#AND WITH OFFERING HELP FROM THE FIRESIDE GIRLS

[ursaribbon]

[darkseidex]

Can you write an Austin Butler x reader imagine where tired of the public scrutiny due to their age gap , the reader and Austin attempt to go off-grid for six months. no press, no social media, just the two of them in a house in Big Sur. At first, it’s bliss: fireside dinners, hikes, handwritten love letters. But isolation brings up unresolved trauma from the readers past. She spirals, and Austin has to help her through the darkest part of herself.

oooooh okay kinda edited the request for something that suited me a bit more!! i hope you love it nonnie <3 OKAY UH,, smut ?? but like, we have anal this time around too- so if you're not into that jazz then you might wanna skip this one loves.

Every now and then, Uma is reminded that love—real love—is not effortless. It is not passive. It asks of you. It requires presence, patience, and the terrifying courage to be seen. It demands you strip yourself bare, peel back the layers you’ve built to survive, and place your trembling heart in someone else's hands. And you do it with the quiet, aching hope that they won’t flinch. That they won’t scoff at the offering, won’t turn away from the bruised, beaten thing you present—but instead, they’ll accept it. Gently. Reverently. That they’ll cradle it like something precious, and in return, offer you theirs with the same trembling trust.

It sounds beautiful—holy, even—but there’s more to it than that.

Because when you give someone your heart, you’re not just giving them your capacity for love. You’re giving them everything that’s ever shaped it. The shadows that haunt it. The wounds still bleeding beneath your ribs. You’re handing over your daddy issues, your trust issues, the betrayals you’ve filed away but never truly forgot. The heartbreaks that still echo in your chest. The anger you’ve swallowed. The shame. The silence.

You give them your rot alongside your bloom.

And maybe—if they love you right—they’ll take it anyway. Maybe they’ll sip your poison like it’s wine and ease the sting with the sweetness of their mouth on yours. Maybe their hands will trace every scar like scripture, and their warmth will seep into the cold places no one’s ever touched before. A kiss here. A whispered name there. A soft sigh against your skin that makes all the mess feel worth it.

That’s what Uma wants. What she fears. What she’s holding her breath for.

To be known in full—and still, somehow, to be chosen.

As she watches him sitting by the fire, shoulders hunched, jaw tight, Uma feels the heat of their argument still simmering in the room—clashing harshly with the low amber glow that flickers across his profile. The fireplace crackles softly, but all she hears is silence. That hollow, post-fight quiet that settles like ash on the tongue.

Just hours ago, they were all kisses and laughter, sighs pressed against skin, tangled limbs and lazy, wine-slowed afternoons. This cabin had been their sanctuary. Every room still smelled of them—of warmth, of desire, of a love so sweet it made her dizzy. But now, all that tenderness felt like a dream fraying at the edges. The fight, sharp and sudden, had taken a blade to the illusion.

And maybe… maybe that was a little bit her fault.

Uma knew she was young. Knew what it looked like: a wide-eyed girl playing house with a man the world had already crowned golden. Nine years older, famous, carved from experience and charm and late-night wisdom. He loved her. Not just with words, but with actions—with touches that lingered, with protection that made her feel wrapped in velvet, with a love that was so much it often left her aching, overwhelmed, teary-eyed from the sheer weight of being adored like that.

But it wasn’t always easy.

Dating him meant navigating whispers—critics who insisted she wasn’t enough. Too young. Too naïve. Too new. And maybe they were right. Maybe she was still growing. Still figuring out who she was, still learning when to speak, when to stay silent, how to hold space for someone without losing herself in the process.

But wasn’t that the point? That she was still becoming? And wasn’t part of loving her—truly loving her—being willing to witness that evolution without using it against her?

She clenched her jaw, watching the firelight dance along his cheekbones, illuminating the strain there. He hadn’t looked at her since she walked back into the room.

They’d hurt each other tonight. With words flung too fast, with old insecurities unearthed like splinters. But still, beneath it all, Uma could feel the pull—could feel the quiet ache of her heart begging to be offered again.

To be seen. To be chosen. Even in this.

Hell, they were in Big Sur for her. Because everything had started to feel like too much—too loud, too invasive, too cruel. The kind of cruelty that seeps through a screen, hidden behind comment sections and stitched videos. She couldn’t even open her phone without seeing herself dissected under harsh lighting—every gesture, every glance, every slip of her tongue turned into proof of something ugly. Immature. Vapid. Unworthy.

As if she wasn’t a real person. As if she didn’t breathe the same air as them. As if her heart didn’t break the same way theirs did.

She had scrolled past the umpteenth TikTok that day—some stranger narrating her expressions like a wildlife documentary—and something in her just cracked. And maybe he saw it. Maybe he always saw it before she could say it.

So he brought her here. To this house tucked against the cliffs, where the ocean roared like a lullaby and the rest of the world felt far, far away. He gave her an out. An escape. But more than that—he gave her himself.

Austin loved her loudly in these walls. Kissed her in the kitchen with the windows open. Traced “I love you” down the curve of her back like prayer. Held her too tight in the mornings and didn’t let go until she laughed. He wanted her to know—really know—that even when it hurt, even when the world made it unbearable to love in public, what they had was still worth it.

That she was worth it.

And for a while, that had been enough. The quiet. The ocean. The warmth of him. Their little world of shared glances and whispered promises. But tonight... tonight they’d let the weight of it all spill out too fast. They’d fought. And now he sat by the fire, alone, and she stood behind him, heart in her throat, unsure if the silence meant endings—or the calm just before someone finally reaches for the other.

It started with a joke.

Or at least, Uma thought it was a joke.

She’d laughed—halfhearted, wine-blushed, cheeks pink from the firelight. “You must be getting tired of defending me. Your little PR disaster in heels. The girl who makes the headlines and makes you look—what do they say?—unserious.”

She said it with a crooked smile, swirling her glass like the words were nothing. Like they didn’t claw at the underside of her ribs.

Austin didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile. He just looked at her. Slowly. Quietly. That kind of silence that makes your skin feel too tight.

“I really wish you’d stop talking about yourself like that.”

The air shifted. The fire popped behind him, a soft hiss of flame against stone, but all she heard was the sharpness in his voice—low, measured, frayed at the edges.

She arched an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. “I’m joking. Relax.”

“I am relaxed,” he said. But he wasn’t. His jaw was tense, thumb tracing the side of his whiskey glass like he needed something to hold onto. “It’s just not funny anymore, Uma. Every time you say shit like that, it sounds like you believe it. Like you're just waiting for me to agree with you.”

She felt the heat creep into her chest—not from the fire, not from the wine. From the words she’d swallowed too many times.

“Maybe I do believe it,” she said, voice tight. “Maybe I see what everyone else sees. That I don’t belong in your world. That I’m the immature little girlfriend who runs her mouth too much, wears the wrong things, says the wrong things, is the wrong thing—while you’re the poised, polished, Oscar-nominated man of the hour.”

Austin’s mouth twitched, but not into a smile. Into something bitter, barely held back. He sat up straighter, like her words had struck bone.

“So now I’m the asshole for loving you?” he asked, cool and measured. “You think I flew us up to this house, gave you space from all that noise, just so you could remind me how little you think of yourself?”

“No,” she snapped, pushing her chair back. The legs scraped the hardwood like a scream. “I think you did it to convince yourself this was still worth it. Because you could have someone else, Austin. You could find a woman who fits your world. A woman on your level. One with flawless skin and publicist-approved statements and no history of panic attacks in dressing rooms.”

He stood then—too fast. His chair tipped slightly before he caught it.

“You really think that’s what I want? Some media-trained mannequin who doesn't challenge me? Who doesn’t feel anything?” His voice was rising now, sharp and hurt. “You think I don’t know what I signed up for with you?”

“I think,” she said, staring him down, “you’re going to get tired of holding me up.”

Austin flinched. Just for a second. And then came the words she wasn’t ready for.

“Then maybe you should be with someone who doesn’t need holding.”

Silence. Wide. Dreadful.

The fire crackled behind him. Her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t even know if she was angry or just bleeding out beneath her skin.

He looked at her like he wanted to take it back. Like he already hated himself for saying it.

But it was out there now. And some things, once said, just hang in the air like smoke you can’t cough out.

She turned. Walked out of the kitchen, past the glass doors, into the wide, aching quiet of the house. The cold mountain air slid through the cracks, and for the first time since they’d arrived, Big Sur felt like too much space between them.

She watches him from across the room, the fire painting gold across his skin. He’s still in the sweater she’d tugged him into this morning—cable-knit, too soft, too expensive, sleeves shoved up his forearms the way she likes. He hasn’t looked at her since the argument. Not once.

There’s a chill in the air now that the sun’s gone. It creeps through the stone floors of the house, nestles into her bones. But it’s not the cold that makes her shiver.

It’s the distance.

Two hours ago, this room held laughter. He’d been humming some stupid 70s song, barefoot, hair a mess from the way she’d run her fingers through it while he cooked. She remembers how the butter sizzled on the pan, how he bumped his hip into hers just to make her smile. How she’d leaned into his chest and pressed her face there, breathing him in like he was something holy.

And then—just like that—her mind slips.

Not to the fight. But to the morning before the storm.

The bed, once too big for her, now cradled the perfect imprint of them. Of togetherness. His side was always warmer, always deeper somehow, like the mattress had long since learned to hold the weight of him—and now her, too.

Austin was curled around her like instinct, chest pressed to her back, arm heavy across her waist, anchoring her with that quiet, sleep-drunk possessiveness she’d come to crave. His breath stirred the hair at the nape of her neck in slow, even waves. That deep, steady rhythm of a man utterly at peace.

She lay there for a moment, eyes open, suspended in the softness of dawn. Then, slowly, carefully, she shifted—just enough to turn and face him.

God, he was beautiful like this.

His face slack in sleep, mouth parted just slightly, letting out the faintest snore—gentle and almost childlike. Lashes long and dark against his cheekbones, catching the muted gold light that spilled through the curtains. One hand was tucked under the pillow, the other still wrapped around her middle, even in his dreams.

He looked younger like this. The weight of the world nowhere on his shoulders. No red carpets, no cameras, no sharp suits or charming deflections. Just him. Just hers.

And she couldn’t help herself.

With the kind of mischievous reverence only lovers are allowed, she dipped her head and began the slow, serious business of counting his freckles.

First, the ones scattered across his cheeks—tiny, sun-kissed constellations she kissed once… then twice. She smiled against his skin. Whispered numbers into the quiet like a spell.

Then she moved downward, her fingers trailing a warm path across the slope of his shoulder, the curve of his collarbone. She followed the freckles like breadcrumbs—pressing soft kisses to each one, some fleeting and quick, others lingering with open-mouthed affection. Her lips brushed the subtle dip at the center of his chest, the scar near his ribs, the line of muscle that disappeared beneath the rumpled sheets.

She paused where the blanket rested low on his hips. He shifted slightly in his sleep, a soft sigh slipping from his lips, and she swallowed a laugh—giddy and breathless.

Then she kept going.

Down the ridges of his abdomen, along the V of his hips. Her mouth ghosted over the hollow of his navel, then the hard lines of his thighs—strong and relaxed now, but she knew what they could do. She kissed the back of his knee, the inside of his calf, the smooth muscle of his back when he shifted and half-rolled into her touch.

Ten freckles. Fifteen. Twenty-three. Then she forgot what number she was on.

Because the counting didn’t matter anymore. Only the feeling did.

The knowing that he was hers to map. To memorize. To love like this—in tiny kisses and quiet devotion and the sacred silence of morning.

She was somewhere around his lower back—her lips barely grazing a freckle just above his waistband—when she felt the shift.

A slow inhale. A subtle tightening of the arm still draped over her waist.

And then—his voice. Thick with sleep, low and amused, curling through the quiet like smoke.

“I know what you’re doing.”

Her heart stuttered.

She froze, her lips still a breath away from his skin. “No, you don’t.”

A lazy smirk tugged at his mouth before his eyes even opened. His voice was all gravel and heat. “You’re mapping me.”

She pressed a kiss just below his shoulder blade, trying to recover, trying to play it cool, though her cheeks flushed instantly. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m flattered anyway.” He shifted, rolling onto his back, dragging her with him like she weighed nothing. One arm stayed curled around her, the other came up to brush a piece of hair from her face as he cracked one eye open. “How many did you get to?”

She rested her chin on his chest. “Somewhere between fifteen and losing my mind.”

“Sounds about right.” He smiled, slow and soft. One of those smiles that made her stomach drop and her heart climb into her throat.

His fingers traced idle shapes on the small of her back. “You kiss all of them?”

She arched an eyebrow, feigning offense. “What do you think I am, lazy?”

He laughed—a real one this time, chest rumbling beneath her. And then his voice dipped lower, teasing, but not unserious. “You missed one.”

“Oh yeah?” she murmured, tilting her head.

“Mhm.” His hand slid beneath the sheet, slow, suggestive, trailing heat along her thigh. “There’s one on my hip. Right here.”

She laughed, breathless, rolling her eyes even as her heart raced. “Convenient.”

“Extremely.”

And still, somehow, he was looking at her like she was the only thing that had ever mattered. Like she was soft light and shelter and his.

She kissed the corner of his mouth, slow and lingering, then whispered, “Consider it… corrected.”

“You’re mine.”

The words hadn’t even finished leaving her lips before he was kissing her again—deep, consuming, with a hunger that had been coiled beneath the surface all morning. Austin moved over her like he couldn’t stand the space between them, mouth hot and desperate against hers, tongue sliding past her lips in a kiss that stole the breath right out of her lungs.

His hand slid under her shirt, and this time, it didn’t stop. He pushed the fabric up slowly, fingers dragging along her ribs, her waist, reverent like he was touching something holy. She lifted her arms for him without a word, and the shirt was gone, discarded in a soft thud to the floor.

He pulled back, just enough to look at her—eyes dark, blown wide, chest rising in shallow breaths.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

The way he said it—not just lust, but awe—made her skin flush, her thighs press together under him. She reached up, running her hands through the mess of his hair, tugging gently until he groaned and kissed her again, this time slower. Deeper.

Austin’s hands wandered like they’d missed her. One cupped her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple until she arched beneath him. The other trailed down—slow, teasing—until it found the edge of her underwear.

He looked at her once, checking.

She nodded. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

Fingers dipped beneath the waistband, sliding over her slick heat, and his breath caught like she was the one wrecking him. He kissed her harder as he stroked her, fingers working her open while her hips lifted to meet him, soft gasps leaving her lips with every curl of his hand.

“You’re already so wet,” he muttered against her mouth, half in disbelief. “All that for me?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Always.”

That did something to him. He groaned—deep and guttural—then slipped a finger inside her, then another, curling just right, thumb circling her clit until she was trembling beneath him, thighs tightening, hands scrambling at his shoulders for something to hold on to.

She was close—right there, breath shallow, lips parted—

And then he stopped.

“Austin—”

“Shhh.” He kissed her jaw, her throat. “I’ve got you. I just need to be inside you when you fall apart.”

She whimpered at the promise in his voice.

He stripped quickly, underwear kicked to the floor, then lined himself up between her thighs, dragging his cock slowly through her slick heat, teasing her until her hips bucked. She was shaking, nails in his biceps, eyes wide and begging.

“Please.”

He pushed in with one long, slow thrust, and they both moaned—his name on her lips, her name rasped from his chest like a prayer. He filled her completely, perfectly, and then paused—just for a second—to feel it. The stretch. The heat. The way she clenched around him like her body was made for him.

“You feel—” he gasped. “—so fucking good.”

He moved slowly at first—deep, dragging strokes that made her gasp and reach for him, made her feel every inch of him. His hand cupped the side of her face, his thumb brushing her bottom lip.

“Open,” he whispered.

She did. He slipped the thumb inside her mouth, watching her suck on it, eyes half-lidded, moaning around the weight of him inside her.

“Good girl,” he muttered.

That ruined her.

Her hands curled into the sheets. Her legs wrapped tighter around his waist. And he snapped, his rhythm shifting—deeper, faster, the sounds of skin meeting skin echoing through the room as he drove into her like he was trying to carve his name into her bones.

“Say it again,” he groaned. “Tell me whose you are.”

“Yours,” she gasped. “Yours, Austin, yours—”

And that was it. That was all it took.

He reached down, rubbed her clit hard and fast, and she broke with a cry—head thrown back, body arching into his, shattering around him like stars collapsing. Her orgasm pulsed through her, rippling tight around him until he cursed, hips stuttering, spilling deep inside her with a moan that was nothing short of worship.

They stayed there like that—panting, trembling, pressed forehead to forehead. His weight still on her, his breath still warm against her mouth.

“Still counting my freckles?” he asked hoarsely, a half-smile ghosting across his face.

She laughed weakly, threading her fingers through his hair. “I lost count. Somewhere around eternity.”

Granted, Uma should’ve said something. She should’ve opened her mouth before the silence bloomed into a monster neither of them could name. Before her thoughts began to scream louder than his voice ever could. Before the fear rooted itself so deeply in her chest, it became part of the rhythm of her breath. A steady, quiet panic. A thrum beneath every word she never said.

She should’ve told him—God, she should’ve told him.

Told him how the dread didn’t come all at once. No, it arrived like a ripple in still water—small, harmless—until it swelled into a tide and dragged her under. Told him how the weight of being seen by millions, picked apart by strangers with sharp tongues and blurred faces, made her retreat from the only place that had ever felt like home: him.

She should’ve said that her silence wasn’t indifference—it was fear. The kind that calcifies in your throat, that wraps around your ribs like barbed wire. The kind that whispers, You are too much, and not enough, all at once.

And he wasn’t a mind reader. She knew that. He was flesh and blood and tenderness and temper. He was flawed, real, trying. He couldn’t possibly know the wars she fought within herself unless she handed him the map. But she didn’t. She left him standing in the dark, alone, while she bled quietly in the corner and hoped—prayed—he’d just know.

That failure haunts her.

She should’ve told him she needed to hear it. Needed it. Not once, not twice—but endlessly. Like breath. Like heartbeat. Like her life depended on it.

She should’ve told him she wanted him to claim her—gently, ferociously. That she wanted to be called his. His baby. His sweet girl. His beautiful mess. That even when she was all sharp angles and contradictions, even when she didn’t know how to be soft, she still wanted to be his. That she wanted to belong to him the way the sea belongs to the shore—wild and constant, crashing and returning, always, always coming home.

She wanted his voice to drown out the ones in her head. Wanted his words to stitch the broken pieces back together. Wanted to be wrapped in certainty—not because she was perfect, but because she was enough.

She wanted to be wanted. Completely. Unconditionally. Even when she was a storm. Even when she didn’t know how to ask for it out loud.

But instead, she said nothing.

She’d stood in front of the man she loved more than air, bleeding in silence, hoping—desperately—that he’d recognize the shape of her wounds without her ever naming them. Hoping he’d reach for her anyway.

And now, here she sat—curled on the edge of the room, watching firelight dance across his profile, wondering if the space between them had become too wide to cross.

She wanted to go to him. Fall at his feet. Press her face to his chest, not say a word, and beg with her being.

Say it. Say I’m yours. Even now. Especially now.

She sighed—soft, shaky, almost inaudible—and gave in.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up, sinking down onto the edge of the sofa beside him. Close. Achingly close. But not close enough. Not nearly.

She could feel the heat of him beside her, could see the way his fingers were flexing against his knees, like he was holding something back. His jaw was tight, his eyes trained on the fire, flickering gold and shadow against the beautiful bone structure she loved too much to admit out loud.

But still—he didn’t look at her.

And that was what broke her.

Because she couldn't take the silence anymore. Couldn't take pretending that distance didn’t hurt.

So she rose again, slowly, almost dazed, like she was being pulled by something magnetic and ancient. She stepped between his knees, her bare feet silent against the floor, and placed her hands gently on his shoulders.

He looked up, startled at first—but he didn’t stop her. He didn’t move.

So she guided him back, eased him into the cushions, then climbed into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Her knees sank into the sofa on either side of his hips. Her fingers threaded into his hair as her gaze—God, her gaze—searched his face with a desperation she couldn’t hide anymore.

And then she saw them.

His eyes. Those impossibly blue eyes that had always undone her.

They were darker tonight—not quite storm, not quite sky. Somewhere suspended in between. And in them, she saw everything she was afraid of. Everything she wanted.

So much depth. So much weight. So much love, unspoken and trembling on the edge of his lashes.

She leaned in. Her forehead nearly brushed his. Her hands cradled his jaw like it was something sacred. And when she spoke, it was a prayer disguised as a plea.

“Tell me I’m yours.”

Her voice cracked on the last word.

His eyes widened. His mouth parted like he might say something—but no sound came out.

So she said it again. Softer. Broken.

“Please.”

She swallowed hard, her thumbs brushing across the scruff on his cheeks, memorizing the shape of him. She wanted to bury herself in him, crawl beneath his skin, live in the parts of him that never turned away.

“Even now,” she whispered, her voice nearly shaking. “Especially now.”

Because what she was really saying—what she couldn’t say—was:

Remind me I’m safe. Remind me I’m wanted. Tell me I’m still yours, even when I’ve made it hard to be.

And she waited.

Wide open. Bare. A girl holding out her heart, hoping the boy she gave it to still wanted it.

She trembled in his lap, her legs on either side of him, fingers curled along the line of his jaw like she was holding him together. Like if she let go, the space between them would swallow her whole.

Her eyes, glassy and dark, searched his face like they were reading scripture—like somewhere beneath his silence, his stillness, was the answer she needed to keep breathing.

“Tell me I’m yours,” she whispered, the words tumbling out so softly, so broken, they barely made it across the space between them. “Please. Even now. Especially now.”

The silence that followed was thick, trembling with things unsaid. The firelight danced between them, casting gold on her tear-glossed cheeks, warming the shiver in her shoulders.

And Austin— He didn’t answer right away.

Because how could he, when her words had just gutted him?

He felt like she’d opened his chest and dropped her heart inside it, still beating, still bruised, still so trusting—asking, do you still want this?

He reached for her slowly, as if any sudden movement would send her vanishing into smoke. His palms came to rest on her thighs, fingers spreading gently, grounding him in the warmth of her skin. He could feel the faint tremble in her legs, the tension in her hips, the way she was holding herself like she might break in his hands.

“Uma,” he breathed—her name nothing more than air and ache.

He tilted his head back just enough to see her clearly, to take in every inch of her: flushed cheeks, lashes wet, lips parted, a furrow between her brows like hope and fear were still battling behind her eyes.

And then—his voice cracked like something sacred and breaking.

“You’re mine.”

She blinked hard, lips quivering, but he kept going.

“You’re my baby,” he whispered, voice thick, each word soaked in reverence. “My girl. My everything.”

He leaned in, their foreheads brushing, breath mixing. The air between them hummed like the last second before lightning.

“Doesn’t matter how hard it gets. Doesn’t matter if we yell, if you go quiet on me, if the world tears you up and you don’t know how to find your way back—I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.”

His hands slid up her sides, thumbs brushing her waist with worshipful care. Like she was something delicate. Like he wanted to rebuild her from the inside out.

“You should’ve told me,” he said, voice near breaking. “I would’ve said it a hundred times. A thousand. I would’ve screamed it if that’s what you needed.”

Tears were sliding down her cheeks now, silent and aching. She didn’t wipe them away.

“You’re mine when you’re soft,” he murmured, “when you’re kind and sweet and full of sunlight. And you’re mine when you’re a fucking hurricane. When you’re too tired to talk, when you pull away. When the fear gets louder than your love—I’ll still be here.”

His voice dropped, barely a whisper now.

“You’re mine when you can’t say it. When you can’t ask. And I’m yours, Uma. I’m yours. Not halfway. Not when it’s easy. Always.”

She made a sound—shattered and quiet—and then she moved.

She surged forward like she couldn’t take one more second of space between them. Her hands fisted in his hair, her mouth crashed into his with a desperation that made his whole body jolt. The kiss wasn’t neat, wasn’t perfect—it was wet, gasping, starved.

She kissed him like she was drowning and he was the only thing keeping her above water. Like she was pouring everything she didn’t know how to say into the heat of his mouth, the clutch of his shoulders, the way she whimpered his name into his skin.

And Austin held her like he’d been waiting for her to fall apart just so he could catch her. His arms wrapped around her back, hands pressing to the bare skin beneath her shirt, pulling her closer—closer—until not even the air could slip between them.

She sobbed into his kiss, and he kissed her through it.

She gasped his name, and he pressed his lips to her cheeks, her forehead, the corner of her trembling mouth.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. Again and again. “I’ve got you. You’re mine. I’m yours.”

And somehow— Even in all the aching mess of it, all the tears and the heartbreak and the things they still had to learn—

It was enough. It was everything.

He kissed her like he needed her to feel it—not just on her lips, but in her chest, in her bloodstream, in every place she'd ever doubted if she was worthy of being wanted like this.

She moaned softly into his mouth as his hands slid beneath her shirt, rough palms dragging up her spine, slow and unhurried. They were learning each other again—not as strangers, but as lovers rediscovering how to say I still want you with their bodies.

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, fingers curled into the hem of her shirt.

She nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Please.”

