#But if we must do it. Then set it up this way

[quarterlifekitty]

Promethean

fuckboy!Soap x Shy!Reader x Ghost (college!au) p.2 here’s part 1

Uhh warning soap isn’t in this chapter and reader isn’t acting very shy rn lol

Simon managed to drag you, shocked and still on shaky legs, into his surprisingly clean car and across town to a little cafe. The guy with eye bags behind the counter starts making his order as soon as he comes in the door— must be a regular.

At the counter he points to a couple of items in the display case, before prompting you— you stutter out your go-to, and Simon whips out a beat-up debit card before you can think to pull out your wallet.

The largest size of earl grey almost looks normal in his large hand, a plate of pastries in his other mitt. You grab your own drink and follow where he tilts his head in gesture.

When you sit, he pushes the plate towards you. Like he’s dropping a fresh kill at your doorstep—a courting gift. Eat. Be provided for, sensitive doe. You pick up a danish, if only to ease the clench of his fist on the table. He pulls the black surgical mask down to sip his tea in a way that’s almost hilariously delicate given his permanent scowl.

You couldn’t have sat in silence for more than 10 minutes. But it feels like a lot longer.

“Simon. What are we doing here?” You probe quietly. Saying his name when you’ve never actually been introduced to each other feels wrong. Like you’ve stolen a piece of him that he hasn’t given freely.

“He never takes you out,” he grunts. As if that explains anything.

“It’s not… what we have isn’t like that.”

——

Simon chews on your overly diplomatic response for a minute. That’s what it must be, chewing— why else would he grind his teeth together when his tongue is still wet with his favorite soothing beverage?

You’re kind. Kinder than the mutt deserves.

“But you want it to be.” He says it with an almost biblical level of finality. Your pastry making the plate clink against the table as you drop it back down.

“What would you know about what I want?”

“You’re an easy read. S’how y’got yourself in this situation. Soap’s not exactly a rocket scientist when it comes to chattin’ up birds, you’re jus’ an open book.”

Simon shamelessly stares at your lips as they quirk in anger— so unused to vitriol. It’s gorgeous.

“So he’s using me. I know. Is that what this was about? Taking me on a pity date to let me down gently? Or did you just wanna see if you could have a go as well?”

Seeing you like this. It’s something else. He’s seen you mope around so many times, silently begging for crumbs that will never be tossed your way. It’s even harder to pull his gaze from you, now that you’re hissing. He wants to dig his teeth into your heart shoulder and rip out the bruise Johnny left you with.

Soap is his best friend.

“He’s a dickhead. You don’t need him. You’ll find something better.”

Simon has never been what he would call “something better”. Not in any sense. But this might be the first time he’s wanted to be.

“I won’t,” you say with the lower half of your face hidden by the sipping of your drink. As if it’s quenched your fire, and all that leaves you is vapor. “I’m not… the type.”

He gets it. Really, he does. He’s not the type either— or so he’s thought. You’re making him wonder if he’s imagined that about himself— the same way you’ve clearly imagined it about yourself.

“What’s the rest of your day look like?”

“…Nothing set in stone.” The not that it’s any of your fucking business goes unspoken, but is plain to see in the air between you.

“Lemme take you around. On a date. Be mine for today. If y’hate it, I’ll drop you back at yours and the next time you come round, I’ll mind my business and keep the door closed.” Well, that’s the most you’ve ever heard him say in one go. And it begs a question.

“What happens if I like it? You’ll fuck me in a different room of the same frat house?” Your unimpressed look makes him feel ravenous. She-wolf is threatening to turn her eyes from the display. Rejection. Not an option. “Or maybe you’ll ask me to go steady,” you huff under your breath like it’s a bad joke.

“If y’like it, then you’ll stay mine, and y’won’t fuckin’ want for anything. You’re supposed to be worshipped, not begging for scraps at a mutt’s door.”

He really didn’t mean to say it like that. He meant to bite his tongue. He’s trying not to think of how hot it would be if his intensity scared you into pissing yourself. He’s trying not to let himself show through the lines. It’s not working. Any of it.

The venomous bile that spills from behind his teeth reminds him that his eloquence is just one of many reasons why he’s single. Why he should be muzzled instead of kept. He doesn’t know why he’s taking it upon himself to do this. Selfishness, maybe. There’s plenty of better men he could’ve put up to the task, easy. The man who wants to feel blood on the back of his throat makes a terrible savior.

He feels like he can see your pupils dilate. You pick up your danish again and take a bite. You hold it out for him to try. It’s a test. You don’t think someone with eyes like his can handle doing cutesy, saccharine things. Like what couples do. That must be it.

He tries not to think of his teeth going past the flakey flesh of the pastry and sinking into your fingers. When his tongue meets the butter between the layers, he tries not to think of the salt sweet flavor of your sweat and tears. A seed from the blackberry jam gets thoughtlessly crushed between his molars— he hopes the bitterness will suddenly wake him up and he won’t be a beast crying for love at the heart of the world anymore.

It doesn’t.

[sammakesart]

Castles in the Fade, or What Was the Point of the Veil Anyway

Something that will now haunt me until the end of time is why was the concept of the Veil ever introduced into this series.

We’ve been hearing about it since the very first game. There’s a codex entry about tears in the Veil in Origins. Tamlen mentions a thin spot in the Veil if you play a Dalish elf. Sandal has a prophecy in Dragon Age 2: “One day the magic will come back—all of it. Everyone will be just like they were. The shadows will part and the skies will open wide. When he rises, everyone will see.” Admittedly, this is just one line said by a character who often says odd things, but it hinted to the fact they were planning to do something with the Veil from the very beginning. The state of the Veil is repeatedly brought up. It all had to mean something! Or so I thought. 

When I saw “The Dread Wolf Rises” quest in Veilguard, I said, “Oh, here we go!” The Veil is coming down, magic is coming back, and it’s going to set up such an interesting story for the next game. 

Alas, no. 

I hadn’t really enjoyed my time playing Veilguard up until this point. It felt like the game was ducking and dodging every bit of world building and lore that could possibly bring nuance or complexity to the story. Every returning character or faction was a cardboard cutout of themself. They shoved Solas is a time-out box and gave him nothing to do. They refused to let him have any impact or influence on the story when he had been set up to be our main antagonist back in Trespasser. This game used to be called Dreadwolf! And while we learn about his past… we never talk to him about it. In the present, he’s in stasis.

Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain are our villains. And they are your typical evil for evil’s sake villains. They are mad, bad, and only as dangerous as the narrative will allow as to not give Rook and co too much trouble. They are surprisingly patient while Rook fixes all their companions’ problems… until Elgar’nan moves the moon to cause an eclipse. A vital component in making his own lyrium dagger. For some reason. This guy can move a satellite!? And he just let Rook walk away in previous encounters… twice. Ok. Sure.

The Evil Duo need their own dagger ostensibly to tear down the Veil, because they want to unleash the full force of the Blight onto the world. Because they are evil. And they were thwarted last time they tried to Blight the entire world. Why do they think Blighting the world is a good idea? What’s the point of ruling a world if everyone is dead? I guess they haven’t thought that through, because of the madness and the evilness.

Ok, I thought. Perhaps the gods will be the one to tear down the Veil. Or maybe we’ll have a choice to let Solas do it his way before they can, which will be less chaotic and less full of Blight. Because the Veil has to be coming down one way or another? Why introduce the concept of the Veil, especially a Veil that has been thinning and failing since the series began, if it’s just going to… stay.

There is a principle in storytelling called Chekov’s gun. If something is mentioned in a story, it must have a purpose. If you keeping mentioning that gun hanging on the wall over the fireplace, it’s because at some point in the story, someone is going to take it down and use it. The Veil felt like Chekov’s gun to me. Chekov’s Veil, if you will. It’s been here from the beginning of our tale, the spectre hanging over our protagonists’ heads for multiple games.

The Veil has been a character unto itself. It was the central focus of the third game, and its dissolution was set up to be the core conflict of the fourth game. We learn everything we thought we knew about the Veil was a lie. It was not created by the Maker to separate the Fade from this world because of jealous spirits, it was created by a guy named Solas to trap the elven gods and the Blight from destroying the world. Also, the elven gods were never gods, and they are also evil.

This reveal will surely throw the Andrastian religion into chaos! This puts the very existence of the Maker into question! The Evanuris are a lie; it’s only fair Catholicism—oh, I mean—the Chantry is a lie too. We briefly touch on that in Veilguard… then it is quietly discarded. Religious crisis averted.

But I digress.

When the title of the fourth game was changed from Dreadwolf to Veilguard, I started to see the writing on the wall. Still, I held out hope the Veil would have some greater purpose in the story. That its introduction as a concept was for a reason. That something in this world would change.

Instead, from the get-go, the question of the Veil is no question at all. We only get Solas and Varric making oblique or catastrophizing statements about it. Solas says little beyond he has a plan. If I ever wanted to hear a villain monologue about their plan, it was now! Varric, on the other hand, decries Solas’s plan. He warns that should the Veil fall, it will destroy the world and drown it in demons. And that’s that.

We never really learn why Solas wants to tear the Veil down, or why he thinks it will help anyone. “The Veil is a wound inflicted upon this world. It must be healed,” he says. And that’s basically all he says about it in Veilguard. In Inquisition and Trespasser, we learn it took the immortality from the elves. It cut most of magic off from the world. Spirits are trapped and are being corrupted into demons, and most of what we know about spirits and demons is wrong. There are ancient elves possibly asleep? That part is left vague, but ancient elves are still about. We meet some in Mythal’s temple. There seems to have been some merit in bringing it down, because elves were flocking to Solas’s cause at the end of Trespasser. He had agents working for him already. What do they know that we don’t know?

Apparently nothing, because by the time Veilguard rolls around, there are no mention of agents. He is working alone. His only motivation now seems to be he’s too deep in his sunk-cost fallacy. The Veil is unnatural, so it must be removed—consequences be damned. We are never given any reason to think Solas has a leg to stand on in his pursuit of tearing down the Veil. We never hear any kind of counter argument from anyone, not even Solas, as to why the Veil should come down. We are only told it will destroy the world. It will drown the world in demons. This is all Solas’s fault.

There is no nuance. No complexity. No moral quandary to mull over. The game gives us vague warnings with no explanation as to what exactly is so world-annihilating about the Veil coming down. We must take Varric’s word at face value. We’re the heroes; Solas is the villain. Stop him.

It makes me wonder why Solas was ever a companion in Inquisition, let alone a romance option. Solas was presented to us as a complicated character in Inquisition. We had the potential throughout the game to make him see the value of this world, to help him realize he was wrong about it. “We aren’t even people to you,” the Inquisitor says in Trespasser. Solas replies, “Not at first. You showed me that I was wrong...again.” He began the third game viewing the world as tranquil, seeing the people in it as nothing more than figments in a nightmare, just as we saw our companions in the In Hushed Whispers quest. He ends the game having made friends, having recognized he was mistaken. He might have even fallen in love. (Or he may still seen no merit in this world if the Inquisitor antagonized him the entirety of their time together.) But something makes him continue with his plan to tear down the Veil, despite recognizing this world is real. He must know something we don’t. Something we’ll learn about in the next game.

We’ve been hearing about the Veil for three games now. We’ve set up our complex antivillain for the next installment, and he’s going to tear the Veil down. We swear to stop him or save him. But it has to be more complex than that. It can’t be so straightforward. Uncomplicated. Simple. Boring. Right? Right?

Nope. He really is just the villain, mustache-twirling and all. He apparently had no greater motivation, no as of yet unrevealed knowledge that would put this whole Veil thing into a new context. It was really as simple as the Veil falling will destroy the world, so Solas must be stopped. There is no new information that is revealed which makes us question what we are doing. Solas is never given any nuance or complexity to his actions. Nuance and complexity have actively been taken away. Both him and the Veil are looking like they are the worst things to be in a story: pointless. Why introduce the Veil if it’s just going to remain unchanged? Why introduce a character like Solas, bother humanizing him (for lack of a better term), giving us his backstory, setting him up as a cunning antagonist, only to make him look stupid, then put him on a shelf until the last ten minutes of your game?

Solas was the trickster archetype of this tale. He was our version of Loki from Norse mythology. What is the role of the trickster archetype? To challenge the status quo. To bring about events of extreme change, like say, the tearing down of a Veil that holds back all of magic. Loki is a huge contributing factor in Ragnarök. Through his manipulation, he causes the death of the beloved god, Baldr. This ushers in a long winter, which signifies the beginning of the end. Loki is imprisoned for this crime. When the final battle between gods and giants begins, the sun and moon are swallowed, plunging the earth into darkness. The earth shakes and Loki is freed to fight on the side of the giants. The world burns in raw chaos, falls beneath the sea, and is reborn. The world is remade, and a new realm of the gods and a new, better earth is formed.

It really felt like this was the setup they were going for. Solas causes the death of Mythal, and this is his catalyst for creating the Veil, which ushers in a world without magic. This could be seen as equivalent to the long winter. Solas falls asleep, trapped in dreams. He wakes and sets in motion bringing about the apocalypse. It’s not a perfect one to one, but it’s there if you squint. We have a war against the gods in Veilguard. I was expecting a few remaining Titans to wake and join the fight. But we don’t get any of that. There is a final battle, but it does not end in the end of the world. Or a better world. It just ends, and everything is the same.

It seems our trickster god caused his apocalypse thousands of years before our story started, when he created the Veil. His role in this tale was over before ours began, and he really is just some relic from a long-past age. He has no role, no purpose in this story. He is here to be thwarted. He is no Loki at all.

If you can’t tell, I wanted the Veil to come down. Did I think the Veil coming down would be painless? Have no negative consequences? No. Of course not. But keeping it up has negative consequences too. And it made for an interesting story. Or at least it could have. But we never explore that. The game presents no counter argument to having the Veil stay up, which, again, begs the question: what was the point of introducing the concept of the Veil at all?

Did I think the Veil coming down was actually the best solution to help Thedas become a better place? I don’t know, and I never will, because the game never argues for it one way or another. It just tells you to want it in place and to stop asking questions. In real life, a catastrophic event is not the best way to solve any of the world’s problems. But this is the realm of fiction. We have gods and monsters, magic and myth. We have introduced the status quo of Thedas, recognized it needs to change, then our trickster god appears ready to fulfill his role in the narrative. 

Instead, it all comes to nothing.

I got to the end of Veilguard… and everything was more or less the same as it was at the start of Origins. Veilguard actually tries its hardest to pretend any previously mentioned problems don’t exist, so of course the Veil coming down has no merit. There are no problems to solve in this world, apparently. Solas is just stuck in the past and can’t get with the times. Silly Solas.

The Veil isn’t even a permanent solution. It wasn’t to begin with. It was some duct tape wrapped around a broken pipe, and we’ve just slapped an extra piece of tape on it. It’s still leaking. It is still unnatural, and will fall eventually one way or another. Large amounts of bloodshed weaken it, so I guess Thedas better achieve world peace real quick to avoid any battles. There were seven super-powered mages holding it together… now there is just one. Ironically, the Veil was going to fall after two more Blights anyway. The Wardens were doing Solas’s work for him! It would also have released the full force of the Blight at that time… which Solas was trying to avoid, I presume.

It feels like keeping the Veil up just pushed a big problem onto Thedas’ future generations. We’ll keep slapping bandaids on it until it all falls apart. Someone else can deal with the fallout, but we’ll be dead by then, so who cares.

Primarily, I wanted the Veil to come down from a storytelling perspective. The Veil was an interesting concept and I wanted the story to do something interesting with it. Conflict is what makes stories stories and the Veil coming down could create so much compelling and complex conflict. And the Fade is weird, and I like weird. Stories are also about change, and I wanted to see Thedas change. Yet, Veilguard is over, and barely anything has changed. Instead of magic coming back being a conflict for the next game, they went with Fantasy Illuminati. Oh.

The Veil turned out to be a nothing-burger, and no problems in this world are even close to being solved. Slavery is still rampant in Tevinter. The elven people are still oppressed everywhere. Mages have no more rights in the South than they did in Origins. Spirits are still trapped and being corrupted. The Calling still exists, though might be different somehow now? They don’t really get into that. The Chantry’s validity is still not allowed to be questioned. The Blight still exists in some form, but again it’s vague. Oh, and we learn the dwarves have been gravely wronged, and the Titans are still tranquil. At least if you redeem Solas and a romanced Lavellan joins him, they can work together on healing the Blight and helping the Titans. Oh, good. One problem is being acknowledged and some action will be taken. Offscreen. Hurray? Solas doesn’t have a really great track record of fixing problems, so Lavellan is definitely going to need to be there to make sure he doesn’t fuck it up.

