#Novelty holiday ornaments

[noisycowboyglitter]

Funny Pickle Reindeer Christmas: Quirky Gifts for the Holiday Season

"Funny Pickle Reindeer Christmas" combines several whimsical elements to create a quirky and humorous holiday concept. This phrase likely refers to a comical Christmas decoration or ornament that merges the traditional pickle ornament tradition with the iconic reindeer of Santa's sleigh team.

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Imagine a green glass pickle ornament sporting reindeer antlers, a red nose reminiscent of Rudolph, and perhaps tiny hooves. This absurd combination takes two separate Christmas traditions and mashes them together for a laugh-inducing result.

The pickle ornament tradition, believed to have German roots (though this is debated), involves hiding a pickle-shaped ornament on the Christmas tree. The first child to find it on Christmas morning receives an extra gift or good fortune for the year. Reindeer, on the other hand, are firmly established in Christmas lore as Santa's magical flying helpers.

This funny mashup might feature googly eyes, a goofy grin, or even a tiny Santa hat perched between its antlers. It could be part of a larger set of unconventional Christmas decorations designed to inject humor into holiday decor.

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The "Funny Pickle Reindeer Christmas" concept appeals to those who enjoy subverting traditional holiday themes with a dash of absurdity. It's the kind of decoration that becomes a conversation piece, eliciting chuckles from guests and adding a touch of levity to the festive season.

Christmas gift ideas for girlfriends blend thoughtfulness, romance, and practicality to show appreciation and love during the holiday season. Consider her interests, hobbies, and personal style when selecting the perfect present.

For the fashion-conscious girlfriend, trendy accessories like a designer scarf, elegant jewelry, or a luxury handbag could be ideal. Tech-savvy partners might appreciate smart home devices, the latest smartphone, or noise-canceling headphones.

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Personalized gifts add a special touch, such as custom photo albums, engraved jewelry, or monogrammed items. For the beauty enthusiast, a high-end skincare set or premium makeup palette could be a hit.

Experience gifts create lasting memories: concert tickets, spa days, cooking classes, or weekend getaways. Bookworms might enjoy a first edition of their favorite novel or an e-reader loaded with new titles.

Cozy gifts like plush robes, premium bedding, or gourmet hot chocolate sets are perfect for winter. For creative types, consider art supplies, a pottery class, or a high-quality camera.

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Remember, the most appreciated gifts often combine practicality with a personal touch, showing you've put thought into understanding her wishes and needs.

[kolosceramics]

Ceramic jellybean pod ornament by KOLOS ❤️

[reginaofdoctorwho]

gotta make a list of stuff to look for next time i go to antique stores. if i had one of those blacklight flashlights i'd put uranium dishware on it but alas, i don't and can't test any.

anything anyone wants me to try to get pictures of?

[jiminrings]

fail-safe

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: growing up, your brother's best friend always berated you for not having a passion in life outside of loving him from afar. when yoongi leaves everything he's ever known for everything he's ever wanted, trying to move on from him becomes your biggest aspiration.

alternatively, yoongi left when you needed him the most, and comes back home at a time when you love him the least.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, eventual fluff, brother's best friend AND single dad au, So Much Yearning, unrequited love (initial), jealousy, self-deprecation, a lot of talk abt passion in an empty n hurtful way that most impassioned youngest children feel (it's a specific feeling idk!!!), eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: finally got to writing a new series!!! i'm beyond excited for this + this whole new concept and flow i haven't touched on before <3 i hope u love fail-safe as much as i do :-)

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! | series masterlist

Yoongi buys atleast one scratch ticket a week.

The accessibility of buying one is top-notch considering that all he has to do is cross the street, shoot one look to the cashier, and he can either already go hunch in the corner of the road or in the comfort of his room. The moment his coin takes its first dig and he realizes that he’s won yet again, he’s satisfied enough not to buy another ticket.

He doesn’t want to risk losing the win he’s just gained, the odds of him throwing out money besting his chances in adding to his earnings. He thinks everyone’s a little greedy one way or another, but it’s the righteous part of him that thinks he’s different.

You do think that he is for all the right reasons, your vision only tunneling for him alone. He’s this fixed older figure in your life and you can’t figure out how to shrug him off — he’s this generous leech that sucks all of the rationality from your mind but returns it to you twofold, whether in the form of him saying something unintentionally endearing that it makes your chest hurt, or through him having to lightly smack the back of your head.

Yoongi’s your older brother’s best friend and there’s a novelty tag that comes with him, one that can’t be topped by any material possession to your name. He’s there for you, not in the exact way you want him to be, but nonetheless there. He’s special and unattainable at the same time, the finiteness of his love barely extending to you.

He’s there when you want him to burn the latest songs onto a CD you’ve spent all your allowance in, and he’s there when you get annoyed that he sneaked some of his own recommendations in there. You’re there when you later admit that his suggestions aren’t half-bad, and you also happen to be there when he grins at the praise.

He’s there when Namjoon won’t cough up the last slice of his cutlet, not because he’ll actually give you his, but because he’ll help your brother guard his plate. You’d only have to mope for a solid of three seconds before the two of them give up both of their last slices, and you’re there when Yoongi insists for you to try the sauce in the spirit of going out of your routine.

You don’t need Yoongi every single time but in the event that you do, he hangs back. He contemplates and hesitates and doesn’t give in to every single whim that you have, but he’ll be there. He lingers like the last holiday ornament you don’t want to remove until it’s February, his presence being oddly similar to your favorite festivities.

Yoongi’s the equivalent of a holiday you look forward to with each passing month and day; he comes around to and for you in instances, but never even in your most sincere wishes.

“I buy one scratch ticket a week — three if I’m really feeling lucky. When my palms itch, that’s when I know that I really need to buy them.”

He’s calm and collected even when you’re scrunching your nose up at him in combined worry and disbelief, humming mindlessly as you collect your thoughts. He randomly told you about his lottery routine and you’re still trying to wrap your head around how he blows his money off just easily. Yoongi has the mind to put scrap cardboard under you because sitting on the hot concrete with your uniform on can’t possible be a good idea, but you try to play off your fluster into stubbornness.

He’s just playing with his two ever-present coins (lucky charms as he calls them)— one that’s shiny and minted in the present year, the other being the oldest coin he’s ever had that happens to be older than he is — while you mutter about.

“I don’t know, Yoongs. That might be a gambling problem,” you squint, your side comment being heard clearly as day. “Might be the symptoms for hand, foot, and mouth disease too.”

“What— I do not have a gambling problem! My skin’s perfectly fine too, thanks,” he defends, the light shove he gives you doing nothing to tone down your teasing.

“That’s what people with gambling problems say.”

“Give me that-…” he mutters, trying to wrestle you for the sundae he bought you using the money he won from his scratch ticket just awhile ago. You don’t give in easily, even if your laughs that come straight from your chest suggest otherwise. “You don’t get it. It’s just this nice, fun little thing I can look forward to every week. I always buy the cheapest version anyway so when I lose, it’s not a big deal.”

You relent (like you always do when it comes to Yoongi) in understanding, waving him off after regaining your breath. “Nah. I get it. We all have to do things so we wouldn’t lose our shit,” you trail, racking your head to find the right words.“Yours is buying scratch tickets, and mine is-…”

“Yours is what?” Yoongi raises an eyebrow, lips quirked in eagerness to know where you’re going with this. He can’t pinpoint a single thing he can attach to you and neither can you, your actual interests merely reflecting those of the people whom you love.

You love cross-stitching because your mom loves doing it, the tolerance you have for accidentally being pricked by the needle growing over time.

You enjoy playing badminton because Namjoon’s obsessed with the sport, no matter how ratty your rackets and shuttlecocks have become, and no matter how much he pushes you to ring the doorbell to your neighbor’s when he’s sent it flying to their backyard.

You’re probably an imposter yet you don’t feel like it. You don’t feel bad that your life most probably and will only revolve around your mom and Namjoon (maybe even Yoongi); you don’t feel dissatisfied that your life’s mundane. 

You go where your love goes.

“Mine is watching you buy scratch tickets,” you shrug easily as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, making him laugh heartily. You’ve probably done something right because he hauls you up to your feet immediately.

“Get up. I’m buying you your first ticket,” he nudges you, grabbing you by the arm in excitement.

“But I’m not even legal!” you half-heartedly argue, internally excited that you’re finally getting to try your hand at the lottery because you’ve spent a few hundred minutes of your life tuned to the channel to pass the time, awaiting the results for something you haven’t even betted for.

“Right. Like I haven’t seen you trying to squeeze out a drop of beer from our empty cans whenever Namjoon and I drink.”

“Rude,” you roll your eyes playfully, gathering your things from the ground.

“It’s okay. I’ll give you your first sip of beer too if you want,” Yoongi offers sincerely; easily as if you’ve just asked him about the weather.

He’s here to buy you your first scratch ticket, and he’s still here to offer giving you your first sip of liquor in the future.

Your family friend for a cashier vehemently ignores the fact that you’re still underage to participate in the lottery, and instead only chuckles to herself in amusement. She’s an aunt that knows when to step in and not to, and she knows you won’t be harmed by a mere bet. In fact, she knows you won’t be harmed by anything with Yoongi in tow.

“I already used up all my change,” your frown in realization, holding the ticket in your hands in despair despite having scoured your wallet repeatedly.

“Rub it against the pavement. That’s what I do,” Yoongi lies fluidly, a scoff being caught in his throat when you actually attempt to do it.  “I was only kidding, Y/N. Jeez,” he groans, pulling out his wallet. “Ugh. Here. You can have one of my lucky coins.”

It’s the old one, tarnished beyond relief that you can barely recognize what it’s actual value is supposed to be.

“Ew. I’m giving it back. It looks prehistoric,” you narrow your eyes, knowing that you don’t even have to put your fingers nears your nose to know that it’s already left a faint stench on them.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, a habit he can’t tell he’s formed himself or got from you. “If you use your brain for one second, you’d realize that it’s actually worth more because it’s older. Collectors would go crazy for that in the future.”

“That sounds like a hoarding problem.”

He’s just had about enough of your whining so he attempts to trade in the old coin for his lucky new one, but you stop him at the last minute with a meek smile.

“Kidding. Thank you. I’ll keep it safe, Yoongi. I promise,” you rush out before he changes his mind, scratching your ticket in silence.

He waits for you because you’re scratching so politely and neatly, a stark opposite to his experienced skill of scratching the paint off in ten strokes or less.

Your face is too close to the ticket that Yoongi can’t tell what’s happening, making him part your hair like a curtain to peek.

“Did you win?”

“Nope.”

“Let me throw that out for you.”

