#but you are correct the true christmas is the hot one for all it's faults it truly feels like home

[shippy-from-apocalypse]

Corn corn corn corn

Show me your christmas food, what do you usually eat??? Cuz i never saw much hype in the american christmas typical food (i mean they seem good but are they GOOD?)

northern hemisphere folk get so confused by the fact australians have christmas in the summer like darlings i assure you its nicer than a white christmas

[6feathered6siren6]

Winding back the clock

Trigger warnings

Death/gore

Killing the main love interests

Being dilutional

Spoilers of the good/bad ending of love interests

Note: This was inspired by a song, "Again & Again" and reminded me of this game. Anyway enjoy, I will continue this idea with small tidbits, don't know if it would be in order yet, but this is one is at least. Btw rolled a d20 for how this story went, I rolled a nat 1. So be prepared, it's kinda angsty.

𓆩☠︎︎𓆪

September 31st, 11:50 pm. Again.

You have been through this for how long now? Years? You don’t remember, but you remember when it started. 

『00:01』

You didn’t know The Devil Butcher’s name in time, and there was no way out. You had stabbed him, felt the red, hot liquid on your hands, stained them from that moment one. His laughter filled the alleyway. Forever ringing in your ears. His bloody toothy grin was his last movement before the light from his eyes vanished. 

You ran home, you felt his spirit taunting you. His laughter still rings in your ears. No matter how many times you shower, wash your hands until they bleed themselves. You can still feel his blood on them. 

You felt your phone ping, it was Angel. You felt her anger through the letters and words. Then Ronin’s account texting you, then felt like your body was light and saw black. 

-

As you came to, you saw your bedroom ceiling. Not the bathroom. You swore you were there. And you swore you were wearing different clothing, ones painted in red. Not… your cartoon pajamas. Did someone come in here? You check your phone which didn’t have that crack when you dropped it near thanksgiving. Turning it on, September 31st, 202X, 11:50 pm. 

Did.. Did you go back in time? You stared at your phone screen for a moment, you felt so much fear. You looked at your bright computer screen and saw Ronin’s invite to the server. 

This has to be a dream, like it can't be true. Right?

『00:02』

You chalked it up to some weird dream of showing you the future if you loved Ronin. You couldn’t go down the path of falling in love with him again. You couldn’t. You still hear his laughter, your hot covered hands. Instead, you went to the most chaotic member of the server, Misaki. 

You had them in your arms. Her smile was bright, and full of love. Her crossed dazed eyes stared at yours. They were gonna go assassinate someone, but you had to stay at your place while it happened. At least you can text and call, right?

-

You heard the shot through the phone. Her saying ‘I love you.’ and ‘Not your fault.’. But it was, you allowed yourself to let them call you. You knew not to, and you did it anyway. Misaki was dead. And it's your fault. You could feel weight built up on you. Another death you caused. Another soul staring you down. 

You felt your phone ping. You look at it, Ronin and a few others are spam calling you. Ronin knows you did it. There is only so much time you could get away from him, you had to leave, find some protection. The moment your hand was on your doorknob. 

You blinked.

You’re back to your computer screen. Back to September 31st, 202X, 11:50 pm. 

This had to be a dream, right? Like some weird psychic dream. This can’t be real, you can’t have two people’s blood on your hands. 

『00:03』

V, V was a sweetheart in your opinion. And you tried to not be murdered or murder anyone else. Telling him straight out, no, you are not a killer. Well, in reality? Right? And that, he should try and not put Ronin in prison, giving him the freedom from death or going there at all. Or, paying back that you weirdly killed him in a dream. 

You went through Luca and Feli’s whole drama of not dating each other. Helping them again for the third time. Your dream predicted this situation twice, three times now. 

Vince’s Christmas dinner was three times correct. Or ‘March is for murder’ again. Feli and Luca’s whole “Is Vince and Ai Hua dating or MARRIED?!” debacle. Christmas call, then Ronin either giving a shovel talk or rizzing you up himself. 

Three times true. Your dilution is tough shelled, that had to be some messed dream. That showed the future… 

V was arrested. 

It still hurts so much, he might die either in there or on some death sentence. You didn’t know. They didn’t arrest you, leaving you on a whole new warrant. You had limited time. 

That same ping. The same message of something went wrong. The same ping of ‘You fucked up.’ You were screwed.

Your hands gripping onto your skull, turning your knuckles white and feeling blood run down your head. Your eyes shut close, hurting them. And Ping! You opened your eyes.

It was your computer screen. Back to September 31st, 202X, 11:50 pm. 

Maybe… maybe it’s not a dream…

『00:04』

Maybe the Angel was the path to take on, like, you murdered two in a dream(Which you are still questioning if it was real.) and another was arrested. Like, she can’t be killed or arrested. Right?

-

You had to fucking jinxed it. YOU HAD TO.

As Ronin was going to your house, the clock hit 3:25 pm and it was back to square one. Back to the beginning, getting that same invite. 

『00:05』

What if saving them worked, what if not being manipulated and fucking everything up. To try and save them.

Would it work? 

Ronin? You made out in the alleyway and him saying your book was good, and that he loved you.

Back to square one.

Misaki, you didn’t call her, didn’t indulge their call. They came out alive and you guys were having an amazing time. 

Back to the computer and hearing that dreadful ping.

V, you didn’t get him arrested, he stayed at your place for a while, and when he said your book was great. 

Another tally to this just being a dream, right? 

Right?

And with Angel, she shot her manager. Her bloody lips kissing while you help her clean up. The moment you are in bed, you are back into your own chair, staring at the fucking blinding screen. 

It didn’t work.

『00:09』

What about them getting arrested? That had to be it. The good ending. It had to be.

The text for everyone, that they should hide, was scary to you. It felt real. No one is dying nor falling in love. This had to be it.

You shut your eyes while on your bed. March 10, 202XX. Taking a breath. This had to be it…. But it wasn’t. Your eyes saw the search engine and your socials with the red dot. 

This is a time loop. Isn’t it?

『00:10』

Seeing your computer again, and the awful ping sound. You were sick of this. You were in a time loop, now… how to get out of this? Like, there had to be. 

Joining the server again, guessing the password right, you knew what would happen, the text and the welcoming. 

You just stared at your bright, digital device as you sighed. Until… an idea popped in your head. This is a time loop. You go back in time 9 times already. What if… you go the way you wanted?

You decide to flirt with Ronin again, play his games, but be corrupted just like him. 

-

It was December, and you stood in this alleyway alone with a corpse. He was an asshole to you throughout the night. You were just walking around when he decided to try and pursue you. You sit on a crate looking at the body, in your past time lines, you looked a lot into murder, the ways people killed, how they disposed, their alibis. You could take one out of Angel’s book and eat him. You never had human meat. You knew some of the effects of eating your own kind. You twiddled your weapon in your hands, a metal rod that was nearby when you attacked him. It was rusted, but now stained with blood. 

It’s also weird to you, you thought when you killed someone with your own bare hands, in your own accord, it would be different. Not… emotionless, like now. You got off the crate and walked closer to the dead person. His head was bleeding quite a lot. Heck, you smashed his head in, to the point you could see his brains. Maybe you could pin it on someone, put the weapon in another’s hands. 

“Now that's a sight for the divine.”

You turn your head to see Ronin, his crowbar was also stained in red. His grin was widder, more sinful in your taste. The man you fell for the first timeline, the original. His combat boots were loud as he took a step forward to you. 

His chuckle pierced your heart again. His warm hand coddled your cheek, his thumb wiping the blood off of you. 

“You might steal my heart by stealing this view, Darlin’.”

You proved yourself, proved that you do kill. And this time, not him. You leaned into his hand, the warmth that radiated off of him. 

“Not some pretty little innocent writer, huh?”

You could hear his grin. His pride and ego. As much as you hated it. You loved it. 

“Let me help finish up here, then we can talk. I want to know everything.”

𓆩☠︎︎𓆪

You told Ronin everything, well, except for the whole time loop thing, and him dying in the first timeline. Why did you kill that asshole and how? You dropped the stained metal rod into garbage. One that would be thrown out in the morning, before the body gets found. 

He holds you close to him, holding your shoulder. Like he’s teaching you. He is guiding you to somewhere. But where?

“You did so well, lost, little lamb.” Lost, little lamb… you pondered on that nickname, you were never called that before. Maybe instead of being called a fallen angel, but it's now ‘little lamb’. You changed a major course and still got his love. You didn’t guess his name, and went straight to him, falling more in love with you. And it’s December, anytime before you start dating, it was February, or a major change was in March, ‘the ending’.

You decided to see how far you can take with these timelines. How far can it take you?

“Ronin…” You mumbled out softly, you looked at him. You finally see that it was snowing. “I…” Your feelings from the original time loop were burning again. You remember that any person you flirt with would date you in February, not December. So you couldn’t take it so far, right?

“I really like you, Ronin.” You blurted out. That was not what you wanted to say. You felt your face burn up. Even he was shocked that you said that before he started laughing. 

“Tell it to me proudly and with no shame, huh?” His grip was tighter, his smile had joy in it. Not like a joke, but with pride. “Can you carve out your own aorta then? Give it to me on a platter.” 

Your face burns as blood rushes through, but you nod. “I will.”

“Good.”

-

It was a week after your first kill. Your first kill of your accord. Ronin seemed to act more romantically towards you. He was also acting kinder to you in his own sadistic way. He even brought you to his killings as dates. Everything seems to be going your way for months. Until March 10th. The day you return back. 

You were feeling sentimental, you didn’t know if you were going back yet. You were laying on Ronin’s bed, next to him. He was surprisingly asleep, he was busy the day before working at his job, late as well. Some rich guy needed his car fixed right away. Paying double to get it fixed right away. 

He was holding you to his chest, his hand was in your hair. Your arms were around him. You were wishing to stay there in his arms. The clock was ticking down, closer and closer… Your eyes shut, it was only Ronin’s breathing that filled the quiet. 

Then Ping!

You were back in your uncomfortable desk chair, in front of the screen.

『00:19』

You felt nothing, any sweet moments you had with anyone were gone again. No one knows, no one that can help you. You felt despair. The moments with V, him holding you, or tending to his animals with, Angel, helping her manage, or just doing her makeup for a video. Misaki, the moments planning an assassination, or having dumb, loveable dates with them. Or Ronin, learning how to fix a car and giving him tools, or playing on his Gameboy with him. 

They felt nothing to you. If this was timeloop, repeating over and over. You are gonna take control, not what ifs anymore, you want to see how far this can go. Killing Angel’s manager way too early to support her, or sending Misaki anonymous messages on their assassin request board that they are great and to keep it up. Helping V by capturing the killers he was planning to find and tie them up for him. Except for Ronin, and for Ronin. What if you carve out aortas and left them in his alleyway. You want to see how chaotic you can make these timeloops be. Because whoever put you here, you won’t be trapped with them, but they will be trapped with you. No matter how insane you get. 

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ * ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊

I have more to come, wrote a few already but thought to share what I have. Sorry if it seem dramatic or confusion. It was meant to be that way. (1/?)

Words: 2,233

[demonfox38]

Completed: Okage: Shadow King

I think the game would prefer to speak for itself.

In my previous game evaluations, you may have seen me mention my best friend classified co-conspirator @jeannettegray. As of writing right now, her avatar on multiple services is this:

This would be an image of Rosalyn, one of the lead characters of today's evaluation. Having been given this knowledge, I bet you can put two and two together to figure out how I ended up playing "Okage: Shadow King." Because, let me tell you. I might be a nut for niche RPGs, but I definitely wouldn't have heard of this title without her influence. So, thanks again, JG!

"Okage: Shadow King" is a 2001 PlayStation 2 turn-based RPG developed by Zener Works. It (arguably) stars Ari, a young boy most known for…well. Nothing. Really! That's his schtick. Not that he doesn't have his own personality, but he's literally overshadowed by a bombastic set of characters hell-bent on taking over the world, reforming it to their desires, or stopping the chaos around them with their own tilted bents. To free his sister from a peculiar curse, Ari forms a pact with Stan, the titular Shadow (Evil) King, traveling around the world and defeating other Evil Kings to restore his power. Along the way, he picks up additional characters (including a handful of said Evil Kings, a dipshit scientist, and a mortified hero) and discovers the true nature of the world, all while finding a way to…well, step out of the shadows of others, I suppose.

Possibly by being the most sarcastic bitch in the world!

Now, if you read "2001", "PlayStation 2", and "RPG" above, you may pre-emptively have come to some conclusions about why this game is so damn niche. I checked the release dates just to confirm our mutual suspicions. This had a two months' head start on "Final Fantasy X" and was released in what appears to be the best month for it to come out (more on that in a bit.) So, I wouldn't say definitively that one game ate the other's supper. But, realistically, it only had a couple of months in the spotlight before went into…you know. Components of its own name.

There is definitely something weird to "Okage: Shadow King." I mean, weird beyond the intended vibes. I did some reading on Zener Works to see exactly what they are, as that's not a company familiar to me. It seems like they had a handful of titles in the late 2000s, as well as some mobile game properties (and a pending lawsuit against another company, if Google Translate was correct on their website.) This game is not only their only PS2 game, but seems to be the only RPG they ever built. Additionally, some general information on Wikipedia claims this was originally intended to be a PlayStation release but was then asked to be moved to the PlayStation 2 literally a day before the console's existence was revealed to the world at large.

I’m bringing up the development history because I don't want you to start playing this game and come to the conclusion that your PlayStation 2 is dying. (I mean, they are frailer than race horses, but it's not the console's fault exclusively that things are acting strangely.)

This isn't to say the game looks bad. Anything but! (Well, I guess there's some general distance fog, occasional camera issues, and Madril's kind of an ugly town, but stick with me here!) Honestly, given the character design for this game, I thought that perhaps there was some creative staff overlap with those that worked on stop-motion film/Hot Topic darling "Nightmare Before Christmas." This doesn't seem to be the case. Somebody in the design team was just a major nerd for that film. Like, blatantly stole the hill from that movie kind of nerd. The design team had their inspiration, and damned if they didn't nail it. So, if you're into the aesthetics of that film in particular, this game is a must play for that alone.

Also, one of the character modelers went on to work on "Bloodstained: Ritual of the Night." You know you've got the charming spooky look nailed when the former design team for several "Castlevania" games wants you in their company!

Honestly, the music is pretty good, too. There's a couple of tracks that go a little too heavy on the use of chanting or bagpipes for my taste, but otherwise? Solid. Also? It reacts to you being inside/outside a building and whether or not you are about to die in battle. Responsive music programming! I love that!

The major attraction for this game is its writing, bar none. It's the world's most sarcastic RPG, and I say that with full affection. Like, all of your dialogue options can be boiled down to good/bad/sarcastic. There's no sane man in this universe. They've all been run down and driven to frothing vengeance by those in manic passion for power. Hell, the only thing that even remotely restores sanity in this game is giving up power.

Even with the game's bombastic nature, it can come out swinging with its plot twists. Like, you'll catch some. Obviously, there's a reason that the girl with demon horns and a pink miniskirt has aspirations for becoming a pop icon. Some seem obvious after the fact, like, "Of course, you can't trust butlers for anything. That's always how it goes!" Even the nature of the world itself will explain some issues you rub up against gameplay-wise. The one that really caught me off-guard was the opening for Chapter 5. Like…I don't want to spoil it for you, so I won't get into it too much. But, let's say the bit with Ari having to stand up for himself and regain some sense of personality and appearance was surprisingly resonant for me.

So, this makes a pretty good YouTube longplay video, especially if you're listening to one sans commentary. How about the game part?

Well…how much do you like "Quest 64?"

Not that the two games are all that alike. (Well, actually, maybe in the good music/character design bit.) But, I bring up my tolerance for "Quest 64" in that I love that game despite its online reputation as being the worst RPG on the Nintendo 64. (I mean, have people even seen the opening cutscene for "Aidyn Chronicles"? JFC.) I have a great deal of tolerance for funky RPGs is what I'm trying to say. For me to call an RPG bad, you'd literally have to present something like "Hoshi wo Miru Hito" to my face. Like, poorly functioning, poor audio, and having no final boss bad.

This is a novice RPG written relatively new into its console's library. It's got issues.

If you're gonna play it, you're going to need to have patience with it.

Looking at how it operates, I suspect the game designers were fans of "Megami Tensei" games (like "Shin Megami Tensei" or possibly the "Persona" series, although the timeline isn't quite the smoothest for the latter.)  At least, the occasional Stan chats prior to combat, the focus on supernatural entities, the enemy abuse of curses, buffing/debuffing importance, and HP consuming moves are screaming that to me. There are some tweaks to it that are odd. For example, characters share a special ability pool (LP) instead of having their own points to spend on special moves or magic. This seems to fluctuate based on who is in your party and how magically gifted they are. There may also be some "Chrono Trigger" influence? Maybe? Possibly? I mean, you've got a party of three that trails you and can join up with you to attack a single target. It feels familiar for a reason.

Also, it's one of those RPGs where you can't trade the main character out of the party. And, if he dies, it's an instant game over. Yep. Like, there's an implied plot reason for why this could be so, but damned if it isn't irritating as hell.

Some of the mechanic focus is strange to me as well. Like, there are several levels of curses (think poison/sleep/confusion/reward penalties), and some of these curses can be stacked multiple times to have more severe effects. Meanwhile, the elemental system is just a triangle. It is also a strange triangle if you think too long about it. It's better just to think blue > red, yellow > blue, red > yellow instead of wondering how exactly fire defeats lightning and how ice works almost opposite to every other RPG on the planet. It also has a distribution issue both within your party and the monster populace at large. Like, you only get one fire elemental guy. But, to compensate for this, most of your cast will learn spells to cover the elements that they aren't. And then, it seems like there's not the most even balance of enemies out there, anyway? Like, it seemed mostly blue/red early on, with yellow appearing towards the end to be a pain in the ass. I don't know. It was weird. Like, "Fire Emblem" handing you so many sword dudes when there are so few axes to grind and more spears to dodge. It could be personal bias, but you know that feeling, right? Not as rough as taking a fire starter in Pokémon, but maybe taking a water starter.

Pacing is also a weird issue in this game. Like, there are some dungeons where you step one foot into and can win instantly, and others that require grinding for 10 levels. Your party member pool is strapped to the same three people for almost half of the game. (Trust me when I say you want Kisling out ASAP. Dude's a creep and a dud.) Hell, in trying to get my party evened out to level 60 for use in the final dungeon, I accidentally ended up gaining, like, 37 levels for the main character. Also, Chapters 4 and 5 seem to be significantly bloated, with a great deal of fighting taking place in or around the second town. It's like, blink and Chapters 1 and 6 are gone. Very odd.

So, okay. I've got a few creative differences with the dev team. What I really don't get is how the loading issues, audio volume multiplier, and save erasing bug made it into the wild. Like, I know. Novice game made by inexperienced team on new hardware. But, c'mon. Sony had a QA team on this. They had to pick this up.  

