#and still two calls over Christmas charities for me

[middle-ans]

“Give your arse a rest”, man, you telling me…

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part One - A twisted fate

I'm gonna be honest: this came to me in a tired, period induced haze and I have no idea what the hell I'm doing but the bunnies would not let me stop until I finished it. Was supposed to be a oneshot... until it wasn't XD Hoping this is just gonna be a short little pet project on the side. Lemme know if I missed any triggers!

Trigger warnings: SA (not by the 141), biting, claiming, angst, depression, hurt/no comfort, self harm

[Edit 7/16/24: updated relationship tags]

The parking lot was a certified mess to navigate, a veritable winter hellscape with the continual snowfall keeping the pavement slick and churning around spinning wheels to create a thick dirty slush. Packed cars fought for spaces towards the front of the store, wanting to avoid the headache of trudging through sloppy sleet, heavy carts overflowing with expensive gifts and last minute groceries.

Parents loaded up their trunks for their upcoming banquets. Little ones chattered in youthful exuberance about brightly wrapped packages and a jolly fat man. Festively dressed bell ringers exhausted their muscles for the cause of charity, offering joyous smiles to those passing by gracious enough to offer a token. Even six inches of heavy wet snowfall were not enough to deter shoppers from their mood. Coupled with the obnoxiously boisterous music that met you at the door it was almost impossible not to get swept up in the infectious holiday spirit.

Almost.

You hadn’t bothered joining the chaotic dominance for prime parking, opting to choose the very last row towards the street instead of wasting precious minutes yelling profanities out the window to an uppity pack trying to steal your spot. The harsh wind burned your face and nipped at your skin, pulling the woolen scarf tighter around your neck and up over your bitten nose. You avoided eye contact with the chipper lady at the front, not wanting to feel guilty for not donating when you barely had enough to scrape by as it is.

Normally you avoided venturing out this close to Christmas unless absolutely necessary. Holidays haven't meant much to you in recent years since your parent’s untimely passing and you hated the constant reminder of ‘the most wonderful time of the year’. Sure, there were still your other two alpha fathers, but they’d opted for someplace warmer in their age and visitation was difficult with your busy work schedule. Your younger brother wasn’t almost worth mentioning with his new prissy family somewhere up north. That bridge was burned the day he called you a harlot.

Needless to say, you’d become something of a grinch.

You’d been miserably sick the week prior and ate through most of your stockpile of hoarded food, not enough remaining to keep blowing off shopping with the bustling crowds. If you wanted to last past New Years then a trip into town was unavoidable.

The intense blast of hot air from the overhead heaters thawed your aching bones upon entering the store, shaking the accumulated dampness from your head and shoulders but leaving the thick cloth covering the lower half of your face. It would help you in your endeavors to get through the aisles expediently without irritating your delicate omega olfactory senses. 

It got harder to distinguish the source of fragrances this time of year, when folk spent their days burrowed away from the bitter cold surrounded by the comforts of the season. A chilled glass of rich subtly spiced eggnog, smokey cedar logs crackling in the hearth, sweet woodsy pine wreaths and garlands wrapped around thick oak banisters, trees decorated with peppermint candy canes and dried strings of popcorn. 

Gingerbread, mulled wine, cinnamon, orange, clove; a bountiful buffet of complementary aromas. Your own father had smelled of cranberry sauce once upon a time (it made the holidays that much harder when he was gone). And with so many people filling the space - even with the heating fans working overtime trying to filter out most of it - it could get difficult trying to figure out whether a boozy scent originated from a lovely beta or the soaked rum cake she was placing in her cart.

Honestly if it weren't for the outrageous delivery fees you would've had the groceries dropped off instead of enduring the aggressive pheromones floating through the air. Alas this was one of your few exceptions to your hermit lifestyle.

Truthfully, it wasn’t just December that had you hesitant to leave the sanctuary of your meager apartment. 

For the past few years, you’d been battling a severe case of agoraphobia, something you’d been working on wholeheartedly with a therapist since the accident that made you so. It had crippled you to the point that even daring to have the blinds open on your windows sent you spiraling into that dark abyss of cackling distress, panic consuming every last ounce of breath until you found yourself minutes later curled up on the bathroom floor, lightheaded and queasy.

Nausea was a constant in your life, along with the cold sweat that had you sleeping on a towel just to keep from ruining your bedsheets. Lethargy was embedded in your muscle fibers. A searing ache in your throat. The painful deep tugging in your chest an ever present reminder of the uphill battle you fought each time you opened your crusty sleep filled eyes. Depression was your best friend, curled around you in a false sense of comfort where it was easier to slip into a maladaptive headspace than face the truth of your harsh reality.

But despite the physical manifestations of your trauma, you’d made good strides so far with your weekly sessions. It had been a difficult road getting to this point and your therapist praised you for your dedication to not letting it hinder the life you had ahead. You weren’t sure what it looked like, but you tried all the same.

Like a hound that heard you calling, that ominous presence that filled you with dread came crawling into the back of your skull, mittened hand discreetly itching at the wool around your neck and scratching the irritated skin beneath. Forcing yourself to take a few deep breaths until it settled, you grabbed one of the many baskets available and began the trek weaving down the rows of food.

Christmas was about a week away and the mobs were out in full force. Thankfully the items you were on the hunt for were not the same ingredients needed by everyone else. There was the occasional overlap of things like milk, eggs, bread, etc. But there was no call for a full sized turkey or spiraled ham; no sweet potato casserole or chocolate yule log to bake. Just some bologna, shredded cheese, a couple packs of ramen, and a few other household things here you were running low on. 

Maybe for the hell of it you’d stop in the frozen section and find yourself a mini cheesecake to splurge on for when you inevitably opened that bottle of fireball sitting on the shelf come next Tuesday, forced to listen to your upstairs neighbors' horrendous attempts at Christmas caroling.

Halfway through the store, your browsing was interrupted by an alluring scent swirling somewhere nearby.

Citrusy. Acidic. Sweet. Airy. 

Your scarf had slipped off your face when you bent down to grab something off the lower racks, exposing you to the freshly baked goods across the way. Someone nearby was carrying a batch of lemon cupcakes, your mouth watering as the scent invaded your tastebuds and forced a pleasant hum from the back of your throat. 

Something curled in your chest like a finger beckoning forward, begging for an acknowledgement that had you standing at rapt attention. Your body seemed to move on its own, head swiveling like a rickety chair, scanning the nearby vicinity - for what, you couldn’t say. The inner omega that prowled just underneath the surface vibrated restlessly, choking back a needy whine while your eyes swept over the closest individuals. Something primal had called out to you, throwing your hormones out of whack, piecing together invisible clues so obviously standing right in front of you. 

The summery concoction felt so out of place in the harsh winter months, swirling and nagging at the base of your spine, urgent and loud and taking up too much space until you felt like you could drown in its tang–

Your muscles locked in place, gaze affixed to something - someone - at the end of the aisle. 

A big someone. An alpha.

And he was massive.

There was a natural musculature that came with the inherited alpha genetics. Beta’s could grow to a similar size if they worked at it, but there was a casual arrogance that was impossible to mistake with the former designation. Even still, this man towered over most others in the vicinity, lesser alphas giving a wide berth to the intimidating figure currently staring down at his phone screen. Thick grey hoodie pulled up over his head, a black military jacket layered over top. Dark wash jeans led down to warm boots hefty enough to stomp a man’s skull in. Messy dark blonde hair peeked out from up top, a black surgical mask covering the lower half of his face from view.

He couldn’t have given off any more ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibes if he had it tattooed across his forehead. There was nothing sinister about his bearing per se - one hand casually shoved into a coat pocket as he leaned back against one of the dessert displays - but there was a coiled alertness that gave you the distinct impression he was more aware of his surroundings than he led you to believe.

One thing was for certain: you were never more sure of anything in your less than perfect life that that man was your scent match.

Your lungs expanded in your chest to drink in more of his scent. Palms turned sweaty, hair on the back of your neck prickled, the weight of the basket on your arm all but forgotten. Your throat parched at the prospect of getting to shove your face against his scent gland and taste the delectable lemony goodness right off his skin. 

People went lifetimes never meeting their perfect scent matches. The odds of you ever encountering one wasn’t even worth holding out hope for. Over seven billion people on the planet and you had to win an epic fucking lottery to get as lucky as you just did. Bonding ceremonies like that made the news for how rare it was. You’d never even dreamed of this happening, making peace with the idea that mates only existed in fairytale romance.

You just about dropped your groceries when he was joined shortly thereafter by another gorgeous male, slightly shorter by a few inches and not as broadly built. Rich dark skin, effortlessly cool street style, short black curls, and a dazzling pearly white smile.

This new alpha didn’t seem to flinch in the presence of the other, lemon cupcake glancing up only briefly to acknowledge the newcomer whose toasted coconut aroma barrelled right into you, colliding like a runaway freight at an unguarded intersection. Gulping down mouthfuls of air like a fish heaving on dry land, your head spun wildly at the nutty intrusion; smokey yet sweet, conjuring images of a warm evening bonfire on a lush sandy beach. 

Hope bloomed in your chest something fierce and bright. Your omega preened in unbridled delight, pawing at the surface, eager to get her hands on the two beautiful specimens whose every atom screamed ‘mine’. Tears stung behind your eyes, a mixture of relief and elation, vibrant like bursting fireworks and twinkling Christmas lights. 

What would you say to them? Do you approach them first? Should you wait for them to scent you back or try to pretend you didn’t smell them yet? What did their voices sound like? You could see their lips moving, even if the ones’ were hidden behind a surgical mask. Tenor, baritone, rumbly bass? What were their names? Where did they live? Was this really happening right now?! 

Something twisted and gnarled sunk its claws into your subconscious, rearing its ugly head in protest at the newfound revelation, but for the first time in years you didn’t fucking care. 

They were here. Your alphas. Your pack. Your salvation.

“Babes!” 

Decadent chocolate floated past you, a small apology from her lips as the omega brushed by, bumping her arm against yours on the way to her intended destination. You’d hardly noticed, too caught up in your own inner monologue and girlish fantasies to barely manage a quiet ‘no worries’.

For a split second, your eyes met coconut’s beautiful luscious brown, breath catching in your throat as the object of your desire finally seemed to take note of your existence. It was like gazing into the threads of the universe, pulling taut between you in a cosmic symphony that brought your stardust back together from whence it scattered at the dawn of time. 

A perfect part of an incomplete whole.

…until those shimmering umber pools shifted left, aimed at the bubbly figure headed right towards them. 

Huh?

Confusion as both alphas turned their full undivided attention to the dark haired omega, holding out a box of something for them to inspect and smiling when it met their approval, an affectionate pat on the head from lemon for her success that left her beaming with pride. 

That’s when you noticed it - peeking out underneath the collar of her elegant peacoat. A faint white crescent moon shaped scar, standing out against her lightly tanned skin, a matching one a little farther down. 

Mating bites. A bonded omega. 

And your scent matched alphas were gazing lovingly at her as if she’d hung the stars. 

She was theirs. They’d already found their mate. 

And it wasn’t you.

Something died in your chest, a broken scream torn silent from your soul as it condensed into a burning black hole. Agony unlike anything you’ve ever known, piercing your fragile heart and burrowing like a plague into your veins until the sickness had spread to every corner of your being. Your omega clawed at her eyes, willing the visions in front of you to vanish like a twisted mirage, begging for a bullet to erase the image of coconut planting a soft forehead kiss before wrapping an arm around her waist and turning to leave. 

A dejected whine ripped from your throat as you took an unconscious step forward, hand vaguely outreached, instincts screaming to chase after them and make them choose you instead of her. But you did no such thing. You watched helplessly as the alphas who were supposedly destined for you by the stars turned their backs on your pathetic existence.

This couldn't be happening. Why was this happening?! Please turn around!!!

With the same circulating air that had guided their scents to you, the wind in the store shifted.

Lemon cupcake went ramrod straight, whipping his head around so fast you were worried it’d go flying off his shoulders. It was uncanny the way he immediately zeroed in on your poor trembling figure, standing in the middle of a crowded aisle, uncaring to the concerned glances of the other shoppers as he unknowingly ruined your life. 

Recognition sparked deep behind voided irises before going completely neutral, steeling his expression but remaining unmoving as stone. It’s like the two of you were locked into place, orbiting each other by an invisible tether, watery eyes begging the ones staring back to please… please not leave you behind.

Coconut halted in his own step at the end of the aisle, sniffing the air for a moment with a furrowed brow, glancing over his shoulder at lemon, asking him something too far away to overhear. You can only assume the contents of his reply, the slightest shift of his mask the only tell he’d responded before coconut turned to face you as well.

This time garnered more of a physical reaction than the last, jaw dropping while staring just as unabashedly as his alpha companion. Eyes swept from head to toe, cataloging every minute detail the same as you’d done to them. Pupils dilated exponentially, nostrils flaring taking in the crisp pear scent you exuded, memorizing every facet and swallowing it down like a ravenous predator.

What a sight you must’ve made; eyes red and puffy from the tears that now flowed freely from suffering instead of the earlier jubilation, meek and sheepish and falling apart at the seams. What a piss poor impression to give the men fated to be your mates.

There was a brief moment where coconut seemed to match your initial energy, a flash of something saccharine and longing, only for it to collapse under the grueling weight of our fatalistic reality. There was an internal struggle in the crease of his brow, the downturned expression souring behind clenched teeth and tight fists. But more than that there was pity - pity at how you couldn’t have met sooner. Pity that you’d had to discover them like this, a woman on their arm and bite marks on her neck. Pity that they hadn’t had faith that they would be the lucky ones in a packed society.

You can make out a question on the chocolate omega’s perfectly pouty lips, trying to put the jigsaw together as to why her alphas were suddenly acting this way while glancing between the three of you.

Ignoring her, coconut takes a half step forward; you take two steps back. There’s an apology in your watery eyes, a hushed ‘merry christmas’ too strained for their ears. Your heart’s beating too loudly, your breath comes too shallow. You don’t even realize you’re sucking in heaving sobs until a gentle hand of a passerby lands on your shoulder, snapping you out of the chaos of your psyche. 

You can’t take it any more; the shame, the embarrassment, the gut wrenching defeat. 

The basket falls to the floor with a loud clatter, startling the people nearby who let out shrieks and gasps of surprise as the spilled contents inside break open and shatter. Eggs crack, milk pours onto the mud trekked tile, a fragile jar of strawberry jam splatters across someones pristine boots with an indignant shout.

A smooth tenor voice calls out ‘WAIT’, but you’ve already rounded the corner, barreling through the crowds of happy smiles and ecstatic giggles, too torn up inside to feel anything but desolation at the future so cruelly ripped from your fingers.

The crisp frigid air smacks the breath from your lungs, winter boots slapping on the slushy frozen ground. The squeal of brakes accompanies you as you sprint uncaringly through the bustling traffic, horns honking and voices shouting, muffled and far away as you drown in the whirlwind of your mind. It’s a miracle you’re not hit by a car, an even bigger one that you make it back to your own unscathed.

Slamming the car door shut, you smack your padded palms repeatedly against the steering wheel, banshee wailing your vocal cords raw in despair. The dark presence creeps in once more, a mocking chill down your spine as it caresses your fractured soul. The nausea comes back full force, the tugging on your chest, the burning in your throat. There’s a desperation as you tear your fitted mittens off, reaching under the woolen scarf and incessantly scratching at the irritated skin until it shreds under your nails. The pain doesn't register through your emotional torment, blocking out the inner voice until it inevitably slinks back into the shadows after its bitter lick of victory.

Panting hard, your head slumps back against the cloth headrest, stewing in the silence of misery and defeat, the distant joyful bells of Christmas the only company you have on this cold winter’s night.

It takes a few tries to fit the key in your deadbolt, blinking through tears now frozen to your eyelashes. There’s no recollection of how you even made it home in your brittle mental state. For all you knew were twelve civilians flattened like pancakes on the side of the road and a warrant out for your arrest. 

Wouldn’t that be nice? A break from having to pay bills and function like an adult.

Stumbling through the door, the sparse furnishings of your minimal studio glare at you, flipping them off as you shuck the damp outer layers from your frail form. A mess to be cleaned up another day.  

It wasn't just the rejection of your fated mates you were facing. It was the knowledge that your entire future had been ripped away and no amount of hot glue could piece it back together. Today’s revelation was the final nail in the coffin for the rest of your life.

The bathroom lights flickered with dying bulbs, something that had been on your shopping list tonight and was now being swept off the floor along with everything else you’d left behind. It didn’t stop you from locating the first aid kit under your sink, setting it on the ceramic counter and pulling out the well loved supplies inside.

You avoided staring at your gaunt reflection, not wanting to see the person looking back as you tugged at the thick scarf looped around your neck. The constricting material tore away with ease, falling into a discarded heap on the floor, revealing the torn mottled flesh hidden underneath. 

