#and since I was kinda lacking on holiday spirit

[extreme-neutral]

It's grinching time.

no rest for thieving villains, eh?

how are you and/or your OCs spending holidays?

[pennycat83]

I legit think I can only put this here but I watched the stage play version of Spirited Away, by play standards it was phenomenal, I loved the puppets, props, way it only uses one set but so well, etc. But in the story department it kinda lacks.

I feel like they already got the script and let certain things slip or not fully take fruition. Like this is probably just my ass growning up on the English dub and how natural it sounds, but characters like Kamaji, Lin and even Haku were overacting at points.

Mildish spoilers??? (literally only makes sense if you watch it) But the biggest idea I had on why so many characters were overacting in the bath house in comparison to the opening sequence, is because the bath house is by default, overtly lavish and grand. Like of course the staff would need to overact to bring in customers and keep them satisfied, whilst it also works as a nice fit for the play.

My only grip is the characters I mentioned aren't like that. Haku's more or less brainwashed by Ubaba into working there so it'd make more sense if that over acting slips at points. Lin's already bullied by her peers and higher up and no one sees Kamaji, he's the boiler guy, who the fuck goes on holiday and is like "hey honey wanna go down to the scalding heat inducing steam room to check out the boilers?!".

Also since the og movie's like 2 hours long the pacing in it's done in a particular way where it's slow, builds up to acti0n and then comes down for more slow. It flows in just the right way where it doesn't feel like it drags (also it's animation so that's the main thing you're focusing on as it goes on). The acting helped with that in the original as well with how chill all the workers are in the down to Earth scenes.

But since everyone was overacting most of the time I just got bored. Like it's all high note all the time, I was betting on when the damn interval was.

The only scene that didn't feel like that was when we got to the train scene and we watch a group of shadowy yokai leave one by one. Nothing's changed, it's the same in the perfect sense, it's the right kind of breather, my favourite part in it's when this one shadow that looks like a school girl watches them a bit before getting off.

Like in the movie none of the shadows did that they didn't seem interested in Chihiru and no face but I like that small touch.

Again I had no beef with the set design I was just annoyed with how sloppy the pacing felt.

[skelegun]

When I was a lad before Redlettermedia and such, we had individual websites that would review bad movies, and the first one I discovered was called Stomp Tokyo. They used to have to type words because videos weren’t really a thing the internet could do well, you used to have to read those words with your eyeballs. Stomp Tokyo was part of a group they called The B-Masters Cabal which was a gathering of similar websites that would sometimes collaborate together and promote each other, and each of the B-Masters had their own gimmicks and niches that made them all kinda unique. Sadly most of the websites, while still up, haven’t updated in years, and are riddled with broken links. They are relics of a forgotten era of the internet when people had their own webbed sites, and not just a fucking discord server.

My favorite of the B-Masters was called Teleport City. Teleport City had a bit of different atmosphere compared to the other B-Masters. I got the sense, even as a kid, that Teleport City fucked. What sort of made them different from their compatriots was that Teleport City also covered music, like cool music I had never heard of, and they also covered alcohol. They would describe alcohol in intriguing and evocative ways, and while I couldn’t relate to these due to lack of personal experience, the way they were written always stuck with me.

I had always thought alcohol was just gross medicine tasting stuff people drank exclusively to get drunk, but here they were, a website I trusted to tell me which Godzilla movies to watch, was saying that there was a whole tapestry of flavors to explore when I was older.

I am older now, and truthfully I don’t drink that much. I haven’t had anything to drink actually in well over a year until today. However I am very bored, and I went to the liquor store today to try something new, so I thought I’d take a crack at writing a snobby alcohol review.

I went to the local discount liquor store and bought a mediumish sized bottle of Gordon’s London Dry Gin, I had wanted to buy the fancy blue bottle stuff but I’m kinda poor. After that I stopped at Taco Bell. They were out of chalupas so I got a Doritos Locos Supreme Tacos Value Meal with a Mountain Dew Baja Blast.

I don’t believe I had never tried Gin before, if I had I forgotten by now. I was intrigued by the promise of Juniper and Citrus. What the fuck is Juniper? Turns out it is like a pine tree. Why would British people in the 1700s riot over liquid trees? Surely trees must taste good, England is well known for having good taste in food and beverage. I had to know more. The anticipation was building.

I opened the bottle, and was greeted by an intriguing aroma. Christmas Tree, and nail polish remover. I poured some into a metal cup I had because I couldn’t find a fancy glass, added some ice cubes, and I took a swig… Then I realized I can’t beat around the bush anymore. I don’t know how people go on the tv and or the internet and tell lies about base spirits being anything other than toxic waste. Shits nasty on it’s own. Stuff tastes like floor cleaner. The vile taste of rubbing alcohol soon gave way to hints of licorish, orange rind, and car air freshener. The flavors call to mind a chilling holiday scene, Victorian London, Tiny Tim at the hospital, his leg freshly amputated. Watering that shit down with soda water and fresh squeezed lime juice made it more palatable, but still not ideal. I mean it’s like okay at that point I guess. What made it truly edible was mixing it with my half drank cup of Baha Blast, and like heaping helping of angostura bitters and a little orange blossom water.

I will say however, of all the base spirits I’ve tried, gin was not the worst, but at the same time it’s also kinda cheating in a way since gin is like a vodka tea from what I understand. My point being it’s already got shit added to it to begin with so it starts out with an advantage. Anyways, alcohol is gross on its own, don’t drink it, unless you want to I guess, whatever.

I’m gunna go watch a shitty Italian movie and maybe paint some Orks.

[woozi]

henlo yza beloved <33

oh my god <//3 love the way you put it honestly, the way you're so smart <3 the answer was right there and i managed to miss it 😭 i was lichrally like " ok so river dried up no thoughts head empty " and now it's as if the last missing puzzle piece finally fit itself in my mind jdjsksks that really explains whys and hows of haku ending up there, btw the importance of names and home in this movie was so heartwarming 🥺

also that's so sad to think about though, haku not having any place outside of the spirit world also means he might never get to meet chihiro 😭😭😭 ( unless he found a little something like home in chihiro ( yk home being a person instead of some house ) then idk he can become a water body anywhere she lives, if or when he decides on meeting her. like you know there is someone out there calling out his name or missing him which gives acknowledgement to his existence thus making a tiny place available somewhere where he is wanted even if as just a visiting guest) ok but honestly i'm also kind of okay with them never meeting hddjdj like even though it's sad there's still some kind of comfort in knowing the fact that some people only come into your life to help you grow in good way!/ intentionally or unintentionally helping e/o through tough times and then moving on )

also honestly same 😭😭😭🥺 i feel like we've been talking since ages, thank YOU for even taking out time to listen and reply to my nonsense fr, i'm so glad i sent that ask to tell you, your " im skydiving with vernon " tag was funny 😭🥺 i really enjoy talking to you

SPEAKING OF VERN how excited are you for his mixtape? would love to hear your thoughts!, i feel like he's gonna come out with some emo rock/grunge banger tbh, basing on the artwork and his love for avril lavigne songs hdjdjdkd whatever it is i know i'm gonna eat it up bc i live for his verses in hhu songs

hope you're doing well yza 🤍, and you too after 21st take some time out for yourself and recharge, you deserve it <333 love you 🥺 thank you for hanging out with me as always, bestie <333

(honestly had nothing extra to add 😭 dec is kicking me fr. days are just going by i have had no idea about which day it is this whole month 💀 also i haven't forgotten about the movie i'm gonna dm you details after i send this, feel free to check after 21st! )

MA CHERIEEEEEEEEEEEEE 😻😻😻😻

NAURRRRRRRRRRR i am not smart i'm just one for obsessing over details fjkfjdkfjdk AND I KNOW </3 it was such a good concept esp considering how our identities are so tied up with the names given to us by birth and the names with which we choose to present ourselves with!! AND UR MIND HELLO???????????? also agreed <33 i'm fine w the bittersweet ending (i… love them actually 😭)

ALSO PLS NOOOOOOOO i should be the one thanking u fr </3 lich rally where would i be without ur lil ask </3

AND URE SO REAL FOR THIS PLS FKJDFJFDJKFDJK i also find myself gravitating towards his verses we r besties fr 😋 and u r right once again omg it gave early 2000s <3 WHAT DO U FEEL ABT IT!!! i personally like the band ver more, it feels a lot more raw!! think the way mainstream kr companies (honestly cant be said for the indie ones theyre going IN on it there) produce rock music is so… tame for lack of better word, but the band ver ate fr tbh <33 IM KINDA SAD SOME OF THE SCENES OF HIM IN THE BLACK TANK TOP DIDNT SHOW UP ON THE MV THOUGH </3333333 HE LOOKED SO GOOD

i've been getting to rest a bit until i received an e-mail from one of my professors today 😭 now it's a sign for me to get back to work, i still have more finals and more deadlines for january, but after that i'd be FINALLY getting a real break 😋

AND NO PLS FDKJDFJ I FEEL U!! i hope ure getting to rest as well and that you've had a great time this holiday season <33 love u thank u for always being here 🥰 MWAH

[tooweirdforyou]

Well hello. It's me. I hope you can do this request hehe. 😅 Well as everyone knows over couple days it's Halloween. 🎃 Nwuhahahaha. So can I ask headcanons of Law, Ace and Kid with S/O that likes to scare people? And sometimes they use scary masks, fake knife with fake blood, fake spiders ye know. That's it. Have a nice day.

Law, Ace, Kid - Halloween HCs

A/N : Happy Halloween, I hope you guys stay safe and protected! :D Hope you enjoy this too! My treat for you. :) Okay I’ll stop lol.

Y’all, I keep thinking about Ace’s VA for dub, and it’s so amazing and I love it, and I wanna hear his Japanese VA soon but like, ahhhh.

Also, Law’s Japanese VA? 😍

I was going to post this on Halloween, but I’m too impatient for that.

Summary : Just some headcannons of what life would be like, celebrating and scaring your significant other for Halloween.

Ace

Ace would be most into the Hallow spirit, finding it to be fun, exciting and uses it as an excuse to pull pranks on others.

He doesn’t scare TOO easily. He grew up with Sabo and Ace, attacking the wild creatures in the forests, and he’s on Whitebeard’s ship as a division commander.

But he does get scared for sure. It it was out of fun and Halloween spirit, he’ll laugh it off and smile brightly. But if it was serious, well, that’s kind of obvious.

So when you pop out from around the corner with a scary mask and a knife in your hand, Ace would just blink at you before laughing heartily. “That’s cute, [Name].”

You would be a little disappointed that you couldn’t scare him but Ace could never make you sad.

“Hey, it was a good try though. You wanna prank Thatch and Marco with me then?” Ace grins and you couldn’t help but grin back and nod at him.

Of course, you two would fail and get lectured but at the end of the day, the whole crew would scare you two together somehow.

-

Law

Law wouldn’t be too into the spooky holiday, not because he’s scared, but because he thinks it’s kinda pointless.

So he doesn’t share you excitement, or the others’ excitement to celebrate, but he doesn’t say anything when he notices you with the others to decorate the Polar Tang.

He’ll see all the fake spiders, scary masks and figures you hang around the submarine and just sighs at it, but does find it rather amusing how much you try to discreetly plan pranks and scares towards him.

Especially because he knows you. It’s definitely obvious that you’re planning something and he’ll already know about it before you even try it.

When you rush into his office, freaking out about cutting your hand, he’ll just stare at you, making you dumbfounded.

“...aren’t you concerned?! Why aren’t you freaking out?”

“I can tell the difference between fake blood and real blood, [Name]-ya.”

“I’ll have you know that some of this IS real blood.. I did cut myself by accident..”

He’ll shake his head at you, cleaning you up while smiling slightly at your pout towards his lack of reaction.

“If you really wanna scare someone, I have an idea.”

So when the crew goes into the kitchen and find a silver platter with the lid on, they open it to find your head on the silver plate, with more realistic blood dripping out.

Pray for the crew mates’ souls.

-

Kid

Like Law, Kid wouldn’t really be into Halloween as much, but does still use it as an excuse to scare civilians and some of his crewmates into chaos.

So he’ll literally do everything to cause chaos in town when the crew explores a new island.

He wouldn’t really get in trouble because you know, Halloween spirit. He’s having the time of his life for sure.

Kid doesn’t get scared easily either. It takes a lot to scare him, since he isn’t scared of much besides real life problems, like falling in love.

So when you’re waiting outside of Kid’s room with the scariest mask you could find and a bloody real knife pointing at him, Kid just smirks at you. “Why the fuck are you wearing a stupid mask? Trying to scare me?”

He’ll just laugh amusingly at your attempt, before smirking wider at you. “You’re not good at this at all. I’ll show you how to really scare people.”

-

A/N : does Ace seem like Marco a bit to you? Or maybe that’s just me— hope you liked this! :)

Mmh.. I’m not too happy about this one, since my first Kid writing it short and not my best work :/ I’m sorry, I’ll change it up if you want.

[solarscholarsofmagick]

7 Feelings that Most Witches Can Relate To

1. Feeling shame when you forget about a holiday (again)

Let’s be honest; it happens to us at least once. Life gets busy and before you know it, you see posts on Twitter, saying, “Blessed Ostara!” while you are in the breakroom, scarfing down bagel bites while simultaneously trying your damnedest to get marinara sauce off your white shirt. What happens next can only be compared to the 5 stages of grief:

Denial: Maybe everyone was just posting stuff early. Maybe they’re in a timezone waaaayyy ahead of yours. You didn’t see anything posted about it yesterday, so there’s no need to look at a calendar, because you didn’t forget about the holiday.

Anger: It’s not your fault, it’s society’s fault. It’s not like there’s tons of advertisements about it in the media. No, everyone is hung up on Easter. The lack of accurate representation pisses you off and you’re prepared to scream from the top of your lungs about your beliefs.

Bargaining: Okay, so maybe you initially forgot about it, but you can totally make up for it. You still have time in the day to go to the store and buy some ingredients to make a quick meal as an offering. Wiping that stain off your shirt can kinda represent creating a clean-slate, can’t it?

Depression: You are legit the worst witch in the world. What kind of witch doesn’t even remember the major holidays. No amount of salvaging the day will erase the fact that you forgot about it in the first place.

Acceptance: Missing the occasional (or every) holiday isn’t something worth beating yourself up for, especially since they traditionally span three days or a week anyways. Even non-witches will forget about mainstream holidays. Besides, there’s always next year if you absolutely can’t do anything this week.

2. Trying not to destroy your bank account on a really cool crystal

For most witches, the fascination with what are essentially pretty rocks predates their official delve into the craft. When we do delve, however, that love (pretty much an obsession at this point) amplifies. So, when we go by that crystal kiosk in the mall, it becomes all too hard to resist buying that $50 bonsai tree with leaves of tiny jade shards. Sometimes it’s a jade tree, sometimes it’s a large amethyst geode, and sometimes it’s a hand-crafted obsidian dagger with an ornate elk-antler handle. However, the little voice in the back of your head desperately screams out that this money can be better used on food or on hoarding toilet paper (excuse our memeing). Who wins the argument? Hell if I know. *tries to sneakily slide card across the counter*

3. Not being sure which *witchy* aesthetic you want to represent

There are so many different aesthetics that you see witches portray on social media such as Instagram, Twitter, and even Tumblr. There are so many, and they’re all so damn cute, so finding one to truly commit to is about as difficult as choosing your starter in the first Pokemon game. (Charmander is the right answer to that decision, by the way). Those aesthetics include, but are not limited to:

The “traditional” witch- This aesthetic is typically described as Goth, witchy, or spooky. It can entail black lipstick, straight pitch-black hair, spider-web stockings, and platform boots that go up to your knees or thighs. There is nothing wrong with following this aesthetic. Go for it and relish in the fact that you can easily crush your enemies under your 5-inch platforms. And the fact that you are able to walk in them while normies just can’t seem to quite grasp the skill.

The plant witch- These witches will wear lots of greens and often have floral or tree tattoos. Their social media is usually saturated with pictures of their green children. Their hands are more often than not coated in a thin layer of dirt, especially under their nails. They yearn for their own greenhouse or maybe just a really nice sunroom.

The bohemian witch- These witches fulfill an aesthetic similar to the hippie movement of the mid-1900’s. You can usually find them wearing comfortable, loose-fitting clothes, and, more often than not, barefoot. Their Instagram is typically full of yoga poses and soap that they just hand-crafted.

The closet witch– Because these witches are not open (or are actively hiding) their craft, it is not easy to spot one. You have to look closer to see the signs. Such signs will usually be in the form of crystal and/or symbolic jewelry.

Pro-tip: You don’t have to fulfill a certain aesthetic. The aesthetic is never what makes a witch a true witch. So go nuts and wear what you want to wear. Your personal style is your aesthetic.

