#john's reaction to being asked if his hair was red though was very funny

[with-eyes-closed]

San Francisco Airport, 18 August 1964

#this just made me laugh #the way paul and john are on top of each other until george starts wriggling in #the way paul manhandles him immediately </3 #he just wants to be in the middle #they all seemed a bit prickly in this interview #john's reaction to being asked if his hair was red though was very funny #i might gif that tomorrow too if people don't mind the watermark #paul mccartney #john lennon #george harrison #the beatles #beatles edit #pressers #the beatles on tour #1964

[ariel-seagull-wings]

TOP 12 WICKED QUEEN PORTRAYALS

@sunlit-music​ @mademoiselle-princesse​ @princesssarisa​ @superkingofpriderock​ @metropolitan-mutant-of-ark​ @amalthea9​ @theancientvaleofsoulmaking​ @astrangechoiceoffavourites​ @giuliettaluce​ 

Alongside the Big Bad Wolf, Cinderella’s Stepmother, The Giant from Jack and The Beanstalk, The Witch from Hansel and Gretel and Bluebeard, The Wicked Queen from Snow White is one of the most iconic fairy tale villains of all time. A lot of people come to consider her the real protagonist of the fairy tale, since is her desire to be considered the Fairest of All and her actions to keep that title what puts the narrative in motion. And today, i will rank my favorite portrayals of this fascinatingly nasty foe.

12º Miranda Richardson as Queen Elspeth in Snow White: The Fairest of Them All (2001)

Talk about being typecast: before that turn as Snow White’s Evil Queen, Richardson had portrayed an Evil Sorceress Queen and Stepmother in Jim Henson’s The Storyteller (’The Three Ravens’ episode) and she was a wicked Sorceress Stepmother in Tim Burton’s Sleep Hollow. So it was neat for her to be called for the role of the most famous Evil Sorceress Queen and Stepmother in this Hallmark TV Movie. Elspeth is the sister of a strange, mysteryous creature known as the Granter of Wishes. Having been recently released from his freezing prison, the Granter of Wishes makes a spell to make her look beautifull for human standards, and marries her to the newly crowned and widowed King John. At first she looks content with the prospect, but as time passes, she grows more and more unsatisfied. Her source of joy is the Magic Mirror that praises her beauty, and casting spells to turn gnomes into garden statues. But when the Magic Mirror says that Snow White’s beauty surpasses hers, the unsatisfaction gets mixed with paranoia, and Elspeth slowly abuses her power in constantly harming other people, until there is no magic enough...

11º Herta Kravina in Schneewitchen (1971)

This german TV Movie is the most faithfull adaptation of the Grimm’s tale original edition, not only keeping the three murder attempts by ribbon/lace/corset, hair comb and apple, but also being the only one to show the Queen dancing to death with hot iron shoes in Snow White’s wedding. This is enough to make it worth a checkout. The other reason i find this version interesting is how the Queen comunicates with the Magic Mirror: they sing to each other. And Kravina has a really good voice (no wonder she was a voice actress for Peggy Lee in the first german/dutch dub of Disney’s Lady and The Tramp). Sometimes that is enough to get a spot in a ranking.

10º Mari Yokoo/Caterina Rochiara/Regina Reagan/Carol Jacobanis as Queen Crystal in The Legend of Snow White (1994)

From the outside, Queen Chrystal appears to be calm, regal, and sophisticated, but in reality, this collected and stately facade hides an extremely sadistic, hateful, cold and sinister person. She is ruthless, jealous and obsessive and wants nothing more than to be the fairest in the land. She also has an extreme vanity that made her utterly intolerant of rivals. Being solely focused on the idea of becoming the fairest of all, Queen Chrystal does not appear to be significantly involved in governing her husband's kingdom, though the skeletal remains of prisoners in her dungeon point to her being a villainous ruler. In the end, her mad vanity and jealousy of her stepdaughter Snow White drove her to murderous insanity. Later is revealed that Queen Chrystal is not unredeamably evil as everyone thins, but an actually kind and gentle person who is possessed by an Evil Spirit. 

09º Diana Rigg as the Queen in Canon Movie Tales: Snow White (1987)

This lady is the personification of paranoia multiplied by the double. Why? Because the Magic Mirror didn’t needed to say that the little child Snow White was the fairest, this queen just feared so much that the princess’s beauty would outgrow hers that she ordered the huntsman to kill her. Basically: run, she is bad news.

08º Jeri Arredondo as Sly Fox in Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales For Every Child (1995)

Sly Fox... What a cunning diva. People try to counsel to not use alone a Magic Mirror that is a portal to the spirit world, but who says she listens? She is just there to hear the singing of her praises, and will try to eliminate anyone who gets on her way. She even goes so far as taking the appearance of the kind hearted nurse Sage Flower to lure her stepdaughter White Snow to eat the poisoned appled. What is not to love about that bastard?

07º Kazue Komiya/Arlene Banas as the Queen in Grimm’s Fairy Tale Classics (1989)

Interestingly this encarnation starts naturally cold, calm and collected, ocasionally at the princess Snow White to see if she can ever grow more beautifull than her, and dismissing the girl with contempt. It is years later that she lets go of acting calm and collected, because after hearing some gossips in the palace, she asks Snow White if she thinks of herself as more beautifull than the Queen, and her stepdaughter reacts by exclaiming that the Queen is vain and cruel, and to her eyes that makes her ugly. So besides the desire of being considered the most beautifull, you get the feeling that this Queen pursues Snow White as a way to shut a person that dares to rebell against her, wich ads new interesting dimentions to their antagonism.

06º Dorothy Cumming as Queen Brangomar in Snow White (1916)

Brangomar was once a lady in waiting of the palace. But one day, she met the powerfull Witch Rex, who offered to give Brangomar anything she wanted. And what Brangomar wanted was to become a beautifull Queen. Wich was achieved by a faustian deal where Witch Rex would cast a spell that killed Imogene, the previous Queen, while in return Brangomar would have to find a way of getting Snow White’s heart for the Witch. Years have passed, and now Brangomar  must kill the princess to pay her debt, or else everything she got will be lost. Hey, here is a way of making a villain tragic, almost simpathetic and complex while keeping clear that she is still a villain!

05º Vanessa Redgrave as the Queen in Faerie Tale Theatre (1984)

The most loud and bombastic portrayal of the Wicked Queen ever put on screen. Bringing to television her sperience from stage, that allows some more over the top emotional reactions, Redgrave had the time of her life in that role, indulging in twirling, preening and screening as much as she could, and his Queen is all the most fun for it.

04º Gudrun Landgrebe as the Queen in Schneewittchen (1992)

What i live about Landgrebe’s Queen is her range: at first she acts all humble, discreet, cold and mysteryous. Then her husband leaves to fight in a Crusade, and she trows the white veil and gray clothing of humility to show a diva red hair and orange dress, as to say “Hey, the King leaved, i have all the power here now and you must do as i say”. Later, a knight comes, offering a magical crystal ball that connected to a mirror says all the truth, and the Queen takes posession of it to ask about her beauty. When Mirror says that the most beautifull woman in the kingdom is Snow White, she gets infuriated, than goes to carefully plan ways to eliminate the princess once and for all. The highlight is when she takes the disguise of a russian male doctor to offer the apple (where she injects poison into with her ring) to Snow White.

03º Maria Antonieta de Las Nieves in El Chapulin Colorado: Blancanieves y los Siete Churín Churín Fun Flais (1978)

This three part episode of the mexican comedy superheroe show is a loving parody of the Disney version, that stands out as an enjoyable retelling of the classic fairy tale in its own right. Interestingly, while most of the comedy in the episode is delivered in the form of over the top slapistick, de Las Nieves’s delivers a straight faced, contained performance. Wich makes her answers to the absurd situations in the story all the more funny.

02º Patricia Medina as the Queen in Snow White And The Three Stooges (1961)

This lady was a hell of a foe: she not only antagonizes Snow White for the title of the Most Beautifull, going so far as to lock the princess in a dungeon for no crime at all, but also, alongside her partner in crime Count Oga, ordered a murder attempt aggainst Prince Charming when he was a child, to prevent him from marrying Snow White, and this way she could become ruller of the kingdoms of Fortunia and Bravuria. Troughout the film, you think that she could win, since she has powerfull magic, spy and a mighty army at her comand, wich makes the viewer get all the more excited on the seat, that is how enjoyable Medina’s Queen is.

And my Number One Portrayal of the Wicked Queen is...

01º Lucille La Verne as the Queen in Disney’s Snow White and The Seven Dwarfs (1937)

The first encarnation of the character that i ever saw in my childhood, and the one that still sends chills/shivers to my spine. As a young Queen, she rarely smiles, acting cold and calculating, intidimidating who is subordinate to her with the expression of her eyes and highbrows. And as a Crone, she lowdly indulges in her cruelty, offering the poisoned apple to her pet raven to scare him, and mocking the dead skeleton of a prisoner inside the castle’s dungeons. That balance between cold calculism and loud cruelty, where both are equally unsetling and scary, is something very hard to achieve, but i think this encarnation did a very good job in achieving that balance, that every other  portrayal that camed tried to draw influence from it ever since. And that’s why Disney’s Wicked Queen is my Number One portrayal.

HONORABLE MENTIONS: Addi Adamets in Schneewittchen (1955), Marianne Christina Schiling in Schneewittchen (1961) and Sonja Kirchberger in Sechs Auf Einen Streich (2009)

#snow white #snow white and the seven dwarfs #fairy tales #disney #brothers grimm #rankings #moodboards #grimm's fairy tale classics #anime #the legend of snow white #fantasy #mithology #folklore #pop culture

[mca-attack21]

Slowly

This is part one of a two part Sherlock x Reader imagine. It is full of angst and definitely something different. Fair warning it contains possible triggers involving a kidnapping. For more of my writing click here. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the emotional rollercoaster that is this fic.

The first time that Sherlock was semi-aware of himself, his mind was uncomprehending and imperceptive, which was a first. He was striving against everything to regain control and wake himself but instead, he found an unnerving nothingness. It was as if his mind was entirely blank. The second ‘awakening’, after an unknown amount of time, was not much different. Sherlock struggled to regain clarity, but was seemingly unequipped to do anything about it. His mind moved so slowly, that it might as well not have been moving at all. His sense of awareness and limited charge over consciousness once again faded.

“Sherlock? Sherlock are you okay? Wake up. Please wake up,” a voice pleaded.

But while it resonated as familiar, Sherlock simply could not connect the voice with a name or face. His mind was still moving too slow, at least now though he was aware of this fact. Something was wrong, very wrong. Sherlock was by all accounts locked out of his mind palace. He couldn’t remember anything or really register his surroundings. Something was interfering with the chemistry of his brain and prohibiting him from ‘Sherlocking’. He knew that it was likely some new hybrid of a sedative and a brain dampener. But how he knew that and what that meant, were completely lost on him.

“It’s no use,” another voice, this one raising a red flag with Sherlock for some unknown reason, beamed.

“You’re not going to get away with this,” the homely voice quipped.

“I already have though, haven’t I? Maybe if you weren’t so ordinary you’d understand that,” the villainous voice challenged.

Sherlock knew that voice, but who was it? And why couldn’t he wake up or remember anything?

“I may be ordinary, but at least I’m not a coward,” the first voice spat back.

“I am not a coward,” the man growled.

“Then why won’t you fight fair?” the girl questioned boldly. After waiting for an answer she added, “It’s because you know you wouldn’t stand a chance. You might be clever, but one on one, without your precious minions, your cheap tricks, and threats, you are nothing more than that, clever. And even on his worst day, Sherlock is more than you’ll ever be. And you know that, otherwise you wouldn’t be going through such great lengths to constrain him.” 

“You have too much faith in him and that will be your downfall. I will show you, don’t worry,” he promised.

Sherlock could hear a door being closed. He knew both of those voices. He knew that something was very wrong, but he couldn’t sort it out. His mind was slowly beginning to function again, but it was agonizing for Sherlock to be cognizant of his deficits. He pushed himself to remember, to wake, to do something, but it was all happening in its own time.

He heard the door opening again, this time noting that there was no sound of it being unlocked. This must mean… it meant that…. Ugh! Why couldn’t he just think!

“What are you doing?” the girl’s voice asked, he could hear her physically struggling. “Where are you taking me?” she questioned, fear evident in her voice.  “Stop, no, please don’t do this,” she pleaded, being forced out of the room.

Okay, so the girl. She was someone that he knew. His instincts told him that she was someone very dear to him. She was in danger. The two of them were captured by the man with the weird Irish accent. That man was the one holding them here. She knew him, so he and she had met him before. The door wasn’t locked which meant that they were bound. Otherwise, she would have been able to escape. As he was regaining more and more of his memory and brain power, he decided to redirect his attention.

He could not force himself to wake up, which meant he was most likely still sedated. His senses were very limited. His brain was foggy, but becoming less and less so. He was able to access his memories concerning his family and childhood, feeling somewhat reassured that Mycroft would have his people searching for him. He forced himself farther into his mind palace. He was going through places and people, starting to piece his life together until he saw a door for 221B. He tried to open the door, but it was locked. He had never been locked out of his own mind palace before. Some part of him knew that “unlocking” this door was the key to everything he needed to know about the girl, the man, and their current arrangement. But he had absolutely no idea how to accomplish that task. 

He resigned himself to focusing instead on regaining consciousness. He tried to start small, focusing on his breathing and then trying to move his fingers or toes. He just needed to reclaim control over his movements and then he’d be able to force himself awake.

Before he could make any progress, he heard the door open again. Someone, presumably a male carrying something substantial, based on breathing and time in between steps, had entered. The thing that he had been carrying was dropped roughly and then Sherlock had heard a click and the rustling of chains. Something was being hoisted up.

As the man left, Sherlock realized his mistake. It was not something being hoisted up, but rather someone. He speculated that it was his mystery girl. She was obviously unconscious and worse for wear. He felt an instinctual urge to make sure she was okay but was unable to act on it. He tried to focus, but it was becoming harder and harder as the exertion and exhaustion of fighting the drugs had taken over.

When he regained awareness, he was frustrated to realize he was still unconscious, though it was less and less present. He wondered how long this had been going on. Surely, someone had noticed and would come for him. He then remembered that he was not alone in this. However, as he listened to his surroundings it did seem that he was alone in the room again. He wondered how long the girl had been gone for this time. He hoped that she was okay. She was strong, that is what he loved about her.

Wait-

He loved her. He knew that now, it was consuming. She wasn’t just some girl that he knew. She was someone he loved. He needed to wake up, to remember, to protect her. He ran through the entire conversation he had heard between her and the man replaying it word by word.

“Maybe if you weren’t so ordinary you’d understand that” the man had said.

Ordinary. That word. It stuck out, but why?

“Aren’t ordinary people so adorable?”

“You’re ordinary. You’re on the side of the angels.”

“And now I’ve got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out your ordinary just like all of them.”

“She is nothing Sherlock, she is ordinary, just another plaything for you to impress.”

Sherlock heard the pieces of conversations playing in the man’s voice. He was so close to remembering him and his name. It was there, he could feel it. Now he had a new goal. He replayed every word that the girl had said, hoping to spark a similar reaction, but it didn’t work. 

The door opened, and this time there were three people who entered. One, the girl, was being chained up again, involuntarily whimpering. Her injuries were worse now, she was obviously being tortured. The man who had restrained her left the room leaving one other in the room. 

“Aw look at him, isn’t he adorable when he’s sleeping, brain wearing away to nothing,” the irish man spoke. 

“Leave him alone,” the girl tried.

“I really don’t think it is him you should worry about,” he said moving closer towards her. Sherlock heard her struggling away from him, “funny, all that blood really brings out your eyes.” 

“What is that you really want?”  she asked, her tough facade starting to falter.

“This. Exactly this. I want to watch your hope fade until you beg me to end you. I want to burn the heart out of Sherlock. Turning the hero into the villain. It’s as simple as that,” he informed leaving the room, calling out “I’m looking forward to our next little session, Y/n.”

And that was it. That was what Sherlock needed to unlock the door of his mind palace. And then it all came back to him. Mrs. Hudson, John, Moriarty, Lestrade, his cases, his violin, his flat, and above all else you. Y/f/n Y/l/n. His brilliant, kind-hearted, resilient, beautiful, girlfriend. The two of you were walking home from a date when you were both attacked and captured. He didn’t know how long ago that was now, but surely everyone was searching for you.

With that, he had full control of his mind, and he slowly brought himself back to consciousness, fighting the sedative. He managed to maneuver his arm to pull out the IV. He forced his eyes open, wincing at the harsh light. He laid still for a moment, allowing his body to process what it needed to do. As much as his mind was restored, physically he would still be affected. He worked on moving his muscles to speed up his circulation. 

“Sherlock?” you all but whispered.  You wanted to believe that you were seeing him move but knew that it very well could be your mind playing tricks on you. Tears streamed down your face.

But then he looked at you, and as your eyes met any doubt you had faded away. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, struggling to conceal his own emotion as he took in your form. You were chained up in nothing but a bra and your shorts. There were deep cuts littering your bruised and shaking body. You likely had multiple fractured if not broken ribs. You were held up by your wrists which were raw and also bleeding. Your hair was damp which led him to believe that waterboarding or forced intermittent drowning was involved. Beyond that, he could tell that you hadn’t slept, ate, or drank anything.

“How long have we been here?” he forced himself to ask.

“I think three days, it’s kind of hard to tell,” you answered.

“And do you have any idea where we are?”

“Not really, just that there are two levels and we never leave the basement.”

“Okay, okay, that’s fine,” Sherlock muttered, already starting to plan an escape.

“Sherlock? Are you okay?”

“Me? I should be asking you that,” he said forcing himself to sit up, groaning slightly at the numbness.

“It looks a lot worse than it is, I’m just glad you’re awake,” you tried to smile.

“I’m going to get us out of here,” Sherlock promised.

“Take your time,” you tried to joke. But the laugh turned into coughing which was extremely painful. 

“Just try to conserve your energy,” he said trying to hide the worry in his voice.

“I love you,” you whispered, allowing the exhaustion to take over, knowing that you were safe now.

“I love you too,” he replied.

————————

Tags: @fanfictionsilove​ @delightfulheartdream​  - Let me know if you want to be added to my Sherlock tag list!

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlock fic #sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock x y/n #sherlock imagine #sherlock imagines #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes imagines #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock BBC #bbc sherlock imagines #bbc sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock

[consumedkings-archive]

v. equitable exchange ✤ pre-cult au

john/elliot + “ew, that is so sappy i might vomit” taken from this prompt list!

word count: 2k

warnings: john being himself. elliot’s mother is terror. otherwise, they’re just being cute and enjoying each other. also naughty language, of course!

“It’s incredible how relaxed you get,” John remarked, sitting across from her, “as soon as you get out of Hope County.”

Elliot blinked at him. They’d only been dating for six months, but in that short time, John had proven he was more perceptive than she might have given him credit for. Sure, he was a little dense (read: selfish), but he was exceptionally good at reading her, which was rapidly becoming a problem.

That was to say—Elliot did not like being so easily read. Especially not at a dinner table in a fancy restaurant, after not having seen John for two weeks because work had gotten so busy she’d thought about pretending to be dead to get a few days of rest, and then resurrect herself Christ-like to get back on payroll.

“It’s not Hope County,” she explained after a moment. She opened her mouth to say, it’s my mom, she’s fucking bananas and will not stop harassing me about dating some nice boy that one of her ex-debutante frenemies mentions on the phone every day, but that felt like a lot to say all in one go, and a lot to say to John Seed, so she didn’t. “It’s just—stuff.”

“Ah, the ever-enigmatic and elusive stuff,” John reiterated, snagging her hand and bringing her fingers up to his mouth to kiss. “Turn that brain of yours off for a few minutes, won’t you? If you’re not going to elaborate on what it is that’s bothering you.”

“Sure,” Elliot replied dryly, “let me just find the switch here and…”

As she was busying herself mock-searching for the non-existent flip that would shut her brain down—and wouldn’t that be nice, to be fucking brain dead for a moment?—her eyes traveled the length of the room and stopped short on a tall, lean blonde laughing with a few other women as they walked into the restaurant.

Their eyes locked. The woman said, “Elli?” and in an act of self-preservation, Elliot scooted her chair out from the table abruptly and came to a stand, as though to sprint away.

“Ell?” John asked as she ripped her hand away from him.

“Uh,” she said. She then failed to elaborate.

“Elli, is that you?” her mother called, more fervently now, that sugar-sweet Southern drawl ringing around in her head as the alarm systems went off. Oh no, she thought frantically, trying to think of quick ways out—bust a glass open and just end it, maybe, pretend like she had amnesia, or literally anything—oh no, oh fuck no, oh God, fuck, I can’t do this, not right now, I’m not prepared.

“We have to go,” she blurted out. “John? Earth to John? Code red, we’re leaving.”

“But I just opened the wine—”

“Elli, that is you!”

Bless his heart, John continued curiously, “Who is that?” when he noticed the woman, and Elliot stifled a moan of agony.

“That’s stuff,” she hissed, grabbing his hand, “please, can we go—”

All of her fight-or-flight had kicked in, which was ridiculous if someone were to look at the situation objectively—that she was having this kind of a reaction, but if anyone knew anything about Scarlet Honeysett it was that—

“Go where?” her mother asked, now standing directly in the nearly-perfect geographical center between Elliot and John, on the other side, and it was painful to experience. Scarlet looked, per usual, absolutely polished; meticulously-maintained golden hair perfectly curled, her blouse and skirt pressed and prim.

“Nowhere,” Elliot managed out. “I’m—nowhere, mama. Just—” She scrambled. “Just thought I saw a… Spider on the table.”

“Ah,” Scarlet replied, and she didn’t sound convinced. A long moment stretched where she was aware of her mother waiting for her to introduce John and John waiting for her to introduce him, when finally her mother said, “Well, who’s your little friend, honey?”

Little friend. Like they hadn’t been dating for six months (not that she knew), like she didn’t let John fuck her filthy every time they visited each other. Elliot felt a dizzying surge of anxiety shoot through her body and tried to push it down.

“He’s m-my—John,” she said, and immediately kicked herself. Dropping his hand unceremoniously, she added, “My… boyf-uuh… boyf-f-”

“… boyfriend,” John finished for her, like she hadn’t just gone fucking stupid in the last five minutes for some reason. He gave her a funny, questioning look before he turned his full charm on and reached his hand out to Scarlet. “John Seed. It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Honeysett, I’ve heard a lot of nice things about you.”

Scarlet shook his hand. Her gaze flickered down, and before John could retreat, she turned their gripped hands so that the top of his was facing up, inspecting it critically. Her eyes turned back to Elliot.

“He has tattoos,” she said and did not ask, in the kind of forced friendliness she used when she was talking to one of the aforementioned ex-debutante frenemies that liked to gossip about her.

“Yes,” said John, which was really all he could say.

“It wasn’t a question, darlin’,” Scarlet murmured idly.

“Mama,” Elliot began, “we should—um, can we—it’s just—”

“Elliot Savannah!” came an additional voice, and oh, she just wanted to shrink up and disappear when the flowery rose-perfume scent washed over her. The shock of bright auburn hair immediately came into her vision and warm arms were thrown around her neck. “I was wonderin’ if we were ever gonna see you again. Aw, honey, look at your red little cheeks.”

“Delia,” Elliot greeted, feeling faint. She returned the hug but could not ignore the way that John stood to the side. She was sure that he wasn’t accustomed to not immediately charming the pants off of anyone, and certainly, it was partially her fault they were now in this situation—after all, she hadn’t prepared him at all for what her mother was like. “It’s—so nice to see you again.”

“So nice to see you, my sweet girl,” Delia replied warmly. It was not lost on her that her mother’s one true friend was the first to reach and hug her, not her own mother. “And your very handsome man-friend, too.”

Delia swept away from Elliot to rescue John, who looked almost relieved to be admired and chatted to rather than glanced over with the sort of critical eye that Scarlet afforded to just about everything and everyone that came across her path. Delia’s apparent rescue of John left Elliot to shift under her mother’s gaze.

“Bunny,” Scarlet said, keeping her voice very mild, “have you been cutting your hair short?”

“Mama,” she sighed.

“I just think you look so pretty when it’s long. You know, your daddy never knew what to do with all that hair, but he learned to braid it just for—”

“We’re in the middle of dinner,” Elliot interrupted before her mother could wax poetic about the things that her father did well prior to his clinical and methodical abandonment of them. “And I haven’t seen John for a few weeks, so.”

So. The word hung between them, the sound of Delia fawning over John and feeding him all of the admiration and older-woman-flirtation he could probably want, and Scarlet waited. She didn’t speak; she was exceptionally good at this kind of little game, which they had always played, where Elliot would say something like so with the implication that Scarlet should be able to infer what she meant and her mother would refuse to.

“… just love our Elliot,” Delia gushed warmly. “You’re taking good care of her, aren’t you?”

“Oh, the very best,” John assured her. “It’s been—”

“Six months,” Elliot supplied.

Scarlet arched a brow upward. “That’s a long time to be seeing someone.” She glanced at John. “And so alternative, too.”

“Mother.”

“I only mean,” Scarlet continued, “that I wish you would have said something. I’ve been chatting with Blaire and her son is very interested in meeting you. It just feels rude to take it back, is all, and if you answered my phone calls—”

“I’m busy with work,” Elliot protested.

“But not busy enough to date someone secretly for a few months,” her mother shot back with all of the practiced politeness of a woman who made a living out of it.

John cleared his throat. “Six months.”

Elliot passed a hand over her face, exhaling sharply through her nose as she muddled through the anxiety and fury that her mother tended to inspire in her. A moment of silence stretched, too long and far too uncomfortable, before Delia clapped her hands together and made a soft sound.

“Well, I am just starvin’!” she exclaimed. “Scarlet, honey, you ready to eat?”

“I haven’t any kind of appetite,” Scarlet responded spitefully, and Elliot groaned and said, “You are so petty,” just as her mother plunged on, “but I suppose I’m ready to go.”

“Great,” Delia said, feigning cheerfulness. “Elliot, you’ll come and find us before you leave, won’t you? We’ll let you get back to dinner with your honey, and we’ll be waitin’ for you.”

As Delia steered her mother away and back to where the gaggle of ladies were standing around and watching the interaction from a safe distance, John sat himself back down at the table and poured his glass full of wine—far beyond what was normally considered a regular pour—and then did the same for her glass.

Elliot sat too and brought the glass to her mouth. Even though her mother’s presence inspired in her the most homicidal tendencies, so much so that she tried to avoid drinking at all around her, it felt necessary at this moment.

“That can’t be your mom,” John said conversationally. “She’s so tall.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Bunny?”

