#but then you look around and are reminded that a lot of people are having a tough time

[im-da-bronx]

Oh babe I’ve got some tips that will help you out

Number 1: get strips of fabric (cotton preferably, you can use rags and cut them to size) that are the same width as your cake pans are deep. Make sure they are long enough to wrap around your pan with a little extra length. Then, right before you pop your cake in the oven, you’re going to soak the fabric thoroughly, squeezing out the excess so that it’s wet but not dripping. And then you’re going to use safety pins or Bobby pins to pin the fabric around your pans like so:

What this will do is cool the edges of the cake, so that it bakes evenly. Instead of the outside baking first and the excess liquid pooling in the middle, it will all bake at the same rate. Now you don’t have to level your cakes after they’re done, because they’re already level.

Number 2: get a gallon ziploc/freezer bag, and put your frosting in one corner. Cut off the corner, and voilà, you have a cheap piping bag. I use this to get all of my frosting onto the cake evenly, and then I use a spatula to smooth it out later.

Number 3 is more of a reminder, after you pour the batter into the pan, lightly drop the pan onto the counter a few times to get any bubbles out and to help distribute the batter evenly.

Number 4 is also more of a reminder. Remember to butter and flour your pans before baking so it doesn’t stick, wait until your cake is cooled/chilled to remove it from the pan, use a flat butter knife to gently cut around the edges of the cake pan to unstick the cake, and put a plate or platter upside-down on top of your cake pan, then quickly flip it to remove the cake

Baking a cake doesn’t have to be that stressful. A lot of times it is, but that’s because people don’t know the little shortcuts for different steps. I use these steps to make cakes that look like I know what I’m doing (I can only make one type of cake)

so. as you may know it’s christmas eve. as you probably don’t know i am eastern european. and probably the only real tradition anyone holds onto is christmas eve. normally my great aunt does all the food and very begrudgingly sometimes lets everyone help make like. one thing.

well.

this year. the year of our lord two thousand and twenty four. she decided she was done cooking and it was up to everyone else.

so i got a phone call from my mom a few weeks ago being like hey so. you’re making the cake. got it? good.

the cake in question is a walnut cake. i was entrusted with my great aunts recipe about seven years ago. i’ve made it twice. the first time i fucked up the frosting quantity. the second time i fucked up the eggs. both times were passable at best and notably! my great aunt did not taste either of them.

and i have to make this cake. on christmas eve. it is dessert. for everyone. my extended family will all be eating the cake. the walnut cake. on christmas eve. even my great aunt.

so yesterday, december 23 if you are counting, i went on the annual Last Minute Christmas Food Shopping Trip with my father, watched him climb into the case to get his half and half like he does every year, and stressed about my cake as i made sure i had all of the ingredients.

then. we went to my great aunts house. where i was met with Trial Number 1: The Cognac

this cake has cognac in the frosting. not a big deal really. except for the fact that my mom hates that there is cognac in the frosting. (my mom is hell bent on making christmas eve dinner vaguely healthier. no one else agrees.) and i was to be making the cake in my moms house.

also important to note: we (as in my parents) do not own cognac. mostly because none of us drink.

so my great aunt is like oh i have to give you the cognac. cause she knows. i am baking the cake. the walnut cake. (my dad told her. he is a traitor). and i say okay. sure. this won’t be a problem at all.

so she gives me. a shot of cognac. and when i say a shot. i mean an Entirely Full Shot Glass of Three Hundred Dollar Cognac. in a jar. for the cake. the walnut cake. that i have to make.

upon bringing the cognac home my mom says no we’re not putting that in. the cognac sits on the counter in its jar. no one touches it.

then i was met with Trial Number 2: The Frosting.

this recipe requires a pound of chopped walnuts. first. i couldn’t even find the walnuts. my sister and i searched high and low and in every cabinet we could find but no nuts. i called my mom. and said mom where are the walnuts? and she said. “they’re in the nut bag behind the basement door.”

oh of course. how could i have missed the nut bag? a holiday bag full of bags of nuts that was half hidden by wrapping paper and also behind a door?

in any case. could i have used a food processor? absolutely. did i? no. half because i forgot and half because i didn’t want to accidentally grind the walnuts into a paste. so i enlisted the help of my younger sister to chop the walnuts By Hand while i embarked on the real devil: the frosting.

which remember. is supposed to have cognac.

so i cream my butter. i add my sugar. i’m careful not to over sugar. i taste it a million times. i add my coffee and my vanilla extract (instead of cognac. which is still sitting on the counter) and it was all going so well until. the butter rebelled.

now remember. one time when i made this. seven years ago. i made too little frosting. so i made more this time. and i thought i had all my conversions right but evidently i did not because suddenly there was too much liquid in my frosting and it split.

the frosting for the walnut cake that everyone was going to eat. on christmas eve. the very next day.

i felt like a contestant on great british bake-off getting smited by the tent.

so i did the logical thing and shoved the whole mess into the fridge hoping that it would sort itself out overnight.

then it was time to face Trial Number Three: The Cake Itself.

as i have said this cake is a walnut cake. the christmas eve walnut cake that has been at christmas eve longer than i have been alive. and it requires no less than ten egg whites. which i whipped and i added to my walnuts and shoved the whole thing into the oven in my two baking dishes.

only to discover no less than 40 minutes later that the batter in the pans was Not Even (despite my best efforts). so i cooked one longer than the other and hoped that i hadn’t monumentally fucked up the walnut cake. like i had the frosting. which was in the fridge. and i was ignoring.

which leads to Trial Number Four: The Egg Yolk Cake

see i had ten egg yolks. i didn’t know what to do with them. my mom said flush them. my dad said make a custard. i proposed making egg nog. my mom said she didn’t want it in the house cause it was too fattening (a blatantly incorrect statement. please, if you are reading this, go drink a glass of eggnog. or some other fun festive drink. food is for the soul.) so i produced a recipe for an egg yolk pound cake. i made it. i still don’t know if it came out good cause i haven’t tasted it. i hope it did. but that was not the point. the point is the walnut cake. the christmas eve walnut cake.

and the following morning i was met with Trial Number Five: The Frosting Part 2

first i threw my failed frosting back in the mixer and it immediately secreted a brackish combination of vanilla extract and coffee so i did the only thing i could. facetimed my dad and said “father there are problems abound.” and he gave me the fatherly advice of “make it again.”

and so i did.

with more correct measurements. still scared it would split at any second.

though it didn’t.

and i didn’t add the cognac.

maybe no one will be able to tell???

my mom said that if anyone asks the first batch of frosting failed and i had to toss it. this is technically true.

but i had frosting. i had two uneven cakes. and it was time for Trial Number Six: Decorating

decorating cakes is easily in my top ten least favorite activities. decorating the christmas eve walnut cake is easily in my top three least favorite activities. because i am terrible at decorating cakes. and also because it has a filling.

the filling is jam. and i once again made the wrong choice because i put the jam on first before the frosting. which to be fair is what the directions say. but as everyone knows, the directions in recipes you get from your eastern european great aunt are not the real directions. so now i had to smear butter cream. on top of jam. for the filling of the walnut cake. for christmas eve. that we would be eating in a few hours.

and we didn’t have a cake plate. we had a large dish.

i had to use my fingers. i had to use three spatulas. i got jam everywhere. but i did it. and as soon as i set the top cake on top of the filling i realized my monumental mistake: i was supposed to trim down the cakes.

so now they were uneven. and lopsided. and there was nothing i, a mere mortal tasked with the impossible task of making christmas eve walnut cake, could do about it.

so i continued to spread my frosting. which i had enough of. and tried and failed to not get jam everywhere.

in the end it was almost presentable. not great. slightly lopsided. and definitely not as nice as any of my great aunts cakes.

which left me with Trial Number 7: Chilling It

our fridge was being taken up by other important christmas eve things (though not as important as my cake. the walnut cake) so i had to put it in the car. which was fine because there is snow on the ground.

i covered my cake. the walnut cake. in tin foil and hoped i wouldn’t accidentally squish it. and then i went outside. i tried to steal my moms shoes to walk outside. she was not impressed.

“you know, saph,” she said. “some of the time you’re pretty great. the other half of the time you’re really weird.”

i could not agree more.

i put my cake on the trunk. prayed to the cake gods and went inside.

on the one hand if the cake is good, i will be stuck making walnut cake for christmas eve for the rest of my life. on the other hand, if it sucks i will never have to make another one.

Trial Number Eight: The Tasting still waits.

[honeytonedhottie]

decentering men and recentering urself⋆.ೃ࿔*:･💅🏽💓

the secret to decentering men and not having ur entire world revolving around them (bcuz it should be revolving around you, duh) is having a fulfilling life. it makes me ICK so bad when im watching a video or reading a post and im rly loving it, and then it'll find SOME way to make it revolve around men. like can we not?…💬🎀

WHY WE CENTER THE OPPOSITE SEX ;

a lot of people find themselves centering their lives around the opposite sex in an attempt to fill a void within themselves. they do it because they aren't happy with themselves or their lives, or maybe its learned behavior. whatever the reason is, its NOT hot.

some things that someone who centers men might think are "oh my life is so boring, maybe it would be spiced up if i got with a man" or "maybe it'll bring some excitement into my day" like EUGHHH. obviously the solution is to find ways to make our lives fulfilling but how do we do that? and how do we get to the root cause and squash this self sabotaging behavior?

SELF AWARENESS ;

if u have nothing going on for u, ofc ur gonna be energetically desperate and accepting anything and EVERYTHING. practice self awareness and try to get to the root cause of why u center men through things like shadow work, therapy, or just straight up having an honest conversation with urself cuz i swear it helps.

when you make the conscious effort to build ur dream life you'll notice that people that are on the same mindset as you will vibe with the REAL you. the need to fake/adjust urself to fit in with other people will dissipate because ur fitting into ur own standards and ur connections will be more meaningful because of it.

TAKE UR POWER BACK ;

no ones actions should ruin ur day or make u upset for more then a day (even less) cuz its YOUR world. 💕🍰

make time for YOU, doll. plan self care routines for urself every week. doing face masks, journalling, vision boarding, WHATEVER U LIKE TO DO. making time for urself reminds u that ur the main character of ur life so u dont have to settle for crumbs.

stop giving that power to someone else and dictate how u feel, NOT the actions of a significant other or the opposite sex or anybody. the reason why its important to make sure that ur the center of ur own life is so that you can be happy and fulfilled regardless of if there is a man or if there isnt a man present. so the objective is to decenter men -> and then put yourself at the center

GET A HOBBY ;

find something to make ur life fulfilling. pursue ur OWN interests and try out different hobbies if ur unsure of what ur interests are yet. cultivate ur world to the point where it GLEAMS with perfection and then do a little extra. build a life that u love so much that whether u get male attention or validation doesnt even matter cuz their opinions have little to no relevance 💀

challenge yourself: next time you catch yourself thinking, ‘would a guy like this?’ flip it and ask urself "hey, do i like this?" start checking with yourself first instead of checking with others.

MAKING THE DECISION TO DECENTER MEN ;

decentering men simply means that ur deciding to no longer think, feel, act, dress, or plan ur life around a man or for the validation of any man…💬🎀

relationships will actually get BETTER when u decenter the opposite sex. cuz ur not looking for someone to compete with and ur whole on ur own. this sets the stage for balance and mutual respect and THATS hot.

you can be in a relationship and still decenter men. decentering men simply means that you are the priority, not the relationship. how can we tell if we're decentering men or not? here are a few questions to help you know if u are ->

if i did not care about looking good to the opposite sex what would i actually like to wear?

if i did not get married, how could i create the best and most abundant life for myself?

what hobbies/interests do i have that dont involve being around men/have male attention as a component of it?

[vieoeil-riae]

yourself and I

steb/gn!reader

warnings: masturbation, caught masturbating (steb), hand jobs, eye contact, praise kink, submissive!steb, aspects of nonhuman genitalia (a lot more precome), porn with plot, mutual pining, childhood friends to lovers, selectively mute!steb, sign language (BSL), steb the bf hater as a treat, 18+ MDNI, 4.4k words

synopsis: You find familiar help when spiraling rent prices bite you, it sends Steb spiraling into guilty realisations of his own.

read on ao3 | ao3 profile | ao3 collection

Rent in Piltover was always extortionate. An arm and a leg, as well as your firstborn child would just about get you a dingy flat in the worst spot imaginable. You’d grumbled over it relentlessly, slowly being driven mad by flat after flat that you considered as being ‘alright’ ending up well out of your price range.

You’d confided in your childhood friend of course, silent, seemingly unbothered by everything, but an amazing listener once you looked just an inch past his quietness. God was it a relief, relationship drama; philosophical tangents; ranting about rent prices; even the most vulnerable secrets were safe in Steb’s capable hands.

It was only natural that years of sticking together and staying by his side — especially when people tried to oust him for his appearance and apparent dislike for talking — would foster the safe feelings between you. He was a haven of understanding.

“I’ve lost my flat, I’m losing my boyfriend, I’m so cold,” You grumbled, nearly yelling as your hands moved in time with your words — years of watching Steb sign to you baked into your habits, “and I have no fucking money!”

The two of you had been walking back from a hole-in-the-wall pub, somewhere where the food was cheap and the atmosphere was cozy. You’d fought to pay your share of the bill, insisting on not troubling Steb, and were promptly reminded that neither of you would ever be in debt with each other with several firm hand gestures. In short, he paid.

His ears had swivelled down at your words, not from the volume, but because he was concerned. He’d taken you out mostly as a way to console you when you’d shown up at his door with a tight lid on your emotions, but a sheen of tears clinging to your lash line.

Two weeks to find another place, was what you told him, and his frills had flared — a sharp twinge of his eyebrow evidence of the way he felt deeply irritated on your behalf.

Your boyfriend was another topic he knew intimately well. Too well. He didn’t like him, to say the least. Self-centred, lazy, stupid. A myriad of insults towards that man could be dredged from his mind, but not shared; not out of respect for him but for the sake of not upsetting you too much. You could do better, without question, he wasn’t against you losing him if he was being honest.

Steb had draped his coat over you despite the chill that brushed over his skin and walked you all the way back home, quietly and logically rolling around ideas on how to help.

The next day, you were surprised by the sight of your best friend standing in your doorway well past dark when you finally came home from work, ears pricking at the sound of your footsteps. 

You could always stay with him, if you wanted?

And who were you to say no, you’d agreed quickly to sharing his space — a look of relief washing over your face. He really would’ve asked sooner if he knew that was the expression you would’ve made.

At the same time, maybe he shouldn’t have asked at all. 

It was only natural that years of being so close had led him to be… partial to you. It made sense because to him, you’d always been ‘good’ in every way in his eyes; even the ugly parts, because they were yours, and you were beautiful, full stop. No, he’s not being biased, you just were — it was objective.

It had been a lingering thought in the back of his mind for years, coated in the plausible deniability of simple familiarity and friendship until the feeling’s cloak was lifted by the new, constant proximity to you. 

You were everywhere all of a sudden. Your clothes were in his laundry hamper; your favourite foods were littered about the kitchen cupboards; he could smell you on the couch cushions — his frills fluttered as they nearly tasted the scent of your damp skin after you showered.

When exactly his feelings had become more than friendly, he wasn’t sure, maybe they’d always been that way, but it was starting to drive him mad.

You’d tell him about arguments you and your boyfriend had more and more frequently, his heart clenching at the thought of you being shouted at, cock woefully jumping at the thought of you shouting back. It was a guilty feeling, mind split between feeling the lewd ache of it and watching the curl of your lips, not paying the attention he ought to.

You’d wear pyjamas around the house, his heart growing warm and fuzzy at your comfort, biting the inside of his cheek when he eyed the sliver of skin revealed when you reached for anything on a high shelf. He blinked and caught the thoughts by the neck, you weren’t a piece of meat. But god, the stretch of your skin looked heavenly.

You’d touch him even more — from little brushes of your hands on his hips to gently shuffle him out the way to melting into his arms on the couch after a long day — his heart throbbed at the closeness, so did the rest of him. He prayed you never noticed the way his breathing picked up.

Steb tended to do the washing, a task off your back, a good distraction from your wonderfully consuming presence until he found himself blushing around your underwear and feeling like a pervert just for touching them, more so when he caught himself thinking much too hard about where the fabric had been pressed all day. He groaned quietly.

Fresh out of the shower, you looked like temptation; water still dripping down your collar bones and beyond until it finally met your towel. His eyes traced the droplets when he was sure you weren’t paying attention. You brushed your teeth together, he’d watch the way you’d gag brushing your tongue. Every action, completely innocuous until his mind decided it wasn’t.

It was wrong, so very wrong, to… sexualise you. You were his friend, not an object — you were spoken for as well. A confusing mix of possessiveness and a deep desire to hole up in a cave for several months swirled in his chest every time he thought about that. He couldn’t have you and his mind refused to help him stick to that, so he lived with a clenched jaw.

Guilt followed the way he enjoyed domestic moments with you, and it was getting ridiculous. It felt like he was barely treading water when all he was doing was washing the dishes while you dried them, two trains of thought blaring as he stared at stray water trickling down your bare forearms. Your hands carefully wiped the water off of a knife, your hand pulling the dishcloth up and down so smoothly, Steb blinked hard and tried to swallow the feeling in his throat.

It was like his birthday came early the day you’d finally had it with your boyfriend.

You’d stormed in, cursing up a maelstrom of swears and insults under your breath, collecting up trinkets and books and several hoodies before dumping them into a ratty bag. He watched you carefully, frozen in his place, leaning against the kitchen counter with a lukewarm cup of tea in his hands.

Admittedly you were, crudely put, hot when you were pissed, but admiringly eyeing the sharp way you moved around his flat came second to his concern for you. Steb rounded the counter, crouching a few feet in front of you so you could see his hands ask what had happened.

You’d seethed, the angry scrunch of your brow just a little less appealing when directed at him.

“You, with me. Now.” You’d gestured to the door with a harsh jab of your thumb, leaving no room for argument, though there wouldn’t have been a need for one anyway — he very much didn’t mind doing what you told him to.

He’d trailed you all the way to your boyfriend’s house and waited just at the gate while you pounded on the door. His ears pricked towards the conversation, admittedly (and guiltily) quite nosy about the ensuing spat. The door creaked open and god, how did a guy like that ever catch the eye of someone like you? Maybe he was being too judgemental…

“Your fish doesn’t like me.” Your boyfriend muttered, throwing an irritated glance over your shoulder at Steb.

“No, he doesn’t, and I don’t either.” You dropped the bag on the threshold, not flinching at the sound of something inside snapping. “Take your shit and don’t talk to me again, prick.”

You turned on your heel without another word. It was petty, maybe, but Steb used the last few moments he had before being dragged off to send a thinly veiled, judging glance at your now-ex-boyfriend — the almost stoic, but not quite, look sending your ex into a fit.

More softly, you’d confided in him later that night the words that brought everything to a close:

“‘Too much.’” You’d paraphrased to him, sat with your knees tucked to your chest on the window sill next to him. You looked so ethereal in the moonlight, his heart broke at the thought of you — someone he thought so dearly of — being treated with such dismissal.

He held you tightly, tracing kinder words into your back as he let your tears silently wet the scruffy collar of his well-worn jumper. You breathed in the smell of him, fresh but kind of salty like the sea breeze, until you relaxed entirely — enjoying the feel of his chest against yours, not knowing he was doing the same.

It became harder to distract himself from you after that, there was one less layer standing between him and giving in, one less layer of guilt when images of your nude body flashed through his mind, or how you’d feel; your hands, your lips, your mouth. It was like the blush on his cheeks never went away when you were around.

