himself, sarcasm dripping at the end of his mouth. “You were gone for a long time. Did you get to eat?” Yoongi coughs before crossing his arms, studying the cracks between the tree's bark. He didn't care for those in a while.

“Why? You wanted me to pick up something on the way? I could do it next time,” you say, eagerness pouring out of your words before it pauses to a halt, stopped by Yoongi’s blank face. “No? Fine. I ate, thank you for asking.”

And see, his fading conscience makes it hard for Yoongi to hate you when you are like this–and when he met you this often. Because you were not just the bane of his existence–you were his delivery girl too. His forgetful, airheaded delivery girl who treated everyone the same, paying no attention to Yoongi more than you’d do to anyone else, he thinks as you tilt your head to look at him with big, curious eyes. The silence stretches with the time you take to analyse him before you run with it in your chaotic rhythm.

“You should see how it goes when I don’t want to eat,” you continue on, not seeming to notice how you switched the tangent of your conversation. “Him and the other tinker fairies surround me and chant food, food, food, you know what I mean? I can’t believe them. It’s funny, but my mouth hurts from all the chewing.”

You cup your face and squish your cheeks with one hand to make your point, petal mouth open in a pout. Not soon after, way before Yoongi has time to dwell on it, your posture sags, hands flying to grip the ends of your top. The top made from bits and pieces of purple salvia that he took care of and sent for stitching with careful instructions, and here you were–not a care in the world about all that work by the way you were patting your tummy with mock indignation.

“They’re so so stubborn, I thought my stomach was going to pop out of this fucking–”

Rose glass breaking, Yoongi almost swears himself, getting close out of habit before he realises what he’s doing. His feet plant themselves straight onto the ground, feeling too awkward to back out or resume the beginning of his rant. “H...How many times did I tell you?”

“What? What am I doing?” you ask, dopey arches framing a full smile as you dote on the way his lips purse.

“Stop swearing,” he speaks with his voice lowered, reproachful tone curling like tendrils as it gets to you.

“What’s wrong with that?”

While fairies adapted the language of the region they were residing in, swear words were rare and a clear sign of human interaction. A thing you weren’t supposed to do. The hopeful part of his conscience was praying for you to have heard it from Vidia, back from when the group had their own human encounters. But the realistic side of him, the one occupying itself with creating bonds and structures within his space laughed at the thought: your curiosity was too big to be restrained to a life of nature for eternity.

“You can’t do that here. We have manners, unlike you wind people.”

“You’re being mean, you menace in pink,” he hears Namjoon say from a low branch before you get a chance at a reply and Yoongi drifts his eyes to see his preferred acquaintance (not for long) painting over the wings of a ladybug.

The garden fairy squints at his companion, eyebrows furrowing over delicate features. “Talk about me when your rat stops eating away at my seeds.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes, taking a second brush to puncture the first dot. “It’s a mouse, not a rat. Where did you even hear that?”

“But? But...They told us rats were an accident.” 

“They were,” Namjoon nods, solemn as he continues his work. “Weird how that happened. We should ask Yoongi, he has the experience.”

“For the last time,” Yoongi says in the same fashion, looking ready to puncture Namjoon with those brushes, “My aim was off.”

You cross your arms over your chest as you lean against the stem of a dandelion, a small smile playing over your lips at their bickering.

“So was the smell. And the plant. And the root that kept growing.” Namjoon points matter-of-factly, accentuating every hit with a dot on the ladybug. “Seems like you couldn’t get rid of that green duckfoot.”

Yoongi’s jaw ticks, “Stop making fun of it, no one actually calls it that.”

“That’s true, in cities they call it oregano,” you throw and both men turn towards you with bulging eyes, prompting you to return the stare with even bigger ones, as if saying ‘what?’. Namjoon snickers and Yoongi asks Mother Dove what duty he omitted to deserve this. Was it this cursed ‘oregano’ that made it all like this?

The mint disaster happened more than twenty seasons ago, when he was a mere apprentice fairy. Nothing more than a distracted occurrence, where he did not pay much attention to the fact that bloom happened with intention, his thoughts drifted as his magic poured into the soil. When he snapped back to reality, he was met with a different smell and patterns which made him think he had created another type of grass, but with more of a scent. It was humiliating, and it took a lot for him to wash off the stain over his reputation in the following cycles. The realization sinks in as it dissolves, disbelief replacing his initial panic. Not only did you know about the incident, but also–

“She’s been to the cities.” Yoongi murmurs to himself in despair, lips trembling with his shaky exhale as he watches your blank face, no reaction to your slip.

“Of course she’s been to the cities Yoongi, where have you been?” Namjoon teases. “Who do you think gave them the oregano?”

“You're welcome anytime too, you know,” you say with a smile, treading with care on making a direct invitation to Yoongi and putting him in a position he might not want. High chances are he is never doing that, and by the way your eyes plead with him, he realises you think the same. The garden fairy contemplates changing the subject, but he knows you're trying to help, and again, you do this with everyone, so he does not feel as pressured. 

His traitor heart, however, has another agenda: it jumps at seeing you manifest a sense of empathy, a patience that goes against your nature. He assumes you mean to ease him into the thought you, or any delivery person won't be there forever. Still,

“There’s something else I have to do.”

The way he says it makes you sigh.

He is so dreamy when he rejects you.

i’ve Been Workin On THis For 2 MOnfs and still not getting close to the end please motivate me !!!!! Tell Me WHot U think praise makes my red bloodcells multiply!

[moonb-eam]

the star or the high priestess for the tarot card inspired aus!! (it’s ok if u don’t wanna do these ones, no hard feelings!!) ahh I love your fics btw💕

the high priestess: magic, dreams, knowledge

“i had this dream, and now…”

possible AUs/settings: visions, sold fortunes, magic au

hello my darling, thank you so much!! 💛

it’s possible i got a bit carried away by this au (over 8k carried away) - but it’s inspired by one of my favourite books, and i had so much fun writing it 💫

i hope you like it! 🔮

ce destin est un marée (et nous sommes emportés)

read on ao3

Summer 1886

In the north end of the Paris, on the edge of the artist’s haven of Montmarte, sur le Boulevard de Clichy, you’ll find a man standing on top of a box in front of an old theatre. He’s strangely dressed, sporting a bright red suit and a top hat cast in shimmering gold. His beard is dark and neatly trimmed, a cane rests over his wrist, and a monocle dangles from his breast pocket. There’s an elegance about him that’s contrasted with a certain strangeness—it excites you. It makes you stop in your steady pace down the boulevard. It makes you perk your ears up.

“Venez tous! Venez tous!”

You listen as the man weaves a tapestry of words and images that floats over the gathering crowd, settles across their shoulders and tickles the backs of their necks with curiosity.

L’homme fort: the strongest man in all of France, capable of breaking apart stone with his bare hands.

Les acrobates: a death-defying act starring a pair siblings who have come all the way from the exotic south.

Les danseuses: no man alive is safe from the spell these young ladies weave as they move.

Then the man lowers his voice to a whisper. You feel yourself leaning forward involuntarily.

He tells of a new addition to their family, a young man plucked from the gutters of Paris like a rare jewel from the sewage—a young man of otherworldly abilities.

Le cartomancien.

Every secret you hold close to your heart can be found within the folds of his cards. He knows when you will meet the love of your life. He knows the last words you will say before you die.

The man raises his voice, spreads his arms out wide.

“If you are brave enough to discover your future, mesdames et meisseurs, you can meet this young man and his magical deck of cards for the low price of deux francs!”

This prompts scoffs from some of the crowd. They turn away, not wanting to spend their hard-earned money on such trifles. But you, you linger there in the boulevard, thinking about your present: directionless, bleak, your father’s unchanging disappointment a phantom pain between your shoulderblades. You feel a constant thrum under your skin, an unearthly restlessness waiting to break free from its mortal confines. Your future is as murky to you as the hazy mid-summer sky, and you wonder if knowing would ease the stress at all. Perhaps knowing what lies ahead in the future would give you purpose in the present.

The coins in your pockets are heavy with implication. Father’s money, the money of land ownership and property taxes and squeezing tenants until they bleed.

The thought of using that money for something Father would look down on with such distaste makes you smile. There is victory in the small revolutions, perhaps.

You consider it. You imagine sitting at a dimly lit table, watching cards fall to the surface like leaves in the autumn before some faceless, mysterious fortune-teller, and the idea is as enticing as the sweets you used to see in the windows of Le Bon Marché when you were a child.

But then you hear a clock chime in the distance, that dreaded mark of time passing, a warning that you are risking lateness to your meeting with Father’s business partners. And so, much like the sweets, you leave the man standing on the box, the theatre and the fortune-teller, because you know this is something that will forever be out of reach.

You take a hurried step back, turning to the direction you were first headed in, and nearly collide with a young man and woman coming towards you.

You step aside, lowering your hat in apology, but the pair barely take notice of you, talking excitedly amongst themselves.

You stare as they pass.

Not at the girl. She is pretty, yes, dark-haired and with a sweet smile, but the boy.

The first thing you see is deep, oceanic blue; eyes as alluring and freeing and terrifying as the Atlantic itself.

Then you take in more details in rapid succession: a straight, elegant nose, clear smooth skin, full lips curved into an inviting smile as he says something that makes the girl hit him on the arm in retaliation, his cheeks dimpling as he laughs.

You are late, you are squandering your final chance to gain Father’s trust as the minutes tick by, but you cannot move. You are fixed to the middle of the street because you have never seen a person so beautiful that they’ve caused such a violent reaction in you: a lightning storm roaring in your veins just from the sight of them, just from the thought of stroking your fingers across their cheek.

It scares you, this rush of instant attraction, for as exhilarating as it is, as good as it is to feel so alive you could soar, your heart is heavy with the knowledge that this is something else that is wrong with you. This is something else that makes you different. Something else that ensures Father will never approve of you.

So you merely watch as the beautiful boy passes you, as he disappears into the mouth of the old theatre and becomes nothing more than a memory. A dream.

You leave quickly, now inexcusably late to your meeting, and you will yourself to forget about possibilities and overturned cards predicting futures and fate lines that can be broken, or diverted.

You may have a strong will, young Monsieur Demaury, but you forget one thing: that just because you cannot see your own future, does not mean it isn’t already in motion.

Autumn 1888

Lucian de la Lune is sitting at a small table, across from a man with a perfectly-groomed moustache, waiting for him to pick a card.

He doesn’t know the man’s name—he never asks for names, in order to keep client privacy. He asks only for a word, something to identify them to him when they request appointments for readings.

This man called himself Oberon.

Oberon keeps fluttering his fingers across the fan of cards spread across the table, humming under his breath, but eventually lands on one, carefully picking it up from the fan spread across the table. When he turns it over, he raises his eyebrows, dropping it back down to the table as if the thick cut of paper is slowly catching fire, threatening to singe his fingertips.

The image on the card is a cloaked figure with a lantern, one skeletal hand stretched out to an unseen, unsuspecting person. The pale messenger. The dark omen. Death.

“Death, then is it?” Oberon says with a wry smile. “My time has come?”

Lucian de la Lune sighs, tugs the sleeves of his white shirt back over his wrists. It’s silk, one of Yann’s, and it swims on him, gapes open on his neck and collarbones in a way he knows they notice, the men and women who come into his small room inside the theatre—the one shrouded in navy blue and deep purple curtains, with tall, misshapen candles alighting every available surface. All of it—the eccentric room, the loose silk shirt, his perpetually messy hair—compounds to form the image of the pretty, mysterious boy with the magic cards and all-seeing eyes. The infamous Lucian de la Lune.

“It is not as literal as that.” He says to Oberon, waving a hand out over the table. His tarnished signet ring catches in the candlelight, a muted flash of light thrown across the ceiling. “The cards never are.” He picks up Death in his left hand, flipping its face towards Oberon. “What it means by death is rebirth. There’s a change coming for you, monsieur, whether you are ready for it or not. A necessary destruction in order for rebuilding.” He flits his gaze over to the man, who is staring back at him, rapt. “Choose two more, please.”

Oberon does, with more excitement, plucking two cards from the fan quickly and laying them face up between them.

The first is five thorn-stemmed roses, all cut sharply at the bottom. Unforeseen challenges approaching. But the card is inverted to Oberon, signifying a fall, of some sort. A price paid from dishonesty.

The second is a man, hanging by the foot from a wooden post. Also inverted. A possibility for change and self-reflection, but for Oberon more likely a stagnation of the self through materialistic pursuits.

“Ah,” Lucian de la Lune murmurs. It is becoming clearer to him. He lays a finger down on a card. “The five of wands, monsieur. It is reversed to you, signifying a coming challenge. Circumstances will change, and you will need to adapt to them.” He moves his finger to the other card. “The hanged man, which is also reversed. You are stuck in the habits you have created. These are selfish habits. They have led you to a life only concerned with profit, by any means, and if you keep in these habits,” he sweeps a hand across the three cards laying between them, “ there is a chance you will lose everything.”

Oberon stares at him, a deep crease forming between his eyebrows.

Lucian de la Lune sits back in his chair, satisfied. He’d had a feeling, when the man first stepped into his room, that there was an uneasiness about him; something he couldn’t put a name to, but gave a sensation like holding a stolen loaf of bread in your hand. A forbidden sort of feeling.

Caught. Which would imply breaking the rules. Which, in turn, could imply:

Exploitation. Criminality. Fraud.

It had only been a guess, but his guesses are usually right.

Always trust your instincts, Lucas, Maman used to tell him. Us Lallemants, we’re never wrong when we get a feeling about someone.

Now, the man across from him laughs, clapping his hands together in front of his chest.

“Well,” he says, grinning, chest puffed up with bravado, “that was very entertaining. But you’re not as good as they say you are, are you?” Oberon’s eyes glitter teasingly at him. “Because I can assure you, my business is secure, mon cher. I can assure you, I am very good at what I do.”

Lucian de la Lune shrugs, picking up the cards one at a time to place them back into his deck, their worn, fading edges smooth and familiar under his fingertips. “The cards only ever show one possibility, monsieur. One future.” He shuffles them with easy, practiced movements, letting the low hum of energy they hold seep into his hands, their hushed, ancient voices singing through his veins. “Each choice we make introduces a new future, or sends us careening towards the one we are meant to meet.” His fluid motions cease, suddenly, and he’s flipping a card over onto the table, face up.

Death.

He smiles sweetly. “You’re the one who made the appointment, monsieur. But then again,” he says, placing the deck down, “this is merely a game. Entertaining, as you say.”

An expression crosses over Oberon’s face as though he just bit into a rotten piece of fruit.

Lucian de la Lune’s smile only widens. “I believe you still owe two francs, monsieur.”

There’s a moment of silence, the two men staring at each other across the table. Then Oberon laughs, digging into his coat pocket for coins. “I think perhaps I underestimated you,”he says. “You are a rather fascinating creature.”

He slaps five down on the table. Nearly triple the usual rate.

“A little extra just for you,” he says, standing. “For giving me a great deal to think about.” He slips into his overcoat and smoothes down the lapel, gathering his cane and hat from the hook by the entrance. “I thank you for your time, Lucien. It was most enlightening.” He winks, tips his hat, and then disappears through the curtains.