4. Getting Roasted by Your Own Tarot Cards/Runes/Divination Method

We usually consult our cards when we need answers. However, sometimes, we already know the answers and are just in denial. In these times, we consult our trusty tarot cards to find the real answer, since the one in our heads is obviously not the right one. It can feel like a slap in the face whenever we do a reading, hoping/praying for a different answer, and receiving what we already knew or facts we wished we hadn’t discovered. In these situations, it can mean that something unpleasant is the result of our own actions or that we have to do something unpleasant in the near future. The cards do not care about your feelings. The cards care about giving you the answers you need and helping you.

5. Forgetting About the Jar That You Put Outside to Collect Rainwater

It’s supposed to be simple. You wait until it rains, you grab a jar, you put it outside, and, once it finishes raining, you bring it back in. But, no, it never ends up this simple. It all seems to go wrong at step 4. After we put the jar out, more often than not, we go on about our day and the jar leaves our mind… usually for a few days. By that time, however, the water has either been evaporated or it has been contaminated with dirt, pollen, or even bugs. Just like with forgetting holidays, we tell ourselves that we won’t forget next time, but you don’t need to consult your cards in order to know that, unless you set an alarm on your phone, the cycle will only repeat itself.

6. Being Overwhelmed in the Beginning

Witchcraft is such a broad, broad term. When you say that you’re going to “practice witchcraft,” it can mean a multitude of things. You could be performing a spell, praying to your gods, drawing sigils, astral projecting, divining, and much, much more. You quickly discover this when you start your journey into the craft and it becomes overwhelming. We are in an age where vast amounts of information is at our fingertips at any moment. You find yourself asking, “Where do I begin?” We tell ourselves, “Let’s find a guide!” Then, we see that there are hundreds of “beginner” guides to the craft in bookstores and thousands online. It’s stressful and there’s a pressure of picking one that had the “right” version of things. In the end, you just have to make a leap of faith and pick one that feels right to you. Build your craft from things that pique your interest. Or, like me, you can close your eyes and grab one off the shelf and go with that.

7. Being Exasperated with Incorrect Portrayals of Witches/Paganism/Magick

You’re just hanging out with someone or a group, or you’re just chilling by yourself, innocently checking out something claiming to be about witches or paganism or magick- or even those books or movies about Ouija boards and/or malignant spirits- and as you’re watching, you notice some things are wrong. Very wrong. In fact, if the people in this had any knowledge at all of magick or paganism, they wouldn’t be in this unfortunate circumstance to begin wi- hey, don’t go without closing the ritual prope- at least the salt is still lini- hey, don’t do tha– I don’t even care anymore, they had no respect or reason to even do this in the first place. If people look to these things as what practicing magick is like (there are some very ignorant people out there), then they are getting a lot of misinformation and downright insulting stereotypes and stigmas ingrained in their minds. No, not all spirits are bad and trying to kill you, maybe if you’d show some respect, Karen, things wouldn’t try to kill you or possess you or whatever the fuck is going on here.

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[medieval-canadian]

c, x, y

alright. time for a break. there’s one other ask that i’ll save to answer later tonight, but this was the first one i got [edit, now there are two!]. anon, you really just went straight for it, didn’t ya 👀 (from this list)

coming back up to say HO BOY it’s diary time!!! you opened a can o’ worms, anon, and i’m sleep-deprived and my mental state is questionably stable because of the whole grading situation. check out my word vomit. yikes. sorry.

C - how long it’s been since i’ve been kissed

aw, fuck. i had not thought about this before now and the answer is just... unbelievably sad. makes me sad to say that it’s been literal years since i’ve been kissed (not counting like, cheek bussing at family holidays or whatever, which i’m assuming is not the kind of thing we’re talking about). and i’m not using “literal” in the non-literal sense. i think it’s five years, if not longer. that’s so fucking sad.

X - 3 turn ons

umm. okay. so like, physically speaking? or like general things that might attract me to a person? or like.... kinks? lmao. maybe we’ll do one of each, in the spirit of brutal honesty. okay i’m just gonna say that i am not straight but i do lean towards men. i don’t know how much of that is like, social conditioning and whatnot (probably a lot). i don’t really care, it is what it is and i’m not apologizing for it. okay. that said:

not to be super predictable about it, but i like tall, solid guys. i am v smol. it’s a thing ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ also, every single man in my family (the side that i grew up seeing/knowing)--i’m talking my grandfather, my dad, my uncles, my cousins, everyone--is like, a minimum of 6′ tall. my bro is the shortest of all the cousins and he is 5′10 i think. so i’m just used to being dwarfed by men? idk. whatever.

generally, one of the most attractive things to me is gentleness. but like... confident gentleness? like the kind that shows that he knows his own power (physically, institutionally, socially, etc.) and is aware of it and cares enough to modulate it. idk if that makes any sense. just be tender, and my heart’s a puddle.

okay now i AM gonna be even more predictable and shit but like.......... pick me up & put me where you want me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (once we know each other well enough and have talked about these things and can communicate with each other)

Y - 3 turn offs

i can’t really follow the same format as above for this one, cause like, i can’t really say that there are any specific or particular physical qualities or whatever that can be put on a list like this.

major big huge turn off, like i may end up getting freaked out and semi-ghosting level turn off, is (and it’s kinda stupid) like... intense interest? in me romantically? like the reason online dating never ever works for me is cause we meet up and then the dude texts me later that day being like, “i had a great time today, i really like you, when can i see you again” and i go into fight or flight mode and get all, “WHOA buddy pump the BRAKES.” the idea of someone meeting me and immediately knowing that they want to pursue me romantically squicks me out. like, you don’t even know who or how i am? basically the only way for things to work out for me would be to be stealth-dated lmao. or going the whole friends-to-lovers route, but i have like 8 friends and most of them are straight women or happily partnered. now y’all know what i mean when i talk about my chances.

lack of confidence. sometimes i feel bad about this one because i get that people can’t necessarily help it. but obviously i don’t mean being self-conscious about one thing. i mean the more overwhelming kind of lack of confidence where i end up being like, “in charge” because i’m the kind of person who will usually hold back for a bit to see if anyone else steps up, and when they don’t i’ll take charge. and that’s fine in a relationship if there’s give and take, but i cannot stand being relied on for this all the time (i speak from experience).

aggression. just automatic nope, nope, nope gtfo i’m gone byeeee. and i test for it. if i meet a dude in a bar or whatever, one of the first things i’ll do is tease/poke fun at something. his reaction tells me a lot. i don’t even really do this deliberately, it’s partly just who i am (the poking fun) and partly subconscious (gauging reactions). 

there we go, friend. i just spent half an hour on this instead of grading. thank you for the distraction, i made a terrible decision but i am grateful for your participation nonetheless. now i’m going to go be haunted by my first answer while trying to keep grading 🙃

[bigfan-fanfic]

How do you manage to motivate yourself to answer so many asks everyday? You do so many within a few hours, it's insane. I might just be crazy and that might not be as great of a feat as I think but damn, if I had to do that everyday I would probably collapse. And you also manage to make proper fics (albeit headcanons but basically the same) every weekend like what the freak - they're also, like, stacked up on each other so you're actually hella efficient???? What??? Idk, I could just be lazy but what you do everyday is amazing to me - I love you. Also, do you have any tips on how to ease out of writers block?? ❤❤❤

Hee hee, you flatter me! Honestly, my current situation is not the greatest, so creative writing is a wonderful outlet for me. I absolutely love it! And it’s always easier to do things you love. I also don’t pressure myself to do them every day. If I’m not feeling the writing spirit, I’ll just wait until I do. I generally get a lot of great asks, so I answer those, but I’m also not shy about skipping the ones that will take more in-depth responses if I’m not feeling them at the moment. I guess it also helps that with asks, most of the work is done for me, with the people sending them coming up with the scenarios. I find that a lot of the time, it’s easier to work from a prompt or concept anyway.

As for fics, I’m glad it’s working! A long time back, during my last huge spate of writer’s block, I figured that people would probably rather have a constant, if limited, flow of fics rather than burst and trickles with nothing in between. So whenever I write a new fic, I queue it up for a Saturday. I’ve had to take a long break from fic writing during the holidays, so it’s a great way to give y’all fics even when I can’t write. I currently have a fic scheduled for every Saturday up til March 13th! Which means I ought to get back on the writing train soon, haha!

I definitely appreciate your enthusiasm and your kindness in complimenting me, and I assure you you’re not lazy. I just kinda found a great way to keep organized. Plus, the lack of pressure to write really helps with the writer’s block, since I have the opportunity to wait a while until the inspiration strikes. 

Basically, my tips for easing writer’s block is to relax and recharge. Take a break from whatever you’ve been writing and do something else you enjoy - preferably something with dialogue or words. Reading an old favorite book, watching a movie or TV show or video game with the subtitles on, or even just hanging out here on tumblr - maybe I’m just one of those people who thinks in words more than images... or, images of words? Idk, but still - recharge and take in the words all around you, and I think you’ll end up pulling though writer’s block.

[kayrogers]

so much to learn ][ s. rogers

the proposition

Paring: steve rogers x avenger!reader

Inspo: reading a bunch of Steve Rogers smut and realizing that this mans could not be HALF as experienced as he has been written to be

Word Count: 1800+

Warning(s): partial nudity, cursing, avengers being the lil shits they are, suggestive flirting, and the teensiest bit of smut

Part: part one | part ??

A/N: none

Although Steve loved his fellow Avengers like family. And they were family, to him. He couldn’t help but think that they enjoyed to make him uncomfortable.

Steve had been roped into a game of strip poker and his ears were redder than ever, thanks to a little Asgardian liquor and the state of undress his teammates were in.

Thor didn’t know what poker was and only caught on after his shirt and pants were discarded, the god proudly sitting in his boxers like nudity was no issue. You could imagine he’s posed nude before, some risqué paintings hidden away in his kingdom.

Natasha was smart, too smart and possibly cheating, as she sat comfortably in a tank top and night shorts. She had accessorized a little more than usual tonight on purpose. That, and she was just damn good at poker.

Tony was down to his button-down shirt, socks, and boxers. He kept referencing something called ‘Risky Business’ and sipping from an infinite amount of whiskey glasses. Made you laugh though.

By the time Steve’s vision shifted to you, everyone was jeering as you lost another hand. Natasha especially obnoxious with a small chant of ‘take it off, take it off!’ which Sam, Tony, and Clint joined in on. You were a little tipsy, rolling your eyes but laughing as you took off the over-sized white sweater you’d been using to protect your modesty. Underneath was a bright, stringy red thong and a matching lacy bralette. He could just barely see the small snowflakes on the part of your panties which were actual fabric.

“Santa Claus is coming to town! God damn, [Y/n]!” You blushed at Sam’s joke, fake-pouting across the table.

“Steve, it’s your turn pal.” Bucky nudged his shoulder with a smirk, pulling his best friend from the current daze he found himself in.

Instead of paying attention to the on-going game, all the super-soldier could pay attention to was you. The way the garments hugged and complimented your skin, how your cheeks nearly burned a red just as bright. It was shameful how drawn in he was.

“O-oh? Yeah, sorry I was zoned out.” He bashfully came back to reality, playing his hand and avoiding the knowing looks of all of his friends.

Luckily, you hadn’t noticed, too pre-occupied with finishing what was left of your spiked hot cocoa. Steve rolled his eyes as Natasha bested his hand once again for the night, forcing him to remove his shirt and receive a drunken high-five from Thor. Your eyes peeled up just in time to find a torso which was sculpted by very intelligent scientists a long time ago. You could say the gods, but Thor was right there and he had nothing to do with Steve Roger’s physique.

Wolf whistles rounded the table, the others all cheering at the shy Captain America. He was modest, always very much respectful and innocent. Never even took his shirt off in the gym, even if he did wear those exceedingly tight t-shirts. And you couldn’t help but find it endearing.

“I’m gonna go get more cocoa,” you mentioned to Natasha, eyes still glancing at the very attractive Captain.

You go to pick up your sweater and she grabs it, “rules are rules, [Y/n/n].” She teases you with a chuckle and you roll your eyes.

Luckily you were tipsy enough to not care, standing and taking your mug with you back towards the direction of the kitchen. Truth be told you just wanted to escape the game before you could lose anymore articles of clothing.

“Hate to see ya leave, but I love to watch ya go girl!” Wanda cackles with the rest of the gang, the thong not leaving much to the imagination as you tried to leave the room.

“Whatever Pervs!” You called back and exited the room, Steve couldn’t keep his eyes off your figure as if they were stuck there.

See the thing was, Steve had always found you very attractive. Ever since you were first a recruit for the initiative. An ex-art thief hired by Fury due to your enhanced abilities of wall-crawling and camouflage, you were a little chameleon and very useful. But Steve hasn’t admired you for that, he was a freak of human nature as well. No he was impressed by your intelligence and adaptation. You were by far the fastest learner and the most determined, possibly due to this being your only chance at not being put into federal prison, but that was besides the point. He somehow liked that you weren’t like the others in that way. You had an attitude and you spoke your mind whenever the hell you pleased, some could call you a loose cannon but all Steve could see was a free-spirit. That and your tendency to bend the rules during training reminded him of himself in the army.

“You guys are animals, ya know that?” He joked with a small smile, grabbing the sweater from Natasha and following after you.

“Yeah, go get your girl, Rogers!” Sam called after him much to the others’ happiness.

Steve just shakes his head and heads out into the hallway. He couldn’t help but notice the slight cinnamon and cashmere scents coming from your sweater as he walked to the kitchen, the holiday smells putting a slight grin on his face. It was adorable and shockingly domestic for what he’d seen of you so far.

In the kitchen, Steve seemed to find it absolutely empty. This was until he watched a mug of hot chocolate seemingly float in midair. He held back a chuckle.

“At ease, I come with a peace offering.” He holds out the sweater with a sincerity that only  the golden boy of America could have.

He watched as you suddenly appeared before him, hands still grasping the mug and he nearly choked on air. You were still in that red lace number, staring up at him with an appreciative smile that made his blood rush to his pants in a manner that almost made him feel guilty. You take the chunky, white cable-knit sweater placing your mug down to put it on.

“Thanks. You know I’m really surprised they dragged ya into that, doesn’t seem like it’s your style.” You took a sip of your hot chocolate, relishing the shot of whiskey you mixed in.

“Oh? Why is that?” He sarcastically quips, leaning against the counter across from you.

You did your best to maintain eye contact, which was a very hard thing to do with the super soldier so casually missing a shirt which was not a sight you usually got to see.

“Mmm correct next if I’m wrong, but you’re... you! You drink black coffee in the morning and read your newspaper, and blush when Nat or Tony says something brass. And I get it, you missed about seven decades of societal sexual growth. So... yeah I’d say it’s safe to presume that strip poker could make you a little uncomfortable.” You could guess it was the liquor in your system that let you go on your small over-analysis, but the arrogant smirk on your face after definitely was.

“Wow. Harsh, but I can’t say you’re wrong.” He admitted and you watched his eyes snap up and down your half-naked figure.

You found yourself wanting him to do it again.

“Yeah. It’s been kinda hard to uh catch up, for lack of better words. It wasn’t long that I was out of the ice when Loki happened and ever since it’s just been work. Relationships haven’t really been an option.” He earnestly responded and you felt your heartstrings tug.

“They never really are for people in this line of work.” You empathized before feeling a false bravery take grip, “So... no action at all since the ice?”

You could practically see his face twitch as he registered your question and tried his hardest not to show how flustered he was.

“I’m 90, not dead.” He laughed before continuing, “but um I’d still probably say I’m more inexperienced then most.”

You couldn’t believe how honest his answer was, nor how he almost managed to make it seem like he was flirting. As he spoke, Steve moved closer to you, now by your side rather than across. His eyes lingered on your features and you were thankful for the dim kitchen lighting to cover your blush.

“Oh? Care to elaborate? I mean you’re extremely gorgeous so I can imagine you gotta be understating right now.” You rose an eyebrow, taking a sip and watching how he reacted to the compliment.

And even in the low light you could see those perfect blue eyes begin to darken, something which spun your thoughts in a delicious way.

“Cute. But, I most certainly am not.” He left you hanging, as if wanting you to prove him further.

And with the Irish courage pumping through your system, you did. “Okay. And you don’t have to answer this- though I feel like if you don’t you’re kind of answering it- have you had sex?”

It was bold, made even bolder as you positioned yourself in front of him, staring up with false innocence and hot chocolate steam rising between the two of you. There was barely a foot between the two of you and you could practically feel the heat emanating from his very built torso.

He shook his head with a coy smirk and you couldn’t help but let your jaw drop.

“You’re lying.” He shook his head again.

“Blow job?” Again. “Hand stuff? Make out sesh?” He nodded.

“Damn, Captain Rogers, how do you manage? I mean it’s been a couple months for me and I am struggling.” You groaned dramatically, inwardly gaging his reaction as an idea formed in your head.

You downed the rest of your drink, purposefully placing it on the counter behind Steve. Your hand touched his chest, and you muttered a ‘sorry’. His large hand touched your waist as you reached over him as if to guide you, but it was obvious that the two of you had been waiting to break that touch barrier.

“Can’t crave something you’ve never experienced,” he commented and you arched your back, positioning your hips against his own and letting your finger drag along his chest playfully.

