#we were looking through our family tree counting grandkids

[incorrectpizza]

"I think the Skywalker side of the family is the tamer side."

- my little sister about our insanely chaotic happy post Rebels AU

[hillnerd]

puppies for sale

Rating: PG  AO3  ff.net Summary: Ron goes to pick up the kids from the Burrow, which should be an easy thing- but there are puppies for sale down the road. Domestic Weasley-Granger family fluff. not beta-ed. we die like men ;)   ------------------

“Mum, I’m here!” called Ron, as he stepped out of the floo to his childhood home, spelling away the soot before he tromped it all over and got an ear-full for it. The Burrow always remained the same, the only sign of the passage of time was the people inside, and the occasional photo or children’s artwork being changed out on the walls. A fragrant baking smell wafted through the house, and he could faintly hear the sound of children laughing. 

“In the kitchen, dear!”

He happily trounced over to see what his Mum had been baking, hoping she wasn’t saving it for anyone. He hadn’t gotten in much of a lunch and his stomach was fiercely growling.

“Something smells good.”

“Fig rolls,” she said with a satisfied smile. Like his dad and all the rest of their older redheaded relatives, her hair wasn’t graying, just fading into a pale rose color with little white streaks here and there. “You look hungry. Help yourself to some rolls and a glass of milk.”

Ron gave her a kiss on the cheek before taking a still warm fig roll from the plate and quickly tucking in. He gave an appreciative sigh. “Can you write up the recipe for these?”

She took out a card from her recipe box and quickly duplicated it onto a spare slip of parchment. 

“How was the shop?”

“Chaos as usual,” he said, wiping some crumbs from his beard. “But we’ve been working on some ideas recently that really have potential in defense and business markets, so I’m feeling rather good about that… Where are the kids at?”

“With your father near his shed. Don’t worry, I don’t let them go inside it!” 

Ron furtively rolled his eyes. No matter how many times they all assured her of the shed’s safety, she remained staunchly convinced that everything in there could spring to life with ‘ekeltrickedy’ and murder any visitors. Why she thought only her husband could survive the death trap was beyond him, but he knew better than to question her at this point. 

“Thanks for the food and the recipe! I’ll take a whack at it after the Halloween rush,” he said, heading out to find the children.

His dad was sitting in a Muggle folding camp chair Hermione had gifted him. He’d been giddy about it for months, and took it out so regularly it got banned from the house itself after he’d set it up in the dining room one too many times.

“Watch out, you might be accosted soon,” he warned Ron, twitching his head near the garden wall. There stood a few lean-tos, made from pieces of apple boxes, sticks, and decorated with a great deal of leaves. Magic was surely holding them in place, because they looked incredibly structurally unsound.

“Halt!” cried Rose, jumping from behind a tree. She jabbed a wand-shaped stick in Ron’s direction as he approached. “This is our society!”

“Yeah! Our sosety!” Hugo repeated from inside an apple box. He laid on his stomach and poked the dirt with his ‘wand.’

“It’s society,” Rose harshly whispered at her brother, making Ron shake his head at her tone. She sounded just like Hermione when she’d been a snooty first year. He’d have to work on that with her. Last thing he wanted was his little girl getting bullied for the same stuff her mother had. If Hugo had seemed at all upset Ron would have intervened, but instead Hugo had a gleeful grin on his face.

“SOCIETY!” Hugo boldly bellowed, pointing his own ‘wand,’ before laughing and flapping his hands in excitement. 

“Careful now. Don’t put your eye out,” Ron said, flicking his wand to keep the flailing stick away from Hugo’s face, narrowly avoiding an accident.  

“We made our own society!” Rose proclaimed. “You need to ask permission to come in.”

“Ah, well, may I enter your society?”

 It wasn’t that hard to get into their society. Rose immediately took him by the hand and started giving a tour.

“Over there is our ministry, and a museum, and over here is the hospital, and over there the jail. Hugo’s been there a lot.”

“Oh? Now why is that?” Ron asked, looking over to his dad in concern. He didn’t want Hugo being picked on.

“He just liked that box the most,” Dad replied for them, as Rose had lost interest in the tour and was decorating the ministry roof with more leaves. “Rosie dubbed it a jail, and Hugo didn’t much care until she said it’s where ‘bad men go’. There was a spot of caterwauling about that, but then he found he’d rather be in a spacious apple box jail instead of the other buildings that were so cramped and falling over. Also, no spider webs in the jailhouse.”

“There are spiders in these?” Ron asked, voice going high. He began to tromp towards the ‘museum.’

“No no, only webs,” Dad laughed, patting Ron on the arm.

Not feeling as amused about the society Rose had created, he announced, “alright, kids. Time to wrap it up and head home.”

“No! We can’t go home yet!” Rose yelled, accidentally knocking her precarious ministry  decorations to the ground as she ran over. “We were supposed to go look at puppies!”

“Daddy, we hafta see the puppies! We hafta!” Hugo whined, shimmying along his belly to work his way out of the apple box. 

“Puppies?” Ron repeated.

“The Watsons have some puppies down the road,” said Dad, polishing his glasses. “They have them for sale right now.”

“Maybe next time.”

“Nooo, they might all be sold and gone by then!” Rose practically wailed, her face starting to turn red. Hugo’s brown eyes started to fill with tears at the idea.

Ron gave a sigh and looked to his father, who gave a shrug. He’d never hear the end of it if they didn’t get to see them.

“The Watsons…” Ron asked. “They’re the ones to the West with the goats?”

“That’s right.”

“Pleeeease can we see the puppies, Daddy?” Hugo asked, pulling at Ron’s trouser leg. 

Unable to think of a reason to disappoint his children, Ron promptly told them yes. He made sure to bundle them up, as a crisp fall wind had picked up, then the three of them walked to the Watsons’ small farm.

Sure enough along the dirt country road was a cardboard sign stating ‘puppies for sale.’ Rose read the sign out loud for Hugo, and Ron had to quickly grab their hands before they dashed into the property. He helped them over the cattle guard, then walked them to the barn door where he could see old Mrs Watson shaking out a blanket. She was a stout hardy looking old woman, who had a genial face with deep craggy smile lines all over the place.

“Hello, dears. You must be one of them Weasley boys, aren’t you?” she asked, straightening her apron in a way that reminded him of his mother. Rose politely smiled at her while Hugo quietly hid himself behind Ron’s leg.

“That’s right, Mrs Watson. I’m Ron, Molly and Arthur’s youngest of the boys,” he said with a smile. “And these are mine. Rose and Hugo.”

“Goodness! I remember when you were just a sprout of a thing toddling about behind your other brothers. Can’t believe you’re old enough to have your own children!” She gave a shake of her head then squinted down at Rose and Hugo. “I imagine you want to see some puppies, don’t you?”

“Yes please,” Rose said in a burst of enthusiasm, as Hugo’s hands began to tug at Ron’s trouser leg. 

“Well you go on in. We have them in the birthing stall to the right. Feel free to let yourself into it and pet them, just don’t let them out,” she said. Without prompting Rose hurried into the barn, while Hugo stayed attached to Ron’s leg. “Would you all like some hot chocolate to warm you up?”

“What do you say, Hugh?” Ron asked, craning his neck to see Hugo’s face. 

Hugo pulled his father’s hand until Ron was leaning over, and whispered in his ear, “I wanna have chocolate and puppies.”

“You can do both,” Ron assured him, in a low voice. Hugo gave a small smile.

“Hot chocolate sounds lovely, Mrs Watson, thank you.”

“Alright me lovers, you go see puppies and I’ll have some hot chocolate in no time!” she said with a kindly look at Hugo.

Once Mrs Watson was gone Hugo enthusiastically pulled Ron into the barn, with Ron stooped the whole way. 

Rose had waited outside the pen, though Ron wasn’t sure if it was for Hugo’s sake or because she wasn’t sure how to open the two-way gate latch. 

Toddling about the hay were seven or so adorable fluffy puppies, some black and some brown. Rose and Hugo immediately were all giggles and squeals, kneeling down and enthusiastically getting investigated by the curious pups. They spent a long time getting licked and playfully nipped at, and Ron felt immensely grateful he’d decided to let them visit the pups, despite one chewing on his shoelaces and another whizzing on him. He surreptitiously spelled it away, not wanting to ruin the moment.

“Oooooh, look at its little paws!” Rose cooed, holding one in her lap, not noticing it enthusiastically teething her messy braid. 

“I like this one!” Hugo said, holding a much more calm pup, who looked smaller than the rest of them. It happily nuzzled into Hugo’s arms.

“I have some hot chocolate here,” said Mrs Watson, bringing over some throw away mugs with plastic lids. “Figured if you couldn’t drink it all, you could bring it home for later.”

“Quite thoughtful, thank you,” said Ron, accepting the drinks, noting the kids had little enthusiasm for anything but the puppies still. Not wanting to be rude, he stayed next to Mrs Watson to chat, while the kids continued to play.

“How are your mother and father doing?” she asked.

“Mum’s still cooking away, Dad’s still working, but they watch the grandkids a lot. That’s why we’re here today.”

“How many grandkids are there now?”

“Hard to keep count!” he said with a smile. “But I think it’s... twelve now? I don’t think I’m leaving anyone out.”

“Christmas must be spectacular!”

“A bit crowded, but yeah, it’s quite nice.”

“I’m sure it is. I only have two grandchildren, but I love it when they visit. Had them up last weekend to get one of the puppies. Started with twelve puppies, same as your family, but now all are spoken for but one.”

“Which one?”

“The littlest one, but that Clark White down the road’s been saying he might come by to get one.”

Ron bristled a bit. He remembered Mr White, a sinister old bugger of a man. He never tended his fences, was always in disputes with neighbors, and his animals all had a forlorn look about them. 

Just then there was a brisk knock on the barn door, and in came the man himself, looking surly as ever. He resembled a dried fig that had been bleached by the sun, and his thin lips were turned down in a permanent frown that only served to emphasize his jowls. He and Mrs Watson exchanged pleasantries, though neither looked particularly pleased about it. 

“Which ones are available still?” 

“I’m afraid only one,” answered Mrs Watson.

“Ain’t the runt, is it?” He snorted.

“It is, but he’s a hardy little thing. I doubt he’ll end up much smaller than the rest of the pups when he’s grown.”

The old man peered into the stall, and pointed a gnarled finger.

“That’s it, yeah?” 

Hugo looked up at the old man and his eyes widened. He clutched the little puppy closer to himself. 

“That’s the puppy, yes.” 

Without preamble he opened the stall door and reached toward the puppy in Hugo’s arms. 

“Now wait a second,” Ron began, but it was too late.

Hugo gave a small cry and the dog gave a sharp yipe, jerked by the scruff of his neck by the savage Mr White. Rose looked to her father with pleading blue eyes. Hugo let out a sob and buried his face in Rose’s stomach. 

“Looks healthy enough,” Mr White said, roughly opening the puppy’s mouth to inspect its teeth. “I’ll take—”

“We’ll take him!” Ron cried out. Rose gasped, while Hugo kept his face safely tucked into his sister. 

“What?” Mr White snapped, his severe face contorting into a nasty mix of shock and rage. Ron used the man’s surprise to pluck away the puppy and bring it to his own chest.

Ron found it hard not to smirk at the old sour faced prune. “I said, we’re taking him.”

“Really?!” Rose cried out, patting her brothers russet curls. “Hugo! It’s ok! Daddy’s getting the puppy!”

“I’ll give you five hundred cash, right now,” said Mr White, reaching into his mangy work coat to bring a wad of Muggle paper money out.

Ron’s self assured smile began to falter when he realized he wasn’t sure if he had any Muggle money on him. He patted himself, but realized there was no wallet. He didn’t have so much as two pence on him, just some knuts and galleons he decidedly could not give Mrs Watson. Panic reeled as his daughter looked at him with nothing but confidence in her beaming freckled face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr White, but I’m afraid the puppy’s spoken for already,” said Mrs Watson, shaking her head. “Plus, as you said, it’s the runt. I’m just trading it for a few of Molly Weasley’s pies.”

“You’re joking,” Mr White snarled. “This is ridiculous! I told you I wanted one last week!”

“Well you never said which one, that I recall, but my memory’s not what it used to be… Sorry to disappoint you, Clarke,” she said with a large smile. 

He gave an ugly look at them all before stomping out of the barn and slamming the door behind him. Hugo’s hands went to his ears and he further buried his face in Rose’s stomach. Not wanting to overwhelm Hugo further, Ron turned to Mrs Watson.

“I didn’t mean to cause you trouble,” he said, with an apologetic look.

“Oh it’s no trouble. Any excuse to slight Clarke White makes my day a little bit brighter, truth be told.”

 “Well, I can’t let you give away the puppy for a few pies. How much is the pup, really?”

“Well, I’ve been asking three hundred. They’re purebred, good guard stock, with all their shots and de-worming and such. But I meant what I said. You just have two of Molly’s pies here some time before Christmas and we’ll call it quite even.”

“I’ll make sure you have them whenever you want. Thank you, Mrs Watson. And I’ll add in something more than just the pies,” Ron said, before slowly approaching the children. 

Rose was still stroking Hugo, whose hands were firmly stuck to his ears. Ron knelt down and brought the puppy up between them. “Let’s sit down and sip our hot chocolate, and pet this new puppy of ours. We don’t have to deal with that mean, scary old man again, I promise you.”

It took some coaxing, but Hugo finally removed his hands and stroked the puppy’s fluffy little head, worrying the ear of the dog between his fingers. After some more calming down they drank most of their hot chocolate, bid Mrs Watson a fond goodbye (she was kind enough to give him a collar and enough kibble for a few days), and walked back to the Burrow, puppy buried in Ron’s coat. Even being a ‘runt’ and ten weeks old it was too heavy for the kids to carry for long.

Both his mother and father shook their heads at him for buying the puppy, but he didn’t want to bring up Mr White in front of the children so held his tongue. They flooed home, and Ron set about making a nesting box for the pup. Hugo and Rose were eager to help make it as cozy as they could with long abandoned stuffed animals and blankets. 

“What should we name him?” Ron asked them, as the little pup sleepily walked in a circle before toppling onto his side to sleep.

“Broomstick,” said Hugo.

“Quaffle,” Rosie offered.

“I’m sensing a theme…” said Ron, looking about the nearest shelf for a quidditch book. “Perhaps we can name him after a famous quidditch player?”

“We could name him after Aunt Ginny!” 

“He’s a boy, though,” Rose protested. 

“Names are just names, they don’t have to be ‘boy or girl’ names,” Ron supplied, remembering an article Hermione’d given him to read about it a few years prior. “But I don’t think Aunt Ginny wants to share her name with a dog.”

“Why not name him after Viktor Krum?” Rose said with a smile. 

Ron couldn’t deny the idea of having his dog named Krum wouldn’t be that bad, but then again he didn’t want to deal with Hermione’s wrath should she find it insulting.

“Hmm… Someone we don’t know?” he prompted.

“The Cannons!” Hugo crowed. “Wait I know!”

“Chudley!” they all three chorused together.

Ron gave a hearty laugh that made Chudley open his eyes before promptly falling asleep again. “You definitely are my children!”

Hugo lettered, with help from Rose, Chudley’s name across the side of the box. Only one of the letters was backwards, which was quite the accomplishment. Rose decorated it with a variety of stickers and hand drawn flowers, stars and Cannons logos.

Hermione owled to say she was running late. He would have preferred the ‘we have a dog now’ reveal to happen with the children present so she couldn’t give him as much of an earful, but her schedule had been quite mad at the Ministry recently.

The children were exhausted from all the excitement, so he managed to get them fed, bathed and asleep early and without much fuss. 

Ron put on the radio, sat on the sofa and took out a notebook to make some notes for the Wheezes marketing campaign for Halloween. Chudley was curled up in his box with old Crookshanks curiously peering down from the hearth.

“You be nice, you old ginger bastard,” Ron said with a warning look. Crookshanks turned his yellow glare at Ron before jumping from the hearth onto the sofa, butting his head against Ron’s leg. He rolled over to show his old pudgy tummy. 

“Oh I know that’s a trap! But nice try,” said Ron, remembering quite vividly the last time a vindictive Crookshanks had pretended to want tummy rubs. 

The flames of the fire brightened, and he smiled knowing Hermione would be home in a moment. Crookshanks quickly schooled himself into a ‘good cat’ position for her, giving Ron the opportunity to rub the cat’s fur the wrong way tail to head.

“That’s what happens when you try to trick me into getting stabbed by your claws.”

Hermione flooed into the house, and a smile curled his lips. He hated when she was kept at work longer, but the one silver lining was that it always led to her hair going a bit mussed and wild. Today was not an exception. 

“Hello, love,” he murmured, eyeing the ringlets around her face. “Did you already eat? I have Hugo’s favorite ‘spagooters’ ready and can heat it up in a jiff.”

She gave a tired but contented smile and collapsed onto the sofa beside him, giving Crookshank’s chin a scratch as the cat purred and preened for her, pitifully meowing for attention.

“We should call it spaghetti. I don’t want Hugo learning the wrong words for things.”

“Hugh knows it’s spaghetti,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Plus there’s nothing funnier than seeing that look on your face when we chant for spagooters.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to see them tonight... It was horrible at work. That abuse allegation mess I was telling you about last week is really coming to a head and some of those damn Wizengamots are just… I thought I couldn’t be shocked anymore by anything awful that happens, but then they really just prove they can sink to an even lower level than I’d ever thought possible! The way they sit there and act like over one hundred and fifty allegations of abuse is nothing is beyond me. They’re so bloody corrupt and uncaring I’m left truly shocked and speechless!”

Despite being speechless, she was able to rant about the Wizengamot for another fifteen minutes. While she ranted, he managed to get her shoes off, find out she had not eaten, and bring a meal. She ate around the ‘spagooters’ while nearly flinging tomato basil sauce onto his shirt as she gesticulated about the injustices in the world. 

“So is there anything in place for victims?” Ron asked, taking her plate into the kitchen.

“You mean for victim support?” He nodded at her. “Nothing official yet, but I’m seeing what we can do. The Wizengamot has many in denial of there actually being victims, let alone that they need help and counseling.”

“Maybe we can figure something outside of the Ministry. Perhaps we could do a fund or something through Wheezes? I could talk to some other businesses or something... Have the proceeds go to some foundation or other?”

“That’s a lovely idea,” she said with a small sniff. 

He leaned over the couch and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll talk to George in the morning.”

Chudley’s box gave a bit of a shudder and she finally noticed it.

“What’s that?” she asked looking over to the box.

“Er…” His hand went to the back of his neck. “That would be Chudley.”

“I gathered that much, since Chudley’s written on the outside of the box,” she said, raising her eyebrow at him and walking over to peer inside the box. “Ron…”

“So… I didn’t get a chance to ask if this is alright, but I bought us a puppy.”

She pursed her lips and said nothing as she stared into the box.

Ron felt a small touch of frenzied dread at how quiet she was.

“Normally I wouldn’t make such a big decision without you, but we were with Muggles and this old bleeder Mr White was about to buy it and I just knew he’d be treating it like shit because I’ve known him since I was a kid and he always treats his animals horribly, and the kids were crying as this old man made the puppy cry and buying it was the only way I could save it from him in the moment. I didn’t have my mobile on me, and even if I did I don’t think I could have reached you in time. It all happened really fast, and the kids were looking at me like ‘you can fix this!’ and I just had to, and Hugo had his little hands on his ears and- and if we have to find it a new home I completely understand and will make sure it’s all on me with the kids and not you at all, because this is really truly on me and—”

“Hush,” she said with a small laugh. “I think you’re upsetting Chudley.”

With that she reached into the box and gently cradled the little pup. She rubbed his little snout and scratched behind his ear making the dog’s tiny tail wag something mad.

“So you’re okay with us keeping him?” Ron asked hopefully. She nodded and continued to pet the small pup, who was crawling up her body to lick her jaw. Ron’s face split into a grin. “You won’t have to lift a finger for him. It’ll be me doing everything! Well me and maybe the kids a bit.”

“I can’t turn down a deal like that, can I Chudley?” she asked as the dog continued to lick at her. Crookshanks went to the top of the mantle to glare at them. “Be nice, Crookshanks! From the sound of it he was rescued from a dire situation!”

“He really was. I’m not just making excuses to have a dog.”

“I expect to hear the whole harrowing tale of why we needed to save Chudley later,” she replied, putting the pup in his box before casting a calming spell and accident-proofing his blanket. 

“In bed?”

“I was thinking we could expand the tub tonight and catch up there.” She had a saucy smile on her face he couldn’t resist. He quickly took her hand and they laughed all the way up the stairs.

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author’s note- let me know what you think! :) or reblog if wording is hard

[sincerlypadfoot]

Seconds (3)

~During the time of the order of Umbridge and the dumbledore army, you have no problems summoning your Patronus, doing it on the daily, watching the dragon fly around your room, but once you see someone who catches your eye who has troubles, you’re determined to find his happy moment

Word Count-1983

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My eyes flung open and excitement rushed through my body, quickly flooding away with the sound of my alarm cloak humming my whole room. “It’s Christmas,” I whispered to myself leaning over and shutting my alarm off.

I didn’t get out of bed or move around, I just enjoyed the quiet of the house, before everything went to chaos in a couple hours.