Your own set of crescent shaped scars - where the line of your neck connected to the meat of your shoulder, long since healed over and faded with time. The area surrounding it was now swollen and inflamed, raised angry red lines dotted with scrapes like a bad case of road rash, bloody from where you'd furiously clawed at your neck on the car ride home. The only time the fucker in your head shuts up - the connection tethering you emotionally gone silent once he got tired of feeling physical pain across the bond.

Memories came unbidden. Flashes of that fateful encounter coming home late from work, dragged into a sequestered shadowy overhang a few meters down the darkened alleyway. A feral alpha hopped up on something illegal, tearing into your clothes and violating the virginal space between your thighs. The muffled cries as he overpowered you, panting through a rut with his greasy fingers shoved down your throat to silence you, gagging on the musky taste. The scream as his teeth pierced your flesh, the bond snapping taut and stealing your future from you without a thought to your own wishes.

He’d fucked you ragged that night, waking up with your cheek pressed into the damp pavement and his arm slung around your waist from hours earlier. There’d been no one to turn to, no one who would care. By law now you were his - no matter the means it had been done. 

A mating bite was binding. 

You’d crawled away from him, your outfit in tatters hanging loosely over your bruised form, dried blood stuck to your neck and a stabbing pain at your apex. You felt dirty and used and wanted nothing more than to strip the skin from your bones. The unconscious form of the– your alpha flopped prone on his back, crimson stains around his mouth and his flaccid cock still half out of his trousers. The pinpricks on his arm told the tale of a junkie. It’s possible he hadn’t even been fully aware of the crime he’d committed. 

You didn’t stick around to find out.

But you paid for that decision harshly, opting for a life not attached to your abuser, at a steep tormented cost. Bonds weren’t meant to be strained for so long. It starts to cause negative impacts on the pair, the omega bearing the worst of the brunt. Nausea, sweating, pain, dizziness, fatigue. The chronic illnesses you endured day in and day out would stay with you for the rest of your life. So long as he was up and walking free - alive somewhere on the other side of the country - his greasy claws strumming your senses through the connection tethering you eternally.

Only a perfect scent match could override the original bite and free you from the oppressive bonds that shackled you to an invisible alpha - the last remaining hope you had at any semblance of happiness.

And you just lost it.

>> ✿ Next ✿ >>

[closetsof-backlogged-dreams]

merthur fic recs: sof's masterlist

(inspired and encouraged by the ever-lovely @dreamingthroughtokyoskies <33 ilysm babes)

hello, there! these are fifteen fics that i've collected over the years as my favorite merthur fics of all time. they come in all sorts of genres and lengths and vibes, so buckle up!!

Sorcerers & Knights, and their long-lost Prince by DracoWillHearAboutThis [30k, 9/9]

"Can't you watch where you're going?!" Arthur snapped. 

"You ran into me!" the other man exclaimed, incredulous, and Arthur stilled because he knew that voice. And that accent.

He looked up and found himself face to face with a flushed, indignant Merlin Emrys, tour shirt drenched with coffee. Bloody hell.

"That shirt is Dior," was all that came out of Arthur's mouth, without his permission, and the singer's face hardened.

"Well, bugger for you," Merlin snapped. "Might have to wear off the rack, for a change, like the rest of us. Maybe the money you saved with that could go to your precious charity."

Arthur blinked, the blow of the other man's words not even hitting him before he heard Gwen Smith shriek from down the corridor.

"Merlin! You can't say that to the Prince of Wales, oh my God!"

Merlin is the lead singer of the popular British band called Sorcerers & Knights. Arthur is the Prince of Wales. Their paths cross and destiny unfolds.

fellow merthur/rwrb fans rejoice, this is practically a rwrb AU! except Merlin is the lead singer of a rock band, Sorcerers & Knights, and Arthur is the prince of Wales. the romance between the two of them is so insanely sweet, and i love all the outside commentary from the rest of the cast:)) i also recommend literally anything else by DracoWillHearAboutThis !!

Caesura by StormDancer [52k, 1/1]

Merlin is a writing prodigy with the world's most angsty case of writer's block; Arthur is an overachieving Econ major struggling to escape his father's shadow. Together, they fight crime!

Well, no, they don't. But they do fall in love.

College AU where Merlin is an undiagnosed unmedicated ADHD anonymous prodigy author who takes a course on his own work, meets Arthur, a fan, and they fall in love?? omg. on another note, Merlin's characterization in this fic is INSANE! he's giving deranged thought daughter and im obsessed

all ye faithful by schweet_heart [26k, 1/1]

After an eight and a half year absence, Arthur returns to his father’s house for Christmas, determined to find some closure and finally let go of the past. Merlin, as ever, gives him a reason to hold on.

wow. this fic. there's just so many good things to say about it, but i'll start with the beautiful depiction of parental abuse. Uther isn't physical, and he never does anything too obviously harmful, but it's the little things he says and the overall toxicity of his presence. and then the way he acts with Mordred, Morgana's son, while Arthur watches and wonders why his father never treated him like that?? it's brilliant. absolutely brilliant. the whole fic is a small town AU where Merlin and Arthur were together in secret and broke up as teenagers, and meet again when Arthur comes home. everything about this fic, from the breaking-up-and-making-up to the beautiful depiction of abuse, is so amazing.

Of Lemon Drops and Lizard-Cats by supercalvin [26k, 2/2]

When Inspector Arthur Pendragon went into work that morning he didn’t expect to get on the bad side of an attractive paramedic whose dessert-related insults were surprisingly scathing. Then the same man turned up at the police station, with a clever glint in his eye and his daughter in his arms.

When Merlin Emrys became a single father he made one simple rule: he wouldn’t date until Aithusa was old enough to understand. Merlin had always had his hands full with his daughter and never had a problem with this rule until Arthur stepped into his life. Then everyone he knew started conspiring against him.

single dad paramedic Merlin?? smitten detective Arthur?? mutual pining but self-forbidden romance?? it's amazing. and the domesticity of this fic... let's just say i finished it and couldn't stop thinking about families for the next week. the outside commentary from the rest of the cast in the department is top tier, and Aithusa as Merlin's daughter is the absolute cutest thing

wanna be your end game (my youth is yours) by ladililn [63k, series]

Merlin grows up in Buckingham Palace. Unfortunately, so does Arthur.

this fic is actually a series, and it's genuinely so adorable i have no words. them?? growing up together?? badgering and arguing and teasing?? but truly being there for one another, always, when it came down to it?? elite. the absolute greatest. and their completely oblivious mutual pining never fails to make me giggle <3

after the storm (are you leaving) by Imagined, Scarlet_Ribbons [60k, 6/6]

“Gorwin is my King,” Merlin says, golden eyes fixed flatly on Arthur. “And I work for him. That’s what it says.”

“That’s what what says?” Arthur all but roars, wishing he had a sword just so that he could swing it at something. He needs to let all of this anger at something, anything, he’s just not sure at what and he doesn’t really care anymore.

“The treaty you signed."

Or:

Arthur lends Merlin's aid as a sorcerer to an allied kingdom. He doesn't expect to find Merlin, two years later, in shackles, and only a mere echo of the person he used to be.

this fic is beyond devastating. a warning that it is extremely dark, with a lot of addiction and (non-sexual) slavery. overall, though, it's so beautiful. the way that Arthur forces himself to allow Merlin to leave, and then finds him absolutely destroyed?? then stands by his side through all of it and never gives up on him?? such a beautiful fic, as well as everything else written by these two authors

secrets i have held in my heart by arthur_pendragon [20k, 8/8]

Merlin carves himself into Arthur’s soul while the song of summer trails behind them in the sultry air; while the trees haggle with the sun over the price of autumn — separation. Arthur will forever remember this week in which he obtained his heart’s desire and had it ripped away from him.

wow ok so i'm really not exaggerating when i say this is the best fic i've ever read in my life—it's so heart-stoppingly beautiful and painful and the writing is gorgeous and genuinely i don't even know how to communicate how good this fic is. it's friends-with-benefits but also secret-mutual-pining and angsty and hurtful and ahhhh. so so so good.

Next to You (It's the Rule) by LunaMyLove [62k, 8/8]

Arthur and Merlin have a special relationship. They always have, even when they were prince and servant. While many question it when first noticing, eventually it becomes an understanding in Camelot—and even among some other countries—that where there is Arthur, there is Merlin. And, where there is Merlin, there is Arthur.

Or

Arthur and Merlin's relationship as witnessed and explained by others.

Also, or

Five times someone realizes that Merlin is the Queen, one time Merlin realizes it himself, and one time he owns it.

this is one of the funniest fics i've ever read! if you're familiar, it's very reminiscent of CaffeinatedFlumadiddle's writing. Merlin and Arthur's relationship is hilarious, very mischievous-cat and cat-owner. i also adore Mordred in this fic—he's so squishy and adorable idkidk

since we're alone, you can show me your heart by isolationqueen [7k, 1/1]

Going on a month long road trip though Europe with Arthur is probably a terrible idea. Only, Merlin has never been able to say no to Arthur.

modern road trip AU my beloved!! ughh i love the bitchy pining in this fic, and how protective and jealous Arthur gets. just them going from club to club in all these different places.... so good!! always recommend <3

More than I bargained for by follow_your_fire [27k, 3/3]

Arthur's had enough of hearing about Merlin's unsurpassed bedroom skills from his friends.

There's no way Merlin is better than him, is there?

Well, only one way to find out.

this one is for my porn-with-plot girlies!! Arthur being gay for Merlin is the funniest thing ever, and watching him be so bewildered and confused the entire fic but covering it up so that Merlin doesn't suspect a thing is top tier. and then Merlin being soft?? and loving?? and fluffy?? and then Arthur just doesn't know what to do..... SO GOOD!!

A Collapsing Star With Tunnel Vision by objectlesson [8k, 1/1]

“Perhaps we are doing her a favor then,” he says, pausing to chew the inside of his cheek before adding in a measured, careful voice. “I wouldn’t want to live without my love, either.”

Arthur whips around in the saddle to stare at him, eyes hard and dark, like the storm clouds building on the distant horizon. “What love? You haven’t got a love,” he snaps, like he’s the sole keeper of all Merlin’s secrets.

'Arthur acting different with Merlin alone than he does with the knights' my beloved!! this fic is so poetic and beautiful, with Arthur being ugly and mean but so in love and Merlin is equally so ahhhhh. so insanely good. lots of monster hunting and metaphorical discussions. im obsessed with this fic you don't even understand

Nicest Thing by idlestories [19k, 1/1]

Arthur has been best friends with Merlin since they were eleven, and in love with him since they were sixteen and he realised what that was. Too afraid to risk the friendship, he's resigned himself to never telling him how he feels.

Now, high school has just ended, it's their last summer together before university, and Arthur? Arthur is just trying not to think about it.

Featuring: loneliness, pining, drunk Merlin, driving lessons, and more than a few poorly-executed teen movie clichés. Covers June-December the year they start university.

this fic is so criminally underrated it makes me homicidal. one of my top three favorite fics of all time, do you understand me? it's so. it's so good. the pining?? the yearning?? the split as they go to different unis?? the summery poeticism of the writing?? i'll never get over this fic. i think about it every day. amazing.

time, mystical time by andiwriteordie [17k, 1/1]

Finally, the man tears his gaze away and meets Arthur’s eyes once more. “I seek the aid of your Camelot,” he says, but his voice sounds more hesitant now, as if he’s had to change his response for some strange reason.

Merlin can’t help but believe that reason is him.

“As for who I am,” the man says with a bit of a chuckle, and he glances around the room again at familiar faces, at his friends. “I am Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot.”

Or:

When a mysterious stranger shows up to Camelot claiming to be Arthur from the future and seeking help for his sick consort, Merlin learns some things about himself, about Arthur, and about a future he never dreamed was possible.

Arthur from the future time travels back in time to find Merlin, the only person powerful enough to save his cursed consort, an older Merlin?? i physically cannot. this fic is so good. shows two sides of the same coin (ha): Merlin and Arthur, established with Merlin's magic out and proud, and then Merlin and Arthur, unestablished and Merlin's magic still a careful secret. and Morgana in this fic is elite!! she's absolutely hilarious and completely done with merthur's bullshit

For Want of a Nail by 0hHeyThereBigBadWolf [235k, 44/44]

Fleeing from Essetir in the bloody beginnings of the Purge, Hunith finds herself on the doorstep of old friends. That's all it takes to untangle the skeins of destiny and weave a new tapestry.

long fic alert!! but oh my god i love this fic. Leon being Merlin's older brother?? elite. Arthur and Merlin going through angsty mutual pining?? top tier. and then later on, this fic features probably my favorite OC of all time: Bellegere, Arthur's cousin and Agravaine's daughter. i love her so much and you can pry her out of my cold dead fingers. just such a good fic!!

what is this feeling by redkay [13k, 1/1]

“Get out of my sight, and don’t come back until you can prove to me why I should allow you to remain in my service.”

Merlin stares at Arthur, confused. His tone was ominous, and it certainly sounded like a threat, but Merlin can’t quite work out what part is supposed to have him shaking in his boots. He’s halfway back to Gauis’ chambers when it dawns on him: Arthur actually thinks this stupid, degrading job is something he would be willing to fight for - as though Merlin’s life wouldn’t be complete without the honor of scrubbing the sheets Arthur manages to soil on a disturbingly regular basis.

In which it takes Merlin a bit longer to warm up to Arthur than it does in canon, but he gets there in the end.

we deserve more of Merlin being genuinely bitchy and pissy at Arthur!! the show really did make him Arthur's #1 fangirl wayyy too quickly, but this fic fixes that right up. it's so funny, but so heart-touching at the same time. a classic <3

wow, this list is so long overdue it's insane, but i think this was the right time to finally put it out there. i hope you like these fics!!

[jishyucks]

Gleam and Glitter — hhj

‣ pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

‣ genre: fluff, implied friends-to-lovers, rich-kid!au

‣ wc: 3.4k

‣ summary: You’ve quickly established that no one at this damn charity gala cares about the event’s purpose. They were just there to party. And you wanted nothing else but to leave; alternatively, in which Hyunjin saves you from your misery to see the city’s Christmas lights.

‣ warnings: lots of being annoyed at the rich (even though reader and hyunjin are rich), 1st world problems, reader’s wearing a dress and heels but no specific pronouns are used (I’m pretty sure), the pair eat some desserts

‣ an: 2nd part for my True Love Gave to Me Series! It's a little slow at first but the parts near the end are cute! Just like the Mark one, I wish I could write more for these two, I srsly think I could've done more but still,,, ENJOY!

Series Masterlist

The venue was beautiful. 

The ballroom was transformed into the party’s theme, Winter Wonderland, adorned with white, silver, and royal blue decorations. From the ceiling hung giant snowflakes, lit up with twinkling lights that glowed softly within the dim room. 

The dance floor, placed in the middle of the room, was surrounded by tables draped in pearly white table cloths, giving it all a sleek, clean look. You can tell how much planning had gone into the centrepieces—delicate ice-looking glass sculptures of various animals. Within each of them were more lights, drawing out the details of the sculptures.

At the other corner of the room, the live band had already begun their setlist. They were dressed in blue or white, or both, as it was the theme of the party. You couldn’t quite tell what song they were playing, but it sounded nice and classy. 

And guests were trickling in, entering the room hand in hand with their plus ones. You can tell that they were all in awe from the scene. I mean you don’t blame them—the scene looked like something straight from a movie. Whoever had planned and decorated the venue knew what they were doing. 

The venue was beautiful… Too bad most of the people attending were snobby rich bitches who really don’t deserve anything good (respectfully).

The main purpose of the event was to raise money for charities involving children for god’s sake—sure it was okay to go all out and grab the attention of the wealthy, but it was so painfully obvious that two-thirds of the guests didn’t give a single fuck about the charities. They were just there for the publicity, hoping to look good in front of the press and it pained you. 

It pained you because, although you barely had the capacity to have passions for anything, you did know that you wanted to use your money for good. And heavy on the good for children.

The party was now in full swing, guests mingling in practically every corner of the room. The live band had just been replaced with a DJ, party songs blasting through the speakers. A small part of you does want to join in, but you wouldn’t say that you associated yourself with any of the people here. 

There was one person who you did love being around—your best friend, Hyunjin—but you simply weren’t sure where he had disappeared off to since you had greeted him at the start of the party. 

“Shit.”

You’re not sure how you hear Hyunjin groan as he slumps in the seat next to you. He stretches his back over the chair before falling limp. 

You can’t help but laugh, “What’s up with you?” You shift in your own chair to look at him, your blue evening gown getting twisted underneath your ass.

