#Not Birthday as my actual one is next week but too close to Christmas so we're doing it today | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ja3yun · 11 months ago

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Rudolph | S.JY

bf!jake x gf!reader

warnings: suggestive, fluff, lap dance (it's unserious), they're cringy and in love, not proofread anything else lmk!

wc: 2.2k+

synopsis: jake gets a secret santa present from work and he wants to show you what he got, giving you a present of your own.

a/n: hi! this is just a short, fluffy, unserious one shot for xmas. i was intending to make this smutty but i left it where it is because i got lazy. anyway, happy holidays from mine to yours <3 i hope santa is good to you.

“FREEDOM!” Jake bursts through the door, his voice booming across your shared flat, “Out of office is on, alarms are off, Christmas is upon us, and I am free for the next 2 glorious weeks.”

It’s finally the 23rd of December which means Jake has finished up work for the holiday period. After a year of working countless overtime, he was never more thankful for this time off.

You look up from the couch and smile widely, matching his excitement, “Did you get away early?” It’s not like him to come home this time of the day, which is sad because it’s 6pm.

“Mhm, the boss had a thing with his in-laws so he wrapped everything up quickly and told us to get lost” Jake imitates wrapping a present and tying a bow before pretending to kick it away as he speaks, your boyfriend was always so animated when he was excited.

He places the shoes he slipped off in the caddy and replaces them with his bell ringing elf slippers. To say Jake loved Christmas would be the understatement of the century. The 2 weeks off were lush, that’s true, but the whole season was so precious to him. Everyone was happier than usual, he could eat and drink as much as he wanted and just use the excuse ‘it’s Christmas’, and he got to spend time with you.

Unfortunately, you don’t have the luxury of a paid holiday but you always get at least 4 days in a row work free which is a rarity. Those 4 days you never ever take for granted.

Spying a red and gold gift bag at his feet piques your curiosity, “Ooh did you buy me something?”

Jake scoffs and skips over to you with it in hand, “Eh, excuse me, I am actually liked in my work and someone got me a gift.” He held his head proud before sitting down next to you.

“Right, you mean you got your Secret Santa present today that your boss forces on you every year?” You lift your eyebrows waiting for him to respond.

“Well yeah, but mandatory or not,” He waves the bag in your face, “I got a present.”

Swatting it away, your eyes roll as you smile. He looked proud as punch to have gotten something, “Did you open it?”

“Do pigeons fly in the sky? Of course I opened it.” Traditionally, you’re supposed to wait until the 25th to open any gift but it wasn't going to be gold, frankincense, or myrrh, so big boy Jesus in the sky isn’t going to care if presents are opened before his birthday.

“So what did you get?” You try to sneak a look in the bag but he pulls it away and tuts.

“I got the usual, socks, a festive tie, sample bottles of whiskey, and,” A smirk graces his face when he remembers what else he got, “Actually, there might be a present for you in here.”

Puzzled, you eye the bag up once again but he stands up, “I’ll be right back, baby.” Leaving a peck on your lips he dashes out, gift bag in hand, waddling like a kid about to show his parents his new drawing from school. Jake was so cute you could cry.

After a few minutes you hear the jingle from his slippers once again, “Okay, baby close your eyes,” your overly excited boyfriend shouts from the bathroom, “close them tight!” His voice is filled with glee.

“They’re shut!” Shouting back, you wonder what it could be. All you hear is the sound of his slippers trotting towards you and all you can do is laugh.

Once you feel his presence standing in front of you, the urge to open your eyes is too much to resist, so you peek one open.

Jake is standing there with his arms spread wide and mouth with the biggest cheeser you’ve ever seen, “Ta-da!” He wiggles his hips to drag your focus down and you cannot believe what you are seeing.

An eruption of laughter fills the room as you double over, your chest losing all ability to breathe at the sight in front of you. Jake laughs along with you, “Good, right?”

Jake stands there in nothing but his elf slippers and a g-string which has his cock tucked into a pouch that’s designed to be Rudolph’s face. The novelty underwear is not at all what you were expecting and you still can’t string a word together for the hilarity of it all.

He turns around to showcase the thong aspect of his underwear, “I do think this finally shows that I have an ass.” In any other circumstance, you probably would make a sarcastic quip about how he’s never going to beat the flat ass allegations but you can’t even look at him, burying your face in the couch seat next to you.

Not helping the situation at all he starts flexing his muscles like he’s in some body building contest, “Do you like it?” His eyes are shining as he looks down at you, your happiness and laughter will always be his favourite thing to witness, even if it means embarrassing himself like this for you. Although, truth be told, he isn’t embarrassed at all, he never is when he’s with you.

“Who bought you that?” You wheeze out, trying to regain some composure.

“I don’t know, it’s a secret Santa, remember.” He has a suspicion it’s either Jay or Sunghoon but it’s one and the same, he’ll find out eventually.

Poking the red nose at the tip of his cock you howl when it lights up, “Oh my fucking god.”

“I didn’t even know it did that! How cool.” If his smile gets any wider his face will split in half. You look so fascinated by it, your hands guide him to twist around and showcase his butt again, “See what I mean with the ass? I’ve got cake.”

Slapping his left butt cheek you laugh, “Yeah, yeah.” It’s Christmas so just like some people believe in Santa, you’ll let him believe he’s double cheeked up.

“Want another surprise?” Jake wiggles his eyebrows and leans down to kiss you, lips soft and gentle against yours. Placing one of his hands on your face he grins widely before pulling away, stroking his thumb over your bottom lip, “Yes or no?”

“Yeah, I do.” He plants one more kiss on your lips and walks away, leaving you time to take in your boyfriend’s body. Someone so lovely and goofy shouldn’t also be graced with such a gorgeous body. He’s the perfect package.

Music infiltrates your ears as the melody of Nat King Cole’s ‘The Christmas Song’ blares from your hi-fi. Jake seductively walks back to you, his eyes narrower than before, “Sit back and feel free to tip me.”

Oh god, “Sim Jaeyun you are NOT giving me a lapdance in that thong.” He cannot be serious, Nat King Cole nor Rudolph deserve this.

His hands run down his body and his teeth take hold of his bottom lip, “C’mon, baby, let me take it for a ride.”

Lap dances weren't something you guys did a lot of, most of the time it was you just showing off your new bra and panty sets, so to see him eagerly swing his hips and offer you one, you can’t really refuse.

Taking your hands, he puts them on his chest and guides them down to his toned tummy. Whoever sculpted him in their lab must have had you in mind because he was everything you could have asked for. You keep your hands on his v-line and claw at each side slightly, he loves to be scratched like this.

Jake’s cock twitches at your action and it makes Rudolph jerk up, causing another laugh to leave you. Your boyfriend is too caught up in the feeling of your hands on him that he doesn’t even register what you’re laughing at, “Hmm?”

“Rudolph’s getting a bit excited,” You say smiling, staring at the garment.

“I heard he likes to be petted.” Jake jokes, wiggling his cock in your face.

Looking into the wide eyes of the pouch as it moves from side to side is actually quite unsettling, like he’s pleading for help to be off your boyfriend's penis, something you can’t relate to, “Jake please you’re giving Rudolph whiplash.”

Stilling his hips he takes your left hand and puts it over his clothed member, waiting for you to stroke down, but when you don’t he pouts, “You’re going to make him sad.”

“This is supposed to be my present.” You state, removing your hand and sitting back, “I’m still waiting for it.”

Jake smirks because you’re playing his game back to him. Honestly, he’s so lucky to have you, someone who just goes with whatever the flow is, not taking anything too seriously, he loves you so much for that. Continuing his previous task he puts his hands on your knees and strokes up your thighs, his eyes not leaving yours. The booty shorts you’re wearing leave your skin bare to receive his wet kisses, each one lingering longer than the last.

His hands slink around your hips and under your ass to pull you to the edge of the couch, “If this is how lap dances go in your world you are never allowed in a strip club ever again.” You say anticipating his next move. What you are expecting though doesn’t happen.

Rather, he moves up to hover his whole body over you, body waving as he does and it makes you giggle. When he rolls his hips his cock brushes against your abdomen, and the feeling of the material covering him tickles you. The over dramatic ‘sexy’ face he is trying to pull reminds you of when Hozier used the sexy Squidward filter which only adds to the merriment. He’s no Magic Mike, more like a Mediocre Matthew, but he’s yours and he’s trying, that’s all that matters.

Jake stops his attempt at seducing you when Mariah Carey's ‘All I Want for Christmas’ blares from the speakers, instead opting to sing the words to you, “I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need,” His fingers tickle your sides to make you squeal in delight and titter, his mouth grazing your neck, smile is evident as you feel it across your skin.

“I just want you for me own, more than you could ever know.” He scatters a short burst of smooches on the base of your neck whenever there are no lyrics to be sung. The song was true though, all he wanted for Christmas was you, everything else was just a bonus because he didn’t need anything else as long as you were with him.

As the song picks up, Jake shoots up with a shit-eating grin and pulls you up with him, “Dance with me!” The bells on his slippers are going crazy as he kicks his feet and does what you think would be considered a shit version of the jive but you’re not too sure. That’s the thing about your man, one minute he can be sultry and sexy, then in a flash, he’s being silly and eccentric. It keeps a dynamic in your relationship that you love, making it easy to fall more and more in love with him every day.

When you start to join in with his terrible dancing the room is filled with laughter, exactly how Christmas is supposed to sound. Taking his hands in yours, you twirl him around, both of you stumbling as he trips over thin air. Instinctively, his hands grab ahold of your waist to steady you.

Your eyes are shut due to how much you’re laughing so you don’t see how fondly Jake is looking at you, like you’re his whole universe. Jake has wanted nothing more than to have a relationship that felt like you were everything to each other; lovers, best friends, soulmates. And he found that in you, you’re his one true love.

“I love you.” It comes out of nowhere, so much so you tilt your head with a ��huh?’, “I love you, Y/N.” It’s not the first time he’s said it, Jake’s probably proclaimed his love for you a million times over, but this one feels like its meaning runs a little deeper than the others.

Pouting you squish his cheeks with your palms and kiss his protruded lips, “I love you too, Jake.” The moment is so sweet it could make anyone sick and if you saw anyone else act the way you two did you would probably want to throw them in a fireplace for being so cringy but by your logic, since it’s you and Jake it’s fine.

It dawns on you how this sentimental moment is being had with his current attire, “I need you out of this thong, I’m sorry.” A giggle leaves your lips when you look down to see distressed Rudolph once again.

“He still wants that pet, y’know. He’s earned it now.” Jake jumps slightly to bounce his cock and make the reindeer nod.

“For the love of God if you stop doing that I’ll do anything you want.” You plead, hands covering your face.

Kicking his slippers off hurriedly and ridding himself of the hopefully never to be seen again underwear, he lifts you up and carries you to the bedroom, kissing your nose delicately. As he walks you see the thong lying sadly on the floor.

You’re never going to look at Rudolph the same again.

#enha fluff #enha smut #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #jake x reader #jake smut #jake fluff #enha x reader #aj writes #enhypen #i will forever write unserious jake content

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toomuchracket · 11 months ago

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all i want for christmas (birthday party!matty x reader fluff)

back from the dead (a depressive episode) with a fluffy pre-dating fic that's honestly longer than it needs to be. whatever. it's christmas. this fic is also part of christmas75/twelve days of christmas, organised and curated by my lovely friend @abiiors. hope you all enjoy <3

wednesday, 3:34am

as soon as the “email sent” pop-up appears, you feebly close your laptop and lay your head on the desk, ready to finally give in to the sleep that's been edging ever closer to your eyelids for the past hour. but before you get the chance, your phone buzzes with an incoming notification, the vibrations rattling through the wood of the desk and into your skull.

swearing, your voice scratchy with underuse, you open one eye and tilt the screen towards you - the name it bears above the unread text makes you shoot back up to a sitting position, and knocks all traces of grumpiness and tiredness from your brain and body.

matty.

pointedly ignoring the butterflies in your stomach when you see he's opened his message with hi, darling, you continue reading: hope you're alright, and that the new book isn't kicking your arse too much. saw a group of kids in barnes & noble raving about your last one earlier. would've joined them if i wasn't in a hurry, to be honest. fucking brilliant. anyway, i know it's late, but i had to text you before i forgot. can you give me a call when you get this, darling? flying home early tomorrow so i'll be up from about… 8am your time? i've got a favour to ask you. nothing crazy, though, and nothing urgent. but yeah, just phone me when you can. thanks, darling. miss you, talk to you soon. bye! X

just as you're reeling from the three darlings and the kiss and the miss you, another text from your best friend comes in, accompanied by a photo: also look at who you were next to on this display. i got so excited. my three favourites!

you laugh out loud, a combination of shock at the fact your collection is between slouching towards bethlehem and consider the lobster and adoration at matty's beaming face next to it all. fuck, he's cute.

so cute. enough for you to forget that it’s 3 o'clock in the morning, and happily pick up your phone and dial his number - you've spent so much time poring over your message threads that you know it off by heart - as if it was mid-afternoon. you kick your legs back and forth as the call connects, smiling to yourself at the thought of hearing his voice for the first time in over a month.

luckily, you don't have long to wait; your heart flutters as he picks up on the second ring, voice thick in the way it only goes when he's smoking. “you know, you didn't have to call me right away, darling. thought you'd have been asleep. but hiya!”

“hi, matty,” you smile. “and come on, it's deadline week, of course my sleep schedule is fucked. questioning why i'm not asleep, christ, thought you knew me better than that.”

he takes your teasing in good faith. “i do, darling, i do know you,” matty's voice is soft, his tone as tender as you've ever heard it. it's driving you batshit insane. “but you know me. i just want to make sure you're not stressing yourself out about your work too much. rather have my best friend's wellbeing intact than another book, even though your writing is my favourite. speaking of, that display! i'm recreating it at home. genuinely. s'amazing.”

you can feel your cheeks burning. “i can't even comprehend that display right now, m'too tired. but i’ll text you my thoughts once they make sense. and i'm alright, matty, honest. please don't worry about me, lovely.”

“that'll never happen, and you know it.”

“god, you're obstinate. but thanks. i appreciate the care.”

“even when you're insulting me, you're so eloquent. you've got a gift,” matty laughs down the phone. “how's deadline week going, anyway?”

“it's done. just sent the final draft away for edits. s'why i'm still up, actually.”

“really? congrats, darling!” the genuine happiness in his tone makes your heart hurt. “god, i wish i was home now, so we could go out and celebrate.”

“me too. but we'll see each other this weekend for early christmas dinner, yeah?”

“that's what i wanted to talk to you about, actually. you know those roast potatoes you made last year?”

“you mean the ones you and alexa fought over the last spoonful of?” you laugh, remembering the two of them racing to the tiny kitchen in your flat to try and nab them.

“m'still fucking fuming that she got them. bitch,” matty grumbles, then giggles. “nah, she's like my sister, i love her. but yeah, those potatoes. can i have the recipe for them, please?”

you suck air in through your teeth. “well… no. that’s a family secret, lovely. m'sorry.”

“oh,” matty sounds so genuinely deflated that you could cry - you seldom see him upset, but the thought of his pretty face all sad makes you feel incredibly guilty. “that's alright, darling, i understand. my nana was the same with her soup recipes. you'd have to marry me if you wanted them.”

you hum out a laugh, brain suddenly scrambled at the thought of walking down the aisle towards him. god. get a grip!

scrunching your eyes closed and blinking them open again - a tried and tested way to stop yourself going off on tangents - an idea pops into your head, so obvious that you’re not sure why you haven't suggested it already. “well, in lieu of us getting hitched within the next week,” you smile, enjoying the way matty laughs softly at the other end of the line. “i could come over early to yours and make the potatoes for you, if you'd like?”

“i quite like the sound of the first option, to be honest…”

what the fuck?! you have to clap a hand over your mouth to stop a gasp. or a scream. perhaps even a moan.