Elliot moaned, burying her face into her hands. It was the worst possible series of events that could happen: there was nothing in her that had prepared in the least to have to explain herself to her mother, and so of course the thing that she had done was not explain anything, because Scarlet Honeysett could not resist taking a dig at her daughter at any point in time.

“Hey,” John said lowly, scooting his chair over so that they were no longer on opposite ends of the table but rather perpendicular from one another, “drink your wine, we’ll lock the door on their insanely pretentious bathroom-with-a-couch, I’ll get you nice and relaxed, and then you’ll be ready to deal with your mom again.”

“You don’t get it,” Elliot protested, even when John’s words made heat crawl up into her cheeks

“I don’t really need to,” John replied flippantly. “Who gives a fuck if your mom doesn’t like me?”

“I do!” she insisted, distressed. “I care, and I had a very specific way that I wanted you to meet her, and she’s—God, she’s so—she always ruins fucking everything, John, you don’t get it.”

John leaned in, tilting her chin up, and kissed her. When he did, he tasted like red wine; his fingers slid to the back of her neck and cradled her there so that he could say against her mouth, “I’m not worried about it, hellcat.”

“I am.”

“Well, stop,” he replied amusedly. “You’re my girl, and regardless of your—very tall and honestly, statuesque—mother’s opinion of me right now—”

She sighed. “John.”

“—I will make sure that she likes me,” he finished. “I will charm her so fucking hard she’ll be begging you to marry me.”

Elliot made a low, tired sound. After a second, she said, “You’ll have to go to galas. And gatherings. Weddings. There are always so many weddings. Not to mention the charity functions, and—”

John hummed. “I will. Every single event that she invites me to. Maybe even a few she doesn’t, you know, just for fun.” He paused, and kissed her again. “All for you, baby. Anything for you. Even suffering through debutante events.” And then, playfully: “Bunny.”

“Ew,” the blonde groaned, suffering through the saccharine. “That is so sappy, I might vomit.”

“Please don’t,” he said, “I’m really enjoying kissing you.”

Elliot smiled against his mouth. “Okay,” she murmured, “but only if you don’t ever fucking call me bunny again.”

“Fair trade.”

#cleaning house repost #i need to get this its own post! #my writing #otp: death keep off; i am your enemy #john seed/female deputy #no cult au #ch: elliot honeysett #ch: scarlet honeysett #ch: john seed #fc5 fic #far cry 5 #q

[notmydayjob]

a walk in two worlds | john laurens x reader.

words: 1.8k

warnings: a little bit about slavery just because its john, parent death, fluff and some possibly sexual comments if you think on it

desc: your father is british general whose been called to fight in georgia, with him gone and you alone in new york things are bound to happen, especially after you meet a certain soldier boy.

this is my first hamilton fic and I wanted to say a couple things before it got it started. First of all I am white writer and I write my fics to be inclusive but there may be things that I may not realize are excluding people because I’ve had the privilege of not being excluded so if you notice anything then please message me and I’ll be more than happy to edit it. second i wrote this at 3 am and even if nobody reads it i’ll probably make a pt2 but lemme know.

i kinda picked and choosed what i wanted to use from hamilton and real life so obviously not historically accurate 

There’s nothing quite like summer in the city, children running in the streets, the sound of hooves on the brick laid roads, and the hot sun shining down on busy men and women. You had just moved into the city with your father but soon after you arrived your father was called away to join the fight in Georgia. You were left behind with only your housekeeper who functioned as a Nanny when you were a child. Your mother had died when you were very young and your father worked so Joan was the closest thing to family you had. Before your father left he gave you three instructions. One, the city can be a dangerous place for a young beautiful girl, don’t go downtown. Two, if you must stray from the house never go anywhere unaccompanied. Three, the revolutionists are reckless and ruinous, stay away. Your father was a smart man but often worried too much especially for you. It took nearly three days to convince Joan to let you leave the house. “I will come with you then, just let me finish my chores, and then we may go, but we are staying uptown, it’s nice here, awfully quiet too.” She said when she finally caved. You thanked her profusely but unbeknownst to her when she turned her back to you, you slipped out the back door. When your father left he took the carriage with him and the coachman had not yet returned so you had to walk into the city. You weren’t complaining though, the weather was warm and the fresh air was refreshing after a  week of house arrest. As you approached the downtown district of Manhattan you noticed a noticeable drop in wealth due to many of its residents being either college students, revolutionists, or merchants. A young man stood on a soapbox in the city square ranting about the unjust taxes and the recent events in Boston while a large crowd cheered around him. Propaganda flyers were hung on every storefront and street lamp, you took one and quickly shoved it into the bottom of your basket next to a small bag of coins. For about 20 minutes you strolled around going between stands of vendors selling fruits, fans, furniture, and everything in between. You stopped at the stand of a man selling vegetables and began picking out a few. You clearly felt a presence behind you but stayed focused on your task. “What is a pretty young lady like you doin’ in the city all by herself.” The presence spoke smoothly. You looked up from under the brim of your hat to see a man around your age maybe a few years older. His curly black hair was tied up tightly at the back of his head. Your eyes then traveled to the rich blue coat he proudly wore. “Minding my own business.” You said flatly as you turned back to what you were doing. “You know there are a lot of dangerous people out here who might want to take advantage of such a pretty girl.” He said clearly thinking he was very smooth. “Is that so?” You responded as you paid for your goods. Maybe you were naive but he didn’t seem threatening, he seemed young, reckless, and a flirt which could be just as bad. “Yes ma’am, maybe I should be your escort to-” He began again but you cut him off. “What’s your name, sir.” You asked him curtly and for once turned to fully face him. “John Laurens.” He tipped his head to you. “Don’t you have something to protest Mr. Laurens.” You brushed past him and continued down the street but he was quick to follow you. “I’m a wonderful multitasker.” He chuckled softly at his own joke. You wanted to hate him, you wanted to believe everything your father said about revolutionists but this man was charming and had a gravitational pull that was nearly impossible for you to resist. You knew if he stopped following you then you would follow him, you just hoped he didn’t know that. “I’ve never seen you around here before.” “Is that supposed to be a question, Mr. Laurens.” From the side of your vision, you could see the grin on his face, he liked having you riled up. “My father and I just moved uptown.” “So a rich pretty girl.” He said to himself with the full intention of you hearing to which you scoffed. “Am I wrong?” He stepped out in front of you locking his honey brown eyes with yours. You simply rolled your eyes in protest. “That’s what I thought.” His smirk was so genuine and charming it made you smile back to which he beamed brightly. “So what does the pretty girl’s father do for such wealth.” He posed. “Old money.” You stated simply to avoid the topic but he was clearly not satisfied. “He’s a general.” You stared intently over at him to gauge his reaction. John immediately stopped in his tracks and the smirk on his fell. “I take it we’re on different sides of the war.” He nodded slowly not meeting your eyes. His sudden quietness intrigued you, it seemed like that would have only made him mouthier. “That’s right.” Your voice was nearly inaudible but your beg for him not to turn away was loud enough for him to stay even for just a moment longer. You were not content with those being your last words so you continued: “My father believes that the King is a just one.” You chose your words intentionally, hoping he would take the bait yet shocked when he did. “And what do you believe?” You didn’t quite know how to respond to his question. No one had ever asked for your political opinion, especially not a man. “Well,” The small grin was already appearing on your face. “The price of tea is far too high nowadays.” The smile was quick to come to his face though he played it off with a joking scoff and eye roll. “So, does the beautiful young lady have a name?” “Y/n.” “Y/n,” He repeated your words testing it out to see if he liked it, apparently he did because the next thing he asked was where the two of you were headed next. You went to the silversmith, and he talked about growing up on a plantation in South Carolina and the things he saw happen to his father’s slaves. You went to the bakery and he told you his dreams of giving those men their freedom so they could join him in fighting in the war. You found him more endearing the longer you talked to him. You let your guard down and showed him your interest in what he had to say and you no longer tried to hide the laughs and smiles that he pulled out of you. “What about you?” He asked as he held the door to the general store open for you. “What about me?” You asked promptly. “Oh, come on, I’ve done nothing but talk, you have to return the favor.” His smirk grew quickly. You simply rolled your eyes but let yourself smile to show that you found the joke at least a little funny. “There’s not much to tell until two weeks ago I stayed in my home back in London and did what I was asked.” You explained. “Will you grab the jam jar on the top shelf for me?” You could probably reach it but you wanted to see how quickly he would please you. He in fact did follow your request but not before taking a step closer to you, pressing you against the shelf as he reached over you to grab the jar above your head. “You don’t seem like the type to quietly obey.” John’s voice was low, lower than you’d ever heard it before and quiet enough so that you were the only one who heard his words. He did this on the purpose of course, what he said was only for you. He brought his hand down to give you the jar, your hand resting on his for just a moment. That’s when you realized this was the first time you’d touched, and now that’s all you wanted to do and the brushing of hands wasn’t nearly enough. As you went to stutter out an answer the shouting that was coming through the front door pulled both of you out of your moment. “Y/n M/n L/n, there you are, oh my god!” Joan ran straight for you. Her pale cheeks flushed and grey hair falling loose from her low bun. “I thought you’d run away, do you know how upset your father will be?” “Father isn’t here, you don’t have to tell him anything.” You proposed. “Is this your mother?” John interjected as he held his hand out for her to take. “No, she’s my handler.” You said with a hint of annoyance. Joan gave John her hand and he promptly placed a kiss on the back of it, you felt yourself become envious of her hand. Her cheeks turned bright red, you were sure she would tell you about how she hasn’t gotten this much attention from men since she was 20. “Joan this is John Laurens, John Laurens this is Joan.” You nearly groaned out. Joan quickly spoke up again right when you saw her eyes fall on Johns’s coat. “Oh my! Y/n we must be headed home now!” She grabbed your hand and began to drag you to the door. “Joan, Joan!” You shouted for attention before dangling your basket in front of her face. “I’ll pay for these.” She took the basket from your hands. “You wait outside.” She shooed you away. You exited the shop making sure that John was following. “Maybe we should make a run for it.” You turned to John as he chuckled. “I don’t think so, you’ll give the poor woman a heart attack.” He said then a silence fell between you. “I don’t want this to be the last time I see you though.” “Neither do I.” You said softly. “May I write you?” John quickly turned towards you, swooping your hands into his and holding them close to his heart. “Yes.” You nodded as you stared intently and how he held you. “John, this won’t be easy, my father would never-” “I know.” He said simply as he smiled at you and for just a moment you didn’t care about what your father would say. “Alright, Y/n, it’s time for us to head home,” Joan said as she came out the door. “Goodbye, Y/n.” He took your hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. “Goodbye, John Laurens.”

#jonh laurens x reader #john laurens #john laurens one shot #john laurens oneshot #john laurens imagine #laurens x reader #hamilton fanfic #hamilton x reader #hamilton imagine #hamilton one shot

[xfandomwritingsx]

Authenticity – John Constantine (2005)

-gif source unknown- 

Description: Challenge: The we have to kiss right now or they’ll notice we’re not supposed to be here trope. 

Warnings/Labels: Mentions of a hard-on but that’s about it. 

Approx. Word Count: 2,500 

A/N: For Meg’s (@thranduilsperkybutt​) 11k Follower Challenge. I was super excited to do this one. Hopefully all of you enjoy. 

---

 “You look uncomfortable,” you say at a volume that only he can hear in the crowded bar. One of his arms is behind you on the armchair’s extra plump armrest and you don’t even have to see it to know that he’s got a near white knuckled grip on the edge, digging his fingers into the cushion. You’re seated on his lap, nestled in close with your legs thrown over the other armrest and between the way his thighs are entirely too tense underneath you and the way his hand practically hovers over your shins like he’s afraid to touch you, it’s very obvious he’s not doing a good job at faking this whole cover story.  

“That’s probably because I am uncomfortable,” he snaps back through gritted teeth. Your eyes scan the dark bar, looking for your target as you throw one arm over the back of his shoulders to pull him in even closer, running your other hand over his chest. 

“We’re supposed to be lovers,” you remind him a little quieter, getting closer to his ear. He flinches and you can tell he’s resisting the instinct to lean away. “You’re so stiff.” You squeeze his shoulder. “And not in the good way,” you tease. He grinds his jaw and if he weren’t so close to blowing your cover, you might have found it funny. 

“This whole thing was your plan,” he says coarsely as his eyes drop down to your skirt that’s slowly riding too far up your thighs every time you shift on him. You wonder if he’s debating on yanking it back down for you. 

He was right though. This was entirely your plan. Information about a demon making some very illegal deals and trades had brought you upstate to a fairly new underground demon bar whose appeal was largely influenced by the sin of lust. Risqué artwork, a red motif that you weren’t entirely sure wasn’t meant to symbolize blood instead of romance, and cozy dark corners all helped embody the hedonism-esque atmosphere. So yes, it made sense to enter as pseudo-lovers to scope the place out. You’d thrown on a wig and some tight clothes that teetered the line between glamorous and grungy. Then you’d forced Constantine out of his suit jacket and tie in order to blend in, hoping neither of you would be recognized. 

But as you had forgone one of those dimly lit corners in favor of an oversized, plush, velvet armchair closer to the middle of the room for better visuals, his hesitancy to even touch you is bound to stand out and draw the wrong kind of attention. The bartender, who already had raised an eyebrow at your apparently uncommon drink order, was watching you both a little too closely for your liking. 

“Next time I’ll remember to ask someone a little less uptight,” you threaten idly as you do another quick scan of the room. You both knew it was a lie. He’s your go-to partner and on the rare occasions where his dumbass will admit he needs help, you’re his too. “Would you just touch me already?” you snap at him sharply, noticing more eyes on you. 

“Most women ask me that question with a much nicer tone.” The words are dry, but the humor is still behind them nonetheless and you catch the glint of a smile on his lips. He lets his hand come down fully and relax on your shin which still isn’t great, but it’s better. Bastard should feel lucky you remembered to shave your legs at the last minute too. “Have you spotted our guy yet?” he asks as if you were the only one looking. 

“Not yet,” you tell him, leaning in to whisper it to him in hopes of looking intimate. His flinch is much less noticeable this time at least. “You need to relax,” you chide. “You’re going to draw the wrong kind of looks.” He gives a humorously gentle squeeze to your leg in response and you can’t help but smile at his timid behavior.  

You let your eyes search the room in the most casual way you can. You lean over to the side to the small table in front of the chair where your drinks reside. Constantine’s hand finally leaves the armrest to sweep over your waist, making sure you don’t topple off his lap when you reach for your beer mug. You take a slow swig of it, eyes peering over the lip of the mug to keep fanning over the room. You put it back down, his fingers sinking into the pocket of your waist as you make the stretch.  

You readjust yourself on his legs and make a show of cuddling up to him. You’re a little impressed that he keeps his hand on you. He slides it up your side, resting it under your arm and shifting his own up your back to allow you to lean onto the armrest like you had been. You can feel the warmth of his forearm, bare from his rolled up sleeves, seeping through your relatively thin shirt and relax into it. When his fingertips brush the side of your breast, you can barely feel it through the absurd amount of padding in your bra, but you figure it’s good for show. 

Another fifteen minutes pass and you continue to unsuccessfully try to get Constantine not to look like he wants to crawl away from you. In that time, you notice the bartender cast suspicious eyes your way a few too many times for your liking. When one of the bouncers just happens to show up at the bar to talk to him, you know you’re about to have a problem. 

“Bail or sell it,” you warn Constantine. He furrows his brows, not following you. “Either we get out right now or we find a way to sell our cover story in a hot damn hurry.” You tap his shoulder with the hand you’ve flung around his neck again to indicate a direction without your eyes. “Or else beefed up half-breed over there’s gonna start something I didn’t bring proper footwear for.” You had not come in tonight looking for a fight and the black heels you’re wearing are a testament to that. You leave the decision in his hands and fully expect to be walking quickly towards the door in a moment’s time.  

“Fuck it,” he whispers harshly and before you have a chance to question what reaction that was meant to imply, the hand at your side tightens, hugging you even closer to his chest and the hand that previously rested on your shin is suddenly at your neck, pulling you into a crashing kiss. 

There’s definitely a slight mmph noise that escapes your mouth and you have to forcibly repress the instinctive surprise from flashing over your face. When your brain catches up with what’s happening, you expect a fairly chaste decoy kiss, but the way his lips are moving against yours and the heated way his fingertips press into the back of your neck prove contrary to that thought.  

You realize quickly that now you’re the one acting oddly, being unusually rigid for a woman being ravished by her supposed lover. So you return the kiss in the same way he’s giving it; hot and heavy. Your mouth opens easily beneath his and your hands are suddenly gripping at his clothes. There’s little actual romance to the kiss, your eyes still opening into slits to jump around the room, making sure it’s working. The only eyes on you now are the intrigued ones, the voyeur eyes. The bartender has gone back to his duties, seemingly satisfied with your display. 

You pull away from Constantine by mere inches, ready to let him go and release him from the ruse. He takes a single, deep but fleeting look at you before the hand on your neck pushes up into your wig. He kisses you again as he pulls roughly, sitting you up and using his other hand to help guide you where he wants you.  

It takes you by surprise, but the way he handles you doesn’t leave you wanting to fight it. The fist twisting in your fake strands of hair makes you regret wearing a wig. He’s making you ache to feel that pleasurable tug at your scalp. Your hands are forced to let go of him and brace yourself on the back of the chair in order to follow the direction of his pull, turning you to face him and slipping his hand between your legs. His fingers press into your inner thigh to push your thighs open over his lap all while keeping his lips up against yours. 

Your eyes are sealed shut this time, getting completely lost in his kiss and his touch. His hand slides around to the back of your thigh, pulling you closer to slot your pelvis over his. The moan that slips through your lips when you feel the bulge pressing up through your panties is completely involuntary and causes a twitch beneath you. Was this why he’s been so hesitant to touch you all night? If only you’d realized before. His mouth opening under you and his tongue pressing against yours ceases your brain from thinking much further.  

You move your hands from the chair back to his face to slide and cup his jaw, allowing yourself to put your full weight onto his lap with a roll of your hips. He releases your wig and both of his hands glide over your ass, giving a small, discreet tug on the hem of your skirt to prevent it from riding up enough to give everyone here an eyeful. His fingers curl over the edge of the fabric and when you feel fingertips brush over the crease underneath your cheeks, you know the maneuver was not without a selfish motive.  

One of your hands starts to melt down from his jaw to his neck and then slinks down further to his chest. And further still to his belly. And further still to his waistband. The rattle of his belt jolts him out of his daze and instantly, his hand shoots back between you to stop your motions as he pulls back from the heated kiss.  

Your surroundings slowly bleed back into your consciousness and you voluntarily, although reluctantly, remove your hand from between you. Your breathing is heavier than you realized and there’s a look in Constantine’s eyes that has you wondering if he’s debating pulling you back down one more time. And damn it all if you didn’t want him to do just that. But the look is fleeting and he clearly decides against it as he gives your waist a push to back you off his lap. 

You make quick adjustments of your clothes and your wig, hoping no one happened to notice anything awry. Getting to your feet, you spin around and quickly down the rest of your drink, a harsh mix of needing alcohol, quenching a sudden thirst, and finding something to do quickly flooding you.  

“I’m going to go… freshen up.” Your voice is dry despite the beer you finished off and you don’t even spare Constantine a look over your shoulder before whisking yourself away to the restroom, skin still tingling and stomach flipping around inside of you so much that you feel the slightest bit dizzy.  

You make it quick; splash a little water on your face and smooth out the wrinkles in your clothes before making your way back out. You don’t make it very far, rounding a corner and nearly running into Constantine’s chest. The freshness that the cool water had given your face is washed away instantly with a blush. 

“Time to go,” he says simply, his face filled with a composure he apparently stole from you, reversing how you had been when you walked into the bar. Your only response is a furrowed brow as you step back, needing to keep some space between your bodies. Had the kiss not worked? Really? It sure as hell worked on you. “Our guy hasn’t made himself known, but a whole bunch of people from Midnight’s just walked in so our cover is useless.” 

“Shit,” you hiss, shifting right back into work mode. “Alright, let’s slip out the back door.” You want to be pissed. The whole night is blown and you got nothing from it, wasting money and time. And yet, you’re still too preoccupied to be anything but a little relieved.  

Constantine follows you down the back hall and towards the back exit into an alleyway. He’s silent behind you, but you can practically feel him on your heels and you resist the nervous urge to pull at your skirt; an urge you can’t help but notice you haven’t felt all night until now. When you open the back door, you take a look over your shoulder and catch his eyes lingering on your ass. His eyes flash to yours with a smirk on his lips and you can’t help but laugh as he follows you into the alley. Such a small thing throws your nerves out the door and you fall back into your regular selves.  

Your heels click and splash on the wet pavement as you make your way back to the car parked in a garage around the block. Constantine walks besides you once you reach the sidewalk and keeps a respectable distance between you. As is normal for him, he’s quiet, his eyes watching the street. 

“So,” you break the silence, a little courage creeping into you. “Are we going to talk about that kiss in there?” You watch his face for a reaction, but all you get is a small clench of his jaw and his eyes squinting just a hair. 

“No,” he answers curtly. It wasn’t anything less than you expected so you simply nod. You wait another minute or so, until you’re inside the parking garage before asking your next question. 

“Are you going to do it again?” You watch as his lips press together tightly, something he does when he’s holding something back. For a moment you think maybe he’s not going to answer. Then, with his eyes still purposely looking away from you, he lets the smile come through. 

“Maybe,” he says plainly.  

You chuckle at him as you both start to climb into the car. You don’t need any further conversation than that for the moment, but you do spend the car ride wondering if you can convince him to continue to play lovers when checking into your motel room for the night. For authenticity, obviously. 

#constantine imagine #thranduilsperkybutt #megs11kchallenge #john constantine #constantine x reader

[searchin-for-an-urchin]

Like it Came Out of Nowhere Aaron Burr x Reader Chapter 12

Tags: @fangirlandnerd @ milena-millennium @fangirl570 @studysafeplace @bees-are-more-important @i-know-i-can

Chapter 1 Chapter 2  Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6  Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9  Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

Masterlist

Author’s note: Possibly the fluffiest chapter I’ve written of this series, but still good!

3.9k words

TW/CW: Implications of sex, but nothing more, cringey parents

        Having a kid was never a part of your game plan. It wasn’t that you disliked them, it was that you grew up in a loud household with a lot of siblings and that when they grew up and started having kids, that it was a lot louder. Charlotte, however, was the best part of your life. You believed that with your whole being. But, that doesn’t change the fact that she was not originally a part of your plan. 

        Neither was having a kid with a guy you didn’t remember, but nonetheless. When you met Nathaniel in the Starbucks for coffee, it was… cordial, weird, even. Seeing this guy that you had slept with and made a baby with, still trying to wrap the fact that he had a kid around his head was not something you ever planned or dreamed of. He was kind, polite, genuinely interested in Charlotte but you both agreed that the two of you needed to acquaint yourselves with one another before he met your daughter. It turned out to be a nice time, though. He was still funny and charming (you still don’t remember everything about that night, but you remember more pieces the more time you spend with Nathaniel). He talks to you about his restaurant, you talk about the cafe and share kitchen horror stories. In fact, time passes by so quickly that you only snapped out of the conversation when John called and asked why you weren’t back from your hour long break yet. You had been gone for 3 hours. 

      With a grimace, and a fast apology to your brother, suddenly you’re gathering up your things and setting up a time to see Nathaniel next, which will be when the two of you decide what the next steps are regarding Charlotte. Although you feel bad keeping Charlotte away from her dad in this instance, you knew it was the right choice for the time being.

        Aaron is absolutely blown away when you answer the door the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. You had explained that Lauren asked for more responsibility this holiday season so you scheduled her to be the head chef, reminding her to call you if she needed help. She shooed you out of the kitchen earlier that day than normal so you were able to head home and get a headstart on cleaning and getting ready for Aaron’s holiday party. When you answered the door Tuesday evening, your hair was pulled up and you were wearing a maroon dress with embroidered white flowers that was flowy, but still professional enough for a work event. Aaron always thought you looked beautiful, and would tell you that constantly. His reaction to you was not just about how you look, but the way he felt when he saw you. He was happy. 

        He also knocked the breath out of you when you saw him. Aaron was dressed smartly in a navy blue suit, a coral dress shirt, and a navy bowtie. It took a moment for either of you to say anything, but smiles were present on your faces the entire time.

        “You look beautiful, as always, Y/N,” he finally tells you.

        “You look very handsome yourself, Aaron,” the reply follows easily. He holds out his arm for you and you accept, locking and closing the door behind you. Since it was a half day at school already for Charlotte, you asked Peggy if she would be up for a sleepover with your daughter. Peggy was thrilled at the idea and mentioned that the Hamilton kids would also be there, so they would have a full on girls’ night (plus Phillip) since Alexander and Eliza were going to be at the party as well. This way you had time to clean up the apartment and get ready for your date in peace.

        The party was held at the Washingtons’ estate on Long Island, where they had enough room to have an “estate”. There were streamers and decorations in various autumnal hues of oranges and reds, and you thought to yourself that you couldn’t wait to see what the winter holiday party was like. You then blushed at the fact that you were already under the assumption that you would be going to that party, too. Aaron introduced you to his coworkers, and you happily chatted away with everyone you interacted with. The story of how you two met was found as hilarious by the people you shared it with. Save for one moment that he excused himself for the men’s room, Aaron never left your side, and did his best to include you in conversations. You couldn’t help but be grateful for a reprieve in your day to day life. Eventually you were spotted by Eliza and Alexander, and they made their way over to talk to both of you. You haven’t really interacted with Alexander too much since the day he explained his “professional dislike” of Aaron, but that’s also in part that he’s more John’s friend than your own. Still, you were glad to see both Hamilton’s - especially because the conversation was not stilted by unfamiliarity. 

        “Y/N!” Eliza exclaimed when she saw you, holding her arms out for a hug that you obliged. “It’s so good to see you! That dress is amazing,” she adds when pulling back. 

        “Oh thank you! I’ve missed y’all so much,” you reply happily. In the corner of your eye you see Alexander and Aaron shaking hands, and you’re surprised to see genuine smiles on their faces. You switch positions and give Alexander a hug while Aaron greets Eliza. 

        “Well, Y/N, I understand that you’re charming everyone at this party with the story of how you two met.” Alexander states with a smirk, forcing you to roll your eyes at the statement. Before you could retort, however, George Washington stepped into the conversation with a woman you presumed was his wife, commanding the attention of the four of you.

        “Aah, Y/N,” he said, greeting you first, holding out his hand. You shake it, and greet him. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Martha,” he said next, motioning to the lovely woman at his side. 