“Good morning,” Ryker whispered walking into the room, not knocking. “Millys asleep but do you want anything to eat before our family comes over with the kids?” He asked.

“Please, I’ll take whatever your cooking, Merry Christmas Ryker,” I smiled tossing my blanket over me. “I’ll be here admiring the snow outside,” I chuckled watching the slow melt hitting my window.

“I’ll start cooking, Merry Christmas to you too,” I said to Ryker crawling out of my bed and opening my window. “Hey wanna do me a favour,” I cooed at the owl that laid outside on the tree. I turned around and grabbed a wrapped present that laid in a bag carrier. “Neville Longbottom, it’s his Christmas present,” I placed the carried in the owl's claws, watching the black owl fly away quickly.

“Wanna match?” Milly croaked walking in, she walked in holding a purple and blue short Christmas dress. “You’ll just need a belt, it’s an earlier Christmas present from me,” She smiled walking into my room. 

“Purple, I know blues your favourite colour,” I said walking over to Milly and pulling her into a hug. “Merry Christmas Milly,” I whispered.

“Merry Christmas Lia, go have a shower, your family will be here soon,” Milly said plugging her nose. “I can smell you from my room,” She joked smiling and walking out of the room. 

I shook my head and walked towards the bathroom, getting caught up and wasting time. “Thank you!” I shouted at Milly hearing her in her bedroom just beside the shower, I heard her knock on the wall, I chuckled and continued washing my hair.

“Goodmorning,” I cheerly said to Ryker and Milly who were placing a couple things under the tree before everyone had gotten here. “How do I look?” I asked spinning around for the two.

“Like a million dollars,” Ryker said smiling. “You both look like a million dollars,” He smirked planting a kiss on Milly's cheek. “Cooking is almost done, family will be here soon, presents are planting, everything is perfect, just mom and dad won’t be here this year,” There was a hint of disappointment in his words.

“I’m sure they’ll be back soon Ryker,” Nothing in my voice helped any better when I walked over and wrapped my arms around my brother. “I’m sure,” I whispered in his ears.

The door knocked, breaking the both of us from our strange thoughts. Milly didn’t say a word but walked over to the door, leaving Ryker and I alone in the living room.

“Merry Christmas!” Luna Lovegood called out catching me off guard, I looked at her and smiled, running over and wrapping my arms around her. “Your clear of Nargles,” I heard Luna say taking a glance around my house.

“Merry christmas,” I chuckled smiling. “Where is your dad?” I asked looking around, a tall blond man who walked in. “Hello uncle Xeno,” I smiled happy wrapping my arms around him.

“Hello little one,” Xeno Lovegood smiled hugging me back. “Merry christmas,” His arms loosened and a tiny wrapped box shaped present laid in his hands. “Open it, your gonna love it,”

I took the perfectly wrapped present from my uncle and opened it up, a deathly hallow necklace laid infront of me, I smiled and took it out. “I love it,” I smiled hugging my uncle once again.

“I know you would, ever since I had met you when you were just a wee girl you loved my necklace, and I had to you your own,” Xeno said smiling. “i’m glad you like it,” he placed his hand on my head smiling down then walking away with Luna, followed by Milley.

I smiled walking towards our fireplace watching green sparks fly out, a woosh of green flew out and a plumped old woman walked out followed by three teenagers, recognizing them from schools.

“Oh my Lia, you look just the same as you did years ago,” My grandmother Lucille chirped wrapping her arms around me. “I heard about your parents, what a shame that they won’t be here this year,” I felt angry as the words came out of her mouth.

Ryker wrapped his arms around my shoulder before I could say anything else. “Hey Mema,” He said letting me go and wrapping his arms around her. “Missed you,” I heard him say, my anger left and I had felt a bit better.

“Come on, dinner should be ready soon,” I said to the group that stood infront of me, I didn’t wait for them to finish talking but walked away to our dining room were Luna, Xeno and Milly all were talking amongst themselves.

“Hey,” Milly greated pulling out the chair beside her. “Sit, we were just talk about your favorite topic, school,” I rolled my eyes and smiled, walking to the sit beside Milly and sitting down, placing my hand on my necklace that I had just gotten moments ago.

“Oh yes my favorite topic,” I mocked sitting down and having a drink of water that sat infront of me. “Continue your conversation,”

“Well,” Xeno started to say. “I hear that you made friends with that Longbottom kid Milly was saying,” My hand started patting my leg nervously.

“Yeah well I thought making new friends would be nice, I brought him to the carnival, I looked for you two but didn’t see you,” I smiled at the thought of Neville and if he had received my present yet.

“We didn’t see you either, must have missed each other,” Luna said smiling. “How is Neville, are the Broom Flies getting to him?” She asked making me tilt my head but I went with it.

“No I think he’s okay, no Broom Flies have gotten to him, how are you doing Luna?” I asked changing the topic from Neville to her.

“I’m doing good, though my shoes have gone missing again, suppose that the Nargles will have something to do with it,” Luna was the laid back cousin that I admired, she was calm and I had never seen her angry, and she always saw the good in people before the bad.

“Dinner shall be served,” Ryker happily said walking into the room, food appeared on the table and our Mema and her two grandkids we hated.

“So,” Lucille said breaking the silence at the table. “Good afternoon Luna dear and Xeno,” she nodded her head taking a bit of her food. “Any boyfriends?” her face turned to me.

“No don’t need one, I like it that way,” I bitterly smiled taking a drink of my water. Ryker kicked my feet but I hadn’t budged.

“Shame, i’m sure you parents want you to get married, have you thought about marriage yet?” 

Before I had been able to answer the doorbell rang and I shot up from my seat. “I’m more than happy to grab that,” I smiled looking at Ryker and Milly then making my way to the door. “Nolans residence,”

“Lia,” Neville said catching me off guard, I double looked then smiled. “I ugh Hermione told me where to find you, thank you for the snowglobes, I brought you something,” His voice trembled as he had pulled a present out from his back.

“Neville,” I smiled stepping outside and shutting the door. “You didn’t have to,” I picked my nails a bit nervous.

“My grandma insisted, open it,”  Neville pushed the gift a bit closer, I took the gift in my hands, feeling it a bit flat instantly knowing what it was and putting a bigger smile on my face.

I tossed the wrapping paper on the porch and looked at the picture frame in my hands, Neville grandmother must have taken a picture of us, I watched as Neville and I walked up the stairs with my big stuffed animal in hand, at the end with both hugged.

“I love it,” I cried out holding the picture tightly in my hand and using the rest of me to wrap my arms around Neville.

“I’m glad, I was a bit nervous, didn’t think you would like it,” Nevilles arms wrapped around me and we just stayed still for a couple seconds.

“Lia dinners getting, oh hello,” Rykers voice shot me up and I turned around looking at him. “I think we have a extra chair if you’d like to stay,” my cheeks went red.

“Neville’s grandma is waiting for him,” I started to say but stopped looking at Neville.

“Actually she’s gone visiting my parents for the night,”

“Perfect, Neville come on let me introduce you to everyone,” Ryker happily said tossing his arm over the poor boys shoulder and bringing him in the house before I could decline.

“Ryker,” I hissed picking up the wrapping and walking inside stopping the pair before entering the dining room. “Mema isn’t the nicest person, you really don’t think this through,”

“Fine,” He huffed taking his hand off Neville. “Whenever you two are ready dinner won’t be paused,” 

I placed my hand on my forehead listening to Ryker walk away. “Sorry, my brother is just dumb,” 

“It’s okay, you’ve said that a lot,” Neville chuckled facing me. “So, dinner sounds nice,” he smiled a bit.

“I’ll show you around first, my Mema isn’t my favorite person, I can go a bit, but Lunas here, she’s my cousin,” I turned from the dining room with Neville and walked up the stairs towards my room.

“Weird I never knew that, I guess her mom was your aunt?” Neville asked following me up the stairs.

“Yep, she was my moms sister, Luna and I were never close until hogwarts, now we’re like sisters,” I stopped and turned to Neville catching him off guard. “My room isn’t the best also, didn’t expect anyone to come in,”

Neville and I walked into my room, my owl Uni sitting on my desk asleep making me smile knowing he was already back. 

“Trevor isn’t nearly as cool as your owl, look at her,” Neville said walking over at Uni who opened her eyes, cooing excitedly at the sight of Neville. “I saw her this morning at my window,”

“I just thought a snowglobe would be a nice gift, something simple,” I paused walking over to my shelf and clearing a spot. “I really do like this picture, we look nice,”

Neville walked over and stood beside me, we both looked at the picture, admiring each other. “I do too,” his eyes grazed from the picture to the corner of my bed where the pink stuffed bear laid. “And that,”

I laughed rubbing the back of my neck. “Well I guess i’ll have to face my grandmother sometime, im warning you, she says whatever she likes without a care, so i’m sorry in advance,”

Neville smiled and nodded his head, we both walked down the stairs, my hands started piking at my skin but warm hands leaned into my palm and I stopped and felt a sense of calm.

“We have a extra dinner guest,” We walked into the dinning room, everyone shot their heads in our direction, Luna and Milly smiled, she was already moved beside Ryker saving a seat for Neville and I.

“Hello Neville,” Luna greated, we sat infront of her with the food already served and on our plats. “Glad you’ll be joining us tonight,”

“Neville is it,” Lucille said leaning forward a bit and putting her hand out. “Nice to meet you, I hope your treating our Liana here very well,”

“I am,” Neville smiled shaking her head. “This looks really good, thank you for having me,” he nodded his head and started eating the food.

I smiled not helping myself, glad that everything was okay and food was infront of me, Neville I took one more glance at each other letting out a chuckle then eating again.

[tisfan]

The Right Girl

Word count 1492

 01 - Handjob Tags: Handjob, shower sex, mental health, unhealthy coping mechanisms, Steve punches things a lot, anti-Ellen DeGeneres  Couple: Steve Rogers/Jessica Jones (Man with an Alias)

Takes place in the Communal Kitchen AU

Steve was exactly where she’d expected him to be. Jessica Jones could say one thing about her boyfriend, Steve Rogers, and that was that he was fairly predictable.

She leaned against one of the concrete pillars that held the roof of the gym up and watched Steve whale the hell out of a super-soldier punching bag. His hips moved in perfect time with his jabs, and his ass did the most adorable little bounce every time he hit. Jessica knew that everyone thought Tony Stark had the best ass in the Avengers -- it came up from time to time in those ridiculous listicles -- but Jessica was going to have to respectfully disagree.

That was America’s ass, right there, that was.

She held her hands up with double Ls to frame it.

“Take a picture,” Steve suggested, not speaking up to be heard. He knew she was there, had known it the whole time, probably. “It’ll last longer.”

“Rather just get my hands on it,” Jessica said, coming up behind him.

He punched the bag one more time and then held out his hand flat to make it stop swinging. “Did you need something?”

Jessica didn’t wince, or pause. She already knew this was going to be bad. “Want to talk about it?”

Steve gestured at the punching bag. Does this look like my talking face?

Jessica barreled on ahead, because she never knew how to shut up, really. She was broken in all the right places to lean against Steve’s broken bits. “So, what happened?”

It was supposed to be a fluff piece; not quite talk show, live in front of a studio audience, because after the debacle with Steve saying Ellen was friends with a war criminal and therefore just as bad, their PR team never let Steve do anything aside from ribbon cutting ceremonies that couldn’t be edited later.

Steve wasn’t even allowed to do commencement speeches, which always seemed to shock people and Jessica never understood why. Did they not realize who Steve was?

Well, no, they didn’t. They had some ultra-white conservative Captain America on their boner and never realized that wasn’t the same person at all. It had taken Jessica about three hours to realize Steve wasn’t Captain America. And she didn’t consider herself to be the brightest bulb on the Christmas Tree, so what the fuck was up with other people?

“They had an interview with Peggy,” Steve said. “She was having a good day, I guess. Talked a little about us… and that stupid thing with Howard and my jealousy. And then the reporter turned the video on me and asked me what I thought Peggy would say about my being--”

“With me?”

“Yeah.”

“So, are we going to have to pay damages?” Jessica moved a bit closer and rested her head against his sweaty back, listening to him breathe. She was as strong as he was, and it always astonished her that he was so much bigger than she was. Show off.

“I didn’t break anything,” Steve admitted, sounding cranky about it.

“Is that why you’re down here?”

“Yes-- no. I-- I’m with you,” Steve said. “Peggy and I… I mean, we never knew if anything was gonna happen, you know? There was a war, and we were busy. It might not ever have come to anything, if we’d both lived to come home.”

Privately, Jessica doubted that. Peggy Carter had been the love of Steve’s fucking life. She was always going to be second to that, and she told herself she didn’t mind, that it was okay, she had him now anyway--

“Peggy moved on with her life,” Steve said, “which is what’s supposed to fucking happen, and I’m not jealous of her husband or her kids, or her grandkids or her fucking horse farm in England.”

After more than a year together, Jessica would have supposed she’d have gotten used to Steve cursing, but she wasn’t. There was always a little elicit thrill to listening to Captain America with a fucking potty mouth.

“But you’re still mad?”

“It’s disrespectful,” Steve said, “to you. You’re not second choice, or someone I’m settling for. I love you. And I don’t see why that’s anyone else’s business but ours.”

Jessica pressed her face against his damp tee-shirt. Steve loved her. She knew he did, but that didn’t keep it from being amazing, every single time. “I swear to God,” she muttered into his skin, “that I could jerk you off on national television, and they’ll still put you and Peggy’s pictures together. It doesn’t matter, cowboy. We’re together.”

Steve turned around and tipped her chin to make her look up at him. He was slightly flushed, a little sweaty, and stupidly gorgeous as always. “You could do it now,” he suggested, and that flush got darker.

“Do-- ohhh,” she said. “Well, I suppose it is another way to destress.”

“Not-- not because of them, you know. I--”

“You love me, and Peggy is old news and you need to prove it to your dumb brain before you can move on with your life, no, I get it completely.”

Steve slumped just a little, as if in relief that he didn’t have to use his words like an adult, and if Jessica hadn’t been so cross with the magazine fuck-nuggets who thought this sort of thing was okay, she might have teased Steve a little about being too immature to ask for a handie when he wanted one.

“Come on, cowboy, let’s hit the showers,” Jessica suggested, because Natasha’s wrath was mighty when she walked in on people having sex in public areas. 

Jessica stopped by her locker to pick up some of the soft joggers and tees that the cleaning ‘bots left for people to change into after workouts. Everyone in the tower had several sets, they were all color coordinated for their armor colors. Tony was ridiculously silly about that, and everyone wore them, so it made Tony happy.

Jessica grabbed the pale grey tee and purple pants. “One of these days, I feel like telling Tony Stark that my favorite color is, in fact, pink.”

Steve blinked. “It is?”

“No, but he’d make an even more ridiculous face than you are right now, so I might do it anyway,” Jessica admitted.

Steve shucked out of his sweaty, filthy workout clothes, and Jessica was only a little behind him, because she tended to wear skinny jeans, and she did not tend to appreciate Steve ripping them off her, unless it was a very special occassion. 

Steve had the spray going full blast, boil-a-lobster, she slid in behind him, hand reaching around his hip. 

“Seems like I should be doing you,” Steve said, almost apologized, and she gave him a little squeeze to stop that line of thinking.

“I’ve seen your refractory period, cowboy,” Jessica said. “You can do me a few times later. Let’s just rub one out and get you feeling a little less murdery.”

“So romantic,” Steve grumbled, laughing a little.

“You want romance, you got the wrong girl,” Jessica said. She got her hand around Steve’s girth -- he was so fucking thick, and even though she had long fingers for a woman, she really could not wrap her entire hand around it. But it was close enough, and she had a pretty good angle behind him. She stroked, up and down, twisting her palm to put pressure in just the right places.

“I think I got exactly the right girl,” Steve protested, and if he ever did replace Peggy in his heart with her, it was when their relationship was just like this, earthy and filthy and hot and sweaty and sexy. All the times he’d taken her to bed and all the times she’d cooped a feel under the dinner table with the entire family of Avengers. All the times he’d saved her, and all the times she’s saved him.

And if she couldn’t replace Peggy in his heart, well, it really didn’t matter, did it? Peggy was ninety some years old and on a good day, sometimes she’d recognize Steve. And sometimes she didn’t. Closure was overrated, and it wasn’t like Peggy Carter wasn’t a legend in her own right.

“You’re thinking too loud, sugar,” Steve said. 

She twisted her hand again and Steve groaned, pushing into it, fucking up into her fist, his hips snapping powerfully.

She nipped at his back, licking along his spine and then nuzzling right between his shoulder blades, and then Steve was coming against her hand, dick pulsing against her palm. 

“Sometimes I think you’re going to be like Superman and come bullets right through the wall or something.”

Steve cracked an eyelid open reluctantly and looked at the tiles. “Nope, still no speed of light orgasms,” he reported.

“Well, that’s good,” Jessica said. “Feel better?”

“A little more relaxed,” Steve said. “Give me a second, I’ll--”

“Give me my turn?”

“Yeah, that.” 

[whydontwe-fanfics]

Firsts pt.2 (J.M)

Description: The second part of a Soulmate AU where you and Jonah grow a family.

Warning(s): fluff, life, a LOT of family moments, all that jazz

Word Count: 7.4k

Part One

- - -

One Month Later Minnesota December 2019

"This is what I've been wanting!" Svea squealed, jumping to her feet and bouncing on her heels while hugging the Nikon camera packaging she had just unwrapped.

"I know," you cheekily smile and she races towards you, hugging you tightly before going back to admiring her new present.

"I love you so much," she declares, taking a seat on the floor beside you and opening the box.

"That was expensive, care for that thing," Jonah nudged his youngest sister and she rolled her eyes.

"It's not a thing. It's a Nikon, D850 DSLR," she corrects him and you shake your head with a smile.

"Anything else under the tree?" Carrie asks and Esther leans underneath the Christmas tree, grabbing the last remaining gift - am envelope you had specifically placed at the farthest end.

"Just this," Esther waves the envelope around before reading the back. "It says to Jonah, from Santa."

"Oh, does it?" Jonah sighs, taking the package from her and peeling the flap over.

You feel anxiety pool inside of you as he pulls the laminated photo out of the pocket, his eyebrows furrowing before his face froze in shock.

"What? What is it?" Esther asked as Jonah's vision slowly moved towards you, his face going pale.

You feel sick in that moment, anxiety nearly giving you a heart attack as you wait for a reaction, a response, anything.

And then he smiles, no beams. Every one of his teeth are on display as his eyes water with happiness, inevitably making your eyes water, as well.

"Oh my God, you're crying," Carrie stood up from her seat.

Jonah looked back down at the photo and covered his mouth with his hand, in absolute shock. No words could escape his mouth as tears fell down his cheeks.

"Oh my God, are you pregnant?" Chrissy jokes, but when you don't laugh, her and everyone's eyes widen.

And then the screaming began.

"Oh my GOD! NO WAY!" Svea shrieked as both you and Jonah's mothers started crying, too. Jonah's father sat there with risen eyebrows and a small smile playing on his lips while Chrissy and Esther jumped around in excitement.

Jonah quickly pulls you into a hug, burying his head in your neck as he grins with joy.

"We're having a baby," he hummed against your skin, and when he said that you froze.

"Jonah... did you really look at the sonogram?" You ask, pulling away slightly.

"Y-yeah, why?" He asked just as Svea took the photo from his lap to observe it herself.

"Why are there two?" Svea asked aloud, and that was the moment your mother nearly fainted, having to take a seat in order to keep her eyes open.

- - -

"How did you hide it so well?" Jonah asked as he held you in front of him, your only clothing being a sports bra and leggings. His eyes stared at the very small bump forming on your stomach, mesmerized by the sight.

"Just didn't let you touch my stomach," you shrug with a small laugh. "And all those huge sweatshirts."

He glances up at you with a smile, standing up from sitting on the edge of the bed and capturing your lips with his.

"The guys are gonna be so stoked," he murmured against your lips. "Me, the first one to have kids. TWINS, at that," he laughs.

"So many uncles," you hum.

"I just-" he sat back down on the bed, pulling you onto his lap and wrapping his arms around your middle. "We're having babies."

"I know," you sigh, wrapping your own arms around his neck. "I was so scared."

"You could've told me earlier," he nudged his nose against yours.

"I could've, but Mara suggested it as a Christmas reveal with the whole family," you hum.

"You almost killed your mom, babe," he chuckles and you roll your eyes with a smile.

"I was surprised she didn't actually pass out," you admit. "She's been talking about grandkids since I turned eighteen."

"And here we are," he looks back down at your stomach. "Our babies are in there." He pecked your lips again before his face brightened as if a light bulb just went off in his head. "Do you know what we're having?"

"No, I wouldn't even think about finding out without you," your fingers play with the locks of hair behind his neck.

"Thank God," he grins. "When can we know?"

"Somewhere from sixteen to twenty weeks," you smile at the thought of finding out the genders of your babies. "So another month or two."

He dramatically threw himself backward onto the bed, arms releasing from around you as he places his palms on his face.

"What's wrong?" You frown.

"I'm just so excited," he pulls his hands away, revealing a grin. You feel giddy inside, knowing that you were making him so happy by carrying his children. That smile hasn't left his face since he realized that the black and white photo in the envelope was a picture of his two unborn children.