For some reason, this game seemed terrified of letting us think about anything for more than two seconds. It shied away from complexity or nuance at every turn. The game is called The Veilguard—ironically, that word is never uttered in the game—but we are given no real motive for guarding the Veil. We’re unquestionably the hero. The villains are uncomplicatedly evil. Save the world… never wonder what you are doing or why.

I wanted the game to make me question if the Veil staying up or coming down was the right choice. I needed to be given a real counter argument. Convince me the alternative would actually be better or worse, because as I mentioned… things suck quite a bit in Thedas already for a lot of people right now. Let the Veil’s fate be a difficult choice to make. If the conflict cannot be what to do about the Veil, it should be am I doing the right thing about the Veil. If the heart of your game is so thin on motive, everything else falls apart around it.

I hoped they were setting up a complex, Thedas-sized existential conflict for this game in Trespasser, but no. I wanted something to happen, but nothing did. 

I want to feel challenged and changed by a story, not left feeling empty. I’m tired of superficial entertainment. I want to sink my teeth into a narrative that doesn’t paint the world in broad strokes of black and white, good and evil, heroes and villains.

Ultimately, I think my issue is why even introduce a concept like The Veil if you’re not going to do anything interesting with it. Or anything at all. What I thought was Chekov’s Veil turned out to just be a MacGuffin. And that’s disappointing.

[lambiesvault]

Fics butchering QQQ, scapegoating QQQ, making her dumber and a gossip (mind you everyone is already dumb and a gossip anyway) STOP QQQ CHARA ASSASSINATION to prop SQQ/SJ up. You dnt need to drag the only woman in power through mud to convince me that SJ has been wronged and deserves love,, I. Already DO Love that man,

We believe in healthy and unhinged sibling dynamic btw SJ and QQQ bc hello???? They're both smartasses, resourceful, sharp tongued AND they've both have had to claw their way to the top (In an old fantasy setting you can't convince me women didn't have to fight for everything).

You're telling me once QQQ determines that SJ is in fact not a pervert preying on woman, she won't take one look at him and go "He's like a skrunkly wet cat and be must rehabilitated and fed twice a day and given pets (on all levels except physical) like a stray"

[onlyhereforthestories]

First Holiday With The In-Laws (Leah Williamson x Reader)

Day 22. A shorter one today sorry I didn’t have much time today 🫶

The snow crunched underfoot as you and Leah made your way up the stone path to the front door, the glow of golden light spilling from the windows warming the dark, frosty evening. You could hear laughter inside, a symphony of voices blending together, and it only added to the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Leah squeezed your hand, her soft smile instantly grounding you.

“They’re going to love you,” she said, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. “Just be yourself.”

The front door swung open before you could respond, and a petite woman with warm brown eyes and a Christmas apron stepped out onto the porch. “There you are! We were starting to think you got lost!” Leah’s mom pulled her into a tight hug, then turned to you with open arms.

“And you must be the one she can’t stop talking about!”

You laughed nervously but leaned into the hug, surprised at how instantly comforting it was. “It’s really nice to meet you,” you said, your voice softer than you intended.

Inside, the house was alive with the smells of cinnamon and roasted turkey, mingling with the sound of chatter and a playlist of Christmas classics. The living room was adorned with twinkling lights and garlands, and in the corner stood a magnificent tree, its ornaments glimmering in the firelight. Leah’s younger siblings were playing a card game on the floor while her father and an uncle debated something passionately at the dining table.

Leah guided you around the room, introducing you to everyone. Her dad gave you a hearty handshake, her sisters pulled you into a spirited debate about whether “Die Hard” was a Christmas movie, and by the time the introductions were over, your nervousness had melted into a bubbling warmth.

Dinner was a feast. The table groaned under the weight of dishes: glazed ham, mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, and enough pies to rival a bakery. You found yourself laughing between bites as Leah’s family shared stories, their easy banter pulling you in like you’d been part of it forever. Leah’s grandmother took a particular liking to you, pinching your cheek as she teased Leah about “finally bringing someone decent home.”

After dessert, an array of cookies and cakes that left everyone loosening their belts, Leah’s mom announced it was time for games. “We always play charades on Christmas Eve,” she declared, bustling to set up the living room. “But first, let’s do the question jar!”

Leah groaned playfully. “Oh no, not the jar.”

“What’s the jar?” you asked, intrigued.

Leah’s mom grinned mischievously, holding up a festive tin decorated with reindeer. “It’s where we keep all the best and most embarrassing questions and prompts. Everyone has to answer or act out something. No exceptions.”

You found yourself nestled on the couch between Leah and her youngest sibling, a giggly preteen who immediately handed you a piece of paper. “You’re new, so you go first.”

Your question made you laugh: “What’s Leah’s most embarrassing childhood memory?”

Leah groaned louder, burying her face in her hands. “Oh, come on, don’t do this.”

Her brother immediately jumped in. “Oh, I’ve got this one! When Leah was seven, she thought she could build a sled ramp off the roof. It ended with her in the snowbank and her Barbie Dreamhouse crushed underneath her.”

Leah shot him a mock glare, but her laughter was contagious. “Okay, fine, but don’t forget who convinced me it would work,” she retorted, pointing at him.

As the night went on, the jar produced more hilarious confessions and wild dares. Leah’s dad had to attempt an Irish jig, her mom revealed she once dyed her hair green for a dare in college, and Leah herself had to mimic her grandmother’s unmistakable laugh, a performance that had the entire room in stitches, even the grandmother in question.

By the time the games wound down, your cheeks ached from smiling so much, and Leah pulled you into her side, her arm draped casually around your shoulders. Her eyes sparkled as she leaned down to whisper, “I told you they’d love you.”

And they did. It was impossible not to feel it in every warm smile, every hearty laugh, and the way her dad clapped you on the back as you said your goodbyes. As you and Leah stepped back into the snowy night, your heart felt as full as the house behind you, glowing with the love of a family that had just made room for you.

[tikhondownichi]

That post about Prorva and Lamarr (love the HL reference) has got me thinking. Like.

Sebastian is not a good parent in any sense of the word. But in the circumstances given he is the only reason Prorva is alive when he could have easily killed her for food (as shown in your first few posts about her. Normal fish behavior), out of “mercy” (Urbanshade has never and is especially currently not a safe space for children or offspring). But he kept her alive, gave her his old jacket (weather its because he wanted to give her something special to him, wanted to keep her clothed, or even just wanted to get rid of the jacket is up for debate). But there is at least some amount of caring. I get the whole joke is Sebastian is a terrible dad and isn’t afraid of that fact but like. There must be something.

Im a sucker for angst so just. Something happens to Prorva. Not sure if in her current age or sometime while she was growing. Bad encounter with an Angler/Pandemonium, set off a tripwire trap, bugged turret, or just something that has Prorva hurt bad. Would that be a chance for Sebastian to show a more caring side? Im sure he’d mock her and complain about waisted supplies but like. If he fears, even for a second that she is dead or might die, would it show? Would Prorva notice? Would it affect their relationship as father and daughter? Is or would Sebastian be protective of her, even just a little?

Sorry about the ramblings. Im just obsessed with angst sjfbejfbdk

In fact, we should give Sebastian credit: he was able to raise a little bro in this godforsaken place where anything could kill you, especially a small child. In a place where you're always wondering what you're gonna drink and eat tomorrow so you don't die of stomach ulcers. In the cold and total unsanitary conditions, where if you catch a cold, you are very likely to die. We can berate Seb endlessly for what a bad father he is, but on the other hand, the basic parenting functions he performed: Prorva is alive, healthy, fed, clothed. Objectively yes, Sebastian has made a lot of mistakes and screwed up (a lot), but on the other hand he was sent to Hadal Blacksite barely a young adult, barely knowing how to do anything alone in this world, and now he's a 32 year old adult and he's a fish that has to figure things out on his own. It's crazy. He's understandable.

Yeah. Even though Sebastian is an ass most of the time, but if a situation happens to a gremlin that puts her life in danger - he won't stand by. Yes, Seb will be passed, swear a lot, probably mock, but he'll help (even if he says he's not going to deal with that shit). He can be caring (though he expresses it in his own way) if the situation really demands it.

For the moment, Prorva's whole life revolves around Sebastian. He's the only person close to her. She senses any changes in his behavior and actions, but his complex emotions she will not understand due to her immaturity. After all Seb is an unstable and complicated person.

It's okay, I enjoy reading and writing this kind of musings (especially if it's about angst) ( ´∀｀ )b

[staylovesmiley]

Give Me Your TMI~ Chapter 5

˚⊹ᰔ Pairing; Yang Jeongin x Fem!reader, Stray kids x Fem!reader

₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ Summary; In a world where Humans and Hybrids should be living as equals, Hybrids are still viewed as being closer to their animalistic side than their humanistic. Deep in the woods lives a band of misfit hybrids who reject these societal views and keep to themselves, choosing to live away from humans. What happens when the youngest of this rogue group meets a lost Human girl, befriending her after an incident where he must rely on her for help?

₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ Warnings; hybrid!au, female!reader, angst, mild violence, mentions of sexual harassment/assault and discrimination, she/her pronouns used for reader, this is very loosely based off the overall themes/tones of the manga and anime fruits basket~

In the coming days you would find flowers for you laying on your side of the bed waiting for you every afternoon.

Sometimes there were the same as the first, others they would be different, but the amount of flowers seemed to grow day by day until that morning you were woken up to the sight of a little bouquet tied with twine set on the bedside table. Jeongin was still sound asleep as you usually woke before him to help Minho with breakfast. Confusion laced itself through your half awake state and you reached over to shake the fox awake gently. “Innie- Jeongin wake up.” The hybrid startled, bolting up as if he were expecting there to be an emergency, looking over you frantically. “Wha- is everything okay, pretty?” He saw that you were in fact okay and calmed down, though confusion replaced his panic quickly. “Sorry- I didn’t mean to scare you I just…wanted to thank you for the flowers but really you didn’t have to go out so early to get them just so I’d wake up to see them.”

Now the hybrid was even more confused. He had noticed the vase on the dresser seemed to acquire new flowers each day but he had always assumed it had been you trying to brighten up the room and not that you were under the impression he had been the one bringing them to you. “Flowers? I didn’t get you flowers- I’ve been here since we went to bed last night…”

You frowned, even more confused than the hybrid. “But if you aren’t leaving them then who is…” the fox felt his jaw clench, an ugly little thing called jealousy once again possessing him as he cursed himself for not thinking of bringing you flowers first. Now if he were do so it would only be a mere imitation of the original and wouldn’t be as special, and he wanted to be special. “I’m sorry I woke you, innie…try and get some more rest before breakfast, okay?” He nodded, a pout still on his lips until you leaned down to place a gentle kiss to his temple and he melted instantly. Fighting the urge to pull you back against him and not allow you to leave he let himself fall back into a slumbering state as you got up and padded your way to the kitchen to meet the cat hybrid, bouquet carefully placed inside the vase with the rest of the flowers you had received over the course of the week.

The rest of the day the question lingered in your mind, even now as you stood side by side with Minho in the kitchen baking bread to go with the roast he had prepared for dinner.

The cat could tell something was weighing on you from the way your eyes seemed unfocused as you kneaded the dough in front of you. “What’s got you all lost in thought, pretty?” His words startled you, causing you to pause and look up at him. “How did you-“ Minho laughed, shaking his head. “If I didn’t snap you out of it you’d over knead that loaf and it would be a dense as a rock.” He teased, causing you to scoff playfully. “Yeah? Well maybe I like eating rocks.” You joked as you reached up to swipe a line of flour along his cheek. The cat smirked, shaking his head as he quickly landed a sharp slap upon your left asscheek. You gasped loudly before erupting into a fit of laughter.

Playing around like this had become commonplace for the two of you during prep for meal times. It made the whole process move a little slower but it always brightened your moods so much to the point that no one seemed to complain if dinner was late by a few minutes or if they had to sit around the kitchen island and watch the two of you goofing around while adding the finishing touches to their breakfasts. Food made with love and happiness tasted better anyways, they say.

The cat gave you a look, attempting to be stern but it didn’t fool you as he had been laughing along with you just seconds earlier. “Come on, out with it. What’s on your mind?” You sighed, calming down as you carefully broke the dough in front of you into three equal pieces and set two aside and you worked to roll the third into a long rope like shape. “I’ve been getting flowers every day for a week now…and I just assumed it was Innie leaving them for me. But this morning when I woke up there was a whole bouquet and so whoever it was would have had to get up either late last night or extremely early this morning to pick them for me…” Minho motioned for you to continue, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips but he wanted you to finish before saying his piece. “I woke Jeongin up to thank him for going through all the trouble but he swears it wasn’t him…he looked as confused as I was if not more- I just don’t know who else would be leaving them for me…”

The cat grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he watched you take the now three rope like forms of dough and lay them side by side before braiding them together carefully. “I know who it is.” Your actions paused, curiosity piqued and you resumed your braiding before asking him. “Well- who is it?” “It’s Chan-hyung.”

Your head turned to look the older in the eyes so fast that your neck felt sore, the expression on your face full of shock and disbelief causing the cat hybrid to chuckle. “So shocking? He’s been watching you closely since you arrived here. He wasn’t sure how to get your attention, he’s still a bit hesitant to approach you.” You swallowed hard, still unable to fully believe Minho’s words. “But- Chan doesn’t like me…I’m sure he’s only letting me stay so that Jeongin doesn’t run away-“ your words caused the cat to double over with his laughter, shaking his head. “Oh our clueless, pretty little human- if you don’t believe me why don’t you ask him yourself?”

Your eyes widened as you watched him regain his composure and grab the bread pan for both of your loaves. “That’s beautiful, by the way. You’ll have to show me how to do that.”

You beamed at the praise, temporarily forgetting the conversation about your flowers having come from the wolf hybrid you were sure couldn’t care less as to whether you were dead or alive. As you watched the cat hybrid place the bread into the oven you heard a low growl coming from behind you. “What the fuck, Jeongin-“ Minho had turned around after shutting the oven door and his expression was one of concern and shock causing you to turn around and see your beloved fox hybrid glaring daggers at the older hybrid with his canines bared to him. “Mine.” He growled out, voice much deeper than you had ever heard from the youngest member of the house and your blood ran cold at the terrifying sight of him. “I-Innie?” Your voice was timid and he nodded towards Minho. “He put his hands on my pretty.” Your expression softened slightly and looked at Minho with confusion before remembering your interaction from earlier. There must have been a mark from the flower he had on his hands when he had slapped you playfully. “Oh Innie, we were just playing arou-“ before you could finish your sentence the younger had pounced on you, knocking you off your balance and you both came crashing to the floor with a loud thud.

Everything moved so quickly you barely had time to process what was happening you felt the sharp sting of the fox’s canines digging into the spot between your neck and shoulder. You let out a little yelp in pain, eyes screwed shut as your hands balled into fists gripping onto Jeongin’s sweater. “Yang Jeongin get off of her!” Minho shouted to the younger hybrid but when he took a step forward it only served to make him bite down a tad bit harder and you let out a little whimper. “Fuck-“ you heard someone from behind you but you didn’t recognize the voice. Suddenly Jeongin’s teeth loosened their grip and he was pulled back from you and held in Seungmin’s strong embrace as he thrashed violently. Minho was there in a second, pressing a dish towel against the wound on your neck. “Get yourself in check, kit. Pretty isn’t built like a hybrid and you have to be gentle with her.” The cat scolded as Seungmin pulled the fox hybrid back towards his room.

You felt dazed, letting Minho scoop you up and carry you over to the couch where he proceeded to patch you up. “I’m sorry about him, pretty…he- honestly I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” You shook your head, smiling weakly as he pulled back from applying a bandage over the bite mark. “I’m okay, it startled me more than anything I think…I should go talk to him-“ Slowly you stood and Minho’s hand shot out to wrap around your wrist, a look full of concern painting his beautiful face. “I’ll be okay, Min. He won’t hurt me.” The cat scoffed, motioning from the kitchen floor that was still stained with drops of your blood to your bandaged neck. You shook your head, gently removing his hand and making your way to your shared room with the youngest hybrid.

You gave a little knock before entering, seeing Jeongin curled up on the bed as Seungmin stood above him very clearly scolding him as Minho had earlier. Upon your entrance the beagle hybrid silenced himself and gave you a look full of mixed emotions you couldn’t exactly read before brushing past you with a soft. “Be careful.” Whispered your way and then you were left alone with the youngest.

