#also again it's ok not to be in the jolly spirit

[polarisbibliotheque]

Dante and Vergil with their s/o giving them late Christmas presents

Pairing: Dante x Reader; Vergil x Reader

Summary: Interestingly enough, Christmas was a time of the year when demons decided to cause mayhem - giving the whole crew enough work for months to come. Because of that, you didn't have the chance to buy your dear devil a present... But that wouldn't stop you from showing you cared.

Age restriction: none, really. Dante's present you can interpret as NSFW only if you WANT to. It pleases all readers: you can read it as something very silly or kinda spicy - and BOTH go with our red devil. He is a seducing goof, really.

Author's notes: I'm not in a very jolly Christmas spirit this year and feeling quite meh about the Holidays, so maybe this can cheer up some people who are on the same vibe as me. Sometimes we're not on our best days and it's ok if we're not on the Holiday vibe - you're not broken. It's fine if you don't feel great.

ALSO IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: the poem on Vergil's part is a song lyrics I've written a long time ago and I went through my notes to find something I liked for this one. You're welcome to share if you like, but please credit me. It's my first time sharing this sort of work, so be nice about it ^^

Dante

Oh, Christmas. Jolly time, beautiful time, snowflake insanity time and carols playing everywhere a human – or demonic – hearing could reach.

One thing everyone seemed to forget, was the high incidence of demons causing pure mayhem. You understood Halloween – based on Samhein and all that – but Christmas…? Maybe demons liked to follow the Wheel of the Year as well and wreaked havoc during Yule?

Well, you settled with that explanation. Demons were all about magic, solstices, equinoxes, and such, so Christmas should be one of those magic heavy times too.

It was a bummer that the Devil May Cry always got busier that time of the year.

After the family and the crew got together, Dante started celebrating and waiting eagerly for it every time December 1st arrived on the calendar. Prior to that, though, you knew your red devil wasn’t much of a celebration type of guy – for a long time, he had no one to celebrate it with; therefore, he allowed the date to die inside his heart.

Hunting was his – and yours, to be honest – way to stop thinking about it. If you were busy, you wouldn’t notice that loneliness that seemed to approach during the jolly time.

You sighed, while walking back home in the streets of Redgrave. With hands inside your coat’s pockets, your sword was carefully kept inside a guitar case you caried on your back – something you learned with Dante to be less obvious of your status as a devil hunter to other people. You were just another tired musician, coming back home after a tiring day at work.

And what a day. You received so many calls, the crew had to cancel Christmas and each one go to a job and clear one demon infestation at a time. That meant no Christmas food, no cozy drinks, no jolly songs on repeat and no presents.

With your feet marking your way in the snow, the snowflakes spiraled as you let out another sigh. You wanted to give Dante a present – to show him you cared and all that, even after he told you he didn’t want anything. But that was the thing about him: Dante never wanted anything and always thought he didn’t deserve it.

If you could only grab him by the shoulders and shake that stupid belief out of his head. It was funny even how many times that type of thought crossed your head – but it was a staple of living with Dante.

You could hear people celebrating inside their houses. It was very late and probably in the middle of the night – you didn’t carry a watch or something to tell the time since a demon blasted your cellphone in two during a job and it took you more than a year to scrape some money to get a new one. Nevertheless, you learnt to tell the time by the skies and, giving how late it was, Dante probably was coming back from his as well.

He would be tired – or at least sore from all the fighting – and certainly in need of a shower, just like you at the moment.

Crossing the heavy wooden doors of the Devil May Cry, you left the guitar case and dirty boots by the jukebox, noticing how Dante’s were missing – that meant he still wasn’t home.

As you went up the stairs, you still thought about his gift. You could give him a pizza for the night and Dante would be happy. One would think it would be great to have someone easy to please around, but it did make your life more difficult: you had no idea what to give him when you wanted something to be really special.

Everything was special for Dante.

Reaching your room, you finally smiled while searching for some clean pajamas. That little thought made you realize something – and search for a beautiful ribbon you could wrap a present with.

*

“Ei, babe! Still in the shower?”

“Hey, Dante! Just got out!” You answered while drying yourself with the towel. You could hear a little laugh in his voice as he walked around the room on the other side of the door.

“Damn, seems like I lost my chance for a nice shower with ya tonight!” His voice was a little muffled, making some effort with something. If you knew him well, Dante was finally taking his boots off and would remain sitting on the bed for a while to let his feet rest.

“Oh, I was desperately needing a shower.” You sighed, making him giggle a little. “How was your job today?”

“Eh, same as always… Nothin’ special, just a bunch of buffoons thinkin’ they’re gonna conquer the human world.” The sigh in his voice made you lough this time. You found it lovely how you always could hear his smile in the way he spoke back at you. “What…?”

“Not a usual thing hearing you say ‘buffoon’. You’re really Vergil’s brother, huh?” You couldn’t stop giggling as your fingers fumbled with the beautiful stripe of red cloth that would be a beautiful bow when you’d be done with it.

“What can I say, babe?” You already knew Dante so well, his shrug was in his voice, as well as his smugness. The cocky smile was beautifully plastered in your mind – and you’d hope you’d never forget it. “You start livin’ with the prince of darkness there, you get a few of his mannerisms.”

“Hmmm.” You tried to hold back a laugh, but the wheezing was recognizable even to Dante in the room. “Now I’m imagining good ol’ Verge dressed as Ozzy singing Paranoid like a crazy metal dad.”

You could swear Dante’s laugh could be heard through the whole shop – and you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing alongside him. Moments like those were better than any presents you could give him.

“Ha! Now that would be a sight to see!” He coughed back. “But ya know, don’t mention this to Verge, but he used to like Black Sabbath and uncle Ozzy when we were kids.”

“Nooooo…! You’re joking!” As soon as your voice achieved the heights of disbelief, Dante just laughed in response. “Verge is a Sabbath guy?!”

“I’ll say two things: Mr. Crowley and War Pigs.” Dante’s voice disappeared for a few seconds before coming back again. “If ya sing one of these by his side, Vergil knows the lyrics by heart.”

“Man, I gotta do that one of these days…!” You giggled to yourself, hearing Dante falling on the bed. Probably sitting, waiting for you to come out of the bathroom. “What about you?”

“Oh, I love uncle Ozz and Sabbath! Who do ya think introduced metal at home?!” With a sigh, you knew he was stretching and finally starting to relax. “But yeah, I was more into AC/DC, and later bands like Mötley Crüe. Verge said it was all one hell of a noise and he couldn’t focus on readin’.”

“Huh. As if you can focus on Sabbath.”

“Touché. He knew some songs on drums too, he just liked complainin’…”

That was a good present for you. Having Dante remember things of his life and talk to you about mundane things, like music, was something that always warmed your heart – you loved everything about him, but spending time together and just getting to know each other more and more… That was something only his soul could gift you.

“Talkin’ ‘bout complainin’, is everything alright there, babe? Or did the toilet swallow you?”

“Oh, you know. Just a couple of sewer demons, I’ll be done with them in nooo time.” Your answer made both of you laugh – although, sewer demons were indeed an annoying breed of devils. “I’ll be out soon, red devil, chill out. I have a surprise for you.”

“What…? Surprise…?”

That suddenly kicked into his head: it was Christmas. Dante had completely forgotten about it. He was so used to not celebrating, that going about it like a normal day was just average to him. All the lights in the street, the snow, the songs, the smells of Christmas food… It was something he had learned to ignore.

“Oh, babe… You…”

But Dante’s mumbles were interrupted as soon as you emerged from the bathroom wrapped around the red ribbon; a perfect big bow resting on the top of your head as you opened your arms. You found him sitting on the bed, shirtless, stretching his legs after a tiring day of hunting – his dumbfounded sky-blue eyes staring at you in awe for the couple of seconds you took him by surprise.

“Merry Christmas, cowboy!” You giggled back, a wide smile on your lips. “I couldn’t buy you a present, so…” You signaled to yourself, opening your arms again right after.

“Damn. I love you, babe. Have I told you that already…?” Dante murmured with a beautiful big smile on his lips, taking your hand on his as you approached. “Merry Christmas, beautiful. Sorry I couldn’t get ya a present this year.”

“It’s ok. You’re already my present, big guy.”

Dante just kissed you in return as you sat on his lap. The only way for you to know how much your words meant to him, was by the rhythm of his heart, beating like fiery drums.

He wouldn’t mind receiving that Christmas gift every year.

Vergil

The last demon fell on the floor, slayed by your very own ghostly white Mirror Edge. Your hands were covered in blood, as well as the snow covering the ground in that Christmas night.

The moon was high in the sky, celebrations already starting to come to an end inside homes all over Redgrave. Vergil once told you there were times of the year, usually celebrated by witches and occultists in general, that held power – and Christmas time was one of them.

You had to take a different job than Vergil in order to keep demons at bay that night; returning home, then, was a lone path. Quietly walking in the streets, you kept your hands warm inside your pockets, watching as people went back home or just turned off the lights to go to sleep.

“I do recall Christmas at my family’s home…” Vergil said calmly, watching the snow falling outside while he kept his hands warm with the cup of fancy tea you brewed for the night. “It all seems like a distant memory. I…” He halted his words, furrowing his brows as Vergil carefully chose his words. He wasn’t one to speak without intention and, when it came to his feelings, he always struggled to find the right words. “…Spent too much time in Hell. Time itself is a concept forgotten on those lands.”

“Hmmm. Were you aware of the passage of years…?” You kept focusing on your painting; sitting in front of it, you let Vergil speak, paying attention to his words but being careful not to overwhelm him with attention. He raised his eyes to you, watching as your hands carefully painted the snow from the night outside – Vergil knew it required trust from you to allow him to watch you creating something.

“Sometimes…” He let out a deep, controlled sigh. There was a type of tug inside his chest every time he talked about those memories; as if something inside him was twisting and leaving him breathless. “Some minutes seemed like years… And some years seemed like seconds. I only realized how much time had passed when I saw Dante for the first time.”

“Huh. Makes sense…” You muttered, making him raise one eyebrow. You reached for something on your paint desk and Vergil gave you your teacup – he always feared you would accidentally take a sip of dirty paint water in your moment of being absorbed by your art. He had done that countless times while reading; it was something he wasn’t proud of. “I wouldn’t have wasted time trying to know what year it was if I was falling apart after crawling out of Hell. Makes sense you only noticed when V united with Urizen again.”

“Hmmm.” Vergil agreed with a subtle nod, brewing your words inside his mind. You seemed to be the only person he could openly talk with and not be judged – there was something of welcoming about it. “I… Forgot. How Christmas is like. I know the memories; I know the traditions. But I don’t know the feeling anymore… I see just a ritual that only has meaning if people believe in it. In Hell, no one believes in anything; the only thing keeping you alive is a small light of hope that one day you will make it out of there. The rest…” And Vergil did a vague gesture with his hand, preparing to take another sip of his tea. “Is frivolous.”

“Only survival matters.” As you added, he nodded alongside you.

“And keeping yourself. Not allowing your soul to die. If you lose that, not even your body can bring you back.”

That conversation with Vergil marked you. They were just a few words before he went back to reading and you focused again on your painting, singing a couple of songs ever time your heart felt like it. Surprisingly, it was something Vergil enjoyed while reading – as well as mindlessly massaging your feet and calves you usually rested on his lap while both of you were concentrated on something else.

Vergil was easing back on Christmas. It was a lot of work – he wasn’t specially loved by anyone but you and Dante in the crew, but everyone was warming up to the blue devil. Trish and Lady found it easier to welcome him given their history together, and Nero was working on his own feelings of having a father – and one who didn’t even know him, to top that. The first Christmas together was a miracle and the second Christmas, Vergil already showed he was a lot better at thinking of gifts than Dante – they usually didn’t remember people actually expected to receive something, but Vergil always knew each one’s preferences.

He never expected anything back, though. It had something to do with him atoning for his sins, but there was something else as well. If you didn’t get in the festive spirit, Vergil wouldn’t get into it as well. Time and important dates were a real struggle to the blue devil – as he said before, there wasn’t such a thing in Hell.

Vergil was completely tone deaf when it came to noticing the passage of time: it was common between you two a few reality checks. Vergil usually approached and you helped him make sure what he was living was real – not one of his many hallucinations when incarcerated – and when were you. “When” as in how many weeks had passed since an important event, how many months, how many hours. That way, you helped him with his time dissonance.

He probably didn’t even remember it was Christmas… It was your job to remind him, then.

*

As Vergil entered your room, he could hear the shower as your voice entangled around the notes of water in a song he didn’t recognize – not that he needed to, for Vergil loved hearing you sing.

Leaving his coat on the back of the chair, he sat on the bed to take off his boots. It was a relief, really. The moment the day ended, and he came back home – it had been a very long time Vergil didn’t really have a routine of winding down, changing to comfortable clothes and sleeping in a warm, comfortable bed. He always took some time to close his eyes and feel the ground under his feet, focusing on how grounding that was.

His heart seemed to go back to its own place – a forgotten place in his chest, filled with a warm sense of safety. He could only define it as the feeling of love and protection he longed during all his years of seemingly endless suffering.

There were days in Hell that indeed felt like an eternity. Sometimes, Vergil questioned if everything he was living with you was real – working in the Devil May Cry, talking to his brother again, getting to know his son. It was a dream, and dreams were prone to ending.

Shaking his head, Vergil took a deep breath before taking his boots and opening the closet to keep them safe and sound in their proper place. The next piece was his vest, carefully kept in a drawer.

Vergil calmly went back to the desk, in order to get his coat and hang it inside the closet – hearing while you turned off the shower and started to dry yourself, still humming your song of choice. It was one you had shown him before, that he could identify.

As soon as his fingers touched his coat, Vergil furrowed his eyebrows – his eyes meeting an envelope with his name atop of his read of that month. That was your handwriting; that he was certain.

Taking the envelope between his fingers, Vergil turned it around, finding the words “Merry Christmas”.

Oh.

Oh.

He had forgotten about Christmas.

Vergil stared at a lost spot on the wall for a while, internally complaining about his lack of awareness of important dates in a human world. Shaking his head once again, he finally opened the envelope, finding a simple piece of paper with your handwriting – a poem, by the way you framed it on the sheet of paper.

“When I believed life was concrete and coal

You made my heart rain gold

Dripping like honey over your chest and arms

I want to glimmer with you amid the stars

Your breath caught on my lips, kept in my soul

Your sparkle entangled in my hands, I will never let go

In the silence of the Universe, witnessed only by Venus and Mars

I give you, my love, my soul and my heart.”

Vergil didn’t know that poem.

He read those words again and again, breaking the meaning and feeling behind them. His silvery eyes had never seen them before, but there was something of different… Something that seemed to wrap around his heart and make his eyes threaten to feel more than he usually allowed them to feel.

Until he found the little note on the bottom of the paper.

I know it isn’t perfect, love, but I wrote this poem for you. It’s the sincerest thing I can give you this Christmas. I hope you like it as much as I liked writing it.

“Oh, you found it.” Vergil was lifted out of his storm of thoughts by your voice, recently emerged from the bathroom. He turned around, having a stern look on his face and his hands holding the single piece of paper for dear life. “Merry Christmas, my dear. I hope you like your present. I didn’t have time to buy anything, and I wanted to give you something meaningful.”

Without any words, Vergil approached you with the same resolution he did when he had an enemy in sight. You just looked at him, trying to understand his reactions – Vergil was always a box of surprises. He never reacted like everyone else did, but it was to be expected after all he had been through.

You were caught completely by surprise when he wrapped his arms around you, tightly holding you against his body – his face hidden in the curve of your neck. His heart was aligned with yours; and that made you smile.

It was the first time Vergil was the subject of a heartfelt poem – not just a heartless reader searching for some tenderness.

**

I blame Duff McKagan’s Tenderness for that last line and overall feeling of this ending part

This Tenderness. I love this man, I love this song, and it was Vergil written all over. It's also really comforting on trying times, give it a listen ;)

[joshay98]

Day 630 - 632 (1 year, 309 - 311 days)

Hee-ho! How we doing at the end of the week? Hopefully marvelous! ^^

So, the final day of the Season of Moments. I know it was just as long as other seasons but this one felt like it went by a bit quicker? Maybe because we also had a couple events during it so it bridged the downtime between quests.

Let's just go through the cosmetics I got.

The Reassuring Ranger comes with a mask and hat. Love the unique shape of the mask and the yellow pattern it has. It really just pops out as a detail on a player.

Cowboy hat! Cowboy hat! Cowboy hat! I really wanna make a western outfit now. One big problem it has is that most hairstyles clip through the hat. So you might want to wear something short. Not sure what I could combine but this hat looks so nice, I wanna make something out of it. ^^

Outside of the music sheet, the Jolly Geolist only has a face accessory... that only works with their skull hat... which is a paid item. The devs didn't think that one through it seems.

BALD! BALD! BALD! Ok, for real the Ascetic Monk's hairstyle, or rather lack of, works pretty well. Especially with the markings. Possibly a good hairstyle if you want to wear a hat that has a lot of clipping issues. Like the cowboy hat!

The tunic looks really nice. Especially the yellow sash contrasting the grey. I don't know what could be worn with this, but I think people will come up with ideas.

And lastly the Nightbird Whisperer. I like how they have a bunch of mismatched options. Like the hairstyle having the pigtails not even and tied with different colored bands.

But also the a new pair of cargos. Always nice to see more shorter options, since boots don't work with most of the long pants.

A lot of great cosmetics! Even have 48 candles extra. ^^

So my overall opinion. It's a pretty good season. It's again one of those seasons where the devs introduce a new gameplay feature and the entire season revolves around it.

I have nothing against it but it also makes the season feel not as memorable to me. Compare it to like Season of Passage where the entire season was focused around the teens and the guide. You were constantly interacting with them. And seeing the group doing their thing made it feel much more alive. Also doing the passages felt like you were doing them with the teens.

In Moments, the spirits are mostly doing their own thing and you photograph them doing that thing. Sometimes not even that. I absolutely love the new camera but I don't think this season will be sticking to me as others did.

I hope the next one has more focus on the spirits or worldbuilding again. :/

Oh well, this has been the season. Can't wait for Days of Style tomorrow and then Mischief afterwards. ^^

[the-plot-blog-thing]

(originally published on 11/22/20)

DTVA/DTS TAGTEAM TWEET-ATHON MOVIE #54: MICKEY’S TWICE UPON A CHRISTMAS (2004) 

I bet they thought they were being clever with that title, huh?

This was just bad. Like really bad. The CG animation just looks unnatural, the stories range from mediocre to actively insulting, and there’s no reason to tie this back into the much better “Once Upon” film.

Ok, the ice skating, triplets, and Mickey segments weren’t terrible, just not all that funny or noteworthy. My main issues with this movie lie in the Goofy and Donald segments.

The Goofy segment from “Once Upon” was the best part of that movie, so it’s sort of poetic that it’s one of the worst in this one.

First off, it’s barely a segment, it’s mostly an AMV about Max feeling angsty that he has a loving father. Which is stupid, because Max has learned to appreciate his father for the third time now, and it’s getting really redundant now.

Also, Max has a new girlfriend in this one. While I can accept that they didn’t want to use Roxanne again, they literally got the exact same voice actress for his new girlfriend, so they really had no reason NOT to bring Roxanne back.

Also Goofy’s girlfriend from the second movie is gone, which just makes me sad for Goofy.

And yeah, Max has no reason to be emo about Goofy. Goofy has been nothing but lovely to Max and his new girlfriend, and Max is upset because, he’s not...cool? Max buddy, I’m sorry but that ship has sailed long ago. Don’t be a dick because your dad’s not fuckin Fonzie or something

And the Donald segment sucks for the same reason I dislike the movie “Christmas with the Kranks”. Just because someone isn’t outwardly jolly at Christmas doesn’t mean they have no holiday spirit. And what if they have a different religion?

My point is, they shouldn’t guilt trip Donald into going out during the holidays if he doesn’t want to. Let the man rest and drink his hot cocoa.

Ugh, this just didn’t need to exist. I kinda want to go back and watch the first movie just so I can forget this one. Skip it. 

2.5/10: At least this movie gave me a new profile pic for Christmas...stay tuned.

[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

Familiar - Part 6

Word count: 3700

Warnings: None, just a lot of fluff

And the series continues! This one is from a prompt by a lovely anon asking for some Tom Hiddleston x reader snowball fighting ❄☃

I may have left things open for a part 7 for the holidays. You know. If anyone is interested. 😉 (I have another prompt about some Loki-themed Christmas pajamas that I could easily wrap into a part 7... 🤔)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

As the weather grew colder, your festive spirit grew along with it. You started to develop the familiar urge to bake cookies and decorate the apartment for the holidays. The streets were lined with houses and storefronts decked out in warm white lights and gold, red, and green decorations. Trees in the windows were adorned with sparkling bauble ornaments and silver and gold garland. You found yourself walking slower when you headed home from work just to enjoy the city lights for a bit longer.

The jolly fire in your belly only amplified when it began to snow. While it technically wasn’t winter just yet, the first snow typically came sometime in the middle of November. This year, it didn’t begin until the first week of December, and by then you were just itching to look out your window and see the soft white powder coating the ground outside. It didn’t disappoint – you got a few fluffy inches overnight and woke to find snowflakes fluttering around outside your window under an overcast gray sky. What better day than today to start your holiday decorating?

“You’re not gonna go full-on Hallmark movie on me this year, are you?”

Noelle hovered over your shoulder as you browsed through cookie recipes on the internet. You glanced up at her, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Don’t worry, Scrooge – I’ll keep the common area decorations to a respectable amount.” You smirked as her jaw dropped indignantly.

“Hey – it’s not that I don’t like the holidays, it’s just that I don’t want to drown in it in my living room.” She wandered over to the coffee pot, pouring herself a mug. “What’s your plan for the holiday with your famous lover, there?”

“He has a name, Noelle,” you scolded, rolling your eyes. “And, to answer your question, I’m not sure yet. We… haven’t really talked much about it.”

It was true – you’d been avoiding the subject so far, afraid of what the answer might be. You usually spent the holidays with your family back home, taking a week off between Christmas and New Year’s to go stay with them. You were really hoping to spend your holiday with Tom this year, but it would mean he would need to be ok with coming out to your hometown with you and meeting your family. Your entire family. It was a lot to ask of someone who you’d been with for just shy of half a year, especially someone as high profile as Tom. You knew your family would love him, but you were struggling to find your voice to ask him what he wanted to do.

“Well, you’ve still got a few weeks. But you might want to bring it up sooner rather than later. He’s got a very busy schedule,” Noelle advised, partly teasing but also partly serious. The two of you bantered often, but she really was one of your closest friends. She only wanted the best for you.

“I know. I know.” You sighed, closing your laptop, and getting up to wash your empty mug. “We’re meeting up today to do some shopping and decorating. Maybe I’ll talk to him then.”

“Sounds like the perfect time to bring it up. I gotta run – can’t be late for work again this week or Jerry will have my head. It better not be full on winter wonderland in here when I get home.”

“I’ll do my best. You know I have no self-control when it comes to holiday decorating.” Noelle shook her head, exiting through the door to the apartment. She popped her head back in for a moment.

“If you bake cookies, save some for me, alright?”

“You know I always do.”

“I knew I lived with you for a reason.” She grinned, retracting her head back through the doorway and shutting it behind her, leaving you to your thoughts.

The thought of talking to Tom about the holidays weighed on your mind all morning while you got ready for the day. You knew it was silly to be worried about it – Tom would most likely have no qualms with meeting your family, and even if he did, he certainly wouldn’t tell you. But deep down, you were scared of his answer. You were so excited at the possibility of spending the holidays together, and you weren’t sure your heart could take it if he said no.

