#that thing with paris on it is supposed to be a postcard

[mrghostrat]

Anon who submitted the crowley eating cake doodle request here! I will admit that I have only read your streamer au & postcards from paris fics. However, you made me want to read the fic in reference so I can understand the reference in it.

pls it's like the best thing i've ever written phptghpt

and i've done waaay too much art for it

Mon Horrible Chéri by ghostrat (40k) (9/9) (E)

Human AU / Teachers / Enemies to Mutual Pining / Sharing a Room

The realisation left him giddy. If Justine played her cards right, Aziraphale would be spilling everything Crowley had been itching to know, and all his listless second-guessing would finally come to an end. He just had to maintain his cover of obliviousness a little longer, which would be ridiculously easy if Aziraphale had gotten this long into a Paris trip without noticing his fluency. Crowley returned Aziraphale’s smile with carefully constructed cluelessness, which seemed to placate the English teacher enough for him to turn back to his friend. ≪He’s handsome though, isn’t he?≫ She continued, evidently enjoying pushing Aziraphale’s buttons as much as Crowley did. He fought every instinct to preen at the compliment he wasn’t supposed to understand. The real challenge came when Aziraphale licked his lips in thought, then admitted, ≪Yes, he is rather.≫

#tryin to decide between this convo and the theatre scene is so fuckin difficult #theyre both my fave things ever #chapter 6 is so OP #CHAT WHATS UR FAVE MON CHERI SCENE? #rat writes #ask a rat

[greyeyedmonster-18]

(awhile ago, i played an ask game in which i was asked to make a story involve MCD and one of the answers i gave was: postcard from paris.

so...i present, a postcard from paris au. you don't need to read the first fic, just the second chapter and you're good to go.

xoxo)

greener grass (the greenest growing)

part 1: a beautiful day

Remus stood awkwardly in the corner of the drawing room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, looking out the open window at the blue skies that were a perfect contrast to the heavy velvet curtains and the mood from inside the house. Glass of wine in his hand, knuckles turning white from gripping the stem so hard, only half hearing Sirius's voice telling him he was an uncultured swine--a barbarian-- for letting his fingers touch the glass.

Remus didn't pretend to have a culture in the first place, glancing down at his feet where his black dress shoes were untied and scuffed on the toe. Suit and tie, dressed in a sort of costume he hadn't wanted to put on that morning before attending the service, caught somewhere at the intersection of denial, disbelief, and dread. He typically loved going to Number 12.

They had spent birthdays and New Year's there, celebrating milestones with joy the way Sirius and Kingsley knew how to do.

Going away parties and promotion parties.

Baby showers and welcome back parties.

And now they were here.

The house was filled with small talk and music from a record player that felt more eerie than ambient. It made Remus's hair stand on edge the way everyone passed along platitudes and placations; it made him roll his eyes when he walked in and saw security scanning people's wands. Death apparently wasn't a big enough occasion to warrant privacy, treating the service and the reception as another charity gala or event of the season. And not something terrible that had happened.

He took a sip of his wine, teeth on edge as a woman's overly shrill laughter rang through the halls.

It should have been Sirius's obnoxious laughter. Not hers.

Remus stepped towards the window, slumping over to rest his forehead on the glass, eyeing the white roses that framed the backyard of Number 12.

"I think he reinforced the glass, so if you're thinking of taking a nose dive..."

Remus pulled his forehead off the window and turned around over his shoulder to the sound of the familiar voice. Familiarity was supposed to bring comfort, or so the saying goes, but it sent knots straight to Remus's stomach.

Though, at this point, his stomach had been in knots for two weeks, what was a few more?

"Looks like I've been thwarted then," Remus murmured, not quite making eye contact with the man in front of him. James gave a half-grin that quickly fell from his face, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his hair.

Nearly 40 and he still had a full head, not a strand of grey in sight. Meanwhile, Remus had bags under his eyes the size of carry-on luggage and more grey hair than he could count.

"How are you doing, Moons?"

"That's a stupid question to ask. How are you?"

James opened his mouth and closed it again, walking into the drawing room after shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers, robes hanging over his shoulders. It was strange. James in all black, when normally James took every opportunity to wear bright magenta's and purples.

Yellow's and bright oranges, mirroring a sunset in the sky or extravagant city lights in the night. Remus had once thought James was the Eiffel Tower-- the real fucking thing that was it for him-- only to have the fantasy crumble when James hadn't followed through.

Again.

Leaving Remus waiting and disappointed.

Again.

Not that Remus had put the effort in either...again.

They went around and around, and now James was in black robes, and Remus was holding a wine glass, and they were in the same room for the first time in seven years.

"You're right...stupid question."

"Cheers," Remus raised his glass, finishing the contents in a long gulp.

"Is the wine good at least?"

"Would it be a Black party if it wasn't?"

"Not much of a party."

"That bint from the Ministry with the hat might disagree..."

"Oh, her..." James muttered, shaking his head, looking as if he was about to say something, but he stopped himself again. Remus knew that look--that feeling. He had been wearing it and feeling it for the past two weeks since he got the news.

"Yeah."

"I...I know it's been a while..." Remus snorted, "And I know...we kind of fell apart--"

"You make it sound like an accident."

"Wasn't it?" asked James, "We...were young. Some things work out when you're young, and some things...just don't."

"I don't think that changes because we're older..." Remus finally met James's eyes, hazel sending him straight back to their best friend's wedding.

“I told you we’re not doing this.”

"Doing what?" James asked hands paused on the belt buckle of Remus's trousers, identical robes already shed behind them in the bedroom of Sirius's villa in France, bottle of champagne on the dresser.

"This! What we always do!It's so fucking stupid. We pretend its forever and then it ends the same. You leaving for work, and then we write letters for another two weeks and promise to floo and visit and you send me postcards and pictures but we never end up meeting until there’s some…function. And that's what happens, every single fucking time. When Sirius moved out, when Sirius got engaged, now he's married and unless he gets married again, I don't know when the hell I'm going to see you!"

It wasn't a wedding.

"This isn't a wedding," Remus told him.

"I know," James swallowed, "I don't know how I'll get through it wit--"

"Dad-- there you are!" a third voice came and this time both Remus and James turned around to greet it, "Why are you two being all dodgy by the window?" Harry asked, adjusting the glasses on his face.

It was cruel torture, the way Harry had grown up to look so much like his father and haunted the halls of Hogwarts for Remus. The privilege of watching Harry grow tainted by memories of his father and what if's from when Harry was younger.

"Were you looking for me, Haz?" James asked a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Yeah, we're kicking people out now, Mum says we can do it but someone needs to go sit with--"

"Sure," James nodded and inclined his head toward Remus. They easily fell into step again, as they left the safety of the drawing room. Side by side, one foot after another, a single unit, but it never stayed like that for long. They walked through the hall, Remus listening to Harry and Lily move people out the front door.

Thank you for coming.

It means so much.

"He didn't even like half these fucking twats..." James muttered under his breath.

"Don't need to tell me that..."

"Good."

The casserole was delicious.

"It tasted like feet," remarked Remus and James coughed out a laugh, just before they came to the sitting room.

A casket in the middle of the room, white roses around the base.

Vacated chairs.

Velvet curtains wide open

And Sirius sitting on the edge of the couch, head in his hands now that the room had cleared out, fingers frantically combing through his hair over and over again.

Ordinarily, Remus would've made a joke about how he was going to go bald.

But it didn't seem like the time.

"Habibi," James said gently, sitting next to Sirius on the couch and pulling hands out of his hair to hold them instead, "Did you have the feet casserole?"

Apparently it was the time.

"Feet casserole?" Sirius responded quietly, still staring down at the ground. "I think its technical name is Widower casserole."

"Mmmm no, I'm pretty sure its feet," James corrected, turning his head to look at Remus, "Remus had some."

We make a good team, Moons.

"A whole big toe," Remus nodded, before taking a breath and crossing to the other side of Sirius, "Budge over, where are your manners?"

"In my husband's casket, I think..."

"I'll put mine in there too," Remus agreed.

"You didn't have any to begin with," Sirius retorted and nudged Remus lightly with his shoulder.

They were three again.

James.

Sirius.

Remus.

On a couch.

Blue skies behind their heads.

James hands holding onto to Sirius so he wouldn't slip away.

Life lines.

"We have a week. To sit here...and...be with him one last time..." Sirius said softly, lifting his head up from the ground, and staring at the casket instead. His jaw was tight, muscles in his hands flexing over and over again against James's. "You think that'll do it?"

"Do...what?" asked Remus

"Help this feel less shitty?"

"No," Remus said bluntly, leaning back against the couch to stare up at the ceiling. He felt two more thumps against the cushions in succession, seeing Sirius and James from his peripherals looking up all the same.

"But its...a beautiful day," James continued, "And...we're here."

Remus didn't have to look down to know it was James's hand on top of his knee.

Remus didn't even have to wait for the wine to kick in to know he would be absolutely fucked, once again, in ruins and shambles by the end of the week. It didn't matter that it was a funeral. It didn't matter that Remus had told himself he was too old to me making the mistakes of a twenty year old; thirty year old.

James's hand gave his knee a squeeze. An electric shock through his body, and Remus closed his eyes.

Here we go again.

#greener grass #moonchaser #remus lupin #james potter #sirius black #part 1 of three #cw: mcd mention #cw: grief #cw: death #grief and mourning rituals!!!

[theretirementstory]

Bonjour à tous, it is the first week of January, New Years Day came and went with me feeling rather glum. I didn’t feel like eating and consequently had no “special” meal on that day. By Wednesday my good humour had returned as had my appetite.

It has been a year now since I had my stent fitted in my heart, I am hoping to have another appointment with a cardiologist in the next couple of months just to confirm that all is well. I go to see the oncologist on Monday to (I assume) discuss how I feel after the radiotherapy.

It is currently 1c and cloudy and the highest temperature is due to be 3c, I don’t think I will be poking my nose out of the door today. My friend said she felt that snow was on the way, I am praying it is not!

Pauline eventually came to see me on Tuesday, she had been to Dijon for New Year but hadn’t really enjoyed herself as she was too busy looking for accommodation in Barcelona. Then she messaged me on Wednesday to say that her mother’s partner had passed away that morning. Her mother was due to drive her to Lyon on Thursday or Friday for Pauline to take a Flixbus from Lyon to Barcelona. She is flying today from Paris, she hadn’t really wanted to fly because of the smaller luggage allowance but maybe that is better.

Monique came to see me on Tuesday too, it was wonderful to see her and we had a good chat. She had had a great Christmas with her family and grandchildren, the twins will soon be celebrating their 2nd birthday, it’s amazing to think they are only two as they seem to have been around a lot longer.

I didn’t get in touch with the plumber (again) as the central heating and the pressure bar on the boiler seem to working satisfactorily.

Anie has sent me a photo of her with her family in Indonesia, she seems to be having a wonderful time. I am very pleased for her, although her family have been in France a lot in 2023, it has been a lovely holiday for her.

So the cleaner came on Thursday and asked if I would like to go to the Casino restaurant in Montier en Der. As I am really trying to keep myself safe from any infections, wearing my mask while out shopping, avoiding crowded places, plus only eating food prepared by myself. I explained it was something I could do after March but she said how about going next Thursday. I said I would let her know, went online to check out the menu, discovered there were only a couple of dishes that I would eat and decided to decline her offer. It’s important I keep myself well until my immune system is back up to full capacity.

I am “itching” to get out into the garden and prepare things for the springtime. Unfortunately, a lot of weeding is needed and the ground is too wet to deal with that at the moment. I do want to place cardboard around the rose bushes and mulch on top of the cardboard (this should be done in January) I am wondering if that will work around the hydrangea paniculata. At the moment there are so many weeds around it I fear it will become smothered. I am considering covering the area, weeds and all with the cardboard.

In France, from January 1st, they are encouraging people to discontinue putting food waste in the dustbin and encouraging the use of composters. Looking at the booklet that arrived it states quite categorically “no weeds, their seeds etc in the composter.” Now when your garden is full of “mauvaise herbes” where on earth are you supposed to put those when you clear them out? How do I stop my neighbour from putting the grass clippings (including dandelions etc) into my composter when he is being kind enough to mow the grass? Answers on a postcard please 😂. Speaking of compost, I am so terrified that there are 🐀 and 🐁 in my composter that I could do with a young man to come and empty all of my compost out. Where do you find a young man willing to do that? Is it something my gardener will do? I guess I will be making enquiries this year. Then I could start again and perhaps make better compost. I have never got right thé the bottom of the compost bin. As my friend Marlene was telling me something about rats in the composter I am worried that if they have them in their compost bin then I surely must have them in mine. Mind having said that I don’t put tomatoes, or anything with seeds into the compost, which I think they must have done, as she said they had tomatoes growing in there one time.

My potager, which I had covered with cardboard last winter, is full of violas (plus a few weeds). I was hoping to transplant the violas to the back garden, and feel sure I will, given some drier weather. The same applies to the iris I planted in the raised bed years ago, they are coming through well and keep multiplying but are becoming too crowded in there and I need to thin them out. All this talk of what I would like to do, is making me want to rush out and start doing something in the garden.

Let’s have a look at the music this week, back in the 80’s this first group would really have had no interest to me, however, all these years later as part of a car advert here in France, I find myself singing along (possibly my own words I hasten to add) and find the music quite “upbeat”. The song is “Oh l’amour” by the group Erasure dating back to 1986. The second song is one of my all time favourites, it’s a song that I feel as soon as you hear it you want to get up and dance. Of course the “old body” has done a good few miles since this was released in 1978 but somewhere inside my “mojo” is still working 😂. The song is “You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real) by Sylvester. This is another song which has been used in an advert recently.

My grandchildren FaceTimed me last Sunday, I wasn’t wearing my hat so my very short hair was on display. At first my granddaughter wouldn’t speak to me she just kept staring as I spoke then eventually she asked “where’s your hair?”. We explained I had had it cut off because I had been very very poorly, she accepted that and we continued the conversation as normal.

“The Photographer” had his car repaired on Tuesday, no really large expense and I guess it is still running okay as he has been out and about in it. Yesterday was his last day working in a branch office and from tomorrow will be doing his training for home working. I am hoping that it all works out well for him as it saves on his long commute, fuel, wear and tear on the car and means that he will hopefully get to see more daylight.

