#and i KNOW that christmas is far away i just need to bug my parents for a loong time to get them to actually buy smth

[aroaceofthesea]

Does anyone have cool board game recommendations? I'm making a list of things I want for christmas and i thought about putting avalon but like in all of my friend groups someone has it already so it feels kinda useless? But i would like some board game kinda like it bc i just love the whole lying thing

[aliypop]

Santa Bring My Baby Back To Me

Word Count: 2,074

Writers Note: Tis the season well near it, so I decided to get a head start. Also finally let me introduce you to Cecelia's parents! Finally.

Warning: None so far except for language and historic language

Pairing: OC x Elvis

Plot: Christmas is around the corner at the Valmos mansion where there's love and a bit of arguing and the Presleys are here can Elvis and Cecelia spread the holiday cheer?

Taglist: If you wanna be tagged let me know!

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@sissylittlefeather

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

@thetaoofzoe

Nashville, Tennessee, December 21st, 1957

"Mary Ann, do you think the tree needs more tinsel?" Denise asked her maid. Denise looked back at the woman as she nodded, throwing more of it on the tree, 

"Damnit, woman... are you gonna use the whole pack?" coming down the stairs was Alfonso, who only came around for special appearances.

"Are you going to tell me how to put up the damn tree?"

"Well, it is crooked ..."

"You're crooked..." Denise mumbled,

"Cecelia, get your mother...." Alfonso said, straightening out his sweater. "Cecelia... Cecelia, Where's that girl off to now."

"I can't wait to see you either when you get here... My Teddy bear." Cecelia giggled while she was on the phone. She was supposed to be helping keep the peace between her mother and father, but instead, she was prepping dinner for the night. At least, that was her excuse.  

"Can't wait to see you either, honey. I'll cover your neck with kisses when I get there." 

"And then what else will you do to me," her fingers in the cable of the phone,

"Who's doing what to you..."

"Uh, what else will you do to me to keep my guitar playin' sharp." 

"Let me guess, your mother just walked in,"

"Close."

"See you in an hour."

"Sounds perfect." she hung up, her heart racing, "What can I do for you, Daddy?" Cecelia asked, batting her long eyelashes as her father glanced at her, "Your mothers covering that damn tree in tinsel again." he looked at her noticing her flushed-out cheeks and the loved-on look in her eyes, 

"Is it the silver or gold?" she questioned,

"Silver, and who was that on the phone?"

"Oh, no one... if it's the silver, just let her have it. That's what I've been doing for 22 years." she shrugged, walking past him,

"Does this no one have a name? Cause you've been talking to no one for quite some time." 

"Daddy, if you don't want my mother to have a cow, pair it with these ornaments." the red glass Christmas decorations in hand,

"CECELIA!!!"

"Oh, gotta go," 

In the living room, the radio station had been playing new Christmas hits and some classic ones, but it seemed the radio wanted to be a bit cruel, as she heard. 

                      "Santa, bring my baby back to me..."

"Santa, bring my baby back to me..."

Swaying with the music, Cecelia hadn't noticed the in-love smile on her face as she heard Elvis on the radio singing. Her mother playfully rolled her eyes as her father was suspicious. 

"What's gotten into you, girl? That damn Elvis Presley bug."

"Elvis has gotten into her..." Midge mumbled, coming from the basement with more decorations. Cecelia shot her a glare as both her parents looked at her,

"Yes, Elvis has gotten into me, the bug for him," Cecelia tried to put on a smile that didn't give too much away.

Her mother knew she and Elvis were close. Denise would even suspect, like anyone else, that they were dating from their many scandalous newspaper photos that she had to keep taking down, but she wouldn't pry yet. 

"I just don't get it. Back in our day, we used to dance."

"Oh shit..." Midge mumbled,

"What he's doing ain't dancing, Cilli..."

"Then what do you call it." she laughed,

"Gyration, I mean the way his hips move..." Alfonso grumbled, "Disgrace puttin filth like that on TV."

"I think that filth is just fine..." 

"And his hair is too long. Looks like he's trouble." 

"Mother!" Cecelia looked at her, 

"Midge, am I wrong?"

"No, no, you're not." Midge laughed, 

"Well, I get a flip out of his style. Besides, I do what he does but in heels."

"And dresses that leave nothing to the imagination," Alfonso said,

"You could do it better. Now hand Mary Ann another bulb, please."

The winds were howling, and the air was icy cold. Sitting in the pink Cadillac was Gladys, who was in the backseat. Elvis was sitting in the passenger seat with all the different desserts she had made, and Vernon, who was driving. The radio was playing Christmas hits, and they were only two hours away from Nashville,

 "So you really like this girl, Son?" Vernon questioned as Elvis took a big sigh.

"Yeh, she makes me all warm and tingly inside."

"Elvis!" Gladys playfully slapped him on the arm.

"Not like that, Mama..." he blushed, "Well, sometimes," he mumbled as Vernon glanced over at him.

"And now a new hit from Cecelia and The Garnets Santa Baby."

Both Gladys and Vernon watched how their son nearly glew at just the mention of her name. Although she had told him, she didn't want him getting himself a girl from the business. Gladys could excuse Cecelia. After all, she was a true lady despite those tight Monroe dresses.

            "Come and trim my Christmas tree..."

       "And Leave the New Record by Elvis Presley..."

"I really do believe in you..."

           "Let's see if you believe in me."

"Ain't she somethin..." he swooned as Gladys laughed a little. She'd never seen her son so lovesick before, and for once, she was okay with it. "So, have you met her folks yet?" Vernon asked as he came back to reality.

 "I've met her mother. I don't think she likes me none."

"She's a mother. We're protective over our babies." Gladys winked, 

"What about her pa... You met him yet."

"Well, it's complicated with him." Elvis sighed a little,

"Whadya mean, is he dead or something?"

"I'll leave that to her to tell ya."

"Oh, will you get off my ass, Denise!"

"Why does everything have to be a struggle for you!" Denise responded as Cecelia sighed, sitting on the couch.

"You go left, and I go right!" 

"Yeah, just how you went right into another woman and left your dau-!"

"WILL YOU TWO STOP IT!" Cecelia then sunk deeper into the couch as they both looked at her, 

"Butt out, will you," Alfonso said as she went upstairs to her room, her white falcon nice and polished as she strummed to keep down the noise. Cecelia loved the holidays because it was the only time her family felt like a family. Strumming her guitar, a glimpse of a pink Cadillac caught her eye as it pulled into the double-gated driveway of the mansion. 

"Now, who the hell is this..." Alfonso grumbled, walking towards the door, as he saw the pink Cadillac in their driveway. Cecelia came racing down as both Midge and Denise knew who it was. As Manfred, their butler, opened the door, there was Cecelia dressed like Vera-Ellen, hugging.

"ELVIS, YOU MADE IT! Cecelia was wrapped around him tightly as he hugged her back. "Was the trip tiresome? Are you hungry? Are you okay?"

"It's good to see you too." he ruffled her hair.

"Hey, cool it! It took twenty-five minutes to set these curls."

"Eh, don't get so bent about it, mama." he winked as she rolled her eyes at him. 

"Are you going to let Mr. Presley in..."

"Mrs. Valmos, nice to see you again,"

"Mhmm." she nodded,

"Hope you don't mind. I bought my baby's with me." 

"Babies?"

"His parents." Cecelia smiled, "You'll love 'em, mama. They're swell folks."

"Excuse me?" she mumbled, 

Gladys and Vernon had walked in as both parties met eyes,

"Alfonso?"

"Vernon?"

"Gladys!"

"Denise!" 

"Anyone else confused?" Elvis asked as Cecelia was holding his other suitcase,

"I've stopped asking questions years ago, sugar," Cecelia mumbled as Elvis laughed, 

"So..."

"hmm..." Cecelia blushed, "Got lost in your eyes again." she nudged him as Midge laughed, 

"Elvis, your rooms on the left third door, down."Midge smiled,

"You evil little!"

"Cecelia, you didn't tell his parents were Gladys and Vernon?" Denise looked shocked,

"You never asked," she mumbled, her hands on the railing of the steps, Elvis behind her,

"And where are you two going?" Alfonso asked, glaring at them both. Cecelia gulped as Elvis looked at her, 

"The music room, our work is never done," she chuckled,

"Mhmm, Well, be down before dinner." he glared, "And keep the door open. I wouldn't want anything to happen."

"Oh, it already has," Elvis mumbled,

"What was that."

"Nothing, sir."

Sitting on her lush bed set, Elvis leaned in and kissed his arm on her back as she put her hand on his chest, "El, wait..."

"What's wrong?"

"Doors open." she went to close it as Elvis looked her up and down, 

"Cece... what's really wrong."

"Nothing..."

"Cecelia Shanel Valmos..."

"Okay, so I haven't told them we're together yet, 'cause they've been fightin' non-stop, and it's driving me up a damn wall all day!" she huffed as Elvis kissed her cheek, "So we gotta stay quiet about it?"

"Til the moments, right."

"You're lucky I love you."

"I'm blessed you love me," Elvis was waiting for a kiss as she flopped on her bed face first and screamed into it.

"You o-"

"CECELIA COME HELP MAKE DINNER!"

"AAAAAAAA."

"Kay..."

It was 6:30 p.m., and Cecelia, Gladys, and Denise had finished setting dinner on the table. "Baby, do you want any green beans on your plate?" Cecelia said as Elvis cleared his throat. Both parents looked at them, "Baby, it's a new way we crazy kids are referring to our friends, right baby!" she snapped her finger at Elvis.

"R-Right baby-o." He winked as Gladys and Vernon tried not to laugh. Oh, she was definitely perfect for Elvis, 

"So, tell me, Presley, that uh movie Jailhouse Rock, are you really anything like that Vincent fellow... Or are you more like that Deke character."

If there'd been a time that Cecelia wanted to die, now would be it.

"You know... I like to think I got a bit of both in me." he laughed as Denise chimed in,

 "A rebel without a cause is what you kids call it?"

"Never did understand that phrase." Vernon laughed as Gladys joined in. 

"So Cecelia, tell us about the cover, My Boy Elvis. What made you wanna cover it," Vernon asked as Cecelia felt a hot heat on her like a spotlight,

"Yeah... what made you," Alfonso asked, 

"Well, I thought it was a swingin' tune by a swingin' young lady, and uh, as a fan of Elvis and his style. I figured, why not? They call me Lady Elvis anyway. I might as well lean into it." she answered, nearly leaning in to kiss him as Denise noticed. 

"Well, I think it's cute," Gladys said.

"Yeah, like a desperate little girl with a crush."

"SO... question time, how'd you all know each other!" Cecelia asked as She turned to face Elvis, her eyes wide as he rubbed his temples.

"Well, it was May 1934 in Tupelo." Vernon started as both Elvis and Cecelia had listened while he was picking off her plate, something the two enjoyed doing to each other, "Just before you both were soon to be born in January." Gladys added, "Still very funny to me." she smiled a bit as if they had all remembered the day, 

"We had a tour in Mississippi, and no one would let us stay in any inns cause colored folk couldn't," Alfonso said as he looked at Denise, his hand brushed against hers as she held onto it. 

"So we ran into Vernon and Gladys,"

"And we offered our home to you two." 

"And we offered to cook." Denise smiled, "We kept in touch until about 1948 and..." Then it hit Denise and Gladys, 

"This can't be the same Elvis that came in third place in that-"

"That's him," Vernon said.

"That's not the same Cecelia. Who was a tree as short as a bush!"

"Still am... haven't grown past Junior high, really." she joked. 

"But that's our girl." Alfonso and Denise both looked at each other, a look of actual romance as Cecelia and Elvis got an idea in their heads.

"Elvis, would you like to help me with the uh dishes."

"The games coming on soon,"

Cecelia glared,

"Dishes." he smiled, walking into the kitchen, 

"Cil... what's going on in that brain of yours."

"How good can you play matchmaker..." Denise asked as Gladys snickered, looking at them in the kitchen

"You want us to matchmake your parents?" Elvis asked,  

"They'd make a cute couple." Gladys played along.

"They won't argue," Cecelia smirked,

"I don't know..." Both Elvis and Alfonso said,

"It'll be fun!" 

[mmmmeowth]

working a short comic of my family's pets for my family for a christmas gift!! i know it's months away still but i wanted to give myself enough time to do it properly!

it's a play on the mafia, this is just what i have done so far for the rough draft/sketch phase!

i know it's a bit confusing so let me explain it.

it's basically about their dogs competing against my cat to make the most treat trades(drug trades), and to them they see the pets with the most trades equals to being the family favorite(drug ring leader)!

{edit: their old dog that passed away is like the old ring leader who left behind her assets, the dogs contact her when they need advice and she speaks to them through bugs. my sister is teaching my nephews that when you see bugs and animals come to you after you've lost a loved one that it's a sign from them, so i wanted to include that!}

it's narrated by/told from one of my parent's dogs perspective!

i wanted to make a tribute for my sister's family since their dog gemma recently passed away, and it's my nephews first experience with death ':(.

i'll post the completed comic when i finish it digitally!!

[nella09archive]

Marriage. 90

Chapter 90: Where are you?

After the festival things have been interesting around the house. Well, mom and dad seem very quiet. Gohan was also acted more weird than usual. Every time he came home from school, crimefighting, or even study sessions with Videl, he was just super happy. It was creepy. Not even me jumping on his back, to wake him up, killed his joy. Who the hell is this person, and what happened to my big brother? He doesn’t even get mad, and that’s scary. On top of that, our parents act like everything is ok. This is just weird.

But at least I could look forward to my birthday and Christmas. Both are next month. That’s when it hit me. Everyone always gets gift on Christmas. I even make cards for everyone. What would dad like? Speaking of dad. I haven’t seen him all week. I asked mom, and she seems to not know. I asked Gohan, and he doesn’t know either. I try to locate his ki. I could sense him, but I can’t tell were he is. He’s so far away. I wonder why.

…

“Bulma, you sure about this?”

“Yeah. Now stop asking questions, and get moving. It took me forever to get Vegeta out of the house.” I can’t believe this. Though she said that usually she asked Gohan to help, but didn’t want to bug him this time. See here I am, helping Bulma repair the damage Vegeta did to the gravity room. “Can you stop moving so much!” After was done, she asked me if I could run a few errands for her.

“And why would I be the best person for this? Isn’t Vegeta more knowing of space?” She gave me a look. “Good point. So, what exactly am I doing?”

“I just need you to go to one of Frieza’s old bases, and grab as much tech as you can. Don’t give me that look. Can’t you ask one of your friends to help you out.” I was just about to say something, when…

“Lady you’re crazy. On top of that, Goku still owes me.”

I then looked to Bulma. “That’s the other reason I came here in the first place.” Her face turned red, and I soon found myself smacked across the face. “Hey! Calm down. Not like you haven’t before.” Another smack. Well, till she brought out one of her guns and started shooting at me. “Hey. Cut it out. At least I spoke highly of you.” What’s a little white lie going to hurt. “I thought you would appreciate the compliment. Especially since I said you were prettier than my wife.” I can’t believe I said that. I just hope she buys it.

“One picture, and that’s it.” Dende, after this I’m a dead man. Not like I haven’t seen her before. I’m just grateful that I told Chichi about this beforehand. Yeah, she screamed and threw me out the house. And might I add, she blasted me. Thankfully, after explaining, and begging for forgiveness, she said fine. But that I would have to make it up to her. That’s another reason I agreed to doing odd jobs for Bulma. Thank goodness I didn’t have to touch her.

To my great relief, and sanity, she had one of her bots take the picture. She even placed it in an envelope, so I couldn’t see. I quickly went to the old Kai, gave him the envelope, and asked the current Supreme Kai for help. Once I collect, what I think would please Bulma, I went back to her. I gave her everything, and asked if there was anything else. “Not at all. I already called the restaurant. Here’s the address, and just tell them my name.” I told her thank you and was off.

Once I got home, I was ambushed by Goten. “Where were you? And why was everyone so ok with it?” I could see tears starting to build. I tried telling him that everything was find. That I was just doing a few things. He didn’t look convince. “Still doesn’t explain why everyone was ok.” I then hugged him.

“Sorry about that buddy. Next time I’ll let you know that I’m stepping out.” He then looked at me, and he used his sleeve to rub the tears away.

“You promise?”

“Yes. Now come on, we have to get ready.” He asked why. “We’re going out to eat. So, we have to be on our best behavior for mommy.” He nodded and runs back inside the house. Gohan was on the couch reading, and already dressed. I then went to our room, and braced myself. When I opened the door, I took a defensive stance. But nothing happened. I didn’t get hit, nor yelled at, or even an angry look. All I saw was Chichi fixing her hair. I then saw clothes on the bed, and automatic saw the suit. I hate those, but it makes Chichi happy. I slowly made my way to the bed, till she called me over to her. “Yes, Chichi.”

“How did it go?”

“Thankfully she went into a different room, and got a bot to take the picture. Also, she placed in an envelope, so, I didn’t see anything.” She gave me a nod, and told me to hurry and get dress. Thank goodness she wasn’t making me wear a tie.

…

I can’t believe this! “Goku! How could you even do that! On top of that, she’s your friend! Not some random female! Also! How dare you suggested that you’ll be the one to take the photo!” I was bending his arms backward, while my foot was pressing on his shoulder blades.

“But she’s used to having people see her. And it was for the earth. I thought you’ll be happier that I didn’t suggest you.” I started to stomp on his back. “Ow! That actually hurts.”

“That’s not the point! And since you brought up that wonderful fact! How dare you say I’m flat chested! How dare you compare me to another woman! Especially saying things like that!”

“But that was a complete lie, to make Vegeta agree. You know that you have way fuller breast than Bulma. You also know that you have a way better figure than her. So, come on. I’m sorry.” I bend his arms more.

“Goku!”

“For goodness sake Chichi! Your body is nowhere as saggy as Bulma’s. Everything about you is all nice and perfect. Firm to the touch. And even your skin glows. It hasn’t aged by a long shot. Bulma actually looks old.” I finally released his arms, and got my foot off him. I watched him roll his shouldn’t, as I crossed my arms. He stood up, and held my hips. “Besides, you’re naturally beautiful, compared to her. You don’t need all that make up, to show off your beauty. You definitely don’t need to show off that wonderful body.” I was still fuming, but that seductive grin of his wasn’t making it easy. “Only I get to see that tight body of yours.” He then purred against my ear. “Like how I want to see it now.”

I then felt him kiss my neck, and rub up and down my sides. “Fine. But I want to have a dinner out as a family.” I then felt him picking me up, and instinctually I wrapped my legs around his waist. We started kissing, as he brought us over to the bed.

“Thank goodness the boys has school” I started to giggle at that, as he laid me on the bed. I then felt him start undoing my clothes, as we kissed. When he had gotten rid of our clothes, he kissed my neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” I then felt him thrust into me, and we in complete bliss. That was Monday, and he hasn’t been home since. Goten did looked very worried, and so did Gohan. Later in the day I got a call from Bulma, saying that I and the boys should start getting ready. I asked what for, and she told me how she set up dinner reservations to a restaurant. Also, how she will cover the cost, so, I didn’t have to worry about money. I said thank you, and asked what this brought this up. When she said Goku, I couldn’t help have a big smile.

I told Gohan to start getting dress, and if he seen Goten. Somehow Goten was nowhere to be seen around the house. But Gohan said he was close by. I went to his room, and set out his outfit. I then went to our room, and set out a nice suit for Goku. He’s going to look so handsome. I should look my best as well.

When we arrived at the restaurant, I was impressed. It looked super fancy. I can’t believe this. Maybe I underdress, and I was feeling uneasy. When we were brought to our table, I couldn’t help admire the decor. That’s when I noticed how empty it was. When the waiter came to ask for our drink orders, I couldn’t help ask about the emptiness. “Oh. We were informed about your family, and was advice it was similar to Ms. Bulma’s husband. So, we took extra steps to not over work our cooking staff.” With that I couldn’t help blush out of embarrassment. I even noticed that Gohan seemed embarrassed. Well, I should have expected this, but still was embarrassing.

As we ate, I couldn’t stop smiling at how my boys are being well behaved. They weren’t making a mess, or being loud. They were acting like a well behave family. It made me super happy. When I finished my meal, I continued watching my boys. They looked so happy, and I was loving it. When they were done, we walked outside. Outside Goku suggested if we should take a nice walk, instead of rushing home. “That sounds lovely.” As we walked, it was feeling wonderful. It was so peaceful, and perfect. Well, until Gohan got a call from Videl, saying something about she needed help with a riot downtown. Gohan looked between sad and happy. I told him that it was alright, and that for him to be careful. He told me that he will, before he pressed his watch and left.

The rest of us continued walking, and I was starting to feel cold. “Would you like to use my coat? Or would you like to head home?”

“Coat would be nice. I’m not ready to go home yet.” That’s when I noticed Goten was nowhere in sight. I started to panic. “Goku! Where’s Goten?” He then looked concerned for a moment, and then he looked calm.

“He’s a little bit ahead of us. He’s fine.” I still didn’t start feeling on edge. “We’ll catch up to him soon. Besides if anything was to happen, I’ll get him in time.” He then kissed my forehead.

…

When Gohan left, it was just me, mom, and dad. We continued walking and it was super nice. It was peaceful, and my parents looked so happy. Gohan was right about how nice it was to walked with our parents. As we walked, I saw something up ahead, and waiting to know what it was. I looked at my parents and they were speaking. I’m not going far, it’ll be ok. I can easily get back.

When I reached the thing, it was just a bunch of swings. We ended up at a park. I decided to play in the playground. I wasn’t far from my parents, and the jungle gym looks fun. I made it to the top when they finally showed up. They looked so happy. I then made my way down, and walked over to them. When I got to them, dad ruffled my hair. They both were smiling at me, and it made me happy. Maybe they would want to play with me. “Let’s play on the swings. Please.” Dad had a big smile and said sure. He ended up pushing me and mom. It was so much fun.

Before long Gohan showed up, and was with Videl. “So, how did it go?” Gohan went about how the people, in the riot, were just being a chaotic mess. And how it didn’t take long to get everyone under control. Then he and Videl join us at the swings. They seem to have made it a contest between. It was funny. But dad kept pushing me and mom. Today was pretty nice.

When we finally went home, I didn’t want to go to bed. I wanted to continue playing. But nobody wanted to play, and mom said I couldn’t play video games tonight. I was started to feel sad. Then dad asked if I wanted to join him, while he did his before bed workout. I agreed. It was better than nothing. We quickly changed our clothes, to not upset mom. I was doing push ups with him, and then ended up resting on his chest, as he did sit ups. It actually had put me to sleep.

The next day was nice. Even when everyone was doing their own thing, we all were in the den together. Mom was knitting. Gohan was doing school work. Dad was working out. Mom was making me study, too. It was nice. Super peaceful, and it made me happy. Gohan was also wearing a big smile.

-------

Ch89

[dolly-on-the-dotted-line]

Interlude: Doorway

Pash: A brief infatuation for something.

Rating: 18+ (for consistency)

Warnings: None

A/N: Thinking thoughts about the first time Javi and Bug come head to head after that night. Enjoying the process of these two working one another out. Also... yes we're back! Plenty of Changes queued up and coming soon. Got over my own anxieties and just decided to jump back in.

Laredo, Winter, Age 19: Doorway

“So this is where you’re hiding?”

You look up from the buffet table in the back room to find Javier staring down at you, an expression of imposed disappointment on his face as he tut tut tuts comedically. 

“Hardly hiding,” you scoff back, determined not to rise to his teasing so easily, “I’m just looking for something to drink.” 

Settling for another beer, you offer it up instinctively for him to open and watch as he props the cap against the edge of the table and smacks it with the butt of his hand to loose the top.

You grimace at the mark it leaves on the woodwork and rub at it half-heartedly for a second. The boy is a well-meaning bull in a china shop. 

“Evening’s that bad, hey?” 

“No,” you ponder fairly, “it’s one of my favourite nights of the year. I'm just a little... overwhelmed.” 

This was technically an adequate truth.

The yearly Christmas gathering was your favourite. It had been for as long as you could remember. But since you’d moved to college, home, surprisingly, was not.

While you had expected to come running back with open arms, simply needing a few weeks to clear your head of the complicated events of the summer, the long semester had transformed the harder parts of your life with a welcome reprieve.

The suspicions you'd been harbouring had come to roost. Leaving had been good for you, great even.

As you started to get a real glimpse of the kind of life you could be living, one free of the aches and pains you couldn't help but feel here, your list of priorities in Texas was dwindling, with only two very notable exceptions.

Consequently, being back so soon felt like a confusing sentence, tearing you between your need for space and your desire to be with the people you loved most.

It was a dilemma you weren't emotionally equipped to deal with just yet, and one that was feeling all too apparent in a room full of people you'd known your whole life.

“Missing school?”

“Not exactly. It's more than that. It’s more that I’m not missing many people here, if that makes sense.”

He frowns at you, opening a beer for himself with another smack and taking a long drink, eyeing you warily as he does it.

“I’m going to assume that doesn’t extend to me, you know.”

“Good,” you smirk back, feigning annoyance. “I’m not stroking your ego just for the sake of it. But you know I don’t mean you. Once I’ve ticked off you and Pa, the rest of it just feels... tricky.” 

“They’re not here, you know, if that’s what you’re worried about. Pa asked them not to come anymore. Not that I think they even would.” 

Your heart simultaneously sinks and soars with the pull of your different emotions. Your old family and your new one, very deliberately apart.

