“… Always it seemed to Attolia
that Eddis was running wild in the mountains…
…News had traveled with the merchants and the entertainers who
came before both courts. Eddis was learning to ride a pony, Eddis was learning to use a
sword with her male cousins, Eddis was hunting at the summer retreat…”
I wrote this years ago but revamped it a little and decided to share with you guys because who doesn’t like Jily fluff???? Let me know what you think!
It’s kind of an AU?? Idk haha I just hope you like it! Also sorry if the format is off; I’m on mobile!
“I can’t do this,” James said weakly, staring blankly ahead out the window across the lawn on which he was about to be married. That is, if his knees (and heart) would hold out long enough. Sirius laughed his barklike laugh from somewhere on James’s right.
“Do you mean to tell me that after seven years of asking, pleading, and begging Lily Evans to go on a date with you, countless hours spent trying to get her attention and now galleons upon galleons gone to make this wedding perfect, you’ve got cold feet? Come off it,” he consoled, clapping an arm around his best mate’s shoulder as he sipped from a goblet of butterbeer. The two young men were standing in a large lavender tent behind the altar setup, anxiously awaiting the moment they would step out in front of the crowd of friends and family to begin the wedding.
Compared to his and Lily’s dream of an elaborate event at a famous manor, the wedding was quaint, and the whole affair was to take place in the Potters’ backyard. However, all the stops had been pulled to make it the most lavish quaint wedding possible. Especially considering that there was a war on, it was positively regal.
Sirius had been trying for the last hour to calm James’s nerves, even suggesting a couple choice potions with questionable legality (“I know a bloke!”), but nothing was working. Instead of the smirking, laughing James Potter that Sirius knew, a glassy-eyed and jittery clone was standing in the tent in his place.
“I can’t do it,” James said simply, his mouth quite dry.
“Well, it’s a little late to turn back now, mate,” Sirius said. He checked his wristwatch. “You’re getting married in ten minutes.”
“I’m getting…married. Shit,” James whispered, running a hand through his ever-messy hair.
“Well, don’t do that,” Sirius laughed again. “Enjoy these last few moments of freedom while you can.”
“I’M GETTING MARRIED!” James shouted suddenly, shaking Sirius’s shoulders and causing his best man to spill half his drink onto the ground. “TO LILY EVANS!” James had a kind of manic smile on his face, as if he only just come to realize this fact. “Lily…,” he said softly, trying to sneak a peek through the flaps of the tent at the assembly outside.
“Well, I would hope so,” Sirius said, fighting to keep a straight face, “it is her you proposed to, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” James said; he seemed to have fallen into some kind of drug-induced trance.
“Well, you had better pull yourself together; can’t have this wedding without the groom, can we?”
James shook his head no and smiled weakly. “And the groom is nothing without his best man,” he said, grinning at Sirius with the same kind of playful smile he wore when planning a joke; for a moment, Sirius caught a glimpse of James’s usual bravado through the mask of his nervousness.
A second later, a balding, priestly wizard, Father Borachio Ogbourne, entered the tent fully dressed in his ceremonial robes and smiling warmly at James and Sirius.
“James,” he said with the calming voice only a practiced oficiar can possess, “we are soon to begin. If you and Mr. Black would kindly come with me….”
James hissed a string of swear words under his breath, suddenly sweaty and even jumpier than before. “Padfoot, I’m not ready!” he whispered in a panicked voice.
“Merlin, you sound like a bloody bridesmaid!” Sirius remarked, willing his friend to get his wits about him. He looked James up and down. “This is not the bloke who proposed to Lily Evans in the middle of the Three Broomsticks, this is…this is Wormtail’s Uncle Earl when he found out he had spattergroit, this is.” James managed a shaky laugh. “Honestly, mate, you haven’t a thing to worry about; you look smashing—as do I, I might add—she loves you, and you only have to say two words!”