It’s only when the curtains still, when Oberon’s footsteps recede into silence, that Lucien de la Lune exhales, rolls his shoulders away from his ears, and becomes Lucas Lallemant once again. It’s like shedding a skin, when he lets himself lose Lucian for a moment, when he doesn’t have to worry about being seen. Gone is the easy confidence, the lowered lashes and air of mystery. Instead there is only Lucas, with all of his scars and distrust.

(But here’s a secret. Lucian de la Lune is not magic, not really. Lucas Lallemant is.)

His Maman was. And her father, and his grandmother, and her great-grandmother, and so on to the very start of their name.

The Lallemants. There is a strange energy in their veins.

But it’s a volatile kind. An all-consuming kind. The kind that made Lucas’ father fall madly in love with Maman, then abandon her when Lucas was just a boy.

It’s the kind that, as the rumours go, drove Lucas’ Maman mad, the catalyst for her running away, for her leaving a thirteen-year-old Lucas behind. It’s the kind that made her disappear. It’s the kind that Lucas grew to see as a curse more than a gift—something for him to fight against, to repress.

He used it only a little, when he lived on the streets. Just enough to survive in the slums of Paris. He distracted shop owners so he could steal food, made a policeman fall asleep in an alleyway so he could escape and one time, saved a baby bird from being run over by a carriage with a well-timed gust of wind.

He wouldn’t use it any more than that. He wouldn’t let magic overtake him like it did Maman.

It’s with a touch of irony then, that he sweeps his gaze across his surroundings, lingering on all the trimmings and trappings that are put in place to say, magic. The energy he so fought against, the gift that is a curse, that is the thing he makes a living from now.

He could say it was pure chance that he met Manon one day on the street, how he was at the end of the little bit of money he’d made selling newspapers, was considering professional thievery, and Manon had taken one look at him and decided he would be perfect for Hercule Barnet’s Monde des Merveilles. He could say it was pure chance, but another cartomancien would scoff at such a thing.

Fate. That is what drives every moment in our lives.

Maman believed in fate.

Lucas picks one of the coins up from the table and rolls it between his fingers.

Was it fate that brought him to this place? To the theatre? This room shrouded in dark curtains? Was it fate that caused him to pull at threads of his magic every day, to tell husbands if their wives are faithful, to tell young women when they’ll meet the man of their dreams, to tell businessmen if their investments will prosper and to tell those sick in love whether or not their feelings will be reciprocated? The futures Lucas saw were rarely pleasing, and were often only vague notions of intent, possibilities as thin and fleeting as smoke. He’s had people break down into inculpable misery in his room. He’s had people react with violent anger. He’s been threatened. He’s been obsessively stalked. He’s had people try to steal his deck, convinced that the cards are cursed.

(But it’s not the cards that are cursed, it’s the boy who wields them.)

You encounter unbelievable faces of humanity, when you deal in the future.

“Lucas?”

He startles, stepping back from the table, and Daphné is poking her head between the curtains, her hair piled up messily on her head, with wildflowers braided sporadically into the strands. She smiles when she sees him.

“Do you have any more clients for the next hour or so?”

Lucas shrugs, rolling his shoulders back, trying to ease the tension at the base of his neck that’s bene plaguing him all morning. “No appointments, but there may still be some that wander in.” He knows what she’s going to ask, the same she does every Wednesday, and he gives a pre-emptive defence. “So no, I’m not coming to lunch.”

Daphné groans, waving a hand out at him. “Lucas. It’s the middle of the week! And it’s freezing outside. No one’s going to come in.” She steps through the curtains, her pale-pink dress brushing against the floor as she moves. “Come with us.” She pleads, bouncing on her toes excitedly. “The girls and I had a fabulous show last night, and we’re celebrating. We want to go to that new café by the park, the one with the incredible pastries.”

Her excitement is catching, her brightness a welcome change from Lucas’s dark curtains and low lighting. Lucas feels the stirrings of a smile, but he shakes his head.

“No. Another time, Daphy.”

Daphné huffs, blowing a stray strand of hair away from her face. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m plenty of fun.” Lucas argues lightly, pocketing two of the coins from the table and holding the other three out to Daphné. “Look how fun I am: I’m giving you extra funds for your decadent lunch.”

“Oh my.” Daphné laughs, taking the coins from Lucas. She examines them in her own palm. “Where did you get these? Another admirer slipping you extra money under the table?”

“Perhaps.” Lucas says, busying himself with reshuffling his cards. “Use it to get yourself one of those pastries.”

Daphné eyes him over her flat palm. “Lucas, are you sure? You could keep this money for yourself.”

“I don’t want it.”

Daphné watches him intently for another moment, eyes dancing over his face, travelling down to his hands, to the cards rapidly flitting between his fingers.

“Alright.” She says eventually. She steps forward and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Lucas.”

Lucas nods. He doesn’t tell her that he has no desire to take the money because it feels like being bought, in a way, like the man was attempting to stamp ownership on Lucas with a few extra pieces of change. Spending that money, to Lucas, would feel like solidifying that ownership.

He doesn’t say it, but he knows Daphné will understand anyway. They all would, all of them that perform for Barnet, who get pulled aside after their shows by wealthy patrons who bombard them with offers for lavish dinners and tickets to the opera. It’s a regular occurrence for them, and it gets all of their backs up.

Daphné squeezes his arm, the warmth and comfort in the gesture saying, It’s alright, Lucas, you’re still your own person. Lucas is at once infinitely grateful for her, for Manon, for everyone in the small family of strange creatures that populate Le Monde des Merveilles.

“You’re welcome,” he says quietly, the movements of his hands slowing as he returns her smile. “Enjoy your lunch.”

Another squeeze to his arm, and she’s gone, disappearing between the folds of the curtain with her pink dress trailing behind her. Lucas looks back down at his cards, his smile fading to something quiet and fond, and without thinking, he picks a card, setting it face-up on the table.

He blinks at what he sees.

A messenger with good news. A bringer of love and fortune. A romantic hero on a white horse.

The Knight of Cups.

Lucas snorts inelegantly, at the card that’s telling him a knight in shining armour is about to appear before him a sweet word and whisk him away, and places it back into the deck, shuffling the knight’s amorous eyes out of sight.

The best thing that has happened to Lucas in the last few years was being given a place in Le Monde des Merveilles. Steady income. A place to live. Food to eat. Friends. A certain level of fame that gives him access to most corners of the city. He does not consider wishing for more than that, ever. Wishing is for fools and romantics.

Lucas shuffles the deck again and focuses, letting the energy of the cards guide his touch. He pulls out one that calls to him, loud and desperate, begging to be seen. He lays it face-up on the table, and there, again.

The Knight of Cups.

Lucas scowls down at the table, at the knight’s eyes that are painted so full of hope.

“Enough,” he says aloud, to the cards, or to the universe, to the magic in his bones and the great magnet that tugs the chains of fate along the surface of the Earth. He says it to all of them at once, slamming the deck of cards down on top of the knight. “It isn’t funny,” he whispers, but he’s not entirely sure what he means by that.

It isn’t funny to make me look towards the door with hope, even when I know nothing will come.

It isn’t funny to promise on things you can’t deliver.

It isn’t funny to pretend that good things happen for no reason.

With a heavy sigh, Lucas pushes himself away from the table and out of his small room, the curtains blowing apart before him, a burst of magic erupting from the centre of his chest that’s unchecked, uncontrollable, and makes a door down the corridor slam shut.

He winces, but he keeps walking, turning a sharp right and making a direct line towards Barnet’s office, which he knows at this time of day will be unlocked, empty, and always has a fresh pot of tea sitting on his desk.

Lucas could really use a cup of tea right now. Preferably one with a strong whiskey in it.

He returns to his room slowly, balancing his cup of tea with a stack of stolen biscuits from the hidden cupboard in Barnet’s office, and he’s not paying attention to what’s in front of him. His eyes continuously drift from his cup to his feet to the biscuits and back to his feet, so Lucas doesn’t see him at all, at first. He has no idea he’s there until there’s a short clearing of a throat, a polite, “Excuse me—”, and Lucas’ head snaps up, his tea sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the cup.

He nearly drops the biscuits.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” There’s a young man stepping away from the thick curtains marking Lucas’ room, one arm stretched out as though he’s going to catch any tea that spills onto the floor, but seems to think better of that and snatches his hand back, eyes wide.

Lucas stares at him.

“I, ah…” The man fumbles his hat off his head in a clumsy grip, nearly dropping it with one hand and and catching it with the other, laughing at himself nervously. “I’m sorry,” he says again, bowing his head towards Lucas. “I was hoping to see you, but you were out when I arrived, so I…waited.”

Lucas is still staring at him. He’s staring hard, because the man before him is tall, young and handsome, very handsome, and he’s wearing a thick, expensive coat and perfectly-polished shoes, and Lucas hates it, but the first place his mind goes is to the amorous eyes of the Knight of Cups.

Fucking great magnet. Fucking universe. Fucking cards.

The young man looks like he’s struggling to find something else to say, but Lucas is also struggling, so they stand there, staring at each other for a moment that stretches itself too long, too intimate for strangers in a dim, empty corridor.

Lucas coughs and straightens slightly, desperately grasping at the edges of his Lucian de la Lune cloak, trying to pull it over his Lucas Lallemant face that is too open and honest, too taken aback by the appearance of the man before him, so sweet-faced and honey-voiced that he may very well be from a fairy tale.

“You…” He swallows the tremors in his voice down. “Did you want a reading?”

The young man blinks at him like Lucas woke him from a deep sleep. “A what?”

“The…” Lucas gestures with his pile of biscuits to the thick curtains. “The cards. A reading for your future.”

“Oh! Oh.” The man laughs again, light and warm like a ray of sunlight, and he nods. “Yes, of course. I mean, that’s what you do! Of course.”

“Alright.” Lucas steps around him to enter into his room, quickly dropping his biscuits on the corner table, snapping his fingers to re-light the candles that went out, and taking a rushed sip of his tea to fortify himself. The sip he gets is almost entirely whiskey, which he supposes is rather appropriate, but makes him give a strangled cough. The young man follows after him slowly, carefully, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to enter into Lucas’ little world.

Lucas watches as his eyes roam over the midnight blue curtains, the dripping candles and the round table at the centre, then his eyes find Lucas again, and stay there.

“This is a wonderful room,” the man says. “It suits you.”

Lucas raises an eyebrow. He thinks, that’s a strange thing to say when you don’t know me at all, but he bites back from saying it, swallowing the words down with another sip of tea, and heading right for his table.

“The price of a reading is two francs.” He says flatly, busying himself with straightening the tablecloth and shifting the candles around.

“Oh, of course!” The man plunges a hand into his coat pocket, and Lucas hears the sounds of coins rattling around in there. It’s a sign of wealth and a sign of carelessness, having so many in such an easy place to steal from.

So, wealthy yes, but perhaps newly wealthy. A recent inheritance is most likely, given how young the man looks—barely older than Lucas himself.

The man places two coins down on the table, two francs exactly, and he’s still standing awkwardly behind the other chair, his coat open and his hat in his hand. He looks like he’s halfway between sitting down and running away.

Lucas makes the choice for him. He walks around the table, hands outstretched. “Here, I will take your hat and coat. You can sit down.”

The young man nods, his nerves as palpable as the November chill in the air outside. His movements are jagged and uneasy, his eyes constantly shifting from the ground to Lucas’ face like he can’t decide where to look. Lucas wonders if the young man is looking for an answer to an illicit question. Maybe it has something to do with the beautiful coat in Lucas’ hands, with the money that bought that coat. Maybe this man makes his money like the man from this morning does: in the darkness. Maybe he’s unlucky in love, and he’s going to ask Lucas for help. Dozens of young Parisian men come to Lucas’s table every week with the same predicament.

Lucas is curious, and he’s rarely curious about the people that come to him.

“So,” he says at length when he sits again, reaching for his cards and giving them a quick shuffle, hastily turning the Knight of Cups back over the correct way, “what is it that you’re looking for?”

The young man shrugs, a movement startlingly contradictory to his fine coat, his elegant features and his nervous posture with its ease and insouciance . “I don’t know, really. I suppose I just…” he shrugs again, shifting in his seat, eyes fixed on the cards in Lucas’ hands, following them as they slip and fold into one another. “I suppose I’m curious about what you can see in my future. Or even in my present.”

“Hm.” Lucas sets the deck down on the centre of the table. He lays a finger on top of it. “If you have a clear question, it helps to give a clear reading. Is there anything specific you would want to know? Something to do with finances? Love?”

The young man smiles at Lucas. “Finances and love? Those are the most common inquiries you get?”

“Most people view them as the focuses of life.”

“But you don’t?”

“What I think does not matter.” Lucas replies shortly, and he removes his finger from the deck. “If there is nothing specific you’re seeking then it may dirty the waters of what I can see. Do you understand?”

The man nods. He’s still smiling at Lucas, more confidently now, his shoulders loosening from where they were sitting high around his ear, but his eyes are soft in the candlelight, pale grey-blue catching on the flickering flames.

“Very well.” Lucas murmurs. He gestures at the deck. “Shuffle those until you feel ready to begin.”

The young man inclines his head and he’s reaching forwards, ghosting his fingers across the top of the deck before touching them, as though he’s nervous to. As though he’s not sure if he deserves to touch them, just as he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to enter the room. Lucas shivers as though those long, careful fingers are hovering just above his own skin, mapping out the shape of his body.

When the young man does touch the cards, he touches them gently, reverently, his fingers smoothing across the worn edges, dancing along the intricately-patterned designs on the backs. He looks fascinated with them, as though each card is an entire world of possibility, and he would be right to think so, but he would also be the first person to sit at Lucas’ table who seems to think so.

Lucas shifts in his seat. He can’t stop watching the young man’s hands, listening to the sound of the paper under his fingertips, his own skin prickling with the phantom sensation of a touch on his own skin, and there’s a moment where his mind trips, stumbles on the thought of what it would be like to be touched like the man is touching his cards: so thoroughly and adoringly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the flame of a candle near the floor burst into a violent, bright orange, and he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek, holding his breath until the flame returns to a low, pale yellow. He tastes blood inside his mouth.

This is not right. The cloak of Lucian de la Lune keeps slipping off of his shoulders, revealing too much of Lucas Lallemant to the confines of the small room, to the bright, piercing eyes of the young man across from him.

“I think,” he says softly, breaking into Lucas’ thoughts, “that I am ready.” He places the pile back down on the table.

Lucas takes one steady, calming breath. He avoids the young man’s eyes, focusing on the deck as he moves it to one side, then in one swift movement, spreads it into a fan across the table.

The young man makes an impressed noise, which really is unnecessary, and Lucas feels his lips curling into a pleased smile at the sound, which is equally unnecessary.

Focus, Lallemant.

“Take a moment with the cards,” Lucas orders, waving a hand over the fan. “Find one that is calling to you, in some way, one that you feel yourself being drawn towards. When you do, take it from the pile, and lay it face up on the table.”

He expects the young man to proceed how everyone else normally does at this point, taking their time to consider each and every card, to dance their hands across the fan until eventually picking one that is chosen, they believe, at random; what they think is a split-second decision, but really is an insert of fate into their hands, forcing a choice when making one seems impossible.

But that is not what this young man does. Without hesitation he sends a hand out, fingers touching down on a card off to the left of the fan, nearly at the edge.