He tugged it over her head gently, reverently, like he was unwrapping a gift he’d been too scared to open before. And then—he just looked. His eyes dragged across her bare skin, and everything about him stilled.

Like he couldn’t believe she was real. Sitting in his lap. Letting him see her.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmured, voice rough and uneven, like it hurt to say it out loud.

Her heart thudded against her ribs as his hands found her waist, thumbs brushing the dip just above her hips. He leaned in and kissed her collarbone, then lower—his lips warm and open, grazing the slope of her breast. She gasped when his tongue flicked over her nipple, and he groaned—deep and low in his chest—like her pleasure was his own.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he whispered, dragging his mouth across to the other side. “Missed you.”

She threaded her fingers into his hair, tugging when he sucked a little harder, a little deeper—until her thighs started to squeeze around his waist.

When he finally kissed down her stomach, she couldn’t breathe.

Each kiss was deliberate. Open-mouthed. Wet. His tongue teased the dip of her navel. His hands gripped her thighs, thumbs brushing the soft flesh at the top, and then—

He looked up at her.

“Let me taste you.”

Her breath hitched.

She nodded, unable to speak, and he smiled—soft and filthy—as he slid her panties down her legs, kissing her knees, her thighs, the crease where leg met hip. She was already shaking before he even touched her there.

And then his mouth found her.

He groaned the second his tongue slipped through her folds, like she was something he’d been craving. His arms wrapped around her thighs to hold her steady, to keep her here, and then he went to work.

He was slow, at first. Wide, teasing licks from bottom to top, the flat of his tongue dragging up her slit before flicking—soft, rhythmic, devastating—against her clit. Then again. And again. Until her fingers clawed into his hair and she couldn’t hold still.

“God—Austin—” she gasped, hips stuttering.

He moaned into her, his fingers digging deeper into her thighs. Then one hand slipped between her legs, fingers slick and confident as he eased one inside her—then two.

The stretch made her cry out, and he smiled into her heat.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, voice muffled. “Let me have you. Let me make you feel good.”

His fingers curled inside her with precision, the rhythm of his thrusts syncing with his tongue on her clit. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t messy.

It was intentional. Worshipful. Like he wanted her to fall apart slowly—wanted to earn it.

Her whole body arched, mouth open in a silent cry as her orgasm crept up like fire licking through her veins. It hit her like a wave—sharp, overwhelming, perfect. She pulsed around his fingers, thighs shaking, cries spilling out of her like she was exorcising every fear she’d ever swallowed down.

He kissed her through it, gentle now. Kisses on her thighs. Her stomach. The inside of her knee. Like he couldn’t stop loving her just because she’d come.

She collapsed into his chest, dazed and breathless, her skin flushed and damp, her mouth still parted like she might cry again.

Austin wrapped his arms around her, pressing kisses into her hair, her temple, her cheek.

“You okay?” he whispered, voice hoarse, lips grazing the corner of her mouth.

She nodded against him, whispering, “Don’t stop.”

His breath caught.

She looked up at him—wrecked, glowing, eyes glassy with need.

“I need you inside me,” she said. “I need to feel you. All of you.”

And the look he gave her in that moment—utterly unhinged with love—would’ve made her weep if she hadn’t already.

“Then baby,” he said, voice shaking, “I’m not gonna leave your body all night.”

He entered her slowly—agonizingly so—like he was afraid too much too soon might shatter her. Might shatter them.

Uma gasped, back arching slightly as he pressed into her, inch by careful inch, stretching her open, claiming the space between her hips with reverence. Her hands clutched his shoulders, her breath hitching at the sheer depth of it—not just the physical stretch, but the way it felt like he was slotting into something more than her body. Like he was sliding into every part of her she’d left empty.

Austin’s eyes fluttered closed, his jaw tense, breath trembling. The heat of her surrounded him, warm and wet and home, and it took everything in him not to lose himself right there.

He sank down onto his forearms, chest pressing against hers, mouth brushing her temple as he held still—deep inside, grounded in the feel of her.

“Jesus,” he whispered, voice raw. “You feel… so fuckin’ good.”

Her legs wrapped tighter around his waist, needing more. Needing all of him.

“Move,” she whispered against his neck, her voice barely more than air. “Please, Austin…”

So he did.

Slowly. Gently. He rolled his hips in a steady, aching rhythm, each thrust deep and deliberate. Like he wasn’t just trying to make her come—he was trying to reach her. Reassure her. Ruin her for anyone else who’d ever dare try to love her this way.

Their skin slid together, slick with sweat and friction. Her breath came in soft little gasps, lips parted, eyelids fluttering as pleasure built sharp and slow in her belly.

He kissed her everywhere—her cheek, her throat, the spot behind her ear that made her hips jerk. His mouth moved down to her collarbone, open and wet, tongue tracing the ridge before he sucked gently, leaving a faint red mark that would blossom into a bruise.

His name spilled out of her mouth over and over—sometimes a whisper, sometimes a moan, sometimes just a broken sound she didn’t know how to shape.

“I love you,” he said into her skin, between thrusts, like a prayer. “I love you. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Her fingers slid into his hair, pulling him closer until their mouths met again—sloppy and desperate now, all teeth and tongue and emotion too big to hold.

He moved deeper, slower, hips grinding into hers just right, the angle of each thrust making her thighs tremble, her hands fist in the cushions, her breath catch in her throat.

The build was unbearable.

And still—he didn’t speed up.

He kissed her like he had nowhere else to be. Like there was no world outside this room. No fire still crackling behind them. No argument. No pain. Just her and the way her body gripped his and begged him not to stop.

“I need—” she gasped. “Austin, I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby. I’ve got you,” he whispered, his forehead pressed to hers, eyes wide open and locked on hers like he needed to see her fall apart.

She came with a cry that was all throat and surrender, legs tightening, hips lifting, body shaking. Her orgasm tore through her like a wave—endless, aching, all-consuming.

And as she clenched around him, pulling him deeper into the tremors, he groaned—low and deep—grinding against her once, twice more before he came with a curse against her mouth, his release slow and hot and holy.

They didn’t separate.

Didn’t untangle.

He stayed inside her, their bodies still joined, her heartbeat fluttering under his hand where it rested just below her breast. He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth—so soft, so gentle now.

“Still with me?” he whispered, brushing back her hair.

“Always,” she murmured, voice wrecked, lips swollen.

He smiled. Kissed her again.

And held her there, in the quiet, in the glow of the firelight, where nothing could touch them except the echo of I’m yours. You’re mine. Still. Always.

She was still trembling when she whispered it.

“Wanna try something.”

Austin paused. His thumb was still circling the slick mess between her thighs, and he leaned in close, catching the shift in her tone.

“Yeah?” he murmured, low and rasped. “Tell me.”

She swallowed. Her cheeks were already flushed, her lips swollen from his kisses, her thighs still sticky from the way he’d just had her crying into the pillows.

“I want you…” She bit her lip. “Back there.”

Time slowed.

Austin blinked, then stilled completely—his eyes dropping to her parted lips, then lower, to the flushed curve of her ass. Her voice was shy, but the look in her eyes? That was brave. That was a gift.

“Holy fuck,” he muttered. “You sure, baby?”

She nodded. “I want to be all yours.”

And just like that—his control snapped.

He didn’t rush. He dragged her over his lap, one hand spreading her open while the other reached for the drawer. She heard the lube bottle open, the squelch of it hitting his palm, and then—

Cool. A long, slow drizzle of lube poured between her cheeks.

She gasped.

Austin grinned.

“That’s it,” he purred, rubbing it in, slow and firm. “Gettin’ you nice and wet for me. Can’t just shove it in like some dumbfuck rookie.”

His fingers worked her open gently—obscenely slick, the lube making every stroke, every press, soaked. When the pad of his finger circled her rim, she twitched, breath hitching. He leaned down, lips brushing her spine.

“Let me in, baby. C’mon, open up f’me.”

She moaned—needy, high-pitched—and he slid the first finger in, watching with dark, reverent eyes as her tight heat gripped him.

“Fuck. So tight. You’re squeezin’ the hell outta me.”

He worked her open—one finger, then two—slow pumps, twisting gently, until her moans turned into cries, her body pressing back into him shamelessly.

“That’s it. My filthy little angel.” He kissed her neck. “Gettin’ ruined for me like it’s what you were fuckin’ made for.”

She whimpered. “Please, Austin. Want you in me.”

He slicked up his cock—coated it—lube dripping down his shaft as he lined up behind her. Her body was trembling, her hands clenched in the cushions. Her pussy was still wet, twitching, aching.

“Stay still,” he growled. “Let me stretch this perfect fuckin’ hole.”

And then—he pushed in.

The stretch was blinding—hot, slow, filthy. She gasped, back arching, lips falling open in a silent moan.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Take it. Take it all. You’re doin’ so good, baby.”

She sobbed—pure sensation wrecking her.

“You feel me?” he growled. “Feel how deep I am? This ass is mine now, you fuckin’ hear me?”

She nodded, tears in her eyes from how full she felt.

“Say it,” he demanded, snapping his hips once, hard enough to make her jolt. “Say whose you are.”

“I’m yours,” she cried. “Yours, Austin. All yours—oh, God—”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ are.”

He started moving—slow at first, making her feel every inch. The lube made it slick and sinful, every thrust loud and wet, her whimpers echoing off the walls. He reached around and grabbed her throat—gently, a hand there to steady her, thumb brushing her jaw.

“Look at you,” he murmured in her ear. “All cock-drunk on somethin’ you weren’t even ready for ten minutes ago. You’re fuckin’ perfect.”

He circled her clit again, watching her come apart.

“You gonna come for me?” he asked, grinding deep. “Gonna make a mess while I’m buried in this tight little hole?”

“Yes—yes, I’m gonna—fuck—”

She shattered—loud, shaking, undone. Her body clamped down, rippling around him, and he fucked her through it, biting down on her shoulder to muffle his own moan.

When he came, it was rough and raw—hips stuttering, cock pulsing, lube and come leaking out around the seal of her ass.

He didn’t pull out right away.

Instead, he kissed her cheek, then her shoulder, then her spine.

“Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head, still trembling.

He smirked.

“Good girl.”

He was still buried in her when the tremors started to settle. Her body had gone lax—shaking slightly, breaths uneven, a flush creeping down her spine as the fire crackled in the distance.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice thick, reverent. “You’re somethin’ else.”

And then, without warning—he pulled out.

She gasped, hips twitching from the loss of him, the leak already starting down her thighs, warm and filthy. But before she could even catch her breath, he gripped her waist and dragged her back—gently, firmly—until she was spread over the arm of the couch, legs trembling.

“Wait—A-Austin—what’re you—”

He was already dropping to his knees.

“You didn’t think I was done,” he growled, breath hot against her swollen, wrecked heat. “Not when you’re drippin’ like that.”

And then—

his mouth was on her.

No warning. No hesitation. Just hot, wet, sloppy worship.

He licked up everything—everything—his tongue slow and flat, dragging up from her pulsing pussy to the soft mess leaking from her back hole. His groan was guttural, deep in his chest, like he was tasting something sacred.

“Fuckin’ ruined,” he murmured against her, licking messily. “Can’t believe how good you taste.”

She choked on a moan, hands clutching the cushions like a lifeline.

Austin’s grip tightened on her hips. He spread her wider, tongue sliding between her folds like he was starving, sucking her clit with practiced precision before flicking it, then dragging his tongue down again to where his come was leaking out of her.

“You feel that?” he rasped, licking up his own mess. “That’s mine. Soaked in it. Filled you so deep you’re still dripping.”

She moaned shamelessly, trying to shift—but his hands were iron.

“Oh no,” he said darkly, pulling her hips back again. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

He dove back in, this time using his tongue and two fingers—curling them deep, lips suctioning around her swollen clit while his thumb rubbed slow, slick circles against the messier part of her. Messy, nasty, perfect.

“Gonna make you come again,” he grunted, voice muffled by her. “Wanna taste you fall apart.”

“Austin—A-Austin I can’t—”

“You can.” His voice was low, possessive. “You will. I said I wasn’t done.”

He pushed deeper, sucked harder, and she screamed into the cushions, coming so violently her whole body seized. Her thighs shook. Her voice broke. Her vision blurred.

And still, he didn’t stop.

He kissed her through it. Licked up every aftershock. Kept murmuring “mine” between each stroke of his tongue until she was limp, drooling, wrecked.

When he finally pulled away, his lips were shiny, his voice thick with worship.

“Sweetest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Her body was still flushed—skin dewy, lips kiss-swollen, thighs slick with the aftermath of everything he’d given her. But she wasn’t done. Not even close.

She blinked up at him, eyes glassy with exhaustion and need, and whispered, “Sit down.”

Austin was still catching his breath, chest heaving, one hand dragging through his hair. “Baby—”

“I wanna taste you.”

That shut him up. Instantly.

She pushed at his thigh until he dropped back onto the couch, still sticky and softening—but not for long. Not with the way she looked at him. Not with that raw hunger in her eyes. Not when she crawled between his legs like that—messy and radiant, fingers tracing the trail of lube and come down his length with reverence.

She licked it—slow, one stripe from base to tip, eyes never leaving his.

“You’re such a fuckin’ problem,” he muttered, hand falling into her hair.

“Say thank you,” she whispered, licking again, tongue tracing the underside of him like she was committing it to memory.

“Thank you,” he rasped. “Jesus.”

She smiled, then swallowed him whole.

He let out a choked moan, hips jerking forward—but she held him down with one hand on his thigh, the other wrapped around the base of his cock as she bobbed her head, slow at first. Worshipful. Taking her time. Letting him feel the wet, velvet heat of her mouth, the way her tongue circled him on the way back up, her lips popping off the head with a soft, sinful sound.

“Look at you,” he groaned, voice wrecked. “Such a good girl—fuck—suckin’ me clean after I filled you up.”

She whimpered around him, taking him deeper, until tears welled in her eyes and spit dripped from her chin.

“You want me to come in that pretty mouth?” he asked, low and dangerous. “Or you want it all over that sweet fuckin’ face?”

She pulled off with a gasp, blinking up at him, lips swollen. “Whatever you want.”

He clenched his jaw. “Goddamn.”

Then she was on him again—faster now, hand and mouth working together in perfect rhythm, a filthy wet symphony as his hips began to stutter.

“Just like that,” he gasped. “That’s it, baby. Fuck—you’re gonna make me—”

He groaned, long and low, as he came—hot and thick, spilling across her tongue and lips. She swallowed once. Twice. Let the rest drip down her chin, her throat, her chest.

And smiled.

He stared at her, wrecked. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

She licked her lips and sat back on her heels, glowing.

“Good,” she whispered. “Die madly in love, then.”

She was still on her knees—messy, blinking, glowing—but the tremble in her thighs told him she was spent. Not just satisfied. Spent.

Austin reached for her the second she sat back on her heels, pulling her up into his lap like she weighed nothing. Her skin was warm, flushed, sticky where their bodies had met over and over again. But he didn’t care about the mess. He tucked her into him like she was made to fit there, pressing kisses to her temple, her shoulder, the damp curve of her neck.

“You okay, baby?” he asked softly, brushing the hair out of her eyes.

She nodded, eyes still dazed. “Mmhm.”

But he didn’t take that for granted. He kissed the top of her head. “Color?”

She breathed out a tiny laugh—touched by how serious he was about checking in, even now. “Green.”

He relaxed. “Good girl.”

Then he was on his feet, carrying her bridal style straight to the bathroom. The lights were dim, the air still heavy with heat and sweat and firelight. He nudged the faucet with his knee and started running the bath, his chin tucked over her shoulder, murmuring to her as the water filled the tub.

“You were perfect, you know that?” She smiled, half-asleep on his shoulder. “So fuckin’ perfect for me,” he added, setting her down on the edge of the tub.

When he undressed her—what little clothing remained—he did it gently. No rush. No hunger left in him. Just soft fingers, tracing bruises and bite marks like they were precious. He helped her in first, then slipped in behind her, settling her between his legs. His arms came around her like instinct.

The water was hot. Her breath hitched.

But then she melted.

Austin pressed his lips to the top of her spine, rubbing her thighs under the water, then her hips, then her arms—gentle, circular motions. Her breath evened out. Her head fell back against his chest.

“Talk to me,” he whispered, his voice barely there. “Need to know you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” she said softly. “More than okay. I just… I feel full. Loved.”

He smiled into her damp hair. “You are.”

They sat like that for a while—his fingers still moving, rinsing the sweat and lube and come from her skin, brushing over her body like he was trying to memorize it all over again.

Eventually, he reached for the soap, lathered it up in his hands, and washed her. Her arms, her neck, her thighs. Between her legs, with reverence. Not arousal. Just care.

And when they got out, he wrapped her in the softest towel they’d brought, pulled her back to bed, and tucked her under the sheets. Clean skin, warm limbs, her body folded into his again like she’d never left.

He kissed her slow this time—no urgency. Just lips to lips, over and over.

“You’re mine, you know,” he murmured. “Not just when I fuck you. Always.”

She nodded, barely conscious, fingers curled against his chest.

“Yours,” she whispered. “Always.

He didn’t crawl into bed right away.

She was tucked beneath the comforter, her body still warm and pliant from the bath, her lashes fluttering, that post-bliss daze softening every line in her face. But Austin didn’t move to join her—not yet.

He dropped to his knees at the foot of the bed.

And she noticed. Her brow knit, just faintly. “Austin… what are you doing?”

He didn’t answer with words—not at first. Instead, he reached for the cocoa butter lotion, uncapped it quietly, and began rubbing it between his hands. The scent rose up—warm, nostalgic, soft. It smelled like safety. Like something that had existed long before him, but something he wanted to be part of now.

Then he lifted one of her legs, cradling her foot in his lap like it was something delicate. Sacred.

“You don’t have to do that,” she whispered.

“I know.” His voice was low, near reverent. “But I want to.”

His fingers began working the lotion into her foot—slow, strong strokes over the arch, the heel, the ball. Every pass of his thumbs said: I see you. I’m sorry. I’m still here.

He looked down at what he was doing like her skin deserved all his attention. Like the act of soothing her was more holy than any apology. And maybe it was.

“I hate when we fight,” he murmured, not looking up. “Not ‘cause we don’t bounce back. But because I know what happens in your head when we do.”

Her throat tightened.

“You go quiet,” he went on. “You start thinkin’ I don’t want you anymore. That you’re too complicated. That I’m regrettin’ all this.”

He moved up to her ankle, thumbs pressing in gentle, firm circles.

“But that’s not true,” he said. “Not for a single second.”

He brought her foot to his lips, kissed the inside of her ankle—slow, lips lingering like a vow. Then set it down carefully and took the other.

“You don’t have to be easy to love for me to stay,” he whispered, working the lotion into her other foot, her toes, the softest parts of her. “You don’t have to shrink your fear. Or hold back what you need. You think I don’t wanna hear it, but baby…”

Now he looked up.

“I want every fucking messy piece of you.”

Her lip trembled.

“I want the girl who spirals sometimes. Who needs to be held a little tighter. Who needs me to say it again, and again, and again.”

He kissed her shin. Her knee. The inside of her thigh. Not to start something, but to finish what they began—to love her through the cracks, the silence, the aftermath of not knowing how to ask.

He moved up the bed, pulled the covers back, and finally—finally—gathered her into his arms like she was something he’d nearly lost.

And she melted. Instantly. Her cheek pressed to his chest. Her fingers curled into his shirt like she couldn’t bear the idea of space between them. Not now. Not again.

He held her like she was breakable and beloved. And then he whispered, lips at her temple:

“I love you. I love you when you’re sweet. I love you when you’re scared. I love you when you shut down. And I love you even when it’s hard.”

She swallowed hard. “Say it again?”

He cupped her jaw, tilted her chin gently, kissed the tear from the corner of her eye.

“I love you,” he said again. Slower this time. Deeper. “I’m proud of you. You don’t scare me. You’ll never scare me. And I’m not going anywhere.”

She fit against him like she was made to be there.

Curled on her side, legs tangled in his, face tucked beneath his chin, the soft sighs that slipped from her lips were the kind that only came after being loved fully—through the ache, the apology, the silence and the surrender. She had nothing left to hold up now. No shield. No sharp edges. Just soft skin and raw honesty, wrapped in warm sheets and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her cheek.

And he—he didn’t let go.

One arm lay snug around her back, the other traced lazy, featherlight lines up and down her spine, fingertips brushing the bumps of her vertebrae like a devotion. He was whispering still. Words that meant everything and nothing at once, the kinds of things you say when someone’s already asleep but you say them anyway—because they need to be said. Because she needed to hear them, even if only in her dreams.

“I’m right here, baby,” he murmured. “You’re safe.” “You’re not too much.” “You’re my girl.”

The quiet pressed in all around them. Outside, the wind danced gently through the redwoods. The fire had burned down to embers, its glow a soft flicker in the distance. But in this bed—in his arms—she was wrapped in something warmer than flame.

Her breath began to slow. So did the faint twitch of her fingers that had clung so desperately to his shirt just minutes ago. Her lips parted slightly. Her lashes fluttered. And then… peace. Sleep, slow and heavy, finally claimed her.

He felt the shift.

The way her muscles melted fully into him. The way she exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for days. The way she pressed her thigh tighter over his hip in sleep, even unconsciously seeking him out.

And God—if his heart didn’t crack open just watching her.

Austin didn’t sleep right away. He couldn’t. Not with how perfect she looked like this. Wrecked and clean. Loved and vulnerable. A girl who’d peeled herself open for him and let him love every scared, stubborn, beautiful part.

He studied the faint glow of her skin in the dark. The crease of her brow, now smoothed. The smudge of cocoa butter still lingering behind her ear. The place at her throat where her pulse fluttered like a secret only he knew.

She was still here. Still his.

He kissed her there—just below her jaw, where her skin was warm and familiar—and whispered, softer this time, almost like he was telling the night itself:

“You’re mine. Not just tonight. Every night.”

And then he wrapped both arms around her, tucked her close like a prayer, and closed his eyes.

Not to sleep. But to rest. Finally.

[pftones3482]

Happy Pride Month!

Combined today's Spirit Week Prompt (Friend Group Without the Flynn-Fletchers) with @howtonerdoutovereverything's Revival Challenge prompt of the day (Pride). This is the combo I was MOST looking forward to doing when I was comparing the two lists.

Find the fic here on AO3, or read it without an AO3 account under the cut below!

~~

“All right girls, hoist it higher!” Isabella hollered between her cupped hands, watching with an amused smile as her troop heaved on the rope holding their logo to the top of the float. “Gretchen, Katie, secure it to the post!"

"On it, Chief!” Katie yelled down, scrambling up the float with her drill, Gretchen following her with the toolbox.

Isabella stepped back, glancing down at her clipboard and eyeing the schematic they’d plotted out weeks ago. It was the morning of the Danville Pride Parade, and Troop 46231 had signed up two months prior to be included in the Fireside portion of the march. She knew Phineas and Ferb were around somewhere – they’d helped build several of the floats for the parade – but for right now, it was just her and her girls, and they had some last-minute float things to get done. Like putting their troop number, painted rainbow colors, at the top.

“Got it, Isabella!”

She waved at Katie to acknowledge she’d heard her. “Great! Let’s clean up and get ready for the starting line!”

Isabella set her notes aside, taking a breath and glancing down at her uniform. They were all wearing them, as per Fireside Girl protocol, but some of the other girls had switched out their sashes for their own pride flags. Milly was tying an ace one around her shoulders, Holly the lesbian pride flag, Adyson the trans one. The rest of her troop was decked out in the standard pride flag, and Isabella had been planning to do that too. Already had her button on, in fact.

But.

“Oh, the float came out wonderful!” came Baljeet’s voice behind her.

She turned, grinning, to find him and Buford walking up. “Thanks! It took a lot of work – we’re really proud of it.”

“Eh,” Buford muttered, squinting up at it. “Could’ve been bigger.”

Baljeet slapped him on the chest. “Nonsense, do not listen to him.”

Isabella snorted and crossed her arms, cocking her hip. “Never do,” she said, accepting Baljeet’s offer of a fist bump. She eyed Baljeet’s outfit, the casual dark tee and the original pride flag design, complete with lavender, turquoise, and dark pink, draped across his shoulders. Buford was in his normal clothes, a single bi flag painted on one cheek. “You guys sitting on the sidelines or walking in the parade?”

Her smile widened, just a little, as Baljeet laced his fingers with Buford’s – they’d been dating for the whole spring semester, and it never got old to her. “We are going to sit on the sidelines – someone will try and beat up the protestors if we walk.”

“They deserve it.”

“I agree, but you do not need anything else on your record when we are only one year away from graduating.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Baljeet looked back at Isabella, eyes flickering behind her to the troop before he lifted a brow. “Are you not going to wear a pride flag?”

“I am!” she protested, tugging on the massive button adorning her sash. Her stomach coiled, just a little, and Baljeet tilted his head with a flash of sympathy in his eyes.

“You know what I mean – are you not wearing your flag?”