- - -

Two Months Later California February 2020

"I don't think it goes this way, Babe," you knit your eyebrows as your eyes roam over the base of the nursery crib you and Jonah were in the midst of making.

"How else would it go?" He leans back on his hands with a sigh, slightly squinting his eyes.

"We'd know if you hadn't thrown the instructions away," you pointedly say, sending him a look.

"I don't need directions," he waves one of his hands in the air. "I've got this."

"Jonah, our babies are gonna end up sleeping on two bars of plastic," you raise both eyebrows just before he lets out a groan.

"I'll go digging through the trash," he huffs, rising to his feet and dusting his hands off against the front of his sweatpants.

"Thank you," you hum, sending him a cheeky close-mouthed smile. He gives you a look before walking out of the room that'll be the nursery for two newborns.

You were a little over four months pregnant now and you and Jonah had decided that you'd both wait until the babies were born to discover the gender. Your friends and families weren't too keen on the idea, preferring a gender reveal, but eventually, they sucked it up and dealt with your decision.

You rest a hand on your swelled stomach as you reach for one of the photos you were going to hang around the room. A small smile played on your lips just before Jonah cams walking back into the room, waving a pamphlet around in the air.

"Found it!" He said, his voice full of relief.

"I hope you washed your hands," you raised a single eyebrow.

"It was on the counter, not actually in the garbage," he informs you as he sits back on the ground, placing the directions in front of him and opening the paper booklet up. "Alright, let's see... oh."

"'Oh' what?" You ask.

"It doesn't need screws... then what did they come with the packaging for?" He knit his eyebrows in pure confusion.

"They wouldn't include screws if not needed," you thought to yourself, aloud.

"Well we can use them, we just don't need to," he shrugged.

"I'm not comprehending, Jonah."

"Look," he shifted closer to you and held the instructions before the both of you.

Eventually, you had both figured it out and realized that putting the crib together was a lot easier than expected. After fixing up the first one, you easily made the second and left them in the center of the room, not sure which wall you wanted them against, yet.

"What about by the window?" You two your chin, squinting your eyes.

"How about this wall?" Jonah moves for the wall beside the one with the windows. "The dresser and shelves could go there, and we put the clutter in between the cribs."

Sometimes you'd forget how good Jonah is at all things involving interior designing. He'd designed every room in the house, and even he had come up with the brilliant color scheme of the nursery.

You look over at him with risen eyebrows and a smile.

"So that's a yes?"

"That's a yes," you nod.

"Alright, you begin nailing the photos up and I'll move the cribs," he instructed and you had nothing to oblige to, so you did as told. "And Jack'll help me bring the dresser up here tomorrow."

It didn't take long to have the majority of the nursery set up, and Jonah actually enjoyed it more than you did.

"What if we have two girls," Jonah scratched at his jaw as he helped you off of the ground.

"Would that be a bad thing?" You ask.

"I mean, having two little princesses would be amazing, but we're gonna make cute babies, Y/N. And with cute girls come boys," he rationalizes and you laugh.

"They'll have too many uncles standing guard," you counter and his eyebrows quirk in agreement.

"True," the corner of his mouth tilts upwards.

"What about two boys?" You hum.

"They'll be complete gentlemen."

"Taking after their father," you curl your arms around his neck and his hands place themselves on your waist.

"And then there's a possibility of a boy and girl," he nudges his nose against yours. "Is it bad that I'm really hoping for that?"

- - -

Six Months Later California August 2020

Three weeks. That's how old your babies had been, you note to yourself as you caress Edith's small head of hair.

Her beautiful eyes stare up at you in wonder as her mouth suckles on a tiny pacifier.

"How's our little princess?" You coo, your voice in a light whisper, as you unwrap her from the yellow swaddle. "Ready for a bath?"

"And our little prince," Jonah's light voice says from beside you as he does the same to Elijah, who lightly hums, his mouth open for no apparent reason.

"Beautiful babies, you two are," you lean in and place a feather-like kiss on Edith's forehead before removing her diaper and placing her on a baby-provided towel. Jonah does the same to Elijah and eventually, you're both carrying the babies to you and Jonah's large bathroom, where two small bird-like baths were set up on the ground.

"Holding the head," Jonah murmurs after slowly lowering Elijah into the water, making you send him a smile. He was just as new to this parenting thing as you were and in the span of 21 days, you'd say you guys were making progress.

You both slowly and cautiously cleaned your children while sitting on the floor, Elijah showing more discomfort while Edith had a subconscious smile on her face.

"It's just water and soap, buddy," Jonah murmured.

As you were softly washing the soapsuds off, what seemed to be a spec of dirt stayed put on her skin. You squinted your eyes and zoomed in your focus on her ankle. After running your own fingers against it, your eyes go big.

"I found it!" You say excitedly, startling Jonah.

"What? You found what?"

"Her mark! I found her mark!" You grin as Jonah grimaces.

"Now I know why how my dad felt when my mom found Svea's mandala mark," he sighs.

"Check 'Lijah's body," you're basically bouncing on your feet.

"What if they find their soulmates young like we did?" Jonah frowned as he searched Elijah's wet skin.

"That'd be great! It'd be just like us," you grin.

"You and I have two completely different mindsets about this," Jonah shook his head but froze when his eyes landed on a permanent dot on Elijah's wrist. "There we go."

"Where?" You lean over and beam after your eyes found where he's pointing. "Aw! My babies!" You squeal.

"This is gonna be fun," Jonah frowns and you flick your wet wrist at him, water spritzing against his face. "Hey!"

"Cheer up," you stick your tongue out.

"I can see it now," he sighs. "Them being taken away by their soulmates."

"Jonah, baby," You furrow your eyebrows. "Please remember that they were born three weeks ago."

"Exactly! Three weeks ago! Time goes by so fast, next thing you know they'll be getting married and having kids."

You shake your head with a smile and laugh as he lifts his son out of the bath, placing him on a baby towel that was set out beside him. You did the same with Edith and dried her off before the four of you made your way back to the nursery.

As tired as both you and Jonah were, the smiles on your faces never faded away as your eyes awed at every single thing either Elijah or Edith did. A mere yawn sends Jonah into bliss and a small sneeze melted your heart.

You and Jonah put diapers on the twins before putting them both into onesies. As you're snapping the last button of the white bodysuit on your daughter's body, the doorbell rings. You glance at Jonah with furrowed eyebrows.

"Who could that be?" You ask.

"It's Esther," he dusts his hands off. "I'll go let her in."

"Wha-why is-" he's out of the room before you can finish speaking and a huff leaves your mouth. You pick up Edith in one arm and do your best to do the same with Elijah in your other.

You walk down the stairs cautiously, balancing the twins in your hold.

"Hey!" Jonah's sister grins as you walk into the foyer.

"It's Auntie Esther," you say in a baby-voice, bouncing the twins. They both lit up with smiles at the movement before Jonah takes Edith from your arms and you pass Elijah to Esther.

"How's my favorite sister-in-law?" Esther grinned, both of you leaning in and kissing each other cheeks.

"Tired and worn out," you say, mustering up a smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Mister Soulmate and I are visiting L.A for the week and I wanted to stop by and see my niece and nephew," she explains, looking down at Eugene, kissing his forehead. "Also, I came to watch them."

"What do you mean 'to watch them'?" You ask, glancing at Jonah with a look of confusion.

"Jonah told me about how you guys don't really like leaving them alone, and you guys are very tired. So Auntie is here to save the day!"

"You mean-"

"Yup," Esther nods.

"Really?" You lift a hand and place it over your heart with a genuine smile. Never would you have thought you'd be so grateful to sleep. You've barely gotten any since Edith and Elijah have been born and to be able to sleep for more than six hours would be a dream come true.

"Yep, I'm here all day and night," Esther nods. "Plus, it'll be a good practice for when mine is born."

You and Jonah both knit your eyebrows for a second, both of you taking it as a normality. That was until she placed her hand on her stomach, giving you and her brother a small smile.

Your eyes widened and a scream left your mouth before you covered it with your hands.

"No!" You gasp, your lips growing into one of your largest smiles ever. "No!"

"Yes!" She does a little dance and another squeal escapes your throat before you throw yourself at her, minding the baby she held in her arms. 

"Oh my God! Esther! Oh, my God, I'm so happy for you!"

"Wha-when-when did this happen?" Jonah hugs her next, his face more shocked than your giddy one.

"Found out two days ago," she beams. "I told Mom, Dad, Steph, and Chrissy not to say anything. Wanted to tell you guys myself."

"Esther, why are you here? Go spend time with the father," you shake your head. "We can find someone else to watch them."

"No, I'm fine, seriously. He's spending the day with his brothers, anyway. Plus, I really want to spend time with these two," she gestures to her nephews.

"Are you sure?" You frown.

"She's sure," Jonah nods, placing his free arm around you. "Babe, our bed is calling for us."

"That's the first time you've said something like that without us having sex afterward," you send him a look and he laughs as Esther sneers.

"Didn't need to know that," Esther scrunches her nose and you send her a quick wink.

"Alright, you know the house, you've been here a thousand times. Where are you gonna set up camp?" Jonah asks.

"Living room," Esther shrugs.

"Okay, I'll go get the cots," you nod, turning and heading back to the second floor. You wince slightly being that your lower half was still very sore.

"Babe, just throw 'em down, you're in pain," Jonah shakes his head before turning back to Esther, who was awing at her nephew.

"They're bigger now," Esther points out and Jonah lets out a breath.

"Yeah, don't remind me," he says before turning back to the stairs, where you're standing at the top, about to take a step down. "Babe! Just throw them."

"I've got to show her the food-" you protest.

"I've got it, Y/N," Jonah holds his hands out and with a groan, you toss the blankets down, along with a bag of diapers, pacifiers, toys, and extras.

"Alright, go lay down. I'll be up in a bit," he calls and she nods before slightly leaning over the railing.

"Thank you so much, Esther!"

You wouldn't be lying if you said you didn't feel wary about not being on the same floor as the twins, let alone them with someone else.

"No problem," she smiles back up at you before following Jonah to the kitchen. With a sigh, you do as told while Jonah directs Esther to the food and anything else she'll need.

Twenty minutes later, Esther and the twins were settled on the living room floor and Jonah was walking into your shared bedroom. A small smile grew on his lips as you were passed out beneath the sheets and he knew that you must've fallen asleep two seconds after your head hit the pillow. He climbed in beside you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back to his chest and kissing the back of your head before slipping into sleep, as well.

- - -

Four Months Later Minnesota December 2020 {22}

"I don't look good," you shake your head, oncoming tears stinging at the back of your eyes. "People are going to talk and stare."

"Y/N, I will shove this heel up your ass," Chrissy grumbles. "You are the most beautiful person I've ever seen in a wedding dress, besides Mom... and Blake Lively. People will talk because you're the fucking bride and people are going to stare because you're the fucking bride."

"Speech of the century goes to," Mara claps her hands as you purse your lips.

"I-just... Maybe we should've pushed it back a bit. Wait until my body recovered from the twins."

"Y/N, you look incredible. Seriously, stop fretting. You're not the one with the belly the size of an artichoke," Esther shook her head.

"Au contraire," you send her a look.

"You've been soulmates since you were six, how long could you push a wedding?" Karima asks as she plays with her bouquet of flowers.

"Actually, they've been soulmates since they were born," Mara corrects.

"Fight me, Mara."

"You have to walk down that aisle in fifteen minutes, Y/N. Are you really going to sit here and complain about your weight when your soulmate is waiting for you, as ready as ever, to marry the love of his life?" Chrissy continues.

"Way to make me feel bad," you murmur before sighing. "Thank you, Chrissy. I needed that."

"There Mommy is!" Your mother coos as she walks in with Elijah. "Honey, you look gorgeous."

You smile and walk up to her, taking Elijah from her arms and kissing her cheek. "Thanks, Mom." You hold Elijah up and grin at the upwards tilt of his parted lips. "Hi, baby. You look so handsome in your little suit." You look into his eyes that began forming green specs on the outline of the brown as he kicked his feet happily.

"Y/N, you're absolutely beautiful," Carrie walks into the room with Edith in her arms.

"Thank you, Mom," you give her a smile.

"Ten minutes!" Mara jumps up from her seat and everybody is thrown into a hassle.

"Let me take him back to the rest," your mother says before you hand Elijah to her.

"Come on, we've got to go," Karima grabs your hand as Mara helped Esther, whose hand was on her swelled stomach, up.

While you stay back, the rest head to the venue on the first floor. Carrie places Edith on the floor beside Delilah, Karima's six-year-old daughter. Both she and Edith would be your flower girls, Delilah helping Edith walk being that the five-month-old can only do so when balanced by someone else.

The bridesmaids and groomsmen take place moments before the music began. The doors opened and the pairs walked down the aisle. Not long after, Delilah and Edith walked down as well, both of them throwing petals out of the basket they shared.

You now stood in front of the closed doors, nerves wracking your body. None of them were for the doubt of marrying Jonah, you knew you wanted to marry him when you were only six and sixteen years later, nothing's changed.

"Ready?" Timothy, Jonah's father, asked as he stood beside you, your arm looped through his. He had been more of a father than your biological one in the past few years, from phone calls to lunch meetings to assistance and advice, he'd been there for you ever since your father has left and for that, you'd be forever grateful.

So here you stand with him as he's about to give you away to... well, his son.

"More than I've ever been."

- - -

Three Years Later California October 2023 {25}

"So it's final?" You ask as you climb into bed beside him. Jonah nods with his eyes closed, his head thrown back and against the headboard. "Are you okay?" You take his hand into yours and give it a tight squeeze.

"Yeah," he sighed. "Past seven years I've spent with the guys. I know we've all thought about it a few times, especially Daniel, Corbyn and I with families and all. But I feel like it's happening so soon."

"I think it's good," you spoke your thoughts aloud. "You all deserve time off, like you said, it's been seven years."

"I didn't think I could do another world tour," he admits. "Leaving you and the kids was painful last year."

"So do you know who's going solo and who isn't?" You ask, curiously. You knew of Jonah's wishes. You'd know that after the break with Why Don't We that he'd want some time away from everything. He's spoken to you about it before.

"We all are, eventually," Jonah finally opens his eyes and makes contact with yours. "Daniel, with a newborn and all, is doing what I am. Waiting a bit before we dive into it all again."

"How long do you think that'll be?"

"I don't know for now," he shrugged. "Maybe when Eli and Edith go to school?"

"School?" Your eyes widen with a smile. "That's two years away."

"What, do you think I should start sooner?" His eyebrows furrow.

"No, no," you shake your head. "I think it's a wonderful idea. Two years is plenty of time."

"Yeah," he smiles. "More time with you and the kids. And I can write from home."

"Are you guys going to do a final show? For the fans and everything."

"Yeah," he runs a hand through his hair. "The last one will be here in L.A, next month. All of our families will be there."

"I can't wait. I think it's brilliant, Jonah," you lean forward and place your lips on his, feeling his smile in the midst of it. When you pull away, Jonah brings a hand up and cups your cheek.

"I love you," he mumbles.

"I know," you grin and he rolls his eyes with a smile before sitting up and connecting your lips once more. When his hand falls to your waist, you detach your lips with a shake of the head.

"Uh-uh, I've got work to do," you say and he groans, throwing his head back and knocking it against the headboard. "Oh get over it, we had our fun two nights ago."

"Exactly. Two nights ago," he sulks. "The kids are asleep, we've got time."

With a roll of the eyes, you slide off of the bed and grab lotion from the nightstand before tossing it into his lap.

"Have fun, I'll be in the office."

"You're tearing me apart, Lisa," he imitated Tommy Wiseau.

"Drama Queen."

- - -

"Honey, we're home," Jonah states a cliche as he walks through the front door with Edith and Elijah on his heels.

"Honey, we're home!" The twins imitate their father, cups of smoothies in their small hands.

"And we've got smoothies and food!" Jonah declares as they all walk into the office. You spin in your chair as Elijah walks up to you with his straw in his mouth and tugs on your pants, silently asking to be placed on your lap.

You lift up the boy and kiss his cheek before ruffling his soft hair.

"Here you go, Babe," Jonah hands you your smoothie and you thank him.

"You guys have fun with Daddy?" You ask, jolting your right leg once.

"Yeah," Edith grins as Elijah nods, more focused on sucking the smoothie through the straw. "We saw Mara!" Edith adds.

"Yeah, she texted me," you chuckle.

"She was with Cyrus and they were actually talking about having a baby," Jonah informs you and your eyebrows raise.

"Really? That's wonderful!"

"I want a baby," Edith says and Jonah's heart leaped out of his chest for a quick moment.

"No, you don't," he frowns.

"Yes!" Edith nods before rushing out of the office and you could hear the stomps of her small feet against the wooden stairs.

"Your sister is crazy," you nudge Elijah's side and he nodded once again.

"I'm gonna go set these out," Jonah lifts the Tropical Smoothie bag filled with sandwiches. "Oh, and the restaurant called, we've got our reservations."

"Really?" You grin.

"Mhm. We're on for nine, baby."

"Oh, thank God. I've been wanting a reason to dress up for a while, now," you gush.

"You know you can dress up for me," he winks.

"Oh, hush," you roll your eyes with a smile.

He lets out a chuckle before walking out and towards the kitchen, leaving you and Elijah.

"Want to go play?" You ask Elijah, but he shakes his head which is of no surprise to you. He's been clingy since the day he was born.

"Wanna stay," he says after pulling his lips from the straw, resting his head back against your chest.

"We're going to the kitchen," you inform him, shifting him in your lap so he faces you before placing him on the floor and taking his hand into yours. You both head to the kitchen and you place him on a stool at the counter island as Jonah unwraps the sandwiches.

"Daddy! Mommy!"

You both turn and see Edith walking into the kitchen with two of her baby dolls in her hands.

"Babies! For Mara," she holds one up.

You laugh at the sight.

"She wants her own baby, Edith. A real one," you explain, swooping down and lifting her up before placing her on a stool, as well.

"I get a real one?" Edith asks.

"You're too little for a real one," you shake your head. "When you're older you can."

"No, you can't ever have a baby," Jonah jokes and Edith frowns.

"Mommy said."

"Fine. When you're fifty you can have a baby," he says.

Edith grins, not familiar with how things work.

"I want one," Elijah claims.

"You can both have babies when you're fifty. Now, are we done? I don't like this conversation."

"Mommy, can you have a baby?" Elijah ignores his father.

You glance at Jonah, who was staring back at you.

"Eventually, within some given time?" you say, more-so ask, observing Jonah's face for any expression that'd reveal his thoughts.

"Yeah," he nods, making you smile. "Not soon, but Mommy'll have another baby."

"A girl?" Edith asks.

"A boy?" Elijah knits his eyebrows.

"We can't choose that," you run your hands over Edith and Elijah's hair.

"We can, actually, it's just a lot of money," Jonah chuckles.

"Call us old-fashioned, but we like all natural," you joke with Jonah, knowing that the kids wouldn't exactly understand.

"Daddy, I want to eat," Elijah changes the subject.

"Here you go," Jonah slides them both their cuts of the sand which before giving you your own and placing his on a plate. You all eat and the conversation changes to firetrucks before also changing to flip-flops. During it all, you're texting the babysitter, asking for her to watch the twins tonight.

"Yes," you dance in your seat.

"What?" Jonah raises a single eyebrow.

"Mila can babysit tonight," you cheer and he fist pumps the air.

"No," Elijah whines and your smile drops. Edith never had a problem with Mila babysitting mainly because they watched cartoons and ate at the living room coffee table, but Elijah was an entirely different story. He didn't like that neither you or Jonah were in the next room and he never talked much when being babysat.

"We're not going to be gone for long, Bud," Jonah assured him, but the look of discomfort never left Elijah's face.

"I wanna come," he pouts.

"You're going to have fun here with Mila and Edith," you give him a smile and he huffs in response.

Three hours later, you're in a dress and Jonah's decked out in a suit. Your hair is styled exactly how you want it and you're excited to spend quality time with your husband and soulmate.

"Mommy, you're a princess," Edith grins at your from her father's arms as you walk down the steps.

"Thank you, baby," you say when you get to the first floor. "Where's my other baby?"

"In his room sulking," Jonah replied and you let out a sigh.

"Elijah! Come say bye to Mommy and Daddy!" You cup your hands over your mouth and call to your son. A few moments pass before he's walking down the stairs with the help of the railing. He looked upset and you felt guilty. When he reached the bottom step, he raised his arms and you lifted him up, placing a long kiss on his cheek and leaving a red lip print from your lipstick. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he mumbles, resting his head on your shoulder.

"You're going to have fun with Mila, 'Lijah," Jonah said. "We'll be back before you know it."

"Don't you want Mommy and Daddy to have fun?" You bounce him once on your hip and he slowly nods. "If you don't cry, you and Edith can sleep in our bed tonight."

Both Edith and Elijah perked up at that. The twins loved sleeping in you and Jonah's bed, waking up beside you both being one of their favorite things ever.

"Okay," Elijah nods.

"Eli, don't cry," Edith points at her brother as Jonah places her on the ground and you do the same to Elijah.

"I'm not!" He stomps his foot once he's on the floor.

"Thank you, Mila," Jonah turned to the hallway archway, where Mila was standing.

"Oh, it's no problem," Mila shook her head. "I love watching these two." Edith ran up to the twenty-year-old woman.