        “I’m Y/N Laurens, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you so much for having us,” 

        “Oh it’s our pleasure Y/N, I’m just glad to finally meet you. We’ve heard so much about you from our other guests and George here told us about your restaurant, and I’m excited to try it!”

        “Oh, we’ll be happy to have you!” She gives you a bright smile and then greets Aaron, Alexander, and Eliza, as she knows them already. Aaron’s actively listening to the conversation in front of him when you notice that his arm wraps around your waist and his hand settles on your hip. You turn and grab his attention, giving him a warm smile to show that you’re genuinely having a good time.

        After a few more minutes, everyone is ushered towards the dining room for the carving of the turkey. You and Aaron sit across from Alexander and Eliza, and the latter two smile at each other when they see you and your date lost in conversation. Alexander will tell you later that it was really nice to see you happy in a non-work setting. He’ll also tell you that you made Aaron 27% more bearable that night, to which you’ll respond with a playful punch on the arm. 

        The drive back to your apartment was nice and filled with chatter and a sense of calmness that you’ve come to expect with Aaron, which you absolutely love. When you arrived and walked up the flights of stairs, it seemed like the night was about to end.

        “Thank you for inviting me tonight, I had a good time,” changing the conversation.

        “Thank you for coming with me. My coworkers really seemed to like you. I just hope I have the same effect on your family that you had on them,” he replies with a chuckle, as you arrive at your door.

        “Don’t worry,” you inform him while you start to unlock the door, back towards him. “They’re going to love you just as much as I do.” 

        A silence falls over the atmosphere when you realize that you said you loved him, you try to turn around to face him and justify that it was an expression, or any other excuse, but before you could, you feel Aaron’s lips pressed gently on yours, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you close. He pulls back slightly, still holding onto you, after a chaste kiss and states, surely, without a single doubt in his voice,

        “I love you, too, Y/N.” 

        You feel a weight lifted off of you as you smile as widely as possible in response to this confession, and you note that Aaron’s already wearing the same smile himself. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him back down to your height for a deeper kiss and then another one. Creating minimal space between you again, you whisper,

        “No one’s supposed to arrive before ten tomorrow, my daughter included.” Aaron’s smile turns into a smirk as he understands what you’re implying. He lets you continue though, to make sure you’re sure of your decision. “Would you like to stay the night?”

        “Absolutely.” 

******************

        The next morning you wake up with Aaron’s body cuddled up next to you, with him murmuring into your hair. A sleepy smile on your face, you turn around and curl into your boyfriend. He pulls you in as close as possible and you sneak a peek at the clock behind him, which reads 6:32, meaning you don’t have to get up and start getting ready for the day for another half hour. Neither of you are wearing clothes, but with the combination of the bedding and the warmth of Aaron, you’re not cold at all. 

        “Good morning,” you greet him, tilting your head so your foreheads are touching.

        “Hmm, good morning is right.” Aaron kisses you on the nose, and sighs contentedly. “I love having you in my arms, did you know that?” He asks playfully.

        “Why, I did not, but I’m glad the feeling’s mutual,” you reply sleepily. Making eye contact, you can see your reflection in his eyes. “I really love you, Aaron.”

        “I really love you too, Y/N. I’m really glad Charlotte punched Theodosia that day,” he laughs. 

        “Yeah, I guess our girls are good matchmakers.” 

        Eventually, the two of you did need to get up, but you both took your time getting out of bed. You invited Aaron into the shower with you and he obliged. Before stepping into the shower, though, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror, and gasped. Along both of your collar bones were small bruises in various shades of blue and purple.

        “There is not enough makeup in the world to cover all of these up! What did you do to me?!” You exclaim, catching your boyfriend’s eyes in the reflection in front of you. A light shade of pink dusted his cheeks and he answered sheepishly, 

        “I just got carried away.” Before you could fake complain anymore, Aaron turns you away from the mirror and starts to pull you back to your original destination, creating a few more marks in places that you normally cover with clothes anyway. You’ll just make sure to dress more conservatively. By 7:30am, you were both bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, drinking coffee at the kitchen island when you heard a knock at the door. Looking at each other, you get up and move towards the door, opening it slowly. In front of you were your parents. 

        “Mom, Dad?! Y’all are here early!” You say in an exasperated and surprised voice. You hold your arms out for your parents instinctively, giving them each a hug and a peck on the cheek. In the midst of the commotion and the general questions (“Are you eating?” “Yes, Dad, I’m eating”), Aaron slowly makes his way to the door, straightening his wrinkled clothes as best as he could, as they were left carelessly on the floor last night. When he came into view, you noticed and then took a deep breath. Placing a hand on the back of Aaron’s shoulder, you look back at your parents and start the introduction.

        “Mom, Dad, this Aaron Burr, my boyfriend. Aaron, this is my mom, M/N, and my dad, D/N.” Aaron puts on his charming smile, holding his hand out to shake your parents’ hands.

        “It is so nice to finally meet the two of you,” he greets them. “Y/N speaks very highly of both of you, as do Peggy and John,” he adds, clearly being persuasive and likeable.

        “Likewise, Aaron,” your father says. “We were absolutely thrilled to hear Y/N was dating and from everything she’s told us about you, you seem like a good fit together.”

        “Although,” your mom interrupts, “We’ll hold the final judgment until we leave,” she says with a fake serious voice. Your parents laugh genuinely while you and Aaron do so awkwardly. “Anywho, dear, we’re sorry for showing up early but we knew you’d be done with cleaning and everything yesterday and we just couldn’t wait to see you.”

        “Aww, Mom,” you say, holding your arms out for another hug which she accepts. 

        You invite your parents into the living room where all four of you sit down and talk for a bit, mostly about what you’ve been up to, what Aaron does for a living, and initially your parents sizing up your boyfriend. It’s sweet, really. Aaron’s genuinely making a good impression and he seems to like your parents too. After offering your parents breakfast and being declined, 10:00am rolls around and Aaron is excusing himself so he can go grab Theodosia. Peggy is at the door when he walks out, and he says a quick hello to your best friend and daughter (who is extremely excited to see him) and leaves to get his daughter. Charlotte ran in to greet her grandparents as Peggy turned to you with a knowing look.

        “Why would Aaron have come over here without Theodosia?” she asked in a whisper. When you didn’t reply she reached a hand out to you and tugged at the neck of your sweater, revealing a particularly deep hickey on your left collarbone. She smiles widely at you as you slap his hand away.

        “Yes, he spent the night, will you stop? Charlotte and I haven’t talked about it yet,” you respond with a hushed voice. Her smile continues and you roll your eyes but can’t help to return the smile.

        “He really makes you happy, doesn’t he?”

        “He really does, Peggy, even in my wildest dreams, I never imagined finding someone I loved like this.”

******************************

        Theodosia and Aaron both charmed your parents. By the end, Theo was calling them Mamaw and Papaw like Charlotte does and they were calling Aaron “son”. Although slightly off-putting at first, it was really endearing how much they took a liking to Aaron and Theo. John even found it in him to have a decent conversation with Aaron during the three days, deeming him a solid fit for you, which was a sentiment echoed throughout your parents.  In fact, Aaron and Theodosia were invited to family Christmas with all of your siblings and their families in South Carolina. Theodosia excitedly said yes before anything else came out of Aaron’s mouth (“I’ve never been out of the state before!”) was her logic, and she and Charlotte went off on a tangent about how beautiful the family’s house was.

        Aaron pulled you aside after your parents had left for their hotel on Thanksgiving night and the girls were playing in Charlotte’s room. He pressed you against the counter in the kitchen, just out of sight of your daughter’s bedroom and started to kiss you, which you met with eagerness, wrapping your arms around his torso as his hands weaved their way into your hair. You become breathless, but don’t want to back away, but your lack of oxygen wins and you turn your head slightly to the left as Aaron continues, placing a few more kisses on your burning cheeks and along your jawline. He pulls back enough to connect his forehead with yours, with his amazing smile shining at you. 

        “You really wowed my parents,” you say after a moment, not moving.

        “I hope so. I’m extremely wowed by their daughter, so it’s only fitting that I try my hardest to be impressive,” he replies, placing another kiss on your cheek. “I know I just kissed you a dozen times, but I think I need another dozen before I move again.” A laugh escapes your lips at this confession and you were about to comply when you heard a loud cough from behind Aaron. He turns his head to look over his shoulder as you lean over to gaze around him and standing in the kitchen are two young girls. A blush instantly covers both your face and Aaron’s, but neither of you move from your position.

        “Dad,” Theodosia starts. “I know what I want for Christmas now.” Before Aaron has a chance to ask what it is, she continues with a smirk on her face. “I want Miss Y/N and Charlotte to move in with us.” Your eyes widen and Charlotte chimes in,

        “Oh that’s what I want too! Forget the Switch, I wanna move in with Theo and Mister Aaron!”

        “Uhm,” you try to find words to say anything.

        “That’s something Miss Y/N and I would need to discuss by ourselves.” Aaron tries to reason with the girls, but they seem a bit disheartened, ready to argue their case more. 

        “We do appreciate the support, though,” you add. “We’re very glad that the two of you are happy with us being together romantically.” The girls both nod, and notice that neither you nor Aaron are moving away from each other, and silently decide to skip back off to the bedroom. A few more moments pass before you let a giggle escape your mouth. Aaron starts to chuckle shortly after, placing his forehead on your shoulder. 

        “I can’t - I can’t believe that they decided to spring that on us now,” you say in between your laughter and needing to take deep breaths. 

        “Man, they are too smart for their own good,” he adds, lifting his head up again to make eye contact. “In all honesty, though. I would not be opposed to the two of you moving in, in fact I think it would be great.” Your face flushes red completely, and Aaron mistakes your silence for disagreement, starting to back away slowly. “If you don’t want to, I completely understand-” He reasons with you, nervously. You reach out and place your hand on his forearm, trying to ground him with a soft smile. 

        “The lease on this apartment is over at the end of January. I can send in my intention to not renew it next week.” A wide grin overcomes your boyfriend’s face. “I think it would be amazing as well.”

        “I love you, Y/N.”

        “I love you, too.”

***********************************

        On Black Friday, you’re back at work. Aaron volunteered to take the girls for the day so they’re off on their own adventure, along with your parents of course. Their flight doesn’t leave until 10 that evening, so they’re going to use as much time as they can with family. Lauren absolutely rocked the Thanksgiving rush, and it gave you another reason to start trusting your staff more. Today, you let Lauren take the lead and you act as oversight, confident that it’s going well. Typically Black Friday is not as popular of a Friday for your cafe as normal, but you make sure your staff is prepared to be as quick as possible. The barista on staff is the best one, and your host and wait staff are on fire. It’s a good day. Eventually you hear your daughter and Aaron’s daughter chatting away cheerfully in the dining room. When you walk out of the kitchen to see them standing there, with Aaron in tow, your heart starts to melt. 

        A cry of “Mama!”, “Miss Y/N!” and “Y/N”, ring in your ears as your face breaks out into a smile. When you reach the three of them, you’re engulfed in a group hug, but you’re able to greet Aaron with a kiss. 

        “Are y’all having a good day so far?”

        “So far?” Charlotte asks, “Mama, it’s 6:45, the day is almost over for us.” Your eyes widen as you start frantically looking around for a clock to verify the time.

        “It can’t be that late,” you respond, still looking around. Understanding what you’re searching for, Aaron chuckles, gaining your attention. He holds out his right wrist, which has a watch attached to it. Sure enough, it was a quarter ‘til seven. 

        “But that means I’ve been here ALL day. I’ve spent 13 hours here…” 

        “You haven’t done that in a while,” you hear John coming up behind you. He places a hand on your shoulder. “Lauren’s about to head home, but Evan’s got the kitchen handled until closing. Why don’t we all sit down and have dinner?” Your parents agree without leaving room for disagreement. 

        For the longest time, Peggy was the one addition to the family that you were used to. The one that your parents loved like a daughter, and the one you loved like a sister. It thrilled everyone when she and John started dating, and it wasn’t something that no one saw developing- it was pretty obvious the relationship would appear sooner or later. In fact, you had total confidence that the two of them would eventually get married… even if John was taking his time in proposing.

        “Now John,” your father says in the tone that implies exactly where the conversation is going.

        “Here we go,” you whisper under your breath. When Theodosia and Aaron look at you quizzically, and your father does the same, Charlotte explains the outburst.

        “Every get together Grandpa asks Uncle John when he and Aunt Peggy are going to get married. Every time, they reply that they don’t know yet.”

        “They aren’t married yet?” Theo replies incredulously.

        “Nope. But their relationship is older than we are!”

        “Wow, that’s old.” Theodosia unironically comments. Charlotte then replies with the comment that you were hoping would be avoided in this dinner, but alas, it never is. 

        “Yeah, that’s why Grandpa asks every time. In a minute Grandma will say that Mama will get married before them at this point.” You let out a laugh at this, hoping that it passes off as non-chalant rather than anxious to get the conversation over with. In previous situations like this you didn’t have a boyfriend so the comment wasn’t awkward, but hearing your child say it like it’s a normal phrase to say in front of her mother’s boyfriend caused a slightly strange feeling.

        “Would ya look at that,” you interject, looking at your parents with a smile on your face. “Y’all have the routine down.” Charlotte makes eye contact with you, and has a grin on her beautiful face. She’s so proud of herself. While your parents busy themselves with the conversation they had planned to have with Peggy and John anyway, Aaron reaches his arm around your shoulder and rests it there. It’s hard to resist leaning into him, so you don’t. Even though family dinners are predictable, you really never saw this relationship coming. It came out of nowhere… but goodness gracious, you love it anyway.

#aaron burr x reader #Hamilton fanfiction #Like a... #Like a... chapter 12

[vldaera]

task .002—

with special thanks for, and featuring, @vldareum​—

JEON AERA ✉ ⇢ manager yes ys i kniw JEON AERA ✉ ⇢ manager ill addition 4 fanny pack outing later :P JEON AERA ✉ ⇢ manager i’m bussy rite now tho ;)  it’ areum time MANAGER ✉ ⇢ jeon aera Busy doing what?! What’s Areum time?! JEON AERA ✉ ⇢ manager s MANAGER ✉ ⇢ jeon aera Aera TT MANAGER ✉ ⇢ jeon aera Aera, why did you send a winky face? Is Areum okay? MANAGER ✉ ⇢ jeon aera Aera please I do not have time for this you are so aggravating JEON AERA ✉ ⇢ manager ;) ;) ;_   MANAGER ✉ ⇢ jeon aera Aera!!

Aera’s not so mean that she leaves their manager on delivered when she knows she’s probably gonna bust a nerve; no, she chooses to leave her on open, instead, so she knows she’s at least alive. Because for tonight, she has planning to do.

Phase One of Operation: Surprise the Socks Off Areum is long since over and was a huge success. Phase One is the simplest part: text Areum to come over tonight for another Star Wars marathon. They never got to the sequels.

Phase Two is the thick of it: cook a fancy dinner fit for a princess, hire a masseuse to pamper both of them in— ahem— Aera’s brand new(!) apartment, turn on absolutely any movie of Areum’s choice, give each other mani/pedis, and then end the night with giving her sister a woven bracelet that Aera personally made for Areum herself.

Phase Three: catalogue every second of it on her phone and watch the look on her sister’s face.

Ha. And Areum thinks it’s just going to be Star Wars.

It’s a bit of a thank you, in a way, for her sister to know that Aera really appreciates her, and also to let her know that Aera’s doing just fine, thank you very much, living alone. Sure, it gets lonely sometimes, but besides Areum, Naeun comes over! And Saeun! And Hamin! And... that’s pretty much it...

Clowns! One time Aera hired a clown to come and entertain her while she cried on the sofa over a stupid romantic comedy. It was sorta funny to watch how obviously uncomfortable the clown was ‘cause she paid him double to leave a kid’s party early to keep her company. He wasn’t expecting one of the members of one of the nation’s top girl groups to be sprawled out on the floor with a bottle of wine, she doesn’t think, but whatever. As you can see, she’s having the time of her life.

“Okay, let’s do this.”

Step One of Phase Two (that’s right, she’s that organized) is to go figure out what to eat. After their excursion to Tokyo, she’s thinking some miso broth ramen and spicy tuna rolls, so she makes a quick stop by the market to go pick up some seaweed and fish. She has a plan and everything; she’s gonna cut up some seaweed to say “I Love You, Areum!” and stick it in the broth like alphabet soup. It’s gonna be so cute—

Hey, what’s that? Bunnies for adoption??!! Ohmigod no way!!!

Aera hasn’t ever whipped a car into a parking lot so fast. Ten minutes and 40,000 KRW later, she drives home with a bag full of seaweed and fish and the newest addition to the family, John Brad Crumb. She’s pulling away when she realizes 1) she made a HUGE typo on the iPad, 2) both “John Brad Crumb Jeon” and “Jeon John Brad Crumb” are stupid names, and 3), though it came with the intention of paying homage to her fans, with Aera’s Earthshine nickname being John Area, she’s effectively just named a rabbit after herself.

But hey, the adoption certificate says John Brad Crumb, so that’s what he is.

She pulls into her apartment and the elevator dings to the top floor. It’s only recently that she managed to unpack, so she unloads all the groceries into the fridge and puts the rice in the cooker, then gets to work dedicating a sizable corner of her living room for John Brad Crumb. One could call it John’s area.

One thing to note about Aera is that what can go wrong, will go wrong, but it’ll go wrong with a flourish and probably fireworks, too. The cage is actually pretty well set up, and she wants to do this cute thing where she gives Areum her bracelet by wrapping it around John Brad Crumb’s neck like a collar, and she’s in the middle of doing so when she smells something. Umm... what’s burning?

She rushes to the kitchen and smacks her head when she realizes that she forgot to put water in the rice. Now what?

Aera stands there for at least a full solid minute watching the rice as she wonders what her reaction should be. She wonders if it’ll catch fire.

Um, duh.

Fortunately, she keeps a Brita filter in the fridge, and so she begins pouring water on the flames. Really she lucked out, because she manages to put the fire out without the help of the fire department, but her rice cooker is, like, totaled. That’s fine! She’s adaptive. Instead, she decides to cook it manually. She definitely won’t forget the water this time, she thinks smugly as she fills the water almost to the top of the pot. After adding the rice, she returns to the living room...

...only to find that John Brad Crumb has all but gnawed the bracelet to pieces.

“John Brad Crumb-ah! Are you serious?! You are so unaware.”

She lifts the bunny and picks the dangling threads from his mouth, pouting as she witnesses the shreds of what she made with such love and care. Luckily for Aera (and also for John Brad Crumb, whom she’ll forgive eventually because he already means the world to her), it seems to be salvageable? Maybe?

John Brad Crumb fits in the front pocket of her hoodie, so she puts him and some rabbit food in there and returns to the kitchen where the rice has, obviously, boiled over. Cursing, Aera cleans up the mess and tastes the rice that was saved. Well... it’s not bad.

Putting the ramen to a boil, she checks the clock and sees that she’s got a little over an hour before Areum’s supposed to arrive. She fortunately had the hindsight to buy pre-made tare and simmer the broth this morning, so it’s not like she has to simmer things for three hours. but it’s still kinda crunch time.

You know what she just realized? She totally forgot to buy one of those bamboo rolling mats. Printer paper should work... right?

“Let’s do this, John Brad Crumb-ah. For Areummie!”

HHHHHHHHHH OHHHHHH MY GOD ROLLING SUSHI IS SO HARD is what she’d say if there was anyone around to hear her, but there’s not. It’s written clearly across her face, though. The rice is too mushy and also the printer paper keeps falling apart, so it’s kinda... papery rice? Wrapped in nori? Yuck.

It’s kind of a disaster, so she decides that it doesn’t have to be pretty and abandons the paper in favor of trying to hand roll the sushi, which naturally doesn’t work as the sushi falls apart. The result is, like, this weird sushi salad thing that honestly works in the same way that a poke bowl does. Whatever; it’ll have to do. Twenty minutes till Areum gets here.

Turning around, she spoons some noodles into a pot and tastes the broth that she made. Okay, what...? That’s actually super good. Pleased with herself, she dumps in the sauce. But again, this is Aera, and what goes wrong is that, facepalming, she realizes that what she thought was chicken sauce was actually chocolate sauce... ugh...

The whole thing has to be tossed now, so Aera does so quickly and checks the clock. Ten minutes till Areum gets here.

In a last-ditch effort, she throws some instant ramen on the stove and bounds into the kitchen to comb out and rebraid Areum’s bracelet, when her phone pings.

SEOUL THERAPEUTICS ✉ ⇢ jeon aera Jeon Aera-ssi, this is Kim Daeho, owner/operator of Seoul Therapeutics. I am texting to inform you that your masseuse has fallen ill and will be unable to arrive tonight—

(Somewhere, on the other side of town, Kim Daeho, owner/operator of Seoul Therapeutics, feels a chill run down his spine.)

—and, as all other masseurs are booked, I have issued a refund to your account. We apologize for the inconvenience.

Well, she tried. She really did. Sorry, Areum, she really wanted to throw you a big thank-you dinner, but turns out Aera’s actually going into hermitage instead. Would you like to come visit her cave? Oh, please do make yourself at home, don’t mind those scorpions crawling on her bed made out of twigs and sadness...

She stands in the kitchen, contemplating the best mountain beneath which to move all her things, before deciding that she just moved and it would be too much of an inconvenience. The weird chocolate ramen is in the trash. That salad thing is on the counter. The movies aren’t rented, the nail polish isn’t bought, and the bracelet is wearable, but ugly. The instant ramen is literally what they ate everyday for years, and also the weight of John Brad Crumb on her hoodie is starting to hurt her neck. One minute until Areum—

Ding dong!

“Gah! John Brad Crumb-ah, we can’t let her see us like this!”

With a certain kind of determination that only Jeon Aera possesses, she decides to make her grand escape. But the reason it’s Jeon Aera name-brand determination is because it wouldn’t be Aera’s if it wasn’t tinted with just a little bit of recklessness, ‘cause in her attempt to escape the embarrassment, she tries to escape out the front door, where Areum is standing.

“Areummie!”

Her face flushes bright red and she wonders what Areum thinks of the sight before her: Aera, in a hoodie, with a rabbit in her pocket and a ratty bracelet in her hand, covered in chocolate stains and mushy rice and her hair falling out of her bun.

It’s then that she realizes that she probably does know what Areum’s thinking, and that’s why she loves her twin so much in the first place. There’s no one else she’d rather go on this adventure with. No one else would so easily deal with her. Of course her sister wouldn’t judge her for the disaster that was Aera’s poorly planned surprise. Just seeing Areum makes the embarrassment wash away, and Aera gives her a smile. Thanks for being there for me. Thanks for smiling when I’m ditzy instead of rolling your eyes. Thanks for supporting me through thick and thin. Thanks for being the best sister a girl could ask for.

“Thanks for coming, Areummie. Let’s order in some takeout. I’ve got the craziest story to tell you.”

#vldtask2 #vldareum #ic / self para. #veil admins: 400 words will be fine! :) #me: you said 2k words right?

[prairiesongserial]

11.6

John and Val had disappeared into the throng of carnies setting up for that night’s show, but Friday herself didn’t feel a particular inclination to help. She hadn’t yet made up her mind whether or not she hated Johannes and Ezra and their whole operation. Besides, it was hot.

She sat on an empty crate and watched as an outdoor stage took shape on the middle deck of the gigantic steamboat. Tents went up, strings of lights spiraling down their eye-searing red-and-white stripes. Her decision to sit this one out was becoming an uneasy one. Cody had gone off with the actress, Bellamy, to be some kind of courier for the day. And it had been a while since Friday had last caught a glimpse of John or Val among the carnies carrying boxes and wheeling crates. Maybe John was sitting the rest of the day out, too. Could be his knee was bothering him. She sure knew the humidity was bothering her, and she hadn’t been shot lately.

Friday tossed her hair agitatedly. Her curls weren’t behaving today, or very much at all, lately. She needed a haircut.

Friday finally spotted Val among a dozen carnies raising what had to be the main tent. Friday stared at it, transfixed, for a moment. Every time she thought she understood the size of the tent, another hidden pleat in the fabric was pulled taut. By the time the carnies had finished their work, the tent was so large that the tentpoles strained against the deck rails on three sides. The gulf air whipped the tent dangerously, threatening to send it out to sea like a sail sans boat.

The circus wasn’t alone on the deck; an odd mix of people had gathered to watch the circus set up. Apparently this steamboat, rich as it was, was just another place a citizen of Everglades City might take a walk on a hot afternoon. Locals with sun-leathered faces gossipped with their friends and the uniformed security. The security - that’s what they had to be - attracted all Friday’s attention. They wore white linen cut in a severe enough style that the apparel was recognizably a uniform, despite everything else about their appearance being casual. Friday watched one of them, a big, hairy-chested man who wore his uniform shirt open, loudly laugh and slap Johannes on the back.

Val soon found her. He was out of breath and drenched in sweat, which wasn’t a bad look on him. Friday passed him her canteen, which he eagerly gulped down.

“It’s hot,” he said, unnecessarily.

“You’re wearing too much,” Friday said. She gestured to the rest of the circus. Those who had been wearing shirts at the beginning of the day had lost them, or were at least down to their undershirts. By contrast, Val wore long sleeves and long pants, both black. Still no collar, though. It had been days since she’d last seen him wear it. It gave her the feeling they were just about due for a summer storm.

“You would say so,” he said gruffly, nodding to her. Friday examined her outfit. It wasn’t so revealing as all that She had bought the dress in New Orleans, not used to the wet heat of the southeast. Straps thinner than her pinky finger supported a plunge neckline - but that didn’t count as revealing. Plus her hemline ended just above the knee, which more than made up for it.

She frowned and glanced around the empty and half-emptied crates scattered at her feet. An opportunity to shrug off the slight leapt out at her.

“It’s true!” Friday sighed. “I’m underdressed.”

She stood theatrically from her crate and wandered over to an open box of wigs - from the look of them, the wigs for burlesque and clowning were stored together. Friday picked one up, a red yarn wig with wire in the pigtails, which held them at a jaunty angle. She dipped her head to put on the clown wig, then snapped up. Her back twinged - a reminder she was old, and therefore had to stretch before acting cute.

Val raised his eyebrows at her. Friday tilted her head this way and that, the pigtails bouncing on their wires.

“What do you think? Should I add this one to the regular rotation?” Friday asked, smiling toothily at him.

“You’re deranged,” Val said. He tried to take a drink from her canteen again before remembering it was empty. He slowly screwed the top back on. There was no hint of a smile on his face. Usually he’d give her something, out of the priestly obligation not to be a jackass, even if he didn’t think she was funny.

