#The boys be moving in upper circles :) No but for real I love that festivals create these kinds of opportunities!

[aeolianblues]

Reading and Leeds’s account posted Fred Again yesterday (before his headline set) in what I’m sure is a Fontaines D.C. Romance T-shirt! Fontaines also posted a clip of watching his set at the end of the day, enjoying it

UPDATE: HE HEADLINED WEARING THAT T-SHIRT. ICONIC WEAR.

[beck-a-leck]

since you did kindly offer... arthur frey no. 12 (please)

Welcome back Nonny! As you asked, here's some in-game canon Frey/Arthur Smooches!

Send me a Smooch Prompt and some characters and half all your self-indulgent wishes come true!

#12 Sneaking away to a hidden place for a secretive kiss

The summer sun was out in all its glory and strength for the first day of the season, and the residents of Selphia were more than happy to flock to their lake to spend a day relaxing and playing and cooling off with the first swim of the season.

The young adults in town had set up camp about halfway down the shore, spreading out a motley collection of blankets and towels and a couple large umbrellas to offer a bit of shade. They were close enough to the lake to made a quick run to the water for a dip to cool down, but far enough that even the rowdiest splash fight wouldn’t wet their belongings. For a while, they had been divided, the boys and the girls, but as the day crept on their groups mixed more and they shared snacks and drinks and sunscreen and towels got hopelessly mixed up.

Arthur sat with Forte and Clorica in the shade of an umbrella, watching the game of chicken that was taking place in the lake. They were the only three sitting out. Forte still didn’t swim very well and refused to go in deeper than waist-deep. Arthur needed to take a break from the sun, he burned far too easily, despite the copious amounts of sunscreen applied, and his shoulders were already starting to look a little pink. Clorica was fast asleep with her head resting in Forte’s lap.

There was a chorus of shouts and giggles as men picked their battle partner and hoisted her up on their shoulders. Arthur scanned the pairs with amusement. Kiel and Amber had teamed up – the smallest girl on the thinnest shoulders, he didn’t think they would last long, but he knew Amber could and would employ her wings if it gave them an advantage. Xaio Pai was trying to clamber onto Vishnal’s shoulders with as much grace as she could manage, which, unfortunately, wasn’t much. Vishnal got a foot in the face a couple times before she settled unsteadily. Doug and Dolce were snapping at each other over the best strategy for winning chicken, and Pico wasn’t helping cement their team-up as she was buzzing around the two of them probably whispering threats to poor Doug or teasing poor Dolce – most likely both. Dylas and Margaret had partnered, the two of them looking rather focused as they prepared for battle and sized up their only real opponents, Frey and Leon.

Arthur’s heart gave a funny lurch was he watch Leon lift Frey up onto his shoulders and he laughed and pulled gently at his ears. It was just a game. The two of them teaming up for chicken didn’t mean anything. Frey was dating Arthur, and quite happily so. She and Leon were friends, but really that was in between them.

Forte nudged Arthur with her shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to join in?”

He laughed, “No, I think if the two of us paired up we would be the shortest-lived team.”

Forte nodded and laughed in agreement. “Probably true. Those weak things you call shoulders wouldn’t hold me for very long.”

“And it’s a little too deep for you.”

Forte nodded, still smiling as the competitors squared up. “Wanna take bets though? Bet Vishnal and Xaio Pai don’t last five seconds.”

“There’s no contest there.” Arthur scanned the others again. “Hmmm last groups will probably be Dylas and Meg, and Leon and Frey.”

“I don’t know, I think Amber and Kiel might have some tricks up their sleeves. They might make it to the final two.”

The Chicken Fight began. As predicted, Xaio Pai tumbled off Vishnal’s shoulders before she really even had a chance to try and shove anyone else. Doug and Dolce didn’t last much longer, though Arthur suspected there might have been some Pico-interference in that regard. The other three couples grappled for a bit, and Amber and Kiel put up a rather good fight, but in the end, they were upended and eliminated from the competition. The final two couples were left, Dylas and Leon circled each other, saying nothing, while the girls on their shoulders traded taunts. Their former competitors were watching, egging on whoever they decided was more worthy of a win. Then with a battle cry, they charged at each other, locking into a grapple as both the boys and the girls tried their best to send the other topping into the water. The fighting may have gotten a little dirty under the water, Arthur was certain Leon and Dylas were kicking each other, but as neither of them were complaining, nobody was going to call foul play.

Then with a yell and a surge of power, Frey gut the upper hand on Meg and sent the elf tumbling off Dylas’ back and into the water with a splash. The winners hooted and howled in victory to a chorus of cheers or jeers. Then with a grin, Leon let go of Frey’s legs and she let herself fall off his back and into the water. Leon scooped Frey from the water, loudly declaring them the champions, while she laughed, and then, in true Leon fashion he unceremoniously threw the Princess back into the water. Frey reemerged laughing and wiping hair and water from her eyes. She playfully shoved the guardian, making half an effort to dunk the much taller man beneath the water. When he didn’t budge, the other men in the water saw fit to ‘avenge’ their princess and they piled onto Leon. A scuffle broke out and a lone figure quickly retreated, stumbling on laughter-shaken legs into shallower water as she wrung out her long green hair.

The men’s wrestling match continued as the women decided it was time to take a break and get a drink or have a snack. They migrated back to the blankets and settled in the sun or under the shade of the umbrellas.

Frey plopped down right next to Arthur, pressing her cool, wet body against him. She pecked him on the cheek. “Enjoying the shade?”

“Actually, it’s quite lovely.”

“Hmm,” she poked his shoulder, watching a white mark appear and then fade quickly. “You are looking a little pink. Let me put more sunscreen on your back.”

She turned to dig through the collection of bags and supplies and said with a small huff, sitting back on her heels, “Huh, it looks like we’ve used up what we brought.” She grinned at Arthur. “I do have more back at the castle. Come with me.”

Arthur opened his mouth to inform her that actually he had a bottle in his bag, but Frey was on the move before he could get a word out.

She took his hands and pulled him to his feet. They both stepped into their sandals and promised the others that they would be back soon, they just needed more sunscreen. Then they were hurrying away from the lake, back into town, and towards the castle. While most of the townsfolk were at the lake today, not everyone was, and Frey looked distinctly disappointed each time they rounded a corner and saw someone outside enjoying the beautiful summer day.

They did end up all the way back at the castle, slipping through the door into Frey’s quarters and finding it blessedly empty.

“Finally,” she sighed, spinning around and pulling Arthur close. “I love Beach Day, but it gives us so little time to spend together.” Frey leaned in close and brushed her lips against Arthur’s once, then twice before stepping back a little.

Completely unnecessarily, Arthur said, “Something tells me you didn’t actually drag me back here for sunscreen.”

Frey grinned impishly. “I mean, you’re inside, technically you’re protected from the sun.”

“Ah, well my complexion thanks you then, darling.” Arthur put his hands on Frey’s waist and pulled her close to him. She twined her arms around his shoulders as he leaned in for another kiss. Her bare skin was warm under his hands, and smooth, though he felt goosebumps erupt from where his fingers grazed. Frey pressed against him; her still damp swimsuit was cool against his flush skin.

They broke apart just for a moment to breathe, and Frey whispered, “I thought you would prefer this to me throwing myself at you on the beach. I know how much you value your privacy.”

Arthur chuckled. The whole town knew they were dating, but sometimes, being a Prince, there were certain rules of conduct he was expected to follow. And making out in public was on the no-no list. In private, though, hidden away from prying eyes…

He bowed his head to plant a kiss on Frey’s neck before whispering in her ear, “Well, we all know how much you love a public spectacle.”

He could feel Frey grinning before she said, “Let’s save that for the firefly festival, shall we?Really blow this town away.”

She hated public spectacles almost as much as Arthur did.

He pressed another kiss to her lips. “As you wish, darling.”

[dayseternal-blog]

A summer job at the Dole pineapple cannery, graveyard shift 10 PM to 6 AM. A long bus ride into and out of town. Two teens, shy beside each other.

Written for NaruHina 2020 August - Cultures/Around the World

Rated G

Inspired by “Torch Song” by @mmmbuttery (emmykay)

Here we go, a story I've worked on since November of last year. Despite the months of creation, this story is simply boy meets girl. This one is close to my heart, and I've second-guessed posting it.

It's loosely based on my parents' high school stories and how they met, and the experiences from many recorded accounts of people from that generation, the 1970s. I wrote this mostly with the intention of diving into and imagining their time period.

Finally completed, of course it’s late for August, in true spirit, I stay on island time.  This story is titled after “About You” by Cecilio & Kapono, a 1975 Hawaiian pop classic.  

One Shot - About You

The bus bumps and lurches on the potholes.

She notes when they pass by a friend’s house, lit only by the dim orange street lamps over dark driveways.  There are so few cars out on the road that every time the bus pulls over and the door opens, she can hear the high-pitched hum of crickets in the grass.  It’s all a familiar rhythm that might have put her to sleep on any other night.  But she already took a long nap, readying her internal clock for the new schedule.

She’ll be taking this route for the rest of the summer, heading from the bus stop next to the local library straight to the cannery.

It feels alright, better than she was expecting.  She was worried it would feel lonely--her friends are all working the cannery, too, but in the daytime.  She wanted the extra nickel the night shift earns, bringing her up to $1.40 per hour.  

She’s always thinking ahead--the more money she manages to save now for business college, the less she will need to work later.

The bus slows down to a stop, picking up probably the last passenger before it gets on the freeway straight to town.

She relaxes into her seat, settling in for the drive out of the suburbs.

“Hinata?”

That’s weird that someone would know her at this hour.

She turns her face away from the window and sees him standing in the aisle, as if he was about to sit down in the row in front of her.  “N-Naruto?”  She regrets her stutter.  She just wasn’t expecting to see him.  At all.  

“Hey!  Howzit?”  He looks genuinely surprised to see her, too.

“Good...”  She returns his bright grin with a shy smile of her own.  She tucks a lock of loose hair behind her ear.  “I’m heading to the cannery.”

“You working cannery, too?”

“Yeah...are you?”

“Yup.  Gotta make dat extra nickel, yeah?”  He smiles disarmingly as she nods, and he takes a seat.  

She wants to relax.  But she can’t.

Because it’s him.

All 5 feet 9 inches of beautiful boy sitting in front of her on a relatively empty bus.  He’s taller than the average local Japanese, due to his hapa blood.  And as if height wasn’t enough to make him attractive to all the girls, he’s funny.  And clever.  Athletic and nice.  A little rascal, but that only increases his charm.  She has so much adrenaline pumping through her from that one tiny conversation, she knows she’ll be exhausted before they even get to Honolulu Harbor.

-

The forewoman, a middle-aged Portuguese lady, takes her and another girl named Tenten to the lockers.  “Wear dis.”  She passes them a white apron and hairnet.  “You girls get gloves?”

They both nod, pulling out their plastic gloves, required in the job description.

The lady glances at the gloves, bored expression unchanging.  “Follow.”

Hinata tucks all of her hair up into the net, and she knows she probably looks like an enoki mushroom, dressed now all in white.

They follow the forewoman to the assembly floor.

“Here.”  She hands them knives with the same carelessness of someone who’s been doing this for ages.  “Take all da extra skin off cuz da machine no get ‘m all, look, but gotta do ‘m fas’ kine ah.  No let da pines go down widdout cleaning ‘m,” she explains, pointing and waving at the conveyor belt.  

Hinata nods.  Four girls stand silently before a machine that’s spitting out bright yellow, skinned pineapples.  They grab at them quickly, and then with practiced flicks of their wrist, they nick off the remaining bits into slots for the rubbish.  They put the pineapples back down on the belt, where the fruit runs along to another set of girls, who give them another checkover.  Further down, the fruit runs into a machine with circling blades that chop them into slices.  

Rows and rows of young women dressed in white aprons with mushroom-netted heads stand around conveyors and machines.  

Young men cross over the upper ladders and walkways carrying pineapples to dump into the machines and sticks to poke at the fruit in the chutes to prevent jamming.  

The smell of pineapples is pervasive, sickly in its sweetness.

Not too much later, a bell shrills throughout the warehouse, and she’s taking over for a girl who’s now off-duty.  She grabs at the pineapples, turning the weighty fruit over in her palm and cutting brown spots of skin off with the knife as quickly as she can.  Droplets of pineapple juice stick to her gloves, and soon enough, the juice is dripping down the latex.

She’s not thankful for the gloves for long.

The juice runs down, and every stretch of her arm to grab at the fruit or place it back down feels sticky in the crook of her elbow.

Minutes turn into hours of watching pineapples.

She has no idea how the world eats so many pineapples.  

How is it possible that people love pineapples this much?  That the machinery is rarely turned off?  That all of the state’s teenagers are employed every summer to work the fields and machines practically 24/7?  

As unfathomable as it is, she finds a strange awe for the tropical fruit that she never had before.  To pass the time as she trims the skin, she imagines where these pineapples are going.  Who’s going to buy these pineapples.  What country they’ll end up in and what language the people speak there.  And whether they have ever seen a whole pineapple before.

But then again, maybe they’re all just going to the Mainland.  Women who look like the movie stars with perfectly curled, blonde hair will open the cans for their families.

The bell rings, the machines stop.

They have 30 minutes.

The more veteran workers zip off to the lunchroom, not waiting for anyone.

Hinata smiles tiredly at Tenten.  

“Whew,” the Chinese girl sighs.

Hinata nods in agreement.  “I never seen so many pineapples before, I think.”

“Yeah, me, neither.”  Her brows raise to emphasize the point.

-

By the time they get off at 6 in the morning, dawn is breaking, traffic is slowly building along Nimitz Highway, and she knows she must absolutely stink of pineapples.

But Naruto waves and stands beside her as they wait for the bus, as if he doesn’t care.  Maybe he can’t smell her, desensitized now after so long in the warehouse.  “Morning, Hinata,” he laughs, and the joke is not lost on her.  

She smiles weakly, only his good attitude motivating her.  “Good morning,” she manages to reply.  She’s too exhausted to feel shy about standing beside her crush.  After all, she was standing for the last several hours.  All she wants is to sit down.

“How wuz it?” he asks conversationally.

She pinches her lips into a tight frown.  “I had to trim the pines at the ginaca.”  She gestures halfheartedly with her hands, showing him the flick of an imaginary knife she used.  All night.  She’s almost certain that she’s the machine now.  “What did you do?”

“Oh, wuz pretty neat!  I jus’ had to keep da cans moving on da belt an’ stick da lids inside da kine, machine, and then the cans pop out.  I did da tops.”

She blinks at him.  Forces a weak smile out that she barely feels in her heart.  Sounds easy…  But that’s to be expected, after all, women usually handle food anyway.

“No can wait fo’ sit down, yeah!” he laughs.  He doesn’t sound tired, but it occurs to her that maybe he never does.  His natural excitement is what makes him popular in the first place.

She nods.

When the bus pulls up to the curb, Naruto lets her get on in front of him.

The bus driver pulls a face as she pays.

She frowns, a hot blush spreading over her cheeks.  She tried to clean up as best she could after her shift, but apparently, it really was all for naught.

“Go in da back!” the driver directs, none too friendly.

She does so, even though the front seats aren’t full.

Naruto laughs outright as he pays, unashamed at his own stink.  “What, uncle, wen try fo’ wash off, still stay pilau?”

“Eesh,” the driver utters in response to the teen’s cheekiness.

She doesn’t know how he’s not embarrassed, nor how he’s able to talk back to strangers like it’s nothing.  It’s just another case in point of her admiration and curiosity of him.  She picks an aisle-facing seat, and, to her surprise, Naruto sits right next to her, his knees spreading open.

She’s not as tired as she thought.

Nerves race up her legs.  She stares at her hands, which she carefully places on her knees, which are closely pressed together as ladylike as possible.  Not a single part of her touches him.  She thinks she might die if their legs touch.

And that’s how she doesn’t doze off on the long ride back home.

-

He meant to brag to his friends about working graveyard shift when he saw them that first weekend.  Sure, the hours are junk, but, Ho, should see da chicks!

Particularly the one he rides the bus with.  Hinata Hyuuga.  A small, Japanese girl.  Brains and looks.  Not to mention her unusual, light eyes, making you question her race.  But, nah, no real question about it, she’s Japanese through and through with her shy, quiet manner.  She’s someone he imagines could win the Cherry Blossom Festival pageant with her smooth skin and round eyes.  He and the guys always steal a poster of the new year’s contestants from the supermarket window.  Pictures of pretty Japanese girls’ profiles all lined up, free to admire.  She could definitely win.  If she ever tried.  But she’s not very personable.

Not that that ever stopped him from talking to whoever he wants to talk to.

Yet he ended up not mentioning anything about Hinata to his friends.  Not the next week, either.

Somehow, she just comes off as out-of-his-league.  At least, he’s certain that’s what his friends would say.  Just mentioning her would probably earn him jokes.  He’s pretty sure she’s in all the high, smart classes.  But he doesn’t know much about that--and she’s a year younger than him.  He only knows her because his social club had a gathering with hers last year, invited by Sakura.  There’re lots of pretty girls in that social club, and, unusually, it has girls over two grade levels.  Just the younger girls didn’t catch his attention last year.

Needless to say, he’s thinking about her now.

Not much else to think about while he drops lids into the machine.  It’s monotonous work, but he knows now that his job is way, way better than Hinata’s.

-Two weeks ago-

His jaw dropped when he saw her on the bus the second night.

She had covered her arms self-consciously with her hands when he got on.

Of course, that action was what drew his attention.

Bright.  Red.  Streaks and bumps.  A rash.  Mottling her fair skin in the crook of her elbows to the middle of her forearms.  Both sides.

“From da pines?” he asked incredulously.

She nodded, her eyes turning down, as if somehow the rash was a personal fault.  

He looked away, realizing his staring was only making her feel worse.  “You have da kine..sensitive skin?”  He wondered belatedly if talking about it would only make her feel worse worse.

“Umm...yeah…”  Her voice sounded even quieter than her usual.

He frowned awkwardly, though she didn’t see it.  He sat down beside her, still looking away.  “Jeez.  Das real junk.”  He swallowed back his strange feeling of guilt.  Her pain wasn’t his fault.  Her job placement wasn’t his fault.  So why did he feel like he was partially responsible...?  “Uh, dere anyting fo’ do about it?”  He suddenly felt like cringing at the sound of his own pidgin.  His heavy speech just further emphasized his upbringing compared to hers.  Someone classy like her shouldn’t be doing a job like that, right?  “‘Cuz like, can only get worse, yeah?  You get medicine fo’ put on or someting?”  He couldn’t help jabbering on and on.  When he starts feeling uncomfortable, that’s just what happens.

Thankfully, she continued the conversation.  “Mhm.  I saw yesterday some of th’ other workers wuz wearing two gloves.”  She opened her purse and pulled out a pair.  The hands were cut off.  “Like this, see?”  She pulled the glove on over her elbow like a sleeve, then pulled another, uncut one on so that they overlapped on her forearm.  

“Ho, neat idea, yeah?”  He nodded in approval.

She smiled in response.  “The juice no can get inside, I think, yeah?”

“Yeah!” he emphasized.

She smiled a little more, obviously not embarrassed anymore by her arms.

And he felt proud of himself for getting them out of that uncomfortable start to the bus ride.  Felt oddly self-satisfied that he got her to smile.  Decided right then and there that he was pretty interested in her.

But he hasn’t really made a move, yet.  The thought that she might turn him down is there.  He’s been turned down enough times that rejection isn’t really what’s bugging him.  It’s that she never seems to be in a good mood after their shift is done.  That, and he doesn’t want it to be uncomfortable for the rest of the summer in case she does reject him.  He would still have to catch the bus with her every night and morning.  Too bad his dad doesn’t let him take the car to work.  He gets it, though.  His dad needs the car to go to work.

Well, he’ll figure it out later.

The bell screams, signaling the start of their lunch break.

He joins a group of Farrington guys he befriended over the course of the two weeks.  There’re a lot of them working at the cannery, being that the high school is only a neighborhood away from the warehouse district.

“Eh, Naruto, you surf?” Omoi, a dark-skinned Filipino boy with sun-bleached ehu hair, asks.

“Yeah,” he answers, excitement bubbling.  But only on the weekends with Shikamaru and Choji.  He lives central, not at all close to the ocean, making beach trips longer than ideal.  “Why, whatchu thinking?”

A guy they call “C,” Naruto has no idea what it’s short for, leans forward.  “We go dawn patrol, Kewalo’s.”

Right after their shift, at the surf break at Kewalo Basin.  Sounds solid.  “Eh, shoots, we go!  Tomorrow den?”

“Yeah,” Omoi affirms.  “Prolly gon wash da pine stink off, yeah?”

C’s eyes widen at Omoi’s shoes, shaking his head.  “Eh, brah, I no tink so, you dripping pines ova hea, bet yo feet kill, phew!”

“You faka, you no can talk, da flies stay all buzzin’ ‘round you!” Omoi shoots back.

Naruto frowns, considering that Hinata has the same job as Omoi, one of the few guys assigned to a woman’s job.  Over the course of the job, Omoi’s shoes had soaked in pineapple juice that dripped from the cutting.  This didn’t seem to be as big a problem for Hinata, who, for some girly reason, wore sandals despite the long hours of standing.  “How come you no jus’ wea rubbah slippahs?”

Omoi shook his head with a serious expression.  “No can fo’ do dat brah.  I only get one good pair!  Already wen ruin deez shoes, no sense ruin my slippahs too.”

“Dis broke faka ova hea, he no get money fo’ buy one noddah pair from Long’s das why!” C laughs.

Naruto shakes his head, laughing out loud.  “No way you dat broke!”

Omoi turns to C, faux annoyance twisting his face.  “Eh dis haole ri’ hea like get lickins?”

Instead of looking threatened, C just humorously shoots back, “You like go, we go!”

“Go den, shoots we go,” Omoi answers, squaring up.

“Yeah den go cuz, shoots,” C threatens back.

But neither of them stand.

Naruto rolls his eyes at their idiotic banter.  Rarely is he the voice of reasoning, but he supposes it would be a different story if his school friends were here.  “Eh we go Kewalo’s shoots.”

They turn back to him, huge grins on.  “Yeah, we go!” Omoi says enthusiastically.

“Bring your board yeah?” C reminds him as the bell rings again.