Isabella swallowed and eyed her backpack on the bench. In it sat a massive pan flag, one she’d brought in case she got the guts to wear it. It wasn’t that she wasn’t proud of herself – she was. Her girls were, all of her friends were, had been nothing but supportive. It'd be crazy if they weren't - they'd been coming out to each other since basically the first year of highschool, if not sooner in some cases. But-

“I just…” She paused, looking down at the parking lot pavement under her and shoving a toe against it.

“You still ain’t told your ma?”

When she looked up, Baljeet’s nose was wrinkled, but he’d long since stopped trying to get Buford to stop using contractions. “No,” she admitted. She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, curling into herself. “She’s watching, and she’s supportive of everyone else. Hell, she was one of Adyson's biggest cheerleaders back in elementary school, so I don’t know why…”

Baljeet’s hand settled on her shoulder, gentle, and he squeezed. Isabella didn’t remember him getting taller than her, but she had to peek up to look him in the eyes. “It is scary. It took me a very long time to tell my parents, and it was emotional even though I knew they loved me. There is always the “what if” feeling, especially when you have not known your own identity for that long.”

Isabella swallowed around the lump in her throat. She’d been out to her friends for months – telling her mom should have been the logical next step once she’d gotten through all of them. But she’d put it off, over and over again, because she just didn’t know. Her mother was her favorite person in the entire world, and the idea that she just might not support her…it was ridiculous, but it had kept her mouth shut.

Another hand settled on her other shoulder, larger and warmer, and she looked up at Buford. She hated that all the boys were taller than her now. His eyes were shockingly kind. “Your ma is like the nicest person we know. And if she don’t like it, for any reason, we’re here. All of us.”

Isabella took a shaky breath and wrapped her arms around both boys, ducking her head so that their temples all pressed together for a second. “Thanks, guys,” she whispered. Her fingers felt cold when she pulled back, and she twisted away from the couple and dug into her bag, pulling out the flag from the pocket.

It unfolded in her hands, fabric tumbling to the ground, and she rubbed a careful thumb over the stripes of pink, blue, and yellow before swinging the whole flag around her body and draping it across her shoulders. With slightly trembling fingers, she tied a careful knot in the cape at her throat, letting the cool fabric fall over her back.

From behind her, whoops and cheers rang out, and she shot a playful glower at the Fireside Girls, who were whistling and giving her thumbs up from their stations across the pride float. “Oh shut it, you guys.”

“Proud of you, Chief!” Ginger hollered.

Her smile won out over her desire to playfully flip them off, and Isabella twisted back to Buford and Baljeet, taking a breath. “Thanks,” she said again, keeping her voice soft. “Where will you be standing?”

“Ah, over by City Hall. Our parents are already there, so we will wave at you.” Baljeet paused his speech, taking Buford’s hand again. “Are Phineas and Ferb riding your float?”

She shook her head. “I think they’re on one of the first ones, for the school. So you’ll see them before us.”

Baljeet nodded. “Perfect. We will meet up with all of you afterwards and go through the festival!”

Isabella smiled and fiddled with the edge of the flag, rubbing her fingers across the edges like a stim toy. “I’d really like that.”

They left with a wave, and Isabella grabbed her backpack before letting Milly and Holly hoist her up onto the parade float. Her troop surrounded her, colors bright, and Isabella felt warmth bloom in her chest, pride and gratefulness at having the literal best friends in the world. “All right, girls. Who’s ready for the most amazing pride parade Danville’s ever seen?”

The girls whooped around her, moving to their positions, and Isabella took her place at the front of the float with Adyson, gripping the railing to keep from falling over the edge. Around them, the music for the parade started up, loud and pop heavy, and she shut her eyes for a second, just letting herself breathe.

“You good, Is?” Adyson whispered, leaning in close so that it was as private a conversation as it could be.

Isabella bumped into Adyson’s shoulder as the float shifted, and their capes billowed back in the wind. She opened her eyes. “I’m great,” she said, and she’d never been more certain.

Well, except for later on, when she caught her mother’s gaze in the crowd and found the brightest, most accepting smile she could have ever asked for.

[teddybearsandspaceships]

Thursday night stabby! Some of my many favorite moments from Scar´s Among Us stream:

Cat delivery service, and Finney tries to eat the microphone

First game: desertduo impostors! Scar killing Jimmy with “I´m the sheriff now” xDD and went on a rampage, he got so many kills and they won with only one body found ^^

That time Scar and Jimmy were in one room and started valley girl-ing again, Scar mentioned Becky and Jimmy said “Becky´s dead” and killed him

The round after that, Scar couldn´t make himself kill Jimmy because Jimmy did a funny voice

That time Scar and Gem were impostors, Scar died pretty much immediately, and Gem won on her own after playing Pearl like a fiddle while the ghosts all screamed.

The round after that where Grian said he would help the impostor kill Gem, Gem said Pearl would never betray Impulse for a second time in a row because soup group, and Grian told Scar that Jimmy had revealed to him he was the impostor, only for both of them to wait so long that the impostors still won.

That round after that when Scar and Pearl were impostors, Scar offered Grian to kill someone for him, Ren walked in on them and Scar accidentally killed Grian instead of Ren, and then managed to successfully convince everyone to kill Ren instead and ended up winning

Grian´s giddy sounds after winning a round with Ren!

That time Scar killed Impulse and then accidentally pushed the report button

Everyone is in the lobby, Grian kills Jimmy, self-reports, and starts with “we´re going to have an argument here…” and yet there´s still an argument because suddenly people aren´t sure what they saw because Grian says it was False, Scar is so confused.

Cleo joined! And joined the valley girls! And Grian correctly identified Scar as an impostor even before the first kill for catching him saying “I need to meet up with-“ just from his tone of voice, and Scar said it was a valley girl thing and everyone killed Grian instead. And then Scar killed Jimmy xD Grian was so indignant.

Impulse and Skizz as an impostor duo won before anyone even realized they were all suffocating

Next round, Jimmy kills Scar and Scar just goes “I deserved that.” Jimmy also killed Skizz and then apologized to him, but almost forgot to apologize to Scar too ^^ Grian correctly sussed out Jimmy for self-reporting often.

Grian starting a report like a fireside story ^^ aaand getting ejected even though he was right. Meanwhile, Scar, who was ejected right before finishing his last task, is on protest as a ghost and doesn´t finish but tries to convince other ghosts to talk Disney with him. And Scar not doing that task was probably why the crewmates lost xD

[doumachi]

Our cutie Mey mey, let me tell you about Prince Soobin falling in love with the girl who keeps the fires lit in the palace.

He catches glimpses of her throughout the day as he goes about his duties, sees her rushing through halls and corridors to each room that needs tending. At night, when he's finally got the time to himself to be in his room, her tentative knock at the door allows him a smile. She's supposed to have had the fire seen to before he's returned from dinner, but she was held up somewhere or other.

Apologising profusely, bumbling shyly and sweetly, Prince Soobin finds it hard to keep his dimples at bay. He stands from the moment she enters the room, a gesture usually reserved for nobles and royals, not servants, and this makes her more bashful and hurried.

He finds it adorable when she turns from the fireplace, which is now aglow and ready to keep him warm for the night, with smudges of charcoal from her hand on her face. She tries to refuse when he offers her his handkerchief, but he insists. He tells her she knows where to find him if she feels the need to return it later, but he doesn't really mind if he doesn't get it back.

Inspired by your Prince Yeonjun drabble and the term "charwoman" which I first came across yesterday in the blurb of a book af the library >3<

oh my gosh ceecee this is so cute stop 🥹 i love this sm :((

ur cuter!

prince soobin's heart skipped a beat whenever he caught a glimpse of you. the way you moved with grace, tending to the fires, fascinated him. he found himself stealing glances, hoping you wouldn't notice his growing affection.

soon, he found himself seeking any opportunity to spend time with you. he would offer to carry firewood, just to be near you. and as they worked side by side, he discovered your kindness, your wit, and your warm heart.

with each passing day, his crush grew stronger. soobin found himself daydreaming about your smile, your laughter, and the way your eyes lit up when she talked about her dreams. he couldn't deny the fluttering feeling in his chest whenever he was near you.

he discovered the little things that made his heart flutter.

he adored the way your cheeks turned rosy whenever you would sit in-front of the fire too long, and how your eyes sparkled like embers in the firelight. your gentle touch as she handed him a warm cup of tea sent shivers down his spine.

soobin found himself seeking solace in your presence, finding comfort in the way you listened to his worries and confided in him with your own. you two would often sit by the fireside, talking for hours about everything and nothing, conversations filled with laughter and genuine connection.

prince soobin cant help but notice the way you carried yourself with strength and grace.

he admired your dedication to your craft, the way you tended to the fires with such care and precision. it was in those moments that he realized how much he respected you.

every time your hands accidentally brushed or your eyes met, soobin's heart raced. he longed to hold your hand, to feel the warmth of your touch, and to tell you how you had become the light in his life.

as the fire crackles and the flames dance, soobin watches you with awe. he can't help but find you even more enchanting with those smudges of charcoal on your face. its a testament to your dedication and hard work in tending to the fire, making sure it keeps him warm and cozy for the night.

with a gentle smile, he offers you his handkerchief to wipe away the charcoal marks. at first, you try to refuse his kind gesture, but he insists. He wants to take care of you, even in the smallest ways.

as he hands you the handkerchief, he playfully teases you, saying that you know where to find him if you ever feels the need to return it. but deep down, he doesn't really mind if he doesn't get it back. it's his way of showing you that he's there for you, that he's willing to give without expecting anything in return.

but at the same time he hopes you do return it, just so he gets to see you again :))

[atlastransport]

Many celebrities live in Oxfordshire. Grab the opportunity and Make it Yours Too

Despite being registered in bad books of records, Oxfordshire is a name that does not require any introduction to anyone. As it accommodates residents of many cities, religions, and races, many celebrities have chosen it as a perfect place to live in.

If you are a family man or a single person wanting to relocate to Oxfordshire for better cost of living standards, you might have the opportunity to meet these celebrities or become their neighbour too.

We are removals in Luton running our well-established removals company in the name of Atlas Transporte Ltd to move your belongings to Oxfordshire or any other place, suburb, or city.

We have a well-studied list of celebrities who have made Oxfordshire their locality. Though it might be true that they are there either on an occasional or permanent basis.

Jeremy Irons

He has been awarded many times for film awards and has been famous for acting in TV serials as an English actor. His name is also known in South Oxfordshire. His most renowned Hollywood films are Reversal of Fortune, Die Hard with a Vengeance, Kingdom of Heaven etc.

He has acted vividly the characters of Professor Higgins in My Fair Lady King Athur in the film Camelot.

He loves to live in Oxfordshire and enjoy the tourist places over there. He is also popular among the local people by involving himself in various local initiatives. Irons is also a co-founding member of Watlington Welcome, an NGO group focusing on community support. He has also helped an Ukrainian refugee family by providing them with refurbished accommodation support.

George & Amal Clooney

Profession: George is an Oscar-winning actor, director, and philanthropist. Amal is an internationally acclaimed human rights lawyer.

Oxfordshire Life: The Clooneys reside in a stunning Grade II-listed mansion in the village of Sonning-on-Thames.

Why They Love Oxfordshire: The couple enjoys the peaceful countryside, riverfront views, and privacy the area offers. Despite their global fame, they’re often spotted enjoying local pubs, village events, and riverside walks. They’ve spoken highly of the local charm and sense of community.

Fun Fact: Their home includes a private cinema, pool, and even a security house for full-time protection.

David & Victoria Beckham

Profession: David is a football legend and entrepreneur. Victoria is a globally renowned fashion designer and former member of the Spice Girls.

Oxfordshire Life: The Beckhams own a £6 million converted barn estate in the Cotswolds region of Oxfordshire.

Why They Love Oxfordshire: They appreciate the balance of luxury and rural tranquillity. The area provides a peaceful retreat from London while still being close enough for work and events. They often share social media posts enjoying their estate's vast gardens, fireside gatherings, and family dinners.

Fun Fact: Their estate includes a wine cellar, a football pitch, and a wellness barn.

 Jeremy Clarkson

Profession: Television presenter and journalist best known for Top Gear and The Grand Tour.

Oxfordshire Life: Clarkson owns and operates Diddly Squat Farm in Chadlington, Oxfordshire.

Why He Loves Oxfordshire: His love for the countryside has grown since starting his farming venture. Though initially humorous about the challenges, Clarkson has become a proud advocate for rural life and has shown real affection for the local area through his Amazon Prime show Clarkson’s Farm.

Fun Fact: His farm shop has become a major tourist attraction, with visitors from across the UK hoping for a glimpse of him or his famous farm produce.

 Florence Pugh

Profession: Acclaimed actress known for films like Little Women, Midsommar, and Oppenheimer.

Oxfordshire Life: Born and raised in Oxford, Florence remains connected to her roots and visits frequently.

Why She Loves Oxfordshire: Florence often speaks fondly of her upbringing in Oxford, crediting the town’s creative energy and community spirit for shaping her as an actress. She enjoys the balance of academic atmosphere and artistic freedom the city offers.

Fun Fact: Her early roles in local theatre helped launch her Hollywood career.

 Philip Pullman

Profession: Best-selling author of His Dark Materials and The Book of Dust series.

Oxfordshire Life: Pullman has lived in Oxford for decades and continues to write from his home in the area.

Why He Loves Oxfordshire: Oxford has served as both home and muse. Many of his books are set in or inspired by the city’s magical atmosphere, historic buildings, and academic backdrop. Pullman has long supported local arts and literary projects.

Fun Fact: Lyra’s Oxford, a companion book to His Dark Materials, was written as a love letter to the city.

 Tim Burton

Profession: Visionary film director known for Edward Scissorhands, The Nightmare Before Christmas, Beetlejuice, and more.

Oxfordshire Life: Tim Burton has spent time living in a countryside retreat near Oxford with his then-partner Helena Bonham Carter.

Why He Loves Oxfordshire: The gothic charm and lush landscape align perfectly with his unique artistic vision. The peaceful setting offers him creative space away from Hollywood’s chaos. Burton has expressed admiration for the area's history, quirkiness, and beauty.

Fun Fact: Several of his films draw inspiration from England’s haunting landscapes and historical textures, much like those found in Oxfordshire.

[lonely-lost-soul]

Under the Floorboards

(Technoblade x Reader) link to Pt. II :)

Picking up a bundle of wood you let out a soft breath, you watched as it escaped out your lips in front of you in a small cloud. Trudging through the snow you made your way back to your house, well it wasn’t really your house. A few months ago you ran into Technoblade while he was searching for a new home far away from this place called L’manburg; he told you he was in retirement and was surprised to find another person all the way out here. As a wandering adventurer, you eventually won him over with your charm, wit, and humor.

That was a joke of course.

You both started a mutual trade agreement, on your way back from the adventures you’d always take a pit stop at his place so he could see if you had anything worth trading. It started slow, he realized you would come back very late at night, and very weary. He offered you to stay the night once, then once turned into twice and before you knew it you began to stay at his place after every late-night adventure. As you spent more time together he helped you become a better fighter, and farmer and you helped him learn social skills and how to cook food that wasn’t steak.

He never told you about his time in the country of L’manburg or why he was in retirement in the first place but you didn’t mind. Everyone has their secrets and even if both of you were considered friends at this point you never pried. Not even when you’d catch him mumbling to himself about chat, or the bloodthirsty look in his eyes after he killed an animal. You kept your mouth shut out of respect, you could tell he appreciated the gesture.

You earned yourself a friendship emerald after he introduced you to his oldest friend Philza, the man treated you like you were his family. It made you feel wanted and welcome, Techno had a little smile on his face the entire interaction as the both of you bonded. In his mind he was ecstatic his two favorite people were getting along. Techno walked Philza out of the house and returned holding an emerald out to you, you knew how valuable these emerald were to him. You were in such shock and awe you almost started crying which caused him to panic.

“I’ll treasure it with my life.” You told him kissing said emerald gently, blush spread across his pale face to his pointed ears.

“I’m glad.” He rubbed the back of his neck, “Chat- chat stop I’m not simp.” You heard him whisper hiss softly but you ignored it, choosing to smile at him instead. He noticed and his blush only deepened. You took his hand, it was so small intertwined in his own, and squeezed it softly.

Eventually, the both of you grew closer than just friends which understandably scared the half pigman to death. You caught him mumbling to himself more frequently, especially when you both were out fighting monsters and gaining experience.

Things like: “I’m not a simp” and “Calm down I’m gonna protect her” as well as “I can’t just say that!” Were very frequent mumblings of his, your brow furrowed and after fighting a baby zombie you turned towards him,

“Hey Technoblade you doing okay?”

“Yes!” He sputtered out reassuring you that he was just fine by saving you from a Skeleton.

You two watched the sunset that same day from on top of a snowy mountain and he confessed to you. The confession was a bit rough around the edges but then again so was he, so to you, it was perfect. You took his hands to get him to stop rambling and kissed his knuckles. He made an embarrassed sound and looked away from you, you cooed teasingly at him and accepted. From then on you both were attached at the hip, well as attached as he’d let you be there was still that level of awkwardness that came with any new relationships but it was wonderful. You’d both spent hours by the fireside as he read to you, you’d help him care for Carl and get enchanted books all the while you were in awe of this magnificent and mysterious man before you.

Shaking your head smiling to yourself you trudged back to his house, the emerald around your neck bounced in tandem with your steps. Technoblade never liked leaving you alone, you reminded him constantly that you had a life before he was in it but he still seemed to be on edge. You figured it had something to do with his past so you did your best to reassure him that you’d be safe when he was away; Techo seemed to appreciate your efforts at least. Whenever he got back from what you assumed was visiting Phil (after all, Carl was gone), you were going to run him a bath and braid his hair the way he liked. Maybe you’d make him a nice dinner then you’d both fall asleep together while reading. It’d earn you some soft kisses and snuggles later, you giggled to yourself as you put away the wood. If you told anyone else this giant of a man, who you’ve seen wipe out hordes of monsters like it was nothing, loves to be cuddled at night they’d call you insane.

You wandered down into the basement to feed his cow but the sound of a blocks-breaking startled you out of your daydream. You whipped around pulling out your sword in the way Technoblade showed you and came face to face with a blonde child peeking out from the floorboards.

“What the FUCK?!” You both shrieked at one another, he moved to try and scramble back down the hole. You followed him down his ladder, you weren’t going to let this child get away with living under your boyfriends’ house so easily. You backed him into a corner and took note of his beat-up appearance and his attempts to look brave as he held up his hands. Sweat gathered on his brow but you didn’t let your guard down, before you could open your mouth to question him he began to talk so fast and loud you could barely keep up.

“OI, OI, OI, OI! LADY, LADY, LADY, CALM DOWNNNN CALM DOWN! SEE, SEE WE’RE BOTH IN TROUBLE CAUSE WE’RE BOTH STEALING- BORROWING FROM THE BLADE! THE BLADE KNOWS ME! I AM HIS LITTLE BROTHER, TOMMY, I AM SURE YOU’VE HEARD OF ME! THEREFOR I’M NOT DOING ANYTHING WRONG. YOU-YOU, ON THE OTHER HAND, ARE A STRANGER! YOU KNOW HE’S A BLOOD GOD RIGHT? HE’LL ABSOLUTELY KILL YOU, BUT BUT! IF WE KEEP THIS BETWEEN US I WON’T HAVE TO TELL HIM ANYTHING AT ALL FAIR? SEEMS FAIR TO ME-”

You reached your hand out to cover his mouth, your eyes narrowed into slits, “Start again. Softer and slower. Techno never told me he had a brother.” You watched the eyes of the blonde widen in surprise, assumingly at the notion that you already knew Technoblade. Slowly you removed your hand from his mouth but didn’t lower your guard. He cleared his throat, swallowing tentatively.

“I’m Tommy. We’re not related by blood- who ARE you?” he pressed still completely baffled at the appearance of a GIRL who knew Technoblade. Before you could even respond to him he let out another baffled cry. “DOES HE SIMP FOR YOU!?” He shrieked pointing at you as he waved his finger around. “THERE’S NO WAY- HE DOES HOLY SHIT!” Tommy laughed as you blinked rapidly, how was he able to read all that without you even saying anything? You were trying to process who this kid was while also being stuck on the blood god thing. You felt Tommy’s arm around your shoulders suddenly as he pulled you close. “Well, Miss Blade now that we know who you are maybe we can strike a deal-“

“Absolutely Not.”

“HEY! Come on now.” Tommy whined loudly, “I need your help here! Look I’m sure you know why he’s in hiding and all...and well...I might’ve pissed the same people off and-”

“Actually no. I didn’t know that…” You spoke softly deflating a little, “He’s in hiding? From who exactly.”

A look of shock came across Tommy’s face, “You mean...you don’t know? Like about L’manburg and his betrayal.”

“Does it sound like I know? Look Tommy you seem like a nice kid really, but you need to leave-”

“Nonononnonononono. Look it’s fine, I’ve been living here for weeks now-”

“WEEKS?” You snarled a pink flush coming to your cheeks, you grabbed the boy’s arm and began to drag him up the ladders in Techno’s house. Hee was going to kill you like actually this time. You were about to throw open the door but it swung open in front of you. Techno was standing there completely bruised and bloody and you immediately dropped Tommy in favor of him.

“Oh my god Techno what happened?” You breathed out a worried breath he was about to respond before he noticed Tommy. He grabbed you by the arm and pushed you behind him guarding you with his body.

“Tommy.” He snarled as the boy once again shrieked and booked it back down the ladder Techno turned towards you, “Stay here.” Technoblade commanded you softly the look in his eyes could only be described as desperate. “Don’t leave. Please.”

“I won’t…” You murmured watching him disappear after the British boy, you hoped he was going to explain everything to you after he dealt with the raccoon. You could hear them shouting from down below you, you couldn’t push it off any longer you needed to get answers from him.

~~~~~~

Part II maybe? Lmk if there’s an interest! Cause I love this man with my whole heart! Thanks so much for reading 🥺✨ link to Pt. II :)

[melzula]

Obstacles

~ part of the fire lilies series ~

requests: Could you write a Fire Lilies blurb where Zuko struggles with how to approach being around Princess Reader when she avoids him and/or gives him the silent treatment? // Hi- I was wondering if you could write a fire lillies blurb where, when the gaang first starts interacts with zuko, they are more protective of the reader. Simply because they know the history between the two.

a/n: the format of this is a little different than how I normally write but I think it works :)

Though Zuko had finally become a part of Team Avatar, he still found himself to be the odd one out of the group. From Katara’s cold glare to Sokka’s reluctance of being left alone with the prince, Zuko struggled to find his place amongst the group. It was odd and new and strange, but at least it was a start in the right direction, and his first step included mending things with the Princess. He had gotten her to fall in love with him once, so it couldn’t be that hard to do it again, right?

In truth, it was very hard. Zuko faced many obstacles and many set backs, and it would probably be some time before she even so much as looked at him, let alone forgave him...

~~~

Katara

Zuko watched from afar as the Princess handled her chores for the day, sitting peacefully by the fountain as she washed the clothes. Her movements were delicate but precise, the water flowing smoothly through the dirt and the grime collected on Toph’s green robes, and a faint smile graced her features as she hummed softly through the work. She was at peace and completely relaxed, more relaxed than Zuko had ever seen y/n in years. Even in Ba Sing Se there had always been a nervous edge to her, an edge she did her best to hide from Zuko, and she had almost been completely rid of it until the caves. He cringed at the thought, guilt overcoming him at the fact that she seemed so much better off without him.

“What are you doing?” Katara scowls accusingly, startling the Prince from his silent watch over y/n.

“I-“

“Y/N’s been really happy ever since she left you, and you’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you ruin that for her,” the water bender scolds harshly.

“I just want to apologize to her,” Zuko replies calmly, but Katara isn’t having it.

“A simple apology is never going to fix all the ways you’ve hurt her. Y/n deserves better, and if I ever see you make her upset or uncomfortable I won’t hesitate to step in.”

Zuko says nothing as Katara stalks away, he knows better than to get in her way when she’s angry, and when her retreating form finally disappears he looks back at the fountain.

The clothes have been washed, and the Princess is gone.

~~~

Sokka

The smell of stew was heavenly to Zuko’s rumbling tummy, and he was eager to join everyone by the fireside. Bowls had been served, seats had been chosen, and an empty spot beside the Princess was his for the taking.

“Excuse me, buddy,” Sokka chirps, patting Zuko heartily on the back before quickly sitting himself beside y/n. She smiles softly at the water tribe boy and offers him her leftovers to which he happily accepts.

Zuko deflates, choosing to sit next to Aang and enjoy his stew of failure. This isn’t the first time this has happened, and it probably won’t be the last. He knew Sokka was just protecting her, and he couldn’t be mad at him for that. Sokka had probably done more for y/n in her time with him than Zuko had ever done, who was he to blame his protectiveness?

Y/n offers to take the empty dishes to wash, and as Zuko attempts to follow after her his path is quickly blocked by Sokka.

“Listen, I know you’re trying to make things right, and while I respect that, y/n’s asked me to keep you away from her,” he explains as gently as he can. “It’s nothing personal, but I care about her and I want to make sure she feels comfortable.”

“Oh... I understand,” Zuko utters quietly. “Will you at least tell her that I love her?”

“...I’ll do my best,” Sokka replies solemnly, watching with a pang of guilt as Zuko retreats to his room for the night.