“Innie…” immediately he cut you off, sitting up and allowing you to see the wet tear tracks that stained his red cheeks. “Oh god you’re okay- pretty I’m s-so sorry-“ seeing his distressed state you were quickly at his side, petting his hair as you attempted to soothe him. “Yes, I’m okay. But Jeongin-“ he pouted up at you, clearly expecting another tongue lashing. Instead you kept your words soft but your tone still held a sternness to it that let him know you were being serious. “You do not own me…no one does. I care for you dearly but you absolutely cannot act out like this every time I interact with someone else in a way you don’t like.” His pout deepened into a frown and he nodded so fast you feared he may injure his neck. “I won’t- I promise…I’m so sorry-“ You gave him a soft smile, pushing the hair that fell over his forehead back to give him a gentle kiss to the flushed skin there. “You are forgiven, but this will not happen again or I will go and room with someone else.” His eyes widened and a whimper escaped him before his arms wrapped around your waist as he clung to you desperately. “Not again, I’ll be good I promise.” His words caused you to frown and you shook your head as you continued to comb your fingers through his hair and give light scratches to his ears. “You’re always good, my Mr. fox…” he relaxed at your words, body going lax against you and after a while you heard soft snores coming from him. Poor thing, you thought to yourself, he got himself so worked up he exhausted himself. You carefully tucked him into bed and before leaving the room you glanced over at the vase full of flowers and sighed. You may regret this later, but you needed to hear it from the source yourself.

You found yourself standing in front of the door at the back of the cabin, hand poised in front of the wood but you were frozen stiff with hesitance. Your nerves were standing on end and you took several deep breaths before giving a few soft knocks to the door. Briefly you contemplated running away but before you could decide the door opened to reveal a very shocked looking wolf hybrid. “Oh- it’s you.” He said, voice void of emotion as ever and it caused you to wince slightly. “Um- hi, Chan…I just- well, Minho said that you’ve uhh…” you swallowed the lump in your throat, hoping it would allow your words to come out smoother. “Minho told me it’s been you leaving me flowers every day….is that true?”

Chan blinked a bit, heat rising to his cheeks and for the first time you noticed how on edge he himself seemed. Shit- Jeongin had told you he was extremely distrusting of humans. What if this whole time he wasn’t being cold but was really scared like how Seungmin was. You cursed yourself for assuming just because he was a wolf that he was to be feared instead of being the fearful one. “Yeah….uh- it was me..” he rubbed at the back of his neck nervously, eyes unable to meet yours and you couldn’t help but stare a bit in disbelief. “If it makes you uncomfortable I can stop-“

Chan couldn’t finish his words, the wind having been knocked out of him as your arms wrapped tightly around his waist and your face buried in his chest. “Thank you, really- no one has ever given me flowers before.” This was it, what he had been craving for weeks since you had joined their family. Your smaller frame pressed against his and your scent enveloping him. He knew you as a human couldn’t smell what they did, but the sweetness of your natural scent caused him to feel lightheaded as a hand slowly came to rest on the small of your back and hold you closer to him. “You deserve flowers.” Was all he said, blushing furiously as he stared down at you in disbelief. You giggled, pulling back to look up at him with a bright smile that nearly knocked him off his feet. Never did he think you would look at him so brightly, so unafraid.

Just then he noticed the bandage on your neck and his face fell. “What happened to your neck..?” Your eyes widened, as if you had already forgotten what had happened in the kitchen earlier. “Oh- it’s okay. Jeongin just-“ before you could finish the wolf let out a growl and tried to push past you to where the fox was sleeping in your shared room. “Wait Chan- it’s okay I already talked to him about it everything is fine he’s resting now-“ you wrapped both hands around his bicep and attempted to pull him back towards you and thankfully your pleading seemed to work as the normally so ridged composure he held around you melted away. Chan turned to face you, moving your hair aside to get a closer look at the bandage. “You sure you’re okay..?” His voice was so soft, laced with concern and you couldn’t help but smile as you nodded to him. “I’m positive. Please, let’s just drop it?” With a sigh, Chan nodded and instead pulled you back into his embrace. “I’m supposed to keep all of you safe…I’m sorry he hurt you-“

With a light giggle, the one that always seemed to brighten Jeongin’s day, you rested your cheek against his chest and let your eyes fall closed as you breathed in the earthy smell the hybrid held from his patrols. “Really, I’m okay. But thank you for worrying about me…and taking care of me even when I didn’t notice.” The wolf hybrid’s chest swelled with pride and he allowed himself to enjoy your embrace as he gently rubbed your back in slow circles. After a moment you pulled away, the wolf having to fight off a whine at the loss of contact. “I’m gonna go check on dinner…see if Minho needs my help-“

Nodding, Chan watched as you retreated to the kitchen with a soft smile on his blushing face, looking away bashfully only as you turned to give him one last smile before disappearing to help the second oldest finish cooking. Finally, some softness reserved only for himself.

author’s note; I know this is a much shorter chapter than I have been putting out but I wanted to get these plot points out of the way for a special Christmas chapter~~ I wanted to give it its own special chapter and not lump it together with these events so just a smaller update (hopefully you all don’t mind since ch4 was posted last night anyways and you only have to wait a couple of days for ch6) thank you for your continued love and support~ (side note but thank you @chancloud8 for the Minho butt slap scene hehehe)

taglist; (pink users I wasn’t able to tag) @coastinglove @estella-novella @chancloud8 @skzswife @motheraiya55 @zofia515 @skybluelixie @breadedloafs @inaribu00 @silly250 @royal-shinigami @thatgirlangelb @bby-boo4u @emmxxsworld @vampkittenb82 @h0rnyp0t @alisonyus @im-sinking-in-mud @ihrtlix @mrs-hwangh @danixiulin @wolfo2027 @kiaralynn3838 @ateez-atiny380 @daceyena @bookswillfindyouaway @blackcatpandora @popcatx0 @corgilover20 @marshmelonie @sassy-snassy @straykidslover2024

[anndramarama]

I can speak to this as a teacher who tries to train my middle school students to write to us semi-professionally. We try to prepare them to write to strangers, prospective employers, admin at different schools, or even just send semi-polite messages to each other, and it is not easy to do!

They don't like to capitalize, not even the first and last letters of their own names, and then trying to get to an understanding of how/why we should be polite when writing to strangers is another hurdle, but most of them get there in the end and are able to use the simple format above -- greeting, body, closing, signature -- with a little practice.

I'm a stickler about capitalization and I explain it like this: capitalization, especially in names, shows respect to the recipient, and using capitals in your own name shows that you respect yourself and take the interaction seriously.

That response above about a full paragraph in the subject line is something I see every year without fail, by the way, and it's frustrating. I tell them that the subject line shouldn't be blank, and to think of the subject as the title of their message. It should be short and sweet, 3-4 words maximum.

My students are young kids who just don't have experience with email even if they text or use snapchat or other social media, and I find that providing as must context as possible, along with multiple examples of how an email should look and what they should avoid, does help, but it's important for them to be able to practice this skill before they have to do it for real and inevitably fail in a setting where there are negative consequences for failure.

Very much agree that saying "just do it, it's not hard" is not going to help anyone regardless of age if they don't have experience sending professional email, or if email isn't accessible to them without modifications.

Keeping in mind that we use gmail, here are some things that help my students:

Exemplars as above

Speech-to-text as an option, especially for longer messages

Text-to-speech to listen to a message before sending

Practice using sentence frames for message body *and* subject line

Set up a signature (kids like this part)

Set up message templates (same function as sentence frames)

Use additional in-browser assistive tech like Read&Write (not free but many organizations, including schools, either subscribe to it or will pay for it if you ask)

For teachers: have your students send you a correctly formatted email as an exit ticket occasionally. The first few times I do this, and I don't do it too often, I make it easier by sending the class a message and their reply has to answer a question (single complete sentence with correct spelling and punctuation) *and* their reply must be formatted as a professional email. Later they have to compose a message/exit ticket and I reply. I've had them write to their elementary school teachers with me cc'd and that's a fun activity too, and they can observe how we (the teachers) reply to each other as part of a thread, which provides more and varied examples of correct formatting in context.

I try to make it fun for kids because they're bored by this stuff, and sometimes I lose them if they know they have to write a single sentence, but it always gets better with practice. It's also important to note that following some formatting rules makes our communication more accessible too.

not to sound like a boomer, but I need some people to learn how to write emails in a semi-professional (at the very least) format so you're not cold emailing a business/potential employer/any other stranger about formal matters in the exact same way you'd DM a close friend on instagram

the formality/language can loosen up in the email chain once you've established a rapport and you match the other person if they're being less formal, but please don't have the very first email you send a stranger be written in all lowercase ultra-casual sms slang with no greeting or signature and a billion emojis

[needanaccount2readarcaneposts]

every time i read a post about how, "silco kept fighting relentlessly for a free zaun because it's what fELiCiA wOuLd hAvE wAnTed," i add another name to my kill list (in minecraft).

we'll never fucking undo the damage s2 has done to his characterisation.

let people believe in things bigger than themselves without needing some secret twist reason. let people fight for something because they observed an injustice in the world and decided to fucking do something about it, without needing a personal motivation tied to a tragic dead friend/family member/lover/whatever.

it is one thing for s1 to acknowledge that, while silco was always a true believer, his trauma at vander's hands is responsible for informing his view on the need for unflinching ruthlessness; for excising weakness. but s2 is now vander-ifying silco and fandom is eating it right up; making him 'more sympathetic' by suggesting that his determination to keep fighting in the first place was in some way tied to a lost loved one. because in a liberal media framework that serves the interest of capital, it is dangerous to suggest that someone can be motivated by purely ideological reasons and still be sympathetic. can still be right to want what they want, or do what they do.

i'm gonna make Outlaw Kings & Rebellion Chic required reading for everyone, and have included more extracts under the cut, but in summary:

Violence that does not proceed from personal injury requires no such breakdown. This kind of primarily ideological violence can be directed against a perfectly functional system - functional, at least, for the perpetrator - simply because it appears the ‘just’ thing to do. No wonder, then, that in our mass media, the characters practising ideological violence are cast as morally unsound. If normality is not self-evident but a site of contention, then it problematises easy narratives of rebels vs tyrants. And if dispute over the political system is enough to justify force, then that implies violence against the modern Western state, even its violent overthrow, could be justifiable. This is understandably concerning for many writers, who tend to come from backgrounds closer to the Lannisters than the ‘smallfolk’.

If a person can commit violence simply because they believe it’s right, without any hidden ambition, then nothing stops us from acting to change the world.

Separately, there is in screenwriting a kind of uncodified rule: villains act, heroes react. The hero, according to traditional Hollywood structure, can’t fulfil their destiny until an extraordinary event drags them out of the world they know. More often than not, that event begins with the villain. Harry Potter is only the Chosen One because Lord Voldemort killed his parents. Luke Skywalker would have stayed on Tatooine dreaming of adventure, until Darth Vader’s attack on a rebel ship sends a secret message to his farm. Frodo would be safe and happy in Hobbiton if not for Sauron. Heroes rarely set out to change the world. Villains want change, and heroes run to keep up. [...] Many of these characters live with occupation, oppression, and state brutality as part of their daily lives, but they don’t turn to violent resistance until their families are directly threatened or killed. When heroes commit political violence, it must be to avenge a personal injury. This is supposed to be substantively different from political violence committed for ideological reasons, which receives a much less sympathetic treatment. [...] When we see violent characters who kill for primarily political reasons, they are often anti-heroes at best, outright villains at worst. The idea of the full circle revolution - of the secret dictator hiding in the throat of every rebel leader, waiting to leap out and betray the non-ideological hero - is utterly pervasive. It appears in videogames, where good old-fashioned all-American heroes like Jim Raynor of Starcraft or Booker DeWitt of Bioshock Infinite are betrayed by villainous revolutionaries Arcturus Mengsk and Daisy Fitzroy (and after all they’ve done for them!). It is common in films, from supervillains like Magneto and Killmonger, liberationists written as would-be conquerors, to the rebels of The Hunger Games, who vote to continue the games as soon as they’re in power, except with the children of the dethroned elite rather than the children of the poor. The same reversal is mentioned in A Song of Ice and Fire, where rebel slaves, once liberated, enslave their former masters; in the TV version, an evil fundamentalist visits the kind of cruelty on the King’s Landing nobility that they visited on others. In all these examples we see an echo of the primal fear of every oppressive class, the nightmare at the heart of modern white supremacy: what if someone did to us what we’ve done to them? Liberation is re-imagined as the world turned not so much upside-down but mirrored. [...]

Rensin attributes the hatred of the High Sparrow to his hypocrisy, but I don’t think that’s quite right. What is terrible about the High Sparrow is that he has no personal grievance. He didn’t see his father killed by the ‘good guys’, like Killmonger. His family weren’t murdered by his oppressors, like Magneto. By his own account the High Sparrow was a cobbler who became disillusioned, found religion, and now, thanks to the vagaries of a civil war among the elite, finds himself in a position to overturn the social order. The feudal system of Westeros never injured him personally. He simply came to believe it should be torn down, and acted accordingly.

We seem to find this faintly repellent. We are so used to looking for an ulterior motive that, when we can’t find one, we grow uncomfortable. If a good person can commit violence simply because they believe it’s right, without any hidden ambition, then nothing stops us from acting to change the world. [...] Violence that does not proceed from personal injury requires no such breakdown. This kind of primarily ideological violence can be directed against a perfectly functional system - functional, at least, for the perpetrator - simply because it appears the ‘just’ thing to do. No wonder, then, that in our mass media, the characters practising ideological violence are cast as morally unsound. If normality is not self-evident but a site of contention, then it problematises easy narratives of rebels vs tyrants. And if dispute over the political system is enough to justify force, then that implies violence against the modern Western state, even its violent overthrow, could be justifiable. This is understandably concerning for many writers, who tend to come from backgrounds closer to the Lannisters than the ‘smallfolk’.

[mmkclarkey]

We have a spare room- Part 3

When all goes wrong, moving in with three guys will solve it?

It had been three months since you moved in with three random men, all of which having their own weird affect on you. Chris had quickly become the person you went to when you wanted to talk about Taylor swift or Chappell Roan or anything of the sort, he loved the fact that you didn’t judge him for his feminine side. And you loved the fact that he allowed you to rant about anything to him, always giving the best rants back.

This however meant that you had to judge him for something else, now if there’s one thing you learnt about Chris, it’s that he’ll test his luck, he had the tendency to be a dick to his friends. Arthurtv told you about that one time in school when Chris told the girl Arthur liked that they were in a gay relationship, much to the girl’s dismay.

The way to combat this you may ask? Chris does something wrong, he has to put £1 in the jar, they stole the idea, some show called new girl apparently?

Besides Chris, Arthur was the best person to go to if you wanted something interesting, he had this amazing ability to be able to make you laugh at the most random times. Like the time last week where you were all arguing over the shared bathroom, having the biggest shower you tended to argue over who was going to use it when you go out. Arthur fully started to strip off naked, making you all leave as he shouted that he’d flash you all if you didn’t let him use the shower. In the end, you George and Chris sat on the floor outside the bathroom laughing for nearly an hour.

And then there’s George. George was the classic, blast music and go to parties and drink kind of guy. Somehow you found yourself roped into going to yet another influencer party at least once a week, however, you can’t exactly say that you didn’t like it. Aswell as this, he was absolutely amazing at giving advice, about anything, you had problems with filming? George knew what to do. you had no idea what to wear? he did. It was shocking how good the man was at just daily advice, it made you really appreciate the fact that you have him as a friend now.

~

You had uploaded a video three days ago where you were playing a horror game on Roblox, which you didn’t see an issue with and as usual got the views you were used to. But today? Today it peaked, around 9000 more people liked it in just the one day.

Then came the comments. and that’s where you realised your mistake. At one point you scream particularly loud and George (being the only other person in the flat at the time) shouts in from his room asking if everything was okay, to which you laugh and shout through that you are making a video and you’re okay. And this would be absolutely no issue if it wasn’t for the fact that your editor left it in, and your viewers, and just people people in general, did not know that you had moved out of your old flat let alone moved in with another man.

This caused a shocking amount of people to guess that you must have broken up with your boyfriend, and got with George almost straight away, and that’s why he’s in your house, concerned whether you’re okay. It didn’t take long for George to be knocking at your door, asking if you were decent so he could come in.

“I’m decent George, come in”

“So… I saw your comments” he says while sitting down on the bed, a bit of a red look on his face, clearly just back from being outside.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise my editor left it in, i’m making a tiktok literally in a minute to tell people that we aren’t together, it just means explaining why I’m here” you say back in an apologetic tone, aware of how overwhelming the fans can be sometimes.

“It’s fine, I promise, do you think we should get us all in the vid just to prove it a bit?” he asks with a curious tone.

You make the decision to do so, making everyone group together on the sofa as you set up your phone, pressing record.

“So… hey guys, i’m making a quick short video to address some things i guess? for reference, I made a video last week that was released three days ago, and in it, George here asked me if i was okay, which is lovely, but we aren’t just friends.”