“No!” you squeak, keeping the ticket close to your chest. It’s a bummer that your first time is a loss, but it didn’t mean that you wanted to forget the sentiment behind it. “I-I mean no, I’ll keep it. It’s memorable now that I think about it.”

“Alright,” he shrugs carelessly, a smile breaking out in retaliation. “Hoarder.”

“Gambler,” you spit, tucking the ticket into your pencil case. “Next week again?”

Yoongi agrees, wrapping his head around the fact that he doesn’t have to be alone in his little routine every Friday.

“Sure.”

( ♡ )

You don’t mind getting hand-me-downs.

As a matter of fact, you love receiving them. The wear and tear of the things that came before you is only proof that it’s been loved enough to be passed on to you.

You adore your mother’s dainty vintage watch that she wore throughout college, the hardware and sentiment behind it being pretty enough that you don’t mind constantly getting the battery replaced. You like Namjoon’s shirts that he’s outgrown, even through the numerous phases he’s had wherein only denim and tie-dye filled his closet.

You don’t mind the history behind the numerous things you have in your home, unbothered that you’re probably the only house in the block with the oldest possible rice cooker. The chips in the staircase aren’t covered up with marker ink and neither are the loose stitches in the couch quilt snipped off. It’s home to your mother and Namjoon — if it’s good enough for them, then it’s already the best for you.

Even on top of everything, you don’t mind your family almost always getting you shirts and shoes that have an allowance in them. Your mom would go to Seoul and pick out the exact pair of sneakers you wanted that are atleast three sizes bigger than your actual feet, and you’d barely bat an eye. 

You don’t mind the coziness of things that are brought to you, because even if they weren’t offered, you’d seek them yourself. 

So when Yoongi mentioned that he’s decluttering his room and needed someone (read: you) to vacuum it up for him, you jump at the chance. You take a grocery bag with you, wear the nearest pair of slippers within your vicinity, and book it to his house as soon as he finished talking.

“Go crazy, kid. Almost everything in that pile is garbage so you can take anything.”

“I feel like I should be more offended than how I feel right now,” you hum, furrowing your eyebrows at the pile in front of you. It’s a mound of Yoongi, or atleast everything he’s ever wanted up until he decided to do a general cleaning of his bedroom.

Yoongi chuckles, going through his pile of clean laundry for him to fold on the side while you scavenge for his things. “It’s either I have you take them or I get ripped off at the thrift store, then I see somebody’s uncle wearing my shirt as an added insult.”

You huff, rummaging through his heap of belongings while conveniently trying to ignore that you may look like somebody’s uncle the moment you wear his clothes. Everything is him; every distressed cap, every unfinished embroidered shirt, and every item of old significance with his initials branded on it.

The thick gray hoodie you’ve been eyeing (along with its owner) for the better part of the last few years surfaces into your field of vision, your gasp audible enough to make him jolt because he thought you’d gotten hurt.

“No way, this too? But this is your favorite,” you half-complain and half-rejoice, turning the hoodie inside-out eagerly in the fear that there’s a catch to it belonging in the pile.

“Eh. I know it looked good on me but I don’t think it’s my favorite. Besides, I’ve bulked up! Wanna feel?” Yoongi grins, his segue eerily similar to your brother’s at every given chance. A neighbor from down the block recently opened a small-time gym, and the both of them have not been able to shut their mouths about it since. From their gossiping alone, Yoongi and Namjoon have generated enough advertising already.

“You and Namjoon really have to stop asking random people to feel your biceps.”

There’s random knick-knacks throughout the clump in the middle of his bed, some being too good and actually useful that you snag them. Yoongi lets you do what you want anyways (most of the time), not having to turn his head to berate you on what you’re only allowed to grab from his stuff.

You’re not greedy — you already have his hoodie and that should be enough on its own. But there’s that handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it, then that Rubik’s cube he swore his relative got for him from New York, and even the little butterfly knife he got from a souvenir shop when his family when to the beach.

There were those and there is this, looking up at you in all of its glory.

“Yoongi.” 

“What now?” he sighs at your dramatic gasp, looking up from his folded laundry to see what you were going on about. It takes a second for him to fully realize why exactly were you so pumped.

“Are you serious? Your helmet?” you squeal, already hugging the shiny red mass close to you. “Does this mean you’re passing your motorcycle to me?!”

“Are you crazy? Fuck no,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, snatching his helmet back from you. He doesn’t miss the bratty frown that fills up your entire face; he’s not exactly the biggest fan whenever you were upset or angry; maybe even both. “Obviously I forgot I even put my helmet there when I made that pile.”

You whine, stomping your feet in exasperation. You would dramatically plop down on his bed if only it wasn’t full of his shit. “Come on! You told me you were teaching me as soon as you finish teaching Joon.”

“Teaching you how to ride my scooter is not the same as giving you it. Why would I just hand you what I bought with my hard-earned money?” Yoongi scrunches his nose, tone sharper than what he intended.

“But you still haven’t taught me,” you murmur to placate yourself and dissuade yourself from the delusion that Yoongi would even exert such an effort for you because of course — why would he do that for you?

You have an inkling that you’re being irrational for all the wrong reasons, perhaps even projecting your need to be looked after… by him.

Yoongi notices your mood that turned sour quickly, the silence between you becoming loaded. He didn’t mean to be that blunt. “I don’t think you’re even old enough to have your driving permit,” he adds in consolation, voice considerably softer.

You snicker lowly, still looking at your feet with your arms crossed. “But I’m old enough to backpack whenever you need me to carry shit that can’t fit in your carrier.”

He immediately groans at your comeback, his furrowed eyebrows mirroring yours. “You’re so stubborn.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” you retort, knowing for a fact he’s known how to drive even before he was eligible for permits and licenses and whatnot. 

Yoongi takes one, two seconds to himself to regain his composure, clearing his head in the process. You’re still not looking at him and you’re pouting and you don’t even notice the latter, making him crack a small smile.

“I will teach you next week.”

“Oh my-…”

He cuts you off, raising his hand in emphasis. “Provided that you listen to everything I say and wear full gear at all times. You clearly don’t have a job yet-…”

“Ouch.”

“And I don’t have the extra money to buy full gear for myself, so what you’ll do is bundle up with your padded coat and the thickest jeans you have,” Yoongi enunciates every word, eyes keenly on you. They’re too wide and alert, you actually feel like listening to him.

“You go on rides wearing your pajamas.”

“Just say ‘thank you, Yoongi’.” 

“You haven’t done anything yet,” you trail off, head tilting in confusion. 

You’ve had a million conversations like this with Yoongi before but of different fonts; worn, familiar, and warm.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” he mouths, nodding at you to do the same. He won’t stop until you utter them back to him, and you know you won’t go home either without giving him your gratitude as you always do.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you relent, the grin that breaks through your lips being infectious enough that he laughs lowly to himself.

He exhales all the worries he has and could possibly ever have seeing you ride the motorcycle (or for you yearning to do everything that he does), grasping at whatever sanity he has left from looking after you.

“You can have the helmet.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi knows the ins and outs of your home.

He’s been at your house too much to the point that your mom already gave him a spare key and nobody batted an eye about it. He has his own designated slippers at the entryway too, something you would only use in a hurry if you needed to sign off on a package.

Yoongi, for some reason unfathomable (not really; you can tell exactly why because your mom is an extremely warm and inviting person), also has the power of dibs on the food in your fridge. He’d put strips of masking tape with his name on food that’s neither brought in nor made for him in the first place. 

It should be off-putting — the way that for too many yet too little reason, Yoongi has become a prominent figure in your life even if you didn’t ask him to. You should be peeved that you have to set up four plates more often that you set up only three; you should be annoyed at some point that when you wake up at random times through the night, you’re not totally alone to begin with.

You shouldbe angry at Yoongi to a degree because he’s in your life and you don’t get to have a say on how he stays in it. The only problem is that you’re not, and probably never will.

“Can’t sleep?” you mutter as you look up from your strikingly clear paper, seeing Yoongi strut across the floor with a casualness that only real occupants of the house should supposedly possess. He has his brows furrowed at you as if he didn’t expect to see you in your living room, scratching his head in wonder.

“Why are you up?”

“Stressed,” you sigh, giving up altogether in attempting to make yourself look busy. Yoongi drives by your fridge to get himself a can of beer, finally seating himself beside you on the floor. 

“Stressed about what? I’m sure it’s not about studying,” he snorts, unsurprised at your paper and the clear lack of motivation behind it. You only roll your eyes at him and he has half a mind to not remind you to not do it so much, the frown in your face reminding him that you really were frustrated.

It is you to throw the occasional tantrum, but he remembers that it was only when you were young; when Namjoon would whisper gibberish to his ear and purposely not whisper to yours just so he could tease you, or when nobody would believe that you taught yourself how to ride a bike with no training wheels. You didn’t know how to do the latter at all, but what had made you throw a tantrum was that nobody believed you.

You notice Yoongi’s digs, of course. You notice each one of his more than unsubtle nods to your intelligence and whatnot, the shots at your intellect not flying over your head like he expected them to.  You admit that you’ve never been that scholastic; you weren’t born a genius and you don’t try exactly hard either.

Yoongi’s only joking but you can’t help but to think that he’s pertaining to something deeper, his constant digs at your lack of a passion making you sluggish.

“We have to write this essay,” you answer simply, your tone straightforward and unwilling for banter but Yoongi bites anyway.

“But essays are the easiest,” he trails, looking at you the whole time as he takes a sip of his beer.

You exhale heavily because no matter what, he just can’t seem to get it. Yoongi knows where you’re coming from but he doesn’t know where you’re headed. As a matter of fact, you don’t know where you’re headed either. “We have to write an essay about where we see ourselves ten years from now.”

“But that’s still easy.”

“If it’s so easy, then go write it for me,” you snicker, leaning back with a huff. He constantly undermines you and although you own up to your striking mundaneness from time to time, it didn’t mean that you liked being looked down on. Yoongi’s too used to you being yourself, he gets taken aback when you grow sick of your own.

He gathers all his willpower, far from being sleepy unlike you who would’ve been lulled to sleep if only you weren’t dead-set on arguing with him. “You know what? I actually will,” he claps, handing you his beer. “Go hold this for me.”

Yoongi grips your pen for dear life like you hold his beer, his hand warm as he works from sheer determination alone (he’s not competing with anyone except for whatever expectation you have for him and your paper), while yours was cold just holding his drink.

You’ve been so quiet that he actually gets curious, turning his head to check to see if you’ve dozed off when actually, it’s just you eyeing the can.

“No one’s watching,” Yoongi breaks you out of your thoughts, carelessly shrugging. He cares and he’s far too concerned for you, but he figures that nothing would hurt you so long as he can grasp you. “It’s okay. You can have your first sip.”