Above all, this would be a huge step in your relationship. You hadn’t introduced your family to any guys you’d dated in years. The idea of bringing him home to meet them… it was exciting and terrifying at the same time. It meant there would be others invested in the relationship outside of the two of you. Other people in your life who would be heartbroken if things didn’t work out. It was a lot of pressure.

Your thoughts were interrupted when the buzzer to your apartment went off. You spoke into the intercom to say you’d be heading down before grabbing your winter coat off the coat rack by the door and sliding your arms into the sleeves as you walked out the door. Tom was waiting for you at the front door to the building. You let him wrap you in his arms, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Where would you like to start?” he asked, taking your hand as you walked down the sidewalk into the city.

“There’s a cute little shop a few blocks away that sells a lot of really unique holiday decorations this time of year – I was thinking we could head there first, then swing by the grocery store for cookie ingredients.”

“Sounds lovely. Lead the way.”

You chatted casually as you walked, pointing out your favorite stores that decorated for the holidays. If he was overwhelmed by your festive mood, he didn’t say so. He asked you questions about what you liked so much about each storefront - whether you preferred warm white to bright white lights, green trees or colored trees, garland or tinsel… If he was only pretending to be interested, he was doing a damn good job of it.

The little holiday shop smelled heavenly of pine, illuminated softly with those warm white lights that, as you’d just finished explaining to Tom, were the superior type of holiday lights. You picked out a wreath to hang on the outside of the apartment door before making your way to the tree ornaments section.

“Oh, look at this – they have Marvel characters!” you giggled, pointing out the little Captain America ornament in the front of one of the shelves. “Do they have a Loki one?”

“If they do, I’m certain it looks nothing like me…”

“Oh wait, here it is!!” You picked up the tiny Loki figurine, holding it up beside Tom’s face. “I think it looks plenty like you!”

“Let me see it.” Tom took the ornament from your hand, scrutinizing the figure’s features. “It’s certainly not the worst depiction of Loki I’ve seen.”

“Oh, come on – don’t you want a little Loki ornament on my tree?” you asked teasingly. “It’d be like you’re always there in my apartment!”

“Charming, love. If you’d like it, I certainly won’t stop you.”

“It’s mine, then.” You brought your purchases to the front, scowling as Tom refused to allow you to pay for them, before heading out toward the grocery store.

The snow was picking up again on your way back to the apartment, heavy flakes dusting your hair and eyelashes. You put on your gloves to keep your hands warm against the chill winter air. Tom hadn’t brought any gloves of his own, but refused your offer to borrow yours, opting instead to stuff his hands in his coat pockets.

With your hand no longer laced in his, a rather mischievous idea sprang to mind. You trailed behind Tom just a bit as you walked, scooping a handful of snow off the sidewalk and molding it into a ball. You were nearly at your apartment now, only one building away, so it was now or never.

Pausing for just a moment to allow him to get a few feet ahead, you pulled your arm back and hurled the snowball at his back. Tom stopped short when the snowball exploded against his jacket, right between the shoulder blades. He spun around, jaw slightly slackened in surprise.

“Oh, you really want to start that?” he warned, his eyes narrowing with a mischievous grin.

“I believe I just did,” you quipped, quickly scooping up another handful of snow off the ground in preparation for his inevitable counterattack.

“Alright – you asked for it.” Tom swiftly crouched to pick up his own handful of snow, quickly forming a ball before chucking it straight toward you. You tried to duck, but you weren’t fast enough, and the snow slapped against the front of your shoulder.

“Oh, it’s on!” You threw your newly formed snowball at Tom, striking him in the stomach. Giggling, you ducked again as he threw another two snowballs at you, turning around so they’d strike you in the back.

“It isn’t fair that I’m doing this with my bare hands while you have gloves on,” he complained, rubbing his hands together for a moment to warm them as he dodged two more of your snowballs.

“I offered you my gloves! You said no!”

“That was before I knew you were planning to viciously attack me with snow!”

“Vicious?? That’s nothing! I’ll show you vicious!” You crouched on the ground, scooping up more snow and forming a loosely packed ball, chucking it at him before rapidly repeating the process. From your position on the ground, you could really only hit his legs, but it seemed to be plenty effective anyway as he shouted playful threats at you. “Surrender!”

“Never!” Another snowball sailed just over your head.

“You leave me no choice.” You grabbed a handful of snow, suddenly charging at him while he had his back turned to gather snow off the sidewalk behind him. Grabbing hold of the collar of his jacket, you shoved the handful of snow down his back. He yelped in surprise, jumping up and shaking the snow out of his coat.

“Alright! Alrihihight! I yield!” he protested, holding his hands up in surrender. “Next time you want to have a snowball fight, warn me so I can wear the proper attire, hmm?”

“Where would be the fun in that?” you teased, picking up your shopping bags from the sidewalk where you’d haphazardly dropped them. You grinned victoriously at Tom as you passed by him on your way into the apartment, with him heading in behind you.

You shrugged your jacket off and hung it on the coat rack, placing your purchases on the kitchen island to start setting up the cookie ingredients. Tom was surprisingly quiet for a few moments – you’d expected him to complain about the fact that you’d shoved snow down his shirt.

“Are you giving me the silent treatment, Tom?” you asked teasingly, turning around to look at him only to find he wasn’t there. “Uh, Tom? Where’d you go?”

“Right here, love.”

You nearly jumped at the proximity of his voice behind you, not realizing he’d walked around the kitchen island without you seeing him. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, and you leaned back into his embrace.

“I need you to help me with something.”

“Oh? And what’s that, your throwing aim?” you teased.

“No – I need you to help warm up my cold hands.”

Before your brain could process the implication of his request, he’d slid both hands beneath the hem of your shirt, pressing his ice-cold fingers into the bare skin of your belly. You shrieked, both from the cold and the ticklish sensation when his fingertips grazed gently against your skin.

“TOM IT’S SO COHOLD!!” you cried, twisting to escape his embrace but only succeeding in causing his hands to shift around on your belly, chilling more of your warm skin.

“I know it is. That’s why I need you to help warm them.”

“NOHO GET THEM OUT!”

“Mm, no, I think not. It’s only fair, considering you are the reason my hands are so cold in the first place.” He pressed his icy palms flat against your belly to increase the cold surface area. “Hmm. This isn’t working. Maybe if I move my hands around a bit to gather more warmth…” He wiggled his cold fingertips into the sensitive skin, and you doubled over with a shrill squeal. Somehow, the icy chill of his cold hands served to amplify the ticklish sensation, setting your nerves alight with every pass of his fingertips.

“TOHOHOM!!” Your knees buckled underneath you, sliding slowly to the floor as he followed you down.

“Darling, where are you going?” His hands slid around to your sides, crawling up to your ribs. You grabbed hold of his hands through your shirt, pushing them down and away from the spot you just knew he was aiming for.

“NOHO TOM DOHON’T YOU DAHAHARE!!”

“Don’t I dare what? Oh… you mean… this?” His fingers found his favorite tickle spot on the backs of your ribs, causing your laughter to become shrieky and desperate. His hands weren’t so cold now, at least, but god if it didn’t tickle SO badly.

“OK! O-OKAHAHAY!! YOU WIHIHIN!” You let out a giggly sigh of relief when he finally removed his hands from your ribs, slipping them back out from beneath the hem of your shirt and hugging you tight around the waist.

“Sorry, love – I couldn’t resist,” he whispered in your ear teasingly, kissing your cheek.

“Remind me never to start a snowball fight with you if you aren’t wearing gloves,” you groaned playfully. “Help me up, will you?”

“Certainly.” He stood, lifting you up off the floor with ease and setting you back on your feet. You turned around, poking a finger into his chest.

“I’m going to get you for that, Thomas,” you threatened, a bright grin on your face. He laughed, removing your hand from his chest to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“I imagine you’ll try.”

You scoffed, returning your attention to the cookie ingredients on the counter. You turned on some holiday music while Tom pulled your mixer off the top shelf of the cabinet for you (after the strainer incident, he wasn’t letting you climb on counters when he could easily get things for you), and you started mixing the butter and sugar. You measured and added the dry ingredients while Tom mixed up the cinnamon sugar coating for the cookies. Before long, the sugary, doughy smell was filling the kitchen.

“Uh… darling, did you forget something?” Tom asked suddenly.

“Huh? No, I don’t think so… I added the flour… mixed in the eggs…” You skimmed over the recipe, trying to figure out what he could be referring to. After a moment, he gently grasped your shoulders and turned you to face the oven. “What… oh. Aheh.”

“The last I checked, the oven needs to be on to actually bake the cookies,” Tom teased. You grinned sheepishly, programming the oven to preheat.

“Well, we’ve got a few extra minutes to get the cookie dough on the baking sheet,” you shrugged. “Here –“ You handed him a spoon, gesticulating to the mixing bowl. “Scoop some cookie dough onto that baking sheet, and I’ll work on this baking sheet here.”

“As you wish.”

You busied yourself placing even-sized dollops of dough on your sheet, spacing them evenly to allow space for them to spread as they baked. Halfway through, you glanced up to check on Tom’s progress, surprised to find there were only two dollops of dough on his sheet.

“What are you… hey!” Your eyes fell on a guilty-looking Tom, spoon halfway in his mouth. “I know the dough is delicious, but save some for baking, would you?”

“Apologies, darling – it’s just so good, I couldn’t help myself.”

“Well, no more taste-testing – you’ve had quite enough,” you scolded teasingly, wagging your spoon in his face for emphasis. With a final warning look, you turned back to your own baking sheet.

Something in the back of your mind told you he wasn’t finished being mischievous. You slowly lifted your gaze, finding that he was doing exactly as you’d expected – licking more cookie dough off the spoon.

“Oh, you little sneak!” You dropped your spoon into the bowl and lunged for him, latching both hands onto his ribs and digging your fingers in, eliciting a surprised yelp.

“Hehehey!” Tom pushed at your hands, spoon still grasped in his hand as you fought to keep your hold on him. He reached one hand out toward your side, which you promptly dodged and side-stepped around behind him to wrap your arms around his waist, swiftly clawing into his belly.

“Uh-uh! You need to learn a lesson! And I still owe you payback!” you cried, somehow evading his hands as you scribbled into any ticklish spot you could reach in rapid succession. Finally dropping the spoon, he reached around behind himself to try to grab for your sides, but you took the opportunity to shoot your hands up under his arms, halting his attack attempt in favor of clamping his arms to his sides.

“Ahalright!! Darling plehehease!” he pleaded, making your heart skip.

“Did I just make you beg? I’ve never been so proud of myself!” you teased, easing up and sliding your hands back down to his sides to keep him giggling. He hooked his hands around yours, and you allowed him to push you away this time, grinning victoriously up at him as he turned around to face you.

“You’re just asking for it today, aren’t you, love?”

Before he could retaliate, the oven beeped to signal it was preheated, and you took over setting cookie dough on Tom’s baking sheet so he couldn’t keep sneaking more tastes before it was baked. At last, you slid the filled baking sheets in the oven and set the timer for ten minutes, taking a seat at the kitchen island to wait. Tom sat himself down beside you, looking at you with a smile.

You knew there was probably not going to be a better time to talk to him about your plans for the holidays. Noelle was still out at work, and you had nothing else to distract you while you waited for the cookies to finish baking. The upbeat melody of Winter Wonderland was playing softly in the background as the apartment began to fill with the warm smell of cinnamon cookies.

“You seem to have something on your mind.” Tom gave you a curious look, catching your gaze. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“Oh… just thinking about the holidays this year.” You tried to sound casual, but your mind and heart were both racing as you tried to come up with the best way to discuss this. “I usually get to go see my family back home this time of year.”

“Well, aren’t you this year?” he asked.

“Yes… that’s the plan. At least, I think it is.” You looked down at your hands, playing absentmindedly with your fingers.

“You think it is?”

“Well…” You took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I just… wasn’t sure what your plans were for the holidays.”

“I see.” Tom appeared thoughtful, watching you carefully as you avoided his eye. “And… why might that be?”

“I was… kind of hoping that you might want to… celebrate the holidays with me. With… my family?” You lifted your gaze slightly to look up at him through your eyelashes, biting your bottom lip with nervousness. He smiled brightly, a rumbling laugh escaping his chest.

“Why do you seem so nervous, darling? Do you think I wouldn’t want to meet your family?” He reached over to grasp your hand in both of his. “I would love nothing more than to meet your family. I simply didn’t want to push you if you weren’t ready for that.”

“Really?” An involuntary smile tugged at your lips. “You don’t mind that it will be my whole family? Like… all of my family?”

“I don’t mind at all.”

“And you don’t mind that we’d be staying at my parents’ house?”

“Sounds wonderful.”

You squeezed his hand in yours, leaning forward to kiss him. “I love you. So much.”

“And I love you.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead just as the oven timer went off, grinning at you as you sprang up from the stool to retrieve the cookies from the oven. Carefully, you scooped the cookies onto a cooling rack, resisting the urge to take a bite of a molten hot cookie. “They smell delicious.”

“See? Wasn’t it worth actually baking them and not just eating all the batter?” you teased. “Now you just have to wait a few minutes for them to cool.”

“Hmm.” He stood, taking a few steps toward you. “I can think of a good way to spend those few minutes.”

“Tom… noho, don’t even…” You backed away as he advanced, wiggling his fingers in the air teasingly at you. “No, no, we’re even now!”

“As I recall, it was you who started the snowball fight, and it was you who got the last laugh. I believe that means it’s my turn.”

He lunged toward you suddenly, eliciting a shriek from your lips as you turned and ran down the hallway toward your room, hoping to close the door before he could get to you. He was one step too quick for you, his hand preventing the door from closing all the way while the other wrapped around your waist, scooping you off the ground into his arms and kneading his fingers into your ribs where his hand rested on your side. Your giggles filled the room as you swung your legs to try to escape his hold.

But you didn’t really want to. This was exactly where you wanted to be. And you just couldn’t wait to start making travel plans with Tom for the holidays.

Part 7

[demivampirew]

Merry F*cking Christmas

 A Christmas’ lover Henry x a holiday hater Reader

Trigger: angst; couple fighting; a few tears - but also fluff.

A/N: I came up with this story after thinking about why I hate Christmas and the experiences of reader are some things that actually happened to me. This story is like my own Xmass coping mechanism 🤣 

Kal cocked his head, letting his tongue out; it looked as if he was smiling while watching his daddy decorate the tree.

 You loved your boyfriend more than words could express but, Gosh, it annoyed so much how much he loved Christmas. There were still a few days until the holiday and, he was already planning the celebration: choosing the food, the music, the movies you two would watch after midnight and on Christmas’ day. Henry went as far as choosing the outfit he wanted to wear that night.

 The big puppy walked across the room to where you were sitting, while drinking beer and watching tv while rolling your eyes, annoyed at your boyfriend’s jolly Christmas’ mood. The Akita stared at you for a few moments, as if he was trying to decipher something.

“Leave her Kal, mommy hates Christmas,” Henry said with a playful tone. “But, hopefully, once this baby is done, the Christmas spirit will possess her.” he finished, smirking. Once more, you rolled your eyes as you got up and went into the kitchen to grab another beer and to prepare dinner while Mr Christmas was busy decorating the tree.

“Voilà!” your man exclaimed excited once you were back on the room. The tree was fully decorated and it looked like one of those that you see on movies - or a small version of the ones that are on malls/shopping centres.

He was expecting a different reaction than the one you got: shrugging and sitting on the couch. Any other person would have given up by that point but not Henry; he was determined to get you to enjoy the holidays.

After a moment, he sat next to you and hold mistletoe over you and with a playful smile he asked for a kiss. In any other circumstances, you would not hesitate and would agree immediately but now it was different: this was not an “I love you kiss” this was a form for you to agree that you were ok with all that Christmas’ sh*t. You looked at him, irritated and fix your eyes on the tv again.

No matter how annoyed you looked, Henry would not simply give up. He insisted to get you on a holiday mood. He would put songs and dance around with Kal, among other things. Finally, as you turned off the stove because dinner was ready, he approached you and put a Santa hat that he got for you as a surprise.

“STOP! SERIOUSLY; STOP IT!” you shouted angrily while grabbing the hat and throwing it on the floor and walking away,

 It must have been around 8 pm. All daylights were gone and now the only light was the one provided by the moon. You were sitting on the garden, wishing you would have brought a blazer because it was freezing outside. Around half an hour after being there in the cold of the night, you felt a cosy and warm blanket on your back. You didn’t need to look to know who provided you with it.

“Thank you,” you said without looking at him.

“You’re welcome” he replied after sitting by your side. He also stared at the moon. “I didn’t want to bother you but, I didn’t want you to freeze either,” he explained.

Minutes went by as you sat in silence looking at anything but each other. This was the first year together and you never have fought - maybe you had one or two small arguments, but nothing like that.

“I’m sorry I tried to force you to like Christmas when I now you don’t. It was selfish of me. I’m truly sorry” he apologized as he fixed his eyes on you, waiting for a response.

“I’m sorry I shouted at you. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry for that” you replied as you looked at him, feeling bad for your earlier outburst.

“You don’t need to apologize for that, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” you replied as you sighed. “I should never scream at you, especially not for something as silly as that. It’s just that... I don’t...” you were having a hard time finding the words to explain things up “ The reason I hate Christmas is that they bring up memories and feelings that I don’t want.” you confessed “I used to love Christmas. When I was a child, I loved the holidays as much as you do but, when I was around 13 or 14, my parents decided to stop going to my uncle’s house to celebrate it with the rest of the family. For then on, we would just stay at our house and “celebrated it” on our own. But, to be honest, I was the only one on the mood to do so; the rest would not even dress up for it. Then, we would fight constantly and after a few years, we ended up eating at different times and the celebrations ceased. I tried a few times to celebrate it with friends but something bad would always happen. One time a friend broke up with her boyfriend and we all had to witness the fight and it was awful.” You looked at the grass, as you took a moment before continuing. “Has ever happened to you to speak happily about something you love and nobody listened to you so you pretend that you didn’t say a word to avoid looking stupid and the humiliation of being completely ignored? Well, that’s exactly what I do. The “I hate Christmas” narrative is my coping mechanism. If I hate the holidays, I cannot be hurt when other people don’t give a f about it.” As you finished your explanation, you realized something that you haven’t thought about before you put your feelings into words “Which is exactly what I’m doing to you...sh*t! I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel ignored and silly for loving the holidays” you apologized profusely.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied as he grabbed your hand and kissed it. “But now that I know that you do enjoy Christmas, why don’t we celebrate it properly? Making gingerbread cookies, music and all stereotypical things that seemed lame but are cute?” he proposed with a big smile.

“Because I don’t want to get enjoy Christmas if there’s a possibility of losing that.”

“What do you mean by that?” he asked confused.

“What if someday we broke up? The last thing I need is another reason for this time of the year to be painful” you admitted.

“What makes you think we would break up? I don’t know about you but, I don’t see this relationship ending. I just don’t.” he told you as he smiled “I don’t want to live my life in the “what if”, scared; I rather live my life to the fullest and if that happens, I’ll deal with it afterwards. To prevent me from enjoying things out of the possibility of someday those things becoming painful memories is insane because they cannot be painful if you didn’t enjoy them. A hurtful memory becomes that because at one point it made you happy.”

His resonated with you. You have never thought about it. He was right, it was silly not to enjoy something out of fear of losing it.

 After a sweet, reconciliation kiss, you stood up and walked towards the warm house to eat dinner and to take pictures with the amazing tree that he decorated.

You can find more of my writings in the Masterlist

[bagadew]

The Great Ace Attorney Playthrough: The Case of the Unbreakable Speckled Band (Part 3b)

Last Time: After being discovered in Miss Pavlova’s cabin, things didn’t go as badly for us as we thought they would. In fact we got to dance around with Herlock Sholmes the Himbo Detective and discovered that Susato (and presumably someone at Capcom) really knows a lot about snakes, Nikolina has a pet kitten called Darka, and Kazuma apparently died by tripping over said kitten in a tragic accident. However, while it would probably be the best explanation for everyone involved, I’m not entirely sure it’s true as it still doesn’t explain the fact the crime scene was clearly tampered with.

Well it seems that, like me, Susato’s not entirely convinced Nikolina’s telling us the truth.

In fact, it looks like she’s sure of it.

You know, I didn’t expect to feel conflicted about finding Kazuma’s killer, but I kind of do...

Like, I came into this fully expecting to feel hatred and anger towards whoever did this. I was expecting to confront some hateful villain on a par with Miss Brett or Manfred Von Karma and to take satisfaction and vengeance in taking them down... but this isn’t that. There’s no conspiracy, no big untouchable threat, there’s just an abused and scared little girl who probably killed Kazuma because she thought he was going to kill her.

I don’t expect to feel good about taking Nikolina down. I think it’ll feel like when we had to go for Adrian Andrews... only this time she’s actually guilty.

I don’t have anything to add to Susato’s speech, other than it feels important to put it up, and it seems like a good show of who Susato is as a person.

You know, I’ve had a little difficulty pinning Susato down until now, but I think I’ve finally got her. Susato Mikotoba is a woman who believes in truth and justice, and will go to great lengths to reveal it... even if it hurts far more than the lie ever did.

Herlock’s been quiet for a while now, and I don’t think he’s still reeling from the snake business. It’s difficult to read his expression with his hat like that, so I can’t tell if he’s running through the crime scene in his mind, or if Susato’s words have struck a cord with him.

Wait WHAT?

Ah, ok. Herlock basically been using this whole thing as a distraction, and was planning to give everything over to Scotland Yard once we arrived home so they could deal with any ‘outstanding issues’.

(Also he’s handcuffed us again)

It hadn’t quite clicked before, but no one’s actually considered what Ryunosuke must be feeling. His best friend has just been murdered, and all almost everyone has done, has been to accuse him of killing him. Even among Hosonaga, and later Susato, Ryunosuke hasn’t got to really talk about his feelings, and I’m not sure if anyone’s actually given him the opportunity to do so.

With the next stop looming ever closer, I know we don’t exactly have the time to talk right now, but I hope Ryunosuke gets the chance once this is all done.

Ok, let’s do this.

Let’s run through what we know doesn’t fit so far:

1) The writing in Russian: not only is it in the wrong language but Kazuma died instantly, meaning that there’s next to no way he wrote this himself, and absolutely no way he did it if he died tripping over a kitten.

2) The ships log has been left blank from after 2am, meaning that who ever was probably in on it.

3) Half of Darka’s bell somehow found it’s way in Nikolina’s bin, meaning someone must have taken it from the crime scene.

4) If someone went into the cabin (which they must have done) they have to have pressed the emergence alarm after they left.

Let’s start with the biggest contradiction shall we? The photographic print.

Oh Nikolina, that’s not the issue here.

Ryunosuke’s got it.

Well done Ryunosuke.

I’m trying to work out what this could be. The bell half perhaps? But that’s something that was taken away surely.

Ok, so just something that proves it wasn’t an accident. Well I’m not too sure if it’s what I’m supposed to be looking for here, but I’ll present the mark on the floor and see what happens.

Oh thank god!

Well, not exactly Hosonaga, while it’s true that the tripped kitten explanation does explain how the bell was broken, it doesn’t explain why half of it made its way out of Kazuma’s room and into Nikolina’s bin.

Exactly Ryunosuke!

So, now that we’ve successfully proved someone was at the crime scene, let’s start working out who could have done it.

(TBH I still think that, while Nikolina killed Kazuma, Stroganoff was the person who tampered with the crime scene. The writing just feels a bit too calculated to be Nikolina, especially if she killed Kazuma out of fear.)

Ah, I was wondering when you’d have enough Stroganoff.

He’s basically saying that we already know I (Ryunosuke) was in the room, and that if what I’m saying is true then it has to be me as the door was bolted from the inside.

However, as I (both Ryunosuke and me) have zero knowledge of Russian, it’s impossible for me to have written the message. What we do have however, is knowledge as to how the door was bolted from the outside, which we must be getting close to revealing.