“The Trainee Solicitor” has been busy at work. Not too sure how his ankle is now, it had still been swelling but he thought that was due to the heat in the office and having his foot down all day. He is currently doing housework while “The Ex-Graduate” has a well deserved rest. She is still waiting to hear about a start date for her new job but at least she has a job until the new one starts.

The books I had ordered arrived on Thursday and I was just so excited! I opened the bag but didn’t remove all of the books until yesterday. Oh did I want to cry! I had only ordered two the same. Instead of five books to read I now only have four but that’s fine and I will make sure I check my order before I press “Send” next time.

Yesterday, I did not a lot at all, I had my bloods taken and for the first time in a long time the results didn’t arrive by the afternoon. I need them by Monday afternoon for the oncologist so fingers crossed they arrive. After the visit from the nurse, I decided to have half an hour reading my book unfortunately that half hour turned into the rest of the day with only breaks to make food and to go to the shops for a few things. I must get myself moving today.

Knitting is on the back burner at the moment but I am crocheting. Next week sees the first knitting group of the year but more about that later.

I have posted the photos of my beautiful planter, which doesn’t look like that at the moment, and of one of the hellebores. The hellebores this year are obviously going to flower later as they are just producing green leaves at present and I need to get the planter cleared of weeds and put some new compost in it to encourage the lovely flowers. I would like to get a primula to put into it as well as a few more violas. The planter that Monique made for me about November last year is flowering so well it really is beautiful.

Jusqu’à la semaine prochaine.

#barsuraube #photography #knitting #crochet #gardening #my garden #family #friends #80’s music #70’s music

[dragons-in-spaceee]

Started reading Heartstopper a while back and I’ve finally got around to doing some fanart!

I love this series so much its sooo cute and perfect !!!!!! Happy pride month!!!!!!

@chronicintrovert :)))

#that thing with paris on it is supposed to be a postcard #it looks odd but yeah #also I traced nick and charlie #just in case you thought I’d suddenly learned to draw in heartstopper style #anyway yeah some random collage type thing #heartstopper #nick and charlie #osemanverse #heartstopper comic #heartstopper fanart #heartstopper art #lgbtq+ #lgbtq+ pride #pride month #pride month 2021 #gay #bisexual #gay pride #bisexual pride #my art

[lovetendencies]

—DRACO MALFOY in LOVE ANNIVERSARY

teen pregnancy.

Your first children, it was a birth that was done alone, and it frequently scared you when you remembered it. Your lover, first love, Draco Malfoy wasn’t there and he hadn’t known about his first kid.

Your first baby, a beautiful boy, was with your parents in the Muggle World being taken care of from your parents and as well was your second. They’d send postcards and photos you had to open when you were alone so you could see your baby boys, who were growing to look more and more like Draco as time went on. You wrote postcards back for your parents and mostly for your sons to read, hoping they were old enough by now to carefully read words and hear what you had to say.

You often felt guilty for not telling Draco when the Headmaster, Dumbledore, told you not to tell anyone as they’d handle the news badly. He had excused you from Hogwarts for a full year but with Professors who had given you homework. “I missed you, my love,” Draco whispered the first night he had you alone. You were nearing your guys’ last year at Hogwarts, being in your sixth, and your both your sons being born just a few months ago. You felt terrible as to not celebrating their first birthday with them and Draco as a family because you’d be away at Hogwarts in November.

But you couldn’t tell him, you couldn’t, he’d had been afraid either way and cut off all connections possible to not talk to you. When you had said you missed him too, you remembered when he looked down at you with skepticism. “You look like you’re sick. Are you okay? Is there something you’re not telling me?” he asked. “Are you alright? While you were away did you get sick from something?” Draco had a tendency to overthink that’d often give him a headache, his stomach would twirl, and his thoughts often had the better of him but nobody except you had known that. “No, don’t worry, I’m okay. The headmaster said I was supposed to see my family because something had happened to my parents,” it was a lie.

Your parents and all your known relatives were alive and well, healthy in fact. It was your sons you hoped to see someday and noticed your face enough to call you mommy. “Are they alright? I know I’ve never met them before but—” it was how worried he was that caught you off-guard. It had made you fall into his arms and cry, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning in to plant kisses on his face, that’d have been your moment to tell him—that he was a daddy, that he was a father to the most precious and beautiful boys you’ve ever seen.

“They’re doing okay,” you cried. “They’re alright,” he had fallen back against his bed, surprised, and he did that stupid smile that would make everything okay again. “I’m glad—because I still have to meet them, right?” he smiled, bringing your head against his chest, holding you tightly in his arms until Pansy Parkinson herself, slammed the door open. Pansy and Blaise had already known about your guys’ relationship, having seen that night your sons were conceived, and under circumstances, accidental but who you had loved either way.

“We’re already made sure you guys weren’t doing the devils tango again,” Pansy stared down at you guys with a disgusted expression, and all while Blaise had side-smiled, containing a laugh. The two that often trailed Draco from behind were also your best friends, leaning towards more to Pansy who was with you through thick and thin, and her own share of insecurities and breakdowns; that night, you were focused more of what tomorrow’s postcards could bring, your baby boys smiling with their hands that covered his cheeks like the last? Or whimpering baby boys you wished to hold in your arms?

Your parents were fond of magic as they had went to Hogwarts themselves as kids, both marrying muggles and having a daughter who was likely to be magic, they knew the moment when there were things in the most odd places. They’ve also known Dumbledore their whole lives as well, he was quite fond of your family, and the generations. “I love you,” Draco whispered, his arms trailing around your waist as the other two had noticed, their gaze focused open you and Draco until they had thought it was time to leave. They said their see you tomorrow’s and he had wrapped you on top of his lap.

During the conversation you had with your best friends, Pansy whispered next to you, saying: “Draco has been faithful to you. I didn’t see him next to a girl except me, didn’t have his hands on anyone when we were at parties on weekends, and he often mentioned that he missed you,” she chuckled. “And I was surprised because I was hoping I’d have to beat him up to get some sense in him—but he does. For you,” she kissed your cheek, a small gesture you two would give each other that’d make Draco and Blaise turn their heads towards you guys.

You wanted to tell him that he had beautiful sons that looked identical to him as he were as a child himself—but somewhere in his eyes, he was living to be a teenager, hoping to be a kid again. “I wish I could tell you things I know when I left here for a bit,” Draco gazed in your eyes, hoping for truth with a raised brow. “But I’m going to tell you anyway,” he softened, his arms right around your waist. “We have my parents to be expecting when we visit them this summer,” you smiled down at him. “I know for a fact they can’t wait to meet you, and I can’t wait until you meet them because I’ve told them a lot about you. What you do, how your parents are like, how we met,” and it was that, it made him chuckle.

It was half the truth. You couldn’t wait to see your both of your sons when you went to visit them this summer, and Draco, his eyes were lit with hope. Since summer was around the corner, surprised you came back anyway, he begun to prepare his luggage, his most finest clothing he has ever owned, along with things that’d impress “your parents”. But when in reality, they’d have rather much seen him, their father, their daddy.

Time went by fast, it went by slow, and it often differed. By the time you guys were on the train, he had begun to pace around with his hand up to his chin, rubbing his face and he had a stern expression that you had to remind would give him wrinkles. “It’s going to be okay. They will love you,” you weren’t afraid of what your parents would think of Draco as they had already loved him despite not meeting him. They’ve told you many times that they’d help you through your journey of becoming a mother, and if Draco didn’t comply, they’d be there for you but you’d rather much have him.

You’ve gotten the approval of Dumbledore to tell Draco, and he had given you a smile that spoke many words. He mentioned that he was proud of you to see this through with him, and talking about the things that could’ve possibly happen to Draco, all the different possibilities and outcomes made you terrified to your core. He were about to meet your sons for the first time, and he didn’t know they could possibly have existed.

They were both born of November a few months ago, and by this time, they’d have been seven months old. “What if they don’t like me? What if they don’t see what you see? What if they think I’m no good? Oh god, I shouldn’t have brought these clothes,” he chewed on his nail and sat beside you worriedly, resting his head against your shoulder with a slump that made you chuckle, and being received an expression that made him raised his eyebrows. “They’re going to love you, baby,” you twirled his hair, knowing how much he loved getting his hair played with, and within a few minutes, he fell asleep.

The next half hour, the train had stopped, and you saw your parents against a new SUV they had bought for you and their grandsons. “Let’s go, we’re here,” Draco had begun to grow more nervous and nervous at each step he took off the train, and the moment he did, he didn’t fail to notice your parents. He had seen the postcards they sent of themselves in Paris, Canada, Africa—they had informally greeted Draco with questions such as: “How are you? Are you taking care of our daughter well?” and Draco had his own share of postcards himself from your parents.

You knew your parents had loved Draco—and part of the reason why was because you guys never had a fight, when you guys did, and you had avoided everything to not tell them when it was difficult to. The amount of postcards and letters that were left not sent and in a garbage can were uncountable. Draco trailed from behind like a scared little puppy meeting it’s owner for the first time. “Hey, my lovely!” your mother had cheered, running towards you as you had dropped your luggage at your sides, which you had grown impatient. “Where are my babies?” you whispered softly, hugging her back. “They’re sleeping in the car. Have you told him yet?” she asked.

You had shook your head as Draco helped out your father to load the luggage in the back. He didn’t see the two baby seats in the back with two babies who had a grown set of hair. You had glanced inside the car and seen them—your sons. Your heart ached as their hair had begun to change since the last seven months you’ve seen them. One of your sons, Vincent, had dark brown hair with platinum blonde streaks—and your other son, Scorpius, had full platinum blonde hair. And you were glad that your hair colour was part in Vincent’s hair.

“We have lasagna in the oven back home. Have you ever tried it, Draco?” your mother asked. He had shook his head, slowly walked towards you and kept behind you, timid of your father and your mother. “Well, if you’re scared of us, you can relax. If you had other girlfriends and met their fathers, we aren’t like them,” your father smiled, passive aggressively, he spoke. “No, sir. I haven’t had any other serious girlfriends other than your daughter,” and it was true, he hadn’t except you and you’ve been there for him most of your time at Hogwarts.

Draco hadn’t noticed the two babies in the back as soon as he got in the vehicle. “We hope you two spend time together this Summer,” your parents spoke in unison, together, they clapped hands with laughter. “We are expected to travel just outside the city for a couple of days—and it’s only a few hours,” you knew what the code was for. They were going to take a break and it was up to you and Draco to take care of the babies for the Summer, meaning three months. By the time you guys had gotten to your place, your father and Draco grabbed the luggage and dropped them inside. “My babies,” you walked over to a small bench at the front of the house.

You had planned to walk in, your parents in the backyard, and telling Draco he had two sons. But you were caught up in the moment, they looked up while rubbing their eyes and soon they were bouncing in your lap, it had made you laugh and worried as you were alone and didn’t want to drop them. After awhile, the sun was starting to set and among the horizon, hues mixed with yellow, orange, and a hint of blue that the sky was being put to rest. “My babies,” you whispered, rubbing your forehead against theirs and kissing their plump and soft cheeks. “I missed you so much,” you planned to tell Draco once you got inside as the sun had hinted you spent too much time with them and less with Draco.

“I’ll tell your daddy that he has two beautiful and perfect sons,” they looked up at you with tired and droopy eyes. They looked like Draco as Narcissa gave you baby photos of him with twinkling and watery eyes. “If he doesn’t react in a way I hope he does,” you whispered. “Then we don’t need him, okay? I’ll raise you both myself, know you guys are so loved,” you whispered as you had stood up from your spot, heading back inside, watching for twigs and stones that might’ve tripped you. But instead, Draco was sitting against the pavement with his face in his hands, and he looked as though he had been silently crying, watching you and the twins.

Your heart skipped a beat as the twins were resting against your breasts, their eyes half-open from spending their time with you with laughter and giggles. “Draco?” you whispered. He looked up from his hands, his face the most stern and cold you’ve ever seen him, and the way he looked at you was as if he hadn’t known you—like it was when you guys were in your first years all over again. “I’m sorry,” you let out as he had broken up again. “I saw them—but I thought they were your brothers. I noticed the blonde hair like mine, their pale skin, blue and brown eyes like ours, and I still thought they were your brothers,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes to avoid tearing up, and looking ‘weak’.

“I didn’t tell your parents. I didn’t tell anyone—not even Pansy,” you whispered, your arms starting to grow tired from their body weight, and you had walked over to the bench as he trailed from behind. “You were the only person I wanted to tell before anyone else,” you whispered. “Because I thought I’d be worthy enough again—and it was unfair for me to keep a secret like this from you for a year,” Draco had timidly sat beside you, glancing at the babies from time to time as he fidgeted with his hands and the ends of his black shirt. “I’m not going to leave you,” he mumbled. “And frankly, I don’t think I have the heart to,” he whispered, the courage to look up at you.

“Because I spent most of my time devoted to you, with you, not have I once thought about any other girl. And while you were away, I had many times to think about the future,” he leaned back, staring at the sky that was beginning to set. “Of course, children were in there,” he uncomfortably adjusted himself, and it was almost clear to you. “But I’ve thought after Hogwarts, we’d get married, successful, travel, settle down and have kids,” he rubbed his face in his hands. “And I wonder now,” he looked down at Vincent and Scorpius.

“I wonder how my parents will react when I have two sons,” he trailed off. “That look like me,” he continued to stare at them with dazed eyes, as if he couldn’t believe he was a father—a daddy to your sons you hoped they’d have. “Do you want to hold Scorpius?” you asked, looking at him adjust himself uncomfortably again while rubbing his hands together. “He’s your son, a baby, not a bomb,” you smiled wide enough he started to as well. Draco’s eyes were free of tears, and he looked ecstatic. The moment he had Scorpius in his arms, he looked as if he was about to cry, and he did.

“They’re going to wake up,” you whispered, rubbing his arm up and down. Your parents had luggage ready when you guys had gone back in the house—and Draco didn’t part from his sons. Every second of every day, he’d have them in his arms, kissing their full set hair of heads, their plump cheeks even when they were awake. They’d often look at him with raised eyebrows but soon grew on him—they seemed to know, that he, Draco Malfoy, was their father. Your parents had left the next morning with directions on how to make their bottles when you knew how to, how to change their diapers, how to make them fall asleep—and all while Draco had looked at the directions multiple times with tired and sore eyes that looked like they were about to roll and fall out of their sockets.

