#i wanted to do something more elaborate but december caught up with me FAST

[andruillus]

house/cuddy/wilson and foreman/chase for @its-kinda-snowy🎉 (who is incredibly talented and you should definitely go check out his work!) as part of the @housemdgiftexchange, shout out to @professionalpenthief for organizing this ♥️ happy (early) new years everybody!

#sorry to the organizer i cant seem to tag you 🥺 love this show and its always a fun challenge to figure out everybody's faces #housemdgiftexchange #house md #lisa cuddy #gregory house #james wilson #robert chase #eric foreman #house md fanart #tv shows #i wanted to do something more elaborate but december caught up with me FAST

[tallyovie-writes]

Pictures of Us | f. w. Part 2

part 1

Summary: all the paintings choose a student to patron, the Lady chooses you and watches as you and Fred Weasley grow in the same direction

Warning:none, might contain little angst, nothing serious

2k words

@sirenswhispers @discoverablefeelings @capture-the-moment-on-camera @sophieswizardswheezes

Sixth year, December

The corridors buzzed with excitement. With only less than two weeks to the Yule Ball boys were running around in desperate need of finding partners while girls were frantic about not being asked. Of course the already paired ones watched the madness spread with a smug smile on their lips.

The Paintings also had the time of their lives, the new puppets on their chessboard gave back a little life to their fading colours. Now they could play matchmaker from an even bigger selection.

The Lady wanted to be proud to say she did not take part in such childish acts, but she had a mission with those two before the second task. It's not like she could do much, but occasionally if she heard a french boy talking about inviting her patron to the dance she faked sadness as she gave the poor boy the news that you were indeed taken.

You weren't indeed taken.

Madness has yet to engulf you, but you weren't calm either. Collita was asked by a bulgarian boy, but you had doubts whether there weren't threats made by her that overpowered the poor boy's common sense.

You would have been fine with the two of you going together, but now that she had a partner, you weren't planning on being the third wheel.

You forced these thoughts out of your mind for now. You had more important things going on.

The Lady's corridor was full of students as usual, so you weren't surprised when you entered the DADA classroom someone almost knocked you off your feet.

"Watch where you are goi.....oh..." you started telling off your attacker, but as you looked up Fred Weasley held eye contact.

Ever since that encounter in the potions storage room things have changed. You haven't really met after that, the two of you gave a wide berth to one another. No funny business, no prank. When you did run into each other, a sudden awareness filled your body. He made no snarky comments, his usual sarcasm nowhere to be found. You didn't bring up the secret of the castle, and he didn't bring up the date. Like an unspoken deal has been made without either of your knowledge. It was awkward at best. You didn't think anyone noticed, there was only bad blood between you before.

He didn't reply, he didn't apologize for running you over. He took a long look at your face, lingering on details only he could see. Without his usual grin, he left the scene as fast as he came, robes flying around him.

"What was that? Has something happened between you two?" seems like someone noticed after all.

"Nothing besides me agreeing to a date, him agreeing to let me in on a secret, and our mutual ghosting. How is your french boy by the way?" you feigned innocence.

Collita's jaw hit the floor.

"I'm joking. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"You know I wouldn't even be surprised. With all the sexual tension you two radiate, I wouldn't put it past you that I could find you in a broom closet with him."

Now it was your turn to let your jaw hit the floor.

"Well then, good to know nothing is going on..."

Boy, if you'd known...

Sixth year, yule ball

It wasn't that bad of an evening. You could say it could have been quite magical. The house elves outdid themselves, even the usual house rivalry crawled back to its gloomy hole.

The icicles lost their naturally given cold arua just like the stone walls' usual grim facade. White dominated, but was quickly swept by the wide range of colourful dress robes, Dumbledore's glittery lilac fabric showing how it's done properly.

It really wasn't your date's fault either that you didn't really enjoy yourself. The poor boy tried everything, but besides polite conversation you weren't capable of anything else.

You were standing alone by the food table, the ravenclaw boy left a while ago to try his luck somewhere else, probably with bigger chances.

You saw Collita bent over from laughter silent tears running down her face, her date was watching her with parted lips in amazement. Eyes big, positive surprise written on his face. Collita did that to people. She was naturally gifted with a charming personality, she drew you in, spoke to you like you were on a pedestal.

She made you feel seen. A secret talent that you were rather jealous of on several occasions.

Suddenly you felt sick of the swirling mesmerized faces, the colours were too vibrant, the music too loud, too many bodies pressed together.

Before the walls started closing around you, you left your previous position and made your way to the exit that led to the gardens. The only sound that was registrateable to your ears were only your own footsteps.

Fresh air cut your rapid breathing shorter. You slowed down, the Great Hall's chokingly sweet smells started to fade away into the night.

"Wouldn't say rushing to the night with only a light silk material covering you was a smart choice, wasn't it? I took you to be a lot smarter than that, love. You're gonna get sick." a soft voice interrupted you.

Fred Weasley stood next to the bushes.

"Well, being sick would mean I wouldn't have to see your ugly face in class, so..." you replied but your voice lacked its usual fierceness. You were too tired.

He chuckled at your reply.

"I don't wanna go back there.." you started in a low voice, barely understandable, but gathered your poise and frowned as you said the last sentence. "They are too happy in there anyway."

"Is that jealousy in your voice?" he found so goodly which strings of you he should pull.

"And what if it is?" you snapped at him.

A ghost of his usual smug grin appeared on his face.

"Get your big nose out of my business by the way!"

"Well love, you know what they say about big nosed guys..." he lazily shrugged, hands in the pockets of his robe.

"Get lost, Weasley, I'm not in the mood today."

Maybe it was the hint of desperation in your voice, or the pathetic look you might have presented, but he stopped picking your brains.

"Come in, Y/S/N, you might even find the bloke of your dreams tonight." Fred tilted his head to the side.

"I'm not interested in 'finding a guy' to be my only goal." you scoffed at his remark.

"Well then, as the only guy you talk to right now, I feel obligated to spare you from the clutches of the cold and sickness, so pretty please get your ass in here."

"I'll stay until I decide it's enough. But thank you for your concern. Bye Fred Weasley, 'find the girl of your dreams' tonight." you rolled your eyes at him.

Little did you know, he already did.

Despite the cold, the Lady felt your frozen heart start melting, even if you haven't realized yet.

Sixth year, few days after the Yule Ball

"I don't understand why you thought it was a good idea to freeze your pretty little ass out there in a low cut silk dress in winter."

You groaned out in frustration.

Collita didn't spare you despite the fact that you were bloody sick, and fuckin hurting everywhere.

"Madam Pomfrey said you won highest fever of the year." she mentioned between stealing a few of your get-well sweets. "At least you finally won something." she winked at you.

"Get out, and let me suffer alone you bimbo!" you hissed at her, but the sharp pains shooting down your neck really destroyed to effect you were trying to achieve.

"Alrighty, my little pathetic friend, I suppose I can leave you to your demise. Be a good and obedient patient." she sent you a kiss and strolled out the Hospital Wing.

**

In the Hospital Wing, after curfew

After Collita left you to suffer on your own Madam Pomfrey gave you a light sleeping tonic. You welcomed the sweet oblivion in the place of pain.

A light noise disturbed the calming darkness. Opening your eyes was a too heavy task, so you relied on your hearing. A soft fumbling could be heard, but the person near your bed executed the deed quite clumsily as the most colourful swearing left their mouth.

Fighting against the tonic's luring effect, you tried opening your eyes. When you did, you almost jerked back in surprise.

Fred Weasley stood there with an innocent smile on his face, like a child caught in a naughty act, his hands were midair frozen on the spot hovering above your stack of sweets.

"What the fuck are you doing in the middle of the night standing near my bed?" you demanded and pulled your blanket further to your neck. "Are you setting up a prank?"

"Have a little faith in me, Y/N...if it were a prank you would only know it before it happened and that's already too late. Can't a bloke visit his sick classmate? The classmate he warned against the cold?" you scoffed at his pointed stare.

"In the middle of the night?"

He started scratching the back of his neck.

"Good point. A point I should probably elaborate on." he didn't seem like someone who wanted to elaborate.

"Don't let me stop you from doing that..." you rolled your eyes at him.

He seemed a little awkward and you could barely hide your amusement. It is not every day a Weasley gets a little intimidated and loses his usual cockiness.

"You see..." he started but his gaze was still fixated on his hands. "...I felt a tad responsible for you catching a cold.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise.

"If it weren't for me dancing on your nerves in the garden making you irritated enough to stay outside longer than intended, you wouldn't be here right now." he sounded a little guilty and you couldn't help the warmth that started spreading in your stomach.

You started to chuckle.

"Weasley. It's alright." you felt a sudden bravery envelop you as you said the next words nonchalantly. "You owe me another secret and we are even."

You waited for his reaction.

He didn't disappoint. He lifted his head, brown eyes locking into your own. Now you weren't sure if it was a wise idea to make him remember your deal back in the potion storage room.

"And here I thought I could bribe you with chocolate that I nicked from the kitchen...you are not a woman easily pleased." he didn't seem that sad about this fact.

"Where would be the fun in that?"

"Right."

Silence fell upon the two of you. Eyes still interlocked, you weren't sure if minutes or hours passed by. The Hospital Wing's darkness faded, and the freckles splattered across his face became more contrasted than before. He tilted his head to the side, his gaze burned your skin.

Suddenly becoming aware of the weirdness of the situation you cleared your throat and looked away.

"Since the tonic made me hungry like a wolf, I'll accept that nicked chocolate." you said, trying to break the silence.

Fred smiled and threw you the bar he fumbled around with before. Your catch was nothing sort of graceful and you felt embarrassment tint your cheeks.

Looking down at the bar in your hand you felt your eyes grow big.

"How did you know this is my favourite?" you asked astonishment, creeping into your voice.

"Lucky guess." he shrugged. You didn't need to know that every time the Grand Hall's tables were filled with this, he couldn't look away from the joy radiating on your face. Just like now.

"Your taste is impeccable, I gotta say."

Oh yes, his taste was indeed impeccable, but not just in chocolate.

#harry potter #angst #enemies to friends to lovers #enemies to lovers #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #george weasley #slytherin #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x y/n

[cauliflowercounty]

Awkward Weasley (Fred Weasley x fem!Reader)

 House:  You Choose

Blood Status:  You Choose

Warning(s): None

A/N: Not proofread

-----

“It’s not a big deal, Hermione.  I’ve got until the end of February to figure it out,” Harry grumbles, opening up his Transfiguration textbook that was resting on the courtyard bench beside him in order to feign being busy and avoid the conversation about his Golden Egg’s riddle.  He’d tried everything to figure it out.  He’d try researching different types of screams, which was ultimately a dead end, and opening the egg after enchanting it with various spells.  None of his strategies worked and at this point, he could willingly go a long time without seeing or even thinking about his egg, but Hermione refused to let him.  

At this point, Harry’s mind wasn’t really on his egg because the Yule Ball was fast approaching and Ron and him were yet to get dates.  Every single person Harry might have wanted to ask before seemed intimidating all of a sudden and Ron voicing his woes wasn’t helping.  All the girls around him seemed to already have someone to go with or be talking about someone they’d like to have ask them that wasn’t Harry. The situation seemed hopeless.  Just as Harry was thinking of it, Ron came slouching across the courtyard and plopped himself next to Harry and Hermione on the stone bench.

“What’s got your wand in a knot, Ronald?” Hermione asks, picking up on his poor disposition.

“I haven’t any luck with getting a date to the stupid ball.  All the girls seem to be all together in a group and I can’t get any of them alone to ask them,” Ron grumbles, a sour look on his face.  “This is impossible.  Why couldn’t the Triwizard Tournament come with a different tradition?  Maybe a normal feast?  That would be pleasant.  It would be just like the ball minus the dancing and the mandatory second half.”

“Oh, Ronniekins, you better change your tone.  No girl will want to come to the ball with you if you keep it up,” a voice comes from behind the group.  Fred.

“Fred’s right.  You need a new attitude, little brother.  And you better get a move on.” George quips as the twins circle around to face the three sitting on their bench.  “Ronald, If you wait too long...” 

“... all the girls will be gone,” Fred finishes for his twin, both of them happy with their own synchronicity. 

“Really?  You two are ones to talk.  I don’t remember either of you getting dates,” Ron shoots back.  “Who are you going with?”

“I’m going with y/n y/l/n,” Fred responds confidently, a small smirk on his face that was strangely gentler compared to other smirks he’s had plastered on his face after pranking unsuspecting Slytherins.

“You already asked y/n?” Ron asks skeptically, eyeing his older brother. “And she said yes?”

“Good point,” Fred says.  “I’ll get back to you on that.”

With that, Fred rushes out of the courtyard on a mission, leaving the group in the dust.

“I’m happy for him.  He’s finally going for it,” George says once Fred’s completely out of sight and earshot. “This has been a long time coming.”

Hermione agrees with a quiet nod.  “I think Fred’s been wanting to ask her out more than he’d like to admit.  I’m glad it’s happening after all this time.”

~

It wasn’t that hard for Fred to locate you.  Over four years of silent intense pining meant that he knew all your quirks and where you’d like to go in your free time.  Almost tripping over himself with excitement, he arrives at the rocky edge of the Black Lake and looks around to spot your blanket spread out underneath a tree.  Taking a deep breath, Fred tried to reassure himself this is going to work.  

As he approaches you, he sees that you’re on your back, staring up at the leaves and the sun peaking through the cracks.  Coming closer, the rocks crunch under his feet and you tilt your head up to see who it is.

“Hi, Freddie,” you say with a smile, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.  “What brings you here?  I didn’t think you were much of a Black Lake-goer.  Are you hiding from someone you pranked?”

“Not this time, love,” Fred chuckles, trying to think of the proper way to start the conversation. “Uh... May I sit?”

You nod and scooch over, patting the spot beside you.  Sitting down next to you as you look him in the eye makes Fred’s heart skip a beat and all of a sudden he’s nervous.  Very nervous.  I his mind, flashes of what could happen come and go.  You say yes and you’re going to the ball together, you say no and he’s heartbroken, you say yes but “as a friend” and he’s still heartbroken.  Why did he get himself into this?  This can so easily go wrong.  Fred thinks he could have just asked for you to dance with him once at the ball and that would have been enough for him, but no he’s here in the middle of a painful conversation that’s feels so wrong to him on the inside because his usual conversations with you are so easy.  Maybe it’s not too late to back out. Fred hesitates more and more and you notice something’s up.  Usually, Fred isn’t shy about what’s on his mind.  He’s quite forthcoming, which is one of the many things you loved about him.  Something’s off.

“You okay?  Did something happen between you and George?” you ask, a look of concern growing on your face, getting to be a little worried for Fred, never having seen him like this ever. 

Fred quickly shakes his head, stuttering out a “N-no.  Georgie and I are fine...  I... wanted to ask you something, y/n.”

You turn to him, intrigued.  What could you possibly do for him? Most of what he asked you to do for him was cover for him and George if they were hiding from the recipients of their pranks, prefects, or teachers that were trying to hunt them down and needed an alibi.

“You can say whatever it is, Fred.  I won’t judge you,” you smile gently.  

“O-okay...  Well...  I don’t know how to say this...  How do I start?  Umm...  Y/n, I’ve been thinking... No.  So it’s December and-. Come on, Fred,” he grumbles to himself and you let out a short giggle.

“Y/n,” he starts again, drawing from that Fred Weasley courage you know and love. “I was wondering if you’d come to the Yule Ball with me... Y’know... be my date? I-I really like you and I think it’d be fun... uh to go together,” Fred explains hopefully, avoiding eye contact, not wanting to see if your face contorted into a look of disgust or confusion.  How he’d started asking you out was bad enough.  He didn’t want to see your face right away.  He wanted that second of satisfaction from actually getting the words out first before rejection.

Your heart leaps in your chest at hearing what this was all about.   This was completely unexpected.  You’d liked Fred for a long time and admired his drive and creativity when it came to his elaborate pranks. He positively lit up a room with his energy and is laugh.  His joy became infectious and it captivated you.  You’ve liked him ever since third year and him asking you out was something you’d always wanted, but never thought would happen until now. Up until this point, you were completely convinced that your relationship was destined to be wholeheartedly platonic, but now everything has changed.  He’d said “I really like you.”

“I’d love to Freddie,” you smile at him.   “Hey...” you say, noticing he’s not looking at you.  “Is something wrong?”

“N-No!  Of course not!  You said ‘yes,’ right?  So nothing’s wrong,” Fred says quickly, finally realizing you actually agreed.  “If i’m honest, I’m so happy you said yes, y/n!  I was scared that you’d say ‘no,’ and you didn’t so that’s a big relief!”

“Like I was gonna say no!  Who’d reject Frederick Gideon Weasley’s invitation to go to the Yule Ball with him?” you joke.  “Nobody in their right mind would do that.”

“You really think of me like that?” Fred asks hopefully.

“How could I not?” you respond. Fred smiles, his heart warming and his cheeks reddening

“So I’ll see you then?” 

“Of course, Freddie,” you reply.  “I can’t wait.”

“Great!” Fred says.  “So... I’m going to be off. Uh, I think that George might be looking for me.  I may or may not have ditched him in the courtyard with Harry, Ron, and Hermione...  Umm... yeah!  See you then...? Uh.. We just went over this.  See you then.  I’ll be seeing you soon, lov- Er, y/n. Bye!”

You smile and giggle at him stumbling over his words as you wave at him retreating back up to the castle.  As he reaches the corridor, Fred leans up agains the stone wall, inhaling and exhaling deeply.  

“Oi, Fred!” George calls from down the hallway.  George approaches his twin, who’s still caught up in a lovestruck daze.  “How did it go?  You look like you were nearly run over by an Erumpent.  What did she say?”

“She said, yes, George. And I couldn’t be happier,” Fred sighs.  George smiles, knowing how his brother must feel. 

“That’s brilliant, mate.  Let’s go get some food.  I’m starving.  Especially since we skipped breakfast to go to the kitchens to steal watermelons to hurl at the Slytherins at their quidditch practice later,” George says, motioning for them to go the the Great Hall for lunch, and Fred joins him, but he sneaks a peak out a towering window on the way to see the Black Lake.  He thinks of you and how you’re the only person that can reduce him to a stuttering teenager with one look.

#fred weasley x reader #Harry Potter #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #weasley twins

[darter-blue]

bec, darling, would you do body worship from your prompt list for lil ol' me? 🥺😂😈

Hey there dearest. Well, Ali. I must apologise because this turned from Kinktober to whumptober. And to start its a bit more body horror? But it will work it’s way to Body worship I promise.

