#in this house we prefer happy endings for the rarepairs

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ At long last; a *very* belated Roaring Twenties Rarepair Exchange gift for the amazing @bobbimorseisbisexual (lazyfish), who prompted “Scis & Spies + Regency AU".

This fic was inspired by the show Gentleman Jack, which is technically set in the Georgian era but it's pretty close! It’s also the longest thing I’ve written in like a year, and my first ever S&S fic! Though it may not be apparent from the appalling lateness, I had a great time writing this; I hope you enjoy it too <3

Rated T. Mostly fluffy. Relationships: Scis & Spies (Bobbi x Simmons x Fitz x Hunter, polyamory)

Read on AO3 (3800wd)

The Jacks and the Gentlemen

Barbara Elizabeth Morse was a woman of a peculiar kind. She always had been.

Ever since she had developed the capacity to loathe things, for example, Barbara had loathed her name; in particular, the foremost. But the fact that she insisted on being addressed as “Bobbi” instead was merely the first in a long line of deviations she took from the expected norm of her assigned sex so that by young adulthood, she had permanently marked herself as quite the oddity.

Growing up, Bobbi had no interest in the banal niceties expected of a woman of her station, and less than none in frills and petticoats or tending house. Even learning the arts and languages and traipsing around her family’s estate on horseback became dull and boring after a time. What was the point after all, Bobbi reasoned, of broadening one’s horizons if one was only permitted to gaze at them from the safety and mundanity of one’s lace-curtained bedroom window? What was the point of developing a sharp mind if it was allowed only to consume and perform as it had been told? It was a gilded cage to be sure, but a cage nonetheless, and so Bobbi dedicated much of her life to spreading her wings and flying free of it.

To this end – and despite much protest from her hand-wringing family - Bobbi left the comforting cloister of her estate and travelled the world; whereupon she discovered and indulged in many a fascination that had been denied her for so much of her young life. She experimented with tailored coats and hats, trousers, cravats… She studied science and medicine, biology, strategy… She delighted in romantic challenge and chase and left many a heart broken in her wake. She was even married for a time, to a disgruntled British naval officer, but it didn’t stick. Few things did as, quite the opposite of bored, Bobbi became rather restless; all but consumed by the need to discover what the world held in store for her.

When came the news that she had to return home, it was devastating. Without the benefit of hindsight, it hardly seemed to Bobbi that there could be a new and equally enticing journey about to begin. Yet, she had never been one to be cowed by things not going her way, and so she held her head high – a little too high, perhaps, when she insisted upon driving the carriage home herself; fearing, not that she would admit it, that her recently-returned nightmares of the carriage walls closing in around her would finally come true.

Bobbi endured the talk of her home town with as much dignity as she could muster – and as both a woman of high class and exceeding stoicism, that amount was not insignificant. Still, she could not entirely pretend, to herself at least, that it did not bother her; the way they all seemed to talk about her as though she was the small one, the poorly achieving one, having done nothing with her life but travel and dabble in knowledge after knowledge. Even the ones she thought might understand seemed to be hopeful that her return was a sign she was ready to settle down, and the more times this was insinuated, the more Bobbi wanted to cut off her own hair, denounce all civilisation, and steal away into the night. She had the skills and the courage to do it now. The only thing stopping her was the need to rebuild her estate before her family’s finances collapsed entirely and left a few dozen good people out of work and home.

… Although, if she were being completely honest, it did not hurt matters that she had also been invited for tea with the newest and most curious of her neighbours, one Miss Jemma Anne Simmons.

Miss Simmons was a pretty young woman, but her arrival was making a splash in the papers as much for her scientific mind as for her elusive inventor fiancé, and her appearance of apparently Shakespearean beauty. So, as much as Bobbi had been weighed down by tired social occasion after tired social occasion with the socialites that flittered through town on the ever-changing wealth of this new age of industrialisation, she had a feeling in her gut that this one was going to be different.

That feeling certainly was not nerves, Bobbi insisted to herself as she stepped over the threshold of the Fitz-Simmons house – and then again, as she was announced and ushered into the parlour, to find Jemma in all the resplendent glory the papers had promised. The woman seemed delicate, refined, and delightfully feminine in all the ways Bobbi knew she herself was not and Bobbi – who had always been a rather brash sort – felt herself oddly humbled by Jemma’s smile.

“Good afternoon,” Jemma greeted, “it’s Barbara, isn’t it?”

Bobbi couldn’t help but cringe. “Please,” she requested, “call me Bobbi.”

“Oh yes, of course. My apologies.” Jemma curtsied a little – and was that a blush? “It’s lovely to have you, Bobbi. Would you care for some tea? Of if you would prefer, I can send for coffee…”

She reached for the bell, but Bobbi raised a hand to stop her.

“Tea would be wonderful,” she agreed. “Young Hyson, if you have it - black, with no sugar. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Jemma nodded, and began to pour. And yes, that was definitely a blush. Bobbi was even feeling a whisper of her own as Jemma added – as if she was trying to hide how desperately she wished Bobbi to acquiesce –

“I wonder if we might take tea outside this afternoon. I’ve been positively beleaguered with meetings today and I must see to my plants.”

A woman after her own heart. Bobbi smiled.

“Of course. We should stretch our legs after all.”

“Then it is decided.”

Bobbi’s heart dared to flutter in her chest as Jemma’s cautious hostess’ smile erupted into a beaming grin. The woman took hold of her skirts – revealing boots much like Bobbi’s own, rather than slippers that might have matched her otherwise refined ensemble – and took off out of the parlour door with great gusto. Finding herself drawn to follow, this time undeniably by more than her botanist’s interest alone, Bobbi strode after Jemma as best she could while reeling at her own spoonishness.

As they traipsed across the lawn, Bobbi marvelled in the delight Jemma seemed take at being out of doors, and drank in the prelude to the greenhouse – half snatched away by the wind though it was – with which the other woman was regaling her. Bobbi found herself entranced by Jemma’s spirited expression; the way she revelled in the trials and tribulations of seeking and transporting her large collection of exotics, unfazed even as the wind began to pull locks of her perfect hair from its arrangement and blow them unceremoniously into her face. And then –

“Oh, excuse me, Bobbi,” Jemma pleaded, and her expression narrowed into a scolding sort of glare. Bobbi followed the line of it and saw a ladder propped against the side of what appeared to be a disused chicken coop, and a figure hunched atop the rickety roof in an overcoat and goggles, fixing some contraption or other to the highest point of the pitch.

“Ho, Fitz!” Jemma hollered, as the figure lost hold of a tool and it fell to the dirt. He cursed.

“That’s Fitz?” Bobbi blurted. “Your Fitz?”

“You sound surprised,” Jemma noted.

“I meant no offence, it’s just – I’ve met quite a few of these entrepreneurial types and generally they’re rather… obnoxious.”

Jemma scoffed. “Oh, believe me: he’s plenty obnoxious.”

Resolute, she handed her cup of tea to Bobbi, hitched her skirt up a little higher with both hands and made a bee-line for the chicken coop, until she was close enough that her boots were in the muck.

“Fitz!” she called again.

“Yes, love?”

Fitz’s head jerked up at the call, and he saw her and Bobbi and apparently not the loose tile on which he had stepped. Before he could do any more than yelp in surprise, he had slipped and fallen flat on his back, coughing and spluttering and winded. His curls looked madder than ever as he lay there in resignation, and spat a soiled feather from his pouting mouth.

“Ugh, Fitz!” Jemma lamented. She locked an arm with her fiancé and hauled him out of the sludge. “I told you to wait until Mack could come down and help with all this.”

“Mack and I are building the mechanical milling machine,” Fitz corrected. “This is a sonic fox repellent. It’s just a prototype but – Oh, sorry. I’m Fitz, by the way. Leopold Fitz, technically, but please don’t call me that.”

“Barbara Morse, technically,” Bobbi greeted. “But please don’t call me that either. I prefer Bobbi. Sonic fox repellent, you say? Let me know if it works – I might have to purchase a couple for myself.”

“Well, uh, thank you, but um –“

“But Mack will be here any minute, dear,” Jemma interrupted, waving Fitz toward the house. “Go and clean up now. Go! Honestly.”

“Yes, dear.” Fitz rolled his eyes, but smiled at his fussing fiancé as he retreated toward the house. Jemma slogged the rest of the way to the chicken coop and retrieved the screwdriver he had dropped, setting it on a step of the nearby ladder in case he went looking for it later. Bobbi looked on with nought to do but hold the two teacups steady, and she was a little surprised to find that despite what perhaps should have been a heart-wrenching reality check - to discover that the most recent object of her affection was indeed happy with someone else - Bobbi felt nothing but delight. No jealousy, no despair. And, if anything, a redoubled sense of yearning.

“Sorry about him,” Jemma apologised as she returned to Bobbi’s side to fetch her tea. “He’s a lovely man, really, and very intelligent, but he’s not accustomed to being complimented by beautiful women.”