What's frustrating about these items is that I could see both how to fix them and how they just weren't fixed. Like…

The game loads fine when it's one large horizontal map. The loading issues come into play with more multi-roomed environments like homes, dungeons, and towns. Other games work around this by having multiple chunks on one map, then teleporting the player around as they enter and exit spaces. Or, hell, implement a visibility flag and turn that on/off as needed. Could the maps not be congealed, for some reason? Couldn't someone at least give the player a loading screen so I’m not sitting there wondering if my PlayStation 2 is having optical drive issues?

The audio volume multiplier is a weird event where a single sound is being played many times, usually when multiple of the same attacks or spells land at once. All that requires to fix, theoretically, would be implementing a volume maximum to not be played over, then making that volume be whatever the default value for the base sound is.

I saw the save erasing bug happen a whopping 3 times over 40 hours of gameplay, and I had been rotating my saves like a good girl. So, it wasn't something I couldn't recover from. But, holy shit. No. Absolutely not. That could have been real bad. Like, I can only guess what's happening here, but it seems like a file is being purposefully deleted before some new file is written in its place (as opposed to some file updating process) and that the writing process subsequently screws up. This would prevent bad progress flags from being recorded, I suppose, but the opposing situation of losing an entire damn file isn't pleasant, either.  

Considering how much dicking around the publishers asked for in getting this game on the PlayStation 2, I'm going to assume that they're also to blame for these issues getting out. As in, "Well, we've got to ship this by October!" and wham! Bugs pressed.

Even with all of the quirks to the game, it's not the hardest RPG to get through. About the roughest time I had was with Big Bull, and the troubles there involved dealing with Ari dying in two hits and Kisling just generally being unhelpful. Honestly, most of the problems in the game can be solved by ganging up on weak enemies and having a dedicated healing item spammer. (Healing items are super cheap, so might as well cram as many as you can in your pockets!) The rest is just talking to as many people as you can and reading as many signs as possible.

Also, here. Just take this video guide on gear locations. Life is short; don't trouble yourself with something as silly as gear hunting blindly. (At least it's not as silly of a side quest as dodging lightning 100 times or learning a new sport!)

I feel a little bad for coming down on "Okage" as hard as I did at the end. It's funny, thought provoking, and respectful of the player's time. For as fresh and different as it is, I'd play this over several contemporary members of its library. But, for some of its quirks, it does require a little patience. You've just got to know whether or not you've got that on hand.  

Frankly, for its price, "Okage: Shadow King" is quite the bargain, too. Hell, it's even available on the PlayStation store! Can't argue with the fair distribution it has in a modern market.

And, hey! Now I know more about JG's icon! So, it's always nice to have some additional context, especially when characters and stories are important to your friends. But, I do have to wonder how Rosalyn won over Stan for that place of honor. I mean, other than by being classified as a hero.

Then again, it might be a little disturbing being followed by something like this online.

[kinetic-elaboration]

December 27: Murven, Mistletoe + Hot Chocolate

2022 Ficmas #4

Murphy/Raven, Modern AU, ~1,000 words

For the prompt 'mistletoe and hot chocolate'

*

Christmas ends, but Raven leaves the mistletoe up. As well as the wreath on the front door and the strings of lights. Murphy tells her that she's a bit jollier than she wants people to believe, and she supposes this is true, if only because the bar is so low.

The wreath, the lights, and the mistletoe are all from Clarke, who Raven allowed to decorate her apartment only after she got over the insult of having her space described as 'austere' and 'plain,' and even then only because she did not want to do it herself. Leaving it devoid of festive charm was not an option—not after she pulled the short straw at Friendsgiving in November. That left her in charge of Friendsmas. And Friendsmas needs more red and green and sparkles and twinkling and little bags that smell like balsam and pine, and fewer photographs of space and old-fashioned NASA posters hung up against cream-colored walls. Her framed picture of Friendsmas 2019 does not count as a Christmas decoration. (She asked.)

In addition to decorating, which she left to Clarke, she was responsible for the menu, the music, and the entertainment. Nothing has ever beaten Jasper's Holiday Megamix as far as music goes, and Bellamy's the one with the secret stash of Christmas movie, so she did not attempt to mess with success there. And for the food—

For the food, she invited over Murphy. Murphy who she's been dancing around all year. Murphy who's the best chef she knows, and won't leave her kitchen an absolute mess, and who made cranberry sauce from scratch, lazily, standing there in her tiny kitchen like he owned it.

Every time she tried to help, they ended up bumping against each other, suddenly too close between the fridge and the countertop, once even his arm around her, so that she didn't fall or, worse, drop and break the dozen eggs that she was carrying. Not that she's clumsy. Good thing there wasn't mistletoe above them, then, or she would have smashed the eggs on purpose and wrapped her arms around him and never let him go.

Instead, they cooked a proper feast—mostly Murphy's talent, there—and then she let him shower while she changed her clothes, and when the others arrived with the booze and desserts, she'd almost entirely shaken off whatever had come over her, when he'd put his hand over hers and taught her how to whisk.

The mistletoe she did not know about at that time. Her own fault, she grumbled later, for not supervising Clarke Griffin properly as she transformed Raven's home.

Your own fault, Octavia corrected, for not decorating yourself.

Which is, she admits, a fair point.

She discovered the first sprig when Jasper and Monty ended up making out in the doorway to the kitchen, which may or may not have been for laughs, and blocking everyone's way as they tried to refill their drinks.

The second, when Bellamy and Miller found themselves caught beneath it in the middle of the living room.

The third, when she walked over to the window to draw the curtains against the deep, blustery, winter night, and Murphy, who was helping her, heard an odd noise above them and looked up.

The others were all gathered around the TV, engrossed in Miracle on 34th Street, so if they wanted to pretend they didn't see it, that stupid sprig of mistletoe caught in the curtain rod, they could have. Instead, they both stared up at it, and stared, and stared.

"It doesn't have to be—" Raven began, but Murphy was already reaching out to pass his fingertips along her cheek. The gesture undid her. He was watching her with an openness to his expression that she'd never seen before, a vulnerability that made her heart ache. She reached up and took his face in her hands, pulled him down to her and kissed him.

A bluster of wind rattled the windows, seeped right through the glass and made her shiver. Murphy pulled away and put his arm around her instead. She sunk down into the space against his side.

"You know you wouldn't be cold if you were wearing a festive holiday sweater," he told her, and she laughed, still breathless from kissing him, and answered:

"You're one to talk."

He stayed the night and they kept each other warm all through it.

For the rest of the year, she keeps the mistletoe up, and she and Murphy kiss whenever they find themselves beneath it, and often when they don't. She needs no excuses. But there's a certain silliness, a certain festive joy, in poking his arm and pointing up, and seeing him grin, interrupting everything to be close to him yet again. An unusually strong winter storm hits the city, and they use it as an excuse to stay in. They don't talk about what it means. The last odd, uncertain, vaguely defined days of the year, the liminal space in the holiday season, envelope them, and everything seems safe and warm, conclusion and beginning and amorphous possibility all at once.

He takes the blankets from her bed and piles them on the couch, and she makes the good hot chocolate, the one from the tins that Monty left behind on Christmas Day, and adds extra marshmallows on top. Murphy's queuing up a movie, the last of Clarke's sparkling white lights glittering in a line beneath the TV screen—he's wearing a Santa hat, which he excuses as his way of keeping warm.

Raven stands for a long moment in the doorway and watches him. She's holding their mugs of hot chocolate by the handles, the sweet, warm steam drifting up and tickling her nose, heating her skin. Murphy looks so at home in her home. A rush of affection, like the bursting of a dam, wells up in her, and she wishes that he was standing here beneath the mistletoe with her, so she could kiss him yet again. Except that then she wouldn't have this moment of detached observance, these seconds where she stands outside of herself and her life and looks in, and appreciates with pleasant objectivity just how lucky she is.

[corancoranthemagicalman]

So @nebulous-bondage , you said that you liked Dean being an idiot with internalized issues that he confronts, misunderstandings and miscommunications, and long-suffering Sam. I attempted to do a bit of everything but adjacent to anything I would usually do, took a movie metaphor and ran. I hope you like it!

Great love and hugs to Sophie over at @starrynightdeancas for hosting this AWESOME event for a fabulous celebration (and once again congrats on the milestone!!) I got to meet at least TWO new cool people from it. (My gifter and giftee.) If you want some amazing content, please check out Sophie’s stuff that I totally drew inspiration from. Figured if my giftee was a fan of Sophie’s, I couldn’t go too wrong taking a card out of that deck.

Lots of love!

🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺

The crux of the issue if you asked Dean, was this:

He was an idiot.

Okay, he was not—he wasn’t stupid stupid. He has got mediocre intelligence, right? He wasn’t like Sammy and his multiple languages thing or Bobby and his random lore thing and—

The point was Dean, while not stupid could be a massive idiot. And that was the conundrum that led him to soaking in the middle of a diner in Nebraska of all places with his mother gasping at him and his brother facepalming at him and Jack glaring at him—

And Cas… well, Cas was just. Looking. But his face was, if Dean had to pinpoint some emotion, reading like it was a heartbreak that he had just experienced.

Maybe Dean should start from the beginning. Just so you understand his perspective, okay? Because he wasn’t—he wasn’t stupid. This wasn’t entirely his fault, except that it might have been. And he might have a lot of talking to do. Which sucked, because Dean kind of hated talking.

Okay, maybe not the beginning. The beginning was fire and brimstone and sulfur. The beginning was something Dean was told, but didn’t remember. Or the beginning he did remember, which was lightning and fear and salvation—well.

Dean was far from the beginning. The real beginning. It had been longer than a decade. An entire lifetime—more than that—separating him from what he was. What they were now to what they were then.

But there is a beginning to every stage in Dean’s life, he’s found. And that’s what he means. This thing Dean had for Cas? It began long before Dean was aware of it. This particular circumstance that led to a soaked shirt in a corny booth? Well, Dean with the benefit of retrospection could pinpoint it exactly.

In the Bunker’s library was where this had all started.

Cas had just walked in, deeply conversing with Jack. All of the conversations that Cas had he treated with that same seriousness. Even back when he had just been newly revived. Newly in Dean’s passenger seat, donning a cowboy hat, and calling himself Huckleberry.

(His Huckleberry. Dean’s Huckleberry. Even if he didn’t mean it like that. Could never mean it like that. Because angel’s didn’t feel like that.)

Jack had spotted Dean first, or at least turned to face Dean first. Dean had wondered if Cas had that same peripheral awareness as him. If his eyes always looked for him when he entered a room. If he could feel the charge he exuded with every step.

(Probably not. It was probably an angel thing that made Dean aware of Cas. Something about electricity and grace. Even though Cas’ grace was fading by the day, he was an angel. Would always be an angel if Dean could do anything about it.)

The point was, Jack had turned from Cas. Had asked Dean something about courting rituals in film. Dean had scoffed, reminding Jack that he didn’t watch chick-flicks. Because he didn’t. And had given him some sort of half answer.

(Ten Things I Hate About You didn’t count. And neither did Dirty Dancing. Ledger was not starring in a chick-flick, and Swayze always got a pass.)

Frowning, Jack had made some comment to Cas. It was probably regarding their previous conversation, and that’s why Dean hadn’t retained it. Didn’t really get it. He was, as stated previously, an idiot. And maybe if he had paid more attention, he would have stopped this before it had started.

But he didn’t. Instead, he had turned to Cas. Because he had been thinking about Dirty Dancing. And how Cas hadn’t seen that yet. And Dean had asked Cas if he wanted to do a movie night. Just—just the two of them.

(He said it was because Jack was four, and maybe Cas should vet the movie first. And Sam hated Dirty Dancing. And Mom wasn’t even home. Which was all true. But it wasn’t often that Dean had the excuse to be alone with his best friend.

At the beginning of their friendship, Dean hadn’t had to share Cas with anybody. That was his best friend. His buddy to laugh harder with than he had in his entire life. His buddy to watch movies with and make jokes with. Now even Mary liked circling around Cas—not that Dean would blame them. But maybe—maybe he would like to be a bit selfish. Just this once.)

Jack’s face had lit up like a Christmas tree, and Cas’ eyes had looked as gentle as soft-serve. “I would like that,” he had answered, and that had been that. They had watched the movie, just the two of them. And if Cas sat closer into Dean’s personal space—well. Cas never knew what that was, did he? No need to correct him now.

And it was small things like that. Adjacent to what they had been doing before, but somehow different. Maybe Dean was laughing more. Maybe Cas was smiling more. Whatever the hell it was, it was nice.

(Nice in the way that butterflies in the stomach felt. Light and dizzying and wonderful and terrifying. Not that it was butterflies. Not that this was even remotely anything like that.

Because, if Dean were to be honest about it, butterflies didn’t come close. The butterflies in Dean’s stomach had once had jetpacks. But now? Now they were settled. They just lived there and Dean was used to it and it was—

It was more than butterflies. In theory.)

And it was Sam shaking his head at them. Them laughing. Jack sitting across from them with a board game on a team with Mary, facing head to head. And it was… nice.

(Nice should have been Dean’s warning.)

Jack’s movie night picks were always varying, but he had recently shoveled 90s romantic films into the fray. Sam, as predicted, had ducked out to FaceTime with Eileen when Dirty Dancing had made it to the top of the list, but otherwise stuck it out. Dean couldn’t even begin to list all of the names that had bled together and the faces with their generic, lovestruck expressions.

There was Jack’s wide smile, though. Sam snorting a laugh and shoving popcorn into his mouth. Mary, intrigued and curious, asking as many questions as Cas might have once upon a time. And Cas was there, right next to Dean’s arm, and warm beside him. Lovely and warm and giving that same smile Dean thought was beginning to make a regular appearance.

Sitting with his entire family—all of them safe for once?—of course it had to go wrong.

(Of course Dean had to be the one to ruin it.)

It was an entire nest of vampires out in Nebraska of all places. Mary had been in the area and willing to meet up with them. Jack had been desperate to learn more about hunting, a fact that reminded Dean of a far off memory of Cas newly returned from Purgatory. A gummy smile and determination braced into an angel who still had his wings. Dean would be damned if Jack wasn’t a spitting image of that.

(But, maybe… Maybe Jack could go without all the terrible things that happened during that time. Cas, back from Purgatory and not in control of all of his faculties. Cas, longing for penance and willing to pass vindication on Dean’s guilty conscience. Even if Dean wasn’t a great role model. Even if the first few weeks with Jack had been—

Sam called it living with John Winchester again. Dean hadn’t known what to call it. Didn’t know if he could call it anything. But that—

Well, that was for another time. Dean would always be living with that guilt, but for the moment, the guilt bloomed in a Nebraska diner sitting across from Cas.)

Laughing, smiling—things that seemed to subtly be a new normal for them. It made Dean lean back in the booth, sling his arm over the back of it and relax into his seat. He turned to Jack, ruffling the kid’s hair after Jack shot a syrupy smile to Cas across the table. Cas offered a shy smile, ducking his head.

Beside Cas, Sam rolled his eyes and resumed his conversation with Mary. Mary had squeezed into the side with Dean and Jack. Five people didn’t work for booths, and Dean couldn’t help but think that in another life he would have prevented this exact thing from happening. But he didn’t mind being half on a seat, Mary squeezing between Jack and the window, and Sam sitting across from her laughing. Cas’ still shy smile on him.

“I did have a question,” Mary raised a brow. “I mean, when did movies start getting so… formulaic?”

Sam huffed a laugh, giving a shrug of his shoulders. “Well, they’ve kind of always been that way, haven’t they? Old Japanese myth becomes Hollywood cowboys becomes modern Sci-Fi.”

“Hey,” Dean spoke pointedly. “Treading dangerous waters there, Sammy. You can’t go wrong with cowboys or aliens.”

“Oh! Or Cowboys and Aliens,” Jack beamed, pointing with his fork before returning most of his attention to the remaining stack of pancakes.

Dean acquesied the point with a crooked grin. “That too.” He took a sip of his coffee, enjoying the slow burn of hot caffeine into his system. “What sort of formula are we talkin’ about though? Are we talkin’ young girls getting hypnotized by weirdly boyish supernatural creatures?”

“Even that has some basis going back to at least 1897,” Cas pointed out, “at least from what most people with any familiarity of fiction are concerned. Stoker’s Dracula was also a youthful seeming figure who enchanted a young woman.” His brow furrowed in that thoughtful way of his before he continued. “Though, I suppose that since some scholars believe it is possibly an allegory for sexuallly transmitted diseases, that does reaffirm the belief that it is meant to be an alluring but dangerous figure threatening the virtue of a young woman.”

Mary chuckled, shaking her head with wide eyes. She still wasn’t used to Cas being… Cas.

(There were times where Mary forgot Cas was an angel. Not in the sense that she was not always aware of the supernatural aura around Cas, but in the sense that sometimes Cas was so human. He was thoughtful and kind. His words were provoking and caring. His emotions were as volatile and as gentle as any man Dean had ever known.

Perhaps better than most men Dean had known. More human than some men that Dean had known.)

“I meant the whole boy meets girl thing.” She gestured with her free hand. “I mean the movie dates and the plastic solo cups. It’s all so… basic.”

“Not exactly the boomboxes and the mermaids, is it?” Sam smiled gently, nodding. “I guess people just like it… simple. Y’know? That love can just be something as simple as movie dates and sharing milkshakes.”

Dean ran his fingers through his hair, rubbing at the back of his neck. Sam nailed it on the head. The best part of movies was that they were simple, and you always knew how they were gonna end.

(The hero always beat the bad guy, always saved the girl, always lived happily ever after. Didn’t mean Dean didn’t like movies where the cowboy rode off—grievously injured—into the sunset where you knew he would fall off of his horse after the fade to black. It was just that sometimes—

Dean knew that was going to be his ending. The cowboy holding his bleeding side. No one beside him but his trusty horse. Orange sunset on his face. That’s where his life was heading.

So sometimes it was just… nice. To pretend those stories didn’t exist. And Dean wasn’t living in one.)

“I guess,” Mary sighed, “I just miss the romance of it.” She looked forlornly at her drink. Dean wondered if she was thinking of John. Thinking of a jukebox and Zeppelin songs that he knew all the words to.

“I suppose everyone has their own unique definition of romance,” Cas offered diplomatically. “Humans tend to think romantic actions are circumstantial rather than objective.” He turned a small smile to Dean. “Take for example movie dates.”

Scoffing, Dean rolled his eyes. “Just ‘cause I like movies doesn't mean I think that’s romantic.” He could feel his cheeks burn, causing him to scratch at his scruff with an index finger. He was going to have to shave, wasn’t he? His hair was getting long—

“What.” Jack’s voice pulled Dean from his pondering. It sounded a touch colder than Dean was used to coming from the kid. Usually, Jack was sunshine and rainbows. Storm clouds and thunder. A spitting image of his dad—the one he called dad—but softer. Softer because Cas had done his damnedest to not let Jack be hardened into a soldier.

(Not like Dean had been. Not like Sam had been.)

“What what?” Dean furrowed his brow. Sighing, he rested his forearms on the table. “Look, movie nights? They’re nice for getting a girl alone in the dark and getting handsy on the couch or whatever,” he shook his head. “But romantic? Hardly.”