He was just as a new parent as you were, and you were glad that he had stuck around. Over the Summer, there was an owl sent by Dumbledore who had congratulated you and Draco. “He knew!?” he whisper-yelled, looking at you with raised eyebrows and an unbelievable expression. “He was the first person I told when I found out I was pregnant. If I told you—you would have freaked out, would you?” Draco thought for a second, shrugged it off and looked away with his cheeks heating up. After you two had sent a letter to Dumbledore with pictures you guys had taken over the Summer, along with the twins who were growing, and in August—you had been there for their first birthday party.

Along with Draco who had looked down at them with a wide smile, holding them in his arms as he sang happy birthday with a cake that he had ordered especially expensive. They knew they had a father—and one of their first words together were daddy. “I love them,” Draco whispered as they were given a sliver of cake, not too much icing, and they had their face dug in like cavemen, cheeks with white icing and they looked like they were having fun. “With an appetite of mommy,” he joked.

The same day, you guys had went to the beach together as a family, and it made your heart ache and ache constantly. You had planned to tell Pansy and Blaise next—who you would know have bizarre and expressions that’d be beyond surprise. Then—it’d be Draco’s parents as they’d wonder why he didn’t spend the summer with him anymore.

The following years, you and Draco had gotten married and had your last planned child. Your sons, Vincent and Scorpius, had grown into their looks. Scorpius had platinum blonde hair like Draco as dark brown streaks appeared as soon as he was two years. Vincent’s platinum blonde streaks spread across his hair, and soon his roots were the only thing that were dark brown. “Meet your baby brother,” you remembered whispering to them as they had been six turning seven then. Draco had been over your shoulder the whole time, looking down at the three babies, and then you.

Who he would say multiple times have saved him when she’s least expected it. “He’s a boy?” Vincent spoke aloud. “But I thought you guys said she was a girl!” he pushed the baby away with a small fist and the baby had woken up with tired and glossy eyes. Draco, who had witnessed, had a vein popping out of his neck as he kept a small smile. “Sometimes, baby, that they get it wrong. But we love him no matter what,” Scorpius held out his arms as he held him.

“I love you,” Draco whispered from behind, his arms travelling towards your waist. “No, Draco, not another baby. The first two were a difficult delivery and this baby was even more harder,” you pushed his hands off as you had laughed. “I’m kidding,” you whispered. “I love you too,” as you pushed yourself back against his body, wrapping his arms around your waist as you two had looked down at the twins who softly poked at the babies cheeks—and when they did, they pulled away quickly and giggled.

“My love,” he whispered. “My darling wife,” Draco kissed the back of your neck and continued to dig his face in the hem of your neck with a small smile. “I can’t believe how much I love you. I’d give up anything for you and my boys,” he pecked your neck. “Love you forever,” he whispered.

#harry potter oneshot #romance #harry potter imagines #draco malfoy #draco malfoy oneshot #draco angst #draco romance #draco x you #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy romance #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy fluff

[jennagrinsoverml]

ML Fic Recs - AUs

Last week was crazy and I didn’t get around to posting, but now I’m back with your weekly rec list. As usual, I’m trying to rec fics that readers are less likely to have read. (I base that off of kudos on AO3. The general rule is fics under 1000 kudos, but usually I try to keep it under 500!) You can find my other rec lists on my blog at #jennarecsml

If you enjoy these, please reblog so more readers can find these awesome fics!

I love the what ifs of taking are characters and changing something--or everything!--of their circumstances. What if Adrien never went to school? What if soulmates were real? What if there weren’t miraculous? There are so many ways things could have gone differently and I love these explorations. Here are some of my favourite alternate universes!

like poles of a magnet by @rosekasa

ladybug spat her blood at chat noir. invincibility was only granted to the ladybug and black cat that worked together. not even the miraculous cure could heal them, otherwise.

(or, five times they didn't hate each other, and one time it was love).

Multi-chapter. Enemies AU.  The enemies dynamic here is AMAZING!! Adrien is so in character even when he’s a “bad guy”, and the backstory of how he ended up working with Hawkmoth is perfect. (Also, how is Gabriel even worse??) I love the way the identities are played with, and especially the repercussions of Chat working for Hawkmoth on what Adrien is allowed to do.

I Love You To Pieces by marichatting

Marinette's wrist is blank. She knows that one day, she will kiss her soulmate for the first time, and her soulmate tattoo will appear on her wrist, but how is she supposed to wait patiently for that day to come?

She is dying to know whether or not Adrien is her soulmate. Meanwhile, a certain cat has the same burning question about Ladybug.

One-shot. Soulmates AU. This is so freaking sweet, I can’t even. I love when an author takes the rules of the AU and thinks through how they might play out with our characters and their dynamic, and that’s what we have here. Love the interaction between the soulmate kiss and secret identities!

A Series of Meets: Postcards by @damagectrlwrites

When Adrien moves into his first flat, he discovers postcards already in his mail box addressed to someone none of the neighbors seem to know. The postcards come from a young woman traveling the world for a few months named 'M' and her diligent, once a week cards make Adrien decide to hold on to them in hopes of delivering them to the correct receiver. However, with each postcard he gets, he learns more and more about 'M' and soon finds himself falling for the postcard's mysterious writer.

One-shot. No powers/Never met AU. Okay, technically this is a chapter in a collection of AU one-shots, but it deserves individual attention. I loved the mystery of this one, and watching Adrien slowly fall for someone he’s never even met. I don’t want to give away too much with this one, but when I finished reading it the first time I had to go back and give it another read to see how everything connected.

Footsteps by @sariahsue

"I'm not sneaking!" Marinette blurted out as soon as she saw him. She noticed three things instantly. He was blond. He was holding his hands around his eyes like binoculars, and he was in the nicest tuxedo she had ever seen.

(Marinette’s about to get married to her soulmate, a man she’s never met before. Too bad she meets that cute groomsman in the hallway first.)

One-shot. Soulmates AU. This is ridiculously, impossibly sweet. I love how even in a world where they’ve never met and things are clearly very different (marrying someone you’ve never met??), they’re still so very recognizable as themselves. I love this.

A Series of Meets: Reach by @damagectrlwrites

Paris is safe, except from the rivalry of its two superhero guardians: Ladybug and Chat Noir.  Since they were teenagers, the two have raced around Paris, trying to out do-good each other.  

After Chat Noir saves a bus of people from falling into the Seine before Ladybug can even get there, Adrien is in high spirits.  He helps a young woman reach some chips high on a shelf, kicking off a friendly conversation that ends with a coffee date.  

It’s a terrible day for Marinette.  First she had a hectic day at work, then Chat Noir gets all the praise for saving a bus of people, and then she nearly topples over trying to reach some chips.  At the very least, a nice guy helps her and asks her to coffee. Surely, things will get better, right?

One-shot. Enemies/Never met AU. Okay, technically this is a chapter in a collection of AU one-shots, but it deserves individual attention. This one is absolutely amazing and hilarious and YOU NEED TO READ IT!! Ladybug and Chat Noir are superhero rivals, always trying to outdo each other, and being annoyed at the other. Marinette and Adrien get a meet-cute and fall in love. The juxtaposition is perfect and ridiculous and THAT IDENTITY REVEAL OMG.

The Soul System by @peppermint-shamrock  

A series of fics taking place in the same soulmate AU, where soulmates experience an intense feeling of connection and recognition upon first contact - and only first contact. With no lasting proof beyond memories, things don't always go smoothly.

Series. Soulmates AU. This one is full of angst and heartbreak, but it’s so good. The worldbuilding is phenomenal. This is one where the author has really thought through the consequences of the alternate world, and then figured out how to inflict those on our canon dynamics in such a way that they inflict maximum hurt. Ladybug and Chat Noir are soulmates, but Marinette’s in love with someone else. Someone who already has a soulmate. 

lost without the shape of your heart by @beaubcxton

“I heard you today at the coffee shop.” Ladybug whispered, and noticed the way he stiffened immediately. “Don't worry, I didn't figure out who you were but I saw the back of your head as you left.”

“Oh.” He pulled away then, and offered her a wobbling charming smile. “You didn't happen to hear anything I said, did you?”

Four times Marinette stumbles onto the boy behind the mask, and the one time she meets him.

One-shot.  Never met AU. This is such beautiful ladynoir, and I love how that relationship grows and deepens. Meanwhile, of course, they’ve never met as civilians, but there’s nothing stopping them from recognizing each other. The ending absolutely sent me.

The following fics is amazing and absolutely worth reading, but does feature sexual content, so minors beware.

Overheard by @ghostlyhamburger 

Marinette and Adrien are roommates. Adrien overhears some odd sounds from Marinette's room.

Rated E. Multi-chapter. Roommates/Housemates AU. This is really hot and sweet, and then the angst hammer comes in. I just really enjoyed the entire thing, watching these two be idiots and seeing how the misunderstandings arise.

#miraculous ladybug #fic recs #ml fic recs #ml fic rec #ml love square #ml lovesquare #love square #ladynoir #adrienette #adrinette #jennarecsml

[ao3bronte]

when chaos reigns [the sirens come to play]

A Merman AU. (Rated T with some suggestive language.) Now on AO3!

[Prologue]

Covid-19 and covert relationships don’t exactly go hand-in-hand these days, but you really shouldn’t be touching anyone’s hands right now anyway.

…that is, unless you don’t belong to the same species.

Can Merpeople catch Covid-19? That’s debatable, but news doesn’t exactly flow freely from the depths of the South China Sea. Though we know very little about Merpeople and their ways of life, we do know that they rarely interact with humans, preferring to tear down their ships and rip apart their dams and levies in revenge for poisoning the oceans and seas with their human fossil fuels. 

But this isn’t a story about environmental politics, or Covid-19 for that matter. This is a story about love and about putting aside differences. In this tale, Marinette discovers that the term ‘scalie’ (ou écailleux, car nous sommes en France) doesn’t always refer to the commonly known adjective to describe fish skin. And Adrien, bless his heart, really does need to put on clothes when he’s not rocking a fish tail despite the fact that he’d much rather be naked (much to Marinette’s mortification). Anyway you slice it, Merpeople and humans simply aren’t supposed to be together — they’ve always been sworn enemies through and through — but no matter what alternate universe we find ourselves in, these two idiots in love will always find each other.

This is, undoubtedly, their story.

[Part 1]

It’s the beginning of March and Tom and Sabine aren’t taking any chances with this whole virus situation. Marinette seems to catch everything — illnesses, hands, the whole nine yards — and they’d already been talking about sending her down to the Cote d’Azur to spend the summer with her grandmother Gina Dupain in order to get away from Paris for a little while. The constant schoolyard bullying from Chloé Bourgeois has dragged Marinette down so many pegs that Sabine is almost relieved to see Macron call off school for the foreseeable future and books both her daughter and her husband a trip to Marseille before the entire country shuts down for good.

Marinette isn’t happy, of course, but what teen would be? Her friends are in Paris! The fashion is in Paris! She doesn’t want to stay in some sleepy little Mediterranean village where nothing ever happens! Do they even have Wi-Fi there?

It’s a valid question. Tom doesn’t actually know, but he chatters enough for the two of them as the high speed train takes them down the rails to the south of France. Marinette’s sulk lightens a little as he pulls pastry after pastry out of his luggage in the hopes of making his daughter smile just a little before dropping her off with his mother — he knows that their relationship is a little strange after Gina’s last visit to Paris but there’s nothing a little quality time together can’t fix. 

Petite Befana is one of those places you find on a postcard. Situated just on the edge of France and Italy, the fishing village’s brightly coloured houses gleam in the sunlight, peppered with lemon trees and winding alleys that seem to almost spill out into the sea. The beaches are craggy and feature small grottos and coves of underground caves that glimmer with seaglass when the sun hits them just right, hiding a pocket sized oasis here and there for the adventurous who like to explore at low tide. Gina likes it here because of the Place du Marché, but Tom often wonders as to the real reason why she’s settled in the quaint harbour after years of Eat, Pray, Loving around the entire planet after divorcing his father.

She’s certainly made friends with every woman in town by the looks of it. Along with her veritable swarm of bar-hopping friends, Tom keeps seeing a woman with pointed features and deep black hair with a violent red streak in it pop up on her Facebook page. They always seem to be in the same jazz club, not that Tom is really paying attention; if his mother wants to spend her golden years drinking negronis and dancing with her girlfriends, that’s up to her.

They disembark the train in Marseilles and take a bus to Toulon, then another bus to Petite Befana. Marinette is passed out and drooling on his shoulder by the end of it so Tom does as he always does and hauls her up like a sack of flour through the thick and winding labyrinths of cobblestone streets towards his mother’s apartment. Gina greets them once he eventually finds the place and, after tucking Marinette into the daybed in the guest bedroom, happily guzzles down the proffered beer on the terrasse overlooking the sea.

“I’ll try to come down as often as I can,” Tom assures Gina, not knowing just how bad of a clusterfuck 2020 was about to become. “I’m sure Marinette will come to appreciate all that Petite Befana has to offer.”

“I’ll take her down to the market tomorrow morning,” Gina assures him, patting her son’s beefy forearms. “There’s an older woman who sells the most beautiful fabrics and I already dusted off my old sewing machine. That should keep her busy.”

“Marinette’s never happier when there’s a project to complete,” Tom responds with relief, downing the rest of his Kronenbourg. “I bet she’ll have an entire closet full of clothes by the time the month is out.”

“And it should only take a month or two for this to blow over.” Gina jabs her thumb towards the television as the news of Covid-19 murmurs in the background amid the waves of the Med on the shore. “And then we’ll be back to normal before you know it!”

(...and we all know how that turned out.)

[Part 2]

Covid-19 affects a lot of people in a lot of different ways. Some feel stir crazy. Others enjoy the alone time. But Marinette? Well, she’s been trapped in the harbours of Petit Befana for three weeks now and our aforementioned heroine is already bored out of her skull. She’s made three dresses, four satchels and twenty two scrunchies with the leftover fabric because what else is there to do down here? Luckily, Covid-19 hasn’t quite affected Petite Befana like it has the other regions of France and Marinette is able to go outside at least...not that she wants to. 

There are more artisanal bakeries and charcuterie shops in Petite Befana than there are nightclubs and high end boutiques, which is odd for a village so beautifully situated on the coast of southeast France. Gina proudly boasts that her new home is often bypassed by the glitz and glam of Monaco; lavish superyachts and the seemingly endless stream of paparazzi prefer the glamour and uberwealth just west of their little village, leaving its sleepy inhabitants mostly alone to sell their goods to the tourists that stop by for a night on their bicycles and scooters. Marked with the Italian influences of its neighbour, Petit Befana truly is the little-known last stop on the famous Cote d’Azur which makes it an inspiring landscape for Marinette to discover…

...for all of four days. 