Though fantasising about you would be perverse, he got off, his palms and sheets a slick mess with the exertion, just trying to get rid of the aching before you got home. His wandering thoughts kept taking him back to you.

What would you sound like? Feel like? He knew from your rants how you liked to lavish your partner with affection, would you do that for him? He fought the image of your hands on him, giving himself to you, losing when he could almost feel your hands replacing his, saturating his senses with a burning pleasure.

His ears burned, hearing echoes of your words spin around his head. You called him beautiful and meant it, you called him a good man too — maybe you’d rescind that if you knew what his palms were doing, but the memory of your half-lidded, content eyes searching his gazing fondly into his made him sigh and arch into the feeling of his hands.

When you looked at him it was like the veil of his isolated existence dropped, like you were in his head and knew every thought like it was your own. You understood him, cut him slack he’d never give himself, but would you still offer him that if you knew? His heart clenched at the possibility you would, heady and electric bolts of want panging through his core.

He sucked a sharp breath through his teeth, thumb stroking over the wet tip of his cock, trying to drown himself in the sensation — brows pinched in focus. If he just got off then maybe he could look you in the eye without the risk of you seeing how badly he wanted you.

He didn’t notice you’d come home, though.

You’d been excited about leaving work early, finally knowing what it was like to feel excited about the person waiting for you when you got back. Maybe it was rude to have a thing for your best friend who kindly let you stay with him, rude to play with how you remembered small moments and reimagine them so intimately.

But it was Steb of all people, kind, sweet Steb. Resisting the pull felt more impossible than ever. Maybe it was rude to be looking for him in the guys you dated, it was definitely why the last try failed — stoicism wasn’t dickheadedness when it was Steb, Steb was just calm to the untrained eye. 

You’d finally admitted to yourself that the man you wanted was the one sharing a flat with you. You just didn’t want to ruin what you already had, you doubted he’d leave you forever but the thought of a new gap between you made your heart ache. 

So you flustered awfully when you’d quietly walked past Steb’s bedroom. The slick sounds escaping through the crack in the door were obvious, especially with the lewd sliver of him you could see through it. You ached, you probably weren’t the cause of that and by all means ought to stop looking.

But you, basally, were greedy. Nature halted you in place, staring at Steb desperately stroking his cock.

It was pretty, he was pretty, you wanted to touch him, find all the little faces he could make. Maybe noises too, wouldn’t that be delicious? You were caught up, breathing heavy, unable to look away — tunnel vision set on the way his pre-come glistened in the low light because god, there was so much of it.

He yelped, snapping you out of the spiral you found yourself in, eyes locking with his through the crack. Getting him to make a noise that loud was a feat in and of its own, you couldn’t help but wonder if you could get him to make a similar one another way.

Maybe it was bad that he throbbed at the thought of you coming in, but the thought of you touching him was the only thing that sent a pang of heat through his gut for months, sent his frills fluttering. Shame, mild fear, and unrelenting desire coalesced in a fizzing way that made his cock jump between his slick palms.

You spoke before you thought, interrupting the way his still sticky hands came up to frantically sign apologies at you. “Can I help?”

Far less suave than you wanted, it came out desperate. You had the decency to look mildly surprised at your own words, especially when Steb’s jaw dropped; an intense blush coating him all the way to his shoulders, a shiver running down his back.

You had to control yourself when he cautiously nodded, shedding your jacket in the hall outside, gripping the door far too tight as you stalked towards him. Guilt weighed heavily in his eyes, you were familiar with the look, he blamed himself for a lot of things, but you wanted it gone.

“What’s with the face?” You questioned lowly, leaning over his bare body. It felt unfair, but the down-turn of his ears and now flattened frills sent a wave of satisfaction through you. “Imagining something bad?”

You watched his eyes widen, a caught look that bordered on panic splaying across his features as he turned to look away, but you weren’t having it. You pinched his chin between your fingers, turning his burning face back to you.

His index finger pointed towards you, your breath caught in your throat. He saw your surprise and started to fumble apologies, shaking fingers just barely cooperative enough to twist into the right words. You snorted lightly, the situation hitting you. 

You leaned in.

“I imagine you, too.” You whispered against the shell of his ear, breath ghosting the sensitive tips through a smile and you felt his own breathing hitch against your neck. Your breath nearly burned, the world seemed to stop entirely at your words. The image of you touching yourself, his name falling from your lips, burrowed its way into his mind. Did you feel like he did, carnal, utterly perverse but as sharp as a live wire ready to snap?

He shivered against you, the thin, sensitive skin of his collar bones brushing against the material of your shirt.

You pulled back with a smirk, “why’d you stop?”

He blushed impossibly hotter as you knelt on the bed in front of him, eyeing him hungrily. You knew why, there was no way you didn’t, but you loved to tease him, prod him, make his hands spill his thoughts. You did it for conversation, to get in his head, you were doing it to force his hand and make him say what he wanted. A lewd twist, a new face of your affection.

‘You.’ His index finger pointed at your chest again.

“You can keep going, I’m not stopping you.” You shrugged off your shirt, the planes of your body revealed softer than your words. Steb was transfixed, finally seeing your skin a new light after all the years between you, not simply imagining it. You hummed. “But you’re considerate, aren’t you?”

He swallowed, pride blooming in his chest despite not knowing where you were going. 

“You always think about what other people are thinking, what they could think. You don’t want to scare me off, is that it?” You probed, drawing in closer, never looking away from his eyes even when your hand found purchase on his thigh. Warmth flooded his chest, his ears twitched, and almost guiltily, he looked away from you as if he were afraid of how well you could read him.

“You can’t scare me off,” you whispered into his ear, hand trailing up the inside of his thigh — the delicate kisses of your fingertips making his cock twitch, “you don’t know how long I’ve wanted you.”

Your hand missed his cock, caressing his pelvis and drifting up as you continued to talk. “Wanna know something, Steb?”

He nodded shakily, shivering as your hands skimmed his sensitive sides.

“I think I’ve been looking for you for a long time. I look for your eyes when I’m interested in other people, do you know what I’m saying?” Your fingers brushed his nipple, pinching enough to make him draw a sharp breath before dancing up his chest. He shook his head and you cupped the back of his neck. “I’ve been looking for you this whole time.”

You cupped his jaw, “I wanted you the whole time, because of course I did, how could I not?”

He could feel the weight of your stare, the honesty of your want, as well as the way his frills pulsed along his cheekbones. You wanting him seemed almost incomprehensible, but he wouldn’t deny you; the pooling of anxiety in his gut turned warm, nearly salivating at the thought of finally getting what he had always wanted.

He watched you carefully as you leaned in again, knee wedged between his thighs, barely brushing his throbbing cock. 

“May I?” You asked sweetly, eyes darting to his lips and back up again. You, so willing to act, waited for him — you always cared. When his lips met yours it was like a jigsaw had fallen into place, the warmth of your lips against his, sweet and real, made everything make more sense.

You pulled away, murmuring adoringly. “You’re so soft, I like that, I like you.”

Kiss-drunk, you dove in for more, pressing Steb towards his pillows. Your hand brushed the seam where his fins met his scalp and he shivered into the hot press of your bodies, hips bucking his cock into your thigh. You spoke against his lips, calling him all sorts of pretty words, your other hand trying to memorise the feel of every inch of skin it could find.

You hand found the base of his cock, hard and slick, and you hummed happily into his mouth. You withdrew far enough to get a good look at his eyes, admiring the misty, deep blue of his blown-out pupils. “Can I touch you?”

“Please.” Steb whispered, quiet and sort of raspy with disuse, but the keening pitch, the almost-broken quiver made his desire so evident. His hand moved with his word out of habit, the back of his fingers brushing the underside of your jaw as his flat hand moved down from his chin, and changed direction to cup your jaw.

“God, you’re so good to me, you’re so good.” You breathed, hand wrapping around his shaft, squeezing lightly and reveling in the way it made his shoulders jump. He was right to have imagined your hands feeling better, the lack of his control made the sensation taste sweeter, the feel of your hand giving his cock and experimental pump — careful of the frills — burn hotter.

“Fuck, you’re wet as hell, how long were you at it before I got home?” He let out the quietest whine at the strain in your authoritative voice, rutting into the twist of your hands over his cock frills. “You know, it’s kinda hot to think about you getting off on me. How long have you been pent up?”

Steb’s eyes rolled back, third eyelids stuttering over his foggy pupils as a needy thrum passed through his body. You watched his muscles twitch, his head roll to the side slightly, before you took his chin between your fingers and forced his eyes back to yours. “Don’t look away from me now, sweetheart, isn’t this what you wanted? What you’ve been wanting for a long while?”

A strangled noise caught in the back of his throat at the hungry way you looked at him, eyes dark and lidded and there was a pull to arch into you, showing you everything he could. He could goad you just as well, there was a sharp, intoxicating kick to watching you react to him; no wide, greedy pupils or heaving shoulders at the sight of his writhing were lost on him.

There was a swell of lewd pride in his chest and groin knowing he could make you like this, a thought just as enjoyable as the feeling of being under your hands. And it was nice to give you what you wanted, to scratch an itch deep in you with his body — there was an element of you using him like that that made the frills on his cock flutter.

He hissed at the feeling of you changing pace, watched your eyes trail down to his flushed cock and the sensitive frills decorating it, your fingers ghosting the very edges of them — sparks dancing along the trail your fingertips made. 

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” You asked, more of a statement than anything, but your voice sounded so clear. Steb’s stomach tensed at your words, a wave of excitement cresting over his shoulders — it was like he could feel your words. 

Your hands flattened his frills on the next downstroke, putting garbled words and heavy breathing in his throat, humping into your hand as his hands — frantic — grasped your bare shoulders. The heat of your skin below his palms added to the tense burning climbing its way up his spine.

“Mm, yeah, hold on like that. You don’t know how much I like it when you touch me.” You softly spoke over the vulgar sound of your hand pumping his cock. He was swimming in feeling, every honeyed word you uttered stuffed cotton on his head. Sweetly, in loving contrast to the lecherous rub of your hand, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You don’t know how much I’ve started to enjoy coming home.”

Steb shivered, eyes fluttering shut at your words and squeezing harder at the wave of sensitivity they brought. 

“It’s because you’re here.” You whispered into his skin, worshipful and adoring in each syllable. You smiled, pleased, at the feeling of his hips bucking with more instinct — chasing his peak in your hands. 

You stole the sense from his mind, kissing away his doubts as cascading reassurances of how much you wanted him, wanted this, and loved seeing him come apart fell from your lips. You brushed your lips over the frills of his cheekbones, bursts of you dancing on the edge of his mind in a way he could never describe, but couldn’t get enough of.

Your eyes looked endless when you pulled away, a shudder passing through his taught body at the way you regarded him so deeply. You didn’t go far, never stopping your hands, only enough to see his eyes. His leaking tip throbbed.

“I love you.” You told him quietly, almost bashful despite your sensuous touch. Tender, so tender and intentional, you meant what you said. The debauched, glazed look in your eyes sending a shiver through his spine — turning the pooling heat in his gut fizzing with the approaching peak of ecstasy.

“Don’t hold back, Steb.” You ordered softly, aware of the violent jerk of his hips, the choked whine he made when you matched his bucking; the hand stroking his cock hitting every sensitive ridge, the other lost to the bare stretches of skin it could reach.

He jolted, hissing as he came, curling towards you; unintentionally rough, your teeth clacking as he kissed you, frenzied, urging, trying to feel more of you. Your hand worked until he twinged away from your touch, you let him, still caught up in the thrill of watching him writhe because of you.

He panted, eyes refocusing on yours, a gently searching expression crossing his brows. You licked off some of the slick, white come from your hand, snorting at the surprised, then flustered, face he pulled.

“What?” You giggled, fondly eyeing your work. Steb really did look pretty splayed out like that, frills still fluttering with the aftershock, cheeks hued with effort.

He pointed to himself, then pulled a face that seemed to be part of an internal debate you weren’t privy to; like he was looking for permission somewhere. His ears flushed and flicked down.

Steb’s hands crossed flat across the skin just below his collar bones, then pointed a slightly shaky finger towards you. 

‘I love you.’

Your eyes widened in shock of the obvious, and any impulsive words were smothered on your lips by a heartfelt kiss as his pointed finger turned into a hand reaching to cup the back of your neck. Uncontrollably, insuppressible, you smiled into it, heart jumping at the feeling.

“Took us long enough, huh?” You teased, making Steb chuckle quietly. You were pulled in, bare torso to bare torso, and kept close to his skin — feeling the beat of his heart against yours.

A/N: lol died for a bit sorry about that, anyways merry christmas! (half of you have probably read this already 💀)

banner cr: @/anitalenia

[deepestnightcolor]

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆Kinkmas - 24th of December⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

ᴀ/ɴ: This is it, folks! The last door to open for you in this event. Thank you for sticking around or checking out a story here and there, I appreciate it all! If you celebrate Christmas - merry Christmas! Have some lovely and calm festivities! If you don't - have a lovely day, I hope it is relaxing enough and that you take good care of yourself!

A gentle reminder: when I write "Christmas" here, I am talking about the Feast of The Winterstar. I have to admit, I got a little sloppy after writing "Feast of the winterstar" so often. Please forgive me - and I hope you can enjoy nonetheless!

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: find out, dolls!

ᴡᴄ: depending how much you read

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: hints of sexual content

Sebastian: „The Feast of the Winterstar isn’t really my thing, you know? So many people, so many sounds, and you have to pretend to be…I dunno, a happy a little family, you know? Even though you aren’t really a happy little family, and you feel like an outcast. Look at this, me throwing a pity party for myself. But I promise, it’s going somewhere.  I didn’t usually like it because I felt so misplaced, but this year, I didn’t. This was one of the first years where I looked forward to going, because I knew you would be my family, and I dunno, it felt so good. Okay, I have to admit, maybe that blowjob you gave me before helped. And maybe knowing that you were so full of my cum that you had to squish those thighs together in that little skirt did, too. I wonder how many people saw those hickeys, wonder how many knew you were absolutely pumped full…you took my cock so well, even though you knew we had to go, like you always do…I digress. Look at me, writing this card, trying to be all cute and sweet and even now when you are not even around (you are sleeping on the couch right now, I am going to carry you to bed later, promise) to distract me, you still possess my mind. I sometimes wonder if you know how much I love you. Probably not, because I often suck telling you, but I do. So much. You make this life a lot better, you know? You give me this sort of foundation I have always needed, and you know what? I am so happy to build up on it with you. The realization hit me hard today, when I didn’t feel that pit in my stomach when getting ready to go to the town square. When I didn’t just want to turn around and run for it, when I didn’t want to jump on my bike and just get out of there. It hit me even harder when I looked forward to talking to my family, because I could wrap my arm around you, and I knew I would be safe and appreciated. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but, uh, thank you. I love you, you little toad. I will put this card under your pillow now and pretend it was Santa who brought you your gift, because you can’t stop me. I love you. -Sebby”

Sam: “I haven’t written a card in aaaaaaaaaaaaagessssssssss, but I decided today was the day it needed to happen. Because I love you, baby, so, so much. You should have seen yourself in the square, holy fuck did you make my heart swell. That Winterstar sweater looked sooooo good on you, and the way your eyes glistened? Holy shit, you were prettier than the tree they put up, and I love that tree. But you know what else I love? You. You were so excited for your present, too, and I am sorry Clint gave you rocks. I hope my present is better. No, I am not talking about fingering you under the table while we ate, but that was fucking hot, right? You were fucking gushing for me, baby, so fucking sloppy. I know you were struggling to stay quiet, but I was struggling, too. Do you know how fucking hard my cock was? Oh, oops, I think I am getting off topic. I wasn’t talking about that present, I am talking about the one that’s under the tree (if you are not letting me open mine before tomorrow, I am not letting you open yours, either. Those are the rules (I am pouting as I write this)). I think you are going to like it, I saw you looking at it for a while now. And here you are thinking I don’t remember much (true), but if my baby likes something, I am sure as hell remembering. I hope it is going to make you happy. It won’t make you as happy as you make me, but at least a fraction of it? I can’t wait to see your face when you open it, I hope your eyes will keep that excitement you always get when you are opening presents, not like when you opened the rocks. I do have admit though, the look you gave Clint was hilarious. He’s a shitty secret Santa, isn’t he? But you aren’t. You don’t know it yet, but you have already given me the biggest gift possible, baby. I am not talking about the one under the tree. The days you spend with me are the sunniest of my life, and I can’t wait to spend more with you. I love you to the moon and back, you know that, right? Because I do. And I can’t wait to love you forever and always. -Love, Sammy”

Shane: “You know I am not the biggest fan of this. To be honest, I still think it’s humbug (I grew to like that word, though), but Jas told me that you give people you care about a card for Christmas, so. Yeah, surprise, I care about you. I hope you have noticed by now. Why do these cards even need so much glitter? I made you one so it wouldn’t look like a fucking unicorn threw up over it, but the glitter from those flimsy store things is still sticking to my hands, like, the fuck?  I pet Charlie earlier and he fucking sparkled, and I don’t know how to get fucking glitter out of feathers. It’s not like I didn’t try. I even fucking googled, and now I get ads about little arms you can put on chickens… Reading back, I think I am trying to avoid getting to the point, but that’s not because of you. No, it’s because of me, because I am scared that if I write down what I feel, realization will kick in for you and have you run for the hills, but I just need you to know. I love you, I really do. I know I have been a little very mean to you in the beginning, so…thank you for persisting and not giving up on me. I honestly don’t think I could have ever gotten so far without you - I wake up and don’t just feel like complete shit. I go through my day without just thinking about getting drunk. When you were sitting across from me at the feast, I noticed that this was the first year I didn’t have some sort of alcohol with me. And when you smiled at me, I knew I wanted it to stay like that. I know I went a little rough with you there when we got home, but I just needed you to know, just needed you to feel how much you mean to me, how thankful I am for you. I don’t know what happened to me there, but it felt so right to just…pound it into you. But hey, the way you have scratched down my back and cried my name, I think you got the message. And if not, don’t you worry, I have enough time to make it stick. But I know you are waiting in bed for me right now, and I really want to join you, so… to cut this shit short (Sam would call it yapping, I think), I love you. A lot. -Shane PS: should we get little arms for our chickens?”

Harvey: “Hello, my love. I have decided that today is the best time to sit down and take some time to write this card for you. After all, winter is the time of consideration and love for others, isn’t it? And I have to say, I have so much love for you. I do not know how to tell you this, but I am simply going to try. You have brought so much new things into my life, it his hard to believe. I have always believed that I didn’t really like change, that’s why I opened my clinic in Pelican Town, after all. It promised me a slow pace and rituals, and, most importantly, rarely any changes. There are barely any people coming, barely any leaving. And then you came along, changing this town completely. And you changed it for the good. Just like you did with me. Hon, you made me leave the comfort of my bubble more than one time and in more times than one. You made me test my abilities, try out new things. I would have never gotten in that hot air balloon without you, for example. Would have never discovered that I love aerobics and dancing, and, to be honest, I wouldn’t know as much sexually about myself as I do know. You have allowed me to explore myself and gave me your safety. I didn’t know I had an oral fixation until I met you, if I am being honest, and I didn’t think I would enjoy going down on a woman as much as I do. Okay, well, maybe that is because of you. Your moans and gasps are just the sweetest, and I love the way you tug at my hair…Hoo, boy, I am blushing just writing this! I just wanted to sincerely thank you for showing me that I do not need to be as scared as I used to be. That it is okay to fall sometimes, to trust in the safety nets. I love you, my love. So, so much. I hope you will never forget this, and I hope you know: although you have shown me that change is okay – my love for you will never change in any other way than that it will grow for you. I love you. Yours truly, Harvey.”