~~~

Aang

“What am I supposed to do?” Zuko groans whilst tugging at his hair.

“You know I’m a firm believer in peace, and I do think that neither of you will be happy until your issues are resolved,” Aang comments wisely. “But I also think you should never force anything. Y/n will come around in her own time when she’s ready.”

“But that could take forever!” He protests. “I’ve already been away from her long enough, and being near her but not being able to speak to her is torture.”

Both boys turn their gazes towards y/n in the distance where she carefully brush Appa’s hair and talk to him about his day. The sight is very Princess like, which is fitting since she is a Princess after all, but the sweetness of it all makes Zuko’s heart ache with longing.

“What you did wasn’t right,” Aang sighs. “And she’s still healing. But, if she truly couldn’t stand you then she wouldn’t have given her blessing to let you stay.”

“She only let me stay so I could train you,” Zuko argues.

“Okay, that’s true. But she also washes your clothes, serves you dinner, and just the other day I saw her mending a hole in your boot. She won’t talk to you, but she does still care.”

“She’s always had such a big heart,” he murmurs dejectedly. “Back when I was still hunting you y/n always went out of her way to take care of me even if I didn’t want it. I was a fool to take her for granted.”

“I really do think you guys will work it out. Just don’t force anything, and you’ll be fine,” Aang comforts, and the two continue to watch the Princess as she tends to Appa.

~~~

Toph

With a bouquet of wild flowers in hand and his hair combed in that same horrid style his Uncle had given him back in Ba Sing Se, Zuko headed to her room in hopes of finally talking to the Princess. He knew how much y/n loved flowers, and he also knew how much she loved that ridiculously dorky hairstyle, so he hoped that the two combined together would at least earn him a smile in return.

But when he arrived to her part of the temple he found that her door was barricaded with a smooth slab of rock, and sitting a few feet away from said rock was Toph. The little girl sat leaning against the wall, legs crossed over each other and hands folded behind her head.

“Sorry, sparky, boss’s orders,” she explains with a small shrug, and Zuko deflates. “Personally I think she just needs to man up and face you, but until then I’ve been put under strict orders not to let you in.”

“She really hates me, doesn’t she?” Zuko sighs, joining Toph against the wall. The flowers in his hand are beginning to droop from the lack of water, much like his demeanor from his lack of y/n.

“No, but she’s very angry,” Toph corrects. “Really sad, too. Sokka’s already been in there three times tonight.”

“Are they...?”

“Together? He wishes,” the girl scoffs. “His heartbeat picks up a beat or two sometimes when he’s with her, but he’d never make a move on her. Not when she’s so upset and he’s the only one she can talk to.”

“Yeah, well maybe they should be together,” Zuko grumbles, the flower stems charring in his hands from the sudden heat that emits from his palms. “They’re both water tribe and he obviously takes care of her better than I ever could.”

“That’s true,” Toph nods much to Zuko’s dismay. “But she doesn’t love Sokka. She loves you.”

“Loved,” Zuko corrects only for Toph to roll her eyes.

“You dunderhead,” she mutters before punching him in the shoulder. “I should just knock your heads together and make you kiss and make up right now.”

“Can you do that?” Zuko asks hopefully only to receive another punch from Toph.

“You sure do have a lot to learn, sparky.”

~~~

The Princess

The morning is quiet and calm as you rise with the sun, heading out to collect the dew on the plants of the temple so that you may use it as water for your group. Other than Momo, who sits comfortably on your shoulders, everyone is asleep, giving you some time to decompress and enjoy the solitude of the rising sun.

“Anything I can help with?”

Or so you thought. Of course Zuko would approach you now when there was no one to keep him away from you. You say nothing in response, refusing to even look at him as you set down your bucket and begin to remove the dew from the leaves.

“Y/n, please talk to me,” he begs. “Let me make it better.”

Zuko is met with silence and an eye roll. Momo chitters curiously at the Princess, receiving a head scratch in return which is more than Zuko can say.

“I never stopped thinking of you,” he says. “And I wish I could take back everything I’ve done to hurt you.”

“I don’t want your apologies,” you utter quietly. “I want you to go away.”

Hearing your voice after being met with silence for so long brings the boy to tears, and with a hesitant demeanor Zuko reaches out for you. However, at the sight of the water glowing your palms the Prince takes a step back. You’re not afraid to turn your bending on him, not anymore, and it isn’t until now that he realizes he really has hurt you, more than he could ever have imagined.

“Y/n...”

“Go. Don’t make me ask again.”

With a defeated sigh Zuko turns away and leaves the Princess to her own devices. She goes back to tending to the dew, and the Prince goes back to his room to wallow in his shame.

Both have tears streaming down their faces.

| tags: @rainteslerrrr @oddment-niwit-blubber-tweak @thebluelcdy @royahllty @the-firebender-girl @coldlilheart @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @titaniafire @dekahg @emberislandplayers @kikaninchen-2 @eridanuswave @lozzybowe @izzieserra @melacholy @music-geek19 @thia-aep @thyunnamed @haylaansmi @nataliahaslosthershit @idkdude776 @aangsupremacy @thirstyforsometea @ihaveaproblem98 @brown-eyed-thang |

[lady-z-writes]

Plaything (Heisenberg x fem!reader)

Chapter 4 (of 5)

Summary: Reader works for BSAA and is scoping out the village until you get captured by none other than Heisenberg who doesn’t take well to trespassers. Once he learns of your hatred for your job, he wants the information you have and he doesn’t have to try hard to get it. You find yourself drinking, fireside, with him and can’t help but let him touch you. Angie said he’d needed a plaything and, well, you’re it.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Smut with (some) plot, chapter 4 below the cut:

You can remember the feel of a scratchy washcloth against your skin. It’s warm and the movement against your nipples is gentle. You want nothing more than to sleep right now, but you open your eyes and note a very shirtless, very tentative Heisenberg cleaning you up.

A moan leaves you as you try to shift over, cover your tits, go back to sleep – but he grips your wrist gently and easily turns you back over.

He chuckles. “Wore you out, huh?” his cocky smirk makes you smile back. “Just…let me do this then you can sleep.”

You nod, eyelids feeling heavy, and you let him take care of you.

When he’s done, you watch him turn toward his desk but your hand juts out to grab his wrist this time. He halts, slowly glances down at you.

“Stay,” you hum, shifting on his bed. “Please?”

Before long, you feel the bed dip from his weight beside you and you let yourself rest.

•••

It’s night by the time you wake again and he’s no longer in the bed with you, but you see the moonbeams through the curtains and stare up at the stars for a moment.

The breeze makes you cold and you reach for a nearby shirt of his. It’s white and shows your nipples through it, but the warmth is a comfort.

An empty room greets you when you look around. There are journals and books you’d never really paid attention to before. A part of you is tempted to flip through them, but you’re reminded of the behavior Heisenberg clearly wants you to exhibit.

Instead, you grab your boots and decide to shower off the events from the other night.

The water is scolding but perfect as you wash with his shampoo. It’s lonelier than last time, but your mind needs some clarity.

What you stumbled into…it’s laughable. If you’d been on any other team with any other lord, Heisenberg probably wouldn’t have saved you. You won’t let your mind wander to the others for too long – how their carcasses are probably tossed away somewhere and forgotten about right now. Heisenberg has his moments, sure, but you’re alive and it’s a kindness he didn’t need to do.

Your fingers are macerated so you shut off the faucet, reach for a towel. Sleep did you good, food would do you better. When your eyes travel to the doorway, you can’t help but scream.

A Soldat stands in the doorway.

Wrapping a towel around yourself, you press your back to the shower wall, breath coming in rapid bursts. The Soldat simply attempts to shove its way into the bathroom, but it doesn’t fit and the drill hits the wall instead.

There’s no other way out and you’re pretty sure the thing is going to drill through the wall. It manages quicker than you expect and you’re still in the shower stall, holding onto the towel for dear life as it strides toward you.

Its one drill gets stuck on the stall door, the other reaching you and digging into your arm. Another scream and you’re cowering down in the corner of the stall, pressing your hand against the bleeding wound.

In a blink, the Soldat is tossed against the other wall and Heisenberg steps into the shower. His eyes take in the blood.

“Can you stand?”

You’re in shock, but you nod quickly and you don’t stop nodding until he’s got you out of the room.

He sits you in his desk chair and grips your wrist, turning your arm over to see if the puncture wound went all the way through. You dare to look at it and see the gouge in your arm, blood oozing onto the towel.

“Next time,” he growls, pulling the towel down and exposing your breasts. “You get me before you shower.”

It hurts when he presses the towel to the wound, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. You grit your teeth, reminded of a recent mission you were wounded in. Pain is temporary, you remind yourself as he cleans off the wound.

He actually has gauze and it feels good once he’s wrapping the wound.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” you find yourself saying. “I’m sure you were busy.” You notice his eyes take in your nakedness. “Thank you…for everything.”

“This place isn’t safe for you, clearly. Don’t leave my sight again.”

You convince him you need food so he lets you get dressed. You’re afraid to enter where the Soldat is, but you grab the shirt and boots and run back to Heisenberg. He watches you dress in his white shirt and your knee-high boots.

“You are entirely too distracting,” he hums, staring at your nipples through the shirt.

In an instant, you’re shoved to the nearest wall, hands above your head, Heisenberg pressing a palm against your fists. He kisses you deeply, body flush against yours. His hand travels between you two and he plays with your clit. You not wearing panties has proven to be very distracting.

His fingers arched inside of you, mouth pressing kisses to your neck, you’re once again so pleasured. It feels like a wave consuming you – distracting you momentarily from your hunger.

“I’ve got to finish up a project,” he mutters against your neck. “What should I do with you?”

“You want to keep fucking me, you’ve gotta let a girl eat,” you quip.

Heisenberg blinks at you as he pulls away. “What a mouth on you…” he raises a brow. “Fine. It’ll keep you quiet while I work.”

He doesn’t have anything spectacular to eat but you manage to scrounge together something simple – some bread, veggies, more fruit. There’s some granola bars and you’re wondering where he got them but your curiosity melts away when he demands you get done and follow him. Snagging one, you scurry off behind him.

You’re deeper into the factory than you’ve ever been and it’s a bit overwhelming. Heisenberg drones on about some projects and gives you more information on the ins and outs of the Soldats. He claims he doesn’t expect you to work on any today, but you find it hard to believe. The man seems like he’s always plotting.

Halfway through the granola bar, he calls you over to help him but loud growling and snarling nearby alerts you both.

“Shit,” Heisenberg is suddenly irritated as he meanders to a window. His hand slams against the wall. “That oversized, psycho bitch.”

He’s spinning on his heels and approaching you quickly as you swallow your last mouthful of food. Eyes wide, you stare as he strides toward you and pulls your arm. As he’s dragging you down the hallway, you’re struggling to get out of his grip and repeating, “what’s wrong?”

“Apparently since I haven’t checked in recently, I get to be dropped in on by my sister.”

Your mouth goes dry at the thought and you stutter out a, “what do we do?”

•••

“You overgrown waste of space, get out.”

You can hear them yelling somewhere up above, but Karl had specific instructions to take the elevator two floors down, walk through the doors to the left, and take off down the hallway from there. He said wherever you’d go, he’d find you but as your eyes take in the maze down here, you worry that isn’t true.

Still, what choice do you have? It’s either this or be skewered by his false sister once she finds out you’re still alive. The thought chills you.

Deep in the maze now, you hear the movement of the elevator and their raised voices stirring about. Metal clangs, screaming, and crashing sounds above and as you hear the shifting of the elevator again, you break out in a full sprint.

Adrenaline coursing through you, it’s like an electric shock to your senses. The metal clanging almost seems louder and you wonder if Karl is doing that just to alert you where they are.

You’re good and lost by now, entering rooms that attach to other rooms; trying to find a hiding spot before you realize they’re moving again.

Her senses are sharp, apparently.

Approaching a room deep in the maze of things, you see a few lights on; wonder what he uses this for – but your wondering is cut short by the shadow of a figure standing in the nearby doorway.

An almost-scream leaves your throat but you cover your mouth with both hands in attempt to silence yourself.

The beast grunts, approaching slowly. Both arms are drills – the same version of the Soldat that attacked you earlier. It raises its drills in a readying attack.

You run back the way you came, back to the parts of the factory you know these things aren’t. Karl had mentioned before to stay near him if you were ever to venture out, but given the current unexpected guest, you’d had no other choice.

The creature charges after you, its grunting loud. Of course you look back at it – its grey skin – it’s like you still can’t believe what you’re seeing.

You manage to find your way back to a main hallway and take it all the way down. Glancing back, you think you’ve lost it…and then a loud clanging noise greets your ears.

It feels like everything is in slow motion when you turn. The oversized woman from the church stands just off the elevator, her long claws reflecting light. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and as she charges at you, you see Heisenberg swing his hammer behind her.

With a flick of his wrist, he sends a bunch of metal scraps toward you with such power, you’re crashing against the nearest wall.

“I told you to stay out of it,” he’s yelling and it makes you hold your breath from on the ground.

“You kept her?” the woman screams. “I’ve known you to do some stupid things, but this?”

“Yack yack, go squawk to Miranda.”

“Do you know who they are?” she gasps. You notice Heisenberg is silent. “The others I brought to Castle Dimitrescu, they offered up knowledge: these people were meant to gather information on us,” she’s screaming at him. “And yet you keep this spy as a plaything? I knew you had intentions, idiot man-thing. You need to take care of this now.”

She clicks her tongue when she notices you pulling Heisenberg’s shirt down to cover yourself – feeling exposed.

“Oh, believe me, I will…” his voice is polished, mannerly. It stops you in your tracks. “You know how I don’t like anyone ruining my fun. This little slut has been sucking and fucking all night. I’m using her until I’m done and then I’ll string her body up for the Lycans.”

The tall woman lifts her chin with an inhale. You notice as she takes you in, Heisenberg is glancing down the hall you ran from, as if looking for his creation.

“Well, I…” the woman pauses. “I suppose I must honor Mother Miranda’s choices – though they may be poor at times.” A nod. She steps toward you, punctures the skin on your chest. “You disgusting harlot. I hope you rot.”

You cry out from the pain, try backing away, but are pinned to the wall suddenly by metal wrapping around your wrists.

“I’ll take it from here, dear sister,” Heisenberg sneers. “It’s my hour of need and…I’m sure you don’t want to be around when I take what I’m owed.”

The suggestive tone in his voice makes the woman sneer at him.

“Fine. Show me out.” She stands at full height and saunters over to the elevator. Just as you think you’re safe, she pauses, sniffs the air. “She’s not alone.”

“What?”

“There’s another.”

“What do you mean?” he’s spastic now.

“Did you bring another here?”

“No,” he quirks a brow at her. “Sure you aren’t losing it? Hat’s too big for your head – no time for big brain moments.”

She rolls her eyes and follows him to the elevator.

Heisenberg leaves you here, pinned up to the wall, crying and bleeding and praying to a higher power that thing doesn’t find its way back here or you’re dead.

And as the minutes tick by, you wonder just how honest he was being with his sister…was this all a ruse? His kindness just an extended roleplay to get what he wanted out of you before killing you?

The movement of the elevator startles you once again. A part of you is grateful for his return, meaning the monster may be kept at bay; yet you’re worried what his intentions are.

As he strides over to you against the wall, he exhales cigar smoke in your face.

“I like you strung up like that. My shirt, nipples hard, legs spread…” He kisses you then and you want to lean into it, but you’re frozen. He notices, pulls back. “Ah, I see the gears turning now…” he taps the cigar ashes off on your arm. “Not to worry, kitten. I’ll take care of you.”

The movement to your left makes your stomach drop. The monster from before lurches into view – loud and menacing.

“Should I let it repeat the scene from earlier? Your blood shed and my family won’t be forced to check on me anymore. No doubt Miranda’s about to find out about the fact that you’re still living…” as he rambles, the Soldat storms closer.

“Stop,” you whisper out, shaking.

He examines you then, “That’s real fear there, isn’t it, doll?” he huffs a laugh. “You truly think that I’m that much of a monster? To waste such a pretty specimen on such a gruesome death? No.” He snaps his fingers and uses his powers to urge the Soldat back down the hallway. “You’re lucky.” Another exhale of smoke in your face before he shifts his hands and the metal holding you to the wall loosens enough for you to slide to the floor. “Come on. Get up. No use wasting our time sulking.”

You’re hesitant to follow him to the elevator. Once again he’s acting so flippant and you’re afraid to let your guard down.

Still, what choice do you have? You follow wordlessly because you’re stuck here even if you find out he’s a bad man.

He chuckles at you as you join him on the elevator. “All that spunk is gone?”

You open your mouth to speak, close it, inhale sharply. He blinks slowly at you, crossing his arms.

“What the Hell was that? Are you planning on killing me, Heisenberg? Is this just some drawn out roleplay fantasy of yours? Fuck me, give me Stockholm Syndrome, then off to create me into some corpse of a machine?”

He smirks around the cigar as you raise your voice at him.

“There she is,” he hisses, grabbing you by the hair. “I wondered how long that fear would hide your attitude.”

When the elevator stops, he motions for you to follow him. You hesitate, but you do; slowly, cautiously. The maze of the factory takes you to his quarters in a way you can’t imagine memorizing. He’s silent as you walk together.

Barely into the room, he reaches for your shirt and rips down. The buttons go flying everywhere and the garment falls to the floor – leaving you naked minus your boots.

Heisenberg’s hands move as a collar and chains float behind you. You’re trying to maneuver away but it clasps around your neck before you can move too far. The chains are all connected, your wrists clasped behind your back. Heisenberg shoves you to your knees and you feel cold shackles around your ankles.

Eyes wide, mouth open, you’re too stunned to speak.

He’s in front of you in seconds, looking down at you like he’s inspecting his work. The way he licks his lower lip makes you shift your gaze to his erection right before your eyes.

“Too easy. Didn’t even put up a fight. You going soft on me, kitten? Or is it that you want this?”

He pulls a glove off, crouches down to your level, reaches in between your legs, and feels your wetness. A low groan leaves him.

“Wh-what are you…-”

“You so enjoy this, [Y/N]. Don’t act like you don’t, just embrace it. You like being my plaything – it’s the best job you’ve ever had.”

“Worst pay I’ve ever had,” you retort. It’s sort of a joke, you think.

His hand cups around your throat and he presses in warning.

“Real cute, huh?” He shoves you off, stands back up. “Mmm you have no idea how badly I want that mouth of yours on my cock…but I’ve got a few notes to take and a phone call to see if my dear brother knows of your survival yet. And you’re going to kneel and wait for me.”

He presses his hand to the back of your head, shoves his crotch in your face for a moment until you struggle against him, still unsure how to read the situation.

Finally, he pulls away, leaves you on the filthy floor, and sits himself at his desk.

“You should have just killed me on the bridge if this was all your plan.”

He doesn’t even look at you, which had been a hope of yours. You want to see his expression, see his eyes.

“Keep talking and I’ll bolt metal across your lips.”

Things go silent until he has to make his phone call – just pen scratches across paper and the normal metal clanging of the factory. You imagine more of those Soldats are stomping around somewhere and the image makes you shudder.

You barely notice when he’s picked up the phone, you’re too busy focusing on the pain in your knees.

“No, Moreau, this isn’t Miranda…” he sighs into the receiver. “Yes, I’ve heard that they were agents…no, I’m not worried…look, you globular piss baby: has Lady Gargantuan called you today?...”

You’re waiting for his response to continue but Heisenberg has gone silent. His back is to you so you can’t read his expression once again. You see his shoulders move with his breathing.

Suddenly, the receiver slams.

“This arrangement isn’t going to last long,” he growls as he stands, knocking over his chair.

Before you can respond, he uses his powers to lift up the metal chains around you and toss you to the bed. Face-planted, you struggle to sit up, turn over.

“If that weeping sack of mucus knows, you can bet he’s told the star of his Oedipus Complex.”

Heisenberg is unbuckling his belts, tossing off his shirt, completely undressing with each step toward the bed. You watch him from your awkward, uncomfortable position and your stomach flips.

When he flops down on the bed, he pulls the chains so you’re forced to straddle him. In ankle and wrist restraints, your range of movement is significantly reduced. He knows this. It’s clearly doing something for him as you watch his dick get hard again.

“Ride my cock, [Y/N],” he demands.

Your knees ache, but he helps pull you down onto him and the instant pleasure makes you forget about the soreness in your knees for a little while. Your legs can only spread so far with these ankle cuffs but that sort of adds to the sensation with how tight you are against him.

“Karl,” you whine.

“Mmm, yes, pet?”

“What are you gonna do to me?” your voice brakes as tears fill your eyes.

His expression changes for a fleeting moment. The ankle shackles are opened with a wave of his hand. You feel your knees buckle under you and you fall face-first into his broad chest. Heisenberg runs a hand through your hair, trace down your back. You feel him press his lips against the top of your head, a moan making his chest rumble as he thrusts up into you.

“Right now, I’m gonna enjoy you,” he speaks softly. “We’ll figure out the rest in the morning.”

It’s a soft moment and it catches you off guard. You lift your head up and meet eyes with him. It’s then that you realize his intentions, know in your heart that he was putting on a front for Lady Dimitrescu.

Suddenly, the position you’re in doesn’t seem so dire.

[galaxina-the-pyro]

Here, have some PnF School related HCs!

-Phineas isn’t the best in school, not because he doesn’t know the subjects, but more due to the fact that, as a creative kid out to break boundaries, school simply doesn’t interest him. He’s not the best at following instructions, and will often lose points in assignments for taking creative angles. He excels at math (to the point of correcting his teachers on a few incorrect equations), and his weakest subject is Grammar. He never fails a class, usually passing at a C point average. He does do well on tests, however (to the point where he has been accused of cheating).

-Phineas claims he can understand subjects better when Ferb (and Isabella) explains it to him

-Ferb and Baljeet always get A’s in their assignments, and take their study time seriously (Baljeet most of all; Ferb doesn’t mind getting anything lower than an A, but will feel shame if he feels he could’ve done better, while Baljeet will go into panic mode if he gets anything less than A+).

-In hindsight, Ferb is actually far more intelligent than Baljeet, but prefers to stay in the same grade as his brother; he was even given the option to move up grade levels, but politely refused

-In spite of Isabella eye rolling Baljeet’s fear of failure, she has similar meltdowns when she fails an assignment (to which Baljeet offers zero sympathy; do unto others, baby)

-Baljeet attends Highschool with Candace, Stacy, and the others, though Buford still manages to bully him even at such a radius. He does, however, tutor students in the school his friends go to, so he always sees his friends during after school activities.

-Phineas and Ferb always end up in the same classes every year...except for the school year after the canon series. That marks the first time both of them end up in different classes.

-There are school related patches for the Fireside Girls to earn, and as the episode “Ferb TV” states, being a part of the Fireside Girls gets you extra credit in middle school

-Out of all her friends, Isabella is part of the most extracurricular activities, including but not limited to, Debate Team, Junior Student Government, Mathletes, Glee Club, Drama Club, and of course Soccer

-Isabella is the head editor of the school newspaper, which she names “The Danville Eagle” (not to be confused with “The Fireside Gazette”)

-Isabella is the most prone to daydreaming during class, and often zones out; usually this is due to Phineasland, but her mind tends to drift to other places as well.

-Phineas, on the other hand, always distracts himself with drawing during classes, whether it be blueprints, or doodles in his textbooks - he often has his pencils and pens confiscated

-Buford tends to be the one most likely to interrupt the class for some reason or another; apparently it’s a requirement in The Bully Code, but everyone is certain he does it purely out of boredom

-Django and Jenny are both homeschooled, though Django does end up going to highschool with Phineas and the others

-Jenny only takes one college class before dropping out to continue her hippie/protest lifestyle; ironically, she starts a business that goes very well involving the buying and selling of...well...a certain type of plant, per se

-Buford has the lowest grade point average among his friends, but excels in art-related activities (and contact sports, of course); it’s very possible that he’s smarter than he lets on

-Buford is the only person among Phineas and Ferb’s friends who doesn’t join the school soccer team (this is due to confusing the sport with football)

-Recess time in the Dwampyverse is longer than recess in the real world (they already have longer Summers, so why not?), explaining how Phineas and Ferb can still complete certain Big Ideas during that time; they usually come up with ideas during or before lunchtime

-According to “When Worlds Collide”, Candace isn’t allowed to bust her brothers during the school year, but manages to find a loophole that allows her to attempt to bust them during Weekends (bar that she and her brothers finish their homework beforehand), and School Breaks. Linda often ponders over rewriting the Bust Accord, but is a mother of her word.

-Phineas and Ferb have a teacher who hates their existence, and is literally their antithesis; he sees their creative activities as a form of rebellion, and craves structure and discipline. On the other hand, he’s a total sadist and a crackpot who’d give Denzel Crocker a run for his money. Phineas and Ferb, much like towards their sister’s busting attempts, pay him no mind and probably treat him better than anyone else does.

