#the aesthetic of this fic is brought to you by the color orange

[tycutiovevo]

Hi there ! I love all the prompts on that list, but 4 screams Tycutio at me. Can you do an angsty/fluffy thing for our favourite boys ? Thanks ! :)

4. We slept in the same bed for space reasons but now we’re just waking up and there’s something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair (send me prompts from here!)

 Sharing a bed with Mercutio in a crummy motel in the city hadn’t been at the top of Tybalt’s bucket list. But at the time, it was a good option. What else do you do when neither of you can stay awake but you don’t want to go home, either? It was cheap and questionably clean, but both of them were so tired they didn’t really give a shit. And at the time, the fact that there was only one bed didn’t matter either.

 But when morning rolled around, the story was different. The sun wasn’t up yet, so the motel room was only dimly lit by the lights of the city. Tybalt rubbed his eyes, smearing the makeup he hadn’t taken off the night before. The alarm clock on the side table claimed it was 5:45, but Tybalt would’ve sworn it was earlier. What time had they checked in last night? He couldn’t remember. If he was honest, he couldn’t remember anything from last night. He hoped he hadn’t done something stupid, but chances were high that he had.

 Tybalt felt the bed move, and he looked over to see Mercutio sit up in the bed, stretching. He yawned, dragging a hand down his face. His eyes were half-lidded, and his hair was disheveled.

 In that moment, Tybalt wished that he could wake up next to Mercutio every day for the rest of his life. The thought made him long for something he couldn’t place this early in the morning.

 “Mornin’,” Mercutio mumbled, rubbing his eyes and giving Tybalt a soft smile. “What time is’t?”

 “Almost six,” Tybalt said, trying to ignore the ache in his chest.

 “Mm,” Mercutio flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “You still tired?”

 “No.” Not anymore.

 “Me neither,” Mercutio sighed. “Man, what the fuck did we do last night?”

 “My best guess is that it involved alcohol,” Tybalt said, laying back down next to Mercutio.

 “Oh god, I hope not. I don’t feel hungover, so I’m putting in a solid no.”

 “Party?” Tybalt offered, trying not to look at Mercutio.

 “Nah, you wouldn’t have gone to one willingly, and you won’t let me drive your car.”

 “Fair enough,” Tybalt muttered. “I can’t believe neither one of us remembers.”

 “Yeah, especially since you’ve gotten really good at keeping track of the stupid shit we do,” Mercutio laughed. 

 Tybalt thought for a moment, wracking his brain for any memory of the night before. He couldn’t remember anything beyond checking in and going to bed.

 “Maybe we can’t remember doing something stupid because we didn’t do anything stupid,” Tybalt said, the only conclusion he could come to. Maybe they hadn’t done anything noteworthy so neither of them could remember.

 “Maybe,” Mercutio seemed to think about it for a moment, before rolling onto his side and looking at Tybalt. “What if we did something really important, though?”

 “Wouldn’t we have remembered it if it was important?” Tybalt asked, rolling over and meeting Mercutio’s eyes.

 “Who knows, we forget a lot of things,” Mercutio smiled, and Tybalt caught himself staring at Mercutio’s lips. Oh, what he wouldn’t give.

 “But, maybe last night had something to do with this-” Mercutio leaned in, and before Tybalt could react, Mercutio’s lips were on his. Tybalt closed his eyes, relaxing into the kiss. His heart was threatening to beat out of his chest.

 Mercutio pulled away from the kiss, a small smile on his face. “I was bluffing when I said I didn’t remember. I was hoping that maybe you might remember, too, but it was pretty late last night. I didn’t think you would.”

 Tybalt did remember, at least some of it. It was so clear now, the memory practically slapped him in the face. The lights of the city had illuminated the backseat of his car, and he and Mercutio had talked for who knows how long, just sitting there. He remembered Mercutio’s eyes sparkling in the light, and just how gorgeous he’d looked. Tybalt hadn’t meant to kiss him, but it all just sort of happened. After that, the memory seemed to blend together. It became more of a feeling than a string of images, and Tybalt could only imagine what had happened.

 “At some point last night, you asked me if I wanted to be your boyfriend, and I said yes,” Mercutio looked away, staring at the bed. “Is that still what you want?” 

 “Yes,” Tybalt didn’t take a moment to hesitate. Mercutio looked at him, shocked at how fast he’d answered, before giving him a wild grin. Tybalt snuggled into Mercutio, letting out a soft sigh. “I wouldn’t have asked if I hadn’t meant it.”

 “You don’t even remember asking,” They both laughed at that, and Mercutio let his arms wrap loosely around Tybalt.

 They were silent after that, both of them starting to fall asleep again. Tybalt relished the feeling of being in that bed with Mercutio, and he wanted to feel what he did at that moment forever. Everything just felt right.

 Who would’ve guessed that sharing a bed in a shitty motel would’ve led to this? Certainly not Tybalt, but he wouldn’t change a thing about it.

[live-the-fangirl-life]

Your fics are so cute. If you have time I would love to see this as a prompt for Rowaelin maybe? (Make it crazy if you want 😘)

“I would love to kiss you right now but my lips are on fire.”

For the Aesthetic

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - Answered Prompt

“I would love to kiss you right now but my lips are on fire.”

Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warnings: Language

1305 words

***

The party was in full swing by the time Aelin and Rowan arrived. If there was one thing Dorian did better than anyone else—even her, she’d begrudgingly admit—was throw a kick-ass party.

Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, bright purple and orange lights flashed, and dry ice was bubbling up from around the bloodied punchbowl. Aelin caught glimpse of her friends dressed like zombies, sexy cops, celebrities, superheroes, sexy superheroes, and a dozen other obscure costumes.

She smirked as she took in the cheap, generic-looking outfits. If Dorian won at throwing Halloween parties, then Aelin won at attending Halloween parties. She’d scoured the internet and thrift stores for the perfect pieces for her and Rowan’s ensembles. Her costumes were always the best, and she’d made sure that this year she and Rowan had the most amazing couple’s costume.

Rowan knew that Aelin would take reigns for Halloween, so he simply sat back and let her put together their costumes. Even if he tried to help or offer a suggestion, she shushed him and told him that Halloween was hers and that he could be in charge of one of the boring holidays. The insult was sweetened by lots of kisses, so Rowan didn’t put up much of a fight.

This year, she’d decked them out in full pirate costumes. Rowan’s shirt hung open to show off his broad chest, something Aelin had insisted upon with a wicked smirk. Aelin wore an authentic corset, and they both had shining swords hanging from their hips.

She had even found this website that specialized in edible glitter lipsticks. Aelin bought four different colors and was currently wearing the gold shade, making her lips look like shimmering sunlight or golden doubloons...and even more tantalizing than usual given the way Rowan could hardly keep his gaze off them for more than a few moments.

It didn’t matter that her lips had felt tingly ever since she put it on. Or that she felt a slight burn along her tongue after she’d licked her lips, but that was probably from the shot she’d taken before leaving the apartment.

They’d said hello to their friends before Aelin reached for a cup of the spiked punch. Maybe another drink would take her mind off her burning mouth.

Aelin dragged Rowan into the living room where the furniture had been pushed aside to create a make-shift dancefloor. He spun her around once they found an empty space before pulling her back into him, grinning.

Rowan’s hand on her waist tightened as he pulled her closer and moved his hips with hers in time to the music. Aelin let herself get lost in the dancing and the feel of Rowan as he leaned down and trailed kisses along the column of her throat. Aelin didn’t hold back her soft moan as he found the sweet spot right behind her ear, the music drowned out any noise she made, anyway.

When he brought his face up to hers, his eyes were dark and a smirk pulled at his lips as he admired the marks he’d left on her skin. Rowan bent his head to kiss her, but Aelin pressed a firm hand to his chest. He froze, the heat in his face dimming as he gave her a questioning look.

Aelin winced, wanting nothing more than to let him keep going, but she couldn’t.

“I would love to kiss you right now, Buzzard,” she told him, pulling him close so he could hear her over the music, “but my lips are on fire.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Rowan jerked back and his eyes scanned her face, landing on her golden, shimmery lips. His brows furrowed and he focused on her mouth before his eyes shot back to hers.

“Aelin, your lips are swollen.” He told her incredulously, “Did you have any strawberries?” he glanced over towards the food table, “I didn’t see any, but you know you’re allergic, you can’t eat them just because they taste good.”

She winced. Allergic. She must be allergic to the lipstick.

Rowan caught her wince and his concern deepened as he surveyed the food table with unerring scrutiny, searching for a fruit he wouldn’t find. She squeezed his arm, pulling his attention back to her, and told him, “No strawberries.” His shoulders relaxed a fraction, but he was still tense, trying to figure out why she was in pain, “I think it’s the lipstick.”

His eyebrows shot up as he focused on her lips once more. “The lipstick. Damn.”

It was her turn to look confused. “Damn? Why?”

He snorted but was already grabbing her hand to lead her from the dance floor and towards the door. “Because I really liked that lipstick.” He winked at her over his shoulder as he steered them out of the party. “I wanted to see it left on other places.”

Aelin blood turned molten...almost as hot as her lips felt.

She focused on them again and couldn’t contain the sharp inhale as she fully registered the pain she was feeling now that they were out of the suffocating party.

Her lips were on fire, so was the tip of her tongue, and she was positive they were swelling up to the point where she’d be unable to talk soon.

As soon as they got into Rowan’s car, Aelin dug into the glove compartment for her emergency bag to grab a pack of makeup remover wipes. Rowan started the car and got pulled out onto the road while glancing over repeatedly at her to watch as she scrubbed furiously at her lips, desperate to remove the cruel lipstick

It took three makeup wipes, but as soon as her lips were clean, Aelin immediately felt better. They were still swollen and felt like a dozen tiny fire ants were making their home on her face, but it was better than it had been on the dancefloor.

“Did it hurt the whole time you had it on?” Rowan questioned from the driver’s seat, reaching over to thread his fingers through hers.

Sighing, she leaned back and relaxed into the leather seat, “Yeah, but it wasn’t so bad at first. By the time we left it was only an incessant tingle.”

His head whipped towards her, “You felt it before we even left the house, and you still kept it on?” He shook his head trying to understand his girlfriend’s thought process. “You didn’t think maybe it’d be a good idea to get rid of the thing that was irritating you?”

She raised a single brow at him and smirked, refraining from making the obvious joke. He rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what she wanted to say.

Aelin used her free hand to tuck a stay wisp of hair behind her ear and lean closer to him across the center console. “It’s all about the aesthetic, Rowan. The lipstick completed the look,” she scoffed, “I wasn’t going to go to Dorian’s Halloween party with a sub-standard costume.”

Aelin grinned as Rowan loosed a long-suffering sigh and glanced side-longed at her, “And I suppose you have a reputation that not even physical pain would deter you from upholding.” He said drily.

Aelin just squeezed his hand in confirmation and he huffed a laugh before squeezing back.

“I might not be able to wear the lipstick,” Aelin murmured, inching closer to him, “But I do have a part of my costume you haven’t seen yet.”

His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel as his eyes flicked back to hers, now wicked with amusement. His gaze roved over her scantily-clad body before saying in a voice an octave lower than normal, “Part that I haven’t seen? Are you wearing it now?”

Her answering smirk had Rowan speeding the rest of the way home.

*****

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @bisexual-genderfluid-loki @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @miserablesmusings @morganofthewildfire @nehemikkele @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @surielandiareendgame @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @ladygabrielli1997 @moodymelanist @realbookloverproblems @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @yesdreamblog @the-regal-warrior @rowanaelinn @thestoriesyoutell @autumnbabylon

[wreckofawriter]

Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader also Blaise Zabini x reader if you squint.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Blood, swears twice? Angsty (fluff ending)

Summary: Hanahaki Disease AU! You are despareatly in love with your bestfriend. His unrequainted love causes flowers to grow in your lungs which you are forced to cough up until death overcomes you. The only removal of this sickness is a spell which also takes every memory of the loved one with it.

A/n: look at my dumb ass post late for my own event... this fic is for the first week of Cliche Month. My cliche was Hanahaki Disease. Check out the other writers work. They are amazing!!

    Roses used to be your favorite flower. Their delicate petals stained with glaring crimson intrigued you since you reached for one in your mother’s garden and pulled away with a bloodied hand. They could be found around you constantly; arranged in sparkling vases and patterned on your dresses. Bouquets were gifted to you by friends and family during holidays and birthdays, they surrounded you. 

    Now as you coughed into the toilet of the girl’s lavatory you wished to never see a rose again. You could feel the thorns tearing you apart, your throat sliced to ribbons as you clutched the stark white porcelain. You heaved a final time, petals falling into the clear water, the blood upon them staining it pink. You felt dizzy, copper thick in your mouth. You choked out a sob, tears spilling down your cheeks and dripping off your chin. You brought your hand to your face, whipping your mouth with its back and blinking back a fresh wave of cries. You pushed yourself to your feet, knees sore from resting on cold tile too long. You flushed, watching as the red and white petals spiraled from view. 

    You stepped from the stall going to the mirror and dabbing away melting makeup, a few practice smiles at your reflection flashed before you exited the secluded room. 

    Hanahaki disease had been glorified around you for years. The aesthetic and purity of its cause and symptoms making it seem like some dream or fairytale. You had learned quite quickly it was anything but. While everyone talked of the beauty of growing flowers within you they never talked about the pain of thorns piercing you with every breath or the blood which lingered on your taste blood because of never-ending cuts and tears of skin. They never talked about the stab you felt each time the person you loved looked your way or the times you had to swallow petals to keep your quickening death a secret. 

    Blood and roses painted a pretty picture but they stopped being so charming as you choked them out every few hours. 

    You walked quickly to class, each step you took emitting pain in your chest, pain which you had gotten phenomenal at ignoring. Snape didn’t bat an eyelash, despite the fact that you were six minutes late. The stabs grew searing as you took a seat next to the scowling blonde who had unintentionally bloomed flowers in your chest.  

    “Where the hell were you?” Draco scoffed his tone cold.

    “Bathroom.” You replied plainly, eyes tracing the slope of his nose as he turned away from you. Your eyes continued to follow his profile, creating trails on his jawline and under his light grey eyes. 

    Draco turned back to you, “Is there something on my face?” 

    You shook your head, feeling petals flutter in your stomach, thorns following. 

    He said nothing, eyes flicking around your profile, looking for clues of your strange behavior. “Are you sick?” He asked, “You look pale.” 

    You shook your head yet again, “I feel fine.” Lies came so easily recently.

    Draco didn’t give in easily, his gaze searching your own as if he could read through your words to your failing heart. “You’ve seemed off recently,” he stated turning back to the lesson.

    “I don’t know what you mean.” You replied. Lying really had become effortless.

    Draco didn’t like your sudden disappearances and untrustworthy excuses. You had been distant and unfamiliar in recent days. Your schedule seemed skewed, jokes, and laughter seeming to die as you rushed to unexplained meetings with no one before reappearing thirty minutes later with blood on your sleeves. You always smelled of the liquid, copper had replaced your floral shampoo and tropical perfumes. Everything about you simply felt wrong, like an invisible switch had been flipped leaving you as an imposter. 

    You forced a thin smile at the girl across from you as she said her greetings. Pansy dug into her plate of eggs, glaring up at you suspiciously. Your relationship with the girl had always rested on the edge of a knife. She despised your relationship with Draco, her eyes going green whenever you were seen together. You wish you could tell her there was really nothing to worry about. 

    “You’re hiding something.” She satiated plainly.

    You scrunched your nose in mock confusion, “What?”

    A scoff rose from her lips, “I’m not stupid y/l/n. Something is up with you, everyone can see it.” 

    “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” You huffed rolling your eyes, hoping she didn’t notice the goosebumps that rose on your arms, fear of being discovered chilling you to the bone. 

    Blaise sat down next to you sensing the tense atmosphere and glancing between you both, “This about Draco?” He asked cautiously.

    You shook your head quickly, a stab of agony shooting through you at his mention. 

    The boy shrugged, snatching a bagel and beginning to dress it with jam, “Anyway, you guys are coming to Hogsmeade right?”

    Pansy answered excitedly her high pitch making you wish you’d stayed in bed. The conversation droned for a moment and you focused on your breathing. You knew the time which you would be able to do such a necessary act was limited. It was only a matter of time before thorns punctured a lung or pushed through your heart. 

    “You’re going right y/n?” Blaise asked, drawing you into the words spoken between them. 

    You bit your cheek, “I don’t think so.” 

    Blaise groaned, “Come on, we always go! It’s like a tradition.”

    You frowned, “You didn’t go last week.”

    The trap he had fallen into struck quickly, “Well doesn’t matter, you need to go.” he recovered.

    “And why’s that?” You hummed nursing an orange juice that tasted of copper. 

    “Draco gets pissy when you don’t come.” He explained. The words would have made your heart soar if vines weren’t threaded through your veins. “Especially after quidditch practices.” 

    You sighed, “Draco isn’t my responsibi-” you were cut off by a spear thrust into your chest. The glass you held fell from your grip and shattered on the table. Eyes darted towards you in confusion as you bent over in agony. 

    A muffled voice broke through your momentary disconnection from the conscious world.

“Y/n are you okay?” 

Your eyes fluttered open as you gasped for air, tears pooling in your eyes, “I’m fine.” you rasped standing quickly from your seat as you felt petals push up your throat. You sprint from the room without another word, hand clasping over your lips as you desperately tried to swallow the floral arrangement crawling up towards your lips. You managed to make it three corridors before collapsing to the ground, heads turned, eyes locking with you as let out a rattling set of coughs. 

You didn’t hear the words of concern or cries for help as your mouth filled with blood. You felt something push from your mouth landing on your hands lightly. A rose blossom stared back at you as you opened your eyes. Its white petals unfurled stunningly, deep crimson puddles pooled between them. Red dripped lazily down your hands and you began to cough again. Thorns tore through your flesh escaping into the light of the world drenched in red, petals floated in the small puddle of blood around you like tiny boats in a lake of fire. 

You hiccuped twice, the pain the action caused forcing tears down your cheeks. Your ears rang with shouts and gasps, your hands tightening around the flowers you held, only then noticing the cuts which littered your palms. 

Blaise thundered around the corner, shoving people out of the way to see what they had gathered around. His eyes widened when he saw you, blood drenching the front of your uniform, tears mixing with crimson as they dripped off your chin. But the most alarming thing which sat in that hallway where the roses. Four of them, in full bloom, were littered around you, their meaning sinking terror into Blaise’s head. He dropped to his knees in front of you, hands coming to your shoulders.

“Shit y/n,” he mumbled feeling his eyes prick.

You were sobbing, wincing with every shake your body gave, “I can’t forget.” You whimpered, “Please, I don’t wanna die but I can’t forget him.” Your begs were cut off as you began to cough again.

You felt numb. The potions you had been given driving away not only pain but every other feeling your body had manifested. Moving felt like wading through thick mud, the weight of the blankets adding to the confusion of your nerves. 