"We'll be back around eleven. Behave, you two," you point at the twins.

"Mila, cartoons!" Edith took Mila's hand and began pulling her into the family room as Elijah leaned on the wall with a frown.

"Bye," you wave at your frowning son as Jonah opens the door and gestures for you to walk out.

"Bye," he huffs.

- - -

One Month Later California November 2023

"As many of you know, this will be our last show for a while," Daniel speaks into his microphone, making the arena seating over 20,000 go crazy.

"We've decided to take a break," Jack is the next to say. "And we thank you all for your support in our decision."

"You've all been here for us throughout our career and for that, we thank you from the bottom of our gigantic hearts," Jonah smiles, holding a hand up to his heart.

"This is the last song we're performing," Corbyn says and the crowd goes wild once again. "And we want you all to scream as loud as you can, whether you know the words or not."

"You guys ready?" Zach places his hands on his hips, causing another roar to erupt from the people watching.

The guys all nod, the smiles on their faces never washing away.

The song’s instrumentals began and Jonah makes eye contact with you from the first row, you and the rest of the guys' families and friends being guarded by security guards and tape.

You carried Edith while her head was on your shoulder, the noise canceling headphones blocking the sound of the arena from her ears.

Elijah smiled at the sight of his dad on stage while he sits on Tyler, Daniel's older brother's shoulders, headphones on his head as well.

Nearly halfway through the final song, Jonah bent down at the edge of the stage and whispered something to one of the guards, who made eye contact with you. The rest of the guys then did the same and before you knew it, you and everyone else was being ushered into the stage.

Jonah took Edith from your arms and Tyler put Elijah on the floor in front of you.

Daniel took his two-month-old son into his arms and swayed him back and forth, singing his heart out to his child while Corbyn danced with his one-year-old daughter while everybody else had the time of their lives on stage.

During the last line, you saw tears falling down many of the fans' faces, and the guys had glossy eyes, too.

"Say bye to everybody," Corbyn held up Genevieve to the mic.

"Bye," she waved, making you laugh at how adorable she was.

"And we are Why Don't We!" The Guys all shout before walking off of the stage, leaving the audience in actual shambles.

- - -

Two Years Later California September 2025 {27}

"Jonah! Jonah!" You shout, racing down the stairs.

"Wh-what? Hey, be careful, don't run," Jonah catches you in his arms after you run into him. "Were you crying?" He asks when taking a full observation of your face.

"It's Chrissy!"

"What? Is she okay?"

"She's perfect! She just found her soulmate!" You squeal, jumping in his arms.

"Really?" His eyes widen with a smile. "That's amazing! What happened? Where did they meet?"

"She was in Hong Kong when they met," you explain excitedly. Chrissy was a travel nurse and thirty-one years old. She never believed that she'd find her soulmate and being that she finally did made you ecstatic.

"I'm so happy for her," he grinned. "And she always thought she'd never find a soulmate."

"She just called me and she was crying and then I started crying and-" your words shoot out as fast as a rocket, your sister's happiness bringing such joy to you. "This is all she's ever wanted and I always felt bad because I found you at such a young age."

"Is she bringing her soulmate back to America?"

"I really don't think so, to be honest," you shrug. "She already loves it there and she's even mentioned moving there before all of this, so she might just stay."

"You're okay with that?"

"I'm more than okay with that!" You grin and he smiles at how happy you are.

"Good," he kisses your forehead. "What did I say about running? Especially down the stairs, you could've fell and squashed our little bug." He pokes your baby-carrying stomach.

"I won't do it again," you assure him. "I was just so happy. It reminds me of how happy I was at your first song release party," you mention when he had released his first song as a solo artist a yea prior.

"You sure know how to make everything about me," he shakes his head, a coy smile on his lips.

"I'm just so proud of you. Everybody is doing great and it makes me so happy," you tell him as tears start leaking out of the side of your eyes. "Chrissy finally found her soulmate, Mara just had her third child, your music video hit three hundred views on YouTube and over six hundred million listeners, we're having another baby," you ramble, a sob escaping your throat.

"Hormones?"

"Hormones," you nod, wiping the tears away.

Jonah lets out a laugh and kisses your cheek before leading you to the kitchen.

Edith and Elijah, both five now, sat at the breakfast nook while stuffing their faces with waffles and syrup.

"Watch your uniforms," you place napkins in the collar of both of their shirts.

"Daddy made waffles, but not the toaster way," Elijah said just before shoving another forkful into his mouth, getting syrup against the sides of his mouth.

"Oh really?" You raise your eyebrows, walking over to the plate of waffles and taking one yourself. "Daddy's quite the chef, isn't he?"

Jonah's always been the better cook of the household, forming things from scratch rather than making the frozen version. You were the exact opposite.

"It's better than Mommy's frozen waffles, right?" Jonah sends you a wink and you glare back.

"I like Mommy's, too," Elijah shakes his head.

"Yeah, me, too," Edith agreed with her brother and you sent Jonah a cheeky smile.

"You can't turn my kids against me," you hit the back of his head as you walk past him.

"You guys see how Mommy hits me?" Jonah held a hand up to his heart.

"You said her waffles tasted bad," Edith countered and you sent Jonah a look.

"Why can't you guys ever take my side?" He throws his head back.

"They do take your side," you laugh. "When I'm not here."

Jonah gives you a look before going back to eating his own breakfast. You reach over and grab a strawberry from his plate.

"You're lucky I love you," he shakes his head and you give him another toothy grin.

When the kids finish eating, Jonah wipes their mouths with a damp cloth and you start to clean up the kitchen.

Jonah moves to stand behind you as you wash a few dishes, wrapping his arms around your waist. His hands land on your stomach as he pecks your neck.

"How's our little Erin doing?" He asks.

"She's doing great," you smile, turning off the faucet and turning in his hold. "Another four months to go."

"Three girls and two boys," he sighs. "We're going to be overthrown, 'Lijah."

"Huh?" Elijah furrows his eyebrows.

"Mommy's having another girl, so it's just going to be us boys against them," Jonah elaborates.

"Girls are better," Edith sings as she drags her bag off of one of the stools.

"Girls and boys are both awesome," you shake your head.

"Can she watch movies with us?" Elijah asked.

"Of course."

"Then she's cool," he concludes and you and Jonah both chuckle.

"Say bye to Mommy and your future baby sister," Jonah departs from you and swoops up Elijah from the ground, holding him in front of you. Elijah giggles and kisses your cheek before Jonah lowers him so that he could kiss your stomach. He then placed Elijah back on the ground and did the same to Edith.

"Have fun at school," you laugh, shaking your head at Jonah's way for the kids to say bye.

"Love you, Mommy," Edith calls as Jonah ushers them out of the kitchen.

"Love you!" Elijah yells.

"Love you, too," you call as they turn the corner. Jonah brings them to the front and places them into their own driver's car.

Jonah walked back in five minutes later and caught you digging a spoon into the cartoon of marshmallow fluff.

He crossed his arms and raised both eyebrows as you froze.

"Hey," you slowly brought the treat behind your back.

"I want to believe that it's the cravings but we both know we'd be in the same situation if you weren't pregnant," he reasons and you shrug, agreeing with him.

"Yeah, basically," you couldn't deny.

"Make way, I want some, too," he walks up to you and you grin while pulling it out from behind you. He grabs another spoon and scoops out a cloud of the very bad fluff.

"You know what would go better with this?" You hum. "Blueberry donuts and apple pie."

"There the cravings are."

- - -

One Year Later California December 2026 {28}

"Help Erin unwrap her gift," you tell the twins as you sit on the floor, a video camera in your hands.

Elijah and Edith sit beside heir eleven-month-old younger sister and tear apart the very tall present for her.

"What is it?" Edith asks after they finish peaking the wrap off.

"It's a tent from Nini," you explain your mother's gift for the toddler.

"Erin, it's a tent," Edith says, helping the little one stand.

"Ah," Erin babbles, hitting the box with both hands.

"She doesn't know what it is, Mommy," Edith laughs and you smile with a shake of the head.

"Open something else," you instruct.

"Why don't you open something?" Jonah asks as he walks into the room with a tray holding mugs of hot chocolate with the exception of Erin's spout cup. "'Lijah, take the camera and put it on Mommy."

Jonah places the tray on the coffee table and grabs a present from under the tree with your name on it. He hands it to you and takes a seat beside Elijah, making sure the camera was focused on you.

"From Santa," you chortle, sending Jonah a look. He subtly winks with a smug look.

You unwrap it and pull out a black shoe box, furrowing your eyebrows and looking towards Jonah once again.

When you slowly open it, your eyes widen.

"Oh, my," you gape at the Yves Saint Laurent shoes inside of the box, pulling one out with a shock-struck face.

"Those are pretty, Mommy," Edith peers into the box.

"Santa really likes you," Jonah smirks.

"That's because Mommy is nice all of the year," Elijah elaborates.

"That must be it," Jonah nodded and you almost threw the shoe at him because of his smug looks.

"Why doesn't Daddy open a present?" You ask, taking the camera and focusing it on your husband.

"This one is from Mommy," Edith grabs one from under the tree and hands it to her father before sitting back down.

"Holy hell," Jonah gasps after he gets through all of the wrapping paper.

"What is it?" Elijah asks.

"It's Mommy and Daddy's mandala," Jonah turns the frame around. "Made by pictures of us. How many photos is this? Oh my God, did you do this?"

"Yeah, Karima helped me," you nod with a grin. "It took a few months, to be honest."

"This is amazing, Baby," he makes his way towards you and pulls you into his arms. You move the camera away form in between you both and Elijah takes it from your hand. "I love it, thank you."

"It was fun making," you smile, pulling away and kissing his lips.

"I really love it," he genuinely says, kissing you once again.

"That's Mommy and Daddy being gross," Elijah tells the camera, recording you two.

You and Jonah laugh, turning to Elijah and Edith who stare at you two with scrunched noses.

"Gimme that," you take the camera back from Elijah. "Keep opening your gifts. There's a lot more."

"C'mere, Erin," Jonah spreads his arms out and Erin waddles his way, falling into his arms with a giggle. "Pass me some of Erin's things," he tells the twins and they do as he says.

"What's that, Edith?" You focus the video camera on her as she unwraps.

"It's a microphone!" Edith squeals, jumping up and down with happiness.

"Did you read who it's from?" You ask.

"Yeah! Thank you, Daddy!" She runs up to him and wraps her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek.

"You're welcome, baby," he kisses her cheek in response before she goes to analyze her new microphone more. Edith loved singing, taking after her father, and she was even learning how to play both the piano and guitar.

The remaining day was spent eating food that Jonah had prepared and watching movies in the family room. Edith and Elijah played around with their new toys on the floor while Erin ate chicken from a napkin on your lap.

The night ended with kids in yours and Jonah's bed, all three of your children sleeping beneath the covers while you and Jonah are in your bathroom.

You sit on the counter, brushing your teeth, while Jonah washed his face.

"This was our first Christmas in Cali and not Stillwater," Jonah said as he wiped a dry towel over his wet face.

"Yeah, it's weird, but I like it," you purse your lips.

"Yeah, me too."

After spitting toothpaste out, you remember something. "I can't believe they're already learning about mandalas," you sigh.

"I know, right," Jonah chuckles. "All Edith will talk about if finding hers."

"They're at the age we found each other," you grin, pulling the sleeve of your shirt down and revealing the very large mandala on your shoulder. "I remember when it was just a dot."

"Me, too," he turned and lifted his shirt up, showing his larger version of the exact same mandala you both had inked on your bodies. You reach forward and trace it for a few seconds before pulling your hand away. He drops his shirt and turns back around, sighing and walking in between your legs.

"I'm glad you're my soulmate," you place your toothbrush in the holder and take his hand into yours.

"I'd rather no one over you," he whispered, squeezing your hand. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Masterlist | Talk to Me

Tag List: @maddie-leighhh @my-otpkilledme @heyowdw @duh-danii @thefangirlingmaster @lyssaholic @prettylittlesheerio @jackaverysboo @lilheavfuhyobih @babyybesson @guadalupeguac @sunshineavery @melodramonica @jackaverybabe @lovableherron @adoring-avery @deni-gonzalez @ciariamarie27 @therealmrshale @strangenerdsstuff @this-is-what-dreamz-are-made-of

[razieltwelve]

Linger (Final Rose/Final Effect)

Lightning eased herself onto the bench on the front porch. It was harder than she would have liked, and she couldn’t summon much of her usual grace either. Her lips twitched ever so slightly. It wouldn’t be long now. In the back of her mind, Saviour was already running the calculations and updating the count down.

Two weeks, maybe three if she was lucky.

“Hey.” Fang sat down beside her on the bench. The other woman’s hair was almost entirely grey now, and she gave a small sigh as she settled onto the bench. “It looks like it might rain today.”

Lightning peered up at the sky. It probably would. There were certainly storm clouds gathering on the horizon. A young family walked past, and they stopped and stared for a moment before waving nervously. Lightning and Fang waved back, and Fang chuckled softly.

“They look like they’ve seen a ghost,” Fang murmured.

“We’re legends, Fang. How many people can really say that they’re legends in their own time while they’re still alive.” Lightning leaned against Fang. “You know, I never thought we’d get this far.”

“Oh?” Fang put one arm around Lightning, and Lightning felt a quiver run through her. Lightning had lost weight recently, and Fang had to have noticed. “You didn’t think we’d beat the Grimm?”

“To be honest, I thought we would. I just didn’t expect to live through the war.” Lightning closed her eyes for a moment as a pair of children ran past, laughing and yelling. It reminded her so much of the past. “Vanille has done research on suspected previous bearers of Saviour. None of the others ever died of old age, you know. They all died in battle.”

Fang stilled. “So… you’ll be the first then?”

Lightning opened her eyes, but she very deliberately did not meet Fang’s gaze. “I suppose I will be.”

“You…” Fang took a deep breath. “Do you know how much time you have left?”

“Saviour knows. It’s known ever since that last battle we fought.” Lightning took a deep breath. She’d used far too much power in the battle to defend Oerba Prime, power she hadn’t had to draw upon for years and years. She was old now, far older than she ever thought she’d be. “Two weeks, maybe three.”

“Is that why the kids are all arriving tomorrow?” Fang whispered.

“I think so. Averia saw me after the battle. She knows. At least, she should.” Lightning rested her head on Fang’s shoulder. “This isn’t so bad, you know, as endings go. I’ll be the first to go, I suppose.” She paused. “Or not. It’s been more than a decade since Summer.”

Fang tried to smile, but she couldn’t quite manage it. “I always thought Vanille might be the first with how crazy she is. Knowing her, though, she’ll probably outlive us all.”

“I’m not sure whether that would be considered lucky or unlucky.” Lightning closed her eyes again. “I’m glad we came back here. Oerba Prime was nice, but this… this is home.”

“Our home.”

“Yes.” Fang swallowed thickly. “It is.”

“There’s going to be a storm,” Lightning said, and almost as if her words had caused it, there was a flash on the horizon followed by the peal of thunder. “But do you think we could stay out here for a while?”

“Whatever you want.”

X     X     X

Three weeks later…

Fang sat down on the bench again. The spot beside her was empty, and none of the children could quite bring themselves to sit there anyway. That had always been Lightning’s spot.

“There’s an afterlife, right?” Fang asked.

Vanille was sitting on Fang’s other side. “You bet there is. I even can give you the mathematical proof if you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Fang sagged, feeling every bit her age. “Do you think they’ll remember any of this?” She gestured vaguely at the porch and house and then at the front yard.

“Any of what?” Vanille could hear Averia, Diana, and Taren in the house. None of the three were exactly young themselves, but none of them were willing to leave Fang alone in the house after Lightning’s passing. 

“Us. This. Everything.” Fang’s fists clenched. “Oh, we’re heroes, all right. We’re legends. But do you think anyone will really remember us. Will anyone remember what a neat freak Lightning was or how she threatened that squirrel after it stole Diana’s sandwich? I mean… we weren’t always heroes, not all the time, we were people too. I’d like to hope that people remember that after we’re gone. We were people too.”

Vanille smiled. “I think they will.” She patted Fang’s knee. “Your kids know who Lightning was. And your grandkids did too. Heck, I’m pretty sure that Lightning has personally grounded every single one of your great-grandkids at least once.”

Fang chuckled softly. “She’s had all of them scrub toilets at least once too.”

“But if you don’t want people to forget, then why don’t you write some stuff down? It doesn’t have to be much, but, well, you know what my lot are like.” Vanille grinned. “Dia-Farrons don’t forget, so you can be sure we’ll pass it on.”

"I’m sure you will.” Fang smiled faintly. “But you’ll probably add lasers to it and maybe a death ray.” She shook her head slowly. “You know, Lightning was always worried that your side of the family would try to conquer the galaxy or something, now that we’ve got space travel.”

“Meh. Conquering the galaxy will have to wait. We’ve got a lot of inventing to do before we’re ready for that.” Vanille got up. “Come on, those kids of yours should have some food ready by now.”

“If they haven’t blown up the kitchen.”

“Hah. Your kids were never as good at that as mine.”

X     X     X

Her Imperial Majesty Averia VII tried not to sigh as her children ran down the sidewalk toward a very familiar house. 

“Where do they get the energy?” she asked before looking accusingly at Claire and Jahne. “I blame you two.”

“You don’t complain about our energy in bed - oof!” Jahne jerked back as a snowball mysteriously struck her in the head. Claire, that jerk, had the foresight to duck and then laugh before evading a succession of snowy projectiles. “Anyway,” Jahne said, wiping the snow off her face. “It’s about time we brought the kids here. They need to know their roots.”

“Yes, they do.” Claire paused as they reached the house. “It’s hard to believe that so much begins here.”

In front of them was the Yun-Farron house, the one where Oerba Yun Fang and Lighting Farron had raised Averia, Diana, and Taren. It had been lovingly preserved over the centuries with the most advanced technology at the Empire’s disposal. There were even a few ornery squirrels in the tree in the front yard, which were supposedly descendants of the same squirrel that had once been Diana’s nemesis.

“They were heroes,” Averia murmured, recalling the words Oerba Yun Fang had written so long ago. “But they were people too.”

“Is this the house, mom?” the crown princess asked.

“Yes,” Averia replied. “It is.”

“It looks like a nice house,” one of the other children said. “And the yard is pretty big.” She grinned. “And there are trees to climb and stuff.”

“Is that the bench?” another one of the children asked. “The one you told us about?”

It was Claire who answered. “It is. That’s the same bench they all used to sit on.” She smiled ever so slightly. “You can even see where they made it longer, so they could still all fit on it after Taren was born.”

“Cool.”

“Don’t forget why you’re here,” Jahne reminded the children. “Empires aren’t built in a day. Heroes don’t come from nowhere. Everything starts somewhere. For the Yun-Farron side of our family… this was where it all started.”

“I wonder if they’d like us,” one of the other kids asked. “Or maybe they’d think we were weird.”

“I have it on good authority,” Averia said primly. “That as weird as we are, the original Yun-Farrons were every bit as weird.” She smiled warmly. “But I think we’d get along well. After all, family is family.”

[from-the-clouds]

Somewhere Only We Know - A Collins/Reader Series - Chapter 13

Chapter 12 * Playlist * Masterlist

Story Summary: While on leave from the war, Collins meets an aspiring musician stuck working as a waitress at one of his favorite bars.

Chapter Summary: Collins and Y/N spend their second Christmas apart.

Word Count: 1,780

Warnings: n/a

A/N: Merry Christmas to my followers who celebrate. I tried to incorporate the holiday a bit into this fic. I will be busy traveling for the next few days, but I hope you enjoy :)

December 23, 1943

Y/N stared dejectedly out the window, watching snow flutter slowly to the pavement, stick to her windows briefly before melting into drops of water that raced down her windowpane. She’d had a fire going all afternoon. It was cold, she was cold, and nothing seemed to warm her up, not matter what she tried. A hot cup of tea, soup, a mountain of blankets.

Her current state, she knew, was mental. She wasn’t really cold, she just felt it. The letter that had arrived from Collins that morning, was what caused her to feel this way. Written sloppily, as if he was in a rush.

My Dear Y/N,

Merry Christmas, my love. I hope this letter finds you in time. I can’t believe this is our second one apart. To be truthfully honest, it feels like I haven’t seen you in ages. I don’t have much to write today, other than to wish you a happy holiday. I hope you have a lovely time with your family, and that your mother avoids the backhanded compliments.

That had caused her to smirk, she had to admit. Her mother’s passive-aggressive nature had become sort of a joke between them, it was nice she could always count on him to understand it.

I am moving bases again, and have written my newest address on the back of this paper. Please don’t forget, I wouldn’t want to miss one of your letters.

I’ve gotten awfully busy, I don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten about you. We don’t get many breaks, more often than not there is something we are working on.

I can’t wait to see you, my love.

Yours,

Jack

His letters had gotten shorter, in comparison to the long ones he’d first send when they’d been apart. She knew he was avoiding telling her what was really going on. He’d always let her know when he was bored, when he spent all day planning or practicing flight drills. However, when he didn’t mention anything at all, when his letters were short, she knew he was going through hell, he just didn’t want to worry her.