“This one,” the young man says, and it’s said without any doubt, so confidently that Lucas feels his own mouth dropping open slightly in surprise. Out of all the people who come into his room, out of all the desperate, future-seeking people in Paris, Lucas would never expect this young man to be the one who knows his card right away.

Is fate forcing his hand so strongly? Or is it a blind choice, one made too quickly, without any thought at all?

Then, the young man is picking the card up, he flips it over on the table, and Lucas blinks down at it.

A hand, hovering in the air, holding out a single coin.

Wealth. Prosperity. A coming successful business venture.

“The Ace of Pentacles,” Lucas says, nodding down at it. “It seems that you have had some good fortune lately, monsieur. Perhaps you’ve come into some money. Or you made an investment that has paid off.”

The young man frowns. “I suppose you could look at it like that,” he says, and Lucas is about to tell him that he doesn’t need to say anything, that he can just pull another card, but the young man says, “My father died a year ago.”

Ah. So Lucas was right about an inheritance.

“I was left ownership of some properties,” the young man says. “A few tenements. A few theatres. I lowered the rent on them, straight away, which, according to all of my advisors was a terrible decision.” He laughs, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “It would be a comfort to know I made the right choice.”

Lucas blinks. He heard about this, about some of the buildings he lives near, in the lower end of Paris, coming into new ownership. He heard about the rent being slashed in half, like magic. It’s one of the reasons Daphné, Manon and Alexia take so many luxurious lunches lately.

It doesn’t seem possible to Lucas, that the man across from him, young and nervous and with such careful hands, is responsible for that. It seems too good to be true, one of those stories they print in the papers to try and convince everyone that the wealthy really do care about the poor, that when they drop their spare change into a dirty child’s hand it’s because they want to end poverty. It seems like…Well, it seems like.

Like he’s a fucking knight in shining armour.

There’s an uncomfortable feeling in Lucas’ chest, something fiery and bright, like the birth of a star. He rubs at his sternum absently, and he doesn’t miss how the young man’s eyes follow the motion, dipping to the place where the shirt gapes open slightly on his collarbone.

Lucas flushes. “Choose two more cards.” He says, more sharply than he means to. “We’ll see how successful that choice will really be.”

It shouldn’t surprise Lucas, what happens next. It shouldn’t surprise someone who has magic, who wields the cards and knows that fate exists, that it is a tangible force at work in the universe. It shouldn’t surprise someone who, that same day, pulled the same card twice in a row.

But the young man turns over two more cards, finding them with the same confidence and speed that he did for the first, and Lucas is so shocked by it, that he thinks he can see that candle near the floor burst into a dark purple.

The second card: A messenger with good news. A bringer of love and fortune. A romantic hero on a white horse.

Then the third: a circle with archaic symbols etched into its surface, each corner of the card occupied by a winged creature with watchful eyes. An unexpected turn of events. Fate being pushed into motion.

Lucas both wants to laugh and cry.

The young is staring at him expectantly, hunched over in his seat with his hands clasped in his lap, eyes wide and earnest. Eyes that look so much like the knight’s when Lucas meets them.

“The, um…” Lucas coughs to break the hoarseness in his voice. “The Knight of Cups.” He points at the card in question. “A messenger bringing good tidings, or a symbol of love. Your…” He pauses, and bites down on his bottom lip, trying to gather his thoughts. “Your true love, as it were. Or if not love then a friend, someone coming to aid you. Someone with your best interests at heart.”

He keeps his eyes fixed on the cards as he speaks. He can feel his face growing warm, like the burning in his chest is travelling up through his bloodstream.

“Now, the, um…the next one is the Wheel of Fortune.” He points to it in turn. “There is a shift happening. A change in your life that you can only go along with. There is no point in fighting it. It’s telling you to let the events of fate unfold, as they are already in motion.” He tilts his head down, eyes scanning the three cards. “But usually it’s a good sign, that when the wheel eventually stops, you will find yourself where you need to be. Altogether, this is a very positive reading. It’s saying that if you stay on the course you’re on, then good things will come to you, monsieur. Very good things.”

Only when he finishes speaking does Lucas glance up, checking the young man’s reaction, and once again he finds himself shocked, because the young man doesn’t look smug, like many people who get a positive reading would be. He doesn’t look excited. He’s crying. Silently and reservedly but there it is, thin tears trickling down his cheeks to his chin.

He catches Lucas’ gaze, and he laughs at himself, something Lucas is realizing is a character trait of his, immediately going for self-depreciation whenever anyone takes notice of him. He wipes away his tears, smiling softly.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his eyes moving between Lucas’ face and the cards. His cheeks are a mesmerizing shade of pink. “I…don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s alright,” Lucas says softly. The cloak of Lucien de la Lune is pooling at his feet, fallen completely away from his body, and it is just Lucas Lallemant sitting there, fighting the urge to cover the young man’s hand with his own. To soother. To comfort. “Many people cry during their readings.”

“I suppose it’s that I haven’t had very much good news lately.” The man’s smile takes on a melancholic shape, his eyes low. “It is…a bit overwhelming, when you’re in the dark, to have someone telling you eventually you will find light.”

Lucas doesn’t know what darkness a man like the one across from him could experience. Born wealthy, coming into an inheritance, strangely beloved by his tenants, gifted with a beauty that makes Lucas’ breath catch. What darkness could such a person face?

The tenderness that was blooming in Lucas’ heart is battling with bitter argument, with the desire to bite out, Have you ever slept on the street, monsieur? Stolen scraps for your meals? Have you ever had to sell everything you own, then be faced with selling yourself?

But the bare face he’s wearing must say some of that for him, as the young man frowns, his brow furrowing.

“I am sorry,” he says again, rubbing a hand through his hair, mussing the neat strands. “You must have no wish to hear the worries of businessmen.”

“I hear them every day,” Lucas says. “It’s my job.”

The young man shakes his head. “It’s your job to tell people what they hope for, is it not? To give reassurance.”

Lucas leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “I don’t give anything,” he says, a touch tartly. “The cards are chosen by you. I only interpret them.”

“Well.” The young man runs a finger across the Wheel of Fortune card, tracing the edges of the image. “I think you are magic.”

The word makes Lucas balk for a moment, his fingers clenching at the sleeves of his shirt, but the man doesn’t look accusatory when he says it, doesn’t look like he means it any way other than innocent, the way a child might when they see a snowfall on Christmas.

Magic.

“Well,” Lucas says, propping his elbows on the table, mimicking the man’s tone. “I think you are a romantic.”

The man grins. “Is that a bad thing to be?”

Lucas tilts his head from side to side, humming. “It is not a practical thing to be.”

“But it’s necessary, don’t you think?” The man asks, his voice so soft it floats across the table like feathers. “To have love and beauty and romance in times like these? To have sweet things to live for?”

Lucas’ voice comes out as steel. “Many people can’t afford to live for sweet things. They live only to survive.”

The man is quiet at that,  chastised, considering Lucas with those bright eyes. Lucas doesn’t shy away from his gaze. He lets his words hang between them, lets them resonate with this lovely, sheltered person, with his money and prophesied success.

“You’re right.” The man huffs a breath and leans back. “It is a naïve outlook, I know. One based only in privilege.” He squints down at the table. “And in ignorance. In not knowing enough about the world. But that is something about myself I’m trying to change.”

“The desire for change is good,” Lucas says. “But it’s the embracing of its reality that is important.” He picks up the three cards on the table and returns them to the deck, shuffling the fan together in his hands. He’s frustrated by how intrigued he is by this man, how his pretty words are piercing so deeply into Lucas’ head. He can’t remember the last time he wanted to get to know someone so badly, to uncover all of their secrets, to sink beneath their chest and see their heart for himself, to taste the heavy beating of it.

His hand slips, and a few cards spill onto the floor.

Lucas curses under his breath, and the man dives down, retrieving the cards from the floor. He brushes each one off carefully, stacking them back into a neat pile to hand to Lucas.

When Lucas takes them, his fingers brush against the man’s. Only for a moment, the briefest touch of skin against skin, but it’s enough to make Lucas’ skin flare up, the place they touched burning as brightly as that place deep in his chest. Lucas snatches his hand away, holding the cards close to himself like they can protect him from the dizzying sensation of those warm, gentle fingers pressed against his own.

Lucas is about to open his mouth to order the man to leave, because there’s only so much he can take of this enthralling, endearing young man who may or may not have been foretold as a knight in shining armour to Lucas, a literal romantic hero sweeping into his midnight-blue room with bight eyes and the outlook of a poet. It should be hilarious, this storybook person who has come to life, so completely different from everything Lucas is, but more than anything, it’s overwhelming. It’s exhausting to be in the same room as him.

“Can I ask you something?” The young man is standing at the side of the table, his fingers spread wide on the top of it.

Lucas narrows his eyes. “I suppose.“

“Lucien de la Lune. That isn’t your real name.”

Lucas snorts, setting the deck down again. “Of course it isn’t.”

“Will you tell me your real name?”

It’s not the first time someone has asked Lucas this, so he has his standard answer ready: a flat, apathetic, “No.”

The man nods like he was expecting this. He presses one hand against his chest, over the burgundy tie knotted there. “I’ll tell you mine.”

Lucas raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t ask for yours, did I?”

“No,” he says on laugh. “You didn’t, but I would like you to know it, if that’s alright.”

Lucas shrugs instead of protesting. He never asks for client’s names, ever. Because it makes them feel secure and he really doesn’t care, but he doesn’t tell this young man, not to tell him, because there’s a corner of his mind where he thinks he really wouldn’t mind knowing.

“It’s Eliott. Eliott Demaury.”

He says it nervously, as nervous as he was when he first entered the room, and Lucas bites back on a smile as he stands from his chair.

“Well, Monsieur Demaury,” he says pleasantly, “thank you for coming today. I hope your fortune was to your liking.” Standing so close to him, within the confines of his room, Lucas becomes at once aware of how much taller Demaury is than him. Lucas has to tilt his head back slightly to meet his eyes.

“It certainly was.” Demaury replies, just as courteously. “Thank you, Monsieur de la Lune.” He draws the name out with a smile, and Lucas shoots him a withering glance as he fetches his belongings from the rack by the entrance.

Lucas watches as Demaury slips into his fine coat, clasping his hat between his hands and looking all the part of a gentleman—the sort of man Lucas would expect to see at the opera, or dining at Foyot. He does not look like the sort of man who would cry from hearing there is good news in his future.

Demaury lingers by the entrance to Lucas’ room, scuffing one polished shoe against the floor and fiddling with his hat, and Lucas finds he doesn’t mind. He’s not sure if he wants him to leave either. He thinks he might want him to stay around, to discover if he really could be the knight in the cards. If there’s some part of him that could be meant for Lucas.

But there’s the sound of laughter at the end of the hall accompanying heavy footsteps, and Demaury startles, turning towards Lucas to make a clumsy bow, placing his hat back ono his head.

“Thank you,” he says. “Again. I…well, I hope to see you again. Sometime.”

“You could always return for another reading.” Lucas says, following Demaury outside of the room. He stops in the doorway, holding the curtain aside and clenching the thick velvet in his hand to centre himself, to make his voice even. “Perhaps your future will change.”

Demaury smiles, head tilting down towards the floor. He sticks his hands in his pockets, a boyish gesture at odds with his gentlemanly exterior. “I really hope it doesn’t change, actually. But…I suppose it is good to check, isn’t it?”

Lucas bites back a grin. “Yes, it is.”

“Alright.” Eliott takes a step backwards, turning on the spot. “Then I will, um…yes. Alright. Yes. Have a…pleasant day, Lucien.”

It comes out before Lucas even thinks of it, the desire to hear his own name in that honeyed voice overpowering the practical, rational side of his brain like an oceanic wave.

“Lucas,” he says quietly. Demaury whirls back towards him, mouth open in surprise. “You may call me Lucas.”

“Lucas,” Demaury says, and his mouth holds the letters are carefully and reverently as he held the cards, as though he’s not sure he’s allowed to touch such things.

Lucas is holding the curtain so tightly now he thinks there may be a real possibility he will rip it down. The burning in his chest has spread into his entire body, humming with something that feels a bit like magic, but also feels entirely separate from it.

“Have a pleasant day, Lucas.” Demaury whispers, and he’s smiling so sweetly at Lucas, his eyes crinkling, that Lucas lets one out in return. Just one small smile, only for one moment.

“Have a pleasant day, Monsieur Demaury.” He replies, and he watches as Demaury turns away, taking a few steps down the hallway before turning back towards Lucas, huffing a laugh when his eyes land on him and turning once again, towards the entrance of the theatre, and he disappears from sight, his footsteps swallowed up by the sounds of laughter and excited voices as people come and go within the theatre, searching for entertainment or searching for their future or searching for the very thing they did not know they would find.

Lucas exhales and steps back into his room. It feels different in there after Demaury, like the room itself is holding memory of his shape, of his presence. Lucas goes to the corner table and knocks back the rest of his tea, the remaining whiskey a welcome burn in his throat. He takes a large bite from a biscuit and chews slowly, thoughtfully, paces a circle around the room like he’s walking in a dream.

He stops in front of the round table, where the deck of cards sits like a northern star, pulling him forwards, leading him somewhere he cannot see.

He pops the rest of the biscuit into his mouth and picks the deck up, shutting his eyes and he shuffles, letting the energy of the cards guide every movement, every brush and slide of paper against paper. It’s a whirlwind of sensation behind his eyes, sounds and colours and feeling, but then there’s ah, there’s something, and Lucas plucks out a card, dropping it down onto the table.

He opens his eyes.

Not the Knight of Cups. Not what he was, possibly, expecting.

But the very thing he should have been expecting.

A circle with archaic symbols etched into its surface, each corner of the card occupied by a winged creature with watchful eyes. An unexpected turn of events. Fate being pushed into motion.

The Wheel of Fortune.

A laugh bursts out of Lucas, one that’s long and lingers and is full of wonder rather than spite, tapering off to giggles that shake his shoulders.

He sighs, running a finger along the card the same way Demaury did, as though touching the same edges of the wheel will feel like touching Demaury’s hand again.

“I see you’ve given up on subtlety altogether,” Lucas says. He says it to the cards, to the universe, to the magic in his bones and the great magnet that tugs the chains of fate along the surface of the Earth. He says it to all of them at once.

He lets out another laugh, at the impossibility of it all, at the wheel staring back at him so intently from the table, promising changes Lucas himself could never have predicted.

We are in motion.

[flusteredmountainman]

Muriel route speculation as told by an English lit major (lol)

OK so i kjnakjffae am procrastinating doin uni stuff so im going to throw together some thoughts I had yesterday about Muriel’s route and his themes of isolation/family being a running theme throughout all the characters stories + foreshadowing for his route in details from the game + in the meaning of his patron arcana card.

Spoilers for the upright and reversed endings for asra, nadia and julian’s routes obvi, Speculation for Muriel’s route, and spoilers for the side stories Travel at Night and Dawn of the Grub

So basically I realised as well about a week ago that each character’s upright and reversed endings can be guessed from the upright and reversed meanings of their patron arcana’s tarot card, which are as follows for the main 3:

Asra (The Magician)

Upright:  Now is the time to take action, before all comes to naught. Stay focused: You have a job to do.