“Well, with you around you think he’d be used to it by now.”

Jemma laughed, and raised an eyebrow as she took a sip. “Careful, Ms. Morse, you’ll give a lady ideas.”

The delivery of it was coquettish, light-hearted, but still Bobbi couldn’t help feeling that she’d crossed a line. She thought of poor sweet Fitz, and her heart sunk.

“I- I’m sorry, Miss Simmons. I meant nothing of it. Just that… Mr Fitz is a very lucky man.”

Seeing that she had sent Bobbi skittering, Jemma hurried to backtrack so emphatically that she almost spilled her tea.

“Oh, please! No need to apologise, it is all in good spirit – It was I who misspoke without the proper context. You see, Bobbi – may I still call you Bobbi? – your reputation precedes you in this regard but perhaps mine does not. Oh, dear.” Flustered, Jemma paused to gather herself and suddenly wished very dearly for a side table on which to deposit the lukewarm, useless beverage in her hands. “You see, I have been known to uh, entertain the attentions of the fairer sex myself. Not only am I not in the slightest offended by your perfectly innocent compliment, but I- I’m afraid I must confess I’d rather hoped you were being flirtatious.”

Bobbi gaped. “But… Fitz? I couldn’t. You’re engaged. It’s- it would be-”

“Fitz and I have an understanding,” Jemma clarified. At least, she phrased it like it was a clarification, but Bobbi only stumbled deeper into her confusion. She’d only seen the pair interact for a few odd minutes and already the connection was clear.

“He doesn’t- He’s not in love with you?” That man? Are you sure? Perhaps she would have to rethink her own calibration for stoicism if he had managed to keep that a secret.

Jemma shook her head.

“I’m not explaining this right. It never comes out simply, does it?” She clicked her tongue, tutting to herself as if musing on a new location for a particular pot, and not resolving the several short circuits sparking off inside Bobbi’s mind right now. It seemed like hours before she finally began again to explain:

“Fitz and I have been friends for the longest time,” she said. “As we grew and discovered that each of us had rather taken to those of our own sex we thought, if we were to live and love as our true selves well then, why not make it a marriage of convenience? Of course, he went and fell in love with me, didn’t he – and I him, do not misunderstand me: by some very blessed coincidence, we are very much in love. But our arrangement still stands. Fitz would not take offence in the slightest if you and I were to… explore any possibilities that may… arise.”

“…Right.”

“I can see that you need some more time to process,” Jemma observed. “Well, if I haven’t scared you off entirely – let’s say no more of it, for now. Come. Let me show you the greenhouse.”

They said no more of it for the rest of the afternoon, and for several days after that. They wrote little notes back and forth, about tea and chickens and foxes and plants, and very much not about the other topic of the day. Jemma waited for Bobbi to broach it and Bobbi – despite thinking about the arrangement with increasing regularity as time went on – dared not. The exact reason for it eluded her; did she fear that perhaps she had misread something, and that Jemma had not in fact, meant what she had said after all? Did she fear being the other woman – as she had been asked and offered many a time by men and women alike who did not have such an arrangement with their partners? Or did she fear the opposite instead; that she had finally found someone as unusual and brilliant and queer in every way as she herself was? Perhaps even two someones?

No doubt, there was some combination of all three tangled up in this knot in her chest, but it was the latter that kept Bobbi going to her desk in the middle of the night, pulling out a pen and paper, and not… quite… putting… the words down.

Or putting them down, and crossing them out.

Or putting them down, and throwing them in the fire.

As she watched the pages curl and blacken, Bobbi could taste the bitter memory of the last time she’d found herself in such a position. She had few regrets in her life, but one of them was that day; the day she’d let (or rather, driven) her former husband’s last words to her fall into the fire. There had been a lot more anger involved that time around, she recalled, and no shortage of jabbing at sparks with the fire iron, to make sure she’d got every last bit. This time, it felt like a step in the wrong direction. Like she was waiting to release the breath she was holding, or for the knot in her chest to untie and it never would.

I fear I must, were the last words she could discern now, from the letter she had burnt. She reached for the poker with a tremor in her fingers, and gritted her teeth. One good jab, and it would all be over. Then again, there was a blank spot just there. She could save it, if she were careful – and quick, as the words were already shrinking before her eyes.

I fear I  

I fear

Fear  

And then they were gone. And her breath was still caught in her chest but she lifted her head. She may have burned her bridges with the Midshipman after all, but she could still remember that infuriatingly rakish daredevil smile of his.

“Come on, love,” he used to like challenging her. “A little fear is nothing to be afraid of.”

It was something that had always bound them; the rush of taking risks, the revelling in new horizons. It was every reason she had to have left her home in the first place; perhaps that was what had made their relationship last so long, despite the warning signs. And as Bobbi reflected upon this image of herself, kneeling at her hearth, clutching a fire poker with a shaking hand at some unearthly hour in the morning - and not for the first time at that - she had to laugh. This was exactly the reason Hunter had broken up with her and after all this time she had to admit, the limey was right: as much as she purported to be bold and confident, to love a challenge, she was a coward when it came to affairs of the heart.

But Bobbi was no fool. She knew regret, and she knew the value of a wasted opportunity. She had regretted leaving Hunter enough times in her life thus far; she dared not waste such an opportunity again.

So she stood, and reached for her coat. Never mind the nightgown, never mind ringing for Davis; Bobbi figured, she could tack a horse herself just as quickly and if she didn’t take action now the fear might just get the better of her. Perhaps the boots, though, rather than these flimsy slippers – yes, she should take the boots.

She pulled them on in a fluster, hopping in through the stable door, and tacked up in the dark as fast as her fingers remembered how. Of course, she could walk to the Fitzsimmons’ – they were only next door after all, just a little ways down the road - but it was far too late at night for that, and God forbid it would give her too much time to think.

Fortunately, Belle was fleet of foot and it was not long at all before she was clattering up the FitzSimmons’ driveway, her heart in her throat. There was a carriage she did not recognise in a nearby pen. Did they have a guest? Should she turn back? Belle whinnied low as if warning her, and Bobbi swallowed her fear once again. If she did turn back, no doubt she would find herself achingly alone by the fireplace for many more nights in her life, and as much as she treasured her independence, she didn’t want it to be like that. Not when it didn’t have to be.

Bobbi slid from the saddle, and as she tied Belle to a nearby post she spared a thought of gratitude that she had decided to wear boots for a little relief against the chilled and dewy cobblestones. With a deep breath, she approached the threshold, and knocked, and rang the bell.

Seconds passed, and though she counted them along their way they still somehow felt like minutes. Like hours. Bobbi watched every breath steam in front of her and after the third she closed her eyes and reluctantly wondered what it would be like to just give in to the dread, and forget the whole thing.

Just as she was on the knife’s edge of giving up, however, the door opened a crack.

It was Fitz, with his soft curls and his shirt loose and dishevelled, and upon recognising the figure who stood at his door, a rather bewildered expression.

“Jemma, dear,” he called, “I think- I think it’s for you.”

And so Jemma came to the door as well, and looked Bobbi up and down. A frown crossed her features, concerned and curious, as she ushered Bobbi inside.

“Are you alright?” she wondered. “I… hadn’t heard from you.”

“I know.” Bobbi bounced on the spot. With adrenaline keeping her blood pumping, she hadn’t realised it was quite so cold. “I know. It’s my fault. I meant to tell you so- so many things. I was flattered- I am flattered. Exceedingly so. I just…”

“It’s perfectly understandable,” Jemma assured her. “I should never have sprung something so… unconventional on you like that!”

“But being unconventional is why I like you.” It blurted out with no restraint, and Bobbi felt her heart warm when Jemma smiled. “And it’s not the- the arrangement itself that worries me. I suppose I thought you were mocking me; that you might not have been taking me seriously.”

“Bobbi.” Jemma looked her square in the eyes, and very deliberately reached out a hand to take hers. “We were very serious – and still are, if you’ll have us.”

Fitz nodded his agreement earnestly, and at last, Bobbi felt the knot in her chest begin to untie.

“Well then,“ she confessed, “I suppose my answer is yes.”

Jemma beamed, and clapped in delight.

“Wonderful!” she cried. “Won’t you come in for a drink to celebrate?”

“Certainly,” Bobbi agreed. The fear was fading much faster than she had anticipated, and she smiled at her companions with genuine warmth in her heart. “I would love a brandy, if you have it.”

“I’ll pour you a glass,” Fitz said, and scoffed. “If Hunter hasn’t taken the last drop.”

“If- who?”

Bobbi stammered, and let Jemma and Fitz usher her into the lounge without protest, with hardly a thought as she checked back over what she had heard. Surely it couldn’t be…

“Where’ve you been, lovelies?”

That voice, she knew it. The spinning, slightly drunken dance he was doing as he poured himself a glass. Even that scruffy beard, and the medallion of St Anthony that gleamed on a leather thong around his neck as he turned away from the fireplace and back toward the door - Bobbi couldn’t see it from this far away but she knew, she knew that’s what it was.