He kept his hand on your waist, letting the other join and pull you even closer. They felt hot on your waist even through the sweater.

You let your finger hook under his jaw, letting his blue eyes stay focused on your own, “well if you ever want someone to teach you what these experiences are like... I’m just down the hall.”

And with that, you pulled away, turning out of the room and leaving the super soldier speechless. Steve watched you go longingly, not missing how you purposefully lifted that over-sized sweater to let him have another peek at your ass before exiting the kitchen. He dragged a hand down his face, his features burning red as he realized just how tight his jeans now felt.

Steve would definitely be taking you up on that offer.

[newbornwhumperfly]

all i know is you’re the nicest thing

CW: references to past non-con, dissociation, panic attack, references to victim-blaming.    

a spinoff gift fic of @haro-whumps brilliant, heart-wrenching group whump series. this is based on some headcanons we’ve exchanged. i hope you like it, haro!!!                                                 

Snow is thick on the ground and Galo is going stir-crazy.

He hasn’t been able to run around the mansion for a week now. While it was kind of a fun challenge to wrestle through the drifts when they were ankle-high, it’s now impossible while keeping good form. Per usual, he’s been visiting the gym regularly but that’s come to a stop with the week before Christmas, depriving Galo of even this pressure-release. He still lifts weights, pushes and pullups until his arms tremble but he’s pushed himself as far as he can without burning out. Video games always exist, obviously.

What’s really funny, Galo thinks sourly, plucking a thread loose in his coverlet, is how a little cold weather makes you realize how isolated you are. Sure, he’d never really cared for Christmas. Correction: he kinda hated it. Aside from the fact that he’s decidedly not religious, the holiday was always bound up with baggage. Being made to wear festive, uncomfortable dresses to seemingly infinite parties full of infinitely shallow, shitty guests tripping over themselves and one another to flaunt how well they were doing. 

Ever since he’s gotten his own place, Galo never bothered with his own celebrations. No SO, no super close buddies to chill with, no way in hell he’s gonna make plans with anyone in his family. Outside of the occasional Christmas party at work and its flimsy temptation of free dessert and sparkly booze, he hasn’t bothered.

Now though…

Galo worries his lower lip as he sips the smoothie Sasha made for him. There’s a sprig of holly on the rim and it makes him grin. The timid woman has blended his breakfast for the past seven months and he’s come to lean on the reliability of it, the way that Sasha assembles the ingredients just so, drawing out a fresh deliciousness he’s never managed to coax from the mixture. She’s really damn good with food and he remembers to tell her so whenever the opportunity arises. It never fails to soften her.

Now he has people to take care of. Well, ok, they’re not children. But sometimes Galo feels that way, as guilty as it makes him. They’ve learned helplessness well, as they were trained to. As it was beaten into them over years and years, until they were broken, stitched back together with brutal routine. He grips his cup, fingers flexing in rage. Aunt Bethany may be cold in her grave but Galo’s anger refuses to cool, needing only a flinch or stammer or any unbidden reminder of the abuse to stoke that fury. The many weeks Galo has lived with these traumatized slaves has only peeled back fresh layers to the nightmare, all of it fuel to the simmering heat that lurks below his skin. He said he wasn’t religious but he really hopes hell is real.

Galo threads his fingers through his tuft of hair, yanking firmly to shake that train of thought off its runaway track. Now he can’t even work out until the burn of adrenaline smothers the hateful heat in his veins, he needs a new distraction other than his guild or fucking video games he’s played a hundred times before. The charity places he fills his spare hours with are all closed too, the heavy snowfall blocking most of the volunteers from service. He really is gonna go crazy, stuck for long, quiet hours in this sprawling estate with only his slaves for company. Who can’t leave and will all probably feed off his tension until they’re all an accidental frown away from a breakdown.

Fuck.

Bethany is gone but her horrors haunt this house, the ghosts waiting to strike in every corner.

Galo wonders if these guys celebrate the holidays at all. None of them can buy eachother anything, duh, but they’d probably made do? He doesn’t really have any clue what slaves would do on holidays but it’s probably none of his goddamn business. If he had to venture a guess, they probably did something special together after Bethany fell asleep. Or who knows? Maybe Christmas had shittier associations for them than even he had. That assumption was probably depressingly accurate. They were clearly devoted to this little unit of theirs and had probably found some way to make the day nice for one another.

And Galo had the nerveto feel stymied. He groaned as he threw an arm over sore eyes, blocking out the gaming livestream he was listlessly tracking on his laptop. He sure as hell wasn’t throwing a party in this gothic funhouse, most likely the first time in the group’s memory that they didn’t have to arrange an event. He was sitting pretty on millions of dollars, bemoaning his loneliness on a holiday he didn’t even celebrate in the first place.

He’s sure that the poor bunch downstairs could only dream of getting good things like he could get for himself anytime he wanted.

Oh.

Galo sprung up from his lazy sprawl against the headboard, an idea flaring up, getting brighter and warmer the more he thought on it.

This…this could be a good idea.

Could be being the operative word here, Galo determines, clicking away from the livestream to open a new search page as he reaches for his notebook and begins to flip through the pages of observations. He pauses, massaging his eyes as he considers his options. He’d have to be verycareful with this one; if he’s gonna do this, he needs to do it right or not at all. It might be a big fucking mistake, with the potential for backsliding practically a minefield under Galo’s still-balancing feet.

But it has been months. Dozens of days had crawled by without incident and he’s got wiggle room when it comes to potential fuck-ups – the last triggering incident was over two months ago and it had nothing to do with Galo’s actions. He figures he is safe for now. But, then again, he might never be safe when it comes these people – or rather, they might never feel safe with him, he acknowledges, heart panging sharply at the thought. Is it worth the risk, disturbing the fragile balance he’d so painstakingly built over the stretch of time?

Galo sighs, trying to release his tension the breath as he rubs his temple, ruffling the buzz of hair distractedly. It might be selfish, but he wants – desperately – to make them happy. To do something for them all other than just stay out of their way. There’s always the risk, in anything he says or does or doesn’t say or doesn’t do, that he will hurt them without even knowing it and it hurts. One thing he knows for sure is that he’s never been that person to resign themselves to doing nothing. Nothing is written in stone – if he has the heart and the care, he can do what he puts his mind to.

Sucking air into his lungs in one big, fortifying whoosh, Galo squares his stiff shoulders and starts typing suggestions into his search bar. He’ll start with Greyson, since his choices are easier, and then work his way down the list. He’s got less than a week and if he can do this right, and he needs – he reallyneeds – to get this one right, then they’ll be happier. And that’s all that really matters in the end. These people have never expected kindness outside of one another for their entire lives and Bethany had built the world in their minds in her image, a world of casual cruelty.

Well, it’s about the time to change that, and if Christmas is supposed to be a time of rebirth or whatever, Galo will exorcise his aunt’s presence with the ass-whooping spirit of the motherfucking season.

                                                        ~          ~                              

Master Galo has been…animated.

Galo is almost always cheerful, at least in their presence, but the past week has thrown the man into a state of nervous energy. It isn’t…bad, as far as Greyson can pinpoint. There is an excitement which hovers around him but there is tension too. He’s been muttering under his breath a great deal, mumbling to himself in a distracted, half-aware manner as he has tended to do when he has a lot on his plate. He has been glued to his laptop a great deal as well, tending to pace with it as he wanders on socked feet between his usual haunts. Most hours, he drifts from one room to another, sometimes shutting himself into a room to make a call, sometimes contemplating something on the screen in long pauses, biting his lip, brow scrunched in focus.

Greyson has warned the rest to take care and not distract Master Galo, as he is prone to bumping into doorframes or nearly tripping as he turns about to set the device down and scribble swiftly in that bulky notebook that he carries in his pants pocket everywhere he goes. Whatever Master Galo’s true mood, Greyson knows it would not do to disturb his patterns of distraction. It has already been tense downstairs, what with Master trapped inside due to the harsh weather and lack of exercise routine. A bored Master is dangerous. His full attention could be easily caught by anything (or anyone) who got in his way right now.

And he cannot help but notice, even though he should not notice, as it is none of his business, that Master Galo keeps the screen darker than usual when he carries it around and he always closes it when Greyson or one of the others approaches. He does the same with the notebook but there is almost a caution to the movement when Galo notices he is being observed or approached, snapping the device shut and looking for a moment almost like a guilty child caught sneaking a treat. Greyson does notwant to think about what that means. He will find out soon enough, he suspects.  

So for almost a week, as Christmas Eve crept closer through the soft, white hours, passing too slowly and yet too fast, Greyson watched and waited for something to happen.

                                                           ~          ~                           

Nyla has brought several packages up to Master Galo’s room in the past week.

In the past, she wouldn’t take too much note of this. Mistress had had everything delivered to her once her knees got too bad to go out shopping anymore and she had always given Nyla’s own knees a good whack with her cane when Nyla brought her the latest purchase.

Now, however, it is unusual now and unusual is always bad. Master Galo doesn’t tend to buy things for himself, besides the occasional video game or set of clothes that he often chooses to drive out and pick up in person. Now, he has eagerly grabbed each new package from her, a pleased, giddy grin on his face every time. She doesn’t know what it means but she has noticed Master’s hyperactivity and knows that Greyson is concerned. When she allows herself to dwell on it, it concerns her too.

Master’s behavior might not be bad (yet) but Nyla certainly isn’t going to call it good. Master Galo insisted he wants Christmas to be uneventful and while Nyla would typically be beyond grateful for such a reprieve, her anxiety worsens with the lack of planning to busy her worried mind. Nevertheless, she pours the fretful energy into perfecting what she can. She can always be perfect. Nyla assures herself of this constant as she polishes and re-polishes, scrubs and sharpens and floats like a dust mote through the halls, quivering at the ready for Master’s beck and call.

Her headaches are beginning again. The season ushers them in without fail, sharp heat coiling down her neck, her jaw, up through her temples and between the eyes, at times so stabbing that she nearly staggers from the anguish. She doesn’t though, despite being uncommonly tempted to grimace against the cruel pale glare of winter sun through every window. Putting it out of her mind, she glides quietly in rooms near Master Galo. 

Adjusting this, that was already straight. 

Wiping this, that was already spotless. 

She scrubs at a wood-stain on the balcony for the sake of scrubbing, letting the tingling cramps in her overworked wrists and sore knees distract her from the pain in her head. How much her jaw felt like it was trying to escape from her face, how much her neck seemed trying to twist off from the rest of the spine, and the constantpressure, the throbbing patch of nose, eyes, brow clamped with a spiked vice.

Mercifully, dusk was coming swiftly at the heels of the noon, the quickly dimming sky beckoning in Christmas Eve. Nyla has told Greyson to be ready with the car in case Master should want to go somewhere at the last minute. Lilah has kept the driveway shoveled with Evan’s help, bless them both, and salted. Sasha putters about the kitchen, busy with nothing as she travels in slow circles like a crumb circling the drain. They all feel it. They are all waiting. Master has been locked in his bedroom all day and most of yesterday, doing…something. Other than an occasional soft curse, Nyla has heard little when she passes (pauses, lingers, eavesdrops) by his door. She doesn’t think about what might be coming, what could be about to descend upon them swifter than the evening, better to lose herself in little meaningless labors.

Her focus thankfully helps her avoid a start when Master Galo flings his bedroom door open and pokes his head out, glancing about until his eyes catch Nyla, already risen from her futile polishing to a poised, submissive, smiling stance.

Perfect. She is perfect.

“Oh! Hey, Nyla, good – you’re exactly who I wanted. Um, is everyone…busy right now?”

Nyla parses the question. Everyone should be busy. That seems to be the right answer.

“Yes, Master Galo. Is there anything you require?”

Master didn’t seem outwardly displeased by her answer so she let herself breathe into his reply.

“Awesome. Yeah, actually. Why don’t you tell everyone to finish up whatever they’re doing? If it’s not finished, it can wait till later. After that, can you tell everyone that I wanna see them, and you too, in the living room? I’ve got some…gif-, uh, good surprises for everyone.”

Nyla can’t breathe in. She has breathed out already and can’t breathe back in. She needs to breathe in. Needs to speak.

Surprises.

For everyone.

Oh god. 

Oh please.

Breathe.

She’s missed his words, muffled, underwater, swimming through too-thick air, no sound.

You need to breathe.

You need to listen.

Listen!

Air thins around the words and they make it to Nyla’s ears.

“-holiday spirit and, uh, yeah. It’s my festive mood coming out I guess. Don’t wanna give it away, you’ll all see the surprises in a moment anyway! But, yep, a few minutes? That good?”

Breathe.

She’s still smiling. She can feel it. She can feel her face, her mouth, her hands clasped in front of her. She can’t feel her lungs for some reason.

She blinks.

Nods.

She’s answered Master, right? God, please, has she answered Master’s question?

She must have. She must have. She must have answered correctly because he is grinning and nodding and thank holy god he isn’t really looking straight at her, rubbing his neck in that strange way he does sometimes. She must have answered him because he hasn’t gotten angry and he’s closing the door and she couldn’t have made it worse and she can’t make it worse and she’s perfect and she-

Perfect.

The word is like a splash of cold water and Nyla remembers how to inhale, knees buckling briefly with the dizziness of no air, catching herself on the balcony as the head-neck-spine-wrist-knee pain floods through her awareness, riding in on the icy wave of fear.

Surprises.

For everyone.

Perfect.

Enough. Nyla flicks her tender wrist with sharp, punishing taps until her limbs unfreeze. The moment she trusts her legs to carry her, she scoops up her cleaning supplies and lets her body take over. Drift gently down the stairs to inform the others. Obey. Guide the others.

Be perfect.

                                                           ~          ~                           

It’s about fucking time.

Evan allows himself to savor this small prick of resentment on his swift walk to the living room, following only a minute behind Greyson, who’d tersely passed along the command.

Huffing harshly through his nose, he lets the tic in his jaw relax into his required, submissive blank while he tucks the flyaway hairs at his neck and forehead back into his ponytail. He doesn’t give a damn, of course, how pretty he looks. It’s not like his Master is gonna fuck him…probably. Gifts are not good; Evan should know that by now. Should know better than anyone. His gut lurches oddly at the memory of clammy, clawed hands pawing and pulling and scraping and taking what they want. He hasn’t been eighteen in a while but the space of years makes no difference and he can still smell the stench of smoky, heaving gasps. He can still feel the confusion like a sticky sweat crawl through his limbs morphing into terror-rage-shame.

It’s just the scent-memory which summons nausea, nothing more. He just…hates the smell of ash on breath. Hates that it’s been months since he’s had hands on him, years since that was new, hates that the hands fill his dreams and make him wish he had no skin to touch at all. He scratches the ghostly caresses off in the shower and tries to be grateful, bitterly, that no new hands have replaced the phantoms. Master isn’t gonna fuck him, at least, not soon. He shouldn’t have any reason to care about “looking proper”.

But Nyla would care, Evan thinks, the months-old regret clenching like an invisible vice around his heart. He owes it her to still be good, to at least try to live up to her poise.

It’s this duty which lulls him as he glides, smooth and graceful as he can, into place behind Nyla in the living room. He notices how she and Greyson have put themselves at the front, forming a fragile wall in front of Lilah, who is quivering in place and hunching to make herself shorter. Sasha has placed herself at Lilah’s left, shoulder almost brushing her bowed head as she curls ever-so-slightly inward towards the teen. Evan has been left Lilah’s right to stand at, his tall form shielding her from the room’s entrance. All of this was Nyla’s doing, of course it was. She has ensured that Lilah will, at least, not be the first to endure what is to come, has given her time to brace herself.

Evan’s love and respect for Nyla soars and nearly overwhelms him for a moment as he tries mirroring her back-straight neck-long eyes-low hands-clasped-lightly posture. She had forgiven him a while ago though softening took far longer and he is grateful for the generosity of time when he hears her hum, barely audible, in approval.

It is the only sound other than crackle-rumble of the enormous wood-fire blazing high and hot and he glances to the side to see the orange shadows dance over Lilah’s face. The dull roar has drowned out her breathing, too loud, too uneven. She hasn’t gone Quiet yet and he wishes she could when the flames reflect tears threatening to spill from her eyes already. She’s trying very hard, he can tell. His sweet baby Lilah. His sweet baby girl. He wishes so badly he could hug her right now. He wishes Master wasn’t about to hurt her for no fucking reason.  

Stop it.

Those thoughts are dangerous territory and Evan will notlet himself ruin anything for everyone else. This isn’t about him. He needs to be perfect right now, for Nyla, for Lilah, for all of them. He owes them that much at the very least. It gets harder to keep his face flat, however, when Master practically strutsaround the corner.

In all the months he’s been here, Master has never looked so energized. He’s switched out his usual t-shirt and shorts for a casual suit, hair slicked, and when he strides to a halt in front of the Christmas tree, he’s almost bouncing on his heels. His hands keep clenching, unclenching, clenching with whatever jumpy giddiness that’s put that wide grin on his face. Whatever restraint has kept him tethered is loose now and it trembles through every line in his broad body.