The ceiling of the hospital wing had become boring hours before, the dark of the night staining the white a deep blue. Your brain ran through memory after memory, thinking that if they replayed through your consciousness enough they would be stuck there, even after they were cut from your body with the flowers within you. You could hear his voice, smell his cologne, and feel his hair. The pain of your body had left but that of your mind had been so deeply engraved it was hard to distinguish from the former. 

The ache you felt from the image of his angry tears and hoarse screams were far worse than the occasional stab of a thorn. Maybe it would be better to forget. Forget the pain, the love, all of it. To forget him. Yet every time you thought of the idea your eyes welled with tears and that unsettling ache of your chest worsened. 

Memories became more and more recent as the melody of the platinum blonde continued to play. Those of a few hours ago were the freshest, still crisp around the edges, full of brilliant colors. 

You didn't want him to find out, let alone find out from someone who wasn't you. Yet Blasie had told him the second after he had dropped you where you now lay, betraying everything within you. 

He had come into the wing still dressed in his quidditch robes, broom in his left hand as he stormed through the previously quiet area. 

"How dare you." He had seethed, broom hitting the ground with a clatter. 

Your eyes had become focused solely on him the second his voice had graced you.

"How fucking DARE you!" His eyes were glossy with fury.

"Mr. Malfoy!"  Pompfery shouted behind him

You were in a confused daze, dull pain shooting through you as Draco neared. "What?" 

He was in front of you now tears sliding down his flushed cheeks as he gripped the metal of the bed frame.

"You can't just fall in love with me!" He shouted, "You can't just, j-just," his voice faltered and fell and he slumped forward. 

You sat up wanting to move towards him, "I'm sorry." You whimpered a hand coming to rest on his own.

He snatched himself away from you, "You were just going to let yourself die?" 

You paused another stab of pain dulled by medication sending white to your vision. Were you going to let yourself die? Die for the memories of this boy? It seemed a bit pitiful as you thought about it. "I don’t know." 

Draco was appalled, his mind reeling as you stared up at him, eyes wide and glistening, "Don't put your blood on my hands." He hissed turning and storming from the room.

You called after him, voice straining, throat burning. He didn't spare a single glance back and you were left staring at his disregard broom as blossoms bubbled in your throat.

Draco had always had an easy way out when he was younger. His mother loved to spoil him and his father would keep him out of trouble with little effort. He had easy choices that were made for him. But recently things have been different. The expectations of his parents raised as he wanted to do nothing but flee from the life they had given him.

You had been safety for him. Your lack of questions and secret intent made you a safe haven. He didn't have to worry about your thoughts of him because he knew they were positive. He didn't have to be concerned with his reputation or his future or his family. He could just exist with you. Exist freely. The bonds which held him to the earth disappeared in your presence and he could float amongst the pink clouds which you lived. 

You were his best friend. And now you were going to be ripped away from him. And there was no one to blame but himself. His unreturned feelings were killing you, this was all his fault. And now your memories would be pulled from you and you would become nothing more than a stranger. 

It hurt to know you may have died for him. Died to keep him in your mind. It hurt to know all the blood you had spilled stained his palms. 

The dorm rooms were darkened, the murky waters of the lake filtering soft moonlight through their depths. Sleep seemed like a faraway friend to Draco as he stared out at nothing. His thoughts were washed together like paint doused in water. A strange dream-like haze had rested over his life since he saw you on that bed. His thumb ran over the bumps of his knuckles, where your hand had rested hours before.

"You shouldn't have blamed her." 

Draco didn't look up, his eyes locked into the dark waters, "I know." 

Blaise sat down next to him, legs crossed, "You should apologize." 

"I know." 

There was a long pause. Neither boy knew what they were supposed to say.

Draco felt his eyes sting, resent bubbling in his stomach, and having nowhere to go, "I don't want to lose her." 

Blaise sighed, "You are either going to have to lose her or love her. It's up to you." 

But it wasn't up to him. He couldn't choose to love you. 

The next day was unsure like a scene that was cut from a movie. Draco spent his time lingering in his hazy consciousness. The thoughts of losing you slowly driving him insane. His vision swam with your image in hallways, eyes falling through him. He would be a stranger to you. And he would have to keep it that way for your own safety. He would be forced to watch his best friend live her life without the memories they shared. The sting of realization grew with each moment.

Your pain had begun to fade. You weren't sure if it was because of the medication or if your body was simply shutting down. The latest you could get McGonagall to cast the spell was tomorrow night. Then every moment you and Draco had shared would be flushed away. 

At least the coughing fits had stopped, thorns no longer tearing your throat to pieces. No more roses covered in blood. You felt a sense of peace.

Your far away mind was drawn back by Madam Pompfery's shrill voice. 

"You may absolutely not visit her!" 

"I just want to apologize!" Another tone retorted.

You sat up quickly, blankets shoved to the side as your bare feet made contact with the ground. 

The argument grew louder as you neared, words turning harsh. 

"Draco?" You called, peeking around the corner to see Madame Pomfrey standing with her back to you blocking the doorway, the blonde just in front of her.

"You should be in bed." The nurse scolded me, turning to look at you.

"I want to see him." You stated firmly.

She had now turned to face you fully, "Go back to bed y/l/n." 

You glared back at the woman, "Let him in." 

There was silence, you're gaze unwavering as the older woman slowly caved. 

"Make it quick Malfoy."

You wanted to choke on the awkward silence that followed after the woman departed. Dracos eyes were glued to you as your own darted between your feet and the nearby wall. 

“She’s right. You should be in bed.” he spoke.

You shrugged, “I was feeling better. The medication helps.”

“You shouldn’t be standing regardless.” He huffed walking past you towards the bed you had been in a few minutes before. 

    You rolled your eyes but followed him, knowing he was right didn’t make you feel any better. 

    “I'm sorry about before,” Draco mumbled as you set yourself against the headboard. You tilted your head in a silent question, “I shouldn't have yelled at you yesterday. It's not your fault.”

    You cracked a small smile, head tilting back until it hit the wall. “Of course it's my fault.” 

    Draco was silent and you gazed at him from the corner of your eye. His eyes were cast at his feet, the melancholy look on his face making you sour. 

    “Please don’t be sad.” You muttered, “I can't have my last memory of you be sad.”

    Despite your plea, his eyes grew misty, the weight on his chest so heavy he thought it might crush him. 

    Your feet felt light and for a moment you thought you might be dying. Your head felt so clear, you wouldn't have been surprised if Draco started saying you were floating off your bed. Your chest felt warm and fuzzy, like hot chocolate after hours in the snow. 

    “I can’t lose you.” Draco sobbed, tears finally spilling from his eyes. “I can’t lose you, y/n. Please don’t leave me.”

    Part of you wanted to slap him, “It's not a choice.” You swallowed thickly, “I didn’t choose to fall in love with you.” It was the truth. You didn’t choose to plunge into the deep waters of absolute devotion. You were pushed. Pushed by each smile and laugh. By each joke and eye roll. He had pushed you into the whirlpool of love and you had been sucked deep under. And now you couldn’t breathe.

    “I can’t watch you forget me.” He croaked his head held in his hands, “I love you y/n, you can't become a stranger to me. I couldn’t watch you live without me. I couldn't live with these memories knowing you don't have them.” 

    Suddenly the lack of pain made sense. The light, fuzzy feeling overwhelming your body was comprehensible, “Say it again.”

    Draco met your eyes, “What?”

    “Say you love me again.”

    His eyes widened, momentary surprise taking him before it was pushed aside by a rush of relief, “I love you.”

    It was like a drug drawn from his lips, it burnt like whiskey down your throat, warmth filling you. You sat forward quickly, hands coming to cup his cheeks, damp and sticky with tears. Droplets of your own gathered, rivers of relief dripping off your chin.

    Your lips met hastily. The taste of salt mixed with the bitterness of blood was unsavory but neither of you seemed to care as you pulled him closer. Kiss deepening as his hands fell to your waist. You found yourself sinking deeper into the water you had fallen into, oxygen suddenly filling your thirsting lungs.

    You were unaware of the thorns that filled Blaise’s. Yellow petals spilled from his lips, his throat filled with blood. As you tucked your head into Draco's chest, his was buried into his hands, tears filling his eyes. He was hopeless, the thorns would tear him apart and you would put roses on his grave

Taglist:

@accio-rogers @roslea @k3nz-doodl3 @theseuscmander @sleepingalaska @chloe-geoghegan1

Masterlist

[rainbowbutterfrosting]

Two scientists, one goal, and a list of procedures

Hi! I wrote this for @averykedavra cause they had a really good point about needing more logicality science fics. I’d like to thank @dramaticsnakes for helping beta-read and some encouragement as well 🥺

Wc: 1.3k

Tws: None? There’s being worried, but it’s mostly fluff

Summary: Logan and Patton were new to performing experiments together, so they started with a classic; elephant toothpaste.

AO3 link

“Alright, Patton, one last run-through of the materials.” Logan slightly adjusted his goggles. His eyes were focused on the checklist on his clipboard.

The moral side smiled to himself as he shifted from one leg to the other from excitement. Logan cleared his throat, “One clean beaker?”

Patton pointed towards the tall glass, “Got it!”

“I see we have the dry yeast,” Logan glanced at the blue and white container that was still sealed. “How about the twenty-nine degrees Celsius water?”

Patton looked at the thermostat in the water, “Twenty-nine? More like it’s looking fine.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “...what?”

Patton fiddled with one of his gloves, “It’s twenty-nine degrees, I honestly didn’t know where I was going with that.”

Logan felt a small smile on his lips, his tone softer than before, “Please take this seriously, Patton. Do we have the liquid dish soap?”

“Yep!”

“3% hydrogen peroxide?”

“Right here,” Patton lifted up a semi-clear bottle with some labeling and waving the liquid around the container. 

Logan glanced up, eyebrows knitting together at the way Patton held it, “I know we have gloves on, but be careful with that.”

Patton put the bottle down, “You worry about me too much, Lo.”

Logan seemed to instantly relax when he saw Patton let go of it. “Sometimes I don’t worry enough.” The sentence was quiet in the room. If Patton was even somewhat focused on something else he would’ve missed it.

“Measuring cups and spoons?”

Patton pointed towards the transparent containers with rainbow lines marking the sides, “Check!”

“We have the large tray and the goggles,” Logan furrowed his brow, glancing at his list once again. “I feel like we’re forgetting something…”

Both of them thought for a moment before Patton quietly asked, “I mean, you didn’t say food coloring, but we do have both the bottles.” The small bottles were two different colors, one a light blue while the other was a dark indigo. Sure, the colors represented their usual outfits, but in the end, the two scientists thought they were aesthetically pleasing together.

Logan’s eyes immediately lit up, “That was what I was missing, thank you.”

“It’s no problem, but now, it’s time for science!” Patton grinned, the phrase brought a familiar nostalgia to him. It wasn’t the kind that exactly made you ache for the past, instead, he just wanted to pull Logan closer and enjoy the moment.

Logan quietly chuckled, “It’s time for science.” Logan grabbed a measuring cup, looking at the side to see where to fill it, “Alright, we need this to be filled with the hydrogen peroxide up to the orange mark, can you do that?”

Patton grabbed the white container, slowly pouring the contents into the glass container. He got it to about half-way before putting the hydrogen peroxide down and looking at the glass from a side view, quickly seeing he needed a little more. He put in a small amount and looked at the side again, it seemed close enough this time. “Alright, what’s next?”

Logan read through his clipboard, “Put in a squirt of dish soap and gently swirl them together.” Logan grabbed the dish soap and a measuring spoon he knew they wouldn’t use. He squirted in the soap and slowly stirred the mixture.

“If you want your foam a single color- we agree on the two colors right?” Logan looked away from the piece of paper and to Patton. 

Patton nodded, “Yeah, the two different blues.” Although the two blues might mix together for a nice cerulean or cornflower, the colors complimented each other beautifully.

Logan noticed the dish soap and hydrogen peroxide were mixed in by now. “Can you grab me that beaker?”

Patton looked to where he was pointing and grabbed the container, putting it in front of the both of them. 

“Thank you, would you like to pour it in?” Logan didn’t push the measuring cup closer to Patton, but he moved his hands away so it could be easily grabbed. 

Patton felt excited at the question, “Absolutely!” He might’ve said it too loud, considering it was just them in the room, but Logan didn’t seem upset at him. 

He grabbed the container and slowly poured it into the beaker, it was quick enough that the liquid didn’t stick to the sides but slow enough that it wouldn’t splash out.

Logan grabbed both of the bottles of food coloring, “Alright, to make sure the colors don’t mix, we need to add drops along the inside of the bottle’s mouth and let them drip in without mixing.” Logan slightly tilted his head to the side, double-checking the paper, “It doesn’t say to alternate the colors, but I feel like that’s a safe assumption.” Patton nodded at the idea.

Logan handed the indigo bottle to Patton while keeping the sky blue one for himself. “You can go first.” 

Patton slightly squeezed the bottle near the rim, seeing the small droplet of dark blue fall down the side of the beaker. Logan followed after placing the light blue a few centimeters away from Patton’s drop. 

They alternated colors, a peaceful silence filling the space between the two of them as they went all around the beaker. 

Logan had a small smile on his face, “Only two more steps until the best part” 

A look of realization came to Logan, “I should probably take this to the sink to not accidentally use it again,” he grabbed the measuring cup that used to hold the hydrogen peroxide and dish soap, his and Patton’s fingers brushing together as he put in the sink, cleaning it out with water. 

He dried his hands with a paper towel before turning back to the experiment, taking a short glance at Patton before reading his clipboard. “In a new measuring cup, mix together one tablespoon of yeast and three tablespoons of warm water. Then stir for about thirty seconds.”

 Patton grabbed the measuring cup and the container of dry yeast while Logan grabbed two tablespoons and the cup of warm water. 

Logan put one of the tablespoons down on the table as he got a tablespoon full of water. Patton grabbed the measuring device and carefully scooped the yeast and dropped it into the measuring cup. There was a small dust cloud that popped up, but seeing how Logan didn’t react, Patton figured it wasn’t detrimental to the experiment.

Logan quickly scooped the water three times, putting it into the measuring cup. He grabbed the last tablespoon nearby and handed it to Patton, “Would you like to stir?”

Patton grabbed the spoon putting out a quick thank you as he stirred the two substances together. He mentally counted the thirty seconds and almost poured it into the beaker before hesitating and looking towards Logan.

He could barely wait for the final reaction. Logan read from his clipboard, “Pour the yeast mixture into the beaker and quickly step back.”

Patton quickly poured the mixture in, stepping back to where Logan was. Logan subtly wrapped his arm around Patton’s waist as the sky blue and indigo striped foam shot out of the beaker. It didn’t shoot high, only a few inches, but Patton grinned in child-like wonder. 

After a few seconds, Patton excitedly spoke, “Wait wait wait, how does all of that work? I mean, I know Thomas studied the stuff but- like!!!” Patton took a moment to compose himself. “What- well- what I mean is can you explain it and stuff?”

Logan beamed from this, “You… you want to learn about it?” The words were quiet, but shimmering in a hidden delight.

“Of course!” 

There was no malice shown behind Patton’s words. He- he seemed excited at the idea to learn about chemistry. Logan laughed out of disbelief, “Yeah- I mean- yes, yes of course I’ll explain it.”

Patton threw his arms around Logan’s chest, “Thank you.” Patton let out a laugh of relief, “ I may not be the best assistant or student, but I’ll try my best for you.”

“Oh, Patton, you’re the best scientist I’ve ever met.”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Pet the Kitty ch.2 (spicyhoney standalone)

Summary: Edge does not resent that his cat is utterly shameless when it comes to Stretch. (He just wishes he could do the same)

Notes: This was supposed to be a oneshot but achirding had a thought and it became chapter 2! Based entirely on their idea, please enjoy!

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Lemon Goodness, Rough Sex, Yearning, Jealous of a Damn Cat

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge lay back on the sheets, panting, legs clumsily sprawled apart and one arm dangling off the side of the bed. His long fingers grazed against the carpeted floor, the sharpened tips catching as he tried to convince his wits to gather themselves back together in a coherent fashion. Slumped next to him, Stretch was much the same or at least Edge could pretend that his gaspy breathing was not only from exertion. If they were both equally overwhelmed, then there was no winner, was there, no matter what Stretch’s sly grin said.

The radio was on and playing cheerful pop music, a feeble concession to his neighbors, and Edge had long since moved the bed against an unshared wall where the thump of the headboard wouldn’t earn any irritated shouts or worse, glares in the hallway on the way down to get his mail.

Edge shifted again, grimacing as the linen beneath him clung clammily to his bones. They would need washing again, he noted absently, the sheets. Damp with sweat and other various fluids, heavy with the cloying scent of magic tangled in sex, spicy-sweet. Black sheets, the color not chosen for its aesthetic but for its tendencies to hide stains and purchased more recently than Edge wanted to admit. Before Stretch, his sheets had been simple and utilitarian, simple white cotton washed once a week with hot water and strong detergent. It took less than one night with Stretch to convince him that those would no longer suit. Once Edge found himself inviting Stretch over to put the bed to regular use, he’d gone for something a little more pleasing. It was well worth the price of a higher thread count when they slid against his bones as he was dragged across them, knees and elbows digging in as he scrabbled to brace himself or the achingly sensitive rub of his sacrum grinding into the softer linens. Sheets that hid a multitude of stains and were gentle against bones? More than worth the price.

Sex with Stretch was not what he’d expected when they first started this. For one, for such a lazy shit, he had more stamina that Edge would ever have expected and that blasted, obnoxious attitude of his was much less annoying when coupled with a sly grin and a tongue that was clever with far more than silly puns.

Sex with Stretch. Words that Edge would never have imagined putting together in a sentence that included himself, but if he’d ever managed to put aside his disbelief long enough to consider it, he would have pictured himself as the one in charge. Taking control, guiding their sexual calisthenics to the foregone conclusion. But from their very first time Stretch trod right over the very idea to pin Edge down, his slim fingers bracketing Edge’s wrists like cuffs of bone and keeping them there until he’d crudely teased out a first orgasm with nothing more than the subtle, rhythmic pressure of his knee.

Thus far, he’d dominated every one of their encounters and even less believable to him was that Edge found he liked it. Fuck that, he could at least be honest with himself in the privacy of his own mind; he loved it. Loved being able to lie back and hand over the steering wheel to someone else, his usual iron need to command shoved firmly into the backseat while he could only shudder with bliss, writhe against his expensive sheets and take what was forcibly given to him in hitherto unknown delight.

If there was any minor complaint, it was only the increase in his laundry and…ah. Well. There was one other issue.

Edge felt the faint brush of soft fur briefly against his dangling hand and then Doomfanger leapt on the bed, her loud baby cry demanding attention as she butted her head rudely against Stretch’s bare hip.