So here is part one of your Fic - Resurrection

Warning for Bucky Barnes recovering type anxiety and hurt/comfort

Bucky wakes to the sound of water running. The smell of wet earth and dead leaves permeate his senses as they slowly open to his surroundings. 

He aches. From head to toe, his body aches. He needs to get his eyes open to properly assess the damage. But it sure feels like he's been hit by a tank.

Or he'd fallen from some ridiculous height… had he fallen?

Bucky's last memory is of the cold… of… fear. 

Of Steve.

Steve

His memories are fleeting but he has something, an image, caught in his hand, and he curls his fingers around it to hold on. 

Steve was in the train, they both were. Zola's train. And Hydra… and that fucking Canon of a gun, some Hydra tech, blasting a hole in the side of the train… and Bucky…

He fell… didn't he?

His eyes snap open.

He looks down to find himself lying on a damp, soft surface, definitely not the snow he's expecting. 

He blinks into the mid-morning brightness, shaded by the structure above him, a jetty. The sound he's hearing is a river, a rocky shore line at his feet, dead leaves beneath him, trees behind him.

And he's… he's definitely not in Austria. Glancing around him it's all lush vegetation and rocky shorelines but there's something oddly familiar about it all and yet so, so wrong.

And as he looks down to check the ground he's woken up on (is there a bed roll, did he collapse here?) he catches sight of his outfit and then, by extension, his left arm, his left hand, and his brain freezes.

He doesn’t understand what he’s looking at but what he sees is… well it’s not good. It’s… his hand is... he wants it to be encased in some kind of metal glove. He wants this to be some elaborate costume. Steve gets to have an elaborate costume, maybe Bucky has one too. Maybe this is just the boys’ idea of a joke. 

It doesn’t feel like a joke. Bucky tries to wiggle his fingers but something is wrong. They wiggle, but it’s not… it's like there’s a lag or… they’re broken, or he’s had some nerve damage maybe. And they’re not… they're stiff and twisted and they won’t do what he wants them to do and it feels stilted. It doesn’t feel right.

And he knows. Bucky knows. This is not a costume. This is his arm. Or…

This is what has been attached to him. In place of his arm. It’s not his… it's a machine. 

And he’s waking up with it. In pain. In a strange place. With no idea how or why he’s here.

He needs to find Steve.

First things first, he needs to get up off the ground, but fuck. It hurts. His whole body feels like it’s been crushed by something. His chest aches, his head aches, his legs feel like garbage. His shoulder, his fucking shoulder is on fire. But focussing on any of this is not going to help him right now. He needs to get up. So he does.

He puts that pain in a box in the back of his mind. He uses a pillar of the jetty for support and he lifts himself up. And it's too much, for a second, it’s too much, and he vomits.

God, okay, he tells himself to just breathe. He breathes. And when he gets it together he walks. Carefully, gingerly, he walks to the trees and makes his way through them, using trunks to lean on as he passes. Letting the smell of the earth and the bark overpower the blood and the bile and whatever else it is on him he can smell.

He doesn’t know where his army uniform is. He doesn't know why he’s dressed in these strange pants with what look like black catchers pads on his knees. Covered in knives. No gun. There’s a belt and straps that don't attach to anything and no food. No rations. Nothing useful in any of the thousand pockets. 

He tries not to speculate as he walks. It won’t do him any good to panic. He needs to figure out where he is. He needs to keep as quiet as possible (though he’s not doing a great job, with the limp and the dizziness) in case he comes upon Hydra or Nazis out here. Though… it all feels so wrong.

And he realises why as he gets closer to civilisation. It looks like farm land, but it’s not european farmland. The first building he sees is a business of some kind, the sign is in English and what looks like Native American, though the name doesn’t sound familiar (he notes with some positivity that both his vision and hearing seem to be as good as ever). It looks like some kind of national park. And no one is around. He doesn’t see or hear anyone. And necessity being what it is, Bucky moves closer.

Piscataway Park, the Accokeek foundation, appears to be a national park owned and operated by the US Department of the Interior. The US. The US of A. He’s in fucking America? He sits down for that information to sink in. And then gets back up to get closer to the visitor’s centre. 

Which is empty. And pretty easy to break into with one of his handy knives, inside is food and water and so much… everything looks wrong. Bucky has seen some crazy shit fighting Hydra but this is all just… different and yet somehow the same as the America that he left behind for the war. Everything is so bright and clean and expensive. The prices on the food, on the signs over the freezer, it’s way too much. And the food itself, the packaging is so colourful. There’s so much writing… it’s all just… too much…

There’s a phone but it’s… there’s buttons where the dial should be. The handset is not even connected by a wire… and Bucky can’t use the damn thing anyway - he has no idea who to call… There’s no switch operator, just a dial tone. 

He does find some less conspicuous clothes to wear. A t-shirt and some kind of hooded sweater to cover up his monstrosity.

He finds bathrooms, full of fancy looking equipment nailed into the walls, but there’s a sink, and paper towels, and a mirror, and fucking hell. 

What happened to him?

His reflection is… jarring. His hair is long and rancid. He has a bruise under his eye and one on his temple. He has stubble. He didn’t have this much stubble when Steve pulled him out of Azzano. And he looks… bigger. His shoulders and his arms. Arm. His one arm. 

But mostly he looks…haunted.

Well. he has just woken up in the wrong country, in what seems like the wrong year. With no idea what has happened to get him here. So that really makes sense.

He takes a good minute to remove the leather contraption he’s wearing as a jacket and stares at his chest in the mirror. It takes him a minute of staring to catch his breath because what he’s looking at, the reflection of his own body, it’s… horrific. It’s… a nightmare. 

The skin around where the metal of the arm is fused to him is red and raw and painful. Covered in scar tissue. And it feels so heavy. It’s pulling at him, from the inside. Like someone has a hand inside him and is just twisting and yanking at chords of muscle, cutting into his bones. 

His chest is bruised, but nothing seems damaged. It feels like broken ribs that have been healing for weeks. Though he knows he heals fast now. Faster than before the war for sure. Gabe was always questioning him about it. Never happy to just let it go. 

And wow, okay, the muscle there is so much bigger that he remembers. Sort of like Steve’s, what he’d seen of it (tried not to look too hard, too much) the few times they’d been thrown into the same tent, or woken up from having rolled into each other camping out with the boys and washing what they could reach with freezing cold water from their canteens. 

Bucky never mentioned it, because it made Steve uncomfortable, when people talked about him the way they did. About the size of him, the look of him, the strength of him. So Bucky let the changes fly over his head and he paid attention to the important stuff instead. Was Steve eating enough for his twice as big body now? Was he sleeping enough? He seemed plenty warm, Bucky could never quite get over all that nice new warmth (Bucky’s Steve, brooklyn Steve, had always been so cold, Bucky had had to force blood into that kid’s toes with his own hands too many times to count), but was he breathing good, did his back hurt, was he getting everything he needed?

Turned out Bucky didn’t need to worry about that stuff too much after Azzano (didn’t stop him, he just learned to hide it better). 

Turns out Bucky has bigger things to worry about now. 

He throws up most of what he eats. He keeps some of the water down, refills the bottle from the tap. He washes himself as best he can with what he has and dresses in the shirt and sweater from the visitors store, drags himself back out of the bathroom, and passes a stand of pamphlets on the way to the door.

And one of them catches his eye. It has dates on it. Tour dates, it says, for March. March of 2014. 

2014.

Bucky has woken up in the future. Seventy years in the future. 

He gets behind the store counter and finds more papers with the date on them. Everything he can find is dated up to december 2013. So maybe that’s when it is. Although it seems like the place has been closed for a while - so maybe it’s later than that. 

Bucky sinks down to the floor and rests his head against the counter. He closes his eyes. Maybe if he sleeps again he can wake up back in 1945. And this is something that he and Stevie can laugh about. Maybe he can tell Stark about it.

Maybe he’ll find a flying car. 

He can’t sleep anyhow. Everything hurts. He feels so sick. And hot. And cold.

After a while he gets up again and finds a map of where he is. Maryland. He’s not far from Washington actually, he could probably walk the distance in a few hours (maybe more than that - in his current state) and in the city he’d have access to more information. He could find out… anything. Anything that might help him figure out how he got here. Why he might be here, How he can get back.

So he has a plan. And that’s what his brain needs to push that pain away again. He can do this. He can stay on task. He can get information.

And that’s what he does. He sticks close to the road, but far enough away to avoid suspicion, or cars. (The cars! They don’t fly, but fuck are they fast, and big! And colourful!)

It takes him much longer than it should. But he gets there. He avoids the smaller towns because he won’t be able to blend in there, he avoids the smell of the food from the roadside restaurants which has him bringing up more bile. Sipping more water. He follows the not great map and makes the best decisions he can make in the moment to get himself across the bridge. And then another bridge. And then finally he’s in Washington.

It’s more than his senses can take. It’s huge. The buildings are huge. The roads are crazy. The people are everywhere.

It’s not that different from what he remembers, but just more somehow. He has the hood of his sweater up to cover his mess of hair, as much of his face as he can. And it's a very good thing. Because the first image that accosts him, from screens that cover a back wall of the first busy bar he walks into, screens with colour pictures, brilliant pictures, is his own haunted face.

It’s Bucky, this new terrifying version. And he’s reeking havoc. Shooting up a crowded street. He’s watching the pictures and it has him ready to vomit again, though there’s truly nothing left in his stomach, and he’s on his way to find a bathroom or a dumpster to do just that, when the image on the screen changes and it's Steve.

It’s Steve.

He looks dead.

He’s being lifted onto a stretcher, he’s being placed into an ambulance. Bucky uses his hearing, hones in on the newscasters voice to hear her say he’s being taken to a hospital. She doesn’t say which one.

So that leaves Bucky to figure out how many hospitals there are and just go to them all until he finds him. 

And then the footage changes again and it’s Bucky again… and he’s… he’s shooting at Steve in the street. 

Oh god, no. That’s not right. That’s not him. He wouldn’t do that. Maybe Hydra cloned him. Maybe the pictures aren’t real…

But he can feel in his gut that something is so very wrong

Oh god.

Oh god.

He needs to find Steve, he needs to get out of here, he needs to breathe. To breathe. People are starting to stare and he has to get out. He bursts onto the street and runs. To anywhere, he doesn’t know. His legs give out soon enough and he ducks behind a building to collapse. 

He breathes. He keeps breathing until he starts to calm down. The nausea passes somewhat. The image of Steve lifted into an ambulance, being shot at in the street, is enough to shut the panic down. There is important work to be done, he has no time to fall apart. He needs to find Steve.

It takes him a few small thefts here and there, the minor break in of an unoccupied newsstand, to find a page of hospital listings and directions to follow.

It takes him even longer to find the right hospital.

But when he comes upon Medstar Georgetown University Hospital, the extra hustle and bustle, the armed men at the main entrance, he figures this has to be the place. Bucky pulls his hood low, (he’s had his metal hand kept securely slotted into one of his many pockets all night) and finds the easiest and least noticeable way to get inside through a huge concreted underground parking garage where the staff entrance is sitting completely empty of armed men. 

Once inside he sticks to the crowded areas, watches the movements of the people looking the most military, they’re milling mostly around the third floor. At least they're looking after Steve better here than at the entrance. But Bucky will have to be more careful because of it. A hooded sweater and an indifferent attitude probably won't get him to Steve unnoticed. 

He takes note of the people looking the most harried, the most like hospital staff. It's hard to tell the doctors from the nurses from the orderlies, they all seem to be wearing different versions of the same uniform. Almost like pyjamas. And this could work in Bucky’s favour. He takes his time to wander back down to the floor below and finds a tall silver trolley full of folded linens and clothing, he requisitions some of the pyjama like pants and a matching shirt and then from an unoccupied utility closet, finds a hair net to hide his mess of hair up into and blue gloves to pull over his hands. He squeezes his way to getting changed inside the closet, leaving the long sleeve t-shirt under the uniform to cover his metal arm and straightens it all out as best he can. He grabs a folder from a nearby desk, just like the ones he sees other hospital staff walking around with, no one is paying him any mind, and then makes his way back upstairs. 

And from there it's a snipers game. At least an hour of watching and waiting, breathing through pain and nausea, until he finds his opportunity to get into Steve’s room. A man he recognises from the footage at the bar, footage of Bucky shooting at Steve, a man who had been wearing wings and flying, actually flying through the sky, exits the room and speaks to the guards before leaving for parts unknown. 

And Bucky, who has passed the guards now a few times looking busy, passes by them now into Steve's room with a nod and one of his most casually trustworthy smiles (Bucky knows just how to use his face to get out of trouble - even as sallow and pale as he is looking right now). And he stops short at what he finds inside. 

Bucky is all too aware of how much damage Steve can take in his new body. But this is…

This is terrifying.

His face is black and blue, bloody, swollen. Bucky might say unrecognisable, but it would be a lie. Bucky doesn't need to see Steve's face to recognise him. Bucky could recognise Steve by the sound of his breathing, by the smell of him. By the essence of his presence alone. Bucky would know Steve anywhere.

Did he do this? 

Did Bucky do this to Steve?

His moment of indecision doesn't last. He's propelled forward by the movement of Steve's chest rising. By the flutter of his ridiculous lashes. He presses close to Steve, leaning over from his bedside, touching him gently with his flesh and blood hand, his own hand, to feel the warmth of him through the bedclothes, through the gloves. 

A sigh of relief runs through Bucky at that familiar warmth under his fingertips. 

And it's as Bucky stands by Steve's side, hand flat against his chest, face just inches from Steve’s, that those bright summer blue eyes Bucky knows so well blink slowly open. His head turns just a little to look up at Bucky and his cracked, bruised, bleeding lips spread into a smile.

'Steve?' Bucky whispers, 'Oh thank god, Stevie.'

But something in his tone hits wrong. Some kind of desperation maybe, because Steve’s smile is waning. A hardness is flooding his expression. The more conscious he becomes, the angrier he looks. 

He pulls back from Bucky, just a fraction. An inch at most. But it's a chasm to Bucky, that distance. And Bucky pulls back too, instinctively, removing hishand from Steve’s chest. 

Steve looks at him, at as much of Bucky as he can see from the position he's in, and then to the room around them. 'What is this?'

‘Steve?’

‘Who are you?’ His eyes are flicking around the room like he’s looking for clues. He’s panicking.

'It's me, Stevie, it's Bucky.' Bucky uses the calm voice he always needed to bring Steve back from an episode. ‘It’s me.’

'No.'

And that hurts. That cuts into Bucky like a blade. This is his Steve, he knows it. But maybe… maybe in the future Steve doesn't know him? Doesn't remember him? 

He steps back a little and takes the net from his hair. 'I look different, I know,' he says, working to keep his breathing even, to keep the stress out of his voice,  'Something… something happened to me.'

And Steve is looking at him. Watching him. Bucky lifts his chin, tries to let Steve see him. Looks him in the eye and hopes, prays, that Steve can see him in there. 'Bucky?' Steve finally whispers, reaching towards Bucky with an aborted movement, 'Buck?' He says louder, slipping as he tries to sit himself up in bed.

‘It’s me, it is me,’ Bucky says, placing his hand on Steve’s shoulder, trying to discourage him from moving and dislodging the cacophony of tubes that seem to be connected to him and a million pieces of flashing, beeping equipment.

Steve looks down at the hand on his shoulder, the metal hand, not really Bucky’s, and Bucky reaches down to slip his real hand, his right hand, over Steve’s where it rests on the bed. ‘It’s really you?’

And Bucky wants to cry at the relief in  Steve's tone. But it scares him too. 'Oh god, Stevie' - his breath hitches on Steve’s name - 'oh god, what happened to us?'

'Its okay, Bucky, it's okay,' Steve is shushing him, has reached his other hand over to cover Bucky’s where it covers Steve’s, 'It's not your fault, it wasn't your fault.'

'Wasn't my fault?' Bucky asks, not understanding.

'Hydra, any of it. What they did to you. What you did. It wasn't you.'

(Hydra. It's always Hydra, isn't it? Whenever he closes his eyes he can feel them waiting there in his nightmares. Of course they would be torturing him still. All the way into the future).

‘What they did?’ Bucky asks again, and then hears Steve’s words, remembers the film stock from the screens at the bar, ‘What I did?’

‘You don’t remember?’

'I don’t really remember much,’ he says, shaking his head like he can jog something loose, find something hidden, ‘How did we get to the future, Steve?'

And Steve is looking at him. His eyes wide. He's working himself up the bed, up to a sitting position - despite how painful it must be. 'What do you remember, Bucky?'

‘I…’ Bucky looks at Steve, at the raised eyebrows, at the clenched jaw, the tight fisted grip he has on the sheets under Bucky’s hand, ‘I remember the train,’ he says, swallowing, trying to fit his horror into a small, sealable box, ‘I remember falling,’ he looks aways from Steve for the first time since he entered the room, ‘I remember your face, getting further and further away.’

Steve’s breathing has ticked up. He’s doing that thing he does to hide his short sharp breaths from Bucky, but this is not an asthma attack, this is anxiety. This is worry. For Bucky. ‘Buck, it’s okay.’

‘I woke up on the side of a river, in a national park, not in Austria, in America, Steve, and it’s twenty goddam fourteen,’ he’s whispering and it’s painful, he’s got no control over the words, they just come right out of his mouth, like more bile, ‘I woke up in the future Steve, the future! What happened, why was I shooting at you? Why was I shooting at everybody? What did they do to me?’

Steve is reaching up one of his giant hands to cup it around the back of Bucky’s neck, squeezes it, kneads his thumb into the pressure point below Bucky’s ear. Bucky just leans into it, leans into Steve’s fingers, their weight around his neck. Leans into that comfort. ‘Bucky look at me, listen to me,’ Steve turns his laser focus to Bucky’s eyes and holds him firm, ‘You weren’t you, when you were shooting at me, you were compromised-’

Bucky dreads to think what compromised means, especially the way it sticks to Steve’s tongue, like he can barely get the word out.

‘-But, Buck, we need to get you out of here,’ Steve looks around at the rest of the room, at the door, at where he’s probably sure the guards will be standing, ‘Sam and Nat will be around somewhere, hopefully, and I can probably get them to help us, but nobody else can see you, okay?’

Bucky is nodding, he figured as much anyway, but he doesn't want to interrupt Steve, not when he’s so spooked. And Bucky can hear the flying guy on his way back, can hear him talking to the guards outside, and quickly adjusts the net back over his hair, tucking it away. Steve must be able to hear him too, because he’s moving his hand down from Bucky’s neck and back to the bed.

Bucky feels the absence of it like a blow. 

And when the door opens Steve holds out a hand to the man who freezes at the sight of Bucky. Looks to Steve and puts his hands up. Lets the door close behind him and doesn’t take his eyes of Steve and Bucky.