Elliott: “The stars are shining bright upon us tonight, my sweet angel, the air is clear, and so is my head, but my heart? Oh, my heart is full of one of the rawest, strongest and most important emotions – love. And this love, my beautiful little angel, is directed to you. Sometimes I am asking myself how I, a mere commoner, so to speak, is deserving of such a carefully created being as you are. And then my thoughts cease, my tongue ties and my throat closes up out of nothing but the sheer fear that whoever was grateful enough to allow your love to be gifted to me will take this question as an offensive act of ungratefulness and take you away from me. What I am trying to tell you, angel, is, that I love you, wholly and completely, with each atom of my being, with every cell that keeps me alive, with every breath that fills my lungs, with every word I write, with every page I fill – I love you. Not only a day like the Feast of the Winterstar awake these strong feelings within me, no, it could be an ordinary day where I get to wake up next to you, your love-bitten skin just barely covered by a blanket, your hair all tousled, partly because of the sleep that still keeps you wrapped up tightly, partly because you have allowed me to make love to you. An ordinary day where I get to see your smile, get to see you is enough to alight this fire within me. If I am allowing myself to speak freely, even right now, just by writing this, I can feel my the warmth pool inside my stomach, can feel myself craving you in a way that is primal, and I know I could just turn around and please you, distract you from the book you are reading. But my angel, I won’t do so – not just yet. I first need you to know that your love, hopefully just as raw and ready to blossom like mine, is the biggest gift that has been ever gifted to me. No Winterstar could gift me something as dear as you, and I would never even dare to speak out another wish – as long as I have you. Please know, my angel, that you are my everything. My muse, my light, my reason to overcome writer’s block, my safe haven I will always be happy to return to. I love you. -Forever yours and fallen for you, Elliott.”

Alex: "Merry X-mas baby! You prolly know that I really suck at writing but this is our first X-mas together and I wanted to write you a card. because there are a few things I wanted to tell you you know? Like that I fell in love with you the moment you moved here and I fell fucking hard. Cheesy isn't it? But it's true. I don't really know how many nights I spent thinking about you. Okay to be honest, I didn't only think, I also busied my hand a little if you know what I mean ;) Just couldn't resist, you are just so pretty baby. So so pretty. Actually I can't wait to see you wearing that lil gift I got you. I think you are gonna like it but I am SURE you will like what I am going to do to you while you are wearing it. Can't wait to have my cock inside of you again baby it to be honest. I just love the face you make the moment I brush your cunt with my dick. Fuck that I love everything about you baby. Love everything you do when I plow you...  I know I know, we already had our fun today, but I just can’t get enough of those moans. They are like my fucking fuel, you are my fuel.  I dunno if I should tell you this, because I am actually a lil embarrassed about it, but do you know that audio I made of us fuckin? I sometimes listen to it when doin an especially hard workout because it makes me feel like I can do anything. I am drifting off right now right? I can't wait to spend this X-mas with you and many more to come because you actually make me look forward to it again. Christmas and the whole Winterstar season were so hard on me ever since my mom passed away, but you… you lift that gloomy cloud away from me. You make it feel like it’s going to be okay, and I am so thankful for that, baby. Damn, this season make me cheesy doesn't it? But to put it in a nutshell (I actually read that phrase in a book today are you proud of me now?): I love you, baby. ~Alex I actually did it I actually wrote a card can you fucking believe it."

Leah: “My sweet thing! Did I already tell you how cute you look in your little Winterstar sweater? Gives me the Christmas spirit in a way you wouldn’t believe! I absolutely loved how you told Evelyn what wool you were using to make it, even offering her some. You’ve just got the kindest heart in the valley, don’t you? You know I usually get artist’s block during the winter months, but when I saw down and looked at this piece of paper, it was like I just knew what I needed to do. And here we are, now that your Christmas card has dried, I can finally write in it, and I am going to use it to tell you that… I love you! What surprise, huh? Especially since I have given you that sculpture. But it is true, I love you. When we woke up together and slept together once more before getting ready…phew… I don’t know, I think I have never felt like this before. By the way, while we are at it, I definitely need you on my face again. There is just something absolutely breathtaking ( 😉 ) about you grinding against me so desperately while you are trying to eat me out… Look at me, sweet thing, already rambling and drooling over you again. But that is what you do to me… Sweet thing, you make me feel so genuinely happy and welcome here. I have always enjoyed my solitude in a way, fending for myself, being one with the nature, seeking out company only when I truly wanted it. But you showed me that there is another person I can rely on but myself, and for that I am thankful. You have opened your arms and your home for me whenever I needed either or both, and you are always believing in me, even when I had this dumb idea to sculpt a Winterstar tree with just cans. Yes, I will never drink that kinda wine again and yes, I remember that Shane blocked me because I spammed him trying to ask him for cans. But even though it was stupid and I was behaving like a maniac, you just smiled at me and got on your horse, telling me you’d fetch me some more cans. And you did. Thank you, love, for loving me, my art, and being a masterpiece yourself. I love you. -Leah. PS: I MIGHT HAVE AN IDEA HOW THAT TREE MIGHT ACTUALLY WORK OUT."

Maru: “Well, Christmas cards certainly aren’t my usual way of communicating, but I figured why not try out something new for once? You know I am all for trying out new things, especially if they make the world a better place. And if this makes your day a little better, then I am already one step closer to that goal. Was that cheesy? I think it was. I cannot believe what you are doing to me; ME, a clear-minded, well-structured scientist, being cheesy and absolutely whipped for you. It is true – I am. I do not what you did to me, but it did work. Every single day I wake up thankful to have you, and not only because you are such a willing little guinea pig (which you are, may I add. But you are my favourite <3). I remember when we had slept together that first time. It was NOT that I was a virgin, but… you made me feel things I didn’t quite think I could feel. I was actually feeling like you wrapped me up in cotton candy when you whispered these sweet things to me, and I didn’t think that was humanly possible (just to be clear, it is not!). With every kiss that you placed on my skin, with every thrust of your fingers, I was falling deeper, deeper, deeper and I absolutely did not want it to stop. I still do not. Is that greedy? Perchance. Do I mind that much? No, because it is with you. And here we are, just coming back from the Feast of The Winterstar, and I can’t wait to give you your gift. You had told me you had wanted to wait until the morning to exchange them, like you don’t know how impatient I can get. I just cannot wait to see your face when you open it up. You know, I probably have hidden it so well, but I actually am trying to support your farm with my machines. I build most of the farm helpers with you in mind. I am only telling you this because it is Christmas, though! Still. I love you. I love you really, really much, and I truly enjoy loving you. I know I sometimes might have an odd way of showing it, but now it is here, spelled out clearly, and I am happy it is. Because you deserve to now. Merry Christmas. -Your love loving you, Maru. PS: Did you know that the tradition of the Winterstar has a quite interesting origin?”

Emily: “It’s CHRISTMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS! I can’t believe this beautiful time of year is already supposed to be over again ☹. It always moves by so fast, doesn’t it?! Especially now that I have you by my side – it was like it had gone in a blink! One day we were cuddling on the couch watching this sweet little Christmas movie, and the next we were already at the Feast! Thank you for dancing with me, by the way. I enjoyed it a lot, even though we might have put a little show on for everyone 😉. Do you think they saw that I was not just dancing with you, but basically humping that sweet little butt of yours? Do you think they knew we were all over one another as soon as we stepped through the door. Yoba, you were so wet from just a little grinding! Okay, maybe a more than a little grinding, but your panties were drenched! But that’s okay, I was just as wet as you. I always get like this around you; it is like I just can’t get enough. You are so intoxicating! I have always known that, though, I could feel your vibes the first time we met and they were AMAZING! They still are, of course, but they also grew a lot stronger. I hope you know how happy the spirits are with you, my little butterfly! You just wouldn’t believe how happy I am that our spirits get to intertwine like this! I see them in my dreams sometimes, they are a strong unit. I wish I could take you along into that world more often, but it can be hard to channel all these emotions sometimes… Oh, my butterfly, I am just so happy to have you. I love you so much. It feels like colours are brighter with you around, even now in winter! I just can’t wait to see again what the other seasons are going to look like with you. And I can’t wait to spend another winter with you, another Christmas. I know that’s a little early, isn’t it? But with you, the future seems a lot tastier. Albeit now I would like to enjoy the present, because you are smiling at me, telling me we should share some Winterstar cookies. To many more present moments, butterfly. -Hugs and kisses, Emily.”

Haley: “Babe, thank you so, so much for encouraging me to take my camera with me today. Me being a summer girlie makes it hard for me to see the appeal in winter, but I actually got some decent shots today. You definitely need to check them out later when I developed them! But I have to say, even though those pics are pretty, they aren’t my favourite. No pictures can beat the ones I have of us, they are my favourite and will always be.  Actually, well, there might be a set of pics that can beat those as well, hehe… Remember when you allowed me to make you my little model? You looked so pretty in that lingerie set. I am looking at one of those pictures right now, and I would be lying if I said that they didn’t do something to me. You just have a way to pose that makes me a little envious. Not much, though, because those pics are for me and me only. But the one where you grin at me with those hooded eyes…you just knew exactly what were you doing, weren’t you? Who knew a dirty little farmer had it in her? 😉 But look at me, rambling about photos again. I actually wanted to write you a Christmassy card, tell you how much I love you. But you know that, right? I know I was a little…judgemental in the beginning, but you know that you have found your way in my heart? Yoba, that was lame. Okay, you see, I struggle a lot putting these feelings into words because they are such…big feelings (jeewhizz, I sound like Emily), but…Let me try this differently. I am with you. I enjoy being with you. I love every day that we are together. You mean more to me than my camera, sunflowers and pink cake combined. There! I said it! And now I expect you to hold this card dear and never lose it, because I will not say this again. So, maybe I will, if you ask me. Or maybe right now, when you are sleeping so sweetly, your hair falling just right. How do you always manage this, getting your hair to fall like you are starring in an advertisement for freaking conditioner? You know what? That’s it. I am getting the camera, and then I am joining you. Merry X-Mas, babe. I love you. -Haley.”

Abigail: “I just don’t get how you do it. Really, I don’t. I watched you all night, and I am pretty sure your smile didn’t falter even once. Not even when my dad told you that stupid joke – “What did Santa pay for his sleigh? Nothing, it was on the house.” Ha ha, dad, really. See, it’s so stupid I even remember it by heart! Hey, I can’t deny that my parents love you, tho. Well done, I think you can sit at our table until the end of time now, sharing my fate. Fine, it wasn’t all that bad. I was having fun. A little. You made it better, you know? I felt like I finally had someone next to me that actually understands me. You always understand me, and I know you do. Speaking of…Yoba, if my parents only knew that you have taken me to the mines already you would lose that hard-earned spot at that damn table again. Especially if they knew what else we were doing down there… Oh, it gets me weak in the knees to just think about it. You were so rough with me… I know it was because you were worried because I wasn’t careful enough, but being choked against a stone wall? That was definitely something…Actually, I still remember that I had been barely able to walk back to the farm after you were done with me. What do you say? Does the handle of your sword still smell like me? I kinda wish it does… But it’s best if we keep this our pretty little secret, right? So you can keep the spot at our table and so that you can still take me to the mines. And perhaps so they can still let us be together with calm minds.  I wish that I could tell you that I look forward to spending many more Christmases with you, but that would be a lie. I do hope to spend many days with you, and that you can make many more Christmases a tolerable experience like today. You know, you mange to make many things that I hate tolerable. So…Thank you. Truly. I know I am a lot sometimes, but please know that I love you. A lot. A crazy lot. And I would do a crazy lot for you. But for now, I am going to crawl in bed with you. See what you say to the present purple-haired Santa will bring you tonight. Good night, bub. -Your Abby. PS: I could have totally beaten that slime myself. PPS: probably.”

Penny: “Do you remember last winter? We weren’t together yet, but we still shared a moment that is still very dear to me, hun. I had dropped my bookmark into the snow, it was a papery one, beige at that, so looking for it was a lost cause. You had come by on your horse and without any hesitation, you had jumped to help me. Of course, we didn’t find that bookmark ever again, and I had been really sad, it had been my favourite. You had told me you were sorry and stroked over my hair oh so gently, as if it had been your fault. Oh, I had already been swooning for you, then! And then the next day you had come by, smiling at me as you held something behind your back. You had told me that Santa had passed by early before you stretched out something, a Poppy, carefully pressed and wrapped in a foil to secure it. I didn’t know how you had done it back then (now I know you like growing flowers in your greenhouse, and I love sitting there), but I kept it dear to me. I like to think that this was the point our relationship got its roots, and that’s why I will always hold that bookmark dear. When I looked at you at the Feast today, the bookmark came back to my mind, and I felt like a realization hit me. Our relationship – it is like a book. A carefully crafted romance by life. The only difference is that, while I love books, I have never been as involved in one as I am in this one. I am here for every single page, and I am eating them all up. No matter if they consist of our little reading ritual in the evenings, our date nights, the things you have taught me about living on the farming, our fights and… the spicier parts of our relationship, hi hi. I haven’t told this anyone, and I trust you keep this secret, but I did actually read some more…passionate books, but it never quite resonated with me. Until I met you. I don’t know what’s happening to me when we are naked, I am usually well composed, I think, but when you let me sit on your thigh, or when you guide our…ehe…you know, to grind against one another, something happens in my brain. It’s like a short-circuit, and I find myself wanting more, more, more. Ever since I have met you, I have also been feeling a lot more…lustful. But only for you! I tried to replicate these feelings you give me by reading books a few times, but I have never managed to do it. Weird, isn’t it? However! This isn’t y main point – my main point is that I love you. I love you more than a library of a million books holds words. I hope our personal book will fill more and more. I hope we will be able to fill our own personal library. I just want you to know: You are my favourite; book, topic, genre. It doesn’t matter. You are my favourite. ~With purest love, Penny.”

[m00nkissedlover]

・｡tasty confessions 🥮

you've ordered: a vanilla gingerbread tart! enjoy!

"this is falling, falling in love"

leona kingscholar x reader | word count: 1,418 words

summary: holiday confession gone wrong...and right? 🥮

warnings: none!

note: i don't celebrate christmas, so in the fic, i didn't specify the holiday (used "holiday season" instead)

"trey, a little help here?" you yelled, attempting to carry two trays of tart shells out of the oven.

"ah, coming! you've gotta be careful, y/n." the green haired boy reminded you, rushing over and taking one of the trays.

the cozy holiday season had settled upon night raven college rather nicely. decorations were put up and plans for celebration were in full swing. and you intended to make this one extra special.

you'd decided to bake tarts for your friends in the various dorms and even a few for the night raven staff. as you filled the shells with various creams and custards, trey helped you out, offering up his baking expertise when you were caught in the weeds about how to do this.

as you now cut up various fruits and other sweets for decoration, the door to the kitchen opened and in walked cater, holding grim in his arms.

"i couldn't get him to stop. he somehow smelled your tarts from down the hall." cater said, seeming like he'd put in a lot of effort in trying to stop the cat-like creature.

"hey, you better save some for me, henchman!" grim exclaimed, hopping out of cater's arms and onto the counter.

"don't worry grim. after i'm done, i'll make you all the tuna tarts you want." you smiled, scratching under his chin.

"hey y/n, why are these tarts different than all the others?" cater questioned, pointing to a small batch of tarts that were obviously different from the others.

your cheeks colored a bit upon being questioned, your hand almost dropping the spoon you held.

"those are...for leona." you admitted, cater letting out an excited "ooh!"

it was no secret that you had a crush on leona. the lion beastman had caught your attention the first day you'd arrived. you used to think he was lazy and rude, but after being around him for a while, your outlook changed. and so did your feelings.

"i plan on writing a note to him in which i confess my feelings and...putting in in his tart bag..." you murmured, your cheeks warming up in embarrassment.

"confessing to him with tarts? how cute." trey quipped, placing a tray of finished tarts into the fridge to chill.

"yeah, i just hope it goes well..."

"oh trust me, i'm sure he likes you too. leona isn't keen on putting up with people just like that." cater said, swiping a bit of cream onto his finger and tasting it.

"cater!" you scolded, rushing to grab grim before he dunked his whole head in the bowl.

"alright, alright! enough fun. i've gotta get back to baking." you playfully grumbled, shooing them out.

a day had passed since you cooked up your delicious sweet treats. each person had 5 tarts, all in a clear bag with a colored ribbon on top. you went around to each dorm handing out the tasty tarts and to your surprise, everyone loved them!

you finally stopped in front of your final destination: the savanaclaw dorms. you clutched the basket in your hands, glancing down at it to do one last check. one for ruggie, one for jack, and obviously one for....?! you then realized you were short one bag...and it was the most important bag of all. just where was leona's bag??

in haste, you quickly scrambled back over to heartslabyul, ignoring a nagging riddle as you barged into the kitchen. you looked everywhere, every nook and cranny. absolutely nothing.

you grabbed your phone, calling trey.

"hey trey. have you seen the tarts i made for...you know who?" you asked, praying that he knew something.

"no, sorry y/n. the last i saw of them was when i left last night, and they were still in your basket. did something happen?" he asked, seeming concerned.

"uh, you know what? don't worry about it. thanks trey." you said before hanging up.

it wasn't like the tarts had grown legs and ran away! you didn't have time for this. and you definitely didn't have the time to make new tarts. you asked across the dorms (except savanaclaw) if they'd seen the tarts, to which everyone responded no. what were you going to do?

as you paced around the hallway, someone called out your name. turning, you were met by ruggie, a member of savanaclaw. upon seeing your panic, ruggie made his way over to you, tail flicking.

"y/n, what's wrong? you look more stressed than leona when he can't get his favorite sandwich." he asked.

you let out a sigh of defeat, leaning against the wall. "i made tarts for everyone to celebrate the holidays. i also made...special tarts for leona. i was going to tell him how i feel today, but...i can't find his damn tarts!" you groaned.

"well, what did they look like?" ruggie asked.

"they were in a clear bag like everyone else's. but his had a yellow and black ribbon on it, whereas the ones for you and jack were just yellow." you could already see the guilt on ruggie's face.

"spit it out."

"i may or may not have found said package of tarts...and given them to leona-" ruggie mumbled, visibly sweat-dropping.

your mouth fell open in horror as you realized the situation you were in. leona...had already gotten your tarts!

"ruggie, where is leona right now?" you asked urgently, shoving the basket into his arms.

"oof! uhhh...i think he's in the botanical garden. that's where i gave it to him."

you made a mad dash down the hall, bursting into the garden. your eyes frantically looked around, spotting a tail in the corner of your eye.

when you got closer, your stomach dropped as you saw leona, already breaking into the sweet treats.

"need something, herbivore?" the beastman asked, his tail flicking.

you swallowed, taking a breath before walking over and snatching up the note.

"you didn't read this, right?" you asked, leona smirking as he licked cream off of the corner of his lips.

"and what if i did?" he challenged, your heart dropping.

"h-how much did you-?" "all of it."

the note fell from your hands, your heart aching as you looked leona in the eyes. damn...this was embarrassing.

as you tried to keep yourself from panicking, you stepped closer to him, kneeling down to his level. "so...how do you feel about what you read?"

leona let out a soft "hm", as if he were thinking of the perfect response. "come a little closer." he said.

you shuffled a bit closer to him, mumbling a soft "yeah?" as you did. the lion man just smirked, beckoning you closer.