“My parents introduced me to like—I don’t know—six old business owners?” Hyunjin mutters, “I don’t even remember a single one of them.” 

“Well, you gotta start working on that future CEO,” you joke, slapping his back, “Don’t wanna be the boss who calls his employees by the wrong name, do you?” You know Hyunjin hates when you call him future CEO, because, well, he doesn’t actually want to take over his father’s company once he retires. But being the only child in his family, it’s a responsibility that he couldn’t really get out of.

“No,” he pouts, lips jutting out. 

You let out another laugh, this time rubbing his back to provide some kind of comfort. From a nearby group of people, you hear people laughing, though it didn’t seem genuine. You echo them. 

“Y/N, they’re gonna hear you!” Hyunjin nudges your arm. “No they won’t. They’re all just caught up in their own world,” You roll your eyes. Then you dramatically say, “Oh how I wish to leave this place.”

There’s a few beats of silence between the two of you. Just by watching Hyunjin, you can tell he’s thinking, eyes darting back and forth as if he were reading a page of a newspaper. 

“Would it be crazy if I asked you to run away with me?”

Your heart misses a beat, “What?”

“Run away with me,” Hyunjin repeats. He’s almost expressionless, staring back at you as he waits for a reply. 

You blink at your best friend, utterly confused by the nonsense coming out of his mouth, “Hyunjin, you really need to be more specific with your words.”

Hyunjin brings a corner of his mouth up towards one side of his face, trying to word what he was asking of you. It wasn’t that difficult to explain, yet Hyunjin’s short on words right now because of all the introductions he’s just had. 

“Do you know what an Irish goodbye is?” 

You shake your head, “No? Is that even a thing?” 

“It’s when you just leave without telling anyone,” Hyunjin explains, “So… let’s leave without telling anyone.” There’s a youthful glint in his eye and you just know that Hyunjin’s ready to take off. He’s excited, even, just thinking about leaving and getting away from this place. You like the idea, too. 

“And do what?” Hyunjin shrugs and your face contorts, laughing, “You’re the one who’s suggesting to leave and you don’t have a plan?” 

The smile Hyunjin flashes is one that shows off his bottom teeth, brows raised and eyes widened, “Sorry, I didn’t actually think you’d consider it.” 

“Do you even know me?” you scoff, “Of course I wanna leave. Anything to get away from these people.” You scoot forward in anticipation to go, but you still really want to hear what Hyunjin’s plan is. 

Hyunjin searches the room as if it were going to hand him the answer. Then he hums and looks back at you, “Do you want to go downtown?” 

Without any hesitation you nod, “Yes.” 

Hyunijn watches as you scan the room, eyes trying to weed out your parents and his. You could guess they were speaking with people you’ve grown familiar with, so you try to pick them out, too. When you couldn’t spot any of your parents, your eyes darted in Hyunjin’s direction, eyes wide and round. “It’s clear.”

You don’t warn Hyunjin before you shoot up onto your feet, trying your best to keep discrete from any wandering eyes. The heels under your feet almost fail to support your pace, but you pay no mind, eyes dead set on the doorway furthest away from anyone’s attention. Hyunjin’s close at your tail, turning back every few steps to make sure that there was absolutely no one watching you both leave. 

The adrenaline’s causing your heart to pump above the average, and you can’t help but let out a laugh the moment you reach the door, soon finding yourself in an empty corridor of the venue (save for the doorman at the front and the woman attending coat check).

Hyunjin stumbles out after you, breathing heavily, “You didn’t even tell me you were going to take off like that!” 

Ignoring Hyunjin’s exclamations, you start making your way toward coat check, heels clicking against the marble floor. Hyunjin is unsure how you’re moving so quickly in heels, but he chooses not to question you.

“Y/N~” Hyunjin whines, “Slow down!”

“If we’re not quick we’re going to get caught,” you shoot a reply over your shoulder. You kindly ask for your coats, retrieving them within seconds before you toss Hyunjin his jacket. “Yeah, but we need to wait for Mr. Jang to come pick us up!” 

By the time Hyunjin finishes his sentence, you both find yourselves outside of the venue, cold air instantly nipping at your exposed skin. There were cars whizzing past, all probably on their way to your desired destination. Right at the bottom of the steps was a sleek black car, similar to what your family owned, and a man who you recognized as Mr. Jang, the Hwang’s driver. 

“So you did plan this!” you look over at Hyunjin. 

Hyunjin shakes his head, “No, but Mr. Jang will jump at any chance to actually do something.” The boy leads you down the steps and reaches the vehicle before you do. He greets Mr. Jang with a bow and then tugs on the door’s handle, opening it for you to hop in. You can’t help but giggle at the gesture, giving Hyunjin a look before sliding in. He shuffles in after you, smiling out of excitement.

“Where to, son?”

“Downtown, please.”

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

It’s when you both get to downtown that you realize that neither of you knew where to go. 

Sure, the plan was downtown but the city was a big place. Hyunjin should have been more specific, because right now, you were both standing in the middle of a busy street trying to decide which direction to go.

“Close your eyes, spin, and then stop when I tell you,” you suggest to Hyunjin, who’s trying to search his phone for any places you both could visit. 

“How about you do it!” Hyunjin’s brows furrow and he pouts, “It sounds like you’re going to ditch me.” 

“Now why the hell would I ditch you,” you sigh, “Just do it. I would do it, but I’m in heels.” 

You gesture for him to go on with the action, but not before he mutters a ‘the heels didn’t seem like a problem earlier’, earning him a thwack on his shoulder. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Hyunjin sticks an arm out, using his index finger to point. Then, he begins to spin clockwise. From an outsider’s glance, this man probably looked ridiculous—he was dressed in formal attire and spinning like a top, almost taking out a few passerbyers in the process. 

You were finding this so amusing that you almost forgot that you had to tell him to stop. 

And when you tell Hyunjin to stop, he somehow ends up with his finger just inches away from your nose. You burst out laughing, your hands coming up to clutch your stomach because, for one, Hyunjin took the challenge seriously, and two, he looked absolutely ridiculous just standing there eyes closed and pointing. 

You don’t notice how Hyunjin’s eyes finally flutter open to see what was going on and how his taut expression relaxes the second they land on your bright figure just laughing, even if it is at his expense. His arm drops to his side, making a muted whap against his jacket. This catches your attention.

“I’m sorry,” you say, wiping a tear that has managed to slip out of the corner of your eye. And when Hyunjin doesn’t answer immediately, you take a step closer to him, “Hello?” 

“O-okay, so, that way!” Hyunjin’s brought back from space, head shaking. He side steps and walks around you, leading the way down the street while making sure you were following him. 

Hyunjin has no idea what just happened. It wasn’t like it was the first time he's seen you happy. In fact, you’ve always been happy around him. So, why did he suddenly freeze seeing you happy this time? 

Hyunjin shakes the thought out of his head, dismissing it as the remnants of wine from the party still in his system, and continues walking down the street, just a few paces in front of you.

You and Hyunjin weave through the people walking down the street against you, hands full with shopping bags or stuffed deep into their pockets. The pace Hyunjin had taken began to speed up, as if he had spotted something over the crowd that you couldn’t quite see even with heels. 

Glancing back, Hyunjin gently latches onto your wrist, afraid that you’d get lost in the sea of people, pulling you closer before he continues to step through the occasional gaps between bodies. 

“Where are we going?” you say out of curiosity. Hyunjin’s too occupied to answer you, still keeping his grasp firm around your wrist. He tugs you along for one more block, and by then you can tell that he did have an idea of where you were. Hyunjin knew where to go.

You feel like you’re able to breathe again when Hyunjin leads you into a plaza, and you let out a breath that you didn’t even know you were holding in. There was more space for people to walk around, buskers at each corner of the opening, and restaurants decked out in Christmas lights and decorations. Some places were blasting Christmas tunes out of outdoor speakers and, from afar, you can see Santa Claus taking pictures with children. You feel your heart fill with warmth in the atmosphere, excited to wander around and kill time with Hyunjin. 

“Do you want to eat something?” Hyunjin questions. The boy halts in front of a food truck, head falling back to scan the menu. The food truck was a dessert truck—candied fruit, ice cream, cake pops, and more. You can see that they also sold drinks. 

You nod, “What are you getting?” 

“I’m thinking a cake pop… you?” The line shifts forward and you both take a step forward to follow. 

You hum and try to decide on your own treat, “Can you get me candied strawberries, please?” 

It takes a little bit to reach the front of the line and finally receive your food. When the man on the truck hands Hyunjin the food, you go to grab it but Hyunjin refuses to let you take it, pulling the treats back to his own body. “Huh?” you frown, “Do you want me to pay you back or something?” Your mouth was practically watering at the sight of the tanghulu. It was almost unrealistically red, like strawberries you’d find in cartoons. 

“It’s cold,” Hyunjin shakes his head, “You can keep your hands in your pockets… I’ll hold it for you.” Then he holds the stick up to your lips, “Here.” 

Your brows furrow and you groan, “Hyunjin, I’m capable of holding it myself, you know.” You’re quick to grab the stick from Hyunjin and give him a look, “But thanks anyway.” 

Hyunjin grins, "Alright, suit yourself." He takes a bite of his cake pop as you enjoy the sweetness of the candied strawberries. The plaza is filled with a festive atmosphere, and you decide to stroll the rest of the area while munching on the treats. 

By the time you were halfway finished with your food, you had been able to properly take in the scene of the plaza. It was actually much larger than it was at first sight, the area stretching down another block or two of buildings. It extended into a wide pedestrian mall, with shops busy on either side of the broad walkway. 

Everyone there looked happy, like characters in the background of a movie. They minded their own business, stopping to watch the street performers entertain the passerbyers, or taking impromptu stops at the local shops lined up along the mall.

And though it did seem like such a first world problem for you to want to experience this without the stress that your parents constantly impose onto you to run a company, you like to think that your feelings still count. Even just a little.

“Look over there,” Hyunjin speaks up. He’s pointing further down the road and into a smaller plaza. There were people skating on a small, man-made, ice rink. 

A gasp leaves your mouth as you when you take notice of the gigantic Christmas tree sitting off to the side of the rink. It had been strung from top to bottom in lights that occasionally changed colours. Ornaments decorated the tree with large ornaments, accented with ribbons and garland. 

It was beautiful. 

It was beautiful and you wanted to go get a better look at it. 

Leaving Hyunjin’s side, you begin walking ahead of him, long forgetting the tanghulu in your hand. And just like earlier, Hyunjin calls for you to slow down, mainly because you were charging through the crowd with a pointy skewer, but also because he cannot catch up. You paid no mind to his attempts to slow you down. You were already dead set on catching a closer glimpse of that tree.

Hyunjin reaches you when you finally choose to stop. Your head falls back to look at the tree from its topper to its base, mouth falling open in awe, “Tell me why I’ve never seen this before.” Then you turn to look at Hyunjin, who’s looking at the tree himself, “How do you think they decorated it?”

Hyunjin lets out a laugh in the form of air shooting out his nose, “Cause all we know is work and school and business. I guess we never really have the time to enjoy these things, do we?” Then he thinks up a clever answer for your second question, but fails, “And honestly, I don’t know. Maybe one of those man lifts?” 

“You’re right,” you laugh, “We need to Irish Goodbye more often if it means we get to see more things like this.” You glance around the area and find a bench nearby. Wordlessly, you grab onto Hyunjin’s sleeve and tug him along to sit. 

You can feel how cool the metal bench is through your dress, but you lean back anyways, continuing to admire the Christmas tree. It was weird because you were feeling this sort of delight growing in your chest just at the sight of the decorated tree, though if you were asked what you were feeling you wouldn’t be able to put words to it. It was like the cherry on top of the sundae, perfectly fitting the ambience of everything that you and Hyunjin have seen tonight. 

And for Hyunjin, sure the tree and the lights strung up all over the plaza were beautiful, but he was having a hard time keeping his attention on them, and instead kept taking glances your way. It was probably the fact that this happiness was different than the ones he’s seen before. It was like your inner child had jumped out, eyes filled with all the galaxies the universe held. 

The corners of his lips had stretched at the slightest, eyes following in pursuit. 

Hyunjin realizes now that if you were happy, he was happy. And he’d do anything to make it happen. 

But he wouldn’t admit that to you just yet. 

Or anyone. 

It was enough for now that he had admitted it to himself.

Feeling eyes on you, you catch Hyunjin looking at you, expression soft. "What's up with that look?" you tease, your eyes narrowing. You lean over and nudge his arm with your shoulder. 

Hyunjin feels heat rush to the apples of his cheeks and the tips of ears. He hopes that you don’t notice, “It’s nothing… just thinking about how we should actually do this more often.” Hyunjin pries his eyes away from you and forces himself to look at the tree which, frankly, wasn’t as pretty as you. 

“We should…” you nod, “This is way better than the gala.” 

Hyunjin agrees silently. 

The two of you sit there in a comfortable silence, just taking in the environment. It wasn’t everyday that you both got freedom like this and it was nice. And you can tell that Hyunjin felt the same. 

Before you finally go to speak up after a while, your phone rings. Glancing at the caller ID, your heart rate shoots up when you see it's your parents at the other end of the line. You quickly answer it to not cause suspicion, already sensing the concern in their voices.

“Hello?”

"Y/N, sweetheart, where are you?" your mom asks. You could hear your father’s voice saying something in the background, followed by another man’s voice. 

"I’m still at the venue," you lie, "I just needed to get air. Why?"

“We found the owner of—” You roll your eyes. Of course. 

“I’ll be right there, mom,” you say flatly, “Bye.” And you hang up. 

“So?” Hyunjin questions. You notice that he had shifted in his seat to look at you, “What did she say?” He didn’t want to get you in trouble. 

“She was talking about the owner of some company,” you shrug, “But that means we have to go.” 

You stand up and take one last look at the tree before you have to drag yourself back into your own reality. It was good while it lasted. 

Hyunjin frowns at your expression and gently takes your hand in his, “I’ll take you back here soon.”

You smile, eyes lighting up at the thought of coming back here again (and in much more comfortable clothes, too). “Promise?”

Hyunjin’s glad to see the joy instantly return to your previously deflating figure and nods.

“Promise.”

an: Thank you soso much for reading! Pls stay tuned for the upcoming members!

[bella-rose29]

Deck the Halls (and not your partner) - part 9

this has been a long time coming but it's finally here! have some simping over lockwood's hands to make up for the wait (there's more next chapter too 😉)

Word count: 5k words

Warnings: swearing, Steph (HUGE WARNING, I HATE HER IN THIS BUT IT'S NECESSARY FOR THE CONTINUATION OF THE SERIES, SHE MADE ME WANT TO THROW UP), a lot of simping over lockwood's hands (also he's wearing a ring), innuendos ig? references to not so sfw times, vague references to body image issues and related things, I think that's it?

family photos and a gingerbread house competition (part 1)

series master list

(couldn't pick between these two so I put them both, you're welcome, also thinking about it they both match the vibes that lockwood has in this part)

“Remind me why we're doing this?”

“Because it's a tradition, Anthony. I would have thought this would be right up your street!”

“Well it is, but I don't see why we have to be stood next to Steph and Linda.”

“That's just Mum's positioning. She says it looks best that way and nobody argues with her.”

Anthony hummed, looking around at the family members gathered in the living room. The fire had been set up a few minutes ago, Ben stacking up the kindling like building blocks and setting some larger pieces of wood around them, striking a match and closing the door. Most people were already ready for the family photo, and Anthony and Y/n were sat on their loveseat while they waited for Steph and Linda to come downstairs. 

Predictably, the two of them were still in their bedrooms fussing about the fact they had to do this, but Emma was taking full advantage of the fact that nobody could leave and had forced them into joining them. 

"I don't know why they're so upset, really,” Anthony mused, trailing his fingertips over Y/n's shoulder. The way they were sat with her curled into his side made it a slightly awkward angle, but he could put aside the pain in his own shoulder if it meant he was closer to her. “I think that you look adorable in that jumper.” Y/n frowned, scrunching her nose up and glaring up at him. 

“Adorable? I look like I've been shoved into a charity shop and been pulled out backwards through the racks!”

“The dancing reindeer really take the cake, if I'm being honest.”

“Stop it. They look deranged.”

“They look happy, darling.” He paused, taking in the wide eyes and toothy grins of the reindeer that decorated the matching red jumpers that the whole family were wearing.  “And possibly like they've seen too many deaths. But they're smiling, and they've got... what is that, chocolate bars?”

“I think it's beer, Ant. The deranged reindeer are drinking beer while they're being wrapped up in a net of Christmas lights.”

"Christmas lights... that actually light up," he grinned, pressing the button on her jumper to demonstrate his point. Y/n sighed, trying to look cross with him, but the small smile on her face gave her away. 