‘Steve?’ the man asks, doesn’t elaborate.

‘It’s okay, he’s friendly, he won't hurt us,’ Steve is saying, calm and even, like he’s talking to a skittish animal, ‘Sam, don’t do anything, just hear me out.’

Bucky wants to shrink into himself. Wants to disappear for putting that look on the man, Sam’s, face. ‘Okay,’ Sam says, his voice low and rich, his arms loose and by his sides, ‘You have ten seconds.’

Bucky is pretty sure that won’t be enough.

#stucky fic #bucky barnes recovering #hurt/comfort #angst #4k words #my fics #my writing #whumptober

[gongju-juice]

8. Once Upon a Southern Night

The Wrath of Nature

Warnings: Fighting, the usual, language

It was a cold, damp morning when they arrived. Nature seemed to acknowledge the supernatural army’s presence, for not even a bird or cricket made a single chirp in the golden morning. Beside you, Jasper, your family, your friends, Zacarias, and the wolf tribe stood. You held your boyfriend’s hand, trying not to tremble from pure fear and the billowing wind that was so oddly cold this late in the spring. 

And when you saw her, your terror quadrupled. 

Her olive skin lightly sparkled in the morning rays, thick, black hair cascading elegantly down her bare, uncovered shoulders. She was dressed like she could be headed to Florida for vacation instead of the chilly environment that was Washington. Her piercing red eyes found yours, and your heart quivered in response.

Preston was even more unnerving. His hair had been let down, straight and free which covered his ears. He wore a long black coat that stopped at his mid-thighs as well as a wide-brimmed hat and leather black boots. He was eerily relaxed for a person who intended to go to war. 

Behind them were the newborns. They sauntered in the shadow of the trees, their glowing eyes full of hate and pure instinct. Some were young—looking no older than the age of fifteen. Others appeared to be in their late twenties. But none were over the age of thirty.

“Friends,” Maria called, but her voice was barely loud enough for you to make out. She was having a private conversation with the wolves, one she did not intend for you to hear. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen some of your faces. You, especially, Jasper. It’s been—what? Just over a century now.”

“Take your newborns and leave,” Jasper advised. “We left on a mutual agreement that you supported my search for tranquility. Does that agreement no longer stand?”

She tsked. “Jasper, Jasper, ever the romantic. You never liked violence, did you? I may be immortal, but a hundred years is still a long time. And besides, the Captain made such a tempting offer.”

Preston walked a few paces forward, his heels crunching in the soft grass. “I’ve waited forever for this. I thought my Camille was gone forever, that is, until I heard of a little baby being born in New Orleans. You wouldn’t believe how fast news spreads in the Crescent City.”

“So why didn’t you take her then?” your mother demanded. “Before I adopted her, before she had the chance to fall in love with Jasper, her mate?”

“I had to get my thirst under control. Living completely unrestrained is so satisfying, but when it comes to associating with humans, it’s impossible to stay decent. I didn’t know at the time that witches could change, but if I did, trust me, you or any of you rotten Cullens would have gotten to her first.”

Your breath caught in your throat. And to think this man had known about you along.

“That’s right, Jasper,” he chuckled, much to Jasper’s dismay. “I was watching from afar—every birthday, every school dance, and every vacation. You think she belongs to you? I know her inside and out, 19th century and 21st century. And when I was finally ready to bring her back with me, you just had to interfere.”

“You disgust me,” you spat. “You couldn’t win me over properly, so you had to become a perv. I will never love you.”

He lifted his head in the air, his dark eyes closed. “Well, then, I guess we’ll have to do things the hard way.”

The newborns behind him began charging, and those around you met them, alabaster limbs meeting alabaster targets. The young vampires were faster, stronger. But the Cullens and your friends’ combined experience forced them back until they could be dealt with individually.

In front of you, Zacarias and Ava worked hard keeping the waves of bodies back. It was then that you noticed the small, determined girl standing in between Maria and Preston. She looked no older than ten, someone who must’ve been easily manipulated to do their bidding. But one thing for sure, she was definitely a witch. And a powerful one at that.

“I should do something!” you cried. “I’m a witch, I can fight!”

Jasper held you back. “Your skills are not up to par. If you go out there, you’ll be killed. Or worse, Preston will get to you.”

Suddenly, a pale white arm came flying past you. Emmett barreled near carrying a decapitated body. His bulging muscles sparkled from the effort.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll have him ‘em all in no time.”

But that’s when Maria broke out of her formation. She wrangled Alice by her throat, her dainty legs swinging in the empty air. 

“If you won’t face me, then I’ll make you come.” 

“Alice, no!”

Jasper sprung towards them, his lightning speed barely registering in your mind. Alice’s face was contorted, the sickening crack of her neck like shattering glass. Maria smiled menacingly.

But before he could get there, his body was gripped in an invisible force that froze him in place. His amber eyes were completely overcome with a blue glow. Zacarias and Ava both worked to free him—Ava concentrating on Maria’s steele grip and Zacarias focusing on the tiny witch’s magic.

The hair behind your ear fluttered, you felt his cold breath in its stead.

“I told you. You are mine, you will always be mine.”

You tried to propel yourself away, but he snatched you by your arm, pulling you across his shoulder like a sack of rice. It was futile to fight like you did, to beat your fists on his back and kick your legs. But nevertheless, you struggled in vain.

“Y/N!” your mother called, but she was thrown down by a newborn so hard, her torso shattered from the force. And Ava, she tried to get to you, but the little witch wrapped her in blue light, her powers and range of mobility completely incapacitated. Meanwhile, Zacarias tried to hold the front for both the vampires and Maria.

This is it, you thought. Back to your chains. Preston would not give up his tirade. His muscles tensed and you sensed he was preparing to run. Before he could do so, however, a line of sun-tanned bodies emerged from the thick throes of the forest.

He stopped, his eyes widening in rage. “No! No! We had a deal!”

The first one to speak had long, gray braids covered in beads and ribbons that fell down her back. Her skin was golden brown and covered in elaborate tattoos which stretched down her arms. 

“The deal was that you’d take care of the girl, restore her back to her proper time. That was the only reason we allowed Maaliyah to come with you. But then we learned your true intentions—and no witch would ever bring you back to the 19th century.”

He shook his head, placing you on the ground beside him. “We belong together, Queen Lovie. In the 1860s. Help us restore the timeline, we don’t belong here.”

“No,” she said, “you do. You’re a vampire, you aged as a vampire should. But she was de-aged and taken to this time and century. She will go back, but you will stay.”

She waved her hand, and you were blinded in white light.

You looked around and you were standing in the Oakleigh mansion’s library. A wall of books lined the wall, silk curtains fluttering from the afternoon breeze. In the corner of the room was a crumpled American flag on the cherry wood floor, and up on the wall was the red and blue Confederate flag proudly displayed on the wall. 

You approached the glossy desk, examining the thin papers covering the surface. A broad newspaper, The Mobile Press Register, sat on one of the open bibles. The date at the top read, December 25, 1862.

“It’s you,” you whispered, lifting your eyes. “You’re my mother.”

She was dressed in a servant’s dress, her thick hair unmoisturized and unkempt due to the hard years of work in the fields. But she looked just like you, and she resembled your sister, Ava. 

“For years I’ve watched you from the spirit realm, watching you grow and mature under the care of a stranger. I watched you do things your father and I only dreamed we could see come true.” Reaching forward, she brushed her calloused fingers against your cheek.

You were filled with memories from another life—playing in dirt-floor shacks, braiding the other little girls’ hair with flowers and twigs, singing songs by the riverside on Sunday mornings. It was your life on the plantation, a happy, pleasant life. Your happiness did not solely revolve around Preston, and for years, the two of you encountered a rift from the ages of ten until fifteen. 

It wasn’t until his sixteen birthday did he start looking at you in that way, and it was only because his friends and male family members did it first. He wanted his own girl to call his own, something he could completely control and possess outside the realm of fancy dresses the daughters of wealthy girls flaunted when they visited the estate.

He never loved you—not the way a real man loves a woman. If his desire had a color, it would be blazing red. But Jasper. Jasper’s love was tender like lavender. Gentle and light like cornflower blue.

“I won’t let them undo what I sacrificed my life for,” she promised. “I knew they would try this eventually. That’s why I cast a spell, forever keeping you in the future. I won’t let you come back to this place, I won’t ever let you experience that pain—the pain you felt when my grandchild was lost.”

She waved her hand, and the view of the room began to fade.

“Please, Mama!” you cried, falling to your knees and the skirt of her dress. “I will never see you again! I lost so many good memories of you. . .I don’t even remember your name.”

She kneeled down, placing a feather-like kiss on the top of your forehead. Together, you cried in the receding reality of the room. She was sending you back home.

“Nothing—not time nor man—could take you away from me, baby. I will always be in your heart, even if you can’t quite remember it all. I would rather you hold on to the feeling, the love we had, rather than the details. Take that love and give it to Carmine, to the Cullens, and to Jasper.”

You opened her eyes, and she was gone. Elizabeth. Her name was Elizabeth.

“That damned woman,” Queen Lovie laughed mirthlessly, her hands resting on her hips. “She just don’t know when to quit—even after death. Well then, I guess if the Goddess would have it so, there’s nothing we can do.”

“But what about us?” Preston shouted. “The deal we had?”

“There is no deal, don’t you see? If she would have you, then by all means, I wish you a happily ever after. But it seems she hates you as much as you hate yourself,” Darla, Queen Lovie’s attendant, snapped. “And the witches have nothing to do with that.”

Maria’s grip failed, and Alice came bouncing to her feet as she ran away. Now the playing field was unequally matched. The newborns, in the meantime, were slaughtered by the Cullens and friends, it was just Maria and Preston on the opposing side. 

“It’s over,” you said. “You lost. Accept it, and move on. Life isn’t over, Preston. You have centuries to change your ways.”

He hung his head, fists curled at his side. He lunged.

You held him in mid-air. Your meeting with your mother completely empowered you. You were not some scared little girl. He did not own you, and he never would.

“I could kill you. Nobody would ever miss you. Nobody would ever care. But your life is not mine to claim. Every creature is subject to the wrath of nature, and you will meet that same fate.”

He shuddered violently before his eyes transformed from its vibrant crimson to their river gray. His brilliant pale skin became darker and darker until it was naturally tan, and the inhuman strength once residing within him gradually drained away.

“What. . .what did you do to me?”

“I made you human,” you explained. “To reflect on your actions. No matter what, if a vampire ever tries to turn you, not only will you die, but they will die too. You’re going to spend the next seventy or so years of your human existence regretting ever threatening my family. Since you blame Jasper so much for your vampiric life, you can thank him for delivering you back out into your second human life.”

He fell to the ground, coughing at the sudden impact. Maria’s wild eyes flashed at you, weighing her options. But you knew and she knew; she couldn’t get away.

“But you, bitch, I’m sending you straight to hell.”

When it was over, everybody rushed to their loved ones, throwing their arms around them, holding them close. The emotions were too much, you cried into Jasper’s chest as he cradled you. You refused to put him through the pain of killing two of the closest people in his lives. Yes, the Major would relish in their deaths, but Jasper—your Jasper would feel their pain. He would never be the same.

He didn’t have to say anything, but he professed his love for you as he held you quietly in the midst of the celebration. You were finally together, obstructed by no one or nothing. He reciprocated your emotions which multiplied twice as much, which then came back to you once again. It was a never ending cycle of love and joy, you felt high off of it.

“She really is the most powerful witch there is,” Zacarias said, breathlessly. “Her mother passed on her powers. She. . .teach me for crying out loud!”

Your mom, Carmine, wrapped you and Jasper both in her strong embrace. You didn’t feel the loss of a mother, but the addition of another. One to watch you on Earth and another to watch you in heaven.

One more chapter left and it’s sMuT.

Be safe mah bois, and remember: Black Lives Matter

@frozenhuntress67

Part Six  Part Seven

#jasper hale #jasper hale imagines #jasper hale x reader #twilight #twilight imagines #twilight x reader #carlisle cullen #edward cullen #esme cullen #emmett cullen #rosalie cullen #alice cullen

[lallemanting]

where the love light gleams

read on ao3 // 2.5k words

Lucas swears he didn’t mean to find the box, but he can’t help it.

Or Lucas can’t help looking for his Christmas presents and Eliott can’t help messing with him.

––  Lucas swears he didn’t mean to find the box, but he can’t help it. 

He’s always had trouble keeping Christmas presents a surprise despite his best efforts, often finding himself poking around in drawers he shouldn’t be and peeking into the back of closets and under the bed just to see before the day.

The first time he’d ever looked was one December when his parents left him home alone and he caught sight of a pile of unwrapped items hidden under his parent’s bed. He’d found a new video game he’d been dying to get and spent the rest of the month excitedly awaiting the chance to play it. It made the anticipation almost better and his parents were never the wiser.

Then, of course, when things got bad and Lucas eventually ended up living in the coloc, he didn’t have the same opportunity to snoop around for his presents. So when he and Eliott finally moved in together five years ago, he’d started the whole thing again. It was an accident the first time, finding a new pair of really nice headphones tucked in Eliott’s underwear drawer when he was putting away their laundry. And then it kept happening. But Lucas was good at acting surprised, and Eliott was never the wiser, so no harm no foul and all that.

Or so he thought.

But this year he’d found a small box, already gift wrapped, hidden away in the bedside table on Eliott’s side of the bed. It was something they’d talked a lot about in the past year and Lucas was at the point where he was about to do it himself if Eliott didn’t soon, so finding this box that was just the right size and hidden somewhere Lucas knew Eliott kept precious things, was just enough for the eager anticipation to take over.

“I think Eliott’s going to propose,” Lucas says excitedly to Yann one night a few weeks before Christmas. They’re sitting in Yann’s apartment playing video games and Lucas can’t keep it to himself anymore, desperately wanting to let someone in on his excitement.

“Of course he is,” Yann says, not looking away from the game.

Lucas rolls his eyes. “No, I think he’s going to propose soon, like on Christmas.”

Yann does look at him then. “What makes you say that?”

Lucas blushes. “I may have found...a box,” he replies sheepishly.

“Lucas,” Yann groans, “found or went looking for?”

Lucas just shrugs. 

“You have to stop doing that!” Yann says. “You have to stop ruining stuff for yourself. I’m sure Eliott’s trying to surprise you!”

And yes, knowing Eliott and his penchant for grand romantic gestures, he probably has some elaborate proposal planned that was supposed to catch Lucas off guard even though they’ve talked about getting engaged before. But it’s not like Lucas has ruined the whole plan for himself, he just found the box! So, in reality, the only thing he’s ruined is when it’s going to happen.

“I can’t help it,” Lucas says. “I’m naturally curious!”

Yann rolls his eyes. “What makes you so sure it’s a ring anyway? Lots of things can fit in a box that size.”

“Like what?” Lucas shoots back, not wanting to dull his excitement. He knows it’s a ring. It has to be.

“I don’t know,” Yann says. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed if it’s not.”

“It will be,” Lucas says. He’s sure.

–– 

It’s Christmas Eve and Lucas is buzzing with excitement. He and Eliott got back from lunch at his mother’s a few hours ago and are going to Eliott’s parents tomorrow for Christmas dinner, but for now, he has Eliott all to himself.

They’re sitting on the couch, legs tangled, Lucas resting his head against Eliott’s chest, Eliott’s arm wrapped around him, his cheek resting on Lucas’ hair. It’s warm there in Eliott’s embrace, the lights from their Christmas tree reflecting in their window against the dark sky outside as a Christmas movie plays quietly on the television. Lucas sighs contentedly and shuffles closer to Eliott, pressing a soft kiss to Eliott’s jaw.

And it would be perfect, really, if only Lucas couldn’t see the small box sitting there atop a pile of other presents under their tree. But with the box in his line of vision, his heart starts pounding and really, he’s been patient, totally and dutifully patient for the past few weeks as he waited for Christmas to arrive. But now it’s the night before and he’s not so patient anymore.

“Hey baby?” he whispers, shifting in Eliott’s arms just enough to press a small kiss to the corner of Eliott’s mouth.

“Hmm?” Eliott asks, blinking a few times like Lucas is waking him up from a trance, sighing as Lucas presses another kiss to his cheek.

“I have an idea,” Lucas says, trying, and failing, to keep his voice quiet and devoid of any obvious excitement.

Eliott lifts his eyebrow. “Oh? What’s that?”

Lucas smiles and raises his hand to brush his fingers across Eliott’s cheekbone. “Well it’s Christmas Eve…”

“It is.”

“And I thought it might be nice to uh, open a present tonight.”

Eliott smirks at him. “Oh yeah?”

“Uh huh,” Lucas replies, brushing Eliott’s hair off his forehead. “Just one, you know, because we have to drive to your parents kind of early tomorrow and I just thought it’d be fun and…” He trails off. Eliott smiles.

“Okay,” Eliott replies. “If you want.”

“Okay!” Lucas says excitedly, grabbing Eliott’s face in his hands and kissing him quickly before scrambling off his lap and heading towards the tree. He pretends to search through the presents to choose one, as if he hadn’t been eyeing the small box all evening, before finally reaching for it. “Okay, I’ll open this one! Which one do you want?”

He turns around to find Eliott smiling at him fondly, his face shifting at the sight of Lucas holding the box. “Oh I don’t care. Pick one for me.”

Lucas turns back to the tree and selects one of the gifts he’d been most excited to give to Eliott, looking forward to seeing his reaction. 

“This one,” he says, pulling it out from under the pile and nearly skipping back towards the couch, sitting down next to Eliott and facing him with one of his legs bent up on the couch. “You can open it first.”

Eliott laughs and reaches for the gift, taking it from Lucas’ hands. “Okay, love, give it here.”

Lucas leans back against the couch and tries to ignore the weight of the small box in his hands, instead focusing on Eliott methodically unwrapping the gift in front of him. It was one of the small things Lucas loves about him, that he’s the kind of person to treat wrapping paper delicately, running his finger between the paper to slice the tape, unfolding the paper with care instead of just tearing into it. He pulls the paper back to see the gift – a leather bound sketchbook with the words “minute par minute” embossed on the front cover, and a gentle smile spreads across his face.

“It’s beautiful, Lucas,” he whispers, smoothing his hand across the surface. He reaches for him, and kisses him soft and long, Lucas nearly melting in his embrace. “Thank you.” 

“I’m glad you like it,” Lucas whispers back.

“Okay, now your turn,” Eliott says excitedly, leaning back as Lucas finds himself chasing his lips, having nearly forgotten about the box clutched in his hands. 

Nearly but not quite.