James took a deep breath, trying to slow his racing heartbeat. “You’re right. I’m being thick,” he muttered.
“That’s the spirit!” Sirius cheered. Father Ogbourne stuck his head in again.
“Now, boys!” James looked once more at Sirius, who nodded reassuringly. The two men then stepped out into the late afternoon sun; everything was bathed in a golden glow as the sun began to set ever so slightly. This was Lily’s favorite time of day; naturally, she had insisted that the wedding take place at its peak.
James stepped up to the altar and gazed upon the crowd of people gathered before him. He immediately spotted his mother, Euphemia, in the front row. Her eyes were already watery and she sat beside two empty chairs adorned with wreaths and ribbons in honor of Lily’s late parents. A handful of the Order including Mad-Eye Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Dorcas Meadowes and Mary Macdonald were there. He could see Moony and Wormtail subtly shooting him two thumbs-up from the second row, and in the back, Hagrid took up three seats all by himself.
Five minutes later, a kind of uniform hush seemed to fall over the crowd, as if they had all known ahead of time when to stop talking amongst themselves.
“See you on the other side, Prongs,” James heard Sirius whisper behind him. No sooner had the words left Sirius’s mouth than a sweet, melodic tune began to float through the air. Everyone turned in their seats as Lily Evans, soon to be Potter, appeared at the end of the aisle arm-in-arm with Fleamont, James’s father, who had cried when Lily asked him to give her away because her own father couldn’t.
They were followed by Lily’s Maid of Honor, Marlene McKinnon, and the ring bearer, James’s little cousin Eddie. James’s heart leapt and lodged itself somewhere in his throat as Lily came into full view; he was sure nothing in the world could make him happier than the sight of that girl walking his way in that beautiful white dress. Lily’s long red hair had been drawn up into a fancy bun; sections of her hair had been braided and woven through a glittering crystal hairpiece. Attached to the hairpiece was a lacy white veil that ended just above her lower back and actually floated around her lightly, framing he perfectly. Her dress was pure white and strapless; beads had been sewn in intricate patterns on the bodice, and the skirt, which was tiered in the back, brushed the floor as she and her father walked slowly and surely forwards.
James knew then that he was, without a doubt, the happiest man alive. His hazel eyes hastened to meet Lily’s emerald green ones as she came closer and closer. Upon catching her gaze, a huge grin split across his face and he felt immediately at ease. Lily. He couldn’t believe it; Lily Evans was here, of her own free will, to marry him.
Father Ogbourne spoke in his calm voice as Lily and Fleamont stopped at the end of the aisle. “Who gives this witch to this wizard in marriage?” He asked.
“I do,” James’s father replied, his voice thick with happy tears. After what seemed like an hour—albeit a very dreamlike, incredible one—he relinquished his hold on Lily’s arm, kissed her cheek and watched with glistening eyes as she ascended the three small steps to James’s level. Euphemia was well past holding back tears; she now sobbed openly into her handkerchief as James and Lily smiled into each other’s eyes.
Lily seemed to radiate love as she held out her hand to James after handing her bouquet of cream-and-orange-colored roses to Marlene, who took her spot next to Sirius. Trembling, James took Lily’s hand in his own and stood facing his soon-to-be wife.
James didn’t really hear a word the old wizard was saying as he spoke of the holy joining of hands in marriage and the joy that this union should bring to all; he was utterly lost in Lily’s eyes. They were the only two people in the world and James couldn’t be more content. Lily must have sensed the residual nerves James was hiding behind his smile, though, for she gently squeezed his hand and gave him a wink. Together they stood for at least five more minutes, anxiously awaiting the moment they would officially become husband and wife.
“Do you, James Fleamont Potter, take Lily Evans to be your lawfully wedded wife?” There was silence; James seemed not to have heard.
“Hey you,” Lily said softly, a laugh present in her voice. James’s eyes widened.
