#also this is very strange bc the last few years i remember the weather being awful on his birthday

[snapbackslide]

Happy birthday to this very special guy 💜💚💙❤️ | 25.03.14

[extravaguk]

santa&prada

part of my opposites attract! series. 

ksj / knj / myg / jhs / kth / jjk

pairing: rich!jimin x reader

summary: Yeah, Park Jimin most likely didn't even realize he was being a rude and disrespectful son of a bitch.

wordcount: 5k

genre: smut - angst(? - fluff (? idk u tell me

rated: m 

warnings: a christmas fic in late november, cursing, a huge misunderstanding lmao, i call jimin ‘park jimin’ too many times bc i felt like it, car sex, oral (f recieving), some good ole spanking, (kinda) rough and unprotected sex, a lil of dirty talk, spit kink. thats about it. just an excuse to write jimin fucking you in a car. jimin is not as bad as oc thinks srsly.

The first time you meet Park Jimin is through mutual friends. On a firday night on December, with white, red and green lights decorating the streets of New York, filled with the typical hustle of the masses doing last minute Christmas shopping, the freezing weather impacting your body temperature, cursing yourself for choosing tights, a skirt and heeled boots that are too pretty but too uncomfortable to wear.

You had never considered yourself a particular enthusiast of Christmas festivities. You guess discovering Santa Claus was, actually, your parents before the rest of the kids in your class was one of the many reasons that made you grow up too soon and therefore, not allowing you to fully enjoy the month of December. Or maybe it had nothing to do with Santa, and more to do with your parents deciding to get a divorce a day before Christmas Eve. A traumatic event for seven year old you, but completely forgotten and overcome by twenty-four year old present you.

Growing up each Christmas suffering the consecuences of a shared custody would have probably had a disastrous effect on anybody else, but not you. Although the separation was a tough reality to accept at first, fortunately your parents were always capable of raising you in an environment full of love and affection, just like any other kid. And you prided yourself on having moved on from those circumstances a long time ago (even if your therapist disagreed and blamed many of your behaviors on it. Whatever.)

To put it simply, December was just not the month for you. It was just another month, like the remaining eleven of the year, except Mariah Carey's voice was heard every five minutes everywhere you'd go and people gave each other presents as if it was only during that time of the year when they remembered their loved ones. 

The only thing you could thank Christmas for were the well deserved two weeks of holidays our work allowed until the new year's arrival. Fifteen days of rest, peace and baking those gingerbread cookies that Seokjin died for and that you sincerely denoted as nauseating.

You truly had no idea what exactly you did wrong that night. You don't know if it was something you said, or something you did, but what you did know was that Park Jimin pursued a silent and personal vendetta against you that continued nowadays.

"Here are your disgusting cookies, you filthy animal." it might have been that very first sentence you said when you entered the bar and reunited with your friends that didn't cause a good impression. "Shit, it's cold as fuck. My nipples are harder than my life." or maybe it was your selection of words while you waved every familiar face hello until you stopped to look at the only (pretty. too pretty, as well) one you had never seen before.

"_____, it's Chrismtas! Santa Clause will only bring you a lump of coal if you keep cursing like that!" Lisa laughed while she kissed your cheek and made space for you to sit next to her. "Oh, by the way, this is Jimin. A friend of Namjoon. He's a newbie!"

Park Jimin was stunning, you had no trouble admitting that. You weren't blind, you weren't stupid, and you could go as far as theorize that his dark eyes, his light and always immaculate styled hair, his sharp jawline and those plump lips as red as cherries must have been sculpted by Satan himself.

Fuck, you were even sure you'd be on your knees in front of Park Jimin in an alternative universe begging for his dick inside your mouth. But in the universe where you and the real Park Jimin reside, he would never come near you unless somebody was aiming a gun into his skull.

You're not precisely sure what it was, but a brief exchange of glances and an evasive and sligh shake of hands with Park Jimin was enough to make you feel ashamed and withdrawn for the rest of the night.

If Jimin wasn't even able to drop a polite "Nice to meet you", he sure as hell wasn't able to pretend you even existed.

Even the small talk you had tried to engaged with him about his shiny pair of shoes went terribly wrong.

"Oh, are those Dolce and Gabbana?"

"Dolce and Gabbana are homphobic, racist and sexist, so no" the grimace on his face should've been enough to make you regret speaking to him in the first place , but the snarky voice of his made you want to run away and hide from him until next Christmas.

In reality, you swore you didn't care. Seriously. Other's opinions were never something that could easily bother you or keep you awake at night. You had always turned a deaf ear to the cruel children that made fun of you due to your parent's divorce, you had always ignored the amount of men that never considered you "ladylike" enough (what the fuck did that even mean, anyway? what exactly made a lady and what didn't?), and you had always disregarded any envous comment surrounding you.

So, fuck Park Jimin! You had said to yourself. He's just a well mannered rich boy. Somebody who didn't resemble you in any aspect. A stupid, pretentious, spoiled boy who's had everything he's ever wanted in the palm of his hand, unlike you. Who the fuck cares what Park Jimin thinks? 

But apparently, you did. 

You would have never placed such importance to whatever it was that roamed inside Jimin's head if his appearances in your group of friends hadn't been so recurrent.

Because each time you were forced to see Jimin's face, you were also forced to experience a strange knot of discomfort and humilliation growing in your stomach in his mere presence. It's not like Jimin did anything specific to make you feel that way. He might not even do it on purpose, or his intentions might not be entirely evil. Maybe he simply didn't realize how he always avoided being by your side like the plague, or how his body immediately tensed and he balled his hands into fists everytime you were less than two feet away from him, or how he would look at you from the corner of his eye everytime you decided you speak, almost as if he was waiting for you to shut up to finally let out the air he was containing inside his lungs in relief.

Yeah, Park Jimin most likely didn't even realize he was being a rude and disrespectful son of a bitch.

And with time, you couldn't help but attribute that disdain and hostility that Park Jimin always directed at you to the many undeniable differences that constituted each of you. Park Jimin, with his impeccable and always well ironed Prada shirts, his spotless trousers, jewelry that probably costed more than three of your annual salaries, and always emanating that Givenchy fragance that screamed "wealth!" every rare occasion you could experiment his presence next to you. Exactly two years after that first meeting with Park Jimin, you hadn't been able to avoid reciprocating that feeling of contempt towards him. Not when you were the only victim of his arrogance. Everybody loved Park Jimin, and Park Jimin loved everyone. 

Except you.

Clinging to your glass of Don Pérignon and finishing the rest of the liquid in one go, you try to snap out of your own thoughts, reminding yourself to return to the conversation you're currently having with Taehyung about a pretty waitress that he's met during one of his art exhibitions (or at least that's what you think you caught him say) and forcing yourself by all means to stop observing the friendly and kind smiles that Park Jimin was shooting to those present from across the room and that you will never be able to achieve. 

"_____? Are you even listening to me, darling?" Taehyung's voice is what makes you finally look away from the dumb blond standing on the opposite side of the room, blinking a few times before clearing your throat. 

"Sorry, Tae." letting out a sigh, you try to brush back and put in place the strand of hair that escaped the intricate hairdo you had tried and so miserably failed to do yourself to try to fit in and hopefully impress such environment of preppy and privilaged people (ahem, Park Jimin)  falling on your forehead as best as you can. "Just been really stressed this week and I'm on another planet. You know how I feel about Christmas. I think I need a new flute of . Or five."

Taehyung sends you a look full of empathy and places one of his hands in your shoulder, squeezing lightly in a comforting way. "I'll get you another one. I'll be right back." You quickly interrupt him though, to prevent him from standing up before you.

"No, really. I'll go. I need some fresh air anyways, if you don't mind." And of course Taehyung doesn't mind, so you get on your feet as graceously as your tipsy state allowed you to (who told you it was a good idea to drink three glasses in less than thirty minutes of the extremely expensive champagne Taehyung had brought to the Christmas party he had organized and why did it convince you it would appease your anxiey?) and make your way towards the table where the rest of the bottles are. A table dangerously close to the conversation Jimin and that friend of Lisa (whose name you don't remember) were having.

Both are with their backs turned and, honestly, you take a silent moment to thank God or whatever is up there because the last thing you need right now is yet another awkward interaction with Jimin, so you try as best as you can to refill your glass of champagne to get out of there as soon as possible, praying to make your exit going unnoticed.

But no. Because the stars and the universe loved to align to make you suffer! They love to play with your karma and they love making you damn that one day you didn't help that lady cross the street. They love making you regret buying those plastic straws. They love making you feel guilty for hacking your neighbour's Wifi when you run out of money to pay for yours. Because the moment you try to take a hold of the bottle in your hands, it slips out of your grasp, and you're watching in slow motion how the sparkling berverage ends up spilling all over the extremely expensive (or so you assume. Balenciaga maybe) suit pants Park Jimin decided to wear that night.

Everything is kind of blurry and you can't even hear anything. You can only watch as Park Jimin turns around, lips parted and eyebrows furrowed, until his eyes find you, the bane of his existance and immediately recognizing the culprit of his now drenched piece of clothing. And you can watch as, once again, his gaze turns almost black and narrow lightly as to reprimend you for what you've caused. But of course he doesn't say a word. He has nothing to say. He doesn't even look surprised. No. Because obviously, Park Jimin knew that if there was somebody in this room willing to ruin his night, it would be you, and only you.

"Shit!" you're the first one to break the strained silence, but that only makes Jimin flinch. "Shit, shit, shit. I'm so fucking dumb! J-Jimin, I'm so sorry, let me just go grab a paper tow-"

"Don't." his voice cuts through you. Literally cuts through you. Because it's not often that Park Jimin decides to aim his words at you, but everytime he does it holds the same frigid tone. Like knives trying to painfully stab your being. "Just, don't."

In reality, you don't know a lot of things and you don't know what causes what happens next. You don't know if it's the specific time of the year, you don't know if it's your internal stress, or if it's Park Jimin, his voice, or the fact that he will never like you. But it's instant. They way something compresses your chest, and suddenly your eyes are not glaced by the alcohol but by something wet that threatens to flow. You would never admit to anyone they're tears.

So, shutting your mouth and swallowing the uncomfortable feeling of anguish in your throat, leaving your flute forgotten on the table and grabbing the bottle instead. Without saying a word, your feet start moving up the stairs of the ridiculously enourmous house Taehyung owns towards the first free and empty balcony you can find. Free of people and free of Park Jimin.

Closing the large window behind you, you allow yourself to close your eyes and take a deep breath; the icy temperature outside immediately welcoming you. Although the hairs on your arm stand up and you know you're probably going to catch a cold (because the dress you've chosen for the dinner is not at all appropiate for such winter climate), at least the tension in your body seems to disappear while oxygen keeps that ugly feeling in your heart at bay from continuing to choke you.

With shaky hands, you take a big gulp straight from the champagne bottle. Fuck Park Jimin. No man will ever have the power to make you feel what you're feeling right now.  Fuck Park Jimin. And fuck his beautiful face and his ability to make you tremble and fear looking like an idiot. Fuck his fancy clothes and his perfect manicured hands and his marvelous but frigthening presence. 

Knock knock.

The sound makes you jump back from the window, hand grasping your chest while you turn around, coming face to face with the man in question.  Your first instinct is to ignore him. But that thought is already out of the way when it's him the one who struggles with the window lock before opening and taking a step towards you. You step back as he steps in, raising your head up high and puffing your chest. Because your second instinct is to tell Park Jimin to go fuck himself.

"_____, I would like to-"

"You would like to what?" Jimin looks taken aback at your harshness. Alcohol has always been a weapon of mass destruction in your system, provoking words to flow too easily and without filter out of your mouth, more than they already do when you're sober. Especially when it's mixed with the frustration you've been harboring inside of you for two years. That's why when the words start to come out, they won't stop. "To make me feel like shit one more time? To look at me with that fucking conceited face trying to make me feel like you're better than me? Or would you like to ignore me once again as you always do everytime we're in the same fucking room to make sure I know you hate my mere existance, even if it's just the two of us right now?"

The steam leaving your lips due to the accelerated beat of your heart blurs his face for an instant while he looks at you dumbfounded. The silence and his expression makes you scoff, an acidic smile adorning your face while you take another sip of your drink because even with such a stupid face, he still looks delectable with his white shirt and ruined pants. You turn around, removing a tear that you hadn't even realized had fallen during your speech and that, frankly, you were hoping he hadn't either. You would blame it on the cold, anyway.

This time, a gust of wind running through you from head to toe, making you forget of Park Jimin's presence looming behind you, reminding you it's still December and the fabric of your dress is doing nothing to conceal you from the cold.

But before you can do anything about it and blame yourself for being dumb and not taking your coat with you before deciding to step into balcony, Park Jimin surprises you once again, this time by placing his navy blue blazer over the naked skin of your arms.

Your back straightens when you feel his warm breath caressing the back of your neck, at the same time that a voice you have never heard Park Jimin use with you echoes in your ears.

"I really don't hate you, _____. I..." Jimin wets his lips. His body trembles, but it's not due to lacking his own coat, while his brain hurriedly searches for words eloquent and adequate enough to explain voice his thoughts. "I like you very much, _____."

Scoffing again while you shake your head, you push down with all your inner strenght the incipent fluttering of butterflies in your stomach that Jimin has managed to cause in just a matter of seconds. It's probably the longest sentence you've heard from him in two years, and you don't exactly understand why your body is reacting the way it is. But you're also not willing to give Park Jimin the satisfaction of knowing that. He doesn't deserve it anyway. So with all the courage you can muster, you turn around with your hands clenching.

And even though being at such short distance from Jimin is a bit overwhelming and unexpected for you, the irritation still making your blood bubble is enough to not let a man as handsome as him derail you from your current circumstances.

"Well, fuck you Park Jimin. You certainly have a funny fucking way to sh-" his hands cradling your jaw that pull you closer to him and his lips that silent you roughly, but with surprising care. Only for a moment. A moment in which your body betrays you and make you melt into hir warmth. But his voice, low and sinfully husky, murmurs against your lips. 

"God, that mouth of yours..." he goes back to attacking your own lips, this time more firm than before, snatching a sigh from you. The sound has his tongue asking for permission into your mouth, and with your body betraying you once again, you part your lips to allow him in. It's him who whimpers this time, while one of his hand moving until it reaches the bottle in your hand and letting it drop carelessly onto the floor, ignoring the sound of glass shattering and the future scolding you'll get from Taehyung. Instead, he sneaks that same hand on your waist, pulling your body flush against his, fingers digging onto your skin. "It's been driving me crazy for two years. Two years, _____."

He mumbles between kisses and swipes his tongue against yours, while he stars walking the both of you until your back meets the nearest concrete wall. 

"Two years of having to hear the incessant filthy words that leave your mouth..." his own stop their movements and you catch yourself before begging him to reattaching his lips to yours, enjoying instead the path of wet kisses and bruises his lips traile from your chin to the pulse of your neck "...and trying my best to hide the painful boners I get whenever you're nearby." 

With your eyes shut, your hands are back in motion, ignoring the voice in your head reminding you he's still an asshole and finding their way between Jimin's soft golden strands of hair. He hums in appreciation, sending goosebumps all over your body. "So, s-so why not do anything about it sooner?" you say, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe properly.

You feel Jimin's body tensing before you and he ceases the movement of his lips against your neck. Breaking away, your heart stops, afraid you might have ruined the moment. But Jimin's in search of your eyes, eyebrows very lighlty raised, the intensity of his gaze pinning you in place. You don't know for how long you stare at each other until Jimin comes out of the trance, eyes descending over your flushed cheeks, the very same color as your lips and the soft flesh of your neck until they reach your cleavage, the glimmering fabric encasing your breasts, taunting him the same way they had been doing all night long.

"You scare me so much..." and then, one of his hands repeats the same journey his eyes just did, until he touches your shoulder, right under his own blazer. "Everytime I look at you, all I can think of why the hell a girl as real as you like you would even glance my way." he slides the strap of your dress slowly tentatively, just enough for you to stop his advances if you chose so. You don't. "You're smart in ways I could never compare, so funny it makes me jealous, and so pretty it leaves me speechless. You're...You're everything I'm not."

His voice resonates in the atmosphere, and you would love to blame it on the cold again for how your body has reacted, but your body heat has increased so much since he started kissing you that it would be stupid not to admit that it's just the effect that Park Jimin has on you tonight. You're sure he would've had the same effect if it had happened before.

Your now uncovered breast doesn't even has to suffer the consequences of the icy wind, because one of Jimin's arms quickly comes around you to hold your body against his, lifting you ever so slighty until your erect nipple is at the same level as his mouth and his lips are enveloping it in their warmth. You gasp his name, and that encourages his teeth to tug softly before his tongue stars moving in circes. 

"My God, you're so perfect." Your head spins while you hold onto his shoulders as tight as you can, the undeniable heat roaming all over your form, hips involuntarily rutting his incipent erection poking your abdomen. "Been thinking about this since that night we first met." Looking for relief, Jimin mirrors your movements without ceasing the administrations on your chest, as one of his hands lifts one of your thighs to wrap around his waist, closing the short gap remaining between the both of you. 

"Ohmygod! F-fuck, Jimin," trying to form coherent phrases is almost impossible, not with Jimin finding a slow and tortuous rythm with his hips, his clothed cock rubbing against your core. Something shifts in the air, because Jimin stops abusing your nipple with a loud pop, and shuts you up by pressing his mouth onto yours in an urgent, dirty and desperate kiss. You could almost hear him swearing, while his hand keeps your jaw in place.

"S-stop talking like that, ______." his voice, inaudible, and his face now hiding in the crook of your neck, the thrusting of his hips speeding up, more and more frantic this time. The hand not holding your thigh against his hipbone reveals your other breast, hand covering it and giving it a light squeeze before tugging at your unattended nipple between his forefinger and his thumb while his tongue and teeth mark the skin on your neck. 

"Hell, I've been dying to stuff your mouth with my cock to prevent you from such foul language," the soft whimpers leacving your mouth coax him into taking the hem of your dress and bunching the fabric until his fingers easily find the place in your body calling to him the most through the lace.  It's immediate, how his fingers dampen at the first touch, surprising the both of you, and how your body jolts and an embarrassing sob escapes your throat. "How-how are you this wet? Holy hell, I could just slide right in..."

And as he says that, one of his fingers pull aside the fabric of your underwear and glide into you, so easy. You insides burning while he fingers you, another finger being added with his thumb rubbing circles on your nub. And fuck, you're not sure if you're just too horny and Park Jimin is a magician with his hands, or maybe it's the way he keeps mouthing at your chest and whispering how soaked you are, but you don't think you've ever been so close to cumming in such a short period of time.