Your parents were long gone, packed up and across state lines as far as you were aware. The distance didn’t always help, though. You still found the impression of walking in familiar spaces jarring, despite their positive connotations.

Sometimes the knowledge that they seemingly had nothing to come back for was painful enough. Contradictory bastards. 

“It’s not just them… but it is usually mainly them,” you resign, forcing a pathetic laugh along with it. “Call it… residual bad energy, superstition-,” 

“-Trauma,” he butts in shamelessly, but not unkindly.

Mincing words with him was admittedly useless, you knew that, but you often forgot to give him credit for the astuteness of his assessments, even now.

Hiding from him was best done in plain sight. That was the only way you could get anything past him, by making it obvious. But, even then, the chances of getting away with it unscathed were slim to none.

He didn’t miss a beat when it came to your biggest foible, and knowing your parents had packed up without even saying goodbye as soon as you'd moved to college was always going to have its consequences eventually. 

The two of you turn in the small space to prop yourselves up against the table, your shoulder immediately bumping up against his as he places himself as close to you as possible.

It’s muscle memory, you think, the way the two of you slot into place against one another no matter the available space. 

“You still love it here, though, right?” You ask, trying to hide the way your voice wavers just a little. 

After spending a lifetime together, you wonder if you’ve come to find certainty in his own; vicariously living through the absolute faith he has in his definitions of home, or justice, or family.

His confidence is electric, and it’s hard to avoid the feeling of affiliation he seems to carry with him wherever he goes, no matter the room he enters. It’s an addictive sensation, the assurance that you belong, but also an uncomfortable reflection of where your own skillset… lacks.  

What’s it like to be so sure of everything all the time? 

“Me? Yeah. Of course,” he replies roughly, keen to display just how obvious your assumption is, how automatic that reply is. It’s a line practice-perfect from repetition, time and time again.

“This place is everything to me. I could never say no.” 

What would it be like for you to do what you want for once, Javi?

“Couldn’t say no, or wouldn’t?” you tag on frivolously, turning to look up at him for just a second as you ask.

He smiles blithely but doesn’t reply, instead tucking his arm around you lovingly when he sees your unsure expression. 

In the same vein, you wonder how much of his insecurity he hides under your own. A familiar scapegoat for complicated ideas about insufficiency, independence, and guilt, that have no place in the mind of someone who has everything laid out before them.

You rode the waves of your unfortunate circumstances with a half-hearted smirk on your face. Javi, on the other hand, was more reliant on the good nature of things. 

Swings and roundabouts. Que sera, sera. 

You notch your head into his shoulder without a second thought, focusing on the way you meld together, bit by bit, seeping easily into comfortable companionship whenever the proximity allows for it.

When you were little you used to hypothesise about stepping into one another's bones, walking together, talking together, stuck together like glue. Now you think you truly understand what that would feel like, to occupy that space the way you try to now.

You think it would feel good. 

Four years of college is quite a long time, you consider, perhaps for the first time. This semester alone had been the longest you'd ever been apart.

The rest of it after that is even longer. 

It wasn't just the difficult stuff that bothered you about being back. It was the nice stuff, too. Maybe they were one and the same.

Maybe you were going to really miss this bastard. 

“It wouldn’t be the same without you, though,” he adds, just to be sure that the sentiment is clear despite your divided nostalgia. He knows how much you need to hear it sometimes, and how easy it is for him to stoke the gaps in your opinions.

“You know that.”

The combination of his tone and his arm around you almost makes it believable. 

And so you just stand there like that for a minute, propped against the table, watching the people go by and taking remedy in the fact that even you had something to offer the golden boy, because even he did not possess everything. 

After a moment, as if he’s let the cogs in his head finally come to a stop, you catch him in your peripheral turning his head upwards and staring toward the ceiling. Hatching a plan, scheming and scheme. 

“It’s bad luck not to, you know.”

“Not to what?” you query, genuinely confused by his choice subject. 

“Kiss.” 

He draws his eyes up more deliberately to the mistletoe strung above the doorway on a decorative piece of ribbon, and takes another long drink as he brings his eyes down to meet yours again, waiting.

Outside of the realms of his usual conversation, he’d laid off the flirting since the ‘incident’ last summer.

He had been right: nothing changed. Not for him, anyway.

If anything, you could even say things had gone the other way; you felt more assured of the exacting nature of your relationship now that you’d been able to carry on as if not a thing had changed.

He hadn’t made it awkward, in fact, he’d barely mentioned it at all. As expected, he’d been nothing short of the perfect gentleman. And you couldn’t help but be a little disappointed by that fact. 

When you lay awake unable to fall asleep, tracing the memory of the places he’d reached, you took a conflicted comfort in the notion that that night was your little secret, a sacred gap in time that belonged in some untouchably sweet way to just the two of you.

Instead of seeing it as a blip in your friendship, you visualised it as a loop; raising the stakes, careening over, and then gently coming to land exactly where you had been. It’s how these things worked, you suppose. People take what they need, give something back in return, and then go their separate ways.

It happens all the time. Right? 

Your relationship has always been an affectionate tug of give and take, just like this conversation. You demonstrate the need for comfort, he steps right in to offer it. That night had been no different.

Just bigger, further. 

And this was just another example of that. 

Right?

And people kiss, too. All the time. 

Right…? 

“We’ve done worse than kiss,” he offers softly, as if reading your mind.

When he makes little comments like this - sideways remarks, dirty jokes - his voice takes on a completely different tone. It’s warm and deep, as if he can cover up the trail of what he’s saying with the intoxicating hum of the way the words sound.

It’s hard not to be affected, however insincere he may be. He’s too good at it. 

“You said that last time, and look where that ended up,” you manage to shoot back, but you find your words equally glazed, practically simmering with the intention clinging to the underside of them.

He’s setting a paper trail and you’re shocked by how easily your words are setting it alight. 

It’s intriguing. Maybe things had changed more than you'd realised.

“I thought it went well.”

“I could say the same.” 

“So really,” he begins, changing tact now to something altogether more direct, more rational, “what we’re both saying here, is that it would be unreasonable not to.”

“To what?” you quip back, matching his flirtatious tone now. It’s fun, you note, dancing with him like this, heavy with the knowledge that it’s all true.

You’d done much worse than this. And you’d liked it. You’d both liked it. 

“To kiss.” 

His reply has such a determined finality to it you both know the discussion is done. Your chemistry has backed you both into a corner, and from the way he’s leaning into you, neither of you seem particularly unhappy about it.

He’s never been so brazen with it before, though, so clear about the way he’s running his toe along the edge of the line he might be about to cross.  

You feel the tension rise just a little as you consider the power you have here, for the second time now. Why not three times, or four, or more. It’s a funny sensation. You can feel in it your stomach, in your toes. You refer back to the graph in your head, the loop of the stakes rising and falling and coming to rest again.

Why not more? You loved rollercoasters. 

With overexaggerated clarification, you place your beer on the table behind you, leaving both your hands free to draw your arms up and around his neck. 

“Well, I guess if that’s the case, you’re right. It would be rude not to.”

You note the way he lingers as he runs his hands up your arms to secure them tightly there, encouraging your fingers to intertwine with one another until he finds himself satisfyingly locked in.

It’s indulgent, you think, how he takes his time. A kiss can be quick if the situation calls for it. This is not that. 

When he finally appears to have you where he wants you, guard down, your chest only half an inch from his own, he rests his own hands at your waist and pulls, closing the gap between you completely.

You’re sure to keep your eyes locked on his, determined not to give yourself away for even a second as you observe the familiar way he tries to push your nervous tendencies to the limit. Little does he know you’re feeling anything but afraid right now. Or maybe that fact is what he’s relying on. 

The fact that, for the second time now, you’re letting him lead you somewhere else. 

“Merry Christmas, Bug,” he whispers lowly, that deep octave causing the words to reverberate around his throat in a way that would make your head spin if you let it. 

“Merry Christmas, Javi.” 

And it’s him that leans down first, scooping you gently up into his arms as he curls them around you to hold you snug against him. 

You kiss once, twice, three times.

There’s a confidence about it that is simmering between the two of you, one that you can’t quite interpret in the moment.

If the summer was a demonstration of affection, assistance, this is something closer to showing, taking. It’s greedy and frivolous, without intention but also full of ambition.

For as long as you can remember you’ve both had a point to prove, a proverbial chip on your shoulder. It was why you worked so well together, a sheer determination to get things done and see them through.

But adding them together like this was lining up cards you didn’t even know you were holding. You’re both imagining what it would be like to do what you want for once. 

As you lean in for the fourth time to press your mouth into his, you’re drearily reminded of exactly where you are as the piano starts off next door, followed by a surprisingly rowdy cheer from the relatively sauced attendees as the carols begin. 

You linger for just a second more, liberal in the way you take your lips apart. He puts you down as deliberately as he picked you up, sure to show you that there’s nothing spontaneous about it. 

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” he quirks, but in the small space, he’s transparent.

Javier Peña loves women, loves to kiss them and hold them and make them feel special. This is his favourite kind of game, the one that results in his getting to show off his best sides. You almost take pride in the fact you could fall into that remit, even for a minute. 

“You’re right, that was actually quite enjoyable. I could probably do that again.”

You picture it, quietly, for just a second. Letting him crowd you into the darker corner of the room. Lifting you into his arms again to kiss you, but this time with the flat of your back pressed to the wall of a quiet alcove.

He’d probably put his hands through your hair, he had done that a lot that night, would let it curl between his knuckles and maybe pull it to turn your face towards his.

He was so much taller than you when you came cheek to cheek. You liked the way he made accommodations for it, leaning down, picking you up.

He would be insistent but gentle, taking his time at first but ultimately getting carried away. It would be too fun not to, here, just a wall away from a room full of people who wouldn’t be able to let it slide; you and him, not acting the way you’re supposed to - however you’re ‘supposed to’. More fun than it should be for exactly that reason.

You and him and a whole room of disapproval. It’s not what you were supposed to do. 

Or so they would say. 

You see one eyebrow twitch up at your remark, but before you can say another word you collect your beer from its spot on the table and finish it off in an impressive gulp. 

“Come on,” you huff, “let’s go and sing before someone asks where we’ve got to.”

He’s as cool as he can manage as he turns his face back to the crowd, unwilling to suggest he’s been caught short even slightly, especially not when it was his game to play.

“Yeah, sure. Sure, sure, sure.” 

He leaves the alcove first, quickly, and you watch the back of him as he hovers in the doorway, immediately starting a conversation with the first available party he finds adjacent to him. 

You bring your hand to your lips to trace the tingle of his stubble, as if you can capture the drag of it across your skin and keep it there for a little longer. 

That feeling, you ponder, as you eye up his frame, his hair, the gentle slope of his body that you realise you know the shape of.

That funny, funny feeling.

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[hansolmates]

busted in busan 

summary; you’re snowbound at the airport, when the only thing you want is to be homebound. your anxieties heighten as the snow rises, worried that you won’t make it in time for christmas where your fiancé and his parents expect you—picture perfect. when all flights are cancelled due to a massive storm, you have to turn to the hands of an unlikely, hard-headed hero who knows the fastest way out of busan (and into your heart) pairing; jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; a christmas detour!au, fluff, angst, slice of life, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, pining, this is a total romcom, hallmark movie galore! tw–microcheating (or not however you look at it) mentions of sex, making out, profanity w/c; 10k   a/n; for @suhdays​ holiday hallmark event! this event was totally up my lane, i couldn’t wait to post it! a huge thank u for @eerieedits​ for making this wonderful fic banner! this is totally unedited, i’ll to go back to it tonight but pls enjoy! for those of u who need a little more christmas charm this year, this is for u

if you loved this icy couple, please consider giving it a like n’share!⛄⛄⛄

“The Korean Air 1102 flight from Gimhae International Airport to Incheon International Airport will be delayed six hours due to the intense weather conditions. Please be on standby for any further updates.” 

You’re twitching, fighting the urge to nibble on your nails because you’ve just got them done for Christmas. They’re a sleek champagne gold, because your fiancé insisted that they’re far more mature than your usual red and brown reindeer art. This is awful, and is only going to get progressively worse as the snow builds and builds. Right now the weather isn’t that bad, the snow isn’t even sticking to the ground and—oh. 

Gnawing at your lip, your fingers brush over the cold window, a clear view of the landing strip you should currently be boarding. The touch is icy, and the pads of your fingers are enveloped in little rings of fog at the sudden warmth nudging the glass. Upon closer inspection and a squint of your eyes reveal that in fact, the snow is now sticking to the ground. Big, fat clumps are covering the freeway and destroying your Christmas plans. 

Your fiancé will understand if you’re a little late for their Christmas Eve party, but you’re not sure if his parents will. You’ve been on livewire all week, wanting to at least spend the morning of Christmas Eve with your family back home. Knowing that your fiancé’s Christmas Eve party would run until very late, you booked a noon flight with enough time to get ready and impress his parents. Evidently, it was an ill-prepared idea. 

Immediately falling into your terminal’s line, you hope that you can talk with the receptionist in hopes they could put you at ease. 

“How soon will you announce our flight’s departure?” A sad smile. 

“Is there any way you can put me on the next possible flight?” A shake of the head. 

“Will the weather let up?” A frown. 

Every bit of rejection weighs you down, and you’ve run out of questions to ask. For a receptionist, she’s not very receptive. 

“C’mon lady, you’re holding up the line,” a voice tugs you from behind, “you’re not the only one who’s gotta get down to the city on Christmas.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, wanting to slap the rudeness off this man’s face. Instead of falling back in line, you move to the side to glare at him. He’s unfortunately attractive, albeit in a rugged sort-of way—nothing like your fiancé. The leather jacket that he carries tall is worn and crackly at the collar. Wavy dark hair he constantly has to hold back, a gesture that looks flirtatious and to your chagrin the receptionist is definitely recepting to him. 

“Your refund should be processed in about two to four business days, Mr. Jeon,” the receptionist murmurs, the simultaneously sultry and chirpy voice making you twitch in your spot. Maybe if you drank a cup of tall, dark and handsome you’d be getting the same kind of treatment. 

“Thanks,” he replies shortly, and it’s then you notice the extremely large luggage next to him. It’s the size of you, and despite the broad shoulders under the baggy jacket, he lugs it with careful force, making sure not to bump into anyone as he wheels it away from the counter. 

It seems that your trainers have a mind of your own as you follow him down the terminal. He side eyes you as your feet pick up the pace to match his long legs, but he waits for you to say something first. 

“Why did you ask for a refund?” you ask, frowning at him, “the flight is only delayed.” 

He scoffs, “Do you see the snow? They’re just saying it’s delayed so they can hold onto your money a little longer. Besides, it’s a win-win. I get my refund sooner and some other poor sap can take the ticket and wait until five in the morning.” 

“Five A.M.,” you exhale to yourself, slowing down. 

It would be too late by then, far too late. Your shoulders slump, people start to bump into you without a care. 

“Besides,” you hear his voice say from your stricken form, “I had a backup plan.” 

That’s when your feet start to burn up, and you whip around to pump your legs, catching up with the man who’s already far down the hall. “What kind of backup plan?” you blurt, raising your voice because the crowds are starting to get noisier and deeper the further you follow him. 

He hooks his lips into a confused frown, “You’re awfully nosy.” 

“I’m in a pinch, my fiancé’s parents will kill me if I don’t show up to their party tonight.” 

“Your fiancé’s parents… will kill you?” 

“That’s an exaggeration,” you cough, immediately feeling self-conscious, “they’d kill me with their eyes. They’re really big, really pretty corporate people. They have high expectations for their future in-law.” 

“Ah, and you're the country pumpkin who managed to sweep the rich guy off his feet?” 

“Something like that,” you reply, rocking on your heels, “my dad was his dad’s former secretary, and we grew up together.” 

The stranger with a plan stops in front of a long line. It’s so long that you’re not entirely sure where it leads to. People are piling out the door two at a time, and you can see they’re trying to get through the process as fast as possible. The window leading outside is blurry and caked in white ice. He hooks one leg over his luggage, the metal and plastic case is so high that his feet barely touch the ground. Like a kid with a flat scooter, he wheels himself through the line. 

“These lines are for busses going in the direction of our flight,” he jabs a finger out the door, “if the flight got cancelled I was just going to ride one of these,” out of his pocket he pulls out two tickets, flicking it in front of your face.

“Are there any tickets left?” your eyes bug, and you immediately pull out your phone to reserve a spot. 

“Nah, been booked since last month.” 

It’s then that your eyes zero in on the second ticket he has in hand. Both tickets are addressed to the same name. You lower your phone in your pocket, narrowing your eyes. “Why do you have two for yourself?” 

He pats his luggage as a response. 

“That’s not fair!” 

“It is when you buy it, sweetheart.” 

“A literal human could be in that spot, wanting to go home for Christmas!”

“You’re just salty you don’t have a ticket, don’t take it out on my luggage,” he feigns a pout, rubbing the handle of the heavy container, “you’re hurting it’s feelings.” 

It doesn’t take long for you and the stranger to reach the end of the line. To others in line the two of you look like two companions bickering good-naturedly, but in reality the only thing you want to do is slap that smug smile off his face. 

“You want my ticket,” he states. 

“I want your luggage’s ticket,” you bite back, staring petulantly at where he sits comfortably between the handle. 

Unbeknownst to you, the man’s face morphs into a teasing grin upon seeing you glare a little too hard at the silver and black case. It just so happens that your eyes gravitate to the middle of the luggage, at the apex between his long legs leading up to a pair of black sweats. Despite the soft, baggy fabric you can see how the bulge of his thighs outline the thin cotton, looking large and inviting which—

Fuck. You’re engaged. Why are you checking out some stranger’s thighs? Your fiancé also has nice thighs, think about those! 

“How much do you want for it?” you cough, crossing your arms and turning to the side to hide your flaming cheeks. 

“Who said I was offering?” 

“I’ll pay that and then some.”

“With your rich-boy’s money?” 

If your hands were not digging into your elbows and you weren’t so concerned about your gold-foiled manicure, you’d deck him. Do the holidays normally make this person so snappy? He simply flips his hair, and you catch the shaved ends of his sides. 

“Three-hundred,” he says easily, and if he notices you staring he doesn’t say anything, “including any extra fees for my luggage.”

“Done,” you hold out your hand for him to shake. 

“I’m Jungkook, if you care,” the man named Jungkook adds wryly, practically swallowing your small hand with his larger one. You shortly reply with your name, and he merely nods, “a thank you would suffice.” 

“Thanks,” and it’s then that you manage a scarily pretty smile, one that Jungkook finds both alarming and amusing. It’s a catered smile, one that you’ve trained yourself to accomplish after hours in the mirror in fear of your fiancé’s parents seeing right through you. It’s the smile you give during work when you don’t give a shit but you need to suck it up. It’s a 9/10 success rate. 

“Scary,” he shivers, and then you realize he’s the 1/10. 

The only bus for you two to pile on is one of the smallest. Probably half the size of a regular coach bus, but at this rate you don’t care. You’ll fly by hot air balloon if the weather wasn’t so crappy. 

“Taehyung!” you startle at Jungkook’s sudden belt, and he does a big, beefy-chested bro-hug to the driver. Ah, so he has connections. You watch the two interact from your corner, pulling up your hood to stop the rapidfire snowflakes from pelting your eyes. 

The driver is a classically handsome thing, dark eyes and dark fluffy hair. His paperbag pants look absolutely frigid however, and his teeth are chattering as he regards Jungkook with annoyed eyes. 

“Listen, so plans have changed—”

“As always, Kook.” 

“—and I need you to do me another solid. Do you have room in the compartment for my babies?” 

“The answer is, and always no. That’s why you bought two tickets.” 

“I know but,” he gestures to you with a jab of his thumb, “like I said, plans have changed.” 

“Jungkook,” Taehyung frowns, “trying to do some Christmas miracles? In this snowstorm?” Taehyung shakes his head, eyes flickering to the running bus. Most of the ticket holders are already on it. “I can save you two a three-seater, but there’s no room in the compartment. It’ll be a tight fight but—” 

“It’s perfect. You’re dynamite, Tae,” Jungkook even has the audacity to reach his hands out and squish the driver’s cheeks, much to his distain. 

The two of you are ushered quickly into the bus, leaving you in the very front diagonal to where Taehyung is sitting. The three seats are tiny, it probably barely fits Jungkook’s thighs with the large luggage nestled in the other two seats. The two of you suggest to put the luggage out in the aisle and take turns holding it, but Taehyung interjects that the luggage is a fire hazard. 

“But not a human,” Jungkook decides, and he gestures for you to sit down in the available seat. You’re practically shoved against the window as Jungkook manages to squeeze his gargantuan luggage in the other two seats. He’s tall enough to grab the metal rungs of the bus, steeling himself in the middle of the aisle.

Taehyung doesn’t fight with that, and finally puts the bus into drive. Pulling out of the airport feels akin to leaving the eye of the storm. It’s going to be a long journey, and it makes you worry as to whether you’re going to make it on time or not. 

Your favorite pastime is watching the window on a long car ride, especially when the snowflakes crystalize and melt away through the warmth of the vehicle. However, you’re irked. You thought Jungkook was a bit of a wank, a little too full of himself and far too mysterious for your own good. 

Exhibit A, the luggage that’s currently threatening to wheel over and crush you against the glass. You wonder what’s so special about this luggage that Jungkook so desperately wants to protect, even so far as to buy its own seat. Sneakily, you lean over to smell the zipper. Surprisingly, it smells a little vinegary, the fumes getting you a little lightheaded within seconds. Your eyes dart to Jungkook, who’s currently engaged in conversation with Taehyung. You tilt your head and sniff again, confirming the slightly rancid smell. 

It’s then you take in Jungkook’s form once more. He dresses a little schlubby, his clothes are old, his eyes are sunken in, and his luggage is filled with weird-smelling things. 

Oh no. Is Jungkook a drug dealer? 

Your fiancé’s parents would surely have a fit if this man gets arrested and you come up in the report as an accused accomplice. It makes sense, he would want to make sure that his goods are in his view at all times, and it explains why he so easily gave you his ticket for triple the actual price. 

A giggle interrupts your thoughts. Yes, a tired, yet bubbly giggle. Jungkook’s face is pressed against his bicep, and you catch the fluttering of his eyes as he tries to keep up with Taehyung’s rambling. His grip is starting to loosen on the metal bars, and you’re worried that he might accidentally slip, or not hold tight enough in the event the car takes a sharp turn or slips on black ice. 

“J-Jungkook,” it’s the first time you’re saying his name out loud, tasting it on your tongue as you regard him steadily, “why don’t we take turns sitting? I don’t mind standing for an hour while you sleep.” 

He regards you with a sleepy smirk, shaking his head against the fabric of his jacket. “You’ll be flung in two seconds, besides can you even reach the handles?” 

Good point, but Jungkook is far more muscular and if he does end up flying he’ll crash through the window and further hinder your commute. It’s why you choose your next words carefully, and you convince yourself it’s the only reason as to why you propose your solution. 

“I’ll sit on your lap,” and since it sounds super weird coming out of your mouth, you tack on, “I’ll put your jacket over your lap as a barrier.” 

He slacks, regarding you with a scrunched face. “Is the jacket supposed to make that situation any better? I’m fine standing like this.” 

“This ride is going to take hours and you’re barely on your own two feet,” your point is made when the bus topples over a speed bump, and Jungkook looks awfully small as he moves to grapple the top bar with both hands, “my fiancé doesn’t get jealous, I’ve sat in plenty of friend’s laps before.” 

“We’re not friends,” he blurts with a raise of his brows.

“Yes, I know that,” you’re a little insulted by the curt reply, but he still looks rather horrified that you’re proposing the following, “I don’t like it either, but I’m sitting in your seat and now I’m feeling guilty as hell.” 

It’s a lot of shuffling and shifting after that. You try not to laugh as Jungkook rips off his leather jacket, folding it into a perfect square, ironing out the corners of the crinkly fabric as he gestures for you to take a seat. You try not to take note of how sturdy his thighs are, or how the muscle stretches across the seat so well that there’s no way for you to fall between the cracks. 

“You’re going to sleep anyway,” you try to assure him, side eying him as he presses his forehead against the window, “it’ll be like being with a dead body.” 

“Didn’t know you were into necrophilia, but whatever floats your boat,” Jungkook mumbles, eyes immediately fluttering shut. 

At first it was easy, ignoring the fact that you’re sitting on top of a human. The drive seems endless however, Taehyung driving further and further into a sea of white ice. You force yourself to thread your fingers together, sitting on the very edge of his knees with your back ramrod straight. Eventually, you tire out and relax against Jungkook’s lax body. Your face is centimeters away from Jungkook’s. Long, dark lashes, and a strand of equally dark hair falls in front of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed from the blaring heater, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. 

Hm, for a drug dealer, he smells pretty. 

Despite the weird-smelling luggage that looms over the two of you, the white long-sleeved shirt he wears is soft to the touch and smells fresh. 

You huff, and shift in your seat. 

“Stop,” Jungkook mumbles into your shoulder, and you don’t have the heart to look at him. 

“I’m sorry, it’s cramped,” you reply. 

“I get that, but you don’t have to—hike yourself so far up here,” he sounds almost embarrassed saying it, and his hand shuffles to adjust his belt. “Literally can’t sleep because you’re making me pop a boner.” 

“Why, I’m engaged!” 

