#he’s ready to party like it’s 1999

[catladychronicles]

#😂😂😂😂 #Obi #🎊 #🎉 #these NAPKINS #😍 #he’s ready to party like it’s 1999 #Obi here to wish you all a happy new year #found these napkins in the pantry #I am obsessed 😍 #y2k #mostlycatsmostly #meow #cats #cats of tumblr #2000 #Obi wan #mine #🎈 #weirdcore cats #happy 2000 #tonightz vibe #🩷💚💜🩵🧡💛 #new year cat #to wish you good tidings

[postersofleon]

Wrong Chocolates

notes: sorry for taking too long. anyways: "rivials' to lovers with a fem!reader. ada is just being ada wong. smut, probably ooc ada and not completely realistic. public sex, no minors

- requested

All the hotel rooms could hear was angry women fighting with muted heels clicking in the carpeted ground. Some people wanted to see why, but curious will kill the cat once they realize how dangerous it is to listen to this conversation. Two mercenaries with different looks of the world were discussing a plan. This plan led them to be invited into a party thanks to your fault.

Ada wanted this to be the most simple thing ever, but you... you!

She rubbed her eyelids not caring of her makeup anymore. "I told you stay back." Ada swallowed her anger. She didn't need an audience to wake up even more. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. You hated being scolded when a guy was being too gross around Ada. 

"He was," You sighed deeply, "Horrible. He wanted to kiss you." Besides, the bodyguard had been drinking so much he might have hurt Ada. The main difference between you and Ada were forming little by little. You weren't a field agent like Ada. Sometimes you could barely stand in your two feet when you tripped inside the hotel. 

Ada sighed, "Kissing sometimes is part of the job. To convince the idiot." She was tired of how you constantly wanted to protect her. You wouldn't even last a day with Wesker. 

"Well, don't kiss an idiot." You replied with a very Duh expression. 

An very tired sigh escaped Ada's lips, she took off her heels and went to her room ready to ignore all your words. "Ada!" You stomped forward. "Ada." Ada rolled her eyes. She was willing to let you sleep outside. She shut the door on your face and went to sleep; Ada sat on the queen bed boredly, trying to figure out the mess and how to clean it up. You and Ada had been mistaken for a queer couple because you trying to defend her.

That's the least thing she wanted from you, but now Ada needed to commit to you. She grabbed the hotel room's phone and sighed, "Can I get sex chocolates?" Ada had another plan now hoping you wouldn't ruin it again.

The next day, Ada found you in the restaurant eating breakfast with a couple. Ada's brow tilted, she slowly approached you and the pair in the attempts of hearing what you were speaking about. But the pair stopped. They gave you a thumbs up before leaving you and Ada only. 

"What was that about?" Ada asked. 

"We woke them from our fight, they decided to invite me to sleep in their room when you locked me out." You forced a smile to her. But you decided not to test your luck with her, you let out an exhale, "So, I'm guessing you have a plan." Your fingers gently touched the silverware before fully committing to grab them to eat your breakfast. 

Ada nodded her head, "Yes," She nodded her head, "I decided it's not the end of the world for you to place us in a party." Especially when the the party was in a club. Ada leaned closer, her knees touched your knees, "Considering that our target barely let's go of the floppy disk, I'm sure she'll have it with her." You wanted to doubt that someone will bring something important in a club, and Ada looked so determined that all you had to say was. "Okay." Ada was like a cute chipmunks with her cheeks puffed up. 

She finally smiled at you. "Good." She stole your drink before heading somewhere else. You let out a small groan, your hand rubbed your forehead. "Can I get another one?" You asked your server. You knew why you were here giving support to Ada, but... you wished you weren't doing this. 

"Happy New Year, ma'am." The waiter smiled.

"To 1999." You muttered. You needed 1998 to finish quick.

When you were done with your breakfast, you went upstairs to your hotel room you shared with Ada. Almost immediately, you hurried to take a shower and wash your teeth. You heard the door open, "Ada?" You left the room and saw Ada indeed standing there. She had two plastic bags with a red dress and the other was black dress, "Good thing you took a shower." She sat on the bed, "Here's your dress." It was a typical satin cocktail dress with small ruffles for texture. Ada always adored to dress in fancy dresses when the event was unknown complain or in a fancy situation. 

"How our company has enough money for your clothes is amazing." You whispered softly. Ada wouldn't dare actually wearing her actual clothes in real missions especially with missions that deal with blood. And writing clothes for taxes wouldn't count (As if Ada paid for taxes).

Ada laughed softly. "I got my ways." She handed you a sticky bra, "Can't wear a normal one with the dress." For the first time, there's peace between you and Ada, and even Ada noticed. You knew Ada was beautiful. There's no denial for you to say otherwise, but you couldn't deny either that she was a pain of an ass. Unnecessarily cold. She was a mercenary yet most of her employers were bad people. The worst that you couldn't imagine.

She was the worst yet you couldn't hate her. You knew... why she was like this. Nobody out of the blue decides to become a mercenary.

But peaceful moments are always interrupted by something stupid, mean or both. The hotel room was knocked by, it was room service and once again. It was too much for any random person looking by, the tense was tight and close. 

It didn't look like two friends enjoying time together. 

Room service awkwardly placed the chocolates on the bed and left you alone. 

"Get dress." She whispered.

"Yes, ma'am."

Ada went to the bathroom to shower herself as well. So, the mission wasn't clear yet, but you had to understand before anything else. You dried your body up and put on the dress, it was perfectly tight around your body. No tights. No stockings. Just heels and the dress. You sat on the bed waiting now for Ada to come out, you grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Empty channels with nothing. How dull.

As you flicked through the channels, Ada finally came out with her bra and panties without shame. "It's a Thursday, why isn't there anything in TV?" You turned to see Ada in disbelief, "I have seen this damn strange commercial for Mr Clean like three times. At least MTV, is interesting." 

Ada put on her black tights, "Well, it's the Christmas season, you know how people are." Soon her red dress. "Zip me." Ada told you. You stood up and zipped up her dress. "You have the strangest scars, Ada." Your finger traced her back, her skin was always so smooth.

"But there aren't visible." Ada muttered back.

"They'll be later. You have seen the people in our work." You whispered. Ada grabbed the chocolates and dumped them in her bag, "Yeah, well, maybe in seven years," Ada looked at you, "Let's go to the damn club." 

The pair of girls began to walk towards the end of the hall. Tolerating the cold for like twenty minutes and entered the taxi. Ada fixed her dress a bit. The city lights reflected in her face, the details of Ada will definitely kill you.

When you two finally arrived at the club, Ada looked at you, "Don't mess it up." Ada's daily reminder of not screwing up. "So, you'll be alone?" You asked softly.

"Of course," Ada entered and like always swayed her hips back and forth, "Be a good girl." Ada only spoke to you in that degrading manner in front of people. You mocked her immediately when she turned her back. 

But Ada lost a fight today. You stole one of her chocolates; without a doubt, you opened the wrap and ate the chocolate. 

In the club, people had those cliché 1999 glasses as they drunk their souls away. Ada looked around and found the target. All of Ada's movements were planned. A gentle step here and another there, and she perked up her breasts. The target was an idiot. 

Those were her favorites.

Especially the jealous ones. The target was a fan of Ada's body. Ada smiled, "Hi." She put her hands on her hips once she saw her target in a close way. The flashing lights of green and blue were making her shine. The target smiled, "Hi." She answered back.

The target chewed on her lip, she rubbed her legs, "Your girlfriend isn't here?" Ada barely opened her mouth, but nothing came out when she felt your arms on her waist. The target groaned.

Ada turned to see you, your cheeks were flushed, "Um," Ada spoke your name softly, "Are you okay?" Ada checked on your face and they felt warm. She completely gave you her attention, she cupped your face and forced you took at you.

You felt so damn horrible. Your heart was beating so fast, blood was flushing all over your body. You were barely separated by Ada for twenty minutes, and you felt so... uneasy. "C-can you take me back to the hotel?" You begged weakly. 

Your thighs clenched up. All the blood in your body was focused on your pussy and your breasts. You though refused to use those words especially in front of the target. Ada nodded her head, "Yeah, sure," Ada put her hand on your waist and slowly dragged you away, "What did you eat?" Ada whispered softly. 

"I stole one of the chocolates from your bag." You admitted.

Damn you.

Ada sighed. Another plan of hers ruined because of your... dumbself. Ada dragged you out of the club, "Barely, barely a second in and you messed it." Ada hissed softly. 

You just felt turned on by her scolding. "Yeah, I know. I suck." You muttered.

Ada stopped a taxi. She didn't want to leave you alone in this state of mind. Your fingers were holding Ada's hips. "They'll last about three hours." Ada gently put you inside the taxi. It was a small wave throughout your body, it was focused on your nipples. You wanted to calm down. You needed to calm down. 

"Three?" You asked softly. Ada nodded her head, she entered inside with you and closed the door. Ada felt your warm body, the small trembles as your hands rubbed your thighs. Ada grabbed your hands to stop you. "No." 

This felt like a goddammit ovulation. Your pussy... you could feel it pulse. Your clit needed the simulation to get rid of this feeling. You rested your head on Ada's shoulder, "W-why didn't you tell me?" You asked weakly. If Ada just told her that they were sex chocolates, you wouldn't have touched it. Ada rolled her eyes, "I... I wasn't suppose to just tell you everything I do." 

But Ada knew you were right. Ada had worked alone for so long that she accidentally shot her own partner in foot. 

You two arrived back to the hotel. You were hold Ada, holding and loving her warmth, but never push your luck. It was a harsh difference from yesterday's fight. You two entered the elevator, your grabbed the bar and kept your legs open. You took in deep breaths over and over.

Ada wrapped her arms around your waist, "Listen, I may be a bitch," Her hands traced your thighs gently, "But it's my fault you are like this." That sounded good enough to convince herself as her fingers slowly raised your dress. 

Your thighs had goosebumps from the cold and from her simple finger moving up. All the shame you had was disappearing, it's was what you wanted. Ada's fingers slowly pushed away your panties and found your wetness. Her middle finger entered, her thumb was gently rubbing your clit. 

"Fuck," You grabbed more of the bar as that small gasp of a simple curse escaped, "Ada..." A pathetic whine. Ada's left hand rubbed your hips gently, "I know. I'm sorry." She kissed your neck. Her finger began to flick inside of you, her thumb and all of her remaining fingers were getting all your wetness. Your nipples felt so sensitive, so sore and needy to be touched. You couldn't complain about Ada. Her finger was fucking your pretty cunt as her thumb rubbed your clit.

Ada's hand grabbed your tits and squeezed them nice and good. Her breathing was increasing little by little. "You barely listen to me and you actually put on that sticky bra." Ada's hands lowered to your stomach to grab you properly. 

Her slender fingers forced themselves shoved inside of you. Her index and her middle were now being pumped over and over. The overwhelming smell of sex was stuffing this poor elevator and anyone who came back could tell. 

Your dumb mind was so happy that she had short nails, but it was obvious why she kept them short.

Ada was enjoying the show as well. Your dumb hips were attempting to keep still, but those small trembles. She smirked. Her fingers removed themselves from your cunt and rubbed around your needy clit. A high pitched whine escaped your mouth, "Ada..." It even trailed off a bit. How fun. Ada sucked her fingers.

"Turn to see me." Ada muttered in a low tone. 

You turned around. Your cheeks were warm, "Okay." Ada's fingers caressed your lips for a bit until she got into her knees. Her hands slid down your body until they grabbed your hips. Ada licked your wetness directly from you with long lick. Her nose pressed against your clit as she made out with your lips. 

You couldn't take it anymore. "Ada, fuck." Your hands grabbed her black hair and force her closer. Ada's fingertip grabbed your thighs tightly as she gave your cunt those teasing licks and sucks. Her warm tongue licked up all your messes, licking your folds over and over until it shoved itself inside your cunt. Your cunt immediately clench around it, but you weren't ready to cum. But it didn't matter when you came.

The elevator finally dinged at your level. Ada stood up and grabbed your hand tightly. Everything was happening to fast and quick when she opened the door. Ada finally kissed your lips, she wasn't as patient with your mouth as she was down in her knees. She slowly and carefully pushed your legs to walk backwards until you were on your back. She slide her own dress up and grinded her pussy against yours. This was cursed. Her tights and your panties were avoiding any proper touch.

Three hours of this. 

All because you ate the wrong chocolate.

#resident evil #ada wong #ada wong x reader #♡ #request #smut #re2 ada

[only-angel-28]

1999, part one

ok. this is my very first fic and the first time ive done any creative writing that isnt for a gcse english writing exam. this is part one of a mini series called "1999" (inspired by beabadoobee's song). im literally making it up as i go😍🙏.

please lmk what you think: should i scrap it or keep going? anything i should change?

and maybe repost if you feel extra generous :))

warnings: none!

1999, part two

1999, part three

1999, part four

     ༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

Summer had always been a time Belly, Steven and I had looked forward to. Sure Christmas and Easter were beautiful and memorable, but there was something about spending our summer at Cousins Beach. We'd been doing it ever since we can remember. For a whole three months, the Conklins and the Fishers did everything together. It was like while the rest of our year was shit, summer was always there to turn it around. We watched fireworks together, surfed, barbequed, and pulled all-nighters out in the backyard in tents pretending we were far away from our parents in some other country when in reality they were only a few feet away drinking wine and talking. We spent every waking hour together for those three months. And now that we’re all older, we party together.

After Belly and I turned sixteen we started seeing the boys in a different light. It was like they were the same boys we’ve known all our lives but somehow different. 

Steven would make fun of us for what seemed like years on the car ride to Cousins whenever he heard us giggling and whispering about how Belly and Jeremiah were destined to be since he posted a reel with her favourite song (he can't even remember her favourite colour for the life of him). But whenever she’d ask me about Conrad I’d shake my head and blush trying to convince her I didn’t like him like that.

Conrad was…complicated. He was gorgeous and tall and perfect and way out of my league. Hell, he probably saw me as a sister to him and nothing more. I had seen him go through girls year after next and had slowly started to lose hope of there being an ‘us’ anyway.

My thoughts get interrupted by yet another loud sigh by Steven. I swear if I don't end up strangling him by the time we get there…

“I’m boredddd”, Steven sighs.

“Steven that's your tenth consecutive ‘I’m bored’  in a row, can’t you think of anything else to say?” Belly all but yells at him.

He lets out another sigh before I wack the side of his head from the backseat.

“Hey!” he yells out trying to get me back from the passenger seat while Belly laughs and starts recording the moment on her phone.

“Alright, kids can we dial down on the domestic abuse, please? I’d like to go at least a few hours before having to swallow another paracetamol from your headaches.”, Mom says obviously getting fed up with us.

Instead of arguing back I try and shut Steven up by asking him questions.

“So Stevie,” I start, giggling as he annoyingly groans at the nickname Belly, Taylor and I made up for him, “what are you…most excited for this summer?” I ask making up the question off the top of my head.

Steven thinks for a minute before answering, “Surfing for sure.” He nods.

“Drinking wine with Susannah.”, says Mom smiling at the thought of her best friend.

“Fourth of July.”, says Belly.

“You sure you’re not most excited to see Jere?” I nudge her with my elbow as she squeals and looks away.

“What about you honey, what are you most excited for?” Mom asks, looking at me through her rearview mirror.

“The bonfire.” I say, smiling.

I’ve always loved the bonfire. Everything about it, it's always such a vibe. The kegs, the fire, the songs, the smores. It's always been my favourite part of the summer.

Until this summer, when I brought my boyfriend to Cousins.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝༝ ˚ ｡⋆ 𓇼 ⋆｡ ˚ ༝

“You guys ready for the bonfire, should we go down?” Conrad asks as he enters the living room. I look up at him from my position with Belly on the couch. God, I’d forgotten how pretty he was.

Conrad comes behind the couch and wraps his arms around my neck giving me a slight hug before pulling away, “I missed you.” he says looking down at me.

Before I can reply Steven speaks up, “Aw Connie, no worries man I’m here now,” he says smiling enthusiastically as he pulls Conrad towards the door by his shoulders while everyone laughs at his misunderstanding.

Conrad looks at me expectantly and takes out a small box from his pocket.

“Let's go, man,” Steven says to Conrad before pulling on him again, “I wanna show you this really cool trick I learned the other day…” He drones on as Conrad’s eyebrows furrow and he looks back at me, “Aren’t you coming?” he asks pointing at me questioningly.

I give him a sad smile before responding, “I’ll join you guys later, I’m gonna wait here for Dean he should be here soon.”

Just when I thought they couldn’t, Conrad’s eyebrows furrowed deeper.

“Who’s Dean?”

“Oh didn’t we tell you?,” Belly responds, “Y/n has a boyfriend.”

Conrad and Jeremiah’s faces were a sight to see. Eyes wide, mouths agape and eyebrows straight up, staring at me as if I had told them I got my eyeballs tattooed.

“Okay, you don't have to be that surprised…ouch.” I wince.

Conrad and Jeremiah straighten up and Jeremiah looks at me and smiles before saying, “No, no that’s…uhm that’s great Y/n.” He looks at Conrad halfway through his sentence as Conrad looks down at his feet and puts the box he was holding, in his pocket before turning to Steven and talking to him about setting the keg up for the bonfire and walking out the door without sparing a glance to me.

“That was weird.” I say to Belly as she leans in to give me a hug,

“Totally. What’s his deal?” she responds.

“Beats me.” I shrug before yelling “Have fun! Use protection!” out behind her and Jeremiah before Belly turns her head around and flips me off which just makes me and Jeremiah laugh harder.

I sigh and turn the tv on. With Mom, Susanna and everyone going out, I was the only one left to wait for Dean. I wonder how long he’ll be, I can’t wait to go to the bonfire. Luckily I got a text from him just as I decided on watching Gilmore Girls.

'hey, i'll be there in five :)'

whew that’s part one done! here’s part two!!