“You're such a ridiculous idiot sometimes,” she said quietly, gazing fondly at him. The lights on her jumper were still flashing, decorating her face in different colours. 

“Yeah, but I'm your ridiculous idiot.” She snorted, then kissed him gently on the lips. If they hadn't been in the presence of most of her family members, Anthony would have held her there for hours. 

As it was, however, she reluctantly pulled away a few seconds later, smiling widely when he automatically chased her mouth. 

“Alright, love birds, stop making the rest of us feel so single and lonely,” Will called out, attempting to sound annoyed. Anthony knew that the man couldn't be happier about his little sister getting a boyfriend, and that he was easily settling in to his newfound role of teasing them about their relationship. 

“Shove off, Will,” Y/n rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at her brother, and he responded by sneakily giving her the middle finger. 

“Right,” Emma declared, looking around the room at everyone gathered. “Where's Linda? And Steph?”

"I think they're still upstairs, Mum," John replied, not looking up from the sofa as he sat on top of Sam and whacked him around the head with a pillow. Sam looked like he was being slightly suffocated under his brother's weight, but nobody seemed to take much notice. The two of them fought like that a lot, and Anthony supposed that everyone was used to it now which was why nobody intervened. 

“John, stop killing your brother for five minutes and go and find them. Tell them they need to come down right away or I'm dragging them. And putting flour in their hair.” John went to complain, but at the glare that was sent his way he quickly shut his mouth and headed out the room, not before delivering one last hit to Sam's head for good measure. 

Within three minutes John was back, Linda and Steph in tow as they grumbled about the jumpers they had been forced into. 

“This is disgusting. And we're all wearing the same ones? Really, Emma? It's bad enough that you made your own sister wear this... monstrosity, but forcing it on all of us? Unbelievable.” Anthony barely hid his scowl as Linda talked down on her sister, and if he didn't think Emma could defend herself he would have leapt to do it himself. 

“You can take it off the moment we're done here, alright? But this is my house, Linda, and you're playing by my rules. It's not like you can go anywhere, so you might as well shut it and take the damn photo with us.”

Linda opened and closed her mouth like a fish for a few moments, before deciding against responding and moving to where her sister had pointed for her to stand. 

“Thank you,” Emma sighed, finishing setting up the camera. “Right, everyone get into position please, no squabbling!”

Anthony smiled as Y/n huffed and stood up, stretching out her limbs after being curled up in his lap for the past however many minutes, and within the next five minutes (that felt much longer than that) all family members present were in the places that Y/n’s mother had assigned to them, and she was clicking the button on the camera to take the photo. She rushed to take her own place next to Ben as the timer started counting down, plastering on a wide smile a second before the flash went. 

“Can we go now?” Steph whined from where she stood to Anthony’s left. She’d had to squeeze in to fit in the picture, and the sheer amount of perfume she had on was making Anthony suffocate slightly.

“Uh, hang on. Let me check that it’s a good photo. Ugh, Tom, honey, you’re meant to be smiling, not staring at the camera like you want to kill it. Let’s try again. Sam, don’t be making stupid faces this time, alright?”

“Yes, Mum,” Sam said, stifling a laugh when Will poked him in the side. Nana Jean ruffled Tom’s hair, much to Emma’s chagrin (it had taken her ages to get it somewhat neat), but the action gained a smile in response. 

They tried again, the flash going off a second time, and when Emma gave the all-clear Linda and Steph immediately moved to take off their jumpers. “Hideous things,” Linda muttered, clearly not in the holiday spirit. 

“You two had better not go anywhere,” Nana Jean said, pointing a crooked finger at them when they went to leave. “We’re building gingerbread houses next and if nothing else it’ll be a competition where you can attempt to destroy everyone else, so get your asses in the kitchen!” Anthony had been pleasantly surprised at how much energy the 80-year-old woman had, especially since her knees were basically completely ruined, and he had found himself engaged in lively conversation with her on more than one occasion. She wasn’t entirely fond of Y/n’s choice of work, but from what Anthony could tell that was more to do with the fact that she was very fond of her granddaughter, and would rather not receive a letter in the mail telling her that Y/n was dead. 

“We’ll go together, right?” Y/n asked, looking up at him while everyone was getting into pairs. He was just about to answer when Nana Jean appeared out of nowhere and grabbed his arm. He looked down at her in surprise (she was quite a small woman), confusion all over his face. 

“I’m taking this one, you can go with your Gramps. I’ve never won with him, not once. This’ll be my year, I can feel it! And your lover boy is going to help me!”

“Good luck, Nana. I don’t think Anthony can cook toast, let alone gingerbread.” Y/n was smirking, crossing her arms as she let triumph seep into her expression despite not having started the competition yet. 

“Oh really? You also didn’t think I’d be any good at snowball fights. You’d be surprised what I can do with my hands, darling.” He immediately blushed at the look on Y/n’s face, and steadfastly refused to look at either her or Nana Jean. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered, shaking his head and hoping the situation would end so he could go and bury himself in blankets and hibernate for years. He felt someone nudge his side and his cheeks got hotter still when he saw Nana Jean smiling up at him with a cheeky look on her face. 

“I’m sure Y/n/n knows all about what your hands can do, love.”

“Nana!” Y/n cried, exasperation in her voice. “You can’t say that!”

“Well I don’t think I’m wrong! You’ve been together eight months now; I married your Gramps in less time! Come on, Anthony!” She cheerfully turned and headed out the living room, dragging Anthony behind her and leaving Y/n to stand staring incredulously after them.

~~~

Y/n still hadn’t fully recovered from Anthony’s comment (and then Nana Jean’s addition) about his hands, and she was meant to be making gingerbread. 

Her Gramps had settled at the dining table with tracing paper, a pencil and far too many rulers, while she was measuring out the ingredients and mixing them together in a large bowl. He’d been an architect before he retired, helping draw up the plans for the Fittes Building and providing sketches for housing that had helped when people were on the streets at the beginning of the Problem because their houses were unsafe. Y/n had listened to him talking about his job a thousand times, but she still didn’t know what the purpose of all the different rulers were. 

“Gramps, you know you don’t have to get that technical about it, right?”

“Oh yes I do! I’m not letting Jeanie win this year, oh no! She thinks I’ve lost my touch with architecture, but I was doing badly deliberately because I knew, one year, she’d get fed up and go with someone else! She has no idea what’s coming!” Her Gramps chuckled, shaking his head and clutching his side as he thought about how deceptive he had been. Y/n smiled, remembering all the previous years where Nana Jean had become so exasperated at his apparent incapability that she’d given up all hope of winning with him. It had had no impact on their marriage, and the two of them were just as in love as they had been when they first got married, but Nana Jean also had a healthy love of winning things, and gingerbread was one of her specialties. 

“Focus, love, you’re tipping the mix out the bowl,” her Gramps said, nudging her in the arm. Y/n looked down to see the mess that she’d made over the table, and cursed softly under her breath. “What were you thinking about to make you zone out like that?” She flushed, and cast a quick glance over to where Anthony was stood at the island in the kitchen carrying out the same job as her. Without thinking, her gaze drifted down to where his hands were mixing the ingredients together in the bowl, and when her Gramps coughed she snapped her focus back to him and realised that she hadn’t actually given him an answer. Damn her Nana for saying what she said about Anthony’s hands and putting thoughts into her head! 

“Sorry,” she muttered, trying to ignore the weird look he was giving her and the heat that was now permanently in her cheeks. 

“That’s alright, love. Just scoop it back up, like this, there we are. That’s looking pretty good I’d say. Go ahead and add the next bits now, and I’ll finish drawing up these stencils.”

~~~

“What do I need to do now?” Anthony asked, holding his hands just above the bowl. Nana Jean looked over from where she had finished cutting up the last of the stencils and smiled. 

“Ah, you’ve added in the butter mixture, good lad. Looks perfect to me, so let’s get it rolled out and we can start cutting. We need to make sure we get to the oven before Richard and Y/n do, because then we’ll have a head start on the decorating.”

“Alright.”

“You might want to wash your hands first though, what with all that mix on there. Make sure you get as much as you can in the bowl before you go and scrub ‘em.” Anthony nodded, starting to push off all the gingerbread mix that had clung to his fingers while he’d been bringing the ingredients together. He heard laughter from across the room and immediately recognised it as Y/n’s, which was strange because he didn’t think that he’d heard her laugh so unapologetically since coming here. Normally it was forced, or real but contained, and although they hadn’t got along before this entire situation had happened she had still laughed like she was currently (normally when he fell over from tripping on his coat). She was gorgeous when she smiled widely, and even more so when she laughed, and Anthony paused in his actions as he watched her be properly happy around her family for one of the first times this holiday. 

He knew that she got on well with her Gramps, despite his reservations about her job and some of the comments he made about her being ‘too much to handle sometimes’, but clearly they could forget about that when they were baking together, without the pressure of Steph and Linda watching their every move. 

No, Anthony had that pleasure, and Steph’s eyes hadn’t left his face for the past thirty minutes. 

He felt the weight of her gaze now, and after sending a small wave to Y/n when she looked over and saw him (she’d stuck her middle finger up in response, but had immediately blown him a kiss when he acted hurt) he sighed and turned to Steph. “Can I help you?” He asked, resuming his previous actions of taking the gingerbread mixture off of his hands and depositing it into the bowl. 

“I think you can,” she answered, plastering on a sickly sweet smile and slowly walking over to stand on his left. She stopped barely a hair’s breadth away from his arm, and the perfume she had on was swarming his senses and making him want to gag. It was just as cloying as her smile. “See, I’ve been thinking a lot recently,” Steph started, and Anthony bit back his retort of ‘careful, don’t strain yourself too much’ and tried not to flinch when her hand came in contact with his shoulder. “I think that we haven’t really had a chance to… get to know one another. Properly. And I really would like to… get to know you, Anthony.” Her fingers danced down his arm, and he couldn’t help the grimace that came across his face at her tone. He stepped away a little, trying to not knock Nana Jean while still putting some distance between Stephanie and her wandering hands (that had since moved to his chest). 

“I’m not sure I follow,” he frowned, turning and moving to the sink. He’d gotten as much of the sticky gingerbread mixture off of his hands as possible, and now all that was left was to douse them in water. Steph followed him, gripping his arm tightly and restricting his movement. He was too good of an agent to panic - panicking in his line of work meant almost-certain death - but he could feel unease creeping up his spine and a chill working its way into his bones like miasma. 

“Why don’t we take a minute? Out in the hallway?” He really didn’t like the way she’d said that, all low and what seemed like an attempt at seduction (he couldn’t tell because it was so bad, but from the look in her eyes he could make a guess), and he shook his head. 

“I’ve got to stay here, help out Jean. Shouldn’t you be making your own gingerbread?”

“Oh, that thing? No, we never win so what’s the point? I’d much rather spend some time with you… alone.” Anthony finished washing his hands, trying to ignore how Steph’s grip on his arm had somehow grown stronger in the last minute, and turned back to the island. His eyes scanned the kitchen and dining room, desperately searching for someone that would see he’d been accosted and would come to his rescue, but everybody was busy making gingerbread houses. 

“A minute and a minute only. No more than that,” he said, giving in. Steph’s smile turned smug, and she dragged him out of the kitchen, at which point Nana Jean did look up, sending him a questioning look. Anthony mouthed ‘sorry, back in a moment’ just in time before the kitchen door shut in his face. He sighed, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw in preparation for whatever the hell Steph wanted. “Right,” he started, opening his eyes again and looking around for her. “What’s so urgent that you needed to-” He was cut off by Steph practically lunging at him, grabbing his face and pushing her lips onto his. It took him roughly a second to figure out what was happening, and he quickly got over his initial shock and shoved her off. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, looking at Steph with disgust. 

“Oh come on! I know for a fact that you and Y/n aren’t actually together, so what does it matter? Besides,” she continued, sidling up to him again when he took a step back, “I know that deep down you want this, Anthony.” He frowned, both at her words and at how she was still coming towards him, and the previous chill that had settled on him was now a raging storm. He kept it contained, not wanting to cause too much of a scene when anyone could hear what was happening on the other side of the door (that was now blocked by Steph), but the anger was evident when he spoke. 

“I’m not sure where you got those ideas from, Stephanie, or why you think that I will ever want you when Y/n is in my life, but you need to stop.” She tried to contain her shock at his rough tone, but the way her eyes widened gave her away. 

“Wha-”

“Let me finish. First of all, why do you think we’re not actually together? Are you so disbelieving of the fact that Y/n is a genuinely incredible person and could absolutely get anyone she wanted? Because I consider myself lucky that she even tolerates my presence half the time, let alone wants to date me. Second, even if we weren’t together, it would matter to me. I’m not the sort of person who switches loyalties that easily, and I will always, always, put my relationship with Y/n before any kind of attempted civilities with you. As it happens, she is my girlfriend, and quite honestly the fact that you think I’ll ever leave her for you is laughable.” He was being mean, he knew, but he was too done with Steph’s behaviour to worry about being nice and charming now. He’d pieced together the last of the puzzle that had been bothering him since he first got here too, connecting the dots between Linda and Steph’s comments and Y/n’s subsequently strange behaviour since arriving here. “So no, I do not want this. What I want is for you to stop bullying her, and belittling her, and making her feel like shit all the damn time, because she doesn’t deserve it,” he seethed, jabbing his finger in her face. “She doesn’t deserve any of it at all. All the comments about how much she’s eating, or her body shape, or giving her a gym membership as a Christmas present, or telling her she’s not pretty enough because she doesn’t look like you, or because she wears the same dress two years in a row, all of that needs to stop. Because you make her act like an entirely different person when you’re around and that is not alright. Because Y/n is ten times the person that you will ever be, Steph, because she isn’t a bully. She’s genuine, and kind, and loving, and the most beautiful girl in the entire universe, and she doesn’t deserve a single iota of the hate that you give her.”

Steph was quiet for a minute, processing everything he’d just ranted about. “I overheard you,” she finally said, not looking at him. “That first night when Y/n stormed off upstairs in some stupid tantrum-”

“She stormed off upstairs because you were being a bitch.”

“Right,” Steph didn’t looked too bothered, but she at least had the grace to flinch at his icy tone. “Well after you went up, I followed, because yeah, you’re right, I am very disbelieving that someone as good-looking as you would ever go for someone as ugly as her when you know you could do at least twenty times better, and I thought there was something weird about it! And there was a very large period of time when I couldn’t hear anything, which was really annoying because my legs were getting tired from-”

“Steph, hurry it up.” He had barely any patience remaining now, and her voice had gone all whiny and irritating.

“Oh, yeah. Well, then I heard you two talking about how it was really hard pretending to like each other or something, and you were arguing and saying that you were pretending to date.” Anthony froze for a moment, but rapidly recovered and eased himself into his normal ‘customer service’ persona, plastering on a pitiful smile. Before he could say anything though, Steph was moving towards the kitchen door, one hand on the handle. “It’s been quite fun, really, watching you fake a relationship to everyone. I’ve been trying to work out when the best time to bring it up was ever since Christmas Day after you had a go at me. So, either you tell them all, or I do. You’ve got nowhere to hide now, and I am going to enjoy watching this whole thing collapse on Y/n. I’ll give you until after the competition’s been judged; I wouldn’t want to ruin the festivities.” Her smile was even more sickening than it had been when she’d first started this conversation back in the other room, and after she disappeared into the kitchen and closed the door behind her, Anthony let out a shaky breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. 

He needed to talk to Y/n before the end of the competition, and figure out how the hell they were going to deal with Steph. 

~~~

She couldn’t stop staring at his hands. 

Since coming back in from whatever hallway conversation he’d had with Steph, Anthony had gone right back to helping Nana Jean with a smile on his face, despite the wary glances he kept throwing towards Y/n’s cousin. She hadn’t seen the two of them step out, but she had noticed that Anthony was gone, because she’d gone to look at his hands again and he wasn’t there. 

Her Gramps was helping her cut out the shapes they would need for their gingerbread house, and she’d been doing just fine until out of the corner of her eye she’d seen Anthony slip back on the ring he always wore. 

He had taken it off earlier when Nana Jean told him he needed to mix the ingredients with his hands, not wanting to get the metal coated in gingerbread mix, but now that his hands were clean again he was adjusting it back on his finger. 

Why couldn’t she stop staring at his hands?

She’d nearly cut a piece of gingerbread entirely wrong just now because she had been too focused on how the metal band looked against his slender fingers while he rolled out the gingerbread, and her Gramps had scolded her by chucking a bit of flour at her face. 

“Pay attention, love, you’re very distracted today. Is everything alright?”

“Oh, uh- yeah… yes. Everything is… is fine.” She hadn’t taken her eyes off of his ring, which meant she didn’t see either her Gramps’ concerned look or Anthony’s bemused one until Will was calling across the kitchen. 

“Keep it in your pants, Squeak! You can take your Lover Boy to bed after the gingerbread competition!” Y/n flushed as her gaze snapped up to meet Anthony’s, finally noticing that she’d been caught blatantly checking out his hands. 

“Alright, Will,” her mother scolded, although there was a hint of amusement behind it that made Y/n want the ground to swallow her up. Anthony just raised his eyebrows at her, smirk on his face, and she didn’t have it in her to fight back, instead turning back to the gingerbread in front of her and cutting out the last of the shapes. 