“Yeah!”

He tells Hinata that he can’t go back with her the next day, and she just nods and smiles.  Tells him to have fun.

And it’s a slight relief to not worry about the ride back home with her.  He’s starting to feel like maybe she’s expecting him to ask her out since they spend so much time together.  Well, really, he’s expecting that of himself, but he just can’t right now.

She’s just not any other girl at school in these current circumstances.

-

Hinata never meant to be one of those girls.

One of those girls, picked up on a stretcher and taken to the medical room to recuperate.

But on the first day of her period, she was exactly one of those girls.

She was feeling so tired.  Legs like jelly.  Sore up her thighs.  Aches digging around her lower back.  A weighty twisting in her core.  A heavy day.  It made her feel lightheaded.

The pineapples, one after another, going by, making her feel a little dizzy, like maybe she needed to close her eyes.

Shutting her eyes for a second didn’t help.

A breath, two breaths, intentional breaths.

She felt like maybe she was going to make herself start hyperventilating, the opposite of what she wanted.  She wanted to breathe normally.

Focus on the pineapple.

It felt too heavy in her hand.

Her focus sliding off the pineapple, to the sticky yellow glint of the knife.  Back to the pineapple.

She looked up, dazed, her eyes taking too long to adjust to a point on the far wall.

“Hinata, you alright?” Tenten asked.

She tried to refocus on the girl on the opposite side of her.  She nodded, blinking, trying to concentrate on their job.

“You don’t look alright.”  Her voice was too loud, like everything else going on.

Too loud, pounding.

She closed her eyes, heat searing her temples.

-

“-nata?  Hinata?”

She slowly gains consciousness, to find Naruto looking down at her.

“You okay?  You wen faint dey said.”

“Oh,” she manages to utter, trying to get her bearings as the room and bed take shape in her mind, blinking away the dazed vestiges of sleep.  “W-what time is it?”

“Our shift only pau now.”

“Oh.”

“You feeling okay?”

She slowly sits up, nodding.  “Yeah.”  She must not have been out for that long.  She really thought she would make it to the end of the night.  “Were you waiting for me?” she asks, suddenly panicked at the realization that he is here with her.

“Ah, nah, nah.  I come in jus’ now.”  He gestures at the door.  “You weren’ out dere, so I jus’ wen ask somebahdy.  Dey said you wuz in hea.”

“Oh.”  That’s good that he wasn’t waiting for her to wake up, but, still, she never expected him to do something like this.  “You didn’t have to.”

He shrugs.  “No problem.  Ready fo’ go?  Can walk or..?”

She nods, scooching off the bed-like table.

And he walks with her to check-out with one of the heads, and then back to the bus stop.  Waits with her there.  And when it’s obvious that he’s going back with her despite the longboard he’s been holding this whole time, she haltingly brings it up.  “You not...going surfing?”

He shakes his head carelessly.  “Nah, I go tomorrow.”

She ducks her head, biting her lips.  “I’m sorry.”

“Nah, nah, waves not hitting today, so.”  He shrugs, looking past her for the bus.

Obviously an outright lie, but she accepts it over drawing out such an uncomfortable situation.

“You no feel good today?”  He sounds honestly concerned.

“Um, I felt fine earlier.”  Well, in truth, she felt okay.  The normal period cramps.  As okay as a heavy day can be.

“You not sick?”

She shakes her head.  She wants to sit down.  The bench has the older workers sitting down, so she never gets to sit until the bus comes.  She shifts her weight from foot to foot, trying to relieve the weight from her hips and pelvis.

It’s such a relief when the bus comes.  She ignores the bus driver’s daily grimace and makes for the back row as quickly as she can.

He watches her sit down, audibly sigh, and her whole body kind of just melts into the stiff chair.  It’s obvious that out of all the days so far, she’s the most tired today.

Or has she been like this?  He just didn’t know because he’s been avoiding her in the mornings?

Ten minutes into the long ride, he’s thinking that it’s a good thing he’s going home with her today because…he thinks she’s falling asleep.  Her head keeps jerking in his peripheral vision, so he decides to stop being considerate and turn to look straight at her.

Her eyes are drooping heavily, she’s blinking really hard...she is falling asleep.  Or, trying really hard not to.

“Hinata.”

“Huh?”  Her eyes fly wide open, obviously forcing herself.

“Sleep, I go wake you up later.”

Her cheeks redden.  “Oh, no, I’m fine.”

She doesn’t trust him, or…what?  She’s embarrassed?

“You sure?”

She nods.  “Yeah.”  Her voice sounds too breathy to be fine, but if she says so...

It’s no surprise to him when her body starts slumping over, her head weighing the rest of her body down and toward the seats in front of them.

She’d be even more embarrassed about this position, right?  So he reaches over to grab both her shoulders and kind of push her back upright.

Well, that’s what he meant to do.

Her eyes open as if spooked, and she straightens out of his hands.  “Sorry!” she gasps.  Expression all pinched, she looks like she feels really ashamed.

About what, though?  If anything, he feels bad about how tired she is.  “No,” he reassures.  “No worry ‘bout me.”  He’s trying his best to sound comforting…  “Should get some rest, s’okay, I go wake you up befo’ my stop.  Trus’ me.”

Her eyes squint, like she’s straining to focus.  “...maybe.  But I don’t like sleep..on da bus.”

He can’t help a laugh.  “Ha, you look like you goin’ give yourself da kine whiplash back-an-for'-li’ dat, jus’ relax.”

“Mm…”  A noncommittal answer, but one that doesn’t argue, so he can’t push the issue any further, either.

They settle back into the sound of the engine roaring along the highway, and pretty soon, her body’s starting to lean over again.  He refrains from helping her, even though she looks uncomfortable.

She looks like she’s going to wake up with a sore neck.  Her blood’s probably rushing to her head in that position.  That’s not good, right?  She literally just had a fainting spell not too long ago.  So having her head lean against the rattling window pane wouldn’t be ideal, either.  Since they’re sitting at the back, she might really conk her head hard if the bus has to stop.

With more care than the first time, he tries to guide her to lean against him.

For a moment, her eyelids and brows wiggle and bunch up, but swiftly return to their placid state.

It’s nice.

She’s nice.

He should ask her out.  She doesn’t ignore him or outwardly show any disinterest, so…sometime he’ll do it.  Just of course not today.

When he sees that he’s getting close to his stop, he calls her name, “Hinata.  Hinata.”

“Mm.”  She sits up and blinks, a hand hurriedly wiping her mouth.

Drool?  He’s trying not to smile like a goofball, but kind of failing at hiding his selfish amusement.  “I gotta get off now.  You gon’ be okay?”

She nods, making eye contact for a second, only for her gaze to immediately skitter away to some unknown point on the bus floor.

“‘Kay, you take care, yeah?”

She nods again, still refusing to look at him, her hands busy everywhere touching her face and then her hair, fixing who-knows-what.  She murmurs something.

“Huh?” he asks in a knee-jerk reaction before his brain pieces together that it sounded like an apology.  “Oh, no need say dat.”  He reaches over to pull the cord for his stop and grins.  “Maybe I see you tomorrow, yeah?”

She nods, glances up at him for a second, and looks down once more.

He gets off the bus feeling pretty good about himself in the bright morning sun.

Only to realize--

Maybe he should have made sure she got home all the way.

Maybe he should have gotten off at her stop with her.

The library isn’t really that far a walk back to his own home.

…

She’s probably fine, right?

She wouldn’t have fallen asleep again, right?

Why did she faint anyway?

Should he have asked more?

His consciousness won’t let up.  He could call, but if he calls, then he really probably will need to ask her out eventually.  Well, he plans on it anyway, but if he calls, then that would really solidify things, and she’d expect something from him by, like, tomorrow.  

Well, that’s all hypothetical.  If he can even find her name in the phonebook...

...He finds it.

“Who you calling?” his mom asks, teasing him, as she pops up beside him in the kitchen.  “Noddah one of your girlfriends?”

“...No…”

“Ohh, you asking a girl out?  Why you no jus’ call her?  She goin’ turn you down, ah!” she laughs, all by herself.  “Who like go out wit you, ah?”  Her laughter rings throughout the house.

He wishes he could yell at her to shut up, but then she’d go get the slipper and give him some serious dirty lickins.

So he keeps his eyes on the phonebook, and with his mom’s derision motivating him, picks up the receiver and hooks his finger into the first digit, gaining self-confidence with each pull, release, and spin of the dial.

If it’s the parents, then that’s fine.  He’ll make a good impression.  Maybe.  He doesn’t need to talk to Hinata, he just wants the family to know that she fainted.  He gets the feeling Hinata’s not the type to talk about things like that to her family.

But then...maybe the cannery already called them about it.

The dial tone ends.

He takes a readying breath.  “...Hello?”

“Hello?”  It’s a young girl’s voice.

“Is this Hinata’s house?” he continues, desperately trying to imitate a school valedictorian or maybe a teacher...

“...Yeah...Who’s this?”

“This is Naruto...I, uh, work same place, at da cannery.”

“...She’s not home, yet.  And she’s not supposed to talk to boys.”

What?  I tought she in dat social club?  “Well, I no need talk to her.  I jus’ like you guys know that, uh, she wen fainted at work, yeah.”

“...”

“...So, she should be home soon, I get off da bus a little befo’ her, I jus’ like try check she gets home okay..yeah..”

“...Okay.”  In the background, he hears a faint voice talking before the girl on the line continues, “It’s a boy.”

“Huh?”

“He’s saying Hinata fainted at work.  And that she should be home soon.”

He realizes she’s talking to someone else, so he awkwardly waits.

“Okay, ...uhhmm...”  Her voice trails out for a solid second.

She talking to me now?  “Oh, yeah?”

“Thank you, I’m gonna go meet her.  Bye.”

“Oh-”  The line cuts, his own goodbye stuck in his throat.  He places the receiver back down, uncertain what to make of that whole exchange, wondering what about it left him dissatisfied.  He did what he meant to do, after all...  That must have been a younger sister.

“Hinata?  You neva talk about her befo’,” his mom observes as she gathers her things for work.  “You met her at da cannery?”

“No, she one year youngah dan me at sku’.”

“She wen faint?  Why you neva walk her back home, ah?!”

“I no tink dat until aftah!” he defends.  “Das why I wen call!”

“You no can get one decent girlfriend acting li’dat, ah!, dis stupid son of mine, ahh, ah, if you jus’ focus on sku’ mo’, get bettah grades, get mo’ smartah, ah,” his mom tuts and laments off on a tangent, and he ignores her.

He sees her off for work at the door, his mind turning back to whether he needs to ask Hinata out tomorrow.  Especially since, “She’s not supposed to talk to boys.”  What’s that about?

-

He never does find out.  There’s no way he could ask such a question, and the summer passes too fast for him to face her plainly.  He’s not sure why, but whenever he imagines her turning him down, the idea hurts a lot more than it should.

Logically, he knows itʻs just a yes or no answer.  He’s been turned down here and there.  He’s gone on numerous dates, danced with girls, and played silly social games with the opposite sex at parties.  And concerning Hinata, she’s a year younger than him, so the chances of seeing her on campus are a lot smaller, so he wouldn’t have to face her that often if she does turn him down.

So why can’t he just ask her out?

-

She held out hope.

She thanked him profusely the day after, and he was extremely nice to her.  He went back on the bus with her for that entire following week's shifts, making sure she was okay, before he determined that she was safe enough without him.

He went back to surfing in the mornings.

The day of their last shift, she held out so much hope.

He didn’t ask her out.

So she tries to shrug it off.

The disappointment.

The deep, far too deep, disappointment.  She’s probably just not his type.

But to her surprise, that’s not the last time she sees him before school starts.

Their social clubs host a joint car wash to raise money.

She pushes down her shy feelings, knowing that if he has absolutely no interest in dating her, then there’s really no reason for her to act strangely around him.  It would simply be rude of her to ignore him after spending all summer the way they did on the bus together.  Gathering her courage, she walks up to him and calls out his name, “Naruto!  Hi!”  She smiles, hoping to appear as cheerful as possible.

“Oh!”  He turns from his friends, already knowing whose voice it was, but still caught off-guard.

She’s dressed really casually--in shorts, a shirt, and rubber slippers, obviously appropriate for the day’s work, but still strange to see on her.  He somehow thought maybe she didn’t own casual clothes like that.

“Hinata!  Hi!” he responds, a little belatedly.  He feels really stupid, somehow his grin feels unnatural, too tense.  He watches her smile again and then turn back to her friends.

Something gnaws at his consciousness, like he missed out on saying or doing something he should have done in that moment.  Ask her how she’s been in the past week?  He just saw her not too long ago, so that would be dumb to ask.

“Whose dat again?”

He blinks out of his stare and turns to Sasuke.

“Hinata.  Hinata Hyuuga.  We bo’ worked night shift at da cannery.”

“You ask her out?”

“...No, nah yet…” he admits, nerves crawling around, making him feel guilty out of nowhere.

Sasuke raises a brow.  “You like her?”

He shrugs his shoulders, frowning, trying to play off the intrusive question as nothing to him.  “...Yeah…”

Now both of Sasuke’s brows are raised.

Naruto shifts uncomfortably.  Every single second here is making him realize he should’ve gotten the deed done and over with already.  Now she’s around all of his fellow club members.  Any one of the other guys could ask her out by the end of the day.

She could take a liking to one of his friends.  He realizes that his chances were so much higher when it was just the two of them.

-

She and Sakura walk around helping to pass out sponges and buckets.  They introduce themselves to several boys, all of them very friendly.

Hinata herself feels very friendly.  After her act of courage in facing Naruto, after getting that difficult exchange done with, she feels pretty bold.

She’s in this social club to have fun!  She won’t let a little one-sided crush damper her day!

True that none of the other guys are as naturally magnetic as Naruto, but she knows that first impressions aren’t everything.  All of these guys in his social club seem perfectly nice, helping to fill and carry the heavy buckets of water for the girls.

She sets to work on a car, excitedly engaging in discussions about the new school year with whoever works beside her.  And with an observant eye, she manages to not work on the same side of a car as Naruto.

Two hours pass in laughter and good spirits, even with how the noonday sun beats down, pouring heat over the asphalt lot.

The once cool water comes out hot from the hose, and the buckets are just puddles of liquid sun she has to dunk her hand and sponge into as infrequently as possible.

The constant bending is nothing to her, though.  After a whole summer of cannery work on her feet, she’s pretty sure she’s more fit than last year.  She’s not even sweating as much as she thought she would.

Until she gets up too fast.

Her head sears hot, her vision darkening into pinpoints of bright light.

She tries to squint, to see through the sudden tunnels of black, but her eyes burn, and just as quickly, she feels off-balance, her head too heavy to hold up.

She crouches down, face in her hands, confused and pained.

“Hinata, you okay?”  Sakura, most likely.

“I can’t see.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t see,” she repeats, trying to stay calm despite the painful splotches of color beneath her eye lids.  “It hurts.”  And she feels like she’s going to pass out, but she refuses to embarrass herself like that in front of everyone.

“Oh my gosh… Water.  Water!” Sakura says louder.

“Wut’s wrong!”  Another voice.

Oh no, not that voice.

“She’s dehydrated I think!”

“Oh shit,” he curses.

Hinata sits as still as possible, focusing on not tipping over into a ball and fainting right there on the dirty, poky ground.  Not again.

“Here, water,” Sakura says, her voice stressed and concerned.  “Can you raise your head?”

“Mm.”  She slowly lifts her face and opens her mouth.

A plastic water bottle is placed at her lips, lukewarm liquid flowing onto her tongue.  She drinks it dutifully, the pain in her head clearing rather quickly.

She eventually pushes the water bottle away and wipes her lips on the back of her hand.  “Thank you,” she breathes out, relieved that her head’s weight is starting to feel normal again.  But she keeps her eyes closed, too afraid to strain her vision.  Or to see if she attracted everyone’s attention...or to find out if Naruto is still there.

“Do you feel better?” Sakura asks, still sounding way more worried than necessary.

“Yeah, thank you, Sakura.”

“Can you see?”

“I don’t know…”  She doesn’t want to test herself too soon, but she cracks her eyes open, if only to assure Sakura that she’s okay.

The world is a bright fog through the slight cracks of her eyelids.

But it doesn’t hurt.

“I’ll be able to see fine in a minute, I think.”

Sakura sighs in relief.  “Good.”

A random boy whose deep voice she doesn’t recognize asks what happened.

“She dehydrated,” Naruto answers.

Hinata doesn’t know whether to feel flattered or dreadfully embarrassed that he’s still there.

“Oh, das not good,” the other boy assesses.

“Yeah…” Naruto agrees.

“I’ll be fine in a moment!” Hinata pipes up, her personality automatically choosing to feel embarrassed.

The unknown guy makes a sound of uncertainty.

“Yeah, Hinata,” Sakura adds on.  “I don’t think you should help out right away.  You could’ve gotten heatstroke.”

“Heatstroke?” she asks.

“Dere’s no shade ‘round hea,” Naruto comments.

Hinata slowly forces her eyes to adjust, hoping to prove them all wrong.  “I can see.  I’m fine.”  She starts to get up carefully.

More sounds of uncertainty resound behind her, and she hates how all three of them are treating her like she could collapse at any moment.

Like, even if she could collapse at any moment, even if that is what just happened, she doesn’t want this to be how everyone sees her from now on.  Like some weak, stupid girl who forgets to drink water on a hot day.

Even if that is what she is.

“I can take her home.”  Naruto’s invitation has her finally turning around to face her audience.

To her relief, it’s just the three of them, Sakura, Naruto, and a pretty, black-haired Japanese boy she’s seen him hanging out with.

“Yeah, take her home,” the pretty boy says.  He claps Naruto’s arm.

Naruto gives some kind of smile that’s really cute, and Hinata has to force herself to try not to examine anything he’s said or done in the past five minutes.

He made her over-examine his behavior all summer, only for it to amount to nothing.  He’s just really nice and treats her like a good friend.  That’s all.

Sakura helps her walk to his car.

And all too soon, she’s sitting right next to him.

Naruto starts up the engine, blasting the AC so that cool air roars onto their heated faces.

“I’m sorry.”  She gulps down a knot of discomfort in her throat, already regretting so much.

“Nah, no need say dat.”  His stomach feels sore, his legs antsy.  He was trying to nonchalantly work on the cars by her, but somehow, he wonders if she was avoiding him.

She’s too nice to do that, right?  She never tried to avoid him at their summer job…

He needs to gauge her interest in him.  So after he backs out of the parking space and safely makes it into traffic, he ventures conversation.  “How you feeling now?”

She nods.  “I feel better.  I could’ve stayed, I think…”

“...Oh…”  He’s already on Moanalua Home Road, and turning around now would be humbug.  “Are you sure?”

“Mm…”  She’s not sure.  She just doesn’t want to seem so frail.

“‘S'okay, ya know?  Already get plenny help, das why, no need chance 'm.”

“Mm...okay… Thank you...I’m sorry…”

With conversation finding its natural, quick end, he finds himself wracking his brain for ideas.  He has about five more minutes with her before they get to her house.  I should ask her out...I should just ask her...just ask her…

“Oh, I like this song.”

“Hm?”  He turns the radio up, glad to focus on something outside of his brain.  “Oh, yeah!”

It’s a newish one by Cecilio and Kapono, one he imagines will be really popular at social club dances, the slow tempo is perfect.

Not knowing what else to do to fill the silence, she starts singing softly.  She can tell he’s glancing at her, but she keeps her eyes fixed determinedly forward, her gut turning to jelly as the romantic meaning registers in her mind.  “...Our small moment that we shared, Is only yours and mine, No one else is really going to know, That I care about you…”

His cheeks flush.  This song really is perfect for a social club dance.  He never paid that much attention to the lyrics, but with her soft voice singing them, the words are suddenly resonating, hitting a little too close-to-home.

“And all the questions that I asked myself about you…”

He's made up his mind.  He’s going to ask her out.

“Won’t you come and be with me…”

Right after this song.

“That if you come and stay you’re going to see, That I care about you.”

He relaxes into his seat, his grasp, unintentionally tight on the wheel, relaxes, too.  If she's comfortable enough to sing in his presence, then there's nothing stopping him from feeling comfortable, too.  It's actually really nice to know that she's willing to do something like this with him.  He's stressed out for nothing.  He's hesitating for nothing.  And maybe, if things work out, this feeling...this moment...would be normal...

She peeks at him, and...he’s smiling.  He’s not teasing, laughing, or grimacing at her.  So she continues singing, relieved.

When the song finishes, he lowers the volume, reassured, readier than ever.  “Hinata…”

She blinks, realizing they’re really close to her house, and Naruto doesn't know where to go.  “Oh!  You turn left at the intersection after this light.”

Jarred to the present, he suddenly notices his heart racing, despite how calm he felt not even ten seconds ago.  The words get lost on his tongue, and he simply follows her instructions, the opportune moment evaporating into nothing.

“It’s that house,” she points, and he slows, pulling over against the curb.

She turns to him to give her appreciation properly.

But he’s facing directly toward her, his usually cheerful expression one of uncharacteristic focus.

Her heart leaps into her throat.

“Hinata," he repeats.  "You like, go movies with me, sometime?”

She nods, speechless, because yes, yes, yes.

And he visibly relaxes.  He can breathe again.  Her agreement was so much easier than he thought it would be.  “I go check da listings den, okay?  And I’ll call you?”

She nods, eyes growing wide as everything starts to sink in.

He nods, too, an embarrassed smile working at his mouth.  “Talk to you later den, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathes, a smile forming in reaction.  In a fog of happiness, she steps out of the car, nearly forgetting.  “Oh, thank you for taking me home!”

He nods, thinking that this won't be the last time he makes sure she gets home.  He notices how her happy smile lights up her eyes like earlier at the carwash, but now, it’s directed at him, him only.  And once she disappears into her house, more than anything, he feels incredible relief.

And excitement.

He gets the feeling…

She gets the feeling…

This is going to last.

[fragileizywriting]

friends (part one)

AO3 | Start Here | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Oh, Tikki— what an absolute idiot she’s been, never allowing herself to fully embrace cuddling him. How could she have lived this long, not allowing herself to tuck herself into his chest as they sleep? The tattoo on his chest is so warm against the palm she has up against him— her other hand slung across the muscle of his arm. Even while completely gone and completely asleep— his claws trace soft patterns against her bare back— following the curvature of her spine— making her produce so many shivers that she feels like hiding her face in her pillow.