-Phineas and Ferb are always paired up in school assignments; they’ve never gotten a perfect score on it in spite of how impeccable each project is, due to the assignment involving both participants giving short lectures. As we all know, Phineas always does all the talking, thus deducting points (this was a headcanon stolen from someone else, but I forget who)

-Phineas and Isabella’s favorite subject is music, Ferb’s is history, Baljeet’s is math, and Buford’s favorite subject is theatre (though he’ll always tell you it’s football, even though it’s not an actual subject)

-Ferb and Baljeet are on the A honor roll, Isabella is an AB honor roll (her weakest subject being history, the only subject keeping her from being on the same level as Ferb and Baljeet), Phineas is a C-average, and Buford is an F average (though he always gets just enough passes to make it to the next grade with his friends)

-Out of all the Fireside Girls, Gretchen excels the most in school, while Katie is on the lower end of the spectrum alongside Buford

-Candace always tries to sit next to Jeremy during classes they’re together, but someone always steals her seat before she can

-Candace’s favorite class is music class, like Phineas and Isabella, and is on the AB honor roll; her least favorite subject is home economics, due to always failing assignments while also somehow, someway setting herself on fire

-Candace’s grades are better than Phineas’, but worse than Ferb’s. Out of the three Flynn-Fletcher children Phineas has the hardest time with school

-Doofenshmirtz becomes a school teacher regardless of the Prof. Time/secret agent nonsense; he either becomes one due to community service, as a coverup for being an agent for OWCA, or by complete and total accident due to teleporting Vanessa’s real highschool teacher to another dimension

-He ALSO somehow becomes the defacto school counselor (I think he’d be really good at it, darn it); a lot of the kids seem to vent to him a lot for some reason (he thinks it’s the universe making him pay them back for ranting to Perry for so long [they also like to vent to his daughter, too, isn’t that weird?])

-Either way, Vanessa will always have him as a teacher, much to her dismay; the difference is whether Candace and her friends are ALSO a part of his class or not

-Doofenshmirtz sometimes does fun little experiments with Phineas, Ferb, and their friends, and has even helped them with a few of their projects after school

-Doofenshmirtz still uses his Inators during class, though he claims they are specifically used for GOOD this time around...even though they cause a whole slew of problems

-Due to these Inators, Perry has to involve himself and save everyone without revealing his identity to Candace or his other owners should they and their friends somehow get involved with the chaos (thank the great Platypus Lord for Stacy and her being somehow skilled at covering his beaver-butt)

-At some point, the entire PnF cast unintentionally reenact the events of “The One Thing”; Adyson is the one who steals antique photos specifically because they’re “the one thing you can’t replace”

-Phineas and Isabella have study dates together (Isabella is the only one who calls it a study date, however, though technically Phineas never corrects her, so it’s pretty much a study date, don’t you dare take this away from her, Ginger!)

(I’m probably gonna add more later, but feel free to add some of your own school-themed headcanons~.)

[capsized-heart]

Sky Castles

Pairing: Laurie x Reader, Jo x Reader

Summary: Summer has always been your favorite season in Plumfield. Perhaps it’s the lovely, sunny mornings and cool, calm nights, or perhaps it’s the fact that you and Laurie and Jo are practically inseparable in midsummer. 

Follows the summers from childhood into young adulthood, with turmoils of the heart along the way.   

Word count: 6.1k+

Warnings: fluff!!!!!!!!

A/N: hi, everyone. I hope you’re all staying safe and well! Right off the bat, I want to mention that I’ve pinned a post on both this blog and my main blog @sarapii-peachy​ about resources for the BLM movement to raise awareness and petitions you can sign to help make a difference on a smaller scale. Everything counts!

i’m back and now with a bachelor’s degree :’) class of 2020 high school and college esketit!!! we did it!!! in this historic pandemic!!! Sorry I’ve been gone for a bit, this fic has been my rocky transition/attempt out of writer’s block after my INSANE last semester of uni and with all the craziness going on in the world. I hope you can channel and take in some of this innocent happiness and childhood glee into your own lives as we navigate the shitshow that is 2020. Saoirse x Timmy x Reader here to cure me of my depression lmao

this title is also based off a chapter in the Little Women book where Laurie, Jo, and the girls go to a park and gaze at the passing clouds and talk about their futures...it’s honestly really sweet. Loosely based off of that! 

Comments and feedback would be greatly appreciated on this💛! Not that you guys don’t leave love, but this fic like I mentioned is my attempt at kicking writer’s block in the ass, please let me know how I did! :) talk to me I missed you guys :)

tags: @ravenmoore14 @monikakrasnorada @dangertoozmanykids101 @toozmanykids​ @adawn1970​ @mrchalamet-mrstyles @chavezlikesthings @loveylangdon@daygiowvibe @statisticlytimmy @ceexreverse​ @bamposworld​ @lilttletimmy​ @cindere-llaaa​

gif credit to @sheisraging​

You love New England for its rich, distinct seasons, how they each paint the countryside in eloquent sweeps of shade and hue. Snow, sun, and breathtaking landscapes of fall color that tinge the treetops throughout the year. You love Plumfield, Massachusetts more for the warmth and love the March sisters have shown you, each alike in personality, nature, to the equinoxes that have shaped your girlhood, each tender memory from your youth synonymous with Meg, Amy, Beth, and Jo. 

 Autumn. Cozy and comfortable, where motherly Meg showed you how to heat and dip caramel with the apples you’d carefully picked from the orchard for a rare treat, the kitchen swirling with the aroma of cinnamon, nutmeg, turmeric, and spices that left you feeling aglow. She’d taught you how to use an embroidery hoop, how to let dough rise, how to bake a proper pie and how to fix any clothing tear with a simple needle and thread, her compliments quick for your ever growing domestic talents. 

Winter. Like cool, ambitious Amy with her painting and taste for luxury and pleasure, how she would praise you for being the only subject suitable for her artwork. Laurie would moan and complain about sitting for hours by the fireside, begging to be excused to go play in the snow, but never you. Amy called you her muse, arranging your hair and skirts to her liking, softening your lips and cheeks with a touch of rouge. It was always such fun to make a day out of modeling for Amy’s portraits, talking and laughing as she’d set up her paints.

Spring. Sweet and angelic like little Beth, windows wide open as her piano trills would float on the warm air, curtains ruffling in the breeze. You’d sit beside her on the piano bench and turn her sheet music for her, to which Beth would give you a shy, rosy smile in thanks. She taught you how to play Chopin and Tchaikovsky, duet pieces where you’d accompany her on the keys, harmonizing with chords and your fingers flying easily together.

Summer. Your favorite season, refreshing, bright, where you and Jo would spend balmy days and long, cool evenings tucked beneath the shade of tree trunks and willows as you’d read in the sun, listen to Jo’s carefully crafted stories. Her creativity and imagination never failed to amaze you, how her writing could transport you to the farthest countries, or keep you grounded in whatever fantastical setting she’d constructed for herself. She’d often write about the two of you; two young girls, best friends who’d have all sorts of dazzling adventures exploring the corners of the world, without the taxing responsibilities of chores, or schoolwork, or the foreboding, inevitable reality that one day you will be young adults and childhood would be gone forever. You’d have picnics and excursions to the nearby fields, dozing in the sun and picking wildflowers, splashing and wading through the rivers and creeks when the heat became unbearable. Before Laurie would come and spoil your fun, of course. Then, you and Jo and Laurie would be like three rowdy boys playing in the woods, your laughter echoing off the trees and sparkling waters. 

You first meet Theodore Laurence as a young girl in the fields connecting the March’s property and your own. You live just down the road from the March sisters, your house tucked away beyond the bend and you’d make the trek across the meadow and grasses daily to visit your neighbors. Being an only child with your father off fighting for the Union, the March house was like your second home and the girls and Marmee and Hannah always made you feel like part of the family, your own loneliness long forgotten as soon as you’d step through the door and you’d be welcomed back with laughter, squeals, and embraces.

Today, you are seeking the company of your friends as usual, returning a book Jo had lended you with a basketful of scones you’d baked in repayment. A recipe you’d learned from Meg. The autumn air is surprisingly warm against your skin, indian summer, flushed and golden and dappling the plains. It makes you smile softly, your mood pleasant as you gather your skirts in time with your step, adjust your basket. 

Then, you see him. A boy making his way in the same direction, dressed smartly in a black woolen coat and matching trousers, a silk scarf tastefully tied around his throat. His curls are windswept and tousled, his gait relaxed. He feels your gaze and looks up, eyes finding yours and the corner of his mouth ticks up in a friendly smile. Warmth floods your cheeks. You quickly duck your head.

He looks to be your age, but you’ve read tales of highwaymen and bandits roaming the countryside, how they’d feign kindness, only to strike unsuspecting travelers. Perhaps it was the work of Jo’s overactive and contagious imagination playing at your nerves, but why was he heading towards the March’s? You think of little Beth, how boys and newcomers made her nervous, timid. Your resolve hardens protectively. You have to keep this stranger away from the girls. 

Your pulse hammers in your throat as you lift your head to see the boy still looking your way. He waves his hand in greeting. 

“Hello!” he cheers. 

With your eyes still locked, you pick up your pace and keep your silence. Curiously, the boy finds this amusing, laughing, making it into a game as he too begins to walk briskly towards the house, of who will reach the door first. You narrow your eyes, summoning as much hostility and wickedness to your expression, demeanor as you can muster. The two of you are running now, his grin wide and eager, your own mouth twisted with hard concentration as you race each other.

Your chest is heaving when you brace yourself against the doorframe, blocking his way with your arm, back against the wood. He’s not a second behind you and is already on the stoop when you turn to face him.

“Are you Jo’s friend?” the boy asks you with a breathless, easy smile. “You’re quite fast, even faster than her.” He adds. He’s practically bouncing on his feet, jovial and buzzing with energy. The mention of Jo’s name curbs your distrust further. Bandit may now be off the table, and the thought makes you feel a bit foolish now, but how could Jo befriend such a strange boy without you knowing? How did he already seem to know who you are? 

Up close, you notice his eyes are green and mischievous, reflecting back the shimmering plains in flecks of amber as he gazes at you, your pulse fluttering ever so slightly…

You scold yourself internally. 

Handsome or not, he was undoubtedly a boy of trouble who had somehow won over Jo’s attention. And no easy feat, might you add. Headstrong and resolute, Jo’s circle of friends was quite small outside of you and her sisters, and you liked it that way. You’d like to keep it that way as well. 

You feel a sharp, ugly pang of jealousy curl in your stomach. You stick out your lower lip in a pout, turn up your nose in a way that would certainly earn a scolding from Marmee if she were to see your impoliteness. 

“Who are you to ask?” You snap.

Your words do not take the desired effect on him. Instead of hurt, or embarrassment, the boy smirks at you, amused. He cocks his head to one side and leans back on his heels, studying you like you’d just asked him why the sky is blue. His mood is breezy, amiable. 

“I’m Laurie. Is that better?” he offers with a comical pout of his own. You wrinkle your nose. This boy was starting to irritate you more and more.

“Surname?”

“Laurence.”

“Laurie Laurence? My, how silly and dull.”

He laughs, a low and pleasant sound that threatens to melt your angry facade. He shakes his head, hands in his pockets. 

“It’s a pet name. Jo calls me Teddy, but you may call me whichever you like,” he says. Your jealousy burns brighter, flushing your skin, twisting together with a hint of desire and yearning. 

You were once Jo’s everything, her favorite companion. She made this clear with how she’d tell you plainly, how she’d spoil you with compliments and stories and affection. And now, it seemed Jo knew another, this Laurie, well enough to call him Teddy when you had no pet name of your own. She seemed to speak of you, which would explain Laurie’s cordiality, but did she tell him how you were the only one she felt comfortable enough with to critique her writing? How she would encourage your aspirations of becoming a dancer by arranging the foyer into a stage and cheering for you while sitting atop the staircase like an admirer in the box seats? How the two of you could jest and play for hours with nothing but your imagination, crying from laughter until your bellies ached?

You feel a sense of betrayal and heartache at this, an intrusion, a tirade of emotions you can’t quite explain. Did you want Jo all for yourself? Did you want to befriend Laurie as well? Did you just want to be someone’s everything again and to be doted on and loved? 

Then, Laurie’s voice tapers into a quiet hum, a touch of softness. You hear the first indication of bashfulness as he looks down at you through full, dark lashes. “I hope the three of us can be good friends. I’d like to know you as well.” He murmurs. 

You don’t know what to think of him. Your chest feels tight and your cheeks burn, from anger or passion you can’t quite tell. You’re contemplating leaving your basket on the doorstep and shoving past him to go back home when you suddenly hear a clamor of voices and the turning of the knob and then the door falls open behind you. 

Laurie catches you before you can tumble through the entryway, hands finding your waist. Jo, vibrant and chipper as ever, lights up when she sees you and her sky blue eyes shine like glass. She has her cap fitted over her wavy blonde curls, skipping into your arms and for a moment you’re sandwiched between the two of them. You flush scarlet. 

“Oh, good! You two have met. Goodbye, Marmee! I’m going out!” Jo calls into the house, her voice overlapping with her sisters’ as they all greet you in a burst of chaos. But before Jo can usher you outside, you feel your childish temper flare and you squirm out of her reach and back through the open door and into the house. You set your basket onto the table, turning to hide your face in Amy’s shoulder with a flutter of your skirts as you feel the hot sting of tears prickle your eyes. You weren’t going to let this Laurie boy see you cry upon your first encounter.

“I’m not coming.” You mumble. Amy’s hand comes to soothingly pet back your hair with a hush of surprise and you sense her look to Jo with a characteristic glare.

“Jo, what have you done?” Amy presses.

“I’ve done nothing!” Jo retorts with a huff. Then, her voice turns gentle, curious as she speaks to you. “Dear, what’s the matter?”

“She wouldn’t be on the verge of tears if you hadn’t done nothing, would she?” Amy replies. You laugh weakly, tightening your arms around her. “See?” Amy says. “You’ve broken her heart, the poor thing.” 

“Jo’s made new friends,” you sniffle, embarrassed when Laurie’s eyes meet yours. Amy’s arms around you make you feel comforted and safe, brave enough to voice your true burdens when you say, “I’ve been replaced,” and gaze back at Laurie in defiance, protest. He frowns and shifts his weight, looking genuinely sorry with a guilt that touches his eyes. Good, you think. Let him think twice before stealing away your best companion. 

At this, Jo’s expression softens with understanding and warmth as she sees you curl into Amy once more. Jo takes a step into the open doorway, leaving Laurie on the stoop.

“No one could ever replace you, dear,” she says. “I only keep Laurie around for when I’m bored and you aren’t around to play. Look at him,” she gestures in his direction. “He’s aloof and vain, he’s lazy, he doesn’t have an ounce of the imagination you do-” 

“Don’t forget arrogant.” Amy pipes up.

Jo nods, wagging a finger at her sister. “Right you are, Amy. We mustn't forget that.”

Laurie starts to puff up with a temper, his lips twisting together and you can see him struggling with whether to speak up and defend himself, or let the girls have their fun for your sake. Jo goes on, saying he was devious and too pretty for his own good, making you and Amy giggle as she rubs soothing circles into your back. It’s rather polite and charming as you watch Laurie suffer silently, biting his tongue as Jo continues to defame his character before she finally turns back to you.

“I should have introduced the two of you properly, and for that, I’m sorry,” says Jo. “You must have had quite the surprise running into him.” Laurie again glances to you with an apologetic softness, wringing his hands together. “So, what do you think, Teddy? Are we ready to start afresh?” Jo asks him, hands on her hips. 

This makes you laugh, bubbly, your mood perking up as you finally lift your head from Amy’s shoulder. Of course, Jo would be able to comprehend your grievances and somehow peg Laurie with the blame, how she knew your heart was delicate and tender and so full of devotion that you were quick to hold grudges. Your envy dissipates and you feel a bit sorry seeing Laurie now in such low spirits, his theatrical demeanor now quiet and modest. 

“If she’ll have me,” Laurie murmurs, glancing up at you with such a pureness in his glittering eyes that regret starts to settle in your stomach.

“And I’ve written more of that story you enjoyed so much,” Jo holds out a hand to you. “Won’t you come hear what happens next?” she asks. Slowly, like the pull of a magnet, you untangle yourself from Amy’s arms and cross the room to take Jo’s outstretched hand. 

“Alright.” You say at last. Jo beams and cradles your face with her other hand, swiping away your tears with her thumb. You let her baby you like she would with Beth, enjoying her touch against your cheek. 

“That’s my sweet girl.” She smiles.

You then look to a sheepish Laurie and extend a hand, filled with new courage. You tell him your name and echo back his words that you hope the three of you can indeed become good friends, that you and Jo could do well with another acquaintance. The smile Laurie gives you is genuine, sweet and gentle, the corner of his mouth turning up in crooked delight. He clasps your hand warmly.

“I would want nothing more.” Laurie laughs. 

And with that, nestled between Jo and Laurie, you step back outside into the rich and golden light of a warm autumn afternoon, curious, excited for what adventures the day will bring you. 

**

Laurie joins your duo swimmingly and the rest of the year passes in pleasant tranquility as the three of you spend nearly every waking moment by each others’ sides. All Hallow’s Eve finds you dressed in a costume of French royalty, a pompous and comical gown of ballooning fabrics, complete with a powdered wig of pins and curls. You’ve painted your face with overlined lips and the trademark mole below your eye and the March sisters double over with laughter as you enter the foyer, fluttering your paper fan with an aristocratic pout, Laurie saluting your entrance with a roar of, la plus belle fille du monde! Jo is dressed as a fearsome pirate, outfitted in boots, breeches, and a captain’s hat, the wooden sword you and Laurie helped to paint swishing through the air as she parades into the room. Laurie enters last with a bang and a flash of white powder, appearing before your eyes in true magician fashion with a top hat and cane, a false mustache pasted onto his upper lip. All six of you then march across the field to the Laurence residence, now alight with carved pumpkins and lanterns, for your All Hallow’s Eve party of sweets and games.

Christmas brings festivities, flurries, and cheer. Sledding, ice skating, days of cold and winter fun making snow angels and snowmen, decorating the March house with holly, mistletoe, culminating into a hearty turkey dinner as you sit perched next to Laurie. The candlelight is homely, the sound of laughter and clinking silverware washing over you and you catch Laurie’s eye as he lifts his fork to his mouth. The two of you grin, leaning into each other with quiet happiness, heads bowed. You and Laurie both mirror each other in being only children, meaning these times together have been filled with welcome camaraderie. Where your instances of yearning for the companionship of siblings that only those without can understand, you’ve found company in each other, never a dull moment, never lonely. 

The thaw of spring keeps you tucked away indoors with torrents of rain pelting against the roof. Jo reads to you aloud from her novel, asking for your thoughts every so often as you and Laurie lounge on the sofa. When you articulate a point of slight critique on Jo’s use of character, Laurie teasingly tugs on a lock of your hair with a smirk. 

“How perceptive.” He murmurs, grinning.

You swat his hand away, glaring at him in mock anger. 

And as the days grow warmer, so does your heart. You’ve learned to share your affection between Laurie and Jo in a way you think is equally matched and that autumn day where you’d been so sour to both of them seems like ages ago. Soon after that incident, your bravado had quickly morphed into appreciation and Jo had been eager to break the ice between you and Laurie. And like all children, your differences and jealousy had been set aside as you’d discovered he was quite fun to be around. Laurie shared Jo’s quick wit and intelligence, like an androgynous mirror, so much of yourself also reflected in both of them in time and they in you. And yet, Laurie had a certain charm about him; how he could have the two of you in stitches and still maintain the air of sophistication that was so often expected of the Laurence boy. Admittedly, you were thrilled to have them both as your best and favorite playmates. 

In turn, they had done the same, showering you with loving attention and teasing, keeping you entertained with their bickering, quarreling over how they both wanted to occupy your time with their respective ideas for sport. Fighting over you. The thought of it makes you blush furiously. Yet, you feel cared for, like the most precious thing in their lives.You’ve also selfishly enjoyed being the apple of their eye and all the privileges that has bestowed; Jo writing you into her stories, featuring you as a beautiful sugar plum fairy, and Laurie promising to write you a French ballet, to someday whisk you off to Europe to experience high art and culture. 

At last, spring turns to summer and the three of you are back to mischief and horseplay in the great outdoors. The days are lush, agreeable, bright and pleasant with flashing sunshine and lofty clouds. You’re again reminded why summer to you is synonymous with Jo as you run together through the waving fields bursting with flowers, Laurie right on your heels as he too gives chase. 

“Jo! We were only kidding about the toads!” Laurie calls out from behind you. “It’s not like I have one in my pocket this very moment who’s squirming to get free and might have bitten me earlier when I caught him by the river and-”

He gives a shout of surprise and you hear his footfalls pause in the grasses. You and Jo both turn, breathless, already laughing when you see Laurie hopping about like hot coals are burning beneath his feet.

A small pond frog wiggles out of his pocket seam with a croak and then disappears into the meadow, waddling with great speed. With out-turned pockets and wrinkled trousers, Laurie stands there with his hands on his hips, confidence and humor masking his faults as always.

“My, they grow up so fast, don’t they?” Laurie says as he looks out over the crest of the hill with a humorous glint in his eyes, like a mother watching her child leave for the vast, cruel world. You and Jo collapse into a fit of giggles, holding each other upright by the shoulders and gasping for air.

**

Eternal summer and sun, a tender paradise. And as midsummer arrives, so does the heat. It’s stifling, heavy, the kind that suffocates and forbids any excessive movement or play, when being idle is perfectly acceptable, a rarity for you three young adventurers. Today, even nature herself seems to be drowsy from the stifling weather. Sunflowers droop from the weight of honeybees as they float lazily over the fields. Birds chortle from the treetops, as if too tired to fly, their song intertwining with the rustling grasses, tousled by the rare cool breeze. The sky burns a dome of brilliant blue above you, filled with towering, cotton white cumulus clouds. You watch as they drift slowly over the horizon. Like colossal ships at sea. 

You rest your head on Laurie’s chest and he toys with your hair. Jo dozes with her arms pillowed across your stomach and the three of you are a sleepy dog-pile of limbs. The feel of Laurie’s fingers makes you relaxed, drowsy. You hear Jo then give a soft snore and you chuckle.

“What is it?” Laurie asks. You can already hear the smile in his voice, how just your laughter is enough to amuse him too. You shake your head against his chest and the movement makes you giggle again. Laurie joins you, flopping out his legs, the heat making you both delirious and loopy.

You reach up blindly and give him a firm nudge, your hand landing just under his chin.

“Stop it, you’ll wake her.” You scold him with as much seriousness as you can muster and failing miserably. 

“Ow,” Laurie groans. He grasps your wrist, moving your hand to place it against his cheek and he puckers out his lower lip. “You’ve hurt me, I’m unwell.”

“Oh...Laurie, I didn’t mean it..” you sit up and coo, caressing his skin. Laurie looks pleased, a flash of playfulness in the green of his eyes as you lean towards him. “Let me take a closer-” 

You cuff him on the ear ever so lightly, catching him by complete surprise and Jo wakes, cackling, throwing her arms around you. 

Later, the three of you gaze up at the passing clouds, a comfortable silence settling over you all as you enjoy the afternoon.

“If we could fly up into those clouds and there was a castle with anything your heart desired, what would it be?” Jo asks. “Where do you two see your lives leading you?” Her tone is pensive, romantic. You and Laurie both hum in thought. 

“You first, Laurie.” You murmur. 

Laurie turns to look back at the bright blue sky, to the billowy clouds that look like spun sugar candy. 

“I want to live abroad in Europe and be surrounded by music, my music. I want to compose, I want to be renowned for my operas.” He declares with a proud puff of his chest. Jo nods, you give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“That sounds very much like you, Teddy,” Jo says. “A bachelor making art in Europe, how capital.”

He makes a face, then winks at you out of the corner of his eye. You stick out your tongue.

“You can do it if you stay focused,” you add. “No more billiards, for a start.” 

Laurie wrinkles his nose. “And what is it that you want, prima donna?” he asks you in challenge. 

You turn away with a roll of your eyes, gaze to the heavens. The thought comes to you easily as you listen to the birds, feel the breeze tickling your skin, drinking in the sky. 

“I want to be a ballet dancer in a prestigious company. I want to tour the world.” You say softly. Before, you would have felt embarrassment to share such an ambitious dream. But something about this moment, of being with Laurie and Jo makes you feel brave and safe enough to speak your mind, to put your words into the universe and have it come to fruition. Like a magic spell of sorts. With them here with you, you feel like any dream is possible.

Another chorus of hums and Jo looks pleased at your response. Laurie smirks up at the horizon.

“No fair if it’s likely to happen,” he laughs. “That’s cheating.”

“Oh, hush,” Jo chides with a rather hard sock to Laurie’s arm. She ignores his whines as he recoils and grumbles dramatically. “You’re well on your way, dear,” Jo tells you. “Now that you’ll be in that New York production next summer, I’m sure your opportunities will be plentiful.”