~~~

“Hey,” Anthony said, finally getting a chance to talk to Y/n. Pretty much everybody either had their gingerbread shapes in the ovens, or they were waiting for a space to free up, so he had been excused by Nana Jean for a while. 

“Oh, hi!” She hadn’t seen him walk over, but the second she realised he was there she reached up and planted a quick kiss on his mouth. He felt himself blush, despite it being over faster than most of their kisses, and she let out a snort. “Really? All I did was give you a peck on the lips, Ant.”

A wave of confidence came over him, and although the heat stayed on his cheeks he leaned down to murmur in her ear. “Well I wasn’t doing much with my hands but I still had you blushing, didn’t I darling?” Y/n had no answer to that (not that it had really been a question; he’d seen her staring earlier and he was almost certain her thoughts had drifted somewhere other than something innocent), and before he pulled back Anthony pressed a lingering kiss just by her ear. 

“You- y- you can’t just say that, Ant! Jesus!” He laughed, wrapping his arm around her waist and bringing her into his chest while she hid her face in his neck. He hummed, happy, until he caught a glimpse of Steph out of the corner of his eye. 

“Darling?”

“What?” she replied, although it was somewhat muffled since her head was still buried in his christmas jumper. 

“We need to talk about something really quickly, do you want to step out?” Y/n lifted her head, frown crossing her features. Anthony wanted to press kisses to it until it disappeared, but the conversation he’d had with Stephanie was at the front of his mind. 

“Okay… is everything alright?” she asked as he led her out of the kitchen by the hand. He didn’t say anything until they were in the library, safely away from all other family members. “Ant, seriously, what’s going on?”

“Steph talked to me earlier.”

“Right… how was it?”

“Awful. She kissed me.”

“WHAT?!”

“Darling, it’s fine, it was less than a second and I shoved her off and-“

“What? Oh! Oh, no, I’m not angry with you, Ant. I’m pissed at her for kissing my fucking boyfriend!”

“Ah. Okay. Well that’s not actually the thing I wanted to talk about.”

“There’s more?!”

“She knows. That we’re not… that we weren’t… that we were faking it. She doesn’t know that we stopped doing that and started actually dating, because she walked away before I could tell her that, but she’s known since the first night and she’s been waiting ever since. She gave me an ultimatum, and said that either we fess up or she does, right after the competition has been judged. Seemed far too happy about watching you suffer, to be honest. I think she might need to see a doctor.” Y/n stared at him, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she shut it completely. 

“So, Steph knows. Steph has known basically the entire time. And Steph has done nothing?”

“Yes. She said something about wanting to ‘watch the whole thing collapse on you’ and that she would ‘enjoy it’ or something?”

“That bitch. Well what are we gonna do then? Because whatever happens it sounds like my family is finding out about this whole… thing,” she flapped her hands between them before sighing and pressing them to her face. “I was right. This is a shitshow.”

“Hey, hey. Worst case scenario is Steph tells everyone, yes? But then we can just tell them the truth. Will knows, and he’ll back us up, right? And I’m fairly certain that Nana Jean knows but I’m not sure how, she just kept making these little comments while we were baking earlier and winking at me and I just - it just feels like she knows.” 

“Nana Jean’s just like that, I suppose. It would make sense if she knew. Okay. You’re right. We can do this. We’ll just wait until Steph tells everyone, and then tell the truth.” Y/n paused for a moment, looking down at the floor while she chewed her lip. “I don’t think I can tell the truth,” she said, and when she brought her gaze back up her eyes were shining with the tears that were threatening to fall. Anthony stepped closer, framing her face in his hands and planting a soft kiss to her forehead. 

“You don’t need to tell the whole truth. Not if you don’t want to. Just the bit about us being in a proper relationship now if you like, and I can do that if you need me to. But whatever you choose, darling, I’ll be with you. I will be right by your side, Y/n, always.”

“Thank you, Anthony.”

“Anytime, my darling. Anytime at all.”

He hoped she knew just how much he meant it. 

part 10

Tag list: @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @anthgoldenhrry, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @aysha4life, @bobbys-not-that-small, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @imaginebeingmentallystable, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @lady-ashfade, @light-23, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @magicandrosewaters, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @reggiepeterss, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whistle1whistle, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife, @y0urm0m12, @zoom1374, @asyouwish-fromcabin3, @magicandrosewaters

desperately hoping this is everyone, but as always just let me know if you want to be added/removed (or if I forgot you) and I'll do that as soon as I can! <3

[prismatica-the-strange]

Snowfall Sweethearts ☕❄️ | In a Hundred Years

Warnings: 18+, None (?)

It takes Santa a while to realize Bernard and Charity are Dating

Song: My Forever by Kurt Hugo Schneider

Dividers by @stcvcngrant

"Oh, Bernard!"

He spins around when he hears her call for him.

"Hey, Charity," Santa greets, "Is something wrong?"

"No sir," She smiles brightly at him and then Bernard, "I just need to borrow him for a moment, that won't be a problem, will it?"

"Oh, no! Not at all. Actually, since we're at the kitchen, I thought I'd take a small break myself and get some cocoa."

"Sounds like a plan, sir."

He watches her take Bernard's hand and lead him to a far corner of the kitchen.

He joins Mrs. Claus, who just so happens to be getting herself a coffee over at the machine.

"Did something happen?" The head elf asks, chewing anxiously on his bottom lip.

"What? No!" She squeezes his hands, "I just wanted to make sure you were still coming over tonight."

He smiles slightly, head tilting, "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno," It's her turn to be a little anxious, "It's just that you kind of... stood me up last time so I wanted to check in."

"I know," he sighs, "I didn't mean to-"

"I know you didn't, I just wanted to be sure."

"I'll be there," He cups her cheek, "I promise."

Santa leans back against the counter next to his wife, "Good afternoon, Mrs. Claus, fancy seeing you here."

She hums in acknowledgment, watching the two elves over her coffee.

"What're you watching-" He chokes on his cocoa when he follows her eyeline and sees Bernard gently kiss Charity. Carol giggles as he sputters, "W-what? How long has that been going on?"

"Since last Christmas," She says, grabbing a napkin and helping him clean the chocolate from his beard, "You really didn't know?"

"No! How would I know about that?"

"Oh, Scott," She smiles, her hand affectionately resting on his chest, "You seriously don't see the way they look at each other?"

"No. What?" He looks back over at his head elf and notices, for the first time, the adoration in his eyes as he gazes at Charity, "Isn't... Isn't that how he always looks? I-I mean maybe."

They both quickly turn their attention to their drinks when Bernard starts walking towards them, cheeks rosier than when they entered the kitchen.

"Hey, Bernard, can I talk to you for a minute?" Santa calls when he sees him walk past the office. The elf stops for a moment and looks at the clock across the room, it's late and he's ready to go, "Just real quick, before you leave."

"Something I can help you with, sir?" There's an annoyed edge to his voice, a tone Santa is all too familiar with. It's late. Later than Bernard would prefer to be leaving, since he's already running behind and will probably be late for his ice skating date with Charity.

Santa leans back in his chair, hands clasped, looking at him over his desk as he contemplates what he's going to say.

"This thing with Charity..."

That catches Bernard off guard and his anxious bouncing stops.

"Charity, sir?" He knows they've been more brazen with their relationship, but he's tried not to show favoritism, at least not too much.

"I don't have to worry about the two sneaking off to supply closets during work, do I?" He asks, and the elf's eyes go wide, "Or if this goes sideways, am I going to have to worry about blow-up fights in the workshop?"

"No!" He snaps, before taking a moment to compose himself, "N-no, sir. On both fronts."

"You're sure? There's not some HR type thing you have to fill out or anything?"

"Positive."

Santa thinks for a moment then nods, "Okay then."

"I can..." He motions over his shoulder at the door.

"Yep, that's it," Santa says, "Go do whatever it is you do with Charity."

When he finally gets to the frozen pond, there are at least two dozen other elves there skating.

He tries to spot Charity in the moving group, but he's a half hour late and hopes she's still here.

He sighs in relief when he finds her. She's sitting alone on a bench waiting for him, cradling a warm drink between her hands.

Her face lights up when she sees him walking towards her and his ears heat up.

"Sorry I'm late," He says, sitting next to her.

"It's okay," She smiles, leaning over to kiss him. He sighs against her lips, fingers warm on her cheek, "I wasn't waiting long."

She holds up his skates and he smiles, taking them from her, "Thanks, Shiver."

She pushes herself up onto her feet and holds out her hands for him once he has them laced up.

He lets her pull him up, leaning forward to kiss her forehead.

They make their way out onto the ice.

She slips a little and grabs onto his arm to steady herself chuckling nervously.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Yeah, it's just been a while."

Her eyes go wide and she lets out a yelp when her feet come out from under her and she falls on her ass.

"Charity are you-"

She cuts him off with a cackle.

"I used to be good at this," She laughs, throwing her head back.

"Did you hurt yourself?" He chuckles, helping her up.

"I'm fine," She's still giggling when she kisses him, "I just gotta get the hang of it again."

He offers her his arm and she takes it, keeping close to him as they skate around.

It isn't long before she finds her legs and she pulls away, spinning around to face him and taking his hands in hers.

"That's better."

He grins at her, hand moving to her waist. He pulls her into a turn, his smile mirroring hers.

The rink may be somewhat crowded, but to them, the ice is their's alone.

"Santa had a talk with me today," He says softly, "About us."

Her brow furrows, "What about us?"

"He's worried we're gonna sneak off during work to..." His cheeks go pink, "Y'know."

She chuckles and her hands slide down his arms to take his hands, pulling back to spin them, "As if you'd stand for any hanky-panky on the clock!"

He laughs with her, tugging her back into his arms, "Anything's possible with you, Shiver."

"Talk like that'll land you on the naughty list, Bernard!" She gasps in mock shock, "You should know that as head elf!"

"Seems you've been a terrible influence."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," She snickers, pulling him in for a kiss.

"I love you," He sighs against her lips before taking her face in her hands to kiss her harder.

They glide to a stop in the middle of the rink, the other elves parting around them as they go by.

His nose bumps hers when he pulls away and he grins at her fogged up glasses.

"Here, let me."

[nightimedreamersworld]

Six Sentence Sunday

Thank you for the tag, dear @artsyunderstudy ❤️ the first weeks back from recess have been unforgiving at uni. So far I've had two exams and an assignment in the span of a week 😭 BUT. that's done now, which means I'm "free" until finals (when the madness starts over lol)

Sadly I've barely written this past month, but the good news is that the last chapter(s) of A Charity Case will be coming to an ao3 near you this week! (Hope you guys are still in the mood for Christmas fic)

Everything I haven't shared yet for this chapter is too spoilery, so instead have six sentences out of context:

“Ow!” Baz pulls back, massaging his forehead where it knocked against the car ceiling.

“You’re tormenting me now.”

Baz gives me a sly smile. “Minimalistic. I like it.”

Is this what happens at the end of a successful date? Do people go home together and fall into each other’s arms, inevitable like gravity?

“Snow,” Baz starts, his voice alarmed. He splays his open palm over my backside. “What is this?”

“Did you just call my prick ordinary?”

Tagging: @cutestkilla @bookish-bogwitch @rimeswithpurple @whogaveyoupermission @larkral @stitchyqueer @hushed-chorus @captain-aralias @run-for-chamo-miles @mooncello @alexalexinii @whatevertheweather @confused-bi-queer @forabeatofadrum @shrekgogurt @thewholelemon @iamamythologicalcreature @prettygoododds @forabeatofadrum @letraspal @aristocratic-otter @you-remind-me-of-the-babe and anyone who'd like to join!

[tayloralisonswift]

I’m so incredibly sorry to hear about your grandfather. I’m sorry for you to have to struggle with knowing this is how he’s going out, for your grandma to be treated such a way by the person she’s heartbroken over losing, for the whole family to see sides of him they haven’t (if they’re even real?), and for him, to be on the brink of death and so warped of himself and unable to say or hear the goodbyes he’d want. Life is so cruel and age is weird and sickness and strokes are evil and death a whole other ordeal. I hope the life he lead before these final moments was one of love and worthiness and that it’ll get easier to cherish that in the future. Sending all the positive thoughts and sorrowful understandings ♥️♥️♥️♥️

this is the kindest possible message i could've received, and i needed it so much. thank you from the bottom of my heart. he was a good man (still is, i guess? i don't even know if he's still There.)

can i tell you a bit about him? he's wealthy because he got in with IBM pretty early on, but he's always used it for good. he started multiple foundations and has it set up so that, when my grandmother dies, everything left goes to the foundation in my grandmother's name, which gives full-ride tuition to nursing students from lower income households. (my grandma was a nurse.) every year for christmas, every grandchild got a letter saying he would give $1,000 to the charity of our choosing. (i always chose the aclu, but i could've chosen anything, even a non-profit he disagreed with.) when i'd visit him, he would take me out for starbucks, and then we would walk the mall and people watch. he'd bring a wad of $100 bills and when i saw someone who i felt needed it for whatever reason (they're clearly working minimum wage, they look sad or lonely, etc), he'd give me a $100 bill and i'd walk over and give it to them. when they'd ask why, i said his motto: "we are blessed to be a blessing." speaking of starbucks, when i worked there two years ago, he would call me randomly to say he and my grandma were about to go to starbucks, and what should they order? it was so sweet getting a voicemail that just said "hi kathryn. was just wondering what frappuccino to try this time. love you." i have many more stories, but those are some of my favorites. he wasn't perfect (especially as he's gotten older, he's become more Opinionated about things - i sometimes imagine his younger self yelling at his older self for being bigoted), but he has done his best to be good. who he is right now is not him at all, and it's so sad.

[sparklepocalypse]

Last week everyone was like, “good thing AO3 doesn’t do a ‘your year in review’ thing like Spotify!” and this week we’re all like “anyway here’s my 2023 AO3 year in review!” So. Anyway, here’s my AO3 year in review -- thanks to @anincompletelist for the tag! Open tag — if you wanna participate, do it! If you don’t, don’t; I’m not the boss of you.

Check it out under the jump:

2023 by the Numbers

Published Words: 123,740 since the RWRB movie pulled me kicking and screaming out of a semi-permanent fic writing hiatus in late September 2023. (Yeah. All those words in essentially one quarter of the year. I am bonkers.)

Published Stories: 37, all in the Red, White & Royal Blue movie fandom -- 22 of them are also tagged with the RWRB book because I kept character descriptions vague enough that readers could self insert whatever characteristics they wanted. All of them are Alex/Henry (be still my little ‘shipping heart).

Unpublished Words: 28,113 and counting in the Big Giant AU (KHIX). I have no other WIPs with actual story written in them, currently, but I do have a to-do list that’s 33 ideas with various levels of detail long.

Most Recent Drops

Sip You Like Cosmic Juice [rated E, 3,122 words] inspired by @orkazh-arts’ rugby!Henry piece. What if RWRB, but Henry plays rugby instead of polo? Alex POV at the charity sporting event. Oral sex, banter, and Henry’s thighs.

So I Will Weather the Storm [rated E, 9,804 words] my RWRB Advent fic. What if RWRB, but Henry's a helicopter rescue pilot in the RAF and Alex falls off a mountain? Oral sex, anal sex, Christmas. One of my favorites!

I'd Wanna Be Felled By You, Held By You [rated E, 2,310 words] my take on what happens when Alex lets Henry borrow his clothes at the lake house. Oral sex, making out against walls, anal sex, possessiveness.

On My Mind (Let's Go) [rated E, 10,751 words] my NYE fix-it fic where Henry boxes out Green Dress Girl, seduces Alex with dance, and gets his damn kiss (and more). Oral sex, anal sex, anal fingering, Henry’s ballroom lessons. One of my favorites!

Top 5 By Kudos

What's Symbiotic Will Always Be [rated E | 2,622 words | 1,157 kudos] The one where Henry develops a breeding kink. Out of all of my Kinktober fics, this one is the most qualified to be called absolute filth. God I love this fandom.

Take it Down Low / Make Me Get High [rated E | 2,092 words | 971 kudos] The one that’s been described by at least one person as “that rimming fic.” Again, you degenerates are fabulous.