“...but i'm more than happy with the second one. thank you, darling,” matty's smile is as audible as his relief. “you're a lifesaver and a legend. come over whenever on sunday, yeah? wake me up if you have to. actually, no, i'll pick you up. s'the least i could do to thank you. and it means we get to spend even more time together.”

“that sounds nice,” you all but sigh into your phone. “i'm excited to see everyone.”

mostly you, though.

“as am i, darling,” matty yawns. it's the cutest sound you've ever heard. for fuck's sake. “m'not bored talking to you, honest, just tired. this is actually the most fun i've had in weeks, this phone call.”

you want to assume he's lying out of politeness, but something in your brain tells you he's being sincere; it's not like you can say anything to dispute him, either, given it's also the most fun you've had in weeks. “matty, you’re in new york. at christmas time.”

“yeah, alone! s'boring. macaulay culkin made it seem a lot more fun when i was a kid,” matty snorts. “plus, i saw you the last time i was here. any trip you're not on is just automatically a bad one.”

christ, what is with him today? “flatterer,” you smirk, before grimacing and continuing to talk. “but i assume you've not been… totally alone, the whole time? i don't like the thought of that being the case.”

you hope to god he's too tired to pick up on your actual meaning; the sight of him with another girl isn’t unfamiliar to you, but that isn’t to say you don't mind it. quite the opposite, in fact.

thank christ, he misses it. “no, i’ve been good. slept by myself every night,” he laughs.

you giggle, relieved. “really? wow.”

“why are you surprised at that?”

“you're you, matty.”

“yeah, well, i'm going through a metamorphosis-”

“kafkaesque of you.”

“knew that one was coming as soon as i said it,” matty sighs. “but in all seriousness, in the past couple of months, i've just… fully realised what i want in life, you know? and it's not what i used to want, or get up to.”

interesting. “well, that's good. m'happy for you, lovely.”

“yeah, thanks. and what about you, miss? you, um, bringing anyone to christmas dinner?”

you snort. “obvs not.”

matty hums. “why'd you say it like that?”

“like what?”

“like,” he pauses, trying to find the words. you can just picture the shape of his eyebrows as he does. “derisively. as if it's a silly question.”

“because it is a silly question, matty.”

“is it?”

“yeah,” you giggle. “i wouldn't even have time for a one night stand, let alone a relationship. not that there's anyone particularly interested, right now, anyway.”

“oh, there is,” comes the reply. “there really is.”

“if you say so.”

“believe me, darling, people want you. they're down bad. totally in love with you.”

“oh, you are so high right now, aren't you?”

“i mean, yeah. but i'm right!”

“uh huh,” you smirk. “i think you need your bed, matty.”

“pot, kettle.”

“alright, point taken,” you peel yourself off your chair, joints cracking slightly worryingly as you stand and pad across the flat to your room. “i'm going there now.”

matty sighs happily. “good. but send me a selfie as proof. accountability and all.”

it's an innocent enough ask, and not a totally unprecedented one - in the times where your self-neglect was at its worst, you would send matty and your other friends selfies so they could make sure you were alright - but the concept of sending matty a late-night pic from your bed does something quite odd to your brain and stomach.

still, you’ll oblige. but will he?

matty giggles when you ask him as much. “yeah, i'll send you one in return. i'm all about reciprocation, me.”

the words leave your mouth before you can stop them. “good to know.”

he laughs, that stupid hyena cackle of his that might be your favourite sound in the world. “christ, i've missed you.”

“it's reciprocated,” you smile, switching your phone between hands as you get into bed and hissing quietly at how cold the sheets are. “alright, i'm in my bed. and you should be too.”

“you're right, i should be,” matty says. his voice is lower than you've ever heard it, the rasp of his cigarettes prominent; despite yourself, it goes straight between your legs. “soon, though, darling. promise.”

“good,” your voice comes out breathier than expected, a setting you haven't used in some time. “i think we both need it.”

“yeah, i think we do, too,” matty yawns again, following it up with a sigh. “right. i'm going to hang up now, darling. i really don't want to, but i feel like if i don't then one of us is gonna fall asleep before we can exchange pics. and i can't be having that, honestly. miss looking at you.”

you giggle, rolling onto your stomach and kicking your legs back and forth. jesus christ, what is this man doing to you? “don't get too excited, i look like shit.”

well, you've looked worse lately - you at least showered and clipped your hair up and put on a clean outfit today. but still, far less glamorous than matty's used to.

or not - “i've literally held your hair back while you yoshed in a plant pot, darling, i think you're alright.”

“and on that note, let's wrap it up,” you laugh, rolling back to lie down. “what time should i be ready for on sunday?”

“oh, um… half twelve? that should be enough time to get everything sorted.”

“half twelve it is,” you yawn. “ok. bedtime. have a safe flight, lovely. talk soon?”

“‘course. don't forget that selfie, by the way. eagerly awaiting it.”

“et toi. lots of love, see you soon.”

“back at you, darling. goodnight.”

the call ends. you close your eyes and, for the briefest of moments, let yourself dwell on the fact your best friend - who, let's be honest, you have a bit of a crush on - shamelessly flirted with you to the point of bordering on phone sex, and let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, there's a chance he might feel the same way you do.

but it's matty. sweet, cheeky, affectionate matty, who'd find a way to flirt with a brick wall if he was bored enough. because that's what he is, really - bored, high, alone on a phone call with a girl late at night. it's just a natural thing for him to do in those circumstances. you're not special, you were just… there.

that notion stings more than you expected. but you persevere, opening your camera and fixing your glasses. he's your best friend, after all, and he asked you to do this to make sure you were alright. nothing more than that.

still, as you close your eyes and smile, you hold the phone with both hands so your boobs push ever so slightly more together. just in case. then you caption the pic as requested, and hit send.

matty’s reply buzzes in a few seconds later, eliciting a shocked giggle from your lips: fucking love it when you wear your glasses. a follow-up appears in another few seconds: if that's you looking like shit… you're defo the sexiest bit of shit i've ever seen.

fuck him for getting you flustered like this. honestly, fuck him.

and, oh, when he sends a selfie in return, shirtless in low light, hair in its natural state, one hand behind his head… don't you want to do just that?

you bite your lip as you compose your response: my condolences to the single girls in nyc who are missing out on you looking like that tonight.

matty: i know, poor them lol. but their loss is one specific single girl in london’s gain, though, yeah?

you: fuck yeah

matty: you crack me up

matty: miss you sm

matty: anyway, sweet dreams. see you in them, i hope

matty: but see you irl on sunday lol xx

you: miss you too, lovely. goodnight xx

***

sunday, 12:56pm

a mass of black fur rams into your legs as soon as you step through matty's front door. you laugh, dropping your bags and crouching to pet an over-excited mayhem, while matty grumbles behind you. “at least let her get in the house, mayhem, christ!”

“don't listen to him,” you coo at the dog, nuzzling into you quite adorably. “i'm just as happy to see you as you are to see me, baby. got a present for you and everything.”

“you did not buy the dog a christmas present,” matty groans, gently pulling the coat from your shoulders.

“of course i did. got you one as well.”

“thought we agreed we weren't doing presents this year?”

“well, i'm a dirty liar,” you brush down your dress and turn to face matty, smiling. “that, and i saw something when i was in glasgow that i couldn't resist getting you.”

matty's eyes widen near-imperceptibly as he takes in the dark red fabric clinging to you like a second skin, raking up and down your body almost too quickly for you to clock.

almost. you bite back a smirk. got him!

much to your chagrin, though, he recovers quickly and turns the tables. “well, it's difficult to keep control when you see something… attractive,” he murmurs, gaze lifting to meet yours. “i like that dress, darling, you look gorgeous. and,” his tone and face brighten. “i actually got you a gift, too.”

the revelation is just as shocking as the way he looked at you is. “you did?”

“we're both dirty liars, it seems,” matty grins. he nods towards the kitchen. “make yourself comfortable in there, darling, and i'll go and get it. only be two minutes, promise, and then i'll help you find whatever you need, yeah?”

“you've not done a mad rearranging of your kitchen cupboards since the last time we all came over for dinner, have you?”

“nah.”

you wave nonchalantly. “then i'm good, i know where everything i need is.”

matty smiles down at you - there's an expression in his eyes that you can't quite name - and gently nudges you down the hall. his hand is light against your back, but it sends shockwaves through your nervous system regardless. “alright. give me a shout if you need anything, though, please.”

“i will, lovely,” you smile back just as sweetly. “want me to put some christmas music on? get into the festive spirit and all?”

“anything but band aid.”

you laugh, and matty joins in. “i was thinking more sinatra, anyway.”

“perfect.”

and that's exactly how he'd describe the scene in the kitchen he walks into thirty minutes later. the room is warm, made cosy by the oven that's been slow-cooking turkey for a little while now, soundtracked by frank crooning out have yourself a merry little christmas. mayhem snoozes in his bed by the massive window, which shows snow dusting over the garden like icing sugar on a cake, and then there's you. still keeping an eye on the potatoes bubbling on the hob, you sway gently to the music as you pour dried spices and seasonings into a bowl, your face as content as matty feels.

it breaks into a big smile when you see him in the doorway, white dress shirt hugging his chest quite deliciously. “oh! you got changed. i like it.”

“had to keep up with you, didn't i?” matty smiles, wandering into the room and laying a gift bag on the counter. he peers into the pan of potatoes. “thank you for doing this, by the way, darling. means a lot.”

he opens his arms, and you slot into them before they wrap around you tightly, resting your chin on matty's shoulder and smiling. “no one else i'd do it for.”

matty hums happily. “god, i've missed you. you're always a total peach to me. makes me feel good.”

“a peach? you've spent too much time stateside, matty,” you giggle, pulling away just enough to look at him. “thank god you're home for a bit. but thank you, lovely, i'll take the compliment.”

“for once, you'll take one,” matty teases. his face turns slightly more solemn. “yeah, m'glad to be home. it's a shame you won't be at any of the UK shows, though. i always like them more when you're there.”

“well, when hollywood calls, you have to answer,” you shrug, then smirk. “you just want me at the shows so i'll praise your narrative structuring again, don't you?”

matty's eyes close in bliss. “don’t tease, you literally barrelling towards me backstage screaming about midpoints and how proud of me you were is genuinely the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

“oh, shush,” you roll your eyes, suddenly shy.

“i'm serious! it'd be like joan telling you she thought one of your sentences had perfect structure. a writing compliment from you is a gift, darling.”

“well… thank you. and speaking of gifts,” you - with great reluctance - pull away from matty, bending down to grab a wrapped box from your bag. “here. joyeux noël.”

your best friend takes the present from you, murmuring a “thank you” and smiling at the tag addressed to him. he holds it to his ear and shakes the box, eyebrows raising at the slight rattle.

sighing, you roll your eyes. “just open it, matty.”

his face lights up. “alright.”

after carefully peeling the tag from the box and placing it in his pocket, matty tears through the paper and lifts the lid off. he squints at the sides of the smaller plastic boxes inside, before realisation hits and his jaw drops. “this is…”

“cassette recordings of ten blue nile gigs throughout the eighties and nineties, in their entirety,” you finish, smiling. “thought you'd like them.”

“like them? darling, this is- i don't even know what to say, other than thank you,” matty looks at you, awed, and pulls you into another tight hug. “how the fuck did you manage to get them?”

“the guy in one of the record shops i went into in glasgow was selling them. they're his recordings,” you say, half into matty’s neck. “and he'd digitised them, so he didn't need the tapes anymore, and he wanted them to go to someone who'd genuinely use them. remembered you saying you'd bought a tape deck, and i know how much you love that band, so… i kinda had to buy them.”

matty turns his head and presses a kiss onto your temple; while you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from screaming in delight, he speaks again. “you really are one of the best people i know. christ, i'm so overwhelmed by how perfect that present is. i need a drink,” he pulls away and heads to the fridge. “d’you fancy some champagne, darling, before i give you your gift? you might need it, actually.”

“that's not ominous at all,” you quip, then nod. “pour me a glass while i sort the potatoes and get them in the oven, please.”

matty nods, pulling out a bottle of perrier and grabbing glasses to take over to the table, while you drain and pat-dry the potatoes. he hums along to the background music while he fiddles around with the foil covering the champagne cork; you smile, eyes flicking up periodically to look at his cutely confused face, then back down to the food you're currently buttering and seasoning. it's incredibly domestic, a cosy little christmas dinner tableau, so much so that it hurts your heart to think that life isn't always like this for you and matty. and mayhem, obvs, curled up so adorably in his bed that you have to resist awwwwing every time you look at him.

still, it's hard to be melancholy when matty's irritation at the bottle foil is so amusing. you giggle at his grumbling, turning around to look at him scowl once the potatoes are safely in the oven. “need a hand?”

“no thanks, darling, i'm- ok, yeah, please,” matty sighs, leaning back in his chair and stretching. you pretend not to notice the way his shirt rides up and exposes his hip tattoo. “can't find the tab on the foil.”

“hmm, let me see,” you wander to the table and sit beside matty, moving your chair closer to him. well, to the bottle. “ah - that's because there isn't one.”

“well that's fucking stupid. how are you meant to open it?”

you smile, swiping your index nail across the foil; it slices clean through, and you're able to peel the covering off the cork. “like that. these aren't just for aesthetic purposes, you know.”

“that was actually quite hot. let me see them?” matty gently takes your hand in both of his own, admiring the abstract line pattern on your fingernails, tenderly rubbing his thumbs over the gel. “yeah, definitely hot. let me open the champagne from here though, darling, yeah? can't risk these pretty nails being damaged.”

you bite the inside of your cheek again; this time, to stop from giggling flirtily. “have at it, lovely.”

“i like it when you call me that,” matty smiles, grabbing the neck of the bottle in one hand and the cork in the other, and slowly twisting. “makes me feel good.”

“well, you are lovely,” you smile back. “and opening that champagne quite effectively, i must say.”

“learnt from the best,” matty winks. “you're right, though, it's a lot less messy. although i don't mind that, sometimes. s'fun.”

“yeah, me too,” you smirk, glad to be sitting down and not having to worry about your legs caving in at matty and his words. “kinda fun getting it all over your hand, isn't it?”

matty's eyes widen again, and the cork breaks free with a loud pop; before either of you can cringe at or make light of it, though, mayhem jolts awake with a yelp at the sound, and quickly runs over to sit at your feet.

you coo at him, reaching down to scratch his sweet head and reassure him (and berate his dad). “aww, mayhem. you scared the baby, matty! look at him, he's terrified! s'ok, sweetheart, i'll keep you safe. come on, you can have your christmas present to cheer you up.”

matty rolls his eyes, but he can't keep the smile from his face as he watches his dog eagerly follow you to your bag. “you know, mayhem, you're such a sap, honestly.”

“oi, don't talk about my friend like that,” you frown, face lighting up as you find what you're looking for in your bag. “aha! here you go, mayhem. merry christmas.”

the dog takes the guitar-shaped dog toy with relish, plodding back over to his bed and playing with it contentedly. matty leans to the side to look at mayhem's gift, bursting into laughter when he sees it. “fucking brilliant. that'll be his new favourite, by the way. but you're his favourite, so it checks out, i s'pose.”

“really?”

“oh, he loves you. he never gets so excited to see anyone else,” matty nods, pouring champagne and sliding a glass to you. “bet he'd enjoy seeing more of you. as would i, actually - i really like spending time with you, darling.”

you nod, touched. “so do i,” you raise a glass. “to seeing more of each other next year.”

matty clinks his glass off yours, repeating your words with a soft smile. you take a sip of your respective drinks, humming in satisfaction as the champagne hits your lips. you nod again as you swallow. “christ, that's good.”

“agreed. and now that we've had a drink,” matty puts his glass down, then leans back in his chair and reaches to grab your gift from the counter. he presents it to you with a grin. “merry christmas, darling. save the box til last, yeah?”

