#blurred lines: an english christmas

[lovefoolholland]

santa doesn’t know you like i do

summary: in which matty tells you you are everything he wants.

warnings: angst, but honestly not much.

a/n: felt inspired by sabrina’s fruitcake. hopefully a first of many christmas’ short one shots.

English is not my first language !

The moment Matty had started growing facial hair, everyone knew. They just knew, it was obvious, that you finally had him entranced and with no sign of turning back.

“You would look really good with a beard” and just a man in love would follow through and through to show you how much he listens to you.

But how come— when he looks at you from afar all lovey-dovey, takes you by the waist when talking to other people, and tells everyone he wrote songs about you mid-concert— the two of you hadn’t made it official?

And here you stand, in the middle of a Christmas Eve party at Charli’s and George’s, taking a sip of eggnog while Matty is lively talking to his bandmates, and you’re just there. Alone.

Maybe it’s your boring white Rory Gilmore sweater. Maybe it’s your blurred lipstick from earlier, after you kissed Matty’s tears away from his cheeks right after he told you about Pitchfork naming him Villain of the Year. Or maybe it’s the eggnog that’s making you a little dizzy.

You put the glass down and take a glass of water from the kitchen. That is when you feel a pair of familiar hands around your waist, making you put the glass on the counter and whip your head to the side with a smile.

“Hey gorgeous” Matty says with his usual raspy, (goddamn) sexy voice tone.

“Hi,” you say in response “what’s up?”

“Just wanted to see how my girl was doing,” he tells you, kissing your cheek and making your face grow hot “let’s go talk to the guys, okay?”

“Okay” you answer softly.

He guides you back to his circle and this time around things go more swiftly than before. You have always gotten along with Matty’s friends, but it was just that situationship factor that didn’t make you feel good around them. Like, why was Matty keeping you there if you weren’t, at least officially, his girlfriend? He’d never asked you the question, he’d never hinted at it at least, he just introduced you to new people as ‘Y/N, my friend.’

“Can I go home with you after the party?”

Matty scrunched up his nose at your question.

“Of course. Why are you asking? You always stay at mine, right?”

You gave him a weak smile and nodded.

“Yeah… Just needed to get sure.”

Matty immediately noted the way you weren’t comfortable at all, you saw it in the way his eyes shifted from confused to harshness.

“Come on, let’s just go now.”

“What? No, you’re having a great time now.”

“But clearly you’re not,” Matty says a little louder than expected, and you lift your head from his to look around with a small frown “why do you care if someone hears us?”

“I don’t– Just, come on, let’s go talk somewhere more private.”

Taking his hand on yours, you drag him to one of the empty bedrooms, closing the door behind you with a sigh.

“I’d be making a joke about you wanting to get me alone and shit, but honestly you’re scaring me a bit” Matty commented, furrowing his brow as he took your other hand in his.

“I’m okay just…” you sighed “Matty, what are we?”

There it was, the question that would probably scare him away. For good or for bad, it had to be asked.

“What do you mean?” Matty asked, even more confused.

“I mean… Are we boyfriend and girlfriend? Friends with benefits? Friends that sometimes hook up?”

Matty put his lips in a thin line before answering.

“Y/N, we started this because you wanted just to fuck.”

That makes your heart drop, and you have to fight the urge to sigh in defeat.

“Yeah, I know, but it’s been almost a year, and… I mean… I like being with you.” you explain to him, biting your lip slightly before continuing talking “We go on dates and we have clothes at each other’s apartments. We’re close. We’re not just a couple of people that want to fuck anymore!”

Matty was startled by the way your voice had risen and your cheeks were starting to get red from frustration. And so were you, but you didn’t care, this needed to be finally solved.

“Babe, breathe.”

“Breathe? How do you want me to breathe?!” you asked him, slipping your hands off his to put them in your head “I think I have the right to say that out of the people in that room, I know you better than anyone. We’ve been through each other’s good and bad Matty, why… Can’t I be the one to give you everything you want?”

Matty immediately steps up to you and takes your hands off your head, placing them on his chest so you can feel just how warm he is. His eyes pierce into yours and then you feel it. His heartbeat, going a hundred times a minute. It makes you flustered that just like that, he can calm you down, but once more, it perfectly shows how good he knows you.

One or two curls fall onto his forehead as he looks straight into you and starts talking. You curse in your head that even in this time and place he looks freaking gorgeous.

“Y/N, I didn’t make anything official because you never told me you wanted to make it official,” you open your mouth to argue but he doesn’t let you speak “no, don’t argue against that. Communication is the key if we want something formal between the two of us, and God knows I’ve been craving to be with you and brag about you ever since you asked me to be your fuckfriend, but I didn’t do it because I thought you didn’t want to.”

You gulp and frown. It is true, the two of you didn’t communicate clearly with one another.

“Yeah, you are… Right,” you say with a sigh, squeezing his hands in yours for reassurance. He does the same in response and that makes you blush in a soft manner “why didn’t you say anything though?”

Matty raises an eyebrow.

“Did you just see yourself? You were almost breaking this off.”

“What?! No I wasn’t!”

“Yes you were,” Matty said, a small smile on his lips “you’re neurotic sometimes babe.”

“Oh shut up.”

“Make me.”

In a swift and quick move, you land a kiss on his lips, and when you pull back with a smirk, he puts a hand on your neck and pulls you in to devour your lips fervently, but quickly, leaving you dizzy as he pulls back.

“There,” he says, smiling widely now as he watches your eyes blurry with love and happiness “happy?”

“Very much.”

Matty smiles and grabs you in a hug, squeezing your body against his as you huff out a ‘I hate you’ and he murmurs a ‘And I love you’. After pulling back you hook your arms on his neck and he puts his hands on your waist.

“Oh and Y/N?” he asks in a whisper.

“What?”

Matty leans in, kisses your cheek and says to your ear:

“You are the one that can give me everything I want.”

[giuliadesu]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 | bang chan

kpop | giuliadesu

fem!reader ⍛ fluff ⍛ 1.4k

chasing that feeling by tomorrow x together

if it wasn’t for the giddiness you felt bubbling inside you, you wouldn’t have believed in the turn of events the last few days brought.

it was the last day before christmas holiday in the school where you taught english. the day was slowly moving towards a cool yet pleasant evening, with kids scurrying around to bid goodbye to teachers and friends before heading home, and faculty members stopping by a bit longer to chat before the long awaited break.

snow had started to coat the streets of seoul a couple of hours prior to your exit from the premise of the building. a smile crept over your face, as you enjoyed the feeling of the cold flakes gently landing on your skin, making your way to the metro station to head home.

after that, it was a flurry of events: chan had visited your apartment (thanks to the spare key you gave him) and left a small envelope on the console table near the door; it contained train tickets for a small skiing location in the gangwon-do prefecture, along with a tiny note handwritten by him.

“hey pookie! the guys and i have rented a cabin in this small village for the holidays, come join us! and no, we don’t accept a negative answer ♡ i’ll pick you up at the station”

you had just enough time to change into more comfortable clothes, pack a suitcase with warm clothes and your skiing gear, grab the presents for the boys and off you were towards the train station! 

you and chan had a bit of something going on, it was clear to everyone. the fine line between friendship and romance had started to get more and more blurred, with both of you making clear moves and statements that made it obvious you were in love with one another — despite not having confessed yet.

it was easy, considering you were both big on physical affection; hugs, naps together, holding hands whenever, soft kisses placed over cheeks or foreheads, tons and tons of cuddling… the kids were almost exhausted of hearing you say that you were just friends. friends didn’t behave like that and didn’t look at each other like that.

they were just hoping that the amounts of mistletoe hanging around the cabin and the festive atmosphere would give you the final push.

the 25th was a very sunny day, the majority of which was spent outside in the snow — whether skiing, snowboarding or simply chilling together.

then, after dinner, you all gathered on the carpet to exchange gifts, a warm glow coming from the lit fireplace. unsurprisingly, you and chan were sitting one next to the other, his arm lazily draped around your waist, while your hand would occasionally come to rest over his thigh.

while the other kids were busy opening the matching sweaters you’d gotten them (and throwing a tantrum over who wore it better), you took the chance to give chan his very own christmas present.

it was a small box, and just from the outside he realised it must have come from a very expensive jewellery brand. he sent you a glare, to which you replied by sticking out your tongue.

the black ribbon came off together with the lid, revealing the equally dark inside of the package. resting on a velvety cushion was a silver dog tag, engraved on both sides. the first thing chris noticed was how it perfectly matched the style of his chain bracelet. then, the quote on the front caught his attention: together forever, never apart; maybe in distance, but never at heart. the back also had something etched on it — the korean names of his friends.

his eyes shot up to meet yours, and you swore they were almost glossy.

“i don’t even know what to say… it’s just perfect.”

then he lifted you up from the floor and put you on his lap, hugging you tightly. you returned the hug immediately, your arms going around his neck.

“you don’t have to say anything. just know that the sentence speaks the truth and you are so, so loved.”

his grip tightened even more around your mid and you smiled in the crook of his neck, placing a gentle kiss there. he found himself willing to chase the feeling of your lips, although he knew it was not the moment.

“put it on for me, please?”

later that night (or was it the wee hours of the morning?), well past the time everyone had gone to bed, chan found himself in the kitchen, trying to make a hot chocolate. he regretted not wearing a shirt over the short, grey sweats he used to sleep the second some hot milk droplets landed on his chest.

“you should be more careful when cooking, mister bang.”

he jolted in surprise, and you couldn’t hide the giggles that left your mouth.

he was about to retort, but when he turned around and saw you wearing his very oversized hoodie over your definitely-not-wintery pyjamas, the words died in his throat.

“do you want some hot chocolate?”

the way your eyes lit up pulled a chuckle out of him, and he went to grab a second cup from the shelf. while he had his back turned to you, you went and hugged him from behind, your arms snaking around his waist and resting on his abs.

“thank you for inviting me here. i don’t think i’ve ever had this much fun over the holidays.”

one of his hands came over your own, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“hey, don’t mention it! that’s what… friends are for, right?”

you felt a slight tinge of weariness in his voice, and you couldn’t help the small pang of disappointment in your chest.

“right, friends…”

a relatively comfortable silence fell over the small kitchen of the cabin. while chris finished preparing the beverage, you stayed glued to his back. you could feel his warm skin, the way his muscles moved with every action, the faint sound of a song he was humming.

chocolate now safely poured inside the mugs, the boy turned around.

“wait here a second for me, yeah?”

without even waiting for an answer, he lifted you up and sat you on the counter; then he disappeared in the living room, where faint lights from the christmas tree created shadows over the walls.

he came back a few moments later, a small box in his hand. it was very similar to the one you presented him a few hours earlier.

“i know i should’ve given this to you before, but i didn’t want the guys to make fun of me.”

he laughed while coming closer, and you instinctively parted your legs to allow him to stand right in front of you. the dog tag caught on the dim kitchen light. you smiled.

he started humming a tune again, probably to ease the nerves. you recognized it as chasing that feeling by txt.

you couldn’t contain the giddiness bubbling inside you while carefully unpacking the present. the white box contained a bracelet, whose very thin chain matched that of the necklace you’d gifted him, and the small charm dangling from it was of two hands making a pinky promise.

wordlessly, yet with a warm smile across your features, you moved your arm in front of chris, the bracelet in your other hand. while he was hard at work at unclasping it and wrapping it around your wrist, you caught a glimpse of the two words etched on the back.

“… is it a confession?”

“only if you want it to be.”

the smiles on both of your faces were already enough of an answer, yet the moment needed something more.

one of his hands cupped your cheek, while one of yours gently took a hold of the dog tag.

chris stopped one millimetre away from your lips, still giving you the chance to turn down both his confession and the kiss.

“na sungmyeonga, come and kiss me, i just keep on chasing that feeling.”

with a slight tug on the necklace his soft lips landed on yours.

it was a sweet kiss, all smiles and giggles. your hands came over his wrists while both of his were now holding your face.

and boy, did you both chase each other’s feelings with your mutual pining!

the next morning, no one was surprised to find the both of you sleeping on the couch, necklace and bracelet on full display. apparently, the smiles on your faces were enough for everyone to know that you finally belonged to one another.

© giuliadesu. please do not copy, translate, use in videos or reupload on other platforms and sites. it is strictly forbidden to feed any part of my content to ai.

[irelandking]

modern/other worlds au fic recs

bucky barnes x reader

❤️ = fluff 😔 = angst 🔥 = smut

one shots:

pièce de résistance - @viollettes

You get creative after you forget to get a Christmas gift for your best friend. ❤️

so money - @viollettes

Bucky, an associate at the Law Offices of Fury, Hill, and Stark, must deal with an annoying Rumlow. It certainly doesn’t help that Rumlow thinks he can get any girl in the office, including a certain junior partner Bucky has a crush on. ❤️

strangers in the night - @redgillan

You’re on a date, but things aren’t going well. You find refuge in the restroom where you meet a man who’s also having a bad night. Together, you make an escape plan ❤️

ball, chain & satin - @redgillan

“Can you write a one shot where Bucky and Reader are getting married, but Bucky is scared. Angst or fluff, it’s up to you. Thanks!” Requested by Anonymous. ❤️

protecting what's his - @jobean12-blog

Bucky has been your bodyguard for some time now and it's been hard to deny how badly you want him to be more than that ❤️

keeping score - @all1e23

After hearing you begging Steve to pretend to be your fake boyfriend to keep your family off your back, Bucky quickly jumps at the chance to play your boyfriend even though you’re a hundred percent sure he hates you. What could possibly go wrong? ❤️

warm - @teamatsumu

“The fire alarm in our building went off and you rushed out without a coat. Wanna share my blanket?” ❤️

leave me weak - @moonbeambucky

Donating blood was the last thing you wanted to do but you find that something else leaves you weak. Paramedic!Bucky ❤️

bookmark my heart - @moonbeambucky

A handsome single dad catches your eye at the library. Is he the one or will your love be shelved? ❤️

what's on the inside - @teamatsumu

The reader’s car breaks down and has to be taken to an auto repair shop to be fixed. The mechanic there is a huge, intimidating man, but with a heart of gold that immediately piques her interest. mechanic!bucky ❤️

convergence of the twain - @sinner-as-saint

Y/n always had a crush on her English Lit professor, Mr. Stan. She planned on keeping her one sided love a secret, however fate decided otherwise. ❤️🔥😔

redamancy - @renxzs

 Roommate AU - Maybe it was a bit naive to think moving in with your best friend and long-time crush, Bucky Barnes, was going to be some smooth road that led to an admittance of mutual feelings for one another and a happily-ever-after ending, wrapped up nicely in a bow. Naive indeed; especially when you have to consider the fact that Bucky is the biggest womanizer you know. ❤️😔

soft - @softlyspector

Bucky and the reader have been together for a few months. She wants him to stay the night with her, but he’s reluctant. Modern!AU. Tattoo Artist!AU ❤️🔥

let me love you - @sinner-as-saint

Things happened between you and your boss over a weekend recently; while on a business trip. Boundaries were crossed, lines were blurred – rather salaciously. Following this; you decide to resign from your dream job because you couldn’t handle the guilt of having been so unethical. So vulnerable and open. Neither could you handle his burning stare at work, nor the craving of being under him each time you looked at him. So you decide to leave before you ruin your own career and further. But then, your boss shows up at your doorstep – determined to make you realize that this isn’t so bad after all… ❤️🔥

the karens of the world - @espinosaurusrexex

Aunt Karen is possibly the worst person you know. So when her annual Independence Day party arrives, you try to give her as little reason to pick on you as possible. Not being single for once should cover most of the topics she complains about. So you ask your friend Bucky to play pretend ❤️

in a moment - @world-of-aus

Five instances when Bucky Barnes promises to give you the world, and one time he actually does ❤️

the forever third wheels - @witchywithwhiskey

it's the weekend of your town's annual valentine's day carnival and you go with your group of friends, though you can't help but be sad you don't have someone special in your life. your friend, and fellow third wheel, bucky barnes makes it his mission to give you a valentine's day you won't soon forget—and show you how special you are to him.❤️

no more losers - @witchywithwhiskey

your obnoxious roommate bucky barnes interjects himself in a conversation about your sex life, and things take a turn you didn't expect. 🔥

personal sessions - @angrythingstarlight

your new gym comes with a few perks. heated swimming pool, sauna, and your very own personal trainer. bucky barnes. and he has the best way of making sure you work up a sweat 🔥

aroma - @navybrat817

florist!bucky barnes x reader - bucky adores domestic moments with you ❤️

cry baby - @buckymorelikefuckme

i want to be fucked so good that i cry, just—completely reduced to tears. is that too much to ask? 🔥

pizza and a movie - @navybrat817

mechanic roommate bucky - you never make it through a movie with bucky 🔥

anatomy - @navybrat817

mechanic roommate bucky - you help bucky relieve some stress after a long day 🔥

sleeping arrangements - @navybrat817

roommate bucky - you insist on sleeping in your own room, but bucky likes a challenge 🔥

starting gate - @navybrat817

motorcross!bucky - you attract the attention of your coworkers friend who just happens to be a handsome racer who plays for keeps ❤️

closer - @tom-holland-parker

You’d never felt like this before, it was like some primal instinct deep down inside of you. You just needed to be close to him. The only problem was that you were already wrapped in his arms and it still didn’t feel close enough 🔥

unexpected - @pellucid-constellations

 With all of his rough edges and impassive glances, Bucky Barnes looked to be the last person you’d find at an elementary school bake sale. Too bad Steve couldn’t make it, and dealing with a class hopped up on sugar wasn’t a feat you could manage alone.  ❤️

if it were summer - @pellucid-constellations

You met Bucky in Italy—a summer abroad with sweet gelato and even sweeter words. You never thought you’d see him again, and you were right. Because the Bucky at this frat party, the one with the smirk and the wandering eyes, was nothing like the one you knew. That didn’t mean he wasn’t still completely in love with you 😔

crossing the line - @jadedvibes

after you friends set you up on a blind date with your sworn enemy, you both drunkenly decide to mess with them by making a bet to see who can pretend to be a happy couple the longest ❤️😔🔥

hearsay - @jadedvibes

your colleague makes you an interesting proposition after he overhears you talking about a bad hookup, beefy lawyer!bucky x lawyer!reader 🔥❤️

freak in the sheets - @buckycuddlebuddy

hearing the man you’ve been fantasizing about had similar feelings for you had to be a dream. a best kind of dream. you never wanted to wake up. pairing ─ dilf!bucky barnes x babysitter!reader 🔥

sharing is caring - @theidiotwhowritesthings

Bucky doesn’t share food. No exceptions. Well, one exception. ❤️

on his knees - @sweetsweetnuit

even the king of the underworld has his weaknesses. bucky’s just happens to be a mortal woman he can’t get enough of. 🔥

stranded - @bucksfucks

 when your car breaks down on the side of the road and your dad can’t come rescue you, he sends the next best thing. 🔥

cock warming - @sweeterthanthis

Explicit language, hints of soft dom Bucky, slight daddy kink, and cock warming. Obviously 🔥

no script - @teamatsumu

Sebastian practices all his roles with you. This one is a romantic scene, and you don’t know how to conceal your feelings as just acting when they are so much more. sebastian stan x reader ❤️

sink or swim - @moonbeambucky

The feelings you harbor for your best friend comes to light after a breakup but will you lose everything once he learns the truth? roommate!bucky ❤️😔

the sins of the father - @sunmoonandeddie

You were nothing more than the Siren, the She-Demon of the Seas.  At least, that’s what you thought. ❤️🔥😔

awakening a beast - @rookthorne

There was an unspoken habit of yours that you seemed to continuously exploit at Bucky’s expense – at least this time, it ended in something that would have you squeezing your thighs together at the very memory. mechanic!bucky 🔥

not so forbidden - @vanillanaps

You were upset after a mishap that happened so your favorite bodyguard came to comfort you with good news. presidents daughter x bodyguard au ❤️

well oiled machine - @vxntagedior

you can’t seem to face bucky after crashing one of his cars mechanic!bucky ❤️😔

[jokers-ghoul]

Next Episode is going to make me sad, I just know it.