"W-whats stopping you?" you manage with a voice that doesn't even resembles yours, but before your hands can even make work of the zipper of his trousers, he pulls his finger out from your center, causing you to whine in protest.

Jimin licks his lips, eyebrows framing the dark expression that his eyes ooze. Although the desire in his eyes is more than evident, it is also evident the faint hesitation in them. Because Park Jimin doesn't do things this way. Park Jimin was raised in a world of correct manners and conservationism. A world that has taught him when and how to act. And as badly as he is dying to fuck you against the wall of Taehyung's ridiculously inmense house, he also wants to do the right thing. 

"Let me take you on a date." 

Park Jimin has been spoiled his whole life. Being born in a well-off family has always provided him of everything he had ever wanted and more. From the innecessary number of toys Santa Claus left under his Christmas tree every year since he was a baby, to his fisrt extravagant sports car at the age of eighteen. Park Jimin has never been a greedy or needy man. How could he, when he's had everything he's ever wished in the palm of his hands. He has never missed anything in his entire life. Hasn't missed a roof over his head, warm food on his plate or brand new designers clothes each week. 

It has taken him two years to control himself. He still remembers that night he first met you, just like he remembers every single time you both had coincided in the same place at the same time. He remembered your scent, had memorized your figure over your pieces of clothing and had tried as best as he could to keep a distance from you because he knew you would never give him the time of day. How could you? You probably despised everything he was because he was definitely nothing like you, and that thought intimidated the fuck out of him. He was a mess everytime you wear nearby. Never relied on his voice because he knew he would stutter if you ever spoke to him, could never trust his eyes because if he ever looked at you he was afraid he wouldn't be able to look away. 

And everytime you spoke, shit, that voice of yours always cursing here and there left him wondering how would you sound in a different setting and if you would still be that badmouthed. More specifically, between his sheets. So he did everything he could to minimize your interactions as much as possible. He just never thought he would come across as such a jerk. It was never his intention to hurt you, and seeing you cry that night (although you denied you did, over and over again) seriously made him realize he wanted to make things right. 

He was trying really, really hard to keep it in his pants, to be the same well composed and controled Park Jimin he had mastered himself to be. 

But that damn dress.

After seeing that little black dress hugging your figure when you started taking off your coat at the restaurant, the brief flash of thigh tights that you accidentaly (or not so accidentally) had blessed him with by crossing a leg over the other, that exposed collarbone calling his name and those heeled sandals with straps wrapping around your ankles, reminding him of the snake tempting Eve, Park Jimin was sure he needed to dig into that apple more than anything he has ever needed before.

That's why he surprises you right after you both finish the second course meal by telling the waitress you won't be having desert, at which you look at him somewhat indignant. But the look he shoots you is enough to make you understand if somebody was going to have desert tonight, it would be him. In his Mercedes. 

"I'm gonna-" you gasp, fingers tugging at the soft strands of his now ruined blond hair, his head between your thighs and your legs thrown over his shoulders. His hands have a grip of the meaty flesh of your ass, holding you firmly againt his mouth as it works wonders on your clit. You're sure it hasn't even been ten minutes since Jimin had opened your legs in the backseat of his car, not even bothering to take your underwear off, simply moving the fabric aside before diving in, and you already feel yourself on the edge of an orgasm.

"I know." voice vibrating right into your core, he slows down his administrations, tongue carefully and delicately lapping at your folds while he enjoys the feeling of your fingers loosening their grip and fondly brushing his hair back. You meet his eyes as he pushes a finger inside your core and your whole body twists in agony. 

"N-no!" 

Jimin stops immediately, lifting his head and focusing his concerned eyes on you. He's about to ask you if he's done anything wrong, but you're fast to roughly pull him up by his hair until his face is leveled with yours. You answer him by kissing him and he returns the kiss with the same eagerness, and now it's your hands that are looking for his cock, palming him through his pants.

"Your dick. Inside. Right Now." you punctuate each phrase with a kiss and he only stops kissing you to pout.

"But I wanted you to cum on my tongue." but still, he's putty in your hands when you undo the botton and the zipper. "Wouldn't you rather me fucking you in my bed, where we're more comfortable?" you notice the slight quivering of his voice when you slide his trousers and boxers down, just enough to pull him out. 

"You can eat me and fuck me as many times as you want tonight, tomorrow and whenever you'd like, but right now..." none of you contain the moan in unision that leaves each of your mouths when just the head of his lenght comes in contact with your entrance. "I really can't wait anymore." brushing your lips over his, you lower your voice. "Wanna get on my hands and knees for you."

Park Jimin has tried to do things the right and appropiate way throughout all his life. He's been a professional from a very young age on how to be in charge of his emotions, his desires and his impulses. Always well mannered and well composed. 

But it's in this moment that Jimin comes to the realization that the only thing that has ever made him lose his mind and self control, is you. Seeing you like this, ass up, grinding your drenched and still thong clad cunt all over his precum dripping lenght, he can't control the way his hand bunches the fabrick of that damn dress over your waist, then flies to your right cheek, a sharp sound of skin filling the air, tearing a gasp from your throat.

"God, I'm-I'm sorry. Couldn't help mys-"

"Do it again."

And he does, the palm of his hand now leaving a reddenning print on your flesh, making you jolt back involuntarily, aligning yourself to the head of his cock and like he had hoped, he slides right in. Not all the way, because Jimin is sure he would cream inside you too soon and he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he did. He wets his lips, clenching his jaw and dropping his palm one more time, hand more steady and purposeful. 

"You like it rough?" voice hoarse and a hand beside your head holding himself, your back to his chest, twitching beneath him as he soothes the sting with his free one. 

"I like you rough." turning your head slowly to peer at him from the corner of your eye, your hips moving on their own accord trying to take him deeper. Your head is suddenly pulled back harshly, Jimin's fingers tangling in your hair as his own hips close the remaining gap between your bodys in an abrupt thurst. You squeal, Jimin's cock finally filling you up to the hilt just like you wanted him to be, the pleasure making your arms wobble and finding it harder to mantain your balance. 

Jimin's breath fawns over your ear, his tongue darting out to suck on your skin sending chills down your spine. "You're such a dream." he groans, torturously sliding out of your core that's gripping around his shaft for dear life. A whine of protest escapes your lips and he tightens the hold on your hair in response, diving right back in. You fall forward, your arms' strenght betraying you as his thrusts find a new rhythm. With your eyes closed shut, you try to muffle the sound of your voice with the back of your hand as Jimin's lips place soft kisses to your exposed shoulder.

"Don't be quiet." he stands straight, the pull on your hair arching your back in such a enticing way it was Jimin look away for a second, cock buried inside of you and his hips faltering. "Been dying to have you like this for so long."

Another clap of his hand against your right cheek, and a particular stroke of his dick that has you mewling as your climax approached again. "S-so good, Jimin. Oh my god."

"You're gonna cum for me?" his fingertips leave bruises on your skin and the windows of his Mercedes are foggy, just like your mind. You can't concentrate on anything that's not Jimin's cock sliding in and out and how much you wished this had happened way sooner. "Gonna cum for me like a good slut?"

Park Jimin always takes his time. Always does things nice and slow to assure the best outcome possible. 

But he can't contain the acceleration of his hips against yours as your walls clench impossibly tight around his cock, your orgasm finally taking over . Can't contain himself from falling forward again, hand twisting your head in his direction and his mouth searching for yours in a fiery and messy kiss. And he most definitely can't barely contain himself from cumming when your you ask him to spit in your mouth. 

"You're gonna kill me." he breathes, removing himself off you and quickly maneuvering you on your back, his dick finding its way back inside you. Picking up right where he left off, skin slapping against skin in an obscene melody, he collects a considerate amount of saliva in his mouth before dropping it into your welcoming tongue, watching you swallow with a smile he hopes he'll be the only one to see in the future. 

And that's what has the last bit of his self restraint slipping from his fingers. He somehow manages to rip the top of your dress down, fabric tearing until your tits are free and his mouth is attacking your nipples, white strings of his release panting your walls, some of it them oozing out that he fucks back right into you. 

It's between ragged breaths, kisses and tender carresses that Jimin promises you more dates in the future and new dresses that he can't promise not to savage apart again.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Okay well then!!!! I am very glad and excited to share my most recent idea I had while rereading Yeti Hunting again!! And the new Incubus one too!! They're almost exactly the same idea, just different flavors I suppose. Also Joe is trans in both the ideas but that's less to do with the ideas themself and more to do with just me projecting on him sgfjgsjfhsjdh

Okay so it's like a reverse au so Stern is some kind of cryptid, but as far as Barclay knows they're just two good human friends (but maybe they wanna be a little more than friends...). And then one day Joseph goes into heat and tells Barclay he's sick to try to keep him away, but Barclay being the sweetest man alive goes to his house with fresh soup to take care of him and Joe seems really panicked about Bar being there and tries to make him leave but he is CLEARLY unwell and Barclay is very stubborn when it comes to helping people he cares about and so he plants himself down on the couch and says he's not leaving until Joe tells him what's wrong and Stern tries to hold onto his human form but it's taking too much focus and energy and whoops Barclay finds out his friend not human and currently in distress and so horny it hurts and if he can help his friend and fuck him at the same time, well then that's just a win all around (bonus points if at the end Barclay is kinda sad because he thinks Joe just needed somone to fuck him, not nessacarry Barclay, but Joe frantically assures him that he is SUPER into him and if it were anyone else he would have kicked them the hell out and probably skipped town bc he couldn't trust anyone else with a secret like this).

Or!! (This is where the incubus part comes in) Joe is an incubus and currently hiding out in his human disguise at the Amnesty lodge and it's going fine for a while, but then he starts talking to and getting to know the really hot chef. And they slowly start growing closer and closer. And maybe in this world, the power an Incubus gets from sex depends just as much on their desires as it does the human's. And this has never been an issue for Stern before, but now he's falling for Barclay and wants him and no one else so he's getting less and less energy from his encounters and Barclay is worried about him because he doesn't seem like himself anymore. Almost as if he's... dulled? When Barclay looks at him the blue of his eyes seem muted and his general aura seems... gray. And it all comes to ahead when Joe finally stops insisting he's fine and after dinner one night he asks if he can speak to Barclay privately, and he comes clean about everything and Barclay, while a little shocked, rolls with it very well and cups Joe's face in his hands and kisses him softly and it like,,, you should have come to me sooner, I'd do anything for you,,, and yeah it's really tender,,,,

Okay that's it I'm sorry it's so long and probably incoherent. I tried to use at least little formatting to make it better but it's a tumblr mobile ask, I'm not sure even the new paragraphs will translate over. The general idea is that they're close friends and Stern is Not Human and Barclay finds out under less than ideal circumstances :3 I know these are far from original or unique but I just wanted to share my ideas with you bc you're the inspiration for a good 70% of my private writings, but if you like them enough and ever feel like doing something with them that'd be cool ;3

Here you go! I went with scenario one. Content Note: some “mating” talk and mild subdrop at the end (which is, of course, taken care of)

The two canvas bags are ready to burst. Barclay peers into them, contemplating the addition of another box of tea, in case Joseph doesn’t like the other two. Mama was cagey when he asked, he doesn’t know what’s ailing the other man, only that he’s sick. 

Joseph manages Amnesty Lodge, where Barclays’ been a cook for the last six months. Barclay was initially wary of him; his cosmopolitan bearing and clean-cut appearance is so out of place in the rustic mountain town of Kepler that the logical explanation is he’s one of those city types who fell on hard times and got stuck here. 

It took less than forty-eight hours for him to prove Barclay wrong. Polite and polished, efficient and stunningly good in a crisis, Joseph handles the day to day chaos of the lodge while Mama, the owner, took care of the big picture stuff. His friendly greetings and consistent compliments about Barclays cooking gradually turned to afternoons spent at a table with his work so they could talk during lulls in business. 

When Joseph leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up, laughing as he helped Barclay tidy the kitchen, the cook rushed headlong into his crush and never looked back. He regularly dreams of blue eyes and a movie-star face, finds his day doesn’t really start until Joseph pokes his head in to say good morning. 

He’s been without that greeting for two days now. Joseph never misses work, and his sudden absence worried Barclay enough that he checked with Mama to be sure the manager was okay.

“Joe’s fine big fella, just under the weather is all.”

The one time Barclay got sick, Joseph brought him tea and soup himself, checked in on him every hour, and--if Barclay’s fever addled brain is to be trusted--fluffed his pillows. It’s the least Barclay can do to drop off snacks and be sure his friend is okay. 

It’s a short drive to cabin Joseph calls home; he used to live at the Lodge, but as it got more crowded, he moved to his own space so those who needed a cheap, safe place to stay could have one. 

His knock on the door is answered by a brisk, “Who is it?”

“Barclay. I, uh, I brought you a get-well gift.”

Joseph opens the door to the cabin and to an entire new universe of fantasies. His normally slicked-back hair falls, relaxed, across his forehead, his loosely tied blue robe shows a tantalizing V of skin, and the dreamy-sleepy expression makes his face even more kissable. 

“Hi.” Joseph takes a step forward, taking the bags and bringing his face achingly close to Barclays’. Then he freezes, reversing into the house, “I, um, it was very sweet of you to bring all this. But you need to go.” He takes another step back, then doubles over with a groan. 

Barclay hurries across the threshold, setting the bags on the floor and steadying him over to the couch.

“Fuck, do you need me to get you like a heat pack, or a puke bucket?”

“No, no I just need to lay down, and for you to g-” he shudders, curling in on himself and tipping sideways. 

“Joseph, you’re really sick, I’m not gonna just leave you here. I mean, fuck, what if it’s your appendix or something?” He sits down next to the shaking man, rubbing his back comfortingly. 

“It’s not, I promise. Oh lord” he whines, looks at Barclay with frantic eyes, “I hope you can keep a secret.”

“Of course I can. Whatever I can do to help, I want to.” 

“Careful with those promises, big guy.” The nickname comes out in a growl as Joseph stands, undoing his wristwatch. 

“Oh FUCK!” Barclay scrambles back, almost falling over the arm of the couch.

There’s a monster where Joseph just was. Years ago Barclay saw a Maned Wolf in a zoo, and he’d swear that’s what he’s looking at now were it not for several glaring issues. First, it’s standing comfortably on two legs. It’s paws are more like hands, able to hold the watch and adjust the collar of its shirt. And he’s never seen a wolf, maned or otherwise, with spines down its back and a whip-like tail.

The creature runs a clawed hand through the fur at the top of it’s head, the way Joseph does when he’s nervous,  “So. I can’t tell you everything, at least not right now. What I can tell you is that this is the form I was born into, somewhere far away from earth.”

“Okay.” Barclays brain grinds like a broken ice machine as a familiar voice speaks to him from a fanged mouth. 

“I, um, I’m what humans call a Chupacabra. To answer the usual questions: no, I’ve never been to Puerto Rico. No, I don’t eat goats. And no, I’m not going to eat you.”

“Okay.” His heart is still racing, but not from fear, which is the most confusing was this could have gone.

Pointed ears flick, worried, “Are you in shock?”

“Kinda, yeah.” He nods as Joseph sits next to him with a heavy sigh. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out this way. I took the next few days off to avoid this exact scenario. I figured I wouldn’t see you, but forgot how thoughtful and caring you are.” Claws gently stroke Barclays hair, “my wonderful Barclay.”

He’s about to bring his hand up, cup those strange fingers to his cheek and whisper “always”, when Joseph pulls away. 

“I, I’m sorry. Again. I always get too handsy when I’m in heat. That’s the second worst side-effect, after the fact that being in my disguise is untenable when I’m in the thick of it. It’s like wearing a wet, wool sweater made of nausea.”

“....Hold on, you had to take time off work because you’re horny?” 

“Almost. Heat doesn’t come that often for me, which means whenever it happens, it’s intense. I have a hard time eating or sleeping, I can’t focus, and I spend most of the week masturbating. Which is not as fun as it sounds; I’m not even at the height of the damn thing and last night I humped a pillow on the kitchen floor while dinner reheated.”

Barclay groans, tries to hide it when the ears swivel his way, “Uh, guess I’m glad I brought you lots of food so you remember to eat. Shoulda, uh, put some lube or something in there as well, huh?” 

Joseph chuckles, “My nose tells me you put molasses cookies in there, so I’ll let it slide.”

“There anything else I can do to help?”

“Well…” he shakes his head, “never mind, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Do what?”

“My heat is more manageable when I have a partner. Fucking someone relieves things more effectively than masturbation does. But I can’t-”

“I can help with that.” The offer is out before his brain catches up with his mouth. 

“Barclay, my kind have a very, um, involved mode of, um, well, I guess you foreplay. As, as much as I’d love for you to be my mate” he winces, “see, that’s what I mean. I say things like that, most of them not even possible given the fact you and I can’t reproduce.” 

“Uh, does it help if I say hearing you call me that is really hot?”

Blue eyes widen, and a tail traces up Barclays leg, “Only if you mean it.”

“I do.”

A narrow, long tongue flicks into the air, “In that case, big guy, how about we have a little planning session over dinner?”

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

Barclay parks in the driveway, next to Josephs’ sedan. He heads past the house and down a short slope to a creek, the twilight sky casting the forest in eerie grey-blue. There’s a tire swing leftover from a previous resident, and he idly pushes it back and forth as he waits for the game to start. 

“It’s like hide and seek” Joseph wipes his mouth, cleans cookie crumbs from the table, “We start outside, move inside, and you go as long as you can without me catching you. After all, I want a mate who can hold his own.”

He stuffs his hands in his jacket pocket to warm them. A yip bounces out from the trees behind him. When he turns, he quickly spots glinting eyes and bared fangs hidden in the undergrowth. 

Sprinting towards the cabin, he realizes Joseph laid a trap for him from the start; by asking him to begin at the creek, he’s forcing him to run uphill to safety, slowing him down. He lets his lizard-brain, concerned only with the fact that something dangerous is chasing him, take over and drive his legs as fast as they’ll go. The back door is locked, he double-checked that on the way down, so he doesn’t waste his time trying it, races to the front of the cabin and slams the door shut just as something huge rounds the corner after him. 

The nob jiggles, his pursuer testing the lock and discovering the thrown deadbolt. Barclay uses those few seconds to secure the windows on the first floor, throws his jacket down into the cellar as a failsafe, and bolts up to the bedroom. His hammering heart insists that locking that door is not enough, so he crawls into the closet and shuts himself up among the meticulously organized shirts and slacks. It’s not enough space for him to stand, so he tucks his knees to his chest and waits. 

“What happens if I, like, completely outsmart you.”

A toothy smile, “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you.”

Each of the downstairs windows rattle in turn. Then the scratching starts, claws on wood coming closer with each breath. Joseph is climbing the wall up to the bedroom window that Barclay knows for a motherfucking fact he did not secure. 