“ok. thank you,” you smile sheepishly, opening the bag and pulling out its contents: a notebook, with a pen tucked into the front cover, a book, and a thin, a4-size box. laying them on the table, you inspect each facet of the present in turn, starting with the notebook. “a parker pen? matty, this is beautiful.”

“that one's also kinda a congratulations gift for getting your manuscript in. there's a little message on the inside, too,” comes his reply.

you flick your gaze up to find him blushing, and it makes you smile even wider. carefully, you lift open the black cover, and find matty's familiar scrawl on the inside: to my favourite writer… this is for the next one. lots of love, matty ♡. a little giggle leaves your lips, and you reach for your friend's hand to squeeze it. “you really are the loveliest, you know.”

“shhh, it's nothing,” matty softly rubs the back of your hand with his thumb. “the next bits are the good ones, really. m'excited to see you react to them.”

“better not keep you waiting, then,” you smile, reaching for the book; you let out a little cry of excitement when you read the title. “on beauty! i haven't read this since i was at uni, my god. thanks, matty, i can't believe you remembered me saying that! oh, this is amazing.”

“open it.”

your head shoots up. “what? why?”

matty smiles. “just do it, please.”

“alright,” you do as requested. when you see what’s on the title page, your jaw drops. “matthew…”

“oh, shit, the full name. am i in trouble?” matty quips, smirking as he takes another sip of champagne.

“no, no, just… you got zadie fucking smith to sign a book for me? with a personal message?” you all but sob, lip quivering, completely overcome. “she's telling me she loves my work? what the fuck?”

“well, she's got good taste.”

“matty,” you wail. “this is the best gift i've ever been given.”

matty giggles. “no it isn't.”

“i'm telling you, it really is.”

“nah,” matty gently tugs the book from your hands and replaces it with the box. “this might be, though. but you need to stop crying before you open it, though, darling. can i just…?”

tenderly, so tenderly, matty takes your face in his hands and uses his thumbs to carefully wipe the tears pooling on your lower lashline. at his touch alone, your breathing starts to regulate; the same can't be said for your heart or brain, which both go haywire at the intimacy of his actions, something not helped by him whispering reassuringly to you. “there you are, darling. you're alright.”

it's not a question, but you nod anyway. “thank you.”

“anytime,” matty lets go of your face and sits back; you miss him as soon as he lets go. “right. now you can open it.”

with a smile, you lift the lid from the box - it falters, though, as soon as you take in the words on the paper in front of you. “these are outlines.”

“yeah, they are. look closer, darling.”

you squint at the paper, a choked noise escaping your lips. “feel free… fuck off. zadie gave you her essay notes?!”

“she did. and told me to give them to you.”

“how?”

“well,” matty grins, shuffling in his seat. “i went to see her and nick while i was in new york, and i asked her to sign the book while i was there. when she found out it was for you… she insisted you have those. printed more off for me and everything. she thinks you're the shit, darling.”

“you're sure she didn't say i was shit?” you hiccup, sliding the box onto the table before your tears hit the paper and picking up your glass for a long drink.

“positive. she only had lovely things to say about you,” matty takes your glass and refills it, beaming at you. “so, yeah. bit of a weird present, i know, but i knew you'd appreciate it.”

you laugh through your tears, wiping your eyes and shuffling your chair next to matty's to hug him. “i really do. and i appreciate you even more. thank you, lovely, you're too good to me.”

“nah, you deserve the best, darling,” matty’s hand comes up to rest on the back of your hair, stroking it gently.

you wallow in the tender moment for a second, before pulling back to smile at him. “m'sorry for crying, christ.”

he shakes his head. “don't worry about it, s'cute. and you still look fit when you cry, so…”

“shut up,” you laugh, shoving his shoulder.

“really, you look perfect,” matty smiles, eyes soft. “m'glad you came over early today. not just because it means we get the good potatoes, but because we get to do this, have a bit of peace before everyone gets here. s'nice. really nice.”

you nod. “it is. thanks for having me. and for the gift.”

he kisses your hand. “anytime. thank you for my gift. and just for being you, i s'pose.”

“it's like you want me to keep crying.”

“well, like i said, you look fit,” matty grins. “but nah, i'll stop. let's have a nice time and get rid of this champagne before everyone else gets here, yeah?”

“sounds like a plan.”

so that's what you do - sit at matty's kitchen table, drinking champagne and watching mayhem playing with his new toy, talking and laughing with your best friend. outside, the snow falls faster and faster, blanketing the garden in pristine white, but it's falling nowhere near as quickly as you are for matty. when the front door goes, you’re actually welcome for the excuse to leave the table, the kitchen, the intense care in those beautiful eyes that threatens to shatter your sanity and perspective.

it's your newly engaged friends, laden with more champagne and christmas crackers. once you've exchanged pleasantries, your friend sends her fiancé into the kitchen with the bags so she can interrogate you. “now why are you here so early? you're a little bit unsteady on your feet… oh my god, did you and matty fuck?”

“no! christ! and keep your fucking voice down,” you hiss, looking back down the hall to make sure the coast is clear. “i came over early to help with dinner. and we opened champagne. that's it.”

her eyes narrow. “but you want to fuck him, don't you?”

you open your mouth to answer, but pause for a split-second too long; she cuts back in again. “oh, you do! well, you should.”

“i don't just want to fuck him, babe,” you sigh, leaning against the cold concrete wall. your brain is screaming at you to shut up, but you can't. “i… like him. in a more-than-platonic way. like in a deep way.”

“so… tell him that.”

you blanch. “today?”

“yes! it's christmas. we've all seen love actually - it's the perfect time!” she quietly claps, beaming. “and you won't see him again until my birthday dinner, so if the revelation goes tits up… you've got two months to get over it.”

“really filling me with confidence here.”

“sorry,” she kisses your cheek. “i just like the thought of the two of you being happy, that's all.”

“i know, it's just-”

“darling?” matty wanders down the hall to you, pulling your friend into a welcoming hug, then turning to face you. “sorry to interrupt, but your timer is going off.”

“oh, thanks, lovely,” you smile at him. “be in in a minute, yeah?”

“alright. looking forward to it,” with a wink, he's gone again.

your friend smiles at him, then turns to you. “he is looking forward to you returning to the same room as him. how interesting!”

“yeah, because it means we all get the roast potatoes i made. that's it.”

“oh, you made those again? amazing,” she nods appreciatively, then looks at you and tilts her head. “he could still just be looking forward to being in close proximity to you again, though. wonder if there's any mistletoe around.”

“shut up, please, i am literally begging.”

she laughs, tucking you under her arm and walking to the kitchen. “alright, i'll leave it be tonight. but i'm just saying - i think you have to seriously consider that matty might want you under his christmas tree this month just as much as you want him under yours.”

“and i think you have to seriously consider that you might be delusional.”

“well, we'll soon find out, i'm sure.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #into the birthday partyverse #christmas75 #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy fluff #matty healy x reader #matty x reader

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cobrakaisb · 10 months ago

Note

🃏with johnny orlando + fantilli sister, and maybe celebrating her birthday/christmas or soemthing with her family, and her brothers getting to see how happy they are

using she/her pronouns cause i want to name fantilli sis eventually.

"okay open my gift next! i know you're going to love it," lauren shouts, shoving the pink gift bag into her hands. she looks at the bag, and then her best friend before shaking her head. "this better not be over the top," she says, pulling away the tissue paper. lauren scoffs, "oh please. just wait until you see what johnny got you." she pauses for a moment, looking across the table at her boyfriend, who has a knowing smile on his face.

"just open the gift! stop dilly-dallying!" luca complains, coming to stand behind lauren's chair as the two look over eagerly. she finally takes the gift out of the bag, and it's actually not a bad at all. "this lip balm, i swear it's so good. my lips have never felt better," lauren explains, pointing to the tube in the box of self-care items. it feels like she's teasing her; making a joke about her relationship with johnny, but the genuine smile on her face says otherwise. "thanks lauren, i love it!" you exclaim, pulling her in for a hug. before she can pull away, she whispers, "and it's johnny's favorite flavor." she glares at lauren, who just giggles.

"okay, my turn," johnny announces, getting up from his end of the table to come and stand by her. he's carrying a gift box with him, wrapped perfectly in the funny wrapping paper she pointed out on their last trip to the store. she looks at the box, then at johnny, and gently shakes her head before peeling away the paper.

inside the box is a dress, the one she'd saw when they went to the mall a couple weeks ago. she hadn't bought it, claiming that it was too expensive and there was no where for her to wear it. it would just end up collecting dust in her closet. "john," she starts, and her tone informs him that a lecture is coming. he throws his hands up in surrender. "listen, it was on sale. besides you really wanted, and you looked amazing in it. how could i not get it?" he explains, leaning over her shoulder to kiss her cheek. she blushes at his words, but turns in her chair to face him. her arms wrap around his neck as she engulfs him in a hug. his hands rest on her back, holding her close. "i love you," she whispers. "i love you too," he answers, leaving a kiss on her forehead. "now there's still one more piece you need to open," he says, gesturing towards the box.

luca and adam watch as she pulls out a necklace. it's gold, just like all her other jewelery. the pendant and small, a pair of butterflies, and the two brothers know that's their thing. they watch as she moves her hair and he clips the necklace on, leaving a kiss on the back of her neck. luca looks at adam, and they just nod because maybe she's dating their best friend, but it's so obvious that she's happy. they both are.

#cobrakaisb 2k celly #johnny orlando x fantilli sister #johnny orlando x reader #johnny orlando blurb #johnny orlando #adam fantilli #luca fantilli #cobrakaisb writing

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cookies-over-yonder · 10 months ago

Text

hermie's first christmas!

CO-WRITTEN BY @silverlistenstothings

Taylor and Hermie exchange Christmas presents!

ao3 | Part 25 of The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Roommates

Hermie wakes up with a vague sense of dread. That isn’t necessarily a novel sensation for them, but at least this time around they know why; it’s Christmas morning.

Hermie doesn’t exactly like Christmas, really it’s only rivalled by their birthday as far as ‘the most disappointing time of the year’ goes. Presents looked about the same; a note on a pair of 20 dollar bills, if they were lucky enough to receive even that.

What makes Christmas worse is that Taylor apparently loves it. He’s been singing Christmas carols for weeks, and the entire house is decorated head to toe with red and green and bells and glitter. Hermie can at least spend their birthday being miserable without anyone being so persistently and aggravatingly cheery in their general vicinity.

Still, they have the dignity to hate Christmas privately, without making it Taylor’s problem. They’re an actor, after all, they can play along.

They got Taylor’s gift a long while ago, stolen from the jewellery section of a chain store in the nearby mall. It’s just been sitting between their mattress and bed frame all month.

As they get up and retrieve the box, they realise the state of the box shows it. Luckily, the gift itself is unharmed.

Hermie knocks lightly before carefully opening the door to Taylor’s room.

He’s still sleeping soundly, face squished into one of his numerous body pillows.

They carefully place the small jewellery box on the blanket, and thankfully he doesn’t stir.

At first, anyway.

But just as they turn to leave…

“Hermie…? Wha’s this?”

Fuck. They were hoping to get out of this interaction without interacting at all, actually.

“It’s nothing,” Hermie says, heading out the door.

Taylor squeals, and next thing Hermie knows, Taylor is tackling them from behind with a hug.

“These are so cute, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Taylor shouts far too loudly for how close he is, and he plants a kiss on Hermie’s cheek before running away saying something about a present for them.

Hermie doesn’t really hear it, blinded by their confusion at the sudden affection, but they don’t need to, because next thing they know, Taylor is dragging a large gift bag from his room to theirs, and then dragging them in as well.

“Open it!” Taylor says, tail swishing behind him with excitement.

Hermie grabs a ton of tissue paper and tosses it onto their bed, and underneath it there’s… a blanket.

A weighted blanket.

“I saw you eyeing it when we went furniture shopping. I kinda guessed which weight to get, so I hope it’s okay.”

This must have been so expensive. Taylor got them something of so much value and all Hermie could give back was a flimsy set of earrings?

“Do you like it?” Taylor asks.

“Yeah… thank you, Taylor.”

Taylor hugs them again, and they freeze for a second before returning it.

“We can ask Mom to help us put it on your bed when she wakes up ‘cause my arms are tired from lugging it around.”

“Okay.”

“Merry Christmas, Hermie!”

“Merry Christmas, Taylor.”

#the mortifying ordeal of being roommates #taylor swift dndads #hermie unworthy #dndads #dungeons and daddies #cookies writes and cookies wrongs #fanfic

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yellowhollyhock · 9 months ago

Text

day 3, surprise party

bayverse Raph gets an unexpected extra birthday

Mutation Day was coming up, and Raph wasn’t feeling too good about it.

For one thing, he never knew what to get. Gifts came so easy to Donnie, who’d make something that would be used for years, or Mikey, who just had a weird knack for knowing what kinds of random things a person would like. One year he’d gotten Leo some stupid video game none of them had ever heard of, Leo who didn’t even play video games, and next thing they know they’re having to pry him away from it so he’d sleep and even train. Or there was that Christmas when he'd bought Master Splinter a deck of cards—Splinter had never played Poker before that. Last week he’d wiped Casey out effortlessly. It just wasn’t fair.

He tried to commiserate with Leo, but that went about as well as asking for sympathy from a brick wall.

“I don’t want to talk to you about gifts, Raph,” he’d said firmly. “If I talk about it I’m gonna talk myself out of what I have planned and if I do that I won’t have time to make a new plan. Maybe you could ask Donnie to help you look through everyone’s search history.”

Of course Leo already had a plan. His advice wasn’t bad, but Raph hadn’t been looking for advice.

He decided he’d try asking Don, anyway.

“Raph!” he’d yelped as he hurriedly minimized his window. “What are you doing in my lab?”

Raph crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Just came by to talk. That illegal now?”

“Oh,” his shoulders sank with relief. “Course not. What do you want to talk about?”

He clicked his laptop shut, not subtle at all. Raph stared, unable to set aside his curiosity.

“What are you hiding, anyway?”

Donnie clamped his mouth shut. He glanced between Raph and the laptop. Raph’s eyes thinned suspiciously. It was most likely something to do with their upcoming Mutation Day, but it was Donnie they were talking about and there was also Turtle Luck to consider. It could always be something really serious.

Raph took a half-step forward. Donnie scrambled to snatch up an unassuming flash drive from off his desk—and stuck it in his mouth.

Raph raised an eyebrow. “Look, I was just curious, but now that you’re acting weird you know I have to find out, right?”

His little brother blinked at him. He stared back, deadpan. For a moment they had a silent face-off. Then, moving suddenly in order to startle Donnie more than actually hoping to get the drop on him, Raph lunged.

Donnie gave a close-lipped screech, catching Raph’s hands on his own to keep them away from his mouth. They locked eyes.

“Don’t. Do not swallow it. Donnie, I swear—”

His throat bobbed with an audible gulp. He grinned up at Raph, teeth showing, mouth empty.

Raph scrambled backwards, horrified. At least he wasn’t choking, but still, gross.

“Dude!” he glared. Donnie perched on his spinning chair, unrepentant. “Why’d you—that wasn’t—I was just asking, geez!”

“You’ll never see those files.”

“Why do you act so freaking weird? I was just gonna ask what you’re getting Leo for Mutation Day.”

“Origami paper,” he replied carelessly.

Raph frowned. That didn’t sound like a Donnie gift.

“Wait, seriously?”

“Hm?” Donnie half-affirmed and half-asked, tilting his head. “Yeah? Why would I not be serious?”

“You can’t get him origami paper.”

“Why not? Wait, are you getting him origami paper?”

“No, but—did you already buy it? I’ll pay you and get it for him, you should get him something cool.”

Donnie’s face fell, and Raph’s heart sank. Leave it to him to open his big mouth. Even when he was trying to be nice he only ever seemed to cause trouble.

