maddie-naps

Latest Posts by maddie-naps

just got asked to buy a teacup chihuahua puppy on this hellsite

reblog to blow up a transphobe

Petitions - UK Government and Parliament

Petition: Legally enshrine the right of adults to physically transition using NHS services

Introduce a law to legally protect the right of those aged 18 and over to transition using NHS services. This should specifically cover phys

Uk peeps!! Let’s get this going! 🏳️‍⚧️🇬🇧

this post is for you. yes, you! you are so deserving of a good, happy, content life. you are so strong and resilient, and i am proud of you. you will make it through all this hardship and come out the other side doing better than ever.

when I drew this comic 3 years ago I had NO idea how far it would reach. I'm happy to finally share a corrected version with proper abbreviations, and even MORE state names of indigenous origin ♥️

however, the goal of this comic was to inspire people to do your OWN research on indigenous history. To question everything we have been taught, and everything that has been pointedly left out. This erasure, this “forgetting”, of history is not just of the past… it is happening now. - Across so-called Canada, the US, and US-occupied islands, native women are victims of murder at 10-12x the rate of non-native people, and are the most likely to go missing without being searched for by the law. - Native reservations have the highest rates of poverty in the US, with over HALF of tribal homes with no access to clean water (with more joining this list by the year) - Native people are 6-10x more likely to be unhoused than the rest of the population, and native teens suffer suicide rates higher than any other demographic. This list of modern day genocide goes on (thank you for compiling @theindigenousanarchist <3) and yet take a look at those environmental stats!

Native people manage to do SO much for the planet as a whole - thanklessly - and with all this stacked against them. Don't even get me started on kin fighting in south america. Could you imagine if there was help? #landback is resistance to genocide, and it is the key to saving our warming earth.

So look into it and the other hashtags, cuz a cartoon goose ain't a substitute for a proper education. Love to my grandparents who always kept a map of tribal territories of turtle island on their wall, to speaking on our Tsalagi & Saponi heritage. Love & solidarity forever, happy research, and happy #indigenouspeoplesday

LANDBACK.ORG

(Also, if you care to support the artist, I'm publishing a book ! and writing another - a fantastical afroindigenous graphic novel - that I post exclusively about with tons of other art on my patreon.)

tumblr flagged a post of a girl eating berries so fruit is for whores now reblog if youre a fruit eating whore

Every time you reblog this jk.rowling steps on a lego

anyway here’s your reminder that lgbt muslims exist and islamophobia shouldnt be tolerated within lgbt communities!

shout out to lgbt muslims living in places where our identities are still criminalised. 

Reblog if you’re asexual, support asexuals and/or love pizza

Bitches love reblogging this post every Tuesday the 18th

Reblog if you're shorter than 5'8.

hiiii friends!!

i'm currently working on a research paper on risk in f1 to complete my university degree and i would LOVE your thoughts on safety in our beloved sport. if you'd be willing to take my 5-10 min survey, i'd be forever grateful.

reblogs greatly appreciated

Google Docs

Risk in F1 Fan Survey

This anonymous survey will ask you a variety of questions on risk and motorsport. Answers will be used ONLY to inform a research paper being

kudos to my fellow gifmakers for repeatedly choosing to sit down for hours and hours, sometimes even days or weeks, on end to finish a gifset and create literal art and all the while forgetting to drink or eat anything and frequently resisting the urge to rip their hair out, only for people to rarely reblog and truly appreciate their gifsets and constantly save and then post them as their own content or leave unsolicited comments in the tags.

truly I salute you. 🫡

I think the most radical thing the hunger games does is tell young people that the most revolutionary thing you can do is have unconditional love for humanity. Katniss throughout the entire series is guided by a deep sense of compassion for the people around her. It is what causes her to volunteer, to bury rue, to mercy kill cato, its why she tries to save peeta, why finnick telling her to remember who the real enemy is works, and even though her compassion for the larger world falters when peeta is kidnapped, it comes back when she visits hospitals and asks for mercy for other victors and ultimately, it is love and belief in a better humanity that makes her kill coin. Through it all, she maintains an unfaltering belief in the fundemental goodness of humanity, which is diametrically opposed to dr gaul's and snow's worldview. Peeta is even more unwaveringly compassionate

So the series tells young people that the most revolutionary thing you can be is compassionate. Let compassion drive your politics. Let yourself believe in the fundemental goodness of people. And i think that's deeply important in a world that touts the superiority of pure reason or logic, to allow yourself to be guided by something as emotional as compassion. Katniss everdeen tells us that your politics should be rooted in compassion in a world that thinks detatchment or cynicism is intelligence and i think thats v cool

reblog to give a lesbian a sword, a bi girl a dagger, and a trans girl a cool gun

Apartment 402 – Tyson Jost

Requested: Yes ∆ No

Summary: Sylvia is a running away from the only life she ever knew, turning up on Tyson's doorstep may be the best decision she's made in years.

Author’s Note: Warnings for mentions of emotional abuse and postpartum depression, but also Josty being a sweetie. Honestly, I could probably written 4 billion more words

If you feel like you or a loved one might be in an abusive relationship, you can find resources here Please be safe out there and look out for one another

Word Count: 11.7k

Album Series Masterlist

Emptied my hеart, laid down my cards Played my best part, wanting a new start

It was too late to go back. Not that it was really an option, there was no turning around now.

She trudges through the snow that’s piling up on the walkway. This was the right choice, at least for now.

She rings the doorbell and waits for him to answer. It’s late and she didn’t call, she hopes he’s still a light enough sleeper to come get her out of the cold.

“Syl? What– why?” Tyson rubs the sleep from his eyes as he tries to decipher what’s going on.

Before she can answer there’s a cry that grabs their attention.

“You have the baby? Jesus, get in here before he gets cold.”

Sylvia gives a stiff smile and walks into his place with the carrier, she sets it down and pulls Jonah out and bounces him on her hip to get him to calm down. Tyson just watches, waiting for an explanation.

“I left him and I didn’t know where to go, so I just started driving and I ended up here,” Sylvia sniffs, trying her best to not cry. She cried enough in the car.

Tyson is too tired to say anything useful so he just pulls her and Jonah into a hug, he feels her relax in his embrace. When he pulls away, he smiles at the baby.

“Hi Jonah, it’s nice to finally meet you in person,” he holds out a finger and the baby grabs on and giggles when Tyson exaggeratedly shakes his hand.

Syl laughs along, happy Tyson isn’t prodding into the situation just yet. The wound hasn’t even scabbed over, it’s too early to even pick.

“I can put you in the guest room, but I don’t know where the little guy will sleep.”

“I have some of his stuff in the car, I just didn’t want to lug it to your door. You know in case…”

“In case I turned away a mother and baby in this weather?”

“More like you slept through me ringing the doorbell,” she smirks.

Tyson trudges back and forth for Sylvia to get all the stuff out of the car and then helps her set up in his guest room. She sets up the travel playpen and gets Jonah settled for bed, it’s not perfect but it works for now.

“If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” Sylvia is the first to go for the hug this time, she’s finally able to squeeze hard without a baby in her arms.

Tyson is surprised he manages to sleep through the rest of the night. He expects the way his blood boils to keep him up, thinking about what that man did to Sylvia, what he took from her, instead he finds solace in sleep.

He also expects the baby to cry, but maybe little Jonah knows how exhausted his mom is emotionally and physically that he gives her a break.

He goes to practice the next morning well-rested and acts like nothing has happened, because as of right now that’s kind of true. Sure, there’s a woman and a baby at his house for God knows how long, but it could be considered just an old friend visiting.

Still, after practice he goes to the grocery store. He doesn’t know anything about babies. Kacey is only two years younger than him so he was barely out of diapers when she was born. He wanders down the baby aisle and throws things in his cart that he thinks will be helpful: food, diapers, wipes, a pacifier with an elephant at the end that he thinks looks cute.

When he arrives home, it’s almost noon and it’s quiet. He knows Syl is still here because her shoes sit by the door like the good Canadian she is.

Sylvia is lying on the bed; she’s her eyes are open but she’s in a daze. Jonah is lying on the bed next to her, playing with his feet while his mother sort of pays attention.

When Jonah hears Tyson in the doorway, he makes an attempt to sit up and gets fussy when he can’t quite get up to look at the visitor. Sylvia doesn’t make any attempts to comfort or move towards him so Tyson scoops the baby up.

“Just get some more sleep,” he whispers and Sylvia just grunts in response.

Jonah starts crying as soon as Tyson gets into the living room.

“Don’t cry little man, we’ll find something fun to do,” he makes a silly face but Jonah’s eyes are closed as he gets ready to scream.

“Shh, shh, shhh,” he looks around the house for something to play with and grabs a loose puck from a side table, he’s pretty sure it’s for some milestone but it doesn’t matter right now.

“Hey look, here’s a puck,” he puts it in Jonah’s hand and the baby grabs it with interest before putting it in his mouth and gnawing on it.

If he was more knowledgeable, Tyson might think about the problem with letting the baby suck on a dirty puck but he’s just happy that Jonah’s calmed down.

He sits down on the floor with Jonah and the baby just happily gums the puck.

“You like hockey then, eh?”

Jonah gurgles in response before taking the puck and holding out for Tyson.

“Thank you,” he smiles though he’s grossed out by the now slobbery puck.

He sets it down but Jonah reaches out for it again. So, Tyson hands it back and Jonah laughs. A few seconds later Jonah passes it back. This continues for far too long to entertain anyone sufficiently and yet; it entertains both until Syl comes into the living room.

“Jonah did you make a new friend?” She brightens at the sight and joins them on the ground, Jonah drops the puck and reaches out for his mom.

“I bought some food and stuff if he’s hungry, sorry I didn’t even think to feed him.”

“He’s still on the tit, but thank you… for everything.”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal, “are you gonna tell me what happened?”

Syl lets out a heavy sigh and kisses her baby on the head.

“You don’t have to, I –“

“It’s fine, you deserve to know why I invaded your life.”

“I guess I finally opened my eyes and figured out what everyone else always knew? I think when I got pregnant, I really started to see what he had done. He has me push away my family and friends and kept me from my own source of income and when finally came up for air I was poor and alone and trapped.”

She starts to cry, “But people started sending me money for the baby and I didn’t tell him so I had a little nest egg and then he got mad at me for overcooking a steak and not being able to calm down Jonah fast enough and I couldn’t take it anymore, I had to leave.”

“And you took his son in the middle of the night across the border?” Tyson tries to keep judgement out of his tone, but he wants to make sure he understands.

“I honestly didn’t think I’d get this far, I thought I’d chicken out.”

Tyson gives her a strained smile. He’s proud of her, he really is; but at the same time, it seems reckless to leave without a whole plan.

“What if he tries to come after you? After Jonah?”

“I don’t think he’d want any of this to become public knowledge. Let something as stupid as me mess up his reputation,” she says it like she believes she’s nothing.

“I’ll help you find a lawyer just in case, people like him don’t deserve to win.”

Before she can respond, Jonah pulls down the collar of her shirt.

“Sorry, did I ignore your lunchtime?” she smiles and gets a gummy sone in return.

Without second thought she pulls out her breast and starts feeding him.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Tyson shoots up.

“I know you’ve seen tits at least once before, because I dared Brittni to flash you that one summer.”

“You’ll be shocked to hear I’ve seen a few more since then,” he mocks while averting his gaze.

“You know this is the only actual purpose of breasts, right?” She laughs, a real, genuine laugh.

“Yeah, doesn’t mean I need to watch,” he laughs back.

“Well get used to it buddy,” she drops her happy tone, “I mean if I’m allowed to stay here.”

“Why wouldn’t you be?”