She’s already so over Covid-19 and, like any teenager, she’s getting more and more annoyed by the day that she can’t hang out with her friends! Why did Maman and Papa send her down here?! All she wants to do is get back to Paris and design! It’s not like there’s anything fun to do here anyway, besides play video games all day in her bedroom; the only places that offer free WiFi are closed and she can only play Animal Crossing for so long before her grandmother insists on making her get some fresh air. 

Ugh! 

Grumbling under her breath, Marinette pulls on her raincoat and stomps down the laneway from the terrasse towards the sidestreet where her grandmother’s 1920’s bastide-style home resides. From the cobbled alley, Marinette watches the colourful array of fishing boats land their day’s catch right up on the harbourfront and heads down despite the storm clouds brewing on the horizon.

“Bonjour!” A group of older men wave as she makes her way down the ancient steps, the pathway shaded by thick palms and cacti. She pauses just long enough to ask who’s winning their game of socially distanced pétanque before continuing her way through the pines towards the gravel and sand beaches that line the shore. 

The seafront is mostly boarded up, much to both Gina’s and Marinette’s disdain. Her grandmother used to spend most of her evenings at the jazz bar La Sirena with her friends, not that Marinette got to meet any of them. The lockdown shuttered pretty much everything the day after she kissed Papa goodbye and settled into her new life for the next month, but with three weeks already stretching into four, Marinette dejectedly wonders if she’ll ever see Paris again.

Passing the last brasserie on the boardwalk, Marinette leaves civilization for the long stretches of barren coastline. There’s all sorts of little inlets and grottos here and there, especially as she gets closer and closer to the Italian border. Unfortunately, it’s only April, which means it’s rainy, generally unpleasant and completely and utterly empty on the beach.

“No one to talk to, nothing to do…” Marinette sighs and tries to kick a piece of driftwood, only to miss it with her foot in true Marinette style. The faux pas — quite literally — sends her screaming and flailing her arms like an octopus on a ceiling fan as she dramatically plummets face first onto the wet, slimy gravel.

She groans and pushes herself up on her hands and knees, wincing as sea-weathered stones dig into her palms and kneecaps. Marinette is, above all, a walking disaster in every sense of the word — sometimes she wonders if the powers that be seek out to deliberately punish her with embarrassing things like this on purpose for their own amusement. 

(ಸ_ಸ … *cough* Zag *cough*)

Marinette whimpers as she wipes chunks of seaweed and brownish foam off her cheeks and chin. At least no one was around to see her fall over — thank god — but she’ll still have to do the laundry when she gets home. She’s covered in muck and little bits of oily slime that are sure to stain if she doesn’t wash it out soon. Marinette grimaces as she tries to shake it off of her hands; humans really have done a number on the seas and oceans...like, why is her front so sticky? She glances at some of the garbage on the shore as she sits on her haunches and wonders if the news has it all wrong. Maybe the merpeople taking potshots at rich people on yachts with old cans and plastic sea trash really do have the moral upper hand…

Marinette, being Marinette, would have continued to stare dazed and confused into space well into the afternoon had it not been for the impossibly shiny something or other sparkling in the grotto straight ahead.

[NEXT PART...]

#miraculous ladybug #mermaid au #lovesquare #adrinette #adrienette #Bronte's Mermaid AU #ml

[unfrgivble-archive]

i am going to show you anyways. my antique haul dfghsdkjf

David Copperfield by Charles Dickens - printed in 1883 and inscribed with past owners names. Only $10

Note from US soldier to his wife on 5 Franc note. It says, “To my darling wife. 4 July 1945 Paris, France. Love Billy”

Behind it is the post card pictured in the next photo

Postcard dated 1942 to Pvt. Raymond T. Secord. Co. C, 77th Inf. Tng. Brg. 4th Platoon. Camp Roberts, California. “Hi Ray, That droopie brother of yours is hanging over my desk, so if I make any mistakes don’t be surprised. How are things going out there, all O.K. I hope. Suppose you and Verna are painting the Wild West red. Dick says this is a picture of his new girl friend, but don’t you believe it for a minute. Mother and I are going to Jerry’s tomorrow for a couple [of] days. Space is kind of short so will ring off for now. Hope you get this card all O.K. Let me know if you do. Best Regards, Bill.” 

I love this sassy edwardian lady in this pretty picture frame

Pictures of people. Got myself a dilf on the upper left, another cool guy in the upper right, lower right is the Troy 8 Newburgh line. Pictured are two cool guys and a dog. Lower left is a lady who looked so done with everything. Frame was falling apart and actual photo was torn. The lady at the antique store offered her to me bc she needs a good home.

Last but not least, this is my new boyfriend. Cute edwardian guy in a cute little frame. Looks very dignified.

#𝐨𝐨𝐜.

[bellemorte180]

AH AU

Klaus and Caroline were college sweethearts that got married right after they graduated college. Their marriage last a year before things spiral out of control. Something bad happens (nothing like a death of a child or infidelity) and Caroline leaves.

Yet, they never file for divorce.

Klaus has no idea where his wife had gone or what happened but he starts getting post cards in the mail. Caroline is traveling the world, something they said they would do together. At first they are just postcards but they then progress to photos she has taken, until she starts writing him letters.

The letters are basically her recounting how much she still loves him but understands if he could never forgive her for leaving. Klaus reads each and every one but never contacts her; because he knows she needs time and that yes, he is angry.

Until Liz gets sick.

Klaus never shut off Caroline's phone. He knows she still uses it but he never once contacted her. He is not sure if she still spoke with Liz (but Liz hinted that she heard from her from time to time). He decides to send her a message letting her know. One day, when he comes around to Liz's to check on her, Caroline is there.

It is really strange at first because neither want to talk about what happened, especially with Liz needing them. They care for her, Caroline stays with her mother while Klaus goes back to the same townhouse they had when they married.

It isn't until one late night, close to 3 am, Caroline calls him. Liz had a bad night and she just needs to talk. They talk under the stars and Klaus asks her why she left.

"Mystic Falls just felt suffocating. I need an out and..."

"What?"

"I felt like you didn't love anymore."

"I never stopped loving you Caroline. I don't think that I have it in me to never love you."

Liz passes away and Caroline packs up her home and gets it ready for selling; along with settle all her affairs. Klaus helps her through the whole process, knowing that she may be leaving again. A few days after the funeral, Caroline goes to the townhouse, noting a few changes here and there (the crack in the wall that drove her nuts was fixed, or how he bought a new fridge, painted the living room her favorite color) and things snap. They end up in bed together, the same bed they had shared when they lived together.

Afterward, Caroline asked if there had been anyone since she left and he tells her no. That he tried to date but nothing stuck; to which she replies with something similar. Klaus asks her to stay and she hesitates, telling Klaus that she has no plans to stay.

"I don't think I can. I just....I can't be here."

"Then at least let me take you to the air port this time."

Klaus drives her to the airport and stays until he sees her plane take off. He goes back to the townhouse and his life. He walks around Mystic Falls, and it feels lifeless. He realizes that this is not home. His siblings maybe there (or in NOLA- idk) but with Liz, the only good mother figure he had, is not gone and Caroline never coming back, he realizes that he doesn't want to be there either.

Unlike before, Klaus and Caroline talk on the phone. She tells him she is in Paris, staying in a small Air B&B and got a job at a small cafe (odd jobs was how she was supporting herself while writing her adventures in a book she one day hopes to publish).

"Those years of studying French paid off then, Sweetheart?"

"Well, I suppose if I want to put down roots, Paris isn't the worst place."

Hearing that she wants to put down roots, caused Klaus to make a decision. He leaves his job (I feel like he worked as an art teacher- but has a trust fund too) and packs up the townhouse and leaves Mystic Falls. He never tells her what he is doing. He shows up on her doorstep in Paris. Her eyes grow wide but lets him in.

"What are you doing here?"

"I need your signature."

At first, Caroline thought they would be divorce papers but finds that he needs her signature in order to sell the town house. She gives him a confused look, not understanding what he was saying. He had loved that townhouse when they first toured it, she had never thought he would sell it.

"Well, I quite my job at the high school. Thought I would give painting an honest go. What better place than Paris?"

#Klaroline #Plot bunny #yes #another one #I can't be helped

[utterlyinevitable]

HC for MC and Ethans first overseas vacation together?

i hc that ethan takes mc on a european adventure in honor of mrs. martinez. he wants to give mc the world 🥺

Ethan x MC’s First Vacation Together 

Bloom Edenbrook was only open for two months before closing for extensive renovations that would last for three more months - planning on opening mid-October. 

It was the perfect time for all employees to take a much needed break. 

It was also the perfect time for Ethan and MC to finally put their relationship first. 

What else were they supposed to do for three months? 

(it was a rhetorical question, mc assumed ethan would see his dad and attend conferences across the country and whatnot like the big nerd he is) 

Over the last few weeks, the pair had thrown around ideas for a week or two away. Though never settling on a solid plan - it was all just wishful thinking. 

So, Ethan took things into his own, very romantic, hands. 

The man who very adamantly did not believe in love planned a 6-week trip abroad. 

He and MC would visit almost every European city he could remember from Mrs. Martinez postcards. The lengthy trip was also a service to MC’s deathbed regret of not getting to travel more; since that moment he swore to help rectify that if she lived. 

A week before their departure Ethan surprised MC with a hefty envelope. 

MC’s brows furrowed as she gingerly and cautiously opened the manila envelope in Ethan’s kitchen.

She unloaded all the papers and spread them out in front of her against the marble island. 

She couldn’t process the information before here. 

Maps and plane tickets and hotel reservations and excursion brochures staring her in the face.

On top was her name attached to a flight reservation inbound to Rome and outbound from Dublin. 

It all set it. 

MC’s mouth hung open and for once she was speechless.  

“Ethan, it’s too much.” She said as she finally tore her eyes from the papers and looked at him.   He stood there with a glorious crooked smile on his face and his blue eyes alight. “It’s not. The way I see it, I’m going anyway. So you can share my hotel room and give me something to do, or stay here and be boring.” 

Her eyes instinctively narrowed at the jab. 

Instead of sparring with him she made a deal; “Okay, but I’m paying for food and some excursions.”  He nodded, “Of course.” Before crossing the distance and pulling her into a kiss. 

The itinerary included: Rome, Florence, Venice, Verona, Milan, Cannes, Paris, London, Dublin and then Home.  

The were set to spend about 3-5 days in each city. The longest the two would have ever spent together. 

It would be the ultimate test of their compatibility. 

The notion of there being an argument or any tension arising during their 46 days together didn’t cross either of their minds. They were just happy to be together and sharing in this once-in-a-lifetime adventure. 

They stayed at 4-star hotels and dined at some of the best restaurants Ethan could find. 

They got sidetracked and thrown off course by local markets and whatever else tickled MC’s fancy as they went about their days. 

MC took so many pictures and was constantly posting Pictagram. The godforsaken app was the source of their biggest tiff. He wanted her to enjoy the moment and she wanted to immortalize it. (and maybe show her friends all the cool things she had the pleasure of experiencing..) 

They went on walking tours and adventurous excursions. And some days they even lounged around the hotel. 

It was a mix of historic tourism, foodie adventures and relaxation. 

And they both needed a hefty dose of relaxation. 

Ethan speaking Italian was extremely useful. 

And sexy. 

And a part of MC assumed he chose to spend most of their trip in Italy just to flex his skills and impress her. 

The month away was the perfect honeymoon for this budding couple. They had a chance to explore one another and their relationship even further. 

And they really fucking adored one another. 

By their last full day in Dublin, Ethan and MC were a mix of emotions. Somewhere between wanting to settle down back home and batting around ideas of where they’d go next if they were to extend their trip. 

They settled on planning a round two in the future. 

Once they touched down in Boston, Ethan drove MC home. 

She happily hopped out of the sedan, giving her beau a kiss and an elated smile. 

MC was excited to see her friends in person and not through a screen. She was excited to tell them all the bits she couldn’t say with Ethan around - all those dirty deets. She was excited to be back in her favorite city. 

Most importantly, the two were excited to miss each other. 

(though they only lasted three days without before ethan coaxed her into joining him in providence) 

#Anonymous #asked #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #choices open heart #open heart hc #open heart headcanons

[ladyeliot]

Welcome Seaville. Chapter One. [T.S. / J.H.]

Series:  “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong”

Prologue

Pairing: Tony Stark/Justin Hammer x Fem!Reader / Best Friend Steve Rogers

Summary:  1987. The exchange term is over, so you return to your hometown, Seaville, just before Christmas. The reunions with friends, the first day of school, everything goes back to the way it used to be.

Warnings: Insults, piques.

Word Count: 3465

A/N: Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

December 1987

It would have been enough to say that this was just another ordinary Christmas in the small Maine town of Seaville, but it was not. The Christmas lights were brighter, the streets were more beautiful under the clear splendour of the moon, and the wind brought a sweet smell of sea salts that gave you a pleasant sensation. You peered through the passenger window and let the east wind envelop you and welcome you home again. Seaville was welcoming you in its entirety and you were leaving it.

It had been just four months since you had left the coast of Maine to head off to fulfil one of your many dreams, to spend a term in the French city of Paris. Nothing in your life could have compared to that singular experience, and you even hoped to return next year having been accepted to the University of Paris, but, equally, nothing could compare to the love you felt for home.

"Please roll up the window," your father insisted. "I don't want you to spend the whole Christmas holidays with the flu."

And of course nothing could compare to your dear father.

As you rounded the corner into your little residential area you could almost smell the sweet scent of hot chocolate and puffy clouds that your father had promised you when he picked you up from the airport. You got out of the car so quickly that you barely paid any attention to the bundle of suitcases your father was trying to pull out of the boot without any help.

As you had predicted, as soon as you turned the lock and opened the door, the smell of cocoa filled the whole house. You allowed yourself a few seconds to take in the view, the fireplace lit and adorned with the three corresponding boots, the Christmas tree in place, without the star on the top, as that was your job, and the coats sorted on the hanger by colour. All the same as always.

"Don't worry, I can manage," your father said almost breathlessly as he climbed the porch steps.

You laughed and grabbed one of the three suitcases that were blocking your father's path. You both closed the door behind you and followed each other into the kitchen as if it were tradition. The chocolate was still warm and the clouds had dissolved, just the way you used to like them. The conversation with your father went on for so long, explaining to him everything you hadn't wanted to tell him over the phone, or through letters, a method your father had forced you to maintain, for we should note that his job was as a literary writer, although he sometimes resorted to writing a few newspaper columns to make a little extra money.