“Yes, okay,” Lucas says, and then he’s ripping into the paper, nowhere near as delicate as Eliott has been. He doesn’t mind making a mess.

And then the box is in his hands, the velvety exterior soft in his palm, and his heart is beating so so fast as he removes the lid and looks inside–

His heart drops. It’s not a ring. Instead in the box he finds a small silver ornament shaped like a heart with “L+E” engraved neatly in the center. He pulls it out of the box and stares down at it, trying not to let the disappointment show on his face. It’s a beautiful ornament, it is. And Eliott went out and personalized it just for the two of them. And just because it’s not a ring doesn’t mean that they won’t ever get engaged, just maybe Lucas will have to do it, or it’ll happen later and it’s okay, really, because even this ornament shows just how much Eliott loves him, so it’s fine. It was just that he let himself build up his excitement. It’s okay.

He smiles and then looks up at Eliott to find him looking back at him, a crooked smile on his face, his mouth rearranging from some expression Lucas can’t quite place.

“Do you like it?” Eliott asks excitedly.

“It’s perfect,” Lucas replies. “It’ll look amazing on our tree.” He leans over and kisses Eliott, softly at first, and then reaching out and tilting Eliott’s head to kiss him more deeply, pulling back to rest their foreheads together.

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you too,” Eliott replies, giggling. “Wanna hang it on the tree?”

“Of course baby,” Lucas says. And he has to admit, it does look pretty perfect there, nestled among the branches of their tree, in their apartment. And it’s perfect, just like that. 

And that night, with Eliott wrapped neatly around him, his nose nestled into the back of Lucas’ neck, placing soft kisses there as they fall asleep, Lucas can’t help but think that as excited as he was all December at the thought of Eliott proposing, this, Eliott there in their bed holding him, is all he really needs. He’s happy with Eliott and with them, just as they are.

––

Lucas wakes in the morning to soft golden light streaming through their curtains and an empty bed. 

He rolls over, feeling for Eliott to pull him close, wrap himself in his arms for a little longer, and enjoy the bubble that morning usually provides. But as he reaches for him, he finds his side of the bed empty, his sheets cold.

He sits up, slightly groggy, and looks around as if Eliott might still be in their room, when he hears soft music playing from their living room. He smiles to himself and swings his feet to the floor, standing and pulling on one of Eliott’s shirts that he finds draped over the chair in the corner. The shirt is too big on him, falling to mid-thigh, but it smells like Eliott, which is all Lucas really cares out. 

He makes his way out of their room and towards the music, which he now realizes is probably what woke him up. He recognizes it as Eliott’s Christmas playlist that he’s made Lucas listen to on repeat for the past month. 

“Eliott?” he calls out softly, trying to figure out if he’s in the kitchen or the living room. When he doesn’t get a response he heads towards the living room, thinking Eliott is probably there drinking his coffee.

He’s not expecting it when he walks into the room. He’s not expecting the elaborate strings of Christmas lights covering the walls and draped along the couch. He’s not expecting the breakfast spread across the coffee table, or the candles placed strategically around the room. He can’t help the way he gasps, the way he smiles wide.

“Hey love,” he hears behind him and he whips around to find Eliott there. Except he’s not standing, he’s kneeling, like Lucas has been imagining for months, on one knee.

“Hi,” Lucas manages to squeak out, his voice caught in his throat as tears suddenly well up.

“You’re a very difficult man to surprise,” Eliott says, smirking up at him. “I knew you’d go looking, so I wanted to throw you off.”

Lucas gasps pretending to be affronted, but nothing can stop his smile, not now. “You knew about that?”

“You’re not as good of an actor as you think,” Eliott replies. “And normally I don’t care. But for this, I did. So, sorry baby.”

Lucas laughs. “It’s okay. I deserved it.”

“You did,” Eliott says, and he’s smiling up at him as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box, extremely similar in shape and size to the one that had been under the tree for Lucas the night before. He opens it and holds it up, Lucas’ heartbeat picking up as he sees the silver ring sitting inside. 

“Lucas, my love,” Eliott starts, his eyes growing suspiciously wet as he speaks. He pauses and swallows hard as Lucas looks down at him. “You know, I had a lot of things I planned to say but right now I cannot, for the life of me, remember what they were. So all I’m gonna say is you’re the best thing in my life and I’m so grateful every day that I get to love you. And that, somehow, I get to know what it’s like to have you love me back. And I would love nothing more than to have that for the rest of my life. So I have a question.”

Lucas nods, grinning now. “Okay,” he replies. “What’s your question?”

Eliott grins back. “Lucas, baby, will you marry me?”

The question is barely out of his mouth before Lucas is reaching down to pull Eliott up in a kiss, wrapping his arms around his neck and swaying them as Eliott wraps his arms around Lucas’ waist and picks him up, spinning around in a circle. He places Lucas gently back on the ground and they’re giggling and Lucas is pressing kisses all over Eliott’s face as he blushes, the ring box pressing into Lucas’ back.

“So, I’ll take that as a yes?” Eliott asks him quietly as Lucas presses a kiss to his temple.

“Yes, Eliott,” Lucas replies, moving his mouth to press the words into Eliott’s lips. “Yes.”

Eliott reaches down and slides the ring onto Lucas’ finger and then they’re kissing again desperate to be close in their happiness.

In a little while they’ll calm down enough to eat breakfast, hands holding beneath the table as they sit on their floor. And then they’ll call Lucas’ mom and they’ll tell Eliott’s parents by Lucas not-so-subtly flashing the ring as they walk through the door.

But for now, Lucas decides to tell one person, someone who’s had to deal with Lucas whining about it the entire month. He could explain, really, all the details, but he figures it’s unimportant that the first box wasn’t actually what he thought. Instead he just picks up his phone and sends a text to Yann: I was right. 

#skam france #elu #elu fic #skamfr #christmas fic #i dont even know this idea popped into my head this morning #so i had to write it #it is PURE FLUFF #my writing

[jancmalandra]

On being fashionable

Snufkin and Moomintroll arrived in Calais in late December. The famous beaches were almost entirely deserted. Finding a place to make camp where they wouldn't draw attention to themselves was still a challenge. After all, they were freeloading in one of the most expensive tourist traps in the world. Snufkin knew the terrain surprisingly well for someone who avoided cities like the plague. He led Moomintroll to a small patch of beach that was surrounded by a very steep cliff, and they both pitched their tents. Moomintroll couldn't have helped noticing that Snufkin had been pitching his tent just a little bit closer to his every day, and this brought Moomintroll a great deal of secret joy.

"Do you come here every year?", asked Moomintroll as the pair of them walked down the beach, looking for a good spot to do some surf fishing.

"Not always.", said Snufkin. "Sometimes I wander through wine country aimlessly until February, when it's time for me to head back North to Moominvalley. Sometimes I follow the Mediterranean coast until then. One time, I decided to see how deeply inside Russia I could get before I had to turn around. Now that was a real adventure! But, despite the city behind it, this beach is amazingly beautiful without all the people crowding out nature, so I find myself drawn to it every other year or so."

It really hit home to Moomintroll that the entire world had always been open to Snufkin. Snufkin could have gone anywhere on the planet anytime he chose every year, and yet he had always returned to Moominvalley for every Spring and Summer, returned to see him again. Moomintroll realized in an instant of enlightenment that all of his uncertainty about how Snufkin felt about him over the years had been entirely wrong. Snufkin had always loved him; he had just kept his love hidden from himself somewhere deep inside. Moomintroll felt hot tears of grateful love streaming down his face that he couldn't stop. He looked out at the surf crashing on the beach and dropped his fishing rod and ran towards the breakers and dove straight in to clear his head. Moomins are born swimmers: their thick fur and natural layer of fat make them very close to marine mammals. The frigid water, which would have deterred any other swimmer, felt pleasantly cool to Moomintroll.

Snufkin watched his beloved leap from the surf like a dolphin with joyous awe at first. Then suddenly, his face contorted with panicked realization. He immediately sped up the beach towards the deserted shopping area just beyond the last set of dunes. Twenty minutes later, Moomintroll emerged from the surf and shook the water off himself, feeling thoroughly refreshed. He opened his eyes to see Snufkin standing before him, blushing nearly purple, sweating bullets, and holding out a mysterious folded piece of cloth for Moomintroll to take.

"H-here, Moomintroll," said Snufkin, suddenly putting the ill-fitting dark green poncho over his head, "This should keep you from getting sunburned." His voice was weak and completely unconvincing.

"Whatever are you talking about, Snufkin?", said Moomintroll, bewildered by the gift. "I've never gotten a sunburn in my life! Come to think of it, I'm not sure it's possible for Moomins to get sunburned! This might come in handy in case of rain, but until then...." He took off the poncho and folded it under his arm.

"Terribly sorry about this, Moomintroll, but I really must be going now!", said Snufkin all at once and as fast as he could. He immediately took off running down the beach even faster, in a blind panic.

"Well.", said Moomintroll, "I have absolutely no idea what that was all about, but the chase is most definitely on!" He began to gleefully follow Snufkin's footprints in the sand while keeping an eye on his rapidly retreating form running down the wide open beach.

Snufkin really wasn't watching where he was going, so naturally he ran headlong into the only other people on the beach, falling flat on his back when a very large paw stopped him in mid-flight. These people were a garishly dressed Fillyjonk wearing a hideous floor-length fur coat over his blindingly colorful clothing and two enormous Hemulens wearing black suits. The Fillyjonk looked at Snufkin first with utter disdain and disgust, then disturbingly acute, clinical interest.

"Rudolpho requires this....individual and his peculiar clothing!", said the Fillyjonk in a very pretentious tone, "Yes! Yes! Rudolpho has been inspired! He shall become the model for Rudolpho's new Winter fashion line! Max! Benny! Collect this person and bring him to the mansion!" He snapped his fingers at the Hemulens, who immediately picked up Snufkin by his armpits and began dragging him away, closely following Rudolpho!

Moomintroll watched this scene in utter horror from a safe distance, forcing himself not to move. He was keenly aware that he stood absolutely no chance at all against the Hemulens! He cautiously followed the four of them at this distance until they came to an huge three-story mansion with a sprawling pool area that stood just beyond the dunes. The pool area was filled with dozens of fashionable Fillyjonks lounging about in elaborate fur coats in carefully posed laziness. The pool was flanked on either side by two more intimidatingly huge Hemulen bodyguards. The Olympic-length pool split the area in two, and was topped by an impressive stage that had a runway that ran down the middle of the pool.

Moomintroll watched Snufkin being dragged through this scene and into the mansion and out of his sight with mounting panic! He couldn't begin to think how he was going to get in the pool area, much less the mansion, without getting caught, until he noticed something that no one else was paying any attention to: a small army of Moomins serving drinks and cucumber sandwiches, passing out heated towels, etc., and walking in and out of the mansion without being stopped or even checked! It was like finding out that he had at least twenty brothers that Moominmama and Moominpapa had never told him anything about! They were all about Moomintroll's age, size, and color!

Moomintroll gathered his courage, threw aside the poncho, and walked into the pool area and straight into the mansion as if he did this every day of his life! Once inside, he moved carefully, listening and looking for any sign of the Fillyjonk who had kidnapped Snufkin. It didn't take very long before he heard Rudolpho bellowing orders at his underlings down one of the hallways, constantly referring to himself in the third person. Moomintroll turned into that hallway and stood to one side, awaiting his best chance to follow Rudolpho to Snufkin!

Rudolpho came charging down the hallway followed by a gaunt, weary Hemulen carrying a notepad and pen. The Hemulen clearly didn't have the strength to keep up, which inspired Moomintroll to an act of supreme daring: he simply took the notepad and pen and gently patted the Hemulen on the shoulder. The Hemulen simply collapsed where he had been walking and looked up at Moomintroll with extreme gratitude. Moomintroll ran to catch up with Rudolpho, who had completely failed to notice the switch that had just taken place right under his nose.

Rudolpho continued to barrel his way to the other side of the first floor of the mansion, where the dressing rooms for his models lined the main hallway.

"The tailors had better be finished taking the measurements of his clothing by now!", said Rudolpho to himself as he entered the third dressing room down the hallway. Snufkin stood at the center of all the activity in the room, a blank, dazed look on his face! Moomintroll controlled himself with a heroic effort and continued to pretend to take notes while inching away from Rudolpho and into a corner of the room, to reduce his presence as much as possible. Snufkin was surrounded by three Moomin tailors armed with measuring tape, sewing needles and pins and other sewing paraphernalia.

"Well, are we ready to begin mass producing that outfit tomorrow?!", asked Rudolpho testily. The three Moomins nodded yes fearfully and silently. "Good! Make sure that he's ready to go onstage in two hours! Those idiots out there will pay me a fortune to look ridiculous, as usual. My pitches always rope them in." Rudolpho turned and left very suddenly. Once again, he had completely failed to notice Moomintroll's existence, because he didn't return to look for him.

Moomintroll rushed to Snufkin's side and tried to shake him back to his senses, but it was no good! Snufkin looked right through him with the same dazed, unaware expression on his face. Moomintroll could think of only one thing to do. It was also the thing he wanted most to do in the world: he wrapped Snufkin in a powerful embrace and kissed him more passionately than even he had thought possible, bending him over nearly double!

"Moomintroll?!", exclaimed Snufkin, standing them both upright again in surprise, completely snapped out of his stupor, "Is it really you?! I feel like I've been going mad! There's dozens of you everywhere! And then there's that insane Fillyjonk! How on Earth do we get out of here?!"

"You HAVE to trust me, my darling!", said Moomintroll. "I'm making this all up as I go, but things keep falling into place, so we have to keep rolling with it! I think I can create enough chaos for us to escape unnoticed, but we have to get to the stage first!" He turned to the three tailors, who had been deliberately ignoring everything Moomintroll and Snufkin had just said and did. They just stood there as if awaiting further orders. Moomintroll decided to take a really big chance. He swallowed hard and said, in the most imperious tone he could manage, "Rudolpho has changed the entire fashion line! You need to get ALL of the Moomin servants ready to walk the runway in a single line in two hours! They don't need any clothing, they just need to be ready backstage before Rudolpho calls for them! Move it! Move it!"

The tailors scrambled out of the room as quickly as they could, and Moomintroll followed quickly behind, leading Snufkin by his paw. The pair made it to the backstage area without even a glance from the bodyguards. They waited by the rope that controlled the main curtain and one hour and forty-five minutes later every Moomin in the mansion had assembled backstage with them just like clockwork. Rudolpho appeared at the top of the stage on the other side of the curtain, and all of the gathered Fillyjonks fell silent in anticipation.

"My fellow distinguished Fillyjonks!", Rudolpho announced pompously, "I present to you Rudolpho's Winter fashion line, Vagabond Chic, soon to be available at only the finest boutiques for fifty thousand gold pieces an outfit. Only you, Rudolpho's best and most discriminating customers, deserve this product of Rudolpho's unparalleled genius! And now, the first outfit in the line!"

Moomintroll was only too happy to oblige him, and he pulled the rope in his eager paws as hard as he could. The curtain parted, and the Moomins dutifully strutted out on the runway in a long single file line, sashaying and posing in synch with each other as they went. All the Fillyjonks in the pool area immediately erupted in enraged protest, screaming about how Rudolpho was trying to rip them off by making them pay such an outrageous price for clothing that didn't exist! They quickly began gathering their things and they all tried to leave at once, creating a scene of total chaos! Rudolpho was in the middle of the crowd, trying desperately to placate them, all to no avail!

Moomintroll turned to Snufkin and said, "We have to leave right now!" The two struggled through the crowd of enraged Fillyjonks without anyone trying to stop them, eventually making their way out of the pool area and onto the dunes. They immediately ran away from the area of the mansion as fast as their legs could carry them! They finally collapsed next to each other on the beach a full mile away, completely exhausted. When they finally caught their breath, they began laughing hysterically at everything that they had just been through!

"Moomintroll, my dearest," said Snufkin, "You're getting frighteningly good at this sort of thing! I can't thank you enough for saving me!" Snufkin wrapped Moomintroll in his arms and began kneading the muscles of Moomintroll's back like bread dough with his paws! Snufkin kissed him every bit as passionately as he had the very first time under the light of the supermoon, only this time he held the kiss for a solid five minutes! When Snufkin finally came up for air, both their faces were alight with indescribable joy and love!

"That is a REALLY good way to start! Please feel completely free to do that anytime we're cuddling in my tent!", said Moomintroll dizzily. "I think that I finally understand what frightened you in the first place. I want you to know that you never have to push yourself to do anything you're not ready for just to please me. Also, I'm not going to change my personal style any more than I want you to change yours! Neither of us needs fixing, we only need each other. That being said, now that I know that you've started enjoying the view you're getting, I don't ever want you to feel the slightest bit ashamed, or stop staring to your heart's content: it makes me SO very happy!"

"OK.", said Snufkin, his fears once more overcome by Moomintroll's love for him.

The End

#snufmim #snufkin #moomintroll #moominvalley #moomin #fanfic

[mcarfield]

another mcarfield fic

Ahahaha um

please beg me for prompts lol

Secret relationship is a GREAT trope and i am just gonna say right now i’m not going to do it justice because in this context i think it would be like 30 times more of an angsty mindfuck of a proposition than it usually is, but with that warning, here we go:

At first it’s a secret because neither of them are sure it’s real.

Their onstage relationship has bled so thoroughly into their real-life relationship that when the dam finally breaks and they find themselves making out in Andrew’s dressing room one night before the show starts, gasping and clinging and desperate for one another, there’s a moment where they lock eyes and decide by tacit mutual agreement not to talk about it, and James emerges — 10 minutes and an entire millennium later — completely unsure whether he actually just had Andrew Garfield’s cock in his mouth or whether it was all an elaborate roleplay.

Except the next night it’s Andrew who’s on his knees for James, blissed-out and perfect, and James is habitually late to call time, but now they’re suddenly both arriving earlier and earlier, and soon they don’t even bother with pretense; the moment Andrew’s door locks, James has him pressed up against it, his mouth hot against Andrew’s throat, Andrew murmuring his name in broken, bitten-off moans that turn into whispered pleas for more.

He’s so fucking eager for it, and christ, James just had no idea — he could have never imagined this, he could have never conceived of straight-but-burdened-by-the-task-before-him Andrew Garfield dragging his tongue over James’ nipples and shuddering when he makes James gasp.

He could never have imagined Andrew fucking Spider-Man Garfield casually, possessively palming his ass like it’s an item on display at Bergdorf; like he’s fucked and been fucked by other men a million times and now he just wants to skip the freakout and get down to the business of getting James hard and slicked and ready for him to play with.

He just, it’s so much so fast at first that he doesn’t know what to do with it except keep it a secret, because he’s still in shock and still not sure how far this goes for either of them.