Although it was sweet in a way, it mostly angered her. She wanted him to be honest, to tell her the truth. It would make her feel better than having to guess. The lack of detail worried her. Her father had never let on to his family that he was in trouble. And then it was too late.

A nagging thought would also intrude from the back of her brain to the front of her mind. Maybe he’s just bored with you. Maybe he has lost interest. You were only together a few months before he left. Was it going to stand the test of time? She always tried to push it away as best as she could, it was irrational.

It was the day before Christmas, so his letter had made it on time. Whereas normally she’d instantly sit down to write him back, she didn’t. She’d already sent her Christmas letter to him, coupled with a tin full of sweets her and her sister had made for the holidays. There wasn’t much she could give him besides that, but she knew it would cheer him up.

The letter fluttered from her hands and back onto the table as she put on her coat, hat, and gloves, deciding a walk would be the best way to clear her mind, even if the cold wasn’t exactly needed.

Sometimes, when she really missed him, she’d venture all the way down the street where he lived, walking past his house, pretending to go for a leisurely stroll. It’d be too pathetic to go up to his doorstep, so she pretended like a innocent passerby. Her neighbors would likely think she was insane.

Until today. She stomped up his front porch steps and planted herself on the top one, sitting down and crossing her arms around her chest in the freezing air. It had only been a little over a year ago that she had first said goodbye to him. The morning he’d left they’d sat on this step. They’d first made love in this house. He’d let her use his pajamas when she’d first walked here in the rain. Expecting to find solace and comfort sitting where she was, everything just felt empty. Void of life, void of the warmth, the comfort that was Jack Collins. He’d been her everything.

She didn’t regret loving him. She knew she always would. But it was damn time she found something for herself so she could distract herself from this torment. She wondered what other women did when the men they loved went off the war. Surely they had some way to occupy themselves. Children? That wasn’t exactly an option. A job, maybe. The one she at the restaurant only served to remind her of him, it was where they had first to met, not to mention the fact that she dreaded every shift and it was a horrible job.

As she racked her brain, her mind replayed to an interaction she had earlier in the year, pretty quickly after Collins had left, and a bit of hope sparked in her mind, the first that she had in what felt like months.

She stepped off his front porch and walked forward, turning back once to look at the cozy cabin, half expecting Jack to walk outside, a towel thrown over his shoulder, wind rustling through his strawberry-blonde locks, a huge grin on his face as he greeted her with a warm embrace, insisting she get out of the cold.

Letting out a sigh, she turned around and made the trek back to her house. She had presents to wrap, dinner to eat, and had to get ready to celebrate with her family the next day.

Bursting through the threshold of her apartment, she went into her kitchen and rummaged through the drawer that was mostly made up of loose change, junk she’d collected, trinkets her niece and nephew would leave behind after visiting. She pushed aside expired coupons and notes scribbled in her own handwriting until finally, at the bottom of the drawer she found a crumpled business card.

Flipping it over, she read the neatly printed name and number, repeating it a few times in her head. This wasn’t going to work, she doubted. But she was desperate, and it was worth a shot.

The phone rang and she wrapped the cord around her finger while she waited, then releases it and watched it snap back into shape, staring at the crumpled card on her table.

“Hello?” the voice that picked up was distantly familiar.

“Yes, is this Robert Phillips?” Y/N asked.

“This is he,” she heard shouting children in the background. “Do you realize what day it is?”

Y/N frowned, looking at her calendar. “December 23. The day before Christmas Eve?”

“The day before Christmas Eve,” he repeated, his voice a slightly annoyed tone. “It’s the holidays.”

Shaking her head. “Yeah, I know my timing is not great. My name is Y/N L/N. We spoke at the beginning of the year, you gave me your card at Cooper’s.”

On the other end, silence. Y/N shook her head, half considered hanging up. She was just embarrassing herself, she thought. Until she heard the person on the other end perk up in recognition. “Yes, I remember you.”

“You said I should call you if I didn’t want to play at tiny bars anymore. Well, this is me calling you.”

“You know, kid, usually people take me up on that offer sometime before ten months,” he said flatly, but the hostility in his voice from the beginning of the conversation had disappeared.

“Can you help me or not?” she asked, cutting to the chase.

He sighed. “Of course I can. Why don’t we talk over lunch. I’ll call you after Christmas and we can set something up.”

“Okay, I’ll be expecting your call.”

I'll be home for Christmas

You can plan on me

Please have snow and mistletoe

And presents on the tree

It was Christmas Eve. Collins flinched as yet another shell hit the base, vibrating the walls of the bunker they were in. Men were sitting crammed together like sardines, knees pulled up to their chests, wincing at every impact. They’d been under attack for hours tonight, but the delivery of necessary armor and weapons to fight back had been delayed because of heavy snow. They were sitting ducks, waiting to be taken out. He had penned a draft letter to Y/N to let her know what was going on, but instead he tore it up. He didn’t want to make her any more worried than she already was.

They were safe in the bunker, but he was itching to hop in a Spitfire and do something about it. He’d tried, but had gotten torn to shreds by his commanding officer, who’d dragged him and the rest of the men into the bunker. Once they got fuel and supplies, they could fight back, but only time would tell when that would happen.

He couldn’t believe this was how he was spending his Christmas. Poking his breast pocket, he felt Y/N’s photo and breathed a sigh of relief. He hoped she was at least having a good holiday. He couldn’t wait for the day he could spend it with her.

In times like these, he’d find himself daydreaming about his future. He liked to think he had one, one in which he was married to Y/N, and they had two kids, a little girl and a little boy. It wouldn’t be right away though, he wanted to be sure they had time to be a married couple alone before they added kids in the mix.  

Collins hadn’t picked out names for their kids yet, because he thought it’d be rude not to include Y/N’s opinion. In the summer he’d watch them play in the field in their backyard while Y/N and him sat on the back porch and watched. During Christmas his family would come from Scotland to visit. His parents would gush over his grandkids and spoil them even though every year he’d insist they didn’t need to spend much money.

It was ridiculous to imagine this, especially when he knew currently he was inches from death. It kept his mind occupied, though, and gave him a reason to survive through all of this. He had to give himself a reason to come home, or else he wasn’t sure he’d make it.

Christmas Eve will find me

Where the lovelight gleams

I'll be home for Christmas

If only in my dreams

Chapter 14

[tamlins-stories-and-poems]

Title: Parallels Word count: 4,477 Summary: Dick has noticed many parallels between himself and both Bruce and Damian. Sort of a mood piece, and a little too long for that. No real plot, just a couple of ideas that wanted to be written.

I would like to thank @fire-fira and @thrakaboom for their help with this piece! ❤️

It seemed every time Dick blinked these days there was something new that was a parallel between himself and his mentor. Or between Damian and his younger self. He thought back a decade, to the early days, when it was just him and Bruce, almost brothers, yet also a father and a son. “Please?” He begged back then, asking for a pet of his own. “No, Ace is more than enough.” Bruce had replied.

And he looked over at Damian, holding up the stray cat he’d found on patrol. “Please?” Damian asked. Dick felt his heart rend as he shook his head. “Don’t you have enough already? We’ll drop her off at a shelter on our way home. We can even donate a couple grand to it, if you want.” And Damian grumbled, just like Dick had, while Dick tried not to give in to the betrayed expression, just like Bruce had. — “Aren’t you supposed to be my dad, Bruce?” “Well, I am your guardian, yes.” “So why won’t you get me a bike?” Eight year old Dick looked longingly at a shiny red bicycle in a store window, gripping Bruce’s hand. “We’ll talk later, champ. Your adoptaversary is coming up, maybe then.” “That’s not a word, B!” And Dick had laughed, hugging the man’s arm before running ahead to look at something else.

But now Dick smiled as he saw Damian’s eyes widen hopefully, staring at a set of oil paints. Damian tried to pretend that hadn’t happened, but his gaze kept flicking back. “Grayson, I have noticed that you never gift me anything.” He said, slyly. “You want those paints? The anniversary of you arriving at the manor is coming up. We’ll talk about it.” Dick patted Dami’s shoulder affectionately, forcing himself not to turn to the window where that bike he’d so admired had once been, before he’d received it, and eventually passed it down the line all the way to Damian. It was dented, scratched, misused, beaten, and had been forgotten around the city multiple times by each new member of the household, but it always came home, and it was so full of love that Dick could swear it had its own spirit now. “I know a trick to make Bruce get you anything.” He promised. — “Batman, you’re injured, you can’t go on patrol tonight! Let Batgirl and me handle it!”

“Nightwing if you dare even think about patrolling tonight Drake and I will duck tape you to your bed until you’re better. Let the rest of us take care of this.” — “Dick, listen to me, getting sick is normal. If it means you need to take a night or two off, that’s fine. Don’t worry about it. You need the sleep anyways, you’re a growing boy.”

“Damian I don’t care how good you’re feeling, you have a fever and you’re staying home. Sleep helps you grow taller, by the way, if you make sure to get enough sleep you will be taller than Tim someday.” — “I’m sorry you have to have your birthday without your parents again, Dick. But, the League and I put together a little something for you, could you please come down with me?” And Bruce had led him down to the Batcave, then through the zeta to the watch tower were there were lots of gifts and friends waiting for him.

Years later, Dick said, “Come on Dami, I’ve got a surprise for you. I’m sorry Bruce is busy again, but with so many of us, he can’t take every birthday off. He hasn’t taken mine off since Jason joined us.” And he smiled a little, trying to hide the bitterness, as he led Damian through the zeta to the Kents’ farm, where Alfred, their siblings, the whole super family, and all of Damian’s hero friends were waiting, with presents and cake. — Eleven year old Dick swung through the trees, Bruce chasing behind him, worried that he’d fall. As if Dick didn’t pull more dangerous stunts every night.

Thirteen year old Damian balanced on a skateboard at the park, Dick hovering nervously by the edge of the ramp, terrified that the boy would break a bone. As if Damian hadn’t just taken down the Joker, solo, the night before. — Bruce lounging by his armchair, watching the fire crackle. Little ten year old Dick came happily in with a pair of mugs and a bag of cookies. Hot chocolate and snickerdoodles. Bruce took the mugs as Dick climbed into his lap and snuggled in, giggling excitedly. It was Chanukah and they’d spent the day with the Kanes, celebrating. Now it was just them and Alfred, relaxing at the Manor. The butler sat down with his own mug(and cookies), and smiled, watching his two charges drift off to sleep before he eventually did the same.

Dick was dozing on the couch as Damian came into the room. A fire burned cheerily in the hearth as the snow fell outside. It wasn’t a holiday, and Tim was sprawled over Dick’s lap, dreaming of patrols that wouldn’t leave him chilled to the bone. Damian didn’t care much for chocolate, or so he claimed, but he hung the tea kettle by the fire. Just far enough that it wouldn’t heat up anymore, but close enough to keep it warm. He set the stack of cups on the coffee table in the middle of the circle of chairs and couches surrounding the fire. For a full moment, Damian hesitated. He didn’t want to disturb his sleeping brothers, no matter how much he pretended to hate Tim. Cass scooped him up and plopped down next to Dick. They all snuggled into each other, as Jason and Duke snuck to the other side, lifting Tim’s legs to get closer to the furnace that was their pile of siblings. And in his sleep, Dick smiled. — “Robin, no!” Bruce yanked Dick back by his cape, just in time. The bullet zipped right through where the eight year old would’ve been had he not been grabbed. “Don’t scare me like that, please. You could’ve died!”

“Robin, stop!” Dick grabbed the cape of his twelve year old brother, pulling him back just before the bullet train ran over the tracks where he would’ve been. “Don’t you dare die on me, I can’t lose another Robin!” He hissed, then his tone softened, becoming quiet, and almost sounding lost. “You scared me.” — Robin perched on Batman’s shoulder, watching the building that the drug cartel was supposed to be in. The condition for his first real long mission was that he not leave Batman’s side, until or unless he was ordered to go home. Perhaps he was taking it too literally. Perhaps not. Either way, he was sticking as close as he physically could.

Damian was a solid presence, practically glued to Dick’s hip as he fought some thugs that stood between them and information on Bruce. Dick had agreed to let Damian come out as Robin, so long as he follow all of Dick’s orders and stuck as close as he could. The man withheld a smirk, remembering his first stakeout turned battle. Perhaps this boy could be Robin after all. — “Dick, I’m letting Jason be Robin now, he needs it.” “You can’t do that! Robin is my costume, my name to give! You can’t take that from me Bruce!” “He needs this, Dick, please. He needs to be Robin, just like you did. You’re Nightwing now, surely this isn’t taking anything from you.” “Shows what you know, jerk.” He’d actually called Bruce something much worse than “jerk” that day, something that was as much insulting Thomas and Martha as it was insulting Bruce, but that was never the way he told the story.

“Dick, what do you mean you don’t want me as your Robin?” “Tim, you’re Red Robin now, and you’ve outgrown being Robin. Damian, he needs it. Like you did, like Steph did, like Jason did, like I did. Of course I still want to work with you, but think of how much Damian needs this. Besides, could you imagine you being the Robin to my Batman? That would be just weird.” Tim shook his head, angry and disbelieving, but Dick took it as agreement. “I knew I could count on you, Timmy.” Dick beamed. And Tim watched him turn and leave while betrayal seized his heart, like Dick’s had when Bruce had passed on the Robin mantle without asking. — Fifteen year old Dick had been rebellious. “You’re not my real dad” and “let me live my life, Bruce” had been phrases said multiple times a day by the boy. Bruce hadn’t had a clue what to do, and even Alfred could barely keep the rebellion in check He’d insisted that he was a grown man, that he should move out, and that after nearly seven years of being a vigilante he was prepared for anything life could throw at him. Bruce struggled to explain how Dick couldn’t know everything and tried to keep the boy from running himself into the ground to prove himself, which only made him more insistent to do so.

Fifteen year old Damian was a terror on the Wayne household. Duke had turned eighteen, and there were no new manor dwelling members of the family. Sure, there were the children of the older Batbrats, but that wasn’t the same. While Bruce cried about his Baby Boy growing up, Damian rebelled against as many authority figures as he could. “Grayson, you aren’t my father, stop trying to act like you are!” He growled whenever Dick tried to give him any advice. “Leave me alone, Grayson!” He hissed when Dick tried to hug him as a greeting. Dick may’ve had Mar'i to smack Damian whenever he did something like that, but suddenly he realized how much it must’ve hurt Bruce when he’d done that as a teen. (Bruce found apology cookies from all of his grandkids and Dick waiting for him at breakfast the next day) — “B, I’m cold.” Eight year old Dick had never experience winter in the north before, and Batman and Robin couldn’t take the holidays off. Bruce smiled apologetically, barely noticeable in the dark, and wrapped part of his cloak around Dick, who pulled it tight around his shoulders.

Damian tried not to shiver as they walked down the street. The weather report had predicted warmer temperatures that evening, but even after a decade, Dick still chilled easily. He didn’t say anything as he unbuttoned his great coat, and pulled Damian close to his side. A spare hat was produced from a pocket, and tucked over Damian’s ears. “I’m not cold.” Damian protested. “If you say so.” Dick shrugged, and hugged Dami closer. “I am though, and you feel nice and warm.” “Well, then, I’ll stay here to keep you warm.” Damian looked away, and Dick hid a smile. — “Dick, don’t touch that.” Bruce ordered. “You weren’t even looking at me!” Dick complained, pulling away from whatever it has been he’d been about to poke. “Secret parent power. You’ll get it someday.” Bruce said, still not looking up from his paperwork. “Meanie!” Dick stomped out.

“Damian you shouldn’t touch that.” “Grayson you didn’t even notice me coming in!” Damian looked offended, but took a step back from the generator. “How did you do that?” “Secret parent power. You might get it someday, if you land yourself another bat brat.” Dick planted a kiss on his daughter’s head. “You’re actually the one who made me learn it. I had a little bit of it from the previous Brats, but you’re the one who really made it click for me.” He looked up from his book to give Damian a quick smile. “Come on over here.” “Okay. Jerk.” — Bruce smiled as he watched nine year old Dick throw himself at the playground with reckless abandon, and in years following, he stood off to the side and watched Dick have fun coming up with new moves and training with the other young heroes of the time. From chucking. Hamster Gar, who would shift into a larger form, to being launched by Kaldur or Conner or Donna or Koriand'r so that he could throw his birdarangs from a better angle. Bruce kept smiling at those sessions even after Dick was an adult, and both of them felt he’d do it until they no longer were happening. Dick would always be his Robin.

Dick beamed proudly at Damian, as he sparred/roughhoused with Jon and Maya, and sometimes Colin. There would be more heroes their age as they grew older, but right now they made a great trinity. He might not have been wearing the cowl, but the pride in his chest was very much the pride of Batman, watching his Robin learn to work with his age mates to fight crime and villainy. Maybe he would take up Bruce’s offer to be Batman for a decade or so when the old man retired. He could split the job with Jason, if Jason came home, and then he could still be Nightwing once in a while. And Dick kept smiling as Damian pinned Jon, using Colin to do so. That was HIS Robin. — Bruce never said anything as his bedroom door creaked up, always well after midnight. He waited until Dick crawled into his bed and had hidden under his covers. “What was it this time sport?” He rumbled, scooting to the side to leave a little more room for the shivering tangle of limbs that he called Robin. “Mom and Dad again. Only this time, you were with them, and you had time to see the rope breaking. You tried to jump to the platform I was on, but they dragged you down. The splat was louder tonight.” A shudder shook the small body, and Bruce wrapped his arm tighter around the boy. “Well, I’m here, and I’m not a smear. I promise you that I’ll never leave you.” “Can you really promise that?” Dick forced himself into a kneeling position, and Bruce cracked an eye open to look at him. “Can you?” “Probably not.” Bruce admitted. “But I can do my absolute best to keep everyone as safe as possible. I’m Batman, remember? No one can keep Batman down.” Dick giggled a little, and used his whole arm to wipe away tears. “Yeah.” He agreed. “Please don’t die, Bruce.” “I’ll do my best.” Bruce promised, and Dick lay back down, wrapping himself around Bruce’s arm and pressing his back into Bruce’s side, and together, they fell asleep, comforted by the knowledge that the other was right there.

The first time Dick heard his door open in the middle of the night, it had been Jason, when Bruce was away on a business trip. For Jason, Dick had sat up, invited him over, promised that he didn’t hate him for being Robin, and talked him through the nightmare, then sent him back to his room. Jason only came to him once. Tim made his way to Dick’s room on his first night after moving in. He’d stayed the night before, but this was different, and he’d just seen his parents’ corpses. Dick let him stay, still feeling guilty about shooing Jason out. Tim only went to Bruce when Dick was away. Cass didn’t speak about her nightmares, she didn’t know the words. Heck, she didn’t even open the door. Tim had also had a nightmare that night, and Dick was talking him through how to remember that it wasn’t real, when Cass was hugging his side. After another half hour of calming down, and a group trip down to the kitchen for some nightmare-be-gone tea (chamomile and rose hips) that Alfred always left prepared, Dick carried them back to his room and tucked them in to his bed, before crashing in the beanbag chair nearby. He bought himself a bigger bed after that. Damian had refused to admit that he had nightmares. Dick only found out about them one night when he was leading the visiting Steph to the kitchen and heard his sobs. He picked the youngest member of the household up and carried him down. He pretended not to see the tears and insisted that he just wanted company to help Steph past her nightmare. “You can help us get Steph past her Nightmare, can’t you, Damian?” For a week after that, Damian slept curled into his eldest brother’s arms. Various other members of the Batclan joined them, even including Babs one night, but Damian would not be budged, and refused to talk about it. After that week, he still showed up most nights. Sometimes crying, sometimes not, and if he was crying, Dick would rock him to sleep before lying back down himself. When Dick moved to Blüdhaven, the others still came to him, and the occasional guest asked why Dick had such a large bed. And Dick would fall asleep, remembering the days he’d gone crying to Bruce after a bad dream, and smiled at the fact that he was now the one giving that kind of comfort to the others. — “Whoa! We have a pool! Since when?” Dick beamed back at Babs and Bruce, standing on the back porch and bouncing on his toes excitedly. “Longer that I’ve lived here.” Bruce chuckled. “I know we’ve been busy fighting crime, and celebrating birthdays, but surely you can’t have missed the pool this long. You’ve been here nearly six months!"t "If I saw it, I was too tired to realize what it was!” Dick turned and ran towards the pool. “Don’t run by the pool!” Bruce boomed, and Dick froze up, shivering in shock. “Oh, champ, I’m sorry…” Bruce walked over, “It’s just that the tiles are really smooth, and they probably haven’t dried from yesterday’s rain, so you could get hurt if you- please don’t cry.” “Batman and Robin, everybody.” Babs murmured, rolling her eyes a little. “Dick, come on, we can still go swimming.” “You just can’t run by the pool.” Bruce insisted, his hands rested gently on the boy’s shoulders as he was crouched in front of him. “You could fall, and hit your head on the edge.” “I don’t fall.” Dick whispered. “I know you don’t fall when you’re doing acrobatics, but you always have a firm grasp on whatever surface you’re jumping off of there.” Bruce said. “Here, feel the tiles.” Gently he took one of Dick’s hands and touched it to the smooth, wet stone. Slick enough that even with sandpaper like feet, Dick would’ve lost his footing. “See?” “I guess it’s a good thing you made me stop, then.” Dick forced a watery smile. “Can we play in the pool now?” “Sure. Want me to get the waterguns?” Bruce smiled back. “No guns, Bruce.” Both of his sidekicks reminded him, and everyone laughed.