His magic, too— it curls against hers lazily, basking against how they fit with each other, just as comfortable and interlocked as they are physically. His magic isn’t as responsive when she pokes at it with hers— he’s asleep, for sure, she can tell by the way it lags in its responses from her ministrations— but it continues to mold against hers like a bubble. Even in his sleep, Chat Noir wants nothing more than to curl his magic against hers.

She feels giddy.

They’re completely and totally enveloped with one another— intertwined and so cozy that she feels safe and protected, physically and magically. She could fall asleep just like this, basking in his warmth, basking in the cocoon they’ve made for themselves with the bedsheets and how— even if they’re naked— she’s never felt warmer and more at ease in bed in her life. She could tuck herself closer to the point she has no idea where he ends and she begins, if it weren’t for her insatiable need to look at him— she’s never been able to watch Chat Noir sleep before.

He looks younger when asleep.

She never knew that.

Obviously she hasn’t exactly had the ability to notice something like that— he’s only ever slept in his cat form for the year they’ve been together, changing into sleep clothes just out of sheer habit— but it’s such a shame. She never wants to sleep again, if she can just look at him instead. She doesn’t want to miss out on any of it.

There is something princely about him, but she can’t place what it is— maybe it’s the color of his hair that matches all of the gold pieces she’s seen in her lifetime. Is it his jawline? His nose? The shape of his eyes— even while closed? All of these put together turn out to be a beautiful masterpiece, one that she wishes she could sculpt, but knows she’d never get close to his likeness, even if she spent years at it. Even with all the good fortune in the world, she wouldn’t be a good enough sculpture to pinpoint exactly why or how she sees him as the prince he’s always claimed he is.

She can’t stop looking at him. She doesn’t want to stop looking at him.

She’s never given herself the chance to look at him until now— she doesn’t want to stop.

She relishes every single pore. Every eyelash. She follows the sweep of his brows with her gaze— apprehensive to touch him and shatter this moment, but finds herself reaching anyway— studies how there isn’t any angle to his brows while he sleeps from the lack of thoughts or whatever that worries him. She’s much more inclined to actually believe that he’s the prince of hell as she looks at him now, petting at his under eyes with her thumb, enraptured with how fairy-tale-like his face is. With his eyes closed— his teeth hidden behind his lips— she’s even almost under the impression that Chat Noir is, in fact, human.

Well. He sure used to be— that’s the truth. They know that for sure.

But she’s not sure about him being Adrien, and she knows why he doesn’t want to say it out loud. It wouldn’t be fair to get their hopes up… that the man in front of her used to be the boy she would go visit when he was feeling sick— the same boy that would spend hours a week teaching her how to read the Latin alphabet— the same boy who laughed and giggled with Nino for hours on end about who-knows-what whenever their friend group got together. The boy who first brought Luka into the friend group with a friendly wave and a smile and a tug at the naga’s hands— oh, if Chat Noir really is that same boy— how ironic!

His hair is the same as Adrien’s— a beautiful gold, regal and shiny. His pupils aren’t the same shape— she’s certain that Adrien had human eyes— but the green color could be the same. She knows that there’s magic at play, so she can’t consider any of this to be physical proof that they’re the same person— but it’s hard not to see the similarities now that it’s been brought to her attention. But even Chat’s teeth are different than a humans— there’s no telling what else the magic has changed. Hair color— eye color— who knows if all of his human attributes were changed once he became a demon.

But…

But none of that matters.

She doesn’t mind it. Adrien, or no Adrien— she’s fallen in love with Chat Noir. The beautiful, gorgeous man who continues to trace circles on her back with his claws that are deadly— the same claws that rip and tear through flesh like nothing— with blonde smudges of his eyelashes resting against his cheekbones. She traces his lips with her fingertips, wondering if it’ll be okay if she can kiss him.

“You think too loud, Princess.” His voice feels tender against her fingers. The arm around her waist curls and pulls her into him as he continues to kiss her nails so softly it feels like a breeze— oh, sweet Tikki— she’s shivering already. He moves his tail so that it thumps against the mattress underneath the bedsheets, so she’s aware that he’s trying to stop himself from pouting, pulling her closer and closer to keep her goosebumps from getting worse.

The great Chat Noir…

An absolute cuddler of a man. Truly— completely cuddly. Amorous— a cuddle pile— a purring machine. Turned absolutely honeyed and pliable under her fingertips.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you— I’m just admiring you,” She kisses the skin closest to her mouth. It’s somewhere in between the ball of his shoulder and the line of his collarbone. “I can finally see you again, now that there’s sunlight— I don’t want to stop looking at you.”

“Mmm.” There’s a smile in his voice. “I don’t think you were all that upset after a bit— I got you distracted real easily yesterday.”

“You’re right.” She feels her face heat. Even after all of it— how her body feels like a well-blended mixture between sore and relaxed— her face twitches in a way that she can’t comprehend. She feels bashful— and hides her worries by continuing to kiss the same patch of skin over and over and over until he laughs at the sensation.

“Sleep for a little longer, little witch,” His voice rumbles against her forehead as she presses it against his chest. The tattoo is so beautiful on his skin. “I want to enjoy this a little longer with you.”

It’s not often that Chat Noir uses his side of the contract to get what he wants— but it’s often enough that she doesn’t strange the way her ears burn at his words. Their contract works both ways, after all— especially now that their arrangement has been changed so that they’re both obligated to one another. Her body— heart, and more— are now his, too.

“We spent the entirety of yesterday in bed—” She pouts when he curls her into him some more. She laughs at his attempt to hush her. “Chat, come on.”

“Let me spend time with you, my Lady. I’ll start begging, if I have to.”

“We have every day for the rest of our lives to be together,” She sighs, bringing her arm around him, following the lines of his strong upper back with her fingertips. Her eyes are slipping shut, willingly following through with his wish to sleep longer with her. “And… we have… work to do. The festival… is today…”

He hushes her with a purr, rubbing his nose and jaw into her hair. “Let me enjoy my witch for longer, please— we have so many chores to do before it starts tonight— but we can think about it later. Later. All of it later, I promise.”

She smiles, even as her magic starts to slow— gentle and soft pushes against his. She is a gentle current— as soft and serene as an ocean wave. “Your witch?”

“Yes, mine, thank you.” He sounds proud. Silly cat. His purring is so soothing against her ear— and, truly, it has been years since she’s taken more than one day off from all of her chores. Chat Noir can just use his magic to do all of the chores from the bed anyway, right? “You smell like me, you know.”

“Do… I?”

“Yes, finally. It took a whole day of snuggling you, but—” He sniffs. “And, no, I’m not a territorial man, truly, I’m not— but it’s so pleasing to know that you smell like me.”

“Body and soul are yours,” She barely moves her lips together to speak.

There’s a pause in their conversation just enough for her to start drifting off to sleep. The air is cold outside the blanket, she can feel it against the spot on her forearms that pokes out of their bedsheets, tracing every scar and every raised line of skin on his back— and she’s nearly completely asleep in an instant.

He sniffs again. “Although— hm— there’s another smell in the house— I just can’t figure out what it is—”

There’s a third voice in the room as the bedroom door gets pushed open, bringing more sunlight into the room. “Before you complain, I have my eyes closed, I know you humans are particular about your sleep garments being seen— are you two alive in here?”

Marinette shoots up from bed with a scream, pulling the covers higher up her bare chest. There’s sunlight everywhere— pouring over them like a sheet. “What in the— Luka?”

The world comes rushing back to her ears with noise.

Something smacks into the naga’s pinched face, and he tumbles back into the hallway simply out of whiplash. His tail follows him out, slithering against the floor with that hushing noise she’s come to recognize as the sound that nagas make— oh, Tikki— what in the world was that?

“What in the—” He curses in the hallway. “A simple yes would’ve been fine, really!”

She only registers that it’s her own pillow she’s thrown when Chat Noir’s laughter consumes him as he speaks, howling so hard that she can barely hear Luka’s curses in the hallway. He wraps an arm around her shoulder, bringing her closer, snickering into her ear. “Good job, Princess— right in the kisser. Who knew you had an arm on you? Here, use mine next.”

“Get— Chat— go and help him or something—” She makes a face at him while whispering, pushing at his— naked! Oh no!— thigh under the bedsheets, forcing him to get out of bed and get ready and deal with the naga that tends to a bruised nose. He slips out with a snicker, and Marinette tries not to squeak at the eyeful she gets of a beautiful golden backside. Oh— is that where his tail connects to his spine? Wow. “Oh, Tikki— Luka, are you okay? I’m so sorry— I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

“That makes one of us.” Chat voices as he picks through a drawer for clothes.

“Chat!”

Luka’s laughter is good-humored in the hallway. “Ah, that was you who threw it? In that case— I’m fine, I’m fine. I didn’t expect that throw from you, I’ll be honest— but I’m fine, I promise. You surprised me, that’s all.”

“I’m so sorry, oh Tikki— I’m so sorry.”

“Relax, little pearl. The pillow didn’t hurt— though I am smelling blood. I can’t look yet, so tell me: am I bleeding, kitty-cat?”

“Give me a second, I’ll make sure you start smelling blood for real,” Chat finds pants to slip on. He turns to her before going through the door— giving her a lookover from how she no doubt looks disheveled, hiding behind their bedsheets, hair completely a mess on her shoulders and pooling down to her lap. “Alright, you noodle with teeth, let’s see what the damage is before you start crying.”

Chat winks at her with a Cheshire grin, closing the door behind him, leaving Marinette to bite her lips and pat at her cheeks with a squeak and a full-on curl of her toes.

-*-

“Alright, so, why are you here again?” Chat pours out a bit of hot water into the teacup in front of the naga. There are leaves already inside of the cup from a jar that Luka’s brought along with him in the giant pouch he carries on his shoulder. It smells like dried apples— but Chat’s nose is so full of Marinette’s scent that it’s hard to smell anything except lemon and milksoap and her.

He’d been caught completely off guard with Luka showing up into the house. He hadn’t even heard him— and Luka isn’t exactly silent on floorboards when he slithers along it. He must’ve been too caught up trying to get Marinette to stop worrying.

Luka stares at him with something glinting in his blue eyes. If he cared enough, he’d try to pick at it and see what exactly it is— but it’s too early in the morning, and all he’s dreaming about is being back in Marinette’s arms again. Besides, it doesn’t take much to recognize what the look even is— Chat is many things, but he isn’t stupid. “We promised the town we would get fish for the festival.”

“Mm.”

“Since we’re the only two competent fishermen there is.”

“There are plenty of good fishermen in town.” He can’t exactly name them at the top of his head— again, it’s too early in the morning, and Marinette is warm and soft in their bed that is the size of a shoebox, and she tastes far sweeter on his tongue than the tea he’s mixing in his own cup, he’s sure of it.

“They’re good for humans, but they never have enough for the festival. So we agreed we’d help out this year.”

“When did we say that?” He pauses, putting the teapot down on the table, his eyes narrowing at a dried speck of flour from yesterday’s adventures as he tries to think of it through. He shrugs. “Anyway— I mean, that’s fine. Sure. We need food, anyway— our icebox is almost out. I’m not in any condition to go boar hunting for this festival— I’ll leave a human to do it with their arrows and knives.”

“I do smell an injury on you.” Luka tilts his head. “Where is it?”

Chat’s found his discarded sleepshirt on the couch before he’d gotten Luka to stop complaining about his nose. It’d taken a bit to persuade his arm to move in the way he wanted it to so he could fit in it— but he’d gotten it on without tearing any of the sutures in his flesh. He hasn’t made the effort to tie the front of his shirt, though— he leaves it open, letting nearly a full quarter of his tattoo show through the gap of the shirt— and makes no point to hide it.

And, well— he’s not indecent, so Marinette certainly won’t berate him for it.

Aside from the fact that he doesn’t really care about human manners, and only keeps up with it to keep his witch sane— Luka himself isn’t human. He doesn’t dress like one, either— frequently sporting shirts and jackets with necklines that dip extremely low to the sternum— naga fashion is much less conservative.

It probably has something to do with the lack of legs— but it’s more likely that, since they spend most of their time swimming, there’s no point in using garments.

Regardless, whenever Luka around humans for a long period of the day, Chat Noir finds that the naga covers his upper body with long panels of shirts that almost look like dresses. Covered from neck down to not alarm humans with so much showing skin— the robes are covered with pearls along the sleeves.

But for the majority of times, Luka wears just a jacket, hiding away his upper arms with silk fabric rolled up to below elbow— holding together the jacket shut with a simple colored sash at where his hips should be, if he had legs.

There’s almost never a shirt underneath the jacket whenever he wears it.

Why does Chat Noir have to hide behind a well-maintained shirt when Luka doesn’t?

“Shoulder and bicep. My wounds are from teeth,” Chat says simply, sitting down and trying his best not to wince at his arm underneath his nightshirt.

“Not a coupling injury, is it?” Ah, there’s that sparkle in Luka’s eyes again. “Who would’ve guessed the little pearl is a biter?”

“Don’t—” His ears twitch heavy to the sides, trying to gauge if Marinette’s heard him. His witch is still in the bedroom, humming away to herself— he relaxes when he’s certain she hasn’t heard, but hisses anyway in his direction. “Shut up, Luka. Pretend you don’t know what we were up to— pretend that your nose isn’t that sensitive— Marinette will freak if she finds out you can smell that. The last thing I need is for you to send her into a panic.”

Ridiculous naga man. The only person on Earth who has a sense of smell as well as him— it just had to be him. If Luka was any less strong, Chat Noir is certain he would’ve already skinned him into a lovely shawl from all the trouble he keeps trying to cause. He just keeps trying to worm his way into scandals, it seems.

“Silent like a grave,” But that smile on Luka’s face is teasing enough— flashing the sides of his fangs. “So, then, what’s with the salve on your arm, if not her?”

“My father.” Isn’t exactly the best explanation, given that no one exactly believes that his father is the king of hell— it’s just part of the job description at this point, to be disappointed in his friend’s ability to believe in his words. Only Alya believes him— though he suspects it’s most likely because his stories sound more like spectacles and tall-tales than actual memories. “I won. But that means that my arm is torn to shit— so I’m good with not hunting boars for a little while.”

Luka hums into his cup in agreement, settling back onto his coils. It always sounds like it’s raining whenever Luka moves on the hardwood floors of the cottage— it makes his ears twitch. “Boars aren’t fun, are they? My scales are difficult for their tusks, but they just don’t stay still the way that eels do when I’ve got them— their hooves dig into whatever they get. Nasty little animals.”

“Quite boring, aren’t they?” He tries not to trip over the snake coil that makes its way from underneath the table to reach and pull at his ankle in retaliation for his joke. Luka’s blue and turquoise tail just ends up being everywhere in the house whenever he’s in it— he could be on the other side of the cottage and he’d still find a way to trip over a well-placed coil. “When’s the last time you molted?”

“How bold, Chat— you know that’s a personal thing to ask,” Luka doesn’t look upset. It’s hard to actually get him angry— Chat’s certain he’s never actually seen it. Everything seems to come easy for this man. “Only family and lovers get to ask questions such as intimate as that. Which one are you, kitty-cat?”

“Neither. I’m your worst nightmare,” Chat bats back. He needs more sugar in his tea. “I’m simply asking because your scales look fresh.”

“You noticed?” The naga perks up.

He agrees with a hum. “I just ask because it’ll be stupid for us to go hunting for boars if you look that clean— your scales might get injured.”

Luka looks proud, the stupid bastard. “I shed last week for the festival. I need to be on my best behavior, and of course look my best, if I’m going to get any favors or flowers. Some of us aren’t as lucky as you two in the love department, I’m afraid, and you know it’s important for suitors to notice how shiny our tails are. Looks like I’ve done my job well if you’ve picked up on it.”

It’s bait. He knows it’s bait— so he does the wise thing for once in his life and ignores it. “What time is it?”

“It’s late. Far too late for an early riser as you.”

He wipes at his eyes, because if he doesn’t keep them busy, they’ll be busy grappling with Luka— it’s on sight for the both of them, really— but it’s too early in the morning for that. He’ll give himself at least an hour of being properly awake before getting into wrestling matches with the naga. He’s a good host. He’s a good host. “I was preoccupied.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Luka laughs. “I could tell that with the scent alone. I nearly completely lost Marinette’s scent the moment I opened that door.”

“On with the important question, then: did you have to enter the bedroom?”

“My eyes were closed.”

“What if Marinette wasn’t decent?”

“She wasn’t,” Luka says simply, like he can’t tell that his words make Chat’s tail twitch. He takes another sip from his cup— the slow kind that is noisier than a regular sip— it’s enough to drive Chat’s ears crazy from the sharpness of the noise. Something flickers through Luka’s face as he places his cup back on the saucer, and reaches for the sugar to spoon some more in. “I kind of figured she wasn’t with the way she screamed.”

He narrows his eyes. “Why did you enter the house without knocking?”

“Easy, sweet kitty-cat. I know that you’re not actually angry with me, so let’s cut the grievances and stop pretending.” Luka laughs when Chat sinks into his chair with a huff. “I did knock. Lots. Your hens were getting restless inside their coup from not being let out on time— I collected your eggs for you. Took a couple for myself as payment— they’re delicious, by the way. You don’t make it a habit to forget your chores.”

“I wasn’t forgetting. I was just busy.”

“I came in to make sure you two were okay.” Luka leans into an open palm, his smile friendly and open. Almost languid— the cheeky bastard, his eyes glittering with flecks of gold as he continues to tease. “I’d knocked on your door previously with no answer.”

“Busy.”

“Forgive me for worrying,” Luka’s laughter is gentle. “The next time it happens, I’ll wait outside until you’re done snogging. And other things. Truly, have you seen your hair in the mirror? You look like an imported rug that’s taken a beating— what in the world has the little witch done to you?”

Chat matches him by resting his jaw on his own hand, mirroring each other across the table. “I’m sure my hair doesn’t look that bad.”

“You’re right. It usually looks worse when I’m done with you,” His eyes spark full to gold— molten lava for eyes with thin slitted pupils— but retreat back to a calm and natural blue when they both hear the bedroom door pull open.

His eyes flicker in Marinette’s direction as she walks into the kitchen with a worried look on her face. She’s laced herself into her stays— gone through with putting on all those petticoats and her over skirt that culminates in making her waist looking proportionately tiny compared to the fullness of her hips. He hopes she isn’t in pain— he’s not sure, but he could’ve sworn that earlier this morning he saw a dark spot at her left hip the size of his fingerprints— and hopes that he’d been gentle enough so that whatever pain she suffers now doesn’t continue for the rest of the day.

He’s a mixture of guilt from hurting her that way— and proud to know that there’s a mark he left behind underneath all those layers of clothes.

She hasn’t put on a jacket of some kind to hide the long chest panel of her shift— or the top of her stays— she’s probably lost the pin again that closes the jacket, and is on the hunt for it. As such, parts of her pale decolletage is completely visible under her hair as she continues to brush through the long strands with her fingers. She goes through the motion of quickly lacing her hair back into a loose side braid— tying her hair off at the waist with a pretty ribbon— and gets to work, getting close enough to Luka to lean over to him to look at his face with care.

“Good morning, pearlescent little witch— don’t you look glowing this morning?”

Chat kicks at the coil closest to him. Luka barely blinks at the pain as he continues to smile at Marinette.

Her face brightens enough to mimic the sun as she continues to look him over. “How’s your nose, Luka? Not injured, is it?”

“I’m fine!” Luka waves her off with a smile. “It takes a lot more than a sack of cotton to break a bone in my body. I’d be in trouble if it was that easy— there are far more chances to break one of my bones than there is to break a human’s.”

Marinette isn’t paying attention. She’s busy studying Luka’s nose— Chat can tell just by her body language alone.

She nods regardless of not paying attention, reaching for the naga’s face to check for any signs of damage as if she doesn’t believe him. Luka stills in her hands— barely breathing, as if he’s afraid it’ll startle her. Chat Noir can whine and moan about Luka, but he knows for certain that the naga takes gentle care in not hurting or scaring the little witch. He has never laid a finger on her— Marinette has no idea just how strong he is. “I guess you’re alright. No bleeding, yes? No loss of sight?”

“The only lost I get is when I’m looking in your eyes.”

Marinette’s laughter twinkles in the air.

Chat perks up from his teacup, an idea brewing in his head. “Actually, Princess, I think he potentially is in need of salve.”

“Oh, does he?” She bites her lip, turning back to him. “We have a bit more, I just wonder where I put the bottle—”

“No, ‘he’ does not,” Luka’s eyes flicker gold when they make eye contact. There’s a coil around his ankle, now— and a gentle pull as a humorous warning. “Your familiar is lying to you, little pearl.”

She laughs into a full smile of her own, completely unaware that Chat is trying to shift his legs out of the slow, constrictive nature of the naga’s tail. He’s not sure he can feel his ankle anymore. “My familiar has told me that he doesn’t make it into a habit of lying to me— in fact, he’s promised me two nights ago not to lie anymore.”

“How sweet of him to promise you such an important thing— if only your familiar was as dulcet with me as he is with you— although I don’t mind the aggression. It’s always funner that way, isn’t it, kitty-cat?” Luka sighs, settling deep into his coils as Marinette turns to sit on the other side of the table. Chat has a foot ready for another kick in case Luka makes the comment that he knows is at the tip of his forked tongue— he can tell by the way Luka’s eyes continue to glitter. “Such a passionate man he is, Marinette. Always do love rolling on the ground with him, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Thinking that someone is in need of treatment is hardly a lie,” He’s grateful that Luka’s silent when Chat kicks him again— barely even flinching into his cup as he sips from it. Chat’s eyes follow the way his witch sits down in her chair, spying for any sign of physical discomfort. “Though if you’re truly that desperate for an injury, I’ll be happy to help.”

“No, no—” Marinette sighs as she pours her own cup. “Please, a truce between you two for at minimum the remainder of this morning.”

“The morning has already passed, my pearl.” Luka interrupts her wishes for bread.

“What time is it?” Her brows furrow, eyes widening in alarm.

“It’s afternoon by now. Were you planning on something this morning?” Luka’s completely neutral as he leans into his elbow again— but Chat can see the gold starting to surface in his eyes. “What in the world kept you two up so late?”