1999, part two

#conrad fisher #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher x y/n #fanfic #fics #the summer i turned pretty #tsitp #jeremiah fisher #steven #steven conklin #belly #belly conklin #team conrad

[romione-trope-fest]

Six Weasley Weddings

Fic Title: Six Weasley Weddings

Author Name: Be11atrixthestrange

Selected Trope: Weasley Weddings

Brief Summary: Ron and Hermione attend six different Weasley weddings

Word Count: 7290

Rating: M

Any Trigger Warnings: NA

---

Bill + Fleur, August 1997

The Burrow grounds had never looked so tidy. From his seat in a golden chair next to Hermione and a polyjuice-disguised Harry, Ron admired the detailed and glamorous decorations that the family spent hours setting up. Gold balloons lined the rows of seats, and a large arch of twinkling lights highlighted the altar, where his brother, Bill Weasley stood awaiting his bride.

The hard work of wedding preparations had paid off; Ron could tell by the sea of smiling faces in the crowd as everyone stood and turned to face the back of the tent in anticipation of Fleur’s grand entrance. Ron followed suit and rose to his feet as he squinted through the lights to catch a glimpse of the bride. 

But when the tent flap opened and Fleur emerged, his eyes went elsewhere — to his brother standing at the altar. Hermione once told him that she always looked back at the groom at weddings, because he could never hide the emotion on his face when seeing his bride for the first time. She was right. Bill’s eyes had glazed over with tears and his face burned as red as the Gryffindor crest.

There was a time when Ron and his brothers would make fun of each other for crying, but that time had long since passed. These days it was a relief to see his eldest sibling shamelessly showing emotion. But Bill had always been like that, not oblivious to what his younger brothers thought, just unbothered. Ron remembered when Fred and George would pick on him for his fear of spiders, and Bill would look at them with pity, as if he knew something they didn’t. 

And honestly, he probably did, not that it mattered. He was the one standing at the altar awaiting his half-veela bride, and although his face was murky with emotion, nothing suggested he felt undeserving. At the end of the aisle stood a confident man who was more than ready for his future. 

As Fleur progressed down the aisle, Ron looked beside him. Hermione’s eyes welled with tears as she watched the bride. She looked like a Veela herself in that dress, or at least she had the same effect. He recalled his fourth year antics when he completely lost his cool around Veelas, and the overwhelming feeling that he’d never get a girl like that. He still felt that way now, looking at Hermione. And he did get a girl like that. Well, almost.

He still had work to do for that task, and the only way forward was to squash that lingering insecurity. 

TIme to take a lesson from Bill, who’d never felt insecure a day in his life. Ron reached for Hermione’s hand and slipped his fingers through hers. She responded with a squeeze. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispered to her, feeling the heat rise to his ears.

Hermione glanced at Fleur then back at Ron with an eyebrow raised. “Really?”

“Yes,” said Ron. “Gorgeous.”

Hermione smiled and tugged him closer. He shuffled closer to her and she laid her head on his shoulder. “Thank you. You clean up nice too.”

Ron’s ears remained on fire, but the rest of him relaxed a little. And for some reason, it didn’t feel remotely uncomfortable to stand this close to his best friend. Not one bit. 

Percy + Audrey, June 1999

The open bar at Percy and Audrey’s wedding was a surprise to Ron, as neither the groom or the bride seemed like the type to regularly imbibe. But Ron was open to being proven wrong. He sat at the bar with a Butterbeer in hand, sipping away while he watched the party around him. Percy and Audrey had chosen to get married at a vineyard not far from the Burrow, and the grounds bore a striking resemblance to Ron’s childhood home. The ceremony had taken place underneath a pergola, which had now been converted to a dance floor. Chic cafe tables surrounded the bar, illuminated by the glistening sun at dusk which cast golden streaks of light across the rolling hills. There was even a small pond that shimmered in the late afternoon sun and a dock where the wedding party posed for photos earlier. 

It felt strange to be at a celebration, even a whole year after the war. Enjoying the music, dancing, and drinking seemed wrong somehow, and he couldn’t help but think that everyone was putting on a face, pretending to have fun, because that’s what you were supposed to do at weddings. Ron glanced to the dance floor and watched Bill and Fleur swirling around, dancing a little too slowly for the beat of the current song. His own parents sat at a table not too far, their expressions a strange mixture of pride and grief. They looked toward the pond, and Ron followed their eyeline to find George sitting out on the dock, his feet submerged into the water. 

His heart fell to his stomach. George had spent the better part of a year as a shell of himself, always working at the shop, and rarely coming by for Sunday dinners at the Burrow. Seeing him down at the dock broke Ron’s heart. 

But he wasn’t alone. The piercing sunlight and glare from the water muddied his vision, but Ron squinted and watched George lift an arm and drape it around someone’s shoulders. 

Angelina. 

A smile flashed across Ron’s face when Angelina laid her head on George’s shoulder. 

Upon second thought, it wasn’t too surprising. George and Angelina had been spending a lot of time together as of late. She even picked up a few shifts at the shop in her spare time. Ron had assumed that they were just friends like they’d always been, but maybe something had changed over the last year. Shared grief could do that. 

As if to confirm Ron’s suspicion, George turned toward Angelina and pressed a kiss to her temple. Angelina must have said something funny, because the moment George broke contact, he threw his head back and laughed. 

It had been a whole year since Ron had seen George laugh.

“Come and dance?”

Ron tore his focus away from the dock to find Hermione standing next to him. He grinned upon hearing the words he’d thoughtlessly spluttered to her nearly two years before, at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. 

“Of course,” he said before downing the last sip of his Butterbeer. He stood up, reached for her hand, and headed toward the dance floor. 

Once under the pergola, Ron wrapped Hermione up in his arms. It felt so much more comfortable than before. 

“Remember last time?” she asked, as if reading his mind. 

“Of course,” said Ron. The moment played in his mind frequently, but she didn’t need to know that he still heard their conversation as if it were yesterday, wondering what he could have said to sound smoother, cooler, and less like he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. 

“I really wanted you to kiss me last time,” she admitted. 

Ron smiled. The war was over. George was laughing. And finally, Ron could publicly kiss Hermione. 

“I really wanted to kiss you too. And now I can.” 

With that, Ron pulled her closer. Their lips met and her arms tangled around his neck. Ron let himself get lost in Hermione, ignoring any looks from fellow wedding guests, and squashing any embarrassment that he might have felt two years prior.  He buried any shame he felt for radiating happiness too soon. At that moment the world seemed to stop, and it didn’t matter that they weren’t alone. It didn’t matter that they weren’t supposed to be happy. 

They were happy, and this was all just one more step forward. 

Harry + Ginny, March 2001

“What do you mean there’s no harp player?” Ron wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers while he confronted the wedding band. Everything about this wedding day was going wrong. “Where the bloody hell is he?”

“He’s out sick, we thought we sent a patronus, but it must not have gotten to you.”

“No, it fucking didn’t—”

“Ron, calm down,” said Hermione as she approached behind him, her lilac-colored bridesmaid dress draped along the ballroom floor behind her. “We’ll figure something out.”

Ron resisted the urge to ogle her and focused on his anger. “Well the wedding starts in an hour, and Ginny really wants a harp player. Do you play harp, Hermione? Do you know another harp player?”

When did he become the high strung one?

“I can play harp.”

Ron whipped around to look at the speaker and his jaw dropped. Oliver Wood stood before him, a non-committal expression on his face. 

 “Really? You play the harp.”

“Yeah, actually. Took it up after Hogwarts. Got pretty good, if I don’t say so myself.”

Oliver was a surprise guest at the wedding. Evidently, he had moved to Romania after graduating and was now Charlie’s roommate. And, apparently, sometime between then and now he had taken an interest in the harp. 

“Okay. Thank you. If you want to convene with the band here, that would be amazing.”

“Sure!” said Oliver, who immediately turned to the band and started chattering away. Ron grabbed Hermione’s hand and tugged her along, happy to not be dealing with band-related drama right now. 

“Oliver Wood? Harp?” he whispered to Hermione. “When did that happen?”

“Just go with it,” said Hermione with a shrug. “One less fire for us to put out.”

Who goes from Quidditch to the harp? “Do you think Gin will notice?”

“That Oliver Wood is playing the harp? Yes, probably,” she laughed. “Let’s just not make a big deal out of it.”

Ron and Hermione proceeded up the stairs of the Grand Hotel ballroom, back to the bride and groom’s changing quarters. As the best man and maid of honor, their duties to make sure everything went off without a hitch at Harry and Ginny’s overly extravagant wedding turned quite stressful. Ron’s blood pressure had not returned to normal since he and Hermione had been thrown into wedding coordination earlier in the day, and that was up from a brand new baseline after they’d begun planning the gala months prior. 

That’s when he became the high strung one. This fucking wedding. 

Hermione, however, was cool as a cucumber. She thrived under pressure, obviously. That was good to know for the future, when it came time to plan their own wedding. Someday, maybe. 

“Okay, lets go check on these fuckers,” said Ron as they parted ways at the top of the stairs.

He could almost hear Hermione roll her eyes at his swear before he turned the corner toward the men’s changing room. 

Ron found Harry there, along with his other groomsmen, Ron’s brothers. Empty shot glasses lined the dresser, and Harry sat in a chair with his feet propped up next to the mirror. “Hey mate! The band’s all here?”

Resisting the urge to tell him everything, Ron nodded. “Everything is fine.”

“Great! Want to do another pre-wedding celebratory shot?”

“Do you really want to be stumbling over your vows, mate?” asked Ron. “The Daily Prophet’s here.”

“Eh, good idea. We’ll wait until the reception.”

“Probably best,” said Ron as he plopped into an empty armchair. 

A frantic knock on the door made Ron lose any hope of resting before the ceremony. “Come in.”

Hermione appeared at the doorway, an anxious look on her face. “Ron, can I talk to you for a second?”

“Um, yeah. Sure.” Ron rose to his feet and followed Hermione out the door, shutting it behind him. 

“So, the chocolate fountain is apparently broken…”

“Fuck.”

* * *

Hours later, Ron and Hermione found themselves glued to two armchairs in the lounge, cocktails in hand. The party was only beginning to die down, but there was still a determined, albeit intoxicated crowd bouncing on the dance floor. The news team had thankfully left, allowing the real party to begin.

Any other day, Ron would have loved to be on the dance floor with Harry, his brothers, and a ragtag crew of Gryffindors, but he was exhausted. And Hermione appeared the same. She yawned in between sips of Sauvignon Blanc, and her straightened hair was beginning to frizz. Honestly, Ron loved that look on her. 

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m supposed to be relaxing now, but I’m still stressed.”

Ron scooted toward one side of his armchair, and nodded to the small space he created. “Come here.”

Hermione wasted no time joining Ron on his armchair, curling up in his lap. He loved that they were comfortable with public affection now. Or at least, they liked to take advantage of those times when everyone else was too drunk to notice. Ron slipped an arm around her and she nuzzled into his neck. 

“Well, I have to say,” he whispered. “We’re amazing wedding planners.”

“Yes we are,” she laughed. “But if we get married, we should definitely elope.”

Her words lingered in Ron’s mind. Did Hermione think about marrying him?

“We can elope when we get married,” he said. “That’s fine by me.”

“I said if,” she clarified, but the smile on her face signified it was just a joke. They might not talk about it, but they already knew.

“We can elope if we get married,” he repeated, overemphasizing the correction. He noted her eye roll as he planted a kiss on her temple.

“Maybe someday,” she added, her voice muffled against his shirt.

“Yeah. Maybe.” 

Ron hoped she could hear the smile in his tone. 

George + Angelina, September 2001

Ron shuffled through a throng of party-goers and made his way to the far side of the dimly-lit room, eventually taking a seat at the bar next to his girlfriend. Hermione held an almost-empty daiquiri with one hand and used the other to support herself on the bar counter. He cracked a smile at her state. Drunk Hermione pretending not to be drunk was always a joy to witness. 

“How are you?” she greeted him, her syllables slurring together ever so slightly. 

“Drink too much?” He wasn’t one to judge, as the entire ballroom looked to be spinning in circles.

Hermione shrugged and looked longingly at her daiquiri. “I think everyone here has had a bit too much.”

“That’s true. 

Ron inched his barstool closer to Hermione, wrapped an arm around her, and took in his surroundings. George and Angelina had chosen to get married at an event center in the middle of wizarding London. They’d decorated the open concept warehouse to their liking, with cozy cafe lights, tropical plants, and plush furniture reminiscent of a 1920s nightclub. In the middle of the large space was a dance floor lined with floating candles, a callback to the Great Hall at Hogwarts. 

Ron spotted Bill and Fleur on the dancefloor with their daughter Victoire, who was thrilled to be showing off her new walking skills. Victoire had attracted a crowd of cheerleaders as she waddled in circles around Bill and Fleur, laughing through her toothy smile. Even Charlie, who normally preferred to be by himself, had joined in on the cheering and dancing. Ron was sure the half-empty rum and coke in his hand had something to do with that.

On the far end of the dancefloor sat Molly and Arthur, engulfed by squishy armchairs as they watched the commotion around them. It had been a while since Ron had seen a genuine smile on either of their faces, but that was the only way Ron could describe their expressions now.  

“Maybe having a big party isn’t so bad,” said Ron. 

Hermione didn’t need him to clarify what he meant, even though the last time they spoke about weddings was over three months ago. “You’re right.”

There was definitely something to be said about enjoying a wedding rather than planning one. But from Ron’s perspective, sitting at the bar with minimal responsibilities, a drink in hand, observing a room filled with laughter, drinking and dancing, the efforts were worth it. 

“George looks so happy,” she said, nodding toward the middle of the room, where Ron’s brother stood, his arms wrapped around Angelina as they danced, her ivory gown bouncing with each step. 

“He really does.”

At that moment, the candles and tea lights flickered out and the music stopped, leaving the whole room quiet and dark. Ron’s heart rate immediately skyrocketed, and his instinct was to reach for his wand, but the next few seconds proved he didn’t need to. 

Moments after the room went dark, the ceiling illuminated with magical fireworks. Wonderstruck gasps replaced the silence as the wedding guests paused to look up and take in the light show. 

Ron snuck a glance around the room. Molly and Arthur’s faces reflected the light above, and both of their faces glistened with tears. And they were the happy tears he hadn’t seen from them in a while. At the other end of the bar, newlyweds Harry and Ginny sat watching, his arm around her shoulders. Charlie had retreated to a sofa in the corner of the room with his roommate Oliver and the pair watched with their feet kicked up on the coffee table in front of them. Even Percy and Audrey, who normally retreated early from such gatherings, had stayed up to watch the show from a pair of armchairs by the window. Both of them held mugs of steaming tea as they admired the display above. George and Angelina shared a kiss in the middle of the dance floor, their silhouettes illuminated by the flickering lights. And next to him sat Hermione, still a little drunk, with a light trickle of tears cascading down her cheeks, as she scanned the room to soak up everyone else’s happiness.  

“So, if we get married, are we having fireworks?” asked Ron.

Hermione nodded and smiled up at the ceiling. “When we get married, there will be fireworks.”

Charlie + Oliver, July 2002

Ron and Hermione sat in the living room at the Burrow, soaking in the smell of Molly’s homemade pie wafting from the kitchen. Ron wrapped an arm around Hermione, and her head nestled against his shoulder. He stole a glance at her left hand, currently ringless, but not for long. Sunday dinners at the Burrow were a regular occurrence these days, but this one was going to be different — because Ron and Hermione had an announcement to make. 

It happened a week ago. They had just gotten home from a two week vacation to the coast with Harry and Ginny, who helped him orchestrate a romantic candlelit dinner on the beach where he could finally pop the question. Honestly, she’d been expecting it, and she even picked out the ring — a simple marquise solitaire on a gold band — but that didn’t make the actual event any less romantic, exciting, and tear-inducing. 

At this point, Harry and Ginny were the only ones who knew. At the moment, the ring felt heavy in Ron’s pocket, and he couldn’t wait to put it back on her finger and openly share their news and discuss wedding planning with his family. 

“Charlie should be arriving any minute!” shouted Molly from the kitchen. “Ron, can you make sure the fireplace is clear?”

“Sure thing,” said Ron as he untangled himself from Hermione. Ron and Hermione as well as Harry and Ginny stood and made their way to the fireplace to greet Charlie. 

As soon as they’d found themselves in front of the floo, emerald flames began swirling within the fireplace like shaken potion and a coughing Charlie stepped out onto the hearth. 

“Charlie!” greeted Ron. “And… Oliver!”

Molly came rushing out from the kitchen to greet her son. “Oliver, so nice to see you again! Charlie dear, I didn’t know you were bringing your roommate too. You’re always welcome, Oliver, we’ll just have to make another bed for you—”

“Mum,” interrupted Charlie as he went in for a bear hug. “I have something to tell you.”

“What is it dear?” asked Molly, pulling away. She brought her son to arms length distance and held both hands in hers. At that moment, her eyebrows knit together when she felt something on Charlie’s hand. “What’s this?” she asked, lifting up his left hand, where a black band sat on his ring finger.

“Mum.”

“Charlie—”

“We got married, mum,” said Charlie, his voice shaking. “Oliver and I.”

Charlie glanced back at his roommate, his husband, and sent him a sheepish smile. “We didn’t know how to tell you.”

Molly looked as though she might cry. 

“Congratulations!” yelped Hermione, who ran to embrace both Charlie and Oliver in a hug. She was followed shortly by Harry and Ginny.

The rest of the Weasleys and Weasley wives appeared in the room and echoed their congratulations as well as Arthur, who embraced his new son-in-law. “I always knew you were more than his roommate,” he whispered to Oliver, who let out a laugh. 

Molly had disappeared into the kitchen, and was already busying herself with the oven. All Ron could hear was pots and pans banging around the stove. 

“She’ll come around,” assured Arthur, who had an arm draped around Oliver’s shoulder as if he was his own son. 

* * *

Charlie and Oliver now sat in the same spot as Ron and Hermione earlier that afternoon, surrounded by Weasleys as they retold details of their story, recounting their journey from roommates, to friends, to lovers, to spouses. Ron could almost see the stress and weight of holding such a big secret leave his brother’s shoulders as he looked more lively and lighter than ever. 

One change in plans, however — Ron and Hermione definitely wouldn’t be announcing their engagement today. Ron stole a glance at Hermione who was engrossed in Charlie’s story, but when she met his gaze with a soft smile, he knew she was thinking the same exact thing. It was okay, they could wait. 