Evan drops his gaze to the rug so he doesn’t have to look anymore, tracing the red-white-green stitching of embroidered wreaths below his shoes. He knew, he knewbetter than to trust Master Galo’s mood, so peppy, so eager, so cagey. Master’s gonna drop the act like a heavy fist down on their heads and Evan might almost be sickly satisfied if not for how a traitorous nausea is curling in his gut to swallow the rage, if not for how his whole family is trembling around him, if not for how he’d almost – almost – begun to wonder if Master was…different.

At least this stupid, stupid, stupidpunchline is about to be called. Cold comfort now with how chipper Master is, how he can barely contain himself with the sweet satisfaction of it all, to watch his slaves quiver on the cusp of long-awaited suffering. Evan just hopes its everything Master’s fucking dreamed of.

                                                     ~          ~                                      

Lilah is so confused that she wants to cry.

Usually, the tension would strain every muscle tight, fighting her mind that kept trying to Go Away, ‘cause it wasn’t time yet. She is about to cry, a little wetness escaping, wiped away quickly. She can’t cry yet, she can’t even cry yet ‘cause nothing even happenedyet and that’s bad. She can cry later. There’ll be plenty of time to cry, soon. Soon, will go Quiet and she won’t be worried about anything.  

She doesn’t understand.

It’s so stupid to be confused. This just…used to be so simple and it hasn’t been the same recently and…she doesn’t get it. Evan was right, of course Evan was right, he’s always been right about Mistress things. She should’ve trusted him more about Master. But…but he…

He seemed different.

She’s never been good at the games, not like everyone else. She’s stupid about the rules anyway, and there’s so much that the rest of them all understand so easily, that they’ve learned from so many years of being good. She should know that there will always be a game. There will always be a rule. A test.

But still. He really did seem like he might be different than Mistress. His games were so very different that Lilah would wonder if he had a game at all. That’s stupid. But she had a good reason to be! Master had always been kind to her. He’d always smiled at her, real big, and he said such nice things about her work! He gave her lots of rewards too. Lots of rest and new kinds of food and special tools to make her yard-work easier, even though Lilah had always done a good job without those things.

“It’ll help you as a thanks for being so good at everything”, Master had told, all his teeth showing.

She should’ve known that was a lie. It had to be. But she’d wantedso badly to believe it.

Master never got mad when she went Quiet – kind of sad, or what looked like sad, and watchful and worried. But never mad. He’d never get mad at Lilah, even though he’s been mad at the others, been mad at Evan, even though they’re all better at this. Good enough for years. Good enough, at least, to not be punished all the time, day and night, beaten into place ‘cause she always had to be reminded of how not-good she is.

Bad girl.

Why? She just wants to know why and wanting hurts. Her heart hurts. It’s not a scared-hurt. It’s a sad-hurt, heart sore and throbbing wildly. She feels sadder than scared and that’s new and stupid but…she really did think Master woulddo something bad when nobody has been really bad and now he isgoing to and…she just doesn’t know why. But he is. And he’s happyabout it. Evan would say it’s ‘cause Master enjoys it, that he enjoys playing with them the way he does. She should listen to Evan. Why doesn’t she listen? Why can’t she ever keep up?

‘Cause you’re a bad girl.

Master’s voice rings suddenly through the room, the noisewhere there was no noise pulling Lilah’s breath in a little too quickly and Sasha barely twitches at her side. Lilah swallows a whimper before it escapes her dry throat and just…listens to Master.

 Please, let him get it over with quickly,she begs to someone, anyone.

 Please let it be quick.

And, horribly, selfishly.

Please.

Let him choose someone else first.

                                                       ~          ~                                        

“Ok! First off, Merry Christmas Eve to everyone.”

A silence hovers briefly and Sasha stumbles to say “Merry Christmas, Master Galo” in sync with the rest of the group. Their chorus, fortunately, hides her stammer. Master has not seemed to mind her stumbling speech but right now? There’s no doubt it that every broken phrase would tally up in whatever pain is to be doled out now.  

“Thanks! So, you’re all probably a little confused by the lack of celebrations. I know my aunt had tons of parties but…that’s just not me. I don’t love parties at the best of times and I really don’t love Christmas. But I figured, hey, I can do the holiday my way and you’ve all been a big part of changing how I feel about it. Everyone’s been awesome about decorating the house beautifully and making things feel cheerful, so, thanks so much for that. I really appreciate it.”

There is another beat of silence before Nyla, sweet, sacrificing, perfect Nyla, glides forward a couple of steps, Greyson carefully sidestepping to fill the space in front of Lilah, and kneels at Master Galo’s feet before taking up his hand to kiss it.

“Thank you, Master, for your kindness. We are all honored to serve you in whatever manner you desire.”

Sasha thinks, for the first time in a while, of how starkly largehis hand is next to Nyla’s head. Cold sweat beads on her brow as she measures those palms as though examining them for the first time, how when Nyla’s lips touch the backs of Master’s fingers, the span of his knuckles bridges her brow from temple to temple. He could crushNyla’s face with a firm squeeze, shatter her delicate little nose with one heavy slap, how could Sasha everhave forgotten that, even for a moment?

And now, the little blonde woman is deliberately putting herself at those heavy feet, pulling that meaty hand towards her lovely face, flattering and appeasing, indicating that she has chosen to go first for whatever this is. She’s so brave. She’s so good. Sasha loves her so much and she wants to save her so badly. Sasha wants to curl around Nyla’s kneeling form until Nyla is hidden away by Sasha’s arms and back and she’s safe from the pain which frightens Sasha so much and which Nyla so plainly does not deserve. But she is petrified and spineless and would only make it worse.

Oh, Nyla.

Greyson.

Lilah.

Evan.

Me.

Don’t react poorly!

Sasha blinks furiously until her tears settle behind her lids, pulsing with restrained grief.  

Don’t make this worse than it’s already going to be.

                                                       ~          ~                                    

Greyson should’ve been the one to approach Master Galo first.

He has a…dialogue with Master and either way, he is older, more practiced, should be quicker to know what to do. But Nyla has caught onto being what she should be in half the time it took him and has thrown herself into the line of fire with her typical grace. It sickens Greyson that he was too slow and let her take the burden.

Currently, Master’s glee seems to have abated at Nyla’s gesture and, seemingly, was not replaced with rage. Yet. He blinks down at Nyla’s upturned, sweetly submissive, face and smiles softly at her. No smirk. No secretive glint in his eye. Nyla must have done the right thing, yet again. Master has yet to…use Nyla in that way but he clearly acknowledges the faultless state of her service and it softens him towards her.

“That’s…wonderful, Nyla. Very good! Hey, while you’re down there, can you help me pull these boxes out?”

Before Nyla has even crawled over to the bottom of the towering Christmas tree, Master has crouched beside her, scooping out brightly wrapped packages from below the swoop of the low-dangling branches and jangling the glittering ornaments. Brushing pine needles off his pants, Master piles them, gesturing Nyla to copy him, onto an armchair before swinging back towards them all to clap his hands decisively and grin once more.

“Alrighty, then. So! Nyla?”

“Yes, Master Galo?”

Soft, immediate, lilting.

“I guess since you’re, uh, right here, I’ll give you your gift first. Uh, can you hold your arms out, Nyla? This one’s a bit big.”

Greyson has barely time to blink before Master has practically dropped one of the largest packages, a box of wide, flat golden cardboard topped with plaid bows, into Nyla’s quickly outstretched arms.

What?

“Sorry! Sort of threw it at you, didn’t I? You can go back to the rest, Nyla. Greyson, you’re up, my man.”

What?

Greyson’s feet carry him forward, arms already extending, body reliably obedient even while his brain is lagging.

 “Here y–, oh, no need for both arms. Heh, sorry, dude, your gift’s not Nyla-big.”

What does that mean?

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t need to understand, Greyson reminds himself harshly, he only needs to obey. So he remains blank, cups his palms as Master Galo places a little sleek black box, neatly bound in white ribbon, into Greyson’s palm. It is not professionally wrapped, Greyson absently notes, the tape was raggedly snapped off the dispenser and the bow is a bit crooked. He glides into place back at Nyla’s side, poised like emotionless pillars with their…gifts held stiffly in front of them as each person is called forth. Lilah, then Sasha, and, finally, Evan; all are handed a package, unique in size and decoration and received quietly and quickly before they are re-assembled as they were before, only now clinging to…

Most likely, the instruments of their imminent torture.

Or, as Master Galo is saying…

“Awesome. Alrighty, so, you’ve all got your gifts now. That’s good. You’ve probably noticed that they’re kind of sloppy. I wrapped them myself and…let’s just say, I wasn’t born to be a decorator. You’re just gonna have to live with it, heh. So…if you guys wanna sit down, like, on the couches or on the floor or, like, wherever you feel most comfortable opening your gifts? Just, uh, yeah. Everyone just go ahead and enjoy!”

All are silent and it is Nyla who folds elegantly to the floor and first begins to peel the wrapping back, small hands fluttering like butterflies as she unwinds the ribbon. Greyson folds alongside her, hesitating a brief moment as he catches Master’s eyes on his knees and then, slowly, sits on the ground and folds his ankles neatly in front of him. Master looks pleased when he sits this way rather than kneeling and Greyson’s jaw slightly slackens as he settles in beside Nyla. Her quick grace disguises her shaking to all but Greyson, whose arm touches her shoulder and absorbs her tremors. He leans, barely, against her, steadying her (and, honestly, himself as well) while he neatly disassembles his own package.

His box is the smallest, Greyson has noted, so he is the first to lift the lid and find…

A pair of glasses.

They are frameless at the bottom, rimmed in delicate wire that is stained redder than a ripe apple. It matches the hue of Greyson’s favored necktie. Spongy black nose pads and grips at the tips of the temples show how the eyewear would grip the face comfortably. Coiled beneath the neatly folded pair, clipped to the ends of each temple, is a fine chain, dozens of miniscule links glittering silver beneath the clear lenses.

They are…beautiful.

Greyson cannot do much more than blink. He can tell that everyone else is unwrapping slowly, glancing from the corners of their lowered eyes at his reaction and he shouldreact in some way. But he…he can’t…

What?

He finds that he is trembling as he plucks the frames from their nest of silk cleaning cloths, cradling them like they will shatter if he breaths wrong. His eyes raise almost without intent, catching Master Galo openly watching him, a soft hesitance weighing his gaze. Greyson nearly starts but Master gets ahead of a potential apology by gesturing vaguely at Greyson’s gift.

“I, uh, I peeked through B –…through your records and found your prescription. It said five years ago and I don’t know if your eyes changed since then and, well, if I’d gotten an appointment for you, this wouldn’t have been a surprise. Someone recommended I make them a tad sharper and so I did but, if you wanna adjust them or if they’re too strong just tell me… Anyways, I, uh, I really hope they see as nice as they look, heh…oh, yeah, and the chain is to keep them around your neck and the cloths are yours. Like, in case that wasn’t clear, all the stuff in the box – hell, the boxif you want it – is all yours. But, I hope you enjoy them, Greyson.”

Greyson cannot speak. He opens his mouth, moves his lips, and nothing emerges. Trembling more pronounced now, his hands pull off and fold his glasses and tuck them into his breast pocket, he does not choose to do this. He does not decide to lift the new frames to his face, unfold them, slide them into place and loop the chain behind his neck. He blinks as his body reconnects with awareness again, the missed moments of automation causing him to startle bodily with the clean, unscratched, clarity of the room before him.

There is…something inside Greyson’s chest. It is like a living thing, pressing, stretching the wall of his sternum. It takes his heart and his lungs and squeezes, mercilessly.

It hurts. 

The animal is resurrected, awakened from a peaceful sleep to roar in his blood, unfamiliar with the way his insides are warm and loose and tingle like his legs after rising from hours on his knees, all the blood rushing back to the numb area. He feels and it aches and his throat is tightened by the same animal grip on his innards.

The tight, the hot, the blood-rush, the suddenness of the old tenderness is tearing at Greyson and, suddenly, all he wants to do is weep. No hollow, scraped-out loss prompting the swollen heat pounding like a pulse behind his lids. A press, inexorable as it is tender, against his sternum is cracking him from the inside and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. He abandons his typical protocol of vacancy to bite his inner cheek savagely, allowing the throb to distract and dull the other strange unfamiliar anguish below his ribs.

It hurts but Greyson can take hurt. This anguish which is not anguish will be smothered too and once he allows the ache in his gnawed mouth to ebb, he is clearer again.

                                                        ~          ~                                        

Evan is pissed.

At least, he’s really trying to be. What he really feels, right now, is confused as hell. Which angers him more, ‘cause he can take his own pain and humiliation and the games that never ever end but this is, admittedly, pretty fucking weird.

He will, in his own mind, confess to being tense, if not really surprised, about his box being the biggest. But as he lifts his…gift out of its mountain of tissue paper, he can’t feel much of anything. It’s like his head is disconnected from his shoulders and his hands move on their own to unfurl a frankly enormous blanket, at least six feet in all directions, fluffy and hedgerow-green and thick and light all at the same time.

The first thing he registers is how soft it is.

He almost starts when he feels the texture of the blanket, fingers sinking into the tufts of…what is it? Evan doesn’t know, he’s never touched something this soft. He almost expects it to melt like soap-foam between his palms but it settles, barely a weight against his folded legs. It feels nice.

Evan snaps back to clarity, lowly roving a glance around to the others. They’ve all opened their own gifts and they’re all as confusing as Evan’s. They all look like gifts, but real gifts. The sort which Mistress’ “friends” would exchange during those god-awful parties. Sasha is cradling something bright and delicate in her hands, Nyla’s got something to wear perhaps, and Lilah’s unwrapping something fluffy. He can’t clearly see what Greyson got in that little box but he’s oddly silent.

Evan tries to stay sharp. He needs to be sharp, to be aware, nothing is more dangerous than getting distracted right now. Nothing is…good about getting a present. But he’s drawn like a throat to thirst by the softness in his lap and sets his jaw before cautiously lifting the blanket like a cape over his shoulders. Tufts tickle the nape of his neck, gentle bulk shielding his torso from the open air, and Evan feels more than allows his spine to relax just a fraction.

It feels so good. He likes it so much and he hates that he likes it as much as he does. Yet even as he straightens his spine and keeps his eyes down, he cannot help but turn his cheek just barely so that the tufts brush, feather-like, against the skin.

Liking this is fucking dangerous, of course it is, of course it is, it must be fucked up somehow. But Evan is tired of caring right no. And so leans further into the softness. Maybe he’ll pay later but if he really got this as a…giftthen he’s gonna damn well enjoy it like one.

                                                     ~          ~                                       

Nyla is stalling.

Yes, she’s offered herself first. Yes, she made a show of opening her package. But…she hesitates and keeps twitching away when she tries to peel back the mountain of red tissue. She smooths is back in layers, slippery as onionskin, crackling at even the littlest movement. She’s afraid of what she’s going to find and she has no excuse for her delay but that fear which keeps her fussing with the final sheet of tissue.

It is only once Greyson has lifted his gift out its box that she finally, unforgivably late, folds back the final barrier. It is in the same moment that Greyson’s gift becomes clear in her periphery, unmistakably a new pair of eyeglasses, when she comprehends what lies before her in the box.

A dress.

A dress?

It is a dress and it’s a pretty dress and it looks expensive and it’s a real gift and Nyla almost doubles over, spasming fingers gripping the edge of the box in an effort to remain grounded. She hides her tremble with busy movements, not really thinking but allowing her body to take over and carefully pull the dress from its crinkly nest.

Nyla knows little about clothing except from what Mistress Bethany and her guests wore but she knows what quality cloth feels like and this dress is certainly a cut of the finest. It has a supple, satiny feel but it isn’t silk, more like good linen in a soft blue imprinted with a pattern like white and grey stitching. It is crisp and flat and smells a little like vanilla when she moves it. Pleated skirt which could hit just below the knee, elbow-length sleeves, slimming waist. It has a wide neckline which doesn’t plunge to her breasts but instead would barely sit above the collarbones and sit halfway down the shoulder to show off their delicate swoop. It would show off the arc of her neck perfectly.

She would look so elegant in this dress, appearing so proper and almost fancy in a modest way. It is how she has dreamed of looking, sometimes, when she neatens her apron and flicks lint off her drab, black, uncomfortable uniform. In this dress, she would look as perfect as she behaves.

Absently, she strokes the along the mysterious fabric, wondering what it would feel like against all of her flesh. She nearly shivers with pleasure at the very thought of sliding that material over her head, zipping it up nice and neat. She suppresses a second, cold, shiver when a gratitude rises, unbidden, at her presence amongst the rest of the group. Mistress Bethany had never forced any of them to strip more than a shirt in front of one another but…who knew what Master Galo might command? If they had been alone when Master Galo gave her this, she would certainly assume she was meant to unclothe and slip into her giftstraight away. Display it for him. Looking pretty in it for him.