Apparently, he knew her just as quickly too, as he froze mid-dance and mid-pour and stared. Not too long ago, he would have made a snide comment to try and to get a rise out of her – speak of the devil? she could imagine he would say - and a rise she would gladly have given him. But this time he simply… stared.

“Uh…” Fitz wondered from the sidelines. “Do you two know each other?”

Jemma elbowed him, and hissed for him to hush, but it barely registered to Bobbi. She was too busy watching Hunter, waiting for him to burst the bubble of nostalgia and rose-coloured glasses she had no doubt shaded him with. Any second now.

Instead, he smiled, and held the last glass of the brandy out to her.

“It’s good to see you, Bob,” he said.

“It’s good to see you too.”

#aosfic #scis & spies #agents of shield #aosficnet #roaring 20s rarepair exchange #marvel #polyamory #clara's fic tag

[rubyleaf]

Look at that, more Carole & Tuesday! This time, Angela and Katy because, yes, rarepair, but they have potential. Don’t believe me? Allow me to convince you.

“By the way,” Angela asks Katy one night as they sit together watching an old movie. “Why did you come back to be my manager?”

Katy looks up, the movie temporarily forgotten. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I fired you.” Angela adjusts herself on the couch. “For something you didn’t do. So why?”

Katy thinks back.

---

“So that’s what happened,” Katy says into the phone, unsure what to think.

On the other end of the line is Dahlia. Not Angela; of course someone as cool and famous wouldn’t bother getting back to her personally. Then again it wasn’t Angela who hired her in the first place. She just fired her.

“And you’ll keep being her manager for the time being?” Katy repeats the explanation. Deep down she’s a little disappointed. Even if it all ended in a mess, she still got to be close to her idol, at least for a little bit.

“Yes,” Dahlia answers. “For now. But probably not forever. And when that time comes, I’ll enlist your help again.”

“I see,” says Katy. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t have the courage to ask if Angela is happy with any of this.

---

Katy doesn’t expect to hear back from Dahlia at all. Not even when she hears of Angela’s sole parent and manager ending up in the hospital, in critical condition. Not that she cares about the job. She has seen Angela’s face on the news: tired, sad, afraid, not a celebrity but a normal teenage girl, uprooted, terrified for the life of her only family. How can she care about a management job when all she worries about if Angela?

Although, part of her thinks, if she were her manager, at least she could be there for her. Comfort her, somehow. Even if she has no idea if Angela would let her.

Then the call arrives. First, that Dahlia is dead. Second, that they left behind all the paperwork to make Katy Angela’s manager again, if she’ll take the job. And if she’d still like to do it?

It’s a no-brainer.

---

For days and days she tries to speak to Angela in the hospital. For days she calls her name, talks to her about the world outside, asks if she can hear her. No response. Angela Carpenter, the same girl who looked dazzling and happy mere weeks ago, is a shadow of herself.

It’s almost enough to make her give up. But just when she seriously considers quitting, Angela speaks.

“I can’t sing anymore.”

Katy turns around. Relief washes over her, joy to hear her speak again. It’s quickly replaced by surprise, worry, heartbreaking sympathy.

She doesn’t expect Angela to say anything else. She doesn’t expect her to open up. Why should she? Angela is Angela, and Katy is just a fan. Just a face in the crowd, accidentally promoted to her manager.

But Angela does speak. She pours her heart out, tears streaming down her face, and Katy doesn’t know what to say. She never knew someone who’s loved by so many people, someone so beautiful and radiant, could feel so alone in the world.

“You’re not alone,” she tries. “All your fans are out there waiting for you.”

It physically feels like she said the wrong thing. Angela sinks back into the pillows. “They’ll forget about me,” she says. “They don’t really care. Give it a bit of time, and I’ll be forgotten.”

Katy wishes she could hug her, but she doesn’t feel like that is her place.

---

Mother has been broadcast out into the world. And Katy sits in the crowd, shamelessly sobbing with joy.

On the stage Angela is finally smiling again, pulling Carole and Tuesday into a group hug. Katy feels like a giant weight has fallen off her shoulders. She’s so glad these two are here. Without them, Angela might never have recovered the way she did.

Then the girls pull away, and Angela steps off the stage. Briefly her eyes meet with Katy’s. Katy looks down. She wonders what will happen now. Will Angela talk to her? What will she say? Despite their heart-to-heart at the hospital, she’s still a manager hired against her will. Will Angela fire her again?

A shadow falls on her. Katy lifts her gaze, afraid of what she will find.

Angela’s expression is hard to read. Their gazes meet again, then they both look away. There’s an awkward silence.

“Aren’t you coming to the stage?”

Katy jumps in her seat. Out of all the things Angela could’ve said, she didn’t expect that one at all. “Huh?”

“It’s crammed with celebrities.” Angela points over her shoulder. “If you want any autographs, you should use your chance.”

Still sniffling, Katy shakes her head. “It’s fine,” she says. “I’d just look stupid right now.”

Another pause. Angela doesn’t sit down beside her, but she makes no signs of leaving either.

“...You need a tissue?”

A sob shakes her that turns into a laugh. “Don’t mind me,” she says. “I’m just so happy you’re doing okay again...”

And suddenly Katy is crying again. Before her Angela remains standing, suddenly looking very doubtful and very small.

---

It’s almost morning by the time they head back to Angela’s place. They haven’t spoken much since, though Katy has talked quite a bit with Carole and Tuesday. She’s still a little intimidated by their stardom, but they’re both so sweet that she almost forgets about it when she speaks to them. They’re good girls. Exactly what Angela needs right now.

Angela herself, meanwhile, she still doesn’t understand.

The cab stops in front of Angela’s house. Angela begins to step out, then stops when she finds Katy not moving.

“What’s wrong?”

“Huh? Oh, well, there’s no reason for me to get off here, right?” Katy smiles sheepishly. “I’ll just head on to my place.”

Angela drops her gaze.

“...You’re not staying at mine?”

She sounds...disappointed. Why is she disappointed? Katy is just her manager, of course she won’t invite herself.

“It’s just, the house is so empty.” Angela wraps her arms around herself, as if cold. “Can’t you at least stay for tonight?”

Katy nearly trips over herself scrambling out of the car. Her heart drums in her ears as she follows Angela into the villa. Their footsteps echo off the walls. The house is gigantic and completely deserted.

“You can sleep wherever,” Angela says. “I can get you one of the guest rooms or something.”

But Katy shakes her head. “I’ll just sleep on the couch.”

Angela’s face falls.

---

When she wakes up in the afternoon, Katy finds Angela sitting on her bed in her pajamas, watching an old movie she recognizes at once.

“Whoa!” she bursts out before she can control herself. “Is that Kill Bill?”

Angela turns around, pausing the movie. “You know it?”

“Yeah! I love action movies,” Katy gushes. “I didn’t know you knew it!”

For the first time in any of their interactions, a slight smile crosses Angela’s face. “I like action stuff too,” she says. “Especially martial arts stuff. You know how I watch pro wrestling?”

Katy nods excitedly. “Of course! I read the interview,” she answers. Angela’s smile falters, and Katy adds, “I checked it out after that, but I still prefer action movies.”

Angela smiles again. She pats the spot beside her on the bed. “Wanna keep watching together?”

Carefully, cautiously, Katy sits down. At first she feels out of place, but as the movie continues, she quickly forgets about everything around her. For a few precious hours she and Angela aren’t a star and a manager; they’re just two girls in their pajamas sitting on the bed, laughing and gasping and cheering at all the same scenes.

“Wow, I wonder what people would say if they knew I watch this stuff,” Angela says when the movie is over. “It’s so wild.”

“But so fun!” Katy answers.

They both burst into laughter. “Let’s watch another one,” says Angela. Suddenly her expression turns wistful. “I’ve never really done that before,” she mutters. “Watching movies with someone.”

Katy smiles. Again she has to fight off the urge to hug her. “It’s been some time for me too.”

“This is like a girls’ movie night,” Angela remarks and sounds surprised at her own words: how normal they are, maybe. “Wait, don’t they normally have food? We should order some food.”

“Maybe popcorn,” Katy jokes.

“Great idea! And something solid, too.” Angela has already pulled out her phone. “What do you say about pizza?”

---

After that day, staying over becomes a regular occurrence for Katy.

There are, after all, plenty of movies to watch and rewatch, and it doesn’t look like they’ll run out anytime soon. Sometimes it ends with them staying up all night and struggling to stay awake at work the next day, but neither of them has any regrets. Sometimes Carole and Tuesday join them too. But most of the time it’s just the two of them, enjoying their girls’ night in and having the time of their lives.

“Hey,” Angela says one evening in between installments of The Fast and the Furious, “don’t people also...do other things at sleepovers?” She looks awkward about her own question. “Like makeup and painting nails, and all that stuff?”