The point is that the little family had been talking for hours on end, not realising that midnight had already passed, and that tomorrow you had to go to the institute to settle bureaucratic matters due to your return.

"Bonne nuit, chérie," your father said in a chaste French accent, kissing your forehead.

"Bonne nuit, papa," you smiled back, preparing to be reunited with your room.

Your room, which you had not yet had the pleasure of entering, was as usual, oblivious to the fact that your father had changed the quilt on your bed so you could sleep warmer. You flopped on your back on the bed, but just as a memory came to you, you quickly got up and went to the window. What your eyes beheld brought a laugh and a sense of relief and happiness, how could you not have noticed it before?

By chance of life, you were lucky enough to have discovered true friendship in the person who lived right across the street from you. When you and your father moved to Seaville, due to your mother's death 10 years ago, you chose that quiet residential neighbourhood to settle down and raise a small family. You met Steve Rogers on your first day of second grade, and from the moment you discovered you lived across the street from each other, a beautiful friendship was forged.

For ten minutes you couldn't take your eyes off the window of the house across the street, right next to yours. A large light blue cardboard covered the whole space and a few letters in capital letters decorated it with "Bon retour". Obviously you had kept Steve constantly in mind during your term away, long phone conversations and a few postcards proved it, but during the flight back you were afraid that he had forgotten about the day you were coming back, a rather stupid fear. So, with the comfort that gesture had brought you, you decided it was time to go to bed and get some rest, as the next morning was a long day ahead.

The sunbeam fell incessantly on your face, the curtains could barely block its power, you had assumed that you were not a good early riser, but that morning you woke up in a good mood, not even the strong smell of charred toast was going to take it away from you.

"Wow, nice smile," your father notified, offering you a plate with two pieces of toast blackened under raspberry jam.

"Thanks!" you took the plate and took his usual seat. "I'm looking forward to seeing Steve, and catching up with Natasha. Although I hope they've got things to tell me too. What are you doing today?"

"I have to finish the chapter of the book to hand in to the publisher," he sat down next to you. "And I also have to go to the mall to pick up a gift."

The smile on your face that morning widened, there were only two days left until Christmas, so it was obvious that the gift I was supposed to pick up would be for you. Even though you had everything planned, and had brought some presents from Paris, you still had to buy the last detail for your father.

Just then the front doorbell rang, and you realised that time had run out on you when you noticed that you were still in your pyjamas.

"Shit!" you exclaimed, taking the last bite of toast and heading upstairs. "I'll be down in five minutes!"

Just as you disappeared your father headed off to greet his visitor. You could hear Steve's voice as you hurriedly went about getting dressed, combing your hair and getting your backpack ready for class, not forgetting to grab two rolls of film to develop, but when you heard his laughter you couldn't help but laugh too, even though you had barely heard the reason for his action. You rushed downstairs and from the third step practically threw yourself onto Steve's back in a laughing embrace.

"Have you grown up? No way, let me see you," Steve scoffed receiving your customary punch on his shoulder.

"Hey, nice cartel," you arched an eyebrow pointing to his house.

"You think so?" your friend asked. "I'm glad you liked it. I spent three poster boards until I was proud of my work. "

Steve's sincerity did nothing but thank you for the small detail he'd had for you. But time was passing and you still hadn't left the house.

"Come on, guys! You're going to be late for class," your father informed you, offering you your lunch bag. You took it with a kiss on the cheek and ran after Steve, who was waiting for you by your bike in the garden. That morning you couldn't keep a smile off your face and Steve couldn't take his eyes off you.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you said getting on your bike.

"You're so happy. It's not normal to see that smile at eight o'clock in the morning," Steve's comment made you laugh a little.

You both set off in the direction of the school, it usually took you ten minutes to get there by bike if you cycled at a leisurely pace, but you were still able to catch up. On the way Steve was interested in the photographs you had taken during your stay in the European city, as you had sent him some of the ones you had had time to develop. Photography was a way for you to escape, your mother had dedicated all the years of her life to the art, and perhaps it was an incentive for you to admire her.

"It's different, Paris inspires me, it's so romantic and bohemian that it's very easy to get carried away," you explained. "That doesn't mean Seaville isn't, it's... different."

Steve listened attentively to your every word, possibly one thing you both had in common was a sensitivity that you only showed when you were both alone.

It didn't take you long to realise that the school was nearby, as the amount of cars queuing at the entrance informed you of your arrival.

"Welcome back," said Steve as he entered with you through the main door leading to a long corridor lined with lockers.

You both headed towards your locker area, you didn't know why you expected anything to have changed, but everything, literally everything, was still the same.

"There you go again! Have you been deported?" that voice, which you hadn't missed, made you roll your eyes. "I had hoped that you would have climbed the Eiffel Tower and let yourself plummet. But here you are, again."

"I had hoped that one of your absurd inventions would have exploded and you would have been shot to pieces with them," you shot back with a sarcastic grin. "But not all dreams come true."

"And I had hoped that being a senior in high school you two could get along," Steve interrupted. "But I see that's impossible."

A wide wry grin on Tony's face competed with yours, but you added a snip and he countered by trying to bite your finger.

"Lovely welcome Tony," Natasha joined the group hugging you from behind, depositing a kiss on his cheek. "Wait, do I smell Parisian perfume? You haven't turned into one of those French repipes have you?"

You were grateful for Nat's presence, who was your ally against the daily struggle against Tony, for after all Steve was a neutral lynchpin in the battle. Nat shook Steve's hand and when he went to greet Tony he tried to give him a kiss on the lips, which resulted in him getting punched in the arm. The bell rang, breaking up the group, depending on which subjects you were in.

"Meet me later in the cafeteria and continue to catch up?" you commented to Steve who was going the other way with Tony.

"As always."

You gave him a parting smile, but your gaze met Tony's who blew you a kiss in the air, causing you to squint and grimace.

"And we're still catching up?" repeated Nat with a quizzical arch of his eyebrow.

"I've got a lot to tell you, and I hope you've got a lot to tell me..." you arched an eyebrow.

"It all depends on the present you brought me from Paris," replied your friend, winking at you.

You laughed, but the two of you parted ways just inside the administration offices, where a long morning of tidying up awaited you.

After two hours of filling out forms and making photocopies of the documents you had brought from the institute in Paris, you had become quite an expert. You had hoped to have an hour to spare before lunchtime to escape to the developing room to develop the film, but that seemed impossible. When the bell rang, you had barely had time to approach the room and put the film in your locker, which you had been assigned to since sixth grade when photography had become your obsession, so you made your way to the cafeteria and found your friend sitting at your table, right next to the big window overlooking the football field.

"Where were you? I was waiting for you to start eating together, but this pizza... it was tempting me," Nat took a bite of pizza like there was no tomorrow.

"If I tell you I've been reading absurd, meaningless documents all morning..." you snorted sitting down across from her and pulling out your sandwich. "If I knew that, I wouldn't be going to Paris."

"You know that's not true," Nat arched an eyebrow drawing a smile from her. "You would have gone to Paris even if you had to repeat one more grade in high school."

"Anyway, I need an update," you began, turning serious. "Has anything interesting happened while I've been away? Anyone new? Anyone who's been stirring things up?"

"New? No, anything interesting? Neither. This Seaville Murph, there's nothing going on here," Nat shrugged finishing his slice of pizza.

"I'll look for the bright side. At least I haven't missed anything," you shrugged.

"I guess you could go away for ten years and when you came back everything would still be the same," Nat looked around. "Where are the boys?"

"I'll bet you five bucks they're on the football field," you commented. "By the way, have you written the application for Brenau yet?"

"It's practically finished," your friend reported. "I'll go over it during the holidays and send it off in January. Are you ready to move to Paris next year and drive the Parisians crazy?" Natasha winked. "You haven't been hiding some movie adventure from me all this time?"

"Oh! Of course," you said wryly just as Steve and Tony made their big appearance. "Now that you mention it, as I was strolling the first evening in the Luxembourg Gardens I heard a sweet melody in the background and headed for it. There was a man playing the saxophone and I stopped to listen to him for a couple of minutes. I was so absorbed that I hardly noticed that a boy had stopped right next to me until he said 'Ne pensez-vous pas que Paris a un charme particulier?' Then I looked at him, he had the most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen," you paused your story to make a false sigh. "Then we strolled until late at night, and we met every evening so that he could show me the most beautiful corners of the city. I think those were the most romantic months of my life."

Three pairs of eyes stared at you showing completely different feelings. Natasha, who was sitting opposite you, was holding back her laughter, Steve, who was standing holding his tray next to Tony, looked completely confused by what had just happened and Tony was arching an eyebrow somewhat curiously at the story. At this point neither of you two could hold it in and started laughing, snapping the boys out of their trance.

"What was that?" asked Steve sitting down next to you. "Is that true? Because it would annoy me if you hadn't told me."

"Come on! He's pulling your leg," informed Tony jokingly and taking his place next to Nat.

"Wait how are you so sure my story isn't true? Couldn't I have my romantic history with a Parisian?" you rebutted somewhat indignantly at his certainty.

"Was he blind?" Tony arched an eyebrow.

For your part you squinted, just as Tony got a jolt of shock after getting stomped under the table by Nat because of his comment. Steve's change of conversation made it easier to keep the argument from escalating, but something always happened to spoil civilised conversations. A few minutes later, Tony was struggling with the Ketchup sachet which he couldn't open to spread on his burger, such was his desperation that when he took a bite of the sachet, it burst causing the sauce to hit your dress. Nat's eyes along with Steve's widened in anticipation of the contest between the two of you.

"You're an idiot Stark!" you quickly grabbed a couple of napkins Nat offered you so you could remove the sauce before it left a mark.

"At least it matches your dress," Tony interjected, holding back a laugh.

Cursing through your teeth, you headed for the food counter with the intention that some cook would have one of her magical ideas to make the stain go away. Tony followed you without letting go of his burger, even though Steve and Nat advised him to stay quiet and sit down.

"Come on Murphy! It's hardly any different from the red fabric of the dress," he said stepping up beside you, and knowing how much you hated it when he called you that.

"How many times have I told you not to call me Murphy?" you said scrubbing the stain with soap and water.

"It's your name," she shrugged nonchalantly. "It's not my fault your parents decided to name you that."

You bit down hard on your lip so you wouldn't have to blurt out all those things that were running through your mind, and put on an act in the middle of the cafeteria. You were lucky that at that instant someone appeared and diverted Tony's attention.

"Ready for Stark debate class?" Justin Hammer, with whom you shared a few classes introduced himself to you.

"Of course Hammer. I can't wait to see you try to put your meager vocabulary together in one sentence," Tony took a bite of his burger, causing sauce to smear his mustache and chin.

"Come on Tony, you've got a lifetime to be an idiot why don't you take a day off?" Hammer smiled slightly.

You couldn't help but smile at the comment, to which Tony noticed and became uncomfortable.

"Hammer, everyone has the right to act stupid for a while, but I'm not really the one abusing that privilege," Tony took another bite of his burger. "So fuck off."

Justin Hammer had gotten what he wanted, and his success was grounded in a half-smile as he walked away, leaving Tony frustrated. Within seconds he turned to you, so you gave him a raised eyebrow.

"You don't abuse that privilege?" you asked, referring to what he had just said to Hammer. "Please, Tony..."

Your smile faded just as Tony dipped his finger into his burger, and, bathed in what little ketchup he could get his hands on, rubbed it all over your right cheek.

"You're despicable!" you exclaimed wiping your cheek.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

"Don't thank me for the insult, it's always a pleasure," you cocked your head to the side and widened a fake smile leaving him alone, returning to the table.

The doorbell once again brought the lunch hour to an end. Tony followed you and jumped on Steve's back with the burger still in his hand, while you and Natasha gathered up your bags and belongings.

"Hey, what are you doing this afternoon? I thought we could all go to Barry's and catch up," you suggested to Natasha as you headed towards the lockers.

"I've got dance class, and I guess since it's the last one before Christmas it's going to run until dinner time," she lamented.

"Did someone say Barry's?" Tony slowed his pace and interjected into the conversation.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," said Steve. Barry's at 7pm?

"Nat's got dance class," you commented, opening your backpack to put your books in your locker.

"Guys, I know I'm a one-off, but you can go without me, don't worry," Natasha shrugged. "We can meet up tomorrow."

"Okay, but tomorrow you have to come with me to the mall, I'm still missing a present for my dad," you leaned in front of her.

"That means you already got mine," Tony winked at you, you hated his sudden mood swings.

"Yeah, a single ticket to the farthest place on the planet," you said, cocking your head.

"You know you'd miss me," he cut you short and you nudged him.

Oblivious to Tony, you added, "So I'll see you at Barry's this afternoon, and it's okay if you don't show up Stark."

"Believe me it's the last thing I feel like doing, but where Steve goes I go."

Taglist Open (DM) - @ravishingreid

MAIN MASTERLIST

#tony stark x reader #tony stark x you #tony stark imagines #tony stark au #tony stark young #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x oc #tony stark #iron man x reader #iron man x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers best friend #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagines #natasha romanoff imagine #marvel au #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #avengers x you #justin hammer x reader #justin hammer x you #justin hammer imagine #justin hammer au #iron man imagine #steve rogers x you

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 16

oh gosh, i'm so sorry for the late update!! i promise i'm still working on this, little by little. i am on vacation next week, so maybe i'll get the chance to really put some work in.

in any case, enjoy today's update c:

okay, so who the hell was gonna tell me that CBG’s designed a whole-ass album cover for my favorite artist of all time?

scratch that. who was gonna tell me she designed my FAVORITE album cover for my FAVORITE artist of all time?

Bubbles, as it turns out, has known Marinette Dupain-Cheng since he was four years old. Went to school with her and everything. So that’s another scoop to the shit Luka’s landed himself in. He still isn’t sure what gave him greater whiplash: finding out about that connection, or finding her name in the fine print of Jagged stone’s album credits. He also isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing that Nino mentions little else, and especially dodges the question of if it’s even cool to actually admit to having a gigantic crush on Marinette Dupain-Cheng, or whether he’s just wasting his time.

Cool.

Cool, cool, cool.

(Luka is most definitely not cool.)

Especially for those freeze-frames of time that he wonders, to his own horror, if Bubbles has been Adrien Agreste all this time.