Arthur giggles and says “We’re all just friends, she just wanted to hide from you guys that she moved out of her old place”

Chris chimes in “Yeah, so if anyone, preferably three girls and a guy want to come wife up this flat feel free”

“Chris shut the fuck up” All three of you say in response, yet all laughing too.

“So yeah, I moved in with Chris, George and Arthur and I guess that’s where I am now, hope this clears things up and I love you all”

I post the video and the comments come in immediately:

this quad is literally iconic

we all know why she moved in with three guys

chris is so Schmidt coded argue with the wall

i’m so glad to see you living your best life baby omg!!

they are such iconic friends we need more videos together

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

A/N i am so incredibly sorry, i’ve been completely procrastinating this, i hope we like it!! also can we notice the fourth wall break xx

taglist: @loveheart-123 @ooostarwarsfandom501st @rougetv @le-le-lea @onlinesuzie @44-ilton @chilwellsancho @pretendyoucantseeme @theresglittleronthefloor @raekensluver @viagracex @neivivenaj @authortelevision

[writingwisterias]

Day 23: Praise Kink

ID! Leon Kennedy x AFAB! Reader Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Praise Kink, Training, Gun, Training room sex Masterlist

Of course, Leon had noticed your training had begun to slip, he was dragging himself to the shooting range with you every morning. No matter how hard he tried your score never increased. He could see your confidence slipping as the other recruits began to notice your low score. If he wanted to find you he was sure you were in the shooting range. You tried everything you could to get better and yet the more your confidence slipped so did your score. He could see the fire of ambition slowly die inside of you and decided enough was enough. 

He hated being awake so early, especially after he spent the night in some stupid bar he stumbled into. At least you were thankful for the extra attention he was offering. He saw you standing outside the door to the shooting range, two coffees held in your hands as you looked off into the distance. Your headphones looked like earmuffs over your head as you wrapped up warm to fight the winter chill. It was early enough the range would be empty, none of the agents assigned to training groups of recruits would be arriving any time soon, and the sky was still dark. Your frame is highlighted dimly with the street lamps. 

Your smile was brighter than any lingering stars as you saw him. Your sweater-covered hand holding out the hot drink to him. “I needed one so I thought you might as well” You spoke. He could hear your music as you pulled the headphones away from your head, they now hung around your neck. “Keep listening to music at that volume you won't need any ear protection when shooting” Leon teased. His heart fluttered at your shy smile blush coating your cheeks as your hands began rummaging your pockets for your phone to lower the volume.  

Easing into the training wasn’t the hard thing, it was just your aim. It was even worse than before everyone started teasing, Leon predicted the constant bullying from everyone else was a direct result. So instead of following the methods of all the other agents assigned to this task, he took a kinder approach. Hoping his praise and chilled-out attitude would help you relax and not overthink. It worked to his credit; your aim was improving and your score was slowly increasing. Yet your mind loved the extra attention Leon gave you, heart fluttering at every adjustment he would step closer to do. His rewarding words heading to other areas. 

You jumped slightly as he stepped closer to readjust your grip, his eyebrows pinching in confusion as his hands touched your hip. “You good? I didn’t mean to make you jump” Leon spoke. His breath tickled your neck causing you to flinch slightly, blush coating your cheeks as you felt bad for your reactions. You knew it was because you had woken up earlier than normal, your toy in your nightstand finding its purpose yet again after another dream of Leon fucking you. Having to face him after such a graphic dream was tough, his close proximity didn’t help either. 

“I’m good sorry, I don't know why I’m so jumpy today..must have been a dream I had” You half laughed. Leon clearly assumed it was a nightmare the way he nodded, silently agreeing with you. “I’m here if you want to talk about it. We have time before the others show up” 

He was too kind for his own good sometimes, his caring nature making him all the more alluring to him. You could have made up something, some random nightmare but Leon was smarter than that. He would have clocked on instantly. Instead, you chose the cheap side and said you didn’t want to talk about it. Leon just raised an eyebrow. 

“Our training sessions are a safe space for everything and anything…Do you trust me?” 

Your heart stuttered unable to think of a reply faster than the hot flush set in. “I do trust you…it’s just…just complicated” You muttered, your arms crossing over your chest as you met his gaze. You felt so small and shy like you were about to be scolded by a teacher. Once that was always nice to you and then you suddenly get into their bad books. “Complicated how?” Leon asked, his body now resting on the bench - nudging ammo out of the way to set his arms beside him. His hands looked so good, flexed over the edge of the table. His veins were now more prominent. They always looked well-kept. “Something on my hands?” he laughed meeting your eyeline. You broke out of your trance shaking your head. “No No, they just look good” 

“My hands?” 

God you were just making this worse. Digging yourself deep into a hole you weren’t sure you could get out of. Leon smirked, his teasing attitude written all over his face. He had already caught you out on your own lie, your body language speaking volumes over your words. Leon stood up, sauntering over to your stuttering form, his hands landing on your shoulders instantly calming you. “Do you ever relax?” He chuckled. Leon was so close, yet there was no gun in your hand. He was voluntarily in your space. “It’s hard to relax sometimes” You muttered back, hand rubbing the back of your neck nervously as you met his eyes. Leon chuckled, his face inches from yours. “Let me help you” 

He watched your features for any rejection, giving you time to process his request. His grin grew when he saw it, the subtle nod of your head. His lips were softer than you originally thought they would be as they landed on yours. They worked in sync perfectly with yours. His presence was dominating demanding control which you gladly gave him. Leon spun you around, walking you back towards the shelf he was just perched on. You worked on removing your leggings, whilst he focused on his trousers. The kiss never broke. 

He only broke it to hoist you up on the shelf, his body spreading your legs as he invaded your space. “You impressed me today. Seems our 1-1 time is working” 

Leon tasted like the coffee you had given him this morning mixed with the faint taste of whiskey he drank last night. It was intoxicating. Your tongue already craving more. His compliments melted your brain as his lips muttered them against your neck. Blemishes making themselves known with the sting he left behind. Leon sunk his cock inside of you with a groan. Your walls instantly welcome him, warming him. “Fuck..pretty girl having such a perfect cunt” He grunted as he began to move. 

He made sure you felt every inch, his hips pistoning inside you at such an insane speed. Leon’s hand gripped at your thighs, holding one over his hip as the other hand gripped at your head bringing you in for another kiss. Leon was bold and passionate with you. Worshipping every clench, moan or whimper you gave him as he continued to fuck you. “Such a good girl, I should reward you like this all the time and then maybe you’ll be the best agent there is” 

Your brain faltered at creating any form of a coherent response, the letters jumbling up as your head fell against his shoulder. His praise continued to tighten the coil in your stomach, almost ready to snap. “Be a good girl and cum before the others arrive, I want to feel it around my cock” 

He groaned loudly as you finally snapped, your cum instantly coating his cock coating his trousers. The forces of your orgasm caused his. He moaned as your legs tightened around him, trapping him inside as he coated your walls. “There's more if you break your record in front of the rest of them” 

“Seems like a worthy reward”

Taglist: @kasueli@luvrgreyy@michellekmsh@miss0giarra@cinnabunnysavvy@redollface@my-loved-figure-skates@luvlouiee@drawboo22@moth-quasar@nyxxoxo@crazy-b1tch

[ceilidho]

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 6 masterlist

-

The interior door slides open when Gaz pulls down the lever on his side, fitting into the recesses in the wall until there’s nothing between you. He’s the same and yet entirely different with nothing separating the two of you; more corporeal, undeniably flesh and blood. You can feel it now—the heat of another body in close proximity.

His stare penetrates you to the root, eyes so dark that you can’t look away. It’d be easy to get lost in them, like falling into a black hole, body stretching out into infinity, even the smallest subatomic parts of you torn apart. Expressive eyes, the kind you might look at and think that there’s someone behind them worth knowing. But the sharp angularity of the intelligence there makes your skin crawl. 

Farah finds her voice before you do. “Who are you?”

Gaz breaks his stare to glance at her, his frozen smile suddenly warming. “We haven’t met; I’m Gaz.”

When he holds out his gloved hand, Farah only looks at it instead of taking it, disbelief warring with her common sense. You wish you could hear the thoughts running through her head. 

“You can see him too?” you whisper to her.

Her head snaps in your direction, dark brows already furrowed. “Of course I can. What are you talking about?”

It’s perhaps impossible to explain without making yourself sound insane. More insane, in any case. But with the proof in front of you now, you can’t deny any longer that Gaz is real; that after days spent worrying about the state of your crumbling mental health, the very cause of your concern now stands before you, witnessed by someone else. You’d laugh if you didn’t feel faint. 

Because he is real—all six feet and two inches of him. Close enough to reach out your hand and touch. His skin looks buttery soft; if you were a foot closer, you’d almost be tempted to take his hand if only to see if your fingers would pass through.

Without warning, the intercom suddenly crackles to life again and a familiar voice blares from the speaker. “Panel secure. Headed back now.”

The sound of Nikolai’s voice sends a jolt of electricity up your spine. Even Gaz glances over his shoulder at the door and the vastness of space behind it. There’s nothing there, but his thickly accented voice asks for confirmation and you know it must be him, not a trick of the comms system. You stumble back until you hit the wall behind you.

“Kolya?” you hear Graves respond sharply, his voice still carrying through the ship over the intercom. “Shit, is that you? Do you hear me?”

“Черт побери. Yes, I hear you, mother hen,” Nikolai laughs in response. His laughter is a crisp, hollow sound over the intercom, like crackling blue electricity. “On my way back now. No need to pluck all your feathers out.”

His nonchalance is, frankly, unreasonable for the amount of time elapsed since he last checked in with the crew. 

A whole body comes into view this time, an astronaut waving to you through the window of the exterior door. Even from the other side, you can tell it’s Nikolai, the sheer size of him apparent. 

“Alhamdulillah,” Farah breathes, pulling the lever down for a second time to initiate the return sequence. 

Like deja vu, you watch as the first set of doors open and Nikolai slowly makes his way into the airlock one slow step at a time, the man looking no worse for wear. Beside you, Farah whispers something that you miss. The doors slide shut noiselessly behind him, and again you watch as a man in a spacesuit undergoes repressurization, the tensing of his shoulders making his discomfort with the process apparent. 

He already has his helmet off before the second door even opens. “Like I said, easy peasy. Can someone get me a coffee now?”

It’s almost too much for you to digest in such a short period of time, your emotions slingshotting between losing Nikolai and finding a strange man floating in the middle of space and then hearing the Russian man’s voice again like nothing happened. Lost time, or gained time. 

He must pick up on the way you and Farah simply gape at him in stunned silence.

“Something the matter?” Nikolai asks, a thick caterpillar eyebrow arched. A second later, he registers the other man in the hallway and grins. “Ah, you met Gaz. Nice guy, huh?”

“You know him?” Farah asks, her incredulity apparent.

“We met outside. I sent him in to get warm.”

You’re properly dumbfounded now, staring at Nikolai with abject disbelief for giving someone permission to board the ship without the commander’s permission. 

The footsteps of your commander and his second echo as they race down the hallway from the cockpit, the metal clunking under their boots. Louder and louder until they reach you, coming to a halt just a few feet away.

“Didn’t think I was gone that long,” Nikolai murmurs, stripping out of his spacesuit at the same time. Without a word, Farah helps him tuck it back into the storage locker he originally took it from. 

The two men stalk forward the remaining distance and when you look over at Graves, you can see the worry and relief writ large across his face, his attempts at concealing his emotions only partially successful. 

“What the fuck happened?” Graves barks, his expression stern until his eyes land on Gaz standing peacefully in the middle of the corridor, and then something shifts. A brief uncertainty clouding the pale blue of his eyes. “Who’s this?” 

Gaz lifts a gloved hand in greeting. “Name’s Gaz.”

“Found him outside wandering around,” Nikolai booms, slinging an arm over Gaz’s shoulders in an obvious show of fondness. “Poor bastard couldn’t find his crew.”

“Just wandering around in the middle of nowhere?” Graves asks, cocking a brow, skepticism thick in his words. 

Gaz smiles sheepishly. “It’s my fault. I got a bit turned around.”

Graves hums, mulling over the information. “…Turned around, huh?”

“Yes, sir. Looked away for a second and then my group was gone.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant at all.”

“No, sir. Not at all.”

His deference is second to none. You could almost imagine yourself believing him, swept away by concern for his welfare. 

There’s a difference though. You’ve had the benefit of several days of acclimation. 

“Sir—commander,” you interject, swallowing when Graves turns his attention on you, the microexpression that flits across his face betraying his displeasure at being interrupted. “I’m sorry, but this makes no sense. I don’t see how…well, how he could have survived out on his own. I mean—” Your eyes flick towards Gaz. “I’m sorry, but none of this makes any sense to me.”

Graves’ lip curls up. "What doesn't make any sense?"

"Well, should we have brought him in? This just doesn't seem like protocol—"

“I don’t get your point, doctor. Should we have just left him out there to die? I thought you had that whole Hippocratic oath to uphold.”

None of this makes any sense to you. Apart from Farah, they’re being entirely too cavalier for happening upon a man in the middle of nowhere. There should be talk of heading back to Earth or quarantining him in the brig. 

“It’s not about that,” you croak. 

“I don’t understand you, doctor. You of all people should want to help.”

But he’s the man I’ve been seeing for days, you almost scream, but the blatant disapproval in Graves’ eyes makes you hold your tongue. You know your instincts aren’t wrong. Basic science isn’t wrong. Even if his spacesuit were able to provide basic environmental protection and life support, the longest a human might be able to survive after becoming untethered from their ship would be just under nine hours. 

You don’t know why this isn’t registering as strange to any of them. They act as though there’s nothing at all unusual about a man floating in space without any spacecraft within fifty million miles of him. As if this were just something that happened from time to time, and not an unprecedented anomaly. 

“Well, you could probably do with some shut eye after your trip, I reckon,” Graves says, clamping a hand down on Gaz’s shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “We have a spare bunk near mine—bit cramped, but I’m sure you’ll make do.”

Gaz tips his head in thanks. “I’d appreciate it.”

“And—sorry, forgot to ask, but are you good? Not feeling faint or sick or anything? I know our doctor’s a little prickly, but whatever you need, she can help with.”

The weight of Gaz’s gaze makes your body feel leaden. 

“All good for now,” he says, still smiling serenely. His stare never wavers, smile never dips. “But don’t worry, love. I’ll come find you when I need you.”

Nikolai’s arm drops from his shoulder and Graves leads him off down the corridor to recuperate in his new room. The scream is buried in your throat; if you try to cough it up, only blood and mucus will come out. 

You can only watch helplessly as they walk away, Farah gone by the time you remember to look for her. 

After that, hours pass by without any sight of the man who recently boarded your ship. You don’t see much of anyone in fact. Hadir eats lunch around the same time as you, but his conversation is oddly circulatory, muddled, like he can’t keep his thoughts straight. He mentions the same thing twice and doesn’t seem concerned when you politely remind him that he already told you. He also doesn’t seem to register your words when you tentatively broach the subject of Gaz’s sudden appearance. 

Hadir shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “Better for us anyway. Could be nice to have another warm body around here.”

“Don’t you…don’t you remember what I told you the other day?” you prod, pushing your potatoes around with your fork, your stomach in knots. “When I told you I saw someone outside?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s who I was talking about,” you whisper, as if concerned about being overheard. “I saw Gaz out there. He must have been out there…for days at least.”

“Ah,” he says, mildly contemplative. “Funny, that.”

The conversation feels like a dead end because it is, and you abandon it not long after when you realize that though Hadir is responding to your words, he doesn’t seem to be understanding them. It’s like you’re talking to an automaton, something designed to give you a response but not engage like a human would.

Even that thought seems wrong somehow. You shouldn’t be thinking those kinds of things about your coworkers. 

Back in the medical unit, you pick up the stool that fell to the ground on your way out earlier and take a seat, sipping periodically at the ice cold coffee still sitting on the table. Your mind goes blank for some time. Different than earlier though—not the blankness of concern and paranoia, but the blankness of complete stupefaction. 

It gives you some time to think, but no matter how many times you run through the events of the day in your mind, you keep coming back to the same questions. The same questions with no answers. 

Appetite a no show, you figure it’s better to just retire to your quarters for the evening. 

In bed, you read the same paragraph of your book three times before it sinks in. You can’t concentrate on anything. The same phrase on a loop, your real thoughts swarming like locusts and drowning out the narrator in your head. 

A knock at your door startles you, accidentally making you crinkle a page of your book with your thumb. You bite back a curse, smoothing the page out and calling out a frustrated one second when the person on the other side of your door knocks again. Impatient much. 

You open the door, expecting to find Graves or Nikolai on the other side, only for you to balk when you’re met with the sight of Gaz towering over you, his forearm braced against the doorframe. 