(He wanted to say that he didn’t believe in romance. Maybe because he didn’t want to believe that romance was out there, but not for him. It was hard to say that though, when thinking of his mother and her Zeppelin songs.

When thinking of a tape full of Zeppelin songs.

So he didn’t say any of that.)

“So,” Cas began slowly, “you don’t like movie dates.” He nodded, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “I see. What sort of dates would you prefer?”

Dean quirked a brow at Cas, letting out a chuckle. “Cas, I don’t do dates.” He shot a wry grin toward his brother. “Sammy prefers the wining and dining, but I’m more straight forward. If I want to hook up with someone, I just ask.” Looking at his hands, Dean confessed softer than he had meant to. “I’m too old for messin’ around.”

(And it was true. He was too old for it. He was still a handsome son of a gun. Still drew some attention, but—

But any time he had tried, he found himself just wanting to be home. Just wanting to be on that couch with Cas beside him and Jack sitting at their feet watching a movie. Sam and Mary coming and going as they pleased but there. Home.)

“You don’t… date?” Mary’s voice sounded careful and her gaze felt scrutinizing. “I—I was under the impression—”

“Mom,” Dean stopped her, feeling an embarrassed flush overcome his features. “C’mon. Don’t pretend like people didn’t do hookups back in your day too.” He tried to come off as teasing. Tried to lighten whatever was strengthening Jack’s glare, whatever was making Cas’ eyes grow a far distance away, whatever was raising Sam’s hand to his forehead.

Jack fixed his jaw and Dean had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat. He could recognize that look from the mirror. And that was a terrifying thought, that Jack looked anything like him.

(Made him think about the weeks where Jack was living with John Winchester. Made Dean wake up in a cold sweat that maybe Jack had been learning from them during that time too. That despite Cas’ hard work, Dean would’ve turned Jack into John anyway.)

“Movie dates aren’t romantic,” Jack listed, “and you only want to hook up?”

(And none of that was really true, was it? Dean liked watching movies. And he liked doing it with Cas. He had admitted as much to himself even if the circumstances of those daydreams weren’t romantic.

But the idea of it being romantic wasn’t lost on Dean. That he could want it to be romantic. If asked, though, he’d say maybe movie watching was more domestic. Somehow that meant more to Dean. His little house and his little family watching a film, Cas pressing close and smiling.

But he wouldn’t say that. Couldn’t say that.)

“Love isn’t like the movies, Jack,” Dean huffed. “And I sure as hell don’t want it.”

This was where we were now. Dean’s shirt soaked. Mary gasping. Sam’s face in his hands. Cas’ face being etched with something sharp.

“Jack!” Mary reprimanded, hand resting on his shoulder.

Jack held his chin up in the air, looking down at Dean despite not having the height on him. “Isn’t it customary that when the guy says something stupid, the girl throws her drink at him?” His eyes squinted, head tilting, and it might have made Dean’s heart seize in his chest despite the frightening cold from the water clinging to his chest. “Cas is too kind to do it, so I did it for him.”

Cas was too kind for a lot of things, but—

“Thank you, Jack, but there is no need.” Cas spoke softly, but his face did not reflect that gentleness he always aimed at his son. Instead his eyes were still distant. Still lacking that shade of blue. “I believe this is, ah.” He shook his head and Dean could recognize that self-deprecating crook of his mouth from any distance. “This is the part of the film where the girl grossly misunderstands what is happening.”

“Can someone explain to me what is going on?” Dean snapped, jerking into action to dot at his shirt with napkins. “I’m freezing in Nebraska and we’re still talking about chick-flicks! Life isn’t a movie!”

The crook of Cas’ mouth shrunk, turning a touch sad. “I know,” he spoke calmly and pushed himself out of the booth. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I need some fresh air.”

No one kindly mentioned that Cas had never needed air before.

Dean was left staring at Cas' retreating form, that trenchcoat quickly crossing the horizon. It reminded Dean of the cowboy movies he had been thinking of. The injured cowboy carrying himself out of town, retreating from burdening his loss of life on anyone else. Bleeding and lonely.

Silence fell over the table, the napkins clutched in Dean’s grip quickly soaking some of the water from his shirt but doing little else to dry him. Sam’s elbow thunked against the table and shook Dean out of his reverie.

“So…” Mary began slowly. “You and Cas… aren’t dating?” She cautiously spoke, pushing her mug closer to the window as if that might spare it of whatever her words would stir within Dean.

(There was, admittedly, only one thought to cross Dean’s mind.

No, that wasn’t true.

There were precisely twenty-five different thoughts that had crossed Dean’s mind all at once. The largest of these—the loudest of these—was in a voice Dean ignored.)

“Mom, what the hell?” Dean furrowed his brow. “Cas is my best friend!”

Mary looked contrite, thinning her lips into a line. “I know that,” she reassured gently, “I just thought that…”

“Thought what? We were playing tonsil hockey or something?”

“Gross, Dean,” Sam sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He lifted his gaze to meet Mary’s across from him. “No, they’re just. Always like that.”

Dean swiveled to face Sam. Sammy was always insightful and usually right. But sometimes he spouted things that just… they didn’t—

(It didn’t make sense. To think of Cas and Dean as Cas and Dean. Not when Cas could never feel that way. Not when Dean was adamantly not thinking about it.)

“You told us that guys ask girls to movies when they like them!” Jack argued, pointing a finger accusingly at Dean.

“I what?” Dean furrowed his brow. “We do movie nights all the time! Watching a movie with someone isn’t a date!”

Jack turned to his pancakes with that same laser glare. Kryptonian son of a Kryptonian man. Super-human strength in the most unassuming package. Maybe the kid would have laser eyes. “We asked you why guys asked girls out to the movies in movies, and you said it’s just what people do.” He huffed. “Then you asked Cas to watch a movie. Isn’t that just what people do?”

It was then Dean realized he had no idea what conversation Jack was referring to, and he would have asked as much had it not suddenly come to his realization that—

(That—)

“Cas thought I was dating him?” Dean let out in a harsh whisper that felt like a whip to his heart.

Jack stabbed at his pancake, muggish and solemn with his movements. “I was so excited. I thought I had figured it out.” He let out a slow breath. “Cas tried telling me that… that sometimes humans say things and don’t mean it, but I thought…” Jack rested his chin on his balled fist. “And Mary said that her husband gave her a mixtape of Zeppelin too, so I thought—”

“Wait, wait,” Dean waved his hands in front of himself, speaking over Sam’s squeaking. He could feel his brain fritzing. Blowing smoke and threatening to stop in its tracks and never resume to whatever destination it had been plummeting toward. “Stop. Cas thought I was dating him. And he never said anything.”

Sam snorted a laugh, cracking a smile for the first time since this whole conversation had started. “When have you ever known Cas to say something?” He shook his head, hair curtaining his face. “He’s like the definition of happy with what we have.”

“Another movie trope!” Jack pointed with his fork, lifting his head from his plate. He turned with his silverware pointed at Dean this time. “See? You guys are like a movie!”

“It’s exhausting,” Mary let out in a quiet breath.

Dean could see her mulling over her abandoned coffee before he was distracted by Jack brandishing the fork near his face. He pushed the fork away with a single finger, furrowing his brow.

“We’re not a movie,” he admonished. “We’re people. People who’ve got—” Dean felt the words snap in his throat, clogging it with something thick. “He’s Cas. I’m me. Got it?”

“What the hell does that mean?” Sam furrowed his brow, matching Dean and leaning forward across the table. “You’re you and he’s him. Cut the bullshit, Dean.” Dean could feel Sam’s eyes on him like a searchlight. Felt it beam into every nook and cranny Dean kept hidden. Spotting the rats and the liter festering in corners.

Shaking his head, Dean pushed himself up from the booth. “I’m not having this conversation with you.” He spoke pointedly, looking at his family. His little, broken family.

(He could remember Lilo & Stitch. That had been one that Jack had insisted on watching. Dean couldn’t deny the kid the full cinema experience for a classic.

Sitting on the couch, watching the film, Dean could spy the intensity in Cas’ gaze. The way the green of the film reflected on his blue eyes. Dean caught himself before he leaned into Cas too far, but Cas caught the movement. Caught him staring.

“I just…” Cas had trailed off. “I hadn’t realized how much I could relate to a small, animated alien.” He shrugged. “I suppose now I understand how you could form a parasocial relationship with the talking dog.”

How could Dean put into words how much Cas was Stitch? Something alien and far away. An answer to silent prayers. Something that added to their small and broken family.

But still good.

Yeah, still good.

Instead he had just shrugged, made some remark about Scooby-Doo being everyone’s best friend until Sam had aggressively shushed him into silence.)

The problem was Dean knew he had to talk about it. What was worse was that he knew who he had to talk to. This wasn’t a conversation for his family in the middle of Nebraska. This was a conversation for Cas—wherever he was.

Running his fingers through his hair in aggravation, Dean could feel his boots stomp across the floor. He could hear Sam sigh and place his palm to his forehead. Feel Jack’s Kryptonian stare. Sense his mother’s fight-or-flight instinct kicking in.

(The truth was this:

Dean wanted to run too. Wanted to hide away from this conversation and never resurface. Hide beneath every shout from every hunter he had seen growing up.

But he was getting too old for this shit. And he was tired. And Sammy was always insightful and usually right. And if Dean’s gut was saying what Dean’s heart hoped it was saying? Well.

Well.)

“Cas,” Dean called out, spotting the slowly soaking shoulders of his trenchcoated angel as soon as he turned the corner. “Why the hell are you standing in the rain, man?”

Cas sighed, turning his heavenward face to the concrete. “I wanted to take a walk. It started raining. I didn’t let it deter me.”

“Doesn’t look like you did much walkin’,” Dean gestured to how close the diner was. Its comfortable brickwork was still three feet from Cas’ figure. Stepping closer, Dean inhaled sharply. “Cas, talk to me.”

“What would you like me to say, Dean?” Cas furrowed his brow, turning his entire body to face Dean. Dean didn’t know which was worse. The sharpened profile made of millennial old granite, or the thousand eyed stare that had raised him from perdition.

(It was neither of these.

It was a pair of blue eyes, a shade darker than those of Jimmy Novak’s, staring at him in a barn. Telling him he deserved to be saved. And continuing to tell him he deserved to be saved twelve years later.

That was the face that did Dean in. Always.)

Huffing, Dean could feel an instinctual, defensive fire burn in his chest. “First off, you could start with how the hell I was supposed to guess we started dating.”

Cas’ face hardened and crumbled. It reminded Dean of an old cookie. Stale and full of raisins. It was hard to look at. “We never started dating, Dean.” He spoke sharply. “I… I had made an assumption, and I know what people say about assuming.”

“Let me get this straight,” Dean shook his head. “My best friend of twelve years thinks I asked him out on a movie date in front of his kid, yeah?” He did not wait for Cas’ answer before continuing. “Then he just, what? Thinks that nothing would change? We’d just keep watching movies together forever?”

“I would ask for nothing else,” Cas confessed and his whisper was almost lost to the sound of the rain picking up, thundering against the roof of the diner beside them. “Nothing had to change. Nothing has to change.”

Dean growled. “Then why storm out, huh?” He bit. “If nothing has to change, why are you out here taking a smoke break in the rain?”

Cas inhaled sharply, turning away from Dean. “I…” he began, “I thought for once we were on the same page.” He let out a breath. “I just needed time to… think. Reconceptualize some things.”

“Reconceptualize things.” Dean echoed, ignoring the increase of the rain falling on his skin. “Cas, I don’t even know what to say.” He threw his arms with a shrug. “What am I supposed to say?”

Hadn’t he known what conversation he was supposed to have? Why was it so hard to speak to Cas about this?

Wasn’t it supposed to be easy? If Dean wanted this, and Cas wanted this, then wasn’t it that simple? Just like a movie?

(The problem, Dean figured, was this:

He actually didn’t know what Cas wanted at all.

All that time thinking Cas couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Now here they were, and Cas thought they were dating, but he hadn’t done any of the things Dean would have done if they were dating. What would dating Cas even be like? What they had already been doing for weeks? Years?)

“Cas,” Dean inhaled a fortifying breath. “Man, what do you want?”

Cas brow furrowed and his head tilted, scrutinizing Dean. Being solely under that powerful gaze made Dean shiver. The angel’s eyes widened and he took a measured step forward. “You should get out of the rain—”

“No!” Dean gripped tightly at Cas’ shoulders. “No, I’m not leaving until you tell me what you want Cas!” He shouted and he was certain his voice would have bounced throughout the nearly empty parking lot of the diner had it not been for the deafening rain.

“What do I want?” Cas shouted in equal force. He shrugged Dean’s hands off of his shoulders, pressing forward into Dean’s space.

(Suddenly, Dean was reminded of an alley. Of Michael and Lucifer. Of Cas pressing him against the cold, damp wall. Beating his convictions into him.

It felt holy, those dangerous touches. Punishment at the hands of an angry god reminding Dean what he was fighting for. Even if he hadn’t lost sight of it yet, and even if Dean didn’t know it yet—

Cas would always hold him to that.)

“What I want,” Cas growled, eyes squinting against Dean’s features sharply, “is the one thing that I know I can’t have—”

“And how do you know?” Snapping, Dean took the last step between them. Their faces were close as they had been in the past, but…

But it had been so long since Dean had been this close to him. And it was somehow not close enough.

Cas’ eyes widened, breath that he didn’t need hitching. Dean watched in fascination as the blue of his eyes was slowly overtaken by the dark of his pupils. His crows feet somehow diminished with his wide eyes.

Youthful.

He looked like an echo of a Cas Dean once knew. But this was the Cas Dean always knew. Just older. Wiser. Kinder.

(And Dean loved him more with every day.)

“Cas, I'm tired.” Dean confessed. “I'm tired of lying to myself. I’m tired of pretending that I don't—I can’t—” he stumbled over his words, searching for some hidden strength that might have resided on Cas’ skin. “I keep telling myself you couldn’t ever feel like… like that. And it’s easier that way. Maybe if you can’t ever feel like that, then it’ll never happen so why should I hope for anything else, right?”

Cas made to interrupt him, but Dean wasn’t finished. Not by a mile. And Dean had been driving all of his life. Knew the comfort of driving. There was something like that here, with Cas.

(There always had been.

On a park bench in a small town Dean couldn’t even remember the name of. Cas saying he wasn’t a hammer. Dean listening. The first smile or the first joke that wasn’t a barb. Or both.)

“But that's bullshit, isn't it? ‘Cause you feel like nobody I’ve ever met, Cas.” Dean laughed breathlessly and it felt like oxygen deprivation. The kind that made you dizzy and squeezed your chest. “You feel so much all the damn time. That's the whole reason Naomi hated your guts. You’ve got this—this heart, man, and I gotta tell you, I’m jealous.

I’m jealous of every person who gets that from you. That gets a piece of you. ‘Cause I want all of it. Isn’t that nuts, man? That I’m too chicken shit to get over myself but I want you completely like that?” Dean gulped in a fresh lungful of air but he still felt like he was choking. Cas’ eyes taking on the appearance of mist, glistening and open, growing the thing beating its way out of Dean’s ribcage.

Dean swallowed, closing his eyes and trying to finish what he had to say. What he knew he had to say. Dean wasn’t good at talking. He didn’t like talking.

(But he loved Cas.

That probably balanced it out.)

“I’m scared, Cas,” came the confessional, “I’m terrified that I’m gonna—about everything.” Opening his eyes, Dean looked to Cas again. Found the remainder of the strength he needed looking back at him so intensely. “But there’s, uh, there’s this guy who sort of makes me feel better. About all of that. And I think I could move fucking mountains for him if he asked me to.”

“Dean,” and Cas spoke it like absolution. Like forgiveness for all the things that Dean had done. All he would ever do.

(And maybe he did. Maybe Cas did forgive Dean of it. There was so much to forgive. Little to forget. But maybe—

Maybe Cas saw Dean. All of Dean. The John Winchester that he was and the John Winchester he could be. The Mark of Cain on his arm and the Demon in his eyes.

But maybe he saw Lilo, too. On her knees and praying. Hoping. Someone who was trying.

And god.

Did he want to try.)

Licking his lips, Dean’s eyes flickered to Cas’ mouth for a moment. “Y’know Cas,” Dean whispered. He couldn’t risk speaking louder. Not if it was going to break the spell. Not if it was going to fade to black before he could get this. “I’ve always wanted a movie kiss.”

Cas’ smile spread gently across his face like warm butter over morning toast. “I thought you said life wasn’t a movie.”

Dean chuckled, ducking his head in hopes that Cas wouldn’t catch the burning of his cheeks. He probably did, though. Cas was just observant like that. Knew Dean like that. Bringing his face back up to meet Cas’ gaze, Dean couldn’t help but smile wider.

“It isn’t usually,” he shrugged with a single shoulder. “But, uh, way I see it?” Dean leaned forward, brushing the tip of his nose along the bridge of Cas’. “I think we just might be.”

(And god that was corny. But Cas made Dean corny.

No.

Dean was corny. Cas just made Dean comfortable enough to be whatever he wanted to be. And what Dean was right now was kissing the love of his life in the rain, receiving a foot-popping silver screen worthy first kiss.

Fade to black. Roll credits. Cue the 90s pop cover of the title song.)

[tuffduff]

But...I Like You (Dave Mustaine x Reader)

Pairing: fluff Dave Mustaine x female reader

Words: 2,384

Summary: Dave’s never been one for the holidays or romance, not until one fateful day at the laundromat changes everything. Suddenly, he finds himself seeing The Nutcracker and wonders just what lengths he’d go for this girl.

Taglist: @ubernoxa @the--blackdahlia @reigns420 @stradlin-cold-heartbreaker @rumoured-whispers

Dave couldn’t recognize himself in the mirror. His frame was wrapped in a new and unusually lavish coat, the first coat he owned that actually fit him—hell, the first coat he had bought ever. There was a scarf around his neck made of something called cashmere, something he never thought he would have adorning his body. Most notable, however, was the look of glassy fear in his eyes.

He had let go of general fear a long time ago. Fear held him back, and he wasn’t about to let anything hold him back. And who the fuck cares, really? But there it was again, that little uncertain glimmer making his eyes frown. He couldn’t decide what he didn’t like more—his outfit or the look on his face.

When he walked out to the living room of his apartment, he nearly tried to sneak back into his room, but Junior and Jeff had already caught sight of him.

“Woah there, is that you, Dave? Are you under there?” Jeff teased and Dave was already glaring.

“Man, where are you going, huh? I didn’t realize you even owned this outfit.” Junior added, to which Dave felt less anger, so he focused on him, rather than Jeff—who he still wanted to punch.

“To see a show.” He said curtly, trying to close the conversation forcefully, of course, to no avail.

“You’re not going to the movies dressed like that. Where are you actually going?” Jeff joked, glancing at Junior to be backed up.

“I never said movie.” Dave retorted, glaring at the guitarist before he gathered his wallet and looked for his keys.

“So, where are you really going?”