A shuff as the window slides open, the cryptid landing with remarkable stealth on the bedroom floor. Barclay tracks him by the light coming under the closet door, his mouth covered so his breathing won’t give him away. The shadow pauses, sniffs, and then the bedroom door opens and shuts. Barclay’s not moving until he hears the front door do the same. 

Just as his legs start to protest being smushed up against his chest, the door reopens. Snuffling signals Joseph closing in, and an instant later the only light coming in is from the far ends of the door. Slowly, his last line of defense rolls to the right, revealing the creature crouching on the other side.

“Not a bad effort, big guy. You actually confused me for a minute with the scent trail of your coat downstairs.” Joseph reaches for him and Barclay, remembering that he’s not supposed to give up until he’s pinned, leans away. 

“That’s how my mate wants to play?”

“J-just following your instructions, babe.”

An intrigued purr, “I guess you are. All the more reason you’re the perfect partner for me.”

The words Barclays dreamed of hearing for months distract from the claws closing around his ankles. He lets out an undignified yelp when Joseph pulls his legs straight out and drags him out of the closet. Once he’s free of the forest of clothing, the cryptid picks him up and drops him on the bed. He moans and Joseph snickers, joining him on the bedspread. 

“Fuck, Joseph, no one’s ever been able to do that before and it’s so, so fucking hot.” He arches his back and shifts his limbs to help Joseph undress him.

“It’s because you’re the perfect size; big and strong, large enough to give me a decent cuddle when I’m human, but still small enough to be an easily subdued mate.” He gets the humans’ jeans and boxers off, hesitates, and then tosses them on the floor with a pained expression, “I’ll fold those later.”

“Gonna hold you to that. Also, wanna point out that it wasn’t that easy to subdue me.”

Joseph nuzzles his cheek, claws caressing his thighs, “Barclay, I was jogging while you were sprinting.”

“You coulda caught me right awaAAy ohwhatthefuck.” Tingling heat glides down his throat as Joseph licks a stripe along the skin, “fuck, it, it feels like the time I tried hot wax.”

The cryptid sits up slightly to look at him, “Is that a...good thing?”

“Fuck yeah. I really fucking liked it but it was fucking murder with the chest hair.”

Joseph runs his claws through the hair in question, “I like it.”

“I know, I saw you eyeing me that one time I used the springs at the lodge.”

“You can’t prove anything.” Joseph leans back down, curling his tongue around Barclays left nipple. The sensation makes him buck his hips, which Joseph correctly takes as a signal for more. He moves to the other side, takes his time teasing it and licking down the sensitive center of Barclays chest. Noses his stomach, nips his sides, and slides the alien heat of his tongue into the crease of his thighs. 

“Y’know I, ohfuck, I assumed from all that talk yesterday you’d get right to fucking me.”

Joseph kisses the inside of one thigh, “I, um, I thought about it, almost ripped your jeans to shreds and took you on the floor. But I wanted to be sure you were turned on. You’re not just a warm body, Barclay. You’re my mate. That means your pleasure matters as much as mine.” He licks up Barclays’ cock, hardened from rubbing against the soft fur of his belly, and sighs, “and what a mate.”

“Fuck” he squeezes his eyes closed because if we watches that mouth saying everything he wants to hear in between sucking his dick, he’ll cum in ten seconds flat. 

A final lick to the tip and then Joseph hops off the bed, “Did you prep the way I told you?”

“Uhhuh.” 

“Good.” Joseph returns, sets several items he can’t see by his feet, “that’ll make things easier. First things first” he produces a cock cage, sliding it into place, “these are a few things I smuggled over from my original home. This is enchanted, so it can go on an erect cock but still prevent the wearer from cumming until it’s removed.”

“That’s just cruel, babe.” He sits up on his elbows to kiss Josephs snout, earning him a pleased yip. 

“If you cum too fast, I won’t be able to properly breed you.” He winces again, “sorry, I sound like one of Indrids romance novels.”

“Again, gorgeous, I find it really fucking hot.”

The spines on Joseph’s back ripple, “You think I’m gorgeous? Like this?”

“I do. Also kinda scary, but in a hot way.” Now it’s his turn to cringe, “see? I sound like cheap porn written by an eighth grader when I’m horny. The way you sound is fine.”

Joseph lovebites his ear, then retrieves the other two items from the end of the bed. 

“And how does this look, big guy?”

“Like it’s either going to kill me or make me cum like a dozen times.” He furrows his brow at the strap-on. It’s narrower than the average human dick, with a pointed, slightly up-curved tip. What’s worrying him are the spikes. 

The entire shaft is coated in short protrusions. They don’t end in points, thank god, but if they’re at all stiff this is going to be miserable. 

“Here” Joseph waves him over, “touch it.” He guides his fingers along one side and the spines bend fluidly under his touch, and now all he wants to know is how they feel inside him. Joseph also moans, bucking his hips so the toy slides along Barclays palm.

“It’s, ohlord, also enchanted so that the wearer feels it as an extension of their body and can cum with it. Also, please decide in the next thirty seconds whether you want to be on your back or your stomach.” Amber pre-cum drips down Barclay’s fingers. 

“Stomach is better for meWHOAH, ohfuck, okay we’re doing this.” Now flipped on his belly, he raises his ass. The cryptid kneads it appreciatively before holding it open and sliding his cock in with once, graceful thrust. 

He bottoms out with a groan, which is more articulate than Barclay is managing to be as the spines rub and glide inside him, finding every patch of nerves, every angle to drag against in just the right way. Joseph hauls him onto his knees and then he’s off, growls and yips filling the as he fucks him. Barclay only just registers the bed banging into the wall so forcefully the headboard is cracking when claws sink into his hips and Joseph pulls him all the way onto his cock and pulses into him. 

“Holy fuck that was fast.”

“I, I didn’t jack off once today. Didn’t want to waste it, wanted to save it all for my perfect mate.” He’s thrusting again, not as hard but twice as fast, “shit, you feel so good, big guy, please tell me Mama okayed your time off for tomorrow.”

“Wh-why are we talkingAHnnn, about this now?”

Hot breath tickles his ear, “Because now that I know what’s like to cum in you, I don’t plan on cumming anywhere else for the next day and a half.”

“Ohfuckme” Barclay groans happily into the pillows as Joseph empties into him, cries out when his tail whips across his calf.

“Shit, did that hurt?”

“No, no it felt good, fucking-A babe every fucking part of you is amazing.”

The cryptid whines, pleased, and wiggles his hips, giving Barclay an idea. 

“That’s, uh, that’s why I want you for my mate, because you’re so fucking goo-mmph” his face presses harder into the pillows as Joseph pins his shoulders down and fucks into him, snarling “yes” over and over again. When he finishes this time he hunches over, nipping Barclay’ shoulders and neck. 

“You catch on quick, big guy.”

“Thanks, babe. Uh, are we gonna switch it up at any point or am I staying like this until tomorrow night?”

“No, we can fuck however we want. After” a fuzzy hand rubs circles on Barclay’s abdomen, “I’ve cum in you enough times that I can feel it from out here.”

Barclay moans, tightening around him as his hips snap once more, already imagining being full and fucked out. Maybe it’ll take all night. He’ll be limp if it does, but right now nothing sounds better than melting into the bed while Joseph fucks his ass like it belongs to him. 

After forty-five minutes, his cock is aching, his mind holds only thoughts of how good it feels to do as Joseph tells him, and he’s been cum in so many times that wet, obscene sounds accompany the cryptids thrusts. Said sounds pale in comparison to Josephs’ voice, which is spinning increasingly impossible scenarios the longer they’re in bed. 

“I hope they take after you.” Joseph murmurs. 

Barclay just manages to turn his head, “Who?”

A muzzle playfully nudges his cheek, “Our kids.”

His heart seizes and shakes at the words; they both know that’s not what will happen. Joseph warned him he might say things like this, said he could tell him to knock it off if need be. 

“Maybe they’ll, ahnn, they’ll have big, beautiful brown eyes and bigger hearts, just like you.”

He doesn’t want him to stop. Every thrust hits deeper, every point where their skin meets buzzes brighter when he talks like this.

“H-hope at least one looks like you, blue eyes.”

A guttural whine, tingling heat as Joseph laps tenderly at the back of his neck, “We’ll just have to see, usually we’re born in threes so, soOH, oh I’m close, shitshit” 

“That’s it babe, fill me up, c’mon, c’mon I want it so bad, Joseph, baby, please.” 

There’s a howltrill as cum spurts into him, Joseph panting as he smooths his hand around Barclays side.

“There, that’s done it.”

Barclay whimpers as he pulls out, his mind and body pulled tight, certain that if he doesn’t cum soon he’ll propose marriage instead and that’ll be a fucking disaster. 

Joseph carefully rolls him over and unlocks the cage, “Do you want to cum?”

“More than anything. Oh!” he’s unprepared for Joseph to sink down on his cock, “oh fuck, yeah, wanna cum so bad babe please, I’ll be so good, be such a good mate if you just let me cum in y-fuuuck” A trio of sensations levels him as he climaxes; his vision whites out, his hips jerk more violently than they ever have before, and a line of cum drips down his leg. 

Somewhere far away, Joseph says, “I think we’ve earned a break.”

He nods, body limp as the cryptid climbs off him. Then he’s falling, spinning helplessly down in a pit of realizations. 

Joseph didn’t mean any of those things he said. His friend needed a mate and Barclay, lovesick fool he is, was eager for a chance to play pretend that he didn’t think about what would happen when the game ended. Even if Joseph keeps him here through tomorrow, the next time they meet at the Lodge he’ll act like nothing happened. 

Fuck, Barclay didn’t even get to kiss him during all this, and now he’ll never get the chance, never, nevernever-

“Shit, I should have put a towel or a spare blanket down. Now I’ll have to strip the bed before I can--Barclay? Oh, oh baby, what’s wrong?” A hand pets his face and he turns away from it, refusing to open his eyes. Joseph takes his hand instead, “it’s okay, I’m here, whatever you need I’ll-”

“Don’t. Don’t say that. You can’t give me what I need, it isn’t your fault I, I know I’m not really your partner and I, I…” he sniffles, wipes his palm under his eye. 

“Barclay, look at me please.”

Reluctantly, he opens his eyes just in time to see Joseph dip down and kiss him. It’s awkward, their mouths not made to fit together, but he savors it all the same because it’s Joseph, his Joseph, kissing him like he hoped he would. 

“My heat can make me say some ridiculous things. What it can’t do is make me feel affection where none exists. In fact, the reason I wasn’t able to keep my disguise on yesterday is because being near you meant being near the mate I wanted most in the world. I, um, suspected you might share my feelings, but I didn’t want our first interaction as boyfriend to be me asking if you wanted to spend a day or so with me while I was in a sex haze. But then you offered to help, and I wanted it so badly that I barreled ahead without making sure you understood that this was me declaring my feelings. I’m sorry.”

Barclay climbs into his lap, not caring about the mess he makes in the process. The cryptid laughs, hugs him close.

“I, I shoulda said something sooner too. Not that I regret how we spent our first date.” He kisses Josephs chin.

“Me neither, though I don’t think it quite counts.” He rubs their foreheads together, “can your boyfriend take you out to dinner on Friday?”

Barclay grins, looks into loving, blue eyes, “Yeah, he can.”

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #467

“oh, mary, mary, ain’t this fun?  /  mary, mary, i’ve got a gun”

If the last person you kissed asked you to marry them, what would you do? Pray to god it wasn't in public and tell him it's waaaay too soon for that one. Does your favorite uncle have any children? Yeah, a son and daughter. Name all the members (first, middle and last names) from your favorite band. Ha, it's funny how once upon a time, I could do this. All I've got now is John Michael Osbourne. Have you ever heard a young child swear? Maybe? Have you ever seen someone get a piercing/tattoo?: Yes to both. Has a taste of something ever made you smile? Boy meet me at The Cheesecake Factory and see what my face does lmaooo As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up? I wanted to be a paleontologist sooo badly. I wanted to discover new dinosaurs, put a shitload of work into unearthing fossils and being so proud to see the final results... Even now as an adult, if I could handle the heat, traveling, and hardcore school, I'd still love to do that. Would you cuss the person you hate the most out to their face? No. My hatred for her is unjustified and I'd rather just not say anything to her. Have you ever spent more than two weeks in a wheelchair? No. Where do you see your closest friend in ten years? As one of the strongest people around. I imagine her with a job in medical coding, while also pursuing the hobbies of ball python breeding and writing. I'm sure she'll have loads of pets to love, too! Do you like Florence + The Machine? I've never listened to them. Did you watch the presidential debates? No. Do you ever watch Dr. Phil? No. Are you typically unattracted to people outside of your race? No; I can be attracted to any race. Have you ever ridden any animal other than a horse? No. Do you brush your hair when it’s wet? Yes. Do you eat the crusts of your bread? Yeah, I always have. Have you ever flown a kite? Yeah! At my childhood home, there was a tobacco field directly across the street, and when they weren't in season so the field was flat, Dad would help us with getting kites set up and in the air. Those are good memories. How are you for money? I don't make any money. Mom is struggling. Do you think you are more intelligent than the average person? Ha, no. Do you ever think about why we are here? Does it matter? We're here, so make the most of it. Do you like cherries? I fucking hate cherries. Name a celebrity that you admire that nobody would expect you to: Jeffree Star, probs. Can you use a yoyo? Not well, but yeah. Do you think Jenna Marbles’ videos are funny? I've actually never watched her. Do you like folk music? NOOOOOOOOO Ever had a crush on somebody of the same sex? Yes. Do you know any lesbians? Yep. Favourite member of your favourite band: I'm unfamiliar with all but Ozzy himself. And Ozzy is rad. Who’s your favourite female rapper? I don't have one. When you were younger, were you ever in a relationship with someone you now realize was way too old for you? No. Have you ever had a seizure? No. I sometimes have very, very quick spasms when I'm falling asleep that feel like what I assume a seizure would, but they barely last a second. They seriously jerk me awake, though, and are very startling. What’s the oldest man-made object you own? I dunno. Is there anything you feel like you need a break from? Not really, no. What do you hate to hear people joke about? I will actually and remorselessly deck you in the jaw if you make a joke about rape. There are other things that are absolutely forbidden joking matters for me, too. What’s the largest animal you’ve seen in the wild? Hmmm... Nothing that big, really. Maybe a whitetail deer buck? Do any of your friends or family members have strange occupations? Not to my knowledge. Have you ever been in weather so severe that you feared for your safety? Oh yeah. We've had some savage thunderstorms. What political issues are the most important to you personally? LGBTQ+ rights and just equality in general, the pro-choice movement, environmental conservation, gun control, the abolishment of poverty and homelessness... There is honestly a lot. I could keep going. Do you know anyone who doesn’t know how to cook even just simple recipes? ... Me. :x Especially now that I'm in a relationship, I really want to make a greater effort to learn. I want to prove to him I give a damn about the success of our relationship and that I'm capable of being an adult that can take part in general adult responsibilities. ^What’s stopping them from learning this basic life skill? Laziness. Forgetfulness. The fear of getting burned. What small thing makes you automatically distrust someone? I can pick up on sketchy body language from a mile away. I'm too paranoid not to. Of all the states/provinces in your country, which one is your favorite? At least from photographs I've seen, Utah appears BEAUTIFUL. That whole region of the U.S. in general. Are there any obscure foods you’ve eaten that most people have never tried? That's very unlikely. I'm far from explorative with food. When you travel to other countries, do you always try the local cuisine? I've never been outside the U.S. I would probably do that, though. I'd really want to experience the culture as thoroughly as I could. What did you do for your 19th birthday? Hell if I remember. What’s the kindest thing a total stranger has done for you? I remember as a young kid, my parents, two sisters, and I were getting food at McDonald's, and whoever was in front of us paid for our meals. Such a sweet gesture for a larger family. Have you ever used a meal kit delivery service? No, but there actually is one that I can't recall the name of that I'd like to try when I cook myself, especially getting started learning, but yeah, subscription fees. You see a lot of YouTubers get sponsored by them, if that rings a bell. Do you have any psychological issues rooted in events from your childhood? Possibly my fear of men, with my dad having been an alcoholic that had a 50/50 chance of being very angry when drunk. How organized are the files on your computer? Pretty organized, I'd say. I put stuff into folders. Would you date someone with braces? Yes? Do you ever rehearse conversations before you have them? Only always. Do you get angry at yourself or at others more often? Myself, for sure. When taking a cab, do you talk to the driver? I've never even taken a cab. Who or what greets you at the door every time you come home? Nobody, really. My cat is occasionally in the living room to see who's home, but not always because he's a lazy cat, ha ha. Do you ever chat about your favourite video games with your friends? Not really, no. I wish. Have you ever supported anyone’s Kickstarter? If so, what was it? No, bc I'm poor. Are you currently studying a language? If so, which one? No. Ever had a friend online for a long time without seeing a photo of them? Yeah. Do you carry pepper spray? No, but I want some 'cuz I'm paranoid as hell. Are you waiting on anything right now? No. Have you ever been described as shy? Is it true? Oh, always. It's absolutely true. Name something you’re a complete sucker for? Baby animals, to name one thing. Do you remember when you first went on the internet? Nope. What is one way someone could completely put you off on a first date? Arrogance/over-confidence. What about a way someone could make you like them more on a first date? Make me genuinely laugh a lot, to name one way. Are you in love right now? Not yet. I love him with our decade of history, but I need more experience as a couple before I've got the confidence to say that. Do you wanna get married anytime soon? It wouldn't be smart to. I want to be in a strong relationship for quite a few years before I want that. Have you ever kissed someone in a band? No. Has someone ever made you a Build-A-Bear? No but oh my fucking god I wish!!!!!! Did your mom or dad ever put soap in your mouth? No, but Mom would threaten to. What was the last fruit you ate? Well, I had strawberry yogurt earlier today. Who was the last person to make you laugh? Girt. He is very, very good at that. Have you ever dated someone with more piercings than you? No. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again? Hell yeah man. Is there one night of your life you wish had never happened? I wish it hadn't happened the way it did. Do you have a close relationship with your sibling(s)? No. What was the last thing that you shared? Some watermelon Sour Patch Kids with my mom. Do you think people talk behind your back? You couldn't get me to believe my mom doesn't at least sometimes to my sisters even if you tried your absolute damnedest. In real life do you laugh like ‘haha,’ 'hehe’ or something else? It depends on what I'm laughing at/at what intensity. Do you have any unusual skills? Nah. Who’s your favourite person? I don't have a sole favorite person. I love many people in different ways for varying reasons. Are there any chores you actually enjoy doing? No. When did you last have an "Oh, I get it now!" moment? Watching Attack on Titan yesterday w/ Girt. Have your parents ever suspected something untrue about you? My mom HAD to have suspected I was doing something FAR worse than innocent meerkat RP to have borderline fucking traumatized me invading my privacy and forcing shit out of me regarding what I was always doing on the computer so secretively. Like I get it, she was a concerned mother, but I was a fucking WRECK because I found it so embarrassing. It was insulting that she didn't trust her well-behaved daughter. What do you think about video games? They're great for both the creators and consumers. They're wonderful expressions of creativity, and so much fun to experience as a player, delving into a new world and getting engrossed in the story. I could go onnnn and onnnnn about what video games mean to me. I've gone my whole life as a loyal gamer. Are there any forms of Art you personally find pointless? I really, really don't get a lot of abstract art that's worth fucking thousands, BUT, I absolutely disagree that they are without purpose. The artist created what they did for SOME reason. As a distraction, a method of expressing emotion, to convey an idea... Are you tired right now? I have been SO ridiculously tired today. Like it's unreal. I've taken I wanna say three naps and I'm still sleepy. What’s something you do a lot? Drink something. I'm not talking about alcohol; just in general, I ALWAYS need some kind of drink by me, and I go through drinks pretty quickly. Are you currently on any other websites? Yeah, I'm watching YouTube. Are you good at using Photoshop? I'm decent, I guess. Have you ever been told you naturally tilt your head a certain way? Yes, actually, at least by my mom, and she's right. My head tends to tilt VERY slightly to the right, and I can tell by how easy it is to bend my head that way as opposed to left. I'll feel a biiiit more strain.