Except then Andrew texts him on a Monday morning: come here.

And James obeys, and Andrew spends the rest of the day slowly undoing him and exploring him and filling him and fucking him and it’s so intense and emotional that James almost doesn’t process what Andrew means at first when he kisses James’s shoulder and slides his hands around James’s waist and says softly, “We can’t talk about this.”

James blinks up at him, still muzzy-headed and blissed-out and post-coital. “You mean to anyone, or just to each other?” It comes out a bit rougher than he’d intended, but Andrew just grins at him and then leans down to bite James’s chin.

“No, we should definitely talk about it,” he says. “Just don’t tell anyone else.”

“I don’t do closets,” James tells him, and Andrew just fixes him with a calm, clear-eyed look that says, plain as day: But you’ll do this.

“Jesus,” James breathes, “come here,” and he drags Andrew down into his pristine white bedsheets.

And so begins one of the headiest, most frustrating periods of James’s life.

Something James never fully understood up til now is that every single interaction he and Andrew have ever had was foreplay. All of it, every moment from December 2016 until now, was one giant precursor to sex.

Because now, now that they’ve started routinely putting parts of themselves inside one another, absolutely nothing about the way they interact changes at all. Andrew’s eyes are still hooded and intent on his face, he still shoots James the same coy looks and feeds him the same dorky not-quite come-on lines and still finds ways to gratuitously touch him at every opportunity.

Except that now James is aware that every look Andrew sends him, every laugh, every touch, every non-stop gratuitous moment of physical intimacy, is all one giant code for how completely Andrew would like to be sliding his tongue over James’s skin right now, or biting all the secret places on James’ body that he knows makes James gasp and cry out, or fitting himself into James’s arms and holding him wordlessly until they both reach for each other’s mouths at once.

He knows, now, that none of this is just Andrew being giddy and flirty and ambiguously metrosexual; that in fact all of this is about Andrew wanting him, wanting him the way no one’s ever wanted James before, because no one else has ever been in an intense two-year onstage relationship with James that has apparently left them both symbiotically attached at the loins.

Andrew wants James like James is his main source of daily nutrition; he wants James like James is the candy store and he’s the kid; he wants James in ways that leave James wrung out and exhausted and confused and so, so happy about all of it that half the time he thinks he’s in love and half the time he thinks he’s just lost his mind.

But Andrew also is kind of erratic and eccentric and bizarre, in ways that James has always found lovely and sweet, but has never fully appreciated the extent of until they started having a direct role in how often James gets sucked off in semi-public places by his secret boyfriend.

Andrew knows ways of fucking in secret that James has never even conceived of. He summons James to high-class lounges and then subtly shepherds him into posh, private back rooms that James is sure didn’t exist before Andrew whispered a few words to the bartender. He’s got more secret entrances and exits out of hotels and theatres and restaurants than John Wick. And he’s shameless. They’re at some banquet at the Marquis when Andrew drapes the tablecloth over their knees and slides his hand straight up the inner curve of James’ thigh. When he pulls James aside at Jo Allen’s and heads up a set of backstairs James swears he’s never seen before, James blurts, “Are you actually a magician? Are you actually Harry Potter?” and Andrew just winks at him and drags him into the back and into the shadows.

Andrew’s shameless in other ways, too. The theatre is the best cover, because inside the theatre no one really bats an eye if they get caught looking too cuddly offstage, because, hey, they’re method acting. And Andrew loves living under that shield of plausible deniability; he cuddles, he flirts, he banters, he touches, he corners James in dressing rooms and on catwalks and surreptitiously makes out with him, hot and fierce and needy, and he drives James crazy.

He touches James constantly outside the theatre, too, where he can get away with it: he’s performative at the stage door, he kisses James, and trails his fingers over the back of James’s neck, and winds his arms around James’s waist for no good reason; he jokes about the two of them moving in together after the show ends, as though it’s all just a general air of gay frivolity and not something that makes James’s heart constrict to actually think about — something they probably should actually talk about.

And James is discomfited by it, a little, but mostly he’s just insanely turned on.

“For someone who doesn’t want us to talk about this, you spend an awful lot of time giving people the impression you really want to fuck me,” he growls against Andrew’s skin one night after Andrew has spent half their time at the stage door flirting with James and trying to draw obscene images on his arm in sharpie instead of signing Playbills.

“It’s 2018, baby,” Andrew snaps back, smug and sweetly insufferable. “That’s how we do it, now — we hide the truth in plain sight.”

Lee comes out — or gets outed, depending on your viewpoint — and it’s a whole thing, and everybody is tense for a day or two over it. And even though James swears he and Andrew have been so, so careful, he feels as though Lee, in his shaken state, is silently accusatory of them both.

And it’s not like James hasn’t borne the weight of all this night after night, on top of all the other weight of doing Angels in America in Trump’s city. But he’s told himself, so far, that it’s best if they stay secret, because god knows the last thing this show needs right now is another gay controversy over its actors.

He’s even, a weak part of him admits, relieved, because while half the general populace probably thinks Andrew is gay already, no one really knows who James is, and he’s not ready to have the fight where his agent stops giving him top-level auditions because producers don’t want to cast an out queer actor.

But if he can’t have that fight after spending two years playing Louis Ironson, then when can he?

They’re at one of an untold number of Tonys afterparties when everything finally breaks. Andrew is drunk, James is drunk, everyone is drunk, and it’s almost light out, and he’s pretty sure anyone left standing at this point is probably out of brain cells or fucks left to give; but he’s still surprised when Andrew asks the DJ to play “Moon River” and then pulls James into his arms and starts swaying with him right there where they stand.

“Hey,” James whispers, momentarily entranced by the sight of Andrew: his beloved, beautiful, over-earnest Tony-winning boyfriend; the best, most generous acting partner of his life, his, his best person. “I know it’s late, but we’re still in public, you sure you want to—”

“Yes,” says Andrew, sliding his arms around James’s neck and pressing a kiss against James’ cheek. “I always want to, with you.”

“People are watching,” James murmurs, even though he’s drunk and everything’s fuzzy and he’s not really sure how true that is.

“Don’t care,” Andrew says. “Kiss me.” He leans in and kisses James gently on the mouth, and James’s heart flip-flops several times and he pulls back enough to lean his head against Andrew’s forehead instead of letting the kiss deepen.

“I don’t want this,” he says, fumbling for words, “If this is just you being, being Prior right now.”

Andrew frowns at him, but doesn’t pull away. Moon River is a short song, but it suddenly still feels so much longer than the part they play in the show.

“What are you really trying to tell me?” Andrew asks him in a small voice.

James sighs and pulls Andrew closer and cards his hand through Andrew’s hair in spite of himself, because he’s drunk and it’s Tony night and, and fuck it.

“I’m trying to say that if this, right now, if this is just you being showy and affectionate for your co-star on Tony night,” he says, “Then don’t. I don’t want to do this.”

“Oh,” Andrew says, and his face clears. He cups James’ face in both his hands. “Well, no worries here,” he says. “Because I just want to make out with my incredibly hot, incredibly talented boyfriend, James McArdle, in front of the entire world, because he’s wonderful and I’m in love with him and he should have won a Tony.”

And he leans in and kisses James again, deep and open-mouthed and sweet.

James’s stomach flutters and he wraps Andrew in his arms and kisses back for all he’s worth, and Andy Williams is informing them that they’re two drifters, off to see the world, and he’s vaguely aware that a few people around them are cat-calling and applauding them, and everything is somehow exactly how it should be — exactly what this moment should be.

It’s an eternity later when they break apart, just enough for Andrew to kiss James on the nose, and then on the side of his mouth, and then his temple.

“Say that again,” James tells him, savoring the feeling of finally being able to settle his hand possessively at the small of Andrew’s waist — the classic boyfriend move he hadn’t realized he’d missed until now.

Andrew’s eyes are gleaming. “Say what again. That I love you? That I’m in love with you? That I’m completely fucking gone on you? And I’m really hoping you say yes when I ask you to move in with me when all this is over so we can own a bunch of cats and fight tyranny and never break up?”

For an instant James thinks he might actually be too drunk, and then he realizes the rush of dizziness he’s feeling is just sheer happiness.

“Nah, the other thing,” he says, winking.

Andrew laughs and swats him on the arm. “You absolutely know you were robbed of a Tony, you wanker,” he says.

“Looks like I’ll just have to borrow yours, then,” James says, and if anybody is taking photos of them at the moment the social media feed later is going to include the word eyefucking.

“Any time you want, chiquitita,” Andrew replies, kissing him, “until you get your own,” and then he folds himself around James and rests his head on James’s shoulder, and they dance to invisible music until the dawn finally summons them home.

#mcarfield fic #mcarfield

[17caratssi]

Christmas short imagine seventeen's leaders series

genre: fluff

IdolNeighbor!Kwon Soonyoung

it was all lie when certain fictions told that the character was aroused by some freak birds chirping in the morning. the fact, "get your ass off from the bed, y/n!" your mom shrieked from outside you so-called heaven bedroom. you stirred.

with a force, you tried to open your eyes and wasted no time to read the time by the digital clock that placed perfectly on the nightstand beside your bed.

fifteen past seven, therefore, your alarm had not yet rung by now. if you were born in such emo soul and body, you would just continue your beauty sleep and not be bothered by the late 40's woman in the kitchen that carried you for 9 months and some days twenty years ago who submitted her time every day just to wake you up.

stepping out from the bed extremely to a sloth motion, you headed out to the dining room and sat with a face from hangover had not been cured since last night.

you moaned when the pain hit you straight in the head that had you shuddering slightly. "don't drink anymore unless you want me to pray for your early death because embarrassing me to the new guy" your mom said in her stern yet teasing tone. you turned your head to her for a while before shutting them down to process everything that had happened last night.

new guy? you thought.

"so did the world changed in a millisecond or I just came back from dead?" you asked recklessly after you choked on the hangover soup she served a few minutes ago. your tongue burned a little but it did not bother you at all since you were too bewildered by the new guy your mom mentioned.

"he sent your drunk state body home after you mistook his unit as yours." jaw dropped. you facepalmed listening to the brief. "anyways, he is the landlord's son." she turned her head to you just to tell the unnecessary information. "um.. thank you?" you shrugged and still suffering from internal shame.

you wouldn't deny if people lowkey hate your drinking habit because you weren't an alcohol maniac all the time and it did happen years later when you can't tolerate the alcohol anymore. last night probably was the worst because you can't even remember a single thing until your mom had to elaborate the actual story you ended up embarrassing yourself.

"uh huh. nope, I won't do that please mom not me. urgh!" your face slammed flat on the tempered glass dining table next to the bowl. oh crap, your lifespan had been shortened with that. so basically your mom just finished her cooking and packing to be sent to the new guy as she winked at you, wickedly.

"be a good daughter at least when I claimed you as my daughter last night... I should've ignored you if he wasn't that good looking enough to knock on the door., " she mumbled something and peered over her shoulder to see your reaction from her description of the said guy.

you gulped as she grinned ear to ear, she must have something. urgh, she knew how to increase the expectation. you rolled your eyes in dismay.

"I will increase your allowance this month." you squinted your eyes in the dealㅡshe surely not the type to put money on the line but this time she really had something planned. "call!" you said boldly after the short drama.

It wouldn't be so bad, right? you thought deeply.

you already slipped your feet in one of your favorite flip-flops. the last time you checked your eyes, they were totally in not good condition to even encounter with anybody. you sighed long and tightened the hoodie strap around your face before tying them.

after ensuring you're both physically and mentally prepared, you amble toward the guy's unit. it just a few doors next to your house and very strangely, it was slightly opened.

"doesn't he aware of thieves?.." you mumbled as your thumb pressed on the bell. "uh... this is a total embarrassing.. " you heaved a sigh again and waited impatiently plus the butterflies running wild in your stomach. inhale, exhale...

"anybody's home?" you asked audibly through the gap of the door. little did you know, a guy currently standing next to you with a confused look on his beautiful face. you startled when he tapped on your shoulder.

"Who're you?" curse on you. he, of course, is the guy but blame your nervousness that had you asked him that obvious question. "the owner, perhaps?" he answered calmly. he stepped back when you straightened your back. "can I help you and who you searching for?" he smiled and slight rose of his eyebrows got you sighed contentedly.

he is beautiful and his slanted eyes are..just beautiful as well. you thought dreamingly but caught off guard as he waved his hand in front of your face. "oh.. the new guy?" he nodded and flabbergasted when you handed the food. you were all flushed and he looked damn familiar.

a silence.

"so.. shall I invite you inside as the return?" he asked shyly and rubbed the back of his neck. you just realized he might just have returned from exercise because he was sweating profusely but he managed to wipe some of it on his face. to your surprise, he did not disgustingly smell like he just broke his sweatㅡ

"my friend came by, I guess," he softly chuckled in which you snapped back to reality and chuckled along, rather awkwardly as he guided you inside. 

you spent around half an hour in his cozy house and him having a friend together but overall he dug into your story so well that you had no space to ask his. he is quite a talker but he made you feel all comfy around him.

"nice to meet you and thank you?" you said appreciatively and you noticed how you became so much friendly to him at first encounter. not very much different, he too felt the same.

"nice to meet you, too. we could catch up again later, right?" you quickly nodded and might be turned into a tomato by now. you gasped loudly, the time read nine and almost made to your work shift. "I have to go uhm enjoy the food! " you ran to your house and as expected your mom was waiting. he watched as you hastened like a chick. ‘so cute’ he thought.

damn it

"thank you for coming" rolled off your tongue very smoothly and the customers were getting in a smaller number. just a few more and you could fulfill your lust for the bed which was waiting for you at home. you sighed.

you were already made your way to home with conscious mind after taking a learn from what had happened a few weeks ago. you some kind of missed to talk with him after that day because being next to him was just so warm.

while having sort of deep thought of stopping by at his house in the future, you saw a covered-in-black guy walking towards the same way with you. a little intimidated, you set a faster pace and pressed the elevator button with him already drawing a closer gap.

you mentally cursed. to your luck, both of you had an elevator ride together and you were plainly terrified of something that might happen to you. "wh-which floor?" you stammered. "fifth" you gasped as he was heading to your level, too.

god, please have my death in a good way.

"y/n," your eyes were wide. he knew your name clearly, you turned around and shocked when the guy had his black mask off and it revealed it was the new guy behind it. "the new guy?" you sighed in relief, he scared the hell out of you and now he was smiling innocently.

"you scared me!" you grasped on the wall like your life depended on that, he was chuckling. "did you forget my naㅡ"

"soonyoung, I meant. I haven't gotten used to call you soonyoung since we only met once and then now." you quickly explained.

"forgiven, then" he smiled. "why you wear those black things like you are hiding from those crazy paparazzi, though," you asked and he got closer. leaving apparently few inches and started talking. "you are right, that's the answer," he turned to you and back to the front in seconds. did he just whisper rudely in my ears?! *internally screams*

late you registering his word, the elevator door had opened and he pulled the lost-in-thought you out, he held your hand loosely by his own accord.

"you look tired," he held you tightly and his face was just too close to yours, thus your heart was beating never as fast as this moment. "uh.. ye..ah" you gulped. "you look cute when you are embarrassed.. " he smiled fondly and let you go when you just feeling the moment.

"you're not going home?" you rose your eyebrows as he walked towards the corridor rail and rested his hands on, likely living under his spell you were following him, "you?" he asked back.

"gonna wait for the first snow tonight." he smiled shortly. what? was I dreaming? you didn't realize it was December and first snow will fall down soon.

as much as your body were craving for the bed, your mind said oppositelyㅡ spending time with soonyoung was rather precious than anything. a good guy and cute smile, all you would wish for a guy and he had it all.

"wahh, it's snowing!" you jumped in awe while he was staring at the sky with stars clouding the night. he took a hand of yours and beckoned you to his side. "make a wish,"

it already granted, you silently said. you remained quiet when he clasped his hand against his chest; making his wishes.

he was sinfully handsome even from the side and his jaw was no joㅡ

"can you stop staring at me and Merry Christmas, y/n" he chuckled.

woozi | scoups

#hoshi #christmas #i dont celebrate but still yahaaa #fluff #soonyoung fluff #hoshi fluff #seventeen #seventeen fluff #soonyoung #kwon soonyoung #sorry for any mistakes #merry christmas y'all

[jbankai89]

Never Let Me Go [19/37]

A/N: The Thai word/phrase is supposed to say ‘amazing' but it may be slightly off, because I do not speak Thai (alas, only English and French XD) and had to trust a translation website. If anyone notices a mistake there, please let me know so I can fix it! :) Next update will be December 5th.

Chapter Eighteen – Chance Meeting

 Yuri could not tell who was squeezing the other's hand more firmly—himself, or Minami. The younger omega's complexion had paled at the sound of the knock upon the door, and he shifted closer to Yuri immediately. For once, he did not feel annoyed by Minami's tendency towards cuddling—he welcomed the closeness, and felt deeply comforted by it.

Voices sounded from the hall, three familiar ones intermingled with one new one, which Yuri presumed to be this new alpha, Phichit.

“Têe nâa má-hàt-sà-jan jai, this is so nice, Mr Otabek!” chirped the unfamiliar voice, and Yuri felt Minami tense next to him.

“Please, just Otabek,” Otabek replied politely, and the stranger began to speak in Japanese, to which they heard Yuuri respond, and Minami giggled.

“What are they saying?” Yuri whispered, and Minami smiled again, his entire form relaxing a little as Yuuri and the stranger continued to speak.

“They're poking fun at Otabek and Viktor,” Minami murmured softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “They say they look as relaxed as a street food vendors with no rice.”

Yuri chuckled a little, and he, too, felt himself begin to relax as the group migrated into the parlour where they still sat. Otabek and Viktor did indeed look very tense, but in contrast, Yuuri looked happier than Yuri could recall ever seeing him before.

Of course, some of it could have been the fact that Yuuri was beginning to approach his due date, and at nearly twenty-five weeks, he had gained the distinctive pregnancy waddle, but he was so wrapped up in talking with his friend and holding onto Viktor that he hardly seemed to notice. They jumped back and forth between Thai and Japanese so quickly that even if Yuri did speak either of those languages he doubt he would have been able to follow.

“Oh, Yuuri, you're getting so big,” the stranger said, switching to Russian, ensuring that everyone present could understand him. “It's like you swallowed a planet!”

“Three planets,” Yuuri replied with a small groan as Viktor helped him to sit down. He turned his gaze to his alpha and offered one of his hands a small squeeze in thanks. “I can't wait to meet them though. I mean, I'm nervous, but I'm starting to get excited, too.”

“You've always been good at caring for people,” the stranger said with a warm, cheery smile. “I know you'll be an amazing mom.”