“So, why didn’t you tell us?” It was George who finally spoke to the hippogriff in the room. “Did you think we wouldn’t approve?”

Charlie and Oliver exchanged a look. “We were going to,” said Oliver. “We told my family first, but they reacted… poorly. They’re very traditional, you see. Sort of like…” Oliver didn’t finish his thought, but gestured toward the kitchen. The rest of the family nodded. 

Arthur brought his voice down to a whisper. “I think she’s more upset about not being told than anything else.”

As if on cue. Molly Weasley emerged from the kitchen, her hair frizzy and nearly singed. She still looked angry, like steam was about to shoot out from her ears, but there was a softness to her expression that wasn’t there before. “Oliver, you still like buttercream frosting, right?”

Oliver looked at Molly with a wide-eyed expression. “Erm, yes, I do. Why do you ask?”

“For your wedding cake, obviously,” she huffed. “You can’t expect to take this away from me too?”

Oliver shook his head, “No, of course. We’d love a cake.”

“Good,” chirped Molly. “And I hope you don’t mind if we have a little celebration tonight. I can’t bear the thought that I missed my son’s wedding.”

“Mum,” said Charlie. “There was no wedding. We just went to the courthouse and had dinner at home. You didn’t miss anything.”

“Then it’s settled,” said Molly as she straightened out her apron and tamed her hair. “We’ll celebrate tonight.”

Charlie’s face illuminated with the signature Weasley blush. “Thank you, Mum.”

“I’m still angry,” she said, cutting him off. “But not for the reasons you thought. I love you.” And with that, Molly shuffled toward the sofa where Oliver sat and wrapped him up in her arms. “And you too. Welcome to the family,” she told him, her voice muffled by his cotton t-shirt. 

Oliver’s eyes welled with tears. “Thank you, Molly.”

“Call me Mum,” she said, as she pulled him away to arms length, looking at him the exact same way she would look at Charlie. “Okay I have a lot of work to do to get this cake ready.”

With that, Molly Weasley scuffled back to the kitchen. “If anyone wants to help me, that would be lovely!”

Bill and Fleur rose to their feet. “We’ll be right in!”

Ron and Hermione shared a glance of agreement before climbing out of their chairs as well. “We’ll help too.”

* * *

Only a few hours later, the Weasley family was finishing up dinner outside, and the sun had begun to set, casting a crimson hue across the sky. Molly had done the honors serving a beautiful red velvet cake with buttercream frosting, complete with two miniature groom figurines made out of chocolate. 

Harry and George had charmed candles to float around the Burrow grounds, and at Molly’s request, the sound of Celestina Warbeck’s greatest love songs permeated the air. 

Charlie and Oliver had joined Ron and Hermione on a pair of wooden loveseats by the garden. 

“Did you expect a full wedding reception today?” asked Ron. 

“Of course not,” laughed Charlie. “This is a thousand times better than what we imagined.”

“So, if my math is correct,” said Oliver. “You two are the last singles standing.”

Ron’s face turned bright red. He didn’t want to share his news with Charlie and make him feel guilty about stealing the thunder. “Your math is correct,” he confirmed.

“Do you have any wedding advice?” she asked. 

“Wait. Are you two—?”

Ron nodded and Charlie’s eyes lit up. “It just happened last week. Don’t tell anyone yet,” urged Ron. 

“Well congratulations,” whispered Charlie. “I’m happy for you.”

Ron wrapped an arm around Hermione. “Thank you.”

“If you want my advice,” said Charlie, “Let Mum be involved. I feel awful that I hurt her.”

Ron shrugged. “I think you’ve more than made up for it. She seems thrilled now.”

“But,” added Oliver. “A secret elopement was definitely the least stressful way to go about it. And I can’t recommend that enough.”

Charlie let out a laugh. “Unfortunately, I don’t think there is a way to let Mum be involved in a secret elopement, so choose your poison wisely.”

Ron glanced at Hermione, who looked lost in thought. “Yeah. Probably not.”

The sound of glasses clinking interrupted their conversation. The rest of the family looked at Charlie and Oliver, anticipation on their faces. 

“We have to kiss now,” stated Charlie. “I hate this attention.”

“Just go with it,” said Oliver.

“This is why we elop—” 

Oliver cut Charlie off by planting a kiss on his lips. Charlie’s ears burned red between Oliver’s hands as the Weasley clan whooped and cheered. 

Ron held Hermione a little closer. 

One more wedding to go, and he couldn’t wait. 

Ron + Hermione, March 2003

Harry and Ginny had transformed their backyard into a luxurious event space for the wedding, which honestly, didn’t take much transformation at all. The gold tables and chairs contrasted nicely with the greenery of their garden. The flowers were in full bloom, creating a colorful backdrop and thick floral fragrance in the air, and Ron and Hermione sat underneath a steel arch entangled with vines. 

As the rest of the table enjoyed their meal, Ron slipped his arm under the table to hold Hermione’s hand. Their wedding was perfect. They had incorporated something from each of his siblings’ celebrations. The golden chairs from Bill and Fleur’s added a mark of elegance. The forest green bridesmaids’ dresses and grooms’ ties from Percy and Audrey’s wedding looked amazing with the flowers, as well as the Weasley red hair. Harry and Ginny had charmed the large fountain in the middle of their yard to flow with chocolate — their request, since they never did get their chocolate fountain running at their own wedding. Later, there would be a magical firework show straight from the backyard, courtesy of George and Angelina. 

But the best part about this wedding was that it wasn’t even their real one. 

* * *

One month prior…

Ron and Hermione’s real wedding happened one month ago, on Valentine’s day. Just like Charlie and Oliver, they had opted to get married in private, without anyone knowing. On February 10th, they caught a portkey to a remote coastal town in Australia and checked into a secluded beachside villa. 

Everyone else thought they were just on a quick holiday, which they desperately needed amidst the perceived stress of planning their wedding. No one knew that there really wasn’t much anxiety associated with the big event, because it wasn’t the one that truly mattered. Either way, their villa provided a reprieve from everyone asking them about napkin colors, seating plans, and appetizer menus. For three days, they went to the beach, cooked their own food, soaked in the oversized bathtub, and drank wine by the fire. Forgetting about their work responsibilities and family engagements back home was the perfect way to spend their last few days as an engaged couple. 

When Valentines’ day rolled around, their routine changed. Ron woke up first, and began preparing a full breakfast in the kitchen. The smell of sizzling bacon woke Hermione up, who later shuffled into the kitchen to make coffee. They sat on the balcony and enjoyed their meal while listening to the crashing waves of the ocean. 

“Can you believe this is our last meal as fiances?” asked Ron as he scraped the last of his eggs from his plate.

“Yes, actually. And I can’t wait,” said Hermione before draining the last drop of coffee from her mug.

After breakfast, they scourgified their dishes and didn’t even need to look at one another for confirmation before scurrying to the bathroom, where they met each other like magnets. Ron turned on the shower with one hand, while the other plucked at the buttons on Hermione’s sleep shirt, popping them open one by one. Their clothing landed in a pile on the floor and the pair landed under the steady stream of warm water. 

“One more shag as fiances?” asked Ron as he ran his fingers through her hair, her curls elongating under the weight of the water. 

“Obviously…”

* * *

Ron and Hermione spent the rest of the day dolling up in their suite to prepare for their private ceremony on the beach. Although his siblings had all followed the tradition of not seeing the bride before the ceremony, Ron much preferred to watch Hermione transform into a bride with his own eyes. Her gown was classic and elegant — a lacy, high-neck halter that accented her simple makeup, a bodice that hugged her curves perfectly, and a train that cascaded to the floor, accentuating her impeccable body. She had tamed her curls so they formed longer waves that framed her face. Honestly, Ron would have married her in a pair of joggers and a t-shirt, but this was beyond his imagination. 

Hermione took a few paces back from the mirror and analyzed her appearance. Ron’s heart clenched knowing she was looking for imperfections to fix before the ceremony. 

“You look amazing,” he spluttered. “No need to change a thing.”

Hermione smiled. “Thank you. You look pretty great yourself.”

Ron looked back to the mirror and ran his fingers through his ginger hair. He was still his pale, lanky, and freckly self, but his reflection exhibited something else. Staring back at him was a confident man ready to be a husband. For a moment, he reminded himself of his brother Bill. Ron recalled watching Bill in awe as he stood at the front of the aisle at his own wedding, secure in his stance with happy tears streaming down his face, and not a worry in the world. Of course, Ron did have a few worries swimming around in his mind. What if the random officiant they hired didn’t show up? What if the weather turned sour? What if the sun protection spells wore off too soon and he spent the rest of their elopement looking like a perfectly seared lobster? Yet his reflection conveyed none of that. Maybe he was more like Bill than he thought. 

Ron reached for his leather bound notebook on the nightstand. He had been working on his vows for a few weeks, trying his best to keep them concise, and figured it was time for one last check. 

Hermione, 

Is it possible to promise you the entire world? Because I would if I could. But I’ll start with the easy things. First, I promise to love you. That one is easy because I honestly can’t remember a time when I didn’t love you. Even before I understood what love was, I knew I felt differently about you. I laugh at my younger self for not realizing it sometimes. I promise to remind myself how damn lucky I am every day. 

I promise to never stop trying to make you laugh, even when you’re mad at me. On that same note, I promise to stay calm during heated moments. It’s no secret that we love bickering with each other, but love will always come first. 

I promise to take care of you, even though you might not let me. I want to hear about every tough moment. I want to cry with you when you’re sad, make you soup when you’re sick, and bring you coffee in the morning after sleepless nights. 

I also want to enjoy your successes with you. I want to bask in every one of your accomplishments, take you out to dinner just because I love you, and be the reason for those sleepless nights that require an extra cup of coffee in the morning. 

I want to grow old with you and tell you you’re beautiful every day, even when you scoff at it. I wish I could give you a glimpse into my mind and see yourself how I see you, but then I’d run the risk of you realizing you’re way too good for me. 

I promise to grow with you and constantly work toward being the man you deserve. I will put in 100% of my effort, every single day, because you’re worth it. 

And finally, I promise to prioritize our relationship above everything else in this life, never stop reminding you how much I love you, and thank you everyday for choosing to be mine. 

Love you more than you’ll ever know, 

Ron

He’d pored over his vows too many times, and had come to the conclusion that the right words didn’t exist. But this was close enough. 

* * *

With their wedding license tucked under his arm and his vows in his trouser pocket, Ron and Hermione left their villa and made their way down to the scenic overlook where their officiant was waiting for them. He was a tall, blonde, bearded man that neither Ron nor Hermione had ever seen or met before, and that was exactly how they wanted it. 

“You must be Ron and Hermione,” he asked politely as he extended an arm to shake their hands. 

“That’s us,” responded Ron with a firm handshake. 

“My name is Dave, and I’m here to perform your wedding.” Dave wore a light blue suit atop a white shirt with a matching blue bowtie. His hair was medium length and slightly windblown and shaggy, reminding Ron of a golden retriever that had taken a nap in front of a fan. If Dave hadn’t been wearing a suit, Ron would have thought he’d emerged from the ocean. A surfboard would have looked more at home tucked under his arm than the binder of notes on how to perform a wedding ceremony. 

Ron glanced at a beaming Hermione, appearing unbothered by any of this. “We’re ready.”

“Great! Is this a good place?”

Ron looked around him. From their place on the rocky cliffside, they could see miles of ocean. Tiny bumps of land lined the horizon, making it look like a child had painted it with a shaky hand. Were those reef islands? Or maybe New Zealand? Was it even possible to see that far ahead? Honestly, Ron loved being able to look out onto the horizon and see something, yet not know what it was. 

“This is perfect,” he said. 

“Then let’s get to it. We’ll start with your vows. I understand you’ve written your own?”

“Yes,” said Hermione, as she pulled a tiny notebook from behind the fabric of her bodice. 

Ron smiled at her unexpected hiding place. “Instead of reciting them, we’d like to give them to each other to read, if that’s okay.” 

“That’s perfectly fine,” said Dave. 

Ron and Hermione exchanged notebooks. With a trembling hand, Ron opened Hermione’s up to the first page, where her tiny but impeccable handwriting caught his attention.

Ron,

I don’t think that I can capture how I feel about you in a short letter, and luckily I have the rest of my life to continue showing you. But to start, I promise to remember how lucky I am to have found someone like you. There is no one who challenges me more. You make me a kinder, more loving, and more patient person, and I promise to continue embracing that challenge everyday. I promise to help you to be the best version of yourself, even if it means nagging you to pick your clothes up off the bedroom floor, or put the dishes away. I vow to stand by you when our plans change or fail, and keep solving the riddle of life with you. I will always be on your team - not just for the good - the date nights, the adventures, vacations, promotions, and milestones, but for everything else too - the fights, the disappointments, and setbacks. There’s no one I’d rather have in my corner when things go wrong, and there’s no one I’d rather celebrate with when they go right. And I promise to be that same support for you. Let’s embrace life hand in hand, no matter what it throws at us. We’ve already accomplished so much, and it’s hard to believe it’s just beginning. Together, we can do anything. 

I promise to love you forever. This is the easiest promise to make. I love you so much, and it grows every day. I would tell you there’s no way I could possibly love you more, but I know I will tomorrow, and I cannot wait. 

Yours forever,

Hermione

His eyes stung with tears, and he looked up to see Hermione’s watering just as much after reading his. “I love you,” she mouthed to him. 

“I love you too.”

The pair looked at Dave, cueing him to continue. He cleared his throat. “Do you Hermione, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?

Hermione beamed. “I do.”

“Do you Ron, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall—”

“I do,” said Ron, unable to wait until he finished.

Dave smiled and seemed to relax a bit. “I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss your bride.” 

Ron and Hermione came together fast, his arms wrapping around her waist. Their lips met and as if they had choreographed their first kiss as a married couple, he lifted her off his feet. Memories of their first kiss in the room of requirement all those years ago flooded his mind, and it almost felt like they were their teenage selves wondering what the future held for them. 

When they eventually broke apart, Hermione’s hair remained ruffled from the wind, her face flushed, and she smiled. “We’re married.”

“Yes we are.”

* * *

Later that afternoon, when they had completed all wedding-related duties, signed marriage licenses, and taken photographs, Ron and Hermione found themselves alone, for the first time as husband and wife.

Their villa looked exactly the same as it had when they left that morning, yet everything felt different. The kitchen was still cluttered from their cooking adventures, their bed was unmade, and clothes spewed out from their suitcases onto the floor. If they had been in their flat back home, Hermione would have fixated on the messes until they were gone, but today, she didn’t seem to care at all. 

“I love you in a suit.” She eyed him up and down, and Ron’s cheeks tingled with heat. Funny how she could still have that effect on him after all this time. 

“I love you in that dress.”

Hermione glanced down at her gown with a wistful smile. “Too bad, because I don’t think I’ll ever wear it again.”

“And I hope there’s never an occasion to.”

Ron took a step closer to her and looped his fingers underneath her shoulder strap. 

“Want to help me take it off?”

“Absolutely, I do.”

Ron wanted to savor the moment of taking off her dress, slowly tug the zipper down, flick her straps off her shoulders, and watch her perfect body emerge from the lace in awe, but he was not exactly known for his patience. It didn’t take much time before Hermione’s dress crumpled into a pile around her ankles. By the way Ron’s suit landed on the floor just as quickly, it seemed Hermione had thrown patience out the window too. 

Ron stepped back to take her in. Her windswept curls had lost their structure over the course of the afternoon, but the way they dangled in front of her breasts drove him mad. Her body was spotted with new tan lines and freckles, and Ron couldn’t wait to run his hands over every single one. Looking at her hands, he could almost feel the way her perfectly painted nails would dig into his skin between the sheets. Although beautiful, her long legs looked lonely without him in between them. She was spectacular, as always. 

“Is it okay to say I love you even more without the dress?”

She smiled, and Ron basked in the way her eyes scanned his body. “Of course it is. I much prefer your suit on the floor.”

“I can’t believe you’re my wife.” The word still felt new coming from his lips, but he definitely could get used to it. 

“I can.”

Ron closed the space between them, wrapped his arms around her waist, and she instinctively hopped up, her legs embracing him. He held her tight and waddled toward the bedroom, not caring that he nearly knocked over a lamp on the way. None of that mattered. Hermione pressed her lips to his and gripped his hair between her fingers. He loved it when she did that, it always made him want her even more. Without breaking their kiss, they collapsed onto the bed, limbs  intertwined, faces flushed, ready to begin the rest of their lives together. 

* * *

Present Day

Ron couldn’t let himself get distracted by memories of the perfect day — he had guests to attend to. At the moment, his siblings were already crowding him and Hermione to congratulate them. 

“Fantastic wedding,” said Charlie as he plopped himself down into a chair next to Ron. “I’m glad you didn’t elope.”

“Same,” said George, who had pulled up beside Charlie. “Because this steak is amazing.” 

“Your wedding is perfect,” echoed Ginny from her spot beside Hermione.

Ron gave Hermione’s hand a squeeze. Although she didn’t know it, Ginny was right, their wedding was absolutely perfect. 

[nekodani]

According to Mike Shinoda, this is the first ever photo that Linkin Park took together, right after they officially told Chester Bennington they would like him to join the band.

As Shinoda recalls, “I think this was the first photo we ever took together. We had just told Chester that we wanted him to join the band. He said he was ready to move out from Arizona to L.A. We went to a pizza place near UCLA to hang out and talk about what to do next. The band was called Xero at the time, and we probably had less than a half a dozen songs. No flame tattoos yet, no red hair yet, most of us were still in college.”

Bennington was invited to audition for Xero in 1999 and even skipped his 23rd birthday party to record vocals for the audition.