[redemptionbaby]

Hydrangea | Arthur/Reader

Pairing: Arthur/?Reader

Word Count: 1469

Summary: Arthur has a summer tradition.

Notes: Hello naughty children its surprise fic no one asked for time. Lmao. This was inspired by an episode from my favorite anime. And contains lines inspired by Mary’s Letter and that one gay line between Plyades and Orestes. I almost teared up while writing this bc I am a loser. Also, this is a very loose not-rdr-AU.

“Y’ain’t gonna pretend to ignore me if I call you for dinner if I let you go out there Arthur?”

“With Simon giving you a hand in the kitchen? Never, Hosea.”

Arthur had a ritual in the summers. When he had time away from school, the right weather outside, and family visits that kept his parents plenty busy. Every afternoon he snuck past his back yard, through the hole in the tattered fence, and into the overgrown yard of a house that had been abandoned through his entire memory. 

He asked about it a lot when he was younger. He worried that some family would move in and interrupt his secret getaway. Dutch had said nobody would buy that house, not with the history it had. Hosea would elbow him as a reminder that Arthur would still crawl into their bed if he was too scared to sleep alone. So Dutch would shut up after that.

After he forced his way through the fence gap, which was becoming more and more snug as he got older, he’d make his way to the gigantic hydrangea bush on the edge of the property. He’d crawl underneath, and promptly fall asleep.

Arthur told Dutch and Hosea that he’d go exploring. That because the land was untamed there, you could find cooler bugs. He’d bring them home in jars sometimes, as proof, knowing that they wouldn’t want him to fall asleep in strange places.

Then he would open his eyes, but not at all. He was surrounded by a blank space, and the occasional rush of ominous wind that always seemed to come from behind him no matter where he turned.

The only thing there besides him and the wind, was you.

He couldn’t say that he understood you. All he knew for certain was that you weren’t him, and you were his friend. And you were a lot nicer than the girls at school, for sure. You always wore the same clothes, but then again, he supposed that dreams didn’t need to change clothes.

“You came back!”

That’s what you always said.

“I always do.”

And that’s how he always responded.

__________________________________

“Why don’t you come back with me?”

Your eyes widened, but you continued to stare at the ground while he paused in his sketching. 

“And what ever gave you the idea that I could?”

“I can take back my memories of you. Y’gotta be real. So why not?”

“I can’t. I’ve tried before.” It wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t the truth. Arthur could tell, because it was the same voice he used when telling Dutch and Hosea about his adventures in the yard. You had tried. You just hadn’t had anyone around to help you before.

________________________________________

Arthur had matured enough that he could hop over the fence instead of climbing under it. Not that he had much of a choice. He was way too big to squeeze through anymore.

The hydrangea remained pristine, without anyone looking after it. He supposed that plants like that could just take care of themselves, they had to survive in the wild somehow. 

He’d still visit. Whenever he had the time. Even when Sean would say he had a basement fridge full of beer and his parents were gone for the weekend. Arthur had never really developed a taste for partying. But he hadn’t ignored all of the joys of being a teenager.

When you’ve known someone for as long as Arthur had known you, it’s hard not to see the beauty in them. You were no exception, and Arthur was in the throes of his first and only love. He knew, desperately, that you loved him too. Even when you pushed him away. 

He told you he was going away to college soon, without even really thinking of it. Without thinking of how that meant he would leave you behind. And it hurt how happy you were for him, at first.

“You should forget about me.”

“What? Sweetheart, I couldn’t. Not you.”

“But you should! You have a life outside of here. There’s so much for you to do. You’ll never be happy if you’re tied down to this place because of me.”

The silence was unbearable. You couldn’t face Arthur, and you didn’t sob, but he could still feel the warm tears rolling down your cheeks and onto your clenched fists like venom in his veins. And the dam broke for him.

“Damnnit, why won’t you just come with me?!”

He woke up.

_______________________________

Arthur went to college. And he met new people. He met new girls. And he was beginning to follow your advice.

In fact, he had convinced himself that you weren’t real. Just an imaginary friend. It was about time he parted ways with you. He was too grown for that kinda shit nowadays.

Arthur went through every walk of life when it came to love. He was the playboy. Then, the tamed bad boy, whipped into a serious relationship. Then, he just had sex for comfort, which lead to more problems than it solved. Finally, he was a lone wolf. 

He was tired of the disappointment. The guilt. Was he being untrue by thinking of you, or was he betraying you by being with other people? He had to laugh. The fucking loser who couldn’t let go of his imaginary girlfriend. 

A lot of his friends knew all about you. He told groups of people for laughs, laughing at his younger self for being so silly as to believe you were real. That you were his friend. That he even had some stupid crush on you. How fucking ridiculous was that? Thinking a girl like you could ever be real. That someone could have known his snotty, stupid kid self and continue to love him. That someone could see his facial hair grow in and his voice drop and continue to love him. That someone could know his raw, unfiltered soul and continue to love him.

Yeah. Fucking hilarious.

________________________________

Arthur was sick, and he knew it. Everyone knew it. The doctor said that he could go home for a while. He knew it wasn’t because he was getting better. It was because it was probably his last chance. But even home was painful.

A lot of the time, Dutch couldn’t look at Arthur’s pallid face and bloodshot for long before he started tearing up. His little boy, all grown up. His baby.

His baby boy was dying.

Still, they tried to enjoy what they had left. Hosea dug out all of Arthur’s old stuffed toys and photo albums. All of his school projects and terrible crayon drawings which morphed into cartoon characters made with #2 pencils gripped way too hard, into thoughtful sketches. Every sticker-covered elementary school report card, to high school honor roll. Pajamas covered in teddy bear print and worn with holes.

Arthur wasn’t strong enough to climb over the fence anymore. He doubted it could support him anyways. So he kicked it in a few weak spots and squeezed his thinning body through, stopping part way through to submit to a coughing fit. The hydrangeas were alive. Not at colorful as he remembered, but alive. So he went underneath, and sleep came easier than it had in years.

“You came back.”

The weakness in your voice was palpable.

“I always do.”

He sat next to you with a wince. Even you looked pained at the sight of him. But you looked the same as when he’d left.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

He placed his hand, palm up, into your lap, pleadingly. And even after all these years, seeing you cry broke his heart.

“You won’t like me when I’m up there. I’ve been down here for so long.”

“You know that don’t matter to me. Hell, I reckon I ain’t in any better shape.”

“But it will. I’m so dirty. I’m ugly now. You’ll hate me, I know it.”

“I think you know that ain’t true, love.” 

When you cried, he could almost hear the voice you had when the two of you first met. You peaked up from under your lashes, eyes almost as bloodshot as his, puffy with tears.

“Do you promise?”

“I promise. I ain’t ever loved somebody the way I love you. You couldn’t ever be ugly. Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

Arthur woke up.

He blearily blinked and winced at the rain dripping through the leaves of the hydrangea and onto his face. The next thing he felt was your grip. So weak, and dry. When he looked to his side, he saw your little hand, and the wrist that trailed beneath the soil. But you were more beautiful than he could’ve imagined. Because you were you. And you were real.

[glitterblazercalum]

you can tell a lot about someone by the type of music they listen to 🎵🎶

rules: hit shuffle on your media player and write down the first 20 songs, then tag 10 people. no skipping!

tysm to @clumsyclifford for tagging me! I still can’t actually believe it when I get tagged in things lol. PLEASE do not call me out for my very strange and noncohesive taste in music. also, my ability to ramble is unparalleled, so feel free to skip all the commentary bc I know I would. 

Hometown by French 79: wow. I guess we’re starting off by exposing me and the techno/edm I listen to while studying/working. the lyrics in this song are practically non-existent, which is how I like my study music, but something about it is very soothing, while still being very fast-paced. I heard it/ some other songs on my study playlist described once as “orchestral electronic” and that seems very fitting. a good song, for sure, although I wouldn’t really say it plays a big role in my music taste. 

False Confidence by Noah Kahan: the only noah kahan song that I had heard before actually getting into his music, and still one of my favorites. all of busyhead is honestly so good. I think I said this to bella once, but Noah Kahan has such a woodsy, cabin-in-Vermont vibe, and at the moment, I’m very into that. 

High Highs to Low Lows by  Lolo Zouaï: I really forgot this song existed. My cousin? second-cousin? (idk not much of my family is in the us, so whatever she is to me, we’re close) and I went to see Lolo Zouaï live on of our NYC trips. (Fun fact: this is the only concert I’ve ever been to!) I didn’t know anything about her until like a week before we went, so I listened to a bunch of her music for a week before and after seeing her, and then I forgot about it. It’s honestly pretty good, and her voice is very ethereal-sounding in parts, which is how I like to imagine mine sounds when I sing, so it’s fun trying to sing it. 

Classic by MKTO: if I could pick a song to encompass the feeling of sixth grade, it would be this one. this really isn’t the type of music I’d usually choose to listen to, but I always let it play through when it comes on, for nostalgia purposes. 

Castaway by 5SOS: YESSSSSS. Best song on SGFG, and no, I will not be taking any criticism. I adore Castaway with my entire heart, and even though I listen to it at least once a day on my morning run, I will never get sick of it. 

Teeth by 5SOS: Speaking of getting sick of things... I mean, not really, but I also do not love this song anywhere near as much as I used to back in like March/April. This was one of the first songs by 5SOS that I listened to consistently, and probably THE one that convinced me to get more into their other music, so for that, it holds a special place in my heart, but I overplayed this wayyyy too much. Still good, but I’d prefer to not hear it for a while so I can get back to the place where I would scream-sing my heart out to this. 

Mauja hi Mauja by Mika Singh: the first Bollywood song on the list! My parents actually introduced me to this one when I was like seven years old, and I’ve loved it ever since. It always puts a smile on my face, and it’s really fun to dance around my room to, which is always my main goal when listening to Bollywood. 

Alejandro by Lady Gaga: Where did this even come from, and why do I still remember all the lyrics?

UNSTATUS QUO by Duckwrth: I originally listened to this bc I liked the title and as a pretentious debate nerd who used the phrase “status quo” at least four times a day, it felt like blasphemy not to. This is def my “cool kid in a movie walking down the street” song. It’s more... loud? cacophonous? than the music I usually listen to, but it really, really does make me feel cool. I think if I were to hear it more often than I do, I would probably stop liking it. 

Mystery of Love by Sufjan Stevens: yeah, I don’t know about this one. I feel like I can only listen to this when I’m already sobbing, so I’m gonna skip it for now. I never actually watched CMBYN, so idk how I even found this song. ALSO fun fact, I found a ten hour loop of this song on youtube once, and listened to the whole thing in one sitting. as I’m sure you can guess, that was not a good day :)

Do I Wanna Know by Arctic Monkeys: bitches listen to one arctic monkeys song and think they’re indie, yeah, it’s me. I’m bitches. 

Apocalypse by Cigarettes After Sex: wow, really proving my own point about only listening to very well-known indie music. 

Greek God by Conan Gray: This song just FEELS aesthetic and I don’t quite understand that but I still like it. 

Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood: it’s actually been a minute since I last heard this, but I still like it! I was def more attached to this song about two years ago, so I don’t have much to say about it anymore. 

Summer is a Curse by The Faim: I actually heard this on a German tv show once and LOVED it. I really didn’t have any idea that Ashton was involved until a few months ago and I was like “wait, what??” it’s def a v good song, but I feel uncomfy endorsing/supporting it bc of the sexual misconduct allegations against one of the Faim’s members. Unfortunate, really, but that’s not something I can really get past. 

Bang! by AJR: I’m surprised AJR hasn’t shown up sooner tbh. The “Metronome” line and “pretend you know this song everybody” are CONSTANTLY stuck in my head. If I could choose any concert to go to, it would be either AJR or 5SOS. They actually had a really cool socially-distant drive-in concert yesterday, but it was in Philly, which is a bit too far to drive the week before college starts. 

Formidable by Stromae: <3 the song I was listening to when I made an ao3 account <3 I feel like I know too many people who had a Stromae phase. I don’t even understand French music all that well, but this is a bop. 

Hasta el Amanecer by Nicky Jam: Damn, I just realized that there’s music in four languages on this list now. We stan multilingualism. This is one that I do actually understand most of the lyrics for, so we love that. It was fun listening to this again, bc I really haven’t heard it in at least a year. 

Higher by The Score: The album that this is from came out on my birthday a few years ago! (just realized that there’s no recent music on this list, and if one thing describes my music taste accurately, it’s finding music a few years after it was released/popular). This is back from my soccer-playing days, and it was one of my pump-up songs for bus rides to away games. I think I might put this album back on regular rotation bc this is actually quite good!

No Control by One Direction: what even is there to say? I wasn’t really into 1D while they were actually active (rip me), and this is the song that made me give them a chance (chonce). perfect note to end on. 

As for tagging others, I think I’ve avoided it enough times that I kind of have to now, so sorry in advance if 1. you’ve already done this/ been tagged and/ or 2. you have no idea who I am and are confused as to why I’m acting like I know you. I’ll just do the first ten people who pop up when I type the at symbol: @originalashstan @tothemoonmikey @5sos-fan-boy @calumcest @ashesonthefloor @kaleidoscopeminds @mashlums @poisonjaffas @tirednotflirting @fuckyeah5sostakemehome

[max-is-tired]

Magic Mirror (Mirror’s Magic) Chapter 2

Pairing: brotherly Logince, future romantic Royality

Characters: Roman Sanders, Deceit Sanders, Logan Sanders (mentioned), Patton Sanders (mentioned)

Words: 2.809

Warnings for this chapter: Angst, Roman angst, implied character death, captivity, magic, morally-grey Deceit Sanders, Roman takes a very brash decision and someone else has to bear the consequences, please tell me if I forgot something

Notes: You guys have no idea how proud I am of this part -I had to split it in two bc it was becoming a monster of a chapter, but this right here?? God, I’m so so happy with how it turned out.

Thank you so much to @tigertigertigger for betaing this chapter and, well, I swear this fic will have a happy ending. It’ll just take a while to get there.

I hope you enjoy your daily dose of angst :)

(This story is heavily inspired by two Vocaloid songs. This chapter -and the next one- are inspired by this song.)

Commission me!!

Read on AO3!!

Go check @keuwibird‘s amazing art for this fic here!!

First || Next

We’ve seen Patton’s story unfold, everything beginning in an inconspicuous little cottage in the woods.

We’ve seen how a simple wish has granted him a second chance, seen how his selflessness brought an entire kingdom, destroyed by war and death, back to its former grandeur.

We’ve seen how Patton was given the most tempting of gifts, the power to bend reality itself right to his fingertips, and chose happiness, kindness, love –and we’ve seen exactly how high of a price he had to pay for it.

“What happens next?” You might ask.

Unfortunately, that is a difficult question to answer. Before we can properly do so, there’s one more tale we need to tell, one more destiny we need to show.

It’s the story of a young boy, born with magic buzzing through his veins and a million dreams running through his head.

It’s the story of a young prince, second son of the late king and queen, destined to serve and protect his kingdom and its people until his last breath.

It’s the story of a young knight, as talented with the sword as his brother is with words, forest green eyes twinkling red when emotions run wild and caramel brown hair always messed up by running in the wind.

It’s a story of magic, of choices, of misery and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of love.

It’s not a happy story, this one –and it all starts with betrayal.

+++

They thought they were prepared for it.

Logan had never been really loved by their so-called allies, even less since their parents died and he took their place on the throne –he’s young and quick-witted, well-versed in the arts of politics and diplomacy.

They couldn’t fool him with treaties and complicated negotiations, they’d learned that soon enough –Roman has had more than once the satisfaction to see that realization dawn on their faces, standing proudly at his brother’s side while barely being able to keep himself from giving them the smuggest smile he can muster.

So yeah, both Logan and Roman have always been very much aware of the fact that most representatives from the neighboring kingdoms aren’t very fond of them. Still, never in a million years could they have predicted it would all come to this.

Roman stares blankly at the ruined blue robe in the guard’s hands, eyes fixed on the dark patches covering the all-too-familiar golden ornaments –that’s Logan’s coat, he would recognize it anywhere, their family’s crest almost impossible to recognize under all the dried blood that’s Logan’s blood those bastards killed his brother-

“My prince,” comes a voice from his side, the captain of the royal guard stepping forward with a gaze as hard as steel and his mouth set into a thin line, “this means war.”

Silence falls in the room, heavy and charged as the prince takes a deep breath and straightens his back. When Roman opens his eyes again, they’re blazing red, a familiar fire burning inside him as his magic rumbles angrily in his soul.

“Then war they’ll have.”

+++

When Roman marches into war, there isn’t a single ounce of doubt or regret in his mind –those bastards have taken his brother away from him, and he’s dead set on making them pay for it dearly, no matter what it will take.

At that moment, he’s more than ready to sacrifice his own kingdom if it means Logan’s murderers will burn down with it. Who cares if he survives it all? At least his brother’s death will be avenged.

Sadly, that’s not what happens.

Their enemy is strong and organized, having meticulously planned for this since the very beginning –Roman’s kingdom has always had a remarkable military force, but with so little time to prepare compared to their opponents, it’s no wonder it goes as bad as it does.

