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soda-pop-kandy-krush · 3 years

Text

Remus squealed as he landed on the pile of beanbags and cushions he had spent all morning dragging into his room from various places in the mind palace. He wriggled onto his front, pushing himself back up. “Again!”

Patton faked an incredulous gasp. “Again? You want me to throw you again?”

Remus giggled, babbling and making grabby motions with his hands, making Patton chuckle.

“Oh, okay, then. Just one more…” He said, scooping him into his arms and nuzzling his cheek lovingly. “You ready, squirt?”

“Yeah!”

Patton chuckled, setting him down and gently gripping his wrists. “Hold on tight, now!” He lifted him slowly, letting him dangle by his arms and swaying him too and fro. Remus cackled delightedly, curling his legs up.

“Cana-bah!”

“Yes, baby- cannonball!” Patton cooed. “And we’re launching in three…” He swung a little more. “Two…” Remus squeaked in excitement, tipping his head back. “One… Go!”

Patton let go, watching him fly from his grip and flop face-down into his nest, cheering and clapping as he resurfaced. It would never stop amusing him, how Remus would cling to his legs and bounce up and down, begging to be picked up and hurled into the nearest pile of soft objects. And, naturally, he was happy to oblige. Even now, when it was almost nap time and he should be trying to calm him down rather than rile him up even more. Because how could Patton say ‘no’ when he gave him that sweet little gap-toothed smile?

“Again!”

Patton laughed. “Gosh, you’re just insatiable, aren’t you, kiddo?” He flicked his wrist, checking his watch. “But it’s almost two o’clock, Reemie, you know what that means…”

Remus blinked. “Na’ time?”

“That’s right, sweetie, time for a lie-down.”

He physically deflated at those dreaded words. “Bu’... bu’, ‘m not tired…”

“I know, ducky, I know…” Patton winced. If his smile was his kryptonite, the threat of his tears flat-out destroyed him- something Remus knew very well.

Hamming it up, he gazed up with his big, brown eyes, his bottom lip trembling pitifully. His twin had definitely taught him that little trick, Patton thought as he willed the ache in his chest to go away. All of the books said that he had to be stern, he had to lay down the rules and stick to them-

“P’ease, one more?”

… Well, then. Just how on earth was he supposed to refuse that?

He bit his lip, trying to hold back his grin, before sighing in defeat. “Fine. One more.” He held up a single finger. Remus was too busy scrabbling to roll out of the beanbag excitedly to notice, chirping happily as Patton crouched down to pick him up

“You, Mister, are far too cute for your own good.” He poked his freckled nose. “Ready?”

“ ‘eady!” He said, raising his arms to allow Patton to lift him, squealing when his feet left the ground and he started to swing back and forth. “Wheeee!”

“Patton?”

The pair of them turned around to discover Logan had stuck his head around the door, looking at Remus’ mountain of stolen pillows bemusedly. Patton beamed when he saw him.

“Hey, Lo-lo! What’s up?”

The logical side stepped into the room. “Hello, Patton. I thought I would come and wish Remus a pleasant rest before he fell asleep, but I can see that the two of you are… Otherwise occupied.”

Patton grinned. “Oh, yeah, we were just playing a game together- weren’t we, cupcake?”

“Yeah! Yeah!” Remus peeped.

Logan sighed. Oh dear.

“Whilst I appreciate you were only trying to have fun, encouraging this kind of playful ruckus before a nap is not conducive to a healthy and efficient period of sleep. Not to mention how terribly unsafe it is to be dangling him by his wrists and tossing him into… Whatever this set-up is.” He gestured to the pillows and beanbags behind him.

“That’s our nest! We’ve been using it to build all kinds of fun stuff- like a spaceship, and a castle- ooooo, that was a fun one, wasn’t it, honey?”

“D’ agon!”

“Yeah, Lo- we defeated and conquered the land held captive by the evil dragon-witch!”

“Yeah!”

Logan pursed his lips, trying his best not to let his insides melt at the heartwarming display of silly affection, before narrowing his eyes as he scanned ‘the nest’ in closer detail. “... Is that the cushion from my desk chair?”

Patton chuckled. “I don’t know, kiddo, why don’t you ask the little troublemaker here?”

Said troublemaker was busy kicking his feet restlessly. Logan was so boring when he bickered with the others like this. Like the teacher from Charlie Brown. Wah, wah, wah...

Logan huffed, folding his arms over his chest and glancing at the toddler dangling from Patton’s grip. He slowly crouched so that they were eye-level.

“Remus? Did you take the cushion from my room?”

He looked up, the picture of innocence with his sparkling eyes and brown curls. A poster-child for the adorable little cherub-type- the sort of baby who was good-tempered, well-behaved, and perfect in every way.

Pbffffffft!

… And apparently, blew raspberries when he didn’t want to confess to the theft of other people’s property.

Patton sputtered. Logan blinked, frowning.

“I beg your pardon?”

Remus giggled mischievously before blowing another even louder than the last.

Pbffffffft!

Logan raised an eyebrow. Remus cackled at the unimpressed look on his face.

“Hey, hey, kiddo- what was that for?” Patton enquired gently, struggling to subdue his own laughter. “You know we don’t blow raspberries when somebody says something we don’t like…”

Remus just continued to laugh, clearly very amused that he had rendered Logan speechless. “Ra’ bee’! Ra’ bee’!”

“It’s okay, Patton. I understand.”

Remus quietened down at the sound of Logan’s dangerously calm voice, looking at him curiously.

Logan narrowed his eyes, the beginnings of a smirk pulling at his lips. “Clearly, he wants me to blow one back.”

With that, he pushed his hands up the bottom of his tiny sweatshirt and held him in place, pressing his mouth against the warm skin and blowing hard.

Pbffffffft!

Remus shrieked, immediately bursting into loud, joyful laughter and wriggling and squirming as much as he could- which was, frankly, impossible given that Patton was still holding him tightly by his arms.

“Oh, no, kiddo!” He cried, a massive grin on his face. He loved when Logan was in a silly mood and wanted to play with the babies like this. “Looks like the tickle monster got you!”

“No no nohoho!” Remus yelled, giggling hysterically and kicking his legs. One of them hit Logan in the chest, which apparently only spurred him on, as he started scratching his ribs at the same time as blowing another raspberry.

Pbffffffft!

“Logiiii-hehehe!” Remus squealed, his dimples visible from how hard he was smiling. “Nohoho!”

“No?” Logan spoke into his pudgy belly, making him laugh even harder. “But I thought you wanted me to give you some raspberries!”

It was getting difficult to hold back his own grin by this point. Patton had given up completely, and was openly laughing alongside Remus as he tugged at his arms. Logan slowed down a little bit and started blowing shorter puffs of air all around his sides and tummy, earning boisterous, squeaky giggles that were, categorically, the cutest thing he’d ever heard in his life. However, he knew that he would have to show some mercy soon.

Leaning back to take a deep breath, he blew one more right over his belly button, making him scream, before sitting back on his heels, his hair messed up and cheeks slightly pink. Remus panted, laughter still flowing out as Patton lifted him up properly to cradle in his arms.

“Whoopsy-daisy! I gotcha, kiddo.” He said, holding him close. Remus buried his face into Patton’s shoulder as his final few giggles disappeared. After a while he started rubbing his nose against his chest, bringing his fist to his mouth to slip his thumb in when he thought neither of them were looking. Patton chuckled.

“Well, it looks like you finally managed to tire him out, Lo-lo!”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. Teaching lessons to bratty three year-old turned out to be quite the arduous task, even if the loving smile on his flushed face said otherwise. He was about to stand up and leave when a hand suddenly appeared in his line of vision. Patton wiggled his fingers, looking down at the logical side with that warm smile that always made Logan’s heart flutter.

“Wanna help me put him to bed?” He asked, looking unfairly lovely as the mid-afternoon light glowed orange behind him.

He ducked his head a little, smiling to himself, before looking back up with a nod. He took Patton’s hand, pretending not to notice how it made his heart race when he squeezed it, and led them both to Remus’ room, where they tucked him in and set a timer to come back and wake him up.

Little did they know that they wouldn’t need to, because in exactly fourty-five minutes Remus would spring out of bed and charge into the common room, dressed in Roman’s knight costume and declaring revenge on Logan for earlier. And since dismissing the requests of such an honourable cavalier would be terribly impolite of him, how could Patton not help to hold Logan’s arms down so that he could have at all of his worst spots?

#surprise! a new fic!#this time without a prompt woOoOooOoo #honestly i just love baby creativi-twins so this is absolutely self-indulgent because they're lil cutie pies hehe #would people want to see me write something about baby roman too?? bc i would absolutely love to #my writing #lee!remus #ler!logan #ler!patton #kind of?#baby!remus #baby!creativitwins #sweet tickles #tss tickle

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peakascum · 4 years

Text

Lean On Me

this is terrible im so sorry

A slight breeze trickled its way in caressing Y/N’s cheeks. A silent whisper, an invisible touch so soft that she could've imagined it. The grass seemed duller than ever before, yet it was the only place she could find comfort. The chirp of the Blackbird swooped her in a limbo and made her hands clutch the greenery before her. The grass that usually soothed her and held traces of a once happy day seemed to cut her now, leaving behind traces of agony and invisible cuts that penetrated their way into her heart. It happened, what she had been avoiding and fought way too hard for, had happened.

Tears escaped her eyes as her lips parted, yet no sound came out of them. They stuck to her throat creating a heaving sound that only heartbroken mothers would make. She had pleaded with her husband’s family to keep her children safe, to protect them fiercely when the time came. They failed, as did everything else in her life.

She lay down on her side to hear the earth mumble its condolences and whisper reassurances to her baby boy, letting him know how loved and cared for he truly was. How long she had waited for his arrival, how happy the family was to see him grow up, and how much they cherished his blue-colored eyes that looked just like his father’s. His bloody father.

“Y/N!” John screamed making his way up the hill. More tears escaped her eyes in anger and frustration. “Y/N, please darling. Let’s- let’s just go home.” He pleaded, blue eyes staring right back to her almost lifeless ones. He pleaded just as he did every afternoon hoping this would finally be the day she would return home.

“Where is home, John?” She croaked. “Want me to go home to what, eh? To what?”

His knees gave in beside her in defeat and lay on the ground beside his wife, if he still could call her that. They stared at each other as if trying to rope in every single thing that made them come together in the first place. Tears streamed down his face, outlining every dimple, every crease, and every freckle that kissed his cheeks. He sucked in a breath and slowly extended one of his hands towards her. The hand crawled its way through the grass and enveloped her small ones, making her break out into a sob.

“I can’t undo everything. I can’t bring him back. But-“ he sucked in a breath, “I promised to stand by you and love you and do my best to protect you.” His hand left hers and wiped her tears, leaving his fingers to linger on her cheek. “M-my love,” he called out to her affectionately, “I promised you chickens and blue skies and love and I-“ once again his voice betrayed him. Broken promises unable to be redeemed.

“The kids keep asking about where their mum is and if you've gone with Will, and I just don’t know what to fuckin’ tell them.” Her eyes sprung back with a bit of shimmer at the mention of their kids. The ones she and John created out of pure love. Words can't seem to be enough as the grief sets in between them. The long nights they shared waking up to take care of their first born. All of his firsts shared in their little house on Watery Lane. The first scare, the first fever, first words, first day of school, all shared between the couple as new parents. All their firsts, including the one they shared currently, one they wished with all their hearts that they wouldn't be able to.

“Tell me about them,” she whispered, “what have they been up to?”

And so John rambled on about their mischievous children and their silly, little occurrences. He told her how Polly had been staying in their home taking care of them while you both grieved. His eyes lit up at the mention of Tommy dropping by with Charlie every few days, just happy at seeing his big brother being there for him. How Arthur took them to the park and Finn took them for spins in the car. His face lit up as he heard her giggle making his insides warm at the tought of her finding joy in his words.

“We both lost him, Y/N. We both lost everything, but we have more kids to live for.” He gripped her crying face in his rough hands and brought her closer to his. “Don’t push me away. I fuckin’ need you too and I refuse to do this without you.”

His tone desperate, hands shaking and eyes broken.

Her face tired and eyes equally, but a newfound hope sprang in her wilting heart. She twisted her head and placed kisses on the palm of his hand.

With a slight push they rose to their feet in unison. John looped his arm through hers and slowly descended the hill that stood near their house. From the window Polly stood watching in hopes that she would spring into herself once again. Always fond of the girl that stole her nephew’s heart and cared for like a daughter of her own. But Polly knew all too well the feeling of losing a child. The guilt, the loneliness, the madness that came with the empty rooms and ear, shattering silence. Yet, knew it was a matter of time before Y/N managed to pull herself out of the spell. Because, as much as she knew how these things clawed their way into your lives, nothing could destroy the love and determination she and John held for them and their family.

#John Shelby #john shelby imagine #john shelby fanfic #John Shelby x reader #peakascum #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #thomas shelby imagine #arthur shelby imagine #finn shelby imagine #Polly Gray imagine #peaky blinders one shot #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby

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the-al-chemist · 3 years

Note

Director’s cut on the happiest, saddest and angstiest scenes scenes you had to write so far 💛💛💛

Oh gosh. This is going to be a LONG answer. I’m sorry. And thanks for asking, as always 🥰

There is a cut because of rambling and discussions of a somewhat angsty nature - warnings for trauma and PTSD as I’m discussing my most recent chapter.

So, the happiest scene:

The happiest scene I’ve published so far is probably the whole of the final chapter of Secret Staircase, “Spring, Awoken”, in which the Cursed Ice defrosts and the whole of Hogwarts takes to the newly green and summery grounds to celebrate.

Part of the chapter shows Artemis and her friends just enjoying the warmer weather and chilling by the Black Lake, making daisy chains, roller skating, and just being thirteen-year-olds. It’s very wholesome. There’s also a little bit of foreshadowing (you know how much I love foreshadowing) in the form of the line “They even helped Hagrid and Fang to forage at the edge of the forbidden forest, identifying the blackthorn trees and picking their sloe berries, which were all the sweeter for the duration and bitterness of the frost”. This is a direct reference to Artemis’ later adventures - in fifth year, she will have her beloved Spruce wand replaced by a Blackthorn wand, and she is going to have real difficulties with it. According to wand lore, blackthorn wands need to go through a period of struggling and turmoil to become fully bonded with their owners, and she will, after some struggles, eventually come to grips with her new wand.

However, the scene in this chapter I actually was going to talk about was the first Quidditch game Artemis attends, because I know how much you love Quidditch! It’s got excitement, it’s got drama, it’s got 👏 Charlie 👏 Weasley’s 👏 dimples!!!! (Ps, thank you again for this minor detail, it really is the gift that keeps on giving)

Not that Artemis gives a flying fuck, of course. “He doesn’t look that fast to me” is her effectively breaking the fourth wall like she’s on the office, telling me to stop shipping her with him, and to stop being such a pathetic simp. Ugh, she’s annoying. And right, tbh.

Now, the saddest scene:

In chapter 8 of Secret Staircase (“The Rematches”), Artemis takes Bill to the cursed corridor, and there is a single moment of stillness and sadness in what otherwise is a fairly action-packed chapter:

“You know, little one,” he said, lowering his wand and turning his face to Artemis. “You and I make a pretty good team.”

He ruffled Artemis’ hair with his free hand, and stepped through the gap they’d created in the ice wall. Artemis lingered back, overpowered by a confusing mixture of feelings of warmth, and sadness, and pleasure, and guilt.

“What are you waiting around for?” Bill called back to her, realising that she wasn’t following him.

“Nothing,” Artemis said quickly, shaking her head as if to clear it, and she too stepped through the ice wall, a freezing cold spot of water falling onto her face as she did.

Here we have another classic case of Artemis not understanding her own emotions. The gesture of Bill ruffling her hair isn’t just an affectionate big-brotherly action, it’s the exact same action that Jacob performs right before he leaves. It brings back this sweet sadness of Artemis’ memories of her brother, of his abandonment, and of this distinct sense of “missing” she has. It also has this significance for her and Bill’s relationship: they have a real brother-sister bond, that Artemis feels guilty for. On a level, she WISHES that Bill was her brother, and she feels completely guilty for that. It’s a feeling she delves into more in Figures in the Shadows, but right here, she is completely struck by all these thoughts without warning. Being Artemis, though, she does what she always does with things she’d rather ignore: ignores them.

And finally, the angstiest scene:

Oh, this has to be my most recent chapter, “The Problem with Penny”. You know a lot about my thought process with this one, and it really was such a struggle to write.

First, we have Artemis reading Penny’s emotions without realising it. There’s a reason she is the only one to notice that something’s wrong, and it isn’t because she is observant (she is not observant). It’s because she is a Legilimens. How else would she be able to “hear the sound of Penny’s eyes blinking in the darkness and her tears rolling down her face to her pillow”? The description of Penny’s PTSD symptoms made me so upset, as did her final confession.

As for the confession itself, I tried to utilise the pauses as much as possible. Artemis is horrified by what Penny is telling her, and by Penny’s obvious distress. I was, too. The dialogue was loosely inspired by reading statements issued by victims of violence and sexual assault, which at first, I thought added a realism and a deeper symbolism to the scene overall, but about a week before I started publishing part 3, I started to panic. Maybe this was too much?! I had a second panic half an hour before I published the chapter. Luckily, I had a wonderful bestie to read it through with me (twice!) and put my mind at ease, and judging from the generally positive response I’ve received from the chapter, my initial idea paid off, and Bestie (as always) was right. I’m actually pretty proud of this chapter, even though I hated writing it.

#al speaks #directors cut game #writer besties

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wendimydarling · 4 years

Audio

Title: Ride all Night

Summary: Henry plans an outing for the reader’s birthday.

Pairing: Henry x First Person Reader

Word Count: 994

Warnings: You might just die of fluff.

A/N: @littlefreya and I collaborated on a birthday present for the beautiful and wonderful @mary-ann84! Happy birthday darling, hope you enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Where are we going, Henry?”

Henry chuckled at me and ignored my question for the third time. We were on vacation in Jersey, and it was my birthday. Knowing Henry he always planned for something intimate. He liked me all to himself first, our friends and families could wait. We were driving along the coast as he pointed out bits and pieces that he remembered from his youth.

