#what happened in your childhood that changed you irrevocably?

[warriorsatthedisco]

Why am I so easily lured into pining even when I’m satisfied

[adore-laur]

YOU MAKE IT FEEL LIKE CHRISTMAS

— a holiday addition to the dadrry universe 🎄

❅ ❅ ❅

Red wine is an elixir of reminiscence.

As twilight fades into dusk, you let the velvety Cabernet Sauvignon warm your bloodstream and bring forth memories of the festive seasons gone by. Childhood recollections of sneaking down the hallway before sunrise, captivated by the magical scene made by the plump man who somehow slid down the chimney. Wrapping presents galore while sitting by the twinkling evergreen, the stacks piling higher and higher each year. Baking desserts and listening to Christmas music, the scent of gingerbread mingling with the seaside air. All those moments were nostalgia happening in real-time, engulfing you until they unraveled like a ribbon box of wistfulness.

You're lost in a blissful reverie while watching Harry swiftly round the kitchen island. He's eating the last half of a frosted cookie and untucking his black henley from his sweatpants.

"You've gone quiet on me," he says while chewing, his fist raised to his mouth.

Your vision breaks away from him and refocuses on the entrancing flames in the fireplace. "Just thinking."

"'Bout what?" he asks, reclaiming his glass of wine that he abandoned on the mantle shelf.

"How this will be our eighth Christmas together."

He whistles in a decrescendo and sits next to you. "Really? How are you not sick of me yet?"

"Trust me, you push the limit sometimes."

"Only because I love you."

You roll your eyes affectionately, then say, "I was also thinking about how emotional I'll be tomorrow."

Harry smiles as he begins soothingly rubbing your back. "You always get emotional on Christmas."

At the mere thought of it, you flatten your lips and look at him miserably. The childlike wonder you'll get to witness is nothing to shed tears over, yet you can't help but know you'll feel the pitiful pull on your maternal heartstrings.

"I'm a mess," you say defeatedly.

"No, no, no. Come here and give me a hug." He instinctively reaches for your hand and tugs you toward him. "Bring it in."

You clumsily situate yourself in his lap and curl into his warm body. Your muscles relax, but the tears still spill over. It's irrevocable.

"Why are you crying?" Harry croons, propping his chin on your head and swaying you consolingly. "Hmm? You break my heart when you cry."

Sniffling, you bury your face into his chest and mumble, "She's growing up too fast."

His throat bobs. "I know. It hurts me too."

"But it hurts, like, deep in my soul. Sometimes I physically feel the ache when I look at her."

"She's three." The featherlight touch of his fingertips trails up and down your spine. "That's still young, yeah? And don't forget, we've got a new little baby."

"She's our firstborn, though," you say mournfully, staring at him. You remember exactly what it felt like to hold her for the first time. She changed everything for us. It feels like it was just yesterday when we brought her home, and now she's walking around and doing things all by herself. Where did the time go?"

"I don't have the answer to that, sweetheart," Harry replies, his eyes darting over your distraught face. "Time goes by too quickly."

"She starts preschool next year." You shake your head in disbelief and gape at him incredulously. "Harry, do you hear me? Preschool."

"I hear you." He looks genuinely concerned as he shifts his legs in order to hold you better, cradling the sides of your head to stop it from shaking. It's smart of him to do so since the wine is making you a bit dizzy. "Hey, I hear you. Always. We'll cry in the car together when we drop her off on her first day, deal? Right now, let's focus on tonight and enjoy Christmas Eve. Let's watch our babies grow one day at a time."

More tears sting your eyes and nose like a thousand tiny bees. "Do you feel it when you look at her?"

His features turn sad, yet a ghost of a smile still appears. "Of course," he whispers. "It's embarrassing the number of times I've teared up just from watching her simply exist."

"You know what always gets me?" you ask thoughtfully. A tender kiss is planted on your forehead as encouragement to continue. "When she brings you seashells. It kills me every time."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "I hope she never stops doing that. It melts my heart."

"She's so sweet. We're raising such a beautiful girl."

"Two beautiful girls."

You pout, feeling overwhelmingly sentimental. "I want to wake them up and snuggle with them."

"Don't," he says with a wary laugh, "or they'll be cranky little devils tomorrow morning."

"I love waking them up, though."

"So do I," he agrees in a way so sincere that it makes you even more emotional. "Although tomorrow we'll be the ones woken up first."

You sigh dreamily. "That's true. I love it when they open their sleepy eyes, and the first thing they see is me. And then they smile."

To provide your children with a sense of happiness, even if they're not fully conscious of it yet, is the greatest gift you could ever possess.

"Being their first smile of the day," Harry says softly, "is what being a parent is all about, you know? Getting to see their faces look more and more like yours each day. Hearing them laugh and holding them in my arms. I always think to myself how fuckin' lucky I am to be their dad."

Letting a teardrop fall, you finally succumb to the wine-drunk dramatics. "They love you so much."

It's his turn for his eyes to sparkle with tears. "They're my girls. My best friends."

"You are everything to them. The way they look at you and listen to every word you speak is so amazing. I can't think of anything quite like it."

Tracing the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone, Harry says, "They have my favorite parts of your face. When they smile, their eyes shape and light up the same way yours do." He hums thoughtfully and dances his gaze around your features. "Got their mom's nose, too."

You wipe your tears and take a sip of wine, letting him continue admiring you like a work of art in the Louvre. You do the same to him, obsessed with how the light from the flames flickers over his skin. Your lucky stars are definitely out tonight.

"I want you to get gray hair," you blurt, not even realizing what you said until Harry retracts his head with a bewildered expression.

"I beg your pardon?" he asks through a shocked laugh, reaching for his wine glass. "I'm only thirty-two! Good grief, woman."

Shrugging, you imagine the inevitable physical change. Maybe the one curly strand of hair that always falls over his forehead will start to lighten into an ash color. Or perhaps it'll start with his stubble turning a salt and pepper two-tone. Either way, you know you'll be all over him when it happens.

"It'd be hot, just saying."

"You're a dirty liar," he murmurs around the rim of his glass, his voice slightly muffled.

"A dad I'd like to fuck is what you are. Sue me."

Harry smirks gradually, his lips stained with a delectable shade of scarlet. "What," he enunciates slowly, "has gotten into you tonight?"

"Nothing," you say coyly. "You're just really attractive when you drink wine."

His pupils appear darker and more dilated as he intensely stares at you. His cheeks are tinted with a flush due to the alcohol. Whenever they draw up in a smile, his dimples emerge, and he's genuinely never looked more kissable. Because his mouth... oh, his mouth.

When Harry sets his wine down and finally lingers it near your ear, his berry-scented breath sending shivers across your entire body, you're his entirely. He then speaks in a drawl that makes you tighten your legs around his waist. "I think this wine has gone from here"—he hovers his fingers over your stomach and then trails them up to your temple, tapping twice—"to here."

You swallow a noise of desperation. "I want you to kiss me."

Nipping your earlobe, he asks, "Where, baby?"

"Your choice."

"Sure about that?"

"Yes. Don't test my patience."

He doesn't say anything and promptly lays you down on your back, the carpet providing cushioning as your husband hovers over you with his hands placed on either side of your dizzy head. The room spins, but all you focus on is him.

He takes his time and leaves slow, practiced kisses on your lips, coaxing them open with his wine-flavored tongue. It's as clear as day that he's never lost his temptation. If anything, it's grown now that he knows how to get specific reactions out of you. If he nudges his nose against yours, you'll take control of his mouth. If he reaches for your ankle, you'll spread your legs further apart. If he walks his fingers down your inner thigh, well, you won't hesitate to flip positions.

Eight years with him prove he knows every instinct of your body like no one else does.

"Harry, we can't," you say when he starts rocking his hips. "I'm not cleared yet."

He stops and groans against your shoulder. "Fuck."

The doctor hasn't given you the green light to have sex again since giving birth a month ago. If you're being completely honest, you're almost dreading when it'll finally happen because of how it felt after having your first child. It wasn't pleasurable, it didn't last long, and you weren't feeling the best about your postpartum appearance. Harry had been gracious and attentive, but, for lack of better words, it sucked.

"Did I ruin the moment?" you ask, your skin prickly with embarrassment.

"No," Harry breathes out. "Hell no. Look at you, baby. I'm unbelievably hard right now."

"Should we... can we—"

"We can just do foreplay if that's what you're asking. It's completely up to you."

Your tipsy brain thinks of one thing and one thing only. "Thigh."

His eyebrows twitch as he licks the corner of his mouth. "Hmm? You're mumbling."

"Thigh," you utter again.

"My what? I can't hear you over the fire."

"Harry," you grit out impatiently. "You know what I'm saying. Please, before the mood is actually ruined."

"You wanna ride it?" he asks for confirmation.

"Yes. Now shut up."

"We have to be quiet, darling."

"I can be quiet. Can you be quiet?"

"With you on my lap? Probably not."

Looking up at the ceiling and taking a calming breath, you say, "This is so risky. I hate you."

Harry tuts. "Why do you hate me?"

"Because you're so..." you trail off, searching for the right word. "So alluring all the time. And I can't help myself when you look at me like you do. It's aggravating."

"Personally, I think it's just your hormones talking." He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "The baby monitor is on the couch, love, so don't worry. We'll make this nice and quick."

"Fine. Okay."

He stretches his legs out while you position yourself over his thigh. Your underwear is already damp as you begin slowly grinding over the thick muscle. He's hard under his sweatpants—a sight you've missed seeing and being able to do something about it. His hands latch onto your waist to guide your movements, and he moans as his whole body shudders from the first sexually intimate contact he's had with you in a month.

"Someone's got an appetite tonight," he says proudly. "It's okay, so do I. But we gotta be quiet."

A salacious thrill runs down your spine because of his determination to get you off. As you use his thigh and grip his shoulders, the fire beside you heats your already ignited body. He searches for your lips, his skin glowing, eyebrows pinched with pleasure. His broad chest provides support as you lean into him, feeling the pulse of your forthcoming orgasm grow stronger. You need it desperately. You're attempting to keep any noises from escaping, but it's been so insufferably long since you've felt him this way. Moans, whimpers, and panted breaths unabashedly break loose.

"Look at me," Harry says lowly. "What did I say? Do I need to cover your mouth?"

"You're making noise too! Don't—"

His large palm covers the lower half of your face, cutting off your sentence. "What did I say?" he repeats.

You roll your eyes and continue circling your hips over him to offer some relief. "I'm almost there," you mumble against his hand. "I'm close."

"I'm so gone for you," he murmurs, removing his hand and kissing your neck. "You're something else, do you know that? Gonna make a mess on my lap?"

You whine into his mouth. "Yeah. Do the thing."

Harry purposefully flexes his thigh muscle, the movement putting heavenly pressure on your clit. It does the trick, and you come as he stifles your moans so no innocent ears hear, his own groans muffled as you kiss through the climax.

"I missed doing this with you," you whisper, grinding against him one last time.

"I know." He grunts, his body stilling. "I know, honey."

"And I love you. You're so good to me and our family."

"We're perfect together, aren't we?"

"So fucking perfect," you say as your eyes flutter shut. Every breath you take is heavy, and your lungs fill with pure contentment.

"Let's get you cleaned up." He hooks your legs around his waist, and his elbow accidentally knocks over his wine glass. Dark red liquid pools on the hearth, the dying fire reflecting off it. "Shit. Goddamnit."

"Harry," you groan as he clumsily untangles himself from you and jogs to the kitchen.

❅ ❅ ❅

Your eyes shoot open when a startling noise resounds in the pitch-black bedroom. It doesn't register until your mind slowly fades into consciousness and you realize it's Harry's ringtone.

The bedside clock displays 5:39 a.m. It's Christmas morning. Who in the world is calling so early?

You remain still until Harry is eventually woken up by it. The mattress creaks as he stands and takes his phone to the master bathroom. You turn the bedside lamp on, and after five minutes of incoherent mumbling coming through the cracked door, he shuffles out with a crease between his eyebrows.

"Who was that?" you ask sleepily while stretching your legs under the covers.

Harry silently paces before saying, "My boss."

You yawn and rub your bleary eyes, then lean against the headboard. "Wishing you a Merry Christmas? That's nice of him."

"No," he replies in his husky morning voice, blankly staring at the wall behind you. "He, uh... he asked me if I could come to work today."

Silence pierces the atmosphere for several seconds before you finally ask, "What?"

"Three people have called out already."

You whip your head toward the clock. "It's not even six yet."

"Tell me about it," he says with zero emotion. I don't even know what to say. I told him I'd call him back once I've woken up a bit more."

Harry is most prone to being grumpy in the mornings. You hate that he's in a sour mood before the sun has even risen.

"Just tell him you're not going to. We'll get jumped on in less than an hour to open presents."

He runs a heavy hand down his face, stopping it under his lips. "It would only be for the first half of the day. I can make it back home for presents in the afternoon."

"What are you talking about?" Either he's sleepwalking, or he's gone mad. Maybe you're having a bad dream. "Christmas is an all-day thing, Harry. It always has been."

He struggles with words before saying, "My work relies on me. I need you to understand that."

Now you're wide awake with irritation. "Are you joking? You're on paternity leave. Never in a million years would I have thought you'd put work before your family."

The first nerve is struck, and it's written all over Harry's face.

"That's such a fuckin' low blow, and you know it," he says angrily. "I have always, always put our family first."

"You're sure as hell not doing it now!" You throw your arms out to the side and get out of bed.

"You're starting an argument on Christmas? Really?"

"Yeah, I am," you reply pettily.

Harry towers over you with a clenched jaw, pointing at his chest. "I demoted myself so I could be with my family more."

"Oh, don't you dare pull that card on me."

"I'm not pulling a card on you! I'm defending myself for crying out loud!"

"Lower your voice," you hiss at him. "Our daughter doesn't need to be more upset than she already will be when she finds out her dad isn't home on Christmas morning."

You struck below the belt, and now he's wounded.

Harry's stoic expression crumbles into one of devastation, his shoulders sagging with undeniable hurt. "Can you just listen to me?" His tone wavers with emotion. You immediately lower your defenses and swallow down guilt. "Please," he adds quietly. "I hate arguing with you. I hate it so much."

"I'm sorry," you choke out, hiding your face in your palms. "I didn't mean it."

Strong arms wrap around you, his hands spreading on your back. "I know you didn't mean it. We both need to calm down, okay? Can we sit?"

You nod and mumble, "Sure."

He lowers you to the floor and says, "Let's just talk this through. Tell me we're okay. Tell me it's just holiday stress getting to us."

Your head starts to pound from how deep your eyebrows plunge. "Why are you speaking like that? We're fine."

Harry's tired eyes bore into yours. "Because we're saying hurtful things, and the thought of losing you is unbearable."

"You're not losing me. I'm allowed to be frustrated."

"Then please let me know what's going on in your mind. I always have to remind you to talk to me; otherwise, nothing gets resolved."

"I already told you," you say while playing with the knotted string on his pajama pants. "I don't like how you're considering going to work instead of being here. That hurts my feelings."

Harry kisses your face and murmurs, "I'm sorry, love. It's early, and I'm in a weird headspace. It's all that damn wine we drank last night."

"Do you have a headache?"

"A brutal one."

You rub your temples. "Same here."

"Listen," he says, "I'm halfway through my paternity leave, so I think a part of me feels guilty for refusing to go in, considering I haven't worked the past month."

"I get that, but can you understand where I'm coming from?" you ask, still being showered with his tender morning kisses. "Any other day, I'd be fine with it, but it's our baby's first Christmas. Look me in the eye and tell me you'd seriously rather be at work preparing food for rich people who need to dine out for the holidays."

"You know I'd rather be here. I always want to be here with you guys."

"Then call your boss and say you're not coming in. You can't always be a yes-man. Otherwise, you'll get walked over."

"Am I really a yes-man?"

"Sometimes."

He slumps against you. "I don't want you to think I don't fight for our family."

You frown. "I don't think that. I will never forget when you demoted yourself. Yes, I was furious when you first told me, but then I realized how important it is for you to be present and bond with your children."

"I'll call my boss and tell him no." He hugs you and gives you a sweet smile. "Only if you promise you're not mad at me."

"I'm not mad," you say, fondly pinching his cheek. "Now get your butt up and bring me some Advil."

He gestures a salute. "Yes, ma'am."

❅ ❅ ❅

You're woken up again, this time by a slight pressure on your legs and two little hands shaking your shoulders.

"Santa came! Mama, Santa came!"

"Shh, shh, shh." You hush her lisped voice as you open your eyes. It takes a minute to become aware of your surroundings, and you eventually see Harry passed out on the bed by your feet, wrapped in his white robe and lying on his back as he sleeps. After your talk, he took a shower to clear his head, and he must have fallen asleep again.

"Can you wait until I get your sister up?" you whisper. "Then you can jump on Dad."

She nods, her messy curls bouncing every which way. You quietly get up and wander down the hallway toward the nursery. Surprisingly, your baby girl only cried twice throughout the night.

Once her diaper is changed and she's dressed in a festive onesie, you return to the bedroom with her cradled in your arms. You're greeted with a barely awake Harry, who is trying to tame the wild beast. Playful growls, followed by shrieking laughter, echo off the walls. You could've guessed that she wouldn't listen.

His eyes instantly soften when he sees you holding his new favorite person. "Why is your little nose all red?" he says to her. "You look like Rudolph."

You pass her over before sitting on the edge of the bed. "She loves untucking her arms from the swaddle at night, so she gets cold. She's an escape artist."

"A cute escape artist," he says, looking down at his girl. "Look how cute you are. I'm gonna eat your cheeks. I'm gonna do it!" He pretends to munch on her chubby cheeks until her happy noises fill the room.

After thirty minutes of warm snuggles in bed and letting the sunrise peek through the curtains, everyone eventually gathers in the living room to start the day. Harry, now in a much better mood, immediately goes into full dad mode so that everything runs smoothly and no one is crabby on Christmas.

"What can I make my lovely wife for breakfast?" he asks, dressed in jeans and a red knitted sweater.

"French toast and eggs, please," you answer, feeding the baby in your lap a bottle. She has a little Santa hat on. "Can you grab me the burp cloth?"

"Got it." He turns to his daughter, who's watching cartoons on TV. "Lovebug. Come here for a second."

She gallops over to him, fresh as a daisy, and he swoops her up to set her on his hip. "Hi," she says.

"Hi, sweetheart," he says while fixing her loose socks. "Dad needs your breakfast order."

"Reindeer pancake!"

"And?"

"Juice!"

"And?"

She hums, thinking long and hard. "Cookie!"