“God, I know. It’s like your personality trait or something,” Jungkook retorts, “just because you’re engaged doesn’t stop my body from reacting. I’m sure your fiancé has reacted like this, stop acting like a blushing virgin.” 

You tense, your eyes glued to the window in front of you. How do you even make a comeback to that? Wringing your hands in your lap, you feel your palms sweat with nerves the longer it takes for you to reply. This causes the gears to run in Jungkook’s mind. 

“Holy fuck, have you two not—” 

“Shut up,” you hiss, turning your body around to slap him in the chest, “shut up shut upupupshutup!” 

You make seething, burning eye contact with Jungkook. You expect him to have a shit-eating grin on his face, teasing you for your relationship. Instead, Jungkook is wide-eyed, mouth parted open like a confused guppy and his big bug-eyes looking stricken. He says nothing. 

The road starts to get bumpier, and the drive swerves from time to time to avoid black ice. Neither of you are relaxed. Combined with the heart of the storm, your heart is currently wrung on electrical wire, pumping blood with a fervor you cannot stifle. 

“I’m going to put my arms around your waist,” Jungkook murmurs softly, and you lift your arms slightly to see him lace his fingers over your belly button. “Like a seatbelt.” 

You sigh, relaxing in his hold. Now it’s awkward. He feels compelled to hold you to keep you safe, even though he clearly finds it awkward you’ve already put him in this position. 

Jungkook isn’t so bad, you think as you let your gaze linger on his hands. They anchor you to his lap, making sure you’re not jostling during the ride. He may have a razor sharp tongue and gets under your nerves just for the heck of it, but he’s kind of nice. Under the prickly leather jacket, there’s a softness to him you can’t help but gravitate to. 

It’s dark outside, save for the speedily descending flakes and the dim lights of the highway. You’re sitting on the lap of a total stranger, yet it’s a stranger who’s holding your waist like he’s a seatbelt, a stranger who’s making you feel safe to say the words that have been haunting you for the past few months. 

“I’ve tried to initiate sex,” you finally say. “I don’t know why he doesn’t want me, it’s already been two years.” 

Your eyes turn red with bloody horror. Your vision blurred by the insanity of what you’ve just blurted out to this surprisingly kind stranger who’s offered his seat (both times) to you. 

“I didn’t mean to word vomit like that. Forget I said anything—” 

“Must be his loss,” Jungkook cuts you off, and when he says it doesn’t feel impolite at all. However, Jungkook doesn’t continue on, doesn’t give you rhyme or reason, just lets you linger on his reply like a madwoman. 

Maybe it’s because you’re so touch starved, maybe you’re just seeing things, but for some reason Jungkook’s fingers feel more apparent against the seam of your jacket. They tighten a fraction, drum around the metal zipper that holds the thick fabric together. Your palms feel like a fountain, and you try to ignore the burn between your legs, the liquid heat betraying the commitment that sits on your finger. 

You’re engaged to be married, you chastise yourself. All eighteen carats that symbolize that bond glare at you, bright and eager to make you feel guilty. The whole reason why you’re on this cramped bus ride is to get to your soon-to-be husband. Some pretty stranger with strong hands won’t change that. 

“We’re here! Finally!” Taehyung cheers, and you realize now that you’re parked into a tunnel surrounded by other buses. 

Jungkook and you wait until everyone steps off the bus. The pads of Jungkook’s fingers play an unsung tune, absentmindedly drumming to a song you can’t put your mind to. 

“God, you can’t just pay the extra money for someone to take care of this?” Taehyung hauls the large luggage in the aisle seat, and you feel like you’re being revealed under a curtain, doing something you’re not supposed to be doing. 

You hop off his lap, scoop your backpack in your arm and scramble off the bus. The cold, winter air bites into every available pore in your body, replacing the warmth that Jungkook gave in the tiny bus. You hike the collar of your oversized turtleneck higher up your chin, prickling in shivers as you wait for Jungkook. 

“I don’t remember Seoul being this, empty,” you say to yourself, frowning at the lack of humans past the bus station. You peer curiously at the dark, dark road off the terminal. There’s no flicker of light, or a skyline filled with bustling sounds and flickering head beams. 

“That’s because we’re only halfway there,” Jungkook walks past you, luggage in tow. 

“What?” you pull out your phone, it’s already 4PM and it’s pitch dark outside. 

The snow is beating down as you two speed walk out of the hangar, reaching a nearly vacant parking lot save for a pure white minivan. You barely notice the vehicle with all the snow, blending in perfectly as wave after wave of ice beats down on it. The pops of rust by the tires, gaudy orange stripes is the only thing you can focus on as you try to make it to the car as fast as possible. 

“Get in and start the car,” Jungkook practically shoves the keys in your hands, gesturing for you to take the passenger seat. 

When you enter his car, you’re hit with a scent scarily identical to the one in Jungkook’s luggage. You nearly gag when you inhale too much, and your eyes flicker over to the lemon air freshener attached to the exhaust, trying its best to mask the smell. You vaguely remember all the warning stories your parents told you as a kid—never enter the white van. 

Ohmygod, you’re in a white van and all of Jungkook’s drugs are in the back. 

You shake your head, willing the car to start as you arch your back over the console to start it up. You’ve been around your fiancé’s parents too long, letting them fill your head with judgemental gab and crazy assumptions only rich people have about people lesser than them. 

Once the car spurs to life, soft holiday music plays from a pop station. The front window of the car is absolutely covered in snow, you can’t even budge the windshield wipers to scrape the layer of ice off. 

Suddenly, a blanket of ice slides off the window, swept to the concrete. You’re met with Jungkook’s toothy smile and horror-esque stare, and you have this jerk reaction to nervously laugh and jump in your seat. Your nails dig into the cheap fabric of your seat as Jungkook’s scary expression melts into a more softened one, as if happy to have gotten you to laugh in such sucky times. Jungkook continues to brush your windows, meticulously making sure no ice can cause any damage as you two go into the night. 

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Jungkook whips the door open, throwing the snow brush at the space between your feet. 

As soon as he shuts the door, your stomachs growl simultaneously. 

The two of you break into a quick laugh, giggles that overlap the twinkly holiday chimes and the packed snow crunching under Jungkook’s boots. 

“After McDonalds,” Jungkook declares, setting up the GPS for a quick pitstop to the nearest fast food joint. 

Ten minutes into the drive, you pull into a generic food joint, too starved to find gourmet McDonalds. You make it a point to flick your card and lean over his body to meet the cashier, telling him you’re spotting the meal. Jungkook doesn’t complain, and tells the cashier to add in a vanilla sundae for good measure. 

Color yourself impressed, but you can’t help but gawk as Jungkook expertly sets up his food on the dashboard like a five-star meal, with fries in the cupholder and a burger unwrapped perfectly to catch any spills and to keep his fingers from getting greased up. For such a terrible snowstorm, he pulls out of the joint gracefully, a brief intermission in your long journey. 

“So, is my fiancé’s place far from where you need to be?” 

Jungkook shrugs, a stray fry hanging from his mouth. “It’s not far, not close either. I don’t mind, I like driving.” 

“Do you drive around a lot?” 

“Yeah, for work. It’s a little annoying that I have to spend Christmas alone, but it is what it is.” 

Pausing on your speculation, you take a big bite of your burger. You were hoping that your conversation would spur on a little more detail about his drug-esque job. However, all you start to feel is the heaviness of your fast food meal, stemming from your chest and filling your grease-filled stomach. 

“You’re spending Christmas alone?” you say, and you don’t mean to sound so sad saying it, but the thought of him being alone tonight makes you feel pinched with pain. 

“I can practically feel your puppy-eyes,” Jungkook shakes his head, not even needing to look at you as he focuses on the road. “I’m fine, don’t you worry.” 

“Do you wanna come to the party?” you offer, trying to sound as neutral as possible as you throw the suggestion on the dash.

“Not my thing,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, “with my line of work, I prefer to lay low.” 

Trying not to feel a hurt by the sudden (but expected) rejection, you practically eat your burger whole, eyes glaring on the road. You surmise it’s a valid excuse, drug dealers aren’t exactly one for highly-populated areas and with your fiancé’s reputation, you’re sure his parents would smell Jungkook’s reputation in a micro-minute. 

The drive isn’t anything special. You’re sure if it were spring, the foliage would be pretty and the sun would be setting into melty orange hues by now. It’s all black and white, boring shades that are aggressively pelting at the van and hindering your evening. 

“So, what other character traits do you have?” Jungkook cuts through your semi-brooding, as easily as one slices through butter, “other than the obvious that you’re engaged, and that you’re getting married. And oh yeah, you have a fiancé!” 

You scoff at his cheesy joke, folding your arms together. “I like spending time with my family. Watching movies under a weighted blanket. Plants.” 

His stare dips away from the road for a fraction, enough for you to catch that he’s rolling his eyes, “Fascinating. Not a plant person myself. I like those cute little succulents though. Had a bunch of those in college.” 

“I am also a ramen connoisseur,” you say pointedly, turning up your nose. 

“Ah, are you?” you smile a little when you see Jungkook’s eyes light up at the mention of food, “what’s the criteria for good ramen?” 

“Deep, creamy broth. Also, the egg. Gotta look like a custard-y, eggy sunset. It’s just,” you smack your lips together, mimicking a chef’s kiss, “perfect.” 

He chuckles, and goes on to tell you a story about a ramen shop he’s visited on his travels. It’s one he declares that you need to visit, one he still dreams about often. It takes a ferry and it’s a bit of a trek, but he says it’s worth it, and the eggs are as custard-y and sunset-y as you’d like. 

It’s between pockets of his story and pulling yourself out of this little bubble of a van you realize:  are you flirting with Jungkook? 

The longer this trip goes, the more your stares linger. They linger like the snow that sticks to the ground, unable to do nothing but cling. Layer after layer of confusing feelings, building up to a blizzard that you’re unable to quell. 

“So, your family’s also going to be at your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook asks, poking at yet another one of your personal facets. He’s being blatantly nosy, yet neither of you seem to mind. 

“Oh, no,” you shove your hands in your pockets, “they wanted to stay back in our hometown with the extended family. Y’know, the older members can’t really travel as much as they used to.” 

“Ah, so you’re splitting up your time,” Jungkook drums his hands on the wheel, eyes drooped slightly as he continues along the monotonous road, “your fiancé couldn’t make it?” 

“Couldn’t,” you reply lightly, “just, y’know, work.” 

“Been there, done that,” Jungkook replies, “I’m sure he missed out though. What’s your family like? Are they the type to bake cookies until 3 A.M.? Oh, or do they get wine drunk and talk shit about their annoying cousins—” 

“Jungkook,” the words fly out of your mouth before you can even think, “I’m engaged.” 

The weight of your words holds differently now. A whole day has passed with this man, and you’ve developed an attachment that simultaneously scares and thrills you. Not an hour goes by that you have to think to yourself that you’re taken, to the point that you can’t even tell what’s in your head and what’s being spoken out in the air. 

Instead of a snippy comment, a snarky retort of, “I know, I know!” like you anticipate, Jungkook stops the car. 

There’s no human trace for miles, so it doesn’t scare you when he slows down and pulls off to the side. He gears the car into park, roughly pulling the handle. He lays his arm over the steering wheel, turning his body so he can face you fully. The heat in the car suddenly feels too cloying, and you shrink in the seat as he leans in on you. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, and from the looks of it, he’s genuinely hurt. 

“I—Jungkook,” you plant your feet on the ground, trying to find some power in this situation, “I mean I, we—you just can’t keep doing this.” 

“Do you feel like I’m trying to steal you away? Or, seduce you or something?” Jungkook is starting to talk himself into a stupor, eyes flickering from the window, to you, to behind you, and back to you. It’s almost jarring, seeing how self-conscious he starts to get without the presence of an audience. Gone is the smooth talker that you met at the terminal, willing to haggle it all for your cash. “Are you uncomfortable? Is it weird I have a crush on you?” 

“Wait, you have a crush on me?” 

He reels back, nearly pressing his head against the window. Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deep from his lungs. “Adults still get crushes, y’know.” 

“Yeah, but not to people you met eight hours ago.” 

Jungkook arches a brow, “People fall for people in the most unlikely of ways.” 

That singular statement hits you, hard. 

Jungkook looks like he wants to get out of the van. He seems stuffy, and he unzips his coat and shoves it under his legs. 

“You’re cute,” he echoes the statement like he can’t believe that in a short amount of time, he’s attached to you, “you seem to have good taste, you love family, and your personality isn’t half bad,” the last bit is meant to be teasing, a lighthearted way to end his bout of emotion, but it only makes you ache further, “And it makes me upset knowing that you have to keep convincing yourself that you’re in a relationship that isn’t as fulfilling as you hope. This whole drive, you’ve been anxious about going to his parents, worrying that you’re not going to make it on time instead of relaxing with your family. Where you actually want to be.” 

“I also want to be with Jimin,” you say weakly, a half-hearted attempt to defend yourself. 

You never mentioned your fiancé’s name until this point. It makes Jungkook stiffen a little, finally putting a name to the man that’s supposed to have your heart. It makes the relationship concrete, palpable. 

“I’m sure you do,” Jungkook smacks his lips, evidently sealing the conversation to suffocate under the snow. 

Jungkook puts the car into drive, sliding back into your current route. 

“And to answer your question, Jungkook. No, you having a crush on me is not weird,” and smaller, quieter, you reply, “because it’s weird that I might have a crush on you, too.”

You know that Jungkook catches your statement, because he cranks the volume of the radio harder, effectively shutting you out.  

The first thing Jungkook says when you finally reach the Park’s house is: “Wow.” 

His van looks completely out of place, parked on the side as limos and Escalades drop off more and more people into the large estate. It’s pouring with elegant piano music, and the large window in the middle of their home reveals a century-old chandelier, crystals beaming and winking against the hundreds of guests that lie underneath. 

The rest of the way driving was almost painfully fast. After that awkward wave of emotion, neither of you said anything. Well, you didn’t at least. Jungkook attempted to clear the air by singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio, but it only further attracted you because to your chagrin—Jungkook’s a pretty good singer. 

The estate isn’t in Seoul persay, it’s a sizable plot of land that definitely comes from old money. It’s decked up like the North Pole, lit up and tiny crystal lines dotting the expanse of the rooftops. The snow certainly adds to it, and many guests are outside taking pictures of the picture-perfect holiday show. The blizzard has finally subsided, leaving a clean blanket of snow across their yard.

You scoff to yourself. What they find to be a Christmas miracle only derailed yours. 

Jungkook stares at you while you send a quick text to Jimin. You tell him he needs to come fast, because you don’t want his parents to see you all sweaty and dressed like you’ve been traveling for hours. 

“Oh, uh,” you finally take a look at him, and you immediately regret it because you’re getting sucked into his gaze, “I think you put my bag in the trunk?” 

“Right,” he shakes his head, “follow me.” 

He tilts his head down when he’s outside, as if the snow’s going to start back up and drown him. Your thumb scratches the ring on your finger as you hop out of the van, effectively popping the bubble the two of you have been sealed in for the better half of the evening. Is this going to be it? Is the last you’ll see of Jeon Jungkook? 

All those thoughts evaporate when Jungkook opens the trunk. 

There’s no drugs. 

In fact, you don’t even know what to think. The van is absolutely filled, wall-to-wall art supplies and canvas carefully lined up like Tetris blocks to avoid damage. The floor of the van seems to receive the brunt of the messes, and you catch recent paint stains and spray cans stacked to the side. It explains the smell. 

There’s some clear cases in a corner, protecting completed prints that are already framed. Your eyes cling to a vibrant hyacinth, coral and satin blue petals bunching in the middle of a black background. It’s absolutely gorgeous, if it wasn’t for all the paint lying around, you’d think it’s real. 

Jungkook’s an artist. 

“Holy shit, I thought you were a drug dealer,” you blurt, and you want to smack yourself in the face. 

 “Excuse me?” Jungkook jerks his head towards you, “did you think I was a drug dealer this whole time?” 

“N-no,” you frown petulantly, letting Jungkook loop your arms through the straps of your backpack. “Maybe. You were very shady.” 

He laughs, a genuine laugh. It confuses you, the way he tucks his hands in his pockets and bends his back over to look up at you through his dark lashes. It’s like nothing’s wrong, like he’s trying to erase the past eight hours and leave with no qualms. You don’t know if that comforts you or terrifies you. 

“So, you were willing to let a potentially dangerous man be your travel partner for eight hours so you can make it to your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook’s eyes flicker over to the front door, “you must really love him.” 

“I do,” you say the phrase like it’s second nature. Rehearsed. Practiced. 

“Merry Christmas,” Jungkook pulls out his hand, and you don’t hesitate to grasp it. 

Liquid heat sparks through your skin, one that tingles from where his large palm encases yours, all the way to your heart. 

“Merry Christmas,” you echo, and your feet feel like lead as you back away from him. 

Jungkook waits until you go inside the house, even though the valet is side eyeing him and mentally telling him to leave already. Turning your back to him is rough, like you’re without snowshoes and you’re trudging through snow. 

The goodbye feels rushed. Your heart is cold and heavy. Unfortunately, by the time you realize you haven’t paid Jungkook for his bus ticket and the ride, it’s too late. Jimin has already pulled you in his awaiting arms, and Jungkook has peeled out of the driveway. 

“You look awful,” Jimin coddles you, dusting the invisible dirt off your jacket. You know Jimin means well by the statement, but you can’t help but feel a little unsupported by his words. You did all you could to make it to Jimin in time for this party full of faceless, nameless people. And yet, Jimin inadvertently manages to put you down for finally making it. 

The hallway is relatively empty, save for one staff member who cleans the wet linoleum floors whenever someone with snow steps in. You can easily make out where the heart of the party is, the tinkly holiday music playing from the speakers, along with all the bodies huddled by the extra large Christmas tree that is brimming with presents. 

You do feel like a wet noodle, in comparison to Jimin and Namjoon’s complementary pinstripe suits. Jimin’s deep burgundy suit pops in the endless hallway of marble and light wood as he quickly leads you upstairs to a spare room for you to change. Namjoon’s more muted grey still looks stunning on him, cutting his tall figure nicely. You think it’s cute that Jimin made an effort to match with his assistant, not making him feel out of place in this big party. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Namjoon interjects softly, gesturing to the garment bag hanging on the boudoir, “I picked out your dress.” 

“I’m sure whatever you bought is beautiful,” you assure softly, stepping fully into the room. It’s an extra bedroom, you’re assuming it might be yours. 

“We’ll give you some time to freshen up and get ready,” Jimin squeezes your arm, a touch you can barely feel due to the puffiness of your down jacket. It’s just an awkward escape of air to you, a sssttt that you catch Namjoon hiding his smile for, “we’ll walk around a bit and bring you some food.” 

“I want cupcakes,” you blurt impulsively, and the two of them laugh on their way out the door. 

Once you’re finally alone, you strip yourself bare. Jacket, shirt, socks, underwear. You make quick work of taking a hot, damp towel to wash your arms and legs, scrubbing your face of any oil and dirt from the day. You wrap yourself in an indulgent fluffy robe, the plush material comforting you as you flop on the bed. 

It’s been a day. 

You take a five minute cat nap, the weight of the day taking its toll on you. When you finally flutter your eyes open however, you see him. 

It’s not exactly him, it’s his art. It’s mounted right atop the headboard, a large blown up painting of a tiger lily. The orange and gold flecks flicker and go perfectly with the decor of the room. The piece is longing, aching for you to go back to two hours ago when you could’ve phrased your words better, balm the situation into something to salvage. This must be a sign, you think. Upon closer look, you see the signature Jeon JK etched in silver in the corner. Who knew the Parks were buying Jeon Jungkook’s work, the world is smaller than you’d originally thought. 

It ignites you. You rip the zipper of the garment bag, pulling on the slinky glittery gold dress Namjoon picked out for you. It’s gorgeous, and you don’t know how he managed to find your proportions, but you figure an assistant of his caliber has access to many things. You don’t have much time, so you slap on some light makeup and swipe some highlights across your eyes. By the time Jimin returns, you’re pulling your hair up and out of your face. 

Jimin walks to the bed with a pretty red velvet cupcake, “You look beautiful,” he says immediately, and you follow to sit with him at the foot of the bed. 

You don’t hesitate to grab the cupcake from his tea plate, nearly shoving it in your mouth. You definitely need a rush, something to curb you over for the plans you have tonight. “Sugar sugar,” you chant like a mantra, and you don’t care that your lipgloss is smudged and crumbs cling to your cheeks. 

Jimin just rubs circles onto your thigh, letting you eat and relax. He knows you’re not a fan of these kinds of parties, preferring to wallflower it, preferably at  a wall closest to the buffet. His touch is comforting, and you chew slower in order to prolong the inevitable. It takes a beat for you to finish your cupcake. 

“I need to talk to you,” the two of you blurt at the same time, and you point and giggle at each other like you’re still five year olds tinkering in the sandbox. 

Jimin pouts, “Can I go first? Mine’s kind of important.” 

“Mine’s also really important,” you don’t mean to invalidate Jimin, but you really need to get this out. “I might explode if I don’t say this now.” 

The blonde scrunches his nose, obviously weak to your unusual distress, “I guess I wouldn’t want that.” 

You clutch his hand, the hand that holds the plain wedding band he picked out for himself two years ago. Your eyes flicker to how your ring kisses his, “Jimin. I love you, like really love you. I can’t imagine my life without you, you’ve been my best friend since we could crawl. But as I traveled down here, I realized that even though I love you, I think I’m not in love,” you wince at how cheesy that sounds, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re not good enough, but the whole trip down here made me realize I don’t think I can commit to this.” 

“Oh, thank fuck,” you gasp, watching relief wash over Jimin’s features. You’re not even done with your whole spiel and he’s already unbuttoning his blouse, “this makes what I’m about to say a whole lot easier.” 

“Jimin,” you trail off, squeezing his palm, “what do you mean?” 

“I mean, I think I’m in love.” 

Your jaw slackens slightly, seeing the sweat that lines Jimin’s slicked back hair. He must’ve been thinking about this all night, waiting for you to tell you this. Your chest aches, weighing in on all the sudden facts. “Who is it?” you ask. 

Jimin shrugs, “The man who does my taxes and makes sure I sleep at least seven hours a night.” 

“Namjoon,” you conclude, eyes moving to the sealed door. You think Namjoon is waiting out there right now, silently supporting you two as you go through this. Of course, Jimin’s parents would be livid if anything would tarnish his reputation. A broken engagement would be sticky to cover up, and Jimin falling for his assistant is a headline right for the books. 

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers, despite the room being vacant he feels the need to keep his words short, “You came all this way to hear this. But I guess we’re on the same page, huh?” His soft fingers make a beeline for your ring finger, removing the diamond band, “And by the way, I love you too. Which is why we’re going to come clean in the morning and work this out with my parents, together. I’m sorry if you felt obligated to follow me all this time just because our parents did.” 

“Hey, like you said, we’re in this together. Both in and out,” you chastise, pulling your engagement ring from his grasp and holding it to the light. “Can I keep this? Instead of an engagement band, it can be our best friend band. I’ll even get it re-sized so it can go on another finger.” 

Jimin pulls you into his arms, crushing you. The silky material of your dress bunches and rides, but you don’t care. The two of  you can’t help but be a little crybaby-ish about it, feeling much like your younger-selves when you had to pull each other out of trouble. 

The two of you walk out of the bedroom hand-in-hand, and Namjoon is leaning against the banister in the hallway, a soft smile melting on his tanned skin. 

“I’m so happy for you,” you gush, hugging Namjoon tightly. You’ve only known the man for a few months, but you can tell he’s taking care of Jimin and that’s enough for you. 

“I… really thought you’d be more upset.” Namjoon marvels, patting your back. 

Jimin interjects, “I think she’s found someone hotter than me.” 

“Impossible!” 

You could stay at this party, lay low until you and Jimin have to confront his parents in the morning. They suggest to get all the food they need and sneak out to the home theatre. The three of you hustle it down the stairs to another part of the house, in order for you to make your getaway and avoid Jimin’s family. 

“Hey,” you stop in front of another painting, pulling the two men to a stop. Your eyes lock on a framed droopy peony, tipped with pink dye. You realize you can’t stay here, not when someone’s home alone tonight. “Namjoon, I need you to locate someone for me.” 

Jungkook does not expect to see you at his front door. 

You’re stunning, and look as breathless as he feels. The liquid champagne number that hugs your frame does things to him, and he’s strangely attracted to the fact that you paired this expensive dress with your snow-drenched trainers. 

You showing up at the wee hours of the morning was the last thing Jungkook thought would happen. It’s nothing short of a holiday event, you look like you’ve just walked out of a gala and then ran a marathon to reach him. 

He thought when he said goodbye, it would be the last time you’d cross paths. At first, he was okay with that. After all, feelings come and go, and spontaneity only works a percentage of the time. Seeing you presently however, throws all those half-hearted concedings out the window. 

“Hi,” you finally say, drinking from the fact that you actually found him. 

“Hey,” Jungkook breathes, “you look, beautiful.” 

“Thanks,” you smile. 

“So, is this about you not paying me back for the ticket?” Jungkook suddenly feels guilty, having dipped out of Jimin’s manor once he saw him appear at the door. It was unrightful jealousy, and because of that he needed to drive away as fast as possible. “Because honestly, it was me messing with you. I really don’t need the money.” 

“I figured, from the fact that I had to take the elevator up to the penthouse of the building.” 