“S-sorry,” he stammered. Father Ogbourne smiled warmly and repeated the vow. James stood still for a moment, holding Lily’s gaze.
Finally, he spoke, confidence blooming within him. “No, sir, I don’t,” he said suddenly. A collective gasp and several harried whispers issued from the crowd, but James ignored them; he was not finished. He smiled at Lily, who seemed to know he was up to something. “May I?”
“By all means, my son,” said Ogbourne.
James took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, determined to do this right. “I, James Fleamont Potter, take you, Lily, as more than just my wife. I take you as my other half, my reason for breathing, and above all, my equal.” Lily’s green eyes were swimming with tears. “I don’t know what life holds in store for us,” he said, his voice a little shaky with suppressed emotion, “but I will provide for you, be by your side whether we are rich or scraping by, healthy or barely holding on, happy or fighting back tears. I will be,” he took a deep breath, “completely yours, as I have always wanted, from the first day we met.” Lily choked back a sob and smiled through her tears at the man in front of her; how could she ever have disliked him?
She swallowed hard, trying to find her voice so that she could tell James how she felt. “I, Lily Evans, take you, James, you arrogant toerag,” she joked with a laugh and a squeeze of his hands as he shook his head with a smile, “as my best friend as well as my husband. You’ve not only made me love life more, but you’ve made me a better person, and–” her voice broke and she flung her arms around James. “I love you,” she whispered softly, knowing he had heard her.
Father Ogbourne cleared his throat and James and Lily broke apart. Eddie had stepped forth with the rings and presented them to James. Shaking, James took Lily’s diamond ring from the silken pillow and placed it on her finger.
“With this ring, I thee wed,” he whispered. Lily then took the golden band from the pillow and slipped it onto James’s ring finger.
“With this ring, I thee wed.”
Father Ogbourne raised his wand and drew in the air a shimmering ribbon that floated down and draped itself over the newlyweds’ shoulders.
“By the power vested in me and by all the magic old and new, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He turned to James. “You may kiss the bride.”
In one swift, smooth movement, James captured Lily’s lips in his own, his heart jumping for joy in his chest. A dozen golden doves exploded in a chorus of fluttering wings out of two of the nearby ornamental bushes and soared above the couple, transforming midflight into another shining ribbon that then came to rest upon the altar. The applause was deafening, but James could clearly hear Sirius whooping behind him in celebration, his mothers’ sobs of joy, and Remus wolf-whistling.
Father Ogbourne had to shout over the crowd to be heard.
“Family and friends!” he proclaimed as James and Lily broke their kiss. “I present to you, for the first time—Mr. and Mrs. Potter!”
A short modern au where Jon and Sansa are horny teens
If we’re talking about the average day in Jon Snow’s life in terms of a 1 to 10 scale of embarrassment, he would commit to the majority hitting around a 4 - there’s been plenty of solid 7s or 8s, especially when Sansa would send him a boner-inducing text in the middle of class, saying something along the lines of ’Oops - I forgot to put panties on again today’ or ‘Can you give me a ride home after school? Then maybe we could park up somewhere and I’ll give you one’? Always followed by a winky emoji. That damn winky emoji!
Okay, so some of my family came over for dinner and one of them was my cousin, Marie. She’s from Ireland and works in film as a costume designer. We struck up a conversation about her work on a new TV show in town.
Me: Hey, have you heard of Eddie Redmayne?
Marie: I know Eddie quite well actually.
Me: *chokes on egg salad* Are– are you serious?
Marie: Oh, yes! I’ve been to dinner with him many times. He’s a lovely, lovely man.
Me: You’re kidding me.
The conversation continued on about how they actually know each other (through a makeup artist that’s one of Eddie’s good pals) and the whole time I sit there like
“You know with there being people like Mama Lipsky and Cousin Eddie, I sometimes must stop and wonder if Dr. Drakken may actually be the sanest/most intelligent member of his family. That is a terrifying thought.”