“hey, there, pretty miss.” Stretch automatically reached down to pet her, scratching the delicate points of her ears as she began to purr loudly enough that Edge could feel the vibration through the mattress. Edge bit back the entirely unreasonable demand for that easy affection to return to him. The faint ache at his pubis, the disjointed feel of his hips and knees was a fair sign he’d just gotten plenty of attention, not to mention his very recent memory of Stretch’s tongue curling wetly against his cunt. Driving into him as Edge tipped his head back and stared unseeing at the ceiling until he could no longer bear it. Closing his sockets achingly tight, his hands scrabbling desperately over Stretch’s skull and leaving behind faint scratches as he arched up and came.

He’d had all of that not even a half hour ago and he refused to be jealous of his damned cat, even when Stretch cooed to her about being a pretty girl while he struggled to his feet. His knees seemed to still be unsteady and Edge bit the tip of his tongue against asking Stretch to stay at least long enough for his joints to settle.

Pathetic to quibble about the aftermath. He’d gotten what he wanted, Stretch gave as good as he got and took what he wanted from these…sessions. Whatever else he wanted was as nebulous as the night sky Stretch liked to watch with the others, their telescopes set up in the backyard as they went over star charts and internet pages, and Edge sometimes brought them hot chocolate and snacks, listened to Stretch’s teasing laughter and silly puns, and it made some emotion clench in Edge’s chest that felt almost the same as seeing Stretch being so gentle and sweet to his cat.

Doomfanger made a sound of displeasure as Stretch stopped petting her to skin into his pants, the waistband already drooping enticingly down his pelvis as he hauled his hoodie over his head and hid the exposed bone. Something rattled in his hoodie pocket and Stretch reached into it with one hand, gripping beneath the cloth. He coughed faintly and looked ill at ease as he said, “oh, uh, by the way, i brought you something.”

That made Edge blink in surprise. Presents certainly weren’t a regular occurrence, past the one time Stretch brought a sackful of Chinese takeout with him, both of them slurping delicious noodles and fried rice right from the waxy white containers, and when Stretch finally pushed him down on the sofa, his kiss tasted of orange chicken and soy sauce, rich and ridiculously delicious.

This was no cheap offering. The box Stretch pulled out of his pocket was long and narrow, bearing the mark of a local jeweler. He held it out wordlessly and Edge tugged the sheet carelessly over his lap before he took it, his fingers trembling faintly as he lifted the lid to see the contents.

A collar.

All the heady anticipation rising in him deflated, draining out of him like water through a sieve. It was a lovely collar to be sure, obviously handcrafted and the leather precisely stamped with a delicate skull motif surrounded by ornate curlicues and shapes. Dangling from it was a gold tag etched in flowing script, a single word, his own name, ‘Papyrus.’

Lovely, yes, but it was difficult to stifle his rising disappointment. Of all the gifts in all the world that Stretch could give him, it was something for his cat.

Ridiculous, he told himself savagely. It was a gift and certainly a pricy one, and he was not about to let Stretch see any ingratitude for it.

“It’s lovely,” he admitted, and he could only helplessly admire the way Stretch lit up, his odd uncertainly brightening into dazzling glee.

“yeah? i was hoping you’d like it, i…i wasn’t sure,” he laughed a little unsteadily, “i spent a lot of time thinking about it, you know?”

“Of course I like it,” Edge assured him. He hefted it in one hand, admiring the dark leather against the paleness of his bones. It was certainly excellent craftsmanship and if its intended audience wasn’t likely to fully appreciate that, then Edge could certainly do it in her place.

“good, that’s good, ‘cause i was thinking—” Stretch trailed off as Edge pulled Doomfanger over, ignoring her plaintive meows as he slipped off her old collar, a basic affair from the local pet store, and carefully fastened on the new one. He noted grudgingly that the dark brown leather looked even better against her wheaten fur. She twisted in his hold, tail lashing as she tried to see what he was to do to her, and Edge soothed a hand down her spine as he adjusted her new adornment.

He frowned, tugging at the collar. It slid far too loosely, he could easily fit three fingers or more beneath it and the buckle was on the very last hole. “Hm, it’s a little big.” He glanced at Stretch and his face was falling into dismay, his previous delight fading. Edge added hastily, “Of course, it shouldn’t be a problem to add another hole.” Or three, honestly, the creator should have asked for a better measure before he made it. It was a shame to see any shoddiness in such lovely work.

A hectic flush was rising in Stretch’s face, a bright mottled orange against his cheekbones and Edge cursed himself for bringing it up. He could have had it adjusted without saying anything and instead he’d made Stretch self-conscious about his gift. “I love it,” Edge said, trying for reassurance.

From the way Stretch flinched, his attempt was miserable failure. “…great. yeah. that…that’s great.” Stretch ducked his head and ran a hand over his skull, slim fingers clattering softly over the bone. “i’m glad. um. i guess i better get going.”

It was peculiar to see him so discomfited and uncertain, especially here in his bedroom. Stretch fairly oozed confidence whenever they were together, and Edge let that dominance wash over him every time with the force of an ocean wave, trusting enough to give himself over to Stretch’s control.

Trust, yes, he trusted Stretch in a way Edge never had another, and a renewed sense of guilt filled him for making Stretch think he didn’t like his gift when honestly Edge never expected any to begin with. Edge wasn’t particularly skilled in seduction in any sense of the word, but this time he made an attempt. He gently pushed Doomfanger aside despite her offended yowl of protest to lounge back on the messy sheets, stroking a hand down his femur in generous offering as he tried out a purr of his own, “Are you sure?”

Pale eye lights flicked over his bare bones lingeringly, tracing his femurs, his pelvis, the scarred bones of his ribs, only to falter at the level of his chin. Stretch only stepped further away, towards the door as he stammered out, “y-yeah. see you later.” And with that, he turned abruptly on his heel and walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.

Edge sighed and flopped back again without any pretense of eroticism, dragging the comforter over his suddenly chilled bones. Fanger took that as an invitation of sorts, picking her way delicate across the sheets to settle into Edge’s covered lap. He stroked her soft fur and tried to push aside his unreasonable upset. It certainly wasn’t her fault Stretch gave her a present. It was still difficult to even believe. A present for his damned cat, even if it was a lovely one. Edge rubbed his knuckles against Fanger’s throat where the purring vibration met the collar, fingered soft fur and leather. When he touched the delicate tag, it tinkled against the bare bone with a bell-like chime. Absently, he traced his name with a fingertip, the delicate, curling script flowing across glimmering metal. His name.

His…name…

A flashbulb went off inside his head with a near blinding pop and Edge was scrambling to his feet before he even fully understood, snatching clothes haphazardly from the floor and hopping on one foot as he struggled to pull up his trousers, already calling a frantic, “Wait!”

The pavement was cold against his bare feet as he dashed outside and Edge paid it no mind, jogging out to the sidewalk to look down the street. The sidewalk was empty, hardly a surprise, Stretch wasn’t about to walk home when a quick shortcut would do. He stood there uselessly in rumpled trousers, his unbuttoned shirt hanging open and his hands dangling emptily at his sides as he groaned aloud, a frustrated, wordless growl. He was an idiot, an absolute fool, and—

“looking for something?”

Edge whirled around with a gasp, his soul pounding. Stretch was leaning against the side of the building, a cigarette in hand, and the sight of him, slouched down in that ridiculous hoodie of his and a curious, lopsided smile curving his mouth did unreasonable things to Edge’s soul.

“More like someone,” Edge said. He took a step closer and hesitated, assaulted with vague uncertainty as he asked, “That…that wasn’t for my cat, was it.”

That smile widened teasingly, “dunno, it did look pretty good on her.”

Edge swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “Stretch—”

He shrugged and took a drag off his cigarette, exhaling a perfect smoke ring that drifted towards Edge, hovering briefly over his head in a nicotine-tainted halo. “guess it’s for whoever you think should wear it.”

An offer and a compromise in one, giving him the choice. As if there was one. Edge licked his teeth, their sharp points prickling lightly against his tongue, watched Stretch watching him, that slow, sinuous movement crackling in his darkening eye lights.

“Come put it on me?” Edge asked hoarsely.

“i can do that, kitten,” Stretch said, only his voice was the one purring, titillatingly rough, shivering its way down Edge’s spine. He tossed his cigarette aside and stepped forward, his touch cool against Edge’s suddenly overheated face as Stretch cupped it in both gentle hands and kissed him.

-fin

[dramaism]

2020 CREATOR WRAP: FAVORITE WORKS

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome work

i was tagged by @tiesanjiao @gimme-a-chocolate and @kojiseok! thank you so much :3 sorry i’m a little bit late

this year i was giffing pretty much the same as last year. but i genuinely think that i improved a lot! i started giffing 1080p videos instead of 720p ones plus coloring and sharping differently. so here’s my top gifsets this year (in order of posting)!

~ this kdrama edition international women’s day gifset — you have no idea how much i love this! the coloring and the sharping are amazing, the quote’s wonderful and i’m so proud of myself for the text in the post because i wrote it myself. choosing scenes was so difficult but it was worth it.

~ this iotnbo gifset of episode 5 ending — this was new to me - i used 1080p video for the first time and tried new gif size. i like it very much it’s simple and wasn’t so hard to do but still it looks amazing. i can’t believe i made it.

~ this gang tae protecting mun yeong gifset —  A COMPILATION!!! okay you don’t know about this but I LOVE compilation gifsets! literally every time i manage to make a good compilation gifset i’m on the cloud nine. and this is one of those gifsets. i actually think it’s one of the best compilation gifsets i’ve ever done. it’s just p-e-r-f-e-c-t from head to toe.

~ this 5 stages of loving you gifset — i’ve always seen this quote everywhere like literally in every fandom so i wanted to make gifset with this quote myself. and i finally did it! i redacted a lot of original but i still love it so much. the scenes chosen? perfect. i especially love the 5th gif!!!

~ this gifset of our favorite family from iotnbo — i love it mostly because of the coloring! it was so hard to choose how to color this but i’m glad that i decided to do this green color i think it looks amazing!

~ this couple quotes gifset — usually when the drama is over i make a big gifset wit a lot of small gifs and quotes (like this and this) but this time i tried different format focusing on the faces and dialogs and i like it so much more! 

~ this *aesthetic* gifset of totnt — because of this drama i made my first attempt in aesthetic gifsets! this one i like the most.

~ this gifset of brothers in totnt — i don’t know why i love this that much but i think the coloring is gorgeous plus their acting is amazing and it makes this gifset much more likable. plus it’s the first time i started to use this orange unusual color on the text on gifs.

~ this 18 again gifset — my favorite this year!!! i used the ost’s lyrics and managed to create this feeling of sadness with this gifset. the scenes chosen for this are perfect. and the parallels? THE BEST QUOTE GIFSET I EVER DONE. like, literally. 

~ this *let’s go pumpkin* gifset — i love all my the uncanny counter gifsets but i’m choosing this one because she called him pumpkin and he’s the cutest here!

~ this true beauty gifset — i love everything about this. this was my first time sharpening not in the pc and it turned out amazing. also the coloring is one of my favorites.

~ this ju kyung and seo jun’s never ending bickering gifset — again, a compilation gifset. at first i didn’t like it but now i love it! i probably didn’t like it because i spent a lot of time and nerves to make this but it’s actually pretty good. i managed to put the whole scene in just two gifs, i’m proud of this.

wow the post is so long i’m so sorry and thank you if you read it ‘till the end.

tagging (i tried to tag people that weren’t tagged before, if you’ve done this already i’m sorry): @kimjisooos @moonlightsdream @dohyunsoo @junghaesin @chaeunwoo @dingyuxi @ryn-s

ofc there’s no pressure! and everybody if you see this and want to do this go ahead and tag me in your post, i want to see your fav works!

[absentlyabbie]

a family and (mis)fortune fic

on ao3

moments growing up in the life of tommy merlyn, part-time wayne foster child. (five)

—————

Gotham was not Starling City.

It was loud, like cities should be, but the noise was different from the background of Tommy’s first nine years and nine months of life, with steam hissing through sidewalk grates and the subways rushing and rumbling and the elevated railways clacking and roaring. Everyone talked like they were in a hurry and the fastest way to get somewhere was to take the least possible time to say anything. Even the accents were weird, clipped but broad.

The days were rainier in Gotham than Starling, and grayer, usually overcast when it wasn’t raining. Every step down the city streets splashed or scraped with that wet grit of sneaker sole on damp pavement. Starling rained plenty, but the showers usually gave way to sunshine, and wet on the streets shone with color and light like the city itself. It was colder here, too, and everyone seemed to expect it would snow before Thanksgiving.

Gotham wasn’t home.

Tommy was trying his best not to hold that against it.

Technically, he knew, he didn’t have a home anymore.

And Dad always used to say that beggars can’t be choosers.

He also used to say no son of his was weak enough to beg. That Merlyns were strong, and that you had to take what you wanted out of life.

Tommy was still a Merlyn, but he felt pretty weak these days. He couldn’t imagine taking anything from life when everything had already been taken from him. He thought he didn’t mind if this made him not his dad’s son. It had felt that way for a long time, so might as well make it official. That is, if being an orphan didn’t do that already.

All these thoughts stewed together in Tommy’s gut like too much soda and bad corndogs, grumbling and cramping. It was hard to keep the scowl off his face as he trailed behind Bruce and Dick down the sidewalk, dirty Gotham rainwater soaking his socks and making his feet squelch in his sneakers, but Tommy didn’t want to be caught looking like a problem. Bruce got that look every time he caught Tommy scowling, or frowning, or even smiling.

Tommy could usually tell who adults wanted him to be or had decided he was. Bruce was frustrating. Nothing seemed to be right. He’d said the day he brought Tommy here that Tommy only needed to be him, and as nice as that had sounded, Tommy couldn’t trust it. Because he wanted to, he knew he shouldn’t.

Nobody wanted Tommy to be himself.

Nobody wanted Tommy.

He was sure Bruce had come in out of nowhere and claimed Tommy for some reason. There was some kind of Tommy that Bruce was looking for him to be. He just hadn’t figured out what it was yet. And he needed to hurry it up, before somebody decided there’d been a mistake and it was time to send Tommy somewhere else.

(If he thought this would get him sent back to Starling to live with the Queens, Tommy would wear out his welcome with Bruce Wayne by the weekend, no doubt. But the Queens didn’t want him, or he wouldn’t be here in the first place.)

Gotham might not be home, but Alfred was nice, and Dick was really cool, and if Bruce decided to keep Tommy, Tommy would still get to spend most of the year in Starling. With Ollie.

At least Ollie wanted him.

For a second, he missed Ollie so fiercely he couldn’t hear, feel, or see anything else—

—and in that second, he tripped right up the stairs leading up to the front doors of Wayne Enterprises.

Tommy cried out in surprise and windmilled his arms, eyes squeezing shut in anticipation of falling flat on his face and losing a whole lot of skin. But instead of the harsh, scraping impact on the cement and hard angles, there was a tight grip around his upper arm and a sharp jerk against the pull of gravity.

Tommy stumbled instead of fell, and the grip on his arm didn’t let go.

“Whoa there, maybe leave the tumbling to the trained professionals, yeah?”

Tommy opened his eyes to see Dick a step and a half above him, upper body twisted around and one arm thrown back as a counterweight to the hand curved around Tommy’s thin arm. Tommy’s eyes went wide and his cheeks burst into flame, but Dick just grinned, those dark blue eyes always laughing—but not at Tommy.

“Thanks,” Tommy mumbled, rubbing his arm as Dick let him go.

“Everything alright?”

Tommy flinched at the mild question, but Dick didn’t even glance back at Bruce, turned towards them on the top step with his hand on the door. Tommy’s eyes darted across Bruce’s stupid unreadable face, heart pounding harder than when he’d been bracing to kiss the pavement.

He waited for the disappointed purse of lips he would’ve seen on Moira. Anticipated the irritable, snapping demand to pay attention Dad would have barked for Tommy’s embarrassing flailing. Even the exasperated impatience the au pair Dad had hired for a while would have huffed with.

Bruce’s brow furrowed just a little and he looked Tommy up and down. Tommy felt every inch the grubby, clumsy brat, too much work, not smart enough, too inconvenient, not quiet or easygoing enough, just too much and not enough from head to toe.

But Bruce just nodded to himself and pushed his mouth into a smile that looked like it was supposed to be reassuring. He pulled open the door and gestured to the boys to head inside with a sweep of his hand.

Tommy hurried through the door on Dick’s heels, doing his best not to hunch his shoulders or duck his head. If he looked too tense, Bruce might try to talk to him. He was even worse at talking than he was at hugs.

(Although, Tommy figured he might deserve at least a little credit for trying. Not everybody bothered.)

Tommy had been in plenty of big-deal office buildings before, but even so, his head tipped back and mouth fell open as he stepped into the lobby of Wayne Enterprises. 

He’d been in the Merlyn Global Group building many times, and in Queen Consolidated often, too. They both looked kind of the same, all flashy colors and sharp lines and things his dad had called “sleek” and “modern.” The biggest difference between them that Tommy could tell was that his dad’s company liked darker colors and Mr. Queen’s company was bright and friendly colors.

Wayne Enterprises didn’t look anything like that. Everything was curves and arches and warm orange-yellow colors and bronze or brass or whichever metal that was. He was pretty sure the style was called “art deco” but not, like, sure sure. He liked art and the way things looked and he always paid more attention during history lessons when they talked about art periods and styles, but it was hard to remember what was called what for longer than it took to take a test about it.

Tommy stood in Wayne Enterprises’s lobby and stared around, and he decided he liked it. Dad’s company made him think it was trying too hard to be cool, and Mr. Queen’s like it was trying too hard to be fun. Bruce’s company made Tommy feel like they had what his mom would call class. It was impressive, like they knew what they were about and so did you and they could just do what they liked without trying too hard to seem impressive.

If he ever ran a business someday like his dad had wanted him to, Tommy thought he might want it to look kind of like this.

“Fancy, right?” Dick asked, the question only just making Tommy realize the older boy was standing beside him.

Tommy cut a quick glance towards Bruce, standing just on the other side of Dick. He shrugged his shoulders in a casual jerk. “It’s really different from Merlyn Global. I guess it’s pretty cool.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said, weirdly serious for a compliment from an almost ten year old. Bruce smiled at him. “I saw you looking at the architecture and design. Call me biased, but I’d say you’ve got a good eye.”

A quick surge of pride leapt bright and warm in Tommy’s chest. He squished it ruthlessly, like a bug. He gave Bruce another shrug, like it didn’t matter.

“My father was very proud of the choices he made in Wayne Enterprises’s aesthetic. It’s needed a little updating from time to time of course, but I’ll give him credit, it’s very classic, difficult to go out of style. And I can speak from experience that style does matter.”

Bruce looked around fondly as he spoke, and Tommy remembered that Bruce’s parents weren’t around anymore either, and hadn’t been for a long time. He wasn’t even that old. Bruce talked about his dad like he still missed him, and Tommy couldn’t help but feel a little jealous, even if it also maybe made him like Bruce a little bit more.