Yuuri's face flushed pink, and he smiled bashfully down at his lap. The alpha turned to Yuri and Minami, his warm smile never wavering as he gazed at them.

“And you two must be Yuuri's friends!” he said cheerfully, “I'm Phichit Chulanont. I'm an alpha, but I promise, I don't mean to be.”

Yuri and Minami exchanged a bewildered look as Phichit laughed, but upon seeing their expressions, he elaborated.

“In Thailand, alphas get treated like criminals a lot,” he explained. “There was such an outcry from the omegas for something to be done about them being assaulted, and the government went overboard. You even look at an omega in a funny way, and they will arrest you. When I found out I was alpha, I was so upset, because that meant that me and Yuuri couldn't stay in touch. But at the same time, I understand it, I'd rather live in a place with tough laws where everyone feels safe instead of a place that hurts a third of its people, you know?”

“The laws are a bit ironic,” Yuuri added with a small smile, “considering your country's reputation in the West.”

“I don't make the rules!” Phichit cried out, “but I'm just glad I'm here now...well, sort of. It's so cold here, Yuuri, I have no idea how you stand it!” he visibly shivered, and Yuuri laughed. “You should all come visit me in Bangkok, I'll show you around and get you all the best street food until you feel like you'll burst. And the best part? No snow.”

Yuuri and Phichit continued to jabber back and forth excitedly, most of the conversation consisting of Phichit telling Yuuri where he'd take him and Viktor if they came to see him. When one of the house servants brought out a tray of appetizers, Phichit seemed to remember that Yuri and Minami were there, and he smiled kindly at them. Neither omega missed how Phichit's eyes seemed to fix on Minami, and immediately the omega shifted closer to Yuri. Phichit's smile fell.

“Oh, hey, are you all right?” he asked, and looked back to Yuuri, before returning his gaze to Minami. “Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!” he said all this very fast, and he looked genuinely distressed by Minami's uneasiness. “Your name's Minami, right? Please, tell me what I did wrong so I won't do it again. If I made you uncomfortable, I really didn't mean to.”

“I'm sorry,” Minami said shyly, now pressed so hard into Yuri's side that he half-expected them to fuse together at that point. “Um...bad experience with an alpha.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” Phichit said, and it sounded like he meant it too. “I can't even imagine doing bad stuff to you, you're just so adorable, if you'd let me, I'd wrap you in a blanket and keep you safe always.” Phichit stopped suddenly, and his cheeks tinged red. Yuri had a feeling he hadn't meant to say all that.

Minami's face coloured similarly to Phichit's, and seemed incapable of meeting his eye as he turned to Otabek, who was standing nearby, the Omega's eyes wide with confusion and fright.

“Um, Otabek?” Minami asked in a small voice, “can I have an apple?”

Otabek inclined his head once in understanding, and held out an arm to Minami. Yuri did his best to stomp down on his jealousy as Minami jumped up and rushed over to him as Otabek said, “come on, I'll get you one...” and led the omega from the room, a protective arm coiled around his shoulders.

“I came on too strong, didn't I?” Phichit asked sadly as he watched Minami go, and his cheery smile dimmed to a sad frown.

“Minami's had a rough time of it,” Yuuri said with a small frown of his own, “it wasn't your fault. He probably just jumped to the conclusion that you want him, and the belief that you'd be just like his former alpha...he wasn't nice.”

“In normal human language, Yuuri means that his ex-alpha was an abusive shithead,” Yuri filled in sourly. “He's really nervous around alphas he doesn't know because of that, and so if you're really interested and you really care about him, you should probably back off for a while.”

“I'm sorry,” Phichit said again. “I didn't mean to scare him.”

“I better go see if he's all right,” Yuri replied with a small sigh, and pushed himself to his feet. Phichit looked even more distraught at this statement, and Yuri shook his head a little. What a weird alpha.

Yuri padded out of the parlour, and almost immediately crashed into Otabek. His breath caught, and he felt a flush begin to creep up his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, “I just...Minami...”

“He's all right, just a little shaken,” Otabek said, and looked as awkward as Yuri felt. It appeared to be overlaid with his usual attempt at nonchalance, though for once Otabek did not mask his feeling as well as he usually did. “He's up in his room if you want to see him.”

“Erm, thanks,” Yuri replied uneasily, and bit his lip. He felt a familiar tingle rush through him, the same one he'd felt before when he'd kissed Otabek of his own volition.

Yuri leant forward a little, and tensed when he realized what he was about to do, and rushed off before he could give in to temptation.

I wonder what it's like to not be surrounded by weird mixed signals constantly... Yuri thought sourly as he walked, and by the time he'd made it up to Minami's room, he'd burnt off most of his frustration, and thus was unlikely to make Minami more uneasy with a bad mood.

The door was ajar, and Yuri peered in to see Minami sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand curled around a narrow mug of green tea. His eyes were red and puffy as though he'd been crying, but at the moment, he seemed to be relatively dry-eyed. Yuri knocked once, and the younger omega's gaze snapped up, but he relaxed when he saw who it was. He nodded once, indicating that Yuri could come in.

“I just wanted to see how you were,” Yuri explained as he stepped inside and sat down next to Minami. “Phichit said he was sorry about a hundred times after Otabek escorted you out, and it looked like he meant it.” He paused, shifting uncomfortably when Minami shuffled a little closer to him, and while doing his best to mask his own discomfort, he wrapped a lazy arm around Minami and offered him a squeeze. Immediately, the distressed omega seemed to relax. “You seem totally comfortable around Otabek, why is what Phichit said so scary to you?”

“I don't know him,” Minami explained, “he's a stranger, and I'd known him for barely ten minutes and he says...that...” Minami shivered. “After—af—after Seung-Gil...” Minami's voice caught, and he rubbed roughly at his eyes, but it seemed as though he was unable to continue.

Yuri gently pried the cup of tea from Minami's shaking hands before he accidentally dropped it, and set it aside. He had no idea what he could say that might make Minami feel better—he was a complete mess, with his red eyes and runny nose, and he seemed to be struggling to keep himself from crying, although not managing it very well.

“Minami,” Yuri said gently, “it's—it's okay to cry...”

“No,” Minami interjected between sniffles, “I—I have to be strong. If I cry, he's winning. I can't let him win...I want to be strong...like you.”

“Me?” Yuri sputtered, his eyes widening a little in surprise.

“Yeah,” Minami replied with a small nod, and rubbed at his nose with his sleeve again. He shuffled close to Yuri again, linking his arms around the older omega's waist, and cuddled close with a content, catlike smile on his face. “You're so tough. You put up with everything that life throws at you, and you just keep on fighting, you never let this life we live define you, or change you. I wish I could be strong like that.”

Yuri reached up to pet his hair awkwardly, and Minami smiled. The sight of it made Yuri want to weep. How was it possible for someone who's experienced so many horrible things to smile?

Yuri rocked him like a child, and rubbed his back, not trusting himself to speak. He'd never seen himself as strong, not how Minami seemed to, at any rate. He'd always viewed himself as a survivor by sheer stubbornness, but never strong.

When Minami had completely exhausted himself, Yuri had come to no conclusions to how he felt about Minami's proclamation that he wanted to be like him. Whatever that meant.

Carefully, he untangled himself from Minami, and tucked the omega in like he was a child. Yuri sat down on the edge of the bed, reluctant to leave him alone, and stroked the golden locks of his hair gently.

I can't exactly blame Phichit for saying that, Yuri thought as he watched the omega sleep. Something about Minami just makes you want to protect him...

 The scent of a nearby alpha suddenly permeated the air, but it did not unnerve Yuri as it usually would, for he could tell that it was Otabek, and likely he was just coming to check on Minami. With a small sigh, Yuri stood up and headed for the door where Otabek was waiting, the alpha rocking on his heels with a faint look of uncertainty and concern in his eyes.

“How is he?” Otabek asked when Yuri stepped out and shut the door softly. Otabek reached for Yuri, as though he wanted to take his hand, but froze as though he suddenly realized what he was doing, and dropped his arm.

Yuri tried to mirror Otabek's nonchalance, and hid his disappointment behind a neutral mask.

“A little freaked out,” Yuri answered belatedly after an awkward pause. “He was really upset out by what Phichit said...did you and Viktor set that up? Because if you did—”

“—we didn't,” Otabek interrupted with a frown. “Neither of us knew he would say that, and I swear I had no idea he'd come on to Minami like that. Viktor said he'd heard Yuuri mention Minami to Phichit, but not as a setup sort of thing, because he brought you up too, it was him describing his friends to Phichit, no more.”

“He's just so...so damaged,” Yuri said, and almost unconsciously shifted closer to Otabek. The alpha's arm fell to Yuri's back immediately, and Yuri marvelled at how his entire body seemed to relax at the casual touch. “I think Phichit might do more harm than good if he pushes.”

“He knows that,” Otabek murmured softly. “Now, at any rate. He feels really guilty for scaring Minami, that wasn't his intention, and he kept apologizing at least half a dozen times after you left to check on him.”

“Figures Yuuri would be friends with someone as apologetic as himself...” Yuri muttered, and Otabek chuckled softly. A hand lifted from his waist to cradle his cheek, and Yuri leant into the touch with a tiny sigh.

“Yuri?” Otabek asked in the same soft tone, and Yuri lifted his gaze to Otabek.

“Hmm?”

“What exactly are we doing?” His voice dropped to a lower, huskier sound. He was closer than before, and his face carried a now-familiar mingled expression of confusion and uncertainty.

“I—I don't know,” Yuri replied nervously as he lifted his hands to twine them through the front of Otabek's shirt. “I wish I could work out why I feel so comfortable when you hold me like this...I used to hate it.”

“I want to say, 'maybe we should postpone your trip and explore this' but I can't do that. It's not good for either of us,” Otabek said, but even as he did so, he tugged Yuri flush against his chest. Yuri shivered with delight at the feeling of the hard body pressed into his, and pressed himself up against Otabek firmly, not unlike how Minami always snuggled with him.

“Why would it be not good?” Yuri asked, “what if I never feel like this again?”

“You need time away,” Otabek replied, and with a look on his face like he was trying to lift a sixteen-ton weight with his pinkie, he pulled back from Yuri, but kept one arm at his back as he led him away to Yuri's bedroom down the hall.

Upon reaching the room, Otabek guided Yuri over to the settee and sat down. When Yuri joined him he tried to make the fact that he'd sat down rather close to Otabek as nonchalant as possible, but something in the look Otabek gave him told Yuri that he didn't buy it. Instead, he continued his train of thought as though they had never been interrupted.

“You need time to spread your wings and be you, whoever that might be,” Otabek said gently, but firmly. “You've spent the last two years of your life either running—God knows how you even fed yourself during that time—or subjugated by an Omega House, and then by me. It would not be fair for me to beg you to stay, and that is why I suggested you leave. There are internet and phone connections that go both ways, and we can stay in touch if you like, but I do not expect it—or deserve it. If you choose later to come back, we can explore going further with this relationship, but I do not wish to live your life for you. I only want you if you want me. Does that make sense?”

“But I do want you,” Yuri said emphatically, and froze almost immediately. Otabek raised his eyebrows in clear disbelief, and Yuri felt his face grow warm with embarrassment.

“That makes a switch from barely a handful of months ago—a big switch,” Otabek said as he reached out to brush a few strands of hair from Yuri's eyes. “That's why I want you to leave, even if it's temporary. I want you to be sure, and I don't want you to stay because, like Minami, you might carry some sort of misplaced gratitude for me for saving your life. I don't want to keep you—not like I used to. I want to be part of your life, Yuri, not own it.”

“I...” Yuri paused and bit his lip. “I wish I knew what to say to that,” he said, and bowed his head a little. “It's hard, and it's confusing, because even when you first took me, you were always weirdly comforting...but scary at the same time. I don't know if you meant it, the scary part, I mean, but it's just...I don't know what's right and what's wrong anymore. When Minami first started crushing on you I got so...so jealous, and I...all I think about is you. I don't even know if it's right, or if it's healthy, or what. I'm just really scared that I've gone and broken myself—”

Two fingers brushed over Yuri's lips, silencing him. Yuri blinked as he looked up at Otabek, who had adopted a stern, serious look.

“You are not broken, Yuri,” he said firmly. “And if you were, it would be my fault that that happened, not yours. I was the one who treated you so badly, and you were always the strong one, who fought against my attempts every step of the way. Do not blame yourself for my terrible behaviour, please.”

The vocalization of please wavered, and Yuri's gaze snapped up to his eyes. Yuri's lips parted in surprise, his own eyes widening a little as he tried to absorb what he was seeing.

Otabek was on the verge of tears.

Without allowing himself to overthink the action, Yuri closed the distance between them, and kissed Otabek gently.

Otabek's hands fell immediately to Yuri's chest, resting lightly against him, and Yuri could feel the muscle flexing in indecision of whether or not Otabek wished to stop him. In the end, his longing for Yuri won, and his hands slipped further down to rest at Yuri's waist. He drew the omega closer as he kissed him back, and Yuri let out a tiny moan as he shifted closer to his alpha.

“I don't want to be imprisoned, or stripped of rights that I know I deserve,” Yuri murmured, then kissed Otabek again. “But I don't want to lose this either. I just wish I knew what the right thing to do was.”

“I will wait for you, Yuri,” Otabek murmured, and kissed him again. “But you need to go. You need to know who you are without me hovering over you. Like I said, I have no expectations; I do not feel as though you owe me anything. If you decide that what we are sharing at this moment is some sort of misplaced gratitude for my saving your life, and you truly do not wish to pursue this, do not feel guilty—I will accept it. I refuse to do anything that might hurt you again.”

Yuri wrapped his arms around Otabek's neck and clung to him, wishing that he knew what to do. No answers came to him, and he let out a soft, despondent sigh.

He didn’t know what to do.

A/N: If you like my work, please consider throwing a few bucks into my Digital Tip Jar. I am a starving artist, and I like not actually starving to death :P you can also support me on Patreon, where I am posting all things related to my upcoming cookbook. Simply Vegan

NLMG Masterpost

#otayuri #otayuri abo #otayuri omegaverse #otayuri fic #otayuri fic rec

[stevenstamkos]

OK STEPH, the other time you talked about a world where magic is known and real and such so what if during the world cup Jo wakes up a teenager again (well, more of a teen that he is right now bc he's still a teen to me HE'S YOUNGER THAN ME, sorry) and jesus, Nate really didn't remember how sweet and soft Jo was when he was younger, when everything was okay between them - before Nate fucked everything up by breaking up with him over the phone after he got to Colorado the first time - 1/?

2/2 Jo wakes up a teen, pre relationship, pre draft obviously, and Nate can’t deal bc he never really noticed how flustered Jo got around him, how shy. It breaks his heart a little bc he has no idea how he didn’t notice it at the time, it makes him question pretty much everything because what would have happened with them had he not chickened out after the draft? (He doesn’t need to ask Jo to know he thinks they’d still be together, probably forever, just like he does) They probably have to talk about it like adults and Jo cries bc he felt so bad, like breaking up with him over the phone? And Nate hugs him and everything ends up in kisses and cuddles

Nate’s woken up by pounding on his door. He opens it to Larks’s face, flushed and confused, his hair curling in a mess all over his head. “What is it?” he asks, tired.

“Jo, I don’t know, he’s younger. Probably been replaced by a time traveler. Or maybe an alternate universe version of him? I don’t know. But you two used to be like, friends in juniors, right? He was asking for you.”

That wakes Nate up real fast. Jo, younger? The magic doesn’t happen often, but it’s unpredictable and unexplainable. Always unprompted, always lasts for 24 hours. Thank god they don’t have a game today, just practice.

“Where is he?” Nate runs a hand through his hair and smothers a yawn.

“In our room. He was pretty confused. I sort of explained that he’s, you know, 21 now, but he seemed really upset by that and wanted me to get you.”

“Yeah, hold on, let me put on a shirt.” Nate dresses quickly and shuffles out the door, following Larks back to the room he’s sharing with Jo. It’s dark inside, but Nate can see a figure sitting curled up on one of the beds.

“Nate?” There’s a faint trace of hope in that voice, higher-pitched than Nate remembers. God, he must be so young.

He steps deeper into the room, barely aware of Larks closing the door behind him. “Yeah, Jo, it’s me.”

There’s a sudden flurry of noise, the covers tossed aside quickly, and then Jo runs into him, squeezing him tight. “Nate,” he says, and fuck, he feels so thin in Nate’s now-bigger arms. How old must he be? Nate lets him cling for a few minutes before drawing him over to the bed.

“Hey, you gotta answer a few questions for me, ‘k Jo?”

“Okay.” Jo looks up at him, all sweet trusting eyes, and he looks like he did in juniors, sixteen or seventeen, Nate can’t tell. Unfortunate spots of acne, and lingering baby fat rounding his face where Nate’s used to seeing sharp angles these days. Still so young, with that adoring look on his face that Nate remembers.

Fuck does he remember.

(Jo used to look at him like that all the time, when they were dating. Like he was caught halfway between delirious happiness and breathless wonder. That’s how Jo used to look at him, before Nate went and fucked it all up - )

“How old are you, Jo?”

“Seventeen.” Jo’s answer is quick, and he’s still looking at Nate like that, doesn’t even question whether he should be giving out these answers. Nate could be like, an imposter, or this could be a world where they’re enemies or something, but Jo used to trust Nate like - like Nate could never hurt him.

“What month is it?”

“October. Season started a month ago. We just beat Drummondville at home. I got two goals two assists, and you got two goals.”

October 2012. That’s when Jo is from. Before…everything.

Jo’s shifting closer in increments, like he can’t help himself, like he’s drawn to Nate. Shit. That’s how it used to be with them.

“Do you…did you…” Jo’s stumbling over his words, fingers twisting in his lap, and he looks up at Nate from under his lashes. “I’m 21 now. We must’ve been drafted to different teams, but we’re…on the same team here?”

“Yeah.” Nate lets out a shaky breath, runs his hand through his hair. “You got drafted by Tampa. I was drafted by Colorado.” He doesn’t know if Jo’s going to remember all this when he goes back to Halifax 2012, but it’s not like this news is going to hurt him, right? They both knew they were going to get drafted high.

“We got invited to play for the World Cup.”

“We’re playing for Canada?” There’s a hint of breathlessness to Jo’s voice, soft with excitement. A smile’s taking over his face, and he looks like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin. Yeah. He used to be excitable like that, Nate remembers. Before -

“We’re actually playing for Team North America.” A confused look, and Nate elaborates. “It’s like, a U23 team. 23 and under. From Canada and the US.”

“So we’re not playing for Canada.” Jo’s face falls, and Nate reaches for where his hands are digging into his shorts.