“I’m going to see a production, it’s at the Opera House, it’s a little more upscale—”

“Opera House? You’re going to see an opera?” Jeff exploded

“No.” Dave snapped, growing more annoyed.

“What does this mean for Megadeth?” Jeff just kept pestering until Dave finally yelled.

“It’s the fucking Nutcracker!” Jeff and Junior were silent before they began to laugh. “Look, it wasn’t my idea—clearly. The San Francisco Ballet Company is doing their annual show, apparently they were the first in the US to produce a full-length production, and Y/N really wanted to go…”

“Oh,” Junior realized, leaning his head back with a knowing look on his face that made Dave glare again. “Y/N.”

“Yeah, shut up about it.” Dave snapped. Jeff looked between them.

“Y/N? Who’s Y/N?”

“This girl Dave met a while back at the laundromat.” Jeff raised an eyebrow.

“Think you met ‘the one’ at the laundromat, huh?” Jeff said incredulously. Dave sent another glare at Junior before he finally saw his keys laying on the kitchen counter and snatched them up.

“You’ll never be capable of knowing what I think, Jeff. You lack the brain cells.” He snapped, leaving the apartment. Outside, he let out a breath that he could see in the air.

Was he being too harsh on his band mates? No, never that. Was he being defensive? Maybe. Was he being stupid? Yes.

Stupid for letting you actually make him have these little daydreams littering his head for the past few weeks.

It started at the laundromat, yes, but Dave wasn’t the type of man that idealized romantic prospects. The light didn’t hit you in a certain way and the angels didn’t sing like the way it always did in those cliche romance movies. Rather, you dropped your entire load of laundry on the floor in front of him.

“Shoot,” you had sighed, merely looking at the garments of clothing with disdained tiredness. As he watched it all unfold, he had imagined what he would do in that moment—probably react in some type of anger—and watched as a smile came across your face before you looked directly at him. It was just a brief moment, but Dave felt like he was confined to that chair for an hour. Like he’d never been seen before in his life until that moment, in the dimly lit dingy laundromat.

“It must be Monday.” You said, before calmly getting on your knees and beginning to put the clothes back in the basket. For some reason, he found himself next to you.

“It’s Sunday.” He corrected you, to which you laughed.

“Even worse.”

His hand landed on a Led Zeppelin shirt to which he glanced over at you. “You a fan?”

“Yeah! Love them. How can you go wrong with them?” You eyed him again longer than he expected and he nearly winced when you narrowed them speculatively. “You look familiar.”

“I’m in a band.” He admitted, before too quickly adding, “Megadeth.” He hoped to see realization light your eyes, but you shook your head.

“No. Maybe I’ve seen your face on MTV?”

“There’s a chance.”

“I was joking.” You laughed. “But clearly, you’re not, huh. You know, there’s a record store across the street. Prove it.” You smiled at him.

The both of you left your laundry to be washed and headed over to the local record shop decorated with string Christmas lights on the roof and frosted windows. He bought their latest for you So Far, So Good…So What? and briefly gave you quick insight about where he got the name of the band from, song titles, why he enjoyed music...

Okay, he spilled his guts. He couldn’t stop talking. But that wasn’t his fault—you were hanging onto his every word. You listened, really listened; you seemed to listen more than anyone he had ever spoken to. More than that, you seemed to understand. And so, he went back to the laundromat next week at the same exact time, walking as quick as he could and hating that fact that he was doing so, until he felt relief when he saw you inside again.

You remembered him too—you smiled when you saw him. “It must be Sunday, huh?”

“Got it right this time.” He replied with a smirk.

Dave was aware he could talk someone’s ear off. He had a lot to say about the world and its affairs and usually didn’t care a whole lot about other people’s thoughts—they were usually stupid. But you, he made an active attempt to listen to. He listened rather than spoke, and when he did speak, he would ask questions, trying to get to know you on an even deeper level. And just as he assumed, you kept his attention better than anyone else.

You had a way of looking at the world from a completely different perspective than him. Like it was something to be solved. Like a bad thing didn’t mean it was the end of the road. That nothing really stays dead, that every little thing has a purpose, a meaning.

“Surely that’s not true.” Dave finally said. “Not every single thing has a meaning. Some things are just the way they are and that’s the way it is.” You just smiled at him.

“If it weren’t for the fact that my washer broke, I wouldn’t have come here. And if it weren’t for the fact that I thought it was Monday—my usual laundry day—instead of Sunday, I wouldn’t have met you.”

Dave didn’t understand the way his heart pounded a little harder. He wondered if he imagined the way your eyes stared a little too long at his and felt absolutely stupid for even having such a thought. And yet, he couldn’t stop staring. He couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering down your body. He couldn’t stop himself from telling David about you.

Oh, he knew exactly what was happening. He was strapped in on a rollercoaster ride and he was nearing the drop, unable to do nothing but watch as he felt things he’d never felt before. The whole reason he pursued guitar playing was to pick up girls; he had had lots of girls. And you, you weren’t like them. You seemed to admire him for being in a band, but you were more interested in why he hated breakfast and never ate it. Or why he didn’t like Christmas.

“This doesn’t just make you automatically happy?” You questioned him, gesturing to the atmosphere that surrounded the two of you. Your meetings had upgraded to a coffee shop. Dave didn’t drink coffee, but he watched you order a hot chocolate and realized maybe that was okay and ordered the same.

“What? The crowds, the god-awful music, the annoying lights everywhere, everyone’s ugly sweaters?” You grinned and laughed, and he wished the sound could be pumped out of the shop’s speakers rather than “Jingle Bells.”

“It’s just the time of year when everything is supposed to go right.” You ignored him, smiling a little. “When I was a kid, I used to go and see The Nutcracker with my family every year. The San Francisco Ballet Company started it—they had the first full length production back in 1944. Or at least, that’s what my mom said.”

“I’m guessing they’ve got shows going on with it being so close to Christmas.” Dave wasn’t sure why he was saying that. You nodded.

“Yeah, their last show is Sunday.”

“Why don’t we go?” You were just as surprised as he was.

“What? You’re kidding. A ballet doesn’t seem very up your alley, Mr. Megadeth.”

“Try me, think I’m just some metal knucklehead that couldn’t appreciate it?”

“I don’t think you would like it.”

“Maybe I will, you don’t know me.” You chuckled, but still appeared unsure, which only made him more determined. “Look, you said you haven’t been in forever. I’m in a good place this year after the album, those tickets will be nothing. It’s on me. So, if I were you, I would just agree before I change my mind.”

“Well...alright.”

And here he was outside this damn theater, pulling on his coat, knowing his hair was out of place despite that fact that he had tied it back. He was still getting strange looks by the crowd of couples walking arm in arm into the theater, telling him without words that he didn’t belong.

“Dave?” He heard from behind him and turned. He was already thinking of some kind of dry teasing reply, but all words left his head at the sight of you, dressed nicer than he’d seen you yet, every hair in place. “Look at you! You own a scarf?” He scoffed, feeling a smirk grow on his face.

“Stole it from a guy on my way here.” He joked to make you laugh. To his surprise, you also leaned in and kissed his cheek. As if that’s just what you did. All of it was so foreign; you, this theater, this ballet show. And he was a puzzle piece that shouldn’t fit.

“Shall we?” You asked. He was still trying to find the words to compliment you, but instead, he nodded.

In your seats with the lights down, Dave alternated his time from watching the stage and the dancers to the other audience members, young and old alike. All of them seemed to fit each other’s company, each other’s social circle; he was the anomaly.

And then there was you, which he elected to watch for the rest of his time. The way your eyes quickly flitted back and forth as you took in the sight, your eyebrows raising, how you’d hold your breath for a second at the really dramatic parts.

All of a sudden, there was you, sweeter than a sugar plum, somehow embodying all the niceness everyone said Christmas was supposed to be about. Thanks to you, he was out of his element, and he felt like he was meant to be there. After all, where did he really belong anyway?

Did it matter if he could be anywhere with you?

“So?” You asked him eagerly after the show when the lights came back on. The two of you sat in your seats as everyone around you stood, in no hurry.

“You’re going to be surprised to hear this, but there are a lot of similarities between classical music and metal. Really, Tchaikovsky’s stuff isn’t so different than—”

“I meant the show! The story! Oh, did you see the costumes?” You laughed, and he smiled, shaking his head at you.

“To be honest, I was watching you most of the time.” You seemed startled by his words, and he took your speechlessness as the chance to keep going. “I couldn’t find the words to tell you earlier how beautiful you look. Really, this whole night I just kept thinking that maybe it was a mistake. That I’m not the type of guy that comes here, I’m the guy playing in the sleazy, dark club on the bad side of town. But I was wrong. And I’m glad I came; I should have done it right though. I should’ve brought you flowers, picked you up, I should’ve complimented you as soon as I saw you, I should have kissed you when you kissed my cheek—”

“Dave.” You interrupted him calmly, taking his hand in yours and giving him an ever-growing smile. “You have no idea how much this means to me. Christmas is my favorite time of the year, but this year it’s been so hectic, and I haven’t been able to really enjoy it...until now. That was all I actually wanted. I don’t care about the flowers.” He stared at you for a second before he smiled.

“That’s all?” He asked before he leaned in closer, grazing the side of your cheek with his lips as he whispered. “You don’t want one more thing?” He felt your hand rest on his cheek and turned his head to press his lips to yours, savoring the moment and realizing he had never really been kissed before, not like this.

“Well, I guess that too.” You mumbled with that sweet smile on your face before you looked up at him with big eyes. “Okay but really, was it up to your standards, or was I right all along?”

“I hate Christmas. And I don’t really enjoy the things that come with it.” He admitted with a keen smirk as he pulled back, and you giggled. He let himself enjoy the feeling of your face cradled between his hands, so used to always cradling a guitar, this new sensation—skin-on-skin—was intoxicating. As were your lips, that he leaned in again to steal another kiss from. “But...I like you.”

[is-it-art-tho]

This is Chapter 9!

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.   Chapter 7. Chapter 8.

Summary: Dick begins the healing process.

By all accounts, Dick should not have survived.

That was what he gleaned from murmured conversations between nurses and snippets of news coverage. His medical records had filled in some blanks, too.

Concussion, multiple fractures, internal hemorrhaging, lacerations, cardiac arrest.

Cardiac arrest. The words had played on a loop in his head ever since his doctor had first said them, and even now Dick couldn’t quite make any sense of it.

The doctor had smiled at him afterwards, informed him of how lucky he was to be alive. “Usually when someone goes into cardiac arrest in the field, they don’t even make it to the hospital,” she’d said. “Good thing Batman was there, huh?”

“Batman?”

“Mhm. EMTs saw him. He must have been doing CPR before they got there.”

“Hm,” was all Dick had offered in response, but internally he had clung to those minor details like a drowning man grasping at driftwood.

The majority of that night was lost to him. Listening to the news helped somewhat, but reporters only knew so much. And none of the others – Barbara, Tim, any of them – had been very forthcoming, either.

Dick hadn’t pressed, though. The haunted look in their eyes whenever they came to visit him in the hospital had been enough for him to decide never to bring that night up again. He already hated that he might have inadvertently become added fodder for future nightmares; no need to throw gas on the fire.

He could live with not-knowing what had happened if it meant keeping them from reliving it.

“Richard?”

The young voice dragged Dick’s gaze away from the curtains he’d been staring at to the doorway. He’d been back at the manor for nearly two days now, in bed mostly, and in that time he had yet to see Damian except for the ride back from the hospital.

Now the boy was standing at the threshold with a tea service in his hands, his mouth curled in an uncertain frown. “Am I… interrupting?”

Dick smirked and made a show of looking around the empty bedroom. “Yeah. I’m pretty swamped here, as you can see.”

“You know what I meant.”

“I know, but it was a dumb question, anyway. You know you’re never interrupting, Damian. C’mon.” Dick waved him in with a jerk of his chin then froze and winced as a jolt of pain shot up his spine and into his head.

Damian entered stiffly and set the tray on the bedside table, shoving aside pill bottles and a glass of water.

“Damian?” Dick asked after what felt like a long pause. Damian’s eyes were locked on the tea set, his face scrunched in a way that made him look nervous and uncomfortable and young.

Dick reached out with his good hand and tugged on the boy’s sleeve. “Hey, you okay?”

“Of course, I am,” Damian snapped, pulling his arm out of reach. He scowled at a bookshelf. “Drake is having a difficult time.”

“Tim?” Dick tried to push himself more upright and quickly aborted that mission with a hiss when he felt a sharp tug at the sutures across his abdomen. “What do you mean? What’s going on?”

“He blames himself for what happened. For not locating you sooner.”

“He told you that?”

“I overheard him talking to Stephanie.”

“Aw, Tim.” Tim had been noticeably distant, it was true, but Dick had interpreted it as general anxiety about the whole situation. Never in a million years would he have guessed that Tim had managed to convince himself this was his fault.

Damian muttered something, hands now shoved into his pockets.

“What?”

“I said he is a fool. To act as if he is the one who…” Damian swallowed hard, glowering at the carpet.

Birds were gathering and chirping in a bush by the open window, and though the curtains were drawn to protect Dick’s concussed brain from harsh light, hazy beams still found their way in, spilling across the floor and along the foot of the bed.

“He is not the one to blame,” Damian finished.

“No one is.” Dick couldn’t tell if it was the drugs or his injuries that were making this conversation so hard to follow, but he felt like he was missing something, straggling two steps behind. “At least, not any of you.”

Damian looked at him with open disbelief. “I failed you, Richard. If not for my ineptitude, you wouldn’t have– I should have gone with you when you left that night. None of this would have happened if I had just–”

“Stop.” Dick had meant it to be firm, but the word sounded more like a plea. His head was really pounding now, and keeping the pain out of his voice was becoming increasingly difficult. “You can’t let yourself start doing that or else you’ll never stop. It was a freakish, sucky thing that none of us could have anticipated and therefore probably couldn’t have avoided, either. And yeah, maybe if you had been there it wouldn’t have happened. Or maybe something worse would’ve happened instead. We don’t know and we never will, but what I do know is that you did the best you could in the moment.”

“And it was not good enough.”

“Damian–”

“It is my job to be good enough,” Damian maintained. “If I can’t protect you then…” He let the rest go unsaid, his lips pressing together as his eyes glistened. “I am supposed to be able to protect you.”

Oh. So that’s what this was about.

“Damian,” Dick tried again, and what was meant to be a sigh turned into a low groan as his ribs refused to cooperate.

Damian tensed, wide-eyed.

“We’re good. I’m okay,” Dick promised before the boy could sound the alarms. Then, “I’m not Batman anymore, Damian. You’re not my Robin. You don’t have to put that kind of pressure on yourself.”

And again, Damian gave him a look like Dick still just wasn’t getting it, like he missing something glaring and obvious and not worth explaining except to say, “Yes, I do, Richard.”

Dick started to say something, but Damian continued, “You are saying that excessive self-reproach is counter-productive. I understand the sentiment. And I appreciate it. Thank you.”

He turned to the tea service and begin pouring a cup, his entire demeanor changed, suddenly casual . “How is your pain?”

“I…” Dick paused, once again feeling off balance and too slow as the tone and subject of the discussion switched so suddenly. “A four.”

“So, a seven,” Damian deduced, taking one of the pill bottles from the nightstand and opening it after checking the label. “Alfred said if it is above a five then you are to take two of these.”

Dick considered fighting him on this, reluctant to lose the rest of the morning to a drug-fueled haze, but the pulsing ache beneath his skull and the one radiating through his ribs made it difficult. He let Damian tip the capsules into his open palm and threw them back without complaint.

“You got anything planned this morning?” Dick asked, accepting the cup the tea Damian held out.

“Nothing important.”

“Great.” Dick reached across his chest with his good arm to pat the open space in the bed beside him.

After a brief hesitation, Damian circled the mattress and climbed in, his movements so careful that Dick hardly jostled at all.

“What language are you on right now?” Dick asked, settling back into the pillows. It might have been psychosomatic, but already he was feeling drowsy.

“Hungarian.”

“Huh. What happened to Korean?”

“Too easy. I finished that a week ago,” Damian said dismissively, though there was a self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.

Dick chuckled. “Show-off. How far along are you?”

“More or less conversational.”

“Nice.” Dick’s eyes were closed now. “Show me something.”

“I am not circus monkey, Richard.”

“Y’know, I grew up in the circus,” Dick mumbled. “The monkeys were my favorite. Miss those little guys.”

He thought he heard Damian sigh – or maybe it was a laugh – before the boy asked, “What do you want to hear?”

“That song Bruce hums all the time. The one he sings when he thinks he’s alone. What’s it called?”

Damian’s voice sounded muffled and far away when he answered, “Am I Blue.”

“Yeah. That.”

Damian cleared his throat and began to recite the lyrics in near-perfect Hungarian. He paused occasionally to search for a word, at times reversing to correct a conjugation before moving on.

Dick was almost completely gone now. The bed had fallen away, and he felt like he was floating through the air with Damian’s voice as a welcome backdrop.

He didn’t notice the quiet chatter had stopped until Damian asked, “Richard?”

“Mm…?”

“You’re not just Batman to me. I mean, that is not why I feel responsible for your wellbeing.”

“’Kay. Y’too…”

After a brief pause, the gentle half-singing began again, and Dick slipped away on the familiar melody.

______________

All of the lights were off in the den when Alfred breezed in with a tray of hot chocolate just as A Charlie Brown Christmas began on the TV. Cass and Stephanie’s arms sprang up from their spots on the floor like weeds, and he placed mugs in their waiting hands before circling around to the others. Tim, curled up on the sofa, accepted his with a muttered thanks without looking up from his phone. Bruce took one for himself and one for Damian who was smushed into his side, mouth hanging open in dead sleep. When Alfred got to where Barbara and Dick were sharing a blanket on the couch, he smiled and set their mugs on the end table.

“Thanks, Alfred,” Dick whispered, glancing over at Barbara’s head on his shoulder to find that she had fallen asleep.

“Of course,” Alfred said. He set the tray aside and took a seat in a nearby chair. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Dick answered, perhaps a bit too quickly because Alfred raised a dubious eyebrow at him.

“Honest,” he added with a rueful grin.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it.”

They sat in silence for a while, the only noise coming from the TV and hushed laughter and whispers between Cassandra and Stephanie on the floor.

The air was thick with the ghost of Thanksgiving dinner and fresh hot chocolate, creating a warm bouquet that was at once comforting and nostalgic. Bruce had a faint smile on his face as he watched the movie, colors and lights splashing across his face. He had one arm draped over Damian’s small frame as if holding him there.

At some point, Tim had stowed his phone and turned so that his legs dangled off the armrest and he could see the screen better, hot chocolate clutched between his hands.

It was one of those admittedly rare moments where there was no clock ticking anywhere in the background. There was work to be done, for sure, but it was not a looming obligation. Tonight, the city for once was quiet. Dick couldn’t remember the last time he had passed an uninterrupted holiday in this house.

“Something is on your mind,” Alfred noted, taking a small sip from his mug.

“I was just thinking about today.”

“Nothing short of a miracle,” the older man said, instantly understanding.