That’s... a really good question actually. Why didn’t they just take the whole thing?

Ah, I see. I was looking at this from the eyes of someone from the modern era of electric lights, rather than with the eyes of someone who lives with jolly old Victorian lighting. The floor wasn’t visible enough to make out half of a cats bell.

Shit... she’s their kid...

You know, while we still don’t know exactly how Nikolina came onboard this ship, I’d kind of assumed that the sailors (or perhaps someone affiliated with them) had found her trying to stow away or hiding down by the docks, and taken pity on her and decided to help her out. Because, I thought, there was no way Nikolina would reach out to strangers for help, given how scared she is. But the answer is that they weren’t strangers. They were family.

That’s why they’ve all been ready to risk everything without hesitation, even if it means covering up a murder. She’s their kid, and I’m about to make them watch it all be for nothing.

Yeah, Ryunosuke... it is...

(I love the way these spirits combine together. Nikolina looks even smaller and younger next to Stroganoff, and her hiding behind him while his fighting stance partly shields her does a good job of showing how things are for them right now. It makes me think of images of cornered animals protecting their young.)

Because he’s lying, but then I think you’ve already figured that out.

My time has come.

Susato, it’s ok. I’ve got this, you don’t need to make us look bad by suggesting things you know aren’t true.

DON’T PASS THE BUCK TO ME!!!

(Again, me an Rynosuke operate on the same wavelength now)

OH MY GOD, THE HIMBO DETECTIVE MADE A PROPER DEDICATION ALL ON HIS OWN!!!

HELL YEAH I DO!!!

Look at him go! He’s even using Susato’s fancy words to explain it!

And there goes the bolt on the door!

Now we’re explaining that the emergency stop button can be pressed at various different points around the ship, including, crucially, just outside these two cabins.

Oh Susato, you know as well as I do that this whole things had Herlock’s fingerprints all over it.

(Important information, along with not being trusted with a pet, do not trust Herlock Sholmes with any machinery or control panels)

To be honest this is the appropriate reaction. We’re at sea Herlock! Don’t mess with the thing that stands between us and drowning!

Herlock ‘But Did You Die’ Sholmes: Now lets not lose sight of the fact I got us evidence.

And the worst part is that he’s right.

Not if you drugged everyone!

I think it’s finally time to bring up the blank ships log.

Ok team, Herlock’s in charge of our excuses from now on!

We’re going through the fact that the log was blank, which with Stroganoff’s meticulous ritual of writing: Nothing to Report, every half hour on the dot, means that there definitely was something to report.

We sure are suggesting that Susato!

Not if you were drugged Hosonaga!

HE MADE ANOTHER PROPER DEDUCTION!!! I’M SO PROUD!!!

Ok, have the drugs finally worn off on Herlock’s brain, because he’s saying really smart things now. Or is it just that he’s taking things seriously rather than using this whole thing as a distraction?

Susato’s got it too!

So, because it’s such a large scale job, it couldn’t have been pulled off by any one person, meaning that the entire crew must have been in on it.

(Poor drugged Hosonaga, they really identified you weren’t one of them the second you set foot on this ship didn’t they?)

Now see, the problem with this strategy, is that while Bif might not be happy about the rest of his crew getting into trouble, I feel like this is a Murder on the Orient Express scenario, in the sense that everyone involved fully acknowledge the risks and came into this prepared to go down if necessary.

Yeah, he’s not happy, but he’s not cracking.

In fact, I’m not sure anything could cause him to crack. He is the one person’s standing between Nikolina and (potentially) death. I can’t see any way he’s going to back down.

I understand now, Herlock wasn’t aiming for him. Because they’re Nikolina’s family too.

It seems to be just like we suspected. Nikolina asked them to help her escape, and so, as one, the crew agreed to help her. They put sleeping drugs in the chicken so no one would notice what was happening, and got one of their comrades on the shore of Shanghai to take her to the ship at midnight.

Here’s the problem we have now though. Now she’s covering for them. Even if I’m wrong about Stroganoff or another member of the crew writing the message, the ships log means that they either knew or found out, and I can’t imagine they would have sat by and done nothing.

Wait a second though. We met Nikolina in her cabin, which means she must have got back inside some way or another. She couldn’t have done that if she was the one who pressed the alarm. I think this could be a way to establish someone must have helped her.

They’re still fighting, and to be honest I didn’t expect anything else. They’re both protecting each other now and it’s going to take nothing but evidence to make them budge.

I’m going to be perfectly honest Herlock, you’ve kind of lost me.

In fact I think you’ve lost most of the room...

ITS TIME FOR DANCE OF DEDUCTION 3: I WAS HOPPING I’D HAVE UNTIL THE NEXT CASE TO THINK UP A NAME!

Ryunosuke, don’t play dumb. We must dance!

(Or observe, that’s good too)

Right, well we’ve worked out Stroganoff was the one who did the fabrication, so we should probably focus on him first.

Got you.

To be honest I’m at a loss as to how he got some of the ink round there. Perhaps he knocked the ink over when he was sorting the crime scene out.

Or perhaps it was on his finger and he accidentally rubbed it over when he held his hands like this?

... I thought so...

:(

So, just after one in the morning, Bif was patrolling the corridor when a scared an pail Nikolina came up to him desperate for help. He followed her to Kazuma’s cabin and found him on the floor. Apparently the event before went on like Nikolina said, only instead of luring Darka through the vent, she went next door because she was worried about the sounds she’d heard through the vent.

... he’s still shielding her isn’t he?

I think Susato knows it too.

The problem is, that Nikolina’s following Bif’s lead. Perhaps if we had the chance to talk to her alone we’d know we were getting the truth, but not with Bif there. And to be honest I’m not sure I can really blame either of them for that.

I’m not 100% sure to be honest. And I don’t think I will be until this case is closed.

I’ll take that as not being done then.

I have no idea...

(His fist was closed, could that be the issue?)

(Thank you god of video games!)

OPEN WITH THAT NEXT TIME HERLOCK!

Yeah, we’re not going to be able to guess!

Nikolina’s earring!

Which he couldn’t have had if he was dead when she came in!

(Stroganoff’s face seems to suggest that we’ve reached the final curtain.)

I don’t think either of them can explain away this.

(Again, lead with the earring next time Herlock)

Things are in the right order now.

He let her in. He thought she was Hosonaga so he let her in.

It’s all going fine right now, but we know how this ends.

Of course he did, just by looking at Nikolina you can see she’s been through a lot, and besides, Kazuma has a secret all of his own.

Here we go. Whatever it might be, the thing that triggered Nikolina’s survival instinct is coming.

Ah shit...

You know, since the moment Darka disappeared through that vent, I’m not sure things were ever going to end differently. Kazuma was always going to open the door, he was always going to help the frightened girl he found there, and being the incredibly quick man that he was, he was always going to recognize her.

And Kazuma was always going to want to look into the situation, and that was always going to tip Nikolina into a panic. And then sooner or later she was going to lash out in what seemed to her to be necessary self defence.

Here it is.

Oh!?

So this wasn’t the trigger. But then what was?

Oh no. He was going to get Ryunosuke from the wardrobe. The wardrobe Nikolina couldn’t possibly grasp the significance of, but that was right next to the bell cord.

(Also didn’t I say the captain was somehow to blame?)

(What do you guys say we chalk it up to him and put this whole business behind us?)

(And yes I do know that I’m stalling again)

... in a panic you struck out... and he stumbled... and hit his head on the way down...

I see, so Darka put him off balance first. And so when you pushed him he he hit his head on the bedpost.

Fear, adrenaline, and a lack of judgment due to stress and trauma. Perhaps if this had happened on any day other than the one where you’d just fled things would have been different, but maybe not. It’s hard to tell.

And we know the rest...

Stroganoff cleared away as much of Nikolina’s presence as he could find, and in doing so found Ryunosuke asleep in the wardrobe. It must have seemed like fate was giving him a stranger who could take the fall instead of his kid.

So Nikolina was the one who ‘cleared away’ the bell. That explain why some of it was left behind, and why it ended up in her bin. Stroganoff would probably have thrown it overboard.

What’s that?

I see, that’s a good question.

What he said about the inspector...

Oh dear.

Hosonaga, you were literally drugged at the time, and I’m still pretty sure you were set up to fail (which does raise the question of what would have happened to Kazuma if Nikolina hadn’t killed him)

Susato?

I see, she’s realized that he was going for Ryunosuke, thus slotting the final piece of this whole tragedy neatly into place.

(These two cases are really going all out in very different ways. The next one better let me relax and have fun Maskqu de Masque style. I’m not sure I can take much more of this.)

Here it comes, the unnecessariness of the whole murder.

:(

Yeah...

:((

Ryunosuke’s best friend has been murdered because of the misunderstandings of a child, and he’s been raked over the coals because of that. While it might not be the kindest thing to say for Nikolina, it’s an important thing to say for Ryunosuke, and I feel he’s justified in saying it.

In fact it would probably be a bad sign if he didn’t say this. He’s as much of a victim in this whole affair as anyone. I’m glad he’s at least getting an apology from Nikolina, even though it’s unfortunately gone past the point where that would be useful.

It’s finally over, and just as I predicted it doesn’t feel good.

HOSONAGA SATURO YOU HEAL LIKE A CHAMP!

‘It’s just a scratch’, you said.

‘Go to a hospital’, we cried.

‘No need, just give me a few hours to click my face back into position and pass me back my glasses lenses and I’ll be fine’

Hosonaga, you are unkillable and this is exactly why you’re superiors had to resort to shipping you out.

Ok, enough fun declaring Hosonaga to be our new god. Let’s go back to the serious and depressing business of Nikolina.

So, it seems like Nikolina will be handed over to Scotland Yard, and Herlock will sort things out with the immigrations office so she doesn’t have to go back to Russia.

Also the way they’re talking about her future means that she’s not going to be executed (thank god), which makes sense given that she committed manslaughter rather than murder. Whether or not she goes to prison will probably depend on the judge as, while she has the fact that she’s a white female child, she is also not English and speaks with a strong accent, and therefore, is going to be subjected to a lot of Xenophobia.

Hm?

Ah.

Again, I’m glad Ryunosuke’s getting these apologies.

Wait, are you sure Stroganoff? Like yeah, you’re not going to get done for murder, and the whole defending a kid thing will  play of pretty well in court (plus the man you accused wasn’t English and has a less white skin tone than you). But you are also a Russian man with a strong accent and you won’t be able to fall back on being a child or let the evils of sexism and xenophobia fight each other.

Well at least we’re free again, even if we’re in a worst place than when we started.

You know he will Ryunosuke. And given how well he was defending her till now, I think he might just succeed.

But we have to get to England to make Kazuma’s dream come true!

Herlock, can you come to us again in our hour of need? I know we have a lot of them but...

:(

:(

(I swear to god this game is shooting for my jugular)

We’re holding Kazuma’s sword, aka, his spirit. Please don’t make me let it go game.

Is it too much to ask for them to hug? I think they both need it.

Hold us Hosonaga.

(Though not me (Eleanor). Instinct tells me we must remain two meters apart so our weird lungs don’t accidentally take each other out.)

(I cannot be the person who killed Hosonaga)

(And yes I am trying  to lighten the mood with my talk of genetic lung conditions because I’m aware it’s only going to get sadder)

(Told you)

There was nothing you could have done Hosonaga, and it’s become my own private mission now to find a way to prove that to you.

:(((

Game are we going to have to sail to England on Hosonaga’s guilt?

I’m aware that you’ve got a whole fun game lined up over there, but is this really the only way?

Can’t we just go to Japanfornia instead, track down Amy Fey (if she’s even been born yet) and get Kazuma back on our team?

No... ok...

Exactly!

WHAT! WHY AM I BACK IN HANDCUFFS!??

HERLOCK SHOLMES COME OUT HERE RIGHT NOW, THIS IS ONLY A LITTLE BIT FUNNY!

He’s amusing himself at least...

(You know what, I’ve decided right now that this is a family friendly blog, so no, I’m not going to say what I’m thinking. You can’t make me.)

Also read the room Herlock, the three of us were having a moment!

Nice save.

Ryunosuke’s trying to throw himself under the buss and send Susato and Herlock and Hosonaga off to go live out the rest of the game without him.

Sorry Ryunosuke, but you’re the protagonist. We can’t leave without you.

That’s it! Ryunosuke, you’re naturally good at lawyering! It’s time for you to take up Kazuma’s mantle!

Am I chopped liver to you Susato?

Are we doing a studying montage on the ship over?

Yes Ryunosuke!

Training montage Hosonaga!

You can help! Teach me how to be the crime scene thief and not give a damn!

(Actually on second thoughts, maybe you should sit this one out and offer moral support instead)

Said Hosonaga, knowing that I wasn’t.

(*Eye of the tiger starts to play*)

I CAN LEARN ENOUGH TO WING IT HOSONAGA!

HELL YEAH!!!

Oh good, I’d forgotten about Kazuma’s morally ambiguities loose end.

(Probably because every character I fancy has one of them and it’s no longer anything to write home about.)

Let’s do this Susato, me an you all the way!

Hosonaga? You cool too?

Wait, now is not the time to be sensible Hosonaga! Remember when we got Miss Brett? That was against protocol and it meant we got to see her take off via her big hat! (Although we didn’t get justice and it ended with you being shipped out, but let’s not dwell on that.)

Hosonaga normally (while shovelling three tables worth of crockery into his bag): Nothing will get in my way! I’ll lay my life on the line if I have to! I will strait up ignore the rules if I think they are unjust!

Hosonaga when Herlock is present: I have never broken a rule in my life, nor would I ever do so. I am the most sensible and down to earth man you will ever meet, please ignore the way I am dressed right now.

What happened Hosonaga, did you watch me and Herlock doing our dance of deduction and immediately decided someone had to be the adult and it might as well be you?

Or... did watching Herlock roll around on the floor and cling like a limpet to the walls make you wonder that this is how you come across?

Because to be honest you were loudly declaring yourself the Crime Scene Thief just last trial... so I don’t think you’ll ever be able to create too much contrast in our eyes.

Come on Crime Scene Thief!

Herlock’s aiming right for Hosonaga’s canonically shit schooling with those words.

Remember who you are Hosnaga! You’re the badass who lay his life on the line for us!

(I like how much Herlock’s talking Ryunoskue up, I guess this makes up for the fact he handcuffed us again for the asthenic)

Hooray!!! Hosonaga’s taking us to Disneyland England!

“Hello, this is Saturo Hosanaga. Just calling to say that I’ve done it again... yes I understand that my breaking the rules makes you sad, but I simply will not stop... well you see, they’re unfair and heavily biased in your favour. Also we both know if you could have stopped me you would have done so long ago. Goodbye.”

Capcom! Stop trying to make me get to England off of Hosonaga’s guilt!

Allow me to come with you, or at the very least please borrow the KBS (Kazuma’s big sword) for protection.

Goodbye Hosonaga... until we meet again...

But (and I need to make this very clear Capcom gods) not my mentor!

The KBS!

We will guard this with our lives!

(Karuma huh? That name sounds faintly familiar.)

(Ok Google, now play Eye Of The Tiger)

WE ARN’T DOING THIS AGAIN CAPCOM! PUT THOSE DEATH FLAGS DOWN!

Oh thank god, she just wants to be even!

Ryunosuke, are you sure you’re even able to do that?

You heard the lady Ryunosuke. (And no this totally isn’t because I want to see if you’re even able to do it.)

Booo

Herlock, I love you, but...

KICK HIS ASS SUSATO!!!

WHY ME!!!

Poor sweet Ryunosuke...

Ah, I see it’s time to be sad again.

Oh Kazuma, what were you up to?

Anyways, that’s it for The Adventure of the Unbreakable Speckled Band. Join me next time for The Adventure of the Runaway Room!

[jojo-fantasy-aus]

Fantasy AU!

Josuke x F! Reader- CH 1.

First post, yay! This will be a longer series, so feel free to give me any criticism or suggestions!

-----

  Being born into a peasant family was definitely not the greatest way to secure a happy life, but you made due with it. Your mother was a seamstress, father a carpenter, and you made it a point to learn everything you could from both of them. The more skills you had, the more likely you were to get a better job, and in turn, create a better life for you and your family.

  And that was exactly what you did. You managed to get a job at the Royal Palace, a favor from some family friends, and quickly moved up the ranks. Everyone knew that it was because you were kind, and had made a good impression on the king, but you'd rather say that it was because of all the hard work you had done.

  You had been the head lady-in-waiting for some time now, and had thought you'd seen everything. The Crown Princess, your beautiful best friend, tended to always get into some sort of trouble. You always made a point to try and prepare yourself for any incoming inconveniences, but today was... different.

  "I just don't understand why Father makes me go to these things!" You hummed in response, currently focused on lacing up the powder pink dress she was to wear tonight. The beautiful fabrics elegantly draping just below her ankles, you regarded the dress with pride, it was one of your mother's designs. She was over the moon when Yukako asked for one to be made for the People's Gala.

  The People's Gala was more of a festival than anything. An outdoor event, and  favorite of everyone in the kingdom. The festival was a kindness the king gave the commoners every year to show his gratitude. It was a wonderful tool to keep the everyone in the kingdom happy.

  "Well, there isn't another crown princess to attend for you, Yukako." She huffed, standing patiently still as you tightened her corset to a breathable squeeze. You checked her hem for any stains or rips once more, and stood once you were done, making sure she could move around just fine. Smiling a bit when you remembered something that was sure to lift her spirits.

  "You know, rumor around the Palace is that the page boy you like will be attending. Koichi Hirose, was it?" Yukako's icy face lifted immediately, excitedly turning around to clutch your hands. She opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly closed it. Brows furrowed, frowning. You already knew what she was thinking. A ball of sadness and empathy forming in the pit of your chest.

 "I'm sure he wouldn't want to see me again. Not after what happened." You had almost forgotten. You sighed, the princess had... a bit of a manic episode a while back. Focusing on Koichi in an... unhealthy amount. Needless to say, he had become quite wary of her. But she still snuck glances at him when she attended the royal library during her studies. You had never been in love yourself, but you knew enough about it to know she had it bad.

  "I'm sure he won't be too flighty Yukako. At least you will be able to see him once again?" You murmur half-heartedly, briskly making your way around the room to blow out rose-sented candles and put things you had used to get her ready back in place.

  "I suppose..." you let out a pitiful chuckle, hoping that your friend would feel better once she was at the gala. It had become her favorite, but only because she always seemed to be able to speak to Koichi as he shadowed the head page during the king's speech. You didn’t actually know Koichi that well, so you hoped for the princess' sake that he had forgiving mannerisms.

  You quickly brought the Princess' shoes out, and laced up your own boots as she put them on. Smoothing out your plain blue skirt as you stood, you held out an arm to escort the princess. Usually it was unseemly to see a woman escorting another, but Yukako refused to let anyone else escort her. The king only allowed it because you managed to keep her out of trouble. (It was also partly due to the fact that she was too infatuated with Koichi to have eyes for a woman.)

  The walk down to the palace gates was unfortunately, and uncomfortably, long. Yukako was squirming in her corset the entire time, desperately trying to look ladylike while she did. You tapped her arm lightly, a simple reminder to keep her composure. Servants and cooks were running around the ground floor like crazy, frantically trying to get everything together. Weaving in and out if the fray was quite tiring, but eventually the two of you made it to the gates unscathed.

  Vendor tents were proped up as far as the eye could see, sweet smells floating in the breeze to antagonize those who had not yet eaten. The guards let you through with a wave as you and Yukako prepared yourselves for the onslaught of people along the streets.

  The tents were all decorated beautifully, flowers and suns and other symbols painted on the cloth roofing. The setting sun casting a beautiful golden hue on everything and everyone. Those who recognized the princess bowed and curtsied as you passed, and those who didn't just waved and gawked at her beautiful dress. Some simply said nothing, as her cold outside demeanor seemed a bit intimidating. You knew yourself that she could be a bit scary when she wanted to be, but right now she was in awe. Looking at all the vendors with a sparkle in her eye. It was good to see her be herself in public for once.

  "Try not to get too enamored, Princess, your father wants us to meet him for his speech. Knowing him we'll be there all day."  You mused, leading her through the crowd carefully, keeping away from alleys and sketchy figures. You knew you were probably being overly cautious, but for some reason you just felt the need to be careful. Nerves welling in your stomach telling you so. Having always had correct gut feelings, you search for something else to focus on to mask the concern, not wanting Yukako to lose her cool herself.

  You thought about that for a moment, no, Yukako would never be thrown into a panic due to gut feelings. She'd be a bit more defensive maybe, but she'd never let weakness like that show.

   Every once and a while you would pass a few royal guardsmen watching over the festival, you made a point to wave at them when you could to make sure they were watching you and the princess. This settling sense of anxiety was pointless, you knew, but you certainly would rather take precautions then suffer the consequences.

  At last, you had finally made it to the gazebo. Elegant white and gold trim framed the marble pillars, ceiling slumped in a slender tent-shape. It had been freshly cleaned, but the doves still fluttered about in the rafters. The king was atop a temporary throne, speaking to his advisors. The knights at all four corners bowed as you two carefully ascended the steps.

  "Yukako! Dear, just who I wanted to see!" The king cheered when he spotted her, calling out your name just after. The king was a rather large, jolly man. He wasn't quite handsome, not to the point of being ugly, but needless to say it was hard to believe that Yukako had come from, well, him. The king's crown sat grandly upon his head, dressed in fine fabrics and deep indigo colors he certainly looked the part for his title.

  "I assume that there were no problems arriving?"

  "No, your majesty." The words fell from your mouth robotically, more of a reflex than an answer at this point.

  "Wonderful!" The king started to ramble on as he does, and your thoughts drifted to lunch, the chores awaiting you at home. You wanted to think about anything that could make the time possible pass faster. The king continued to drone on, always prone to these things. Yukako herself looked like she was about to fall asleep from boredom. Her arm slipped out of yours quite a bit ago, but you hadn't really noticed. Blankly staring at the king as he spoke about the splendid flower arrangements, and the farms that they came from.

  "Yes your majesty, the hydrangeas are quite beautiful." He heartily laughed, sending a friendly wink your way.

  "They always have been Yukako's favorite! Ever since she was a girl she- Yukako?" The king looked around with a confused look, you didn't understand why. The princess was  right next to you-

  But then again, she wasn't. She had disappeared from you side. You spun a around in a panic, searching through the wide, open, gazebo. She was nowhere to be found. You were right about the gut feeling yet again, weren't you. Panic built up from your stomach and pushed into your chest, overwhelming any other sense.

  "Princess?" You try your best to push the words out of your throat, turning to the side exit. Your eyes desperately search through the crowd. The king was talking to you, words muffled, you had blocked everything out, just until you saw a flash of pink in the crowd.

  "Hurry and find her!" And just like that, you took off in a sprint. Calling for her as you pushed through the crowd. Your heart was pounding in your ears. Didn't she know how dangerous this was? The least gaurded festival of them all and she decided to disappear like that? Was it even her own decision to run off, or was she taken. You didn't know, and you certainly couldn't rationize anything right now.

  The methodical feeling of your boots hitting the ground and pushing you forward was what you focused on to keep you calm. Step, push. Step, push. Rinse and repeat until you had almost collected your witts. There!-A flash of her pink skirt around the corner. You had found her. Or, you did, before your foot skidded across the gravel, and you plummeted to the ground. You slammed against the gravel, hard.

 "Whoah! Are you ok?" You pushed yourself off the ground as quickly as you could, but a pair of hands steadied you as you stood. They belonged to a taller man, blue eyes peering at you quizzically. He was a muscular build, probably a knight, you assumed. His hair was done up in such away that you would assume he was a royal, if it weren't his dirtied chain mail armor. You certainly had no time to gawk however. You tried to take off running once again, but he caught your arm.

  "Let me go!"