"come on herbivore, get closer. just a little. and close your eyes."

you moved closer till you were practically touching noses with leona, your eyes fluttering shut. you felt like your heart would leap out of your chest at any given moment.

thwack! you pulled back, your eyes opening in surprise. leona had just flicked you in the forehead!

"what the hell, leona?" you exclaimed, your hand flying up to caress the spot he'd flicked.

"you really are dense." "what-"

leona leaned in a bit closer this time, his breath tickling your cheek. "you think i ate your tarts out of pity? if i didn't want 'em, i could've easily given 'em away. seems i've taken...a liking to you, herbivore."

you froze right there, on the spot. you couldn't believe what you were hearing. THE leona kingscholar just confessed to YOU. you didn't have time to think before leona captured your chin between his thumb and index finger, his emerald green eyes locking with yours.

"hm, you still don't seem very convinced." before you could even think...leona's lips were on yours.

the kiss was soft and warm and made you feel all fuzzy inside. you slowly eased into it, your hands coming up to cup his face as a warmth flowed through your body.

when it was over, you nodded your head, a slight flush on your cheeks. "yeah...i get it now..."

leona let out an amused chuckle, pulling you down to lay with him, a soft yelp leaving you.

"don't you usually sleep alone?" you mumbled, your face warming up.

"you owe me. all your tarts made me sleepy. your punishment is to lay with me and not move a muscle."

you laughed a little, reaching up to tuck a bit of hair behind his ear. "should be easy enough."

and just like that, your holiday was one to remember.🥮

© m00nkissedlover, 2024

[screamingviridianforest]

Hello hello I hope your weekend is going well!! May I humbly request more cat shifter!Reader? What happens after they run out while sick?

It went very well and my birthday is today so I'll be having fun :) and absolutely you can!

Part 2 of Catshifter au

~

You collapsed. Your sick body couldn't continue on running, too drained of energy. Your energy had been sapped during the rapid shift of the previous night and the restless sleep hadn't helped.

You had just barely managed to slip under a dumpster before falling, so you were out of the rain. Small mercies.

Meanwhile, the boys were worrying like crazy. First off, they hadn't been expecting you to be a shifter thing. They were military. Of course, they had heard about the shifter experiments, but they never expected to meet that one escaped experiment.

Price was on the phone, talking to Laswell. He was trying to get more information on it all, why the program started, how you had escaped, and what he needed to expect. He needed some form of control - this time it was knowledge.

Soap and Gaz had gone out on foot, calling out for you. Hell, they didn't even know your name. They were just trying to find you. You were sick and they had bleeding hearts. The questions could come after they knew you were safe.

Ghost was browsing missing persons lists online, trying to place your face. Trying to get a name for you, even if he knew it would probably be a dead end. He had also readied the guest bedroom, somewhere safe for Soap and Gaz to put you.

Hours later, you were out wandering again, this time in human form. You needed to get to your apartment to get some medicine. Well, the few dollars you had were going to go to the cheapest medicine you could find. Then you could curl up in cat form and sleep.

What you didn't expect was to run into Gaz as you tried to enter the small corner store, money bills crumpled in your hand. Eyes hazy with your bad fever. You hadn't even recognized him at first, your cat eyes being colorblind, but it was the hat that gave him away. You could easily spot that same blue in both forms.

So, you ducked your head and pulled the worn coat closer, just trying to ignore him.

Gaz wasn't having any of that. He recognized your worn, sick look right away. And your face was recognizable from the pure shock of when he first saw it.

He reached out and grabbed your elbow, "are you okay?" Worry clouding his eyes.

You froze for just a moment. Eyes flicking about. Your eyes were the exact same shade as they were in your other form, he knew it was you and you couldn't deny it.

"Why don't you come with me? We'll help you, promise." Gaz adds on, voice earnest. Your eyes scan his face. "No going back, we'll keep you safe."

You hold his gaze for a minute, then two, tension dragging down the atmosphere. Even people around you were uncomfortable. But then, almost imperceptibly, you nod.

His smile is blinding.

~

So that's how you found yourself back at their house, mostly shellshocked. Gaz had been quick to whisk you away after grabbing medicine, which he didn't let you pay for when you silently offered your crumpled money.

Ghost was on the defense and wrapped you tightly in a big blanket. christ, it was to be thrice the size of a normal king blanket and sat you on the couch where they could watch you. Soap clanked around in the kitchen, trying to make a soup, but he didn't know if all foods were safe for you or not.

Price was sat in front of you, his blue eyes glued onto your face. You stared back at him, just as unblinking. It reminded you a lot of the scientists stares. You didn't like it.

So you really couldn't stop the small growl building in your throat. Even if you didn't like talking, you had no problem using your cat-like vocals to voice your dislike and annoyance of his stare.

Price clears his throat and looks away, momentarily looking at Gaz. Something passes between their gazes, something you can't decipher, but it puts you on edge.

"Eat, rest, we'll talk when you feel better," Price states before getting up and walking down the hallway. You watch him go.

Soap brings out a big bowl of soup, which he hands to Ghost. Ghost sits next to you and holds up a spoon.

He was feeding you.

The thought makes you bristle for a moment, but your hands were well and truly trapped in the blanket. So you just pull a face but let him feed you silently.

Being so warm and belly full of the best meal you've had in months, your pupils blow out and a small purr bubbles out of your throat. Ghost looks satisfied at that and helps you finish off the soup before leaving.

Soap takes up the rear where Ghost leaves, and he guides you to the guestroom. The scot talks a mile a minute, which you struggle to keep up with. You weren't used to so much attention, attention that didn't hurt. Soap is gentle as he helps you get in bed, tucking you in more.

You just look at him and shift into your cat form and go beneath the bed instead. You miss the small pout on his face.

But even with the tense moments, this was the safest you had felt in a long time. That comfort helps you fall asleep.

[wanderingxiao]

Merry Christmas

Scaramouche x Reader *FLUFF*

Warnings: Smoking, and that’s probably it! No smut this time, wasn’t feeling in the mood for it and wanted something soft :3 ❤️

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone 💚 I hope you all have a wonderful day ❤️ Not proofread

Scaramouche was no fan of holidays, especially Christmas. The obnoxious sound of Christmas music howling in the wind on every street corner, every radio station blasting all the classics people seemed to love. His drives to work had become utterly silent at this point, leaving him to sit with his thoughts. The streets were bustling with reds and greens. Big signs advertising sales or delivery or whatever else companies did to swindle the people into buying more and more and more. It was disgusting really.

The only thing he found enjoyable was his time with you.

Sure, you put a tree, decorated it with Christmas ornaments, hung wreaths, put up small elf and reindeer trinkets, and baked a lot of sweets. But he enjoyed the looked on your face spending time with your family and him. A beautiful smile that could rival the sun would be graced upon your lips. Your laughter ringing through your shared home with him. It never failed to make his heart skip a beat and make him fall deeper and deeper in love with you. Even though the windows frosted over with ice, the snow packed against the asphalt, and the skies gloomy with winter weather, you always made him feel warm.

You melted the walls around his heart years ago.

“I’m going out for a smoke.” Scaramouche interjected, standing from the couch where you and your family sat before making his way to the sliding glass door to the balcony of your apartment. He didn’t care the disapproving glares from your parents, he really just needed a smoke and to get away from the music, bright lights, and Christmas movies playing on repeat. His face was met with the chill of the winter air, soon enough turning his pale nose pink in its icy touch. His slender fingers fished through his jean pockets, pulling out a half empty pack of cigarettes before slotting one between his cracked lips. Just as he was putting his pack back and going for his lighter did the glass door sound in his ears.

“Hey.” It was your voice, soft and gentle as you approached your boyfriend. Scaramouche only hummed in acknowledgment of your presence for a brief second, before finally fishing out his lighter. He held his hand around the lighter, flicking his thumb over the ignition to make a spark. After a few attempts, the spark found the gas and lit a small and weak flame. A warm red burned from the tip of the cigarette as your boyfriend took an inhale of nicotine. “You’re getting better you know.” You said smiling, coming beside him on the opposite side the wind was blowing. He exhaled a breath of smoke, his shoulders slowly slumping as he let out a small scoff.

“It’s only half a pack. Don’t get ahead of yourself.” He couldn’t help but glance over at you. That damned ugly Christmas sweater you were wearing, the fuzzy white and red hat atop your head, and the remains of cookie crumbs peppered on the edge of lips. You still made his heart do backflips. “I know. But you’re trying, for me. I want to recognize and praise you. Thank you.” You looked over at him and smiled warmly, the blank expression on his face remaining, yet you could always tell when his eyes would soften. Your hands circled around one of his arms, your breasts coming to push comfortably against him as you both looked out over the bustling festive city. “I can’t wait till this damn year is over.”

“Well, new years is a week from today. It’s almost over, and your birthday is near.” Ugh, don’t remind him. Just another festivity you insist on celebrating for him. It was unnecessary, especially considering how his background with his family. Yet you always insisted that you were thankful for his birth. In some way it was heartwarming really, but it still never failed to bring bad memories. He inhaled another drag from the cigarette, blowing out the smoke through his nose before looking away from you. He hadn’t even finished half of his cigarette before he was burning it out against the metal railing of your balcony. “B-Be careful when you do that. I don’t want the landlord finding out.”

“I got you a present.” Scaramouche mumbled, glancing back to see your expression. He had never gotten you a gift on Christmas before. Sure he bought you flowers occasionally after rare arguments or brought home chocolate on your period, but he had never actually given you a gift. “H-Huh? You did?” You asked in bewilderment. Your boyfriend was never one to show his affections through gifts or words, rather through actions. He thought the idea of giving gifts just to make someone happy was ridiculous. Everyone always preaches it’s the thought that counts, but in the end people buy each other gifts because of tradition now. “Yeah. I did.”

He turned away from you, fumbling with his pockets for a moment before handing you a small box with a ribbon on top. You took the gift cautiously, staring at it with slight anxiety. Your thoughts were racing of what it could possibly be. Through your 4 year relationship he had never gotten a gift for anyone on Christmas, it must be super special or important for him to have gotten a gift now. The tips of your fingers tingled as the cold air pricked your skin, your fingertips slowly tugging at the ribbon to reveal a small black velvet box. Was it jewelry? Your cheeks reddened at the thought of something so romantic. Replacing your fingers on top, you slowly edged the box open.

There was a ring. A diamond ring at that. Oh and of course he left the price tag on it.

Your eyes almost bulged out at the price, utterly flabbergasted at how much he’d spent on a ring. “S-Scaramouche this is-! It’s beautiful! But-!” He closed the box back before you could finish. “Let me put it on then.” He opened the box back and pulled out the ring, ripping the price tag off and tossing it off the balcony to be taken by the wind. You through your hands up in protest. “No way! T-That’s way too expensive! That’s more money than I’ve e-ever seen in my-“ Your voice died out quickly as he grabbed your left hand, carefully sliding the expensive diamond ring onto your ring finger. “Money doesn’t matter to me. It was on my mom’s credit card anyways”.

“S-Scaramouche-“

“I didn’t hear or see any objections.” He muttered, his eyes softening as he started to see tears welling in the corner of your eyes. He reached a hand to your face, being delicate to wipe your tears away with his cold fingers. “Not like I’d let you anyways.” His arm came to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You could still faintly smell the smoke on his breath, mixed with the scent of his cologne that always made you weak. Your smile hurt, your cheeks aching at how wide your grin was. Without a seconds hesitation, he pulled you the rest of the way in, his lips finding yours in a soft and innocent kiss, unlike his fiery passionate ones he typically gives you.

“I-It’s not fair! You- You’re supposed to ask!” You pull away with a laugh. Your new fiancé gives you a light scoff before pinching your reddened nose. “That’s pointless. Your answer would’ve been yes either way. Don’t act like you would’ve said no. I wouldn’t have let you.” You hugged him once more, nuzzling your face against his chest while a few happy tears escaped down your cold cheeks. “Never… I want to be with you forever.” Scaramouche looked out over the city once more, his eyes trained on the full moon that lit up the night, the stars flickering in the distance. His eyes widened as a shooting start blitzed across the sky. “Merry Christmas, Scaramouche.”

His lips twitched, slowly arching upwards as he looked back down to you against his chest.

“Merry Christmas, (Y/N).”

[soo0hee]

Nightmare Manor

Pairing — Ghost!JeonWonwooxReader

Summary — When you had to come back home to a house you had sworn you would never set foot into, you surely did not expect to find yourself in your own personal nightmare...

Genre — horror

AU/Trope Info — Ghost Au

Wordcount — 1.7k

Warnings — psychological terror, supernatural happenings, implied murder, stalking also implied

Rating — NSFW ☕️☕️☕️☕️

Disclaimer: this fic is written and copyrighted by ©soo0hee on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other plattforms without my permission.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED!

Looking around you just to see the home you had fled the day you had turned 18, just to find yourself right back where you had left things 7 years later, now as the owner of the estate your parents had left behind after their death was surreal.

Everything seemed to be just as it was when you had run out of the front door with nothing more than a bag pack, your phone and the money you had saved from jobs you got to for once have something to yourself. And knowing your parents, that was most likely the case.

The gigantic portrays that seemed to be staring down from the walls were still there just like every artifact that your family had collected over centuries. Everything was still in place and everything felt just as cold and lifeless as when there were still people living in it.

Standing here in the entrance hall and looking around after the funeral of your mother and father was over, you felt just as small as always. Why they had left the house in your hands and not your siblings you didn´t know. After all, they were the golden children while you were just the disappointment that had betrayed the family being leaving. You wanted nothing to do with the house, wanted nothing to do with what ultimately reminded you of a time in which you felt unloved and left behind by those you were supposed to call family.

But that couldn´t be changed now.

You knew that you wouldn´t keep the house. There was no way you wanted to stay for longer then you absolutely had to. You should just burn it to the ground; however this was still the house you had grown up in. Even with all the hatred you had for this place, you still felt somewhat attached to it.

Felt attached to it with its creaking floor boards, scratching sounds in the walls, constant cold that seemed to settle in your bones, flickering lights and footsteps that came from nowhere. The house was weird. It always had been but your parents and siblings had called you crazy often enough in your childhood that you chose to keep quiet about every single incident you could remember.

And there were a lot.

It was weird how it was only ever you who seemed to notice it. At some point in your early life you had actually started to doubt your mental state when nobody reacted when the door opened itself during dinner even though you were sure it was closed or when the cups fell out of the cupboard regularly without being touched.

But then you had left and pushed that life out of your mind.

And now you were back.

Trying to sell this haunted place without much luck.

Whatever you had noticed was also noticed by potential buyers and they were not inclined on buying a house that could very well be the scenery of a horror movie.

You sighed when the door closed and another one left in a hurry.

“Why does this place hate me so much?” you asked yourself with your forehead leaning against the wooden frame of the front door.

The only answer you received was the subtle gust of wind brushing over the exposed skin of your arms and raising Goosebumps all over them. A shudder went down your spine as silence fell over the mansion.

It was no use to question anything and far too late for you to do so anyway. All you felt was exhaustion making your eyes feel heavy after 3 weeks of barely getting any sleep.

If you had though the creepiness off your home as a child was bad, then nothing could have prepared you for when you were living in it alone.

The first night back was weird as you had not set foot into your room in years. Everything had been calm. Almost to calm for your waiting mind to once again hear and see the thing you knew were there.

The second night was much like the first one. Calm. Save for the rats your heard running around in the walls.

And then the third night, just as you had gotten used to the quiet, it had all come back.

The scratching, the footsteps, the creaking floor boards… everything came back full for like it had just waited for you to feel safe.

Safe was the furthest thing you felt now.

You wanted to go home. Your home. The one you had found in a city so far away and so different that it was easy to forget this place when you burrowed in your fuzzy blanket in front of your TV with your cat curled up by your side.

God you missed the fluffy pet that was for now tended to by your best friend until you came home.

A crow sat in the window and tilted it´s head at you.

“At least you can fly away whenever you want. I am stuck here it looks like.” You blinked back with defeated shoulders, turning to leave the hall and walk up the stairs when you thought you saw the shadow of a man out in the field. It was gone as quick as it had come and you shook your head, hoping that it had been the light of the lowering sun playing tricks on your eyes.

“This place is making me go crazy.” You muttered to no one.

All you wanted was to sleep but this night was no different to the others.

Well it was, because this time you felt the growing need to go to the bathroom.

One look to the ticking clock on the wall told you that it was the middle of the night. 3:12 am.

Oh how you hated the thought of having to leave your bed right now.

You reached for the bed side lamp and the room was illuminated by a dark and dim light that only served to magnify the vibe the house already gave. You shuddered like so often.

Feeling that your bladder was urging you to get up you slipped into your bunny slippers and reached for the little night robe slung over the end of your bed to protect yourself from the cold.

The fact that the tab was already open and running hot water, steaming up the mirror did not help settle the bad feeling in your gut but for the sake of the toilet you ignored it. For now.

You did your business and flushed. Stepping close to the foggy mirror and wiped your hand over it. Your eyes met your mirror eyes…

And those of the man standing behind you between you and the door.

A shrill scream left your lips as you whirled around to stare at the stranger that most definitely did not belong inside your house.

“Who are you?” you demanded with your voice shaky enough to fail the intention of sounding brave.

The man’s head fell to the side in a gauging way.

“You´re finally back.” He said with a deep voice that somehow seemed to echo itself.

He was handsome, that much was no doubt and had he not been standing in your bathroom in the middle of the night you probably would have cared about it.

“B- back? What do you- Who are you?!”  You forced out and clung to the sink in your back.

The man blinked at your heavily breathing form. “I missed you.”

“Please, take whatever you want and leave my house! I won´t tell anyone that you broke in here, but please don´t come closer…”

A grin spread over his face as he tilted his head from side to side.

“I didn´t break in. I never left.”

Fuck.

What. The. Fuck?!

“W- what do y-you mean? You never left? What-“

The man stepped closer and you let out a cry, pressing yourself into the furthest corner knowing that there was no way out and past this man. You automatically reached for the hairbrush on the side cabinet and threw it at him.

No.

You threw it threw him and he chuckled like you had tickled him.

This couldn´t be. What was happening?

It was like the brush had passed right threw him and he didn´t even flinch. It almost seemed like his appearance had flickered for a moment before returning back to normal.

You took a deep breath to try and keep calm.

“How long have you been here?” you pressed out between tight lips.

The ghost(?!) thought for a moment but stood completely still. Judging by his clothes he couldn’t be from this time frame but from when-

“1967. The year I died.”

You wanted to die.

“And y-you never left?” you swallowed heavily.

“Can´t. This is my house. Can´t leave.”

“And why show yourself now?”

“You came back.”

You didn´t want to think about the possibility of what his words could mean. The implication that this man, this ghost, had been haunting your childhood home since long before you were even born was already enough for your heart to beat out of your chest in fear but the thought of said ghost watching you leave and waiting for you, You!, to come back? That had your stomach rolling unpleasantly.

“But not for long, I will-“you said quickly but got cut off.

“No.”

You froze.

“What?” you exhaled and watched as the smile of the man vanished and turned into something dark.

“No. You came back. I can´t let you go.”

He said it so easily as if it was the most obvious thing. Like you had ever planned on staying.

“I can´t stay, I- I can´t!”

The man flickered drastically and with him so did the lights. The scratching in the walls started up and the mirror burst in million little pieces.

“NO, YOU CAME BACK TO ME. YOU ARE MINE!”

An ear shattering scream echoed through the night and suddenly he was right in front of you with and ugly smile and an evil glint in his otherwise beautiful dark almost black eyes.