“It’s something we’ve been doing together,” Donnie’s voice was shy and small.

Raph shifted guiltily. “It’s just, you usually make him something. I didn’t know you guys were doing origami.” Why had he stuck his snout in Donnie’s business anyway? What a stupid thing for him to say.

Taking his tone for the apology it was, Donnie glanced back at him and gave a fragile half-smile. It didn’t do much to ease the guilt.

“So, uh. What are you getting for Mikey?”

Donnie sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I think I found a new game he might like? You could get him jewelry, he’s been getting into that lately.”

Raph grunted. “Yeah, I’ll just walk down to the jewelry store.”

Donnie shrugged. “You wouldn’t need to go to a real jeweler, just find something cheap at a corner store or something. He likes the cheap plastic stuff, he says the metal makes his neck cold.”

That was actually a good idea, and it forced Raph to confront the fact that the gift issue wasn’t the reason he wasn’t looking forward to their upcoming Mutation Day.

He didn’t bring it up out loud again. He tried to ignore his increasing anxiety as the day crept closer. It was just a day like any other day; sure, the attention was a bit uncomfortable, and this was the first time they’d actually have someone else coming over for it, possibly more than one someone if Mikey talked April into talking Casey into it, but still. Why should something so simple bring up such feelings of—shame? Fear?

Inadequacy. That’s how he felt. He hated celebrating with his brothers. It wasn’t about them being better at gift-giving at all. It was the bonds they had with each other that he felt he was on the outside of, no matter how hard he tried. The way he could see so clearly what each of them brought to the team, and then there was him.

Sometimes he really did want to just walk away and never come back.

April helped him pick out a nice new chess set for Leo, some necklaces and sunglasses for Mikey, and a couple big boxes of pop tarts for Donnie. It was stupid little things, but whatever. One less thing to be stressed about, one less reason to have to think about that day until it came and went.

That’s why two days before, he was working out in front of Die Hard playing at full volume, a crossword puzzle laid out beneath him while he did his pushups. If he thought he’d put a clue together he had to hold himself up with one arm while he wrote it in. It was the kind of stuff that kept him sharp for Master Splinter’s unique disciplinary tactics, and it’s what it took to keep his mind busy so his thoughts would shut up.

Thankfully he was in the middle of a push-up and not holding his pen when Mikey landed on his back.

“Oof!” he grunted as his arms gave out beneath the added weight. It wouldn’t normally be a problem, but he’d been at it a while. “Mikey!”

“Raphael!”

“Get off of me!”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I just jumped on you and now I think you’re maybe mad at me and I’m afraid if I get off you’ll beat me up. I live on your shell now.”

Raph scowled, but couldn’t help a grin tugging at the corners of his face. “Yeah? And what if I roll over?”

Mikey yelped and leapt off, quickly moving around front to haul Raph to his feet.

“Brah you should go to the surface with me. There’s this new froyo place that just opened up Vernon was telling April about when he didn’t know I was listening the other day—”

“So we’re taking froyo recommendations from Vernon now?”

“I mean he hadn’t actually been yet, it’s a new place, I looked it up and reviews are good but not like suspiciously good, you know? Come on, please? I really want froyo and Leo says I need the stealth practice.”

Raph snorted disbelievingly. “Leo said you could go out in broad daylight and get froyo for stealth practice?”

Mikey froze, trying for a moment to keep his expression neutral. When he failed, he shrugged widely. “Well, no, but he did say I need stealth training, and if I do this without getting caught then he’ll have to admit maybe I don’t need as much stealth training as he thinks and I can avoid being subjected to whatever he and Sensei would dream up to help me master it.”

Raph crossed his arms. “Okay. So why do you need me?”

His little brother tapped his fingers together sheepishly. “Damage control if it turns out I do in fact need stealth training?” he grinned toothily and tried to blink cutely.

Raph gave him a gentle flick on the side of his head. “Alright, nutcase, c’mere. I’ll show you how to sneak around the city in broad daylight, if you can get past Master Splinter.”

Mikey straightened up, following behind Raph with a cocky saunter. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

To Raph’s surprise, it wasn’t a problem. They were easily able to slip past the living room where Splinter was meditating, and Leo and Donnie were—well with the context he now had Raph guessed they were doing origami. Crouched over the table together working on something, anyway.

Sneaking around during the day posed a number of problems. It wasn’t the crowds or the lights—they dealt with those at night. Sure, shadows were more scarce, but there were shadows and they were trained ninjas. No, the real challenge was the brightness and the heat. They just weren’t used to it.

Lucky Mikey was about to get sunglasses for Mutation Day.

Raph waited on the roof; it would be easier for just one of them to take care of the exchange, and the whole errand was Mikey’s idea. If he were Leo maybe Raph would pretend he really wanted his little brother to get the extra practice, since that was supposedly what this was all about. Raph? Nah, he could admit he just hated wearing disguises and would rather make Mikey do the tricky part. The sun was giving him a headache.

Finally, Mikey landed next to him, trench coat billowing, a small cup of yogurt in each hand.

“We should come back to try all the flavors, they’ve got some fun options?”

“No way,” Raph accepted the purple scoop from Mikey’s outstretched arm. “You wanna keep doing this, you gotta get Leo and Donnie to take some turns.

Mikey shrugged, messily slurping up his chocolate. “Less yogurt for you, brah.”

Raph rolled his eyes, taking a cautious lick. It was fruity, really sweet, like—

“Blackberry?”

“I couldn’t decide if you’d like blackberry pomegranate or this mango lime sherbet they had.”

“This one’s good.”

“You wanna come back for the mango lime?” Mikey tempted hopefully.

“Nah.” After another bite, however, Raph added, “Might come back for more of the same though.”

“Boring,” Mikey booed, “You gotta open yourself up to the varied experiences of city life, dude. I’m getting smores next time, or maybe peanut butter—or peanut butter and chocolate and coconut.”

Raph shook his head, fondness balancing out the irritation of the sun against his skin and the anxiety of being out at this hour. They sat in companionable silence—there really was a crowded street below, after all.

Once they were finished, Raph was ready to get back underground. Mikey, it seemed, had other ideas.

“Hey, hey, hey Raph,” he poked him.

Raph slapped his hand away. Only Donnie was allowed to pester him like that, and mostly only because no one had ever figured out how to stop him. “What?”

Mikey was undeterred by his apparent annoyance. “Wanna sneak into a movie?”

Raph hesitated. A movie would mean they were out of the sun, but that was also a big risk for no reason. Pros: bragging rights if they succeeded, Leo would hate it no matter what, extra time away from the lair, and maybe they’d find a good movie. Cons: Donnie would look like a kicked puppy if he learned they’d done it without him, he and Leo and Splinter really would be worried, and it meant Raph was in charge of making sure Mikey didn’t lose focus (or resolve) and simply go up and start talking to people for the next two hours instead of the next few minutes.

Eh, what the heck. Bragging rights.

It turned out to be way easier than he thought to sneak in, and it kind of seemed like Mikey had done it before. Oh well; Raph was no snitch.

Mikey fell asleep during a showing of Little Women—it wasn’t the type of story he’d probably expected, but Raph enjoyed it. He nudged him awake as the credits rolled.

“Mikey.”

“Fi’ m’min.”

“No. I said I’d go with you for froyo. Get your butt up and get back underground.”

Mikey rubbed his eyes. “Aw, but that was a boring movie. Couldn’t we check around for, I don’t know, a superhero thing or a horror flick or something?”

“No way. We’re already gonna be in huge trouble when we get back.”

Mikey had nothing to say to that, but the crazy thing was, he didn’t relent. What Raph expected from the brother he knew was for him to visibly deflate, whine a ton, and immediately spout off six more things he wanted to do just to put off facing the music.

What he got instead was tight lips and shifting eyes. Much less like Mikey was putting off facing Splinter’s wrath, and more like he was carefully strategizing his next move. It was the focused sort of expression Mikey only wore in dire circumstances.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he forgot to keep his voice down, desperation and frustration taking over.

Mikey forced a painfully fake laugh. “Nothing, brah! I just don’t wanna go home yet because—uh—we don’t spend enough time together! Yeah, that’s it. I’ve been really hurting for some quality one on one time with my favorite red brother. Well, actually, you’re green, just your mask is red, but we’re all green and our masks are different, so—actually we’re all red, too, aren’t we? I mean we must have been at some point, because Donnie says we’re red-eared sliders. April’s video showed it. So, you’re not my red brother either.”

Raph blinked. Mikey blinked back.

“Michelangelo,” he tried to infuse some authority into his voice, the way Leo would when nothing else got through to Mikey, “You better tell me what’s going on.”

Mikey swallowed, eyes shifty. He fiddled with his phone and pretended to read the rolling credits.

“Actually,” he suddenly blurted, “We should go home! Right now. Yeah, that’s what we should do.”

“What?”

“Come on, Raphie, like you said, Master Splinter will be worried. We gotta get back before Leo and Donnie get in trouble for us being gone.”

Raph gaped. “Yeah, but just a second ago you were—”

“Come on, we can argue later.”

With that, Mikey was gone, and Raph didn’t know what to do but follow. Something big was going on, and for some reason no one wanted him specifically to know. That’s why Leo was so short with him, and Donnie swallowed a freaking flash drive. What had he done lately to annoy them? Or what had they gotten into that they didn’t want him involved in?

“Mikey,” he tried again as soon as they were underground, “It’s time to fess up. What’s got you guys all—hey!”

Mikey had taken off at a run, not the least bit subtle about avoiding the conversation. Raph ran after him, frustration turning into real, hot anger. It kept the fear at bay, for now.

His little brother slipped into the lair first, but he was right behind. “Mikey, I swear, you little—”

He stopped short.

“Surprise!”

“What?”

His family was seated around the table, which had been filled with chips, salsa, and cake and moved to the living room. A stack of presents was piled neatly next to the couch, and Forrest Gump was cued up on the TV.

“Happy Mutation Day!” Mikey chirped.

“But,” Raph said weakly, “That’s not for two more days…?”

“We know the party part hasn’t always been your favorite,” Leo explained, “And since this year we’re having people over for our celebration all together, we wanted to have something nice for you first.”

“And we figured you’d hate planning that too so we kept it a secret,” Donnie grinned.

Well, now he felt like his insides were made of mush. He cleared his throat and tried to pretend he wasn’t getting teary.

“Oh, that’s, uh, you didn’t hafta—”

Master Splinter put a paw on his elbow. He bent his head down to see his father beaming up at him.

“Happy Mutation Day, my brave little warrior.”

His heart swelled. Maybe the idea of guests had stressed him out more than he realized. Maybe he’d been feeling more isolated than usual, too. His family had all noticed, and they cared. They cared as much about him as he did about them.

“Thanks.” He gave Splinter’s paw a squeeze, and nodded shyly at each of his brothers. Then he jerked his head towards the screen. “Hey, me and Mikey just watched a movie. You guys up for video games?”

#tmnt #tmnt bayverse #bayverse raph #march for raph #yellow writes

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weepingfromacedartree · 1 year ago

Text

Ten Milestones: Hopes & Dreams

Hi friends! Chapter 5 is now available!

TW: drug and alcohol use

When Colin’s eyes scan over the next milestone, his face lights up in that aggravatingly adorable way it always does when things go exactly his way.

“Oooh,” he gloats. “This is a good one.”

“What?” Penelope asks, impatient. He’s sitting just close enough that she could steal the phone out of his hands if she wanted to, but she resists the urge.

“Number Four: Sharing Your Hopes and Dreams. Before you and your partner make the commitment to share a life together, you must first share what each of you wants out of that future. This conversation is important — not only will it teach you about each other as individuals, but it will also give you an understanding of how you fit together as partners. A strong partnership is made up of two people who support each other’s goals.”

Penelope doesn’t say a word. She simply smiles.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Nine Years Earlier: December 23rd, 2014

Relationship Status: Good Friends

꙳

December 24th, in Penelope’s opinion, has to be one of the worst days a person can be born on. (Third worst to be exact, narrowly being beaten out by December 25th and February 29th.) Every year, the celebration of your birth is overshadowed by the eve of someone else’s birth. Your birthday presents double as Christmas presents. Your friends are too busy with their own holiday plans to celebrate your birthday with you. Hell — most people forget your birthday exists in the first place.

December 24th is a rather shitty birthday for one to possess. But in all the years she’s known him, Colin has never been one to complain.

It helps that the other Bridgertons always make an attempt to separate his birthday celebrations from the holiday he just so happened to have been born on. That’s why these sorts of parties are always held the night before his actual birthday.

Daphne took the anti-Christmas strategy to a whole nother level this year. Invitations went out two weeks ago with a disclaimer at the bottom.

Red and green garments are strictly prohibited on the premises.

Penelope originally wanted to wear a velvet burgundy dress that she found on Dover Street tonight, but the garment has since been banished to the back of her closet. Instead, she’s wearing a dress made of a softer shade of pink.

Now, 57 minutes into the very-much-not-a-holiday-party party, Penelope stands above the Bridgerton foyer with a dark red drink in her hand. Eloise is beside her, grumbling about the many “unique” choices made for this event. (Including her required attendance.)

“I know Daphne banned holiday music, but surely she can play something better than Coldplay.”

“I like Coldplay,” Penelope mutters defensively. Eloise does not seem to hear her above all the other noise in the room.

“Have you seen the birthday boy anywhere? It’s his party and I have not seen him all night.”

“No. I haven’t.”

They’re standing on the second story landing, above the front entrance and foyer where most attendees mingle. This should be an optimal vantage point to look for Colin, but when Penelope scans the crowd, she comes up empty.

“I’m usually the one to pull a disappearing act at this sort of thing, and even I wouldn’t dare do so at my own party.”

Eloise’s words temporarily break Penelope out of her premature worry. She giggles.

“Weren’t you three hours late to your last birthday celebration? Something about needing to go downtown to visit a certain —”

“That’s different!” Eloise cuts in. “That was a surprise party — how was I supposed to know?!”

“Didn’t your family —”

“I thought I was delaying a casual birthday dinner with my mum and seven siblings. Obviously I would have been on time if I knew there were a hundred people crouched in the dark, hiding behind potted plants and couch cushions, just waiting for my return.”

Penelope’s giggles do not let up.

“Is that what you think happened while you were gone?”

“I don’t know.” Eloise literally waves off the question, gesticulating her hands so ardently that she nearly spills all the wine out of her glass. “I’m more concerned about Colin’s whereabouts at the moment.”

“Is something wrong?” Penelope asks, worry rising up in her chest again. It’s squashed just as quickly.

“No. But if I have to suffer through this party, so should he. It’s his fault we’re all here in the first place.”

Penelope scans the crowd once more. Yet again, nothing.

“Knowing Colin, he’s probably in the kitchen.”

“Oooh.” Eloise’s demeanour changes immediately. Her scowl pulls into a smile. “That also happens to be where they store the one thing that could actually make this party enjoyable.”

Penelope lifts an eyebrow, fighting off another bout of giggles.

“And what might that be? Good conversation? An old friend? The ghost of not-Christmas pres—”

“No. Liquor. Perhaps after a few drinks, your jokes will start to sound funny.”

As one final round of giggles bubbles up in Penelope’s throat, Eloise loops their arms together and leads them towards the stairs.

“And after a few more drinks, perhaps Coldplay will start to sound like actual music.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Twenty-one minutes later (and half a vodka cranberry later), Penelope walks out of the kitchen by herself, realising that she has seen every Bridgerton at this party except Colin.

Violet and Daphne had both greeted her at the door. She spoke to Francesca while waiting for the loo. She walked in on a fist fight between Gregory and Hyacinth. Anthony brushed past her to break it up, barely managing to prevent Hyacinth from knocking Gregory’s front tooth out. Benedict was in the kitchen, where he and Eloise are currently having a spirited (but hushed) debate over what Christmas movie to watch tomorrow night.

Glass in hand, condensation already dripping onto her fingers, Penelope walks the Bridgerton halls.