“No kidding. It almost feels suspicious. Like the calm before the–”

“Don’t,” he said firmly, his face illuminated just enough by the TV for Dick to register the stern frown there. “I will not allow you to sully this gift with your dark premonitions. Just enjoy this for what it is: a welcome and much needed respite after the events of the past few weeks.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Dick conceded, cringing a little in self-reproach. “Sorry, Al.”

The old man nodded, his face softening. “Now, would you mind telling me what is actually on your mind?”

Dick let out a breathy, half-hearted laugh. “You’re good.”

“I am indeed.”

With a sigh, he looked toward the TV. A Black Friday commercial was advertising half-priced gaming systems.

“Hey,” Tim whispered, waving his arm at Stephanie.

“What?”

“Get me that.” He pointed at the commercial, and Stephanie scoffed at him before resuming her muted conversation with Cass. After a few days and a much-needed conversation, Dick was happy to see Tim back to his normal self.

“It’s been a while,” he admitted now, returning his attention to Alfred who was watching him patiently, “since I’ve heard from Jason. Over a month, actually. Not the longest we’ve gone without speaking, but it’s the longest in a while.”

The cup paused halfway to Alfred’s mouth, his brow creasing. “Over a month?”

“Yeah,” Dick sighed. “We went on patrol together in October and things got a little rough. I said some stuff and we haven’t spoken since. I’m not even sure he’s still in the city.”

When Alfred continued to look at him, Dick asked, “What?”

“If you don’t mind my asking, how has your memory been as of late?”

Dick adjusted himself, gingerly repositioning Barbara’s head on his shoulder when he felt her beginning to slide off. “Fine now. I can’t remember much of that night. Or, pretty much anything, really. But otherwise I’m all right. Why?”

“And the others? What have they told you?”

“About what happened? I haven’t asked. I didn’t want to... Well, you know.”

“Indeed,” Alfred said with a somber nod, setting down his mug. “It is a night, or a week, rather, that I’m certain we would all like to leave firmly in the past. But even so, I believe there are at least a few details that you ought to know.”

[chocoluckchipz]

A Soulmate for Christmas - 1

No one but you see your soulmate mark. Not unless your soulmate touches it, and even then, it only glows for a moment. Most consider that a blessing, but Marinette would say it’s a blessed curse. Because how was she supposed to find the boy who left a black cat mark on her hand fifteen years ago in the city that wasn't even located in France? So when she finds a model flaunting the mark she put on him all those years back in a magazine, she has hope for a moment. That is until she notices the article discuss his imminent engagement to someone else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So, what’s the emergency?"

Marinette’s hand emerged from under the covers, pointing in the direction of her desk. "The new Paris Fashion. Page thirty."

Alya whistled upon reaching the said page. "Looking good, M Agreste. Good enough to turn my best friend into a hot mess with a single picture."

"This isn’t funny, Al. Look at his chest!"

"Pure lean muscle. Perfectly toned. He's growing up nicely. Though, I fail to see why this is a big enough emergency for you to make me bail on lunch with Nino."

"Look. At. His. Chest." Marinette crawled out from under the comforter and stomped toward Alya, pointing at the particular spot on the picture. "This. Look at this."

"A ladybug tattoo? So—Wait!" Alya looked up at Marinette, her finger pointing to the ladybug mark painted on his chest. "Are you telling me that’s his—" 

"Right where I put it!" Marinette cried, ducking back under her covers. "See? He exists! I told you. I can’t believe you were doubting me all this time!"

"Well, excuse me, but you were five, and he sounded too good to be true. Little boys don’t usually go out of their way to help crying girls they don’t know find their flirting grandmas at a fashion show in Milan. Little boys don’t kiss said little girl’s hand as a farewell while they are at it. And they certainly don’t ask for the girl to kiss their soulmate mark into existence as close to their heart as she possibly could. ‘So, they won’t forget her,’ right?"

"So, he could always keep me close to his heart," Marinette corrected. "But that doesn’t matter now. You were right. That boy doesn’t exist anymore, and this one isn’t as good as I thought he was, so whatever. I’ll get over him and move on. There are plenty of guys out there. One of them is bound to like me more than money, fame, and prestige."

"What do you mean? Shouldn’t you be happy your crush is your soulmate?"

With a pitiful groan slipping her lips, Marinette buried her face into her pillow. "Ugh! I can’t believe I ever felt guilty for crushing on him. I thought I was a horrible person betraying my soulmate for some handsome, sexy supermodel. Foolish me. He doesn’t deserve any of my attention."

"Marinette, seriously. What do you mean?"

"Read the article."

Alya fell silent as soon as she noticed the title. "‘Paris’ most eligible bachelor reveals… a long-time secret relationship with his childhood friend Kagami Tsurugi. Doesn’t deny Christmas Eve engagement rumour.’ Oh."

"And you know what the worst part is?"

"What can be worse than discovering that your long-time crush is your long-lost soulmate and then finding out he’s been not only dating someone else but very likely will propose… tonight?"

"How about being at the same party at the same time. As a waitress."

Alya swore under her breath and put the magazine down. "Mayor Bourgeois’ Christmas Gala?"

Marinette nodded. "The article said they both confirmed they will be attending. I'll get a front-row seat to my soulmate's proposal to someone else. Lucky me."

"Then don’t go," she said, sitting down beside Marinette. "I’ll go in your place."

Marinette couldn’t let her do that. Nino was going to propose tonight, so Alya couldn’t be anywhere but with him. "You’re spending your first Christmas with Nino’s family. I’m not standing in the way of that."

"I can spend New Year Day with them."

"You’re going to the French Alps with your family that weekend. Don’t try to weasel out of it. Your mom has been planning that trip for months. Nora’s flying in specifically for it."

"I’m not trying to weasel out. I’m trying to help you, M."

"And I appreciate it, but I’m not making you go instead of me."

"What about your father?"

"The doctor said he shouldn’t be getting up for at least another week or his leg might not heal properly and he’ll end up with a prospect of a surgery which we’re trying to avoid."

"Then, I’m sure Rose or Juleka wouldn’t mind stepping in."

"No." Marinette sat up on her bed. "They have plans, and I’m not going to ruin them. I’ll just have to grow a pair and face him like the strong, independent woman I am. Or rather go help Maman and avoid him at all cost. He’s not even going to recognize me anyway. I didn’t. Not until I saw that photo."

"That’s true. I doubt he remembers much about you. You were babies when you met, so just stay away from him and keep your hands covered. That way even if you accidentally touch he won’t see it. A pair of gloves perhaps?"

"Mayor has uniforms for all the servers, even those coming in with the caterers, so no gloves for me. But as long as I do my job and pretend like I’m not in the same room with my soulmate who clearly didn't think me worthy enough to search for and instead decided to date this very famous, very influential, extremely rich girl from his own circle, I should be fine."

"I’m so sorry, M." Alya wrapped her arms around Marinette, bringing her into her chest for a cuddle. "Men are stupid. Some more than the others. Especially the rich and spoiled ones."

Marinette scoffed bitterly. "Don’t I know it. I got plenty of examples from being in the same class as Chloe Bourgeois for years." 

"Isn’t Adrien Chloe’s friend?"

"I think so. I was hoping Adrien wasn't like her. Clearly, that isn't the case."

"You'll get over him soon, and we'll find you a nice, handsome, smart man who will cherish and love you for who you are."

"Soulmates are so last century anyway, right?" Marinette swallowed back the knot in her throat. No matter how much she tried to convince herself, this hurt. "I’m sure he doesn’t even remember meeting me. We were five. Who would be holding on to a memory of a random girl in Milan? And even if he did remember me, he probably thinks I live there. I thought my soulmate lived in Milan until he decided to show off his stupid soulmate mark to the whole world. Who does that, anyway? Those are supposed to be one of the most intimate of details of one’s life. You don’t just show it to everyone, and certainly not to the whole world while announcing your engagement to someone else." 

Her eyes fell to her hand where, invisible to everyone but her, an image of a black cat lay, a mark Adrien Agreste left there more than a decade ago with his first kiss to her skin. Just like a mark of a ladybug appeared on his chest when her lips touched it upon his request. He said he wanted to keep her close to his heart, so it would be easier for him to find her.

What a load of BS.

"Have you ever thought that, perhaps, that could’ve been a message to you?" Alya asked. "He went through the trouble of painting over his soulmate mark for the photoshoot so others could see it. It has to mean something. No one is dumb enough to think that if Adrien Agreste releases topless photos while announcing something as big as a possible engagement, there would be at least one person in France, or even Europe for that matter, who wouldn't see it. He knew his soulmate would see it."

Marinette laughed. Bitterly. "Yeah, a great message. ‘Here is my soulmate mark, my dear soulmate. In all the years I knew you existed, I didn’t bother to find you. But I did make sure that this picture, in which I showcase to the whole world the mark you left me, came along with an article where I discuss how much I love my girlfriend you'll never compare to in status, money or looks. Not that I even care about your feelings, announcing that an engagement is in the near future for me and my darling childhood friend.’ Yeah. This is definitely a message, Alya. He says ‘Screw you, Marinette. I’m better off with Kagami Tsurugi, and I thought you should know that.’"

Alya wrapped her arms around her tighter. "First of all, only brainless idiots would take status and money over love. Second, you’re the prettiest, smartest, and the most successful woman I've ever known, and third, you're an amazing and wonderful person who's on her way to becoming one of the best designers in Paris, so don’t you bring yourself down because of a stupid man who doesn't realize what he lost."

"It's my fault anyway. That's what I get for letting that stupid, cute boy kiss my stupid hand at a stupid fashion show in stupid Milan."

"You were five, M. And he was a dashing gentleman, helping you find your grandmother in a strange city you got lost in. You couldn't have known he's your soulmate. No one could have."

"Right. And he won’t recognize me, so I’ll be fine. He won’t even look a waitress’ way. Nothing to worry about. I’m very much certain the only person he’ll be looking at will be his future bride-to-be, so I have absolutely nothing to be scared of. Not that I’m scared, because I’m not. I just don’t want to be humiliated. Not that I’m already humiliated, but at least no one knows about it. That'll be awful if anyone else finds out—"

Alya grabbed her face and turned to look at her. "Marinette, breathe. Calm down."

She took a few deep breaths and tried to relax. Alya was right. This was fine. She’d be fine. Everything would be just peachy.

"As long as he doesn’t touch your right hand, no one will know. I still insist I go instead of you. Nino will understand—" 

"No. I’ll go. I can do it."

"Yes, you can, and you’ll be fine, but if anything happens, you have my number. I’ll be there in five minutes. You got me?"

Marinette nodded, pulling Alya into a hug. She was an amazing friend, and Nino and she were going to be insanely happy together. One day perhaps, Marinette would meet someone too. Someone who, just like her, was betrayed by their soulmate. Or someone who had lost theirs. Someone who would be kind and gentle and, like her, would just want to be happy. 

Someone who was not Adrien Agreste. 

Next >

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[katnissmellarkkk]

Okay, so I wanted to get this out, like twelve hours ago, buttttt Tumblr is having issues with me today and it wouldn’t let me. So anyways, better late than never! 

This is a Christmas-y oneshot, set years Post-Mockingjay, with their first toastbaby. It’s completely canon-complacent and focuses on their lives and family after the war. It got way longer than I intended. Actually, originally, it was meant to be a Thanksgiving oneshot but uh... I took too long so it’s not Christmas. Only they call it Yuleday here, because I can’t imagine Panem calling it Christmas, idk why. Anyways, please read and enjoy! 

Oh yeah, and thank you @rosegardeninwinter for writing the song Katniss sings to her daughter in here!

Summary : Everlark spend Yuleday with their daughter and the rest of their blended family. 

The sticky vanilla liquid drying against the counter clings to my forearm. I wrinkle my nose slightly, the smell of vanilla too strong for my liking.

No, I prefer the smells of cinnamon and pine and fresh baked bread, I think to myself, as I watch my husband slip on a oven mitt and pull out a new loaf.

The kitchen is much messier than Peeta typically allows it to get, but he didn't have the time this week he anticipated he would to bake for our family's impending visit.

I lean unconsciously closer to the baked good, my mouth already watering at the sight. "Katniss," Peeta warns while he places a cake pan inside the oven, his voice growing stressed. "Be careful of the door." He gestures with his chin to the white-hot contraption just inches from my legs.

I roll my eyes at his fretting and pick up a piece of bread from a loaf we never finished last week. "Don't worry, I've been married to a baker for a while," I reply coyly as he begins to stir white, creamy homemade frosting around in a bowl. "I'm used to getting burned every so often."

It's his turn to send me a look now. "Yeah, because you forget to put a mitt on when touching the rack."

"Hmm, funny, my husband said at the time it was his fault for not warning me how hot it was," I shoot back as I dig my finger into the frosting bowl and pop the sugary substance into my mouth.

"That's sanitary," he deadpans and pushes me away from his workspace playfully.

"Oh, come on," I implore, pressing my hands against his chest as he tries to move me out of the kitchen and towards the living room. "Don't you ever sample your treats while making them?"

"No, Katniss," he replies, trying to remain serious but I see a smile peaking through. "Because I'm a professional."

I go to make a comment, pointing out every time before he's been less than professional in his workplace—with me, in particular. In the back room, with the most counterspace—when he leans down and plants a kiss on my lips. More than likely to shut me up.

"Yeah, this is sanitary," I tease against his mouth when we break apart ever so slightly.

Peeta leans back a little, keeping his chin still pressed against mine. "When have we ever cared about sanitary?"

I smirk up at him as his hands find my hips tenderly, his fingertips gliding underneath my shirt, touching the edge of my stomach. His lips find mine again or mine find his, but either way, in a matter of seconds I'm opening my mouth to let his tongue enter, eliciting a loud moan from him when my teeth graze his bottom lip.

"Mmm," he whispers when he pulls back again.

"Mmm?" I repeat, chuckling. "That's the best you can do?"

He tightens his arms around my waist, holding me to him. "I was about to say, I do enjoy taste testing my own frosting that way."

"Well, as long as you had a reason for invading my mouth."

"Like I said, I'm a strict professional."

Before I can reply back, there's a loud knock at our front door. Followed by another and then another, growing more noisy and cacophonous with the passing seconds.

Neither of us make a move to get the door. "Are you sure we have to invite Haymitch?" I inquire, my voice very serious.

"I believe I left that decision up to you, my love," Peeta replies cheekily, planting a small kiss on my nose.

"I can hear you two," Haymitch barks from the other side of the door before he knocks again, just as loud, and then rattles the doorknob. "Let me in, I'm freezing," he demands gruffly.

Peeta opens the door with a sardonic look, revealing our grouchy mentor and, at his feet, our tiny daughter, bundled up to keep from the cold. "Put a coat on, Haymitch."

"Why would I do that? I was coming here to sit by your fireplace all day anyway."

"Mommy!" Indigo shouts and races her chubby little legs in a beeline to me.

I scoop her up easily, having missed her for the entire forty-five minutes she was away from me. "Did you have a good time helping feed the geese?" I ask, in a tone I would have found absolutely embarrassing three years ago. I never even spoke to Prim in that tone.

"No, I hate them," she proclaims, very seriously, before laying her head against my shoulder exhaustedly. "They're very demanding cree-ters," she explains.

I nod, petting down her long, dark hair, moving it out of her little face, giving me access to the stunning blue eyes Peeta gave her. "They are very demanding creatures, aren't they?"

"But someone has to help Granpuh," she adds on the end, very matter-of-fact.

I shake my head at that, hoisting her higher on my hip. "I think Haymitch takes care of himself just fine, Indigo," I murmur sternly, as my old mentor passes by me, his eyes falling on the frosting bowl still sitting on the counter where we left it.

"Excuse me, Sweetheart. It's Grandpa to her," Haymitch corrects gruffly, pointing to my child.

Peeta hums as he leans against the doorframe, his shirt tightening up around his shoulders as he stretches his neck. "Katniss, remember when you were pregnant and Haymitch swore our kid wouldn't call him Grandpa?"

"I seem to remember that well."

"Yeah, well I seem to remember you saying no one is ever calling your daughter Indy and yet, here we are," the older man reminds me and all levity is gone from my face instantly, only to be replaced with irritation.

Three years ago when I gave birth, me and Peeta both agreed on the name Indigofera. Or, more like, he agreed because I liked the name.

I never expected to have a child. I spent majority of my life swearing I'd never procreate. The world I grew up in, the only world I knew, was nowhere I'd allow a child to grow up in. Not if I had any control of over.

Not when every year from the age of twelve to eighteen, my child could be stolen from me, could be taken away and tossed into a dressed up cage, forced to fight to the death, likely die on national television.

I'd never allow my child to live in that world.

That sentiment only grew stronger once a child of my own was no longer just a vague image, but a living, breathing, loud little being.

The idea of my Indigofera being subjected to the world I knew, the world that fell apart almost twenty years ago now, is beyond devastating to me.

I still wonder sometimes how Peeta ever was able to convince me to have a child.

As I think of him, he's right beside me, saying something quippy to Haymitch, before pulling Indigo out of my arms and unzipping her coat. I watch on at their exchange as she puts her tiny little hands on his cheeks, telling him happily about her time with Granpuh and the geese. I watch as Peeta's eyes brighten when he looks at her, I watch as she smiles more and more with his encouraging nods, prodding her to keep talking. I watch as she squeals out and laughs when he tickles her and kisses the side of her face.

And I still wonder, how on earth he convinced me to have a child.

But I'm thankful every day he did, from the bottom of my heart. That little girl is the most important being in both our lives and, though I had no idea at the time, we were not complete without her.

"Daddy, I'm hungry," Indigo complains as he starts to pull away, very obviously intending to head back to the kitchen and finish up baking and frosting.

"We're going to eat once Grandma and the others gets here, Bean," I promise, stepping in to scoop her back up.

"They're so slow," Indigo says, with no shame or remorse in her voice for the blunt statement.

"Indigo," Peeta chides gently. "That's not a nice thing to say."

"It's kind of true," I add sheepishly after a moment, agreeing with our daughter.

My husband just rolls his eyes at me now. "You're a bad influence on her."

"Oh, give me a break, Peeta!" I exclaim defensively. "You gave her chocolate pancakes for breakfast today. I think you're the bad influence."

"I made them for you too, Katniss," he reminds me wryly.

"That's a little different-"

"Hello," Haymitch interrupts as he plops down on the sofa, his usual spot in our house. "Some of us would like to eat Yuleday Dinner tonight."

"And?"

"And that's not going to happen if we don't let the boy work, Sweetheart."

The boy. Haymitch never did get new nicknames for us, despite Peeta being a man, a husband and a father for quite some time now.

Peeta hauls Haymitch up by the arm from his seat. "If you're going to be in my house, you're going to help me with dinner," he says firmly and Indigo giggles against my neck, watching her daddy drag her grandpa into the kitchen.

Haymitch being grandpa was only ever meant to be a joke. Neither me nor Peeta ever intended for Indigo to actually view Haymitch Abernathy as her grandfather.