“You’re a cool, young single guy who just moved to a new city, who doesn’t need a newly single mom and her baby cramping your style.”

“Lucky for you Sylvie, I like single moms.”

“I’m serious Tys, I haven’t exactly been a good friend for the past few years and then I throw this on you. It’s not really fair.”

“I appreciate it, but I got over being mad about the cold shoulder a long time ago. It was never really your fault. Stay as long as it takes to get back on your feet.”

“You say that now, but wait until Jonah really starts teething and screaming, then you’ll regret saying that.”

“You want to order pizza? I feel like celebrating that my best friend is here and left that asshole.”

“Pepperoni, green peppers, and extra cheese?”

“Always.”

It’s like no time has passed since they were last together. Syl can’t remember the last time she laughed so hard. If she were to guess it would have been 5 years ago, when her relationship still seemed good, when she still had friends she regularly talked to, and she hadn’t let herself wither away in the shadow of her husband’s expectations

If she thinks about everything she gave up, she’ll start to cry, and she has to be better for Jonah. For the new life she’s going to give them.

The next day she ventures out of the house with Jonah, the city looks much different with the sun out, like a new beginning. She finds herself driving around aimlessly at first, taking in this new freedom. Then reality sets in when she gets a call from her mother.

“He called me, to see if you came here, which is hilarious to think this is the first place you’d come,” she laughs like it’s actually a joke and not a comment on their strained relationship, which has been tenuous as long as Sylvia can remember.

“But are you okay? You don’t have to tell me where you guys are I just want to know you feel safe there,” despite their less than stellar relationship her mother had always loved her fiercely.

“I’m in Buffalo.”

“Of course, you went to Tyson,” there’s a sigh of relief, “I’m wiring you some money, don’t argue. Think of it as all the Christmas and birthday presents you missed. And get a new phone number. Don’t give him a chance to contact you outside of lawyers.”

Syl doesn’t mention the dozens of voicemails she hasn’t listened to yet. Though she can practically hear the threatening tone of half of them and the faux apologetic tone of the other half. The dichotomy of anger and caring that had kept her caged with fear and guilt for so many years. 

Her mom goes into legalities that Sylvia knows she’s only familiar with because of her daughter’s life choices. The deep harbored hope that Syl would eventually come to her senses. Everyone obviously hoped it would happen before a child was involved, but life doesn’t always go the way we hope.

After the phone call, Sylvia finds herself crying in a Target parking lot while Jonah screams in tandem.

Tyson comes home and finds Sylvia’s car missing and her phone number disconnected. He’s starts having a weird vision of Taken and going to Toronto to find Syl and beat the life out of her husband, though he doesn’t really have a special set of skills for that kind of action.

Then the door opens with Jonah strapped to Sylvia’s chest and her carrying some bags.

“Jesus Christ where were you?” Tyson grabs the bags out of her hands and his tone causing Jonah to whimper and start to cry.

“It’s okay Jonah, Tyson didn’t mean to scare you,” she bounces a bit to soothe him, “if I’m staying here a while I kind of need the essentials, cribs, bibs, changing table.”

“Well, you should have texted or something,” he lowers his voice a bit, not wanting to frighten Jonah more.

“I thought I would be back before you got home, but then my mom called and–“

“You talked to your mom?”

That’s the last thing Tyson expected to hear. Sylvia was a bit of a latchkey kid growing up, her parents working all hours, so Tyson mostly remembers her mom as the woman who would pick Syl up from his house or an outdoor rink late at night without much fanfare or conversation.

“Yeah, he called her. So, she wanted to see if I was safe. And told me to get a new phone so he could only reach me through a lawyer.”

“Smart,” Tyson nods, “and that’s why your phone was disconnected?”

Sylvia makes an embarrassed grimace in response, before she pulls out her phone and texts him a matching emoji.

“Before you start having me make furniture I have a gift,” Tyson smiles and drags Sylvia to the kitchen.

“I already owe you so much, you don’t need to get me a–“

She stops and laughs at the gift Tyson is excitedly holding up: a Sabres onesie and a pair of noise canceling headphones.

“I thought you guys might want to come to the next home game.”

“I don’t know…” she wants to go but she also worries about imposing too much on his life.

“C’mon, I want to be the one this little guy sees playing for his first NHL game, plus you can meet some of the guys and their partners. Get to know some people other than me, people who have experience raising their own kids.”

Tyson has a big smile, mostly directed to Jonah and it makes Sylvia insides turn mushy.

“Fine, you’re right it sounds fun.”

The day of the game comes and the last thing Syl wants to do was go, instead she wants to lie in bed and do nothing. And by nothing she meant nothing; she hasn’t even gotten out of bed to change Jonah, who is crying in his crib. It’s the worst version of self-soothing a mother could do, but if that makes her a bad mom she doesn’t care.

She lets him cry for 30 minutes and it still isn’t enough to pull her out of her bed, if anything a new level of self-loathing is keeping her there.

Her phone buzzes and she has just enough energy to look that Tyson texted her that he’s bringing her home lunch.

And it’s the fear of Tyson seeing her lower than low, ignoring her child and wallowing in her own self-pity, that finally rouses her from bed.

She scoops up her son, who continues to cry, “Mommy is so sorry baby, I’ll try and pay for your therapy in the future.”

She laughs at her own dark joke as she changes her son, then decides to just give him a full bath since she let him fester in his own filth like the trash person she is.

“You’re gonna have a lot of fun tonight, Jo,” she says once she puts him in the bath, “hockey is a lot of fun, and Tyson, that’s the guy we’re living with, I guess he’s your godfather or something, he’s really good. And mommy met him playing hockey cause she used to have to play on a boys’ team.”

“And she got in trouble for punching a bunch of boys,” Tyson laughs from where he leans against the doorframe.

“Mommy was defending herself, which makes violence okay,” she smiles at Jonah.

Tyson joins her on the floor and hands her a smoothie, “They made this at the training facility, it apparently has all the good vitamins and stuff for breast feeding.”

“They make you guys’ booby smoothies?” Jonah laughs at the word booby, “Booby is like, the one word he recognizes.”

Tyson laughs, “Makes sense, I get excited hearing about meals too, and no it’s not a special smoothie I just read that you need all these vitamins and calcium so I grabbed one on the way out.”

“There’s another part of this lunch right? I’m not a smoothie-only kind of girl.”

“Yeah, I grabbed you a sandwich too.”

The gloom recedes into the background as the day goes on, Sylvia can feel it looming but tries her best to ignore it. If only to make sure she doesn’t seem ungrateful to Tyson.

She hasn’t seen Tyson play a hockey game since his first game against the Maple Leafs, and even then, as a happy newlywed, she was quickly ushered away before really getting to congratulate Tyson. After that she was always been conveniently “busy” when he played in Toronto.

So, walking into the arena is already a wholly different. It makes her heart swell with pride, that little old Tyson made it here. It also makes her feel guilty for not celebrating him enough before.

Jonah seems as enamored as his mom, he moves his head every which way, like he’s taking note of everything so he doesn’t forget.

An usher leads her to the family suite, which is instantly too fancy for her. She’s used to her hockey games being in cold warehouse rinks on hard bleachers where parents scream too loud and teens sneak in beer. She doesn’t know what to do with herself here.

“Sylvia?” A woman comes up to her, clearly sensing her unease.

“I’m Danielle Okposo, Tyson had some of the guys warn us you’d be coming,” her smile is warm and familiar, the kind of person you just want to hug.

“Warn? I hope he’s not telling everyone the bad stories,” she laughs but it ends hollow as she realizes there are bad things he could say.

She merely laughs and bends down to look into the stroller, “And who’s this guy?”

“This is Jonah,” Sylvia gets him out of the stroller and readjust his headphones.

“Welcome to the Sabres family you guys, come sit down,”

She ushers her towards the other women, who all look beautiful and well-dressed. Sylvia feels bad in her ratty flannel, it was the only clean, blue thing she owned. No one seems to take notice or care, but when you’re holding a baby as cute as Jonah, she realizes people pay very little attention to her.

Jonah plays with the ends of her hair while he stares at the players at warm up and his mom is gently interrogated.

“Tyson said you just moved to Buffalo?” A woman who hadn’t introduced herself asked.

“Uh- yeah, I’m staying with Tys until I get back on my feet,” she stutters, “I’m going through a bad separation,” she adds hoping it will kibosh any further question or at least any question about the father of her child.

“Buffalo’s a great place to raise kids if you end up staying,” Danielle adds before they’re all distracted by the start of the game.

The rest of the evening goes pretty smoothly. Jonah isn’t fussy and only sleeps for part of the second period. Too distracted by the ice, the other kids, and the women who insist on giving her a break and holding him.

She eventually gives into the pleas, letting go of her grounding anchor and getting to focus more on the game. Tyson makes an assist and Syl jumps out of her seat, the old rush of a hockey game taking over.

The Sabres win and the women convince her to come down and congratulate the third star of the night, even when she says she’ll just see him back at his place.

She’s already thrown Tyson’s life off its axis; she doesn’t want to completely knock it out of orbit because he’s too nice to tell her to backoff. Even if she deserves it.

She has an overwrought smile as she watches all the wives and girlfriends hug their partners. She wonders if she’ll ever feel happy like that with someone, if the picture-perfect hugs and grins will be real for her.

“Whoa bud, stayed up for the whole game?” Tyson takes Jonah from her arms and gives him a little toss in the air.

 He’s all damp curls and misbuttoned buttons and smiles, for a second Sylvia thinks of kissing him.

She smiles through the strange thought, trying to remain unphased. “Yeah, eyes glued on the ice the whole time.”

Jonah grabs Tyson’s nose and laughs.

“I should get him a pair of skate next then, eh?” He grabs Jonah’s nose back.

“Yeah, for his hands and knees maybe, he can’t even crawl yet.”

“I’ll wait a few months then.”

He makes a mocking face and Sylvia sticks her tongue out at him, Jonah laughs at their faces.

“Want me to take a picture of you guys?” Another player asks walking by.

“No we’re-“

“C’mon Sylvie, I gotta get a good picture to send my mom,” he hands his phone over.

 She rolls her eyes and stands by him, wrapping an arm around his waist before pointing Jonah in the direction of the camera. She tickles Jonah’s side so his gummy smile is on full display.

“Cute, I’m Jeff by the way,” he extends a hand.

“Sylvia and the Sabres newest number one fan is Jonah,” she waves his little hand towards Jeff.

“Nice to meet you, I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of you both,” he smiles, showing off the deepest dimples Sylvia’s ever seen.

“Yeah, probably,” she already feels like she’s getting in too deep.

“Well, it’s bedtime for me and my partner in crime,” she takes Jonah back and puts him in his stroller, “but go out and celebrate, I’ll see you later.”

She gives Tyson a big hug, it’s probably too long and too tight, but she has so many hugs and ‘I’m proud of yous’ to make up for, she doesn’t care.

Sylvia wakes up the next morning and Jonah isn’t in his crib. An unbearable dread fills her body. Had he found her, taken the only thing that mattered to her, just because he could?  Just to remind her she couldn’t escape him, that she was nothing without him.

It’s not logical, but the emotions of being a mother are illogical.

She runs out to the living room, but before she can actually have her reaction out loud, she sees Tyson sitting on the couch with Jonah in his lap, facetiming his mom and sister.

Sylvia almost sobs with relief.

“Oh my god, I want one,” Kacey whines from the other end.

“Yeah, in ten years,” Tyson scoffs with older brother protectiveness.

“Either way I’m booking a flight to Buffalo just to squeeze him, Sylvie makes cute fucking babies.”

“Language,” their mom laughs.