There are people everywhere she turns. Some she knows from her lifetime in Mayfair or from her extensive experience at Bridgerton events. Some she vaguely recognizes from Colin’s social media or from her sporadic trips up to Cambridge. Some she doesn’t recognize at all.

As her footsteps trail forward, Penelope resists the urge to look and listen. To keep listening. To peer into the conversations of these strangers and acquaintances, all while she remains unnoticed.

It’s a game she knows well, but still she resists. She looks for a face far more familiar than these.

Just before her feet can step into the foyer — into the heart of the party — they stop short. Her body moves to the side, leaning rigid into the wooden doorway, hidden beneath the cover of a shadow. On the other side of the room, Colin stands with his back against a wall and his arms crossed in front of him. Clearly, no one informed him of the dress code for his own party; he’s wearing an emerald green cable knit sweater.

(He’s also wearing a light blue birthday hat atop his head — one she can only assume was hand-crafted by Violet Bridgerton.)

He isn’t alone. Daphne stands beside him, body facing him, arms at her sides. They’re talking. Penelope couldn’t even begin to guess what it is they’re talking about, but she can tell from the other side of the room that Colin isn’t happy about it.

He isn’t saying much; Daphne is doing most of the talking.

After a stranger brushes past her, Penelope raises her glass to her lips and takes the smallest of sips. Her mind briefly considers walking over to the other side of the room, but her feet remain firmly planted in her spot in the doorway. She feels a peculiar, paralyzed sensation up and down her legs as she watches their conversation unfold from afar. She can’t help but worry and wonder why Colin looks so defeated at his own party. She also can’t help but deem this conversation too dangerous to peer into uninvited.

“Oh, Pen! There you are!”

Automatically, Penelope’s head turns in the direction from which her name had been called. Eloise is excitedly walking (basically skipping) down the hall towards her.

“You’re coming over tomorrow night, right? Ben is still advocating for Elf, but with your vote I think I can swing us back to the far superior Nightmare Before Christmas.”

“Oh! Yes, I think so. By the way, I found —”

Penelope turns her head, expecting to find Colin exactly where he had been not twenty seconds prior. But he isn’t. Neither is Daphne.

“What?” Eloise asks, now standing in the doorway beside Penelope.

“Nothing.” Penelope shakes her head, then shoots back the rest of her drink. “And just for the record: Benedict is right. Elf is easily the superior Christmas movie.”

Eloise’s jaw goes slack.

“You traitor.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

All night, the only thing Colin wanted was to disappear from his own party. He is aware of how bad that sounds — how he sounds like an ungrateful child instead of a man on the cusp of twenty-two. But even then…

No one can plan for their birthday. He didn’t choose this to be born on December 24th. He didn’t want to have this party to begin with. He couldn’t have predicted that tonight would land in the middle of one of the most uncertain, precarious, bad-mood-inducing phases of his life. It’s not his fault that he’s currently in one of those moods — one that makes the happiness of others feel like a personal attack on you specifically.

A party was the last place Colin wanted to be tonight. Now, he finds himself in a room situated in a more private wing of the house. He’s out of view of the random, too-happy people filling the halls, but close enough to hear the remnants of faraway music. He’s sitting in front of the giant oak that used to belong to his father, arms crossed in front of him and eyes trained on the door to his left. Anthony’s on the other side of the desk, donning an expression that makes Colin wish he was back in the heart of the party.

“Must we have this conversation now? I’m fairly certain mum’s downstairs lighting candles on a cake as we speak.”

That look on Anthony’s face — equal parts annoyance and amusement — does not let up one bit.

“I’ve been trying to have this conversation with you for weeks. It’s not my fault that we had to throw a party in your honour just to keep you at home for more than fifteen minutes.”

“That’s —”

Colin doesn’t finish that sentence. He could attach a million different adjectives to the end of it that would (rightfully) attack Anthony’s character, but none of them would make his words untrue.

“I’ve been busy,” he says instead.

“Clearly.” Anthony puffs out an audible breath of air from his nose as he leans back in their father’s chair. “Seeing as you can’t even make the time for one single phone call.”

For the first time in several minutes, Colin’s arms uncross. His hands move to the arms of the chair, ten fingernails biting into its vinyl surface.

Contrary to Anthony’s claims, they’ve actually had some version of this conversation several times over the last few weeks. Over those weeks, Anthony had suggested, reminded, then demanded that Colin reach out to an old friend of their father’s — one who just so happens to be the head of English Literature at Oxford. Also during those weeks, Colin reminded his older brother that he has no intention of doing so, but such details always seem to fall on deaf ears.

Also contrary to Anthony’s claims, Colin does have plans — or at the very least, dreams for what to do after he graduates from university in the spring. His aspirations simply have nothing to do with Oxford or any other form of higher education. His dreams —

“Is this about Marina?”

Those words break Colin out of the thought spiral he hadn’t realised he had fallen into. They leave him feeling even more annoyed and misunderstood than he had just a moment ago.

“Excuse me? What exactly —”

“This. This insistence to avoid real life. To sulk around and avoid your responsibilities.”

“I am not —”

“It’s fine, if it is!” Anthony offers, sarcasm not lost in his tone. “I get it. Your first real breakup can be hard. But at a certain point, you have to —”

“That was months ago. And I don’t see how a silly little breakup has any bearing on my career aspirations.”

It isn’t until those words leave his lips that he realises how potently they taste of bullshit.

No, this is not about Marina or the ultimate demise of their relationship. Obviously, she has no bearing on any of his future plans. But to refer to their breakup as “silly” or “little” feels dishonest. (On his end, at least. The words are probably more fitting for Marina’s feelings on the matter.)

In truth, Colin had been in a perpetual bad mood since she ended things between them back in August. They only dated for six months, but that was approximately five and a half months longer than any relationship he had held previously. He thought Marina was the love of his life; after their breakup, she admitted that the only reason they ever dated was to make her ex-boyfriend jealous.

At least the relationship had been successful for one of them.

“‘Career aspirations?’” Anthony mocks, pulling Colin out of yet another thought spiral. “Is that what we’re calling them now?”

Now, Colin wishes for nothing more than to strangle his older brother. Instead, he lets go of his tightening grip around the armchair.

“Once again — can we table this conversation for another day? Daphne will kill me if I kill you and thus, ruin her party.”

Anthony rolls his eyes, but nods.

“Fine. But isn’t this your party?”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

Anthony immediately stands from his chair, but Colin remains sitting. His gaze turns to the left again, pointlessly pointing at that big brown door — wishing against all reason and logic for someone to walk through the precipice.

Just as he always does on nights like this.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

At approximately 11:33 PM, after cutting the cake, after dodging more of Anthony’s questions, after acting like an ungrateful, bad-mood-wielding ass at his own celebration, Colin sits alone.

He’s in the drawing room, perched precariously on the edge of a windowsill. The room is dark, lit by one dying bulb in the lamp by the door. There’s a hastily-rolled joint (a birthday gift from Benedict) between Colin’s thumb and index finger. There’s a cloud of smoke sitting on his tongue and a bitter December breeze drifting in from the open window beside him.

The party he left behind is probably wrapping up right now. People are probably looking for him. He should probably go say goodbye (or even “hello”) to them. He shouldn’t keep himself here, secluded in a well of his own misery. But just the thought of going downstairs and speaking to one of those random, too-happy people fills him with a misery that —

Shit.

The door to the drawing room starts to creak open. Before it can open all the way — before he can even turn his head to identify the perpetrator behind that noise — Colin flicks the joint out the window. When he finally does look over to the entrance across the room, his panic starts to settle.

“Sorry. I thought you were someone else,” he says, just as Penelope says, “Sorry! I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Even in the dim lighting — even from across the room — Colin can see her cheeks flush pink as she laughs nervously and steps across the precipice. Thankfully, she shuts the door closed behind her.

“Sorry,” she says again. “Hope I don’t disappoint.”

“Not at all.” He shuts the window before standing from his spot. He meets Penelope halfway on the light blue couch in the middle of the room. “Quite the opposite.”

As she walks closer, her cheeks grow just a little more pink. The nervous smile drops though, her face settling into a look Colin has become quite familiar with over the years. He knows there’s a question behind it — something gnawing at her insides, begging to be asked aloud. Given his admittedly odd behaviour and the fact that this is the first time they’ve spoken all night, he feels rather confident about what question he’s about to be asked.

But he’s wrong.

“What happened to your birthday hat?”

“Fucking hell,” he unconsciously mutters. The words slip from his lips as his hands raise to the crown of his head. “Forgotten by a tray of eclairs. I think.”

That gnawing expression on Penelope’s face drops. She giggles.

“Shall we go look for it before your mum catches on?”

“No.” It isn’t until that word shoots off his lips that he realises how deeply he despises the idea of being anywhere except this spot on the couch. “Mum will forgive my carelessness.”

Penelope nods, a soft hum of agreement on her lips.

“Is there a reason you’re hiding up here instead of by that tray of eclairs?”

Colin’s first instinct is to deflect. He opens his mouth to do so — but before he can say anything, he’s suddenly hit by a wave of clarity that doing so would be wrong. That Penelope already knows something is up with him and lying to her would do neither of them any good. The epiphany is almost certainly a consequence of the weed he inhaled approximately 60 seconds ago, but still…

“Just in a bit of a shit mood. Which — I should really apologise for. To you and the hundred other people held hostage by said shit mood all night.”

Penelope’s face flashes with an expression different from inquiry, but just as familiar to him after all these years: worry.

“Don’t apologise.”

Maybe it’s the joint currently burning a hole in his mother’s lawn. Maybe it’s the deflection finally breaking through. Maybe it’s his inherent need to pull the worry off Penelope’s face, but Colin cannot help but smirk.

“Sorry. I’ll try to remember to stop doing that.”

“Why are you in a shit mood?” she asks, seemingly unphased by his facetiousness.

Colin shrugs.

“Not in the Christmas spirit this year, I suppose.”

“I don’t see how that’s of any relevance, considering the fact that this is not a Christmas party. In fact, I believe any mention of said ‘Christmas spirit’ has been banned entirely.”

“Bloody hell.”

Colin runs a hand across his face, literally wiping away that smirk.

“I told Daphne to relax on the ‘rules’ for this thing. Actually — I told her to skip this party altogether. To just tack on a birthday cake to the usual Christmas Eve celebrations tomorrow. Unfortunately, I don’t believe my input is of much relevance on the subject.”

Penelope remains quiet for a second longer than Colin feels is necessary or comfortable. In those few seconds of waiting, she sports a new expression on her face. This one is harder to read than the ones that came before.

“Is that why you two were arguing before?” she finally asks. And when Colin simply gives her a look of confusion, she clarifies, “I saw you two talking in the foyer earlier tonight. You looked a bit… I don’t know. Cross?”

Once again, Colin feels himself hit with a desire to drop his faux-nonchalance and charming deflection. To speak plainly. If there ever were a person to be candid with, surely it’s Penelope. Throughout the entirety of their friendship, she has only ever regarded him with an open mind. All his life, she has been so constant and loyal. If there is anyone he should be discussing matters such as this with, surely it’s her.

Surely.

“No, that wasn’t what we were talking about. As silly and unnecessary it may have been… You know how excited Daphne gets about these parties. I didn’t want to complain. Not that directly, at least. We were, uh —” He clears his throat. “We were actually discussing my post-uni plans.”

In the relative darkness surrounding them, Penelope’s eyes light up with eager curiosity.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Anthony has been on my ass for weeks regarding the future — which is completely out of character from him, I know. But I… I don’t know. Anthony isn’t exactly the easiest person to talk to about that sort of thing and I… I thought it would be easier to talk to Daphne about it, but…”

The longer he speaks, the more apparent it becomes that his usual capabilities for completing sentences have seemingly slipped away from him. It’s probably the weed, but…

“What are your plans?” Penelope asks, filling the interim silence. “It’s fine if you don’t know yet, of course. Not everyone has to know exactly what they want to do after uni, but —”

“No, I do have plans,” Colin is quick to clarify. “They’re just a bit… mad. According to Anthony, at least.”

“Oh.” Penelope shifts in her spot, sitting up a bit straighter. A wicked smile creeps up her lips. “Well, that’s much better than no plan at all.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “I guess so.”

“So what are these mad plans, exactly?”

“Well,” Colin can feel his body sink just a little bit deeper into the couch cushion as he continues, “you know how I’ve always wanted to travel?”

“Of course,” she says, a softer smile suddenly appearing on her lips.

“I always thought of that as some far away dream. Like, once I become an actual adult and have my life figured out, then I can take time off from my ‘real life’ to go see the world for myself. The only problem was…”

His voice trails off again, still unsure of what words he could use to best describe what lies in his heart. Thankfully, Penelope describes it for him.

“You never had any dreams for your so-called ‘real life?’”

“Exactly.”

Though the window has since been shut tight, the air in the room remains quite cold. And yet, Colin feels a sudden warm sensation in the center of his chest; he does his best to ignore it as Penelope opens her mouth again.

“So you want to make a career out of travelling the world?”

“Something like that,” he mutters, his shoulders unconsciously shrugging upwards. “Though, when you put it like that… maybe I can understand Anthony’s reservations on the subject.”

“Don’t say that,” Penelope insists, a gentle breath of nervous laughter on her lips. “Lots of people’s jobs revolve around travel. There’s nothing wrong with that.” With another tiny laugh, she adds, “And I’m sure a business degree from Cambridge will be useful in securing those future plans.”

“I don’t know how true that is,” he admits, the words tasting sour on his tongue.

In truth, Colin had no idea what he wanted to study or work towards when he first started at Cambridge at eighteen. He had chosen to study business simply because it seemed like the rational choice to make at the time. Unlike his older brothers, both of whom knew exactly what they wanted to do with their lives before they hit secondary school, Colin was late to such a realisation. It wasn’t until very recently that his hopes and dreams for the future started to solidify.

“What do you mean?” Penelope asks.

“Well, obviously any degree from Cambridge will be useful for my future. I just meant…” He sucks in a cold breath of air. “If I were to go back in time and do it all over again, I wouldn’t have chosen business. I think I would have, uh, chosen something more in line with English Literature.”

Once again, Penelope’s face lights up in the darkness.

“You want to write?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles again. “I think so.”

“Colin, that’s —” Penelope’s hand, which had previously been sitting limply in her lap, moves as if she’s about to reach out and touch his shoulder. It doesn’t in the end. It now rests on top of the couch in the space between them. “That’s a great idea. Truly.”

That warm feeling makes a sudden reappearance in Colin’s chest. Again…

“Really? You’re not worried about what will happen if you’re no longer the only writer in this friendship?”

“No,” she insists, almost sounding defensive. “The world needs more good writers.”

“Well, I don’t know if it’s fair to say —”

“You’re a good writer, Colin.”

At her words (and the adorably serious manner in which she spoke them), Colin cannot help but laugh.

“And you know this based on what? A few emails?”

To claim Penelope has only received a “few” emails from him feels disingenuous. But still, he struggles to see her point.

He sent the first email in January, shortly after returning to Cambridge from winter holiday and approximately six weeks after Penelope’s father passed. The email wasn’t about her dad or uni or anything in particular. If anything, it was a compilation of random thoughts (and several puns) he had collected in his brain in the five days that passed since they last spoke.

He sent that first email on a Friday. She responded on the following Monday. He sent another on Friday. She responded again —

Suffice to say, a pattern emerged. Both of them missed a few Mondays and Fridays over the last eleven months (especially around the end of the spring term and the termination of his relationship with Marina), but even then…

Penelope has read more of Colin’s writing than anyone else. More than even his professors at Cambridge.

“Yes, based on a few emails, Colin,” Penelope insists, rolling her eyes lightly. “Really, you are such a terrific writer. It doesn’t matter if it’s in an email to a friend — or in a term paper or a book or whatever it is that you want to do. I can tell that you like to write, and that’s really the fundamental requirement for becoming a writer.”