“So then why are you here?” Jungkook wobbles on the balls of his feet, unsure of what to do with himself. 

“My ex-fiancé is in love with someone else,” you lay your cards out just like that, and Jungkook’s unprepared to deal.  

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry—” 

“Let me finish,” you cut in gently, “my ex-fiancé is in love with someone else, and that’s okay. We’ve been best friends since we were little, and we want nothing but happiness for each other. And for me? Happiness is right in front of me.” 

You bite your lip, and Jungkook fights down the urge to run up and pull you into his arms. You must be so cold, running out without a jacket and rushing to his home. However, he lets you finish, and he holds himself down by clutching the door frame as casually as possible. 

“I also have a big, fat crush on you,” you say boldly, “and I had to tell you as soon as I could. It took a twenty-minute phone call and some serious leverage from Jimin’s company to figure out where you lived. That receptionist is definitely not letting me use my frequent flyer miles next flight.” 

“You harassed an airport receptionist just for me?” he smiles wanly, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m touched.” 

“You make me excited to try new things, to be spontaneous and do things for myself,” with every statement you take a step further, and soon enough you’re in his dimly lit apartment. The plush couch in his living room looks awfully warm and comfy, and the light music that plays from his speakers is soft and soothing. “So, let’s spend the holidays together and see where this goes. And go to your art gallery tomorrow, because I did research you on the drive and found out you had to rush here because of a big show.” 

“So you’re actually a stalker?” Jungkook teases, tugging you over to the couch. 

He takes the lead, plopping himself on the couch first and inviting you to sit next to him. You take a detour and plant your body atop of him, and with an ‘oof’ the two of you are sinking. 

“A stalker and a potential drug dealer does sound like a promising pair,” Jungkook jests, his hand palming the silky material of your ruched up ball gown. 

“I’m sorry,” you pout, wrapping your fingers around the long tresses of his hair, “can you please stop bringing that up? It was judgemental of me.” 

“I like when you’re judgemental,” he pokes your puppy-faced cheeks, ruddied with embarrassment. “I like picking fights with you and getting you all riled up.” 

“Will you rile me up now?” 

Sexy, he thinks. He figures a vixen has been hidden under you, one suppressed by a complicated engagement and many other factors he’d love to learn about in the near future. The situation at hand however, is far more pressing. Your body is finally warming up, and Jungkook tries to ignore the weight your body is causing, re-igniting an ache he felt hours ago when you two were squished against each other in the coach bus.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you declare, and you look a little frustrated that Jungkook is taking so long to process this information, “and I hope I take your breath away.” 

You taste like sugar and the softness that comes with the holidays. It’s tender and oh-so comforting, and Jungkook can’t help but squeeze your hips closer as your lips brush fervently against his. The feeling is both new and old, and Jungkook figures you’ve finally uncoiled a flame that you can no longer quell. 

Soon enough your kisses turn hungry, and Jungkook has to remind himself that you two have only known each other for a total of twelve hours, and he isn’t sure of what’s appropriate to jump to due to the speed of your relationship. Once he feels the first roll of your hips, a liquid heat that Jungkook can’t help but return back, he pulls away from your soft lips. Not too far, but a few centimeters apart so that Jungkook and you can catch your breath. 

“We should take this slow,” he starts, trying to make a reasonable impression now that you’re a guest at his home and finally settled from their long trip. “I really, really want to get to know you. And you’re so beautiful and I really do want to have sex but—” 

“Jungkook, I have not had sex with someone in two years,” you speak with a depraved tone, as if it’s been centuries since you’ve been touched. He can’t help but throw his head back and laugh, “a night full of sex sounds like the best last-minute present ever.” 

You bring his hand over to your core, the shiny glassy material of your gown doing nothing to hide the glimpses of pleasure you’re minutes away from experiencing. You whine desperately at the thought, and Jungkook’s a goner. 

“Well, I guess I’m about to pull a Christmas miracle,” he murmurs against your lips, ready to work his magic. 

[alltimefail-sims]

Brandi was left to raise two boys alone following her husband's suspicious pool ladder accident. With Dustin acting out, can Brandi teach young Beau to make the right choices in life?

Brandi Broke | 35 | Childish, Family Oriented, Foodie | Waitress Dustin Broke | 16 | Hot Headed, Loner | D Student Beau Broke | 12 | Art Lover | A Student, Private School Ricky Broke | 3 | Inquisitive | Daycare Menace

MORE INFO BELOW ↓

This is something I’ve been meaning to publish for weeks but with Christmas and all that... well, you guys know how it goes! But this is proof that I’m still alive, just very slow lmao.

When I got the Sims 4 I made the Brokes/Pleasants/Dreamers that very same day. I’m nostalgic for TS2, what can I say? But The Brokes were always one of my favorite families to play with back in the day because of the *drama*. I’ll probably post lookbooks at least for Brandi and Dustin... but I don’t have a set timeline so feel free to bug me if they aren’t posted soon.

Anyway... some info/headcanons about my Brokes that no one asked for:

Right out the gate let’s just address the elephant in the room: Brandi didn’t kill her husband!!! (I feel strongly about this.) She probably only got like $3,000.00 worth of insurance money after he died, if that. They weren’t wealthy and they weren’t anticipating Skip to die in his 30s... so there wasn’t really any emergency money or plans put in place. This obviously left Brandi not only heartbroken but in a really tough spot.

After Dustin was born, Skip bought land and built their home so they wouldn’t have to live with Brandi’s parents any more. The Brokes still live in the same little pink house all these years later even though they have outgrown it by a longshot and the house needs many, many repairs (they have no money to move anyway, unfortunately).

Brandi is a great cook, she just lacks formal training and time... so waitressing it is. Whatever pays the bills, ya know? I imagine that she gets up super early every morning and does the same routine, and she and Beau jump on the train from Willow Creek to Evergreen Harbor (where Beau’s nice charter school is and where Brandi works at a truck stop diner in the industrial part of town not too far away from Beau).

Dustin is such a pain in the ass and is always getting into trouble, whereas Beau is a literal angel and super hardworking. Maybe he’s aware of how much Dustin stresses their mom out and he wants to make up for that, or maybe he just wants an easier life for himself someday, but Brandi at least has *1* child who doesn’t give her gray hair prematurely.

Ricky is just a baby but he’s a daredevil by nature and suuuuuper curious. He keeps Brandi on her toes and scares his babysitter (their elderly neighbor Mrs. Hudgens) multiple times on a daily basis. He’s been kicked out of 4 daycares for being too rambunctious and too difficult for the staff.

Dustin could really benefit from going to counseling because that boy has never gotten over his father’s death. He’s just trying to get by, but he is the king of bad decisions (including but not limited to cheating on his gf Angela and making friends with local dealers... but that’s besides the point.)

“Islands in the Stream” by Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers is Skip and Brandi’s song; it was their first dance song at their wedding, and they used to dance to it all around the living room. (They listened to a lot of music/radio before they could afford one of those box TVs.)

[headheartbellarke]

HOME | Charlie Gillespie

Requested by anon:  "Hi! If request are open can you do a charlie imagine where him and the reader (she/her) met on a project a while back and have been friends for a while, but the reader kinda had a crappy home life so she gets overwhelmed by charlies family being so loving and perfect and she basically breaks down and feels like she doesn’t fit in and isn’t good enough for him? please and thank you so much, ur writing is amazing!!!"

PAIRING(s): Charlie Gillespie x fem! reader

WARNING(s): mentions of abuse, trauma, anxiety, angst, fluff

WORDS: 2,036

SUMMARY: charlie takes co-star and girlfriend y/n home for christmas but that leads to self doubt in her (im so bad at these) [note: this takes place in 2021]

    As Charlie pulls out the key from the ignition, I sigh, wringing my hands nervously. He unbuckles his seatbelt and faces me, giving me a bright, happy smile.

  “My family is so excited to meet you.” He says, reaching forward to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

  “What if they hate me?” I whisper.

  My boyfriend, Charlie, and I first met on the set of Charmed – we were both in the first episode, but I left it after that due to scheduling conflicts with my other show, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina. I had been a part of CAOS since its first episode – I played the role of Sabrina’s cousin, Sarah Spellman.

  Back then, we were just friends. After I left Charmed, we would text and call each other occasionally. Whenever we were in the same city, we would meet up – but that was hard considering we both had quite different lives. So, we didn’t think of each other as more than friends – sure I thought that he was attractive, but that’s it.

  But, in 2020, after CAOS was cancelled, I got a call from the casting director of Julie and The Phantoms: she was the one who had previously cast me in CAOS, and she believed that I’d be perfect for the role of Julie’s British cousin who joins her school after her parents relocate to LA – I also play Reggie’s love interest.

  I texted Charlie immediately after my manager finalized all the details for the new role. He had been excited and when shooting started in 2021, we were pretty inseparable.

  After a few weeks, I had developed a major crush on him ad the rest of the cast had also picked up on that. They were also convinced that Charlie liked me (which I didn’t believe at that time but later found out that it was, indeed, true) and they used to tease us about it all the time. Finally, a couple weeks before production ended, he asked me out on a date and it’s been really, really great so far.

  We’ve been dating for about nine months now and honestly, he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He’s my home – all my life I’ve always felt lost, but I feel like I truly belong with him.

  Now, he laughs. “Baby. I promise you – they already love you. My mother’s been bugging me to bring you home ever since we started dating, and you’ve already met Megan, and she loves you.”

  “If you say so.” I say, still not convinced.

  He grins and we get out of his car and face his childhood home. I take a deep breath, shaking off my nerves. He knocks three times on the front door, and it opens immediately after.

  A petite, blonde woman steps out, with a wide smile on her face. She opens her arms as Charlie yells, “Mamacita!”

  “Mon chéri. Ça fait trop longtemps!”

  “Je vous ai manqué!”

  I have absolutely no idea what they are saying, but the scene in front of me is so heart-warming. Charlie’s mother is genuinely happy to see her son – one can tell by the way she’s holding him, almost like he’s a little child. Charlie is quite a couple inches taller than her, but he’s nestled his face into her shoulder.

  I can’t stop a grin from breaking out on my face. It’s honestly rather lovely. But I also feel a slight pang in my heart knowing that no one ever greets me like this when I go home.

  They separate from each other and she squeezes his shoulders, looking at him with so much love that I have to look away. I have never seen a mother look at their child like that, with such intense love. That’s dumb, I know. Mothers are supposed to love their children. But all my mother ever looks at me with is disappointment, anger, disgust, and – you get it.

  She notices me next and claps her hands. “You must be Y/N!”

  “Hi, Mrs. Gillespie. It’s so nice to meet you!” I extend a hand toward her.

  “Aw, come here! You’re gorgeous.”

  She pulls me in for a hug too, and for a moment I’m engulfed by the smell of white musk and the feeling of warmth.

  We pull apart and I smile at her, genuinely. All my anxiety has washed away.

  “My son is always talking about you, about how pretty you are and –”

  “Let’s go inside!” Charlie quickly cuts her off, eyes widened as I laugh.

  “But I wanna know what he says!”

  Mrs Gillespie winks at me as Charlie turns scarlet. “I’ll tell you when he’s gone.”

***

    Another roar of laughter erupts around the dinner table.

  Honestly, I’ve never seen a family like this – a family so connected, so loving. All of Charlie’s siblings – from his three older brothers to his little sister are here for Christmas Eve, and all of them are teasing each other, telling childhood stories, and just having the best time. I was, too. That was until I suddenly realized how I don’t fit in here.

  Everyone here grew up completely different than I did. When I was young, about two years old – my dad left my mom and I for another woman. I haven’t seen him since – although, he sends me a postcard and some money on holidays and birthdays. He’s travelling around the world with his new wife and is apparently ‘happier than he’s ever been.’

  The reason he left is because kids ‘freak’ him out and he isn’t ‘ready’ for that kind of responsibility. I mean, it wasn’t like he was fifteen when he had me: he was twenty-seven, and already married to my mother for about two years then.

  Naturally, my mother blames me for her divorce. I was born out of an accidental pregnancy, so my mother made sure to remind me every day that I was unwanted, and my birth was what ‘pushed’ him to leave us. Every single day, my mother told me that I shouldn’t have been born, that I was a mistake, that I was worthless, unlovable and so, so many more horrible things. She used to drink like crazy, and if I accidentally faced her in that state, she would sometimes hit me.

  Years and years of abuse and all that childhood trauma led me to develop a fear of abandonment, trust issues, intimacy issues, anxiety, and depression. Throughout school, I had been closed off, unable to form relationships and friendships with other people. I had feared anything and everything – I couldn’t even maintain eye contact with people.

  Of course, when I auditioned for CAOS and moved away to LA, away from that toxic environment, I got help and turned my life around. (My mother was incredibly happy to see me go since she had married another guy and now has a family with him – so I was the only thing left that reminded her of my father.) I learnt to accept, prioritize, and love myself – but I’m still working on that, of course.

  But, I know, deep down, no matter how well I am, or how happy I am – there will always be a part of me that’s broken. I’ve grown to accept that, accept the fact that I’ll always carry the trauma with me.

  But Charlie doesn’t. He’s lived a good life, and he deserves someone who can give him their everything – and that’s not me.

  As much as I hate to say it, I’m not good enough for him.

  He senses a change in my demeanour and squeezes my hand under the table. I give him a weak smile.

***

    “Y/N/N, what’s wrong?”

  I look up at my boyfriend. He has a look of concern on his face as he takes a seat next to me on the couch.

  I sigh into the quiet. Everyone has fallen asleep, except Charlie and I – we are seated in his living room in front of the fireplace.

  “Nothing. I’m just really tired.”

  “That’s not true, Y/N. You were fine throughout dinner – oh my god, it’s the ice cream, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “The pistachio ice cream that Maman made. It was weirdly bitter, eh? It’s okay, you can tell me.”

  I purse my lips. “No, Charlie. The ice cream was great.”

  “Are you sure? You’ve been down since desert.”

  “It’s not the ice cream, babe.”

  “Okay, then, what is it?”

  He looks at me expectantly, and I can sense that he’s feeling anxious.

  “I just – I realized that I don’t fit in.”

  He furrows his brows, but before he can say anything, I start speaking again. “Charlie, you have such a loving and perfect family. And you know how I grew up. What I went through. So, you know that I’m not used to this. I’m not – I’ve never seen love like this in a family, you know. And I don’t fit in here! While your mother was being so nice to me, I kept wondering when she’s going to scream at me. Or when your father was genuinely interested in me, I kept thinking that maybe he’s trying to find a way to get rid of me. It’s just – it’s just the way I grew up, and I’ll always be like this, Char. Your family is so nice, and it shocks me, honestly. And I think that maybe it’s better if you date someone who grew up the way you did, someone who’s like you. Because I have been broken my whole life, and I don’t think that I can give you everything that you need. I don’t think I’m good enough for you. You’re the best person that I’ve ever met, and I think you should be with someone who’s worthy of you.”

  I whisper the last part, and feel a teardrop fall into the space between my collarbones. I look down because I’m too afraid of what he might say.

  I hear him breathe out heavily and I feel him take my hands in his.

  “Don’t you ever say that.”

  “But it’s true –”

  “Y/N. Don’t you dare doubt yourself. You are good enough. No, you’re perfect. You’re the strongest woman I know. I completely understand why you feel what you’re feeling right now.”

  He scoots closer to me and cups my cheeks in his hands. “And it’s okay. It’s okay to feel that way. It’s okay to feel shocked. That doesn’t make you a bad person, nor does it make you not good enough. In fact, it makes all the stronger – you went through so much as a kid, and still, you have space in your heart for me. You know, I never doubt the fact that you love me, ever. Because you always make me feel special, make me feel good about myself and always make sure that I’m happy. You always go out of your way to take care of me, and you always make me feel at home. I don’t want anyone other than you. I love you so much and I never, ever wanna lose you.”

  I think I’m fully crying now, as Charlie continues, “It’s okay to feel that way. Take your time. But I’m never leaving you. You’re my person, and you’ll always fit in with me, baby. Always.”

  “Charlie…”

  I look at him properly, and I can see the pain in his eyes as a tear traces along the curve of his cheek. He sniffs, saying, “I’m sorry. I just can’t imagine being with anyone other than you.”

  “Why are you so good to me?” I whisper, my throat still tight from the emotions.

  “Because you deserve someone good, and I can only hope that I’m good for you.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his shoulder as a sob escapes my body. “I’m so sorry, baby. So, so sorry.” I keep whispering that, while he rubs my back, saying ‘it’s okay.’

  “I love you so much, Charlie. Honestly, thanks for being so good to me. You have no idea what you mean to me.”

  I can feel him smile as he says, “I think I have a pretty good idea, yeah.”

***

jatp requests are open <3

[chatonne-rousse]

Great Minds (and Kind Hearts) Think Alike

Written as a gift for my sweet friend @sketchy-panda to celebrate a bunch of happy things in her life, as well as just because she's awesome. Inspired by this adorable piece of her art.

During a rooftop discussion about superhero merch while relaxing after patrol, Ladybug and Chat Noir each decide to share their favorite items with their partner. What results is an impromptu gift exchange that just might open the door to a whole lot more.

Read it on Ao3 here.

"My parents put us on the Christmas tree last year, Kitty! I had to see myself in the living room every day."

He bumps her shoulder with his. "And me, apparently."

"Yes, but your ornament was cute!" She flails her arms comically and he tries not to focus too much on the fact that she called his likeness cute. "Mine didn't even look like me."

"Would you have liked it better if it had?"

"That's not what I..." Ladybug scowls, but there's no real heat in her expression or her voice. "It was just weird."

"No, the baby onesie that I saw on an actual baby that said 'Meow, My Lady' was weird," Chat mutters. "I didn't even know any civilians had ever heard me say that."

Ladybug's surprised laughter rings out across the rooftop they're perched on tonight, loud enough to be heard from any nearby open window until she muffles the sound with her hand over her mouth. "And whose fault is that, you tomcat?" she asks through her remaining giggles.

He tries to pout, but her laughter is contagious and his smile breaks through. He chooses to ignore the jab at his vain attempts at flirting. Wooing is difficult business.

"The baby was cute, though. I had to take a picture with him."

"You had to?"

He shrugs. "That's a very small request, Bugaboo. I've encountered way worse. A few pictures? I don't mind."

She stares at him for a long moment, something unreadable in her gaze, before looking back over the horizon. "Have you ever bought any Chat Noir merch? You strike me as the kind of guy to have a bookshelf full of action figures."

He is the kind of guy to have a bookshelf full of action figures, and he definitely does, but he thinks of the drawer in his closet that's full of red and black, reminders of his beloved partner. There are far fewer items in black and green.

"I...have a few things. The action figures of us are really cool, actually. Didn't you always want to be immortalized in plastic as a kid?"

"Can't say I did, Minou." She bumps his shoulder this time. "I'll bet you had your supersuit all planned in your head already, didn't you?"

Not quite, but only because he never imagined himself as a cat-themed superhero. He has no intention of ever divulging the fact that his first real transformation sequence was anything but random. That secret is between him and Plagg, and he's not telling. Plagg probably will, but that's a problem for future Adrien.

She laughs again. "I'll take your silence as a 'yes'."

"I'll have you know, My Lady, that I have a carefully curated display of collectibles that are very valuable. And no, this—" he gestures from his cat ears to his steel toes, "was all spontaneous. Can't help it if I've got cat class and I've got cat style."

Ladybug shoots him a deadpan look that dissolves into giggles once more when he wiggles his eyebrows.

Success. He loves to hear his partner laugh, loves to make to his partner laugh. These are moments he wouldn't trade for the world.

"Well," she finally says after her laugher subsides, "the Chat Noir doll I saw in the market did not have cat style, so I made my own."

"Really?" His voice is soft with wonder.

"Yep! And a Ladybug doll, too." She casts him a sidelong grin. "They're a duo, you know. I couldn't have Chat without his Lady, could I?"

He wills himself not to cry. It takes three blinks and one shaky breath before he can respond. "You made them? Yourself?"

"Sure. It's not hard. All it takes is felt and thread and buttons for eyes. They're simple, but—" she shrugs, "I think they're pretty cute."

"Wow," he breathes. "You really are amazing, Bugaboo. They sound incredible."

His Lady seems to amaze him anew with each revelation she allows. He could count on one hand the things he knows about her, really knows, and those facts are tucked away and treasured. She's a whiz at video games. She babysits. She has a loving family. She listens to Jagged Stone. She loves animals.

"Thank you, Minou," she says softly, as the barest hint of a blush spreads to her cheeks beneath her mask.

His heart beats a little faster. His tongue feels heavier. He falls just a tiny bit more in love with her.

Ladybug fills the silence again. "Better than mass-produced action figures, for sure. More cuddle-able!"

That startles a laugh from him. "Is that a word?"

"It is now." She shrugs, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

"I'm telling you, Bug, those action figures are cool. I can't believe you don't have a set."

"Guess I need to go shopping."

"Yup," he responds with a decisive nod.

When they make eye contact, it sets off another giggle fit, Ladybug's shoulders shaking with mirth and Chat having to wipe the tears from his eyes. It's not even that funny, but it doesn't have to be.

Paris is quiet tonight, and his heart is light as he relaxes against the rooftop and laughs with his best friend.

*****

Four days later, when they meet up for patrol again, Chat Noir is surprised when his partner joins him carrying a gift-wrapped box. Especially since he himself is hiding a gift bag behind his back.

He sweeps into a bow as she approaches, straightening with an exaggerated wink. "Something for me-ow?"

Her expression morphs into one of longsuffering annoyance. "Well, it was, but I'm reconsidering."

"You wouldn't!" He gasps, one hand clutching his chest over his heart.

Her lips twitch into the beginning of a smile and soon the stillness of the nighttime rooftop is broken by their shared laughter again.

"For you, Chaton," she finally says with a grin, holding out the box.

He produces the gift bag from behind his back and presents it to her, the tissue paper fluttering in the night air. Her eyes widen with delight, and his heart sings.

The handoff is a quiet affair, a hushed silence of surprise settling over the moment as they sit cross-legged, facing each other.

Even the box is beautiful, he notes, wrapped in shiny black paper and adorned by a giant bow of vivid green with black paw prints. He knows, of course, what's in the bag she's holding in her hands. Could this box contain...? He doesn't dare to dream.

He looks up and nods at the bag. "Go ahead, Bug."

The tissue paper rustles as she removes it, trapping it under her foot to keep it from drifting away on the breeze. She takes one look inside, sees the label on the top of the box within, and bursts into laughter. "You didn't!"

Chat grins. "I did."

She pulls out the box to take a closer look. There are several options when it comes to Ladybug and Chat Noir collectible figurines, but this one is his particular favorite. They're sold separately, but he's always been partial to the 1st Anniversary Special Partners Edition, boxed together as a pair and made to wield his baton in his left hand and her yo-yo in her right, leaving them free to hold hands in the middle. Which the figurines' hands are molded to do, and how they're currently posed in the box. They can also stand alone, but there's just something special about the fact that joined hands are an option.

"Okay, Kitty, you were right. They really are cool." She points at the Ladybug figure. "This looks so much better than that Christmas ornament!" Squinting at the box to examine his figurine, she suddenly snorts a laugh. "Your hair looks like a bunch of bananas!"

"Hey!" He pouts, but he knows she's right. When he bought his own set last year, Plagg had made the same observation and laughed so hard he nearly choked on his cheese. He then proceeded to call him Bananoir for days, until Adrien threatened him with a month of Velveeta. The ribbing didn't really bother him that much - honestly, he had to concede the resemblance - because it was an action figure...of himself. No matter how many were produced, that fact would never not be incredible, and no amount of banana hair or cat god snark could diminish his excitement.

"Oh, Chaton, I'm just teasing. I love them." She beams at him, cradling the box with both hands. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, LB. I just...I thought it would be fun."

"Great minds think alike, it seems. Your turn!"

He glances down at the box in his lap and back at his partner. Her smile is bright, but her eyes betray a nervous anticipation.

"Bug, you know I'm going to love whatever this is, right?"

"I hope so. I made them myself."

His heart in his throat, he carefully slips the ribbon from the box and slices the paper with his claws. He can barely breathe as he lifts the lid.

His hunch (his dream) is confirmed when he finally sees the contents of the box. Nestled in a bed of tissue paper, side by side, are two handmade plush dolls, opposite in configuration to the action figures but with their soft little hands touching in the center just the same. Tears spring to his eyes unbidden, and he wipes them away quickly, partially out of embarrassment but mostly because he wants to see every detail with clarity.

The seams are pristine, the limbs symmetrical; the dolls are simple, but crafted with a skilled, sure hand. He picks up the Ladybug doll first, lifting it reverently from the box. Red felt with carefully-painted black spots form the doll's body, and her little black button eyes gaze up at him from a matching spotted mask. A sweet smile is the only other adornment on her face, but the doll is perfect without anything else. This is his beloved partner, created by his beloved partner herself. That alone is perfection to him.

He returns the Ladybug doll to the box and shifts his attention to his own likeness, resolutely ignoring the lump in his throat.

Equal in craftsmanship, the felt Chat Noir in his hands smiles the same sweet smile and looks at him with shiny button eyes from a black domino mask. Perched on his blond felt hair are two black cat ears, and a real bell is sewn at his neck. He gives the doll a gentle shake and the golden bell rings with a jaunty jingle. It's adorable.

Chat Noir is helpless to the grin that lights his face, looking up from the doll to his partner just in time to see that same joy reflected back in her own dawning smile. Warmth suffuses his chest, elation and love and an overwhelming gratefulness bursting firework-bright and making his breath catch.