Friday squatted over the box of wigs. The pretty ones were on mannequin heads labeled with names - except for a short blond wig labeled “spare.” Friday swapped the clown wig for the real one. As the carefully styled locks of curled blond hair fell over her cheeks and the back of her neck, she felt a wave of relief. She hadn’t known how much she’d missed her silly powder blue wig, how awful it had really felt to catch her reflection and think “It’s fine. It’s good enough,” before turning away, day after day. Feeling little better than okay about her hair didn’t hold a candle to this.

Friday shook her head, making the blond curls bounce.

“I might keep this one,” she said as she wandered back over to Val. “This one has class.” Friday took his hand in hers, using him as leverage to step up onto the crate she had been sitting on. She delicately let Val’s hand fall, getting into character as she posed. “This one belongs to an upper echelon Hemisphere wife, don’t you think?” she drawled. “Why, this wig could go to cocktail parties...on the arm of a very important man who does terrible things.”

Friday waited for Val to scold her for being awful - and she was being awful. She would have been ashamed of herself if John or Cody had been around to hear.

Val simply said, “Yeah.”

Friday had been all ready to pout at whatever appeal for propriety Val had in hand, and so she was put off-balance by his utter lack of reaction. Something was wrong with him. Granted, she hadn’t felt so sunny herself about the hours they’d spent in a truck bed that morning, but no reaction at all?

A sharp whistle right next to her ear drew her attention away from Val for a moment. The preparations for the show were loud, but the whistler happened to be at the railing just a few feet away from Friday and Val. It was one of the uniformed security, a woman holding a clipboard. She had the attention of another woman in the same lightweight linen uniform, this one holding an ice cream cone. Friday wanted an ice cream cone. Somehow, whoever was selling that ice cream had got it in a red and white pinwheel, just like the circus tents.

The woman with the clipboard barked at the woman with the ice cream to take Miss Bellamy her ticket and seat number for the show. Friday watched with mild interest as the woman with the ice cream made a sound of dismay, gesturing to her ice cream, which was beginning to drip pink splotches onto her wrist.

“Sorry, sugar,” said the woman with the clipboard. “Oh, and better hang around the mansion in case Fleetwood wants to send a return message. I don’t think they’ve filled the courier spot yet.”

“Wait, are you serious? What happened to Adams?”

The woman with the clipboard beckoned the other woman in close. Friday gasped as the woman with the clipboard plucked the ice cream cone out of the other woman’s hand.

“What do you think happened, sugar?” she said, licking a drip up from the bottom of the cone. She flipped the top paper on her clipboard up and held it out. “Ticket and seat number.”

“Man, this sucks,” the other woman said, snatching the proffered paper and passing right by Friday’s nose as she took off down the length of the steamboat. “I used to date Adams.”

“What was that?” Friday hissed to Val, squatting down on the crate.

“What was what?” Val said, raising his eyebrows.

“That prime piece of drama, Val,” Friday said, still keeping her voice low as she watched the woman with the clipboard eat her stolen ice cream. “What happened to Adams?”

“What are you talking about?” Val said. His sharp purple eyes examined her with concern, and Friday felt some of the tension of the last few minutes drain away.

“Those, those bouncers - or whatever they are - were just talking about how something happened to a courier around here,” Friday said. “The courier who used to have Cody’s new job.”

“That’s…”

“That’s worth looking into, is what it is,” Friday interrupted. She sprang up to her feet, taller than him by an inch standing on the box. She paid close attention to how much attention Val was paying to her; his eyes tracked her, that scary, lifeless expression gone for now. “This is a job for you and me: Father Lecter and his beautiful assistant Friday Wilmot, private investigators.”

That may have been a step too far. Friday quickly amended.

“All seriousness, Val, if the last guy who had Cody’s job is missing, shouldn’t we find out why?”

She pouted; Val relented.

“Sure,” he said. “Right, lead the way.”

A wide grin broke across Friday’s face. She took Val’s hand, helping herself down off the crate. This was how things were supposed to be. Whatever was wrong with Val, whether he missed the convent or his shoes were too tight or, just, whatever it was - Friday was giddy with relief that he had rejoined her in the pattern.

“I think we had better grill the ice cream stall for information first, don’t you think?” she said.

“Ah,” Val said, nodding thoughtfully. “Now I see.”

11.5 || 11.7

#story

[doubledeaky]

Saudade

John Deacon x Female!Reader

A/N: Ok, so this really wasn't planned; I am actually supposed to be working on a Brian fic. But I had a really rough night and this just kinda, came out. I guess you could call it a vent, but it embodies everything I felt in the moment. It is very precious to me so, please be kind. I hope you all enjoy, and if you're feeling down, message me. Much love to you all. -macy:)

Summary: Reality is always much harder to face as opposed to the fantasies you create in your mind. Unfortunately, the time has come for you and John to feel the pain of loss and the beauty that always grows from it. 

Word Count: 2,608 words 

Warnings: cursing and general angst, the big sad :’(

saudade

/souˈdädə/ noun: a Portuguese word that describes a nostalgic feeling to be near again to something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and then lost; “the love that remains”

There was no logical way around it, you’d both been trying to keep it together. For the last three months, the two of you had been desperately attempting to glue the remnants of what was once a loving, two-year relationship back together. Unfortunately, the effort was proving fruitless, but you both refused to admit that. The pain the truth would bring was something neither of you could accept. Two years is a long time, it’s the lifetime you share with John, but something had driven a stake right down its middle, severing you from him. He was so distant, so hard to reach and the same could be said for you. The only difference being that John could grin and bear it, as long as you were physically here. You, unfortunately, felt as if you were being eaten. The permeating silence, the hollow touches, the cold stares; it wasn't the love you had known, it wasn't the love you cared to know. The problem was, how could you fix this?

It took much consideration on your part, John still casually wallowed in the fragments of your relationship. After two weeks, you'd decided. After a month, you acted. Sadly, your idea of repair was to move back home for an extended period, focus on yourself away from John, and try to pinpoint where'd you gone wrong and how to avoid this mistake in the future. It would be painful, and John would most likely consider it a breakup, but your mind was screaming, and this was the only thought that shut it up. You’d been seeing the world through the thick lenses of rose-colored glasses, it brightened the grays and muted the reasons for you to go. It was time.

John was making it hard to actually begin the process. He still did the things that made him John. He continued to display the reasons you’d fallen so deeply in love with him before he reminded you of why you'd be leaving. It was a constant game of hot or cold and you were losing. You decided on a Thursday evening to tell him, and the weather could not have clashed with the occasion more. It was sunny, the sweet smell of flowering dogwood trees permeated throughout the spring air. It was John’s favorite time of year, yours too, though it may not be after today.

The walk home seemed hours long, your feet dragging sluggishly against the pavement a clear indication of your hesitance. You dreaded having to eventually climb the brick stairs of your flat, turn the rusty brass knob, and break John’s heart. You knew it would crush him, it would take him time to understand and that was time you didn't have. You had already wasted so much fighting this seemingly never-ending battle. The familiar red door of your flat appeared in your line of sight, and you took a deep breath before climbing the stairs and entering your home, the home you hoped to always share with him. 

John was quietly napping on the couch, indicative of a rather long day at the studio. You grinned, all previous intentions disappearing for a beautiful yet fleeting moment as you took in his sleepy state. He looked so peaceful, he looked like himself and it saddened you to know you hadn't seen him this way in a good while. You sat on the cushion next to his head, brushing a silky strand of hair away from his face. He stirred before waking up slowly, surprising for a notorious heavy sleeper such as John. He grinned when he noticed you were sat next to him and sat up to place a soft kiss to your lips. Before, you would have relished in the simple gesture. Now, it made you shiver. The touch felt empty and cold, high in contrast compared to the warm Spring day. You both sat silently for a moment, both pretending the great expanse between you didn't bother either one of you in the slightest. Your mind began to scream again, and you visibly grimaced, rubbing your temples in an attempt to alleviate the pressure. John placed a hand on your thigh, an action that used to hold so much purpose but was now dead weight atop your leg. You faced him, the beginnings of tears pricking your tired eyes. You gripped his hand, trying to revive the warmth, but felt nothing. You sighed, looking into his noticeably worried face, dreading the words that would soon fall from your lips.

“I have to tell you something. Even though I have a feeling you already know.” The statement was convoluted and vague, John’s confused expression was indicative of that. He furrowed his arched brows and shook his head “no.”

“I’m not sure I do.” He laughed, a heavy tinge of anxiety in his voice though he was attempting to border on nonchalance. 

You exhaled, your heart twitching and wrenching with each breath, as if someone was trying to squeeze every drop of blood from the organ. Your mind continued to scream, begging you to tell John the unfortunate truth.

“I’m leaving.”

The words were heavy and pained. Judging by John’s reaction, they had hit him like a ton of bricks. He visibly flinched, taking his hand from your thigh almost instinctively. Your heart began to fall in your tight chest and you momentarily considered backpedaling, but your mind begged you to persist.

“What’d ya mean?” He sputtered, the darting motions of his grey eyes indicating he was trying hard to form coherent sentences.

“I’m leaving for a while. I’m moving back home.” You stated simply, trying to make this conversation as pain-free and casual as possible.

“Why?” He gaped, eyes glossy under the living room light. He was making this hard, ideally you hoped he wouldn't ask questions, but this situation was less than ideal, and you should have better prepped for the repercussions your words carried.

“If I don’t, I might go crazy.” You mumbled, afraid to meet his gaze.

“I don't understand, Y/N.” He said, his head nodding from the aftershocks of disbelief.

“I wasn’t expecting you to, John. But I know you feel it too. Things between us have changed so much and it’s driving me mad. I have to get away.” You said, sobs threatening to overtake your speech. John was still dumbfounded, but fury clouded his eyes.

“So, essentially, you're leaving me?” He hissed, venom laced within each word and every syllable. You were afraid he'd assume that.

“No, John, I’m not leaving you. I’m just, leaving. I know it’s cliché, but I need to find myself again.” You whispered, knowing your normal speaking voice would betray you.

“Why exactly did you ‘lose yourself’?” He huffed, seemingly annoyed, the air quotes he used stinging unexpectedly.

“Well, when things shifted between us. It threw me off and I felt...alone, even when you were right beside me. To me, it was like you were a ghost and I have a feeling you feel the same.” John shook his head, willing himself to listen instead of flying off the handle.

“I know you feel it too. There’s no way in hell you don't.” You said, almost pleading him to admit the truth to himself. John looked to you, seeming defeated and teary eyed.

“Maybe, but I still don't understand why you have to leave.” He huffed, running a hand through his long hair. You remained silent, there were certainly reasons why, they were just hard to describe vocally.

“Why can’t you do it with me?” He whispered, his head bowed, no doubt to hide bitter tears.

“I don’t really know. It feels like it’s something I have to do alone.” You sighed, heavy and drawn, already exhausted from ten minutes of conversation. John seemed unconvinced, his eyes still sad and brows still drawn.

“If it’s meant to be, John, we’ll find our way back to one another. If not, then know I will always love you. I just have to figure myself out.” You tried to reason, wanting this pain to dissipate faster.

“I can’t fucking believe this.” He mumbled, sitting down in order to avoid fainting.

“We can’t keep on doing this, John. It fucking sucks to admit it, but we can’t.” You whispered, placing a hand on his back, to which he flinched away.

“Why?” He chokes, his hand covering his reddened face.

“You know why, John. It’s killing us.” He seemed to find that funny, laughing incredulously, his eyes visibly blood shot as he turned to you.

“But it’ll kill me if you leave.” He mumbled, hands finding yours, still unbearably frigid. You remain still and when John wraps his shaking arms around your shoulders, you break, crying into the material of his jumper.

“I wish we could stay this way forever.” John smiled sadly, his words muffled into the crook of your neck, noticeably strained with tears. You wanted to remain this way, so bad, but you couldn’t. You knew that, John knew that, but it was still hard to say it aloud.

“We can’t. You have to realize that now, it'll make things easier.” You whispered, eyes stinging with hot tears, hands still clutching the material of his woolen jumper.

“I don’t want to, I can’t.” He stuttered, face still buried in your neck, desperate to feel you, desperate for the warmth you provided.

“Sometimes, the things we don’t want are the things we need most.” You grinned solemnly, nearly chuckling as you repeated a statement he used so often, tears now trailing over the slopes of your cheeks. He didn’t find it funny, scoffing as he stood up, his lower lip quivering violently.

“This isn’t the end, John.” You tried to reason, but it seemed fruitless now. You’d broken his heart and you felt the dull ache radiate from him in waves.

“Then why does it feel like it is?” Your breath caught in your throat and you had to force a choked sob back down your throat.

“I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers yet. Hopefully, I can find them.” Your voice didn't sound like it belonged to you as you spoke, it was cracked and distorted.

“I can’t lose you.” He whispered, words fractured with sobs and gasps.

“You haven’t.” You cried, standing up to hold him close, to assure him that you're here.

“I have. We both know that. You won’t come back.” He spit, still angry and hurt, untrusting even.

“I will.” You affirmed, gripping his waist tighter, feeling an immense sadness flow within your veins.

“I would have believed you before. Seems like I don’t know anything anymore.” He breathed, harsh and with abandon, wanting you to hurt as much as he was.

“You don’t have to believe me. Just know I don’t break promises.”

“We were gonna end up together, Y/N. I was gonna marry you, have kids with you. Does that mean nothing?” He nearly yelled, voice still choked but angry, red hot and fiery.

“Don’t end it like this, John.” You whimpered, wrapping a protective arm around yourself.

“Thought this wasn’t the end.” He said, condescending but only slightly so.

“It’s not. I just don’t want you to be upset or angry when I’m gone or when I come back.” You explained, biting your lip with an anxious fervor.

“You’re only worried you’ll feel guilty. If I give you my blessing to walk out of my life then you’ll sleep better at night, is that right?” Now he was trying to hurt you, his words were deliberate and crafted to kill.

“No, John. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, and I just don’t want to hurt you. That’s the last thing I want.” You sobbed, your teeth clenching hard, your legs shaking like leaves in the wind.

“It’s too late. Just go, I can’t look at you.” He murmured, still angry but pathetically so, motioning towards the door as he turned away from you. You remained stagnant, trying to find the words that would save this interaction. Words that would remind him you weren't gone forever.

“I love you.” It was quiet, almost silent, but in John’s mind, it was the small glimmer of hope that maybe the tie binding you to him is resilient, refusing to give up without a fight.

“Please, don’t leave me alone.” John whispered, his usually soft voice hoarse and scratchy with tears. He thought he might collapse where he stood, the love of his life walking out the door would be one wound too many that day.

You walked up to him and took his hand like you'd done a million times before, and placed a soft, tender kiss to his lips. It was your goodbye without words. You were always a firm believer in actions speaking louder than what you could describe with the known vocabulary, the kiss certainly fulfilled that. John chased your lips, the contact too fleeting for him to remember every minute detail of your touch.

You caressed his face with the sore knuckles of your right hand, his skin damp and cold under your touch. He closed his eyes tight, the lump in his throat choking him. John could only hear his heartbeat and your uneven breathing. He could only feel your gentle touch and the hollow pit in his stomach. Only now was he fully realizing the gravity of the situation, he was losing you, all of you.

 Tears were falling freely and readily down your face and under your chin, eyelashes clumped, and teeth clenched to cage broken sobs. You gripped his hand and decided this was the last touch you would both would share, anything further might convince you to stay. You sniffled and looked into his cloudy, red-rimmed eyes, giving him the semblance of your usually jovial smile.

“I promise I will see you again, and you know I don’t break my promises.” You laughed, a pained expression still plastered on your delicate face.

Your giggle replayed in his mind and he desperately wished he could record the noise. He desperately wished you'd stay so he wouldn’t have to. Your hand released his, and it fell limply to his side. You gripped the handles of your two baby blue suitcases and shuffled slowly towards the door, opening it with a slight sign of hesitance. The afternoon sun poured in through the door, surrounding you in a halo of light, almost like an angel returning to a heavenly paradise.

You turned your head, giving him one last grin and a soft nod, then retreated into the light. John watched with teary eyes and sunk to the floor once the pearly gates had closed, surrounding him in darkness once more.

And like the last blood-orange streaks of the setting sun, you were gone. In a flash of light, you had dissipated, all at once, almost blinding him. So fast, if he had blinked, he would have missed your retreating silhouette. The moon loomed over him now, but it brought no peace or comfort, only a dimly lit reminder of what he’d lost. Now, you were climbing over another horizon, ready to return to him in the dawn and bath him once more in the warmth of your sweet embrace.

When dawn would come, John didn’t know, and maybe that was the most painful part. What he did know, was that cold nights don’t last forever, and eventually, the sun would rise over him again someday. No matter how long, he’d be watching for you, patiently awaiting the day your ethereal light would break the dark horizon and illuminate his world once again in an orange glow.

A/N: I was straight up crying while finishing this. So, giver her some love as compensation for my pain and suffering. -macy:)

-read my other fics here!

permanent taglist: @rogerrainbowtaylor @queenbbarnes @deakyfordays @reddiefreddieee (if you’d like to be added, let me know!)

#john deacon #john deacon imagine #john deacon x reader #john deacon x you #queen #queen band #queen imagines #angst #doubledeakywrites

[starrystarrybabe]

Oh, How the Mighty Fall [In Love] CHAPTER EIGHT (Ben Hardy x OC)

Lily Anne Mercury is brought in to help with Bohemian Rhapsody at the request of her Uncle Bri and Uncle Rog, and along the way, she might meet someone to share her life with. The only problem with this is that while their friends and the world can see that they’re perfect for each other, they’re going to be fully blind to this for a while. 

CHAPTER ONE, CHAPTER TWO, CHAPTER THREE, CHAPTER FOUR, CHAPTER FIVE, CHAPTER SIX, CHAPTER SEVEN

DISCLAIMER: I’m fully aware that it would’ve been physically impossible for Jim and Freddie to have a child even with this method during the time they were alive, but the idea of Freddie as a dad and the idea of how his child would turn out to be was just too sweet for me to not write.

Hey, everyone! Apologies for the slightly altered formatting, the option for the lines isn’t currently available on tumblr and I am confused. If you could help me figure this out, I’d appreciate it. Thank you!

-- casey

TRIGGERS: explicit sexual content (18+ only please!)

~

FACECLAIMS:

Kelly Gale as Lily Anne Mercury

Sira P. Kante as Ezichi Adebayo

Erika Linder as Bronwyn Ryan-Hughes

Bree Kish as Madigan Ryan-Hughes

Sonakshi Sinha as Anusha Laghari

~

LILY’S DRESSES

~

Lily is howling in laughter as she watches comedienne Anusha Laghari’s comedy special on Netflix. It is filled with jokes about growing up Indian, dealing with white people, and being in the comic industry as a woman of color. She’s currently talking about how she’s being described as the “brown John Mulaney,” but nothing about that man is remotely like herself, as much as she likes John Mulaney.

“The man is from a bloody Catholic household and walks around like he’s taking up too much space. I don’t have anything in common with that. The only thing that’s similar about us is that we both get massive paychecks,” Anusha says, grinning as the audience cheers. “I’m alright with the success rate being similar, but I am my own person, and not any version of anyone else. It’s been a wonderful show here in Radio City, and thank you so much for coming out to see me! I love you all! Good night, New York!” Anusha blows kisses to the crowd before the screen fades away to the end credits.

Lily met Anusha when they were both very young, and the pair were in the same Indian dance class. Jer would drop her off, and the Indian mothers would look at her curiously, but not say anything.

Needless to say, the fact that she was only half Indian was very noticeable when Jim’s pale complexion and cable-knit sweaters clashed with the brown women and colorful saris he was surrounded by.

Lily had practically no friends in that class except for Anusha, who told off some mothers and walked over to Lily when she was crying. She was always there for Lily, even though her mother didn’t exactly approve of the life Lily lived. When she saw how dedicated Jim was to taking care of his daughter and helping her experience her culture, she gained respect for him and practically adopted Lily as her own daughter, bringing her along to family occasions and constantly allowing the girl to sleep over with Anusha, and vice versa. Jim would sit with Anusha’s family at recitals and smile as his little girl twirled around stage with her best friend.

Anusha was always funny. Comedy made sense for her. She struggled for years, moved to New York, booked strange hours and worked under sexist bosses to make her name in the industry. Now, she’s one of the biggest names in comedy. Lily couldn’t be prouder of her childhood bestie.

Lily calls her friend, catching her breath. Anusha picks up immediately.

“Hello, Lily!” she cheerily says. “How was the special?”

Lily wipes a tear from her eye. “Darling, you’re so talented. I’m so proud of you. Also, my stomach hurts from laughing so damn hard.”

Anusha lets out a laugh. “Thanks, Lily! You’re the best, mate. I’m so glad you like it.”

Lily sighs and pets Reykja, who jumps up onto the couch. “It was amazing, darling. I’m so proud to call you my friend, and I know that Jim is smiling at you as we speak.”

Anusha quiets, letting out a small sigh. “Lily… stop it, don’t make me cry. You know I loved Jim more than anything. He was the absolute best. I’m so proud to call you my friend. Your latest album is a hit, and you’ve got a gorgeous blonde man pining over you. Now, if I were you, I would have immediately dragged him to bed, but--”

“Can’t I be nice without you making things filthy?” Lily scoffs, shaking her head. “You don’t even like blondes.”

Anusha laughs. “You’re right. But I have an interest in one of your blonde boy’s friends.”

She raises a brow. “Gwil is taken and so is Rami.”

Anusha huffs. “I know, Lily! You think I didn’t do my research? I like Joe.” She takes a deep breath. “Joe seems really nice, and he’s very cute and talented. I looked online, and I didn’t see anything about him having a girlfriend.”

Lily smiles. “He’s single.”

Anusha lets out whoops and hollers of joy. “Yes! Could you get me his number? I really want to talk to him.”

“You’re in New York right now, aren’t you?”

“Yep! I’m coming back to London tomorrow,” Anusha says.

“He’s in New York as we speak. I can tell Joe to meet you somewhere tonight.”

Anusha nervously laughs. “Lily, babe… I’m in sweats and my hair is greasy enough to sustain a fire. I can’t meet anyone like this.”

Lily nods. “I get it. I’ll ask him if he’d be interested in meeting you, alright?”

Anusha sighs in relief. “That would be great. Love ya, Lily!”

Lily smiles. “Love you too, Nush.”

She hangs up and immediately calls Joe, who picks up after a few rings.

“Hi, Lily! I was just thinking about you!” He sounds kind of drunk. “Sebastian and I are out drinking and one of your songs came on and I screamed ‘That’s my friend!’’

Lily smiles and chuckles. “That’s very sweet of you, darling. I appreciate it.”

“I also told everyone how you and Ben are soulmates,” he continues, giggling.

She holds back anger and sighs heavily. “That’s great, Joe. The world already thought that. I can’t wait to see Ben’s reaction to the news. Can I ask you something quickly?”

Joe laughs. “Sure thing! What is it?”

“Do you know Anusha Laghari? She has a comedy special on Netflix,” Lily begins.

“Of course I know her! I love her stuff! She’s also super pretty,” Joe says happily.

Lily smiles. “She’s my best friend from Indian dance school, and she wants your number.”

Joe gasps, covering his mouth with his hand. “Me? And her? Lily, you’re joking.”

“I’m not. She told me herself,” Lily says, leaning back on her couch.

“She’s talented and funny and gorgeous and cool, and— and— I’m just a lanky white dude who met Jeff Goldblum once! Why me?”

Lily shrugs. “Because you’re funny and handsome and charismatic and sweet.”

Joe stutters. “Aw, Lily, I’m blushing. Really, she asked for my number?”

Lily nods. “Mhm.”

“Give it to her, and tell her that I’ll text her when I’m not drunk. Thank you so much, Lily!”

“Of course, Joe. Uber home and drink some water, love.”

“Sure thing. Bye, Lily!”

Joe hangs up and Lily texts Anusha Joe’s number, explaining that he’ll text her when he’s sober.

—-

The next morning, Ben looks in the mirror and tries to pep talk himself up, trying on his beanies to see which one works best with his navy blue adidas jacket and black-striped joggers.

“What’s better, Frankie? Yellow or red?” He turns to his pup, who opens one eye and sniffs in the direction of the yellow hat. “Thanks, girl. I’ve got to look good for our walk today. I’m going to ask Lily to go to the Oscars with me.”

Frankie yawns and stretches, standing up and walking to Ben’s feet. Ben leans down and puts the leash on her before checking that he has his phone, keys, and wallet. He puts on his sunglasses and they leave the apartment, walking over to his car.

They drive to Garden Lodge and Ben parks next to Lily’s G-Wagon. The gate is already open, since Ben and Lily do this joint dog walk five times a week and Ben arrives at the same time every time they do it.

“I think the garden is pruned well enough,” Ben comments, watching as Lily meticulously goes through a patch of yellow flowers looking for weeds.

Lily looks up at him and takes off her filthy gloves and large sun hat, shaking out her hair. “I saw some weeds earlier this morning, so I decided to do something about it.”

Ben smiles as Frankie licks Lily’s cheek, and Reykja runs out of the doggie door to meet her friend. Frankie barks happily and Rey yips in return, playing with the other pup.

Lily picks up the end of the leash attached to Rey’s harness, standing up and looking up at Ben.

“Ready to go?” He asks.

“Yep!” Lily responds, walking alongside Ben and locking the gates after they exit. As they walk out of the driveway, they see two teenagers pasting notes to Freddie on the wall.

They spend ten minutes with the excited teenagers who fawn over Frankie and Rey, explain how much they love Queen and Room 301, and get selfies with both of them.  After the kids leave, Lily smiles up at Ben.

“They were more interested in you than me, you know. BoRhap made a difference,” she says, smiling as they begin the walk to the park a half mile away.

Ben nods. “I know. But they’re getting into your music as well because of the movie, so it’s not just Queen that’s thriving.”

She nods. “I just hope the Academy acknowledges all of that. Rami deserves to win, and BoRhap deserves all the awards it’s up for.” She chuckles. “I have a feeling I might be a little biased though.”

Ben looks down and lets out a little laugh. “I don’t mind. Actually, on that note, I’d like to ask you something.”

Lily bites back a smile and looks up at Ben. Is he going to do what she thinks he’s going to do? “Of course! What is it?”

Ben takes a deep breath as the dogs sniff the base of a tree, and gathers all his courage. “Would you like to go as my plus one to the Oscars?”

Lily’s eyes light up and her smile brightens the gray London sky. “I’d love that, Ben!”

Ben grins back at her, releases a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, and Frankie looks up at her dad, wagging her tail. “That’s great!”

Lily walks alongside Ben, and she laughs, shaking her head. “You looked nervous for a second, Ben.”

Ben feels a cold drip of sweat coming down his forehead and his face burns. “Huh? I’m not nervous. Why would I be nervous?”