You blink owlishly at him and when he jokes about taking it back, you take your first swig of beer in a panic. Yoongi only shakes his head in amusement, pausing his writing just to see the look on your face.

“One more?” he asks right after he sees you wince, the unbearable sweetness yet bitter, stinging aftertaste of the beer making you shudder. 

You have the urge to wash off the taste with ice cold water (you’ll even drink from the tap because you’re so desperate), but you resist it just so you wouldn’t look like a weakling in front of him. You wave him off with a bitterness, upset that beer doesn’t taste like what you’ve always imagined it to be. “Just write my essay for me,” you mull over the taste in your tongue, in deep thought while you stare at Yoongi’s back ahead of you. “Do all beers taste that way?”

“Eh. Most of them do. You develop a taste for it later on,” he answers, taking the can back from you before drinking it himself. He looks too dedicated in writing your essay, only goading the curiosity in you to peek over his shoulder.

He knows you, both in heart and memory, because he shields your own paper from you when he sees your shadow hovering above him.

“Yoongi?”

“Hm.”

“I told you why I’m up. Why are you up?”

He’s silent entirely, the only indication that he heard your question being his hand pausing abruptly. Yoongi doesn’t answer, and you don’t ask again. “Don’t worry about it.”

You take his answer to heart, dozing off on the couch before you know it. You don’t remember a blanket being placed on you, nor can you remember preparing your backpack for school the next day.

Your paper’s neatly tucked into your portfolio bearing handwriting that’s clearly not yours, but with a sentiment that’s similar nonetheless. You read through everything quickly before even stepping towards your teacher, the tips of your fingers just as cold as Yoongi’s beer last night.

You’ve committed the paper into your memory, even until the last part with an excerpt you can’t forget despite having passed the paper already. You don’t know what to feel because it’s Yoongi who’s speaking for you, detailing that ten years from now, you will still be your mother’s daughter and your brother’s sister.

He wrote your essay either for you or in behalf of you, and you can’t tell which one is better.

Yoongi, who knows the ins and outs of your home and the peaks and troughs of your heart, writes in clear handwriting — Ten years from now, I will still be Yoongi’s rock.

( ♡ )

Surprisingly, Yoongi hasn’t been around that much lately.

Even Namjoon (who you consider as his Siamese twin) is clueless to why his friend hasn’t been hanging out with him lately to do either everything or nothing, confused because they’re enrolled to the same classes all the way to the same part-time jobs, yet Yoongi’s been mostly unavailable.

When Yoongi is, however, he doesn’t speak at all about his previous absences. He comes as if he’s never disappeared a few times before that, his evasion to talk about his presence being apparent even if you’ve asked him directly.

You’re getting used to his new routine of hanging out with you only when the both of you are free, no longer moving mountains for both of your schedules to line up. He’s more present this month than he was at the last, the criteria for it being how many times you bump into him in your own home.

Despite all odds and evens though, Yoongi can’t get used to your silence. He knows you hold grudges longer than your brother, and the last time that he checked, he knows you’ve already let go of your annoyance for him suddenly being unavailable without any explanation. 

It’s late, only the two of you are awake in the living room, there’s ten scratch tickets on the table for you to share, and he’s even gotten you your own glass to which he’ll put a controlled amount (a grand total of two long sips) of his own beer in. You’re not stressing about an essay this time, but the unconscious pout on your face is still the same.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

The frown on your face only goes deeper at being found out, the scratch of your lucky coin being the only clear thing that Yoongi hears. 

“My best friends want to have this slumber party,” you sigh, more upset about what you’ve just uttered than you are happy about the cash prize you’ve just won.

Yoongi takes what you say at face-value, groaning at his third straight loss for the night. “That’s great. Wear cute pajamas, snap a couple of polaroids, don’t be the first to fall asleep and last to wake up, and just keep a pocket knife with you when you’re going out by yourself.” 

The awe (and slight concern) over what he said should roll in any time now.

You should be comforted at Yoongi’s words because they’re supposed to ease the swirl of your stomach, even if what he just said is a repackaged version of what your family said before. You should let go of your worries because Yoongi, of all people, says that it’s supposed to be great.

Instead, you feel neither of what you think Yoongi wants you to.

“Was it something I said?” he mumbles after some time, turning his nose up at you as he tries to retrace his words. “I have an extra pocket knife you can borrow if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“We’re gonna be talking about boys, Yoongi,” you screw your eyes shut, sighing into the palms of your hands with a heaviness. “We’re gonna talk about crushes and experiences and all that.”

He shudders at that, his reaction mirroring Namjoon’s when you tried opening up to him. You get your brother’s reaction to a degree, of course, because you feel as if you’d be disgusted too if the roles were reversed. You want to talk about it with your mom too, but at the end of the day, she’s your parent and you just can’t talk about anything and everything with her. 

Yoongi’s your next plausible option.

“Do you want some ice cream right now? You know what, I’ll buy you-…” Yoongi tries to evade the topic altogether, his attempt of escaping feeble as you drag him down by his hoodie.

“I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”

“Heh.”

Yoongi shrugs at that, regaining his words when you deadpan at him. “So? What about it?”

You starfish on the floor at that out of frustration, the whine you’ve been bottling up coming out in the open because as usual, Yoongi doesn’t get it. “I-I’m probably the only one in my grade who hasn’t kissed someone yet! I can’t just lie carelessly because obviously, they’ll ask around.”

“So?” Yoongi chuckles, his breeze towards your state shocking you. “What’s it to them if you haven’t had your first kiss?”

“You don’t get it,” you grit through your teeth, crossing your arms so hard that it feels hard to inhale.

“I’m pretty sure I do,” he sing-songs, drinking the last of his beer. When you’re not looking though, he plans to either drink or chuck the remainder of your share because he doesn’t want you to develop a taste for it.

The anger you have for Yoongi bubbles up once again, the itch in your throat unbearable. You’re presented with the age gap between you once more, along with the raging emptiness in you that Yoongi’s reached so far and you’ve reached so little.

“You don’t get it because you’ve had all of these experiences when you were younger than my age right now,” you snap, although you don’t look at him when you do. If you do look at him though, you’ll only be reminded of how a face like his could have everything in this world — even a first kiss you’ve never had.

“Yeah, and so?” he knits his brows, growing defensive. You weren’t lying at all, but he still feels a little offended at the dig. He’s not not proud of it, but with the way you say it, it’s like you want him to burn in shame,

“Stop saying so,” you angrily mumble in frustration, a little breathless because you still don’t ease up on crossing your arms.

Yoongi straightens his posture, staring you down with his jaw set. He’s stern as he is, nostrils flaring in irritation. “No, Y/N. I’m genuinely asking — so what? What’s it to you if I had my first kiss at a younger age? What about it if everyone else in your grade has kissed someone and you haven’t? It’s not the end of the world.”

“I-I don’t know! It’s just unfair!” you let up, yielding to both the facts that Yoongi’s right with it not being the end of the world, and that you’re still entitled to feeling upset.

“Instead of spending time obsessing over your first kiss, maybe I don’t know,  try being productive? You’re heading to college soon and you haven’t even thought of a career,” Yoongi goes off on you, making you roll your eyes automatically. There he goes again with the great big push of trying to push you into your supposed passions in life. “Someone else’s luck doesn’t mean it’s already your misfortune.”

“But it is.”

You say it so definitively, you almost convince him. You have your principles and so does Yoongi, but not everyone else. You have your principles yet you don’t have the luck. You’re not getting anywhere in life just like Yoongi or anyone else who was remotely born into wealth, no matter how quiet or obvious.

You can’t pursue something that interests you in the slightest without thinking what would come out of it. You can’t think of a degree and a course you’ll stick with, enough to do for the rest of your life because the only other option is to fail completely if you don’t. You have no plan and no passion and you don’t know if you’ll ever amount to anything to anyone at all.

By all means, you don’t agree with Yoongi this time. Someone else’s luck is your misfortune, in the same way that his first kiss doesn’t mean that it’s yours.

The sidetrack to your argument is a closed case already, judging by your downcast gaze. “I just have to put myself out there, that’s all. My first kiss doesn’t even have to mean anything. I just want to have it,” you admit, shoulders relaxing.

“Don’t,” Yoongi groans, the opposite of you as his whole body tenses.

He thinks that you don’t get him at all.

“What do you meandon’t?”

Your argument’s long-over (atleast you thought it was) but Yoongi’s getting more agitated by the minute, the disbelief on his face throwing you off. “Don’t do things just because you feel like you have to! Are you even hearing yourself right now?”

“I don’t want to be left behind, Yoongi! That’s all I’m trying to get at,” you raise your hands in surrender, shrugging thoughtlessly — it makes him want yell into a paper bag in exasperation. “I don’t want to be picked last. I don’t want to not be wanted.”

Yoongi exhales, screwing his eyes shut. It stays silent like that for a little while; him calming himself down, and you scratching your tickets. The calm doesn’t stay for long because you open your mouth carelessly, again.

“Can you be my first kiss?”

“Are you insane?”

“Ugh.”

You go back to your fourth scratch ticket, pouting in disappointment. You’re unfazed about the win that’s probably the largest sum you’ve had ever since you started doing the lottery.

You’re upset and you’re sick in the stomach but you stay silent like you never asked Yoongi to be your first kiss; it’s like you haven’t indirectly admitted to him that you love him enough, more than so, to want him to be your first.

You’re about to scratch the final ticket when Yoongi juts his hand out, fingers barely brushing yours to stop you.

“On second thought, don’t scratch that. Just keep it.”

“Because you want to turn me into a hoarder too?” you snicker, heeding his suggestion regardless.

“Because I’m not going to be right about everything,” Yoongi mumbles, looking at you with a solemnness you can’t decipher.

You try until the solemnness turns into pity.

“Still don’t want to be my first kiss?”

Yoongi softly laughs to your face, smiling as he lets you down — whether easily or harshly, you can’t tell.

“You already know what I’m going to say.”

( ♡ )

You’d like to think that you’re not kept in the dark about most things.

You already know that although your mom hasn’t had any relationships since your dad left, she still has plenty of suitors. Some of them are the reason why you have random food deliveries in the middle of the dinner that she’s already cooked, some have sucked up to her by getting you and Namjoon gifts. 

You know about Namjoon’s growing love for football, even with the lessons he takes in secret because he didn’t want to trouble your mom for the money. It’s why he does his part-time job and why you’re looking for one anyways. You don’t want nor need much, so you almost always give him the remainder of your allowance by the end of each week.

Yoongi, on the other hand, you don’t know much about. You know that he’s an only child with a doting mom who works overseas and a rich but emotionally unavailable dad at home, and that’s about it. His home life is synonymous with yours, considering that your four walls have become an extension of his.