He has never received such a heartfelt gift in his life. This eclipses the fine blue cashmere scarf his father gave him on his fourteenth birthday, folded in his closet and placed where he can see it every day. It's a treasure to him, and it always will be. But this, handmade just for him with obvious care by the person he loves most in the world? Nothing could come close.

"I don't know what to say, LB," he begins once he can finally speak, "They're...they're amazing. Adorable. Perfect." He takes a deep breath. "I'm fumbling this, but...thank you isn't enough."

Ladybug reaches out to place her hand on his knee. Even through two supersuits, the contact sends a shiver up his spine. Her expression is one of warm relief, clearly pleased with his reaction. "Thank you is more than enough, Kitty. It was nothing."

"Nothing?" he splutters. "These are far from nothing!"

"Oh, Minou," she laughs. "I meant that it was my pleasure. It wasn't difficult, but even if it was, you're worth it."

Do. Not. Cry. He thinks. He's been fighting tears since she handed him the box. Once he gets home, he's absolutely going to give in and sob while clutching them to his chest. He's man enough to admit that...to himself.

He takes several deep breaths and swallows against the lump in his throat as he arranges the dolls back in their tissue paper nest, making sure their hands are touching before replacing the lid on the box.

"Thank you, Ladybug," he says softly. "I love them. Us."

She pats the box still held on her lap. "And I love this version of us, too. Thank you for making sure I have the coolest action figures in Paris." After placing the box and the tissue paper back inside the gift bag, Ladybug stands and offers her hand to Chat to help him up. "Now, let's go stow these treasures and patrol. Last one to Sacre-Cœur has to buy the other an ice cream cone."

Still clutching the gift box under one arm, he watches her throw out her yo-yo to snag a distant chimney before she zips off with a giggle. He grins, shakes his head, and reaches behind him for his baton.

"That's my bug," he murmurs to himself, before setting off for home to secure the gift safely.

In a few minutes he'll rejoin his partner in a merry chase across the rooftops. He hopes the night remains quiet.

Chat Noir can't wait to buy ice cream for his Lady.

[irondad-creator-awards]

Nominations So Far (Updated)

I wasn’t going to update the form or list until nominations had closed, but I realized that was unfair to those nominated as their stories would not be in the collection. This is not quite complete, as there were a few more submissions in the night, but this is as fas as I’ve got over the last two days.

NOTE: Some creators have asked to not be inciuded in the awards, so if you nominated someone that’s not made the list, that’s why.

1. THE ONE THAT MADE YOU GASP! — A story which had a plot twist you didn’t see coming. Something that caught you so off guard that you had to stop a minute and take a breath before devouring the rest. What’s the story for you?

A Beautiful Lie by RayRox360

A Peter Parker Problem by Spagbol99

Chaotic Peter Parker by Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So

Cycle Through by Ambivalentangst

Ever In Your Favor by Iron_Spider

Irondad Ficlets by Ironxprince

Like Father, Like Son by An_Odd_Idea

Love Leaves A Memory No-One Can Steal by Ironmum

More Peril In Thine Eye  by Iron_Spider

No Longer In Service by Starryknight09

Proof Of Concept by Flurrbee

Serenity by Jolinarjackson

Spidey Tot by Kevy_Grayce

Stab Me In The Back (I'll Catch You From Behind) by Lansfics7

Stop, Look, Listen by Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror

The Case of The Sinister Spider by ironfamjam

Unforeseen Circumstances by JLMonroe1234

      2. THE MULTI-CHAPTER YOU COULDN’T PUT DOWN — A story which kept you up all night or calling in sick for work so you were free to read. Who’s the culprit?

  A Beautiful Lie by Rayrox360

A Parent Apparent by Happyaspie

A Peter Parker Problem by Spagbol99

A Sailor Went To Sea by by Yellowdistress

Acolyte by Macabre

Air I Breathe by Heartofcathedrals

All The Devils Are Here by Yellowdistress

And You’ll Blow Us All Away by Losingmymindtonight

Astronomy In Reverse by Pansley

Breathe, Then Repeat, by Thesecretuchiha

Come My Darling, Homeward Bound by Iamirondad

Ever In Your Favor by Iron—Spider

Every Beautiful Lie (Always Has An Ugly Truth by Da_Moose

Five Times Tony And Peter Chaotically Cleaned by Ironmum

Free Like A Broken Heart by Notapartytrick

I Will Carry You (Always) by Thestarvingwriter

Identity Crisis by Kitcat992

If They All Knew About You by Mshermia

In Unlikely Places by Looneylizzie

Irondad Ficlets by Ironxprince

More Peril In Thine Eye by Iron—Spider

Mr. Parker Declined To Commentby Apisdn

Pain Will Always Come Back To Haunt You by Kevy_Grayce

Permanence by Theexhaustedalchemist

Petey And The Hermit by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Pieces Of Echoes by Geekymoviemom

Proof Spiderman Loves Clickbait         by Mauvera

Rise From The Ashes; Just To See You Again by Mintstream

Sins Of The Fathers by Geekymoviemom

Spider-Man: Avengers (And Midtown High) React by Gayplums

Stop, Look, Listen by Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror

The Lost And Forgotten by Lizcraz

The Rattle Of Their Hearts by Iron_Spider

Turn Back The Clock (And I'll Try Again In The Morning) by Madasthesea

We Accept The Love We Think We Deserve by Polaroid15

We Will Foresee Obstacles by Blackwatchandromeda (Avenris)

          3. THE ONE-SHOT THAT THAT HAD YOU HOOKED — Some writers can cram more greatness into less words than a 100k monster. What’s the one-shot that did it for you?

  5 Times Peter Sleepwalked And The 1 Time He Pretended He Did by Losingmymindtonight

A Little Gray Area (Where I Can Keep You Safe) by Divineprojectzero

Blessed Be The Boys Time Can’t Capture by Killerqueenwrites

Countless Ways To Say I Love You            by Hopeless_Hope

Familiar Faces by Happyaspie

First Wednesday Of March by The Case Of The Missing Museum Bea-Storer

Fitting In (Tiny Spaces) by Aloneintherain

For Good by Madelinedear

I Can Hold The Weight Of Worlds (If That's What You Need) by Bluesweatshirt

I Did It All For You (So I Can’t Lose You Now) by Another_Introvert

I Just Wanted To Protect You by Sunflowerspideyy

I Promise I'll Do Better by 221broadwayiron

I Promise You Kid, You're Safe Now by Bstarship

I Will Soften Every Edge by Losingmymindtonight

In My Heart There Was A Kind Of Fighting by Iron_Spider

New Dream by Writerllofllworlds

Petey And The Hermit by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Place In Your Heart by Potrix

Quaranteens by Blueh

Someone To Want Me by Fritokays

Something Here Will Eventually Have To Explode by Madasthesea

The Primary Reason Tony Stark Would Throw Down With An Anti-Vaxxer In The Street by Caraminha

To Be Like You by Polaroid15

What You're Feeling Is Probably Normal by Finny3120

    4. THE BEST THINGS COME IN SMALL PACKAGES — A drabble (under 1k) can pack in all the goodness that you need in a coffee break read. What’s that story for you?

  Buttering Me Up by Iron_Spider

Cuddle Bug by Marvelous_Writer

Food At Home by Aimaim94

I Feel A Filth In My Bones (Wash Off My Hands Til It's Gone) by Madasthesea

Insomniacs In The Dark by Littlemissagrifina

Irondad Cuddles by Lilacsoulw

Let The Mind Games Begin by Ironmum

Of Christmas Lights And Car Chases by Marvelous_Writer

Of Masks And Memories by Littlemissagrafina

Quentin Knows Best by Undercover_Royalty

S.O.S. (Somehow Obtained Son) by Madasthesea

  5. THE BIODAD THAT TOUCHED YOUR HEART — Some of the greatest stories flip canon and make Tony Peter’s biological father. Be it baby Peter taking his first steps or Tony dealing with the fact his son is following in his superhero footsteps as Spider-Man, which is the one you loved most of all?

  A Gift Of Blood by Theeclecticsoul

An Abstract Concept by Iron-Spider

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Built From Scraps by  Peter Stank

Happy Birthday - And Merry Christmas   Thequeenofwhump

Happy Hogan Never Forgets A Face by Jen27ny

Hardest Lessons (Softest Results) by Mainstreamelectricalparade

I Love You Mother Than Anything by Iron_Spider

If They Knew All About You by Mshermia

My Little Bambino by Maicaly

My Little Bambino by Maicaly

Return To Me, The One I Love So Endlessly by Superherotiger

Slow Down, Start Again From The Beginning by Cassiecasyl

So Many Things Left To Say (Series) by Sarcasmismyweapon

Sound Logic by Aytheria

Spiderson by Emily_F6

Stars, Hide Your Fires by Yellowdistress.

The Less Than Secret Life by Yellowdistress

The One Where Peter Is Related To Tony by Marvel_Cinematic_Universe_Fan

The Ties That Bind Us by Winterturtle

They Say Boys Don't Cry (But Your Dad Has Shed A Lot Of Tears) by Tempestaurora

What We Are (Series)  by Yellowdistress

What’s In A Name? by Geekymoviemom

    6. THE ONE WITH THE FIELD TRIP — The field trip trope is one of the most popular in the fandom. What’s the story that you think pulls all the elements together to make it great?

  A Different Take by Cyberwolfwrites

Academic Commitment by Underoosstark

Constant Internal [Spider] Screaming: Semi-Connected Scenes From A Graduating Senior’s Life by Isadancurtisproduction

Everyday Superhero by Stoneage_Woman

Field Trip by Inkinmyheartandonthepage

Field Trip Flip by  Happyaspie

From Your Perspective, The World Is Flat by Blueh

I Don’t Want To Talk About It Anymore by Bees_And_Wasps

It's Above My Clearance Level by Tsk

Living With Superheros? Not Cool by Groot_Is_God

Mr Stark Enough For You? (Another Field Trip Fic Bcs We Dont Have Enough) by Livinei

Neon Liar (Hiding In Plain Sight) by Isadancurtisproduction

No Reason To Go by Pokegeek151

One Fall Weekend by Marvelous_Writer

Tower Of Donuts And Doubts by Platinumdollz

Who Is He? by Velarisstars

          7. THE TIME AFTER TIME ONE — There’s some great time travel stories out there, but which is your favorite?

  Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Breathe, Then Repeat by Thesecretuchiha

Every Beautiful Lie (Always Has An Ugly Truth) by Da_Moose

Hero by Lady_Oneder

I Have Time by Peterparkr

It’s Me, Remember? by Nanixerka

Oh, Take Me Back To The Start by Theregularwriter

Peter And Morgan's 40-Year-Long-Day by Thismarvelouslife

The End Is Just A New Beginning              by Tytach

The Other Mr. Stark by Jelly_Pies

The Time Traveler’s Mentor by Iamirondad

Turn Back The Clock (And I'll Try Again In The Morning) by Madasthesea

We Will Foresee Obstacles  by Blackwatchandromeda (Avenris)

Whatever It Takes by Starryknight09

        8. THE ONE WITH ALL THE OWIES — Another massively popular Irondad trope is hurt/comfort, and there’s some amazing stuff out there. Which is the one that you love most of all?

  A Beautiful Lie by Rayrox360

A Different Take by Cyberwolfwrites

A Peter Parker Problem by Spagbol99

A Scare In The Stark Household by Marvelous_Writer

Air I Breathe by Heartofcathedrals

Atlas by Polaroid15

Be Weak by Fluencca

Broken by My Own Hand (Put Back Together by Yours) by Gwenoakley

Built From Scraps by Peterstank

But What Is Grief? by Odd_1

Cycle Through by Ambivalentangst

Cycle Through by Ambivalentangst

Danger Pizza by Alice_In_Ink

Darkness Will Be Rewritten by Marveal

Dude, Do These Tacos Taste Funny To You? by First_Page

Five Times Peter Said "Sorry" To Tony Stark by Agentnerd

Follow The North Star Home by Fallingforbees

Foolish, Fragile Spine by Plnkblue

Held On As Tightly As You Held On To Me by Itsreallylaterightnow & Killerqueenwrites

Held On As Tightly As You Held On To Me by Itsreallylaterightnow & Killerqueenwrites

Lazarus, Come Forth by by Iron_Spider

More Peril In Thine Eye by Iron—Spider

Of Flying And Falling by Polaroid15

Of Flying And Falling by Polaroid15

Outnumbered by Heartofcathedrals

Peaches by Peterparkr

Peppermint Allergy by Carpediem369

Peter's Ghost And One (1) Obnoxious Orange Stone by Bean_Reads_Fanic

Project Pride by Thesleepingowl

Seeing Without Sound by Astronomical_Alien

Shelter by Unluckyolive

Sometimes It’s Easier To Just Swim Down by Mjscorner

Stab Me In The Back (I'll Catch You From Behind) by Lansfics7

Stab Me In The Back (I'll Catch You From Behind) by Lansfics7

Statistically Speaking by Foolscapper

Stop, Look, Listen by Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror

Stuck by Jelly-Pies

Stuck by Jelly-Pies

The Adventures Of Spidy-Son And Iron-Dad (Series) by Eva7673

The Past Is Knocking On My Door by Maicaly

The Room Where It Happens by Notapartytrick

The Third Option by Uncertainty_Principle

Thirteen Minutes by Solstice

We All Chase After A Few Dying Stars by Losingmymindtonight

What I Have, I Give To You by Aatticsaltt

When My Body Won't Hold Me Anymore (Where Will I Go) by Madasthesea

You’ll Always Get There First by Crowkag

Your Heart Changed (Mine Stayed The Same) by Loisselina

  9. THE ONE THAT HURTS SO GOOD — We all like a bit of angst sometimes, so what’s the story that you wanted to hide from but you had to keep reading to get to the happy ending?

  5 Times Tony Forgot Peter Was Just A Kid by Parkrstark

A Beautiful Lie by Rayrox360

A Peter Parker Problem by Spagbol99

Built From Scraps by Peterstank

Caught In A Lie by Krystalpomme

Cycle Through by Ambivalentangst

Don't Worry About Me by Chvotic

Ever In Your Favor by Iron_Spider

Fifteen Years In The Making by Potts89

Goodbye Mr. Stark, Thanks For Trying by              Jelly-Pies

Held On As Tightly As You Held On To Me by Itsreallylaterightnow And Killerqueenwrites

I Need You To Be Free by Marveal

I Promise I'll Do Better by 221broadwayiron

I Want Go by Chvotic

I Will Carry You (Always) by Thestarvingwriter

If You Can't Catch A Breath (You Can Take The Oxygen Straight Out Of My Own Chest) by Losingmymindtonight

If You Listen You Can Hear The Ibis by Yellowedistress

Jealous? by Chvotic

Let's Get On With Living (While We Can) by Almond_Blossoms

Let's Get On With Living (While We Can)              by Almond_Blossoms

Love Leaves A Memory No-One Can Steal by Ironmum

May Parker's Complete Guide On How To Raise Your Spiderling by Embarrassing_Myself

More Peril In Thine Eye  by Iron_Spider

Of Drizzly Skies And Saltwater Taffy by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Of Flying And Falling by Polaroid15

Peter's Ghost And One (1) Obnoxious Orange Stone by The-Reverse-Mermaid

Reviving Peter Parker by Yellowdistress

Stab Me In The Back (I'll Catch You From Behind) by Lansfics7

Standing On My Own Two Feet by Minigigi

Stop, Look, Listen  by Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror

Stuck by Jelly-Pies

Sunlight by Ardenskyeholmes221

The Missing 92 Days  by Yellowdistress

The Room Where It Happens by Notapartytrick

Thunder And Attrition by Magniloquentchanteuse

Turn Back The Clock (And I’ll Try Again In The Morning) by Madasthesea

When My Body Won't Hold Me Anymore (Where Will I Go) by Madasthesea

When Trauma Comes Knocking by Kevy_Grayce

        10. THE ONE THAT SOOTHES THE PAIN — What’s The Story That You Go To When You Need A Pick-Me-Up After The Angst?

  5 Times A Spider-Baby Got Dad Smooched by Buckets_Of_Stars

5 Times Peter Made Tony Laugh Out Loud by Grilledcheesing

5 Times Tony Calls Peter Baby by Madasthesea

5 Times Tony Forgot Peter Was Just A Kid by by Parkrstark

5 Times Tony Stark Protected Penny Parker by Emily_F6

A Beautiful Lie by Rayrox360

A Peter Parker Problem by Spagbol99

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Bedside Stories by Wildwaveswhist

Bitch Better Have My Money by Neicy286

Built From Scraps by Peterstank

Career Day: A Short Story by Shewritesall

Caught In A Lie  Krystalpomme

Congratulations, It's A Boy by Capiocapi

Cuddle Bug by  Marvelous_Writer

Cycle Through by Ambivalentangst

Don't Worry About Me by Chvotic

Early Childhood Education by Thedisneyoutsider

Ever In Your Favor by Iron_Spider

Fifteen Years In The Making by Potts89

Five Times Peter And Tony Chaotically Cleaned by Ironmum

Goodbye Mr. Stark, Thanks For Trying by              Jelly-Pies

Hardest Lessons (Softest Results) by Mainstreamelectricalparade

Held On As Tightly As You Held On To Me by Itsreallylaterightnow And Killerqueenwrites

I Can Hold The Weight Of The Worlds (If That's What You Need) by Bluesweatshirt

I Need You To Be Free by Marveal

I Promise I'll Do Better by 221broadwayiron

I Want Go by by Chvotic

I Will Carry You (Always) by  Thestarvingwriter

If You Can't Catch A Breath (You Can Take The Oxygen Straight Out Of My Own Chest) by Losingmymindtonight

If You Listen You Can Hear The Ibis by Yellowedistress

Instant Kill Mode by Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So

It's My Party And I'll Bite If I Want To by Whumphoarder

Jealous? by Chvotic

Kids These Days by Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So

Leave Me Where I Am (I'm Only Sleeping)            by Hopeless_Hope

Let's Get On With Living (While We Can) by Almond_Blossoms

Love Leaves A Memory No-One Can Steal by Ironmum

Macho Macho Man by Iron_Spider

May Parker's Complete Guide On How To Raise Your Spiderling by Embarrassing_Myself

More Peril In Thine Eye by Iron_Spider

My Boy by Thisisnotourlasthunt

No More Lonely by Shewritesall

Of Drizzly Skies And Saltwater Taffy by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Of Flying And Falling by Polaroid15

Peter Revs His Engine by Punkybunny

Peter's Ghost And One (1) Obnoxious Orange Stone by The-Reverse-Mermaid

Petey And The Hermit by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Research And Disaster by Blueh

Reviving Peter Parker by Yellowdistress

Stab Me In The Back (I'll Catch You From Behind) by Lansfics7

Standing On My Own Two Feet by Minigigi

Stop, Look, Listen by Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror

Storm by Parkerxheart

Stuck by Jelly-Pies

Sunlight by Ardenskyeholmes221

That's How You And I Will by Frostysunflowers

The Missing 92 Days by Yellowdistress

The Road So Far by Nicolemoon8

The Room Where It Happens by Notapartytrick

The Sun's Starting To Rise (These Are Beautiful Times) by Jelly-Pies

Thunder And Attrition by Magniloquentchanteuse

Turn Back The Clock (And I’ll Try Again In The Morning) by Madasthesea

What You're Feeling Is Probably Normal by Finny3120

Whatever It Takes by Starryknight90

When My Body Won't Hold Me Anymore (Where Will I Go) by Madasthesea

When Trauma Comes Knocking by Kevy_Grayce

    11. THE ONE WITHOUT A HOME TO GO TO — There’s some wonderful homeless Peter stories out there, so which is the one you were blown away by?

  A Difference In Husbandry by Happy_Cloud

After The Landslide by Freyaatterton

After The Landslide by Freyaatterton

Distracted by A Dime by Happyaspie

I Told You I Had Issues by Bergen

In The End by Annie_Walker

Is It Too Much To Ask For Home That Lasts? Ft. Peter Parker by Wakandaforever2357

Make Way For Tomorrow by Hopeless_Hope

One Step Unto The Lonely Road (Has Scarred Me For Life)  by Hopeless_Hope

Reintroducing Hope by Fernandidilly_Yo

The Art Of Publicity by Xmypandabear

The Little Things (That I Miss) by Da_Moose

The Lost And Forgotten by Litcraz

The Third Option by Uncertainty_Principle

 Thunder And Attrition by Magniloquentchanteuse

Unexpected (Everything I Never Knew I Wanted) by Moonchild2593

Unexpected Finds by Snarkymuch

Unwanted by Agib

  12. THE ONE THAT’S A WHOLE NEW WORLD — There’s lots of imaginative AUs in Irondad fic. Whether it’s Steve and Tony as baseball players or Pepper being Peter’s mom, which one is your number one?

  A Guardian Among Us by Superherotiger

A Long Way Forward by Rxcrcfllptrs

A Soul's Best Friend by Superherotiger

Ain't My Blood; Still My Boys by Parkrstark

 Can’t Erase What I Wrote In Ink (Tell Me How Can I Change The Story) by Littlemissagrafina

Dear Fellow Traveler (Series) by Superherotiger

Ever In Your Favor by Iron_Spider

Have Patience, A Quick Wit, And A Gentle Heart by Ironfamjam

I Battle My Jerk Step-Dad by Andromath

Moulded Mind by Wingswithoutstrings

Nothing Left To Lose by Notapartytrick

Only For A Little While by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Petey And The Hermit by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Return To Me, The One I Love So Endlessly by Superherotiger

Sea Spider by Bean_Reads_Fanfic

Spidey Tot by Kevy_Grayce

The Phoenix Project by Geekymoviemom

The Will Of The Force by Madasthesea

Though Everything Is A Miracle by Overtures

Though Everything Is A Miracle by Overtures

Until It Disappeared From Me by Ashleyparker2815

What We Grow To Be by Killerqueenwrites

When I Am On Your Shoulders by Ladyblackwater

You Mispronounced Spider by Lliblo

      13. THE TWEAKING THE SETTINGS ONE — There’s things we all wish we could change in canon — *cough* Endgame *cough* — so which canon divergence does it for you?

  5 Times Peter Made Tony Laugh Out Loud by Grilledcheesing

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Beautiful Boy by Emily_Davison

Bittersweet by Kevy_Grayce

Built From Scraps by Peterstank

I Will Restore All That Was Broken by Killerqueenwrites

May Parker's Complete Guide On How To Raise Your Spiderling by Embarrassing_Myself

Moulded Minds by Wingswithstrings

Pieces Of Echoes by Geekymoviemom

The End Of Infinity by Friendlyneighborhoodfangirls

The Returned by Nicolemoon8

What Was Missing Was You by Happyaspie

What Were The Words I Meant To Say Before You Left by Madasthesea

  14. THE ONE YOU GO BACK TO AGAIN AND AGAIN — Some fics deserve a re-read or ten. What’s the story you go find yourself going back to?

  5 Times Peter Fell, And Tony Caught Him. And The 1 Time Tony Didn’t by Eva7673

A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood by Ambivalentangst

A Guardian Among Us by Superherotiger

A Parent Apparent by Happyaspie

Age Regression Was Impossible... Right? by Chvotic

All The Devils Are Here by Yellowdistress

Am I Just A Shadow You Drew by Ironxprince

Apartment 43B by Ironfamjam

Back To Bed by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Beautiful Boy by Emily_Davison

Built From Scraps by Peterstank

Ever In Your Favor  by Iron—Spider

Family Is More Than Blood (It Is Light) by Moonchild2593

I Just Wanted To Protect You by Sunflowerspideyy

I'm At One by Patrochilles_Trash

Kangaroo Care by Tonystarkissist

Keeping Company by Whumphoarder And Xxx_Cat_Xxx

Lean On Me by Parkerxheart

Moulded Minds by Wingswithoutstrings

My Boy by Thisisnotourlasthunt

Never Gonna Let You Down by Emily_F6

Play by Losingmymindtonight

Reviving A Spiderling by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Rules Are Made To Be Broken by Ironmum

Sins Of The Fathers by Geekymoviemom

Spider-Man: Avengers (And Midtown High) React by Gayplums

The Darkest Hour Is Just Before The Dawn by Starryknight09

The Lost And Forgotten by Litcraz

The One Where Peter Is Bucky’s Weakness by Jinxquickfoot

The Rise And Fall Of A Spider by Spidersoning

The Spider-Man Conspiracy by   Tempestaurora

The Spider-Man Conspiracy by Tempestaurora

The Stars The Moon They Have All Been Blown Out (You Left Me In The Dark) by Madasthesea

Webcams And Webshooters (Series) by Losingmymindtonight

    15. THE SERIES THAT SWEPT YOU AWAY — Some of us love to go on a long ride with a series, so which is the world of multiple stories that you binged or waited anxiously for each update?