Asra concentrates on the goal of saving the world and the two of you end up in a happy, independent relationship because he isn’t distracted by the compulsion to help/protect you constantly

Reversed:  Be wary of lies from the mouths of charismatic charmers. They will not keep their promises

You and Arsa make a deal with the devil in the understanding that you’ll eventually be able to reach your friends again, but you both forget about your previous lives as an unforeseen consequence 

Nadia (The High Priestess)

Upright:  Listen to your dreams; allow intuition to guide you. All will be revealed in time.

Nadia trusts you (from her past when she was in her coma) and her own intuition and you defeat the devil together

Reversed:  Be careful of losing touch with your intuition. Do not close your mind to the world's mysteries.

Nadia becomes impatient, deciding she’s the only one she can rely on closes off her own options by becoming too single-minded - sacrificing her humanity to the devil

Julian (The Hanged Man)

Upright:  Sometimes, the best strategy is a swift retreat. Take time to regroup and re-examine your options.

Julian listens to you in the confrontation with the devil, you regroup with all the people who care about him and defeat the devil as a team

Reversed:  Be careful of stagnation- your own goals have value. They don't deserve to be put on hold.

He sacrifices himself and his own goals to save you, and as a result ends up living as a demon stagnating in his own private version of hell - becoming less and less human

So! We can look the explanations of The Hermit to try and figure out what his plot is going to look like. So we have:

Upright:  Look inside yourself for the answers you seek. Take time for introspection in the days ahead.

Reversed:  Be wary of retreating too far within your own mind. Others still have valuable things to share.

I feel like these are fairly self-explanatory - in the upright ending you help him recover from his trauma and come to terms with himself and his past - we’ve already seen a lot of the way he just. doesn’t think at all about his own comfort or emotions because it’s clearly too painful in his first couple of books.

In the reversed ending, we may still convince him that his feelings are valid - but that might cause him to reject the reality of his trauma and sever ties with other around him - isolating with you perhaps?

Another thing I’ve been thinking a lot about is connection and how that would relate to his upright and reversed endings. Connection and support with other people besides MC are huge components of the romance arcs for the first 3. 

In Nadia’s upright route, you support her in reconnecting with her family, and she learns that she can ask people for help and rely on them to support her, but in her reversed ending you let her keep you like a pet, she doesn’t reconnect with her family, and she becomes single-minded and isolated.

For Julian, in his upright route he also learns that he doesn’t have to sacrifice himself for those he cares about - and that they’ll support him and fight with him no matter what. In his reversed ending, his self-sacrificing tendencies are encouraged and he ends up alone and isolated, and in this ending MC also has the option to stay with him in his realm forever instead of reconnecting him with his family.

Asra’s upright arc revolves around learning that the two of you are individuals, and that he doesn’t have to constantly worry about your wellbeing and can focus on himself. He is reunited with his family and maintains meaningful relationships with other characters. In his reversed ending, you become his whole world and the two of you literally forget anyone else exists - isolating yourselves in your own world. 

I think that this is going to be especially poignant in Muriel’s route - especially because he already isolates so much. I was reflecting on the role of family (both found and blood) in the routes of the other characters and I was considering how this might manifest for Muriel. 

I was specifically thinking about his past - he was made homeless because Lucio’s tribe attacked his village and his parents had to give him away so they wouldn’t starve. Obviously he hasn’t seen them since they abandoned him, but I’ve replayed two of the side stories recently - Travel at Night and Dawn of the Grub. 

We know that a lot of Muriel’s preferences and personality are shaped by the culture he left behind. His favourite colour is green - the colour of his tribe (evidenced by his blanket which was all he had left from them), his favourite animal is a bear (the animal of his tribe - mentioned in Dawn of the Grub), and his favourite flower is the forget-me-not - which is only found growing in colder regions in the South etc etc etc. 

I’d been wondering at the circumstances of Inanna’s relationship to Muriel - it’s not like it’s common for wolves to ever be without a larger pack, and in Muriel’s first chapter it’s clear she’s highly intuitive and intelligent, plus she’s been described as his “wolf mom” by the devs. When I replayed Dawn of the Grub I noticed something that stuck out a little more - which was that specifically when Lucio is talking about neighboring tribes he mentions just two - ones symbolised by bears and one symbolised by wolves. I know this is a tiny detail and I may be Reaching but lol hear me out. 

It got me thinking about how in other routes the LI ends up reconnecting with blood family in their upright endings. Asra spent at least two decades thinking his parents were dead, but you help him reunite with them. I feel like it’s too much of a coincidence that Inanna watches over/protects Muriel like a maternal figure (that he hasn’t had for a very long time) combined with the fact that the writing specifically mentioned Muriel’s neighboring tribe as being symbolised by wolves, and the fact that we know nothing about his actual family besides that they abandoned him. We only really get to know anything about Asra’s parents in  his route - they’re mentioned in Julian’s, but we don’t find anything out about them in Nadia’s either.

My crackpot theory: Inanna was either sent by Muriel’s family (who survived and are living with the wolf tribe) or by Muriel’s neighboring tribe to keep an eye on him. I don’t think this is such a huge leap especially when you consider that a Lot of animals have been shown to talk to each other/communicate telepathically with people (Malak, Faust, Cameo, and Inanna understanding what you’re saying when you first meet her in Muriel’s arc). I think that in his arc his family might try to reconnect with him - which may be facilitated by Morga’s presence - especially since she’s not a huge part of any of the other arcs besides being present at the ritual. 

I think that a big factor as to whether or not you get his upright or reversed end will be if you encourage him to reconnect or support him in his isolation. It’d be easy to see why he wouldn’t accept them if they tried to contact him - it’s been a couple of decades and they abandoned him, so of course he would be hurt, frustrated, and want nothing to do with them. I get the feeling that if you tell him that he’s valid in wanting to do nothing with them, it will contribute to his reversed ending (isolation), whereas if you’ve brought enough attention to how he’s feeling so that he can work on himself, constructively managing his feelings, and healing from his past then it will contribute to his upright ending. 

Also there’s such a like. dumb teeny tiny line of dialogue that i haven’t been able to stop thinking about, I really can’t remember specifically which route it’s in (either Asra’s or in heart hunter somewhere) where another character comments how he and Asra could be brothers (i think it’s Asra)? And Muriel replies that he doesn’t have any brothers. At first I thought that this was a wink to asriel content in Nadia’s route - that he doesn’t consider Asra a brother bc he might have romantic feelings for him, OR that he doesn’t consider Asra a brother because Asra is nonbinary, however, it might not be that as Nazali is nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns but is still referred to as one of Nadia’s sisters? Another option that I’ve been pondering is that it’s a breadcrumb specifically for his route around him actually having siblings who might have been born after he was abandoned! The little line would specifically make sense if he didn’t have any brothers, but might have a sister/sisters instead, and this line would still make sense in its context after more of Muriel’s route comes out.

EDIT: I found it! It’s not actually in the game, but was an ask answered for Muriel’s birthday by the devs here

I feel like it’d also be interesting because it’d provide a different dynamic for Muriel in working out his own feelings about his parents particularly - especially around feeling replaced and unwanted. I also tbh desperately want Muriel to have a younger sibling kjnakkjaf give me good big brother Muriel!!! 

Anyway! A very long post but I’m highly excited to see what comes in his route! I’m going to cry!

[undertalethingems]

Special Fic Chapter: Aftermath

In lieu of a readily available comic update, I’ve got a brand-new chapter of the story to share! 1.6k words long, it fits between Chapters 3 and 4 of the comic--taking place on the morning just after Sans summons his full special attack.

It’s clear Sans isn’t too pleased to have his attack running around, but until now, we haven’t really seen how he feels about it. He keeps that kind of thing to himself. Or at least he’d like to.

As Sans tried rolling out of bed as he always did, his body felt light and heavy at the same time--an odd sensation to be sure. He groaned, remembering last night's nightmare. Oof, this was why he never got into drawn-out fights if he could help it. He always felt it the next day.

He was working on getting his legs to hold him up when soft scraping reminded him he had company. A half-formed thought and the attack's heavy skull was under his arm, and he curled his digits into the long nasal split that ran up its snout to steady himself. He managed a soft chuckle.

"i'd ask ya to carry me out, but i don't think you'd make it through the door."

The beast chuffed, and he couldn't be sure if it genuinely found things funny or was just echoing his own amusement back at him. Something to ponder over breakfast, provided he made it that far. He really did not feel up to moving today. But with any luck....

"Sans? Are you awake?" Papyrus' voice rang out from just outside his door.

Ah, right on time. "yeah bro. i'm, uh--havin' a little trouble."

"I take that to mean you need my help. Unsurprising! Not to worry, the Great Papyrus is willing and able to assist!"

The door creaked open under Papyrus's hand, and Sans used his attack to lift him and close the distance. He could do a little bit to help his brother out. As Papyrus picked him up, he let go of his attack's skull, and it rumbled a bit.

Papyrus eyed it. "Your attack is only slightly less intimidating in the light, brother."

"...you really think it's intimidating, huh?" Sans asked quietly, and Papyrus scoffed.

"Absodutely! It's completely out of character for you! Big, spiky, unfriendly--I suppose you have the matching creepy permanent grin thing going on, but mine also has my smile so that's to be expected. But you can't scare away nightmares with more nightmares! Ugh!"

Sans sighed. "you're probably right bro, heh. didn't stop me from trying, i guess."

"The fact you tried at all is... admirable," Papyrus admitted. "But I really hope from now on your nightmares leave you alone."

"same, bro, same. i like my sleep uninterrupted."

"Don't I know it, ugh. Anyway! Now that you have been obtained, what do you want to do?"

"honestly...? sleep more," Sans replied cheekily, and his brother groaned.

"No! You just got up!!!"

The beast chuffed behind them--maybe it really did find things funny.

"nah, you're right. if i sleep, then i can't do my other favorite thing."

Papyrus sighed dramatically. "I suppose not. What do you want for breakfast, anyway?"

They decided on omelets, and Papyrus deposited Sans at the table before getting started. Sans almost found himself drifting off--even though he'd been joking about it earlier, he really could go for more shuteye. Hopefully in light of his rough night, Papyrus would let him nap more than usual today. Considering his magic felt flimsy and distant, he probably needed the rest.

The clatter of a plate in front of him snapped him out of a daze, and he pretended not to notice the concern that flickered over Papyrus' face for an instant as he passed by to take his own seat. The omelet looked amazing, and he was grateful to Toriel for taking over cooking lessons. The expression on her face when she'd learned how he'd been doing it had been priceless, but so had Papyrus' when she'd suggested she teach him a thing or two. Sans dug his fork in, and the first bite alone said more than enough about how well lessons had been going.

After breakfast, Sans felt far more capable of moving under his own power, though that just meant taking a shortcut back up to his room. His attack perked up as his sudden appearance, and he laughed.

"what, so my brother making a racket downstairs bugs you, but a little space-time folding is nothing huh? of course... maybe you can feel when i'm about to do it, so it's not much of a surprise to ya. anyway... unless you're basically an exact copy of me, you'd probably rather be outside."

The world blinked, and they both stood out on the lawn. The blaster glanced around, then stretched out to its full length--what was surely over fifty feet by Sans' estimation--and crooned a pleased-sounding low warble. Its voice was almost immediately answered by a call from Papyrus' attack, which came loping around the house to investigate them.

"hey pal," Sans greeted it, and watched as the two sniffed at each other again before nuzzling with their snouts. Aw. He couldn't imagine why they wouldn't, but it was good the attacks got along. The two of them probably couldn't have handled any other situation.

His attack looked up at the sun and seemed to study its position before flopping down in the grass, and he had to laugh again as his brother's attack made huffy noises and tried to nudge it back up, clearly wanting to play. But his blaster grumbled back and made a show of getting comfortable, and Sans marveled at the familiarity. He shook his head, amused, and wondered just how much this raw show of magic was just a weird dragon version of him. He continued to watch them for a while, lost in thought.

When it came down to it, he wasn't sure how he felt about all this. On the one hand... it was pretty amazing. Maybe the most amazing thing he'd ever done with his magic. And hey, his blasters did look pretty cool, the same way a rapid chemical reaction or controlled explosion did. All that power under his expert control was thrilling.

But at the same time, it was power he'd only ever used--or planned to use--in very specific, extremely dire circumstances. And now it had a mind of its own. He already felt like its mere existence revealed too much of what he tried to keep personal. He heaved a sigh, and tried calling it back.

But either he was too tired, or these attacks really did have something more to them. His attack raised an eyelid to study him before going back to basking. Well, Papyrus would have been heartbroken if he'd dispelled it anyway. He'd just have to put his discomfort aside and see how it all played out. Undyne and the kid would probably love it too. And hey, it might even come in handy to have around somehow. He couldn’t know.

"alright you guys, i'm headed back in. don't get into any trouble you can't get back out of, ok?"

With a click, he returned to his room, and shuffled out into the rest of the house to see Papyrus had busied himself organizing the contents of his 'food museum'. It had changed quite a bit now that he had new 'works' to display, but there was still at least one container of spaghetti from the Underground in there. Despite his rummaging, he heard Sans' footsteps in time to glance up and beam.

"Ah! Brother! There you are! I have a plan for today and you have to listen, only partly because you are in it!"

"only partly?" Sans repeated teasingly.

"The other part is because I am in it! And! The plan is! That you are going to rest, and I am going to do some tidying up until Frisk returns later this early afternoon. Such a plan may seem simple, but that simply means it's utterly foolproof! Nyeh heh heh heh heh! Heh!"

"whoa whoa wait. i don't have ears so i'm not sure i heard you right. you're saying... you're actually letting me nap?"

"Yes! At least until Frisk returns!" Papyrus replied staunchly. "I wish you would spend more of your life awake, but even I can concede that you may need some further rest after the night you had. So! Your orders, brother, are to catch some extra Z's so that you may be somewhat re-energized for the return of our dear human friend. Understand?"

"loud and clear bro," Sans replied, giving him a thumbs-up. "i better get on it right away. it sounds pretty serious."

"It is! So go do that lying down thing you like so much and I will wake you when Frisk is here!"

"don't have to tell me twice. see ya later bro."

"See you later indeed!"

Sans retreated to his room, bed, and under the covers without further ado. As he waited for sleep to come--which, knowing him, it would shortly--he felt out his magic levels again. Still not even close to where he liked to keep it. He'd probably be worn out for the next few days, really.

Well, he wasn't exactly planning on doing anything that would require him to try recovering it quickly. He could take it easy on this.

Probably.

They were flying blind, now. He was trying to hope that was a good thing, but it was hard to picture the future. Last he'd checked, it was still...

Hm. It'd been a while since he'd checked, and these things were always in flux. He didn't expect anything to have changed, but maybe...

Eh.

His thoughts were getting too scattered to keep thinking about this. Maybe he'd have a chance to look into it later today once he'd gotten some rest. Man. Papyrus had made the right call. He was going to make the most of it, and let sleep carry him away.

He wasn’t going to worry about unforeseen consequences just yet.

[intothedanvers-e]

Young, Dumb, & Broke

Word Count: 2.6k (whoops)

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: You just graduated high school and were ready to embark on your last summer of being a dumb teen and going on adventures before having to face the realities of the adult world. One day you were driving to a lake to meet some of your friends when your car broke down in the middle of nowhere. With no service and no gas stations around you wandered a little down the street and found one house where you went to ask for help. You expected to find an old couple living in the middle of nowhere, but a nice young British guy (Tom) answered the door. Due to unforeseen circumstances you spend the rest of the afternoon and most of the night together, but when it’s time to leave he says he wants to see you again. You exchange numbers with the cute British guy and embark on a long, secretive summer fling. You both lie about what you do for a living and what you were both doing in the middle of nowhere, but the moments you too bonded were all genuine. Will he find out about your plans after summer? Will you find out what he actually does for a living? Will this fling extend past summer?