“Hey, we’re team young guns. It’s fun. We have a great fanbase.”

“And we - us - we’re still friends? Even after being drafted apart?”

Nate swallows and looks away from where Jo’s looking up at him, sweet and hopeful. “Yeah. Course we are,” he lies. “We’re back on each others’ line. Everything’s great.”

Jo looks relieved, and he reaches for Nate. Nate reaches back, and he doesn’t tell Jo anything else. It’s not stuff that Jo needs to know.

He’s kicking Auston’s ass at CoD when Jo storms into his room, his long hair curling wildly around his ears. He looks pissed.

“You’ve been avoiding me all day,” he nearly yells at Nate.

Auston takes one look at Jo’s furious face and drops his controller and bolts. Fucking traitor.

Nate sets his own controller down carefully between his knees. “I’ve just been busy, you know, practice and stuff.” Jo skated but didn’t practice with the guys, not when his game’s still undeveloped. Nate didn’t want him to practice, didn’t want him to be hit by these guys who’ve played in the NHL for at least a season. Not when Jo’s still skinny and - and Nate doesn’t want to say fragile, but -

“No, you’ve been avoiding me,” Jo insists, and there are frustrated tears in his eyes. Nate stands up, but Jo takes two steps back. “You said we’re still friends!”

“We are, Jo, I just had a busy day!”

“Then why didn’t you tell me about our relationship?”

Nate’s jaw drops. “Who told you about that?”

Jo sags against the wall. “So it is true. We dated.” He wipes across his eyes with the back of his hand. “I always wondered if that was in our future.”

“Who told you about that, Jo?”

“Jonesy,” Jo says, still dazed. “I asked him if I’m happy in the future and he said something about us being lovebirds at all the pre-draft stuff, that we were really obvious and he hasn’t really seen me happy since then.”

Fucking Seth. Nate’s going to kill him. “Jonesy doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Nuge and Mo said the same thing about world juniors when I asked them. That I was really, really happy at the ‘13 tourney.” Jo stares at his hands, helpless. “We’re not dating anymore, or you would’ve told me. And Nuge and Mo said I looked like death at the ‘14 world junior champs, and you didn’t play that year because you were with the Avs while I was sent back.”

“They shouldn’t have told you all that.” Nate doesn’t know what’s going to happen to Jo when he gets back to his proper time, but this is clearly tearing him up now.

“What happened to us? Our relationship, I mean.” Jo’s voice is quiet. He still won’t look at Nate.

“We dated for a bit, starting around December. Um, it was nice, and we had a great season.” He probably shouldn’t mention the Mem Cup. “Got drafted, and then I,” Nate blows out his breath, “broke it off.”

“How did it happen?”

“You don’t need to know that, Jo.” Nate pitches his voice low, pleading.

“You need to tell me! I need to know. Was it at the draft?”

God, Nate can remember the draft. The excitement, the fear, the knowledge that he and Jo were going to be separated. He remembers the way Jo had looked at him, proud and a little afraid, the way Jo had kissed him in an empty room in his stiff new Lightning jersey, the sleeves covering his knuckles. The way Jo had whispered, “You and me,” like it was a guarantee of forever. Nate had held his hips and kissed back, even as a part of his brain was beginning the slow slide towards this can’t last.

“It wasn’t at the draft.”

“When then?”

“Colorado. When I first got to Colorado.”

“And I was sent back. To Halifax.” Jo swallows. “You didn’t even break up with me face to face?”

“You were in Tampa actually, at the Lightning training camp,” Nate mumbles. It doesn’t matter anyway; wherever Jo was, he hadn’t been with Nate when Nate had picked up the phone and called. He can’t quite meet Jo’s eyes.

There’s a quiet sniffle from across the room, and Nate grimaces. Jo’s digging at old wounds, things that Nate’s kept buried for years now.

“Did I make you that unhappy?” Jo whispers. “That you couldn’t even break up with me face to face? You had to do it over the phone?”

“What? No! It wasn’t like that.” Nate hasn’t felt this helpless in a long time. “It wasn’t like, fuck, it wasn’t you. That sounds stupid but I swear, it wasn’t you, I was scared of the distance and I fucked up, I didn’t have the guts to look you in the face and I’m sorry - ”

Jo’s crying in earnest now, little near-silent hiccups, hiding his face in his hands. He’s always been loud, loud and energetic and too much life to be contained within his skin. When he cries though, he goes small, goes silent, makes barely a sound.

“Fuck,” Nate mutters to himself, and he’s crossing the room to pull Jo into his arms.

Jo resists for a second before curling into Nate, pressing his tear-streaked face to his shoulder and clinging. It strikes Nate suddenly that this Jo is from October. They started dating in December that year. This Jo must already be in love with him.

He knows that the old Nate, the one from when this Jo is from, was already in love with him too.

“I’m sorry I fucked up so badly,” he says quietly.

Jo cries for a few minutes more, and Nate holds him in silence. His trembling slows, and his fingers loosen in Nate’s shirt, but he doesn’t let go when he speaks again.

“We’re not friends anymore, are we.”

Nate runs his fingers through Jo’s hair. “You never really forgave me for backing out.”

“Good.” There’s a note of vicious anger in Jo’s voice before he slumps a little. “I didn’t mean that, sorry.”

“Yeah you did. ‘S okay though, I get it.” Jo’s angry and hurt. Nate understands. His Jo, the older version, quiet and serious and a little more worn at the edges, is still hurt. Nate could see it every day, the accusation in his eyes. Knows Jo thinks they’d still be together, still be happy, if Nate hadn’t gone and fucked everything up so badly.

Jo lifts his head. He’s not a pretty crier; his face gets kind of blotchy and red and his eyes get all puffy, but that’s not why Nate can’t look at him properly. Three years, and he’s still hurting Jo.

It’s been a long time since Jo trusted him with his tears. Or his emotions, really.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” Nate says. Jo nods and wipes his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. In the morning, this Jo will be gone, but he doesn’t seem to know it. Nate prefers keeping him in the dark. Hopefully he’ll forget everything when he gets back to 2012.

Nate knocks on Larks and Jo’s door the next morning, and it’s opened by Jo, rumple-haired and sleepy. His eyes are still a little red and swollen from last night, but he’s his proper age, all traces of his baby fat and acne gone. He stares at Nate for a long moment.

“Hey. You’re back.”

Jo nods. “Yeah.” He pauses, seems to waver for a second before opening his door wider. “Come in?”

The room is its usual mess, Larks’ bed empty and the covers kicked into a messy pile at the foot of the bed. Nate isn’t sure where he’s allowed to sit, but Jo’s curling up at the head of his own bed, and he’s patting the spot next to him. Considering how Nate made him cry last night, Nate figures it’s best if Jo’s calling the shots today.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he stretches his legs out. Jo’s legs are next to his, strong and tan under his shorts.

“Head hurts a little. Probably from the magic.”

“Oh.”

Nate isn’t sure what to say. Like, if Jo doesn’t bring up anything about their trip down memory lane, should he say something? Let it go? He only really came here to check up on Jo, make sure the magic didn’t do any lasting damage on him.

“Yesterday, you said you fucked up,” Jo says quietly. “When talking about breaking up with me. You said you fucked up. Did you mean that?”

“Wait, you remember - ?”

“I woke up with the body and mind of my seventeen-year-old self, couldn’t remember anything past October 2012. But yeah, woke up this morning with all my memories from yesterday.”

Oh. So not a case a time travel, but a case of age reversion? That’s not what Nate expected.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.” Jo smiles a little, but it looks strained, the way all his smiles have been since they broke up. “Do you really think you fucked up, when you…?”

“I shouldn’t have.” Nate swallows. “Broken up with you over the phone, I mean. You deserved better than that.”

Jo’s head thumps back against the wall. “But you don’t regret breaking it off.”

“I was scared…”

“And you don’t think I was too? Scared? Cause I was. But at the draft, I said - ”

“You and me. I remember.”

“But that wasn’t enough.”

Nate hopes that Jo isn’t going to cry again. If Jo cries, he doesn’t think he can walk out of his room again for the rest of the tournament.

“I think, at the time,” Nate blows out a heavy breath, darts a glance at Jo. His eyes are dry, but he’s staring a hole through his shorts. “I wasn’t ready. For the distance, or - or losing you slowly. So I thought, rip the bandaid off, right?”

Jo looks up, big startled eyes, and Nate forces himself to keep talking. Rip the bandaid off.

“I thought it would hurt less if I broke it off and we both got a fresh start in the NHL.”

“But you didn’t ask me first.” Jo’s voice is quiet, devastated in a way that tells Nate he never healed from that wound. “You can’t just decide things for me - ”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Nate moves his hand suddenly, covers Jo’s fingers with his own. Before today, Jo would have pulled away, but he stays now. “I should’ve talked to you first.”

“You said on the phone that we don’t have a future together.”

Yeah, Nate remembers. He remembers every word he said during that phone call. Gone over those words during sleepless nights, when his bed feels too big and too cold and too empty.

“I guess, at the time I didn’t think we’d ever be on the same team again. Do you think, if I hadn’t called, we’d still be…?”

“I hoped, at least. I really, really hoped.”

God, fuck, he messed up. Like, Nate’s not perfect, never claimed to be, but hurting Jo is one of the biggest mistakes he’s ever made.

“I miss you, you know. A lot.” Jo’s voice is very small. He looks up at Nate, brows pinched.

“I missed you too. Still do. If I could do it over again, I’d change so much, Jo.”

“Like not using the phone.”

“No like, all of it. The breakup. I wouldn’t let myself be so scared I pushed away the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Jo jerks, suddenly, like Nate’s words physically hurt him. “You have to mean that Nate - ” he says weakly.

“I do. I miss you, I want us to be okay again. Friends at least. More, if you want.” He doesn’t want to ask Jo to take him back. That’s selfish in a way Nate can’t ask of Jo. It needs to be Jo’s choice, this time.

“More…?”

“If you want. Only if you want it.” Nate squeezes his hand.

Jo stares at him, searches Nate’s eyes like he can read Nate’s soul through them. Maybe he can. If anyone can, it would be Jo.

Whatever Jo sees in Nate’s eyes, it must be enough. He leans in, brushes his nose against Nate’s for a second before tilting his chin and fitting their lips together.

Nate closes his eyes and tries not to breathe. Fuck. Kissing Jo again is achingly familiar in a way he thought he forgot, slightly chapped lips and the smell of Jo, his hand coming up to rest on Nate’s shoulder. Jo’s tentativeness fades fast, his fingers tightening in Nate’s shirt, mouth a bruising force against Nate’s as he climbs into Nate’s lap.

“Hey, hey.” Nate pulls away for air, holding Jo back when he tries to close the distance between them again. “I’m right here. Not going anywhere.” He runs a hair through Jo’s hair, waits for Jo to relax before tugging his face close to press a much softer kiss to his lips.

“Don’t leave me again,” Jo whispers fiercely.

And Nate knows that he has to leave Jo at some point, that he’s going to wake up one day and fly to Denver and leave Jo in Toronto or Tampa or Ste Agathe. But he won’t leave Jo again, not in the way it matters.

“I won’t.”

#replies #fic and such #steph writes #jo/nate #ooooh man this 3k words took me like months to write #i just couldn't!! figure out how to end it!!! #anyway not too happy but what ev #can you believe i looked up the stats for that drummondville game

[obsidianarchives]