You hope she’s right. You’d secured a role as an ensemble dancer in an upcoming production of Romeo and Juliet, your most prestigious show as of yet in your young and budding career. Jo’s warm praise makes you blush like the flowers surrounding you, pink and full. Laurie’s quick eyes catch this, envious, and he changes the subject, a muscle ticking ever so slightly in his jaw. 

“And you, Jo?” He asks tightly. 

Jo exhales, crossing her arms behind her head. “Being a writer, of course. A great one. I don’t want to settle for less.” 

“Doubtful,” snides Laurie. “I don’t see it.”

You and Laurie look to each other with a quiet smile.

“No, not with all the prizes you’ve won,” you add. “Impossible.”

Jo shoots upright, too quickly for the heat. She slugs Laurie again.

“Ow...Jo, it’s too hot for your beatings,” he moans. “Don’t be a poor sport.”

She doesn’t answer him, only gives him a final push and hunkers back down onto the grass, turning her back to him with a huff.

“Why am I the only one that ever gets hit?” Laurie grumbles, opening his shirt to cool himself off and throws his forearm across his eyes for shade, frowning. You giggle, curling up beside her.

“I believe in your abilities, Jo.” You whisper to her. She takes your hand. 

It’s not long before the three of you are fast asleep in the sun. 

**

And as the seasons and summers roll on and the fruits of childhood begin to slowly ripen with the passing years, you find your companionship with Laurie and Jo changing and growing like never before. Your friendship starts to blossom into fondness, adoration. Indeed, you’ve loved them as playmates and companions since the three of you were children, but as you flourish amidst that quaint, strange, and budding pocket of time when young men and women come of age, where you and Laurie and Jo are now struck with bashfulness and an awareness of being alone with each other, your love for them arches and glows like summer sunset. 

This makes you acutely conscious of your appearance and dress, your posture, how you carry yourself, your mannerisms. How did your hair look? Did you laugh too loudly? Would Jo think your comments about her writing were too harsh? Why did you feel such warmth in your chest every time you saw her? And why were you starting to anticipate Laurie’s company? Why did you always have a sharp hope that he would come around with every visit of yours to the March residence? The constant whir of thoughts and worries was enough to make your head turn with heaviness, make you collapse from the pressures of simply existing.

“You’re acting odd,” Laurie tells you one day.

The two of you lay in a meadow with summer buzzing all around you, resting beneath the drooping leaves of a willow tree. Jo had been unable to join you as she had Beth’s lessons to teach that afternoon, much to her own disappointment and promising to make it up to you soon with an affectionate pinch to your cheek. You’d considered going home then. The last thing you wanted was to be left alone with Laurie, that familiar crush in your chest, an inkling of dread coupled with a shortness of breath, fear and excitement. You were terrified. But when he’d taken your hand and asked you so sweetly to accompany him to the meadow’s waters, how could you possibly refuse? 

But of course, Laurie was quick to notice your nerves. 

“The heat is getting to your head,” you say evenly with eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your face. “Besides, that’s rather rude.”

You hear him move and feel his presence directly in front of you, as if leaning in.

“It is a bit hot, do you feel up for a swim?”

This makes your eyes snap open. Following Jo’s mannerisms, you give him a shove in the chest. “You’re vile,” you grin. 

To your surprise, Laurie’s teasing, playful demeanor is nowhere to be found. His gaze is instead thoughtful, holding your own like you are all he sees. Immediately, you feel your pulse kick up in the side of your throat.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he continues with a shake of his head. “You don’t seem like yourself. I thought a change in our routine could be refreshing.”

You give a light shrug of your shoulders. “I feel fine,” you say. 

He brushes the back of his hand against your forehead. He hums, then curls his fingers down along the planes of your face to rest on your cheek. 

“You’re flushed,” he murmurs. 

Time seems to slow. The roar of blood deafens your ears and the fragrance of the sweet waters and blooms around you is overwhelming, sunlight refracting like prismed rainbow. Laurie kisses you then, a gentle touch of his lips, tilting your chin up to meet him. A sweetheart’s kiss, one that tastes of summer secrets as you’re shaded by vines and mist. When you break apart, he keeps his hand cradled against your cheek, his thumb circling the corner of your mouth.

You don’t know what to say. You’re speechless, your chest rising and falling softly, staring back at him with wide, surprised eyes. Laurie looks reflective, emerald irises half-lidded.

“What am I to tell Jo?” you whisper to him. Heat diffuses through your body like desert wind. You feel elated, cherished, frightened, embarrassed. Guilty. Laurie’s eyes flicker once more to your lips, his dark lashes fluttering with the movement. His smile is melancholy, yet knowing.

“You love her, too.” Laurie hums. It’s a statement, a confirmation of your feelings for both of them. The fact that the boy you’ve adored for so long has uttered your very thoughts out loud should have you completely mortified, yet there’s a small sense of comfort knowing he’d understand. Laurie knows this because he himself feels the same way, knows you or Jo or himself could never bring themselves to choose.

Laurie’s smile prompts you to lace your fingers together in the grasses and you give him a light peck on the cheek. He brightens up, raking a hand through his black curls. 

“You love me.” Laurie beams.

**

When you tell Jo about the kiss, she’s dancing with you on the porch in the evening light. Inside, you can see Marmee and the girls entertaining themselves through the windows as you practice your pirouettes. Jo is dressed in her writing jacket and trousers, keeping you balanced as she plays the part of the male dancer, perfectly competent. 

“What an impish boy,” Jo says of Laurie. You laugh and the two of you continue your steps, running through the dance number in a private rehearsal. Laurie is due to rehearse with you the week before your performance and the thought itself is enough to make butterflies explode in your stomach. Jo is a strong, leading dancer, while Laurie is graceful and firm, both capable of making the palms of your hands sweat with nerves. You know in your heart if you could rehearse with them, you’d have no fear on opening night. You’d already be invincible.

“Again from the top, please, kind sir,” you curtsey to Jo. Her smile is giddy and she gives a click of her heels before returning to her starting position. 

“Of course,” she responds. Taking your hand, she guides you through the steps once more, your heart soft and temperate like the evening around you.

**

The sound of applause is warm and full, washing over you as you take your bows. You feel weightless, aglow, eyes brimming with tears. You think you see Laurie and Jo leap to their feet in the audience, but the stage lights are too bright and you cannot see clearly and you think you may faint from happiness. 

In the auditorium, you’re still in your costume of Venetian silks and flowers when you’re swept off your feet by a boisterous Laurie and he twirls you around in his arms, his riding cloak billowing out behind him. 

“There’s our Capulet! You were phenomenal!”

“I’m so proud of you, dear!” Jo practically shouts with excitement, tackling you next in a bearish hug when Laurie finally sets you down. Their praise is boundless, endless, showering you in so much adoration that your heart feels close to bursting. You gather them close, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

“Thank you both for everything,” you choke out, squeezing them tight.

Over Jo’s shoulder, you spot Marmee, Meg, Amy, even shy little Beth with a bouquet of flowers and then you let the tears fall when you run to them and you thank your stars for the luck and love you’ve been blessed with.  

**

Another year, another summer soon arrives. You and Jo and Laurie are back in the fields cloud-gazing, a lazy afternoon of heat and leisurely time well spent. Things feel familiar, recognizable between the three of you, yet there’s a sense of distance between now and when Jo had first asked about your castles in the sky all those summers ago. 

 Jo was now making a name for herself in the writer’s world, having won another prize in a New York newspaper. She’d been gaining the attention of devoted readers and critics alike and was now working on a proper novel, her longest project as of yet. She tells you not to worry, that she’ll be sure to feature you as a central character in the same way she’d done as a child, nostalgic tales of pirates and adventure and love.

“My sweet sugar plum fairy,” she’d gruffed, pulling you into another powerful hug.

Laurie had finished his opera, now with aspirations of pulling funds together and opening a production in Europe. He was still in the midst of planning and conversing with his grandfather about finances and departure dates, but it seemed like Laurie’s promise of spiriting you away to Europe could now become a reality. And with the possibility of your very own French stage debut! 

Thus, you three souls were being tugged into three far corners of the globe, to your respective callings. The realization scares you, to know that this may be one of the few times you have left together. But underneath it all, there was a sense of excitement to see the world and make it your own. You were satisfied, proud knowing that the three of you had come so far with your aspirations and you had no doubt you would find success in your art.

In the comfortable silence, serenaded by the hum of cicadas and birdsong, you gaze up to the clouds gliding over Plumfield, Massachusetts. You feel an aching longing for those childhood days of carefree play, the countless rose-tinted memories of Laurie and Jo by your side, yet looking up at the sky, you know these memories of summers past will always be with you. 

And there would be better and more to come. 

[mercurygray]

Ok for my second drink.... 'omen' and 'cursed' for Andy and Viv in the Sleepy Hollow universe xx Juno

This isn't strictly to spec, but I had a lot of fun world-building this!

He hated paying calls.

But beggars can't be chosers, and penniless schoolmasters neither, and when the patroon summons the new man to tea, he obeys, cap in hand and best suit on. There was nothing to be done about his stockings - they were torn, and they had been mended. In his last position, the ladies were always amazed that a man should know how to darn his own stockings and finish a buttonhole, but friendly neighbor ladies were few and far between at Fort Pacific and officers must look their best when company calls - or makes calls, for that matter.

The house was an old one, and fine, standing on a bluff overlooking the river, the grand man able to peer down into town with a watchful eye, and Andy felt like a particularly poor relation, climbing up the hill to the front door and knocking, and being admitted to the parlor by a young woman he assumed was the daughter. (He knew the Van Rietvelds had a daughter, an only child. It had been given about she was too old for school but not, perhaps, too old for the schoolmaster.)

And the young woman who answered the door looked to do admirably, for the daughter of the house, neat as a pin and smiling graciously, but when he gave his thanks, her face fell a little.

"Oh, but she isn't Miss Van Rietveld," proclaimed an arch little voice from the stairs. "I am. That is Miss Arsenault - my companion."

Andy realized, rather late, that mistakes had been made. The contrast between the two women was stark, and beside each other there could be no mistaking one for the other - the woman at the door was plainly dressed, ready for whatever manner of work the kitchen or the running of the house would furnish, and the creature on the stairs had not yet left girlhood, or idleness, behind, in a pale silk that would doubtless scorch if brought too close to a fire. Her hair was loose, skin pale and arms thin, and she moved without the other woman's assurance. (There was a difference of some five years between them, perhaps, and when the older met her at the bottom of the stairs and helped her down, Andy saw the flash of a handkerchief in the younger's hand - an invalid, perhaps?)

"My sincere apologies," Andy said, hoping very much he hadn't completely put his foot in it.

"Oh, leave him be, Liese, he couldn't have known better. What else should he think, seeing a pretty girl at the door?" Here, now, was a face he knew - the master of the house who'd met him in York City, reviewed his qualifications and offered him the post. "A bit of a different welcome than an army camp!"

"Mynheer Van Rietveld," Andy said, shaking hands with the master of the house. Woulter Van Rietveld was the very picture of the country squire, his stomach straining a little at an already expansive waistcoat, and, now that the two of them were together, it was easy to see the family resemblance between father and daughter in their flaxen colored hair and the sweep of their jawlines. But there could be no mistaking it - the daughter was not in the best of health, the color in her father's cheeks hardly reflected in her own.

"Come, sit you down in here, and we'll have tea. You've had a long journey, all the way from York City. Roads passable?"

Andy nodded, following them into the parlor. Liese took a seat at the fireside, obviously a favored spot, pausing to arrange a blanket over her lap, while her father took a seat in a large wingback chair opposite, leaving another wingback for their guest, the teacher.

"Were you a soldier, Mr. Haldane?" Liese’s eyes were bright with interest, a look he knew all too well and almost hated to answer.

"Was he, now! Well, I should say. With the Fifth Massachusetts, wounded twice, recommended for honors. I expect we should be calling him Captain; it seems to be what everyone else does!"

"I think it would confuse the students," Andy offered, trying to be humble about it. He had merely done his duty, as plenty of others had, and plenty more who had not come home to talk about it - or suffer under the adoring eyes of teenage girls, staring at him wistfully as though he were some hero from a book.

Miss Arsenault appeared again with the tea-tray in hand, and made short work of sharing out cups and saucers, pouring just so into each. Her eyes briefly met his, and she managed a short smile, flashed as quickly as a signal lamp, and he felt something flutter, again, a bird beating against his ribs, and murmured his thanks, hoping he remembered the correct form.

Van Rietveld was one of those hosts who only required his guests supply themselves and not the food for conversation - he talked at length of the lodgings he'd secured for Andy, the weather, and how the crop was coming in. It was easy enough to smile, and nod, and occasionally interject some small comment, and he was glad for it. It had been too long since he'd been in a room like this, especially among women, and he was out of practice, unsure what to say, especially after that buisness near the door.

"And do you see much of the Iroquois, in town?" he asked, trying to find some subject on which he might comfortably discuss. "I passed a trading party on the road."

Van Rietveld's face, which had been the soul of animation and cheer, was suddenly difficult to read, as though a cloud had passed over it. "They pass through," he said, his voice dismissive. "They know they're not welcome."

Liese, however, pounced. "Did you see much of the Indians, in the army, Mister Haldane? How did you know they were Iroquois?"

"I did," Andy said, trying to temper her excitement against her father's obvious discomfort. "Oneida, and some Tuscarora. I can't tell tribes as well as some. Fierce fighters, and...worthy adversaries."

"Miss Arsenault knows all their customs - don't you, Vivienne?"

Miss Arsenault, for her part, also looked a trifle embarrassed by the sudden attention. "I was three years among the Mohawks," she offered, rather quietly, her eyes meeting his again. "As a good-will pledge. I know a little of their language, their ways of knowing."

"A dirty, savage buisness," her master said with a sneer. "Better we were rid of them all together."

But he did not get to go on further; Miss Van Rietveld went into a fit of coughing, cutting the visit short. Her companion helped her upstairs to bed, the younger woman complaining the whole way that she was perfectly fit to stay and listen to Captain Haldane. (See? Already Captain. The whims of young women!)

"Mister Haldane!" It was Miss Arsenault, coming at a good pace down the path to the stable, something clutched tight in her hand. "Master Van Rietveld bid me give you this," she said, holding out a small square-bound letter, heavily weighted with a blog of wax. "For the innkeeper in town; instructions for your bill, I'm sure."

He nodded, but found himself unwilling to move - and so, it seemed, was she, looking like she had something else she wanted to say.

Finally she spoke."I hope you'll forgive Liese; she is young, and...does not have much for entertainment."

"May I ask a question, Miss Arsenault?” Her silence bid him go on. “How does a young woman like yourself find a position like this? It seems an odd job, for a young woman, to be a nurse rather than a governess." She looked at him and shrugged, smiling a little. "Is her illness quite grave?

She considered a moment, and nodded. "I'm told she has always been frail - quite without cause." She paused again, obviously unsure of whether or not to say what she was thinking. "Her father thinks it a curse."

"A curse!"

"On the night she was born, there was only a little moon, and the coach carrying the midwife forced an older woman off the road - an elder of the local tribe. She died later of her injury - and Mrs. Van Rietveld too. The master thinks the woman cursed the family, though no wise woman I know would do such a thing. That is why he hates them as he does. He thought my time with them would give me knowledge to break it."

"And?"

"She was a small baby, and early. I think her mother's death did her no favors. But as for curses...I think she has only the ordinary mortal ones, and a weak heart."

"Would you permit me to call on you, some time?"

"I think you'd be better served calling on Liese," she offered, quietly, smiling in her small way and turning to go back to the house. "She likes you."

But Liese isn't as pretty as you, he wanted to say, knowing, somehow, that if he did she'd turn the compliment aside the way she did everything else. And she doesn’t look like she’d stand up to a good kiss - like the kind I want to give you.

[palizinhaindanville]

17 with ferbella please

At this point I’m answering this just for the sheer dedication of going that far down my blog to find this ask meme because I reblogged it months ago

17. …to distract.

Ferb knew he had a bit of a reputation.

He was popular with girls, sure, but so was Phineas. Phineas just didn’t realize it because he was utterly uninterested in dating anyone.

But that did mean that most people in school considered Ferb to be somewhat of a player.

And maybe he was.

But...

“I need your help with something,” Phineas said, and Ferb looked up at him. “It’s Isabella’s Fireside Girl graduation this week, and I want to do a surprise for her. She always knows birthday surprises are coming, but this one she won’t be aware, right?”

Ferb doubted Isabella wouldn’t be able to figure it out, but Phineas wouldn’t listen if he told him.

“Anyway, I want you to distract her for the day,” Phineas said.

Spending time with Isabella - especially without Phineas nearby - was far from being a problem. Maybe the problem was that Ferb liked it a bit too much, for someone who had spent such a long time being a cheerleader for Isabella and Phineas.

But as far as Ferb knew Isabella was over him, so...

“I’ll do it.”

Approaching Isabella on the right morning wasn’t hard. She was fluttering from one side to another preparing everything for the graduation, so Ferb just offered to help.

“And the worst thing is that I planned my part of the decorations a bit too ambitious because I thought I’d have you and Phineas to help me, but apparently Phineas is too busy,” Isabella ranted at Ferb, who just listened. “What could he possibly be too busy with?”

Ferb knew it wouldn’t be hard for Isabella to reach the right conclusion from there, so maybe it was time to get involved.

“I asked Phineas to let me help you alone,” Ferb said. It wasn’t the truth, but it also wasn’t a lie that Ferb was having fun helping Isabella by himself, hearing her talk.

“Wait, what?” Isabella stopped writing on her list to look at Ferb.

Ferb walked up to Isabella.

“Ferb, if I didn’t know you better...” Isabella trailed off, apparently realizing what Ferb was about to do. “You know, you can’t just...”

Ferb didn’t say anything, just looked at Isabella, the distance between them minimal.

Isabella rolled her eyes, but there was a fond look in her face.

“You are such a player,” Isabella teased.

“I’m not playing you.”

And then he kissed her.

And it wasn’t just to distract her.

But Phineas would be happy Isabella didn’t think too hard on his surprise.

[golgafrincham]

The Forest God

Late December into the beginning of January was....tense and grim to say the least. Staring out my window into my own little patch of forest and retreating into an alternate reality where anyone could date a forest god was a huge comfort. Thanks again and again to🍃🌳💚 @dateaforestgod 💚🌳🍃 for the inspiration (psst under no obligation to read this however). The only constructive distraction I could manage that whole time was writing (but not the thing I was supposed to be writing, uh-oh) so ...here is a story about the first person to date a forest god.

Ch 1 They meet Ch 2 They meet again Ch 3 First date

🌳 Once upon a time there lived a person who was neither so young as they used to be nor as old as they would become. They lived in a small village on the edge of a great forest that was not as vast as it used to be, nor as dark as it would become.

Siv, for that is what their parents called them, was the last child of the family.

As the youngest Siv had been doted on and indulged - as one should with a baby - long after they grew up. They loved their parents more than anyone and never bothered to imagine what life would be like if they had not been destined to care for Mother and Father into their old age and until the very end. The older siblings had all been married off long ago, some happily, some not.

When not chopping wood for the fire or carding wool for the spinning wheel, Siv sat at the foot of the village wise woman. Since before they could remember, Siv had been fascinated with healing and little everyday magic, though not everyone in the village still agreed that everyday magic was a good thing. When Siv’s great-grandmother was still a little girl, a new god had been carried into the village by a group of men in black robes. At first the people had driven them away, but they came back again and again, with promises of prosperity and peace if they knelt before the new god - a god who they said was humble, yet of all the gods insisted that he was the only one. By the time Siv was born no one sacrificed to the old gods on their feast days or prayed to them for luck or a good harvest - at least not in public. By the time Siv grew up, no one hardly ever mentioned the old gods by their names, instead calling them all “false gods” or, as the more modern and progressive villagers termed them, “devils.”

As the old gods were pushed to the edges of the villagers’ consciousness, so too was the wise woman pushed to the edge of village life. But they still came to her when the new god wouldn’t calm their colicky baby or return their lost goat to the flock. They came to her after sunset, or in a panic at noon. They paid her reluctantly in bags of grain, or a chicken, or a promise that they never meant to keep. But still the old woman did her best to help, and she passed along her knowledge to Siv.

Together they would often go into the edges of the forest to collect medicinal herbs. The old woman showed Siv how to talk gently to the roots before pulling them up, how to take only what was needed, and how to leave an offering for the spirits of the forest to thank them for their generosity.

One day, after all the chores were done and the orange light of the sun was falling through the remaining dry leaves that still clung to the trees, Siv went to see the old woman and give her a bit of extra food in preparation for the long dark season to come. But she was not in her hut, and the hearth was cold. Assuming she had gone into the forest, Siv started down the well-worn track. It was the first time Siv had gone into the forest alone, though they had been there together many, many times before.

Hours passed as Siv followed the track deeper into the forest. The repeated call of “Grandmother! Are you here?” faded into the trees and received no reply. They called out louder, venturing just a little off the track to head towards the clearings that would allow their voice to carry farther. Still no reply. In frustration, Siv finally decided to give up after realizing the light in the forest was growing dim.

Siv pulled the edges of the woolen cloak tighter and turned around. After what seemed like an hour, though, the track was still in front of them but the edge of the forest was nowhere in sight. A white puff of breath escaped Siv’s lips. The sun had gone down and it was getting as cold as quickly as it was getting dark. There was no tinder, no flint to make a fire, only some bread and a hunk of cheese that was for the old woman. Siv knew they had to keep going, but the track was so dark - strewn with rocks and roots - the going was slow.

The moon rose as a silver sliver in the sky, but it was too weak to cut through the dense branches and reach the ground. It must have been after midnight when Siv, shivering and exhausted, decided to give up.

I will freeze in the forest or I won’t. But I can’t go any farther. They spotted a huge oak on the edge of a rise. The massive roots of the oak had twisted and pushed the earth up forming a little hollow at it’s base. Siv did their best to push a pile of leaves into the hollow to make a kind of nest, but before they lay down remembered that they were a guest in the forest, and a guest should always bring a present for their host.

Siv felt along the ground until they had collected twelve little stones to make into a small circle. In the middle of the circle they placed a larger, flatter stone, and on this stone put a single leaf and the bread from their pocket, just as the old woman had shown them. Satisfied that they had done all they could, they fell back exhausted into the pile of leaves. Wrapping the thin cloak around tightly, they curled up and immediately fell into a leaden sleep.

The forest at night was normally quiet, but immediately after Siv fell asleep it passed into an even more profound stillness. Looking up from the ground, there were only a few places amidst the tangle of trees where one could see the tiny pricks of light that were the stars. Suddenly but silently, even those few lights were obscured. A dark shape nearly as tall as the trees moved towards the gift that had been left in the circle of stones. The shape hunched over and shrunk as it lowered itself to the ground. One long dark finger reached out and poked the bread.

Though it wasn’t much, it was the first gift He had seen in a long time. He turned towards the sleeping figure and the light of the faint stars caught the edges of His horns. He sniffed the air. He had sensed this person in the forest before. Harmless. He thought as He shifted closer. Only a small patch of Siv’s face was visible through the cocoon of fabric, already covered with a light dusting of frost. Weak trails of hot breath escaped through pale lips. Pitiful.

He stared at Siv for a few moments more, then looked back towards the gift. In the center of the dark shape, a dark heart softened. The outline of the shape began to recede and melt like a shadow disappearing into the greater darkness.

The crescent moon peered between the crowns of the trees and threw a cold shaft of light into the hollow, illuminating the edges of Siv’s clothes and the dark gray fur of the wolf that stood facing them. The wolf approached, circled three times, and settled down as close as He could. He rested His chin on His crossed paws and closed His dark green eyes.

Soon enough He could tell that Siv was warming up. The pitiable human stirred and stretched their legs just a bit. They rolled over, threw one arm onto the side of the huge wolf and buried their face in the coarse fur.

He sighed to Himself. Only a human would do such a foolish thing.

They slept.

~~

Dawn had not yet arrived when Siv began to stir. Wrapped deep within a dream of a warm fireside and a faithful dog, the undeniable fact of the hard forest floor only gradually reached into their consciousness to pull them back to reality.

For a moment, a handful of fur told them that the faithful dog was still there, and they wondered where they were. Siv rolled over and  tried to uncurl and sit up, but every joint and muscle refused to budge. With a little time and patience, feeling started returning to the ends of their fingers and toes and they managed to prop themselves up. 

I’m still alive. But also still in the forest. They knew they had to get moving, but before they could even try to stand up they saw it.

Not ten paces away was an enormous dark gray wolf. 

Siv froze in place, barely daring to move. The wolf was staring directly at them with piercing dark green eyes. 

Wolf. Dog. Wolf. This wolf is the dog in my dream. It kept me warm. 

Siv looked more closely at the wolf.

This is not an ordinary animal. 

The wolf cocked its head slightly and opened its eyes wide. It got up and slowly walked to Siv, stopping only two arm’s lengths away.

It spoke, or at least, Siv heard its voice.

You are not afraid.

“I am afraid.” Siv replied quite truthfully.

You do not run.

“If you were going to kill me, I would already be dead.”

“May I ask...” they knew that the wolf, not being a wolf, was best approached with deference “if you stayed beside me in the night to keep me warm?”

I did.