Sylvia doesn’t want to interrupt the family moment, but she second guesses that when she realizes her own flesh and blood is involved and she pops in the background and waves. Jonah squeaks, seeing his mom in the screen but not knowing where she is.

“It’s good to see you sweetie,” Laura smiles, “I’m glad Tyson is being a helpful babysitter.”

There’s no pity in her voice or eyes, but pride, she probably knows what Sylvia’s going through, what she will go through better than most. The silent reassurance makes Syl feel braver.

“I can’t complain, his mom raised him right,” she smirks, aching for the company of a family she hasn’t had in years.

She comes around the couch and takes a spot next to Tyson.

“Did Tys tell you grandpa cried when he saw the picture of the three of you?” Kacey grins.

“Of course, he did,” Sylvia’s grinning so hard she knows it will hurt later.

Jonah then leans forward mouth open onto Sylvia’s shirt-covered boob.

“I’m just a giant milk machine to you, aren’t I?” She moves him off Tyson’s lap and closer to her and her now drool covered shirt.

“Wow you’re still breast feeding, good for you I never lasted that long,” Laura says.

“Gross mom,” Tyson groans.

“It’s a perfectly natural thing Tyson,” his mom scolds and Sylvia makes an ‘I told you so’ face.

“I can feel a tooth coming in, so I think it’s gonna be game over soon. I don’t know if my nipples can take that.”

Tyson and Kacey both make gagging noises in response.

“One of the many reasons you don’t want your own yet, Kace. But before I mortify Tyson more, I’ll feed my child elsewhere. I’m sure I’ll talk to you guys later.”

She gives Jonah’s hand a little wave and goes back to her room.

The conversation changes before she makes it all the way in the room, “How’s she holding up, actually?”

“I think pretty well, not really sure how. We’ve talked a little, but I don’t want to push her.”

“He was always an asshole; it was bound to happen eventually. And all you can do it be there for her, she’s really lucky to have you.”

“Thank mom.”

Sylvia tries, really tries to keep it together.

She gets into somewhat of a routine. She goes on walks with Rachel Thompson and her baby Brooks, who’s about the same age as Jonah. And that’s nice. Being around another new mom is refreshing, it’s a chance to vent with someone who’s going through it. Even if their circumstances are drastically different.

Sylvia tries to make life easier for Tyson where she can, she cooks meals, cleans, runs errands for him. It keeps her mind busy but it’s also a little too familiar. Playing the domestic housewife role so well. She has to remind herself Tyson isn’t him.

Tyson will cook with her when he can, he offers to do dishes when she cooked. He won’t go off on her if something isn’t to his precise specifications.

That still doesn’t put her at complete ease.

Then Tyson goes on a long road trip. She thinks it’s somewhere warmer, but she feels nosey asking while he packs. Like she’s crossing some weird line if she asks. She knows he’d probably be happy to share, Tyson isn’t him.

Her mom calls two days in, “He keeps calling, have you seen a lawyer yet?”

“I’m seeing one tomorrow,” morbid curiosity takes over, “what has he asked about?”

“Just where are you and when I get him extra frustrated, ‘does she know how bad this makes her look?’ Stuff about how he gave you a good life and you’re throwing that all away.”

There’s a glowing feeling in her knowing he’s frazzled now, barely hiding his true nature from everyone else. But then frost touches her heart.

“Has he asked about Jonah?”

The pause her mother takes is answer enough, “No, sorry Sylvie.”

She looks over at Jonah sleeping peacefully in his crib, blissfully unaware of the family he was brought into and the father who cares more about the appearance of his missing wife than the well-being of his son.

“At least it should make getting custody easier,” and that comforts Sylvia in the worst way.

Tyson is chilling by the pool in California with his teammates, it’s not very warm by SoCal standards but it’s boiling in comparison to Buffalo.

His phone buzzes with a text from Sylvia: Thx for the lawyer recommendation, we sent divorce papers today

And before he can think it through, he sends her a shirtless picture of himself with a thumbs up, not exactly the best response to the news.

“Who you sending shirtless pics to Josty,” Alex Tuch calls from in the pool.

“Probably the MILF he’s living with now,” Cozens laughs and the rest of the boys join in.

“She’s getting a divorce,” Tyson lamely retorts.

“That wasn’t a no,” Alex grins.

“And it means she’s single…”

“It’s not like that, we’re just friends,” he can feel heat rushing to his face.

He’d only ever thought of Sylvia that way once. It was just a fleeting pubescent crush. He had come back for the summer after his second year away for hockey in Kelowna and in the meantime, Syl had become a woman. He didn’t know how to react to his friend’s growth spurt or the new curves of her body.

She no longer felt like the girl who wore boy clothes and was too competitive in every game they played. Really, she was the same girl just in a new body.

So, when she rubbed up against Tyson while guarding him in street hockey, he felt all new sensations. It was too confusing for a 14-year-old to really grasp. But once he got his hormones under control and learned to accept the changes in Sylvia, she was the same old friend he had always known.

But every now and then the thought creeps out from the back of his mind that Sylvia is beautiful and can give him butterflies.

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I asked her out,” Jeff grins, his dimples on full display.

“You’d maybe be the only guy I’d let date her, but seriously just leave her alone okay, she’s going through it right now,” he stops himself before he says too much, shares something that’s not his to share.

His phone buzzes with a reply: Very rude of you to send a pic of you in warm weather like that, so here’s my payback.

He reads the text a few times over, trying to decipher it before he receives a picture of Sylvia flipping him off while she is breast feeding.

A shirtless pic for a shirtless pic 😜

He grimaces and exits the text before his teammates get a glimpse.

A swell of darkness comes in with such force Sylvia can’t help but succumb. It had been lurking in the distance for days, but the storm had finally arrived with gusto.

She felt overwhelmed for most of Jonah’s life. She didn’t know how to take care of a small person who didn’t understand the world, she barely took care of herself well enough to be considered well-adjusted or healthy.

“Ow, fuck Jonah,” Sylvia pulls the baby away from her breast.

Jonah wails in response, his mouth gaping wide and the new tooth barely poking through looks almost throbbing with pain.

“Sorry bud, I should have pumped after the last time you tried to gnaw my nipple off,” she tries to reason over the screams.

She lets Jonah gnaw on one of her fingers while she tries to set up the breast pump one handed. By the time she gets it set up both her and Jonah are crying in unison.

In this moment of being milked like a cow while her son greedily chomps on her fingers, she just lets herself free fall into the abyss. The darkness covers her like blanket and she feels warm thinking about falling asleep and never waking up again.

She’s going through the motions of motherhood and she doesn’t know how much longer she can take it. Maybe she could drop Jonah off at a fire station, have him put with a family that deserves him.

She feeds the fussy baby, who only cries more when he’s finished. Throwing a bottle with such force he puts a dent in the stainless-steel refrigerator.

He cries and cries and cries. She doesn’t know how he has this much breath in his lungs. She ran out of tears and breath a long time ago.

On top of that he doesn’t sleep.

It’s three in the morning and he’s just as awake, somehow throwing his loudest tantrum yet.

“Just stop, please! I get it, life fucking sucks but you can’t keep doing this,” Sylvia somehow finds more tears in her body.

He stops for a moment and Sylvia relaxes a little, just long enough for him to spit up on her before he lets out a scream.

“Why are you doing this to me?” She shouts in her son’s face, like if she matches his volume maybe he’ll realize how ridiculous he sounds.

If anything, he wants to win the screaming contest.

Syl has to set him down on the floor to stop herself from shaking him, from throwing him out of a window, from winning worst mother of the millennium award.

She crumples to the floor beside him and sobs. Her body shakes so hard she thinks she’ll bruise her ribs. She never wanted to be this person. She doesn’t want to be a person at all.

It’s 6 AM and it’s still unending; she doesn’t know how he hasn’t just screamed himself into a coma. He’s only stopped when he desperately pleaded for a meal, and the solace of silence was worth her bleeding nipples.

She’s more surprised that the neighbors haven’t called CPS. Maybe they have, it’s not business hours yet.

The door opens, the team had taken a red eye. Sylvia doesn’t react, she might be half deaf at this point.

Tyson comes around the corner at full speed, rushing to the sound of crying. Only to see both Jonah and Sylvia sobbing on the floor.

She looks a mess: dried vomit on an old sweater that probably hasn’t been washed since she moved here, hair looking just as unwashed, and dark bags under her eyes that still show through the red puffiness.

“Shit Syl,” he gets down on the floor and gives her arm a gentle squeeze.

“He’s broken,” she sniffles, “he won’t stop crying.”

Tyson’s heart shatters, “Okay,” he pauses to think, he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, make her feel like a bad mother.

“How about I take him for a bit and you go shower and refresh,” he smiles and picks Jonah up before she can respond.

The baby screams in his ear while he helps Sylvia up. She seems too dazed to move so Tyson pulls her along to the bathroom and turns on the shower, waiting until the water is warm.

“This will make you feel a little better, or at least more human,” he kisses her forehead and walks out.

Tyson is right, Sylvia does feel a little better after washing the grime off of her. But she’s not ready to face Jonah again, the echoes of his cries ringing in her ears. She sits on the floor of the shower and cries until the water turns cold.

She gets out and it’s quiet. For a second she thinks she might have actually gone deaf. She puts on pajamas and pads out to the living room, no sign of them. She peers into Tyson’s room and finds Jonah sitting in Tyson’s open suitcase, chewing on a hockey puck. He has big crocodile tears still pouring, but that’s a million times better than he had been.

“I know the puck is pretty cool, but I thought you’d like the matching shirts,” Tyson is modeling a Hawaiian shirt and hold up a tiny version of the same one, they’re horribly bright and in any other moment Syl would point out a colorblind person clearly picked them out.

“We can’t exactly wear them here, so I got it a little bigger so you can grow into it.”

“I’m an awful mom,” it’s not what she wants to say, but it’s where her brain goes.

Tyson turns around and pulls her into his chest.

“Sylvie, you’re not a bad mom, you were just overwhelmed.”

“He’s been crying for like days straight and you come home for five minutes and he stops! Obviously, it’s because I don’t know how to take care of my son.”

He rubs circles on her back and takes a deep breath, willing her to follow suit.

“You’ve been mostly alone for over a week, you were overwhelmed. It doesn’t make you a bad mom.”

When she doesn’t make eye contact with him, Tyson lifts her chin to make sure she sees how serious he is.

“You’re a good mom, Sylvia. You just had some bad days and look,” he points to Jonah who is now snoozing on a pile of Tyson’s travel clothes, “you made it through and he’s still alive.”

Sylvia still seems unsure but she’s too tired to protest. She just nods in agreement.

“He’s really lucky to have you, he just doesn’t appreciate it yet. And obviously he was lost without seeing me every day.”

Sylvia shakes her head and laughs, the feeling is foreign.

“You may be his food source, but I’m the entertainment,” Tyson grins, loosening his embrace but no quite letting go.

“I’m glad he has his own personal clown,” she playfully shoves him.

“Go get some sleep Syl, I got the rugrat for a few hours.”

Sylvia is out of the room before Tyson can second guess his offer. She’s asleep before her head hits the pillow.

If she doesn’t wake up at least Jonah would be in good hands. The sick thought is the last thing that runs through her mind before slumber takes over.

She wakes up, much to her chagrin.

But then she hears Tyson and Jonah laughing outside her room and she hates herself. Here she is with a happy, healthy baby and a friend so nice he’s willing to upend his life to help her out, and she’s acting this way? She hates being ungrateful.

She recommits herself to being better.

And it works, for the most part. Sure, she cries in the shower where Tyson can’t hear her or stays in a parking lot to sob, but who doesn’t do that? It could be worse, she knows that, until a few weeks ago Syl was living that.