Katy blinks in surprise. “Well, yeah,” she says. “But you’re a model, so...I don’t know...”

“That’s work,” Angela says dismissively, sounding slightly disappointed again. “This is different. And I don’t see you ever wearing much makeup.”

Katy looks down. “Well...”

“Care to try some of mine?”

She nearly jumps off the bed. “What?” she splutters. “But—No way—But yours is so expensive!”

“It also dries up before I can use all of it. I don’t mind.”

“But...” Katy curls up where she sits. “But I’m so plain...Ow?”

Angela has flicked a finger against her forehead. “Relax,” she says. “Would you like to try it? Aside from all that not-pretty-enough-to-pull-it-off crap?”

Katy’s insides feel warm. “Yeah...thank you.”

Excited like a preteen girl at her first sleepover, Angela rummages through her drawers, whipping out palettes of eyeshadow, eyeliners, lipsticks, and an endless assortment of nail polish. She purses her lips, as if trying to determine which colors would suit Katy. Finally she picks out a shade of red that’s more flashy than the entirety of Katy’s wardrobe.

“Hold still,” she says.

And Katy does. Angela sits before her, breathtakingly close, cupping her face and holding it in place. Her fingers are soft. Her hand is warm. Katy can see every single detail of her face, her bright eyes, the long lashes, the smooth skin and the full, soft-looking lips. How she wishes she could touch those lips. How she wishes she...

Have their faces always been this close?

Angela’s breath tickles her face. It smells faintly of mint. Katy closes her eyes, tries not to think about it as those slender, flawless hands work their way across her face, her lips, her eyelids, her lashes, her cheeks.

Her hands are shaking.

Finally Angela pulls away, and Katy tentatively opens her eyes. She turns towards the mirror and barely recognizes herself. The magic of Angela’s hands has transformed her into a girl she has never seen before...one that radiates glamour and confidence, one that’s almost cool enough to deserve her place at Angela’s side.

Angela smirks appraisingly, proud of her work. “Now you do mine,” she says.

Katy nearly has a heart attack, but she complies. She has no idea what she’s doing. So she just goes with the color she has always associated with Angela: vivid purple, like her eyes, like the aura that seems to surround her wherever she goes.

Her hands are still shaking. It takes all her willpower to keep them steady enough to not mess up the makeup, but she must, it’s so expensive. Angela holds expertly still under her hands, a celebrity at work, though the corners of her mouth twitch whenever Katy’s fingertips accidentally brush her cheek.

Finally she’s done, and Katy can breathe again.

Jumping in front of the mirror, Angela inspects herself, her eyes widening as she turns this way and that. Katy wonders if she has gone overboard with the lip gloss or the touch of glitter on her cheekbones. But Angela’s face lights up, and she turns back towards her beaming.

“Now let’s take a picture like this!”

They huddle close together for the selfie. Well, Angela does, whereas Katy is still busy keeping her feelings in check. She’s so beautiful, and so close. And she’s here. Right beside her. So close the warmth of her body seeps into Katy’s skin.

If she had even an inch of spine, she might turn her head now and kiss her. She knows she wants to. Every part of her body and mind wants to kiss her. Not the idol Angela, but the girl sitting beside her in her PJs, warm and enchanting and smiling from ear to ear.

But she’s still just her manager, and so she restrains herself.

---

“...Katy?”

Katy snaps out of her thoughts. Right, the question. Why she came back, or maybe the real question would be why she stayed.

“Well,” she says. “Dahlia explained everything, and then—”

“Not that, stupid.” Angela nudges her in the ribs, not meeting her gaze. “I mean, why did you want to? I never even really apologized for firing you.”

“What? Oh no, that’s okay!” Katy lifts up her hands. “It was a misunderstanding, and it’s nice that you cared so much about your rivals. And, well, I didn’t think someone like you would bother to apologize in person anyway, so I assumed—”

“Katy. Cut that out.”

She closes her mouth. Suddenly Angela looks angry.

“You’re still treating me like some kind of idol,” she says. “Just quit it, okay? I’m just Angela.” She crosses her arms. “And if you can’t get that into your head, I’m firing you for real.”

Something about her tone tells Katy she means it.

“Sorry,” she bursts out, suddenly feeling like crying. “It’s just...it’s not like I don’t see you as a friend or anything. But you...you’re so cool, and so beautiful, and so mature, and you’re just...you’re so perfect.” Her voice cracks. “How can I feel like an equal next to someone like that? I’d just feel arrogant!”

Something in Angela’s expression softens and melts away.

“Can’t you at least try?”

Leaning forward, she buries her face in Katy’s shoulder, her voice as choked up as Katy herself feels. “I’m so tired of just being the person people look up to,” she says. “It’s so stupid. We’re both just girls.” She drapes an arm over Katy’s body. “So what if I’m famous? I don’t want you to look up to me. I want you to be the girl I watch action movies and have sleepovers with...the friend I never had when everybody else did that stuff.” She shifts closer. “So can’t you just try to treat me like a normal friend?” She swallows. “For me?”

Katy’s defenses shatter.

With a muffled sob she pulls Angela in, hugging her so close she almost sits in her lap. “You have no idea how much I wanted to do that,” she says. “It’s just...I was so scared...”

Angela pulls away just enough to look her in the eyes. Their faces are inches away from each other. They both look a little messy, but Angela is still beautiful.

Not the celebrity, Katy thinks again. Just Angela. Her friend.

“Hey,” she says, suddenly feeling brave, “can I do something else I’ve been really wanting to do?” She swallows hard. “Something really selfish?”

Angela’s smile is encouragement enough.

Katy takes a deep breath and kisses her.

It’s just supposed to be a brief, careful kiss. But Angela responds. Cupping her face like she did that night, she deepens the kiss until they both pull apart again, blushing and breathless.

On the screen the movie continues, unheeded.

On the couch, two girls form the silent decision to not go anywhere else tonight.

#oh my god how did this get so out of hand #carole & tuesday #angela/katy #angela carpenter #katy kimura #me and my writings #headcanons

[shealwaysreads]

A Study In Contrasts

^ Photo by

Annie Spratt

on

Unsplash

This fic is absolutely inspired by the wonderful @drarryruinedme7 and her Theo headcanons and love for the Neville x Theo ship (theoville? neveo?) and @bblgumbby was my fantastic beta and cheerleader.

This post provided the impetus for the story, and made me cackle so check it out.

Motivation to write (as in, a fire lit under my arse with the deadline for today) provided by the amazing @growing-neville fest and the drarry discord squad - who all love their rarepairs too!

Also, here are my face-casts for this fic- Neville & Theo 👌

Neville/Theo | Mature | 3659 words | Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hot!Neville, Bearded Manbun! Neville

Can also be read on Ao3

Neville had been worried at first when Theo Nott had been hired to work with him. Theo didn’t have anything to do with growing the plants, that was very much Neville’s domain, but he took care of harvesting seeds and fruit, or taking cuttings of leaves and preparing them to be sent out to apothecaries and potions masters across Europe. He was apparently fully qualified for the job, but Neville couldn’t help but be protective his plants, and a little scared that he and Theo wouldn’t get on.

It wasn’t as though Neville had never spent time with the man, the War was a long time past, and when Harry had started dating Draco the old Hogwarts Houses had taken to mixing pretty thoroughly - both socially and romatically. On their monthly pub nights at the Three Broomsticks it wasn’t unusual for a whole host of old school alumni to show up - from all four Houses.

Theo had been coming to these informal little events since Draco had moved in with Harry. Neville had witnessed Draco wine drunk and ranting about how he wanted his friends to be a part of things too, and from then on his old Slytherin cronies were a regular part of the evening. It took a little while for everyone to become comfortable with each other, but they had all persevered. Copious rounds of drinks had certainly helped.

Neville wasn’t a shy person, per say, but he preferred a quiet dinner or drinks with his friends rather than big group events. So at first he had bristled at the inclusion of new people, people he wasn’t sure of, people he didn’t know well. But he was a grown up now, and politeness smoothed the way, then alcohol eased it even further. He could happily sing ribald drinking songs with Pansy perched on his knee now, and regularly thrashed Blaise at darts.

Theo had always seemed to keep his distance from Neville though, and at first he thought it might be some kind of hangover from Nott senior’s awful beliefs. But Luna of all people became fast friends with Theo, and reassured Neville that his idea couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Oh Neville, you’re so funny! You’re just like Harry when he used to think Draco was just like his father too, aren’t you?” Luna’s smiling face sobered. “No. Theodore is quite a gentle soul. We were the same age when our mothers died you know. He could see the Thestrals too, though he didn’t visit them like I did.”

A gentle pat on his cheek and she swirled away in a haze of white-blonde hair and tinkling bells stitched along her scarves. Neville had put that thought to bed there and then. Luna was about as good a judge of character as anyone he had ever met, and he trusted her. If she was happy to embrace Theo as a friend, then Neville was at least able to accept him as part of the group.