“Hi,” he says after a beat of silence. 

“…Are you lost?” you ask suspiciously. 

“No. Thought I’d stop by before I turn in for the night.”

Something occurs to you the longer you stand so close to him. It’s been lingering in the back of your mind since the interior doors to the airlock slid open and he boarded the ship, a thought hidden under its own afterbirth, placenta and membranous fluid soaking the ground beneath it. A thought that, to this point, has escaped your notice, hiding away like a prey animal. 

And it’s that: Gaz doesn’t have a smell. When you inhale, he doesn’t smell like anything you’ve ever smelt before. No lingering traces of body odour or sweat or soap. You breathe in and it’s like you’re standing in front of an empty doorway staring out into the empty hallway. 

But he does have a scent. 

It doesn’t register to your nose, not a scent that your olfactory senses can detect. Nothing like that. Instead it hits you like a memory, like a feeling blooming in your chest. Palo santo and orange blossom; the sound of a tennis ball hitting a racket; an aerial view of an Olympic pool and someone swimming laps, their body stark against the blue; white florals and a masculine voice laughing. 

His scent is a delicious rush of wonder and elation, a dopamine spike. You crane your neck to meet his eyes and honestly you’d forgotten how beautiful he is. An Adonis; over six foot and body corded with muscle. Lean waist and wide shoulders. The most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, sculpted from something divine, a substance not found on Earth but in a more heavenly realm. 

You rock forward on your heels, pulled like a magnet towards his lips. His lips gently part, anticipating yours before they’ve even met.

Your hand hits the wall and reality comes back to you. Solid metal under your feet and an aluminum composite under your hand. White, sterile walls. In the hallway, the lights dim as the night cycle commences. You have to physically shake your head to rid your mind of any thoughts of Earth. It’s still there though, on the periphery of your senses; a dream world that you might get lost in if you were to look for too long.  

Something is very wrong. 

You rest back on your heels and move your hand until it hovers over the button to close your door. 

“Unless you’re sick, I can’t help you.”

“I’m not sick, love.”

“Then what do you want?” you bite out, overtly hostile now. 

He smiles but he doesn’t blink. Then his eyes flick up, studying the room behind you, his gaze roving over the walls and furniture, scrutinizing your space. Examining the clothes strewn over your bed, the little knick knacks and oddities that make your room yours. 

“Just wanted to see what it looked like from the inside,” Gaz finally says, and your blood goes cold. 

With that, he pulls his forearm off the doorframe and straightens to full height. 

He makes it a few feet away from your door before turning around to look back at you. “Night, love. See you in the morning.”

[whatdoidosatoru]

crybaby

farmer x sebastian (stardew valley) wc: 1.4k it's raining and you're crying in sebastian's spot. that's it, that's the plot. cw: smoking, general feeling of inadequacy

“shit,” the water splashed as my feet came down on the surface repeatedly. “shit shit shit SHIT!” rubbing my hands over my tear-stained face, i kept disturbing the ocean, sitting on the end of the deserted pier in the rain throwing a tantrum like a child, very unlike what a ‘functional adult’ is expected to do. “FUCK!”

i let out my frustration, days of held-back emotions because ya gotta keep on truckin’... at least that’s what my dad had started saying when i’d call home in anger and despair, venting about how i must be useless, how my crops aren’t growing the way they should, how the damn crows just picked apart my most successful plant, how i don’t have time to shower, and not to mention eat proper food. ya gotta keep on truckin’ - fuck you, i don’t even have a truck.

“you think you’re gonna be here long or…?”

the sudden question caught me off guard, coming from an unfamiliar male voice. with the damn rain muffling every and any noise, i didn’t even hear the footsteps coming from behind me.

i sniffled, lowering my hands to grip the edge of the pier, contemplating just pushing myself off into the moody ocean, letting the current take me wherever, just far enough away from this life i’m messing up.

“i dunno.”

my voice cracked as i turned my head to the side to confirm my guess, the figure standing slightly behind me was none other than the town’s moody loner. at least that’s what i’d heard from some people. some name starting with an ‘s’.

my answer to his question didn’t seem to deter him, instead of leaving me to at least keep some of my leftover dignity, he stepped forward, coming more into my line of vision before sitting down beside me, his legs dangling off the edge just like mine.

i thought about introducing myself, but i doubted i could string together a coherent sentence without sobbing. nevertheless, i opened my mouth, ready to embarrass myself by whining out my name, but he just kept looking out into the horizon.

“i’m-” “i know.”

the abruptness of his words cutting me off shocked me enough to stop crying. my brows furrowed and my feet stopped splashing into the water while i gathered my thoughts.

he simply kept looking out, now taking a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it while holding a hand over the end, keeping the flame from being extinguished by the slight breeze and the drizzle. i shook my head when he offered me a cigarette, so his hand was quick to put the pack into his pocket again so it didn’t get wet.

the smoke was almost enchanting as it came out of his mouth and i had to force myself to look ahead, for the love of yoba, don’t stare at his lips. i tried again, this time clearing my throat before attempting to at least pretend to be civil.

“you di-” “we don’t have to talk, just shut up and enjoy the weather.”

this time his words made me close my mouth instantly. i couldn’t remember the last time i was spoken to like that. back home, everyone wore their fake smiles, they called you sweetie, said ‘no worries’ way too much, and expected the same in return.

even here, where everyone knew my grandpa, i was only a replacement for the old farmer. a failing replacement. a whole set of expectations already placed on my shoulders before i even stepped onto Pelican Town soil.

i took the time to steady my breathing, to stop these fat tears streaming down my reddened cheeks. after several minutes of silence only broken by the soft noise of raindrops meeting the surface of the water, i took a few deeper breaths and turned my head to the side again, this time letting myself look over his features in the least obvious way i could manage.

“so…” i started, giving him a second to interrupt me again, “do i have to look for a new crying spot?”

the perfectly raised eyebrow used to respond to my, admittedly stupid, line was nearly enough to make me choke on my own tongue. his face showed very little other than slight annoyance, probably at having ‘his spot’ taken by a messy-haired crybaby with stupid muddy overalls and dirt under their nails.

despite the sour expression, i had to admit to myself that he had a pretty face, along with a tempting set of lips that looked soft as they housed that nearly finished cigarette between them. he swore under his breath, lifting his lighter again to relight the end, trying to finish those last few drags before stubbing it out.

that last stream of smoke changed directions, now blowing towards me for a moment, a sure sign that he turned his head to look at me… or at least in my direction.

his voice carried a little less irritation than before, but he still didn’t sound too friendly.

“depends. you plan on crying a lot?”

i snorted. i actually snorted, immediately feeling mortified at myself and covering my mouth, in utter disbelief at myself. from the corner of my eye i saw his lips twitch, like he was a little proud of himself for my reaction.

though still a bit shaky, my voice seemed to be coming out fine, no stutters, no breaking.

“can’t say i have it in my calendar.”

and just like that, a pleasant silence envelops the air around us. he lit another cigarette, offering me one from the pack again to which i shook my head, instead picking up my feet from the water, sitting cross-legged.

the sky didn’t clear and the rain started coming down a little harder now. my hair was sticking to my forehead, doing the same to him though he didn’t seem to mind it. if anything, he looked right at home with darker spots of raindrops on the shoulders of his hoodie and his long side-swept fringe dripping with water.

the rain suited him.

he smoked another cigarette, stubbing it on the dark planks of the pier before putting the end into a small tin that i hadn't noticed before. it disappeared from my sight back into his pocket.

despite not needing to speak, i still felt a little odd not knowing his name.

sam had mentioned it, they were best friends, but much like a lot of things the rest of the townspeople had said through overcheerful smiles, it seemed to have vanished from my memory. i gave my throat a little hum before speaking with a pointed question in my tone.

“so uhm…” “sebastian.” “right.”

i couldn't cry next to him, but somehow it didn't feel suffocating. it wasn't weighing on me. i could breathe. so i pulled a wrinkled tissue out of my pocket and wiped my nose, clearing my throat a few more times before settling with my fingers absentmindedly tracing the stitching of my overalls.

sebastian was still looking out into the distance, looking like he was contemplating all of life’s mysteries at once with his bare feet slowly moving just under the surface of the ocean. his dark jeans were rolled up to the middle of his calves.

we sat like that until the sky got even darker and the bats started calling out to their friends. i noticed how sebastian’s head snapped up to look for the source of the noise, his lips curling into a small smirk in appreciation of the animal nightlife.

he sighed and took his feet out of the water, shaking off the droplets before putting his socks and shoes back on.

“you don't have to look.”

finally, his voice didn't sound like i was a nuisance to his peace. i looked up at him, my eyebrow raised in question, to which he rolled his eyes, though not unfriendly.

“for a new spot, i mean. i didn't mind sharing.”

he turned and left. for a while, my eyes were on his back, watching as his figure got smaller and smaller, but as he disappeared with only his footprints left in the sand, i felt like i could smile again, even just a little.

i sat on the pier for a little longer before getting up and padding barefoot through the damp sand and wet streets, making my way to the farm. the entire way home i thought about him. the entire time swearing to myself that i’ll try again, learn from my mistakes, and make sure i live to honour my grandpa’s memory while bettering myself. and next time i see sebastian, i won't be crying.

[bloggerspam]

Merry Christmas Eve! We're in the home stretch now. :)

===

"Alright Ghost of the Here and Now,"

Jason grumbles with false bravado, "Lay it on me. What are you gonna show me? Bruce yelling at me? Alfred's disappointment? Dickie's New and Exciting Life?"

Danny simply stares at him in silent disappointment. The ghost is floating, his legs gone and merged into a ghostly tail. He's floating this way and that, humming as he observes Jason slumped on his bed.

Jason huffs, impatient after his ordeal with Dani, and decides to be a little shit. "Do you change sizes too? Like the one in the book does?"

Danny considers him for a moment, before smiling. Jason blinks, and suddenly Danny is gone.

He straightens up, looking this way and that for the ghost. He couldn't have just..left, right?

A little chirrup freezes him, looking down at his lap towards the source of the sound.

Danny, apparently, can change sizes.

He looks exactly the same, just miniature now, in his lap. Ghostly tail a little longer, face and eyes a little more rounder, hands little paws.

Just a little guy.

"Huh." Jason cradles Danny in his palms, bringing him up to his face, "Cool. Can you talk like that too? Or just the chirping?"

Baby Danny grins, tiny teeth sharp, as the miniature medallion on his chest begins to whir. He reaches up and boops Jason on the nose, causing him to blink against not just the action but also the sudden flash of green.

When his eyes open up again, Jason is sitting on the ledge of an unfamiliar building overlooking an unfamiliar city.

"This is Jump City." Danny's voice startles him, almost making him flinch off the building. Thankfully, his bat-training kicks in so he doesn't fall.

"Think happy thoughts." Not so thankfully, Danny, now back to human size, pushes him off the building anyway.

He screams, hands automatically reaching to grab for a grapple gun that isn't there. Fuck.

Fuck!!!

Jason tries to look for a ledge, anything to break his fall, when suddenly and abruptly his fall stops.

A moment of vertigo later, he realizes he's been grabbed by some unknown force and is floating.

"You didn't think happy thoughts." He looks around and notices that Danny is below him, looking up with a shit-eating grin.

"O-only psychopaths," Jason breathes out through his sheer panic, "Would think happy thoughts when they're falling off a fucking building."

Danny chortles out a loud laugh, eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Besides," Jason gulps to get his heart back in control, "You're not Peter Pan."

"You're right." Danny floats around and above him, Jason's body floating to follow, "But much as we joke about it, I'm not the Ghost of Christmas Present either."

"I guess it would be pointless to show me something I already know." Jason surmises, finally getting his heart in control. Danny must have some kind of telekinesis, different from Dani.

"I'd argue against that," Danny shrugs, "But I have a feeling you're good at twisting things."

"I resent that." Jason huffs, "I see what I see."

"Debatable." Danny huffs back, finally finding the building he was looking for and touching them down on a very large T-shaped building. "Besides, I've got something you won't be able to finagle your way out of."

"Finagle," Jason scoffs, "Whatever. Where even are we? Weird fucking shape for a building."

"It's Titans Tower." Danny smirks, walking up a set of stairs to the helipad, "You know, your brother's home?"

Jason jolts, looking around more closely. He hasn't been to the Tower yet, though Dickie promised he would bring him Christmas Break. It's….

"Really in your face huh?" Danny chuckles, "And I thought my house was obnoxious."

"It…sure is something." Jason agrees, wondering what Bruce thinks about all this.

He must know, right? Bruce ‘paranoid is my state of being’ Wayne couldn't have been okay with this. Titans Tower is glaringly obvious, on its own little island just a little bit away from the city. Was this Dickie's idea? Rebellion? And Bruce just lets him?

Then again, Dickie is the golden child. Can't do no wrong, even now he supposes.

But Dickie can't be serious, right? Like, he's just got his superhero base just….out there. For all and sundry to just. Know.

How can Dickie even sleep at night?

Danny grabs his hand suddenly, pulling him off to the side of the helipad and putting a finger to his lips. Jason nods, knowing the deal by now.

A second later, they go invisible just as the noise of an aircraft enters the sky.

They wait as the aircraft lands, watching as the Titans empty out in an exhausted jumble. They jostle each other, ribbing and bantering and familiar. Jason recognizes them from Dickie's pictures, feeling a pang of something go through him at how comfortable each and every one of them are with each other.

"Rob." Cyborg suddenly jolts up, frantically tapping at something on the computer on his arm.

"It's Nightwing, Cy." Dickie, in his Nightwing uniform, chuckles as he emerges from behind the pack to step onto the roof. "Robin is my darling brother now, remember?"

Jason bites his lip, to prevent any noise from coming out. Danny squeezes his hand and he realizes he's stepped forward a bit, towards Dickie.

He looks…the same, but different. His hair's reaching his butt, for God's sake. He always kept it long, but it couldn't have been that long, right? It was at his shoulders or something the last time he saw his brother. His uniform is a little different too: he's got padded gauntlets to go with his utility belt now.

He looks haggard, tired smile and slumping shoulders and all.

"Dick." Cyborg's voice is grave, making Jason tense. What happened? "Comms are back online."

Dickie straightens up, exhausted playfulness suddenly alert and serious. He pulls out a communicator from his utility belt and scans the multitude of messages he seems to be receiving.

Jason watches as the other Titans do the same, all reacting in staggered effect as they each have varied amounts of notifications.

It's Starfire's reaction that makes Jason pull against Danny's grip. A hand covers his mouth, the other arm coming around to grip at Jason and keep him still as he struggles.

Starfire has a hand covering her mouth, dropping the communicator and frantically going over to Dickie who is, who's…

Something breaks in Nightwing's hands. His communicator? Jason didn't even know he was that strong, didn't know that was possible. But no, it seems to be fine, just cracked to all hell with a missing antenna—

Nightwing presses some buttons, Starfire fretting around him, hovering as the others stand tense and ready to start…start what?

What the fuck is going on? Jason bites at Danny's hand, but Danny doesn't even fucking flinch. What the fuck is going on!

"Batman." Nightwing's voice is a growl, causing shivers through his spine, stilling him in fear. He's never seen Dickie this mad.

"Why the fuck," Nightwing clenches his fist, body coiled tense like he's about to strike, "is the Gotham Gazette saying my little brother is dead."

A pin could be dropped 3 miles away, and Jason would be able to hear it.

"It doesn't fucking matter that I was off planet, he's my little brother!"

Jason can't breathe. You'll meet her, Danny had said, And then you'll die.

"YOU HAD HIS FUCKING FUNERAL WITHOUT ME, BRUCE!" Nightwing is screaming, pacing back and forth like a caged lion. The rest of the Titans huddle together, watching warily.

Jason can't fucking see anymore, things are blurring. He's never seen Dickie this distraught, and he can't believe Bruce would do that. He can't—He really did die.

Somehow, even when told point blank, Jason didn't actually think about what would happen after his death.

Some part of him thinks it wouldn't have mattered much anyway, a street kid like him.

But Dickie is screaming hoarsely into the communicator at Bruce, and Bruce held a funeral for him.

Even though Jason knew they would, at least to a certain extent, it still surprises him.

It's a conflicting feeling, this trust and fear.

It feels like ages, with Dickie's rage acting as white noise, before Jason can get a grip.

He's being held, he thinks, can feel the way Danny's chest rises and falls against his back. The hand over his mouth is gone, migrated to his chest and pushing lightly as if to coax Jason into breathing. A makeshift CPR.

The other hand is being gripped by Jason's hands against his stomach. Jason almost lets go, or at least wants to, but realizes he can't bring himself to.

He stares at where Dick is crumpled on the ground with his teammates surrounding him and doesn't know what to think, how to feel, what to do now.