Looking at the scenery outside, I watched the ground become shallow, diminishing into the sea that started appearing in front of us. The late spring sunset was orange and pink, making the peaceful waves dance with a shimmering glow. Kal was in the seat behind me, and I could see him sticking his head out of the window in my rearview mirror. He’s always loved the car.

“I used to run along these shores with Charlie,” came Henry’s voice, a soft nostalgic smile painting his face. “We’d run on the small sand dunes for hours, until exhausted. Then we’d fall asleep on the beach and only wake up once the water started tickling our feet.” I grinned at the memory, imagining Henry as a child, digging his feet into the wet sand.

“Marianne must have been so worried.”

Henry chuckled widely.

“Oh she was furious, but she couldn’t stay mad at me for more than 10 minutes.”

“Yeah, not with those dimples,” I snorted and stroked the deep creases in his cheeks. He snatched my hand and pinned it to his thigh, caressing the back of it with his thumb.

Finally, the car slowed down and we came into a halt. Henry stepped out of the car and jogged around the hood to open my door for me. Always the gentleman. Kal bounded up over the seat and out the door, nearly knocking us over as he dashed for the sand. Henry took my hand in his and started walking me down the trail to the beach.

Tiny tealight candles laid down the path and I couldn’t help but smile with embarrassment as I realized the effort he put into making today special. Up ahead I could see a solitary lighthouse set high above the rocks, flashing her glowing light as she warned sailors of the presence of her dangerous bed. Those too enraptured by her beauty would crash to their deaths on the jagged earth below, and the thought was haunting and romantic. A beautiful lighthouse destined to lead a loveless life, protecting those she could never have. What a lovely sacrifice she made.

“You’re quiet, love,” Henry smiles, kissing my hand. I smile in return.

“Just taking in the scenery. It’s beautiful, Henry truly. You didn’t have to do all this extra stuff.”

“I wanted it to be special.”

I shook my head at him. His kindness never ceases to amaze me.

“I got to spend it with you. I’d say that makes it pretty special already.”

Henry ducked his head and I could see a small flush take over his cheeks. I’ll never get tired of embarrassing that man, not when it reduces him to the young boy he was fifteen years ago. Red cheeks, crooked grin, and a light in his eyes that isn’t always there these days. I grab his hand with both of mine and lean my head on his shoulder as we walk, taking in the sunset.

At the base of the lighthouse we came upon a picnic blanket, surrounded by candle-lit lanterns. What looks like at least two dozen roses are arranged in a vase, along with a bottle of champagne on ice and what looks like a small charcuterie board of treats. A security guard nodded briefly to Henry before handing him a key.

“Thanks, George,” Henry says, and I look back and forth between him and the guard incredulously. They both just smile and Henry pockets the key as the guard leaves us. I eye my boyfriend critically as he remains mysterious as ever.

“What? I know people.”

I just shake my head, smiling softly. His joy in surprises never ceases to amaze me.

~~~~

“Only a few more steps, come on, you can make it!”

I huff at him, too tired to say anything else. Damn the man and his love of stairs. We finally reached the top of the lighthouse, I had I had to admit, the view was worth it. The sun had set completely, and it was a clear night; thousands of stars twinkled down and reflected back up on us from the water. A soft ocean breeze tickled my skin and alighted my nose with salty spray. Henry wrapped his arms around me to keep me warm and we stared out at the barely visible horizon, surrounded by tiny pinpricks of light in the vast expanse of darkness.

“Hey babe?” Henry said softly.

I turned my head to look up at him, marveling in the sculpture of his jaw. His beauty never ceases to amaze me.

He seemed nervous, and I could feel his heart thumping in his chest.

“What is it darling?” I asked, my eyes sinking into the cobalt ocean of his beautiful eyes. His hands closed around mine and I watched as he took a deep breath and ever so slowly began lowering himself to his knees. A part of my mind was able to read into the moment with logic, yet for some reason these thoughts never met their clear end. I glanced at him nearly blank as he went to his knee and pulled something out of his back pocket.

My lips moved, but no voice came to be. I felt tremors run all across the sinew of my muscles as the diamond sparkled like the billion of stars that blanket the sky.

Henry cleared his voice and looked up to me with the eyes of a child.

“Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

Like I said; he never ceases to amaze me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@sciapod @thiccgeralt @fucking-hell-cavill @brexrif @peakygroupie @viking-raider @constip8merm8 @daniig95 @elinalfrida @hell1129-blog @oddsnendsfanfics @agniavateira @dearlybelovedluke @sofiebstar @wanderinglunarnights @onceiwasanun @luclittlepond @thekingstachemademedoit @onceiwasanun @iloveyouyen @lestersglitterglue @funnygirlthatgab @wondersofdreaming @yoursecretsmutblog @valkavill @kevia1000 @trippedmetaldetector @lifeofrileyp @captaingothgirl1996 @sasusakubae @princess-of-riviaa @vivodinson @paradisecitychild @yespolkadotkitty

#happy birthday Mary-ann!#Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill Fluff

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queenbirbs · 4 years

Text

the way home | Ch. 5 | Edward x MC

Pairing: Edward Mortemer x MC

Word count: 3,705

Warnings: language, some violence

Read from the beginning or continue on

Read on AO3

Tag list: @writinghereandthere | @not-sewell

------

The familiar sight of Port Monarque is a welcome one, despite the awaiting doom.

Her wrists bound with shackles, Elena sits between two officers as they row into the harbor in a jolly boat. She knows enough of the city to find a decent place to hide and formulate a plan -- if she can manage to escape their clutches. One of the officers makes crude remarks at her, knowing she can’t retaliate with the dirty rag stuffed into her mouth. Elena’s too busy scouring the ships anchored down along the port. She can’t be certain if Edward’s is among them or not, what with her poor vantage point and the endless spider web of rigging lines. If Salacia’s Fortune is here, it’s likely tucked away in a cove to hide from navy patrols.

The boat glides up beside one of the lower docks, some distance from the main thoroughfare. The officers tie to it before the crude one hoists Elena up and over his shoulder. He slaps her ass for good measure, ignoring her muffled threats as he climbs onto the dock. She hears the harbormaster’s approach. His low, gruff tone is almost familiar. Before she can struggle towards a better view, there’s the metallic cry of blade on blade.

The officer dumps Elena onto the dock, where she flips onto her back and spots Jonas’s scarred eye underneath the ridiculous hat he wears.

“Fancy seeing you here,” is what she says, though it comes out in a garbled mess.

“A little help?” he asks as his blade clangs against the officers’.

Elena shifts her weight and cocks back her legs, landing a solid kick against the crude one’s ass. He stumbles before falling over the side and into the water. Jonas feints high, then sweeps his boot out and knocks the other officer to his back. Elena follows behind with another kick, shoving him off the dock to join his crew member.

Yanking her to her feet, Jonas slices through the gag and urges her down the dock and into the busy market. They slip behind an empty stall for him to strip off his coat.

“Cover yer chains with this.”

Elena takes the coat and folds it over her wrists as best she can, feeling as if every nerve in her body is vibrating at the highest frequency.

“Jonas, you have no idea how happy I am to see you. Where are the others? Is Edward with--”

“Aye, we’re all here,” he cuts her off, squinting down the port with his good eye as he keeps watch. She sweeps her gaze across the roaming villagers, unsure of what she’s looking for. Before she can ask, Jonas tips his head for them to continue on. She follows him through the market and up onto the serpentine streets that climb along the island. The city center is just as bustling, making it easy for them to dodge in and out of the crowds and down tight alleyways. Across the tiers of rooflines, Elena catches a glimpse of the sun sinking towards the sea. Her boot clips on a loose cobblestone and she trips, smacking her shoulder into a dress shop’s window to keep from falling onto her face.

“Look alive, now,” Jonas mutters from up ahead, glancing back to make sure she’s keeping up. Even he can see the pale color in her cheeks and the small winces that make her jaw twitch; she’s in no shape to be climbing about like this, but there’s no way around it. “Weren’t my choice to have the rendezvous location all the way up here. I would offer to carry ye, if there weren’t the threat of you handing my arse to me.”

She shoves down her injured pride and musters up a grin. “Where is this ‘rendezvous,’ anyway?”

“Right here.”

The answer draws her up short. Ahead of them is a low, bricked building with a sign of two crossed hammers and an anvil. Jonas swings open the door and ushers her inside, before closing and locking it behind them. Three heads turn at the noise of their arrival.

Robert nods at her from his perch near the fire, his hair and clothes soaked. Tripp grins at her and gives a little wave, beckoning them over. Before they can step farther into the room, though, Elena is bowled over by a blur of brown and blue.

“Yer a right bastard,” Charlie chokes out as she wraps her arms around Elena and squeezes tight. “Making us search the world over for you, and here you are.”

“I’m-- I’m sorry,” Elena manages to speak around her dwindling air supply.

Charlie pulls back and tucks her against her side. “Oh, love, I’m only teasin’. We’d’ve sailed to another planet and searched that world over for you, too, if we could.”

Before Elena can get her hands free from under the coat, Charlie reaches over and wipes at her tears. Swallowing back the elation that clogs her throat, Elena takes another look around the shop. Something tells her that she can’t start jumping for joy just yet.

“The others -- they’ve been captured, haven’t they?”

“Aye, they have,” Robert growls from his post. “I tried to talk some sense into him, but the boy’s a fool.”

Elena doesn’t bother asking who the fool is. She lets Charlie guide her towards the fire and sit her down. Tripp approaches and takes the coat from her, guiding a small, hot poker to weaken the chain until the shackles fall away. As if a witch herself, Charlie produces a plate of food and a mug of water, pushing both of them into Elena’s shaking hands.

“Fuck.” She tightens her grip to the point of pain. “I hoped you all would stay away.”

Jonas reaches down to squeeze her shoulder as he passes by. “And leave ye to deal with those navy dogs yerself? Not a chance.”

“Robert got word to us yesterday, but we’d already decided to sail into the trap we knew was laid out,” Charlie explains. “We couldn’t be sure if we’d be able to get you out or not, so we split up. We left Ginny and some of the other crew back on Santo Domingo, to have as backup in case they brought you there. Once we got here, Jonas and I escaped in the jolly boat while the navy captured the ship. Edward, Maggie, and Henry are locked down in the dungeon of the governor’s mansion.”

Elena swallows the last of her food and sets the plate aside. Her nails drum against the mug as she vibrates with a newfound energy. She’s so close to having her family back together.

“Okay,” she drags the word out, glancing between her friends, “so why are we all just sitting here? Let’s go bust them out.”

“Yer in no shape to be--”

“What?” Elena snaps as she straightens up in her seat. “No, I’m fine. Look, I made a happy plate and everything.”

“Lass,” Jonas says with a grimace, “ye barely made it up here. I have to agree with Charlie on this one.”

From his spot near the fire, Robert chuckles and shakes his head. “Best to conserve yer energy and let her come along. God knows I spent too much time in the beginning of our partnership trying to shake her off. She’ll be a colossal pain in the arse if you leave her behind.”

“Thank you!” Elena exclaims, glad to have someone sticking up for her -- even if it’s hidden behind an insult. “I mean, even if you did leave me here, I’d definitely follow you guys anyway.”

Charlie makes a show of heaving out a reluctant sigh, but nods her head. “Alright, love. Ye’ve won this round.”

“Good. Because I’ve got a plan.”

------

The dress shop is rather easy to break into, all things considered.

For a stupid, fleeting moment, Elena worries about how she’s going to disarm the security system, before remembering the closest thing to that would be vicious dogs. Which, luckily, the dress shop doesn’t keep around.

“Help me find the ugliest dress in here,” she instructs as they follow her into the dark shop. Jonas and Robert harumph at each other in that middle-aged man sort of way before wandering around.

“This one is particularly atrocious if I do say so myself.”

Near the back, Charlie holds up a garish, silken concoction of ribbons and lace in a searing shade of what would be called neon green in about two-hundred years. Elena crosses the room and runs a hand over the fabric, amazed by its hideousness.

“It’s like if Tim Gunn told you to sew a traffic light.”

“I’ve no idea who or what that is,” Charlie laughs. “But I think this is our winner.”

They don’t bat an eye at her stealing the dress. But when she stops them a few blocks from the governor’s mansion and asks them to rough her up, they all suddenly turn into law-abiding citizens.

“We’re not gonna beat you up, lass.”

“Ye said ye just needed the dress!”

Even Robert -- who once strongly advocated for her to be tossed overboard, fought her in a sword fight, and blew up a cave while she was inside it -- makes an uncomfortable face at the request.

“Good god,” Elena mutters as she tears at the fabric herself. “You’d think I asked you all to hack me into pieces. A good act only works with a good costume!”

Satisfied with the dress’s destruction, she runs her hand over the alley’s dusty brick and spreads it across her cheek and neck. Charlie wipes off some of her own lip rouge and draws it over Elena’s lips and across to her left dimple. Without a mirror, Elena can only guess from their expressions that her attempt has worked.

It certainly seems to work on the guards, who jump from their posts near the mansion’s basement door when she comes careening out of the dark.

“Please! Please, help me!” she cries, grasping at the tangled tendrils of her hair. “My husband --the… he’s the Viscount Beauchamp! We’ve been attacked by… by these ruffians! They robbed him and left him bleeding in the street. Please, you have to come help!”

“Ma’am, where is--”

“Oh, this way! This way, please, you have to help him!” she begs the two men, dragging one of them by the arm towards the road and past a dark alley. “He’s bleeding! I nearly fainted at the sight of him. He’s got hemophilia, as I’m sure you know!”

“No, ma’am, I’m not sure what that--”

Jonas springs up from behind a wagon and knocks the first officer out with fist to the jaw. The second officer backpedals and begins to draw his pistol, but Charlie grabs the weapon from him and whips him across the head. He drops to the ground in a heap of red fabric.

“Hemophilia wasn’t discovered until 1828,” Robert comments as he drags the men into the alley and ties them up. Elena reaches down to tear off two more strips of her dress and offers it to him to use as gags.

“Sorry, I left my wikipedia entry on genetic disorders back at home.”

“C’mon, you two!” Charlie beckons from the road.

The four of them hustle back to the mansion, relieved to see the guards’ abandonment hasn’t been noticed yet. Charlie leads the way through the branching service tunnels, ushering them into empty rooms when more guards pass by on their rounds. As they wait for the sound of footsteps to retreat, Elena hears the unmistakable noise of Maggie and Henry arguing about his cooking.

“Some things never change, ay, love?” Charlie turns to wink at her before poking her head back out. “Coast is clear. Let’s go get our crew.”

And then they’re walking down into the dungeon and Henry’s voice is getting louder, until their footsteps start to echo down and the arguing ceases -- probably used to getting reprimanded by the guards, but Elena can’t bear the silence so she pushes past Charlie and snatches a ring of keys from a peg on the wall and races towards the cell where she can see the cloth of someone’s coat pressed against the bars and the keys are rattling in her hand and--

“It’s… Elena, is that ye? Elena!”

A bucket clangs to the floor as Henry scrambles to his feet, followed quickly by Maggie. The nerves burning inside of her are doused by the realization that Edward isn’t with them. As Elena unlocks the door and throws it open, she tries to keep the disappointment from her face. She was so sure she would find Edward with them, and now the proverbial rug has been pulled out from underneath her once more.

“We missed ye somethin’ terrible, lass!” Maggie beams as she sweeps Elena into her arms and hugs her tight.

Guilt gnaws at her stomach; she returns the hug, smothering a laugh when Henry throws his arms around them both.

“Alright, alright,” Jonas says, “give our gal some breathin’ room.”

Henry and Maggie step back, though the latter keeps a hand on Elena’s back, rubbing up and down with gentle strokes. “Now, where has our captain run off to?”

“The guards took ‘im away ‘bout an hour ago.”

“Probably to rough ‘im up a bit to make him look good for the mornin’ crowd.” Henry grimaces at Elena’s alarmed expression. “Sorry, lass.”

Charlie clenches her fists and shakes her head. “None of us are going to the gallows. And that includes our captain.”

“Aye,” Jonas agrees. “And I’ve just the--”

Noise from back down the corridor interrupts his plan. Standing at the end are two guards, each struggling to keep hold of Edward as he thrashes against them.

“Charlie!” he calls. “Charlie, is she here? Did you find--”

“The pirates’ve gotten free!” one of the guards cries out. “Cut them off before they escape!”

The crew races down the hall, their swords singing as they wrench them free. Elena pulls the dagger from her boot and chases after them. The other guard drops his hold on Edward and brandishes his sword. Rearing back, Edward headbutts him into the wall and snatches the sword as it falls; he swivels on his heel, knocking the first guard into an empty cell and slamming the door shut. More shouts of alarm filter down from above, calling out for reinforcements.

“Hurry!” Edward yells at his crew as they head for the exit. “There’s a tunnel we can use to…” his words trail off, lost under the pounding of their footsteps. “...Elena.”

Despite the dire situation, Elena can’t help the giddy smile that forms when Edward finally spots her. Every part of her body feels as if it’s going to spontaneously combust as she nears the end. His lips move in the shape of her name again, then again, and then loud enough for her to hear.

“Elena!” two voices shout.

Confusion cuts through the euphoria when a hand seizes her dress and yanks her back. With an ear-splitting crash, a massive portcullis drops down from the ceiling and buries its sharp spikes into the floor. Right where she would have been.

Though the crew is only mere feet away, she’s sealed from joining them by eight-thousand pounds of wrought iron. Her heart plummets at the realization. Beside her, Robert turns and fires on the guard who released the latch, hitting him square in the neck. Boots thunder across the floor above. Edward rushes to the gate, trying in vain to push it back up. The crew crowds around him to try and help, but it’s no use.

“More guards are on their way,” Robert tells them. “If we want any chance at escape, we need to go now.” His glare moves from Elena and over to the crew. “The same goes for you.”

“No!” Edward grits his teeth and rattles the gate, cursing when it doesn’t budge. “No, we’re not leaving! If -- if we can find something to wedge under here, we can--”

The guards’ shouts grow louder as they close in. Elena covers his hands with hers and squeezes, her pulse racing at touching him for the first time in over two years.

“You have to go.”

His face collapses into a look of despair, his eyes wild with panic. “I won’t! You-- you’re here and I just got you back. I won’t leave you behind.”

Robert barks her name and tugs at her arm. “If we don’t go now, they’ll catch all of us. Go!”

“He’s right, Captain,” Charlie says.

“I-- we’ll wait for you. We’re anchored off the eastern coast. Meet us there and--”

“Edward, listen to me,” Elena pleads, digging her nails into his skin. “There’s no time. We’ll keep them busy and give you time to sail off.”

“And leave you here?” he hisses in disbelief, frantically shaking his head. “Never.”

Robert tugs her again, harder this time, and she stumbles back away from the gate. Edward reaches through the bars and tries desperately to grab hold of her once more. Seeing their opportunity, Jonas and Maggie capture him and wrestle him back towards the exit. “No, we’re not leav-- no, Elena!”

“We’ll meet you back on--” Elena cuts herself off, not wanting to shout out the location. “--where Ginny and the others are! I promise.”

Racing down the hall after Robert, she watches over her shoulder until the crew disappears from sight. They reach the fallen guard, where Elena tucks her dagger away and steals the man’s sword. It’s not like he would get any use out of it, anyway. Robert guides her down behind a stack of barrels as the guards jog past.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, his gaze trained on the stairs. “But if they hadn’t left, it would’ve all been for naught.”

She stifles the urge to cry as frustration and outrage boil over inside of her. This isn’t the time or place for a breakdown, though -- not while trapped within the enemy’s dungeon. She empties out her lungs with a sigh and draws in a calming breath.

“I understand.”

“Good. We’re going to play this one just like we did at Edinburgh Castle, and then we’ll be scot-free.”

She wrinkles her nose at the term. “Was that a pun?”

“Hush, lass. Now, hand me that powder keg they were kind enough to stow down here for us.”

------

AN: Edward’s new ship went through a few names (The Hangman, The Seeker, etc) before I decided that he’d probably go for something similar to his last. Salacia is the Roman goddess of salt water and the open sea.

#distant shores #edward x mc #edward mortemer #distant shores fic #Kaila writes things #f: the way home

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juliaromantique · 4 years

Text

golden days (ahmed x mc)

choices characters of color appreciation week 💫 @choicescocappreciationweek

“it was only the matter of time before we got together”

782 words, ahmed khabbaz x f!mc

The evening fell on the streets when the two of them were strolling down the sidewalk. The sky played with bright colors like an adventurous painter, mixing pink, orange, and purple on the canvas. The sight no one ever gets tired of.

The light brush of his hand made Charlie flinch, but when she looked up and met his gaze, her cheeks turned red. It was so weird, being together for months but still feeling this excitement all over her body. The same way as it was when they first met in Paris. Since then, they traveled through cities and visited France many times, experiencing new places and views, but one thing never changes. How she feels next to him.

Ahmed sent a joyful smile towards her, his fingers colliding slowly with her skin, and she clasped his hand with anticipation. The people around were too busy to pay attention to them, even though they were focused on this moment. And each other.

Now they're visiting her hometown, the place where she was born and raised, and her heart fluttered a little. Sharing this city and seeing it through his eyes was something that made her feel excited. Ahmed admired the places Charlie showed him, even when the crowds of tourists were too noisy, or they had to wait for some time to get to the destinations. But the only thing that mattered for him was her. It was her city, and no matter what, watching the streets she walked through her whole life made him fall in love with her even more. The passion in these beautiful brown eyes inspired him, and every move and thought of this woman made him swoon all the time.

When they reached a quiet park, Charlie dragged him to the bench, and they settled on it comfortably. He curled his arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer, and Charlie inhaled the scent of his perfume, so intoxicating, she felt dizzy right away.

"So, what do you think about it so far?" she asked, lifting her head to look at him. The smile appeared on his features.

"It's fascinating," his voice rang in her ear like a blessed melody of birds around, who were sitting on the colorful trees. "But I'm just happy you’re sharing it with me."

"Of course, it's a huge part of my life, and..." Charlie looked down, her breath catches in her throat, but then glanced at him again with more courage. "And so are you. I can't imagine it without you."

Ahmed's eyes traveled over her face, cute dimples on the cheeks gaining more attention, as his heart sunk a little from this view. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, enjoying how his fingers brush the sleek skin.

"When... when did you realize that?" he asked, his hand still playing with soft hair curls. Charlie frowned slightly, but then her lips turned into a smirk.

"Right when I saw you shirtless. It was only the matter of time before we got together," she chuckled, and Ahmed's cheeks went rosy immediately, attracting a satisfied gaze from Charlie. She trailed her fingers over the smooth skin of his face with pure admiration. "But, to be honest..."

Their eyes met, and something invisible flashed between them, their senses intensifying and making them both gulped with longing. But then Charlie gave him a pleasant grin.

"I really felt something when we just met. It was... scary, because I never felt that way before," her fingers fell lower, tracing the skin on his neck and making him catch his breath. "And... I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

Ahmed's face softened after her confession, he took her hand in his and kissed it gently, sending sparks through her body.

"I can reassure you that I felt the same way about you," he intertwined their fingers, leaving a kiss on every knuckle. "Thank you for being so patient with me."

"It's not hard at all when I get to do this," Charlie straightened a little, cupping his face tenderly and joining their lips in a kiss. Her touch just a breeze of late spring, caressing his skin in the way that made his heart pounding faster. His arms snaked around her waist, holding Charlie closer. When they eventually pulled apart, breathing hard and ignoring glances of passers-by, he touched his forehead against hers.

"Where are we going next?" she asked quietly, feeling his breath on her face.

"Doesn't matter until we're together," Ahmed placed a kiss on her head, his eyes closing with a thought that from now on, he doesn't have to worry about nothing. Everything that mattered was right in his arms.

#playchoices #choices stories you play #passport to romance #ahmed khabbaz #ahmed x mc #choicescocaw #choicescocaw day four

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calpalirwin · 4 years

Text

Artsy Folk

Summary: Funny how working at a high school makes you feel seventeen again.

A/N: Teacher!Ash!

Content: Fluff. Almost cuss word free.

Word Count: 2.8k

And away, and away we go!