It takes him the better part of an hour of pacing and fidgeting with his guitar pick to realize that no, he hasn’t been casually messaging a fashion mogul’s son who also just so happened to be Marinette’s own gigantic crush. He doesn’t seem like the type to use “dude” in everyday conversation, and for another thing, it didn't exactly like up with what Marinette had said about them knowing each other in middle school.

One day, Luka swears, he’s going to take this anxiety thing out back and have it meet its maker.

Even if, maybe, he sort of is its maker.

(Okay, maybe he's going to take his brain out back, because he's definitely not responsible for that.)

But he figures, once that initial panic and urge to scream into his pillow wear off, that it might be a cool talking point between him and Marinette. One that, for once, doesn’t have much to do with either of their jobs. Or with how tongue-tied he gets around her because she just won’t stop being so pretty. Not that that’s a problem; both his sister and his mother would have his head for ever thinking that way, and even then, Rose would tell them to get in line. Something about how they didn’t raise him this way, even if two of them didn’t even raise him at all.

Luka waits a couple of days before stopping by the bakery again; it gives them both some breathing room and the time for those postcards to be finished and printed. He thinks about it a lot. The postcards. The effort. Marinette, too, but in his quietly flustered opinion, he thinks that’s a given. He doesn’t get the chance to come until close to closing time again because of his delivery shift; he just hopes they don’t mind too much. He braces himself the whole ride over for whatever may be coming: another friendly crack about napoleons and pear tarts, the beauty of the postcards, maybe even another offer of kindness if Marinette’s pattern is anything to go by.

The one thing Luka doesn’t brace himself for—which, of course, is the one thing that ends up happening—is the door propped open, and the music drifting out through the crack. And he can’t even revel in the fact that it’s one of his favorite songs playing, because…

Because Marinette is dancing. Rag in one hand, spray bottle in the other. No, it’s not like, a flawlessly choreographed routine or anything. It’s more like a mix of what Rose does during their down time when she has too much energy and nowhere to put it, and what Juleka does when she’s trying to find the rhythm of a new song. It’s blissfully unaware, and beautiful, and it feels like home, and Luka can’t stop staring.

He doesn’t mean to. He knows he shouldn’t. It’s just… he can’t remember ever seeing a moment when she was simply “Marinette, “instead of “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Friend to Practically Everybody.” or “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Daughter of the Owners of The Best Bakery In Paris.” or even “Marinette, the Girl Behind the Counter with the Sketchbook Full of Secrets and the connections to Jagged Fucking Stone.”

Okay, maybe he’s been watching a couple too many fantasy movies lately.

And he definitely needs to look away, like, right now, because she does this thing with her hips that makes his brain forget how to function for a second, and he needs his brain to function in every sense of the phrase, and God fucking damn it, Marinette Dupain-Cheng is hot and he’s not supposed to think that she’s hot—

And she’s looking at him. Frozen. right as he’s about to get off his bike and knock.

And, like the total idiot he can only manage to be at the worst possible times, he trips. Over his bike. And faceplants, right in front of Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

He’s somewhere between waiting for death to take him, and thanking his Ma for always getting on him about wearing a helmet, and wondering if he really was so stupid that his first instinct was to run, when the bell over the bakery door rings like mad. Someone cries out his name, and the music cuts, and there’s a skitter of footsteps on concrete. When he comes to himself and starts to sit up, he finds himself face-to-face with Marinette, who's kneeling beside him and already scanning him for any injuries.

The first thing she says, with her hand in her hair, is, “Oh, God. She’s gonna kill me.”

The first thing he says, with a wince, is, “Yikes.”

It’s then that the pain sinks in, dull and searing and throbbing all at once, as if punishing him for choosing to say that, of all things. He sits up a bit more, pain chasing up his spine and stinging his palms; his knee is badly scraped and starting to swell, he realizes once he gets a good look at the rest of him. He can’t tell yet, whether Juleka would call this karma or kismet. All he can think is that at least his jeans were already ripped.

“Can…” Marinette swallows hard, but otherwise she’s entirely unfazed. “Can you stand? Put weight on it? Oh God, oh my God, she’s actually gonna kill me.”

“I…” Cautiously, Luka tries to get to his feet, and Marinette makes space for him. All it takes is one step for a jolt of pain to shoot up his leg, and he staggers and clutches the closest streetlamp, nearly tripping over his bike again in the process. “Shit,” is all he can bite out after drawing his breath in through his teeth and holding onto it for too long. He lets it out, little by little, and his grip on the lamppost loosens. “It’s okay, I’m—I can just walk my bike to the metro station, and—”

It’s like she isn’t even listening to him; she’s looking around the bike, evidently searching for something. Finally, she finds it—his bike lock—and after it and the bakery door are secure, she coaxes his arm around her shoulder. It’s almost comical, because he’s got a good thirty centimeters on her, but it hurts too much to laugh. Or, apparently, to stammer in protest when she leads him through the side door and up the stairs to her apartment.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Seeing her in her pajamas was enough of an invasion of her privacy. But seeing the inside of her literal, actual home? Oh, no. No way.

“You’re hurt,” she says simply, as if she’s read his mind; her voice is trembling, the way voices do when they know they shouldn’t. “It’d be against like, everything I am as a person if I just let you leave.” She only lets go of him to unlock the door, and only then does it occur to him that, for a few moments that should have been blissful, they were side-by-side, and in some places skin-to-skin.

Mr. Dupain gives them a funny, almost unreadable look when Marinette opens the door. One look at Luka’s leg seems to answer any questions he might have had, and effortlessly he helps Luka to the couch while Marinette disappears into the bathroom. “You know,” he jokes under his breath, “When I imagined someone falling for my daughter, I didn’t mean literally.”

Luka’s face goes hot. “I didn’t—I’m not—”

Whatever he wants to say falls on deaf ears, and Mr. Dupain makes himself scarce as soon as Marinette emerges from the bathroom. Even as she lifts his leg onto the coffee table, Luka swears he can feel those kind, quietly insistent eyes burning holes into him all the way from the kitchen. He doesn’t get to think much more about what Mr. Dupain might have meant, or what he would have said to refute it, because Marinette is pressing an alcohol pad to the scrapes, and it stings like a motherfucker—which is probably a good thing for more reasons than one.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says weakly, because somewhere along the way, I don’t deserve it got stuck in his throat and refused to come out.

Marinette gives him a look. He can’t quite figure out what it means. “Yeah. I do.”

“Nah.” He readjusts, braces himself for the second sting of the ointment and the bandages. “I kinda deserved it. Jules would call it karma, I guess.”

There she goes again, wincing at the mere mention of Juleka. Or maybe… maybe it’s something else. Without a word, she gets up and disappears into the kitchen, and he spends her whole absence wondering what he said or did. He’s only relieved when she returns with a bag of frozen corn and a shrug as if to say, It’s all we had. She presses the bag to his knee, breathing deep in time with him, or maybe in hopes that his breathing will start to match hers. Then she speaks, and her voice wavers.

“Why would you ever think,” she murmurs, “that you deserve any pain?”

Luka opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens and shuts again. This time, at least for a while, the words don’t even make it to his throat. Eventually, all he can spit out is, “I was. Watching. You.”

“I know,” Marinette says, turning as pink as her shorts. “I saw.”

That’s the one thing he can appreciate: she doesn’t try to downplay it or say it was dumb. Even now, she’s unapologetic, and direct, and God, maybe he’s just fallen a little more. “I shouldn’t have,” he says. “I was gonna knock, I was…” He shifts again, his knee still in her gentle grasp, and flinches. “I just… wanted to see your postcards.”

I just wanted to see you.

“Marinette.” His lips tingle just from saying her name, and his stomach is churning. “Who… who’s gonna kill you?”

This time, Marinette goes scarlet; it would look about as pretty as literally every other color and pattern she wears if she didn’t seem so… mortified. “I’ll go get one of—the postcards,” she says—stammers, more like—and as she’s heading upstairs she calls out, “Papa, he can’t walk. Can we drive him home?”

From the kitchen, Mr. Dupain winks.

1 Photo Attached

RIP lol

and no, i’m not talking about my jeans. those were already like that.

but also. 😬 oh boy.

#miraculous ladybug #lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #fic: chronicles of a parisian dumbass #oh my dude we are in for it now.

[mikkomacko]

Dear Daisy 6

Harry enjoys Saturdays. For the past two months, Saturdays have consistently been his day off from patrolling. Occasionally he'll get Sunday or Friday off as well, but he doesn't get his hopes up. It doesn't matter to him. He's completely fine only having Saturday off.

A shop in town (one he's yet to learn the name of because he's still confused by the French language), had a nice leather bound journal he'd bought the first week of being stationed in the city. It's similar to the one he'd left at home, the one he's comfortable with, so it makes writing his letters easy. Which is what Saturday is for. A letter to Daisy, a letter to Anne, a letter to Gemma, and a letter to Niall who's unable to fight due to his old knee injury. Today he gets through Anne's, Gemma's, and Niall's letters quickly. He's addressing one to Daisy when he pauses, recalling the letters she sent last week. Harry quickly flips to a blank page, scribbling the name of a man he's only spoken to a few times.

Dear Robin,

I wasn't sure you'd remember me after all these years. The last time we spoke I was about thirteen, right before my uncle started grooming me on the steel business. I've changed a lot since then which is why it was quite shocking to hear about you from Daisy. She told me of your generosity, a quality I'll always remember you for if the books in my library are anything to go by. I'd like to thank you for taking Daisy in while I'm away and distracting her with the gift of baking. She may not look it, but I know she gets awful lonely when she's left to herself too long. I remember a few years ago, when I was maybe seventeen or eighteen, I'd passed by her near the park where she was sitting in the grass, chatting with a pigeon. Of course I teased her for it. What kind of nutter talks to birds? But she'd gotten flustered and yelled at me, told me birds need friends too. She also mentioned being stood up by a boy from my mum's neighborhood so she was complaining to the bird. It wasn't really my business, as she so snottily put it, but I knew she was continuing to speak me because she was lonely. I suppose I'm glad that Bill whatever didn't show up that day.

I was worried about leaving her. Her family has hurt her. She wouldn't want to spend much time with them. And her friend Summer has taken up a babysitting job so her time with her is limited as well. Knowing she's enjoying her time with you brings me comfort. I can't thank you enough for watching over my love.

She told me of your son's and I'm sad to not know them very well. I'm sure they're just as wonderful as you if not more. Perhaps you could give me their names or where they're stationed and I could keep an eye out for them? I believe it's a fair deal; you watching my family and I'll watch yours?

Wishing you a happy fall and hoping the bakery stays busy,

Harry Styles.

The bakery is a big company in town so he doesn't need to ask for the address. Finishing up that letter and stuffing it into an envelope, a titter of giggles flows through the November air. Harry peeks up through his eyelashes, finding two girls in long coats not so subtly looking at him. A red head one wiggles her fingers at him, flicking her hair over her shoulder. Harry thinks she's the kind of bird they'd put on a postcard around here. With the Eiffel Tower behind her, trees turning autumn shades that compliment her hair. It's a nice picture, but not one he'd like to look at forever. French girls are pretty, but he prefers English. Particularly English girls with frizzy brunette curls and freckles on her nose and cheeks. Light brown eyes that stir like honey and drip warmth into his veins when they look at him, whether it be through tears of frustration or sparkles of adoration.

He ignores the girls, shifting his shoulders under his thick army coat. At least the uniform is warm. Harry turns back to the letter he had started writing to Daisy, teeth sinking into his chapped bottom lip as he continues to scribble.

Dear Daisy,

I've never enjoyed autumn. I find it uncomfortable. That brief period between the peek of life in the summer and the bittersweet end in the winter. The one thing that I do enjoy, is my mother's pumpkin soup. I'm glad Gemma visited you on Halloween and I'm glad you had so many pumpkins. I would say I'm jealous but I think that'd give you an edge over me so I'll admit to nothing. As for the fighter pilot girl, I wish I could have seen her. My father was a fighter pilot and I use to have a photo by my bed of him in his plane. One time I had a dream that my daughter flew planes, crossed oceans and looked down at mountain tops. She might've looked like that girl you saw. I can't know for sure seeing as I'm here and you're there. Again, I won't say I'm jealous, but do you think there's a chance she'll be a pilot again next year?

Anyway, I'm sitting on a bench in the grass around the Eiffel Tower right now and there's two girls watching me as if they'd have a chance. Suppose I should tell them I'm a married lad? Or should I let them dream? I reckon it'd rile you up if I didn't say anything so I'll stay silent. Who's jealous now aye?

Think I'll go to the bakery down the street after this. You've given me an awful craving with that dream of us in our house, dancing as your pies burn in the oven and my roast beef cooks to perfection. One of my bunk mates gets cookies sent to him from his mum. He likes to brag about it. Think ya could send me some oatmeal ones? Oughta show his mum who's boss.

I don't like raisins though. If there's raisins in my cookies I'll have no choice but to divorce you.

Until then, I hope you're staying warm. Niall told me he'd drop by sometime, check the heater and leave some firewood for you. I don't know if you'll need it but there's extra blankets in my closet as well. My nan knitted a nice green one for me a couple years ago. Spilled some tea on it once but it's awful nice. Feel free to use it. It'll keep ya warm at night. Not as warm as me of course, but it should suffice. If it doesn't you can go to the church and complain to my Nan's grave. Tell her Harry sent you and maybe she'll only hit you a few times.

Heard a rumor the other day that if things are still slow around here by December a few of us might be able to go home for a bit around the holidays. Don't get your hopes up too much but know I'm brown nosing the hell out of my sergeant for the next few weeks. It'd be nice to be able to hit you with a snowball. And it'd be nice to spend my first Christmas as a married man with my wife. I promise I'll keep updating you (only if you send me cookies). Don't tell my mum or sister, they'll try writing to my sergeant about sending me home and I don't need him knowing I'm a momma's boy.

I'll dream of you baking cookies tonight, tossing raisins into the trashcan just for me and I hope you dream of me sitting here, getting oggled by some Frenchies. Happy November love, enjoy this time in the twilight zone.

I'll be home soon Daisy, I promise

The Harry Styles x

~

Harry's week has gone by too slowly. Typically, roaming the streets of Paris or cleaning up around the base is enough to keep him from straying but not this week. Everything he does, everything he sees, everything he smells pushes his mind to Daisy. Mopping the kitchen floors reminds him of the day they worked together to clean her room. The trees remind him of how it felt to sit in the backyard with her, listening to her soft breaths as she worked on her blanket. The smell of the bakery, flour and cinnamon, remind him of her warmth and the cold air only makes him long for her even more. He doesn't think he's ever had such a terrible week, so he decides he'll push himself to do more next week. Initiative will definitely earn him a ticket home for Christmas, right?