Though it makes sense. He's been a constant in our lives since we were sixteen. And even when me and Haymitch are at each other's throats, he still shows up here, sitting on the couch, expecting dinner, at least once a week. He regularly shows up at the bakery Peeta runs now almost entirely on his own, asking for free samples. And he still loves our daughter like his own flesh and blood.

The only true gripe I have about Haymitch and Indigo's relationship is the nickname Indy. I knew when we named her Indigofera, after the mysterious plant that my father used to jokingly say was about as real to us as unicorns—the color plant was all but extinct long before I was even born—that her natural nickname would be Indigo. Peeta himself says we gave her a mouthful of a name, choosing to go as far as adding in a middle name that we both lacked ourselves. But something about the nickname Indy is extremely unappealing to me.

And as her mother, as the person who grew her and carried her inside me, and loves her more than all the things in the world combined, I think I should have final say on what she's called.

I'm abruptly pulled out of my thoughts by a soft, little hand pulling my tangled hair. "Mommy, what time does Finn get here?"

Of course, that's who Indigo is focused on. It's not just my mother arriving today to join us for our Yuleday Dinner. It's everyone that me and Peeta consider family.

Including Annie and Finn, her child with the sensual, alluring, kind-hearted Finnick Odair. The child who has taken after his father in ways that seemed unimaginable.

Indigo knows, even at three-years-old, that we always treat Finnick's memory with respect. We never forget him or anyone else that ever helped us make the country a safe place.

Of course, she's too young to fully understand. What she understands is Finn, who at eighteen, has all his father's looks and charm, is her suto-cousin, is her playmate and brings her presents. And as far as I'm concerned, that's all she needs to understand.

"In an hour," I reply gently, bringing myself back to reality. Pushing her dirty hair back, I lean my nose against her's, letting my eyes grow bigger. "You know what that means?"

She lets out a loud shriek of excitement and all but kicks her way out of my arms. "Bath time!" She yells as she propels herself excitedly towards the stairs, going on all fours to struggle her way up independently.

I stay inches behind her, making sure I'm able to catch her if she should tumble, but the precaution isn't necessary. Indigo gets to the top stair and takes off running towards the bathroom down the hall.

"Lots of bubbles," Indigo commands in a very serious tone as she watches me pour a cap full into her bath water.

I remind myself for the thousandth time to send Effie a thank you note for bath bubbles she sent weeks ago. My old escort is one of the few people I haven't kept in close contact with over the years and it's no surprise really. Me and Peeta never stopped looking at the Capitol with disdain, perhaps even more so after the war, and Effie, even with a good heart deep inside, is Capitol, through and through.

But she's still sent sporadic gifts here and there over the years. She's still called Haymitch dozens of times since the end of the war. She's still kept her mouth shut about Indigo's existence for the last three years and for that, I am indebted to my old escort for life.

Peeta and I agreed early on in my pregnancy that Indigo would never be property of the Capitol. It didn't matter how much safer the world was now, or how many new faces have come along for people to fawn over in the last eighteen years, or how adorable Indigo is, we both vowed with everything we had that no one outside our family and friends and community would know of her birth. If I did anything in my life, it would be protect my child.

The way I failed to protect my sister.

Even almost twenty years later, the memory still stung. The image of my sister being blown apart, right before my eyes, is permanently ingrained in my mind. I still wake up from nightmares, reliving Prim's last moments alive before the bombs took her away forever.

But the once searing pain had faded into a dull ache, a deep imbedded hurt that never went away entirely but instead became a part of who I was.

I help Indigo into the tub and instantly get to work, washing her up as she splashes around and plays with her bubbles. Technically Effie sent them to me, along with a lot of other useless items that I all but threw out immediately, but they were better used for Indigo. Whereas I saw the impracticality in many of Effie's gifts, Indigo saw a new luxury, a new toy, a new activity or adventure she could have.

It's the Peeta in her. It's his appreciation for beauty that he passed down to our daughter.

I've told him countless times in the last few years that if she turns out to have a massive spending addiction or have desires to live a luxurious life, it's all on him.

"Alright, eyes shut," I warn dramatically, waiting for her to cover her big blue eyes with her tiny palms before dousing her head with water.

After she's dried and dressed she runs into the kitchen barefoot and immediately flings herself onto Peeta, gripping his prosthetic leg. "Daddy, look how clean I am!"

He chuckles as he finishes wiping the counter off before scooping her up. "Imagine how clean you could be every day if Mommy didn't take you to the woods to play in the dirt?"

He's teasing me and I know it, but I still shoot him a dirty look. "She gets dirtier in Daddy's kitchen than the woods."

"Dirty? From baking?" He directs the questions towards the three-year-old in his arms. "No!"

Indigo gives him a shy smile before a loud giggle escapes and nodding her head, affirming his point. "See," he points out, gesturing to her grinning face.

"Daddy is the bad influence around here," I say as I pull her from his arms.

"Only because Mommy corrupted me," he says back as he moves to grab the broom, the last step in his clean up routine before the rest of our guests arrive.

He leans around me and Indigo to grab the cleaning device, before not so subtly sneaking a kiss on his way back. I just look to our daughter and, indicating to her father with my chin, wrinkle my nose dramatically, causing her to laugh more.

"Mommy's mad at you," she informs him, finding this very humorous.

"Hmm, is she?" Peeta asks, as if he's shocked by the news.

"Yes," I affirm. "For implying I dirty my child, when it's you who covers her in flour and cake batter every other day."

"Oh, well, Indy, whatever will we do to gain Mommy's forgiveness?" He isn't gaining any sort of forgiveness from me by using her annoying nickname. Still he pretends not to notice my narrowing eyes, as if after eighteen years he doesn't know me like the back of his hand.

"Bake her somting!" She exclaims, clapping and excited again. She's always excited. I'm not even sure if she's mine some days with how enthusiastic this little human can be.

"Hmm, I could," he agrees, but then dramatically he gazes around the kitchen, as if seeing it for the first time. "You know what though? I just cleaned it all up in here. So I guess I can't bake Mommy something. I guess I'll have to try other methods."

As if he planned it the entire time—which, without a doubt, he did—Peeta leans in gently and starts pressing kisses to my skin, right where my jaw meets my neck. I resist at first and so his lips move upwards, towards my forehead, towards my nose and then my chin.

"Okay," I relent, laughing in spite of myself, batting him away. "Okay, you're forgiven." I reward him with a smile as he moves his lips from peppering my face to my mouth itself. He only gives me a chaste kiss, since I'm holding his daughter, but it's enough to make my stomach flip like it did on the beach, when we were seventeen.

We were also in a death match, neither of us intending to live through the following day, but that fact somehow has separated itself in the almost twenty years since the war from the moment between me and Peeta, and for that I'm grateful. I'm grateful for my mind compartmentalizing itself, for the horrors witnessed and forever printed inside my head somehow shifting away from specific moments in the games, moments I can now look back on more fondly than when I was seventeen.

I look at Peeta again then, as he gives me a sweet smile and turns away to start sweeping the floor, to rid it of the thick layer of flour split while baking, and I'm suddenly intensely grateful for the last eighteen years. I'm suddenly intensely grateful for the almost two decades he's given me, that had been the best years of my life.

Of course, the little squirming creature in my arms have only made the years better, and I kiss her face gently, murmuring softly, "Let me braid your hair," against her little pink cheek.

She obediently sits in front of me and starts humming as I comb the knots from the long dark locks she inherited from me. "What're you singing?" I ask, smiling, already knowing what song she's trying to hum.

"Bloo sky," she replies simply, before going back to humming again to herself. I smirk softly, waiting for her to ask me to take over.

And, of course, with the predictability of a three-year-old, Indigo turns around abruptly after a long moment of silence with a frazzled look overtaking her big blue eyes. "Mommy?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Can you sing bloo sky? I can't 'member all the words."

My smirk turns to a full on smile now, as I begin to twist her now soft and silky hair into a braid. "Don't let your mind be troubled, dear. Don't you get lost in fear. For through all the storm clouds and darkest days, I promise I will be here."

Indigo beams at me, tipping her head back to watch me sing before her own little voice, lisp and wrong words and all—though, I have inexpressible pride that her melody is perfectly on pitch—joins in with me.

"And a blue sky will come shining through. And a blue sky just for me and you," I sing as she accidentally says too instead of through. "Through all the storm clouds and darkest days, there's a blue sky for just me and for you," we finish.

"And for Daddy," Indigo suddenly asserts, like she forgot him until now.

I laugh gently. "Yes, but that won't fit the rhyme."

"What's a rhyme?"

"Nevermind, Indigo." I can barely hold back a chuckle as I finish her braid, tying it with the band around my wrist. Since she grew hair long enough to get caught on things, I've always made a special point in carrying extra hair ties for her, everywhere we go.

"Sweetheart, am I expected to go grab our guests in my car? Because I don't have enough room so someone's going to have to hang onto the bumper-"

"Don't worry, Haymitch," I cut off, laughing again, at the image of him attempting to gather up our blended family and friends in what he refers to as a car. "And I didn't miss you saying our guests," I add, turning away from my child to give him a look.

"I helped the boy clean the kitchen, I get to take ownership over the guests as well."

"Grandpuh?" Indigo's little voice peeps. "I wanna go for a ride before Finn gets here."

"Finn?" Haymitch picks. "Every person you've ever met is coming over today and it's Finn Odair you're excited to see?"

But Indigo adores—and I mean, adores—Finn and he's always been so good with her, more patient than any typical teenager is expected to be, and his arrival is all she's really thinking about.

"Haymitch, stop giving my daughter crap and take her for a ride in town," Peeta calls from the kitchen, evidently by the clanging noise, putting away the last of the dishes. "Hurry up too, I don't want her out there when the crowd comes in."

We never allow Indigo out into town during the busy times a day. During the times when the crowds, even here in the once decimated Twelve, grow too large for either Peeta or my liking. Too many opportunities for a stranger to grab her, too many chances for her to get lost, too many things could go wrong. Too many dangers exist for a three-year-old, even in this world that is miles better than the one we used to know.

Peeta and I do our best to put the past behind us, but we both still have times when the memories of war and bloodshed and cruelty creep in, and it's on those days all I can imagine is the world shifting again, some sort of disorder or disarray ruining the peace that will always feel foreign to me. It's on those days all I can see is the games coming back, is someone taking Indigo from me, putting her through what no child should have to endure, her sweet, little innocence being ripped away violently. Someone taking me or Peeta from her, her pure heart being hardened, the blue eyes that sometimes I swear I could see my sister in turning ice cold.

It's on those days I shut and lock the doors, I refuse to open the blinds, I refuse to let my daughter out of my sight. It's those days I beg Peeta not to run to the bakery, to just stay with us, to just not go where I can't see either of them.

It's on those days I plan what I will do if the world does fall to its knees again, if my worst fears when even thinking of the abstract idea of having a child come to life. I never tell anyone of these thoughts, but on the days Peeta has a flashback or can't sleep, on the days when he feels like he’s still seventeen, locked inside Snow's mansion, a tortured shadow of the wonderful boy with the golden heart, on the days he paints horrific images he'll never let our daughter see, I know he makes his own plan too.

As always, Indigo breaks me out of my thoughts as they run dark, jumping up excitedly, ready to go for a ride in Haymitch's car. It's actually more resemblant of a cart, with just room for three people if you squeeze, and no doors in sight. But she loves it and it makes her happy and after everything else, I know I can trust Haymitch with my child.

I fix her little green overall dress, straightening her dandelion patterned shirt underneath. "Don't let Haymitch get your dirty," I instruct very clearly.

"Yes, Mommy."

"And don't mess up your hair."

"Yes, Mommy."

"And don't be too long."

"Yes, Mommy."

"And don't talk to strangers."

"Okay, can I go already?"

Both Haymitch and Peeta laugh at me and it takes all my restraint not to say something profane in front of Indigo.

As soon as they leave, I get to work, helping Peeta straighten up the house before our guests arrive.

As I'm finishing fluffing and re-arranging the pillows, two warm hands come into contact with my waist. "Excuse me, sir, I'm working right now."

Peeta's arms wrap entirely around me now, his lips on my neck. "Don't worry, I know the boss. She'll... understand."

"Will she?" I cock an eyebrow at him teasingly.

He nods confidently. "She rather enjoys activities such as these."

I'm about to coyly ask what activities he's implying when his lips trail up further, finding residence closer and closer to my mouth.

His lips have just contacted mine when I whisper breathlessly, unable to stop myself, "the second our daughter leaves, you just can't help yourself."

His kiss turns to a laugh. "She does tend to take up a lot of the bed space. We have to catch these opportunities for us when we can."

I chuckle in response, because it's true. As much as we both love our child—more than words could ever say—lately, her fear of sleeping in her room down the hall has meant we've gained a new, invasive bedmate.

"That we do," I agree, smirking now as I fiddle with his sky blue collar that matched his eyes. "I see had a wardrobe change."

"Mhmm. Thought I would look nice for Yuleday."

"Is there someone special you're expecting to see? Someone you want to dress up for?" I tease, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my lips to the center of his chest, right at my eye level.

"There is, actually," he affirms slyly. "Two people, in fact. Both women. One a little smaller than the other. Both have dark hair and loud voices—"

"Excuse you?"

"Both have me wrapped entirely around their fingers," he adds, full on smiling now.

"Good save," I retort, about to turn away when I feel his hands grip the underside of my thighs and hoist me up against him.

I pretzel myself around his body, unable to help the girlish noise of surprise that slips out as he holds me in his arms. "We only have maybe ten minutes until Indigo and Granpuh," he imitates his three-year-old, but his nose teasingly presses against mine and his voice is very suggestive, "come back. We should... make the most of it... before we have to entertain guests all day."

I return the glint his eyes, my desires in line with his. Our lips meet halfway in the minimal space still remaining between us, and we waste no time before our tongues begin to intertwine, twirl and gently twist.

I feel his hand sliding up my ratty, torn shirt, just barely crossing over my stomach to my ribs when a knock at the door suddenly catches us off-guard.

"Haymitch isn't usually back this fast," I say as Peeta—very reluctantly—sets me down.

But as soon as the words slip from my lips, a thousand thoughts race through my mind.

What if Haymitch had lost Indigo somehow, in the crowd that always grows large on Yuleday? What if someone took my baby? What if she's scared and can't find me and I don't even know it yet because I let an old drunk man take her out of my sight? What if she fell out of Haymitch's cart and smacked her head on the town's icy cobblestones? What if the car spun out and hit a tree and now one of our neighbors is coming to tell us the grave news?

I'm holding my breath, my heart suddenly beating a million miles a second, as my husband pulls open the door.

Behind the door is not Haymitch nor a random member of our community. It's Delly. Delly Cartwright-Bagley and her husband and three children in tow.

A half hour early.

I can't help the reaction that slips from my lips, the stress of my fears overpowering my filter. "Would it have killed you to show up on time?"

Peeta shoots me a look but I ignore him. Delly however is unfazed by my irritation. As is her husband, Kanon.

"Happy Yuleday, Katniss!" Delly beams and pushes her plate of frosted cookies into Peeta's hands to hug me tightly. "And we only showed up early because your husband invited us to," she adds, talking too loudly into my ear.

My eyes narrow at Peeta but he's clearly just as unhappy with himself, since now our plans have been interrupted.

"I said they could come early and help," Peeta defends slightly, just as Delly's husband notices the button I must have unknowingly undid.

"Mmm, well you two could go upstairs while we finish getting everything ready for the rest of the guests," Kanon teases, ruffling Peeta's conspicuously tousled hair as he leads the three young ones inside from the cold.

Delly pulls back from me then and leads her eldest, Evelyn Malia Bagley—but, much like with Indigofera, is known solely by Evie—to the kitchen, with a high level of familiarity.

The confidence inside my house is only natural at this point, considering the relationship with our family and Delly's has grown much closer than I ever could have anticipated.

Delly is Peeta's childhood best friend, and therefore after the war she was one of the biggest supporters and greatest confidants to him in his darkest hours. The times I couldn't do anything, because I was the source of his fear, of his anger or his pain. 

Or rather, Snow made him believe I was.

Delly's presence in Peeta's life was far more helpful than any over the phone therapist could have ever been, and for that I am eternally grateful. However, I never expected her to be a close friend to me as well.

Begrudgingly on my part some days, but it was fact. If I ever needed anything, if I was having a hard time, if I ever wanted to talk with someone besides Peeta—which is rare but happens every so often—I'm still shocked to realize Delly Cartwright-Bagley is one of the first people I'll turn to. I’m still shocked to realize the girl who once had baby fat and yellow hair, who sat two rows ahead of me in school and chewed her bubblegum obnoxiously loud, is one of my closest companions. 

She's surprisingly more understanding and wise underneath her overly perky personality and boisterously loud voice.

And, of course, the man she married also helps the equation. Kanon is a kind, tall man, a few years older than the rest of us. He's rather quiet but will poke a joke at someone he knows well enough. He's hardworking and loyal and intuitive.

He's the exact opposite of Delly, which sounds like it should be a recipe for disaster but in reality has proven to be a wonderful occurrence in everyone's life.

After all, we all let out a sigh of relief when she could quit working at the medicine factory.

For all of Delly's good qualities—and there are a great many—she's not exactly an ideal factory worker. Or manual laborer. Or cleaning personnel.

When Delly took over operating the counter at Kanon's Candy Store, which unlike the bakery, is more of a novelty than an essential, everything sort of fell into place.

"Aunt Katty!" I hear a small voice shriek, pushing her older brother out of the way to sprint into my arms.

I barely have time to catch little Kendall, Delly's youngest child before she’s flung herself onto me with a force only her mother could have matched.

"Hi, Sweetie," I all but coo, disgusting even myself a bit.

I hug her almost as tightly as she hugs me, and I intentionally ignore Peeta's smirk in my direction.

Okay, so I'm not the most subtle about having a favorite out of Delly's litter. But Kendall is only three months different in age than my Indigo, so I have the excuse of spending the most time with the little wild, rambuctious thing.

Although my child is by far the ringleader in their friendship. A fact I try not to think of too often, as I could easily imagine a multitude of things Indigofera could get into if I don't keep a close eye on her.

"Where's Indy?" Kendall asks as I cart her to the kitchen. She's the only one I let that nickname slide with.

"She went for a ride with Haymitch."

Speaking of my child only increases my anxiety for her whereabouts. I suddenly regret letting my old mentor take her at all, as my gut continues to constrict painfully, thinking of every scenario in which she could be taken away from me. Forever.

My only job, the only one I truly cannot live with the idea of failing, is keeping my daughter safe.

I failed once before to protect someone I loved more than my own life. Twice, I correct myself, looking at Peeta, who's now guiding five year old Rhys by hand to the kitchen.

I cannot fail Indigofera, like I failed both Prim and Peeta.

Delly senses the tension building inside of me as I come to stand beside her, Kendall still on my hip. "Haymitch would never let Indigo get hurt," she says without preamble. To her credit though, she says it quieter than her typical range of volume. "C'mon. It's his granddaughter."

The four of us laugh, the fact that a little person with giant blue eyes and a constant pair of messy braids is what entirely melted Haymitch Albernathy's heart still laughable three years later.