Yai is going out of his way to invite Jom to things he enjoys and hopes that Jom will also enjoy - the Christmas party. However, Yai doesn't take into account which o t h e r people will be at this party.

Which we can see here when Yai realizes just how much he didn't expect to see James. See James or see Jom smiling at him so nicely when he's always only shown Yai that smile (I kind of blurred out the smile for Yai's reaction;;; my bad).

James has shown his interest in Jom from the beginning. He was very intrigued with the servant who spoke fluent English as that was how Jom spoke to him the first time they met. Since then, whenever James is in the area (i.e. visiting Yai's BIL), he seeks out Jom. Each time, Yai has stepped between them, but it doesn't seem like he will do the same this time. Maybe he's worried that, after seeing Jom interact with James, Jom might actually return James' feelings.

Which brings us to petty Yai claiming he doesn't need Jom.

That he can continue to do everything himself as he was doing before Jom came into his life and house. This is probably his attempt to brush Jom off so he doesn't feel he has to stay with Yai; even if Yai clearly would like him to stay. This all comes to a head, however, when Jom questions why Yai has been acting that way since the party.

I feel like Yai has long since forgotten his title when he's around Jom. As Yai's servant, Jom walks a very thin line anytime Yai shows him any kind of affection. It's a double-edged sword of sorts. Jom knows he likes men, but he's smart enough to realize the gravity of this time that he's been brought to. Jom is already pushing the line by requesting that Yai go and help out servants -- something no other 'master' would bother to do.

The more Yai shows favor for Jom, the more his father wants to squash Jom beneath his feet (I feel his mother is the same way). Neither parent probably expected a servant to play such a big part is getting their son to take charge of his role as the next master of the house. Jom's requests are also hurting Yai, but he's willing to do them for Jom.

This is obvious from a viewer's POV as to how Yai regards Jom. In the moment, however, Jom needs to survive if he's not able to return; even if he does like Yai.

It seems that Yai spells out his feelings for Jom another night (different shirt), but Jom's reaction is very guarded. As I said, Jom has to play this smart if he wants to survive.

We know from his dreams, however, that Jom does eventually give into his feelings for Yai. They were very comfortable sharing a bed and having small banter when Yai didn't want Jom to leave him.

I'm just curious how long Jom will be willing to walk that thin line.

Well, this is all just my thoughts. It could be totally wrong.

[random-musings-of-life]

I think every video game should have at least one of these modes to turn on. Just for fun.

Disco mode --- dancing characters/enemies, music is either disco variations of the originals or actual disco songs/instrumentals, disco ball appears in rooms, flashing multicolored lights, outfit changes to disco suits/70s aesthetic, collectibles become glow sticks

Lowkey disco mode --- the same as disco mode, except no flashing multicolored lights and the disco ball doesn’t flash/glitter

Birthday mode --- all characters wear party hats, streamers/confetti come out of guns, balloons in rooms, collectibles become birthday themed (cake, pinatas, presents, etc.)

Clown mode --- all characters wear clown wigs/makeup, pain sounds become goofy honking noise, weapons become spray water bottles or pies, music becomes circus-themed

Silly Weapon mode --- weapon designs change to funnier variants (gun becomes water pistol, sword become baguette, etc.)

Paintball mode --- ammunition is paintball pellets, characters become painted when shot (instead of bleeding/showing wounds)

Costume mode --- characters can put on costumes

Cosplay mode --- characters can put on costumes referencing characters from other franchises

Pajama mode --- characters can put on night clothes/pajamas

Mascot/ Furry mode --- characters can put on mascot/furry suits

Christmas mode --- characters wear Santa hats and Christmas sweaters, Christmas decorations (trees, lights, etc.) in rooms, collectibles are Christmas-themed (candy canes, presents, etc.), music becomes Christmas-themed

Halloween mode --- some enemies wear things like rubber masks or witch’s hats, music becomes fun spooky (think “Spooky Scary Skeletons” or Nightmare Before Christmas vibes), collectibles become candy, your bag/inventory becomes Halloween-themed

Easter mode --- characters wear bunny ears, Easter decorations (pastel banners, etc.) in rooms, collectibles are painted Easter eggs and candy, your bag/inventory becomes an Easter basket

Accent mode --- all voice lines are in the (poorly done) accent of your choice

Beach/Vacation mode --- characters wear vacation clothes (swimsuits, Hawaiian shirts, shorts, cabana hats, sunglasses, etc.), music becomes tropical/easy listening, palm trees in various places, collectibles are beach-themed (shells, tropical drinks, etc.)

8 Bit mode --- graphics and music change to 1970s early video game quality

Rainbow mode --- characters wear rainbow-colored accessories, guns shoot rainbows

Fansub mode --- all voice lines/subtitles/text become grammatically incorrect in the style of old, originally Japanese games made into English for Americans or early fansubs of anime

Narrator mode --- adds a narrator who makes snarky comments about everything you do

JoJo mode --- characters/enemies strike JoJo-inspired poses in battles or equip menus, Special Moves change to use a Stand

Cowboy mode --- all characters wear cowboy hats, all weapons that are not guns become lassos, “Yeehaw!” voice line when picking up a collectible, “Howdy partner!” voice line for starting a boss battle

Batman mode --- all hitting sounds are accompanied by word balloons (“WHAM”, “POW”, etc.), comic book inspired graphics, everything you own is now bat-themed, enemies have items based off of Batman’s enemies, scene transitions/loading screen use the one from the 1960s show (blurred background with a bat rotating), music is solely the theme from the 1960s show, you don’t kill enemies (they instead go unconscious), you can’t equip guns

Helium/Chipmunk mode --- all voice lines are higher

What are some of your ideas?

[christmasleggings]

The Pagan Roots of Christmas: From Saturnalia to Yule

As the holiday season approaches, we start to hear familiar carols and see twinkling lights lining the streets. But have you ever stopped to think about the origins of these traditions? While Christmas is widely celebrated as a Christian holiday, many of its customs actually stem from pagan rituals that predate Christianity. From Saturnalia to Yule, join us on a journey through history as we uncover the fascinating pagan roots of Christmas.

Introduction to the Pagan Roots of Christmas

Christmas is a holiday that is celebrated by Christians around the world on December 25th. The holiday commemorates the birth of Jesus Christ, but many of the traditions and symbols associated with Christmas have pagan origins.

The word “Christmas” comes from the Old English “Cristes maesse”, which means “Christ’s mass”. In ancient Rome, there was a festival called Saturnalia that was held in honor of the god Saturn. This festival took place from December 17-23 and was a time of feasting, gift giving, and merrymaking. Many of the traditions associated with Saturnalia were later adopted by Christians and incorporated into Christmas.

The use of evergreen trees and wreaths dates back to ancient pagan cultures who believed that these plants had magical properties that could ward off evil spirits and bring good luck. The Celts used holly, ivy, and mistletoe in their winter festivals, while the Norse decorated with evergreens during Yule (a winter solstice celebration). The custom of decorating homes and churches with evergreens at Christmas time is a tradition that has its roots in paganism.

The giving of gifts at Christmas time also has pagan origins. In ancient Rome, it was customary to give gifts to friends and loved ones during Saturnalia. The practice of giving gifts at Christmas time was later adopted by Christians as a way to symbolize the gift of Jesus Christ to the world.

Christmas carols are another tradition

Saturnalia, the ancient Roman festival, was held in honor of the god Saturn. The holiday was celebrated from December 17-23 and was a time of feasting, drinking, and merriment. Gifts were exchanged, homes were decorated with greenery and candles, and businesses closed down so that people could enjoy the holiday.

The Saturnalia festival was originally a one-day event, but over time it expanded to include an entire week of festivities. On the first day of Saturnalia, slaves were given a holiday from their work and were allowed to dine with their masters. This reversal of roles symbolized the freeing of humankind from the bondage of work during the winter months.

Feasting and drinking continued throughout the week, culminating in a grand public banquet on December 23rd. It was believed that during Saturnalia, the boundaries between the worlds of the living and the dead became blurred. As such, offerings were made to deceased ancestors and special meals were prepared in their honor.

The pagan roots of Christmas are evident in many modern-day traditions. The exchange of gifts, decorating with greenery, and feasting are all carryovers from Saturnalia. So when you celebrate Christmas this year, remember its pagan origins and take a moment to enjoy the spirit of revelry that characterized this ancient festival!

Yule and its Origins in Germanic Paganism

The Pagan festival of Yule has its roots in Germanic paganism. The word “yule” comes from the Old English word for “wheel”. This is a time when the sun’s power is at its weakest and the days are shortest. It was believed that during this time, the sun was reborn and that the new year began at Yule.

Yule was originally a 12-day festival celebrating the Winter Solstice. It was a time for feasting, drinking, and merrymaking. Gifts were exchanged, and people decorated their homes with evergreen branches and holly. The Yule log was burned in the hearth, and candles were lit to ward off evil spirits.

Today, many of these traditions have been adopted by Christmas. However, there are still some pagan elements that remain in our Christmas celebrations. For example, mistletoe is still hung in doorways, and yuletide logs are often used as decoration.

How Christianity Adopted these Traditions

When Christianity began to spread throughout the Roman Empire, its followers sought to find common ground with those who were not yet convinced of the new religion’s truth. One way they did this was by co-opting popular pagan traditions and giving them Christian meaning.

One of the most popular pagan traditions during the time of early Christianity was Saturnalia, a festival honoring the god Saturn. This festival was celebrated in December, and it involved feasting, gift-giving, and merrymaking. Christians saw an opportunity to turn Saturnalia into a celebration of Jesus’ birth, and so Christmas was born.

Another pagan tradition that Christmas adopted was the use of evergreen trees and wreaths as decorations. This practice originated with the Celtic people, who believed that these plants had magical properties that could ward off evil spirits. Again, Christians saw an opportunity to give this tradition new meaning by using evergreens to symbolize eternal life through Jesus Christ.

So, while Christmas may seem like a purely Christian holiday today, its roots can be traced back to pagan traditions that predate Christianity itself. By adopting these popular customs, early Christians were able to more easily win converts and spread their new religion throughout the Roman Empire.

Popular Christmas Traditions and their Pagan Roots

Christmas is a holiday that is celebrated by Christians around the world to commemorate the birth of Jesus Christ. However, many of the popular traditions associated with Christmas have pagan roots.

Saturnalia was a Roman festival that was held in honor of the god Saturn. The festival took place from December 17-23 and was characterized by feasting, drinking, gift giving, and merrymaking. Many of the traditions associated with Saturnalia, such as decorating homes with greenery and giving gifts to loved ones, were later adopted by Christians and incorporated into Christmas celebrations.

Yule was a pagan winter solstice festival that was popular in Scandinavia. The festival celebrated the return of the sun after the longest night of the year and lasted for 12 days. Yule traditions included decorating homes with evergreen boughs, lighting candles to ward off evil spirits, and feasting on special foods like roasted meats and sweet desserts. Like Saturnalia, many of these traditions were later adopted by Christians and became part of Christmas celebrations.

Modern Celebrations of Christmas and Paganism

Though Christmas is now a largely secular holiday, it still has many pagan roots. One of the most popular modern celebrations of Christmas is the Saturnalia festival, which was originally a Roman holiday honoring the god Saturn. The Saturnalia was celebrated with feasting, gift-giving, and merrymaking, and many of its traditions were later adopted by Christians.

Another popular pagan tradition that has been incorporated into Christmas is the Yule log. The Yule log was originally a large log that was burned in honor of the Norse god Thor during the winter solstice. Today, many people still burn a Yule log in their homes as part of their Christmas celebrations.

So while Christmas may be mostly secular nowadays, it still has plenty of pagan roots. If you want to get in touch with your inner pagan this holiday season, why not try celebrating one (or both) of these traditions?

Conclusion

It is clear that there are many pagan roots of Christmas and that it has evolved over time to become the festive holiday we celebrate today. From Saturnalia, Yule, midwinter festivals and more, these ancient traditions have been woven into our modern celebrations to create the unique blend of religion and commercialism that makes up Christmas in 2020. By understanding how far back these traditions stretch, we can better appreciate the origins of this wonderful season and continue to embrace its customs with reverence for years to come.

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[hellscapesinheaven]

Not to go out on a limb, but... The whole notion of cultural Christianity and the hegemony associated with it are inherently such wonderfully Occidental arguments. Cultural Christian hegemony is understandable because of the way in which power relations play out internationally, but they tend to fall apart a bit in scenarios that don't necessarily refer to the USA or France.

Cultural Christianity and it's argument presumes that the subject population is not welcome to the imposition of Christian cultural practices. But in cultures that are wholly colonial, or at least, at the intersection of colonial and "traditional", this line is blurred. This dichotomy, of a Christian imposition of cultural values and a local resistance to it, don't necessarily exist.

I live in the city of Kolkata, formerly Calcutta - colonial city par excellence. It was built by the English East India Company, became a political and economic centre with the growth of colonialism and struggled to deal with the transition to post-colonial India, where it found itself sort of ideologically defeated by Delhi and Mumbai, the political and mercantile hubs of an independent India.

This 300 years of only colonial Christian influence, resulted in an interesting inter-mixing of cultural practices. Other than the fact that the way the city has grown and the urban development of the city still uses colonial planning as it's bedrock, there are two festivals I want to draw your attention to.

The first is the quintessential Bengali festival, Durga Pujo. The worship of goddess Durga in this case lasts 10 days, and you'll find analogous festivals in other parts of India - most notably Navratri. You'll find two crucial differences in the Bengali festival - the consumption of meat, a strict no-no on Hindu religious practice; and a sort of public irreverence for adherence of stricture and tradition.

The permissability of meat came with traditional Hindu families making concessions for rich Englishmen who were trading partners, political allies and in certain cases, friends. They also often contributed directly to the puja itself. This eventually became the norm and that's how you have a mainstream Hindu (not tantra) religious practice allowing for the consumption of meat.

The publicisation of religion that also took place in this very period of time converted the otherwise domestic pujo into a larger practice of community engagement. Since the people needed to be engaged and tied together through processes that would allow for governmental legitimation through support of indigenous religions, the sarbojanin pujo (public pujo) developed, which was less for devotion and more for spectacle. This would indirectly, lead to the modern theme pujo, which is known for its inherent irreverence and it's love for art and splendour.

This is like, extremely condensed (for more refer to Tapati Guha Thakurta's "In The Name of the Goddess". But this intriguing interaction of the colonial with the indigenous takes place that becomes part of this larger culture that the city developed. The other festival is one that at least in other parts of the world, is far more controversial - Christmas.

What crucially needs to be remembered is that Christmas was and isn't a religious festival in Kolkata. In fact, the religiosity of it is extremely miniscule in the larger scheme of things. As Christmas would initially be a holiday under the colonial state - a day off for everyone - it ended up fostering a practice of Christmas becoming a family holiday marked by horrid Santa caps, plum cakes and making merry in public parks and zoos and the sort. This was, literally institutionalised by the state, with the Christmas market and festival that developed in the city centre featuring music, cultural events and more. Several other organisations, such as the theatre troupe Nandikaar, also redid their schedules to match the public holidays surrounding Christmas to gain traction. And now you have a weeklong music festival coupled with food and handicrafts and the crowds can become maddening to the point that it causes the entire city to come to a standstill.

And the fun part of this?

Kolkata defends these with its life. The Hindu revivalist right-wing, is understandably from their perspective, appaled at what is a debasement of high Hindu culture and the appreciation of foreign implantations into Indian society. And this, leads to what has atleast on one occasion resulted in violence stemming from the Hindu right's attempt to control Bengali cultural expression. But the vast majority of urban Bengal and substantial sections of its hinterland have defended these practices vehemently and sometimes, vengefully. Is that then continued colonisation? It's difficult to say, because the ways in which urban Bengali Hinduism and culture has been influenced by the colonial presence has made it impossible to dissect the two without getting rid of it completely. Everything that sets the city's cultural practice apart in the country is its colonial heritage, and to undergo deconstructive decolonisation would mean complete assimilation with the national practice, which, would mean local specificities would cease to exist.

I'm quite sure similar contradictions exist in Hong Kong and Singapore, the two other colonial metropoles, and they have their own practices developed in conjunction with their specific histories. Similar practices evolved in French colonies in India - Chandannagar still has an extensive French speaking population, and it actively protects it with aid from the French government.

At least what i wrote all of this is, maybe cultural Christian hegemony isn't universal in the sense that it's universally oppressive, but rather, universal in the sense that it affects everyone. Maybe considering it oppressive has more to do with the relations communities hold to it in certain nation-states.

Basically, to us in the East, this isn't a black or white argument. To me, born and raised in a city defined by its proximity to colonial power, the conception of Christian hegemony is difficult to fathom, because we'd have not been what we are without it, and expecting that decolonisation is the abandonment of it thus puts a locally unique culture at risk of extinction.

Also, more recent historical scholarship, contradictorily shows the involvement of Indians in the establishment of the company state that would become colonial - then this begs the question, was it even hegemonic? Or was it participatory? Depending on which historiography you choose to follow, your answer will differ, but it won't ever be one or the other.

And in the West, where cultural Christian hegemony is the nature of the state, it acts and causes people to react differently, to the way in which these relations play out in societies with different histories. Decolonisation isn't simply abandoning colonial vestige, progress towards indigenisation isn't simply becoming the "true native".

Things I would prefer to be called rather than “culturally christian”

+ Raised christian

+ Has a christian background

+ Exchristian

These still acknowledge a person’s history with christianity while also respecting the fact that they have left it. Hope this helps!

[permanentcrossfics]

Blurred Lines: An English Christmas // h.s.

Late because life is messy sometimes, but I hope you enjoy regardless. x

“It’s New Years,” you protested.

“It’ll still be a new year tomorrow, they can see us then.”

You wanted to argue but somehow you couldn’t find the strength. The next thing you knew, he was counting down next to your ear, quietly, breath warm on your skin.

“Ten… nine… eight….”