Authors Note: Thank you for all the feedback on this series! So i think im officially commiting to updating this once a week on Tuesdays! Mondays are usually a drag for me so i end up finishing a bunch of writing anyway and it helps perk me up for the rest of the week! I know its monday but next week ill update it on tuesday :) if you have any feedback/comments or would like to be added to my taglist for this series let me know!! this chapter is a little longer but I wanted to sort of finish this part to move on to cuter angsty stuff ;) i genuinely hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoy writing it!! thanks for readin <3 

Here’s my masterlist!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 5

Chapter 4

You jumped up from the couch, your phone alarm startling you awake. You quickly turned it off trying not to wake up a sleeping Tom on the other couch. It was too late, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. He smiled at you as soon as he saw you were awake.

“Sorry about that, I forgot I put an alarm on my phone so I can get up to shower. I didn’t mean to wake you up”

“S’alright. I should probably make breakfast before we go on and take a look at your car,” he said getting up from under his blanket.

“Oh you don’t have to come with me I don’t want- “

“Already decided!” he yelled as he walked into the kitchen.

He started playing music from a speaker as the sound of pots and pans being shifted around became louder. You quickly took a shower and came back out to meet Tom for what you thought was a quick breakfast. To your surprise he’d made a full spread; pancakes, cut up fruit, a ham and cheese omelet and some toast.

“Whoa thank you for breakfast,” you said sitting down in the seat next to him.

He just gave you a big smile considering he was already shoving things in his mouth. His hair was super bed-head curly and his eyes seemed sleepy but content. He looked adorable to say the least. You realized you were staring at him and quickly looked down at your various plates of food, quietly cursing yourself for staring at him for so long and hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“The car should be coming to get us at about 10, if that’s ok with you.”

“Do you mean like a taxi or something?”

“Uhh yeah,” he said quickly.

“You didn’t have to; I could’ve just walked.”

“Nonsense. Y/N when will you just let me be nice to you?”

You blushed and simply nodded your head. You spent all night trying to not be an inconvenience you didn’t even consider maybe he was just a really nice guy. He finished all the food in front of him and got up quickly.

“I’m going to go get ready before they come get us,” he said walking toward the stairs, “don’t you dare wash dishes, just put them in the dishwasher okay?”

You shot him a thumbs up and he disappeared up the stairs. 30 minutes later he walked into the living room as you were casually laying on the couch reading a book. You looked up at him and felt the butterflies again. His outfit was nothing special, a plain white shirt with regular jeans and a dark flannel, and his hair was slightly more tamed but just looking at him made your heart race. You didn’t want to admit it, but you may have a slight crush on him. You sat up as he walked over to you and plopped down on the couch next to you. He had a small box in his hands.

“I, uh, found an extra one of these in one of my suitcases. I ordered one online and they accidentally sent two. I was going to return it but seeing how much you like the character I really think you should have him.”

He handed you a tiny box with a Spiderman keychain in it. He was hanging upside down in his classic spidey suit.

“Oh my god this is adorable. He’ll look great next to my tiny Iron-Man. Thank you.”

“Just a little something to remember last night by,” he said looking deep into your eyes.

“How could I ever forget?”

He cleared his throat and looked down at his feet. He looked at the watch on his wrist and stood up.

“The car should be here any minute if you’d like to wait outside.”

“Sounds good.”

He quickly grabbed your duffel bag and headed out the door. You were going to tell him you didn’t mind carrying it, but stopped yourself and let him be a gentleman. He locked the door as a fancy blacked out Range Rover pulled up.

“What kind of taxi service is this?” you said your eyes almost popping out of their sockets.

“It’s not. He’s more like a, uh, chauffer?”

You turned to him and looked at him like he was crazy.

“What?!”

“Hey I’m not old enough to drive a rental car so, uh, my friend Harrison always manages to hire a chauffeur for if I need to get around places! It’s no big deal, I know the guy.” he said doing a quick handshake with the driver who had gotten off to open the back door for you. You climbed in the car shaking your head at Tom who got on the other side. Within a few minutes you were pulling up next to the mechanic. You could see that they were working on your car. You quickly thanked the driver and climbed off. Tom grabbed your bag and sent the driver on his way.

“Hey if I need you I’ll call you big guy. You’re the best man.”

They did their little handshake and he drove off. The both of you walked into the small office together. A middle aged man turned around in his chair to face you.

“How can I be of service to you today?” he said in a thick southern accent.

“Hi I’m Y/N, uh my car is the one that got picked up late last night. The small green one.”

“Oh that car. Got some of my best guys working on it, although I will say I do think you’d be better off selling that piece of junk and buying a new car little lady. Don’t know how much longer it’ll last.”

“I just need it to last through the summer.”

“Well let’s go ask Hal how it’s comin along and we’ll see if it’s even fixable okay lil lady?”

You nodded and followed close behind him, Tom close on your heels. You walked over to the car and saw that four guys were working on various different parts of it. The guy from the office was talking to who you assumed was Hal. You took a step closer to see if you could hear anything. Hal turned to look at you and extended his hand toward you.

“Hello ma’am I’m Hal, the best mechanic at this here Complete Auto Body. I take it this is your car?”

“I’m Y/N, yeah this is my baby.”

“Well no offence ma’am but I think she’s far gone. We can repair her for the time being and make her drivable but I think in about six months’ time you’ll be back in here with some irreparable damage. Might consider selling her off.”

“Six-month reliability is fine. I just need her to pull me through the summer.”

The guy looked at you confused and nodded. He turned to the three guys who were all hovering around your car.

“Well you heard the lady.”

They all went back to working on your car. The guy from the office walked you back into the tiny room.

“They should be done within the hour ma’am. If you give me a few minutes I can gather up a quote for you.”

You nodded and he left the room quickly. You and Tom sat on two chairs that were up against a wall. He turned to look at you and you realized he had a confused look on his face.

“What?”

“Why do you only need your car through summer? Are you planning on buying a new one?”

You looked down and started picking at your nails.

“No but, um, I’m moving away after the summer. I was planning on selling my car right before I moved so that I don’t have any more baggage that I don’t need.”

“Oh for like college or something?”

“Yeah kind of. I just need it to get me to and from work this summer. After my last shift I’ll drive it off to sell it and I’ll be done with this town.”

“I thought you liked it here?”

“I do, I guess. But I just need a change of scenery. Its home. It’ll always be home; I don’t think my mom wants to move anywhere else. I just need to not feel like I’ll be stuck here forever you know?”

He gave you an empathetic smile and looked like he was about to tell you something but was cut off by the guy walking back into the office.

“Here you go ma’am,” he said handing you a yellow receipt.

You smiled and looked down at the paper. You felt like your head was going to fly off your body.

“1500 dollars?!”

He walked over to you and began explaining everything you were paying for but you couldn’t hear a word he was saying. All you could think about was how big of a setback this would be toward you finally getting away from this town. You had just about 1500 in your savings account but that was going straight toward your moving away fund, or at least it was supposed to. You suddenly thought about the emergency credit card your mom gave you. She would probably be mad as hell if you used it but at least this way you could pay her back in payments and not all at once. It would set you back a month or two but you could continue to make the payments from anywhere in the world which meant you could technically still leave whenever you had enough money. You cut the guy off and stood quickly.

“I need to make a phone call.”

You quickly walked out of the office and dialed your mom. She was out of town and probably working but you had to try, you didn’t want her to find out about the credit card charge from the bank but from you instead. It went straight to voicemail. You tried a few more times with no luck. You decided to try one last time and this time it only rang once and went to voicemail. You decided to leave a message.

“Hey mom. So something came up and don’t panic but good ole Patricia took a beating last night. No it wasn’t a crash but she got pretty fucked up. Anyway unfortunately it’s about 1500 to fix her and, uh, I’m using the emergency card to pay it. Please don’t be mad. I’m going to pay you back every last cent, with interest if you want. I’m really sorry. I know I fucked up. Call me back. Bye.”

You hung up and groaned into the sky. This was just your luck. You wanted nothing but to leave and expand your horizons but something kept having you tethered here. Despite how nice and good you were to people, you always seemed to get the worst karma. While you were standing there feeling sorry for yourself Hal walked over to you.

“She’s all yours ma’am. My boys are just dustin’ her off for you.”

“Thank you Hal. I just need to go back inside and pay her off.”

“My pleasure ma’am. Be safe out there.”

He shook your hand and quickly walked off. You dug your wallet out of your backpack and walked back into the office. To your surprise Tom was standing in front of the man’s desk shaking his hand.

“Nice doing business with you kind sir.”

“Yeah whatever,” the man said handing him your car keys. He saw your confused expression and quickly pushed you out of the office.

“I have to, uh, pay him.”

“All taken care of Y/N,” he said pushing you toward your car.

“What are you talking about Tom? I can’t just leave without paying him.”

“It’s paid for,” he said using your key to open your trunk to set down your duffel bag.

“What do you- “

It instantly clicked in your head. Had he just paid 1500 dollars to get you your car back?

“Tom what the fuck?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you just pay 1500 dollars?”

“No.”

“Tom!”

“Not technically.”

“TOM WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“Can you please get in the car and I’ll explain everything where 15 guys with heavy tools can’t hear us?”

You quickly climbed in the driver’s seat. Your heart felt like it was going to pop out of your chest and it felt like you were sweating bullets. You didn’t like owing people things, and you already felt like you owed Tom a lot for letting you crash at his place overnight; you didn’t want to owe him actual money at this point.

“I’ll pay it all back. We just need to go to an ATM so I can take the money out of my savings,” you said turning the car on.

“No Y/N it’s really not a problem. The guy was trying to scam you. While he was explaining everything you were essentially paying for, some things weren’t adding up. I know a thing or two about fixing and restoring old cars, and he was telling you about things that didn’t even exist. When you left to talk to your mom I asked to see the receipt and called his bluff. You really only owed him 650 dollars, so I decided to pay it off so you never had to look at that sleazebag again.”

You were trying to process everything he was saying, your head was spinning so much you had to pull over.

“Wait how did you know I left to call my mom?”

“The windows might have been open?”

You gave him a death glare.

“Okay look think of this as an investment. I could tell by the tone in your voice that you’re the kind of person who hates asking people for things, especially your mom. I figured you’d probably been saving up to move out of here for as long as you could remember and I didn’t want this to fuck it up. I’m investing into your future Y/N. I could feel the passion you had in your dreams from the way you talked about them last night in the pool, and I believe in you. I had the resources to help you, so I did. No strings attached. I just really didn’t want to see a bad thing happen to a good person.”

You sat there a second without saying anything, hands glued to your steering wheel.

“650 dollars is still a lot Tom. I can’t just accept that from anyone, especially someone who has already opened their home and risked their life to give me a place to crash. Let me pay you back, please?”

“Y/N I promise you you don’t need to.”

“Let me be your unofficial tour guide,” you said quickly.

“What?”

“Let me show you around, from the point-of-view of someone who knows this town like the back of my hand. Whenever I’m not working and you’re not busy I’ll come pick you up and we’ll go on an adventure.”

He looked at you and smiled.

“Deal. I was hoping this wouldn’t be the last time I would see you this summer.”

You pulled off the side of the road and began driving.

“Oh you and I are going to get real close this summer Tom. That’s my official Y/N promise, and I never break a promise.”

You took a quick glance at him and smiled, he gave you his signature goofy smile with a slight shade of pink in his cheeks. Your summer just got a lot more interesting.

Tag-list: @hollandlovely @greenarrowhead @justanotherfangirl2015 @oh-dear-tommy @marvelnerdxinfinity @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @hollandhugs @tiredofallthetroubles @marvel-ing-at-it-all @built4broadway

strikethrough means i cant tag you for some reason :(

[tigerintokyo]

IDOLiSH7 PART 3, CH 10.5

Wait For Me

(other parts in the directory)

Translation under the break.

.

Ryo: It’s about time to finish it.

Torao: What are you talking about?

Ryo: Not you. I’m talking about Trigger.

Ryo: Trigger cancelled last minute on Sound Ship. Once can be “due to unforeseen circumstances.” But twice, it’s due to their bad character.

Ryo: Trigger has a chance to recover their image with a strong performance that even Re:vale and IDOLiSH7 can’t do at the Tokyo Music Arts Fest.

Ryo: But, Trigger will be absent.

Minami: How would that happen? If you say it’s a chance of a lifetime, they should be thinking the same thing.

Ryo: Before becoming the president of this agency, I was in the trade business with a dangerous crowd. I can use my connections...

Ryo: and abduct Trigger.

Touma: ….Hey. I’d rather not be involved in a crime.

Ryo: Ahaha. It won’t involve us. Trigger are popular stars. It’s just the work of a little stalker.

Isumi: ……….heh.

Isumi: ...Anything is fine. As long as I can see that family cry.

Isumi: As long as everything they’ve done can be denied, and they fall into hopelessness.

Ryo: Ok, now then. Who wants to call Trigger?!

Torao: Do you know their numbers? I know Ryunosuke’s number though.

Ryo: My friend Momo is a little careless. His password on his smartphone is his birthday, 1111. I extracted all the phone numbers.

Touma: Oh no, I have to change my password...

Minami: You should, because nowadays, even the president of a company will extract personal information from their friend’s smartphone.

Torao: You should change it on a regular basis, in case a woman wants to peek into your phone.

Isumi: But if you change it, isn’t it hard to remember? Is this necessary….

Touma: What did you use?

Isumi: My school grade, class number, and student number.

Touma: Oh, it’s nice being a student.

Torao: But, to have your birthday as your code when you’re an entertainer is stupid. Anyone can know it from looking at your profile.

Minami: Mido-san, you know that Inumaru-san’s was his birthday too, right?

Touma: I’ll change it to a super complicated number!

Ryo: Hey everyone, let’s stop messing with our smartphones. Are you listening to me?

Toaro: Ryo-san, if you use Rabbit Chat, I’ll send you some fun stickers.

Ryo: Eh? What kind of stickers?

Minami: Shall we all add each other? Isumi-san, do you know how to do it?

Isumi: I’m not sure how to… Do it for me.

Minami: You do this and then shake it [1]…. See, everyone else, try it too.

Touma: Wait! I’m still changing my password. I’m not sure what we’re talking about now!

-

(phone rings)

Tenn: … Who’s calling? An unknown number...

Tenn: Yes?

Isumi: It’s me. Do you want to stop the attacks on Trigger?

Tenn: ……….

Isumi: After you accept our conditions, you can give it some thought. Can you come out now by yourself?

Tenn: … I got it. I’ll get ready now.

-

(phone rings)

Gaku: ...Hello? Who are you?

Touma: Wow, it’s Yaotome Gaku’s voice… I’m so freaked out I could die...

Gaku: ……….ah?

Touma: You want to help Trigger and your father, right?

Gaku: …. you….

Touma: If so, come out by yourself now. After you accept our conditions, you’ll want to do it.

Touma: Of course, don’t tell anyone else.