~~~

You frowned as you looked at your box of decorations and around your bare classroom walls. Just how the hell you were going to decorate in time for the first day was beyond you. What you needed was help, preferably from someone who was tall. But, that wasn’t in the cards for you. You were on your own.

You cracked your knuckles and set out to work. In two hours, your fingers were sore. In four, your back ached.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead as you caught your breath, looking around the room. It was certainly better than it had been, but still not exactly how you wanted it. You thought the heavy pounding was coming from your chest, but as you rested your hand on your chest, you realized the noise wasn’t coming from you.

You got up and walked over to your opened classroom door, peeking out across the quad. Another classroom door was swung open and the pounding had gotten louder. Curiosity took control and you found yourself strolling towards the music pouring out of the other classroom.

Your knuckles rapped politely on the door as you poked your head in. “Hello?” you announced.

The man at the drumkit didn’t hear you as he drummed with his whole body, lost in the music. The midnight hair covered his face as the drumsticks twirled effortlessly in his large fingers. You could see the swell of his arm muscles and the thickness of his thighs as he beat mercilessly on the kit- a fast-paced, steady rhythm.

“Hello?” you said a bit louder, moving deeper into the room.

There was a thunderous finish, before his fingers gripped the cymbals to silence them, the notes still reverberating around in your ears. Those same fingers pushed his hair out of his face and then a startled pair of the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen were taking you in. “Oh, hello,” his voice called out and you detected the trace of an accent.

You blinked and he was in front of you, taller than you by a foot, and reaching out a hand. “I’m Ashton.”

“Y/N,” you breathed back, wondering when you had blacked out as you shook his hand.

“I wasn’t bothering you, was I? I keep asking admin to soundproof this room, but they never get around to it. I swear one of these days, I’m just gonna do it myself.”

You shook your head to clear it, his words filtering foggily into your head. “What? No, you weren’t bothering me. I… uh… it was good! I thought I was alone.”

He giggled and you saw stars. “Nah, I’m always here.”

“Hard time separating work and home?”

He giggled again as he shrugged. “Not much to go home to. Plus, I spend so much time teaching music, I don’t get around to playing it a whole lot. So, I try to fit it in when I can.”

You nodded, “I get what you mean. Too busy teaching our passion to partake in it ourselves.”

“Exactly,” he smiled and you melted at that dimple in his cheek. You, you decided, were in big fucking trouble. “So, what do you teach?”

“Oh, I’m the new drama teacher.”

“Oh, sweet! We’ll have a lot of the same students then.”

“Probably work together a lot too, huh?”

He nodded, smiling wider. “Oh, for sure. What kind of productions do you have planned? Or have you got that far yet?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Today is just a decorating day. Hunting down age-appropriate productions is tomorrow’s job.”

“Did you need any help decorating?” the words rushed from his mouth. “I mean, I…” he started to falter, his cheeks flushing as he passed a hand through his raven locks. “I’m tall so I can… I mean… if you don’t wanna stand on a desk.”

“That would be great actually! If you don’t mind?”

“Nah, not at all. Us artsy folk gotta stick together.”

~~~

You felt a flutter in your stomach every time he flashed you a smile across the quad as you both held the door to your respective classrooms open for your students.. You couldn’t stop your own smile how you heard his voice boom out after every bell with a welcoming, “Alright class!” Was working on a high school campus destined to make you feel like a lovestruck teenager yourself?

The flutter in your stomach got more pronounced on your lunch breaks when he’d spin a chair around to lean his chest against the back, his dimple indenting his cheek as he popped an orange slice in his mouth.

“How was your break?” he asked after the holidays had finished.

“It was good,” you smiled at him, wishing for the millionth time to be that orange slice that brushed up against his perfect lips. “How was yours? Get to put your passion to good use?”

“Did you?” he challenged, tapping the screenplay you had next to your own lunch. “Seriously, how many of these do you read?”

“A lot,” you laughed. “Mostly to get scene ideas for the kids to practice. But this is for the spring musical.”

“Sound of Music, huh?” he asked, glancing at the title. “I always loved that one.”

“Me too. I’ve always wanted to do it.”

“Have you talked with Luke and Mike?” he asked, referencing the tall choir teacher and the wild art teacher.

“No, I need to,” you said, pulling out a pen and scratching the note down on the back of the script. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“No problem,” he grinned, swallowing another orange slice. “Lemme know if I can help with any musical arrangements.”

“Would you?” you asked, eyes hopeful and wide. His name had been first on your list of people to ask for help when you got the rights to put on the production.

“Us artsy folk gotta stick together.”

~~~

You sighed, rubbing your eyes as the teenagers on the stage looked at you with sheepish smiles on their faces. You glanced down at your phone to note the time. You had an hour left of rehearsal time. Sixty minutes to nail your favorite scene. The students were hard-working, there was no denying that. But nothing about this scene felt right to you. It felt forced. And you hated that. Maybe it was the long hours getting to you. Maybe there was a pressure you were putting on yourself to put on the perfect production of your favorite musical. Either way, something wasn’t clicking today and it was driving you up a wall. “What’s going on, guys? Is it the lyrics? Do we need another day with Mr. Hemmings? Is it the blocking? Do I need to break it down again? Help me, help you, guys. C’mon.”

“It’s just not clicking, Miss,” Charlie, a lanky sophomore, said, rubbing at his neck.

“He keeps throwing me around like a ragdoll!” McKenzie, a petite junior, turned on her partner, hands on her hips.

“I’m supposed to spin you! That’s the scene!” he fought back, towering over her.

“Not so fast! And do you have to grab me so hard?! Miss, he’s bruising my hips!”

“I’m not doing it on purpose!”

“Alright!” you shouted above their bickering, waving your hands. “Fighting’s not gonna get this done. Kenz, Charlie’s right. Spinning you is the scene. But Charlie, slow it down like half a step. Go with the beat of the music.”

“Miss, it’s a little much. The music, the lyrics, the blocking,” Charlie admitted with another sheepish look.

You sighed again, glancing at your phone again. It was Charlie’s first production and he had landed himself quite the role. You had specifically cast him alongside McKenzie so the older girl could lend her experience on the stage to the boy. It had been working, or so you thought. “Why don’t we take it one piece at a time? Just do the blocking. Then add the lyrics. Then the music. 3 more takes.”

Charlie and McKenzie nodded in agreement.

“Alright, Mr. Irwin, keep off the music cue, please,” you said, turning to where Ashton was a little ways off with the band.

Ashton nodded with a small smile that had your insides doing somersaults.

“Alright, take it away.”

The action on stage was gawky as the two students moved in silence, the only sound being the scuffling of their shoes. All three of you shared a collective frown as they moved back to run it again. The second take flowed better as the lyrics they sang provided structure to their movements. “Alright, better,” you approved, smiling as they moved back for the last take. “Now, let’s add the music. Mr. Irwin?”

Ashton led his students through the music as you trained your eyes on Charlie and McKenzie’s movements. Charlie’s foot stumbled as he picked up McKenzie, falling into his usual half-step behind the music. He spun fast and hard to catch back up to pace, but forgot to spot his turn, so the toes of his sneakers lost their grip and with McKenzie in his arms, he couldn’t regain his balance. Both teenagers tumbled to the stage floor, Charlie graciously taking the brunt of it, “oof,”s falling from everyone’s lips as you winced.

“We good?” you checked, your face a mask of worry.

Charlie stood up, dusting off his jeans, before reaching a hand to help McKenzie to her feet, both breathless with laughter. “Yeah, we’re good, Miss. Sorry, Kenz.”

“You forgot to spot,” McKenzie scolded, patting the boy’s chest. “Miss, he always forgets to spot his turns.”

“She’s right, Charlie,” you told them, with a soft chuckle.

“Miss, it’s too much. Every time I think I got it, my brain messes it up.”

“You’re doing fine, Charlie. This is a process. That’s why we have rehearsals. Do we need to take a small break?”

Charlie and McKenzie shared a look that bordered on dangerous before Charlie spoke up. “You know, Miss… I’m a visual learner… maybe if you showed me how this scene goes…?” his eyes fluttered over to Ashton suggestively as you felt heat rise to your cheeks.

You narrowed your eyes at McKenzie in particular. You had gotten to know the girl pretty well over your stint as her teacher, and she gave you relentless teasing when she had caught you subconsciously biting your lip when you and Ashton shared your smile and wave between classes. You also knew that a lot of the students thought you and Ashton shared something that went beyond those small smiles, a rumor that was growing with how close you were becoming to the music teacher now that you were working on the musical together. Teenagers, you had come to realize, were incredibly observant when it came to matters of the heart.

You pulled yourself onto the stage and moved to stand between the teenagers, ignoring the eyes on you, Ashton’s in particular. “It’s like this,” you explained. “Pick, twirl, land,” you demonstrated, going through the motions. “It’s not even a full spin, Charlie. It’s a 180 degree turn, not a full 360.”

Charlie shared another look with McKenzie before he flashed you a grin. “Yeah, Miss, I still don’t fully get it. Can… hey, Mr. Irwin! Can you come help?”

A smirk threatened to overtake Ashton’s face, his hazel eyes wide as they looked at you. “Uh…” he faltered, a hand running through his ink-like hair.

“Clearly there’s only so much teaching I can do before I require reinforcements,” you told him with a shy smile and small giggle, sweeping your arm before you in silent question.

A matching giggle came out of Ashton’s own lips as he effortlessly swung himself up on stage with you. “You know the scene?” you checked.

“Course I do,” he confirmed.

“Alright, from the top then,” you said, directing your attention away from his close proximity to look at your students. “Charlie, watch Mr. Irwin’s movements. McKenzie, watch mine. As much as the pressure is on Charlie in this scene, you’re playing an important role, too. Keep him grounded,” you explained as you and Ashton took your marks.

Ashton gestured for his students to start playing the music and your eyes went wide for a moment as he started singing. You were surprised you were so surprised by his singing voice. His regular talking voice was as smooth as honey, of course his singing voice would be even more magnificent.

Your bodies moved in sync through the scene, his hand there to guide you up to step onto the bench, before his strong hands were on your waist and you were lifted into the air. You bit on your lip to keep in the schoolgirl like giggle bubbling up inside as he pivoted in a graceful half spin and placed you gently on your feet, the music and your voices fading out across the theater.

Your heart was racing and your ears were ringing as his hands stayed glued to your hips, eyes locked on each other.

“Oh!” Charlie’s voice sounded, and you and Ashton jumped apart, his fingertips lighting you up as they slid across skin, keeping contact until the last possible second. “I think I get it now!”

“Yeah?” you asked, a smile on your lips and your eyes shining as you kept your gaze on Ashton.

“Yeah!” Charlie said, excitedly.

“Alright, take your marks. Run it from the top,” you said, biting your lip as Ashton’s tongue poked out to wet his own.

When Charlie and McKenzie ran through the scene, they didn’t mess up once. You raised your eyebrows in suspicion at them and they just grinned at you. You shook your head, your shoulders shaking in a silent chuckle before your eyes darted over to see if Ashton was looking. When he wasn’t, you mouthed a thank you to the conspirators. “Alright, great work, guys. Let’s call it early,” you said loudly, gathering everyone’s attention. “Back here at 3:30 sharp tomorrow.”

~~~

You stood in front of the auditorium, watching the last of the students get picked up by parents or jet off into the evening with their friends. You crossed your arms over the chest to ward of the chill, desperately wishing for the parking lot to empty so you could seek the warm shelter of your own car.

“Hey,” a voice piped up and you jumped. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya,” Ashton chuckled.

Your hand fluttered to your racing heart. “I figured you would have left already.”

“Nah,” he said, leaning up against the wall of the building, a leg kicked up so his foot rested against the wall along with his shoulders. “Just got finished locking up the band room.”

“Mmm,” you nodded, looking out across the parking lot, not wanting to look at the man who had set a fire in your soul not even twenty minutes ago. How someone could ooze sexiness without even trying made you shiver at what he was capable of when he used his charm full force.

“I didn’t make you uncomfortable in there, did I?” he questioned, his eyebrows furrowing together.

“What? No! No,” you laughed, “not at all.”

He let out a small chuckle of relief, “Good. Cuz I was gonna say, I think they’ve been plotting that one for a while.”

“Me too. Wonder where they got such a crazy idea from,” you wondered out loud.

He pushed off the wall and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Dunno. Kids get these crazy notions sometimes.”

“Crazy,” you said, biting into your lip as you turned to look at him.

“Totally,” he agreed, swallowing thickly. “It’s like I can’t smile at a pretty girl without the whole school thinking I got a crush.”

“And do you?” you asked, your cheeks warming at his dropped compliment.

“Do I what?”

“Have a crush on the pretty girl?”

His shoulders shrugged and his eyes danced away. “Maybe…” his voice murmured the answer.

“Maybe the pretty girl has a crush on you too,” you admitted shyly.

“Yeah?” You noticed the hopeful lilt in his voice and the heat in your cheeks grew in intensity.

“Night, Ashton,” you smiled, walking off slowly in the direction of your car.

He didn’t answer as you continued to walk away and you let out a small sigh of discontent. Maybe it was best to have kept your attraction a secret from the music teacher across the hall. Better to have the small moments of affection and tenderness rather than lose it if things went by the wayside. So when his fingers danced onto your waist, you nearly jumped out of your skin before instinctively relaxing into his touch, wondering how someone so big could move so silently. Those same fingers you had spent many a sleepless night imagining exploring the expanse of your body tugged at your flesh, spinning you around to face him. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this,” he breathed down at you before his perfect lips were on yours.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting you to do that,” you replied, melting into him, his kiss, his touch, craving more and more.

“Us artsy folk gotta stick together.” His eyes were shining and his voice was breathless and you were thinking things that left you wet between your legs.

“That we do,” you said before reaching up on your tiptoes to kiss him again.