So many things had changed this year. When the last one had rolled around, you’d been alone, drunk, wondering if it was appropriate to text your international musician bootycall a happy new year and petrified of how he might take it. Now, said bootycall had turned boyfriend and he’d all but begged you to spend the holidays with him, and there you were, tucked in his car with his family inside.

“Five, four—“

“I love you.”

“Two,” mixed with a laugh, his hand was already on your cheek and you just caught sight of his eyes. “One… happy new year!”

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Right around the time he’d been in the city for SNL, the first of the deep freeze spells had claimed the city. It was the type of cold that froze your knuckles stiff if you didn’t pull your gloves on before going outside, and sometimes even if you did. Sixth Avenue and Rockefeller Plaza were transformed from when he’d been there just over a month ago  — the tree was lit in all its glory, though you did your best to steer clear. Pickpocketing did not a holly, jolly Christmas make. 

Standing on 34th street, you took a deep breath, eyes stinging as you took in the Macy’s display. Just the wind, you told yourself. And yet, the ache that accompanied it stayed even when you were tucked inside your place, the little faux Christmas tree in the corner twinkling away, merry and bright. 

Just about a month ago, you’d been in bed together, A Christmas Carol on in the background while you’d straddled him and he’d chased the kisses he was so in demand of. 

“You’re crazy,” you’d sighed when he’d made his suggestion into your neck. 

“An English Christmas,” he’d said. “Met Jeffrey and that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Manager and mum are different animals.” You’d massaged his scalp, gently finger combing his curls. “But I did like how surprised he was.”

Harry had chuckled and pulled back to beam up at you. “Yeah, me too. So, what say we do that again?”

Sighing but smiling, you’d cupped his cheeks. “Flights are through the roof by now,” you’d said stroking the smooth patches above his stubble. “And Christmas in New York—“

“I know, I’ve seen it,” he’d said. “But Christmas in England….” He’d puckered his lips and you’d granted him a kiss. “Ice skating at Winter Wonderland....”

“Ice skating at Bryant Park,” you’d countered and he’d chuckled. 

“Mulled wine by the fire.”

“Cocoa over a subway grate.”

“Me.”

He’d smiled softly when your breath hitched and you’d blinked. “Me,” you’d whispered and he’d tightened his hold around your waist. 

“Fair point, that is.”

He’d left before you’d come to a resolution — a flurry of coats and scarves, your pajama pants slung low on your hips and toes freezing in your slippers as you kissed him goodbye outside your building and next to his car.

“Miss you.” Kiss. “Love you.” Kiss kiss. 

“I love you, too.” You’d squeezed him closer, seized with the idea to grab on tight enough he wouldn’t be able to go. He’d pulled back, though, and cupped your cheeks with another kiss.

“Merry Christmas.” He’d grinned lightheartedly, but he’d knocked the wind out of you. You hadn’t said a word back when he got in the car and you watched him drive off, shivering on the sidewalk. 

The closer you got to Christmas, the worse it was, and worse still because you felt silly to feel so… sad. You’d been apart last year! But last year… things had been different. Your world was smaller, and now everything was bigger. You together were bigger. He’d asked you to spend Christmas with his family. 

Too late and too close, though. You’d looked — you had to at least take a look, didn’t you? — and everything that turned up that didn’t have a twelve hour layover somewhere was thousands. He’d pay for it if you mentioned, but that wasn’t right, or fair, and it shouldn’t be expected of him just because he could. 

Christmas in New York had never felt so blue. 

The change of the wind happened very fast, then. Christmas music tinkled in the background in an effort for you to feel festive, and you were hanging new ornaments on your tree when your phone buzzed and an alert appeared. You squinted, gasping when you read it before it disappeared, and you nearly dropped Santa on his head in your haste to fumble with your phone. 

“Harry,” you breathed. “Harry, Harry—“ 

It took ages for him to answer his phone — in reality, no longer than seventeen seconds, but when it could disappear at any moment….

You’d just about given up on him answering when it stopped and you took a deep breath. “Hey. What’s happening?”

“I’m ok,” you said. “Busy? Did I wake you?”

“It’s only half ten,” he said. “I’m at Mum’s. Eating some cheese, sitting by the—“

“If I asked you—“ You covered your mouth but stuffed back the apology for cutting him off and inhaled deeply, fingers shaking. “If I asked you to pick me up at the airport, could you?”

“What? When?”

“There’s a deal for Christmas Eve,” you said. “I could… I’d stay through the new year, if… I mean, I can change the dates to see the price, but—“

In the most romantic corner of your mind, you’d nursed the idea of staying through and ringing in the new year together, but for all you knew, in the absence of your plans he’d made his own.

“Where? Here?”

“Manchester, yes,” you said, throat sticking. God, what if you were too late? “Unless London—“

“No!” 

Immediate and vehement, you heard a distant voice. “Harry? Everything ok, love?”

“Fine, Mum, m’—“ He cleared his throat. “Fine.” Lowering his voice, he asked, “Christmas Eve?”

“Through New Years, if… if you don’t have plans.”

“No, plans, no… just… I was eating cheese, I—“

You laughed softly. 

“When did you decide—?”

“I’ve been watching it since you were here.” You gulped, short of breath in your excitement. “I didn’t think anything would happen, though, it’s so last minute, and so… I mean, I know you have—“

“What about your plans?” he asked. 

“I’ll change them.” Immediate and without thought, the words flew out of your mouth, and you went hot all over. “I mean, I’ll figure it out — this is a great opportunity, isn’t it? An English Christmas?”

“It’ll be enough to make you want to move here.”

“We’ll see about that,” you said. “So, Christmas Eve? I’ll book it.”

“You haven’t?” he asked. “Why—?”

“I wanted to check!” 

“Why would I say no?”

“Shut up.”

Harry chuckled and you smiled despite yourself. “Good thing you’re coming,” he said. “Gem’s been nagging me. Saying I’m a Scrooge.”

“I’ll send you the flight info when I get it, and I’ll book a hotel—”

“What? No,” he said. “You’re staying here.”

Your stomach dropped. “I don’t want to step on—”

“Not stepping on anything. You’ll stay here, Mum’ll be fine with it. We can sleep in my room, it’s—” His breath hitched. “It’s fine, love.” 

Tingles made your fingers jittery and you swallowed hard. “If you’re sure,” you said. “I’d like that.”

“D’like it, too.” Silence lingered for a moment before he cleared his throat. “Right, go book that ticket, otherwise we haven’t got anything to plan.”

***

I’m going to be late.

The first glimpse of Manchester you had was of it covered in snow. Large flakes fell in slow motion, and a thin layer of slush coated the asphalt as you shivered on the pavement waiting for Harry’s car to pull up. 

He’d messaged you while you were on the flight warning that he was running behind schedule and the snow would have everyone on the road losing their minds. You’d told him not to worry — a weather delay out of New York had kept you grounded, so however late he was, he would be right on time. Now, though, waiting for him, you wondered if you shouldn’t have kept that bit of information to yourself to try to keep him on schedule.

Just when you were about to go back inside, fingers and knees trembling from cold and inexplicable nerves, you locked eyes on a pair of headlights growing closer and brighter on a car that had become quite familiar to you some months ago. It slowed, and just after it came to a stop, the door opened and a head of dark curly hair emerged followed by broad shoulders and long limbs. 

“Told you I’d be late,” he said.

Chortling under your breath, you quieted when he embraced you, warmed immediately, and you dug your nails into his shoulders, breathing deeply. Christmas. “You kept me waiting long enough,” you murmured without venom, squeezing him closer. 

“Could say the same about you.” He kissed the side of your head and you finally broke the embrace, fumbling to hand your bags over to him. He made quick work of storing them in his boot while you hurried around the opposite side of the car, and when he joined you inside, he rubbed his hands. 

“Right. Where’re we going?”

“You’re not funny.”

Harry chuckled and fastened his seatbelt. 

It was a long while of winding roads and peering out the window at the passing scenery before you mustered up the courage to ask, “So, what do they know?” 

“Who?” Harry tilted his head your way but kept his eyes on the road. “Mum and Gem?”

“Yeah.”

He was silent at first and your stomach dropped. “Gem already sniffed out something was up… but Mum was a bit caught off guard. Dunno if I’d call her surprised, though.”

“I can stay somewhere—“

“Don’t be silly.” He grabbed your hand. “It’s not even an issue.”

“I don’t want to just barge in—“

“You’re not barging, I’m kidnapping you,” he said. “Holding you hostage in my mother’s house.”

You forced a smile and he glanced at you. “It’s Christmas Eve,” he said. “Mum would let anyone in.”

“So, I’m not all that special?”

“Not one bit.”

Laughing, you said, “That’s better, then.”

Still, when the car slowed and turned into a driveway, your heart felt like it was going to beat its way through your chest, and it just about stopped when he announced, “We’re home.”

He led the way to the door with you on his heels and he pushed it open without fishing for keys. Warmth and the smell of something sweet slammed into you, and you stood there in shock as he maneuvered around you to close the door. 

“Sorry!” you said in a hushed tone and he smirked at you.

“S’ok—“

“Harry?” A voice called through the house — warm and inquisitive — and muted footsteps followed.

“Yeah?” he called back. “Who else?”

Footsteps grew louder and seconds later a woman slightly shorter than him with wide eyes, a pointed nose, and hair so dark it was nearly jet black appeared, wiping her hands on a garish Christmas hand towel. 

“Hello.” She smiled and held her hand out, leaning in for a quick kiss on the cheek when you shook it. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Mum, this is….” Harry jerked his thumb at you. “And this is my mum, Anne.”

“It’s good to meet you,” you said. “It’s so—” You gulped. “Thank you for having me.”  

She smiled warmly, but before you could say anything else, Harry hunched in front of you. 

“C’mon,” he said. “Take you upstairs….”

Suitcase in hand, he climbed the steps swiftly with you right behind him and rounded a corner into a room that was a time capsule of the late 2000s save for a few upgrades. It smelled almost exactly like his home in London, making it impossible to mistake who resided there. 

“Small,” he said, dropping your luggage on the floor. “But it’s only for a little bit.”

“It’s nice,” you said. “Cozy.” You nodded towards the posters on the wall, eyebrow arched high, and he colored instantly. 

“Dunno how to take them down,” he mumbled and you grinned. “C’mere.”

Gladly. You closed the short distance between you and practically melted into him, head on his shoulder and eyes closed. “Merry Christmas,” you whispered and he kissed your head. 

For the longest time, you stood there wrapped in each other, and it was only when you swayed that he rasped, “Must be tired.”

“I am,” you said, voice muffled. “But it’s earlier there than it is here.” 

“Did you sleep on the plane?”

You shook your head and he chuckled, kissing your head again. “Should sleep a bit.”

“It’s rude,” you said. 

“Then I’m rude all the time.”

“I should stay up,” you said. “Otherwise my schedule will be all off.”

“S’get comfortable, then.”

Shoes, coats, scarves, and his hat removed, you both trudged down the steps in socked feet. “Tea?” he offered and you nodded. “Go in there and sit down,” he said. “I’ll be right in.”

The living room was comfortable, with plush furniture and blankets. The fireplace was empty, but logs by it promised a fire later, and you perched on the edge of the sofa, glancing around curiously. 

“You must be Harry’s.”

Your spine nearly snapped when you turned on the sofa and met a pair of sharp, clear eyes under strong brows and framed by dark hair. 

“Something like that.”

Gemma — unmistakably her brother’s sister in the intensity of her stare if nothing else — swept around the side of the sofa, hand extended, and you stuck yours out, gasping when a blunt nail scraped your skin. “Sorry!” she said quickly. “Did I get you?”

“No, no,” you assured her. “I’m fine. It’s nice to meet you, I— I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Surprising,” Gemma said with a rueful smile, settling into an armchair. “That means he had to talk.” 

“He doesn’t do a lot of that, does he?” 

“Not really.” She pushed the sleeves on her jumper up her forearms. “He hasn’t really mentioned you much, I’m afraid, but I’m glad you’re here.”

Not a surprise when all things were considered, but you slid down a cliff in your mind, suddenly unsure of what you could say and what he’d want you to say. 

“What haven’t I done?” 

Harry shuffled slowly into the room, two mugs filled nearly to the brim in his hands. “Careful,” he warned when you reached for one. “S’hot, you’ll burn your fingers… let me put it down on the table.” He gingerly set them down to avoid spillage and he sighed when he straightened up. “What are you two talking about?”

“You,” Gemma said and you smiled slightly. “And how I didn’t know she existed until a week ago when you were being a Grinch.” 

“I wasn’t—” Harry whipped around to look at you, hair on his forehead and eyes intently focused. “We weren’t telling anyone, you know that.” 

“A Grinch?” You arched an eyebrow and he flushed. 

“He was a miserable sod,” Gemma confirmed. “Should’ve pitched him into the fire for kindling— ah ah!” Gemma leaned forward, eyes locked on something behind you, and snapped her fingers twice. “Stop that!”

Mreow.

You gasped and leaned away from the sound next to your ear, twisting your head and finding yourself practically nose-to-nose with a pair of green eyes that didn’t belong to the man in front of you. The black-and-white cat in question blinked, wide-eyed, but before either you or it could move, Harry scooped it up in his arms. “Dottie,” he heaved when it made an offended little noise. He scratched behind the ears before placing her on the ground. “Mum has cats,” he said sitting beside you. Dottie blinked at him before slinking back towards his legs. “Sorry about that.” 

“It’s fine — surprised me is all.” Harry slung his arm over your shoulder and you clasped your hands in your lap. 

“You’re not allergic, are you?” Gemma asked before turning her attention onto her brother. “She’s not, is she?” 

“She’s not.” Harry glanced down at you. “Are you?” 

Before you could answer, Anne walked in with a tray laden with sweets. “Biscuits, if you’d like them,” she said, setting them down on the coffee table. “Gemma, love, would you help me in the kitchen for a bit?”

“With what?”

Anne nodded towards the doorway and Gemma rolled her eyes but stood and followed her mother from the room, quiet, bickering whispers moving with them. 

“Jesus.” Harry sighed, eyes falling shut as he leaned back against the sofa. “S’not even Christmas yet.”

***

Christmas. The room was dark, cold, and so still you could almost hear Anne turning in her bed down the hall. Jet lag had gotten the better of you, and even though the sun was far from the horizon, you were wide awake. You didn’t even remember falling asleep — the last thing you were consciously aware of was begging off the Christmas Eve pub crawl and Harry declining in solidarity before ushering you off to bed. 

Now, Harry’s bare back was to you, throwing an absolutely sweltering degree of heat off, and his snores echoed and bounced off the wall. It wasn’t until you were peeling yourself out of your jeans that you’d realized you’d forgotten pajamas — you’d lobbed your rolled up socks at him when he’d waggled his eyebrows and lecherously commented about the convenience of that — and now, cold as the tip of your nose might be, your legs were burning up in a pair of his flannel bottoms and an old t-shirt that’d been repurposed for your use. 

Biting your lip, you struggled with the knotted string until you got it loose enough to pull on the elastic, and you lifted your hips, wriggling and holding your breath. “What’s…?”

The sheets rustled when Harry turned halfway and looked over his shoulder, face barely visible in the dark but hair clearly stuck out at odd angles. “What’s happening?”

“It’s hot,” you whispered, yanking his bottoms the rest of the way and sighing with relief when they slid down your thighs. 

“S’winter, the heat’s on,” he said.

“You’re on.”

So crammed was the bed that he nearly squashed your arm when he rolled over, and you kicked the bottoms off the rest of the way under the duvet just as he reached across you.

“What are you doing?” you wheezed, pushing against his chest. Seconds later, the glow of his phone illuminated the room and you caught sight of him squinting.

“It’s Christmas!” his hoarse whisper broke the darkness and you squeaked when he collapsed half on top of you and squeezed the breath from you. 

“Stop that,” you whispered back. “People are sleeping.” Harry burrowed his face in your neck and you squirmed. “Harry, you’re hot.”

“Don’t care, s’Christmas.”

It hit you on his second declaration. Christmas. Christmas in England, with your boyfriend, holed away in his childhood bedroom. “Merry Christmas.” You patted his arm. 

“It is.” He exhaled heavily against your skin. “M’glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” you said into the darkness. You slid your fingers into his hair and pulled softly, turning your mouth to his when he lifted his head. The kiss was sweet if restrained and you shifted onto your side to deepen it just before he pushed you onto your back and settled over you, bed creaking with every wriggle of your bodies to maneuver the mattress. “What are you doing?” you asked between kisses. 

“Saying Merry Christmas.” Harry kneaded behind your knee gently and you held your breath. 

“We can’t.” You hoped you sounded like there was more heart in the words than you felt, but the follow up pull on the bottom of your sleepshirt  — a gentle, unassuming action — said otherwise. 

“Why not?” He pressed several puckering kisses to your cheek and you smiled despite yourself. 

“We’re in your mother’s house.”

“D’you think—?” Harry stopped abruptly. 

“Hmm?”

He pressed his nose into your jaw. “S’my Christmas present, innit?” he mumbled and you laughed under your breath as he sucked soft kisses under your ear. 

“Gemma’s next to us,” you sighed, and for a moment, that did make you take pause. His sister who’d only just met you most certainly did not want to hear her brother getting up to no good on Christmas morning. 

“She’s asleep!” he said. “And I’m pretty sure I heard her one year — it’d be pay back.” You snorted softly and he kissed your mouth several times. “Gonna be here for a week,” he murmured. “Not gonna say hello t’me the right way for a week?” 

“Can’t spend a week with me without having sex?” you whispered.

“Know that’s not true.” 

You rubbed the back of his neck and kissed his chin. “If you want.”

“I want,” he groaned. “I do, I want… f’you want.”

“I want,” you said, hands sliding in his hair. “I want— mmm.” He kissed you again, deeper, and you sighed into it, hiking your legs up around his waist. For the longest time it was just heavy, smacking kisses and wandering hands from both of you, seeking new skin and new places to touch and tease, with his groans and mumbles interjecting the harsh pattern of breathing you wove together. 

“Christ, I missed you.” He kissed your neck and your eyes rolled up. “How’s it been so long?”

“It’s been a month,” you said. “Just over—”

“So long.” He shook his head and rutted against you. “So fucking long, I can’t— I hate it.” You’ve had longer — much longer — but something about the way he’d said it had you aching, distance unbearable even though he was on top of you. “Kept me waiting, didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” you gasped, digging your fingers into his shoulders when his hand slipped up your sleepshirt, his breath hot on your neck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m here, I’m here, I promise,” you babbled. “I’m here, come—” You drew his mouth back to yours for a kiss and his blunt fingernails scraped against your skin. “I’m here, baby,” you said between kisses. “I’m here, I’m here….” 

“Say it again.” He pulled your underwear, wrestling them down your hips and thighs. “Say it again, please—“

“Baby,” you sighed. “I’m here, baby, I’m here, baby, baby, baby….” 