Master has paid close attention to them all, that much is abundantly clear. Nyla glances to the side and sees how Sasha is mesmerized by her gift. It is some sort of hair ornament, a flat clip to bridge the top of the head, a glorious, darkly polished wood that had been carved with an inlay of golden roses. It won’t just hold back the cascade of ebony hair, it will brighten the wavy length which Sasha combs between her fingertips, which soothes her so. Which one would notice if one watched her for long enough. Sasha’s fingers fly between hair and the ornament, sunk fully back upon her heels as she turns the clip over in her fingers like it is glass, watching the firelight catch all the petals and vines of gold.

Sasha loves her hair. She loves her gift.

It is all gift, Nyla realizes. All of her clothes are a gift. Seeing properly enough to do tasks obediently, having glasses at all, is a gift. Everything they are allowed to have is already a gift, graciously given on strict conditions. Nyla can go without her gift – her clothes – at any time Master Galo desires.  

Nyla soothes her fluttering pulse with a low breath, stilling her hands so they won’t seize the fabric and scrunch that ironed hem. She is here, right now, with her family. She traces the pattern with her eyes, counting the facsimile of stitches on the bodice as she allows that thought to ease the edge of sudden anxiety. There is absolutelyno sense in torturing herself with scenarios like that, no sense at all. There was no need. Even…ifsuch an idea did come to Master Galo, Nyla would give him no reason to play it out. She was perfect, she had always been perfect, and she will continue to be perfect; it is the only thing she can control. Nobody will have any reason to hurt her. Oh, Master can hurt her, of course he can, but he won’t have a reason to do it.

She won’t evergive anyone a reason.

                                                        ~          ~                                   

Galo hears a giggle and the surprise causes him to glance up from the game he’s been pretending to play on his phone, sprawled on the armchair several feet away from the group.

Lilah has opened her gift. A little red winter hat, ear-flaps and all, topped with a cotton puff which Lilah is poking at. She has pressed a hand to her mouth but is still grinning through her fingers as she pokes and ruffles the little poofy ball on the hat, on the matching gloves, on the tassels of the matching scarf. Lilah has lost herself in an almost open delight, youth bubbling through her nerves as she bats at her gift. Her bruises have long faded, all the cuts pinked and flat with age, so her freckles are stark. The absence of wounds makes her look so much younger than her eighteen years and her glowing grin gives her a childish glow.

Tears well in his eyes and he has to press his knuckles against his lids as he tries to swallow back the ache in his throat.

“Thank you so much, Master Galo! Thank you!”

Galo hopes his eyes are clear as he glances up again and sees that Lilah is the one who spoke. The others are clearly carefully looking anywhere but at either Lilah or Galo and, to be honest, he’s a little shocked at what amounts to an outburst from Lilah. She is trembling violently but is also clutching her gift tightly to her chest, gazing at Galo with…gratitude, heavy as worship, in her eyes.

Her grins widely at her, his gesture seeming to brighten that gratitude to a feverish glow. It’s all too much for Galo all of a sudden and he has to look away again so the tears won’t betray him and leak down his face, hoping to God that his reply doesn’t sound too choked.

“You’re welcome, kiddo. I’m…really glad you like it.”

                           i’m gonna throw myself into a pit now! hope ya’ll liked it!

[bnha-mha-imagines]

12 Days of Christmas! 2019 Special

Bakugo x Reader

Prompt #6: Grinch 

Word Count: 1290

Warnings: Swearing

Oops, I only just reached halfway through these and I have two days to finish ahaha! 

It wasn’t that Bakugo hated winter holidays so to say, only that he hated how mushy everyone got around that time of year. Not only would everyone be more annoying than usual, but they always expected him to act differently. Anytime he’d yell, there would be five times as many people telling him to calm down. He’d get a ‘cheer up’ if he even so much as let his face relax, and of course that always soured his mood. It wasn’t his fault that everyone acted nicer during the holidays, so why should he have to change himself to fit their expectations around this time every year?

Even his group of idiot friends were more insufferable than usual, though Bakugo would put up with it since they seemed to be the only ones who weren’t harping on him for lacking ‘holiday spirit.’ Even now, they were leaving him alone for the most part while they planned some stupid winter thing.

“Alright, so Sero, you’re getting the candies and drinks. Kaminari, you’re decorating the place, and Kirishima, you’re setting up games. Bakugo, you’ll man the popcorn and I’ll take the photos! Sound good?” Mina clarified, and everyone except Bakugo let out a noise of confirmation.

Bakugo, instead, crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. This whole idea was stupid; he didn’t see why it was their responsibilty to set this whole thing up, especially when it was just going to be the five of them there. Why were they going all out for some game and movie night anyways? Couldn’t they just as easily watch a movie without all the hassle of extravagance?

“This is dumb,” Bakugo complained for the umpteenth time, though it went ignored by most as they went off to complete their assigned jobs. Mina, on the other hand, shot him a smile. “Oh come on, Bakugo, you’ve got the easy job!” 

Bakugo glared at her, grabbing the popcorn kernels roughly. “It’s the dumbest job! What, you think I couldn’t handle anything harder than popcorn?” he argued, though it was more for the sake of arguing than anything.

Mina rolled her eyes. “No, I just knew that any other job would piss you off more than this one.” Leaving Bakugo to grumble at the truth of her words, Mina turned to go make sure the camera was set up for the night. 

For the most part, Kaminari had already set up the decorations and lights, and Kirishima was almost done with the game system. Sero already bought the snacks, and was helping himself to some butterscotch candies. Bakugo looked at the kernels in his hands, his annoyance only growing as he stomped his way over to the microwave. 

Grabbing one of the packets, he threw it into the open microwave and slammed it shut, punching in the minutes to cook. Sighing, he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. This was stupid, and there was nothing that could convince him otherwise. In the spare minutes that he had while waiting for the first bag to cook, he glared at his friends as they laughed and finished their jobs. 

Grumbling as the timer went off, Bakugo turned to open the microwave and grab the burning bag of popcorn. Tossing it onto the counter, he grabbed the rest of the uncooked bags, rereading the heating instructions. Why did they buy bags anyways? He knew a great recipe for stovetop popcorn, and he could guarantee that it would taste ten times better than this greasy shit. 

Stirring him from his grouchy thoughts, Bakugo heard Mina squeal as the door opened. A new voice caught his attention, and his eyebrows furrowed. They invited an extra guest? Mina’s next words, however, was what really set him off. “(Y/n)! Good to see you, glad you could make it!” 

Startled by the sound of your name, his hands accidentally spark off in a miniature explosion, the popcorn kernels completely going off from the heat. The bags themselves burst open, showering Bakugo and the counters in bright hot popcorn as a series of pops sounded. The sudden display earned Bakugo a few startled gasps, and he couldn’t bring himself to turn around.

Shoulders raised, Bakugo felt his whole body freeze in a tense position. His idiot friends invited you here without even telling him? No wonder they planned such a big display, they were trying to set some shit up because you were here! His anger at his friends continued to bubble up, and he felt his fists tremble slightly. “Bakugo?” he heard you call his name. “You good over there?”

A few pieces of popcorn fell from his head as he whirled around to look at you. His face was a blazing red color, half from anger and half from embarrassment. “Oh piss off,” he shouted, stopping over to the couch in a fuming rage. Plopping down, he stared at the floor with a burning gaze, ignoring his friends as they mended the awkward situation.

“Just ignore him, (Y/n), he’s in a bad mood,” Sero laughed nervously. Bakugo felt his eye twitch in annoyance at Sero’s words. Geez, it wasn’t like he wanted to snap at you, you just happened to come in at the wrong place wrong time. It was Mina and those idiots he was annoyed with. They kept pestering him about some crush he had on you, and now they planned some dumb party and invited you here without even telling him? And now HE looked like the asshole for yelling at you. God, why was he like this…

“It’s okay, Sero,” you said, and Bakugo could hear the patience in your voice. “Some people just like to be a grinch.” At this, Bakugo leapt from the couch, exasperated. He couldn’t help it, and he shouted before he could even think things through.

“I’m not a grinch, I’m the most festive person here compared to you losers!” Bakugo hissed, arms tight at his sides. Though he was still in a hot mood, he would practically feel the amusement radiating off you. God, why did you have to smirk like that…

“Oh?” you challenged. “Prove it!” Too proud to turn you down and too enamored with you to miss a chance to impress you, Bakugo grunted in agreement. He didn’t miss the concerned look Kirishima shot Kaminari, but the electric boy was beaming.

“Dope,” Kaminari answered for you. “Put this on then, popcorn boy!” Reaching from the table next to him, he threw a reindeer headband to Bakugo, which he caught begrudgingly. Choosing to ignore the ‘popcorn boy’ comment, Bakugo grumpily place the headband on his head.

Despite how idiotic he felt wearing it, he felt his heart flutter at the look you shot him. “Aww, look at you now!” You gushed, stepping forward to straighten it on his head. Bakugo felt his breath hitch at how close you were. “Guess I was wrong in calling you a grinch, Bakugo. You look much better as a Max!” 

Bakugo felt his face redden, and he snapped at you lowly. “You saying I’m a dog?!” The way that he growled out the words nearly convinced him that he was. 

“Hmm, no, of course not, never,” you teased, turning away from him. “So Mina, the popcorn is done, so let's get that movie rolling!” Seeing you shift your attention away from him, Bakugo tsked slightly. At least you weren’t messing with him anymore...though, he kinda liked how you gave him a hard time. You never reacted poorly to his piss-attitude, and you even played off it in a way that was charming. Nah, he liked you for sure, though he still had a ways to go in showing it.

[puckinghell]

tyson barrie seems like the dude who thinks Christmas music should start in like fucking September. so 22 with him feels fitting.

i hate the holidays more than anything in the world and you drive me nuts because you love the holidays more than anything in the world and this is why we aren’t friends (enemies to friends to lovers hello)

—

It’s September 3rd when “All I Want For Christmas” by Mariah Carey blasts through the hallways, and you’re ready to commit murder.

“Barrie!” you yell, banging on his door. “It’s fucking September!” 

The door opens and reveals Tyson, standing there in sweats and a Christmas jumper, with an annoying smirk on his face.

“Hello, roomie,” he drawls. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” 

You cross your arms and glare at him; it doesn’t have the desired effect, as Tyson just laughs.

When Morgan came to you because one of his friends needed a place to live, and weren’t you looking for a roommate, you offered your spare room up without really getting any information on the guy. Morgan has been a long time friend of yours, so you figured, if he liked this guy, you would like him too.

Except then Tyson Barrie moved in with a lot of noise, and never stopped making noise after that. 

He’s just… So there. Always talking, always listening to music, and he has people over way too much. Usually pretty girls that you meet early morning as they try to sneak out of the apartment, and never see again. 

And now this.

“You can’t be playing Christmas music in September,” you tell him.

Tyson frowns. “Why not?” 

“Because…” You pause. You know why not, but you can’t really tell him that. “Because it’s September!” 

And when Tyson asks: “What do you have against Christmas, anyway?” he sounds so genuinely confused that you almost tell him.

Almost. 

“None of your business,” you snap. “Just keep that shit down.” And then you stalk back to your room.

Christmas is the worst, and you should’ve known a person like Tyson would love it more than anything. It’s gonna be a long four months.

—

After that day, Tyson doesn’t play Christmas music again and you think, relieved, that he got the message. You don’t see him around the apartment as much anymore: you work long days and he spends half his nights at the rink, and the other half out wheeling girls.

You stop dreading going home so much.

It was stupid to let your guard down.

The first thing you see when you open the door to your apartment, one evening late October, is a string of Christmas lights draped over the window sill, and then you notice the soft melody of some whiny Christmas song in the background.

“Barrie!” you call out. 

“Hey, Y/N!” Tyson is standing at the kitchen counter, using a roll of ducktape to tape another string of Christmas lights around the counter, and it takes everything in you to not smack the stupid thing out of his hand. “I’m decorating the apartment.” 

“Decorating the apartment?” you echo, dumbly. “For Christmas? In October? Tyson, fuck, it’s not even been Halloween.” 

Tyson crosses his arms, stares at you defiantly. “It’s just lights, Y/N,” he says, and he sounds properly annoyed, now. “How are you offended by lights?” 

You stare at the yellow lights surrounding your window and swallow back tears. It’s not like you can just tell him, but currently, you don’t feel like you could say anything without letting him know how much this is getting to you, and that’s not what you want. 

“Just take them down,” you finally say, and your voice is surprisingly steady. “Please?”

Something deflates in Tyson’s stubborn eyes, but you’re out the room too quickly the notice the pensive look on his face.

—

The entire month of November, there’s nothing Christmas related happening in your house.

It’s a surprise: every day when you get home, you expect there to be something, anything, but there’s not. Instead, Tyson seems to tread a little more carefully around you, seems to quiet himself down whenever you’re home.

You don’t like it as much as you thought you would. 

One day, he’s cooking in the kitchen, but when you walk in he takes his food only half cooked and eats it in his room.

Another evening, he’s watching a movie on TV, and when you kick off your shoes by the door he’s turning off the TV and disappearing to his room.

You notice he doesn’t play music out loud anymore, not even in his room, and he doesn’t have people over either. 

“I can just come to you,” you overhear him say, one time. “No, here isn’t good, my roommate is home tonight.” 

It’s stupid. This is what you wanted, your peace and quiet back, and yet, every time he leaves the room without even looking at you you feel your heart sink a little deeper into your chest. 

The thing is, when he moved in, you really thought this was going to be great. You really thought your lonely nights were over; he’d always be there, to hang out with and have fun with. Morgan even told you: a friend of Tyson’s is never alone when they don’t want to be.

And you know you don’t open up to people easily, and maybe you weren’t as excited about the things that Tyson wanted to do in Toronto when he just got here, but you thought you could still be friends.

Until he started bringing girls home and it hurt you more than you’d ever admit, so you decided it would be better if you weren’t friends at all. 

That night, you come home after a long day of work, and Tyson is on the couch watching a Christmas movie. You know the movie, because you watched it last Christmas, on Christmas Eve while you were drowning your sorrows in ice cream and hot chocolate as you laid in bed alone and wallowed. 

Tyson starts standing up, and you just snap.

“Fucking hell, Tyson, you don’t have to leave every time I come in the room, my lack of Christmas spirit isn’t contagious!” 

Tyson stops dead in his tracks, turns to you, and blurts out: “I just don’t want to make it worse.” 

Now you’re confused. “Make what worse?” And then Tyson goes bright red and you understand. “Morgan told you, didn’t he?”

Tyson lets out a breathy “yes” and you sigh, making your way to the couch and dropping down on it with a groan. 

“My dad loved Christmas,” you start, very skillfully avoiding Tyson’s eyes as you talk. “Really got into it, every year. He’d start with the songs and the decorations the day after Halloween, and then we’d get our tree a week or so later. My mom would always tell him that if he got it so early, it’d be dead by the time Christmas came around, but he would do it anyway and then it would be dead by Christmas and he’d get a new one the day or so before.” You let out a humorless laugh. 

“Then, the Christmas I turned 11, he went out to get the new Christmas tree and he never came back. I didn’t see him for 7 years, and when I turned 18, I got a Christmas card from him. He lives in Edmonton now, with his new family, and his new wife, who he apparently had been cheating with on my mom for a year before he left.” 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Tyson mumbles, and it’s not until he carefully wipes at your cheek that you notice a tear is rolling down. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have put up the lights if I’d known.” 

“How could you know?” you tell him, truthfully. “I didn’t tell you. It’s not your fault. I just… Holidays are a tough time for me. But you clearly love them, so don’t let me hold you back, okay? That would just make me feel worse.” 

Tyson sighs. “You already don’t like me, associating me with the holiday you hate isn’t going to help that.” 

And that, well… 

You always thought Tyson didn’t really notice, that you weren’t always super friendly towards him. And you always assumed if he did notice, he didn’t care. But his voice is genuinely upset, now, and for some strange reason it makes your stomach flip; and not in a good way. 

It’s not his fault that you’re too scared of liking someone, that you push yourself to hate him instead. And he shouldn’t have to pay for it.

“I don’t hate you,” you tell him, because of that. “I know I haven’t always acted like it, but I… I would like to be your friend, Tys.” You turn to him and are surprised to catch a small smile on his face. You smile back. “Just maybe start Christmas in December, like a normal person, okay?” 

“Okay,” Tyson promises, and he squeezes your knee quickly before throwing himself back into the couch. “There’s this new thriller I want to see…” 

—

It’s December 10th and there’s no Christmas decorations in your house. 

Things have been going well with Tyson: it’s finally like how you imagined it would be when he moved in. You have dinner together at least twice a week, watch Netflix on the couch, and he always makes you laugh by sending you weird memes over text, even if he’s in the same room. 

Your crush on him has gotten substantially bigger, but you’re handling it - kinda - and it doesn’t have to get in the way of your friendship, so you’re content with that situation.

And since you’re his friend now, you guess you have to do something for him, today.

“Tys!” you call out, as soon as you step in the door. “I need you to help me get something from the car!” 

Tyson comes out of his room, wrapped up in a hoodie and wearing some ridiculous fuzzy slippers that you’re pretty sure Nate sent him from Denver. 