From that point on, Neville made a point of saying hello to Theo when they all met up, of being friendly and smiling. Neville was acutely aware of the way he looked now even though he still had days where he felt like the bumbling, chubby boy he was at school. But he was tall now, and broad; his long hair and growing beard he got teased by his friends a lot for looking intimidating. He didn’t think Theo was the sort of person who would be impressed by his fame, and he definitely wasn’t holding on to old school house rivalries, so maybe it was just the way Neville looked that put him off. Theo was at least a foot shorter than Neville, maybe he felt crowded around his bulk.

So Neville had worried at first, when he found out Theo would be working with him so closely. His work at the vast greenhouses was more than a job, it was his passion, and he didn’t want that ruined by a chilly relationship with his colleague. But he needn’t have spent so much time being anxious. Theo had smiled and shook his hand warmly on his first day in post, and seemed to be so much more comfortable talking with Neville here than in the social environment of the pub.

They had quickly developed a rapport and Neville was constantly impressed with Theo’s knowledge of the plants they worked with. He hadn’t damaged so much as a single leaf in his daily rounds gathering his harvest for their outgoing orders and he actually asked Neville intriguing questions about the growing specifications for his favourite plants.

He had even singled out Neville’s own Mimbulus Mimbletonia as the most interesting plant in Greenhouse 1, and asked all about how to safely harvest its Stinksap. Neville had been waiting for someone to be interested in that plant since his fifteenth birthday, he didn’t quite know what to do with himself, and found himself flustered for the rest of that day.

All of that left Neville with the dawning realisation that he hadn’t been worried about the right thing at all. Instead of being so preoccupied with maybe not enjoying work now that Theo was there, he should have been thinking about the fact that he might like Theo being there a little too much.

On top of a quietly dry sense of humour which got even Hermione cackling on pub nights, Theo was capable, interesting, and he liked Herbology almost as much as Neville did. He was also totally, absolutely, and devastatingly Neville’s type.

Neville had finished for the day, and as he rushed into the staff room ahead of Theo he couldn’t help but think about the other man. Couldn’t help but indulge in his crush.

Theo had artfully tousled dark hair which just begged to have fingers run through it, and eyes as dark as the loamy soil Neville worked with every day. He was fair, with dark freckles across the bridge of his nose; Neville couldn’t help but think about the contrast between them, his tanned skin against Theo’s milk pale complexion.

Neville’s thoughts quickly slid into territory he knew he shouldn’t indulge in while still at work, not with Theo heading into the tea room for their end of day catch-up. He couldn’t be daydreaming about all the ways he’d like to test and compare those contrasts for himself, couldn’t imagine exactly how it would feel to run his hands over lithe muscles -  not when he still blushed as much as he had when he was a teenager. Even if the beard would cover some of it up.

He distracted himself with washing his hands and arms, scrubbing the days dirt from under his nails as he willed away mental images of pale skin on dark bed covers from his mind's eye. As he mindlessly soaped and rinsed, Theo slipped into the cosy staff room.

“Hey Nev, fancy a cuppa before we go?” Theo nodded at the kettle.

“Yeah that would be lovely Theo, thanks.”

Neville found himself smiling as he turned to watch Theo set up their usual cups for tea. It pleased him on a deep level to see that Theo know exactly how he liked his tea, knew his favourite cup. Maybe he shouldn’t be daydreaming about Theo naked while they were at work, but he could appreciate these moments of domestic camaraderie.

He dropped himself heavily onto the worn out sofa that had been probably been parked in the tea room for longer than Neville was alive, and groaned as he took the weight off his feet.

Hunching over his plants all day brought him a lot of joy, but since he’d shot past six feet tall and into the 'might have to duck to get through that door’ territory he didn’t find much joy in his back at the end of a long day. He stretched, eyes scrunched closed and his hands behind his head as he worked out all of the kinks in his spine, and was lost in the bliss of it until he heard the slosh of tea slopping over the side of a cup.

He opened his eyes to see Theo still bent over the coffee table, a small puddle of tea around each cup where it sat on the surface, and his dark gaze fixed firmly on Neville. Maybe it was just the fact that Neville had been fantasising about him earlier, but he could swear he saw a heat in those dark eyes. It was probably wishful thinking though, people like Theo didn’t go for people like Neville.

Theo sat in the chair opposite him, another ugly but comfortable relic from past staff. He settled back with his tea in one hand, and rubbed the back of his neck with the other. He almost looked nervous.

“Right. Neville. I was going to mention that I’ve just taken some seeds from the Venomous Tentacula and I think you might want to move it a bit further from the Devil’s Snare seedlings - it looks like they might get tangled together if  you don’t do that within the next week or so.”

“Oh thanks, I hadn’t realised those seedlings were coming along so fast - I’ll do that first thing in the morning. Did you get enough seeds for the—”

He trailed off as Theo held up his hand, motioning for his attention.

“Look. Um. This is a bit awkward but Luna said I should just be honest, that’s what you ex-Gryffindors appreciate apparently. But…” Theo was back to rubbing his neck again, and a blush touched his high cheekbones.

Neville wondered what on earth was making the normally unflappable Theo seem so out of his comfort zone. It couldn’t be the plants. What if Theo had noticed the way Neville had been looking at him? What if Pansy had said something? Neville might have given himself away at the last pub night, Theo had been wearing that tight fitting jumper which just made Neville want to wrap his arms around him and never let go.

“Okay I’m just going to come out with it, and you have to promise you won’t hate me. Yes?”

Neville nodded, mute with anxiety.

“First. I recognise I have got no bloody right to be making this kind of demand but I’m just kind of compromised and you have to forgive me.” He leant forward to put his tea down on the coffee table and took a deep breath, seemingly bracing himself for whatever he was about to say. “Neville, I am going to need you to stop growing your beard. Because if you get any more handsome than you already are, I’m going to end up trying to fuck you and I don’t think that is something you would appreciate.”

Having said his piece, Theo threw himself back into his armchair, covering his eyes with one hand.

Neville felt a stunned grin stealing across his own face, and realised he was already unconsciously rubbing his beard - a habit he had picked up as soon as it passed the stubble stage. He couldn’t believe that just five minutes earlier he had been so worried about daydreaming of Theo inappropriately, when apparently Theo had been just as guilty. Maybe people like Theo did go for people like him.

“Theo, I’m not going to shave my beard. I quite like it actually.”

He hauled himself out of the sofa, and moved around the table towards Theo’s chair.

“Neville, Merlin, I’m sorr—”

He cut Theo’s apology off by the simple method of moving his chair, grabbing his hand, and pulling him bodily onto his feet. Neville thrilled at the ease with which Theo followed his physical suggestions, all of the ways this apparently instinctual response could play out were whirling round his mind.

“First off Theo, I promised I wouldn’t hate you, so relax.” Neville reached out and put a hand on Theo’s shoulder, hoping the touch would calm him down. “Secondly, I’m not getting rid of the beard because yeah - I like it. But. Now I also like that you like it.” He felt his confidence ebb slightly, and shrugged bashfully as his cheeks warmed with a blush. “How will I get you to try and fuck me if I can’t lure you in with this thing?”

For one achingly eternal feeling moment, Neville is terrified that he’s gone to far. Theo’s dark eyes are wide and his mouth is open in astonishment. But then one pale hand is reaching out to him, cupping the side of his face, a thumb is rubbing against his beard and fuck it feels good when someone else did that.

Theo steps forward, intention clear in every line of his body, and suddenly Neville wants to be sure that this isn’t just a fleeting infatuation for him. They work together, they have the same friends, he needs to know what this is going to be. And he doesn’t think a simple tumble in the sack will be enough for him. He pulled the sword of Gryffindor out of the Sorting Hat, so he could take this a step further - couldn’t he?

“I’d like my beard even better if it makes you want to go for dinner with me, as well as fuck me, though?”

“Merlin, you have no idea do you?” Theo breathed as he leaned in, his eyes flicking over Neville's face as though eager to take in each detail. “I thought I was as obvious as a fifth year Hufflepuff. Neville, I’ve even got flyers for an exhibition at the muggle botanic gardens in my bag because I think you’d like their exotics.”

Neville grinned and wrapped his arms around Theo’s slim waist, drawing him against his body and reeling with how good it felt to be pressed together.

“Maybe you’re more subtle than you think, I sort of thought you might be put off by how big I’ve gotten.”

Theo just rolled his eyes and draped his arms around Neville’s neck, bringing their chests together. He was sure his heart was beating hard enough that Theo would feel it thundering against his own, but any thoughts were obliterated when Theo tilted that perfect face up and gently brought their lips together in a kiss. For all their talk of fucking, it was achingly sweet, Theo’s lips petal soft and yielding against his own.

“Nev,” a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “I think we should take this somewhere that isn’t work.” A kitten lick against his bottom lip. “Fuck - I just want to do this lying down with you.”