#linkin park #xero #chester bennington #mike shinoda #rip #rip chester bennington

[adidastain]

good luck

1999 serj tankian x fem reader (unnamed)

warnings: smut (handjob - M receiving)

notes: all lowercase, first person perspective (I, me, my, etc.)

word count: 2818

—

the scalding heat of the day paired with the amount of people in the crowd was an agonizing combination to endure, especially for the band onstage. it was nearing the end of the first half of the set, so the band was getting ready to head backstage for a quick break and cool off.

i was already waiting in one of the tents, sweating my ass off. i recognized the song they were playing and could hear that it was coming to an end. i’d watched most of their set, but there were way too many people to be even slightly comfortable, so i left.

the guitarist announced the end of the first set and thanked everyone, and in the midst of the crowd’s cheers, the boys filed offstage one by one.

as soon as my best friend was within 5 feet of me, i was all over him. he was covered in sweat. his white tank top clung to his muscular body and his skin was shiny. just seeing him made me lose my breath.

“there you are- thank you- where were you this morning?” he asked me, taking a water bottle from one of the roadies. serj nudged me with his knuckles as we began walking to his dressing room.

“i had a late start,” i sighed. “partied too hard last night.”

god. i hated how awkward i was around him now that i realized i liked him. no one else made me as squeamish as he did when i was near him.

serj let out a low, dry chuckle. i could hear that he’d lost his voice while singing. he broke into a series of coughs before taking another swig of water.

“missed you,” he said. “we had this great breakfast. it was, like, this huge buffet thing. like what you typically see at hotels, but way better.”

“i’m terribly sorry i missed it,” i said, walking backwards in front of him with a smirk on my face.

“i don’t forgive you,” he said dramatically, poking my stomach. i poked him back, and he then began chasing me around.

i bolted down the backstage hallway, taking a turn down another hallway. the walls were white and silent, without any echo.

i lost serj behind me. i couldn’t hear him running around anymore. all i could hear was my own breath. it was eerie.

the hallway was lined with white doors, all of which had gold doorknobs and tiny bronze labels.

“serj?” i said in a normal voice.

i wandered around for a few minutes, catching my breath.

suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around my torso and tackled me onto the ground.

i landed flat on my palms with a thud. a thin layer of carpet was all that covered the concrete floor beneath us.

i whipped my body around and saw serj towering next to me, sitting on his knees. he poked my sides and torso mercilessly now that i was basically defenseless.

i squealed, pushing him away by the shoulders. serj just grinned and watched as i flopped around, trying to escape his friendly torture.

my knee collided with the jewels between his legs on accident, and he immediately froze and collapsed next to me with a loud wince.

i desperately scrambled to get back on my feet while serj laid on the ground in a fetal position, groaning and wailing.

“fuck, man, jesus…” he whined, holding himself.

“i’m sorry,” i exhaled in a laugh. i fell to sit down next to him. “it was an accident. i’m sorry.”

“you fucking owe me for that,” he grumbled, his face smushed against the rough carpet floor.

“it was an accident!” i laughed, nudging him.

he laid on the floor, still and silent as i calmed down from laughing. i just stared at him, listening to his breathing in the dead silent hallway.

“i’m sorry,” i said softly, shrinking in my position. i played with my fingernails, waiting for a response.

serj inhaled and rose to his feet, holding his hand out for me to take so he could help me up as well. i grabbed it and he pulled me back up to stand.

once i was on my feet, i felt my heart leap after realizing how close he was to me. the hallway was tight as it is, but we were way closer together than we should’ve been.

i took a step back out of a panicked instinct. serj just smiled at me. what was he thinking?

i didn’t move. i just stared at him. maybe he knew i wasn’t going to go anywhere without him.

“are you okay?” i asked quietly, shooting a glance at his previously devastated junk.

“no,” he said. “i cannot believe you would do this to me.”

i knew he was joking. i rolled my eyes and pushed him away, laughing. he nudged me back.

in response, i nudged him back, then he nudged me again. i then grabbed his arms and aggressively pushed him, pinning him against the wall with a thud.

“ouch,” he exhaled, looking at me with a shocked grin. i didn’t back away and he didn’t fight back. “what was that for?” he asked quietly.

“for being mean,” i huffed.

“i’m being mean?” he laughed.

“yes, you are.” i confirmed, laughing. “i thought you were genuinely hurt.”

“i am, thank you very much,” serj argued lightheartedly. “you’re lucky i won’t do it to you too.”

would i let him do that to me? probably. i would probably like it.

“does it still hurt?” i asked him.

“of course it still hurts!” he laughed.

serj immediately shut his mouth as i leaned in closer, sliding my hands up his arms. i swallowed nervously before speaking. “want me to rub it better?” i asked, sticking my lip out.

a harsh swallow slid down his throat. he anxiously glanced down both ends of the quiet hallway before responding.

“how about a kiss?” he suggested, squirming between me and the wall behind him.

“that’s all you want?” i asked.

“no, i mean- you know what i mean,” he said, nudging me.

“i don’t think i do,” i teased him, trying to bury a smirk.

serj scoffed and rolled his eyes. i loved getting on his nerves like this.

“you are so annoying,” he stated, gently pushing me away. he began to walk away from me, so i reached for his hand, but instead, accidentally grabbed his damp white tank top,

“you said i owed you,” i reminded him. “let me pay you back.”

serj gnawed on the inside of his cheek in thought. he glanced at his watch to check how much time we had left.

after another second or two, he inhaled deeply and stepped closer to me, placing a hand on the small of my back. he pulled me closer by the waist and pressed a shy, tender kiss into my lips.

my body froze up in shock from the feeling of it, but i eventually melted and kissed him back. he pulled away briefly just so he could kiss me again, moving his hands to gently caress each side of my face.

i felt like i was floating. his kisses were gentle and left me completely breathless, and hungry for more. our friendship was completely out the window now, but i didn’t care.

before he could kiss me again, i stopped him. “do you want me to beat you off, or no?” i whispered, genuinely curious.

serj perked his head up to look down the hallway again, before pulling my face into his chest.

i saw his large hand slide onto the doorknob of one of the doors next to us. slowly, he twisted his wrist to check if it would open, and once it did so, he quickly pulled me inside and locked the door behind us.

the room was dark and lit only by the light shining from outside, beneath the door.

“will you take me?” serj whispered. “in your mouth?”

i couldn’t see his face, but i stared straight in front of me, assuming that it was him.

i wanted to. i wanted to know what he tasted like and feel how big he was in comparison to my mouth. but i’d only ever given head once, and i couldn’t make them finish, so i didn’t want to risk embarrassing myself to serj like that.

“not today,” i breathed.

“okay,” he agreed, sounding slightly disappointed. i blindly ran my fingers through his hair in reassurance.

we never bothered turning the lights on. it was more exciting. especially when i heard the buckle of his belt jangling as he somewhat frantically removed the snug piece of leather from his hips.

i took a step closer and nuzzled my forehead into the crook of his warm neck. i could only barely see the outline of his erection from what little light we had allowed in the room. from what i could see, he looked to be a decent size, on the bigger side.

he made a few strokes with his own hand, before i lowered it and took it in mine. i could have sworn i’d heard the smallest, meekest of whimpers escape his throat once i held him.

his tool was warm and the skin was smooth. i felt his large hand gently grasp both my hand and his dick at the same time, before he began guiding my hand up and down the base slowly.

“you’ve done this before, right?” he asked me.

“not to you,” i said, wearing a smirk that was heavily present in my tone.

“well, duh,” he laughed. his laugh then turned into a blissful sigh, and his body relaxed against the door behind him. suddenly he gasped and stopped my hand for a moment.

“jesus,” he exhaled, laughing slightly.

“what’s wrong?” i asked, loosening my grip on the base.

“i’m really sensitive now,” he laughed sheepishly. “‘cause you hit me.”

“i said i was sorry,” i reminded him, gently tracing the root of his dick with my thumb.

“i know,” he said, kissing my face. i think he was going for my lips, but he landed somewhere on my cheek instead. all i felt was his facial hair brush against my skin. “i’m just not used to it. go gentle on me.”

i kissed his cheek and came closer to his body. he wrapped his arms around me, and i wrapped my hand softly around his base. i buried my face into his neck, kissing his skin tenderly.

all i could hear was his breathing. he held in every possible sound he could make, holding his breath.

“serj,” i hummed.

“hmm?” he hummed back.

“you’re so quiet…” i whispered.

he remained quiet, waiting for me to continue.

“i wanna hear how you i’m making you feel,” i told him, subtly increasing the speed of my strokes. i lifted my head to look up at him.

my eyes adjusted more to the darkness and i could make out his face. one of his hands began to guide mine as he spoke, while the other caressed my waist he leaned closer to me, bringing his mouth close to my ear. “you can go faster,” he said quietly.

i sped up the movement of my hand, following his. i squeezed him lightly and heard him gasp. the hand that held my waist pulled me closer, causing his warm tip to firmly press into my stomach.

my chest grazed his and our faces were too close for us to look at each other anymore.

i lifted my free hand to caress his neck, running my fingers through the soft roots of his thick hair, balling it into a fist to tug on it slightly.

i finally earned a soft moan from him as i did so. my heart fluttered and the pit of my stomach lit on fire as the pleasured sigh escaped his throat.

“rub the tip… here,” serj instructed, placing my hand a bit higher up on the length of his tool. “yeah…”

i picked up the pace, and almost instantly felt a small spurt of precum smear onto my skin.

serj began to let his pleasured sighs escape him freely. they were dry and raspy due to his sore voice, but i loved it.

suddenly, his breath hitched and his entire body tensed up. “r-right there… that spot…” he exhaled. “rub it i-in circles…”

i followed his instructions, tracing circles in the skin beneath his tip with the pad of my thumb, with enough pressure to drag the skin around as well.

serj whimpered, slowly letting go of my hand and letting me take the wheel. i leaned forward and pressed my tongue against the skin of his neck; it was warm and i could taste the sweat that previously covered his entire body. i gently dragged my tongue up his neck, before pulling away with his skin in between my teeth.

“fuck,” he whined, tilting his head to open up the space on his neck. i ran my free hand down his torso and gently tucked my fingers under the hem of his tank top, caressing his hip. “just a-a bit faster… m-more…”

i continued to leave a hickey in the crook of his jaw, matching the pace with that of my hand as i increased it. soon enough, i felt his hips buck into my hands and his oblique muscles tense rapidly. serj groaned and pulled my waist closer again.

“you can cum on my stomach,” i whispered, leaning into his tip with my entire torso. it was firm against my body and poked me pretty hard, but i loved it.

almost immediately, serj let out a series of curses and high-pitched whimpers, before hitching his breath as i felt him spill out all over my stomach.

his entire orgasm lasted pretty long, at least from what i was used to. i didn’t mind it, though.

“it feels better now,” he laughed breathlessly, resting his forehead on my shoulder. “you have a healing touch.”

i chuckled and wrapped my arms around his neck. “can we talk later?” i asked him. “about, just, you know, you and me?”

“of course,” he exhaled, kissing me gently. “what are you, uh, gonna do about this?”

serj gestured to my stomach, in reference to the mess of his cum that my skin was covered in. i was wearing a short crop top, so none of it got on my clothes.

“um, this is gonna sound weird, but i just… kinda want to, i don’t know… play with it…?” i mumbled.

“you’re gonna play with my cum?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

i nodded, looking down at the mess on my skin. i wiped some of it off onto my index finger. it was pretty thick and rich, but smeared more on my skin than it came off. it was somewhat sticky, and had a sort of gooey consistency when i pulled my fingertip away from it.

i looked up at him through my brows and sucked my index finger clean. serj palmed my face with his entire hand and pushed me away. “don’t do that. you’re gonna make me hard again and i have to go back on in… 3 minutes,” he told me.

i pushed his hand away from my face and we both shared soft laughter. he tucked himself back in his boxers and began to put his belt back on, before i stopped him.

“i want your belt,” i said, grabbing the piece of leather. serj just stared at me, before pulling the belt off and placing it in my hands.

“take this too,” he huffed, lifting up one foot to remove his sneaker, then his sock.

i held the piece of fabric with my fingertips, cringing at it. “for what?” i asked him, deeply confused.

“use it as a rag,” he laughed at me, putting his sneaker back on his bare foot. “or a pillow, if you’re into that.”

“god, no!” i cringed, hitting him with his sock. “jesus, do you even know me?!”

“i’m just kidding, relax. i’ll see you later,” he said, unlocking the door.

as soon as he opened the door and the light shone in the room, i could see the big, bright red bruise on his neck very clearly. i snorted back a laugh and poked him in the stomach. “good luck explaining that,” i said, pointing to his neck.

“good luck explaining yourself,” he shot back, gesturing to my own stomach. as he turned his back to me to walk off, i grabbed his wrist with my free hand. “hey, wait,” i started.

serj turned around and i quickly kissed him. “see you,” i hummed after pulling away.

he smiled at me with a big grin, repeating my words to me, before disappearing down the long, quiet white corridor.

#serj tankian x reader #serj tankian #soad #system of a down #daron malakian #shavo odadjian #x reader #fem reader #smut #fluff #nu metal #1999 #fanfiction #friends to lovers

[honoka-marierose]

About a decade ago, Zack Snyder developed a storyline for the DC Extended Universe that involved Bruce Wayne impregnating Lois Lane.

The subplot in which Batman cuckolds Superman was poised to unfold in “Justice League,” with Batman dying in the sequel and Lois raising their spawn with Superman. Snyder’s vision for Wonder Woman was equally unorthodox, with visuals featuring a superheroine who brandished the decapitated heads of her conquered enemies like an ISIS jihadi.

Warner Bros. and DC Studios — which hold a firm grip on their intellectual property — rejected Snyder’s ideas, which were deemed “super creepy,” according to a source familiar with the back and forth. (DC declined to comment for this story. A representative for Snyder did not respond to a request for comment.) But in the next decade, artists and rival studios won’t need permission to create their own take on the characters.

A sad fact of Hollywood is that while superheroes never truly die, all copyrights do. On Jan. 1, Disney lost control of “Steamboat Willie,” and within 24 hours two horror-comedies starring Mickey Mouse were announced. The DC characters are the next major expirations looming on the horizon. Superman and Lois Lane will enter the public domain in 2034, followed by Batman in 2035, the Joker in 2036 and Wonder Woman in 2037.

Chris Sims, a comic book author and Batman expert, expects a flood of unauthorized Batman comics to hit the stands as soon as the copyright expires.

“There’s going to be 100 of them,” he says. “They’re going to have them ready to go.” Movie producers will also be able to make their own versions — much as they already do with public domain characters like Dracula and Robin Hood — though in the beginning they will have to stick to the original versions of the characters.

“You get Batman, but you don’t get Robin,” Sims says. “You get Superman, but you don’t get kryptonite.”

The initial Superman could only leap — not fly. “Those characteristics are going to fall into the public domain one by one,” says Amanda Schreyer, media and entertainment lawyer at Morse.

DC has been preparing for this for years. At a press event in 2023, CEO James Gunn noted that the next Superman film will introduce characters from “The Authority,” a comic series that launched in 1999, in part because the Superman copyright is about to expire.

Jay Kogan, DC’s deputy general counsel, laid out a strategy to protect characters that fall into the public domain in a 2001 article. Since only the older versions lose protection, he urged: “Keep ’em fresh and up-to-date.”

“By gradually changing the literary and visual characteristics of a character over time, a character owner can keep whatever the then-current image of the character is as the de facto standard in the public consciousness,” he wrote.

The company has done a good job of updating Superman, argues Steven Beer, an IP lawyer at Lewis Brisbois Bisgaard & Smith.

“The public’s perception is the contemporary Superman. It’s distinctive,” he says. “That gives them a lot of protection.”

Another tactic: Maintain a high level of quality control.

“The public should be conditioned to view any works from unrelated parties featuring a trademark owner’s characters as second-rate knockoffs,” Kogan wrote.

Kogan also suggested that trademarks could be used to block the use of a character’s name, image and slogan even after the copyright expires.

But trademark is not a cloak of immunity, argues Jennifer Jenkins, director of Duke’s Center for the Study of the Public Domain. “That only prevents uses that are likely to cause consumer confusion about source or sponsorship,” she says.

In other words, the characters’ names should be fair game, so long as it’s clear that the depiction is not coming from DC.

“You could still create a Superman horror movie or Batman horror movie,” says Jonathan Steinsapir, an IP attorney at KHIKS. “You just need to be careful about how you advertise it and how you use images of Superman in a branding sense.”

DC has done a careful job of tying the characters to itself by trademarking the terms “Man of Steel” and “Caped Crusader,” as well as Superman’s “S” and Batman’s logo.

“The bat symbol is a very strong mark,” Schreyer says. “That is going to limit what subsequent creators can do.”

Even so, expect the mid-2030s to see a glut of off-brand superhero content.

“People will make a run at these characters because there’s money to be made,” says Mark Waid, a comic book author and historian best known for his work on DC Comics titles like “Superman: Birthright.” “Or how about Superman versus Godzilla. It’s a gray area. But this town works on the speed of capitalism, right? That’s how we work.”

Sims believes more superhero comics will be a good thing. But the idea that there will be a Superman renaissance is oversold, he says.

“It’s gonna come down to execution,” Sims says. “There’s one company that’s used to doing it.”

Steinsapir says nothing would keep Snyder from making a non-Warners film featuring the DC troika.

“Zack Snyder could reshoot it and make his own new iteration of it,” he says. “You just need to be careful. For example, he definitely couldn’t call it ‘Justice League.’”

#dc #dc comics #detective comics #superman #batman #wonder woman #warner bros #dc studios #zack snyder #dcu #dc universe #dc batman #dc superman #dc wonder woman

[biolizardboils]

Hooray for Captain Underpants: The Unnecessarily In-Depth Writeup

Ages ago, Pilkey.com entered its golden era... the era of Flash content! From about 2003 to 2006, the site was blessed with a new layout, a jukebox, music videos, a LOT of games, and a banner adorned with different characters whenever you refreshed the page! The last thing doesn’t load in the Wayback Machine but trust me it was cool

Most of this stuff has thankfully been preserved, from YouTube reposts early on to those sites with hundreds of stolen games, to archivists scrambling just before Flash died in 2020. One of the early migrators, and the possibly the site’s star attraction, was a simple song with an accompanying animation.

Before George and Harold asked what could possibly go wrong... before Weird Al helped make Dav’s decade... before the Koji Matsumoto songs that I never listened to as a kid because the thumbnails scared me... only one song could encapsulate what these books stood for. Subsequently, only one video could provide an extended glimpse of Pilkey’s wacky world, in full motion and full color. 