Maybe you’ve become too lenient on him — either that, or he’s become too disrespectful. It’s at times like these where your house is not his home, sickeningly so that you don’t want it to be yours either.

Yoongi is a sight to behold as he makes out with a half-naked girl on your bed, in your room. Your room has never been the neatest but with everything going on, it feels that it’s become the dirtiest that it’s ever been. Your house slippers are on the floor even if you always leave them by the entryway, and your sheets are a mess despite being one of the only things you try to keep folded in the room.

You’re angry, too much to the point that the words get caught in your throat. They catch onto bile and venom and everything at once, the strain in your voice heard when you yell.

“What the fuck?!”

Yoongi and the girl, whom you figure out to be Hyewon that he’s shared his first kiss with, jolt in unison. Hyewon’s scared shitless while Yoongi’s annoyed to death, the grunt he lets out pricking your ears further. “Sorry, sorry. She’s my best friend’s sister. She’s so annoying,” he drags you out of your room before he even gives you the entitlement to storm out of there in a fit of rage, seeing red the longer that he seems upset at you.

“What the fuck was that, Yoongi?” you grit through your teeth, the moment of you seeing red turn into white because you’re so frustrated that you could actually cry. Your chest’s heavy, not only out of rage, but out of everything that’s built up in the course of years.

“Can you keep it down?” Yoongi seethes, pursing his lips. “What, would you rather see us do it in the living room?”

“In the — what? Who do you think you are? This isn’t even your house, why are you bringing these girls here?” you point an accusing finger at him yet he doesn’t back away, his annoyance for you only growing tenfold.

He’s in the wrong no matter which way you look at it yet he doesn’t realize it, the epiphany that Yoongi genuinely thinks he’s in the right for doing this to you making your skin burn in fire.

“This is literally the first time I’ve ever done this! I can’t bring her back to my place, my dad has guests over!”

“So your smartest idea is to fuck someone in my bed?”

“Oh, you’re welcome. It’s the most action your four walls have ever seen,” he spits sarcastically, eyes narrowing at you. It takes little effort for him to dig up what you came to him for in worry and it terrifies you. The facet of Yoongi who had sternly told you that it was okay to be left behind if it means getting what you deserve, resembling nothing like him at the moment.

“I can’t believe you!” you whisper as you tremble, the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “I told you that in confidence.”

“In confidence? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re not exactly a catch, Y/N.”

You clench your jaw so hard that it hurts, you ball your fists so tightly that it stings.

You leave your home without saying another word.

.

.

.

Namjoon’s panicked.

He came home a little later than usual because he had maximized the life out of his soccer lessons, only getting the signal to leave when the lights were turned off. He was only slightly worried at the first place because he was supposed to cook dinner for the both of you, but he placated himself by realizing that you’re not the baby that he still thinks you are — you could cook dinner for yourself if you were hungry already.

He thinks nothing of it. In fact, he just makes a quick stop at the convenience store so the both of you could indulge in a liter of ice cream without your mom urging to leave some for another night. You could think of a recipe from scratch (and it almost always works out at the end), so Namjoon walked in fully thinking he’ll get to sniff whatever concoction you have.

Except, he walks into a completely dark house, and that’s when he panics.

He can’t find your slippers by the entryway and you’re not in your room either. You’re not at the other convenience store hunched over taking your chances on scratch tickets, and you’re not out on the street either going people-watching.

The panic rises in him the more that Namjoon grasps this is the first time that this has ever happened and he doesn’t know why. He’s always made an effort to be absorbed into both your personal and academic affairs, and as far as he knows, you’re neither in a sleepover nor on a field trip somewhere.

Namjoon thinks it’s his fault someway somehow, and the guilt can’t fully dissipate from him until he sees you.

“Hey, Yoongi,” he breathlessly gasps the moment his friend answers, the latter being surprised because he thought it was you who was calling him after what happened awhile ago.

It’s his fault and he’s realized that hours too late, and the selfish part of him thinks that it’s you calling at ten in the evening begging for forgiveness.

“What’s up, man? It’s late,” he wonders out loud, thinking for a second if they were too much of the Siamese twins that you tease them to be because he can’t think of a rational reason why Namjoon would call him at this time of night.

Namjoon raggedly exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m just wondering if you’ve seen Y/N by any chance?”

Yoongi’s heart drops so loudly that Namjoon thought for second that his friend had hung up on him, his urgency being shared the moment that he asked.

“What? Y/N isn’t home?” Yoongi asks in disbelief, immediately being filled with anxiety and disbelief. Just awhile ago, the two of you were arguing outside of your room. He did hear you leave, but he had fully expected for you to be back hours ago. He’s wracked with guilt all over, the drop in his chest amplified by the pit in his stomach.

“She’s not. Practice ran late and I-I know she’s responsible so I didn’t hurry home,” Namjoon recalls, being more and more frazzled by the second. “She left her phone here, and mom isn’t here either because she’s visiting my grandparents, a-and I don’t want to call her because I know she’ll be worried, a-and-…”

Yoongi interrupts him, the tremble in his fingers only enabling him to dig his nails into his palm deeper. “I’m coming over. Let’s look for her together.”

It barely takes a minute for the both of them to come together, not even exchanging any pleasantries with each other before Yoongi steps on the gas. 

Namjoon’s filled with guilt, the type that only a sibling could carry as a burden. He thinks he was too selfish — too accustomed to pulling your own weight that it must have given you the impression that you had no other choice but to. Whatever it was that made you leave out of the blue, Namjoon thinks he could’ve done more. He should’ve came home and made you dinner as promised, for starters. He’s guilty over the fact that he’s the only close familial male figure in your life and he let this happen, as he makes Yoongi put his headlights on high-beam, scanning for anyone that looks remotely like you.

Yoongi, on the other hand, is filled with a guilt he can’t even begin to explain. It corrodes him from the inside-out in realization that he’s to blame for your sudden disappearance, the fact that Namjoon comes to him first to help find you not helping at all. If only your brother knew what he had done to you, he’s positive that he’ll be on the receiving end of a punch — what gets him more is that Yoongi wouldn’t blame him at all.

They see you in the bus stop two cities away, dressed in the same clothes you ran out with. 

Namjoon’s relieved beyond compare while Yoongi’s fuming, his hands tucked inside his jacket to prevent himself from squeezing you into an embrace; neither of you deserve it. 

There’s an underlying anger within Namjoon, one that lies behind the back of his throat as he checks you over for any injuries. The two of you walk ahead to Yoongi’s car while he himself trails behind, his heart significantly calmer than it was the past hour, yet nowhere near normal.

“Wanna tell me what you did?” your brother hums, trying to exhale the worry that’s embedded into him with each squeeze he gives around your shoulders.

“Went to the convenience store, bumped into my friends, then we took this impromptu roadtrip to go to the night market, then we all had our first actual shot of liquor and not just beer, my friend who owns the car turned out to be a lightweight, and now everyone just has to commute home,” you narrate in recollection, squeezing Namjoon back to try and ground him.

“Okay,” he answers simply, nodding. “Wanna tell me what happened before you did all those things?”

The breathless chuckle that leaves you is empty, void of any amusement at all. You smile nonetheless, unable to placate both yourself and Namjoon. “Nope.”

You arrive in silence to Yoongi’s car, the words unsaid between the three of you generating more tension than your brief disappearance itself.

Yoongi opens the front door for you, but you settle for sitting in the backseat.

[sleepingdeath-light]

relationship hcs ; vincent phantomhive

requested by ; mod / self indulgent

fandom(s) ; black butler

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | specific

character(s) ; vincent phantomhive

outline ; “dating headcanons for vincent”

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

despite what his infamy and role as the queen’s guard dog would have you believe, vincent is an incredibly loving and attentive spouse — giving you all of his attention and affection when he’s with you and sending you frequent letters when he’s away (be that for business with funtom or for his more unsavoury duties under the queen)

he’s extremely affectionate by victorian aristocrat standards — never shying away from public displays of affection like: kissing your knuckles and fingertips, pecking your cheeks and lips, or wrapping an arm around your waist — and in private he was even more physical with you (often kissing and tickling you until you’re laughing so hard you’re crying and begging for him to stop between wheezes)

he spoils you rotten and makes sure that you’re never left wanting for anything so long as he can help it — clothes, shoes, accessories, food cravings, ornaments, books, etc. — the moment you mention wanting something he’s going to do everything he can to ensure that you have it in your possession as soon as possible

he dotes on you whenever you’re feeling even the slightest bit unwell, rearranging his whole schedule just to ensure that he can take care of you — or, rather, so that he can coo over you and supervise his staff (and, at times, dietrich) whilst they prepare your food and medication on his behalf

whenever he’s been away for a while due to some obligation or another he always makes a point to return with affection and gifts — making up for his absence physically and with many a thoughtful bouquet and arrangement of your favourite sweet things

when it comes to pet names he’s something of a traditionalist and tends to stick with ‘darling’, ‘dear’, and ‘my love’ — and likewise prefers to be called the same (but he won’t turn up his nose at the occasional ‘sweetheart’ if you’re so inclined)

if he’s ever called especially far-afield and pleasant — such as the north country, or abroad to somewhere in mainland europe — then he does his best to take you with him and the two of you have a lovely time as a couple (almost treating the entire affair as a holiday) between his investigations and assignments, and you have entire shelves full of souvenirs purchased on excursions like this (some novelty, others practical, all just sat there and occasionally picked up and looked over with vague amusement, affection and nostalgia)

he talks about you so often that he sometimes doesn’t even realise that he’s doing it, mentioning you or something you’ve done in basically every conversation he has — it drives dietrich mad but the other aristocrats of evil find it endearing and actively encourage him to keep on talking (undertaker especially finds his devotion to you touching)

he rarely ever gets jealous, but when he does he becomes incredibly short and passive aggressive — threatening them with his reputation and relationship to the criminal underground under a thin facade of politeness as he tightly grips your waist and keeps you flush against him (he’s not subtle and will be making it clear that you’re taken the moment you get home — especially if you initiated the offensive encounter in order to tease him)

[devilfic]

thinking about your first christmas as a family after bruce adopts dick grayson.

bruce is nervous because every christmas since becoming batman has been piss poor. there’s been no big dinners because it’s just been himself and alfred for so long. gifts were exchanged not on christmas morning but left on beds and desks and in elevator shafts because the holidays were such a strange time for the two of them without thomas and martha around. sometimes it was easier to give each other the space. alfred always left the fireplace on for when bruce would get home from holiday patrol, perhaps with a cup of hot cocoa just the way he liked it left on the hearth, always suspiciously steaming as if alfred had stayed up until bruce got back to leave it there.