  "Just hold on a moment, would you? Why the rush? Are you being chased?" You didn’t have time for these questions! To no avail you tried to tug your arm away from him. And when you realized he wouldn't let you go you blurted out the only thing you could think of in that moment.

  "The princess is missing, I'm trying to find her, so let- Go!" His eyes widened, grip loosening for a split second, just enough for you to slip away. Once again sprinting in the direction you saw her last, turning the corner. The guy who had let you go was calling for you, and somehow made it to your side almost impossibly quick.

  The crowd started to become denser as the pathways winded farther away from the gazebo. Carts rumbling around the walkways and vendors passing out samples in the streets. Unwillingly you had started to slow, the man pulling ahead of you by just a bit.

  It was hard to pay attention to the people around you while you searched for Yukako. Bumping into one person and then another as you squeezed through the crowds. Turning your head just a bit you saw that the man still had an eyes on you. Peering over his shoulder as he ran. He mouthed something to you that you couldn't quite understand.

  You almost tripped again when he grabbed your hand, and yanked you into a makeshift alleyway.

 "What the hell do you think your doing!?" You yanked your hand away from him, running back to the entrance and trying to peer over the dense amount of people. Nothing. You started to get angry. Yukako could be in danger and you had lost her trail thanks to him.

  "I'm helping you find your princess." You wiped around in rage, a mouthful of words ready to fire. But once you looked past him, you saw that characteristically long hair, powder pink dress dirtied from her disappearance. A little man with silver hair, Koichi, defensively standing in front of her. You stood in shock, he did help you find her.

  "Oh, Josuke! Its just you," Koichi dropped his defensive demeanor, and Yukako's eyes followed him, completely enamored. She hardly even notice your disheveled, panicked self next to the handsome stranger that Koichi apparently knew.

  "Yeah, sorry for the interruption-" Your shock started to wear off a bit as they talked, relief and anger overwhelming your senses. Yukako was actually smiling as she watched Koichi talk though, at least she was happy.

  That's what you wanted to think anyway. You were too overwhelmed with emotion to think if anything but the fact that she wasn't hurt, and she was certainly not dead. Both men looked at you quizzically as you passed them and wrapped Yukako in a hug.

  "Yukako, what were you thinking?!" You had started to tear up, holding onto her tightly. You had forgotten about formalities just this once, thankful that your friend was ok. Once you let go of her she simply shrugged, pointing a sour look at you. Making eye contact and flicking her eyes to Koichi and back. Oh.

  You eyed Koichi with suspicion, and he immediately stiffened up, starting to ramble.

  "I'm sorry! I was just enjoying the festival and then I saw Yuka- her highness! And I thought she was lost so I-" Honestly it became harder to understand what he was saying the more he went on. The man from before, Josuke? Clapped a hand on Koichi's back, and he started to chill out a bit. Josuke looked up at you with a slight smile, and you almost blushed. He was quite handsome. You cleared your throat.

  "I suppose I should thank you. I'm sorry for the rudeness." He laughed, and you knew you were blushing, you tried your best to suppress whatever spell he had you under, treating it as a simple, shallow emotion that you wanted to rid yourself of.

  "Don't sweat it," He said curtly. "You had me thinking that she was in danger though, I'm a little pissed at that. But I don't mind." The crude words almost hung in the air, it was strange to hear people cursing so openly. You used to have the mouth of a sailor yourself, until the proper poise of the castle servants started to rub off on you too. Lord help the soul who curses in front of the king.

  "I know that her highness can be a bit unmanageable sometimes." His eyes grew serious, looking dead at you like the Princess wasn't even there. You could feel Yukako prickle behind you. She was definitely pissed. your face had twisted in a foul way at his words as well, but you pushed out a sigh, pushing down the defensive words you wanted to say because you knew he was right. 

   Koichi started to complain at Josuke's attitude and you almost felt relieved when his serious gaze shifted away from your own. You turned back to Yukako with a sigh as the friends bicker. She still had her eyes squarely on Koichi.

   "Yukako, what happened?" You whisper, lacing your hands together to resist popping your knuckles or fidgeting. Yukako folds her arms, dark gaze pointed at you once again. You probably would've been afraid if it weren't for the fact that you knew her well enough that she wasn't going to pose any threat as long as Koichi was around.

   "I'm not going to apologize because I'm not sorry. The old man should've known how boring his speeches were anyway." She explains why she ran off, Koichi was in the crowd, he waved, mouthing something to her. She ran over to him on impulse, and he panicked, trying to get her somewhere where there were less people, and where there was less of a chance of her getting hurt.

   She started to blush when she started to get to the end, you suppose that something more happened between her and Koichi that she was leaving out, but didn't press. Instead, you raise your eyebrows at Yukako with a slight smile.  She playfully swats you away, fully flustered now. 

   Neither of you knew what to do when you heard the screaming. 

   It was everywhere, women, children, and men alike, the crowd outside the alley clearing out fast, people frantically running from something or someone. You slowly step forward to stand beside Josuke, Koichi backing away to make sure yukako was ok. You tried to peer over the crowd looking for what the commotion was all about. 

   You yelp as someone yanks you back, but you already knew who it was, recognizing the restrained tug. You snap your head up to spit out a retort at Josuke, but the words die in your throat, he was focused on something that you couldn't see. His eyes set in a terrifying manner, you couldn't tell if the fear stinging in your chest was because of him or the mass panic. His hand remained on your back, softly holding onto you.

"...Jo…Josuke…" Koichi's cough causes you to jump, heart pounding in your ears as you and Josuke whipped around. Both Yukako and Koichi were in a coughing fit, a mysterious gas filling the back of the alley. You didn't think it was even possible for any more panic to settle in your chest until you saw Yukako double over, falling to the ground in her fit. Koichi fell beside her as you ran to them. Josuke was calling for you to come back but you could only hear the blood rushing in your ears.

   The moment you stepped into the mist it felt like you couldn't breath. The gas ripping coughs out of your chest, lighting your lungs on fire and leaving you to struggle to push out the smoke. Your eyesight became blurry as you saw figures step out of the thickest part of the mist. 

   "N...no…" You struggled out, watching as they picked the two of them up.The insignia on their backs burning into your memory. Your eyes began to get heavier and heavier, you started to slip into the abyss. 

   You didn't know how Josuke pulled you out of the mist. In fact, you didn't even realize you were out until you were in his arms as he ran. You tried to speak, but only a groan came out. It was hard to focus, hard to stay awake… Everything was hazy and hard to understand.

   "Don't you fall asleep on me, ok?" Your chest felt wet and sticky, a pain in your chest starting to reveal itself. Were you bleeding? You couldn't think straight. What had happened? Where were Koichi and the Princess? You could hear arrows whiz past you and Josuke. He cursed under his breath, and you weakly held onto him as he made a sharp turn. 

   He suddenly stopped. Shit. Dead end. He held you a little tighter as his face shifted into something unreadable. You were beginning to wake up more, but the pain in your chest remained constant. Josuke suddenly set you down with an apology as he set you against a wall to keep your balance, hands grazing your waist as he pulled away. It was getting easier to focus, you pressed a hand to where the pain was centered on your chest, sticky blood coating your hand when you took it away.

   You almost felt faint, the adrenaline starting to set in again. You frantically looked for Josuke again, scared that he had left you. You spotted him at the very end of the alley, flinching as the sound of metal on concrete echoed off the walls. Josuke was catching his breath after setting the sewer grate down, facing you slightly.

   "We're going in there, aren't we." You murmured, the anxiety returning as shouting grew closer to the alley. Josuke let out a pained laugh as he quickly made his way back to you. Helping you hobble over to the open grate. He hopped in first and you sat down, feet dangling through the hole, when you managed to move in just the wrong angle. A stabbing pain shot through your chest and you sucked in breath, unable to move. 

   Thank God Josuke noticed, a worried look flashed across his face. He grabbed your arm with one hand and hooked the other under your knees, awkwardly maneuvering you through the open grate. You could tell he was trying to be gentle, but the pain only grew worse. Your face contorted in pain as he gently set you down on the concrete maintenance path, his arms remaining put. You glanced up just in time to see the grate slide shut on. it's. own.

   "What the Fuck?" You whisper, earning a wide smile from Josuke. His face quickly changed when loud voices shouted overhead.

   "I thought you said they went this way, dimwit!" Josuke pressed you to his chest protectively, ready to take off with you in his hands if he had too. You could feel how built he was through the chain mail, and realized he had supported your weight along with the armour the entire way he had carried you. The thought alone makes you blush. You needed to put out this crush, he was a stranger you just met.

   "They did go this way! I swear!" A scoff and the sound of a slap echoed, you flinched a bit, keeping your eyes closed tight as you prayed for them to leave.

   You and Josuke both started to calm down as the footsteps grew farther and farther away. Josuke's stiff posture relaxing, yourself letting out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding.

  It was silent for a while after, you assumed Josuke was waiting a while longer to speak just in case the men returned. You almost missed the warmth of his body as he pulled away to look through the grate. Satisfied with whatever he had seen, he sat down next to you, completely relaxed. Confident in that the men were long gone, (Thanks to Josuke's reaction,) you gathered the strength to speak.

   "Where are they?" Your voice cracked. Josuke avoided eye contact with you, leaning his head back on the cold stone behind the two of you. You could clearly see that he was ashamed, and worry started to boil over in your chest.

   "I couldn't get to them." He was struggling with the words, and you just knew he was holding something back from you. Keeping some sort of detail to himself.

   A rush of mixed emotions flooded through you. Did he just leave them behind? Why?! What did he even mean he "couldn't get to them"? You decide to keep your manners in check as you sit. He was obviously a close friend of Koichi, and out of everyone you knew it was clear to you that Koichi was too honest and respectable to remain close with someone unworthy of trusting. If Koichi trusted him, you decided that you probably should too.

   Shifting uncomfortably where he was sitting, Josuke turned towards you and oh so gently moved your arms a bit so he could see the wound on your chest better. Chills ran rampant across your arms, and you hoped he wouldn't notice.

   "I managed to drag you out of there with my stand. But when I hesitated to get us out of there they started to shoot." Your brows furrowed in confusion as he scooted closer. You shuddered as he pulled open the ripped part of your white blouse just enough to see the shallow wound. It stretched from the tip of your shoulder to just below your armpit, and damn did it hurt like hell when he exposed it to the open air.

   "Stand?" Josuke shook his head, and you were in too much pain to demand an explanation. Josuke's hands remained on the edges of the ripped fabric, and even though you could see them it somehow felt like he was touching the wound. 

   "An arrow grazed you a little too close while I was standing there like a dunce, I want to apologize for that. I should've registered that we needed to escape before you were hurt." You suck in a ragged gasp as the pressure of the invisible touch increased just lightly, and suddenly the pain stopped. You look in awe as the wound starts to heal itself up completely.

   "A knight and a Mage too?" You mused after the initial shock wore off. It wasn't uncommon for "magic" and healers to be heard of, but it was certainly a shock to actually meet one. You honestly had been a little skeptical until now, and it was still hard to believe. 

   "Something like that." Josuke smiles lightly, sitting back against the wall where he was before. You didn't talk much after that. He asked you if you remembered what the men looked like, and you tried your best to explain the symbols on their cloaks, but you were afraid that you weren't very good at it.

Josuke couldn't quite understand what you were describing, and you both ended up agreeing that you both needed to look for Koichi and Yukako. Josuke as the muscle and you for… information? Moral support?

   You didn’t know, but with Yukako's life on the line you weren't going to take no for an answer even if he wanted to find them alone. 

   Your eyes started to grow heavy, but you didn't want to sleep. You felt too open, to vulnerable to sleep. Josuke was a complete stranger, and yet he had done more for you than anyone else had in ages. He had helped you, saved your life even, but doubt still trickled in through the back door of your mind. How long would it last?

   You wouldn't follow down that rabbit hole anymore tonight, sleep taking over your body swiftly as you truly started to process everything that had just happened.

[long-after-love]

ON GEORGE – The youngest Beatle

(Originally written my Vietnamese for the local community, but I modified it a bit to post it here, since I love this essay so much... sorry for the self-indulgence)

First and foremost, I love the Beatles for their music. But there are also many other groups that I like because of their music, yet none ever had a permanent place in my heart like The Beatles does. I suppose I'm not really a music lover at heart, I don't care much about tastes, accolades, criticisms, records, and I'm not the type of person trying to express my personality through my taste in films, books or bands. If my love for Beatles could be divided into ten parts, three would be for the music, and seven would be for their history and anecdotes.

Ages ago, well, perhaps months ago, I received an anon ask about George that I couldn’t even recall at the moment. Must be something about George being unintellectual and a bit unaware of things. But I don’t think I was being overly critical of George – this is a John and Paul blog, but George was my first crush and when you think about your first crush, how you grew out of it and slowly learned how to fall in love again – you feel a bit embarrassing, but it is still something you hold dear, you just put it in a realistic light.

Now I think of George as the youngest, the cutes Beatle, though normally the moniker Cute Beatle belongs to Paul, I guess people were overly impressed with his doe eyes and rat bunny teeth. I couldn’t disagree with George’s _“Quiet One” _image more, George is anything but a supposedly spiritual, enlightened  person. Recently, with the celebration of All Things Must Pass’s 50th anniversary, people have even more reasons to buy that image. But is that really the case?

My perception of George started to change when I came across an interview with John and Yoko in 1971 with Peter McCabe. I think most of you are familiar with this:

 MCCABE: Let’s talk a bit about George. He’s perhaps the most enigmatic Beatle. Are you saying George is more conventional than he makes himself out to be?

JOHN: There’s no telling George. He always has a point of view about that wide, you know. [John places his hands a few inches apart.] You can’t tell him anything.

YOKO: George is sophisticated, fashionwise…

JOHN: He’s very trendy, and he has the right clothes, and all of that…

YOKO: But he’s not sophisticated, intellectually.

JOHN: No. He’s very narrow-minded and he doesn’t really have a broader view. Paul is far more aware than George. One time in the Apple office in Wigmore Street, I said something to George, and he said, “I’m as intelligent as you, you know.” This must have been resentment, but he could have left anytime if I was giving him a hard time.

MCCABE: What did you say?

JOHN: I didn’t answer. Of course, he’s got an inferiority complex working with Paul and me.

YOKO: In the case of Paul, it’s not that he’s not sophisticated. I’m sure that he’s intellectually sophisticated as well. It’s just that he’s aware, and yet he doesn’t want to know.

JOHN: Whereas George doesn’t really know what’s happening, you know.

— John Lennon and Yoko Ono, interview w/ Peter McCabe & Robert Schonfeld. (September, 1971)

 For those who firmly believed in George's “Quiet One” image (where quietness is meant to show enlightened reticence), the above interview can make their blood boil, but in fact, if you read the Beatles biographies carefully, you have to realize that John and Yoko’s observance, albeit being absurdly blunt and mean-spirited, was true. George was a spiritual person from his late twenties to his death, but he was never enlightened type, the sage-like type. I always appreciate the innocent part of his nature more, even though he, at times, acted unseemly. There are many funny and endearing anecdotes surrounding George that prove it, told by family and close friends of the Beatles since the band was unknown. Here I only pointed out three of them.

The first story is the look on George's face. On the stage, George stood silently a bit behind John and Paul, rarely smiled. Since the Cavern days, girls had asked Louise Harrison, George's mother, why George wouldn't laugh. What Mrs. Louise revealed turned out to be nothing complicated: George was afraid of making mistakes (Davies, 2009). When people are concentrating, their facial expressions will naturally become serious. And thus, just as naturally, the unknowing seriousness gave George some mysterious air that subtly differed him from the fierce John and the bouncy Paul.

Second, I would like to quote from John and Cyn, as seen on some earlier post:

“When George was a kid, he used to follow me and my first girlfriend Cynthia. We would come out of the art school together and he’d be hovering around.Cyn and I would be going to a coffee shop or a movie and George would follow us down the street two hundred yards behind. Cyn would say, ‘Who is that guy? What does he want?’ And I’d say, 'He just wants to hang out. Should we take him with us?’ She’d say, 'Oh, OK, let’s take him to the bloody movies.’ So we’d allow him to come to the movies with us. That’s the sort of relationship it was.” 

- John Lennon

“Hi John, Hi Cyn.’ He would hurriedly catch us up and then it would be, 'Where are you two off to? Can I come?’ Neither of us would have the heart to tell this thin gangly kid in school uniform to push off. Poor George! He hand’t really got to the stage of serious girlfriends yet and was totally unaware of what it was all about, Alfie! So we would spend the lost afternoon as a jolly threesome, wondering what on earth we were going to do with ourselves.” 

- Cynthia Powell

In addition, Cynthia also told this story in her book, John (2005): 

“It was appendicitis and I was stuck in hospital for two weeks. After a couple of days John came to visit me, dragging George with him. I had been so desperate to see him, and was so frustrated when I saw George, that I burst into tears. Shocked, John told George to hop it and held my hand for an hour to mollify me. After a while my mum arrived, and later took John and George back to our house for tea.”

Please note this little detail: John went to the hospital to see his sick girlfriend, but apparently George insisted to tag along. When John saw Cyn crying, he asked George to leave, George seemed to hang outside, waiting for John to finish his visit. This is very telling: how desperate George wanted to hang out with John then! With the part where Cynthia's mother invited both John and George home for tea, Mrs. Powell probably had been familiar with this little boy who followed John and Cyn all the time.

I would like to give another example with Astrid Kirchherr’s memory of George. It was 1960 – Astrid and Stuart Sutcliffe were in love, but this still didn't stop the naive little George just seventeen years old then, and Astrid was certainly moved by his sweetness, quoted from The Beatles (2009) by Hunter Davies: 

“I got on like a house on fire with George. He'd never met anyone like me before and he showed it, so openly and sweetly. After all, he was only 17. There was me, the sort of intelligent girl he'd never come across before, with my own car, working as a photographer, and wearing leather jackets. It was natural he would be very interested in me. I never fancied him or anything like that. It wasn't that sort of thing. I was five years older, so it didn't matter being open. We got on great.”

You may argue: but it was just baby George! Oh, I couldn’t agree with that, my good friend. I think George’s attitude was always like that – he was the youngest child of his parents and the youngest boy of Beatles – he was immature, not very worldly and made questionable choices, especially in his effort to butter up John by recording HDYS: it wasn’t fruitful as it was self-defeating: John, all in all, just saw him as the kid that tagged along.

After the Beatles’ break up, George always seemed most annoyed with the Beatles, most frustrated about the past. But it seems that George only overreacted because he was tired and powerless against the morbid curiosity of the press and fans for decades. I think if George hated the Beatles or hated Paul as he made himself to be, then George would not have held Paul’s hand reminiscing about the past, nor chosen to die at Paul's house (I know Paul lent him the house, but George wasn’t too broke to rent a house near the treatment facility). Thus, with such an attitude, I couldn’t take him seriously as a spiritual person, but hell, wasn’t he a lovely man with all the flaws?

[much-brighter-ink]

Secret Santa Queendom Exchange

Merry Christmas Eve! Enjoy your secret santa gift fic- since you said you were ok with anything, I went for a festive fic because I thought the queens experiencing modern christmas would be amusing (also my entire knowlege of Tudor Christmas tradition comes from a single Lucy Worsley documentary so apologies for any wrong details!)

*

‘Well that was a complete waste of time-’ Jane dropped her handbag and keys onto the kitchen table, scowling. ‘You would have thought I was asking for the moon from how he reacted!’

  Anna hummed sympathetically and got up to put the kettle on to make Jane a soothing post-shopping-trip cup of green tea. ‘No good?’

  ‘I said, I told him, that I completely understood that he might not actually HAVE one in stock, especially on Christmas Eve, but that we’d all agreed to check just in case and-’ Jane pulled out a chair with slightly more force than was necessary and Anna leant forward. 

  ‘What? What? He didn’t have one?’

  ‘He just laughed Anna!’ Jane’s annoyance softened into hurt. ‘He didn’t even answer, just laughed and then turned to the next person as if I was joking!’

  ‘Oh love-’

  ‘It was REALLy embarrassing AND then a lady stopped me before I could even LEAVE and asked why on earth I’d want to eat something like that…’

  Anna put a comforting hand on Jane’s shoulder and put a mug of tea in front of her. ‘Well you shouldn’t be too upset then- the very fact that she had to ask shows she’s obviously got no taste at all.’

  Jane chuckled weakly and took a sip of tea. ‘Thanks. It was just horrible- everyone looked at me like I was completely stupid.’

  ‘Well the others will be back soon, maybe they’ll have had more-’

  Anna’s words were cut off by the bang of the front door and the sound of a pair of shoes being angrily kicked off.

  ‘Kitty? Is that you?’

  ‘I’m back.’ Kitty trudged into the kitchen and leant into Anna’s side. ‘Don’t ask how it went.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it was absolutely useless.’ Sinking into a chair, Kitty stared pathetically at Jane’s tea until Anna laughed and passed her a cup of her own. ‘No one could help and I got stuck listening to an hour long lecture about animal cruelty and The Law from some interferring old busybody that was passing!’ Kitty sighed heatedly. ‘Since when was it illegal to try and have some fun at Christmas?’

  ‘Weren’t you listening Kitty? If your lecture was anything like mine, it’s-’ Jane assumed a mincing tone. ‘-cruel the poor endangered boars. Or bears, in your case.’

Anna rolled her eyes. ‘God. Wiping them out globally is all fine and dandy then in the name of progress but kill one bear in a good old fashioned family bear-baiting to bring the community together and provide everyone with a bit of holiday cheer and you’re a monster…’

  ‘This century is so joyless.’

  Jane nodded. ‘You’re telling me.’

  Kitty turned anguished eyes upon her. ‘Don’t tell me you had no luck either!’

  ‘Sorry-’

  ‘Argh!’ Kitty let out a frustrated wail and let her head flop down onto her folded arms. ‘No bear baiting AND no boar’s head? It might as well not even BE Christmas…’

  The others murmured disconsolate agreement just as Catalina burst through the backdoor wildly.

  ‘That had better be some ill-judged Protestant humour-’

  Anna shook her head. ‘Sorry Catty.’

  ‘A tomar por culo! This is going to be the worst Christmas ever!’

  Jane looked at her oddly. ‘Didn’t you die at Christmas?’

  Catalina fixed a cold stare upon her former lady in waiting. ‘But at least I got to have one last Christmas dinner to keep my spirits up Jane!’

  ‘Fair point…’ 

  ‘Thank you Kitty.’

  The silence fell on the kitchen, and then Anna suddenly looked up.

  ‘Where are Anne and Cathy? Shouldn’t they be back by now?’

  Catalina looked up. ‘Didn’t they go with Kitty?’

  Kitty shook her head. ‘I thought they’d gone with you-’

  ‘No-’

  ‘They probably just-’

  ‘I bet they-’

  Their speculation was interrupted by the insistent buzzing of Catalina’s phone, accompanied by a rather tinny but still recognisable refrain-

  ‘Oh my god you have Anne’s song as your ringtone!’ Despite her earlier misery, Kitty now looked positively gleeful. ‘I can’t believe it, I KNEW you liked it really-’

  ‘It’s CATCHY-’ Catalina mumbled, as she half turned in her chair to hide her blush. Jane patted her arm sympathetically.

  ‘Catalina Trastamara de Aragon-’

  ‘Why does she always answer her phone like that?’

  ‘Leave her alone, as if Good Morrow, Bitches is any better-’

  ‘Madrina?’

  At her goddaughters voice, Catalina flapped an arm at the others. ‘Shut up! It’s Cathy! -Are you alright querida?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Cathy sounded rather hesitant. ‘Just- promise not to panic, ok?’

  ‘Cathy?’

  ‘Promise!’

  ‘Ok-’

  ‘…..We’re at the police station!’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘How!?’

  There was a scuffle and Anne’s voice came on the line. ‘Hi! Look, before you get cross, absolutely NOT our fault ok?’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘We had no idea it’d go like this-’

  ‘What did you DO?’