“Your dad had good taste,” he said awkwardly. It sounded like something nice his mom would’ve said, and grownups always talked about “taste” like it was important.

Bruce laughed softly and thanked him again, and Dick gave Tommy a subtle nod like he’d said the right thing. Tommy let out a little bit of breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Come on,” Bruce said, reaching out a hand like he’d rest it on Dick’s or Tommy’s shoulders but not actually touching either of them. “We’re here to give you a tour. It’d be a shame to stop with just the lobby.”

“You’re gonna love the R-and-D department. That’s where all the sick gadgets get made,” Dick enthused with a grin, walking backwards to talk to Tommy as they followed Bruce towards the elevators.

Bruce turned a narrow-eyed, half-amused warning look on Dick as he hit the call button, but Dick just spun on his heel to turn that grin on Bruce in sunny defiance. Bruce shook his head and heaved a sigh, but there was a smile sneaking into the corner of his mouth.

Tommy watched this with interest and wondered if maybe this was what Bruce was looking for. If playing the rascally jokester, cheeky and endearingly feisty, was the way to go to fit here. It would hardly even be an effort. The trouble was, he wouldn’t be as good at it as Dick. Tommy could do the jokes—the worse the better—and he was usually pretty good at being endearing, but Dick was funnier, livelier, and he had the circus thing going for him.

No, imitating Dick could backfire too easy. It might be fun and charming from Dick, but if Tommy piled on the same and made it annoying and obnoxious, one of them might have to go and Tommy already knew it wouldn’t be Dick.

He chewed over ideas on the ride up the elevator, but they slipped away once they started visiting different departments on different floors.

Everyone greeted Bruce. Everyone had always greeted Tommy’s dad at work, too, but this wasn’t like that. At Dad’s work, everyone always seemed nervous and like they were being on their best behavior, which Tommy understood. But Dad only ever paid attention to people in charge, and it seemed like it was mostly to remind them that he was in charge of them.

The people at Wayne Enterprises greeted Bruce like they respected him, but also like they liked him, and even more like they knew him. Bruce stopped to chat with most people, asking them questions about their families or projects or stuff they liked. Which meant he knew all of that. But what Tommy couldn’t figure out was why he knew it. And he didn’t seem fake about it either. He sounded like he cared what the answer was when he asked about them.

Even more, everyone seemed to know Dick, too. Tommy knew Dick had been living with Bruce for two or three years already, but he must have come by Wayne Enterprises a lot in that time. People talked to him. And he talked back, and Bruce didn’t seem to mind. Dad would have clenched his jaw and quietly but sternly reminded Tommy that children were to be seen and not heard. But people here treated Dick like he was just… a person.

It was almost enough to break something in Tommy’s head. Adults didn’t treat kids like they were people. It was like he’d stumbled into some kind of weird Twilight Zone episode.

All of this served to make Tommy unusually shy when Bruce introduced him, and he introduced him to everybody. He hadn’t been prepared for all these people to be looking at him, and worse, paying attention. What were they seeing? Some orphan tagalong? Somebody who didn’t belong?

He got more and more tense with each hand he shook, waiting for all the questions he hated most. Where were his parents. Was he here with family. 

How long would he be staying.

The questions didn’t come.

Any time it would start to come up, or someone looked like they were going to start asking, it got deftly shut down. To Tommy’s growing awe, Bruce and Dick worked like some kind of coordinated act, with Bruce smoothly slipping in a “Tommy’s going to be staying with us from now on” and handing off to Dick to distract with a joke or a question of his own.

It was kind of amazing. It explained enough, was polite, even friendly, but was firm that this was all the information they needed about it. And nobody pushed back or pretended not to get it. Tommy hoped he’d be able to figure out how to do that himself sometime.

The other options were trying not to cry in front of strangers, or angry outbursts, and those were bad options that would get him labeled a problem faster than he could sneeze.

After a while, some three or four floors later and in a department Tommy couldn’t remember, Bruce got pulled a little away to look at something, leaving Tommy and Dick standing around by a short conference table with a bowl of peppermints on it. Dick grabbed a handful and tossed Tommy a couple as well.

Unwrapping one of his mints, Dick nudged Tommy with an elbow and asked quietly, “You doing okay? The whole tour’s kind of a lot, I know.”

“Yeah,” Tommy answered, frowning down at one of his own mints and slowly untwisting the plastic. “I’m good. It’s just. Yeah, it’s a lot. There’s so many people, I didn’t know we were gonna be talking to all these people.”

Dick popped his peppermint into his mouth and leaned against the table, nodding sagely. “It’s a big company, like, really big actually, but this is the home office and Bruce likes to know everybody, kind of acts like it’s just a small family thing.” He smiled, his mint clacking against his teeth. “Actually kinda reminds me of the circus.”

Tommy’s head pulled up sharp, the skeptical scrunch of his face making Dick laugh.

“Okay, there’s a lot less spandex and sequins, sure, but I mean the way everybody is sort of a family. Or, community, whatever. People who can be kind of annoying but care and look out for you.” Dick shrugged.

Tommy sure liked the sound of that, but it just… didn’t sound real to him. He thought maybe that was something wrong with him, not the other way around. So instead of saying anything about that, he made his skeptical face scrunchier and, when Dick raised an eyebrow back, asked, “So did you wear a lot of spandex and sequins?”

Dick’s eyes widened slowly as he realized Tommy was poking fun at him. His lips twitched. “Listen,” he said, then, mouth blooming full into a smile, he reached for Tommy. “C’mere, brat.”

Tommy giggled and ducked away, darting around to the other side of the conference table. “Betcha were super cute in tights.”

“I’m gonna get you,” Dick declared, the menace ruined by laughter. “Get back here. Don’t think I won’t come over that table, I’m an acrobat.”

Tommy cackled, shuffling left and right as Dick feinted at coming around one way then the other. “I dunno, can you do that in jeans or do you need the outfit?”

Dick squawked in outrage—and how he did that without choking on his peppermint, Tommy didn’t know—and vaulted, literally, hands smacking on the table and legs going up as he went over.

Squealing, Tommy hurried under the table, the rolling chairs clacking together as he shoved them out of his way to pop out on the other side. He bounced to his feet and turned to see Dick narrowing his eyes at him, looking mildly impressed. It made Tommy grin so hard it almost hurt his cheeks.

“Boys.” Bruce’s exasperated voice brought Tommy’s head whipping around and he went still. Bruce had crossed half the room towards them, arms folded and head shaking.

(For a moment, Tommy felt the whole world tip a little sideways, and the ghost of his father stood there next to Bruce. Instead of loosely crossed arms and a warm glittering in the eye, Malcolm Merlyn stood straight as a sword, chin up to show the height of his disappointment, arms at his sides and hands in discreet fists. For a moment, Tommy couldn’t believe what he’d done, how stupid he’d been to be so embarrassing and poorly behaved in public.)

There was laughter behind Bruce, a man a little older than Bruce sitting at a desk and smiling wide and chuckling openly. “You sure have your hands full now, Mr. Wayne.”

A woman in a suit at the whiteboard on the other side of the room grinned. “Just wait until they start ganging up on you. I’ve got twins around their age and they’ll run circles around you before you can blink.”

Bruce made a rueful, amused sound. “Please don’t give them any ideas.”

“Oh, it’s way too late for that,” Dick announced, leaning across the table and beaming. “I’ve got a partner in crime now.” Bruce made a little face at that, but Dick just looked encouraged, grinning wider. “We’re gonna drive you absolutely batty.”

All this laughter and joking, everyone teasing and having fun.

But Tommy just tried not to breathe too loudly, hands balled up and trembling at his sides.

Don’t make me go don’t make me go don’t make me go

Bruce sighed, and the sound could have been a gunshot in Tommy’s head. He didn’t blink as Bruce closed the distance between them, and it was only because he was frozen that he didn’t flinch when Bruce committed this time, his hand landing light and large between Tommy’s shoulderblades.

“To be honest,” he said softly, looking back and forth between Dick and Tommy, lips curling without force or hiding, “I’m looking forward to it.”

Laughter around them, warm and friendly, and Dick and Bruce smiling, Bruce’s hand on his back.

Slowly, so slowly, Tommy felt his body loosen again, felt his lungs expand in full.

The danger was passed. He was still here. He didn’t know what he’d done right, but he’d work hard to figure it out. Because he was still here.

For now.

—————

@memcjo @klaus-hargreeves-katz @its-a-pygmy-puffle @keabbs @princesssarcastia @obscure-sentimentalist @icannotbelieveiamhere @p0cketw0tch @andyouweremine @storiesofimagination @acheaptrickandacheesyoneline @cronusamporaofficial @batsonthebrain @adeusminhacolombina @relevanttosomeone

[piprocrastinator]

Pumpkin Spice Feelings and Apple Cider Kisses

MewGulf

Fluff piece. could be considered a proposal piece. Pumpkin patch and carving pumpkins. Fluff. Cute stuff. Fall fic.

Length: 5740

This wasn’t their year-long honeymoon, not even close. This was just a short (two-week-long) vacation - and they weren’t even engaged yet. Not for lack of want though for either party. Mostly for lack of Mews part. He was trying. And Gulf was patient, as ever. The sweet sweet boy.

But it was a vacation and they were together so the rest could be figured out later. Mew wondered if he would finally cave and propose during their vacation or keep pushing it off because (among a few other things), ‘ it wasn’t perfec t.’ Hating his perfectionist side when it came to certain things like work and Gulf. Sometimes there would be a moment that he would think ' yeah this could be it ' but then not do it because ' what if there was a better moment late r'? A more perfect moment.

Maybe it would be in the thicket of trees, surrounded by oranges, yellows, and browns. All bundled up because winters in Thailand were not nearly as cold as they were here in the states. Maybe he could find a perfect moment here?

When Tul had mentioned friends in the states who had a rental cabin, it hasn’t taken long for Mew to book them a trip out. He planned everything (anal as he was about everything going according to plan - there goes  that  side of him again). Now -a few months after Tul has mentioned it- they were standing in a field of pumpkins surrounded by the most beautiful autumn color scheme. Leaves crunching under their boots as they move from pumpkin to pumpkin.

They had layered up, Gulf only putting one layer -and the damn blue blanket around his shoulder like some sort of cape- stating he wasn’t that prone to the cold as Mew was but immediately shivering as soon as the cold winter chill hit his face. Mew stuffed the extra coat he’d brought (specifically because he knew Gulf would do this) over Gulf, stuffing a knitted hat down over his ears -already pink and chilled, not forgetting to drop a kiss to them to help them warm up - before finally catching those hands to cover them with warm mittens. Mittens that were now holding up a pumpkin above the boy's head, giant smile plastered across his face.

“P’Mew looks at this one,” Gulf yells, uncaring of the other couples and families he’s disturbed in his joy. "It's the best most perfect pumpkin."

Mew can't help but think Gulf fits so well within the surrounding beauty. Like something out of a magazine. His skin glowing with its soft undertones of pink wrapped in the soft browns and yellows (because Mew is nothing if not always fashionable and made sure to pick out clothes that he knew would fit their activities) that blend in perfectly with the autumn aesthetic. He looks like he smells of pumpkin spice that they put in everything here in the states.

Breathtaking  was the only word he could think of. But stunning or ethereal might be close seconds. He, like always, was enamored by Gulf.

He could imagine their proposal being in a place like this and is almost sad that he didn’t bring the rings with him. He'd been too worried about making sure Gulf was sufficiently covered up to even think about grabbing them before they left.

“Looks perfect. Does it have a matching pair?” Mew asks, in a much more muted tone than the yell he had received. Gulf purses his lips, wide eyes flitting around.

Mew lets his eyes wander around the pumpkin patch. He lands on a couple a few rows down, two females who are wearing significantly fewer clothes than he and Gulf. He assumes they must have grown up around here to be ok with only a jacket and a hat. No gloves in sight. He's got a winter jacket, a sweater, and a body warmer on and can still feel the chill.

He watches as one leans into the other for a cheek kiss, he can hear the exchange of praise on her pumpkin find. He spots matching rings on their fingers. A little rumble of jealousy rolling up into him because he's not currently wearing matching rings with his beloved. It's petty and he is fully aware it's his fault, doesn't stop the jealousy though. He watches the girls walk out of the field together happily chatting over their pumpkin before he turns back to Gulf - who seems to have made a friend.

The closer he gets he can hear the small child talking about how he lost his parents. Gulf, who's grouched to the kids level, glances around sending a worried glance Mew's way.

“I think he lost his parents,” Gulf says and the kid sends them a weird glance. Probably the Thai instead of English.

“What do your parents look like?” Mew says in English and the boy purses his lips, looking dejectedly around. He doesn’t blame the kid for not knowing, he couldn’t be more than six. Mew probably couldn’t describe his mom now if he lost her in a crowd much less at that age. Thank technology for phones so he didn't have to worry about that.

Mew spots a couple off to the other side of the field, frantically looking around. Gulf catches the stare before he ushers the kid onto his back. Giving a few bounces to earn a smile.

“Is that them?” Gulf asks in English, the small boy peering over his shoulder before letting out a squeal.

“Mommy.” The boy flapping his hands in that direction. Guess they were right.

“Let me take him over-“

“I got it," Gulf interrupts him with a small and another small bounce to adjust the kid on his back, "Someone needs to protect the perfect pumpkin and he's already on my back.”

Mew stands astonished and flabbergasted for a moment. Gulf was not one to be confident in his English but he didn’t see the least bit bothered as he talked to the kid in broken English. Even now as he watches Gulf head across the field, he can see them chatting together and something pulls in his heart.

He adds ‘adoption’ to his mental list of future events to have with Gulf right after getting a house together but before living a long happy life together. He glances down at the pumpkin at his feet, the best pumpkin as Gulf had named it. It was a nice pumpkin.

Mew looks back up to watch -a bit with bated breathe- as Gulf hands the boy over to his parents, Gulf hands wave around (an odd jerky movement because he's unsure of his words) as he explains. Then he wais and Mew snickers at the instinct. The parents laugh, shouting their thanks even as Gulf shuffles away.

Gulf bounds back over to him, face all red from the cold and embarrassment, maybe a little bit of pride. Mew thinks Gulf looks so beautiful, so gorgeous, and then he’s gone from his vision. A moment of panic before Mew realizes Gulf had tripped. A few more seconds pass (Mew debates how long he should wait before bolting over, three seconds, ten? what if Gulf is hurt-) before Gulf is flapping back into a stand, giggles spilling out of him as a few leaves stick off him. Gulf seems unbothered by them as he makes it back to Mew, explaining the meeting (Like Mew hadn't been watching the whole thing happen), while Mew took it upon himself to pick the leaves off his clothes and the one from his hair before leaning in and kissing Gulfs cherry red nose.

Mew thinks he might be sick with love as Gulf smiles back at him just short of breathe, eyes shimmering with anything and everything Mew could ever want. He's definitely sick with love. He'll never find anything better than Gulf because Gulf is it. He can hear Gulf's voice telling him that he's being too sappy but he can't help it. He's always loved too much for his heart, weighing him down like anchors on his feet.

“You did so well Tue ang.” Gulf preens at the words, the glow under his skin no longer from the weather but from his happiness. Gulf hooking their pinkies together for a moment, and the weight feels justified. Like he's loving Gulf just enough as they other soaks in it.

“Did you find the second one?”

“Not yet, let’s check over there.”

Gulf picks up his perfect pumpkin, holding it close to his torso like a child as they walked to a different part of the patch to look. Mew can't help but wrap his arms around Gulf, pressing against his back till they waddle past a few more pumpkins. He pats the pumpkin likes he's done so many times before to Gulf tummy with a soft tung tung tung sound. Gulf pats it a few times as well making a weird rhythm that matches their mismatches steps.

"What about that one?"

Gulf hums glancing between the newfound pumpkin and his own a few times. "I think we found our match."

"Like us?"

"So cheesy," Gulf laughs before glancing around briefly before sniff kissing Mew temple. "Like us."

Mew gets them hot chocolate -made from a powder that was recommended to them by the owner of the cabin when they’d first arrived - as soon as they make it back. Pumpkins perched on a newspaper lined table. They shed their outer layers; coats, boots, hats, and gloves while sharing a few kisses that warmed them up pretty quick. Mew had tried to go further, you know, for warmth.

“Let me warm you up.” Mew kisses down Gulf neck, hands sneaking their way under Gulf shirt but as soon as his fingers made contact with Gulf's warm belly he was pushed away.

“Your fingers are freezing,” Gulf says his teeth chattering with a tiny shiver. “Pumpkins first. That'll warm you up.”

Mew sulked, made sure that he was visibly pouting, tried to give his best puppy dog eyes but Gulf just laughs and kissed his cheeks. Which is a safe place seeing as Mew would take a kiss to the lips as an attack and he was ready for that naked battle. So Mew settled for hot chocolate a handful of extra marshmallows in his cup that he definitely replenished halfway through his drink, Gulf noses at his cheek mid-sip -which he knows it Gulf way of soothing his sulking- before settling beside him in his own chair.

Mew was a bit worried about letting Gulf free with sharp objects but there really wasn’t another choice if they wanted to carve pumpkins.

Gulf gulps his drink as he watches a video of someone explaining how to carve correctly. His right hand holding a knife while the other caressing the pumpkin in a pattern that Mew assuming he's going to try and carve.

“Doesn’t seem hard.” He turns to Mew showing his screen as if Mew hadn’t been watching along from beside him the whole time. Mew leans in to kiss the leftover chocolate residue off Gilfs lips with a soft hum of agreement. Gulf stares at him for a second, something flashing in his eyes before he hazily licks his lips turning back to his pumpkin. Mew smirks.

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

Gulf grunts in annoyance, “I’m not a child. I can handle knives.”

Mew bite his tongue from the sassy remark as he bandaged Gulf fingers. Somehow managing to slice across three of them before stabbing his palm. None of the wounds were deep but they were enough for Mew to call the pumpkin carving event over.

“I'm not done with mine though.” Gulf whines, hissing as Mew daps his palm with medication.

Mew blows gently over it before placing the gauze over the wound. “They’re good enough.”

"I'm not going to cut myself again," Gulf grumbles, eyeing his hand now wrapped in white gauze.

"You're right, you won't." Mew puts the first aid kit back together. "Because we're finished carving."

"What are we supposed to do instead-" Mew sends him a look that immediately tells him exactly what they could do instead. "Fine, no more carving. Not that either. There's a stand up the road I saw that had caramel apples. Can we go see that?"

Mew pouts, "I didn't have anything else planned for this evening though."

Gulf slinks forward wrapping his arms around Mew's neck, "It's like 4 in the afternoon. Let's go check out the stand and later when it gets darker we can light up our..."

"Jack-o-lanterns."

"That's it, Jack-o-lanterns, I knew having you around would be useful."