Your throat closed up when he pressed against you and then inside of you, stretching you just a little uncomfortably and face pinching when he dropped his pelvis fully against yours, murmuring instructions for you to, “Breathe, take a deep breath, love....” He held perfectly still for a moment before he thrust sharply and you gasped when it punched the air from your lungs. 

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned under his breath. “Tight little thing, aren’t you?” 

Were you? Or was he big enough and had it actually been as long as he’d bellyached about? His next thrust was heavy and you squeezed your eyes shut, thighs shaking for a moment before they fell open farther. 

“That’s my girl.” Harry kissed your cheek, breathing you in with his next thrust. “God, you’re wet, too… don’t even have to try to get up to my balls, do I?”

“No… fuck, Ha—!”

“Shhh!” he urged you, mouth on the side of yours. “Have to be quiet, sweetheart, have to....” Whimpering, you grasped his shoulders, fingers slipping on his sweat-slicked skin. “D’get you on your hands and knees if I could,” he whispered. “Fucking bed’s so small….”

You hiccuped over a deep breath.

“Like gettin’ on your knees for me, don’t you?” he rumbled. “Makes you cum like no other when m’in your belly— fuck, d’you hear that? Hear us?” 

Mouth stretched, a tremor rolled through you and you tensed. Everything was so fucking hot and deep! 

“Good girl,” he said. “That’s better…. Good girl, nice and quiet.” 

“I missed you!” you whispered through a burning throat.

“Missed m’cock?”

“Missed your cock, missed y-you— ungh!” Your lips quivered  in a silent whimper. “You’ve been gone so long, you’ve—”

“I know.” He ground against you and you nearly cried out. “I know, darling, m’sorry, I won’t do it again… I won’t….” Harry groaned gutturally, then, and came to a short and sudden stop. 

“Harry…!” You gulped and pulled on his shoulders, hands sliding uselessly.

“Can’t….” He shuddered and his cock twitched in you. “I can’t… fuck….”

“You can,” you said. “You can, you—”

“M’gonna cum!” he hissed, exhaling slowly between trembling lips. “If I do,  I’m gonna—! Can’t, I can’t….”

“It’s your p-present,” you said, kissing the corner of his mouth. “It’s your… Harry….”

Face screwed up, he thrust short and quick, swearing under his breath, and seconds later streams of hot cum spurted inside you. Harry wheezed, shaking from head to toe, and he smothered apologies in your neck, pressing you into the mattress.

Short of breath, you clung to him and combed your fingers through his hair, rubbing his sweaty scalp and shushing him gently. “Quiet,” you reminded him, kissing his ear. “Have to be….”

A thunk against the wall behind the bed nearly startled you out of your skin and you stared at the ceiling, heart in your throat. 

“Are you done now?” a muffled, irritated voice rang out. Mortified, your jaw dropped. Oh, God….

Harry slapped the wall as snickers and conversation faded in and out behind it. 

“Shut it!” he rasped before quietly adding, “Not like you two haven’t….”

You pushed his chest and he grunted, but when he threw an arm around you, you squirmed. 

“Don’t!” you whispered. “I can’t believe you—”

“What?” 

***

When you woke again, the sun was struggling to break through the frosted window, the haziest beams breaking through as best they could to cast a little light in the room. Harry’s face was smashed against his pillow, mouth open, snoring softly and apparently exhausted from his midnight awakening. You yourself were sore, and you winced, sinking into the mattress when you remembered how that’d ended — it’d taken ten minutes of him muttering to ignore it, it’d be fine, everything was ok before you’d nodded off again. Squeaking, you rolled into him and pressed your face into his hair, breathing in deeply and only pulling back when he stirred. When he settled again, you slipped out from under the duvet and shivered when your feet landed on the cold wood floor. 

It wasn’t until you were halfway down the stairs, wrapped in his purple dressing gown, that you realized you weren’t alone on Christmas morning, but by then it was too late to scurry back to the bedroom. You braced yourself and counted to three before nimbly descending the rest of the way. Alone time with his family and all the questions that came with it was bound to happen eventually, and he adored his mother. As long as it wasn’t Gemma or her boyfriend just yet….

The kitchen was flooded with bright sunshine and the smells were as homey as they were mouthwatering — spicy, sweet, and savory, you took a deep breath. Anne moved from counter to counter, muttering to herself in an almost musical way as she referenced different cards, and your heart just about leapt into your throat when you opened your mouth. “Good morning.”

Anne turned, and, eyebrows high, she smiled. “Good morning, love. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas,” you said, dry lips cracking with your own smile. 

“Sleep well?”

You nodded, scratching your elbow and shifting in place. “You?”

“I did, I did— have a seat,” she gestured to a stool by the island and you tiptoed towards it to perch atop. “Tea? Coffee?”

“Please,” you said and Anne quirked an eyebrow with an amused little smile.

“Which one?”

Oh. 

“Either,” you said, hot under the collar. “Whichever you— tea,” you decided upon spying her own milky cup. 

“It’s nice of you to join me,” she said as she set about making it. “I’m always the first up on Christmas. Think I’m more excited than they are — at least ever since they found out about Santa. Sugar?”

“No, thank you.”

“Milk?”

You shook your head with a shy smile and she smiled — approvingly, unless you’d imagined it — and set the mug in front of you. “Take it like he does.”

“Thank you,” you murmured. The mug was warm to the touch and you held it, breathing in the steam wafting from it. “Is it nice? Having everyone home?”

Anne paused, a warm, sentimental glint in her eye. “It is. It’s chaotic, and loud, but a full home is a happy heart. It’s good to have my babies home.”

“Thank you,” you said. “For letting me stay with you and for having me—”

She waved her hand. “We’re happy to have you — all of us, really, especially Harry. Night and day compared to how he was before. I think he’d have come around by now, maybe, but not as much.” 

“Still,” you said. “I don’t think I’ve had the chance to tell you I appreciate it.”

“Haven’t had a chance to say much at all!” Anne agreed. “He’s always around — it’s like he’s afraid we’ll bite your head off. Have you ever had a Christmas away from home?”

A pang hit your chest but you cleared your throat. “No… first one. He promised me an English Christmas.”

Winking, Anne said, “Think we can manage that for you. You’ll never want another.”

You took a tentative sip of the hot tea.

“So, how did you two meet?”

Your eyes watered when you swallowed the scalding mouthful, but before you could come up with something to say, an arm went around your shoulder and a kiss dropped to your head. 

“Merry Christmas.” 

You looked up at Harry, relief rushing through you. “How did we meet?”

He chuckled deeply but scratched his chin, and you could see him working it out in his eyes. “At a concert,” he drawled slowly. “Little bit ago. Had a good time.”

“Who were you seeing?” Anne asked, pulling out another mug. 

“Can’t remember,” you murmured and his eyes softened, crinkling at the corners some. “Someone not very famous.”

“Was good, though,” he said.

“He was ok.”

Snuffing a laugh, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Tea, sweetheart?”

“Thanks, Mum,” Harry said. 

Anne busied herself with the electric kettle while he leaned in. “Sleep ok?”

You nodded. “You were out like a light.”

“Got tired,” he said with a smarmy smirk and you tutted. “Love me anyway.”

“For now,” you said and he bumped his nose into your temple as Anne gingerly slid a cup his way. 

It took a simple knock at the front door disturbed the peace. 

Uncle Harry was someone you hadn’t seen until he had kids at his feet pestering him and demanding attention or a quiet moment in front of the television. It pulled at something deep in you hidden behind your belly button, but with your water wings removed as his attention became occupied, you were in the deep end on your own. Their parents — cousins and step-relatives, from what you could gather — were friendly if vocal and sharply more inquisitive than the little ones who had his ear. Anne, Gemma, and her boyfriend were one thing, but you were quite sure you’d forgotten three names already, and you found yourself staying quiet instead of running the risk of revealing that embarrassment. After gifts had been opened and drinks had been poured, you murmured gentle excuses in the midst of the chaos and slipped away in search of a quiet moment of sanity.

You climbed the steps into the darkness of the second floor and rounded the corner into his bedroom, but your eyes watered instantly when your foot collided with something hard. “Fuck!” You hobbled to the nightstand and turned the night on, an accusatory gaze falling on your suitcase. The bed sank beneath you and you bent to rub your offended toes.

“You good?”

Your eyes snapped up to find the senior Styles sibling in the doorway with her arms crossed. “Yeah,” you said. “Just… needed a minute.”

“There are a lot of them.”

You nodded. “And I don’t know who anyone is or how to—“ You mimed jamming your hand in somewhere and she hummed. 

“They don’t bite,” she said. “They can be loud, but they don’t generally use their teeth.”

“I’m trying.” You massaged your toe. “I’m just not sure and I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“And he glued himself to you for 30 hours and didn’t let you figure out how to know people before getting swept away in a sea of kiddies.”

You nodded again. “They’re excited to see him, though,” you said, a smile pulling at your mouth. “That’s nice.”

“Do you want children?”

“Yes,” you said without thinking. “We— yes.” Gemma’s eyebrows rose and your face burned. 

Footsteps clunking closer made you both look to the doorway, and seconds later his frame filled it. “There you are,” he said. “You ok?”

“Stubbed my toe.” 

“How’d you do that?” 

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” you huffed. He sat down next to you and pulled your foot onto his lap. 

“I’ll leave you two to talk.” Gemma slunk from the room and Harry frowned. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said. “Just overwhelmed.” He peered at you with clear, focused eyes, and you felt guilty for admitting it. “Feel out of place.” 

His lips thinned but he nodded slightly.

“I don’t know anyone, but—” your voice stuck and you swallowed hard, “but I’m trying.” 

“And you’re doing great.” You looked at the ceiling. “You are,” he insisted. “I think so. And I know there are a lot of people. It’ll be calmer tomorrow — Boxing Day and all. We’ll play some games and have a walk.” 

You nodded and did your best to keep your lower lip from wobbling. “The kids love you,” you said and he chuckled low. 

“Yeah, I’m the fun one.” He squeezed your ankle and tugged. “C’mere.” Shifting, you leaned forward and curled up against his side, face in his neck. 

“Sorry,” you whispered. 

“Don’t be,” he said. “You’re jet lagged, too, yeah?”

You nodded and circled your arms around his chest when he rubbed your back. “Can we have a minute?” 

“Yeah, we can.”

***

He was right. Boxing Day was significantly less crowded, with the family and friends trimmed down to only the closest, although the boisterous energy lingered, lending just enough festive spirit to counteract the long-melted snow that had turned the outside into muck. You leaned against his legs, head on his knee, with a full belly in front of the fire and his hand on your shoulder as voices rose and fell, a smile on your face listening to him shout interjections and laugh. 

“You awake down there?” Harry bounced his knee and you tilted back to frown at him. He grinned boyishly underneath the cap on his head, eyes full of mischief. 

“Why are you being a pest?” 

“He can’t help it,” Gemma quipped from where she sat cross-legged by the hearth, the fire casting a glow onto her skin. “He was born that way.” 

“Take a lot of abuse, don’t I?” 

“Your knees are knobby,” you said as you settled back down against him with a smirk. 

“Oi—” He pinched your cheek and you shrank away from his fingers. 

“Everyone behave,” Anne said, walking through the maze of legs and limbs. “And take your pick. Forgot to do these yesterday, so we have plenty to clear through.”

Of what you were picking you didn’t know until the bag passed you by you caught a glimpse of a variety of gold, red, green, and patterned Christmas crackers. 

“You’ll share one with me,” Harry said, a gaudily patterned one in hand. 

“What’s my prize?” you asked, twisting between his legs. “A cheap toy and a bad joke?”

“Sounds about right,” he said, holding his cracker out. “Go on and give it a good pull. Y’might know a thing or—”

Gasping, you grabbed the tab inside the cracker and tugged hard to cut him off. The anticlimactic pop was followed by a puff of smoke which he waved away quickly before digging inside the half he’d come away with. 

“I got a crown!” he crowed, unfolding the flimsy paper. Smirking, you took it from him and stood on wobbly knees before removing his cap from his head and placing the paper crown delicately on his hair. 

“Prince Harry,” you said with a simpering smile and he burst out laughing. 

“Treat me like a king, though, don’t you, darling?”

You rolled your eyes and Gemma retched. “That’s disgusting,” she said.

“She’s right,” you agreed and he pulled you down onto his lap. You tensed but he adjusted his legs to make a comfortable seat, arms looped around your waist like a seatbelt. 

“Now I know why I kept you two apart for so long,” he said. “Teaming up on me.”

“You deserve to be told,” you said, straightening his crown. 

“How long have you two been together?” Gemma asked. “I don’t think you’ve actually told us.”

“A while,” Harry said and she rolled her eyes.

“Quit dodging, I’m not telling.”

“A year,” you said. Harry looked at you and you held his gaze. “A year and a half?” you went on. “Maybe?”

“Somethin’ like that,” he agreed. “Depends on how you cut it.” 

“Last summer?” Gemma asked, thumbing the end of her cracker. 

“More or less,” Harry said. He exchanged a quick glance with her and you ducked your head, only able to imagine their unspoken conversation. He cupped your cheek and kissed the side of your head quickly. 

“That’s a long time,” Anne said absentmindedly as she picked a cat out of the bag of crackers. Harry mumbled incomprehensibly and you became fascinated with his fingers, her observation echoing in your head. She was right — a year and a half wasn’t nothing. It’d taken awhile, and the first year or so had been spent in limbo, but here you were at the end of it on his lap at Christmastime with his family in his mother’s home. That was a long way to come from that hotel room in the city. 

“Right.” Bag of Christmas crackers traded for a cat under each arm to keep them from trouble, Anne straightened up. “Who’s ready for a walk?” 

“You up for it?” Harry murmured next to your ear. 

“I think I’ll stay in,” you said quietly. “Let you have some time with your family.”  

“Sure?” he asked and you nodded, pressing your forehead to his momentarily before clambering from his lap. 

Coats, scarves, hats, gloves, and multiple pairs of Wellies later and you kissed him goodbye with a smile. “Go,” you whispered when he lingered, and after the door shut, you stood in the foyer biting your lip, cats circling your legs. 

It was hours later when you were curled on his bed and pulled from your doze to the sound of heavy footsteps coming closer. The door creaked when it opened and his hulking frame slipped in, bringing the smell of rain and mud with him. 

“You’re back,” you rasped and he nodded, tiptoeing across the wood floor in socked feet, boots abandoned somewhere else in the house.

“I am.” The bed sank under his weight when he sat down next to you and you opened your arms, welcoming him when he tucked his face into your neck, the soft wool of his Green Bay beanie tickling you. You shoved your hand underneath it into his hair and massaged his head, the chilled tips of your fingers warming instantly. 

“Mmm,” you hummed, breathing in deeply. “You smell good.”

“Not like wet dog?” he laughed and you grinned.

“Nuh uh.” You pressed your nose to his head, breathing in the smell of his shampoo. “Good walk?”

He nodded. “They really like you,” he said thickly. “They really.”

Relief bloomed in your chest and the invisible pressure you’d felt on your shoulders since you’d booked your ticket eased some. “Did you think they wouldn’t?” you asked with a small laugh and he shook his head.

“Course not. S’just nice t’hear, innit?”

***

It went by entirely too fast. Only yesterday, you’d touched down at the airport, and now it was New Year’s Eve. Two days more and you’d be on your way back, and even though you’d done nothing but be with him, it felt like you’d hardly seen him. There was always someone — that was the point, though, wasn’t it? Family and friends and all the things people didn’t get to do throughout the year. All the things he definitely didn’t get to do. 

“But I want to see you,” he’d moaned when you reminded him. “I want—“

“I’m here!” you’d laughed. He’d scowled and you’d cupped his face. “Quit being a grump. Only have a little time left, don’t we?”

For wanting to be with you, though, he’d done a good job at disappearing for the last few hours. 

“You leave on the second?”

Curled up on the sofa, you nodded in answer to Gemma’s question. “You?”

“The sixth,” she said. “Head back to London then. He might come with, if he doesn’t leave sooner.” 

“Does he usually?”

She shrugged, scratching one of the cats — Evie or Dottie, you couldn’t be sure which — behind the ears. “He gets restless,” she said. “He’s always on the move. He’s slowed down some but he still gets itchy.” 

“What am I?”

You twisted and looked up, finding him towering above you behind the sofa. He had his coat on and a cap on his head, and his hands were tucked in his pockets. 

“An eavesdropper.” He nodded as if to say that was fair before dropping a kiss to your head. “Where’ve you been?”

“Just taking care of some things.” He ducked close to your ear. “Wanna disappear with me?” The way he said it — smooth and warm — sent a delicious tickle up your spine. “C’mon.” He jerked his head. 

“Where?” you asked. 

“Out.”

“Out where? It’s almost 10:30, and your mother said—“

“Don’t you worry,” he said. “Mum knows I’m stealing you.” 

Your own coat and scarf wrapped tightly around you, you followed him out the front door. It was misting lightly and you gripped his hand tightly, tripping in an effort to keep up with his purposeful stride towards his car. 

“We’re driving?” you asked. 

“Going to a party,” he said. 

“A part— Harry, I’m not dressed for—“

He held you firm when you pulled his hand. “You’re fine.”

“Harry—“

“You’re fine,” he said. “Trust me, will you? Just get in the car.”

He opened the door and you groaned, ducking, but instantly your mood shifted. “What is this?” you asked, cackling as you slid in. A blanket was tucked in the corner of  the backseat and a paper plate with cheese, crackers, nuts, and olives was precariously balanced on the console. 

“New Years party,” he groaned, clambering in after you and shutting the door firmly. “Very private, invitation only.”

“And how many invitations went out?” 

He grinned without remorse and you kissed him. 

“Bubbly?” he asked. 

“What—?” You laughed when he reached around front and pulled a bottle of champagne from the seat. 

“Gimme your scarf,” he said. When the cork popped, you covered your ears, and he waved away the mist before lifting it to his mouth. 

“Couldn’t find glasses, so I figured we’d just….”

You snorted but accepted it when he passed it your way.

“What’s the meaning of this?” you asked. 

“I like seeing my family,” he said. “But I like seeing you, too.” He shrugged after a moment. “You leave in a couple days. Just wanted some time where we aren’t around other people or about to fall asleep.”

“It’s kind of romantic of you, you know?” 

He smiled lopsidedly. 

The poor-quality stream on his phone of the program everyone was crowded around inside kept you both apprised of the dwindling decade. Champagne gradually replaced the blood in your veins, and you as the night waned and drew closer to morning, you curled up half on his lap, lips burning from salty brine. “We should go in soon,” you said, tongue heavy. 

“Sure,” Harry said, nuzzling your temple and doing the least to make a move. 

“What time is it?” 

Harry leaned forward and you clutched his jumper. “Three minutes to midnight.” He flopped back and you burrowed closer. 

“It’s almost time,” you said. “They’ll be looking for us, we should….”

“S’ok, they know where we are,” he said, nuzzling your temple. “They won’t miss us.” 

“It’s New Years,” you protested. 

“It’ll still be a new year tomorrow, they can see us then.”

You wanted to argue but somehow you couldn’t find the strength. The next thing you knew, he was counting down next to your ear, quietly, breath warm on your skin. 