"Uh-oh." Harry gasps, looking at her with wide eyes. "Haven't you heard? Santa ate all the cookies!"

Her face drops. "Why?"

"We left them out for him, remember?"

"But… but why?"

"Because that's the spirit of Christmas." He kisses her cheek and then sets her down. "Go organize the presents while I make breakfast, okay? No peeking. Behave."

Once the family has full bellies and excited smiles, it's time to open presents. Everyone has their respective piles stacked in front of their feet, some from under the tree, some from the four stockings hanging on the mantle. It's crazy to think there used to only be two there.

"Who's going first?" Harry asks with a steaming mug of tea in his hands. He sits beside you on the couch and carefully slides the portable bassinet closer. Her Christmas plans include getting milk drunk and sleeping all day.

"Me!" says your daughter, crawling into his lap.

"All right. Pick a good one, little lady."

She chooses a rectangular box from the top of her stack. "That's one you need to open with your dad," you tell her. "Harry, open yours that has the same wrapping paper."

He grabs an identical-looking present and helps tear open both boxes. After pulling out the tissue paper, he picks up a pair of white aprons, one big and one small, with ladybugs stitched to the fronts. You tried and failed to find ones that said lovebug, but you figured the sentiment would be appreciated.

"A ladybug!"

You take a candid picture of her with your phone. "I know, baby. You and Dad can match when you cook together."

Harry squeezes your shoulder and whispers, "Thank you."

It's your turn next, and you choose a gift from Harry. You open a small box that contains a gift card to a local spa establishment.

"You deserve a day without me or the kids," he says softly. "I'm forcing you to not be a mom for a day."

You look at him while holding the card to your chest. "Thank you so much."

"Word on the street is that they give better massages than I do."

"Well, they've got some tough competition."

Harry laughs and kisses your cheek, then picks out a gift you've been waiting for weeks to give him. He didn't ask for it, but you like to surprise him. He unwraps it with a giddy smile, eventually pulling out two picture frames crafted from an assortment of seashells.

"I made them using the shells she's brought you over the years," you explain. "I hope you don't mind."

Harry runs a hand over his mouth as his eyes dance over the two pictures. One of them is from when his baby girl was born a mere month ago—the two of you sat in the birthing tub with him staring at you with a breathtaking smile after she clung to him. The other picture is from the day his first daughter was born—him sitting in the hospital bed while holding her with his forehead resting against hers, his hands almost taking up her entire body.

"That's you, lovebug," he says to her while pointing at the picture. "Look at how tiny you were. You changed my life that day and made me the happiest person in the whole wide world."

"Me?" she asks curiously.

He taps her nose. "Mm-hmm. And look at you now. All grown up."

"Do I still make you the happiest in the whole wide world?"

"Every single day. We're each other's first smiles forever, right?"

She nods delightedly. "Yeah."

Harry hugs her tightly and then glances over at you, doing a double-take when you bring your knees to your chest and inhale deeply. "Are you going to cry?" he teases with a smirk.

"No," you reply unconvincingly, clearing your throat and not-so-subtly wiping the corners of your eyes. "Okay, who's next?"

After a bunch more presents are unwrapped and toys and sparkly bows are scattered on the carpet, there's only one box under the tree with no name.

Harry crawls over and grabs it. "This," he says theatrically while standing, "is for all of us. Let's have mommy do the honors."

The box is set in your lap, and Harry stands before you, bending forward to place his hands on your thighs.

"You're way too close to me right now," you tell him.

He glances up at you through his eyelashes. "I need to gauge your reaction."

You roll your eyes and begin tearing the tape on the box's seal. Once you open it, your heart skips a beat when you see four plane tickets sitting on a bed of sand.

"Surprise," he whispers.

Mouth agape, you take them out and flip them over to read the tags attached.

Your tag reads: For my wife. Italy the first time made us fall in love all over again. Let's do it a second time.

Your eldest daughter's tag reads: For my lovebug. I'll buy you all the raspberry gelato and ciabatta bread you want. I'll even throw a lasso around the Italian moon for you to keep.

Your newborn's tag reads: For my baby girl. I'll show you the sea that emulates your beauty. You'll show me how lucky I am to hold and love you.

In all your years of knowing him, you don't think he's ever done something more romantic than the scrawly ink attached to a gift from a memory so dear to him.

"We're seriously going back to Italy?"

He crouches and squeezes your thigh. "End of July."

Your daughter doesn't quite understand the significance of what's happening since she was small when the family last went, but she's smiling as she absentmindedly sifts her hands through the sand.

You lean forward and give Harry a hug. "You're so perfect. Thank you. I can't wait."

"You're welcome. Come with me for a second," he murmurs in your ear. He heads to the kitchen and quickly dumps the rest of his cold tea into the sink.

You follow him into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly cracked. Harry flicks on the light and then stands in front of you. "You," he emphasizes while cradling your cheeks, "are the fuckin' love of my life."

You accept his fervent kisses and mumble against his mouth, "Did you like the seashells?"

"Are you kidding?" He kisses you once more. "I almost lost my composure out there."

"See? I'm not the only one who gets emotional."

"I love you so much," he says, soft and sincere. "This will be the best trip of our lives."

You admire his bright eyes and dimpled smile. "I'm so glad you stayed home. You make it feel like Christmas."

❅ ❅ ❅

[goldcranes]

i am obsessed with your writing!!!! especially Lawless and Sleeper Hit! i would love to know:

In Lawless, what is a happy, post-fic headcanon you have about Arthur and Kitty?

If you were ever to do a sequel to Lawless, what do you think might happen in it?

Which part of Sleeper Hit was the hardest to write?

What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

Which part of writing do you struggle with most?

you don't have to answer everything/all of them if you don't want to! i just love your work and am so curious about your writing process and these fics in particular!

Thank you so so much for this! And thank you for reading and loving my fics ❤️ This means so much to me! Ask as many questions as you want! Behind the scenes fic ask meme

Post-fic Lawless headcanon: I have so many, but I think my top two favourites are that Arthur ends up working with horses as much as he ends up running the ranch with John/managing the cattle – he takes on a lot of problem horses to “fix” and doesn’t sell on quite as many as he should, so a regular little herd develops on the land. I also like to imagine that their descendants stay right there on that ranch for generations, and in “today” time they’re right there still, not far from Yosemite, and family legend says they’re descended from a pair of notorious outlaws who dodged the cops and started a new life for themselves there. The two outlaws being Arthur and John of course – because despite Arthur’s attempts to threaten him off, John’s son Jack falls madly in love with Arthur and Kathryn’s daughter Elizabeth and they take over the ranch together. Which leads into…

If I were to do a Lawless sequel: it would be Jack and Elizabeth’s story, including their frustrations with their younger siblings, their attempts to find out their parents’ real story, and their slow and heady descent from childhood friends into all-encompassing love.

Which part of Sleeper Hit was hardest to write: it was definitely the “parents” (Maverick and Penny) finding out about the relationship – I inserted it at about five different points in the story in a bunch of different ways and it just was not right no matter what I did. Then the idea of Bradley getting shot down occurred to me, and I knew I finally had a place to put that big reveal where it wouldn’t irrevocably damage any of those crucial relationships.

A line/scene I’m really proud of: it’s incredibly mundane, but I really love the scene in Sleeper Hit where Amelia bails out of her dad’s house and calls Maverick from Lancaster. It just felt like a really lovely encapsulation of their relationship as I was writing it, and honestly as much as I adore Bradley/Amelia, it was the Amelia-Maverick father/daughter relationship I ended up loving most in that fic. I was really pleased with how the dialogue flowed and the transition from the edginess, sadness and anger Amelia felt at her father’s to the ease, trust and laughter she feels with Maverick. And then of course it results in Amelia’s stay at Bradley’s house, and I very much like how that ends 🌝

Which part of writing I struggle with most: 100% sticking with things. It’s infuriating how little staying power I have and how easily I get distracted by shiny new ideas. It’s one of the main reasons I post massive long oneshots old-school style for so many fics – I have to treat them as one single entity in my head rather than letting myself divide them up into chapters, because something about chapterising a story somehow makes my brain think it’s absolutely fine to just stop doing it four or five chapters in. If I got a wish to change just one thing about myself it would be giving myself the willpower and concentration to goddamn finish stories

[uldren-sov]

SWTOR ELORA🖊

its her, Swtor Elora, watch her as she goes

Have some lovely throwback art by a lovely person!!!! (aka you)

Some vibes about her, her place in the Empire, and some of the hypocritical notions of being a Sith in the governmental system that benefits Sith!

I think she is one of my fave OCs in part because she is a way in which I can interface with a system that can be deeply insidious and evil, not only in the cartoonishly way that it is display, and the idea of what Good People can do in a Bad System.

So even while she may be able to change some of the most egregious aggression from the Empire; to what end is she truly effective when the very nature of the Empire is to destroy and diminish anything that is not it? But maybe lessening the outright atrocities committed on the front lines could be enough. We'll have to see.

However! I have really enjoyed her story as trying to be "different" given her awful childhood -- scar over her eye was from a knife wielded by her older brother, her exile to Dromund Kaas -- when the hypocrisy is still as blatant as it is intrinsic; she will always be Sith thus always above others. But, I am very satisfied that she has put in the blood, sweat, and tears in educating herself to push back the prejudices. Maybe that's my bias in thinking time, effort, and education, can overcome a lot of one's own ego and prejudices, but at least in her case being thrown into Nar Shaddaa at such formative years had changed her outlook irrevocably. And given her a fun edge and creativity to how she approaches a lot of her life anymore.

But I've enjoyed grappling with the destruction of her home planet a lot. The outrage, the anger, the incomprehension as to how it wasn't given a kind of mourning it deserved, how the Council allowed it all to happen. In an instant, thousands of years of history and culture was destroyed, and once more the Empire's worse enemy was the Empire itself. Her home was destroyed by the Empire yet she's expected to continue on and lead it? It's a wild conflict that keeps her up at night when Cosmia doesn't. And when Dromund Kaas was her prison, her exile, what true home is there in the Empire anymore? :) Is it really one more enemy to manage? A place she lives that she needs to strive to defeat or control?

Speaking of Ziost! Besides her eye, her only real scars are lightning scars over her hands. I imagine she truly pushed the powers of the Force to keep her alive and fighting on Ziost during those last days, to the absolute limit. The scars come from the amount of control it took to not kill people with the rage of her lightning, to the point where she probably has internal cybernetics in them that had to be operated on immediately after the devastation or else she would have lost her hands entirely. Ask her how pruny you get in a Not-Bacta tank.

And for as fun as the whole It's Just Casual, Don't Catch Feelings, trope is for her and Karo (your oc!!!! @damarlegacy ), I think it's so rewarding that they are where they are now because they put in so much time and effort into their relationship, even when they weren't in a relationship. Unapologetically themselves, yet willing to apologize when it came to the friendship and later partnership they had. It's deeply romantic, yes, but also so satisfying that they went into this with clear eyes and purposefully chose each other to love when they realized it was love. Like how powerful is that? lmao

Also parkour and gymnastic shit is fun

so are two sabers

she's a junglegym for her baby girl and pregnancy with a powerful force sensitive baby was WILD and dreads the prejudice lil cosima will face because she will not let mimi's mirialan heritage be hidden

she's considering another baby though

[charismaquark]

Finally watched Goncharov (1973) and while I’m not generally into mafia movies... the Fruit Stand Scene???!!!

THIS LIVES RENT-FREE IN MY MIND NOW.

Katya gives Sofia the apple. Sofia hands Katya the pomegranate. The Eve-Persephone parallels (women whose destinies changed irrevocably after being tricked into eating a piece of fruit) are SPECIFICALLY invoked. But the real question is, which one is which?

The framing of the scene suggests that Sofia is Eve (about to lose her sense of innocence and be inducted into the knowledge of evil), and that Katya is Persephone (trapped by a marriage that binds her forever to the (criminal) underworld). Except, that also makes no sense because we don't see them eat the fruit. How could they reap the consequences for an action they didn't actually take?

I would argue that it's not about the fruits they RECEIVE... it's about the ones they OFFER. The fruits they have already eaten, and been doomed by.

Sofia doesn't need to learn about evil. She lost her whole family. She knows enough about evil already. And Katya doesn't need to be bound to anything, when her own choices have left her so deeply entrenched.

"That’s the first lesson. Always blame the Devil for your crimes." (0:15:24)

Katya is Eve. Katya got roped into this mess a long time ago and has so many regrets now that she understands what it all means. Katya plays her piano in the room next to a murder, not because she doesn't know what's going on, but because she DOES. Katya wishes more than anything that she could turn back the clock to some idyllic time before her daughter died, before she joined the mafia, before she ever had to steal a purse or put a gun to a man's head. She tries so hard to end that cycle of violence... and it doesn't work. It was never going to work. The Apple of Eden isn't part of a cycle; it's just the beginning of the story.

"Don’t you dare speak to me about Cosenza." (1:20:41)

Sofia is Persephone. Sofia is constantly arguing that murder isn't necessary- but she also nearly drowns Katya, and shows a bizarre fascination with death when Katya threatens her with the knife. Sofia is linked to nature (the green dress, the sunset motif, the vase of flowers in her first scene) but in paltry, disconnected ways (her dress has metal buttons, the sunsets are over the city, the flowers are halfway to wilting). Sofia is part of a cycle; moments of happiness and joy, interspersed and defined by recurring instances of death and violence. Her childhood in WW2. The incident where she lost her leg. Whatever happened that made her learn how to use a gun. Her whole bloodied dynamic with Katya now. But Sofia CAN escape... for a time. She can walk away from the violence and have her summer in the sunlight. At least until tragedy strikes again.

Which makes the ending of the movie really bittersweet. Sofia sails away on the boat (Charon's Ferry, making a reverse trip across the River Styx). And the scene closes as the first snowflakes start to fall. Winter comes to Naples, because spring follows Persephone when she leaves.

How long until she comes back?

[salora-rainriver]

SOMETHING I JUST REALIZED ABOUT THE BARBIE MOVIE IS THAT

In the scene where Sasha is telling off Barbie about the ways in which the barbie doll set back feminism and contributed to the objectification of women and represents unrealistic standards of beauty and excellence and yadda yadda, like,

I expected that to be setting up a plotline where Barbie has to find a way to show Sasha the childhood joy and dreams Sasha once had that she’s now given up on in her pessimism and that she’d be proven wrong and shown how Barbie is in fact a method of empowerment despite the outward appearance of perfected beauty and -

THAT. DIDN’T. HAPPEN.

Because Sasha was fucking right, this IS a core problem in the interfacing between the ideals of the barbie doll and the messiness of the real world, and also Sasha was never the one whose disillusionment and depression transfers over into barbieland causing a massive crisis, no it was her fucking mom all along, who DOES love barbies and DOES see them as a role model and someone to live up to, and SHE’S the one who needs to reawaken the childhood magic,

BUT ALSO the status quo isn’t restored, you can’t close the pandora’s box that is an awareness of the bitterness and complicated struggle of the real world, you CAN’T just escape back into fantasy, IN FACT the fantasy has irrevocably changed and guess the fuck what thats okay because in the end you DONT need to restore the nostalgic past, you need to fix the problems of the present, Barbieland will never be the same again and that’s okay because Barbieland is going to be better, it’s going to be stronger, more conscientious and aware,

You WILL grow older, your childhood IS gone forever. That’s okay, you’re still beautiful, you’re still good enough, and your toys and dreams have matured alongside you. You are going to grow and change and live and one day die and thats okay.

And- fuck i nosedived into an emotional ramble MY POINT IS they set up an extremely formulaic plotline from the likes of mediocre Christmas movies, and then they threw in several curveballs and completely decimated it. Greta Gertwig utterly bamboozled us. How did Mattel let her get away with this. Who greenlit this emotional thesis on aging and womanhood disguised as a glorified toy commercial.

[somethingboutafic]

Friends to Lovers

make you never wanna leave by fairytalelights (E) word count: 9,126 (Omega/Omega) Harry is an omega teen who has trouble getting wet even when he's turned on, Louis is his omega best friend who helps him experiment. In a completely platonic way, of course.

i love you most by stylinsoncity (M) word count: 12,848 friends with benefits has always been enough for louis. until, of course, it isn't.

Counting The Steps Between Us by zarah5 (E) word count: 24,526 AU. So, yeah. That year abroad helped Harry establish that he is in love with his best friend. Now, if Louis would stop treating him like a little brother, that would be awesome. (Additional ingredients: a collapsing tree house, a lot of pining, the other three boys as Louis' new best mates from university, and a camping trip. Serve hot.)

Play the Odds by alivingfire (M) word count: 25,963 Harry and Louis are best friends since childhood who, after a night of drinking, find themselves locked in a bet: first one to kiss the other a thousand times wins. Wins what? They don't know. Glory, Harry supposes. Bragging rights, though those don't do much in this economy. All Harry knows is that this is one bet he can finally win. What he doesn't expect, though, is what happens when he starts kissing his best friend on a daily basis. Namely, he doesn't expect falling head over heels in love with his best friend. Now all he has to do is make sure the bet never ends, so he never has to stop kissing Louis.

Remind Me Again by momentofclarity (E) word count: 28,939 The romantic platonic friends to lovers AU where they are forced to speak about everything that has always been unspoken.

It's Been So Long by elsi_bee (Teen+) word count: 31,271 Harry Styles' first crush was one of his sister's best friends, a certain someone named Louis Tomlinson. And Louis? He just vaguely remembers Gemma's younger brother from back in the day. A lot can change in ten years. Featuring Niall and Liam as Harry's friends, flirting, fluff, and flashbacks to the awkward days of high school.

sweet like honey by falsegoodnight (E) word count: 33,117 Harry and Louis need money and they find an unconventional solution in the form of PornHub. It’s not supposed to be a big deal.

Listen To Your Heart by lovelarry10 (E) word count: 35,019 Louis has always been comfortable being Harry’s one and only. When Harry starts to branch out, Louis has a hard time letting him go. Harry is very lucky to have someone who listens to what he has to say, despite the fact that he’s deaf. He’s finally feeling like he’s coming into himself, but Louis seems bothered by his newfound confidence.

Bug Boy by FitzAndLarry (M) word count: 36,630 the one where Harry is obsessed with bugs and Louis can't wait for them to be Alphas together.

Faking It by TheCellarDoor (M) word count: 46,173 Harry pretends to date his best friend to escape unwanted attention from a too insistent classmate and hopes it won’t blow up in his face. Featuring embarrassing dildo accidents, awkward boners, longing, first times, late night conversations, emotional discoveries and Niall as the exasperated friend with bad advice.