  ‘It’s was Cathy’s idea!’

  ‘Anne!’

  ‘We just thought it’d be fun!’ Cathy wailed from the background. ‘We never got to do it back then but it always sounded so exciting-’

  ‘And Jane SAID we needed to make more of an effort with the neighbours!’

  ‘What did you DO?’

  ‘Well….and let me just remind you again that it was CATHY’S idea, seeing as it IS Christmas Eve…’

  ‘Anne-’

  ‘Turns out people get REALLY weird when you cover your face and burst into their house in disguise-’

  **

To the queen’s disgust, it turned out that the jolly Tudor practise of Mumming was, in the 21st century, considered to be highly suspicious and also in contravenence of the law. 

  A quick and grovelling conversation with the neighbour who had called the police (plus a promise of free yard work and snow shovelling for the foreseeable future) saw the two errant queens released and sent home with the stern warning not to try anything like that again.

  **

  Jane entered the living room where the five rather dejected queens sat in gloomy silence in the living room. ‘So they’ve agreed they won’t press charges and I THINK they’re going to keep quiet about it so that’s sorted at least.’

  ‘Thanks Jane-’ Cathy made room for the third queen on the sofa and Jane joined her.

  ‘What are we watching?’

  ‘Anna suggested we try a modern Christmas film to try and get into the spirit-’

  ‘Oh?’

  Kitty made a face. ‘It’s about a demon who goes around sneaking into the houses of children before Christmas day…’

  ‘Oh. Weird.’

  ‘Yeah not very cheering…’

  ‘Speaking of which, where IS Anna?’

  ‘Oh she said she had a surprise to cheer us all up-’

  Cathy hugged a cushion to her chest. ‘Honestly, I can’t think of ANYTHING that will make today ANY-’

  She was interrupted by Anna- Anna von Kleve, dressed in an oversized red hoody with Trust No Bitch emblazoned on it in gold sequins and bearing what looked to be Jane’s best Le Creuset mixing bowl, filled to the brim with-

  ‘Is that….what IS that?’

  ‘Mmmm….vodka….and the gin that was left over…and about a half cup of cooking sherry….’ Anna looked up defensively. ‘What? I know the wassail cup is MEANT to be cider but we didn’t have enough to fill the bowl!’

  ‘I suppose that’s fair enough-’ 

  Catalina reached for the bowl and took a swig. ‘At least that’s one tradition they can’t take away from us. Even if we’re the only ones to do it anymore…’

  ‘They can take our boar and our bear and our mummers but they’ll pry our wassail cup out of our cold dead hands!’

  ‘Yep’ Anne nodded decisely. ‘It can still be a BIT like Christmas IF we can all drink alcohol out of a massive bowl….’

  The other queens nodded, looking slightly cheered.

  *

  Needless to say, the Boxing Day performance had to be cancelled.

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

Ahhhh @cynicalrainbows thank you so, so much!!! This made my day, I love your writing so much - have a wonderful Christmas Eve! @queendomsecretsanta

[exasperatedcrowleystan]

The mistletoe conspiracy

Pairing: Crowely x reader, Dean x Castiel

Written for: @spnchristmasbingo​

Warnings: none, but there a couple of curse words.

Summary:  you and Sam have placed a bet on Dean and Castiel, and set the limits for it. You can't push them, but the mistletoe tradition gives you an opening. When Crowley decides to help, for the sake of creating mayhem, the rules are bent.

A/N: you can find this fic on AO3, here. The whole series can be found here. It’s a series, so you can read each one individually, but they are written to work better together!

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

You and Sam are discussing in one of the library nooks, keeping your voices low to avoid unwanted attention. When you realize that, subconsciously, Sam is signing the words, you tease him a bit, smiling.

“You picked up new habits, uh?”

He looks confused for a moment, then he realizes that his hands are still signing something. He grins, definitely at ease. “Yeah... good ones, from time to time.”

“Yeah... anyway, creating the right circumstances cannot be seen as disqualifying.”

“You can't shove them together and tell me that it's not a manipulation!”

“You don't think you can conspire without your favourite demon, right?” Crowley's voice behind you makes you both spring and turn to him. “Guess I should have made myself heard.”

“Yeah, you should have” Sam deadpans, making Crowley grin.

“What were you discussing with such secrecy, then? I thought that with the new world order you finally realized the benefits of telling things. Are you feeling nostalgic already?”

Before Sam snaps, you explain to Crowley what's going on. If you didn't, he'd just keep tormenting you until he gets an answer, spoiling the whole thing.

“We have a few bets going on in the bunker, about Cas and Dean. Sam insists that if I should weaponize the mistletoe to encourage them, it would be unacceptable. Clearly, he's just scared to lose fifty bucks.”

Crowley thinks about it for a moment. “I want in.”

“It's not a pool, Crowley. And I wouldn't take money from you in any case.” Sam spits out, a sour look on his face.

“Come on Sam... what's the harm in letting him in?”

“Why is he still here again?” Sam asks you, definitely annoyed.

“Because I asked him.”

A moment of silence and bedazzlement falls on the three of you. Since you arrived, Crowley just stayed around you, coming and going, but mostly sticking by your side. The most you did was not protesting about this. Admitting you actually want him there... that's not something Sam or Crowley were prepared to hear. Surely you were not prepared to say it.

Sam manages to untie his tongue first, and gives you a knowing look. “Of course you did. Fine... mistletoe allowed, then, but no pushing, ok?”

“Yeah, got it.”

“Eileen and I are going out for a milk run and then dinner. We're picking up the last things for Christmas dinner and a few more bottles. We'll be back later tonight. If you think of anything while we're gone, just send me a text, ok?”

You nod and try to focus and understand Sam's words, but the feeling of Crowley's stare on you is hard to ignore. When Sam leaves you two alone, you finally look at Crowley. He's studying you, apparently.

“What?” you snap, unable to stand the tension or his silence. He knows how to make you uncomfortable, and he enjoys it immensely, or so you think. The truth is a bit more shaded than that.

“Nothing. I just don't recall you asking me to stay.”

“Well... I called you, didn't I?”

“Yes, but...”

“And I asked you to... come pick up chestnuts with us, and you helped with the decorations, right?”

“Correct.”

“So... that settles it, I guess.”

He nods, biting lightly the inside of his cheek. You noticed he does that when he's thinking about something, and you'd die to know what's now going on in his mind. Instead, you look at the high ceiling of the bunker. You're going to use the doors for your plan, that's for sure.

While you walk away, Crowley follows you, once again, without even having to ask for it. He still looks like he's plotting something, and your curiosity can only be kept at bay for so long.

“What are you planning?”

“You know... there might be an easier way to convince Dean and Castiel to act on their ridiculous mutual pining and free us all from this tired show.”

“Of course you just happen to have a plan lying around.”

“You know me. Now... do you want to hear it, or the less you know about it the better?”

“What do you want in exchange?”

“Can we consider this your Christmas present?”

“Hell, no!” you laugh it off. You surely are not expecting the former king of Hell to give you anything, and in any case you wouldn't waste your present on something that's just a matter of time before it happens.

“... half of the revenue of your bet, then?”

“Half of my... what do you plan to do with twenty-five dollars?”

Crowley surprises you brushing the tip of his fingers on your cheek, closing in on you. “Do we have a deal?”

Without even talking, you nod at him. He leans closer to you, his grin impossible to ignore. You instinctively move closer to him, inhaling his scent and trying not to gulp, but he draws back.

“Good. I'll see you later, love.”

“What? I thought you'd help me!”

“I will, I keep my word. Do your thing, I'll do mine. Oh, and... tell the kid. I'm sure he'd like to be involved.”

You don't even have time to protest that Crowley is gone, leaving you alone. You take a deep breath, trying not to overheat and be irritated. You just openly told half of the Winchester family that you are the reason why their once nemesis is casually spending the holidays with you, and said nemesis just decided to bail. “Fucking typical.” Is all you mutter through you teeth before heading to Jack's room.

About two hours later, you and Jack are done. You skipped dinner, but during the holidays it's not really possible to stop eating, so neither of you is hungry. Jack has been touching the mistletoe and working a bit of his mojo on the twigs to keep them fresh. He then hanged them around with his powers, following your precise instructions.

Dean has kept to the Dean cave for the whole time, while Castiel is in the library, reading and just showing up from time to time to cast a curious glance or an amused smile at Jack, who seems absolutely ecstatic about this new discovery.

What you don't realize, is that Jack is indeed a kid, but he's also much more acquainted with feelings than what you think. He's not part of any of the bets placed in the bunker, which might as well find a new life as a gambling den, but he's been looking closely at all of you. And he brought Crowley back for a very specific reason.

“So... do you think it's going to work?”

You wink at him, confident. “Sure. We basically plastered the doors with mistletoe. They are bound to find themselves under these together, especially if you think about Cas' idea of personal space.”

“Oh. So... what shall we do now? Just... sit here and wait?”

“Well... Crowley has a plan for this, too. I think it's fair to assume that tonight we're going...”

“SON OF A BITCH!” Dean's voice echoes through the bunker, interrupting you. By now you've learned to read the interjection like any other of his phrases, and he doesn't sound on high alert, just very exasperated. Jack looks at you, quickly catching on.

“Crowley's plan?”

“You heard how pissed he is? Of course it's Crowley.”

Not even thirty seconds later, Crowley stumbles in the war room from the corridor, walking backwards to not turn his back to a furious Dean. The same Dean who has what looks like a halo of mistletoe floating about a foot above his head.

“Crowley, if you don't take this thing off I'm ganking you, I swear to God.”

“God is dead, Squirrel, and your ex girlfriend is hands off, remember?”

Dean lunges at Crowley, who simply moves aside, avoiding the assault. “You know, it really goes well with your eyes.”

“Alright, listen here you son of a bitch. Now you're gonna take this off, or I'm ripping your head off.”

“Now, Squirrel. That's not really in holly jolly spirit, is it?”

Despite your best attempts, both you and Jack cannot stifle a laughter. The look of Dean, going around with a gracious little mistletoe crown gracefully hovering above his head while he tries to catch Crowley is simply too amusing to stay serious. Unfortunately, judging by Dean's stare, he's not enjoying the whole situation as much as you do.

“Y/N, this is entirely your fault for bringing him here.”

You openly laugh at him. “I don't know, Dean. I think it gives you the right touch of holiday spirit.”

“Take this thing off or so help me!”

When Castiel joins you in the war room, he tilts his head on a side for a moment, looking at the scene in front of him. Crowley is now standing next to you and Jack, while Dean is glaring murderously at you all.

“What's going on?”

“That damn bastard stuck this stupid thing on my head and it won't come off!”

“I see. How?” Castiel asks Crowley, who just smirks.

“It does come off, actually. You just need to respect tradition. It's magic, so I wouldn't waste grace on it.”

“What?” Dean seems shocked at the idea, and looks at you, awkward and angry. “Well, after all you brought him here...”

“I wouldn't do that, Squirrel.” Crowley's tone is controlled, but extremely threatening. You shoot him a questioning glance, but he keeps staring at Dean, who grabs the twigs and tries to pull them away again, with no success.

“Crowley, I swear.”

Castiel sighs and looks at Dean. A surreal silence falls on all of you, while you all try to anticipate what's going to happen and simultaneously look away. Well, except Crowley, of course.

“Come on, Feathers. Your protégée is under the spell of an evil demon. Your action is needed.”

If looks could kill, Crowley would probably be reduced to a smoking pile of ash on the floor by Castiel and Dean. With a sigh, Castiel moves closer to Dean and puts his hand on the unwanted ornament over his head.

“He's right. This is magic.”

“Yeah, Cas, we established that already.”

“I'm just trying to help.”

“Well...” Dean hesitates. He'd rather die than do this in front of Crowley, but all in all... it's not going to be that big of a deal. And if things go as he plans for them to go, it won't be the only time he's going to have to. Not judging by how close to you he's standing now, at least.

“What is it, Dean?” Cas asks, and Dean is left speechless once again. Finally, the urge of not wasting another chance outweighs everything else: the expectations, the fears, the doubts and the shadows creeping in the darkest corners of his brain. The only thing that matters now is that Cas is there for him, once again, and he is not going to waste another chance like he did with all the other.

He leans in, moving closer to Cas, who just stays still, the faintest hint of an understanding smile pursing his lips.

Their first kiss is barely a kiss, the lightest brushing of lips against lips, eyes fluttering close for a moment, and then a quick, awkward drawback. Dean is so up in his thoughts that he jumps when he feels something falling on top of his head. Smiling, Castiel takes the twigs in his hand and walks to Crowley.

“Next time you want to practice magic, I suggest you involve a willing participant.”

“That didn't go too bad, didn't it?” he remarks with a very satisfied grin on his lips.

Knowing that Dean won't stay quiet and awkward for much longer, you wisely opt for getting away from there. You also know, by Castiel's look, that they could use some privacy. You nudge Crowley and Jack and hint at the end of the library with your head. You quickly walk away and give the two the space they need.

Once Jack happily sinks in an armchair, you head for one of the cabinets and fish one of the good bottles and two glasses, offering one to Crowley. He steps close to you, and carefully takes in the sight of you. He looks at your hands holding the glasses, moving them on the small space, the focused stare on the neck of the bottle when you try not to spill even the little drop that sticks to the glass. He loves the care that you put in every small gesture, and when you offer him his glass his fingers graze yours lightly while he takes it.

“Thanks, kitten. To what shall we toast?”

“To another one of your brilliant plans, I'd say.”

“And to you winning a bet.”

You smile and click your glass against his one. “Cheers to that!”

You smile, happy to see Dean and Castiel finally acting on their feelings. It was long due, and the idea of Crowley, despite being really simple, was exactly what was needed.

You are so focused on finishing your scotch that you don't notice Jack walking away, leaving you two alone.

Meanwhile, Crowley is staring at you, completely absorbed in his thoughts. He could spend hours studying the way your eyes twinkle reflecting the lights of the hall. He could write pages filled with love and lust about the way your lips curl in a barely-there smile. He'd pass his time grazing your neck with the tip of his fingers, just to kiss the goosebumps away from your body.

You feel the weight of his stare on you, and turn to look at him with a curiosity so innocent that he can't hold back a smile.

“What is it, Crowley?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You were... looking at me. I thought you wanted to tell me something.”

He shrugs, taking your empty glass from your hands and setting it down next to his one. “I appreciate beauty. Is it so strange?”

“And you look at me?”

His smile doesn't dim while he answers you. “Where else?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Make me?”

You laugh, awkward. He always finds a way to keep you on your toes, and he surely has no will to be subtle about it... but that's him. That's the demon you grew to care for, definitely too much.

You missed him more than you'd ever thought possible to miss anyone when he was gone, and when he was brought back... you were happy. So happy that you didn't care about Dean or Sam staring at you, and just went to hug him. If they noticed how emotional you were, they were graceful enough not to mention it. You almost lost it when Crowley hugged you back.

Just when you are finally about to take a step back, something brushes the top of your head. You curiously look up, just to see a small branch of mistletoe floating midair.

“Crowley?”

“Not my doing, kitten. Maybe someone is expecting you... us to follow tradition.”

“I...”

Your stare falls on Crowley's lips, only to find them curved in the softest smile he's ever given you. You nod, not trusting your voice enough to speak. He places a hand on your cheek, brushing your cheekbone with his thumb. You study his dark green eyes, taking in the imperceptible streaks of blue almost hidden in the dim lights.

He moves as close as possible to you, stopping just a second before touching your lips. “God, you're beautiful.”

You close the distance between you and smile against his lips. You smile for everything: his words, his hand on your cheek, the warmth of his soft lips.

He kisses you gently, without hesitation or rush, savoring the moment and your taste on him.

His hand rests on your skin, while you open your mouth and deepen the kiss. His tongue touching yours sends a pleasant shiver down your spine and you inhale sharply. You can feel his signature smirk making an appearance while his hand slides on the nape of your neck and buries through tour hair, pulling you as close as possible.

When you finally break the kiss, you rest your forehead against his one, grinning. “How's that for tradition?”

“I'm sure we can do better than that.”

“You know... I've heard the naughty list is incredibly funnier than the nice one.”

“I'd be a lousy demon if I couldn't move you there.”

You giggle and peck his lips, taking his hand and heading to your room.

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Thank you for reading my work! If you enjoy it, I hope you’ll leave a like, a comment, or reblog it (I really need reblogs with the problems I’m having with the site).

Please, DO NOT REPOST MY WORK OR PART/S OF IT, even if you give credits. Thank you for your support!

[pathetic-has-been-rockstar]

The mistletoe conspiracy

Pairing: Crowley x reader, Dean x Castiel

Written for: @spnchristmasbingo​

Square filled: mistletoe

Warnings: none

Summary: you and Sam have placed a bet on Dean and Castiel, and set the limits for it. You can't push them, but the mistletoe tradition gives you an opening. When Crowley decides to help, for the sake of creating mayhem, the rules are bent.

Words: 2763

This can be found on AO3, here! If you’re interested in the whole series, you just have to click here!

You and Sam are discussing in one of the library nooks, keeping your voices low to avoid unwanted attention. When you realize that, subconsciously, Sam is signing the words, you tease him a bit, smiling.

“You picked up new habits, uh?”

He looks confused for a moment, then he realizes that his hands are still signing something. He grins, definitely at ease. “Yeah... good ones, from time to time.”

“Yeah... anyway, creating the right circumstances cannot be seen as disqualifying.”

“You can't shove them together and tell me that it's not a manipulation!”

“You don't think you can conspire without your favourite demon, right?” Crowley's voice behind you makes you both spring and turn to him. “Guess I should have made myself heard.”

“Yeah, you should have” Sam deadpans, making Crowley grin.

“What were you discussing with such secrecy, then? I thought that with the new world order you finally realized the benefits of telling things. Are you feeling nostalgic already?”

Before Sam snaps, you explain to Crowley what's going on. If you didn't, he'd just keep tormenting you until he gets an answer, spoiling the whole thing.

“We have a few bets going on in the bunker, about Cas and Dean. Sam insists that if I should weaponize the mistletoe to encourage them, it would be unacceptable. Clearly, he's just scared to lose fifty bucks.”

Crowley thinks about it for a moment. “I want in.”

“It's not a pool, Crowley. And I wouldn't take money from you in any case.” Sam spits out, a sour look on his face.

“Come on Sam... what's the harm in letting him in?”

“Why is he still here again?” Sam asks you, definitely annoyed.

“Because I asked him.”

A moment of silence and bedazzlement falls on the three of you. Since you arrived, Crowley just stayed around you, coming and going, but mostly sticking by your side. The most you did was not protesting about this. Admitting you actually want him there... that's not something Sam or Crowley were prepared to hear. Surely you were not prepared to say it.

Sam manages to untie his tongue first, and gives you a knowing look. “Of course you did. Fine... mistletoe allowed, then, but no pushing, ok?”

“Yeah, got it.”

“Eileen and I are going out for a milk run and then dinner. We're picking up the last things for Christmas dinner and a few more bottles. We'll be back later tonight. If you think of anything while we're gone, just send me a text, ok?”

You nod and try to focus and understand Sam's words, but the feeling of Crowley's stare on you is hard to ignore. When Sam leaves you two alone, you finally look at Crowley. He's studying you, apparently.

“What?” you snap, unable to stand the tension or his silence. He knows how to make you uncomfortable, and he enjoys it immensely, or so you think. The truth is a bit more shaded than that.

“Nothing. I just don't recall you asking me to stay.”

“Well... I called you, didn't I?”

“Yes, but...”

“And I asked you to... come pick up chestnuts with us, and you helped with the decorations, right?”

“Correct.”

“So... that settles it, I guess.”

He nods, biting lightly the inside of his cheek. You noticed he does that when he's thinking about something, and you'd die to know what's now going on in his mind. Instead, you look at the high ceiling of the bunker. You're going to use the doors for your plan, that's for sure.

While you walk away, Crowley follows you, once again, without even having to ask for it. He still looks like he's plotting something, and your curiosity can only be kept at bay for so long.

“What are you planning?”

“You know... there might be an easier way to convince Dean and Castiel to act on their ridiculous mutual pining and free us all from this tired show.”

“Of course you just happen to have a plan lying around.”

“You know me. Now... do you want to hear it, or the less you know about it the better?”

“What do you want in exchange?”

“Can we consider this your Christmas present?”

“Hell, no!” you laugh it off. You surely are not expecting the former king of Hell to give you anything, and in any case you wouldn't waste your present on something that's just a matter of time before it happens.

“... half of the revenue of your bet, then?”

“Half of my... what do you plan to do with twenty-five dollars?”

Crowley surprises you brushing the tip of his fingers on your cheek, closing in on you. “Do we have a deal?”

Without even talking, you nod at him. He leans closer to you, his grin impossible to ignore. You instinctively move closer to him, inhaling his scent and trying not to gulp, but he draws back.

“Good. I'll see you later, love.”

“What? I thought you'd help me!”

“I will, I keep my word. Do your thing, I'll do mine. Oh, and... tell the kid. I'm sure he'd like to be involved.”

You don't even have time to protest that Crowley is gone, leaving you alone. You take a deep breath, trying not to overheat and be irritated. You just openly told half of the Winchester family that you are the reason why their once nemesis is casually spending the holidays with you, and said nemesis just decided to bail. “Fucking typical.” Is all you mutter through you teeth before heading to Jack's room.

About two hours later, you and Jack are done. You skipped dinner, but during the holidays it's not really possible to stop eating, so neither of you is hungry. Jack has been touching the mistletoe and working a bit of his mojo on the twigs to keep them fresh. He then hanged them around with his powers, following your precise instructions.

Dean has kept to the Dean cave for the whole time, while Castiel is in the library, reading and just showing up from time to time to cast a curious glance or an amused smile at Jack, who seems absolutely ecstatic about this new discovery.

What you don't realize, is that Jack is indeed a kid, but he's also much more acquainted with feelings than what you think. He's not part of any of the bets placed in the bunker, which might as well find a new life as a gambling den, but he's been looking closely at all of you. And he brought Crowley back for a very specific reason.

“So... do you think it's going to work?”

You wink at him, confident. “Sure. We basically plastered the doors with mistletoe. They are bound to find themselves under these together, especially if you think about Cas' idea of personal space.”

“Oh. So... what shall we do now? Just... sit here and wait?”

“Well... Crowley has a plan for this, too. I think it's fair to assume that tonight we're going...”

“SON OF A BITCH!” Dean's voice echoes through the bunker, interrupting you. By now you've learned to read the interjection like any other of his phrases, and he doesn't sound on high alert, just very exasperated. Jack looks at you, quickly catching on.

“Crowley's plan?”

“You heard how pissed he is? Of course it's Crowley.”

Not even thirty seconds later, Crowley stumbles in the war room from the corridor, walking backwards to not turn his back to a furious Dean. The same Dean who has what looks like a halo of mistletoe floating about a foot above his head.

“Crowley, if you don't take this thing off I'm ganking you, I swear to God.”

“God is dead, Squirrel, and your ex girlfriend is hands off, remember?”

Dean lunges at Crowley, who simply moves aside, avoiding the assault. “You know, it really goes well with your eyes.”

“Alright, listen here you son of a bitch. Now you're gonna take this off, or I'm ripping your head off.”

“Now, Squirrel. That's not really in holly jolly spirit, is it?”

Despite your best attempts, both you and Jack cannot stifle a laughter. The look of Dean, going around with a gracious little mistletoe crown gracefully hovering above his head while he tries to catch Crowley is simply too amusing to stay serious. Unfortunately, judging by Dean's stare, he's not enjoying the whole situation as much as you do.

“Y/N, this is entirely your fault for bringing him here.”

You openly laugh at him. “I don't know, Dean. I think it gives you the right touch of holiday spirit.”

“Take this thing off or so help me!”