I’m talking, of course, about Hooray for Captain Underpants.

In this post, I’ll be covering everything to be gleaned about its production and discussing its potential impact on future CU adaptations. Why? Because the Movie won this poll by exactly 1 point! @bestanimatedmovie​ let me know if you’d like me to stop interfering in your tournament lol.

————————————————————

According to the site’s New Stuff page, both the song and video were added on January 5th, 2005. The Free Music page lists its copyright date as 2004, however. It seems the song was created first, then held back until the accompanying video was ready a year later.

Speaking of copyright, I'd like to shine a spotlight on everyone who contributed to this gift to humanity! First, the song:

Produced, Written and Performed by Josh Katz.

This guy’s perpetual voice-crack and rap-adjacent stylings make up most of the Extra-Crunchy CD O’ Fun. Outside of that, he’s better known as Rappy McRapperson, a tongue-in-cheek “gangster” act active from 1999 to 2017. I won’t be linking to his music since it's all rather... off-color; look them up at your own risk. I’m not sure how Dav found the guy and now I’m afraid to ask

Beat by Ben Petty.

Petty seems to have contributed music (and his garage) to the Rappy act. The only info I can find on him is tied to Rappy, so again, no links.

Children's Chorus: Mrs. Dean's Music Class.

Imagine having been in this class, your youthful voice immortalized for the ages! Where are these students now, I wonder? If only one of them spoke about it in a random subreddit or something...

Additional Vocals: Elizabeth Dean.

Besides the slim chance of one of her students having the same last name, this was probably the music teacher. I have an inkling on what “role” she plays in the song, but that’s for later.

The video lists two more parties:

Animation by Wetland Animation

Googling this name only supplies animations of wetlands, but I might have found them under a different name. At the bottom of the home page, the site’s redesign is credited to both Dav and an “Eyeland Studio”. There’s an archive of their site from around the same timeframe, and whaddya know!

Directed by Scott Hamlin

This guy is the first (and only) name on Eyeland’s Contacts page! Well, not specifically Eyeland’s—apparently that’s just one of three branches of a bigger subsidiary named Games In A Flash? But this is an infodump about Captain Underpants, not the Flash industry, so

————————————————————

On to the actual song and video! I’ll be using this 4K remaster for reference. (And it’s a stellar remaster, might I add—judging from ancient videos of the original, every single asset and animation error is still intact!)

The first few shots include two villains getting inconvenienced in amusing ways—a bold directing decision, I must say. More seriously, I’d like to point out Prof. Poopypants’s color scheme here. It actually lines up with the two (yes, two) he has on the cover of Book 4!

He wears a muted blue suit on the front cover (at least in early editions) and a purple one on the back cover. Here, he’s wearing the blue suit and the frames of his glasses are purple. Coincidence? Yeah, probably, but it’s cool to know he had a two-outfit thing going on way before the Movie.

First off, nobody walks like this. Second off, what kind of school has searing mint green walls? Sorry, it’s just... not the color I had in mind for Jerome Horwitz lol. Anyway, here come the lyrics!

[GEORGE] Uh-oh.

[HAROLD] Here we go again!

Ah, the classic lines! Not much to say here, but keep the Boys’ voices in mind.

Wedgie Woman has the smoothest animation in the whole video for some reason. (The perks of being a girlboss, I guess?) Her scene is a highly kinetic bit of slapstick, too—it makes me wish I knew how to make good GIFs.

Meet George and Harold! They pull pranks and stuff! They're cool (COOL!) And they're mischievous!

Yes they are 💙 Also lol at “Gym teachers smell like stinky toilets”—I wonder what the sign said earlier.

Krupp has a skin-colored line floating over his arm, and the walls drift to the left at the end of this shot. But also, Harold’s hair does a funny little bounce when they notice Krupp! Plusses and minuses, I guess?

Meet Mr. Krupp! He's not nice, he's mean! That was, until the day  he saw a Hypno-Ring!

... 🎵 and now you know the plot! 🎵

[CHORUS] [x2] Underpants, underpants, I like Captain Underpants! Underpants, underpants, Hooray for Captain Underpants!

The phrase “hooray for Captain Underpants” showed up often in the earlier books, usually in the Boys’ comics. 

The syllables of “underpants” snap into place as the chorus sings them—almost like waistbands! Also, Captain’s antics here correspond with specific Book covers, and the background’s colors change to match! For Chorus #1 we have, in order: purple for Book 3, orange-on-yellow for Book 4, turquoise for Book 2, and blue for Book 1! (Not sure about the shot of him running towards the camera though.)

He flies up high in the air—he's not scared (Woosh!) Captain Underpants likes wearing underwear! He also likes fighting crime (Pssh!) Evil-doers beware, ‘cause it's superhero time!

I'm just noticing this but what happened to the Dandelion of Doom here sdfghjk?? Is this a placeholder graphic that got left in? It looks much more book-accurate later in the video, which makes this even funnier.

And the lifestyle gets pretty rough (AAAH!) You gotta spend a lot of time fighting mean stuff like Talking Toilets and Professor Poopypants (Pssh!) When you're done, you do a little victory dance!

This part kills me cus Poopypants was literally just standing there vkhjg. He even seems to sigh in resignation before the underwear hits!

[INSTRUMENTAL] Do the Wedgie Wiggle! [INSTRUMENTAL]

In the Hall of the Mountain King, babyyy! This scene is just the Underpants Dance Flip-O-Ramas from Book 7, but with extra frames—and it looks amazing! The four bad guys scowling at Captain in the background are the icing on top!

Good lord, that’s like, highlighter yellow. Seriously, who painted this school?

OH NO! The world's in trouble again (AAAH!) The lunchroom lady really IS an alien!

Fair warning: if a Second Epic Movie ever happens and they confirm the Alien!Edith thing, I will post this part but bass-boosted to obscene levels.

And it's all for... thrills and laffs!

I was promised Action, Thrills, and Laffs—where’s the Action?? For shame, video! I want a refund!

[GIRL]  Captain Underpants, can I get your autograph?

About that inkling I mentioned earlier: I think Mrs. Dean may have voiced Autograph Girl here! Her voice sounds the slightest bit older than the chorus singers, and that’s my only point of evidence, but I can’t think of any other reason for that Additional Voices credit.

[CAPTAIN] Tra-la-laaaaa! (Woosh!)

[RANDOM GUY] COOL!

Captain Underpants should fly by MY school!

You and me both, Josh! I say despite no longer being in school Also I always felt bad that Captain just... flew off lol, I like to think that girl got his autograph later.

Bad guys and crime sprees, they don't even care— Now they stop in the name of underwear!

This part is great dfghj. The smoothness, the Boys’ >:) look, the little detail of Booger Boy sniffling, I love it.

Hitting robots in the face and poking evil in the eye (Poink!) It's very fun when you defeat crime!

If any British people read this, I’ve got a question: I know Dr. Diaper was renamed Dr. Nappy over there, but does that apply to the Movie too? Like, when Captain namedrops him near the end, did they have Ed Helms rerecord the line, or is he still called Dr. Diaper? 

[GIRL] I wish I could do it all day long!

That's why all day long, you listen to this song about—

You bet your Poopypants I do!

[CHORUS] [x2]

Chorus #2 introduces two more scenes of Captain fighting Poopypants and the Dandelion of Doom. The Poopypants one is based on a Flip-O-Rama, and while making this post I thought the Dandelion one was, too. I checked Book 3 while wrapping up and turns out I was Mandela Effect-ing myself, but, like, it’d make for a good Flip-O-Rama, right? Here, I even made a mock-up of what I “remembered”.

Also when Captain flies up in this scene, there’s a green dot where he stops (possibly to mark his position for the animators). Have fun un-seeing that!

[PROF. P] I’LL GET YOU, CAPTAIN UNDERPANTS!

I’m guessing Josh voices Poopypants here. This and Go Poopypants are kinda weird to listen to in a post-Movie world. Pour one out to parents and teachers who read these books aloud, I imagine kids get sad if they don’t do Zee Accent. (I know I would.)

Now the day's been saved and peace has been restored— Captain Underpants isn't needed anymore (Awww!)

PERISH THE THOUGHT. Must one be “needed” to justify their presence? Do people not exist beyond the services they perform?? Captain is a good and happy and fun guy and I love him and he should be allowed to stay!

Anyway, look at this pile of assorted bad guys! We can see, from left to right and from bottom to top: Either the Booger Boy or the Robo-Boogers, Dr. Diaper, The Harold 2000, Wedgie Woman, Dr. Diaper’s robots, the Dandelion of Doom, the two burglars from Book 1, one of the Alien Lunch Ladies, and... 

...The Inedible Hunk?? He’s an interesting pick, since he’s comic-exclusive and never comes to exist in “reality” like the others. This was his sole color appearance for 8 years until the In Full Color editions; he’s green there as opposed to yellow here. I think he looks suitably gross in both, though.

He's your pal, but also he's your PRINCI-pal! Sometimes he's ridiculous, sometimes inVINCI-bal!

Krupp’s toupee just falls in from nowhere here lol. I like to think it got stuck to the ceiling after flying off at the start of the video.

But now, he's gotta enforce the rules By being mean, and being not cool So it's back to school life with a paper and pen, but then—

I called Katz’ stuff rap-adjacent earlier, but I’ll admit this part is pretty fire.

Poor kid, about to get his yo-yo confiscated... In this moment, I’d gladly follow that sign’s instruction.

[GEORGE] Uh-oh.

[HAROLD] Here we go again!

You know how I said to keep the Boys’ voices in mind? Now, go find a clip from Epic Tales (or just use this) and listen to them there. You might find that they sound similar, despite being made thirteen years apart! Maybe DreamWorks had this video in mind when picking the show’s voice cast? Before the Movie and Epic Tales, Pilkey.com’s Flash videos were the only full-color, fully-animated CU Things for ages—I’d be surprised if they didn’t use them as references. 

More possible evidence: Harold’s shirt colors! They fluctuated a lot until the Movie and Epic Tales settled on green stripes. In fact, his default shirt in Epic Tales resembles the one he wears in this video!

[CHORUS] [x2]

Thus ends the music video ever: with a wink and... whatever this shot is!

What more is there to say? Besides some mashups and this amazing trap remix, this song’s legacy is an understated one. Pilkey.com has seen multiple redesigns since then, eventually retiring its Flash content; two new, higher-budget theme songs were made, and it’s hard to compete with Weird Al himself. Yes, Hooray’s time in the spotlight is long over, and it’s probably too late to reach out to anyone involved in its creation. After all, who’s gonna laud a potty-themed Flash video as their claim to fame?

Surprisingly, that question has an answer. And the answer is (drumroll please)... this Redditor!

This has been an unnecessarily in-depth write-up about Hooray for Captain Underpants—thanks so much for reading this far! For my closing remarks, I’d like to plug that one trap remix again, discovering it made me die of laughter

Say hello to a former member of Mrs. Dean’s Music Class! (Except don’t actually go bother them about this, please respect their privacy.) I found this by complete accident last year and saved it to share here later, and now’s as good a time as any! I suggest that we heed their command and start worshipping them immediately!

————————————————————

#captain underpants #dav pilkey #pilkey.com #hooray for captain underpants #captain underpants the first epic movie #the epic tales of captain underpants #captain underpants: the first epic movie #me talking #long #cu #cu books

[honeydukesheroine]

April 18th: Stop

It's been a couple days, @hinnymicrofic but I'm back! Trying new tenses and everything.

Prompt 18: Stop 🏆

“You’re sure you’re ready to stop playing professionally?” Harry asks. 

She doesn’t answer at first. She’s leaning on the edge of his desk, staring at the framed article from her first interview with Quidditch Times in 1999. 

He’s leaning back in his chair, feet propped up. She feels him studying her like he does James under suspicions of fibbing.

“Yes, I’m sure. It’s too much with both of them on top of the training. And returning has been… different this time,” she says. 

Overcoming challenges of being a Harpy give her a self-assurance that she holds like a trophy in her heart. After the war, the daily flying and training was healing. There are flashes of memories - circling the pitch under bright lights, victory parties with the team, breaking the season record for number of assists. In earlier years, she used to savor moments to challenge her awed disbelief, saying: This is where I am.

The pressure now to restore peak training shape has been tediously exhausting. She knows that she can do it, but isn’t sure she wants to anymore. 

“I can’t keep leaving them with Mum for away matches when you’re on long missions,” she turns to him but he’s looking down at his hands. “Besides, I’m getting too famous.” He half smirks at the tired joke.

“What’re you worried about, that you won’t have a fit wife anymore?” She teases. He stands, rounds the desk and wraps his arms around her shoulders. 

“I could put in a request for less away missions … They’d probably only approve it if I was promoted to Head, but…” he shrugs.

“No, I’m sure,” she says, wrapping her arms around his waist, pulling him closer. She winks up at him and says, “But you should do that anyway.” 

They stay like that for a time, soaking in her decision. “Okay,” Harry finally says, kissing the top of her head and pressing his cheek into her hair.

“I’ve actually made peace with it,” she says. “Like I’m starting something new.” Ginny leans her head into his chest, takes a deep satisfying breath, and thinks: This is where I am.

#New tense feel free to send polite corrections and suggestions #hinny #hinny microfic #harrypotter fanfiction #Ginny is a goddess amongst athletes #does it count as fluff? #not too sure

[cecilysass]

Tonight We're Gonna Party Like It's 1999

An epilogue to The Boy on the Beach. Read The Boy on the Beach on AO3 or on Tumblr. Read this epilogue on AO3. Tagging @today-in-fic

In the other multiverse.

Baltimore, Maryland February 23, 1983

“Sweetie.” Her mother’s face appeared in the crack of the door. “Do you think you’re almost ready? You’ve made Marcus sit down there with your father and Charlie for twenty minutes now. And our reservation is at seven, so we really can’t be too much longer.”

“Yes,” Dana said. “Almost finished.” In the mirror she peered into her own eyes, which were smudged with black. Her eyeliner was as heavy as she dared for dinner with her family, which truthfully wasn’t very heavy at all.

In Dana’s imagination her entire wardrobe was going to have been transformed in college. She would have been edgier, harder, swathed in black, jagged corners. A semester and a month in, and that hadn’t really happened. Her forays into rebellion had been modest and disappointing. A few band T-shirts, leather bracelets, scarcely noticeable.

Tonight she wore a new dress. Dark detailed lace, a dramatic ruffled neckline. She purchased it at a shop near campus because she thought it had a drastic, punk rock feel. She’d expected a few raised eyebrows when she arrived at her parents’ house tonight. Instead, her mother had smiled and told her she looked lovely. Looking at herself now in the mirror, pale face, dark dress, gold cross at her neck, she realized why. She looked like she could be taking holy vows.

“You know, you’re just sitting there,” her sister observed with amusement. She was lounging on Dana’s bed, already dressed. She had a torn denim jacket, feathery hair, makeup as dark as night. Missy’s forays into rebellion had always been fearless. “You’re not getting ready. You are ready.”

“I’m checking over my make-up.”

“No, you’re stalling. You’re making us late to your own birthday dinner on purpose.”

“What are you talking about?” Dana sighed wearily, examining the jawline of her uninteresting baby face again.

Missy sprung to her feet and leaned over Dana’s shoulder, looking at her reflection in the mirror, whispering playfully in her ear. “You’re waiting for something.”

“Oh yeah? What am I waiting for?”

“You should be ashamed of yourself, with Marcus down there making conversation with Dad,” Missy said. “Boring little Marcus.”

“Marcus isn’t boring.”

“Oh, Dana,” Missy laughed. “You’re such a faker. I see right through you.”

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Dana said, rolling her eyes.

“You want to wait around here just in case you get your birthday phone call.”

Dana moved to blot her red lipstick without betraying any real expression.

“From your childhood soulmate,” Missy added knowingly. “Your personal Kennedy.”

“He’s not my childhood soulmate,” Dana said primly. “He’s not a Kennedy.”

“Your dark prince of Massachusetts.”

“He’s not in Massachusetts,” Dana said in a contrary tone. “He’s in college in England.”

Missy folded her arms. “I suppose you haven’t thought about his call at all today.”

Dana sighed again. “Fox does normally call on my birthday, but I’m not exactly sitting around waiting for that.”

“No?”

“Actually, I doubt he will call now—it’s late there. I’m honestly just trying to finish getting ready.”

“Okay.” Missy seemed to be biting back a smile.

Dana pursed her lips and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, but met her sister’s amused eyes in the mirror.

“You make everything so over dramatic, Missy.”

Missy just raised an eyebrow.

“Fox and I shared a strange childhood experience,” Dana said. “We’re friends. Pen pals. He’s an interesting person.”

“Very interesting,” nodded Missy.

“His sister writes to me, too, you know,” Dana pointed out. “And I haven’t seen them in ages. Not even since we moved back to the East Coast.”

Missy reached over Dana’s shoulder and over the vanity table, fishing out the snapshot of Fox on a beach that Dana had discreetly slid underneath her jewelry box. She held it up in front of Dana’s face like it was damning evidence.

Dana kept her expression disinterested. “What? He sent a photo from college.”

“Mmmm, I see that,” Missy said, looking it over. “You’re keeping it pretty close at hand.”

“What’s your point?”

“Look, Dana,” Missy said, sounding exasperated, “he saves you as a kid, he tells you you and he are bound together by fate, he writes you letters, he calls you every year. It’s romantic. You’d have to be made of stone not to see that. I don’t blame you. Nobody in the world would blame you. You don’t have to hide it.”

Dana didn’t say anything, her eyes on the photo in Missy’s fingers. He actually didn’t save her from anything, at least not according to him. According to him, the hero of the story was someone else.

Her. Her, but not her. An unrecognizable version of Dana Scully. Some superhuman, unattainable adult version.

Dana herself doesn’t remember what happened that week in 1973. She only remembers finding herself on a fairy tale beach with two fairy tale children who insisted she had a special destiny and gave her a letter from herself that seemed to confirm it.

The story has always been convoluted, and she’s always been partially sworn to secrecy.