~~~

Tag List

@goeatsomelife�� @flameraine @cashtonasff5sos @here-for-the-uproars @cxddlyash @1-irwin-94 @baldcalum @sparkling-chaos @tea4sykes @youngblood199456 @5-seconds-of-obsession

#artsy folk #ashton irwin #ashton irwin fic #teacher!ash #5sos #galcal irwin

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writingonthemoon · 5 years

Text

Old Clothes Part 1

Word Count: ≈1913

Warnings: Mentions of Death

Back of Book: Odette had few constants in her ever-changing life. One was The Burn. She had learned it from her mother Lilijah when she was only four. It was a way to escape all past mistakes and start anew. It also came at a cost. After one Burn, they need for more grows stronger. Every time there was a possibility of someone recognizing one person in the family, matches were thrown to the ground and everything with them. After, they would move hundreds of kilometres away and build a life again, only for it to be burned once again. Then they would find old clothes and start thrice.

At the age of seventeen, Odette got lost during a move. Alone, she scoured the forest for her mother, father, and siblings. As the sun set, she came across the Tuck family while searching for her own people. They welcomed her to their campsite and offered to help her in the morning. Grateful for their kindness, she thanked them and drank from a nearby spring before resting. In the morning the group of five searched for the runaways, but to no avail. The Tucks made a proposition to Odette. She could become a part of their family. And so she did. She travelled with the youngest son, Jesse, for years unknown, never once ageing and always in old clothes.

Alone again, Odette travels back to New York after spending decades out of the country. There, she expects to visit old and new landmarks before making her way to the west. Instead, she comes face-to-face with victims of The Burns she held over her many years. The embers are still hot and may reignite, burning Odette and her old clothes with her.

Author’s Note: It’s here, people! My spur of the moment story after I watched Tuck Everlasting had now become a semi-published story. I know, like, three people will probably end up reading this, but I don’t care much about that. And if you think this is a good part one, share it on your blogs so I get my butt in gear and finish the second part! Thank you for reading and enjoy!

P.S. I’m using this for Day: 11 of Tuck Month since it’s a free day and it works with yesterday’s post if anyone’s wondering.

Old clothes. It’s always old clothes for a new beginning. It’s easiest to create a new identity with someone else’s. Fabricating a single history that intertwines many from all over is simpler than pulling a single story from a single source. If there’s no traceable trail of your lie, nobody can prove anything right or wrong. It’s always wrong, though. It’s wrong until the next new life. And the next and the next. Every new beginning brings an unfinished and unsatisfied end. My mother never taught me that last part.

It had been years, many years since I had last seen her. My father, brother, and sister too. I didn’t know where they were, I just knew they were no longer alive. How could they be? It had been ages since the last time I saw them. Our lack of visitations was not my fault. They lost me in that wood, not the other way around. Things just kept happening after that took me farther and farther away from them. When I met the Tucks in that clearing after hours of panicked wandering, I was desperate for warmth and food. They let me camp with them unit the morning, so we could have the sun on our side while we searched. The water from the spring… I had no idea. None of us had a clue and now we’re all stuck like we were that day. I’m stuck, never being me again, but always being seventeen.

That was, oh, 91 years ago. Now, it’s 1899 and I’ve left New Hampshire and gone everywhere. Jesse and I travelled together when we figured out our… predicament. We were in love and were going to get married and have a family, even with my internal inhibitions. Then Miles had a son, Thomas. Then Thomas and his mother left, fearing the unknown. Jesse and I had become split on the plan. I still loved him and anyone could tell just by the look in my eyes whenever I was with him. I took in everything about him, from the small creases between his eyebrows in the sunshine to the way his fingers always intertwined with mine at all hours of the day. I wanted to be his partner in crime forever, just not with kids. After we discussed it, Jesse… Jesse seemed to start feeling the opposite way. The soft looks we used to give each other while we were waiting in train stations slowly started to disappear and the nights we used to spend talking ‘til all hours of the morning became rare. He started getting more restless, more agitated with everything I did. I would squeeze his hand too hard before we jumped down from trees or me getting excited about our next trip would make him dread the entire thing. After one of our few screaming matches, I discovered out he had been—according to him—falling out of love with me since he found out I didn’t want kids. So we parted in tears, one of us heading to the mountains in the west and the other to the ocean in the east. The storm clouds in the north kept us apart and I never saw him again. Every day, a pang of guilt and loss made my chest ache. It was as if he had died. The fact he never would die was almost worse.

Back to 1899, though. New York City. I had just arrived off a ship from England, wanting to revisit the Brooklyn Bridge after years. Even with amazing emotions being turned sour as I travelled through my past, I still loved revisiting the places the best memories came from. After I found a low profile hotel to stay in for a few days, I wandered the streets to reminisce. I had seen the rest of the world while I was gone, but it seemed like New York had the rest of the world there. Even if the culture had changed exponentially, the city’s energy still contained the same buzz I had grown to adore back when I still aged. Now the city was so much bigger! It included Brooklyn, Queens, The Bronx, and Staten Island. The most notable difference was the surplus of children on the streets, hollering headlines and scurrying from shadow to shadow.

My stomach clenched for the dirty boys and overworked girls that crossed my path. They should’ve all been in school, learning about the world they would discover as they got older. Their futures couldn’t be made by the spare change they called a living. What about their parents? They should be the ones working to support the family they made. The ethics of the new world sickened me. As I turned every corner to the new, glittering buildings, I couldn’t stop myself from hoping it was just a dream. To my despair, it was a horrifying reality.

“Hi there, miss.” My heart thudded against my ribcage when I heard a voice just off to my side. No, no, no, no, no. It couldn’t be. “Care to buy a pape?” I turned and looked, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

I lost my breath at the sight of the familiar face. I hadn’t realized how much I missed him until his shining eyes were in my life again. Everything was the same, but I don’t know why I thought it wouldn’t be. Perhaps I thought he would’ve changed himself to leave the past behind him. He was never one for looking back. I could still see over his head, but I could see more than before. I realized he had a crutch under his arm. Must’ve been one of the lies I taught him. His blond hair was hidden under a backwards cap. I wondered if it was still soft like when we were 63 before we got caught in that storm while travelling back from the Old World to visit his family. His face still held all the things I fell in love with, but it seemed slightly different. The dimples I enjoyed poking seemed shallower and his eyes didn’t seem as old. Perhaps my imagination was toying with me.

“Jesse.” I breathed out, trying to keep my emotions from going with the word. I couldn’t let him think I was terrible without him because I was thriving without him holding me back. The unfamiliar blue fabric of the dress I had found was held tight in my fist as I studied every last inch of his face. The toe of the worn boot I came to acquire—along with its match—tapped on the ground as I waited for his response. Could he possibly recognize me? I couldn’t age, no, but I could change. My hair got a pair of scissors to in somewhere in Europe and had accidentally darkened my skin while out touring Asia. Would he even want to recognize me? It seemed he wanted to go to the other side of the world to get away from my red hair. That was in Cairo, though. Things can always change.

“Uh, my name is Charlie, but a lady as pretty as you can call me Crutchie.” He lifted his crutch for a moment and made my heart drop. Not him. Is that good? I couldn’t tell at this point, with my emotions rising and falling like the waves of a storming sea.

“Oh, my bad. You just look like a friend I once had.” I glanced down to the ground and back up at the boy, whose face had turned down for me. It wasn’t the boy I loved all those years ago. After a beat, I solved what I felt was wrong. This boy in front of me had seen things different from Jesse. Jesse had seen wonders people could only dream of. Charlie—Crutchie—had seen horrors nobody could imagine. I shoved my hand in my pocket and grabbed a penny. I handed it to the boy with a smile, “I’ll take one newspaper, please.”

The rough paper hit my calloused palm, a part of me I could never hide behind a new identity, “Here you are. Might I know the name of the sight in front a me?“ His eyebrow lifted in such a familiar way, it sent a shiver down my spine.

The test I came across every time my life was compromised. Make a story in an instant with what I have, “Odette Tuck.” Damn, he got stuck in my head and made me think of the future we were going to have. I shook Charlie’s hand firmly, trying to make more of a life for my character. My parents were a fan of the ballet, that’s where my first name comes from. The callouses are from a childhood in small towns where I climbed trees. A dark tone from a recent family visit.

“Nice to meet you, Odette. How old are ya?”

The second part: create a personality. Happy in the way that can make anyone happy. Funny in a playful and flirty way. Smart like no one knows it. Mature enough to hold a conversation with adults, but not enough to stop making practical jokes. “Now, Charlie, didn’t your mother ever teach you not to ask a lady that question?”

He got quiet almost immediately and I knew I struck a nerve. Before I could rush to fix my mistake, he responded, “Nah, I, uh, never really had one.” It was like he flipped a switch and turned his grin back on, “Doesn’t matter much, though. I got plenty a friends. Theys my family.”

“That’s good.” I nodded slightly, trying to remember what it was like to have a family. Laughter around the table. Warm hugs after a long day. Going to the fair for one night only and winning as many prizes as you could for the others. Making jam and pie with your mother and sister while your father and brother were out finding enough patience to fish. Bickering and the occasional biting when you were younger. Unconditional, unwavering, and neverending love.

Finally, my mind and lips seemed to catch up with the original question that was posed only a few moments before, “I’m seventeen, by the way.” It had been an automatic answer since the Tucks and I had figured out what was going on. It would be the same answer forever too. There was nothing behind it anymore. No excitement like someone who had just had their birthday and their whole life ahead of them. No regret like one who was ageing out of their childhood and would soon have to face the anxieties of adulthood. Nothing.

“Huh. I’m only fifteen.” As my expression changed, he quickly went to correct himself, “Well, I’m turnin’ sixteen soon. Real soon.“ Charlie nodded a dozen times too many as he confirmed his age.

I smirked, “I see you enjoy flirting with older women.” Older by a lot.

“You ain’t that much older.” Oh, you poor boy. You have no idea.

"I am still older.“ I made my point by poking him in the chest slightly.

He rolled his eyes and chuckled, “Yeah, alright.” I laughed along with him for a moment before stopping as he did, “Well, I’ll let ya get on with your day, Odette.”

I nodded in response, “Thank you. I’ll see you again, Charlie.” I backed away from him for a few steps, getting one last look at the past and a future put together. Maybe these old clothes were finally going to be right. Just like my first clothes had been.

#i hope yall like it #kinda bad but oh well #old clothes

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maybeformepersonally · 5 years

Text

Fic: One golden glance of what should be

Title: One golden glance of what should be Author: maybeformepersonally Rating: G / General Audiences Summary: Hogwarts AU where inter-house friendship blooms, Dan plays Quidditch, Phil cheers for him, and realisations are acted upon. Word Count: 2752 Author’s Note: I wrote this fic for @unhawkeye for the Phanfic Events Spring Fic Exchange. I’d like to thank the kind folks at Phanfic Events for organising this fest and @unhawkeye for submitting this prompt and for the lovely comment they left, I’m glad you enjoyed it! Warnings: None

Read on AO3

Sometimes, not often but sometimes, Dan regretted talking the Sorting Hat into putting him in Gryffindor. Oh, do not get the wrong idea, he liked his house. For the most part. His housemates may be a loud and boisterous bunch more often than not, but that worked well enough for Dan in group settings, since he could be involved without exhausting himself emotionally; all he had to do was make the occasional comment and laugh when someone said something funny and he was considered part of the group. He was proud of being a Gryffindor. He liked the warm, glowy feeling he got whenever he caught himself being particularly courageous, and there was nothing like seeing hundreds upon hundreds of other students, even from other houses, wearing his house colours and cheering for him when his fingers closed around the ever so elusive golden snitch. He liked earning house points, and he liked being the non-threatening, easy-going upperclassman that first years felt confident asking for help. And if he sometimes felt adrift and trapped in the stifling exuberance of his housemates, if he sometimes needed to get away from the aggressively extroverted energy of his house’s Common Room, well. There's nothing wrong with wanting some time to himself to recharge.

Dan liked his house. He was thankful he had managed to sway the Hat’s first ‘suggestion’. But being in Gryffindor meant he had to share class time with not only Phil Lester, but also Charlie Casey, who was apparently physically incapable of not flirting with Phil for more than 5 continuous minutes.

Here was the thing about Dan: he was a helplessly, desperately, poisonously jealous person by nature. It didn't matter that he had no claim over Phil, except maybe a tenuous one as a situational kind-of-friend who was happy to chat when they were both passing time and no one more interesting was around. It didn't matter that Charlie was getting nowhere with his overt flirting and only slightly more covert near-stalking. It didn't even matter that Phil was clearly not interested, because Phil was also painfully nice, and so as long as Charlie didn't cross a line, he'd put up with his annoying housemate making eyes at him and babbling at him and trying to sit close to him in class and, and, and.

Dan may have been biased, but it still grinded his gears, every single time.

“Any questions? No? Alright then! Split into pairs and start practising the spell. Remember to make that a light swish, we don’t want to have to make any unplanned visits to the Hospital Wing today!”

Dan was distracted enough sneaking looks at Phil and Charlie that the professor’s words caught him a bit off-guard. On the flip side, however, sneaking looks at Phil seemed to have paid off this time, for as soon as the instructions were uttered, Phil had turned to him with one of those bright smiles that always made a nervous wriggly feeling burst inside Dan’s chest. Is he… he is, Dan thinks wildly. Dan had, of course, noticed that Phil’s usual class partner hadn’t been present in either of their shared classes that day, but with Charlie right there he’d figured Phil would just partner with him. Then again, Charlie could be a bit too enthusiastic with his wand movements, so Phil was making the right strategic choice, really.

“Hey,” Phil said once he reached him. He even did that cute little hand gesture he did sometimes when greeting people, that movement that looked like it half wanted to be a wave if only it could gather enough motivation. The wriggly feeling intensified in Dan's chest. “Wanna partner?”

“Yeah,” Dan answered lamely. “Sure.”

The smile he got made him think being awkward was worth it, if it got him that reaction from Phil Lester of all people.

Phil walked down the moving staircase excitedly, moving slightly ahead of his mates every couple of minutes before noticing that his longer stride and bubbling enthusiasm were propelling him too far ahead, and forcing himself to slow down. It was 8:30 a.m. on a Saturday, and by all intents and purposes he should have been shuffling his feet and groaning under his breath at being out of bed so early on a weekend. But today was different. Because his efforts were for a cause. A good and just cause. And that cause was Daniel Howell, expertly flying all over the pitch and flaunting his frankly spectacular skills with a broomstick.

Today was the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match, and the whole school was vibrating with anticipation, with the sheer drama of it, the two rivals clashing in the pitch for their one and only yearly match, fighting to one-up each other at every turn, risking life and limb with gravity-defying moves for the unparalleled glory of coming out the other side victorious. Phil had the passing thought that if he was an animated character, his eyes would be shining. Possibly they’d be shaped like stars.

The overall scores so far were tilted slightly in favour of Slytherin, but the Gryffindors had a more well-rounded team, and the best Seeker in the school (Phil was adamant, despite his own housemates' protests), so the odds were looking pretty good for Gryffindor supporters. Which Phil was, today. He’d always cheered for Gryffindor when his own House wasn’t playing, but his support had become more… ardent since Dan joined the team in their fifth year. Coincidentally, fifth year was the year when Phil… noticed him.

Phil had a habit of spending more time inside his head than in the outside world with all his peers, and so it wasn’t unusual for him not to know the students from the other houses very well. Still, how he managed to overlook Dan Howell for so long was a mystery that evaded him. (Puberty might have had something to do with the ‘revelation’. Maybe. Possibly.)

Dan was just… so nice? Always, even with people who didn’t deserve it. And he was so smart, he always did well in their shared classes, but it wasn’t even that. Anyone who studied would do reasonably good in class, but Dan always asked the most insightful questions, and gave the most thoughtful answers, not like learning by rote would do, but like he had all these thought and ideas about what magic was, how magic worked, how magic affected magical people, about the implied tenets of magical society and what their implications were. Seriously, Phil didn’t know how he’d managed to escape being a Ravenclaw.

And he was beautiful, yeah, that was also a factor, but it wasn’t the only one, Phil had standards.

Dan met all of his standards, and then he went on to create a few new ones just for the sake of it. Like how Phil didn’t use to think about Hogwarts’ expectations that muggleborn children basically cut all ties with the culture they were born in to fully immerse themselves in the magical word, but ever since Dan had brought it up in class, he’d started noticing more and more the completely non-existent efforts purebloods made to learn about their mates’ culture, how most muggle references earned the speaker blank stares at best and a sneer at worst. How there was no muggle history taught at Hogwarts, to the detriment of all students, who would go on to graduate missing the history of the grand majority of humans, much of which is directly relevant to wizardkind. Like how muggle-raised first years have to quietly struggle with learning to write with a quill, since apparently that’s not used by muggles anymore? (Dan had something called a “gel pen” that could write in sparkly pink without any need to dip it into ink at all!)

The point of the matter was, Dan was on Phil’s mind all the time these days, but Phil wasn’t sure where he stood in Dan's. He always acted friendly towards Phil, even happy to talk to him, but he wasn’t normally the one to seek him out. Phil had decided to try talking to him more (it was his number one New Year’s resolution), and so far it was looking promising.