“I bet I can beat you to the pool, Grayson.” Damian said, on one of the rare days they were taking off while Bruce was gone. He took off at a sprint, and horrors flashed through Dick’s mind. “Don’t run by the pool, Dami!” His voice came out as more of a shriek than anything else, and Damian skidded to a halt, confused and trying to hide the hurt that came from his Batman shouting at him. “Please don’t run by the pool.” Dick begged. “You know what water does to tile?” “It makes it into a good trap.” Damian stated, then paused, as Dick kneeled in front of him, placing his hands on Damian’s shoulders. “The pool is surrounded by tile.” “Yes,” Dick nodded. “The tile is quite likely to be wet.” “Very much so.” “Even with my skill, the lack of traction could cause me to slip and be injured.” Dick sighed in relief, glad Damian had more sense than he had years ago. “Exactly. Now, what do you say we walk to the pool. I could ask Alfred to grab us the waterguns?” “I thought this was a ‘no gun’ family, Grayson.” And Dick threw back his head and laughed, remembering his first day at the family pool. Damian just blinked in confusion at that. — “Hey, Wally?” Robin was sitting on a roof in central city, the Batplane behind him. “Yeah, Robin, 'sup?” Wally grinned at him, cheerily. “You feeling okay?” “I guess.” Robin shrugged. “Doesn’t it bother you that you don’t know my real name?” He looked over at his slightly older companion, who was leaning on the ledge that the younger sidekick was sitting on. “I mean, sometimes, but bro, don’t worry about it, Batman wants too keep your secret identities secret.” Wally babbled out quickly, trying to convince his friend that he didn’t need to feel guilty. “But, you’re my best friend, Wally, you should know who I really am!” Robin insisted. “Rob, don’t worry about it!” Insisted the young speedster. “It’s fine, I promise! You don’t have to tell me.” Robin turned around, bringing his feet back to the top of the roof. “But it’s not fair!” He argued. “I know who you are, and we save each other’s lives on a biweekly basis!” “Robin, we’re superheroes, it’s fine!” Wally insisted. “No, you’re a superhero, I’m just some kid in a cape and a mask who does flips really well!” Robin argued, throwing his hands up in the air. “Please, Wally?” “I mean, I can’t stop you if you want to tell me your name. But you’re going to get in trouble if you do, Rob.” Wally shook his head. “Maybe just get away edge of the roof first.” “Okay.” Robin hopped away from the ledge around the roof, and walked into the shadow of the Batplane. “My real name is Richard Grayson, but everyone’s always called me-” “Please say Richie.” Wally interrupted. A smirk slid across Robin’s face, as he pulled of his mask. “Nah. I’m Dick.” Wally groaned. And Bruce was understandably annoyed at the unasked use of the Batplane to break a major household rule, which led to a week of no deserts for Robin. (Don’t listen to him, Alfred snuck Dick desert)

It had been Colin he revealed himself to first, of course. Colin, who he spent so much time with. Colin who was the only of his best friends who hadn’t been told by a mentor or figured it out on his own. Maya was a worthy detective in her own right: smart, sharp, and unyielding. Jon had been told before they even met. But Colin, Colin was the first person with whom he willingly shared. “Wilkes, I am about to share with you some vital information, information that, if you are not careful, could end with you causing my death.” Damian stated. They were in one of the Bats many Gotham safehouses, Colin wasn’t wise as to its true nature, and simply thought it was where Robin and Nightwing lived. Speaking of; Nightwing was in the kitchen, attempting to make something resembling food and prepared to run damage control if things got out of hand. “Oookay…” Colin fidgeted nervously on the couch, and glanced over to where Jon and Maya were napping after the day’s particularly intense mission. “Any reason you’re doing this when they may or may not be able to hear us? But, uh, I promise to be extra careful with whatever you’re about to tell me.” “Good.” Damian nodded, a little sharply. Part of him felt like backing out, like letting one of the others tell Colin if he ever got kidnapped as a civilian, like not showing such a strong degree of trust to a friend who had clearly earned it. “First off, Nightwing and I do not actually live here, this is merely one of our safe-houses.” “What?!” Colin yelped in shock, “If you guys are loaded enough to have more than one safe house, which is kind of what you just implied, then how come you’re fighting petty criminals with brute force?!” “We fight 'em by giving them jobs, too! Well, Batman does, he’s the one with the money. We still all live in his house.” Nightwing called, from the kitchenette. “Nightwing, let me do this, please.” Robin glowered, and his mentor beamed sunnily before making a noise and trying to stop the pizza water from boiling over. “Okay, so you guys are loaded, what next? Are you famous as civilians too?” Colin asked, looking a little stunned. “Somewhat.” Robin agreed. “My name is Damian Wayne.” There was silence. Well, other than Nightwing muttering angrily about his complete inability to cook for himself. “…what.” Colin finally said. “I just told you-” Damian tried. “I know what you just told me, but what I can’t figure out is what kind of dream I’m having. Did I go to some weird alternate reality, did I end up back in the lab-or did I ever even escape it- and somehow get some sort of really weird hallucination, or did you just lose your mind?” Damian frowned, “Wilkes, I assure you-” “You expect me to believe that you’re really Damian Wayne, son of billionaire Bruce Wayne, and you’re going out every night to fight the Rogues gallery with a street kid?” Colin demanded, getting up and poking Damian in the chest. “That someone with as much money as that would willingly go out and get shot at on a regular basis?” “No.” Damian replied, and pushed Colin back to the couch. “I’m stating that this is a fact and letting you do what you want with said information, asking that you please not spread it.” “So the 'Butts Match’ guy was right?” Colin asked. “Tim’s greatest diversion, if you ask me.” Nightwing called, before fire erupted from inside the pasta pot. “Dang it! Dami!” “On it, Grayson.” Damian had the fire out and stove off instantly. “Next time we are without Todd or Pennyworth, I will do the cooking.” Nightwing slumped in defeat, but nodded. “Wilkes, if you’ll wake Ducart and Kent, we can go back to the manor and get a proper dinner, since this stove is currently unusable thanks to this idiot.” Damian elbowed Nightwing in the stomach. “Alright, assuming this is true, sure, let’s go to Wayne Manor for dinner!” Colin threw his hands up. “That sounds like a great plan!” “Wonderful!” Nightwing beamed, pretending to not pick up on the dripping sarcasm. “I’ll call Alfred!” — Yes, there were many parallels, Dick mused, and while maybe not all of them were good, he wasn’t sure that mattered. Not as he drifted to sleep in a sibling pile in his apartment in Blüdhaven, surrounded by people who loved him and the type of family he would once have never believed he could possible gain. Someone grunted as someone else accidentally kicked them, and all seemed well with the world.

[jarpadandjensenaremyheroes]

The Little Princess: Chapter 14

A/n- SUUUUPER sorry it took so long! I’ve been so busy with my daughter and volunteering around my neighborhood to get the place cleaned up once again. Hopefully we can get back to a decent schedule now. Anyways, happy Monday and Memorial Day!

Word count: 2,213

Warnings: this is literally 2k words of FLUFF. Dean being super romantic. I’m not sure where all this fluff came from, but reading through it myself I ended up squeeing over it. So don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Chapter summary: Dean gives you a romantic end to the evening before heading back to Bobby’s

Need to catch up? HERE is the masterlist!

Chapter 14

You and Dean had climbed out of the water to lay amongst the soft grass and flowers at the water’s edge. You were able to watch the sun set through the trees, which created an almost ethereal glow in the small meadow. Dean’s hand traced mindless patterns on your back with feather light touches while you pressed small, soft kisses to his chest and tracing every scar you had once been so familiar with. The sight of the few ones you had never seen before made your heart ache slightly. He had gotten hurt on the job and you hadn’t been there to help him.

Just like that, all your fears of losing him and leaving Mary without her father came flooding back to you. Dean must have picked up on your quickened breathing and sensed the slight panic; he had stopped moving his hand. Rather than have him worry, you decided to explain.

“Dean I can’t lose you. I can handle stitching you up and cleaning your wounds, but I can’t handle losing you. Mary and I need you.  I need you to promise me, right now, that you won’t do anything you don’t have to. You’ll call in for backup or find someone else to work the case if you have to. But no unnecessary risks. Promise your daughter you won’t make her watch you burn on some pyre when she’s 4 years old. Please don’t do that to us…”

You tried to hold back the tears and the panic, but it was too hard. The thought of losing Dean after everything that has happened was too much to handle. You broke down crying as he hauled you into his arms and comforted you.

“Y/F/N Y/M/N, I swear I will not leave you alone. I’ve been doing some thinking, and I’m gonna slow down on the hunts. More local hunts rather than this jumping all over the country business. I promised myself a long time ago that if I ever had kids, I wouldn’t be like my dad. I would be a real father to my children. One that they can grow up and be proud of; one that they can talk to and lean on for anything. I wanna be a father and a friend to my kids, not a damn drill sergeant. We may not have the little brick house with the white picket fence, but we have the bunker. It’s the safest place to raise a family. Hell, I’ll even cave on the ‘no animals’ rule and we can get a dog for the kids if you want. Princess, you will never have to be alone again. And I will make Mary the same promise. I won’t be leaving you anytime soon.” He paused for a moment, using the pads of his fingers to wipe away your tears before a smile broke out on his face. “Besides, even if I did die, you would probably just have Sammy and Cas bring me back just so you could kill me yourself.”

His plan to cheer you up had worked and he gave you a shit-eating grin as you laughed and nodded in agreement.

“I probably would Winchester. Nobody gets to take you from me except me.” You tried to sound threatening, but you couldn’t contain your giggles and you ended up sound less ferocious and more adorable than you intended.

Dean looked at you, eyes wide for a moment before he laughed one of his full belly laughs. The kind where he throws his head back and slaps his knee with one hand and grabs his stomach with the other.

Feigning annoyance, you playfully shoved at his shoulder. “Shut up!” Dean fell over with laughter and you promptly pounced on top of him. “I am ferocious! Hear my roar and fear me!” You let out the lowest growl you could manage and Dean only laughed harder.

“OH MY GOD you are so fucking adorable I can’t breathe! Ba-baby oh my God that is the funniest thing ever!”

He was shaking uncontrollably with laughter underneath you and you pretended not to be amused. It was taking all your concentration to keep up the ridiculous frown on your face and when he finally looked at you, tears streaming down the side of his face, he lost it all over again. This time you joined in; the two of you rolling around on the ground absolutely howling with laughter. After a few minutes though, your sides were protesting in pain when you would take a gasping breath.

Moments like this came so easily with Dean. You were so comfortable around each other; nothing was ever too much or too embarrassing. It was always fun and games with the two of you.

When you both finally calmed down and quieted the sporadic giggles, Dean took your hand gently in his and pulled you up to stand.

“There’s one more thing I wanna do with you before it gets dark and we head back.”

He led you to the Impala and opened the trunk where he had conveniently brought extra clothes for the both of you. You hadn’t thought about it until now, but it was good he thought ahead. All your clothes were at the bottom of the pond, and you really didn’t relish the idea of going back to Bobby’s stark naked. He handed you your clothes and steadied you as you pulled on your panties and jeans before turning and dressing himself. He moved you to stand in front of Baby and then ducked inside the car. Confused, you stood there watching him.

Suddenly, the meadow was filled with music. You gasp as you recognize the song, one of your favorites. Etta James’ voice fills your ears as Dean comes to stand in front you. He takes you into his arms, one hand on your waist, the other holding one of your hands out to the side. You place your other hand on his shoulder and rest your head on his chest as he begins moving the two of you back and forth.

At last

My love has come along

My lonely days are over

And life is like a song

Dean lowered his head to whisper softly in your ear, “Y/F/N Y/M/N, I love you with all my heart. Our family is the one thing in my life that I will always cherish, always protect, and always love. Nothing will ever come between us, and I can’t think of a single thing I would want more than to spend the rest of my life with you. You are the best thing to ever walk into my life, and I will spend every day for the rest of forever showing you how much you mean to me and how much I love you. I’m not the best with words, and I know I can be a hard-headed asshole at times, but I promise you that I will never hurt you and never leave you. Not until we’re old and gray and watching our great-grandkids run around our house. I can’t promise that everything will be perfect and that we’ll never have arguments or that we will never have issues come up, but I can promise you that I will love you through all of it. Every single day. I will love you more and more every day. And I don’t ever want you to forget any of that. And I hope that one day soon, we can make our little family even bigger. I want to give you everything you’ve ever dreamt of, because you’ve already done that for me.” He sweetly kissed your cheek. “I love you Princess.”

At last

The skies above are blue

My heart was wrapped up in clover

The night I looked at you

I found a dream, that I could speak to

 A dream that I can call my own

 I found a thrill to press my cheek to

 A thrill that I have never known

“Dean…I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited to hear you say those things. I love you so much, but you’ve already given me everything I could ever hope for. I have you, and a beautiful daughter who has your stunning eyes, and a galaxy of freckles just like you. I definitely wouldn’t mind adding to our family though… And I don’t want promises of perfection and a problem free life; I don’t need that. All I want and need is you; all of you, in every way, every day for the rest of my life. You and Mary are the best things in my life and I can’t wait to see what other adventures our time together has in store for us. I love you.” You stretched up on your tip-toes and kissed his lips soft and slow.

Oh yeah yeah

 You smiled, you smiled

 Oh and then the spell was cast

 And here we are in heaven

 for you are mine...

 At Last

As the song came to an end, you and Dean continued slow dancing in the tall grass watching as the sun finished dipping beyond the horizon. He kissed you one last time sweet and soft, and then pulled you into the car with him. He held your hand and rubbed little circles with his thumb the whole way back to Bobby’s, and you rested your head on his shoulder.

As you pulled into the graveyard for cars, you saw the sheriff’s car parked out front. You squealed with excitement as Dean grinned ear to ear. Never letting go of your hand, Dean led the way up the steps of the porch and into the house. Jody sat on the couch holding a babbling Mary. She jumped up and ran over to you, sandwiching your daughter between your chests as she wrapped you in a hug.

“I’ve missed you so much Y/N.” She pulled back slightly to look at you.

“I missed you too Jody!”

You squeezed each other tighter for a moment before Dean pried you apart.

“Alright alright, don’t suffocate my kid! I’ve grown kinda attached to her the last few weeks and won’t have you two crazies smothering her.”

Jody looked at him incredulously. “We’re crazies?” She turned to you. “Do you have any idea how hard it was keeping the three of them out of trouble while you were gone? I swear, I almost went bald from ripping my hair out. And he wants to call us crazy!” she scoffed.

You just laughed. “Trust me, I know. Thank you for keeping them safe for me.”

You all went into the kitchen where Bobby and Dean made sandwiches for everyone while you and Jody fed Mary dinner.

“Wait, where did this high chair come from?” you asked Bobby.

“Ah well, I may have had it stored in the basement. I made John buy me one when he started leaving the boys with me to track down Azazel.”

“You packrat. Do you ever get rid of anything?” Dean teased him.

“Well it’s one less thing you two gotta buy for me! I ain’t keepin’ her here and buyin’ all the baby crap.”

“Bobby, I hate to break it to you, but I’m not my dad. I won’t be dropping her off on a whim to go hunt down some big bad. I was uh, I was hoping you could show me how to take on more of the role that you have. Ya know, answering the phones, providing covers, research and whatnot? I made a promise and I can’t keep it if I keep going the way I have been these last couple years…”

“Of course ya idjit. I was gonna have to smack you if you thought you were gonna keep hunting like that. Just remember that family don’t end in blood, boy. I expect to see that little girl quite often, ya hear?”

“Well then I guess we’ll just have to have big ole family gatherings at the bunker then. You and Jody, and Ellen and Jo can all come stay with us at the bunker, once Jo stops being a brat anyways. We’ve got plenty of room.”

Bobby cracked a small smile and tried to hide it, but you caught it before he could make it disappear. “I dunno boy. That seems like a whole lot of chick flick moments.”

You snorted with laughter. “Says the gruff old man who is currently making cooing noises and baby faces at the toddler!”

“Hush child. If I wanted your input, I’d ask for it!” the old man teased you. “Now, the two of you are staying here for the night so I can keep playing with little Mary here, but I don’t want no hanky panky business goin’ on under my roof, ya hear?”

You blushed furiously as Dean let out a strangled laugh.

“I think we’re good on that for the night, Bobby.”

Jody and Bobby both made gagging sounds at that, and you laughed while smacking Dean playfully on the shoulder.

Bobby chuckled, “I’m glad to see that not much has changed between you two.”

You grinned as Dean wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in tight for a hug. “So am I Bobby. You have no idea.”

@quackerstheduck663057

@spn-dean-and-sam-winchester

@petrovadixon

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

You Are Cordially Invited To Read Chapter 21 of ‘Domestic Bliss Must Suit You’ ♡

time jump to September 16th...witness the wedding between Sherlock and Molly.

Wedding Playlist

There are visual goodies I made at the bottom of this post :) Enjoy! let me know your thoughts! were the vows okay? the edits? <3333 *hands out wedding cake*

"I believe the couple has written their own vows."

This was it; they were really doing this. The cool September air had wrapped around them.

Earlier

It was almost time to walk down the aisle, the runner was set up in the backyard garden of the Holmes estate. Molly would meet Sherlock beneath the lovely trellis of flowers his mother kept. Her dress was gorgeous; it was a lovely white gown with ¾ sleeves, a sweetheart neckline and the entire bodice was overlapped with lace. The back laced up like a corset with satin ribbon. Her chocolate tresses were styled in a chignon bun.

The music began, cuing her, and she was walked down the aisle by none other than Mycroft Holmes.

Sherlock felt his breath leave him as he looked on with awe at Molly. His Molly. She was dressed in white from head to toe. She's gorgeous. This was the woman he was gonna spend the rest of his life with; the one and only woman who counted. Their eyes met and the electricity between them was noticed by all in attendance.

John was Sherlock's best man, of course. He held Rosie's hand who doubled as Molly's little maid of honor and flower girl. Among the guests, there was Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock's parents, Meena, Lady Smallwood and even Anderson.

Presently

Sherlock spoke his vows first, gripping his bride's soft hands in his and looking into her shining brown eyes.

"Molly Hooper. You have always counted and I've always trusted you. My life has been better since you came along. I never thought I would have this; a beautiful, brave and intelligent woman who loves me for all that I am. You made me want to become the man you always believed me to be and I do hope that I am well on my way. Through everything, you continued to love me and love me even more. I have fallen irrevocably in love with you and I know you will always be there to catch my fall. Every moment spent with you is a moment that makes life worth living. I am yours, now and forever; always, my darling Molly."

There was not a dry eye at the ceremony. Even Sherlock couldn't quite hold back. Molly laughed through her tears of joy and Sherlock gently swiped a tear from her face with his thumb. Once her composure was gained a little, she spoke her vows.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes. I have loved you for a very long time. You are frustrating and brilliant; protective and loving. I'm sure there's more I could say but I can't seem to get my thoughts together."

Everyone laughed lightheartedly at that.

"You are the keeper of my heart; not only because you had committed the crime of stealing it all those years ago, but because I chose to give it to you. There was a time when you were untouchable; like loving the stars but knowing they wouldn't love you back. Oh, how you proved me wrong. You dry my tears, pick me up when I'm down and love me for who I am. My heart, mind, body and soul belong to you, my love, for you are most deserving. Anything you fear, we'll fight it together. Life with you is an adventure that I will forever be a part of. Right here, right now, you and I are stepping into a new journey: a life where we will grow old together, filled with love and family. It won't be easy and there will be trials but I will endure them with you, as I am yours, always and forever."

"Do you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, take thee Margaret Elizabeth Hooper as your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do," Sherlock breathed, slipping the white gold band on her finger.

"And do you, Margaret Elizabeth Hooper, take thee William Sherlock Scott Holmes as your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do," Molly smiled through her tears, slipping the band onto Sherlock's finger.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Sherlock did not hesitate to kiss his wife's lips, as he had wanted to ever since he saw her walking down the aisle. He wrapped his arms around her to pick her up and spin her around as they shared a most loving snog in front of their friends and family. Everyone cheered and the two separated to face their loved ones. John gave a firm pat on Sherlock's back before being pulled into a hug along with Molly and Rosie.

"Mo Mo!" Rosie exclaimed jumping up and down, her hands raised. Molly took the bouquet from her goddaughter's hand and swooped her up in her right arm, eliciting giggles from the little Watson. Mrs. Holmes took photos of the four of them laughing and smiling together. A favorite of hers was when she captured Sherlock kissing Molly's cheek as Rosie snuggled into them both with John smiling at his best friends and daughter.

The friends and family gathered at the elegantly decorated tables talking amongst each other in revelry. The trees had fairy lights strung across them for a low, romantic glow.

"I always knew there was something there," Anderson remarked with a look that told Greg 'I told you so.'

"Oh, you should've heard his theory on how you faked your death, Sherlock," Greg laughed. "He added in a very Bond-like snog between you and Molly after crashing through the window."

"Oh my goodness," Molly laughed as Sherlock rolled his eyes with a smirk on his face.