“But it’s cold outside,” he whines, sidestepping you when you try to shove him. Instead, he wraps an arm around your shoulder and presses a wet kiss to the side of your head.

He’s been doing that lately, greeting you with hugs when you come home. It’s stupid, because it makes you want things you can’t have, but you’re not strong enough to tell him not to do it.

“I promise you it’s worth it.” 

Tyson shoots you a look, but he dutifully starts making his way downstairs. 

When he finally comes back up, his eyes are shining with excitement and his nose is red from the cold. Behind him, he’s dragging a giant Christmas tree.

“You got us a tree?” he yells from the door, and he sounds so happy that you decide it was worth the ten thousand pine needles that are now surely in your car. 

Tyson puts the tree up, sets up the lights, but when he’s ready to start decorating he calls you over.

“I don’t think I’m in the mood for decorating, Tys,” you try to get out of it, but Tyson has grabbed your hand and is dragging you towards the tree. He stops right in front of it, and takes an ornament from the box at his feet.

He hands it to you. “Come on,” he says. “This is our first Christmas together, our first tree. We have to decorate it together.” 

And it’s… too much, the excitement in his eyes, the fondness in his voice, too much to say no to, so you dutifully put the ornament in the tree. Tyson hooks an arm around you from behind.

“One ball at a time,” he jokes, and you can’t help but giggle as you lean into him. 

—

It’s December 22nd and Tyson is leaving tomorrow.

“You can come with?” he offers, for the millionth time. 

“I told you, I’m not gonna ruin your family’s Christmas with my sour mood,” you tell him. You’re curled up on the couch with a blanket, watching Home Alone - the only Christmas movie Tyson has been able to force you to watch, cause it’s just that good - with the tree standing tall behind you. 

Tyson is sitting at your feet, one hand wrapped around your ankle. You can tell he’s overthinking stuff, because he’s got a deep frown etched into his forehead. 

“I don’t want you to be alone on Christmas,” he says, finally. He kinda just blurts it out while the McCallister family finally get reunited with Kevin. 

“I will be fine, Tys,” you tell him fondly. It means a lot that he cares, but you don’t want him to ruin his Christmas over it.

To be honest, so far December hasn’t nearly been as bad as all the other Decembers. Tyson has convinced you to like, in no particular order, Christmas lights, Christmas drinks from Starbucks, gingerbread men, and ugly Christmas jumpers, especially when Tyson is wearing one himself.

It’s only the tree, really, that kinda leaves a bad taste in your mouth, but it made Tyson happy enough that it’s worth it. 

“I know,” Tyson says softly, “I just wish Christmas would be more than just fine for you, you know?” 

“You should be proud,” you laugh, “every year before this Christmas has been torture but now it’s fine. That’s an improvement, you know, and it’s thanks to you.” 

Tyson has a weird look on his face when he looks at you, and you’re just about to make a stupid joke to get out of the awkward silence, when suddenly he’s leaning forward. 

“Tell me if this isn’t okay,” he mumbles, and you say nothing. Finally, his lips touch yours; tauntingly softly, and you reach forward to pull him closer.

The kiss is everything; it makes your world spin and slow down at the same time, makes something warm and comfortable settle in the pit of your stomach. 

Eventually, Tyson pulls back, just enough that you can see him smile.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N,” he mumbles, and then he drops his head in your lap and focuses on Home Alone. 

“Merry Christmas, Tys,” you tell him. 

And you think that maybe, this year, and every year from now on, it will be. 

[otpnessmess]

Daminette December Day 3: “Decorating”

TW: Major Character Death.

Now that I made that clear, I want to apologize in advance for any sadness this can cause. I just couldn’t help it. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy your read as always! Also, @ethelphantom is awesome for putting up with me and going over this.

Ao3 - Masterlist

-

Decorating any type of thing had never been Damian's forte, but he tended to become particularly grumpy about it around the time the holidays rolled around. 

During the time he spent under the supervision of his mother and grandfather, holiday decorating was sparse, if there even was any at all. He couldn't say he was mad about the lack of spirit, however. Normal people liked to believe that there was something special about the season, with their holier-than-thou attitude and preaching hope and happiness wherever they went. Damian found them annoying and was more than glad his family didn't engage in such festivities. 

When he arrived at Wayne Manor, though, he wasn't ready for how different things were handled. Being introduced to the family a few days before his birthday meant half of December had already gone by, which in turn meant that the holiday craze was on its peak point.

'Disgusting.' The boy scowled around at the menagerie of trinkets and garlands hanging everywhere he could see. Was that mistletoe on that door frame? Why would you bring a tree inside, only to put stupid colorful balls and a star on it? He was pretty tempted to go back to his mother and her strict training. Anything sounded better than staying in the mansion from hell, with these savages and their awfully cheerful spirits for the month. 

Bruce never allowed him to do that, however, so the only thing Damian could do was learn how to at least tolerate it. 

It was surprisingly less difficult than they originally planned, even if it took the family several years to completely warm him up. They learned presents were a great incentive. His siblings knew perfectly well that, was Bruce to find out they were gifting him with weapons and strange books (which contained incredibly inappropriate things for a 12-year-old), there would be hell to pay. But hey, at least the kid seemed to appreciate them. Hopefully, he liked the gifts enough to keep quiet about it and not plan any murders.

By the time he was 16, the holiday season was not such a burden anymore. Like, sure, Damian still hated carols, and those cheesy Christmas movies his family used to watch all huddled together on the sofa. But, as Jon liked to remind him, that's not what the holidays were supposed to be about. 

That same year, his friend introduced him to Marinette. She was in Gotham on a trip with her class, and since Jon was a fan of just befriending adorable people, he made it their new mission to do so with her. Not that it was hard, mind you. When the tiny girl learned that Damian could speak French as well as he could English, her face lit up. Much to Jon's dismay and surprise, quick responses to whatever the hell Marinette was saying kept falling from his best friend's lips. And thus a friendship was born. 

It was sad when, a month later, they had to go to the airport together to say their goodbyes. She promised to keep in contact with both of them, before waving as the duo saw her disappear inside the plane. 

For two years, they kept close contact. Damian used every opportunity he had to hop on a plane to visit his friend in Paris. As the nineteen-year-old touched ground in France's capital, that frizzy December morning, it was with determination on his heart. There was no beating around the bush anymore. He was going to confess to Marinette. Even if she didn't like him that way, it would have been fine. He would never stop visiting or being her friend because she rejected his feelings. That was something cowards did, and Damian Wayne was a lot of things, but never a coward. He, however, turned out to be one of the lucky ones whose feelings were reciprocated by the one they loved. That night, standing next to the Seine, Marinette had said she liked him too. Damian couldn't be more excited about starting a new chapter of his life, with her by his side. 

More holidays came and went. Mari accepted a scholarship to a university in Gotham for designing, and now the couple was living together. They got a very nice apartment in the middle of the city, close to both the university campus and Wayne Tower, where Damian had started to help out Tim in the family business.

His Angel couldn’t have been more excited when he offered to take her shopping so they could decorate their new home. And he honestly didn’t feel the need to complain even 5 hours into skipping from store to store, arms full of bags. 

Once they got back, they immediately put their hands to work. He still hated Christmas carols, but maybe, just maybe, seeing the woman he loved hanging stupid and colorful ornaments on their tree while humming, made him hate them a bit less. 

The lovebirds adopted a routine and executed it to a T multiple times over the upcoming years. Marinette took care of the tree while Damian went around hanging those dumb garlands that he now kinda liked. They reminded him of his Angel teasing him while pretending it was a feathered boa. It had been a hilarious sight. His absolute favorite thing to do was to call his beloved to him, only for her to step under the mistletoe he had just put up. She would always roll her eyes at his stupid demeanor before kissing him senseless. No matter how many times he did that, Marinette would humor him. And once they pulled away, she would always have a smile ready for him. The kind of smile that could blind you if you looked at it too hard.

The kind of smile that could easily light up an entire room.

The kind of smile that made Damian wish it had been him that fateful night. 

The world hadn’t deserved to lose her. And she hadn’t deserved to go.

God, he missed her so much.

-

Most of what he had on his mind about the incident was a patchwork of other people’s memories. His own memories didn’t manage to survive the shutdown that overcame him when his brothers showed up at his door, all of them sporting pained and scared expressions. It was a cold and dark evening in Gotham, most people having already retreated into the warmth of their homes. Marinette hadn’t. The only thing he could clearly remember from earlier that night was seeing the snow slowly fall outside as he waited for his Angel to come back from her dinner with Chloé.

A drunk driver, they had told him. The man fell asleep in front of the wheel and drove straight onto the sidewalk where she was standing, waiting idly for her blonde friend to come back with their hot chocolate.

Damian had lost a part of himself that day. Those who were close to him worriedly wondered if he would ever be able to heal from it.

They hadn’t had the time to start decorating yet that year. 

Despite his family’s best efforts, he completely secluded himself. The boxes full of Christmas spirit had been waiting in the middle of the living room for the young couple to break into them yet again. Ready for another holiday season of making new memories, as well as remembering the old ones. They stayed right there. Unopened. Inside the empty apartment Damian hadn’t dared step into after that night. His father had insisted on having him stay with them, and he had no energy to even try and fight it. In his numbness, he ignored everything that happened the following month. 

Bruce had someone clean the apartment regularly, but leaving it untouched otherwise. Marinette’s family took care of the very private funeral they held, agreeing to have her stay in Gotham where she had decided to spend her life. Damian had attended, he was sure of it, they said they had dragged him along. However, he sometimes still doubted the image of her in a white gown, laying there on a casket, was real. His beloved had looked beautiful even then.

The following year was not easy. Ten years with Marinette had gone by in the blink of an eye. One could argue it was a lot of time, but for the 26-year-old Damian, it hadn’t been nearly enough with his Habibti by his side. She was his anchor in the stormy sea that was his mind. He had been her sword and shield whenever something or someone made her doubt herself. 

That was all gone now. 

No anchor.

No one to support.

He was on his own.

But slowly but surely, his stubborn nature surfaced. And had decided that it was enough. It refused to let Damian wither away. Not willing to throw away everything the woman he loved had worked so hard on. Marinette had made him want to be a better person, and he was not going to dishonor her in that.

That’s how that December afternoon had found him standing in the middle of their living room. Having a staring contest with a giant tree.

Even if it had taken him longer than in previous years, he had managed to put up all the usual house decorations. Although he couldn’t help but feel the mistletoes were mocking him whenever he walked under them and there wasn’t a smile, or a roll of the eyes, or a kiss for him. After some hours, the only thing left to decorate was the tree. But there was no Marinette to decorate it. Which left just Damian to complete the job.

One by one, the ornaments his fiancee had picked with the utmost care all those years ago were hung on the branches. At the time, Marinette had said they were a promise. For as long as they had each other, they could have these as a reminder of all the good moments. She had made it her mission to, no matter where they went on holiday, or if they were just celebrating a special occasion, buy a little ornament for their tree. It had stuck with them. Birthdays, anniversaries, promotions, important moments. They all had their commemoratory trinkets.

It took him some minutes to gather his thoughts and himself together, but he did eventually start. With every little decoration he put up, he began to feel his heart become lighter and lighter as he relived the memories they each carried. Memories of the great times they had spent together. Having finished with those, wrapping up the tree with lights proved to be the easiest task he had taken on so far, they were just lights. But now he had to finally face the most challenging part: the star. 

Damian didn’t know how much time he just stood there, twirling the silver star in his hands. He reminisced about how every year, whenever it was time to finish with the tree, Marinette would seek him out happily. She used to drag him along and wait for him to hoist her up by the waist so she could finally wrap up her work. He always teased his Angel about not being able to do it herself, since she had indeed been the one to pick the tallest tree for their house.

Thinking of her brought a sad smile to his face, as well as some resolve to his brain at last. A moment later, the star was standing tall and proud in its place, looking down at him.

“There you go, Habibti. It’s done.”

Tears welled up in his eyes as he smiled at the photo he had previously balanced in between the branches. A photo of them on their last Christmas together under the tree on the morning of the 25th. 

He was still sad. 

He still missed her with every fiber of his being. 

But, as he glanced into those beautiful blue eyes he loved so much, Damian could finally feel how the weight that had found home on his chest for the past year alleviated, leaving nothing but a dull ache in its place. 

He took it as a sign, and hope bloomed in his heart. 

May Marinette remember him wherever she was, because he was sure he always going to remember her. And with a last look at the picture in his hands, he finally knew.

He was going to be okay.

-

And there it is! Day 3 is done! Thank you all so much for reading and leaving so many lovely comments, both here and on Ao3. I cannot explain just how happy those make me <3 Hopefully I will have enough time to write at least something tiny for day 4, so see you tomorrow!

Tag list:

@tbehartoo @daminette-december2019 @vixen-uchiha @18-fandoms-unite-08

[soundofseventeen]

13 Days of Christmas (Jeon Wonwoo)

If you read Terrible Things, this is in the same universe! It was one of my favorites to write!!! Also Joshua Hong has got me fucked up...unedited bc im getting ready for work

Word count: 2392

You could feel it deep in your bones that something was off with Wonwoo. He was generally a happy person; you could tell by the way he walked. When he was happy, he took big strides and if he was in the middle of a story, he would often talk with his hands, and sometimes he could be heard before he could be seen. But when something bugged it, it was darkness loomed over him, no matter how hard he tried to cover it up. Ever since the month started, you could see his spirits deflating by the day. 

Now Christmas was one of your favorite holidays because it brought out the charitable sides of people. And the lights and inflatables made everything feel magical. You often switched between the famous Santa hat to the elf just because.Everything just...felt different. And every time you saw Wonwoo, it was like he lacked something. At first, you thought he caught a bug which is why you stayed at arm’s length for a time. No offense to him, but if you got sick, you’d be sad because the child you adored so much didn’t deserve to be sick.

And then, you asked him if he was still sick and he looked at you funny and you knew he wasn’t sick and you felt foolish. So you made him cookies to make up for it. But when you went to his house, you were surprised that you didn’t find one anything related to Christmas, not a tree or stocking or even a single candy cane. The outside didn’t look like the rest of the neighborhood. And the inside just looked the same. It kinda broke your heart and then it clicked that he was still mourning the death of his wife and you felt even dumber for not noticing that sooner.

He had given you the time off to go home with your friends and family and he’d stay with Daejung. All the other members finally had the chance to spend their Christmases either back home or with the families of their newest love interests. So, you rejected the offer and told him you’d be staying home instead so if he needed you for any type of emergency, you’d be easy to reach.

So you fixed up your house with enough Christmas cheer to take you to the next century and whipped up more food than you thought you had and counted down the days to Christmas. You bought and sent gifts to your deserving family members and some for the boys whenever you saw them again (which you had a hunch would be some time after the new year because the idol life was hard) and you put extra thought and care for the single father and son who you hoped wouldn’t be so lonely anymore. It saddened you to think Dae would grow up without a mother but Wonwoo...Wonwoo lost his best friend and partner in crime. He’d have to watch Dae turn into someone who resembled both. Mrs. Jeon Wonwoo, according to Wonwoo was a spectacular woman so with her in mind, you found something for them for each of them and you hoped they liked it.

*

“Y/N, you didn’t have to go through all that trouble just to have us over,” Wonwoo chided you gently. “It’s just a holiday and Dae won’t even know if missed a Christmas.” He wiped his mouth on the napkin you provided. He wasn’t as he hungry as he looked but you just made the best food he ever tasted, so he just had to get a bite of everything.

You fed Daejung a spoonful of soup you made especially for him while looking at him. “No one should spend it alone, and I wasn’t gonna have anyone over. And since I work for you, isn’t this just another day for us?” You turned to the baby who was expectantly waiting for more. “Alright baby, open up. Alright you wanna feed yourself? Okay, but eat.”

He raised his cup of coffee in a toast but he watched you interact with Dae feeling happy despite the circumstances. His wife had passed away about half a year ago, so while he still struggled to make peace with it, he found comfort in knowing found a close to full time nanny that loved him almost as much as she would’ve. He knew you fell in love with the baby at first sight and Dae himself did so many things for your attention when Wonwoo interviewed you. He finally felt like he made the right choice in choosing. He was still realistic though; he wasn’t gonna ask for your hand in marriage and ask you to raise Dae like he was your own son. But he had to admit he hated the way his heart twisted up at the thought of Dae being old enough to do these things without you.

“Eww, dirty boy,” he saw you affectionately wrinkle your nose at him, “you got the carrots all over yourself. Wow, you finished your potatoes. Do you want more?” Wonwoo was pleasantly surprised when Daejung nodded. “Finish a little bit more juice, my love. Please?”

“Aren’t you gonna eat, Y/N?” He didn’t doubt that your own food would be cold by now. “I can take care of him? We’re your guests.”

You waved him off, standing up and getting Daejung out of his high chair, not minding the mushed vegetables that landed on your white shirt and potentially staining it. You finally sat him on your lap, ready to finally enjoy your meal. “I have noodles, corn, peas and whatever you want...okay maybe not whatever you want but things you can eat.”

“Is he really that hungry?”