Phil doubted he’d get to talk to Dan the day of a match, let alone the most awaited match of the year for half the school at least, but he didn't really mind. He was going to get to see Dan playing Quidditch today. He was going to get to experience Dan in his element. Phil could have sworn Dan was made to be an athlete, the way he moved on a broom. It was stunning.

He was stunning.

Phil had been wrong, as it turned out. Later in the day, once the Gryffindor festivities had died down, Phil ran into Dan on his way to the library. Almost literally.

“Oh, hey, are you okay?” Dan asked, way too concerned and way too close, one hand still on Phil’s shoulder where he’d grabbed him to avoid a full-on collision.

“Oh. Hi. Yeah. Yes, I’m fine. Sorry, I’m bad at keeping tabs on my surroundings. Thanks,” Phil spewed out with no intervention of his brain whatsoever.

Dan gave him one of those sweet, soft smiles with the dimples and squeezed his shoulder lightly before letting go. “It’s fine. Just try to pay better attention next time. We wouldn’t want to have to scrape you off the dungeon floors because you were too distracted to notice the staircase had changed directions.”

Phil threw him an exaggeratedly suspicious look, “What do you know? Whatever they told you, it’s not true and they’re trying to throw off suspicion by telling you made up stories about my early days of being a perfectly balanced first year genius. Don’t let them throw you off the scent, whoever told you that clearly has something to hide.”

Dan’s laugh made his heart do a wild flip in his chest, and all Phil could do was grin really wide.

They ended up going to the library together and sitting down in one of the alcoves to read their respective selection of books, turning to each other every now and then with a comment or a question sparked by their reading. Dan has blushed and ducked his head a little when Phil had congratulated him, and they'd made plans to revise for their Charms exam together later that week.

It had been a really good day, Phil decided as he laid down to sleep that night. A really good day, indeed.

They talked a bit more often after that, then started spending more and more time together. Dan was the funniest person he’d ever met, he could always make Phil laugh, even when he was fighting down anxiety or when he’d had a really bad day. Phil felt blessed to get to know him at all.

They were brewing Amortentia, Professor Winkledge had said. It made Phil nervous.

He already knew what a correctly brewed Amortentia would smell like to him. Or at least, he knew who it would smell like. Still, when Dan turned to him with a little smile and a questioning look, Phil nodded. He wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to brew with Dan just because he had a little crush. He did take a few deep breaths in the potions ingredients cabinet to release all that nervous energy once he was out of sight, though.

Dan was diligent, and precise. He was really good at potions, and Phil was really good at spacing out watching how gracefully his hands sliced the asphodel roots. They prevailed, however, and ended up with a near-perfect potion by the end of the class that Phil had actually helped make, distractions and all. Phil was a little overwhelmed by the earthly oak scent, tinged with a hint of citrus and something sweet he couldn’t quite identify that was coming from their cauldron once they reached the final stage. But it wasn’t too bad, just a little distracting. It made him want to hug Dan, which made perfect sense, but would also be supremely weird, so he just settled for shifting his weight from one foot to another and putting his hands in the pockets of his robe in that backwards way his body naturally settled into. Some people thought it was weird, but Phil knew Dan wouldn’t mind it or ever tease him about it, except maybe good-naturedly.

Dan didn’t say what the potion smelled like to him, other than muttering “fresh”, and, oddly enough, “alive” when prompted. It had made Phil laugh.

The thing to break the mounting tension between them is, surprisingly, Charlie.

Phil was hanging out with Dan out in the grounds, close to the lake, as they sometimes did when the weather was nice, when Dan abruptly cut off his explanation on why he thought muggle technology should be incorporated to the Hogwarts curriculum and how magical folk could benefit from it. It only took Phil a moment to figure out why: Charlie was striding purposefully towards them, stopping right in front of Phil and ignoring Dan completely.

“Phil,” he declared, to Phil’s bewilderment and slight annoyance. He’d been fascinated by Dan’s commentary, and Dan was never annoyed or patronising when Phil asked questions about the muggle world, which meant Phil had already derailed Dan’s explanation half a dozen times, out of a deep curiosity for the subject matter. For all of Dan’s patience with him, he seemed significantly more short-tempered about this interruption.

Charlie cleared his throat and, continuing to ignore Dan standing right there, stared straight into Phil. “Phil, would you like to go to tomorrow’s Hogsmeade visit with me?”

Phil stared, incomprehensive.

“He’s already agreed to go to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow,” Dan jumped in to his rescue.

Charlie frowned, but didn’t turn to look at Dan when he spoke. “A date takes precedence over friends hanging out. I’m sure you’ll understand.”

Well, now that was rude, and uncomfortable. “No,” Phil said without meaning to. Or rather, he did mean it, but he’d rather have said it less bluntly. “I mean, that’s not-Dan and me are going-it’s a date. We’re going as a date. I’m sorry,” Phil blurted out.

“Oh,” Charlie finally turned to look at Dan as he said it. “Oh.” After another two or three long seconds that felt more like an hour to Phil, Charlie said, “Okay,” and promptly left.

Phil waited until he was out of sight, then cast a sound barrier, just in case.

“Um. Sorry, I didn’t-I shouldn’t have dragged you into that without asking first.”

Dan shook his head, dismissing Phil’s worries. But he looked thoughtful, so Phil braced for one of Dan’s sharp, insightful realisations.

“Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow?”

“Yeah?” Phil ventured, confused. “We’d already made plans to...”

“No, I mean…” Dan was blushing, dear Merlin, really blushing, his entire face was a light pink and one of his dimples was showing even though he wasn't even smiling, and it was the cutest thing Phil had ever seen in his life. “I mean, like a date. If you want. A real date, not just... to fool Charlie...” he trailed off.

Phil thought this is what a deer in the headlights must feel, except opposite. Like, the same feeling but with opposite tension. In that deer probably weren't eagerly looking forward to being run over.

“Yes?”

“Is that a question?” Dan was looking straight at him, despite his bright blush, head held high. Brave, a Gryffindor through and through.

“Yes.” Before Dan can ask if he means ‘yes, that was a question’, he barrelled on. “Yes, I’d really like to go on a date with you tomorrow, and also today, if you want. Like tonight. Or right now. Right now is good, we’re already here and this is a good place for a date, I think… Maybe I think any place is a good place for a date with you” Phil ended in a quiet voice, heart pounding with adrenaline and nerves, even as he could see the tension drain out of Dan like a physical presence, and the gorgeous smile he got in response made him smile back instinctively.

“Yeah?” Dan asked breathlessly, but it was rhetorical. When Dan reached out and took one of his hands in his, lacing their fingers and squeezing them lightly, Phil thought this was a whole new kind of magic he had never known before.

#phanfic #phan #hogwarts au #gryffindor!dan #hufflepuff!phil #am i writing now #Phanfic Events Spring Fic Exchange #amortentia smells a lot like plants to dan that's why he said 'alive'#also uh the dannie in me really jumped out in this fic huh #tbh at least 80% of my phanfic writing is just me raving about how much i love dnp so

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austennerdita2533 · 6 years

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A/N: My contribution for Day 22 of A Gilmore Christmas is a Literati oneshot. Sending a big ‘ol HAPPY BIRTHDAY to the lovely Emma, @alspancakeworld. Thanks for organizing this event and for allowing me to participate! xx (Check out all the other cool stuff in the link above.)

(A03) (FFnet)

Summary: It’s late, close to Christmas, and Rory and Jess find themselves alone strolling through a decor-decked Stars Hollow to share a moment where past and present feelings collide. (Post-AYITL but no pregnancy) (Holiday Angst and Feels)

Word count: 3.1k

It’s my first attempt at Literati fic. Happy reading! :)

xx Ashlee Bree

When All Sense Breaks Loose

This one will wreck him. Oh, yeah. This one promises calamity.

Jess hears it in the cracking first. He feels it in the thawing of his bones the moment he reaches out to catch the edge of a snowflake with his thumb and swipes it off her cheek, his thoughts splitting into chaos because ‘over…long over’ is what they’re supposed to be. And they were. They are.

But then she steps close enough to shoulder-bump him, her head tilted, her eyes shining up at him with a mixture of alcohol, gaiety, and anticipation as they head back to the house so they can drink coffee and gorge on some of Sookie’s gourmet sugar cookies; and soon, all of those unspoken words he swore he’d deleted years ago when they were still a couple of twenty-something kids up to their waists in missed chances, spill out into the margins of his mind in ink too permanent to miss. The words fall out all tangled together like carefully embedded prose to expose dusty questions that had apparently never settled like he’d intended.

(Or more like he’d damn-well hoped.)

He smells it in the crispness of the air second.

Clumsy as ever, Rory folds her fingers into the crook of his elbow in a clinging effort to keep herself steady after her foot slides backward on a slippery patch of sidewalk near Miss Patty’s dance studio. Her hands curl into the lapels of his jacket. They fly around his neck within seconds next, desperate for somewhere soft and sturdy to land, and his lungs betray him with one measly hitch of breath. Backstabbing bastard lungs, they are, too. Freezing at her touch like it’s the first time. Sending fresh trembles along his shoulders, then down the columns of his spine.

“This feels like a scene straight out of While You Were Sleeping,” she laughs.

Her tone’s full of self-mockery and ridicule, but she doesn’t seem bothered by her impromptu ice skating or her near-toppling into his arms at all, which Jess finds curious.

“But as long as you don’t rip your pants up the ass,” she continues, “we should be okay the rest of the way. At least—well, would you say you’re more Blades of Glory or Wayne Gretzky?”

“Charlie Conway, probably.” When she stares at him blankly, he flicks her side with his index finger and says, “From the Mighty Ducks?”

“Oooh, lucky me! I mean, had you said Gordon Bombay, I’m afraid I’d have to contend with your weak and wobbling hockey knees,” Rory says in a way that denotes both her relief and her amusement.

“In that case, we’d both be screwed.”

“Right, so no ripped jeans or ice-kissed butts for you. Got it, mister.” Just to be safe, however, she links her arm through his anyway. She leans against him for warmth or for support (or for who the hell knows what else), as they recommence their stroll through Stars Hollow.

They somehow manage to take the long and slow route home. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, so why should he? And even though Jess knows he shouldn’t, he breathes in the lavender soap of her skin and allows himself to remember how well she’s always fit against his side. How right she’s always felt. Like the home he’d never had with Liz…or with any other woman he’s dated since Rory.

He thinks of sleigh rides, of a stolen teenage kiss or two behind Gypsy’s Auto Repair; he thinks of quiet nights in, of cuddling and movie bingeing, of Indian chicken curry which stunk up the whole of his uncle’s apartment, of talking Faulkner, Hemingway, and Bukowski with little to no regard for time. He remembers how certain of her, and of them, he’d once been.

I know you. I know you better than anyone.

The reflection hurts. It chafes him worse than frostbite to know he’ll probably always be the one who understands her best.

But what does it matter? What good does it do to reflect on those chapped patches of his past? How does it help to contemplate his screwed-up life? Why wonder and wish? Why—why in hell should he waste any more time on unfulfilling idioms like ‘if?’

(Except he does.)

Jess sees it in the pine trees third, their boughs bent and threatening to break because they carry too much weight. They hold too many frozen dreams that’ll hit the ground soon but won’t melt. They’ll try, sure, but they’ll never seem to fade away despite the passing of countless springs. They can’t—it’d be too dry without their existence afterwards, too unburdening.

Because you didn’t say goodbye.

I deserve better than this.

You, me…you know we’re supposed to be together.

I knew, I knew it the first time I saw you.

How many years has it been, huh? Ten? Fifteen? Fifteen years he’s spent trying to thaw these thoughts inside of him, acting like she hasn’t creeped through his mind when his world grew too hollow or too full; and that's either too many to count on fingers, or too much time for him to try and pretend otherwise. It’s asinine to deceive himself. A waste of good lies.

I knew, I knew, I knew…

The ringing in his mind won’t stop.

It plays in the background like static because he still discerns that dangerous load of thoughts in his periphery—all of those old moments of theirs which promised continuity and evolution and ‘I love you’s’ which didn’t need saying; that hand of hers which never felt too heavy in his and would never be anything but a pleasure to hold—to thread his fingers through for no reason—to raise to his mouth so he could learn the paths of her palms, her wrists, her knuckles, all of her sweet, soft skin, with his lips over and over again—and he doesn’t want to let the perilousness of hope to overwhelm him. He doesn’t want to blink. He doesn’t want to close his eyes. Don’t think, don’t think! He doesn’t want to find himself blinded or paralyzed by dreams he’s no longer supposed to be dreaming.

But they can’t be stopped. They unravel and unwind. They…they keep on coming regardless of the iron walls he raises and reinforces inside his own head to ward against the intrusion.

It’s draining, this looped thinking.

He can’t win. He can’t break free. So why, he wonders, why the hell does he try? It’s exhausting and pointless and awful and unbearable. His head is the cruelest place to be.

Yeah, it’s crueler than anything.

It’s a few hours past midnight now, and despite having closed out the only bar in town with scotch, candlelight, and conversation a good half hour ago, they still loiter beneath the snowcapped Christmas lights in front of Luke’s with nothing but snow and old memories for company. Rory’s resplendent in her double-breasted peacoat, her mouth clicking off new words and subjects as fast as fingers on a keyboard. There’s a bounce in her knees at the moment which he swears she reserves only for donut sightings, new book releases, Lorelai and coffee, so he’s at a loss when she drags him under the awning below where it says Williams Hardware and presses her face into the window like she’s investigating something. Or like she’s looking for someone’s dropped holiday crumbs.

The diner’s black inside, however; the sign flipped to show it’s closed. And it probably has been for some hours now. Undeterred, however, she turns around to flash him a knowing grin—a hint of intrigue dimpling the edges around her cracked lips, “Of all the java joints, in all the towns, it hangs from mine! Can you believe it?” she says with an exhilarated ‘eeee.’

“Believe what?”

“Look up.”

Jess inclines his head. He feasts his eyes on the object of interest which dangles above him like the universe’s next big test. (Or trick, depending on how this conversation ends.)

“Huh. That’s new,” he muses.

“It’s not only new, my friend, but legendary,” Rory says as her tongue slides cheekily across her lower teeth. “And I mean that in the sense that this so unbelievable, I’m convinced the Doctor plopped down in his T.A.R.D.I.S. and threw us into some kind of warped alternative reality where Luke spends his free holiday hours stringing popcorn and disappearing down chimneys.”

He acts like he’s not hanging on by her scarf strings.

“So, uh…” he clears his throat, gulping down that familiar flutter he’s been trying to subdue all night, “what now?”

“I’d say we have a conundrum, Watson.”

“We sure do, Sherlock.”

The ghost of their past love, which is not dead yet, follows close behind this remark to rustle the nerves of his heart like a skeleton because she’s all doe-eyed and lively, flirty without trying, and not to mention cute as hell. It makes Jess clench his fists as he struggles to get a fucking grip. Making him feel things he thought he’d taught himself how to forget.

How many times can this happen? How many goddamn ways to Sunday can he be kicked in the gut? It won’t do anymore, alright? Not when he’s taken the trouble to grow this thick, mature leather skin.

(Except he knows it’s too late. He already knows…)

He’s back where he started again.

He’s back at the threshold of seventeen where he first spotted that ellipsis carved into the corners of her mouth on the night they first met, standing in her bedroom doorway like a thief, coveting her literature because he knew with a glance that this girl was sentences and paragraphs. He knew she was pages and chapters and books which were yet to be understood in some overarching theme he wouldn’t be able name. He knew she was a still-developing story he’d need to read through to the conclusion.

I knew. I knew the first time I saw you.

That same ellipsis is back in Rory's features tonight, in this moment. Or maybe it’s always been there? Maybe it’s never disappeared, never gone away?

She wears it like a bookmark: pressed between every curve and contour, written between every beautiful line of her face. It’s the same one asking him to turn over to the next page right now…and follow again.

He senses it in the forgotten silence fourth.

“Luke would be furious if he knew,” Rory says with a flick of her forefinger.

“Maybe he already does? Lorelai has wife sway these days. I’m sure she works that to her advantage,” Jess replies with a snicker.

The December air has reddened her nose and there’s snow stuck to her pant leg, but she seems impervious to the cold of her beloved Stars Hollow.

“Mom would revel in how you’ve bestowed her with all the credit for this, but no,” she shakes her head, obviously amused. “No, Luke’s compliance with town tradition would make Taylor too gleeful.”

Pensive, Jess nods. He rolls up the sleeves of his brown coat.

“Let’s take it down then.”

“What!?” Her eyes widen, horrified.“No! Wait, wait!”

Part diverted, part bemused, he pauses to quirk an eyebrow at her, “What for? Petal will eat it. There’s not a garbage dropping in all of Connecticut that pig hasn’t devoured like it’s creme brulle,” he offers reassuringly.

“Yeah, but…that’s not what I—”

“He’s become the Tiny oinking Tim of this crazy town, anyway. Except with tender hooves instead of crutched feet.”

“And Kirk.”

“Yeah, and Kirk,” Jess concedes wryly.

“Hold on,” Rory interjects in a bolder tone. “Let’s stop think about this for a second. If we do this,” she exhales, her blue-knit mittens raised in supplication and her bottom lip sucked between her teeth, “if we do it, then we forfeit the chance to witness a ranting, raving Luke throwing candy canes all over the floor of the Soda Shoppe tomorrow.”

“Imagine the entertainment potential with me here, Kimmel.” She sweeps her arms out for dramatic effect, zooming in at him with her hands like a camera. “It’d be like Jingle All the Way meets Stars Wars.”

“With Taylor as what? A crowd-flung Booster? Chewbacca?”

Rory nods enthusiastically, “There’d be heavy Wookie wailing and all.”

Jess’ lips twitch as he considers this. Then he shrugs. “Nothing we haven’t seen a million times before.”

“No! But…but…this year he’s selling candy cane light sabers that glow as red as Kylo’s tantrums!” she says in ta-da; as if, somehow, this information will confuse him enough to halt his next maneuver.

“Where’s Han Solo when you need him to smuggle you some good marketing?” Jess cringes. “Geez.”

“Still stabbed through the chest somewhere, unfortunately. Besides,” Rory adds with a wave of her hand, “I doubt the Force is strong enough to fix Taylor’s strange slogans.”