I'm missing half of me when we're apart by hlftanna (E) word count: 83,867 AU in which OT5 are all in their 30's and a list from 10 years ago dares Harry and Louis to lose their virginity to each other. What happens when two best friends who are not only completely unlike each other but also the complete opposite of their assigned secondary genders find themselves in the position of fulfilling that goal despite Louis hating alphas and everything they represent and Harry being irrevocably and unconditionally in love with his best friend? Will they find to each other or will a stupid piece of paper from their Uni days ruin their friendship?

run away home by hattalove (E) word count: 106,008 louis is a successful jockey down on his luck, struggling to get his life back on track after an injury. harry has a horse, a house fit for a prince, and a broken heart. it takes them a while to figure out that they need each other.

nobody shines the way you do by wildestdreams (E) word count: 115,194 Louis pretends to be Harry’s boyfriend to help him win back his douchebag ex-boyfriend, but things don’t go according to plan.

Take Me As I Am by lovelarry10 (E) word count: 117,895 Secrets. Lies. Deception. Betrayal. Self-discovery. Alpha. Omega. How far will they go to hide the truth?

Own the Scars by crinkle-eyed-boo(KimmieRocks) (E) word count: 144,707 Louis has never felt like he was good enough: for his stepdad, for his life-long best friend, for the life he's supposed to want. After an accident that nearly costs him his life, Louis' parents send him to rehab where he’s forced to face his demons. On the long and difficult road to recovery, Louis must confront the truths he’s been avoiding about his future, his relationships, and his sense of self-worth. Because before he can love anyone else, he’s got to learn how to love himself first.

Of Mates and Men by bananaheathen (E) word count: 630,460 In which, Louis and Harry meet as best men for their best friends' wedding... well... sort of. Or, the one where Harry's just moved back from New York and Louis doesn't believe in romance. Or, I guess... the one where Zayn and Liam are getting married.

[raincitygirl76]

Their tragic little munchkin FACES!!! This scene still makes me a little sniffly even though I’ve seen it multiple times now. They both look so stricken at the end of this argument.

And I know this scene is absolutely crucial to the plot arc of the entire season. This is the scene that finally drives home to Wilhelm that Simon isn’t coming back. Simon says specifically that he can’t accept Wille’s position. He’s never said that flat out before. He’s reminded Wille that he used to trust Wille and Wille hurt him badly when he let his family pressure him into lying about the video. But before this scene, Simon had never before said the words, “I can’t accept your position or your family.”

I think in earlier S2 episodes, Wille still thought he had a shot. If he could only convince Simon to accept that their relationship has to be a secret, Simon might still come back. But Simon has made it crystal clear here that’s not possible. Ever. Also, Simon is (apparently) happy with a new guy who’s not in the closet. Someone with a normal life, not a public figure, not royalty, someone who can make Simon happy.

Now actually, Marcus is a manipulative asshole, and in the previous episode Simon broke up with him. Only to have his childhood trauma weaponized against him when Marcus convinced him he was too damaged by his parents’ dysfunctional marriage to recognize a healthy romantic relationship when he was in one. Which, I still pretty much want to punch Marcus in the nose for. When someone breaks up with you, be sad or angry. Don’t convince them their perception of reality is fatally flawed and they don’t know what they want. But luckily you’re here to explain to them they don’t want to break up with you after all.

But the point is Wilhelm doesn’t KNOW Marcus is a manipulative asshole Simon has been trying very hard to dump. All he knows is what he’s seen and what Simon has told him about Marcus. And Simon’s dialogue here is very cleverly written. He never actually says “I’m happy with Marcus, and he’s a great boyfriend.” He just shrugs and offers justifications for why Marcus isn’t so bad. None of which are about Marcus himself, they’re really about Wille’s own actions when he and Simon were dating in S1.

But I digress. The point is, Wilhelm has finally heard an irrevocable rejection from Simon, and he no longer has any hope he can convince Simon to change his mind. Wille knows he CAN’T come out, and now he also knows Simon CAN’T compromise on that. Wille can no longer fool himself he can talk Simon round. Moreover, Simon has met someone new who can give him everything Wille can’t.

And that’s when Wille realizes it doesn’t matter what he wants, it matters what Simon wants. And Simon has been very clear he wants to move on. Wille can either keep getting in the way, thus making them both miserable, or he can accept it’s over. Wille still loves Simon, but he needs to show that love by prioritizing what’s right for Simon, not for himself. It’s more important that Simon is happy than that Simon is with Wille. And Marcus makes Simon happy.

Now, as if happens, Wilhelm is totally wrong. Simon is NOT over him, and he has no strong feelings for Marcus. But Wille had to give up on their relationship. And he had to do so sadly but lovingly, not in a resentful or angry way. He had to explicitly accept that they’re done, Simon doesn’t love him any more, and no longer chasing Simon is the right thing to do.

Plus the final nail in the coffin, that sad-eyed, “Your boyfriend seems really nice.” With the unspoken subtext of, “Simon, I was a shitty boyfriend to you, and I’m sorry for everything. You found someone who’s better for you than me, and I’m determined to be glad for you.”

All that happens later this same episode. And it hurts like hell watching Wille be a brave little toaster and putting Simon first even though his heart is breaking. Making polite chit-chat at the party with Marcus and Simon as if Simon and he are just classmates with no history.

But Wilhelm giving up on chasing after him was a necessary precondition for Simon to realize his ex-boyfriend giving up on their relationship is actually the LAST thing he wants. He’s been saying that’s what he wants since the start of the season, and at the time, he genuinely thought it was true. But when Simon gets what he thought he wanted, he panics.

He chases Wilhelm out onto the terrace where Wille has gone to try and compose himself. Because, you know, he just ripped his own heart out of his chest and smiled at Simon while he did so. Trying so hard to be a good person, and put Simon’s happiness above his own. And then Simon kisses the HELL out of him.

Never would’ve happened if not for the hurty, hurty argument in the locker room in the gifs above. So their stricken faces are easier to look at now. Now I know that scene was the turning point that allowed this episode to end with them kissing on the terrace, and then beaming at each other back inside when the choir performance started, and Simon’s solo was basically a serenade. Did he ever look away from Wille’s face while he was singing, even once? I’m positive Wille’s eyes were glued to him.

They had hope for the future again. A possible future together.

YOUNG ROYALS | 02.04 for anonymous

[spaceinmyhead13]

This post will contain mentions of various upsetting topics. I’m making this for myself, to help myself grieve and hopefully, one day, move on. I don’t want sympathy. Hell. I wish no one would see this. But I know myself and I know that writing it down in a book somewhere won’t help.

Tw: abuse, abuse of a child, and themes along those lines.

The thing they don’t tell you about child abuse is what it’s like to live as one. To grow up and become an adult, but to look back at the past and see the horror of it.

They don’t tell you the disbelief people have of you. Or the distrust. Or even the internal guilt of the anger you carry.

No they don’t tell you that. Hell. They don’t even care.

At 20 I’ve failed to hit milestones that I should have hit. And I’ve hit others far to early for someone my age. My life has been irrevocably changed because of my past and all I can do is live and cope with the effects.

I feel fundamentally broken because in some ways I am. No matter what people fucking say. I. Am. Broken. My childhood was ruined, and I have to now live with the consequences. “Oh you aren’t broken” go fuck yourself is what I want to say. I have accepted this fact and I am attempting to move on.

Today was bad and tomorrow might be worse but oh well, that’s my life. Regardless I have to go on because there’s no other options.

I can’t do basic things like spell because when I was learning I was to busy fighting for my fucking life.

“Oh but it was just emotional abuse it’s not as bad”. Sit for a second and imagine this: you’re 7 years old. Your parent has just gotten home and when you attempt to tell them about your day they snap and scream at you about how much of a bitch you are for the next hour. Now repeat that for the next 8-9 years.

I am damaged. And I’m coming to terms with that.

People look at me weird when I say it’s okay, but if it wasn’t okay I don’t think I could cope. I have to move on because if I dwell all the progress I’ve made will be ruined.

And the worst part is that I can’t physically say any of this. Anytime I try it’s like my throat freezes up and the urge to flee becomes to strong to stay still. It’s infuriating.

That’s not even to mention the sheer guilt of existing! Oh man thats the worst part! I feel guilty for just being alive sometimes, and trying to say anything about it makes it even worse! I feel guilt for thinking bad things. Guilt for being annoyed. Guilt for being to happy. Guilt for enjoying my life. Guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt. I can’t escape it.

And I didn’t do anything.

That’s what hurts the most.

Is that when you look at it, I was just a little girl who didn’t know what was going on and was scared. And in someways I never stopped being her. I have to suffer the consequences of someone else’s actions, and it seems like no one else will ever understand the sheer pain I feel in my soul.

And of course to me, everyone else’s problems are worse than mine. Who cares that I was emotionally abused. Everyone else has something that happened to them that’s more important. So little me just sits on the side hoping for that moment it will be her turn.

Her turn to cry and scream and get mad. Her turn to be the center of attention. Her turn to be taken seriously.

I’m so tired.

I’m so lonely.

I just want to be first.

And I’m just not. I never have been. Damaged goods don’t get to be first. I’ve never been the first one someone thought of. I’ve never been liked by anyone. Never asked if I was truly okay. It’s like no one sees me until I hit my breaking point. I’m so busy propping up everyone else that I just blend into the background.

I get made fun of for the things I like, so I stop talking about them. Instead I talk to myself because at least then I’ll be happy. I’m the weird person in the group, never fitting in and hoping to just be acknowledged.

I have broke down sobbing from it all in public places before, and I can count on one hand how many times my friends have stopped to help. I remember sobbing in a friends basement and all of them ignoring me. I remember crying in class and no one seeing me. Hell even now, I cry in the dead of night so no one can see.

I just want someone to care about me. To think about me first. To go “hey, I wonder what [] is doing today?” Like I do with so many other people.

I know that saying this all will cause me to spiral into pure grief but I have to let it out before it kills me. Before I am no longer me.

At this point I’m not even sure who me is. I’m still that little girl scared of the garage door going up. Scared of too loud footsteps. And scared of a phone ringing.

I want to be free to live my life without it all. To be proud of myself and the connections I have built. But I’m not.

Is it sad that I have to scream this here? That I can’t say this aloud with out crumpling under the weight of it? And I valid too? Am I allowed to be angry?

Am I allowed to be me?

I wish my best friend cared for me. I wish my past friends loved me as much as I did them. I wish the boys and girls I liked treated me more like a person. I wish I got to have that fun high school experience. I wish I grew up loved and safe. I wish for the future that I can’t have anymore.

I wish someone had saved me like I wished. That a teacher or a friend has noticed and stepped in to help like they always said they would.

I wish I was wanted. By anyone. Even just once.

But in the end I am tired and jaded. Worn down by it all.

I’ll keep moving on because of spite. Because I want to help people. Because despite it all I’m still kicking.

But everyday it gets a little bit harder.

I’m going to bed.

[steveezekiel]

WHAT SOURCE DOES THAT SUPERNATURAL GIFT IN YOU HAS? 2

16. Now it happened, as we went to prayer, THAT A CERTAIN SLAVE GIRL POSSESSED WITH A SPIRIT OF DIVINATION MET US, who brought her masters much profit by fortune-telling.

17. This girl followed Paul and us, and cried out, saying, “THESE MEN ARE THE SERVANTS OF THE MOST HIGH GOD, who proclaim to us the way of salvation.”

Acts 16:16,17 (NKJV)

18. And many who had believed came CONFESSING AND TELLING THEIR DEEDS.

19. ALSO, MANY OF THOSE who had PRACTICED MAGIC BROUGHT THEIR BOOKS TOGETHER AND BURNED THEM IN THE SIGHT OF ALL. And they counted up the value of them, and it totaled fifty thousand pieces of silver."

Acts 19:18,19 (NKJV)

• Some are deluded.

A young lady was sharing with me that she has the gift of the Holy Spirit operating in her life from childhood.

I asked her When did she give her life to Christ Jesus. She mentioned the time, and I told her that the gift she talked about is not of God.

- The source of the gift could not have been God, because the gift had been operational in her life ever before she accepted Christ Jesus as her Saviour and Lord. She did argue and could not agree with what I told her.

- There are many in the church today who claimed to have one gift of the Holy Spirit or another, but such gifts they talk about are not of God. They are not the gifts of the Holy Spirit at all! Such are familiar spirits, spirit of divination, soothsaying, sorcery, and the like.

- Such people know the truth and reality of it, but a good number of them pretend as if they are ignorant of the truth. Some of such people believe the end justifies the means!

- They want to believe that, even if the so-called gifts of the spirit are of the devil, since they are using them for good, to minister to other people; it thus made such gifts acceptable to God.

- Another person who has such a gift quoted a Scripture to substantiate the legitimacy of the gift: "For the GIFTS AND CALLING of God ARE WITHOUT REPENTANCE" (Romans 11:29 KJV) the person said.

- The person said God does give gifts to everyone, even those who have not repented—those who are not born-again.

BUT that passage of the Bible does not mean that, it was wrongly interpreted.

- I want us to see that Bible passage in other translations:

* "For once they are made, GOD DOES NOT WITHDRAW HIS GIFTS OF HIS CALLING" (Romans 11:29 Philips).

* "FOR THE GIFTS and THE CALLING OF GOD ARE IRREVOCABLE" (Romans 11:29 NKJV).

* "FOR God’s GIFTS and HIS CALL CAN NEVER BE WITHDRAWN" (Romans 11:29 NLT).

* "FOR THE GIFTS and THE CALLING OF GOD ARE IRREVOCABLE [for He does not withdraw what He has given, nor does He change His mind about those to whom He gives His grace or to whom He sends His call]" (Romans 11:29 Amps).

- What the author of that Bible passage says does not imply that God gives gifts to those who have not repented. What he said is that God does not change His mind when He does give gifts and call someone to be used.

- The calling and the Gifts without repentance according to King James Bible means, God does not repent or change His mind when He called someone and decided to use the person for His purpose.

- Therefore, the baptism of the Holy Spirit is not for those who are not born-again.

- Since whoever would receive the gifts of the Holy Spirit must have the Person of the Holy Spirit on the inside of him or her, thus, someone who has not been baptized in the Holy Spirit cannot have the gifts of the Holy Spirit.

THE Holy Spirit is the seal of God's ownership on those who have accepted Jesus Christ as Lord and Saviour:

13 In Him [Christ] you also trusted, AFTER YOU HEARD THE WORD OF TRUTH, THE GOSPEL OF YOUR SALVATION; in whom also, HAVING BELIEVED, YOU WERE SEALED WITH THE HOLY SPIRIT OF PROMISE" (Ephesians 1:13 NKJV).

READ: Romans 8:9; 2 Corinthians 1:22; Ephesians 4:30.

- Someone who is seeing into the realm of the spirit as an unbeliever could not claim that the gift of revelation with which he or she is seeing into the realm of spirit, is FROM the Holy Spirit—God. Not at all!

- The Holy Spirit does not give gifts to those who are not reborn! Any supernatural gift being operated by someone who is not born-again does not have its source from God.

AN unbeliever cannot receive the baptism of the Holy Spirit and the Gifts of the Holy Spirit:

16 And I [Jesus Christ] will pray the Father [God], and He will give you another HELPER [the Holy Spirit], that He may abide with you forever—17 THE SPIRIT OF TRUTH, WHOM THE WORLD [the unbelievers] CANNOT RECEIVE, because it [the world, the unbeliever] neither sees Him nor knows Him; BUT YOU [Believers] KNOW HIM, FOR HE DWELLS WITH YOU AND WILL BE IN YOU" (John 14:16,17 NKJV).

• What are the implications if you do NOT renounce whatever belongs to the devil, and the implication, if you are NOT committed to Christ fully after your claim of being born-again.

* The gift or whatever of the devil which you still have with you, gives him, the devil, a place in your life.

IT serves as a legal ground for him to operate in your life.

* The devil can easily rob you of the benefits and blessings of God's Kingdom because you have his property or gifted in your life.

* Also, God will not be able to use you maximally, being that the devil is still claiming ownership of your life because his property or gifted is in your life.

* In additions, you may experience things like: If you are a bachelor girl who is still believing God for a partner, the devil may stand on your way in getting one, he may not allow you to settle down and have a family. AND at times, if you succeeded in marrying, you may have a delay in having children.

- The devil would want to frustrate you, would not want you to enjoy the benefits of the Kingdom of God, since you still have what belongs to him with you. Not only on marriage, the devil may stand to fight your finances, health, or whatever.

THE devil may even want to contend for your soul that you are his, after your journey on earth! He may want to drag you to hell: "Yet Michael the archangel, IN CONTENDING [arguing] WITH THE DEVIL, WHEN HE DISPUTED ABOUT THE BODY OF MOSES..." (Jude 9).

- If any incriminating thing, a property that belongs to the devil, is found in your life, he may either lay claim on your body or soul like he did that of Moses at the end of your journey on earth (Jude 8,9).

* The devil also could cause you to remain shallow in the things of the Spirit, the things of the Kingdom of God. The genuine Gifts of the Holy Spirit would not be operational in your Life, because you already have the counterfeit.

- For whoever wants to be used of God should cleanse himself or herself and be a vessel of HONOUR and GOLD:

19 Nevertheless the solid foundation of God stands, having this seal: “The Lord knows those who are His,” and, “LET EVERYONE WHO NAMES THE NAME OF CHRIST DEPART FROM INIQUITY.”

20 But in a great house there are not only vessels of GOLD and silver, but also of wood and clay, some for HONOUR and some for dishonour. 21 THEREFORE IF ANYONE CLEANSES HIMSELF FROM THE LATTER, HE WILL BE A VESSEL FOR HONOUR, SANCTIFIED AND USEFUL FOR THE MASTER, PREPARED FOR EVERY GOOD WORK" (2 Timothy 2:19-21 NKJV).

- You cannot partake from the table of God and that of the devil:

19 What am I saying then? That an idol is anything, or what is offered to idols is anything?

20 Rather, that the things which the Gentiles sacrifice they sacrifice to DEMONS AND NOT TO GOD, AND I DO NOT WANT YOU TO HAVE FELLOWSHIP WITH DEMONS. 21 YOU CANNOT DRINK THE CUP OF THE LORD AND THE CUP OF DEMONS; YOU CANNOT PARTAKE OF THE LORD'S TABLE AND OF THE TABLE OF DEMONS" (1 Corinthians 10:19-21 NKJV).

• You will not fail in Jesus' name.

Peace!