“You are mine to keep my love…”

[winchesterwild78]

Broken pt 2

Master List

Characters: Jensen x Reader (wife)

Warnings: fluff, angst, infertility, Endometriosis, death

A/N:  Idea given to me by @cheekygirl2309. This one is a little different than what I usually write. It has angst, lots of angst to start, and infertility issues. It's going to be a short series.

Minors DNI 18+

The next morning I woke up with a text and email from Jensen with flight information. I quickly packed and headed to the airport. My flight was scheduled to leave in a few hours, but I had to get through security and check in. 

I sent Jensen a text to let him know I was at the airport.

Me: I’m at the airport, waiting to board the plane. I can’t wait to see you. I love you baby.

Jensen: I can’t wait either. Y/N, I really am sorry for leaving you alone. I promise I’ll never do it again. 

Me: I know baby. We both had fault in this, it’s not all on you. We will make it right. I love you, I’m about to board. I’ll see you at the airport.

Jensen: I love you too, baby. I’ll be there with bells on.

I smiled as I looked at my phone. The emotional rollercoaster of the last 24 hours has been a true test of mine and Jensen’s relationship. One we almost failed. 

I sat on the plane and listened to music as we flew towards our destination. As the minutes ticked on I grew more anxious. This was the first time since our fight we would see each other. 

The plane landed and I started walking towards the exit. I scanned the airport and the people standing around waiting for their loved ones, and I saw him. Jensen, my Jensen  standing with a smile on his face and emerald eyes that glittered like morning dew. 

My heart fluttered. In that moment, seeing him standing there waiting for me with so much love in his eyes reminded me why I fell in love with him. He was and always will be my home, the love of my life. 

I smiled and ran through the crowd to his open arms. Our bodies collided as he scooped me up and held me tight. Our lips smashed onto each other and the kiss deep and needy, like it was the only thing giving us life at the moment. 

Every person, every noise in the airport melted away. His arms wrapped securely around me and his lips breathing life into me, into our love. 

All the pain and sorrow from the last few hours seemed to melt away. Sure, it was still there, but in that moment what really mattered was willingness to fight for us, for our marriage. 

Leaving the airport hand in hand Jensen couldn’t take his eyes off of me, or me off of him. We had work to do, but at least we were together to work on it. 

The next few days we settled into a routine. I would get up with Jensen, we would make breakfast together, he’d head to set and I’d either go with him or stay home, and when he got home we worked on us, on our marriage. The first night we made love after our fight we both cried. All the emotions, the pain, the hurt melted away and we fell in love all over again. 

A renewed commitment to each other. We talked about having a baby, and we both agreed to let things happen naturally. Jensen also suggested while I was there we both visit a doctor to see if there’s any reason I couldn’t get pregnant. 

I saw him trying, trying to fix what he, what we broke, and trying to make our dream of a family come true. 

I went with Jensen to set today. Everyone was happy to see me. They said Jensen isn’t himself when I’m not around. I looked over at him and he smiled but blushed too. 

“Alright guys, stop laying it on so thick. She doesn’t need to know what a sap she married.” 

I giggled and touched his arm, “Oh Jensen, I already knew.” I smiled and kissed him. 

Karl walked over and pulled me into a bear hug. “Glad to see ya, love. Hope you didn’t let him off the hook that easily.” I smirked, “You know I can’t resist his green eyes.” 

“I know love. Glad you two are working it out. You two are good for each other and that man is head over heels in love with you.” 

I smiled softly and looked over at Jensen bantering with the other cast members. I knew Karl was right. I’ve just been so wrapped up in not giving Jensen a child I lost sight of what we had. A home filled with love and joy and I have a husband who would move mountains to see me happy. 

I smiled at Karl, “Thanks Karl. For everything.” He nodded, “I’ve got you love.” 

I sat in a chair off to the side and watched Jensen in the scene. He was amazing in anything he did, but the way he played Soldier Boy was something profound. It’s like the character was made for him. 

By the time the director called for a wrap for the day it was well past 1am and I was exhausted. 

Everyone was talking about heading out to blow off some steam but Jensen was hesitant. 

I touched his arm, “Jens, if I wasn’t here what would you do?” He looked at me and I could tell he was nervous. 

“Babe, remember we need to talk about things. If you want to go then go. I’ll head back to the apartment and go to sleep. Please don’t stop living your life because I’m here. Baby, go. Go have fun. You deserve it.” 

Jensen smiled and placed a soft kiss on my lips, “Are you sure you don’t want to come too. You know they’d love to have you.” I touched his chest, “Maybe next time.” I kissed him again. 

We walked to his trailer so he could change and I grabbed my stuff. Jensen was riding with Karl and Antony, so Clif was driving me home. 

I arrived at the apartment, showered, changed and crawled into bed. Sleep taking hold almost instantly. 

Jensen came stumbling in about 4am. He was wasted. Karl was slightly drunk. They were trying to be quiet but they were so loud they woke me up. 

“Hey Karl, I’m gonna have a baby with her.” I heard Jensen slur out as I walked down the hallway. 

“That’s great mate. She’s gonna make some beautiful babies for you.” 

“Yeah. I’m lucky. I thought we were gonna break up, man. I can’t get her pregnant and we got into a huge fight.” 

I stepped into the living room just as Jensen was about to spill more about our recent fight. 

“Alright boys, time for bed. Karl, you take the guest room, and you Mr Ackles go get in my bed.” 

Jensen smirked, “Yes ma’am. Night Karl. I’m going to sleep with my wife. Maybe put a baby in her.” 

I shot him a look as Karl erupted in laughter. “Good luck, mate.” 

“Jensen, bed, now, and you too Karl. It’s too early in the morning to deal with this crap.” 

Jensen stumbled to our room and passed out on the bed halfway through taking off his shoes. I chuckled when I saw him. 

I removed his shoes, and jeans. Helped him get under the blankets and went to grab him some water and medicine to put by his bed. 

As I passed the guest room Karl was sitting on the side of the bed. “Hey love. Sorry he’s so drunk. He got really upset at the bar. Said he was a failure because he couldn’t give you the one thing you wanted, a baby. Just thought you should know he’s torturing himself over this.” “I had no idea. I’m going to make it right. Thank you for letting me know.” “Of course. He loves you deeper than I’ve ever seen him love anyone. You’re it for him and he’d move mountains to make you happy.” “I know, Karl. I am incredibly lucky to have him and I’m so proud to be his wife. Night Karl.” “Night Y/N.” 

I went back to our room and Jensen was asleep. Soft snores leaving his slightly parted lips. 

Crawling into bed I snuggled close to him. He woke slightly and pulled me close. “I love you Y/N. I can’t wait to give you a baby. You deserve everything.” 

“Shhh baby. Just sleep. We can talk about that later. I love you Jensen.” 

I placed a soft kiss on his cheek and heard soft snores again. I chuckled softly and drifted back to sleep. 

The next few weeks Jensen and I worked on our relationship. We both went to the doctor and he was given a clean bill of health. The doctor said I had endometriosis which caused scar tissue and would make it difficult, but not impossible to get pregnant. She said it would just take more time. 

Leaving the doctor I felt so defeated. I stared out the window as a tear slipped out. Jensen looked over and saw my body language. He took my hand, “Hey. It’s okay. She didn’t say we couldn’t get pregnant, she said it would just take more time.” 

“I know, Jensen. I just never thought it would be so difficult to have a baby. I’m so sorry, Jensen.” Tears fell fast and heavy. Jensen pulled the car over. He took my hand in his, and cupped my face with the other, “Shhh, baby don’t cry, please. We will figure this out. I promise baby. I’ll move mountains to make you happy.” “I know Jens.”

We drove the rest of the way home in silence. The doctor’s words replayed in my head. Once home I crawled in bed and just cried. Jensen came into the room and laid down beside me, pulling me close to him and holding me. 

No words were spoken between us for the rest of the night, Jensen just held me. I felt so broken.

The next few days I tried to do research on endometriosis and pregnancy. Depending on the amount of scar tissue can affect the ability to get pregnant. There are numerous treatment options that include surgery and IVF. 

Jensen was on set so I sent him a text.

Me: Hey baby just wanted to check in and tell you I’ve been doing some research. We have options and I can’t wait to talk to you about it. I’m sorry I’ve taken this so hard. I just wasn’t expecting to be told my body couldn’t do the one thing it was designed to do. I love you.

Jensen: Hey baby. Can’t chat long, back on set in a few. I understand why you’re upset. We will figure this out together. Whatever you need we will tackle it together. I love you sweetheart.

Me: I love you too Jens. I’ll talk to you tonight. I’m baking you a pie. 

Jensen: I can’t wait. 

A few hours later I had baked the pie, it was cooling on the stove and I had started cooking dinner. Jensen was due home in about an hour and I wanted dinner ready for him. He’d been putting in long hours on set, and helping me deal with the aftermath of the doctor appointment. He was definitely my rock. 

I had just turned on the stove when the phone rang. Looking at the caller ID I saw my sister’s name. 

“Hey sis. How are you?” I asked as I answered the phone. At first the line was silent. Then I heard her sob. “Hey, Abby, what’s wrong?” 

“Y/N, it’s…dad…he’s gone.” The world around me went dark, every sound sounded like I was underwater. “What?” I stuttered out.

Abby took a shaky breath, “Dad, he died. He got into a car accident and died on impact.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My dad, the first man I ever loved. The man who taught me how to dance, change a tire, how a husband and father should treat his family was gone. 

I couldn’t breathe. My legs gave out and I collapsed to the floor. My body was shaking with the primal sobs that left my mouth. The sounds leaving my body were full of pain and anguish. 

My body wouldn’t move from the floor. My phone was long forgotten, I didn’t know if Abby was still on the phone or not. 

The only thing I could make out between the tears that left my shattered body was Jensen coming through the front door. 

He took one look at me on the floor and bolted to my side. Grabbing me and pulling me into his arms, “Y/N, baby, what’s wrong? What happened?” I sobbed harder. 

I couldn’t talk. He held me tighter. Jensen knew something terrible had happened. The only thing I could muster out was “daddy”. Jensen knew instantly something happened to my father. 

Taking out his phone he called my mother. There was no answer, so he called Abby. “Abby, this is Jensen. I just got home and found Y/N on the floor, saying “daddy”, what happened, is your dad okay?” 

Abby told him what happened and Jensen’s heart broke. He knew how close my father and I were. When we started dating my dad sat Jensen down and had a long talk with him. Before Jensen asked me to marry him, he got my dad’s permission, and daddy gave it to him after another long talk about what it meant to be a husband. 

“Baby, I’ve got you. I know, sweetheart. I’m so sorry baby.” He helped me up, and carried me to our bed. Laying me down he pulled a blanket over me and curled beside me. “Shhh baby. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.” 

I snuggled closer to him, my tears soaking his shirt, but being in his arms I felt safe. This loss hurt deeper than anything I’d ever experienced. Part of my soul was gone. One of the people responsible for my existence was now gone.

I was glad I had Jensen because I had no idea how to live my life, how to go on without my dad. Jensen softly kissed the top of my head as my crying started to subside. 

“I love you, Y/N. I’m so sorry baby.” He pulled me closer. I looked up at him, my eyes puffy and swollen from crying, “I love you too, Jensen.”

Tags are open, if you want to be added or removed, let me know.  

Tags: 

@nescaveckwriter @kr804573 

@k-slla @jackles010378 

@jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx 

@roseblue373 @cheynovak 

@jassackles  @chriszgirl92

@suckitands33 @arcannaa 

@n-o-p-e-never @ladysparkles78 

@smoothdogsgirl @hobby27 

@manicjk @stoneyggirl2 

@deans-spinster-witch @snowayumi 

@shadowqueen1318 @shanimallina87

@muhahaha303 @fitxgrld

@nancymcl @baby19sthings

@cheekygirl2309 @oceean

@kindollss @foxyjwls007

@lmg14 @cevansbaby-dove

@spxideyver @reignsboy19

@deans-baby-momma @deansimpalababy

@ladykitana90 @quietgirll75 

@superrey @kamisobsessed

@obliviousap @ninii-winchester

@mischiefnevermanaged89-blog @whimsyfinny

@bobbdylan @star-yawnznn

@reignsboy19 @monkey-d-hoshizora98

@depressionbarbie2023 @livingdeadblondequeen

@mandee7 @barnes70stark

@spnaquakindgdom @djs8891

[1shadowhole]

Since it's once again the 24th, here comes the annual reminder from me that Kingdom Come AKA the so called BBC MERLIN'S Canonical Season 6 is actually anything but canon and was made by fans.

BBC Merlin doesn't have a Season 6

And every year people tell me "I don't think that anyone actually believes that Kingdom Come is canon" and every year I cry because no, no a lot of people do. Maybe not on Tumblr but everywhere else you always see comment threads that go a little something like this:

"omg the ending was so sad why did the writers do that?😭😭"

"don't worry! The writers actually wrote the script for Season 6 that later got cancelled, but it's online you can read it!!"

"I DIDN'T KNOW THAT THANK YOU SO MUCH"

Ahhhhhhhh

And I also make these posts for all the new, wonderful fans that don't know the whole story, who may stumble upon the Kingdom Come blog and read "the canonical ending of the show" or whatever lie the people who made it wrote and believe it to be the case. Because why wouldn't you? It's says it is! BUT IT ISN'T!!

Why am I so pressed about it?

I mean I ain't going to lie the main reason is because I don't like it and think it is a great example of character assassination and disregard of what the original show wanted to share with the finale.

But I mean there are many fanfics (and kingdom come IS a fanfic) that I think are just as bad if not worse. Why don't I also complain about them? Because it isn't my place! I can criticise some tropes but you'll never see me directly attacking a specific fic by name! It's a story someone made for free just because they like writing.

But since these creators clearly believe that their work is somehow superior and has more value than other fics, I will treat it as such! And if you wanted it to be canon so bad I will criticise it like I do with the actual show. And trust me, as much as I adore BBC Merlin I am not blind to its flaws, and I am very critical about them on here.

So yeah. I think it sucks that a lot of fans believe that's the actual ending! Even if you liked it (and so didn't think that the show ended horribly with all its morals squashed) I don't think it's right that you fell for a lie. I had conversations with people who loved it and think of it as their personal season 6 while knowing it isn't canon. And that's wonderful! But you should know the truth.

So let me repeat this one last time

BBC Merlin has no canonical season 6

I feel like I was a lot harsher and aggressive this time around. I think it's because I lost a close family member just this month, and with Christmas so close my nerves are frayed.

But my goal is to make so many of these posts that when you look Kingdom Come up you find them before the actual blog lol. So anyone reading will know not to trust what the blog says.

And to make it clear. Hidden in their posts they do say it is fanmade. But you have to look for it, and if you just want to read you won't see it.

Plus the way they make it sound, the script they sent to BBC (btw... DON'T SEND YOUR FICS TO WRITERS FFS) was actually accepted lmao. And the only issue was the actors didn't want to come back.

Sure babe, sure. That's how shows work.

Damn I'm so salty today.

Again I wouldn't talk about other fics this way, I swear.

Now go read And like the cycle of the year we begin again. Or the Change Trilogy. Both very different, but very long and amazing possible Season 6s

[ash5monster01]

A Dead Poet’s Holiday

Warnings: fluff, alive Neil, minor mentions of past trauma, comfort, lots of teasing, mentions of drinking

Summary: Every year the boys make sure to get together for Christmas. After ten years they discover some things can’t always stay the same.

word count: 4.2k

Masterlist

1969

Charlie has never sprinted faster in his life, an older woman cursing him when he bumps her a little too hard on his way along the platform. He couldn’t afford to be late, if he was he’d never hear the end of it. So with his unbuttoned coat flying behind him and the briefcase along with presents spilling from his arms he makes it in the Subway doors just in time. Shutting closed and allowing himself to finally breathe as he rides uptown. 

The same went for Meeks and Pitts who had just made their train from Connecticut to the Big Apple. Already craving the comfort of Neil and Todd’s Upper West Side Apartment. It didn’t matter that they all had to squish on air mattresses in the already too small living room and share one bathroom. Anything was better than this train. Especially for Pitts whose neck already hurt from trying to catch some sleep against Meeks' much lower shoulder. 

For Knox it was a bit easier, opting to drive himself this year, and even if it was a five hour trek he figured there was no timeline when he was in charge of his travel. As usual all the boys were making the journey to get together for the Holidays. It was important for them to see each other around Christmas, remind themselves how lucky they were to have each other. They all had survived a soul crushing experience together and they were lucky to be out in the world and living it as best they can. 

Which was why even Cameron was included, him taking the first flight out to New York City and so grateful he had kept all his friends. Charlie wasn’t entirely fond of this but it didn’t matter. Whatever Neil wanted he got and Charlie would never dare try and say no. So he put on a happy face even though he often wanted to slap one off of Cameron’s. It was Christmas after all, a time to be with the people you love and celebrate with each other. Cameron may be a fink but he also understood them, came from the same roots they did, and for that it was enough to be included.

“Sorry I’m late, why does it smell like that-.” Charlie stops in his tracks. He had just barely made it through the doorway. He eyes Todd at his desk in the corner of the living room, typing feverishly away on who knows what. That’s when an apron wearing Neil stumbles out of the kitchen with a sheepish look on his face and a cloud of smoke pillowing behind him.

“So I have good news and bad news.” He grins as if this sight shouldn’t be concerning. What concerned Charlie more was that Todd was too distracted to even notice the chaos behind him. Had the apartment burned down he’d be partly to blame. 

“What’s that?” Charlie asks, dumping his items down on the second hand couch he not so long ago helped them haul up all these flights of stairs. He didn’t often like babying Neil but sometimes it just came out of him. To think he somehow became the responsible one. 

“Good news is our fire extinguisher works, bad news is that I burned the turkey. Anyone feeling pizza?” And Charlie can only shake his head as Todd rolls his eyes at the boy. Charlie is already walking towards the phone to place the order. 

“I can grab it when I pick up Meeks and Pitts from the train station.” Todd offers and Charlie nods as the line connects with the young girl unfortunate enough to work the weekend before Christmas. He could only imagine the hoards of people last minute Christmas shopping and stopping in for a quick slice. Getting frustrated when they realized everyone else had the same idea. 

“Thanks Charlie.” Neil is quick to say when he hangs up the phone and Charlie just laughs before pulling him into a hug.

“That apron makes you look really domestic by the way.” And it’s meant to be teasing but Neil only grins because he liked his little life. Domestic and all. He spent his days running between auditions and performing in small plays all before coming home to curl up with Todd on the couch. It was all he ever dreamed of and he was so thankful to have it. One of these days he’d finally land that big role and he and Todd wouldn’t have to pull together scraps for this apartment way too nice for them. 

“The briefcase makes you look professional.” He counters back and Charlie only nods because he had to agree. The honest truth was there wasn’t much in it except for some quick paperwork and snacks. He still wasn’t quite sure what everyone else on Wall Street had in theirs. 

“I’ll be back, be good.” Todd calls and both boys wave as they settle on the couch and watch the blonde boy rush out the apartment. 

“So tell me about work?” And that’s how the old best friends get into deep conversation over their life and endeavors. Sharing the good and the bad and the details about the pretty brunette girl Charlie met in a bar last week. It’s as if nothing had ever changed but also everything had. At least they still had each other. 

“Hey, anybody home!” The familiar shout of Knox comes muffled through the door, followed by his hand slapping against the wood. Neil hops up quickly to let them in and both Knox and Cameron laugh at the sight of the apron tied around his waist. 

“Sorry we’re late for dinner Mom.” Cameron grins and Neil glares as he helps take some of the presents out of Knox’s hands. They all filter in, looking just as scrambled and worn from travel as Charlie did a half hour ago. 