“You said it, Skywalker, not me.”

He reaches up then, still shaking his head, to curl his hand around the decoration’s sparkly red bow. Finding the hook, he threatens to yank it to the ground with a good tug or two despite the punches Rory pounds into his arm in playful protest. Smirking, he lifts it further out of her reach. She narrows her eyes in warning.

“Don’t even think about it, Mariano!” she exclaims as she lunges over his shoulder amid a peal of laughter. Attempting to grab it from him, she jumps up-and-down like a pogo stick. “Oh my God, don’t you dare deprive me of the possibility of Luke going all Vader in the middle of Taylor’s SantaLand tomorrow!”

“Cool your over-caffeinated bouncin’ there, Easter bunny,” Jess laughs. He twines the slack of her scarf around her head to slow her down. “What if I said I plan to leave a festive chalkperson in its stead? Would that be an acceptable substitute, d’you think?”

Lowering his hand, he allows the ball to swing, unencumbered, above them like an ornament. Rory pulls back to unloosen her scarf, her face flushed and her mood jovial. “Only if you draw Santa Claus,” she says.

He wrinkles his nose, “Nah, I was thinking more like Dickens’ Christmas ghosts. This town needs a good haunting.”

“Whatever you say, Scrooge.”

“Excuse me, but the name’s Dodger to you.”

“As if I could forget,” she says with a wistful chuckle, averting her gaze.

Moments like these always feel so easy and natural and inevitable between them. Like laughter, or…breathing.

“Putting the whole Dennis the Menace scheme aside for a second,” Rory looks down and crunches salt and snow beneath her boots, “I was thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe we could—oh, I don’t know…”

When she stops mid-thought to click the heels of her boots together and shift her body to the side, fumbling with her mittens, he prods. “What?”

“We could…we could, um, let it stay there, couldn’t we? It’s not bothering anyone up there, and Luke’s inflammatory reaction whenever he sees it tomorrow will be nothing short of Oscar-worthy and, well,” Rory adds in a languid but rambling tone which is a little reminiscent of her timorous teenage self, “it wouldn’t be illegal if two people found themselves under it or anything.”

“You mean, like…” Jess swallows. His voice comes out husky, like it’s comprised of strangled consonants and vowels, and it makes the words quiver when they breach his lips to meet the air. He hates the sound. “Kind of, uh,” he falters a second time; scratches his chin, “kind of like we are now?”

Shrugging ‘yeah’ in a nonchalant way, but still fidgeting more than normal by bouncing on her toes, Rory angles toward him with warm but wary eyes that size him up as if they’re still trying to decide something, “I mean, don’t you think some traditions can be nice?” she asks timidly.

“No.”

“No?”

“I don’t know.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. He rocks side-to-side as if he’s trying to circulate warmth to his limbs, but really, he’s avoiding her eyes. “Maybe,” he amends.

“So, certain ones can be okay then?” Rory asks with a tilt of her head.

“Depends, I guess.”

There’s a slight edge to her expression when she looks at him here: something that’s equal parts adorable, nervous, tenacious, and bashful. It’s a look that reaches out with a hand that shivers whenever she scoots forward to huddle between his feet, her fingers trembling against his shirt, above his heart. She shivers hard.

“Would you be scandalized if I told you I liked this tradition?” she asks.

“No,” Jess breathes. “Not really.”

“After all,” Rory whispers, her blue eyes warm and eager as she wraps her arms around his neck and presses her forehead against his, leaning in with calamity curved into her smile, “what’s the harm in you and me beneath some mistletoe at least once in our lives?”

“I’ll quote the Beach Boys here and say—” Cupping her face in his hand, drawing her against him, he surrenders to that awaiting gift like he would delicious poison, “God only knows.”

Jess tastes it on her parting and pliant lips last. Her tongue slides in and tells him everything he needs to know because this part—the kissing, that zipping and tingling chemistry which adrenalizes every nerve in his body the moment their mouths collide—is the one thing that’s worked flawlessly between them since the start. And it still does.

The connection between them is still there, still flourishing.

It’s more alive in this moment than it was fifteen years ago, and it’s sharpening into something denser and deeper. It’s precarious at best; irrational to the core. It’s becoming a fact as inevitable and as irrevocable and as fucking evident as black letters on a pure white page, and Jess knows there’s not a single damn thing he can do to prevent his mind from writing it down in literal easy-to-read lines. No margins this time. He knows he can’t stop the rush of past, present, and future from merging inside his pounding chest, from rustling those old feelings he’s tried (and failed) to claw from his heart like weeds.

This is it. There’s no subduing or denying. As F. Scott Fitzgerald once said, this is ‘the beginning and ending of everything.’

Calamity hangs above his head with the mistletoe then falls like the December flakes around them as Rory kisses him long and hot and sweet. Wrecking him with the knowledge that he could—yeah, he could fall in love with her again all too easily.

#gilmore girls #agilmorechristmas #literati #literati fanfiction #rory and jess #it all comes out in babbling moron #ashlee bree's writing endeavors

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xmagicxpenguinx · 6 years

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Hey hey hey can you give me some music recommendations? I like most music so don’t worry about like what genres and such to focus on just recommend some favorites

Hey hey hey anon! I can give you some music recommendations! I like a lot of music, 187 different artists according to my Spotify. You requested some of my favourites, and quite frankly I have a lot of favourites. These are my go to songs, the ones that can make a shit day better. Also I’m sorry that I took so long to reply to you, I hope you like the songs I have listed and it isn’t too disappointing.

🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶

One Direction: 18, Ready to Run, Fools Gold, Night Changes, Illusion (that song is so underrated its sad), Infinity, Love You Goodbye, Wolves, End Of The Day, Diana, Story of My Life, Don’t Forget Where You Belong, Through the Dark, Half A Heart, Why Don’t We Go There, Home, Perfect (Stripped), Last First Kiss, Rock Me, They Don’t Know About Us, Nobody Compares, Moments, I Should Have Kissed You, their version of Torn and Teenage Dirtbag and the song they sold to a 14 year old Just Can’t Let Her Go. (who am I kidding every song they released.)

Shawn Mendes: Life Of The Party, Kid In Love, Imagination, This Is What It Takes, Lost, Three Empty Words, Lights On, Honest, Patience, Bad Reputation, Roses and Show You.

Troye Sivan: TALK ME DOWN, HEAVEN, YOUTH, LOST BOY, for him, SUBURBIA, BLUE, The Fault in Our Stars, Fun and Happy Little Pill.

BTS: Spring Day, Pied Piper, Dimple, DNA, Best Of Me, Butterfly, Autumn Leaves and Run

5 Seconds of Summer: Daylight, their version of American Idiot, Amnesia, Rejects, Wrapped Around Your Finger, Just Saying, Disconnected, Story Of Another Us, Broken Home, The Space Between a Rock and a Hard Place, Safety Pin, San Francisco, 18, Long Way Home, Heartbreak Girl, Beside You and Out of my Limit.Andy Black: his whole solo album is amazing and it features Ashton Irwin, Gerard and Mikey Way, and was produced by John Feldman. If that doesn’t make you want to listen to it, I fear that nothing will.

Black Veil Brides: Mortician’s Daughter, Love Isnt Always Fair, Ritual, Rebel Love Song and Fallen Angels.

Panic! At the Disco: Northern Downpour, Nine In The Afternoon, Miss Jackson, This Is Gospel, Girls/Girls/Boys, Casual Affair, Collar Full, Memories, Emperor’s New Clothes, Let’s Kill Tonight, Turn Off The Lights, New Perspective, LA Devotee, Golden Days, and Don’t Threaten Me With A Good Time.

My Chemical Romance: The Sharpest Lives, I Don’t Love You, Disenchanted, Famous Last Words, Na Na Na, Bulletproof Heart, Sing, Planetary (GO!), The Only Hope For Me Is You, Helena, I’m Not Ok, The Ghost Of You, It’s Not A Fashion Statement It’s a Deathwish, Cemetery Drive, Fake Your Death and Teenagers.

Avril Lavigne: Rock N Roll, 17, Bitchin’ Summer, Hello Heartache, Here’s To Never Gowing Up, When You’re Gone, Innocence, Contagious and You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet

Halsey: New Americana, Hurricane, Roman Holiday, Ghost, Strange Love, Castle, Is There Somewhere, Empty Gold, 100 Letters, Now Or Never, Bad At Love, Srangers, Don’t Play and Angel On Fire.

Charlie Puth: Losing My Mind, Up All Night, Left Right Left, Then There’s You, Some Type Of Love, River, Does It Feel, Dangerously, How Long, Attention and We Don’t Talk Anymore.

Fall Out Boy: American Beauty/American Psycho, The Kids Aren’t Alright, Jet Pack Blues, Fourth Of July, Immortals, Sugar We’re Goin Down, Thnks Fr Th Mmrs, I Don’t Care, 20 Dollar Nose Bleed, Rat a Tat, Save Rock And Roll, HOLD ME TIGHT OR DON’T and The Last Of The Real Ones.

Ed Sheeran: Holy crap anything that he has released I love. To list everything would just be the tracklist to every album and ep.Little Mix: Little Me, About The Boy, Love Me Like You, Black Magic, I Love You, Love Me Or Leave Me, I Won’t, DNA, Change Your Life, Wings, How Ya Doin’?, Reggaeton Lento, No More Sad Songs, Oops, You Gotta Not, Your Love, If I Get My Way and Nobody But You.

Olly Murs: Dance With Me Tonight, Beautiful To Me (the music video is my religion) Love Shouldn’t Be This Hard, Kiss Me, I Blame Hollywood, A Million More Years, Right Place Right Time, Dear Darlin’, One Of These Days, You Don’t Know Love, Grow Up, Love You More, Back Around, Unpredictable, Flaws and Heart Skips A Beat.

The Vamps: Wild Heart, Somebody To You (both versions) Oh Cecilia, On The Floor, Can We Dance, Middle Of The Night, Paper Hearts, Same To You, Cheater, I Found A Girl, Volcano and All Night. (also I was reading a book on Wattpad and I listened to The Vamps every time I read the book and it was so fitting…? Like all the lyrics made sense at the right time. And for the whole book I imagined the male character as Brad. Now when I hear The Vamps I am reminded about of book. Idk why I am sharing that.)

Taylor Swift: YES OK I LIKE TAYLOR SWIFT AND HARRY STYLES DON’T HATE ME PLEASE!! (I don’t think haylor was a good thing for either of them though) Jump Then Fall, Fearless, Fifteen, Love Story, Tell Me Why, You’re Not Sorry, Red, 22, Everything Has Changed, Girl At Home, All Too Well, The Last Time, Getaway Car, This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things, Today Was A Fairytale, Style, This Love, Wonderland, You Are In Love, New Romantics, Mine, Sparks Fly, Back To December :’(, Long Live, Ours, Mary’s Song, Our Song and Teardrops On My Guitar. (Also Taylor Swift by Taylor Swift was my first cd, I was so obsessed with her and its because of her I got emotionally invested in music, so thanks Taylor for ruining my life and also improving it.

#asks #anon #music #i need help i think #lemme know if you want more #idk i have listed enough

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mama-ghostie-61542 · 6 years

Text

Just Fishin’--Chapter 1

If you recognize it, it ain’t mine.

Rated M for bad language and sexy stuff later.

Chapter 1

It was about 4 when I rolled out of my bed, my head pounding with too much to drink last night while I was hanging out with my ‘friends’. Those girls have not a clue how to drink. They were drinking all sorts of frou-frou girlie drinks and there I sat with my Jack and Coke (heavy on the Jack).

The more we drank, the louder they got, the less booze Des put in their drinks. I love going to bug Des at Bad Weather. He’s sweet and young, but very married. Been there, done that, ain’t gonna do it again.

When I got there, he gave me a hug and said, “Hey, Sugar. I heard about the Pink Party tonight. Any special requests?”

I smiled, “Yeah. Start me out with a Jungle juice then switch to TriWhiskey’s. After two of those, switch me to Fat Jack’s .And PLEASE, don’t use anything stronger than 100 proof for their shit. Really don’t wanna have to carry them home. As it is, I am gonna pickle my liver. Have I told you I fuckin’ hate pink.”

He laughed, “Sure have. Want me to sneak ya out, Sug,” and went to mix my drink.

Before I could nod, the girls all came in. of course they had to put a sash and shit on me. Don’t even want to know where they found the crown that said ‘SINGLE’. I guess it’s the drawl back of being the only divorcee in our little group. That’s another sticking point. They can never understand why I hunt and fish…or why I always put in for out of state tags and go back to my hometown in Illinois for two weeks a year. The last time I went, he went off on me and tried to kill me. I let him have it. I’s finally done with his shit after 2 years of it.

These citified girls were the only friends I was allowed to have. He pushed out all my hunting and fishing buddies. Still don’t understand why he was afraid of Charlie. Charlie is my brother Cody’s husband. I taught him how to make the world’s best stink bait and Charlie taught me the right way to clean an Asian Carp. I could always count on Charlie.

Then it hits me why. Aw, fuck. Now I really gotta get up. Not only do I need to pee, but I need to clean my brain out. I showered, downed an aspirin, got my coffee, and looked out the window; it was kinda overcast and drizzly today-perfect fishin’ weather. After eating a couple pieces of toasted homemade bread and homemade blackberry jam, I grabbed my phone. No doubt my quasi adopted dad was awake, and if I was gonna surprise Red today, I’d need to clear it with Pop. I dialed him up and hit the send button before I could stop myself.

“Jessie, this had better be good.”

“Um. Hi, Pop. Can I surprise Red with fishin’ today? It’s perfect weather for it. I understand if there is something you want him to… ,” I was cut off by his reply.

“Jessalyn!”

“Yes, Sir,” I immediately countered.

“It is fine with me. And, Jessalyn, how many times have I told you not to call me Sir.”

“Too many to count, Pop. Sorry, Pop.”

“Better, Jessie. When should I expect you?”

“20 minutes, tops.”

“See you then, my dear.”

I hung up and headed to the extra room where my gear was stored. After 5 minutes of rummaging, I gathered up my chest waders and my rods. I made sure to lock my door on the way out as my ex had gotten in a few times. My tackle box and stink bait were always in the tool box in my truck. I stopped at the only bodega in Manhattan that carried chicken livers and grabbed a box. Just after I got down into the sewers, I stopped to throw on my chest waders.

Two minutes after I started toward the lair, I was met out in the sewers by a very groggy and grumpy Leo.

“I don’t like you at the moment,” he grumbled and looked at my waders confused. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“Chest waders,” I smiled as I snapped the top of them. “Takin’ Red fishin’ wit me taday.”

“For what?”

“It depends on what’s biting.”

“Not surprised. It’s you and fishing.”

“Yet ya never complain when I hunt and tag out.”

“Hell no. That is a shit ton of fresh game. I don’t think any of us would complain,” he paused. “Hey, do you remember that log of elk salami I hid?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Mikey found it. I caught him merle-ing it like a cigarette.”

All I could do was laugh. The mental image of Mikey with a log of salami hanging out the corner of his mouth while he was playing video games was just too funny. Soon, Leo’s chuckle was added to my belly laugh.

When we got there, I snuck into Raph’s room and kicked the end of the bed. “Get up, Raph. WE are going fishin’.”

He peeked back over one heavily muscled shoulder and grumbled, “Fuck you, I’m sleepin’.” Then, he proceeded to bury his head under his pillow.

I noted that one massive bare foot was hanging out of the blankets. In retaliation, I smiled and barely grazed my nails along the sole. It was funny as shit to watch him jump.

“Stop that,” he half whined as he jerked his foot back under the blanket.

I moved up next to him and sat down, then laid back over his shell. “Come on, Raph! The weather is perfect and the fishies is bitin’,” I said in a half sing-song voice.

“Stupid fish,” he growled from under his pillow.

I slid off of him and down to the floor. I leaned over the edge of the bed by his muscled arm and whispered, “Get up. Get up. Get up.”

After a few seconds, one bronze eye rolled open. In its grumpy depths, there was exasperation, mixed with a good bit of curiosity, and the barest hint of mirth.

I grinned. “You love me!”

Raph’s POV

The second I caught sight of those blue green eyes shining I knew I was done.

“Unfortunately,” I growled and rolled over, pulling the blankets back up over my head.

Inside, I was secretly fangirling over those eyes. They start out darker blue green around the edge and they have flecks of yellow and brown all the way to the pupil. The color turns to a pretty spring green the closer ya get to the pupil, too. All of that is encased in that amazing almond shape with naturally long lashes. Her pretty eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles. I have never seen her fake one yet. But when she smiles, those dimples come out and I have an awful time trying to act like a tough guy; she turns me into a puddle.

In less than a second, she had somehow wedged herself between me and the wall. She sat there, hanging on to my arm and half shaking me and nearly sobbing that the fish are gonna go back to sleep if we don’t get moving.

I couldn’t help it, I started laughing. “Alright. I’m up. Stop it, Woman.”

Before I could blink she was in the door way. “C’mon, Raph, we’re burnin’ daylight!”

“Ah, Babe, it’s still dark out.”

“Yep.”

“Then…Nevermind.”

“We leave in five minutes!”

In four minutes, I was waiting for her to finish going to the bathroom so we could go. As we got closer to the truck, I could smell the stink bait. I know it’s her great granddads recipe, but it reeks. The stench alone could probably take the finish off of a Buick. However, I am lucky in that even though my snout is slightly more sensitive, I live with Mikey, so terrible smells come with the territory.

I had a good laugh watching her climb up in that jacked up old Chevy Scottsdale. This thing is sweet. It has a lift kit and super knobby tires. It also has a snorkel package and a brush guard. I thought it was dirty, but when I got closer I realized it was painted to look like Realtree camouflage.

A/N--Inspired by Maddie and Tae’s ‘Shut Up and Fish’

#tmnt raphael #tmnt raph #fishing #desmond miles #the bad weather #pink party #divorce party #got a little drunk

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inkoasisfic · 7 years

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Waiting Game

Stella works at a flower shop in London and Harry just wants to know her.

An AU about flowers, chance meetings and moving on.

(i wrote this for an exchange FOREVER ago and i’m cleaning out my word docs so here’s this if you haven’t read it!)

The first time Harry goes into The Watering Can, he’s looking for something for his sister and her new baby. The woman behind the counter is busy talking with a middle-aged man so he goes to the cooler to look through the arrangements, only slightly wincing at the price tags that accompany them. He’s just reaching for a vase of roses when the click of heels has him looking over his shoulder.