That warm feeling in Colin’s chest is back and it feels like it’s about to leave a rash on his skin.

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Colin sighs and leans a few inches away from Penelope.

“Well… Thank you. But I believe Anthony would protest that last point.”

“What do you mean?” Penelope asks, similarly drawing a few inches backwards. Her left hand falls back into her lap from the couch cushion.

“Anthony is of the mindset that liking something isn’t enough of a reason to upend your life for that thing. He thinks the idea of me running off to another country after graduation and writing about my experiences is ‘silly.’ That if I want to be a writer, I should stay put, apply for a graduate program, and actually learn how to become one. Which…”

His voice trails off, because saying it all out loud makes his own plans sound a lot more “silly” than he had originally thought.

“Well…” Penelope starts. “In fairness to Anthony’s perspective, you can’t wake up one day, decide to be a lawyer, then go litigate a murder case at the courthouse down the street. But becoming a writer… It’s different than becoming a lawyer. Maybe Anthony isn’t the best person to talk to on the subject.”

Colin nods, a vague hum of agreement on his lips as he thinks over her words.

Maybe not so silly, after all.

“And Daphne? What did she say?”

“Oh.”

He had almost forgotten why they’re having this conversation in the first place.

“She was more supportive than Anthony. I think I was just a bit frustrated because she didn’t seem to fully understand what it is that I want to do. She thinks I just want to fuck off for a year, then come home and figure out what to do with my ‘real life.’ Attend postgrad, get a job in an office, do… Do whatever it is that real adults do.”

Penelope doesn’t say anything right away. She’s looking at him in that way that makes it clear that she has a lot to say and is still figuring out how to say it. Before she can, he opens his mouth again.

“I shouldn’t be cross with her. Or Anthony, even. I just think — for my own sake — I need to commit to the idea. To go out and try to make something of myself without having a backup plan to revert to if I don’t succeed within a year’s time.”

“Then you should go for it.” Her words come out quickly, in one determined breath — like she needs to get the words out before he continues rambling. “Anthony will come around. He probably just needs some time. And perhaps some perspective.”

“Yeah, may—”

“What is it that you want to write, by the way?” Penelope asks, interrupting whatever further deflection he was surely about to throw her way. “A book about your travels?”

Colin considers the question.

“No, I was thinking more in terms of a blog. Or,” he laughs, “a magazine, if they’d hire me. But I do like the idea of writing a book one day. Not any time soon, but once I’m older and wiser and have lived a little more, I think I’d like to have some written recollection of my experiences to look back on. That’s sort of the magic of writing, you know?”

Penelope doesn’t confirm that last bit. She stays quiet as she gives him a look that says, “keep going.”

“Like… When I was at Aubrey Hall last summer, I got bored one day and went snooping through my grandfather’s old study. When I did, I found this cardboard box in the back of his closet. It held all these little mementos from when he was on tour back in the forties. He kept so many journals from that time — all filled with these little details about what his life was like. Leaving England for the first time. Seeing the Eiffel Tower. Eating strudel in Vienna. Skinny dipping in the Danube. Wa—”

When Penelope lets out a surprised giggle, Colin can’t help but laugh, too. The bad mood that had been plaguing him all night has long since been forgotten.

“Anyway… I read through approximately five years worth of those stories in one afternoon, and I just — I couldn’t help but think about how lasting the written word is. My grandfather died before I was born, and yet I learned so much about him just because I happened upon those old journals. Just because he sat down one afternoon seventy years ago and decided to write about the time he and a bunch of his army buddies stripped naked and jumped into a river.”

Penelope laughs again. So does Colin.

“I just — I like that idea. That —” He inches forward to grab a little white napkin from the coffee table. “I could grab a pen, write about all the delectable food we ate here tonight, hide this in an archaic book on the shelf over there, then seventy years from now, my grandson could find it and understand just how ardently his grandfather loved eclairs.”

Penelope laughs again. This time, the laugh is strong enough to make her lose a little bit of her resolve; when she tips forward, her forehead lightly brushes against his shoulder.

“But like I said…” He says, only once Penelope has returned to an upright position on the next cushion over. “I think I need to live a little more before I even think about writing something as definitive as a book.”

“Well… Whatever you end up writing, I’ll read it.”

Colin laughs again. He can’t help it.

“You know — you’re quite the loyal reader, Pen. First you put up with my weekly long-winded, rambling emails, now you’re —”

“I don’t ‘put up’ with anything, Colin. You’re a terrific writer. I always enjoy reading your emails. Even if they almost always include one too many puns.”

“That’s debatable,” he mutters defensively, only able to cling onto those last few words.

“Even with the jarring amount of puns in your work —”

“Hey!”

“— your writing is good. You obviously have a passion for it, and that matters a hell of a lot more than a lit degree.”

Penelope takes a breath. Speaking a bit more softly now…

“Possessing a passion is important. It will fill your hours with a sense of purpose. When others doubt you or success seems illusive, that passion will drive you to keep going. To achieve something definitive — something you can look back on decades from now and be proud of.”

When Penelope stops speaking, Colin is reminded of that inability he possessed just a few minutes ago — the one that made it impossible to finish his sentences without trailing off into oblivion. It definitely wasn’t the joint. (The more he thinks about it, the more apparent it becomes that Benedict’s “present” was nothing more than a few grams of oregano rolled into a little white paper.)

No. A few minutes ago, Colin was unable to properly put his hopes and dreams into words without trailing off or sounding like an arsehole — just as he has been unable to do for several months now. But now…

Now he can. Now it all makes sense.

After thanking Penelope for her kind, insightful words, Colin decides it is time for this discussion to alter course.

“And what of your dreams, Pen?”

Penelope doesn’t answer right away. Though the room around them is still rather dark, Colin’s eyes have adjusted enough to see the blush that quickly forms on her cheeks.

“You know I’m studying to become a journalist,” she says, which is more of a protest of his question than an actual answer.

Of course he knows that. Unlike Colin, Penelope knew what she wanted to do with her life long before she began attending university. But despite their increased correspondence over the last few months, Penelope never really talks about why she made that choice.

“Obviously. But what is it that you’re so passionate about? What fills your hours with purpose?”

She considers his questions.

“I don’t know. I always loved reading, and that just naturally bled into a love of writing.”

“Okay,” he says belatedly, not initially realising that was her entire response. “But why journalism? Why not fiction or poetry or —” Colin chuckles. “Travel writing?”

“I don’t know,” she says again. “I just — I’ve always been interested in people’s stories. Real people’s stories. One day, I might wake up and suddenly want to write a romance novel or a children’s story, but right now… Journalism feels like the right fit for me.”

After another prolonged silence, Colin asks, “What interests you about real people’s stories?”

“I don’t know,” she says for a third time. “People are just so… complicated. Everyone has a million stories inside of them. That’s the fun part of interviewing people — finding ways to get those interesting, hidden details into the light.”

In the back of his mind, Colin wonders if Penelope has been practising that particular skill on him during this conversation. He waives the thought away before it can fully develop.

“Is there an area of journalism you’re specifically interested in?”

Before answering his question, Penelope scrunches her nose, then lets out a forced breath of laughter.

“Colin, I don’t know why you’re getting so caught up in the small details of it. What my dream is now could be different than what it is ten years from now — or even two years from now. However I choose to spend my hours, I just hope that I have a purpose to drive me. Something satisfying and fulfilling. Something that will challenge me to be brave and witty. Something to propel me forward and set me free.”

It takes Colin a moment to realise that he has been stunned into silence. Thankfully, he’s able to pull himself out of the daze with a little effort.

“What could possibly measure up to all of that?”

She shrugs. “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”

They sit in a shared silence for a moment. Colin wishes he could hear what is going on in Penelope’s head; his is filled with her voice.

Something to propel me forward and set me free.

“I think it’s amazing that —”

“Oh, stop,” she says, another forced laugh on her lips. Though she remains rooted in her spot on the couch, Penelope’s face turns away from Colin and towards the nearest door. For the first time in several minutes, he remembers that there’s still a party going on downstairs. His party.

“It’s late,” she says. “Don’t pay too much mind my silly little words.”

“I think your dreams are bigger than you let on, Pen.”

She turns back towards him, eyes meeting his again through the darkness.

“Weren’t we discussing your dreams?”

Yes, but he much prefers this subject.

“I —”

“What’s holding you back? Is it just your siblings’ reactions?”

“No,” he admits. “There are certainly bigger obstacles than Anthony’s lack of enthusiasm.”

“Such as?”

Colin doesn’t respond right away. While his concerns may be easier to conceptualise than his hopes or his dreams, they’re harder to speak aloud.

“Well… Working as a travel writer would also mean spending the majority of my time away from home.”

For the first time tonight, a strikingly sad expression flashes on Penelope’s face, as if it is only now that she realises the consequences of Colin’s dreams coming true. It’s only a flash, though. Her smile makes a quick reappearance, even if it isn’t quite as bright as it was before.

“You already spend the majority of your time away from home.”

“Yeah, but Cambridge is only two hours away. Plus, Eloise is there to annoy me if I’m ever feeling homesick. If I’m off in a different timezone the majority of the year…”

His voice trails off again. This time, Penelope doesn’t jump in to fill the lull.

“Is it awful to say I’m worried that life will move on without me here if I’m away?”

“No, it’s not awful.” Penelope’s smile looks even sadder than it did before, but it doesn’t drop. “I think a lot of people worry about that, regardless of their career paths. I think that’s just part of growing up.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…”

Her voice trails off as she looks away from him and towards the ceiling, seemingly racking her brain for the right words to use. It only takes her a few seconds to find them.

“When you’re growing up, your world is pretty small. You have your siblings and your neighbours and your friends at school, and for the most part, that world is stable. Some people move away and you lose touch with others, but most people remain a constant. But then as you get older and leave for uni or work or wherever it is that life takes you, the world is suddenly really, really big.

“Those people who made up your entire world when you were younger are still there, but their lives aren’t intertwined with yours like they used to be. It’s more like they’re running parallel. Like… you know all those emails we send back and forth?”

It takes Colin a rather long moment to respond, and all he can muster in the end is a single nod.

“We’re still in each other’s lives, but the stories we share with each other are… separate.”

It takes him even longer to respond to that last part.

“Pen… Was that meant to be reassuring? That was the most depressing thing I’ve heard in my entire life.”

“Oh stop.” Penelope laughs half-heartedly. “It’s not depressing — it’s just life. Actually, it’s a bloody miracle. We should be thankful that our friendship has lasted so long, despite how much our worlds have changed over the years.”

After another extremely long beat of silence, Colin musters what little energy he has left to draw the faintest hint of a smirk to his lips.

“So, what you’re saying is… You will not miss me if I disappear to a different country every week?”

Penelope’s forced smile finally drops. She rolls her eyes.

“Obviously, I’ll miss you. But that’s no reason for you to stay home and prevent yourself from reaching your full potential.”

And just like that, Colin is eighteen again, not seconds away from turning twenty-two. He and Penelope are on Fife’s rooftop, not on the couch in his family’s drawing room. He’s hopeful for the future, not scared that their friendship won’t survive this next phase of life.

“I —” Penelope starts, back on the couch in his family’s drawing room. Colin has no idea what it is that she is about to say, because he leans in and hugs her, incidentally muffling her words with his cable knit sweater.

With his lips practically in her hair, he whispers, “Thank you. For being so supportive.”

Penelope doesn’t respond until approximately 25 seconds later, after she breaks the embrace apart and looks him in the eye.

“You don’t have to thank me for my silly little words.”

Before Colin can find an adequate response to such a ridiculous statement, Penelope removes herself from his touch completely. She stands from her spot on the couch and looks down at him as she continues speaking.

“It’s getting late, I should get…”

Her voice trails off when her eyes land on her phone. She smiles.

“Look,” she instructs, holding up the screen for him to see.

12:01 AM.

“Happy Birthday, Colin.”

Now standing beside her, Colin takes the phone from her hands, smirks, then throws it gently onto the couch. The cushions are still indented in the spots they sat together.

“Merry Christmas Eve, Pen.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

“No debating that one, I suppose. What’s next?”

#I have to stop posting at 3 am #it took me 2 days to realize there was no link in this post #(and another day to realize I added the wrong link!)#(all fixed now. if I manage to post on time without tech issues on friday I'll invade France)#polin #fanfiction #bridgerton #weepingfromacedartree #fanfic #ao3 #ten milestones #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #penelope x colin

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recurring-polynya · 10 months ago

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Writing/Art Update 1.9.2024

Bleh. I was holding off doing this update, hoping I was going to be able to report that I had finished That Stupid Scene that I have been working on since before Christmas. I had so many thoughts in my head while I was cooking dinner and then, when I actually sat down to write, they had departed. Maybe they'll be back tomorrow.

In any case, I did make a huge amount of progress this week. It was hard! I had a lot of writing time, which was nice, except that I spent a lot of it staring out the window or clicking on my other browser tabs, which is always very irritating. However, I did manage to get most of it written, and it hit all the bullet points I needed it to. I basically just have to wrap it up and transition into what happens next. It shouldn't actually be that hard, I'm just tired and I'm not sure I can swing it right now. It's a big scene, too-- I clocked 4,375 words on it this week in addition to the 900 I already had, so it's probably going to be about half the chapter.

I've had a feeling for quite some time that I had not actually budgeted enough space in the outline for the back half of this fanfic. The thing is, though, it is nearly always the case that an extra chapter manages to sneak in somewhere along the way. I decided to just leave the outline as it was, and that way, if an extra chapter appeared, then my pacing problem would sort itself. That...may be happening. I am not entirely sure. I'm in sort of a weird place where I simultaneously feel like I am very close to done and also very, very far away from being done. Hopefully, in the next week or two (that is, when I finish Ch 7), that will sort itself out. Either that, or I'll just keep writing chapters, like Zeno's fanfic. I sincerely hope that doesn't happen. I will die.

Ugh, I want to post. I am wallowing in the pit of it's been so long since I posted, I feel like I have literally stopped existing, and I keep getting dumb urges to "just take a little break and write a short one" (note that I do not actually have any ideas towards "a short one", it's 100% urges only). Anyway, I definitely do not want to do that, because I want to finish this one very, very badly, and it's taking long enough as is. What I should probably do is polish up Chs 5 and 6 and send them to the beta, but that would require coming up with a name for the art museum that I placeholdered a bunch of times in Ch 5. I actually named it in Ch 1 and then decided I didn't like it and needed to rename and I just haven't yet.

Speaking of names, I've also fallen into It-Needs-a-Title Madness, where I start to go Actual Nuts because I can't think of a title for this stupid fanfic. I forgot that in addition to staring out the window, I spent a lot of time looking through the lyrics of songs on my Ductwork playlist and googling for, like, "phrases with injury" in them. I hate this. It's such a waste of time and yet I do this every time. Why can't you pay someone $10 to name your fanfic for you? Can I just call it "Ductwork"? Does it even matter? (it does matter. I regret every terrible title I have ever slapped on a fanfic in a fit of "Fuck It, We Post")

In other news, I drew all seven days last week (the theme was fruits and vegetables). I took yesterday off, but then I drew a can of soup today, which was hard. It's cool. The people in art club are very nice. I am really hoping to draw a Rukia for her birthday. I have never drawn a bankai Rukia, and I'd like to give it a shot. I bet it would be a lot easier if I could resist doing a full body shot, but somehow, I always do a full body shot. We'll see!!

#writing update #art update

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aoyama-division · 21 days ago

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ARB Birthday Special 2024: Luis Kōkyū

~ ~ October 25th ~ ~

"Nothing would be more tiresome than eating and drinking if God had not made them a pleasure as well as a necessity."

*Sighs* "Dios, I hate doing financial reports. Why did both of my accountants have to use their PTO this week? I'll be here well after we close finishing this up." *Sighs* "...Look, if it's an emergency or an issue with a customer, you'll have to get one of the other managers to help you. I'm very busy right now. ...It's not an emergency? Then what is it?"