Mew tugs him closer, sniff kissing his neck than his cheek. Pumpkin and chocolate.

They wrap themselves back up and walk hand in hand down the road until they got to the stand, Gulfs hand loosens but he doesn't let go as he looks through all the products and different candy-covered fruits.

Gulf convinces him to buy a Carmel apple slice and a slice of chocolate pear. Gulf shrugs after a small bite, not really liking the taste, so Mew finishes them off. The stand owner is a cute little old woman who ushers them behind the stand when she learns they are foreigners here for vacation. Her excitement shows as she all but swoons over how handsome they were and tuts at them for never having tried s'mores.

"They're mandatory for this time a year." She had exclaimed and who were they to argue when they've never had them.

A small bonfire was going, with about six kids sitting around it. According to her, she's the local babysitter. She sits them down and hands them a stick and marshmallow. The kids show them how to roast it and make s'mores.

"You got to let it catch on fire." A little boy, Tim, yells excitedly as he shoves his marshmallow in the fire. He tugs Gulf stick closer to his, further into the fire.

A little girl, Lily, beside Mew gives an angry noise, "No, you want it to be brown and crunchy. Not burnt."

She places her hand over Mews as they watch their sticks in the fire. Mew is careful to keep an eye on Gulf, his instincts would let him not. The boy's grip on Gulg injured hand was making him weary. Gulf seems unbothered by it.

Gulf's Marshmellow catches on fire and Tim helps him pull it out of the fire. "Blow on it. Blow on it!" Tim flaps a bit and Gulf blows out the tiny flame a little more exaggerated than he needed to but Tim seems more than amused before handing Gulf graham crackers and a piece of chocolate.

"Now smash them together." This Tim and Lily seemed to agree on and Gulf did. The marshmallow oozing out the sides before he plops it into his mouth. Mew moves his marshmallow out of the flames to watch Gulf chew, mouth stuffed and lips pursed out. Marshmellow goo over his thumb and bandaged wrapped pointer finger, which he pulled out of his glove to hold the sandwich. Adorable.

"Yummy." He says once he's swallowed enough to talk. Tim laughs, giving Gulf a high five, that looks and sounds rather sticky before turning to his own quickly darkening marshmallow.

"Is it really good Tua eng?" Mew whispers, nudging his leg.

Gulf turns to him, chocolate and marshmallow rimming his lips. "Pretty sweet but not bad. I think one is enough for me."

Mew tries too, with plenty of help from Lily. She seems like a born leader and she knows it. He likes it but Gulf was right its pretty sweet. He ate one more and stopped there if only because he knew he'll have to work them off later. He might have been on vacation but he still had an image. Gulf likes the biceps so he keeps his biceps. That's just how it works. Also, he's pretty sure that if he didn't stop himself with two he'll eat the whole bag. He definitely sees the appeal of smores and roasted marshmallows.

A while later they head back to the cabin, the sun low in the sky, by the time they make it back the sun has gone down for the day. The moon rising in the sky as they set the half-carved pumpkins outside the doors. The tea lights they put inside glowed minimally through the holes in the pumpkin. It was pathetic and comical. Mews was basically done, two eyes and a jagged mouth starred back at them but Gulfs only had a mouth and part of one eye. Neither were even but they look kind of cute leaning against each other.

They take pictures and post them along with a few they'd taken during the picking stage. Mew sets a particularly cute one as his lock screen. It’s one of them smiling at the camera, cheeks pressed together with the beautiful trees in the background. He changes his Home Screen to one of him kissing a surprised looking Gulf on the cheek, the same beautiful trees in the background.

“We look like a real couple,” Gulf says looking at their matching lock screens.

“In the picture or the marching screens?”

Gulf chuckles, leaning into Mew side. “Both. But also right now. Standing here looking at our masterpieces by the front door.”

They soak it in, the calm of the evening, the chill of the night, their wonkly carve pumpkins. Just let them be in their love. Mew had a thought that this might be one of those moments but Gulf turns to him, a soft smile on his face.

"I love you." And fuck if Mew's heart didn't melt and resolidify so he could continue to let Gulf hold it and take care of it. The next moment they're stumbling through the cabin, Gulf tasted sweet, chocolate and marshmallows against his tongue. The tang of arousal heavy in the air as Gulf raised the warmth through his body chasing away anything that wasn't Gulf from his mind.

Mew was picking up, Tul and some of his college friends were coming over for scary movies because that’s what you did, apparently. Not that he was mad, he just wasn’t a fan of scary movies but he was interested in the food they had talked about eating during the movies. Plus he could just pull Gulf into his lap and hide behind his back if he got too scared.

“How did these...?” Mew grabs the boxers hanging from the oven door next to the towel. He definitely remembers their morning activities where they made use of the big counters but he’s pretty sure he tossed Gulfs boxers to the ground, not the oven. Doesn’t really matter just means he made a good decision cleaning before the guest arrived. How awkward would it have been if Tul (or one of his friends) had found them instead? Though it could be worse, at least it wasn't lingerie or a toy.

“All finished?” Gulf says clad in one of Mews long sleeve shirts and flannel pants, hair fluffy atop his head from his previous shower, a few strands sticking up wildly. Mew pats then down before rubbing his fingers through the soft locks. Gulf groans softly in his chest, eyes fluttering to gives him a stare, a very tempting one. So very tempting.

They'd been having so much sex the past couple of days, Mew was pretty sure they were making up for the lack of sex they’d not been having the past few months because of busy schedules while also maybe stacking up for the sex they wouldn’t be having for a while once they go back to Thailand. Mew quickly pushed aside the thoughts of his already planned out busy schedule to pepper kisses all over Gulf face. Making sure to leave a big noisy one on his lips last before pulling away with a pop. He can't be tempted, people were on their way over and he doesn't want to be caught in the middle of something when they arrived.

“Yeah, we should be ready to have guests over.”

It’s a few hours later when Mew finds himself watch Gulf stir a pot of cider. There had been jokes about it being a witches cauldron and now that the dark amber liquid inside was bubbling it really did look like it. Mew was glad that Tul's friend Ann had already basically finished the apple cider because it takes hours to simmer, according to her. He wasn't sure but he trusted her judgment as someone who says they make it regularly.

Gulf giggles as he stirs the pot, Mark plops a witches hat over his head and the giggle turns to a witches cackle. Mew is the first to start laughing and everyone follows after in a chain reaction. Gulf seems pleased with himself with a satisfied grin on his face as Ann pulls him over the table to help with the cookies. The witches hat falls off and leaving his hair sticking up in the back and Mew has the urge to walk over and fix it.

Mark nudges Mew to turn his attention back to the pumpkin pie, he takes one last look at Gulf who shakes his head, the strands of hair falling back into place.

Mew wasn’t good at baking or cooking but this pie didn’t seem hard. Which it wasn’t. Basically, throw everything into a bowl mix, and dump it into the pie crust - a cinnamon pie crust Ann had made.

Mew sat back watching when the pie went into the oven to bake. Tul was mixing fresh popcorn with Carmel with Ann's girlfriend Veera who was also making ‘the absolute best’ roasted butternut squash soup. The cabin smelled of pumpkin, spice, and every nice while soft indie band quietly filled any silence with melodic guitar riffs.

“P’Mew.” Mew tips his head towards the voice, Gulf is holding up a cookie that looks like a ball with four stubs. “Chopper.”

Mew crinkled his nose in acknowledgment, a smile still plastered across his face, it was enough for Gulf as he turns back to the cookies. It didn't look like chopper but then it didn't need to, it was the thought around the cookie.

“He’s cute,” Mark comments handing him a cup of apple cider that was done deemed done by Veera moments ago. “You guys seem close.”

"Yeah, we are." Mew sips, coughing for a moment at the onslaught of cinnamon and clove spice hitting him in the back of the throat. Mark gives him a few sympathetic pats on the back.

“Should have warned you, Ann likes the kick.” Mark chuckles and Mew gives a small one as well once his breathing feels right again. He shoots a glance to Gulf who waits for the eye contact to send him a brief smile.

“It’s not bad,” He says taking another sip now expecting the spices. “I could get used to this.”

“Alcohol makes it better too.” Mark sloshes his cup before pointing to the fireball on the counter. Mew shakes his head declining the offer.

“Better watch out for your boy, I think Ann might try and adopt him.”

Mark was right Ann seemed smitten as she coos at Gulf. Pinching his cheek before wiping some cookie dough he’d gotten magically on his nose.

“He might take her up in that offer.” He laughs maybe a little too loud. “He’s probably tired of waiting for me to propose.”

Mark leans against the back of the couch and Mew follows taking a big sip of the apple cider. It's better now that he's used to the taste.

“Why haven’t you?”

He hears a question in his mind, one that he'd been silently asking himself for a long while now.  Are you waiting because you think he will walk away, that he’ll leave you? That he'll find someone more worthy of his love.  

Though he would never admit that to being a major underlining reason for his hesitance, it was. It rumbled through his mind more often than he would like to admit. It seemed like a silly worry to have when Gulf showed him how much he loves him every day in his own way. So instead he settled on the one that he blamed more often than not.

“I want it to be perfect because he’s perfect for me.”

Something big and dopey crossed over Mark's face as he nudged Mew's arm a few times cooing loudly. “I know what you're feeling buddy.”

Mark looked over to the table, Tul was now helping them clean up, cookies now in the ovens. “I’m engaged to Ann's sister.”

“Yeah?”

Mark chuckles, “Yeah we had decided we would get engaged and I told her I would figure it out. Every moment felt right but not perfect so I kept pushing it back and back until a year had passed and Mealie got so mad with me. ‘Do you not want to be married to me anymore?' she asked. I was a valid question. I told her I couldn’t find the perfect moment. Do you know what she said to me?”

Mew shook his head, sipping his drink.

“Every moment I’m with you is perfect so pick one or I will. And she did. Like a month later she found my rings and proposed to me right in the middle of the family barbecue.”

They both chuckle, Mark a little bit louder as a sense of remembrance crosses his features. “She sounds wonderful.”

“She is." Mark agrees, nudging him again this time it was softer, waiting till Mews attention was back to him before saying, "Not everyone gets to enjoy the opportunity of marriage they way we do, she said, I don’t want to waste it when I found the love of my life.”

Mark throws his arm over Mew's shoulder pulling him close. The smell of cinnamon and spices from the cider hitting him in the nose.

“Even here in the states, there are places that don’t accept it and other countries that condone it. If you get the opportunity to marry your true love, and it’s something you both want. Don't waste the opportunity waiting for the perfect moment, instead just make every moment perfect.”

“...Thank you.”

Mew hadn't pulled Gulf into his lap during the movie instead Gulf leaned against him as they shared caramel corn and cookies. Halfway through Gulf's fingers laced with his under the blankets, giving him a small squeeze every so often. Marks words rumbling around in his head, he drops a kiss to Gulf head, he didn't want to wait any longer.

(Mew hadn't forgotten to get all the recipes that day for Jom, he thinks she'll like these especially the gingersnap cookies.)

Mew wraps his arms around Gulf, looking out at the snow-covered forest. First snow of the year - said the news earlier. Mew was glad that they got to see it. Gulf seems entranced by the ethereal sight as well. The white snow packed down over the earth covering everything into something soft and quiet. Seemingly absorbing all the negativity of the world and leaving behind peace and tranquillity. Everything seemed to have a sheen of sparkles to it like someone had mixed them with the snow as it was falling. It was quite a sight.

“I sent some pictures to the family.”

“They jealous?” Mew rubs his nose into Gulf nape, inhaling the crisp cold air and Gulf's natural musk.

“Maybe a little bit it might not be all because of the weather.” Gulf wiggles until he turns to face Mew. Tugging the blanket around them both, cocooning them in its warmth.

“What else could they possibly be jealous over, if not this gorgeous view,” Mew whispers, placing a butterfly soft kiss to Gulf's redden nose and chilled soft cheeks. Then one to his lips because Gulf pursed them just so and how could he resist?

“You know I thought you had asked me out here to propose finally.” Gulf words were teasing and gently as he curls in to nuzzle at Mew's neck. Mew's hands rub over his back instinctively, holding him close.

They stand in silence for a moment before Mew begins to sway them softly. One hand caressing Gulf waist while the other moving to cup Gulf's neck, fingers burying in his damp chilled hair. Gulf sighs contently against his chest, fingers half holding the blanket and half gripping Mews shirt at his shoulders.

“I thought about it. So many times, I thought about it.” Mew's lips brush against Gulf temple as he speaks, wayward snow crunches under their slipper clad feet as they sway. “At the pumpkin patch, where you looked like you were made for autumn. Or after we got back from the stand and you tasted like chocolate and marshmallows. Or watching you talk in English with such confidence. So proud of you for that-”

Gulf places an open mouth kiss to Mew's neck before another peck to his jaw.

“-I thought about when we woke up and made love with the falling snowed as our backdrop this morning.”

“Did all of your thinking get you anywhere?” Gulf mummers against his chest and Mew tightens his hold. Their swaying slows to a stop.

“I thought every moment could have been the moment but then I worried that there would be a better one later if I just waited.”

Gulf leans away, eyes searching, and patient. "Will there ever be a moment perfect enough for you?" Mew knows Gulf would wait forever for him to find what Mew calls the perfect moment to propose.

"I'm starting to think my standards are too high." Mew feels the soft rumbley laughter against his chest. He lets out a small chuckle as well shifting to begin the soft swaying once more.

"Do you want me to do it so you can stop stressing over it?" Gulf looks up at him with sincerity and love and just a little bit of teasing.

Mew nibbles on his bottom lip, contemplating the offer, Gulf leaning against almost limply as they sway. Everything calm and serin, perfect.

"Maybe I should?" Gulf hums softly against his neck. "Maybe I should just do it because every moment with you is perfect."

Gulf pulls back scrunching his nose playfully as he shakes his head. "Cheesy."

Gulf tugs at his hair pulling their mouths together into a kiss - soft needing filled with everything Mew every wanted and will ever want.

“Will you?” He asks, a little desperately yet filled with hope. Lips brushing against Gulf as he speaks.

“Will I?”

"Marry me?"

Gulf exhales a little puff before rubbing their foreheads together. It's a little aggressive reminding Mew of their workshops for the first season of Tharntype when Gulf didn't understand how to show his softness through touch. When everything he did was stiff and firm and Mew had to ease his hand to be held or show him had card fingers through hair in a loving manner. Gulf huffs again and this time the kiss is forceful. Much like their kisses back then were. Like Gulf was trying to brand his lips with his own.

“I love you Ti Rak,” Gulf says in a low gravely voice before forcing their lips back together, teeth-gnashing and tongues wrapping around each other like he could get enough. It tasting like wanting and need. And a hint of desperate love. But that might just be from Mew.

Mew pulls away the reciprocated 'I love you too' on the tip of his tongue but Gulf cups his face, fingers gentle now as he pants softly. "Your perfect proposal is lacking rings."

Mew was sure it was supposed to be a joke but Gulf breathless words a small feeling of panic within him. Gulf seemed to sense his impeding overthinking by the hitch in his breath and forces another long, slow, kiss from this mouth. "I'm cold."

Gulf looks up at him from beneath his lashes, eyes swirling like a vortex sucking Mew in. "Warm me up?" He asks so softly.

Mew pulls him inside and tosses him to the bed, the blanket fluttering around him. Mew pulls away from the kiss with a pop. He almost lets those sparkling golden eyes draw him back in but he tears himself away, all but throwing himself at his stuff in search of the tiny velvet box. Gulf pushes up on his elbows to amusedly watch Mew.

"I was kidding about the rings-"

"I'm not though..." Mew makes a sound of excitement, box clutched in his hand before turning back to Gulf, one the knee on the ground. He tugs at Gulf's hand until he's sitting up and he holds the box out to him.

"You didn't answer before." He opens the velvet box letting the two matching rings glimmer in the dim light.

Gulf covers the rings with one hand while the other cups Mews cheeks, thumb rubbing a slow circle over his cheekbone. "You just want me to say it out loud."

"It's nice to hear."

Gulf snorts a small chuckle before pulling Mew up and over him on the bed. He pulls a ring out and slides it over Mew's finger even as the older boy is trying to shake him off muttering 'I get to do that.'

"Silly Phi." Gulf says slowly once the ring is on Mew before putting the matching on his fingers "I have been ready since the day we first kissed. I was just waiting for you."

Mews breathe hitches and his eyes water, Gulf rubbed their noses together. "Yes, I want to marry you."

Mew didn't know what he wanted to look at more, the way the ring sparkled in the rays of light streaming through the window, glimmering as snow falls outside their window reflecting off the ring or at Gulf. His beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, wonderful fiance.

"Cheesy," Gulf says looking smitten.

Mew pulls on Gulf hand to kiss the ring, then finger it's settled on, right under the bandage still covering his fingertip before trails his lips over Gulf palm to kiss his wrist. "But you like it?" Mew says hopefully.

"I like you and I guess that means all the cheese that comes with it too."

[nothingunrealistic]

tagged by @cockbiteproductions for this. thx teresa

2020 Creator Wrap: Favorite Works

Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought to the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread love and link each other to awesome works!

i know this says works of any kind but i just talked about all the fics i posted this year within the past week, so i’m going to do my top 5 favorite (mostly silly) edits i made. the order is just chronological

moodboard for “jeff”: pleased with the color palette of this one and the combination of the open bottle + the best man mug. (and just the best man mug by itself, which you can read as pretty morbid even though that’s not the intention. fits pretty well with the song.) finding suitable pictures of stairs and buildings for this was hard and i’m happy with what i ultimately settled on.

moodboard for bet you’ve got a bone to pick with me: i had to edit some of the pictures in this one to get them all roughly red-orange-y enough, but fortunately some of them were exactly the right color already. also broke out of the Nine Squares format on this one which was fun.

how do i even begin to explain bobby axelrod?: i installed a new browser extension that would let me screenshot the showtime video player just so i could make this. pretty sure the idea came from my realization that axe really did once punch someone in the face and it was awesome, combined with the one scene in 1x04 where one of his former employees really does give a rundown of what axe is like / what working at axe capital is like that has the same breathless tone as the mean girls scene.

i can’t believe i’m gonna sleep with him: had this exact thought about this particular scene for ages before actually making the post, complete with the innovation of “put on captions that are edited to look like showtime’s actual captions.” thank you ms paint 3d and microsoft sans font for all that you do. also i really like that first screenshot of taylor, very aesthetically pleasing.

you can de-escalate any situation: editing tweets to say other things / come from other people is always fun. at some point i should figure out how to edit the picture in html too rather than having to painstakingly place a cropped picture over a screenshot in paint 3d.

tagging @unproduciblesmackdown @broadway-heere-i-come @alittlelessalone @a-clockwork-justice

[sentientencyclopedia]

Snapshots

I don’t usually post fics on here, but carpe diem and all that. This piece is for the @b99fandomevents Summer 2020 Fic Exchange. This drabble is based on requests by @sandylovesfandoms for the Peraltiago honeymoon after Holt left and waterslides/waterparks.