TO BE CONTINUED

[volleychumps]

Heyy! Can you do one where Osamu, kuroo, akaashi and Tsukishima, say something mean to their s/o and their s/o avoids them for days? When they finally get ahold of their s/o, their s/o just sorta cries because it hit their insecure spot? Fluff in the end🥺

Listen, I can’t not write this. 

Irrevocable Words. 

- the one in which they accidentally make you give them the silent treatment because of their lashing out. -

~ Osamu Miya, Kuroo Tetsurou, Akaashi Keiji, and Tsukishima Kei~ 

TW: Cursing, angst to fluff, timeskip! for Osamu, 

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

Osamu Miya

“Those are important files, ya know?” 

“Samu, I’m sorry. You should’ve told me you needed last month’s earnings and I would’ve looked for them before we came this morning.” The hand you tried to settle onto Osamu’s bicep was shaken off as your movements faltered. 

Your voice wobbled at the sight of your stoic fiance, an annoyed glint in his eye as he rummages through his files. Osamu felt a flare in his stomach, a lack of sleep contributing to his impatient state. The day had been a busy one, Osamu deciding that he needed this particular file for his business call tomorrow before the two of you headed home for the night. 

“I told ya not to move anything back to the place.”

“I didn’t.” You bit the inside of your cheek. “Here, just let me help-” 

“Don’t touch a goddamn thing, I’ll do it myself.” There it was. The lashing out that was bound to happen occurred with a pointed tongue as he refused to look at you, rummaging through his file cabinets. “As I do everything else.” 

He closes the cabinet sharply. “The least ya could do is try your best not to be a nuisance-” 

Osamu flinches at the slam of one of the office desk drawers, chest sinking when he sees the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The paper he needed is thrown on the desk carelessly as you shove your jacket on, wetness slipping down your cheeks.

“And I’m not your goddamn secretary. I’m heading home first.” 

“Y/N-” 

“And don’t worry, I promise I’ll manage to do this by myself somehow.” Your voice cracks bitterly, the bell by the door jingling mockingly in Osamu’s ears as you exit, the chef hanging his head with a sigh and regret tinging his chest.

He was wrong to pray this would blow over, not expecting to wake without your warmth by his side. You avoided him on the way to the restaurant, cleaning quietly while giving vague answers to his questions, shifting out of his attempts to embrace you with apologies. 

Deciding to give you space, he softly tells you to take the next few days off, unprepared for the tired look you had given him, simply nodding in response as you slipped into your side of the bed with your back turned to him.

“Where’s your pretty girlfriend?” 

“Fiance.” Osamu forces a smile at his two elderly regulars two days later, the wife’s smile widening at his correction. 

“Oho! Cherish each other while you youths still can, she really does brighten this place up, doesn’t she?” 

You do.

Osamu’s eyes feel hot as he does a messy job of cleaning up the restaurant, closing up shop early and stopping by your favorite bakery to pick up the ridiculously expensive cake he only ever buys for your birthday. 

Throwing the door open to your shared apartment hastily, you gasp at the gray-haired man’s sudden entry, dropping the spoon you were about to use to taste the dish you were making on the stove.

“Samu, y-you’re home early-” 

“What’s all this?” He tries to steady his breaths at the sight of a nicely prepared table, something you hardly ever got to share ever since the night shifts overtook your lives and caused a rift between the two of you. 

You’re silent for a second, looking away from his warm stare as you shift under his gaze. 

“...I miss you.” Dark eyes widen when you begin to hiccup over your words, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. “But I didn’t wanna be a nusciance-”

“Oh god, darlin’ no.” You’re pulled tightly into his chest as you cry, whole body shaking with tremors as Osamu’s inner turmoil merely increases.

If Osamu could go back in time and punch himself he would, unknowing of the torment he caused you over the past few days, thinking you just needed space. 

“I want to marry ya Y/N, I’m so sorry.” 

“I love you so much Samu.” You sniffle into his chest, causing him to smile softly, a hand sifting through your hair to hold you tighter to him. 

“I brought cake.” 

You laugh through the onslaught of tears. 

“And I made dinner.” 

“Then what are we waitin’ for?” 

“Just hold me like this for awhile?”

“Y/N.” He kisses the top of your head, finally feeling at ease with your figure in his arms. Osamu whispers a confession he hardly shared with you, wanting those words in particular to be special as he bridged the gap between the two of you.

“I love ya so much more, don’t you go forgettin’ it.”

Kuroo Tetsurou

“I said I was sorry!” 

“Is sorry supposed to just fix everything, Tetsurou?” 

“Tetsurou? Are you seriously withholding me from my nickname privileges?” 

You cross your arms at his attempt to make you laugh, thoroughly angry with the mess your boyfriend made of things as his smile fades at your peeved stare. 

“Look, what was I supposed to do?” 

“How about not leaving my parents waiting for you at the restaurant that you invited them to for another one of your spontaneous volleyball practices?” 

“I texted you I had to cancel!” 

“That was a half hour before we were supposed to meet, Kuroo! They were so excited to meet you they got there early. God, why can’t you ever take things seriously?” 

“You’re right.” A bitter chuckle slips Kuroo’s lips as you falter at the sudden tone change, the volleyball gym seeming bigger than ever as his next sentence makes your lips tremble.

“Since I can’t ever take things seriously, then I must not need my serious girlfriend then, right?” Your eyes widen. “I can just find somebody else who won’t fucking hound me all the time.”

His cat-like eyes widen as the words slip his tongue, unintentionally coming out crueler than he intended. To make it worse, you simply stayed silent, your body physically backing down and away from him as you turned on your heel. 

“Wait, I didn’t-” 

“Do it then.” His chest just about shatters as your shoulders tremble, refusing to turn back around as your voice takes on an uncharasterically defeated tone. “I hope they make you fucking happy.” 

Kuroo runs a hand through his raven hair frustratedly at the way you rushed out of the gym, throwing a stray ball so hard at the wall before his vision becomes skewed with heat. 

He should have expected the next week to be utter hell. You left class before he could catch you by escaping to the bathroom with all your things, leaving school another way instead of the exit you always took together before he had to start club activities. 

“Kenma, what are you doing?” 

“You can’t come in here.” 

“I’m missing class for this. Let me through.” 

“She doesn’t want to see you.” Kenma shrugged, eyes on his handheld. “I told her I’d watch the door so you can’t surprise her during our breaktime.” 

“I’m her boyfriend. And you’re not her guarddog.” 

“No, I’m her friend.” Kenma’s eyes narrow at his childhood friend. “And last time I checked, you’re on the search for someone who isn’t her.” 

“So she told you.” 

“Dick move, by the way.” 

Kuroo’s calls go straight to voicemail, his emotions affecting his playing with each passing day. He leaves little notes in your shoe locker to meet him, heart sinking more and more with every time you stood him up. 

And it wasn’t until he saw you smiling again at a joke Yaku made that he truly felt like he was losing you. 

“Go home.” 

The sight wasn’t one you were expecting to see, Kuroo sitting on the steps to your house with his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, the dark bags under his eyes sparking worry within you. 

“It’s probably better if my parents don’t see you-” 

“I’m sorry.” His eyes seem to have lost a little of their glint, regret swimming in the tall boy’s pupils as your guard softens. “I’m so goddamn sorry I ran my mouth and said shit I didn’t even mean-” 

“Tetsurou-” 

“And I hurt you in the process. I hurt the one thing that matters to me the most, and I’m sitting here playing the creepy ex that stalks the girl he loves-” 

“You love me?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it? You’re done with me, and I deserve it-” 

He’s cut off with the sight of tears hitting the wood in front of him, lifting his head to see tears streaking down your cheeks. On instinct, he reaches out softly, rising to his feet to cup your cheek, astonished when you curl into his touch. 

“I’m so fucking mad at you right now.” 

“Noted.” Kuroo laughs somberly, a wave of emotion hitting him as you do something you hadn’t done in days. 

You look him in the eye, tugging him closer by the sides of his jacket. 

“But I love you too, you absolute idiot.” 

Kuroo grins into the kiss you press onto his lips, heart lifting in weight as he pulls you closer. 

“Does this mean we can go back to Tetsu?” 

“I’m going back to ignoring you-” 

“No.” Kuroo’s tone turns serious as he holds you a little tighter. “I can’t do that again.” 

You smile as he presses a kiss to your temple lovingly. 

“Being away from you was complete and utter hell, sweetheart.” 

Akaashi Keiji

“Tell me how to make this right.”

“Right, Y/N.” Akaashi refused to meet your eyes as he loosens his school tie, not slowing his pace for you to catch up with as he throws the doors open to the volleyball club. The usually put-together setter had an angry glint in his eye that silenced his awaiting teammates. “Let’s just go back in time before you agreed to be his partner.”

“Hey hey, what’s going on you two?” Bokuto jogs up, his worried tone making your lips tremble even more at the sight of Akaashi’s turned back.

“I came to you as soon as he made a move! I didn’t let him-”

“There shouldn’t have been an opportunity for him to make a move in the first place.” Akaashi’s jaw clenched as you shuffle in place.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, you think I wanted him to try to kiss me?!” You fight the waver in your voice, standing your ground. “It was a project for class. I didn’t know his intentions-“

“I told you what his intentions were, but you never listen.” Akaashi turns hastily, startling you and causing you to stumble slightly backwards into Bokuto.

“Akaashi-“

“Stop defending her. She never listens to me, and then comes crying to me when it turns out I’m right.” Akaashi snips at his best friend, ignoring the silent stares from his quiet teammates. “Why can’t you get it through your head, Y/N? I’m not your goddamn babysitter-“

“You’re right.” You interrupt, fingernails biting into your palms as you choke back a sob. “You’re not, you’re my boyfriend. I just wanted to respect you by coming to you with something like this, but it turns out I’m just a hinderance.”

Akaashi falters for a second, blue eyes widening a fraction at the angry heat that fills your eyes as regret begins to bubble in his stomach at his harsh words.

“Y/N-“

“Give me some space, Keiji.” You say softly, patting Bokuto’s arm to let you through as your shoulders sink in a defeated manner. “I promise I won’t come crying to you about anything else.”

Your steps echo as you walk out of the gym, Konoha breaking the silence first when the door shuts behind you.

“Hate to say it, but that was well-deserved, man.”

Akaashi closes his eyes, head falling back towards the ceiling as he tries to steady his breathing, pretending like he wasn’t scared of you slipping through his fingers. He willed himself to not allow himself to chase after you, his anger directed towards you fading as he forces himself to respect your wishes. 

It was obvious you were avoiding him. Akaashi had blinked when Bokuto had self-proclaimed that he needed you as his “study buddy” during breaks when you weren’t even in the same year as the owlish boy. It got worse when you seemed to panic when Akaashi willed you to talk to him, eyes refusing to meet his watery blue ones as you pushed him further away.

So he gave you your space, wilting with each passing day. It wasn’t until he accidentally bumped into you a week later, the setter turning hastily on his heel to walk in the opposite direction before a soft tug on the back of his school shirt wills him to stop. 

“Keiji.” Your wobbly voice makes him turn back around immediately, a soft palm already cupping your cheek gently. “I’m s-” 

“I’m sorry for being cruel.” The words are whispered against your forehead, Akaashi’s heartstrings tugging in the worst way possible. “I was angry at the situation, my love. And that sorry excuse you call a classmate. Please,” 

His grip tightens just a little more as he feels wet warmth drip into the palm that was cupping your face.

“Forgive me.” 

“I told you I wouldn’t come crying to you-” 

“I want it all, Y/N.” Akaashi pulls back slightly, voice cracking slightly as blue stares intensely into your irises. “I want all of you. Tears included.”

You swat his chest playfully as Akaashi manages a soft smile, hand threaded through your hair as he presses you against his chest.

“Do you still need space?” He murmurs, and you smile at the sound of his hearbeat picking up as he awaited your answer fearfully. 

“Nope. The exact opposite, please hold me?” 

His embrace relaxes immediately, and your heart skips a beat at the sound of his relieved sigh, his slight nod making the weight lift off your chest. 

“Good, now I can take care of your classmate-” 

“Keiji-”

“Nope, my love.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, Akaashi’s eyes swirling with devotion. 

“No one gets to try anything with you so long as you’re safe with me.” 

Tsukishima Kei 

“So I’m the bad guy again.” 

“Do you want the honest answer, Kei?” You exhaustedly run a hand through your hair as Tsukishima’s scowl deepens, his long legs easily catching up with you in stride as he tugs on your wrist as the rambunctious court gets further and further away. 

“It’s not my fault you’re insecure.” 

You flinch. “Well maybe you shouldn’t let the girls in the stands cling to you after your matches. They were all over you, Tsukki! And you didn’t seem to mind it one bit.” 

“What?” Annoyance brims the blonde’s voice as he takes another step forward, clenching his jaw when he sees the quiver in your lip, distrust filling the atmosphere between the two of you. 

“Afraid that they’re prettier or better than you’ll ever be?” 

You feel as if the wind was knocked out of your lungs, breath catching in your throat at his insinuation. His guard slackens almost immediately, clicking his tongue before turning away, too proud to apologize for the words he regretted as soon as they slipped his tongue like venom. 

“Yeah.” You laugh humorlessly, making brown eyes dart over to your expression immediately. “You’re 100% correct. I am afraid you’ll find someone better than me in all aspects. Because I love you, you absolute asshole. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

The silence that befalls the two of you in the deserted hall is broken when you flinch away when Tsukishima tries to take a step towards you. 

“I didn’t-” 

“You never mean to do anything, Kei.” You say in a hushed tone, turning your back on him in an attempt to shield the hot tears slipping down your cheeks. “But you somehow always manage to.” 

The win for Karasuno didn’t mean much to the blonde that night, hoping that this would just go away and things would be back to normal. However, it was anything but. You didn’t look his way once in class, disappearing when it was over. Your voice trembled as you had avoided his seemingly stoic eyes through his frames, simply stating that you wished for some time away from him. 

He was fine. Or at least pretending to be on the outside. In truth, he would never find better, because you were it for him, words that you would never catch slipping his mouth. So he put on a front, pretending that your absence had zero effect on him whatsoever. Pretending the brush of your body against him in the hall as you pass each other didn’t make the blonde want to cave. 

It was the smile you shot at Hinata during one of your breaks that caused him to. The first glint in your eye in awhile, and it had been caused by him of all people, prompting the tall middle blocker to tug you by the forearm into the corridor.

“Tsukishima-” 

“I hate this.” 

You falter for a second, guard back up in a flash as your back touches the wall. “What did I do?” 

“You didn’t do anything, and it’s pissing me off.” 

“I don’t follow-” 

“I was wrong.” His forehead touches your shoulder as you stiffen before relaxing against his familiar touch. “I don’t care how many times I have to apologize. You win, okay? I’m sorry.” 

“This is a rather aggressive apology-” 

“Y/N.” Tsukishima lifts his head so it’s level with your height, unprepared for the way tears brimmed your eyes at the proximity, your guard diminishing. 

“What if you do find someone better one day, Tsukki?” Your voice cracks, inner fears trickling to the surface. “Do I need to prepare myself to lose you-?” 

You gasp as Tsukishima’s jaw ticks before kissing you intensely, his hand touching your lower back to pull you closer. 

“No. You don’t need to do something stupid like that.” His eyes were slightly glaring at you, a flush across both his cheeks. “Because there is no one better than you, okay?” 

It was your turn for heat to flood your cheeks as your eyes widen a fraction, his breath tickling your ear as you stutter. “Kei-” 

“I love you too. I said it, are you satisfied now?”  

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

General works: @takemetovalhalla  @faesbae  @savemesteeb @dreebbles @yams046   @let-me-have-my-own-name  @deadontheinsidebut @lifeisntjustblackandwhite   @curiouslilbeast  @aprettyfruit   @wisepandaslimeland   @h0ngh0ngh0ng   @lmkjimin   @orangegiraffe7   @dai-tsukki-desu   @kac-chowsballs   @spikertrash   @yamaguwuchi   @lord-suneater-explosion   @holaaaf  @babyybokutoakaashi   @lexysclubhouse   @disneyloving-muggle   @kuuuuroo   @theonep1ece  @that-chick212  @mjoork

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

Snk x Reader Masterlist

Fandom Masterlist

key

💧 = nsfw

🌵 = angst

🧣 = personal favorites

🤝🏾 = black!reader

headcanons

emotional things said during sex (mikasa, historia, porco, reiner, eren, levi, jean)   💧

if snk characters had visions (mikasa, armin, eren, levi, jean, hange)

snk characters at the cookout (mikasa, armin, reiner, sasha, eren)  🤝🏾

love languages

mikasa

how this character loves (as told by tarot)

mikasa

porco

multifics

Hotel Song (Historia x F!Reader x Mikasa)

“Don’t wait for me, okay?” After months of clinging to the hope that your ex-girlfriend would suddenly change her mind about the break up, you take it as a sign from the universe it really is time to move on when your sweetheart of a roommate confesses her long-held feelings for you. When Historia shortly returns from Berlin, however, it becomes quickly apparent that lingering feelings remain on both sides. But between your complicated relationship with Historia and your newly developing relationship with Mikasa, you aren’t sure which to embrace. Trying things over again or taking steps towards something new?

Until the Sun Dies (Mikasa x F!Reader)  🤝🏾

believing your father's concerns as a black family living in the secluded mountains of Wall Maria to be simple paranoia, a you naively set out on your own to discover the world and what it truly holds. yet after encountering another family secluded in the mountains, the Ackermans, you realize that maybe his concerns weren't so unfounded in the terrifying yet beautiful reality you live in. befriending their daughter, a fellow survivor in what it means to be the last of their kind, you finds your path leading to the horrors of the fall of maria and the 103rd cadet corps.

oneshots + other fictions

not the only ones  🤝🏾

After the volunteers arrive but prior to Eren’s attack on Marley, you and Mikasa think about the world and it being full of more people like the both of you

thunder only happens when it’s raining

After constant instance from Armin, you finally come clean to Mikasa about something you’ve been hiding from her.

lilac: full bloom in the fragrant rain

You and your childhood friend turned lover reminiscence about a few particular memories of your childhood.

warmer

Perhaps you haven’t been imaging Mikasa Ackerman being softer around.

a premonition of love

When you first met first met Mikasa Ackerman, you knew you would fall in love. Deeply, intensely, irrevocably in love. (koi no yokan: the sense one can get upon first meeting another person that the two of them are going to fall in love. This differs from the idea 'love at first sight’ in that it does not imply that the feeling of love exists, rather refers to the knowledge that a future love is possible.)

and the sea left its shores, its shells, its fish and followed me 🤝🏾

Neither of you should have become soldiers, but if you knew that becoming a soldier would lead to this outcome... you’d gladly become one time and time again. A standalone sequel to not the only ones.