“Ten… nine… eight….”

So many things had changed this year. When the last one had rolled around, you’d been alone, drunk, wondering if it was appropriate to text your international musician bootycall a happy new year and petrified of how he might take it. Now, said bootycall had turned boyfriend and he’d all but begged you to spend the holidays with him, and there you were, tucked in his car with his family inside. 

“Five, four—“

“I love you.”

“Two,” mixed with a laugh, his hand was already on your cheek and you just caught sight of his eyes. “One… happy new year!”

You kissed him first, gripping his wrist to hold steady, but he returned it in kind, Auld Lang Syne squeaking its way through his phone on the stream. 

“And I love you, too,” he said against your mouth, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek. 

“Good,” you whispered before sighing. “Suppose we should go in now since we missed it.”

“Hang on,” Harry said, voice strained. “They can wait a minute.” He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. 

“What are you doing?” you asked, heart pounding and mind jumping to the wildest conclusions you couldn’t believe would be true.

Licking his lips, Harry took a deep breath. “I’ve got… I’ve got that place in the city, you know.”

You looked up at him, but he was studiously avoiding your gaze, and he was remarkably pale for how warm it was in the car. “I’d like to raise my… I’d like to have my family in England, but in the meantime….” He shrugged. “I could like… I could spend more time there. For awhile. And, like, if you thought you wanted to spend time with me or summat….” It was only then he chanced a glance at you, and you caught his cheek to hold him still. 

“You scared me,” you said, lips ticking up at the corners.

“What’d y’think I was going to say?” he rasped and you shook your head. 

“Not that.” You scratched his cheek lightly. “And I’d like spending time with you if you spent more time there.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded and he let out a breath. “I’ll look into it, then,” he said and you rolled your eyes. 

“Pest,” you said before kissing him. 

What a difference a year made.

[ao3feed-deckerstar]

ain't this life so sweet

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/CjvM7V0

by Helenas_Mangos

When Lucifer’s siblings arrive in LA on a mission to take him back to hell, Amenadiel hatches a plan to convince them he’s changed and doesn’t deserve to be there anymore. Now Chloe is playing fiancée to the man she loves but is trying her hardest to get over, Lucifer is a reluctant step-devil, and Trixie’s hatching a plan of her own. As Christmas fast approaches and the lines between real and fake begin to blur, Lucifer’s siblings may not be the only ones falling for the charade.

Words: 4323, Chapters: 1/10, Language: English

Fandoms: Lucifer (TV)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar

Additional Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Christmas Romance, Christmas Fluff, Sharing a Bed, there's only one bed, Family, Found Family, Cuddling & Snuggling, Step-Devil, hallmark movie vibes

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/CjvM7V0

[hualianff]

How To Piss Off Your Boss II 《I》

When HC places the dishes in front of a group of esteemed guests, foreigners and wealthy business people by appearance, he’s roped into a brief conversation in English. Not that he minds too much. HC has had many opportunities to practice different languages in the kitchens he’s worked in, mainly consisting of English, Spanish, Italian, and Japanese. Most of the phrases HC retained were curse words too. Go figure.

Once the CEO wraps up the small talk session, he spins on his heel and speeds back to the kitchen. As he power walks through the various tables, HC takes note of which guests have seemingly ordered yet still only have drinks on their tables. He’s not sure what his employees were yammering about to delay their service up to fifteen minutes, but it could certainly wait until after the dinner rush, for god’s sake.

A blur of white completely stops HC in his tracks. His neck suffers from a violent double-take when he catches sight of a familiar white turtleneck, worn by a figure with a familiar smile. HC’s mouth gapes open slightly, nearly tripping in his haste to veer off towards the two-person table secluded by the window.

XL cutely waves as he finally gets a glimpse of his husband tonight.  

“Gege!?” HC breathily asks, confused. XL sets his flute of wine down, amber eyes shining with mirth. 

“Surprise!”

HC immediately shoots a glare back to the kitchens where he sees his employees peeking through the pair of windows on the doors. His lips curl into an angry snarl, like a tiger provoked by its own streak. He makes a move to steamroll into his kitchen and rip them a new one. Except a hand grasps onto his wrist before he can make it past one table.

“San Lang, don’t mind them. It’s no big deal,” XL pleads, tugging on HC’s hand. The taller man willingly turns around, rolling his wrist so he can be the one to hold XL’s hands instead. 

“Gege, how long have you been waiting?” HC asks in a tight voice. XL frowns, not wanting to answer, but he knows HC won’t let it go.

“Just under thirty minutes.“

“Thirty minutes!?” HC exclaims. “The fact that no one told me you were here for nearly half an hour is unacceptable. Oh my god, I’m going to fire them all.“

“No, you’re not. San Lang, calm down. I didn’t tell you I was coming, so you couldn’t have known. I don’t think the server who showed me to my seat even knew who I was,” XL reasons.

He subconsciously pulls HC closer to sitting down at the table. 

“Someone should’ve told them because you’re not just any customer, gege. You’re my HUSBAND. You’re important to me, and I would like my workers to let me know if you’re here regardless if I knew beforehand. I don’t want you to have to wait that long for me to come out and join you.“

“They said you were busy! Plus, thirty minutes is hardly a long time.“ XL tries again. HC insistently shakes his head, gingerly squeezing XL’s hands. 

“Darling, your time is too precious to be wasted like that,” HC says, leaning forward to plant a kiss on XL’s forehead. XL hums as he finally pushes HC down into the chair opposite of his own. 

“Well, you’re here now, right? Why don’t we enjoy a lovely dinner together? My treat!” XL says happily.

Seconds later, two massive dishes of finely-boiled squid and glass noodles, along with spicy wonton soup are placed in front of the two men. It’s the new cook who bows while stuttering out an apology, repeating “I didn’t know- Hua Lao Ban, Xie-xiansheng- I didn’t know- please forgive me.”

XL, being the angel he is, claims there is nothing to forgive. Across from him, HC silently churns in strong disagreement. It takes three servers to make sure everything was up to standard, watching their boss’ expression carefully for any hint of dissatisfaction. They leave in a hurry, the abundance of food making XL’s face light up like a Christmas tree.

“I love you, San Lang,” XL cheers, tapping his chopsticks together excitedly.

HC’s face softens, endeared by his husband’s antics. The incident is far from being forgotten in his mind. After all, from the stories XL has told about the times he was truly struggling in life after the pitfall of his parents, HC has a very good idea of what circumstances XL has had to endure—way worse than waiting thirty minutes for his food and husband to show up. 

XL probably didn’t even expect to see HC tonight. And that is still absolutely inexcusable. XL is HC’s number one priority, even above all of his businesses.

But for now, HC supposes he can put it off to share a wonderful meal with his husband.

“I love you too, Gege,” he responds, shoulders relaxing.

However, an offending, black, leather folder captures HC’s attention. It’s tucked into a corner on XL’s side of the table, unopened. HC already knows what it is without having to look closer.

“Gege…”

“Hmm?” XL looks up with his mouth full of noodles.

“Did they charge you for the meal?” HC asks slowly, barely contained fury simmering beneath the surface. His eye pins the flutes of his favorite drink he hasn’t touched. “And the wine?”

XL chews methodically, cheeks puffing from how stuffed they are. If anyone who cared about eating etiquette were watching him, they no doubt would be utmost appalled at such a messy display. HC would curse them to hell if they dared said or did anything.

XL finally swallows, licking his lips.

“There’s nothing wrong with charging me,” XL says. HC’s nails dig into his skin as his hands clench into balled fists. “What if I just want to support my husband?”

HC inhales deeply, then exhales heavily.

“Gege does that enough by being married to me. Look, I’ll be right back-“ HC abruptly stands up. He swoops in to kiss XL on the lips, pecking three more times which makes XL giggle. HC then quickly blows cool air on the spoon XL holds mid-air with his hot soup. 

Without another word, HC storms back towards the kitchens. The other cooks actively avoid their boss, bowing profusely if they happen to cross paths with him. HC doesn’t say anything to acknowledge their remorseful actions. For the next ten minutes, he continues instructing the team as if the mishap hadn’t even happened. 

Apologizing won’t be enough, they all know this. They kept not only XL waiting for thirty minutes but also the other customers that entered after him. However, XL had been waiting for the longest as he was a walk-in customer, which made it all the more displeasing for HC to find out his husband had not received the special treatment he deserved. 

The orders have slowed down enough for HC to snap his fingers as a signal for everyone to line up. When all the cooks are appropriately assembled, HC doesn’t hesitate to hurl the folder with the check onto the main island in front of them. 

“Who was it?” HC asks icily. No one utters a sound. The CEO reaches over to yank out the white paper filled with prices. He points to it, eyeing every single one of his employees. “Tell me. Who gave this to him? Who charged him for his meal when I have specified numerous times to never–and I mean NEVER–bill him.”

It’s so quiet in the kitchen, the guests closest to the kitchen doors can probably hear HC scolding his cooks, beyond livid. HC couldn’t care less, as long as XL was outside of hearing range and slurping down his soup with a content tummy. He’ll have to make it up to XL on his own accords, first by taking his husband home to have uninterrupted one-on-one discussion.

The newer cook who HC has distinguished as Hai Ye shuffles uncomfortably, looking like a child guilty of disobeying their parents’ order. Someone has yet to speak up to confess or snitch, meaning they would rather face punishment collectively than risk one person receiving full blame. While HC is one thread away from blowing his top off, he buries the nasty curses down inside his chest. He knows what it’s like to receive unfair consequences for things he didn’t knowingly do wrong. 

Instead, HC forces his temper to cool down. 

“Seeing as these were a series of mistakes that everyone here has contributed to, I’m canceling janitorial services and assigning all of you cleaning duty,” HC declares, crossing his arms. “I don’t know what else it will take, but this must not happen again. With Xie Lian or with the backed-up orders. We are better than that, understood?”

“Yes, Hua Lao Ban,” the cooks recite resolutely. HC grunts with a tone of finality. He quickly snatches his long coat, taking out his wallet and stacking the amount of money needed to cover XL’s check. 

“Good. We can move on from that. Finish the night on a reasonable note. Additionally, can someone fetch me a to-go box and cup?” HC asks as he unbuttons his chef blouse and throws it into the hamper off to the side. HY is the closest to the to-go boxes, so he instantly abides by HC’s request. The CEO offers HY a nod of gratitude. Then, he’s out of the kitchen, long coat thrown loosely over his lanky frame. 

Between the few orders they have to complete, HY witnesses HC personally box up his and his husband’s food. XL eagerly holds HC’s hand when he’s done, pulling the taller man towards the front door to go home. Before leaving, HC gives the head chef, HX, a menacing glare as if to say, “You better have things under control.”

The CEO of Crimson Embers walks out of his restaurant with a gentle hand resting on his husband’s lower back. They disappear through the front glass doors, subtly leaning into each other’s space, content to be together after a long day apart. 

Bonus:

When the other branches hear about the incident, they hang up a framed picture of XL with HC, making sure to point to XL’s face for new employees saying, “If this man enters the restaurant, show him to his seat and then tell Hua Lao Ban immediately. Get him everything he asks for. NEVER charge him for his orders.”

[paperandsong]

Illustration by André Castaigne, 1911

Phantom of the Opera and Carnival - some thoughts

While ALW’s Masquerade lyrics imply that the masked ball happens at New Year’s – toasting to a prosperous year and a new chandelier – in Leroux’s novel the masked ball happens sometime before Shrovetide/avant les jours gras. Shrovetide is an archaic English way of saying Carnival. While Masquerade is a great song, ALW’s decision to move the date of the masked ball means that it loses some of the symbolism and disconnects the story from the greater tradition of Carnival. I have some thoughts about this. It’s a little long, apologies.

What is Carnival? Primarily, it’s a season: the period of time between January 6 (Twelfth Night) and Mardi Gras (the day before Ash Wednesday). The date of Mardi Gras changes every year because it is linked to the dates of Easter and Passover and calculated using the lunar calendar. Carnival is celebrated in some way in most of Europe and in most of the Western Hemisphere, especially in areas colonized by France, Portugal, and Spain. It is not widely celebrated in the U.S. except along the Gulf Coast, primarily in Louisiana, because this region was colonized by France and Spain and the tradition became entrenched before the area became English-speaking. Carnival is celebrated to a lesser extent in Africa, again as a result of colonization. I’m not sure about Carnival celebrations in Asia (leave a comment if you do know!) While Carnival traditions vary widely depending on geography and culture, there are some elements that define the celebrations: masks and hidden identities, processions that later became parades, an excess of food, music, and dance. Carnival is older than Christianity. Most of the pre-Christian elements seem to come from the Romans. But the Carnival that was exported across the world along with colonization was very much a medieval Catholic tradition.

Modern Carnival is usually celebrated as a secular holiday.  But in order to explain Carnival, I have to address the religious roots. [I’m not trying to preach, I promise.] The word Carnival comes from the Latin carnes, flesh. It is a celebration of the flesh in every respect. The excessive hard partying could be viewed an attempt to eat up all the butter and get out all the sinful behavior before Lent, the 40 day liturgical season proceeding Easter, when there is an expectation of fasting and hard praying and grim contemplations of death (Stations of the Cross, Passion Plays). But you can also view Carnival as a very intentional celebration of the ephemeral nature of life.  The dates of Carnival correspond with the liturgical season of Epiphany, which is the only period of the year when Jesus is alive and concerned with human things – he is a mischievous child, he goes to weddings with his mom, his miracles are often quotidian and material – wine and bread and fish. Only three to four months pass from the time Jesus is born at Christmas to the time he dies at Easter. His human life was short and fleeting. Carnival/Epiphany are about the fleeting nature of all life. A celebration of the flesh. Ash Wednesday serves as the reminder that eventually it will all turn to dust. You must burn through the ephemeral to reach the eternal. Carnival isn’t only about excess before deprivation. It is a celebration of life in the face of death.  

New Orleans Carnival/Mardi Gras provides the perfect metaphor for this. Parades involve “throws” to the crowds – trinkets, usually beads, plastic coins, toys, cakes. People can get a little crazy in their thirst for beads – especially the rare glass ones. But come Wednesday, the beads grow dim before your very eyes. Thousands of them get crushed beneath the wheels of garbage trucks cleaning up the streets. No matter what wealth you have accumulated in this world, no one, absolutely no one, can take it with them when they die.

Carnival is a time when the old order is inverted. Jesus was meant to turn the world upside down – a king born in a barn! Costuming and masking blur gender and class lines. In the Americas, while racial lines were historically very much imposed even during Carnival, it was also a rare time when slaves and later free people of African descent were allowed to express their cultures in public. This is clearly still true in Carnival as it is celebrated in Brazil, the Caribbean, New Orleans. Carnival can work to temporarily equalize the masses as masked people blend into each other and lose their own identities.

So, what does any of this have to do with Phantom of the Opera? Erik appears at the masked ball dressed as the Red Death. Yes, clearly, he is a fan of Poe. He’s a well-read man! But death very much has a role to play in Carnival and it isn’t at all uncommon to see people dressed as death or other morbid figures. Because Carnival celebrates life, it is inherently celebrating the ephemeral. All life ends. And that is what makes it beautiful and worthy of celebration.

Erik enjoys his connection to death. Depending on your reading of Leroux, Erik is probably not even wearing a mask, stalking the party in his full hideous glory, as Daroga might say. This is especially meaningful when you consider Leroux’s famous quote about Parisians and masking. While Erik is a trickster and a liar, on this night, a night of inversions, he is the most honest man at the Garnier. He is there to remind others of their own mortality. And this is a perfectly normal and sane way to celebrate Carnival. The party goers aren’t afraid of Erik (except that one guy who touched him) – they greatly admire his costume; they even ask where he had it made. As if he were just a normal reveler. Even today it would be completely normal for there to be a guy dressed as death walking around a Carnival party. In this way Erik is almost the opposite of Poe’s Red Death, whose mere presence offends Prince Prospero so much he orders him killed on sight. Perhaps it is because Prospero himself does not understand the nature of his own Carnival or life itself. You cannot lock Death outside.

While the party goers seem amused by Erik’s costume, and we enjoy Erik’s moment of pure arrogance and swag, I don’t think Erik’s performance is entirely symbolic. It’s also a threat. If he really had as much gunpowder under his house as Daroga informs us, then it would have taken a while to get it all down there. On the night of the masked ball, isn’t it possible that the gunpowder was already there beneath the Opera? Only Erik would have known this. I think this made him feel powerful, to walk around knowing that at any moment he could end it all. He was there to embody Death, to incarnate it. To make it flesh.

[macbetha]

below the cut, you'll find an interest check chapter for quatervois, a nancy drew pc fic. it's francy and also my idea of my absolute dream game. please let me know what you think and enjoy!

+++

After Ned breaks up with her and she loses her father, Nancy struggles to find her old vigor for detective work. While on vacation in London with Bess and George, Nancy accepts the urgent invitation to return Blackmoor Manor. Her English getaway quickly turns into an investigation once Nancy realizes the true reason Nigel Mookergee asked her back to the moors. Finding Deirdre Shannon at the manor under the same pretense only sets Nancy’s nerves further on edge. It isn’t until the Hardy Boys show up in Blackmoor that Nancy gets a glimpse of who she once was. With a manor full of suspects and a glass heart cracked open, Nancy is determined to find the truth.

Dear Ned,

How are you? It’s been a while. I’ve always started off my letters telling you about my latest case, but I’m not on one right now. I’m sure that’s hard to believe. Bess and George have whisked me away to London. I’m sure you would love it here. This is the first time I’ve seen Bess and George since I sold the house in River Heights. I stayed with Kyler and Matt in Ireland for a while. I needed a change of scenery. Their daughter just turned two. I’m somewhat jealous I’m happy for them. Anyways, I miss you I hope you’re doing well. I’m sure New York is lovely at Christmas time. I hope Stephanie is I wish Stephanie well How is Stephanie? I hope Stephanie is doing all right. I appreciated the card Stephanie sent when dad passed away. Warm regards, Merry Christmas, Love Nancy

She stares down at the letter as if the red ink were her own blood. It feels just as wounding, seeing her emotions made physical in the words on the paper. Only when a tear splatters on the page does she break free from her trance to the past. Nancy is the only person in her hotel suite, yet she works to rid the evidence like one of her own suspects. She pulls her feet up in the desk chair and crosses her ankles, holding the arch of her right foot – it recently became the victim of her latest culprit. Nancy’s foot got caught under the getaway car’s tire, and she is lucky to even be able to walk after the event. Months later, it’s stiff as hell with the most intense cramps she’s ever endured. Heart racing to forget the night it happened, she focuses on the snowfall out the window – counting little sparkles of snowflakes, though the world blurs when she squints. The doctor thought her failing sight as well as the daily headaches were on account of being hit in the head so many times.