“Gentleman, Merry Christmas.” Charlie says from his place on the couch as they all get settled in. Cameron is quick to tug the striped scarf off his neck and eye the apartment that was decorated to the best of Neil and Todd’s abilities. A tree too small for the space tucked away in a corner and covered in homemade paper ornaments. Hung over the windowsills was string popcorn, desperate to make the space more lively even though it was probably made from some meant to be Neil and Todd’s dinner one night. 

“Seems you’ve made yourself at home Nuwanda.” Knox grins at him, moving to shake his hand once all the items are free from his arms. Neil neatly stacking the presents everyone brought under the tree. By the time everyone got here the stack of presents would be taller than the tree itself but it didn’t matter. At least they were together. 

“Considering I’m here getting roped into things all the time it makes sense.” Charlie says, having spent more time in this apartment than his own since living in New York. Really it was just a short subway ride away. 

“Where’s Todd hiding?” Cameron asks as he takes both him and Knox’s coats to hang by the door. Neil chuckles as he finally unties the apron from around his waist, already over the harassment that had been coming from his friends. 

“I had an accident with dinner so he’s picking up a replacement. Oh and Meeks and Pitts.” Neil tells them and they nod knowingly like this wasn’t surprising at all. After all they were all prep school kids, no one taught them how to cook. It was a miracle any of them had survived without the school or their mothers cooking for them. 

“So Charlie, how’s the big job?” Knox asks, settling onto the couch beside him. Sometimes he regretted staying back in Vermont, especially when he saw his friend’s lives here. Yet he’d never change what he ended up with. 

“Me? What about you Mr. Big Time, head of his own firm. Congratulations” Knox’s cheeks tint red in the colored lights of the small tree beside him. About a month ago he had been promoted, more than likely courtesy of his father but from all his hard work too. It was also about work life balance, the only thing keeping him sane was the poetry class he taught after hours at the public school and his lovely wife. 

“Thanks yeah, it’s a lot but it’s nice. I make good money and now I’m just looking forward to settling down.” Everyone chuckles at the ever romantic boy in front of them. It was no surprise to any of them that Knox was just ready to build a real home with his wife Chris who was stupid enough to marry him. How he ever convinced her in the first place was beyond all of them. 

“What about Cameron, working towards being Mayor. Very noble” Knox directs the attention from him as he lightly applauds the red headed boy. Yet his hair wasn’t as dark anymore, already fading with age. The curse of politics. 

“Kiss ass” Charlie pretends to cough into his sleeve and Cameron glares at the boy he couldn’t believe he was still stuck with. Dorming with him all those years had to be torture enough. 

“I’ll have you know Nuwanda, that the citizens love me.” He states with a hand on his chest, no interest in his teasing or dissecting of his life and job. So what he was a rule follower, why would he need to cause trouble when he had Charlie for that. 

“Oh I’m sure.” Charlie agrees with that tone of his, always making Cameron question if it was genuine or not. More than likely not. 

“Still cool you’re doing it Cameron, maybe one day there will be Governor and even President in your future.” Neil encourages, intervening before Cameron started to take Charlie’s teasing too seriously. Some things would never change. 

“Oh please let me die by then.” Charlie mutters as he looks up to the ceiling, hands clasped together like a prayer and that earns him a glare from both Neil and Cameron. 

“Thanks Neil, it’s pretty cool. They gave me an office in the town hall and everything.” Charlie really wants to laugh, tease him considering he had his own office on the 27th floor with a view, but he knew to let Cameron have his moment. After all, he did grow from constantly harassing the kid.                                                                                     

“Look at all of us, another prized graduating class of Welton’s elite.” Knox grins and that makes all of them laugh, basking in the absurdity of it all. Especially since back then they would’ve done everything to fight it. Now they were all contributing members of the working class and somehow managing it too. 

“Hey, what's so funny?” A somehow even taller Pitts asks, a frizzy haired Meeks behind him holding a stack of four large pizzas. After the familiar click of the door Todd joins them and they are officially all together for the Holidays. 

“Hey, how was the train?” Neil excitedly asks as he stands to join them and free up their arms. Forever a good host. Yet the roll of both boys' eyes shows the train was as it always is. Boring and uncomfortable. 

“It got us here, how’s Broadway?” Meeks asks as Todd takes the pizzas from him. Neil grins like the cat that caught the canary. See it didn’t matter if he hadn’t made it big yet, he was doing what he loved and that was something so truly special. Maybe he had been cut off, hadn’t heard from his family in years, but at least he got his greatest wish. Plus he still had his friends.

“Magical.” Is Neil’s only response and Meeks somehow understands before helping organize the presents he and Pitts had brought. 

“We better eat before the food gets cold, help yourselves.” Todd grins as he gestures to the table with the stack of pizzas and now the added paper plates and plastic silverware. The boys don’t need to be told twice, having traveled all day and desperate for some sustenance. 

Their chatter is quickly replaced by the pop of champagne, Charlie grinning as he holds the bottle up like a trophy. The sight is followed by cheers from each of the boys as they get settled and Charlie pours a healthy amount into plastic cups for them each. Christmas as how it should be. Good pizza, lukewarm champagne, glowy Christmas lights, and all of them together. It didn’t matter that the streets of New York were bitterly cold and most of them lived hundreds of miles apart. They’d always have each other, understand one another, and live life the Dead Poets way. 

“Okay, updates people. Let’s hear em!” Charlie says after a while of small talk and making all the food disappear. They’re dispersed around the living room, no one with a proper seat, but it’s the most comfortable any of them have ever been. 

“Um well me and Meeks landed our first job.” Pitts offers, the two of them having been trying to navigate their engineering degrees in the city of their alma mater. They didn’t want to return to Vermont and New York just seemed too big so they stayed put. 

“Hey that’s great you guys.” Cameron grins and that brings a smile to both the boys faces. It was hard starting from the bottom of the ladder but pretty soon they’d get somewhere. Just like Charlie. Somehow the most rambunctious of them all ended up the most successful in a life he didn’t want. It was weird how the world worked. 

“I meet with a publisher after the holidays.” Todd nearly whispers and shocked faces fill the room before each of the boys clap and cheer. 

“Now that’s what I’m talking about Todd, we knew you could do it” Charlie says, reaching over and patting his back and a heavy blush covers his cheeks from embarrassment. 

“I’m not published yet.” He reminds them but it doesn’t matter because his friends are excited. Besides who wouldn’t publish Todd Anderson. 

“Believe it or not but I met a girl.” Cameron offers to bring the attention off of Todd. He wasn’t nearly as shy anymore but he still struggled with so much attention on him at once. After all they had been through Cameron was happy to pull their focus away. Even if it was embarrassing for him.

“Have you talked to her yet?” Pitts asked and Cameron’s glare made everyone laugh, Cameron being the biggest victim to how sheltered they were growing up. He just gaped at women like a fish until he was twenty five and even after that it was only proper conversation he was able to make with no eye contact. 

“Yes, her name is Lisa. She’s a secretary and we met at the local bar. Didn’t give me much of a choice, just sat down and said I was buying. Who was I to say no?” And the boys all chuckle at this admission, of course Cameron would fall for a girl who bossed him around. That might be the only thing to make sense in the world. 

“No shit.” Knox grins and Cameron realizes the teasing has passed when all his friends look genuinely happy for him. 

“I have an audition for a lead part next week. I probably won’t get it but if I do you’ll all receive opening night tickets.” Neil tells the group with a smile he can’t suppress covering his entire face. Yes he was broke, scraping by to live this life, yet right now with his home full of love he couldn’t be any happier. Hope was something he wasn’t yet used to. 

“We’ll all be here.” Meeks confirms as if it was no doubt Neil would get the role. The confidence in his ability makes Neil feel on top of the world, or it could be the two glasses of champagne. He wasn’t complaining either way. 

“I’m going to be a Dad.” Knox drops his bomb, a soft smile on his lips, and the admission stuns everyone silent. They all eye one of their eldest friends, trying to imagine him as a father, raising a child that could go through all the same things they did. 

“Not a chance.” Todd is the first to say and the boy laughs, shaking his head at his blonde friend before taking another long sip of his champagne. 

“We found out a week ago, I was freaked out obviously but we’ve been married a year and I have a good job. It’s the right time and she’s really excited.” The look on his face is one of contentment, happy with the cards he had been dealt. Yeah he did end up working in law like his father but he also filled all the other empty spaces with the things that would make him happy. That’s what was important. Balance. 

“Knox, that's amazing! Congratulations!” Neil cheers, hopping up to pull him in a hug and Knox accepts it. He held all the same fears for his future child as the other boys did but at least they could support each other. He knew his child would have six really great Uncles. 

When Neil lets him go the other boys follow suit, muttering congratulations and embracing him with love and support. Life was changing and they were getting older, even the world was progressing, growing and accepting everyday. Yet what needed to stay the same did, which is why Charlie is quick to pour another round of drinks before holding his cup in the air with that same confident smile he’d worn his entire life.

“To the Dead Poets and the future class.” Charlie says, shooting a wink at Knox. The boys all repeat the words, hitting the plastic cups together before putting back more of the champagne. 

With Charlie’s encouragement and enforcement, it’s not long until each of the poets are feeling the alcohol. Cheeks warm in the same apartment and eyeing the soft snow that’s beginning to flutter to the ground. The Bing Crosby vinyl Neil put on an hour ago spinning with no sound as the Holiday surrounds them. It was so much more magical than any winter spent at Welton. It was the kind of night meant to be enjoyed, embraced. 

“Let’s go ice skating.” Todd breaks the silence, head turning to him quickly. Todd spots each of their confused faces before rolling his eyes. “Come on, it’s a gorgeous night and I bet the tree looks amazing right now. What do we have to lose?”

“I’m in.” Charlie tips his glass in his direction and Todd grins as each of the boys consider. After all, the alcohol would keep them warm, and a little field trip never hurt anybody. No sneaking out is required these days. 

“Let’s do it, I’ve never seen the Rockefeller tree anyway.” Cameron is the next to agree and that shocks everyone on an entirely different level. Yet his agreement is what gives the rest of them the push, all of them collecting their coats, and excited to take on this next adventure.

All with refreshed drinks they hit the town, snow falling around them, and slush soaking the bottoms of their pant legs. They walk arm in arm, chattering about nothing as they make their way to the nearest Subway. This is Christmas, carefree and full of love. It doesn’t matter that Charlie keeps trying to steal Cameron’s hat and that people give them weird looks when Meeks jumps onto Pitts' back for a piggy back ride. Right now it felt like they were seventeen again, carefree and happy. That’s what was important, nothing else. 

“Now that's a Goddamn tree.” Knox is the first to say when exit the subway station and starts to blend in with the large crowd. Tourists and locals all enjoy the weekend before Christmas with one of the most beautiful sights in the world. 

“Wow.” Cameron mutters and Pitts and Meeks nod in agreement behind him. The tree is as bright as the sun, a rainbow of Christmas cheer and beauty. It’s the distraction they all need as Charlie slips to pay the attendant for all of them to skate. 

“You didn't have to do that.” Neil scolds and he shrugs, happy to provide for all his friends. Lucky they got to do this all together.

“I don't mind, come pick out your skates guys.” And the boys shuffle over, yelling sizes as they all receive a pair. None of them have ever actually skated before. Skiing was big at Welton but that was an entirely different world. 

That’s how they all end up like Bambi, trying their best not to fall as they glide out into the crowds of people skating underneath the giant tree. It’s Christmas bottled up in a moment, even when Pitts wipes out and brings Todd down with him. Knox laughs so hard he has to stop or he’ll fall himself. It’s then Charlie decides to bump Cameron who does everything not to fall. Legs spinning like Roadrunner beneath him. It’s Meeks who grabs his back and steadies him, allowing him to glare at Charlie who’s being punched in the arm by Neil for shoving Cameron in the first place. 

“I’d say this is much better than the old Indian Cave.” Neil says once they all find their footing and start lapping the rink like everyone else. It’s the most fun he’d ever had during Christmas, not a chance they could top next year. 

“Just as crowded though.” Meeks jokes and the boys all laugh, having stuffed themselves in that cave and hit their heads enough times for it to be true. There was no doubt New York City was full of people, especially during Christmas. A night like this was worth facing the crowds if they all got to be together. 

“At least we’re together, it's going to get harder and harder every year.” Todd points out and they all collectively nod, knowing life will keep going and more things will start to happen. A weekend near the Holiday’s will be harder and harder to accomplish, even with all the distance between them. 

“Yeah especially now that Knox is going to have a kid.” Pitts points out and all eyes catch Knox again, still processing this milestone and what it’ll mean for them. When that kid was born they’d no longer be the current generation, everything could change. Even the dynamics of the group. 

“I’m going to do my best.” Knox says but they know now to maybe not expect him next year, or maybe they’d return to Vermont for the Holidays. It’s not that it wasn’t exciting, in fact it was some of the best news any of them heard. What was scary is knowing this kid could go through the things they had endured and have to bear the weight of soul crushing guilt. Have the world expect something of them when they're only just a child. It made them want to protect but that was a good thing. It meant this kid was already loved more than ever and would have a support system that defied all odds. 

“We’re not worried about that Knoxious, we always make things work.” Charlie encourages, wrapping an arm around the boy's shoulder and he smiles as they each top directly in front of the tree. Looking up for what felt like miles as the dazzling Christmas lights twinkled in their eyes. 

“Yeah, we’re the Dead Poets Society after all, we live deliberately.” Todd reminds them and they all smile, memorizing this feeling of all being together just as they once were knowing change was just around the corner. Visits will become less and less but the love would always be there, no matter what milestone each of them faced. 

It’s the Christmas that changes everything, a new decade upon them. Within the next year Knox would have a little girl, eyes identical to his and bright blonde hair just like Chris’. Todd’s book will get published, hitting shelves by the summer and sky rocketing his career. Cameron gets engaged, a shock to even himself, but happier than he’s ever been. Meeks and Pitts business will take off, designing some of the largest and most intricate structures Connecticut has ever seen. Charlie will fall hopelessly and desperately in love, leaving the bachelor lifestyle behind, and eloping with the girl of his dreams. Then there was Neil, who nailed his audition just as each of the Poet’s thought. He makes it big on Broadway, and just as promised, each of them are there to see. It’s like deja vu sitting in the crowd, just as they once had a decade ago. When the curtains close they start the standing ovation, cheering loud enough to burst their lungs, knowing this time when they meet Neil outside the night will go the way it should have ten years ago. A celebration of love and togetherness like it was always meant to be. 

Finally having contributed their verse. 

a/n: I had wrote this as a Secret Santa gift for the lovely @happiness-runs but I figured you all would enjoy too. Merry Christmas ❤️

[stripedstarsblueflags]

Sunshine boy

Word count: 3.5k

Pairing: Landoscar

Rating: T for substance use

caught in the rain

omg did blueflags just write fluff?

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Oscar says. “Remind me how you got this number?”

On the other end of the line, Max Fewtrell is not amused. “Mate, I’ve had it,” he grumbles, huffing into the speaker like he’s struggling with something. Oscar winces at the static and pulls the phone away from his ear. “And, seriously, you’re worried about that now? We’ve got bigger problems.”

From the background, a giggling voice slurs, “Hi Osc!”

Oscar allows himself one second of blushing and butterflies at hearing Lando’s voice; then Max’s concern spreads to him as well. He listens as Max attempts to calm him down from… whatever’s going on. “Hey, Lando, come on, look at me… take some deep breaths– no, no, don’t eat that–”

“What’s going on?” Oscar interjects, standing up and pacing. His anxiety is immediately conjuring up worst-case scenarios, and it’s not helping. He walks to the window and looks out at the night outside; some fresh air would be nice, but it’s been absolutely pouring for the last few hours and shows no signs of abating now. “Is he okay?”

“I’m okay!” Lando sings, so loud into the speaker that Oscar flinches and nearly drops the phone. There’s some more scuffling on their line, presumably as Max swipes his phone back. “He’s not,” Max contradicts firmly as Lando whines petulantly in the background. He has to raise his voice over a white-noise roar in the background, Oscar notes.

“Did he take something?” Oscar asks. He looks to the front door where he’s left his shoes. He thinks about driving fast in this kind of rain– it’s not that he can’t do it, it’s that none of the other drivers on the road can. “And where are you guys?”

“I found him in a park, stoned out of his mind,” Max tells him. The roar in the background gets louder, like a busy street. “I don’t know who he was smoking with, he’s not really giving me complete sentences, but–”

“That’s because you’re not nice,” Lando complains. “See? That’s complete. Tha’s very complete…”

As worried as he is, Oscar can’t help but feel an almost painful sense of endearment. As cute as he is, though, Lando has apparently had some lapses of judgement tonight.

“Are you outside?” Oscar asks, just as a roll of thunder rumbles overhead. “In this?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Max says, urgency creeping into his tone. “He’s locked out. No keys, no wallet. He called me on a payphone. I mean, thank god I know his spots…”

Oscar swears under his breath. He can’t take his eyes away from the storm outside, the way the rain slices through the air in cold sheets and spills over rooftops with whitewater force. “Okay, okay,” he says, mostly to himself as he tries to thinks. “You drove there, right? Can you at least–”

“We’re walking to my car right now,” Max confirms. “And normally I’d just let him crash at mine, but I’ve got family visiting this weekend. They can’t see him like this. Fuck, Lando, I told you to keep your arm around my shoulders– sorry,” Max apologizes. “He’s a lot to handle right now. Listen, Oscar, I’ve already called half a dozen people. If there was anyone else, I wouldn’t–”

Oscar puts the pieces together over Max’s fumbling. “You want to drop him off at mine?”

“I’ve got a spare,” Max says quickly, talking in a rush like he’s scared Oscar will hang up. “Somewhere, I mean. I didn’t have time to find it before I went out to get him, I can go back to my place and look for it properly but I don’t know how long that’s gonna take and I don’t want to leave him alone in the car too long and–”

“Max, it’s fine,” Oscar interrupts. It’s only when Max sighs, full of relief, that he starts wrapping his head around what he’s just agreed to.

“Thank you,” Max tells him sincerely. “You’re a good guy, Oscar. Knew I could count on you.”

Oscar bites his lip against the sudden warmth in his face, overwhelmed by the compliment, and tries to push his embarrassment aside. “Right,” he mutters. “Um, don’t mention it. How far away are you?”

“I need your address, first.”

Lando, sounding no less coherent, pipes up: “‘S in my phone already.”

“What?” Oscar and Max say at the same time.

“Lando, you don’t have your phone,” Max reminds him. Then, to Oscar: “Why does he have your address?”

“Um–” Oscar is uncharacteristically flustered at the interrogative tone in Max’s voice, which seems to imply something far beyond the mundane situation. “Uh, he dropped me off from padel, once, we were playing with–”

“Okay, yeah,” Max concedes. Whatever that edge was in his voice (suspiciously like jealousy) is smoothed out before Oscar can make sense of it. “Listen, just text me your address and I’ll tell you when we’re close. Also, uh–” Max clears his throat. “He’s, like, soaking wet, so–”

“I’ll take care of him,” Oscar assures him.

“Oscooooo,” Lando coos happily.

He hears Max open a car door, and the call ends sometimes in the midst of Max trying to manhandle Lando into the passenger seat, which is a relief. Oscar doesn’t think he can say a single word without stammering now.f

If Lando sounded out of it on the phone, Oscar is definitely not prepared for what’s standing on his doorstep.