The battle lasts barely a month, the opposing army quickly piercing their defense and pushing them more and more into retreat. It’s not long before they get completely overwhelmed, crushed and defeated.

Roman never admits defeat, not completely –even as his army is decimated right in front of his eyes, even as his kingdom is set ablaze and he’s forced to kneel in front of those he once called allies.

“You will pay for this,” he seethes even as his face is pressed in the mud, magic boiling helplessly in his blood even as the enchanted restraints he has been put in keep it at bay.

“Oh, little prince,” they smile, drunk in their victory as Roman’s home burns to ashes around them, "we'd like to see you try."

Roman roars in anger, kicking and struggling and biting even as two guards haul him to his feet and start dragging him towards his own castle.

"Lock him in one of the towers,", one of the leaders says, waving them away.

"After all, what's a prince without his castle?"

+++

Our story should end here.

It should end with Roman sitting in the sealed tower, left alone to rot away in the place he once called his home.

It should end with Roman trapped forever in the dark, left with the knowledge that his kingdom is in shambles and his brother's death will never be avenged.

That's the end fates had designed for him, this cruel destiny written in the stars from the very moment of his birth, and yet.

And yet.

An uninvited guest knocks at the door.

+++

If you were to ask Roman what he remembers from that fateful night, he would tell you it was dark and stormy outside -and he would be right.

Let's picture it together -thunder and lightning flashing outside, rain pouring from the sky as a lonely prince stares blankly at the ceiling of his cell, wondering when the end will finally come.

Then, a knock comes through the silence, startling him out of his spiraling thoughts.

Roman's first thought goes to the guards tasked with shoving food into the cell -never enough to really satisfy him or leave him at top strength, but just enough to keep him alive and healthy enough to not risk starvation or dehydration.

(He's also pretty sure they periodically slip in some sort of magic suppressant, his powers feeling weak and dormant in his blood, but Roman has figured that would happen the moment they removed the enchanted restraints from his wrists -if that hadn't been the case he would have already blown up the entire tower.)

Then, he frowns and throws a confused look at the tiny excuse of a window hovering several feet over his head -yup, still nighttime, the absolute darkness punctuated by sudden sparks of lightning as the storm outside keeps raging on. And since the sun hasn't risen just yet and he gets food only once when the night comes -which he remembers happening just a few hours prior- Roman's pretty sure that's not a strangely considerate guard, knocking to make their presence known.

So, that begs the question: who is it?

As another knock resounds in the otherwise silent cell, Roman cautiously stands up and quietly shuffles towards the closed door, hoping to somehow gain more clues about whoever is on the other side.

His hand hovers just a few inches from the door, a strange feeling pooling in his stomach as Roman suddenly finds himself hesitating -it's like a pull in his gut, a sense of uneasiness he finds eerily familiar, like a puzzle piece he knows is missing, but can't identify.

The resounding click of a lock coming undone jerks Roman out of his thoughts, sending him staggering backward as the door swings open and a cloaked figure calmly shuffles in.

"Hello, Your Highness," a voice draws from under the cloak, the figure hunching forward in what Roman can only assume is meant to be a bow.

"Who are you?" He asks, standing tall -or as tall as he can, his weakened legs barely holding up his weight as he warily looks at the stranger.

"Oh, I'm nothing but a lonely man seeking cover from the unforgiving weather," the figure hums, "I do hope my presence here is not unwelcome?"

"... No," Roman says after a moment of consideration -there's something about this man, a sensation Roman cannot name but that still makes all of the hair on his body stand up, goosebumps covering his arms as a little voice in the back of his mind warns him to be cautious, "just unexpected. May I ask who do I have the pleasure to talk to?"

"People call me Dee," the man answers "it is a pleasure to meet you, my Prince."

"Oh, please, stop with the formalities," Roman huffs, looking away as he nods to his cell, "as you can see, I am anything but a prince right now."

"And why would that be? You're standing in your castle, and your kingdom and subjects are still out there-"

"Yes, suffering and dying for a war I brought us all in!" Roman exclaims, anger coursing through his veins as he takes one threatening step forward. "And at what cost? We were defeated, utterly annihilated, and now my kingdom is burning under my own eyes and there's nothing I can do to stop it. So no, I am not a prince, because I'm the farthest I can be from deserving that title right now."

The stranger lets out a noncommittal hum, tilting his head to the side as he watches Roman pace angrily around the cell.

Then, he smirks, small, pointed fangs glinting in the dark of the room.

"Who says there is no way for you to change all of this?"

Roman freezes on the spot, his posture tensing as his mind registers the stranger's words.

"Please," he finally answers, shaking his head as a bitter chuckle escapes his lips, "how could that even be possible? I have no army, no friends, no magic. Let's face it-" he turns once again towards Dee, opening his arms as he gestures to his cell- "my fate has been written: to rot alone in this sealed tower -scorned, despised, hated, destined to be forgotten in the sands of time while those who destroyed my home feast and bask in my family's death."

"No destiny is set in stone, Your Highness," Dee counters, smirk never once leaving his lips, "least of all yours. You have a connection, prince Roman, and that connection is the cause of your misfortune."

Roman blinks, confused. "A… connection? To what?"

"Not to what," Dee hums, a hand reaching out from under the cloak as yellow sparks suddenly fill the space just beside him, "to whom."

That's the moment Roman's mind screeches to a halt, the last few minutes playing in his head as the uneasy, cautionary feeling that has been nagging him since the moment the door had opened finally, finally falls into place. Because those sparks are eerily familiar, dancing and falling through the air as a dusty old mirror stands tall at Dee's side, glass glinting in the dark as Roman takes a wary step backward -he's one-hundred percent sure that mirror wasn't there until a few seconds ago, so the only possible explanation is-

"You're a magic user," Roman whispers, eyes wide as his gaze travels back and forth from the mirror to Dee.

"That I am, my prince," the man grins, "did you not realize? You have magic yourself, after all."

"My magic has been severely weakened in order to keep me here -you'll find that it is quite arduous to sense the magic around you when you can just barely feel your own."

"I suppose that makes sense," Dee concedes with a tilt of his head, before gesturing to the mirror, "but let us not dwell on unimportant matters-" he says, beckoning him closer- "do you not want to know the reason of your misfortune?"

Still unsure, Roman warily steps forward until he's standing right in front of the mirror, his reflection staring back at him with confusion evident in his eyes.

Grinning, Dee leans forward and whispers something, the ancient language of the druids of old rolling effortlessly on his tongue as the air around them suddenly feels charged -like something ancient and incredibly, incredibly powerful is slowly awakening in that lonely tower surrounded by the fires of destruction. It's a foreign feeling, so far away from the sense of security Roman is used to when in presence of magic -and he knows, he knows that should render him far warier about Dee and whatever he's trying to show him, there's a voice in the back of his head that sounds a lot like Logan yelling at him how he should step away immediately, this isn't normal, you don't know what is happening-

And yet.

And yet.

Roman doesn't look away. He keeps standing there, as if trapped in a trance, as the mirror's surface starts glowing, lighting up the room for a few seconds and making Roman close his eyes on instinct when the light just becomes too much to look at.

When he opens his eyes again, Roman can't help the surprised gasp tumbling out of his mouth, gaze transfixed on the mirror's reflection as he tries to properly register what he's seeing.

From the surface of the mirror, a young boy lets out a delighted laugh, his blonde hair reflecting sunlight Roman can't see as pure happiness dances in his eyes -blue like the sky on a sunny day, Roman distantly notes, glinting with joy from behind a pair of big, round glasses.

"Who… is that?" Roman asks, not quite able to conceal the way his voice has almost turned breathy in his stupor.

"In the world through the mirror, everything is set in reverse," Dee reveals, "this boy's fate is deeply intertwined with yours -his happiness is your sadness, his luck is your misery, his kingdom's peace?" The magician looks at Roman, smirking widely as he watches the realization of his words' meaning dawn on him, "your kingdom's destruction."

Roman takes a step back, face pale as realization gives the place to horror. "That can't be true."

"And yet, it is," Dee says, shrugging, "fate chose to give him a happy, fulfilling life and carelessly throw you aside. Such a pity, isn't it?"

"That's-" Roman's breath is quick now, heart hammering in his chest doubt and fear swirl and clash in his mind- "that's not fair!"

"It isn't, isn't it?" Dee agrees, "you could have been great, given the chance to prove your worth. And yet, fate preferred that boy over you -it took away your brother, your kingdom, your happiness, just to give that fortunate boy a destiny that should've been yours. What a shame, really."

Roman clenches his fists, taking in a few deep breaths -he wants to scream and cry and curse at the universe, Dee's words echoing in his head over and over as rage rushes through his veins. But he can't let himself go just yet, not as long as the mysterious magician is standing in front of him and watching his every move.

"Why are you telling me all this?" He asks instead, voice surprisingly steady as a storm rages inside him -he can distantly feel his magic react to his emotions, thrumming deep inside him as it pushes and slams against whatever is keeping his powers locked away.

"As I said, no destiny is set in stone," Dee answers with a grin, "that happiness was yours, and it is only right that I help you get it back, is it not?"

Roman frowns, keeping his expression schooled even as he can feel a spark of hope make its way into his chest. "And how would you do that?"

"Just say the word, my prince, and everything your heart yearns for will be finally yours."

Deafening silence falls in the dark cell, the air charged with a million possibilities as Roman finds himself with his heart's greatest desire standing right in front of him.

He looks at the boy's blue eyes, his smile shining like a thousand suns, and feels something inside himself harden into stone, nodding his head towards Dee.

The magician lets out a boisterous laugh, yellow sparks dancing all around him as the mirror's reflection darkened and disappeared.

"Your wish is my command, Your Highness!" He exclaims, magic whooshing around Roman as his own seems to react to it -he can almost feel the familiar tingling sensation traveling up to his fingertips, warmth flowing through his soul as yellow magic fills his vision.

"The scales of destiny have been replaced!" Dee announces as Roman feels his consciousness start to fade.

"So forget everything, my prince-" a fanged grin, green scales shining in the light as Dee's cloak falls away- "and rejoice."

A single, yellow eye meets Roman's gaze.

Then, darkness falls.

[ukulelecal]

The Lady In Waiting - Part Two

In which you’re the lady in waiting for the princess, and the mysterious, quiet prince has taken a certain interest in you.

Warnings: none i don’t think

Pairing: Royal!Calum Hood x Reader

A/N: happy fucking birthday to the loml calum t hood! so in honor of his bday this is a shorter boring filler chapter that has no calum action in it at all lmao sorry, its kinda important though, so do still read it! i’m trying to prolong this bc if i gave in to my urges they would literally be in love already so i could get to the action i have planned lol. again, i always appreciate feedback! it lets me know that you guys actually read and care about what i write! 

Series Masterlist

***

The princess, so Y/N had learned since becoming the lady in waiting about a month and a half prior, was a pretty easy royal to serve.

She was independent, never asked for much, and when she did, it was never anything too difficult. Mostly, it was helping her get ready in the mornings or fetching her things when she was too busy to get them herself. She asked for advice sometimes as well. Y/N actually enjoyed the job. The princess was right; the lady in waiting wasn’t like a servant. Assistant, would be a better term to describe it.

Y/N found herself getting closer to the princess over time. They always made small talk, whether it be about the weather or some upcoming event in Vavia, but eventually, the conversations started to get more personal. The princess started asking Y/N more questions about herself, and where she came from, and she eventually worked up the courage to ask questions back. She tended to dance around the topic of her family, never liking to bring up her parents, but she had no problem talking about Aunt Mary - who she had been consistently exchanging letters with, and was pleased to know that there was a designated doctor from the palace taking care of her. They could chat like they had known each other for years.

Y/N didn’t dare say it out loud, to anyone, but she felt like they were becoming friends.

The king and queen, Y/N never saw much of. They were understandably busy, and they had other people who attended them. She only ever saw them in passing, which including Y/N curtsying to them, and then they continued walking after giving a brief nod of recognition. She didn’t mind that she never spoke to them. They were intimidating, and she still felt awkward after the king’s snide comment at dinner.

Then, there was the prince.

She saw him more than she saw the king and queen, but not as much as she saw the princess. Him and his sister worked together a lot when there was business to be taken care of, so she mostly saw him then. He always offered her a small smile, but never said anything. One thing she did notice, was that he always kept his gaze on her for a little longer than necessary, looking like he was thinking. She wasn’t sure what it meant, if anything, and she wasn’t sure how he felt about her, considering what he had said to her on her first day. Was he just being friendly? Did he actually care? It made Y/N’s head hurt, thinking about it at night. She knew she wasn’t supposed to be socializing with the family when she was working, and felt she couldn’t start up the conversation. She also knew the prince was shy.

She wished he would just talk to her.

One morning, just as Y/N was on her way to have breakfast with the other staff, she heard her name being called. Looking around for the source of the voice, she found one of the guards approaching her. She had come to know him; he had asked her to call him Michael, even though nearly everyone else always called him Clifford, his last name. He had said he sometimes forgot he even had a first name.

Him and Y/N talked, when they had their meals together or when their breaks coincided with each other. He was nice, always made her laugh, and even though he was a guard at the royal palace that always kept a blank face on duty, he was a fun guy when she talked to him. He was a good friend, and kept her grounded amongst all the chaos of working for royalty.

“Hey, Michael,” she greeted, grinning. “Headed to breakfast?”

“No, Sargeant wanted me to start early today, so I ate already,” he explained. “Got an order that the princess wants to take breakfast in her room this morning. Said she asked for you to bring it to her.”

Y/N nodded in response.

“Alright, I’ll get on it. Is it in the kitchen?”

“Yep, should be done by now.” He looked around, his training preventing him from keeping his gaze in one place too long. He then turned back to her, shooting her a smile. “I should head back to my post. I’ll see you for dinner, Y/N.”

“See you then.”

The two parted ways, and Y/N changed directions to head towards the kitchen. She had only been there once before, when the princess requested dinner in her room because she wasn’t feeling well, and she hoped she could remember the way there. The palace was massive, and Y/N was still getting her bearings.

As she walked, she questioned to herself exactly why the princess wanted breakfast in her room. She always ate with her family, aside from the one time she was sick. Maybe she was sick again? She had been working very hard lately, so it would make sense that it was starting to take a toll on her.

Y/N got to the kitchen, pushing the doors open and stepping inside. It was warm in there, just like last time, and it smelled delightful.

“Good morning, Lady Y/N,” the chef, who’s name she had yet to learn, greeted.

“Good morning,” she responded politely. “I’ve come to fetch breakfast for the princess?”

He nodded, turning around and grabbing a tray, one with little legs so the princess could have it in bed, off the counter behind him. He handed it over, and Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as she glanced down at it.

There were two plates prepared. Two sets of silverware, two of everything. Wasn’t it just for the princess?

“Two meals?” She asked curiously, looking up at the chef in confusion. He shrugged, throwing his hands up.

“Don’t ask me,” he sighed. “She requested for two to be made. Didn’t say why.”

The chef turned around again and got back to work, and Y/N slipped out of the kitchen, using her back to push open the door.

She considered the reasons as to why the princess ordered two breakfasts as she made her way to her room, carefully balancing the tray. She doubted she would be so hungry as to order two entire meals, and the only other thing she could think of was that there was someone else there with her. A lover, maybe? Of course, it was none of Y/N’s business, but she wasn’t prepared to handle the awkwardness of walking in on the princess and a stranger.

Once she got to the princess’ room, she managed to knock without dropping the tray. There was some shuffling from inside, then the door opened, revealing the princess still in her nightgown.

“Your Highness,” Y/N greeted, slowly curtsying as to not drop the food.

“Oh, enough with the formalities, Lady Y/N,” she said, stepping aside to let the lady in waiting in. “Please, just call me Mali.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, raising her eyebrows. She never considered calling her anything other than her title. She took a quick glance around the room as she stepped in, not finding anyone else.

Who was the other meal for?

“Yes,” the princess chuckled. “Mali is fine.”

“Alright...Mali,” Y/N responded, the name almost feeling strange on her lips. “You don’t have to call me Lady anymore, then. Just Y/N.”

“If you insist, Y/N,” she teased, sitting cross legged on her bed. She patted the space in front of her, smiling. “Sit. I want to have breakfast with you.”

Y/N stopped in her tracks, staring at Mali incredulously.

“With me?” She queried, voice raised an octave. Mali had never gone so far as to invite her to do something together, privately. It was probably unprofessional, for a princess and her lady in waiting to be casually eating together, but she didn’t seem to care.

“Of course,” she giggled. She patted the space again. “Please, sit.”

Slowly, Y/N balanced the tray on its legs on the bed, and sat down across from Mali. She was stiff, antsy about the situation. She assumed it was a good thing that the princess wanted to eat with her, alone, but it had to go well. Not like the dinner with the family.

“Thank you, Your H-...Mali,” Y/N corrected herself, folding her hands tightly in her lap.

The girl laughed, picking up her silverware and gesturing to the other set.

“Let’s eat,” she announced. She waited until Y/N picked up her fork and knife until she spoke again. “So, how have you been? You’ve adjusted well, yes?”

“I have. Still trying to find my way around,” she responded, both girls laughing.

“I get that. It doesn’t seem so big once you get used to it.”

Y/N took a bite of her eggs, almost humming in pleasure. The food the staff got served was very good, but it wasn’t quite made to the level that the food for the royal family was made at.

“How’s your aunt?”

Y/N shrugged, swallowing down her food before answering.

“Alright, I guess. The doctor said she’s not really getting any better, but at least she’s not getting worse.”

Mali sighed, reaching over to pat the girl on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I promise our doctor is giving her the best care possible.”

“I know.”

It was silent for a moment, Y/N fearing she ruined it already by making the conversation sad, but Mali thankfully broke the awkward silence.

“Just out of curiosity...have you talked to my brother at all?”

Y/N froze for a moment. The thought of the prince was confusing, and the fact that Mali was wondering about them made it worse.

“Well, for a few moments after dinner the day I arrived, we spoke,” Y/N explained softly, omitting what the conversation was about.

“What is it about what my father said?” She asked, lowering her voice slightly. “Because he was pretty upset about that.”

Y/N nodded, movements slow. She wasn’t sure why the conversation was making her feel so odd; she only talked to him once. It wasn’t like they had anything going on.

“He, uh...he asked me to tell him if he said anything else like that to me,” Y/N stammered, subconsciously wiping her hands on her napkin.

Mali grinned slyly, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment before letting it slip back out.

“Really? My father has a tendency to say some...rude things to people, and Calum always gets mad about it, but I don’t think he’s ever been that concerned over it,” she replied, still grinning.

“So what does that mean?” Y/N questioned, her own voice lowering. Mali shrugged, taking a bite of her food and swallowing.