"...A gift? For what? My... birthday? ...Oh crap, that is today, isn't it? ...Thank you, it's appreciated. Remind me to give you a bonus next pay period."

Voice Lines:

"32 years old starting today. They say that each day you live is the oldest you've ever been, and the youngest you'll ever be again. Technically, that is true, but I... don't really feel old, but I definitely don't feel very young either. Maybe it's just time's way of telling me to take it easy and be grateful for each day. ...Or maybe, I just need to learn to stop thinking so deeply about things."

"Same year, same drama. My parents were too busy living in their own little worlds to focus on their only son and child. Hell, the maids and butlers in my mansion, at least, had the common courtesy to say 'happy birthday' to me. They even made me a small cake to eat. ...Sad that they treat me with more love and charity than my own family."

"My Abuela was glad that I didn't forget my birthday this time around. She surprised me with some Hispanic dishes, including my favorite dish, some pork menudo. I've always envied her cooking. It's miles ahead of mine. She says that's okay cause she's been doing it longer, but... I don't think so. Something about her dishes just... tastes different than mine..."

"Tomi. Surprised to see you out and about. I figured what with that 'Dead Pool' list, you'd be hiding away in your mansion. ...Hey, I'm not the one who had the highest bounty on that thing. In fact, price on my head is quite low compared to yours and Karada's. ...Well, perhaps that will teach you to stop being so arrogant and pretentious to everyone you come across. ...But then again, this is you we're talking about here."

"So, what brings you here today? ...A gift? Joy of joys. And what is it, exactly? An... expresso machine? ...Huh, I think you may have finally gotten a gift that was actually useful for once. ...Oh, don't worry, it'll be used, just not by me. I'm not big on coffee, but I know my Abuela is. This'll make a nice early Christmas gift for her, so thanks. ...I already said, 'thank you'. That's all you're getting out of me."

"Karada. Good to see you again. ...Well, I was worried something had happened to you since I hadn't seen you in my restaurant for the past couple of days. I figured you were hiding away like Tomi. ...Ah, so that explains why I haven't seen you. Well, good to know you're still amongst the living, at least."

"So... what's this exactly? A cooking apron? Thanks, Karada, but I've a dozen of these. ...On the front? ...Oh. It's a personalized one with my name on it. Huh. ...Wow, I-I... I'm actually speechless. No, I don't dislike it; quite the opposite, actually. Thank you, Karada. I'll... I'll definitely be sure to wear it next time I'm cooking. ...And off, he goes once again." *Sighs*

Tomi Lines:

"Luis. A 'happy birthday' to you. ...Peh, and why should I be bothered to hide away like some cowardly peasant? Because, I've accumulated more wealth than they have in a single day than they have for the majority of their lives? Please. And besides, I seem to recall your name being on that list, as well. ...Hmph, your bounty is only low because the peasants are on your side. Must be nice. ...As I've told you before, your glibness does you no credit."

"Anyway, enough talking about things I couldn't care about. Here, for your birthday. ...An expresso machine. I don't particularly care much for coffee, but I had a feeling you do. ...Glad you enjoy it. I expect it to be of some use. ...You're giving it to you grandmother? ...Huh, thanks from you. I must admit, I'm not used to it. ...Ugh, it's times like this I question why I know you."

Karada Lines:

"Hey, Lu! Happy birthday again, man! ...Oh, I was in Saitama for the last few days. When I saw that Lola was on the crazy list, I had to go make sure she was okay. ...Ha! You should, bro: it takes a lot to put 'Aoyama's Strongman' down!"

"Anyway, I came here to give you your gift. What do you think? ...Yeah, it's an apron, but look on the front. ...Yeah, I managed to get your name on it and everything! ...Do you hate it? ...Oh cool! Glad you like it man! Hope it helps you in the kitchen! Now I gotta head back to Saitama! Later!"

#hypmic #hypnosis mic #hypnosis microphone #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic oc #luis kōkyū #tomi chōten #karada kessaku #aoyama division #jet set trio #happy birthday luis 2024 #arb #alternative rap battle

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sugaroto · 9 months ago

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When I searched my island on tiktok I came across this

And it... pains me actually

They're sad the nightclubs are shut😫😫 (there are open ones btw during winter, a few, not sure if this person was looking for hot girl Christmas and beach bars but anyway)

"Ghost town" in this specific frame they're walking at the center of the city, seems to be late, hence why the shops of the road are closed

(I'm talking about clothing shops and such, I recognize the exact place they're walking at)

And it seems like it was raining so yeah

Ghost town

40.000 residents

Where are we?

It's not a ghost town

We just have nowhere to go

Restaurants, cafeterias, etc they all close during the winter

Cause we don't have tourists to please (sorry tiktoker we didn't know you were coming in December, move your birthday to April-October okay?)

And no one gives a shit about the locals

What don't we want to go out once in a while? Our options are limited

Not everything closes there's lots of stuff open

But

Most of it closes

In the first part of the tiktok they're walking at "the old town" which is mostly touristic stuff

Tourist shops, restaurants, bars

Small and open to the outside, so ofc they'd close during winter

When I went home for Christmas I took this video

It's not on the town

It's on one of the villages. Next to the beach

You can hear me and my mom talking about how it's haunted, about ghosts and emptiness

You can notice the car at the beginning going a little weird, that's bc they put those blocks (?) on the road so it's basically for pedestrians (it's an actual road)

You can't drive easily in the summer cause all the tourists walk at the middle of the road, too many cars, too many people

And yet. Approximately 3 months later, it's me, my mom and 2 ladies walking by the beach

And everything is closed, in the video, we drive by at least 2 hotels, 5 clubs, 2 ice cream shops, 2 gyradika, 1 Chinese restaurant, 5 restaurants, 2 supermarkets and the rest are small tourist shops (at least 10 if not more) and one like travel agency or something

Everything. Is. Closed.

Like the restaurants could stay open yknow? Greeks eat?!

It's not even late in the video, I just checked the time I filmed it its 6:00 pm

No one gives a shit about the locals

Σεζόν. Τουρίστες. Λεφτά. Χειμώνας. Σκατα.

And honestly the lack of life is like the least of my problems, I just caught carried away cause it bothers me

We don't have fucking doctors and its embarrassing 😀 people are dying but we are building statues and "I ♡ island" neon signs

If you're sick you fear going to the hospital

You fear calling the ambulance

If you get in the hospital and they can't treat you cause there's one doctor and they've been working non stop for 3 weeks in the place of where 5 doctors should be (but they all left cause they can't pay rent and everyone is turning their homes into airbnb for tourists so who the fuck cares for doctors)

So yeah if that one doctor can't help they either sent you to the bigger island or to fucking Athens and good fucking luck

#okay ill shut up now #i have more to say #but i said too much and changed subjects and i dont know if im making sense #but tiktoker over there is complaining about nightclubs #meanwhile our lives dont matter both literally and metaphorically #sugarenia talks #Greece #greek islands

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satans-helper · 1 year ago

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Reaching for Stardust - Part XIII

Read Looking for Space here / Playlists / Read RFS on Wattpad

Word Count: ~3700

Warnings: none

Apologies for the delay. I got sick for two weeks (it's like this fic foreshadowed my life...jk) and didn't want to let my writing get too far behind <3

---

“I feel like shit, mama,” Josh grumbled, the words muffled by the thick quilt that was swaddled around him. He let out a huff and pulled some of it away from his face, tired, slightly red-rimmed eyes looking at me. “This is not how I wanted to spend the holiday break.”

“I mean, it kind of worked out for me,” I admitted, setting my laptop on the coffee table. “I have a valid excuse for not having Thanksgiving with my parents.” Normally I’d be in our little office space but with Josh suffering from the flu, I was working from the couch or our bed. It was a difficult time with Josh feeling so rough–the poor thing was exhausted and sore, feverish with a scratchy, sore throat. At least it wasn’t anything worse. Normally Josh’s colds only lasted a few days and I figured the flu wouldn’t be much different. A week at most, probably. And I hoped I wouldn’t get sick in turn.

“That’s fair. We’ll see them for Christmas,” Josh agreed, eyes becoming half-closed while he tucked himself in tighter in the blanket burrito.

“No–I’m spending it at your place this year, remember?”

Josh shook his head. “Not if you miss Thanksgiving. Your folks will never let you miss Christmas with them if you’re skipping that.”

“Let’s not even think about that right now,” I told him, checking the clock on my laptop–just over an hour and I could clock out. I leaned over the center cushion to gently feel his forehead. “You still feel warm, Josh. How does your body feel now?”

Eyes now fully closed, he answered, “Cold.” He let out a ragged cough, then added, “But I was hot a few minutes ago so. I dunno.”

“I’d really like you to eat something,” I told him, brushing my fingers through his hair. “You were worried about being too big for the suit, now I’m worried you’ll be too small.” Although that almost seemed impossible given how small he already appeared to be, wrapped up and tucked in like that on the couch.

“A popsicle?” he proposed, blinking slowly at me. “Preferably purple, please?”

“How about a purple popsicle while I heat up some soup for you?”

Josh nodded. “Stupendous.”

I stood up, taking one last, long, good look at him before I had to migrate to the kitchen. “You know, Josh–you are so adorable when you’re sick. I mean, I hate that you’re sick. But no one else I know ever looks this delectable when they’re ill.”

“I’m on the mend,” Josh croaked in protest, hunkering down even more, just the top half of his face visible.

“I know you are, baby,” I assured him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. I grabbed a grape popsicle from the freezer and delivered it to him before I left him to doze on his own for a few minutes. It was time to get some chicken noodle soup warmed up.

When I returned, Josh had set one of the tray tables in front of himself and was no longer fully cocooned in the blanket. I tutted my disapproval as I set the bowl and spoon down in front of him: “I was gonna get that for you. You’re supposed to rest.”

“I am resting,” Josh assured me, but the rough croak of his voice told me he definitely needed more. He shifted to the edge of the couch and stirred the soup with his spoon, then looked at me as I sat down next to him, pulling my laptop back to the tops of my thighs. “Getting any honeymoon inspiration?”

Honestly, I was feeling too preoccupied all around to be taking anything as inspiration. The holidays were upon us, adding to stress, and I’d spent more time trying to find ideas for Danny’s birthday gift than doing any actual work. “Not really,” I told him with a sigh. “I think I could go just about anywhere though.”

“Somewhere warm,” Josh said, lifting the spoon to his mouth.

“Somewhere warm would be good,” I concurred, checking the time again. With what I had left, I decided to get back to my actual project while Josh dutifully ate his little lunch and zoned out with cartoons. He spent the rest of the day like that, only getting up to go to the bathroom once, which told me he needed a lot more fluids than what he was getting.

It was a long, slow, tired sort of day. When bedtime rolled around, I grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge and gave it to Josh as he was slowly getting up from the couch. “Can you drink like, half of this before we go to bed, please?”

He nodded. “Okay, mama.” He took a long sip, wincing as he swallowed. “Ugh. My chest hurts.”

A little ripple of concern ran through my own chest. “Really? What’s it feel like?”

“Kind of sharp, I guess.” He put a hand over his chest and inhaled deeply, then winced again. “Yeah. What’s that about?”

I don’t know,” I said slowly, watching his shoulders rise and fall. “But that doesn’t sound good. Let me take your temperature again.” I grabbed the thermometer from the bathroom and slipped it under his tongue; Josh leaned against the counter, shrouded in the throw blanket from the couch, and waited. After a minute, I took it out and, upon reading the numbers, felt my jaw go slack. “Oh, my god, Josh. It’s 102. That’s higher than yesterday.”

Josh brought my hand down to peer at it himself. “Shit, really?”

I set it on the counter and put my hands on his shoulders. “Promise me that if it’s the same–or worse–in the morning, we’ll go to the ER.” Josh instantly, silently balked, rolling his eyes and sighing; I was having none of it. “Promise me. I’m just gonna drag you anyway. You’re not strong enough to fight me off.”

A little hoarse laugh came from his scratchy throat. “Okay, okay. But it’s gonna get better.” He grabbed the Gatorade again and headed towards the bedroom. “This has to be the worst of it, darling.”

I was hopeful of that but was finding it hard to relax once we were in bed. Josh curled up and wiggled against my front; I laid one arm over him and draped my leg over his, listening to him breathe. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, though I was stuck lying awake in the dark with racing thoughts and worry hammering in my heart. Having a cold was one thing. Coming down with the flu was another but still not something most people had to worry about, right? But such a high fever and that chest pain. That worried me. Jake had a really bad case of the flu once that took him out for weeks, I remembered that. Sam had too. Was it a Kiszka thing? It was weird, I thought as I shifted in bed, trying to adjust without jostling Josh too much, when it seemed like all of them would have super robust immune systems. I could remember the time Danny had strep and Sam caught it, of course, and Sam’s experience seemed a lot worse than his counterpart had. I tried not to worry. I tried to just close my eyes and match my breathing to Josh’s, to remember that it would be a new day soon enough.

But in the morning, all of that worry returned tenfold. Josh looked pale, his cough had become worse and he was shivering from the moment we got up. The first thing I did was grab the thermometer and stick it under his tongue again.

“Alright, let’s go,” I said, hopping into action as soon as I saw the little red line hit 104. “Hospital time.”

Josh huffed raggedly and stayed frozen on the edge of the bed. “Do we have to?”

“Please, Josh?” I asked while I fluttered about the bedroom to gather necessities–his phone and wallet, our chargers, a clean pair of socks. Who knew how long we were going to wait there for, so I grabbed a tote bag from the closet and started piling other things into it–books, earbuds, Josh’s notebook and pens.

“You’re really worried,” he noted while I buzzed about him, and that made me stop to really feel that worry sink into my gut.

“Yeah, I am. This isn’t getting better,” I told him, turning away to return to the closet. “And I need you to be okay.” I at least needed to get dressed before we left, then I needed to email work. I could do that from the hospital though, I concluded, and rifled through hangers to find my favorite hoodie.

“I’m okay, darling,” Josh said, coming up to my side and rubbing my back. “Will you feel better if I finish that Gatorade?”

“Yes,” I said with a chuckle.

He lifted an arm and sniffed himself. “I smell ripe. Can I shower before we go?”

“Okay. But I’m gonna sit in there with you in case you need help,” I said, expecting to get push-back, but Josh smirked, looking pleased.

In the bathroom, I sat on the closed toilet, bouncing my leg with unyielding nervous energy. While Josh sudsed himself up, I texted the boys to let them know what was happening and their responses only fueled my fears, not in the sense that I was actually expecting the worst–because that would never happen–but in the sense of it had become something to actually share. Something to make everyone else aware of.

Not even Josh announcing, “I feel better already!” as the hot water pounded over him could shake my concerns. Everyone felt better in the shower while sick, but it might only last so long, and when he came out, he still looked pale beneath the flush from the heat.

“We’re still gonna go,” I told him as I shimmied the towel around his body, speeding up the process of him drying off. “I’m not trying to be like, insane or bitchy about this or whatever but–”

Josh quickly lifted one arm to cough loudly, his whole body moving with a long shake. “I know. You’re not being anything about this, love. I’d do the same if it were you.” He sniffed, sighed. “Except I’d probably carry you there. You can’t carry me there.”

“Thank God for cars,” I said, and once Josh was dressed and we were packed up, we got in my own vehicle and headed toward the hospital.

I’d never spent much time in hospitals. Josh, however, had–from broken bones to ruptured eardrums, accidental lacerations and bad sprains, he, Jake and Sam had been inside the walls of our hometown hospital far more than I ever had. The sharp smell of ammonia and artificial lemon made me crinkle my nose as soon as we got inside, and the too-bright white lights that bounced off the white walls made me want to turn right around. Thankfully, no matter how much he resented the fact that we had to be there at all, Josh followed my every move. We checked in and sat down, him wrapped up in multiple layers of clothing beneath a hand-me-down jacket from Danny. I felt too hot in my own layers, the overwhelming heat emanating from the whole hospital mixing with my nerves and superseding the beginnings of a dreary November snowfall outside.