Lily looks up at him and raises a brow. “I could’ve said no.”

Ben looks down, laughing nervously. “I mean, you could’ve, and gone with Joe again.”

She scoffs. “Even then I ended the night with you, Ben.”

Ben nods, smiling. “Yeah…”

She shrugs. “Besides, I practically set him up with my friend.”

Ben grins at her excitedly. “Seriously?”

She nods. “Mhm. You know the comedienne Anusha Laghari?”

Ben nods, grinning. “Of course! How do you know her?”

“She was my best friend as a child. We went to Indian dance school together as children.”

Ben nods, impressed. “Sometimes I forget that you know so many famous people.”

She grins. “Another one of my friends was Sean Ono Lennon. Yoko still sends me birthday gifts.”

Ben stops in his tracks. “You’ve met Yoko Ono.”

“Yes, I’ve been to her house for play dates with Sean. He helped me through the loss of my father.”

“Wait.” He waves his hands around in a confused gesture. “Does this mean that you met the other Beatles as well?”

She nods. “I know Paul and Ringo. I met George briefly when I was a baby but I don’t remember.”

Ben shakes his head as he continues walking. “That’s… how are you so nonchalant about that?”

She shrugs. “I was born into this life. It just sort of happened.”

Ben stutters for a minute before taking a deep breath. “Anyways, back to the topic at hand. Joe’s been single for a long time. What makes you think that Anusha can change that?”

Lily nods. “I have a good gut feeling about this, Ben. Also, she’s the one who asked for his number. He’s not chasing after someone who’s uninterested. She’s funny, he’s humble, and it wouldn’t be long distance since she lives in New York at the moment. That makes everything easier.”

Ben raises a brow. “Do you think it will last if it happens?”

She smiles and nods. “The last time I had a feeling this strong about anyone was when Zichi asked me about Gwil. Before then it was for Madi and Bron.”

Ben purses his lips. “You have a pretty good track record then. I trust your judgment. If Anusha is like she comes across in her special, her and Joe will be great together.”

She grins. “What you see is what you get with both of them. I have a good feeling about this.”

They walk along the track in the park in relative silence before Lily speaks up.

“You should wear a white suit jacket.”

Ben looks over at her and raises a brow. “All white?”

She shakes her head. “No. I think it should have a little bit of black, but that with nice dress pants and a pair of black Louboutins? Could be a major look.”

Ben nods, considering her suggestion. “What about sunglasses?”

She smiles, looking up at Ben. “That could be good.”

Ben takes mental notes of that before giving a suggestion of his own. “You should wear a red dress.”

She nods, pursing her lips. “Any particular style?”

He smiles and shrugs. “I think a princess gown would be fitting. After all, you’re the princess of Queen.”

She lets out a little laugh. “I guess I am. I’ll get it with a hoop skirt large enough to fit a person under.”

Ben raises a brow and looks away from her.

Anybody would be lucky to be under Lily Anne’s skirts. He just prays that one day, it could be him.

—-

Lily is corsetted tightly, and leans on the California King sized bed for support. “Fucking hell— holy shit! How much tighter can you go?” She asks the assistants helping her into her red ballgown.

It is heavy, large, has poofy sleeves, and her tits are barely contained by the layered fabric that dips low and squeezes her waist. The skirt looks like the curtain of an opera house, and the fabric is subtlety embroidered. She’s never worn something so grandiose before, but she has a feeling that tonight will be the night Ben admits his feelings to her, so she’s made every effort to look like a goddess.

Her heels are placed on her feet and her loose curls are adjusted before a heavy diamond choker and dangling diamond earrings are put on her. She looks in the mirror and catches her breath, her red lips turning up into a smile.

She’s never been this gorgeous before.

There’s a knock on the door, and she collects her clutch and does final checks on her outfit before opening the door and seeing Ben—

Her breath stops in her throat, because her man is looking so good tonight. That white suit with the black shoes and the perfectly tailored pants— she thinks she’s going to die.

He’s looking at her like she’s God, and in his eyes, she may as well be. Ben has never been struck speechless by how good someone looks before, but both of them are trying to form words as they look over each other.

“I— you— wow,” Ben gets out, shaking his head in awe. “You look amazing, Lily. Truly.”

She smiles and looks him over, adjusting his bow tie. “So do you. I was right to suggest the white tux jacket.” She smiles up at him. “You look stunning, Ben.”

Ben smiles and takes her hand as she exits the room and thanks her assistants. “We both look great. Now we just have to figure out how to transport me to the event so people witness how good I look.” She says, chuckling.

Ben nods, letting out a noise of thought. “You might need to stand.”

She sighs. “The things I do for fashion.”

—-

When they get to the red carpet, they are barraged by people asking if they’re a couple, and they brush off those questions, but a little part in each of them wonders how long it’s been since they could truthfully classify each other as mere friends.

This game they’re playing has to end. They need to admit to each other that they’re so much more than just friends to one another. The tension is thick, and the unspoken truth they both know has to come out of someone’s mouth.

When they leave the interviews and take photos together, Ben’s hand rests on the small of her back, and hers on his shoulder. Paparazzi are screaming about how good they look together, and they don’t respond. They already know that they’d be a gorgeous couple. If only one of them would make a move.

—-

“We’re not allowed in?” Lily Anne asks, raising a brow. “My uncles are performing and we were all a part of Bohemian Rhapsody.”

The guard shakes his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Your seats were taken by other people.”

Lily huffs, and looks back to see her friends nervously pacing, Anusha looking over to see what’s going on.

The rest of the night was going great, and she and Joe have hit it off wonderfully. Everything was wonderful until now.

Lily leans in, lowering her voice. “How much did they pay? I promise I can double it.”

The guard shifts uncomfortably and after a moment says, “One thousand for a whole row.”

She nods, and pulls out two thousand from her clutch. He takes it and nods, stuffing it in his vest pocket. “I’ll be right back, ma’am.”

Lily smiles and nods. “Good choice, darling. We’ll be waiting.” She walks back to her friends and smiles. “Give them a moment to kick the Kardashians out of our seats and we’ll be let inside.”

The whole group grins except for Ben. “How much money did you give him, Lily?”

Lily looks up at Ben. “That’s none of your business, Ben. It doesn’t matter, anyways. We’re in. That’s what counts.”

Ben shakes his head. “How much? I’ll give you the money, because it’s bollocks that you had to pay in the first place.”

Gwil and Joe nod, and Anusha speaks up. “Yeah. Tell us how much it was, and we’ll pay you back for it.”

Lily rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “No. It was pocket change for me, really.” Zichi gives her an impatient and accusatory glare. Lily crumbles under the pressure. “Fine.” She leans in. “Two thousand dollars.”

Joe chokes on his own spit, and Gwil curses in Welsh. Ben looks down at her and places a hand on her shoulder.

“Lily, you did all that for us to get in?” Ben asks.

She nods. “This movie has been one of the most important projects of our lives. It’s brought together you guys in a bond that’s truly unbreakable, my band, and my best friend from childhood. We’re a family, all of us. We deserve to be there when Rami and the movie win the awards it fucking deserves. I can earn back my money. It’s worth it for this.”

They are escorted inside, and sit down, Lily Anne apologizing for her skirt going onto Ben and Joe’s chairs. She stands back up as they sit down and then sits, her skirt covering both their laps. Ben laughs and she looks over at him, frowning.

“Why are you laughing?”

“It feels like I have a blanket on my legs. How thick is the fabric of this dress? How are you even walking around in this? Your legs must be damp.”

She scoffs. “Don’t be stupid, I have ventilation installed in this thing. I can’t have a swampy vagina by the end of the night.”

Joe covers his mouth as he laughs, and Ben snorts, grinning. Anusha is trying to contain herself and failing, and the whole row tries to quiet down as the lights dim. After they settle down, Ben lets out a chuckle and Lily elbows him. Joe snorts and Anusha shakes from containing herself. Then, the music starts.

Nobody is singing louder than them. Adam looks over and blows a kiss to Lily Anne, and she winks back at him, waving to Brian and Roger. The camera pans over to them as they shout along to We Will Rock You. It’s wonderful, and they could care less about what the other people in the audience think about them. This is their moment, and they will bask in it.

Things quiet down as the award show starts, and whenever BoRhap wins an award, they stand up and jump around, hugging one another and cheering loudly. They must be annoying the fuck out of literally everyone else in the audience.

Finally, Rami wins. Lily begins to cry, and Ben hugs her. She carefully angles herself so she doesn’t get any makeup on his pristine white blazer but still enjoys the tight embrace. When he gives his speech, she squeezes Ben’s hand, and he squeezes hers back just as tightly.

The ceremony flies by after that, and while their group mingles with other celebrities, Lily and Ben stick together and make their way into a quieter area of the auditorium.

“Four out of five isn’t bad,” he says, smiling. “I think Freddie would be proud.”

Lily laughs. “He’d be proud regardless of if BoRhap won all of the categories or none of them. You all worked so hard on this film, and it showed. He knows you tried your best, and it was done with love. It was worth the time it took to develop the project. Tonight is merely proof of that.”

Ben smiles at her. “I’ve never seen you so happy before, watching Rami win.”

She shrugs. “Rami deserved that. He became Freddie, and that takes a lot of talent and hard work to be someone that big. I’m so proud of all of you. You did a glorious job.” Lily takes a moment. It’s time to say it. “There’s only one thing that could make this night even better.”

Ben raises a brow and looks down at her. “What would that be? I’d be happy to provide it if I can.”

She purses her lips, taking a deep breath. “We’re close friends, you know that as much as I do.”

Ben’s heart skips a beat. “Of course I do. Casual friends don’t just go to the Oscars or walk their dogs together.”

Lily nods. “Casual friendship doesn’t usually involve quitting cigarettes together or buying out Indian restaurants either.” She looks up at Ben, who’s looking at her with a knowing look. “I think we both know that we’re not just close friends, either.”

Ben presses his lips together, and nods slowly. “I think we’ve known that for a while now.”

“I care more deeply for you than I have for anyone else in my life, and I felt that way almost immediately after meeting you. I knew those feelings were true after you threw away your pack of cigarettes and vowed to help me quit one of our worst habits.” Lily speaks slowly and clearly, and their gaze could not be separated by anything going on around them. “You didn’t kiss me at the Globes because you were afraid of mucking it all up and losing something so precious to you.” She places a manicured hand on his chest and feels his heart pounding. “You’re just as precious to me, Ben. You’re the only man I’m ever going to devote myself to for the rest of my days, and I know that.”

His hands shake as he places one on top of hers, and the other on her waist. He has no words, but none are needed.

“You’re mine, and I’m yours. We knew that a long time ago, but tonight, I’d like to get that confirmation. That would send me over the moon.”

Ben nods and pulls her tightly against him, and in the room full of people, kisses her passionately. It feels like winning that last Oscar to finally have her lips on his, and when she cups the back of his neck with one warm hand, he closes his eyes.

The only thing that matters right now is her. Everything else is drowned out by the sensation of an embrace months in the making.

When she pulls away from him, her eyes are sparkling, and he rests one hand on her cheek, stroking it gently. She leans into him and smiles, red lips quirked into a smile.

“I’ve been waiting to do that for so long…” he admits. “But as much as you deserve gentle loving, tonight I’d love nothing more than to be the man under your skirt.”

Lily smirks, grinning like a cat that got the cream. “I know. Why else do you think this gown is so bloody wide?”

They rush off to find a bathroom stall.

—-

“No luck?”

“I can’t fit in any of these stalls, Ben. The skirt is too wide,” Lily responds, pouting.

Ben sighs deeply and runs a hand through his hair. “Stand in front of a sink.”

Lily’s eyes go wide. “Benjamin Jones, are you serious? Anyone could walk in here and see us!”

Ben nods. “I don’t fucking care. Let them see.”

Lily sighs and looks up at Ben to see if he’s actually serious, and he nods to a sink. She releases a resigned breath and does as she’s told.

Ben promptly ducks under her skirts and taps her thighs, and she spreads her legs to give him room. She’s wearing black mesh panties, and he can see that she’s freshly waxed, with only a tiny bit of pubic hair.

“Oh… you planned for this, didn’t you?” Ben says with a grin.

Lily huffs, her face burning under her foundation. “Well… yes, of course I did! But I didn’t plan for it to happen this publically!”

Ben chuckles and shakes his head, gently kissing her thigh and causing her leg to shake. “Don’t worry, darling. This won’t take long. You’re already soaking wet, and I know what I’m doing.” He kisses further up her thigh, one hand holding her leg firmly in place. “Just relax and let me take care of you.”

She lets a moan and squeezes her eyes shut, gripping the counter. After five minues of Ben’s tongue doing magical things to her clit, he tugs the thin panties aside and strokes her folds with one finger. His hot breath and amazing tongue and finger combined with the tight grip on her thigh-- she knows she’s close.

Just as she’s about to come, Lucy walks in the bathroom, and she clenches up, all chance of orgasm gone. Ben has frozen up too, so Lily is just standing there with his tongue on her clit and his finger inside of her while their best friend has no clue.

“Hi, Lily!” Lucy says, waving to her friend before frowning at her flushed face. “Is everything alright? You’re so red!”

‘I have our mutual friend’s mouth on my vagina. Everything is great.’

“Oh, it’s nothing! The dress is just heavy, that’s all,” Lily tells the blonde woman. “It’s not easy to walk around in.”

Technically that isn’t a lie. The dress is heavy, and she has had to have assistance to walk around at the event.

Lucy nods. “That makes sense. The dress is magnificent, but highly impractical.”

Lily laughs. “Isn’t that true of most fashion, darling?”

Lucy nods. “It is.” She takes a moment and sighs, smiling. “Tonight has been wonderful. I’m sure Freddie is happy.”

Does it feel wrong to think about one’s father while there’s a mouth on your clit and a finger inside of you? Yes. It does.

“Freddie is probably ecstatic right now,” Lily says, grip tightening on the counter as Ben continues slowly.

Lucy laughs. “I’m glad. The boys are celebrating. By the way, where’s Ben?”

‘Under my dress. Pleasuring me with his tongue.’

“I don’t know. He was in the auditorium last I saw him, but—“ Ben hits her G-spot and she has to take a moment. “Ah. Just some period cramps. Sorry.”

Lucy looks over and pats her shaking hand.

“I’m sorry. I have some Advil back at the hotel if you’d like it,” she says.

“I’ll be fine, but thank you, lo—“ Lily kicks Ben when he hits a sensitive spot, and he pulls away, crawling out from under her dress in pain.

Lucy looks amused. “Do you want the Advil, Ben?”

Ben is all flushed and his hair is a mess. There’s red lipstick on his mouth and his pants have dust on the knees from where he was kneeling.

“That would be great, Lucy. Thanks.” He looks down, beet red.

Lily scratches the back of her neck, and Lucy smiles at the couple.

“It was about time you two figured it out. I’m glad you did!”

Lily and Ben mumble their thanks, and Lucy finishes washing up.

“Joe wants to pick up snacks at 7/11 with you, Ben. Lily, Anusha is waiting for you. Come out once you’re ready and we’ll be on our way,” Lucy says. “Congrats!” She calls out as she leaves the bathroom.

Lily helps Ben up and sorts him out, sighing.

“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Ben smiles and kisses her forehead after she cleans up the lipstick. “It’s alright. That was fun.”

Lily smiles at his flushed appearance and kisses him, tasting herself on his lips.

When they leave the bathroom, Brian, having spotted them, gives Roger twenty pounds for losing their bet of whether Lily and Ben would confess to each other tonight.

—

“So we have Sun Chips, Doritos, tortilla chips, queso, and guac. Do we need anything else?” Joe asks, holding some of the items in his arms.

“I think that’s all,” Ben says, only really half engaged in the conversation. He’s still thinking about Lily.

“Is something wrong, Ben? You seem distracted,” Joe asks, frowning.

Ben lets out a little laugh and shakes his head. “No, not at all. I mean, I’m distracted, but it’s not for a bad reason.”

Joe nods, smiling. “I’m glad you and Lily figured it out, really. I’ve been waiting for that to happen for such a long time.”

“Thanks, mate. I appreciate it. How’s Anusha?” He asks, following Ben as they head up to the checkout.

Joe grins. “She’s amazing, Ben. She’s gorgeous, funny, and I’m not uncomfortable around her. We get along really well.”

After they check out, Ben walks back to the Uber with Joe and after they get in, he smiles at his friend. “Do you think you and her could date?”

Joe thinks for a moment before nodding. “I do. I really like her.”

Ben grins. “As long as I’m best man at the wedding, I’ll support you.”

Joe flushes and Ben laughs, and as they head back to the hotel, they bask in their happiness.

—-

“Then Lucy walks in—“

“He’s still under your dress?”

“Yes! So we’re talking and he hits a sensitive spot and I kick him, and he exits the skirt in pain,” Lily finishes, reapplying her mascara.

Anusha cracks up, clapping her hands. “Lily!”

“What?” She looks over at her friend, confused.

“I never took you to be an exhibitionist, but I guess life is full of surprises,” Anusha comments, grinning.

Lily rolls her eyes and shakes her head fondly, picking up her nude lipstick. “Shut up. How’s it going with Joe?”

Anusha grins, pausing her makeup routine. “He’s amazing, Lily. I couldn’t have imagined a better person to go to an awards show with.”

Lily raises a brow. “Do you want to date him?”

Anusha nods furiously. “I’m never letting him go, mate! He’s been perfect. Why would I give up that?”

Lily raises her hands in defense. “Alright! Ease up, Nush. I’m glad you like him. He’s a really nice guy, and you two will make a great couple.”

Anusha grins and adjusts her cocktail dress, looking over herself in the mirror. Lily looks over at her and nods in approval, liking the way the dress looks on her. Anusha lets out a satisfied hum and smiles before looking over at her friend’s dress and raising a brow.

“You’re certainly going for easy access tonight, aren’t you, Lily?”

She shrugs and looks in the mirror, turning in her metallic, low cut dress with lantern sleeves and a short skirt, the deep plunging fabric left leaves little to the imagination.

“I didn’t get to come in the bathroom. He has a job to finish,” Lily says, smiling. “After all, now there’s no use in playing coy after what happened earlier.”

Anusha smirks and pats her friend on the back with a knowing grin. “If you can walk tomorrow, I’ll know he didn’t do his job well enough.”

Lily’s suite soon fills up with guests, and the alcohol begins flowing. The boys finally get back from their trip and the snacks quickly become the center of attention, and as Lily heads over to get some guacamole and chips, she feels someone put a hand on her shoulder and turns to see Sarina smiling at her. She hugs the woman and grins.

“How’d you enjoy the ceremony, Sarina?” Lily asks, looking up at the woman.

Sarina grins. “It was wonderful! I loved it. Roger and Brian are very pleased with how everything turned out.” Her grin becomes a smirk. “How did you enjoy the ceremony?”

Lily laughs. “It was great. The boys deserve this, as do Roger and Brian. But I know you’re not asking about that.”

Sarina shrugs. “It was bound to happen and we both know it. Roger had a bet with Brian about it, and he won. He’s ecstatic that you two got together before he’s on his death bed.”

She rolls her eyes. “He certainly has a flair for the dramatic, doesn’t he?”

Sarina lets out a small laugh. “That he does. I’ll leave you to find your man and I’ll go off to find mine. Have a fun time, Lily.”

She kisses her aunt’s cheek and continues walking, and feels a large, warm hand on her hip. She looks up at Ben and smiles, placing her hand on his chest.

He leans down and kisses her cheek. “You certainly chose an easier dress for me to take off of you, didn’t you?”

She smirks and kisses him gently. “I’m glad you like the view, darling. I figured after the hassle of the first dress you deserved something a little more easy access.”

Ben grins and kisses her back, tugging on her bottom lip as he pulls away. She looks up at him with dark eyes, and he raises a brow. “You want to go to your room now?”

Lily sighs, looking down. “We should be a little subtle. Let’s wait a little bit. Once people are drunker, we can slip away and nobody will notice.”

Ben nods, kissing her forehead. “Sure thing, Lil.” He leans in close to her ear and whispers, “I can’t wait to absolutely ruin you.”

Her knees go weak and she looks up at him with a smile. “Was that a threat or a promise?”

Ben smirks and pinches her ass. “It’s whatever you want it to be.”

She raises a brow and grins. “I’ll see you later in my bedroom, Benjamin.” She pulls him down and whispers in his ear. “If I’m able to walk tomorrow, I’ll be upset with you.”

She walks off, hips swaying. Ben’s eyes follow her body, and she grins, feeling him follow her.

Joe is already very drunk, and so is Anusha. They sit together on the couch, leaning against one another.

“We should do karaoke!” Joe exclaims. “Can we get a karaoke machine?”

Anusha gasps and puts a hand on his chest. “We should totally get a karaoke machine. You’re a genius, Joey.”

Joe blushes and grins at her, holding her hand. “Will you sing with me?”

Anusha nods, smiling. “It would be my honor.”

Lily looks over at Ben with a knowing look, and he nods, impressed.

Joe points at Lily. “Call the front desk. We need a karaoke machine, stat.”

Gwil stands up from his place on the couch. “I’ll get it. You stay sitting, Lily.”

Lily smiles at Gwil gratefully and leans back, Ben’s hand resting on her shoulder. She moves closer to him and smiles.

—-

Surprisingly enough, this hotel can provide karaoke machines. Joe hollers as the machine is set up by a level headed Ezichi.

Anusha looks over at Lily. “You should do it!”

Lily chuckles. “What song do you propose I perform?”

Joe grins as he looks at her. “Another One Bites the Dust.”

Anusha nods enthusiastically and she nods, smiling. “I’ll appease you drunken idiots.”

“I’m not an idiot!” Anusha insists.

“I’m not drunk!” Joe adds, pouting.

Ben snorts in laughter and Lily shakes her head fondly before standing up when Gwil cues up the song and hands her the microphone.

Her performance is captivating. The dress combined with her moves, and the eye contact she makes with the rest of the group as it continues is amazing. She ends up on Ben’s lap, with her hands resting behind his neck and his own on her waist. She feels his trousers getting tighter in the crotch and smiles at the good work she’s done. The crowd cheers her on and she stands to bow, and walks off to the kitchen. She’s intercepted by Roger, Sarina, Brian, and Anita, and hugs her family.

“Turning in for the night?” She asks.

Brian smiles and ruffles her hair. “We’re too old to party like this. The rock and roll lifestyle isn’t meant for the elderly.”

She grins and kisses his cheek. “Well thanks for coming anyways. I appreciate it.”

Anita smiles and hugs her niece. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The couple leaves after saying goodnight, and after Sarina exits the room, Roger presses a small plastic square in her hand. She looks down at the condom and back at her uncle, pressing her lips together. Roger grins and ruffles her hair, kissing her forehead before leaving the room. She sticks the condom in the waistline of her dress and walks back to the kitchen, where she pours herself a glass of water.

She feels hands on her waist and breath on her neck and smiles, closing her eyes. “How’d you like my performance, Benny?”

Ben’s grip on her waist tightens. “I think everyone is drunk enough.”

She turns in his arms and presses her hips against his own, looking up at him demurely. “Promise to make me scream, Hardy?”

Ben leans down, eyes darkening. “That would be detrimental to your career if we make that a habit, y’know.”

She shrugs. “I know. I’m sure hickeys all over your neck and chest would be detrimental to yours as well. I suppose these can be our mutual indulgences.”

Ben smirks and rests on hand on her cheek, brushing back a curly strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m happy to oblige your desires, and wish for you to do as you please with me.”

Lily leans in, placing one hand on his chest. “What are we waiting for then? I have so many plans for you.”

The two of them walk into the bedroom and lock the door, and Lily pulls out the condom. Ben looks amused.

“Roger’s gift,” she explains, smiling as she throws the condom onto the nightstand.

Ben grins and pulls her close, kissing her and gripping her hips tightly in his big hands. She wraps her arms around the back of his neck and leans into him, jumping up to hitch her thighs around his waist. He supports her weight effortlessly, and his hands cradle her ass.

“I’ve been waiting so long for this to happen,” Lily says when they pull apart, catching their breath.

She gasps as Ben pushes her against the wall. “I’ve been attracted to you since the day I met you.” He begins sucking kisses down her neck. “When I saw you with Joe at the Golden Globes, I was so angry with myself.”

Lily moans and fists Ben’s hair. “Why were you mad? You’re the one who asked him to take me.”

Ben grinds into her and looks up at her, pushing her dress off her shoulders to reveal her chest. “Because you looked gorgeous, and you could’ve been my date. But I was an idiot who was too scared to ask you.” He kisses down her collarbones, leaving angry red marks all over. He relishes in her little sounds, and the cursing, and his name being said like a prayer. “I could’ve been doing this to you before the show if we had figured ourselves out sooner. You’d barely be able to walk on the red carpet, leaning on me for support. Everyone would know why you’d be unstable, since you don’t drink. The headlines would be proclaiming how filthy of a couple we are.”

Lily gasps as he nips her breast. “Do you always talk this much during foreplay, or am I just a lucky woman?”

He grins and looks up at her flushed face. “You like it?”

She nods, pupils dilated. “So much. Please don’t stop.”

He raises a brow. “Not even to finish eating you out?”

“...I can make an exception.”

He moves her to the bed and finishes what he started in the bathroom.

---

She spends five minutes composing herself before shakily sitting up in bed. Ben is taking off his white jacket, and she clears her throat, leaning against the pillows.

“Ben.”

He turns around to look at her and takes off his jacket. “Yes, love?”

“Let me,” she says, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He sits next to her on the bed and she straddles his lap, beginning to undo his bow tie. She can feel the bulge in his pants and smiles, tossing the tie aside and beginning to undo the buttons. “I’ve got you all worked up, haven’t I?”

He lets out a small laugh and squeezes her hips. “You’ve had me worked up since the day I met you.”

She smiles and finishes unbuttoning his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. He takes off the shirt and she runs her hands over his chest slowly, eventually getting onto her knees and undoing his belt. “I’ve always thought you were very pretty, Ben.” She unzips and unbuttons his pants, and feels his thighs tense up.

“In college my friends and I would talk about our celebrity crushes, and, well…” He helps her take off his pants and slips off his shoes after she unties them. “You were always mine.”

She smiles as he leans down and kicks off his socks, and kisses him, chuckling. “We really have been into each other for the longest time.”

Ben’s breath catches in his throat as she kisses up his thighs, looking up at him. She puts one finger in the waistband of his briefs and looks up at him for permission. When he nods frantically, she pulls down his underwear and tosses it aside.

Ben isn’t the biggest she’s ever seen, but he’s proportional and thick, and she knows that he’ll feel good. She can’t wait to take him. She takes him in her hand and begins slowly pumping, and his muscles practically ripple with the release and uptake of tension in his body.