  Another June Day by Skeeter_110

Chaotic Peter Parker by Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So

Dear Peter Parker, What To Say To You by Littlemissagrafina

Family Business- Supernatural Au by Killerqueenwrites

Home by Glwilliams97

I Love You More Than Anything (Bio Dad Au) by Iron_Spider

Identity Saga by Kitcat992

Irondad NSAP by Chvotic

Lactose Intolerant Peter by Whumphoarder

Lights To Guide You Home by Jolinarjackson

Mr. Stark & His Kid by Writerstrash

Nice Work, Kid by Madasthesea

Once Upon An Adoption by Kevy_Grayce

Out Of Darkness by Starryknight09

Pieces Of Echoes by Geekymoviemom

Single Parent Peter Parker by Prettymalfoy

Soul Stone Realm by Marvelmusicmystery

The Room Saga by Iamirondad

The Room Saga by Iamirondad

Tony Stark Is A Good Mentor by Happyaspie

Under Influence              Writerstrash

Was That A Star Wars Reference, Dr. Stark? by Jen27ny

We Forgot Peter by Inkinmyheartandonthepage

Webcams And Webshooters by Losingmymindtonight

Whumptober 2019 by Iron_Spider

  16. THE IN-PROGRESS ADVENTURE — What’s the story that has you checking your email each day, hoping for an update?

  A Beautiful Lie by Rayrox360

A Difference In Husbandry by Happy_Cloud

A Perfect Storm by Grilledcheesing

Ain't My Blood; Still My Boys by Parkrstark

All The Stars Align by Ashleyparker2815

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Come Undone by Capiocapi

Every Beautiful Lie (Always Has An Ugly Truth) by Da_Moose

Fifteen Years In The Making by Potts89

Fire With Fire by Agentianlegend

Found Family by Thedisneyoutsider

How To Repair A Broken Heart by Influentialpineapple

If They Knew All About You by Mshermia

If You're Going Through Hell, Keep On Going by Baloobird

Mr. Stark, Something Is Wrong by @Simping-For-Peggy

Outnumbered by Heartofcathedrals

Permanence by Theexhaustedalchemist

Peter’s New Step-Brother by Bowtiez

Priorities by Jlmonroe1234

Return To Me, The One I Love So Endlessly by Superherotiger

Rewind by Losingmymindtonight

Sleeping Through A Rogue Winter Storm by Pogokitten

Spider-Man: Avengers (And Midtown High) React by Gayplums

Survivors Guilt   by Ember_Darla And Marvel_Cinematic_Universe_Fan

Tech Of Nondestructive Yakking by Wabisabi

The Case Of The Missing Museum Bea-Storer by Ironmum

The Hero Of Our Own Story by Kingdomfaraway

The Many Adventures Of Iron Dad And Spider Son by Lbigreyhound13

This Warm Repair by Peterstank

Wanting To Be Betterby  MZ_Supermanfan

We Can't Have Faith For Everybody by Hale13

Webcams And Webshooters (Series) by Losingmymindtonight

What You Were Then I Am Today by Madasthesea

You Are My Sunshine by Iamconstantine

  17. THE COMPLETE FIC THAT YOU CHERISH — Whether or not you’ve got the patience for an in-progress or not, there’s a wealth of complete stories you can devour at leisure or all in one coffee-fuelled binge. What’s yours?

  5 Wishes Peter Didn't Ask For And The 1 He Did by Alice_In_Ink

A Peter Parker Problem by Spagbol99

A Soul's Best Friend by Superherotiger

Always Silent, Peter Darling by Lliblo

Come, My Darling, Homeward Bound by by Iamirondad

Five Times David Didn't Understand What Was Going On With His Girlfriend's Nephew by Bumblie_Bee

Five Times Peter And Tony Chaotically Cleaned by Ironmum

Good Publicity by Bergen

HYDRA'S NOT A HOME (Series) by TEMPESTAURORA

Intern Spider by Emily_F6

Only For A Little While by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Pupper Parker by Bean_Reads_Fanfic

Stars, Hide Your Fires by Yellowdistress

Stop, Look, Listen by Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror

The Guardian by Emily_F6

The One Who Made It Out by Tiaylasglass

The Root Is Expectation by Yellowdistress

      18. THE ONE THAT GAVE YOU ALL THE LOVE — We all love Irondad, but some stories come with bonus bonds that give us just as much. Do you have a Peter & Bucky, or a Peter & Steve working alongside which delivers all the found family goodness?

  5 Times Happy Hogan Nearly Had A Heart Attack Because Of Peter Parker by Thespydersargon

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Brighten Up, Sunshine by Iron_Spider

I Have A Nephew! by Zimnokurw

It Must Be Nice (To Have Mrs. Potts On Your Side by Sdottkrames

It Takes A Village (To Make Sure You're Okay) by Baloobird

Kingdom Come Undone by Killerqueenwrites

Project: Get Bucky Barnes A Dog by Ruxian

Road Work Ahead by Toniwilder

Rules Are Made To Be Broken by Ironmum

When In The Dark by Kevy_Grayce

        19. THE PROLIFIC WRITER AWARD — Irondad has some amazingly prolific writers. Which are the ones you’ve subscribed to get at that fic-wonder goodness of 10 works or more?

  Aimaim94

Aimaim94

Bean_Reads_Fanfic

Buckets_Of_Stars

Emily_F6

Grilledcheesing

Happyaspie

Inkinmyheartsandonthepage

Ironmum

Iron-Spider

Jen27ny

Littlemissagrafina

Littlemissagrafina

Losingmymindtonight

Madasthesea

Magicalyss

Marvelous_Writer

Mshermia

o0citrusee0o

Parkrstark

Superherotiger

Thedumbestavenger

Turtle_Bean

  20. THE NEWBIE — New writers are joining the fandom all the time. Who’s the newbie (posting for 12 months or less) that’s delivering the good stuff for you?

          107thinfantry

Fallingforbees

Ironmum

Jinx_Frost

Just_Ppeachy

Kittybellestark

Lilacsoulw

Maicaly

Polaroid15

Spagbol99

Sunflowerspideyy

21. THE OG — Who’s the writer that’s been around for a while (12 months or more) that keeps you captivated?

  Almond_Blossoms

Ashleyparker2815

Blueh

Emily_F6

Geekymoviemom

Gremlinsr

Happyaspie

Iamirondad

Iron_Spider

Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So

Jelly_Pies

Jen27ny

Jolinarjackson

Kevy_Grayce

Losingmymindtonight

Parkrstark

Snarkymuch

Spooderboyandtincan

Tempestaurora

Whumphoarder

  22. THE WILD CARD STORY — The story that does (or doesn’t) fit into the above categories but you believe deserves the prize. Which one is that for you?

  5 Times Peter Sleepwalked And The 1 Time He Pretended He Did by Losingmymindtonight

A Pressing Emergency by Whumphoarder

Aliens Really Are Out To Get You Aren't They? by Some_Sort_Of_Trash

Aliens Really Are Out To Get You Aren't They? by Some_Sort_Of_Trash

An Uncomfortable Issue by Summerartist

Bank Robber by Purplecat7

Born To Cherish by Ironfamjam

Chickpea And Bleach Curry by S0lstice

Everyday Superhero by Stoneage_Woman

Five Time Faculty Members Had To Call Peter's Emergency Contact + 1 Time He Shows Up Anyway by Kingdomfaraway

Five Times Tony And Peter Chaotically Cleaned by Ironmum

Guess I’m Not Good Enough by Freyaatterton

I Can Hold The Weight Of Worlds (If That's What You Need) by Bluesweatshirt

I Can Hold The Weight Of Worlds (If That's What You Need)         by Bluesweatshirt

I Will Soften Every Edge by Losingmymindtonight

I’m Not Telling Him. Period by Scooter3scooter

Inimitable by Ephemeralstark

Irondad Nsap by Chvotic

Kids Suck, But You're Great by Gymlily06

Long Gone | Marvel Au by Strangerlyparker

Play by Losingmymindtonight

Research And Disaster by Blueh

Tall Skies by Black_Briar

Tech Of Non-Destructive Yakking by Wabisabi

The Ghost Of Heroes by Enigmaris & Scarletnightfury

The Long Way Round by Undeerqueen

The Peter Parker Conspiracy by Tempestaurora

The Reinvention Of Tony Stark by Losingmymindtonight

This Ride Is A Wild One  by Just_Ppeachy

What You're Feeling Is Probably Normal by Finny3120

Wrong Number Kid by Blackshadow030930

  ART 1 — DIGITAL MEDIA - Who has those PhotoShop skills, who makes the best mood boards? We have some wonderful artists in the Irondad fandom, and we’re here to celebrate them. Who's your favorite artist?

    @blackchessknight (tumblr)

@broskepol  (tumblr)

@itsybitsyspiderling (tumblr)

@kitcat992(tumblr)

@monireh (tumblr)

@spidey-art (tumblr)

@superherotiger (tumblr)

    ART 2 — SKETCHES  — Who has the skills with the original medium of art in sketches? Whose pencil can create the characters we love best?

  @broskepol (Tumblr)

@dakt37 (Tumblr)

@monireh89 (Tumblr)

Ellarie.png (Instagram)

@dchanberry (Tumblr)

    ART 3 — CARTOONS — Chibis, Manga, Anime, who can create the very best?

  @Maryo274 (Tumblr)

yes-i-am-happyaspie (Tumblr)

@maryo274 (Tumblr)

Maryo274artworks (Instagram)

@akira-akatsuki (Tumblr)

@mjscorner (Tumblr)

  ART 4 — FANVID — Some of the greatest creators are the ones that match the music to the mood, find the perfect scenes to make us laugh and cry. Who does that for you?

  all my life || tony & peter (father/son au) by akapotatogirl (YouTube)

Emsxworld (YouTube)

mblaqminoz (YouTube)

My Dad's a Hero to Me by MsMorganStark (YouTube)

Tony Stark & Peter Parker (Adoption Au) || Home by andrea d (YouTube)

tony stark & peter parker | ashes by mythicalroyalty (YouTube)

You Are The Reason l Tony Stark & Peter Parker by Chocolala (YouTube)

  ART 5 — BEST IRON FAMILY FANART — Who can create those feeling of Ironfam with their art? Who captures the characters we love in that iconic family.

                @broskepol (Tumblr)

@moonestaly (Tumblr)

@superherotiger (Tumblr)

eccentric_artist_221b (AO3)

Ellarie.png (Instagram)

  ART 8 — BEST HURT/COMFORT — Who captures the pain of the moment best for you?

                @broskepol (Tumblr)

              @spidey-art (Tumblr)

              @tonystarkissist (Tumblr)

I will always love you (no matter what...) by @monireh (Tumblr)

  ART 9 — THE WILD CARD ART— The art that does (or doesn’t) fit into the above categories but you believe deserves the prize. Which one is that for you?

  @cainternn (Tumblr)

@Iwritedumbshit (Tumblr)

@rhymewithrachel (Tumblr)

Hannssm (Instagram)

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Up to No Good

Summary: A snake catches a snack on a rooftop. AO3 Link

Merry Christmas, @lukatastrophe For the @mlsecretsanta

“Good evening, little mouse.”

The Multimouse squeaked and bolted, though she was far too slow for the viper-quick hand that snapped her up. The little mouse struggled, sending out a mental distress signal to her sisters that King Cobra was here and he had her and help, please!! The other Multimice in the museum below sent out a confirmation and began returning to the roof, where she was. “Let me go!” Multimouse snapped, biting the hand that held her.

King Cobra winced and withdrew his hand to his chest, taking her along for the ride. His hand squeezed dangerously around her. “None of that, now. I would sssuggest behaving; I don’t want to end up hurting my favorite sssnack,” he hissed, forked tongue flickering out between his lips as he spoke.

Multimouse flushed at the term of endearment, but didn’t bite him again; the ground was far off and her sisters were coming. She just needed to keep him distracted. She scowled up at him. “What do you want this time?”

He smiled, fangs glinting in the moonlight. “Can’t a sssnake ssspend time with his favorite mouse?”

“Absolutely not; I know what snakes do with mice.”

While not as active as Hawkmoth, King Cobra was still a dangerous villain. Appearing only a few months after Ladybug and Chat Noir, the snake holder started attacking museums, art galleries, jewelry stores—anywhere and everywhere, all over Paris. He always managed to escape from Ladybug and Chat Noir when they arrived on-scene; Multimouse had fought him a few times when they ended up in the same place at the same time, trading quips and whips all the same, but his tricks were slippery and he got away time and time again. Multimouse suspected that Cobra had somehow managed to unlock the full extent of his Miraculous, meaning he wasn’t on a timer despite not being an adult.

Well, she hoped he wasn’t an adult—What was she thinking!?

Cobra smirked down at her. His hood covered a lot, shadowing most of his face, but she could still see his mouth and glowing blue eyes. She wanted to punch him in his smug face. “Oh, I can think of sssome things I’d like to do with you… but that’s not why I sssought you out tonight.”

“Then what?” The Multimouse made a show of struggling as her sister’s began to surround them, abandoning their task in favor of saving her. She wouldn’t be able to reform if a single mouse was missing.

He was imposing against the night. “Would you like to know why I’m a villain, little mouse?”

Multimouse was floored. Never had she expected their conversation to go in this direction. “…Yes,” she replied. It could be a trap, but… she wanted to know.

“I’ve been looking for a Miraculous. A ssspecific one, that’s currently here in Paris, but out of the hands of Ladybug and Chat Noir’s pesky guardian. I… need this Miraculous, Multimouse.” There was a look of desperation in King Cobra’s eyes, one she had never seen before on the villain, not once in their multiple confrontations. “I’m going to have it. And I need your help for that.”

“You think I’ll help you!?” She scoffed. “Don’t be a fool. In case you forgot, I’m a hero—”

“I have to admit, you had me fooled for a while,” he said, cutting her off. “You’re a good actress. I originally believed you when you said Ladybug wanted to keep you out of the ssspotlight. But… after a few weeks, it became clear that you were never ssseen around Paris’s favorite heroes. And after once I overheard them complaining about having to find the ssstolen Rat Miraculous…” The snake leered at her. “Oh, my sssweet little sssnack. You’re no more of a hero than I am.”

The Multimouse—Marinette—felt her face heat with the indignation and she bared her teeth into a snarl. So what if she stole the Rat Miraculous!? Bridgette had stolen from her first!

She had found out a few months ago. Bridgette, Marinette’s cousin and granddaughter of her Great Uncle Wang, was staying with them for the year, applying to Parisian universities. Marinette had followed her one day after school, the reason why having been wiped from her memory due to the following, horrifying events. She had discovered Bridgette being confronted by a turtle man of all things—later, she learned he was the guardian of the Miraculous—and overheard the truth: that Marinette was originally supposed to become Ladybug, but Bridgette had stolen the miracle box from her room before she could find it.

Marinette had frozen in horror, forced to listen to Bridgette justifying herself—that box had looked too fancy to be something Marinette should have, and she hadn’t expected the box to contain magic jewelry, and what would be the harm if she took the earrings out for a joyride? But then Stoneheart happened and by that point everyone knew she was Ladybug and changing would have confused the public, and really, what was he thinking, making Marinette a superhero? She was such an anxious thing, and clumsy, and spazzy, and, and—

And Marinette had been forced to listen to Bridgette completely disregard her and her feelings, insult her outright that hurt in a way that Chloe never managed. Because Bridgette was family. Her parents had taken her into their home, Marinette had welcomed her as a sister, and this was the thanks they got—

The guardian had refused to take the Ladybug Miraculous back from Bridgette. Despite how she acquired it, he had said, she had still earned it and she was a fantastic Ladybug. That had burned. That had hurt. But clearly, the guardian didn’t actually care about the morals of the person wielding the Miraculous so long as it got him the butterfly back.

Maybe Marinette got a bit drastic. Maybe Marinette figured out that if you had a control over yourself and cold, hard determination, akumas couldn’t possess you. Maybe Marinette had figured out that Chat Noir was closer to her age than Bridgette’s, and that Bridgette had been flirting with a younger guy all along.

A lot of things could have happened, but this was fate: One day, when Bridgette had brought home a few of the Miraculous—guardian training, the bug-fairy thing had called it when Marinette had eavesdropped through a hole she made in their adjoining wall—Marinette had stolen two right as they left for school. Only two, despite Bridgette having more; she had figured out that Bridgette abused her Miraculous to get to her high school on time, and with only two missing, Bridgette would assume she lost them. To further the truth, Marinette had tossed one, the Bee, outside the Bourgeois hotel, where Chloe was kind enough to find it and show off.

That left Marinette with the Rat Miraculous. Perfect for her, she could practically hear Bridgette say: timid Marinette, quiet Marinette, sneaky Marinette, unworthy-of-being-a-hero Marinette. But she swallowed her pride and used it anyway, going out every night to train or find King Cobra or fight an akuma or something, because…

Because she wanted to be a hero.

But heroes don’t steal Miraculous.

Multimouse scowled up King Cobra, her teeth flashing ferally in the cold light. “And you think that means I’m going to help you? Don’t be stupid.”

“Well, I had hoped.” He shrugged, like her answer meant nothing. “But if you need a little convincing, then ssso be it. Anything you want, I’ll do my best to make it happen. Power? Riches? There’s a lot available with my Miraculous. What do you want?”

Ladybug, Bridgette, humiliated and disgraced, with no one in Paris able to consider her a hero ever again. Instead, Multimouse asked, “What are you getting out of this? I can’t be your only choice.”

“True, but the other one isn’t as pretty as you, little mouse.” Cobra sat on the roof, crossing his legs like a little kid. “Hawkmoth has reached out for me to become an ally. Sssome kind of ‘I help you, you help me’ sssituation that he thinks I’ll fall for. But people who mind control ssseem like control freaks; he’ll betray me the first time I do sssomething he doesn’t like.” He smiled at her. “You, however… you wouldn’t betray me, would you? Even though all your little mice have sssurrounded us, you’re not going to attack until our conversation is finished. You’re just that type of girl.”

No. If they allied, she would never betray him after being so coldly betrayed herself, still… “You have no idea what type of girl I am. And there’s still nothing in it for me. You offer me things I don’t need, and can’t get what I want.”

“Are you sssure I don’t know what kind of girl you are?” He brought her close to his face, almost nuzzling her into his cheek, and whispered, his warm breath washing over her tiny body. “Ma-Ma-Marinette.”

Instantly, Mulitmouse was lax in his grip, head reeling. He knew? And he was… Luka? Her friend? Her confidant? Her… her… hers?

He cupped her close. “I always knew,” he confessed, his voice soft in a way that didn’t match King Cobra’s face. “I knew it from the moment I heard your heart; nothing could disguise that sssong, not even the pain you’ve been in these last few months. My little sssnack, my precious melody… Now do you sssee why I want you over Hawkmoth? I don’t know why you’ve done this… I won’t pressure you to tell me… but you’re sssomeone I’ll always trust. Ssso please? I’ll explain everything, but…”

Her mice exited the shadows, merging together as one as they got closer to him. The Multimouse in his hand glowed and merged too, becoming Marinette’s hand that Luka held close to her face. Fully reformed, her Miraculous beeped, five minutes remaining. “Luka…” she whispered, searching his face.

“Little mouse.” He nuzzled her hand, his eyes dark with affection and desperation.

“I want to destroy Ladybug,” she blurred out, covering her mouth as if it would rectify her mistake. Luka looked at her, shocked. She continued, “I want people to hate her. I want her vilified as much as Hawkmoth is. I want Paris to demand she return her Miraculous.” A tear escaped at the confession. “I want my revenge. Are… are you willing to help me? I know it’s a lot to ask for, but—”

A teal hand brushed her tear away. “I will. Oh, Marinette…” He drew her into a hug. She buried her head in his shoulder. “Of course, I’ll help. I’ll always be willing to help you, no matter how villainous the action may be.”

“And I’ll help you.” She didn’t care why he wanted another Miraculous, what it was or what it was for. She’d steal a thousand Miraculous so long as it kept him on her side. Before this, she’d never realized how alone she’d felt; even Mullo, who understood and empathized with her pain, was less a confidant and more a captive. But Luka… “I’m on your side, Luka. I promise.”

…he was a confidant and more. Together, they could do great things. Villainous, but great.

And she’d do anything to keep him on her side.

[cupcakemolotov]

Road to Ruin

I... have no idea where this came from. But hey, I’ll take almost 2K of story after a drought of words. SFW, character death, probably some angst. You can read it here on A03 if you prefer.

                                                            -

Caroline had missed the Memorial Service.

Finals at NYU had been brutal, her schedule packed and tangled tightly together after a truly unfair back to back testing schedule. She’d wanted nothing more than to climb into her lumpy dorm bed and sleep for a week, but she’d promised Bonnie she’d try to make it.

She hadn’t.

But that was the fault of May storms and erratic flight schedules, not her personal choice. By the time her mom picked her up in Richmond, five hours late and dragging with exhaustion no number of espresso shots could perk up, it was dark and raining. She’d fallen asleep in the car, dragged herself into the house, and had just enough energy to change before diving into her bed for the sleep she’d been missing for what felt like weeks.

Elena was dead.

The news had come five days before finals, and after sobbing her eyes out on her RA’s shoulder, she’d pulled herself together and buried herself in all night study sessions and endless equations. But the knowledge had lingered, that this friend of hers who had grown so distant the last year, more distant than any amount of school schedules and new friends could allow for when Caroline was a devout texter, was gone. She’d cried in the shower, for the girl who she’d once known and would never know again.

Shifting her weight on the damp grass, Caroline studied the freshly dug grave. The last few years before graduation hadn’t been good for their friendship, High School having been a roller coaster of drama and boys that was expected, she supposed. But if only that had been the only drama, she was certain they wouldn't have grown so far away from each other. There had been that weird mass grave that someone had found that had kept her mom busy for months dealing with the locals and the FBI, the weird way the old boarding house had been repaired seemingly to open up only to remain empty. Those strangers who her mom had not liked who had asked questions about a couple of weird gravestones in the museum. That series of petty thefts that had kept her mom even busier than the mass grave and its collection of weird historians and FBI investigations, that had finally culminated in some family heirlooms being stolen from the Lockwoods.

Tyler had bitched for months about it. Weirdly, it had been those complaints that had been the deciding factor that had her breaking up with him. Yeah, the sex had been good, but a girl did not need pillow talk about family heirlooms and how upset his mom had been. Any boyfriend worth their salt (and teenage hormones) should have been far too distracted by her being naked right there, not their moms.

She shuddered a little, thinking about it.

The second half of their junior year had been a mess, and been made worse when Aunt Jenna had died. Caroline’s fingers tightened on the bouquet she was holding, thinking of all the deaths that had accumulated that year. Aunt Jenna. Her Dad. Carol Lockwood. How terrified she had been that her mom would end up next, logical or not.

Then there had been the way Elena had gone all weirdly obsessed with finding her biological parents, the way it had driven her as if it was something outside of herself she couldn't control. Caroline studied the tops of the flowers she held in her hand, wondering if not for the first time if she could have done something different. Been a better friend, helped Elena in some way. Those long weeks that first Christmas when Elena had decided to spend it alone, how she had refused to answer a single text message until she’d shown back up at school, dark circles under eyes like an underfed anemic.

She’d been… different, after that. Less boy crazy and more… mature. And that summer, she’d gone to meet a family claiming to be hers. And when she’d come home, she’d been so happy. Bouncing, sparkling happy. Cousins, she’d said. Brother’s and a sister who said that her mother had been theirs and they’d been looking for her.

Family.

That was what Caroline wanted to remember her. The girl who sat with her for hours after Bill died, both of them quiet, legs tangled on Caroline’s bed. The girl who liked board games and pink lipstick and who had terrible taste in shoes. Her friend. Not the girl from their Senior year who had slowly become something else entirely. Pale and wane, short tempered and then so, so quiet. The girl whose new family moved into Mansion at the edge of town that had been empty for decades, who paid for an expensive car and clothes and who never came to a single game to watch her cheer.

Letting out a slow breath, she set the flowers she’d brought down on the grave and chewed on her lower lip. People usually said things at graves, didn’t they? But she’d never been good at that sort of thing. Not at her Dad’s grave, and not here, standing over the bones of her friend. She’d brought daisy’s because Elena liked them, and she briefly closed her eyes, hoping that Elena knew she was here, that she missed her, and that even if she reached the old age of one hundred, she’d remember the night she and Elena and Bonnie had laughed until they cried over the most ridiculous of conversations, until they’d had to scramble to pretend they’d been sleeping when her mom came home at dawn after her shift.

That would be the Elena she’d take with her.

Swallowing hard, she turned on one heel and jerked to a stop, heart slamming into her throat as she found a man she didn’t recognize lingering far too close to her. He was only a few inches taller than her, but something about the utter stillness of his posture, the way she hadn’t heard him walk up behind her, her usual excellent sense of people taught by her mother and perfected in the subway system having failed to ping at her, left her breathless with surprise. For a moment, Caroline struggled to get her pulse under control before narrowing her eyes. “Excuse you, creepy much? Most people have the decency not to loom in graveyards.”

A sudden hint of a smile played across a distractingly full mouth, and he reached up and pushed his sunglasses up into his rumpled curls, something about the way he was looking at her sending the faintest hint of alarm down her spine. “Spend a lot of time in graveyards?”

“That is none of your business,” Caroline said, letting her voice frost over in disapproval.

“Apologies, love.” He said, body shifting from that hair raising awareness to a soft charm she might have liked if she hadn’t seen him looking at her like she was a particularly interesting bug. “I didn't recall seeing you at the funeral, and I’m sure I would have remembered you.”

Something about him, the way his eyes never left hers, put her back up. She hadn’t spent the last two years in New York City to let some weirdo stranger intimidate her now. “I don’t recognize you at all,” she said primly. “So that means you were fairly new to Elena’s life. Do you make a habit of memorizing faces at funerals? That seems like the sort of thing that would alarm a psychologist.”