Jake got one whiff of the drink and wrinkled his nose. But Amy was looking at him eagerly, so he gave her a weak smile and brought the glass to his lips. For love he told himself, before chugging the orange mush.

“Bleeeurgh.” He turned around and spit it back into his cup. “That is disgusting.” He kept the glass under the table, knowing that it grossed Amy out whenever he regurgitated food. And if she actually liked this toxic sludge of a smoothie, well, he wasn’t going to deprive her of her bliss.

“It’s not that bad.” Amy looked perfectly happy as she sipped the orange drink. Jake had to admit it matched her sundress and the ribbon in her straw hat perfectly. “I think the papaya and cantaloupe perfectly balance each other out, and the coconut cream gives it a smooth texture.”

“It is disgusting.” He pulled out his phone. “But it matches your dress. Smile!”

“It’s delicious, and more importantly, it’s good for you.” Amy grinned and he snapped the pic. Oh yeah, this was definitely going into the honeymoon scrapbook. He had a sneaking suspicion Amy had planned the aesthetic, but whatever. “It’s full of antioxidants and important minerals.”

“No wonder it tastes so bad.” He grimaced.

“You can’t live on sugar and alcohol, Jake.” He took another picture as she rolled her eyes, fork dangling from her fingertips. It wasn’t scrapbook material, but it was cute.

“It’s our honeymoon. It’s supposed to be magical. We can do whatever we want.” He stole a mango slice from her plate and got up to walk back to the smoothie bar. “Two virgin pina coladas, please.”

“There’s pineapple juice at the buffet.” The bartender stared at him.

“I know. Don’t forget the little umbrellas, please and thank you!” He gave the man a beaming smile and leaned against the counter.

The man was apparently used to unreasonable requests from vacationing tourists, because he tossed a few pineapple chunks and a cup of coconut milk into the blender, set it to spin and wordlessly poured the mixture out into cocktail glasses. With little umbrellas. “Thank you!” Jake took the drinks back to their table triumphantly, pausing to grab a few of the brightly colored straws at the buffet table.

“This is also fruity and coconutty and best of all, it doesn’t taste like the mutagen that made the Ninja Turtles.” He set the drinks on the table and placed two straws in his mouth, long sides sticking out.

“Does this make me look more like a vampire or a walrus?” He asked, pointing.

“Gee, it depends. Which one has purple teeth, again?” She gave Jake a teasing smile and took a picture of him making funny faces at the camera.

“Say what you want, Ames, but this is going to make drink consumption a lot more effective.” He stuck the bottom of one straw in each glass and drank from both at the same time. “Ta-da!”

“That’s good. According to my itinerary, we have five more minutes for breakfast if we want to make it to the next event on time.”

“You’re so organized, babe.” Jake grinned at her as she showed him the binder. “How did you manage to get all these sheets laminated?”

“I convinced the people in the printing center to let me use their office laminator.” Amy’s expression mirrored his, though her smile was tinged with pride. “I figured they needed to have one on site for all the signs and menus and stuff, of course.”

“Of course. Hey, what’s this blue marker for?” He reached for the sticker only to have Amy swat his hand away.

“That’s a surprise.”

“Like a Holly Genero costume kind of surprise or an open ice cream bar kind of surprise?”

“It’s better than an ice cream bar.”

“Hate to break it to you, Ames, but there are few things better than an open ice cream bar. Especially the kind with unlimited toppings.” It turned out that when Captain Holt had extended their stay, he’d also tacked on a few perks as a sort of extended apology.

One of those perks had been access to an open ice cream bar, with unlimited toppings. Jake and Amy had spent a solid hour building and eating the Biggest Behemoth Sundae in The History of The World.

At least, that’s what they’d captioned it when they sent a picture of the monstrosity to their friends back home. It had been a towering mass seven different flavors, coated in liberal amounts of sprinkles and candy with a cookie base. It had been delicious.

Remembering that inspired Jake with new ideas. “Do you think they’ll give me ice cream for breakfast if I asked?”

“Well, they probably would, but we had ice cream last night. Don’t you want to see what I’ve got planned for today?”

“Depends. What have you got planned?”

“So, I rescheduled the sensual feeding workshop because both of us agreed that we wanted to re-do that without Holt watching.”

“I still don’t think I can make eye contact with him ever again after what happened with the avocado.”

“Oh, yeah.” They shared a moment of silence for Jake’s dignity. “But this is our chance to make new, better memories.”

“I’ll drink to that.” He took a long sip of the pineapple juice.

“Then we’ve got a couples’ ballroom class.”

“Fancy.”

“I thought it would be a nice throwback to that case we worked.”

“The one where you were in the shiny mermaid dress?”

“Precisely. In case we ever need to go undercover like that again, I thought it would be good if we actually knew how to dance. Plus,” She gave him an arch look. “I really want to see you in that waistcoat again.”

“The what-now?”

“You know, that vest-thing you wore over your button-down when you were dressed as Dewey? I watched a lot of historical documentaries as a kid and I was really into the whole men-in-fitted-waistcoats look.” She smirked. “You weren’t the only one who got an eyeful at that dance competition.”

“I’ll file that away for future consideration.” Jake whispered, imagination running wild.

“Then we have a lunch, then beach time, then just one thing before dinner.”

“The surprise, you mean.”

“Mhm. Now hurry up and finish eating. Don’t want to be late for our second impressions.”

“Ay-ay, Captain.”

They had a great time at each of the different workshops and events, but Jake couldn’t stop thinking about the blue marker. He was itching to know what it meant, what the surprise would be.

Jake Peralta was many things. Patient was rarely one of them.

So he was practically twitching with excitement by the time the blue-marker event rolled around. They were in swimsuits, so it had to be something to do with water. He hoped it wasn’t water-aerobics.

Amy grinned as she pulled Jake through the archway. “Surprise!”

“Oh. My. God.” Jake’s eyes lit up as he took in the glorious sight in front of him. “Is that a waterslide?” The pool area was practically empty, inhabited only by two lifeguards and a few straggling swimmers. But there, framed in the orange glow of the setting sun, was a very long, very twisty waterslide.

“Surprise!” Amy said again, throwing her arms out. “I made sure to pick the time where we would be mostly uninterrupted. All the families are probably at the live band sing-along thing, and all the adults without children are probably at the beach luau. Which is totally capitalist cultural appropriation, and not even geographically accurate, so I thought it would be fine if we skipped it.”

“Good idea. Where did you even find this?” Jake didn’t think he’d ever stop smiling.

“It was in the resort brochure, Jake.” Amy was rolling her eyes, but not in the tired, I’m-disappointed-by-your-immaturity way. She was rolling her eyes in the I’m-trying-to-be-cool-but-also-fishing-for-compliments way.

Jake was good at compliments. “God, I love that you read the resort brochures. That you plan itineraries with all sorts of weird fun stuff like sensual food arranging classes and cool fun stuff like waterslides. I really want to kiss you right now.”

Amy put her arms around him and they kissed. It was a quick, happy one. Both of them were so excited that it was mostly teeth. “Ooh. Can we do that couple-y thing where one of us sits on the other person’s lap and we go down together?” Jake asked.

“Yes!”

“Is it weird that I just wished Charles’ was here to take a picture of us on our way down?”

“Weirdly enough, I had the same thought.”

“We’re definitely too used to him being around.”

“Yeah.” They both went quiet for a second, thinking about it.

“Waterslide time!” Amy decided to break the silence. They held hands and very safely walked over to the ladder.

[thehoneyedhufflepuff]

17 questions

thanks @sourcherrymagiks @fight-surrender @krisrix @bazzybelle @sharkmartini for the tags 💜

Rules: answer 17 questions & tag 17 people you want to get to know better

Nickname:

Lots of friends in the fandom call me Ash thanks to @warriorbeeofthesea 💜. I don't really have a "real life" nickname, so it gives me Emotions.

Zodiac Sign:

Aquarius

Height:

5'7

Hogwarts House:

I used to fancy myself a Ravenclaw, mainly for the smarts & maybe a bit for the house colors. But all signs point to Hufflepuff & I've embraced that. Also Baz is here, as he should be.

Last thing I Googled:

Onward, the Pixar film. I told Mr HH that I wanted to watch Howl's Moving Castle so I can read @ninemagicks fic, & I brought this up again yesterday & he was like yeah sure let's watch it. But he thought I meant Onward? LMAO? So we had a laugh about how he confused the two & I was googling photos this morning to make this:

Also we watched Onward & it was wonderful & also a Mood

Song stuck in my head:

Young & Alive by Bazzi, specifically these lines: Bonfire smell in your hair/Friday night lights, Friday night air because they make me think of Dev & Niall

Following & followers:

Following 125. For followers I'll say I'm getting pretty close to a milestone & that I'm super grateful that y'all are here. 💜

Amount I sleep:

I won't wake up with less than 8 hours. Preferably 9, probably 10 on weekends. Sleep is very important to overall health y'all; please never underestimate it 🙏🏼

Lucky Numbers:

IDK about lucky but my favorite is 54. My husband's is 9 which is funny because 5 + 4 = 9 HAHAHHAHA get it

Dream Job:

Honestly I might be returning to my original idea of a dream job, which was to be a writer. I sort of gave that idea up after I was rejected from the creative writing program in college, & also because I figured there was a slim chance of actually making money as a writer. But, y'know. Maybe it isn't too late. (It's never too late.)

Wearing:

Tunic + leggings

Favourite song:

This varies all the time. I find songs I like, play them into the ground, rinse & repeat

Favourite instruments:

I like to sing. Just now realizing I've not been able to have solo commute concerts for a while. Time to belt in the house & scare the neighbors I guess

Random Fact:

Uhhh I worked at Disneyworld when I was 19? Oh, better & related to the above: I was the lead in my senior musical but I can't dance worth shit so they told me "Maybe just stand still & everyone else can dance behind you" ddjltsjskg

Favourite Authors:

Ah man idk. I'll just list books I've obsessed over instead: Carry On, A Song of Ice & Fire, HP. Oh I like a lot of Atwood's books too. I remember getting in frequent "trouble" for reading The Blind Assassin at my cash register at B&N. My manager kept leaving me notes "no reading up here :)" "clean something" "restock bags" "no writing up here either :P"

Favourite Animal Noises:

Our orange cat makes the cutest ones my goddddd

Aesthetic:

I never know how to answer this question & then I question all my ability as a writer. Uh. Leggings + Birkenstocks + oversized sweaters curled up with a notebook & a cat on my couch (I guess there wouldn't be shoes on in that case but y'all get it)

Has everyone done this? If not consider this your tag 💜

[galionne-vibin]

Welcome to Earth - Chapter 3: Me, Myself and I

Title: Welcome to Earth

Chapter: 3/3 (Previous Chapter)

Summary:  Gigan can't sleep and decides to explore his new temporary home a little more- and ends up meeting the emperor of Seatopia.

Warning(s): None

A/N: Finally, the last chapter of this mini fic! Thankfully it took way less time to write than chapter 2... I guess it was more fun to write to begin with, especially  because I got to throw in two 'unusual' characters I love to write about for some odd reason. So yeah, enter: Emperor Antonio. He's going to be a recurring character in this series since most of it happens in Seatopia, so I figured I'd try to give him some personnality and flare. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing!

Read on Ao3 or below.

Gigan let out a gasp as he was jolted awake by a sudden tightness in his chest, sitting up as cold sweat ran down his back. He took several long, deep breath to try and calm his racing heart. He couldn't count how many times this had happened already... Every time he tried to rest, his body would violently shake him awake just before he could fall asleep. And to make things worse, he could tell it had only been an hour or two since he and Megalon had decided to go to sleep. The night was nowhere near over... He took another deep breath and sighed, looking over at the beetle kaiju who was peacefully sleeping just a few meters away. Part of him wanted to wake him up just so he could have someone to share his misery with... But of course, that would be rude. So instead he stretched his back with a groan before slowly getting up, making sure to take his time as he knew his body still wasn't in great shape. If he couldn't sleep, then at least he could explore his new temporary home a little more. The tour Megalon had given him earlier had been brief and, in Gigan's dazed state, quite confusing... He turned towards the tunnel leading out of Megalon's cave, the end of which was illuminated by a gentle orange glow. Shadows danced on the walls as human activity carried on despite the late hours. The cyborg quietly followed the path until he emerged into a subterranean area so large he could barely see the ceiling or the other end of it. This place had been described to him as "The Red District" due to the red dust from the nearby mines leaving a thin, colorful layer on everything. It was where most of the humans -or rather Seatopians as Megalon had fervently insisted they were called, assuring him they weren't human- lived and worked. The place was chock full of buildings with some of the weirdest and most unusual architecture Gigan had ever seen: skyscrapers encircled by rings of clear glass, towers with a deep and noticeable inward curve on one side, glass domes mounted with parabolic antennas, giant faces carved into the cave walls... Clearly after staying down here for so long the Seatopians had developed their own personal aesthetic. The buildings also seemed to be placed on some sort of grid, divided by giant boulevards nearly 150 feet wide- presumably so Megalon could walk through without crushing anything... Several passerbies stopped at the sight of the giant alien, freezing as they nervously looked up at him. An uncomfortable tension and a sudden, thick silence lingered in the air. Gigan huffed softly as he looked down at the minuscule creatures, before turning into another tunnel, away from the Red District. He could tell when he wasn't welcome somewhere... As he advanced through this new passage the orange glow seemed to slowly weaken while the air cooled and took on a sharp, salty scent. Gigan mindlessly ran the tip of his blade along the tunnel wall as he walked. A thin layer seemed to flake off into dust at the contact, fluttering gracefully to the ground. The gentle sound of waves reached the cyborg as he neared the end of the tunnel. Another large cavern opened up before him- although this one was smaller and darker than the Red District. In fact, if Gigan remembered what Megalon had excitedly explained to him, this was the "Blue District". He wasn't quite sure who lived here, but if he had to take a guess, from the smell of salt and the sound of rushing water, he would assume fishermen ro some kind of navy. The buildings here were a little less bizarre than their red counterpart, although they still curved and bent in odd directions and followed a similar grid pattern ; with the exception of a large, empty circular area in the center of everything. The most impressive part of the Blue District however, had to be the colossal glass dome standing nearly 350 feet wide and 200 feet tall at the other end of the cavern. It was made of clear glass, offering a gorgeous view of the dark oceanic depths lying outside. A vast plateau covered in colorful corals and seaweeds disappeared into the shadows, surrounded by rocky cliffs. Large turbines had been set up in rows and spun slowly with the current, except for a few which seemed to be blocked by slug-like mushy organisms clinging to the blades. The only lights outside came from small glowing domes placed along the ocean floor, gently flickering away. Gigan remained staring quietly into the abyss for several minutes before snapping out of his trance when he suddenly heard his name. He glanced around as a chill ran down his spine. For a second he thought the Voice might have returned, until he heard his name again. It wasn't coming from inside his head (thankfully) but rather from further down the path, towards the dome. He took a deep breath to calm himself and continued his way further into the cave, lumbering slowly out of the shadow of the tunnel and between the buildings until he reached the circular area in the center of the grid. He hadn't noticed before but about a dozen humans were sat around a round, white marble table in the center of the empty area. A few of them seemed deeply immersed in conversation while the other half (coincidentally, the one facing towards the cyborg) was staring at him in disbelief. He took a few steps closer before sitting down a few dozen feet away from the little reunion. Don't think you can talk about me behind my back... By then the conversation had fully stopped as the entire gathering was staring at him. They were all unfamiliar faces except for one: it was the same Seatopian who had brought Gigan the fried control chip earlier that day ; the one dressed in a white robe with a silver crown and belt. And now that he wasn't in such a daze the cyborg could see him a little better: he looked older than the rest,with thinning brownish grey hair, sideburns and a mustache. He still had the same aura of confidence to him and an authoritarian stance ; leaning over the table with his fingers pressing down almost menacingly against the smooth surface... Seeing this, Gigan guessed he was probably some kind of commander. The leader took a brief look at his colleagues before leaning back and coughing to get their attention. "-As I was saying, he began with great non-chalance, We have no reason to worry- -Wait!" One of the other Seatopians shot out of his seat, gesturing frantically and furiously towards Gigan as he spoke. "We can't talk with that... That thing sitting so close! What if it hears us?!" There was a moment of silence as the group exchanged nervous glances between themselves, the two standing men and Gigan. Then another Seatopian snorted and laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, there's no way it can understand us! There's a reason the Nebulans had to control it with a chip instead of just telling it what to do, y'know?" He turned towards Gigan with a smirk. "You have no idea what we're blabbering about, don't'cha big guy?" Gigan huffed and sighed quietly. Time to play dumb... He cocked his head to the side and made a gentle cooing sound. Of course he understood human speech ; his universal translator was called universal for a reason... He'd never come across a species he couldn't understand. The problems arose whenever he had to respond... Having no lips and simple vocal cords meant he couldn't produce a great array of sounds. It was enough to communicate with most kaiju ; but humanoid creatures only ever seemed to hear a garggled mess of screeching noises... But even though he couldn't respond, he still wanted to know what the conversation was about- which he guessed the group wouldn't carry on if they thought he could understand them. He cooed again, trying to make himself look as harmless and not-human-speech-understanding as possible. This seemed to somewhat ease the tension as he heard a few relieved sighs. "See? I told ya. Not a damn clue!" The same Seatopian from earlier laughed. A few slightly more awkwards laughs followed, before the conversation resumed. Almost immediately the atmosphere tensed again- although this time for a different reason. One woman with dark skin and short hair clasped her hands together, glancing at the rest of the individuals present. "We cannot keep him down here. If we do the Nebulans will try to take him back ; they will attack... And I'm not sure we'll have enough firepower to win this battle..." The leader sighed and shook his head. "-You give them too much credit. They attacked this planet just last year and even though it was just the surface dwellers, they still failed. Not only that, but if they do choose to attack again, this time we will have both Gigan and Megalon to protect us- -Your blind faith in Megalon will get us all killed!" One of the Seatopians jumped up and out of his seat, slamming his fists down on the marble table. It was a much taller man with wide shoulders, pale ; scarred skin and dark hair. He walked over to the leader, looming menacingly over the shorter man. "Megalon will protect us ; We must have faith in Megalon ; it's the only answer you ever have! You put all your trust in that beast and look where that led us?" He gestured angrily, yelling louder. "-We lost two men in that little operation of yours ; and for what?! The surface dwellers barely suffered any loss! They're still standing strong and they could retaliate at any moment! You and Megalon did nothing but doom us all- -Silence!!!" The sudden shount echoed through the now quiet atmosphere as the leader slowly stood up, his confident aura replaced by one of quiet fury as he stepped closer. He trailed one hand over the smooth surface of the table, the other rising to the other man's chest with his index finger pressing into the fabric of his shirt. "Don't act as if I don't know this..., he hissed with a grim expression, Shiro and Hans were close friends of mine and we all knew the risks of sending them up there... But they were willing to take this risk because they knew we needed that robot ; and they knew Megalon needed to be guided- not to destroy the surface dwellers but to send a warning. To remind them of the pacts of old and our presence in these hidden grounds..." The leader took a deep breath and sighed, lowering his hand. He was quiet for a moment longer before sitting back, his adversary now speechless. "The goal of this plan was never to destroy the surface dwellers- we can't and should never even attempt so in the first place, he continued, The goal was to get them to stop their nuclear testing. And in that regard, Megalon succeeded..." He paused for a moment as an uncomfortable silence fell over the group, before continuing: "I trust he knew what he was doing when he brought Gigan down here and he won't simply let us return him to the Nebulans. We have always thrived on alliances with giants rather than other civilizations, whether they were from this planet or aliens. So tell me, who would you rather anger? The god who has been watching over our civilization for millions of years ; or supposed "allies" who fled the fight before it was even over?" The silence grew even more tense and Gigan was quickly losing interest in the conversation. He briefly heard a female voice suggesting to call a vote before a loud, dull sound resounded in the air. He turned his attention towards the dome just as a large, red creature appeared from above ; its short stubby legs tapping against the thick glass. It seemed to be some kind of crustacean, with one claw far larger than the other and an elongated body. The huge creature slowly walked down along the dome's curved surface until it reached the ocean floor. It then proceeded to lift its claw and pinched at one of the slugs on the watermill ; delicately prying it off before bringing it to its mouth and slurping it up whole. It repeated the process a few more times until the windmill was cleared of slugs and began spinning more rapidly, as all the lights within the Blue District suddenly seemed to glow brighter. The elongated crustacian then turned towards another windmill and began the same process once more. Gigan watched it work in silence, captivated by its slow movements. He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he finally snapped out of it at the sound of chairs dragging on the ground. He looked down to see the Seatopian council dispersing ; some individuals walking alone and others walking off in groups. The leader was the only one to stay behind. He waited quietly until the others were further away before walking up to Gigan, his confident aura having returned. "Good evening." Gigan looked down at the Seatopian in silence. "I don't believe we've been formerly introduced. My name is Emperor Antonio- or simply Antonio. I am Seatopia's leader as well as Megalon's prophet." The cyborg cocked his head again, making Antonio smirk. "You can drop the act, I know the Nebulans wouldn't send you to Earth without a universal translator. We've worked alongside them for centuries, I know how they operate..." He paused for a few seconds before looking up at the cyborg again. "You understood everything we said, didn't you?" Gigan huffed and nodded slowly, but didn't show any more interest. Silence lingered for a minute or so before Antonio spoke again: "It was my great-grandfather who founded this alliance between Seatopia and the M Space Nebula, many generations ago. But I've never agreed with their practices... I've always found them shameful and barbaric. Giants like yourself and Megalon deserve respect, not... Whatever the Nebulans were trying to do." Antonio paused and glanced up at Gigan. The cyborg simply nodded, seemingly bored of this one-way conversation- or maybe just tired. The emperor shook his head. "Right... I guess you'd rather not hear about them for now... Well anyway, I believe I speak for all-" He paused again, looking back as the last of the council members let he premises ; before turning to Gigan once more. "Well, most of Seatopia when I say you are welcome to stay here for as long as you'd like or need. I'll make sure my associates don't bother you." He waited for a few more seconds to see if the cyborg would respond- and when he got nothing, simply and quietly left towards the dome. Gigan watched him knock gently against the glass, to which the giant crustacean from earlier turned around and let out a high pitched, almost cheerful chirp when it spotted the Seatopian leader. What a strange character... Gigan yawned as he was beginning to feel lethargy take him over once again. He took a brief look around before lying down on his side, curling up with his tail swiftly wrapping around one of his legs. He turned off his visor and waited. The sound of waves came and went slowly, accompanied every now and then by gentle tapping against the glass dome. Combined with the fresh and salty air it created a soothing atmosphere ; and before Gigan even knew it, he was finally asleep, unbothered by the few Seatopians staring through their windows at the giant beast blocking the Blue District's main avenue...