It’s pretty late at night for Jonah to still be up but he’s been buzzing all day so Sylvia is hoping to tire him out a bit more before putting him down. She’s noticed that he doesn’t wake up in pain over his fresh teeth if he’s completely worn out.

She’s folding some of Tyson’s laundry, a new chore she’s picked up in an attempt to keep her mind busy and have more of a routine. Jonah is laying on his stomach, doing an impression of pushups as he tries to get a Sabretooth plushie Sylvia put just out of reach to keep him occupied.

“You’re so strong Jo,” she laughs as he pushes himself up a little further and moves himself a bit closer to the toy.

He grunts with concentration.

She moves to grab another shirt to fold and turns back to see Jonah on his hands and knees, crawling towards his prize.

“Holy shit,” she whips out her phone to take a video, moving the stuffed animal a little further away from him.

He takes the challenge and moves a little further, getting his hands on the Sabretooth. He gurgles happily and puts it in mouth.

“You’re crawling baby,” Syl doesn’t think she’s ever been so happy than seeing him reach a milestone.

She baits him to crawl a little further a few more times when she hears the door open. Syl doesn’t even think twice about her newly mobile baby before she shoots up and runs towards the door.

“Tys you have to see – oh shit sorry,” Sylvia freezes in her tracks and half turns away in embarrassment.

Tyson has a woman hanging off of him, they’re intentions clearly painted on their flushed faces.

“Oh my god you have a girlfriend?” The woman says as she detaches herself from him.

“No, I’m just staying here, I’m so sorry. I’m usually in bed by now so you wouldn’t even know I was here.” Sylvia rambles, feeling so embarrassed and remorseful she completely forgets why she was so happy.

“Tys you should have texted I would have made sure I was out of the–“

“Jonah you’re crawling?” Tyson interjects when the baby scoots his way towards the noises.

Syl can’t even relish in the pure joy spreading across Tyson’s face as he beams at her son.

“And there’s a baby,” she’s clearly a second from leaving but the cold is probably preventing her from just waiting outside.

Sylvia picks up Jonah, “I’ll just go for a drive with him and let you two have the place for a while, I’m so sorry. I’m such a fucking cockblock.”

She starts to gather her coat and boots when the woman speaks up, “I think the moment’s passed, but maybe we can go back to mine next time”

She sends an understanding smile towards Sylvia and somehow that makes her feel guiltier.

“I can drive you home,” Tyson offers.

“I called an Uber,” she holds up her phone, “it’s outside,” she gives Tyson a tentative kiss before leaving.

Sylvia lets out an embarrassed groan, “Oh my god I’m ruining your fucking life.”

“You think that ruined my life?”

Sylvia just glares in response.

Tyson takes Jonah from her, “Now show me what this crawling business is all about.”

“My son isn’t a dog you can ask to show you tricks,” she laughs as she follows him into the living room.

“I think you have to do this for me, since you’re ruining my fucking life,” he winks and sets Jonah on the ground.

The baby immediately makes his way over to the stuffed animal he left on the floor.

“I know it sounds stupid, but this is like the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” Sylvia says while holding back tears.

“It kind of is.”

Now that Jonah is on the move any time he’s set on the floor, Syl realizes she should probably baby proof Tyson’s place. It’s a lot of work but it’s just another thing to keep her occupied and if it’s funny every time Tyson finds a new drawer or cupboard he can’t open, then that’s just a bonus.

It feels like she’s on the other side of a tunnel. Then her lawyer calls.

Uncontested divorce.

It sounds nice to get it over with, no arguing or going into court. Never having to see him again

Then the reality sets in. She loves the idea of not fighting over custody but also agreeing to not take alimony or child support in return is a little extreme. Without a little income from the divorce, she doesn’t know when she’ll be able to work and get on her own feet. And she can’t expect Tyson to just be okay with this arrangement indefinitely.

But she also knows her opponent, and she knows he’ll make her life a living hell if she fights back, and is that worth it?

The lawyer talks her through all her options, Sylvia tries to absorb all the information she can but the emotional and logical parts of her brain are at war.

She lying on the ground and tossing a ball a little bit away for Jonah to grab; essentially, she’s playing the most passive game of fetch, but it’s entertaining him so she doesn’t care. It’s the perfect way to wallow and be a somewhat decent mother.

The door opens and Tyson calls out, “I went to the store but I couldn’t remember what solid food he was on, sweet potatoes or beets?”

At the sound of his voice, Jonah bypasses the ball and scrambles to the kitchen. Tys picks him up and flips him upside down, much to the little boy’s delight.

“What?” Syl sits up and gives him a quizzical look.

“We were out of baby food, but I know he’s trying a new food this week and I couldn’t remember what it was.”

The way he says ‘we’ makes Sylvia’s heart swell then burst. She can’t tell if it’s in a good or bad way, but it makes her a little lightheaded.

“You, okay?”

“Yeah, just lost track of time. Forgot it was lunch time,” she rubs her eyes even though she’s not actually tired, “And it’s sweet potato week,” she puts on her ‘happy baby’ voice and walks over to the pair.

She starts to set up the high chair and Tyson helps strap Jonah in and together they’re like a well-oiled machine. Before she knows it, Tyson is spoon feeding her son, sing-songing ‘here comes the plane.’

“Wow bud, you really love these sweet potatoes. You might even rival my friend Nate Dogg,” he laughs and Jonah copies him.

Syl can feel herself doing a robotic kind of laugh, like she’s trying to solidify the fact that she’s there and present, but her brain is a million miles ahead of her and maybe in a different country.

Tyson doesn’t seem to notice from his bonding bubble with her son.

“I think I have to go to Toronto for my divorce,” she blurts, finally coming back to reality.

“What?”

The orange goo of sweet potato slips off the spoon and onto Jonah’s bib. Sylvia takes a moment too long, staring at the food as it slides down further.

“My lawyer called today and I think I want to contest his terms of the divorce.”

Tyson puts the spoon and bowl of food down, doesn’t even notice that Jonah takes this as an opportunity to take both and make a mess.

“And what are the terms?” A deep wrinkle forms between his brows.

“I get to keep Jonah 100%, but no child support or alimony.”

Tyson stares on like he’s missing something.

Syl doesn’t know how to voice all her jumbled thoughts, so she just lets the words flow out, “I can’t just go without money from him, I’ll never be able to pick myself up without something and you can’t take care of us.”

She knows it’s not exactly what she meant to say, but it’s also not completely off. She can’t go from her whole life depending on one man then another, even if Tyson would never use that as some power to hold over her.

The hurt that crumples Tyson’s face makes her realizes he doesn’t understand what she’s really feeling.

“I don’t mind taking care of you guys,” his voice is so small and hurt.

“Just because you don’t mind doesn’t mean you should have to Tys, I’m not your problem,” she can feel her words digging a deeper grave.

Jonah can sense the shift in the air and his lip starts to tremble.

“I’m gonna give him a bath,” she mumbles and leaves the room in a hurry, the hot sting of tears coming through.

Tyson leaves on a road trip the next morning. She doesn’t get the chance to explain herself or apologize.

After two days of fretting over an apology text she never sends, Danielle Okposo comes knocking on the door.

“How would you and Jonah like a playdate?”

Syl doesn’t feel up to leaving the house, she’s back in ‘fully alone and unable to clean herself and her son’ mode.

“Uhhh–“

“This is like 90% for me, my oldest two keep bringing up having another baby and I think having them play with an actual baby might help my cause. Because either Jonah is really cute and satisfies the baby needs or he’s a nightmare and they remember how hard having a baby is.”

“Wow, babies having baby fever,” Sylvia laughs.

“So will you come?”

“Why not,” she decides adult interaction is probably healthy and will keep her mind off of Tyson.

“You’re literally a lifesaver.”

They end up at the Okposo house, which is controlled chaos at its finest. Four kids, toys everywhere, but it’s cozy; it’s the kind of house Sylvia always dreamed of living in.

The kids are instantly enthralled with Jonah, who is living for the attention. They place him in front of a mini stick net with an oversized helmet on to play goalie. The three older kids take soft shots at him, and now that he can move, he actually stop some of the foam balls that come towards him.

Sylvia can’t help but take a picture without a second thought she sends it to Tyson with the caption, he’s strangely good at this, a sign I gave birth to a weirdo?

As soon as it says delivered, she worries away at the corner of her lip, wondering if it was wrong to send that without any apology or acknowledgment of their last conversation. The image of his hurt face burned into her mind.

“Everything okay?”

And maybe it’s because Danielle is a real adult who really has it together or that Sylvia kept everything shoved down in the darkest part of her mind for years, but whatever it was about being here right now makes her open up. About everything.

Suddenly there’s someone in the world who knows it all, and she a weight she didn’t even know was on her chest is lifted. She can finally take a full breath and with all the newfound air rushing to her lungs she starts to feel overwhelmed and hyperventilates. It brings out the tears that were just below the surface.

Danielle rubs her back and just lets Sylvia feel her emotions and there’s something profoundly new and profoundly sad about that.

“Oh Syl, that’s a lot to have to carry all on your own.”

Sylvia quickly wipes her tears when she hears the kids come in asking for a snack, Odin awkwardly holding a rather happy Jonah. She sniffles and offers to take the baby.

“We just knew we couldn’t leave him alone; he doesn’t want to hang out with moms,” Odin scrunches up his nose and Syl can’t help but laugh at the glimpse into her own future.

“Why don’t you guys pick a movie and we’ll bring you some snacks in a bit,” Danielle diplomatically gets rid of the kids before they really notice Sylvia’s tear-stained face.

Once they’re out of ear-shot Danielle turns back, “My advice might not mean a lot coming from someone who has not gone through half the stuff you’ve gone through, but I do think you should let Tyson in a little more, so he understands what you’re thinking.”

Sylvia gnaws at her lip but nods.

“And I think you should see a therapist, because the way you talk, that’s not just being sad or motherhood being hard. It sounds like postpartum depression and you can’t take care of Jonah if you aren’t taking care of yourself too.”

Talking about all of this with a stranger almost seems more appealing than talking to Tyson.

“I have a few names I can give you,” Danielle squeezes her hand, “now let’s go feed some kiddos before they get really crazy.”

Tyson is set to arrive home and Sylvia is tempted to ask if she can stay with the Okposo’s just to push off her conversation another day. But she knows she has to be brave. She was brave enough to leave an emotionally abusive relationship, why couldn’t she be brave enough to talk to her best friend?

Jonah is down for a nap and Syl starts making dinner, something to keep her hands and brain busy.

Tyson comes through the door; his usual loud and happy greeting doesn’t follow him. Syl can hear him rummaging around his room, taking his sweet time before they talk. He finally sheepishly makes his way into the kitchen, sitting on a barstool but not yet acknowledging Syl.

She goes on with her business, finishing a stir fry and plating it for the both of them. She sets a plate in front of Tyson, a sort of peace offering, before taking the seat next to him. They eat in silence until it becomes too deafening for Syl, she doesn’t know if she’s ever heard Tyson so quiet.

She doesn’t quite dare to look over to him yet, “you have been so kind and amazing to take care of us and I really appreciate it, more than you’ll ever really understand.”

“But…” he fills in for Sylvia.

“But,” she takes a deep breath, she wants to get it right this time.

“I want to get back on my feet or I guess find the footing I never had so I don’t have to need your money.”

“Sylvie, I don’t mind. I like helping.”

“What if I never get on my feet?” she finally looks at him giving him a stern look in hopes of getting through to him.

“Then you don’t, it’s fine,” he has this blank look, like he can’t understand there are alternatives.

“Tys this isn’t about you! I want to be able to afford daycare while I go to a job or pay for my own lawyer without relying on you.”

She puts a hand on his arm, gently rubs her thumb up and down his sweatshirt covered bicep.