...

my girlfriend’s six friends

Porco loves, you honestly. He just wishes that your friends were a lot more tolerable to be around. 

sugar high on you 🤝🏾

You and Porco argue over what is truly the worst candy in the world. 

like fine wine

You and Zeke engage in some banter at a dinner party.

...

[ggukkiereads]

Hello do you have any recommendations for series where the members are trapped between oc and her bestie??? Or like the best friend is in love with member but member is with in love with someone else???

Thank you 🙏

🌷 Hello! Since these are two different scenarios, I focused on only one which is the member x OC + best friend. The other scenario you are talking about is more of unrequited love (and it’s still part of the pinned post, which I’ll eventually get to)

I’ll answer this right away because I only know a few fics. Those who know a good fic with said scenario, feel free to recommend too! 

Fics | Member 💖 Reader and the Bestfriend 💔

mostly (M) mature

AO3 fics - since there are few stories with this scenario, I threw in fics I’ve read on AO3.

some of the stories are not necessarily the member feeling “trapped” (love triangle); but best friend could be part of the reason why they can’t get together (like he’s the ex of the best friend or #girlcode)

will update once I remember more or encounter new fics with such scenarios

All In @iamjungkooked​​ - Jungkook 

one shot | 13.1k | Mutual Pining, Best friend’s Boyfriend AU | A, little S, little F

Jeon Jungkook is everything you have ever desired in a partner. He’s kind, passionate, funny, honest, warm and every positive adjective in the dictionary. He totally gets you and you get him. He seems like the perfect guy for you, except he is dating your best friend. What could possibly go wrong?

The Art of Broken Love @moonlightchildz​​ - Taehyung

one shot | 21k | Taehyung is the best friend’s Ex, Artist!Taehyung | A, S

you were utterly and irrevocably in love with kim taehyung. problem was that he was your best friend’s ex

Less of You @kimnjss​​ - Jimin

social media au (smau) with written parts | fratboy au, dancer!oc |

girl code rule #1: never, ever, under any circumstances fall for your best friend’s crush. but what happens when your best friend’s crush checks all the boxes of your ideal guy… and to make matters worse… he’s crazy about you too.

🌷 there’s a sequel VINTAGE, so please read it too to get the full story 🥰

Iniquitous and Reverie @bngtnblues​​ - Jungkook

one shot + alternate scenario | 4.3k |  just A (for iniquitious), F (reverie)

seeing him on the train made you fall in love and then seeing him as your best friend’s fiancée made you realize how life can be unfair as hell.

Head vs Heart @gamerguk​​ - Jungkook

series [1/?] | 6.3k+ | Jungkook is the best friend’s Ex, secret relationship | S, F

sexting your best friend’s ex boyfriend doesn’t sound like something any sane person would do; but jeon jungkook had a way with words, and a certain power over you.

One Time Thing @personasintro​​ - Jimin

series [5/?] | 25k+ | College AU, kind of open (? - it was the best friend’s idea) | S, A

What are you going to do when your best friend asks you to have a sex with her boyfriend?

Strangers Again @minniefilms​  - Jungkook

series [4/4] | 11.4k | frenemies, best friend’s boyfriend | A, F

nothing could prepare you for your best friend getting a boyfriend. especially when said boyfriend is your worst enemy.

🌷 on AO3

Some Things Never Change @micdropragnarok - Hoseok

one shot | 6.8k | unrequited, time lapse (from high school to post-college) | F, A

You had been in love with Jung Hoseok since you were 7 years old. The fact that he was dating your best friend made things entirely more complicated, and just downright confusing.

Half a Heart Without You @/blaqandwhite - Jungkook

series [5/5] | 43.5k | Childhood Friends, Pining, Unrequited, Jungkook married the best friend, drama, grief (check tags please) | A, F

you've known jungkook since you were fourteen, and somewhere along the way, you ended up giving him your heart without asking for anything in return. falling for your hot, lovely, perfect best friend who would never, ever fall for you...your life really couldn't be a bigger cliche, could it?

but when the burden of your unrequited love becomes way too much for you to bear, you do the only thing that makes sense to you; you run, and you don't look back.

until you get a phone call a year later that crushes whatever was left of your heart and forces you to face everything you've been running from...and even more.

The fics are not mine and credits go to all the authors who tackled this scenario (thank you, dear authors!). It is certainly an interesting concept and  if I were OC I'll probably fling myself to other ends of the earth to get away from this type of situation 😁

🌷 posted: 2021 June 19 | 

🌷 other fic rec lists

🌷 feel free to scream about fics here

[blueparadis]

|| Grayscale Life

+cw : mention of death (Baji), soft smut, mention of alcohol and cigerettes. +pairing : Kazutora Hanemiya & Chifuyu Matsuno x f-reader +themes : Toman AU ,romance, drama, thrill,hurt , comfort. +wc : 3.5k [ 5 parts]

+synopsis : Forgiving is never easy. The person who forgives others easily regardless of the irrevocable damage they had been exposed to; is the same person who can never forgive themselves.

+au notes : This is a part of Past Never Dies Collab hosted by @touyasdoll | tap here to view my works

Prologue :: Black Palette

You made yourself comfortable by scooping the sapphire frills around your lower half, clustering them into your hands as you finally seated on the vintage chair that was set by none other than Kazutora. Kazutora always accompanied you into such parties & exhibitions.

How could he not be with you when you're being appointed as the chief director of 'Black Palette'. As you scanned the hall full of people,you noticed how every pair of pupils lurked upon you, your mesmerizing beauty that was exposed due to your azure dress that Kazutora had bought for you, specifically for this occasion.

"Ma'am here!" ,a staff placed a wine set upon the table along with the pictorial-event card. Kazutora sat beside you, dressed in a black tuxedo, hair tied into a neat ponytail, with few strands falling upon his face grazing upto his chin. Flipping open the card you ran your eyes through the names, events and activities they're about to conduct.

Most of the names were unfamiliar to you but not all. You felt relieved recognising some renowned artists until your eyes stuck at a name that made you freeze for a moment. As you re-read it stayed the same; as if it would change duh!

"Anything wrong,y/n?" Kazutora's soft voice snapped you back into reality. You turned your gaze noticing the worried flinch amongst his eyebrows. "Uh- I'll back in a bit".

As you left you tried to suppress the urge of looking back at him yet it was all in vain. There he was, seated on his chair, holding the card and staring at it with blank eyes, like a pitch black night sky devoid of stars and moon.

The water kept gushing devouring the chatty atmosphere of the washroom; so did your memories.

"I've been trying to call you, contact you for days, Chifuyu. What on earth happened to you? You look horrible!", you exclaimed with utmost annoyance trying to hide your nervous movements. Without speaking a word Chifuyu sat on the perfectly tidy bed & gestured you to sit beside him.

It's very unusual of him to be quite. "Is everything alright?" you enquired letting your anger fade away in the embers of empathy. "So, I'm kinda worried! I don't know how this will turn out but- he let out a deep sigh and continued "I've two things to say, I don't know how you'll react ... so I'll just say it." You could feel how numb you felt just by his tone of talk; your clenched your hands upon your knees while his lips parted.

"During the fight of Toman vs Vallahala, Baji-san died and Kazutora is - well he's again under youth juvenile for proper rehab this time." he finally paused taking a long breath.

"Uhh !What about you?", He turned his gaze on you, lustrous sap green pupils dialted at your query. "What about me?" he repeated yet it sounded like a lie, a pesky confrontation with himself. "What you're going to do now?- quit Toman"

"no! I've decided to follow Takemichi from now on"

"I see! "

"That's it? nothing else I thought-

he paused as you grabbed him by his collar asking "w-h-y? Why Chifuyu? why couldn't you save him? We've been friends since childhood. I still remember how warmly he talked to me when I first shifted into this apartment."

Unable to control such overflowing flame of rage and sadness you started to throw punches at him. "I waited for your response after he left Toman! I tried to contact Manjiro too" ,you voice faded as tears trickled down your face yet your body kept fighting his inert glares hunting for reaction, any kind of reaction. "Ohh god! Stop hitting me, y/n" he tartly replied.

"Chifuyu, quit Toman before it eats you too! I - Chifuyu tried to calm you down by resisting your feeble protests but you seemed uncontrollable to him. He spoke, "I can't do that, y/n I've already talked to Mikey" ,he said without fighting you back, which finally made you lose your self-control and in a rush of that you jerked him by his collar. Tears still rolling down your cheeks, throat burning yet you sobbingly mewled, "why?".

Suddenly Chifuyu cuffed your hands, releasing your grip upon his collar and all you felt was his soft salty lips upon yours. So, he cried too - little did this thought crossed your mind you melted under his touch as he cupped your face releasing your hands. You neither protested nor declined him. Your hands slowly proceeded towards his shoulders as he continued the kiss.

A loud bang on the door made you realize that the basin was at it's brimful - reminding your boiling emotions at bay. Kazutora said that the announcement is about to start as you opened the door. "Ahhh- I'm so nervous to be out there! ", You exclaimed by tugging your velvet ruffles into your grab just enough to run on your stilettoes. Kazutora giggled at you as he followed you to the hall through the long corridor. Your mind went black; like a used color palette so full of colors that it has lost it's artist.

Chapter I :: Crimson Rage

"And now the loveliest of all & bravest of brave our y/n l/n is requested to bless us with her humble presence in this auspicious evening", the announcement echoed through the walls of the hall. As you headed towards the stage to receive the award; admist all the praises all you could think about was him. "Is he watching me right now? Does he know I'm here! Does he know I—your bubble of thoughts bursted as your eyes fell upon the audience eager to listen to you, your inspiration, your journey to the top.

As you began,"Today standing here I feel so different,a person i know nothing about. Hahah! That's so confusing, isn't it? Well, for me an artist finds their muse only to know themselves. Humans are fragile always at the brink of explosion. Some are expressive. Some are not. Some are spectators. Artists are the spectators. They don't know how much they've burnt until they watch someone to walk through the same fire. Want to know about my inspirations? I've watched people subliming as they're hurt, as they're try to put a smile to go on with their life. Those people, those emotions are muse. Once again, thank you for such an honorary title."

You headed towards the backstage; you exhaled a sigh of satisfaction. Walking with the momento in one hand you went towards the back exit. Kazutora said that he would be waiting there since he wasn't feeling well he wanted to go home early by which he meant he'll drop you home before leaving for his own.

The cold winds brushed against your cheeks; you could feel the tip of your nose went cold as you waited. Caressing your arms you exclaimed, "Geez! I should have brought my overcoat!" , a pair of hands wrapped around your shoulders placing a warm coat. You turned your gaze exclaiming,"why are you so late? I was freezing—

"That was such a personal speech." , a familiar voice perforated your soul knocking your senses. There he was, your fuyu; your precious fuyu, who always smiled at the apocalypse of bonds just like how the sun never forgets to rise providing a ray of hope at every dawn.

Your eyes fell on him as you realized that it was his coat; it's so warm, it's his warmth. After all these years, he's infront you and all you could do manage to say was, "Aren't you cold, Chifuyu? You must be freezing too"

"No! Not in the slightest. I'm still burning", he said while adjusting his ring upon his index finger. His eyes were back on you. He extended his hand towards your shoulders. Out of reflex you retreated to which his face lit up with a beaming smile,his plush pink lips parted saying," Haha! Don't worry I'm not gonna kiss you until you ask me too. That time was just a mistake, an impulsive act". He brushed off the snow from your shoulders.

"I'm sorry for -." , he cuts you off as you swallowed your voice that crept at the back of your head banging your ears with,"that's not it. I - I'm still waiting. I love you. I fucking love you. God damn it!" .

You bit your inner cheeks trying to hold the tears. Ofcourse he knows, he knows how vulnerable you're for him yet he averts it. He denies his feelings for you thinking he's keeping you safe. Isn't that cruel of him?

"You're here!", Kazutora emerges from your back. He looked at Chifuyu. His hands cupped your waist making chifuyu smirk. They had a moment of eye contact but it felt like as if all the clocks around the world has come to a halt. You cleared your throat, unwrapping the coat you exclaimed,"Kazutora let's go home." He listened and made you comfortable in the back seat of the car. "Got a minute?" , Chifuyu asked to which Kazutora replied "sure!"

Kazutora lit a cigarette. Taking a puff he offered it to Chifuyu. You could watch them , their movements from the car. Whisperes came into your ears but you were too numb , too drained to indulge yourself in it.

Chifuyu : "How is she doing?"

Kazutora : "How do you think?"

Chifuyu: "She's happy. She is going to have a perfect life. You could do that for her though."

Kazutora : "We aren't that close!"

Chifuyu : "Ha! Guess I was worried about nothing."

"Well, how about now?" Kazutora says crushing the filter with his boot. Chifuyu doesn't reply. He fumbles, "i always am" as Kazutora walks away.

Chapter II : Blue Dreams

The door opened with a bang as Kazutora pressed you against the wall wrapping his slender hands around your slim gloved hands. His lips crashed onto yours as he held your hands above your head while the other wrapped around your waist. He's desperate,needy ,his hold is becoming stronger as he takes your lower lip into his mouth. You let out a trail of moan trying to resist his impulsive hunger that is making your head all mushy. He sucks your upper lip before proceeding onto your neck. Heavy irregular breaths basked his ears as he started to bite along your neckline. "Kazutora , wait! Stop ", you fumbled yet he's too deep into your soothing scent to let go of you.

He hasn't touched you, not once,never in this way. His touches,hugs ,pats , ruffling your hair never felt foreign. He was just there, always by your side : providing a shoulder when you needed it the most. It would certainly shatter his soul if you push him away now. Your heart is too kind for that,you would rather let yourself sink in his rampaging affection. "Kazutora, stop what're you doing?" ,you tartly speak, louder than before.

He pulled back his face,locked his eyes upon your shaking lips exclaiming,"can't you tell? I'm making you mine, only mine" his head dashes into your shoulder. His hands hanging down along his stature as he lets out a loud sigh.

"I'm sorry! I shouldn't have done this. Fuck, I ruined it ! Our bond, our relationship." Retreating a few steps back he leans against the wall and covers his face with his trembling palm. You slowly approach him so as to remove his hands to take a look on his face. As your eyes fell upon his face , you realized that your cheeks felt warm.

Your cupped his face as he melted into your hold. "Can I stay?", he asked. You made your way to the bedroom while he followed. "Wait, I'll change and come!" ,you exclaimed keeping the momento on the corner table of the bed. Kazutora plopped on your bed, spreading himself as you faded behind the curtains. "How about now?" , Chifuyu's tone reminded him of his impulsivity as Chifuyu's taunts ignited Kazutora's rage.

You sat beside him as he laid motionless on your bed, arms covering his face. "tora, still awake?"you asked yet there wasn't any reply; as if he would.

He doesn't wants to face you,face his mistake right now. You carefully lifted his other hand to place a pillow underneath. If he's half awake he'll manage the rest. Your arms spread the blanket over him as you watched him turn to the other side taking the pillow. "Y/n, Good night! I'm tired. We'll talk later." You scoff at his reaction thinking how hopelessly he hopes to bury his rage by swallowing it.

Chapter III :: Peachy Confession

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that.", Chifuyu speaks as you push him away breaking the kiss.

"I'll leave now"

"I'll leave!"

"I'll never come back" — and you gasp for breath waking up from this same dream. Dreams like this are slow poison that eats your empathy, the will to forgive others. Your eyes struggled for light while your heart beat echoed into your ears. As you took a deep breath you noticed the empty side of the bed, untidy bed sheets and Kazutora's hairband. How come he always runs away?

Heading towards the bathroom you thought how Kazutora was at the point of breaking again; he wouldn't have been able to handle one more hit yet it took every ounce of strength to not to sink in him,his touch,his embrace. Oh dear! He was way too close yet so far. Staring at the mirror your eyes fell upon a sticky note that read :

"Meet me at our usual spot. Today,at eve 7:00 pm."

K. Hanemiya.

Why so dramatic?

Waiting was never your thing, especially if it's Kazutora. He's not late but time isn't just loyal to him. "Two cups of cappuccinos and a plate of brownie.", his voice reached the waiter as he hurriedly went to the food counter. He knows your tastes, likings & dislikings; never forgets the tiniest details about you. How come you can't like him back? How come you like Fuyu who hasn't been a warm memory ever?

"Good morning, K. Hanemiya!", you greeted him. He scoffed at your mischievous tone making himself comfortable as he sat. He seemed happy for once; for once his smile didn't reek of sadness and jealousy. "You look different today!"you said as you adjusted your eyes on his face. "I'm" , he pauses as the staff prepares the table.

"I'm happy that we're here, talking like we used to do and I know that all this time it was you, you were my anchor not the other way around." He took a sip and pushed the plate of brownies towards you.

You couldn't believe what he just said. How come he acknowledged this fact? how come he realises that it was always him who needed saving not you? "Kazutora,do you remember what happened last night?" Kazutora fell silent. Ofcourse,he knows why would you make him uncomfortable by asking? He's still at his emotional wake. "I do! That's why I'm rectifying the situation."

He placed his hands on the table clasping them together. Letting out a deep breath,he began,"It's not a wonder that I like you. I mean really really like you but", his gaze fell upon your confusing facial reclines. He retreats his stature leaning on his seat. "But I don't want you that way." You cackle at his words remembering how it went last night. In all honesty, you're not mad at him ; he has always been weak for you. His voice dimmed until he apologetically continued,"… yeah Chifuyu's words did bother me so, that's why I acted out."

"I'm sorry what?" , you struggled to speak with the last piece of brownie in your mouth. As you came to know what actually did he talk about to Kazutora you couldn't help but felt relieved. "So, he still wants me?", that's the worst possible thought popped in your mind.

Kazutora tried to calm his nerves as he noticed that you were biting your lower lip. "I know you're angry, y/n but- "I'm not, not in the slightest" You cleared your throat and spoke,"When I've ever been angry? Anger has always betrayed me. You don't get it how frustrating it is when you wanna be angry but all that resonates through you heart is forgiveness" , you let out a deep sigh while Kazutora finally stopped talking.

"What're you going do now? Wanna meet him?", he asked wiping his fingers with the napkin.

"No, I don't think I'll be able to but I want to", he chuckled at your replying cocking one of his eyebrows.

Clearing the bill he suggested that you two shall go out, maybe movie or aracde or a long drive whatever that makes you feel better. You simply noded. As he left his seat, he buttoned his suit and laid his palm infront of you asking,"we can still do this, right?"