Both Max and Lando are drenched to the bone, water pooling under their shoes and into the hallway carpet. Max must’ve given one of his layers to Lando because he’s only wearing a t-shirt, which is plastered to his skin and nearly transparent. Despite the extra jumper, Lando’s shaking so badly that Max has to hold him upright.

“Shit,” Oscar say. “You guys look terrible.”

“Nice to see you too, Oscar,” Max grumbles, slinging Lando’s arm over his shoulders right before he starts sliding.

“Nice to see you, Oscar,” Lando mimicks dopily, eyes glazed. His cheeks and the bridge of his nose are a blotchy red like he’s been badly sunburnt, while the rest of his skin is frighteningly pale. His teeth are chattering too hard for him to keep his mouth closed, and there’s a slight glisten of drool on his chin

Oscar quickly opens the door wider and beckons them both inside. Max struggles to get Lando to coordinate his feet enough to walk; Oscar reaches out instinctively, then immediately draws his hands back like he’s been burned. He aches watching the two of them struggle, but it’s one thing to agree to help Lando, and quite another to… what, cradle him? Carry him? Surely if Lando were sober he’d have objections–

“Did, uh,” he starts eloquently. “Did he, like, OD? Is that even a thing with weed?”

Max shakes his head and braces himself against a wall so he can adjust his grip on Lando’s waist. Lando watches the dark handprint spread under his palm and drip rainwater onto the carpet, mesmerized.

“He didn’t, and no,” Max says, in answer to Oscar’s questions. “But his tolerance is practically nonexistent. Worst I’ve ever seen. And knowing him he probably forgot to eat…”

“Sorry,” Lando mumbles, confirming.

Max sighs. “We’re gonna have a talk about this, you and I. Don’t think you get off easy just cause you’re with Oscar.”

Oscar’s taken aback, but before he can begin to wrap his head around what that might mean, Max nods at him. “Thanks again for your help. I’ll be back as soon as I can to take him home, just gotta remember where I left that fucking key.”

“Okay.” Max is clearly exhausted. Oscar finally reaches out without second-guessing himself; Max looks at him gratefully before stepping closer and finally shifting Lando’s dead weight from his own arms to Oscar’s.

Lando stumbles, nearly knocking them both off balance, and then curls into Oscar immediately. Oscar flinches and draws in a sharp breath; it’s like hugging a block of ice. Lando is absolutely freezing, and his rain-drenched clothes are quickly soaking Oscar as well. He shivers so hard Oscar can hear the spasm in his breathing, everything too tense for him to catch his breath. He closes his eyes and makes a sound like a mewling kitten and burrows into Oscar’s chest, tucking his face into his shirt.

”You got him?” Max asks, flicking water out of his eyes.

Oscar’s got him. One arm wraps firmly around Lando’s waist, maintaining their balance despite the actual pain his bare skin experiences from how cold Lando is, and the other cups the back of his head in his hand and draws his face closer to his own body heat. Lando hums against him, and Oscar can feel the vibration at the base of his sternum.

“Yeah,” Oscar answers belatedly. “I can find some clothes for him, something comfy…”

“Good. You do that.” Max gives him one pained smile, failing to suppress his own shudders, and steps back over the threshold. “I owe you one.”

Before Oscar can explain that Max doesn’t owe him anything, that he’s happy to help, that he would’ve offered without being asked if he’d have known, that’s he’s actually rather irritated that he wasn’t higher up on the list of people Max had called, come to think of it–

Max leaves, closing the door behind him.

Oscar is left alone with a very cold, very wet, very stoned Lando Norris.

Lando’s ragged breathing is the loudest noise in the flat. He’s squirming in Oscar’s arms, nuzzling insistently at his chest like he’s trying to climb inside of Oscar. His hands are so cold they leave painful stinging impressions wherever they touch Oscar’s skin.

“God, Lando,” Oscar murmurs. “You’re freezing.”

Stating the obvious. Lando moans miserably in agreement.

“Yep, okay. Follow me. Uh, can you walk?”

Apparently Lando can, as long as he’s allowed to cling to Oscar like a giant half-frozen octopus at the same time. The walk down the hall to the bedroom is agonizingly slow, but every time Oscar tries to detach himself to get them both moving quicker Lando cries out. He’s very much not in his right mind, but he still sounds so pained that Oscar lets himself be nearly frozen along with him in the simple quest to get to the end of the hall.

He has to physically pry Lando’s arms off him in order to sit him on the bed. Lando whines and reaches out into the air, trying to pull him back and missing atrociously. Oscar peers into his eyes; there’s not a spark of recognition or self-awareness. All Lando understands is that he’s cold, and the only bit of warmth is going away.

”Lando, please, just stay here,” Oscar pleads, only belatedly realizing he’s using the same voice he used with their family dog. “I promise I’ll be right back, I just need to get some extra clothes for you, okay? Something warm.”

“Mm’kay,” Lando mumbles, nodding too many times. He wraps his arms around himself, but his strength is visibly fading. His lips have darkened to a bruise-like blue. Not a good sign.

“Stay here.” Oscar moves quickly, digging through his drawers to find the warmest possible outfit. He gathers everything he needs and turns back to Lando, sitting near-catatonic on his bed, and stalls.

“Um,” he says, clearing his throat when Lando shows no response. “Hey. Lando.”

A flicker of awareness. Lando’s eyes focus on him for a split second, then cross.

Oscar approaches him, tentatively holding out the clothes like he’s holding out a treat to a stray dog. “Bathroom’s over there,” he says, gesturing with his chin. When Lando doesn’t react, he adds, “You need to get out of these clothes. You’re soaked, you’re gonna get sick.”

To his relief, Lando finally seems to hear him; unfortunately, some crucial parts of the sentence have evidently been missed as Lando starts trying to wriggle out of his shirts right there.

“Woah, uh, you sure–“ Oscar squeezes his eyes shut, which is stupid since Lando’s got so many layers on that he’s not even a little indecent, but he finds it easier to talk without looking. “You sure you want to do that here? And not in the bathroom? Or I could like, step out and–”

”No-o-o-!” Landos’ voice is so broken by shivers that Oscar’s resolve simply melts. He steps forward to help his friend.

It’s a lot quicker with the two of them working together. When Oscar finally pulls Lando’s last shirt over his head, exposing his bare chest and arms, he makes such a pained yelp that Oscar scrambles to get the dry clothes on him like he’s being timed.

With a lot of fumbling and strategically averted glances, they finally manage to get Lando completely redressed. His hair is still dripping, but he looks much more comfortable in fleece pajama pants and a hoodie so big it goes down to his thighs. His fingers don’t even reach past the sleeves; it looks like he’s got big paws instead, floppy when he reaches for the hood and pulls it up.

Oscar’s teased Lando about their height difference a few times, but right now he looks tiny. Red-rimmed eyes blinking up at him from the shadow of the hood, shoulders all but swallowed up in the fabric, hands tucked primly inside the sleeves as Lando rocks on his heels.

It feels only natural when Oscar opens his arms and welcomes Lando back into his embrace. Lando, to his credit, seems a lot more coordinated now that he’s not wearing half his weight in rainwater. He slides his arms under Oscar’s and holds him around the waist, letting his head rest on Oscar’s chest like it’s his new favorite pillow. “Thanks, Osc,” he sighs contentedly.

The nickname that can seem so mundane in the media activities feels suddenly, vulnerably intimate. Well, Lando’s never said it with his lips pressed right up against him, has he?

To distract himself, he tries to focus on just getting Lando away from the brink of hypothermia. He tightens his grip and rubs up and down his back with open palms. “You’re still so cold,” he frets, just to have something to say.

“Nmshph’ you,” Lando protests.

Oscar places his warm hand over the back of Lando’s neck, still refrigerator-cold. “What was that?” he asks.

Lando mouths at empty air a few times before he speaks, like he’s trying to form the sentence before his mind is ready. “I said ‘Not with you’,” he answers.

Oscar inhales a little too sharply.

This does not mean anything this does not mean anything this does not–

He just needs to keep the tremor out of his voice. He just needs to be normal about this.

He closes his eyes. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll keep you warm.”

To describe Lando’s response as anything other than a purr would be simply delusional.

Oscar’s hands move without his permission, seeking up to run shaky fingers through Lando’s hair. He’s careful to be gentle around the tangles. It’s still wet, but no longer dripping in small waterfalls into his eyes, so that’s an improvement. Lando sways his head from side to side, like he’s encouraging Oscar to keep going.

So he does. Lando’s breathing evens out, the shivering smoothed over. His eyes flutter shut.

“Do you want to lie down?” Oscar asks.

Lando nods tiredly against his chest, so he carefully walks them both over to the bed. Stripping back the covers proves to be a challenge, because Lando is putting more and more weight on him by the minute. His shoulder is starting to cramp up, an unpleasant stiffness making its way into his neck.

“Lando,” he huffs tiredly. “This would be easier if you could just step ba–”

“So pretty,” Lando murmurs.

Now Oscar might be the one turning to ice, with how quickly his whole body falls into stillness. “Uh,” he begins gracelessly, a pillow slipping out of his hands and back onto the mattress with a thwump that makes Lando giggle. “Erm, what was that?”

He’s asking in the confused, self-denying hope that Lando will either realize he didn’t mean what he just said or will have forgotten the thought entirely. No such luck, though, as Lando finally leans against the bed and allows Oscar’s shoulder a much-needed respite. He turns a bit and tries to arch his back to lean away from Oscar without completely detaching himself, but he doesn’t quite have the coordination. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he places his sweater paws on Oscar’s waist.

Looking down at the position, Oscar’s brain short-circuits.

It looks like they’re dancing. Not even in an elegant, romantic way, more like two school kids who are trying not to get caught by the chaperone.

Oscar brings his eyes back to Lando’s upturned face, bedsheets all but forgotten. Lando still looks so small, swimming in Oscar’s clothes, looking up dazedly through his eyelashes. The smile flickering on his lips could light up the whole room. “You’re so pretty,” he hums contentedly. “What are we doing?”

“What?” Oscar snaps himself out of it seconds after the question leaves his mouth; he does not need to give Lando any more prompting. His face is burning. He’s a little out of breath. He needs to find some way to neutralize this situation, to get himself and his own live-wire feelings away from this…. what, danger? temptation?

“We,” he says, answering Lando and talking over his own spiraling stream of consciousness, “are getting you ready for bed. And then Max is going to come back and take you home.”

“Tu tu tu tu…”

“No, not that Max. The other Max.”

Lando nods sleepily and, to Oscar’s immense relief, finally starts climbing into the bed. Oscar puts his hands behind his head so he doesn’t death-drop it into the wall.

Then Lando’s brow furrows. “Why?”

“Wh– because he has a key. To your flat.”

Lando shakes his head. “Why,” he repeats again with a petulant frown. “Got a bed right here.”

Oscar swallows. “Yeah, but that’s my bed.”

Lando shakes his head again and opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but instead settles for reaching into the air and making weak grabby hands for Oscar. “‘s your bed,” he reasons.

Oscar allows himself a split second of imagination: the two of them, curled together under the covers, the whole room blanketed in the shushing sounds of the rain outside. Lando curling into him like he’s finding some sort of sanctuary in Oscar’s arms.

Then he decides his best escape plan is going to be lying through his teeth: “Um, that’s okay, actually, I’m not tired…”

“Yeah, but I am.”

Something about that last sentence sounds scarily sober all of the sudden. Oscar peers into Lando’s eyes, trying to discern the bloodshot threads that mean the drug still has a dominant hold over his mind. In the dim lamplight of his bedroom, it’s hard to tell. Lando seems to like the attention, though, staring back with what can only be described as awe.

“Pretty,” he whispers, his voice barely audible on the edge of a sleepy exhale. His eyelids are starting to slide shut, slow and heavy as syrup. “Come to bed.”

He sounds tired, but he doesn’t sound nearly as out of it as he did even ten minutes ago.

Something between excitement and panic ignites in Oscar’s chest like a gas fire. His mind races two steps ahead of him, providing an onslaught of horrifying what-ifs: what if Lando comes to his senses and pushes him out of the bed, what if he realizes what’s going on and thinks Oscar is trying to insinuate something, what if he changes his mind about what he means when he’s obviously delirious and half-frozen to death, what––

What if he means it?

Whatever the case, the regretful, abrasive Lando in Oscar’s head is nothing compared to what’s curled up in his bed right now. Longing eyes, reaching hands. Rain-matted curls making little loop-shaped impressions on the pillowcase.

Who would he be to say no?

Oscar climbs carefully into the bed.

His initial plans to stay within the narrow strip of space between Lando and the edge of the bed are dashed immediately.

Lando finds him under the blankets and goes full koala. Within seconds of lying down he’s wrapped in so much Lando that the blankets feel like an afterthought. Lando’s practically lying on top of him.

Oscar tries to keep his breathing under control. He can’t remember the last time he was this close to… well, anyone. Their legs are entwined. Lando’s arm is slung across his waist, head back on his chest like he could build a home there.

And the thing is, it doesn’t feel dangerous. It doesn’t feel like temptation.

There’s no fear here, no second-guessing anxiety or hysterical self doubt.

He’s under the covers with Lando, and it feels right.

Lando’s still a little cold. Oscar shifts up just enough to free one of his arms and wrap it around Lando’s shoulders. Lando curls into him, purring again.

It’s nice.

“Thanks, Osc,” Lando sighs, voice muffled by Oscar’s shirt.

Oscar finds his free hand lifting to card through Lando’s hair again. He can’t help it. “Yeah,” he says as Lando nestles in, savoring all the warmth Oscar has to give, “anytime.”

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Little Darling

Chapter 11 - The mirror is a trap that saves

It's 1997, and Elvis is still alive and well. He quit music in 1972 after a successful world tour, and now he runs Presley Studios - teaching people karate across America. His daughter and grandchildren are regular visitors at Graceland, and when he’s in Memphis he likes to do a little teaching. His life is quieter now, though. Most of the Mafia have gone - going to live their own lives - and after his divorce from his second wife, Elvis is sworn off women for good. Will a Welsh girl with a wicked sense of humour be the one to make him break his promise to himself not to fall in love again?

Need to catch up? Go here.

Pairing: Old Man!Elvis x OC - Tegan, a Welsh girl he meets at karate.

Word count: 3.2K

TWs: Elvis is a little dominant, use of daddy in a sexual context, bit of dollification, objectification if you squint, possessive kink, praise kink, p in v sex.

It's Christmas eve, and Elvis scratches his bearded chin as he walks arm in arm with Tegan and their dog through the snowy park. He's grown a beard to make it easier for him to dress up as Santa for the grandkids, but he started too late and it's itchy. Tegan told him that the itchy stage would finish soon (her ex had a beard) but he's preoccupied by how annoying it is right now. The dog is a chow cross that they chose together at a rescue centre, as soon as Elvis found out that Tegan loved dogs as much as him. She made the mistake of telling him about the Welsh language band Ffa Coffi Pawb - literally meaning “everyone's coffee beans”, but pronounced fah-koff-ee pow-b which made it sound a lot like fuck off everyone, in a combination of Welsh and English - Wenglish - and he decided that was the perfect name for their new furry friend. In the end he went for Ffa Coffi, which Tegan thinks doesn't really work as a pun, but Elvis enjoys saying regardless. Tegan also doesn't think a dog can be called Coffee Beans (bean would be fine, but the plural just seems crazy) but mostly they just shout “COFFI!” which works in either language. The most important thing is that Coffi is laid back and will barely chase after a ball, never mind other people's pets. And he puts up with Tegan cuddling him all the time without ever trying to lick her face. Sometimes when Elvis sees them curled up on the sofa together he wonders if he will ever get a look in. 

The beard and the fact that he’s wrapped up for the cold mean that barely anyone recognises Elvis, and so they’ve come out without any kind of back up. Elvis feels more and more comfortable doing that nowadays, happy to just walk around with Tegan and Coffi. They don’t see the paps often in the cold, and when they do they just do their best to ignore them. As they make their way through the snow, he’s reminded of the day at the zoo, when they definitely did have to have back up. 

“Hey, I bet if we went ta the zoo today no-one would bother us.”

Tegan snorts. “And all the animals would probably be indoors by the fire with a cocoa.”

“Cocoa?”

“Oh, hot chocolate.”

“Ah.”

They carry on for a while in silence, then Elvis pipes up again. 

“I’m sorry about that day, honey. Ya didn’t deserve bein’ dragged through the press like ya were.”

Her smile is slight as she remembers the horrible events of the day after. “Neither did you.”

Stopping, he turns to her and looks into her face seriously. “Ya didn’t deserve the way I treated ya, either.”

Her eyes dart around, awkwardly, and she eventually settles on looking down at Coffi. “Well, that was a while ago, now, ‘raur. Things have been much better since then.”

Taking his hands out of his pockets, he reaches for hers to hold them. The dog lead slips onto her wrist and Coffi sits down between them, looking up patiently. 

“Ya know yer beautiful, right?”

She frowns a little, still looking at the dog. “I’m not sure what that’s got to do with… before.”

He steps towards her and the dog whines a little at being hemmed in between them. 

“Will ya look at me, pretty girl?”

Her nose wrinkles and she looks up cautiously. “We’ve been through this, ‘raur. I’m almost 40 years old.”

“Alright then. Look at me when I’m talking to ya, woman.”

There’s a trace of a smile on her face as he moves his hand to her cheek and pulls her towards him, making her stagger forwards for balance as he crashes his lips against hers. 

“Mmm. ‘Raur,” she chides, a blush rising on her face as he pulls back. 

“Can’t get ya ta listen otherwise, can I?” He grumbles, letting out a low whistle and shaking his head. “Now I’ve got yer attention, will ya answer me?”

“About what?”

Elvis growls deep in his throat, making Coffi yelp in surprise. “I want ya ta tell me yer beautiful.”

“Elvis…”

“No.” The word is sharp and the force of it makes her tremble. “Don’t Elvis me. Tell me what I want ta hear.”

“I guess I look better now I've had my hair and nails done…”

Nudging the dog out of the way with his foot, Elvis closes the gap between them and puts his lips to Tegan’s ear.

“Well if yer not gonna tell me now I'll haveta fuck it outta ya later.” His voice is low and gravelly and she trembles again at the pitch and the force of the words. She can feel a blush rising on her cheeks and finds her thighs rubbing together almost of their own accord. “Hm?” He prompts, not moving his mouth from her ear. 

“Yes, Daddy,” she whispers back. 

He's half-tempted to reply “yes, Daddy, what?” but he decides not to push it outdoors, and responds with a quick “good” instead. He steps back and takes the dog lead off Tegan, gently tugging Coffi towards him. 

“Time ta head back.”

They turn and walk back towards the car, Tegan’s stomach flipping as the words he’d just said run through her mind over and over again. As well as the consistent erections, the pills had given Elvis a little more confidence, but he’d never said anything like that outside of the bedroom, let alone outside of the house. On the drive home they make small talk about when they’re going to put out the presents, and what they’ve bought for other people, but Tegan’s brain keeps short-circuiting to him telling her he’s going to fuck it out of her. She watches him carry on doing normal, everyday things when they’re back at Graceland. Feeding the dog, making coffee. 

“Elvis?”

“Yes, baby.”

“Can I have a kiss?”

He moves to put his arms around her, pulling her in close. “Of course ya can.”

His lips are soft and the kiss is gentle. Tegan feels herself relax. She smiles as he pulls back. 

“Thanks.”

He chuckles softly. “Mmm. No problem.” Stroking her cheek, he continues, “you lookin’ forward to dressin’ up as Mrs Claus later? Puttin’ on that little outfit I bought ya?”