“And holy fucking fuck.” Missy was looking hard at the photo, shaking her head. “You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed your little soulmate turned out smoking hot. That’s a nice favor for fate to do for you.”

Dana had noticed, actually. She still hated Missy’s characterization of her relationship with Fox, hated it for so many reasons.

“Enough, Missy.” She reached behind her and snatched the photo out of her sister’s fingers. “Let’s go downstairs now.”

“I could stall them downstairs for a few more minutes,” offered Missy, her tone softer. “I could say I feel sick?”

“Really,” Dana said. “You’re misreading the situation.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.” Dana set her lips in a line.

“Okay,” Missy shrugged.

“Okay.”

“Then let’s go put our game faces on,” Missy said. “Prepare to eat large steaks and avoid talking politics with Bill.” She put her hands on Dana’s shoulders. “You look amazing, by the way. I like your dress.”

“Thank you,” Dana said, her face warming into a small smile in the mirror. “I don’t look like a nun?”

“Maybe a little. Like a hot nun,” Melissa assured her. Dana slapped her hand in jest.

On the way downstairs, the phone didn’t ring. But that was okay. That was fine. She wasn’t waiting for it. Not really.

*** Later, after they arrived back from dinner, after Dana had opened her presents, after they had eaten angel food cake topped with chocolate whipped cream icing and nineteen candles, after she had kissed Marcus a sweet but surprisingly chaste good-bye outside at his car, promising to call him soon (once she was back in her dorm, maybe on the weekend), the phone did ring.

She was standing at the bathroom mirror brushing her teeth, wearing an oversized tee of Bill’s from high school. Everyone else had already gone to bed, although she suspected Charlie was still awake because she could hear the Clash playing faintly from his room.

The phone rang and she froze, her toothbrush in her mouth. Then she flung it down and raced down the stairs as fast as she could, trying to get there before it woke up her parents.

She made it in two and a half rings. “Hello,” she said breathlessly as she picked up the kitchen phone.

“Hello?” It’s funny how familiar his voice was, considering how relatively few times she had actually spoken to him. “Dana…?”

“Yeah,” she said, still breathing hard from her little sprint. “It’s me. Sorry. I just ran from upstairs.”

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” she smiled, biting her lip. “No, I’m awake.”

“I almost missed it. I’m too late.”

“You’re not late,” she assured him quickly. “It’s still my birthday. But isn’t it the middle of the night there? Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

He laughed a little, and she noticed for the first time he was keeping his voice down. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I probably should be.”

Dana pressed her back against the kitchen wall and slowly slid down until she was sitting on the floor. She brought her knees in towards her, hugging them, winding the phone cord around a finger.

“So,” he said. “Dana Scully. Nineteen years old. How does it feel?”

“Much the same.”

“How’s college?”

“It’s…” Dana selected her words carefully, always too aware of what he thought about her. “It’s amazing. I love it. The work is so much more interesting than high school. The conversation is at a higher level.”

“So you just study, all day and night, and that’s Dana Scully’s whole life at University of Maryland?”

“I do take my work seriously,” she said, stiffening. “I know it’s not Oxford, but I take challenging classes.”

“Of course you do,” he said, his tone gentle. “I just meant to ask what you did outside of class.”

“Right,” she said. She knew she was too sensitive. He had never given her any reason to feel so, but she felt self-conscious, her modest, budget-minded state university education versus his elite international schooling. “Well, I have a job working at the library. I, uh, play intramural volleyball.” She swallowed. “I was going to try for a job in a lab for next year.”

“You’re studying science?”

“Yes.” She pressed her eyes closed, anticipating the next line of questioning.

“Do you know your major yet? Is it… do you know what you want to do?”

She knew what he was thinking—because this is what he did, Fox. He asked her a question, and he seemed deeply and intensely interested in her, but he actually was thinking about someone else. This woman, this stranger he and Samantha called Scully: a woman she had never met.

“Not really,” she said.

There was a little pause. “It’s probably too soon to worry about your major. That’s what’s good about American universities—you can explore different fields of study.”

Dana decided to change the subject. “Your sister sent me something for my birthday.”

“Wow. Really?”

“Really. It was wrapped and everything.”

“I’m offended. She didn’t send me anything for my birthday.”

“It arrived in my school mailbox the day before yesterday.” Dana was smiling, wrapping the phone cord around her wrist.

“What was it?”

“A record,” Dana said coyly. “A single. No card or note—besides her name, obviously.”

“A record? You’re kidding me. What record?”

“Prince.”

“Prince?” He paused. “Why would she—” He stopped. “1999, right?”

“Bingo.”

She could hear him laughing on the other end, trying to keep his sound muffled. “Shit. She’s … such a weirdo,” he breathed. “But that’s funny. I wish I had thought of that.”

“As it happens, I like the song.”

“Sam has great taste and a subversive sense of humor, but she’s really baffling my parents,” Fox said. “I think it’s not all sunshine and roses in the Mulder household since I left. We can’t all be well-behaved first children. But only one more semester until she’s off to college, too.”

“Does she want to go to Oxford?”

“She wants to go to Berkeley,” Fox said. “In California.” He hesitated. “According to her, there was something 99 Me and 99 You said about a scientist there who studies neurology, which somehow mysteriously leads to time travel. I hadn’t quite heard all of the details of that before, but Samantha is adamant.”

Dana took that in.

Unlike Fox, Samantha had always been slower to talk about the events of that week in November 1973. Her story had always come out in fragments, little tantalizing mentions that emerge unexpectedly, sometimes years later.

In some ways this was frustrating, as Samantha had the most information. She was the person who met both 99 Dana and 99 Fox, who actually saw them interact with one another. She spent the night in a beach house with both of them. Fox had only met 99 Dana, and Dana met neither of them, unless you counted the letter.

“So what did you do for your birthday?” he asked.

“I went to dinner with my family,” Dana said. She hesitated a half second. “And with my boyfriend, Marcus.”

“This is the same boyfriend? From high school?”

“Yes,” Dana said. “He’s—yes.”

“He goes to your college?”

“No,” she said. “He goes to UVA, but he drove over for dinner.”

“Oh,” Fox said. “That’s nice of him.” He didn’t sound insincere, but he didn’t exactly sound warm either.

“I guess so.”

“You guess so?”

“It was nice. But I think I’m going to break up with him.”

He paused. “Why?”

“I don’t—“ She didn’t know why she was telling him this. “I don’t think about him when I’m not with him.”

“Ah,” he said.

“Does that make sense to you? As a reason to break up with someone?”

“It makes perfect sense to me.”

“It seems like you should think about someone you’re with. Even if you’re not with them at that precise moment. If the relationship is important.”

“I’m not exactly an expert, but I think that’s probably right,” he said.

There was a pause.

“Are you dating someone?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “Not any more. I was, until fairly recently.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was amicable.”

“Tell me about her.”

“She was smart, funny. Her name was Aine. She was—she’s really involved in the anti-nuclear movement here, protesting against Margaret Thatcher.”

“Were you involved with that, too?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Especially while I was dating Aine. She’s very … persuasive. Dedicated.”

“What does she look like?”

There was a pause.

“She’s beautiful.”

Dana found herself fairly certain Aine had red hair.

It was overwhelming, really. She didn’t know what to make of him and his early-minted taste for heroic redheads. She wished Samantha had never mentioned it.

“It feels weird to talk about it with you, Dana,” he said softly. “Even though I know it shouldn’t.”

“Why would it feel weird?”

“You know why.”

Because sixteen years from now she would supposedly be the love of his life. Sixteen years from now she supposedly would love him so much that she would go to some dire lengths to save him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I always seem to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“No, you don’t,” she replied. “I just sometimes worry … “

“What?”

“That I’m not the person you want me to be.”

“I want you to be yourself.”

“I think you want me to be someone you met when you were a kid.”

“You are Scully,” he said. “You can’t help but be her.”

Another little pause. She cleared her throat.

“I’ve been doing a little research on the camera,” she said. “Do you want a report?”

“Of course I want a report.”

When they left, 99 Dana and 99 Fox had left behind an intriguing artifact from the future: some kind of headset that 99 Dana told Fox and Samantha was a camera, although it no longer seemed to work. Fox and Samantha had spent years tinkering with it, but had sent it to Dana last year at her request.

“I’ve been going to some local technology clubs. Personal computing. Like at Radio Shack.”

“Oh yeah?” He sounded amused. “What’s that like?”

“Well, I’ve had many offers of help,” she said diplomatically. She didn’t want to affect his view of her, but really it was amazing what you could manifest as a college girl walking into a Radio Shack with pigtails, Jordache jeans, and your younger brother’s too-small Atari T-shirt. Offers of help from every direction, really.

“And?”

“You can learn quite a bit there, and I’m getting pretty good at it. I’m thinking of taking a programming class next semester, actually.”

“Computer programming? Wow.” He sounded perplexed.

“The camera is a type of computer, or it has computers in it,” she explained. “It’s beyond what anyone has seen now though. I’ve had a lot of help—some experts willing to look at the camera with me, analyze it closely. Right now it’s probably not working because it’s out of batteries, but its power source is totally different than what we have.”

“Huh,” Fox said. “What if you could get it to work again?”

“I think it’s possible,” she said. “Someone helping me—this man Melvin—he says he knows people in California, in Silicon Valley, who would know more. I was wondering if somehow I could take it out to show them this spring or summer, on one of my breaks.”

“That would be great!” Fox exclaimed. “If it worked, we could take pictures of our own. Messages, maybe.”

“Not right away. Maybe eventually.”

“I wonder where the pictures would go.”

“Back to 99 Dana and 99 Fox’s universe, I suppose,” Dana said. “That’s where her pictures were going, right?”

“Yeah. But it’s been ten years,” Fox said. “It must be 2009 there now, if time moves forward in the same way. I wonder if they even have a way to receive the pictures any more.”

“It could be more time until I can make the camera work,” Dana reminded him. “There’s still a lot to figure out. The power source on this camera, it’s tiny. And the part of the camera that is actually a computer? Fox, it is so impossibly small, like a whole Apple computer shrunk down. It’s fascinating.”

“Do you enjoy it?” he asked. “Trying to figure it out? Solve the puzzle? It sounds like you do.”

The question surprised her, in part because she hadn’t thought of it quite like that. She enjoyed trying to help Fox and Samantha, and she found the computers part much more interesting than she thought she would. But the answer to his question was unexpectedly clear to her.

“Yeah,” she said. “I do. I really like the challenge of it.”

“I’m glad,” he said. “That’s really good.” There was something in his tone that made her worry, like he was comparing her to Scully again, but the conversation took a different turn.

“Dana,” he began, sounding hesitant. “I, uh, got a call. From someone from the F.B.I., asking me if I would be willing to talk to someone in their recruitment office about a possible career in profiling after I graduate, or while I do graduate work in psychology.”

“Oh.” She breathed in. “That’s—“

“It seems like that’s the beginning of … how it’s supposed to happen.”

Dana let that sink in. “Profiling. As in dangerous criminals? Is that what we did in 1999?”

“I never heard the exact area of the F.B.I. we worked in. I know you were a doctor. For me, profiling does make sense, based on what I have been working on in school.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. She had weighed the idea of medical school eventually, but it wasn’t the only thing she considered. Lately, she had thought more seriously about computer science. “Do you think all of this happens no matter what we do? That it’s fated, somehow? That our choices don’t matter?”

“Do you think you wouldn’t choose the F.B.I.?”

“I don’t know,” she said sincerely. “I just think I would like to be able to make the choice.”

A pause on the line. “I guess that’s what I really wanted to talk to you about. I’ve been thinking about that, too.”

“About which part?”

“About whether it has to be set in stone.”

She was faintly surprised. She assumed Fox always wanted to chase after a future that he thought got him as close to what Scully described as he could.

“The call from the F.B.I. isn’t the only call I got,” he explained. She heard him rustling around, like he was shifting position. “I got another offer. Something badly paid and probably not very smart. My friend Miles is an old classmate who’s already graduated and has been working as a counselor in a clinic. He’s in San Francisco, doing grief work and end-of-life counseling with men dying from this new disease, this epidemic. You probably know about it.”

“AIDS,” supplied Dana. “Probably viral. No one knows for sure.”

“Yeah. Whatever it is, it’s a lot of young people dying too fast, often alone, and there’s a huge need for counselors and therapists to help them. Miles says he works sometimes 20 hours a day, but the work is really worthwhile. I was thinking that might be something I could be good at. I’m sometimes good at helping people think through bigger questions.”

“So you’re wondering if you should do that instead.”

“I guess I am,” he said. “I could do it for a while and think about whether I wanted to continue graduate studies in psychology, or go straight into the F.B.I. … or something else. Plus, if Sam is at Berkeley, it’s right there in the Bay Area. I could keep an eye on her.”

Dana was silent for a moment. “It sounds like you already know what choice you want to make.”

He made a stifled half laugh. “Of course I don’t.”

“You sound more excited about the counseling in San Francisco than about the F.B.I.,” she commented.

“That’s true,” he said really softly, like this was a realization. “I am, I guess.”

“But you’re still…?”

“Scared,” he said. “Because if I choose something different, I worry that I…” He stopped. “Well, I worry.”

She didn’t speak either.

“The relationship 99 Dana had with 99 Me—that wasn’t the kind of possibility you could see in your future … and just ignore,” he said. “I can’t see just tossing that away, Dana.”

“Can you explain to me why?” she asked in a small voice.

“I don’t know if I can, except that … here I was, this lonely kid, and the way she talked about us being partners...” He laughed quietly. “I’ll never, ever stop thinking about being her partner.”

“Yeah,” Dana whispered, feeling tears spring in her eyes.

“But I get it,” he said. “I know it might not ever work here, the way it did there. Too many variables have changed.”

“It doesn’t mean you couldn’t be happy in other futures,” Dana pointed out. She twirled the phone cord around her finger idly. “With other people.”

“I guess,” he said. He seemed to let out a long sigh. “You know, right before the holidays, I was in London with Aine.” Dana slumped against the wall a little, closing her eyes, trying to picture what he was saying. “We went out to this club with her friends. They got me all dressed up—that whole New Wave look, you know? Eyeliner and ruffly shirt and all the shit in your hair to make it poufy. It’s not my normal thing, but it was fun. People seemed to like it.”

Dana thought about the photo on her dressing table and imagined it. She thought she could guess why people might have liked it.

“So we’re in this place, and it’s crowded, and there are all these colored lights, strobes, and they’re playing that Duran Duran song, the really popular one. Hungry Like the Wolf. And Aine was talking to me about her Christmas plans, and my eyes just sort of drifted away from her, losing focus into the crowd. All these bodies, dancing. Trying to just connect with one another. Scent and a sound. Juices like wine. Hungry like the wolf. And I thought… why am I here? Why am I doing all of this? Why am I pretending to be looking for someone else, trying to make these futile, fleeting connections, when I already know my perfect other exists?”

There was a pause on the line.

“But…” Dana blinked, stunned. “I’m not your perfect other, Fox.” Her body was rigid; she gripped the phone with white knuckles. “I’m not your perfect anything. I’m just some … girl from Maryland. Some girl who likes to spend most of her time studying and has never even been to a club like you’re talking about.”

“That’s not all you are,” he replied.

“I don’t even know if I really am Scully.”

“You are. I told you. It’s not something you can—”

“No.” She was surprised at how fiercely she spoke. “No, please hear me on this. I need it to be okay with you … if I’m not. I need to be free not to be.”

A tense beat.

“Oh,” he said. “Right, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“No,” he answered, his voice subdued. “I’m sorry.”

In the hollow silence that followed, Dana’s mind raced. She could practically feel the weight of his disappointment through the phone.

Would this be the end of his interest in her? Would the calls end? What possible appeal could she hold without the promise of a secret agent future? Maybe it would be better to say goodbye, she considered. Maybe this childhood fantasy had gone on long enough. Didn’t it only ever make her feel like she was a lesser Dana? Why did she need that? She could live her own life and never feel that way again.

If it weren’t for Scully’s letter, she might have heeded that impulse.

Instead, she reconsidered. And found herself taking hold of a wild idea, something she could hardly believe she was going to propose.

“Fox,” she said, “maybe you should go to San Francisco and see the clinic for yourself. Before you decide what you want to do.”

“Maybe,” he said, sounding glum.

“Maybe you should come with me when I take the camera to the Bay Area. We could go together.”

It took a moment to sink in. “Together?”

“We must have some overlapping school breaks at some point. We could fly out, investigate the camera together, visit your clinic. You could ask all the questions you need to.”

She again could hear the rustling sounds indicating his squirming. “That’s… an interesting idea.”

“I think it would be a good opportunity for you… to gather information for yourself. Firsthand.”

“Firsthand,” he repeated. “Yeah.”

“You’d probably think of other questions to ask about the camera, too. Things I wouldn’t think of.”

“I’ve never been to San Francisco,” he said. “Maybe we could … walk across the Golden Gate Bridge while we’re there.”

“Okay,” she said. “If there’s time.”

“Or go see a giant redwood.”

“The to-do list grows longer,” she said wryly.

“Or ride a streetcar. Or eat seafood. Or go see that one really crooked street. I always wanted to do that.”

Dana smiled, stretching her legs out in front of her. She couldn’t tell if he was responding entirely seriously or not, but she felt a little giddy that she had summoned enough courage to invite him, to shift the conversation in this direction.

“You know,” he said suddenly and earnestly, “it’d be fun to drive, not fly. I’ve always wanted to drive across the continent. I have this amazing old station wagon that could probably make it. I could pick you up in Maryland.”

“That’s a much longer trip,” she commented, but her face was warming with pleasure. He seemed very serious. “It would be fun though.” She imagined Bill and Maggie’s expressions, watching their daughter climb into a car for a cross country road trip all alone with the strange boy they had met ten years ago on Martha’s Vineyard.

“If we could make it work, matching up the school breaks, would you really consider it? Going with me, I mean? You’re not just saying that?”

And she was struck by the vulnerability in his voice.

“Yes,” she said crisply. “Of course.”

“I’m not as strange as I come across in these phone calls,” he promised. “If we went, you could get to know me better.” A little intake of breath. “Just me. Nothing else. No expectations of anyone being anyone else, like you said.”