Bait. Bait. There’s no point in kicking at him— Marinette must know at this point what he’s talking about. What in the world is their excuse? Does Marinette mind telling people that they’re together now? Is she okay with telling people that they were caught in bed?

“Chat Noir got into a bit of a fight with an animal in the forest two days ago,” Marinette doesn’t even blink as she mixes something into her cup. He’s not sure when she managed to drop a few more leaves into her cup— but they’re there now, and turn the liquid a dark red. “Came home with a nasty bite. Cried the entire time I stitched him back up— it took us forever. I’ve had to keep cleaning it every couple of hours because he keeps opening the stitches back up. I’m exhausted— he’s kept me up all night.”

Chat has the urge to stick his tongue out in Luka’s direction when they make eye contact, but squashes it down immediately when there’s a coil ensnaring his foot again. He can tell that the naga is impressed by her complete and total loyalty to Chat Noir in order to lie— there’s gold still flickering in Luka’s eyes as a slow smile creeps along his face, turning completely towards her. “Is that so?”

“He’s a squirmer,” She smiles as she takes a sip. Her tea smells bitter— he doesn’t envy the face she pulls in the slightest— placing her teacup down onto the table with a poorly concealed flinch. “And terrified of needles.”

“I’m not afraid of needles,” Chat rolls his eyes.

“Well, between your phobia of anything medical, and all of the kissing we did last night, it’s a miracle I was able to get any sutures into your skin.” Ah. There’s the coy and confident Marinette he sees glimpses of. Chat tries not to narrow his eyes at her as she makes eye contact with him— a playful glint in her eyes.

“He did say he was rather occupied with something,” Luka lifts a clawed finger up to his chin as if he’s thinking— but breaks into a grin when Chat’s back of his paw makes contact with the fleshy underside of his tail. There’s not nearly as much protection on the undercarriage as there is on the top side— he can see it in the way Luka’s eyes squint with a flinch. “I’m sorry to cut your breakfast short, little pearl, but I’m going to be borrowing your familiar for the remainder of the afternoon. That’s doable, right?”

She makes a noise of surprise. “What for?”

“We promised the village we’d bring fish for the celebrations tonight,” Chat rubs at his eyes again.

“You’re in no condition to fish with that arm,” She muses. “You can’t have both. Either you two behave and actually fish, or finish playing footsies with one another outside— but I’m not washing your clothes if they get dirty. You’re both on your own for that one.”

“Always so considerate of us, pearlescent witch—” Luka struggles not to grin when Chat pulls at his arm to start getting away from the table. “Alya should be here any moment now to collect you. You have your own duties for the festival, you know— and I will hope you don’t skimp out on those flowers you promised.”

“Come back soon, the both of you?” She waves him off with a smile, pressing a kiss to Chat’s cheek when he comes close enough. “Behave. Don’t get any more injured, kitty-cat.”

He’ll try.

AO3 | Start Here | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[thosequeenboys]

Oh, Baby (Ben Hardy and Joe Mazzello)

Summary:  On a visit to Ben’s film set, Joe witnesses Ben enjoying a baby for the first time, which gets each of them thinking...

A/N:  This was written for “First Time” prompt for Hardzzello Week.  During in my holiday shopping at a crafts fair, I saw items that inspired my descriptions of gifts, though the ‘piece de resistance’ was a real thing!! Other writings featuring Joe and Ben (together and individually) can be found in my Masterlist

Warnings:  A somewhat crass reference to baby making, but other than that, just fluff and love!

Joe woke up an hour before his alarm was set to go off.  As always, his first image upon waking was of Ben. Usually, he snuggled under the covers and flipped over, letting himself indulge in his mind’s reel showing highlights of their past times together and previews of their anticipated visits.  Today, was one of those visits; he was travelling to Montreal to see Ben as he finished taping The Voyeurs.  Joe set a record in getting ready, and 20 minutes later he was getting into his Uber, planning to catch an earlier flight.

The wheels touched down two hours before his expected arrival.  As the cab drove him through downtown Montreal, he saw an outdoor crafts fair, festively decorated, set up for the holiday season. He noted the cross streets in his phone and vowed to stop by for some Christmas shopping for his family.  His first priority though was seeing Ben.  He arrived at the set and checked in with the guard who found his name on visitor list.

He entered the cavernous sound stage where multiple scenes were being set up.  Cameras framed the perimeter.  Staff were moving props and equipment. He looked around for a wave of blond hair.  Walking around a corner to another set, off in the distance he saw the unmistakable handsome man in his life.  But, wait, what was he doing?  Joe did a double take.

Ben was standing next to a woman seated with a car seat and diaper bag beneath her.  He was holding a baby on his hip, one hand supporting the baby’s bottom, the other wrapped snuggly around its upper back, cradling its head against his shoulder. And what was particularly endearing was Ben masterfully and naturally doing The Baby Dance - shifting from leg to leg, swaying his hips loosely, giving the baby a little bounce and maintaining eye contact. He looked like a pro!   It was a new image of Ben.  At family events, Ben interacted with Joe’s older nieces and nephews warmly. He cracked jokes, played board games and kicked a soccer ball with them outside.  They loved his energy and humor.  But he had not interacted with the babies. Truth be told he seemed a little intimated at the prospect.

Staring at his love across the room holding a baby filled Joe with excitement and awe. His stomach tightened. He was thrilled to see Ben for the first time enjoying a baby. Occasionally, the topic of children came up, but they hadn’t seriously discussed it, though Ben knew that Joe was eager to have a family.   Joe wondered if maybe now Ben could envision them having a family too.  Joe breathed deeply and took in the sight a little longer before making his way over to Ben, who was now chatting with the seated woman, alternating between looking at her and cooing at the baby, who looked at him.

As Joe approached, Ben’s face lit up and he walked toward him.  “Ohmygod-you’re here early! What a nice surprise!  Hi, You!” Ben leaned over and kissed Joe’s cheek, proudly holding the baby and thrilled to see Joe.

“The early bird gets the worm.  Hopefully.” Joe couldn’t resist.  “Hmm. I see you found a substitute for my attention, though probably not as articulate and witty, I dare say.” Joe said in his charming, slightly haughty manner. He looked at the baby who appeared to be about four months old.  “And who is this charming fellow?” Joe asked, stroking the baby’s onesie-covered arm.

“This is Christopher. And this is his mom, Anna,” Ben said, turning toward Anna who gave a wave.  She’s a grip. Her nanny is only available in the afternoons for a few days, so Christopher has been our special guest on set.”

“Anna,” Ben said, shifting Christopher over to his other hip and resuming The Baby Dance, “This is my…Joe.  Joe Mazzello.”  

“Hi, My Joe,” Anna said with a laugh, and Joe and Ben joined in.  Joe and Ben locked eyes.  Though they were established as a couple in their social circle, they were still figuring out their positioning in the world.  Joe really hated the term ‘boyfriend,’ which tripped Ben up during introductions.  My Partner? My Man? Of course, it would be easier if it were just ‘ My Husband,’ Ben had thought lately.

Anna continued. “I’ve heard so much about you-and the great Uncle you are.  Ben’s been so helpful caring for Christopher between taping before my sitter arrives.  He’s such a natural, and Christopher has really taken to him.”

“My nieces and nephews always enjoy spending time with him.” Joe said beaming.  Ben was called for the final scene for the day. Once Ben finished work, the boys bid farewell to Anna and Christopher and headed out.  They settled into Ben’s rental car, Ben at the driver’s seat. Joe looked over at Ben. He couldn’t shake the image of Ben holding Christopher, and it filled him with a warm rush.  

“What?” Ben said, feeling Joe’s eyes on him, pausing before starting the car. “You’re worried about me driving?” he laughed.

“Well, there’s that, now that you mention it,” Joe said with a laugh.  Then he reached out and touched Ben’s hand, which was resting on his thigh, holding the car keys.

“No, actually, I keep picturing you holding Christopher.  It was just….so beautiful.  And you seemed to like it.  Did you?” Joe asked somewhat tentatively, concerned about the prospective answer.

“Yeah,” Ben responded. “I did.  I really did.  I mean, I was nervous at first.  Anna helped me feel more comfortable.  It was amazing having another person respond to you. Want you.  When he laughed at my antics, it made me melt. And, this sounds weird, but that feeling of holding him - It’s hard to describe. It was like no other physical connection.”

Joe smiled broadly, happiness overtaking him. “I totally get it.  I’ve felt the same way with my nieces and nephews. I think it would be stronger when…it’s yours. I mean, if…when you’re the father.”  

‘Yeah,’ Ben said, staring out the windshield.  “I’ve imagined it.”

“You, you have?” Joe asked, trying to contain his excitement, eagerly wanting to hear more.

‘Yes, at night, when I go back to my flat, you know, I picture this…story.  Where I have a baby.  WE have a baby,” He clarified, looking over to Joe.  “There are a few scenes.  First, I see us taking it home after it’s born and then staying up at night taking turns holding it, singing, reading, walking, trying to get it to sleep.”

“You were quite a rocker and a roller in your baby dance with Christopher,” Joe noted.

‘Yeah, it did seem to help keep him calm.” Ben said.

“What else did you imagine?” Joe asked, wanting to conjure the images too.

“Well, the baby was restless and nothing was working so finally, we put it between us in bed and we both held it.  We all fell asleep together.  Then, I fast forwarded to the baby being older and we went to the playground.  We pushed it in the swing. I was in the front of the swing, you were behind it.  Sometimes, I held its legs when the swing came forward, and you held the swing from the back so it was suspended, and the baby giggled. Then we sang Queen songs in time to the swinging, really getting into it, and the baby was clapping and laughing.   Like we were two cool, creative, fun dads.

“I bet we would be.” Joe said. “Wow, those are really nice images. It’s nice to hear you’ve thought about them.”  

Joe leaned over and kissed Ben softly on the lips.  Ben turned his body to Joe, and the keys slid off his lap as he moved his arms around Joe’s neck and deepened the kiss. They made out passionately until Joe pulled away, breathing heavily.  “It’s a good thing you can’t get pregnant, ‘cause I swear to God, I’d want to take you home right now and…”

“Really, Joseph,” Ben cut him off.  “Wouldn’t you want to make an honest man of me first?”  

“Yes, yes, absolutely, I would.” Joe said between pants.  “And I want to continue this make-out session, but…Seasonal topic change! I have to do some Christmas shopping, and I saw a cool crafts fair downtown.  I thought maybe we could stop there before heading home.”

“Sure,” Ben said, slightly out of breath. “I’m game.  May find a few things as well.”

After parking, Joe pulled up his Christmas shopping list on his phone. “Ok, let’s split up – I’ll be more efficient that way - and meet at the Hot Chocolate stand over there in 45 minutes,” Joe said, motioning to the little café area.

“Sounds good,” Ben said.

Joe made the rounds and found silver amethyst earrings for his sister, an intricate turquoise necklace for his mom, hair accessories and hand-decorated Girl Power journals for his nieces and a big stuffed dinosaur for his youngest nephew.   He walked by a stand with a hodgepodge of jewelry and eyed a rack of bracelets. His gaze gravitated to a thin, earthy brown leather bracelet with subtle streaks of gold.  He took it off the rack and put it on his wrist as he imagined giving it to Ben as an engagement ring of sorts.  Yes, he would make an honest man of him first.  Joe took off the bracelet and fingered it, playing out a scene of giving it to Ben on a sunset beach, though truthfully, he didn’t want to wait that long.  He made a mental note to Google most romantic places to propose in Montreal.  His reverie was interrupted by the saleswoman. “Oh, that’s a lovely choice, made by a local artist. Happy to give you his card.”

Joe checked his watch and made a bee line to the Hot Chocolate stand.  He was pleased that he got through most of his shopping list, but ecstatic by his last purchase.  He felt high thinking about them committing to each other in a formal way and….Suddenly, Ben ran up to him.  “I have to show you what I found!”  He pulled a garment out of one of his bags.  It was a white, long-sleeved baby onesie featuring a repeating montage of small beagle dogs engaged in different activities:  walking with a bone in its mouth, sitting wearing glasses reading a book, snuggling next to a dad dog with a tie, chasing a ball, sleeping with a teddy bear under its paw. Each image was drawn with fine black pen and featured a burst of a primary color-the bone was yellow, the book was blue, the tie was red,  the ball was orange and the bear was green.  Ben couldn’t contain is excitement, “Isn’t this the CUTEST thing? I got one for Christopher.  And another one.”  He looked at Joe. “In case, you know, we need another baby gift.”

“Very cute and good planning.” Joe said, touching the soft clothing.

“How did you do?”  Ben asked.

“Oh, I finished most of my shopping for the fam.  And an unexpected thing or two.   A successful expedition.” Joe said, feeling a wave of emotion thinking of the bracelet.

Joe reached for Ben’s hand, as they walked to the car, each of them looking forward to their visit -- and their newly-envisioned future.

 @warriorteam1924 @lapofthemusicgods @nightoftheland @heybuddy-drabbles @hey-holtzy @im-an-adult-ish @halfasleepoetry @roger-taylors-car

[bananaink]

KeGO December Day 3 - He freaking bit me!

This dog was so soft. So nice. His curled tail was wagging and his face was so squishable!

Akihito held the happily panting Shibas face in both hands and gave him a playful ruffle, cooing quietly at him how much of a good boy he was, sitting guard in front of the convenience store. Such a good puppy, so smart, so hardworking...

That’s when the doors to the store opened and a body flew out of it, narrowly missing Akihitos bag full of groceries and dog treats. The Shiba with the nametag ‘Security’ blinked up at him as Akihito recognized the reflection of a green haired boy standing up and huffing out a curse. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see how the kid rolled up his sleeves and growled.

“As if.”

The boy walked right back into the store. Akihito listened to the chime of the door, still crouching on the ground and burying his hands in the soft fur, trying to ignore the shouting inside. He would not get involved in this. He was just here to get some stuff, pet some dogs on the way and then hide himself back in his too small flat and listen to the neighboring students arguing over who got to eat the good instant-noodles.

A crash sounded from inside and Akihito played with Securitys ears.

“I will not intervener.”, he told the diligent dog sternly and squished his cheeks until he let his tongue loll out and closed his beady eyes in content. Another, louder crash, followed by a short yell.

“I will not-”, he ruffled and scratched Security behind the ears and under his jaw “-intervener.”

Security let out a huff and licked his wrists, tail thumping on the ground when the door opened again and this time the owner had the boy around the scruff and swung him like a wet sack of potatoes outside. Akihito kept staring at Security and felt him tilt his head into his hands. Such a good boy.

“If you come inside one more time-”, started the owner and shook a threatening broom at the boy who scrambled to his feet, favoring some undistinguishable growling over a concrete finish to his threat.

For a man in his late sixties the owner was a pretty impressive buff dude, thick arms, a round belly and stocky short legs. He was smaller than Akihito, upper half of his face hidden by straight cut bangs down to his nose and covering most of his flaring nostrils. But Akihito had seen him move pallets like pillows and dispose of rowdies without sweating one bit. One of the reasons Akihito liked to walk that extra ten minutes and shop here. Problems usually got scared off at the front door. Just not this one.

“You can’t keep me from shopping forever.”, the problem said confidently and Akihito squeezed the soft dog one last time, grimacing.

“I’m gonna intervener, aren’t I?”, he whispered to the dog in anguish. Security didn’t answer but encouragingly licked his arms. Akihito sighed and regretfully ruffled Securitys scruff, just as Midoriya got himself into a crouch, like a sprinter about to zoom to the finish line. The ex-vigilante lifted his head.

“Hey, Noriaki, what’s up?”

The owner scoffed as he got into a wide stance, broom diagonal in front of his body and even blew his hair out of his eyes. Ready to block the kid with the determined glare.

“Nothing much, Furubashi, what’s up with you? Sneaking Security more treats? I thought we talked about that.”

Akihito scratched his neck when Security perked up at the word ‘treats’, tail wagging with passion and sighed.

“Heh, busted.”

Midoriya chose that moment to start running at Noriaki and tried to dive around him but the man wasn’t faced – he just got the kid around the scruff, made a little twirl and redirected him straight outside again. Tumbling one, two times, the kid skidded to his hands and feet like a cat and glared. Noriaki glared right back.

“I just wanna buy some cat food!”, Midoriya said and stood up, dusting his pants off and looking for another way around the door-keeper. Akihito looked over his shoulder, still crouching and found the exasperated kid huffing out a breath. His hair was a mess as usual and despite the dark circles under his eyes he was looking way healthier than the last time he had seen him. Akihito could still live happily without knowing the kid at all but Midoriya was Aizawas ward which was annoying and unfair. Thanks to his debt he owed the underground hero, Akihito felt the unreasonable urge to extend his debt to the kid and knew he wouldn’t be able to say no to his conscious.

He groaned and looked at Security one last time, torn between staying low and squishing his fluffy cheeks and doing what his conscious was telling him to do. Standing up, he turned to look at Noriaki and pointed to the kid over his shoulder with a thumb.

“Why isn’t he allowed inside?”

“Because he’s a resentful, petty and very old relict!”, chirped Midoriya from behind him and Akihito closed his eyes in agony. Noriakis face in turn turned red and his wrinkly mouth became even more lined with rage.

“He freaking bit me!!! I’m not letting that animal inside!”

“That was one time and I said sorry!”

Noriaki pointed with his broom.

“You didn’t mean that apology!”

Midoriya just rolled his eyes in response but Akihito saw how he nervously flexed his hands and didn't look at them anymore. Not quite guilty but definitely troubled.

“Whatever, I just want to buy some cat food. With real money this time!”, said Midoriya suddenly and rummaged in his pockets, pulling some crumpled bills and holding them out. Noriaki grunted and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“No.”

Midoriya tried to hide it but his face fell a little bit and he begrudgingly stared at the money in his hands. He wasn’t saying anything else and a thin wet sheen started to appear over the boys eyes and Akihito sighed deep and annoyed. He pulled his cardigans closer around him and tuned to the stern owner of the corner convenience store Akihito really really liked and didn’t want to leave a negative impression on.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this... Can I buy it for him?”, he asked and Noriaki startled, before quickly turning his head to him. Then, slowly, as if Akihito hadn’t heard it the first time, Noriaki repeated:

“He. Freaking. Bit. Me. Why would you want to do anything for him?”

Akihito sighed, again, and pulled up his sleeve, showing the little scar on his wrist.

“Welcome to the club. He even left a mark. But I can ensure you, he probably didn’t mean it.” And with emphasis, he found the kids big surprised eyes and said “Am I right?”

Midoriya immediately shook his head, then nodded and nervously grimaced.

“No, I really didn’t mean it. Sorry.”, he clarified and Noriaki eyes Midoriya suspiciously. Midoriya in turn fidgeted on the spot, money crumpled in his tight fist. Akihito could see the moment Noriaki gave up, but the man wasn’t easily swayed. He pointed at the boy.

“You - stay outside. Tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you.”

Midoriya perked up, just shy of smiling as he rattled of a brand name Akihito had never heard off and watched the owner disappear with a last threatening glare. The door chimed as it closed and Akihito was left with the awkward silence in the air. Pulling at his cardigan, he turned to look at Midoriya, who was staring at him – specifically his wrist.

“It’s fine.”, the ex-vigilante said immediately and Midoriyas eyes jumped up to meet his look but quickly dropped his gaze.

“Sorry.”, he mumbled and flexed his free hand. “And thank you.”

Akihito sighed and grabbed his own grocery bag. Security wagged his tail at the sound of crinkling plastic and it broke Akihitos heart that he couldn’t get away with giving him another treat.

“Why are you even here? Just buy that cat food somewhere else.”

Midoriya shifted his feet a little bit, scratching his elbow.

“Usually Aizawa shops and this is the only place that sells it and ... and Crash is a very picky eater. She’ll inhale every snack available but her food has to be this one.”

Akihito refrained from asking why Aizawa wasn’t buying their cat food today. He had heard about the villain attack and seen Aizawa half-mummified as a co-commentator at the sports-festival. That man probably couldn’t hold a spoon, let alone some groceries.

Akihito scratched his neck to appear nonchalant.

“Hey, I’ll give you a hint. Stop biting people. And Noriaki is actually not that resentful. You can probably bribe your way in through Security.”

Midoriya, obviously uncomfortable, side-glanced Akihito at that, but then Noriaki reappeared with a bag – still in a wide stance in front of his shop like a guard dog - and held it out.

“There. Take it and leave.”

Midoriya nervously but obviously pulling off a brave act strode forward, put the money in the open palm with stiff fingers and quickly snatched the bag. He then jumped five steps away before turning around, a contemplative frown on his face. It startlingly reminded Akihito of Aizawa. He bowed a little while looking at the ground at Noriakis feet.

“Uhm. Thank you. Bye.”

Then he ran off.

Akihito sighed and felt Noriakis eyes boring into the side of his face.

“You’re getting soft.”, the big stocky man said and Akihito turned to walk away.

“Whatever, you old relict.”

Noriaki threw the broom after him while Securtiy finally started to bark in alarm.

_____________

Yes! I was able to sneak some more of my OC into this AU! YAI! :D If yo don’t remember, this is him :D

As usual, this is cross-posted on AO3 and check out @banashee, who is my companion in this writing challenge. <3

Also, I wanna shout out @im-a-killer-whale and their story!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21634288/chapters/51587335

Check it out, I already love it because it’s funny, it has fantasy in it and I’m so happy that someone else is doing the KeGo too!!! You won’t regret it!

[atimefordragons]

[ T S E S A R E V N A  ... ]

My incomplete audition for Gem Quest, didn’t have the time to participate properly, let alone finish my audition from all the other groups (yeah, I don’t know what time management is and have no idea how to pace myself). 

“В небе далеком горит звезда, | In distant heaven star shines Не одинока и не одна | It's not alone and not the one Каждый себе выбирает путь | Everyone choose their own way И она не даст свернуть | And star won't allow them to turn Не закрывай глаза | Don't close your eyes Смотри она ведет тебя.. | Look, it leads you...”