“I’m placing the blame for this entirely on you Barry Allen,” a very uncomfortable Caitlin growls as she attempts to tug herself closer to her desk, failing spectacularly. Her stomach, heavily distended from pregnancy, doesn’t allow her to hover over her keyboard quite the way she likes to and she’s beyond frustrated. (All she wants to do is distract herself with work, and she can’t even do that properly).
For his part, Barry only smiles at the sight of her, uncommonly proud of the visible evidence of their (hopefully) soon to be born child beneath her sweater. Feeling the effects of his wife’s steely scowl, however, he does offer a reply, albeit not a well thought out one: “It did take both of us to make her Cait.” He knows it’s the wrong reply the second it runs out of his mouth (too quick to take back, like most things he does).
“I’m not talking about her existence Barry,” she huffs, more than aware of that simple, biological fact (besides which, it would be pretty hard to forget her conception, the evening of their first anniversary). “I mean the fact that our daughter hasn’t even been born yet and she’s already inherited your habit for being late for everything.” He has the decency to look guilty, which gives Caitlin at least a small feeling of satisfaction.
Barry knows that the last few weeks have been rough on Caitlin. She’s grown increasingly uncomfortable, and thus unable to sleep through the night, as the end of her pregnancy has approached. They’re as ready as they can be for the arrival of Baby Allen, (when they’d learned they were expecting, Caitlin had created a preparation timeline that even he’d been able to follow mostly to the letter) but it appears that Baby Allen is not completely ready to arrive. Caitlin’s due date passed five days ago and with each passing day, she’s become more agitated. He knows that while it is partially due to the discomfort of late pregnancy (swollen ankles, abnormal hormones, sore back, and so much more), mostly it’s worry that has been making her so irritable.
“What if something’s wrong?” She asks a moment later, the annoyance she’s been channeling draining immediately away to reveal the root cause.
He’s at her side immediately, pulling her out of the desk chair and into his arms. The embrace would be awkward, curled over her expanded form as he is, except they’ve been slowly adjusting to these changes throughout her pregnancy, just as Caitlin’s body has. Adjusting with changes, making a better today and tomorrow from the unexpected, it’s what they do, it’s how they found each other and fell in love. It’s why he knows, even when she snips out her frustrations, that they’re going to be just fine, as always. It’s also why he knows that their baby is going to be just fine too.
“Cait,” he soothes into her hair, pressing a kiss against her crown, “nothing is wrong. The doctor has checked everything out and we have a c-section scheduled if she waits too much longer.” Still keeping his wife wrapped in his embrace, he pulls back a bit to smile down at her, his grin teasing. “Besides, what would you expect from our little girl? She’s already always late like me and wonderfully stubborn like you—she’s just choosing her own pace.”
It draws out the small but warm laugh he’d been hoping for. Caitlin tips her head up to meet his gaze and then presses forward to place a brief kiss to his lips. “I know you’re right, but I also know all the things that could go wrong and sometimes I can’t help thinking about them.” He gets that too, knows that with all the chaos that’s gotten them here (plenty of it bad, even if he knows the good overwhelmingly outweighs it), it’s sometimes easy to get caught up in the idea that something surely will go wrong (it always seems to in other aspects of their lives). His mouth is just parting to reply when she beats him to it, her mood still lightened by his earlier comment. “Let’s just hope this baby inherits some of our better qualities too.”
A much better topic of conversation, one they’ve spent many quiet, contented nights wondering about over the past nine months. Barry navigates them away from the desk they’re standing next to and over to the couch, carefully helping to ease her down. They cuddle up together as he pretends to contemplate his answer. “Like my incredible board game skills?”
An eye roll accompanies her laughter, and the warmth that pulls out of his chest has him amending his comment immediately in favor of something more serious. “Your laugh,” he decides with a firm nod. “I hope she has your laugh Caitlin. And I hope she’s brilliant like you, and passionate about the future. I hope she’s just as fiercely independent and unflinchingly strong.”