My phone vibrated and a text from Jake read: Keep us posted. If he gets admitted we’re gonna head up there

I will, I texted back. We’re still in the waiting room now

“Who’s that?” Josh asked, resting his head on my shoulder.

“Your twin. Jake says they’re gonna drive up if you have to stay overnight,” I told him, still helplessly bouncing my leg, to which Josh rested one hand on my knee.

“I doubt it, darling. What could they even do for this?”

“I don’t know. I wish I was a doctor,” I said, locking my phone and tucking it away. “Then I could figure it out and fix you myself.”

“You’ll be my sexy nurse.”

I laughed. “Okay, yeah, I can do that. I was trying to be that back home. Well, I guess I wasn’t that sexy.”

Josh snickered. “Lies.”

Snow was falling harder by the time we were ushered into another room to wait further, but finally an actual doctor showed up. I sat back in the stiff chair and watched as Josh was examined, with the doctor taking longer than what I figured was normal while he checked his breathing. I could see Josh struggling to take deep breaths, and when he took the final one dictated by the doctor, he let out another harsh, dry cough.

“Any pain?” the doctor asked, moving the stethoscope to a different spot on Josh’s back.

“A little,” Josh said. “In my chest.”

The doctor pulled the stethoscope away. “Let’s do some x-rays. Your lungs don’t sound how I want them to. Do you smoke?”

“Not often,” Josh answered, looking crestfallen. “You really need to do x-rays?”

“It’ll just be a few minutes,” the doctor assured him, then looked at me. “Would you like to wait here or come with us?”

With the worry rising, I felt as though I couldn’t even move besides the nervous fidgeting, and I got the sense the doctor wanted me to wait anyway. “I’ll stay,” I told them, looking at Josh. “I’ll text Jake again and bring him up to speed.”

And I did just that while Josh got his x-rays, feeling dread pour into my mind. X-rays were serious, right? I’d never had one. Jake tried to reassure me via text but also reaffirmed that he, Sam and Danny were still prepared to drive into town if this became an overnight visit.

Unfortunately, it became just that. When the doctor and Josh returned and the word “pneumonia” became thrown around, I felt my heart sink. With Josh’s heart rate being too low, the high fever and the fluid in his lungs, they wanted to admit him, and although I was given further reassurance by being told that he was young and healthy and would be fine, the fact that Josh had to be stuck in the hospital at all made me feel helpless and confused.

“This is silly,” Josh said while an actual nurse got him situated with an IV. He looked small and delicate in that hospital bed, watching her actions closely.

“We gotta make sure you’re getting your fluids,” she told him, her voice tired but kind. “And we’re getting you started on those antibiotics too, alright?”

As soon as the nurse was gone, I felt a sob getting caught in my throat. I knew Josh would be okay but there was still a part of me that was so frightened at the alternative. He sat up and looked at me, frowning with concern: “Sweetheart, what is it?” I shook my head, trying not to cry because it was pointless, but Josh was having none of that. “Come here, love.”

So I went over to him, sitting down on the scant space of bed, and he wrapped his arm around me. “It’s hard to see you like this,” I confessed, and the tears started to come. I closed my eyes and rested my head on his shoulder, bringing one hand to my face. “I don’t know, Starshine. I know you’ll be okay.”

“In sickness and in health,” Josh said, sounding more serious than humorous. “It’s got me thinking too, about how much more of this we might have to deal with as we get older. But I am going to be fine. It’s just a bit of bad luck and a shitty immune system.”

“I know,” I said through more tears, but they were already easing up. I wiped my eyes and sighed, burrowing into him. Josh always seemed so vital, so alive, to the point I realized I sort of viewed him as almost invincible. Almost immortal, in a way. “It fucking sucks.” Some “what ifs” were still circling through my brain but I wouldn’t voice them. That was actually pointless.

Having relayed the final news to the boys, they showed up a couple hours later. Jake stayed right next to Josh on the other side of the bed while Sam milled about the room and Danny pulled the chair up to be close. It was funny, I thought, how much more alive Josh already seemed to be thanks to the attention and affection. Probably also the rush of fluids and maybe the start of those antibiotics, too. It was suddenly almost like nothing was wrong–the boys brought us both up to speed on their writing and rehearsing, a leak in their basement and then some exciting progress on what was going on between Jake and Jane. That perked both Josh and me up, at least–something worth celebrating.

We were told by another nurse, though the words didn’t exactly match her facial expression, that we could essentially stay as long as we wanted. Josh was insistent, however, after an entire day of none of us really eating and nighttime in full swing, that we all should head home. The boy’s parents were headed over to the hospital anyway, so at least he wouldn’t be alone the entire evening. I think we were all still reluctant to leave but I made sure Josh had all of his supplies, kissed him on the forehead and then headed out, feeling strange and forlorn, to go back to our apartment.

The snow had stopped falling by the time I was on the road–another thing to be grateful for–and although I was only home in the empty apartment for a short time while the boys grabbed us all dinner, I hated how cold and sad it felt without Josh. Or really, with knowing where he was instead of being home with me.

“Thank god,” I said when the buzzer sounded. The sight of the boys piling through the door made me feel so much better, as did not eating alone. I hadn’t realized how hungry I’d become until the food was in front of me and it appeared to be the same for them–we ate like we hadn’t done so in days. It was good to know I wasn’t alone in my worries, no matter how baseless they may have essentially been.

“He’ll be okay,” Danny told me. We were all grouped in the living room, Danny next to me on the couch, Jake next to him and Sam on the floor in front of us.

“I know,” I said, the small phrase sounding like a mantra. “I’m still scared.” I looked to Jake for reassurance of that feeling and, silently, he gave it to me. That twin connection was eternal and stronger than I’d ever be able to understand.

We all ended up sleeping in the living room, too. I took the couch and the boys took the floor in the sleeping bags Josh and I had smartly kept a third to hoard, and though the company was of great comfort, I still couldn’t fall asleep. I kept thinking of Josh in that stiff white hospital bed; maybe Jake was thinking of the same thing, because he and I were still rolling around while Sam and Danny were out cold.

“I just keep thinking about death now,” I told Jake in a whisper through the dark as I made another shift onto my side, looking out onto the floor. I could see his silhouette tucked into the sleeping bag, him propping his head up in his hand.

“That’s way more morbid than what’s happening right now,” he replied, though there was still a tinge of sympathy in his soft voice. “Josh isn’t gonna die. But yeah, it’s scary. I hear you. I’m way more used to us being sick or injured together, honestly.”

I sighed, bringing the blanket further up my chest. “I don’t wanna grow up.”

Jake chuckled. “Me either.”

After a moment I asked, “You really think he’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, I do.” Jake shuffled a bit more and I could hear more than see that he was directly facing me. “You said it’s just been a few days, right? It’s bound to get better.”

“Yeah. The doctors know, I’m sure.” We both stayed quiet for a minute before I said, “I’ve just never seen him like that. So exhausted and weak. And when that doctor said his pulse or his heart rate or whatever was too low? I mean, that’s scary.”

“If you weren’t here, Josh would’ve never gone to the ER,” Jake said. “Who knows how much worse it would’ve gotten then. But they said he’s probably gonna come home tomorrow. We’ll stick around if you want help.”

“I don’t want you guys getting sick, too. I’m probably gonna get sick next.”

“All the more reason for us to stay and help.” Jake sighed. “I miss being super close all the time anyway.”

I smiled a little to myself. “You do?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jake said and I could hear the smile in his own words. “Sometimes I feel like I’m babysitting, dude. Josh was always sort of our leader. Yeah, it was different when we started the band and he started school but still. He was always there.”

I rolled onto my back. “Sometimes I wonder if he regrets not joining you guys. We’ve talked a lot about it and I know he’s happy where he is now but–I don’t know. I could see it, him being part of the band. But I’m glad he went to college instead. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have met him.” I stretched, feeling better, feeling myself edge a little closer to real tiredness. “My life would’ve turned out so boring without him. And all you guys.”

“You take good care of him. He needs that.”

I laughed softly. “He’s good at taking care of himself, too. And of me.”

Jake yawned and I heard him settle back down in the sleeping back. “We’ll go back first thing in the morning. I bet he’s already dying to come home.”

---

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sanguineerose · 2 years ago

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bartylus christmas shopping based on my prompt

Regulus doesn’t want to do this. In fact, he could imagine many better things to do on this chilly, rainy Saturday morning.

For instance, he could binge watch this new show on Netflix no one can shut up about. Or, perhaps, he could finish that book he dived into the other night—maybe he could even start reading a new one. He could do crossword puzzles, he could catch up on homework, he could do the laundry or clean the bathroom. Hell, he could spend the entire day sitting on the couch and staring at the blank wall, and that would still be more appealing than a Christmas shopping spree.

But he promised Barty, and he doesn’t want to spoil his fun.

It’s still quite early when Regulus finishes his shower, then slides into a pair of dark pants and black turtleneck. Barty, of course, has to wear the silliest festive sweater mankind has ever seen: it has a dog on the front with a Santa hat on its head and Christmas lights around its body, which actually lights up when you boop the dog’s nose. It was a present from Sirius last year - to Regulus, not Barty - and he still isn’t sure why his brother thought he would ever, ever consider wearing something so hideous. Barty, on the other hand, seems rather happy with it, even though it’s one size too small for him. The green sleeves don’t cover his wrists, and Regulus can see his belly button peeking out when Barty’s reaching for something in the kitchen cabinet.

This guy.

Barty even put on Christmas music this morning and now he’s making waffles for breakfast, humming along whatever is playing on what has to be the worst Spotify playlist for the holidays. Regulus sighs and pours himself a cup of coffee. His fingers itch to grab Barty’s phone and switch to something bearable, but he can’t deny that he loves seeing that idiot grin on Barty’s stupid, handsome face.

“You’re dressed like we’re going to a funeral,” Barty says, glancing back over his shoulder.

“This is how I dress every day,” Regulus replies flatly, leaning against the counter. He doesn’t say that he would rather be attending a funeral, but his boyfriend can definitely read it off his face.

Barty rolls his eyes and steps behind Regulus, wraps his arms around his stomach, and buries his face into his hair. All these years, and his touch still makes him shiver in the most delicious ways.

“Stop being the Grinch,” Barty says, pressing a soft kiss on his jaw. “We’re hosting a Christmas party this year.”

Right, that. Since most of their friends have a horrible relationship with their families, Barty came up with the brilliant idea that they should spend Christmas together instead. It happened at Sirius’ birthday party and Regulus was drunk out of his mind when he agreed to it. He could hardly remember it the next morning, but Barty was thrilled, and so was everyone else.

Regulus frankly has no clue how he’s going to survive this.

After breakfast and a last attempt to send Barty alone to do this, Regulus gives in as they finally leave the apartment. There are still three weeks until Christmas, but every shop is crowded, so much that there’s barely any space to move. Oh, how much Regulus despises this. He’s used to running errands early in the morning, when everyone’s still asleep or at work, doing everything he can to avoid the rush. It seems impossible to do so now so close to the holidays.

“Come on, Reg. What can I do to make you feel better?” Barty asks as they leave the store, carrying another bag. “Should I get you a cup of hot chocolate? Some eggnog? We can go ice skating.”

Sure, because Regulus wants nothing more than spending his afternoon around screaming children.

“Take me home.”

“That, I can’t do,” Barty says with a hum as they step on the escalator. “I can give you a head in the dressing rooms, though.”

“God, shut up.” Regulus looks around and laughs, despite himself. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The day drags on while they go from store to store, picking up everyone’s presents. Regulus is glad he doesn’t have to do this alone this year, most especially because Barty is amazing at finding the best gifts.

“How are you so good at this?” Regulus asks, genuinely amazed.

“I interact with people. You should try it sometimes.”

“That’s hilarious.”

Some time later, Regulus leans on the handle of the shopping cart, ticking off another item on the list. There isn’t much left, and if he was alone, he knew he would be able to get this done in fifteen minutes. But Barty behaves like a child on a playground.

“Should I get this?” he asks, pushing his hair back with a headband with glittering antlers on it. Before Regulus could react, Barty’s already reaching for a pair of glasses, which have red gingerbread men on the frames. “No. I’m getting this one. Or both. I’m getting both.”

“You sure that’s enough?” Regulus asks sarcastically, but Barty looks conflicted.

“You’re right. I’m getting one for everyone.”

He collects a handful of accessories, then throws them in the cart while Regulus shakes his head, amused.

“If you’re done, we should go and buy drinks.”

Barty glances at him, now fiddling with a dancing, singing Santa Claus. It’s very loud and very shiny and very much sounds like something that would drive Regulus nuts.

“Sirius said he’s getting drinks.”

Regulus halts. “If you buy that, I’m breaking up with you,” he says, and Barty quickly puts the toy back on its shelf. “And since when you’re such good friends with my brother?”

Barty shrugs. “We’ve talked about the party in the group chat.”

“What group chat?”

“Our private Regulus fan club,” Barty says, now putting on a red and green striped elf hat. “Kidding. It’s the group chat you muted two hours after I invited you.”

Oh, right, that one. “Because you kept sending stupid TikTok videos. Do you really want to get that hat, too?”

“Obviously,” Barty smiled, dropping the hat in the cart.

The music in the supermarket’s radio is even worse than Barty’s playlist, but he seems content with it, as he hums and sings every horrible song. How does he even know the lyrics of every one of them? But nonetheless, it puts a smile on Regulus’ lips, because even though he really, truly dislikes the holidays, there’s absolutely no way he could genuinely hate something that makes his lover so excited. Yes, he’s an annoying little menace sometimes, but he’s Regulus’ little menace.

But as much as he loves Barty and his enthusiasm, it’s been hours, and Regulus is getting overwhelmed. It’s maybe the crowd or the noises or the memories—or perhaps all of it, but he’s finding it harder to breathe, harder to stay calm.

Barty, of course, is quick to notice his discomfort.

“Seriously, Reg. What’s wrong?”

Regulus takes a deep breath, then it spills out of him. “Look, baby. I’m glad, I genuinely am that you’re being so excited about this, about buying presents and trying on silly costumes and all that—but I just can’t feel the same way. I can’t. I’ve never, ever had a nice Christmas before, because each time my parents ended up drunk and throwing plates and screaming at us. Oh, up until last year, of course, when I came out to them and they kicked me out. Every single memory I have of the holidays is a bad one.”

He stops and Barty’s silent, his smile now vanished.

“Great,” Regulus says, sighing. Guilt gnawing at his stomach for ruining Barty’s day. “It’s Christmas and I’m having a fucking breakdown in the middle of Tesco.”

But Barty chuckles and moves closer, putting his hands on Regulus’ arms.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all that. And I’m sorry you don’t have any good memories of the holidays. But, you know, I don’t have one either. And neither does your brother, and Evan, and Lily, and probably some of the others, too. That’s exactly why I’m looking forward to this one, you know? Because I can finally spend it around people that I actually care about.” He pauses then, sliding his hands down Regulus’ arms. “But if you really don’t want to do this, we can call this off. I’ll just tell the others—”

“No, don’t,” Regulus says, squeezing Barty’s hand. Maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s the best thing that could happen to him, even though it’s hard to make that step. “I want to do this.”

“Good,” Barty smiles, kissing Regulus’ forehead. His hair is still a mess from trying on so many hats and headbands, and Regulus can hardly stop himself from running his fingers through it. “Now, can we go back to the toy aisle and get that giant plush alpaca?”

“We’ve already got a gift for Luna.”

“Luna?” Barty asks, scrunching up his freckled nose. “I want to get it for myself.”

Regulus laughs, because fuck, he’s so madly in love with this dork.

#bartylus #regulus x barty

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