“Relax, love. I’ll take good care of you.” She presses a kiss to the head of his cock and he releases a sweet moan.

The sounds of drunken karaoke in the background are ignored, and Lily focuses on Ben’s noises as she takes him in her mouth.

---

The wet slapping sounds of skin on skin fill the room, and Lily moans out her lover’s name as he’s propped up above her, holding onto the headboard of the bed and her waist. He grunts into her neck, and she rakes her fingernails down his muscular back.

Sex has never felt this good. Sure, Frank made her orgasm, but he never made her feel quite like this. Ben sets a good pace and is incredibly attentive to her needs. She’s not afraid to voice what she wants him to do, but she’s more than happy to let him have his way with her.

She’s always enjoyed being submissive. Luckily for her, Ben enjoys being dominant.

“Lil… fuck, Lil. I can’t hold out much longer,” he groans, leaning into her neck.

Lily moans, her fingers tugging on his curls. “Me neither. Speed up-- oh! Yes! Like that!”

Ben moans as he comes, and Lily shouts out his name, orgasming at the exact same time as him.

She kisses him gently as he lays down partially on top of her, his head resting next to hers on the pillows.

“I love you,” he whispers. Her heart soars.

“I love you too, Ben.” She smiles and moves so he can dispose of the condom.

When he comes back, he brings her into his arms, and she entangles her legs with his, resting her head on his warm chest. She yawns, cuddling up to him. He closes his eyes and smiles, and they fall asleep in each others’ arms.

When they’re walking to the terminal, Lily tries to avoid Ben’s eyes, because she knows that he’s smirking. She is beyond sore, and it is painful to move after everything he did to her the night before.

They board the plane quickly and after Ben puts his and Lily’s carry on luggage in the overhead bins, he settles in his window seat. She sits next to him and immediately rests her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes and sighing.

“Did the Advil help?” He asks, kissing the top of her head.

“Not really,” she mumbles. “I can barely walk, you wanker.”

He laughs and places a hand on her thigh, smiling. “You’re welcome.”

She smiles slightly and when Gwil and Ezichi sit in the middle two seats next to them, Ezichi grins at the sight. Gwil holds her hand and smiles as well, because he’s never seen Ben this content before.

After the plane takes off, Lily readjusts herself and curls up against Ben, and he holds her, closing his eyes. The pair fall asleep entangled in each others’ embrace.

Gwil stands up and takes a picture of them, and once they land on the ground, he posts it on instagram with the caption “It took ten months. @joemazzello”

~

TAGLIST: @andtheytoldustotellyouhello @plethora-of-things @borhap-socials @everybodyplaythegame @i-the-fangirl @deakydeakydeaky @shisterfackisback @samanthadegaro @lv7867 @fatbottomedcurls @redspecialty @haisimsim @peterparkeroos @teenwolflover28 @ixchel-9275 @alessandra-elle @onexlittlespark @queenficarchive @leah-halliwell92 @rrrogah-tayluhh @maddistudiess @queen-fam @evrsncnewyork @reddiefreddieee @babebenhardy @toms-irish-girl @bensrhapsody @good-old-fashioned-rogerina

#starry writes #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy #joe mazzello #gwilym lee #lucy boynton #rami malek #borhap fics #borhap imagine

[destiel-love-forever]

Death vs. Destiel

Prompt from @longkissgoodnightbatmanandtwofac : Death falls in love with a boy named Dean the day he comes to collect his mother. Once Dean comes up age Death comes and professes his love. Naturally Dean rejects him before falling in love with Cas and starting a family with him. But Death refuses to accept Dean's rejection starts seducing Dean's family members and works to sabotage Dean's marriage. He makes it very clear that he will stop if Dean accepts his affections.

** Oh boy. I enjoyed writing Death in this FAR TOO MUCH. Don't worry, though. End-game Destiel.

Read below or on AO3: HERE

Death vs. Destiel 

November 2nd, 1983 was colder than usual in Lawrence, Kansas. From the moment Death got out of his red and black 1967 Stingray, the icy air snapping across his face, he knew the spirit he was there to retrieve was killed by something supernatural. Death hoped it wasn't still around. He rarely collects soul anymore - that's what his reapers are for - but this soul is a part of something much bigger, so Death chose to handle it himself. He'll be unimpressed if some lowly being gets in his way just because it wants to stick around to watch all the fun.

As Death approached the burning house, an abandoned soul pinging from inside, he was caught off guard by a tiny human standing on the sidewalk, barefoot and holding a bundle of something in his arms. The boy couldn't have been more than 4 or 5 years of age. He had these wide, innocent green eyes that reflected the flames as he watched his home burn. Death watched as that vulnerable innocence slowly turned to ash, the weight of the world settling on the boy's frail shoulders.

"'S okay, Sammy," the boy whispered, completely unaware that Death was standing in front of them. "I gots you. I keep you safe."

It was endearing, this notion that a small child truly believed he could protect his brother from the sadistic world they lived in. The boy had a strong soul, the thing practically singing out to Death, and that's all it took. He was hooked.

Death rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder, the light touch making the child shiver. The boy's soul whispered to him. Dean. His name is Dean.

And his mama says angels watch over him.

A smirk pulls at Death's lips. He supposes it's true. From this point on, the angel of death plans on keeping a very close eye on this Dean Winchester.

Death closed his eyes and marked Dean for eternity. Now no one would doubt who he belonged to. The boy had gasped, most likely feeling something strange as his soul was claimed, but then he went back to watching the house in a trance.

"I will see you soon, little one," Death whispered. His eyes flicked to the bundle in his boy's arms - an infant - and frowned. The infant was tainted. Something about it off and dangerous. Death would allow it to live, for Dean's sake, but he'll have to keep a close eye on it. The second the marred soul becomes too dangerous for his Dean, Death will eradicate it.

Death lit a cigarette, letting it rest between his lips as he shrugged out of his heavy leather jacket. It's not like temperature bothered him, and these children were freezing. Obviously, Dean wouldn’t be able to see the jacket, that would just confuse the poor boy, but Dean could feel it.  He settled it over Dean's body, the thing nearly reaching the boy’s ankles, and watched as Dean's entire body relaxed beneath it. A small sigh of relief fell from the boy’s lips as a stray tear fell down his cheek. Death wiped it away, then stroked the boy's freckled cheek a few more times to send him comfort.

Once Dean's soul was soothed - as much as it could be, considering the night he had - Death took a puff of his cigarette, flicked some ash onto the ground, and headed inside. He had work to do.

----

Death visited Dean Winchester often. He let the boy be - only stepping in when he felt it was necessary, like when Dean was sick with pneumonia that John fucking Winchester didn't get treated soon enough, compromising seven-year-old Dean’s little lungs, or for the car accident Dean got into when he was 16, wrecking his father’s impala so badly that it caught fire. For the first incident, Death healed Dean with a kiss to his forehead and made John Winchester miserable for months on end by fucking with his luck. For the second incident, Death fixed the car to protect Dean from his father’s wrath - and because it’s a gorgeous fucking car - and brought Dean to the motel bed he was currently using as his own. He sat with Dean all night, stroking his hair as he gave him a dream so similar to the accident that when Dean woke up without a scratch, he thought it had all been his imagination.

That’s why Death is so damn excited when Dean Winchester finally turns 18. He wants to interact with Dean. To take him out on dates to faraway places that are nothing like Kansas. To travel the world together. Hell, to travel the universe if Dean’s interested. Death will give Dean Winchester the world. He’ll move mountains and create new oceans. He’ll tell Dean stories of all of the great wars - something he knows Dean is very interested in, considering he’s always watching war movies and documentaries. If Dean wants, he can visit Mary in heaven - God’s been MIA, but Death and Michael get along well so he knows they’d be allowed to enter the kingdom.

Out of all of these plans - fourteen years of plans - Death never considered one thing.

Dean saying no.

----

Dean spends his eighteenth birthday with a fake ID and his best friend Ash. They hit a club in the city nearest to them, a place that just recently opened and gears toward the LGBTQ+ community. They start the night out with a shot of tequila before ordering drinks and hitting the dance floor. Between the booze, the music, and all the sweaty bodies, the night begins to blur. Everything feels light and easy. Dean, for the first time in a long time, feels like he can breathe.

That’s why he’s laughing to himself as he stumbles outside for a cigarette. Ash is still inside, getting awfully friendly with a guy twice his damn size, so Dean is alone. After taking a cigarette out and sticking it between his lips, Dean searches for his lighter. He pats his pockets a few times before realizing Ash took it after their last smoke break.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, even though he’s unable to truly be upset about it. The booze overrides any disappointment in the moment.

A warm, rough voice that sounds like gravel and sex asks, “Need a light?”

Dean turns to find a tall, handsome man with eyes so dark brown he’d think they were black. He’s wearing black jeans, a denim colored casual button-up, and a black leather jacket. The man smirks when Dean fails to speak, digging in the pocket of his open jacket. When he offers the lighter, Dean just stares at it.

“You want me to light it for ya?” the man asks with an eyebrow raised.

“Oh! N - no,” Dean stutters, feeling his cheeks heat up. “I can do it. Thanks.”

Dean takes the lighter, shivering when his fingers brush against the man’s. The touch is achingly familiar.

He laughs softly when he looks down at the thing. It’s black, with white letters etched into it. “The devil made me do it?” Dean asks in amusement.

“Don’t worry. If anything, I’m the one making the devil misbehave.”

Looking up at the stranger as he lights the cigarette, Dean gets a gut feeling that the man isn’t lying. He has danger written all over him. John Winchester would tell him to run away immediately, always trying to get Dean to trust his instincts. Then again, John would be telling him to run because this is a man, not a woman, in front of Dean. That thought is all it takes for Dean to ignore the warning bells in his mind.

John Winchester can screw himself.

The man watching Dean smirks. Dean takes the cigarette out, exhaling smoke. “What?”

“What?” the man repeats.

“What’s the smile for?”

The man’s eyes rake over Dean’s body before settling back on his face. “Just you.”

“Me?” Dean practically squeaks.

He takes another drag to hide how embarrassing that just was. Thankfully, the man doesn’t tease him about it. He just gives Dean a surprisingly warm smile and says quietly, “Yes. You. You’re something very special, Dean.”

In a split-second, Dean goes from blushing and hopeful, to guarded and alert. His training kicks in, helping him stay calm. Still, though, his fingers slightly tremble where they cradle his cigarette.

“Funny,” Dean says in a confident voice that makes him proud. “Don’t remember telling you my name.”

The man’s smile wavers before setting itself firmly back in place. “You got me there. Listen, Dean, before you pull your gun on me, or that silver pocket-knife in your back pocket, or the flask of holy water inside your coat, let me explain myself.”

Dean takes a step back. He put that gun, knife, and flask where they are back at his house. By himself. Alone in his room. So, either this man can see the items on Dean somehow, or he was spying on Dean.

“Dean-”

“You better get the fuck out of here before I gank your ass.” Dean points a finger down the street. “I’m serious. Get out of this town. Out of this fucking state. Never come near me again.”

The man smiles - fucking smiles. “Dean, honey, take a breath.”

He startles. “Honey?”

“It’s okay. You’re okay.”

The man steps forward, reaching a hand out to cup Dean’s cheek. Dean slaps it away and stumbles back. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“You’ve never been bothered by my touch before.”

“I - you’ve,” Dean shakes his head. “What?”

The man tries to reach for Dean again. When Dean hits the hand coming at him, the man chuckles softly, as if he finds Dean’s reaction adorable.

“I touched you the night of the fire. You were so cold, so afraid. Holding Sammy tight, forcing yourself not to cry, telling him repeatedly that you’d always take care of him.” The man takes a step closer to Dean. Dean forgets to step back. “I touched you when you got pneumonia that winter. Found you laying in the hospital, so sick and frail and scared. I laid with you in that hospital bed all night, stroking your hair and singing softly to you. I touched you again when you were nine. It was the first Christmas that your dad missed, too busy working a job. You went around town doing chores for the elderly to earn some money, toting a quiet Sammy along. That was back when he was obsessed with that stuffed moose. Remember that? And you wanted so badly to buy Sam a Christmas present. There was this lego house set. It had the parts to build a red two-story, with a green roof, and included those little guys that could live inside it. Sam wanted it so bad. He kept telling you it would be like your home. A house that could come with the two of you wherever you went. But it was Christmas Eve, and you were four dollars short. Do you remember what happened that night, Dean?”

Head spinning, Dean leans his back against the building and takes a deep breath. “I put Sammy to bed, and went out looking for a way to make money.”

“You went to a bar looking for money, Dean. A bar.”

There’s a hint of anger in the man’s voice, like he’s upset that Dean had done something so dangerous. It makes Dean flinch. “My dad always came home from the bars with money. I was nine. How the fuck was I supposed to know he was doing it in ways I couldn’t?”

“I know, Dean,” the man says, his voice so much softer now. When Dean chances a look at him, he finds the man with kind, warm eyes, and a sad smile. “That’s why I made sure you never made it.”

“You didn’t stop me,” Dean growls defensively. “I didn’t need to go anymore! That church was giving out presents.”

The man lifts one corner of his mouth in a smirk. “Yes, Dean. That church was giving out presents. Magically. Right there. And you just so happened to get the lego set for Sammy, the exact same one he had been dying to buy. And not only that, but you got yourself a toy too, because the lady asked if you had any siblings, and since you had Sammy, you got to pick two presents.”

Dean blinks once. Twice. “I got the Mattel Electronic Football game.”

“You did.” The man smiles. “Your dad hated that thing.”

On accident, Dean laughs. “He did! It made that annoying beeping noise, and he-” Dean remembers what’s going on here, how fucked up this is. He clamps his mouth shut and pushes off the wall, adding some distance between them again. Surprisingly, the man doesn’t pursue him. He just takes a drag of his cigarette and watches Dean with those dark eyes.

“What are you?”

The man takes a deep breath, nods once like he’s agreeing to something, then answers. “I’m Death.”

Dean stares at him for a moment. “Like, you’re a reaper?”

“No, Dean. They work for me.” The man shrugs a shoulder. “I’m Death.”

“The Death.”

“The Death,” he confirms.  

“What, then, are you here to kill me?”

The man frowns. “Of course not. I’ve been with you since you were four, Dean. Why would I kill you now?”

Dean turns his back to the man, even though that’s the opposite of what his dad would tell him to do. The guy has a point, though. If he’s really been around that long then it wouldn’t make sense for him to hurt Dean right now. If he’s even who he says he is. For all Dean knows, this is just some demon fucking with him.

Or - or - “Dean, if you come with me, I can prove it.”

“How?”

“A man down the street is due for a heart attack in two minutes, seventeen seconds. One of my reapers is on it, but I will handle it if you want to see. If you want me to prove it.”

“You’re crazy if you really think I’m going to leave this place with you.”

The man flicks his eyes up at the club, then back down at Dean. A second later, the building is lit up like a damn Christmas tree, and the music is cut off. There’s a series of groans and boos before people begin to stream out of the place. The man smiles at him again. “Might as well come now. There’s nothing better for you to do.”

For some reason, Dean gives in to that. He nods and begins to walk, allowing the man to lead the way. They travel down the street in silence before stopping in front of another bar. A man is in the alley behind it, hands braced on the brick building in front of him, head hanging low. He’s making little noises that are clearly pained.

“We have to help him!” Dean gasps, starting to run toward him.

The man wraps a strong arm around Dean’s bicep and holds him back. At least he has the decency to look guilty about it as he tells Dean, “There’s nothing we can do. It’s his time.”

Before Dean can argue, a girl with bright pink hair that’s wearing a Star Wars shirt under jean overalls walks past them. She stops short, one foot still out in the direction of the dying man, another turning toward them.

“Sir?” she asks, fear evident in her voice.

“You can go, Kate. I’ll be handling this tonight.”

The girl looks at Dean, and understanding blooms on her face. Her defenses fall and she smiles. “Of course. Have a good night, Sir.”

And then she vanishes. Into thin air. No black smoke. Dean spins around, trying to find her, but she’s truly gone. When he looks at the man for an explanation, he realizes the man is no longer next to him. He’s standing just behind the guy having the heart attack. With one last glance at Dean, he rests a hand on the dying man’s shoulder and blinks. Heart attack guy drops like a ton of bricks.

“Oh my god.” Dean squeezes his hands into fists. “Oh my fucking god.”

“Dean-”

“Get the fuck away from me.”

“Dean, I love you. Can’t you see that? I love you.” Dean gets an overwhelming urge to throw up. He puts a hand to his mouth and tries to breathe through his nose. His silence invites Death to speak again. “I’ll give you the world. No more hunting. No more living in motels. No more stealing identities and working dirty jobs for cash.”

Shaking his head, Dean drops his hand and says through gritted teeth, “No.”

“We can travel. Go anywhere you want. Everywhere. Dean, I could show you so much!”

“I don’t want to see anything you have to show me!”

“What about your mom?” Death asks, raising an eyebrow and smiling. “You wanna see her?”

“You - I - oh my fucking god!” Dean stumbles back, tears burning his eyes. “You killed my mom, didn't you? You - you killed her. You’ve been following me since I was four. Since she died. You killed her!”

Death face crumples. “Oh, Dean, no. No, I just reaped her.”

“Same thing!”

“It’s not, Dean. I promise you, it’s not.”

“Could you have saved her?”

“Dean-”

“If you really wanted to, did you have the power to save her?”

All the answer Dean needs is the slight hesitation before Death whispers, “Dean.”

Shaking his head, Dean pulls his gun out and points it at Death. Before the man - the thing - can react, Dean’s unloading his clip into his chest. Each bullet knocks Death back an inch or two. When his gun is empty, the two stare at each other for a moment. It feels like the air gets thick around them.

Dean waits for Death to lash out. To hurt him. Kill him.

Instead, Death nods slowly. “Take your time, Dean. I’m not going anywhere.”

----

Unfortunately, Death wasn’t lying. Dean starts to see him every few months. He has a feeling he’s around even more than that, but Death can obviously control whether or not he’s visible to Dean, so who knows. Dean’s terrified to do anything. Going to sleep is nearly impossible. Making friends is out of the question. And dating? Even sleeping around? Dean doesn’t even look at anyone attractive anymore. Not when he has a psychotic god-like being that’s in love with him following him around. Who knows what Death would do to anyone he thought Dean was attracted to.

It wouldn’t be good.

That’s why, when Dean meets Castiel Novak, a badass angel with a wry sense of humor and the most beautiful blue eyes ever created, Dean’s relieved. He can look at the angel. Laugh with the angel. Touch the angel.

Because Castiel knows about Death. He knew the first day they met, when he touched a hand to Dean’s face and frowned. “You are marked,” he had told Dean. “Claimed.”

Dean had shaken his head. “I don’t want to be. Not by him.”

And, surprising the hell out of Dean, Castiel had simply smiled and said, “Then we’ll ignore it.”

The first few months, they’re just friends. Dean catches Death watching them on three different occasions, always lurking in the background, but Death never interferes.

Things get a little more awkward after Dean and Castiel’s first kiss. It happens unexpectedly. One second Dean's cleaning shifter blood off of a silver blade, the next second he has lips pressed against his. The kiss goes from hesitant and chaste to frantic and impassioned within seconds. Dean drops the knife to tangle his fingers in Castiel's hair, and Castiel grabs Dean by the waist, hoisting him up and across the small gap between their chairs so Dean is straddling him.

When Dean blinks his eyes open, preparing to ask Castiel if he wants to move the party to the bed - it had been 3 years, 4 months, and 27 days since Dean had sex…. But who's counting… - Dean is distracted. Death is standing just a foot or two away from the back of Castiel's chair, one hand in the pocket of his dark gray suit pants, the other holding an angel blade. Dean gripped Castiel tight and looked up at Death with pleading eyes.

Death left.

Two days later, when Dean is alone in a bar bathroom, Death comes for him. He wraps a strong hand around Dean's throat and shoves him into the wall, holding the hunter in place as he glares at him.

"End it," Death growls.

"No." Dean tries getting away, even though he knows it's pointless. When he sags against the wall in exhaustion, Death's hand still on his throat, Dean asks in a defeated voice, "Can't you just move on? There are billions of people on this planet."

"But they are all insignificant. I want you."

"Well, I don't want you!" Dean's voice cracks, 3 years of exhaustion and pain slamming into him. He cries openly now. "I'm never going to want you."

Death just watches him silently, the thumb of his hand stroking Dean's soft skin. He lets Dean cry himself out. Even holds him when his knees give out on a particularly harsh sob. Cradling Dean's head to his chest, Death whispers, "I'm right here, Dean. Shhh. You're okay. I'm right here."

Dean can't help but think that the words sound much more like a threat than a comfort.

----

Castiel is who comes up with the plan. There are certain deaths important enough to the universe, to God’s plan, that Death has to be the one to reap the soul. These are the only times they can be certain Death isn’t watching them. The only time they can talk. It’s only once or twice a month, unfortunately, but it’s something at least. Between that, and texting under fake names, they get back together.

Whenever Dean catches a glimpse of Death, he ignores him. The monster shows up at bars, gas stations, grocery stores, hunts - he even shows up once to a barbeque Dean goes to with Ash. Every single time this happens, an extra weight is added around Dean’s neck. It never stops.

One night, when Death is gone reaping someone important, Castiel asks Dean to tell him his location. He doesn’t want to, says it’s too dangerous, but Castiel insists. A few seconds later, Castiel is in Dean’s motel room in Lansing, Michigan. It had been so damn long since they saw each other. Touched each other. Dean can’t get to him fast enough.

They’re a clash of hands, lips, tongues, teeth. Dean carefully slides Castiel’s trench coat down his arms, knowing how much the angel loves it. Huffing in impatience, Castiel grabs his own dress shirt and rips it off, buttons flying. He doesn’t even bother to take his tie off. Dean’s hands tremble as they work at Castiel’s pants. When they’re halfway down Castiel’s thighs, Castiel swats Dean’s hands away so he can yank Dean’s henley over his head. He gets Dean naked before Dean wins the power struggle again, shoving Castiel’s jeans and underwear the rest of the way down to his ankles.

Things slow down, then. Their kisses turn soft. Loving. Castiel preps Dean as he whispers things like, “You’re beautiful, Dean,” and “I love you so damn much.”

By the time Castiel is carefully sinking inside of Dean, the human’s eyes are watering from all of the praise and validation. Their lips lock into a kiss as Castiel bottoms out.

Then things go straight from zero to sixty. Fingers tangle in hair, teeth bite at throats and lips, tongues dart out for tastes, lips explore. Castiel pounds into Dean like he’s never experienced before. He feels like Castiel sends him straight to heaven as they climax together.

After, they lay tangled up in the sheets, Dean’s cheek pressed against Castiel’s sweaty chest. Castiel is softly trailing his fingers up and down Dean’s spine.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean asks sleepily.

“I’m about to do something really unromantic, but I want you to know that I mean it. From the bottom of my grace, I mean it, Dean.”

Dean props himself up on an elbow, feeling nervous. “Okay?”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” As Castiel says this, he pulls away from Dean enough to reach down and dig in his trench coat pocket. He presents Dean with a black box. Dean takes it with shaking hands, his breath hitching as he opens it. “Will you marry me, Dean Winchester?”

“I - this - Cas.” Dean looks up into blue eyes. Then he laughs. “How is this unromantic.”

“Well,” Castiel winces. “If you marry me, heaven will protect you. It won’t just be me. It’ll be my garrison. I might even be able to put a request in to Michael for archangel protection of some sort. Or for him to at least talk to Death and get him to back off.”

“Oh.” Dean takes the ring out of the box, fiddling with it. Then he grins. “Well, I really don’t care if that’s the reason. Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. I’ll marry you.” Dean practically lunges at Castiel, yanking him close.

After another round of heated kisses, the two of them settle on the mattress, tangled together. Dean rests his forehead against Castiel's and sucks in a shaky breath. "I don't think I'd ever survive us not being together. I can't lose you," he confesses.

"That will never happen, Dean Winchester. You are my forever and always."

Dean closes his eyes, letting the promise soothe him as he whispers back, "Forever and always."

They get seventeen more minutes together before Castiel senses Death’s return. He leaves Dean with a final kiss, a ring on his finger, and a promise to return soon.

----

Death hates seeing his boy hurting. Before, it was easier. Dean was hurt because of Yellow Eyes, or his father, or a monster he was hunting. It was never because of Death. But now, the agony in Dean's eyes every time Death checks in on him is Death's fault. He knows it is. And he hates himself for it.

Not as much as he hates Castiel, though.

A fucking angel.

Out of all of the things Dean could have chosen to fall in love with, out of all of the possible competition Death would need to fight to win Dean Winchester's heart, he never thought it'd be an angel. The one thing in the universe that can survive killing him. Sure, Castiel would have to find Death's scythe first, but then he could use it. Any human like Dean or his family would die along with Death, but an angel? An angel could gank Death, turn around, and marry the love of Death’s fucking existence.

And that’s the plan. Death knew it the second he saw that ring on Dean’s finger. His boy was passed out in his motel bed, naked, covered in hickies, smelling of sex and angel grace, wearing a fucking ring on his finger.

They’re planning to get married.

It’s not going to happen.

Not on his watch.

Dean will be sad for a while, yes, but he’ll get over it. Death will never reap Dean. The boy will live forever. That gives him plenty of time to recover.

Still, Death doesn’t want to start a war with the angels, so he’ll have to be tactful. He’ll have to convince Dean to leave Castiel on his own. He’ll have to convince Dean to become his. Exploit Dean’s weaknesses until the boy breaks.

And everyone knows Dean Winchester’s number one weakness.

Sammy.

----

Dean goes a month without seeing Death, not that he believes the monster isn’t around. He and Castiel only manage to see each other in person once, along with a few stray texts and one short phone call. Dean’s life turns into a lonely routine. Hunt. Drink. Miss Castiel. Go to sleep. Wake up. Repeat.

Pretty soon, it’s Sam’s high school graduation. Dean’s so proud he could burst. He purchases a nice suit and a brand-new laptop as a gift for Sam before heading to California. The plan is to go out to eat the night before graduation as a family - Sam, Dean, Bobby, and John. Dean’s thrilled when Sam calls an hour before they meet at the restaurant, all giddy and nervous about this new girlfriend he really wants to introduce to them. Dean says he should bring her to the dinner, and a fifth is added.

Dean’s grinning ear to ear, practically walking on air as he thinks of how happy Sammy is when he enters the restaurant. He’s in such a good place, Dean’s even going to tell his family about his impending marriage. His father will probably have a few choice things to say, but he thinks Bobby and Sam will be happy for him.