She looks at his expression for a moment and then shakes her head a little. “It’s obscene, isn’t it?”

He pretends to look offended. “Obscene? Somethin’ I bought fer ya?” When she carries on staring at him with one raised eyebrow he relents. “Okay, yeah, so it’s a little short. Gotta show off my girl’s legs though, haven’t I?”

“To who?!”

“Ah. Okay, ya got me there.” He ponders the question for a moment. “Alright. It’s self-gratification. Jus’ wanna see ‘em myself.”

She keeps shaking her head but they’re both giggling and then they’re kissing again. Tegan hears someone clearing their throat and pulls back quickly. 

“Sorry to interrupt you lovebirds, but I’ve got two kids demanding lunch.” Lisa-Marie smiles at them both. 

“Chefs are on their way in,” Elvis explains, looking at his watch. “Ten minutes or so an’ then they’ll be makin’ somethin’. Kids’ll have ta be patient.”

The impatient children appear as if they’ve been summoned by the conversation, and Elvis suggests they all go down to the den and hang out there instead. Ben follows his sister, explaining some comic book or other that he’s been reading to her in painstaking detail, whilst she pulls the most bored face Tegan thinks she’s ever seen. Elvis settles into an armchair and pulls his girlfriend into his lap. One arm rests around her waist whilst his other hand brushes her hair away from her neck to give him easy access to press kisses to it every so often. He always seems to know when she needs reassurance. 

“You two are so sweet together,” Lisa remarks. 

“Ah, I’m lucky she puts up with me,” Elvis replies, his fingers combing through Tegan’s hair. “She’s got the patience of a saint.”

“Don’t talk about me as though I’m not here,” Tegan complains. 

Lisa starts saying something about him being a pain in the ass, but Tegan can barely hear it because his lips are next to her ear again, murmuring, “think ya like it when I do that, honey.” Her pussy tingles at the words and she swallows, thickly. Managing after what seems like minutes to tune back into the conversation, only to hear Elvis saying,

“She’s way too good fer me, and far too pretty.”

The tingling between her legs intensifies. She does like it. She likes it way too much. Fuck. She tries to calm down as she hears Lisa ask her a question to draw her back into the conversation. 

“Oh well, I mean he is better than me at karate, I suppose…”

They bounce back and forth and she starts to feel herself relax. But Elvis had felt the way she’d tensed and seen the blush on her face. He certainly hasn’t lost his touch, when it comes to knowing what women like, he thinks. Not at all. 

***

Tegan looks at herself in the mirror, turning to the side and tugging at the hem of her dress a little. She’d been right when she accused Elvis of buying her an obscene costume - it only just covers her ass. At least it’s not skin tight, she muses. But there’s no way she’s bending over in it in the best of the house. She pulls the santa hat onto her head and laughs at her reflection. If someone had told her a year ago that she’d be in one of the bedrooms in Graceland, wearing a skimpy Mrs Claus outfit and getting ready to arrange presents underneath the Christmas tree (a task that was now definitely seeming impossible to do without flashing someone) she’d have laughed them out of town. And yet, here she is.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the appearance of Elvis in his own Santa costume. She turns and runs daintily towards him, the red sparkly heels he’d bought her slowing her down a little. Throwing her arms around his neck she grins as his hands grip her lower back. 

“You look very handsome as Father Christmas.”

He chuckles. “I look like an old man in a Santa costume, honey.”

“You look handsome,” she tells him firmly, and he leans down to kiss her with a smile. 

“Father Christmas,” he teases, doing a bad impression of her accent. 

She sniggers. “Daddy Christmas.”

His hand reaches down to squeeze her ass. “Yeah, ya can call me that if ya want.”

They both giggle a little before he insists on looking at her properly in her outfit, twirling her around and making approving noises. 

“You’ve outdone yourself here, Presley,” he says, to himself. 

She can’t help smiling, despite the ridiculousness of the situation. He lets out a sharp breath and then shakes his head quickly as if to dispel the dirty thoughts. 

“Right, let’s get these gifts done.” 

He gives her a quick slap on the ass and she squeals. “Elvis!”

“Thought it was Daddy Christmas,” he replies, one eyebrow raised and a little smile playing on his lips. 

“You are incorrigible.”

“You are incorrigible, Daddy Christmas.”

Tegan doubles over laughing at that, which Elvis particularly enjoys given the length of her skirt and the lacey panties he’d bought her to wear with her outfit. 

“I swear these pills have made you worse.”

“Ya won’t learn, will ya? Call me by my name or I’ll have to put ya over my knee and we’ll never get these gifts done.”

Managing eventually to keep a straight face, she puts her arms back around his neck and looks up into his face. 

“Sorry, Daddy Christmas,” she coos. “I promise I’ll be a good girl. I don’t want to miss out on my presents.”

“I’ll definitely be givin’ ya somethin’ later if yer good,” he teases back. 

After more giggling, nose scrunching and forehead kisses, they eventually untangle themselves and head downstairs to arrange the presents, fetching them from outside of bedroom doors and piling them up underneath the tree. They fill the kids’ stockings and Elvis eats the cookie left out for Santa, leaving the glass of sherry to Tegan, since she’d insisted on it. Much to her relief, no-one comes out to see them at work so she doesn’t have to worry about her modesty too much. It’s still good to be in Elvis’ room afterwards, especially when he tells her he has some gifts to give her now. 

“Don’t think this is somethin’ everyone needs ta see,” he explains, handing her a beautifully wrapped package. “An’ the other one,” he gestures at the box next to her on the bed, “is somethin’ I want ya wearin’ tomorrow.”

“Which one first?”

He taps the package in her hand. “That one.”

She unwraps it carefully, then immediately bursts out laughing. It’s not just one present - it’s a set of three pairs of panties with ELVIS embroidered on the back in silver script. 

“Oh my God! Did you have these made?!”

He nods, grinning a little bashfully. “Thought you might like ‘em. Ya can wear a pair tomorrow under that dress I bought ya.”

Elvis had bought her yet another gold dress, which he somehow hadn’t classed as a Christmas present, having given it to her earlier in the week. She thinks she ought to be overwhelmed by all the presents, and she’s certainly nervous to see his reaction to what she’s bought him, but every time he produces another one she’s filled with a kind of warm joy. He loves giving and she loves receiving. They’re a match made in heaven. 

She smirks and once she’s finished looking at the panties she reaches for the next present. Under the wrapping paper is a beautiful velvet box, and inside the box is… 

“Oh ‘raur!!” She exclaims, very carefully lifting the tiara out of the box. It’s gold and covered in diamonds and she hates to think how much money it must have cost. “Oh cariad, it’s beautiful.” 

“Put it on, honey.”

She pushes the santa hat off her head as she gets up and walks over to the full-length mirror. Carefully replacing the hat with the tiara, she fiddles with her hair and turns her head from side to side, looking at the stones sparkling in the light. Elvis comes up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist and pressing a kiss to her temple. 

“My beautiful Queenie.”

She blushes and looks down. “Oh ‘raur. It’s too much.”

“Uh-uh. Nothin’ too much f’my Queenie.”

“Thank you. I love it.”

He kisses her cheek this time and his eyes lock with hers in the mirror. “Let’s see ya in it and those panties, then.”

She spins around in his arms, her arms reaching around his neck. “Am I just some kind of naughty fashion show for you?”

“Yep,” he replies, patting her ass. “Off ya go now. Do as yer told.”

Part of her can’t believe she’s just going along with this, going into the en suite to take her dress and underwear off, and put the new panties on. She hadn’t thought that being with Elvis would be like being his little doll sometimes, and she also hadn’t thought that she’d like it so much. She opens the door slowly, then steps back into the bedroom. Elvis is still fully-clothed, sitting on his bed waiting for her. As soon as he spots her, looking a little shy only a few steps into the room, he beckons her over. 

“C’mere. That’s it. Spin round fer me. Mmmm. Lookin’ good, Tegan bach.”

Once she’s finished with being paraded around in a circle for the second time that evening, Tegan gets onto Elvis’ lap. She much prefers being close to him like this to being made to strut about like a catwalk model, and she presses herself up against him, enjoying the feeling of her naked skin against his soft, almost furry suit. His hands rub up and down her back, kissing her deeply as she rolls her hips against him. 

“Ya gonna tell me what I want ta hear yet?” He murmurs in her ear. 

“Mmm. No. Think you promised something about fucking it out of me.”

He hums and pulls his belt off, before reaching into the pants of his suit and pulling his dick out. “Sit on it fer me, honey.”

She moves to take her panties off and one of his hands grips her arm. He shakes his head. “Keep ‘em on. Jus’ move ‘em to the side.”

Moaning, she slowly eases him inside her until she’s full, sitting on his lap, her head against his shoulder, panting. 

“Good girl. Want ya ta remember who ya belong to.”

“I couldn’t…forget… Elvis.”

“Mmmm. Yer all mine.”

She tries to steady her breathing, still leaning heavily against him. 

“Okay, baby?” He asks, softly, when she still doesn’t move. 

“Mmm. Yes. Fuck.”

“This enough fer ya?”

She smiles against him. “I was promised a fuck.”

He smiles back, thinking how much he loves her in this moment. His hands move to grip her hips and he uses them to move her, slowly at first and then gathering pace. The tiara slips and she quickly removes it, setting it safely on the bedside table. 

“Now?” He asks, pulling her up and slamming her back down on him, hard. 

She whines. “I… oh… fuck…”

“That’s not it, honey.”

“I… oh, fine! I’m beautiful! I’m… fuck…” she forces the words out and at around the same time her orgasm hits her with the force of a speeding truck. 

“Yes ya fuckin’ are,” he replies, through gritted teeth as he feels her squeezing him. His hips buck a few times and then he’s cumming inside her too. 

She falls down against him like a ragdoll, puffing and panting. Once he's managed to get his santa suit off he pulls her back into his arms. They lie together for a while, basking in the glow of their orgasms. Tegan starts to think about the next day, and who will be arriving when, her brain lazily trying to figure out logistics. They chat about it for a while, Elvis reassuring her that she doesn’t have to worry, he’s already planned it all.

“So that’s everyone, I think.”

“Sure you haven’t missed anyone?”

“Oh, yeah. Jerry will be comin’. On his own, though. Wife left ‘im. Thought he might want company.”

“Who’s Jerry?”

“Friend a mine from before. Lives in LA now. Pretty boy, ‘bout seven years younger ‘an me.”

“You didn’t say.”

“Musta forgot, honey. Ya’ll like ‘im. Everyone likes Jerry.”

“Did you tell him about me?”

“‘Course I did, honey. He’s lookin’ forward ta meetin’ ya.”

Tegan thinks she’s looking forward to meeting him too, for some reason she can’t quite define. They carry on talking until Elvis starts to drift off, and so Tegan extracts herself from his arms and gets more comfortable. Imagining Graceland on Christmas morning, bustling with life and joy until she falls asleep too. 

***

Taglist:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy

[triptychgrip]

So sorry to ask @arom-antix but do you think you (or someone else, if you see this first) could send me screenshots of thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai’s post? I am now blocked, so can’t see their analysis for myself 🙃🙃🙃

The topic of plagiarism reminds me of something I’d refrained from including in my earlier post which, in my opinion, is a tendency as damaging to fandom as their trying to dictate how others enjoy the source media: their preference for competition over fostering community

…even when they have posted very openly about wanting to feel like a more rooted part of the fandom.

This actually gets at something you already touched upon @arom-antix and I love how you framed it:

“And considering Samurai believes their interpretations are the most correct according to canon and that anyone who doesn't share those views is illiterate (I can't find that screenshot rn, you're free to doubt my claim), shouldn't it be good that Vic came to the same conclusions? Doesn't that mean that Samurai's analysis is being backed up and that Vic is not illiterate? But Vic's analysis gained more traction and that's apparently enough to accuse the fandom of being a waste of time and energy (Fig. 22).”

I’ll mention a similarly telling example of the focus on traction/ the tendency towards competition: thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai made a post during the past summer, I believe that (paraphrasing) said something to the effect of: “when you plan to post something only to discover that someone has already gone ahead and posted nearly the exact same thing, it makes you wonder why you even bother, sometimes”

I’ll be honest, I found this line of thinking very bizarre, and even more bizarre to readily admit.

Because if you profess to care so much about canon compliance while also feeling that nobody is capable of presenting the kind of intellectually based discourse you really want to see more of, why is someone else posting about something you share interpretations around such a bad thing?

Might it be because they did it first?

I think this honestly goes beyond “well I spent a lot of time developing the post and now that’s all a waste”. Because here’s the thing: it doesn’t have to be a waste, depending on your attitude.

Shouldn’t you feel happy that someone else is analyzing things the way you do? Can’t that be a platform to foster a connection and maybe even a friendship (i.e. “I noticed your analysis really resonates with my own headcanons, would you be open to talking about them?”)?

Now, maybe they in fact did reach out to that person via DM’s or a non-public forum, but given the things I’ve already seen people bring up, I highly doubt they did. Because as has become increasingly clear to me, their main drive seems to be to preference appearing relevant over cultivating connection.

And before I get accused of speaking in absolutes, I’ll say that it’s likely true that thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai was indeed genuine on the occasions they’ve said they want more fandom friends/community.

However, it has always read to me that those statements were extremely conditional, and left many things unspoken like: “I want community, as long as I am perceived as the most relevant. Community, but only if I am the foremost authority figure, the person who posts first, and comes out looking like I have the most unique thing to say.”

(If you can’t already tell, I have some long-harbored frustration around this…mostly due to my making excuses for them for far too long.)

I remember a post they made shortly before going on a social media hiatus in which they mentioned (again, paraphrasing) feeling like they are the antipode of fun.

I can’t remember the exact wording, but it was essentially a very vulnerable post about feeling like the odd one out in the fandom, and a general struggle to make friends. I believe I had commented to them with something sympathetic — if anyone who they haven’t blocked wants to look this up and verify, feel free.

But what I wish I would have added had I been more brave is that a really valuable opportunity for making friends could be to engage in conversations with people from a place of curiosity. It’s like you’ve said so well already, @arom-antix : come at things not from a desire to prove anyone wrong — nor in order to come out looking like you’re the only one with something worth saying — but because you genuinely value the opportunity to connect with others around something you’re both so passionate about

Hey, just wanted to reach out to say that I found you pointing out and calling this person was really great and you shouldn't have apologized. It was incredibly true what you said, and to be honest it seems out of touch with the reality of a great deal of the japanese fandom, the nuances and their culture. Also, it was as you pointed out, extreme and may I say rude. I want to mention too that the way it was written, as if entitled of the knowledge and the 'explanation' made it all worse in context of the 'fucked up'. The original poster always gets away by using the 'well-written academic'' statement of their 'metas' as an excuse to do or say and make everyone else agree and if not, uses victim narrative and discourses exactly selecting wording for people to agree on it or feel bad.

I don't know if they tagging you in the way they did made you reblog and apologizing/backing up, but no one thought bad about you pointing it out. On the contrary, a lot of people had been bullied and discriminated by this person when they called them out/disagreed going onto lenghts of sending their friends to harass people, and the other persons can't even defend themselves because they are effectively blocked. To quite a few people in the fandom has been done, even accusing them as 'acephobes' (when they're not) or even Nazis by spreading lies. So yeah, I just wanted to say that. I think you were right to call them out publicly.

Thank you very much for this ask. To be completely honest I agree with everything you said here and don't actually feel bad about pointing anything out. I mainly apologised because I didn't want any potentially poor phrasing from my side to cause unnecessary hostility and because I myself have gripes with this person's behaviour but didn't want to cause a scene.

My honest opinion is that they have a serious issue with taking accountability for their own mistakes and highly overestimate their own intellect. If you're reading this, @thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai, sorry if I seem harsh, but it's true. I saw your post lamenting how you're the only academic meta writer / fan in the fandom and I didn't interact then because I honestly do not care enough to start that drama but with the information Blonndiec has just given me, I think it's necessary that someone calls you out.

You're not an academic. You're not beyond the mental capabilities of other fans. You're actually incredibly childish in your metas and analyses and I am not kidding when I say that I was halfheartedly writing essays more academic than every analysis I've seen from you when I was barely a teenager. I don't know how old you are and I frankly don't care. You're not as clever as you think you are.

Also, don't think I didn't notice that you didn't reblog my correction (link here to my correction and here to their "response" for those who didn't see that exchange) of your post so that you could control what your followers saw of the exchange. You're the opposite of an academic. You control information to tailor the narrative, you don't cite your sources properly if at all, you don't format your posts in anything close to how an academic analysis would be, you make unbased claims, you reference posts and canon material without in any way indicating where that information is from, you reference your own (equally unacademic) metas and your conclusions from them without indicating what post it's from or that it's your own theory this new one is based on and instead present it as a common fact, and I could go on and on and on. Your posts are also riddled with logical fallacies and you talk in absolutes and opinions when there's no canon basis to claim such things. I'm sorry, but that's not academic in the slightest.

To be clear, you don't have to be an academic to post on the Internet. You don't have to be anything at all. You could up front be a genuine idiot with no remorse and that's fine. But when you claim to be an academic and also put down the rest of the fandom for not being on your level, you have to be able to back that up. It'd still make you sound like a prick but at least your arrogance would have a basis. It currently does not.

I haven't personally seen the discussions that Blonndiec is referencing and I'm not going to claim anything definitive (because that would be unacademic of me, take notes) but if what they're saying is true and did happen as described, which I have empirical, if anecdotal, evidence to believe could very well be (a friend of mine has personally been blocked by you after they criticised you without actually mentioning your name which I of course can't prove is the reason for the block but the timing is awfully convenient), you should know that you should be ashamed of yourself.

If there's context missing, feel free to enlighten me and call out any incorrect accusations. You have every right to defend yourself. However, I encourage you to cite your sources since you're such an academic. If you don't, then it's just your word against Blonndiec and anyone else who might comment's word and that doesn't prove anything. Don't misunderstand, acephobia and nazi rhetoric should absolutely be called out but only if it's actually happening. False accusations can ruin lives. I hope you know that.

I'm not a fan of calling people out publicly and, again, thank you for this ask, Blonndiec. But considering many of the issues I've personally seen and those I've been informed of by second hand sources were posted publically, I don't really feel bad about calling this out. I could do a full breakdown of just the insulting "academic" comments alone and how there's no academia to be found in said academic metas and, Samurai, if you give me reason to, I will show exactly what I mean point by point (and academically just to give you an example of even low level academia).

If you respond to this, do it in a reblog. That's what a real academic would do. If I'm wrong and you can prove it, you'd have no reason to not show my post in your rebuttal. If I'm right, you'd have every reason to be upfront about your mistakes and how you intend to rectify them. There's nothing wrong with being wrong but there's a lot wrong with refusing to admit to it in a way that lets others peer review you (academic thing, look it up) and come to their own conclusions about the situation. That's what you did when you just @'ed me instead of reblogging my response. A true academic wouldn't hide a peer review. You'd know that if you were one.

I swing in many academic spaces and yet that doesn't make me any kind of expert and I don't claim to be one because I'm not. But since you want to be one so badly, reblog this with a response and show us all how smart you are. I'm dying to know what your academic take on this is.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Out of sight, out of - wait.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[makiswirl]

can i just say. and this is probably a niche hill to die on. that i am so gobsmacked every time someone vaguely hints at the idea that jotaro doesn't care meaningfully for the other crusaders, usually particularly kakyoin and joseph, when those two actually tend to be the ones he reacts to being hurt the hardest

like he cares for his loved ones!!!! that literally plays into his character motives in every single part he shows up in!!! stop lying to me!!!!!!!