In the Low Lamp Light, I Was Free [rated E | 3,156 words | 750 kudos] The one in which Alex bottoms for the first time in Paris, because there are two condom wrappers. Now we’re getting into my genre: porn with feelings.

I'd Wanna Be Felled By You, Held By You [rated E | 2,310 words | 670 kudos] The one in which possessive Alex really likes Henry wearing his clothes. One of my more recent ones and one of my favorites.

On My Mind (Let's Go) [rated E | 10,751 words | 601 kudos] The one in which Henry gets his New Year’s Eve kiss (and then some).

My Favorites Published in 2023

Only including fics that don't appear in either of the other sections above, so I don't clog up your dash with the same link multiple times here...

Bloom [series | rated M/E | 7,655 words] the fandom’s first sex pollen ‘verse on AO3 (unless someone wrote some without tagging it; I checked more than once!).

This is Holy Ground (The Flesh I'm Made Of) [rated E | 3,491 words] the fic in which Alex is a god who’s new to the whole deity business, and Henry is his acolyte.

Down On My Knees; Wanna Take You There [rated E | 7,787 words] the Renaissance Faire AU with glory holes and Pancake, the best horse in the universe.

If We're Caught in a Wave (I Will Carry You Over) [rated E | 5,944 words] the fandom’s first tentacle porn fic (again, unless someone wrote it without tagging it, as with the sex pollen). Alex is Alex and Henry is a cecaelia — AKA octoHenry.

Slide, Crawl into the Shades of Light [rated E | 4,851 words] the fic in which Henry has a bad week and asks Alex to overstimulate him into oblivion.

Amazed at How We Talk (Once, Successfully) [rated E | 8,782 words] the fic in which Henry and Alex don’t get hit by a cake, and Alex goes on Grindr at Buckingham Palace — AKA the harlot flat fic.

Blame My Poor Romantic Mind for the Mess We Made [rated E | 1,570 words] the fic in which Henry writes poetry on Alex’s naked body and then tops him.

A Few Other Stats & Facts About My Fic

Which RWRB canon did I lean on? Well, it should be no surprise to any of you that I’m an RWRB movie writer if you read the first chunk of this post. 100% of my RWRB fics published in 2023 are tagged with the movie fandom, while 59% of them are also tagged with the book fandom because I kept details vague enough that they could fit with either canon. I did not post a single RWRB fic that was tagged with only the book fandom. (And here’s my secret: I’m always picturing the movie characters when I write fic in this fandom. Always.)

What was my ratings spread? of the 37 fics I published in 2023, 2 were teen and up, 1 was rated mature, and the other *thirty-four fics* were explicit.

Where did my titles come from? All but one of my fic titles were sourced from song lyrics; the remaining title was pulled from a love letter written by Herman Melville to Nathaniel Hawthorne. I also put together a Spotify playlist for my Kinktober title songs.

What did I listen to while writing? A lot of M83 while writing plot and dialogue — enough that it put me into the top 0.5% of M83 listeners on Spotify for 2023. I also listened to the playlist Songs I’d respectfully get railed to while writing smut.

Canon-compliant or AU? While I’ve written a few things that are completely canon-compliant (missing/expanded scenes mostly), I’m a sucker for both AUs and canon-divergent fics!

Things I'm Hyped for in 2024

The Big Giant AU (KHIX): I’ve been working on this since September, but then Kinktober happened, and then Kinktober burnout happened, so I only recently started plugging away at it regularly. It’s going to be long. It will make people ugly cry. It will make people giggle. It will probably make people [redacted]. It’s already 28k words long, and I’m nowhere near finished. This will not be published until the first draft is complete, because I know me and abandoning WIPs.

Hanahaki AU: I’ve never written this trope but I love it and I need to do it. The end.

Runaway Prince: Henry runs away. Alex finds him. More to come. (Them to come as well.)

More in the Ren Faire, sex pollen, harlot flat (no cakegate), and octoHenry AUs.

And a few movie AUs and one-shot ideas I've got up my sleeve.

[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

Freddie Mercury with his beloved cats over the years

Extract from article

Cat Fancy – Freddie & His Best Friends

By Gail Flug - 2003

In many people’s eyes, Freddie Mercury was one of the world’s most dynamic and charismatic rock frontmen.

Yet for the man who had the love of countless fans, he loved his cats most. Peter Freestone, Mercury’s personal assistant and cook, wrote in his book “Freddie Mercury” that his boss put as much importance on them as any human in his life.

Jacky Smith, who has run the Official Queen Fan Club for 21 years, said, “Most of them were from rescue centers. We have a charity [in the United Kingdom] called The Blue Cross, which takes care of sick animals. Freddie got at least two from them, if not more.”

According to Smith, cat toys were sent from fans to the office from time to time, as the cats’ photos occasionally appeared in the club newsletter. Plenty of fans have also named their own cats Freddie, a gesture that, Smith said, would have flattered the singer.

Mercury’s first cats were Tom and Jerry, who he and then-girlfriend Mary Austin brought in during the early days of the band. She kept them when their relationship ended in the late ‘70s, yet he still considered them his, as the album dedication for “Mr. Bad Guy” proves. Austin, who remained his closest friend, gave him a lovely longhaired bluepoint he named Tiffany.

The most famous feline of the Mercury clan is Delilah, a large, tri-colored tabby who was adopted in late 1987. As the lyrics to her song state, and Freestone’s book confirms, she took over the house and pretty much did whatever she pleased. “She was a real character, that lady!” agreed Smith. “Delilah was just kind of funny. She was a bit of a bully to the others, but was always first on his lap, first for food.” In turn, Mercury favored her as well, picking her up more than the others. She would also fun to him for safety when the other cats would gang up on her. She loved sleeping at the foot of his bed, or in the laundry baskets.

“They were all well-loved and cared for and mostly ‘normal’ pussycats,” Smith said. “They did get ordinary cat food at times, but mostly it was fresh chicken and fish prepared for them. I also remember he used to talk to them on the phone if he was away for a long time.”

Freestone also wrote that each cat got its own Christmas stocking filled with treats and toys. They had full run of the house and were permitted outside during the day to roam the gardens. There were the occasional territorial markings on the soft furnishings for his staff to clean up, and the quick trips to the vet if a cat showed the slightest hint of illness.

No one except for his closest friends knows how long Mercury was aware he was HIV-positive, although both Freestone and Smith believe that his cats knew. Their unconditional love gave him great comfort and company in his final days, and Mercury would never deny them admittance to his bedroom. Said Smith, “Cats have that fantastic sixth sense… I imagine that they knew he wasn’t well and spent more time with him. It’s just the thing cats would do.”

Before Mercury passed away on Nov. 24, 1991, he made sure all of his loved ones would be taken care of. “They all stayed at Garden Lodge with Mary, which is where they still are today,” said Smith. “I have heard reports of Delilah being spotted on top of the wall occasionally.”

It’s clear she still rules the house. Freddie wouldn’t have wanted it any other way

Freddie Mercury with his beloved cats over the years

📸 Photos from Mary Austin’s personal collection

'Delilah Delilah

Oh my oh my oh my you're unpredictable

You make me so very happy

When you cuddle up and go to sleep beside me

And then you make me slightly mad

When you pee all over my Chippendale suite'

🔸 Extract from'Delilah' track by Freddie Mercury

(taken from 'Innuendo' album released in 1991)

Delilah his beloved cat 😻

[an-au-blog]

You brought up East Blue Asylum AU, so I reread everything again, and now I want to know more things. Please tell me about Law? I don't know if it's better for him to also be a patient or a doctor there, but my little multi-shipping heart hopes there could be something there

Ok, funny you should mention that because I had a post about Law in the EBAW au in my drafts and just never got around to posting or finishing them??? So I'm going to be lazy now and copy paste (and finish) it here and hopefully it will answer your questions :))

(if not you can just send another ask lmao)

For a while I wondered if Law would be a doctor or a patient in the EBAW au, but maybe he'd be an actual doctor, who briefly worked with an ex of Luffy's father. Him and Crocodile bonded over their shared hatred of the man and one day Crocodile asked him to check in on Luffy. He naively thought that "the doctor social circle" extended to him, but it didn't. See, he wasn't a phycologist or physiatrist, he worked as a medical examiner - forensic for a while, but he was far from a psychiatrist. He dealt with dead people and the police, that was it. He had a decade or two in which he was a surgeon but he stopped. His "uncle"/his foster father's murderer used to use him as a personal patch-up charity. He used to be a big fish of the underground and Law finally had enough. He quit being a doctor, skipped town and started only examining dead people. It was the perfect job for him - they didn't complain, couldn't lie, great listeners... what else could a socially inept nerd like him want?

Still he decided to agree to go to see Crocodile's son, if and only if on top of the money he promised, he could convince the staff to let him stay there. He honestly thought it would be an impossible mission, but then Crocodile made one phone call to Robin and arranged everything. Law became the physical examiner of the east blue wing for the next month.

Luffy loved new people, especially if they didn't treat him like a kid or as if he was crazy. And Law had no idea how to treat anyone in any way, so he just went to the default - straight to the point and no nonsense. Unlike some of his friends, Luffy trusted Law right off the bat. He would drag him around showing him the whole wing and every time he tried making an excuse that he'd get in trouble for not staying in the doctor's room, because what if they needed him? Luffy would laugh and say that Chopper has everything handled.

Chopper, Law soon found to be the man hw would share a cabinet with. He was this short and hairy man who had figurines all over his desk. Law's jaw dropped when he saw that Chopper had the rare 1995 Christmas special comic addition of Getma 66 AND it was in the 2 in 1 package with the poison pink figurine. They had a little bonding moment over it and Chopper was excited to finally have someone that not only didn't judge him for his interest, but also shared it.

By the end of his one month visit, Law begrudgingly realized that he had grown fond of too many of the people there, both patients and staff. When leaving, he told Jinbe, who was the official "Boss", that if they ever needed him, he'd make himself available.

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

For the prompts, I honestly think it would be fun to see Greyson and Matt building a gingerbread house for an event while one (or both) of them is sick

But if you’re looking for suuuuper simple prompts, Elijah locked out of the restaurant because he’s sick and forgot his key?

ghostlychill, you always know just how to get me to write something lmao.

Greyson and Matt sick while making a gingerbread house, under the cut. 500ish words. Thank you for the prompt :) :)

“Hold still.”

It’s Greyson who says it, and Greyson who pulls away moments later. “Huh-! Hh-NGTSHH-ue!”

Matt coughs out a laugh. “‘Hold still’,” he says, mocking. The sous uses his tweezers to gently place a gumdrop on the front door of the house; it barely has time to set before his eyes glaze over. “HTSH! HhIGTZSHH!”

The two of them stand with arms over their noses and mouths, a game of chicken they’ve both already lost. “Bless,” Greyson says first, wiping his nose and sniffling.

“Ditto,” Matt says, coughing into his sleeve before removing his own arm.

They stare at their barely-begun gingerbread house in agony; this Christmas cook-off was supposed to be a fun, silly little event that they were doing to raise some money for charity and get some press for the restaurant. When they signed up for it three weeks ago, they thought it’d be a good excuse to make Elijah close the restaurant on a slow Sunday evening. They’d make their little house, the event would be over by seven, and they’d get to drink hot toddy’s at a Christmas-themed bar until they blacked out. A perfect winter’s night.

Now, it’s nine-thirty pm, the gingerbread house portion of this never-ending event has just begun, and Greyson and Matt are sporting dueling headaches and twin fevers; matching Christmas colds to go with the stupid Christmas sweaters Elijah forced them to wear. They glare at one another, sniffling in tandem.

“Do you think Elijah will find out if we forfeit?” Greyson asks, clearing his throat to save his rapidly-disappearing voice. Matt thinks it over before answering.

“...do we care?” he asks eventually. The two of them glance silently at their sad, dilapidated gingerbread shack, weighing the cost of Elijah’s anger with the agony that is staying in this stuffy, overheated ballroom any longer. Eventually, Greyson crumples back into his elbow.

“HhhETSCCHH-uh! Hh-! HRRTSHH-ue!” He groans into his sleeve, and Matt winces in sympathy.

“You sound like total shit, Cheehhh – ETSHHH-ue!” Matt dips into his hands to catch the sudden sneeze, winces at the spray. Greyson coughs. Several other chefs from the area glance over at them with pity or disgust thinly veiled on their faces.

“Fuck it,”Greyson says, and swipes his hand across their table, wiping their little gingerbread hovel out of existence. “We forfeit,” he calls to no one in particular, prompting a round of nervous laughs from the other participants.

Matt wipes his hands on his apron and Greyson loops his arm around his sous’ shoulders, leading them both out of the ballroom and into the hotel’s lobby bar.

“I think we deserve a drink after that fuckin’ spectacle,” he says, settling Matt onto a bar stool and plopping himself down beside him. The younger man laughs, a throaty sound that immediately turns into a cough.

“I think we deserve the bottle,” Matt says. “HHETSCHH-ue!!”

[rigginsstreet]

Steve Harrington is a pretty good choice in partner, but Billy is of the solid opinion that everything can be improved. And what won't be improved willingly can always be roped and dragged there kicking and screaming.

First and foremost; that godforsaken bedroom his boyfriend expects him to sleep in. Billy actually physically recoils the first time Harrington opens the door, and decides immediately if you ever want to break a man, just lock him in here.

Looking at his dad's bare asshole would invoke less of a vomit reflex than tartan on tartan. Also, whoever actually created and sold tartan wallpaper needs to be killed for the immediate greater good of humanity.

Still. The wallpaper is a longcon kinda game, so Billy turns his attention to something that can be fixed with relative swiftness.

The fire is roaring and crackling when Steve comes home from work, and his boyfriend scrunches his nose at it with a pleased, surprised smile. "Howdy, Pyro," he greets, leans over Billy's shoulder to warm his hands. Billy offers him the pack of marshmallows and, subtly, uses his heel to kick the pair of scissors further under the deck chair.

"Is that fabric?" Steve asks on his third marshmallow, leaning so close to the flames Billy has to pull him back lest he lose a brow.

"Eh, scraps I found in the garage."

Two weeks later, Steve has been rib-deep in his closet for a good half an hour before he calls out; "hey, Cake? Do you know where my green sweater is?"

Billy can't help smiling a slow, smug, sly little thing as he dries off the last dish. "Sorry, Hidalgo. No idea."

The next time, Steve brought it on himself. The faux-fur monstrosity he wears out to the movies looks like he cut up a rug made out of unfortunate roadkill and shaped it like a jacket, and honestly, Billy's just doing the Lord's work when he trips and spills a blue slushie all over it. It'll never wash out, and Harrington wisely decides the thing has lived a full life and deserves to visit the landfill of eternal rest.

The day after, Billy buys a cream colored suede jacket with sheepskin on the collar and cuffs. Presents it to Steve, pouty and apologetic, and Steve wears it for a week straight when they go out. It makes his eyes look deeper, darker. Makes the pink on his cheeks stand out a little.

Two months into dating proper, Steve wears an honest to god vest that Nancy got him for his birthday to Jonathan's college leaving party, and Billy has to do breathing exercises before getting in the car.

"You love him," he mutters, clenching and unclenching his fists. "You love him. His dick is fucking huge. You love him. He eats your ass like he's starving. You love him...."

The vest, ultimately, accidentally gets washed with a pair of jeans Billy doesn't really care about anyway, which happen to have a forgotten switchblade in the pocket, and Billy has to visibly school his expression when Steve pulls it out of the machine a half-hour later in eight different pieces.

They're three months, two jackets, three sweats, one vest and a pair of honest to god flared khakis ("they're novelty, Billy!") later, and they're laying together in their newly papered bedroom when Steve rolls over him, tucks a lock of his hair behind his ear and says;

"The guilt is eating me alive, so. How about next time you hate something I wear, you just tell me, and we can donate it to charity so you can get me something else, my conscience stays clear, and we're both happy, mm?"

Billy grins. "And inflict those crimes against humanity on other people? Damn, Long Johnson. Knew you were a secret sadist. That's kinda hot," he bites his lip and Steve laughs, squirms up close, fingers digging into Billy's hips, words hot on his ear.

"Oh, Barbie. If you wanna see sadism, I'll show you my christmas sweater collection."

I AM SCREAMING AT THESE NICKNAMES!!!!

billy is gonna queer eye steve so hard when they start dating ... he loves the rich preppy boy money he does NOT love the yuppie fashion he has to draw a line somewhere

[bullet-prooflove]

Cognac: Jimmy Lanik x Reader

Tagging: @annieradcliff and inator-procrast

Jimmy wasn’t used to thinking about other people, he forced himself to focus on outcomes. He  didn’t allow himself the luxury of becoming invested. He hadn’t been looking for somebody when you came long, he didn’t have the time or the bandwidth to give to somebody else, but you had erupted into his life in a flurry of colour, and before he knew it, he was hooked.