then you come along and there’s dinner again, and sometimes bruce is even home some of the day to celebrate with you. the tree comes out of storage and you add a novelty ornament to it every year because the others are all for show and it just doesn’t make the tower feel like home. bruce bakes with you, stealing fudge from your mixing bowl. you almost (almost!) get to send him off with tinsel around his cowl ears and jingle bells on his belt. warmth is returning to gotham in december with you around.

but then dick comes along and everything is different! bruce doesn’t really realize it until he takes dick out shopping for a winter coat and an employee gives dick a candy cane on the way out, but it’s going to be christmas soon and he hasn’t planned anything. he’s been fine with the way things are for so long that he hadn’t realized that dick is still young, that christmas is still something to look forward to, that he’s a father now.

you walk in one day and bruce is stringing lights around the fireplace with dick running around the tree, wrapping it in ribbon and tinsel. bruce hoists dick up to put the star on the tree and they both nearly knock the whole thing over. dick hangs christmas wreaths in the batcave, super glues a bright red rudolph nose on the hood of the batmobile, builds gingerbread houses with little gingerbread bruce and you holding hands while gingerbread dick beats a gingerbread bad guy with a peppermint carved into a batarang. it sits very proudly in the kitchen. you’ve never seen bruce so flustered before. alfred has never seen the tower so badly decorated. he loves it.

on patrol, you lament about how cold dick must be in his robin costume and force him into leg warmers and a sweater, even as he whines about how it’s never bothered him before. bruce watches as you tug a hat over dick’s hair, tucking the little black strands underneath and placing your warm hands to dick’s flushed cheeks. you warn them both that if they don’t stay warm, you’ll be restricting their vigilante privileges. the boys just share a look because they know you really mean it.

you worry so much when they’re out together. try as you might to pretend to be asleep once bruce settles in beside you, you always sneak out of bed to check on dick before returning to your room. bruce pretends he’s too exhausted to notice and just pulls you closer.

dick gets you two out of the tower, too! bruce takes you both ice skating in gotham square, stumbling around on his skates like a 6′1, beefy newborn dear as you and dick skate circles around him and laugh (you really don’t mean to embarrass him so bad that he skates over to a bench and pouts for ten minutes, but you and dick convince him to skate between the two of you until he can stand on his own).

the snow in gotham is dirty, but that doesn’t stop dick from initiating snowball fights with you when you go out past the city lines. bruce takes the two of you to an old family friend’s estate and catches you two from the window pelting each other with handfuls of snow like your lives depended on it, and you bet your asses he’s coming for blood when he meets you both out there. none of you are dressed for getting covered in snow and alfred gives a very stern talking to you three by the front door when you get home.

and when christmas morning comes, bruce feels his heart clench as dick throws himself on top of you and bruce’s sleeping bodies in bed, begging you both to get up so he can open presents already. alfred stands by the bedroom door with this fond look on his face, mumbling something about how “familiar” this all was.

dick loves every single gift you guys give him. he runs off to his room to play with his new toys and video games the minute you let him. by the end of dinner, dick is passed out on the couch with a full stomach, so bruce laughs and takes a few pictures to tease him before scooping him up to take him to bed. it isn’t until dick is tucked under his sheets that it really hits him: he loves this kid. he’s got a family now. he’s going to do everything in his power to protect it. he gets misty-eyed at the thought that it’s his turn now, something that seemed so far out of his mind ten years ago.

he’s still kneeling by dick’s bedside when you come in and wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his hair, “dick left us a gift. wanna come see?”

it’s a little foreign to him when bruce first sees it. he’d seen it maybe a few times at christmas parties at boarding school, almost always managing to evade getting dragged underneath it save for the few times he’d been given a sloppy, eggnog-spiked kiss by a classmate.

you stand under the mistletoe hanging from the lowest arch in the house (probably the only one dick could reasonably reach), giggling conspiratorially.

“was this your idea?” he accuses, slinking closer to the plant but not quite giving in just yet.

“dick wanted me to tell him about some christmas traditions and picked this one out. he’s never had a traditional christmas before, ya know?”

“and did he already get his kiss?”

“a big, embarrassing one right on the forehead from me AND alfred. he’s had his fill of this tradition, I think.”

bruce can’t help but laugh. he’s so full of warm food and joy. he’s happy dick’s happy. he’s happy you’re happy. he’s so happy. “can’t say the same for myself.” he cups his hands on either side of your throat and grins, breath scented from the candy cane he’d been sucking on after dinner. he kisses you and the mint passes to your tongue, a cool contrast to the feverishness of his mouth. he hadn’t felt this warm in years.

[cellythefloshie]

;; Nu är det jul igen written for @mp0625 the hockey girlies fic exchange

Summary: You spend your first Christmas with your boyfriend, Freddie Andersen. Word Count: 1.2k+

A/N: It's a miracle that I was able to get enough time to get this one done! I was worried I was going to run out of time! Thank you Mara or taking the time to coordinate the exchange! It was a pleasure writing for you this year. Happy Holidays to all, I hope enjoy!

The scent in the air could only really be defined as the holidays. It was a whimsical mixture of sugar cookies, pine needles, and the simmering pot of citrus and cinnamon that you had on the stove. It was just like how it smelt back home at Christmas every year, but this year, you weren't at home with your family. This year, you were spending Christmas with your boyfriend, Freddie. 

With the tight schedule, the National Hockey League kept, the holiday season could be lonely for some. Not every man on the roster had their family living in Carolina with them or could make one quick drive or flight out of state to see them for the few short days they had off. Freddie couldn’t fly home to Denmark. The 20+ hours of travel time made the trip unjustifiable. He would have to spend most of it in the air, losing precious time with his loved ones alone on a flight. And no one deserved to spend the holiday season alone. 

That was why, the moment you found out he was remaining state-side for the holidays, you canceled all of your plans. 

Your mother was more than understanding, although your father was wary as to why you didn’t just bring him home for the holidays. And you had half the mind to ask, but your relationship with Freddie was, well, in your mind, still new. The two of you had been together just over a year, but with his busy schedule, you found yourself apart more often than not. And while you were head over heels for him, and couldn’t wait to introduce him to your family, the last thing you wanted was to rush things. 

With little protest, home for the holidays became spending Christmas Eve in Freddie’s apartment. It didn’t have the same novelties of home, but the two of you had spent the day getting into the Christmas spirit. You had put on the simmering pot in the morning, letting its smell relax you as you decorated the apartment and put up a small artificial tree in the corner, complete with lights and ornaments. Then, the two of you made cookies together, and come sunset, the two of you snacked on a charcuterie board of cheeses, nuts, meat, and fruit while bingeing some of your favorite holiday movies. 

It was the last chance the two of you had to relax, because come Christmas Day, you would be conquering cooking Christmas dinner for yourselves for the first time. Which you didn’t even want to think about until morning. The giant turkey was all too intimidating for you as you sipped a glass of wine and watched the credits roll. A single hand fell to the remote, your thumb pressing the series of buttons to close the current movie and fall back into the holiday movie catalog on Netflix. Beside you, the couch shifted, Freddie getting up from his place beside you. And you didn't think much of it. Maybe he had to use the washroom or wanted to refill the bowl with some of the caramel popcorn you had made for your movie night. 

Freddie didn’t return with a bowl. No, in his hands he had a large box. It wasn’t something that came in the mail, none of those big brown packing boxes. It was nicely wrapped in bright red paper with a bow so large it spilled off the top of the box and hung down the sides. 

“I was going to wait until morning, but,” he started, his words perking you up with interest. 

If you didn’t have to wait, you weren’t going to say no. 

Opening your arms, you let Freddie settle the box in your lap. The sheer size of it left your heart racing. It wasn’t all that heavy, which gave you no clear indication of what may be inside. You hadn’t asked for anything too grand, either. Which made you all the more eager to open it. 

Fingers lipped the bow from the box, the sticker holding the ribbon to the box leaving a colorless mark behind where the adhesive tore away the color. Then, you tore at the wrapping, leaving it in large rips at your sides, removing just enough to open the box and see what was inside. 

The first thing you saw was a bouquet of daisies. Which made you smile. They were fresh, or as fresh as you could get them in the winter. Freddie must have just put the finishing touches on your gift before giving it to you. 

“These are gorgeous,” you smiled up at him. The two of you loved daisies. They reminded him of home, and it had quickly become one of your favorites because of it. 

“There’s more,” Freddie insisted, and you handed off the flowers to keep digging for more. Beneath the daisies was white green and red tissue paper and among it a series of other gifts. Your hands went to a smaller box fist. Inside, two crystal swans from Swarovski. Your eyes went wide as they rose to meet Freddie’s. 

He smiled and nodded toward the box. There was more. 

Then, unwrapped, a large bottle of akvavit and two glasses. And finally, an envelope. But as you reached for it, Freddie reached in with his goalie-fast reflexes and took it into his hold. 

“Hey!” you shouted playfully. 

“You will get it. But first, we drink. It’s tradition,” he explained with a grin, his hand wrapping around the bottle while he tucked the envelope beneath his thick thigh. 

The bottle opened with a satisfying sound, and he filled each glass halfway. Together, you raised your glasses, and each took one large gulp of the liquor that burned as it traveled down your throat. It was only when your face contorted from the burn of the alcohol that Freddie offered you the envelope again. 

Placing your drink down on the coffee table, you reached out and pinched the envelope between your fingers carefully. Whatever it was, he was just as excited for you to open it as you were to receive it. The gifts you already opened were just the precursor. In this envelope was the grand finale of gifts. 

It’s a beautiful card, with a snowscape. Green pine trees, and snow a glitter that left traces behind on your skin. But it was what was in the card that mattered, and they fell right into your lap as you opened the card. 

Two plane tickets to Denmark. 

You stared at them, your eyes wide and your jaw slacked. You weren’t expecting that, and he could see it all over your face. A laugh rumbled through him, and you could feel it as his hands found your hips to draw you into his lap. “I want you to come home with me when the season is done. Meet my family.”

A heavy breath shook you, his gaze raising to meet his warm stare. You had been on the same page the entire time but had always been too worried to ask. But he was telling you now. The two of you were serious. He wanted you to meet his family, and he could meet yours. It left you beaming, your smile reaching your eyes as you gave him an eager nod. Of course, you would go, and you sealed the agreement with a warm, simple kiss with both of his hands, cradling each of your cheeks as he drew you in. And as he held you there, he pulled back ever so slightly and muttered out a soft, Merry Christmas. 

[anabdaniels]

Christmas purchases

Paring: Agent Whiskey x Female Reader

Word counting: 960

Rating: +18

Warning: Fingering, movement restrain

Main Masterlist | Cowboycember Masterlist

If it was a competition, you’d probably beat the little children on the excitement of that shopping day. In all the time you were married, Jack always had accompanied you during shopping with all the goodwill and patience one could have and it wasn’t different on that afternoon, even with you entering five different stores to find the perfect ornaments for the Christmas tree.