She was so used to thinking of him as her mysterious fairy tale boy, someone who dropped into her life simply to check to see if she had grown into someone she was not. It surprised her to realize he was anxious for her approval, too. That he was worried about how she viewed him.

“Sure,” she managed. “And you know, I’ve always wanted to tour Stanford, too.”

“Then it’s settled,” he said. “Let’s make it happen.”

“Do you have a calendar of your school schedule?”

“I’ll go get one,” he said.

She listened as the phone dropped and he made thumping noises to run off, presumably to his room. He sounded so… eager. Dana smiled to herself, wondering what it would be like to drive in a car with him across the country. If he would drive her crazy with his peculiar energy. If he would insist on driving off the interstate on little side trips. If he would make them camp or stay at cheap motels. She found herself insatiably curious.

*** They stayed up too late hammering out a rough plan before finally saying good-bye, and Dana padded speedily back up the stairs to her bedroom, her heart still thumping, her mind still buzzing.

She flew straight into her closet and yanked the drawstring to turn on the overhead bulb. Her eyes ran over the shelves, looking for what she wanted, until she spotted it: the old cracked leather box. She lifted it from the shelf and took it to her bed to examine.

Inside the leather box were letters, filed carefully in reverse date order starting from 1982, last year, going back to 1973. Fox and Samantha’s handwriting alternated, the penmanship getting increasingly rounder and younger as she flipped farther back in time.

She found what she was looking for. The very first letter, which wasn’t from Fox or Samantha. It was preserved in its original envelope.

Dana. said the lettering on the front.

The handwriting was adult and female. She now could see what was not apparent to her as a nine-year old—that it was, in fact, her own handwriting. Or at least that it looked enough like her handwriting at age nineteen to be recognizable.

Dana sat cross-legged on her bed and read the letter for the thousandth time: the letter that had changed her life, the letter that continued to change it.

Dear Dana,

I have never been in a situation like yours, but I imagine you’re very scared. As strange as this may sound, the person writing this is you, Dana Scully, age 35. I traveled from the year 1999 back to your year. When I arrived, you vanished. Now that I have left again, you’ve returned, and you are ready to begin to live your life again. I’m truly sorry that I had to disrupt your life in this way.

I will try to limit this letter only to what is most important. First, it’s not a good idea to believe anything a stranger tells you, so I’ll try to give you some proof we are the same person, and tell you something only you know: In Mass sometimes, you daydream that Father Joplin will one day leave the priesthood and marry you instead. I hope that is enough to convince you. I’ve never told that to anyone. He never will, I’m afraid.

Second, your family has missed you very much, and they have been very worried. Be kind to them once you see them again. Especially Melissa. Always be close to Melissa.

Third, the two children you are with—Fox and Samantha—will act like they know you because they know me, but you won’t know them. Listen to them. They can explain the full story of what happened to you. They will be able to give you most of the answers you want. I imagine they may seem like strange children. But you can trust them, always, especially the boy.

Finally, about the boy, Fox Mulder. I know him as a man very well, but I don’t know what it would be like to know him as young or for as long as you will. If I had to predict, he will be persistent in keeping in touch with you.

His friendship can be difficult at times, but it’s also been something powerful and hard to explain, something big and overwhelming and wonderful. I suppose my advice about Fox Mulder comes down to this: when it comes to him, don’t ever lose sight of yourself. But in the end, he is worth it. He is always worth it.

Yours, Dana Scully

#x files fanfic #the x files #xfiles fanfic #boy on the beach

[gallawitchxx]

heeeheeehooohoooo, i was tagged to do this AU GAME by @creepkinginc @metalheadmickey & @energievie -- who all had brilliant ideas for stories! HOW FUN!

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rules (more or less):

use this au generator to assign you an au, this fan fiction trope generator to give you a trope/situation/sometimes another au, feel free to keep clicking until you get something that inspires you. then try to come up with the title, plot, vibe, and details of a fic including whatever the generators gave you. you don’t actually have to write it, just put the concept into the world! this is basically just a thought experiment.

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au generator gave me: 2000s AU

- - - - -

fic trope generator gave me: have one of your characters get home way too late and the other character has been pacing and worrying all night.

- - - - -

title: Y2K Mayday

- - - - -

let's plot:

[[ as much as i would like for this to be a multi-chap, this is a one-shot, let's be real. i also basically wrote it lol so i'm throwing it under a cut! ]] the year is 1999. mickey & ian are roommates.

they both moved out of their family homes for same, same, but different reasons. mickey just finished a prison stint & wanted to stay as far the fuck away from terry as humanly possible. ian's getting back on his feet after his latest episode & is ready to try his hand at recovery when there aren't a million gallaghers checking in every couple of minutes. ian picked a two-bedroom apartment in a neighborhood that's still technically the southside, but it inching towards something nicer. he thinks that mandy's going to move in with him, but then she gets some job opportunity/sugar daddy a few states over, so at the last minute, she sends mickey to move into the room she was supposed to take. they keep their distance at first. just two guys, going about their days, figuring their shit out, sharing a roof. they don't need to be friends, they just need to not kill each other when one of them forgets to swap out the toilet paper roll. but then, little things start happening. an impromptu movie night over a shared batch of mickey's precious pizza rolls... ian picks up mickey's favorite beer on his grocery run, putting it front & center in the fridge so he won't miss it... they both start picking up around the place, trying to get the other one to notice how many unprompted chores they both have done... ian starts to wonder... he obviously thinks mickey's hot. he has eyes & a dick that takes an interest whenever mickey's bending over to snag something out of the oven. & yeah, he's heard things from mandy that would lead him to believe he's not barking up the wrong tree. but mickey's not out out & ian's not going to just bring it up in casual conversation unless he's also prepared to get his face bashed in. cut to: New Year's Eve. ian's at the gallagher house for a party. he doesn't know what mickey's plans are. he tried to ask him about it, but mickey kept dodging the question. maybe he's working? surely the club that he's a bouncer at is having some big event. but why wouldn't he just say that? ...maybe he had a date that he didn't want to tell ian about? fuck, that boils his blood. it makes his skin crawl, thinking about mickey kissing someone else on new year's eve. starting a new fucking millennium doing anything other than bouncing on ian's cock... it's almost 2am, a fine time to still be out on new year's, but suddenly ian can't imagine being anywhere else but with mickey. he's gotta get home! NOW! his legs shake the whole L ride. what if he gets home & mickey has someone over? what if he's not even there & ian just has to nurse his broken heart alone in an empty apartment? what if mickey is there. but he laughs in ian's face at the very mention of them being together as more than roommates & occasional movie buds? somehow, he manages to get to their apartment. he opens the door to find mickey biting his thumb nail & pacing around the living room. "mick?" "what the fuck, gallagher?! do you have any idea what time it is? where've you been?" "fiona threw a party. what's going on?" "shit..." he swipes a nervous hand down his face. chuckles a litte. "i'm a fucking idiot. you didn't come home. thought something happened to you..." "it's new year's eve." "yeah man, i know. guys at the club were talking about fucking Y2K... i dunno, got all in my head." "aw mickey, you were worried about me!" "was not." "you just admitted it! plus, you're burning a hole in the carpet." "whatever." as ian approaches, he notices the blush on mickey's cheeks. he wants to see that flush cover a whole lot more than just his pretty face. & something tells him that he might just get his wish... "sorry i missed midnight." THEY SMOOOOOCH! THE END!

#what do we think? #this felt good! thanks for the exercise pals! #i'm not tagging anyone because i feel shy! but doooo it! #lemme read your boy doll aus! #tag games #au game #shameless #shameless fanfiction #ian x mickey #bee writes 🐝 ✍🏼

[bettercostume]

Mars, I need help. Thoughts on kunessi dynamics 🎤

Meb i thought about this on the train to work and the train home from work and iiiiii have so many thoughts.

Literally Kun is his second wife. Or first wife, actually, since I think he's know Leo since Leo was the quiet kid who barely spoke and sat at the same table with him at the under 19s training, and who from that moment forward was his best boy, his right hand, his soulmate, his---i'm drawing a blank at romantic couples of history here but you get the idea.

Basically Kun is the mouth. He's never uncomfortable, and even though i get the sense he takes everything in deeply, he can rally like an inflatable punching clown. He does the practical jokes. He's the HE ASKED FOR NO PICKLES, but delivered with a backslap and a blinding grin. You feel compelled to like the guy. He's a rascal. He's also astonishingly good at football, and it takes a guy like Messi to make him look like an also ran. He is leo's number one fan forever, amen. He is fuck it we ride, ready to fight, but also there to pick him up and take him to the airport at 2 am with the radio on low and hot water already in a thermos on the console. It's nothing, pa, you know I love speeding through toll roads at night.

I think Leo really gravitates towards people who are the opposite of his persona, and his seemingly internal focus and observational participation in social stuff as a kid. As a fully formed adult, both he and Kun have become both more of their caricatures and less at the same time, mellowing out into people who can reverse card each other with expectations, but have a rock-solid bond. I think it would take like, kun murdering leo's kids in front of him for them to have a fallout.

There's the apocryphal story (that kun loves to tell. he loves building the kunessi lore) where they're at that lunch table i mentioned and kun is like hey who are you anyway? and leo is like, leo. everyone else twigs to who he is, the wunderkid shipped back from barca, but kun is like oh word? but like what's your last name? and it takes like three more repetitions for kun to be like OHHHH, WORD??? Which sums up their dynamic pretty well, I think. But after this I think really Leo has the opportunity to hurt Kun more: he's less overtly affectionate, imho, and he doesn't verbalize the love he feels. Sorry to self plagiarize but in the fic i wrote i basically say that leo is like it should be obvious i love you even if i don't call or text, because why would i stop? and kun, who wants to be needed and coveted, is like, ok but i wouldn't mind the princess treatment SOME of the time. and leo is like your wish is my command, i moved your suite to mine and you're living with me now happy world cup btw we will have adjoining mansions in miami when we retire.

I think the fact that Kun isn't afraid to look like an idiot, turns the party, and also has kind of a bitchy edge that resonates with what i believe to be the nougaty, spoiled princess interior of leo--i think all these things endeared him to the other and that leo was like. ok. kun is my friend forever IMMEDIATELY. I also know with that trust and affection they practiced kissing each other and whipped it out to compare length, width, and accuracy. KNOW AND TRUST THEY HAVE EXPLORED EACH OTHERS BODIES. The love is real and long-term but I think also they would absolutely be bucknasty filthy, still. IMHO they have a kind of macho old boys club thing where they don't talk about the physical sex as much, its so obvious, but then also are like yeah you love that tight little hole you homo you sissy etc during and it makes them so insanely hot when they're with their wives that even if months intervene they still freak like it's 1999. That's one read, the other is that they make love with lots of eye contact and kun cries the entire time. POR QUE NO LOS DOS. Sorry I sounded like the weeknd in his bad tv show there for a moment but you get the vibe.

ANYWAY. I HOPE THIS IS WHAT U WANTED.

#i could give a TED talk on kunessi #MEB MY GAL MEB!!

[the-new-hip-priest]

A long post wherein I recount my experience at a Limp Bizkit show and get increasingly emotional about the power of live shows and their resulting memories as a coping mechanism for deep depression.

Wednesday night was honestly the most fun I've had in several years. It was full of childlike glee and giddiness and excitement. And sweat. Lots of sweat. I knew that I'd have a blast, having already seen them back in 2012, but this time Limp Bizkit put on one of the best, engaging live shows I've ever seen. It was a big, bouncing nu-metal party and the atmosphere was electric. Everyone in attendance was there to have a good time. No fighting, no dickheads, no munted macho bullshit, just roughly 1000 people ready to party like it's still 1999.

The opening act was HANABIE., an all-female Japanese "metalcore" band, but calling them metalcore feels reductive because they incorporate so many different elements into their sound (electronica/hip-hop/punk/nu-metal as well as Harajuku culture). I really want to gush about them but I'd just end up regurgitating the entire wikipedia article. Their energy was so contagious and the crowd was equally keen and receptive. There was even a circle pit during We Love Sweets which I couldn't help but join. I got a gentle accidental elbow in the face, and slipped on some empty drink cans but got picked up immediately. In a matter of thirty minutes I was already drenched and forming my first bruises.

As for Limp Bizkit, I've been writing and deleting and re-writing and re-deleting this paragraph since Thursday morning. I can't find the words. From a distance, watching myself get all emotional about this band in particular is actually hilarious. My thoughts are so muddled but I've realised that I've been so touched by this concert because they made me feel like a kid again. I've been lucky enough to see some of my other all-time favourite bands live - highly regarded and renowned performers, but I wasn't listening to Nine Inch Nails or The Fall or Radiohead when I was eight years old, so they can't evoke the same emotions.

I fangirled and flapped when Wes came on stage and as soon as they opened with My Generation, I was overcome with such a powerful, innocent euphoria that kept me jumping and screaming all night long. I'm struggling to describe it because I didn't think I was capable of feeling that sort of natural high ever again - I thought I had destroyed my capacity for pure pleasure through drug use in my 20s. Yet here I was, utterly jubilant and energetic, one row back from the barrier directly in front of possibly my favourite guitarist of all time. Fred chatted a lot with the crowd (I uncharacteristically gushed and giggled like a school girl when he was talking to us down the front), and a surprising amount of mens underwear got thrown on stage. They did a fun transition from Rollin' into Raw Hide, covered Killing In The Name, did a big sing-along of Careless Whisper, and even played Re-Arranged which was a nice surprise. I would have loved for them to play Out Of Style, but I understand people want to hear the old stuff. The atmosphere was non-stop fun from the opening note until the end of Don't You Forget About Me which they play as they leave the stage.

I had been hoping to have some sort of acknowledgement or interaction with Wes, like catching one of the roses that he throws into the audience. Given that I was at the front, I took a shot during a quiet moment between songs and yelled out "Hey Wes, wish Alie [his fiancee] a late happy birthday from me!" and he walked straight over to me and threw me his pick! Achievement unlocked! I reacted like a QTE and almost burst into tears when I realised I caught it. Almost. I didn't want to fuck up my fancy makeup and contact lenses. As my partner pointed out, most of the roses had been torn to shreds by the end of the show, but I got a personalised treasure to hold on to. I've kept it close to me ever since (and played my own guitars with it, naturally). It's like he gave me a little talisman of hope and happiness and I really need something like that right now. December is always a hard time of year for me. On top of that, I've been feeling so incredibly bleak about the future and sometimes find myself making certain plans in the back of my mind. But this silly little bit of plastic with a picture of Lisa Vanderpump with a beer bong labelled Borland/Wes' Baphomet logo on it makes me feel like I can keep going. Like I want to keep going in spite of my fear and my pain. I almost feel a tongue-in-cheek sense of resentment, like, "how dare one of my favourite musicians inspire some sense of hope in me during such a tough time?"

Someone filmed the entire show and I am eternally grateful to them. I can giggle at my own distinctive cheering early in the set. I can watch Fred's playful shenanigans with the front row. I can see my interaction with Wes. I can remember. There are times when it feels like the last ounce of hope has left your body, and it causes you to forget. You no longer feel capable of caring, so you simply forget how much you love music and comedy and every other little thing that makes life worth living. That's why I have a big folder sleeve filled with physical memories that I can turn to, full of ticket stubs and entry wristbands and the like so I have something tangible to tie back to my experiences. I've got some drumsticks and a NIN setlist as well. Having the means of reliving those moments is an invaluable tool when fighting major depressive episodes. I will sit there and carefully examine each piece and something will stir inside of me. It could be the faintest echo of a feeling, but it will come, and it will remind me that life is worth fighting for.

#limp bizkit #wes borland #fred durst #personal

[the-al-chemist]

Artemis Hexley and the Return to the Riddles

Epilogue: December, 1999

A/N: It started with the fireworks, and it ends with them too. Thank you all for sharing this journey with me and Artemis. There’s so much I want to say, so I’ll do some proper author’s notes later. For now, here is the last ever instalment of the Hexley Saga. Warnings: Spoilers for the Harry Potter series.

It was almost midnight. The night sky was black as pitch, but in the darkness stood a higgledy-piggledy house from which light streamed through the windows, and music and laughter reverberated through the air. It was if the merriment inside couldn’t be contained within its walls and had started to spill out into the garden that surrounded it.

A young woman appeared from thin air and walked up the path, her messy dark hair lifting off her shoulders in the gentle breeze. As she reached the front door, her lips curved into a smile, and she bent down to stroke the titian fur of a marmalade coloured cat who sat under the porch.

“Did you not fancy joining in the party?” she whispered, and the cat purred in response. “No. Me neither.”

The door opened to reveal a tall wizard with a heavily scarred but handsome face and long, red hair tied into a ponytail. The woman straightened up to face him, her smile widening further.

“What time do you call this, Artemis?” asked the wizard, smirking at her. She rolled her hazel eyes at him. “We’re about to leave.”

“Leave?” Artemis wrinkled her nose. “Oh, come on, Bill. Who leaves a New Year’s Eve party before midnight?”

“Who arrives at one in the last hour before?” 

“Sorry. Ros needed help setting up, and then I went to see my aunt and uncle on the way here. I’d have come sooner if I’d known you’d be leaving this early.”

“Well, we’re not actually leaving, it’s just that everyone’s going up to Stoatshead Hill. Mum doesn’t want George setting off the fireworks close to the house. Can’t say I blame her.” Bill grimaced. “The others will Apparate up there, but obviously Fleur can’t right now.”

Artemis raised her eyebrows. “I’m surprised the others all can right now.”

“Enough of them can. That is the downside of having friends with important jobs and babies.”

“So next year you’ll be boring, too?” 

“You are far too sober to accuse me of being boring.”

“For now, anyway,” said a voice from behind Bill, and his brother Charlie squeezed past him to join Artemis on the front step. “Did you find your rowan tree alright?”

“Yeah.”

“How was it?”

“Peaceful.”

“Good,” Charlie smiled good-naturedly and pressed a glass of a burgundy liquid that smelt like marzipan into Artemis’ hands before placing his own into his pockets. “I spoke to Fleur, I thought I’d walk with you. Artemis, you coming?”