He just watches as Dickie grieves.

Grieves him.

"I'm going to fucking kill him." Dickie finally mutters to the ground. The rest of the Titans wisely say nothing.

His brother gathers himself up and marches back into the aircraft they came in on, growling out a "I'm going to Gotham. Cyborg's in charge."

Starfire reaches out to him to place a hand on his shoulder delicately. Dickie holds it for a moment, breathing, but shakes his head with a whisper. Jason is too far away to hear it, but Starfire nods with a crumpled expression and lets him go.

Soon, the aircraft lifts up and the Titans vacate the roof.

"Why did you show me this?" Jason croaks out.

Danny makes them both visible, getting them both floating up into the sky. Unlike Gotham, there is no smog to hide in here at Jump City.

It's clear blue skies and good weather days Jason's not used to seeing. Danny lets them hover there, making a sort of glowing green platform for Jason to sit upon. It's grounding, tethers Jason to something so he doesn't float away emotionally either.

"You see what you see." Danny answers with a shrug. It should sound smug, the way he throws Jason's words back at him, but all it sounds like is exhaustion. "You ever think about what you don't?"

"No point," Jason’s voice is small, a facsimile of confidence, still shaken by this side of Dickie he's never known. "They don't wanna show me, then it's not for me."

"Street Kid logic." Danny hums as he floats lazily around Jason on the platform. "Mind your business, and nobody minds you."

"Nothing's free," Jason agrees, "Even love comes at a cost."

Danny's nose wrinkles as he flips to float on his stomach, as if he's just rolling around on a bed and not in the middle of the sky. He lays his cheek down on the cross of his arms, feet kicking behind him like a teenager looking bored.

Danny is around Jason's age, so maybe he is bored. But he highly doubts it with the way Danny's eyes run over him like sharp knives running down his skin along the face of the blade. Not quite cutting, but the danger is there if you move it the wrong way.

"My little sister was an experiment," Danny says, apropos of nothing, "She was brainwashed and groomed by her creator."

What the fuck do you even say to that? Luckily, Danny doesn't seem to need Jason to say anything.

"His one downfall was that he allowed her to read books." Danny smirked, "Got her smart. When she was sent to kill me, I talked her out of it by giving her information. She didn't really believe me at first, but eventually, she learned for herself. She asked questions, she saw with her own two eyes. She grew,"

Danny sits up in the air, crisscross applesauce, sitting gently across from Jason on the platform.

"You wanted to know who your birth mother was." Danny shrugs, "So she showed you."

Danny reaches over to pry Jason's hands apart. He'd be digging his nails into his palms without thinking. Danny looks over his hands, blowing a cold breath over them to soothe the ache.

"You focused on Sheila abandoning you. You saw how similar you were to a broken-down Willis. You took in the way Catherine deteriorated, the way the drugs made her chase the high instead of staying with you."

Danny's glowing green gaze sears into Jason, making him feel small and unimportant in the way that the stars make you feel. The enormity of space condensed into deep black pupils.

"You should have focused on the more important things: Willis’ love for Sheila, unanswered but enduring. Catherine choosing you, time and again, when she was just a stranger—when she didn't have to, until she couldn't anymore. Dick grieving you with the kind of anger that burns a whole world down."

Danny sighs, the medallion clicking into a spin, whirling at a speed that blurs.

"I'll ask you again: You see what you see, Jason Todd." Danny lifts a hand, snapping his fingers. "But do you ever think about what you don't?"

The platform below them hollows out, the sound of a snap echoing, before they fall in a glowing green light.

Jason doesn't really have time to scream when he tumbles down onto cold linoleum flooring.

"What the fuck?" Jason spits out, instead of thinking about Danny's words, "Where are we now?"

"Place called Nanda Parbat." Danny's voice floats above him, and when he looks up Danny's scanning their surroundings. It makes him tense up, joining him as he straightens up.

They're inside a room of some sort. A lab, maybe. There're a couple of large tubes, pods? The pods are all white, with only a small window high up to show what's inside.

"Why are we here?" Jason whispers as Danny floats towards one in particular.

"Damian Wayne was created using the DNA of Bruce Wayne and Talia Al Ghul, the daughter of the Demon Head of the League of Assassins." Jason lifts, no doubt Danny's telekinesis, to peer into the window Danny is gesturing to. "He is artificially aged up over the course of 2 months until he is developed enough as a toddler to undergo training as the heir of Ra's Al Ghul."

Through the window, Jason can see a baby floating in the glowing green water that fills the pod. It's a boy, with black hair and darker skin, pudgy hands clenched like fists. He looks about 2 years old.

"He'll be about four years old when he's let out," Danny continues, "And when he turns approximately 12 years old, his life at the League is threatened so he is sent to Gotham."

"Bruce has a kid?" Jason breathes out, thoughts racing in a loop. He has a kid, a real one. What will happen to Dickie? What will happen to him?

"He has several," Danny smiles, Jason can hear it in his voice even if he can't tear his eyes away from the baby floating before him, "But yes, Damian will be the only blood son."

"Dickie is one thing, but I don't count." Jason winces, "Not…not anymore."

Danny clicks his tongue, making a face. He grabs Jason and that tingling feeling washes over him again as they walk through several walls and floors until they're peeking through a floor to watch what looks like a training session from the ceiling.

It's a girl, he thinks. Short bobbed hair, black as night, skin pale just like Jason's. She looks about his age and is being harshly trained by a man who shares the same eyes.

They watch for only a minute or two before Jason feels the need to beat the shit out of the guy, Danny yanking him up and floating them through to the building's rooftop.

"Cassandra Cain." Danny explains, "born and raised as a weapon for her father, for the League. Eventually, she comes in contact with Bruce. The rest, as they say, is history. She's your one and only (legal) older sister."

The medallion whirs again, a portal opening up that Danny wastes no time pulling them through.

Jason is getting whiplash.

They step onto another rooftop, the air tasting familiar. Looking around, Jason recognizes the Narrows.

Danny points to a lit-up window, where they can see a small family having a raucous dinner. A man and woman, African Americans, sit across from each other pointing forks and laughing at each other. There's an equally dark-skinned toddler slapping at his high chair, smile wide and messy with baby food.

"That baby, Duke Thomas, goes through a war." Danny explains, "He carries the Robin mantle in the way that soldiers carry cigarettes, and becomes a beacon for Gotham. Bruce brings him in when his parents are unable to."

Danny grabs his hand once more, dragging him into a run across almost familiar rooftops.

He stops them and points at a dimly lit window, where you can just see a desk lamp lighting up the room.

"Stephanie Brown, by her own volition, never gets adopted." A girl opens the window to look out, crossing her arms and laying her head on them. Her blonde hair falls over her shoulder, blowing into the breeze as she searches the sky for stars hidden in the smog. "But her Robin brought a little bit of laughter, a little bit of fun, after years of hurt and pain."

Jason watches as Stephanie seemingly gives up, huffing a little and shutting the window before the light is summarily turned off for the night.

"You still haven't answered me," Jason whispers, volume just above the now humming whorl of the medallion hanging on Danny's neck. "Why are we here?"

Danny still doesn't answer, pulling them through the new portal to a rooftop. One that Jason is intimately familiar with from a different angle.

Jason looks to his left, to a rooftop just three buildings away, where his favorite gargoyle sits sentinel over Gotham. The sky is clearer than before, a different night from the Gotham they just stepped away from, ever-present smog no longer crowding the night sky.

The stars are still far away, but the moon is bright, like a spotlight highlighting Jason's favorite refuge.

"That's—" Jason starts to say, but Danny's arm stops him. He's pointing to the right, to a rooftop across the street.

It takes Jason a moment, several in fact, before he sees it. Before he sees them.

There's someone hiding in the depths of the shadows, small and eerily still. Jason wouldn't have been able to see them, if not for the reflection of a camera lens.

"Timothy Drake Wayne." Danny drops his arm, stopping Jason from taking any steps further out of the shadows they're hiding in, "Is too smart, too self-sacrificing, too self-deprecating, and too numb to the world."

"He takes Robin with a clenched fist, takes the brunt of a lot of hits, and honestly?" Danny chuckles humorlessly, "If it weren't for him, Batman would have been dead several times over."

As if his name summoned him, Batman grapples onto the scene, stopping just beside the gargoyle.

Jason flinches. He doesn't know how he knows, but this Batman is different from his Batman.

There's something desperate and…almost threatening about this Batman.

Like a hurt animal.

This must be after Jason's death, he didn't know that Bruce knew he had a favorite gargoyle, but he wouldn't be surprised.

Apparently, this Timothy character knew, so why wouldn't Batman?

Jason feels like he should be more surprised, or at least disturbed, that some random civilian knows this much about him. If Timothy knows Jason's favorite gargoyle, he must have been following them for a while.

He doesn't know what to feel, the whiplash cocktail of feelings swarming through his system. The truth about his parents, these future Robins and siblings, Dickie's rage and grief, and now he has to combat an apparent stalker turned sibling and a grieving Batman.

It's almost too much.

"After your death, Batman gets a little…violent." Danny's voice pulls him back, tugging him out of the shadows through another portal, away from the visage of a brooding Batman, too far away to hear the clicking of a camera.

"Tim asks Dick to come back first, having known your secret identities for a while now." They walk through a large hallway, similar to Wayne Manor, but without any of the personality Alfred works so hard to maintain. "But Dick refused, so Tim took it upon himself."

This mansion is sterile, straight out of a magazine. The paintings are impersonal and expensive, the decor is sparse but tasteful, and everything looks so…slate.

There's none of the warm wood tones Wayne Manor has, each book and decoration modern and cold and empty.

Danny brings his finger up to his lips to signal the need for quiet as they once more go invisible, phasing through a nondescript door.

It's a bedroom, a little cluttered and slightly messy, with more personality than the entirety of the rest of the Mansion.

Not that that's saying much.

The room is still way cleaner than Jason's, by virtue of just…a lack of things.

There's a bed, unmade crumpled, and a nightstand that houses a single alarm clock and lamp. A skateboard leans against the bookshelf, crammed to the gills with a variety of textbooks and nonfiction novels. A small pile of clothes crowds a half-full hamper, and Jason almost trips on a pair of shoes tossed at the closet door carelessly.

Nothing hangs on the walls, and the colors of the room range from blue to blue to blue.

The desk has a computer on it, with a screensaver being a newspaper clipping that Jason is intimately familiar with: The one single blurry photo of Batman and Dickie's Robin the Gotham Gazette managed to get. An empty mug stained with brown sludge sits on the corner of the desk, right next to what looks like two spare high-end cameras.

Someone lives here, clearly, but it still feels so…empty. Only hints of a person in a Mansion that screams of loneliness.

Danny tugs them over to stand near the desk, floating them up slightly at a good vantage point just as a door, different from the one they entered through, swings open.

A boy, dark-haired and blue-eyed just like Bruce. He's small, pale, and so concentrated on the strip of film in his hands that Jason's surprised he doesn't run into anything as he beelines to his desk.

The boy carefully starts to cut the film into negatives, placing them into a box he pulls out of a safety deposit box that had been hidden under his bed.

The box is full of negatives but in the dark Jason can't even hope to guess what's on them.

The boy then gets up to go to the bookshelf, pulling out a Textbook to reveal a second layer of what looks like photo albums behind, taking one and bringing it to the desk.

When he opens it, Jason is surprised to see most of the pictures are of him.

Of Robin, the second.

Holy shit.

Holy shit, he suspected but he didn't—This is Timothy Drake Wayne?

"What happened to you?" Timothy whispers to the Jason in the photos, "What really happened? Nightwing won't come back, and Batman…I have to do something."

Jason wants to say something, but he doesn't know what. He leans forward but is pulled back up through the ceiling once more.

"He's…just a kid." Jason says into the Gotham sky. He seems to be up here a lot, on this ghost adventure.

Jason realizes, for as much as Robin flies through Gotham, he's never really taken the time to just enjoy the sky. He's not sure he's in the right mind to do so now, but maybe when this is all over…

"You're just a kid." Danny points out before his voice goes low. "He's only two years younger than you."

That doesn't make sense. Jason is average-sized for his age, having bulked up under Alfred's care for the past year or so.

Timothy's a Drake, Jason recognizes the name now. They're…They're neighbors. For a given definition of neighbors when there’re acres between their mansions. 

Is that how the kid knows about them? Timothy is smaller than Jason was when he was still living on the streets.

"What time is it right now?" Jason asks as Danny conjures up another platform for Jason to lay back on. It's both harder and softer than he expected.

"Hmm…" Danny drifts around him once more, circling and circling. "I'd say about 9pm."

"…I don't think I've ever seen the Drake Mansion lit up, despite being neighbors." Jason keeps his volume low, maybe hoping for his words to get lost in the breeze.

"Well, there is a lot of space between Wayne Manor and the Drake residence." Danny reasons.

"It's 9pm, Danny." Jason's voice rises, slowly but steadily in heated reprimand. "It's 9pm, and his mansion is cold with no sign of any adult. He's two years younger than me. Where are his parents? Fuck, big house like that, where's the fucking babysitter? Or, or—or a fucking servant, whatever rich people fucking do!"

Jason pants, angry and tired and wrung out like a used towel. Danny lets him get his breathing together, the silence percolating like blood spilled from a ragged wound.

"I never liked Batman, y'know. Not really." Jason is getting real fucking tired of Danny's subject changes.

"Child soldiers, all of you." Danny continues, ignoring the way Jason hisses and rearing up for a fight, "And I was never much one for billionaires in the first place."

Danny drifts closer, coming to sit beside an irate Jason trying to keep his breathing even.

"But Tim?" Danny huffs out a little laugh, "I get Tim—I get the neglected parents, and feeling responsible for things beyond me, bigger than me. I get having unending curiosity and restless bones. I even get taking your mentors by the collars and shaking sense into them."

"I get taking the brunt and blame and the short end of the stick and still getting back up." Danny looks up to the sky, still so oddly clear, and sighs. "I get being the little guy."

Jason laughs humorlessly and disbelievingly. "Tiny Tim."

Danny snaps, pointing a finger at him with a cheeky smile. "Tiny Tim. Funny how it works out huh?"

"Does Tim…" Jason carefully asks, "Does Tim die in my future?"

"He doesn't—no rest for the wicked I suppose." Danny shrugs. "Not for lack of trying, you and Damian try to kill him at least once. Steph even tosses a brick at him."

Jason sputters.

Danny laughs, loud and raucous, before settling down and wiping a stray tear away. "He lives, all who come after him fail." Danny suddenly becomes very grave. "There are worse things than Death, Jason Todd. Take it from me. But whilst Tim may be self-sacrificing, he's always enjoyed the little things."

“Very poetic.” Jason sits up, bringing a knee up to lean his arm on. “Thematic too.”

Danny smiles, leaning back on his arms to continue watching the night stars barely visible through the city light pollution. “You asked me why we’re here. You’ve asked us who we are and how we know these things, and I told you the truth.”

Jason opens his mouth to say something, but is stopped by Danny’s glowing green eyes. “We’re ghosts, of a sort. Living, breathing ghosts here to show you a different way of life for the benefit of one specific individual.” Danny smiles sardonically, “The chance to ‘prevent your death’ was purely incidental.”

 Jason, for some reason, relaxes at that. He remembers Danny’s words from earlier in this long, long evening.

Your death, in the grand scheme of things, doesn't really affect much of anything at all.

Emotional whiplash be damned, he’s got a choice.

He has the power. 

“I wanted to show you what you would be losing if you started over.” Danny continues, “If you still decide to chase after Sheila, to die and come back remade, your memories of tonight will simply fade away.”

Danny starts to float, holding out a hand for Jason to take. He does so wordlessly.

“If you take the chance, then these people are what you will be losing.” Danny smirks, medallion humming as it starts to tick, “These people are the people you’ll have to find again.”

This time when they fall through the portal, it’s a familiar place and they’re already invisible.

Jason takes the cue and keeps his mouth shut as they float through Commissioner Gordan’s apartment to a familiar bedroom. 

Babs is sitting on her bed, legs tucked to the side to make room for Dickie, who is slumped kneeling on the floor beside her.

He’s using her lap as a pillow, resting his arms on her thighs and—and crying.

“I miss him too.” Babs is cooing at him, petting his hair, muttering nonsense and shedding tears herself. 

Jason feels a heat pooling in the back of his eyes, a sticky feeling clogging up his throat as he bites his lip to keep from making sounds. 

He’s shaking as he's pulled through the window, taking a familiar route back to the Manor. Danny keeps them invisible, gentle mercy as Jason sniffles and rubs at his face. 

“If–” Jason stutters out, “Did…did it have to be me? Couldn’t—couldn’t you guys have offered it to Dickie? Or Babs? Fix her legs?”