[zacksfairs-remade]

tag game

rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2019. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

i was tagged by @sonyablades thank you for tagging me, thona! 💐

for background: ive been graphic editing for a year+ and gif making for about 2 months so none of the gifs listed are very old at all but i still wanted to list my favorites (so far)

1. grey wardens┆this is the first graphic i made that i actually 100% was proud of, and was just starting out doing gfx when i made it! so i thought it was only fitting that i mention it, it’s also the first edit i’ve made that has reached 1k+ and while i find it kinda simple now, as i’ve gotten better i think it fits the wardens aesthetic perfectly.

2. garrus vakarian┆i love this gifset because not only do i love editing garrus, but the colors are so different from the original scenes blues and reds and i really liked how the pink and purple that i made it matches the blue of his armor.

3. arthur morgan┆i really liked this graphic (mainly the first and last panel) because i enjoy editing orange and pinks and i thought that arthur was the perfect character to try this on and that it suited him and i really like how it turned out.

4. john marston┆this is a graphic i wish had more notes because of how i made it and i wanted to try something different with the quote and i did but this is one of my favorite quotes that john has and i think orange is a good color to edit both john and arthur in.

5.  uncharted┆i posted this gifset only a week ago but i really like how it came together, i really love uncharted as a series and it’s near and dear to my heart and as this was my first 8/8 big gif set i really liked the colors i chose and how well they all go together.

tagging: @wolfamongthem, @mechecolomar, @evildead2, @haloinfinite & anyone else who would like to do it! just say that i tagged you ♡

[pranspat]

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2019. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

I was tagged by: @silvercrystal​ thank you so much jenz ♥ ♥ ♥

hmm, this is hard because i didn’t make a whole lot of edits during 2019, so i’m gonna combine 2019 & what i’ve posted so far in 2020-- just so i have options :)

these are in no particular order!

❝make me choose: christine canigula or michael mell?❞ this one makes the list because i’m actually really proud of how the coloring turned out! i have a hard time coloring real people (animation is much easier), and i was really happy how this one turned out :)

❝brooke lohst aesthetic❞  okay, i put so much work into this one and i thought it turned out so well! i was so bummed when it bombed because it looks so nice. 

❝usagi meets mamoru for the first time!❞  i think the colors in this one look so nice! it’s bright and happy and usagi’s purple background looks really good. this is scene is really funny, too, and i just had a lot of fun giffing it.

❝keeper of the lost cities aesthetic❞ another one that completely bombed! but this one makes sense, as there’s not an overly large fandom for kotlc on tumblr and i’m not connected at all to the small fandom that does exist. still, i think it turned out really well and is pretty representative of the series.

❝the lightning thief musical tour❞   i love the percy jackson musical and i love giffing for it! i had so much fun making this one with the promo footage for the tour. the balance between blue and orange looks really nice, too. :)

People I tag (i really don’t know who to tag!! please don’t feel pressured if you don’t wanna do it!) @tylerhoech @marthaskane @amyjake @softjakeperalta

[im-the-king-of-the-ocean]

Beneath a Blue Sun

Entry for @infogremlinmelise / @melsandbox ’s Rarepair Contest

Prompts Used: Nature - Misty Morning, Magic - Second Chance at Life, Dark - Shadow, Soft - Whelps

(I didn’t see any limits on how many prompts we can use in the main rules post and I do enjoy mixing and matching).

Ships: Strickrot, Past Strickando

Headcanons I came up with for this fic:

>whelps are considered the trollish equivalent of genderless.  A part of their puberty is choosing a gender and molding their bodies to fit how they want to present as.  None of the whelps in this are old enough for that yet, so they’re referred to with they/them pronouns.

>different colored stars affect trolls differently.  This is inspired by the concept that Supergirl/Superman get their powers from Earth’s yellow sun, but lose them under the light of a red sun.  So, under a yellow sun, trolls are turned to stone, but, under a blue star, they are not.  yes I used a blue star in this because I thought the visual/aesthetic was cool idc if you judge me for that.

Dawn arises to a symphony put on by an eclectic gathering of songbirds in the copse of not-quite trees some distance away from the downed spaceship.  Mist drifts lazily around its metal remains, and casually embraces them.  Uncounted years have passed since the shiny, metal beast came to a rest in the (formerly) uninhabited glen.  The world has adjusted to its presence.

A being not of this planet emerges from a hole in the ship’s hull (only those who know how to look are able to recognize the door for what it is).  He holds a hand up to shield his eyes from the morning light.  It remains strange to him how this star, this blue sun, doesn’t affect him like the golden daylight on his home world does.  He examines his fingers, rubs them against each other, but there’s no sign they’re about to be petrified stone.

He rotates both his hands in front of himself, watching as his green skin dims or illuminates, depending on which surface area happens to be facing the sky.

He is a being born in the shadows, yet here he is, welcomed by the light.

“Foolish of me to think you left your vanity on Earth, Stricklander,” a voice purrs behind him.

Strickler frowns.  He turns to face the one shadowed in the shelter of their ship.  “Still fearful of the light, Angor?  You’ve been here long enough.  I should think you’d have learned that this sun won’t harm you by now.”

Angor Rot steps out into the waking day.  His one eye narrows.  “Don’t presume you know what I’m like.”

“I know you better than you think.”  Strickler chuckles.  “I—”

A small, purple blur zooms by Strickler, causing a stir in the air that sweeps his hair.  A second one, bright orange, swiftly follows.  Then a third, green with blue streaks, comes and goes.

Strickler mutters a curse and spreads his wings.  He doesn’t look again at Angor Rot, for he knows Angor is smirking at him.

“You better catch them, Stricklander, or they’ll fly away to the mountains again.”

With a huff, Strickler takes off.

Angor laughs as he watches Strickler take to the sky.  He’ll certainly never admit it, but watching the changeling’s wings beat against the air pleases him.  Strickler’s form, too.  The smoothness of his chest; the elegance of his carved tattoos.  He’s not a displeasing troll to look at.  Then again, Angor’s tastes have always been unusual.

Perhaps, if the past was written differently, there’d be something more between them.  But it is what it is.

Angor observes Strickler a moment longer, and then strides over to his garden.  They don’t eat the strange plants he tends or have any real necessity for them, but he enjoys the act of digging his fingers into the dirt.  He rips up the roots of the ones he’s deemed weeds and casts them aside.  The soil is rich and damp with last night’s rainfall.  Angor inhales deeply.

He will never it admit out loud, but he enjoys this place life has brought him to too.

Up in the air, Strickler grunts as he increases speed.  Despite his larger wingspan working in his favor, he’s slow to catch up with the troll whelps.  The ceaseless energy that comes with youth, he muses.  He’s never sought to curb the whelps’ enthusiasm, but there are occasions, like this one, where he quietly wished they had just a little bit less of it.

Still, they’re alive and, really, that’s all that matters.

...

“I’ve collected the birthstones abandoned in Trollmarket.”  Strickler walks onto the bridge.  He basks in the displays of reverence Morando’s subordinates show him.  There is something utterly intoxicating about being shown proper respect for once.  “There were only three, but we expected that the numbers wouldn’t be high.”  Strickler places the stones on a hovering surface next to his general.

“Very good,” Morando praises his consort.  The corners of his lips twitch up.  He places a firm, but affectionate, hand on Strickler’s shoulder.  “Now, destroy them.”

“What?!”

“Perhaps you did not hear me correctly.”  Morando’s grip tightens uncomfortably on Strickler.  “I said destroy them.  We will build a new empire here on Urrrth.  One that has no place for such lesser beings.”

“But they haven’t even emerged yet.”  Strickler takes on a pacifying tone.  “They can be taught to—”

“Enough!  You may be a fine specimen for your kind, but you are an exception.  My empire will not be marred by the presence of such creatures.  I will not give the order again.  Destroy them, Strickler.”

Strickler disobeys.  The praise Morando gives him and the soft caresses may fill a gaping hole where his heart should be, but he is not the ruthless soldier he was created long ago to be.

He takes the three birthstones and hides them away.  Then, while Morando is distracted by his invasion of Earth, Strickler sneaks them down to the hangar.

Thwack!

The knife wedges itself in the wall a hair ahead of Strickler’s nose.  He freezes.  His eyes dart around until he finds the source of the attack.

“Where do you think you’re going, Stricklander?”  The rumble, familiar and dangerous, sneaks into his ears.

He growls his response, “None of your concern.”

Angor Rot saunters out of the shadows that concealed him.  “Off to destroy birthstones?  Innocent whelps yet to be born?  Even I never stooped so low.”

Strickler glances around.  They’re alone in the hangar.  The strikers, all but for the one he sabotaged so he’d have it for his escape, have been deployed and are likely reigning destruction down on Earth.  “I hardly expect you to believe this, but no.”  Without witnesses, it’s safe enough for him to say.  “They deserve the chance to live.  I’m going to give it to them.”

“You would betray your general?”  The way Angor speaks the title makes it sound like poison.  “After you’ve stood with him?  I have been watching, Stricklander.  I have seen the nightmares you condoned at his side.”

“You of all trolls should know, sometimes things change.”  Strickler marches toward the striker.  “Either attempt to cut me down or get out of my way.  Time is short.”

Angor pulls his knife out from the wall.  He follows Strickler.  “I won’t give you the sweet release of death you so desire.”  He jumps into the ship before Strickler can.  “Nor will I let you slip away so easily.”

There’s no time left for arguing.  They leave Earth together.

...

The first whelp hatched from their stone, the purple one, Oria, dives into a cloud bank as Strickler grabs for their foot.  Oria emerges giggling.  Eyes full of mischief, they spread their wings and swoop down around Strickler.  The changeling knows they’re going for a sneak attack and lets them.

Oria is the most like Strickler of the three.  He believes somewhere in the purple whelp’s ancestry is a link to his own original tribe, a tribe that fell out of existence centuries ago, but remains in small traits, such as ringed horns and bat-like wings, that pop up every now and then every generation.

Oria makes their move.  They slam into Strickler’s back, thrusting the both of them into a thick, chilly cloud.  As they lose momentum, Strickler wraps his arms around Oria.  First one caught.  Two to go.  He maneuvers Oria, who huffs grumpily, under one arm, so he can have the other free.

The bright orange whelp, Cerebi, laughs at their sibling’s ill-fortune at being the first caught.  They lean back as they do, end up going to far, and slip upside down, which only makes them laugh harder.

Cerebi is a rare, natural-born polymorph.  Before they emerged, Strickler hardly believed such a thing existed.  Then, Cerebi shifted for the first time.

There are times when Strickler thinks he sees hints of Otto Scaarbach in the whelp, but he brushes the notion aside.  Firstly, because Otto never was the childrearing type.  Secondly, simply because he’d only known one other polymorph before Cerebi, it doesn’t mean the two necessarily share a connection.

Strickler makes a grab for Cerebi, easily captures the distracted whelp, and maneuvers them under the arm not keeping hold of Oria.

The youngest whelp, the green one with blue streaks, Dilos, is the only one without natural wings.  Theirs is the one thing Strickler and Angor Rot successfully managed to make together.  They’d found old blueprints in the striker’s computer system for what looked like a set of holographic projection-type wings and got to work.  

Not that either Strickler or Angor Rot will ever admit to it, but they’d do anything to prevent their shared children from being sad.  And Dilos, the most sensitive of the three, cried when they realized their siblings could do something they could not.  Thus, Strickler and Angor put aside their various arguments and worked together until they managed to make Dilos a functioning flight apparatus.

Once he sees his siblings are caught, Dilos willingly goes to hover by Strickler.  He doesn’t like to be left out.

When they return to the ship, they find Angor waiting.  As each of the whelps place their feet on the ground, he looks them over.

“I would never let any harm come to them,” Strickler reminds him.

“They’re mischievous.”  Angor turns away from Cerebi to gaze at Strickler.  “And youthful.  Such a combination can be dangerous.”

Upon hearing the word ‘dangerous’ the three whelps each break out in a wide grin.  As a unified force, they tackle Angor Rot to the ground.

“Play with us!”  They shout in his face.

So, as the morning mists dissipate and the day warms, Angor Rot engages in play fighting with Oria, Cerebi, and Dilos.  When the whelps finally exhaust themselves, they collapse down on him.  Their eyelids flutter close and they drift to sleep.

Strickler settles next to Angor.  Not quite close enough to be too familiar, but closer than he used to get.  He lifts a wing to shield Angor and the whelps from the light of the sun as they rest.

[theajaheira]

untraditional, unconditional

read it on ao3!

for @jackalopingintothevoid !!! who Came Up With This Amazing AU In The First Place and as such inspired THE actual first fic i ever wrote that involves a giles/jenny wedding!!!! well. in the ripper au. still counts

complete with orange blossoms, cupcakes, and ring pop proposals: this fic is an unholy amount of fluff.

In movies Ripper occasionally watches (covertly, and with Buffy) the will-you-marry-me moment is generally outside, or in the rain, or after a passionate declaration of love, or something ridiculous and romantic like that. What actually happens is that he’s bringing home the groceries (oranges for a citrus-banana smoothie he wants to try and make, coffee because his girlfriend is a nightmare without her morning cup, and an unholy amount of noodles since the children are stopping by for dinner) and Jenny, Jenny who he trusts, ambushes him as soon as he comes in, thrusts a ring pop in his face, and says, “Hey, I found this and it got me thinking—”

“No,” says Ripper, horrified. “Jenny, no. Don’t you dare propose to me with that, I sent for my grandmother’s ring and you are not proposing to me with a ring pop.”

“—that we should really institute a no-candy policy in this house when the kids are—what?” Jenny goes pink. “You sent for your grandmother’s ring?” she asks. Then, blushing even more furiously, “For me?”

“No, it’s for my other girlfriend,” says Ripper dryly, realizing too late that he has completely fucked up. Then, “And—I didn’t send for—anything.”

“I was just talking about a no-candy policy,” says Jenny. She’s grinning ear-to-ear. “On account of me finding this under the couch.”

“Why is it this close to my face if you found it under the couch?” Ripper demands, trying to switch the subject from accidental marriage proposals to Jenny’s absolute inability to understand that the five-second rule isn’t applicable to everything.“For god’s sake, Jenny, just—just throw it out and talk to me about it without shoving it in my face—”

“Will you marry me?”

“Jesus,” says Ripper, “yes, just put that away.”

Jenny drops the ring pop and kisses him. Ripper drops all the groceries and kisses her back. Oranges are everywhere on the floor, he’s sure, and he hears the thud-thud of the noodle boxes falling out of the bag, but this is his fiancée he’s kissing and they’ll have quite enough groceries to last a lifetime.

Then Ripper pulls back and says, “I had a perfectly lovely ring, you know, and you just proposed to me with a ring pop you found under the couch—”

“Excuse me,” Jenny huffs, “you’re the one who brought up your ring in the first place, I was just finishing the job so we’d have an adorable proposal story instead of, oh, I don’t know, my husband fucked up and told me before the ring even arrived!”