He tries not to let himself get too discouraged as he collapses onto his cot, fingers clutching to the envelopes he received today as well as the medium sized box addressed to him. He's got a letter from his mother as well as Robin, but it's the one attached to the box that he goes for first.

Dear Harry,

French girls may have cute accents but can they make Robin's famous oatmeal cookies perfectly on their first try? I really hope not because then I've really got nothing going for me. Except for the fact that I've already got your last name of course.

I don't know how often you go see the Eiffel Tower but I'd appreciate a thorough description and rating of it from you please. I'd love to see the Eiffel Tower one day but I think I'd like to see the whole world too. Maybe your daughter will be a pilot and she can fly us all over the planet. If not, I'll have to divorce you myself. Assuming you haven't already divorced me by then. I think it would be funny if we divorced each other all the time. Then we could just keep getting married over and over again. I wouldn't mind it if you wore that suit you wore on our first wedding day. You looked really handsome. I was thinking of dragging Summer to town with me to get our wedding photo. If you're nice I'll send you one. If not, I'll save it for the holidays when you come home. I know you said not to get my hopes up but I also know you. You're a born leader Harry whether you like it not, and I'm positive you'll be allowed home.

I just realized something a bit funny. Home. Home used to be my parents house. The home I grew up in. Then I thought it’d be your house, the one I took over by planting flowers everywhere and actually cleaning. I don’t know what home is right now. I keep telling you to come home but what does that matter if I don’t even know where that is? Maybe I’m overthinking it. I hope you know your home Harry and I hope you’re able to come back to it.

Enjoy the cookies, I put extra extra raisins and love into them.

-Daisy o

Harry heart pounds, teeth biting at his bottom lip as he lays the letter down on his pillow and wiggles his finger under the seal on the box. Tearing it open, he fights back a smile at the smell of cookies that hits his nose. They’re not hot or anything, but they’re relatively fresh and wrapped up in a cute basket with green ribbon.

“What’d ya get Styles?” Pip, a bunk mate, asks from two cots over. Harry pulls the basket out, smirking at the other man.

“Gift from my girl,” he says proudly, chest puffing out “she’s a baker.” Pip chuckles at Harry’s sudden uplifted attitude, peeking at the cookies that do look quite delicious.

"Hope they're better than Frank's wife's." He makes a disgusted face and Harry laughs. Frank only shared his cookies once and they were bloody awful. He's never tried Daisy's baking but he's sure it's better. She's better than every other girl on the planet. How could her cookies not be better as well?

Harry tucks them safely into the little bedside table he has, glancing over her letter one more time because he loves her words before tucking it into the drawer that holds all his letters from her. He can't help but think of her claiming she knows him. If Daisy knew him as well as she thinks she does, then she'd know that his home isn't some silly house. And she'd know that he's her home. He's always been her home.

~

Time is supposed to heal. That's what Harry's always been told. The words first arose after his father died and he has blown them off for a long time. Until they rang true. Because one day Anne stopped crying, and people stopped leaving casseroles at the house, and Gemma started going on dates again, and Thomas showed up to chat with Harry more than he used to.

Time. Harry thinks he's pretty tolerant of time. He'd waited hours to speak to Daisy the first night he met her. He waited years to finally be more than the boy who almost killed her. And he's held onto two big secrets for all these years because he knows she'll need time before she can see him as someone she doesn't hate anymore. Years flew by so months should be a breeze. Right? Harry thinks so, but the two months away from Daisy are agonizing, and they're getting worse as days go by. Since when did November turn from 30 days to 300?

Extra training. Extra shifts. Extra work. Extra letters. Extra sleep. Yet nothing is helping to speed the process. He's gotten snippy (snippier than usual) to the point that he pissed off Frank for saying his wife's baking was "absolute shit" and he snapped at that red head girl in town for batting her eyelashes at him. There's a chance he told her she's skin to something the dog would drag in but he honestly can't bring himself to care at all. He just wants a moment with Daisy. Just one moment so he'll know that she's still is because sometimes he feels like he's been stuck at an army base his whole life and their marriage is all one big dream.

When the final day of November rolls around, Harry breathes a sigh of relief. He tells himself that he'll see her soon although he really doesn't know when soon will be.

He's hunched over a table in the cafeteria, hidden in the corner because he really doesn't want to talk to anyone, with his journal and mail sitting before him. He'd told his mum how hard the days were getting and she started sending letters more often, filling him in on random events and gatherings happening back home. He'd just gotten one yesterday talking about the neighbors starting a victory garden so he's a bit surprised to have another one so soon. Surprised, but grateful.

Dear Harry,

We've gotten more snow this week, enough for Niall to come over to shovel out the driveway for me. He stopped by your's and Daisy's home as well, insisting he help take care of "Harry's gals" as he put it. He's awful nice and I heard he's been checking in on Daisy often which is great.

I know you've really been missing her, and I hope this letter brings you comfort rather than heartache. Daisy is devastated without you. I do believe she's happy when she's at the bakery with Robin which I find simply wonderful, but there's multiple nights where she's shown up at my doorstep. She cries for you a lot, misses you more than I think you know. I think she sleeps better here. I always put her in your old bedroom and she's out like a light.

Please don't worry about her Harry. I'm glad she's come to me. She needs companionship and nurturing, both of which I can give. Know that she's safe and happy in your old room, and she's safe and happy with Robin. I know this may not be the happiest of news, but I want you to focus on the good part. Daisy misses you, and to miss you means she's gotten comfortable with you. She's cares about you Harry. I remember the days where I'd hear nothing but you bellyaching about her hating you. Think of how far you've come Harry, and use that happiness when things are tough.

We're all watching over Daisy and taking care of her. Now you take care of yourself, you've got a family waiting for you. I love you very much Harry, and I'm so proud of you.

-Mom

Harry's chest aches, bones collapsing with the image of his sweet Daisy dripping rain, crying in the middle of his mother's living room for him. He knows she's shy, and that she had a hard time being comfortable around his family. Not that he blames her. She was practically forced into the Styles family, so to know that she actually sought out Anne is heartbreaking. He's only ever seen cry a handful of times, all of them his doing, and the most dreadful time were her tears at their engagement party. She had looked so small and afraid, so desperate for safety that he genuinely hated himself at the time too. Because he did that to her. Well, not exactly, but he didn't fix the problem that was caused by his recklessness.

He can see that same look in her eyes. The one that came to mind when he was signing up for the army. Doe eyed, vulnerable, sweet, and innocent. Too precious for him to risk being hurt. He supposes he'd rather being crying over him than being crying over someone else's cruelty. At least if it's his fault he knows she's still safe. He'd never hurt her, not like the world would. Not like secrets between family members, and arranged marriages, and a German army would. No, he only teases her. It's his own stupid but relatively harmless way of getting back at her. She's been breaking his heart for years. He thinks it's fair that he gets to fluster her enough to tears sometimes.

But he never wanted her devastated and broken by his absence. Maybe he did his job too well. He somehow got her to be romantic with him after a decade of nothing but hatred. He cared for her, nurtured her, but then he had to leave, and that sheltered place he created for her left. He hopes she can find some sense of peace with his mother. Anne's always been the best mother anyone could ask for and Daisy could use that love right now.

Folding the letter back up, Harry decides he doesn't want to keep this one. While he feels appreciated and cared for because Daisy actually misses him, he doesn't want to have to be reminded of her teary eyes every time he comes across it. Harry's crumbling the letter up when another envelope is being thrown in front of him, smacking against the table top.

"What's this?" Harry asks gruffly, because the envelope is blank and thick so it couldn't have come in the mail. He looks up, heart jumping nervously when he's met with the eyes of his sergeant.

"Ticket home Styles," he says, lips quirking up under his thick mustache. "you've earned it. Taken on more work than necessary here. And I here you got a bird back home that doesn't want to spend Christmas alone."

Before Harry can say anything, sergeant is turning on his heel and heading towards the door. Harry stares in shock at the envelope, heart thumping in his ears. Pip had to have told sergeant about Daisy because that's the only guy Harry's ever talked to her about. After snapping at those French girls, he'd sat Harry down and told him to him everything. And he had. And now's he's got his ticket to Daisy. His ticket home.

#Dear Daisy #Harry Styles #soldier Harry #ww2 Harry #arranged marriage au #1930s Harry #fanfic #fanfiction #harry styles au #alternate universe #enemies to lovers

[hms-chill]

Birthday Breakfast

Summary: It's Alex's birthday, and Henry is going to surprise him with breakfast in bed, and it's going to be beautiful and domestic and perfect.

--

The best thing about Alex's birthday coming after Henry's is that, if Alex has a particularly sweet birthday idea, Henry can borrow it and claim that it was part of his plan all along. In his defense, Henry had a birthday plan in place back in January. They're taking the weekend to go camping upstate, a celebration that starts the minute they both get off work, but he hasn't figured out how to tell Alex about it yet. All Alex knows is that he's not supposed to plan anything for the weekend. Luckily, Alex has the perfect idea without even knowing it.

On Henry's birthday, Alex woke him up with a full English breakfast in bed, going one step farther to include actual crumpets unlike any Henry's seen since he moved to New York. Somehow, Alex had managed to make crumpets exactly the way Henry likes them, down to the blackcurrant jam, and he'd kept them a complete surprise. And, while Henry's not the best cook, he knows Alex deserves to be pampered the same way. A nice breakfast tray with the booking confirmation postcard will be the perfect start to Alex's morning and the perfect reveal of their weekend plans.

The first task of the morning is to get himself awake and out of bed without waking Alex. Morning Alex is a stunning sight, and waking up next to him still feels like a blessing every time it happens. They'd spent so long waking up on different continents and in different time zones, just being together every morning feels miraculous. But this morning, Henry doesn't have time to revel in it, only to whisper a quiet thanks to Santa Maria, realizing as he gets up that it's something he's picked up from Alex. He presses a gentle kiss to Alex's forehead, sees the way he shifts and reaches for Henry's now-empty side of the bed and settles for curling around one of Henry's pillows like a koala. He's still pretty deeply asleep, which means that hopefully, Henry will be able to make breakfast before Alex wakes up.

Henry gets to the kitchen, and he takes a second to figure out where to start. He'd debated doing huevos rancheros, but he knows he'd do them wrong; the Diaz family recipe for them is infuriatingly vague and guarded like a dragon's treasure. So instead, he's opted for crepes, based on a recipe he's got on his phone. They look simple enough, and the crepe spreader he'd ordered online came in two days ago, so he's as ready as he can be.

The actual process of making the batter is quick and easy, and before he knows it, he's pouring a careful scoop into the skillet for crepe number one. It goes surprisingly well. It's not the best crepe he's ever seen, but it isn't burnt or raw, and he'll settle for that for now. The second crepe works, too, and the third. And while the fourth is cooking, he decides he should probably start on the fillings. They only put sugar on the crepes they'd had in Paris, that weekend when they'd woken up together and the whole world had seemed beautiful and perfect, but Henry doesn't trust his crepes to be that good. So instead, he's got all sorts of fresh fillings and different spreads, and he's bringing the whole mini crepe bar to Alex. He pours crepe number four, then goes to the refrigerator for all the fresh fruit he'd stocked up on the day before. There are blueberries and strawberries and raspberries and bananas, all ready to be cut up and moved to little bowls for Alex to construct his own perfect crepes.

Crepe four is less than perfect; it gets a bit burnt while he's getting fruit ready, but Henry forges on, starting bacon for a savory option and coffee to go on the side. He finds the confirmation postcard from the campground and writes on the back, "'I live for Friday, & you. My man-- my beloved man'-- Benjamin Britten to Peter Pears, c. 1941". The next step is to flip a crepe and get back to chopping fruit, and Henry starts to fall into a rhythm, sorting different spreads and sauces into the right containers and getting them and the fruit all settled onto the tray. He manages to keep flipping crepes when they need it, and he's rather proud of his ability to multitask, even fitting in a quick run up to their bedroom to make sure that Alex is still asleep.

When he first starts to smell something burning, he flips the crepe and it's not that, so he assumes he must be imagining things. It's his paranoia that makes it seem smoky in the kitchen. That is, he's assuming it's just his paranoia, until his phone lights up with a notification from their security system: "Smoke detected in the kitchen!"

A moment later, the fire alarm blares.

The bacon. Oh god. It's black and smoking like anything. Henry pulls it off the stove and immediately douses the charred remains in water, but the massive puff of steam only makes everything worse. He opens a window and frantically tries to wave the smoke out, barely remembering to get the crepe off the heat before it makes the situation even worse. When the alarm is finally quiet and things have calmed down, he turns around to see Alex appearing in the doorway to the kitchen, all bed head and rumpled pajama pants, tired blinking and massive yawns.

"H? Everything okay, baby? It smells like smoke."

"I... I made breakfast. It was supposed to be a nice breakfast in bed, but um... I'm sorry. Happy birthday anyway?"

The concern melts from Alex's face, and he crosses the kitchen to pull Henry in for a hug. "I love you so much. Want me to go back to bed and pretend I'm still asleep so you can wake me up and surprise me?"

Henry smiles, presses a kiss to Alex's forehead, and says, "well, that would mean you'd have to leave, and that's never something I want. Just... sit down, and it'll be ready soon. I'm sorry I woke you, and that there won't be bacon."

He turns back to the tray as Alex says, "don't be sorry. I love you." Instead of sitting down at the table and waiting, Alex wraps his arms around his boyfriend, nuzzling his face into Henry's shoulder. "I'll just fall asleep right here; you wake me up when you're ready."

Henry laughs, helpless to do anything else, and Alex hugs him a little more tightly. True to his word, he stays glued to Henry's back as Henry moves everything onto the tray, arranging it just so and making sure that the note is unmissable, dusting the crepes with powdered sugar and adding their coffee and tea. Once it's all ready, he turns to kiss the top of Alex's head, running his hands through Alex's hair gently.

"It's ready. Good morning, love. Happy birthday." And yes, this is a day about celebrating Alex. Technically, all the gifts should go to him. But as far as Henry's concerned, every second he gets to spend with Alex this close is a gift all its own.

On AO3

Notes: Hi it's Alex's birthday and these boys deserve the best. That's it; that's the author's note.