She busies herself with choosing a postcard to send Hannah and Nancy selects one with a cat dressed up as a royal guard. The cuteness puts a smile on her face, however small – she hopes it’ll do the same for Hannah, but there is no telling. Nancy had the gut-feeling Hannah was lying about recognizing her the last time Nancy visited the nursing home. Torment swirls like wind to fallen leaves. She doesn’t have Hannah or Togo to come home to. Togo passed just before Nancy’s thirty-second birthday, and Carson fell ill soon after that. Nancy looks to her hotel bed where Mr. Woogle Woggle sits tucked between two pillows. It seems he is the only one that hasn’t left her. A knock on her hotel door reminds her that is simply not true. Nancy rights herself, fixing her posture to the stance of someone passionate, and she opens the door. Bess and George greet her with blazing smiles; Nancy gives silent thanks for their presence in her life. She would still be in Scotland with Kyler and Matt, had Bess and George not insisted to take her on a vacation. Nancy imagines that their insistence was due to them wanting to keep Nancy from spending Christmas alone on the road again like last year. “Nancy,” Bess stresses. “You’re never going to guess who we ran into in the lobby!” Horror strikes dull and loud in her ears. Surely, it’s not Ned. Please, don’t let it be Ned. George says, “Give you a hint: they were involved in one of your cases.” Nancy’s despair leaves her throat tight. She glances down the hallway, preparing to yank Bess and George into her room and dial her Cathedral contact to get them set up in witness protection.

“That didn’t narrow it down at all, George,” Bess says with a roll of her eyes. “Nancy’s been on hundreds of cases.” Nancy’s strain creeps into her one word: “Who?” Bess and George beam. “Maya Nguyn!” ++

Nancy follows Bess and George to the elevator in a hurried stupor. No thoughts can she conjure as she steps free from the elevator walls which seem to close in on her; Nancy marches into the lobby and notices a woman in the crowd of tourists. She stands with her back to Nancy, her hair drawn up in a bun, and her chin is lifted high with no time for games. Maya turns around and her bright red mouth stretches into a smile. “Nancy!” “Maya,” Nancy huffs in disbelief. She tenses in Maya’s sudden embrace before all but falling into it. This is something good I did; Nancy cherishes with shut eyes. This is someone I helped. When Maya pulls back, Nancy says, “What are you doing all the way out here? You said in your last letter, you were still in Washington.” “My house is technically there,” Maya nods. “But I get to work on the road more these days.” Her brows crease over a sympathetic smile. “Bess and George tell me you’re kind of in the same boat.” Nancy shrugs, struggling to hold Maya’s concerned gaze. “It’s just easier,” Nancy lies. Maya seems to see right through it, but she doesn’t speak on it. Nancy will have to thank her later. George says, “Maya offered us free tickets to a play she’s reviewing tonight and get this – it’s at the Globe Theater!” “Remind me what’s so special about a globe theater,” Bess sighs, checking her nails. “Not ‘a’, Bess, the.” George shakes her head. “The Globe Theater – well, technically it’s a reconstruction of the first one, but it’s where Shakespeare wrote his plays.” “It’s the opening night of a new play,” Maya explains. “And Nancy, you’ll never guess who the star is.” Nancy cannot take anymore guessing games. “Brady Armstrong.” Maya blinks. “Well – yes, actually.” Nancy frowns. “Wait, really?” “Yes,” Maya laughs. “I’ll be conducting an interview with him after the show if you want to go backstage and chew him out for all the stunts he pulled back in the day.” A spark of vigor heightens Nancy’s senses. That doesn’t sound bad at all. Still – “Are you sure we won’t be a distraction or –” “Nancy.” Maya’s hand falls on her shoulder. “You saved my life. You’re the furthest thing from a distraction.” Gratitude floods her before Nancy nods. “All right, then.” +++ The walk to the Globe would be depressive what with the sky being the color of a soaked napkin, but the Christmas decorations lift everyone’s spirits. Nancy limps by a shop playing Christmas oldies through the open door and she is borne back to her father listening to records over cocoa on Christmas morning. She tries to push the memory from her mind, then she thinks of building snowmen with Ned and having snowball fights that turned into the sweetest kisses she’s ever received. The music won’t stop. There are three Christmas trees in the display window and their flashing lights strike pain behind Nancy’s eyes. She pants through a sensory overload before someone squeezes her hand. Maya smiles in understanding as Bess and George walk obliviously in front of them. “It’s hard,” Maya says. “This life on the road. You pick up a few habits.” Nancy squeezes her hand in thanks before tucking her own in her peacoat’s pocket. “I want to enjoy this,” she admits quietly. “But I think the holidays are always hard.” Maya nods. “It won’t be this way forever, Nancy,” she promises. “I’ve got my fingers crossed for you.” Cross your fingers, there’s a story behind this door! Nancy swallows around the lump of panic in her throat. She plasters on a smile. +++ The theater is packed with noise and touching and all-around boisterous patrons. They find their seats in the crowd and Nancy doesn’t watch where she’s going – she must keep her eyes on the open ceiling to remember how to breathe. She sits down at the end of the group and Maya passes out programs. Quatervois, the title reads. Bess says, “What does that mean?” “It means you’re at a crossroads,” Maya says. “A turning point.” “Sounds a little dramatic,” George grumbles. Nancy traces the swooping lines of the title with

her thumb, repeating the process until the lights go down. The masked chorus emerges from the shadows and gives a synopsis: Down from Olympus a great hero emerges, Mighty in his strength and courage! A choice he must make Shall he ignore fate? Will he choose love, Or follow his destiny there-of? When Brady saunters on stage in an impossibly short silk chiton, it’s an out-of-body experience for Nancy. He still hasn’t grown his ponytail back, so Simone could very well be in the audience right now. Nancy rubs her aching temple at the thought. Brady begins his journey as the character Diogenes, a demigod that was supposedly – according to the play’s plot – written out of ancient Greek mythos. Diogenes must defeat those who want to leave him forgotten in history, lest he admit that he can’t win this fight and live his life like everyone else. Nancy assumes the play’s ending too soon. She imagines this will be a droll experience written only to paint Brady as a glorious hero that can conquer anything – but she is quickly surprised. Brady is stabbed in the final act and addresses the audience in a wail: And so my story ends a breath too early, No time to even be weary! The moon shall pass over my corpse, And the sun will beat down on my ashes with no remorse. Today, I have failed my quartervois Alone, forgotten, and lost. When the curtain falls, Nancy’s mouth is parted in disbelief as a tear burns down her cheek. They don’t receive a proper goodbye with Maya since the rest of the crowd is bustling toward the exit. She does have time to say that Brady is producing a new television series and will be scouting some locations further into Essex; Maya will be following the film crew there for test shoots. She embraces each girl individually and holds Nancy for a beat longer, whispering, “You’ll call if you need to talk?” “Of course,” Nancy says by impulse. “Same to you.” +++ Nancy is proud of herself for going out, but when she closes the door to her hotel suite, her back thunks against the wall and she must take deep breaths for several minutes. She decides to treat herself to a bubble bath even though it’s nearly midnight. She rolls her hair up into a bun and looks at it in the mirror, how haphazard and messy hers is in comparison to Maya. Nancy isn’t jealous – but she can’t help but notice when people are thriving. She wants to figure out how to do it herself and hasn’t found the cure yet. The bath is claw-footed and deep. Nancy sinks into the steaming water before goosebumps rise on her arms, and her freckled skin blushes in the heat. The water does wonders for her foot. She eases her head back on the lip of the tub and nears a light doze when her cell phone rings. It rests atop a stack of towels by the tub. Nancy wipes her damp hand off before looking to the screen. Frank Hardy. Nancy answers and taps the speaker button to relax back in the tub. “Hey.” “Hi, Nance,” Frank says, his voice a familiar balm after such a stressful time. “What’s going on?” “Things aren’t too different from last week’s call,” Nancy smiles. “But I’m on vacation with Bess and George.” “Oh wow! That’s awesome. I hope it’s been fun.” Nancy’s glazed eyes blink. “Yeah,” she rasps. “It’s nice.” She clears her throat, searching for her old enthusiasm. “But what about you? How’s Joe?” “Same as usual, a pain in my ass.” Nancy chuckles before a distinctive lift raises Frank’s voice. “We’re actually getting ready to get on a plane for a case – but I wanted to make sure everything’s good with you.” Nancy’s hand closes in a fist on her raised knee. “Gosh, it’s been so long since I’ve been on a case.” “Not really. You just took a few months off to stay with Kyler, right?” “Yeah, but that’s the longest I’ve ever gone without a case since I started.” “I’d give you ours if I could,” Frank says. “Really not looking forward to such a long plane ride. Oh, they’re calling for our gate – but do you want me call you when I land?” Gratefulness is a warm glow in her heart. “No, that’s okay – but

thank you. Be safe on your trip and tell Joe I said hi.” “Can do.” Frank pauses. “I – tell Bess and George I said hi.” “Can do,” Nancy repeats. She chews her lip. “See you soon?” She feels foolish for saying something when Frank is headed to a case. While the weekly phone calls have kept Nancy sane, it would be even better to see the Hardy Boys. “I’ll make it happen,” Frank promises. “See you, Nance.” After they hang up, Nancy struggles to get out of the tub with her swollen foot. She gets into a pair of sweats and wraps up some ice in a washcloth, then holds it against her foot. Nancy mulls over her conversation with Frank, wondering how much of her poor mood could be due to not solving a mystery. With a deep yawn, she tosses the soaked washcloth in the wastebasket, not able to walk to the bathroom to put it in the sink. She cuddles up to her teddy bear and flicks the lamp off when her phone rocks to life on the nightstand. Bewildered, Nancy turns the lamp back on to look at the screen. The number is unknown; she sees her hand tremble around the phone. She lets the call go to voicemail before the phone vibrates to life once again. Bracing herself, Nancy answers. “Hello?” “Yes, hello – I’m trying to reach a one Nancy Drew?” The voice is British and eerily familiar, like Nancy heard it in a dream. “This is she.” “Splendid! Oh, you wouldn’t believe the trouble I’ve gone to in order to find your number.” “Sorry? Who is this?” “Why, Nigel Mookergee. We met at –” “Blackmoor,” Nancy whispers. “Nigel, hi. What’s going on?” “I’m afraid the manner of my call is not a jovial one,” he says. “How should I explain this? Well, I suppose from the start. You see –” He sighs. “Don’t tell anyone I’m speaking of this, but the Penvellyns have fallen into a bit of… financial trouble.” Nancy says, “’Financial trouble’?” “It’s certainly not my business to spread, but yes. It’s not that they are a poor family by any means, but one diplomat’s salary is not enough to keep up a castle.” Nancy sits up, grabbing a pen and notepad from her bedside table. She jots as Nigel continues. “The Penvellyns began to host historical tours at the manor – much to Mrs. Drake’s dismay, I might add. Jane wishes to expand the business to the paranormal side of things, and I don’t quite agree with the idea myself, but she insists it’s just what the manor needs.” Nancy finishes scrawling and says, “So, you’re working for the Penvellyns now?” “Yes. I’m afraid there’s been some situations – inconsequential events, if you will – that need a glance over.” Nancy arches a brow. “You mean an investigation.” “Ah, such a serious word. I simply want to make sure we are fully prepared to expand the business.” Nancy’s eyes narrow. “Right. When would you need me there?” “As soon as possible -” Nigel catches himself. “I mean, at your earliest convenience.” Nancy glances over her notes, running her hand over the page filled by red ink. She closes her eyes against the sight and says, “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

thank you so much for reading! please let me know what you think and stay safe. and please consider following me here and on twitter! xoxo

[just-another-ficwriter]

Holidate - Part One

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Reader

Words: 3000ish

Warnings: Overbearing parents, alcohol

Summary: Tired of being alone on holidays, Sweet Pea and Y/N decide to be each other’s plationic plus-ones all year round. What could go wrong?

Notes: I’m super late posting this and I feel awful about it!! I just couldn’t decide how I wanted it to go and ended up rewriting it three times🤦🏻‍♀️

“No Mom.” Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose, irritation seeping into her words. There’s already a dull ache drumming behind her temples and she hasn’t even made it home yet. “I’m not using this as an excuse because I’m running late.”

“Well I simply can’t just drop everything and come get you, I’ve got to stuff the Turkey and cut the vegetables and-“ She lets her Mother’s voice drowned out into background noise with a frustrated sigh on her end.

She hates Christmas, she thinks. Hates the decorations, the songs, the cheer. Every last bit. Nothing’s been the same since the truth came out about Hal and-

“Is Jug there?” She cuts her own thoughts short, desperate not to think of her Dad and all the things he’s done right now.

“Of course Forsyth is here!” Y/N can almost see Jug flinch at the correction and bites back a laugh. “But him and Betty have already opened a bottle of wine.”

“Can you just ask him for the number of his Dad’s garage please?” Another five minutes of Alice rambling on passes before Jughead’s voice appears on the other end with a joyful ‘Merry Christmas’ and a direct contact to someone who might be able to help.

She thanks him quickly, hanging up before she can even finish saying goodbye, so he doesn’t have a chance to hand the phone back. And as she leans against the car behind her, the same car that had given up on her just as she passed the town sign, she dials the number and hopes she’ll make it home in time for dinner.

Otherwise, she might never hear the end of it.

-

“Again, in English?” Y/N cocks an eyebrow at him, the string of words he’d just said sounding almost foreign in her head. 

 She doesn’t mean for it to sound as rude as it does, but she can’t help it. She’s tired, exhausted even, not to mention cold. The snow fall had picked up five minutes after she’d called the number Jug had given her and it had taken him, or Sweet Pea as he’d introduced himself, almost 40 minutes to reach her. 

But he just laughs it off, smirks before firing it straight back at her. “You aren’t getting anywhere in this car, anytime soon princess.”

“Great!” It’s official. Her mom’s going to kill her and she’ll be blamed for ruining Christmas. She throws her hands up in defeat, kicking a tyre in the process. “Just great!”

“If it makes you feel better, this isn’t how I planned on spending my Christmas Eve either.” He watches her amused, another laugh passing his lips before the sarcastic remark follows, his arms now crossed over his chest and she almost feels guilty. 

“I’m sorry for being such an inconvenience.” She throws a false apology at him along with  a fake grin that falls into a frown almost immediately. 

“Apology accepted.” She’s scowling at him now, eyes rolling back but he simply ignores it, happy to keep winding her up. “Want me to give you a ride somewhere while I tow this back?”

“Only on one condition.” She points a finger over her shoulder towards his trunk, the radio still on loud. “We find a station that isn’t playing Christmas music.”

“Hey, it’s either Mariah Carey, or you walk Sweetheart.” He shrugs, walking backwards, watching her make the choice. 

He can’t help but laugh again when she sighs and runs to the passenger seat, desperate to seek shelter from the snow. 

-

10 minutes after Sweet Pea kindly drops her off at her childhood home, Y/N finds herself still on the porch out front, mentally preparing herself for what’s about to come.

She sucks in a breath. Two, three. And with a fake smile so sickly sweet it makes her stomach hurt; she lets herself in.

Polly’s the first to spot her, catches her the minute she walks through the door and pulls her into a hug before she can even drop her bags. She can’t help but sink into the embrace, it’s always nice to see her older sister alone like this, but Y/N doesn’t even get the chance to ask her how she is before the twins descend down the stairs and push past them in a blur.

“Juniper put the presents down- Dagwood no!” She feels Polly gently squeeze her hand in a silent way of saying they’ll catch up later before she’s chasing after them, joining an exhausted looking Jason who pauses long enough to wave a quick hello before he resumes pursuit.

She moves further into the house, away from the chaos of the living room and towards the interesting smells wafting from the kitchen. It’s impossible not to hear her Mother barking orders from where she stands over the stove, while Jug and Betty listen to every word, working on the dining table and it’s fixtures like a well-oiled machine.

“Y/N/N you’re here!” Betty looks up with a soft smile but doesn’t dare move from her task and face the wrath of Alice Cooper.

“Finally!” It’s Alice’s turn to look at her now, a perfectly shaped eyebrow arching in distaste as her eyes roam over her middle daughter. “Please tell me you aren’t wearing that to dinner?”

Y/N lets out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding and prepares to fire back when a gentle arm lands around her shoulder with a calming chuckle.

“Oh come on Mom, Y/N looks fine.” Charles plants a quick kiss to her forehead before ruffling her hair and they both laugh. Her brother had always been her saving grace in situations like this, the only one brave enough to stand up for himself and the others, ever the mediator. But not even he was enough to put Alice off her persistent questioning, she was already sick of her Mother’s judgement and they hadn’t even touched on her job or her relationship status yet.

-

“You’ve definitely told them we aren’t officially together, right?” Sweet Pea takes one last, slow drag of his cigarette before stomping it out under his boot. Josie nods at him reassuringly but one look up at the exterior of her parents house has his stomach in knots. “They know we’re just casual?”

“Sweet Pea would you stop?” She playfully pokes at his ribs, but he just sighs and rubs a nervous hand down his face.

He couldn’t help it, that sick feeling rising from the pit of stomach by the second. The idea of spending Christmas with Josie’s family, a girl he’d only been dating for a month, was absolutely terrifying on all levels. But Fangs had ditched him to spend the holidays with his boyfriend in New York, not that he could really blame him, and he had no other family in town so when she originally offered, he’d jumped at the chance of not spending the day alone.

Part of him had regretted it since.

If Sweet Pea thought the outside of house was impressive, with it’s perfectly placed lights and overly decorated windows, it was nothing compared to what was waiting for him on the inside.

Myles and Sierra McCoy welcome them at the front door with bright smiles and open arms that engulf Sweet Pea before he even has the chance to say hello.

Josie joins in, the four of them becoming one big, massive group hug like he’s been part of their family his whole life and not just a stranger potentially only passing through. All three of them squeal in excitement before someone yanks him in doors.

If he had doubts before, he thinks, he’s almost certain he’s in over his head now.

-

Betty gets engaged on Christmas Morning.

Right in front of the Christmas tree, just after the last presents are opened and the twins are happily distracted by a mountain of toys; Jughead drops to one knee and pops the question under twinkling lights. 

The minute Betty gasps the word ‘yes’ the family erupts in cheers, fawning over the couple. Of course Alice is already crying, Polly demands to see the ring, while Charles and Jason pat Jug on the back. 

Y/N however stays put, her eyes falling down into her mug of spiked coffee that her mom had scolded her over, eyebrows raised over the rim as she knocks it back. 

“Aren’t you going to congratulate your sister?” Alice sends her a pointed look, catching her before she can slope off into the peaceful confines of the kitchen. 

“Congrats Betts.” She pulls her into a hug and paints on the biggest smile she can muster as she mumbles into her hair. “I’m so happy for you.”

And she is. Her sisters getting everything she’s dreamed of with Jug, of course she’s happy, but it’s hard to ignore the fact that her younger sister will be married before her. 

Even Charles has betrayed her this year and invited a date to Christmas dinner leaving her the last single Cooper. And her mom wasn’t prepared to let her forget it anytime soon. 