Traffic wasn’t the best, so Dean’s the last to arrive. He strolls up to the table where his family is sitting, stumbling mid-step when he sees the person sitting between Sam and an empty chair.

“Dean!” Sam yells, standing up from the table and hurrying over to hug him. Wrapping his arms around his brother, Dean keeps his eyes glued to the person at the table. When the person winks and smiles at him, his gut twists.

Sam pulls away and tugs at Dean to pull him forward. “Come meet Jessica! Oh, you’re gonna love her, Dean. She’s awesome! And she’s going to Stanford too!”

“Oh yeah?” Dean croaks, eyes glued on the person Sam’s pointing at. The person who is most definitely not Jessica. Not even a she. Not even a person, technically.

“I’ve heard so much about you, Dean,” Death says in that low, raspy voice of his as he stands up and extends a hand. “It’s great to meet you.”

Dean stares at the end, then glances at everyone watching them. All smiles and easy postures. They all see a girl. They all see Jessica. Dean’s the only one seeing Death’s true identity. Or, most likely, the identity he uses for Dean. The hot guy with the leather jacket, and slicked back hair, and a grin that could make your damn underwear melt if you didn’t know he killed people as a living.

“Dean,” Sam growls, clearly offended.

Snapping out of it, Dean forces a tense smile and quickly shakes Death’s hand. “Great to meet you, too.”

“Here, Dean, take a seat,” Death says with a smile. He gestures to the empty seat between him and Bobby at the round table. The only available seat. Everyone continues to stare at Dean as he tries to force his feet to move. It takes longer than it should, but he eventually manages to shuffle over to the chair and sink into it. When the waitress comes by to take their orders, Dean orders a double whiskey - no soda, no ice, no food.

When a hand rests on Dean’s knee beneath the table, he swallows a mouthful of bile. The second that whiskey is in front of him, he’s downing half the glass.

“Dean,” John says softly from across the table, his eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Hmm? Yeah. Yup. Yes. Fine.”

“Are you sure?” Bobby asks.

“Definitely. Perfectly great, yup. Good.”

Death moves his hand on Dean’s knee, gently stroking the area like he’s trying to soothe him. Does this dude not understand that he’s what’s making Dean so upset?

There’s a familiar pull that Dean feels in his chest. A constant order to be calm, to breathe, to trust. He’s felt it more than once in his life, but it wasn’t until he felt it that night in the bathroom, as Death held him while he broke down, that Dean realized what it was. This is Death pulling at his soul. Soothing him.

Because of that, Dean fights it. He fights it like hell.

----

The second Dean manages to get Death alone, he has him shoved up against the wall. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Well, ya know, since you picked the wrong guy, I figured I’d settle for the other Winchester.”

“I - what?” Dean’s heart starts pounding in his chest. “I didn’t pick anyone."

“You might have taken that ring off your finger, Dean, but I saw it. The night he proposed, I saw it. And word travels fast. An angel marrying a human?” Death releases a low whistle, shaking his head. “That’s the kind of gossip no amount of sneaking around can hide.”

Dean deflates, letting go of Death so he can stumble back. Tears burn his eyes as reality comes crashing down. He never fooled Death. The monster was just letting him and Castiel play pretend, all the while planning his revenge with Sam.

God, Sam. Dean has to protect Sam. “Please, just - just leave him alone. Leave him out of this.”

“I plan on spending my life with one of the Winchester brothers, Dean.” Death shrugs a shoulder, clearly fighting a smirk. “Not my fault you’re making me choose him.”

----

Castiel has never felt so powerless. He has waged wars. Flattened cities. Conducted miracles. He is one of Michael's chosen. There has never been something he couldn't overcome.

Death will not be the one to take him down. Castiel refuses. He will wreck the son of a bitch, even if he wrecks himself.

"It's not him, Cas. It's me. He came one night when I was upset and comforted me. And - and we, we uh, we got together. And I love him. I wanna - I'm going to be with him, Castiel. I'm sorry."

The words - choked and trembling - play on a loop in Castiel's mind as he rips through the night club Gabriel runs. He passes angels, demons, reapers, and who knows what else. All of them turn as they watch sparks of grace fly off of him. Most move out of his way fast enough. The ones who don't get thrown.

Death is waiting for him when he plows through the door to the VIP section, one hand casually in the pocket of his dress pants, the other cradling a glass of expensive whiskey. All it takes is that initial look at him, and Castiel's rage plumes into a nuclear explosion, just begging to be let loose.

To detonate.

His eyes flick around the room, scanning for Dean. The young man is nearby, sitting in an oversized chair that screams power and luxury, looking as if he'd kill to be anywhere else. Fear flashes in his beautiful green eyes when Castiel locks their gazes. For just a second, everything falls away. They're back in the hotel room, sweaty and naked after just making love. The sheets are tangled in their legs. Dean's still peppering lazy kisses on his chest. Castiel is trying to count Dean's freckles, bitching at the young man go stop squirming around so much. That overwhelming realization that Castiel had finally found it. That thing everyone always tried to explain to him.

Love.

Dean?

Yeah, Cas?

Will you marry me?

"You're not welcome here," Death says in a cocky tone.

Keeping his eyes on Dean, Castiel ignores the being trying to speak to him. Death is nothing right now. Non-existent. Castiel didn't come here for a fight. He came here for Dean. Death will be dealt with later, once he knows the love of his life is safe.

Castiel takes two steps toward Dean, stopping when Death grabs him by the wrist. "He's mine. Get over it."

Still ignoring Death, Castiel gives Dean a reassuring smile. "Are you okay, baby? Are you hurt?"

"I would never hurt him!" Death growls, and that does it. Castiel explodes.

Whipping around, Castiel shoves Death back and screams, "All you've ever done is hurt him!"

“I’ve done what’s best for him!”

“What’s best for him? What’s best for him!? You reaped his mother! You haunted him all his life. You won’t let him be happy! You’re a selfish prick!”

“Stop,” Dean cries, standing up from his seat and trying to walk toward them. “Stop, please!”

Both Death and Castiel ignore him. Before he can get closer, an arm is wrapped around his waist and Dean is being lifted in the air. He panics, kicking out a leg, eyes locked on the two men who supposedly love him more than anything in the world, neither of them aware he’s about to be fucking kidnapped.

Just as Dean’s about to scream, hoping it can be heard over the music and the fighting, a soft voice in his ear says, “It’s Gabriel. You’re safe.”

Dean sags in relief as Castiel’s brother continues to drag him out of the VIP section and into a back hallway. When he’s put back on his own feet, Dean gets the urge to run. To just sprint until his lungs give out. Almost like Gabriel can read his mind, he says, “You can’t outrun him, Dean. Either of ‘em.”

“I just want it to be over.” Dean notices he’s crying, but he can’t get himself to care. It’s the first time he’s been able to confide in someone since Death made him break things off with Castiel. He’s been so lonely. So lost. Just going wherever Death tells him to go, doing whatever Death wants to do. “I need it to be over.”

“It will be. Soon.” Gabriel takes Dean’s hand and gives it a small squeeze. “Do you trust me?”

It takes less than a second for Dean to know the answer to that. Castiel always said Gabe was trustworthy. One of the only people Castiel can confide in. Sure, he messes around a lot, and he owns a pretty controversial club, but Gabriel would lay his life down for Castiel, and Castiel claims not a lot of angels would do the same.

“Yes. I trust you.”

“Okay.” Gabriel brings his free hand to Dean’s forehead and winks. “Bend your knees.”

And then the world drops out from under them, and Dean’s flying.

----

It’s just after Death has gotten a good slice of Castiel’s arm with an angel blade that he senses it. Dean’s gone. At some point, during the yelling, the shoving, and the blades coming out, Dean left. Or was he taken?

Castiel lunges for him and he deflects it. His heart feels like it’s in his throat, which is funny, because he doesn’t have a heart. “Castiel, stop!”

“No! You’ve bee-”

“Dean’s gone!” That gets Castiel to stop. He straightens his posture, lowering his blade just enough where it’s less offensive but still able to protect him if necessary. “Someone took him.”

Castiel arches an eyebrow. “What, you don’t think he’d run on his own?”

“Not with Sammy’s life on the line.”

Rage flashes in Castiel’s blue eyes as they narrow on Death. “I knew it. I knew you were using Sam to get to him.”

“Now is not the time, someone took Dean!”

“Yeah. I know.” Castiel winks at Death, then lunges again. The angel blade pierces straight through Death’s chest. His ears fill with a high-pitched ringing that seems to be coming from the inside. It won’t kill him, only his scythe can kill him, but he’s still an angel in a sense, and the blade is doing some real fucking damage. In fact, it even brings him to his knees.

As Death looks up at Castiel, a drop of blood coming out of his mouth and trailing down his chin, Castiel kneels on one knee and smirks. “I took him.”

----

It’s a shotgun wedding if Dean’s ever seen one. Gabriel officiates it, which is entertaining, to say the least. He even threw in some Elvis impersonator action halfway through the vows, which made even Castiel laugh, the anxiety in his eyes finally disappearing. Unlike a wedding between humans, there’s no marriage license, no legal witness needed. All there needs to be is Michael. He stands ten feet away from the ceremony, hands in the pockets of his pants, watching the whole thing carefully.

It’s the first time in history a human will be marrying an angel. Michael hopes that, wherever his useless father is, he loathes the knowledge that this is happening in his supposedly pure kingdom. That’s half the reason Michael is doing this. To stick it to the ass that left abandoned them.

Then there’s a quarter of the remaining reason dedicated to Castiel. A damn good brother, and an even better soldier.

And that last quarter. That’s a selfish one.

Michael wants to find love someday. He wants to feel what Castiel feels. Wants his grace to sing like Castiel’s does. He wants to shed the straight-laced soldier persona and slip into someone softer. Someone that smiles and laughs. Someone that enjoys the little things. Someone that makes him want to get up in the morning, instead of just needing to in order to fulfill his duties.

The ceremony ends. The few angels in Castiel’s close circle that were allowed to come begin to clap and holler. Castiel cradles Dean’s face, kissing him softly. Slowly. Thoroughly. They pull away and Dean rubs the tip of his nose against Castiel’s, making the angel laugh quietly to himself.

It’s so pure, Michael actually smiles. He doesn’t fight it, either. He lets it remain on his face as he steps forward and takes one hand from each of the two men. The three of them create a circle, and Castiel’s grace flows into Dean at the same time that Michael’s flows into the both of them. Michael doesn’t feel anything but a slight drain in energy, but he can see on Dean’s face that the once human can feel every ounce of grace transforming his cells.

When the ritual is finished, Dean stumbles back with a gasp. He looks up at Castiel, then Michael, with wide green eyes. “What was that?”

“You’re an angel now. Weak. Not pure. But an angel. Enough for immortality. Enough for you to wield Death’s scythe without dying yourself,” Michael explains.

“To - to wield - what - no! I can’t kill him! You guys have to!”

“Dean, you’re the only one who can get him to let his guard down. You’re the only one who has a chance,” Castiel says. “It has to be you.”

“I don’t know where his scythe is! And how will I convince him to believe me?”

Castiel puts a hand to Dean’s cheek, trying to calm him. “We know where the scythe is, Dean. We can get it. And you’ll convince him because you’re going to go running back to him. Terrified. Begging. Telling him you didn’t want to go, that you weren’t in on this plan. Pleading with him not to hurt Sammy. You’ve only been gone an hour or so. He’ll believe you.”

Dean huffs. “No, he won’t. And even if he does, that dude can sense the hell out of everything I feel and think. You honestly believe that he won’t sense I’m a fucking angel now?"

"That's not an issue. You'll tell him Castiel brought you straight to me and begged me to give you this protection. I've given this protection before - only to a very select few humans over my lifetime - but the marriage isn't required for it. He will believe I gave you the protection. Then tell him you panicked and came back to him."

"He won't buy it."

"You'll make him buy it, Dean. He's in love with you. Obsessively so. In his mind, there's no ending other than the one he wants," Michael explains. "You're going to be giving him that ending. He won't want to question it. He's too arrogant. He'll gloat and say something about how he always knew you'd come back."

"I can't. Cas," Dean turns to his now husband, a tear slipping down his cheek. "I can't- don't make me go back to that monster. Please. Don't make me."

"Do it for Sam," Castiel whispers, a tear of his own escaping. "Do it for me. He won't hurt you. Even if he figures you out, he would never hurt you."

"How long until you get the scythe?" Dean asks.

Michael answers this question, giving Dean an encouraging smile. "Just a few hours. You'll only have to be with Death for a few hours."

"How will I get it?"

"Let us handle that. When you see it, grab it. You have to cut his head off. A clean slice."

Dean stares at Michael with his mouth open. He realizes he's trembling when Castiel pulls him in close for a hug.

"You're a hunter, babe," Castiel whispers. "Just pretend you're on a hunt."

"Okay. Yes. A hunt." Dean nods, clinging to Castiel. "I can do that."

"You can, Dean. I know you can. And then, after, we can finally be together. Forever and always."

Dean latches onto the promise Castiel made that night that feels like an entire lifetime ago. He kisses Castiel like it's their last, whispering against his lips, "Forever and always."

---

Death has Dean stripped down to his boxers, hands tangled in Dean's hair as he guides the boy back to the bed. Dean had come back to him an hour ago, sobbing and hysterical. He had clung to Death like a life raft. "I didn't say he could do it! I wasn't in on the plan. I promise! I swear! Please, don't hurt Sammy. Please! I promise. I'm yours. I promise you I'm yours."

And Death wanted to believe him so damn bad, but he needed Dean to prove it. When he told Dean what he'd have to do, part of him expected the boy to run screaming. Instead, Dean had looked thankful. Almost happy even. He was glad to be given the chance to prove himself, and Death has to say, the gorgeous boy has already done an excellent job.

"Hands and knees," Death orders, pushing Dean so he falls back on the bed. The boy scrambles into position, one hand slipping a little. He gets purchase on the sheets beneath the pillow and holds himself up as Death comes up behind him.

Just as he feels Death’s skin touching his, Dean closes his hand around the metal handle of the miniature scythe and swings around. There’s a whirring sound as the thing extends in size, making it the correct size at just the right moment. Dean flinches when the warm blood sprays across his face, but he forces to keep his eyes wide open after, knuckles white where he grips the weapon. He stares at Death’s headless body, panting as he waits for the creature to hop back up. To laugh at Dean, then kill Dean himself.

Instead, there’s the telltale sounds of wings, and Dean looks up a second later to find Castiel and Michael. Dean has no idea he is violently shaking, not until Castiel walks up to him.

“Dean?”

Dean stares straight past him, eyes locked on Death again. His teeth clack together from how hard his body jerks.

“Dean, baby, it’s over now.”

Dean feels Castiel tug at the weapon, trying to take it from him, but he fights the man. He can’t let go. Not yet. Dean knows Death will come back. He just… he knows.

“Dean.” Castiel cups the side of his cheek, hand slipping a bit from the blood there. “Dean, can you look at me?”

Blinking slowly, Dean manages to lift his chin enough to meet Castiel’s eyes. The blue is like a breath of fresh air.

“It’s over, Dean.”

Relief knocks Dean to his knees. Castiel goes down with him, pulling Dean into his arms and cradling him to his chest. “It’s over, Dean,” Castiel says again. “It’s over.”

#angst #flashbacks #time jumps #canon divergence #death is creepy #death is a stalker #death shapeshifter #death sexy and one smooth mother fucker #Dean's soul marked by Death #Black mail #spying #Death hates Cas #Cas hates Death #Destiel kept secret #manipulation #threats #abuse #obsessive Death #major character death #no dean or cas though #Happy Ending #angst with happy ending #non-con elements #no rape

[bibhabmishra]

The Princess Bride

It feels downright inconceivableI to devote only one chapter in a book about lessons gleaned from eighties movies to The Princess Bride. Why, just off the top of my head, while standing on my head, I can name five life lessons that this movie teaches you that you don’t learn anywhere else:  1. “Never go against a Sicilian when DEATH is on the line!” 2. “Love is the greatest thing—except for a nice mutton, lettuce, and toma- to sandwich when the mutton is nice and lean.” 3. “Life is pain. Anyone who says differently is selling something.” 4. Eventually, you learn not to mind the kissing parts. 5. And most important, “As you wish” = “I love you.”  Such is the depth of wisdom in this film that in 2013, twenty-six years after its release, BuzzFeed devoted a listII to the lessons gleaned from it. A BuzzFeed list! Who needs the Oscars, Princess Bride, when you have that ultimate of mod- ern-day accolades? The Princess Bride is so adored that it’s probablyIII now a clichéd response on Internet dating websites: walks on the beach, an open fire, sunsets, and The Princess Bride. And yet, despite this, love for The Princess Bride is not seen as desperately hackneyed or cheesily safe. The Princess Bride is what you’d need a prospective love interest to cite as their favorite movie for the relationship to progress,IV it’s the one film that would make you rethink a lifelong friendship if you found out your best friend “just didn’t get it”—not that they would ever say that, because I honestly don’t know a single person of my generation who isn’t obsessed with this film.

And not just my generation: in As You Wish, a very enjoyable book about the making of The Princess Bride, Cary Elwes—who played Westley the farm boy, of course—recounts being told by both Pope John Paul II and Bill Clinton how much they loved the movie, proving that The Princess Bride appeals to saints and sinners alike.V Now, having said all that, I have a confession to make. I was not the big Princess Bride fan in my family when I was growing up. That title instead went to my sister, Nell. Our mother took us to see it at the movie theater when I must have been nine and Nell was seven, and even though the film was— incredibly—something of a commercial disappointment when it came out, the cinema was absolutely packed with kids like us. In my mind, everyone in the audience was utterly in thrall to this tale of Buttercup (Robin Wright), her true love Westley (Elwes), and their battles against Prince Humperdinck (Chris Sarandon), Vizzini (Wallace Shawn), and Count Rugen (Christopher Guest), and their eventual assistance from the brave swordsman Inigo (Mandy Patinkin), the giant Fezzik (the professional wrestler known as André the Giant), and Miracle Max (Billy Crystal). Afterward, we stood in the cinema atrium as our mother bundled us back into our coats. “Did you girls like it?” she asked. Standing there in her corduroy dungarees and T-shirt, Nell looked in a state of semi-shock. “I LOVED IT. I WANT TO SEE IT AGAIN RIGHT NOW!” she practically shouted. Now, The Princess Bride is wonderful, but in order to understand how unex- pected this proclamation was, you have to know a little bit about my sister. Ever since she was old enough to throw a tantrum, my sister refused to wear dresses. She never played with dolls. She refused to let my mother brush her hair and had apparently no interest in her physical appearance. She did not like mushy stories—she didn’t even like reading books. In other words, she was the complete opposite to me. How much of that was a deliberate reaction against me, a younger sibling defining herself in opposition to the older one, and how much of it was simply an innate part of Nell was already a moot point when we went to see The Princess Bride: Nell’s parameters were so firmly set by then that her nickname in our family was “the tough customer.” She would consent to drink only one kind of fruit juice (apple), and buy only one brand (Red Cheek), and only if it came out of a can (never a carton), so there was absolutely no negotiating with her about mushy princesses. Lord only knows how my mother got her to see the movie in the first place. She must have hid- den the title from her. And yet, like the grandson in the film, Kevin Arnold,VI Nell found that, against all odds, she did enjoy the story, just as Kevin’s grandfather, Columbo,VII promises. I think Nell made my mother take her to see the film at the cinema at least three more times. As she wished. When it came out on VHS, we bought it immediately and it was understood that the videocassette was officially Nell’s, just as the videocassette for Ferris Bueller’s Day Off was officially mine. When she found out that the film had originally been a book by William Goldman, who also wrote the screenplay, she asked my amazed mother to buy that, too. Nell read it over and over until the pages fell out, so she stuck them back in and then read the book again. The Princess Bride was the book that taught her to like books, as much as the movie taught her to relax some of her other rules. She developed a lifelong crush on Westley and, not long after, she started wearing dresses, too. The reasons why Nell loved this film so much exemplify, I think, why it is universally adored in a way that, say, the vaguely similar and contemporary The Never-Ending Story is not. It’s a fairy tale for those who love fairy tales, but it’s also a self-aware spoof for those who don’t; it’s an adventure film for boys and—for once—girls, too, but without pandering to or excluding either; it’s got a plot for kids, dialogue for adults, and jokes for everyone; it’s a genre film and a satire of a genre film; it’s a very funny movie in which everybody is playing it straight; it’s smart and sweet and smart about its sweetness, but also sweet about its smarts. Unlike, say, Shrek, there are no jokes here for parents that go over the kids’ heads: all generations enjoy it on exactly the same level. It’s a movie that lets people who don’t like certain things like those things, while at the same time not betraying the original fans. But most of all, The Princess Bride is about one thing in particular: “The Princess Bride is a story about love,” says Cary Elwes. “So much happens in the movie—giants, fencing, kidnapping. But it’s really a film about love.” This might seem like a statement of the obvious, but it isn’t, actually. Yes, the film is ostensibly about the great true love between Buttercup and Westley, and their most perfect kiss that leaves all the other kisses in the world behind. Both Elwes and Wright were so astonishingly beautiful when they made the film that, watching them, it’s hard to believe any love ever existed on this plan- et other than theirs. And they, rather pleasingly, were quite taken with one an- other. In his book, Elwes talks at length about how “smitten” he was with Wright, and she says precisely the same about him: “I was absolutely smitten with Cary. So obviously that helped with our onscreen chemistry. . . . It doesn’t matter how many years go by, I will love Cary forever.” Disappointingly, however, Elwes insists that they remained just friends. “Everyone asks if there was more!” he says, sounding a little exasperated, apparently unable to see what everyone else can: namely, that it seems against the laws of nature for two such beautiful people not to have had sex at least once. The last scene that Elwes shot was of him and Wright kissing on horse- back, creating “the most perfect kiss” of all time against a sunset. Surely that was romantic. “Well, not really. Robin and I were friends by that point so we kept laughing, and [the director] Rob [Reiner] was going, ‘Touch her face, touch her face!’ ” He laughs. But Westley and Buttercup’s love is only a part of the film, and only one of several love stories in the film. There is also, for a start, the great love between Inigo and Fezzik. The scene in which a drunken and broken Inigo looks up into Fezzik’s face in the Thieves Forest and Fezzik says a simple, smiling hello is much more moving than the moment when Buttercup realizes the Dread Pirate Roberts is actually Westley (not least because she’s just pushed him down a hill). Even if Inigo does become the Dread Pirate Roberts at the end of the film, as Westley suggests he should, it is as impossible to imagine him going off without Fezzik as it is to imagine Buttercup and Westley being severed. This love between the two men is at the root of one of the film’s subtlest lessons. Bad guys teach audiences how to think of opponents in life, and this is especially true of bad guys in books and films aimed at kids. Because stories for kids tend to be relatively simple, villains in these films are almost invariably evil, and that’s all there is to be said about them. Cruella de Vil, Snow White’s stepmother, the witch in Rapunzel: WHAT a bunch of moody bitches. This is also certainly true of movies for children in the 1980s, from the frankly terri- fying Judge Doom (Christopher Lloyd) in Who Framed Roger Rabbit to the enjoyably evil Ursula in The Little Mermaid. It’s a pleasingly basic approach, and one that validates most kids’ (and adults’) view of the world: “I am good and anyone who thwarts me is wicked and there is no point in trying to think about things from their point of view because they have no inner life of their own beyond pure evil and a desire to impede me.” The Princess Bride, however, does something different. It’s easy to forget this once you’ve seen the movie and fallen in love with the characters but Inigo and Fezzik are, ostensibly, bad guys. When we first meet them in the movie, they knock our heroine, Buttercup, unconscious and kidnap her for Vizzini. We are also told they will kill her. Our princess! In the eyes of children, you can’t get much more evil than that. They are hired guns in the re- venge business, which is not a job for a good guy in any fairy tale. But Gold- man flips it around. We quickly see Inigo and, in particular, Fezzik being ex- tremely sweet with each other, doing their little rhymes together and trying to protect one another from Vizzini’s ire. Their love for one another shows us there is more to these villains than villainy. Goldman then ups the ante even further by having Inigo describe to the Man in Black how he has devoted his life to avenging the death of his father, thus giving him the kind of emotional backstory kids can definitely understand, as well as adding another mission to the movie. Soon after beating (but not killing) Inigo, the Man in Black fights with Fezzik, who we already know has a similarly sad past (“unemployed—IN GREENLAND”). Plenty of villains were once good before crossing to the dark side: Darth Vader, many of Batman’s nemeses, Voldemort. The point in those stories is that the difference between true evil and true greatness comes down to one wrong decision, one wrong turn, and there is no going back from that. But The Princess Bride does something more subtle: it suggests that good people some- times end up doing bad things, but are still good, have stories of their own, and are capable of love. Inigo and Fezzik both killed people in the past for Vizzini, but they’re all still good people. This is quite a message for kids (and adults) to take in: not everything is clear-cut when it comes to good and bad, even in fairy tales. In the original novel, William Goldman goes into much greater detail about Fezzik and Inigo’s friendship, and this is one of the reasons why I—in all hon- esty—pre-fer the book to the film.VIII But the film alludes to it enough in order for audiences to understand the real bond between the men, and partly this happens through the script and partly through the actors, especially one actor in particular. At one point, Arnold Schwarzenegger was considered for the role of Fezzik, but, thank heavens, he was already too expensive by the time the film finally started shooting. Where Schwarzenegger is all jarring rectangles and jut- ting jaw, André the Giant was all soft circles and goofy smiles. Where Schwarzenegger palpably punished himself to a superhuman extent to get the body he clearly wanted so badly, the man born André René Roussimoff suf- fered from gigantism due to acromegaly and had no choice about his size, just as Fezzik didn’t, much to the latter’s misery (“It’s not my fault being the big- gest and the strongest—I don’t even exercise”). It would be a patronizing cliché to say André was born to play Fezzik, but he was certainly more right for the role than Schwarzenegger. By the time he made The Princess Bride, André was seven feet, four inches and weighed more than 540 pounds. Easily the sweetest stories in Cary Elwes’s book come from the cast and crew’s memories of the wrestler, who died in 1993 at the age of forty-six, and this is not mere sentimentality. Quite a few of The Princess Bride’s cast have, sadly, since died, including Mel Smith, Peter Cook, and Peter Falk, but none of them prompts the same kind of fondness as that felt for André. “It’s safe to say that he was easily the most popular person on the movie,” Elwes writes. “Everyone just loved him.” Partly this is due to the extraordinary nature of the man. Robin Wright re- calls going out to a dinner with him where he ate “four or five entrees, three or four appetizers, a couple of baskets of bread, and then he’s like, I’m ready for seconds. And then desserts. I think he went through a case of wine and he wasn’t even tipsy.” But it was André’s innately gentle nature that made him so beloved. His “compassion and protective nature,” Elwes writes, helped Wallace Shawn over- come his almost paralyzing fear of heights when they were filming the climb up the Cliffs of Insanity. When Robin Wright felt chilly when filming outdoors, André would place one of his huge hands on top of Wright’s head. “She said it was like having a giant hot water bottle up there. It certainly did the trick; he didn’t even mess up her hair that much!” Elwes writes. When he died, William Goldman wrote his obituary in New York magazine. The last lines were as fol- lows: “André once said to Billy Crystal, ‘We do not live long, the big and the small.’ Alas.” Next, on a smaller level, is the love between Miracle Max (Crystal) and his aged wife, Valerie (Carol Kane). Initially they seem simply like a squabbling old couple, playing purely for broad comedy (and their scene is the broadest comedic one in the film). But it soon becomes clear that Valerie is needling Max only because she wants him to get back his confidence in his work after Prince Humperdinck destroyed it by sacking them, and her little cheer when her husband agrees to make a miracle for Inigo is really very touching. By the end of their scene, they’re working together, finishing one another’s sentences, holding each other arm in arm, and whispering little asides to one another. As a portrait of elderly marriage goes, this one is a pretty lovely one. Finally, there’s the great love story that frames the whole movie: the one be- tween the grandson/Kevin Arnold (Fred Savage) and the grandfather/Columbo (Peter Falk). In the beginning of the movie, the grandson is irritated by his cheek-pinching grandfather and can hardly believe that he has to stop playing his adorably primitive-looking computer baseball game to listen to grandfather read a book.IX As the film progresses, the relationship between the grandson and grandfather progresses almost like a traditional love story: the grandson slowly gets more interested, clutching his covers anxiously when Buttercup is almost eaten by the Shrieking Eels; then he gets angry, banging his bed with his fist when it seems like Westley has been killed; and finally, he comes around entirely and tells his grandfather to come back the next day to read the book again. “As you wish.” His grandfather smiles, and the film ends. “That wasn’t actu- ally in the script,” Elwes says. “They came up with him saying that on, I think, the last day, and it really captures the love between the grandfather and grand- son. You can also see the tenderness between Fred Savage and Peter Falk.”