You placed your hand upon his gaining a prideful curve along his lips. His grip felt warm , safe and familiar. Kazutora dragged you out of the melancholic corner of cafeteria and all you could think of his confession. Confession that had died at the tip of his tongue everytime , everytime when he reminisced your peachy eyes whenever you should have been angry ; but all you did was to let it slide swallowing your bursting thoughts.

"Hanemiya, when did you get so kind?"

He swiftly pulled you beside him, averting the unbar section of the pavement; wrapping his arm around your shoulders while the other made it's way to his chin, he exclaimed enthusiastically,

"Perhaps yours rubbed me off!"

Epilogue :: Milky Canvas

"That was so fucking awesome Kazutora!", your voiced slurried through the dim staircase. "Watch your step,dear", he cooes still unable to control your movements even cupping you by your waist and your hand placed around his shoulders for leverage.

Standing infront of your apartment,you released your grip from him. "Go straight to bed! No U - turns",he orders resting his hands in your shoulders. "Fineeeeeee" , you replied with a hiccup followed by a giggle. Before leaving, Kazutora cupped your face and placed a peck on your forehead. Your face lit up with a smile exclaiming,"if you keep doing these, I might lose myself in guilt…Kazuuuuu."

"nope! I'm gonna be right here watching over you", and then he faded into darkness.

Jerky movements, head banging with ache and exhausted eyes. You struggled to fit the key in the lock until a helping hand came up. "Thank you Tora—you turned your face & remained baffled at the masculine figure.

"I'm always a disappointment,y/n", Chifuyu said as he unlocked the door. He placed a hand at your back to take you inside. Your senses became awake. "Chifuyu, why are you here again?." His pea green orbs fixated on you as you sloppily made your way into the bedroom.

You made yourself comfortable on bed while he was sitting on the ground at your feet. "I came crawling back to you. I came to apologise." "But I'm not angry" , you cut him off .

"That's the problem,y/n. You should be angry,you shouldn't waste your forgiveness on others,on me!" Chifuyu bobbed his index finger infront of you. Picking up the cue you raised your hand nuzzling against your ears; carefully he undressed your upper body,next the jeans. He stared at you for a while till you broke the silence conveying him where you've kept your homewears.

"So , apologise!",you blurted out as he dressed you back. As he sat beside you, your hands laced around his resting your head upon his shoulders. He chuckled at your reaction. She is not at all angry. What did I get myself into? Your eyeslids couldn't stay apart anymore.

"I'm sorry! Sorry for not coming back. Sorry for pushing you away. You were right. Right about how Toman is gonna eat me alive."

"Is that all?"

"No"

"What else?"

"I love you y/n."

You tried to release your hold but his grip grew stronger. He asked,"can I kiss you?." You looked back at him thinking it would be useless to fight him,his actions. Besides, you're already tired. He always gets to exploit your vulnerability. Besides, he's here; There will be only regrets like the last time if you deny him now.

He waited for your response. His eyes never leaving your lips. Leaning a little, you kissed his cheeks saying,"do whatever you want, Fuyu. Just don't leave me ever again."

"Okay; I can do that!", he cooes as he takes your palms in his, kissing them. His hands swiftly guide you making you sit on his lap. You couldn't help but flop over his shoulders complaining,"why did you come todayyyyy?", I'm sleepy."He just can't stop laughing.

Pausing his giggle he said, "i think i like this drunk version of you." He scooped you in his arms gently placing you on the soft bed. Chifuyu tucked you under the warm blanket. "Good night."

"Where are you going?"

"Just a moment, I'll be back."

Your eyes parted as you felt a grip upon your belly. You turned your gaze and it was the most beautiful sight you've ever seen. Chifuyu was soundly sleeping embracing you in his arms. So he came back. He CAME BACK. Facing him, you squeezed his cheeks waking him up. Hid eyes parted along with his lips, "Wh-att, y/n?"

That seems pretty normal.

"What happened? Why - why are you crying?", he asked sitting upright in a jolt.

"Last night when you said that — that you'll be back i thought you - you were gone. I can't believe it Fuyu, why are you here?"

He abruptly pulled you in his embrace as you buried your face in his chest. "Geez! What's wrong with you? And they appointed you as chief director of 'Black Palette'. You still couldn't stop whimpering. He lowly whispered,"I've so much to atone for!" and kissed your neck; tightening his hug as if to never let you go. His milky sweatshirt was once again smothered in your tears; just all happy tears this time.

© @blueparadis •|• plagiarism is a crime

[cecilysass]

The Boy on the Beach (16/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging@today-in-fic

Chapter 16: Black and White Thread

Exact Time and Date Unclear Sand slopes under his feet. Walking.

He’s relieved to see Scully is walking next to him, her face neutral and impassive. Mulder wonders what beach this is, this rocky and unfamiliar shore. He wonders what happened to Samantha.

Or to Deep Throat? To Diana, to their false children? His mind is muddled now.

He turns to ask Scully if she knows, but when he sees her, the questions evaporate from his mind like wisps of fog. He can only remember the line from the poem instead.

“My heart leaps up, said Wordsworth, when I behold a rainbow in the sky. So was it when my life began; so is it now I am a man.”

“And is that the case for you?” says Scully, for whom the truth is always irrevocable, a fixed star. “Does your heart leap up?”

Mulder considers the question. Did my heart ever leap? Leap to what, to whom, to where? And if it had, would I remember?

San Francisco, California One Week Since Scully Vanished 1999

In the hospital Scully discovered that the young man, Anish, was very kind. He brought her a bag of snacks and a change of clothes.

“And I brought him fuzzy socks,” he said, setting something fluffy and salmon-colored on the table next to Mulder’s bed. “It can get cold in hospitals. They’re pink, but I didn’t think Agent Mulder would mind.”

“No,” Scully said quietly. “I don’t think so either. Thank you.”

Anish approached the bed respectfully, clearing his throat. His eyes stopped on Scully’s hand, which was always placed over Mulder’s, and then he took in her face, as though he were studying her.

“He hasn’t regained consciousness?”

“Not yet,” Scully whispered. “I hope soon.”

“I also brought these,” Anish said, handing her a folder. “For when he wakes up. I thought he might like to keep them. They were so significant for him. He … wouldn’t let anyone else touch them, you know.”

After he left, Scully opened the folder.

Inside was a stack of printed papers. On top was a black-and-white image of her childhood bedroom in San Diego, with PHOTO 1 written, in Mulder’s handwriting, across the top.

Exact Time and Date Unclear

The path they walk along the sea is circuitous. The wind blows; Scully’s hair is a wild flame, a fluttering streak ahead of him on the path. As they wind their way, Mulder keeps thinking of the lines from Wordsworth, the poem from another dream, turning each word over in his mind again and again like a seashell.

Scully turns around, and he can see her lips move, but the wind picks up in a sudden gust.

“I can’t hear you,” he calls to her.

Her clothes flap around her as she nods solemnly, turns, and walks away from him.

“So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die!”

San Francisco, California One Week Since Scully Vanished 1999

Scully thumbed through the photos in numb amazement.

The picture of the bus pass, photo 4, had a caption. Next to the section of the photo where her hand was visible, Mulder had scribbled: her fingers. This was underlined several times, as though it were the most important detail in the world.

It was hard to construe this notation as anything resembling investigative work. Scully shook her head at his apparent sentimentality, sending a quick look of disbelief at his unconscious face.

There were more notes on the picture of her postcard from Las Vegas – “Thought of you. Wish you were here. - DKS.” He’d rewritten that part of her message —“Thought of you. Wish you were here” — again and again maybe twenty times underneath the picture, the repeated sentences looping around the corner of the image when he had run out of room. Like he was a child being punished in school. Or like he was simply losing his mind.

She bit down on her lip, hard.

She kept flipping through these pictures, this strange documentation of her experience, but she stopped again when she got to the image of the Apollo 11 keychain.

At the bottom of that paper, he’d scrawled three cryptic bullet points:

-nobody gets there alone -makes me whole person -the flaw in the mission

Scully leaned over and pressed her face gently against his arm, weeping silently.

Exact Time and Date Unclear

The sea is unsettled, Damascus steel, the surf a chorus of urgent stage whispers. Scully stands with her back to it, facing him. She wears gray, too, a long flowing linen dress.

“Are you still contemplating rainbows in the sky, Mulder?” Scully asks. She stands in the sand, a hole, a fort; she is wriggling her toes. “Or is your mind elsewhere?”

Mulder looks up at the sky, as ominous as the water. Clouds like sharp fangs everywhere.

“No rainbows,” he says wistfully.

Scully follows his gaze skyward. He wonders what she sees, if conditions look as grim to her as they do to him.

“The Child is father of the Man,” she says, still looking up. “Like Wordsworth says.”

“That means our fate is sealed,” Mulder’s words are just sad whispers, so quiet the wind lifts them away.

“Fate is a single cord, black thread braided with white thread, excluding nothing,” Scully said.

“Are you teaching me philosophy now?” Mulder sighs. “That’s kind of tiresome, Scully.”

Scully shakes her head, a close-lipped smile. Behind her, a wall of sea water falls over in a thunderous crash. “You always say you want the truth, Mulder, but lies are a comfort to you. So easy every time.”

I grew up with lies, Mulder thinks. Lies are what I know best.

“You know me,” Scully reminds him. Somehow she is hearing inside his mind.

San Francisco, California One Week Since Scully Vanished 1999

His eyes cracked open in the early evening.

Scully leaned forward quickly so that her face would be the first thing in his line of sight.

“Mulder,” she whispered, all quiet joy. “Hey. Welcome back.”

He blinked in confusion and wrinkled his forehead. Right away she could tell that hurt him, because he winced.

“Don’t move your head too much,” Scully said, cupping his jaw lightly with her hand. “You have a fresh bandage and a new incision.”

He tried to bring his hand up to his brow, but she stopped him, surrounding his hand gently in hers. He stared blankly at her.

“They had to go back inside in order to deal with – well, it’s not important right now. The surgeon says you should be all right, if you’re careful. And I’m going to personally make sure you’re careful this time. No more risks.”

He nodded gingerly, his eyes not leaving hers.

“You scared me to death, Mulder,” she said. “When you’re entirely better, I’m going to be very upset with you. Lucky for you, that could take weeks and weeks.”

He tried to smile, but it seemed to pain him. “Had dream again,” he croaked.

In a brief flash Scully wondered if that meant more marital bliss with Agent Fowley, but that was pointless to think about right now. She was just happy he was awake.

“Does it hurt to talk?” She ran a finger lightly over his lips. “Oh, Mulder, your lips are so dry. Let me get you some petroleum jelly.”

The nurse had brought them a little packet of Vaseline, and Scully hastily opened it and began spreading it over his mouth, using her fingertip. His eyes tracked her as she worked.

“You’re going to have to take it easy, Mulder,” she said. “Really. No work for a very long time. No projects this time.”

His hand enclosed around her wrist, stopping the Vaseline application for a moment. “The dream…” He broke off. “Was it real, Scully?” His voice was still raspy. “Seemed real, but also … too good to be true?”

She stared down at him warily, dabbing the last of the Vaseline in the corner of his mouth.

“What was your dream?” She hesitated. “Was it the same as before … the comfortable life? With Diana?”

“No,” he said. “Not that.” He closed his eyes, as if exerted, but then opened them again. “The past. My sister on the beach. The … attic bedroom. All true?”

Her eyes couldn’t pull away from his, no matter how much her instincts told her to hide.

“Yes,” she said, after a pause. “All true.”

“Oh God, Scully,” he sighed, clasping her hand. “I’m so glad.” His eyes shut again, fatigue taking him. “So glad it was all true.”

The grip of his fingers relaxed, and she watched him sink back into sleep. She remembered how the boy Fox told her she’d gotten it wrong about adult Mulder, about how he felt about her. She wondered just how wrong she might have been.

State Road Chilmark, Massachusetts 4 Weeks Since Scully Vanished 1999

He couldn’t sit still in the passenger seat – first fumbling with the radio, then searching for landmarks out the window, then flopping his head over to look at Scully again.

“Are we there yet?” Mulder said irritably.

“You know exactly where we are, Mulder,” Scully said, but her tone was tolerant. “How are you feeling?”

“How are you feeling? You’re the one who’s been driving for hours and hours,” he said.

“My neck is a little stiff, actually,” she admitted. “I’ll be ready to get out soon.”

“I would’ve driven, you know,” Mulder muttered. “I’ve driven this trip a thousand times.”

She just glared at him, the message not needing to be spoken aloud. Driving is not permitted on Dr. Scully’s brain surgery recovery regimen.

Both Mulder and Scully had been granted a generous leave of absence: Mulder, to recover from his second surgery, and Scully, to recover from being a victim of manslaughter, he supposed: some strange Bureau way of acknowledging that they had made a mistake.

Scully was using the leave to approach her role as warden of Mulder’s health with full commitment. While he was being checked out of the hospital back in San Francisco, Scully had picked up the pamphlet the nurse gave him and read the instructions to him sternly.

“Do not dye your hair for two weeks following the procedure,” she had announced. “Do not drink alcohol. Try to walk or get activity everyday, but avoid strenuous exercise or contact sports for three weeks. Do not engage in sexual activity until speaking with your doctor. Change your bandage every two days.”

“Good thing I bring my doctor with me,” he’d said. Her eyes had shot up over the pamphlet, and he’d smiled winningly. “For changing the bandage, of course, Scully.”

The predictable eye roll, yes, but also a tiny, coy smile. There was possibility in that smile.

Recovering from brain surgery was not something Mulder ever wanted to be experienced in, but he knew a little something about it now. He knew, from last time, that he would be incredibly sleepy the first few days. He slept the whole flight home, even though Scully kept waking him up to check his temperature.

He was out like a light again in the cab on the way back to his apartment from the airport, but that was okay, as Scully had wordlessly slid into the cab next to him.

Every time he woke up under the print blanket on his couch, he would lift his head and look around for her, and she would always be somewhere nearby: interminably cleaning up dishes in his kitchen, standing over him speculatively holding a thermometer, curled up in the leather chair across the room reading a novel.

She changed his bandages much more often than every two days.

Mulder had been worried about what would happen to Skinner, so he kept calling into work, even though this agitated Scully, who would prefer he pretend he had no job at all. Their boss had solved the problem of how to get access to Hays’ equipment by breaking Georgette and Anish into the San Francisco field office evidence room in the middle of the night. They’d set up the machines and brought Mulder and Scully back to 1999 right there on the spot. Of course, unauthorized entry into the evidence room was a violation of an untold number of F.B.I. regulations and likely federal laws. But Skinner had somehow managed to cover up the incident and now himself acted like it had never happened. Scully’s sudden reappearance had been a perplexing twist, and at this point, everyone wanted the spooky case with the loose ends just to vanish. So as far Mulder could gather, there would be no further word said about it.

As he gained more energy, he began to go on walks around his block with his personal physician. He liked this because it meant a trip out of his apartment, and also because she always held his hand. Anyone who passed the two of them, bundled in coats, hand in hand, admiring holiday decorations, probably assumed they were just some ordinary couple, out for a walk together.

Maybe they were. They hadn’t talked about what happened in the attic, but she wasn’t exactly pretending it hadn’t happened, either.

He would say she was definitely showing more affection, albeit in a subdued Scully way. They watched a movie on his couch, and she leaned her head against his shoulder in a way she hadn’t before — at least not so intentionally, not so obviously. Pushing his luck and playing the vulnerable patient card, he arched his arm over and around her like a slick teenager, drawing her in a little closer. Not subtle, but she didn’t object.

At first, she was making the long trek back to her place in Georgetown to sleep each night, but that started to seem impractical. She spent one uncomfortable night sleeping on his couch after he’d fallen asleep in his bed, which he only found out the next day because she was cranky, muttering about the kind of grown adults who slept on couches and their inevitable long-term back problems.

The next night, after she confirmed he was sleeping on his side like the brain surgery recovery instructions said to, she crawled into his bed and lay down next to him.

He tensed, not sure what to do with the knowledge that she was right behind him.

Even in the haze of his surgery-induced sleepiness, his brain couldn’t help but experience flashes of her pale body straddling his, the lift off of the dress, the revelation of those perfect, pink-tipped breasts he’d barely gotten to spend any time with. These were images that just weren’t going anywhere any time soon.

He felt her forehead press against his back, just between his shoulder blades. Warm breath against his spine made goosebumps spring over his body. She probably thought he was already asleep. He realized she was intending to comfort herself, not him.

It worked to calm him down nevertheless. He fell asleep not long afterwards, and those were the sleeping arrangements every night since.

He didn’t try for more than that. Not yet. He had read the pamphlet, and if he knew Scully, she probably worried their encounter in the attic had contributed to his aneurysm. To him, it still seemed worth it – wouldn’t have been a bad way to go, frankly, if he had to – but he didn’t think that argument would fly with her.

Still, there were reasons to be hopeful. And he definitely was, more than he could remember in recent years. It’s just that there was a melancholy edge. An old one. From the way Scully’s eyes studied him when she didn’t think he was paying attention, she saw it, too.

And then there was the way her eyes sometimes wandered to a point in the distance, her mind lost to unspoken anxieties he could only guess at. She had some shadows of her own, too. Maybe the possibility of a blank slate was just too much to ask for for the pair of them.

It had been her idea to drive up to Martha’s Vineyard.

When she first raised the idea, it surprised him — that she would permit a road trip. But she said that he was ready for a little more activity in his daily routine, that he could nap in the car on the drive up, and couldn’t they stay in his father’s old house in West Tisbury? Of course he agreed.

Now, driving straight out to Squibnocket Beach in Chilmark — also her suggestion, even though it would be cold on the beach, and it probably would have made more sense to go to the house in West Tisbury first and drop off their bags— he realized he hadn’t asked questions about why she wanted to come. He’d assumed she just wanted to see what the place looked like twenty-six years later. Sightseeing for a former time traveler.

“It looks different, doesn’t it? More rocky? Fewer dunes,” Scully commented, breaking into his thoughts, as she pulled into the beach parking lot. “I walked here one afternoon in 1973—this is where we took the photo on the beach that day.”

“I don’t remember the way it looked back then as well as you. Not as fresh in my mind.”

“You could see this beach from your boyhood bedroom window,” Scully said with a smile. “I loved that.”

“Just barely,” shrugged Mulder. “Although, when we sold that house in Chilmark, you better believe we listed it as having ‘beach views.’”

Scully turned off the engine as a family in matching neon windbreakers walked by on the path in front of the car, two kids arguing loudly with one another. The mother, who was carrying a kite, let it drop it into the wind and put her arms around the children instead. The kite suddenly skittered up a few feet into the air behind her, trailing after them like a guardian angel. Scully watched this intently as they passed.