“She’s not broken, Jason.” Danny’s voice is soft, but firm. “Legs or not, Barbara Gordon endures and chooses her path. Batgirl might be retired, but it’s a mantle that can be picked up, and Oracle will live on to watch over Gotham.”

Cowed, Jason stays silent as they arrive at the Manor. 

They drift through the entrance of the Cave, and Jason’s about to ask why they’re entering this way when he’s interrupted by a sudden crash!

“Take it down!” Bruce’s familiar growl is yelling. “You had no right—”

“I will not allow you to forget, Master Bruce.” Alfie’s voice is smooth, cold. 

Bruce is breathing heavily, barely restraining himself. Alfie stands tall and stoic, as usual, against him, right in front of—

Is that his uniform?

It’s—it’s tattered and ruined.

Put up in a macabre display of a fallen soldier, a memorial of a battle lost.

Sometimes, Jason forgets that Alfie used to be a military man.

Before Jason can even fully understand the situation, they phase upwards, turning this way and that before he’s gently deposited onto his bed once more.

Jason, true to form, falls back to starfish on his bed again. 

“That was shitty of you.” Jason rumbles, “You didn’t have to—you didn’t have to show me that.”

“I did.” Danny argues, “Otherwise you’d try and say something stupid, like ‘Bruce doesn’t care’ or ‘I’m not actually his kid’ or whatever bullshit you think with that backwards brain of yours.”

“Hey!” Jason tosses a pillow at Danny. 

Danny, the asshole, lets it fall through him to hit his bookshelf.  “Bet you’re thinking something like I’m not even worth it.”

Jason wisely does not say anything to that, opting to curl up under his sheets.

“Dani gave you what you wanted to know. I gave you what you don’t know.” Danny sighs, a mechanical whir following it at an almost distant pace. 

“I guess Dan’s just gotta show you what you should know. Or maybe what future you already does know?” Jason stills at that, curling the blankets around him tighter and rolling himself into a little cocoon.

Danny chuckles mirthlessly when he realizes Jason won’t answer. “I thought it was the whole Red Hood thing you had going on, but you’re really just like that huh? No wonder Dan relates to you.”

“I resent that.” A low rumbling voice cuts in. Dan.

Jason peeks out from his blanket burrito to watch as Danny goes up to the larger man with a wide grin. 

“Dani did a number on him,” Danny reports with the kind of shit-eating tone only younger siblings can have. “And I didn’t help.”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Figures you guys would leave me to clean up your messes.”

“Refreshing isn’t it?” Danny’s grin goes sharp as he takes off the medallion, “To be on the other side of the equation.”

Dan groans, but obligingly bends down so that Danny can place the medallion around the older man’s neck. 

Danny then switches places with Dan, stepping halfway through the portal with only his upper body peeking out as his older counterpart floats down to stand next to Jason’s bed. 

Danny waves, changing his voice into this dramatic tone, theatre-like, “And now I leave you with the Ghost of Christmas yet to come!”

“You mean the future?” Jason chuckles tiredly, “Must I?”

The portal pops out of existence, Danny’s laughter echoing just a little bit with it in answer.

A Christmas Carol AU

Inspired by a prompt found in the @haunting-heroes-creative-games :) (i.e. back on my shit again)

When a 15 year old Jason, pissed at Bruce for taking Robin away from him, finds his birth certificate he realizes Catherine Todd is not his real mother.

Just as he resolves to go out and search for his birth mother, Jason finds himself accosted by three ghosts in his room, talking about A Christmas Carol of all things.

===

"So, what? We're gonna Christmas Carol him?"

Dan scoffs, crossing his bulky arms with an unimpressed look. "We hated that movie."

"I didn't." Dani chirps, disturbingly cheery, "I didn't see it!"

"We hate Christmas," Danny corrects, "But the movie was alright, and the logic is sound."

"I don't hate Christmas," Dani once again interjects cheerily, "I've never participated!"

"Sound my ass," Dan growls over her, throwing his hands up. "We don't even know this guy!"

"Minor detail." Danny insists, "Tuck can look him up."

"He's a fucking Bat, Danny." Dan scrunches up his face, pinching the bridge of his nose just like Vlad does when he's disgruntled with any of Dad's shenanigans.

"He's a Robin, actually." Dani pipes in, "And he's just a kid. How hard is it gonna be to pretend to be this kid's Ghosts?"

"You're a kid," Dan reminds her, crossing his arms, "And you didn't believe me when I told you sticking a fork in the outlet would shock you."

"I believed you," Dani sniffs haughtily, crossing her arms and pointing her nose up with a snooty voice, "The warning simply did not deter me from doing it anyway."

"We don't have to convince him we're his Ghosts, or even that we knew him before," Danny reasons, needling, "We just have to convince him that we're…"

He hums, pointing at Dani. "Past."

He points at himself, "Present."

He points at Dan, "Future."

Dani does a little cheer, arms up and twirling into the air before landing with her legs over Dan's shoulders, hands and head settling atop Dan's fiery, but harmless, hair. It flickers, before going limp into long white strands that Dani messes up by gently scrunching up the strands and running her fingers through them.

Dan lets her, huffing and looking weirdly like a downtrodden, wet cat. "Why am I future?"

"Because." Danny doesn't continue, because he knows it makes Dan annoyed. True to form, his scowl gets worse, like sucking on a lemon. They all know why anyway.

Dani grins, triumphant and knowing, letting her voice go real deep, "The future," she intones into Dan's hair, "is here."

"The future is now," Danny corrects her, but doesn't lose his smile, floating up to tuck a strand of her hair back behind her ear.

"The future is already here," Dan mumbles his correction, or is it a follow-up? "It's just not evenly distributed."

"How about you distribute some of those muscles, Gibson," Danny sighs, shaking his head "Waiting for puberty is such a drag, and we both know you didn't get the mass from Vlad's side of the family."

Dan makes a moue of disgust, but it serves him right. The consequences of his own actions, and whatnot. He looks up at Dani, who simply shrugs. "I think you'll do great." She leans down to give him two pats on the arm.

"So how's acting out A Christmas Carol gonna help us stop this Jason guy from blowing up?" Dani fiddles with Dan's hair, tongue poking out as she attempts a braid, "Will he even see us? Ghosts in this dimension taste funny."

"He'll be able to see us, it's magically rich enough for some ghosts to maintain a semblance of themselves," Danny explains for the third time. Dani and Dan hum at different pitches, and even though Danny is the common denominator he kind of hates that Vlad has more of a lasting impression on them. "The ectoplasm here is scarce and mostly corrupted, though, so it's rare."

"So there's lotsa bad ghosts here?" Dani eyes the messy braid she's made, proud, even as Dan's silky hair immediately causes it to fall apart, "Or 'mentally unsound' or whatever Frostbite called it."

"No," Dan grumbles, annoyed and indulging all at once, "Corruption begets ecto-rot, but the scarcity means they're not strong enough to actually retain their sense of self enough to rot."

"Shades," Danny explains when Dani looks even more confused, "There's lots of shades."

"Is this one of the Olympian dimensions?" Dani groans, flopping over Dan's shoulder as he sits down on the sofa, "I love Pandora and all, but if I see Zeus again I'm gonna lose it."

"It's one of the hero dimensions," Danny hums, taking over braiding Dan's hair the way Jazz made him when they were little, "There's a couple of Amazons walking about, but on the whole no Olympians."

"I don't know why he didn't just dump me in a Norse dimension." Dan leans back and closes his eyes to their ministrations. "Especially with my current occupation."

The three of them are sitting in Dan's apartment, a large loft studio located somewhere in the UK of the aforementioned hero-dimension. Alber-something, Danny can't remember. Doesn't need to, it being a different dimension from his anyway.

Dan doesn't have a lot of things: a sofa and TV, a bed in the corner, a decent but small kitchen. They're still trying to figure out decorations, but Dan on the whole is a minimalist so it's been slow going.

He's working as a bartender these nights, whiling away his odd existence now that his form has stabilized.

And wasn't that a trip? Learning that hey, adult lightning halfas shouldn't really be mixed with teenage ice halfas, actually!

Apparently, ectoplasm can become corrupted if you try to combine incompatible sources.

Apparently, side effects include (but are not limited to) unmitigated violence and a devastating need for vengeance.

Sound familiar?

"This dimension has a lot of time continuity errors," Danny reminds him, "Dropping you here gave the least amount of pushback."

"Yeah, yeah," Dan flaps a lazy hand, "Praise be the speedforce and flashpoints and whatnot."

"Plus," Dani adds softly, absent-minded as she watches Danny finish up the braid, "Lotsa heroes to help out if you relapse."

Dan heaves a slow, controlled sigh. Danny and Dani both pretend they don't notice.

"Is it bad?" Dan doesn't open his eyes, his voice is so low Danny can only hear him by virtue of his ghost powers, "Like me levels bad?"

"No." Danny shakes his head, leaning into his older self, his older brother of sorts, "He decapitated eight crime lords, killed a couple of assassins, maybe an innocent or two depending on your definition of things."

"Past tense?" Dan scrunches his nose. They all hate how confusing Time Shenanigans are.

"He's living as Red Hood, right this very moment."

"Red Hood?" Dani questions, "That his hero name?"

"Crime lord alias." Danny corrects her, "But he's more of a vigilante these days. Has a bat on his chest and everything."

"But it's bad enough to warrant a trip to the past." Dan points out, "Bad enough for us to try and persuade him. Does he relapse?"

"Not…exactly." Danny scrunches his face, not wanting to explain Clockwork's ambiguity.

Dani floats to spread over Danny and Dan's laps, sprawling out and purring like a cat. Self-soothing, though it's more for their benefit than hers.

"Like Dani said, there’re lots of heroes here, and he doesn't have powers." Danny continues, petting at Dani's soft hair, "The world doesn't end. He doesn't have the means to, even with the ecto-rot."

Danny pauses, and chooses his words deliberately and carefully. "And deep down, Jason Todd is a hero through and through. Relapse would be…difficult. His Obsession is similar to yours."

Dan lets that sit for a moment, but nods, Danny moving a little with the motion. The tension slowly bleeds out as they wait like that, enjoying each other's company.

"If the world doesn't end," Dani whispers, "Why is Clockwork sending all of us?"

Danny thinks on that, on his meeting with Clockwork. The Ancient's voice when he explained what would happen.

He thinks about Jason Todd, about Bruce Wayne, and Catherine, and Sheila. He thinks about Batman, and Robin.

He thinks about Dick Grayson and Tim Drake, about Damian Al Ghul, about Cassandra Cain, and all of Jason's Outlaws.

He thinks about a tattered uniform that stays up in a glass case for a long, long time.

Most of all, he thinks about Dan.

He thinks about regrets and one bad day away.

And then he stops thinking about it, because sometimes the past is the past, and other times, it's the future that never happens that haunts you instead.

"You know, Dani." He settles on, "I'm not sure. He probably has his reasons."

Dan leans heavier onto him, and they lean together like that, with Dani in their laps.

Ghosts of decisions made, unmade, and never to be.

Follow the story on AO3 here!

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

It’s incredibly brave of Blake to take a stand and make all this public. Or rather, that she bided her time, let the process do its thing, and seemingly compiled such a strong case against Justin Baldoni and basically let him and his team hang themselves with their own hubris. And like many others have said, the fact that she was arguably the most powerful person in that production and he and his team thought they could treat her the way they did and subsequently handily “bury her” speaks volumes on the rampant misogyny in the industry, and about how if it was this bad *for her*, imagine how bad is must be for people who don’t have the protection of her level of fame and wealth and privilege.

It’s so weird because obviously I like I think many of us knew things were bad during the movie’s press tour; with the whole cast unfollowing him, everyone distancing themselves from him, the comments, etc., I figured something happened along “creative differences” and that he was evidently not well-liked, but I never imagined it was this insidious or conspiratorial. How could one B-list one-time CW actor cause that much damage on a set? Well, it turns out, extremely easily. Because systems are in place to protect these men, no matter how privileged on paper the women around them are. The depths to which this team sought to ruin her, as an assault on all fronts, is truly Machiavellian.

Blake was “lucky” because she had people who believed her and had the resources and access to protect herself and advocate for change on her set, but she should never have had to protect herself like this in the first place. She went through traumatic incidents at the hands of these men, ones that had tangible consequences on both her mental and physical health and that of her child. And again: if this is how awful the experience was for her at the top of the call sheet, how many other people on this set and others suffer in silence too? How much do these ill-intended people in positions of power get away with that never get brought to light?

I find myself so rattled by this, even though on paper, I shouldn’t be. But it’s just like… We hear about the Harvey Weinsteins and Johnny Depps of the world, the industry titans who prey on people with less power all over the place. Yet for every Harvey Weinstein there’s a Justin Baldoni, just Some Dude who thinks by virtue of their privilege can act with impunity. (And yes, I know the man was a “successful” actor, but he wasn’t Ryan Reynolds-level successful. And I’m not saying success = permission to act this way, I’m saying the abusers are painted as these nearly godlike levels of fame and power, and the reality is that literally anyone can be an abuser and turn a situation into an unsafe power dynamic.)

And not to bring Taylor into it and make everything about her, but I also can’t help but think about the 2016 of it all, let alone situations she’d been in long before that. And how so many things happened to her: the revenge porn music video, the phone call, the smear campaign deliberately orchestrated by the Kardashians, Kanye’s link to Scooter, the internet harassment, etc. The difference was that everything was an onslaught, and Taylor didn’t have the public support or sadly, the evidence, to back up her experience. How different could things have gone if she’d been able to speak up? If she’d been able to counteract the obvious lies? Been able to call out the music video for what it was? She couldn’t for a million reasons, and we now have a glimpse into how traumatic that forced silence was for her. One of the differences between Taylor’s experience then and Blake’s now is that in some ways, folks are smarter about how social media is manipulated (but in others, they’re also much, much more gullible). Taylor had the entire media it seemed out to get her; Blake seemed to be following suit, until her own actions proved the lies incontrovertible so that she couldn’t be silenced.

I don’t really know where I’m going with this, except: it doesn’t matter if you’re one of the most famous people in the world, like Taylor was then and exponentially more so now. It doesn’t matter if you’re an industry veteran like Blake, with a husband who’s one of the most recognizable and powerful figures in the industry himself. Predators will prey on people they want to conquer and put in their place, and they will think they can do so without consequence. The cruelty, as always, is the point.

[latibulater]

i love think tank honestly i think he would have been better than a one-episode arch like his design? first of all is so fun. love his hover chair! love having another huge-head character (i wonder if billy knows of him at all). he such an emotive guy

he seems to really love teaching his non-interested students, and it's honestly very sweet imo how he reaches out to dean and suggests he avoid the tower during the time of his father's arch, and i mean you could interpret it as him saving his own reputation, but i think it's because he doesn't wish for dean to be harmed. and its funny and genuine to me the way he says to dean the essay is shit but he is one of the best students of the semester. ik when i went from home school to real school i struggled hard at first with writing papers, so i wonder if dean is the same like he's enjoying the class and is kind of grasping the concepts but he is plagiarizing by accident and has lots of run-on sentences (like this one). but it's sweet that nidaba still calls dean "one of the brightest" (even if you interpret this to be buttering up which i do not)

and he seems to be a moriarty without a sherlock from this little scene where he deducts dean's home life from different clues. i like that he says "i interpret the data" because that's much less wishy-washy then bbc sherlock. he's so handsome here genuinely

and his nietzsche quote "all great things must first wear terrifying and monstrous masks in order to inscribe themselves on the hearts of humanity." honestly is so relavent to the show and the way he is so exasperated no one knew that. professor dr. nidaba, i swear you just need a tumblr girlie in your class.

the tank just goes up? the wall?

imminent doom detected

i love how he gestures with the tank...nozzle(?) like the machine is really an adapted living device. and literally he has this awesome killer entrance to set up some chess like he literally just wants a nice game night

i feel so bad for him look

sweetheart 😭 his whole plan for the evening just got blown up like that wall. i feel so bad for him his little "who are you calling" like he's gotten in trouble 😭😭😭

but brock will play!!!! he's so excited now

and he can create a force field??? thats literally so cool. this scene with brocks arm is so funny like brock is acting a little unhinged but think tank is literally so bewildered

and who else got flirty undertones from this

and this was such a great scene him getting shot out the window while rusty's getting scammed by watch&ward. and then when warriana called think tank a "pompous son of a gorgon" a) love the insult b) their previous fights mustve been so funny think tank would use a lot of greek myth references and warriana would be like SHUT UPPPP *kicks him across the street*

look brock had so much fun with this fight and nidaba, while annoyed by warriana busting in, i think enjoyed it too! also i like this pic of him with just the undersuit.

i feel so bad for him he literally got his night fucked up by rusty's annoying silly ass and then got beat up by someone not even supposed to be there and now he's just trying to hail a cab bc his tank got trashed and then he gets WRECKED by a VAN. and what's this? stars n garters literally singing at nidaba's bedside?????

i loved this scene so much its so silly and off-beat, i love knowing that think tank's colleague/arch-rival cares enough about him to lug a guitar down to the hospital while nidaba's unconscious. WHY COULDNT WE HAVE HAD THINK TANK IN COMA TOWN?!

anyways thats about it :^) i just think it's a shame hammer&publick didn't develop or bring back think tank he's such a great and underrated character. also he doesn't even have a first name like wtf!!! i'm naming him dr. nathan (not nate!) nidaba

[peachiejeongin]

Christmas Eve with Stray Kids | OT8!