I let Kendall down and watch as she and her siblings begin to set the table dutifully, with more order and structure than I had at their age.

I feel the everlasting anxiety that's making a permanent home inside my gut suddenly release, like a knife being pulled out of a stab wound, as Indigo's voice fills the room.

"Mommy!" She yells, racing into the kitchen as fast as her little legs can carry her. "Look at what Gamma Sae gave me," she exclaims, holding up a stuffed bear for me to see.

I don't acknowledge the toy or her hair that's coming out of the braid I only just did, or even the grass stain on her dandelion patterned shirt. I just yank her up into my arms and squeeze her tight.

I should be ashamed of myself, that my three-year-old knows when I've worried or been in distress over her, but all I am is awed when she lays her little head on my shoulder and whispers softly, "I'm okay, Mommy. Granpuh wouldn't let anything hurt me."

There is an awkward pause in the room for a moment, only noticeable to the adults. I don't know if it's because they understand my anxiety—Peeta, at least, typically does—or if it's because they think I'm insane, but no one speaks until Indigo shuffles herself downwards and immediately tackles Kendall, excitedly showing her the stuffed animal Greasy Sae gave her.

Delly, as per usual, breaks the silence. "You know, if you two ever want to finish the... activity you were engaged in when we showed up, I will gladly take care of Indigo for an afternoon."

I roll my eyes, long past the point where Delly could make me blush with her innuendos. "I'll keep that in mind."

Peeta is chuckling as he finishes drying off a now clean cooking bowl. "You're a more appealing babysitter than Haymitch," he says, his eyes falling on the older man, who's standing with the kids now, not-so-subtly keeping closer to Indigo, as he isn't too fond of most children in general.

"You sure we wouldn't be ruining your fun?" I tease now, looking at Kanon, who's arranging the cookies they brought onto a different plate.

"Katniss, we have three kids," Delly all but deadpans. A rarity for her. "All under eight years old. One more won't make a difference."

Kanon speaks up then as me and Peeta snicker. "We also learned to be faster," he adds slyly, looking directly at me. "The joy of having a few kids. Makes you a better multi-tasker."

"I so miss when you used to be quiet," I say in a monotone as the doorbell, that no one uses, unexpectedly rings.

"Peeta, how many people did you invite early?" I snap.

He holds up his hands defensively. "No one else, I swear."

"Sure."

But when I open the door, revealing my mother, Annie and Finn, I know he's got to be telling the truth. He wouldn't have invited my mother early for anything. The tension that existed years ago is all but gone—especially since Indigo's birth, the event that drew us closer than we had been since I was a child—but still, Peeta remains cautious. When it comes to my mother, he leaves her visitation completely up to me.

Her husband, Rod Marin, doesn't attend our celebration however. I don't know if it's the chilly reception he may or may not receive from me, or if it's the fact that my mom doesn't want to bring Rod's daughters with them, but either way, she has attended our home alone for the last five years and, as selfish as that may be, I prefer it this way.

Still, I greet her warmly. "Hi, Mom," I say as she hugs me tightly.

"Sorry we're a little early, honey," she professes as she steps into the house that was once her home too.

"That's fine," I assure, even though I'm not dressed or ready yet.

Annie is next and she instantly throws her arms around my neck. "I missed you," she murmurs in the sweet, gentle way she's always had since I met her in District Thirteen.

"We missed you too," Peeta calls from around the corner as he comes into our eyesight, holding a very excited Indigo in his arms.

"Finn!" She screams as she all but launches herself away from Peeta and into the eighteen year old's arms.

"Hi!" He exclaims as he catches her and swings her upwards, returning the overzealous squeeze she's giving his neck. "How's my best girl?"

"She's gweat!" Indigo beams and my heart melts a little, watching her with the boy who looks so much like his father. The boy who's always been such a joy in life. The boy who saved his mother eighteen years ago, who has been nothing but respectful and kind and funny to me and Peeta, who has shown incredible maturity at such a young age.

Then again, at his age I had already been through two games and a war. Peeta had already been hijacked and fought his way back. I'd already lost my little sister. Me and Peeta had our toasting at only a year older, at nineteen. Maybe eighteen isn't a young as it seems to me now, looking at youthful Finn, who I watched learn to walk and talk and swim and tie a knot.

Or maybe I was just as young when all that tragedy occurred. Maybe I just felt older because of the circumstances in which I was born, because of the world in which we lived.

I shake my head slightly, trying to shake the bad thoughts away.

"Indy, guess what?" Finn prompts enthusiastically—but not without shooting me a teasing glance, knowing my distain for her nickname.

"What?"

"I brought something."

"What?"

Both Peeta's and my curiosity has been peaked now, just as much as our child's. Annie's hesitant glance, that looks both hopeful and apprehensive, only fuels my confusion more.

"Well, there's a new tradition in some of the other districts that I think you'd find fun," he explains, but his eyes flicker to me and I raise an eyebrow, wondering what he could be suggesting. "You see you cut down a tree—or sometimes people in One or Two buy a plastic tree—and then you bring it home and decorate it."

Indigo claps her hands together, too excited and too precious for me to disappoint her. "I want to do it!" She yells, with an exuberance only a three-year-old could possess. "Kenny, we're gonna decorate a tee!"

I hear a variant of what being exclaimed in the other room, where my mother, Haymitch and the Bagley's still are.

"Where do we buy decorations?" My child asks, abruptly serious, the details of this tradition becoming clearer in her little mind.

"Indy," Finn quickly tries to corral. "I brought decorations with me, but we need a tree and..." He hesitates, looking at me now.

"And?" She prompts, confused.

"We have to ask your momma if it's alright to get one. Since it's her house we'll be doing this in." He winks at me, then turns his eyes pleading, half mocking me.

Indigo doesn't have to even feign the look, she naturally inherited that sweet, wide eyed, begging glint. Either from Prim or Peeta—probably both—and I'm powerless against it.

"Fine," I relent dramatically. Indigo rewards me by jumping from Finn's arms to mine and kicking her little chubby legs excitedly. "But not until after dinner," I condition.

"We should probably go get the tree now though?" Peeta suddenly speaks up, looking at the clock on the wall. "Before it gets dark?"

I shoot him a glare over Indigo's head. "It won't get dark for hours. And why do you seem not surprised by this?"

Peeta shrugs too innocently and when Annie giggles and nudges his shoulder, I realize they had been conspiring behind my back.

"Daddy is definitely the bad influence around here, Indigofera," I declare, as my husband walks closer to us, leans down and kisses my hair.

"We love you," he says teasingly, against my crown. "Even if you are a stick in the mud sometimes."

Before I can respond, likely with a snappy comment, our daughter pops her head off my shoulder. "Daddy, I want to pick out the tee."

Of course she does. That girl has been in charge of us since the day she was born.

"Okay, Bean. Ask your mother if it's alright," he tells her, but it's just a formality at this point, as to not ruffle me further. She's his kid too, he can take her to get a tree if he wants.

"Mommy, can I-"

"Yes," I say exasperatedly, giving Peeta a look as I hand him Indigo.

"Don't worry, Sweetheart," he whispers, leaning down and touching his nose to mine. "I'll take care of our girl."

"I know," I sigh, because I do know that. I've never not trusted him with our child. Even if I prefer to keep them both here with me. Even if I'd have preferred to keep her inside of me, where I knew I could protect her always.

I can't keep the smile off my face though when he pecks my lips unexpectedly and then my nose. "We won't be long."

"Better not be," I call as he grabs their coats and carries my little girl out the door, following behind Finn and Kanon and the Bagley kids. "Or else I'm eating without you."

"Same here," Delly calls from the kitchen, though they probably can't hear her.

"Go change," Annie suggests, touching my messy braid gently. "I'll go help Delly and your mom."

I shoot her a grateful smile and make my way upstairs. In the years since the war both Annie and Johanna have remained, shockingly—maybe only to me—constants in mine and Peeta's lives. They both returned to their home districts, but through visits and telegraphs and phone calls, even just for Jo to call me an idiot, they both became a part of a new blended family I didn't even know was being created.

Though I am grateful now for it. Beyond words. As neither me nor Peeta can offer Indigo any sort of extended family, her having Johanna, Delly, Annie and their families somehow fills the space left empty from the loss the war gave us.

As if on cue, just as I'm thinking of her, I hear a loud rapt on the bathroom door and know Johanna has arrived.

"Come in," I yell as I pull on a dark green—which for some reason is an acceptable color on Yuleday—sweater and push a brush through my hair viciously. I'm just moving on to rebraiding it simply when Jo enters.

"Hello, Brainless," her voice rings out as she steps into the bathroom.

"I'm shocked you knocked."

"I didn't wanna see you indecently."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"Probably won't be the last."

We both let out a laugh and—pretending to be at least a little begrudgingly about it—embrace for a moment.

"Missed your stupidity these last couple of months," she murmurs as she pulls back.

"My stupidity? You once almost shot an arrow at Haymitch."

"You thought that was an accident?"

I can't help but snort as I turn back to the mirror and finish up my braid. "How's Christopher?" I ask, my tone a little more serious.

But she just shrugs, her gaze focusing now on Indigo's tiny comb. The one with the diamonds that Effie sent and Peeta insisted we keep.

Christopher is the man Jo, almost against her will, fell for almost two years ago. She refuses to commit to him entirely, especially since he has a son not much older than Indigo and that prospect alone terrifies her, but when Peeta visited her last year he told me that Christopher and his son, David, without a doubt live in that house with her.

"I can't believe you keep stuff from Effie Trinket?" Jo segues gracelessly. "Especially for a three-year-old."

"Blame Indigo's father. Both for her love of fancy things and his compliance in letting her have them."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, because you make sure she only gets the bare necessities."

"Okay, who's side are you on?"

"The one who makes the dinner around here."

"I hunt it."

"He stuffs it and bakes it."

"This feels personal. Is this because I didn't save you any pumpkin cake or sweet nut bread from Harvest Dinner?"

"Now that you mention it-"

Johanna is abruptly cut off by the sound of a yelp. Only, instead of the sound being a distress call or a bone chilling cry, it's one of excitement.

"Johanna Mason, get down here!" Annie yells, way too excited to be beckoning Jo of all people.

She rolls her eyes—a little too good-naturedly to be as annoyed as she'd like for me to believe—before exiting the bathroom and heading down to greet Annie at the bottom of the staircase.

I chuckle to myself, marveling at their odd friendship, before brushing my teeth and washing my face and heading down to join them as well.

I almost run headfirst into my husband as I walk by the front door. "That was quick," I note breathlessly as Peeta catches me by the waist, burying his now chilly face into my neck. Probably more for warmth than romance.

"Hmm, Indy-Indigo," he corrects himself humorously. "She is very decisive. Saw the tree she wanted and looked at no second options."

I wrap my arms around his neck and peer over his shoulder. "And where is the little decisive thing now?"

"Having a snowball fight with Finn and Kendall in the snow. You'll be happy to know your daughter is winning."

I roll my eyes. "Of course she is. Well, I guess we better start the fire to warm her up when she's done."

"Hypothermia would be a bummer on Yuleday," he agrees cheekily.

"For us more than her."

"Pretty much."

Inside the living room, Kanon and Haymitch—but mostly Kanon—are finishing setting up a newly trimmed tree, right by the back door.

"Sweetheart, it's your dream," Haymitch taunts. "Having part of the woods in your house."

"Did he knock a few back on the way to grab a tree?" I ask Peeta quietly, as he wraps his arms around my waist from behind.

"Probably. I was busy watching the four little ones, I didn't have time to monitor an old man too."

"Should have put Finn on Haymitch watch."

"You know, I can hear you," our old mentor barks as Kanon finishes putting up the tree.

"Indigo!" I hear my mother exclaim, as the front door opens again.

I spin around in time to see a little person, shorter than all the other kids, practically dance her way into the house. "Gamma!"

"Hey," I halt her, pulling away from Peeta. "Let's not track snow into the house, baby."

Delly and Annie both help dust off the other three while I pull Indigo's scarf, boots, hat, gloves and coat off and toss them all aside carelessly. Much to Peeta's dismay, as he sees the snow fly all over the entryway.

"Let's not track snow into the house, baby," he imitates.

"Shut up."

As soon as she's free from the white frozen slush, she launches herself towards my mother. "Hi!"

"Hi, sweet girl! How'd you like playing in the snow?"

"It was fweezing. But I beat Finn and Kenny at our snowball fight so it was worth it." She smiles up at my mother proudly and for a moment, Indigo looks exactly like Peeta and I am amazed at that fact somehow. Considering, at first glance, she's all me besides the eyes.

Except sometimes she looks at me and I see my sister at her age, so deeply ingrained in her eyes, in her mannerisms, in her voice, that I'm taken back to being child again myself.

"You're a little messy," my mother also notes, pushing back the hair that has fallen from her braid.

"Well I like to play so, things happen." Her little shrug is one of the most endearing things about her.

"Your mother also loved to get messy."

I furrow my brows. "I was always very clean, Mom."

"Oh I doubt that," Peeta disagrees and has the audacity to laugh, standing right beside me now. "You aren't even very clean now."

I turn to him, pressing my face close to his, trying to look threatening as I push my nose against his. "I will get you."

"Oh, please do," he eggs on, his smile turning into a grin.

"I have a bow, I could literally-"

"Is dinner almost ready yet?" Rhys, Delly's only son, complains.

Chuckling slightly, I pull my face away from a still smirking Peeta. Thankfully, no one else noticed our exchange, aside from my mother, who's too polite to do more than smile.

"Yeah, Rhys, dinner's all ready," Peeta says, putting his hand on the back of the little boy's head and guiding him to the table.

Dinner is only slightly chaotic. Four kids under eight-years-old, a teenager who can match Haymitch's humor effortlessly, Jo and Peeta and I swinging insults back and forth like compliments and then Annie, who's quiet and blissful spirit can't be tempered for anything in this world on holidays, and my mother, who feigns oblivious to the chaos surrounding her, all adds up to an interesting affair. Add in the stupid stray cat my daughter adores meowing at the back door and it's practically a circus.

But it's a circus I have found myself loving, more and more, since Indigo joined us. Since I somehow made the most beautiful and intelligent and spirited human being, somehow the dreary outlook I used to hold on this new post-war holiday has turned to excitement.

Maybe it's the fact that eighteen years have passed since the war that stole my sister from me. Or maybe it's that I'm looking forward to who's here now, who's experiencing this holiday with me, who I get to share this day with and witness their enthusiasm.

My daughter.

I never thought, in a million years, I'd have a child of my own. I never thought once that she'd come to exist, that I'd feel safe enough or strong enough or brave enough, to bear bringing something to delicate, something so wonderful and precious and breakable, into this world.

But she has lit up my life in ways I didn't even imagine possible. I thought I was happy, blissfully happy most days, with Peeta. And I was. But that was before I saw what life was like with Indigo and now I can't even picture how miserable and downcast this day would be without her.

As the sky begins to darken outside and Peeta stands up to light candles along the windowsills while Kanon adds logs to the fireplace, my child suddenly starts squirming in her seat. "Can I decorate the tree now?" She asks as I wipe her face with a cloth napkin.

"In a minute, Bean."

"I want to now!" She whines as I scrub the leftover food that didn't make her mouth off her cheek.

"Indigofera," Peeta says in a warning tone.

"I wanna decorate the tree right now," she says in a slightly quieter voice.

"Okay," I murmur, smiling slightly as I drop my hand from her face and let her go. "Go decorate, Sweetie."

With my consent, she practically flies out of her chair and—nearly knocking Evie over—pushes her way to the bag of ornaments Finn brought from Four.

"She didn't get a nap today," I explain to Johanna and my mother, who watched the almost tantrum unfold.

"You were the same," my mother replies and then chuckles. I toss her a look, before I spot Finn lifting Indigo up to place a trident high upon the tree.

My eyes aren't perfect but from where I'm sitting I can make out the name Finnick Odair gracefully carved underneath and my gaze falls on Annie.

She offers me a knowing smile and shrugs. "He wanted to handmake the ornaments himself. Meaningful ones you can't just buy. I wasn't going to discourage him."

I nod, a feeling of pride for some strange reason flooding me. I didn't raise Finn. The indefinite length of my sentence to Twelve was never revisited and, in truth, I had little reason to care enough to fight it. But it did mean I wasn't able to make it to Four, to see my mom or Annie and Finn at my own whim.

But Annie has always made a point to come here, every so often since the war ended. She's written letters and called and sent photos, consistently, for so many years that I've lost track. They were both here the day after I had Indigo. They've never missed any of our birthdays. And I've watched that boy, with his father's tan skin, bronze hair and sea green eyes grow into a man who'd make Finnick proud.

And it's nearly impossible for me not to feel so sort of pride in him as well. If for nothing else, the way he treats my daughter. Always patient, always kind, always ready to play.

"Where'd he get this idea?" I ask, if for no other reason, just to change the subject before I get visibly sentimental. "To decorate a tree, I mean."

Annie's expression shifts and changes slightly. "Coral McGonigill."

Johanna's ears almost noticeably perk up. "Is she is his new flavor of the month?"

"Well, she's lasted for several months," Annie corrects, but doesn't seem too enthusiastic of this girl.

"Do you like her?" I ask, my brow furrowing. I don't even want to imagine my child dating. The idea of her spending time alone, with anyone I don't personally know already drives me nearly to the brink of insanity, but to add in teenage impulses and hormones? My skin is crawling at the thought and I feel a wave of nausea come over me suddenly.

Before Annie can answer though, Haymitch is cutting into the conversation.

"Look at you guys," I hear him guffaw over my shoulder. "Gossiping like old ladies."

Jo throws her fork in his direction, barely missing her target. His left eye and cheek. "Hey, hey, hey," Haymitch bellows now. "Not in front of the children."

"I agree with Haymitch," Delly calls from behind the tree, where she's helping Kendall hang up a pink squirrel ornament.

"Of course you do," Johanna mumbles, loud enough only I can hear, and I have to repress a laugh.

All levity though slips away from my features as I watch Finn hand my child a new ornament. I feel Annie's eyes on me, apprehensive and a little fearful.

The ornament is an angel. It has blonde hair and blue eyes and my sister's exact nose and mouth. She's wearing a skirt and blouse, both pure white, to perfectly match the halo floating above her head. But the skirt is untucked in the back, giving her a duck tail, and it's this fact that registers in my brain. It's this fact that makes me realize that the ornament is Prim, even before I read the name sprawled across the bottom.

Peeta's staring at me now too, but it's my mother that grasps my hand. Our eyes barely meet for a second but we both understand what the other one is thinking.

She should be here. She should be helping decorate the tree. She should be playing with my daughter, who she'd surely love.

But she isn't. Because someone I trusted may or may not have built bombs that killed her. Because a vindictive woman thought that killing her and dozens of other children was the only way to win. Because I was too stupid for too long and didn't see what the real plan was, even as it sat right under my nose.

But she can be here now. If there's anything I learned from Indigo, it's that someone can exist, even in a small part, inside another person. It's that life doesn't have to end at death, as long as someone is around to remember them.