“More people here than in 1973,” she commented. “Even in the cold weather.”

“The march of progress,” Mulder said, a hint of bitterness.

Tell me something better about 1999, something we don’t have now.

“Are you ready to get out?” Scully said, her eyes boring into him. “Maybe take a little walk?”

“Sure,” Mulder said, hesitantly. “It’s why we’re here, right?”

It was cold but clear, and the sun was beginning to set, the sky steel blue dissolving into periwinkle and gold. Most of the other visitors on the beach were headed the opposite direction, maybe back home to have hearty chowders and hot toddies.

Scully took his hand, but then seemed to change her mind and instead hooked her arm around his, sidling in closer to his black leather jacket. He suspected he was being used for his body heat.

Mulder always loved how rocky and irregular Squibnocket could be. He hadn’t been here for years, but he remembered how it always changed constantly, unpredictably. Not just decade to decade, but day to day. Today, it was scattered with a spray of pebbles as well as the more sizable, stolid rocks. Obstacles large and small.

They hadn’t walked far when Scully approached one waist-high boulder. She ran her hands over it, tracing her fingers through its grooves, scowling, and then looked back towards the road as though gauging the distance.

“I think this is where we took the picture with the body cam,” Scully said. “I think this is the rock I put the camera on, although it looks so different. I suppose it’s just been worn down by surf and wind and time.”

“Yeah,” Mulder said. He placed his palm on the surface, too, and it felt warmer than he expected, baked by the sun. His eyes drifted in the direction he imagined they must have stood in the moment the photo was taken. The faint and ghostly image of kid him, Scully, and Samantha projected before his eyes on the beach like a hologram. A childhood memory he never experienced.

That cloud looks like a ballet slipper, doesn’t it? Or maybe a rainbow?

“You miss her all over again,” she observed.

He looked down and quickly contemplated his hand on the rock.

“Mulder,” Scully said, carefully, watching him, “I don’t think I really understood about your sister’s disappearance — what that must have meant for you as a kid. Not really. I thought I did. I just want you to know that even though I only knew her a little while, I miss her, too … and I wish she were here now. I don’t ever want to give up on finding out exactly what happened to her.”

Mulder didn’t say anything. He turned to look out at the breaking waves, the edge of the surf catching on rocks. This was an offer, he realized. To help him lift something he was used to carrying alone.

“I keep thinking about her in that other multiverse,” Mulder confessed quietly. “Wondering what she grew up to be like in the 1999 there.”

“Me, too,” Scully said. Her eyes fell on the beach before them, like she was also seeing a phantom image of Samantha and young Fox in 1973. “I think she probably turned out a lot like you. She was so much more like you than I expected.”

“You thought so?” Mulder said.

“Yes,” Scully said, placing her hand on his, on top of the rock. He sat with that idea for a moment, the sister who might have grown up to share qualities with him as an adult. A tempting alternate reality for someone who was no stranger to loneliness. But he wasn’t lonely now, not really.

“I don’t regret spending that extra time with her,” Mulder said. “In several respects that was … the best twenty-four hours of my life. Which is really something, when you consider that the first time it was the most traumatic twenty-four hours of my life.”

Scully’s smile was sad. Her eyes shifted to the sea, too.

“And yeah, I’m always going to be angry that she was taken from me. But I also don’t regret my own fate, the course my life has taken,” he said. “Is that strange to say?”

“No,” she said simply, sliding her small arm around his again. “I don’t think it is.”

The wind started to pick up, and she sucked her teeth in reaction. He leaned towards her a moment, allowing his body to protect her from the brunt of the wind. Then they began to wind a crooked way down the beach again, stepping carefully around the fragments of uneven rocks before them.

“Did you drive me here to this freezing island just so you could get me to process my emotions, or what?” he asked.

She smiled her tight-lipped smile. “It may have been part of my agenda. Do you think it’s working?”

“Too soon to say, I think,” he said. “What’s the rest of your agenda?”

“Hmm,” she said slowly. “Would you believe me if I said … a relaxing beach vacation?”

He chuckled. “It’s not exactly bikini season, Scully.”

“Maybe I need to process my emotions, too.”

He stole a look at her then, black coat, her hair flapping in the wind, her countenance as stoic as ever. He wondered what emotions, exactly, she needed to work through.

They walked on the beach together for a long time, the hue of the sky growing darker and darker, a smattering of stars starting to peek out. Mulder’s mood took a turn for the philosophical.

“Scully, if you could travel back to another point in time in your life to revisit it, what would you choose?”

“I think I’m done with time travel.”

“Georgette isn’t,” Mulder commented. “She plans to continue Hays’ research.”

“That’s interesting and admirable, but I don’t especially want to be her test subject.”

“If you chose the day we met, in the Hoover Building, and you had come to me back then with your wacky story about the future, do you think I would have believed you?”

“Of course,” she said. “Without question. I convinced you when you were twelve, didn’t I? And you were much more sensible when you were twelve.”

He smiled a little, deciding she was probably right.

“Scully, do you remember how I told you about the boy in my dream – the one on the beach, building the spaceship in the sand?”

She looked at him with apprehension. “Yes, I do.”

“Do you think it’s at all possible that the boy could be seen as a portent of this whole experience? A sign that I’d be forced to revisit childhood in some more literal way?”

Scully was silent, and her pace slowed.

“Should I take that as a no, g-woman?”

“When you told me about the boy, back in your apartment that day, I thought I knew – I hoped I knew exactly what he meant,” she said.

“You … did?” Mulder frowned. “What?”

“Now I’m not so sure about it.”

She stopped walking. There was no sound but the rush of wind and sea. Mulder waited.

“I had been planning to ask you.” She looked at her feet, taking a slow breath. Whatever was on her mind, he could see it was something that wasn’t easy for her to talk about. “I have a few ova that could be viable, and my doctor thinks the chances are reasonable.” He went completely still. “So I had been thinking of going through the in-vitro process, of having a baby. I had been planning on asking you—before any of this started—if you would consider being the donor.”

He was stunned. That this was something she would want – that this was something she would want from him. That she would seriously think this scenario through and decide he, Fox Mulder, was the guy for this job. But he didn’t fail to notice she wasn’t using the present tense.

“It’s not logical or rational, but I hoped that the boy on the beach might represent – you know, for you …”

“Fatherhood.” He realized it at the exact same time he said the word aloud.

She nodded, looking down at her feet again, her hair blowing over her face. “Because he was digging a spaceship on a beach, just like I had been … in the Ivory Coast? That seemed like a symbolic link to me. I know, I know. It sounds fairly tenuous.” She sniffed. “Like wishful thinking.”

“Scully,” Mulder said, feeling like his heart might break. “It doesn’t sound tenuous at all.” He wrapped his arms around her, and he wondered why he didn’t think of the spaceship on the beach connection, why he always had to be so goddamned self-centered.

After a moment, he lifted her chin with his hand. Her eyes were wet. “You sound like it’s not something you want to ask me any more,” he said, matter-of-fact. He didn’t want to make it a question; he didn’t want to make it sound accusing. He just wanted to let her know that he had recognized it as true.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think it is.”

“Because of what happened in the attic… it makes it too complicated, maybe?”

“No,” Scully said quickly, tightening her arms around him. “Not because of that.”

“Because of some aspect of the whole experience?” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. “Seeing my messed-up childhood?”

“Oh Mulder, the kid version of you and Samantha,” Scully said, some tears escaping, “they just made me think about it more.” She leaned her head on his chest. “I guess because they looked a little… like what I’d imagined.”

He rested his chin on the top of her head and let that thought sink in slowly. She’d imagined having children to such an extent she’d visualized what they looked like — and they looked, in her imagination, like him and like his sister.

“It was more that when it came down to it,” Scully whispered to his chest, “I put the mission first, too. In some ways I think I’m … more ruthless than you in putting the mission first. I did whatever it took, Mulder. I stole. I lied. I shot someone. I know, deep down, I would have done anything. I’m just not sure I should be a parent, if those are the decisions I make. I worry I’m … damaged.”

“Scully...” Mulder began, but slowed down. He needed to do this carefully, because this was an important argument, maybe the most important one he would ever make to her. “I hope it’s obvious to you that I was wrong about the mission. It is, right?”

She didn’t lift her head.

“About doing it all alone, for one,” he continued, hesitantly.

The word was muffled into his rib cage. “Clearly.”

“Even the whole premise though. The whole objective.”

Scully looked up at him then, her eyes glassy and vivid blue, taking in his face. “How do you mean?”

“I mean,” Mulder said, “I was wrong about the priority of the… It’s not that the answers are...” He wasn’t doing this very well. He searched for his words. “I think the partnership is the mission. It’s the starting place for everything else. And Scully, yeah, of course you do what it takes to protect that. To protect me.”

He cradled the back of her head in his hand, laying his temple on top of her hair. “Whether or not you want to try to have a baby is your choice, and I’ll do whatever the hell you want,” he said. “But I think if you wanted to have a baby, and you wanted me to be involved somehow, that would be an extension of the partnership. It’d be part of the mission.”

The wind gusted abruptly, and he buried his face in her hair, rocking her back and forth in his arms.

“The partnership is the mission,” she repeated, like it was unthinkable.

“Yeah,” he said, feeling a little foolish.

“I think they call partnerships with babies something else,” Scully murmured into his black leather jacket, after a beat. “Some other word.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” Mulder said, ignoring the little rush that comment gave him. “Point is, I don’t think it’s a bad quality that you’d be some kind of superhero, tough, g-woman parent. I think you sell yourself short.”

She didn’t say anything, but kept her face pressed to him. He slid his arms around her back again, folding her in close, completing the circle.

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “Maybe you’re right.”

“That’s my very favorite sentence from you,” he said. “I’m going to have it cross-stitched to hang on my wall: Maybe You’re Right.”

“Not just ‘You’re Right?’”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t sound like you.”

Her frame shook lightly in his arms, and he smiled, too. That he was capable of speaking to her frankly, comforting her, and making her laugh within such a short time frame gave Mulder an irrational burst of confidence. See. Not meant to be a solo act.

After a moment, he slid one hand down to her lower back and set a course back towards the car again. Ahead of them on the beach, a group of teenagers walking together shrieked abruptly in raucous laughter, but she didn’t look up.

“If I did decide I wanted to try the IVF…”

“You’re welcome to whatever parts of me you need.”

She stopped walking and looked at him, and he lifted a provocative eyebrow in response, causing her to laugh again.

“You understand what IVF is, don’t you, Mulder? That it happens in a lab?”

“Whatever parts,” he said, at once more serious. “No parts. All parts. Whatever you want and need. You understand?”

Her eyes raked over his face, appraising. “You’re serious? That’s an enormous offer, and you didn’t think about it for very long.”

“No, I didn’t,” he agreed. “But I am entirely serious.”

If there’s one thing that’s true for me, it’s that the mission has always been first.

“You really are, aren’t you?” She reached out and ran her fingers lightly down his jaw. “But we should both give it some thought, Mulder.”

“If you say so,” he said softly. He lifted her fingers from his face and pressed them to his mouth, gentle kisses.

Her gaze held steady, bright and hot. She dug her fingers into the deep pockets of his leather jacket and leaned forward, first just brushing her lips against his, then tilting her head and pressing in for a slow, careful kiss.

He drew her to him and kissed her back: his partner, his ground control, his Beata Beatrix with a SIG.

She pulled away, her eyes still closed, keeping one hand buried in his pocket. “Let’s get inside, Mulder,” she said in a low voice. “It’s too cold out here.”

“Agreed,” he said, although he didn’t feel particularly cold at all now. Trying to get control of his foolish, involuntary smile, he set his arm around her shoulders and began walking at a faster pace.

“So,” he said, as they finally arrived at the path back to the lot. “This relaxing beach vacation you imagined. Did it entail dinner? I’m starving.”

“Me, too, but I confess I’m not sure what restaurants are open in the off season.”

“Luckily for you, you’re with a local boy,” he said. “I know a place. Historic inn in West Tisbury, lobster, the whole Vineyard thing. I’ll take you there.”

“Sounds promising.”

“So long as you understand that I’m medically fragile and can’t be taken advantage of until my doctor says it’s all right.”

She smiled enigmatically. “I’ll consult with her.”

“Oh?” he said, newly interested. “You think there’s wiggle room on that?”

“You’ll have to live with the uncertainty of fate,” she said airily. “What will be, will be, Mulder.”

He laughed at that, and in that moment, he felt his heart leap at the sense of possibility. At everything they had left to do together, every possible turn they could take. He reached into his pocket and fished out her small hand, now warmed, clutching it in his. They turned together down the path.

Source:

My Heart Leaps Up, by William Wordsworth (quoted in Amor Fati)

Notes:

I'm very grateful to everyone who has read and left kudos for this, and especially to everyone who has written comments or discussed it on Tumblr or Twitter. Seriously, thank you so very much for taking the time to do that.  I fell behind in responding to these almost right away, but please know they really have been tremendously appreciated.

You know, when I read fic, I never listen to the songs authors list as soundtrack tracks either, but I'm going to make the case to you that these 1973 songs are pretty tied into some of these chapters. So if you feel like it, here is a YouTube playlist with all the 1973 songs for this fic. It's also just fun if you like 70s classic rock / pop / funk at all.

[mrsalwayswrite]

Hvítr gown, nýr life (Ubbe x Reader)

This is my contribution to @geekandbooknerd​ 2k followers challenge! Congrats again, my dear! 

My prompt was: "People aren't born good or bad. Maybe they're born with tendencies either way, but it's the way you live your life that matters." - Cassandra Clare, City of Glass. 

Couple notes for this fic- Bjorn & Torvi are still together because reasons. Italics mean speakers are using Old Norse. 

The title means ‘White Gown, New Life’ in Old Norse. 

Also, this is my first time writing Ubbe so.... hopefully its not OOC?

Words: 4800

Warnings: one or two swear words. implied sex. I think that’s it???

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​

"You cannot truly be considering this!" Bjorn thundered in the small, enclosed room. 

 Ubbe observed his elder brother- a man he had aspired to be like his whole childhood, a man he still looked up too, regardless of his faults. "Of course I am."

 Bjorn slammed his hand on the wooden table, making it shake, as his voice shook like thunder in the room. "You are throwing your future away!"

 "I am protecting our future!" Ubbe snapped, finally rising to his feet, irritation leaking into his tone. He met Bjorn's incensed blue eyes with his own resolute gaze. "We need allies, alliances, everything to make father's dream come true. If this is the price I must pay to fulfill Ragnar's dream, then I will gladly do it. It is not about me. It's for our people."

 After a long, tense moment, Lagertha pushed off the wall she and Torvi were leaning against. Gliding closer, she moved to stand in front of Ubbe, tears swimming in her eyes. Gently, she cupped his cheeks. "Your father would be so proud of you, Ubbe. I pray the gods bless you with happiness in this."

 "Thank you, Lagertha." Relief swelled in Ubbe's chest. If he had Lagertha's support, he knew Bjorn would come around. 

 Since they fled Kattegat and came to England, he had watched the shieldmaiden age before his eyes. He could not help but wonder if her soul yearned for Valhalla and to be reunited with Ragnar. Not that he could blame her. To hear her speak of Ragnar and his approval of Ubbe's actions, it only further solidified his choice. 

 Torvi spoke up, surprising him.  "I think Ubbe should do it." When Bjorn opened his mouth to interject, she snapped her gaze over to her husband. "This is his decision, Ubbe. He has asked for our advice but it is up to him. We need security and this, though we don't trust them, this can provide that security."

 Bjorn huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine! Do what you want!" 

 "Thank you." Ubbe softly said, looking at all the family he had left in this world. "I'll go inform King Alfred now." 

 With a firm stride, he left the quarters they had been given in Wessex. After some time trying to locate the young king, a passing servant was able to tell him Alfred's location. Thankfully the king was in his private study, reviewing petitions from the worker's guild. The guards at the door allowed Ubbe entrance only after the king called out to allow him entrance. With a look of unrestrained animosity, almost begging him to give them a reason to throw him out, the guards opened the door for him to pass. Ubbe nodded his thanks, but never removed his hand from the sword at his side until the door closed behind him. 

 Straightening in his chair, Alfred looked up from the papers spread out over his desk. "Good afternoon, Ubbe. I suspect you have sought me out because you have an answer for my proposition."

 "I do, your highness." Ubbe paused, knowing how his life was going to irrevocably change once he answered. "And I will accept. I will take a Saxon wife to further the alliance between us."

 "I am greatly pleased by your decision." The dark-haired man pushed away from his desk. He moved to a nearby table to pour them both a cup of wine, something these Saxons seemed to favor, as he continued speaking. "Alliances must be built on trust and understanding. A political marriage certainly helps solidify that trust."

 Ubbe received the cup, missing the taste of ale from his homeland. After taking a small sip, he stared at Alfred. "So what do we do now? Do I meet some potentials or is there a matchmaker?"

 "No, I already have someone picked out for you. My cousin." Alfred answered without hesitation before pausing in contemplation. "What your father and my grandfather would think of this arrangement….our families tied by blood."

 "Yeah…. What is her name?"

 "My cousin? Lady Y/N. Fear not, she comes from a well-respected family and with a substantial dowry. She has spent most of her life at a nunnery, so there is no fear of her virtue being tainted."

 "Great." Ubbe sighed out. Though he knew Alfred meant all that to be reassuring….it felt anything but. 

 *****

 It was not until almost a month later, Ubbe met his intended bride; with the wedding set for three days after her arrival. Apparently King Alfred and some of the Saxon noblemen were keen on the arranged marriage happening as soon as possible. 

 Ubbe stood off to the side in the throne room. With his hair freshly braided and pulled back and wearing one of his nicer tunics, he hoped he appeared princely. Even if by Saxon standards, he knew he fell woefully short. Lagertha had given him a nod of approval as they waited in the throne room. Though outwardly he kept his face passive and calm, his insides twisted into knots and his hands were clammy. 

 "Are you still certain about this, brother?" Bjorn clapped Ubbe on the shoulder as he whispered, eyeing the Saxons standing around. 

 The flaxen-haired Viking glanced over at King Alfred, who sat on his throne, talking in hushed tones to one of his advisors while his mother looked on with a sour expression. 

 Ubbe answered solemnly. "Aye, we need this alliance."

 With a grunt, Bjorn removed his hand but stayed at his brother's side. Something Ubbe appreciated. Although Bjorn had no issue airing his thoughts on this foolish alliance and how Ubbe was making a mistake in regards to choosing a wife again, he kept his complaints behind closed doors. In front of the Saxons, they presented an united front. 