Neville was reeling from the simultaneous sweetness of Theo’s kisses, and the heat that roared through him at the implication of his desperate whispers. He couldn’t reach his wand fast enough, ensuring his grip on Theo was secure, before Apparating them both into his flat.

As soon as they arrived, Theo’s delicate fingers attacked Neville’s shirt buttons. He made quick work of them between hot kisses and whispered promises, and before Neville knew it his shirt slipped from his shoulders and pooled on the floor. Those pale hands were immediately on him, roaming the plains of his chest and belly, both muscled from hours of manual work.

He had been right, in his fantasies, about the contrast between his tan and Theo’s fair skin. It was delicious.

He reached out and held Theo’s face, his hands cupping that finely cut jaw, and he leant down to kiss him deeply. He licked along his plush bottom lip and like a flower, Theo opened up for him on a gentle gasp. He felt Theo bring his own hands up to grasp his wrists as he cradled his face, and groaned into the kiss.

But Theo had requested lying down, and Neville was going to give it to him. He’d give him the moon if he asked for it. He reluctantly let go of Theo’s beautiful face, and braced himself to pick him up, relieved when Theo immediately wrapped his legs around his waist and buried his face in his neck to deliver dragging sucks and kisses. Neville toed off his shoes, and Theo did the same, the thud of them hitting the floor barely audible over the rushing in his ear

For a brief moment he thought about marching up the stairs with his armful of gorgeous, brave, ex-Slytherin, but decided against it almost immediately. This was going to be fast and desperate, they both deserved to take their time with each other later. He dropped down onto his sofa instead, and thanked his lucky stars for their complementary plans when Theo rearranged himself to be able to straddle his hips and stretch bodily over him as he reclined.

He looked up at Theo, his hands massaging his thighs, and grinned.

“I feel like we’re a little mismatched in the clothing stakes, aren’t we?”

He reached up to drag the hem of Theo’s jumper away from his jeans, catching his t-shirt too, and pulled them up and over his head - leaving that dark hair messy and perfect.

“I don't think we quite compare in the abs department Nev,” Theo murmurs with a wry smile. “But you’re welcome to strip me anytime.”

Neville found his words of reassurance and denial got lodged in his throat when the view actually registered in his mind. The freckles. Theo’s freckles weren’t just across his nose. A faint dusting of freckles and beauty marks dotted his lean chest, and Neville wanted to kiss every single one of them.

“Theo…” he managed to growl out over the roaring lust in his chest. “Theo, look at you.”

He had been aroused ever since Theo uttered his confession in the staff room, and now he’s harder than ever, all of this pale skin laid out before him, Theo’s dark eyes almost eclipsed by pupil in answering heat. He gripped Theo’s thighs tighter, sliding his hands upward until his thumbs grazed the hardness pressing against his zipper.

He kept his eyes locked on Theo’s, the tension between them mounting higher with every heartbeat. Theo must have felt his erection where it pressed insistently against his gorgeous arse. He took a hand away from Theo’s crotch, and raised it, thumbing one pink nipple and gasping at the reaction it pulled from Theo.

His lithe body just rolled down against Neville, a moan breaking free from that plush mouth, and all of a sudden Neville needed him closer. He pushed his hips up against Theo’s uncontrolled grind, and moved his hands to grip at his slim hip and to simultaneously drag him down into another lush, open mouthed kiss.

He groaned as Theo’s hand moved to grip his hair, he could feel his loose bun come undone under those clever hands and the sensation of the slight tug on the strands just heightened every pleasurable current running through him. He wrapped his arms around Theo, resting one in the middle of his back, and grabbing a handful of his arse with the other. He could feel those whipcord muscles working as Theo writhed against him, rubbing their cloth covered erections together like horny teenagers.

It’s hot and dirty and everything Neville had been dreaming of since he first accepted that he fancied Theo. He rolled his hips up into Theo’s grind, bracing his heels against the sofa for leverage, and moaned at the perfect friction they were building between them.

He slipped his hand into the waistband of Theo’s jeans, under his designer pants, and let his middle finger rest just at the cleft of his arse. He didn’t move to go further, just revelled in the hint of what was to come. Heat pooled low in his belly as he thought about flipping their positions, stripping Theo till he was bare, and eating him out until his eyelashes were wet with frustrated tears.

But he could wait. Right now the whimpers and moans in his ear were intensifying, and he couldn’t keep his mouth away from Theo’s if he tried, he felt like he could kiss him for days and not get tired of it.

“Nev…ah…Merlin I’m so close.”

Just hearing Theo say those words was enough to drive Neville to the edge, both of their movements became frantic as they each chased relief. They were hardly kissing any more, just licking and sucking at each others mouths, sharing breath as they panted with exertion.

Neville came first, the telltale tightening in his balls catching him by surprise despite it all, and he held Theo crushed to him as his hips jerked through his orgasm. While the aftershocks still shot through him like lightning, Theo continued to thrust down against him, whining in frustration.

With what little brain cells were still operating, Neville once again reached his finger between Theo’s pert cheeks, and this time didn’t stop until he could stroke his fingertip against his entrance. As soon as the pad of Neville’s middle finger made contact with his hole, Theo’s whole body went tense, and then - with an aching moan -  he shuddered as his orgasm ripped through him. Neville could feel his hole clenching against his fingertip, and his spent cock twitched in interest. But he could save that for later.

For now he wrapped his arms around Theo, satisfaction and warmth filling every cell of his body with relaxed lassitude. Theo relaxed completely on top of him, and rubbed his cheek against Neville’s beard like some kind of overgrown cat. Neville managed to reach his wand where he had dropped it beside the couch and cast a gentle cleansing charm on them both, cleaning their damp underwear, before casting it aside again. He dragged the blanket from the back of his sofa over them both, and once again wrapped his arms around Theo, ready to doze and then wake up and ask him to dinner.

#neville x theo #growing neville #neville longbottom #theo nott #hp #things to read #mine #neville x theo fanfic #isobel writes

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

10 Shipper Questions

I was tagged by the gloriously gorey @hannibalssweaters and omgggg just answering these gave me so many shipper feels. And some questions I had about 10 answers for and sweated so hard trying to pick just one! I don’t mention Negan for these, mainly because I don’t really ship him with canon characters and prefer him with OCs. 

Here we go!:

Rules: Answer 10 questions and tag 10 people.

1. Ultimate OTP: Snape/Hermione! This was my first OTP back when I discovered the wonderful world of Harry Potter fanfiction in 2007. I got re-obsessed with this ship about a year ago and oh mah gawd, even over a decade later the feels are still so strong for these two! I just...I literally forget what happened in canon sometimes, because I’ve read so many fics of these two that I legit get confused when I remember that oh wait, Snape and Hermione don’t actually live in a cute little cottage together, utterly in love with one another and happy (and ALIVE!) 

2. Ship you’ll always love: Daryl//Beth! These two compliment each other PERFECTLY, and it almost gave me a stroke when they started to become canon...only for the writers to literally rip my heart out. I still haven’t forgiven them for killing Beth; and I don’t think Daryl’s character will ever forgive them either. I prefer my fantasy land where she’s still alive and they’re in love. 

3. Current Obsession: Heh.... *frantically tries to hide google spreadsheet with over 200 Snape/Hermione fics listed on it to read* Obsessed, who me? Never! *hundreds of Snamione fics fall on top of me and bury my lying corpse*

4. Ship you never thought you’d like: I was hesitant at the idea of Rick/Beth...until I read two fics by an author on Ao3 called Schwoozie and holy SHIT, they utterly ruined me with some of the hottest smut I’d ever encountered. Dominant, aggressive Rick with innocent ray of sunshine and barely legal Beth?? SIGN ME THE FUCK UP!  

5. Ship you liked but don’t anymore: Hmm...I don’t know that I really stop liking ships so much as I kinda just drift away from them. I was obsessed with Buffy/Spike about 6 years ago, after I binged all the seasons of Buffy and Angel for the first time (I know, I know). I remember I even cried at the thought that James Marsters would never know I existed and was obsessed with his character (which ironically became a lie because I got to meet him at comic con the very next year and oh, he noticed me ;) haha). But over the past few years I’ve kinda drifted away from reading that ship, mainly because it wasn’t long after I finished watching Buffy that I got into TWD, which kinda took over my life. 