When Castiel joins you in the war room, he tilts his head on a side for a moment, looking at the scene in front of him. Crowley is now standing next to you and Jack, while Dean is glaring murderously at you all.

“What's going on?”

“That damn bastard stuck this stupid thing on my head and it won't come off!”

“I see. How?” Castiel asks Crowley, who just smirks.

“It does come off, actually. You just need to respect tradition. It's magic, so I wouldn't waste grace on it.”

“What?” Dean seems shocked at the idea, and looks at you, awkward and angry. “Well, after all you brought him here...”

“I wouldn't do that, Squirrel.” Crowley's tone is controlled, but extremely threatening. You shoot him a questioning glance, but he keeps staring at Dean, who grabs the twigs and tries to pull them away again, with no success.

“Crowley, I swear.”

Castiel sighs and looks at Dean. A surreal silence falls on all of you, while you all try to anticipate what's going to happen and simultaneously look away. Well, except Crowley, of course.

“Come on, Feathers. Your protégée is under the spell of an evil demon. Your action is needed.”

If looks could kill, Crowley would probably be reduced to a smoking pile of ash on the floor by Castiel and Dean. With a sigh, Castiel moves closer to Dean and puts his hand on the unwanted ornament over his head.

“He's right. This is magic.”

“Yeah, Cas, we established that already.”

“I'm just trying to help.”

“Well...” Dean hesitates. He'd rather die than do this in front of Crowley, but all in all... it's not going to be that big of a deal. And if things go as he plans for them to go, it won't be the only time he's going to have to. Not judging by how close to you he's standing now, at least.

“What is it, Dean?” Cas asks, and Dean is left speechless once again. Finally, the urge of not wasting another chance outweighs everything else: the expectations, the fears, the doubts and the shadows creeping in the darkest corners of his brain. The only thing that matters now is that Cas is there for him, once again, and he is not going to waste another chance like he did with all the other.

He leans in, moving closer to Cas, who just stays still, the faintest hint of an understanding smile pursing his lips.

Their first kiss is barely a kiss, the lightest brushing of lips against lips, eyes fluttering close for a moment, and then a quick, awkward drawback. Dean is so up in his thoughts that he jumps when he feels something falling on top of his head. Smiling, Castiel takes the twigs in his hand and walks to Crowley.

“Next time you want to practice magic, I suggest you involve a willing participant.”

“That didn't go too bad, didn't it?” he remarks with a very satisfied grin on his lips.

Knowing that Dean won't stay quiet and awkward for much longer, you wisely opt for getting away from there. You also know, by Castiel's look, that they could use some privacy. You nudge Crowley and Jack and hint at the end of the library with your head. You quickly walk away and give the two the space they need.

Once Jack happily sinks in an armchair, you head for one of the cabinets and fish one of the good bottles and two glasses, offering one to Crowley. He steps close to you, and carefully takes in the sight of you. He looks at your hands holding the glasses, moving them on the small space, the focused stare on the neck of the bottle when you try not to spill even the little drop that sticks to the glass. He loves the care that you put in every small gesture, and when you offer him his glass his fingers graze yours lightly while he takes it.

“Thanks, kitten. To what shall we toast?”

“To another one of your brilliant plans, I'd say.”

“And to you winning a bet.”

You smile and click your glass against his one. “Cheers to that!”

You smile, happy to see Dean and Castiel finally acting on their feelings. It was long due, and the idea of Crowley, despite being really simple, was exactly what was needed.

You are so focused on finishing your scotch that you don't notice Jack walking away, leaving you two alone.

Meanwhile, Crowley is staring at you, completely absorbed in his thoughts. He could spend hours studying the way your eyes twinkle reflecting the lights of the hall. He could write pages filled with love and lust about the way your lips curl in a barely-there smile. He'd pass his time grazing your neck with the tip of his fingers, just to kiss the goosebumps away from your body.

You feel the weight of his stare on you, and turn to look at him with a curiosity so innocent that he can't hold back a smile.

“What is it, Crowley?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You were... looking at me. I thought you wanted to tell me something.”

He shrugs, taking your empty glass from your hands and setting it down next to his one. “I appreciate beauty. Is it so strange?”

“And you look at me?”

His smile doesn't dim while he answers you. “Where else?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Make me?”

You laugh, awkward. He always finds a way to keep you on your toes, and he surely has no will to be subtle about it... but that's him. That's the demon you grew to care for, definitely too much.

You missed him more than you'd ever thought possible to miss anyone when he was gone, and when he was brought back... you were happy. So happy that you didn't care about Dean or Sam staring at you, and just went to hug him. If they noticed how emotional you were, they were graceful enough not to mention it. You almost lost it when Crowley hugged you back.

Just when you are finally about to take a step back, something brushes the top of your head. You curiously look up, just to see a small branch of mistletoe floating midair.

“Crowley?”

“Not my doing, kitten. Maybe someone is expecting you... us to follow tradition.”

“I...”

Your stare falls on Crowley's lips, only to find them curved in the softest smile he's ever given you. You nod, not trusting your voice enough to speak. He places a hand on your cheek, brushing your cheekbone with his thumb. You study his dark green eyes, taking in the imperceptible streaks of blue almost hidden in the dim lights.

He moves as close as possible to you, stopping just a second before touching your lips. “God, you're beautiful.”

You close the distance between you and smile against his lips. You smile for everything: his words, his hand on your cheek, the warmth of his soft lips.

He kisses you gently, without hesitation or rush, savoring the moment and your taste on him.

His hand rests on your skin, while you open your mouth and deepen the kiss. His tongue touching yours sends a pleasant shiver down your spine and you inhale sharply. You can feel his signature smirk making an appearance while his hand slides on the nape of your neck and buries through tour hair, pulling you as close as possible.

When you finally break the kiss, you rest your forehead against his one, grinning. “How's that for tradition?”

“I'm sure we can do better than that.”

“You know... I've heard the naughty list is incredibly funnier than the nice one.”

“I'd be a lousy demon if I couldn't move you there.”

You giggle and peck his lips, taking his hand and heading to your room.

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Thank you for reading!

I truly hope you enjoyed this little story. Every kind of feedback is very much appreciated, just as much as likes and reblogs!

Please, do not repost or copy my works or part/s of it, not even if you give credits.

Forever tagging @raspberrymama​ <3

[grimoire-of-geekery]

I’ve had quite a few questions thrown in my direction regarding this image, so I decided it would probably be wise to talk a bit more about the Holly Jolly Tumblr Squad badge.

So, what is this image about? The original image is of a pin, sold in a set, and created by a pair of artists who go by the name Fiendies.  They used to create ornaments and all manner of cool, occult/spooky-themed merchandise, and my family and I fell in love with their stuff as soon as a friend showed them to us.  Being as we weren’t terribly well off, we couldn’t afford their merch, so they (along with many other sites and vendors) went onto our “maybe another year” dream list.  We did that a lot with things, my family isn’t well off. Anyway, I’m kind of a huge winter-holidays fanatic, thanks in large part to my friend Samantha (who kind of made a campaign one year to cure me of some trauma-based Grinchness).  I’m a big believer in spreading good during this season, trying to help people remember their empathy and their hope during the winter.  Sama coined this “warrior of holiday spirit” mindset “the Holly-Jolly-Pants.”  She was, and of course will always be, the first wearer of said Pants, and my inspiration every year. In an odd turn of events last year in 2018 while the boys and I were trying to construct a happy holiday for our recently expanded family, I received this pin from my ex in the mail, as a holiday gift.  It was particularly timely and significant to me, as I’d spent about two days designing little holiday things for people, including a bunch of little graphics.  I’d grabbed a bunch of images off google search trying to find a way to represent the magic of the Yule season, and had settled on some crossed peppermint sticks which shaped into a heart, so getting the badge at the end (before I’d even sent those images to anyone yet) was particularly surprising.  It felt like I’d made Santa’s list, y’know? Yeah yeah, I know, I’m sentimental.  Anyway, I took it up as a call to “keep up the good work,” sort of a mystical kudos from my gods and spirits, and I wore it all through the winter until just before March. That’s when I found out that Fiendies was shutting down their site, and no longer making ornaments or merchandise, because people were copying their ideas and undercutting their sales (their prices weren’t even that high!) and basically driving them out of business.  That was seriously uncool.  I put the badge away for next year, used it briefly in 2019 for some magic on my Facebook, and then COVID and my breakup happened, and I didn’t get a chance to think about any of it again until November. Fiendies reopened, in a more limited capacity, which I say is badass and yay for their triumph!  And I decided that this year, I was going to make their pin an emblem of hope, joy, and everything Holly Jolly.  Their merchandise sat on the wishlist of my boys and I for years privately, and so I created and offered up the image to Jasie’s Witchy Wishlists, as sort of a thank you and a tribute.  It represents the spirit of Holly Jolly, so feel free to use it as you like!

Ok, but why’s it blue?  The original image was red and gold, right? Yup.  The image I used in the crafting of the above image was the original promo image Fiendies used to sell their pins.  I didn’t use an image of my own pin, for several reasons, not the least of which is that I’m a terrible photographer. Anyway, I recolored their image blue for a couple reasons.   First, Tumblr’s blue, and this image is specifically for Tumblr folks.  Y’all inspire me, and I wanted to make something that represented everything I was feeling. Second, red is one of my favorite colors, but not this year.  I live in the USA, it was an election year and... let’s just say seeing blue everywhere is very much a sign of hope for me and everyone I care for. There are other reasons in addition to this, but those are a good enough explanation.

What should it be used for? Well, I don’t get to decide that entirely.  It was a gift, after all.  I made it for anyone following and participating in Jasie’s Witchy Wishlists, originally.  It stands for hope, compassion, and it’s hopefully a banner to those who care for others and protect the good in this world. If you want to repost it (and yes, feel free to just repost it, I don’t need credit or anything), I hope you’ll do so as someone who lifts a banner for those virtues, against the cruelty of winter and hardship.  I also would personally take it as a kindness if people posted it as a banner against bullying, abuse, and theft, considering what Fiendies went through.  That’s what I’ll see when I see it posted elsewhere- someone who’s joined the Holly Jolly Tumblr Squad, and is trying to promote and support those virtues.

Anything else? Please support Fiendies and go buy things from them!  Please support the Witchy Wishlists and Jasie!  Those are the only other important things I can think of.  Oh, and please stay safe and healthy this season.

[mhdiaries]

Haunted – Student Spirits Vandala Doubloons Diary 

14 May, Morning Watch

It’s a spooktacular morn, so I think I’ll take me pet cuttlefish for a leisurely sail on the Salty Spectre before school. He woke up on the scareboard side of the ship, and he is totes cranky. It’s like he’s got his tentacles tied in a twist. Every time I call his name, “Aye!” he responds with “Nay!” just to vex me. He’s usually less fearsome than this, but there is a reason he’s a cuttlefish and not a cuddlefish.

14 May, Forenoon Watch

Aye is more his ‘ol self after cruisin’ around the haunted seas. We had to dock quickly when I got seasick - I know, right? What good is a seasick pirate?!? I’m working on it! But anyway, we met up with River - she’s a phantastic ghoul who ferries monsters between the ghost world and the world of the solids. River’s always a splash to fang with... quite the party ghoul! Kiyomi boarded to chill with us, too, and it was such a boo-tiful day, her face was a die-lightfully happy shade of pink. But I was late for Ectonomics and it was a close call that the Hall Moan-itors didn’t catch me! The Principal is constantly on the lookout for any excuse to put troublemonsters in detention. I’m not a troublemonster, but I do like my adventures.

15 May, Afternoon Watch

Shiver me tomb-ers, Haunted High is as cold and mollusky as the deepest part of the ocean. It’s not because of that ol’ myth about ghosts making the air around them cold. It’s the icy atmosphere created by Principal Revenant and all her ghostly rules. She’s got so many students anchored by detention chains that the loud clanging makes it hard to think! Especially Porter Geiss, who is so weighed down by chains, it’s like he’s going for a record. I’m in the li-bury, trying to study for my Ghost Pirate class. The lie-bury is the one place where I can explore like a pirate without risking seasickness. There’s got to be some hidden treasure in here somewhere!

15 May, Dog Watch

Well, boo me down! When I was plundering the li-bury, I found a map of some sort. I don’t know what it is exactly, it’s not really a treasure map, but it looks kind of mysterious and cryptic! I found it stuck in a cook book, in between the pages of the chapter for “Social Creeperings.” At first glance the map looks like some kind of recipe, and even has the heading ‘How to Make Friends.” What does that mean? It took a true adventurer like me to read between the lines and figure out it’s instructions for something crabulous. There are a lot of X’s, of course. That’s how you know it’s important. And there are stick figures in the top left and bottom right, divided by 2 squiggly lines. Also, there are boats between the squiggly lines. Avast! It’s a kindermonster’s artwork! I think I’ll hang it on the fridge in me galley. 

16 May, Morning Watch

I found the treasure! It’s not an actual treasure, but it’s sea-sational all the same. I was enjoying the chain-free atmosphere of me ship and trying to die-sect the map I found, when I caught something out of the corner of me patchless eye. It was misty, like looking through a spyglass on a foggy morn, but it appeared to be a school full of solids! I hushed Aye and tried to concentrate, turning me skull to get a better view, but the apparitions evaporated into sea air!!! It’s mortalfying to think I might have dreamt it, but I was sure I spied a werewolf ghoul with clawsome hair, and she was talking to a zombie with glasses!

16 May, Dog Watch

Well, fair winds! I just got another gander at that solid school again! Still just in the corner of me eye, but a tadpole clearer this time. I saw some ghouls having a scream at fearleading practice. There was a mummy ghoul bossing everyone around, but the squad didn’t seem to mind because they really were scary-good. I’ve never done much fearleading, but I think I’d be a natural at it, because you need good balance to keep your sea-legs in choppy waters. Here’s a fearleading chantey they inspired me to write:

Yo-ho-ho

And a bucket of chum

Haunted High GO!

And don’t play dumb

OK, it’s deadful, but the Jolly Rotter flag routine I made-up to go with it really makes it work. Plus, Aye and I had a fintastic maritime, and that’s what counts. 

17 May, Morning Watch

Went for a swim in the Haunted High pool - it’s one disembody of water where I don’t get seasick! There wasn’t a spirit around when I dove in, but I kept feeling waves crest around me, and every now and then I caught flashes of blue skin and fintastic blonde hair! Talk about shiver me tomb-ers! I was so creeped-out, I die-cided to go aboard River’s yacht and fang-out with her for a while. It’s always swell to kick back, take my pegleg off and chill with my beasty! We can grab some grub and set sail for distant shores. I just hope Aye doesn’t rock the boat.

17 May, Forenoon Watch

Went to the creepateria to toss back some gore-ange juice and replenish my vitamin sea levels. My dad is forever lecturing me on the dangers of getting skullvy. I listen to him because I don’t ever want to be one of those toothless, spotted pirates. That’s a look that would so NOT go with my to-die-for outfits. It’s not that I’m vain, but my wardrobe IS my prize loot. Anyway, Porter Geiss was there getting into trouble for spraying graffiti on the walls, which is why he’s known as “Paintergeist”. He’s a totes ectoplasmic artist! He only uses ghost paint that evaporates quickly, so I don’t know why Principal Revenant and the Hall Moan-itors get so fangry with him. Sometimes I think they just enjoy punishing students and sinking the school spirits. 

17 May, Dog Watch

I wish I could tell one of my BFFs about seeing the solid school, because it’s kind of like watching a fear-ality TV show! I thought about telling River, since she spends a lot of time between our world and the non-ghost world. But then I remembered her dad is the Grim Reaper, and suddenly that seemed like a less than spooktacular idea. I wouldn’t want him to find out. He can deliver a scythe-ing lecture that really takes a ghoul down a pegleg. I also pondered telling Kiyomi, but I’d hate to upset her and see her complexion turn scaly-gray or something - she can’t help changing color depending on her mood. Hauntings aren’t allowed in the solid world, but, arrrr... what if they are haunting me?!?

18 May, Morning Watch

Goin’ to go for a lil’ adventure and check off some of the requirements for my Ghost Pirate class. I think I’ll steer my vessel over to see what River’s up to while I’m at it. Maybe she’d like to make some waves with me. I’m in high spirits today, so dare I hope I won’t even get seasick? Got me stopwatch, me ghostly skeleton crew, and me trusty pet, Aye. Looks like we’re in for smooth sailin’. Just me, my mateys and the deep boo sea. 

[tysonrunningfox]

Ripped: Christmas Special

It’s the Ripped Christmas Special! Where Ripped is during Christmas.  It’s...wow they’re them all the time

Ao3

“We could have ordered a tree online, you know,” Snotlout huffs, readjusting his grip around the freshly cut trunk of the seven-foot Fraser fir between them, his breath a puff of steam in the alley air.  Someone opens their back door to throw a bag of trash into a dumpster and he jumps. 

Hiccup rolls his eyes, “then we wouldn’t have gotten to pick it out.” 

“Ok, we could have ordered a plastic tree online, since all of those look the same.”  He starts walking, making Hiccup stumble backwards and catch himself on an alley wall, brick scraping against his glove.  “Let’s get this home before we get murdered.” 

“No murderers here,” Hiccup starts shuffling forward again anyway, “or at least I thought you caught them all, detective.” 

“You think you can just mention my promotion and I’ll forget you’re a magnet for horrible, murderous luck?” 

“It was worth a shot,” he shrugs, sighing when he hears the music accompanying the streetlamp glow introducing itself to the mouth of the alley.  “Great, Christmas Carolers.” 

“Lugging a giant tree across downtown is fine, but some cold people singing ‘Jingle Bells’ is too much holiday cheer for you.  That makes sense.”  Snotlout rolls his eyes, relaxing when he emerges onto the well-lit sidewalk half a block down from their front door.  One of the carolers looks surprised to see them and Hiccup gives a half-hearted wave before tucking his chin to his chest to hopefully avoid interaction. 

“Do you need some help with that?”  A man’s voice infused with the probable self-importance of ‘Chief Caroler’ asks and Hiccup shakes his head. 

“Nope, we’re almost home, thanks though.” 

“Well, any requests for music while you work?” 

“Silent night?”  Hiccup snips but the intended insult goes over the man’s head as he conducts his jolly group in the first few offkey notes of the song. 

Getting the tree up the stairs ends in casualties of a few lower branches and the rest of Snotlout’s patience when Hiccup accidentally props the tree up on his foot, but it’s worth it when he opens the door and sees Astrid’s face light up.   Or maybe her face doesn’t light up, maybe it just reflects some of the hundreds of multicolor lights she’s strung around the apartment since he left for work this morning.  Either way, it’s worth half an hour of dealing with cold, murder-paranoid Snotlout. 

“Can we please get this fire hazard inside already?”  Snotlout barks from behind the tree in the hallway and Hiccup barely catches his end as it tips forwards, shedding a shower of pine needles on the floor. 

“You got a tree,” Astrid practically bounces over to help, taking Snotlout’s end from him and steering Hiccup to a patch of bare floor by the front window where a plastic tree stand is already sitting. 

“I told you I would,” he nudges the tree stand with his toe, “you said you were getting a tree stand, what did you intend to put in it?  A bush?” 

“Just a second,” Astrid sets the trunk down before kneeling to adjust the tree stand in some way, “I figured since you were walking, it’d be smaller.” 

“Snotlout graciously volunteered to help me carry it,” Hiccup gives his cousin the credit he doesn’t deserve as Astrid places the trunk in the stand, absently directing Hiccup to lean the tree this way and that until she deems it perfect and starts screwing it into place. 

“Anything for you mom,” Snotlout grins. 

“Don’t.”  Hiccup narrows his eyes, “not tonight.  Not tomorrow.   Not this whole visit, ok?  Do not.” 

“Don’t what?” 

“You know what.”  He relaxes only slightly when Eretson appears from Snotlout’s room.  Snotlout can’t be too obvious with his boyfriend in the room, right? 

Then again, Eretson isn’t wearing his business-like ‘keep his employee-slash-boyfriend under control’ suit or expression.  Instead, he’s wearing felt reindeer antlers and a sweater that says ‘Tree-Rex’ under a dinosaur wrapped in little flickering lights. 

“There,” Astrid pops up, clapping her hands together and taking a step back to examine the tree. 

The fierce light that bloomed in her eyes when he casually mentioned decorating for Christmas in preparation for his mom’s visit only brightens and it’s almost enough that he doesn’t notice her bulky sweater striped with chunky knitted green trees and white reindeer on a fuzzy, well worn red background. 

“So Eretson borrowed the getup from you, I see,” he puts his hands on her waist and turns her to face him, earning about as much of her attention as someone distracting Michelangelo from the brick of marble that would become a statue of David. 

“Hmm?”  She frowns, glancing at Eretson, “no.  He just has Christmas spirit, unlike some people.”  She looks disparagingly at the plain blue sweater peeking out of his jacket. 

“I thought he was going to yell at the carolers outside.”  Snotlout greets Eretson with a tip-toed kiss on the cheek and it’s still weird how pleased Eretson manages to look about it. 

“Lights, where did I put the lights?” Astrid will not be kept long from her tree and she pats Hiccup’s arm as she steps out of his grip. 

“Over here,” Eretson produces another box from a bag on kitchen counter and tosses them to her, “and Hiccup, really, Eret is fine.” 

“Right,” Hiccup shakes his head, hanging his jacket up and looking down to make sure that there’s nothing actually wrong with his sweater.  Work clothes still feel like a costume more often than not, and while he’s ok with Astrid judging him on lack of Christmas themed patterns, he was hoping to look at least marginally like an adult tonight, “sorry, just habit.  I’m not used to being on a first name basis with my lawyer.”  His laugh is awkward, hollow, and everyone else rolls their eyes. 

“He hasn’t been your lawyer in like eight months, dude,” Snotlout idly takes a price sticker off of the bottom of a golden reindeer that has taken up residence on the coffee table. 

“I know,” Hiccup turns back to the tree to hide his blush when he inevitably remembers that Eretson also wasn’t his lawyer last month when he accidentally walked in on him in the shower.  Which is good, because that’s definitely breaching some client-lawyer-confidentiality agreement, or something else legal, or something. 

So, it’s good their legal involvement was over.  For all parties. 

“What time’s your mom getting here?”  Astrid asks, fussing over making the lights even as they spiral around the tree. 

His breath catches briefly as the feeling that this apartment wasn’t ever really home without her hits him again in one of those random, familiar waves that he still can’t make himself get used to.  Sometimes she’ll swear over the fire alarm after burning breakfast or he’ll find one of her pristine paperbacks on the coffee table and he’s smacked with overwhelming nostalgia for something he hopes to never, ever have to miss. 

“Come here,” he grabs her elbow, itchy wool on his palm only magnifying the feeling of home as he kisses her. 

She sighs into it, indulging him with a hand torn briefly away from the tree to rest on his hip as his fingers cup the back of her neck, tangling in soft hair. 

“Well, we don’t need this mistletoe then,” Snotlout scoffs and Hiccup registers just enough to flip him off as he pulls away, dropping one last kiss on Astrid’s nose and smiling to himself when it wrinkles. 

“Maybe we do,” Eretson puts an arm over Snotlout’s shoulders, “to contain them in one area.” 

Astrid glares at the both of them, arms wrapping slowly around Hiccup’s neck as she turns back to him, confusion knitting her brows together, “what were we talking about?” 

“I have no idea,” he sets his hands on her waist, “the fact that Christmas carolers in this area are operating on a fraudulent myth that singing songs on the sidewalk has anything to do with the Grimborn investigation during Christmas eighteen-eighty-three?” 

“No, that definitely wasn’t it.” 

“Because that doesn’t make sense, given that A Christmas Carol was released in eighteen-eighty.” 

“Ok, Scrooge.”  She rolls her eyes but kisses him again, sweater sleeves rubbing against the side of his neck. 