“So that’d make you my wife, then?”

“Ugh,” says Jenny, and kisses him again. “So domestic.”

The ring arrives two days later, and he puts up lots of fairy lights in their small backyard, stringing the trees and the fence with little glowing dots. She gets back from work at eight, and he takes her out to the backyard and gets down on one knee at eight-ten precisely. Well-timed, he thinks, and well worth it to see the way she presses her hand to her mouth, smiling.

“You’re getting married!” Buffy shrieks, rushing into the Magic Box and nearly knocking over a display. Jenny and Ripper, who have been engaging in some vaguely PG-13 rated activities behind a bookshelf, hastily jump apart and do their best to look like the kind of people who are responsible enough to exchange nuptial vows and wedding rings. “Oh my god you’re getting married and Jenny’s gonna be a computer science teacher and Ripper can run the magic box and, and—”

“Breathe, Buffy,” says Jenny, who’s rebuttoning her shirt. Ripper steps in front of her to give her an extra few seconds.

“Can we see the ring?” Willow asks excitedly, hurrying in with Tara close behind.

“Yeah, sure!” Jenny steps around Ripper, turns to give him a last, lingering kiss, then steps up to Buffy and flips out her left hand so that the diamond catches the light. “Family heirloom,” she adds proudly, and it strikes Ripper how much that sort of thing means to Jenny. He gets the sense that she picks up on his realization, because she holds out her right hand and wiggles her fingers until he steps up to stand next to her.

We’re going to be a family, he thinks, and likes that.

“Ooh, sparkly!” Buffy takes Jenny’s hand, examining the ring more closely. “Are you guys gonna have a big blowout wedding, or—?”

“We’re on a budget,” says Jenny, who doesn’t sound too bothered by that fact. “We’re probably gonna just get married in the backyard in a few days or something. Maybe have a barbecue.”

“Are you going to invite family?” Tara asks, and it’s perhaps that it’s Tara asking that makes the question a little easier to handle; she more than any of the children knows the complexity of Ripper’s and Jenny’s situations, because she’s had difficult family of her own.

Jenny and Ripper look at each other, and then Ripper says, “We’re inviting you all, I think,” because he sort of likes the idea of having a party that’s just him and Jenny and the kids, and he doesn’t want to wait all that long for a terrifyingly big Watcher wedding. There are traditions on both his and Jenny’s sides that involve large weddings, and if they involve one family member, he’s pretty sure he has to involve them all, so—

“We should start figuring out what to wear,” Jenny says, and grins at him. Ripper grins back.

Ripper thinks he’s going to wear a suit to his wedding. He likes the idea of a fancy tuxedo, and he ends up fussing with his hair early in the morning the day before he and Jenny are scheduled to get married in their backyard, just because he wants to find the style that looks best for a soon-to-be-married man. Then he starts thinking that if he’s married, maybe he should cut his hair so it looks less shaggy—he’s edging towards his late twenties, now, and he’s a respectable shop owner with a fiancée, he should have a haircut that reflects that—and just as he’s mulling over what haircut would be best, he feels Jenny’s arms wrap around his stomach from behind and she says, “You know it’s still gonna just be you and me, right?”

Ripper thinks he gets it. “Yeah,” he says, and puts the comb down, turning around to look at Jenny. She’s wearing a pair of his boxers and a tank top, her short hair is alarmingly, adorably mussed, and his grandmother’s engagement ring is on her left ring finger. I’m going to be her husband, he thinks. She’s going to be my wife. It’s an alarmingly grown-up thought to have for someone who still plays in a band in his garage, but then maybe growing up sneaks up on you a bit.

Buffy, his best man, helps him with the wedding cake. She’s over the moon about being such an important part of the wedding planning process, and she has so many recipes she wants him to try that they end up with three dozen different test cupcakes, all frosted, iced, and decorated.

“I am not eating this many cupcakes the day before I get married,” says Ripper, staring with some horror at the many, many, many cupcakes that are taking up his kitchen.

Buffy gives him an angelic look, and he knows exactly what she’s going to say exactly before she says it. “Looks like you’ve got your wedding cake, then,” she says, sounding delighted by the notion, “or should I say wedding cupcakes,” and then she busies herself with arranging the cupcakes on a few little display stands she’d brought from home.

Jenny, who’s being fitted for her last-minute wedding dress (or, more accurately, trying on a bunch of different thrift store dresses brought over by Willow and Cordelia), pokes her head in and is immediately dragged back into the bedroom by a giggling Willow. “Can’t see your groom before the wedding,” Ripper hears her say, “it’s bad luck!”

“He and I have had scores of bad luck and managed fine, I wanna see the cupcakes!” Jenny objects in return. Ripper feels a soft warmth curl in his chest and sneaks a cupcake while Buffy isn’t looking.

Cordelia is in charge of what she calls the “Wedding Aesthetic” but what’s really just fussing with decorations and redoing all of the very nice work Ripper did with the fairy lights. He wants to start complaining, but can’t really find anything when he sees how nicely she’s spruced up the backyard with balloons, candles, Buffy’s cupcakes, and a very nice painted banner that says Ripper and Jenny in big black letters. Ripper has a feeling that if he’d sprung for the big wedding, it would have been Rupert and Janna on that banner, and it’s nice to see the name he chose for himself right next to the name Jenny picked as her own. Well—Jenny can call him Rupert, and he sometimes calls her Janna, but that’s between a soon-to-be-married couple so it’s not really anyone else’s business.

“I’ve almost got the flower arch set up,” Cordelia announces to the group. Despite the fact that she’s been doing most of the heavy lifting in the backyard, she looks absolutely impeccable in her cream-colored dress and heels.

“Isn’t it bad form to wear white at a wedding if you’re not the bride?” Ripper asks, bemused.

“It is if the bride is wearing white,” says Cordelia cryptically, which makes Ripper grin. He likes it when Jenny’s got a trick or two up her sleeve.

“Something blue!” Willow shouts, barreling past Ripper and Cordelia with a bright blue corsage. “Gotta adhere to the traditions—”

Ripper adjusts his leather jacket where Willow had knocked it, and that’s when he sees someone waiting right outside the gate to their backyard. Stepping around Cordelia, he opens the gate, and he feels as though the wind has been knocked out of him.

“Hello, Rupert,” says his grandmother, and gives him a small, proud smile.

“Gran,” says Ripper, feeling a little sheepish. “I, um, suppose you—”

“Figured you wouldn’t be wasting all that much time with your Jenny?” his grandmother finishes. “I meant to drop by and congratulate the both of you on your engagement, but it seems as though I might have arrived just in time for another happy occasion as well.”

“Yeah, a bit,” says Ripper awkwardly. He should have thought through the concept of asking his gran for her old engagement ring—she’s a lot smarter than he gives her credit for, and he gives her credit for a lot. “Sorry I didn’t invite you—or Dad—or, um, anyone, really. It’s not that big an event.”

Cordelia, whose occupation at the moment seems to be making his life as difficult as possible, shouts across the yard, “XANDER HARRIS, THIS IS THE BIGGEST EVENT YOU’VE EVER BEEN INVOLVED IN, STOP SLACKING AND SET UP THOSE TABLES!”

“She’s a bit dramatic,” Ripper adds.

His grandmother looks at him for a long moment, her smile quivering, and then she claps him on the shoulder and says, “Rupert, I am intensely proud of the man you have become. Might I stop by and give my congratulations to your bride?”

It takes Ripper a moment to speak, after that. Shyly, he smiles too, then says a little awkwardly, “I-I suppose you could stay—a bit longer than that. Meet the kids. I’d like it.”

The backyard really is coming together. Faith and Anya are helping Xander with folding chairs borrowed from the Magic Box storeroom, Cordelia is holding various floral-print dresses up to Tara to see which looks best on her, and Buffy, armed with a portable video camera, is recording the entire process with excited narration. Willow, Ripper supposes, is still off helping Jenny; a maid of honor’s job is never done.

Unsure of what he’s supposed to do, Ripper heads back inside and nearly collides with Jenny. “Oh, don’t look!” she gasps, squeezing her own eyes shut and quickly covering his eyes with her hand.

Ripper grins a bit, closes his eyes, and takes both of Jenny’s hands in his, squeezing them tight. “Not looking,” he reassures. “I know that’s bad luck.”

“I don’t believe in that,” says Jenny stubbornly, “I just don’t want the kids giving me a hard time about it.”

“Of course,” Ripper agrees.

“And—”

“Yeah?”

“No one’s giving the bride away. Just to be clear. That is a patriarchal, dumbass tradition and I don’t want—”

“No, actually, I think my gran’s walking me down the aisle to you,” says Ripper quite seriously. “You are, after all, the one who proposed.”

Jenny giggles, and then lets go of his hands, placing her hands on his shoulder to press a slightly off-center kiss to his mouth. “I love you, dumbass,” she whispers against his mouth, and then she pulls away and moves back. He hears the sound of her colliding with the wall, then her laugh, and then the sound of her footsteps retreating to the bedroom, and waits five extra seconds before opening his eyes.

“I love you too, you know,” he calls after her, grinning like an idiot, and then heads back out to the backyard to help lay tablecloths or something.

Angel’s officiating. Weird as fuck to have the bloke who almost killed his wife marry them, but according to Jenny it’s a gesture of goodwill, and Ripper really will do anything for Jenny so he figures this is a small sacrifice to make. He examines himself in the floor-length mirror in his and Jenny’s bedroom. Neatly combed hair that, yes, is still a bit more on the side of singer-for-Wretched shaggy, but it seems a bit more honest than a married-man haircut; Jenny’s right about things not magically changing just because he calls her his wife. Sensible button-down bought for exactly this occasion, tuxedo jacket from one of his band mates, dusty green waistcoat that he’d taken from his father’s closet before leaving for college all those years ago—light blue pocket square handed to him by Cordelia.

New, borrowed, old, blue. For all his rebellion in college, Ripper always has had a bit of a soft spot for traditions.

Someone knocks on the door, and Ripper turns to see Buffy standing there in a black dress with a tuxedo T-shirt thrown over. Everyone’s been having quite a lot of fun with the rather lax dress code. “Hey, you ready?” she says, her voice soft and very happy.

“Yeah,” says Ripper, and grins. It feels—the easiest thing he’s ever done. Best decision he’s ever made. Took him years to figure out Jenny was the one he wanted to be with, let alone even think about marrying her—after that mess with Ethan and Randall and the rest, part of him had been afraid his heart made the wrong decisions. She’s the person that makes his head and his heart match up, he thinks, and he gets the sense he’s that for her too. He likes that.

“C’mon, lover boy,” says Buffy. “She’s waiting.” With that, she disappears, leaving the door ajar, and heads out to the backyard. Ripper’s not sure, but he thinks he can make out a slightly louder rendition of “Here Comes The Bride,” complete with electric guitar—of fucking course those kids would invite the rest of Wretched to be the wedding band. God, but he’s got a good family.

He adjusts his tie one last time, then heads out to the back door, where his gran is standing all dressed up in one of those matching pastel skirt-jacket-hat things that all grans seem to somehow own. She extends an arm to him, then opens the door, and—

oh.

There’s Jenny, at the end of it all, her short hair framing her face, holding a bouquet of orange blossoms, wearing a shimmering green dress with a flared-out skirt that ends at the knees. She’s woven orange blossoms into her hair, and she’s looking at him, and she’s smiling. Ripper wants to take off and fucking run towards her and wrap her in his arms and never let go.

“It’s your wedding, dear,” says his gran with some amusement, as though she knows what he’s thinking. “And you’ve never really needed anyone to point you in the right direction—you always do find your way there in the end.”

So Ripper runs. He almost trips over the front step, and he can hear the delighted exclamations of the children and of his band, but the music doesn’t stop and Jenny’s laughing as he scoops her up in his arms and twirls her around. He’s fairly certain she drops the orange blossoms.

“Um,” says Angel. “You two aren’t—you’re not married yet. You know that, right?”

“I love you,” Jenny whispers into Ripper’s collar.

“I love you too,” Ripper whispers into her hair, and puts her down in front of him. She stoops to pick up the orange blossoms, then pulls herself up, hair mussed, eyes sparkling. My wife, he thinks, and his heartbeat picks up.

“All right,” says Angel, sounding a little confused. Buffy whoops. “Okay. Everyone knows they’re not married? Great. Let me just read some stuff.” He starts in with some speech that Ripper really isn’t listening to; Jenny’s reached out and taken his hand, stepping just a bit closer to him, and now all he’s thinking about is the vows he’s got planned. They’re rather nice vows, in his opinion. He spent a good amount of time on them—three months, in fact, long before he’d even proposed—and he’s got them memorized very well at this point. He was even practicing in the shower. Jenny, you—

“The rings?” Angel says again, and points to Xander, who’s holding them out on a pillow and looking pointedly at Ripper.

“He’s too busy looking into my eyes,” says Jenny very loudly. “I’m irresistible.” She takes one of the rings, then takes Ripper’s hand again, slipping the ring onto his finger. He’s never going to take it off, he decides. Never, never, ever, and he picks up Jenny’s ring and slips it onto her finger. She sniffles a little and smiles; for all her supposed disdain for tradition, Jenny shares the same love for it when it’s him she’s sharing traditions with. He can understand that.

“Rup—” Angel gets a very disapproving look from Jenny. “Uh, Ripper,” he says, looking a little frightened at the way Jenny’s still glaring, “do you have any—do you both have vows you wanna say?”

“I’ll go first,” Jenny whispers to him, “I know you’re gonna make me cry, and I don’t think I can handle that right now.”

“Apt and accurate,” Ripper agrees. “I’m bloody touching when I put my mind to it.”

“Yeah, I know,” says Jenny, and sniffles again, still smiling. “Okay. Um, Rupert—I love you so much. Like, crazy much. It’s almost ridiculous. I only had two days to write these vows, so they aren’t that great, but—marriage to me is honestly just an extension of what we’ve already got, you know? I want to promise that I’ll always stick by you, and that I’ll always be there to patch you up after patrol and listen to you complain about the customers who come into the Magic Box and don’t buy anything, and that I’ll always be down for making out in the training room when the kids think we’re having important research talks—”

“Is that what they’re doing?” shouts Faith indignantly. “That’s not fair! Ripper said the training room is a no makeout zone!”

“Shh,” says Ripper. “My wife is talking.” She’s not his wife yet, but he likes saying it.

Jenny likes hearing it, too, because her cheeks go pink and her smile widens. “Yeah,” she says. “I want to promise all those things, but—I think you already know me well enough by this point to know I’m not going anywhere. So that’s my promise. That I’ll always keep on living up to my word, making good on my promises, and loving you like crazy.”

This is staggeringly romantic from someone who proposed to him with a ring pop she found under the couch. Ripper resists the temptation to say this thought out loud only because he’s doing his best not to cry in front of absolutely everyone before he’s started in on his own vows. He doesn’t really do all that great at it, and raises a hand to his face, smiling through his tears. “Right,” he says, his voice wobbling. “Well. You’ve certainly made my vows look quite awful before I’ve even started them.”

Jenny giggles. “I did, didn’t I?” she agrees. In the front row, Willow has burst into tears and is sobbing into Tara’s shoulder.

Ripper clears his throat, then tries to sort out his thoughts. “Jenny,” he manages. “You—have known me at my worst and at my most confused, and you have loved me all the same. You have given me kindness and patience, and you’ve always told me when I’m making an incredibly stupid decision. I’m a better person for knowing you, and—and there’s nothing that I want more than the opportunity to be able to make you feel happy and loved for as long as you’ll let me, because the both of us know you’re the one calling the shots here.”

“Damn straight,” Jenny agrees, eyes bright.

“Truly,” Ripper finishes, “I-I count myself lucky you’re the one I love, and even luckier you love me.” Jenny’s hands in his, he turns to Angel and adds seriously, “We’re married now, aren’t we?”

Angel squints at the papers he’s holding. “Did anyone say I do?”

“Your bloody idea to get him to marry us,” Ripper says through his teeth to Jenny, and she giggles wetly.

“Um, Rupert Edmund Giles,” Angel says, still reading off the papers, “will you—follow up to all that stuff you said in your vows? You know, loving, cherishing, having and holding?”

“Oh my god,” comes a voice, and before anyone knows what’s going on, Cordelia’s stalked up the aisle and snatched the papers from Angel. “Ripper,” she says, “do you promise you’ll be the kickass husband Jenny deserves?”

“I do,” says Ripper. Jenny is in hysterics.

“Jenny,” says Cordelia, fixing Angel with a firm look when he tries to grab the paper back, “do you promise you’ll be an intensely awesome wife to Ripper?”

“I do,” Jenny wheezes.

“Cool,” says Cordelia. To Angel, she adds, “You owe me half of whatever they were paying you to do this,” shoves the papers back at him, and hurries back to her seat, high-fiving Buffy and Willow before settling herself down next to a giggling Anya.

“By the power vested in me—thanks to—someone,” Angel manages, still looking utterly confused, “I pronounce you two man and—and woman.”

“Husband and wife!” Buffy shouts.

“Husband and wife,” Angel corrects himself. “Yep. You two can kiss now.”

Ripper picks Jenny up and kisses her, the children tossing orange blossom petals everywhere. One gets in Jenny’s eye and she has to pull back a bit to brush it away, and that’s when it really hits Ripper that they’re truly, properly married. This is his wife that he’s holding, in her green dress, her bouquet held behind his head as she twines her arms around his neck.

“So I’m your husband now,” he says. “You’ve locked me down.”

“I’m sorry, I locked you down?” Jenny looks positively joyful. “You’re the one who sent for your grandmother’s ring—”

Ripper kisses her again, and again, and again.

Everyone dances to Wretched at the reception. Ripper hops up for a few songs (and yes, of course he sings the one about Jenny, what kind of husband would he be if he didn’t), but most of his time is spent dancing with his punch-drunk wife(he loves calling her that, loves it so much) and eating cupcakes with the bridal party. Xander ends up eating most of them, but Ripper doesn’t mind; he and Jenny are rather preoccupied being happy newlyweds.

“So are you two gonna have any kids?” Buffy demands, icing all over her nose.

Jenny hands Buffy a napkin, then says, “Give us a break, we’re adulting one step at a time.”

“I wanna see the wedding video when it’s edited,” Dawn adds. “Particularly that part where Cordelia saved the entire wedding.”

Angel mumbles something about “didn’t need saving” and “was doing fine.” Cordelia pats his shoulder and continues to gracefully drink sparkling apple juice from her champagne flute.

Jenny smiles a little, then leans back into Ripper, tucking an orange blossom into his lapel. “How’s marriage treating you?” she asks, letting her hand linger on his chest.

“Am I still going to be able to play with the band?”

“As long as I never have to cook you dinner,” says Jenny, and settles her cheek against his chest. Ripper kisses the top of her head and listens to the band, and—they’re happy. He likes that bit the most, out of all the things that have happened tonight: they’re happy. It seems like the best bit of luck any wedding could have.