-  Звезда (Dima Bilan ft Anna Belan)

Real Name: Yekatrina “Katya/Rina” Anatolyevna Raevskaya

Age: 26

FC: Alia Bhatt

Species & Class: Dragonborn & Mage-Knight

Guild: Moonstone

Description of In-Game Powers: (what their fantasy species lets them do, basically, and all the associated drawbacks)

A dragonborn is a cross-bred species, born from the bloodline of either a human or an elf, and a Great Dragon (highly evolved, ancient dragons that can cast spells, and shit, and even speak the human tongue). Because great dragons are rare, most dragonborn are second generation or later. In the case of Tsesarevna, an ice dragon and a human (not a first gen).

Dragonborns have a natural affinity for magic, particularly elemental, even more specifically for the element of the dragon type whose blood they inherited, in the case of Tsesarevna, frozen water related magic, ice, frost, snow.

Place of Birth: Saint Petersburg, Russian Federation

Appearance: (optional textual description/notes of wardrobe, features not represented by fc, etc)

Places Most Likely to be Found In-Game: Level 20 - A Midwinter Night’s Dream (I see what you did there Ayz) and Level 38 - Murias Pass (the snow reminds her of home, ya know. The cold never bothered me anyway), also sometimes Level 39 - The Dragon, but she’s technically stuck on that level because she refuses to kill the Dragon, issa zaldrīzo ānogar.

Current Inventory:

History Book: The Dragon King Festival

Strongest character trait: eurovision knowledge Confidence (in herself and some others)

Strengths: Katya is almost surprisingly determined, it contradicts with the rest of her “I’ve never had to work hard to get what I want in my life” type personality, but she is persevering and stubborn, when she wants something, she won’t stop until she gets it. Which in her real life was never very difficult getting.  

Weaknesses: Where to even start? Spoiled Princess Brat (she has never not gotten what she wants in her life, and it shows), impatient, impulsive, not exactly a team player (I mean, she is now, but that shady shit she pulled back when she first started playing kinda got her a rep), arrogant, prideful, kind of a bitch (doesn’t really think of it as a weakness, but ya know, it’s hard to make friends), dragon obsession (refuses to kill dragons, even in order to advance the game, got herself and party members killed early on in the game ‘cause of it), kind of an adrenaline junkie, and reckless af. She doesn’t really consider the consequences of the game, wholeheartedly believes her dad, fam and connections in the real world will get her out soon enough, so has no problem running head first into fire (”I’m too hot to die in a video game”).

Player Stats: (on a scale of 1-10, 1 being the weakest, 10 being the strongest. try to balance it out!)

STRENGTH: 9

DEFENSE: 7

CHARISMA: 3

PSYCHE: 5

WILLPOWER: 9

CAUTIOUSNESS: 2

AGILITY: 5

ENDURANCE: 7

INTELLIGENCE: 8

LUCK: 4

Personality:  “Haven’t you ever seen a princess be a bad bitch before?”

Haha, yeah, but mostly, she’s just a massive nerd. She’s such a fucking nerd. Bitch learned Quenya and Sindarin just for kicks, and her own amusement. Literally no one else in her irl circle even fucking knows what those two things are (Elvish tongues in Tolkien).

As the baby of a two large families, and the only daughter of a Russian oligarch, Katya is incredibly spoiled, and very much self-centered. Something of a downplayed celebutante, she is not quite as present at every single high society, high fashion event in Russia, or elsewhere in Europe, she only goes to a handful. And really only for the free stuff, she loves stuff. Katya maintains a somewhat disinterested high social status, as she is the daughter of a major industrialist, and friends with other, higher profile wealthy Russian heirs and heiresses, and there are benefits (so many), but she isn't quite interested in attaining spotlight or attention. However, she also perceives it as something that is just naturally part of her life. She uses a lot of hand gestures when speaking, and tends to give off a naive-princessy vibe who seems to think the world revolves around her. Which, to be fair, it does in her house -she does know that it doesn’t actually, but ya know, can’t quite turn off that bitch, I’m a princess mindset.

“I don’t skate through life... I walk through life. In really nice shoes.” - Alexis Rose (Schitts’ Creek 3.04)

Notably, she speaks with a vocal fry when speaking English. She says “like” a lot, has a bit of a condescending tone, but, she like, does care. About a lot of stuff, but also humanity in general. Spoiled baby she may be, she does have a moral compass, and was amongst the public figures who signed an open letter against the Saint Petersburg Anti-”Gay Propaganda” bill (it’s some bullshit about “protecting” minors from “non-traditional sexual relationships”). She believes in doing the right thing, that the goal of any organization or even person should just be to decrease the net suffering of humanity, but also, she is a super proud Russian. Very anti-american, thinks they’re all stupid, always says shady shit in Russian whenever she runs into americans online. However, it’s not like she’s a fan of United Russia (Putin’s party), they’re right-wing nutjobs, she does not like them. Her main political party is A Just Russia, who are much less then left than her (officially, they be centre-left), but they’re the only ones (of her favoured parties) who have seats in the State Duma (the lower house of the Federal Assembly, Russia’s legislative body - the Duma is like parliament, or congress, I think, I don’t really know what congress is tbh, house of representatives maybe? Idk, the place where Nancy Pelosi is charge, equivalent to that). Katya also supports Patriots of Russia, a socialist, left-wing party, but they only have seats in regional parliaments, and only one seat in the Federation Council (similar to the senate, the upper house of Russia’s legislative body). There’s also Russia of the Future, but it’s not been formally registered yet. In the 2018 election she voted for the communist party’s candidate just for kicks (it’s different in Russia, there’s was zero possibility of Putin losing, come on, grow up).

As a side note, if this helps with the explainary-stuff, I basically envision her as a slavic-desi cross of Alexis Rose from Schitts’ Creek, and Gina Linetti from Brooklyn-99, also this hindi song; Sheila ki Jawani. The song is basically about owning the fact that you’re super sexy.

Biography: Katya is half-Russian, half-Indian, born to a Russian father, industrialist (and oligarch) Anatoli Ivanovich Raevsky, and an Indian mother, activist and journalist Mishti Syeda Khan. Her parents eventually separated, though technically are still married, when she was about 14, and her mother moved to Manchester in the UK, while Katya remained in Russia with her father. Katya is from a large family, on both sides, and at the time of her birth, was the first baby to be born in quite a few years (the elder cousins were like tween-teen, too old be constantly coddled and cuddled, and too young to make babies), so she was hella spoiled by everyone. The problems her maternal family had with her mother marrying a non-Muslim white boy? Well, we still hate him, but look how cute Rina is.

Despite the... complications between her family members - the whole religion/marrying a shada (white) boy thing, not to mention that Mishti herself is like agnostic at “best”, in general, as the baby, Katya (or Rina as her mother and maternal family call her), get along - well, okay, there’s always the shady auntieji’s, and bullshit drama, but like, that’s just brown families yo. We like that. We’re all 100% those bitches (see ya at Eid Nanu [grandma], ya messy bitch). While there is some distance between Katya and her mother, metaphorically and literally, she really does look up to her mother and her work, and followed in her footsteps, studying journalism at Moscow State University, and moving on to work at Известия (Izvestia), the “national” paper of Russia, formerly the state newspaper of the Soviet Union. Currently, she’s a glorified fact checker, and maintains the website with a handful of other colleagues. She’s also authored small “puff pieces” for Nedelya (a weekly Friday section about leisure actives, culture, that kinda stuff).

Katya is not exactly an avid gamer. She likes games, but it’s not like a 24/7 thing, whereas she is 24/7 thinking about like ASOIAF or Stars Wars (fuck you JJ, you were supposed to destroy the Sith R*ylo, not join them), not to mention Eurovision. Anyone who thinks Eurovision only lasts for a week is a fake fan, and anyone who thinks it’s a one day thing is an american. Ziben ziben ilulu motherfucker. Anyway.... she prefers immersive, high fantasy worlds, she likes the story and plot, so her types of games are The Witcher and Dragon Age Series, Elder Scrolls, that sort of thing. She doesn’t put in daily hours, ‘cause she got other stuff to do, but will dedicate weekends to leveling up her characters in order to accomplish quests and missions quickly and not waste time to get to the story cut scenes. She hates, hates, hatessss microtransactions and those stupid fucking mmorpg phone games which are literally just farmville repackaged with a dragon or an orc; FUCK YOU. What a fucking waste of time, quit advertising as having a plot and story, or cool character customization, ‘cause you don’t have any of that you basic ass bitch!

Gem Quest was regifted to Katya by a coworker, who had gotten it as a present, but didn’t have a VR set (of course she had one, she’s rich, and also she needed it to play Batman: Arkham VR - she’s still waiting on a game that’ll let her make out with Nightwing while playing as a custom character). She got a bit of a bad rep (understatement) in the beginning of the game. Katya hates being stuck because she doesn’t have enough exp or whatever, so she always levels up in the beginning of a game before taking the time to fuck around and do whatever, which, in the case of Gem Quest, means teaming up is the easiest way to do that. So, whenever a party member was holding them back from leveling up, she would straight up kill them in order to move on. She killed her own irl friends, to be fair, she doesn’t do that anymore, that was just in the beginning, but ya know, the rep of being that bitch kinda hard to get of.

G.’s announcement didn’t particularly freak out Katya. Whatever kind of evil Kaiba Corp execs bullshit he was pulling didn’t matter, he still had a body out there in the real world, and there’s no fucking way her dad would let die in a fucking game. There’s perks to being Oligarchs in Russia, and even if she did die in-game and was unable to return to reality, wherever G. and his real body were, motherfucker will die in excruciating pain. Polonium-210 ain’t pleasant, and the Novichok series is so much worse.

Relationships: (OPTIONAL, fill out whenever you want to)

Silverwing - rn. Anastasia “Anya” Gagarina (fc: Anna Belan), a fellow moonstone, and real life friend - well, the younger sister of an ex-boyfriend whom she still gets along with (the sister, not necessarily the ex).

Inferna - I don’t really have any plotting ideas, but Inferna’s whole; “It’s very important that I am both cute and powerful” is so relatable (to me and Katya xp)

Enthroned -

Morningstar -

Extras/Trivia (aka unnecessary information):  

Her mother, and thus maternal family, are from Kolkata, in the state of West Bengal in India, thus making Katya fluent (relatively) in Bengali as well (well, a dialect of it - West Central, you’d think as an actual Bengali person, I’d know the proper name of it, but nope. Idk, shudobasha maybe, but I think that’s for people from Dakha, which is in Bangladesh, not India. Whatever. Not like my dad will check this and be disappointed in me.)

Apart from her native Russian, Hindi, and Bengali, she speaks English, and Japanese (100% learned it because she’s a weeb), as well as the fictional languages; Quenya, Sindarin (and can use the Tengwar script to write them), High Valyrian, Mando’a, Dovazhul, and Klingon. As a teenager she also created a dictionary for ancient “Black Speech”, an in-universe constructed language in Tolkien’s legendarium, but her version is not canon, so it doesn’t count - she’s also forgotten a lot of it. She was a baby, she still has the hard copy she made somewhere in the Raevsky Manor in Saint Petersburg.  

After graduating from MSU, her father bought her, her own apartment in the Kudrinskaya Square Building in Moscow, adjacent to the ones he owned already, which she had lived in when she moved to Moscow for school. 

Katya’s family is religiously mixed (well, she’s the one who’s mixed), her maternal family are largely Muslim, some Hindu (very few though, like, you can count them on one hand), and her paternal family are either Orthodox Christian or atheist (usually depending on how long they were alive and how into the Soviet Regime they were). Katya’s parents are agnostic (Mishti), and atheist (Anatoli), Katya herself is also atheist, but sometimes she’ll say she prays to the Seven or R’hllar, or Lord Jashin, or some other made up nerd ass religion (’cause she that bitch).

But for real, she can be a real bitch about religion. The Soviets got a lot wrong, but banning religion was not one of them <- so she says. She gets super pissed when someone brings up religion during a politics chat, that fake shit should have nothing to do with running a country. 

hates starbucks with every fibre of her being, it’s such an american staple and the first time she saw one in Russia, she nearly had a heart attack.

Will die mad about:

The Last Jedi and The Rise of Skywalker; the fuck was that bullshit? We trusted you JJ! 

the garbage show’s gaslighting and murder of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Rightful Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Queen of Meereen, The Prince who was Promised, The Unburnt, Slayer of Lies, Breaker of Shackles, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, and Mother of Dragons.

Hrithik Roshan still being so fucking hot (he’s 45, please like chill a little, holy fuck)

Catarina de Lurton dying 

Former american politician John McCain constantly saying “Russia is a gas station masquerading as a country” - bitch, we’re a thousand years old, how’s your 250 year old failed experiment of a garbage nation going? 

Freud.

Links:

Playlist

Pinterest

Urstyle Collection (aesthetics, and other shit)

Social Media

[voiceofreader]

Hello , could you please do a oneshot with shinsou where the reader is heartbroken over a boy (preferably midorya but if not that’s okay) and he comforts her? Sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes!

I should really just made a Shinsou x oc fic just because whenever I get a request for him, I ignore all other asks and then write a whole 8 page long story.  I just love him so much ❤❤

Hitoshi Shinsou x Reader (fluff)

Reader is locked away in her room, trying to get over a crush, when a wild Shinsou appears and asks her to go get ice cream with him during a rain storm. 

A new school year, a new you. Well that’s what you always said every year. You were going into the second month of the first term of second year.

Usually every new school term you had a determination to dominate all your goals, challenges and overall try to become a new improved you.

But for once this year, you kind of brushed it all off. Call it seasonal depression.

But this cold weather, rainy day, dark and dreary early spring. It didn’t help that rain cloud that had been over your head since first year ended.

For you were dealing with heartbreak. You had the biggest crush on Izuku Midoriya. And you broke your own heart when you realized that it would never happen between you two.

You first liked him when you saw him during the Sports Festival. Well, there was some stray feelings from the very beginning when he was so nice and cheery, even with you.

Your mind must’ve thought his kindness was a way of him flirting? You didn’t know how you really fell for him. He was such a dork. But he always made you smile, always brought your spirits up with his own determination to be a pro-hero.

But he acted this way with almost everyone.

You noticed his close friendship with your other fellow classmate, Ochako Uraraka. They became friends during the entrance exam, so Uraraka had the upper hand.

But they had been great friends ever since then. You couldn’t deny their chemistry. And when it was so painfully obvious that Uraraka had a crush on Izuku and vice versa.

It’d be pointless to try to pry them apart and take your chance. It wasn’t your place anyway.

Besides, you two weren’t really that close of friends.

You somehow became part of the “bakusquad”. Your friendship with Mina and Kaminari gave you a sure spot in the gang. Although, with your crush known within your group of friends, to no surprise, Bakugou was annoyed with you the most. He didn’t understand how someone could like that “damn Deku”.

You weren’t remotely in the “deku squad”.

Everyone in that group was nice and friendly with you, but your personalities just didn’t seem to match up enough to make you real friends.

It just seemed like destiny was against your love for Izuku Midoriya.

And that all just crashed down on you at the end of the year when Izuku accidentally called you the wrong name.

It wasn’t too off from your name, but you then realized how little of an impression you made on him.

Sure, he had soon realized his mistake and apologized profusely, and you knew he didn’t really mean it, but the damage had been done.

Here you were faced with the heartbreak, alone. You weren’t going to get any sympathy from your friends with Bakugou around because he would probably threaten your life and say you get what you deserve.

You didn’t really need that right now.

Here you were, secluded in your dorm room, trying to work on homework, but you couldn’t focus. Either it be your train of thought running off course because of your aching heart, or the loud rain hitting your window.  

It was a Saturday and instead of hanging out with everyone in the common room, you didn’t want to chance seeing Izuku yet. You knew you weren’t ready to see his smile or his bright eyes. You had to alleviate some of the hurt before you could interact with him.

A knock on the door made you jump. You weren’t expecting company. Mina knew about your slump and let you have some space, even if it seemed out of character for her, she promised to let you be for a few days.

She most likely passed that on to Denki as well.

So who would be at your door?

You unraveled yourself from the blankets you had wrapped around you and made it over to your door. Opening the door you were greeted by the newest student of Class 1-A. His disheveled purple hair, dark eyes, uninterested expression. He was wearing a dark ash purple hoodie with a acid washed grey denim jacket over it. Black jeans, and sneakers. He looked like he was going out.

“Hey.” He nodded, looking down at you. You looked at him confused, but you tried to fake a smile. Not that you didn’t like him, in fact, you two got along great. It was just he didn’t ever reach out to you first. “Hey.” You repeated him.

“You look worse than me.” He commented, not a hint of amusement on his face. You frowned. You hadn’t taken time to notice your appearance yet that day, so you only guessed you had dark circles under your eyes, and messy hair.

“Thanks, Shinsou. Anyways, so same time tomorrow? Great. Bye.” You tried to close your door on him.

“Hey,” he kept your door open a sliver, with his foot in between the door and the frame. “I’m going out. You wanna come with?”

“Where? Why?” You wondered, either way, disinterested. Especially in this rain.

“I want to go get ice cream and Kaminari told me to drag you with me. Something about getting you out to cheer you up. I don’t care either way though.” He rolled his eyes, sighing. It made you warm inside knowing Denki was thinking of you.

But you weren’t in the mood to leave your room. “I’m not interested. Thanks though.” You smiled as bright as you could, but your face felt heavy from your constantly crying, so you knew whatever your face looked like, it must’ve seemed pathetic.

“Isn’t it common practice to eat ice cream when girls get their hearts broke?” Shinsou replied in his normal deep voice.

Your face heated up in embarrassment.

So Shinsou did know about your crush on Izuku. That was another person too many.

“Yeah, well…shut up,” You muttered, at a loss of words. You didn’t have anything to say to defend yourself.

“So get dressed, or brush your hair. Do something at least. And hurry up. I’ll be waiting down at the doors.” Shinsou walked off, not giving you a chance to decline.

You were too nice to leave him hanging, so you felt compelled to listen.

For the first time that day, you looked yourself in the mirror. You now understood what he meant. The ponytail you put your hair in the day before had moved to the upper side of your head and half your hair was out of it. Your eyes were dark and puffy from both overwhelming emotion and sleep deprivation. You did in fact look like a mess.

After fixing your hair into a neat pulled back style, washing your face and putting on a new outfit, you once again checked yourself out. It was a bit of an improvement, but your face would only improve with sleep and time, which you didn’t get to have.

You pulled your hood up to shade your eyes from light to hide the state you were in.

Sighing and glancing out the window, you shivered mentally, realizing you would have to go out in the freezing rain.

“Welcome back to the living, y/n!” Mina welcomed as she looked at you from the couch in front of the T.V.

Stray hellos were said from other classmates, and a grumble from Bakugou, probably about threatening someone’s life.

“Good afternoon, y/n!” Uraraka greeted with a smile, from the love seat at the square table not too far from the T.V.  You noticed she was sitting next to Izuku. They were playing some kind of board game with Iida, Momo, and Tsu.

Izuku looked up from the table and smiled at you. “Good afternoon, y/n! Do you want to play with us?” He asked from across the room.

“Maybe later.” You lied. You felt a sharp pain in your chest, when you saw his attention quickly taken by Uraraka saying something.

You might as well have said nothing because he wouldn’t be paying any attention to you, too wrapped up in Uraraka’s pretty eyes and warm smile.

“Hey. You ready?” Shinsou called to you from the threshold of the main entrance. You nodded and hurried over to him.

“Hey, while you’re out, get me some monaka?” Denki requested. Before you could reply, Shinsou beat you to it. “Ice cream is for people who go out. I’m not a delivery service.”

“Let’s go before it gets even colder.”

You nodded, letting him lead the way.

You two got off the bus, at the stop in the shopping district. A waft of savory noodle dishes came from the nearby restaurant, with it, your stomach growled. Shinsou looked over at you. “Have you ate today?”

“No?” You said, although it sounded more like a question rather a statement, only because you could sense the annoyance in his voice. “So you were going to have ice cream as your first meal of the day?”

You recognized the stern tone.

“Yes.” You lowered your head, a bit shamed by his “mom” attitude.

There was a moment of silence. “Where do you wanna go eat?” Shinsou asked in a grumble.

“No! I’m fine! Let’s get that ice cream!” You declined feverishly, shaking your head wildly. “You’re not going to just eat ice cream. In this cold weather, soup sounds good. I suppose that noodle shop right there will do. Come on.” He decided for you. You begrudgingly followed behind him.

Sitting down together, you, pouting, didn’t say anything, and let the awkward tension take over.

It wasn’t until you two paid for your meals and were leaving, conversation picked up once more.

“You really gotta take care of yourself better. You’ll get sick if you don’t.” Shinsou advised, slowing down his pace to walk side by side with you.

“I know. I’m usually not like this.” You mumbled, looking down at the sidewalk, watching the rain hit the ground and the shallow waves the impact made on the water already on the sidewalk, and then the water flying from your shoes with every step you made. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. You’re much more social and annoying. But you shouldn’t let Midoriya get you down like that.”

You hated how just the mention of his name made your heart beat faster. You had to find a way to calm yourself so you could get over him.

“So you knew it was him, huh?” You wondered. “Kaminari just told me you were dealing with a crush. But just as we were leaving the dorms, the way you acted when Midoriya talked to you told me everything I needed to know.”

You frowned more. You didn’t realize you were that obvious. You didn’t reply. You didn’t know what to even say. Though, what was there to say?

“Though, I gotta say, it was a bit surprising finding out it was him you were hung up over.”

“Everyone says that when they find out.” You commented. “Well yeah, you and him are way different. He’s all innocent and determined and whatever. You’re more- well different. Besides, I thought it was common knowledge that him and Uraraka like each other.” Shinsou shoved his hands into his pants pockets.

You chest felt heavy, like it always did when you were reminded by the undeniable facts. “Just because a person likes someone doesn’t make them unlikable by anyone else.” You argued in a grumble. “I know that. I just figured when two people are so undeniably into each other, that it would ward off anyone else.” He shrugged. “They’re not that so obviously into each other. They’re just really good friends.” You felt it pathetic to even defend your crush at this point, but you couldn’t help your headstrong nature.

Shinsou laughed. “Really? They’re always so flustered around each other and they both can’t get a full sentence out without stuttering.”

You bit your lip and sucked in a breath of air.

“Sorry. I’m not really helping, huh?” Shinsou noticed the hurt expression on your face. “I’m not good at the whole comforting thing. I haven’t really had the chance to do it either.”