“Was it that itchy wool gives me a rash?”  He teases but it doesn’t crack the shell of her recovered concentration.

“No,” she bites her lip and he barely resists the urge to kiss her again, “oh!  I forgot to set the yaknog out.” 

“Yaknog?”  Hiccup and Snotlout ask at the same time and Eretson nods. 

“She let me try some earlier, it’s good.” 

“It’s to be respected,” she kisses Hiccup on the cheek before letting go and rushing to the fridge to pull out a large glass pitcher filled with cream colored liquid.  “But it is delicious.” 

“It’s eggnog,” Snotlout says after a first weary sip before taking another and Eretson pats him carefully on the shoulder.  “What’s the difference between eggnog and yaknog?” 

“The amount of rum I saw disappear into that pitcher,” Eretson says respectfully and Astrid grins, handing Hiccup a glass. 

“That’s why Ruffnut named it yaknog,” she explains, “if it is not respected, it will make you yak.” 

“It’s good,” Hiccup compliments, even though he can’t say he’s ever been an eggnog fan.  Then again, he could be, especially when it makes Astrid smile again, reaching around him to take a package of shiny ornaments off of the counter and hold them up.

“Tree?” 

“Sure.”  He follows her back across the living room, obediently holding the package open for her to choose the first ornament to anoint the tree. 

“The thing that people get wrong about tree decorating is that you have to have a plan,” she instructs, tucking her hair behind her ear and carefully picking a shiny red bauble up by the gold ring at the top of it, like she’s trying not to smudge it. 

“You do?”  He watches her hang the first ornament as high as she can reach, oversized sweater pulling up barely enough to show the back pockets of her jeans.  “What happens if you just hang everything all willy-nilly?”  He takes a gold ornament out of the box and hangs it on the other side of the tree at about hip height. 

“It ends up unbalanced,” she purses her lips, undoing his decorating attempt and cleaning the smudges off of the ball on her sleeve before putting it back in functionally the same place. 

“Wait,” he hands her the box of ornaments, “I’ll be right back.” 

“I thought you were going to help,” she complains half-heartedly after him as he disappears into their unusually clean bedroom just long enough to grab the top hat from the bedpost. 

“Oh God, the dorky hat,” Snotlout complains, barely distracted from his debate with Eretson on the couch.  Hiccup ignores him. 

“If you’re going to instruct me in the art of proper Christmas tree decoration,” he sets it on her head and it slips slightly crooked, like it always does, “you need this.” 

“Fine,” she hands the box back to him and selects her next ornament, hanging it carefully on the tree. 

“What, exactly, would make a Christmas tree unbalanced?”  He loves when she takes things too seriously, assigning methods to things he’s always been sure were madness. 

“Bare patches,” she shrugs, “uneven distribution of color.” 

“Ok, that seems serious,” he jokes, handing her a blue ornament with a grip careful not to smudge and grinning when her warm fingers brush carefully over his, “and what are the consequences of having an unbalanced Christmas tree?” 

“Consequences?”  She looks up from under the brim of his hat, straightening it when it tips backwards. 

“Yeah, what…great harm will befall those dumb enough not to listen to your ancient knowledge of Christmas tree decoration?”  He realizes, with a jolt that makes time slow down, what exactly it means that he’s off work until the new year and she’s done with her semester.  That’s at least ten days at home with her, ten days around the soon to be perfect tree, ten days with the multicolor lights reflecting in her eyes. 

“Bad luck,” she nods solemnly. 

“Oof,” he holds the box of ornaments to the side to step closer and whisper, “I should be probably paying attention then, I’ve had enough bad luck this year.” 

“Not only bad luck, I hope.”

“Good too,” he assures, kissing her briefly and smiling when she forgets herself enough to press an ornament against his neck as her hand finds his cheek, “lots of good.”  He flips Snotlout off again when he groans, then tries to pry the ornament free of Astrid’s grip before she smashes it against his jaw. 

“Oh no,” she pulls back all of a sudden, staring from the tree to the counter where bags sit entirely depleted of Christmas decorations. 

“What is it?” 

“I forgot a star,” she blushes, messing with her hair and almost knocking the hat off of her head, “for the top of the tree.” 

“Oh,” he looks around, half wondering if Snotlout would consent to his badge being a shiny tree-topper at least for tonight, before the idea hits him.  “If I may…”  He plucks the hat off of her head and goes onto lopsided tip toes to set it carefully on the top of the tree.  It immediately falls slightly crooked, like it’s on a very rustic hat hook, and he expects Astrid’s too serious lecture about tree balance to start up again, but it doesn’t.  “Is that—”

“I love it,” she grins, “you obviously didn’t need tree decorating lessons, you’re a natural.” 

“You taught me everything I know,” he puts his hand on his heart to swear it and she rolls her eyes. 

“Help me get the rest of these on before—”

A knock at the door cuts her off and she freezes, eyes wide as she tugs at her sweater, shifting half a step back from him.  Right.  His mom.  That’s what she was asking about earlier before she distracted him. 

He checks the time right as Snotlout stands up from the couch. 

“I’ll get it.” 

“No, you won’t,” Hiccup rushes to the door but stumbles, wasting precious time juggling an open box half full of ornaments and ultimately losing the race. 

“Good evening, Miss Haddock,” Snotlout greets stepping aside to let Hiccup’s mom through, “may I say that you look particularly lovely this—”

“You may not,” Hiccup cuts him off, setting the box on the arm of the couch and resisting the urge to shove Snotlout out of the way.  “Hi Mom.” 

“Seeing Spitelout Jorgenson’s son grow up into such a polite young man,” his mom looks at him anxiously for a second and then sets a warm hand on his shoulder, “makes me wonder where I messed up.” 

“Hey!”  Hiccup laughs anyway and Snotlout holds out an arm. 

“Can I take your coat?” 

“I’ve got it,” Hiccup steps in, folding his mom’s coat awkwardly over his arm when she hands it to him. 

Is he supposed to introduce Astrid now?  Or get his mom settled first?  Should he have introduced her before he took his mom’s coat?  Should he have asked Eretson to take her coat, given that he trusts Eretson not to hit on his mom? 

“Oh, Miss Haddock,” Snotlout interrupts Hiccup’s racing thoughts and gestures to Eretson, who looks as composed as any grown man could in a novelty sweater and felt antlers, “I don’t believe you’ve met my boyfriend, Eret.” 

“He’s also my lawyer,” Hiccup blurts out, hastily tossing his mom’s coat onto his hat’s old peg on the coat rack.  He’s lucky that it doesn’t fall. 

He’s never introduced a girlfriend to his mom before, but he is relatively sure he was supposed to do that before introducing his lawyer.  Ex-lawyer.  Ex-lawyer, occasional victim of accidental shower peeping. 

At least he didn’t say that out loud. 

“Nice to meet you, Miss Haddock,” Eretson holds his hand out but Hiccup’s mom hugs him instead. 

“Valka is fine.”  She looks at Snotlout, “for all of you, really.” 

“Well, if you insist.”  Snotlout laughs how adults do when there’s no real joke, the laugh that Hiccup hasn’t even attempted to master. 

“Oh, and Mom?”  Hiccup clears his throat, stepping beside Astrid and grabbing her hand in his.  He wonders if she can feel him shaking and internally thanks her for not mentioning it.  “This is Astrid.  My girlfriend.  And Astrid, this is my mom.  Obviously.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Astrid squeezes his hand before letting it go and offering it to Hiccup’s mom.  There’s a tense millisecond before she gets a hug too, a little more enthusiastic than Eretson’s, if Hiccup isn’t mistaken, and he breathes a little easier.  “I’ve heard so much about you.” 

“I wish I could say the same,” Hiccup’s mom laughs, hands on Astrid’s shoulders, “Hiccup has been very tight-lipped about this whole thing—”

“Mom,” he sounds fifteen when he whines, but he can’t seem to hold it back. 

“I half thought he’d made you up.” 

“Mom.” 

“He didn’t even mention how absolutely gorgeous you are.” 

 “Oh.  Thank you,” Astrid blushes, “can I get you anything?  Would you like some yaknog?” 

“Sure,” his mom agrees, asking ‘what the hell is yaknog’ with her eyes as she looks back at him.  “She really is beautiful—”

“I know,” he cuts her off before Astrid can hear again, fumbling for his own glass of yaknog and toasting in his mom’s direction, “and she makes great eggnog.  I mean yaknog.  It’s eggnog with a way higher rum quotient, I’m told.” 

“Merry Christmas,” his mom responds, humming appreciatively when she tries it. 

Snotlout offers suspiciously graciously to get his mom’s bag from the stairwell, and she accepts before sitting down at one end of the couch, by Eretson.  Snotlout’s seat is assumed, and that leaves the chair, which Hiccup sits in without thinking.  Usually, Astrid would just wedge herself in beside him or make herself comfortable on his lap, but of course she can’t do that now, because his mom is here. 

“Oh, sorry, you can have the, um, chair—” He starts to stand up, but she stops him, hand on his shoulder as she perches on the arm, resting her glass of yaknog on her knee. 

“So,” his mom leans forward slightly, looking around the apartment like she’s wondering how many of the little changes since she lived here are Astrid’s influence.  The answer is most of them, and Hiccup suddenly doesn’t know when he got so old that he didn’t have to ask permission for someone to move in with him.  He guesses he asked Snotlout without getting permission, but that’s different.  That’s a roommate.  “Tell me everything.” 

Eretson laughs, shooting Snotlout a knowing look when he comes back inside, arm on the back of the couch like an invitation to snuggle up together and watch the carnage.  Sometimes, he’s enough of an ass to deserve the ‘lawyer’ title. 

“Everything?”  Hiccup clears his throat, “what’s everything?  I mean, work is going great.  I just got a petition with over ten thousand signatures to save the Grand Hotel from being torn down up to the State Legislature.  I might even get to go defend it, which would be good because that’s how I got most of the ten thousand signatures, by promising people that if they signed my form, they’d be forcing me to talk in a very public, uncomfortable court, and I guess I was annoying enough that it’s something literal thousands of people wanted to force me to do.” 

He laughs.  No one else does.  Astrid squeezes his shoulder, half-comfort and half-reminder, and his mom’s eagle eyes snag on the motion. 

“You told me about your job on the phone,” she reminds him, “I was referring more to the fact that you’re living with a girlfriend you couldn’t find a minute to send me a picture of.” 

“Would you have believed him?”  Snotlout snorts, polite mask slipping for a second until Astrid glares at him.  “About the job.  Of course.  I’m shocked you believed that Hiccup got a job.  I hardly believed it, it’s really just Astrid being a good influence.” 

Eretson and Astrid share a look and he puts a hand on Snotlout’s shoulder, urging him quiet. 

“I heard you two met at your old apartment building?”  Hiccup’s mom directs the question at Astrid and she freezes, eyebrows raising, “was that before or after the ‘little run-in with the law’ that he told me about?” 

“Oh,” Astrid nods, “when you say everything, you mean that much everything.”  Her fingernails dig into Hiccup’s shoulder and his grin turns plastic. 

He didn’t know how to tell his mother that he got a little bit framed for serial murder, but it’s fine now, so he kind of just omitted the first half of the sentence. 

“Is that not how you met?”  Having his mom catch him in half a lie in front of his girlfriend is somehow worse than having his mom catch him in an absolute lie in any other circumstance.  Unpredictably, it’s worse that he’s an adult, a real adult with a job, who just started using beard oil because isn’t the mark of true adulthood the accumulation of small bottles in the bathroom?   

“Do you want to tell it, babe?”  Astrid asks, an edge in the pet name, and he sighs. 

“I’ll take your lead on this one.” 

“Well,” she takes a long drink of her yaknog before continuing, “I’m assuming you know that Hiccup used to do Viggo Grimborn tours.” 

His mom nods, “I was hoping to catch one on this trip, actually.” 

“I don’t actually do them anymore,” Hiccup shrugs, “but I suppose exceptions could be made.” 

“Anyway,” Astrid’s heel knocks against his metal shin as she swings her leg, mysteriously nervous rather than actually mad at him for lying by omission, “I happened to move into an apartment that featured on his tour.” 

“So, we did meet at your building, technically.” 

“Yeah, but I was in the building, and you were in the courtyard yelling about murder and shining a laser pointer into my bathroom,” she corrects him, voice softening throughout the sentence. 

“And you don’t react well to being startled,” he fills in, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “as evidenced by the fact that you threw your toothbrush at my head.” 

“Dropped it,” she insists, and he grabs her hand. 

“With deadly aim, sure.” 

“And I’m assuming you apologized,” Hiccup’s Mom raises her eyebrow and he nods. 

“Of course, I sent her a pizza.” 

“It didn’t stop you from coming back three times a night,” Astrid teases. 

“That explains the ‘run-in’ with the law,” his mom gives him a stern look, like he’s six and his dad caught him elbow deep in the cookie jar, so he’s actually in trouble, “it does leave me a little foggy as to why a seemingly smart girl like you moved in with someone who stalked her.” 

Astrid laughs, a little awkward, grip tightening on Hiccup’s hand like he’s her lifeline for once. 

“Technically he only stalked my apartment.”  She shrugs, “and he’s pretty persuasive.  Especially about being harmless.” 

“And lucky for him, you’re a huge nerd too,” Snotlout interjects, earning a blushing glare and an admonishing look from Eretson. 

“Yeah, lucky for me,” Hiccup agrees, because it is luck that Astrid wasn’t just an undeniably gorgeous and unmistakably violent woman who threw things at him.  He doesn’t know how much of his luck he spent for her to be so much more than that, but it’s worth it. 

“That’s quite the story,” his mom finishes her yaknog and Astrid gets up to refill it for her, shooting Hiccup a look that he doesn’t quite understand.  Almost checking in, almost worried, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it because his mom turns to Eretson.  “Hiccup said you’re his lawyer, maybe you’re the one to ask about his ‘run-in’ with the law, as he puts it.” 

“Well,” Eretson looks almost panicked for a second, before adjusting his antlers and gesturing at Hiccup with the arm not over Snotlout’s shoulders, “given that I’m no longer his lawyer, I’m afraid you’ll have to direct all questions surrounding the dismissed case at my former client.” 

Snotlout snickers. 

“Is that what you would have said in court?”  Hiccup wipes his face, arms itching to pull Astrid into his lap when she sits back down on the arm of the chair, like he could hide behind her where he could pretend he’s not going to have to explain this to his mother.  “I’m shocked you didn’t see it on the news, Mom,” he gestures to his face, “it was everywhere, that’s why I ended up growing the beard, I didn’t actually take to fame as well as I thought I would.  I’m sure you remember the magic tricks?  I used to think I’d love to escape handcuffs on stage, but after I kind of did it, if the twenty-four-seven news racket counts as a stage, I discovered I kind of hated it—”

“I can’t take this anymore,” Snotlout stands up, hands held out like he’s projecting a scene onto a screen between them, “ok, so this really creepy dude infiltrated the police force and framed Hiccup for a bunch of murders—”

“Snotlout!”  Astrid tries to stop him, but he waves her off. 

“It’s your big meet-Hiccup’s-mom moment, I get you.  I’ve got you, she comes out of this story looking…like oh my God, I’m not going to spoil it, just—wait, did you hear I got shot?”  He pauses and then reaches for the hem of his shirt. 

“Snotlout!”  Hiccup snaps, almost knocking Astrid off of the arm of the chair as he jumps halfway to his feet. 

“I was just going to show her my scar.” 

“She doesn’t want to see your scar,” Hiccup assures him, sitting back down and tugging Astrid with him, his hips notched slightly behind hers so that they can share the chair.  She crosses her legs and her ankle slides across his knee, anchoring him for whatever spectacle he’s about to endure. 

Eretson has a stupid, bemused expression on his face that Hiccup only recognizes from his own reflection when he happens to be thinking about Astrid, and inviting his mother for Christmas was obviously a mistake. 

“I’ll skip to the good part,” Snotlout promises, “Hiccup is in jail, for multiple murders, and Astrid goes to visit him, but of course the bad guy chooses that time to gloat about it, and Astrid—this Astrid, right here, takes her umbrella,” he mimes a wide swing like he’s hitting a home run, “and shatters the creep’s nose.  One orbital socket too, I heard from the hospital.  I’ve seen the video it’s…” 

“Classified,” Eretson interrupts, “that case is still ongoing.” 

“It’s awesome,” Snotlout insists, “that’s what it is.” 

“It was nothing,” Astrid tries to hold some approximation of a humble expression but then she grins, allowing the compliment, “ok, it was pretty satisfying.” 

“Multiple murders,” Hiccup’s mom says slowly, eyebrows raised, and he gives into the urge to hide behind Astrid, chin on her shoulder, arm possessively around her waist as he shoots a glare at Snotlout for revealing that little tidbit of information, “quite the ‘run-in’.” 

“That I didn’t, you know, commit.”  He mumbles after a too long second, “I was framed.” 

It isn’t received as the comforting statement he was going for and he looks up at the lights strung around the window before whispering in Astrid’s ear. 

“How do I get the conversation off of murder and back to Christmas?” 

“I don’t know,” she flushes, whispering as quietly as possible as the three on the couch engage in halting small talk, “Jonbenet Ramsey?” 

Hiccup snorts even though he shouldn’t, burying his nose in her hair to try and hide it.  His humor has always skewed dark, and that’s probably why he’s not in a padded room right now, but the last thing he wants to do now is explain how Astrid’s knowledge of true crime beyond Grimborn is not only funny, but also endearing and kind of sexy in a way he can’t contemplate with his mom judging him. 

“What was that?”  His mom asks and Astrid’s neck warms as her blush travels down it. 

“Nothing.”  She clears her throat, patting Hiccup’s arm for him to let her up and take all of her warmth and protection with her.  “I was about halfway through decorating the tree when you got here, I think I’ll go finish that.” 

“Can I help?”  His mom offers and while his first instinct is to follow and make sure that everything goes well, Astrid is far more capable of assuring that particular outcome than he is. 

“Yeah, that’d be great.” 

Hiccup tries not to watch them.  He offers to order a pizza, because of course he didn’t plan for dinner in the rush of getting the tree and he doesn’t think anywhere delivers a whole Christmas goose on such short notice.  He tries to focus on his phone or Snotlout and Eretson’s conversation about some law he doesn’t think he’s broken yet, but his entire being still snaps to attention when Astrid makes his mom laugh. 

“…not even listening to me, are you?”  Snotlout’s voice breaks his concentration as he tries to make sense of the joke or embarrassing story about him or whatever they’re bonding over and he glares at him. 

“What?” 

“I said ‘you’re not even listening to me, are you?’,” Snotlout scoffs and stands up, walking over to the chair as Eretson migrates closer to the tree, “and then you said ‘what?’, which proved you weren’t—”

“What did I miss?”  Hiccup rolls his eyes, “because I heard the whole story where you admitted to my mother that I was wrongly incarcerated for murder.  Thanks for that, by the way.” 

“No problem, I figured it’d be easier if she heard it from me.”  His smile is borderline flirtatious, and Hiccup grinds his teeth. 

“Don’t.” 

“Don’t what?  Don’t give you another reason to thank me?” 

“What’s the reason?”  Hiccup stands up, returning to the counter to refresh his yaknog, sure that he’s going to need it to cushion whatever Snotlout is about to say. 

“I’m doing you a favor—”

“Tell me what the favor is, and I’ll decide if I’m going to thank you for it.”  His eyes flick to the tree again when Astrid laughs.  She must have stolen Eretson’s antlers at some point and she slaps his hand away when he tries to recover them. 

“I think your mom should sleep in my bed.” 

“What?”  Hiccup snaps, too loud, and everyone looks at him like they’re nervous to even attempt to understand the size and scale of whatever his problem is. 

“Is everything ok?”  Astrid cocks her head and he nods back at her, tight lipped and sloshing yaknog on the front of his apparently inadequate blue sweater when he tries to wave her off. 

“Fine.  Good.  I just need to talk to Snotlout outside for a second.  Alone.  Where no one can hear him scream—”

“Scream?”  Eretson asks but Snotlout brushes him off, following a little too willingly when Hiccup drags him out into the stairwell. 

“I asked you to stop with the hitting on my mom jokes for one day,” he hisses out on the sidewalk, glaring at the carolers who have managed to move all of a block down the frigid sidewalk, even as the slow falling snow should have convinced them to head home by now, “for Astrid to meet her, because it’s a big deal—”

“It’s not a joke—”

“Sometimes, I wish I’d gotten convicted for shooting you so that double jeopardy could apply,” he runs out of steam all at once, shoulders slumping, “so are you telling Eretson that you think my mom should sleep with you or is it my turn to make a fool out of you by telling a stupid story?” 

“I said your mom should sleep in my bed,” Snotlout claps him on the shoulders, “not with me.  I can crash with Eret while she’s here, then your mom doesn’t have to sleep on the couch.  I already changed the sheets.” 

“If that’s what you meant, why did you phrase it like that?” 

“To make you freak out,” he shrugs. 

“Right.  Thanks for that.” 

“No problem,” Snotlout pulls a wad of green out of his pocket and it takes a second for Hiccup to recognize plastic mistletoe, “we’ll probably head out soon, actually, I grabbed this from Astrid’s decoration stash, I was thinking about hanging it from my belt buckle.” 

“Gross.” 

“Eret seems pretty into Christmas, I thought it was festive—”

“I’m going to go back inside, before you say anything else, or before—” Before something goes less than perfectly between Astrid and his mom.  “Nope, that one reason is enough.” 

“Dude,” Snotlout sighs, “calm the fuck down, Astrid’s great, and way too hot for you.  There’s no way your mom isn’t going to like her.” 

“Great pep talk.” 

“I’m here to help,” Snotlout claps him on the shoulder before leading the way back inside. 

He explains his purposed sleeping arrangements to Hiccup’s mom, and she makes another comment about how surprised she is at his politeness.  If it wouldn’t make him stick around and cause more havoc, Hiccup might take the opportunity to clarify that it’s all an act, and a thin one at that, but as little as he wants to think about what Snotlout just overshared, he really wants him to leave.  Not only to get his wildcard mouth out of the situation, but because there’s something nuclear about the idea of being alone with Astrid and his mom.  Something a little more traditionally family shaped. 

His dad’s absence is a little heavier as they sit around the remarkably well-balanced tree, eating pizza and hashing out vague plans for the next few days.  Astrid teasingly promises to help with a Grimborn tour, if he’s too rusty, and he wonders what must show on his face for his mom to yawn so quickly and excuse herself to bed, blaming flights and travel and anything other than Hiccup’s blush. 

She points silently at Astrid’s back on the way to Snotlout’s room before giving Hiccup a not so subtle thumbs up that he appreciates as much as it embarrasses him. 

After the door is shut, Astrid stands with a yawn, stretching her arms over her head and shuffling towards the kitchen, promising to put the remnants of the yaknog away and meet him in the bedroom.  And listening to the quiet clang of the pitcher in the fridge while he takes off his work clothes and flops onto the bed in his underwear only enforces the feeling of home and family and stifling rightness that has perfumed every awkward minute of tonight. 

Astrid pauses when the door clicks shut behind her, cocking her head as he props himself up on an elbow, a bemused little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

“What?”  He looks down at his chest, “did Yaknog soak through my shirt?” 

“I can’t tell from here,” she unbuttons her pants and shoves them down to join his in a disorganized pile on the floor before doing that female trick where her arms disappear into sleeves for a moment and her bra appears, also immediately abandoned. Her sweater hangs halfway down her thighs and her knee-high socks are covered in candy canes and Christmas trees.  “I was wondering why you aren’t under the covers.” 

“Ran out of energy,” he shrugs, “right here.  Can’t move another inch.” 

“Right,” she nods, unimpressed as she climbs onto the bed beside him and tugs absently at her side of the covers, biting her lip and sitting cross-legged, tucking her hair behind her ear.  “How do you think that went?” 