Gaku: I won’t. ...Where should I go?

-

(phone rings)

Tsunashi: Hello? Torao-kun?

Torao: Hey. It’s been awhile.

Tsunashi: I’ve been trying to contact you. About Hanamaki-san… And then, about your debut...

Torao: Shh. Right now, I have a secret deal for you, because you’re my friend.

Torao: There’s a way to stop the attacks on Trigger. It might be a bit dangerous, but do you want to know what it is?

Tsunashi: Of course.

Torao: I knew you would say that. Come here now without letting anyone else know. The place is...

-

Tsumugi: Today, it’s great that we could all have a day off together!

Mitsuki: We have to go and cheer on Trigger! I made cheering fans! It’ll be great to wave them at the music fest, right?

Sogo: I also brought penlights for everyone!

Yamato:  Oh! What’s that over there? It's really flashy with the Trigger logo painted on it. An ita-car [2]...?

(car pulls up)

Yamato: …. And it stopped right in front of us.

Okazaki: Hello! Is everyone doing well?

Tamaki: Okarin?! What is this car?!

Okazaki: It’s the Re:vale station wagon. We got it from the car manufacturer.

Riku: You made a Trigger ita-car?!

Yuki: Because we’re celebrities.

Momo: We did.

Nagi: Oh! Amazing! How fantastic! I also want a Kokona ita-car!

Sogo: What should I do… I just came with penlights. How embarrassing...

Mitsuki: Ah… And I was all excited over just bringing fans.

Iori: The manufacturer must’ve been surprised to specially make a car named Re:vale into a Trigger ita-car.

Momo: Let’s all cheer on Trigger together! And, I still haven’t heard back from them, but if you’re heading over there, let’s go eat together!

Riku: Yes, let’s! This morning, I tried inviting them too! But it seems like they haven’t been responding for awhile.

Sogo: They’re probably getting themselves pumped up and doing rehearsals!

(phone rings)

Momo: Ah, it’s from Kaoru-chan! ……. ……. ….eh?

Momo: Everyone, do you know where Trigger is?

Mitsuki: Where they are? They still haven’t gotten to the venue?

Momo: She says they haven’t been able to contact them since this morning...

Riku: Eh?!

-

Tsumugi: Anesagi-san, are you okay?! I heard you can’t contact the members...

Anesagi: They’re not answering any calls, and everywhere we checked, we can’t find them. The office is searching for them in full force, but...

Okazaki: It’s strange that all three of them disappeared. Did you contact the police?

Anesagi: Yeah, I filed a report, but it’s only been half of a day since we lost contact, so they said they can’t do anything about it yet.

Anesagi: ….It’s the work of that Tsukumo guy! He’s been trying to keep Trigger from getting on the stage! If anything happens to those boys...

Riku: I’ll go to Tsukumo Prod. and look for them...!

Iori: Please wait! It can become a big problem if we just jump to conclusions!

Yamato: They’re not stupid either. They’ll just put up a front like they don’t know anything.

Riku: But…!

Momo: I know you’re worried, but let’s leave it to the Yaotome Prod. staff. Everyone, it’s not good if we get in their way, so let’s leave.

Momo: Okarin, Maneko-chan [3], stay by Kaoru-chan’s side.

Tsumugi: Leave it to me…. Anesagi-san...

Okazaki: It’ll be okay, for sure.

-

Iori: If they can’t perform tonight, they can be attacked with last year’s Sound Ship incident too.

Riku: Those bullies!! They keep making Trigger look like the bad guy! Was Tenn-nii kidnapped…?

Sogo: The performance will have already finished if we wait for the police to move. Now, the police report itself is difficult to handle...

Momo: Don’t worry. I will go talk with the president at Tsukumo. I’m going to pay him back in full!

Yuki: I’ll go too.

Momo: You can’t!

Yuki: Why?

Momo: I’m really fast, right? You’re slow though, right? When that guy tries to run off, even at full speed, you’ll be left behind, Yuki.

Yuki: You're right.

Momo: And then, because I love you, I’ll stop chasing after him and just come back for you, Yuki.

Yuki: Momo...

Mitsuki: Umm, I shouldn’t be saying this to my senpai, but … Now is not the time for that!

Momo: Anyway, Yuki will be the house-sitter. You’re all good guys, so all of you are also house-sitting!

Yamato: We will go with you. The underaged [4] guys can stay behind...

Momo: No way! That guy’s really toxic! My cute IDOLiSH7 will get corrupted!!

Sogo: I didn’t even notice when we became Momo-san’s…?

Riku: Is that president that scary?! Did he treat all of Trigger really horribly too?

Momo: He doesn’t do the acts personally, because he’s really smart. But his personality is really bad.

Nagi: Why did you become close with a man like that?

Momo: He helped me when I was in trouble, so I thought he was a good person. When I didn’t have anything to live on, he even gave me delicious organic vegetables.

Iori: When Chiba-san was around, he did the same. Weren’t the members of Re:vale being fed too much then…?

Mitsuki: What about this time? Let’s all do it together, with everyone! Then, it won’t be dangerous, right?

Iori: We can’t do that! Nii-san…!

Mitsuki: I’m asking this just in case something happens, but are you guys good at fighting?

Iori: I said we can’t do that!!

Riku: I can fight!

Mitsuki: Riku is a “no.” Ossan, are you in?!

Riku: I’m not a “no”!

Yamato: This onii-san is a “NO”!

Iori: Idols getting into fights is absurd! Nii-san, you’re acting recklessly...

Mitsuki: I said it was “just in case something happens”! It’s not like we’re going to start fighting right now. How about you, Tamaki?

Tamaki: So about me, I’m big, right? So, if I let out a big “gah!” then they’ll shy away like “shuu~”

Tamaki: But, if the guy doesn’t back off, that means he’s good at fighting. So, in that case, I would shy away like “shuu~”

Mitsuki: So then which is it?!

Yamato: He’s the henchman role.

Sogo: Tamaki-kun is underaged, so if it is completely necessary, then I will go.

Yamato: You said you did kendo? What’s your best technique?

Sogo: Tsuki (thrust to the neck) [5].

Yamato: If you use tsuki on a guy with no armor, it’ll really be serious. Sou, you’re the trump card role.

Sogo: Understood.

Mitsuki: How about Nagi?

Nagi: No problem. But, since I left my magical stick at home, I can’t use my full power.

Tamaki: Nagicchi, way back, before the Trigger live concert, you protected the tower from terrorists after all.

Mitsuki: We’re not gonna fall for that story. How many times are you going to tell it?!

Tamaki: It really happened!

Yamato: Yuki-san, can you fight?

Yuki: Despite how I look, I’m a black belt.

Yamato: That’s got to be a lie!

Yuki: Yup.

Yamato: …. Indoorsy Yuki-san is with Riku as the childhood sweetheart roles. If you cheer for us from the bench, we’ll get energized.

Riku & Yuki: Fure fure!

Iori: You cannot do this! I do not accept this!

Momo: That’s right! If anything happens to you guys, I won’t be able to face Ban-san again!!

Momo: Ah…. If Ban-san hates me, I can’t go on living.

Mitsuki: It’s okay! We’re just looking for Trigger, like normal!

Mitsuki: If, in the very unlikely chance, you get yourself into some trouble, at that time, you have to keep the Basic Idol Rules!

Momo: Basic rules?

Mitsuki: Basic Idol Rule, #1! Even if you pick a fight...

Tamaki: Do not strike unless you’ve been stricken!

Mitsuki: Basic Idol Rule #2! If regular people see you...

Yamato: We’re “filming.”

Mitsuki: Basic Idol Rule #3! The face...

Nagi: I will defend it with my life.

Mitsuki: If we just keep these, then it’ll be fine! After all, we all don’t want to see Trigger being treated like this anymore, right?!

Mitsuki: If you let the Yaotome Prod. people handle it, it could take a weird turn for the worst. Let’s take care of it ourselves!

Iori: ………. You really aren’t going to do anything violent, right?

Mitsuki: Yeah! Don’t worry, Iori!

Iori: ……. I’m worried.

Momo: Don’t get into any bad situations… Ban-san will kill me.

Riku: Tenn-nii, wait for me. I will definitely save you...!

-end-

Next chapter

T/N

1. A popular messaging app in Japan called LINE allows friends to add each other on the app by shaking their phones next to each other. I guess Rabbit Chat also has this function. [youtube video]

2. ita-car (or itasha, see: itabag): a car decorated extensively for a famous person or character, in this case for Trigger. [wikipedia]

3. Maneko-chan: Momo’s pet name for the player. It combines “manager” (pronounced maneejyaa) and ko (Japanese for “child,” can be used to refer to people younger than the speaker; also often used in girl’s names).

4. Underaged in Japan is under the age of 20. [wikipedia]

5. Tsuki is a technique in kendo in which the sword tip is thrusted directly at the throat and gains a point if successful. [wikipedia] [youtube video of the technique]

(Please do not use my translations without permission. Do not copy & paste them. I don't actually know anything about kendo. Sorry if it seems like I did.)

[simone-garnett]

word count: 3.1k dedication: to @reeseneseira​. serena baby, happy birthday honey. hope you didn’t think i’d forget! information: continuation to this post. caitlin ‘the flash’ snow making a return ;)

Caitlin isn’t quite sure where she is running, doesn’t have a specific location in mind. Just away, far away from reality, from STAR Labs, from a past she missed out on and a future she will be forced to endure.

She simply runs.

And the world around her blurs.

It is miles when she finally stops, when she finally feels like she can breathe without the weight of the world crushing her heart. She stops, buckled over, her hands on her knees, forcing oxygen back into her lungs, too exhausted to care.

But then she takes in her surroundings, forests and trees and no building in sight. She hadn’t been running for that long, ten minutes maximum. But there was nothing familiar around her, no Central City, no identifying landmarks. It was as if she were transported into a different city entirely. It is a distraction, sorely needed and kindly gifted to her.

It wasn’t possible, none of this was possible.

And yet…

She tries to run, and it is her normal speed, but she pushes herself, Caitlin ever the scientist, needing to attempt a variety of circumstances to test her hypothesis. She almost runs into a tree 200 metres away. She had only ran of three seconds.

She didn’t just run miles, She ran hundreds of miles.

There is a pressure in her chest, a clawing feeling scraping at the inside of her, something stopping her lungs from expanding fully. There was something wrong with her, something had changed her on a biochemical level. She needs answers. And she thinks she knows where to find them.

Caitlin speeds to STAR Labs, too confused and bewildered by this to focus on anything else. They were the smartest minds she knew bar Tina and the Stein’s, but she wasn’t sure revealing this new discovery to her boss of all people, would be the wisest course of action.

And it’s Cisco, her best friend and one of the handful of people she trusts implicitly.

If there was one person she could turn to and rely on, it was him.

It takes some time to get there, Caitlin approximating where the city was, using memories of the direction she first ran in and the skills she had picked up as a girl guide to figure out where she was. She was off by a few miles but by that time she could see the lights from the city, see developed bitumen roads, could follow that to the city, to Cisco and STAR Labs.

To answers.

And she pushes herself, rushing to get there faster, a small part of her wondering just how fast she could run, just how far she could push herself physically. And the burning sensation doesn’t occur, not until she starts to slow down in order to navigate the twists and turns of the street. She looks down, eyes widening at the clothes she was wearing were alight with flames, pieces of charred material falling off, fluttering in the wind behinds her as she nears the location. It’s terrifying, an unforeseen consequence of running in flammable clothing, and she needs to get it off herself. Quickly.

So she speeds, up, Caitlin calculating that, while she may have super speed, the fire still burns at normal speeds, fed more easily by oxygen at slower speeds. It means that she skids more, almost hits cars and she thinks that there are explosions of glass behind her. She’s too afraid to turn around and check.

It takes her minutes to reach the building, the security so lax she’s able to enter without any identification. There is an alert every time someone enters the building, so she knows they’ll be there, waiting to see who enters.

She hopes they will know what to do when she does.

As she predicts they are all there, Cisco armed with a spanner, Barry with what she can only assume is a tranquilliser. She can feel a laugh bubble up inside her at the sight – like they could touch her. But then the burning sensation returns.

“OK!” She thinks Doctor Wells says more, thinks he may be asking her questions. She doesn’t answer, too distracted by the fact her clothes are burning again, her dress is now ash and burning, to see the reactions from the men around her, Barry spinning on his heel and covering his eyes, Cisco eyes wide and unmoving. She didn’t think the clothes would disintegrate so quickly. She contemplates trying to pat the fire out, but it’s destroyed too much of her clothing, the more efficient method to just pull it off. 

Cisco yelps when she does so, Caitlin now clad in just her undergarments.

It is only when Doctor Wells sighs, directing his wheelchair to her, does anyone take action. He has a lab coat in his lap, picked up on the trip to her, and he stops a meter away, holding it out to her. There are words of gratitude as she pulls it out of his hands, quickly slipping it on and wrapping herself, well aware that it was the only thing covering her body.

She notices that he doesn’t look away, gaze scrutinising as he takes her in. And she feels like the clothes isn’t on at all, that he is looking through it. She isn’t sure what he’s looking for, isn't sure why he is staring intently at her, isn’t sure what he could see.

But then he claps his hands together.

She jumps.

It breaks her concentration, Caitlin finally turning to the other guys in the room, Cisco holding out a spare shirt he keeps in the lad. She accepts it and ducks out of the room, to put it on, leaving Doctor Wells and the team to discuss the next course of action while she goes to put it on. It is only when she’s alone does she feel more relaxed, laughing at the stupid pun on Cisco’s shirt because why is Han shooting first so important? It comes down mid-thigh and she still feels so under-dressed for the lab, Caitlin slipping on the lab coat over the shirt, sighing before entering the lab.

They barely give her a glance, Cisco sitting on a chair, running simulations on the computer, Barry leaning over him, pointing out factors that need to be changed, calculating the different permutations that could exist when considering different circumstances.

And Wells just sits in his wheelchair, listening, interjecting only to push them onto a new train of thought.

She almost feels guilty for interrupting, but they are discussing her, talking about her powers and her abilities and she needs answers.

It is almost comical, the way she clears her throat and has Cisco and Barry jump in their spots in response, Doctor Wells instead just rolling around to face her. Cisco spins in his seat, rolls to her, a smile on his face and a twizzler hanging out of his mouth. “Do you guys have my phone?”

Barry shuffles in the background, pulling something out of the drawers, face consciously neutral as he hands it to her. It is her phone, but only a few taps are needed for her to realise it was dead. “Really? You didn’t charge it?”

Cisco winces at the unimpressed tone. “Sorry. But think about it this way – you can charge it while we time you.”

She knew it was coming, but she didn’t think it would be so soon. “And what am I supposed to be running in?” She looks down at her outfit and then back at Cisco. “This?”

But he just smiles and laughs, jumping up off his seat. “Just leave that to me.”

It only takes a few hours for him to design and create a suit for her, the STAR Labs van used for the first time in what seems like months. Barry is driving, silent as he concentrates on the road, the location somewhere he was familiar with. And Caitlin sits in the back with Cisco and Doctor Wells, tugging at the tight outfit they had her in. Discreetly. Cisco had noticed her doing it earlier in the hour and had slapped her hand away, frustrated that she was ruining the integrity of the outfit. And yes, she gets why it has to be tight, why calculating the impact of air resistance on loose clothes would be such a pain and so much easier if they simply didn’t need to do it.