When all that was missing for the decoration was bought, you were planning to go home, but of course, you ended up trapped by your favorite clothing store with a breathtaking holiday collection on display. You told yourself and Jack that it would be just a quick looking around to see the novelties, and his response to that was a simple “Of course.” followed by a chuckle.

Two hours later, you were finally back at the ranch, with more shopping bags you would be proud of, but the joint of your excitement and Jack assuring you that he was more than happy to use his bank card to buy whatever your heart may desire got you carried away.

“I still have the feeling I forgot something.” You said while observing everything you had bought spread all over the living room.

“Considering that you got sweaters to our dogs and an ornament to all the horses, should I be concerned ‘bout what you might’ve forgotten?” Jack looked at you with a raised eyebrow, trying to remain serious.

“I warned you about how dangerous it could be to let me around so many animals.” You said with a convinced smile while moving to inspect another bag, realizing that was your new dresses “I hope you know that you’ll help me choose between them.” You said while examining one of the dresses.

“And let me remind you that I don’t care about what dress you’ll wear.” He stated while hugging you from behind “What matters is the fact that, at the end of the day, I’ll be the one taking ‘em off.” Softly he nibbled your cheek while letting one of his hands move down to grope your butt, only this being enough to make you squirm and melt between his arms. Before you could think straight, you already were lying on your stomach on the sofa, with your hips resting on Jack’s lap.

“Do I want to know what you have on mind?” you questioned while turning your head to look at him.

“You see, honey, I had different plans for you once we got home.” Jack answered while caressing your ass “But you seem to forget that I ain’t 20 years old anymore.”

“Fair enough.” You chuckled and rested your head on the cushion, enjoying the warmth of his hands on your butt.

Unworriedly, Jack moved his hands under your skirt, moving it up and making no flourishes as he tangled his fingers on the sides of your panties, sliding the fabric down your legs and letting it on the sofa seat next to him.

With your forearms crossed under the cushion, you contorted slightly as you felt his rough warm palm brush the sensitive skin of your inner thigh while his free hand was resting on your lower back, softly massaging the region. You arched your back as his fingertips circled your wet folds, but the hand on your back prevented you from moving more than that while Jack pushed your hips against his lap.

Sinking your face on the cushion and whimpering was the most you could do as his index and middle fingers slid inside you and his thumb pressed and rubbed your clit. Aware of the teaser man you were married to, you were prepared for him to keep that cruel slow pace until you were begging for more, but of course, it was Jack fucking Daniels, the least trustable motherfucker when the subject was sex, you should have foreseen that sudden change of pace.

“Shit…” you mumbled while choking on your breath and squeezing the cushion, listening to the noise of the few tree ornaments that were next to you falling on the floor, but unable to care about it.

“No, no. Y’didn’t made me walk that much downtown to break the decoration now.” Given your inebriated state, you didn’t realize what Jack was doing while pulling both of your wrists behind your back until he held them together.

You looked over your shoulder, ready to complain, but barred from doing it when Jack curled his fingers inside you, resulting in you closing your eyes and moaning indecently loud. Smirking satisfied with your reaction, Jack kept the consistency of his task, mercilessly rubbing your clit and keeping hitting that devastating spot inside you over and over.

Uselessly you tried to pull your wrists from his grip, even knowing it wouldn’t work. Having not much more to do, you started to move your hips against his hand, becoming a mess of whimpers, swearing, and moans. In no time your hips were having a few spasms and your legs were trembling slightly and you cried out as you came, tightening Jack’s fingers inside you and melting on the sofa, feeling the damp spot on his jeans against your skin. After a moment, you moved your torso slightly to look at Jack when you felt his hand petting your hair.

“Every time I make you spend a whole afternoon shopping this will be the consequence?”

“Why do you ask?” he questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“Because if it is, I think we’ll need to go shopping again tomorrow.” Jack chuckled and leaned on the sofa to approach his face from yours.

“I wouldn’t make such a decision yet, sugarcube. I’ve never said I’m already done with ya.” He winked at you and leaned to press a soft kiss on your lips.

[wordsafterhours]

Songs About You - Chapter 16

Author's Note: Hello all! Here is a short chapter, angsty and nothing but a filler. Next chapter, will actually be content to move the story along and give more of an expanded back story on Gav and Aed. We'll also see more quality time between our two favorite people :)

Word Count: 2.5k

Masterlist

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Yulemas had come and gone, as had all the decorations, sans the tree in her bedroom. Aelin found herself staring at it often, replaying the entirety of Yulemas over in her head on a continual loop. As promised, Fleetfoot’s ornament hung next to the heart of fire, its glaze making it gleam against the artificial light of the tree. She had tried to pack the tree away, several times, but couldn’t bare the idea of wrapping any of it up after not having seen it for so long.

The tips of her fingers glided over the dog miniature, grooves of whittled wood barely discernable against the pad. It astounded her that such large hands could have crafted something so detailed and small. It was beautiful and perfect and the most thoughtful gift she’d had in some time. The corners of her mouth tugged up—the ghost of a sentimental smile. “I’ll be back to admire you later,” she told the object, ignoring it was inanimate and didn’t care if she came or went.

It was just her today at the store, which required her to be punctual for the first time in weeks. Aelin had grown spoiled by Evangeline opening the store and was begrudging the fact that she couldn’t drink a cup of coffee on the back porch and read a chapter in her book before work. Well, she could have, but it would have required sacrificing sleep, and that wasn’t a preferable option. 

Mindlessly, she showered, then slipped into a dark-green, oversized sweater, and off-white corduroy pants. She braided her hair and wove the tails into a bun at the base of her skull using pearl tipped pins to hold it the arrangement in place. A few pieces of hair were tugged out to frame her face. Two quick swipes of mascara and Aelin deemed herself presentable enough to be out the door.

A light covering of frost dusted the windshield but not enough that it would delay her too long. Turning the vehicle on, she dug in the floorboards for the ice scraper amongst discarded receipts and croissant wrappers, before clearing the windshield. The drive into town was uneventful but beautiful, the Staghorns, lower valley, and Oakwald forest was still quite covered in snow. Terrasen was never more picturesque than in its winter glory. 

By the gods, there was a spot open right in front of the shop and Aelin pulled her vehicle into it, cutting the engine with a little smile. Usually, she parked at Lysandra’s or down the block, preferring not to have to deal with the main street traffic. The day wasn’t going to warm up much and the idea of walking after dark sounded unappealing. 

Like the Christmas tree still taking up residence in her room, twinkling lights and green garlands adorned the windows of Present Tense, which made her smile brightly every time she saw them. It wasn’t practical to leave them up much longer but with everything lately, the small joy was a novelty not worn yet. The smell of aged paper, leather, and spices reached her nose as Aelin pushed through the front door, flipping lights on as she went through the store. 

Mindlessly, she powered on the computer, put coffee to brew, and started a fire in the fireplace. The store would open soon and needed to be as inviting as possible in hopes of combating the post-holiday lull that it was in. It happened every year but there was always a small sliver of hope on her part that it wouldn’t. How could people not appreciate the written word every day of the year? 

Minutes faded into hours, and it was lunchtime, with not a single customer having come through the doors. Inventory, payroll, and needed ordering had been done. Bookcases dusted, wood oiled; Aelin had even made sure her under the desk spider was still happy and thriving.  Staring at the door waiting for someone to come in was quite literally inducing a headache. Popping two pain pills, she loosed a resigned sigh, plopping down in a worn, plush chair adjacent to the crackling fire. Others may not be reading today but the same would not be said for her. 

She was warm, almost unpleasantly, and a small neck twinge was beginning to register on the outermost fragments of her consciousness—It wasn’t enough to fully rouse her though and she burrowed back against the soft velvet. A featherlight touch traced the shell of her ear, accompanied by a warm, low chuckle. Reluctantly, Aelin cracked a lid, her turquoise and gold eye searching for the disruptor. 

“There she is,” he murmured with a small smile. 

“Hi,” she replied sleepily, sitting up and stretching her sleep-addled body. Involuntarily, she winced, the twinge in her neck more serious than it had felt half asleep. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, taking two quick steps in her direction. 

“Nothing, just stretched wrong is all.”

One silver brow raised, his face tight as his green eyes roved over her, trying to a discern the depth of her candor. Whatever he saw had him standing between her legs in an instant, peering down at her with perfected skepticism. “Turn around.”

“Rowan, I said I was fine.” The last thing she needed was his hands on her, blurring the line she was trying so hard to keep straight. Narrow. Uncrossed. Their track record was quite poor, but it was a new year for new beginnings, with eleven months to go.  

“You can’t even straighten your neck right. Your right eye keeps squinting when you move and you’re chewing the inside of your cheek.” Could nothing be secret from him? Aelin had been commended on her poker face, it was one of her greatest assets, and now when it was needed most, it was painfully absent. 

“I can live with a stiff neck, Ro,” she argued, leaning back against the chair and crossing her arms to strengthen her declination.

“Gods, you’re a literal pain in my ass,” he snarked. 

“I’m not trying to be.” 

Lies. Liar. Difficult was exactly the strategy Aelin was playing. If he was mad, then he wouldn’t want to help her and on the straight and narrow she could continue. 

“It’s a good thing I’m bigger than you, though.” His lilt was teasing, light, and his grin, as roguish as she’d ever seen it. Only half a word had made it passed her pink lips before being cut off by a loud squeal as dragged her from the chair and onto the plush rug beneath their feet. 

“Now, you can either keep lying flat of your back, pouting, or you can sit in front of the fire and let me work out the knot. I vote the latter but again, your choice.” 

She hadn’t seen him since their Yulemas festivities, and it suddenly dawned on her how much his presence had been missed. Despite the bothersome stiff neck and having been dragged from the chair like a child, her heart felt light in a way that couldn’t quite be placed. The corners of her mouth turning up into a genuine smile. 

“I’m going to hurt you if your antics messed up my hair.” It was an empty threat and the only response given to let him know he’d won. 

“Vain, as always,” he noted with a small shake of his head. Deftly, he maneuvered his large form to the ground, taking up residence behind her. It was fortunate that she was facing forward, if only to avoid his piercing gaze as her cheeks heated at the intimacy of their set up. An urge to lean back against him was ferociously clawing its way up her throat as each second ticked by. 

If only to redirect her own thoughts, Aelin moved one leg up and rested her chin atop her knee, idly playing with the soft carpet beneath her right hand. If Rowan didn’t make a move soon, the anticipation of it was going to result in her saying something stupid about how this whole thing was his idea. 