“Don’t know. But, I’ve noticed he stares at you a lot. And he asks me about you. He might like you a little.”

The princess’ words made her heart pound in her chest. The prince, like a girl like her? She always imagined she would only ever be with someone of her own class, as that’s what was customary in Vavia. The prince was miles above her.

“That’s impossible,” she breathed. “We hardly even know each other.”

“Get to know him, then,” Mali suggested, her words delicate.

“I can’t just strike up a conversation with him. I mean, isn’t that...improper? Wouldn’t I get in trouble?”

“You won’t get in trouble, I’ll make sure of it,” Mali said with a serious tone. “And forget what anyone might say about it being improper. You’re both people. You can talk to him.”

-

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[the-pontiac-bandit]

all the way home i’ll be warm

so, thanks to @jakelovesamy for the prompt, and to her and @elsaclack for all of the help!! i’m only including the prompt because it seems important that y’all all know that this started as a creepy cabin drabble. (title is from “let it snow” bc yes i Obviously wrote a christmas fic in mid-june) 

99. “We’re in an abandoned lodge in the middle of nowhere. Sure, you’re totally right, nothing bad could ever happen here.”

Jake Peralta has never enjoyed the outdoors. Sure, that one Cub Scouts camping trip in first grade was pretty fun, but that was mostly because his dad was Assistant Scoutmaster that year, and Jake got to stay up until the sun started to rise, making s’mores with Charlie Daniels and his brother. Adult Jake Peralta prefers snow plows, massage chairs, modern insulation, and easy-access delivery food.

Which makes the fact that he agreed to spend Christmas in a cabin in the middle of nowhere in upstate New York with his new wife’s family a remarkable testament to just how much he loves said new wife.

Of course, the Santiagos are a remarkably awesome bunch of people. Victor warmed up to him - finally - when Jake told the Santiagos about his intentions to marry Amy. He showed them the ring, and Victor decided that anyone who had managed to save up that much money with a credit score below 200 was plenty tenacious enough to be a Santiago. Her brothers, meanwhile, had warmed to him as soon as they learned how much he loved basketball and good cop movies (Luis once told him that there were so many Santiago brothers it wasn’t even that noticeable when they picked up a few extra along the way. Jake had never felt more thrilled to be so entirely a part of something).

Even with all that awesome, being snowed in with all of the Santiagos in an eight-bedroom “cabin” (it’s definitely way too large for that title, and yet still somehow too small for all seven brothers, their spouses, and the kids) for four days over Christmas was not his idea of a dream vacation. Jake has no idea exactly how many nieces and nephews he now has, but he knows that there are at least twenty children that made it to the cabin ranging from scarily-new infants to surly teenagers, and they all call him Tio Jake with an excitement that warms his heart.

That many kids with that few bedrooms, though, means that someone is always sleeping somewhere strange. Usually on the floor. Definitely at a weird time of day. And Jake definitely almost steps on them on his way to the kitchen for more Cheetos (Manny brought a seemingly endless supply - he keeps pulling more from his car every time the boys finish a bag. Jake is eternally grateful).

Amy always seems to know who’s sleeping where (she also knows all of their names, of course, because she’s a perfect aunt who filled up their entire trunk with personalized gifts for each child and all her brothers, leaving Jake with a much better understanding of why they couldn’t afford Paris).

There is a constant hum of noise in the cabin. On the first day, which Jake obnoxiously calls Christmas Eve-Eve to anyone who will listen, everyone is in and out - exploring the nearby town, enjoying the fresh air, playing games of soccer on frozen ground that gives Jake a bruise on his hip when he tries to bicycle kick for the winning point. All in all, a great first day.

Then, that night, the snow starts to fall. At first, it’s some flurries. Just enough snow to be romantic - when it falls, it’s light and fresh, and Jake’s been to the country before, but just rarely enough that seeing fresh, fluffy snow surrounding him is a novelty. The Santiagos, who grew up with a huge backyard and spent their winters rolling around in snow that no dogs had peed in, were less impressed, and thought he was insane for wanting to spend that much time in the woods in the snow at night.

But then Amy walked outside with Jake in her heaviest parka, and they stood together and watched it fall, illuminated by the faded light coming out of the cabin, where the Santiagos were playing the largest game of Apples to Apples he’d ever seen. Everything was perfect, and just a little bit magical, and when he leaned down to kiss her, he could see the snowflakes that had settled on her eyelashes.

Jake is thoroughly enjoying the feel of her lips against his, even if that’s the only skin-to-skin contact available with all the layers, even though the pom pom on top of his hat is slowly pulling the entire garment forward to cover his eyes, but it ends when Amy decides her hands are freezing - even in their wool mittens - and tells him very pointedly that if he likes what her hands were going to do later, he’d best go inside and save them from frostbite. After that, he moves very quickly back towards the fire the Santiagos lit in the living room (carefully guarded by the oldest cousin, college freshman Anna, to prevent any accidental burns to the five year-old twins racing past).

Everything is perfect until the next morning, Christmas Eve, when he wakes up to nearly two feet of snow on the ground outside. Of course nothing is plowed and of course their cars are buried and of course there are somehow now nearly forty people stuck in what used to feel like a very large “cabin” and Jake’s thinking everyone should have just gotten hotel rooms in the city instead, no matter how pretty the untouched snow is.

Jake and Amy are up ridiculously early, thanks to the wails of the baby that radiate from the room they share walls with. Jake gently pushes Amy back to sleep when she starts to get up to go take care of her niece - she never lets herself sleep, and she’s been absolutely exhausted lately. She deserves this.

So Jake finds himself in the kitchen with Luis, Manny, and Joel, sitting in flannel pajama pants and overlarge matching t-shirts (Joel designed Family Reunion 2018 shirts. Jake never wants to take his off). Children are playing quietly around him - all of them are aware that moms, dads, and older siblings are trying to sleep, and they’re Santiagos, so of course they’re complying. Jake’s enjoying his Frosted Flakes (also courtesy of Manny), and reveling in the early morning quiet (at least, compared to Santiagos at full volume), compounded by the thick coat of snow on the ground outside.

It’s Luis who breaks the comfortable silence, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat. His daughter Lucia, just barely three months old, is cradled in his arm, and he’s clutching a steaming cup of black coffee for dear life with the other hand.

“Man, thank God she fell back asleep. Sometimes she just won’t stop crying in the mornings, and I can’t exactly take her outside in this weather. Would’ve been a fun wakeup call for everyone.”

Joel shoots a pointed look at his little brother, just fourteen months older than Amy. “But it’s so worth it. I remember when the twins were that little - a handful, but the best gift I could have asked for.” His gaze rests squarely on Jake, looking inquisitive, and Jake squirms a little bit under the intense stare.

Manny jumps in shockingly quickly to support his brother. “Yeah, Sarah and I only got married a year ago, but we’re already talking about it - we just can’t wait to have some of our own. What about you, Jake? Any kids in your future?”

Jake laughs a little, feeling a bit uncomfortable but brushing it off - brothers must talk like this all the time. “Oh, I’d say they’re definitely somewhere down the line, but definitely not anytime soon. There’s a life calendar hanging above our bed that says no kids until Amy’s a lieutenant, at least.”

Luis starts to laugh, but he’s quickly silenced by Joel, nearly thirteen years his senior, elbowing him in the side. He swallows his giggles, looking furtively at Jake, but their new brother-in-law hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.

They talk about their kids for a while, and Jake explains the elaborate color-coding system that Amy devised to pack for this four-day vacation. Then the boys give Jake, whose past experience with Christmas has been iffy and mostly related to Santa Claus, the lowdown on the innumerable Santiago family Christmas traditions.

The calm lasts until nearly 7:30, when Isabel Santiago emerges from the master bedroom, Victor looking a little sheepish at her heels. Jake had quickly learned at his first family event with the Santiagos that for all his commanding presence, Victor Santiago is constantly a little cowed and a little quiet when his wife is around. Isabel is furious that anyone let her sleep this late when there are grandbabies to feed and snowball fights to be had and children to catch up with. Jake quickly vacates the kitchen, knowing full well that any cooking done in his presence will quickly devolve into spilled batter and (somehow inevitably) explosions.

Back in his room, he decides to brush his teeth and hair and make some pretense to his new family that he’s less messy than this. His toiletries are stored carefully in the bathroom, in a nice case Amy got him to replace the messy gallon-Ziploc that never quite dried that he previously relied on. Everything is perfectly packed, and he knows exactly where it is. But when he tries the door, it’s locked.

“Amy,” he calls softly, not wanting her brothers to hear them through the frustratingly thin walls (seriously, how did Amy do this for eighteen years?).

“Jake? What do you need?” Amy’s voice is terse, barely audible. The shower isn’t running, so Jake decides she must be using the bathroom. He tries the handle again, wondering if it was just stuck, but nope - still locked.

Amy’s voice comes through the door again. “Can it wait, babe?”

He sighs. “Yeah.”

Then two minutes pass. Then three. The toilet never flushes, and he can smell French toast being fried in the kitchen all the way from their tiny bedroom in the back.

“Babe? I just need my toothbrush.”

“Just two more minutes, Jake. Please.” Her voice is tense, stressed, and a little hoarse, and he’s not entirely sure why.

“This is taking forever,” he whines. Then, a pause. “Babe, are you,” he brings his voice down to a whisper, “pooping?”

There’s a cough, then few seconds of silence from inside the bathroom. Then, a relieved sigh. “Yes, Jake. I’m pooping.”

“Amy, I’ve seen you poop before. Let me in.”

“How on earth am I going to do that?”

“Right.”

And he waits patiently until - finally - he hears a toilet flush, and she lets him in. The bathroom smells a little musty, reminding him somehow of their bathroom the week they both had the stomach flu. Her face is a flushed, and her eyes are a bit wild, darting around the way that they do when she’s stressed or anxious. Before he has time to question it or make sure she’s okay, though, he hears Manny call from just inside the door to their room that breakfast is ready and everyone else is eating. Amy replies that they’re coming, so Jake pours some toothpaste in his mouth, swallows quickly, and follows his wife (he’ll never get tired of thinking that) out the door.

All of the Santiagos are gathered around every flat surface in the living area of the cabin, each with a steaming pile of French toast, bacon, and strawberries. All of the weirdness of this morning is forgotten as he plops on the couch next to Luis with his own plate, leaving a corner of the couch for Amy. The pair immediately start discussing the Knicks’ playoff prospects with a few Santiago nephews sitting on the floor nearby (Jake’s pretty sure their names are Robert and Matty, but he can't be entirely sure. Everyone looks alike - those Santiago genes are strong.)

He’s so busy trying to convince his new family that the Knicks will win tomorrow by a full 70 points that he doesn't notice that Amy spends most of the meal taking deep breaths and leaves her French toast, her favorite breakfast, almost entirely untouched.

As soon as the conversation lulls, the sound in the room transitioning from lively conversation to quiet groans of sated contentment, Amy jumps up to start collecting plates. Her mother quickly follows, as she always does. They wave off all help (although not much is offered - everyone is far too full to move) from brothers and spouses, and even from Jake, and mother and daughter bustle off to the kitchen together.

Moms and dads, startled by the sudden lack of a syrup-covered plate in their lap, jolt to alertness, rushing to scrub powdered sugar, syrup, and orange juice off the faces of their children before they can ruin the furniture in the rented cabin. In the midst of the sudden reinstatement of chaos, Joel’s wife Mari stares at Jake, catching and holding his eyes. Then, seemingly unintentionally, her gaze shifts from him to the still-open kitchen door, out of which the clinking sounds of dishware being washed are emerging over the tumult of voices in the living room.

He gets the message (he thinks - that was a pretty weird look) and gets up to help his wife in the kitchen. He’s happy to go help anyway - after all, he has nothing to do to help clean up the plethora of nieces and nephews surrounding him, and he likes to be useful.

He’s stopped dead in his tracks at the door to the kitchen, though. Isabel Santiago is giving him a terrifying glare that is - like Amy’s - eerily reminiscent of that of a middle school librarian. It stops him in his tracks, and somehow, he knows to stay there. But instead of abandoning the room, going back to play with Robert and Matty, the eight year-olds who informed him during breakfast that he’s the coolest uncle they know, he backs away and sneaks behind the door, watching through the crack between the hinges, so that Mrs. Santiago doesn’t know he’s there.

Amy is gesticulating wildly at her mother, clearly frantic. When her hands reach up to start twisting her hair, though, her mom grabs them gently, says something, and pulls her only daughter into a hug. He can’t make out what’s being said over the din of the room behind him, but the cadence sounds distinctly like Spanish, so he knows he wouldn’t be able to follow even if everyone else would just shut up.

He’s relieved, though, to see Amy’s shoulders relax into her mother’s arms. He’s not sure what’s wrong, but clearly her mother has it under control. The sight of Amy’s breath steadying, her hands relaxing, calms him - whatever it is clearly can't be that bad.

And he's right. He’d returned to his room to change out of pajama pants (although this is the perfect kind of day for a pajama-jammy-jam) when Amy walks in, hugging him from behind and pressing her face into his shoulder.

He lets her stay that way for a few seconds, before pulling her arms just loose enough that he can turn around in her grip and properly hug her back. They stay that way, uninterrupted and holding each other close, for far longer than they should be able to, what with every single child in the house barging into their room at all hours to get some one-on-one time with their favorite aunt.

Finally, she pulls back, placing a quick peck on his lips before opening the top drawer of the dresser to find jeans and a sweater (before Amy, Jake didn't even know you could unpack on vacation, so he takes a second to marvel at the fact that he doesn't even have the opportunity to wreck the organization of their shared suitcase).

“So...you're okay?” he asks, a little tentatively.

Her back stiffens when he asks, and she freezes, one pants leg on, the other leg in the air. Then, in just a second, she's back to normal. In a carefully measured voice, she replies, “Yeah, babe, I’m fine. Why wouldn't I be?”

“I saw you talking to your mom, and you looked pretty upset.”

“Oh, that!” she replies, just a little too quickly. “I forgot the present for Mateo, and I didn’t know what to do, but my mom had an extra, so we’re giving him that!”

Jake’s pretty sure that he remembers writing Mateo’s gift tag himself, is almost certain it’s sitting near the side of the pile in their trunk, but he knows better than to argue. If Amy says it’s not there, then it’s definitely not there.

And then they hear Victor calling for them to come help decorate the Christmas tree that Diego drove up from New Jersey for the cabin, so instead of protesting, he grabs her as her head pops through the crew neck of her sweater (her softest one, which makes it by far his favorite) and plants a firm kiss on her lips. She laughs through it, wiggling away and protesting that we can’t do this, Jake, my dad might be coming in!

But then, when they hear her father’s footsteps fade into the background, she turns around and surprises him with a quick kiss before walking off, expecting him to follow. He does, but only after spending a few seconds marveling that the woman walking off with a new bounce in her step and a swing in her shiny ponytail is married to him.

Jake emerges into the crowded living room only a few steps behind his wife to happily discover that most of the younger children have been sent outside to play and release some energy. This means that the living room, while still loud - thanks to the room full of Santiagos, whose grasp of volume control is iffy at best - is full of the hum of polite conversation, rather than the screams of children trying to play tag between the boxes of ornaments, provided by Isabel.

When everyone sees them enter, though, the conversation comes to an abrupt halt. All eyes are trained on Jake and Amy, standing a few feet apart at the front of the room. Isabel starts to get up, takes a deep breath to say something, and then Amy shakes her head. It’s almost imperceptible, and if her ponytail wasn’t quite so bouncy, Jake wouldn’t have seen it at all.

Immediately, conversation resumes, as though nothing had ever happened, leaving Jake to wonder if he was imagining everything. Still standing in front of everyone, he leans in and whispers the question to Amy, who just shrugs in response - as if to say my family’s weird - deal with it.

So he does. He finds Luis sitting and untangling Christmas lights with Alex, their oldest brother. Alex looks up as Jake sits down, and a smile lights up his face as he claps Jake on the back.

“Congratulations, budd--” Alex is cut off abruptly from a sharp elbow from Luis that Jake definitely did not imagine.

Both men are looking at him warily, looking a little nervous for reasons that Jake can’t even begin to parse. They're silent for 10 seconds, and then 10 more, just watching him expectantly.

Then finally, with a relieved sigh, Luis breaks the silence. “Anyway, Jake, wanna give this string a shot? We can't get this knot out to save our lives.”

So Jake takes the lights they hold out for him and gets to work, doing his best to forget about the weird way that Alex had been staring at him.

Thankfully, untangling the lights turns out to be so consuming that he does manage to put his weird morning out of his mind for a little while. He has no idea how lights could have gotten this bad, until Alex explains that his kids used them as a rope for a hostage situation game that summer and put them away themselves. He’s a little impressed, honestly - figuring out how to untangle these lights might be a harder puzzle than any he's managed to solve with the NYPD.

Finally, though, he is able to hand Victor, who is taking meticulous instructions from Isabel about where the lights should be strung, a perfectly untangled strand of Christmas lights to add to the tree. The children are called back in to add ornaments to the now-lit tree (which stands taller than the trees Jake’s managed to squeeze into any of his apartments). The stomping of boots on the front mat sounds like a herd of elephants entering the house, and it lasts for what feels like an eternity as more and more kids traipse through, tracking an unbelievable amount of snow through the living room on their way to put up their coats.

His job done, Jake moves to the couch and squeezes into the impossibly small space left between Amy and the arm of the couch. Amy, laughing at the noises he makes as he tries to force his butt into the few available inches, gets up, settling on his lap as soon as he sits down.

Her head comes to rest against his shoulder as the kids reemerge, loud and ready to decorate. They watch the tree slowly acquire character via the addition of all sorts of ornaments - from fancy gold family heirlooms that only nineteen year-old Anna and her brother Sam can touch, hung high at the top of the tree, to paper drawings strung with yarn that two year-old Eliza drapes proudly on the bottom branches, balancing tentatively on chubby legs.

Amy slowly snuggles closer as they watch the scene unfold, so that her legs are folded on the couch (she may or may not give Luis, sitting next to them and playing with Lucia, a small kick as she pulls them up, just in case he’s done something today to deserve it), and Jake wraps his arms around her. Two of the thirteen year-olds are making faces at them and pretending to vomit in the corner, but Amy just laughs and plants a kiss on Jake’s cheek to bother her nephews.

Jake notices, when the tree is about halfway done and a few of the brothers are getting up to help their kids even out the ornament distribution (Jake has long-since discovered that Amy comes by her OCD honestly), that Isabel Santiago is watching him closely. She seems to have fixated on his arms, draped lazily over his wife’s (her daughter’s) abdomen. He can't read her expression, despite all his years of detective work, but he sits up straighter, trying to match the professionalism of Joel and his wife, sitting in the opposite corner of the room and gently holding hands in separate chairs.