You’d been working one of the charity events that Med had been holding. A Christmas gift drive for kids who wouldn’t get to spend the time at home with their families. Jimmy had been strong armed into wrapping duty by Goodwin, when all he wanted to do was get off his feet and soak in the tub with a tumbler of Scotch. He’d been tired and grumpy by the time he made it to the conference room, there had only been one other person in there adding artful bows to the gifts and meticulously checking off them off the list. He admired your attention to detail; you went out of your way to make the presents look good for the kids and Jimmy couldn’t fault that. You were highly organised, and he respected that. Plus, you’d brought homemade eggnog and gingerbread from the bakery down the street, so his day got a little bit brighter.

What had seemed like a chore in the beginning became a pleasant experience. He’d loosened up after a couple of eggnogs, the amount of Cognac in them definitely had something to do with that. There was something about being around you that felt so easy, he didn’t have to put up a façade, he was simply Jimmy and if he was honest, he hadn’t been Jimmy in such a long time.

You’d kissed him that night, the final gifts were wrapped and piled up ready to go under the tree downstairs and you had been standing in front of the window looking out at the city lights twinkling in the distance.

“It’s beautiful in a way, isn’t it?” You said softly, he’s stood beside you studying the profile of your features before answering.

“Yes, it is.”

You turned to face him in that moment and his breath had caught in his throat. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol, the festive season or simply you but he felt a rush of passion flood through his system. In that moment he had never wanted anybody as much as you. When you kissed him, you tasted of Cognac, and he savoured the heat of your lips. He didn’t want it to end so he kissed you back with an urgency that you seemed to feel too. He made love to you on the conference room table with your sweater dress shoved up over your hips and his mouth on yours. It was wild and reckless, your teeth nipping at his lower lip when you orgasmed, and fuck if he didn’t love how good it felt when you clenched around his cock as he spilled into you.

You laughed as you came down from the high, his arm still wrapped around your waist and it made him laugh too.

“I don’t do this.” He told you between ragged breathes

“Neither do I.” You said with flushed cheeks.

If he thought you looked beautiful before, you looked fucking gorgeous pressed against him with his dick still deep inside you.

“Dinner?” he suggested, his gaze meeting yours.

“Breakfast.” You had negotiated and he found himself kissing you all over again.

That breakfast had turned into the first of many more and before he realised it a year had gone by and there was barely a night the two of you didn’t spend together. Jimmy loved having you in his bed, tangled up in his sheets, he loved the scent of patchouli and orange blossom on his pillowcases. He loved the softness of your skin under his lips, the way you called his name when he fucked you with abandonment.

In short, he loved you.

Love Jimmy? Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[simshousewindsor]

FIRE AND ICE

[Royal Lodge, Buckingsimshire 9:19 PM WST]

Deon Waters [Crew]: Captain, power is off in the other two units. We’re clear.

Jermaine Askew [Captain]: Great. Bring the truck back up now. I’ll do the final all clear on this one with Shaun.

Princess Lara: I’m so glad the rain stopped.

Queen Katherine: Had the fire gotten worse, the rain may have helped.

Princess Lara: Either way, we were just vacated from our home due to a fire! Had Anna and Marsh not invited us to dinner, we would have been here!

Prince Rainier: This could have been much worse, Kate.

Jermaine Askew [Captain]: I agree, Your Majesty. These townhomes had been vacant for so many years, a fire like this was bound to happen. Thankfully, this unit was vacant. A thorough inspection of all three is highly recommended.

Queen Katherine: (somber) Mom was planning to move here next week. This is a disaster.

Princess Anna: (somber) The children are going to be devastated we have to move again. I do not want to go back to Kently with my parents, and Leo and Jazmyn.

Queen Katherine: You’re all staying at the palace tonight. We’ll sort the rest out in the morning. I’m sure there are options!

Prince Rainier: I’ll call the palace to have rooms prepared.

- - - - - THE NEXT DAY - - - - -

[Buckingsim Palace, Buckingsimshire 8:56 AM WST]

Princess Lara: I’m going to tell Kate we’d like to go back to Broderick House. It makes more sense now!

Prince Anthony: They made us move last year because it was too expensive. What makes you think anything has changed now, especially with every dollar being watched to cover the coronation.

Princess Lara: Broderick House was gifted to us by daddy!

Prince Anthony:...but we can't afford it, Lara! We only receive §1.1million simoleons a year from the Duchy. Security, alone, was §250k!

Princess Lara: I’m going to request an increase from the duchy. Time’s are changing and it’s only fair. Kate expects me to help her with so much but not allow me time to do any of my own charities. You can't even take photography clients anymore!

Prince Anthony: You always let your family run over you. What makes you think Kate won't bully you into taking your request back or worse, bully you into something bigger?

Princess Lara: I know how to say no!

Prince Anthony: Someone’s gotten a little fire inside of them. If you say so, Lara. You love your sister too much to tell her no.

- - - - - LATER - - - - -

Princess Lara: I still can't get over how well the remodel looks, Kate. Why did daddy never approve this?

Queen Katherine: He never got around to it. I had so much free time while on maternity leave at Beaverdam to catch up on all of his plans and finally make overdue decisions like approving the remodel.

Princess Lara: All of his plans?

Queen Katherine: Daddy had plans outside of just being sovereign.

Princess Lara: (hesitant) okay...

Queen Katherine: I’ll catch you up over breakfast. We’ve been so busy since I got back, we haven't had alone time long enough to catch up since Christmas. The fire has, at least, given us a day to stop and do that. I also have some other things to discuss.

- - - - - LATER - - - - -

Prince Anthony: I can't believe His late Majesty had so many awards.

Prince Rainier: Along with personal treasures he amassed, he kept his awards up here! As Prince of Brindleton Bay, he was a huge environmentalist.

Prince Anthony:...and as sovereign he wasn't?

Prince Rainier: (laughs) You know what I mean. That was before the Crown didn't allow him to be as vocal about certain issues, like politics. Neutrality and all.

Prince Anthony: Are those journals of Edward I? That’s his cypher, right?

Prince Rainier: Yes. There is also a journal of Albert II up there. The larger collections are housed in the royal archives.

Prince Rainier:  Let’s have a drink in the billiard room. I’d like to discuss something with you.

Prince Anthony: (shocked) It’s not even noon.

Prince Rainier: So, that’s a yes! Bourbon or Hennessy over ice?  

- - - - - LATER - - - - -

Queen Katherine: ...so, daddy may have found something important the night before he died about where the stone is, and now the Grand Duchess of Glimmerbrook wants to meet with me.

Princess Lara: Oh, daddy! What was he thinking? He hid this from everyone. No wonder mom has stayed in mourning for so long!

Queen Katherine: I still can't believe Royal Lodge caught on fire! To think, had this happened next week mom would have been living in that vacant unit.

Princess Lara: Yes. Speaking of, Anthony and I...

Queen Katherine: Oh, Anthony! I know how happy you both had been there, and being close to Anna. It doesn't appear we will get approval for occupancy on the two units that weren't harmed until renovations are complete on the one that was.

Princess Lara: Anthony and I think it would be best if we went back to Broderick House. Daddy gifted it to us on my wedding day. Why not now?

Queen Katherine: Didn't parliament deny the request last year for additional security, and the duchy decline the increase requested to pay for security?

Princess Lara: Yes, but...

Queen Katherine: Daddy and I actually discussed this after parliament denied the request, and why his hands were tied. You see, as a Countess you receive the maximum amount allowed from the duchy. What he wasn't allowed to do then, I am allowed to do now. I can elevate Anthony’s title! The Boykins title was always meant to be a dukedom not an earldom designated to the monarchs fifth son, and since I’m done birthing children.

Princess Lara: (excited) Really?

Queen Katherine: Of course! A dukedom would be entitled to a larger amount from the duchy, and after my approval, be able to assume Broderick House as residence. You’re the only sibling to the monarch, and I’m going to need you and Anthony supporting Rainier and I now even more than ever!

Princess Lara: (somber) Oh! I... I’d need to talk this over with Anthony.

Queen Katherine: Rainier is talking to him now!

Previous | Beginning | Next - continue Heir Ascent (story)

Previous | Beginning | Next - continue Second Place Countess (story)

[thedivinelights]

HUMBLE HUMANITIES: A CHRISTMAS CAROL

Here's the first stave of my new fic! I'll only post it all on Ao3 when I complete all of it, hopefully in December time, so y'all can get the sneak peek with Stave One!

(UNDER THE CUT)

⎯ · ⎯ · ⎯ · ⎯ · ⎯ · ⎯

STAVE ONE ⎯ · ⎯ CHIEF RECRUITMENT

Scrooge and Marley were together, to begin with. There could be no doubt about that. Their marriage had not been consummated by legality, but had been consummated nonetheless in the eyes of the bankers, the investors, the shareholders, and the chief partnership. Scrooge signed the cohabitation agreements. Marley confirmed the merger of their lives. And in the world of markets and business and consumerism, their word might as well have been law.

Yes, as their employees had muttered and murmured to anyone somehow unaware, the Old Scrooge-Marley duo were, in fact, shagging.

Now, the question as to how the labourers had been privy to such information was as much a mystery to you as it is to me. In a time of outdated legislations and the basic etiquette of privacy, one would think that such intimate details would remain concealed behind closed doors and closed lips, only to be spoken out by those allowed to speak. But upon this Sceptered Isle that I call upon as my one abode, you may permit me to state that I find myself at liberty to both discuss and regale you with such tales. After all, what power could impede a narrative save for whom the narrative is about? If you were unaware of Romeo and Juliet’s affections for one another, would you still remember them as the star-crossed lovers of Verona? And if you were not privy to Scrooge and Marley’s companionship, would their story be as captivating? I think not.

Of course, Scrooge and Marley were well aware of this arrangement. How could they not be? If one had the gall or the balls to ask, they would say it was naught but a matter of convenience, devoid of personal affections or romantic inclinations, though such claims would fall short of convincing anyone. They had been partners in every sense of the word. They were each other’s sole companion, their sole confidant, their sole lover, their sole business associate, their sole tormenter, and — though not in the sense of the law — their sole husband. They clawed their way to the top with cunning, calculative precision, hand over fist, soaked deep in the blood, sweat and tears of the corporate enemies who dared to try and make a fool of them.

Asplex Industries, est. 1990. A multinational conglomerate with more billions in their coffers than most nations could only dream of having in their treasuries. And no, I will not be resorting to flaunting numbers with an arbitrary number of zeroes to impress upon you the sheer magnitude of their clout. Suffice it to say that Scrooge and Marley were perched on top of a gilded tower that scraped the heavens, constructed from the bones of their competitors and built upon the foundations of two simple game developers who wished to find their way in the world.

Oh, but how callous they had been, Scrooge and Marley! The wringing, clasping, twisting, shaving, clenching, esurient old sinners!  Quiet and venomous like a viper, deadly and circling like a shark. No warmth — not even their own, as dim as it were — could temper the coldness that clung to them like a shroud. The media could paint them in the most wondrous and exaggerated colours they pleased, but the truth remained ever starkly evident to those who worked under, worked with, or worked without: Scrooge and Marley were ruthless. They were the kind of leaders who could make the bravest of souls quail and the most stalwart of hearts tremble beneath their heel. The Chief Executive Officers of Asplex that the business world celebrated and scorned in a single breath. The kind of leaders who could squeeze out every ounce of profit, every iota of innovation, every morsel of loyalty, with enough pressure and heat to turn carbon into diamonds.

No self-respecting charity approached them for philanthropic efforts. No innocent child invoked their names. No nefarious politician bribed them for their riches. For there was no charity they supported, no child they cherished and no politician they trusted. 

And they cared not. Not one single bit.

On one particular evening — four days prior to Christmas Day, 2010 — Scrooge and Marley sat comfortably in their office. The weather, as it often was in England, was cold and damp and miserable, with not even a speck of snow to accompany their bleak surroundings. The office they shared, small and unwelcoming, held not a single ounce of the opulence that their wealth could afford. From the fraying curtains to the worn cushions to the scratched mahogany desk, every facet of their workspace retained much of the furniture that could be salvaged from their beginnings. Sentiment? Frugality? None could say. It only made logical sense, however, that they would share a desk instead of having two, for they would have no use for separate stations when their work was so intertwined and interdependent.

Jacob A. T. Marley, the elder of the two, sat with his long fingers steepled beneath his chin, his sharp green eyes examining the computer monitor before him. His greying black hair was tied up in a loose, frayed bun, and his tailored, almost impeccable suit hung on his lean frame. Marley held the numbers in the palm of his hand, for he was the financier who knew every pound, dollar, franc, and euro in the corporate coffers. The charmer who could convince the saintly to buy the Old Scratch’s own pitchfork. The smiler who could turn a conversation on its head and leave his interlocutor baffled and speechless. The world called him a serpent in the grass, slithering along the ground and shedding the scales of genuine emotions behind him. But what everyone seemed to forget was the addendum that this serpent had fangs dripping with venom. That this viper could bite, and he could bite hard.

Ebenezer L. P. Scrooge sat beside him, reclining in his worn leather chair with blue eyes half-lidded and as he ran a hand through his wild and unruly brown hair, somehow ageing faster than his husband appeared to be. Scrooge was the strategist, the man who could play the market like Martha Argerich played the piano, anticipating every turn and shift of the trends with such precision one would think that he himself had been controlling them. It mattered not if your contracts had been gone over with fine-tooth comb, went through with every nuanced detail down to the thinnest of fine print and reviewed by a legal team more akin to feral, rabid bulldogs in suits. If you sat across Scrooge at the negotiating table and he wanted anything — your assets, your stocks, hell, even your staff — he would tear it all away from you, piece by agonising piece, limb from torturous limb, like a megalodon towering over a school of hapless minnows. To call him a shark would be far too polite, perhaps even a compliment. Scrooge was the tempestuous sea itself, and woe betide the ones who dare try and tame it.

On the other side of the office door, checked in only by a cheap baby camera super glued onto the counter, they kept a close and vigilant eye upon their secretary, who sat upon his chair with an urgent focus belying his relaxed demeanour. Bob Cratchit, he was called, and his loyalty to Scrooge and Marley had been just as unshakeable as it had been when he had first arrived. Even in the chill of the room that retained the bare minimum of heating, causing him to adorn more layers than he’d needed outdoors, Bob remained ever diligent. For he had maintained their public image, their social media presence, their events and their correspondences with partnering companies.

“Merry Christmas, Tito Ben! Tito Jake!” A cheerful voice cried out. The voice of Scrooge and Marley’s nephew, Frederick de Dios, burst into the office with such joviality — eyes sparkling, cheeks rosy, dressing in a garish red sweater and topped with reindeer antlers — that you’d think him as Saint Nicholas himself.

“Bob…” Marley warned, completely ignoring his nephew’s cheerful greetings to glare at the man who was supposed to keep him away, only to receive halfhearted apologies and the familiar shrug that said he had ‘tried’ to keep him away, as if he had even tried at all!

“Damn it all, Fred, can’t you see we’re busy?!” Scrooge snarled, his train of thought momentarily shattered by the buffoon who waltzed in without knocking.

“Oh c’mon, Tito Ben. It’s almost Christmas!” Fred exclaimed. “Work can wait until after the New Year, can’t it?”

“Almost Christmas means it isn’t Christmas.” Marley retorted monotonously. “And in case you haven’t noticed, we’re not the only ones working, nor are we your personal charity. And unlike some of us, we have money to count and responsibilities to uphold.”

Fred, clearly not satisfied with that response, moved in closer to their desk, resting his hands atop the wood and shuffling Scrooge’s carefully-laid paperwork, his chagrin clear to all as he glared daggers so pointed his nephew might as well have been murdered just by sight alone.

“Why do you two have to be so stubborn?” Fred returned gaily, a glint forming in his eyes. “You’re both the richest men in the world! Forgoing a few million pounds is worth it for celebrating Christmas dinner with Mum, Nanay, and I, don’t you think?”

Scrooge and Marley exchanged a meaningful glance for but a moment, a silent communication that only they could decipher. They knew their answer, and they knew their answer well.

“What we think, dear nephew…” Scrooge slowly stood from his seat, his taller frame looming over the young man’s petite stature. “...is that Christmas is nothing but a time of blatant consumerism. A time when people wastefully spend on frivolous ‘gifts’ that most would forget about in mere weeks. A time when they indulge in gluttony and sloth to drown away the sorrows of their sad, sordid little lives. And when the clock strikes twelve on the twenty-sixth, what do people do? Goodwill toward men, more like good riddance to genuine morality and hard work.”

“You can’t be serious!” Fred cried out in exclamatory and exaggerated surprise.