“Oh, I was a spaz, so everything’s right on schedule.”  He lays back, hand landing on her knee and sliding down to trace the edge of her sock against her calf. 

“No, I mean,” her voice dips, “how do you think I did with meeting your mom?” 

“Great,” he rolls on his side to face her, leaning halfway up on an elbow, “of course.  Were you worried?” 

“Of course, I was worried,” she crosses her arms, but even she struggles to look scary in an oversized sweater and holiday socks. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Because I thought it was obvious.”  She scoffs, “I want your mom to like me, of course I was nervous.” 

“She likes you,” he skips to the fact instead of meandering through the long explanation that of course his mom would like her, because there’s nothing unlikeable about her, “she gave me a thumbs up on her way to bed.  That’s high approval.” 

“Oh,” she brightens, hands tucked back into too long sleeves. 

“I have a secret too,” he flops onto his back, “I don’t know if you want to hear it though…”

“Don’t tease me,” she follows, straddling his hips with her hands on his chest, like she’s planning on holding him down until he talks.  Not that he minds, if anything he folds his arms behind his head with plans to draw it out.  “That’s just mean.” 

“Snotlout stole your mistletoe,” he says seriously. 

“Bastard,” she whispers, fingers curling absently against his chest. 

“I know.  I would have fought for it for you—”

“Of course.” 

“But he told me he was planning to hang it from his belt buckle, so then it felt tainted.”  He laughs when her nose wrinkles in sympathetic disgust.  “I know.” 

“Well what are we going to do now?”  She presses her thumb to his lower lip, fingernails scratching gently through his beard and he shivers.  Her smile is just on the right side of teasing,“if you’re cold, you should get under the covers.” 

“Told you, I’m too tired,” he pushes back on her hips with hands that suddenly can’t move fast enough and she scoots back enough to let him sit up.  “I also told you that wool gives me a rash,” he tries to kiss her as he pulls her sweater up, but she pushes him back with a hand over his mouth. 

“Without mistletoe?”  She snickers through her false incredulity and he pauses his quest against her sweater to tuck her hair behind her ear, “that’s not very festive.” 

“We don’t need it.”  He attempts to roll her onto the pillow but only half succeeds, hovering over her as she scoots back, knees hugging his hips when she’s comfortable.  “It’s a pagan thing anyway.”  Her sweater makes his chest itch when he kisses her neck, but her hand trailing down his side makes it hard to care. 

“Oh, so like ‘keep Christ in Christmas’?”  She asks, arching into him when he grinds down against her, hand sliding down the back of her thigh. 

“No,” he sits back on his heel, carefully unfolding her leg and setting her novelty sock clad heel over his shoulder, “it’s all about commercialism.” 

“Right.  Of course,” she laughs, eyes bright with something better than Christmas spirit and stronger than yaknog. 

“A reason to sell socks,” he kisses the edge of the sock on her calf, “and deforest small, ornamental trees.”  He kisses the inside of her knee.  “Run up the electric bill with hundreds of twinkling lights.” 

He kisses the inside of her thigh, knees scooting backwards on the bed as her heel drags up his spine. 

“They’re LED.”  She’s not laughing anymore, voice low like she’s reminding herself to be quiet, and she lifts her hips when he hooks his thumbs in the sides of her underwear. 

“A reason to buy twinkling lights, then.”  He pushes her sweater up enough to kiss her hipbone and she nearly growls under her breath, hand firm on the back of his head as she redirects his focus. 

“Ok, Scrooge.” 

He’d make some quip about the ghost of Christmas future not being particularly scary, but he doesn’t think she’s listening. 

[i-love-trash-blog]

Santa With Muscles

What has infamous white collar criminal Jordan Belfort, Hulk Hogan, Mila Kunis, and the Holiday Spirit in common? The answer is Santa with Muscles. A movie whose very name invokes the question “why?”. This movie was made in 1996, which it 3 years before Jordan Belfort would plead guilty to his financial crimes. Why is this relevant? Because Jordan Belfort was a producer to this monstrosity. Personally, I first came into contact with Santa with Muscles in my sophomore year of high school, and it has taken up a certain percentage of my mind ever since.

             There’s no clear thesis of this movie, instead, we get a weird mix of “be kind to kids”, “be kind to orphans in particular” and “there should be more orphans”. Yes, this movie is strangely very pro orphan. But we’ll get to that.

             The plot of the movie is thin and inedible. Hulk Hogan plays a selfish millionaire who is first introduced in a scene in which he beats up his staff. After throwing one of his butlers over a balcony, he decides to go paintballing around the town with some people who I assume are also getting paid by him. This results in a high-speed chase between him and the police where he shoots a paintball gun at their police cars.

             To get out of the consequences of his actions, he jumps out of the car and makes his way to hide in a nearby mall, where he finds a Santa costume and uses it as a disguise from the police who have now followed him into the mall. We don’t hear anymore from them for a while, I assume that they do just give up and don’t bother calling the FBI on a maniac who started a high-speed chase in a suburban area with them.

             While running from the police(and after being mean to a kid just wanting to see Santa), Hulk Hogan falls down a garbage shoot and knocks his head hard enough to loose his memory and pass out. Don Stark, dressed as one of Santa’s elves, finds him, and promptly steals his wallet. Once Hogan wakes up, instead of taking the obviously concussed man to a hospital, Stark convinces him that he is Santa and that he has to go say hi to the kids.

             Meanwhile, up on the hill, a man named Ebner Frost is putting the shake down on a shoe shop owner to sell his shop. This is our main villain. We also meet the four minor villains. Dr. Vial, a inexplicably Canadian chemist with overly large teeth for some reason. Ms. Watts, a woman with electric gloves. And Mr. Flint, a scary geologist. I don’t know how they did it, but Mr. flint is the scariest of the three.

             Back at the mall, two guys, one of whom is wearing a D.A.R.E. shirt plot to steal money from the orphanages fundraising table. The woman appears to be asleep, but after the two guys steal the bowl of money, drop the bowl of money, and get caught by a young girl who just saw Santa, the woman still hasn’t woken up, so we can only assume that she is dead. The little girl screams for Santa’s help in stopping the thieves, not the police or any other adult, just Santa. Hogan, who has been playing Santa without knowing who he really is, hears her and rushes off to beat up the thieves.

             Afterwards, he notices the booth for the orphanage, and makes the decision that he has to go help them, pushing the overly eager mall crowd out of his way, and taking Don Stark with him.

             At the orphanage, we find that Frost’s lackies are vandalizing the building. Hulk Hogan tries to stop them, but he doesn’t actually do much and they get away. He is invited into the orphanage where he meets the two care takers and the three orphans that are left. They explain that they are running out of money and had to get rid of all the other kids. Then they express who sad they are that they had to get rid of the other kids. I would assume that they adopted the kids out. My question is why it took them not having money to support the orphanage for them to get those kids adopted. They seem like they’re not doing a great job at finding homes for these kids.

             Anyway, they also explain how Ebner Frost has been buying up properties all around them and keeps terrorizing them for theirs. They also never dig deeper into finding out who Hulk Hogan is. They ask for his name and he just says ‘Santa’. Don Stark is also going along with the Santa act because he needs a thumb print activation to access Hulk Hogan’s bank account. He doesn’t ever get the thumb print, and it’s a very loose plot thread.

             The adults at the orphanage offer to let Hulk Hogan and Don Stark stay the evening. There’s not a good reason for this, the movie is set in California so it’s not like there’s bad weather and they couldn’t go to their own homes, if they had them. So they spend the night with three kids that believe Hulk Hogan is Santa and two adults willing to allow two complete strangers to stay in the same house as those kids.

             Now, in a competent movie, something would happen. But the good middle chunk of the movie is just the same business of the villains coming to the orphanage and Hulk Hogan beating them up while dressed as a jolly old man. But we do get a big reveal at the end of the second act, when Hogan finds out that Frost wants something that’s underneath the orphanage. He goes to the people living here and asks, “What’s under the orphanage?” He gets a couple answers. Sewers, dirt, rats, storage. And then finally they say “Oh yeah, also the catacombs, the kids used to play down there.” As if that wouldn’t be the most pressing answer to that question.

             They take a trip to the catacombs, which later are revealed to have actual skeletons in them (you know, for the kids). There’s a giant vault there and the kids know some of the numbers and Hulk Hogan suddenly knows all the rest of them! They get inside and find magical glowing rocks which Mila Kunis explains are full of electricity. Having taken several courses that involve electricity and magnetism, I can confirm that this explanation is 100% USD certified bull.

             The rocks start exploding so Hulk Hogan and the orphans leave the cave (that’s not a sentence I thought I’d ever have to type out). But now Hulky is Sulky because he wants to know who he is and why he knew the combination to the lock. Don Stark tells him to calm down and shows him the clothes that he was wearing when he was found in the Santa suit. They’re covered in orange paint from the paintballing. Don convinces Hogan that it’s blood and that he could be a criminal, and Hogan believes it. His concussion is definitely getting worse.

             They get upstairs to find one of the villains holding everyone hostage. Hogan chases him through the orphanage and up a tower where another mechanical Santa asserts its dominance and pushes Hogan off the tower and into a garbage truck. He hits his head again and regains his memory, Then wakes up at home in his mansion, because one of the workers at the dump recognized him and sent him home.

             While being sad at home, he gets a call. There’s danger at the orphanage! He rushes over and he and Don Stark take down the minor villains one by one. He finds the workers at the orphanage and the old man sits him down and explains that Hulk Hogan grew up in this orphanage! And was best friends with the main villain! How could he ever forget?! Now he remembers every part of their friendship!

             He goes down and fights in the catacombs with big rocks full of electricity. Eventually he wins the fight with Frost, but the rocks have become unstable and the orphanage is going to explode! Luckily everyone gets out ok, and the last we see of Frost, he’s being carted away by the same police from before who now don’t care about Hulk Hogans crimes!

             The movie ends when the orphans move into Frosts mansion, and now there’s more kids there! Hooray they’re having a party! But wait. If there’s more kids at the orphanage, that can only mean one of two things. Either there are parents willing to let their children play around in an orphanage, or there are more orphans. Maybe the explosion caused more damage than we initially thought.

             And that’s Santa with Muscles, a movie that should have never been. There’s many weird lines and details (like one of the police officers yelling about him being in Desert Storm???), and the mere concept is pretty hard to wrap your head around. But apparently this is the kind of stuff you can do when you have secret-Swedish-bank-account money, so I say, thank you Jordan Belfort. Thank you for the garbage.

[gauntie-o-dimm]

Gaunter O’Dimm | Wedding Surprises

"Of course, someone like me shouldn't get caught into the web one calls love, yet I couldn't help myself."

Gaunter has become rather jealous of your date at the wedding of Aldona and Johnnus.

Word count: 2700+ Warnings: Smut, swearing, angst

'This is it, then?' We stood in front of the gate, music playing from the other side. The formal tunic I wore hugged my waist tightly, making it a bit hard to breathe properly. Shani inhaled through her nose, clearly fighting the urge to grab Geralt's hand. I knew she fancied him, but I also knew that he didn't return those feelings, plus, Vlodimir von Everec was currently possessing the White Wolfs body, so that might explain the redheads hesitation. It was like Geralt wasn't really there, every action and word came from Vlodimirs spirit. 'I guess.' I breathed, swallowing thickly. I wasn't looking forward too much to this evening, but I felt like I had to accompany Geralt, in case something bad would happen. However, Shani insisted that I took a date with me, so I took Lambert, for I had no idea who else to take. Thing was, the medic knew that the sarcastic Witcher had been crushing on me for the longest time, and she playfully shipped us while traveling here, making Lambert blush like crazy. I kind of felt bad for him, since I was not in love with the brunet. My heart had been stolen by somebody else, to be more specific, the one that had been our contact for quite some time know, the main reason we had to fulfill this wish for Olgierd von Everec, to give his deceased brother the night of his life, or death, whatever. He was mysterious, uncanny, inexplicable. 

I kept quiet about my heart that beat a bit quicker for Gaunter O'Dimm, for I knew Geralt would be furious if he found out. He didn't trust Gaunter O'Dimm in the slightest, and who was I to blame him for that? The man was enigmatic, for fucks sake. '(Y/n)?' I blinked a few times, awakening from my daydream. 'Hm?' Shani laughed lightly. 'You are walking with your head in the clouds. Say your blessings!' Just now I noticed the couple in front of me, smiling sheepishly at me. 'Oh, right, excuse me. I wish you both the best of luck and many healthy offspring!' Aldona, the bride, blushed. 'Alright, enjoy yourselves, OK? The capping ceremony starts at midnight.' I gave the couple a friendly nod. 'There are plenty of activities to do around here, which should we do first?' Vlodimirs (Geralts) voice sounded cheerful as he draped an arm around Shani. 'Hm, what about the pig game?' Lambert suggested. 'I think you should sign up for it, Geralt. I think they need new pigs soon!' If Geralt was in control of his own body right now, the man would've bashed him across the jaw. 'Hilarious. Let's show those lads how it's done, the filthy peasants don't know how to fetch their wenches-- I mean ladies a prize.' I rolled my eyes at the behavior of the deceased Von Everec. 'I will get (Y/n) that plush piggy, then you got something to cuddle with when I am not home, right (Y/n)?' Lambert winked, a flirty smile covering his face. I shuddered, looking away. 'Come on, Lambert.' Vlodimir beckoned the brunet. Shani grabbed my arm, pulling me with her to sit close to the fence, a perfect view on how the two men tried to drive the pigs with a circle on their backs in the pen. 'How do you like Lambert?' I shook my head. 'Not at all. He is nice, you can laugh with him, sure, but I don't see more in him than just a friend.' 'Sure...' She wiggled her eyebrows, a smile plastered on her face. 'I really do not like Lambert.' She held up her hands in a defensive way. 'Alright, you're the boss.' Cheers were audible from the pen, two mud-covered Witchers standing with their hands in the air in victory, high-fiving in the process. 'Now, for who is the pig?' 'Depends on what you mean with pig. Geralt, Lambert, or the plushie.'

I let out a squeak when Lambert slipped my shoe back on my foot. It was completely soaked and dirty. 'Is that seaweed?' The brunet shrugged. 'What about it? Don't like slippery things?' I had to resist the urge to slap him across the face. 'Fuck off.' My foot made a soggy sound as I stood up, walking over to Shani, who was looking rather dreamily at Geralt, who was downing an entire tray of shots. I nudged her shoulder, making her jump. 'Eh?' 'And you say I am walking with my head in the clouds?' The redhead huffed, a small smile covering her face. 'I like Geralt more when Vlodimir is possessing him. Makes him more... Loose.' I scrunched my nose. 'Hm, not me. Geralt is supposed to be grumpy.' A arm was draped around my waist, a drink pushed in my hands. 'Drink up, darling.' I smelled the alcoholic beverage. 'What kind of drugs did you put in this?' Lambert chuckled. 'All kinds of them. I said, drink up.' I sipped it carefully. 'It's good.' I tried to ignore the brunets arm around me and focused on the music instead, its tune rather jolly. 'Wanna dance?' I nearly choked on the wine. 'Dance? With you?' Lambert hummed in agreement. 'Of course, with who else? Geralt?' The White Wolf puffed out his chest. 'Try me.' 'Let's have a dance off, shall we?' Vlodimir grabbed Shani's hand, pulling her towards the open area on the dance floor. 'Yes, we shall.' I let out a sound of surprise as the brunet Witcher started twirling me around on the beat of the music without a single warning. 'You are very good at this!' I complimented him, clapping along with the dance. He smiled, grabbing my hand as we turned. 'Thank you, (Y/n), but I have an excellent dance partner!' I frowned, not able to withhold a smile. 'Truly? I have never danced before much.' 'That explains you're a natural!' He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close to him. 'You smell nice.' he purred. 'Thanks, I guess.' 'Here comes the fun part.' An unexpected turn in the music had him bringing me down into a dip. I laughed, taken aback a bit. A nervous feeling started building up in my chest as he leaned closer. I could feel his breath hitting my lips, and I was about to push him away as I heard two loud claps behind me, and silence filled my ears as everything froze in place. I gasped, freeing myself from Lamberts arms before turning around to face the figure that had stopped time.

I felt my cheeks heat up as my eye fell on Gaunter O'Dimm, who was giving me a grin. 'What are you doing here?' I whispered, brushing a few creases from my fancy dress. 'I just had to interrupt your little date with that mutt over there. Just because, I do not like the way he looks at you, I do not like the way he comes near you, I do not like it that he thinks about doing things to you that I want to do to you.' My eyes widened at this sudden confession. 'Why right now? Why at this moment? Why didn't you intervene before the party even started?' Gaunter gave the frozen Lambert a death glare. 'He was about to... Kiss you.' I frowned. 'I noticed, but I didn't really know what to do.' 'I know. That is why I decided to come in.' His gaze met mine, and my eyes shot away from his dark orbs quickly. 'Don't be shy. What did I ever do to you?' 'What now?' He stopped in his tracks from approaching me. 'Beg your pardon?' 'What are you going to do now? You froze time, saved me from that kiss, now what? Resume the flow of life, let Lambert nearly kiss me again?' Gaunter smiled, stepping forward until he halted in front of Lambert. 'No, for sure not.' He reached for his satchel and I narrowed my eyes. 'What's that?'Are you really going to...' I gagged as Gaunter put the cockroach in Lamberts slightly opened mouth. The man let out a chuckle. 'That will teach him. No one ever touches something that belongs to me.' I frowned, yet my stomach flipped in nerves. 'Belong to you? It was Geralt who had made a pact with you, not I.' The Man Of Glass rubbed his chin, brushing past me to gaze over the guest-filled room, a pondering look on his face. The light of the torches around the place set his face in a curious light, enough to make butterflies flutter in my stomach. 'Everyone that is connected with the person I have a pact with will be afflicted some way. You, (Y/n), have caught my eye.' I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to sound like I didn't care. 'W-What about it?' I closed my eyes for a moment, cursing myself for being so obvious. Gaunter smirked slightly, looking over his shoulder at me. 'I see that I have a certain effect on you. Tell me, (Y/n), what is the matter? Do I make you feel uncomfortable?' 'Not at all. Now, why did I catch your eye?' 

He turned to me fully now, his hands folded together in front of him. 'Geralt can be affected by the people around him, and he suspects something. It is something about you, yet he cannot put a finger on it. Briefly, you are withholding Geralt from fulfilling his tasks properly. He thinks too much.' We locked eyes, and even though I tried to break the contact, I couldn't look away. 'You are holding a secret, one he should not know. A secret that includes me.' My heart skipped a beat and we were silent. 'How did you...' 'I am just a merchant.' I shook my head. 'You can drop the act, I know you are not.' He smiled, a smile that sent shivers down my spine. 'Interesting.' Gaunter muttered, approaching me. My breath hitched in my throat. 'I know you fancy me, (Y/n). And it so happens that I have always thought you to be a... rather beautiful girl. Of course, someone like me shouldn't get caught into the web one calls love, yet I couldn't help myself.' I swallowed. 'Is this a confession?' I spoke, my stomach a nervous mess. 'More or less.' I bit back a smile. 'Don't do that. Your smile is gorgeous.' For a man as Gaunter, this sounded highly unlikely to emit from his throat, yet it had, and this remark set my face in a shade of crimson. I smiled widely now, Gaunter laughing lightly. 'Alright,' I sighed, looking at my feet blushing, 'Geralt cannot know, and things just might have become more complicated.' My hands trembled as I reached up to brush a strand of hair behind my ear. 'Hmhm...' His gaze pierced right through me, as if he was reading my mind. Gaunter was quiet, staring at me for a solid ten seconds. 'You know, (Y/n), I was wondering... What do you ever see in me? I can hear your heart beating in your throat...' I swallowed thickly. 'You're mysterious and charming.' The Man of Glass smiled. 'I am a dangerous man.' 'I know.' He approached me, halting right in front of my flustered being. 'I have met a lot of ladies in my life, (Y/n), but on none of them I had the kind of effect I have on you.' His hand brushed against mine, and I bit on my lip.

'You seem lonely.' I dared to say, but not without letting my gaze fall to the floor. 'Perhaps I am.' I blushed a bit, playing with a ribbon on my gown. 'Perhaps I will need a little distraction, one that'll lift my spirits a bit.' My stomach tightened and I couldn't fight the tension that started to grow between my legs. I stepped away from Gaunter, turning my back to him while shaking my head. 'It's wrong, it's totally wrong.' 'Aren't the things Geralt does as well? What does it matter, (Y/n)?' I felt two arms wrap around my waist and my breath hitched in my throat. I let out a low hum when his hand brushed up my thigh, under my tunic. 'I can smell your arousal already.' I gasped as his fingers brushed against my clothed core teasingly. I felt my wetness seep through my panties. 'You're soaking already, and I haven't even touched you yet.' He pressed a kiss in my neck, goose-bumps appearing on my arms. His lips were surprisingly warm for someone like him. I realized that under it all, under the dangerous layers of his being, was an alive creature with a beating heart, a heart that needed love as well, or so it seemed. Gaunter fiddled with the edge of my panties, pushing them aside as his other hand massaged my covered breasts. I shivered as cold air hit my hot womanhood. He pressed a kiss under my ear, biting down on the lobe. I moaned, making Master Mirror chuckle in satisfaction. I could feel his erection against mu butt. He brushed against my clit, and I rubbed myself against his palm. 'Fuck...' I pressed my behind against his straining bulge to create some friction. He hummed lowly. 'Just what do you think you're doing?' He pinched my clitoris, making me moan. It hurt, but it was a good kind of pain. He plunged two fingers deep inside of me, and I leaned back my head so he could suck on my neck's soft spots. He nibbled on the skin while his fingers were coated in my juices as he pressed them in and out of me. 'Why didn't I do this before, if I knew you were so desperate...' he purred, making my knees buckle. 'Why are you doing this...?' I breathed, slipping my bottom lip between my teeth as his digits made a come-here movement, hitting my g-spot. 'I already told you, but did you listen?' My mind was too blurry to try to recall what he had told me earlier. His calloused fingers sped up, making the knot in my stomach tighten. I let out light moans as he fingered me, his teeth grazing against my jaw as my head laid upon his shoulder. I was fully leaned into him, my legs not strong enough to stand. I bit on my lip, turning my face to kiss him. His tongue slithered into my mouth instantly, and I could taste the alcohol he had drunk. He inhaled through his nose, speeding up his hand yet again. I groaned, bucking my hips into his fingers. My walls started to tighten around him, my orgasm coming close. 'Fuck, Gaunter, I am so close...' I whimpered, closing my eyes. 

I got closer and closer to my release. If he would just hit my clitoris now, he would push me over the edge. 'Good.' Gaunter answered in a deep voice, his free hand that had been fondling my breasts moving into the air. He snapped his fingers, a gagging noise following. I opened my eyes quickly, only to see Lambert spitting out the cockroach. 'W-What?! A cockroa-- (Y/n)?!' The Witchers jaw fell open as he saw me in the embrace of Gaunter O'Dimm, who was smirking evilly. I couldn't respond, my high too close. It was as if I were in a sort of trance, I could not fight it. 'Right in time.' Gaunter said, his thumb pressing against the sensitive bud between my legs, making me cum all over his fingers. I moaned loudly, my knees buckling underneath me, almost collapsing if it weren't for the Man of Glass holding me up. 'Oh!' I squeaked, falling to my knees as Gaunter released me, his hand covered in my juices. I was too weak to stand up, gathered all my strength to look up to Lambert, who had a shocked, hurt expression on his face. He was looking from Gaunter to me, and someone behind me. I let out a dry sob as I realized that Geralt and Shani had seen it as well. Master Mirror locked eyes with me, licking the cum off his fingers. 'Hmm, you taste good. See you later, (Y/n).' He said, greeting my friends with a nod before walking away. 'I think you should start explaining, (Y/n).'