Nine months ago, the tears collecting quietly in the corners of her dark eyes would have alarmed him, now he knows it’s just part of the pregnancy package. Still, he hates inspiring them, even when he knows they’re tears of happiness and love. Snuggling in closer, he lays one warm hand across her stomach while the other rubs gentle trails down each cheek. Caitlin catches that hand in one of her and kisses it. “All I want is for her to be healthy and happy and to love the way you do: with her whole heart.”
“That’s a trait she’ll get from both of us Cait.” It’s a trait she rarely sees in herself, but certainly one of those that he fell in love with himself. It’s the reason why, just over eight months ago, when they had first discovered Caitlin was pregnant (not planned but certainly not unwelcome, after some initial shock and panic), he had been able to reassure her fears, without any doubt, that she would be an amazing mother. He knows Caitlin loves with a protective ferocity that has saved his life more times than he can count and that she has, and will, love their little one the same way. It’s evident in all her interactions with their respective godchildren (his godson Joe Thawne and her goddaughter Abby Queen).
“If she ever decides to meet us,” Caitlin grouses a few comfortable moments of quiet thought later, eyes skittering down to Barry’s hand where, she knows, he has just felt his recalcitrant daughter kick.
“She just already knows what I try to tell you every Sunday morning when you claim we have to get out of bed: you’re too comfortable.” To emphasize his point, Barry nuzzles his head against her neck and shoulder.
“Mmm,” she mumbles, letting herself become distracted. “Well, there’s no Sunday lunch at Joe’s to get to today…and since baby here doesn’t want to go anywhere either, I’m more then happy with a nap.”
It might, after all, be the last quiet one they have for a long time (if they’re lucky).
It still sometimes amazes Barry how little things with Caitlin—like cheering her up or distracting her fears or lazy afternoon couch naps—can feel as much like saving the world as stopping evil meta humans. If he weren’t feeling so suddenly sleepy, it might occur to him that it has something to do with her being his world, but he’s warm and pressed close to his wife, their little girl kicking occasionally at his hand and the nap overtakes him before any such thoughts can.
Their nap is somewhat harshly, but very welcomely, ended three hours later by the beginning of Baby Allen’s introduction into the world (and what Barry, surprisingly squeamish despite all his many injuries over the years, will refer to as the death of the Cozy Green Couch for a long time to come).
Despite his many protests to the contrary (“I won’t go too fast Caitlin, I’m not stupid. Just quicker then the car!”), they arrive at the hospital valet parking in fairly good time, even though the contractions are coming pretty quickly. (“Leave it to your daughter,” Caitlin groans between ripples of pain, “to be five days late and then try to flash herself into the world at lightning speed.”) But they make it inside, get checked in and settled into a room with relatively little issue.
Caitlin is barely in labor for four hours when, in a delivery room surrounded by doctors, her parents, her Auntie Iris and Grandpa Joe (and with Uncle Cisco, Uncle Eddie and cousin Joey in the waiting room), Mikaela Grace Allen is born.
After she’s checked over, deemed perfectly healthy and cleaned up, Iris and Joe leave to join the rest of their little family in the waiting room (Iris with a camera full of pictures to show off to her husband, son and Cisco before sending off to Starling City) and give the new parents a few minutes alone while little Kella eats.
When she latches on immediately, clearly hungry, Caitlin smiles up at Barry with tired but wonderfully soft eyes and can’t help but laugh. “Hungry already—she really does take after you.”
Snowbarry family fic & the introduction of Kella Allen. Figured we needed some cute, happy stuff and yesterday the idea of their child being late and Caitlin blaming Barry came to mind and wouldn’t quit :)
Dedicated partially to ttinycourageous because your tags in my last story made me laugh and smile and because you are wonderfully. Also dedicated to all the positive, great snowbarry shippers out there.
Thoughts, comments and suggestions are always appreciated!