“The last time I let a man have this much power over my life…” she doesn’t need to finish the sentence, “And I know you’re not him, you could never be like that. But I need the chance to find that independence I’ve never had, even if it’s hard.”

She can feel tears falling down her face, Tyson reaches up to wipe a few away, his own eyes glossy.

“I just don’t want you to feel like you have to fight him to get that independence.”

“What did you say before? People like him can’t win?”

Tyson lets out a hesitant laugh, “then let’s kick his ass and take him for all he’s worth.”

Sylvia is finally seeing a rainbow after the storm. For most of her adult life she’s been on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop; if it’s coming soon, she doesn’t care, or at least she knows she can handle it.

Her lawyer seems to think they’re building a solid case. Years of texts and voicemails she was too lazy delete are making quite the damning pile of evidence.

Her new therapist seems to think she’s making good progress, even before they fully cracked open the can of worm that was her marriage.

“Mmm, mmm” Jonah babbles.

“You almost got it Jojo, it’s Ma Ma,” she smiles at him.

“Mmma, mm.”

“I’ll even settle for no,” Syl pauses but he doesn’t respond, “or hi? But Hs are hard.”

“Duh dddd,” he gives a her his gleaming four tooth smile.

“Okay, I don’t know who’s teaching you that one,” she narrows her eyes at him.

“Duh mmmm.”

“Maybe you can try bye bye?”

Jonah happily waves at her, having recently mastered the skill.

“Yeah, bye bye! Can you wave and say bye bye?” She prods.

“Buh duh,” he waves.

“Fine, I guess I can live with your timetable.”

He gurgles and drools in response.

“But Ma Ma was really hoping to write that she was grateful you said your first words this week.”

When he still doesn’t respond, she sighs and writes down her daily gratitudes sans first words. Jonah and Tyson are numbers one and two every day, which she loves but she hates feeling so boring.

Though if she thinks about it, she can’t recall when she was ever actually interesting.  She was kind of interesting when she left behind Alberta for Toronto to be with the love of her life, but that didn’t turn out very well.

The next time was probably when she got pregnant, but that’s only in the way that making human life is interesting. And no one was really interested in her then anyway; recently some of the Sabres’ better halves were sharing pregnancy photos and Sylvia only had one mediocre picture a nurse had taken when she was in the early stages of labor. The rest of her pregnancy lost in preparations to flee her own life.

She guesses that makes her interesting, her escape from a bad relationship; not that she’s publicly sharing that information. But she doesn’t want to be interesting because of her trauma.

Tyson comes into the kitchen in a navy blue suit, he gets an excited, goofy grin on his face when he sees Jonah in his tiny Sabres jersey.

“Hey bud, ready for the game?” he waves at the baby who happily waves back, always excited to show off for Tyson.

“He may not know what’s going on but he is a great good luck charm,” Syl laughs at the fact the team of 4-0-1 when Jonah is in the arena.

“You’re both my good luck charms.”

He doesn’t look away from Jonah as he says it, doesn’t see Sylvia’s cheeks heat up as he gives Jonah a raspberry on his where his shoulder meets his neck; for a moment she pictures Tyson’s lips on her neck.

“You ready to help me win Jonah? Can you say Ty-son?”

“Yah duh.”

Sylvia snatches her son, “Mama might not be his first words but if he’s gonna acknowledge a person by name, it’ll be the person who grew him.”

“Fair enough,” he raises his hands in surrender, “well, be good for mama and I’ll see you later.”

He gives Jonah a loud, obnoxious smooch on the cheek then a subtle one to Syl before he heads out.

Jonah continues to be enthralled by hockey, just stares at the ice with big eyes like he understands what’s going on. The only thing he actually understands is that he loves Sabretooth, especially the life-size one who picks him, it’s much better than the small one he drops when the mascot arrives.

Sylvia takes a picture of it and sends it to Tyson’s family. She gets a 50-emoji response from Kacey.

The team wins and Jonah keeps the title of good luck charm, the others joking that he has to come to every home game until they make the playoffs.

“Okay, hand the baby over and enjoy your night out,” Danielle reaches out for Jonah.

Sylvia doesn’t follow orders, just looks confused.

“Sorry I didn’t tell her, I didn’t want her to run away,” Rachel chimes in, sporting a sort of apologetic look, though Syl doesn’t know if it’s directed at her or Danielle.

“Am I having a stroke?”

“No Syl,” Rachel responds, “we got a babysitter for the night and getting you out on the town.”

“You deserve it, now give me Jonah. Tyson dropped of a bag of his stuff he’s in good hands.”

“I don’t like that this was a coordinated effort; do I seem that desperate to go out?”

“No, but you haven’t had a night to yourself since you moved here,” or since you had a kid or God knows since when is implied between Danielle’s words, “so go be young and have fun.”

Sylvia knows when she can’t win a fight so she squeezes her baby tight and kisses him before reluctantly handing him over.

They go to the Thompson’s house and Sylvia gets handed a drink to loosen her up while Rachel does her makeup and finds something for her to wear.

Halfway through the drink Syl feels tipsy, she never was a big drinker and it had been a while, but she’s enjoying the warmth and weirdly the attention she’s getting right now.

“You’re always hot, but damn you really clean up nice,” Rachel smiles at her while she puts on the finishing touches.

She finally looks at herself, it’s like a looking into an alternate universe. Like maybe this would be a normal occurrence if she had gone off to college, made normal 20-something mistakes, had a close group of girlfriends who shared clothes.

She takes moment to mourn that Sylvia.

“Thanks, I can’t remember the last time I wore make up, or a dress,” she laughs and spins around in the mirror.

They arrive at a crowded bar and meander through the crowd until they find the team. Sylvia waves before she feels everyone’s eyes on her, suddenly self-conscious about how she looks.

“Who’s gonna get our girl a drink? Welcome her to the Buffalo night life?” Rachel’s voice cuts through the noise.

Jeff is at the edge of the booth and the first to get up, Sylvia thinks he’s gonna guide her to the bar but instead he guides her to take his seat, conveniently next to Tyson, before he takes her order.

“Surprise me,” she says before she rethinks it, “but nothing too strong.”

She awkwardly readjusts her skirt that has ridden up too high, she’s too aware of the eyes on her and the weight of Tyson’s arm that’s now wrapped around her shoulder.

Sylvia hadn’t gone out in years; it was always a whole ordeal only for her to get in trouble. She always had to look nice, but if she looked too nice, she was accused of trying to attract male attention. If she went to the bar for too long, it was because she had to be flirting.  If she danced too long or in a certain way or with anyone who wasn’t him, she had to expect a long lecture and some verbal degradation.

Going out meant being emotionally exhausted and in a way, she could feel that exhaustion already seeping in.

Jeff comes back and drops a drink in front of her, waiting for her to take a sip of approval. She gives him a thumbs up after tasting the semi-sweet concoction, she’s not sure what it is but it’s good.

“Cheers to mom’s night out,” Rachel holds up a drink and they all cheers.

This drink goes to her head much quicker, probably because she’s taking nervous sips every two seconds.

Suddenly she stands up, a little wobbly on her feet, Tyson grabs her hand to steady her or maybe concerned she’s about to run or something.

“I’m gonna go dance,” she doesn’t yell so she’s not sure anyone hears her, but she wanders onto the dance floor anyway.   

It feels freeing, to just let go for a bit and dance. She forgets about her problems and the other people around. It’s a moment of pure joy she hasn’t felt for just herself in a long time. It feels like she’s shaking rust off her heart.

Syl feels someone come up behind her, warmth radiating. She doesn’t care to look just happy to keep dancing to the beat of whatever song. Still, she gives a little start when she feels hands on her hips, it’s a foreign feeling.

Before she can move to look behind her, she sees Tyson move in front of her, she can feel her smile growing. She moves a hand to pull Tyson closer the her, feeling the large warm hands retreat. In her hazy mind she thinks she’s a gloating glint in Tyson’s eyes but when she turns to look, there’s only the mass of the crowd, not one person standing out.

Tyson and Sylvia aren’t really touching while they dance. Syl can’t bring herself to look away from his warm brown eyes, she finds herself thinking about how long and thick his eyelashes are, that Tyson is very pretty. Before she can voice some of these thoughts, she feels her eyes drooping.

“It’s pretty late for mom’s first night out,” he leans in to whisper into her ear, it makes Syl shiver a bit, “want to head home?”

Syl can only nod suddenly feeling very overstimulated.

As they make it home, she feels like she’s only getting drunker. Even though she stopped drinking a while ago. Tyson ushers her into the kitchen and gets her a glass of water.

“Oh no, I’m still wearing Rachel’s clothes.”

Tyson chuckles, “you weren’t exactly going to return them in the bar.”

Sylvia shrugs and downs half the glass of water; she holds it out to Tyson for a refill.

“I miss Jonah. This is the first time I won’t be able to kiss him good night,” it feels weird to have her heart somewhere else.

“You can give him extra kisses tomorrow,” Tyson gives her a hug.

He starts to pull away but Syl doesn’t quite let go, “I can still give you a goodnight kiss.”

She leans up to close the distance between them, she would normally go for a quick peck on the cheek but she doesn’t start to turn her head. They’re lips touch and it should be quick, it should be over already, but it’s not.

There’s too much heat and Sylvia doesn’t who it’s coming from. She doesn’t know whose tongue comes out first, but it doesn’t make either pull away. It’s an unfamiliar feeling that radiates through her chest and she wants to see where it takes her, but it’s also too scary and she can’t possibly go through it without perishing.

She pulls away too quickly and almost falls off the bar stool, Tyson catches her by the waist and it lights her skin on fire.

“Well, good night!”

Sylvia rushes to her room, she falls back on her bed; touching her lips with awe, like it will keep the sensation there longer.

Tyson leaves on a road trip the next day. He comes in to check on her before he leaves, but Syl pretends to be asleep. Not ready for any conversation or to look Tyson in the eyes. Still, he moves deeper in the room, kissing her forehead before he leaves.

So, at least she knows he doesn’t hate her.

She texts Danielle later about dropping off Jonah, claiming she has a raging hangover and couldn’t possibly leave the house. It’s partially true, there’s persistent but dull ache in her head. It may be from thinking too hard about the kiss though.

Once Jonah is home, Sylvia can’t let him out of her arms, he’s the anchor keeping her grounded while her brain is all static. She spends most of the day snoozing with Jonah pressed up against her.

The following day she tries to get her head on straight, come up with a game plan for talking about the kiss. She doesn’t have much time with Tyson set to return that evening and with Jonah having an unexplainable meltdown.

She tries to put on a calming demeanor, but it’s like Jonah can sense the worried churning in his mom’s stomach. He’s only communicating his concern in the best way he can, but it doesn’t make the day easier.

She can’t pinpoint the moment her feelings changed and maybe that’s what makes it scarier. It feels a bit out of the blue, she had no time to gauge Tyson’s thoughts before her inhibitions were down and she was acting on it.

All Sylvia knows is friendship isn’t enough for her anymore.

In a panic she packs a go-bag, a déjà vu moment she was never hoping to repeat. But she has no idea what’s to come and she doesn’t want to be a burden in Tyson’s house with any unresolved feelings.

She doesn’t even know where she would go this time around, all her friends are Tyson’s friends first. If it weren’t for her baby she’d just sleep in her car. Maybe she could haul ass to Edmonton.

There’s no time to dwell, Jonah is screaming in her ear and she can’t think over the din.

Tyson comes home to screaming, which is oddly comforting for him. He was a bit worried Sylvia might leave in a panic, embarrassed about the kiss.

“Hey Sylvie,” he says quietly.

“Hi Tys,” she looks exasperated, “I don’t know what’s wrong, I’ve tried everything.”