As he shifts, though, Amy groans her objection, nuzzling her face deeper into his chest. That's when he realizes his wife is half-asleep. So instead, he settles back, deciding Mrs. Santiago must have been looking at something else - a quick glance confirms that she’s now talking to Diego’s wife animatedly about Christmas Eve dinner plans.

Finally, the tree is done. Isabel brings out sandwiches for everyone (Jake has no idea when she had time to make them. He’s at least 80% sure his mother-in-law is magical.), and lunch is finished in 10 minutes flat.

By this time, it's mid-afternoon, and there’s just a few hours until Christmas Eve dinner preparation begins in earnest. Matty and Robert beg their fathers for a snowball fight, and they agree eagerly, and before Jake really realizes what happened, everyone is getting up to go find coats and enjoy the hour or two of true daylight remaining.

Jake wakes Amy up (she claims drowsily that she’s been awake the whole time, thank you very much), and as they get up, Manny and Luis wander over to ask if Jake and Amy will be joining. Jake accepts enthusiastically, but Amy shakes her head.

“I don't think a snowball fight is up my alley today,” Amy apologizes with a yawn.

“Right! Because of the--” Manny starts, and then shuts his mouth so hard his teeth clack.

Amy gives him her special death glare, usually reserved for Charles when he starts talking in meticulous detail about her reproductive system.

Luis just laughs and drags Manny away, but Jake doesn't miss the excited hug Manny and Luis exchange when they think they're out of sight. Things are starting to get undeniably weird, Jake decides, furrowing his brow.

Amy is leading Jake back to their room when they find Isabel herself standing in their path. “Amy, could I borrow Jake for a moment? I need help with something, and your brothers are useless.”

Amy tries to glare at her mother, telling her silently to back off. But Isabel glares right back, and all of a sudden, Jake feels like he’s watching Amy look into a trick mirror at a fair - every mannerism is identical.

To no one’s surprise, Isabel wins, and Amy drops Jake’s hand, throwing one last concerned look over her shoulder as she continues to their room. Amy may have her mother’s glare, but her mother has an extra 37 years of practice.

Isabel starts to walk towards the kitchen, perhaps the only empty room in the house, and Jake follows automatically.

When they get there, she closes the door and turns slowly towards Jake. Slowly, carefully, she says, “You know, Amy loves you. A lot.”

Jake, feeling almost as nervous as when he asked them for their blessing to marry Amy, replies with the first dumb quip that comes to mind: “I’d hope so - we've been married for six months  now!”

Isabel chuckles a little at that, seeming to loosen up. "I know. And we're all happy to have you as a part of the family," she reaches up touch his shoulder, her expression turning back to something more serious. "I know Amy likes to take care of herself. She's been like that her whole life - she didn't even want our help as a toddler learning to walk, which didn't go down well. There was the whole puddle incident," Isabel gets a far off look in her eyes for a few seconds before focussing back in on Jake, who has a host of questions about the phrase puddle incident. "I know she likes to take care of herself, but you're taking care of her too, right? We all need a little taking care of sometimes."

"Of course! We take care of each other - when she lets me," Jake shrugs, like it's obvious.

"Thank you," Isabel smiles a warm smile. "I knew I could trust you, Jake. I'm just reminded how lucky I am at times like these, that all my babies grew up and made such perfect families themselves. All these grandbabies!" Isabel gestures around as if there are grandbabies escaping from every crevice of the house (in fairness, they definitely are).

"They're all pretty special," Jake agrees, remembering the chorus of Tio Jake. No two words any adult (except for Amy) could say would make his heart feel so full.

"All so unique, and so precious." Isabel adds. And I just wanted to tell you how thrilled we all are that you all could be here with us this Christmas - I know it was hard to get off work, but it’s good for Amy to be with family, especially this year.”

Jake has already started to spew words about how of course they were thrilled to be here and it was never a question that they'd find a way to make it and they love seeing everyone. And then her last words register, and he pauses, his mind swirling as he looks for any explanation for what she might mean.

"What do you mean this year? Is-" he lowers his voice "is someone sick? Does Amy know?"

"No one's sick," she chuckles softly, "but Amy has been feeling a little under the weather. There's a special tea I have, it used to help me when...I mean, it helps with the nausea. I'll get you some to take up to her." Isabel starts for the cupboards, rifling around in the ones above her head. Jake isn't sure she can even see in there.

"Do you need any help?" He offers, but just then Isabel produces a lilac box and nods approvingly at it.

The tea takes five minutes to make, but Jake's distracted for most of it by Matty, who comes in with a hacky sack, which Jake can't say no to. The kid is surprisingly good, and Jake’s out-of-practice, leading to more than one miss and several repetitions of the phrase, “Aw! I boofed it!”

Isabel finally hands Jake a steaming cup of tea, which he carefully starts to carry back to Amy.

"Make sure she's getting enough sleep, too!" Isabel says as Jake starts turn away.

"Uh...I will, I guess?"  

She laughs at his confusion, ruffles his hair (she has to reach up on her tip toes to do it), and hands him a cookie (Jake has no idea where she got it, but Isabel always has cookies. Jake loves her dearly for it).

With that, Jake knows he’s been dismissed. He walks out of the kitchen much faster than he should with the tea, carrying the cookie in his mouth.

When he finally navigates his way towards the glorified closet that he and Amy are sharing this Christmas, he throws open the door dramatically, startling Amy, who’s sitting on the bed wrapping a plain white box in red-and-green patterned wrapping paper (Jake remembers her packing the extra wrapping paper over his strenuous objections about the fact that there are no more gifts to wrap and there’s no possible way that she’s forgotten a gift for anyone - she even had one for Alex’s new puppy.)

“Babe,” Jake says frantically, his mouth still full of cookie, “I think your family is trying to kill us!”

“What?” Jake rarely catches Amy off guard anymore - she knows him almost as well as she knows herself. But he can see clearly that he’s surprised her with this.

“D’you think your brothers are still mad at you for that time you busted their party?” Jake is busy running through a list of every possible reason they could be on a Santiago hit list, but he’s discovering the list is pretty short.

“No way - I was nine!”

“Maybe it’s just me! Maybe they know 145 isn't a good credit score! Ames, what if they discovered I don't have a favorite font?”

At that, Amy gets up off the bed and walks over to him. “Babe, they already know that. And you do have a favorite font - it’s the title font from the Die Hard poster, remember? Everything’s totally normal - nothing bad’s gonna happen.”

The statement was clearly supposed to make him relax, and she turns around to find his coat for him so that he can go outside and join in the snowball fight, but Jake isn't satisfied. Then he notices that the peals of laughter he’s hearing are coming from outside, rather than inside, the house, and he realizes that they must be totally alone inside. The knowledge that they're alone in a snowed-in cabin adds an extra sense of eeriness to the afternoon light filtering through the clouds.

“Babe, we’re in an abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere. Suuure, you’re totally right, nothing bad could ever happen here.”

Abandoning the search for his coat, Amy grabs him by one hand and drags him back to sit down on the bed with her. “First of all, the cabin isn't abandoned - everyone is, like, ten feet outside the front door. Second, we’re on family vacation - you've been watching way too much true crime if you think someone’s trying to kill us. So what’s bugging you?”

Jake pauses for a moment, takes a deep breath, and then lets everything out in a rush. “Your mom just pulled me aside to make sure I knew to take care of you because you love me and everyone keeps staring at me and Manny congratulated me and I don't know why and you were even being weird about pooping this morning and they’re definitely up to something really freaky, babe!”

And then he’s cut off by Amy’s laughter. She’s fallen backwards on the bed and is clutching her stomach as deep belly laughs escape into the still air of the cabin. Jake just glares at her - he can’t believe she’d be laughing about something this serious! They’re in an abandoned cabin in the middle of the woods (she can’t convince him otherwise) and their lives are on the line!

Finally, slowly, Amy catches her breath. When she’s gotten herself under control enough to speak again, she says the last thing he’d ever expect: “Want an early Christmas present?”

In shock, Jake replies, “Babe! Now is not the time for early Christmas presents! Now’s the time to dig out the car!”

“Jake.” She gives him The Look, the one that means that he’s being ridiculous and he needs to stop and listen. “Open the gift.” And she hands him the mostly-wrapped box that has been sitting forgotten on their pillow.

Still uttering half-hearted protests, he tears at the wrapping paper to expose the plain white box inside (what can he say? He’s a sucker for gifts). It looks vaguely like a box a tie might come in, and he looks up at her. “Santiago, clothes aren’t gonna fix the fact that something creepy is definitely coming.”

“Keep opening, Peralta.”

So he does. When he takes off the top, he looks up at her. She waits patiently for him to look down, to actually register what’s inside the box. When he finally does, his jaw drops as some still-unidentified emotion bubbles up in his stomach.

Because lying inside the box is a positive pregnancy test.

“I took it this morning, when you were with Manny and Luis and I’d woken up to throw up again and Mari bought it for me yesterday when they went into town and I was gonna give it to you first thing tomorrow morning but you’re in the middle of a weird...Jake?”

The sound of his name jerks him out of his reverie. Slowly, he looks up at his wife, a grin painted across his face from ear to ear (he’s pretty sure no one could wipe off this grin - not even the still-possibly-murderous Santiagos playing outside). Then, he’s tackling her back into the pillows at the head of the bed, being careful of her abdomen while their laughter mingles and fills the still-silent cabin.

Their legs are tangled and his arms are wrapped around her and her hands are combing through his hair and he’s never felt this disgustingly, blatantly happy in his life. “Santiago...You’re really pregnant?” he asks, awe saturating every word.

She nods in response, a smile growing quickly on her face. “You’re really happy about it?” she asks.

In response, he shifts forward and kisses her firmly. It’s far from their most graceful kiss - their teeth keep clacking because neither of them can stop smiling long enough to kiss the other properly. Jake doesn’t mind, though, because he’s too distracted by the pure, unadulterated joy that’s radiating up from his chest and out through his face and out through his fingers and the very tips of his toes.

Finally he pulls back. “Yeah,” he answers with a laugh. “I guess I’m pretty happy about it.”

She hits his shoulder lightly, rolling her eyes at her dumb husband that she loves so much. And he’s too busy thinking about the fact that Amy’s pregnant and all of the possibilities that that fact brings to even pretend it hurt. Instead, he shifts one hand slightly, gently, so that it comes to rest just over her belly button.

“You know, you can’t feel him kick yet.”

“I know! And him? It’s obviously a girl that we’re obviously naming Nakatomi!”

“Jake, Santiagos have boys. Always. Trust me, this kid is a boy.” She sounds so sure, but he can’t stop himself from giggling (he might never be able to stop giggling because he doesn’t think happiness this strong will ever wear off. It’s pulsing steadily next to his heart, filling him with the same warmth he felt when he saw Amy do the Double Tuck in her white dress as she walked down the aisle).

“Ames, they had you.”

She’s opening her mouth to retort, but the mention of the Santiagos reminds Jake how this whole conversation started in the first place. “Babe, this is all very exciting and everything, but it has nothing to do with why your family was acting so weird. Either you need to explain or we need to get the hell out of this creepy cabin. Something definitely just creaked and we’re the only ones inside!”

“Jake...that was you. You just moved and the bed creaked. And, to answer your other question, my family...might have known.” She sounds a little sheepish, but mostly she just sounds blissfully happy.

Jake looks at her in obviously fake indignation. “Amy! You told your family before you told me?”

“In fairness to me, my mom actually is the one who told me!”

Jake looks at her a little incredulously. “Babe. Come on. You keep track of everything to the hour. There’s no way you didn’t know about this.”

“I’m serious! I was a little late and pretty tired and nauseous, but didn’t think anything of it. My mom took one look at me and pulled me aside and told me. She’s had so many kids she just knows, Jake. Joel and Alex and my dad figured it out on their own, too - they’ve seen my mom have so many kids it takes them, like, half a second to pick out a pregnant woman. Between the four of them, things...got around pretty quickly. They’re all pretty horrible at keeping secrets.”

“No kidding.” Jake thinks back to the millions of weird looks that he’d forced himself to disregard and the dozen weird conversations he’d had since yesterday morning.

“They just get really excited about new grandkids, and they couldn’t wait for you to be excited, too.” Her voice is soft, as is her smile, and her hand has drifted towards his cheek.

“Trust me. I am.” He leans in to kiss her, a proper one this time. And it’s amazing and fireworks are exploding behind his eyelids and he hasn’t been this truly happy in...maybe ever and she’s rolling him over to straddle him and her hands are finding the buttons on his shirt, but then, a small voice is shouting outside their (thankfully closed) door to come outside. With a startled laugh, they break apart, jumping up impressively quickly to seated positions on opposite sides of the bed. Amy shouts back at her niece that they’ll be out in just a sec, and she begins searching for the coats and boots that they’d thrown off so hastily last night while Jake frantically buttons his shirt.

“There’s really no way we can get out of going outside?” Jake asks, a little disappointed.

“Remember when you were so excited for the snowball fight?” Amy retorts, a huge grin cracking across her face.

“Yeah, but now there are better things to do!”

And with that, Amy hands her husband his coat and boots, grabs his hand, and drags him to the front door. They emerge with his arm over her shoulder and her arm around his waist (she’ll say she just needs to be kept warm, but really she just can’t stay away from him). They watch on the side for a while, and at first, everyone leaves them alone (or at least, no one throws snowballs at them).

Jake’s so busy looking down at his wife, who’s positively radiant, that he doesn’t notice the sappy grins being thrown their way by every single adult in the clearing.

They stay that way, blissfully unaware of the screaming children and the happy smiles from Mr. and Mrs. Santiago and the high fives Manny and Luis are throwing each other because their baby sister is having a baby, for quite a while.

And then Joel ruins it. “Ay! Peralta! Stop making eyes at your wife and get in here!” And then a large snowball hits Jake’s face.

Jake roars with laughter as he bends down to start making his own ammo, but he’s slow - certainly unused to the speed at which Santiagos can form snowballs. He’s getting pelted from all sides, and the kids have joined in, and one dumped a pile of snow down his back while he bent down to make another snowball and he’s going down.

And then Amy throws a snowball. It hits Joel square in the face, and he backs up, sputtering. Manny starts to charge, but he’s gotten a heaping pile of snow to the face before he can get anywhere near her (she’d shifted while everyone was distracted, placing herself strategically behind her parents and using them as a human shield that none of her brothers could touch). One by one, the Santiago brothers and their spouses go down, their children getting distracted by the prospect of tackling their own parents into the snow. Jake’s more than a little impressed with her accuracy - now he knows why her aim with a gun is so good.

And then he’s able to stand up, brushing the snow off his jacket and shaking it out of his hair but mostly looking at Amy, who’s all sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks as she gives her dad a high five. And then Victor Santiago is pulling his daughter into the tightest hug Jake’s ever seen and if he’s not mistaken a tear is leaking out of his eye (no - he must be mistaken - that’s definitely just melting snow) and Amy’s laughing a little and he can see her lips moving, reminding them that it’s still early and they’re not even supposed to know, but none of it seems to resonate because then her mom’s joined in the hug and Luis has found Jake watching all of this unfold.

“Congrats, man.” He pulls Jake into a quick hug, clapping him on the back before he releases him.

“Thanks,” Jake says, and he’s surprised to hear his voice crack a little bit on the word.

“Yes! I finally got to say it!” Luis shouts so loudly that Jake falls back down into the snow, startled.

Later that night, after the Christmas Eve dinner that was so amazing Jake may never need to eat again and the midnight mass that they all had to traipse through the snowy woods to get to, Jake and Amy finally get to lie down, limbs tangled as she rests her head against his chest. She’s in her flannel pajama pants and his academy sweatshirt, and he’s wearing her family’s reunion t-shirt, and he’s maybe never been more in love.

His wife is already three-quarters asleep - it’s almost midnight, and pregnancy has made her constantly, painfully exhausted. But through the thin walls, the sounds of her siblings putting out presents from Santa drift in, and he can’t help but smile. He’s pretty sure it’s Luis who stubs his toe and lets out a string of Spanish curses, and he’s guessing it’s Alex who shuts him up so abruptly. He laughs a little bit, quietly, and Amy shifts against him.

“Next year, that’ll be us, babe.”

She grins up at him, her eyes heavy lidded and her hair already a little mussed in its ponytail. “Can’t wait.”

[perfectperalta]

1-50 you're welcome

you son of a bitch haha. i would do that read more thing but i have no idea how to do that so im really sorry!

1: What is your name and does it mean anything?

my name is harmony and i dont think it has any meaning. i mean it probably does my mum chose it bc she just liked it!

2: How long have you known your best friend?

i dont have any friends lol. however i had a best friend a while ago but we kinda just stopped talking! i knew her for a few years and only over the internet. i think i was in love with her too.

3: What position do you normally sleep in?

on my side. whichever feels comfortable at the time.

4: Were you a part of any “clique” in high school?

no. we had a big group thou and they merged with other groups a lot of the time. like someone would be in our friend group but also another! 

5: Who was your favorite teacher in high school and why?

my btec sports teacher. btec sport is the written aspect of sports. i didnt like the lesson but he was so fun and easy going. also my maths teacher. she was so boring and monotone but she was an amazing teacher. i learnt a lot from her which is now all gone haha

6: Do you wish to travel a lot?

yes!! i want to go everywhere but no one to do it with and no money!

7: Did you participate in any sports while in school?

nope. 

8: Show a sample of your handwriting:

ive been tagged in the handwriting tag so i’ll link it when ive done it

9: Have you ever given blood?

no but i should

10: Do you like the way that you grew up?

yeah. it was alright. nothing bad happened!

11: Do you like your siblings? Why or why not?

yeah i have 3 sisters. 1 older and 2 younger. i think the older of the younger ones is my best friend. sadly.

12: How did you meet your best friend and why did you become friends?

my best friend is my sister. my old best friend is from the internet so weve never meet. shes in canada. we became friends from being in a group chat together for troye sivan and connor franta. 

13: Name one movie that made you cry.

ps i love you

14: Do you prefer to read poetry, write poetry, or neither?

neither. 

15: Things about someone that you find attractive?

that they can make me laugh

16: What song are you currently listening to?

too good at goodbyes by sam smith

17: Have you ever broken a bone? If so, how?

nope 

18: A random memory from you childhood:

i had speech therapy and couldnt say ship. in year 2 (aged 6/7) i came back from the lesson thing and one of the boys asked if i could say it and i did and he got real happy. 

19: Where did you grow up?

south west england. on the coast!

20: What was the last thing you watched on tv?

actually on tv. doctor foster on tuesday 

21: Do you think you’d make a good parent?

i reckon so

22: Would you like to meet any of your Tumblr friends in person?