“I don’t know much about genetics but I’m almost positive he takes up after you with that.” You pointed at the nearly empty plate and Wonwoo was shocked at how much he managed to eat. “Watch. I’m gonna grab some of the noodles with my chopsticks and then Dae’s gonna grab them and eat them.”

“Aren’t they spicy?” The whole reason he ate nearly everything else except the noodles was for that same reason.

“Wonwoo, if I didn’t know he’d eventually pick at my plate, I would’ve added more spices and everything. Mostly everything I made is safe enough for Dae to eat.”

“Why?”

“Because he will eat just about anything I make, especially if I’m about to eat.” And sure enough, the moment you raised the chopsticks with the noodles, Daejung swiped them and stuffed them in his mouth, giggling like he knew what he was doing. 

Wonwoo watched in awe how you balanced his son on your lap while he ate the vegetables and how you managed to feed yourself while holding a conversation. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve sworn he was your son. Soon enough you finished eating and he was gonna clear the table but you held out Dae to him and Wonwoo got the hint he needed changing. You gave him directions to change him in your room while you finished.

He was struck dumb when he saw a picture of Dae on your nigthstand, looking so happy and full of life. Wonwoo figured Dae was a couple months younger judging from the baby fat, but he looked the same. He looked a lot like his late wife and he was brought back to the harsh reality that she was gone. He didn’t think he could ever love someone that much again. It wasn’t fair; maybe she would’ve still been here if he didn’t convince her to quit her job. Maybe If he told her not to go to Japan with them or maybe if Soonyoung didn’t convince her to have dinner. Maybe, maybe... 

A sudden sob racked through his body and he tried to keep his composure. He was here with Daejung and you. This already happened; he couldn’t turn back time no matter times he wished it. The reality was his wife was gone. He was learning to live without her and Daejung would never have a memory of her. He shook his head. He was a guest here in your home; he needed to be happy for the moment, because he was enjoying himself a few minutes ago with you. You were laughing and throwing food at each other. You were friends spending Christmas together and Daejung just so happened to be the person who brought you together.

When he went to the living room, he didn’t expect to see you on the couch lightly flipping through the channels with the fireplace on. He felt...warm and cozy in so many ways and he just had to smile. Daejung cooed and you turned around quickly, hands stretched for your favorite little friend. He squirmed in Wonwoo’s arms, clearly wanting you and you handed him over, once again in awe in how much Dae loved you.

“Alright Mister, we’re gonna open Christmas gift and then you can go home, okay?” You lowered your voice but he could still hear you. “I found the cartoons you like so if you fall asleep you can stay longer because your daddy wouldn’t dare take you out in this cold.” You booped his nose and his little hand touched your cheek.

“Did you get us presents? Y/N, you really didn’t have to. We already took up so much of your time.”

“Yes I absolutely had to. What’d you think? You were coming over just to have breakfast? No, come sit down and enjoy the day. Jeon Wonwoo, you and I, we’re a family in a way.”

Family. He had to admit, he liked the idea of that. He sat down next to you as you put Dae on the floor so he could crawl to his heart’s content. “Where’d you get all those toys?”

“Well, with how you work a lot at night and you bring him over, isn’t it a smart idea to have something for him to play with?”

“Your friends must think you’re weird for taking care of some idol’s kid, huh?”

“Well Wonwoo, to be honest, I don’t have them over very much for that same reason. From the way you and your friends talk about your wife and the fact that the media doesn’t even know about her, I just assumed that you’d like to keep it that way, for the respect of her privacy. My friends don’t even know it’s your son I take care of. As far as they know, you don’t have a son. They just know I watch my boss’s son most of the time. Any days off you give me, I try to keep them away from here...just so they don’t ask questions. It’d be a little hard to explain why I have a mini version of Jeon Wonwoo in my house.”

He smiled at you wholeheartedly. “You weren’t kidding when you said you knew what you were getting into.” He could feel his heartbeat picking up. Have you always looked like that?

“Dae will eventually have to grow up and face all of this but as his babysitter, it’d be best to let him stay out of the limelight as long as possible. It’s harder for you because you’re still traveling the world but you know as long as we keep doing whatever we’re doing, he’ll be fine.” You weren’t looking at him as you spoke because your earnestness often made you feel embarrassed so you kneeled on the floor and picked up Wonwoo’s Christmas gift. Daejung, having been busy crawling everywhere he could, fell asleep and you  draped a small blanket over him. 

“I feel shitty not getting you anything,” he admitted. “It’s been a hard year.”

“Don’t worry about that. Daejung makes everyday feel like Christmas. And watching him for you feels kinda surreal, so thank you. Open your gift.”

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but he wasn’t expecting three photobooks of him and his wife and their history. He thumbed through them quickly. “How did you do this?”

“Jeon Wonwoo, every corner I turned at your house had pictures everywhere. So with Seungkwan’s help we found all of them and tried to make an accurate timeline.”

“That would explain why he asked me about us the other day.” Were you always this considerate too? “And what’s Dae’s?”

“Um, Jeonghan helped me look for a single photo of her. He helped me pick out the frame and everything and while he might never know who she was, I don’t think you’d want him to forget her either.”

“Y/N,” he felt at a loss for words, not sure what an appropriate response was, so he just pulled you in and gave you the tightest hug he had ever given someone. “Thank you,” he sobbed.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, but you kept your arms around him until he let you go. His heart still broke for his wife, you knew that, and that no one would ever take her place. But you also did know one day, he could move on and start over. He’d finally start dating (only if he wanted to though) and then he and Dae could be happy together. “Would you guys like to stay a little longer?” you asked quietly. “You don’t look like you’re ready to go home yet.”

“I don’t want to bother you anymore today.”

“You’re not a bother. Tell you what, pick a movie of your choice, I’ll make some popcorn and we can have some wine and then you guys can home once you’ve had dinner.”

“Y/N, we just finished breakfast!”

“Christmas was meant to be spent together.”

“Okay fine, but you’re not taking care of Dae anymore today.”

“I make no promises.”

“Deal.”

So you let Wonwoo flip through all the streaming networks while you made popcorn, poured two glasses of the reddest wine you owned and went back to the living room in hopes he found something. He didn’t choose a Christmas themed movie, but it was a comedy and you both found yourself laughing harder than necessary.

But you also didn’t deny the racing of your heart when he shyly yet somewhat casually entwined his hand his yours.

[x1-imaginesreturns]

Home for the Holidays - Wooseok

Masterlist

Pairing: Wooseok x Reader

Warnings: hits you right in the feels, I apologize

Word Count: 1,537

Notes: Sorry it’s been so long everyone!!! I’m finally on break so enjoy Wooseok’s part!! also I kinda almost cried writing this so yAyyyyyy

Song Recommendation: Epilogue: Young Forever - BTS

“Mom... are you really sure you want to put all of those ornaments on the tree?,” you daughter Chaewon asks as you pull out the oldest-looking box from your family’s shelves of Christmas ornaments.

“Of course I do dear,” you answer gently, looking over the familiar box softly, “I have to honor your father somehow, don’t I?” Chaewon nods sincerely before saying, “Of course, I don’t mean it like I don’t want you to... I’m just afraid you won’t be able to get them up on the tree yourself.”

“You’re a little old to be the one putting the ornaments on the tree now, aren’t you?,” she says, smiling at you. You laugh back and say, “You’re right, you’re right. I’m sure Woojin and Junseok would love to help me out though, and maybe hear a bit more about their grandfather as well.”

Chaewon nods, walking over to you to take the box from you, “I’m sure they would. I’ll go get them, you go take a seat on the couch, okay mom?” You nod at her happily before slowly making your way back to the couch.

As you sit down, you hear your grandsons Woojin and Junseok storm into the living room, skidding to a stop right in front of where you were sitting. “Hello there!,” you say laughing at the boys’ excited faces, “Are you boys going to help me hang grandpa’s ornaments?”

The two of them nod enthusiastically just as Chaewon walks into the living room with the box of ornaments and sets them down next to you. “Let’s let grandma decide which ornaments she wants up there, okay?”

“Are you going to tell us more about grandpa?,” Woojin asks sweetly as you pull the first ornament out of the box. “Of course dear, what would you like to know?” Junseok and Woojin share a glance and Junseok asks, “Why did he make you so many ornaments?”

You giggle softly to yourself, admiring the first one in the room’s light. It was the first one he had ever given you, which was a small dove resting on a nest sprinkled with little dots of fake snow. You could still see the place where Wooseok had glued a note to the nest.

Wooseok… that name brought so many memories back to you. But your mind focused on the memory of this particular ornament. You remember waiting outside of your high school on Christmas day, the cold breeze chilling you to the core as you forgot to wear a jacket, as you were too excited to finally get your last day of the school year over with, even if it was also Christmas day.

As another breeze whipped by, you saw your long-time crush, Kim Wooseok, approaching you. His hands were tucked behind his back, and despite his many layers, his cheeks were flushed.

He instantly saw your lack of jacket, and ran up to you, his hands never leaving from behind his back. “Y/n, are you crazy? Where’s your jacket?,” he asks sweetly, his eyes darting back and forth from yours nervously. “Oh, I just forgot it this morning, I’ll be fine Wooseok.”

“If you say so...,” he says worriedly, before shaking his head, “Here um... Merry Christmas y/n!” Wooseok pulls his hands out from behind his back, revealing the delicate dove ornament, the note he attached dangling off of the side of it. 

You blush darkly before saying, “Aww thank you Wooseok! It’s really cute, I love it.” You step forward and embrace him sweetly, before backing away to read the note. 

He looks down, blushing deeply as you start reading the note.

Dear y/n,

Merry Christmas!! I hope you like the ornament I made for you. And yes, I actually made it haha, I’ve been working on it for a while until it was absolutely perfect. Since it’s for you... it has to be perfect. I’ve... I’ve liked for you a while now y/n, and I don’t know... I felt like I have to confess to you with this. I can only hope that you like me back and to be honest, I’m sure I’ll run away whilst you read this. Even if you don’t like me, I hope you have a happy holiday season!

                                                                                                      Sincerely, 

                                                                                                       Wooseok

You look back up at Wooseok to see him staring at you intensely, his eyes wild with nervousness. You look away for one second, your face lighting up with a bright shade of pink just as you look back down at him.

“I-I like you too Wooseok.”

Your mind flashed back to the present where Woojin and Junseok were staring wonderingly at the small ornament, not even noticing how you completely disappeared for a few seconds there.

“This ornament was the first one he ever made for me,” you say, gently handing the ornament to Woojin, “Be careful with it, okay?” Woojin nods determinedly, heading for the tree slowly.

As Woojin starts to hang it, you say, “And he gave that one to me on Christmas day when we were 16, which he also used as an opportunity to ask me out.” Junseok gapes at you and exclaims, “You and grandpa were really together for that long?”

You nod fondly, pulling out the next ornament. It was your one-year anniversary ornament, a snowflake that Wooseok had delicately carved from a beautiful piece of wood. And attached to the bottom of it were waterfalls of expensive gems that he had saved up to buy just for the ornament.

As you pulled out more and more ornaments, explaining each of their stories to your grandsons and watching as they carefully hung them on your Christmas tree, you felt more lonely than ever. And soon enough, the box was empty, leaving only the final ornament that he had made left.

It was for your 60th anniversary, the last one you had shared together. Out of all of the ornaments, he had made for you over the years, this was the only one that had made you cry.

He had remade the first ornament, except there were two old birds watching over the nest on a higher branch, while a new mother bird roosted over her two newborn baby birds.

Chaewon watched as you brought the ornament out, sniffling as she remembered how much you and her had cried over the ornament. Woojin and Junseok had only just been born, and to you, it finally felt like the family you had always wanted was complete.

You handed the ornament to the two of them, not saying anything as you leaned back on the couch, tears pooling into your eyes. “Chaewon,” you say shakily, “Could you drive me over to Wooseok’s grave on Christmas day?”

~~

“We’re here mom,” Chaewon says, putting the car into park as you unbuckle your seat belt. You and her trudge out of the car and into the small graveyard that Wooseok rested in. Chaewon had brought flowers, but you, without her knowing, had taken the 60th anniversary ornament and tucked it into your sweater pocket.

When you got to the grave, Chaewon had placed her flowers down, sitting in front of his grave before she started to mutter quietly. You turned and walked a few steps, letting her have her peace.

You knew she missed her father just as much as you missed him. He had done the most to make sure Chaewon grew up well, and that she always knew she could rely on either of them for anything. 

Chaewon got up and walked towards you, clearly blinking away tears. “I’ll let you have your space mom,” she says wobbly, wiping a few of her tears. You step forward wordlessly, putting your hand on her shoulder as you pass her by.

As you step in front of the grave again, you slowly lean down to sit on your knees, pulling out the ornament, which was still perfectly intact. “Wooseok, my love, I’m back,” you say, placing down the ornament at the base of his grave, “Merry Christmas my dear... and happy 64th anniversary.”

You read the dates on his grave: “Born October 27, 1939. Dead: December 26, 2015.” Tears pooled in your eyes once again as you started to feel dizzy from sadness. “Tomorrow will be exactly four years since you passed, four years that I’ve been living my life without you.”

“I know I’ll see you soon enough though, my love,” you say, letting your eyes close peacefully, as your spirit faded from your body gracefully. 

As you opened your eyes again, you saw Wooseok sitting peacefully upon the crest of his grave, looking as youthful as he did on the Christmas that he had asked you out.

“You’ve finally come back to me, my love,” Wooseok says, sliding off his grave to extend his hand towards you, “Come now, let’s dance into the heavens, just like we always promised we would.”

You grab his outreached hand, and the two of you lift into the bright sky, dancing as you got closer and closer to dancing in the heavens with your beloved Wooseok.

“Merry Christmas, my dear,” he says as you burst through the clouds, “Let’s spend many more together.”

[andrea-lyn]

While You Were Sleeping is my favorite holiday movie! I'd love this AU with Malex for the holiday prompt thing!!

deck the hallsmichael/alex, presumed kyle/michael, pg-13

The corridor of a hospitalis the last place in the world that Michael wants to be, but here he is.It’s been a hell of a day and he’d snuck off to talk to Isobel, curled up in awaiting chair, wondering how the hell he’s going to break the news of whathappened to her. “You sound like shit,” is the first thing she says whenMichael says hello. “And I thought that I was the miserable one.’

“What happened?” Michael asks, more than happy to let Isobel talk his ear offabout her unfortunate life.The dismissive noise Isobel makes doesn’t bode well for her going on about it.“Nothing serious, just the guy I was seeing ghosted me.”“Asshole.”“Tell me about it,” Isobel harrumphs. “Why do you sound like shit?”“There was…an incident.”The reason why Isobel is his favorite sibling is because she lets him rantabout what happened on the subway late last night on his way home from a ridiculousshift. Around that time, there’s only ever him and another guy (who’s kindahot, admittedly), but happens to sound like a self-important asshole on thephone. He’s a doctor or something, but clearly he’d been out of it because he’dfumbled near the edge of the platform just as the subway had been coming.Michael had been too far away to grab him back.That didn’t mean he didn’t use his powers. He’d hauled hard and pulledthe man back until he’d smacked his head on the subway platform. Cut to a fewhours later and here he is at the hospital where someone’s at least identifiedthe guy as Dr. Valenti, who happens to work here. They’ve also called hisfamily. As of this morning, Michael happens to be part of it because he’s lied and saidthat he’s the boyfriend.