The curve of his mouth deepened, and to her despair, he had dimples. “You must be Caroline Forbes. Ms. Bennett was disappointed that you missed the service.”

Caroline shrugged, stubbornly holding his gaze though it was starting to bother her that he didn’t blink. “May storms are a bitch. And neither Bonnie nor Elena mentioned anyone who would match your description.”

He looked intrigued. “Do you usually ask for physical descriptions of their acquaintances?”

“And pictures of their drivers licenses,” she retorted. “So that if they go missing, I know where to direct my mother to find them, but you're definitely not either of their types, and since you think you have some claim on Elena, that must mean you belong to the Mikaelson family. Which one are you?”

She didn't do much to hide what she thought of his family, and it didn’t seem to bother him.

“Smart,” he murmured. “I’m Klaus.” And then he offered her his hand, something like a challenge lingering at the back of his eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Caroline.”

It was a dare. And she was terrible at turning those down, even as her instincts warned her that there was something about this man she wasn’t seeing. But she was also standing twenty feet away from a number of her own dead relatives, and Grandma Forbes would haunt her forever if she was rude to this man in front of her. Baring her teeth in something like a smile, she took his hand. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

Laughter had lit his eyes a half moment before their skin touched, and something she couldn’t describe rolled down her spine. More sensation than feeling, she felt it down to her feet, and it left her pulse pounding. She pulled her hand back, too quick to be polite, but she didn’t care as she stared at the man who had gone still and so quietly dangerous, she was debating reaching for the pepper stray attached to her keys.

She could probably get it out and in his face before he lunged.

Maybe.

Klaus’ fingers had curled into his palm, as if he too had felt whatever that had been, and the blue of his eyes were doing something strange, and Caroline became intensely aware of everything around them. The buzz of summer insects, the shape of his stupidly plush mouth, the smell of fresh turned dirt. It was the near silent buzz of an incoming text that broke the staring contest between them. Senses hyper-alert, she pulled her phone out of her purse and saw that she had two missed calls from Bonnie. Glancing up from her lashes to find that Klaus hadn’t looked away, so she pasted on her best false smile and shrugged.

“Well, Klaus, I’m sure this is where I should say something polite about seeing you around, but that seems super unlikely,” Caroline said with a false shrug of disappointment. “So, I’ll just say bye instead.”

A lowering of his lashes, something behind his eyes that burned her skin. “Hmm, I suppose we’ll see, won’t we? The family has decided to stick around a bit longer, give ourselves time to mourn. You may be surprised how much you’ll see us.”

Caroline snorted and stepped around him. “History of your family’s willingness to grace the town with your presence says otherwise.” But because her grandma had raised her right, and was probably seriously judging her only granddaughter from the plot just a few feet away, she smiled and waved, just like her pageant days had taught her. And only when she was almost to her car, did she relax enough to look at her text.

And felt her heart drop to her toes.

I don’t think Elena is dead.

Brows tucking tightly together, she went through the motions of unlocking the car door, glancing back towards the man lingering in the graveyard. Klaus hadn't moved, except to slid his hands into his pockets and to turn to watch her. She could still feel the imprint of his fingers against hers, the heat and calluses of him, the shock of him down her spine. For a moment, she tried to remember what Elena had told her about her biological family, the people who went through all the right motions but never showed her friend the care she deserved. The brother’s who had been so considerate, and offered her anything money could buy but not a single ounce of affection. Lifting her chin, she narrowed her eyes, even though she knew he couldn't see her.

Let him think what he wanted. She was fairly certain she’d never see him again. Klaus, who stood in graveyards in pressed slacks and rosaries around his throat. Something was going on there, and the last thing she needed was for him to turn out to be some kind of serial killer.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, she started the engine and set her teeth, only then allowing herself to really absorb what Bonnie had sent her. Not dead? What was Bonnie thinking? And if she was right, why would the Mikaelson’s lie?

Why bury Elena, fake or otherwise, with the ghosts if she wasn’t really dead?

[collecting-stories]

Yours - pt. 03 - Rafe Cameron

Summary: A chapter of firsts. 

A/N: This chapter is like 5.5k words so I apologize in advance for that. 

One Thing Right Masterlist | Outer Banks Masterlist

▽ △ ▽ △

-First Thanksgiving-

“You know what would be even better than seeing my family for Thanksgiving?” Rafe attempted, sitting at the wrap around counter on his laptop, trying to finish the last of his work before the inevitable holiday dinner you were hosting happened. 

“Is the answer, not seeing your family?” You asked, looking over at him. 

When Rafe’s dad had extended the invitation for Thanksgiving, for the first time since Rafe started paying his own bills, he knew exactly what the intention was. Despite the show at Christmas of a gift arriving to his apartment the only people he kept in touch with besides friends from back home were his sisters. Sarah less than Wheezie but they’d come a long way from when they were teens. And with Wheezie back home during her year off from school, he knew that Rose had no doubt seen his Instagram. Notably, the pictures of you that had begun to literal his once scarce feed. 

And just like that, out of nowhere, Ward called with the great idea that everyone get together for the holidays. 

“Thanksgiving.” Rafe has offered, “you can come up to Boston, we’ll host.” It was an olive branch. A tiny one, barren too, more like a twig but it was something and Ward took it because he was curious. 

Rafe had gotten a job with an economist firm right out of college and two years later he had completely cut his father out of his life. The firm was the reason he was in Boston, they offered him three locations, Los Angeles, which felt too far away from his sisters, Chicago, too windy, and Boston. He’d taken the job and bought an apartment that looked like something out of an ad for Restoration Hardware, sleek and modern. Cut the toxic parts of his family off and now it’d all seemingly paid off. 

When you placed the last dish on the table, thirty minutes from his family’s arrival, Rafe spun his barstool around so he could grab your waist and pull you back into him. 

“I could use the nap right now, honestly.” You admitted, leaning back against him. Rafe kissed the side of your head, hands brushing up the sides of your yoga pants, trying to find skin without looking. You’d started your pursuit of the perfect Martha Stewart approved Thanksgiving with a sweatshirt on, but that and the shirt beneath it had eventually been shed and tossed over the back of Rafe’s couch in favor of just your yoga pants and sports bra. Your anxiety had a habit of making you warm. 

“My dad and Rose won’t be here for like, thirty minutes, go relax.” He offered, loosening his hold on you when you twisted around in his arms so that you could face him. 

“I don’t have time, I still have to get dressed.” You mumbled, face pressed into his shirt. 

In all honesty, you weren’t sure you could’ve relaxed anyway. Ever since Rafe had told you his dad and step-mom were coming up for Thanksgiving with his sisters you had been internally freaking out. A meeting the family holiday wasn’t something you had never done before. You’d met Ian’s family at a Christmas dinner the first year that you’d dated. But that had been a dinner you simply showed up to, not one you put on yourself. 

This was your dinner, that you made from scratch, in Rafe’s apartment. It was your first real holiday together aside from the Halloween party you’d forced him to attend at Nina’s and now you were entertaining his family too.

-

“Things are moving really fast huh?” Nina had teased, standing over the bar cart in her small apartment, trying to remember how to mix a vodka martini. 

“Not...really fast.” You replied. Nina had been bugging you about the pace of your relationship for a while now, acting like it was so out of the ordinary that you had swapped structured date nights for take out at his apartment or yours. 

“You guys have already hit pre-moving-in-together stage.” Nina supplied, “trying to beat Anya out for a wedding this year?” 

“I’m not trying to beat anyone out?” You knew you sounded defensive but you couldn’t help it. “Can we please talk about something else?” 

“Too late,” she laughed, taking a sip of her finished concoction before grimacing. She looked over your shoulder, “do you know how to make a martini?”

“Afraid not.” Rafe replied, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and guiding you a little closer to him. He had agreed to Halloween at Nina’s because he wanted to spend the night with you and this party was a stipulation of that. He was dressed as Tom Cruise in Top Gun, something you had teased him about relentlessly from the moment he put on the costume but you’d be lying if you said he didn’t look insanely hot in the get up. Especially now that the small apartment had gotten so crowded and overheated that he’d slipped off the top of the coveralls and had them tied at his waist with just a white tank on. 

“What’re you good for then?” You joked, laughing when he pulled you even closer, pressing his lips to your neck. “Stop!” 

“Do you want one of whatever this is?” Nina asked, holding her drink out to Rafe. 

“I would but I actually came over here to steal my girlfriend.” He replied, attention moving from Nina to you, “I’ve got a meeting in the morning, I should head out.” 

“Okay,” you moved out of his hold to say goodbye to Nina, giving her a hug and trying not to let her slosh any of her martini on you. 

“No, stay!” Nina insisted, a bit whiny from tipsiness. 

“I‘ll text you tomorrow,” you promised, pulling away from her, already reaching your hand out for Rafe’s. You felt him take your hand, glancing back and smiling at him before giving Nina a kiss on the cheek, “love you, bye.” 

“Love you!” She called as Rafe pulled you away to the door. 

Once in the elevator you let out a breath, squeezing Rafe’s hand gently to get his attention. “Sorry, you could’ve stayed.” He finally said. 

“It’s okay, besides,” you replied, leaning against him and wrapping your arms around his waist, “I have off tomorrow and I know for a fact that your meeting is a zoom conference that’s like, an hour.” 

“That’s true,” Rafe said, nodding and grinning.

“So, I can bother you the rest of the day.” 

-

Wheezie and Sarah had been on zoom plenty of times while you were around and Sarah had even come up to Boston for her birthday a few weeks into you dating Rafe so it wasn’t his sisters that you were sweating. Ward and Rose were both pretty imposing. You weren’t impressed with their wealth or intimidated by it. You had grown up in a similar environment to Rafe but your parents had never felt quite as cold as his. 

“At least there’s alcohol,” Sarah teased, coming up beside you to pour herself a glass of wine. Her own boyfriend had opted out of Thanksgiving with her family to stay down in the Outer Banks and you were a little jealous he didn’t have endure this. 

“Thank god,” you replied, taking a sip of the only red wine you didn’t absolutely hate. A sweeter red from a subscription box that one of Rafe’s friends had gotten him for Christmas once and that he kept up with. 

Dates to fancy restaurants hadn’t been scraped altogether but they were usually reserved for dinners that included more that you and Rafe. You didn’t need over priced food and dry wine to be impressed by him and he certainly enjoyed just hanging out without all the pressure. But apparently fancy restaurants and the wine they served in them was exactly what Rose was looking for. 

“My god, you can taste the sugar in this. It’s like grape juice.” She complained, lips pursing at the unwelcomed flavor. 

“Drink something else then.” Rafe replied, annoyed that he was even putting himself through this. And that he was putting you through this too. He knew you were stressing about Thanksgiving. You’d been back from the wedding for a week, and things between the two of you had been better than before (though before they’d been pretty fantastic too), and now he was subjecting you to his family.  

“Well if there was anything here that was drinkable,” Rose snapped, glaring at her stepson, “I would.”  

“How’s business been?” Ward asked, drawing Rafe’s attention away from Rose and her scrutiny.

You tuned out their chatter in favor of listening to Wheezie talk about her current endeavors, which sounded a lot more pot driven then anything else. Hiking the Pacific Crest Trail with a group of friends to “discover her inner self” was not quite the Wheezie you had heard stories about but Rafe had told you plenty of times that his youngest sister’s new girlfriend was a bit of an irresistible influence. Whether that was good or bad was still to be determined.  

“What about you?” Rose asked, interrupting her daughter’s novel-length plans.  

“What about me?” You repeated. You knew what the question meant and you certainly expected it. Rafe had an incredibly good job for a guy his age. He was smarter than his family gave him credit for, more responsible than anyone expected, and then here you were, and sure, you made a delicious apple pie but that didn’t qualify you to be party of them.  

“What do you do?”

“I teach first grade.” You replied, not as impressive as being an economic analyst for a firm that had offices in Los Angeles, Chicago, Beijing, and Boston but it was yours and you loved it.  

Rose, clearly, did not, as evidenced by the way she grimaced at you. As if you were worse than the wine she had finally abandoned on the counter. “What age is that?”

“Usually 6 or 7 year olds.”  You replied. “There’s two first grade classes in my school and then two in the other three schools in our sort of, district. I teach my class but I’m also in charge of helping to finalize curriculum for all the other first grades.”  

“Sounds like a lot of stress and not a lot of money.” Rose replied. “You must be grateful to have found someone so financially secure.”  

The implication was there, and loud enough that the end of Rafe’s sentence teetered off as he turned away from the conversation with his father to look over at his stepmom. She had, in so many words, called you a gold digger, right there at Thanksgiving dinner and you hadn’t even sat down to eat the meal yet. If you knew Rafe, and at this point you certainly did, he was itching to say something. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, he wasn’t living under his dad’s roof or dependent on their money, he finally could say something and he looked ready to.  

But you wanted to at least have some sort of dinner so you attempted to speak up before he could, “actually, I make a fairly comfortable salary and-”

“You don’t have to justify anything to her.” Rafe said, “she’s just never met anyone who actually works for a living.”  

“I am one of the top real estate agents in the Outer Banks, do you know how many houses I closed on last year?” Rose snapped, looking toward her step-son and her husband.  

“Rose, please, let’s just sit and eat.” Ward commented. His attempts at keeping the peace were all for show. Everything he said seemed to have some sort of edge behind it. As if he’d worded it just right to compliment and insult at the same time.  

You sat beside Rafe once you’d served the dinner, staying between him and Sarah so you didn’t wind up anywhere near his parents. Wheezie dominated most of the dinner conversation talking about some guy who was doing podcasts from salvation mountain because he believed that he could commune with the “ancestors of America”.  

“Please tell me your sister is high right now.” You whispered, leaning close to Rafe.  

“Oh yeah, high as a kite.” He replied, “think she’ll give us some?”  

“That’s just what we need.”  

Rafe leaned closer, lips practically brushing your ear as he whispered, “It’ll be fun, kick everyone out, get high, have sex.”

“No.” You bit your lip to stop from laughing when he kissed just behind your ear, “now eat your food.”

“Is Fivel here?” Wheezie asked suddenly, interrupting her own story when she remembered your dog. She’d seen him on facetime enough that she had been dying to meet the black lab.  

“What is a Fivel?” Ward asked, looking at you and Rafe.

“He’s my dog. He’s in Rafe’s bedroom, I didn’t want him messing up the table or anything before anyone arrived.” You explained, turning back to Wheezie, “I have to walk him after dinner if you want to come?”  

“Yes.”

Rafe had told you, the first time he met your dog, that his father never allowed pets of any kind when they were kids. Not even a goldfish was permitted in the Cameron Household. He said that, according to Ward, the children were irresponsible and would never be able to care for an animal.  

-

“One time I brought a stray cat that I found home.” Rafe said, sitting in your bed, petting Fivel. The dog was beside himself, rolled to expose his stomach with his head in Rafe’s lap.  

“He didn’t like kill it, did he?”

“Honestly, wouldn’t have been surprised.” He admitted, “When he got mad he was scary. But no, he just made me drive with him to the SPCA to drop it off. I cried the whole way there over having to give up this kitten and then my dad made me walk all the way home.”

“Why?”

“Cause I cried.”  

The bed dipped as you climbed back onto it, sitting beside Rafe and pressing a kiss against his bare shoulder, “you dad sounds like a dick.”

“Oh yeah, no argument there.”  

-

Ward piped up again, seemingly in the mood for conversation and always happy to paint his son in a bad light. “Rafe wanted a cat once when he was younger but I didn’t allow it. The poor thing would’ve died in our house, Rafe’s never been good at taking care of anything, let alone himself.”

“Dad,” Rafe snapped.  

“I’m just putting it out there. I mean, you work with kids,” he said, looking at you, “you must’ve thought about having them.”

“Uh, yeah.” You nodded. It was a conversation that you and Rafe had for the first time when you stayed up north a ways for Anya and Ian’s wedding. Kids were not going to happen next month, certainly, but they were something you both agreed you wouldn’t mind.  

“Well, usually, you know, they say if you can take care of an animal then you can take care of a kid. And I’m just tell you, Rafe couldn’t take care of either.”  

“Dad!” Sarah interrupted this time, glaring at her dad. “Can we just have a nice family meal?”  

“We are.” Ward insisted. Under the table, you reached for Rafe’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly as his father continued talking, seemingly unaffected. “Did Rafe tell you he used to do drugs? You don’t do that anymore right? He snorted coke, wasted thousands of dollars on the stuff.”

The flatware and serving dishes on the table banged together as Rafe stood up suddenly, letting go of your hand. You thought for a moment that he was going to lose it and flip out on Ward and honestly, you wanted to yourself. But he said nothing, walking down the hall to the spare room that he used as an office, all of you watching in silence. Was he so upset he was locking himself in, you could imagine the absolute joy Ward would take in knowing he knocked his son down so far that he was sequestering in his bedroom.  

Finally he came back, piece of paper in hand, and he stopped at Ward’s chair. “Here, get out of my house.”

“What’s this?”

“A check. For 25 thousand. Now take your wife and get out of my house.” Rafe repeated, “dinner is over.”

You sat there in silence, too shocked to look at Sarah and Wheezie, who mirrored your expression, watching as Ward and Rose stood and left. Rafe walked them to the door, slamming it after them and, finally letting out the anger that had been boiling over all night, punched the wall, hand going right through the plaster.

“Wheezie and I can walk Fivel for you,” Sarah whispered, standing up and ushering Wheezie to the bedroom to get the dog and give you and Rafe some privacy.  

You got up at the same time though you headed for your boyfriend, who had his bloody hand pressed against a white button up, face red. “Hey,” you spoke soft, in what you hoped was not your ‘talking to kids voice’, “come on. I know you have a first aid kit cause I bought it.”

He followed you into the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet while you pulled the first aid kit out from below the sink. The front door opened and closed as Sarah and Wheezie left with Fivel. Just the two of you in the apartment now.

“Hey,” you brushed his hair out of his face and he tilted his head back to look up at you. “You did the right thing. He shouldn’t talk to you like that, or about you like that.”

“He’s right. I was a fucking screw up.”  

“In the vain of sounding like I’m going into teacher mode,” you said and Rafe laughed, leaning forward to press his forehead to your stomach, “Everyone messes up sometimes. You’re not that person anymore, and no one should ever talk to their kid like that.”

“I’m just glad he’s gone.” Rafe replied. “I don’t care if I never see him again.”

“Won’t argue with you on that.”

-

-First Christmas-

With the way that Thanksgiving had gone for the two of you, Rafe had proposed a Christmas without family. You might’ve agreed except he hadn’t met yours and you were more than determined to prove that not everyone was like his family. Christmas brought a lot of things. The four-month mark on your relationship, though Nina claimed it felt more like you had been dating a year, and your first major fight.  

Which began as a spat at his place and evolved into a whole verbal sparring match once you were at yours.  

“I’m not going.” He kept repeating the same phrase over and over.

“Christmas is so important to my family, I already told you-”

“And I already told you that the last thing I want to do is subject myself to a house full of people on Christmas when I could be home.” He was adamant about his ‘no family holidays’ decision.

“You haven’t met my family yet.” You argued. You’d been subjected to his and you talked with his sisters frequently but he had never bothered to meet any of your family.  

“Schedule a dinner.”

“Rafe! I did Thanksgiving, it’s not fair that you won’t come up for Christmas with me.” What wasn’t fair was bringing up Thanksgiving in the first place. The only physical memory of evening, besides the 25k that Ward did end up withdrawing from Rafe’s savings, was the hole in the wall that one of his friends had jokingly bought a frame for when they were up visiting from North Carolina the week after.  

“No.” He said the word with enough finality to end the argument.  

“Fine, I’ll go without you.”  

Dinner that night was tense and he didn’t stay over like he usually did. You didn’t text him in the morning and when he finally asked about getting dinner together two days later you lied and told him you were busy. Maybe you were being petty, probably you were, but you didn’t care. You were pissed, and rightly so. You had endured Rose’s scrutiny and had been there afterward for Rafe after he confronted his dad and he couldn’t even make the drive to western Mass. to see your family.  

So, you went alone. Packed your bags, packed up Fivel, and drove out yourself, arriving the day before Christmas Eve to your parent’s house. Christmas was a big deal in your family. The day of was always spent at home, together, with a brunch spread that could’ve fed far more people and the Hallmark channel on a constant loop of ridiculous movies that you loved way more than you should’ve. But Christmas Eve was a whole other story. Since you were a kid your mom had been hosting Christmas Eve at her house, family, friends, anyone who wanted to was welcome to come over. There was chili and meatball sandwiches and appetizers and none of the food the people usually ate for dinner. This was no Martha Stewart Holiday.  

The drive to western Mass wasn’t long, thankfully, because it took Rafe about an hour after you left to realize that there was absolutely no way he wanted to spend Christmas the same way he had the last few years. Alone in his apartment re-watching Die Hard or some other pseudo Christmas movie.  

He got there on Christmas Eve, pulling his car in next to yours in the crowded driveway. It was already snowing pretty heavily but his main concern was you. Would you be happy he changed his mind or pissed that he put you through all that fighting just to decide in the end that he was going to come?  

There were people on the porch and the front door was open so Rafe took that as hint enough to go inside. Your house was smaller than Tanney Hill but probably just as old, the woodwork inside that you’d told him about was as daunting as you said, though he still thought the house looked more welcoming than his.  

He weaved through people who said hello without knowing who he was until he managed to find the kitchen, and you, standing at the island talking to your mom. “I just think it would’ve been nice if she told you ahead of time that she wasn’t gonna show up. No one else wants to eat vegan spinach artichoke dip.”  

“She said she was going to try to make it.” Your mom replied, looking up from the oven and realizing that the two of you weren’t alone in the kitchen anymore. She had seen enough pictures of Rafe from your instagram and from what you’d sent her that she recognized him immediately. “Anyway, I’m taking this out to the living room.” She announced, grabbing the charcuterie board and passing Rafe on her way out.  

You turned, to finish your thought on your cousin, and caught sight of Rafe for the first time. “I thought you wanted to-”

“I know I said I wanted to stay home and not do family stuff but...I’d rather be here with you than stay in my apartment by myself.” He admitted. Rafe wasn’t one to fall on his own sword, he’d always been too stubborn to acknowledge when he was wrong but he couldn’t keep doing that. Not if he wanted this to last and he really did.  

You crossed the small space between the two of you, wrapping your arms around him, “it means a lot to me that you’re here.” You replied, “Christmas Eve is my favorite.”

“I think this is more people than house parties I’ve thrown.”

“Crowds are the best.” You stepped away enough to kiss him, the peach flavor of your lip balm making him lick his lips when you pulled away.  

“Why’s that?”

“Cause you can sneak off in crowds.” You replied, smiling enough that he knew exactly what you were insinuating as you pulled away from him, hooking your arm with his instead, “can I give you a tour of the house Mr. Cameron?”

“Absolutely.”

You walked him up the stairs, trying not to be suspicious as you ducked out of the party.  

-

“I watched this documentary about Nancy Reagan once,” you began to say, laying with your head against Rafe’s chest. It was Christmas morning, as your mom had reminded the two of you when she knocked on the door a few minutes ago.  

“Interesting post-sex commentary,” he teased, cutting you off.  

“Shut up.” You laughed, “I was trying to tell you something nice.” You sat up, angling yourself so that you were facing him, holding the sheet up in front of you. He looked at you skeptically, reaching for the sheet and giving it a tug but you held on. “No, cause you’ll distract me and then I won’t remember what I was gonna say and if we take too long my mom will come back upstairs.”

Rafe pouted, “no early Christmas presents?”  

“Trust me, you’ve had enough early Christmas presents to last until the new year.” You laughed, leaning over to kiss him. The moment you did, of course, he pulled the sheet away and grabbed your hips, guiding you back onto his lap. “Family Christmas.” You reiterated, determined to make it downstairs.  

And you did, though not before Rafe insisted he needed a shower and you needed to join him. The nice clothes you’d both worn for the party the night before were exchanged this morning for pajamas, yours a onesie that Nina had bought you from pink a few years ago.

Rose had always done Christmas for show, a gaudy tree and enough blinding lights and white on sliver to make someone feel like they were in a Kardashian’s house and not the Outer Banks. She never did yard ornaments or sentimental anything and someone else always baked whatever desserts they had for dinner at the holidays. Yours was entirely different. Red and green everything, the overwhelmingly large tree much more visible then it had been the night before with people crowded around the living room. There were ornaments from every year of your life, some silly figurines from Hallmark and others handcrafted with school pictures in them.  

“Guess how old I was in that picture?” You said, pointing to a baby picture of you that hung on the tree.

“I don’t know, two?”

“Five months...I just had a shit ton of hair. My mom said one time when she took my brother to Tennis the girl there asked if I wanted to join the seven-year-old class. I was three.” You replied.  

“So you were always weird?” Rafe asked, grinning when you smacked his arm.  

“How did you two meet? We didn’t get the story.” Your mom said, carrying a tray of food in and putting it on the coffee table. Your brother was with his husband’s family this year, but your sister was here with her husband and her three kids, one of whom was currently climbing onto Rafe’s lap the second he sat down.  

“Sorry, Garrett still gets u-p-s-e-t when he doesn’t get enough a-t-t-e-n-t-i-o-n.” Your sister said, as Garrett tugged on the strings of Rafe’s hoodie. Your sister was holding one of her twins and her husband had the other in his arms.  

“That’s fine, Garrett and I can chill, right?” Rafe said, tilting his head to look at your nephew.

“Yeah chill,” he repeated, smiling up at Rafe.