Awkwardly, with limbs still stiff from the cold, Siv got their knees and made a small bow. “Thank you for saving my life.” “I have no way of repaying you.” then they remembered the piece of cheese still in their pocket. That’s a poor present. But no, that’s not all I have. Siv looked around and saw a large brown oak leaf - they grabbed it and placed the piece of cheese on it. Then, slipping a small silver ring off of a pinky finger, placed the ring next to the cheese and slid the leaf towards the wolf.

“Please accept this small gift. Its insignificance is not meant as a slight, it is all I have.” 

It was. The slender silver ring was a gift to a young child from their oldest sister’s family when she married off, and was the only material thing of value Siv had ever owned. 

The wolf rose and lowered its head towards the gift. It smelled it cautiously before releasing a snort of hot breath. The cheese disappeared so quickly Siv wasn’t entirely sure it had been eaten.

The wolf sat back on its haunches. 

I am not fond of metal. 

By this time the sun was beginning to rise and the sky was fading into the blue white of morning. The outline of the wolf, however, was falling deeper into shadow. The shape of the wolf darkened until it became only a shadow, with two bright green eyes remaining.

Siv’s blood ran cold. Fool, fool, you have insulted a ....wolf...god. You’re going to….you deserve to die.

However, the voice continued I will accept your gift.

The shadow grew until its piercing green eyes were towering over the kneeling human. Within its darkness though, there were myriad things growing, myriad decaying, plants rustling in the wind, animals digging, running, flying. Siv was frightened and entranced. 

Only when the morning sun had peeked between the trees, and the shadow had coalesced into a new, more solid form, was Siv able move their head just enough to look up and truly see what was before them.

The sun’s rays outlined a figure twice as tall as the tallest man Siv knew. It was crowned with dull golden antlers that cradled the rising sun. 

The green eyes of the wolf looked out of a human, though somewhat long and sharp, face. The wolf was no longer there, but the figure wore a gray wolf pelt around its middle, tied with bands of ivy. Below the pelt the humanness ended, for it stood on the hind legs of a stag.

The being bent down and hooked one sharp pinky nail into the tiny silver ring before lifting it up to His face.

“Though I am not sure what to do with it.” This time when He spoke it wasn’t directly into Siv’s inner ear. Instead He spoke with a voice that was deep and rich as forest loam while gentle as a breeze passing through a copse of ferns.

Siv was transfixed.

He lazily twirled the ring around the end of his pinky nail for a few moments before seeming to remember the human in front of him.

“Why did you come into the forest so late at night with no fire or metal so necessary to your kind?” There may have been a hint of bitterness in His question.

Siv’s mouth opened, but there was nothing to say. 

 “Why? Come? Here?” He tried again, clearly and slowly enunciating. Perhaps I used too many words on this simple human He thought to himself.

Why...? For a few moments, Siv truly had no recollection of yesterday, or any moment before they had seen….Him. Think!

“I….had come…to the forest...with no disrespect.” Their mind shoveled through piles of frozen dusty thoughts until finally -

“the wise woman! I went to see her but she was gone. Her hearth was cold. I thought she had gone into the forest, so I went to find her and...I lost my way.”

“She is not in the forest.”

“Oh.”

“Thank you.”

“How...do you…?” Siv ventured.

“I know everything that comes and goes in this forest.”

“She is not in it.”

“Thank you.” 

“Thank you again for saving my life. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

“No.”

The intervening silence was long enough for Siv to realize that the forest was no longer silent. Birds high in the trees called to each other, bushes rustled - the forest was awake.

Siv looked around - the giant oak, the piles of leaves, all looked more friendly and comfortable in the daytime than they had last night. Unfortunately, the daylight didn’t help the fact that nothing looked the least bit familiar. They were still hopelessly lost.

In the time they’d spent looking around, the forest god - for surely that is what He must be - had silently moved towards the deepest part of the forest.

“Wait! Please! Wait!” Siv shouted as they struggled to get to their feet.

The god didn’t seem to hear, continuing on in a stately pace. 

Siv ran, jumping over roots and brambles, trying desperately to catch up.

“Please” they could barely get a word out, breathing hard as they ran “I don’t know how to get home!”

The god stopped, but didn’t turn. Instead He raised his hand towards a golden branch of a nearby larch. A tiny sparrow hopped onto his outstretched finger and they appeared to be conversing silently.

This gave Siv almost enough time to catch up. “Please” they fell to their knees, though whether out of exhaustion or as a gesture of respect it was difficult to tell, “I am lost.”

The forest god gently placed the little bird back into the tree and at last turned towards the panting human at his feet.

So frail and easily confused, these humans, yet, so troublesome at times. “And?” He asked, His voice was so low it almost slipped into a growl.

“Please...can….you….point me towards the eastern edge of the forest. The...village?

The god didn’t answer.

Oh no, I am asking for a favor...and I have nothing to offer in return. Fool. Fool. He saved your life, and you are asking Him for another favor. But...if He doesn’t help me I could die here.

“Lord” Siv began again, but this time as respectfully as they could “I don’t deserve your aid - You have already saved my life once - but I must return home. It is my duty to care for my aging parents. They will worry about me and if….if I don’t return there will be no one to chop their wood or go to the market for them.”

“...”

“If I don’t return...the wise woman has no one else to pass down her knowledge of the old ways.” Ah, wait, that’s it. Siv dared to look up at the shining face of the forest god. His face was an impassive mask, at once both beautiful and terrifying. Siv avoided His emerald eyes and looked up - only then did they notice the faded chain of flowers draped between His antlers.

“If you help me to return, I promise to find the forest shrine and make it like new. I promise I will return at the full moon with gifts, and light the little fires to mark the changing of the seasons.” 

“...”

“Why should I believe you, human?” He demanded, though His tone was more weary than angry.

Siv was tired, and still cold, and by this time very very hungry. There was nothing more they had to give. There was no way they could prove that their promise would be kept. 

“I...there is no security I can give you but my word.” But what good is the word of a mere mortal like me? Worthless. Their shoulders slumped.

“Thank you for saving me. I will leave.” 

Dejectedly, Siv turned around and tried to make their way towards the direction of the still rising sun, hoping it would take them to the edge of the forest eventually. 

They made their way under fallen logs and over roots and brambles. The forest had woken up fully by now, and Siv could swear that the birds - there were more of them than seemed normal for this time of year - were mocking the lost and hungry traveler with their echoing songs.

After what seemed like hours of frustratingly slow progress, Siv sat down heavily on a fallen tree. How could I have been so stupid as to get lost? If I die here...and never see my parents again....what a foolish way to die. Like an ignorant child. Their eyes began to fill with tears. 

“You are going in circles.” 

Siv looked up. The forest god was directly facing them, where moments ago there had been nothing. The dappled light that filtered through the trees played across His warm bronze face and shoulders.

“The birds have been trying to tell you for hours. Can’t you hear them?”

Siv’s head shook and they quickly tried to wipe the corner of their eyes. Instead of a proper answer, Siv’s stomach gurgled.

The sunlight that fell on the god seemed to sparkle and the edges of his form became less distinct. He took one step forward and was no longer quite so tall, quite so imposing. He leaned down towards the dejected human.

“Hungry?”

Siv nodded. Everything about the forest god seemed to have softened - His antlers weren’t so large and sharp, His lips were full and curved into a gentle smile.

“Here, I saved half of the gift you gave me earlier. Do you want it?” He extended one long sinewy arm, and in his hand was a half of the piece of bread Siv had left as an offering the night before.

Siv stared at it. The sound of their stomach grew louder.

“No, thank you.” the hungry mortal shook their head, resigned. “I can’t. It is a gift, given in thanks for hospitality. It is Yours alone.”

The forest god took back His proffered hand and stood up. “Good. It was only a rock. I ate the bread last night.” He tossed the brown rock over his shoulder where it hit the ground with a thunk.

He shook his head. Pitiful. 

“I am tired of hearing the birds constantly yelling at you.” He straightened up to His full height, and extended one large hand towards the human. 

Siv stared at the god, awestruck once again. 

“...” He dropped His hand.

“Are you coming?” He said somewhat impatiently.

Siv immediately got up.

“Take my hand.”

Even reaching straight up, they could only just touch the ends of His fingers. In response, the god subtly shifted as if moving away from Siv - though He never actually moved. He was now only a couple feet taller than the confused human whose hand He grasped.

The moment the god took Siv’s hand, their heart began to race and stars filled the edges of their field of vision. Their whole body felt light and heavy all at once like they were going to faint. But instead of fainting, they were pulled forward. 

The trees seemed to part before them. Siv would look to one side, then look again only to see a completely different scene. It was like the forest was running past them in the opposite direction while they were walking calmly. Within moments they were on the well-trod path, within sight of the edge of the forest.

The god stopped and let go of Siv’s hand. To Siv, it felt like suddenly being ripped from a warm bed in winter and shoved outside. It took every piece of willpower Siv had not to reach out and grab that hand again.

“I go no farther than this. I trust you can find your way from here?” He gestured out towards the open land beyond the trees.

Siv’s eyes followed the god’s motion and saw familiar landmarks. They turned to answer, but instead of the forest god they only saw the retreating form of a giant stag passing silently back into the woods.

💚Chapter 2

[elizabeth-against-the-universe]

Story: How To Earn Your Emotional Bravery Patch Without Realising It

So @galaxina-the-pyro gave me a prompt: "So, what do you think would’ve happened if Isabella finished her “Well that’s not the boy I fell in love with!” confession in SBTY?"

This was the result of that! You can also read it on AO3 or on FF.net

“I would give anything if he would just sit down with me and enjoy this beautiful sunset.” Isabella sighed; her arms wrapped around her legs.

Ferb, who was offering her silent comfort from her left side, noticed his panicking brother running over towards them. As he arrived, the green haired boy stepped away, knowing that the pair needed to have a talk. Maybe they could help each other out.

As Phineas ran over, he continued his list of ideas that were all impossible, “We, we, we could—We, we we could dig a tunnel under the ocean and then we could, uh, we could...we can, we can...we...we can't.”

The redhead continued: “I can't...I can't believe there's nothing we can do to get off of this...” As the boy, who is usually full of so many ideas, spoke desperately, the raven-haired girl looked around, realising that everyone else was feeling just as dejected as Phineas.

As Phineas trailed off, he sighed, and sat down next to Isabella. The girl watched as he curled his arms around his legs, making himself as small as possible, before unknowingly stating the one thing that only a minute before had been at the front of her mind. “I guess at least we can sit and watch this beautiful sunset.”

Instead of feeling elation at the idea of doing something so romantic with the boy she loved, Isabella just felt her heart break for Phineas. She looked at him for a second, before realising that this wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

“…No.”

“What?” Phineas asked, confused.

“No!” The girl repeated, determination in her tone, as she quickly stood up. “You are not going to enjoy this beautiful sunset!”

“I’m not?”

“You built a rollercoaster through downtown! You made giant tree-house robots! You travelled through time for crying out loud! Twice!” She gestured wildly with her arms as she spoke, emphasising her points.

“But, Isabella, there's nothing here for me to work with.”

“Well, that's not the Phineas Flynn that I fell in love with!”

“Isabella!” Phineas smiled widely.

The girl continued on as though she hadn’t heard him. “You showed us all on Ferb's map how this is possible and I'm not gonna let you sit there and –”

“Ferb’s map!” Phineas jumped to his feet, finally coming up with an idea to get them off the island. “That’s it! Isabella, you’re the best!”

The redhead hugged the raven-haired girl, a huge grin on his face. He then called out to his brother: “Hey Ferb. Let's see that map again.”

---

The group made it back to the Flynn-Fletcher backyard with barely a second to spare, and only a few moments before Linda and Lawrence arrived home from their trip. With the parents’ permission, they started the welcome home party, kicking it off with a big musical number.

Throughout the song, Isabella was in heaven. Phineas kept taking her hand, and they danced together a lot. She even thought that he threw her a flirty look when they were in the rollercoaster cart, and she sent one back. They finished the song, and Isabella noticed that Candace had gotten her romantic kiss with Jeremy.

“Hey, where’s Perry?” asked Phineas, looking around the party. No one seemed to know, but he just shrugged. “Oh well, I’m sure he’ll turn up soon!”

With that, Ferb took over as DJ, and the party went into full swing. Isabella was immediately dragged away by the other Fireside Girls, asking her all about what happened, and specifically about what happened in Paris. She told them about the trip, sighing as she recalled what Phineas was like in the city of love.

Just as she got to the part about the desert island, the redheaded boy appeared at her side.

“Hey Isabella, can I talk to you?”

The Fireside Girls giggled, pushing their leader towards her crush.

Phineas led them into the house, so they could have a bit of privacy.

“So, Phineas, whatcha doin’?” Isabella giggled; her head titled in question.

“I wanted to talk to you about what happened on the island.” He explained, gesturing for her to sit on the couch with him.

“What do you mean?” She asked, taking a seat beside him. The girl was confused, not knowing what he might want to discuss. Sure, Phineas had been a bit frantic on the island, but Isabella would’ve expected him to discuss that with Ferb. Yeah, she had been the one to give him the pep talk that finally gave him the idea about using Ferb’s map to make a paper airplane, but she hadn’t said anything noteworthy that needed further discussion, right?

“Your pep talk really helped me.” Phineas stated, taking one of her hands in his own. “I mean, you gave me the idea to use Ferb’s map, but you said something that really gave me the boost I needed to get us off the island.”

Isabella was still confused, and the young inventor saw her confusion written all over her face.

“You don’t remember, do you?” He asked, slightly amused.

“What did I say?”

“You told me that you’ve fallen in love with me.”

Isabella went pale, her eyes wide, and her mouth open in an ‘o’. She tried to say something, anything really, but all she managed to squeak out was an “um…”

Phineas kept smiling at her, giving the hand he held a slight squeeze.

“I’ve never really thought about romance before, except when it comes to other people.” He told her, reaching to grasp her other hand. “But I do know that I feel different about you than I do about Baljeet, Buford, and even the other Fireside Girls. I don’t think I would’ve built a giant haunted house if any of them had the hiccups.”

The raven-haired girl managed a giggle at that.

“I don’t know if I’m in love,” Phineas continued, giving both her hands another gentle squeeze, “but I do know that I like you a lot. I like-like you. A lot. And I’d like you to be my girlfriend?” He said the last part like a question, his face displaying a slightly unsure grin.

Isabella was still unable to form words at this point, so she simply grabbed him by the shoulders and firmly kissed him. It was a quick kiss, lasting only a few seconds, but both pulled back from it with a smile.

“Can I take that as a yes?” Phineas asked, slightly cheekily.

“Yes, yes you can.”

[authenticcadence18]

Can’t Help Falling in Love Ch. 5

THE CHAPTER IS BACK UP, WOO!!!!! (it accidentally got deleted...but I’m finally fixing it, yay!!) Pls enjoy!! 

Warning: the next line contains a minor trigger warning which contains a minor spoiler.

(minor trigger warning for an injury in this chapter. It’s nothing serious...and mostly just in there as an excuse for some fluff...but I wanted to let y’all know just in case!)

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

AO3

...

Darling, so it goes…

Some things are meant to be…

...

“Alright! Before I let you and your partners discuss your projects for the last fifteen minutes of class, who can tell me something about dominant chords?”

Since the beginning of March, Ms. Chase had made a habit of asking her students one review question a day as a “pre-pre exam review.”

Unfortunately, the blank stares she got in response to today’s question seemed to indicate no one had a response.

Ms. Chase allowed the silence to linger for a few seconds, giving her students the opportunity to think critically about her question before determining she needed to move on. “Alright, I’ll review them again!” she said warmly. “There’s no point in waiting an eternity for someone to answer a question if no one knows the answer or wants to answer...we would just be wasting time.

“Dominant chords are built on the fifth note in a scale, and they create instability! Whenever you hear a dominant chord in a song, you instinctively wait for it to resolve. It sounds like it’s holding its breath! And, that resolution, or the exhale of relief, is typically found in a tonic chord!! Remember, the tonic chord is built on the first note of a scale, so when you go back to it, it’s like you’re going back home.”

Perhaps now that she’d reviewed the concept, the class would be able to answer a question!

“Can anyone think of a song that ends with a dominant chord resolving to the tonic?”

A student raised his hand.

“Yes, Django?”

Django’s answer was hesitant. “...‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’?”

“Excellent!!!” Ms. Chase replied with a grin. She wrote out the lyrics to the first verse of the tune on the whiteboard and gestured to them to elaborate on the lesson. “Imagine the words ‘what you’ being held out for an extended period of time instead of immediately being followed by the word ‘are’ and the final tonic chord....hear the unresolved dominant chord in your head…..FEEL the mounting tension that is DESPERATE to finally be resolved…...can you hear it? Can you FEEL the aching, burning desperation for resolution???”

A few particularly musically-inclined students—Isabella and Phineas included—nodded their heads enthusiastically. The majority of the class, however, seemed primarily caught off-guard by their teacher’s passion for chords (especially while discussing a children’s nursery rhyme).

Ms. Chase chuckled at their reactions (and her heart sang at the few students who DID seem to grasp the inherent beauty of dominant and tonic chords.)

“Look, I know this might seem boring and irrelevant now, but you’ll need this information to understand a simile in a couple of chapters!!”

“....don’t you mean to understand our exam review in a couple of weeks?”

“Yup! That’s what I said!!”

...

“Alright, by class time tomorrow, you and your partner need to decide whether your final project will be live, recorded, or elsewise! No matter what you decide to do, you will have to turn in your project along with your essays next Monday, exactly a week from today. You can turn in a scratch recording if you intend to do a live performance. And, just a reminder, presentations will start next week on Tuesday. Alright, you have the rest of class to discuss with your partners! Go!!!!”

Isabella and Phineas nodded at their teacher before facing one-another. Isabella opened her notebook and thumbed to a blank page, scribbling the words “Presentation Ideas” on the top.

“I’m sure glad we already got the essay out of the way!!” Phineas exclaimed as she wrote. “It was a great idea to do that first, Isabella.”

Isabella smiled sweetly (and maybe she blushed a little, but who could blame her?) and replied, “AND, just like you said, we have a better grasp on the song’s themes and structure now! That’ll make the presentation easier.”

“Easier,” of course, was a relative term for their situation. Understanding the themes and structure of their assigned song didn’t change what the lyrics meant to them personally.

Isabella and Phineas quite literally couldn’t help being in love with one another.

No amount of analysis could top that for inspiration.

“OK!!” Isabella shook her head to clear it of thoughts about her feelings for Phineas and the inherent irony in their song assignment. “Ideas for our presentation!! What do you want to do? Make a poster? Sing live? Record a video?”

(One would think two individuals as motivated and driven as Phineas and Isabella would have come to a decision about this by now. But they’d both been putting this conversation off for as long as they could.)

“Well….” Phineas rubbed the back of his neck and tried to hide the faint blush warming his face. “...I think it would be fun to sing together again. I mean, live. For the class. We haven’t done that—you know, sung together—in years.”

Deep down, Phineas knew singing with Isabella was perhaps not the best idea. Singing “Can’t Help Falling in Love” for their presentation—as opposed to making a poster or something about it—would almost CERTAINLY result in sly looks from the rest of their classmates as they performed...not to mention be difficult on Phineas himself.

But he loved singing with Isabella.

Some of his fondest memories from when they were kids involved musical numbers—be they spontaneous or rehearsed—in which they shared a melody.

Phineas also figured it would be less risky to sing live than make a video. If he and Isabella chose the latter option for their presentation, they would likely have to spend time editing footage together after recording...and Isabella could catch him gazing fondly at her in one of the videos...and his secret would be out. It would be better to just record the audio of their song once or twice for Ms. Chase and then sing it in front of the class.

And...there was one final reason Phineas wanted to sing “Can’t Help Falling in Love” with Isabella.

Doing so would be the safest way to say “I love you ” to her.

He didn’t expect her to return his feelings or even UNDERSTAND just how deeply the lyrics resonated in his heart while they sang together, of course.

But he wanted to tell her he loved her. Even if it was just through the lyrics of a half-a-century-old song. Even if it didn’t mean anything to her.

It would mean something to him.

Isabella smiled fondly as memories of singing with Phineas washed over her. “You know what? I think you’re right. That WOULD be fun. We should sing together. ...you know, live!”

(She also didn’t trust herself to film a video without making heart eyes at Phineas and potentially give her feelings away. Maybe he wouldn’t notice but...it was better to be safe than sorry.)

A bright smile unfolded over Phineas’s face, and Isabella giggled.

“It’s settled then!!” he exclaimed excitedly. “We’ll decide on some instruments to play and come up with an arrangement for the song, and then….” He gazed at her lovingly and took her hand in his. “All we’ll have to do is…run away together!!!”

Isabella beamed at him.

And then she blinked. And frowned.

Because what had Phineas said, exactly?

…and why did it feel uncomfortably familiar?

A bit of closer inspection revealed that Phineas wasn’t actually holding her hand. Or gazing at her lovingly.

...this didn’t bode well.  

Isabella took a deep breath. “......can you repeat that?” she asked hesitantly. “I think I zoned out for a second there.”

“Sure!” Phineas replied cheerfully. “I said, we’ll decide on some instruments to play and come up with an arrangement for the song, and then all we’ll have to do is record it for Ms. Chase and sing for the class!”

Isabella offered Phineas a thumbs up and a strained smile for the clarification.

On the inside, however...she was not smiling at all.

When Isabella was younger, she’d had a bad habit of occasionally falling into romantic daydreams about Phineas when he spoke to her and missing whatever he’d actually said. The rest of the Fireside Girls had lovingly dubbed this phenomenon “going to Phineasland.”

Isabella hadn’t been to Phineasland in years. Even now, though her feelings for Phineas were stronger than ever, she figured she’d outgrown it.

...except she apparently HADN’T outgrown it.

And she was going to scream.

Because if such daydreams became more frequent, Isabella had no idea how she’d be able to perform a love song with Phineas!! How was she supposed to discern between fantasy and reality while singing a romantic duet with him if she apparently couldn't even do it in regular conversation now??

...Isabella was just going to have to focus extra carefully whenever they interacted from now on. And take anything Phineas said (or sang) that could be interpreted as more than friendly with a grain of salt.

Several grains of salt.

“So. Do you want to get started on the song after school today?” Phineas asked.

“Sure!!” Isabella agreed quickly, eager to put thoughts of Phineasland out of her head and focus on literally anything else.  “I have soccer practice till 4:30, though. Do you have any meetings today? If not, I can come over to your house once I’m finished.”

“I don’t have any meetings today, but don’t mind hanging out here until you’re done!” Phineas replied. “Maybe I can sit outside on the bleachers while you and the team practice!! That way, you won’t have to walk home by yourself afterward.”

Isabella grinned, already looking forward to strolling home with Phineas (and maybe accidentally brushing her hand against his a few times as they walked).

(She could totally do that without going to Phineasland. Totally. 100%.)

“That sounds great!”  

...

Phineas smiled as a light breeze ruffled his hair.

It was a beautiful afternoon to sit outside and watch one’s crush play soccer.

It had been awhile since Phineas witnessed the soccer team in action. Their season ended back in autumn, and all their spring practices were primarily held to keep the team moving and prepare the underclassmen for next year’s season.

(Phineas hadn’t missed a game, of course. He loved supporting Isabella in any way he could...and watching her play soccer and lead the team was pretty awesome.)

His gaze gradually drifted away from the soccer field and down to the notebook in his lap. He added a bit of shading to the design for an invention he’d been ruminating on for awhile: a generator that could create any image in fireworks. Such an invention could be used for quite a few things, but Phineas had a particular idea in mind for it….

On the opposite page, he sketched out a horizon and penciled the phrase “Gitchee Gitchee Goo!” into the sky. A lopsided grin unfolded over his face as he absently doodled small hearts and sparks around the lyric.

...now that song was stuck in his head. He hummed a bit of the refrain.

Gitchee gitchee goo means that I love you!

Phineas smiled fondly at the familiar melody, one he and Isabella both knew very well. He wasn’t planning on confessing to her anytime soon...but it was still fun to daydream up different ways he could do so.

(Well. It was fun to daydream up different ways he could do so in a hypothetical scenario where confessing couldn’t result in their friendship being ruined forever. But that went without being said.)

“Hey, Phineas! Whatcha drawin’?”

Phineas’s pulse skyrocketed, and he nearly fell off the bleachers.

He’d been so wrapped up in his daydream, he didn’t realize Isabella was sitting next to him now.

And it was too late to shut the notebook. She’d already seen it.

...this didn’t bode well.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!” Isabella said with an apologetic smile. “We’re taking a short break, so I wanted to see what you were up to.” She moved a bit closer to Phineas so she could admire his handiwork better. “Oooooh, that looks neat!! Is that a generator that makes custom fireworks?”

Phineas managed to nod, hoping his face didn’t look as red as it felt.

Isabella smiled as she read the familiar lyric scrawled in the paper sky. “Are you planning to use this to promote some sort of Phineas and the Ferbtones comeback concert?”

Some of the tension left Phineas’s shoulders.

Isabella had provided a perfect explanation for the fireworks he’d drawn!!