Jonah continues to cry, knocking over a bowl of food and making a mess. Sylvia looks a second away from breaking down with him, but she’s not looking away from Tyson to notice the chaos.

“Let me try,” he gets Jonah out of the highchair and bounces him on his hip.

Jonah doesn’t stop. But Tyson looks so natural with her son, Sylvia has to have this conversation now. She can’t live in this fantasy world a moment longer if it’s going to be snatched from her.

“I’m not sorry I kissed you,” she nearly shouts, making sure Tyson can hear her.

She flinches out her own loud voice and tones it down, “I mean I’m sorry for the when and the how of the kiss but I’m not sorry it happened.”

Tyson just has this unreadable look on his face, he stares on as he rocks Jonah, who’s screams are subsiding a little.

 “You’re good to my son and you’re good to me. And maybe I don’t deserve that or deserve you. But I want you and I can’t help it,” her eyes well up as she exposes her heart.

Her heart hurts too much in the extended silence from Tyson. It’s like it can’t pump enough blood any more, like it doesn’t understand how it was even working before she loved Tyson; like it can’t survive a minute longer not loving him wholly.

“And if you don’t want that, I get that. My life is a mess and I have so much baggage,” she can’t hold back the sob in her throat, “We can leave if this is too much.”

“No!”

It takes her second to grasp that the voice is small and foreign.

“No” Jonah says again.

“Did you just say your first word?” Her tears quickly shifting focus.

“No”

She can’t stop herself from coming over and kissing her son all over his face to a chorus of little nos.

“Kid stole my line.”

Sylvia is jolted back into the moment. She looks up into deep brown eyes, their bodies are too close together.

“I don’t know what that guy did to you and you don’t ever have to tell me, but it makes me so angry that he made you think you aren’t worth it or don’t deserve good things.”

He has blink back some tears, Sylvia can’t stop herself wiping the stray ones away.

“Syl, you’re kind and loving and an amazing mother. You deserve the world and I want to be the one who gives that to you.”

She can’t stop herself from going for the kiss, Tyson is left so breathless he almost forgets he’s still holding a baby. It’s not as heated as the last kiss, but it says everything much clearer.

“No!”

“Yeah we get it bud,” Tyson laughs when they break a part, “You said your first word, the moment is all yours.”

four times you sat in Matthew’s chair + the one time they called him out

warning: none

summary: like keith, matthew has a chair in the house that no one is allowed to sit in, but he never has a problem with you sitting there.

word count: 2.6k

Everyone knew that Keith’s chair was not to be sat in. Don’t sit in the chair, and don’t touch the remote. Everyone but Chantal avoided the chair when Keith was home, and you’d been around for so long that it didn’t even feel like a rule anymore. It was just natural to let Keith or Chantal pick what to watch while everyone got comfortable on the couch or another chair. 

It wasn’t a shock to anyone that Matthew bought his own chair at the beginning of one off season, and he had the same rule as his dad. He just couldn’t scare people like Keith did. If Taryn or Brady sat there, it typically ended with them wrestling. When you sat there, though, Matthew didn’t say a word. 

Keep reading

@ryanpulock this popped up on my twitter tl and you’re the only person i could think of to send it to :) (it wouldn’t let me send it in an ask 🥲)

flu (remus lupin x reader)

summary: (y/n) meets remus in the hospital wing. it’s quite fitting, really

or

remus and (y/n) are aware of the lingering feelings but won’t confess, maybe all they need is a little marauders’ meddling

warning: chronic magic illness, slight canon divergence (in the sense that i made a magical stuff up lmao), description of pain (not detailed)

request by @ladylokilaufeyson5 : “Hi, I was wondering if you could write another remus lupin x reader? Maybe reader and remus are lowkey in love with each other and everyone but them knows? And the marauders try to interfere? On another note I absolutely ADORE your writing <3”

a/n: hii!! thank you so much for the request and for your words <3 i’m sorry it took me so long to get it done, inspiration has been hard to find these days :/ i changed your request a bit and added addition stuff i hope you don’t mind and i hope you enjoy it !!

chapter 1: the flu (spoiler: it isn’t the flu)

1.0

Everything hurts.

(Y/N) is used to that, the lingering headaches and muscle aches. They’ve been there for as long as she can recall.

What she isn’t used to, however, is her skin feeling as if it’s been blasted with cold air. She’s freezing and the shivers that run through her body are only worsening the pain. She can’t help the pained grunt that leaves her lips.

There’s movement somewhere around her— she would open her eyes to see exactly who it is but her body’s being uncooperative, and her lids are just too heavy —and the next thing she knows there are hands on her face. The back of the palm is pressed against her forehead, there’s a mumble, too quiet for her to hear, and then the hand’s gone.

“How are you feeling Miss (Y/L/N)?” And it’s a testament of how much time she’s spent here that even with her brain feeling as if it’s been stuffed with cotton candy, she’s able to identify the voice.

She tries to reply, but it feels like her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth. It takes her a couple of seconds to be able to articulate the words, “Like I’ve been run over by a hippogriff.”

The matron chuckles at that, one of her hands delicately moving some of the hair in (Y/N)’s hair away from her eyes. The laughter sounds somewhat fond, like she’s grown much to used to her comments. That’s the real testament of how much time she’s spent in the Infirmary, the fact that she gets the privilege of gentle tones and sweet hands.

Madam Pomfrey helps her sit up, one hand on her arm and the other on her back. The change of position makes her head pound, but she keeps her mouth shut, she knows better than to say anything that will keep her bedridden longer than necessary. She’s handed a glass of water and the matron observes her, makes sure she drinks it all before nodding approvingly. If the matron notices the way her hands shake as she guides the glass to her lips, she doesn’t say a word. She does, however, evidently notice the goosebumps that cover her skin and wordlessly casts a warming spell. (Y/N) can’t help the way her muscles immediately sag in response to the heat, no longer tensing. The deep ache lessens slightly.

“Try to rest,” Madam Pomfrey instructs as she takes the glass away, as if (Y/N) had enough energy to do anything else. She only nods in response and closes her eyes as the healer walks away to tend to other patients.

It’s quiet for a while and (Y/N) finds herself drifting between consciousness and sleep when a sound startles her. Her eyes snap open and she turns her head around to try to locate the noise. There’s a hiss, followed by a swallowed groan filled with pain (the kind of sound you produce when you’re hurt and it’s painful, but you don’t want to bother anyone because, yes, the pain is bad, but it could be much worse). It doesn’t take much for her to identify where the noises are coming from; the bed right next to hers. Knowing who it is, however, is near impossible seeing that the curtains are pulled shut.

They must be badly hurt, she thinks to herself, because Madam Pomfrey only ever closes the curtains when the extent of the patient’s injuries is serious.

Whoever it is keeps on moving around as if trying to find a position that isn’t painful. (Y/N) can empathize and maybe that’s the reason she finds herself asking, “You alright?”

The movement comes to a sudden stop, and it seems like it takes a while for the person to realize that she’s talking to them.

“Uh, yes. I’m— I just— I got the flu.”

And that’s a lie if she’s ever heard one. (Y/N) isn’t even looking at them and she can tell. It’s such a bad lie that it’s kind of comical, it makes her huff out the most silent snort, “Okay.”

“You?” The person asks after a couple of seconds of silence, moving around once more before settling, “Are you okay?”

(Y/N) crosses her arms over her chest, biting her lip down when her muscles cry in protest, “Also got the flu.”

That brings out something that resembles a chuckle, but is much to pained to be one, from the person.

“Must be flu season.”

She can’t help the way her lips quirk in amusement, “Must be.”

Keep reading

moodboard request for summer boyfriend nico hischier!! <3 do any colors you’d like

{ 🥥 } - summer with nico hischier

speaking german. swimming in lakes. hiking the mountains. visiting old castles. kayaking. picking flowers. sleeping in cabins. long airplane rides. reading in the garden. meditating.

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

one | two

Finding out you're a princess isn't half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can't seem to stop flirting with you.

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au (sort of), all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance james isn't flirty this chapter i lied but he will be <3

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Sirius Black smells like winter. The deep and fruity fragrance of cranberries, pomegranate, maybe cinnamon. You aren't certain, and if he weren't currently an inch from your face, you'd ask him what it is. 

"You poor thing," he murmurs, dabbing very, very gently against the bruised skin of your cheek.

"It's not–" You hiss at sudden pressure. He immediately recedes. "It's not so bad." 

"I've half a mind to rag him around and take up the mantle myself." 

"I'd love to see that," Remus says.  

"I'd look good in the uniform, right?" 

James doesn't look happy at their joking but he's been nothing less than a grovelling puppy since last night, and he breaks his silence to say, "You don't have to wear any make-up if it's going to hurt." 

"Uh, yes she does. Imagine the headlines otherwise: Lost Princess Bruised Under the Imbecilic Watch of New Bodyguard," Sirius announces, sharing a not-so-private smile with Remus across the coffee table. 

"It doesn't hurt," you say to James. 

You're lying. Being smacked in the face with a door isn't just embarrassing, it really fucking hurts. James' biceps aren't for show, that's for sure. He'd swung open the door and you, having tripped seconds beforehand over the cord of your lamp, had been at the perfect height for it to bounce off the highest point of your cheek. 

"Princess," he says now, as he'd said last night, "I'm so sorry." 

You think of his hands under your arms pulling you up into a standing position, and the way he'd tilted your head back. The barking order he'd given Frank to grab something to use as an ice pack, and the warmth of the pad of his thumb as it stroked the soft line of your jaw. 

"It was a freak accident." You smile, careful not to push up your cheeks lest you invite another round of shooting pains. "Please don't feel bad. It's my fault for being up in the first place, I– I couldn't sleep." 

"If you want anything for it, let me know," Remus says. 

"He's got, like, his own personal pain pharmacy," Sirius says. "You should take him up on it. I beg him everytime we fly for some of the strong stuff and he always says no, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity." 

"Let's not start on the co-codamols," James says. 

"I have ibuprofen," Remus placates. 

"I don't need anything, I promise." 

Some ibuprofen would be awesome but you really don't want James to feel guilty. You want to forget it even happened, embarrassed by both your idiocy and your tears. 

Getting hit in the face by a metal door handle hurts. Your reaction had been justified, but crying all over your handsome bodyguards nice hands hadn't been something you'd pictured doing. Not 12 hours after meeting him.

"You want me to do your lips?" Sirius asks. 

"How do you mean?" 

Sirius pulls a metal palette of lip colours out of his small make up bag and shows them to you. He circles two with a disposable brush. "These would suit you. I wasn't sure about your complexion. Now I know, I'll get you more options when we're back in Genovia." 

"Oh, um…" You shake your head at him apologetically. "I don't know. You should do what you think is best." 

He puts the palette away. "You don't need anything you're unsure of. You don't need any makeup at all, my love, it only enhances what's already there." 

"Ten minutes," James says. "Princess, are you sure this is everything you want to take?" 

He taps your suitcase with the side of his shoe. You nod. 

"You can bring whatever you want. All of your things, if you like." He gestures to your bedroom. "Though we can get you anything you need, and we will, you're welcome to pack everything." 

"In a day, you'll know I'm not your princess. Less stuff to carry," you say. 

"You're so sure," Remus says. 

He speaks quietly but not timidly, laid back in your chair with an air of relaxation you wish you could master. He has a small mass market paperback tucked into one pocket of his jacket, the yellowed pages peeking over the hem, and his hand stuffed into the other. His pose doesn't speak of any arrogance. He looks happy to be here, and it puts you at ease. 

"Do I look like a princess?" you ask. You don't mean to put anyone on the spot —you aren't fishing for compliments— so you steamroll your own question. "I just find it strange. Surely I'd know. I would've known before, I mean." 