-

Sweet Pea successfully manages to make it through family movie night, forcefully sat between Josie and her mother, hot cocoa in hand and surrounded from all sides. He even grins and bares the series of photo albums that follow, another embarrassing photo of Josie lurking behind every page turn, but he draws the line when the marriage talk starts, declaring he’s suddenly tired and turns to run up the stairs so fast he’s surprised he doesn’t pull something on the way.

Sienna wakes them up on Christmas morning with a soft knock at 8am sharp, wearing a bright red Christmas jumper and holding two more for the both them.

The mere idea of it makes Sweet Pea’s skin itch as much as the material does once he begrudgingly pulls it over his head.

The rest of the morning is spent sipping coffee, watching the three McCoy’s exchanging gifts. He’s too distracted, wondering if it’s still too late to find a way out of the whole thing to even notice Josie standing in front of him until she’s shoved the present right under his nose.

“Merry Christmas my love.” She places it down on his lap and Sweet Pea finds himself wanting the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“Jose I… I thought we said we weren’t doing gifts?” All three pairs of eyes are now on him, burning their way into his skin and he’s sure he’s never felt embarrassment like it.

“But that was just a joke, right?” He smiles awkwardly when she laughs, but the sound is humourless, and he can already see the anger bubbling behind her eyes. She doesn’t even give him the chance to reply. “What, so I’m good enough to sleep with but you can’t buy me a gift?”

He chokes, shocked by her transparency around her parents while his cheeks redden by the second.

Ten minutes later he’s out on the drive, bags thrown in the back of his truck, scrambling to get away as fast as he can.

-

Christmas Day ends the way it started.

Miserably sat at the kitchen table, sipping on something alcoholic held in her hand.

Polly and Jason had slipped off not long after dinner, taking two sugar high kids and all their loud noises with them. Betty and Jug now sit on one couch, his arms wrapped around her shoulders, her head resting on her chest, content in their own bubble of love while Alice sits on the other, quizzing Kevin Keller, Charles’ surprise date. She’d feel bad for him if she wasn’t already feeling relieved that her Mother’s attention had turned to someone else for five minutes. Her brother sits besides her, topping up a glass of red.

“He seems nice.” Charles hums in response, biting back a laugh. Was she missing a joke? “What?”

“If I tell you something, you can’t tell the others.” A quick eager nod and she’s shuffling closer so he can whisper his secret. “Kev’s just my Holidate.”

She blinks back in shock. “Holidate?”

“Just a date for the holiday, someone to keep Mom off my back.” He shrugs like it’s nothing, like it’s the simplest solution to the problem. He sips his wine while he waits for her to process it. “There’s no strings attached and I don’t have to spend events alone. I’m even heading down to his parents after New Years to return the favour.”

“Thats...” Y/N breathes out, she’s a little envious she hadn’t thought of it herself. “What an idea.”

-

Y/N sinks into a booth at Pop’s Chocklit Shoppe two days later with a sigh of relief, happy to welcome the peace that comes with being away from her family.

She loves them, her siblings, her mother, the twins, of course but it’s exhausting. The intruding questions, the never ending merry go round of pity and interfering. She knows deep down it’s only because they care, but sometimes she wished they’d just leave her alone.

Pops promptly brings her order of curly fries over, with a soft smile and an extra chocolate shake on the side she didn’t order. It’s been two years since she last stepped into the place, yet he still remembers her favourite like it was yesterday.

“It’s good to see you Y/N.” There’s something in his tone that just feels like home and she finds herself welcoming it, it’s been a long time since anything in Riverdale has felt anything close to that, not since the truth about her dad.

Pops doesn’t stick around, a light pat to her shoulder before he’s a retreating form, leaving her to her thoughts. She barely makes it through a fry before someone’s sliding in opposite her.

Sweet Pea pushes the key across the table, grinning cheekily as he helps himself to the basket in front of him. She barely knows him and he’s already stealing her food. “One fully functional car.”

“Finally!” She snatched them up, hiding them

in her bag and he can see the tension practically melting from her shoulders. “Now I can get out of the hell hole.”

“Christmas went that well? He asks, curiosity peaked.

“You could say that.” She presses herself further into her seat, huffing as she rubs the palm of her hands against her jeans. The anxious look in her eyes tells him that what ever she might say next won’t necessarily make sense and she’s a little embarrassed by it. “My sister got engaged.”

“To FPS son right?” He vaguely recalls his boss proudly telling anyone who would listen that morning. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“She’s my younger sister, and now, as I’m about to be the only official unmarried Cooper daughter my mom has even more of an excuse to interfere in my love life.” The words just slip out and she finds part of her gladly confessing her thoughts to a virtual stranger instead of keeping them in. He smiles in a way that tells her he gets it.

“Yeah well, bet you a chocolate shake mine was worse.” He ignores the glare she sends him when he innocently brings her existing milkshake to his lips and continues when she says nothing. “I spent it with someone I’ve been dating for four weeks and her parents.”

She almost chokes on a curly fry. “You got serious that quick?”

“Of course not, and we both knew it.” She stares at him like he has two heads, he knows she can’t quite fit ‘causal relationship’ and ‘family Christmas’ together so he does it for her. “Didn’t want to spend the day alone so I took her up on the offer. Cue overbearing parents, the cringest matching jumpers and the ultimate gift exchange where I got her nothing because we agreed no presents.”

“Aren’t you old enough to know by now that no gifts definitely means get her a gift?” She laughs when he rolls his eyes.

“Ended with her kicking me out before dinner.” She shakes her head, laughs again as she calls him tragic and a tiny part of him agrees. “And now I’m officially dateless for New Year’s Eve.”

“Thanks for reminding me I have to come back in a few days to attend Riverdale’s Annual Blossom New Years Eve Party alone for the second year running.” She wrinkles her nose in disgusted, unprepared to have her friends on her back as well as her family, and ends up missing the way his eyebrows raise in surprise.

“You know Toni and Cheryl?”

“T’s been my best friend longer than I can remember and Cheryl’s brother is married to my sister, guess you could say I know them pretty well.” She tilts her head to the side, eying him slowly, like she suddenly sees him in a different way. “How’d you know them?”

“Guess you could say I spend more time than I should at the Wyrm.” The mention of Toni’s bar lights up her face. “Plus Toni’s been a really good friend to me since I got here, I was actually meant to be taking Josie to their party.”

“I think I know a way to solve our little problem.” A plan suddenly forms in her head, he doesn’t know whether to be worried or not as he watches the smile on her face widen. “Sweet Pea how would you like to be my Holidate this Friday?”

“Your holi-what?”

Forever Taglist: @p-marie-sp

Sweet Pea Taglist: @80sand90simagine @wildberryyyy @hopelesslylosttheway @be-gay-do-crime-cutie

Holidate Taglist: @popcrone818

[tundrainafrica]

do you have any soft levihan hc's living in your mind rent-free as of recent?

Oof lmao, so I’m not the type who can think of other HC’s on a fly. What helped a lot though is going through my old fics and finding some commonalities among them then going through other fics I enjoyed and finding some more commonalities among them and realizing “hey I think that’s an HC”

My HCs go straight from the mind to fanfiction more often than not so I barely have time or the space to think “Hange and Levi do that,” because when I get into enough of a black hole, I have the weird habit of blurring the line between canon and headcanon. 

Anyway, I listed down five HCs I found and I added the fanfiction I made where I found them more prominent and  which satisfied that similar ‘oomph’ I needed. 

So I guess it became a fic list indexed by HCs. I hope this helps someone find fics to read at least.

1. Hange grew up rich.

Ahhh yes. The classic Hange grew up rich HC. I made like three posts about it so I ain’t expounding on it here. But have the links. 

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

My fics: Heroes and Victims, Passion Project, A Tale of Two Slaves, Division of Labor, Trials and Tributes

Fic Recs: There’s Thunder in our Hearts by @smallblip, In another life by @fanmoose12

2. Levi would be a stay at home dad while Hange works full time.

I honestly think Levi just does not have the same sense of adventure as other people? His life is just so sad and he’s just too strong that he gets pulled into action anyway? The moment he gets time to breathe and the world becomes peaceful, he decides to settle down. The magic of Levihan is I feel like Hange is the one who gets more excited about the peace and the rapid technological development which comes with the end of the war. So yeah, that’s how I write my domestic fluff I guess.

My fics: Rough day, Household Planning 

Fic Recs: I don’t remember reading some but if someone can point me in the right direction :D

3. Hange is a nerd for anything requiring the scientific method

This is just a personal preference when reading but there are just certain professions I like seeing Hange in when reading Modern AUs. Scientific method doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s a science related thing. I think Hange as a psychologist, humanities or historian works. As long as she’s constantly using her big brain. Like I guess I can’t imagine her in sales? Or customer service where she has to keep up appearances or social pleasantries. I imagine her though in anything with big brain moves with less need for social pleasantries like law, medicine, history, research or sciences. 

My fics: A Tale of Two Slaves, Division of Labor, Trials and Tributes

Fic Recs: Yellow by @ariadneamare,  Wherever you will go by @lizaloveslevihan, Partners by @fanmoose12

4. They're both inexperienced with love.

One HC I have is Levi and Hange are just incredibly emotionally constipated. Like they never had to experience love like Levi was just too busy surviving and Hange was too busy being interested in the world. So like, maybe they were each others first love? And that’s why it’s so hard for them to notice? 

I actually have a fic sitting around my laptop about the development of their relationship in canon from Erwin’s point of view which was one of the first fics I also ever wrote about Levihan. There are so many fics out there which just depict this so damn well I’ll just drop them below.  

My fics: Passion Project, My Sweetest Downfall, Free Spot, That one unposted Erwin POV fic

Fic Recs: : Last Christmas by @fanmoose12, Aftermath by @just-quintessentially-me, Terrifyingly Complicated by @fanmoose12, Partners by @fanmoose12 , Perfect Christmas by @lizaloveslevihan,  Dreams by @lizaloveslevihan 

5. They actually only developed romantically and started meta-ing their relationship during the time-skip. 

I hold this HC very close to my heart when reading canon fics like I think the best way I was able to describe how this HC works for me was writing my first ever fic in the fandom “Would you cry?” So if you’re interested to see how I see it, you can check out that fic. 

My fic: Would You Cry?

Fic Recs: Thin Ice by Xenobia (Lw NSFW), 

I know I missed out on a lot of good fics which probably would satisfy that similar oomph. I have the tendency though to just search the bookmarks of the authors of works I enjoyed instead of browsing Levihan tags on AO3. I also frequent the Japan fandom a lot so I don’t have the widest coverage for English Levihan fanfics. I also got into AUs only fairly recently so I haven’t been able to fully enjoy what the wonderful world of AUs has to offer just yet.

Anyway, I hope that answers your question. Thanks for the ask anon! Very much appreciated

[reki-of-the-valley]

Boy Like a Fading Dream

A part two of the uni AU? More like a "I wanted to characterize the Langa of this AU". Wrote it a couple of days ago but didn't want to back-to-back post, just give a few days for the first part to settle in.

Find it on AO3 here!

Context: For his skills on a snowboard, Langa landed himself a scholarship. But he hates it. He hates his studies. He hates the athletic training. He just wants to go back to the time when it was fun, racing his dad to the bottom of the mountain.

“Where’s dad?”

Langa lets his bag hit the ground with a thud as he kicks off his shoes. His mother is in the living room; she’s cutting carrots in front of some sitcom. She lifts her head to smile at her son as soon as he enters her line of sight.

“How was your day, baby?”

Langa sighs as he crashes next to her. He feels her watch him as he picks up a carrot from the bowl before snapping it in half between his teeth. He feels her gaze, just as heavy as his eyelids are.

“Tiring.”

It’s all he manages to say to her. It’s all he finds to say. Tiring. His days are always just tiring.

“Did you have fun at practice?”

Fun? Langa barely remembers what that feels like. Fun, it feels like a foreign word now. He knows he must have felt it in the past, the thrill of gliding down the snowy slopes, but now it’s anything but fun. Snowboarding isn’t fun anymore, especially when there’s no snow outside. Especially when he’s cooped up in a gym rather than out on the open mountains.

So was training fun? No. No, it wasn’t.

“It was fine,” he lies. He can’t tell his mother how much he hates it. He can’t tell her when it’s what’s paying for his education – an education he also hates. “The usual, you know.”

Nanako pats his arm, her smile sweet and ever so motherly. “That’s good, baby. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

Langa sucks in a breath as his mother presses a kiss to his hair. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. If only she knew how big a lie that was. He would have done anything to just quit everything right now and lay in bed for the next ten years. Everything lost its appeal. If only everything could stop just for a moment, just for a minute, just enough time for Langa to catch his breath.

“Dad’s not home yet, is he?”

Nanako shakes her head. “He’s staying late tonight. He has a project that’s due, I think, tomorrow? Something about his team not being up-to-date so he has to stay late.”

Langa sighs again as he straightens out on the couch. He grabs another carrot before getting up to fetch his bag.

“I have to go study.”

Nanako doesn’t say anything as he leaves to climb the stairs that lead to his bedroom. Langa knows she’s watching him, watching his every move, but she doesn’t say anything. Maybe she can sense his disappointment. Maybe she knows that he’s lying to her.

Langa crashes in his bed, slinging his bag at the end of his mattress where it bounced before falling among the pile of dirty clothes he’s thrown aside. His room is a mess, but he can’t bring himself to clear out his trash. He’s already in a deficit of energy when just doing his mundane daily tasks. So he crashes among his pillows and pulls out his phone.

It's automatic, the swiping left and clicking on the app. It’s become a routine, crashing in bed and opening Instagram to scroll mindlessly. Langa doesn’t actually care for what’s on his screen, he just needs something to do, something to make him forget about the emptiness that’s formed in his chest.

So he scrolls. Pictures of old friends from high school, professional pictures and reels of snowboarders, screenshots of old Tumblr posts, reels of animals being cute, Langa scrolls through them all. He scrolls, scrolls until everything on his phone becomes a big blur. He scrolls until his phone slips from his fingers, falling flat on his face.

Another sigh as he turns to his side. His phone rests against his pillow as he goes back to scrolling. Always scrolling, numbing everything he’s ever felt. Because Langa does feel. He feels a million things, but none of those feelings are good. Frustration, loneliness, exhaustion, the list can go on. He hates all his feelings, especially that hollow feeling of disappointment that has been growing over the past year or so.

A notification pulls Langa out of his mindless scrolling. He usually ignores them, swiping them away, but for some reason, this one catches his attention. For some reason, he clicks it rather than get rid of it. The flash of red catches his attention.

.MechanicStarReki. – Suggested for you

Langa squints at his screen. The name doesn’t ring a bell but the face seems familiar. Familiar, but he can’t pinpoint where exactly it is that he’s seen it. His memory of the familiar face is hazy, like that of a dream starting to fade as morning takes shape. Familiar yet so foreign.

Langa scrolls through the profile, careful to not make his presence known. Most of the captions are in Japanese and he can’t find it in himself to decipher their meaning. He knows with a little effort, and maybe a little help from a translator app or from his mother, he could read the words, but he doesn’t bother. He contents himself with the scarce English. He contents himself with the many pictures of a boy with red hair.

The last post dates back a few weeks, a set of pictures with the caption “See you for Christmas.” The pictures show the redhead hugging who Langa assumes to be his sisters. They all look too much alike for them to not be family. Langa swipes between the pictures, taking in the scene: two school-aged girls cling to the boy, identical in all ways except the color of their dresses. He’s hugging them, a wide grin stretching across his face. Langa swipes again. Another girl is shown in the picture – she must be around 15. She’s pouting, but the sun reflects against the tears that had started to form at the corner of her eyes as she hugs the boy. Her eyes are the same color as his, a deep amber color that Langa knows he’s seen somewhere. He knows he's seen the boy, but he also knows it’s impossible. He can’t have seen him, not with the location associated with the picture: Okinawa, Japan. There’s no way he’s ever seen this boy; Langa’s only been to Japan once, the summer before he started high school.

Langa moves on from the set of pictures. He scrolls down, analyzing everything that has been posted over the years. Skateboards, sketches of various types, doodles, the boy with his friends, more of his family. Langa always pauses on the pictures of him. He always squints at him as if that would help him remember where he’s seen him.

A part of Langa knows that this is obsessive behavior, that he should just let it go, but he needs to know. He needs to know where he’s seen those faded freckles against sun-kissed skin. He needs to know where he’s seen those bright amber eyes. He needs to know where he’s seen that lopsided grin. He needs to know where he’s seen this boy, this boy that feels like a fading dream.

Does he resemble an actor from one of his mother’s shows, the Japanese ones she puts on while she cooks? No, that’s not it. He’s too young to look like any of those actors. Anyway, Langa never pays attention to the actors on the screen; he only knows the story because his mother has been following the ridiculous drama for years now. So the boy doesn’t just look like someone Langa might have seen on tv.

Does he look like an athlete Langa’s watched perform time after time, desperately trying to analyze his technique in hopes of recreating whatever is being done? No, it isn’t that either. Langa never recognizes the athletes, even when they tell him they've been competing against each other for years. He remembers their boards, but never their faces. So it isn’t that.

No matter how much Langa rakes his brain, he can’t find where it is that he’s seen the grin, the bright eyes, the freckles. Maybe the boy really is a figment of his imagination, a face given to a faceless dream that comes back every so often. Maybe he’s caught a glance of someone who looks like him in the street, or maybe it’s just a mere coincidence that the boy Langa’s made up looks like him, a mixture of a bunch of features that gave someone real. Or maybe Langa is delusional from his lack of sleep.

Langa drops his phone as his door is pushed open. He knows his mother knocked, but when he gets lost in his own little world, nothing else exists. Nothing exists until his bubble bursts.

“Langa sweetheart?” Nanako is standing in the doorway. She's looking at him, a slight frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. Her usual worry is evident in her features. “Is everything alright?”

Langa shifts, pushing his legs off of his bed to sit up. He nods at his mother, his words failing him. He hates how he finds himself unable to speak.

“Are you sure?” She shifts her weight to the side. Worry. “I’ve been calling you to set the table for the past 10 minutes now.”

Langa blinks at his mother before apologizing. He hadn’t heard her, he says. He had gotten lost in his own little world. He’s sorry, he’ll be down in a minute to set the table.

“Langa.” Nanako’s voice pierces through him as he fishes his phone out from under his pillow. “Are you sure nothing’s bothering you?”

Langa almost cracks. He almost tells her. He almost admits that he hates everything he’s doing. He almost admits that he hates going to school. He almost admits that he hates training. He almost admits that the thing he hates most is himself. Almost, but he doesn’t. He wouldn’t be able to survive the disappointed look on his mother’s face. He knows she would understand, that she’d tell him he’s allowed to quit, that she would support him no matter what, but he also knows she would be disappointed.

So he just smiles at her, that closed-mouthed smile he’s been practicing for years.

“I’m just tired.”

Nanako nods before making her way to him. She holds him tightly against herself, the warm embrace of a mother. And for a moment, Langa doesn’t hate himself.

“If you’re tired, I can bring your food up. You don’t have to eat downstairs if it’s too much.”