“Michael…” Isobel chides.“I know! I know, I fucked up. So now I gotta wait and see if this guy remembersme using my powers to save his life,” he complains sharply, glancing around tosee if anyone is close enough to eavesdrop. The early hour of the morning meansthat he’s safe, but he still hates that he’s in this situation. “I don’t knowhow long I’m gonna be here, but I’ll try and swing by at some point. We candrink to the shitty boyfriend you’ve got.”“I really thought this time was the one,” Isobel says quietly, and Michaelhates that even in this stressful hour, his first thought is to go comfort her.“Whatever. I’ll drink my feelings away. You go make sure our secret isn’t aboutto get blown to pieces.”“Can do,” Michael vows and tucks the phone back into his pocket before he getsback to his feet, trying to ignore the clinical and overwhelmingly sanitizedenvironment around him. When you’re an alien, you have a lot of nightmares about getting dissected in aplace like this, but it’s worth it to endure to guarantee that doesn’thappen. Michael trudges back into the hospital room and stares down at KyleValenti’s comatose body in the bed. The doctors keep saying that his brainswelling has been going down and he could wake up any minute with allthese hints of promise in their voice like they want to cheer him up. Then,Michael’s the one who lied about being his boyfriend, which means they want tokeep his spirits lifted. It’s a necessary lie, because if Kyle Valenti wakes up and finds out that theguy who saved his life used alien powers to do it, Michael might be under amicroscope real fast. He settles in beside the bed, digging out his book so he can pass the time. ItMichael’s lucky, then he’ll wake up and he’ll figure out if he knows anything(and if he does, then Isobel’s down here instantly to wipe it away).If he’s lucky, this will all be over soon. Of course, since when has Michael ever been lucky?“My baby,” a mother’s lament is the first thing Michael hears when a womanbursts into the room to make a bee-line to Kyle’s side, collecting his hand inhers. Behind her is a man her age and a young woman who’s trying to keep herdistance. Michael knows that they’d alerted the family, but he’d been hoping they’dshow up a little later, that maybe Kyle would wake up before then. The mother kisses Kyle’s hand rapidly, fretfully, and then looks up at Michaelwith a suspicious eye. “Who are you?”Michael stands slowly, rubbing his palms anxiously over his thighs. “I’mMichael,” he introduces himself, knowing that this isn’t going to go over well,but it’s lie or die (maybe literally if his secret gets out). “Kyle’s myboyfriend,” he says, because he needs to be here, and it’s not like ‘goodfriend’ is going to do the trick. “I was with him when he went into the comaand I’m so worried, I…”The parents eye each other, then glance back to Michael, before their gazesland on Kyle.“Rosa,” they say to the young woman. “Did you know…?”Whatever reaction Michael’s anticipating, he doesn’t get a chance for it,because the chaos only grows when Kyle gets yet another visitor. “I heard the news, is Kyle…” The man skids to a stop inside the hospital room,gaping at Michael holding Kyle’s hand. “…okay? Is he brain damaged?” he demandsinstantly to Rosa.“Easy,” Rosa mutters under her breath.“Who the hell are you?”“I’m Michael, Kyle’s boyfriend. Who are you?” he retorts, his hackles up.“Alex Manes, his best friend, who he tormented in high school for beinggay.”Fuck.“What can I say, Kyle’s grown recently,” Michael lies (badly). He awkwardlypats Kyle’s hand a few times as if that’s going to help him out while he staresat Alex warily. “We’ve been keeping things quiet,” he says, hoping that maybethat’ll go over better.“He did say he was seeing someone,” Kyle’s mother says in the corner. “Wedidn’t think it was a…”The awkwardness practically bleeds in the room, which makes this Alex guy rollhis eyes and look like he wants to take Kyle’s IV bag and hook it into his ownveins, if only to escape the idiocy. Michael thinks that this is a tense familysituation that he absolutely doesn’t belong in. Still, it’s not like he can getout of there without completely blowing his cover, so Michael awkwardly takesKyle’s hand even tighter into his own and threads their fingers together,trying to ignore the way Alex is staring at him.Luckily, Rosa and Kyle’s parents descend on the situation and ignore Michaeleven though he’s right there. He probably should be more irritated about thefact that they’re ignoring him like this, but it’s a relief. Besides, not everyone is ignoring him. Michael’s pretty sure Alex hasn’t takenhis eyes off him since he showed up in the room. He’s also the most stubbornwhen it comes to leaving, as Michael soon finds out.Even though Michelle and Jim head home for new clothes and Rosa heads out whenshe starts falling asleep, Alex stays. Alex always stays, and for the firstnight, Michael sits awkwardly with him in silence, but the second night, hedecides the lack of conversation is ridiculous.“Why are you so pissed at the idea that Kyle might be bi?” Michael questionshim. It's probably not smart to poke the bear (so to speak), but Michael’s genuinelycurious why it’s such a big deal. Alex has been scribbling in a notebook andlooks up, alarmed and somewhat surprised that he’s being addressed, but thepart Michael doesn’t understand is why the tips of his ears go a little red. This is gonna be good, he realizes. “He bullied me endlessly in high school because I was gay,” Alex protests. “Heshouldn’t get to just suddenly have a surprise hot boyfriend like you.”Yup, definitely good.Michael hides his smile behind his hand, shifting in his chair to give Alex afond look. “Hot boyfriend, huh?” There’s something about Alex that Michael’sreally enjoying. For one, that sassy and sharp in-your-face opinionatedpersonality reminds him of Isobel, but god, he’s so much hotter. The eyelinerhe’s wearing makes his eyes look soft and big, and Michael keeps glancing downto his fingers, imagining those varnish-coated nails and how they’d look whilehe gave Michael a handjob.Meeting someone when you’re posing as someone else’s boyfriend is absolutely ashitty way to connect, but Michael feels like somehow, he can make this work.“I’m not exactly a catch. I don’t even rank high enough at the school I teachto get lab time other than the late shift. That’s how Kyle and I…” He clearshis throat and shrugs. “It’s how I met him.” His gaze slides over Alex and hegestures to the notebook. “You a writer?”“Singer,” Alex admits. “I’m not famous or anything, but I was hoping that oneday maybe I’d have at least one good song.”Michael can only imagine the songs Alex might play and he lets out a soft catchof breath to think of Alex singing to him, his voice soft in his ear, hisbreath warm on his neck. “Maybe you can sing some to me,” he offers, swallowingpast his dry throat.Alex is staring at Michael’s lips, Michael swears he is, as he says,“Maybe I will.”From there on out, Michael makes sure that he’s always in the room at nightwhen Alex is visiting so they can spend time together. Alex brings his guitar,and they end up talking about the songs Alex writes and how they remind him ofhis terrible childhood before the Valentis adopted him. They talk aboutMichael’s career and how he’s feeling like he’s swimming upstream because hedoesn’t like the networking aspect it takes to get tenure. Their conversationsonly get deeper and eventually, they end up curled up together under one of thebigger couches, Michael’s jacket draped over them like a blanket.Nearby, Kyle lies in a coma, and Michael’s supposed to be his boyfriend. He really needs to wake up soon, because Michael feels weird dumping a guy whenhe’s unconscious.Luckily (or unluckily, given how there’s no knowing how it’s going to go) forMichael, he gets his wish. Michael’s in the middle of getting coffee for himself and Alex when he hears ahuge commotion nearby and sees nurses rushing into Kyle’s room. Given the chaosof beeping noises nearby, along with a man’s voice he vaguely recognizes, itcan only mean one thing. “He’s awake!” Rosa says gleefully, passing Michael in the hall as she bolts forKyle’s room from the waiting lounge. Michael swears under his breath and checksthe time. It’s late, which means his parents aren’t there, but Alex and Rosaare. He’d really been hoping to be there alone when Kyle woke up, but it’s notlike he’s getting lucky today, is he? Trudging along, Michael marches towards his fate, hoping that he can somehowconvince a complete stranger to play along. He plasters a smile on his face andstands in the doorway as the nurses go through the routines, checking vitalsand coping with Kyle’s stubborn demand that he can help, since he's a doctor.He can feel Alex’s hand at the small of his back, which makes him startleslightly as Michael looks at him, wishing that Alex didn’t look so worried andupset. “This is good,” Alex says quietly, even though he sounds miserable aboutit. “He’s awake.”“Yeah,” Michael agrees, feeling the lump in his throat grow. He's glad he has the excuse to stay out of the way while the nurses check hisvitals, but eventually they leave and the doctor’s given Kyle the all-clear tosee his family and friends, which means that Michael now has to approach theterrifying reality of figuring out what Kyle knows, while Rosa and Alex linger(and Kyle’s parents arrive soon, given that they were called the moment Kyleawoke). Michael stands frozen at the side of his bed, forcing a smile on his face,trying to communicate his best, ‘play along with me’ look using only hiseyes.“Hey,” he says with a softness in his tone, watching as Kyle swivels his gazeto make eye contact with him. Lucky for him, annoying sisters (even half ones) are always going to demand attention,which means that before Kyle can blow his cover, she intervenes. “Yourboyfriend was worried,” Rosa teases, poking him in the shoulder. “Also, fuckyou for not telling me that you got cool!” she accuses, as she shoves Michaelinto the visitor’s chair so he can be close to Kyle. Michael goes, even if he looks up at Alex with a guilty expression, thinking ofall the hot chocolates they shared together, all the times they slept curled upunder Michael’s jacket, and all the secrets they’ve confessed to one another inthe early hours of the hospital’s garish lights. There’s only one man in thisroom that Michael wants to date and it’s not the one in the hospital bed.Plus, he’s been lying his ass off and Michael closes his eyes tightly, fistingthe bedsheets, waiting for the impact of his lies to come home to roost.“Hey, baby,” says Kyle, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “I’m glad you came tostay with me, even with things the way they’ve been.”Wait.Hold on.What the fuck? Did Michael have a stroke? Did Kyle? Out of the corner ofhis eye, he sees Alex’s face fall. Michael gets it, because right now, he’sstruggling to understand what’s happening. Does Kyle have some weird amnesia?Did Michael gain a new alien power or is he learning from Isobel? Finding his voice, Michael hears himself croak, “Could I have a minute alonewith Kyle, please?”Rosa and Alex glance at one another, then to Kyle. “Dad and your Mom are goingto be here soon,” she warns.“One minute,” Kyle insists. “We’ll be quick.”They both look wary about leaving, but there’s no argument from them as they go,with Michael watching Alex the whole time, forlorn and freaking out about howhe’s going to explain this, and wanting so badly to go after him instead ofstaying here, but he’s taking advantage of this chance to find out what Kyleknows. The moment they’re alone, Michael turns towards Kyle instantly. “So,” Michael says, when he’s pretty sure no one is eavesdropping. “You’re a handsomeguy, don’t get me wrong, but what the fuck?”Kyle struggles to sit up in bed and on impulse, Michael bolts forward to helphim with the pillows. Kyle really is handsome, but he’s a stranger to Michaeland everything that he’s learned about him means that he seems great, but healso seems completely not Michael’s type. He’s way too responsible and puttogether and he doesn’t feel that spark the way he does with Alex.“You saved me on that platform.”“Yeah, I grabbed you back with my hand…”“No.” Kyle says it firmly. “You saved me with your powers. I’m guessing that’swhy you’re still hanging around my hospital room weeks later and lying toeveryone,” Kyle says, narrowing his eyes. “You were worried that I was gonnatell someone that an alien saved my life?”What the actual fuck?“What the hell is going on?”“Can you hand me my phone?” Kyle requests, groaning as he reaches out.“Isobel’s gonna have my head if I don’t text her soon. I’ve been in the comafor what, thirteen days? Fuck,” he says, shaking his head. “If she hasn’tbroken up with me already, she’s going to now.”Kyle is the guy. No, not just the guy, he’s The Guy. He’s Isobel’ssteady boyfriend who she’d told their secret to (something Max had hated, butIsobel felt strongly that she had to do it, because she’d told Michael that shecould see herself marrying him someday).“What the fuck?” Michael says out loud this time.“Isobel showed me some pictures of her brothers,” Kyle says, as he texts,staring down at his phone. “I kept staring at you on the platform while wecommuted, trying to figure out how to broach the ‘hey, I’m dating your sisterand thinking about proposing’, but it never felt like the right time. I guessit serves me right nearly dying and you having to save me.”There are so many things happening that Michael needs to process. “So, you met my family, huh? I mean, it was gonna happen eventually, but alittle ahead of schedule,” Kyle jokes, his voice rough. He stares at his phoneand sighs with relief, not paying Michael any attention. “Well, I’m definitelyin trouble, but she’s not dumping me. She says you’re in a shitload of trouble,and…” Kyle trails off, glancing up at Michael. “And that you’ve got a stupidbig crush on Alex?”Michael swears under his breath, regretting all those texts to Isobel askingfor advice about his problem. “Look, just tell me you’re not about to go shouting about my secret to anyone,”Michael insists. “And I’ll get out of your hair, okay? I mean, I’ll do thefamily dinner thing when you propose to Iz, but I think maybe this is all gonnabe awkward when suddenly you dump me and hook up with my sister,” he scoffs.“Maybe.”“Oh, right, maybe,” Michael mocks.Kyle gives Michael a challenging lift of his brow. “Hey everyone,” he calls, alittle louder, like he knows that they’re all lingering outside the room likethe nosy assholes they are. “You can come in now.”It’s a flurry of activity when they rush in. Jim and Michelle rush Kyle andpress kisses to his forehead and hair, the three of them exchanging whispersabout how much they love each other. Michael clears his throat to look away,not wanting to feel jealous about the supportive parents Kyle has. The onlyother place to look is at Rosa, who’s beaming at Kyle and looking like she’sirritated to feel that way about him, or Alex, who’s still looking crushed.Better to focus on Rosa, then. Kyle reaches out for Michael’s hand in the midst of this sweet reunion,forcibly yanking on him to get him back by his side (his elbow actually popsout, so what the fuck Valenti). “I wanted you guys to be the first to know thatMichael and I have decided to call it quits,” he says, acting chagrined andsorrowed. It’s not a half-bad performance, especially when you consider thatthey’re both getting something out of this.“Oh, honey, why?” Michelle asks. “You only just woke up again and Michael’sbeen here every day waiting for you.”“Things have been tense between us for a while, seeing as I’m in love withanother woman and I’m pretty sure Michael’s got feelings for someone else,” hesays.Michael glares at him, ready to have his head for selling him out like that.“Kyle,” he hisses.“Alex, he’s got a crush on you,” Kyle says bluntly. “The girl I’ve been seeingfor a while behind Michael’s back, she’s his sister and she spilled the beans.”“Kyle Manuel Valenti!” his mother snaps.“No, it’s okay,” Michael ekes out. “It’s true. Things were tense, like we neverspoke. It was like we didn’t even know one another,” he says, staring at Kyle.“If Isobel is the one who makes him happy, then I want him to be with her,because I…” He turns to stare at Alex, knowing that he hadn’t planned to dothis with an audience, but it could be worse. “I really like you,” he admits.“While Kyle was asleep, I learned all about you and you’re this wickedly funnyand sharp and sweet guy, and you’re super hot, and I love that the first timeyou met me, you thought I was out of Kyle’s league.”“Hey!”“Oh, please, he is,” Alex snorts, but he’s clearly enraptured by Michael’swords. “Go on,” he says teasingly. “Now you’re just fishing,” Michael gets out with a strangled laugh, finding hisway to his feet so he can cross the room to stand in front of Alex. “Look, Iknow we only met because of this insane circumstance, but I think maybe I’dlike to go out to dinner with you. I feel like I already know you, like weconnected, like something…”“Cosmic,” Alex fills in the blank for him, his voice soft. “I know. I felt ittoo and I was so jealous that you were here for Kyle, but if what you’re sayingis true…”“It is,” Michael hurries to cut him off. “I was here out of obligation, but Istayed for you.” He reaches out for Alex’s hand, tugging him in towardsMichael’s personal space. “Come have dinner with me? Please?” he asks quietly. “Alex!” Rosa interrupts, when a second passes with an answer. “Don’tleave us hanging!”“Meddling family,” Alex says fondly, shaking his head. “Yes,” he says, andgrins at Michael. “Yes, I’ll go out with you.”It’s probably not the right place for it, but Michael grabs Alex’s face so hecan kiss him, leaning forward on his tiptoes to trip right into it, desperateto have the kiss that he’s been thinking about since the day he met Alex inthis hospital. Alex grabs at the collar of Michael’s jacket and hauls him infor a deeper kiss. Kyle says nothing, but Michael swears he can feel the smug satisfactionradiating behind him. In response to that, he does the only thing he thinks is right in this particularsituation. He kisses Alex even harder. *The next time that Michael sees Kyle at the subway station, he heads over toknock into him with his elbow. “Hey, future brother-in-law,” he greets, seeingas the proposal had clearly gone well, from the way that Isobel had screamedover the phone at him. “How about you stay off the tracks this time?” he jokes,even though it’s not the first time he’s seen him here since the incident, butMichael never lets a day go by without making the joke.Kyle raises his brow in that infuriating know-it-all way.“Did my coma not get you a boyfriend out of my adopted brother?”God, he’s annoying and he’s marrying into Michael’s family, which means he’snever going to escape him. “Gonna hang that one over me the rest of my life,huh? It couldn’t be that I was a super devoted fake-boyfriend through yourcoma, or maybe I was worried about the stranger I saved?”“You wanted to make sure I’d keep my mouth shut and then stayed for the hotguy, so uh, yeah. Nope. I’m definitely hanging this over you for the rest ofyour life.”He’s got him there, but then, Michael thinks he’s probably allowed to feelsuperior and smug about the fact that he helped to get Michael and Alextogether, because without Kyle’s coma, then Michael never would have met him,never would have learned about him, and never would have loved him. For that, Kyle can have bragging rights for centuries.“I’ll see you at the rehearsal dinner,” Kyle says, when he gets onto his trainand they part ways. “Don’t propose to Alex there, please?” he begs. “I want oneday for me and Isobel, not for you to marry into my family because you missRosa so much.”Michael shrugs, waiting until the doors are closing and will separate them.“No promises!” he shouts, and indulges in the frustrated look on Kyle’s face asthe subway carries him off to a day of worrying that he’s going to get upstagedat his own rehearsal dinner. Perfect. It’s going to be a great day and this is just the start. Even if he doesn’thave any intention of proposing to Alex at the dinner (he has the ring pickedout, but he intends to do it way more romantically, with a self-penned song andeverything), there’s only one thing he loves almost as much as he loves Alexand it’s winding Kyle up.Given the annoyed text he gets from Isobel pleading with him to stop annoyingKyle, Michael gets on the train heading uptown with a smirk on his face,thinking that it’s definitely working out, for all of them.