"Like a princess beacon?" Sirius asks. 

"No, but… I don't know. I think I'd feel it." 

Remus straightens a touch, grinning. "You look like him. The Prince. You have the same nose." 

Remus stands up before you can ask him to explain. James offers to take his bag and he shrugs away from his big hand with an annoyed huff. 

To your surprise, James only smiles, cooing after him, "You know you love me, Moons." 

"Well," Sirius says, zipping his bag closed and clasping his hands on top of it. "You can always have your things sent for once we're home." 

Home for them. 

Truthfully, deep down, you want to be a princess. Something in you is singing, is ringing, a string plucked, a tuner reverberating. Finally, something is happening. Your life could be more than mistakes. 

You're not used to having people around and this entire process has been hard. Getting hit in the face had sucked. But, to have company? This single hour has been one of the best you've had in a really long time. Sirius is sweeter than you'd thought, sarcastic but kind-handed, and Remus' dry humour has caught you off guard enough to laugh aloud multiple times. Even James' grovelling niceties have been shamefully enjoyable. You can't remember the last time you had someone around who wanted to comfort you.

And that's exactly why you're afraid to admit what seems true. You can't be the Princess, because if you are, you get to have this for a little while longer, and that would be too good to be true. 

Much, much too good. 

"Alright, let's go. Sirius, you have the keys?" 

Sirius swings his bag into James’ arms. “Am I driving?”

“What a stupid question.”

Another member of James’ security team meets you at your front door to help carry the bags downstairs and into the back of the SUV. James won’t allow you to help and getting inside while they’re still packing the boot feels spoiled, so you stand at the corner and feel too many eyes on you. James stands beside you, one hand hovering behind your shoulders to shield you, ridiculously, from the hedge behind, the other held aloft in level with his mouth, fingers curled around a small radio you’ve seen clipped to his shoulder. He’s enunciating clear, short instructions. He doesn’t sound as severe as you’d pictured someone in his occupation would sound. 

“What’s traffic like?” he asks. The answer buzzes down the line, inaudible to you but obviously understood by James. “Alright, brilliant. We should be on schedule, then. Is the third team on call?”

You can make the next answer out. “Yep, they’re waiting. You want them at the front?”

“Please. I want everyone we have, ideally.”

“Isn’t that overkill?” Sirius shouts from the passenger seat of the car, bent over the handbrake to be heard. “All three teams? That’s twelve men. None of my sources hint at any leaks.”

“I’m being over cautious.” James smiles at you, so suddenly you smile back on instinct. “Security on call get paid either way. Might as well make them work for it.”

He ushers you into the back seat, a cushy leather bench fit for three people. It’s rented, but Sirius is quick to pop a section behind his chair for you to show you the drinks fridge. 

“Oh,” you breathe, legs lit and cooled by the light and the chilled air, “cool.”

“You’ll want to drink one before James assesses that they’re poisoned.”

You wince back. “Are they poisoned?”

“Probably not, my love.”

Sirius is a mixture of flirtatious and genuine that you can’t wrap your head around. He’s awfully handsome, too, which makes it worse: he’s tanned, his curls shine, and he has the most perfect Roman nose you’ve ever seen. He’s almost as handsome as James. 

“Let me be very clear,” he says gently, turned in his seat to face you, “I’m not an intelligence agent. I don’t know nearly as much as darling Jamie about security, but I have a lot of friends in high places and, as far as I’m aware, nobody outside of the British or Genovian government knows what we’re doing here. And nobody has reason to hurt you just yet.” He grins. “It’s James’ job to be paranoid, but that’s all it is.” 

You waver, and his cheerful smile fades. 

He lowers his voice, tone sympathetic. “I can always try one first if you’re worried.”

The driver’s door opens and James climbs in. “Try what?” he asks. He moves through a routine quickly of safety checks like a learning driver would. He rolls up the open window and turns in his seat, gaze flitting between you and Sirius suspiciously. “Everything okay?”

“I think the Princess is a little anxious about leaving the country,” Sirius says. 

“Yeah?” James asks, eyes back to the windshield. He turns the key, and the car warms to life with a low roar. 

“A little.” You nudge the fridge closed with your foot. 

“What was that?” James asks. “Is that a fridge? Do me a favour, don’t drink any of that. I'll get you whatever you want at the airport.”

“She can’t have a bottle of water from the fancy jeep but airport drinks are fine?” Sirius laughs. 

“Spike one fridge’s worth or the entire supply chain?” James asks. 

“What if this assassin is inefficient?”

“Assassin?” you ask. 

James glares at Sirius. "There are no assassins, Princess. He's being ridiculous." He looks to you with a smile. "You have everything?" 

Your expression, a sickly grimace, has him giving pause. All fake smiles and dramatics fall away, and in its place is the genuineness you'd been met with last night. 

"Hypothetically," he says, "there are assassins. In reality, there absolutely are not. You're not in any danger, alright? Sirius is the master of badly timed jokes." 

"Okay," you say meekly. 

James nods and you buckle in, sitting back in the comfiest car seat you've ever sat in and turning your face to the window. You look up at your flat building, and as the car starts to move, it shrinks. You drive further and further away, until you turn a corner, and your life is out of view. 

—

James is worried about you. As an acquaintance, he's starting to think you're a worrying person. There isn't a whole lot of spark behind your eyes — you rival Remus for number of tired smiles. 

He wonders why you hadn't packed any of your art supplies. Your room is teeming with them. Even if you're correct and you aren't the Genovian princess after all, there's still a day or more before they can actually confirm that, and factoring in travel time, you won't be home for at least a week. A week without your sketchbooks and paints and pencils. 

As your bodyguard, as a bodyguard, James has always taken concern in his charge's overall health, mental and physical. You don't seem ill, but you do seem unhappy. 

"Are you afraid of flying?" he asks, hoping that will explain your distance. 

He stands less than half a foot from you. He'll allow you some more space just as soon as you're not in an airport. 

"I'm not sure," you say. 

Another peculiarity, you're a pathological liar. 

Okay, that's unfair. You aren't pathological — James is an excellent judge of character, as his job requires, and he's gotten good at profiling a person's motivations. Your motivation is to become the smallest version of yourself that you can be. Any possible imposition is set aside, such as your refusal of painkillers when your cheek can't not hurt. You refuse to inconvenience others. 

"Is there something I can do? To help you feel better?" 

You smile awkwardly. "Is that your job?" you ask, voice lilting upward with self-consciousness. 

"Kind of. You know, as soon as your paternity test is recognised, you could ask for just about anything. An assistant, as many assistants and attendants as you want. Your security will most certainly increase, especially when the Palace makes a statement." 

He notes your widening eyes and backtracks. "It's not really my job, but I wouldn't mind. If you think of anything, let me know." 

You hide your hands in the pockets of your hoodie. You're dressed as he advised, comfortably and nondescript. 

"Do you need anything from me?" you ask. 

He hides his surprise, eyes doing another lap of the semi-private waiting room he's ushered you into. He takes in business men, officials, and diplomats for the tenth time in half an hour. 

"I don't need anything from you, Princess. Thank you." 

"I don't want to make your job any harder than it is." 

"You haven't." 

"That's not true," you murmur, bruised cheek  toward the floor and away from view. 

"That was my fault," James says. "Not yours." 

He can feel the heat of your tears running down his index finger. 

"That was my mistake," he reaffirms. 

You don't answer, but James knows it isn't an agreeable silence. Which is fine, he isn't trying to dominate your opinion, would never assume he had the right to police what you're feeling. He wants to reassure you more than he strictly should. 

This might be harder than I thought, he thinks. 

"The flight is near enough three hours. You're sure you don't want anything to take with you? If you're worried about dietary restrictions, there's a salad bar in the Mastercard lounge. I'm sure we can get someone to make you something up." 

"I'm fine… Will you be hungry?" 

He laughs. "You really don't understand the employee employer dynamic, do you?" he asks, not unkindly. "You don't have to worry about me." 

He says it sweetly, careful to ensure you understand. He isn't telling you off. He's teasing you. 

He knows he's done a good job when you lift your head. 

"I don't think you can talk about employee employer dynamics," you say, eyes flitting downward to your cheek's bruise. 

He chuckles, eyebrows jumping up. "Oh, nice! That was a quick one. We'll make a Genovian of you yet, they're all sarcastic." 

"They? You aren't Genovian?" 

"Do I look Genovian?" he asks, gesturing to his face. You splutter. "I'm messing with you. No, I'm not originally from Genovia, but my heart is hers." 

"You've always lived there?" 

"Since I was two." 

Your expression dims. It takes James a second to connect the dots. 

"There are plenty of people living in Genovia who aren't native. Remus is Welsh, can you tell? His accent hasn't quite survived it." 

"You've met before? You all seem familiar." 

"We went to the same boarding school. Well, we actually shared a room. We-" He feels heat crest at his unprofessional phrasing. "We're best mates." 

"And you all get to be together," you say softly. 

"Yeah, we do. We're lucky. Before this, Remus was working as a royal tutor for the young elites, and Sirius was trying to micromanage Julianna. That's your cousin." 

"The Princess' cousin," you correct. 

"You brought us back together," he says. "You'll have to forgive me for hoping you are who they say you are." 

"Lily never really explained, how I- I mean, why they think it's me." 

"Well," he says, stepping closer to you still, and lowering his voice, "my assumption is that, because the Prince's passing was a freak accident, they hadn't really planned for any other successors yet."

"Well, what were they going to do? He'd pass on eventually." 

"I believe there were hopes he'd marry a Duchess." 

"And have a legitimate child." 

"Yes. You are, to the majority, a secret. The Prince would have been seventeen at the time of your conception, which is a royal scandal if I've ever heard one." 

"Seventeen?" you ask. 

"Lily didn't tell you any of this?" 

"Honestly, uh, she might have. I wasn't-" You clear your throat mildly. "Wasn't really listening? I had a pretty bad migraine at the time, and I was tired, you know?" 

"You were overwhelmed at finding out you're apprincess." 

"That I might be a princess." 

"Sure. When they told me I might be Prince of Italy, I had the same reaction." 

You wrinkle your nose at him, the most forceful thing you've done in his presence. He laughs a storm, only tamping it down when he remembers he's a  professional. 

Soon, the boys return from their airport traipsing. Remus makes a quiet comment on James' happy smile, and he pretends to zip his lips closed when they both spot Sirius' curious glances. James moves your entourage to a small aircraft, not private but almost, and you board into first class seats, two per each side of the aisle and partitioned by a sheet of frosted plexi-glass. 

You and James sit together. 

He doesn't subject you to conversation. He's technically working, and so while he relaxes into his seat and stretches out his tired legs, he doesn't cut vigilance. 

You look around in awe for some time. Eyes widened just slightly, lips parted, you sit up and sneak glances at everything you can. James knocks on the partition gently. 

"You want the fan? The heater?" 

"The fan," you say, and he supposes you do look a bit warm at the collar. "Please." 

He doesn't bother saying of course, or no worries, or no problem. He's a problem solver. If you're going to be under his watch, he's going to make it as easy on you as he can. That means letting you be thankful without shrugging it off. 

Your eyes close quickly. Your eyelashes flutter imperceptibly in the overhead fans slow breeze, and your lips part as you fall into sleep. Last night's disruption had been hard on you no doubt. He stands quietly and eases sideways down the aisle to check on Remus and Sirius inconspicuously. 

"Anything for me to read?" he asks Remus. 

Remus knows exactly what James is up to. If he appreciates or abhors the extra attention is anyone's guess, until he digs through the bag at his feet and pulls out one of his Russian philosophy novels with a smirk. "This or the newspaper." 