If you want to support the “Hannah Makes Art” fund; consider buying me a Ko-fi? I know not everyone can, but if you’re able I’d appreciate it!

#rwrb fic #rwrb #red white and royal blue #red white and royal blue fic #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor x alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex's birthday #firstprince #firstprince fluff #rwrb fluff

[queerchoicesblog]

New Beginnings

Folks, here’s a new update of the wlw story set in the Sixties, my third  miniseries of the wlw writing project. New beginnings have quite a lot in store for our stewardess MC!

The final Sixties miniseries update will be out either later this week or next week.

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

Previous Chapters: Living The Dream, The Girl Next Door

_____________________________

The following day I got my long awaited promotion: a generous rise and from now on only international routes for me. I made it to the big league. My world was crumbling underneath my feet but I made it. I received the news as a blessing. I followed the advice Nancy gave me when she called back to check in on me. A few days later I packed my stuff and crashed at a colleague's place: thank God, I made good friends among my former crew members and Joanna kindly agreed to host me while I looked for a new place to stay. Neither Nancy nor Jo know the full truth about the photographer who broke my heart, her sex: ironically, 'bastard' and other epithets are wonderfully neutral. Their sympathy and support helped me healing a little. It took time but, as Mom said when I accidentally let it slip during a call, I had my new beginning to focus on. I was the Pan Am stewardess every girl dreams to be one day.

I still remember the thrill that coursed through my veins as I boarded my first gigantic Boeing 712, destination Tahiti. I don't know how my voice kept appealing and steady as I explained the route and thanked the passengers for choosing Pan American Airways. I had to squeeze my colleague's hand when we took off as my heart was hammering out of the purest joy. Well, that's my life now. My parents and Nancy must have a collection of the postcards I send them from Rio, Honolulu, London, Rome, Berlin, Tokyo...you name a place on the map, I've probably been there at least once. I always send one to the address Noah gave us: I hope he receives them even if his letter are rare these days. I also sent him an autograph by Sandra Dee: last time I checked he had a big crush on her so I couldn't refrain myself when I bumped into her at a celebrity party our crew was invited to. She even pressed a lipstick kiss on the napkin when I told her my brother was a marine serving in Vietnam. I hope the war ends soon: despite what censorship cuts off from his letters, I know him and I know he's not happy there. I want my Noah back, his silly jokes and Rock Hudson look. I wish I would have spotted him waiting in line to check in for a flight to sunny Los Angeles instead of that photographer who "cared for me". I would have run at him full speed and he, turning at the right moment just like in the movies, would have waved at me and pulled me in a long swaying hug. "Long time no see, sister!" he would have laughed and we would have cried tears of joy uncaring of the people watching us. Then I would have ruffled his hair - how he hated that! - and guided him home, where he belonged, not sunny California nor Vietnam. I wasn't so lucky, I got the photographer instead. Despite a couple of years has now passed since that morning I walked out of her messy flat, she looks the same. For a moment I wondered if she'd succeeded in winning that girl's heart back. She's travelling solo as far as I can tell: either she's embarking on a new adventure or running towards someone she loves...or so she thinks. I find hard to believe she knows the difference. I kept walking towards my destination. I'm grateful she didn't see me: we don't have anything else to say to each other. We're strangers now. "Excuse me, ma'am, do you have a lighter?" My train of thoughts derails with the voice of another stranger. I turn my head to find a waitress leaning down on me with a cigarette in her hand. "Oh yes, sure" I pick up my lighter and light her cigarette. She takes a blow and exhales, thanking me. But to my surprise she doesn't walk away. After a moment, during which she probably debated whether to go for it or not, she speaks again. "Actually...do you mind if I join you...?" Her question lingers until I realize she's waiting for me to say my name. "Sadie" I say. "And please, suit yourself" As she takes a seat, I shake my head. "Forgive me, it's been a long day and usually people just read my name on the tag" "Well, Mom taught me not to stare at women's breasts because it's rude: 'look right in the eye and ask, my dear girl, right in the eye', she says" she jokes, shrugging. "How thoughtful!" I laugh and I don't do that just out of curtesy: she's genuinely funny. I take a look at her, I haven't noticed her before: how long she's been working here? To be honest, I hardly pay attention to airport clerks and waiters, I'm always on the go. "So, on a break....?" I add, letting my question lingers just as she did. "Oh yes, my shift started an hour ago but since there's no one here the boss gave us a little extra break-" "Nice but I was hoping to get your name too without looking disrespectfully at your breast, mademoiselle" We look at each other for a while then she burst into laughter and I follow. "Learning from the best, I see" she comments jokingly, catching her breath. "It's Kelsey" I bow my head lightly and we exchange a quick smile. "Pan Am, huh?" she nudges at my uniform as she inhales the smoke. "It shows?" I smile, striking a magazine cover pose that makes her laugh again. "Where did you fly to today? Or yesterday, I should probably say" "Paris" I say, in my best French accent. By the look of wonder that crosses her eyes I can tell she's never been there. Only heard of it. "Wow, romantic" she notes. I chuckle, finishing off my cigarette. "Paris is romantic only if you have a lover to stroll down the Seine with. I'm just a stewardess" I claim and well, it's true: the City of Love is not as romantic without a plus one, even if the girls and I had fun during our land off there, shopping, exploring and dining in lovely bistrot. "I thought you had a companion for your dreamy walk down the river" she shrugs, gesturing to the conspicuous teddybear in beret and striped shirt quietly sitting on a chair at my side. "Oh no, Monsieur Ted and I met in Montmarte. It was a...coup de foudre!" I comment, keeping my face straight long enough to make us both burst into another round of laughters. "It's a gift." I explain. "My best friend has a little girl, it's a gift for her. It's her birthday soon and I promised to be there, I'm sort of an aunt to her. I can't go empty handed and this guy looked nice" Nicole's face softens imperceptibly. "I'm sure she'll love it. I mean, I would have given everything to get a French teddy from my fancy aunt who flies around the world every day" I smile at the compliment. Was it a compliment? I like to think so. "How long have you been working here? I've been based here for a while but I'm afraid I don't remember you" I inquiry, hoping not to offend her. She exhales smoke and gestures it's nothing. "You flight crews are always in a hurry, we don't take it personally" Her lips quickly curl into a shy smile. "It's been a year. Well, it will be a year in a month" she explains. "It's not much but it's an honest job and just what I was looking for. The boss is fair enough and it helps paying the nurse school tuition" "Wanna be a nurse?" "Yeah, I've spent too much time with grandma during my childhood" she chuckles but the hint of a smile suggests she remembers that time quite fondly. "She worked as a nurse during the war and she used to tell me stories of back then...I'm not sure I was supposed to hear all of them but she kept talking. So I ended up being of those weird little girls who had a doll hospital in her bedroom and sew broken teddy bears to cure them. Nurse school sounded like the most logical choice" "That's sweet" I consider. "Why not a doctor though?" "Ah, I'm not sure about it...maybe in the future but I will be happy enough as a nurse, I think" I smile at her earnest answer as she continues nonchalantly. "Just like I'm quite happy now to see flight crews come and go and memorise their order-" "Oh, what's my usual order then?" I tease her. She takes a pause as if I caught her cheating then she guesses right: long black, no sugar, just a drop of milk. I tell her I wish I had her memory when I serve on board. "I'm sure you're doing just fine up there" she smiles encouragely. "And even when I'm not, a nice pair of legs and a charming smile will do the trick, won't they?" I sigh: I might not be too fond of certain looks I receive but that's how things go, I guess. At least, they saved me from getting complaints; on the contrary, on my first flight my supervisor was pleasantly impressed by my "impeccable manners and overall look" as she wrote down on my report. Kelsey opens the mouth to speak again - by the look on her face probably that she didn't mean it like that - but I anticipate her. It's how things go, she must know it too. When I worked at the diner, the costumers refrained from assessing me those looks or pinch me because they had too much respect for my parents. Most of them were long time friends as far as I can remember. So I was quite safe...I hope cute Kelsey is too. A silence falls between us. I immediately wondered if I said something wrong, I'm so used to uncomfortable silence filled with unsaid accusations and complaints that I tense up. But I soon realize that...it's okay. I did nothing wrong, she's silently agreeing with me and maybe pondering what to say next. A look filled with shy curiosity is on her face when she finally speaks again. "Can I ask you something?" "Shoot" She takes a pause as if she's still translating her own thought into words or wondering if she's not crossing a line with her curiosity. "Do you ever get homesick travelling all the time?" That's...not what I was expecting but after all, what was I expecting? Not sure how I can answer that. "Odd question to ask a stewardess" I note, rising my eyebrow and taking time. "I mean, you're always somewhere else, in between places and time zones...one might feels a bit homesick, lost maybe..." Then she shakes her head and falling back to her chair. "I'm sorry I'm just being nosey, that was a silly-" "No, it's an interesting question. I've never given that much thought... I don't know, I've never felt that way, I felt free when I boarded my first plane. I still do when I'm up there in the sky. I think most of us feel that thrill but it's just my point of view. My best friend once argued that mine is not real freedom just a - how did she call it? - oh yes, a strategic retreat so..." I chuckle, reminiscing the conversation Nancy and I had in the kitchen as I helped her with the dishes. The 'concerned sister' look she gave me, handing me a wet dish to dry. 'I'm not saying it's wrong or judging you, Sadie...I have no doubt you're living the exciting life you've always dreamed, God that every girl now dream. But you can't run away forever...' "Maybe it is different if you have something to come back to. That changes things, I suppose. Some miss family, their kids..." I continue. "And you? Do you have something to go back to?" Her question leaves me speechless and gaping. Sure, I have my parents, my friends, Nancy but she has a family of her own now as many others. My brother is far away and out of reach fighting in a war he never fully endorsed. "I don't know" I admit after a moment. Voices come from the main counter urging Kelsey to go back to work. She gives me an apologetic look before searching her pockets. "Well, while you keep looking and flying around the world, at least know that you're always welcome here" She lays a couple of cafe vouchers on the table; then she takes her leave with a gracious smile. "Sadie, Monsieur Ted...it's been a pleasure" "Likewise, Kelsey" I say, waving the teddybear arm. I should probably go home and get some rest: I wasn't joking when I said it's been a long day. I collect my vouchers, pay leaving a generous tip and head to the parking lot. When I wake up in my bed, it's getting dark outside. I brew the third coffee of the day and unpack my bag. As I collect my uniform for the laundry, the vouchers slip off the pocket I secured them into. I make to pick them up when I notice something handwritten behind one of them. I look carefully and it's a phone number with a little airplane doddle to the side. Call me ~ Kelsey

#wlw writing #wlw writing project #original work #wlw miniseries #lgbtq #sixties

[vangoddamn]

Missing you

Picking Bob up from the airport<3

Warnings- none

He'd been gone away too long, the type of too long that meant his side of the bed no longer smelt like him and the phone calls would last hours. Bob was the type of guy who never forgot about calling you and when he did it wouldn't be half hearted or wasted time. You were supposed to be on the tour at the moment, you should've been helping him get ready like you used to back home. But of course you got a promotion at the same time, meaning you'd have to stay whether you liked it or not. Bob of course insisted you take it, not letting you turn the opportunity down for a roadtrip with five sweaty boys.

This in turn meant you had to live alone in the shared apartment for nearly half the near. Something that you hadn’t looked forward to and ultimately hated. You missed Bobs warm hugs and the way he held you at night, especially when it was cold. You missed mundane little things like going to the supermarket with him or when you’d do the washing up together after a meal he’d made for you. You missed the little things because they were the best things.

No doubt he found a way to reach out to you anyway even though he was a twelve hour plane ride away. He’d try and send a postcard from wherever he was, which were now stuck to the fridge. Face time calls were like liquid gold and although they lasted hours it felt like only seconds. usually there'd be at least one person popping in asking if he knew where the tea bags were or wondering if "we could steal him away from ya love" which of course you agreed too because you weren't going to show how much you really missed him.

But today was the day your boy was coming home and you didn't want to hide it anymore. You’d promised to pick him up from the airport before he’d even left and so had been counting down the days since you watched him get onto the plane. You had dressed yourself up, wanting to look as good as he hopefully remembered, wearing your favourite midi skirt and the perfume he bought you last summer in Paris. That had been one of your favourite holidays with Bob, Benji and his girlfriend came aswell and you reminisced over the days you had spent meandering around the city.

You could feel your hands sweating even though it was a cool Autumn day and the heat was blasting through the air con. Having been so far apart from him for so long had made you nervous. You didn’t know why, he out of anyone probably made the most at ease, but you could feel the butterflies deep in your stomach.

The airport was unusually quiete, not busy and chaotic like when you had dropped Bob off. It felt unnerving and you felt even more nervous to see your boyfriend. You didn't know what you expected but distance did things to you.

You awaited his arrival impatiently, tapping your foot knowing he had landed and you'd see him any moment. That was until you heard your name from a familiar voice which erupted more butterflies in your stomach.

"y/n!" He stood at the entrance he'd just come through, bags on his back and on the floor where he'd just dropped them and the lads around him. You let out an excitable squeel and ran towards him, not caring for the people who were inevitably staring at you.

"Bobby, I missed you so much!" You jumped onto him, wrapping your legs around his waist and arms around his neck, nearly making him stumble. You buried your head in his neck, breathing him in for the first time in too long. God you missed him.

"hey beautiful." He mumbled in your hair. He held you close, savouring the moment as if you'd both be dragged apart. You knew he missed you too when he lingered with you in this tight hold.

You both could hear the lads around you joking and taking the mick, but you didn't care all that much now that he was holding you. You'd missed him so much that when he held you you didn't want to let go and could've stayed in the middle of the airport forever.

"l love you so much y/n," he mumbled in your hair once more before nudging your face to look up at him.

"I love you so much Bob hall" you replied, kissing him firmly on the lips. It was nothing to fiery or passionate you'd save that for when you got home, when it was just the two of you. But it would always just be the two of you.

A/N: hi my lovelies, I'm sorry this was a short one but It's a long week and I've just had a long car trip. I hope you still enjoyed though, I think I'm definitely falling in love with bob- watch out Van!! Anyway hope you're well, if you've sent a request in don't worry I'm getting through them xx Em

#Van Mccann #van mccann fanfiction #van mccann x reader #van mccann fanfic #van mccann #johnny bond fanfic #catfish and the bottlemen fanfiction #catfish and the bottlemen fanfic #johnny bond #bondy #bob hall x reader #bob hall fanfic #bob hall #bob hall fanfiction