“There’s no denying the truth of Ebenezer’s words.” Marley continued for him with a sterner tone, just as steadfast in their decision as they had countless years before. “It’s a hypocritical holiday that picks one’s pockets every twenty-fifth of December, Fred, and we simply want no part of it. Send your mothers our regards, but don’t expect us to bend over backwards to cater to their whims.”

Fred, unfazed by their coldness, simply chuckled and shook his head. “Alright, alright… Tito Ben, Tito Jake, you’re impossible. But you know what? I still love you guys, even if you probably don't want me to admit it. So, I’m going to keep coming back, year after year, Christmas after Christmas, to invite you. And someday, somewhere, I hope you’ll join us, even if it’s just for a little while.”

“Goodbye, nephew.” Scrooge said.

“And who knows? While you’re at it, you’ll both truly understand just what you are missing.”

“Goodbye, Fred.” Marley said.

“I’m sorry you can’t see past your numbers and your profits, but I promise that, when I make a name for myself — as loud and as proud as your own — then I shall invite you over for the greatest Christmas bash the world has ever seen! Maligayang Pasko, Tito Ben, Tito Jake!”

“Good. Bye.”

“At Isang Manigong Bagong Taon!”

“Security!”

Before the broad men with scowling faces and state-of-the-art equipment could even dare to snag him, Fred had already spun on his heel and made his grand exit with a dashing flourish and a dashing swiftness, stopping only to bestow a hearty ‘Merry Christmas!’ to the grateful secretary, who returned them just as heartily.

“Honestly, does that boy have anything better to do than to pester us?” Scrooge grumbled as he scooped up a handful of his papers, his mood soured both by the visitations of his sister’s son and the wishing of tidings he overheard. “Seventeen going on eighteen and still doing nothing with his life.”

Marley scoffed, sharing the sentiment. “Well, we can’t exactly blame him for his upbringing. It was Fan after all who brought him into the world.”

“You watch your mouth, Jacob.” Scrooge shot a warning look to his husband of nigh-on three decades, his hands stilling for a moment. “That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

“Bah! As if that makes a difference.” Marley waved a hand dismissively. “Fan’s had a bleeding heart since she was a little lady, and now she’s passing that onto her drifter of a son. All idealistic dreams and no purchase on the harsh reality that awaits him. If there’s one thing Aurora and I agree upon, it’s that Fred needs to pull his head out of his arse.”

Neither of them spoke a word of the matter after the fact, content to remain in their cold, unwelcoming bubble in their dingy office, fearing not the slightest bit of a changed nature to their familiar surroundings. They were habitual beings, they supposed. Always retaining a routine. Always seeking a schedule. That was the way in which they operated. Two halves of a whole. Two peas in a pod. A pair unlike any other.

They didn't spare a second glance towards Bob when he stood at the door frame and waited for one of them — usually Marley, sometimes Scrooge — to bid him enter. He walked with a hesitant stride, like a little boy who had been called over by his parents with his full name spoken in distaste.

“Mr. Scrooge. Mr. Marley. I received a call from Save the Children International.” Bob toyed with the volume buttons on his iPad, shifting the white sound bar back and forth. “They’re, uh… waiting on a response for the substantial charity donations that were discussed last week.”

Scrooge sighed. “What were these donations for again?”

“It was for the winter relief program, sir. The one to help provide warm clothing, food and shelter for underprivileged and impoverished children here in England.”

“The parents can claim Child Benefit, can they not?” Marley asked.

“I’d suppose so, but some-”

“And free school meals? Eligibility for a child’s bursary?”

“Hardly something to-”

“What about the Public Health insurance?”

“Mr. Marley, that’s not-”

“Cratchit, my good man, if these benefits are all in effect still, why should we be the ones to offer handouts to nameless children with parents of their own? Parents who should, in their duty as parents, stop living off of the government’s capital and get a real career.” Marley looked up from the monitor, a glimmer of annoyance in his eyes. “It is not as though it were I or Ebenezer who sired them.”

Bob withered under the scrutiny and the cruelty, slouching downwards as he spoke with nary a whisper. “But… But think of the-”

“I believe Mr. Marley and I have made our stance on the matter rather clear to you, Cratchit.” Scrooge slammed his hand forcefully onto the desk. “No. Means. No. Tell those plebs to go and find someone else to bother. Or, better yet, not bother at all.”

Under the hard and icy glare of Scrooge, Bob relented in his persistence, dreading the moment when he would have to inform the hopeful and committed volunteers of the fund of the disheartening news, fully ready to receive the brunt of the disaster in all of its glory. He turned back towards the door and his small space in front of their office when Scrooge called to him to stay in his ever-commanding tone.

“I’m guessing you and the rest of our sorry lot want Christmas and New Year’s off, eh?”

“If… If that's convenient, sir.”

“Ha! Convenient?!” Scrooge laughed bitterly, the sound a grating noise to anyone who hadn't been him or his husband. “Convenient hardly even begins to describe it.”

“Productivity isn’t exactly optimal during the festive season, Mr. Scrooge.” Bob returned cordially.

“But still far more productive than no production.” Scrooge added with a wry smile, before slumping in his seat. “Very well. Take your goddamn holidays off tomorrow. But we expect you all to be refreshed and ready when the second of January rolls around. No laziness. No slacking off.”

Bob smiled happily, grinning like the Cheshire Cat as he bounded up and down slightly, before remembering that a professional setting had still been established, and he bowed in thanks, and bowed once more, before running out to tell the other employees the good tidings. It would not be until a few hours later — as the toll of the clocks and the ringing of phones so aptly deigned to make themselves known to the people — that Bob, in his jubilant nature, bid his employers farewell, donned a tightly-covered jacket, cashmere and wool all threaded and frayed, and rushed to the grand elevator, squeezing in with all the others bound downwards like sardines in a tin can, rushing through the streets of Canary Wharf with great haste and even greater sense of relief.

Upon the departure of their faithful secretary, Scrooge and Marley agreed to follow suit. They shut down the computer with a bitter roughness, sorted out their cumbersome paperwork with the enthusiasm of a sleeping sloth, and closed up with all the mechanical efficiency of a well-oiled machine.

Sometimes they took the train. Oftentimes Marley drove them back in his old Vauxhall Velox. But they had gone together every single time. Pedestrians and strangers who knew none of the true extent of their reach still gave them a wide berth as if they were infected by a miserable little contagion they feared would infect them as well and ruin their joyous celebrations. It was an odd thing for them, ending so early on a Tuesday when there was still much left to be done, but as Marley often reminded Scrooge, they were the bosses. They could do whatever they damn well pleased, and if they pleased to have an early dismissal, then so be it. Scrooge would complain. Marley would not. The night had been just as cold and just as miserable as it had been but a few hours prior, perhaps even more so than it had been in the presence of the two who shared its disposition. The Wharf itself, a forest of steel and glass that comprised the financial district of London, was as bustling as it had always been, with suits and ties and dresses flitting around like skittish rodents, suitcases and bags clutched to their chests like holy relics, and the grating sound of motorists and engines whizzing past in haste or stalling with a low purr. Pollution covered the sky in a thick, grey, smoggy blanket, blotting out the stars and the moon like an impenetrable wall of burnt oils and coals barring the Earth from the firmament in which it hung. Caliginous, and much colder. Biting, unforgiving cold, just how they liked it.

They had their quiet dinner in their usual quiet restaurant, a small place with just as much disdain for the holidays as they retained, sipping on hard liquor and nibbling on food in contemplative silence. Neither of them uttered a word about the day’s events — not even a whisper about the charity or the nephew — and spoke no more than necessary when paying the bill without so much as a tip for the waitstaff who had their wages to survive, and not much was to be expected by the two patrons who kept to themselves in the furthermost corner of the establishment.

Marley drove home in silence, Scrooge looked out the window with an absentminded gaze as he watched the world go by in a blur of lights and movement and activity. Conversation was short and succinct, never deviating from anything unnecessary. Would they need to go grocery shopping, or did they have enough in their terribly-stocked fridge? Scrooge would have to check. Did they need to review the reports for the latest subsidiaries, or could that wait until the year turned? Marley would decide that. They discussed the evening news playing like the murky sounds of the fifties in the background, heard but not truly listened to, discussing the scandals and legislations between competitors and politicians and looking to see if Asplex was affected in any way. They were not, thankfully, as the news had been as dull and boring as it had always been.

In the muted county of Essex, their home remained, ever as it had been since they bought it in years uncountable. It was a semi-detached house only a few minutes away from the college in which they had both attended. A building so vastly different from its merry companions with their garlands and their lights, you would think that it would have been plucked out from some distant faraway land in a distant faraway time, aged not with grace but with disuse. 

Now, let it be known that there was hardly anything particularly remarkable about the door of their house, nor the doorbell in which accompanied it, except that it was large and sturdy, built to withstand both the elements and the unwanted attention. You may also be interested to know that the fence that surrounded the front yard was so imposing and towering that it could deter even the most determined of carolers and most desperate of beggars from approaching. Finally, let it be known that Scrooge and Marley’s security system, as could be expected from men as high-profile as themselves, was the sort that could be exaggerated as the rival of Fort Knox or the vaults of the Bank of England. And then, after learning all of what has been known, explain to me, if you can, how in the deepest pits of hell that a wreath — a single, lone, sentimental, boring, old wreath — was found perched upon the front door of their house, hung with a pitiable attempt at Christmas cheer.

A wreath, of all things! They might as well have had a bright neon sign slapped across their front door, boldly screaming that they celebrated the infernal holiday! What an affront to their sensibilities, an invasion of their sanctuary, a mockery of their stoic resolve! Scrooge and Marley scowled at the sight, as if the mere presence of this festive decoration was a personal provocation to their very existence.

“Who in the hell…?” Scrooge snatched the ring of greenery off of the door, slender fingers gripping it as if were a vile and infectious object.

“Someone with a death wish, it seems.” Marley remarked, his ears attuned to the sound of high-pitched giggling, followed promptly by loud and distressed shushing when his gaze turned to the alley in which the noise originated, only to catch the briefest glimpse of worn shoes and tattered coats disappearing around the corner. 

Good. It appeared the brats knew their place well enough. 

Scrooge gave the wreath one last contemptuous look before tossing it aside, not caring where it landed as long as it was out of sight. “Let's not waste any more time on this nonsense.”

Barring the disruption upon the front with the atrocious festivity, the house had been much the same in its sterility indoors. From the moment they stepped inside, a flight of stairs greeted them on their right, a shoe rack — wooden and gnarled from pests they had long since forgotten — standing resolute beside it, yet barely used as Marley kicked his loafers off with the enthusiasm of a parched man trudging through a blazing desert in July, and Scrooge kept his oxfords on the rug beneath the coat rack in a pile of pairs lining the wooden floor like breadcrumbs left behind for Hansel and Gretel.

Marley checked, double-checked, triple-checked the locks placed upon the door, the cold and stiff handle stubborn against his movements before relenting with a loud click and shift of the lock. Scrooge, meanwhile, had dipped into the kitchen on the left, clearing out the rusted steel and antique cookware that filled the basin before their leave in the morning. 

“Where are the toothpicks?” Scrooge asked with a grumble as he rummaged through the cupboards, hoping to find the elusive nicotine fix to settle the itch of his vices.

“Third drawer, by the sink.” Marley drawled as he made his way to the living room, catching a brief glimpse of the triumphant smirk on his husband’s face as he popped the toothpick into his mouth. “You should really quit those things, Ben.”

Scrooge rolled his eyes. “You and your neverending health crusade. You sound like a broken record, Jake.”

“Is it really a crime for me to worry about my husband’s health?” Marley raised an eyebrow as Scrooge made his way over to him, the latter’s taller form allowing him to ruffle the former’s hair with ease.

“Only when you make a habit of it.” Scrooge quipped.

Soon after, in the comfort of their living room, Scrooge had brought out a bottle of scotch. An aged one, a twenty-five-year-old Macallan. Aged scotch, a source of great indulgence and insatiable temptation, the elixir of life itself as the two had often considered it to be. They had no reason to celebrate, and they hadn’t needed any. There had been no grand occasion to warrant its opening, nor any justification to drink a bottle of scotch that could fetch a fair sum on the market. But perhaps it had been the alcohol that made it so tempting, a mere cherry atop a most delightful cake that would sweeten the taste of reality they had so despised. They had shared a glass, and then another, and then another. They sat upon their antique leather sofa — brown and worn from years of use, but comfortable nonetheless — in contemplative silence, staring into the fire with a great sense of detachment from the world beyond their door.

Marley felt the buzz of his phone tucked comfortably in his trouser pocket, the soft vibration against his leg breaking him out of his trance. He withdrew the device and glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing at the urgent message displayed upon it.

To: jacob.marley@gmail.com Subject: C-Suite Executive Replacements Dear Mr. Jacob Marley, Per our previous discussions in the meeting last month and the immediate termination of our COO, CMO and CTO, I am pleased to inform you that the new appointments for these positions have been selected. They have been considered with careful consideration for their aptitude, experience, and potential compatibility with Asplex Industries. As requested, over the next three days, both yourself and Mr. Scrooge will be speaking to each of them individually to discuss their roles and responsibilities as well as to assess their suitability for these key positions.  Please find below the schedule for the introductory meetings: Chief Operating Officer: December 22nd, 10:00 AM Chief Marketing Officer: December 23rd, 10:00 AM Chief Technology Officer: December 24th, 10:00 AM Attached is documentation and background information regarding each candidate. We do hope you will take them into consideration. Regards, Tristan Grantham Chief Human Resources Officer Asplex Industries

Marley sighed, setting the phone aside for the moment as he reached for his glass which had been half-empty for quite some time. “Looks like we’ll be busy, Ben. The new executives are set to join us over the next few days for introductory meetings.”

“Couldn’t we observe them all at once and make a quick decision?” Scrooge muttered, the effects of the scotch evident in his slurred words and flushed cheeks and gentle sway in his seat.

His husband, who had always been the more tolerant of the vices, shook his head. “And risk having all of our other responsibilities pile up when we entertain these newcomers? We could be inviting in serial killers for all we know.”

“Better to be disrupted than to be inefficient.”

“And better to be inefficient than to be careless.” Marley poured out more of the amber liquid into their glasses with one hand, sending a brief yet swift message with his other. “I requested our schedules to be completely cleared so we could focus on these appointments. We’ll do it one at a time, Ben; it’s more thorough that way.”

“Fine, then.” Scrooge relented, more amicable now than he had been in his mildly intoxicated state. “Hopefully they’ll be far more competent than the previous lot.”

The sentiment had been shared between them, and a valid one it had been. They’d made the mistake of being too lax when it came to the appointment of their previous executives, opting instead to pass the matters of recruitment to an external firm who promised the best candidates. An external firm that, thanks to ruthless efforts and the wondrous world of extortion, coercion and intimidation, had mysteriously vanished from the market. Scrooge and Marley had been more than happy to take the incompetence of their C-suite executives to the media, hiding those sadistic smirks as the BBC gobbled up the folder that just happened to cross their desks one morning. It had been almost too easy to make their previous COO, CMO, and CTO the sacrificial lambs to the corporate wolves, firing them with all the grace and sympathy of a ravening pack of piranhas, but who would miss them? Scrooge and Marley certainly wouldn’t.

Thoroughly inebriated in their rare fine indulgence and bottle completely emptied of its contents, Scrooge and Marley clamoured their way up the steps, shedding their attires and letting them fall to the ground in a careless heap haphazardly formed on their bedroom floor, not bothering to freshen up until the morning. Scrooge still held enough sobriety to take in the nightly duties of checking each room to see if all was as it should. There were no monsters under the bed, or hiding in the closet, or wearing invisible cloaks in the corner of the room.

And when he returned to the bedroom, Marley had already begun to undress, tie and suit tossed onto a chair somewhere, trousers pooling at his feet and dress-shirt loose against his frame. He reacted not when Scrooge joined him in his ritual, mimicking his movements with a practised position. And in their shared silence, when Scrooge had at last relieved himself of his shirt, Marley came up from behind him, movements gentle and languid as he leaned in against his husband, burying his face into the crook of his neck.

“Jacob…” Scrooge warned, though his wall of resistance had begun to crumble as fast as he had tried to build it when Marley nuzzled closer, his lips grazing against his earlobe. “We… We can’t…”

His protests fell on deaf ears as Marley hushed him, neither of them fully understanding how they managed to land themselves onto the bed with the blur of movements they would never fully remember in the morning. And when — perhaps in the way in which their lips pressed together in a passionate embrace, or the way they tangled themselves under thin sheets, or the way they whispered each other’s names with fervour, or the way they wrestled control from each other in such a way that Heracles himself would baulk at — they disappeared into the night's embrace, they did so with the knowledge that no one else in the world would ever know them as intimately as they knew each other.

Tagged: @rom-e-o @ray-painter @crimson-phantom-designs @quill-pen