Artemis cast a glance inside before nodding her agreement. The party was still loud and bustling, and she wasn’t quite ready to join it. A not insignificant part of her suspected that Charlie knew that.

Once she and the Weasley brothers had been joined by Bill’s wife, whose hat covered her silver-blonde hair and cloak hid the slight swell to her abdomen, the group of four set off up the hill that overlooked the house.

“I cannot wait to be able to Apparate again,” muttered Fleur Weasley, and her husband wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I ‘ope that these fireworks will be worth this walk.”

“Fireworks are worth any walk,” Artemis said. She tilted her head at the couple. “Anyway, Charlie and I were wondering-”

“You were wondering. Keep me out of it.”

“- what you two were planning on doing about godparents.”

“What do you mean?” Bill asked.

“Well, Charlie thinks you’ll pick him, but I think that’s kind of unfair,” Artemis said, ignoring Charlie’s shaking head. “I mean, he already got to be your best man, and he’s going to be the baby’s uncle. Why should he get to be a godparent as well? You should pick someone who hasn’t already had a turn or is related anyway.”

“So, someone like you.”

“Someone like me, or maybe even actually me. I reckon I’d be good at it.”

“Of course you do,” said Bill. He exchanged glances with the woman at his side, who had drawn a protective arm across her front. “Yeah, we’ll consider that offer. Thanks, Artemis.”

“Nice pitch,” Charlie murmured, low enough that Bill and Fleur couldn’t hear him. “I reckon they’ll still pick me, though.”

“I bet you a Sickle that they don’t.”

“Deal.”

By the time they reached the top of the hill, the rest of the party guests - Bill and Charlie’s family, and several old friends - were already there, in varying states of sobriety. In turn, Artemis greeted the people she knew: the Weasleys, Penny Haywood-Parkin and her Quidditch-playing husband Lewis, Jae Kim and Chiara Lobosca, Ben Copper, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Andre Egwu, Tulip Karasu, Merula Snyde, Barnaby and Ellie Lee, Liz Tuttle, and Hagrid. A little boy with hair the same shade of turquoise as Tonks’ had been the night they met, fifteen years before, waved at her, and she found herself having to force a smile in return.

The war Dumbledore had told her would one day come had done so, and had left its survivors with deep scars and losses, of which Bill’s face and Ben Copper’s left leg had been the least severe. Artemis swallowed hard as she turned away from the boy who looked like Tonks and saw George Weasley setting up the fireworks by himself.

Someone asked for the time, and Artemis’ eyes immediately went to her ankle, despite her having not worn a watch on it for years. Beside her, Bill rolled up his sleeves to reveal his own watch, and began to count down from ten, the other guests joining in.

As their countdown reached zero, there was sudden rush of movement, noise, and light. Couples kissed, friends wished one another a happy new year, and George lit the first of his fireworks, which sizzled into the night sky and exploded far above their heads. Artemis felt a soft pressure on her right cheek, and turned to see Charlie at her side, a small smile playing on his freckled face.

“Happy New Year,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed on the darkened horizon, where more fireworks had started to appear in the distance, some sooner, some later, as other groups of wizards, witches, and Muggles waved goodbye to the previous century and ushered in the new one.

Their own display was by far the best, with fireworks taking the shapes of dragons and thunderbirds and phoenixes before erupting into bursts and showers, illuminating the sky with two thousand different colours.

All too soon, however, the spectacle was over, and the party guests prepared to journey back to the Burrow or their own homes. Artemis stayed put. 

“You go on without me,” she said to Bill and Charlie, still watching the Muggle fireworks in the distance. “I want to watch the rest.” 

Charlie frowned at her. “You sure? I don’t mind staying.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” he shrugged. “I’ll get you a hot chocolate for when you get back.”

“With marshmallows?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

Artemis grinned as she looked back out over the view of the countryside, above which there were still Muggle fireworks appearing and disappearing in the distance, small flashes of light in the vast expanse of darkness. 

All alone now, Artemis watched the fireworks and listened to the crackles and whizzes and bangs that were the only noises echoing through the January night. The grass at her feet was damp, the air around her was cold and laced with the scents of pine trees and gunpowder, and her lips still tasted faintly of sloe gin. Her fingers tingled, and her toes were numb, and her pulse coursed through her veins as her heart continued to beat in her chest, reminding her how very alive she was in this moment. Not that she needed the reminder. Right now, standing on Stoatshead Hill at the start of a new year, a new century, a new millennium, she felt more alive and more free than ever. 

Out there in the darkness lay her future, though what it held, she did not know for certain. What she did know was that it was hers, and hers alone, and it was  filled with places to be explored, mysteries to be solved, and adventures to be had. They were all out there, waiting for her to come and find them. And she would.

For now, though, there were more important things waiting for her: a ginger cat, a mug of hot chocolate, and house filled with music and laughter and people she loved dearly. She smiled and wrapped her cloak tighter around her, feeling warmer already.

And as the last firework disappeared into the night sky, so did Artemis Hexley.

THE END.

#artemis hexley #hogwarts mystery #hphm fic #hphm #the hexley saga #charlie weasley #bill weasley

[slippinmickeys]

Le Comtesse de Saint-Germain

(TW: major character death)

The basement office was cold, dusty and had a smell redolent of the dry bones of long-dead animals. There were reams of paper, dot-matrix printouts, binders of old expense reports, an antique brass microscope. There were coffee rings on the desk, a paper clip wedged into the roller on one of the drawers, an adjustable date rubber stamp that didn’t go past 1999 sitting in an old styrofoam cup. In one corner, near the floor, a sunflower seed husk had been painted over and was stuck to the wall. A thick layer of dust lay over all.

She moved into the room, leaned forward to observe a picture of the two of them that had been tacked to the wall with a pushpin; glossy, moody, the two of them in FBI windbreakers wearing masks of concentration. It captured something peripheral about them, about their relationship, though she couldn’t put her finger on what. She realized how they had once looked to outsiders; they were cliquish, the two of them. Insular and subterranean. They worked best in the dark.

There was a clearing of a throat behind her — the agent who’d let her in had come to collect her. She had called in several favors for the privilege.

“Right,” she said, and picked up her briefcase. It was light and contained a single file which was probably still classified. She was committing a crime by taking it. She paused and turned back, pulled the push pin out and slipped the photo into her pocket.

XxX

“Excuse me,” said a voice, and she was so in her own head that she didn’t register that it was talking to her until it repeated itself. She looked up to see a handsome man smiling at her with brows raised in friendly anticipation.

“I’m sorry?” she said, looking up from where she was standing, somewhat cemented in place in front of the peaches in the produce aisle at her local market. Mulder had said peaches were the only thing that sounded good.

“I’m wondering,” he said somewhat shyly, “if you have any idea how to tell if an avocado is ripe?” She looked at him a little blankly at first, her head still on the fruit in front of her. “I got voluntold to bring guacamole to this party I’m going to tonight, and I haven’t the foggiest idea how to tell if these are ready.”

“I think the premade stuff is over in the deli,” she said, trying to be helpful, but really not wanting to engage.

“I’m trying to defy expectations, here,” he smiled. He was maybe forty, with dusty blond hair and a strong chin. Wide set eyes. His hands were big and tan where they gripped a medium-sized avocado. She took pity on him and shook herself a bit, put on a friendly smile. Overhead the canned sounds of an oldies station blared Vampire Weekend.

“The stems,” she told him.

“The… stems?” he said, looking a little lost.

“Yes,” she said, walking over the few steps to where he stood. She picked up an avocado and levered her thumbnail under the stem. “If you can get your fingernail under the stem and lift it a little, the color underneath it will tell you whether or not it’s ripe. If it’s brown, it’s likely overripe. If it’s green, it should be good. If the stem won’t lift, it’s not ready yet. This one’s okay.” She handed it over to him, and he accepted the fruit, his palm smooth and warm.

“Huh,” the man said, delighted by the information. “Would you look at that!”

She gave him a small smile and turned to go when he reached out and grabbed at her sleeve. Gently, just a little tug. He let go immediately when she paused.

“Thank you,” he said, genuinely. His eyes, she noticed, were a deep brown, and his gaze was soft. He smiled again, a little flirty. “How did you get to be an avocado queen, anyway?”

“Years of experience,” she said ruefully, and then turned away once more.

“Hey,” he said, and she knew his game – tired of it years ago – but he was nice enough. “You look familiar,” he went on. “Did we go to school together by any chance? Bulldogs, class of ‘25?” he finished, giving the air a little punch.

She wanted to outright laugh, but gave him a forgiving smile instead. “Have fun at your party,” she said as she walked away.

XxX

In the hallway outside Mulder’s door, around a blind corner, she almost collided with an older gentleman. When they both regained their footing, she seemed to recover from the surprise of the moment before he did. The man, well into his seventies, with thinning hair and a paunch that hung over his belt, continued to look at her with a kind of mute shock.

“Sir?” she said, reaching out a hand to steady him. He recoiled slightly, his face still registering mild astonishment. Concerned he may be having some kind of cardiac event, Scully bent toward him. “Sir, are you all right?”

“Uh,” he started, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Yes, thank you.”

They both stepped around each other and he gave her one more odd look before continuing on down the hallway and to the elevator.

It only occurred to her as she inserted her key into Mulder’s lock that the man had to have been coming from her old partner’s apartment. Mulder didn’t get many visitors these days, barring her.

“Mulder?” she called once she had closed the door and had set down her suitcase and coat.

“In here,” he called back, and she made her way to the bedroom.

“Hey,” he said to her with a smile when she walked in, scooting up in the bed.

“Hi,” she said, moving to his side to help him adjust the pillows. “How are you feeling?”

“Like the dog’s breakfast,” he said with a smile. She sat down on the bed next to him and ran her fingers through his hair.

“At least you seem happy about it,” she said.

“Nah, I’m just happy to see you,” he said with a sigh. Scully let her fingers linger in his hair for a beat or two and he went on. “Did you get the file?”

“I did.”

“Is it in the bag?”

Scully turned to look at the small paper bag she’d carried in and left on top of the nearby dresser.

“Oh, no.” She turned back to him. “I got you some peaches.”

“Ah. Thank you.”

“Do you feel up to eating?” she asked hopefully.

He shook his head. “Wouldn’t mind seeing the file, though.” He gave her as much of a puppy dog smile he could muster, and she mussed his hair affectionately and stood to get her briefcase from the outer room.

When she came back in, she settled into the chair beside the bed and handed the file over.

“You do know they have digital copies of these Mulder,” she said as he swiped it out of her hands. Getting the file seemed to animate him a bit, and he scooched back in the bed energetically, settling in to read. “They wouldn’t let me sign it out. I had to…” She gestured with her hands, not quite able to bring herself to admit to stealing something out loud.

“Ah, but asking you to commit a felony has always been our thing,” he said, his rapscallion smile bringing about one of her own. “Anyway, I think better when I’ve got something in my hand.”

He opened the file and she watched as his eyes scanned the pages. After a few quiet minutes, she spoke.

“There was someone leaving here when I came in,” she said. Mulder hummed what might have been an affirmation, not looking up from the file. “Who was it?”

He didn’t answer for a long time, eventually setting the file down on his lap. He then turned it slowly toward her and pointed to something on the last page. She stood from the chair and leaned in to look, following his finger with her eye.

Agents of Record, the file read, Dana Scully and Peyton Ritter.

Mulder’s finger stayed on the second name.

“Peyton Ritter,” she read off out loud, and then realization dawned on her. “That was Peyton Ritter in the hallway?” she asked. “Peyton Ritter was just here?”

Mulder nodded silently, his rheumy eyes seeking hers. A low feeling of unease began to wind through her, starting low in her belly where Ritter’s bullet had lodged itself all those years ago.

“Mulder, I’ve been indulging some of your more kooky requests for a while now because you’re-” she fumbled, unable to finish the sentence. From the bed, Mulder gave her a look of tender sympathy, his eyes crinkling with affection. He reached out for her, the skin of his hands liver-spotted and thin as paper. She looked down at her own, smooth as glass, ripe with collagen, and she swallowed thickly, steamrolling ahead. “But you need to tell me right now, why did you want this file? Why was Peyton Ritter here? What are you up to?”

He began coughing before he could answer; deep, rattly hacks. Scully sat forward quickly and grabbed a glass of water that had been sitting on his bedside table, holding it to his lips. Mulder sipped at it and then pushed her hand gently away. The headboard creaked when he leaned back into the pillows.

“Scully,” he said gently, imbuing her name with a thousand different sentiments.

“Mulder, no.” A tear dropped onto her cheek and ran hotly down her skin.

“If I can figure out how Fellig did it-” he started.

“Mulder no!” She stood up quickly, her voice shaky and thin as tissue paper.

“It’s a burden, Scully,” he went on, seeming to have no sympathy for her at all, and yet his every word was suffused with tender understanding. “Your youth–your life will become a burden I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. If I could take it from you… If I could carry it…”

Another series of coughs wracked him and Scully sat back down on the bed, futilely watching his body double over with each seal-like bark. When he finally stopped, he was stooped, his head hanging down, and Scully reached out to pull him to her tightly. She held him there, tears rolling down her cheeks and dropping one by one into his thin white hair.

“I would do anything for you, Scully,” he said, his voice muffled by her body.

“Including living – forever – like this?” she hissed, leaning back so he could sit up, and pointing at him, at his wizened condition.

His smile was weak. “Yes,” he said simply.

He leaned back once again into the pillows. “Being this close to death,” he said, and Scully felt her lower lip wobble with emotion. “There’s a clarity that comes with it. An understanding of what really matters. All the pieces of your life get a bit fuzzy as your focus shifts and narrows.” His eyes softened as they rove over her form. “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love,” he quoted to her, his finger touching her hand gently with each of the three words he cited.

She had to look away from him so her heart wouldn’t break right there in front him. Her immortality wasn’t something they talked about often — they had joked about it in their youth, but as the years passed and it became more and more glaringly in their face, she would shut down when he brought it up. She had accepted her fate. She didn’t think she could take it if he refused to.

Everything in the room took on an indelible importance suddenly. The second hand of the clock in the corner snicked the seconds by and she reveled in the warmth of his hand on hers. The way the sun hit the pill bottles next to his bed and turned them a glowing copper. The loose slippers next to the door, one turned on its side to reveal a tread worn down by his supinated step. Dust in a sunbeam. The whistley sound of his breath.

“The greatest of these is love,” she whispered back. He squeezed her hand and released it, flipping the file closed.

“If I can save you, let me,” he said gently.

“I can’t do that,” she said, sticking to their script.

When he fell asleep, she took the file and laid it where he’d be able to reach it. In her pocket, she felt the crinkle of stiff paper. A pinprick hole in the top where it had been stuck to the wall, she pulled out the rumpled old photograph of the two of them, hale and hearty, a remembrance of a time before she stalled out in Death’s blind spot. She set the photo on top of the file.

He died that winter, and she buried him in the spring.

#it’s bad #but it was a demon that needed exorcising #the x-files #fanfic #my fic #angst #possibly triggering

[fnaf-fanfics]

The random Y/N Character Profile I made for my first Sun/Moon book.

💛If you have any questions or suggestions about the Y/N or the AU feel free to ask. I will also take questions on the characters if you want.💙

Name: Y/N L/N

Age: 23

Birthday: * insert the month and day you were born*. If your birthday has already happened this year then you were born in 2000. If your birthday has not already happened this year then you were born in 1999.

Gender and prounouns: Any gender. Prounouns are They/Them, but you can also imagine it as your pronouns if you want.

Appearance: However you want to look. I try to keep it as inclusive as I can. Later on you might dye your hair, but If that happens I will leave the color up for you to decide.

Personality: You are a kind person until given a reason not to be. You don't take crap from anyone. You can be playful or calm depending on the day. You have some anger issues and can basically scare Monty into behaving better, though most of the time you just cuddle him.

Little note: Before we move on to the relationships I have a few things I want you to know. Vannesa and Vanny are twins. Neither one are corrupted. Gregory is the adopted kid of Vanessa. DJMM has a smaller humanized body that he can switch his AI to.

Relationships: When you first go to the plex you don’t know anybody, so these are after you get to know everyone. Sun and Moon both thought you were amazing from the moment they saw you. When they get to know you they both start developing crushes on You. Sun develops a crush faster than Moon does, but only by a couple days. An added plus is that both of them are happy to have a relationship with you later on. Freddy is like a father figure to you. He reminds you to take breaks and eat some food. He will carry you around in his arms if you get tired. He even stays up to date with all the stuff in the plex so he can tell you about what to avoid. Monty is like a cool older brother to you. You guys fight a bunch but will always stand up for each other. He often helps you pull small pranks. He will cuddle you when he's angry to help him calm down. Roxy Is like a cool aunt to you. She protects you from everything. She is almost always ready to do your hair well you talk about random things. Every once in a while she will use some of her prize tokens to get you prizes from the arcade. Chica is like your silly but mature when needed aunt. She loves to gossip with you about all the things going on in the plex. She gives you amazing fashion advice when you ask. She is the very first to defend you if anyone says any bad stuff to you in front of the Glamarocks. She was the first to tell you that she and Roxy were dating. DJMM is like your dorky little brother. He will pull you in just to talk about randomness. He loves when you bring him anything like Star Wars, Marvel, etc. You guys will have random dance parties when the plex is closed. You see Vanny as one of your best friends. She is always there for you. She offers to do your makeup or dye your hair. She will take you shopping at all the stores. You see Vanessa as a mom friend. She's a lot like freddy. She will take care of you and buy you lunch if you look hungry. She secretly loves having someone to be the mom friend too (she would never say that out loud though). Gregory is like a little brother to you. He will come to you, vannesa, or freddy if he needs anything. Sometimes he and you stay up late and talk about all the things (once you had a talk about the most painful way to die). You buy him all the freddy plushies he wants. You don't have a super detailed relationship with the staff bots but will wave and gently pat their heads if they come close enough.

#fnaf reader #fnaf x y/n #fnaf x reader #fnaf x you #fnaf sb daycare attendant #fnaf sb moon #fnaf sb sun #fnaf sb #fnaf daycare attendant #x reader #fnaf au #fnaf moon #fnaf sun