 The large doors to the throne room opened with a groan. All eyes turned to witness as a sole figure cautiously yet gracefully walked forward, head held high and hands clasped in front of her. 

 "Cousin!" King Alfred exclaimed, rising from his throne, arms spread wide. Immediately, he descended the few stairs with a fond smile on his face. "Your presence has been missed here at court."

 The woman dipped into an elegant curtsey, her dress gliding around her like water. "You are far too kind, my king."

 As King Alfred embraced his cousin in a warm hug, Ubbe could only stare in shock. Standing there in a deep red gown, the woman looked like a goddess. Ubbe had prepared himself mentally for his intended bride to be marginally pretty like most of these Saxon women, but someone he easily overlooked. Not her though. Without even saying a word to him, he felt beguiled by her. It was more than just her physical beauty, it was in the way she carried herself, with grace and a nobility. It reminded him distantly of his mother. A woman who knew her place and dignity. This woman, his intended bride, was truly stunning. He could not help but wonder if the true reason for her prolonged residence at a nunnery was not because of piety but to preserve and protect her. Something he was suddenly immensely grateful for. 

 "This is your betrothed." Alfred walked her over to where the Vikings stood, at the bottom of the steps leading to his throne. With a pleased smile on his face, he introduced the two. "Ubbe, son of Ragnar Lothbrok, this is my cousin, Lady Y/N." 

 She curtsied to him, her movements so graceful like they were part of a dance. When she spoke, he was further enchanted, for even her voice was beautiful. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lord Ubbe."

 "It's just Ubbe. Since we are to be married, we can skip the formalities."

 A coy smile played on her lips. "As you wish….Ubbe."

 "Excellent." King Alfred beamed. "Perhaps a walk in the gardens to better acquaint yourselves would be desirable?"

 Before Ubbe could whole-heartedly agree, wishing to learn more about his intended bride, a sickly-sweet voice interrupted. 

 "Y/N has only just arrived. We have wedding plans to finalize and she must try on her dress." Princess Judith interrupted, wrapping an arm through her niece's while pointedly ignoring the Vikings. "Maybe another time, but I am sure y/n will be quite busy with preparations. Come, my dear."

 With that, she swept her niece out of the throne room as if the Vikings had the plague and she refused to breathe the same air as them. But before y/n disappeared, she peeked over her shoulder and met Ubbe's gaze with a tender smile teasing her lips, then disappeared from view. 

 "There is much to finalize and my mother wants to ensure the wedding will go smoothly. You and y/n will have time after the wedding to become acquainted." Alfred said, studying the direction his mother and cousin vanished. With a sigh, he pulled his gaze back to Ubbe. "Now that introductions are made, I have matters with the clergy to attend to."

 Ubbe barely paid attention when Alfred walked away, returning to his throne and listening to some priests whine about something petty. 

 A bump of a shoulder against his own drew Ubbe's attention back from thinking about y/n. 

 Bjorn leaned over to whisper conspiracingly in his ear. "Well, at least you won't have a problem bedding her." 

 *****

 The wedding ceremony was outlandish and dragged on for entirely too long. Between the many prayers of the priests and the rigid formality of everything, Ubbe was ready to draw his sword and spill some Christian blood, just to break up the monotony. Even Lagertha appeared ready to fall asleep from where she stood. 

 The only aspect that kept his attention was his bride. Watching her walk down the aisle, he almost swallowed his tongue, leaving him gaping at her in a slack-jawed awe as she slowly approached. In her flowing wedding dress, a crown of flowers in her hair and eyes alight, she appeared ethereal. Standing in his nicest tunic and pants, he knew he paled in comparison to her, but he did not mind. 

 When the priests tried to forcefully convince Ubbe to dress in Saxon clothing for the wedding, he not-so-subtly threatened to decapitate them if they mentioned it once more. He was a Viking and would dress as such. Besides this was to be a physical representation of an alliance between Saxon and Viking, it would make no sense for him to dress as a Saxon. 

 Thankfully Alfred agreed with his thoughts, so the clergy kept any further comments to themselves. 

 Once the wedding concluded with Ubbe and y/n proclaimed man and wife, the couple was escorted to the celebration. The following feast was beyond lavish, with drink and food in overflowing abundance. To his dismay, Ubbe found himself unable to converse with his new bride. Either Alfred was introducing him to someone new, some nobleman pestered him with questions or worst of all, Judith purposefully continued to make excuses that pulled y/n away. When their eyes met, he could see the apology in them, which lightened the stone in his heart. 

 As the feast progressed, Ubbe found as more time passed, the more his gaze drifted to his bride. The gods had truly blessed him with this marriage. Watching her, he was captivated. Although, he found his hand frequently shifting to reach for the hilt of his sword no longer strapped to his side. All the appreciative or lustful looks she received from other men did not go unnoticed, and if one of them tried to lay a hand on his new wife, he would not be held accountable for his actions. His fists could be just as deadly as any weapon.

 Finally, the time was called for the bedding ceremony. 

 Alfred and some of the clergy explained to Ubbe what happened during a bedding ceremony when he was learning about the wedding's customs and the vows he would have to recite. To say the Ragnarsson was shocked was an understatement. It sounded barbaric…. and him and his people were called the heathens. But he understood the need to maintain protocol for building the alliance and the trust of the Saxons. 

 So that was how he found himself walking down a corridor with Bjorn at his side, while the feast and celebrations continued on without him. 

 "Are you sure about this?" 

 Ubbe rolled his eyes at his elder brother, his stride never faltering. "You did not have to agree to it."

 Bjorn scoffed, keeping pace. "And miss out on all the fun?"

 The two brothers laughed, the sound loosening some of the tension in the bridegroom's body. When Alfred told Ubbe he needed a witness to represent his people at the bedding ceremony, Bjorn was the only option. When Ubbe initially told his brother about the tradition and asked for Bjorn's presence, the hulking Viking had doubled-over in laughter, followed by making several crude comments about the need to instruct Ubbe on how to properly bed a woman. The discussion ended in a brotherly tussel but Bjorn agreed. 

 Especially when Ubbe explained his plan. 

 The bedroom was in the wing of the royal families' rooms. Since y/n was related by blood, she was given a room there whenever she came to visit and naturally, this meant it was where the marriage would be consummated. Several candles were lit but the bedroom was kept dim to give an illusion of privacy. A quick glance at the bed made Ubbe raise an eyebrow at the generous size and the curtains draped around it. A fire burned in the fireplace providing warmth in the bedroom, a sharp contrast to the stern, cold faces of the clergy who waited. 

 The bishop who married them stood off to the side with two other clergy, all in their robes and barely suppressed looks of disgust on the priests' faces. Two female attendees fussed over y/n, clearly everyone waiting for Ubbe and Bjorn. Once again, Ubbe had to force himself to keep his eyes from staying glued to his new wife. She stood there in a thick robe, with her hair falling about her shoulders loosely, free from the bridal veil. Her gaze jumped from Ubbe to the clergy and back as she nibbled on her bottom lip, clearly nervous about what was to occur next. Cheekily, he sent her a quick wink, hoping that would help settle her nerves. If the blush that grew on her cheeks said anything, at least she was not repulsed by him. 

 The bishop stepped forward. "Are you prepared to consummate your marriage to Lady Y/N before God and man?"

 "I am." Ubbe defiantly met the man's eyes. 

 "Then by the power given to me by the Holy Church, let the two become one in the sight of God and these witnesses and the marriage shall be complete." With that, the man drew their strange cross sign in the air and stepped back to rejoin his fellow clergy. 

 The two attendees helped y/n out of her heavy robe, revealing a thin, white nightgown that seemed to only enhance her beauty and innocence. Desire thrummed in his blood at the sight of her, but Ubbe ignored the sensation for the moment. The heavy robe was laid on a nearby chair and the two women left the room with a quick curtsy, leaving only the men and y/n. 

 After a shared look with Bjorn, Ubbe walked over to his new bride, keeping his movements slow so as to not startle her. Her hands were clasped before her, but even as he approached, he could see the faint tremble in them. Her gaze never strayed from the floor. The confidence seen previously in her seemed to have melted away into anxiety, making him think of a skittish colt. He could not help but wonder what changed, if it was due to him or what was supposed to occur between them. 

 Standing before her, he gently reached out to take her soft hands in his own larger, calloused ones, pleased when she did not flinch at his touch. Although her gaze remained downward. 

 "Are you alright?" He whispered, aware of the four pairs of eyes watching their every move. 

 "Of….of course, my lord husband."

 "Remember, I told you to call me by my name."

 That caused her head to snap up and meet his gaze. Now he could see the tears welling up in her eyes and her swollen bottom lip from constantly worrying it. 

 "It'll be alright." He tugged her bottom lip from between her teeth. The way her breath hitched at the intimate touch made his heart pound. He gave her hands in his, a quick squeeze. "Trust me, yeah?"

 After a moment, she gave a faint nod, still eyeing him warily but appearing less like she wanted to flee, mutely squeezing his hands back.

 A voice broke the stillness in the room, immediately causing her to tense again. 

 "The two of you must proceed to the bed to finalize the union. We do not have all night to wait for confirmation of her virginity and consummation." One of the priests drawled with an apparent undertone of disdain. 

 "Then it is a good thing you don't have to wait any longer." Ubbe retorted, narrowing his eyes at the priest. The man huffed but a quiet rebuke from the bishop had the priest pressing his lips together. With one final, assessing scan, the flaxen-haired Viking shifted, pulling his new bride into his side and wrapping an arm around her waist. He felt her tense against him but ignored it to stare at the three clergy with a mocking smirk. "Bjorn."

 At the sound of his name, his brother moved from leaning against the doorframe. A scowl on his face, and with the shadows cast over him, made him appear more looming and menacing. "Everybody out."

 The three clergy looked back and forth between the two Viking brothers, clearly confused and intimidated. 

 "You can't….we must witness…."

 "I SAID EVERYBODY OUT!" Bjorn roared, pulling the axe from his side and waving it in the air. "OR DO I NEED TO SPLIT YOUR SKULL TO HELP MY WORDS REACH YOUR TINY BRAINS?!"

 The three scrambled, eyes wide in terror, tripping over their long robes in a pathetic attempt to reach the door faster. The bishop turned around, hands grasping the golden cross hanging from his neck. "King….King Alfred will hear of this." He stuttered out in feigned confidence. 

 A deafening war cry from Bjorn practically shook the room in answer. That was enough to silence the bishop and have him flee, following his companions.

 At Bjorn's roar, y/n began shaking like a leaf, her hands tightly holding onto Ubbe's arm wrapped around her. He further pulled her against him, providing shelter from his brother's fury. Even as the room fell back into silence, he could still feel her trembling in his arms. He prayed to the gods that this did not darken her view of him and cause her to fear him. 

 Once the room cleared and the pounding footfalls of the clergy could no longer be heard, Bjorn turned around with a grin, scratching the back of his neck with his axe. "You know Alfred will be upset when he finds out." 

 Ubbe smirked. "We can't let him have everything he wants, yeah?"

 That made Bjorn chuckle. "I'll go guard the door." He pointed his axe at Ubbe, still grinning. "You owe me for this."

 "Scaring priests shitless isn't enough for you?"

 Bjorn scoffed. "I can do that whenever I like."

 "We'll name our firstborn after you."

 Bjorn waved him off, opening the wooden door and stepping out. When the door closed, the echoing sound seemed to fill the empty space in the room. 

 Ubbe peeked down at the woman in his arms. "Are you alright?"

 "Your brother….is….frightening."

 "Aye, don't tell him that though. It would only inflate his ego more."

 Once he was certain she was steady on her feet and would not faint, he pressed a chaste kiss to the side of her head before striding away to the other side of the bedroom. Quickly he pulled off his tunic and boots, tossing them onto a nearby chair and then flopped onto the massive bed in only his pants. If nothing else could be said for tonight, he knew he would sleep well. The bed was comfortable, even rivaling his own bed back in Kattegat. With a pleased groan, he tucked an arm under his head and settled under the covers. A wave of exhaustion crashed over him, his eyelids sliding closed.  Even though he felt like he spent most of the day standing around and kneeling for the wedding, it was still tedious and draining. Thank the gods it was over. 

 "Um, my lord…." 

 "Ubbe." He interrupted, lips twitching in amusement. "Or husband. Whichever you prefer."

 "Ah, Ubbe….are we not….?" Her hesitant voice trailed off, but the unspoken question lingered in the air. 

 He snorted. "I have no plans to force myself upon you just to appease your priests and bishop."

 "But we must consummate the marriage."

 "I will only have sex with you if you desire me as your husband and not just to fulfill an obligation."

 The following, prolonged silence caused him to open his eyes and look over at his new wife. It was apparent she had not moved from where he left her. He expected to see fear on her lovely face or revulsion at the idea of her ever willingly wanting him to touch her. Instead, she seemed to be studying him with a mixture of curiosity and respect. That confident woman he had previously met, making a reappearance. 

 After holding her gaze for a moment, he patted the bed next to him. "Come lay down. I doubt standing there all night will be pleasant."

 With a soft smile, she stepped over and crawled under the covers, but maintained an arm’s length distance between them. They both laid on their backs, together yet alone. The only sounds were of the crackling fire and their breathing. 

 Before he realized it, Ubbe found himself speaking, filling the silence with his babbling but strangely felt he needed to share these thoughts with the woman beside him, the woman whose life was now tied to him, whether she wanted it to be or not. 

 "I doubt this is the marriage you were dreaming of as a little girl. Probably expected some prince or lord….not a Viking. Your people only see us as heathens, as barbaric devils, at least that's what one of the noblemen said. That we cannot stop the evil and destruction we cause because we are possessed." He snorted, rubbing a hand down his face. After a deep breath, he turned his head to look at her, amazed to find her already watching him. His tone softened as he continued. "I'm sorry you were forced into this marriage. I know it might not mean much to you but I vow I won't ever physically harm you or force myself upon you. After all the wedding ceremonies, you can return to the nunnery if that is what you want."

 Her eyes widened momentarily, then drifted away as she worried her lip once again. As he waited for her to speak, his gaze traveled over her face, taking in the small details that until now he had not been able to observe. It would be a blatant lie to say he did not desire to lie with her, to touch and taste her. The current state of his manhood was evidence enough of how simply gazing at her beauty affected him. He made a vow to her. If nothing else, he hoped they could be friendly to one another. 

 To his shock, she rolled onto her side, facing him completely, hands tucked under her cheek. Without hesitation, he mirrored her action, but kept his head cradled on his arm. 

 "I have not traveled much," she quietly said, almost shyly, "but there is one thing I've learned through my studies and the observation of others. People aren't born good or bad. Maybe they're born with tendencies either way, but it's the way you live your life that matters." She paused as if choosing her next words carefully. "I do not think you are a barbaric devil or….or possessed. I think…."

 "What?"

 "I think you are very brave and strong. Not many would seek an alliance with those that fervently claim them as an enemy….nor be kind to a simple noblewoman."

 He smirked, finding himself charmed by her honesty. Carefully, he reached over and brushed a thumb over her cheek. "You are no simple noblewoman, my lady."

 "If you are just Ubbe, then I request you call me, y/n."

 An unexpected, loud banging on the door startled them both. Y/n gasped and rushed to sit up against the headboard, eyes wide with fright. Ubbe immediately pushed himself up, making sure to put himself between his wife and the door, unsheathing a dagger he had subtly slipped under his pillow. 

 "Are you two done yet? Some ugly priest out here wants to know!" Bjorn shouted through the door. 

 Ubbe groaned, putting the dagger away, before calling back. "No! This woman is insatiable! Tell the priest to come back in the morning! Hopefully I can still walk!"

 A harsh bark of laughter preceded loud arguing, which could be heard through the door. Raised voices crept underneath the door frame, the loudest being that of Bjorn. Ubbe stayed perched on the bed, to assist his brother if the need called for it. No matter what Alfred or those whiny clergy ordered, no one would be witnessing any consummation of his. Ever. Eventually, the voices dwindled like a dying flame until only silence could be heard from outside. Ubbe figured Bjorn must have won the argument, or used enough threats of bodily harm, since no one entered the bedroom. 

 The dagger returned to its sheath under his pillow. A habit he had since childhood. A glance to his side showed his wife still shifted as far away from the door as possible, hands clutching the sheets in a tight grip. He reached a hand out to her. "It's alright. Bjorn won't let anyone in."

 She took his hand, still eyeing the door warily. "What did you say to him?"

 "Ah, nothing important. Just to keep the priests away."

 "Ok."

 "We should go to sleep. Today has been long." He stated after he coaxed her back under the covers and no longer sent glances towards the door. Only after she was settled did he relax. Laying on his back, an arm behind his head, his eyes closed almost instantly. He could hear her shuffling occasionally but he paid it no mind. Sleep slinked into his mind, hovering on the edges. 

 "Ubbe…." A barely-heard whisper pulled him from the brink of sleep. 

 "Yes?"

 "What if….what if I want to."

 "Mmmm?"

 "Um, fulfill our marital duties."

 Well, that got his attention. He turned his head to the side, noting how her gaze traced over his bare chest slowly then lifted to meet his gaze. "Are you asking me to have sex with you?"

 "Yes." She bit her bottom lip, even as her eyes never strayed from him.

 "Are you sure?"

 She nodded. 

 "Hmmm….well, I may be convinced but….you have to kiss me first."

 Cautiously yet deliberately, she scooted closer until they lay side by side. In a graceful movement, she leaned over and pressed her lips to his in an innocent, chaste kiss. Her lips were softer than even the pillow beneath him and by the gods, she was going to be his undoing. After a moment, she leaned back, gazing down at him with a nervous yet endearing smile. Before he could say anything, to encourage or instruct, her lips descended on his once again, but this time hungrily. His initial surprise transitioned to a carnal satisfaction when a soft moan slipped out of her after he tugged on her bottom lip. Their mouths connected with a needy kiss, sending a jolt of electricity through him. All thoughts of sleep forgotten. 

 Suddenly, he flipped them over, pinning her underneath him, taking charge of their love-making. She giggled at the abrupt action but that was quickly silenced by his mouth crashing against hers and thrusting his tongue into her mouth. 

 As she kissed him back passionately, he wondered if maybe this marriage was not such a bad idea. If the way her lips eagerly sought his, her hands gripped onto biceps as if to keep her steady, her back arched as he trailed open-mouth kisses down her neck….maybe the marriage could be more than just political. 

 Soon enough, all thoughts vanished from his mind that were not related in regards to exploring the exquisite body of his Saxon wife and listening to her moan his name repeatedly.