“So,” your mom said, drawing the conversation back, “how did you two meet?”

“Like how did we actually meet?” Rafe asked, smiling at you as you sat down on the couch beside him, Garrett repositioning himself so he was stretched out across both of you, laughing when you tickled him.  

Your mom nodded.  

“We uh, met at college but I was kinda still with Ian so nothing really happened and then Nina saw him on my Tinder and swipped and now we’re together.” You replied, “a modern love story.”

“Yeah, we,” he looked down at Garrett and then back to your mom, “h-o-o-k-e-d up and she broke my heart by not calling me back.” Rafe said.  

“Rafe!” You laughed, nudging him.  

“God, I hated Ian...what a d-o-u-c-h-e,”

“We actually just went to Ian’s wedding in November,” You replied, lifting Garrett so that you could grab some food off the table. Rafe put his arm around your nephew when he tried to rock back again.  

“No!” Garrett laughed, squirming around. “I wanna do presents.”

“Okay, okay, we’ll do presents.” Your stepdad promised. Garrett slid off of Rafe’s lap, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the tree. Rafe followed, sitting down at the base of the tree so that Garrett could look for the presents with his name on them.  

“How was the wedding?” Your sister asked, sitting on the floor by the couch with one of the twins. “I can’t believe he invited you.”

“Oh he didn’t,” Rafe piped up, “Ian married her grade partner.”

“Are you kidding?” She practically hissed, immediately going into older sister defensive mode.  

You rolled your eyes, getting off the couch and sitting down beside Rafe and Garrett. “Not kidding, and it doesn’t matter anyway.”

-

Being at your parents for Christmas had the same feeling as being out of the city for the wedding. Maybe even more so this time around, spending time with your family, made it easier for Rafe to think about the possibility of moving out of Boston and settling down with you somewhere like this.  

“I bought that bike unitard, by the way.” You mentioned, packing your suitcase to leave. Rafe was laying on the bed in your childhood room, Fivel spread out next to him.  

“The what?” He asked, raising his head a little.  

“The bike unitard, that I showed you, from that yoga website.” You replied, “its the shorts.”

He hummed, laying his head back down and brushing his hand through Fivel’s fur.

“What’s the ‘mmhmmm’ supposed to mean?” you asked, mimicking his humming.  

“You don’t ride a bike. Also, it’s December.”

“I might start.” You argued. In reality the chances of you biking were slim to numb but the outfit had been cute and the site had a 20% off sale.  

“No.” He replied, “Nina asked you to bike two weeks ago and you said it was, and I quote, the worst activity in the world.” He said, finally sitting up all the way when you stopped packing to sit on the bed with him.  

“Well I could stationary bike?” You suggested, though that was unlikely too. “They have those ones with the desk. So you can work out and work.”

“You’ll never use that.”

“I might.”

“Why not just use that stupid peloton in my office.” It had been a gift from Rose and Ward two years prior and Rafe had used it a total of never. It just sat there, staring at him as he worked.  

“Then I’d be at your apartment all the time!”  

“More than you are now? I’m surprised I don’t get mail in your name already.” He replied, getting off the bed and going over to his weekend bag. You should’ve left by now to make it home before dark but neither of you were rushing to leave.  

“Well, we’re always busy! If I was there and not busy-”

“Coincidentally,” Rafe started to say, only to have you cut him off.

“Coincidentally?”

“Yeah, here.” He turned back toward you and held a small wooden box out.  

You took it somewhat skeptically, “what is this? This looks like the Leslie and Ben box.”

“That’s because you have the best fucking boyfriend in the world who watches endless reruns of Parks and Rec with you.” Rafe replied, “open the box.”

Sitting inside the wooden box was a keycard and a spare, silver key, both of which you recognized. “Are these to your apartment? Are you giving me keys to your apartment?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I’m also asking you to move in with me. I know your lease ends in January and my building is animal friendly...imagine my bookshelves with actual books on them.”

“You want us to move in together?”  

“I want a lot more than that,” Rafe admitted, “but, it’s a good place to start.”

-

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[unholyhelbig]

We Sold Our Souls | Chloe

Read Beca's Chapter Here | Read on AO3 here

Summer 1985

The Diner on 10th and Jefferson was not an inhabitable establishment. The floor was once a glimmering white that had faded to a musty brown. You could see where the tables had been situated because underneath was still the original color- not the dingy, ketchup-stained mess. A window unit sputtered as it pulled in hot air and the sound of sheets of meat sizzled and popped on day-old grease.

There was flypaper tacked to the ceiling and they spun as the warm air shifted it. It wasn’t brown, not like the floor, it was black with squirming legs and tired wings. Chloe watched, sweat dripping from her nose, as one particularly large one tested his luck and failed.

The boombox in the corner crackled and competed with the sound of two number sevens being placed on the counter. The antenna was stretching to the sky and they only got a slight signal for KWBT, the best Rock music in the county.

Chloe perked up, her spine straightening as Brock Argent’s rumbling voice filled the small area behind the counter. She ignored the way the cook stared at her, sweat beading against his greasy forehead, as she shushed him and turned the dial. She knew what he was going to say, and he didn’t push any more than he already had.

She hadn’t stopped talking about ‘The Ramones’ New Album. It was advertised with neon yellow and orange posters all around town. No one could tell if it was from the record label or some die-hard fans that had too much time on their hands. Either way, everyone knew about it, and that everyone included Brock Argent and the KWBT team. They had made a big deal about getting their hands on a copy.

“Alright you crazy people, I know we’ve been teasing this one for a long while, but we’ve got a good one for you today!” Brock’s tone was so deep that it shook the upturned milk glasses on the counter.  “Here’s Pet Cemetery by the Ramones. Some seriously creepy stuff!”

Chloe felt the greasy diner and the sharp scent of fry oil leave her all at once. The second the first guitar chord struck the airwaves she had fallen so contently into the melody. Joey Ramone’s deep growl hissed and churned and made her stomach feel like soup. Johnny pressed down hard on the guitar strings and Tommy backed him up with a solid beat on the drum kit.

She ignored the way the cook eyed her cautiously as the steaming food on the counter attracted one of the flies that the paper hadn’t attracted. He was growing impatient as the lead belted out words about pets with their ribs crushed and their hearts gnawed pulling from the dirt. It mirrored that horrible book by Stephen King, the one that the schools banned, and the PTA moms fussed about until their veins splattered.

Finally, the song faded out and Chloe gave a grateful smile to the man in front of her before palming the cold plates and taking them to the couple that sat in the back booth. The woman slathered her pile of fries with a generous helping of ketchup and the man seemed to hate the idea of eating altogether.

Chloe didn’t’ notice when the cook turned down the radio for the rest of her shift. She was sore from mopping and wiping down all of the tables that were still sticky despite how much elbow she put into it. He watched her mount her bike and flick on the light that dawned its front despite the sun not fully being down, before he backed out of the parking lot himself and left their second lives behind, at least for a few hours.

She was mostly tipped change today and it rattled in the pockets of her apron as she took the side streets back to their run-down home. It had been nice once- at least that’s what the pictures tacked to the stained green refrigerator portrayed.

She shoved cake into her face with her vibrant mother holding her close. They all looked so clean despite the mess of pastry. There was light in their eyes and sugar in their systems and the old polaroid was a constant reminder to Chloe of the way things had been. The way she wishes they were.

The thought pulled at the back of her throat as she slowed her bike when the front tire met the Mitchell’s driveway. It gave her just enough speed to get over the dip on her own and pull the old blue contraption next to the garage. She could sandwich it between the trashcan and the side of the house. No one would take it, not in their small, rundown town. She flicked off the front light, reveling in the darkness for a few moments.

It was never silent, not here, not this close to the front door where the screen kept the lightning bugs out but no sound in. Her three younger brothers were blasting the television, all of them with their noses pressed to the static screen as MacGyver got himself out of whatever situation he was thrown into.

But over that, she heard her parents.

Her mother and her stepfather screamed loud enough for the whole block to hear them. It made Chloe’s jaw ache- how much they hated each other. They lived together out of spite, and because the boys needed a good role model.

But Rick, Rick hated Chloe just as much as he hated her mother. She wasn’t his and that had ebbed some deep resentment in him that she didn’t understand, nor did she care to. Not as she snuck in through the front door and trudged to her room. She was careful to toe her shoes off by the door, despite the pungent smell the house admitted.

It was considered rude to track mud, though no one had vacuumed in months at this point. No one had changed the lights or addressed the water stains that browned the ceiling above them. There was food on the table, most of the time, and hot water in the lead pipes. So Rick was doing his job and from the sound of the screaming match, Lauren was not.

Chloe tuned it all out.

She focused on the rifts she had heard this afternoon at the diner, and the satisfaction she got when she pulled the jar from the back of her closet, behind her 45’s and an old rolled poster of the Bay City Rollers that she had scored at an old thrift store and hung because the colors were vibrant.

As soon as Chloe could, as soon as she blew out the candle on her cupcake for her 18th birthday in front of that stupid polaroid and that puke green appliance, she would leave this tiny town. She would leave her brothers, and the dirty carpet, and stupid Rick, and even Lauren.

She would meet Joey Ramone, they would get married and she would never have to hear muffled screams and broken glass again- not unless it was at a concert that she was playing.

There was a glass of water on the table in front of Chloe Beale, but she hadn’t reached for it. There was some sinister part of her that considered it a test; there wasn’t a pitcher to refill it or anything else on the stark white surface. Just one singular cup that was free of any blemishes and water pushed to the near brim.

She was on a sofa that matched the rest of the room, stark and unfeeling. There wasn’t personality here; other than her and that stupid taunting glass, there was nothing. It could have been the waiting area in a place that detailed cars, but it wasn’t. She didn’t’ know what it was and she didn’t’ know if the water was a test- so she left it.

Her boots were the blackest thing, sharp like the night, against the white carpet. She got the sinking feeling that she should have taken them off by the door, though the secretary that lead her in here hadn’t told her to do so. Chloe wasn’t a child, not anymore, and Chloe could make her own choices. Like taking a gulp of water to quench the dry heat in her throat or taking her shoes off.

Rick would have made her take her shoes off.

Rick had killed her mother when she was at a concert in Orlando. She had saved up to get the tickets and she had had a fun, normal, road trip with the girls. They ate terribly and broke down in Georgia where they baked in the heat and splurged on ice cream cones that turned into a soupy mess in a matter of seconds. Chloe was happy then, and she had the polaroid tacked up on the corner of her apartment.

Thought the lights had been shut off a few times, and she and Beca had to eat all the ice cream and leftover pizza, and milk each time they did fade away, she kept it there. Her stomach would ache and her brow would sweat but they would fall asleep on the floor and the picture of her last happy moment would gape down at her- not mocking, but reminding.

They saw the yellow tape when Beca pulled the Monza to the edge of her driveway. Chloe let the rubber tire hit the corner of the driveway first, just like she used to do with her second-hand bike. Beca protested as she pushed the door open and flung herself towards her own home. A cop that shadowed his eyes with a large cap grabbed her by the middle and stopped her.

“That’s my house!” She had shouted, letting herself be lowered to the wet grass. “What happened? That’s my house! That’s my house!”

It had stopped being her house a long time ago when her father died of cancer and her mother met Rick, the anesthesiologist with the calm temper and the two boys from a previous marriage, and the one son that they shared together.

Chloe had spent most of her free time in Beca’s room now, staring up at the posters that weren’t of the Bay City Rollers on the ceiling. They both laid close to one another and she had memorized the features of Metallica and Stix and Beca’s breathing patterns, and the way the Charvel rested in the corner, with its off-white color.

Beca’s mother always had dinner on the table and always had enough for all three of them. Beca’s mom was interesting and kind. She was still alive when the summer of 88’ came to an end. She hadn’t heard the gunshots but she had smelt the blood- she said she was a nurse and she knew the scent of decay anywhere.

Rick shot Chloe’s mom in the head while her back was to him, and Chloe had always said he was a coward. He killed the boys too, straight shots with a gun Lauren had purchased him for Christmas because his new hobby would be hunting. As far as Chloe knew, the only shots he fired were that day, and the last when he ever did tore up his throat and painted the wall behind him.

She should take her shoes off and drink some water while she waits and wishes for wine. The secretary told her that he was running late and that she was welcomed to anything. But she didn’t’ feel welcome to the water, and really, she should have taken her shoes off, because the carpet was pristine, and the bottom of her boots were anything but.

Winter 1994

Snow fell in thick, wet drops against the pavement. It had barely started but picked up by the time Chloe ascended the stairs of the venue and tracked down Beca. The girl looked ragged, worn down, and thick with sorrow. She was moving her tongue against the edge of a cigar she had sliced with the pocket knife clipped to her jeans.

The sickly-sweet scent of weed followed the sparking of a lighter and the cold breeze that edged the nearly empty street. She leaned against the side of the van, next to a sizeable dent that had been there when they purchased it. When we’re famous she had said this won’t matter and we’ll be able to afford a van that isn’t half-totaled.

Beca pulled in a hot breath of marijuana, the tip burning hot and fast. She pushed the smoke through her those and passed it to Chloe who took it wordlessly and revealed in the sour film that coated her tongue and her teeth and her throat. A few more of those and she would be able to forget the disaster of tonight.

“Maybe I should have gone into accounting,” Beca said.

“You hate math.”

“That wasn’t my point,”

“I know. I just think that If you want to go back in time and choose MIT over your garage in the winter you should pick something you like. Not math. You’re not even good at math.”

Beca frowned and snatched the joint back. She wedged it between her teeth and gave Chloe the finger, the tattoos against her knuckles catching the red glowing light of the sign that hung above them. It buzzed like the flies Chloe had always hated- for some reason, more than spiders and moths, but she couldn’t’ recall now.

“Aubrey would have had a million things decided by now, you know? I don’t�� even need to prompt the woman before she brings up Julliard. Next thing; she’s going to be bitching about her back hurting from carrying the band.”

Chloe laughed sadly at that because she knew it was something Aubrey would say with that docile fire in her eyes. But through all of this, Aubrey was the best bass player that she had ever met and Beca had the right voice for them- but none of them ever said it. None of them ever dared that she would be better suited to part her ax down and grip the microphone instead.

“Are you?”

“What?”

She hadn’t noticed Beca was staring at her expectantly. Not only holding out the blunt, which she took and sandwiched between her lips, but with a question. Beca’s stare was dark, shaded in crimson, and glazed over because something was hitting; be the alcohol that she had consumed during the show or the slow crossfade that was humming happily through her now.

“Are you ready to give up?”

“Beca, this is all I’ve ever wanted.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She swallowed hard and tried to dull the pain of the flames at her throat. Red and hot and a lot like the stories plastered on the news not too long ago. Her stomach felt fuzzy and her brain did too and she suddenly felt like following Beca out here was a bad idea. A terrible idea, really.

Chloe let the end of the roll hit the ground. There was no need to stomp it out. The color faded away in the puddle of dingy water that had collected as they talked. She didn’t’ mind the cool embrace of the large drops that felt more like snow and stung like an insect bite. It kept her steady and grounded.

“I heard what you asked, and I told you this is all I’ve ever wanted.” Chloe sniffed, “I don’t’ care how long it takes to get there. It’s me and you, kid.”

Beca’s clouded stare softened, and she laughed loudly because at this point- standing in the rain, the two of them, she didn’t’ know if they had much longer at all. Not as a band, not as friends, not as that odd drunken mess they escalated to when they weren’t.

The scent of weed mixed with the wet odor of Portland and beer. Chloe curled her fingers around Beca’s, both cold and clammy, and the gesture hurt. It stung the bandages wrapped around Beca’s fingers and hummed at the pain in the back of Chloe’s head, where she figured a scar would be one day.

[tsukikoayanosuke]

(Temporary) Final Thoughts of Pomefiore Arc

Since this is my official first-time experience of playing this 'live', I haven't read the translation fully. So, I'll probably re-doing this after reading/watching everything.

Essentially what I like and what I'm mixed with.

I will first address something that has been bugging me since early update. And that's about the delay. Now, I'm not going to talk about the actual delay, but the reaction. Lots of people complaining and blaming the staff and just... Guys, give them some slack. Do you know what happens when you rush production? You'll get something like Frozen 2, where they had to edit so much stuff in just 6 months before the release date because of the failed test screening. As someone who once made an RPG, coding is hard, especially something massive like Twisted-Wonderland. Sitting in front of your computer for six hours straight, coding and beta testing over and over, making the OST, scripting, voice acting. This is a massive group project and it can't be rushed even if you want to unless you want it to be glitching so bad like the Ghost Marriage incident (or was it Fairy Gala?)

Especially during this pandemic and all its protocol. My parents are professors and even they don't go to campus every day, instead, they use zoom to teach and for work meetings. I barely go out from my own house except for physical therapy and volunteer work, which usually once in two weeks because we take turns. Are you saying the staff must risk their health just for a gacha game? Guys, they might be a professional, but they are still human. Cut some slacks. Be grateful we haven't gone into absolute development hell. Yes, the Halloween event was big, but Pomefiore Arc is part of the Main Story, of course, they will give extra care compare to filler event (which might be created in the first place to give them more time in Pomefiore Arc development, which is why we don't get any Christmas event)

On to the story, I don't know how to rate the scale, but it might be slightly lower than Scarabia Arc. Can you really compare a school talent show to a rebellion? Also, in paper, this should be more light-hearted than the four arcs before it.

However, the lack of stake didn't reduce the content quality. From what I remember, there is not a single chapter that can be count as filler, from Yuu's befriending Mickey, the understandably training arc, Vil's unique magic, Deuce and Epel bonding, and the actual VDC (but I do think the tour around the campus with Riddle and Trey was a bit boring)

Also, slight worldbuilding. We finally see Sage Island in its full glory and found out RSA is a freaking Disney Castle and on the same island!

This also gives us possibly the longest rhythm game, plus chibi Jamil rapping. There's just a lot of singing in this episode, which is understandable.

I appreciate Yuu finally taking notice of the Great Seven dreams, which I hope we can get more of this and actually do something with this and not just Disney Movie references, which later in the Episode shows Yuu sort of connecting their dream and Vil's poisoning attempt.

Speaking of Vil, he's a fantastic character. Okay, I aware that we can't like all characters, there will be haters anywhere. But it seems like Vil is hated a lot because he's 'arrogant' and 'only care about beauty'. Guys, he's not Jeffery Star. This Episode shows Vil as someone much more: a hard worker, passionate in acting, and a great teacher. I always see Vil as the more mature of the cast, the mentor. And he's also basically bullied when he was a child. "TV told me how to feel" as they would say, and children believe everything they saw on TV, so of course they would see Vil as the villain. It's also interesting, as someone mentioned earlier, how Vil is a foil to Leona, where Leona just gave up, Vil doesn't stop and keep striving, and that's an admirable trait. He just wants to get the protagonist role for once and break the norm.

Another character that I like is the new combo, DeuPel (Deuce and Epel). I should've known that they will be bad boy buddies with one trying to get away from the past, while the other wants to embrace it but can't at the moment. The shouting moment at the beach is wonderful despite I haven't read the full translation. Separately, Deuce shines so much with his willingness to learn. Meanwhile, Epel finally respecting Vil and all the training is probably one of the best character development so far.

Why one of the best? Because Kalim has great character development. How he grows to be more mature in this Episode really warms my heart. Again, I need to read/watch the translation to appreciate this more. The way he reassures Jamil to take the part as the main singer, but at the same time work hard to maybe get a spot as well is great.

Sadly, because Epel taking the spotlight as Deuce's partner, Ace was sort of underused. Same as Jamil, but sort of worse since he overblotted in the last chapter but has less development than Kalim. Rook also might seem doesn't do much, but he's more as Vil's support, which is why I kinda forgive him.

But, the highlight of this is probably our very own Snow White, Neige Blanche. Can I just say how much I appreciate that Niege doesn't have a dark side? He's a sweet boy and I just really appreciate that considering we're surrounded by a cast of not so great people, it's kinda refreshing to see someone just pure. The dwarves' design are also adorable, can't really say more since we haven't seen them in depth.

And since this is a School Festival Arc, all 22 students have a cameo. I know some people who are thrilled to finally Idia in the main story and to meed Che'nya again since Episode 1.

Unfortunately, Crowley proved to be useless again. When he finally appears in this final update I screamed: "SIR! Where were you?!"

Let's go back with Rook. What he did in the last update was definitely shocking. I knew something is wrong when he smiles after Vil's monologing. So this is the only time through the update I read the translation. And I sort of get it.

So, Rook and Vil's relationship should mirror how the Evil Queen and the huntsman. I mentioned above that Rook is Vil's support and I mean that. Rook and Vil's relationship is another level of prefect and their vice. It's just fascinating. Rook is just as reliable as Jade, but also not afraid to against his perfect like Jamil, also is not afraid to say something against his perfect, unlike Trey.

And it shows in this finale. Rook is always praising the beauty of things and Vil's hard works is truly a sight, but the way Vil unable to believe in himself, it clouded what is supposed to be something truly beautiful. Compare to Neige who is basically Snow White, the purest Disney Princess, there's just no way Rook would not pick RSA. I admit, I was pissed when RSA win, but when Rook started talking, I knew there was something more. And I finally found it. Rook's message is basically "believe in yourself", the most Disney-thing ever.

Saving the best (or worst) for last, I was terrified when Grim happened. We already guess that Grim is the same monster in the prologue, but I never thought it will happen so soon. The flashed of the monster and Yuu's carriage is also a point, but we have so little info that he can't pull a conclusion yet. Is this a timeloop? Is this a vision? This is the darkest ending we've gotten and I'm scared of what will happen.

Overall, Pomefiore Arc is an enjoyable Episode, definitely a step up emotionally. The cast are wonderful as always, the theme of hard work and believing in yourself are spot on, Vil's hero journey is great (I'll give more explanation soon). Great job, team.

[katzkinder]

Random Winter Headcanons!

It’s FECKING COLD where i live rn and im shivering in my room while envying my fat n’ fluffy cat’s fur coat, so... Have a smattering of random winter headcanons!

Winter is the least favorite season of a number of the Servamps, though the top contenders for “Fuck this season in particular” are Kuro and Jeje.

Lily is the only one who genuinely enjoys it, though he’s a tad annoyed that the nippy weather forces him to cover up. Misono, however, is grateful, even if he does have to put up with a near constant runny nose and Lily fussing over his health even more than usual

Since Jeje handles the cold particularly poorly thanks to being a reptile, Mikuni has taken to carrying Jeje in his coat pocket with one of those fancy reusable handwarmers stuffed in there with him. He claims it’s only because it’d be bad news if something happened and Jeje was too sluggish to protect him, but...

Mahiru goes with a different tactic and likes to place kitty Kuro in the front of his coat, carefully zipping it up so it doesn’t catch in his fur until only Kuro’s head is visible. The shared body heat ensures Kuro is nice and comfy, though he needs to be careful to not slip out the bottom of Mahiru’s coat they learned about that particular pitfall the hard way

Iduna is inhumanly immune to the cold and regularly shocks the people who know her by showing up in single layers, or even just outright coming to work in shorts despite there being snow on the ground outside. She gets scolded by Shuuhei a lot for doing this.

Freya has a surprisingly low tolerance for it in comparison and you can often find her bundled up to her ears, same as her Italian subclass. Despite how ridiculous she looks, people seem to avoid her even more than usual because all they can see of her are her eyes. It makes her sad lmao. Her spiced cider is literally the best.

More often than not, Licht is away from home for the holidays/his birthday, or else his parents are. He tries to act like it doesn’t bug him but Lawless has gotten quite good at reading his Eve’s moods and does his best to try and soften the sting where he can. Dragging Licht out to Tokyo’s Christmas Market was worth the kicks and yelling, just to see his Eve’s face light up once he realized what exactly was in front of his face. It wasn’t nearly as grand as the ones back home, but it was familiar, comforting, and showed a remarkable amount of forethought on Lawless’s part. After that point, it was Licht dragging Lawless around because he wanted to see and do and try everything.

Speaking of Lawless-- He knows a very old recipe for holiday meat pies that he pestered the cooks at Ophelia’s castle to teach him, as they were her favorite part of winter. He still remembers how to make them from scratch and ends up modifying the recipe to make mini ones to hand out to his siblings and their Eves per Krantz’s gentle encouragement. They’re delicious and he’s very picky about how they get made. Makes more work for himself, but he feels the end result is more than worth it. He’s considering selling them as a holiday special item at his Coffee Stand.

Mikuni is the kind of smug, insufferable bastard who refuses to make hot chocolate from a powder mix. Stove top or bust-- The recipe he uses is actually Lily’s and makes use of milk, vanilla, dutch cocoa powder, salt, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg... He prefers his with Almond Milk, because he’s a hipster like that. Making even powder mixes with water is tantamount to sacrilege to him.

Tsurugi’s always losing his gloves, scarves, hats, etc, and it drives Yumikage and Jun insane. One time they turned around after having spent the last ten minutes hunting down Takuto’s mittens to discover a sheepish Tsurugi without his. They wanted to kill him. Still helped him find them though

He’s far more careful with the knitwear Mahiru gifts him, with it’s soft yarn and sparkly, hand stitched lettering of “TK” in silver. It isn’t scratchy at all and nearly seems to be of professional quality, but even if it were the ugliest, most uncomfortable thing, he’d still treasure those clothing items just as much. Because Mahiru took the time to make something for worthless, money grubbing scum like him. His words, not mine