“What are we looking for today?” the woman asks and if Harry could actually form a sentence, he’d tell her that his sister just had a little girl that morning and he’s off to St. Mary’s to meet her but he just blinks at her, mouth hanging open like an absolute knob but she doesn’t seem at all bothered, just gives him a little smile and takes the vase from his hands. “Roses are a lovely choice. Can I ask what they’re for?” By the grace of God, Harry snaps out of his trance and shakes his head a bit to clear his thoughts.

“Oh, um, my sister. My sister just had a baby.”

“Oh how lovely!” she coos, whole face lighting up as if it were her own sister instead of a complete stranger’s. “Boy or girl?”

“Um, girl.”

“How wonderful. Does she have a name yet?” she asks, gently pushing him aside and putting the vase of roses back.

“Charlotte,” he tells her, watching as she plucks single flowers out of different tubs until she’s got an assortment of pinks and red. “We’re calling her Charlie, after my grandfather.”

“Oh I love that.” Harry follows her to the counter, watching her slice a chunk of ribbon from its spool and plucking a vase from the shelf behind her. “I love classic names, especially when they have meaning like that. I was named after my grandmother who passed away before I was born, so it meant a lot to my parents to pass it on. I’d love to have a daughter one day, name her after my mum.”

“What’s her name?”

“Anne.”

“Mine too.”

“Stop!” the girl gasps, smiling at him like he’s just told her the most wonderful news. “What a coincidence.”

“It is,” Harry agrees, watching her trim stems and tie ribbons all the while listening to her tell him about her best friend who just had a baby a few months ago and how she can’t get over how delicious he smells and the adorable noises he makes when he’s sleeping. Before he knows it, he’s got a vase full of flowers in his hand and his wallet is forty pounds lighter, but he’s smiling like a crazy person as he makes his way to the tube station, excited to meet the new woman in his life.

---

Charlie is everything Harry imagined and more. The second he opened the door and saw his sister cuddled up in her bed with a tiny buddle in her arms, he knew he was hooked.

“Oh Gem,” he whispers, setting the flowers on the windowsill and walking to her bedside. He leans over a bit, tugging the blanket down just enough to get a good look at her tiny face. “She’s so beautiful.”

“Thanks, H.” Gemma smiles down at her daughter, stroking a finger down her cheek.

“Where’s Kev?”

“He and Mum went to get some lunch, they should be back soon. Those for me?” she asks, looking over at the flowers.

“Oh. Yeah, got ‘em at that little place by the antique shop that Mum’s always going to.”

“Oh sure, the one with the hand painted window.”

“That’s the one.”

After Harry washes up, he pulls a chair up to the bed and takes Charlie from Gem, cradling her close and relaxing into the chair while they visit. He talks quietly, listens intently as Gemma gives him a play by play of the birth (minus the gory details) but he can’t take his eyes away from that little face.

“Oh Harry, you’re here!”

“Hi Mum.”

“Hello, love.” Anne bends down to press a kiss to his forehead, smoothing his hair back the same way she has for the last twenty-four years, smiling fondly as she looks at her granddaughter. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

“She’s perfect. Well done, Kev.”

“Thank you very much,” he nods, sitting on the side of the bed by his wife.

“Excuse you,” Gemma scoffs, swatting his arm. “I did all the hard work, you just had the fun.”

“And you did so well, baby.” Harry looks away when Kevin leans in to kiss Gemma, smiling at his mum as she tells him about how brave Gemma was and how Kevin almost passed out when he decided to look when the doctor said she was crowning.

“Don’t ever do it,” Kevin tells him, face pale as if he’s watching it play over in his mind. “You can never come back from that.”

“Oh shut up,” Gemma laughs, launching into another story about how embarrassing her husband was during delivery. Harry loves every minute of it.

---

He’s trying to pick the perfect bunch of bananas when he sees her again. She’s standing by the strawberries, carefully inspecting each carton with a furrowed brow and what appears to be absolute concentration. Harry would laugh except he’s doing the same thing with the bananas because they can’t be too ripe and they can’t be too green, and there absolutely cannot be any bruises. He’s just about to go say hello when a man walks up behind her, slipping a hand over her shoulder and whispering in her ear. He can’t even register disappointment because he’s too shocked at the sight of a baby in his arms. And holy shit, does she have a baby? Is she married? How did he not notice a ring? Before he can even formulate an escape plan, he’s jostled back into reality by a trolley bumping into his.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” And of course it’s the flower girl. She blinks at him for a second, like she’s trying to place where she knows him from, and then it must click because she smiles at him and grabs his wrist like they’re long lost friends. “Oh my gosh, hi! How are you? How’s Charlie?”

“I’m…fine,” Harry tells her, in slight shock that she even remembers him after almost a month. “Charlie’s great. I’m surprised you remembered her name.”

“I never forget a baby,” she laughs like he’s the silliest person alive. The man at her side clears his throat, raising his brows at her as he gently bounces the baby in his arms. “Oh, sorry. This is Louis,” she tells Harry, slipping an arm around the brunette’s waist. “And this handsome little man is Freddie, the one I was telling you about.”

“That smells delicious?” Harry laughs, reaching a hand out to shake Louis’. “Nice to meet you. ‘m Harry.”

“You a friend of Stell’s, then?” Louis asks, adjusting Freddie as he squawks.

“Sorry?”

“Stella,” she tells Harry, smiling at his confused look. “That’s me, by the way. I guess we never properly introduced ourselves.”

“Stella,” Harry nods, smiling politely before looking back at Louis. “I stopped in the flower shop a few weeks ago and she helped me out.”

“His sister just had a baby,” Stella adds, lifting a hand adjust the pacifier in Freddie’s mouth. “She’s well? And your sister?”

“They’re both great, thanks.”

“Oh good, I was thinking about them the other day when I was doing the arrangements for a baby shower. Was hoping you’d stop back in so I could see a picture.”

Harry spends the next five minutes showing her the dozens of photos in his camera roll, gushing about how pretty Charlie is and how she kicks like she’s playing for Man U and how she thankfully inherited the dimples from his mum’s side of the family. He could have stood there talking to her all night but Freddie seemed to have other plans.

“Better get going,” Louis announces, rocking the crying baby as Stella reaches for him. He passes him off and grabs the trolley, telling Harry it was nice to meet him before starting toward the cashiers.

“It was good to see you,” Stella tells him, tutting at Freddie as she turns to follow Louis. “If you’re ever in the neighborhood, stop by the shop and say hello.”

“I will,” Harry promises, watching her walk away. He doesn’t even notice how he rubs a hand over his heart as she goes.

---

Harry hates Portobello Road on Saturdays. The market is always too cramped and his mum always takes too long, having to ask questions about every single item she’s interested in and usually walks away empty handed. It’s normally Gemma who goes antiquing with her but she’s home with Charlie so Harry’s been drafted to take her place until she’s feeling up to it. “I’m thinking I’d like to find a nice table for the sitting room, something rustic, a little worn looking.”

He hums in agreement, halfheartedly listening as he tries to dodge a small boy who cuts him off as his father chases after him. He isn’t feeling well, tired and hungover because Niall insisted they stay up until two in the morning drinking and playing FIFA. Normally Harry wouldn’t have been upset over it but he’d forgotten about meeting up with his mum and haphazardly threw on sweats and a jumper before running out the door. Now he’s hiding behind his sunglasses, praying they keep the spring sunlight from making his headache worse because he doesn’t feel like throwing up in front of an audience.

“Are you even listening?” Anne asks, looking at him over her shoulder. “If you didn’t want to come you should have just said so.”

“I just don’t feel well,” Harry mumbles, ducking under an awning to get some shade.

“You’re a grown man, Harry, you can tell Niall no.”

Harry rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses because he never could get away with anything when he was younger. His mum would take one look at him and know he’d been up to something. Some things never change. He’s just about to excuse himself to find a toilet when he hears her.

“Harry?” He closes his eyes, swearing under his breath before turning around and plastering a very phony smile on his face. “It is you,” Stella smiles as she adjusts the bag on her shoulder. She holds her hand up to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the sunlight to look up at him. “Enjoying a day at the market?”

“Um, yeah, I-“

“If by enjoying you mean whining like a toddler then yes, he’s enjoying himself.” Anne smiles at Stella even as Harry glares at her but both women ignore him in order to introduce themselves.

“I was just picking up a few new pots for the store when I saw Harry and thought I’d say hello,” she tells Anne, explaining that she works at The Watering Can and then opens her bag and shows off the tin watering cans she found and what flowers she plans to fill them with. “We just got a shipment in and I’m itching to work with the freesia and hyacinths, do up a big spring display for Easter.”

“I’ll have to stop in next week and take a look,” Anne decides, slipping her arm through Harry’s and smiling up at him. “Ready to head home, darling? Get in a nap before dinner?”

“Please don’t talk about food,” he groans, wincing at the thought.

“Are you sick?” Stella asks, voice laced with concern that has Anne grinning.

“Drank a bit too much last night,” Anne informs her, tutting at Harry as she tucks a flyaway hair behind his ear. “Just needs a nap and a fry up and he’ll be right as rain.”

“Mum,” Harry groans, putting his fist in front of his mouth as if that’ll ward off the nausea.

“It was lovely to meet you, Stella. I’ll be sure to pop in next week.”

“I look forward to it. Feel better, Harry.” She smiles at him, sending a little wave before turning and disappearing into the crowded street.

“She’s lovely, bear.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Very friendly. You seem to get on well.”

“Mum-“

“Just an observation,” she tells him, holding her hands up innocently. “Come on, love, let’s get you home and into bed.” Harry’s never heard a better plan in his life.

---

When Niall comes home a week later telling Harry that he has a date with the barista from their favorite café, Harry automatically suggests that Niall get flowers before he picks her up.

“Are you serious?” Niall asks, standing in front of their bathroom mirror playing with his hair. “We’re just going for a drink.”

“Still,” Harry tells him, leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. “Bet she’d be impressed, you know? Think you’re a proper gent and all that.”

“I am a gentleman, you twat!”

“Yes, your language speaks volumes. Now come on, I’ll go with you to help you pick something out. The place isn’t far from here and I think they close soon.”

“You’re being weird,” Niall tells him, following him through their apartment. “I’ve been on a dozen dates since we moved in together and you’ve never badgered me about gifts.”

“I like Jasmine,” Harry lies, slipping his boots on. Well, it’s not really a lie, he does like her. She makes his tea perfectly every time and always saves him a caramel scone when they’re running low. “I don’t want to lose my barista because you don’t have any class.”

“It’s funny that you’re giving me dating advice when you haven’t been on one in what, six months?”

“I don’t want to rush into anything, you know that.”

“Don’t know how your dick hasn’t fallen off already,” Niall mutters as they step onto the lift. He smiles politely at the elderly woman already inside but it’s clear she heard his foul language by the glare she sends his way. “Maybe Jas has a friend-“

“No,” Harry interrupts, watching the floor numbers light up as they descend.

“But-“

“No,” Harry repeats, silencing Niall with a look that has him rolling his eyes and sighing in defeat.

It’s not the first time he’s tried to talk Harry into finding someone. They went out every weekend for a month after he and Gwen broke up and Niall had tried his damndest to get Harry to pull but with no such luck. He was done fucking around, wanted something real, someone he could see himself having a future with. Not someone to suck him off in a pub toilet and put a tongue emoji next to her name in his phone.

“This the place?” Niall asks, stopping in front of the shop.

“Yeah,” Harry pulls the door open and lets Niall go first. He isn’t even sure if Stella’s there but he’d been looking for an excuse to stop by and Niall’s date had come at a perfect time.

“Cute,” Niall observes, taking a look around. “My mum would love this place.”

“If it isn’t my favorite uncle.” Harry looks over his shoulder, smiling as Stella walks toward him. She’s dressed casual today, in skinny jeans and an oversized sweater the color of celery, hair thrown up into a topknot. “How’s the family?”

“Good,” Harry tells her, shoving his hands in his front pockets. He can feel Niall watching him, knows Niall knows that hands in his pockets means he’s nervous and then Niall’s introducing himself and Harry’s suddenly thinking this was a terrible idea.

“If I’d known that florists look like you, I’d be buying flowers every day.”

“Niall,” Harry warns but Stella just laughs.

“Thank you. Anything I can help you find?”

“I’ve got meself a date tonight,” Niall informs her, wiggling his eyebrows and sending her into another fit of laughter. “This one here,” he gestures to Harry “insisted that we come to the best florist in the city to get her something special.”

“Best florist, huh?” Stella asks, smiling at Harry.

“I never said that.”

“Ouch.” She puts a hand over her heart, feigning hurt and Harry’s eyes widen.

“No, that’s not…I didn’t mean that you’re not, I’m sure you are, everything always looks so nice in here and Gemma loved the flowers and my mum’s always talking about how creative you are-“

“I’m kidding, Harry, relax.” She gives his hand a gentle squeeze before telling Niall to follow her so they can pick something special out.

“Real smooth,” Niall whispers, following Stella and leaving Harry to pull his foot out of his mouth. Honestly, he’s never had problems with girls before. He has enough confidence to know that people find him attractive and he’s usually very charismatic but something about Stella makes his nerves buzz under his skin and his brain misfire as it sends words to his mouth. He really needs to work on that.

“They smell amazing.” Niall’s leaning his elbows on the counter, watching as she wraps the bouquet in tissue paper and fusses over the ribbon she’s tied around it.

“It’s the eucalyptus,” Stella tells him, fluffing the wrapping and spinning the bouquet in her hands to make sure it’s perfect. “There, what do you think?”

“Looks perfect,” Niall smiles, inspecting the yellow and purple blossoms even though he has no idea what he’s actually looking at. He pulls his wallet out and hands her his credit card, shoving the flowers into Harry’s hands so he can sign the slip and praise Stella for her work. “If all goes well tonight, you’ll be seeing me quite a bit.”

“I look forward to it. Have a good time.”

“I will, thanks. You good to get home by yourself?” he asks Harry, checking his watch.

“Think I can manage. Tell Jas I said hello.”

“Will do.” Niall heads for the door, pushing it open with his free and before shouting “don’t wait up, darling!”

“He’s quite the character.” Harry turns back to Stella, watching as she cleans up the trimmings and tosses everything into the bin behind the counter.

“He’s great,” Harry tells her, leaning a hip against the counter and rubbing a silk petal between his fingers. “Met him my second year at uni and been mates ever since.” Before he can think better of it, he hears himself asking if she has any plans for the night and well, he can’t take it back so he might as well just roll with it. “Want to grab a drink?”

She looks like she’s about to say yes, like she thinks spending her evening in Harry’s company sounds like something she would enjoy but just as she opens her mouth to answer, her smile disappears.

“I’d love to,” she starts “but I’ve got a few errands to run and I’m really tired.”

“Oh, yeah, no that’s fine, no worries.” He pushes away from the counter, brushing his hair out of his face as he straightens up.

“Thanks though.”

“Sure,” he nods, giving her a reassuring smile. “Maybe some other time.”

“Maybe,” she tells him but the sad smile on her face as he walks away makes him think otherwise.

---

“Alright.” Niall plops down on the couch next to Harry, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table even though Harry hates it. “What do I have to do to get you out of this funk?”

“I’m not in a funk.”

“H, you’re watching a documentary on horticulture.”

“It’s interesting!”

“Bullshit.” Niall reaches for the remote, clicking the telly off and turning to face Harry. “So she turned you down one time, big deal. It’s been two weeks and you haven’t gone back. You told her raincheck, right?”

“Yeah but you didn’t see her face, Ni. She looked like she wanted to tell me it wasn’t going to happen but she didn’t want to hurt my feelings. It’s fine, I’m fine, I’m just not going to go back-“

“Alright, up,” Niall orders, pushing to his feet.

“Niall-“

“Don’t Niall me, Harold.”

“That’s not even my name.”

“You’ve done nothing but sit here sulking when you could be out there wooing her.”

“Wooing?”

“Wooing,” Niall nods, hands on his hips. “Honestly H, it’s a bit pathetic. Didn’t think you were a piner.”

“I’m not pining.”

“You’re literally watching a movie about the process of growing plants. Get off your ass and do something.”

---

Stella’s just locking up when his cab pulls up. Harry tosses money over the seat and jumps out, not even sure what he’s planning on saying. But then Stella’s turning around, tucking her keys into her bag. She jumps a bit when she sees him, putting a hand over her heart as she looks up at him and sighs in relief.

“Jesus Harry, you scared me.”

“Sorry.”

“Did you need something?” she asks, pulling her phone out and typing away. Harry doesn’t know who she’s texting but he finds himself feeling a bit jealous over it. “I’m babysitting Freddie tonight,” she tells him, slipping her phone back in her pocket. “Had to close up a bit early. I’m sorry if you were looking to pick something up.”

“No, um, no.” Harry runs a nervous hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at her. “Was just…was gonna see if like, you wanted to go out for a bit but you’ve got plans so.”

They stand in awkward silence for a minute, Harry looking at his boots and Stella looking at Harry. He hears her sigh and his stomach drops. He doesn’t want to be let down.

“Harry-“

“It’s alright,” he assures her, already backing away. He wants to get out before she says she’s not interested. “I shouldn’t have assumed you were free, you know? I mean, you’re great, s’like, why I wanted to hang out but-“

“Harry, that’s not-“

“Stop, its fine. It’s all good.” He knows the words are forced, knows they come out harsher than he meant them to by the way she winces. He apologizes, tells her he’ll see her around. She doesn’t stop him and he doesn’t look back.

---

Summer’s in full swing and Harry can’t even believe how fast time is flying by. Charlie’s growing like a weed, sprouting two teeth at once and finding that she likes the sound of her own voice and shrieks as loud as possible at any given time just to amuse herself.

Harry’s closing in on a year, has just a few short weeks before he’s officially been single (and celibate) for an entire year. Niall is dumbfounded, can’t understand why anyone would want to go without sex for that long and continues to try to get Harry out at night, to find someone to bring home and end the drought.

Harry thinks it might happen the night he lets Niall convince him to go to a housewarming party for a mutual friend of theirs. It’s been forever since he’s gone out, since he’s socialized with people outside of his immediate circle and he finds himself enjoying the party, the people, the booze. He makes his way around the room, stopping here and there to chat someone up he hasn’t seen in a while and meets a few new people as well.