"Congratulations, Anderson. You have succeeded in knowing something I didn't see coming," Sherlock raised his glass. "Impressive for the size of your brain."

"Be nice," Molly scolded with nudge. Mycroft snickered at that, putting a forkful of wedding cake in his mouth.

"We're so happy to have you in our family officially, Molly," Mr. Holmes smiled.

"Yes, dear, you two should come and visit more often. Make sure you keep him up on that. We're not spring chickens, Sherlock," Wanda Holmes joked. "And I want grandkids before I'm dead, thank you." The entire wedding party burst out with laughter.

"Of course, mummy, we'll get on that as soon as humanly possible," Sherlock teased, making a show of deeply kissing his wife. There were whistles from John and Greg. Mycroft's eyes about bulged from his skull at the display as the rest of the party laughed wholeheartedly.

"Come now, Mycroft, surely you've seen a kiss before," Lady Smallwood chuckled. "I know you've experienced one."

"What!?" Molly breathed out, surprised she still had breath left.

"I suppose there's no use keeping it hidden any longer. Lady Smallwood and I are what you would call an 'item.' Go ahead and gawk," Mycroft joked.

"Well, this is a development," Wanda said with wonderment. "Timothy, dear, is the world ending?"

"Perhaps hell is freezing over," Sherlock offered.

"Not much of a speech, as it is more of a statement," John told them, "but I know for a fact that Mary would be thrilled to have been here at such a momentous occasion. She is here in spirit with us all, as well in the form of a video." He held out a DVD to the newlyweds. Written on it was To Sherlock and Molly Holmes.

The piece Sherlock had composed months ago for Molly was the song he and her danced to. He had it recorded to play over the speakers. His right hand was on the small of her back and her left was on his waist. Their remaining hands were laced together as they glided across the smooth white marble dance floor.

"I love you, Molly Holmes," Sherlock whispered in her ear. Her eyes closed momentarily, taking in how right it felt to hear her new name.

"I love you too, husband," Molly smiled sweetly. As the song came to a close, Sherlock dipped her, placing a soft kiss upon her waiting lips.

The rest of the evening was spent in merriment. Molly's heart melted when she saw Sherlock pick Rosie up in his arms to dance with her. She always believed he'd be a good father one day and this was just the icing on the cake. Rosie had taken to calling Sherlock her 'Unca Sherly,' which everyone found to be adorable. Molly had danced with her new father-in-law while Sherlock humored his mother with a spin on the dancefloor. Even Mycroft offered to dance with his new sister-in-law, much to everyone's shock, though they knew Molly had melted his icy heart.

There was laughter, dancing, comradery and the feeling of family that made everyone's hearts full to the brim with love. Sherlock looked to his wife and to the friends and family in attendance, finally understanding the importance and meaning of unconditional love and like the Grinch, his heart felt as if it grew two sizes that day.

Fanfiction.Net | AO3

[aheartbrokenmind]

04-29-2020

Amy,

As time goes on and I attempt to process all of what has happened between us, I keep coming back to the feeling that trouble in your mind may have led you to this decision, more than the actual reality of our situation. That's not to say that reality didn't play a role. Trust me, I know how difficult our relationship has been, and I have some idea of how difficult the past couple years have been for you. I just feel like sometimes your mind tends to amplify these things almost to a point of hopelessness, or to where you feel like there is no escape. I think maybe this time the panoply of troubles, the duration of which some have haunted you, and worry about the future may have all added up to a wicked cocktail of mental misery that pushed you to snap. Of course I'm no psychologist, so this could all be completely wrong, maybe you've just changed or your feelings for me changed, or perhaps I'm just selfishly attempting to project the blame on you rather than myself. I'm just going to try to organize my thoughts a bit below and list things that I know have been troubling you or that I’m suspicious may have led us to where we are now.

First is the distance. I know first hand how difficult this can be at times. It certainly didn't get any easier with you being in Japan. I know this one especially has been bothering you for a long time, as it has me. I know how sometimes it felt like no matter how hard we tried we would be forever half a world away from each other and living our relationship two weeks at a time when we got to be together. I also know that me telling you "we'll figure it out" when discussing how we were going to end up living in the same country probably didn't help. That's not an acceptable answer, especially for you. 

Next is the debt. This is an obvious one which I know has been stressing you for a long time. I also know that stress was amplified when I finally told you the total amount recently. Again, my answers for this were not helpful and I'm sure my dark jokes about "paying it off until I'm dead" didn't help either. I feel like there were probably people that you discussed this situation with who had no idea of the whole situation or how I have been, and plan to handle it, and yet gave their advice anyway. I would imagine that many of these “advice givers” probably never have or never will have to deal with such a situation themselves. That is partially my fault for not including you in this sooner and advising you myself on what I planned to do. I should have actively involved you in my plans and kept you informed about the situation. I'm sorry.

You've also been worried about your future as an individual. I think you are extremely torn on this one as there are many things that you are very good at that you would love to pursue, but are probably afraid they don't seem realistic or rational. Whether it be your art, writing, or something else, I would imagine you're very worried about what people (especially your dad) may think of that choice. I'm sure you're probably even questioning it yourself. Whether those are viable goals to pursue to achieve the life you're hoping for. I think this also applies to some of the women's activism roles you've told me about. Those paths certainly seem present possibly more of a financial challenge than something like  criminal law when it comes to pursuing your life goals. I think you have probably stressed yourself to the breaking point about this as you don't want to make the wrong decision.

Next is working and living in Japan. As I've said before I think this has brought loads of amazing things, people, and opportunities in your life. In all reality it is your first serious full time job and you've had to jump into that in an unfamiliar country where you don't speak the language. I can't imagine the amount of stress that has caused you. You have taken on lots of extra responsibilities there as well which again, brought much goof, but also piled on more pressure and stress. You have met some very amazing people while there and have made some lifelong friends, there is no doubt. But I would imagine that the time difference and distance has made you feel separated and out of touch with your friends back home and even with me. The worries, concerns, plans, activities, meals, work, everything, it's just all so different I can imagine it is easy to slip into a sense of isolation from anything outside your direct sphere of influence. I think this isolated or distant feeling led you to keep in touch less with those outside and withdraw in more, which in turn probably led to more stress as you considered the health of your relationships with those back home and me.

Then there is your body image. This is something that you have struggled with since I met you and I have always tried to be very careful when discussing it, especially after learning the true extent of it. I know you have been struggling with it more than usual over the past couple years. I have dealt with some similar issues myself, but I'm sure I will never fully understand the extent that it's tortured you. I think this got worse when you went to Japan as the stress, busy schedule, and just generally being on your own for the first time caused you to gain weight. Yes I noticed and you mentioned it to me over and over. Yes I still thought you were the most beautiful woman on the planet. That was never a lie. I think the weight gain and the feeling of hopelessness in changing it led you to care even about things such as grooming and you carried it over into our relationship. You seemed unable to believe that I could find you attractive when you felt so unattractive. I don't ever remember you stressing so much about outfits, or you asking me how you looked as much as you did this last time we were together. I think this affected you very deeply in how you viewed yourself and our relationship. 

I’m sure there were also thoughts of our future. I think you probably worried greatly whether our hopes and dreams matched up anymore. Your thoughts on marriage and children seemed to change almost daily at times. I’m sure the anxiety of those thoughts was only amplified by the ring and the whole situation in which you found out about it, though that was never my intention. I hope you know that no matter what you would have decided on either of those massive life decisions, I would have been happy with you, but I realise that you may have thought I for sure wanted marriage and a family and felt pressured by that. I’m sure there were comments from my family about grandkids or weddings that, though their intent was innocent, also added to the stress immensely.

I think there was probably also some stress from your own family. I think the death of your niece probably affected you more than you ever talked about, at least with me. I also know you were becoming increasingly worried about your Dad’s health and how far away you were if something were to happen. I know this also led to you being concerned about your Mom as well if something were to happen to your Dad. I think there are also probably some mental health genes that you inherited from your family that have been adding to all of this. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, we all have them. In my family unfortunately a lot of them are physical health, and in yours they seem to be mental health. You were always fairly open with me about your family’s mental health and I am grateful for that. It allowed me to try to help as much as I possibly could. I just can’t help but think now that all of these things or at least part of why we aren’t together now has to do with depression. It’s possible that you don’t even recognize it as depression. I know how hard it is for me to determine right now if I am just sad or depressed. 

Last I think there were still some things about me that concerned you, especially when presented with the prospect of being with me forever. I know I annoyed the hell out of you sometimes when we were drinking because sometimes I tend to start acting a lot like my Dad. I just want to assure you that it has not left my mind since you pointed it out to me and I’ve been trying very hard to change it. I’m guessing that maybe you were worried whether or not I would be open to the same sort of travelling nomad life you seem to desire, and again, I can assure you I was completely ready to join you in such a life. There may have been some concern too about what seemed to be an increasing distance between our individual lifestyles. You increasingly becoming the artsy, free-spirited, hipster, and me increasingly becoming whatever the hell it is that I am. Maybe that seemed like a problem to you, I don’t really know. Personally that was something that I always loved about us as a couple. That we could be so drastically different on the surface and yet, at our core, so very similar. 

Like I said, I may be completely wrong about all of this and the answer to why you couldn’t see a future for us anymore may be as simple as you not loving me anymore. I hope this doesn’t sound like a lecture or like I am trying to blame you completely. I know I have more issues than I can count, many of which seem to be rearing their ugly heads even more now with you gone. I guess I just wish we could have tried to talk through this even a little and maybe we could have found a solution. At times I think of this as you walking into a dark, unknown, forest. At first you’re following the path but before long you’ve strayed from it. You can barely see through the tangle of dark trees that no light can seem to penetrate and eventually you have completely lost any sense of direction. You wander aimlessly in the dark, sometimes in what seems like circles, just hoping to find the path or some brief glimpse of light. Finally you’ve given up hope. You sit and just cry in the dark, accepting that there’s no way out. Amy, there is hope. I know you can find the path. I promise you I will be waiting for you there when the path leaves the trees and winds back into the warm sunshine. I will be there.

Love you always,

Brian

[stephenaltrogge-blog]

The season of chaos – I mean joy – has begun. We have kids and grandkids here and coming. The table (and the floor around the table) in the dining room is littered with craft stuff. 800 shoes are scattered in the front foyer. Most of the time there is a cacophany of kids voices and parents saying, “No, not right now. Hold on! Don’t open that drawer! Don’t rip that off the Christmas tree!” There are presents to wrap, meals to prepare, and 8,000 Legos all over the floor to pick up. Who has time for goals for the season? Well here are 3 things to shoot for to bring you joy in the Lord.

Joy Producing Goal #1: Delight in the Lord

It is so easy in the madness – I mean fullness – of the Christmas season to get caught up in all we have to do – gifts we need to get, meals to prepare, rooms to get ready for family members, etc. that we can forget to keep our eyes on the Lord. As much as family and friends bring us joy, the ultimate source of our joy is the Lord.

Delight yourself in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart. Psalm 37:4

Then I will go to the altar of God, to God my exceeding joy, and I will praise you with the lyre, O God, my God. Psalm 43:4

God alone is our exceeding joy. As much as you can, keep looking to him during this season. Look to him as you wash the piles of dishes after the Christmas meal. Call on him for strength to pick up all the toys scattered all over the floor. Praise him for children and grandchildren, friends and family.

Maybe you don’t have friends and family coming. Even if you happen to be alone, or sick or suffering, ask the Lord to help you delight him. I cannot fathom what many of you are going through, and I can’t imagine how hard it would be to delight in Jesus while in pain or sadness. I have seen many of my friends and some of my family members, in the midst of terrible suffering, looking to the Lord for his comfort and hope. This is delighting in the Lord, and brings him glory. Jonathan Edwards said:

 “The happiness of the creature consists in rejoicing in God, by which also God is magnified and exalted.” –Jonathan Edwards

And John Piper puts it this way:

“God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him.” (p. 21)

So the best way to enjoy Christmas and the best way to glorify God in this season is to keep our focus on him and delight in him.

Joy Producing Goal #2: Be the biggest servant in the house

And Jesus called them to him and said to them, “You know that those who are considered rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones exercise authority over them. But it shall not be so among you. But whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all. For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” Mark 10:42-45

Jesus, who is infinitely great, the one who deserves that all serve him, did not come to be served but to serve, and to serve to the ultimate degree by giving his life for sinners.

Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. Philippians 2:3-7

It is so easy for me in the Christmas season to just want to lay down on the couch and go to sleep rather than helping set the table or doing a craft with the grandkids. But I want to be like Jesus, and look to the interests of others. I need his grace to do this, but when I do, he never fails to give me strength and fill me with his joy.

I love what James Dobson says:

My legacy doesn’t matter. It isn’t important that I be remembered. It’s important that when I stand before the Lord, he says, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant.’ I want to finish strong.–James Dobson

Jesus’ disciples obviously didn’t understand true greatness until Jesus taught them that if they wanted to pursue greatness they should seek to be the biggest servants they could be.

And they came to Capernaum. And when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you discussing on the way?” But they kept silent, for on the way they had argued with one another about who was the greatest. And he sat down and called the twelve. And he said to them, “If anyone would be first, he must be last of all and servant of all.” And he took a child and put him in the midst of them, and taking him in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me, and whoever receives me, receives not me but him who sent me.” Mark 9:33-37

One of the principal rules of religion is, to lose no occasion of serving God. And, since he is invisible to our eyes, we are to serve him in our neighbour; which he receives as if done to himself in person, standing visibly before us. – John Wesley

When we serve others, God “receives as if done to him in person” – I love this. So try to be the biggest servant in the house this Christmas.

Joy Producing Goal #3 Don’t grumble or complain

It is so easy to start to grumble and complain during the Christmas season. There’s so many presents to buy, so many lines to stand in. So many dishes to do. So many lights to hang (I know some people love decorating. I would be happy if all we did was hang one wreath on the front door. It’s so easy to murmur and complain. But God tells us:

Do all things without grumbling or disputing, that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and twisted generation, among whom you shine as lights in the world, Philippians 2:14-15

Show hospitality to one another without grumbling. 1 Peter 4.9

Zig Ziglar nails it:

Be grateful for what you have and stop complaining – it bores everybody else, does you no good, and doesn’t solve any problems. –Zig Ziglar

And Dennis Prager adds brilliantly:

Complaining not only ruins everybody else’s day, it ruins the complainer’s day, too. The more we complain, the more unhappy we get. –Dennis Prager

Grumbling and complaining, even if you don’t do it out loud, will only make you more miserable. And when you think about it, most of what we grumble and complain about is a result of how blessed we are in this country. Are you stuck in traffic? It is because God has blessed us so much almost everyone can buy a car and gas. Do you have tons of dishes to do? It is because God has blessed us with so much food. If you think about it, many things we grumble about are a result of God’s kindness. That’s why what Monica Johnson says is so true:

Complaining is an insult to God. –Monica Johnson

So what is the antidote to complaining? Giving thanks all the time, as much as you can. 

give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. 1 Thessalonians 5:18

Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever! Psalm 107:1

There you have it. 3 simple goals for this Christmas season that will bless the Lord, others and you too!

The post 3 Joy-Producing Goals to Shoot for this Christmas appeared first on The Blazing Center.

[ourmrmel]

Mel Feller Gives Tips For Becoming a Much Better Grandpa by Mel Feller

Mel Feller Gives Tips For Becoming a Much Better Grandpa by Mel Feller

 Mel Feller’s supportive, paradigm shifting, and joyous coaching will forever change the way you approach challenging situations and anything that might block your ability to move forward in life. Mel Feller will help you realize your greatest potential and fully shine – in an environment that is supportive, invested, and dynamic. Experience your best self.

“The journey of looking inward becomes our greatest gift – our most profound adventure. There is no short-cut to doing this inner work, but it is so worth it. The path to peace, and success on so many levels requires deep compassion for the parts of us that feel lost or stuck. This is the foundation from which real transformation becomes exponentially powerful. The exciting part is coming to a place of feeling so truly alive and living your purpose with full strides.”  - Mel Feller

 That is why Mel Feller loves being a grandpa to his 4 grandkids in Utah.  He has two boys and two girls.  He spends as much time with them and sharing life and life skills with them every opportunity he gets!

Therefore, here are his tips:

 Share your wisdom

I know that knowledge can be taught, but I have always wondered if wisdom can only be gained. I have concluded that it can be taught, but mainly by example. Fortunately, grandpas are all wise just ask us! We can play that role by setting an example and being close by when a child is in need.

 Grandpas, when a child needs a listening ear, listen. After you have listened for an hour or so, a child may be open to a single sentence of your wisdom. Never make the mistake of trying to impart any more than that. It will be lost. In addition, teaching wisdom does not mean correcting. That is seldom a Grandpa’s place. When necessary, a quick “don’t do that” should suffice. I wasted many a word with my own kids trying to explain why some behavior is unacceptable.

 Issues of right and wrong can and should be discussed, but it is much more effective when done in a quiet moment, after the storm has passed. An experience from your own life would be helpful in such a situation. If you ever made a similar mistake, let them know, then let them know how you learned to avoid making it again. If you never made that mistake, tell them of someone who did. If you can invent a whopper with a horrendous outcome, so much the better.

 Get the kids outdoors

Kids seldom play outside anymore. Whenever possible, get your grandkids out of the house, away from the TV, the computer, and the Wii. When we were kids, we just got the neighbors together and played in the backyard. When you have the kids over, take them out in your yard and play soccer, dodge ball, tag, or kick-the-can like you used to.

 If you camp or hike, take the grandkids with you. Short hikes are okay, even just to the Dairy Queen, and camping is great even in the backyard. Climb a tree or a rock with the kids, or at least give them a boost up and ooh and aah about how high they are. Walk along a stream. Skip rocks on a lake. Get them swimming in something other than a chlorinated pool. Gaze at the night sky. Find the Big Dipper. Count shooting stars. Contemplate the universe, God, and man together.

 Take your grandkids on vacation and show them what mountains, forests, and seas look like. However, do not just get somewhere, experience the journey. Drive them from coast to coast or clear across Montana, Utah or Texas where they can experience wide-open spaces. Show them what nature has to offer.

 Get them involved in sports

Kids may love to play sports or they may hate it. You may hate sports, too. Nevertheless, they still merit some exposure.

 Kids from kindergarten up today only play “organized” sports. However, organized leagues take no childhood initiative. As a kid, I was the neighborhood organizer. I would go from house to house seeing who was available for football or baseball, so I had to develop my promotional skills.

 There may be no better option to organized sports for your grandkids — they should not be left out of modern society, after all. However, you can become involved: Take them to games and practices yourself. Cheer loudly. Coach if you are able. Definitely spring for ice cream afterward.

 In addition, teach sports history. Show the kids a picture of yourself in your tight-fitting basketball shorts. Tell them about your heroics. Let them know who Babe Ruth and Wilt Chamberlain were. I once saw an interview with an old man who had played basketball for James Naismith, the inventor of the game. When asked what had been the greatest change in the sport, he said it was the addition of the dribble. I still laugh at that. I would never have guessed basketball was once played without dribbling.

 Share Treasured Keepsakes

I got divorced recently, and the experience reinforced a lesson I’d learned earlier: A picture is worthless until it’s seen.

 I carried out boxes full of pictures, journals, notebooks, speeches, career mementos, and many other treasures. I realized my grandkids would never see these things until I was dead and my kids sorted through my stuff that is, unless I did something about it.

 I am no pack rat. Aside from my photos, there are maybe three boxes of stuff I would like to keep. But what good are they if no one ever opens them? I am not saying you should litter your home with trinkets. Some grandparents overdo it and are accused by people of hoarding.

 Display the things you are proud of or that impart a vision of the past — a plaque, a collage of medals, a painting, anything of yours that you would like your grandkids to see. Keep photo albums available on a prominent bookshelf or a coffee table. Your children will most assuredly look through an album featuring them, and grandkids will want to see old pictures of their parents. An album featuring grandpa and grandma as youngsters will be of special interest. Do not wait. If you do not display, you will die depreciated.

 Help Them Become Good Citizens

When grandchildren are old enough (typically around 2 months) you should begin to impart your views on politics. If their parents’ ideas differ from yours, do it quietly or out of range, but if the entire family agrees, feel free to harp away on any news item, politician, or unwanted tax, are there any wanted ones?

 Let yourself become known as a grandpa with strong opinions, but not a stick-in-the mud. I tell the grandkids that I have the right to complain about taxes, but I still pay them. I tell them we have an obligation to our nation to be honest and to be supportive of its laws, but that we also have methods in place to make changes when we feel it necessary.

 It is okay for grandkids to know you have strong feelings on current events. Involvement in politics is patriotic. I am no activist, and I have never run for office. However, I always vote.

 Create a Family Language

Every family should have a made-up language of its own, and grandpa can be the main source. In our family, squeet has replaced let us go eat, and squate means I already ate. A grown-up has become a dolt instead of an adult. Come up with your own crazy words and phrases. They will make you unique. They will help you overcome your temper. Best of all, they will make you immortal as your words are passed down from generation to generation.

 Many families also have phrases parents use to see their children off to school, or off to dates, such as Remember who you are, meaning do not do anything to disgrace your family. Wanting to be original, but not having the intellect to come up with something more profound, I always said to my kids, do not hit anybody. This phrase has become the standard for my grandkids, too. Unfortunately, on days, the car was wrecked or someone got into a fight, the kids reminded me that I had not said it that day.