[killer-benhardy]

Say It - Part 4

Ben!Roger Taylor x Reader

A/N: I have no idea why this took longer to write than i expected. Hope you enjoy it! And I think it’s getting pretty heated rn. I send all my love and care to Freddie, Roger, Deacy and Brian.

It had only been a few days since Roger’s call about Queen coming back home, and he wasn’t able to tell you why. It made you curious.

Were they getting so popular that roads were getting too crowded? Too many groupies trying to get into their tour bus? Maybe their bus had broken down? Or simply because someone was too sick to play or sing.

“At least they’re coming back home,” you told yourself while placing champagne glasses onto the coffee table, which was beside the couch. You had prepared a few snacks ready for the boys, just some nibbles and of course drinks.

“Now this looks pretty alright,” you smiled at the dining and living area. Although it was a small space, you were able to make it look a bit special. There were candles around the room and you had Queen records ready to play. And of course, you had to move your mattress back into the bedroom which was surprisingly hard for you.

“Let’s get ready now.” You had looked through your closest and tried to pick out an outfit that Roger would like. It was easy, you picked out what you had just bought yesterday. A white skirt that cut past your knees, along with a red floral blouse and some pale pink lipstick, along with a natural eye look.

Just as you finished applying mascara, you heard a loud knock at the door.

“They’re here!” You squealed in excitement. Trying not to run into any of the furniture, you opened the door with a big smile, but your smile was gone in less than a second.

“What is that?” You blurted with your eyes starting to water. Of course, that wasn’t the first thing you wanted to say to him, but his state was just so shocking to you. But before you could question him anymore, your attention also drew to Brian.

“What on earth happened to you two?” Roger’s face had red and purple bruises around his eye and jawline. You brought your hand to lightly touch his injured face but he stopped you and kissed your hand. He was trying to make you not worry. Brian, on the other hand, had his right arm wrapped in bandages. It rose many questions. You knew that these two are careful enough not to get hurt, mainly Brian.

“Oh darling, please let me get a drink inside,” Freddie spoke to break the silence. Everyone walked into the apartment and they were impressed with your decorating skills. You handed everyone a glass of champagne and sat down next to Roger and Brian on the couch. While John and Freddie sat together.

“Can someone please explain to me why these two look like they’ve come out some kind of brawl?”

Not being surprised, no one said anything. They were all taking sips out of their glasses, and trying not to make any eye contact with you.

“Let me explain it to you, my dear,” Freddie started, “some sketchy blokes were at one of our gigs and they decided to make fun of our Brian.”

“And what did these sketchy blokes want?” You questioned.

“You really don’t have to worry about us, Y/N,” Roger smiled. You were very confused.

“You’re kidding, right? You and Brian are beaten up, how can I not worry?” you started to raise your voice.

“Y/N, please, I just-”

“Roger, she wants to know what happened, just let Fred explain what happened, okay?” Brian interrupted. It confused you, you felt as if there was some strange tension in the air.

“These blokes thought they could make fun of Brian’s height,” Freddie spoke.

“What? You’re kidding, right? Someone would actually go that far into fighting you guys? Because of Bri’s height?” You were now even more confused.

“Darling, I know. But Roger here decided to talk back to one of them, which then led to this outcome.” Freddie pointed towards Roger and Brian while trying to hide a huge grin. John was trying to stop Freddie from smiling and laughing, even though he was also smiling himself.

“Ha ha ha. It was the funniest thing to happen to us,” Roger mocked, chugging his glass of champagne. To be perfectly honest, you found something a bit funny about it, but you didn’t like seeing Roger badly hurt.

“Those blokes were completely terrible. This is some great cheese, Y/N,” John smiled at you, as well as changing the subject. You laughed and offered the cheese platter to John.

“Rog, did you want some-”

You realised that he wasn’t beside you, but pacing around the apartment, and you could tell he seemed stressed. It was probably because of Freddie’s explanation. You decided to just offer some cheese to Brian, who gladly took some.

“So that’s the reason why you had to come back home. Well, how long are you staying?”

“Well, Miami said that we should wait for my arm to heal before we start playing again,” Brian stated with a smile. You knew that Queen have loved music and loved to perform, but this was the first time they’ve had to put their tour on hold.

“That’s good Bri, I hope you do get better soon,” you spoke, “do you boys want some tea?”

“Yes, darling, that would be amazing!”

“Yes please, thank you, Y/N.”

“I’d love a cup, Y/N.”

Freddie, John and Brian replied. You turned to Roger who was still pacing around. As much as you wanted to calm him down, you knew that he just needed time for himself. You left to the kitchen to boil water for the tea.

“Although we’re back home because of these two being injured, I must say I’m happy to be back,” Freddie said, raising his glass high in the hair. Everyone laughed at his comment expect Roger. He didn’t look too happy, and it made the boys quite uncomfortable.

You waited for the black tea leaves to infuse the hot water, took five teacup sets along with the late teapot and placed it all on a tray. You also put a sugar bowl and plate of biscuits as well onto the tray.

Just as you were about to pick up and go back to the couch with the tea, you heard a loud smash as if glass had just broken.

“Roger! You need to stop throwing things around-”

Smash.

He threw the third glass onto the floor. The first glass was merely just an accident but the second and third were thrown from pure frustration. You somehow came to the scene late and saw another glass raised in Roger’s hand, just about to throw it until your eyes met.

Your hands were shaking, trying to keep hold of the tray. It certainly was hard. All you wanted to do was just drop it on the floor right then and there. You managed to place the tray onto the dining table, with the help of Brian.

“Roger Meddows Taylor. Everything’s going to be alright, okay?” You cupped Roger’s face and planted a kiss on his nose. He was breathing heavily with his heartbeat feeling like it was going faster than ever but all you could do was let him rest his head on your shoulder.

“Thank you so much, Y/N. Please say it,” Roger sniffed. You knew that he wasn’t in a good state at all, and he just wanted to calm down.

“I love you no matter what, darling,” you spoke, gently stroking your fingers through his hair. As his heartbeat grew at a slower pace, he quickly pecked you on the cheek and brought the tray to the couch. Everyone took their cup of tea and had a biscuit each.  

“I’m so upset that someone would want to hurt my two favourite people,” you laughed, taking a bite out of your biscuit. All the boys turned their head towards you as if you said something that was completely insane.

“Excuse me, what? You’re two favourite people?” Roger asked. He was just a bit shocked. Or at least that’s what you’d think. Roger turned to Brian who was obviously looking away from him.

“Of course I love you, Rog. But come on look at my poor Brian, he’s in bandages so he can’t play his guitar.”

“Your poor Brian?” Roger repeated. He didn’t seem that pissed off from the outside. He just scoffed.

“Ah yes, that reminded me,” you looked at Roger, “would you like to stay with us for a few days or so, Bri? Since it might be hard to do some daily tasks on your own.” You turned your head to Brian who didn’t know what to say, and also Roger who had the same reaction. Even John and Freddie were shocked.

Brian took the last sip of his tea and responded, “Y/N, I really don’t want to be a bother to you and Roger.”

“Come on, I insist that you stay with us, right Rog?” Roger slowly rose his head to see you happily staring at him.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Why don’t you stay a few nights?” This made Brian feel reassured and he gladly agreed to it.

It sounded very exciting for you since you enjoyed Brian’s company. Although something in Roger’s system thought that having Brian stay would be problematic since he was somewhat more injured than him, all of your attention would go to him.

“I’ll just sleep on the cou-”

“Don’t you dare, my dear. Poor Brian here will feel too guilty. You sleep with your lover boy,” Freddie winked at you. Freddie walked towards you to whisper, “just don’t be too loud.” You started to blush like crazy, along with John and Brian trying to hide their laughter.

Roger didn’t think that having Brian would be a problem. Well, the drummer boy was wrong. He was in for a long, long ride.

—

Part 5

—

Taglist: @roger-taylor-stole-my-heart @ilyjules @cosmiclunas @lilliekrs @mrsmazzello @mercurys-bike @jemcairrstairs @wolverinesbeer @anamcg317 @wingardiumlevidonewithlife @a3lizalee @lelifesaver

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rapsody movie #freddie mercury #rami malek #brian may #gwilym lee #john deacon #joe mazzello #queen #say it #fanfic #fic

[brightly-painted-canvas]

how about some mazlek going away on a nice, peaceful vacation together after the oscars so they can finally get some alone time? (let's pretend rami had some time off before going back to film mr. robot)

I am disgustingly late, dear anon! But I finally have something ready for you. Hope you don’t mind me filling this request with another one of my rambling hc posts, it felt like the best option :)

Joe doesn’t like to be predictable EVER so when he and Rami figure out they have one week of break between the Oscars and the start of Mr Robot filming, he calls dibs on being the one in charge to decide where to go on vacation

he also keeps the whole plan a secret (and he’s surprisingly good at it) (but maybe Rami being so taken with award season and shootings preparation helps him being successfully secretive)

the day after Rami’s Oscar win, at some point in the afternoon (since they slept in late to cure the afterparty hangover), they say bye to their friends and Rami’s family and Joe drives North until they reach Salt Lake City and stop for the night in a hotel

(Joe promises that’s not their destination but Rami is not worried in the least and he enjoys the drive and fastfood dinner and mostly he likes not having to worry about a thing, trusting Joe completely)

(he’s also already in an absolute state of lax and relief after months and years of incessant work and stress and having to be constantly in the public eye, doing the right thing, being always on his best behaviour)

Joe as usual makes the best out of their modest hotel room situation and prepares a warm bath for the both of them and then gives Rami a back massage all the while Rami complains he needs to relax too since he had been driving for half a day

they fall asleep in the middle of a sloppy and tired make out session and as they wake up the day after they make fun of each other for being too old and too tired to maintain a regular sex life with their kind of lifestyle

they have breakfast and then continue the journey

Rami offers to drive a bit as long as Joe tells him where to go but Joe refuses saying they’re not that far

true to his words, after a few hours that the scenery outside the car’s windows has turned white with snow and they are well beyond the border between Utah and Idaho, they park outside a nice private cottage right at the foot of the mountains

the lodge is beautiful outside and inside: there is a large living room with two couches and a fireplace, an old-style kitchen with already a few box and bags of grocery done for them and on the second floor probably the best decorated bedroom Rami has ever seen (and that’s saying something, considering he’s used to stay in some fancy hotels around the world). The best thing about the bedroom is the window and balcony, overlooking the woods and a creek of a small lake that is completely frozen in the still icy weather of late winter. The place looks pristine and clean but at the same time warm and cozy and he asks Joe how he found it but Joe refuses to give away his secret sources (probably just a late night deep dig into Airbnb’s abyss)

this leads to them bickering without malice about how it’s not nice to keep secrets in a relationship and they go on until they’re outside exploring the surroundings of the house and Joe gets hit with a snowball on the back of his head

they have a vicious snowball fight for minutes until Joe succeeds in catching Rami by his waist and rolling the both of them down a slope of fresh snow

soaked to the bones and laughing their asses off they snuggle close and kiss with frozen lips as clouds of warm breath surrounds them

getting back inside to get changed, Rami starts the fire in the living room and feeds it until Joe is out of the shower and they can switch

when Rami is back from the hottest shower he could get, all the sheets and blankets and pillows of the bedroom are now forming a perfectly structured pillow fort in front of the fireplace and Joe is pouring French red wine inside two glasses looking smug

Rami sits beside him on the fluffy floor of the pillow fort and kisses him senseless

(“You don’t know how much I needed all this.” “Oh, believe me… I do know.”)

they’re tired for the long travel and playing in the snow but they manage to make dinner and watch a movie and even christen Joe’s epic pillow fort making slow and tender love

Rami refuses to fall asleep on the floor though, so they pick up some of the blankets and sheets to make the bed upstair and fall asleep on a very soft mattress and in each other’s arms

the week goes on smoothly and easily: they make trips to local sightseeing places and visit the Yellowstone Park and they have long lazy mornings and evenings in front of the fireplace, just reading or watching TV or having the best sex they had in months

Rami is relaxed and pliant and smiles and laughs so much more and he looks so utterly in love with Joe it’s almost a trouble when they’re grocery shopping in the nearest town or surrounded by other tourists in this or that winter location

Joe can’t really seems to care about being recognised or found out at this point though, since he’s so utterly in love with Rami himself and he’d risk everything to have his beautiful man always this happy, this carefree, this lovely

(at some point there is a small accident which includes Joe and ice skating on the frozen lake but everything turns out fine and they decide, out of embarrassment, not to talk about it ever again)

before they know it’s been five days and they need to pack their things and get back, in time to catch their flight for NYC

they decide to celebrate their last day of freedom in high style (but still in THEIR style): they cook and bake together (some fancy steak recipe by Rami, some unhealthy and too buttery cookie batch by Joe), have dinner in front of the fireplace, reconstruct the pillow fort to feel more warmth and comfort, re-watch Bohemian Rhapsody (it’s kind of a cathartic moment where they relive all that came from the last year of their lives, the good and the bad things, the funny and the emotional parts of the whole ordeal), cuddle the hell out of each other

it’s right at the end of the Live Aid scene, before Don’t Stop Me Now starts playing over the last frame and titles start rolling, that Rami says: “I can’t wait for what comes next.” in a soft sigh against the back of Joe’s ear

they’re lying almost horizontally on a pile of pillows and the cushions of the couch, under white sheets creating a soft canopy over them and a warm blanket around their bodies perfectly set together: Joe is resting almost upon Rami, his back against his partner’s chest, Rami’s right hand lazily stroking his hair as he rests his left cheek on top of Joe’s head

“What’s next? Robot? Bond?” asks Joe sleepily, wrapped in the the perfect bliss of the lazy evening and Rami’s warm body around him

he turns his face just enough so that he can look back at Rami and kiss his cheek for good measure. Rami’s strokes have stilled but his fingers are still tangled in his hair

“I meant for us,” says Rami and he sounds insecure and certain at the same time, like he’s trying to process his thoughts, share a sudden epiphany with Joe

“What’s up with us?” asks again Joe, searching Rami’s eyes and leaning even more into his side. “I don’t know… I guess we’re gonna need to find a place for us? A common ground where we can be together even if we’re on different projects… we’re gonna need to find more time to spend together outside work. Match schedules, plan things…” explains his partner

“This date isn’t over yet and you’re already trying to ask me out again?” jokes Joe, smirking

“I’m… trying to ask you to marry me, actually.” smiles back Rami, unflinchingly

Joe lets out a tiny gasp and stares at him with wide eyes, opening and closing his mouth like he’s at loss of words but wants to say something back

Rami doesn’t move and doesn’t let him go, he just shift so that Joe slides between him and the back of the couch and they can lay on their sides and look into each other’s eyes as he asks, softly and lovingly: “Would you marry me, Joey?”

“Like that’s even a question!” exclaims Joe, breathlessly

“Could you still reply to it, just to clear any possible doubt?” adds Rami, trying but failing to look annoyed, stroking Joe’s cheek and neck as the other ducks his head toward him, suppressing a nervous laugh. Rami doesn’t move, he just repeats: “Joseph Francis Mazzello, will you marry me?”

“Yes I will marry you, Rami Said Malek.” he spells out slowly and looking smug: “Try and stop me.” he adds, provocatively

“I really don’t want to do that.” says Rami and they can’t contain their satisfied smile as they kiss, sealing their promises

they don’t have engagement rings to exchange (“So you weren’t planning on proposing here and now?” “Not at all. Why, were you?” “Not really…?”) so they just entwine their fingers and fall asleep holding hands, still facing each other

(yes they sleep under the pillow fort this time, sorry Rami)

the next morning they pack their things and load the car and Rami leaves a nice message to the lodge’s owners on a piece of paper on the kitchen’s countertop, while Joe promises to leave a more than positive review on Tripadvisor

they call their families to let them know there’s good news (they mostly take it well, except both Nelly and Virginia sound like they’re crying of joy and Rami feels sorry for having to tell them on the phone)(Sami and John’s reaction are both along the line of “About time! We been knew for ages” which makes sense)(Yasmine has to be stopped because she’s already suggesting plans and names for the florists and catering service recycled from her own wedding)(Mary is the family’s normal one and just congratulates them, sounding very happy)

(the next in line for a call are Gwilym, Ben and Martin)

on their way to the airport they discuss how to break the news to the rest of the world and they decide for a slow approach and a low profile

so Joe just sends out a tweet that says: “Brace yourselves, big surprises aren’t over yet” , Rami likes it and that’s it (for the time being)

(fans freak out and fandom explodes, of course)

#hc request #mazlek #headcanon #anon request #prompt fill #vacation #marriage proposal

[frangipanidownunder]

Prompt: Mulder & Scully make a wrong turn on the way back from a case and end up somewhere cool.

City of Souls: fic

What a great prompt - thanks! I’ve never been to Colma so all mistakes are mine. Set late season 6, before The Unnatural.

He spits a seed outthe window and turns to her. He’d rolled his sleeves up hours ago, flung histie over the back seat. It might be the end of a California summer but the heatis unrelenting. Sweat prickles at the creases of his elbows. Immaculate in herseat, Scully’s still all business. Whole and upright.

           “When was the last time you worejeans, Scully?”

           She doesn’t answer. He hates thesilence.

           The sign reads ‘It’s Great to Be Alive in Colma’. He waits for her reaction. Nothing.He drives. On each side there are cemeteries. She’s drinking water and lookingout at the rows of uneven headstones.  Thereare hills behind them, scratched brown from too much sun. Withered. He makes amental note not look back too often.

“Scully, do you prefer Gunfight atthe OK Corral, the 1957 classic western starring Burt Lancaster and KirkDouglas or Tombstone, the 1993 remakestarring Kurt Russell and Val Kilmer?”

           He hears the creak of gristle in herneck as she turns towards him. There’s a tiny kink in her lips. Upwards. He letsout a slow breath.

           “I haven’t seen either, although Iunderstand the cast of each movie was stellar. Maybe you can invite me over fora classic western movie night, Mulder. We can drink beer in our Levis and talklike John Wayne or Clint Eastwood.” She’s teasing him. And his skin stipples inappreciation.

           “I see you with your hair tuckedunder a Stetson riding over the plains, outrunning and outshooting the outlaws,Sherriff Scully.”

Another cemetery looms ahead. Padgett is still a fresh nightmare. Herblood-soaked shirt stayed behind his eyes for weeks, a metallic tang taintedeverything he ate. He felt empty. Hollowed out, just like the bloodied chestsof the victims. Life scooped from them. Ribs yawed open, bones like gravestonesin rows. When she is quiet, he still feels empty.

He blinks away the image and turns to her. She relaxes into a smile,plays with a strand of that glorious hair. Now, he sees autumn sun, tastes theburnt edges of pumpkins, feels in his limbs the strange looseness of holidaysto come.

“Maybe we can spin our guns or crack our whips?” She’s still playing thegame and his heart thrums. And then she laughs. God, he loves that sound. Likethe pop of a vintage champagne cork, a surprise followed by perfection.“Mulder, why have we driven so many miles in the wrong direction?”

There’s another sign. Arrows to the town mall and the primary school andthe Cypress Lawn – Nobel Chapel. He turns towards the chapel.

“This is the City of Souls, Scully. Colma. Population 1500 livingresidents and 1.5 million  souls. In1900, the city of San Francisco declared the land in the town too valuable forburying the dead. In 1914, they sent eviction notices to all the cemeteriesordering the dead to be removed and relocated. Colma was chosen as the ‘end ofthe line’ so to speak. And now there are 16 cemeteries here, including a petcemetery.”

She leans towards him, adjusts her seatbelt. She’s still holding on tothat smile. But he’s holding on to it tighter. Her cheeks are pink. “But whyare we here?”

He doesn’t tell her he feels like he’s lost his soul and in some improbableway he imagines that staying here will fill him up with new life, will give himback some of what he’s given away this year. Just like that psychic surgeonstealing away people’s beating hearts, Diana has sucked the very core out ofhim with her unending support and her sly smiles. He feels her grip chafing athim, marking his skin so that Scully sees betrayal like a scarlet letter. Hedoesn’t tell her anything like that, although he should. He should declare hisguilt to her so she can flog him with her righteousness. He doesn’t tell her,though.

“Haven’t you ever wanted to see where Joe DiMaggio is buried? Or Frank‘the crow’ Crosetti? Wyatt Earp? Levi Strauss?” Her fingers rub across herplump lips. “I see you aren’t quite as into this as I am,” he says and shebestows a gentle shake of her head on him, one that’s accompanied by a quietchuckle.

“I can’t say I am, Mulder but if you feel that visiting the graves offamous sports people or cowboys, is something you need to do, then knockyourself out. I’ll be happy with a cold beer and a steak. I’m hungry. And thistown is making me crave dead meat.”

He laughs then. She’s funny, his Scully. She metes out her jokes inincrements, measuring out the time between each beat so it’s not too long, nottoo short. She’s good with her timing, like that. Knows just when to step in, whento step back. He hasn’t learnt that yet. But this business with Diana hastaught him that jumping in blindly, just for support of some kind, is not whathe wants anymore. Not what he needs.

He turns into the cemetery, feels a shift in the air. It’s not mournful.There’s something serene about it, a quiet calm. It’s in the cooling of theharsh sun, it’s in the shush of the leaves, it’s in the melodic birdsong. Thedead enjoy the longest rest, but the living can come here and reset.

She’s out of the car before him, shucking off her jacket and shieldingher eyes from the lowering glare. California Scully is brighter in every way,he decides. Kaleidoscopic despite her penchant for black work-wear. Everythingelse about her is a melange of soft colours. He takes her in.

“Walk with me?” she asks and offers an elbow for him to hook his armthrough. He wonders if she understands the irony of promenading around acemetery while the dead lie still beneath them. He’s sure she does, but Scullydoesn’t mind irony. She doesn’t like duplicity. She just doesn’t like beingtaken for granted.

He watches their shadows pass the headstones, long thin versions ofthemselves stretching out in some ghoulish representation of life. He needs tolook back at her, see the tangible partner on his arm.

He tips his chin towards her. “Those who couldn’t pay the $10 evictionand relocation fee left their loved ones to be piled into mass graves.”

“It’s a cruel and undignified story,” she replies. “But death is oftenugly.”

Her shirt was wicking bright red as quickly as her skin paled. Hehesitated because in that moment he was sure she was gone, and he had let ithappen. His fucking arrogance had led her to the terror of a death like that.Her beating heart stolen from its hearth right there in his own home.

The warm surprise of her fingers clasping through his shook the pictureaway, dissolving the stark of red death into the muted tones of Scully’ssmiling face. She nods to a plaque on a large sculpted rock. He reads thedetails.

“When you were in that travel agency, with Duane Barry, I used thisman’s case to highlight the potentially dangerous misreading of the situation.It’s one of the clearest memories I have of that time.”

He takes in the information as she speaks.

“The Gage Accident. Phineas Gage was working on the railroad at Vermontwhen a tamping iron blasted upwards and pierced his skull from cheekbone totop.” She touches the spots on her own face and he watches the grace of herfingers. “Miraculously, he survived but his behaviour changed so much that hewas no longer the same man.”

It might not have taken an industrial accident to change him, butScully’s ferocious charge for justice, right by his side, has been just as redhot. She has stayed on the same damned path, never deviating, while he’spinballed from belief to doubt and all the while dragging her along with him.Exposing her to horrors. How has she remained the same? Fuck, he loves her forit. He loves her sameness, her unwavering Scully-ness. You know what you’regetting. You get what you see.

“I remember you talking about him,” he says. “I thought it would be goodto see the memorial. And we really weren’t that far away. It seemed the rightthing to do.”

She tucks her chin to her chest. “Well, it’s a very ‘us’ kind of thingto do, isn’t it? It’s a graveyard. It’s macabre. I’m only surprised that it’snot raining. It would be just the kind of after-case date we would indulge in.”She looks away quickly, licks her lips. “If this were a date.” The words arebreathed out, low.

He looks around at the graves, thinks about the dead beneath them, lyingsilent in repose. Souls departed, bodies left behind. Bones desiccating toashes. He thinks about Phineas Gage and Levi Strauss and Jo DiMaggio, how theirlives are still known. He looks back at Scully and she’s waiting for him tospeak. He can’t find any words to tell her how much he wants her life to beknown for centuries to come. There’s a glint of sunlight off the brass of theplaque and he squints as it flashes in his face. He shivers but lets the sensationwarm him, like heat from the inside, filling him.

“There’s a 50s style diner not far away,” he says, looking back at her face, where he sees hope, forgiveness and he feels his soul settle back inside. “Let’s get that steak, Scully.”

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #todayinfic #prompt #softnow