The touch of his hand was contradiction personified as he splayed it across her right shoulder, thumb digging in softly and firm all at once, working it into the muscle that paralleled her spine. The calloused fingers moved with awareness of her that they should not have possessed—his touch akin to that of a lover’s who had spent long hours tracing every square inch of fair skin until committed to memory. 

Notes of tangy iron filled her mouth, an unintended consequence of sinking her teeth into the soft flesh of her lip; a pitiful attempt at stifling how marvelous it all felt. Her head tipped sidewise, temple resting against her leg now, granting Rowan better access to the column of her neck. Strong fingers pressed beneath the hollow of her ear, steadfastly following muscle tract to just above her collar bone. Featherlight, he grazed the length of delicate bone before returning to his starting point, again dragging firmly down in the same pattern. Heat sept in, washing away tension like ocean tides did sand. 

A true glutton for punishment, Aelin tipped her head in the opposite direction, a silent signal for the male at her back to direct his focus elsewhere. With expert care, he massaged the muscles, working out the knots in much the same manner as before. An errant, small moan slipped out when Rowan’s fingers lazily dipped too far past her collar bone, barely missing the top of her breast. So much for that line she’d been towing. 

If he pushed it, there was no way her heart or body could say no, even with her head a screaming cacophony of objecting reasons. The ache low in her core and between her thighs had her shifting uncomfortably, trying to soothe even a fraction of it. The green sweater, a good idea this morning, was surely becoming a nuisance against her flushed skin. Crackling wood wasn’t enough to drown out the low, shaky breaths at her back, and if that wasn’t indication enough of his shaken façade, both hands were on her back, lower—a safe layer of knit separating them.

She hissed when he hit a particularly tender spot in the small above her back and it seemed to be the reprieve they both needed. The anxiety dissipated and breaths came easier. Moving forward, they could not afford to continue to end up in these situations. No one ever wanted to be the other girl, especially her, even if Lyria had made her feel less a person on multiple occasions. 

“I’ve got to sit down. I’m too old to keep this position,” Rowan admitted, sounding a little embarrassed at his admission. Soon, either side of her hips were cradled by legs as he stretched out. 

Like this was going to fucking help anything. “Ro.” 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, Aelin.” 

If she stayed put, did this make a her duplicitous in whatever ideology was governing him in to believing that this didn’t mean anything? Or should offense be what she should feel because perhaps none of it meant anything. It was easier to live with being a liar than being used by him.

Throwing her morals, standards, and protests to the wind, Aelin leaned fully back into him. 

As he had done her shoulders and back, his muscular hands began to massage her arms. The air became oppressive again, not with unspent sexual tension, but with the acute awareness that this situation was surpassing unbefitting friend behavior. Several times, her mouth opened and then promptly closed as she choked down unbidden questions. 

“Something you want to say?” he enquired quietly. 

“Why?” Succinct. Falsely unaware. Confident. 

“I can feel you get tense and relax and tense and relax. It’s obvious something is going through that head of yours.” His hand stilled except his thumb, which was drawing smooth circles against the underside of her wrist. 

“A thought for a thought?” The entirety of his frame stiffened, and a cool draft crept up her spine as he leaned back, an invisible but tangible wall falling into place. For as open as he seemed to be, or intrusive, the minute things were not on his terms, Rowan became impenetrable as opalescent stone buildings of downtown Orynth. 

Frustrated, Aelin started to scoot forward but halted when a relinquishing sigh guttered out behind her. White teeth pressed into her bottom lip, a poor attempt to stave off a satisfied, triumphant smirk. He gingerly grabbed her right hand, tugging her back against him. The tension was still there but had lessened a minutia. 

His hand dwarfed hers but in the best way. The worn planes and callouses of his hand lit by the fire glow were the only thing her turquoise eyes seemed to be able to focus on. Everything about this man drew her in, like a greedy moth to a flame. Silence hung between them, her waiting patiently for what Rowan would say. 

Or wouldn’t.

It could have been five minutes or thirty but soon what little patience lived in her body was dissipating. Expectantly, she turned to look up at him, eyes roving over his tight jaw and dark eyes. Whatever thoughts were running through his mind, she didn’t know but he looked quite truly a man at war with himself. Wisely, she kept her mouth shut.

His silver lashes were full, almost touching his cheeks as his gaze flicked down to her, briefly. “I’ve never had someone like you in my life, and I’m glad to call you my friend.” 

The answer was paltry at best. It felt as though he was saying anything but what truly occupying his thoughts. His refusal to look at her when it wasn’t normally an issue spoke more than he probably realized. A veiled half-truth wasn’t what she had intended when she asked him a thought for a thought. 

Aelin wanted to call him on his bullshit, to demand the same raw honesty he always demanded of her—that she always gave because anything less was unacceptable. 

But, again, she stayed silent, merely shifting in his lap to rest her ear against his chest, taking in the steady thump of his heart as it slowed. When it returned to what seemed like a normal rate, her own half-truth tumbled from her lips. “I’m glad to call you my friend, too.”

Friend. Friend tasted acrid and wrong on her tongue despite the sentiment being mostly candid. Friend was too small, too generic of a word for what was living within her chest. Amongst the pages of some forgotten book, she had read once that liked called to like. 

And that they were. Two halves of the same soul, cleaved apart long ago by the gods, left to search for another across time and space. It was the only plausible reason she could muster as to why he felt like home. In the very marrow of her bones, he had entombed himself. In any world, any life, Aelin would know him.

While she could not have him, not as she wanted in this reality, she would try her damnedest anyways. It didn’t matter what capacity he could afford her, Aelin would take it, hoarding their moments like a dragon with stolen crown jewels. 

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Tag List:

@lunadorned @theresyourfireandblood @backtobl4ck @leiawritesstories @morganofthewildfire @rowaelinismyotp @jorjy-jo @theresyourfireandblood @numbers-colors-fashion @swankii-art-teacher @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart  @stardelia @astra-ad-mare

[sharkface-daydreams]

alrighty, AU time. some of these are partially posted. some are partially written. some of them will never see the light of day and/or are only half formed ideas shaped by delirious whimsy. but i think they're fun.

tagging @autisdicksimmons bc this is your fault (affectionate)

Thread Gulch Chronicles - the 4th wall touching cross stitch au. still haven't decided if i want to do anything related to framing

Andy the bomb but turn him into a ship ai and give him a crush on a dirty little shisno au - partially posted as of rn but the guy who works on this isn't out very much so it's in limbo kinda

Tripartite "villains in love" au (i know the name is stupid, bite me) - all take place in the same universe. stassney lives and ends up Stockholm syndromed with Felix who he rescues from dying at the bottom of the tower, locus realizes Doyle's romantic notions of soldiers are actually what's correct and either they fuck off together and Doyle fakes his death or locus surrenders idk haven't decided, and sharkface and price say fuck all this shit and fuck off into the aether for a happy ever after. there's some bits posted as the Unfettered [WIP snips] on ao3

Afterburner - Hargrove recovers Sigma and Sigma is given to sharkface to assist in killing freelancers (underdeveloped, that's literally all i have written lmao)

Double Triple - the triplets and the trio trying to make the best of their ice planet abandonment with hijinks and nonsense and dwindling supplies

Foxtrot Echoes - the honeypot au: version 1 contains no actual York ai but it's completely contrived and hinges on sharkface being a good enough actor to fool Carolina, wash and epsilon in order to get closer enough to kill them. bro fails step 1 tho and falls for Carolina and has to come clean thereby destroying the whole reason he'd confessed. angst!!! version 2 contains actual York ai but he's an early attempt by freelancer to acquire another ai so he's not technically a smart ai but he's still an ai and his and shark's psyches bleed into each other a bit

Heartstrings au - I only have Gravity posted bc tbr the rest of this is completely self indulgent Locington schmoop but I'm always a sucker for a good betrayal plotline

Shark mechanic au! the feds n news scoop up a fishy enemy and as they need all hands on deck he helps them as a mechanic and bonds a bit with the ducklings

modern band au - shark in a band with wash, south, pills and sleeves, all sorts of drama. not very well developed but lots of Sharklina angst

Xmas sharcus bit - this might get written eventually. modern au where the mercs gang gathers at Locus' for the holiday and during an argument with Felix, shark breaks an ornament that's really important to his bf locus… then works really hard to fix it but it's like glass u know so it's a huge pita. idk. Christmas schmoop, i was miserable on antivirals when i did this lol

the Sharklix "get worse together" enemies who fuck to kinda friends who fuck and also get revenge together au. unlikely to be posted, it's a little too self indulgent lol

games of the heart - au where Sharkface realizes he can't beat the freelancers physically so he suckers wash into falling for him so he can turn around and shred his heart to pieces. underdeveloped, self indulgent

get your kicks - the long haul trucker/greasy spoon waiter lolix au featuring unhappily married locus and licherally dying of boredom working for tips along the desert freeway Felix (thanks Ross for the line i took and ran with 💖) also the road is route 66 and modeled after the old route 66 on earth for novelty reasons

Lazarus - locus does his good guy shtick and returns often to help a sangheili colony and winds up with an alien baby. someone activates a temple of regeneration on chorus, and now alive Felix goes hunting for revenge. parts of this posted in scribbles n bits but it's not a full thing in the first place

the Locnut farm family rivalry au with donut and his two moms next door to locus and his two dads who are in a Midwestern rivalry but the two of them are getting along much too well

MaceFace! Mason and Sharkface run into each other at physical therapy and get chummy and eventually set out together for revenge since Lolix and the freelancers are both on Chorus

The Outriders AU - an enormous crossover undertaking with characters in the Outriders game universe… this will probably never be done but i got great plans for it. the mercs and a few others get freaky superpowers, there's an epic quest for info to secure survival, and Dr Church is trying to reverse engineer the superpowers unethically and causing problems so what else is new

MetaNut meet-cute/horny au where donut doesn't get shot bc Meta gets attached and also yanks donut over the cliff with him during the fight but they both survive and work their way back up to civilization while everyone else assumes them dead. plural meta au ✌️ also they have a little cottage with a garden and bees

the "no-PFL" SharkPrice AU where Price is hired at the same Charon building untoasted Sharkface is working security for and also Price and Dr Church are bitter exes and Church thinks Price is cradle-robbing when he sees them together

red Team Shark AU where Boose and Shark are friends and bond over losing your friends

Tear The Throat - also known as the SharKey AU (the one that comic is about) where Sharkface gets the key because he grabs it and tosses it to Felix not knowing it bonds to one person. This is a Chorus-loses AU bc they can just turn the key on the purge and call it a day and cash in.