 Make the most of being a better grandpa!  You will never regret the fact that you have such great opportunities to love and be loved.

 Mel Feller has over three decades of coaching and consulting experience in diverse industries, which provides a rich framework for his organizational insights and creative solutions. I brings a thoughtful approach to his work, carefully integrating both my coaching and consulting skills and abilities. When consulting, my focus is on “what you are doing” (i.e., goal setting, problem solving, taking action and achieving results). When coaching, my focus is on “who you are being” (i.e., how you are leading, aligning your values and tapping your gifts). As a client, they become more consciously aware of how paying attention to – and balancing both – are critically important to their success.

When you combine Mel Feller’s keen insights and engaging style with his in-depth skills, technical certifications and broad industry experience, the result is a uniquely qualified executive coach and organizational consultant.

So... what kind of coach are you?"

I get this question a lot. Moreover, the answer is… I am a Life Coach, Executive Coach, Career Coach, and Business Coach. I coach teens, business executives, authors, artists, entrepreneurs, retired seniors, busy moms and entire organizations.

 “Truth telling, honesty, and candor: I loved you Mel Feller! You have so much energy and knowledge! I truly hope I get another opportunity to be coached by you. I see myself a little clearer now, and it’s not so bad.”

Lisa Mathews

 “Mel Feller you added more value than we can possibly see right now. Mel Feller, you are warm, inviting, and accommodating. Thank you for coming alongside us in this transition!”

Vanessa Cavanaugh

“Mel Feller the best education session that we have attended in many years! Thank you so much — I am very excited to put everything you have taught us into practice!”

Michael Randolph

 “Mr. Mel Feller, Thank you, thank you, thank you for giving a marvelous keynote at our Symposium! While we have not yet collected the official feedback, the unofficial feedback was that You Were a Hit! I heard nothing but compliments regarding your presentations. Thank you for making such a positive impact on our attendees! ”

Lyle Cunningham VP

 "Mel Feller uses his humor, compassion, and direct nature to help bring out the best in me. Mel Feller is committed to helping me live...I mean, really live, life to its fullest."

Jose Rodriguez

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[itsworn]

An Interview with John Staluppi, Owner of the Cars of Dreams Collection to be Sold at Barrett Jackson in April, 2018.

For nearly fifteen years, TV viewers of the popular Barrett-Jackson collector car auction have come to know John Staluppi for his solid taste in post-WWII American collector cars and his fierce ability to knock out virtually any opponent with a seven-figure bid. Though Barrett-Jackson bidders come in all shapes, sizes, and tax brackets, Staluppi made his mark thanks to a pint-sized lap dog named Dillinger.

A Maltese breed of canine, Dillinger was trained to bark on command. So before long the dog was placing the bids while poised in the arms of John, his wife Jeanette, or one of the Staluppi’s grandkids. Naturally, TV audiences ate it up and little Dillinger became “a thing” at Barrett-Jackson for many years.

With each winning “bark”, Staluppi accumulated another addition to his Cars of Dreams collection of more than 125 top-tier vehicles. Located in North Palm Beach, Florida, the Cars of Dreams collection is stored inside a former department store with more than 70,000 square-feet that’s been decorated with props and street scenes depicting New York City.

Only open four times a year, Staluppi’s private Cars of Dreams collection isn’t available for weddings or birthday parties. Rather, John works with charity organizations to help raise funding for law enforcement, children’s health programs, and heart disease and cancer-prevention research.

We recently visited with John Staluppi to learn more about his background, his plan to “shuffle the deck” by selling 125 cars at the upcoming Barrett-Jackson collector car event in West Palm Beach, Florida, and the plan to replace the sold cars with a whole new stash of classics.

Sadly, little Dillinger has gone to TV dog heaven to frolic with Rin Tin Tin and Scooby-Doo. But fear not, another Maltese pup, this one named Buddy, will take his place. Whether Buddy shares Dillinger’s passion for collector cars and being in the limelight remains to be seen. But either way, with Mr. Staluppi on the hunt for 125-plus new classic cars to replenish his Cars of Dreams collection during the next year, the story is far from over!

HRM) Where are you from?

JS) I was born in the Bensonhurst neighborhood of Brooklyn, New York. After a family move to Long Island, I then moved to Florida around 1977.

HRM) What was your first car memory?

JS) My father had a 1950 Nash four-door, one of those upside-down bathtub looking cars. It was a standard-shift car with the usual column-mounted gear lever, and Dad took the family to upstate New York for a vacation one time. Somehow I ended up alone in the car and was playing with the shift lever. When I got out of the car, I left it in Neutral. The next minute, the car comes rolling through the woods and my Dad was saying, “Whose driving through the woods?” Then he realized it was his car. I got in big trouble for that one. That Nash was one of the big ones with the fold-down seats you could camp in and a body that looked like a big beetle. The dash had this one central pod for the speedometer and gauges, they called it the “Uniscope.” It was a neat car.

HRM) At present I don’t see a Nash Ambassador in the Cars of Dreams collection, rather I see lots and lots of convertibles. What is your favorite car?

JS) I’d say my favorite car is the first Corvette I ever bought, a 1962 in Tuxedo Black. We didn’t have a lot of money, but my family helped me buy it by taking out a second mortgage on our home. It cost $3,100 back then and was a demonstrator model the dealership had for a discount ($4,038 was the base sticker price). I lived right around the corner from the Brooklyn-based Chevrolet dealer that had the car. But that was my first car that was mine. So to answer the question about what’s my favorite type of car, that’d be Corvettes at the core but followed closely by Chrysler 300 letter cars.

HRM) Wow, that’s the other end of the spectrum. Or is it?

JS) Those early 300’s could be very sporty cars. With their stiff suspensions, standard dual-quad induction, big tires, and upsized brakes, they handled better than you might expect. In a sense, a 300 convertible was like a four-seat Corvette. I had many jobs as a kid- I was a mechanic at the Chevy dealer I just mentioned, and a little later I worked as a lifeguard in upstate New York at a resort called Villa Maria. One of the head managers at the resort had a 1960 Chrysler 300F hardtop. It was blue and with the 413, and we used to go out and tear up the highway. It was an unbelievable car and started my love for 300 “letter cars.” It had the swiveling seats, the clear “Astra-Dome” bubble covering the instrument cluster, the massive Exner-era tail fins and being a 1960, was the first year for the ram induction setup (1955-1959 300’s had dual quads arranged inline atop a non-ram manifold). I remember everything about that car. It was a true bad boy and made the 1960 Chrysler 300F my absolute favorite car.

HRM) Your Cars of Dreams collection is known for being one of the few collections with such a wide variety of letter-series Chrysler 300’s. Tell us more.

JS) I have almost one of every letter-series Chrysler 300 here except for the 1959 300E. A total of only 690 1959 E’s were built, of them only 140 were convertibles. Finding a good survivor or even a solid restoration candidate is next to impossible. But that’s the fun of it. At present, I’m selling just about everything you see here in the Cars of Dreams collection. My plan is to fill this building one more time. This go-round, I’m aiming to have a truly complete collection of Chrysler 300 letter cars – including the elusive 1959 “E” – in both body types: hardtop and convertible. I’m a little bit on the fence with the 1962-1965 300s. First off, Chrysler abandoned the tail fins for 1962 but more seriously, Chrysler added a non-performance, non-letter 300 model that could be had with four doors. So to me, the 1962s aren’t as hard-core as the 1955-1961s. So I’m not sure I’ll expend as much effort acquiring 1962-up letter cars for this final go-round.

HRM) You’ve had some race cars, what was the first?

JS) That would be a 1955 Chevy. It was green, and I’m superstitious. Too many times to count, any green race car I’ve owned would blow up on me. It’d break a rear axle, transmission, or something else. We gave that ’55 the name “Mister Jinx.” Eventually we got all the bugs worked out of the car, and I ran it in C / Modified Production (C/MP). That was around the mid-1970s, and the track we used was Englishtown in New Jersey. Vinny Napp was the track manager, and we ran it often enough to hold the C/MP national championship title for a while. We also raced at Westhampton Dragstrip on Long Island and even as far away as Bristol, Tennessee’s so-called “Thunder Valley,” a great strip that’s still very active today. We had a lot of fun back then with Mister Jinx.

HRM) Did you do the driving?

JS) Oh yes! Modified Production allowed a fair amount of changes, so the original 265 V8 was replaced by a 327 with a Mickey Thompson cross-ram intake manifold. We had to remain naturally aspirated but worked in the usual modifications like high compression, a wild solid cam, hotter ignition, and, of course, a four-speed manual transmission. I ran a set of 5.38:1 rear axle gears and used to leave the line at over 6,000 rpm. It’d come out of the hole like a rocket ship.

HRM) Are you a stick man or do you prefer automatic transmissions?

JS) In the earlier days, I was a four-speed maniac. Three-speed on the tree is kind of sloppy- really antiquated. I do like the automatics of today, especially the types you can shift like a stick if you want to. They’re pretty much bullet proof. When you hit traffic, when you have to start shifting, that was fun when I was a kid. But now, at this point in life, I like to enjoy some comfort while I drive. Plus, most cars today only come with an automatic transmission, but again, the manual-shift mode does a pretty good job of simulating the old days – minus the left leg work.

HRM) You managed to locate – and buy – your first Corvette (the black 1962), so have you had any luck finding Mister Jinx, that 1955 Chevy drag car?

JS) Naah, that car is long gone. We sold it to a bunch of guys who continued racing it until it blew a tire and went off the track. I’m pretty sure the car was stripped to a shell then junked.

HRM) Beyond the Cars of Dreams collection, you’ve built and owned a series of 100-to-200-plus foot aluminum-hulled yachts and have a private jet. Success is obviously part of your life, how did it happen?

JS) I started as a mechanic in Brooklyn, then I opened up a gas station. Then a Honda motorcycle dealership franchise became available to me in Queens, on Queens Blvd. I was also a big motorcycle rider and we sold a lot of Honda ‘cycles in the mid-to-late 1960s. By the early 1970s, I was also selling the Honda 600 minicar in fair numbers. But it was the arrival of the larger Civic in 1973 that was really the beginning of true success. Sales were strong enough to allow the addition of more Honda dealerships, in Long Island and other locations. Those little Civics sold very well and I started making the real money. That allowed me to repay my debts to my parents, who funded my early efforts.

HRM) How many Honda dealerships did you grow to, and did you add other brands as well?

JS) In the 1970s, I had five Honda car dealerships and three Honda motorcycle dealerships, and then my first domestic brand was an Oldsmobile store. It was located in Brooklyn, and the success of that led to me getting some Chevrolet outlets. By the late 1980s, I had 42 car dealerships and was the largest privately-held car dealer in the world. Then interest went to 21 percent, and boy the debt load was heavy. I ended up selling off some of the good stores, and kept the bad stores, not that any were really that bad, but we turned them around and kept growing. Today, we’re the third largest privately held car sales company in the country. We do about 70,000 new cars per year, and about 30,000 used cars per year.

HRM) Who runs it all?

JS) It takes a great team, and my partner who helps keep the Long Island dealerships running is Michael Brown. My son John Jr. has stores in Las Vegas, and my son-in-law Scott has car dealerships in Queens, Great Neck, and Long Island. In fact, John Jr. is also a vintage car collector. He’s got about 35 or 40 classics out there in Las Vegas.

HRM) Are these many dealerships recognizable with names like “Staluppi Motors” or some name HOT ROD readers could seek out?

JS) They all carry the name “Atlantic”, “Advantage”, or “Millennium.” The Atlantic name stems from my first Oldsmobile (then later, Chevrolet) dealership, which was called Atlantic Oldsmobile.

HRM) Switching gears back to vintage and collectible cars, when you’re buying, what do you look for?

JS) I’m all about the hunt. I always buy cars I used to work on or knew about when I was a kid. Cars of the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s were things I worked on, bought, sold, raced, and modified, when they were brand new. Not so much with the cars of the 1980s. By then, I had outgrown much of the hands-on, greasy fingers part of it. When I buy, I seek the finest looking examples and typically avoid unfinished projects. I prefer finished cars because it is all too easy to fall into the trap where you invest more than you’ll ever get back. Sure, if you can do the work on your own, and have the necessary skills to do good work, you can turn out a fine example. But when you add up the hours charged by any professional restoration business, a sure return on investment is rare. This is a labor of love. People who restore these cars spend thousands of hours on them, and finding missing parts is another side of it that can get costly, so I’m attracted to finished cars.

HRM) Are there any cars that you refuse to buy?

JS) I’m not a big fan of some of the more obscure vintage foreign cars. It’s about impossible to get restoration parts [for them]. I’m also not a huge Ferrari guy. Except for the pinnacle cars like the 250 GTO and such, I don’t really see the value.

HRM) No doubt it’s a lot of work to find, buy, and store so many cars. To some people, what you have here on display would be an acceptable life-long accomplishment. But you are about to sell 125 cars at the 2018 Barrett-Jackson West Palm Beach, FL collector car auction and start again. Why?

JS) I get bored. Again, with me it’s about the chase. My main business office is also contained within this structure (a former department store). When I need a break from the daily “brain damage” of keeping track of business, I’ll come out and restore my equilibrium with these wonderful vintage machines. It’s a lot of fun. I’m also a big fan of Lionel trains and have a large, running diorama in its own special room.

HRM) Anyone who has watched the televised Barrett-Jackson collector car auctions knows that you are known for buying the best examples available. Consignors also understand it’s a very good thing when you are bidding on their offerings because price is not an obstacle. Once these cars become part of your Cars of Dreams collection, are they treated differently versus other car collections?

JS) One thing that sets my collection apart from many, is the fact you can jump into any one of the cars on display, drive it out the door and go for a cruise. On the four-speed cars you don’t have to worry about it jumping out of gear because of bad synchros, the lights all work, they are all ready to go. I keep a staff of full-time mechanics led by Dave Crews, and there’s a multi-bay garage at the back of my display room to assure each car is road ready. If I buy a car and issues present themselves, we correct them. That way, when someone buys a car from my collection, they can buy it with good confidence. We exercise our cars, and that’s crucial in this day of reformulated gas that goes bad and gums up carburetors. By exercising the cars, the seals don’t get dried out and it makes a huge difference compared to cars that might sit idle for years at a time in other collections.

HRM) What’s more important to you, matching numbers, or a quality presentation?

JS) I like numbers-matching, but to me what’s more important than that would be the quality of the car, the quality of the restoration. Most of my high-end cars are numbers matching, but the plus to me is the way the car is restored- the quality of the chrome, the quality underneath the chassis, the nooks and crannies. Were the body mounts replaced? Are they detailed to the same degree as the grille? That’s where the value is. When you pull up to a car show, 90 percent of spectators don’t know what numbers matching means. But they do see a quality build, and that’s what I go after. The truth of the matter is, when I worked at Chevrolet, and we would get muscle cars with damaged engines, we simply changed short blocks and tossed the original “numbers matching” parts in the trash. Truth be told, after the repair, the engine was like new. The tiny stamped numbers on the block didn’t play into the equation whatsoever. On most pre-1968 cars, and the vast majority of 1950s cars, numbers-matching status isn’t as important because many cars simply lacked the numbers in the first place. So that’s where we turn our focus to the quality of the paint, chrome, interior, glass, and overall restoration.

HRM) How about resto-mods?

JS) That’s an area that I appreciate. Numbers-matching status has no bearing here, and that’s liberating. I have a number of resto-mods in this collection, and I bought them for the quality of execution. But again, in every case, you could take it out of my building and drive it to California. The air conditioning works, they handle well, the transmissions have overdrive, and they’re usually much faster than any original model. I think resto-mods and resto-rods are where the value is. I think resto-mods are worth a lot more money than a stock restoration. I understand the allure of original equipment, but in today’s world, a top tier resto-mod with good ingredients and craftsmanship is a better buy than a relic restored with original-type bias ply tires, a three-speed manual transmission, drum brakes, and king pin front suspension.

HRM) What are some cars that are under-valued in today’s marketplace?

JS) Big Cadillacs from the 1950s and 1960s. Cadillac is like a symbol, especially with the Eldorado and Eldorado Biarritz, those are real cars. You look at the bumpers, the stainless steel roof material, the interiors with golden threads, I think these cars are very much undervalued. I feel they will climb much higher as more people understand what they represented. Taking it further, I think all of the finned cars from the 1950’s are poised to appreciate. I’m also big on Chrysler finned cars of the Virgil Exner era. Not just the letter-series 300s we talked about already, but the Dodge D500s, Plymouth Furys and DeSoto Adventurers are really important cars that are blue chip investments.

HRM) Modern cars have to pass so many government crash, pedestrian safety and efficiency standards, their designers’ hands are tied. Its’ rumored that Dodge Challenger stylists intentionally gave up something like 1/2 of a mpg in 2008 to allow for the distinctive tunneled grille and “frowning brow” headlamps that give them so much identity. Do you think new cars will ever be distinctive again?

JS) I have a hard time looking at a Lexus or a Mercedes or a BMW, and I’m in the business as a dealer. Its’ hard to say make and model is which. Back then, you knew- that’s an Oldsmobile, that’s a Buick, that’s a Pontiac, that’s a Dodge, etc. You don’t see that now. I feel the carmakers need to add more visual variety and identity to their offerings.

HRM) Can you hint at what direction the next Cars of Dreams collection will take?

JS) This is something that’s a passion to me. Doing this one more time in my lifetime, my next collection of cars will be more of a variety. At present, Cars of Dreams celebrates the convertible body type. But for the next go around, I want more variety. Yes, there will be convertibles, but I also want to go after hardtops and even some wagons. Then I can take it in a different direction. At present, if you look around Cars of Dreams, the only reason you don’t see a convertible on display is when the factory didn’t offer it that way. An example would be the 1956-1957 Lincoln Continental MKII. Except for two factory prototype convertibles in 1957, the MKII is strictly a hardtop. If ever there was a car that deserved to be offered as a drop-top, the MKII is it. And know this, if one of those factory prototype convertibles surfaced, I’d pay the money for it! Another thing I want to point out is that there are two vintage fire trucks in the collection right now. They actually run, and I use them for parades. I had my shop install air conditioning inside one of them because it was so popular, we decided to make it more enjoyable here in the Florida heat. Commercial and emergency vehicles are interesting to me as well; I even have a Ford neighborhood ice cream truck I’ll be selling.

HRM) When you say the word “collection,” how many cars do you have?

JS) I keep about 130 cars here plus another 8 cars I keep at my home. Again, every one of them is ready for the road. Sometimes for fun, I’ll invite four or five buddies to come by then I’ll ask them which cars they want to drive, and we’ll gas them up and then attend a car show or cruise night.

HRM) Besides vintage cars and Lionel trains, you also enjoy ship building. Tell us about it.

JS) I’m building a new yacht now, which will be the ultimate, ultimate boat. I sold Diamonds Are Forever and Skyfall (Google them, dear reader, you’ll be amazed). This new one is a 230-foot boat that is going to be the ultimate yacht that’s ever been built by a person. We are hoping that for next year to have a party on it.

HRM) Back to the next collection, how does that get started?

JS) It isn’t about buying 130 cars, it’s about buying 130 great cars. In addition to having one of every 1955-1962 Chrysler 300 letter-series body type, I hope to focus on Oldsmobiles from 1950 through 1960. I want one of each model in each body configuration. More Corvettes will be added from each era, and I’m not against resto-mods representing specific years.

HRM) What does the future hold for the Cars of Dreams collection?

JS) After the next round of acquiring cars to replace the ones I’m selling at the April 2018 Barret-Jackson sale, I want to eventually pass it down to my son, John Jr. and my grandchildren. John Jr. lives in Las Vegas. He is mostly into Mopars and has about 35 cars there. As for the next round of purchases, I’ll open the door to a wider variety of cars. I’ll be at the auctions, buying and buying and buying. I’m excited to do this again.

HRM) What is it like when you are bidding on a car and suddenly there’s a TV camera pointed at your face?

JS) I gotta be honest- it’s fun. Sometimes when I’m bidding, it becomes like a war with me. Sometimes my wife Jeanette will be there with me while I’m bidding, and she’ll be asking, “are you crazy?” Then my cell phone will go off with calls from friends who see me on TV bidding who want to chime in on the action or they’re texting me “don’t lose that car, it’s a good one.” Meanwhile I’m thinking to the auctioneer “drop the hammer, drop the hammer!” The best is when my grandkids are there and they’re saying, “Poppie we’re not going to let that guy beat us? I say, ‘no way, no way’.” Sometimes it’ll cost me because the ego gets in front of the brain. One thing that used to happen to me at auction that I don’t let happen anymore is when a car shows up under the lights and I haven’t really checked into the underlying quality. When there’s a car on the docket list that catches my eye, now I make sure to get a close inspection in the days before it hits the block. That’s one of the reasons I like Barrett-Jackson, they stage the cars under the tents and in the lines for several days before they sell. This gives ample opportunity for close inspection. Once the car is on the block, there’s really no time to inspect it very closely, it becomes like a big race. But overall, I look forward to every Barrett-Jackson auction. I love it. It’s fun.

The post An Interview with John Staluppi, Owner of the Cars of Dreams Collection to be Sold at Barrett Jackson in April, 2018. appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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