James takes the worn paperback with a wry look of defeat and reaches over and across to Sirius head of curls, tugging one cruelly. 

Sirius looks up, but is only irritable when he notices that it had been James, and not his seatmate. 

"What?" Sirius demands. 

"Do you need anything?" 

"No. Quit mothering. And maybe get some rest?" 

"I can't."

"You most certainly can. Swap out with Frank, or Mickey or someone." 

James swaps out with Mickey. Mickelson, please keep an eye on the entryway. Yes  boss. He returns, finding you aren't as asleep as he'd thought. You look at him through lashes. You've gone soft, in little regard for your appearance, and he's glad for it. Watching you is like watching a spring stretched tall, and now you've finally snapped into yourself and deflated. 

"You alright?" he murmurs. 

You nod, and he sits, and when he doesn't get up you fall asleep again, like you'd been waiting for him to get back. You sleep for hours, through turbulence, Sirius' roaring laughter, Remus' answering chuckles, and the flight attendant who scolds them. James wishes he could do the same, reading a mind-numbing forty pages of Russian literature densely translated and sipping on a glass of coke, the ache of an oncoming pressure headache pinching behind his eyes. 

The hubbub doesn't wake you. The plane lands, you sleep on. 

James whispers your name, quiet, speaking louder when you fail to rouse. Finally, he gives in and squeezes your shoulder. Heat radiates through the thick fabric of your hoodie. You hair is frizzy where it's rubbed against the seat behind you. 

You wake with a raspy cough. "James?" 

"We're here, Princess, in Genovia." 

"That was," —you yawn, turning to hide your face so he can't see— "fast." 

You look like you might fall asleep again. His heart does this awful little flip. He ignores it.

"It was hours. You've slept the whole time– A good thing, huh?" He bends down until you're face to face, an amicable gap between you as he squints at your bruise. He's close enough to share your breath. "Bruise is getting worse. Remus will give you painkillers, and I'm gonna get you an ice pack as soon as we're off the plane." 

He squeezes your shoulder again. "Up. Come on." 

You nod and rub your eyes, stretching in your seat. He averts his gaze and stands as tall as he can, shoulders hunched to avoid clipping his head. Remus has made no efforts to move yet and Sirius is in the aisle, pulling their bags into his arms. 

"Are you alright, Moony?" James asks. 

Remus has gone ashen. 

"He has a migraine." 

"Can you see okay?" James asks. 

Remus gets blurry, occluded vision when he gets these sudden migraines. He winces, hand over his eyes, and says, "Not really. Can I have your sunglasses?" 

"Yeah," James says, holding in the, of course you can, I'd genuinely die for you, that he wants to add. 

He slides his rucksack off of his shoulder and takes his sunglasses from the front pocket. He taps them into Remus' hand. 

"You'll have to touch up the Princess' bruise for me," Sirius says. 

James coughs. "What?" 

"It's easy–" 

"I'll take Remus," James says. 

"You can both go do your jobs, I'll be fine," Remus mutters, flinching at an invisible, biting pain. 

"No," they both deny. 

Remus doubles over. 

"All you have to do is stipple it," Sirius whispers fervently.

"Sirius, I don't know what stippling is." 

"Dots of makeup. She knows what shade we chose. Here, take my bag. There's a clean brush." 

Sirius smiles at James. Remus hasn't always let them take care of him. His disabilities have often made him the subject of disdain, pity, and misguided attention he has never, ever wanted, and he'd mistaken their friendship for lots of things at first. Nowadays, he accepts the help that he needs, help that his friend's are happy to give, and disregards their smothering overkill otherwise. That being said, Remus has always found it easier to accept help from Sirius than James. They all know it and none of them bother saying why that is aloud. 

Flying nearly but not quite privately means they can get off the plane whenever they're ready (within reason), and so James ushers you back into your seat where you'd been standing tentatively in the aisle and presents the little make up bag. He kneels in front of you. 

"I'll get the painkillers," he says, remembering his earlier promise, "Sirius is preoccupied, so. You're stuck with me on touch ups." 

"Is it bad?" 

"No. Does it feel bad?" 

Your slow response is telling. "No," you lie, "it's not that bad." You point at one of the colours through the clear case. "I think it was that one." 

"Thank you," he says, murmurs, opening the case. There's a brush tucked inside, and he picks it up clumsily. 

"Does he have a mirror?" you ask. "I can do it myself, if you want."

"If he does, he didn't give it to me. I promise not to mess you up too badly, Princess." 

James presses the brush into your chosen colour and pats. The concealer is harder than he'd thought it would be, tough under the brush. It all looks silly in his hands. 

"Lean your head back for me," he says softly. 

You tip your chin up. Your eyes close as he begins. 

He's too careful. The colour doesn't want to transfer. "Sorry," he murmurs, applying pressure. You wince but say nothing to stop him. "Tell me if it hurts too much." 

"It's only a bruise."

"You're allowed to be hurt. And you should be more angry with me." 

"It was an accident." 

"It was my mistake." He watches the bruise disappear under concealer, but the colour doesn't quite match your skin. He tries his best to blend out the edges. "A professional mistake, which means you're more than allowed to be annoyed." 

"I'm starting to think you want me to be mad," you say. You're trying not to move, and so each word is half a whisper. 

"I do. I want you to be furious. It's ten times harder to keep someone safe when they have no self-preservation." 

He gives up on the brush and uses his pinky, his cleanest finger, to smudge out the blocky colour he's left behind. Your skin is scorching under his touch. 

"So if I'm angry with you, that makes your job easier?" 

He hums. "Mh-hmm. Much easier." 

You hold your breath as he finishes up, a gentle patting motion as he was instructed. 

"How some girls do this every day," he mutters. 

"It gets easier." 

"Yeah?" He drags his pinky down your cheek without thinking. "Hopefully this is my last time. It looks fine. Maybe don't stop in direct sunlight." 

He collects all of his things and pulls the makeup bag into his chest, easing his way out into the aisle again. You follow. Everyone else has left, except for a pearly-smiled flight attendant, who's smile grows impossibly wider as they approach. 

"Everything okay today folks?" he asks. "How was your flight?" 

James offers thank-yous and guides you down the length of the plane to the exit. You're quiet from the plane to the steps, his hand ghosting your shoulder, to the tarmac, where your security entourage awaits. Including James there are eight bodyguards. Two stick close, five form a mock perimeter around you. 

"Unfortunately, you might draw attention from the protection detail alone. It's up to you, Princess, but I can hide your face." 

"Is that… dramatic?" 

"It's completely up to you. I don't think it's dramatic. Just depends on how comfortable you are with your face potentially being used somewhere." 

"Can I– Maybe I'll stay close," you say, pulling your hood up. 

"Yeah. Tell me if you're uncomfortable." 

He takes you by the elbow and you walk. There aren't any paparazzi waiting outside, and James thinks maybe the news of your arrival has escaped them, and you won't be exposed to the madness that is paps with a story like this one, until he sees Sirius and Remus waiting at the glass doors into the airport. 

"Can't we go around?" Sirius asks. 

"They have to check our passports, idiot," Remus says, with little malice. 

"You can fucking see them, mate," he says to James. 

James motions for you to stand where you are and crosses the gap to get a better look. Mickey takes his place by your side. 

"Fuck," he hisses, "what the fuck is that? Who fucking leaked?" 

"Should I be worried?" he hears you ask quietly. 

"Mickelson, give the Princess your sunglasses." 

"So yes, then," you say. 

James props open the door with his foot. "Princess, you're going first. They'll expect you in the middle. Hopefully that'll minimise what they can get." He holds out his arm. 

You slot perfectly underneath it. 

"Ready?" he asks. 

You don't look very ready. You nibble your lip and nod anyhow, tucking your face into his front. James walks you forward, into a storm of white flashes and shouting, the precipice of your new life.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this chapter <3 please consider reblogging if you did, I'd love to know what you thought and what you want to see in the next one! and a happy new year !!!!

marmalade kisses and early mornings- dad!james potter x reader

pairing: dad!james potter x reader

warnings: completely soft mush! james being an amazing dad and husband, reader loving her family more than her heart can allow, breastfeeding! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ ONLY

disclaimer: this is my original work! i do not consent to the writing being reposted, copied or translated on other sites or on here by anyone

you loved weekends at the potter’s. the ease of it all and the love that seemed endless as james when out to pick apples for euphemia for pies, and fleamont sat at the table sipping coffee as he listened to his wife ramble on about what she was planning for lunch, even though they hadn’t even had breakfast yet.

it was where you learnt about the sacred nature of mornings. they set the tone for the day, and while every day couldn’t have slow, easy mornings, you and james, when you got married vowed to always have one morning where everything would just fall into place around you, where you wouldn’t force plans, but you’d bake, and lay in bed, and watch the sun as it rose to its rightful place above everything, and just basked in each other, and the life you were making with each other.

now, you and james were much like they had been. soft, lazy mornings that were interrupted with the warm morning sun, and the pitter patter of feet against the hardwood floors as your daughter came running into the room. 

“pa, c’mon it’s sunday. marmalade day.” she had a soft lisp as she whispered in james’ ear, little hands cupping his face, stroking his squished cheeks the same way you did. “pa.” she sighed this time, james dead asleep still even as she huffed and began climbing over him to get into the bed with you. 

her hair was chestnut and the braid that had been done the night before messy with curly flying out in different directions, just like her father’s. “ma,” she turned to you when james didn’t budge, her fingers wiggling their way to your upper arm, the ticklish brushes stirring you from sleep with a slow smile spreading across your face. “ma, it’s sunday.” 

little giggles erupted when you sat up, pulling her to your chest before peppering her chubby cheeks with kisses. “g’morning fawn.” you whisper, watching her eyes that were identical to yours glitter with happiness. 

“g’morning ma.” she settled in your warmth, the two of you whispering to let james sleep for a bit longer; the beefy man had been up with your son just a couple hours before, muttering soft lullabies to him as you watched from the bed after james had instructed, ‘c’mon sweet girl, stay where you are. got him.’

Keep reading

I Found Joy In My Life

do i have like a million other wips i need to finish? yes. did i write this totally new idea in one sitting instead? you bet! i absolutely love this fic and it’s the first i’ve finished in quite some time which is very exciting!

this one is inspired by andy grammer’s song joy which screams nate to me and is currently on repeat because i love it that much. you’ll see some of the lyrics worked in throughout the fic too!

hope you enjoy!! feedback is always appreciated! xx

word count: 4.4k+

~~~~~

Me and fear, we had a thing in 1993

Told me I was wasting time with all these silly dreams

I dated doubt, she knocked me down every time I tried

“The Colorado Avalanche are proud to select, with our first pick, from the Halifax Mooseheads, Nathan MacKinnon.” Joe Sakic’s words echo throughout the Prudential Center and applause breaks out in an instant, but Nate remains seated for a few seconds longer, unable to process what’s happening. 

The team he’s always dreamed of playing for picked him first, picked him over every other eligible player sitting in this very arena. Nate can’t wrap his head around it. He was just drafted first overall. After all the speculation over the last year of who would actually be picked first, names constantly thrown around by hockey analysts or general fans leading to no one knowing what to expect coming into today, Nate knows he did it. 

All the hard work has paid off. His big dream of making it to the NHL and following in the footsteps of his favorite player and biggest inspiration is coming true. But even he knows this is only the beginning of a long journey.

Practically on autopilot due to a mix of shock and pure euphoria, Nate rises from his seat to hug his parents and sister and the grin on his face never wavers. It feels like his heart might burst out of his chest and there are so many emotions running through him as he makes his way to the stage to accept the special Avalanche jersey from his new team. His new home. 

Keep reading