Langa shakes his head. Dinnertime is the only time of the day where he can spend time with his parents. Between classes and training, he’s barely ever home. It’s the only time where things feel normal, like they were back in the day when Langa was young, doing homework at the kitchen table while his mother cooked, explaining to him what he had to do. It’s the only time where he feels like they’re a family again.

“Just give me a minute and I’ll be down.”

Nanako sighs as she steps away from him, nodding. A small, tired smile pulls at the corner of her mouth as she turns back to him, halfway through the door.

“You promise you’d tell me if something was bothering you?”

Langa nods, promising, but the promise is hollow, his fingers crossed behind his back. It’s broken before even being uttered because Langa knows that he can’t make that promise. There’s just no way that he can promise such a thing. He can’t bring himself to tell anyone about how he feels. But still, he smiles and nods at his mother as she makes her way out of his room, down the stairs, back to the kitchen. He smiles until he can’t bear it anymore and crystal tears fall from his eyes, fall right onto the picture of the grinning boy in his phone, the phone he's been gripping so tightly.

[sabraeal]

Traffic Lights Are Burnin’

[Read on AO3]

Written in honor of @nebluus‘s birthday! She asked for some WFB, and of the options I gave she chose the next part of our Six Flags saga...only the beginning scene of that chapter ended up ballooning out into this so...it ended up being less Amusement Park Shenanigans and more Wholesome Boys Will Be Boys Content. I’M SURE MADI WILL BE JUST FINE WITH THAT TOO 😂

“Are you making an omelette?”

English is not, functionally, Mitsuhide’s first language. Not that he thinks of it like that-- first or second, third or fourth; there’s no ranking in his life, no moment in which one language followed another. There was English with Mama and quebecois with Papa; a plan quickly scuttled by Mitsuhide being the fifth Lowen sibling. Refusing to be pigeonholed into a single language no matter how many times Mama repeated consistency is key, his brothers mostly spoke a tossed salad of both and assumed he’d understand the lettuce.

Coupled with the fact that all his cousins lived in Toronto anyway, Mitsuhide had hardly begun talking himself before it became outside quebecois and inside English. Unless they left the province, in which case it was a free-for-all that left his few monolingual aunts and uncles dizzy.

Which is to say, Mitsuhide only becomes aware of the precise inner ranking of his languages in moments like this, where gut immediately kicks out a dry ‘j’essaie.’ The translation is vetoed on the grounds that although in quebecois he’s never met a word he couldn’t steep in sarcasm and smuggle in a sacre, he prefers to keep his English so clean it squeaks.

You’ve got it all backwards, Kihal had told him as he sweltered under the San Juan sun, English is fake, you can be as much of an asshole as you want it in, it doesn’t count.

It’s true, there’s something that’s more real to him in French, that’s more real about him, but, well-- there were far fewer cousins to tattle on his potty mouth this way. And now that he knows Obi...

Well, if Kiki ever made good on her threats to teach him any of his “church swears,” he’d probably never sleep easy again. So instead, he scrolls through his mental rolodex of possible appropriate replies before settling on, “Would you like one?”

Zen glances up from his array of pamphlets, glossy paper glaring beneath the overhead lamp. It matches the way Zen is looking at him. “We don’t have time for that.”

Mitsuhide frowns, giving his eggs one last vigorous whisk before pouring them into the pan. “There’s always time for breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.”

He glances over just in time to see Zen’s grimace. “Shirayuki really could be your sister.”

There’s really no reason he has to look so horrified by the idea. His brothers may all be broad shouldered, barrel-chested giants, but plenty of his cousins made pocket money in high school through catalogue modeling. And they’re all very nice girls.

He doesn’t mention it. A conversation never ends well if you have to whip out photos of female relatives to prove your point. “Would you like one?” he repeats instead, a safer tactic overall.

Zen’s nose wrinkles beneath some dubiously drawn eyebrows. “Are you putting spinach in there?”

“Kale,” he agrees. “And chicken.”

“In a breakfast omelette?” He clucks his tongue, just the way the Wisteria’s chef would when he attempted to cook at the estate. Quel dommage, he would say, sighing over the cutting board, why would you do that to perfectly good eggs? “Why would you do that?”

Because these muscles don’t come cheap; Mitsuhide chokes down a truly staggering amount of chicken in order to keep them. Roasted, of course-- boiled is technically better for protein, but even he has to draw the line somewhere. The eggs have less, but they are calorie efficient; he’d eat more of them if he could stomach the slimy, snake-like sensation of swallowing them down hard boiled.

But explaining his diet regime usually ended with glazed eyes, so he settles for, “I could always put something different in yours. There’s ham.”

Fancy ham, Obi calls it. It’s just from the deli counter, fresh sliced from whatever quality cut’s on sale, but considering how the first time Obi saw a charcuterie board, he shouted, Oh, Lunchables!--

Well, Mitsuhide can accept that maybe they have different benchmarks for fancy. And somehow just the simple act of calling it that does make it taste better. Or at least more satisfying when it’s shoved between a Hawaiian roll and deli cheese.

There’s a soft shuffle by the kitchen door, and a wild thatch of bristle peeps around the frame. Mitsuhide shakes his head with huff. That’s a new one-- just think the devil’s name and he appears.

Obi lopes into the kitchen, all long limbs and smooth movements, blurring right into the background without any effort at all. He’d gotten Mitsuhide a few times when he’d first moved in, popping up wherever it was sure to be the most inconvenient, grinning like a cat with feathers in its teeth. But once you knew the trick of it, well-- it’s no effort to keep the kid in his sights.

Which is why he has a full, uninterrupted view when Obi slips right up to Zen’s elbow, and asks, “Whatcha doing, chief?”

“Wah!” Pamphlets fly up, a glittering flock of wings swooping beneath the lamp. Zen slaps them down before they can skitter off the table’s edge. “Obi! Make noise for fuck’s sake!”

“Sorry,” he sing-songs, not a sincere note in it. Two long fingers pluck a pamphlet off the wood, twisting it between them. “What’s all this? They starting to put theme parks on exams now?”

“No.” Zen scowls, snatching it out of his hands. “I’m just making today’s itinerary.”

Mitsuhide slides his omelette onto a plate, turning just in time to catch the glance Obi sends him. It somehow says is he fucking with me while also implying I’ll hold him down if we gotta send him to the doctor. “An itinerary?”

He leans a hip against the island, fishing out a fork. What was it Obi always said? Dinner tastes better with a show. Time to find out whether it extends to breakfast too.

Zen fixes Obi with a look that could have had trenches with all its affront. “You can’t go to an amusement park without a plan. How else do you get on all the coasters?”

“It’s only Six Flags New England.” A week ago, the name alone made Obi flee like a cat from a bath, but now every syllable drips with derision, like a sommelier reviewing boxed wine. “They’ve got what? Superman?”

Mitsuhide shoves a corner of his omelette in his mouth. It’s not as good as a sausage, mushroom, and cheese, but, well, it’ll do. “Bizarro.”

“Bizarro.” Obi scoffs. “See? Nothing. Besides, I thought you were the kind of guy to spring for fast passes, boss.”

Zen’s always been sensitive; the sort of kid who tended to pop off when a situation came to a simmer instead of trying to turn down the heat. When Izana had been sitting president, he’s spent half his tenure fielding tense calls, sometimes even climbing into a towncar at a moment’s notice to be taken back east. The school, he’s always say, lifting a shoulder, my brother is proving to be a challenge, and my mother is...unreachable.

He’d thought this Zen kid must be like the ones he knew on the ice, punching first and asking questions later, complaining about being put in the box. All temper and no temperance, Mama used to say when she drove him home, can’t talk when you got plastic between your teeth.

But then he’d met him, undersized and stick-limbed, living in that house with people paid to be invisible. A kid with too much on his shoulders and too many eyes to watch him stumble under it. He’s come a long way from there.

So when Zen squirms in his chair, red already starting to lick up his neck, Mitsuhide doesn’t enjoy it. On the contrary, Zen’s discomfort is his discomfort, a failure of him to keep the watchful eye on him that Izana asked him to.

But it also doesn’t stop him from adding, “Shirayuki believes that waiting in line is part of the amusement park experience.”

Obi looks as though he’s just been told it’s his birthday and Christmas, all rolled into one. “Of course she does.” His mouth sharpens to a wicked grin. “So you’ll be lowering yourself to the peasant’s lines today, huh, Your Highness?”

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbles, swatting him away. “No one’s being lowered anywhere. We won’t be running into any of them so long as we get there early and hit the coasters in the right order.”

Obi coughs. Or at least, makes it sound like he is. “Uh-huh.”

“Where is Shirayuki anyway?” Zen glares at the empty doorway, brows heaving like thunderclouds over the bridge of his nose. “I thought you said you’d get her.”

“I did.” Obi twitches his shoulders; as good as a shrug, from him. “She’s getting ready.”

“It’s been fifteen minutes.” Zen’s glare changes target to him, thunder rolling in the tone of his voice. “Shirayuki doesn’t take this long to get ready.”

When Mitsuhide glances up, chewing around another stab of egg, kale, and chicken, Obi’s eyebrows are already there to meet him. His head tilts, just the barest degree; this is your show, big guy.

Mitsuhide coughs, trying to clear his throat of leaf bits. “Girls,” he starts, the ground sinking beneath him with each word, “like to look nice. Especially when they are on, uh, dates.”

“This isn’t a date,” Zen informs him, more than a little put out. “Obi’s going.”

The sound Obi makes can only be termed as distressed. “I didn’t want to.”

For exactly this reason, is what he doesn’t say. Doesn’t even show it on his face, though it has to be lurking beneath it, considering how he--

Well, considering nothing Mitsuhide knows for sure. But certainly a few things he reasonably suspects.

“Chief.” Obi flips the chair next to him, straddling it. “You know, I really thought it couldn’t be true. I really wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. But to hear you now--” he leans in, one narrow brow raising the same time his voice drops-- “you really do chicken out when it comes to getting chummy with Doc.”

Mitsuhide nearly chokes on his chicken.

Zen’s red all over, like someone pulled him from a boiling pot and put him on a plate. “You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do,” he says, so easy. “Doc told me.”

“She said that?” His skin’s so flushed Mitsuhide’s half afraid he’ll pass out, but instead he just collapses against the ladderback, head buried in his arms. “Shirayuki?” 

“Pretty much.” Obi sighs, hands braced on the table. “I mean, is it so hard to say she looks nice when she dresses up? Or that you like her hair, or--” he stumbles, shaking his head-- “no, not the hair. Too loaded. But you know, one of her floaty little numbers. Her freckles. Something.”

“I have!”

Obi lifts a dubiously narrow eyebrow. “Like when?”

“Ah...” Whatever the answer is, it’s not helping his blood flow problem. Mitsuhide nearly opens his mouth, searching for a good way to make himself a target-- “The Big E.”

Well, there goes that plan.

Obi’s inquisition crumples into confusion. “What? When did you--”

Every word ekes into the air with the utmost resistance. “When she was wearing your hoodie.”

“When she was wearing my--?” Gold eyes round to coins. “Chief.”

For a solid minute, that’s the only reaction-- wide-eyed disbelief, earned from two sides. But Obi coughs, mouth twitching, and it’s a snort, a smirk, and--

And then Obi launches himself away from the table, both hands still gripping the edge as he falls apart utterly. The chair’s back keeps him from putting his head between his knees, but spiritually he’s there, tears tracking down his cheeks as his laughs wheeze out of him

One hand finally slaps the table, like he’s asking for a time out. Zen frowns down at him, red finally fading to a painful pink. “It’s not that funny.”

“It is,” Obi squeaks, and Mitsuhide has to shove his last bite of omelette into his mouth to stifle his own noises. It’s no good-- Zen whips around and gives him the same glare he’s been saving for Obi.

“If you don’t cut it out,” he says loftily, “I’m going to let a freshman stay in your room.”

Well, that brings Obi up. “Fine,” he coughs, voice still ragged from laughing. “But still. My hoodie.”

“The sleeves hung over her hands! It was cute.” Zen huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “Fine, if I’m so bad, why don’t you two show me how it’s done?”

There’s a pause, long and loaded; enough that Mitsuhide glances up from his plate to see just what tomfoolery he should brace himself to break up--

Only to find Zen staring at him.

Intellectually, Mitsuhide is aware that Zen is a Wisteria. He met him through Izana, after all; he’s been over to the manor, he’s even met their prodigal mother on one of her rare stopovers between vacations. But when he thinks of the name, it’s Izana who springs to mind, the gears churning behind his eyes.

It’s not often that Zen reminds him of his brother; Cookie’s always said that Izana takes after their mother with that long and lean model build, while Zen has always been Kain’s child. But now, now--

He sees it, and it sends a shiver right through him.

With a quirk of his lips, Zen says, so like Izana that if he closed his eyes he wouldn’t know any different, “You first, Mitsuhide.”

Obi’s mouth curves into a leer. “Yeah, Big Guy. Show us the skills that got you Ms Kiki.”

This probably isn’t the time to tell them that it wasn’t him who got her; Mitsuhide hadn’t been trying to do anything more than be the friend she needed, to be a person she could confide in, could trust. People like that were thin on the ground for girls like her; heiress tended to make men see dollar signs instead of personality. But Kiki--

Well, she had other ideas. Ones he’d only cottoned onto when she climbed on top of him and shoved him against the couch cushions with her mouth.

“D-Don’t look at me!” he manages, trying to busy himself with anything. But there’s only a plate to be put in the sink, and a pan to be wiped. Not enough to fake a decent amount of responsibility. “I’m not--”

“Aw, c’mon, Big Man. Don’t leave us hanging.” Obi leans back, grin so wide it practically splits his face. “Lemme paint the scene. You’re single, Doc is adorable, and she’s waiting there--” he gestures to Zen, who flutters his eyelashes in precisely the way Shirayuki doesn’t-- “for you to make your move. Go!”

He could point out he’s not single, and that he doesn’t have any plans to change that anytime soon-- but that only ends in one way: a two-pronged mockery with additional ridicule provided by the impending arrival of his better half. He could also point out that of all the people in this room, he’s the only one who hasn’t wanted to date Shirayuki, but-- well, the problems with that one were obvious.

Instead, Mitsuhide takes in a deep breath, learns on the counter, and says, “Why, Shirayuki! You’re looking beautiful this morning. Those shorts really flatter your legs.”

There is a long silence, and then to everlasting embarrassment, they burst out laughing.

“Her shorts?” Zen’s hand is pressed to his chest, like he needs support to keep upright. “That’s all you can think of? Her shorts?”

“Well, Obi said not to do her hair,” he protests. “Complimenting her dress seemed like low hanging fruit. I was trying to be unique.”

Obi doesn’t even bother to remain horizontal, sprawling himself over the long forgotten maps. “So you went for her legs?”

“There’s nothing wrong with legs!”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Zen sputters out in an effort to keep his mouth straight. “Definitely a very neutral place to comment on.”

“Definitely not known for being attached to things like asses.” Obi’s mouth twitches, as much a sign for danger as thunder rolling in the distance. “Or puss--”

“I was not trying to comment on that.” He’d felt bad for Zen earlier, but the sentiment doesn’t seem mutual. “It’s not typical, sure, but Kiki never seems to mind when I compliment--”

“Kiki?” Zen squawks. “Kiki?”

“Well, I think we’re all learning a little too much about Big Guy today,” Obi wheezes. “Mainly that it’s Ms Kiki that chased him, and not the other way around.”

“Yeah.” Zen shakes his head, long and slow and solemn, like a doctor about to give a terminal diagnosis. “No game at all.”

Mitsuhide’s not a competitive man. Sure, he was forward on the ice, the kind of player that got sent to the box before the end of the first half and slid right into the captain spot when it was vacant. Aggression is part of the game, competition laced in every turn of his skate and lift of his stick, but that’s a different situation, a different language--

But it’s that part of him that surges beneath his skin right now, that makes him want to saunter over and put both hands on that rickety, painted wood until it creaks. That makes him want to take a full minute to bend down, showing off every centimeter of his one-ninety plus, and ask real low if either of them has made a girl beg on their cock lately, but--

He puts it in its place. That sort of talk always sounded better en français anyway.

Zen waves his hand, slipping his pamphlets out from under Obi. “Anyway, enough messing around. Are you still making omelettes, Mitsuhide?”

“Ohh, omelettes?” Obi spins to him with wide eyes. “Can I get mine with fancy ham?”

Mitsuhide blinks. “Wait, aren’t you going to do your take?”

“Nah.”

Zen shrugs. “Joke’s over.”

“So I just did that for no reason--?”

“I wouldn’t say no reason,” Zen wheedles. “It was very educational.”

Obi grins. “Mainly about how Big Guy likes legs--”

“Oh,” drawls a voice that makes his body go cold and hot at the same time. When he turns, it’s Kiki leaning against the jamb, a single elegant brow raised, excusing amusement and menace in equal measure. “Am I to take it that the show is over?”

“K-kiki,” he stammers. “How long--?”

“Hm.” She saunters over to the counter, slipping onto a stool with a casual grace that still leaves his mouth dry. “Long enough. I have to admit, I was looking forward to seeing a display of Obi’s fabled moves.”

“Ms Kiki,” Obi simpers, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’d be happy to give you a personal demonstration anytime.”

Both her brows raise. “Did I say I was desperate?”

He’s saved from Obi’s answer by Shirayuki padding into the kitchen, flushed and breathless. “Oh, you were right Kiki! Everyone is already ready. Sorry to make you wait.”

There’s a hesitation in the air, and Mitsuhide can’t figure it out, not until he sees-- she’s wearing shorts.

Shirayuki blinks. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kiki hums, sending him a gaze so wicked it should be illegal outside the bedroom. “Do you have anything to say to her, Mitsuhide?”

“No!” It comes out a little too harsh, a little too loud. “I mean, I, uh...like your sandals!”

“Sandals,” Obi snickers, a sound that’s only covered by Zen’s hushed, “Shut up.”

“Oh!” She blinks down. “Thank you. I got them at Payless. I, um, don’t think they make them in your size.”

“No,” he manages mildly. “I don’t imagine they would.”

“You do look real cute, Doc,” Obi chimes in, slinking out of his seat to circle around her. “Did you dress up for today?”

Zen makes a noise, somewhere between a choke and a gasp, but even with the pink brushing her cheeks, Shirayuki’s too used to his antics to do much more than sigh.

“Of course I did, Obi.” Her fists perch high on her hips, cocked as she talks to him. “It’s the last time we’re all going to be going out together, isn’t it? What could be more special than that?”

Mitsuhide may not be a competitive man, and especially isn’t a malicious one, but when Obi’s jaw goes slack, the tips of his ears darkening just the slightest bit, well-- he does indulge in the slightest bit of schadenfreude.

“Well,” Zen says, a little sharp. “Let’s get going.”

“Aw!” Obi whips around. “What about fancy ham?”

“I don’t think you need--”

“Oh, I haven’t had breakfast either!” Shirayuki adds, eyes wide. “Do we have time?”

Zen hesitates, and then with a sigh, relents. “We’ll stop at Dunkies.”