The Chang-Yang Family - Part 1

INT. HOGWARTS EXPRESS - AISLE - AFTERNOON                  STUDENTS fill the corridor. They're talking, laughing,                  kissing, holding hands, watching videos on their mobile                  devices, being casual, being carefree.                      INT. HOGWARTS EXPRESS - COMPARTMENT - DUSK                  MICHELLE CHANG-YANG, 15, Black, sits in a compartment                  with her friends. 15 year old AISHA GOLDSMAN, a girl with                  rich brown skin and long, deep red braids, is reading                  BLACK MAGIC, a hair & beauty magazine and laughing at:                  JAMES POTTER, also 15, a tall, brown haired boy, whose                  makeup keeps being altered by LYRIC SCAMANADER, 16.                  Lyric's light brown skin and bright, red afro glow as she                  debates with James over the softer pallet she prefers on                  his skin rather than the dark and bold color scheme he                  usually wears.                  Michelle holds a book that she doesn't read and sits                  still, her attention caught by whatever is on her mind.                    The train zooms by the moors of SCOTLAND, beautiful and                  bone-chilling, but she doesn't seem to notice. Her                  friends laugh raucously and still, nothing draws her gaze                  from her hands.                  EXT. PLATFORM 9 3/4 - NIGHT                  CHO CHANG, 49, Chinese, stands on the train platform and                  doesn't interact with any of the waiting families. She is                  dressed to kill in a bright, color blocked pants-suit,                  hair and nails perfectly manicured. In front of her face,                  a screen floats. Cho uses her wand to scroll down and                  read the next few paragraphs of the report displayed.                  SMALL AND LARGE GROUPS OF FAMILIES have clustered in                  their winter gear, making mindless chatter about their                  yule plans and stealing glances at Cho who doesn't even                  wear a coat.                    In moments, the HOGWARTS EXPRESS, in all of its crimson                  and black glory, roars into the station and the air fills                  with anticipation. Cho waves her wand to disappear the                  screen. Suddenly she is excited and scans the crowd of                  students eagerly. The too-cool-for-school business woman                  of 2 minutes ago completely disappears when Cho spots the                  person she's looking for.                                         CHO                            Bones! Bones! Shelly Bones!                  Cho's waving and calling out isn't helping. She rushes                  past the crowd in front of her and catches up to                  Michelle, who is moving quickly towards a column to exit.                                         CHO                            Bones!                  Michelle turns around, surprise evident on her face.                                         MICHELLE                            Mama?!                  Cho embraces her daughter tightly. Michelle is still                  surprised but returns the hug.                                         CHO                            Where are your friends? I told                            Harry and Ginny we'd bring James                            home.                                         MICHELLE                            He's going to the movies with Ish                            and Lyric. So, what's up? What are                            you doing here??                                         CHO                            Baby, it's your 16th birthday. I                            know you didn't think I would let                            someone else be here.                                         MICHELLE                                 (rolling her eyes)                            My birthday is NEXT Saturday.                                         CHO                            Your birthday is the month of                            December. And nobody is picking up                            my baby from the train for her                            16th birthday visit-but me. I                            forced all of the UK to                            accommodate my schedule only for                            my daughter to be unimpressed by                            my appearance.                                 (She lets out a                                  dramatic sigh)                             Ready to go?                  Cho takes Michelle's hand and begins walking towards the                  column.                  There is a short line of people waiting to go through but                  she goes to the front and steps in front of the family                  beginning to push themselves into the brick column.                                         CHO                            Hi, sorry, just got word. Big                            emergency. Happy Christmas to you.                  Cho steps through the column, leaving Platform 9 3/4                  behind. Michelle glances at the stunned family,                  embarrassed. She mumbles something unintelligible and                  follows her mother through the column.                  INT. CHANG GRANDPARENTS DINING ROOM - NIGHT                  Michelle and Cho sit on opposite sides of a small dining                  room table. At the head of the table is GRANDPA CHANG,                  60s, kind with a bright twinkle of humor in his eyes, and                  GRANDMA CHANG, 60s, the resident bearer of truth in the                  family, sits across from him.                      All dialogue in italics is in Mandarin                                         MICHELLE                            The only class I'm worried about                            is Defense Against the Dark Arts.                                         GRANDMA CHANG                            Do you need an OWL in that?                                         CHO                            She wants an OWL in all her                            courses Mama.                                   ��     GRANDPA CHANG                            Of course she does.                                         MICHELLE                                 (staring at her                                  plate)                            It's because I don't know what                            career I want.                                         CHO                            Right now, she wants to work in                            Magical Law as much as she wants                            to be a Healer.                                         GRANDPA CHANG                                 (proud)                            And last month, you thought it                            would be fun to be an author.                                         GRANDMA CHANG                            You have so many interests little                            one.                                         CHO                            It's that curious mind you have.                                         MICHELLE                            Yeah.                  The adults look at one another questioningly. Michelle is                  pushing the food around on her plate but has hardly eaten                  anything.                                         CHO                            Your father said you're doing                            really well in Transfiguration.                                         MICHELLE                                 (Michelle's head                                  snaps up at this)                            ...yeah.                  They all look at her expectantly.                                         MICHELLE                            It helps that he teaches it? I'm                            not afraid to try anything in that                            class.                  Michelle gives them a small smile and takes a bite of                  food before another question can be asked. Everyone is                  quiet for a moment.                                         CHO                            You alright honey?                                         MICHELLE                            Yes Mama, I'm fine.                  Grandma Chang pats her daughter on the hand                  understandingly. Teenage girls, what are you gonna do?                  They carry on the conversation and leave Michelle to her                  thoughts.                  INT. CHANG GRANDPARENTS LIVING ROOM - NIGHT                  Michelle and Grandpa sit on the floor, an elaborately                  Chinese styled game of Wizards Chess between them.                  Grandpa is the clear winner at this point.                  Several of Michelle's bronze pieces lie destroyed on the                  floor in front of him while his red pieces stand tall                  across the board.                                         GRANDMA CHANG                            You know, little one, I haven't                            beat you this bad since last year.                  Michelle barely laughs.                                         GRANDPA CHANG                            Let's call the game a draw, hm?                            And talk about you.                                         MICHELLE                            I never draw.                                         GRANDPA CHANG                            Then let's talk about what's on                            your mind then finish playing. I                            don't like playing against a                            zombie. It's not a good game.                  Michelle doesn't speak right away. Her eyes stay on the                  Chess board, and the piece she's holding. Grandpa sits                  patiently.                                         MICHELLE                                 (so low it's almost a                                  whisper)                            I've made a big decision but I                            don't know how to tell Mama.                                         GRANDPA CHANG                            Your Mama is a strong girl. Tell                            her whatever it is.                                         MICHELLE                            What did you think when she                            brought me home the first time?                  This time it's Grandpa Chang who doesn't speak right                  away. After a moment, he looks Michelle in her eye and                  doesn't look away while he responds.                                         GRANDPA CHANG                            I thought my daughter had went                            crazy.                  Michelle absorbs this, still holding his gaze even though                  she doesn't want to.                                         GRANDPA CHANG                            32 years old, no husband, no                            boyfriend. Busy job. A 2 year old                            child she found in a building.                            Black girl. I think 'ah, she                            finally fall apart from the school                            boyfriend's death.'                                         MICHELLE                            It was an orphanage, Grandpa. And                            she's told me about him. He sounds                            really nice. Do you think they                            would've gotten married and had                            their own family.                                         GRANDPA CHANG                            Own family?                                         MICHELLE                            Their own children.                                         GRANDPA CHANG                            Who's child are you then?                                         MICHELLE                            I know I'm Mama's child. I just                            wonder if she would've had her own                            children if she could.                                         GRANDPA CHANG                            She can. She chose you. She said                            you were born to belong to each                            other.                  Grandpa Chang takes the piece from Michelle's hands and                  moves it on the board. He begins playing against himself.                                         GRANDPA CHANG                            Talk to your Mama, little one. She                            will help you. You belong to all                            of us and we belong to you.                  INT. CHANG HALLWAY - NIGHT                  Cho and Michelle side along apparate into the front                  hallway of their home.                                         CHO                            Pretty soon, I'm going to miss                            that. You're growing up so fast, I                            lose a little bit of you every                            day.                    She places a kiss on her daughter's forehead and lets her                  go.                                         MICHELLE                            Mama...Mama, I need to be Chinese.                  Michelle looks at her mother expectantly but Cho can't                  pretend like she understands. She can't even follow where                  this conversation is going.                                         CHO                            Can you give me a little more?                                         MICHELLE                            I've been working on a spell.                            Since last year. It'll...make me                            Chinese.                                         CHO                            Baby, I don't understand.                                         MICHELLE                            I want to look like my family. I                            need to look like my family.                  Cho finally registers what's going on just stares. She                  can't believe this.                                         MICHELLE                            The spell is permanent.                  Cho cries out but Michelle, unable to stop now that she's                  begun, continues.                                         MICHELLE                            I've chosen my birthday as the                            transformation date so I need to                            get back to Hogwarts next week.                            Dad's going to be there to help me                            and make sure nothing goes wrong.                                         CHO                            Okay, just. Wait.                  Cho puts her hands up, gesturing for Michelle to stop.                  They stand there, looking at one another, each needing to                  express more. More thoughts, more questions, more                  beliefs, more viewpoints. But they can't. So they stand.                  INT. HOGWARTS HEADMISTRESS OFFICE - DAY                  Cho is no longer standing. She's pacing. Furiously. She                  is a ball of tightly wound energy and when MICHAEL YANG,                  38, Chinese, the consummate academic, enters the room,                  she unleashes it all on him. The door to the Headmistress                  of HOGWARTS' office hasn't closed before Michael has been                  disarmed and pinned to the wall in a burst of incensed                  magic by Cho.                  HERMIONE GRANGER, 49, Headmistress, is alarmed but                  instantly aware that she will have to be the voice of                  reason. She quietly calls out to Cho from her desk.                                         HERMIONE                            Cho. Can you please let my                            professor down from the wall?                                         CHO                                 (she only has                                  attention for                                  Michael)                            How. Dare. You.                                         MICHAEL                            Let me down. Now!                  Cho doesn't budge. She is all fire and fury. Hermione                  disarms her, releases Michael and has them both pinned to                  the seats in front of her desk in a matter of moments.                  Cho watches as Hermione draws another spell with her wand                  and encloses them in a large, clear cube. A thin,                  transparent wall stands between her & Michael's chairs                  from floor to ceiling. Cho leaps from her chair, her rage                  temporarily directed to Hermione but the air outside the                  cube seems to be peaceful & undisturbed.                                         HERMIONE                            The cube is soundproof. I assume                            this...conversation is about your                            daughter so I can't hear a word                            you're saying. Yell, scream, do                            whatever you need. My office was                            chosen for a reason so just let me                            know when you're done and ready to                            explain what my role is supposed                            to be.                    Hermione turns her back on them.                                         CHO                            I hate that bitch!                                         MICHAEL                            Cho.                                         CHO                            Don't say my name! Don't you dare                            say my name! How could you                            Michael?!                                         MICHAEL                            She asked me.                                         CHO                            And the answer is no! You don't                            get to help my daughter feel like                            she's not good enough!                                         MICHAEL                            You need to listen to OUR daughter                            about what she wants. We don't                            have the right to tell her no.                                           CHO                            Yes we do Michael! We're her                            parents. It's what the fuck we do!                            She's young, she wants to make a                            decision that will affect her for                            the rest of her life and WE TELL                            HER NO!                                         MICHAEL                            Have you even talked to her about                            it? She came to me because she                            knew you wouldn't listen-                                         CHO                            AND YOU, YOU WORTHLESS ASSHOLE,                            YOU SHOULD'VE COME TO ME                            IMMEDIATELY!                                         MICHAEL                            My name is Michael. And you're not                            the only one that cares about-                                         CHO                                 (disbelieving)                            If you care about her, act like                            it!                  Cho walks to the edge of the cube and bangs on it to get                  Hermione's attention.                                         HERMIONE                                 (as though on a loud                                  speaker)                            Is everything alright?                                         CHO                            Let us out of here.                  She gestures, remembering Hermione's instructions that                  they can't be heard.                                         HERMIONE                            Are you done? I can't have you                            throwing Professors all over my                            office Cho.                  Every portrait hanging in the office voices their support                  of Hermione and their outrage at Cho's behavior.                                         CHO                            Just let us out.                  Hermione vanishes the walls surrounding Michael and Cho.                  They don't take their seats again but they stay on                  opposite sides of the room.                                         HERMIONE                            So...why are we here?                                         CHO                            Professor Yang, please.                                 (she gestures                                  invitingly)                            Why don't you continue the                            conversation I'm sure you've been                            having with Professor Granger.                            Certainly you and my daughter                            haven't set these grand plans to                            take place on school grounds next                            week and not shared them the                            Headmistress.                                         HERMIONE                            Professor Yang?                                         MICHAEL                            Michelle came to me at the                            beginning of the school year and                            informed me of an advanced                            transfiguration spell she's been                            working on-                                         CHO                            You knew about this in September?!                                         MICHAEL                            -to permanently alter her                            appearance.                  Cho makes a noise of frustration. The Headmasters hanging                  on the wall are shocked but Hermione urges Michael to                  continue.                                         MICHAEL                            Her entire family is Chinese and                            she wants to...look like the rest                            of us.                                         HERMIONE                            Am I to understand that Michelle                            is planning to perform a spell                            that will permanently make her                            appear Chinese?                                         CHO                            I'm being quiet because if I say                            anything, I'll scream.                                         HERMIONE                            Certainly, Professor Yang, you                            wouldn't allow a student to                            perform that kind of experimental,                            and likely illegal, magic on the                            premises.                                         MICHAEL                            She's done the research, there are                            no laws on record outlawing the                            magic.                                         HERMIONE                            Currently.                                         MICHAEL                            The spell combines 3 forms of                            interchangeable magic in a way                            I've never seen before. It's a                            transfiguration spell supported by                            a charm and a potion, both of                            which she also created. It's quite                            remarkable Professor Granger.                                         CHO                            That doesn't make it right,                            Michael!                                         HERMIONE                            As impressive as the magic sounds                            Professor Yang-                                         MICHAEL                            -It's a personal project and would                            take place when students aren't in                            term! Michelle is not a student                            next week, she's my child visiting                            me at my home.                                         HERMIONE                            Which is my school.                                         CHO                            My daughter is Black, she is                            beautiful and she's going to be                            both of those things forever.                                         MICHAEL                            Our daughter is brave and                            brilliant and determined to do                            this!                                         HERMIONE                            That may be the case but she can't                            do it here at Hogwarts. If                            Michelle wants to return to school                            with a new...face, that's a family                            matter, that I would expect the                            ministry to weigh in on, but I                            cannot allow you to carry on this                            experiment here. And I'm very                            disappointed in you Professor                            Yang, that you would abuse your                            position in this way.                                         CHO                            Michael Yang, you listen to me.                                 (she's crying now)                            You cannot do this. Don't do this.                                           MICHAEL                            At 14 years old, Michelle created                            a spell that most hundred year old                            witches and wizards can't fathom.                            And she is very clear about her                            reasons for doing so. You don't                            get to tell her who to be Cho. You                            think that's your job as her                            parent but it isn't.                            I'm telling you in no uncertain                            terms that she has my full support                            and will have my full assistance                            however SHE chooses to see this                            through.                                 (to Hermione)                            Professor Granger, I apologize.                  Michael wordlessly calls his wand to him and storms down                  the stairs.                                                         TO BE CONTINUED...

Sunshine Moxie Entertainment exists to put Black women of all ethnicities, nationalities and walks of life at the center of their own stories. We use creativity in the forms of cinema, television, music videos, live productions, audiobooks and other forms of new or emerging media to build a worldwide community of Black women. As part of our commitment to making sure the world has unparalleled access to a wide berth of perspectives, Sunshine Moxie Entertainment seeks to find, develop, educate and empower talent in front of and behind the camera.

Eliyannah Amirah Yisrael, Ravenclaw and founder of Sunshine Moxie Entertainment, is a Black girl from Chicago who was supposed to stay inside her box. Instead, she decided to dream big, live bigger and change the world through visual storytelling. Since 2010, she has written and directed across mediums to tell stories about the objects of her obsession: women of color.

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[theripertoire]

Our Wedding - A Night filled with Happiness, Magic, Positivity & Above All, Love 

On December 30, 2016, I married the love of my life. We were surrounded by 300 of our dearest family members, closest friends, and coolest acquaintances. It was the most fun, most unforgettable, and most magical night I’ve ever had. Looking back, I can’t believe that over a month has gone by, and I still can’t get over how fast it ended. It’s something I had heard so many married couples say: you plan it for months and it goes by in a second. So, I decided to make the most out of that second, no matter what.

Many of my followers and readers have been asking me for tips, based on my experience, and this long, overdue post is to do just that!

Here goes!

Lesson #1: Invest in a wedding planner, and more specifically, in the right wedding planner for you. I don’t care how many people say wedding planners are overrated, they definitely aren’t. on your big day, you want to be as carefree as possible, and you need someone (in fact, a team of someones) to make sure every detail is accounted for and that all is moving according to plan. After extensive research, I decided to work with Robert Hykl. I realized his work is different, simple, chic, and tasteful. He didn’t just throw flowers and jewels around and call it “décor”. He didn’t set ridiculous conditions like “Sorry, I can’t do a wedding under 700,000 USD.” That is something I’m fortunately not wasteful enough to do. I wanted to work with someone who was able to translate my ideas into something timeless and consistent, without ripping us off. He did just that. He also made sure we worked with the best suppliers so that I would never have to worry about being robbed or ending up with bad results. I literally bow down to all the hard work Robert and his team did. Without them, I would have had 1,000 mistakes happen that night. For instance, Robert made sure to measure the aisle according to the width of my dress, and the entrance according to the height of the cake. If he hadn’t thought of that, my cape would have caught fire, and the cake would have collapsed. These are only some of the few reasons you need a wedding planner.

Lesson #2: Meet with every designer you can and try on every single dress silhouette you find before choosing your dress. You want to end up wearing something that you will love 30 years from now when you and your daughter are looking at your photos. I wanted a wedding cape instead of a veil and a fuss-free evening gown instead of a massive dress (not that it’s wrong – we each have our preferences). In my case, I simply don’t believe in being uncomfortable during an already stressful day. I didn’t want my fragile hair being tugged by meters and meters of tulle. I also wanted a dress that weighed way under 5 kilos. That meant: no layers, no petticoat, no heavy beading, and no meringue effect. I’m pretty sure my dress was difficult for many to digest – heck I was even shocked when I saw it for the first few times. But, I felt it was my responsibility to wear something new and different, even if it were at risk of some people not liking it. After all, isn’t that what fashion is all about? Jean Louis Sabaji, a very whimsical and creative designer, who also happens to be a friend of mine, felt like the perfect choice to me. I wanted people to see what he can do with bridal gowns, and show the world a new angle to Lebanese designers. I wish I could have worked with so many other extremely talented Lebanese designers as well, and wear 7 different dresses, but it all comes down to one dress. Point is: stay true to yourself. Don’t follow the crowd. Wear something with your fingerprints on it. You should be the one wearing the dress, not the other way around.

Lesson #3: People will piss you off. Get ready for it. Basically, you will expect so much from certain people and so little from others. At the end, the opposite could/will happen. Those you didn’t expect much from will end up being the superstars of the night, while those you expected much more from will have done so little. Don’t let it get to you. Accept that not all friends make it to the next chapter of your life, and understand that this behavior has nothing to do with you personally. Focus on what truly matters and on how blessed you are to be embarking on this journey. Good riddance to those who don’t make the effort to be a part of it. They will soon be replaced by many others.

Lesson #4: Enjoy your night, no matter what! You worked so hard for it and waited so long for it, you owe it to yourself to enjoy it! I can’t stand seeing a prissy bride; her stiffness ends up ruining the mood for everyone else. I decided not to care about my hair and makeup, and have a blast. I wanted my guests to feel at home and drink and dance the night away. In order for that to happen, I had to help set the mood for them by showing them it’s okay to jump around and act silly. Some of us were still dancing till 3:30 AM, and most of our guests were totally wasted by the time they left. Now that’s what a good party is all about. Yes, the décor has to be nice, and the food has to be good, but the mood is everything. We worked with 8e art and Jad Jazzy Jay for the entertainment, and if we had to do it all again, I would work them every single time. (PS. We did play Arabic music, and I even danced to it. It was so cool.)

Lesson #5: Don’t worry about the little things. Many brides told me that no one notices the little mistakes except me, so I should focus on them. To my luck, Robert had literally taken care of every last detail – so nothing actually turned out differently than what we agreed on. BUT, one of the rhinestones on my cape got wedged in the door during my entrance. I was stuck there for a good 10 seconds trying to get it out until my mom came and helped. It was the longest 10 seconds of my life. Looking back, I don’t care for that at all. I made sure to continue dancing, smiling, and having a good time … well, until my heel broke. I had forgotten my spare shoes at home, so I decided to continue wearing them until we cut the cake. For a good 45 minutes, I was dancing with a broken heel, but it’s something I laugh about with my friends now. When I look back, I remember the happiness. I don’t even think of the mishaps.

Lesson #6: Micro manage EVERYTHING during the wedding planning phase, even if you’re working with a wedding planner. I literally followed up on every detail and we saw samples of everything. I wanted every aspect of the wedding to go through Toufic and I for approval. Trust issues? Maybe – but this is the one piece of advice I would give any bride to be. The more you micro manage during the months leading up to the wedding, the less you have to worry about anything during your big day. Put yourself in your guests’ shoes. What would you like? What wouldn’t you like? What would make the night memorable for you? And take it from there.

Lesson #7: Don’t worry about the weight you gained, you will lose it all and more in the couple of weeks leading up to the wedding. I don’t understand why some girls go on bridal diets a whole year in advance – just for one day! It’s really not that big of a deal. I gained three kilos before my wedding then lost six. At first I was freaking out, then I realized that it’s part of the process. My designer had to get my dress refitted twice. Then, a few days before the wedding, I gained a kilo. I was supposed to wear a belt with my dress, but it could barely buckle around my waist. So, I got rid of it. No big deal! If a bride is too prissy and melodramatic about these things, she could create unnecessary stress for herself and end up having a terrible time. This sort of anxiety attracts disasters. So, do what needs to be done, but try to be cool about it and have faith that things will end up going great.

Lesson #8: Don’t worry too much about the next steps or cry too much about what you’re leaving behind. You will soon realize that being a newlywed comes with a long list of perks … as well as disadvantages. Nothing you do will ever prepare you for what’s next. You have to have faith in yourself, your partner and in the universe, and remind yourself that you will adapt no matter what. I won’t elaborate more on this, because I’m preparing a separate blog post for it. Anyway, I had a very emotional month leading up to the wedding. I cried a lot and felt I was bidding farewell to an entire era. In fact, when I think about it, I still feel a lump in my throat. I was leaving my family, job, friends, and so much of my life in Lebanon, to move to a new country. It didn’t really sink in till a couple of weeks before the wedding. I fought back my tears so much that I gave myself a tear duct infection, which I’m still treating till now. There were days where I couldn’t breathe, and times where I loathed Toufic because I felt he was ripping me away from all that I loved. I fought with him countless times and romanticized my life as the single, career-oriented Rita Dahdah. With time, I realized that I needed to accept the beautiful change that was coming my way. If I fought it, I would end up bringing bad things my way. If I embraced it, amazing new doors would open for me. This is life. After weeks of crying, I was surprisingly as calm as a cucumber on the day of my wedding. I ate a manoushi. I wasted time on Snapchat. I goofed around. I shouted at a few people because I felt it was the only day I could get away with being a diva. At the end of the night, I cried, a lot. I think it was the alcohol. But, I remember crying and hugging my mom. I realized I was all grown up now. I think she realized that too. We both also realized that we were losing a little piece of what held us together, but at the same time, gaining something new that would hold us together even tighter, despite the distance.

Lesson #9: Don’t ever follow a wedding standard. There is right or wrong way to get married. Whether you want to have a small, country chic wedding somewhere in a vineyard, or a bohemian wedding somewhere by the beach, or a glamorous, old Hollywood even filled with champagne and live jazz music – it’s entirely up to you. Forget what you’re seeing on Instagram and in magazines. Forget what people tell you. It’s your night and you get to do it once, so do it your way. If it ends up being a mistake, at least it was your mistake. What matters after it’s all over is the happiness you and everyone felt. For that reason, be selective with your invitees. We had a glamorous wedding, but only invited 370 people – 320 of which attended. On Lebanese standards, that is a small wedding. On western standards, that’s a big wedding. On our standards, that was just about right.  

Notable Mentions

In an upcoming post, I will be discussing our wedding in detail, how we worked on it, and how it all came together. Meanwhile, here’s a list of cool people I worked with that I would definitely recommend to others:

Wedding Planner: Robert Haykal (IG handle: @roberthykl)

Venue: Chateau Rweiss (IG handle: @chateaurweiss)

Photographer: Pulse Production (IG handle: @pulseproduction)

Hairdresser: Tony El Mendelek (IG handle: @tonyelmendelek)

Dress: Jean Louis Sabaji (IG handle: @jeanlouissabaji)

Makeup Artist: Bassam Fattouh (IG handle: @bassamfattouh)

Jewelry: Mouawad Jewelry (IG handle: @mouawadjewelry)

Shoes: Oscar Tiye (IG handle: @oscartiye)

Cake: Nazira Catering (IG handle: @naziracatering)

Catering: Faqra Catering (IG handle: @faqracatering)

Chocolates: Elsa Chocolate (IG handle: @elsa_chocolate)

Entertainment: 8eme Art (IG handle: @8eart)

DJ: Jad Jazzy Jay (IG handle: @jadjazzyjay)

Wall of Fame Paper Flowers: Blooms by Yara (IG handle: @blooms_by_yara)

And above all, there’s love… just love..

XX -R

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