She still hates it.

There is an overwhelming joy when they arrive at the testing site. Cisco disappears to set up the markers, Doctor Wells sets up the equipment at the base and Barry is responsible for making sure the sensors attached to her were functioning correctly.

“I noticed you don’t smile too much. Not anymore.” She takes the opportunity to talk to Barry while they were separated from the others. While they weren’t as close as she was with Cisco, it doesn’t mean she never saw the man before. Because she did,and he was always accompanied with a bright smile and a sparkle in his eye. It had disappeared.

A dry laugh leaves him, Barry running his hands through his hair. “Yeah, didn’t think you would pick up on that.”

There is a sadness in his tone that has her heart lurching for him. “Wanna talk about it?”

Apparently he does, because that was all she needed to say for the story to come tumbling out in stilted sentences, Barry’s face pinching as the memories cut at his heart. “My best friend and my dad. I was so excited about working in STAR Labs I dragged them both with me.” There was a bittersweet smile on his face, a weak thing that didn’t deserve the title of smile, not when there was so much pain behind it. “And then there was the accident.” He cuts himself and she wants to apologise, wants to run back in the past and stop her words from coming out, to protect him from herself. “She wanted to be a journalist, wanted to get the biggest scoops. I couldn’t keep her away from the site if I tried. And then my dad, hit by a blast of energy as he tried to get to safety…” He breaks eye contact, shaking his head, Barry feeling so helpless. “I lost so much in that explosion, more than my reputation or job…” She can see him shuttering himself off and she puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it, hoping it comes off as comforting.

She thinks it does, Barry lifting up his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips as gratitude. But she can still see the pained expression on his face. “You know who you’re speaking to, right?” Caitlin tries to inject some humour into her tone, she can hear the undercurrent of sadness underneath.

His expression softens, a more genuine look on his face. “Ronnie.”

He doesn’t really need to say any more.

He isn’t given the chance to.

���Alright guys!” Cisco’s voice carries over the distance, the pair separating quickly, Barry to the makeshift lab where the equipment was set up, Caitlin to the starting line. She bounces on the balls of her feet, trying to loosen herself up. “We’re ready Cait. Just run as fast as you can, trying to keep in the course.”

She grins.

That, that she could do.

She leaves them in her dust, a whoop echoing in the air behind her.

The rest of the day is a blur, Cisco alight with excitement at the speeds she could reach, eager for more tests, to learn more about her new ability. And Barry was intrigued by the chemical change in her body, interested in learning just how this happened. It thrills her, Caitlin throwing herself into testing, so eager for a distraction, for something to focus on so she wouldn’t think about the other revelations from hours earlier.

It is when she leaves the lab, when she is alone with only her thoughts as company, does everything she tries to suppress bubble up, a force unrivalled, overwhelming her, overcoming her.

Her new powers, the lost time.

Ronnie.

Martin Stein can never be accused about not loving, not caring for his children.

Not even Caitlin,

especially not Caitlin.

He had been accused multiple times, teenage and adult Lily alike, of favouritism to her. And it’s wrong and ridiculous and maybe a little but true. But Lily was her mother’s daughter, alike in attitude and temperament and in ganging up on him. But Caitlin, sweet Caitlin who would never get involved, who would support him when they criticised his workaholic tendencies. Caitlin moved in when she was only five, who would, even at such a young age, sneak into his study and curl up in a chair so she could spend time with him, even if it was in silence. Caitlin who would fall asleep in the chair, who would complain if he tried to send her away, who would fight his attempts only to fall right back asleep in his arms as he carried her to bed.

Caitlin who would cry because of her nightmares, screaming for her daddy,  would plead please daddy, please save me. Caitlin who would only calm down when he would hold her in his arms and tell her the history of the Jewish people or of his research.

Caitlin who had called him dad accidentally when she was ten, too tired to think. Caitlin who realised later on and hid from him for a whole week before he called her to him and explained that she could call him that if she ever wanted to, that he was okay, that it was up to her.

Caitlin who never realised just how much his heart swelled whenever she would do that, how choked up he was when she first said it. How it was one of his most treasured memories.

And so having her stumble into the house late that afternoon, collapsing into his hands as soon as he had opened the door, it filled him with relief and sorrow. Because she was awake, she was alive. He had spent nine months wondering whether he would ever have that opportunity, whether he would never have the opportunity to tell her that he loves her. She returns to him, and she returns overcome by her tears. Martin can’t help but pull her close, a hand cupping the back of her head, holding her to him as she breaks down in his arms. The tears soak through his shirt and she trembles in his hold, desperately clutching at his sweater, using him to hold herself up.

He just holds her tighter. “Come on Caitlin, let’s go sit down for a moment.” And she walks with him, small, shaky steps until they reach the couch, the pair of them collapsing on it. She curls up in his side, so small, so fragile. She still clings to him, pressing herself to his side, the trembling receding.

“Sorry,” she chokes out.

“You don’t need to apologise, honey.” He strokes the top of her head, pressing a kiss to her crown. It takes few minutes before she has the strength to pull away from his side, Caitlin taking his hand. “Look at you, my beautiful girl.” It is a watery smile on his face, Martin wiping away the streaks of tears still on her face. “You’re awake.”

“Ronnie’s dead dad.” The tears start welling up again, her voice thick with emotion. “Ronnie’s dead and I was in a coma for nine months and he’s gone and everything’s changed. I’m so lost.” He pulls her closer, a deep exhale leaving him.

 He had nine months to adjust to that knowledge, Caitlin’s only had a few hours.  “I’m still here sweetie. And Lily, and Clarissa. We’ll be with you every step of the way. Whatever you need.” She nods against his shoulder, her breathing wet as she tries to get oxygen back in her lungs. The monster from earlier had returned, but it cowered away in the presence of Martin, the pain softened by the gentle way he held her, had always done so.

“Did you tell mum?” The question surprises him, so left of field.

“I haven’t told anyone you’re awake Caitlin, I’ve only just found out.” There is a certain mirth in his tone, chuckling softly at the idea of it.

Her face twists. “No, my mum. Did you tell her I was in a coma?”

The mirth drops from his face and he holds his breath.

Carla.

The truth shows on his face, and hers falls. “I’ve got to see my mum, Dad. I’ve got to tell her I’m okay.” And Martin Stein, his heart breaks for her. The desperation in her face, the utter need to talk and speak with her mother again, even after the mess of their past. There was barely a flinch when he had told her about the incident, a stone-faced Carla simply asking for updates before leaving the meeting.

But Caitlin had lost her fiance, he couldn’t deny Caitlin her mother as well. Not while she was still alive.

“Alright, alright.” He squeezes her hand. “If you think you need to I’ll go with you.”

The offer isn’t surprising, he makes it every time she thinks of visiting. She had never said no before. “I think I should go on my own.”

She thinks it might hurt him a little, for her to want see her mother without his presence. There is a flicker of something behind his glasses and she hopes it isn’t disappointment. “Tomorrow then, I think I’d like you home for the rest of the day.” He smiles at her, and she feels a warmth inside her. Home. “And I don’t think Lily would take it well if you leave before she has a proper chance to say hello.”

Caitlin lights up at the idea of Lily, a sheepish look crossing her face as she realises that she had missed her earlier the day during the run. That she must have rushed from work to STAR Labs at Barry’s text, only to find Caitlin missing and not responding to her texts.

She nods and he smiles, a weight off his shoulders at the acceptance. Martin offers to heat her something up as dinner, rebuffing her attempts to join in, lighter memories of Caitlin and almost burning the kitchen down in her previous attempts to cook something brought up between laughter.

And she can’t deny the effect that he has, that being back in her home has. Her spirit already feels lighter. 

Today she’d stay with the Stein’s.

Tomorrow… tomorrow she’d visit her mother.

Tomorrow she’d go to Iron Heights.

[bisluthq]

I like the way we can all talk about fuck capitalism but yes I do like nice things here because I grew up poor and remember so much about the year my parents became more comfortable and the things we changed were so minuscule but my parents were so much more relaxed..so I often would fantasise about being rich and as an actual child sometimes that included what I consider childish dreams like living in a castle and having a yacht and shit but the older I’ve gotten the more simple my definition of rich has become. I’m not materialistic and even if I woke up with 10M in my bank I can’t think of anything I’d actually race out and spend it on except buying a house and paying off any bills for myself and family. I don’t know all the principles of Marxism or socialism and tbh don’t have much interest in learning because I have other stuff to study and Idk how I’d actually use that knowledge lol but I’d like to think if I became financially secure I’d put a reasonable amount aside to cover any unforeseen accidents but mostly do a lot of good with the money. And idk where I’m really going with this but every time we talk about money and ethics I always wonder what I’d actually do and if my standings would change when I had the opportunity to hoard wealth - which doesn’t really matter because it’s all a daydream for now but I still think it’s good to actually consider what we’d do in those circumstances yk? But my dream home in my current position is an average suburban house and if I got rich where I didn’t need a mortgage, I could see myself going for something nicer and something that had the space to house my parents in a really comfortable way if they needed me to care for them later in life, but I can’t think of any circumstances where I’d want an actual mansion or multiple homes? I feel like the size of your home should be closer to the size of your family so me as a single person nowhere near ready to start having kids, i can’t think of why I’d currently need like 5 rooms? Idk this is probably all stream of consciousness garbage but I just think it’s good to really think about what we all would personally do with that much money cause I think it helps keep a more realistic opinion on the lives of rich of famous and like billionaires donating to charities is good because the charities need money but like you say how can an ethical billionaire exist? And idk I wonder what the magic number would be in my bank account where I went : ok that’s enough money for me, anything else I get I’ll donate. Idk if I’m even making sense but I just think this stuff is really interesting.

I think it’s complicated tbh and morality isn’t black and white. It’s okay to want a shitton of money tbh but yeah it’s not like… ethical.

[amayapowell]

The Brides Room

If you’d like to read part one of this story; The Grooms Room (Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow) you can read it here.

Today is your wedding day. The last 24 hours have taken what seems like a lifetime to get here; to him. Realistically it’s more like the last 12 years. He’s the love of your life. You’ve spent the better parts of a decade together. And the latter; those times apart; what few there were. You tried to stay away; fight the inevitable. But God had other plans. 

Your posh room of the Ashton’s Country Estate is filled with the laughter and chiffon of your bridesmaids. While Crazy in Love plays over a portable speaker, three of your old suitemates and your soon to be little sister continue to titivate. The room is bustling with movement. Even surrounded by your “glam team” courtesy of Zach as a wedding gift, headed up by famed photographer/stylist and Zach’s husband; Henry Cavendish. Yet you still can’t seem to give up control. But the chatter at least is a nice distraction.

 “Amaya, will you please tell this guy to get away from my hair? I am not wearing this crown thing.” AJ snaps as she struggles to maneuver away from Henry’s bobby pin filled hands.

 Frustrated still; he continues his attempts. “AJ, we’re trying to create a look here.”

 “It’s alright Hank. We have an agreement. I get a Maid of Honor and AJ doesn’t have to wear the dress or the flowers.

 “You wouldn’t’ve had to make such an agreement if I was your Maid of Honor.”  Kaitlyn saunters by in her plush inscribed robe, making sure you hear her embellished snarky remark while sipping her champagne as she cuts her eyes at you and simply shrugs.”

 “Easy on the salt Kait. It doesn’t go with the champagne. Besides how many times have we been over this? You’ve had the number one spot for the last what 12 years? You can handle being number two for one day.”

 “I’m willing to relinquish my responsibilities without an associated fee.” AJ sarcastically responds, barely looking up from her phone.

 “Oh no! You are not staging a coup now. You are mine for 24 full whole hours. Which includes dressing up; such as it is. Pretending to enjoy girl time. Walking with your brother down the aisle. And smiling…with teeth.”

 AJ tries to push by you in her tailored suit, with an overemphasized eye roll to accompany her very present teenage attitude.

 “You know you love me?” You say as you pull her into a big hug with a smile to match.

 “My brother loves you. There’s nothing in the vows that says I have to.” She says as she fights back a smile through her quip.

 Your jaw drops with forced offense. “Wow! That’s it, no more hanging around Becca.”

 “She could do worse for a mentor. At least she’s got potential. You were a lost cause from the start.” Becca shouts from the bathroom, admiring herself as a finished product.

 You give AJ a slight punch to her shoulder after letting her out of your hug. You love her and can’t wait to officially be her sister. The bond she shares with your groom is undeniable. Though it took a while to trust you, you now possess your own bond. You’ve watched her grow up into the beautiful young woman before you but can still catch glimpses of the little tomboy you met all those years ago on the lobster docks of Maine. It was a long fight to coerce her into being one of your bridesmaids, let alone your Maid of Honor. You even had to agree to let her choose her own wedding attire. A small price to pay to have your whole family apart of this day.

“So…who’s the guy?” You subtly say, looking out the corner of your eye; while sitting down to have your nails done.

Catching her attention, AJ’s eyes jolt up to your direction. “What?!?”

“You’ve been posted up in that corner all day. Glued to that phone every time it buzzes.  Which leads me to only two possible conclusions. One, you’re a drug dealer. Or two, there’s a guy.” You say with a smug grin, wagging your eyebrows. By now you’ve caught the attention of the rest of the girls and they’ve started to crowd around her, interested in the new gossip.

 “You caught me, Amaya. I’m a drug dealer.”

 “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your brothers. This is what you call girl talk. Get used to it. Your smile is beaming with excitement. And now she can’t hide hers or the blush on her cheeks from growing.

 “Just some guy from school.” Obviously embarrassed she looks back down at her phone. While you can’t help but bounce and shriek at her admission.

“Eeeeeeeek! Is he coming today!?”

 “Of course not! We’re. Just. Talking.” She shrugs in embarrassment.

 “Yeah, well that’s how it starts. I just talked to your brother and now look at us.” Your voice softens at your memories bringing you back to the reality of the day.

 “Well, I’m never getting married.”

 “You say that now. Can I see a picture!?”

 Still attempting to hide her blushing smile, she leans her phone down in front of you to show you a handsome boy in a sunset-colored Hawaiian shirt and a SoCal flip propping up his Aviator sunglasses and holding a skateboard.

 “Oh my gosh, he is too cute!”

 “Yeah.” She pulls her phone back to her chest, flipping through the remainder of her pictures.

 “What’s his name?”

 “Adam. He’s a Junior on the lacrosse team.”

 “An older; lacrosse man, very nice.” You say with a nod and a wink.

“Alright, I’m gonna let you slide on the details today. But when we get back from our honeymoon…we’re gonna have some serious girl time. Or I will be sharing with your brothers.”

 “Blackmail…really?”

 “I’ve learned a thing or two over the years from Becca myself.”

 “Don’t knock it, it’s a useful tool,” Becca says over her shoulder while she pours herself another glass of champagne.

“Alright, everyone!” You shout over the music with a clap of our hands. “Enough gossip. We are at T-minus 72 minutes and counting. Everyone should be having Audrey and her team finishing up their hair and make-up, so we can all be dressed in the next 45. Leaving an extra 30 for any unforeseen circumstances.”

 “Yes drill Sargent!” Kaitlyn snaps while saluting you, while your returning stare emphasizes that you are not amused.