HELL YEAH

22: What was the last dream you remember having?

i wanted to be with someone and no one would let me. something along them lines

23: When is your birthday?

november 6th

24: How many pillows do you sleep with?

3

25: Do you wear glasses? If so, how long have you been wearing glasses?

no

26: What color is your hair?

blonde/brown so i guess light brown?

27: Name 5 facts about your appearance:

hair to just below my shoulders

blue eyes

light brown hair

big nose i reckon

im pretty boring so idk what else

28: What is your favorite soda?

fanta fruit twist

29: What is a strange talent that you have?

i can touch my nose with my tongue 

30: How’s the weather right now?

sunny actually but i bet it changes later

31: Why did one of your friendships end?

most of them end bc i just stop talking to them. 

32: Who do you miss right now?

my old best friend from canada

33: Why did your last relationship end?

oh gees. its got a very long and sad back story but long story short, he was an ex and we got back together. he ended it bc he said he didnt have the same feelings from before. 

34: Are you still figuring out who you are?

yeah defo!

35: Have you ever been admitted to a hospital? Why?

i dont think so. ive been in and out of hospital since i was 2 for my hearing but thats from appointments never been admitted?

36: What is your favorite restaurant?

oh idk. five guys is good!

37: What is word that you always seem to spell wrong?

im not sure

38: Would ever adopt kids?

yeah why not

39: What is your favorite kind of pizza?

four cheeses is good and love a pepperoni one!

40: What was your first thought when you woke up this morning?

to check tumblr and twitter

41: When was the last time you got really really happy and why?

oh dear i cant remember :(

42: What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever eaten?

of the top of my head all i can think of is a snail from when i went to france at school :L

43: How do you start a conversation?

depends who its with. someone new i would wait till i find something theyve said that i think i can make a conversation out of

44: What’s a band you’ve been obsessed with lately?

no on specifically. i just listen to pre-made spotify playlists

45: Do you come from a family “of money?”

nope

46: Do you have a bucket list?

not really

47: What is your favorite series of books?

i dont read. 

48: When was the last time you laughed so hard your stomach hurt?

AGES ago that i cant remember

49: Where do you go when you’re sad?

to my bed

50: 5 random facts about yourself:

1. im hard of hearing

2. i hate having my picture taken and dont take selfies. the last selfie i took was way over 6 months ago

3. im not very interesting

4, i cant think of anything else!

5. im sorry!

im glad this is done with. took ages!!!

[anyaclimbs]

Another Update

I was able to get a lot of reading and researching done this past weekend because I was in Tahoe (doesn’t make sense but because of the fact that the weather was near-blizzard conditions, I was just holed up in my lodge, looking out at the snow and reading my books.) I found a lot of really interesting literature as well because Tahoe is a small hub for mountaineering and happens to have a handful of mountain shops as well. I also found myself eavesdropping in on a class for avalanche safety that was being held in the back room of a store called The Back Country! I have been following mind tangents that have taken me to new and interesting ways of looking at mountaineering (aside from the half hour I spent watching videos of avalanches on youtube, please ignore those.) I have learned some valuable skills from The Mountaineers Handbook, learned about some amazing women climbers from Savage Summit, and am learning about the psychology of climbing from the reading I have chosen from James Lester. I am about to dive into the book “Why We Climb”, and learn a lot about how well-known mountaineers look at how they spend their lives, and why. Some find it to be almost meditative, others find it to be an almost religious experience. I am somewhere in between.

I find myself most at home when I’m out in nature, experiencing the world as it was supposed to be. I do sense a kinship with John Muir, who is best remembered for his quote “The mountains are calling, and I must go.” I feel drawn to them and am interested in what draws others to this very strange and niche sport. His impact on not only mountaineering and climbing are not the only things on which I will touch throughout my studies, but also his naturalist tendencies as well as his ideas on preservation and environmentalism, which is why I have chosen a few readings by him as well in order to put the entire project into historical and environmental perspective.

I have found some very interesting studies and research articles that take into account the psychological perspective of mountaineers and that will help with a more scientific take on my project as well. I feel good at this point how it is shaping up, and am excited to share with you some of the resources which I have put together thus far. (I may have way too many, but I’d rather have too many than too few!)

Annotated Resources (Sorry I tried to format these as MLA 8th edition and for the life of me I cannot get the indentation on the second line!!)

Connally, Craig. The Mountaineering Handbook: Modern Tools and Techniques That Will Take You to the Top. Ragged Mountain Press, 2005.

I chose this for pretty obvious reasons, I wanted a holistic look at “how to mountaineer” and this is one of the two most prominent books on the subject along with Freedom of the Hills (listed below). It encompasses everything from avalanche safety, how to read weather patterns, how to read a topographical map all the way to wilderness medicine and how to sleep at higher altitudes. I also included Mountaineering: The Freedom of the Hills for the same reason since they are both widely regarded as the two “bibles” of mountaineering.

House, Steve, and Scott Johnston. Training for the New Alpinism: a Manual for the Climber as Athlete. Patagonia Books, 2014.

This is used in order to create a sample training plan as to how one would train for a more sophisticated hill, but I have been using it to create an intermediate workout plan for someone climbing Mount Shasta, along with previous knowledge as to how to train for more strenuous hikes such as Mount Whitney, Lassen Peak, Desolation Wilderness or Half Dome.

Jordan, Jennifer. Savage Summit. HarperCollins, 2005.

This is a non-fiction book that focuses on some of the most well-regarded female mountaineers of the past century and their struggles with being a female in a mostly male world, as well as their struggles in life itself because of their chosen path. I thought this was perfect because as a female interested in mountaineering and noticing that I am one of a very small population of female climbers, I wanted to know what the gender struggle was for women like me, and how they addressed it, as well as how it has changed over the years.

Lester, James. “Spirit, Identity, and Self in Mountaineering.” Journal of Humanistic Psychology, vol. 44, no. 1, 2004, pp. 86–100., doi:10.1177/0022167803257111.

I found this while researching “why people climb” and was intrigued by the research done by Lester in this article. I looked into him a bit and he is a climber but also a psychologist and author and this led me to find out that there are some interesting insights into climbing psychology in the book “Forever On The Mountain” by James Tabor, which addresses one of the worst mountaineering accidents in history that took place on Mount McKinley (now known as Denali.) This is a most interesting thing into which I am going to look, because that side of mountaineering has always intrigued me - why people do people do this despite the fact that so many people have perished while doing it? Why does this sort of thing intrigue even me?  

Mountaineering: the Freedom of the Hills. Mountaineers Books, 2017.

Muir, John, et al. The Wild Muir: Twenty-Two of John Muirs Greatest Adventures. Yosemite Conservancy, 2014.

I would be neglectful if I didn’t include the father of environmentalism himself in my study of mountaineering. An accomplished mountaineer himself, he has some interesting writings addressing the very mountain I eventually endeavor to eventually climb myself! The idea that he has something to say about the mountain I intend to tackle is helpful and also lends a bit of history to the idea of Mount Shasta.

Noble, Chris. Why We Climb: the Worlds Most Inspiring Climbers. Falcon, an Imprint of Globe Pequot, 2017.

This book is an important addition for me because in my studies over the last few weeks, I wanted to tackle the reasoning behind WHY we climb. What are the motivations for so many of us? I know some of my motivations are environmental in nature, but what are some of the other well-known mountaineers motivations? This includes the feats of such well-known climbers I admire as Conrad Anker and Peter Croft, as well others who discuss their approaches to mountaineering and ice climbing.

Routledge, Karen. “‘Being a Girl without Being a Girl’: Gender and Mountaineering on Mount Waddington, 1926-36.(Biography).” BC Studies, no. 141, 2004, p. 31.

This directly addresses the idea of gender in reference to mountaineering, which I think is an important way to look at what drives what we do. I think this will help to flesh out the gender studies section of my project along with Savage Summit. I am excited to add these together and discuss them as a whole.  

Selters, Andrew., and Michael Zanger. The Mt. Shasta Book: a Guide to Hiking, Climbing, Skiing, and Exploring the Mountain and Surrounding Area. 2nd ed., Wilderness Press, 2000

For obvious reasons, this is a very important part of my project, since my basis is “how to train for mountaineering, and specifically, Mount Shasta.” Finding out what is referred to in the climbing community as “beta” about the routes available there, likely pitfalls, and where to camp as well as when to collect water, this book will be extremely helpful.

Yen-Chieh Wen, and Ching-Hui Lin. "A Study Of Relationship Between Mountaineering Participation Motivation And Risk Perception." (2012). Web.

Lastly, this study will help to address he reasoning as to why we climb from the same empirical data standpoint that Spirit, Identity and Self in Mountaineering will help. The Lester article takes a more philosophical standpoint and this study takes a more scientific look at the motivation behind climbing, which I think is an important part of the discussion to address.

[culturespotting]

First Time Owner Information On How To maintain Chickens

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But the good news is the truth that eggs produce when the hen is older is far better high quality than the eggs produce by younger chicken. So you continue to wind up with profitable eggs regardless of quantity. The weather can be different explanation why eggs lay by hens are generally fewer than anticipated. Warm weather is conducive for hen to lay eggs constantly and so expect lots of eggs during this interval. However do not be surprised within the event you can’t even get 1 egg throughout winter and extreme heat. This is regular and you have nothing to be afraid of primarily as a result of just like human the hen may also expertise discomfort. Now, if the weather is okay plus the eggs suddenly drop to what is your normal harvest, which signifies your hens, is likely to be unhealthy. If you can find a lot of feathers or molting taking place then a lot better to check your coop as there might be mites which are making them sick and unable to put eggs consistently.

He was racing around the sector and would run proper as much as Riphaeus (who was of course proper at his mommy's facet) and leap aspect ways. It reminded me of a scene from Bambi. Riphaeus did not appear to take the bait. Hopefully he will loosen up and begin taking part in with the brand new little guy who has tons of vitality and loves to run! About fifty minutes after the cria was born, the placenta was born. Between the cria and the placenta, Maree Sol is now 30 lbs lighter! Below, the cria is making an attempt to nurse off Sol's neck. He still hadn't found the milk machine however had been wanting diligently for the last 45 minutes whereas he was operating round. The placenta was intact and all the pieces seemed good. Sol is an excellent mother. She continued to attempt to direct the cria to the milk machine and ran after him humming every time he took off. Lately however she has been refusing her bottle and has been seen with milky chops. After hours of observations we have seen her sneakily feeding from 4 completely different mothers! She appears to watch and wait and when a cria goes below she whips round to the opposite side and wham bam thanks mam! Una, racing off as a cria begins to feed on the opposite facet of the field! It is now that the women get complicated. Two days after Verity was born, we came home from a lunch out to find that Minstrel had popped out a lovely little black lady who we've named Violet. She is, as you'll be able to see, beautiful. I think that is her. This is when it all starts to get confusing you see. Right here is Ulani, daughter of Bobby, I believe. Then we have Willow, with Umbria and another person in the background.

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[knittinganarchist]

the flower questions?? yeah bud do all of em go hard or go home

Ageratum: Are you friendly or wary of strangers?

I’m terrified of strangers but treat them unfailingly politely. It’s kinda the way your supposed to treat the fey; don’t trust them, but be very nice to them.

American Marigold: Is there anything you will not/cannot eat?

Keep your raw tomatos away from me pls. I don’t want their soggy soggy juices wetting my sandwiches/burgers/salads thank you.

Black-Eyed Susan: Have you ever given/received a black eye? Why?

I’ve never gotten or recieved a black eye because confrontation scares me and i avoid it At All Costs. 

Bleeding-heart: Do you open up freely with their emotions, or do you bottle it up until you burst? If you do hold it in, what is usually your breaking point?

I’m a big bottle of repressed emotional issues and worry 100%. My bursting point is usually after i’ve been too stressed for a couple of days and get over-tired, bc then i just start crying over something stupid, spill my guts to someone via text, and regret it absolutely the next day.

Butterfly-Weed: What is one thing that always makes you stop and admire, no matter what you were doing prior?

As someone who is both constatly distracted and looking for art ideas that a lot of things! Usually its either the outfits of people in town, or the sunset when im on the bus home of the evening. 

Common Yarrow: Do you easily blend in with the crowd, or do you wear/act so that you are noticeable and stand out?

Thats kinda tricky because i love wearing quirky opshopped clothed and ridiculous shirts, but i also kinda wear them in the hope that people wont bother me too much? I want to look cool, but not Too Cool.

Cornflower: Is there a color you don’t particularly care to wear? Is it because it clashes with your style, appearance, or any other reason outside of simple dislike for said color?

I don’t think theres a colour that i wouldnt wear? I dont wear a lot of green but thats more because i tend to gravitate to either warmer colours or crazy prints.

Creeping Zinnia: Do you listen into other people’s conversations, either idly or purposely? Has there been anything you learned from it? Have you gotten into trouble?

I absolutely do not. I feel so so terrible when i listen in and im so scared that they’ll say something very personal i should never hear. I wear headphones a lot of the time though so its not a huge problem.

Daylily: Do you have any daily routines/habits? Are they ingrained into you as a child or have they been recent additions?

I’m too scatterbrained to have too many daily habits, but the one that has carried over from my childhood is packing my bag the day before. For someone who worries a lot knowing im all ready for uni the next day, and having a vague idea of what i want to wear, is very helpful in helping me calm down before bed. 

Field Pansy: Have you ever gone and flown a kite before? Do you wish to do so if you haven’t?

Yes! There’s a big spare block up on a hill not far from my house, so when i was about 11 maybe(?) me and my neighborhood friends would make kites out of balloon sticks and rubbish bags, then ride our bikes up to the spare block.

Flowering Cabbage: Name one thing you keep, despite it being pointless or purposeless other than sentimental value or you simply cannot throw it away, and state the reason why you hang onto it.

Ummmm? Everything? I’m hopelessly sentimental. I’ve got clothes, books, letters, and dried flowers collected up simply because they remind me of happy times or people i care about.

Garden Impatiens: What causes you to lose patience? How do you react when you lose it?

Generally i have endless patience for others, but for myself? I’m constantly frustrated by my inability to concentrate for a long time, and when i’m trying to draw and it just Wont Work, usually that just leads to me just stewing in my annoyance for a few hours. 

Gooseneck Loosestrife: Is there anything strange or unusual you can do, or have noticed happening around you without an identifiable cause?

There’s nothing unsual that i can can do, although sometimes i wish that were true. Although i must say that art school has a ton of weird things i wish i could explain; like when you hear voices in a computer lab but you go in and its empty. Or the people who i swear i’ve never met before who stand outside the classrooms until you use your swipcard to let them in. 

Hosta: Do you enjoy the time out in the sun, or do you relax in the shade whenever you get the chance to do so?

I love the sun in every season except for summer, my pale pale skin cannot handle it at all so i stick to the shadows like a vampire. 

Ivy Geranium: Do you have any pets? If so, how are they doing?

I have a dog called Scruffy, who is cute but constantly a mess, and seven chickens all named after Doctor Who characters!

Japanese Bloodgrass: When was the last time you drew blood, either from yourself or from another? What was the reason?

I might have sliced my ankle shaving the other week because i was bopping along to the music i had playing and slipped...

Lady’s Mantle: What is one outfit you remember your mother/guardian wearing when you were a child?

My mum used to wear these striped tshirt dresses around the house all through summer, i actually got a few of these handed down to me!

Lambs Ears: Do you remember how old you were when the last time someone tried to censor their speech around you?

About 20mins ago... My mum was about to swear and just gave me a look before rephrasing hahah

Lavender: Is there a particular scent you are fond of? Do you smell this scent often or rarely?

I love lavender and rosemary in summer because it reminds me of the veggie patch that i planted near my back door a few years ago, but in winte hot chocolate and cinnamon are the best for feeling cozy.

Million Gold: How much money do you make, if any? How much money do you have currently?

I’m currently unemployed while i move out of home and settle in, but at the moment i’m housesitting so i think i get about $200 for the month, and then i dogsit again for someone else next month. Other than that my only income is from commissions..

Moss Phlox: Have there been any new friends you have made? What do you want to know about them the most?

Last saturday was my friend Katie’s birthday picnic and i met some lovely people there who i really hope i can stay in contact with.

Nasturium: Have you ever been the one to be told a secret? Did you keep it or did you share it with someone else? Was the secret worth being kept?

It’s not often people tell me secrets, but if they do tell me one i always keep it. I know how gross it feels to have someone betray your trust and i wouldnt do that deliberately to anyone. 

Ornamental Purslane: Do you wear any jewelry? Which ones are your favorites? Do you favor certain metals/gems/styles?

I don’t usually wear a lot of jewlery because i forget to change my earrings, and bracelets get in the way when im drawings, i used to wear a necklace all the time though. It was a teardrop shaped blue-goldstone on a silver chain, but my sister pulled it off when she was mad and it snapped. 

Rose Campion: If you had to fight, which one person would you chose to fight at your side? Would you pick them based on skill, on trust, or both?

I don’t know anyone personally who’d be any good in a fight so im going to have to say uhhhhhhh... either The Rock lmao bc he’d just punch danger in the face, or Ship ( @glumshoe ) because i just think he’d be prepared for even the weirdest stuff we could encounter.

Salvia-May-Night: What your habits/rituals you do when preparing for bed? How long do you usually sleep for?

The classic shower, facewash, text people who make me happy, and reluctantly set an alarm so i’ll get to class on time. I usually sleep fine all night no matter how early/late i go to bed, but i always wake up at 8am and have to check my phone to see if im late for anything.

Snapdragon: What sort of things would you hoard, if given the chance? Would you?

So so many things, its a good thing i dont have the chance. Books? Art supplies? Cool dresses? Pot plants? 

Snow-In-Summer: Would you rather have winter or summer? What are the benefits or reason to your preferred season over the other?

Autumn all the way. I love the coloured leaves and windy days, and its the perfect inbetween weather thats not too hot or cold.

Sunflower: Name one thing that will always make you smile.

Finding the perfect ugly/cool dress in the back of an opshop

Thread-leaf Tickseed: Are you an insect-magnet when you go outside, or do you insects generally leave you alone?

If im at home? for sure, i get a lot of beetles bothering me. But if im in the park at uni not so much for some reason.

Variegated Solomon’s Seal: What is one thing you wished you could seal away and never see/feel/use/etc again? Why?

99% of highschool to be honest, just a lot of Not Fun stuff.

Wheat Cockscomb: Name one thing you could do that you wished you could do, but cant?

Speak literally any language, i feel like it would open a lot of travel option up for me

Yellow Cosmos: What is your favorite constellation? Why? 

Cassiopeia! I just thought it was a neat myth, and also i used that as a name for a character in a grade 8 story story lmao.