6. Ship you think should be canon: Since they totally fucked over Bethyl shippers, I 100% want Daryl/Jesus to become canon. I think they’d be great together. And if they don’t put Daryl with Jesus, I honestly just want them to leave him as an asexual character and create some awareness on the topic. (I personally think that Daryl is demisexual, but that’s just my opinion)

7. Canon ship you hate: Ron/Hermione. I refuse to believe that she wouldn’t be miserable with him, long-term. Once the newness and the shared trauma aspects faded, we’re left with a couple who has almost zero interests in common (outside of Harry and the war). Ron didn’t even like her cat! (major red flag, girl) And he was always so rude to her and never seemed to take an interest in the things she was passionate about. I mean, how many times did the jerk make her cry in the series?? I can just picture them in the future, him laying on the couch with a butterbeer gut and talking out loud about random Quidditch facts, while Hermione races around the house chasing a bunch of ginger-haired children while trying to get ready for work and wondering how the hell her life ended up like this. *shudders*

8. Ship you’ve been shipping for years: Umm...besides the above mentioned, I also really like Lucius/Hermione...especially Snape/Hermione/Lucius

9. Ship everyone loves, but you don’t care about: Daryl/Carol (I can’t see them as more than good friends with zero romantic or sexual interest (at least on Daryl’s part))

10. Favorite rarepair: Lucius/Ginny (I really wish there were more fics of these two; they just work, in a really messed up way)

I’m tagging: @kellyn1604 @bamby0304 @wickednerdery @sunriserose1023 @jobean12-blog @daisysouthmoore @negansdirtygirl22 @sherrybaby14 @risingphoenix761 @letsby

#ask me #shipping #ships #ship #fandoms #tag game #snamione #bethyl

[cadaverchoir]

i got enabled and spent two hours on a list of serin/bihyung hcs cause they’re my favorite rarepair in existence. Also Like. i Trust bihyung to treat Serin with the mutual respect and patience she deserves (looking @ u nex Ur On THIN Fucking Ice For Ur Past BS).

inital dating

gonna say it right now it took Forever for Bihyung to let his feelings for Serin be revealed and even when they were it was during a less than ideal argument over her needing to take better care of herself and her not getting why he's so concerned over her. needless to say once he did give the reason they were both so stunned they spent a good five to eight minutes frozen. trying to think of what to say. not coming up with much. really just thankful that no one was in the same room as them when it happened.

perhaps the funniest thing abt them as a couple is that most ppl can't tell they're romantically involved unless they catch them during a private moment or date. they aren't the kind of people to have others rlly know they're together. they're very lowkey. Also Cause Their Respective Clans Are Still Bitter At Each Other.

though they do keep knowledge that they're a thing to a select few it's still hard to Not notice how they light up when seeing the other or even just having their name mentioned when apart. for Serin it's an easy feat to hide any expression change, but her eyes will seem less unreadable and indifferent. Bihyung doesn't have the same skill at hiding expressions like Serin, acting a certain way is more his thing. Specifically acting like he dislikes her. Which is something he got good at during their years spent at the academy and having to force himself to ignore his crush as much as possible when seeing her do something cool. But one day his usual sneer like smile seems less smug and more like a friendly mocking one, he also cuts down on the condescending attitude when talking to her.

They can play the frenemies card well but the second they can be alone the act falls apart. they still keep any extra lovey dovey stuff for dates or when they Know it's just the two of them, but they can make just sitting in silence or casual conversation about their day seem really soft and romantic. Especially if they feel comfortable enough to hold hands or place soft and short kisses on the other's cheek. They're very cavity inducing to watch.

their dates are often spent in the more casual, less nobility filled parts of chaos. simple outings to town markets and restaurants. sometimes whenever there's a meeting or formal engagement being held in their respective houses can also end in them disappearing when they aren't needed to the gardens or any quiet place. at some point Serin's father and Bihyung's sister begin to get suspicions about them, but Rain assures Navarus that they're just friends, he's never convinced though. and the ensuring reveal that his daughter IS involved with one of the Serpent's princes does leave him conflicted. But He'd Still Prefer The Serpent Than The Undead.

as a married couple

when it was announced that they were engaged it received unexpected joy from both clans. it was a very sudden and unseen development, shocking especially the higher members of both societies and even angering some, but more than anyone the people were happy to learn about it.

the marriage ceremony had been a very small and secret event with only family and close friends present. it was a traditional Serpent marriage.

even when they are married and everyone knew it they still kept a very professional relationship when carrying out their duties. with the exception of not being afraid anymore to kiss the other or tease each other in public.

Bihyung is noticeably the more willing to be affectionate when around others. it's usually limited to just hand holding or leaning against her, gently placing his head atop her's. Serin is more likely to tease or otherwise poke fun at him when given the chance. Really goes for the embarrassing stuff. He'll usually get his revenge in some form or another later on.

Did you know Serin is strong enough to carry a full grown man??? if you doubt her and her sheer strength we can't be friends.

In context, Bihyung is actually a surprisingly affectionate person and loves showing as much love and care to Serin as much as possible. even if that means sticking to her hip and wrapping his arms around her like a sloth when they're alone. She'll feign annoyance but finds it very cute. He also enjoys her (fake) irritated noises as she tries to do anything in the house with him glued to her back. occasionally she'll straight up give him a piggy back ride. He's always a mix between being embarrassed or really impressed at her strength.

They're a very soft and good couple that are the epitome of both a power couple AND a super hot one please think abt it for a second.

They both get ungodly long and beautiful hair as they grow older. Bihyung plays it cool any time Serin says he copied her by saying he actually copied his brother. Both are kind of a lie cause the truth is he just liked having Serin brush his hair so he grew it out so she could spend a bit more time brushing it. They both actually help each other with their hair in the morning.

As much as they enjoy being a lovey dovey couple they're still rivals who can be seen practicing every now and then. Not only does it keep them at the top of the game but it also gives them an excuse to stay in bed the next day. They really don't hold it back when it comes to their supposed practice fights. They don't hold back when it comes to A Lot of things actually. interpret that as you will.

bonus What If They Had Kids

i WAS gonna go with Siana and Nin but i already have some hcs abt Bihyung being their adoptive dad in an au where Serin just says Fuck It and seeks asylum in Serpent that i'll talk abt One Day/probably soon.

Serin is all for kids but Bihyung takes a while to warm up to the idea. Not because he doesn't want any but rather cause he's. Unsure he'd be a good parent. Even when it does happen he still remains nervous.

As corny as it is though the second he holds their child for the first time he can't bring himself to let go of them, all unease or nerves he had moments prior seemingly gone. even when Serin asks to hold them too he says no softly. She can't bring herself to get mad cause between the way he said no and just the sight of him holding their child he’s actually super cute in that moment.

Can you imagine the sort of kid they'd have. Can you imagine just how much potential and power a kid between them would have. Can You.

For such dreary people they sure do light up when they start their own little family. If they seemed content before as just a couple then they're the definition of happiness when seen with their child.

They're both equal parts strict parent and fun parent. Even when they're strict though it comes off very guiding like and very soft. Child neglect and yelling/criticizing a child?? Not in this household.

Within the first year they both commission a plethora of family photos. a photo for each month. It quickly becomes something of a tradition.

One Time when their child was four they Demanded to go help Bihyung with his duties. He spent a good five minutes trying to convince them that being the substitute leader of a clan is boring and that they'd have more fun visting grandpa Navarus with Serin but got done in the second he thought he heard a soft sniffle.

The sight of him walking around the main castle and ordering people around with a four year old held in one arm was quite the sight. especially when he'd go from cutesy dad to stoic hardass.

Serin really wishes she could have been there to see it all. Luckily Rain was there and documented Everything.

It's common knowledge Serin likes dressing up so it's also common knowledge her child is the best dressed baby in both the Demon and Serpent clans. She also greatly enjoys having them all match during family outings. even when he's royalty Bihyung strays from wearing such eye catching clothing and only does it cause Serin's smile is nice, as well as her comments about how handsome he looks, doesn't quite get how a color can bring out his eyes more, but her smile is nice. The only time it wasn't as nice was that time when she made him wear pants with a slit in the sides and the shirt was a bit lower than he was use to. The Demons have an odd taste in clothing.

Serin's that scary looking but actually super soft and loving goth mom i can't get the picture of her kissing her child on the cheek as she says bye cause it's their first day of school but she's wearing dark lipstick so they're just stuck with this kiss imprint on their cheek for the rest of the day cause Serin couldn't wipe it off completely out of my head it’s too cute.

#sal txt. #Sometimes hets are good and serin/bihyung are one of those het pairings i'll say i'd die for #god tho writing all this makes me. wanna write a bunch of i guess lil one shots. They're Too Powerful and such a Sal Brand #if i DO decide to write more stuff with them save for that emo drabble i did a while back it'd #probably be that au i said i have of serin hiding in serpent territory with the twins #also shit man i thought this wasn't that long but now i see i actually typed a lot more than i thought

[mistleto-3]

Crying for the Moon: Part 17

MikoTotsu Werewolf AU

Pairing: Mikoto/Tatara

1,902 words. For MikoTotsu Week 2016.