Her name is Claire, the girl that he thinks could be the one. Not like, forever, but maybe for right now. She’s pretty, long blonde hair and pale blue eyes, a nice laugh. She seems interested, which is always good, if the way she’s constantly touching his arm when she talks is any indication. He glances up, makes eye contact with Niall across the room who shoots him a thumbs up, Jas tucked safely into his side. He’s about to zone back in on Claire when he catches a glimpse of dark brown hair and it’s like someone’s punched him in the chest.

“Harry?” Claire puts a hand on his arm, obviously concerned by the way his eyes have widened and his mouth is hanging open as he stares across the room but he pays her no mind. All he sees is Stella. Pretty, smart, vibrant Stella that’s been on his mind for months on end, pressed up against another man with his arm wrapped around her shoulders as they talk to someone Harry’s never seen before.

If he were sober, he’d probably be sad, definitely hurt because she has a boyfriend and didn’t bother telling him. But he’s not sober and he’s not hurt or sad. No, Harry’s fucking pissed.

“H.” Niall grabs his forearm before he can walk over and pulls Harry aside, pushing him out into the hall. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Me?” Harry demands, pointing toward the living room they’d just exited. “Did you not see who’s here?”

“Yes I saw who’s here and I also saw you headed straight for her. What the hell were you going to do?”

“I just wanted to talk to her, Ni. Did you see the guy she’s with? Like, what the fuck? She has a boyfriend?”

“I don’t know-“

“And she’s just over there smiling, having a good old fucking time while I’m constantly wondering why she wanted nothing to do with me.”

“Harry-“ Niall grabs his arm but Harry doesn’t stop.

“I don’t even know why I’m so hung up on her, I don’t even know her but she’s all I think about and it’s so fucking annoying because she wants nothing to do with me.”

“H, she’s-“

“I’m a good guy, Niall. I’m a fucking catch, okay?”

“Jesus Harry, you need to shut-“

“I don’t cheat,” he snaps, pointing a finger in his friend’s face as though he’s accused him of it. “I’m loyal, I’m a good listener, I’ve got a stable job and nice place to live and I’ve got a good relationship with my mum. So why the fuck am I not good enough?”

“I never said you weren’t.”

Harry spins around so fast that Niall has to catch him before he topples over. Stella’s standing behind him, arms hanging at her sides as she stares in what looks to be a combination of terror and confusion. Niall excuses himself, squeezing Harry’s shoulder before slinking back into the living room so they have some privacy.

“I never said you weren’t good enough.”

“Funny way of showing it,” Harry scoffs, pushing his hair out of his face. He’s just on the wrong side of drunk and starting to feel it.

“I wanted to explain,” she tells him, clasping her hands together and twisting the rings around her fingers. “The last time I saw you, I wanted to tell you why I didn’t want to go out with you.”

“Oh good, love to hear about my shortcomings,” he snorts, bringing his beer bottle to his lips and taking a pull. Suddenly he doesn’t feel drunk enough.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with you, Harry. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

“Well.” He holds his arms out, smiling in a way that he knows isn’t attractive but he doesn’t care anymore. He’s just tired. “I’m all ears, love.”

Stella watches him for a minute, the way he runs his hands through his hair and looks at anything but her. The way he’s swaying after too many drinks and maybe this isn’t the best time to have this conversation but he looks sad and exhausted and she doesn’t like knowing that she had anything to do with that.

“The week before I met you I broke up with my boyfriend.” Harry’s head snaps up, eyes narrowing as he watches her lean against the wall and cross her ankles. “I won’t bore you with the details, but it wasn’t a bad break-up. I mean, it was amicable, we agreed we’d be better off apart but I was with him for two years. I hadn’t even been considering anyone else when you walked into the shop that morning. But there you were with your stupid curls and your stupid eyes and your stupid dimples and you made me think, Harry, and that scared the shit out of me.”

“Stell-”

“I’m not ready.” He swallows down the lump in his throat, keeps his eyes on hers when she finally looks back up at him. “I’m not ready for anything right this second but that doesn’t mean it’s anything to do with you or that I won’t be ready in the future. I just need time, you know? It’s only been a few months and I’m not looking to jump into something right now, not when I’m just getting back on my feet.”

“Okay.”

“I want to be you friend, Harry. I want to hang out and get to know you and listen to you talk about Charlie because your whole face lights up when you do and I love that. And I don’t know, maybe once we’ve gotten to know each other better I’ll be ready for something else. Not that you have to wait,” she quickly adds. “You can do whatever you want, you know? I don’t need-“

“I’d like to be your friend.” Harry smiles at her, a real smile and it feels nice because it hasn’t been genuine in quite a while. “I’d like to get to know you, to hang out and talk about Charlie and Freddie and whatever else you want to talk about. And I don’t…I’m not looking for someone else. I can wait. I’d like to wait.”

“Okay.” Stella takes a deep breath, pushes away from the wall and closes the distance between them. Harry doesn’t hesitate, just pulls her into his arms and hugs her close enough that he’ll feel it even after she’s gone. “If you change your mind-“

“I won’t,” he laughs, pressing a kiss to her hair. He can feel her relax in his arms and it makes his stomach flutter because this is what he wants, for her to be comfortable with him. And if he has to wait, if there’s even the slightest chance that he has any sort of future with the pretty girl from the flower shop, he’ll wait another year if he has to. She’s worth it.

#fic: waiting game #1dff #harry styles fanfiction

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fanficsandfluff · 7 years

Text

Supernatural: Oopsie Daisy

A lovely anon sent me the most beautiful prompt and I just had to write something about flowers and Sammy <3

I also love his relationship with Charlie. In the series, it was almost always the Dean and Charlie show, but there were always little moments that were adorable between her and Sam, too. The hugs, the exchanged glances. All of it was perfect.

I hope this is what you wanted, anon! Enjoy!

Words: 2,392

The bunker’s backyard had sprung up with daisies and dandelions when spring rolled around, and above anyone else, Charlie was most excited. She’d wake up early to sit outside and stare at the flowers and occasionally pick them, stroking and plucking their petals one by one. It was relaxation, time away from the pressures of hunting with Sam and Dean Winchester.

Charlie came into the bunker one day with a bundle of flowers tucked into a pouch she made with her shirt and began sifting through the kitchen for a small vase to put them all in. A little color would brighten anyone’s day, even the somber Winchester brothers. Right?

Sam walked in shortly after Charlie did and he put on a smile as he normally did since he knew Charlie was always happy, “Good morning.”

“Morning, Sammy,” the redhead smiled, standing on her tiptoes to try and reach the top shelf to grab a vase that caught her eye.

Sam grinned softly, “Need some help?”

Charlie huffed and she nodded, “Hohow’d you know? The round clear vase, if you please.”

Sam reached with no effort at all and he handed the chubby looking vase to her, “Here you go. Did you go out to buy those flowers?”

“No, I picked them from the backyard. You know, the outdoors. From the backyard you two actually have and can go out in at any time,” Charlie nudged Sam softly and she filled it partway with water from the sink.

Sam chortled and he went to make a fresh pot of coffee for everyone, “Well, they look very nice.”

Charlie smiled. Sam was always sweet to her. She neatly positioned the daisies, dandelions, and baby’s breath she’d found a cluster of, ultimately creating a picturesque little bouquet.

Sam yawned as he strained the coffee and waited for the machine to rev up. Charlie looked over at him and she bit her lip, smiling behind it. She plucked a daisy from the vase and walked over to Sam, reaching up and tucking the flower behind his ear.

Sam looked down at Charlie and reached up, feeling the flower.

“Heh, you look pretty now, Sam,” Charlie giggled softly. Sam’s cheeks held a blush in them and he smiled gently, dimples barely a shadow on each of his cheeks.

“Gooood morning! How we all doing? Oh.. looking good, Sam,” Dean waltzed in and he grinned when he saw his little brother with the flower in his hair. Sam’s blush turned to one of flattery to embarrassment in a flash and he knocked the flower out of his hair, it falling to the ground.

Charlie huffed and pouted. Sam didn’t have to outright reject her offer just because Dean made a quip. She picked it up, straightened it out and slipped it back into the vase.

Dean, however, found the sight amusing if anything. And like all big brothers, he loved annoying his younger brother.

So after breakfast, Dean asked Charlie (once Sam was safely out of the room, of course), “So what got you into flower picking?”

Charlie grinned, “I’m soho glad you pay so much attention to me. I’ve been going out into the yard for days because all these flowers are out there. And I decided to finally bring some in here to liven up the place,” she pinched Dean’s cheek and giggled.

Dean smiled and he only jerked his head slightly, “Wehell... I’ll go out there and pick them with you sometime,” he said with only mischievous thoughts in his mind.

Charlie, however, noted the tone right away. She huffed, “Are you gonna harass Sam with these flowers?”

Dean rose a brow, “How’d you know?”

Charlie smirked, leaning forward, “I’d love to help you.”

Dean slowly grinned broadly and he chuckled, giving Charlie a high-five. Man, they’d be a good team.

The duo of the dirty blonde and redhead slowly coordinated their attacks. They’d have flowers on their person at all times, so they could strike whenever necessary.

Dean stuffed two flowers in Sam’s hair as he passed the taller man reading in the hallway, walking with his head down. But the head shot up when he felt Dean basically pat his head.

“Look alive, Sammy!” Dean grinned and slid into his own room down the hall.

Sam quirked a brow and rubbed through the top of his head, feeling something. Upon removal, he saw that it was a slowly dying dandelion. He huffed, somewhat amused.

What was at first amusing slowly turned to annoyance as time passed. He’d walk into his room to see a small pile of grass, baby’s breath, and even a tulip laying on his sheets, which he’d have to remove. He was bombarded by either Charlie or Dean (and sometimes both) at every turn, both trying to stick flowers in his hair to the point where he looked as if his hair had become floral. And of course, this would make the dynamic duo laugh their asses off, cooing at and joking with Sam.

One afternoon, Sam had been sitting in the library reading a fantasy novel, earbuds plugged into his ears to block out any sounds that were coming from the TV in the next room where Dean and Charlie were watching Love Actually together.

His back had started to ache from sitting in the same wooden chair all morning into well past noon, so he decided to relocate into his bedroom. Even though it was spring outdoors, Dean liked keeping the bunker at a cool temperature, forcing Sam to always have to wear some sort of long sleeved shirt inside. Today, he had chosen his favorite lazy-day hoodie. For some reason, his room felt ice cold compared to the rest of the house. What the hell? He walked out to the thermostat and he saw the one for this portion of the house was set to 61. Freezing.

“Very funny,” he called out, doubting Dean or Charlie would even hear him. And after hiking up the temperature, he went back into his room. With a shiver, he sat on the bed, pulling his hoodie tight into himself. Sam went to slip the hood over his head for extra warmth, but was startled when a shower of flowers of all shapes and colors cascaded down like a waterfall over his head.

Sam audibly growled, pausing to take a calming breath before shaking out his hair and ruffling his fingers through it to knock off any remaining flowers. What idiots! This was getting outrageous now. He cursed himself for being stupid enough to have headphones on while reading, now knowing how Dean and Charlie continued sneaking up behind him to the point that his hood was filled to the brim with plantlife. This was the final straw.

With a huff, Sam removed the hoodie and stormed out of his room. He stood in the library, seeing Dean and Charlie pleasantly curled up on the couch together, hearing an occasional chuckle or giggle (or an ‘aww’ in Charlie’s case). He felt bad if he disturbed them since the scene looked so homey...... fuck it, he was sick of flowers.

Sam went right behind them and he tapped Dean’s shoulder, “I bet you think you two are sooo funny.”

Dean looked up and snorted, “Yeheheah, actually,” he reached up and plucked a leftover flower with half its petals still intact that was still perched on the top of Sam’s head.

That made Sam blush even harder to hear Dean and Charlie giggling over it.

“You like to laugh at me, huh? Fine,” Sam smirked and he grabbed Charlie, sliding her off the couch and positioning her over his shoulder.

Charlie yelped, “Ah! Saham, put me dohown!” she had a few flowers in her pockets, which slowly slipped from them and onto the floor. Sam looked down and he shook his head.

“So you two have seriously been stashing flowers on yourselves to bombard me with them?” Sam couldn’t believe they’d go to such coordinated lengths. At the same time he was speaking, the hand holding Charlie’s waist securely over his shoulder shifted and the fingers started to wiggle over her side.

The readhead squeaked and kicked her legs, “Eep! S-Sahaham! Hehehehe nohoho!”

Dean watched with a smirk, not minding the way he was getting revenge, at least upon Charlie.

Sam eyed his brother looking too content for his liking and he said menacingly, “You’re next, De.”

Dean heard that and he got nervous, quickly standing off the couch and skirting around Sam to quickly say, “Good luck, kiddo!” before running off.

“Dehehean wahait! Ah!” she yelped again when Sam tossed her onto the couch Dean had vacated. Sam quickly sat on her waist and grabbed her wrists, hoisting them above her head.

“Saham, I’m sorry! It wahas just some innocent joking..” Charlie pleaded, biting her lip.

Sam nodded, “I actually have a good sense of humor believe it or not--” he narrowed his eyes when Charlie snorted, “Anyway... I know when a joke’s gone too far. And this one has. But since you still like laughing over it so much...” he kept her skinny wrists pinned with one hand, leaving his other free to seek revenge. His hand hovered over Charlie’s tummy before landing and digging in.

Charlie squeaked and she arched her back, immediately bursting into giggles, “BAHAhahahahaha! Nohohoooo Sahahammy!”

By slipping his hand under her shirt, he was able to scratch his fingers along her milky pale skin. His forefinger and thumb pinched up her ribs, grinning as each new pinch got a different kind of laugh and jump from her.

“Someone too ticklish?” Sam teased.

Charlie, ever the honest one, squealed and nodded her head vigorously, “Y-YEHEHEhehehes! Stahahahahap! SAHAM!”

Sam grinned and chortled, his fingers massaging into the muscle that married her sides and tummy. While the redhead was cackling at that technique, Sam leaned down and was able to worm his head into her neck, stubble scratching against her cheek and neck.

“ACK! Sahahahammyyyyy! Nohohoho dohohoHOHON’T! AHAHA!” Charlie shrieked when the younger Winchester blew a raspberry right into her neck, igniting the nerves clustered there.

“No more flowers?” Sam breathed into her ear, knowing even his breath was tickly at this point.

“NOHO MOHOHORE I PROMISE! Hahahahaha!”

Sam hummed in thought, having raised his head from her neck, but was now pondering by stroking his fingers up and down her unprotected underarms.

“Good,” Sam smirked finally, getting off of her, “Now excuse me while I destroy Dean,” he chortled to himself, cracking his knuckles. And off he went, peeking into room by room, figuring Dean was in his own bedroom anyway. Which he was!

Sam burst in and Dean scrambled to get up before his gangly little brother zeroed in on his worst spot. Sam’s thumbs kneaded melodically into Dean’s hip bones, getting at the sweet spot right near his pelvis. And Dean absolutely lost it. This wasn’t fair! No warm up tickles, nothing! Just straight for the kill.

Dean’s laughter went silent before he took a breath enough to allow him to screech out his howling laughter, which was always higher than his speaking voice. No deep, manly chuckles for Dean.

“S-SAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAM! NOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHA! SOHONOFABITCH NAHAHAHA!”

Sam giggled, “Youhu’re a jerk for the flowers, you know. You deserve this.”

With what sounded like the attempt of a battle cry and felt like someone leaping onto his back, sure enough Charlie had entered into the fight, clinging onto Sam’s back.

Sam chortled, “Gehehet off!” he lifted one hand to try and pry her off while his other was squeezing Dean’s thigh.

Dean was still laughing and squirming, though he was happy for the distraction. With a valiant push upwards, he was able to wiggle and claw his fingers into Sam’s abdomen.

Charlie had secured the hand Sam reached up with and was now using her smaller frame to worm fingers into Sam’s armpit, wiggling and digging into the flesh.

Sam’s eyes widened, realizing it was almost sad how quickly he was overcome, before he collapsed onto the bed in a fit of laughter.

“Gehehet him!” Charlie cheered with a giggle, unable to hold back Sam’s arm anymore so it slammed down to his side, ultimately trapping her hand under his arm.

Dean was panting and he grinned, “Nihice work, kiddo,” he ruffled Charlie’s hair affectionately before sitting on Sam’s thrashing legs, scraping his fingertips along the socked feet.

Sam tossed his head back, hair splayed across the bed as laughter poured from his smiling mouth. Charlie had never seen Sam’s dimples so noticeable and it was downright adorable.

After a little while, Charlie gently kicked Dean, “I thihink we’ve tortured him enough.”

Dean agreed and he got off Sam, sitting on the bed with a smirk on his face. Sam panted and let residual giggles spill from his lips in spurts before sitting up.

“Youhu’re both mehehean...”

Dean grinned, “Wehe aren’t mean. We were just playing around. But hey, I do kinda admit we went a little overboard. Stuffing your clothes and bed with them wasn’t the nicest thing to do.”

Sam huffed, rolling his eyes, “Gee, thanks for seeing the error of your ways.”

Charlie smiled at the brothers, seeing one last flower laying on the bed between the three of them. It looked like a pink petunia, and it must’ve slipped from either her or Dean’s pockets. She picked it up and, turning Sam’s head towards her, she smoothed her fingers through Sam’s semi disheveled hair before tucking the petunia behind his ear. The freckled redhead smiled sweetly at Sam and kissed his cheek.

“I juhust thought you looked cute with flowers in your hair, Sammy.”

Sam almost froze and his cheeks blushed dark red. He slowly started to smile and he threw his arms around Charlie in a hug, squeezing her tight. Even Dean got in on the love by nestling himself into the hug. Sam knew that all there was between the three of them was love, even if the flower thing got a bit annoying. He could’ve stayed in this moment forever, if only Dean didn’t have to come out and ruin it.

“Hey, what’s a comedian’s favorite flower? Laffodils.”

A groan from Sam and Charlie followed by a bark of laughter from Dean cemented the mood for the rest of the day.

#ticklish!charlie #ticklish!dean #ticklish!sam #sam winchester #charlie bradbury #dean winchester #spn #supernatural #tickles #flowers #flower!sammy #lots and lots of flowers #pretty!sammy #friendship #family #love

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