 “Amaya honey, I wish you’d let us take the reins so you can relax. This is your wedding day. You shouldn’t be thinking about anything except looking perfect for that handsome man of yours.” One of Audrey’s team says as she’s finalizing your hair.

 After finishing Kaitlyn’s makeup, Audrey waives you over. “Common love. It’s your turn. Sit here and I’ll take care of everything. Trust me. He won’t be able to keep his eyes or his hands off of you.”

 “Eeeww. That’s my brother.”

 “I don’t know why you’re stressing out Amaya. This is super small for anything to go wrong.”

 “Becca! Inside thoughts!” Abbie snaps obviously annoyed.

 “What? I’m trying to calm her down.”

 “That’s painfully obvious. Here Amaya, have some champagne. What else can I do?”

 “Thank you, Abbie. And nothing. Out of everyone here, you should be the one relaxing.”

 “Pregnancy will not limit my bridesmaid duties.”

 Before you can respond, there’s a gentle barely audible knock at the door when Kaitlyn goes to answer it.

 “No boys allowed!”

 “I just want to make sure that Abbie’s ok and see if she needs anything.” Tyler says, trying his hardest to lean around Kaitlyn and see inside.”

 You smile at his sweet gesture. “You’re so sweet Tyler, come in.”

 “Abbie rests her hands on the swell of her belly to try and reassure her worrisome husband. “Honey I’m fine; really.”

 “I just don’t like to be so far away from you in this state. He says as he kneels to kiss her growing belly.”

 “Oh please, Tyler. You’re just downstairs and she is surrounded by a dozen extremely capable people.” Becca snaps back while swigging her last bit of champagne.

 Abbie takes his hands to pull him to his feet. “As rude as that was. She’s right. I am perfectly fine. And I promise if I need you for anything I will send Kaitlyn downstairs to get you. She gently cups his face, resting her forehead against his; looking into his eyes.”

 “But the doctor sa-“

 Abbie gives him a quick peck on his lips to cut off his thought. “I’m fine. We are fine. This is Amaya’s day. Our focus should be on her.”

 Tyler kisses them once more before turning to exit.

 “Tyler wait!”

“Amayyya! Don’t you move or you’ll be walking down that aisle with one eyebrow.” Audrey says as she forces your face back to her direction while Tyler walks over bending down to eye level.

 “You look so handsome.”

 “Your eyes are closed, Amaya.”

 “Not the point. Soooo how is everything? What’s going on down there?”

 “Everything’s fine.”

 “Could you elaborate”

 “Tyler don’t tell her anything. It’s just gonna stress her out.” Kaitlyn yells over the music as she changes the song.

 Your voice deepens. “Tyler?”

 “Um?”

 “Come on Daddy. Back down with the boys. We’ll see you soon.”

 “I love you.”

 Becca rolls her eyes and points towards the door. “Oh my God. Just go already.”

 “We love you too.”

 Kaitlyn comes over to refill your glass. “Amaya, what’s up? Why are you so stressed out. Everything’s going as it should. I actually think we’re ahead of schedule.”

 “I just feel like if I don’t have my hands in everything, that something…if not everything will go wrong. I can’t leave this day up to chance.”

 “What chance? You’re already here.”

 “Yeah. And look how long it took.”

 “Well, that’s not your fault Chris waited so long to commit.”

 Everyone stares back at Becca without a reaction.

 “I’m not talking about commitment Becca.”

 AJ puts her phone down for the first time. “Then what?”

 “I just.” You let out a hard sigh. “I just can’t take the chance that he won’t want to marry me.”

 Becca’s face scrunches with annoyance. “Are you serious? Amaya, you know I’m not one for feelings…but I have never seen anyone more devoted to someone; than that man downstairs is to you. It’s disturbing really. I mean, he held on to a ring for almost four years. And as sad as that is, I can’t think of a better definition of love. And. He chose you over me. So, if that doesn’t say enough, I don’t know what does.

 AJ, Henry, Audrey and the rest of their teams all look up clearly confused at her admission while Kaitlyn simply shakes her head and waves her hands in dismissal at their obvious incoming questions.

 “It’s true; my brother is grossly in love with you. I’m pretty sure you were the cause of his first season slump.”  

 Your face lightens at your friend's reassurances. “Thank you, guys. And Becca, don’t ever let anyone say you don’t have a way with words.”

 “Becca that was almost sweet. One might even think that you care.” Abbie can’t help but question.

 “See this is why I don’t share anything with you guys.”

 “Hmp. Who would’ve thought that you’d be the voice of reason today? Champagne and all.” Kaitlyn swigs back her last sip.

 “Yeah, don’t get used to it.”

 “IIII think we should hug it out.”

 “This is not an episode of Greys Anatomy Abbie. I don’t do group hu-“

Before she can finish Abbie, AJ and Kaitlyn crowd around either side of her; pulling her in tight. Becca stiffly leans her head back trying to escape their sentimental moment.

 “Ok. That’s enough. That’s enough!”

 Everyone’s laughing when Henry pulls you aside breaking up their laughter.

 “All right gorgeous. Let’s get you into your dress.”

 Looking back into the mirror, the whole room crowds around you with gasps and awes.

 “Chris is gonna love it, Amaya.” AJ hugs your shoulders.

 “I know he’ll love my gift underneath.”

 “Way to keep it classy Kait.”

 Becca nods in agreement. “Not bad at all Amaya.”

 “Oh my gosh Amaya, you’re stunning.” Abbie tries to fan away the incoming tears as Audrey pushes through with a tissue.

 “Don’t you dare.”

 “Sorry, …hormones.”

 Still huddled around you, before they can break apart, the door to your room swings open with a signature Kyle grandiose entrance.

 “Hello, ladies. Please hold your applause.”

 “Kyle, can’t you knock?!? What if we were getting dressed?” AJ punches him in the shoulder.

 “Precisely why I didn’t knock.”

 “You’re disgusting.”

 “Yeah.” Nodding in agreement but obviously not paying attention, Kyle focuses in on an unknown face and makes his way through the group towards her.

 “Dude, I literally just told Tyler no boy allowed. And he’s got a pregnant wife. Get out!”

 Seemingly ignoring everyone else, Kyle saunters around Audrey.

“Well hello, beautiful. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

Kaitlyn steps back laughing hysterically at his attempts as you try to get his attention.

 “Kyle?”

 “What’s so funny?”

 Kaitlyn shurgs with a nod of approval. “Not a thing. Go for it.”

 “Kyle, what’s wrong?”

 “What’s your name?”

 “KYLE!” You shout finally giving into your frustration.

 “What?!? You’re kinda blocking here Amaya.”

 “Kyle. Focus. Why are you here?”

 “Oh yeah. Chris is freaking out.” He says nonchalantly.

 Your eyes go wide and the room goes silent. You hear nothing and for a split second, your heart begins to race. But before panic can set in, a flood of memories overwhelms your senses. And for the first time today, a calm engulfs your body. This is Chris Powell. Your Clark Kent. Your Superman. The man whom your soul has been drawn to for over a decade. And suddenly everything came back into focus with Abbie and Kaitlyn cornering Kyle with rapid-fire questions.

 “What do you mean he’s freaking out? How?”

 “Not like he’s trying to bail freaking out, right?”

 “I’ll kill him. Do you want me to go down there and slap some sense into him, Amaya?”

 “No need AJ, but thank you! Kyle. Bring me to his room, please. But listen to me.” You square off his shoulders in order for his eyes to meet your stare. “You make sure he doesn’t see me ok.”

 “Then why bring you…”

 “Just promise me!”

 “Ok. Let’s go.”

 “I’ll be right back guys.”

 “Do you want us to come with?”

 “No, it’s ok. Just make sure everything is ready to go when I get back. We’re getting married today.”

 Henry ushers everyone back to their places. “You heard our Bride.”

 As you make your way down the grand stairway in the foyer with Kyle, you explain explicitly what you want him to do. As you reach his door, you stand a few feet away to give him room to enter and make sure you can’t be seen. Once the door is closed again, you ease closer, ear flush against the cherry wood to listen in for a few moments. When finally, you hear Kyle yell back through the door.

 “Ok, he’s there.”

Slowly you crack open the door and slip an arm through. Longingly reaching out for your love, interlocking your fingers, like your lives, that would finally join not long after.

 “Chris? Are you ok?” You say tentatively through the door.

“Amaya! I’m perfect now that I hear your voice.”

“Kyle said you were freaking out.”

A long pause follows before he responds.

“Kyle’s an idiot, I’m just fine. Nothing for you to worry about. How are you, are you okay?”

“Yes, love I’m fine.” Your words are slow and steadying. “Christopher Joseph Powell, you listen to me. I love you and I’m right here. And if you want to skip this whole thing and run down to City Hall, I’ll do it; you just say the word. But…if you still want to marry me…here…today, you just look at me and know that I’m the only one out there…with you…in this moment.”

“Amaya I love you. And I’m marring you here, today, whether you like it or not.”  

You can hear his smile through his words and your smile reciprocates at his reassurance while he holds your hand; absentmindedly rubbing your ring finger. Something he did; reminding himself that you said YES!”

 “Where’s your ring?” he questioned with a slight sound of urgency.

 “It’s on my other hand silly?” you say with a laugh.

 “Why?”

 All you can do at that moment is laugh at his boyish question. Wanting nothing more than to have that minister marry you right then and there; so you can finally kiss him as your husband.

 “Because didn’t you here…I’m becoming Mrs. Christopher Powell today!”

 “I love you…I’ll see you soon. I’ll be the tall handsome guy up front.”

 “Phew, thanks for the reminder. I’d look pretty silly kissing the wrong guy up there…I love you too. Now, don’t keep me waiting. We have the rest of our lives to get to.” He gave your hand one last squeeze before letting go and closing the door.

As you make your way back to your room, you pass Mrs. Ashton in the corridor.

 “Amaya. You look absolutely lovely. That groom of yours is a lucky man.” She says as she pulls you into a hug.

 “Thank you, Mrs. Ashton. And thank you again for allowing us to have the wedding here. I couldn’t have wished for anything more.”

 “Nonsense dear. You’re family.” She says as she pulls back from your embrace to look at your once more.

 “Now; what are you doing down here?”

 “Just reminding someone that I love him.”

 Mrs. Ashton laughs. “Cold feet? George was the same way. She lingers for a moment at the thought.

“Now I just left your room giving a ten-minute warning. I’m heading down to give the boys the same. You head on upstairs and gather the rest of your ladies.”

 “Yes, ma’am.”

 When you re-enter your room, your ladies rush to your side.

 “Amaya! Is everything ok?”

 “Do I need to go down there? Cause, I’ll do it.”

“Everything’s fine. No need for reinforcements. Thanks for having my back though AJ.” You elbow her with a wink.

 “What are sisters for?”

 You clutch your chest with a frown as your heart melts.

 “So are we ready to go?” Audrey says giving Kaitlyn a quick peck on the cheek as she exits the bathroom, herself now dressed and ready.

 Henry starts handing everyone’s things out. “Just about. Ladies your bouquets aaaand boutonniere.”

 “Hank, what’s this? Don’t get me wrong; they’re beautiful, but this isn’t my bouquet we picked out.”

 “A gift from your groom. He chose each genre and arranged it himself.”

 As you revel in the beauty of all the different hues of your favorite color, the entire room gathers around you oohing and ahhing at the sweet, intimate gift. After all these years of him bragging about his skills, he finally got around to making you a flower arrangement. As you look closer, you notice a pale pink envelope hiding with perfection amongst its fellow shade. Before you free the envelope from its floral jungle, Henry continues his finishing touches, pulling down your veil, shielding your view.

 “Guys could I have a quick moment before we head down.”

 “Alright, but if you’re trying to make a run for it, give us a heads up.” Becca opens the door ushering everyone to the hall. Kaitlyn gives you a silent hug and squeezes your hand before closing the door behind her. Once alone, you lift your vail and reach again for the envelope to find a handwritten letter.

 My dearest Amaya. My love. My future. My wife.

 I know you said no gifts, but I couldn’t help myself. And I apologize that it’s taken me this long to fulfill my promise of an arrangement just for you, but I wanted to take my time. I struggle to find the words that can describe the immense love I feel for you, as nothing could ever be enough. So I created this bouquet, hoping it could express my feelings.  With your favorite color as my guide, I chose each flower specifically for something you portray. And when I look at the final product, I see you.

 The deep burgundy Calla Lilies represent the passion you show for life and in everything you do.

 The blush Peonies reminded me of all the beauty you embody.

 The pale Roses can only slightly signify the happiness you fulfill me with.

 The deep Anemones shares my excitement and wonder for what our future holds.

 The delicate Wisteria is the overwhelming joy of this new beginning we embark together.

The small Sweet Williams detail your finesse and perfection to me. And although we’re told that there is “no perfect”. I know in my soul that you are as close as I will ever come to see.

 You’re more than I could’ve ever hoped for and I thank God every day that He chose you for me. I cannot wait to see you today; where you will remain my love, show me my future and become my wife.

 Forever and only Yours,

 Chris

 A loud chirp echoes from the back of the room, snapping you back into the present when Kaitlyn peeks her head back through the door to see if you are ready.

 “Amaya it’s time.”

You stand, tarrying yourself for the next step. Eyes welled in excitement, your ladies surround you in a circle of anticipation, love, and protection.

 Abbie holds your hands. “Are you ready?” You feel the emotion filling up through your chest, leaving you with nothing but a nod.

Becca motions to her phone. “Alright, Amaya. Last chance. Are you sure you wanna do this? I can have a car ready in two minutes…just say the word.”

 Everyone erupts into laughter and you let out one last exasperated sigh.

 “Let’s go get married.”

 Everyone cheers as they exit the room and make their way down the main stairway.

 “Oh my gosh, did you see Kyle trying to make a move on Audrey? I swear I have never laughed harder in my life.”

 “Why’d you let him continue? Why didn’t you just tell him she’s your wife?”

 “Why ruin the fun? We’ve got an entire reception to crush his spirit and make fun of him.”

 AJ looks over her shoulder towards Kaitlyn. “I knew I liked you. Please let me get that on video.”

 “Speaking of the reception. Don’t forget. No speeches anyone! That means you Kait.”

 “See…I’ve gotta get my kicks somehow.”

 As you make your way down the grand staircase with your bridesmaids in front of you. You can see the warm glow of lights adorning all the trees through the windows. Your Dad stands in front of two large wooden doors adjusting his bow tie.

 “Hi, Daddy!”

 He turns to you with a gleam of tears in his eyes.

 “Are you ready?”

 “To give my baby girl away? Not at all.”

 You fight back the tears as he lifts your veil to give you a kiss on the cheek when the house lights dim around you and Henry starts counting you in.

The doors open slowly to one by one, let each of your bridesmaids gets escorted through. As the Minister asks everyone to rise and the sound of the processional fills the air, you close your eyes as your life flashes before them. No this wasn’t the end, but the beginning. Every look. Every touch. Every kiss. Every moment shared and even your time apart has led to this. Your eyes open to the creaking sound of the doors opening before you, as the crisp evening breeze caress’ your face while giving your first glimpse of your dapper groom eagerly awaiting your walk towards him. All eyes are on you as you make your way down towards your future. Your breath escapes you and you can’t hold back the tears any longer. After all the Yesterdays and Today, now you look to Tomorrow.