“Well, I’m not asking you to comfort me. I only agreed to go because I needed a break.” You half lied.  

“Yeah, sure. I know what it’s like to have a crush on someone and them not liking you back.”

“Doesn’t everyone at some point?”

“Yeah, I suppose. But even if that’s true, it doesn’t make it hurt any less. You feel like you won’t ever find love like them, or you’re not good enough. Sometimes the feelings you have for them is so overwhelming you get your hopes up and you start imagining what it’d be like to be with them and it all comes crashing down when reality finally kicks in. It sucks, but you gotta keep going.”

“Yeah, I know. This isn’t the first time I liked someone. I just thought… Maybe this time it’d be different.” You shrugged.

“Don’t we all?… Well here we are. The best ice cream in this whole city for the best price. You can’t go wrong.” Shinsou stopped in front of a store.

“What do they have?” You asked, walking in, as Shinsou opened the door for you. “Lots of things. I come here for their kinako topping on vanilla soft serve.”

“I gotta say, you picked a weird day to get ice cream.” You relished in the warmth, once fully inside. You felt bad about dripping water all over the store.

“What can I say? I’m a weird guy. What do you want? I’ll order and you pick us somewhere to sit.”

“Mochi?” You asked. “Yeah. Flavor?”

“Green tea, or if they don’t have it, strawberry.”

“So, does Midoriya know?” Shinsou once again reopened the wound, after a delightful conversation about types of cats you both like and arguing which breed was more superior.

There came back your figurative rain cloud. “No. I mean, if I’m as obvious with my crush, then maybe he figured it out. I was scared to ever say anything because even I know that he has feelings for Uraraka and even though I was kinda in denial about it, I still didn’t want to intrude into what they have going on.”  

“Yeah, I get that. It’s refreshing seeing two innocent and naive people so obviously in love with each other, and everyone but them see it. It’s kind of amusing.” Shinsou replied, nodding along with what you were saying.

You had to admit, it was quite enjoyable to have someone so actively listening to you. Your squad was filled with people who got off track so easily, and then one person who couldn’t stand listening to you just because of your crush on his rival.

Having someone keep focus on you and showing that they’re interested in what you’re saying. It was charming. That’s what you liked about Shinsou. He was a great listener.

“But, I suppose I tried to give him hints, but I guess if he didn’t get them, then that means he’s just not interested, right?” You shrugged, trying to lighten your mood.   “Yeah, but Midoriya is the type of guy to completely not comprehend when a pretty girl is trying to flirt with him. He probably thought you were just being a nice friend. You’ll have to really spell it out to him, but even then, when someone so obviously out of his league is confessing their feelings to him, he’ll try to talk himself out of the reality of it. He wouldn’t understand how incredibly lucky he was and  it wouldn’t be until it was too late that he’d realize he should’ve shut up and just taken the opportunity he was handed.”

You were completely in awe. Did Shinsou not only call you pretty but also say you were out of Izuku’s league?

You shrugged away the tugging in your head that demanded you dwell on the compliments.  “It’s funny, Shinsou. You said you weren’t good at comforting others. But it seems like you’re doing a pretty good job.” You looked him in the eyes, and smiled sincerely.

Shinsou’s cheeks were a faint pink. He seemed surprised by your words. “I, uh, I’m not-… I’m freezing. We should head back soon. It sounds like the rain isn’t letting up anytime soon. It’s going to get darker as it gets later.” Shinsou got up and headed straight to the door.

You two had finished your ice creams a while ago, you just were waiting to see if the rain would let up at all.

“I agree. We’ll both get sick at this rate. So let’s hurry.” You caught up to him at the door, bracing yourself for the cold wind. “You want my jacket or something? I know it’s just as soaked and cold as the rest of your clothes, but it might help.” Shinsou offered, hand on the door handle.

“What? And let you get sick and then I’d feel guilty and have to take care of you? No way.” you declined. “Whatever, but if you get sick now you’re not getting any sympathy from me, since you don’t want to take care of me.” Shinsou grumbled, opening the door and you skipped out. “I’m just saying I don’t wanna take care of you just because then I’ll end up getting sick.” You defended yourself, crossing your arms over your chest tightly to get some warmth.

“Seems like you’re gonna get sick either way. So pick your poison.”

“All right, if I get sick and you agree to take care of me, then I’ll also do the same for you when you do, or vice versa, deal?” You turned to look at him as you both sped to the bus stop.

“It seems either way I’m getting screwed.”   “Wow, I’ve just decided I like hanging out with Bakugou more than you now.” You pouted, jokingly. “All right, fine by me if you wanna be around someone who is probably planning your death. Be my guest.”

You both decided to run to the bus stop to 1. Produce warmth by physical activity, and 2. To prove who was faster.   You were the winner, but there was no prize for winning, only being out of breath and still being cold. Although, you got to the stop faster and got out of the rain sooner.

You giggled as Shinsou arrived quite a few seconds after you. “Can’t keep up, huh?” You teased. He frowned at you, although, he was breathing hard. His breath visible in the cold weather.  “I’ve been in a general studies course for a year.” He excused.

You scoffed at his answer, smirking at him. “You think I got this fit just by being in the hero course? This is all from hard work! Though, I suppose your assumption that I’m just naturally fit is a compliment.”

“I wasn’t complimenting you. You’re getting back to your normal annoying self. So I’d like you to be quiet all the way back to the dorms.” Shinsou gave you a look.

You supposed that you in a better mood, therefore, acting more like yourself, although, if Shinsou didn’t like how you usually were, it kind of hurt. Though, it was better than dwelling on the real reason you were upset in the first place.

“I was joking. If you didn’t know.” Shinsou added. You were pouting, “that wasn’t a good joke. If you didn’t know.” You replied. “I suppose that’s two things I’m not good at. Comforting others, and making jokes.” He shrugged.

“One of those things, yes. But you really made me feel better. So, you know, thanks, Shinsou.” You shyly looked over at him. He quickly turned to face away from you. “It was whatever.”

The bus arrived, and you two got on and made your way back home.  

Anywho, if there’s any grammatical mistakes, or any typos, I’m sorry. I’m kinda out of it. (as always, just a bit worse than usual) I tried my best to edit, because I can’t write for shit today. 

[rickiewrites]

The Dream Before the Nightmare Ch 1 (final rewrite)

Jonathan Scully wishes to bring a change to the world of theater he loves so dearly. Unfortunately, his visions aren't shared by the stuffy society he so desperately wants to delight. After his latest rejection, the grim passing of his close friend’s father gives cause for them to flee. As they flee, Jonathon has an idea; if the stage won’t accept his vision, then he would create a new stage to spread his vision to the world. With a loan, he becomes the founder of Jonathan Skully’s Festival of Frights and Delights. Will his desires bear fruit, or end in a blaze of disaster? The spiritual prequel to the legendary story ‘A Nightmare Before Christmas,’ this literary thrill ride will keep you on the edge of your seat.

Nervously he shifted in his chair crossing and uncrossing his rather long skinny legs in an attempt to refrain from bouncing his knee. The room was unbearably silent, the only sound to disrupt it was that of a page-turning which only made him more anxious each time he heard it because it meant the end was near. Across from him sat an older gentleman reading intently from a stack of papers in his hand, giving off no expression that could help ease Jonathan's racing heart. What the man held in his hand was a script, a stage show that Jonathan had spent weeks pouring his heart and soul into; yet this man in the span of twenty-minutes was nearly done reading it.

With a long sigh, the man dropped the script down on his desk, taking a long hard look at Jonathan causing him to freeze up in his seat, this was it, the moment of judgment. " " he said in a stern tone causing Jonathan to straighten up in his seat "y..yes, Sir Greeves?" he replied. Greeves placed his hand on top of the script, tapping his finger on the paper with an annoyed look.

"This script…."

"Yes?"

"It's like all the others you have brought to me, isn't it?"

"Well I admit it is similar, but this time I-"

"Mr. Scully! How many times have you shown up at my office?"

"Well, I believe this makes thirteen times this year, Sir."

"Thirteen times…which means thirteen scripts you have brought into my office and thirteen times I have to tell you no."

"No? But sir, if you would just give this a chan-"

"The answer is no! No one wants to be frightened! To be brought to horror and disgust! This may be fine in your own little twisted world, but not in the real world!"

With a frustrated sigh, Greeves pushed the script over to Jonathan standing up "look, boy, while I appreciate your love for the arts I don't think you have a knack for creating it" he said as he walked over to the coat rack grabbing his coat and cane. When he bid him farewell and walked out, Jonathan jumped out of his seat, grabbing his script before rushing out after Greeves. "Please, Sir Greeves reconsider" he pleaded, but Greeves merely held his hand up to silence him getting into his carriage "it's time to accept reality and give up these silly dreams of yours" and with those final words his carriage took off.

Stunned, he stood there for a moment, watching the carriage go down the road clutching the papers to his chest with a trembling hand. Once it disappeared from sight, he hung his head in shame, sticking his script into his coat as he turned away to walk home. "And once again the prodigious world of Jonathan Scully has been laid to ruin by the mundane and austere masses of jolly old England, who refuse to understand it!" he cried. With a drawn-out sigh, he placed the back of his hand on his forehead and arched his back, taking a dramatic pose of distress in the middle of the sidewalk moaning about his misfortune. It took the stares of those around him and low mutterings that questioned his sanity to pull him from his moment, then with a nervous laugh and clearing of his throat, he continued his journey home.

On his way back, he passed by a small medical clinic, and in the window, a figure appeared watching him intently before rushing out to meet him. "Jonathan!" a woman's voice called, when he turned around he was met with a warm smile spread across a tanned face with white patches around the nose, mouth, and green eyes which brightened at the sight of his face. "Oh, Miss Stein," he greeted her with a weak smile taking her hand and bowing his head to kiss it, much to her delight " a pleasure as always to see you." Her smile grew as she held the bottom of her dress doing a small curtsy "the pleasure is always mine, and please do call me Sarah, you have no need to be so formal." He released her hand and nodded with a small grunt, "today was the day, wasn't it? Please don't keep me in suspense any longer and tell me how it went." Her words caused him to clutch his chest where the script rested inside his coat with a pained look chewing his lip as his meeting with Greeves replayed in his head.

"Jonathan?"

"Hm?

"I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?"

"No, no, it's alright. There's nothing wrong with being curious."

"So the meeting.."

"It was another rejection. Heh, guess I should be used to that by now, huh?"

"Jonathan, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, the world just isn't ready for me yet, and that's fine."

He gave her a smile when he noticed her studying his face to reassure her, "I should go now," he bid her farewell and walked away to avoid speaking about the matter any further. She reached out wanting to comfort him 'you don't have to suffer alone' she thought watching him disappear down the road retracting her hand when she was beckoned back inside by her father.

"Sarah? Sarah! Where are you-you indolent girl!?" her father yelled, attempting to move one of the wheels on his wheelchair that had gotten stuck, "here I am," she spoke reluctantly coming to his aid. "Finally! I have been looking for you all day, what in blazes have you been doing?" he growled, she kept a calm composure wheeling him out to the dining room "I only went out to greet Mr. Scully."

"Scully? The farmer's boy? What a waste of time to pay that weird boy any mind," he muttered being brought to the table. She ignored him walking into the kitchen preparing a stew on the stove while he continued his rant "all you do is run off and fool around with that degenerate man when you should be caring for your father, ungrateful girl." With a sigh, she apologized, pouring the soup into a bowl and grabbing a drinking glass from the shelf wiping it clean merely grunting in response.

This was normal for her, to be reminded of what a burden she was and how grateful she would be to her father for tolerating her existence. What more could she expect? She was the child that killed her mother the moment she was born and had the nerve to be born looking the way she did. Her father never forgave her for the burden she placed on his life, and the love took away. So he would spend their lives reminding her how lucky she was to be in care after all she has done to him.

She set the glass down pouring the wine, and once he was distracted, she set the bottle down retrieving a small vial hidden in the back of the covert. The vial was filled with a dark purple liquid, 'just a few drops' she reminded herself dripping the liquid into his wine quickly returning it to its hiding space when her father started tapping the table impatiently. She brought him his food and drink wiping her hands off on her dress after she set them down, "I will try to be more courteous" she smiled pushing the drink towards him "enjoy."

"Back to the boring world of orange" Jonathan groaned walking through a large pumpkin patch "Cipher" he chimed patting his leg and giving a whistle. In the sea of orange popped up a curved white tail followed by a bark, "come here boy" he smiled as a small Jack Russell Terrier ran out from among the pumpkins circling him. He chuckled commanding Cipher to sit kneeling down to scratch his head "I wish I came with good news, but unfortunately that stuffy old loon told me no again." He stood up dusting off the bottoms of his pants walking down the path Cipher following at his heels "this world has become so dull" he muttered picking up a stick and throwing it for Cipher to fetch.

"How is it fine to feel sadness watching a tragedy up on stage, but giving someone a small fright is just too much?!" He groaned in frustration running his fingers through his hair, he placed his other hand on his hip with a soft whine. "All I want is to create a new world on the stage, one full of suspense and excitement! Something that'll make even the stuffy upper-crust tremble in their boots." He held out his arms, spinning around " how fun! How exciting! A fun world with witches and ghouls filling the audience to the brim with fright and spectacular tricks that'll leave their jaws on the floor." He walked with more flare maneuvering around vines as if it was a dance until suddenly stopping letting his arms drop to his sides "sadly, my dreams may never become a reality" he murmured hanging his head walking into his house. "I suppose that is enough dramatics for now," he told himself, "time to get ready for work."

Later that night he walked up to the steps of a large lavished building shielding his eyes from the lit up displays that welcomed people in, he bit his lip watching as high-class patrons walked in laughing and smiling while they caressed their expensive clothes and jewelry. He sucked his teeth in disgust when suddenly he stumbled forward because someone slapped him on the back. "Well if it isn't the king of the pumpkin patch," behind him was a large and stout man in a green suit rolling a pair of dice in his hand. "Oh, hello Ogar" he muttered fixing his vest, with a snicker Ogar grinned "that's Mr. Bernard to you pumpkin king." Jonathan forced a smile onto his face the corners of his mouth twitching "my apologies...Mr. Bernard, I was heading in to begin my shift" he explained brushing past him to head inside.

The inside revealed the building to be a high-end gambling house, their heels clicked against the polished marble floor passing walls adorned with commissioned artworks and marble columns with an old roman inspired style. Glass chandeliers shed light upon rows of roulette wheels and rouge et noir tables for dice and cards; the sounds of dice rolling, cards shuffling, and the hollers of the clientele echoed throughout the lavish decadence of the gambling hall.

Jonathan stopped at an empty table walking behind to the dealer's area to set up, a few months back when his family needed funds Ogar had offered him a job as a dealer after witnessing the card tricks Jonathan practiced for his show. It wasn't hard to tell that the two profoundly disliked one another, but due to his hardship every night without fail, he came into work and endured Ogar's special and unwanted attention. "Shouldn't you be some big playwright by now?" Ogar asked, sitting at his table "in fact, you went to submit a script today, didn't you? Heh, aww what happened?" he teased. Jonathan remained silent, shuffling the cards "rejected again? Ha!" Ogar burst out in laughter, "you wasted all that time for nothing, again!" He pulled out a cigar from his breast pocket" look at you, all that hiding away to write has you white as a ghost with that skinny string bean body of yours and those raccoon eyes; you're a walking skeleton at this point" he muttered lighting his cigar. He took a long drag from the cigar blowing the smoke out in Jonathan's face "you need to give up your stupid little fantasies already because you'll never be anything more than you are now." Having grown bored, he stood up putting his cigar out on the table "now get to work" he ordered walking away.

When his shift ended he returned home spotting a basket filled with baked goods and a bottle of wine near the front door, as he drew closer to the basket, he spotted a note inside and grabbed it. "Sarah…" he said softly recognizing her handwriting, "I thought that you could use something to brighten up your night" he heard her voice turning around to find her coming around the corner of his house. She walked up to him "I know I shouldn't be out here, but earlier you looked so hurt, and I just couldn't bear to see you in such a state" she spoke softly pushing back a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Just as he was about to speak, she stopped him, "I don't want you to give up your dreams. I think the world you created in those pages is wonderful and I would give anything to see it become a reality one day."

Her words warmed his heart, and he smiled taking her hands into his looking into her eyes "thank you, to know that you feel this way is enough to encourage me to continue on," her cheeks became a cardinal red as she moved away with a bashful smile. "I better get going," she told him, backing away with a nervous laugh "goodbye" she bid him farewell running off. He watched her run off for a moment before taking the basket inside, calling Cipher in the who rushed into the house finding his spot on the small bed that was placed near Jonathan's. He sat down on his couch taking a little bite from one the pastries "I just have to keep trying" he told himself lying back on his bed staring up at the ceiling until he drifted off to sleep.

In the haze of slumber, he found himself back in his family's pumpkin patch, but it wasn't the same. "What's this?" he asked looking around, the pumpkins had horrifying expressions carved into them glowing bright orange from the candles lit inside them with row after row of gruesome faces staring at him as he walked down the path. He couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched hearing low whispers and snickers from among the pumpkins until he tripped over a vine that felt like it reached out to grab him and everything went silent. The moment of silence was short lived when the snickering broke out into loud laughter as the vine wrapped around his leg slithering up, and voices soon chanted his name. He began to panic and ripped the vine from his leg springing up to make a run for it, bats screeched in a nearby tree having been disturbed by his actions and swarmed circling around him before flying off into the night. He burst through a rusted black gate entering what looked like a town full of gothic architecture, thunder booming and lightning striking across a dark moonlit sky. The residents weren't human but instead demons, witches, and corpses walking alongside vampires as they gathered to the town square to welcome a decaying horse carrying someone. His jaw dropped at the grisly scene; howls and cackles were echoing through the night, the passenger on the horse was a scarecrow with a pumpkin head and sinister expression on its face. The Scarecrow sat still for a moment before suddenly jumping to its feet using one of the lanterns to light its arm on fire soon after bursting into flames cackling in delight. It stumbled back and forth on the saddle once its whole body was engulfed, taking a step towards him threatening to fall.

Jonathan shrieked, jumping back to avoid him. The flaming Scarecrow managed to find its balance turning on a heel to stumble towards others in the crowd before leaping into a well. He panted softly as he drew closer to the well feeling his heart begin to thump in his chest. Hesitant, he looked inside only to be greeted by a bony hand that sprung up and grabbed his wrist. The hand pulled him forward, finding himself face to face with the Scarecrow once more as he rose from the water. The pumpkin's charred flesh fell away to reveal the face of a skeleton that snickered whispering into his ear"all hail to the Pumpkin King."

He gasped springing out of bed, waking to find that morning had come. It was all just a nightmare, even so, it felt real to him. He panted wiping the cold sweat from his face looking down to find that his hands were trembling "that was...incredible!"

That morning Sarah sat in her living room dressed in a formal white gown her hair pinned up in a bun and beside her was her father grumbling holding an ice pack to his head. Across from them sat a young man with raven black hair twirling around a cricket bat in his hand while his father sipped whiskey from a glass. "Hm, you don't see many girls with such an odd complexion" the man commented, pointing out the difference between the white botches and her brown skin.  "Though I suppose her overall appearance is acceptable even with the flaws." smiled with a chuckle "yes my daughter has the beauty of her mother indeed she is also an excellent homemaker and seamstress, not to mention highly educated." The young man snorted "as if intelligence matters for a bride" his comment earning a glare from Sarah her father giving her a look to tell her to keep her mouth shut. "My son is correct, so long as she is attractive and obedient that is all that matters," the father said setting down his glass "I suppose I can approve of this union, so you have yourself a deal Stein." rubbed his hands together grinning "wonderful! Then our two children shall wed come the first of June" he took the man's hand shaking it. Sarah hung her head, digging her nails into her hand that rested on her lap as the two men sat and discussed her future with no concern for her input. All she could think about was Jonathan's smile and the way he held her hands with such tender care, "Sarah" nudged her "stand and properly greet your future husband Vincent" he ordered.

She stood up when Vincent did and walked over to him, he grinned and took her hand "how's about a kiss for our folks dear?" he snaked an arm around her pulling her close. As he leaned in to kiss her, she turned her head, pushing him away "no!" Vincent glared at her "I'm sorry, what was that?" his father looked at her's "what is the meaning of this disobedient shrew rejecting my son?" Stein wheeled over in front of her "she is just a bit bashful is all" he assured showing them out "why don't we meet for dinner tomorrow night? By then, I am sure she will be over her wedding jitters." Once they agreed to his plan, he showed them out waving goodbye before he closed the door.

"How dare you!" he screamed, rushing over to her, "you nearly ruined your engagement!" She turned away, crossing her arms "I don't want to marry that man! Marrying him will force me into a life of servitude that I don't want!

"It doesn't matter what you want, you ungrateful girl! You embarrassed me, the man to whom you owe your very existence. If it were not for me you be hobbling around with only a single arm and leg in a gutter somewhere" he hissed gesturing at the prosthetic limbs he had made for her.

"Father, I want to become a doctor like you, not be stuck at home as some housewife to a man I don't know or even like."

"You don't decide your future! I do! I am your father, you do as I say. Everything I put into raising you and you thank me with disobedience. I created you, I am you an acceptable human being, I raised you, you are my property!" he screamed.

"But father, I want to find my own love and my own way."

"It's a flippant phase you ingrate! Now go prepare dinner! Not one more word unless it is telling me the food is ready. It better be worthy of the dinner party I am hosting tomorrow" he growled rolling back to his office.

Sarah whipped around storming into the kitchen in tears 'I can't let this happen' she thought. While she pulled out ingredients for dinner she came across her vial, "hm…" she grabbed the vial taking it from the covert popping the cork off of a wine bottle pouring the entire contents into it. "I will serve this to everyone, and by the end of dinner they should be out cold, and I can make my escape from this hellish life" she smiled. After she put the bottle away she returning to her cooking when entered the kitchen to check on her, he spotted the bottle of wine on the shelf and grabbed it "might as well have a drink" he told himself heading back to his office.