WashFace au where Wash and Terrence were together before whatever shit happened that got Wash almost court martialed and sent to PFL, and Wash doesn't shoot when Sharkface makes his little "as long as I'm alive" speech bc he recognizes him when he takes off his helmet. and shark is like wtf you're supposed to be DEAD and gdi he can't kill wash now this is fucking unfair

extremely underdeveloped Dragon Age au with Sharkface as an apostate fire mage but like that's literally all there is to it lmao … shape shifter with dragon form could be fucking cool tho

fucking hell i forgot the Yurch au, that shit just started sprawling. yellow church gets stuck in cabooses head after church's time travel shenanigans in s3? and then yoinked out into a spare Android body and now there's a new guy on Blue team but he's church but he's not. blue church gets sent to rats nest with the others instead of isolated and they rescue all the fragments. EL/NOD AU. this is also what i made my freelancer OCS for but only Rhode island is actually in the story until they get to chorus. few variations on that one

[adventures-on-foster-island]

Today on Ellisa’s Pokémon mythconceptions, I’d like to talk about some festive Pokémon often abandoned shortly after the winter holidays. These Pokémon are often purchased or caught as decorations and gifts for the season and then abandoned within the late winter to early spring months when the novelty wears off on the selfish trainers.

Delibird - These Pokémon tend to be selfless and naive by nature and are often willing participants to festivals and events during the holidays. Event staff will go looking in cold, mountainous climates for Delibird, as well as the others on this list, and either capture or trick them into leaving with them to go to other regions. Unfortunately, once the season is over and the Pokémon are no longer needed, event planners leave them wherever they are instead of adopting them or returning them to their natural habitats. Most Delibird prefer to live on cold, snowy mountains and spend little time interacting with others, so it’s especially important to have a conversation with one before trying to capture them for your team. Of the Delibird we rescue, we only adopt out about 10%; the rest go back to their natural habitats after rehabilitation. Those who do prefer human companionship are some of the sweetest friends to have and are strong enough to hold their own in battle, even if their “presents” are a little unpredictable.

The Snover line - Snover and Abomasnow have no natural predators and few competitors in most regions, aside from Galar, and therefore tend to be quite curious and have little fear of humans. This leads to a similar problem as with Delibird; they easily trust people who mean to use them as decorations. Snover are often decorated with string lights and ornaments and other shiny things, although the specifics vary by region, and are given lots of attention for their beauty during the winter holidays. Abomasnow are usually seen as too large, intimidating, and rare for this, however trainers who have raised one may offer some decorations to their partner this time of year. This tradition is mostly harmless, except when festivals hire people to capture them for events in warm climates and then leave them when the holiday is over. Snover who have a trainer can survive the heat, with the help of Never Melt Ice and air conditioning indoors, but ones who have been stranded overheat quickly and Pokémon Centers aren’t always equipped to handle the volume of them that are brought in. Unlike Delibird, Snover are highly curious and often enjoy a trainer’s company, making them great Pokémon to travel with. If they prefer not to evolve, they thrive in medium/small spaces in any climate, however, an Abomasnow requires a much larger, preferably outdoor and very cold place to roam. Sometimes if a Snover makes the decision to evolve, and a trainer can’t provide them with the adequate environment, the best thing to do may be to put them up for adoption to a family up north or return them to their natural habitat to continue living among its own.

[noisycowboyglitter]

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[kolosceramics]

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Christmas 2023: A Festive Extravaganza to Look Forward To! Introduction: Christmas is just around the corner, and we can't help but get excited about all the delightful traditions and festivities that await us in the coming years. With 2023 fast approaching, let's take a sneak peek into the future and explore what Christmas 2023 has in store for us. From heartwarming family gatherings to the latest trends in holiday decorations, this blog post will give you a glimpse of the festive magic that awaits. 1. A Technological Twist: As we move into the future, technology continues to shape our lives, and Christmas is no exception. In 2023, we can expect to see a blend of classic and modern elements in holiday celebrations. Smart homes will be decked out with dazzling LED lights that change color with a simple voice command. Imagine a Christmas tree that syncs with your favorite holiday playlist, creating a synchronized light and sound spectacle! 2. Festive Decor Trends: Christmas is all about creating a warm and inviting ambiance, and in 2023, new decor trends will make it even more magical. Expect to see unconventional color schemes, such as jewel tones or metallic accents, adorning homes during the holiday season. Natural and eco-friendly decorations will also take center stage, with sustainable materials like recycled paper ornaments and wooden tree decorations becoming a popular choice. 3. Unique Gift Ideas: Gift-giving is an integral part of Christmas, and 2023 will bring forth a host of unique and personalized gift ideas. Virtual reality experiences, personalized holographic portraits, and subscription boxes tailored to individual interests will take gift-giving to a whole new level. Additionally, personalized DIY kits for creating homemade gifts or custom treats will bring back the joy of handmade presents. 4. Culinary Delights: Christmas is synonymous with mouthwatering treats, and 2023 will offer a fusion of traditional favorites and innovative culinary creations. Expect to see unique flavor combinations, such as gingerbread spiced macarons or eggnog-infused desserts, adding a delightful twist to classic recipes. Plant-based alternatives and allergy-friendly options will also be on the rise, ensuring that everyone can savor the festive flavors. 5. Festive Travel Destinations: For those with wanderlust, Christmas in 2023 will be an ideal time to explore new destinations that embrace the holiday spirit. Imagine celebrating Christmas on a snow-covered beach in Australia or indulging in a traditional European Christmas market while sipping on mulled wine. With travel becoming more accessible, Christmas 2023 might just be the perfect opportunity to embark on a festive getaway. Conclusion: As we eagerly wait for Christmas 2023, the holiday season promises to be a delightful mix of timeless traditions and cutting-edge innovations. From smart homes adorned with synchronized lights to unique gift ideas and culinary delights, the future of Christmas holds endless possibilities. While these trends are not essential to the essence of Christmas, they add an intriguing twist and provide inspiration for those looking to infuse some novelty into their festive celebrations. So, let's embrace the joy and wonder that Christmas brings, and let the anticipation for Christmas 2023 fill our hearts with warmth and excitement!

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Making Mischief (Loki x Reader)

Making Mischief

A/N: I know that Christmas is over, but it’s still December so I’m posting. GIF not mine.

Prompt: Loki and Reader don’t celebrate Christmas, but get dragged into a Secret Santa party.

I smiled awkwardly as I entered the party with Loki, my romantic partner. It was actually funny how we met. I was a TVA agent who had been sent to correct the timeline because Loki had made an error. In his original timeline, he was supposed to turn good after the incident with Jane Foster after realizing how much Thor truly loved him, but he had turned good much earlier during the Attack on New York. I was sent to monitor him and saved him from being sent to death by telling the TVA council that he was going to turn good anyways and that the timing of it had no impact on the timeline. During the time I spent monitoring him, we fell in love. I didn’t want to leave him, so I begged the council and they agreed to let me stay due to my perfect track record and after confirming that my presence wouldn’t ruin the timeline. That had been 10 years ago. Now I was here with my lovely Loki and our Avengers family.

“Hey, Reindeer Games! Lady Mischief. Welcome to my totally epic Holiday Bash. There are drinks and snacks by Vision. He’s DJ tonight. And don’t forget about Secret Santa later.” Tony informed. I nodded and smiled. Loki just rolled his eyes and scoffed. I elbowed him in the ribs and glared.

“Thanks for the invite, Tony. We appreciate it even though we don’t celebrate Christmas.” I thanked. He nodded and gave a smirk.

“Well, it’s a holiday event. Just all the Avengers together celebrating family and the season.” Tony said. I laughed because I knew he was only being this cheesy because he was drunk, doing a PR stunt, or sucking up to Pepper. I felt Loki grab me, so I gave Tony a curt nod and walked away to dance with my partner.

Two hours later it was time for Secret Santa. We all sat in a circle and the gifts had all been distributed courtesy of Miss Morgan Stark. Almost everyone had opened their gifts except for Loki and I. 

“You’re up next, Reindeer Games. Good luck!” Tony teased. Loki rolled his eyes and grabbed his prize. he opened the red bag with blue tissue paper to find a homemade ornament. It was an ornament of Loki’s horns. He seemed slightly amused by the novelty of the item. He scoffed and tried to hide the fact that he liked the gift.

“Which foolish mortal got me an ornament? What do I do with this bauble?” Loki questioned. He scanned the room and noticed the sheepish teen. “It was you, wasn’t it, Spider-Boy?” I could see Peter’s fear and put my hand on Loki’s shoulder. He glanced at me and relaxed his tense muscles.

“Y-yeah. It was. I’m sorry you don’t like it. I thought you could put it on our tree.” Peter defended. He seemed really upset and was tearing up. I looked at him sadly and glared at Loki. At this point, Loki knew he fucked up.

“It’s okay, Pete. It’s just that Loki and I don’t celebrate Christmas, so we don’t have a tree. We celebrate Yule. But you didn’t know and that’s okay.” I stated. Peter’s eyes widened and Loki shot him an apologetic look for how he reacted.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I just assumed everyone here celebrated Christmas. What’s Yule? I’ve never heard of it.” Peter asked. This made Loki smile. Yule was his favorite holiday because he had fond memories of celebrating it on Asgard. 

“Yule is a 12-day festival that celebrates the Winter Solstice and the return of the sun. It is a time to celebrate rebirth, renewal, and light.” Loki explained. I saw a bright light hidden in his eyes and a genuine smile on his face. Yule represented change and Loki loved change.

“Wow! That’s so cool Mr. Loki! Maybe I can celebrate that with you and Y/N next year.” Peter said enthusiastically. I smiled and Thor told him that we would love that. I realized I was the last person to get a gift. I grabbed a green and gold box and opened it to find a golden ring with an emerald heart gem. I stared at it and looked at the God of Mischief next to me.

“Loki? You’re my Secret Santa, right? You’re the only one that would buy me such an extravagant gift.” I reasoned. He winked at me. He was up to something.

“I am. But that ring is only part of your gift.” He revealed. I was confused when the ring disappeared from my hand and reappeared in his hand. I was even more confused when I saw he was kneeling on one knee. He gave me a Chesire grin. “Y/N, I love you more than anything in the 9 Realms. You’ve stood by me and made me a better person. Will you marry me? Please?” 

“...” I was silent. There was no way Loki, a god, was begging me to marry him. He really was an idiot. 

“Y/N? Love?” Loki questioned. He looked worried. I couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Loki, you’re an idiot. Of course, I’m gonna marry you! I love you, you dork.” I squealed. He lept into my arms and kissed me as he put the ring on my hand. Mistletoe sprouted everywhere as he kissed me. I blushed when I saw it and was sent into a laughing fit. The last time Loki had been in a room full of mistletoe was when he killed another god out of envy. Loki just sighed and kissed me again.

“Blessed Yule, my love,” Loki said.

“Blessed Yule, Loki.”