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AO3

I’m sorry for the hiatus! Rarepair week ate up all my time, but I’m hoping to return to my usual posting schedule now! I hope the little Chiho/Sakura ficlet I wrote for this universe based on the chapter 15 exchange between Sakura and Tatara makes up for how long it took me to finish this chapter ;w;

Note: Tatara’s name for his father is based on this translation from Tatara’s K: All Characters short story, in which the translator points out: “Tatara calls his dad おっちゃん ‘occhan’ which is a very familiar and loveable form of おじちゃん ‘ojichan’ (’old man’).“

Over the few weeks that followed, it seemed that the prediction Tatara had made to Sakura about people losing interest in his relationship had come true faster than he’d expected (and incidentally, it seemed she had taken his advice, and shortly after their conversation, he spotted her holding hands with Chiho in the corridor outside their homeroom). After the first week, the gossip and the funny looks he and Mikoto had been the subjects of had subsided completely, and things for the most part went back to normal, except for the obvious increase in affection between the pair, and the rapidly growing amount of time Tatara had been spending at Mikoto’s house. He went home with Mikoto after class at least three afternoons a week, and passed the entirety of almost every weekend there with him- seeing as Mikoto lived alone, it was more convenient to spend the time at his rather than Tatara’s, as there was no fear of disruptions. Not that they had anything illicit planned, but Tatara wasn’t fond of the idea of having his father, drunk and down from a losing streak, burst into his room while they were watching movies or making out; it seemed like it would be a bit of a mood killer.

What had surprised Tatara the most though was that his father had actually noticed the frequency of his absences- he was used to looking after himself in between the unpredictable comings and goings of his supposed caretaker, and to having little attention paid to him by his father the times he was home (often having gotten back too late for him to have the energy to ask about Tatara’s day). Though Tatara supposed his father was used to his son being around during the little amount of time he was back in the house himself, which was perhaps why he’d taken note of the fact he wasn’t there, but even so, it had still taken him almost a month to mention it.  

One afternoon after class, Tatara got back to the house to find his dad in the kitchen, cooking dinner. For once, he seemed completely sober, and in good cheer- it was one of his rare better days. By the looks of it, he’d gotten lucky with his gambling that day- all the food packaging on the kitchen counter was name brand, and the house was warm- they usually couldn’t afford to put the heating on, so it was obvious he’d come into some money somehow. Tatara couldn’t help but smile as he set his school bag down on a kitchen chair; it was times like this that reminded him of being a kid, before his father’s gambling got out of hand and drove his mother away. Things used to be like this all the time, and seeing his dad like this instilled him with a pleasant sense of nostalgia, no matter how temporary this inevitably was.

At the sound of the backpack hitting the wood, Tatara’s father turned around with a fond look on his face. “Tatara, you’re home.”

“Mm, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time out and about recently- I haven’t seen you at the weekends for a while, and you’ve been getting home from school quite late a lot.”

Tatara blinked in astonishment- he hadn’t expected his father to pick up on his habits, but it was a pleasant surprise that he did. “Yeah, sorry…” he said sheepishly.

“It’s alright. It’s nice to see you finally making friends and getting out a bit.”

Tatara smiled, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“Is it that redhead boy I saw around here once that you’ve been spending time with?”

“Yeah, Mikoto, and another boy from the year above me at school, Izumo.”

“That Mikoto isn’t the type I imagined you getting along with,” his father said light-heartedly, crossing the kitchen to sit opposite Tatara at the table.

“He looks a bit scary on the outside, but he’s quite sweet under that stoic exterior.”

His father nodded. “That’s nice…” Then, he paused for a moment, and an odd smile crossed his face. “So not been spending that time with a girl then?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been gone overnight a lot, and you’re getting to that age… is there a lady in your life?”

“Ahh, not exactly,” Tatara said sheepishly, then hesitated for a moment. He didn’t think he’d have another opportunity to talk to his dad about Mikoto any time soon, and he supposed he might as well get it over with sooner than later- admittedly he was a little nervous, but he didn’t think his father was the type to react terribly to having a queer son. He took a deep breath, chewing his lip, then looked up at his dad. “Well, there is someone…”

“Oh? Who?”

“Mikoto, the boy I just mentioned…”

“Hm? Does he have a sister or something?”

“No… I’ve actually been seeing him for about a month now, you know, as boyfriends.”

A look of surprise crossed his father’s face. “You’re gay?” There was no anger in his voice, thankfully, just mild shock, and a little confusion.

“Not exactly… I like girls too, as well as guys, and everything in between… I guess I prefer other guys though,” he admitted.

His father nodded slowly, seemingly processing the information. After a moment, he said: “Well, I suppose it’s not so much of a surprise…”

“How so?”

“Well, you’ve always been… soft-hearted, for a boy. You never liked sports, and you’ve always been a little feminine.”

“I guess…” It was hard not to cringe a little at his father’s stereotyping, but he was glad he was accepting, even if he was a little misinformed.

“So… you really like this boy?”

Tatara nodded firmly. “It took me a long time to work up the courage to say anything to him… but I’ve never felt like this about anyone before.” As he spoke, he could feel himself smiling, and it was a struggle to stop himself from gushing about how perfect his partner was, but he managed to hold back the gooey flood.

His smile was mirrored on his father’s face, who clapped him gently on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re happy,” he said, then got to his feet and returned to the stove. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

And just like that, the conversation was over, and Tatara was amazed it had gone so well.

The weekend after Tatara had spoken to his father was the weekend of the full moon, which fell on a Sunday, so Tatara once again spent the day preceding it at Mikoto’s house. While he had brought homework that he’d intended to do, he ended up getting none of it finished- it was difficult to concentrate on making notes from a textbook when Mikoto was lying with his head on his knee, and Tatara couldn’t resist stealing kisses from him every few minutes or so, before continuing to fight to keep his gaze on the page. Barely an hour passed before Tatara accepted there was no way he was going to be able to concentrate on his schoolwork and gave it up as a lost cause, submitting to the urge to cuddle up to his rather handsome boyfriend and put on a cheesy romance movie instead.

“So, I told my dad about us,” he said casually as he settled into Mikoto’s arms.

“How’d that go?”

“Really well, actually. He was having a good day, I think he had a big win because he’d bought some nice food and he was cooking for us, and he mentioned to me that he noticed I haven’t been home much, asked if I was out with a girl, and I told him we were together. He pretty much just said as long as I was happy, that’s fine.”

“Good.”

The pair turned their attention back to the movie after that, however even that was difficult to focus on, mostly because Mikoto was acting a little… off. It was difficult for Tatara to put his finger on what exactly seemed strange about him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was bothering him. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t help but ask:

“Mikoto… you seem a little distracted, everything okay?”

Mikoto grunted noncommittally.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right? You don’t have to keep secrets from me.”

Mikoto let out a sigh, then was quiet for a moment, before finally saying: “’S about my mother.”

Tatara blinked in surprise- Mikoto had only mentioned her once, when he’d said she had been disowned by his grandfather, and he knew nothing more about her. He remained quiet, waiting for Mikoto to expand further.

“Mizuomi mentioned her a while back, said he knew her. I didn’t pay much mind to it ‘cause of everythin’ that happened with us gettin’ together, but you mentionin’ your dad just reminded me of it.”

Tatara nodded slowly. “What did Mizuomi say about her?”

“Just that she dated a werewolf, ‘n’ the wolf remembered himself around her, like I do with you.”

“…Was the werewolf your father?”

“He didn’t say. Conversation got cut off before he could mention anythin’ else.”

“And that’s what’s been bothering you, wondering about your mother?”

“Mm.”

Before Tatara could say anything else, however, they were interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing. The number on the screen was his father’s, and he was about to hang up to call him back later when Mikoto said:

“You should get that.”

“Are you sure? It can probably wait.”

“Might be important,” Mikoto said with a shrug,

“If you’re sure…” Tatara replied tentatively, then answered the phone and lifted it to his ear. “Daddy?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mikoto smile faintly at the juvenile way in which he addressed his father.

“Tatara… There’s someone outside the house, he keeps knocking on the door and he won’t go away and he won’t answer my questions until I go out there. You need to come, you’re better at smooth talking than I am, come and ask him what he wants.” His father’s voice was shaky and slurred on the other end of the line as he spoke hurriedly into the receiver, and Tatara frowned. He sounded drunk again.

“Are you okay?”

“You need to come home right away.”

“Alright daddy, I’m on my way. Stay calm, okay? It’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”

Tatara hung up the phone and sighed.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Mikoto asked.

“My dad, he’s gotten himself all worked up about something or other, says there are people outside the house. It’s probably nothing, but he sounds a bit spooked, so I’m going to go and see if he’s okay.”

Mikoto glanced at the clock, then nodded slowly. It was mid-afternoon, with perhaps two hours until sundown.

“Don’t worry, I should be back well before the moon comes up; it won’t take me long to calm him down. He does this sometimes, it always goes the same way. He’ll have gotten himself worked up over nothing, I’ll speak to him and get him some tea, he’ll calm down and I’ll go about my day.”

“Alright.” Mikoto seemed satisfied by the explanation. “Do you need a ride?”

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ll cycle there.”

Mikoto nodded, watching Tatara grab his coat and his shoes before giving him a kiss as he hurried out the door.

#mikototsu #k project #suoh mikoto #totsuka tatara #mikototsu week #k fanfic #fic: cftm