The next morning Jonathan was woken up by a loud banging on his door, he quickly got up pulling on his robe as the banging seem to become more frantic answering the door. When he opened the door, Sarah rushed into his arms, bursting into tears, "Sarah? What is going on? Why are you crying?" he asked, gently pulling her away. "He's dead! My father, he's dead! I didn't mean for this to happen, I didn't know he would die!" she sobbed covering her face with her hands, leaving him in a more confused state than before. "The doctor is dead? How can that be and what do you mean you didn't mean to?" she slowly lowered her hands, avoiding eye contact with him as she explained. "The other day, a man and his son showed up at our home, speaking of a marriage arrangement. My father, he didn't care about my dreams and demanded I be a simple housewife for a man I just met. I couldn't live that life, Jonathan. I had to escape, so I came up with a plan to run away. My father had a bottle of his best wine ready for the party, so I added Belladonna to the wine. In small doses, it puts people into a drug-induced sleep, and I could pack my belongings and leave town, but my father drank the bottle himself in anger. I noticed at night he was having terrible pain and this morning he was… he was…" she hugged him tightly.

"What do I do? They'll have me locked away, or executed!" as Jonathan patted her head to comfort her, he contemplated what he could do to help her. It was then he found himself remembering his dream "that's it," he whispered chuckling before bursting out into a full blown laughter "that's it!" Sarah wiped her eyes, tilting her head in confusion when he gripped her shoulders "run away with me, run away with me, and let's create a new world. That's fresh out of everyone's nightmares."

[crowkingwrites]

A Conversation With Power

Pairing: Loki X Reader

Fic Request: Ooh congrats on the 700! You deserve so much more. For your fic requests...how about loki and reluctant/ dubious consent fic...him coming onto her while drunk for example? Have an awesome day!!!💚💚 

Words: 1769

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14374533

It had been a festive evening to say the least. Tony wanted to celebrate some victory or another, and he invited everyone to this party. And boy, did he mean everyone. The place was packed with celebrities, politicians, people of high society, and heroes. You were among one of the ladies of high society.

The Starks and your family had gone back since a little before world war I. Your grandfather always funded Stark’s experiments. He would often say ‘Fund Science. Protect the Future’. You carried on that same philosophy with Tony, and after the Incident, you were glad you did.

“Thank you for coming, Y/N,” Tony smiled at you, handing you a glass of champagne. “Having a good time?”

“I am. I’s good to get out of the house for a while,” you smiled.

“Which one?” Tony jested, nudging you. You spied two certain gods having a drinking contest.

“That’s a lot,” you commented, sipping at your own drink.

“They do this at every party. They try to out-do the other. Sibling rivalry is not a human condition after all,” Tony observed with you. Thor and Loki chugged down whatever Asgardian drink they had, but this time Steve joined them, having a good time. Your eyes narrowed at the villain. Ever since the Incident, you didn’t quite trust him. Even after Tony assured you and other investors that Loki was a reforming Avenger. That his villainy days were over.

You nodded to Tony as he mingled with other members of the party. The three men keep on with their drinking contest. Steve held onto the edge of the bar as he chugged more of the Asgardian drink down. It was a mixture of reds and browns and it smelled like ale.

You somewhat admired the gentleman. While other women surrounded him, you watched from afar, admiring the hard work of science and technology. You stepped closer to watch him down the last few gulps of his drink. His face was flushed and he laughed. His head tilted back, guffawing at whatever Thor said.

You noticed his younger brother was not in your sights. Just a moment ago, Loki stood next to this brother, drinking with the rest of them. Then, you smelled the ale.

“Hello darling,” you heard behind you. You turned around to see the trickster god hovering over you. His dark curls matched his suit. His smile was cracked. You could smell the ale on him.

“Hello,” you respond dryly. You noticed his green eyes looking into yours very intensely. You almost wanted to step back because he closed in the space between you so quickly. “Can I help you?”

Loki eyed up and down, taking in your entire form. “Yes, yes you can.”

You felt the room spinning for a moment, but the next moment you were somewhere completely different in the Stark Tower. Looking around, you recognized this part of the Tower as the balcony. Tony told you this was where Loki threatened him, and where Tony first really believed in the Avengers Initiative. The wind whipped at your hair.

“Why did you bring me here?” you asked Loki who was already closing in the space between you. Your body backed to the rail.

“To get you alone,” he responded. His hands touched the rail on each side of you. “I’ve seen you before. Haven’t I?”

“I highly doubt that,” you kept careful. The mischievous god could do anything, and you didn’t expect to defend your tonight.

“You’re one of Tony’s. His investors. You come from money,” Loki’s fingers trailed their way on the rail closer to you.

“Get to your point. I don’t like games, God of Lies,” you said. Loki chuckled and sighed.

“Oh, I like you. You’re direct,” Loki’s fingers wrapped around each of your wrists. “You wealthy mortals understand power. You understand greed more than anyone. You came from money. Money gives you power. You want power, don’t you?”

You stood there, feeling the cold wind against your neck. His hands wrapped tight around your wrists. His groin was against your body, and it felt much more different than any other man you had felt before. You knew this game. He played it in Germany. He played it in New York. Now, he was playing it with you.

“You think I crave power?” you spat in his face. “I already have power.” You struggled slightly against his hands, but he held you in place. Then, Loki smiled. His green eyes lit up. He planned for you to say that. He leaned in slightly, leaving precious inches between his lips and yours.

“Prove it,’ Loki swayed. His balance was off, but it infuriated you. You didn’t need to prove to the God of Lies that you had power. You knew what you had. You decided to stand your ground, and the god regained his balance.

“I don’t need to prove shit to y—

Loki pressed his lips against yours. You could smell his cologne from his chest. His fingers lifted your chin as he deepened the kiss longer. You felt lost for a moment, but then your mind came back to you. You pushed him off. Loki stepped back way more than you thought. His weak balance almost caused him to fall. He started to laugh.

“There it is. There’s the power. Now, do it again,” Loki went in for a second kiss. This time his hands were at the sides of your face, running into your hair. It felt good. It felt forced. He inhaled sharply and kissed you harder, trying to get his tongue in your mouth. You pushed him hard in his abdomen, and Loki stepped back again.

“Is that enough proof for you?” you asked. Loki prowled around you. He paced in front of you with the same drunken smile. His laugh reached new levels of frightening. You felt chills back your back.

“You don’t have power,” Loki chuckled. “But I do.” You felt a sickening feeling in your stomach. You hunched over as the new feeling hit your eyes and head. Things became blurry and you opened your mouth to speak, but only slurred words came out.

“What’s happening to me?” You felt your tilt backwards over the rail. Loki’s hands aught you and held you close. His balance was perfect.

“Darling, you must be careful,” Loki’s voice sounded so warm in your ear. “You could’ve fallen. Luckily, I’m here to help you, hm?” Loki kept you against the rail, watching your eyes slowly open and close.

“L—loki, I feel so—

“Shhh. Quiet, darling,” Loki whispered into your ear. His fingers brushing lightly against your arms. “I’ll speak for both of us now.” His hand started to make quick work on your dress. You felt the cold wind at your newly exposed skin while Loki nuzzled himself between your neck and your chest. His deep kisses trailed across your upper chest.

His hands followed the curves of your body to under your dress. You tried to push his hands away, but Loki put his hands back. His fingers trailed along the hem of your underwear.

“It’s alright, love. We’re alone here,” Loki tugged your underwear down slowly. His other hand started to play with your folds. His fingers twirled and stayed outside of your vagina. He was teasing. You held onto the rail behind you, letting the new sensation take over.

Loki inserted his fingers inside of you still going slowly as he could. He continued to kiss you. His tongue finally going into your mouth. You let his dominance take over while you inhaled from your nose again. Loki was aggressive and dominating, and he felt good.

His thumb rubbed your clit in circles. You started to moan and grind against his fingers. Loki smiled. “Ah, there you are. I was beginning to think you were falling asleep on me. Keep at it, love. Move against me.”

You did as you were told. Your hips started to move against him, and suddenly Loki pulled his fingers out of you. He turned you around. Your face saw the city at night. The wind still whipped against your hair. Loki bent you over the rail and held you there. Your stomach felt tight and slightly nauseous. Loki showed his fingers in front of your face. They were thick with your substance and it dripped from his fingers.

“Do you see this? This is power. This is real power, darling,” Loki said as he lifted your dress even more. You felt him insert himself inside of you with no warning. You responded by moaning out loud for the city to hear.

Loki chuckled and then he began fucking you over the rail. One hand held onto your hip and the other had a tight hold on your hair. You started to feel dizzy from how much Loki moved you. He pounded you harder and harder until you could only slur his name loudly outside. Your hands tried to hold onto something, anything, to regain some control. Loki wouldn’t have it. He had all the power.

His cock grew bigger in size inside of you. You felt him roughing you up hard. His hand now went from your hair to on your hips. He increased his speed and your mouth dribbled with saliva and noises. Loki grunted louder and louder.

“Who has power now? Tell me. Say my name!”

“Loki!” you screamed out. You felt your release upon you. It shook your legs and up your back. You let out one final scream of joy and terror as Loki’s orgasm ripped inside of you. His face buried into your hair. You heard him inhale you as he grunted loudly. He pulled out of you, and you felt the last of your strength leave you. Your body fell to the ground.

The last thing you remember seeing was Loki wrapping his arms around your torso.

You woke up the next day, nursing a terribly awful headache on Tony’s couch. He sat in front of you with a bloody mary in hand.

“Hair of the dog?” he half-smiled. You graciously took his offer and took a few sips of the well-made drink. It helped, but it was no cure.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Tony replied. “What happened to you last night? One minute I hand you champagne. The next you’re here on my couch, drooling yourself.” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Loki drinking tea, watching the conversation between you and Tony. His satisfied smile painted his face.

“A conversation about power,” you said. “That’s what happened.”

Taglist: @angelicshinigami @sugarwastaken @carilov09 @sleepylunarwolf @i-theredqueen @disneyprincessbuffysummers

[road2nf]

Jensen McRae | The Road to Nerdfighteria

DFTBA. If you are not subscribed to the vlogbrothers YouTube channel, and if you never have been, you might not know what that stands for. It’s an initialism (because acronyms are pronounceable, fact c/o of a vlogbrothers video) that stands for Don’t Forget To Be Awesome. It is the official (or perhaps unofficial) motto of the nerdfighter community. (Nerdfighters are people who are fans of vlogbrothers, the content creators therein, or the community therein. I think that’s enough definitions for now). When I was 14 years old, this book called The Fault in Our Stars came out. A good friend of mine was kind of obsessed with the author, this slightly sub-middle-aged white guy named John Green, and she insisted that I read both The Fault in Our Stars and Looking for Alaska, this John Green guy’s first book. I was a reader in childhood, having developed nearsightedness due to my predilection for reading in the dark after my bedtime by flashlight (at least that’s the explanation my mother gave me). However, recently I’d found myself frustrated by books. I would tear through middle-grade chick lit (that’s the best way I can describe these terribly formulaic books with dull characters and contrived plots that always involved two straight/white/able-bodied/middle-class best friends falling in love) when I found it, but other than that, I wasn’t reading as much as I used to. I can’t really remember what I did with my free time. I guess I was writing songs? I think I was mostly playing The Sims 3. I digress. In any case, I was in ninth grade and on the precipice of Maybe Being Cool, and this friend was one of the cooler girls in class, so I bought TFiOS (hip shorthand) about two months after its publication and read it over spring break in ninth grade. I read it in one three or four hour sitting, and I cried. Like a lot. It was the first time since early childhood that I could remember a book moving me in such a poignant way. I was attached to the characters, I was absorbed by the plot, and the language! The LANGUAGE in that story was so compelling. I was picking up on subtext and metaphors in a way that I’d only ever done when I was forced to in English class. The book had reinvigorated my love for words in stories that no other book could have. Then I took a brief reading hiatus. The second half of my ninth grade year was me continuing to ascend the social ladder, however slowly. I still joked that I was a dork, but the truth of the matter was, I had friends from every rung. I was sociable with tech geeks, theater nerds, football players, and cheerleaders alike. I felt like people had stopped looking through me like I was invisible. It was largely due to my presence on the school newspaper, which drew both the ambitious popular kids and the ambitious nerdy kids to its ranks. Also, I had a boyfriend. We never kissed or held hands or even went on dates, but we hung out every day at school and told people we were dating. This was enough to get me at least a bit of social buying power. (I promise this is all relevant to the story). Then, at the end of freshman year, I realized that I was sick of having a boyfriend who did not kiss me or hold my hand or go on dates with me, and also didn’t answer my texts or calls once school let out. So I called his house and dumped him over the phone. I spent the summer feeling sorry for myself, turning to the Internet and its thriving subculture of fame and infamy. Whenever I get heartbroken in real life, I fall deeply and inconsolably in love with fictional characters and/or celebrities who are too old for me. That summer, it was Jack and Finn Harries, Dan Howell, and any other British 20-year-old who made funny sketches and made me feel like I was loved, even though they were thousands of miles away, several years older, and had no idea who I was. It was during this summer that I discovered a channel featuring two much older men named Hank Green and John Green (yes relation, they’re brothers). Their videos were all at least somewhat informational, whether they be about politics, science, literature, or just about the personal lives of the men who made the videos. About five videos in, I realized that John Green of the vlogbrothers was John Green of TFiOS fame. I was elated! There were hundreds of videos on the channel going back to 2007. In between reading self-insert fanfic about the Harries twins, I would watch vlogbrothers videos, reminding myself to read John’s other books when I got the chance. When I returned to school, all the work that I’d done to become popular seemed to dissolve before my very eyes. Sophomore year was when we switched campuses, to the Upper School, and all the actual popular kids were going to parties with upperclassmen and trying alcohol and getting into real relationships. I was stuck in the past, pining over boys who only hung out with me so I would help them write their essays and obsessing over Tumblr and YouTube. I was also experiencing turbulence in my personal life unlike any I’d ever had before. It’s so clear to me now that I was afraid of the social rejection and emotional darkness in the real world, so I holed myself up online, laughing while handsome young Brits wore wigs on camera and rewatching John Green speed-talk his way through a fake television show he titled “Hitler and Sex.” In the midst of this Internet-ing, I read that other John Green book my old friend had mentioned, even though she’d already begun the slow and painful process of outgrowing me (the death knell of our friendship was when she told me about having sex with her boyfriend in her car and my response was some combination of a prudish, judgmental face and an exclamation of “Ew!”). Looking for Alaska leveled me just as profoundly as TFiOS had, and with no social life to worry about, I was hungry for more. I read the other books that John Green had talked about on his channel–Fahrenheit 451 and The Great Gatsby, plus other works that his recommendations had led me to, like Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, The Taming of the Shrew, and one of my all-time favorites to this day, Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut. I was reading a book almost every week, downloading them to my iPad and going back to my old habits, reading by dim light long after I should have already gone to sleep. My schoolwork wasn’t where it needed to be, but I was thriving. Awakened, even. Though my junior year marked another ascent into minor popularity, I crash-landed my senior year, coming off a painful rejection from a summer romance and a position in student government that should have won me acceptance but largely isolated me from everyone but my fellow council mates and steady friends. College applications were stressing me out, I felt alienated from even my immediate circle, and I was worried about my social future. Though I was accepted to the only two universities I applied to, I felt inert and emotionally itchy. I descended back into what I knew best: books. I read more Vonnegut, bizarre stories by delightful authors like Graeme Cameron and Douglas Coupland, and of course, my current #1 all-time, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Díaz. After my brain literally exploded from reading Oscar Wao in all its sprawling, multilingual, multigenerational, magical realistic/science fictional glory, I devoured Díaz’s two books of short stories, Drown and This Is How You Lose Her. I vividly remember those days in the spring of 2015, using my seemingly endless multitude of free periods to sit in the sweaty, iron-hot bleachers, nose burrowed in a book, ignoring the festivities of senior year around me. I was happier alone, laughing at Kurt’s crude drawings and Díaz’s matter-of-factness about love and sex, experiences I’d still yet to have at 17. I graduated, and I went to USC, where within a month of starting school I met Junot Díaz and got him to sign my copy of Oscar Wao. I dealt with the Usual College Stuff, like homesickness (from half an hour away…I’m weak) and social anxiety and academic adjustments and figuring out what the hell it actually means to major in popular music. I stopped judging people for drinking alcohol and having sex, I stopped being afraid of parties (though I’m still terrified of boys…and rightly so), I stopped being disappointed in my real life because it doesn’t follow a neat narrative (or at least I do it less now). However, I never stopped reading, and I never stopped watching vlogbrothers videos. I am a faithful nerdfighter, because that online community and John’s books have seen me through some dark times. Somewhere in the last five years, I read An Abundance of Katherines (not my favorite), Paper Towns (used to be my favorite but TFiOS ranks supreme at the moment), and Will Grayson Will Grayson (absolutely ACES but technically cowritten with David Levithan so to me it is in a separate category). I’ve watched thousands of videos from vlogbrothers and Crash Course. I went to Vidcon in 2014 and met John in person for about five seconds, handing him my business card and a #JustinCarrWantsWorldPeace luggage tag before he was escorted to his next event by security. My love of language has blossomed into three young adult manuscripts, two feature films, a handful of short films, and hundreds of poems, songs, and essays. Though my inner and outer lives have changed substantially since I first wept onto the pages of TFiOS, I’m still anxious, and often. I’m still terrified of romantic rejection and I still put myself out there frequently and embarrassingly. I’m still a bookworm and I’m still a writer and I’m still a nerdfighter. And I think I always will be. John Green and his books have a special place in my heart. So when he announced that his first new book in almost six years is coming out this fall, I was overcome with emotion. Turtles All The Way Down isn’t just a book. It’s a historical artifact from the future, a piece of my past hurtling towards me from the opposite direction. When I think of John Green’s work, I think of my cringey adolescence, my weirdly small glasses and then my weirdly big glasses, my difficulty with my weight and my stunted social development. I think of the hours I spent reblogging fan art and GIF sets of real people that I’d mythologized into characters by watching their YouTube videos for so long. I think of my transition from Cute Little Girl to Awkward Bookish Teen to Real Human Woman. I was 14 when I read my first John Green book. I will be 20 when I read Turtles All The Way Down. The chasm between who I was and who I will be then is huge. Un-crossable by anyone but me. Right now, we’re a little less than four months out from the release of Turtles All The Way Down. Not much is known about the book, and I’d like to keep it that way. I’m feeling those tingly “no spoilers!” feelings I felt when I was in high school and enamored with the purity of an untouched literary experience. But as much as this book’s impending release is inspiring a unique kind of nostalgia in me, it’s also reminding me that I cannot go back. I cannot return to the innocent girl of 14 I was when I first heard John Green’s name, and I can’t get back the years I spent/lost/lived in between then and now. I can only move forward. I can only grow up. This book, in all likelihood, will not live up to my expectations. It will not change my life. It can’t, because though it will be my first time reading this particular book, it won’t be my first time becoming infatuated with literature. I’ve done that already. I may love this book, but there is a difference between falling in love with someone new and falling in love for the very first time. Before I met books with sweaty palms, dress askew, tongue heavy in my mouth. So…come here often? Now, each story is met with a knowing smile, legs crossed at the ankles like they’re supposed to be, no lipstick on the wine glass. Your place or mine? Before this book comes out, and I form any opinions about the content or the style, I would like to extend a heartfelt thank you to John Green. If not for his careful handiwork, if not for the immense trust that he puts in his young readers, if not for his heart-wrenching stories, I might never have been drawn to great books the way I am now. Thank you for caring. Thank you for writing even when your illness handcuffed you, tried to make you stop. Thank you for making videos about hard topics and silly ones. I may grow up, but I will never outgrow you and your words, John. Keep publishing books, and I’ll keep reading them, no matter how old we both get.

via @withfeelingoncemore

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Eighth Christmas

the series is as follows so far:

First … Second … Third … Fourth … Fifth … Fifth Christmas, Part 2 … Sixth … Seventh … Eighth … Ninth … Tenth … Eleventh … Twelfth … Thirteenth … Fourteenth … Fifteenth … Sixteenth … Seventeenth … Eighteenth … Nineteenth … Twentieth … Twenty-first … Twenty-second … Twenty-third

———————–

Scully spent Christmas Eve at Maggie’s surrounded by loud family, mounds of presents, her mother’s recently acquired goldfish and what felt like a gigantic hole where her heart should have been. William enjoyed his Merry-Go-Round ride from relative to relative, drooling, patting, sitting up and pulling hair whenever possible. She, on the other hand, spent her time staring into space, remembering the two Christmases that Mulder spent with her family, sitting behind her on the floor, hand gently resting a hair’s width from her thigh, shin folded against her back end as he shuffled up close, watching the festivities over her shoulder, his breath so close to her, so warm and soft on her neck.

Suddenly, a restlessness shook her, a need to move, a need to see him, a need to hold him so strong she had to stand, pacing back and forth to the confusion of her mother, who watched her quietly from the couch. Her circle took her from the living room to the kitchen, down the hall, past the bathroom and stairs, soon returning to the living room. She traced the path four times before she found Maggie standing in her way in the darkened hall.

“Honey, are you all right?”

Rooted there, hands playing with themselves, wringing absently, “I need to go home, Mom. I just … something … I need to go. I’m sorry. I know it’s not that late but if you won’t hate me, I’m going to get going.”

She didn’t want to see them go but something in Dana’s tone of voice drove her to nod her head, “of course. Just tell everyone Will kept you up late last night and you both need your rest.”

Crooking an eyebrow and trying to smile, “lying on Christmas Eve. God will not approve.”

“I’ll deal with the repercussions but I think it will be fine.” Giving Scully a hug, “just don’t forget to come back in the morning. I’ll have been too long away from my little Will by then.” Stepping back, Maggie gave her a soft look, “we’ll be up at 6am, like usual, Mass at 9, breakfast at 10:30, like always.”

“We’ll be here, promise.”

With a smile, “do your best.”

&&&&&&&&&&

Scully managed to get into her apartment and lock the door before she stopped dead in her tracks, her senses coming on line instantly. Putting Will’s carrier gently down on the floor partially under the end table, she slipped her gun from her waist, then began scouting the apartment, not sure what was bothering her but looking thoroughly through every room, closet, behind ever door and under every bed. Once she was satisfied, she returned to the living room, retrieving Will first before her eyes finally processed what was different.

Hanging on the Christmas tree, dead center and nearly hidden by an angled branch, was an ornament that had not been there earlier in the day.