Day 11 of the 12 Days of Staymas!

Synopsis: Headcannons of spending Christmas Eve with the Stray Kids members.

Pairing: ot8!SKZ x reader

Genre: Fluff!

Warnings: None!

Notice: On the 11th day of Staymas, PeachieJeongin gave Christmas Eve headcannons to her darlings! We are nearly at the end of this advent series, so enjoy the second to last day, lovelys!

Bang Chan:

・❥ Chan would make sure the house is decorated to perfection. Christmas lights would be draped everywhere, including the staircase rails and even upon the fireplace, items such as throw pillows and comforters would be swapped out for Christmas-themed versions, and a festive light projector would adorn the exterior of the house in swaying, colorful illumination.

・❥ Chan would spend hours decorating the Christmas tree with you, ensuring that every ornament and string of garland is perfected. Afterwards, he would stand back with you in awe of the beautiful decoration you had put together.

・❥ Chan insists on baking cookies together, even if his baking skills are not the best. He would laugh at the messy icing blobs he would pipe out on the cookies, and he would playfully pout at your teasings referring to his misshapened gingerbread men; however, he is not too worried about the turnout of the cookies so much as he is making the memory with you.

・❥ Hot chocolate is a must on Christmas Eve night, and he would go all out for you both with whipped cream, marshmallows, and any other toppings your hearts so desire.

・❥ Expect a full marathon of Christmas movies. Chan would play everything from classics such as 'A Christmas Story,' to animated favorites like 'The Polar Express.' He would snuggle close to you under a large, fluffy blanket, laughing the night away at the comedic aspects of the films.

・❥ Bonus: You would insist on watching at least one cheesy holiday romantic comedy; Chan would tease you about it, but secretly, he enjoys the movie just as much as you do.

・❥ You and Chan would wrap your presents prior to Christmas Eve, that way you could focus on spending the day with one another; however, Chan would probably insist on opening one present early, since he would be too excited to wait.

・❥ Chan sneakily hides a sprig of mistletoe somewhere around the house each year, and you always manage to find yourself right underneath the trap. He would grin mischeviously the moment he finds you standing underneath, pulling you in for a quick kiss afterwards and mumbling how it is your, "early Christmas gift."

・❥ After the festivities of the night clam down, Chan would sing you softly to sleep, humming Christmas songs or lullabies as you lull off in his arms.

・❥ If he catches you awake, he would jokingly scold you and tell you that if you did not get to sleep, Santa would not come tomorrow.

Lee Know:

・❥ Minho is not one to overdo the Christmas aesthetic, but he would surprise you with how thoughtful he is about setting up decor. At least a few candles smelling of apple spice, peppermint, or cedarwood would be lit, and a playlist of jazzy Christmas songs would softly play in the background as the two of you snuggled in for Christmas Eve.

・❥ He would pour you both a glass of wine or make some hot cocoa, sitting with you on the couch by the Christmas tree while the cats lazily wander around.

・❥ If it is snowing outside, Lee Know would suggest a nighttime walk to enjoy the peacefulness of the night before Christmas. He would tug on your scarf gently in order to ensure that you are bundled up; he would also keep your hands tucked in the pockets of his coats in order to keep you warm.

・❥ He would enjoy how quiet the streets are, pointing out Christmas lights on houses and making dry yet funny comments about the houses that went over-the-top on decorations.

・❥ True to his nature, Minho would save wrapping gifts until the last minute. He would call you over for "help," but he would forgo the wrapping in order to spend time with you by the fire place.

・❥ If you guys did end up wrapping presents, it would end in a wrapping paper war, complete with bits of tape being stuck to each other's faces and arguing over whose wrapping job looks better.

・❥ Soonie, Doongie, and/or Dori would inevitably knock something over, such as an ornament or a bow from a wrapped gift. Instead of getting mad, however, Minho would chuckle, joking that the cats are, "adding their own touch to Christmas Eve."

・❥ Spontaneous living room slow dances are a given. Minho would either bounce around the whole house with you if the song is more upbeat, or he would grab your hand as a slower carol plays, pulling you close and swaying side-to-side with you.

・❥ Minho would make a huge deal about waiting for midnight as if it was New Years Eve rather than Christmas Eve. He would tease you if you fell asleep early, tickling at your side to keep you awake.

・❥ At 11:59, he would hold you close to his side, leaning in for a kiss as soon as the clock hits 12:00. He would smirk and say, "Merry Christmas," at the perfect moment.

・❥ The night would end with you both curled up on the couch, the lights from the tree softly lighting up the room. Minho would snuggle you close, just as you are about to doze off, and mumble, "This is how Christmas should be. Just us," as the Christmas music remains quietly blaring in the background.

Changbin:

・❥ Changbin would wake up on Christmas Eve buzzing with energy and determined to make the day feel magical. By evening, he would be dragging you into a whirlwind activities, from last minute gift-shopping to blasting Christmas music as you clean up the house to prepare for the next day.

・❥ True to his personality, Changbin may sneak in a swift workout before the festivities. He would jokingly challenge to partake in, "holiday-themed exercises," like seeing how many push-ups you could do during the chorus of 'White Christmas.'

・❥ If the Christmas tree is not fully decorated by Christmas Eve, Changbin would take charge. He would grab ornaments with reckless enthusiasm, cracking jokes about his, "artistic," placements, even though the aforementioned decor is hilariously lopsided.

・❥ Wrapping gifts would turn into a fit of pure chaos. Changbin would have absolutely zero patience for accurately cutting wrapping paper or neatly folding the edges, opting instead for a, "get it done," approach that ends with wrapping paper scraps and bits of tape all over the living room.

・❥ He would playfully complain when you point out his mess and challenge you to a wrapping duel. If he loses, which he most likely would, he would claim he "let you win" in order to make you laugh.

・❥ If you leave the house for anything, Changbin would blast Christmas music in the car and turn it into a karaoke session. He would belt out every note with over-the-top dramatics, causing you to laugh excruciatingly to the point where you would not be able to sing along further.

・❥ Bonus points if he takes a ridiculously emotional approach to 'Last Christmas,' dramatically clutching his chest and pretending to cry.

・❥ In absolute Changbin style, he would realize last minute that he forgot to buy someone a gift. He would drag you out to the shop, claiming that he would just buy the one present and be done quickly; however, you quickly realize that his claim is not so as he comes back to the car with the one gift, along with about five or six other "small gifts" for you.

・❥ He would beg you to open his presents early to absolutely no end, and when you decline, he would force an "angry" pout, to which you would just retort with a kiss, telling him that the presents were for tomorrow and tomorrow only.

・❥ Neither you nor Changbin would be able to sleep much on Christmas Eve night, too excited for the following day that awaited. In particular, his heart would be pounding as he laid down, absolutely enthusiastic as he imagined your reactions to the presents he bought for you.

Hyunjin:

・❥ Hyunjin would wake up on Christmas Eve and immediately begin working on his specialized gift for you; a lavish, extraordinary art piece. Whether it was a painting, a handmade card, or even just a personalized sketch, he would want to pour his heart into something meaningful.

・❥ You would catch him moments after he is finished, smudged with paint and rushedly attempting to clean up. You would ask him what he was working on, only for him to say, "You'll see it tomorrow."

・❥ Similar to Minho, Hyunjin would take you on a romantic walk through the city or neighborhood to look at the Christmas lights. You would end up at a cozy little cafe he "just happened" to plan for, sharing warm drinks by the window as the snow (or stars if it is not snowing) glisten outside.

・❥ Unlike the others, Hyunjin would take serious pride in wrapping presents. Every edge would be perfect, the ribbon tied just right, and he would even add a touch of creativity such as a hand-drawn tag or pressed flowers for decoration.

・❥ Hyunjin would suggest making a festive meal together, but he would get distracted half-way through as he attempted to make the plating look perfect while forgetting about something in the oven.

・❥ You would unseriously scold him for burning whatever was heating in the oven, and the two of you would most likely end up ordering takeout for the night.

・❥ At some point in the evening, the weight of the next day would get to Hyunjin and he would get dreamy and reflective, sharing his thoughts about the year or reciting something poetic about how much you mean to him.

・❥ If you tease him about getting sentimental, he would smile softly and say, "I'm just being honest. The Christmas season just makes me feel like this."

・❥ He would get a burst of childike excitement and suggest building a pillow fort near the Christmas tree. He would drape fairy lights over it and bring in blankets, snacks, and your favorite drinks.

・❥ You would spend hours talking, laughing, and sharing memories of the year while the glow of the tree lights flickers around you.

・❥ You would eventually doze off to sleep in his arms, and Hyunjin would hold you close, kissing your forehead and mumbling about how he would make this the "best Christmas ever."

Han:

・❥ Christmas Eve with Han is no dull moment; the moment you wake up, he is practically pouncing on you with excitement, surprising you with a pair of matching Christmas pajamas he sneakily bought the night before.

・❥ He would drag you to the Christmas tree shortly after, ignoring your complaints about it being way too early for this type of thing. You would spend the next hour taking silly selfies and videos to document how cute Han thinks you look.

・❥ Ever the jokester, Han would set up harmless pranks to make you laugh, like hiding the gifts around the house for you to find or surprising you by throwing a pile of fake snow at you.

・❥ Han would get creative and suggest making homemade ornaments for the tree. He would gather random craft supplies, such as paper, markers, and glitter, and get to work on his laughable designs. You would insist upon them being masterpieces, however, and hang his creations front and center on the tree.

・❥ Han would essentially drag you outside, balling up a wad of snow and chucking it at your backside before you could even comprehend what he was doing. Chaos would break lose from that point, and the two of you would look like miniature snowmen from the impact.

・❥ If there is no snow outside, Han would improvise by balling up white pairs of socks and starting an impromptu fight in the living room.

・❥ He too would attempt to make a Christmas Eve feast; however, he would go about it in a completely different manner. He would raid the kitchen for snack foods, making a "feast" with whatever he finds.

・❥ The counter would look like a disaster of mismatched foods, like candy canes, chips, and leftover pizza slices, but he would still show it off to you as if it were a gourmet meal.

・❥ Despite insisting that gifts are for Christmas Day, Han would not be able to resist giving you something early. He would wait until close to midnight, acting nonchalant before handing you a small, meaningful gift.

・❥ When you open it, Han would nervously ask if you like it, getting ridiculously giddy when he sees your joyous reaction.

・❥ As the night winds down, Han would curl up with you, whether in bed or on the couch, clinging to your side with a smile in optimism for the day to come.

Felix:

・❥ Naturally, Felix would dedicate a large chunk of Christmas Eve to baking every sweet treat imaginable, from gingerbread cookies, to cupcakes, truffles, and much, much more. He would urge you to join in, assigning you tasks such as cutting out cookie shapes or taste-testing the batter for him.

・❥ Felix would have a stack of Christmas cards ready to write, wanting to send heartfelt messages to his family, friends, and bandmates. He would ask for your help on brainstorming sweet or comedic messages, occasionally leaning over to read what you are writing on your own cards.

・❥ Felix would most likely set up a hot chocolate station at home, complete with marshmallows, whipped cream, chocolate chips, and every other topping. He would carefully make each cup, topping yours with a tad extra whipped cream just like you prefer it.

・❥ Sitting by the Christmas tree with your mugs, he would lean his head against your shoulder and say, "I don't I've ever felt this cozy in my life."

・❥ Felix would turn Christmas Eve into a festive karaoke party. He would sing his heart out to 'All I Want for Christmas,' encouraging you to join in with the extravagant enthusiasm.

・❥ The two of you would mess up horrendously trying to hit the high notes, causing you both to topple over on the floor from wheezing so hard.

・❥ Out of nowhere, Felix would pull out a Christmas-themed puzzle, insisting you work on it together. He would concentrate adorably, sticking out his tongue as he tries to find the right pieces.

・❥ When you finish, he would take a photo of the completed puzzle and proudly declare that you make the best puzzle-team.

・❥ Felix would want to make a gingerbread house, or perhaps an entire gingerbread village depending on how much energy he has. He would carefully pipe frosting in intricate designs while you adorned the house with candy whereever you pleased.

・❥ "You've been my brightest light this year," Felix would say, an arm around you in front of the fireplace as the both of you prepred for Christmas Day.

Seungmin:

・❥ Seungmin would act all cool and collected about Christmas Eve, but you would catch him sneaking prolonged glances at Christmas decorations or humming carols under his breath.

・❥ When you call him out on his behavior, he would deny it with a playful smirk, claiming that Christmas Eve is another normal day...just one with a tree in the middle of the room!

・❥ He would suggest a cozy board game night by the Christmas tree, pulling out games that are just competitive enough to spark his sarcastic demeanor. He would smugly point out your mistakes, but when you eventually catch him slipping up, he would laugh in your face and give you the point, claiming it is only because of the season.

・❥ Seungmin would play Christmas songs in the background but insist he is, "not in the mood to sing." Yet, he would start humming along absentmindedly, and before long, he would be singing the entire song.

・❥ Seungmin would take charge of making warm drinks for the evening, experimenting with different ways to create hot chocolate, mulled cider, or festive tea blends.

・❥ He would pull out a book of Christmas stories and offer to read one aloud. He would deliver the lines with a perfectly dry, sarcastic tone at first, making you laugh.

・❥ While he is not the type to get overly indulgent in the kitchen, he would agree to bake something simple, such as cookies or gingerbread snacks. They would surprisingly turn out delicious, and he would say, "See? Perfection takes effort. You're welcome."

・❥ Seungmin would choose to watch a classic Christmas movie, but instead of simply sitting through it, he would provide running commentary the entire time, making you laugh incredulously hard ("Why are they acting like snow is surprising? The movie is literally called 'White Christmas.")'

・❥ Just before midnght, Seungmin would bundle you both up to step outside and look at the stars, a tradition he started a couple of years ago, "because Christmas Eve deserves a moment of peace."

・❥ He would point out the constellations and share stories about how the stars can make the Christmas spirit truly feel real.

Jeongin:

・❥ You would wake up on Christmas Eve to a hilarious sight: Jeongin, dressed in a Santa hat, carrying a bag of small gifts and declaring himself as, "Santa Jeongin."

・❥ He would make a big production of handing you each gift, adding funny commentary such as, "This gift is for the funniest person in the room...wait, that's you!"

・❥ Later in the day, Jeongin would come up with some goofy Christmas game on the spot, like balancing presents on your head or seeing who can place a certain number of ornaments on the tree the fastest.

・❥ The loser would have to do something silly, like dress in a Christmas costume or sing a carol in a certain voice. His competitive edge would show, but he would always let you win just so he can see you smile.

・❥ He would keep the festivity going, however, by setting up a playful scavenger hunt around the house, hiding little Post-its with clues that lead to Christmas candies or notes.

・❥ Jeongin would suggest watching Christmas cartoons instead of movies, insisting that they are more nostalgic and fun. He would laugh at the goofy parts, but surprisingly invest himself in the heartfelt moments.

・❥ Instead of store-bought presents, Jeongin would present you with an envelope of handwritten "Christmas coupons." They would include things like, "One moie night of your choice," or, "unlimited hugs for a day."

・❥ Inspired by the lack of snow outside, or just his own creativity, Jeongin would stack pillows and blankets to build a makeshift "snowman" in the living room. He would then raid the kitchen for accessories, like a scarf or even a carrot for the nose, while you stand by cackling the entire time.

・❥ At the end of the night, Jeongin would pull out paper and pens, suggesting you both write letters to Santa, but with a twist; you make the letters as hilarious as humanly possible.

・❥ "Dear Santa, please give me the ability to cook better instant noodles," he would write causing you to laugh so hard you would not be able to finish your own letter.

・❥ Jeongin would finish the day off by wrapping the two of you up in a big blanket on the couch, claiming it is a "Christmas cocoon" where only good vibes are allowed. You would discuss the best parts of the day, and the power of the blanket and of your words, would cause Jeongin to doze off, mumbling about how this was the best Christmas Eve ever.

---

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght, @amararosesblog (If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!)