“YUP!!!” he replied quickly. “I’d use it to promote a comeback concert!! Or, well, a comeback-comeback concert, I guess. But probably not anytime soon. I’m in no rush to revisit being a one-hit wonder...there’s too much other stuff going on right now. But I bet it could be fun to do someday!”

“Well, whenever you schedule that concert, let me know! Being a Ferbette was tons of fun.” Isabella smiled and quietly sang a bit of the aforementioned one-hit wonder to herself. “Gitchee gitchee goo means that I love you!”

Phineas let out an inaudible sigh of relief (and tried to ignore the way his heart leapt to hear Isabella sing the words ‘ I love you ’ in his general vicinity).

THAT had been a close one.

“Isabella, Isabella!!!”

A younger soccer player—perhaps a sophomore—ran over to the bleachers, an excited smile plastered to her face and blond hair flying behind her.

“What’s up, Mel?” Isabella asked. “We’ve still got a few minutes before we start the next drill. Is everything okay?”

“Is this—" Mel paused to catch her breath (running across the soccer field in one go was no easy feat!) before starting again. “Is this who I think it is??” She gestured to Phineas excitedly.  

Isabella smiled proudly. “It sure is!!

“Phineas, meet Mel, soccer-extraodrinare! And Mel, meet Phineas!!! He and I are working on a project for a class together, so he’s hanging out here until the end of practice.”

“It’s nice to meet you!” Phineas said kindly, extending a hand towards Mel. “I’ve seen you play before: you’ve got great form!!”

Mel, in response, squealed elatedly.

Which kind of freaked Phineas out.

Isabella couldn’t help but laugh at his confused expression. “Your reputation precedes you,” she explained with a grin.

“You built a Football X7 stadium in your backyard when you were just a kid!!!!” Mel elaborated. “Isabella told us all about it last semester!!!”

“Well, TECHNICALLY, my brother, Isabella, and the rest of our friends also built the stadium,” Phineas replied with a smile. “It was a team effort!”

Football X7 was once a purely hypothetical concept. In the 1950s, a man named Professor Ross Eforp developed plans for a fully-enclosed football—or soccer, for any Americans reading—stadium in which players could run on walls and shoot goals from virtually anywhere! Unfortunately, he was never able to bring his dream into reality, and it was deemed impossible.

Fortunately, for Phineas, Ferb, and the rest of their friends, the only thing that was impossible was impossibility! They built the world’s first fully-functioning Football X7 stadium to play a match with Ferb’s cousins one summer day and gave it away to a popular football team once they were finished with it.

Mel grinned before taking a deep breath and shyly asking, “...have you ever thought about building another stadium sometime? Playing soccer on this field is great and all, but I’ve always wondered what it would be like to play Football X7. Isabella told us it was tons of fun!”

Phineas rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It had only taken a few hours to build the stadium when he and Isabella were kids, but they’d had the help of Ferb and the rest of their friends then (and no other responsibilities to tend to, since it had been the middle of summer). “Well, I don’t see why not!” he said. “That would be really cool! But, we might need some extra hands to build it quickly.”

Isabella’s eyes lit up. “Why not recruit the robotics club to help?” she suggested excitedly. “We could all work together to build it!! With so many people lending a hand, it wouldn’t take long at all!”

“That’s a great idea!!!!” Phineas replied with a grin. “Ferb and I have been trying to think of something we could build with the robotics club for the betterment of the school, and a Football X7 stadium would be perfect!! How about I bring it up at our meeting tomorrow afternoon, make sure everyone is on board and that it’s okay with the school administrators, and then we can decide where and when to build?”

“That sounds great!!!” Isabella said.

“And, once it’s built, we can play a match together, for old time’s sake,” Phineas added.

Isabella smirked, a competitive glint emerging in her eyes. “The robotics team against the soccer team? You’re on!!!”

Mel squealed excitedly before taking off across the field, loudly exclaiming the recent development to the rest of the team. A ripple of cheers spread amongst the players as the amazing news—Phineas Flynn was going to help build them a Football X7 stadium!!—sank in.

Their shouts of joy nearly brought tears to Isabella’s eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them so happy….” she whispered.

Isabella cared deeply for the members of the soccer team. Throughout high school, in all its ups and downs, they’d always been there for her—and she’d made it a top priority to look out for the younger players (both to pay it forward to the upperclassmen who’d looked out for her when she was just a freshman and because she loved helping others, period).

To have the opportunity to give back to them like this, to see them so excited...it was amazing.

...and it wouldn’t have been possible without the brilliant, kind-hearted boy beside her.

Isabella turned to Phineas with a warm smile, gratitude momentarily overriding any qualms at expressing affection towards him, and brushed a quick kiss against his cheek.

“Thank you, Phineas.”

And then she stood from the bleachers and started jogging across the field and towards the rest of the team—both to join their celebration and finish up their practice.

Isabella didn’t fully register that she’d kissed Phineas on the cheek until she was about midway across the field. This realization made her stumble, doubts and possible ramifications of the spontaneous gesture suddenly spinning about her skull.

Had that been too much? Had she given her feelings away??

A small, slightly-jaded voice in Isabella’s head whispered, “Please, Isabella. Phineas is perhaps the most oblivious person on this planet—nay, in this GALAXY. He wouldn’t be able to figure out you have feelings for him just by you giving him a thank-you kiss on the cheek. He probably thinks it was a friendly gesture.”

The small, slightly-jaded voice was right. Sort of.

Phineas couldn’t move.

Had that really just happened? Had that been real??

The pinprick of warmth, the signature of Isabella’s kiss, still glowing faintly on his cheek seemed to indicate it had, indeed, been real.

He told himself she’d just been expressing her gratitude. That kiss did not mean—COULD NOT HAVE MEANT—anything more than “thank you.” After all, friends could kiss each other on the cheek, couldn’t they? They did that in other countries, right? Like, in France? That had to be what Isabella had intended by kissing him.

But this perfectly logical explanation couldn’t stop Phineas’s heart from racing in a perfectly illogical way. Or his face from flushing in an equally illogical way.

Because Isabella had kissed him.

Even if it had been a friendly kiss.

She’d kissed him.

A dreamy smile unfurled across Phineas’s face.

Today was a good day.  

...

The walk home was relatively uneventful.

Isabella didn’t dare “accidentally” brush her hand against Phineas’s now, not after the stunt she’d pulled during soccer. Attempted hand-holding probably would have been pushing it...even for someone as oblivious as Phineas.

And Phineas didn’t dare bring up Isabella’s kiss. But he thought about it. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The duo simply walked home, chatting about school and their project and ideas for the Football X7 stadium.

When they arrived at the Flynn-Fletcher household, they settled in the living room to develop a game plan for their song.

“Alright, Isabella,” Phineas began as they sat on the ground. “Are there any particular instruments you want to play when we sing?”

“I’m just not sure…” Isabella replied, pursing her lips in thought. “I’ve been thinking about it, but I can play tons of instruments! I’m not sure how to choose just one.”

“Same here!!” Phineas agreed. “There’s so many great options to choose from! Only playing a couple of guitars or something for our performance would be boring.”

“Wait…..” Isabella’s eyes lit up with inspiration for the second time that day. “....what if we didn’t HAVE to choose? Didn’t Candace used to use the spare room upstairs as a music room??”

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with….WAIT A MINUTE.”

“We can turn it into a recording studio!!!!” Isabella exclaimed excitedly. “And record our own accompaniment track with as many instruments as we want!!!!”

“Isabella, you’re a genius!!!!!!!” Phineas declared brightly.

“I know I am!” Isabella replied with a playful shrug. She opened her laptop and pulled up a music notation website. “Shall we get started on an arrangement then?”

“Yes, yes we shall!!”

...

The next few days passed by in a flurry of productivity. Isabella and Phineas divided their time between their own individual commitments, working on plans for and leading the construction of Danville High’s new Football X7 stadium, and working on arranging and recording the instrumental track for their project. Now, it was Friday, and they were headed to school to unveil the newly-completed Football X7 stadium and play the ultimate game of football—er, soccer. Ferb walked beside them, listening amusedly as they argued over who would emerge the victor in the evening’s match.

“My team’s totally going to win,” Isabella gloated. “We’re literally the SOCCER team. How could we lose a soccer match?”

“You forget, our team developed the blueprints for the stadium!!” Phineas replied matter-of-factly. “We have the technical know-how. AND, we have Ferb!!”

The two brothers exchanged a fist bump.

Isabella rolled her eyes with a grin. “Yeah, yeah, talk all you want. You’re so gonna lose.”

“No, YOU’RE gonna lose.”

“YOU ARE.”

“NO YOU.”

“I’M going to lose my appetite if you two keep flirting with each other,” Ferb chimed in.

Phineas and Isabella exchanged flabbergasted glances before shooting identical glares at him.

“FERB!!!”

“We are NOT flirting!!”

“Right!! We’re not!!!”

“That was just...friendly trash-talk!!!!”

“Yeah!!!!!!”

Ferb rolled his eyes with a smirk. “Whatever you say!” he conceded.

Phineas and Isabella eyed each other before frantically looking in opposite directions, both trying to hide their burning faces.

…..they hadn’t actually been flirting, right? Ferb was just messing with them...right??

The direction Phineas chose to look happened to line up with where Ferb stood. “....why do you hate me?” he mouthed, a steely look in his eyes.

Ferb just shrugged cheekily, pretending he didn’t understand his brother’s retort.

Someday, Phineas and Isabella would understand he did these things because he loved them.

(And because they loved each other but were really bad at figuring it out.)

...

After a rousing opening ceremony, the Football X7 match between the soccer and robotics teams was underway!!!!

(There wasn’t much room for seating within the stadium itself—the only non-athletic space inside was a small observation deck suspended in its middle—so any onlookers were allowed to sit and watch the match on a screen set up outside.)

So far, Isabella’s prediction had proven true: the soccer team had a few points on the robotics team! She grinned from her position guarding her team’s goal, eyeing the trajectory of the ball as the players kicked it around the stadium. She had a great view of the action from here, since the goals were elevated!!

Though Isabella didn’t think he’d played in years, Phineas was still pretty good at soccer. He kept up with the rest of the players easily and even managed to move the ball a few times!

(She was a better player than him, of course. That went without being said. But he was still pretty good.)

Isabella moved from foot to foot impatiently: she wanted the first period of the game to end. Playing goalie was definitely fun, but she was ready to run along the ceiling!! Kick the ball!! Really get her legs moving!!! Run next to Phineas and maybe trash-talk him some more!!!

And then, towards the bottom of the stadium, an enthusiastic member of the robotics team kicked the ball a bit too hard...and it crashed directly into Phineas’s head.

Phineas crumbled to the ground.

And Isabella didn’t need to wait for the next period to start running anymore.

“PHINEAS!!!!” Isabella leapt off the goal, sprinted down the nearest wall, and frantically ran to where Phineas lay before kneeling next to him on the ground. “Phineas, are you okay?? Can you hear me??”

Phineas groaned, but he didn’t open his eyes.  

Ferb crouched opposite Isabella at his brother’s side. “He got hit pretty hard….” he voiced quietly, an unfamiliar edge of worry in his tone.

“Oh no!!! I’m so sorry!!!!!” The aforementioned enthusiastic player took a hesitant step towards the three of them before burying his head in his hands. “It was an accident!!!”

“It’s okay, these things happen,” Isabella replied, though she wasn’t really paying attention to him.

She looked up at Ferb and said, “When I was younger, I earned a Concussion First Aid patch. Hopefully Phineas doesn’t have one...but, if he does, I can help.”

She took a shaky breath and tried to stay calm.

Phineas was going to be okay. He had to be.

She’d make sure of it.

...

Phineas blinked slowly as reality gradually returned to him. The world was a blur, and a dull pain throbbed in the back of his skull. He could only make out the green haze of the Football X7 stadium all around him, and the green haze of Ferb’s hair to his right….and Isabella. She hovered right above him. She was smiling at him.

Gosh, she was beautiful.

Isabella couldn’t hide the relieved grin that unfolded over her face as Phineas opened his eyes. “Is your head okay, Phineas?” she asked gently. “You got hit with the ball. Do you remember that?”

“I...think I remember…” Phineas managed to say. “And...my head’s fine...”

Sure, his head hurt, but he was alright. He’d never been better, actually, because Isabella was right here, gazing at him kindly and looking as pretty as ever. He smiled softly before reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear.

“I’m still seeing stars, though.”

Isabella’s breath caught, and her face—already slightly pink from playing soccer for the past half hour—flushed crimson.

...had Phineas just tenderly brushed the hair from her face and said he was seeing stars while looking at her?

…..or was this another daydream?

……..it was probably a daydream.

“Now is NOT the time to go to Phineasland!!!” Isabella told herself sternly. “Phineas might need your help!!!”

She needed to be completely focused right now. Not lost in an ill-timed fantasy!!!

“Ok, I’m going to take him up to the observation deck to make sure everything’s alright!!!” Isabella announced loudly. She looked at Ferb. “I’ll take care of Phineas, you hold down the fort here.”

…why was Ferb smirking at her?

…..he could probably tell she’d been in Phineasland.

This was so embarrassing.

“Alright, Phineas! Ready to go?”

“...I think so.”

Isabella slowly helped Phineas to his feet and, together, they walked towards the elevator that led to the observation deck. She’d be able to assess any damage more thoroughly up there—and give herself time to refocus on the way up.

(She couldn’t BELIEVE she was daydreaming about Phineas at a time like this, when she needed to be level-headed for his sake. It was absurd. It was MORTIFYING.)

Phineas didn’t say anything: his head was still a little fuzzy. But he was more than glad to follow Isabella wherever she went. He’d follow her anywhere.

The remaining students exchanged apprehensive glances as Isabella and Phineas disappeared into the elevator.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” someone asked.

“He’ll be fine,” Ferb assured them with a smile. “He’s in good hands. We can keep playing for now and check on him later.”

Another student chuckled behind her hands. “So like….are they dating or something?” she asked.

Phineas’s “seeing stars” comment—and Isabella’s reaction to it—had been hard to miss.

“Unfortunately, they are not,” Ferb replied. “But who knows? That could change soon.”

...

Phineas regained his bearings on the way up to the observation deck. He’d been a little out of it when he first woke up, but the fog in his head was finally clearing.

And here, beside Isabella in the elevator, he was having a bit of a crisis as he remembered the events of a minute ago.

“ .....did I tenderly brush the hair from Isabella’s face and say I was seeing stars while looking at her??

“….oh my gosh. I tenderly brushed the hair from Isabella’s face and said I was seeing stars while looking at her.

“. ...this is so embarrassing. ”

Maybe Isabella understood he’d been out of it. Maybe she wouldn’t ask him to explain why he’d done what he had.

…..maybe Phineas should stop thinking about this before she noticed he was blushing.

“Alright, here we are!” Isabella announced as the elevator stopped. She took Phineas’s hand (and Phineas blushed even harder) and guided him to sit in a chair near the wrap-around window overlooking the stadium. “How does your head feel now?”

“Not as bad as it did when I first woke up, I guess…” Phineas replied. “But it still hurts a little.”

“Are you nauseous?” Isabella asked.

“No.”

“Dizzy? Fatigued?”

“Not really, no.”

“Do you remember what happened right before and after you got hit?”

It took Phineas a second to think of a suitable response to that question.

“.....yes? I was running before I got hit and fell down, and then...I opened my eyes and talked to you.”

Isabella nodded, seemingly satisfied with his answer. “Okay, you probably don’t have a concussion. But if you start feeling weird tomorrow or the next day, you should probably see a doctor. Just in case.” She examined the back of his head. “You’re definitely going to have a gnarly bruise back here. Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Phineas replied. “That’s a part of the game, you know?”

“Yeah, it is….” Isabella agreed, finally taking a seat beside him. “I’ve been knocked in the head with a soccer ball at LEAST three times. It builds character.” She chuckled before tilting her head at Phineas with a gentle smile and quietly voicing, “...I’m really glad you’re okay…”

“How could I not be okay?” Phineas said. He grinned. “I’ve got you to take care of me!”

Isabella rubbed the back of her neck with a shy smile. “I’m just doing my former Fireside Girl thing, that’s all!”

“...so, now that you know I’m alright, are you gonna go back down there?” Phineas asked. “I think I’m done with Football X7 for today, but you can still play!”

(He didn’t WANT Isabella to leave, of course. But he didn’t want to keep her from playing, either.)

Isabella didn’t need time to consider her answer. “Nah, I’d rather stay here with you. I can’t leave you up here all by yourself! And we’ve got a great view of the match...so we’ll both be able to see it when the soccer team wins!!”

“You mean when the ROBOTICS team wins,” Phineas stated matter-of-factly.

They held tense eye contact for a moment before bursting into laughter.

It felt so good to laugh together.

Isabella’s smile faded a bit as she looked out over the stadium. “....we should have built this for Danville High years ago….” she mused, a hint of melancholy coloring her voice. “Maybe if we’d hung out more when we first started high school…if I hadn’t been so busy...” She winced, unsure if she should be hinting at this to Phineas at all.

After all, SHE was the reason they’d drifted apart in the first place. It was her fault they hadn’t thought to build something together for their peers until a month before their graduation...her fault they’d missed out on years of spending time together.

“Hey.” Phineas placed a hand on Isabella’s shoulder and squeezed it gently, unwilling to let her stay sad.  “The important thing is that it’s built now, no matter how long it took.

“And, we’re hanging out again!” He smiled softly at her. “...we’re going to keep hanging out from now on, right?”

“Definitely!” Isabella agreed with a grin.  

Phineas always knew just what to say to cheer her up.

...

Isabella and Phineas watched the rest of the match unfold from their seats. The soccer team remained in the lead for the rest of the game, much to Isabella’s delight (and Phineas’s chagrin). At last, the game ended, and Isabella shot up from her chair with a shriek of joy.

“WE WON!!!!!!!!! I told you we’d win and WE DID!!!!! WOOOOO!!!!!!!! Who was right??? ME!!”

She plopped back into the chair with a contented sigh.

Phineas frowned and pouted.

“....ok, you know what, you don’t have to rub it in.”

They were so busy reacting to the outcome of the match, they didn’t hear a third party enter the observation deck.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

Ferb exited the elevator and strode over to where they sat.

And Phineas and Isabella blushed and pretended they hadn’t heard what he said.

“Nice playing out there, Ferb!!” Phineas exclaimed. (He was eager to change the subject). “Even though we lost. You looked great!”

“Thanks! How’s his head, Isabella?” Ferb asked.

“It looks alright!!” Isabella replied with a smile. “I think he’s just going to have a bad bruise.”

Ferb patted his brother on the shoulder. “I think he’ll survive that. Nothing can keep this guy down.”

Phineas grinned. “How’s the stadium holding up down there?”

“It’s holding up well!” Ferb replied. “I did think of ONE modification we could add, though.”

“You did? What is it?”

“A skylight.”

Isabella and Phineas both cocked their heads at Ferb, momentarily confused.

“...not that that’s a bad idea, but why do you want to add a skylight?” Phineas voiced. “Wouldn’t that get in the way of the players’ mobility?”

“Perhaps, but it would make the stadium feel less enclosed, let the players see the sun and clouds during the day and the stars at night.” Ferb explained. He rubbed his chin pensively. “Although…

“I suppose you didn’t need a skylight to see stars earlier....right, Phineas?”

Isabella’s heart practically leapt out of her chest.

“. ...did he just say Phineas didn’t need a skylight to see stars earlier? But...if Ferb said that...then that means….Phineas actually tenderly brushed the hair from my face and said he was seeing stars while looking at me?? That was real????”

Phineas didn’t condone acts of violence.

…..but at this point Ferb was ASKING to be pushed. Or shoved. Or pummeled with an entire arms’ worth of pillows.

“FERB!!!! I was out of it when I said that, okay???” Phineas exclaimed, trying to save face as best he could (and failing, because his face was beet red). “I didn’t know what I was saying!!!”

“....Phineas actually tenderly brushed the hair from my face and said he was seeing stars while looking at me. That was real. Oh my gosh. Ohhhh my gosh. Ohhhhh mY GOSH.”

Phineas dared a glance at Isabella and winced because she was staring at him with wide eyes.

Perhaps she’d forgotten about the “seeing stars” incident until Ferb reminded her of it, and now she was remembering just how weird it had been. She was probably embarrassed. PHINEAS was certainly embarrassed.

…..for the second time that day, he wondered why Ferb hated him.

“Isabella...I’m sorry….” Phineas rubbed the back of his neck, desperate to move past this awkward hurdle and pretend it hadn’t happened at all. “I honestly don’t know what came over me down there, my head was so fuzzy after I got hit. Whatever I said, I didn’t mean it.”

Waaaaait that didn’t sound right.

“I MEAN. Not that you aren’t as beautiful as the stars! Which is what I meant! You are!! I meant that!! That’s true!!! But—I just—"

He was making it worse.

He needed to stop.

“......maybe I hit my head harder than I thought.”

At this point, Ferb deduced the situation had escalated too far for Phineas to handle it alone. It was time for some damage control.

“Alright, Phineas. I think we should head home. You should probably get some sleep.” He nudged Phineas out of his chair. “Isabella, are you walking with us?”

Isabella nodded numbly as she stood. She didn’t trust herself to speak at the moment.

“ .....PHINEAS THINKS I’M BEAUTIFUL?!??!?!??!”

...

The walk home was quiet.

Ferb didn’t usually talk much, so said quiet wasn’t unusual on his end.

But Phineas and Isabella weren’t saying much either. Which was very unusual.

Ferb knew he was probably to blame for that. So he’d decided to give the teasing a rest for the night.

When they arrived in front of Isabella’s house, Ferb said goodbye to her before taking his leave and crossing the street.

(He wasn’t sure whether or not she and Phineas wanted to talk alone, but he wanted to give them space in case they did.)

“So! Uh…” Phineas rubbed the back of his neck. He and Isabella hadn’t really spoken since they left the Football X7 stadium. “Do you want to come over and put the finishing touches on our song tomorrow?”

Isabella blinked and nodded. In all the commotion of the past couple of hours, she’d nearly forgotten about the project. “Yeah, yeah...we should probably do that....we don’t want to put it off until Sunday.”

“Alright. I guess, uh...I guess I’ll text you tomorrow. And then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“That sounds good. ...I’ll see you then.”

Isabella didn’t look at him as she said goodbye. Her eyes were instead cast upward at the sky and illuminated with starlight.

“....they really are beautiful, aren’t they?” she whispered softly.

Phineas followed her gaze...and his heart stuttered when he realized what she must have been thinking about (and when he realized she didn’t sound embarrassed or flustered at all but rather...somewhat awestruck).

A few seconds ambled by.

Phineas bit his lip and steeled his courage...and then reached out for Isabella’s hand.

“.....they sure are…” he agreed.

Except he wasn’t looking at the sky anymore.

Isabella glanced down at their hands, and then up at Phineas...who was already gazing at her.

Her pulse quickened.

“And...you’re beautiful too…” Phineas whispered gently. “Inside and out….”

He leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to her cheek.

“Thanks for taking care of me earlier. Goodnight, Isabella.”

(Isabella had given him a thank-you kiss a few days ago, after all. If she asked, Phineas could say he was simply returning the favor.)

Isabella couldn’t move. She could barely even stand. Her knees were going to give out any second now.

She watched as Phineas crossed the street, as he made it to his front door, as he waved at her.

She should probably go open her own door.

But she couldn’t move.

Her stomach was in knots and her head was spinning and her heart was pounding so loudly the entire neighborhood could probably hear it.

….she wasn’t in Phineasland again, was she?

She blinked and shook her head, just to be sure.

The rosy warmth on her cheek didn’t fade away. Phineas’s words still echoed clear as day in her mind.

That kiss had been real. His words had been real.

Phineas had said she was beautiful. Twice.

Phineas had kissed her.

…Phineas was still standing outside, waiting for her to go inside.

Somehow, Isabella managed to make it to her front door and open it. Phineas waved in her direction again before shutting his own door (and subsequently melting into a puddle in the foyer, though Isabella had no way of knowing that last bit).

She gazed out across the street and then up at the stars for a few moments as a tentative grin blossomed over her face.

Isabella wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring...but after tonight, she had a pretty good feeling about it.

“....goodnight, Phineas.”

Ferb chuckled as he stared down at his brother, who lay sprawled out in the middle of the foyer with a lovestruck grin on his face.

“I take it things went well out there?”

Phineas beamed.

“...yes, yes they did.”

...

Thanks so much for reading, and thanks as always to @youruinedmylifebynotbeingreal for being a lovely beta!!!! 

I posted doodles of a few scenes (you can probably guess which ones, lol) for this chapteron my blog if you’d like to check them out!! 

(also @dragonairice drew an AMAZING digital version of the “I suppose you didn’t need a skylight to see stars” scene that you can find here!! pls go check it out, it’s fantastic!!!!) 

Thanks so much for reading, and I’ll see you soonish for chapter 6! It’s gonna be a good one!!! ;D

(also, if there are any music theorists reading this, pls don't hate me for the barebones theory lesson at the beginning of the chapter. I tried to explain dominant and tonic chords as simply as I could, but I know there is a lot more to them than what I wrote! LOL)