Spinning quickly on her heel, she half expected to see him standing behind her, ready to scare the bejesus out of her, kiss her, hug her, cry when he saw how big his son was becoming. Instead, she only saw an empty kitchen, cold and dark, the misery overwhelming her instantly; she’d missed him, missed him sneaking in, missed him wanting to see his little boy and her, missed him so close she could smell his soap and taste his skin.

She burst into tears.

&&&&&&&&&&

It was well after midnight before she finally began dozing, her head nodding, her ears finally relaxing to every sound made within the apartment. She was just slipping into a half-formed dream of Mulder when she felt a pair of ice cold lips on her own. Eyes flying open, Scully saw him, so real and so very close that the first thing she did was swing, heavy-fisted, catching him squarely at the top of his cheekbone, sliding her knuckles across his closed eye and ramming into his nose. After a millisecond of hesitated confusion, she was crouching over his hunched form, Mulder holding his face and groaning.

Yanking his hands away, she twisted his head towards her and kissed him, amazed he was real and whole and in front of her when she missed him the most.

He kissed her back for a few moments, then pulled away, whispering, “what the hell was that!?”

She met his mouth again and he stopped asking questions, too busy running his hands over her, pulling her tightly against him, to worry about a bruised cheekbone and burning eye. He only separated enough to pull the sweater over her head, making a note to comment on it eventually, once he remembered how to say more than a moaned ‘I love you’ in the general vicinity of her bare breasts, smooth thighs, curved ass and valleyed back.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

The fear, however, set in the moment the pooled sweat between them began to evaporate. He felt her muscles tense, coiling in preparation to defend him, to kill him, to throw him from her house in fear for their son’s life.

His hands came down on her upper arms, his leg holding her knees, voice almost inaudibly, “don’t do this yet … please?”

She beat him to the punch, sliding sideways from his grasp and off the bed, shivering suddenly in the cold darkness, “do what? Wonder if somebody’s going to break in here and kill you? Shoot you in my bed?”

Mulder shushed her as he sat up, pulling the sheets around his shoulders, “yell any louder you’re going to wake up Will.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Mulder? You’re supposed to be hiding somewhere, far, far away from the eight thousand people who have you at the top of their shit list.”

Seeing this might not go as smoothly as he’d hoped, he sat up, pushing aside sheets, reaching out to wrap his fingers around her hip to pull her closer, “I couldn’t stay away. Not on Christmas. The guys have been dropping hints that I’m somewhere in southern Florida and the surveillance team that had eyes on you tonight gave up and went home to their families or their bottles of whiskey or their mothers, I have no idea, but Byers gave me the all clear to come in and I did and you belted me.”

Stomach clenching, “there’s a team on me?”

“Yeah. Skinner’s guys so not too terrible but I couldn’t have anyone, not even Walter, know I’m here so I had to wait until they left.”

By now, she was trapped between knobby knees, thigh muscles giving under the pressure of his hold on her, “then where did the ornament come from?”

Not smiling, wishing with all his heart he’d been the one to hang it, “I gave it to Frohike to hang for me in case I didn’t make it inside.”

She kissed him again with a fierceness fueled by six-month separation, her lips hovering over his when she finally pulled back to catch her breath, “do you want to see Will?”

His arms tightened around her, a spasmodic jerk of nervous anxiety, “yes, please.”

After pulling on pajamas, she retrieved their son, climbing carefully into bed before laying him between them. Mulder settled beside him immediately, head against the mattress alongside the boy’s, staring in wonder at his perfect nose, curved chin and pursed lips, “God, Scully, how can I ever leave him again?”

“You don’t have to.”

Allowing Will to blur slightly as he focused on Scully over his head, “please don’t make this harder. I have a few more hours then,” tears ran rivers down his cheeks at this point but she made no move to clear them, “God, don’t fight with me now, okay? I can’t handle it.”

Heart breaking, she cried with him, watching him smooth his fingers over light eyebrows and reddening hair, button nose and chin cleft, apple-round cheeks and near-translucent eyelids. Quiet tears fell on small pajamas and Scully held her boys as close as possible while they snuggled on the rumpled bed, breathed lullabies sung to sleeping ears. Mulder lived, for a brief moment, the mundane, homebound existence he wished for and dreamed of every hour he was awake and every moment he slept.

Eventually, exhaustion drove her to sleep but Mulder remained alert, basking in the precious time he was part of a family again.

His family.

His tiny, bigger than the world family.

&&&&&&&&&&&

He stayed until just before dawn, holding his boy close for the last hour, cradling him to his chest, memorizing his smell, his fingers and toes, his hummingbird heartbeat and the sounds he made, from cooing to grunting to that soul-melting sigh that made Mulder shut his eyes, try to absorb the perfection that was his son.

&&&&&&&&&&&

Scully woke to an empty bed, Will gone but making noise on the baby monitor, demanding breakfast and a clean diaper. The depression settled in quickly, the cold, heaviness of the apartment telling her he was already gone.

Moving automatically to Will’s room, she found a note hanging from the crib, taped and innocently waiting to be read. Forcing herself to wait until she’d changed Will and fed him, she finally settled him on her hip before unfolding the paper.

An hour later, she forced herself to get both of them ready for the return trip to Grandma’s house, Scully finally giving up halfway through, moving to the tree to examine yet again the ornament he’d left behind: one of a little boy in an oversize Yankee jersey, cap askew, glove at his feet, bat too large to hold up off the ground with the words ‘Daddy’s Little Home Run Hitter’ written underneath.

On the opposite side, Mulder had carefully printed in his trademark Sharpie “I love you” and the year.

[eruriku]

fic: would it still be christmas without you

Title: would it still be christmas without you Characters: Wally West/Artemis Crock Word Count: 3,712 Rating: T Summary: How many things can go wrong the day Wally needs to give his Christmas gift to Artemis? Too many. Established relationship. Disclaimer: WE LIVE, WE DIE, WE LIVE AGAIN!! #YJ3 Notes: My super late story for Tumblr user @wallyrudolphtherednosedspeedster for the @yjficexchange! I'm so sorry it's late beyond the original agreed upon deadline but I promised to myself that I'd give you something more than 400 words, it being a Christmas gift and all! The quality of the story below is not to my preferred standards, I think, but a good start to getting back into the grind. Please enjoy and belated Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you all! Here's to Young Justice Season 3!

⚡/AO3

would it still be christmas without you

There’s really nothing worse than losing your girlfriend’s Christmas present a few days before Christmas.

– Actually, no. No, wait.

There is most definitely something worse than losing your girlfriend’s Christmas present (which, by the way, took you an entire two weeks to come up with, and another week and a half to track down) less than a week before Christmas, and that is this: if you do all of the above an hour before you’re meant to give it to her.

Let’s rewind.

•

Wally West is 19 years old and too young to die at the hands of an irate girlfriend.

He zips back and forth, in and out of rooms, up and down the stairs looking for the present, all the while completely ignoring his mother’s rule of Under No Circumstances Are You Permitted To Use Your Superspeed In My House.

“This is so stupid,” Wally mutters in frustration, dashing from his room to the bathroom in the hallway, hoping that the present had somehow managed to make its way from the closet of his room to some hidden corner of the bathroom. Maybe his mom moved it? (Why would she move it to the bathroom?)

“Wally,” he hears his dad’s voice call out from inside his study.

“Are you alright out there?”

“I’m fine, Dad,” Wally leans out of the bathroom to reply to his father before stepping back into the bathroom and scanning the space quickly. “Damn!”

“Language, Wally,” his dad’s voice calls again with little to no bite in his tone. In the back of his mind, Wally rolls his eyes. How many times has he heard his dad swear badly enough to earn himself a timeout on the porch? (So many.)

“Dad, have you seen Artemis’s present?” Wally asks, speeding into his father’s study and completely ignoring the language comment. His dad frowns at him at the mention of the present.

“Have you checked your closet?” he says slowly, and Wally shakes his head in slight annoyance before glancing at his watch.

“Already did, and pretty much scoured the entire house too,” he says, running both of his hands through his hair in irritation before resting them on the back of his neck, his eyes darting all over the place in mild stress.

“Aw, man, what am I gonna do, Artemis is gonna kill me!”

“Artemis isn’t going to ‘kill’ you, kiddo, she’s just going to be … a little disappointed, that’s all,” his dad starts.

“Thanks, Dad, appreciate the pep talk, but she really will kill me, and we both know that she actually can so my best chance of seeing you guys for Christmas this year is finding that dumb d–”

Wally stops talking abruptly at the sound of a series of short, excited barks from the kitchen downstairs. He and his dad look at each other for a split second before Wally zips down to the kitchen, fast enough to rip the hanging photo frames off their hooks to clatter to the floor and leaving a mess in his wake.

His dad sighs and bends down to pick the photo frames up one by one.

“Scoured the entire house, huh?” he mutters to himself, shaking his head in amusement.

•

Wally West is 19 years old and has his last date of the year with his girlfriend in less than 19 minutes. Boy, does he love irony.

He finds her Christmas present prancing around the backyard, poking around the bushes and rustling his mom’s lovingly placed Christmas lights. The little puppy is enjoying the cold and crisp winter air and wagging his tail, panting and running around like he hadn’t seen the sun just a few hours ago. Bless her heart but Wally’s mom wanted to let the dumb dog stretch its legs for a little bit before Wally brought him over to Gotham City to give to Artemis.

He hasn’t name the little guy yet. He’ll leave that for Artemis to decide. (In the meantime, he’s been referring to him as Artemis Jr. He thinks it’s cute. His mom and dad agree that Artemis should probably choose a name.)

Wally carefully puts Artemis Jr into a small dog carrier bag that’s packed with a few select treats his mom probably-definitely snuck in while he wasn’t looking and has a special strap to fix to his back for extra stability during super-speed travel.

Kid Flash has never had a canine sidekick before, so this is a little exciting. Wally’s mind runs away from him for a second and he wonders: if Artemis Jr were Kid Flash’s trusty sidekick, what would he be called? Flash Dog? Dash? Bullet? Speedo? (Definitely not that last one.) Artemis would know what to call him.

He’s ready to sprint to his date to talk to Artemis about this exact topic when his mom’s arm shoots out and blocks the open doorway, forcing him to screech to a halt.  

She asks him to run her an errand and pick up some butter ‘real quick’ (“Ha ha, you’re hilarious, Mom.”) because she knows he can and doesn’t get to use the excuse “I can’t, Mom, I don’t have time!” but he tries it anyway.

“I can’t, Mom, I don’t have time!”

In response, she gives him a loving smile but places her palm on his cheek in a gesture that’s simultaneously gentle and intimidating.

“Sweetheart, if you can break the sound barrier in your sneakers, you can run and get me some butter from the grocery store.” She says this in a tone that’s sweet and patient on the outside but steely and ice-cold underneath. She also has her No Dicking Around Face on (that’s what Wally calls it, not her) so he knows he’s got no say in this.

He refrains from actually telling her this, but Wally really thinks she and Artemis need to stop hanging out so much.

•

He avoids looking at his phone and hopes to God that Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas” (his current ringtone, chosen for the festivities) doesn’t blast from it in the next fifteen minutes. After he gets his mom’s stupid stick of butter, he shrugs Artemis Jr in the dog bag over his shoulders again, straps the bag tightly to his back, and bursts out of the house after calling out a quick “bye!” and beginning his sprint towards Gotham.

Less than a minute of running later, Mariah starts singing.

“Aw, no, now what!”

Wally veers around a suspicious patch of ice on the road and reaches up to tap the side of his goggles to answer his phone.

“You’ve got KF,” he grumbles.

“Are you sure?” the voice on the other end laughs quickly. “‘Cause it sounds more like I’ve got the Grinch.”

“Put a sock in it, Rob, what do you want? This isn’t the best time right now!” Wally says, spotting a crowd of children building snowmen in the distance and detouring around the block to avoid them.

“I know, I know,” Dick says, and he actually sounds a little apologetic. “But you’ve got fourteen minutes left until your thing with Artemis and Artemis Jr, and that’s plenty of time to take care of a crook at the Upper East Side.”

Wally’s silent for about two seconds.

“Dude.”

“Pretty please?”

“No way! I am too young to die at the hands of my own girlfriend,” Wally swerves on the road just in time to avoid a young couple bringing in armloads of what appears to be giant Christmas presents.

“Oh, come on, Wally, don’t be such a drama queen.”

“Rob! Just because Artemis and I are trying out this part-time hero trial thing with the team doesn’t mean we’re automatically put on clean up crew! Come on, man, it’s Christmas!”

“Exactly! It’s Christmas,” Dick agrees wholeheartedly. “So do us a solid for the season and send this guy back home to his mother or something.”

Wally groans but quickly checks his watch, rustling the bag a little bit, eliciting a soft whine from Artemis Jr.

“You’re the closest guy we’ve got right now, Wallman,” Dick says. Wally rolls his eyes. What does it matter? A call from Rob, who’s on-duty at the cave on a Saturday, means a direct order from Batman himself. Even if he were the furthest from the Upper East Side right now, if Batman told him to go catch a crook, Kid Flash would have to go catch the crook.

“I’ll go, jeez,” Wally mumbles, already turning a different corner to circle back towards the Upper East Side of Central City. He’s got about eleven different ways to beat up the criminal but no ideas about what to say to Artemis if he’s late. This guy better be worth it.

•

The crook’s a bit of a loser, to be perfectly honest.

When Wally arrives at the location of the crime, he kind of pauses for a second and wonders who in their right mind would try to rob a shabby, run-down but quirky old guitar store a few days before Christmas. Then he realises no bad guy is ever really in their right mind and dashes in to do his hero thing.

The crook is obviously some poor kid who’s just dropped out of college and is kinda-sorta taking out all of his frustrations on society, the guitar store that wouldn’t hire him, and subconsciously, his mother probably (Wally’s been watching a lot of Criminal Minds and has a lot of theories about the psychological workings of criminals these days but never mind that). To put it simply, Wally’s a little miffed that he was diverted from his journey for this, but it’s easy enough to knock the kid out (he wouldn’t listen!) and drop him off at the police station with a haphazardly written note about the details of the crime and a scrawny Merry Christmas!! -⚡︎ scribbled on the back of a guitar receipt.

He doesn’t have the heart to leave the ransacked store as messed up as it is before taking the college kid to the police station, so Wally takes an extra few seconds to string the lights back up, righten the obscenely rock and roll-themed Christmas tree, and rearrange the abundance of other ornaments and decorations before giving the overwhelmed cashier a salute, wishing her a Merry Christmas, and sprinting out the door.

Job done, he checks his watch as he starts his run.

Eleven minutes.

•

Eleven minutes is more than enough time for someone like Wally to get from one city to another, despite being on the other end of Central City. He should’ve gotten to the pub in under two minutes. What he hadn’t accounted for was little Kevin Yu and his dumb cat.

Right before he crosses the border into Gotham, he catches the faint crying of a little boy and dammit (really, damn his noble and pure heart), of course he has to stop and make sure everything’s alright.

The little Taiwanese boy (Kevin) has this fat gray American Shorthair that’s somehow managed to climb to a high branch of a tree in front of Kevin’s house. Wally doesn’t ask how it got there. He doesn’t need to know. All he knows is that the stupid cat takes about ten minutes to come down from the stupid tree, scares the poor pup in the bag on his back, and the worst part of it all isn’t even that he’s officially late for his date with Artemis. It’s that after ten minutes of pleading and begging and borderline shouting at the damn feline, it finally comes down all on its own the second he gives up and sits down on the ice cold grass.

“Perfect! Problem solved. See ya, kid!” Wally doesn’t spare Kevin Yu and the fat gray American Shorthair another second and disappears from his position on the grass in a burst of cold air and urgency.

•

Artemis Crock is 19 years old and super ready to hit the beach in Vietnam and soak up some sun in Saigon. She is so sick of Gotham winters, but more than that, all she really wants right now is to spend some quality time with her dork faced speedster, wherever he is.

She’s just arrived at her and Wally’s favorite pub and checks her watch. Right on time.

Artemis checks that Wally’s Christmas gift (two tickets to see Yellowcard one last time in San Diego in March) is tucked safely in her bag before pushing the door open and heading for their usual spot (yes, they have a usual spot, they’re that kind of couple). She nods a greeting toward Weird Dave, one of the staff members of the pub who has a pretty obvious and pretty weird crush-slash-obsession with her, but he’s never been anything but extremely polite and kind to her so she’s always tried to be at least civil to him. Wally hates Weird Dave.

He gives me bad vibes.

The thought of Wally makes Artemis snort and she takes a seat, setting her bag next to her. She spends a few moments taking in the Christmas decor of the pub and the cozy atmosphere that she and Wally fell in love with instantly. She recognizes Nat King Cole crooning softly in the background along with a recording of a crackling fireplace. There’s a tree in the corner of the room decorated almost to perfection with a star perched on the top, fake snow and an assortment of ornaments hanging from the branches at appropriate areas. The place looks absolutely amazing for the holiday and Artemis is suddenly immensely glad Wally had insisted on one more date before she and her mom left for Vietnam.

She’s about to choose what she wants to order when she hears a slight commotion from the entrance of the pub. She cranes her neck to get a better look and witnesses Wally of all people stumbling into the pub, followed by an irritated and grumbling Weird Dave, who’s holding a broom looking like he’s ready to practice a few swings on a certain redhead.

“Could you not track dirt into this place every time you come by, West?”

“Shut up, Dave!”

Artemis raises her eyebrows in curiosity and confusion (more confusion) and watches as Wally whisks past Weird Dave and automatically heads to their table, leaving a small trail of dirt and snow behind him. Behind him, Weird Dave mutters a curse but forfeits for the time-being and resumes cleaning up Wally’s mess.  

Meanwhile, Wally starts apologizing before his butt even hits the seat.

“Babe, I’m sorry, you wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had, I could tell you at least four stories about everything that could’ve gone wrong that did go wrong, like, can you believe Dick had the balls to call me on a Saturday to do a job, like what are we, clean up crew? And wait ’til you hear about Kevin and his stupid fat cat, oh my God, it was all I could do to even get here and now Weird Dave is being weird again just ‘cause you’re looking gorgeous and A+ as usual, honestly, babe, we really need to do something about him–“

“Wally. Just. Stop for a second.”

Wally pauses and blinks.

“Right. Right, you’re right. But I am sorry. I wanted to be here first,” he says, rubbing the side of his face with one hand and reaching over the table and holding onto hers with the other.

“You’re not even a minute late,” Artemis says, smiling slightly. “So don’t worry about it.”

Wally peeks up at her from behind his hand.

“You’re the best, you know that?” Artemis tries to resist the warmth that rises to her cheeks but it still erupts in a soft flush, so she rolls her eyes to counteract it.

“You remind me pretty frequently,” she says, gripping his fingers.

“Not enough,” Wally argues with a slight shake of his head. Artemis swallows at the adoring look in his eyes. They’ve been together for four years and the fact that he’s still so clearly head over heels for her never fails to astound her.

“Alright already, I get it, we love each other, moving on,” she jokes. “Now why is your suit sticking out of your bag?”

“Oh, shit,” Wally reaches behind and gently arranges the yellow and red cloth deeper into the duffel bag.

“Also, what’s up with the bag? It looks new.”

Wally’s silent for a moment, contemplating whether he should bring Artemis Jr out now and reveal the Christmas present or to save it for after or during the date.

“Also, why is the bag whining?” Artemis asks. “Wally, do – do you have an animal in there?”

A slight frown grows on Artemis’s face and now she just looks downright worried.

Wally laughs weakly and decides to just go for it. He brings the bag onto his lap and zips it open, angling the bag so she can see the little guy clearly.

“Merry Christmas?”

Artemis Crock is 19 years old and has wanted a dog for 14 of those years, ever since her first encounter with a perky and friendly golden retriever on her way home from school. Wally’s known this for four years now. He watches her eyes slowly widen and carefully studies her expression change from shock to disbelief to confusion to more disbelief. Her eyes are fixed on Artemis Jr for the longest moment and Wally starts to worry whether he made the right call. Then she turns her eyes towards him and his heart jumps into his throat. She’s tearing up a little.

“Is he–”

“West, is that a dog? Didn’t you read the sign, we don’t allow animals in here!” Weird Dave’s weird voice suddenly pipes in and Wally witnesses something crack in Artemis’s expression before she whirls around and hisses at Weird Dave.

“Shut up, Dave!”

•

There’s nothing better than spending the afternoon at a cute little hole-in-the-wall cafe after getting kicked out of your and your girlfriend’s favorite pub. Obviously it would be better if you weren’t kicked out in the first place, but this cafe’s just as cozy, if not a little smaller, with a tasteful selection of fairy lights and Christmas lights dotting the establishment and an array of snowflakes and other Christmas decorations to add to the small and simple Christmas tree by the front door. The best part is, this place loves animals.

Artemis renames her Christmas present, not even hesitating after Wally introduces the pup to her as Artemis Jr. She doesn’t even blink an eye when Wally questions her name choice.

What the heck kind of name is Brucely?

What the heck kind of name is Wally?

…Touché.

And of course, it would be better if your girlfriend was actually able to spend the Christmas holidays with you, but she and her mom deserve a holiday away from the grey and grim grasp of the city and instead in the glorious warm embrace of Southeast Asia.

“And I’ll be back in no time,” Artemis leans over and plants a firm kiss on Wally’s jaw. “So just hang in there for a week or so.”

“Oh, please, you make it sound like I can’t live without you near me at all times,” Wally says, putting a hand on Artemis’s thigh to keep her from moving away and playing with the concert tickets on the table top. She gives him an unimpressed look.

“Babe, the entire team knows that it’s true,” she says with a slight smirk, and Wally breaks into a grin. He snakes an arm around her waist and tugs her closer, giving her a real kiss and getting a taste of her gingerbread latte. Mixed in with the peppermint in the hot chocolate he ordered, Wally feels like no amount of eggnog or candy canes or gingerbread men will ever come close to tasting as close to Christmas as this.

He mumbles a sweet Merry Christmas into the corner of Artemis’s lips and she kisses him back in response, and they start laughing when Brucely breaks them up, bouncing into Wally’s lap and licking their chins to get a taste of Christmas, too.

•

Wally West and Artemis Crock are 19 years old and too young to start growing up, but old enough to adopt a three month old puppy to love and nourish and spoil. Wally would prefer to spend the holidays with his best girl, but he and Brucely will still be around when she gets back.

Plus. There’s always next Christmas.

fin