"That's a beautiful ornament, Finn," I say, as evenly and as kindly as I can.

He takes my other hand, his eyes sweet and gentle. "I made it for you. I thought..."

I nod, even though he doesn't finish his sentence. "I know. Thank you."

My mom keeps hold of my palm underneath the table for minutes after everyone else has moved, and even with the issues that still lie between us, I give her fingers a squeeze. Because she's the only one who really understands my grief.

I watch on as the kids decorate the entire tree, top to bottom, with shaped ornaments, ranging from plants to flower to boats to berries to pastries. And a loaf of bread, which Peeta finds particularly funny.

At the end though, all that's left is a large star, clearly meant to sit at the top of the tree. "What is this?" Evie asks Delly, turning it over in her hand.

"That goes on top of the tree," Annie explains, gesturing to the point of the pine near the ceiling.

"How do we get up there?" Rhys asks, stealing the star from his sister, his little eyes confused. "Daddy isn't even that tall."

"Someone's gotta lift us up to the top," Kendall states, munching on something I hope came from her dinner plate and not the floor.

"My daddy can lift me up there!" Indigo suddenly exclaims and reaches her grabby little hands for the star.

Rhys, however, jerks it out of reach automatically. "Why do you get to do it?"

"It's her house," Delly chides her son sternly.

"And she's the youngest, Rhys," Evie says, in a tone that clearly imitates her mother. "Give her the star."

He does so reluctantly and I'm glad that moment passed by quickly, before I had the chance to tell Rhys—as much as I care for him, and I do, deeply—that he better give my kid her star.

I don't even care that this isn't my tradition to start with. My house, my rules. My kid puts the star on the tree, end of story.

"Daddy!" Indigo squeals as Peeta scoops her up in his waiting arms. "Lift me," she commands, holding the large tree-topper with both hands.

Kanon and Haymitch start directing her, as her little eyes can't see to the top, even with Peeta lifting her as high as humanly possible. But when she gets it into place, she grows so excited that her limbs start flailing.

"Look, Daddy! I did that!" She says once he has her on his hip again, pointing to the star she just placed.

"I saw," he enthuses, brushing back the long, dark hair that's almost entirely out of her braid. "You did good!"

And if I thought my heart was melting before, with Finn and Indigo, it explodes when Indigo puts her tiny hands on Peeta's face and turns him towards her. "I love you, Daddy."

His eyes are awed and grateful, as this was all he wanted for years. For years upon years, he remained patient and understanding when I said I wasn't able to give him a child. When I explained all my reasons to why I didn't want a family. He always was respectful of my wishes and of my feelings.

But I saw it in his bright blue eyes, the ones he passed down to our daughter. He wanted a child so badly. He wanted this, this love that Indigo so easily has to offer, that we effortlessly shower her in.

It took me fifteen years to realize that perhaps I wanted it too. Perhaps my fear was overshadowing me from what I truly wanted. Perhaps it was better to have a child and do everything to keep her safe, to fret and worry in addition to love and adore her, rather than to never know that kind of love at all.

"I love you too, Indigo Sky," he murmurs back softly, before she leans in and kisses him.

I feel my mom squeeze my hand again and I know it's not out of sorrow this time, but out of joy. Joy that her child was able to have a family full of so much love. A family so similar to the one she had decades ago.

I squeeze her hand back, feeling horrific now for how angry I was with her for so long. I don't know who I'd be or what I'd do if someone took Peeta or Indigo from me.

"I think Mommy needs to admire the tree," Peeta says, eyeing me conspicuously.

I stand up, looking at the decorations admiringly. Of course, this tree was mainly decorated by young children, so the majority of ornaments gravitate towards the bottom or are clumped into one place, but still, I tell Indigo how pretty it looks and how good of a job she did.

My eye still catches on the Primrose Everdeen angel, hanging right in the center of the tree, and I have to force myself to refrain from tracing the face on it. The details are even more impressive up close and I wonder if Finn has become an artist or if his girlfriend is the talented one.

Just as I'm about to say something, anything really, to take my mind off my deceased sister, a meaty smell fills the air and my stomach lurches without warning.

I propel myself towards the kitchen sink and lose majority of what I just consumed at dinner.

Behind me, I hear a small commotion. Peeta telling Indigo to go to Finn, Delly and Kanon keeping their kids back, Annie and Johanna saying something to Haymitch.

My mom's hand comes in contact with my cheek, feeling my face and pushing the hair that fell from my braid back behind my shoulder. "What happened?"

As I'm about to answer, Peeta comes up to stand on my other side, one hand subtly turning on the water to flush out the sink, while the other rubs my back soothingly.

"I don't know," I croak, as puking always makes my throat raw. "I just smelled something like meat-"

"Told you it was Haymitch's fault," Jo cuts in, clearly speaking to Annie.

"I only asked if this bird was still good," the old, paunchy man defends himself, holding up some game I shot a while back.

"Well, if it makes Katniss throw up just by smelling it, I'd say no," Finn says.

"You don't have a fever," my mother notes, but her eyes are still confused. Though, I will say, not as worried as I thought they might be and for that I'm glad. The last thing I wish to do is ruin everyone's holiday, especially when I've only just started to enjoy this festivity in the last few years.

"I'm fine," I insist, pulling away from both my mother and my husband and wiping my mouth on a cloth quickly. "Seriously, I'm fine."

"Okay, but still sit down," I hear Delly say and I roll my eyes but do so anyways. Because I'm genuinely tired, not because anyone told me to.

"I'm fine, Indigo," I promise when I spot my daughter's scared eyes, still being held in Finn's arms. "I'm just tired."

Peeta follows me to the couch and, even though I wish to refuse out of embarrassment, when he offers me a fizzy water and starts subtly massaging my back, I can't help but lean my head into his chest gratefully.

I still fight the urge to fall asleep right there though. I still conjure up as much willpower as I can to stay alert, to watch Indigo and Kendall play with their stuffed toys, to listen to Finn and Haymitch shoot smart remarks back and forth, to listen to Annie and Jo catch up or my mother and Delly share stories of their vastly different lives.

By the end of the night though, when it's way past all of our bedtimes, as people start to filter out, planning on catching the late night train or taking a shortcut to their houses here in Twelve, my eyelids begin to involuntarily droop.

"You can sleep," Peeta whispers against my forehead. "I'll take care of everything else."

I want to turn down his offer, to say I can help clean up and put Indigo to bed. But when the last of our guests dissipate and Indigo, exhausted herself, climbs into my lap and curls up against me, I lose the battle and doze off right there on the couch.

Hours must pass, because when my eyes crack open again, the flames in the fireplace have been put out, the entire kitchen and living room are clean, and my child is missing.

Of course, those are the first words out of my mouth. "Where's Indigo?"

"I tucked her in. She's in her own bed tonight," Peeta promises, pulling my arm up to wrap around his neck. "I told you I'd take care of everything."

"You didn't have to..." I mumble sleepily as he lifts me up against him.

"Shhh, just go to sleep," he whispers, his lips pressing against my neck then collarbone. "Just rest, Katniss."

When I wake up again, the sun has already risen in the sky. Thankfully though, my child hasn't yet.

Peeta is alert already, propped up on his elbow, when I open my eyes. "Hey," I rasp, my voice not working yet.

"Hey, beautiful," he greets softly and I roll my eyes at the compliment. I do appreciate hearing it though, despite the years we've been together and how some things can lose effect over time. Peeta's little comments and gestures still haven't. They still mean more to me than I'd ever admit.

Now that I'm fully awake, I feel a small bit of embarrassment creeping back in. "Sorry about last night."

His blonde brows twist with confusion. "You mean getting sick? I don't think that's anything for you to be sorry about, Katniss."

"It was just strange," I note, more to myself than to him. "I just smelled the meat Haymitch found and for some reason, my gag reflex couldn't handle it."

The look that crosses his eyes is sly and reserved and I must still be a little foggy from exhaustion, because it's a rare time where I don't understand what he must be thinking.

He changes the subject abruptly anyway. "Did you have a good time yesterday?" He asks kindly.

"Yes," I reply, maybe a little begrudgingly. Considering for years I complained that I hated this newfound holiday, it is both a joy and a joke to Peeta that I look forward to this day now.

"Good," he replies and kisses my forehead, then my mouth warmly. "I like it when my wife is happy."

"Your wife is always happy when she's with you."

He moves back a little to smirk. "Me too."

I can't help teasing him though. "You're always happy when you're with you too?"

"Yes, Katniss, that's exactly what I meant."

I lean up then and kiss him again, this time with more passion. It's a real testament to our marriage that he can still conjure up butterflies in my lower stomach, after almost two decades since we had our first kiss-our first real kiss-in that cave.

"Thank you," I whisper softly as we break apart.

His eyes flicker lightly with confusion. "For what, Sweetheart?"

"For everything. For Indigo and the life we have. For the last eighteen years," I profess, genuinely. Words have always been difficult for me, and they still don't flow at the slightest slip of my tongue, but it's easier now. It's easier with Peeta, just the two of us, and the strong foundation in which our relationship and life is built upon.

Words for him, however, have always come as easy as breathing. "You have made my life so wonderful," he murmurs and tenderly kisses my lips one more time. "Thank you."

Weeks later, the source of my mysterious illness, my nausea and exhaustion, is discovered when we find out I'm pregnant again.

[softboywriting]

Christmas Together | Shawn Mendes

Summary: When you and Shawn head home for Christmas, you end up stuck in a snowstorm in a small town in the middle of the united states. With all flights grounded until further notice, the two of you will have to spend Christmas together at a bed and breakfast. This blizzard may just be the push that brings the two of you together with the help of a little Christmas magic. [fluff] [Christmas themed] [personal assistant to lovers au] [non au shawn]

Word Count: 6k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Traveling with Shawn for the holidays is never easy. He is possibly the busiest man you've ever worked for but you don’t mind because being with Shawn is just like being with someone you love, because, well, you do love him. Thanksgiving came and went, yours in the states not his, you don't go home for that holiday anyways. It's not a big deal for your family back home. Christmas is though and traveling three days before Christmas is a nightmare.

Things were going smoothly, you had a plan to get home before christmas. Things were going perfectly until the last minute. You had somehow gotten two tickets on a fully booked flight from Brazil to Canada. The plan is for you to fly straight to the Toronto airport, no layovers and from there you'll catch a cab home to New York. You're about an hour into the flight and you can feel some turbulence coming on. No big deal. Until the pilot announced an emergency landing somewhere in Iowa.

"Oh no...no no shit." You look out the window and see nothing but clouds. No doubt about it, you’ve flown directly into a storm system.

"What? It's fine, we're just going to be a little delayed." Shawn rubs your shoulder. "It's no big deal."

"No, it is." You lean your head back against the headrest. "My sister is having a baby today and I promised I'd be there. My whole family is going to be there for Christmas. She's the first of us to have a kid."

"Oh. You didn't tell me that."

You look over and Shawn looks concerned. He always has such a big heart for everyone, it’s one of the many reasons why you love him so much. "I didn't think you needed to know. It's not work related."

"Well yeah but I still care about you. I know I'm your job but like, I'm still a person who cares about you."

"I know...I know I usually tell you everything it's just been...I've been-"

Shawn lays his hand on yours and you look down at it, heart racing. "I've been difficult lately. I know and I'm sorry. Traveling and shows have been hectic the last few weeks. It's totally my fault you’re overwhelmed."

"No, Shawn it's fine. My job is to take care of all that stuff. I'm not- I shouldn't complain about it."

"So what's stressing you out if it's not me?"

"Everything about the christmas season. My sister having a kid, obviously but...mostly it’s that christmas sucks when you're single okay?"

Shawn's eyebrows shoot up. "Why?"

"Because every year I go home and my siblings all have their girlfriends and boyfriends or fiance's and shit and I'm the odd one out. Every year I become the center of attention at dinner, the butt of the joke during gift opening. It's just a pain in the ass being branded as the forever alone child in the family."

"Why is your family so mean?"

"They aren't. They don't mean their comments venmously, it's just little things that bug me. Little indirect jabs that remind everyone I'm single and I have been for a long time."

"Why are you single?"

You give him a blank stare. He couldn't be serious. He doesn't understand that he's the reason you can't be in a relationship? That your job of tailing him everywhere and managing his schedule and life is just as stressful on a relationship with someone for you as it is for him. "Shawn, I'm constantly traveling. When am I supposed to date? When am I supposed to meet someone?"

"Fuck." He groans and scrubs a hand over his face. "You're in the same boat as me. I didn’t even think of it like that."

"Yeah except I can't fly somewhere every time I have a few days off to see someone and make an attempt at one."

He shakes his head. "I've doomed you to be single. I'm putting you through the same stress I put myself through and it's not fair."

"It's not. But it's my job, and you have yours."

Shawn grabs your arm as the plan drops and shakes. "I'll make it up to you, I swear." His voice falters as the plane jerks violently.

You squeeze your eyes shut and he threads his fingers between yours, palm a little sweaty. "I don't see how but okay."

"If we make it through this I will do everything I can to get you a date."

"You're crazy Mendes."

"Yeah but you already knew that."

_____________________

The plane lands in one piece despite feeling like it was going to tear in half at any moment. As soon as you get to the airline club lounge you find out the flight is not just delayed but all flights are grounded for the next forty eight hours at least. Two days. You are definitely going to miss your sister's baby and you're possibly going to miss Christmas. As much as you don't want to deal with your family for the holiday, you're still going to miss them and you’re upset you might not be there.

"What're we going to do?" You ask as you slump into a chair beside Shawn. He looks over from his phone and you raise your eyebrows. "What are you doing?"

"I got a place to stay until we can get another flight."

"What? How? That's my job."

He chuckles and pockets his phone. "I can book a place. I know how to use the internet."

"Well yeah but- how? There was a hotel with rooms free this close to Christmas and during a storm?"

"Kind of. Every hotel I looked at was full but there is a bed and breakfast about half an hour from the airport that had a room."

You stand up and grab your bag and suitcase. "I'll call a car or taxi or something for us and-"

Shawn lays his hand on your shoulder. "I did that too. I got an Uber."

"Oh."

"You do absolutely everything for me. I figured I could return the favor since right now is really stressful for you."

"But it's my job...it's not a favor."

Shawn shakes his head and grabs his bags. "Come on, you need to relax. I read that this b'nb is super nice and the rooms have huge tubs. I know you like baths."

"What? How do you know that?"

"You travel with mini bath bombs in your shower bag and you always seek out the hot tub when we book a really nice hotel on tour." Shawn looks back and you jog to catch up to him. "I guess I’m a little observant?"

"What else have you observed?" You ask nervously, hoping he hasn’t caught on to the fact you have very real feelings for him. You’ve done your best to hide them for a long time.

Shawn holds open the door to the pick up lanes for you as you step out into the icy wind blowing snow everywhere. "Your favorite color is red."

"Why's that?"

"You rarely wear it but when you do, you are always more confident and you seem more comfortable. You always pick red when given a choice of things and your eyes always light up whenever I wear my red button down, so I know you must like the color at least."

"Maybe that's because it looks so good on you."

He smirks. "Oh yeah?"

"Mmhmm."

"Good to know." Shawn steps out into the snow and approaches a black car. "Come on, this is our ride."

_____________________

The bed and breakfast looks like a winter wonderland. It's decked out in decorated trees, wreaths, lights, the whole nine yards when the Uber driver pulls up. It has a little sign in the front that says Dover Inn. How Shawn found this place you have no idea. A short walk up to the front and you and Shawn are pushing your way through a heavy door into a small foyer that's been converted into a check in area.

"Hello!" An older woman with long dark hair says as she comes out of a back area. Her name tag says Judy. "Do you have reservations?"

"Yes, Mendes. We booked online." Shawn shakes snow off his hat by the door. "The first name is Peter."

"Ah, yes, here you are." Judy says, squinting at her laptop on the old wood countertop. "Let me go see that the room is ready. I'll be right back."

"Peter?" You ask, dusting your coat off. "Why'd you use your middle name?"

"I didn't want to draw attention to myself. You know how fans are, they always somehow find out where I'm staying."

"True. Smart, actually. But we're in the middle of nowhere Iowa in a town of probably a few thousand people during a snowstorm. I'm pretty sure that no fans are going to bum rush you out here."

"I wasn't taking the risk." Shawn pulls his hat back on and you shake your head at him.

"Mr. Mendes?" Judy says from the stairs behind the check in desk.

"Yes?"

"You booked a double room correct?"

"Yes."

The woman walks forward to the desk and types something into her laptop, chewing on her lower lip. "There is an error with room numbers on the site, the room you booked is a single room suite with a queen bed. We can refund you if you like. I'm so sorry."

"No," you lay your hand on Shawn's arm before he can say anything. "It's fine. We will take it."

Shawn gives you a look, silently asking if you're sure.

"You're sure?" The host asks, looking between you and Shawn. "I can at least give you a discount for the mistake."

"That will be fine, thank you." Shawn says softly and the host grabs your room keys.

On the way up the stairs you notice how beautiful this place really is. It's old, a historic building if you were to guess. A large manor like house of sorts at some time, but now converted to a bed and breakfast. Everything is decked out in Christmas, literally everything. Judy leads you to your room at the end of the hall and opens the door.

"We have pillows and blankets in the closet. There are heated blankets available on request. Breakfast is served at eight until nine every morning. If you need anything you can call the front desk by dialing star five five. Feel free to explore the inn, we have a large living room and the kitchen open to guests after ten in the morning. Can I get you anything right now?"

"No, thank you." You smile as you look around the gorgeous room. It's huge and spacious. There is a fireplace in the center of the far wall, lounge chairs flanking it with a small tree decorated in the corner. A large queen-size bed with a huge bed frame and two dark wood dressers sit against the opposite wall. There is a door on the left of the entrance for the bathroom and the right for the closet. It's incredible.

Shawn drops his bag on the floor by the closet and pushes his suitcase and guitar case up against it. "You're fine with sharing a bed?"

"Yeah? Should I not be?"

"Well I mean isn’t it a little...intimate?"

You laugh. "Shawn, I've been your assistant for almost two years now. I'm pretty sure that I can survive sharing a bed for two nights with you. It's just like sharing your bed with your best friend when they sleep over." You drop your own bag by the closet. "Don't worry about it." You say this, but honestly you’re not sure how you’re going to fare. Being close to Shawn is one thing, but sharing a bed is a special kind of intimate, whether sexual or not, you worry about how you’ll be able to keep your cool.

Shawn takes off his coat and flops down on the bed. "I'm sorry you're missing your sister's baby."

You hang your own coat and flop down beside him. "There's nothing that can be done now."

"What if we can't get home for Christmas?"

You look over and he turns his head to look at you. "We have each other?"

"Yeah, we do." Shawn smiles softly. "I'm glad I'm stuck here with you."

"I'm glad it's you too."

____________________

Sleeping with Shawn is better than you expected. To start, you thought he would be a bed hog like he is on the tour bus, sprawled out all over his bed at the back of the bus, but he isn't. The two of you put on pajamas and crawled in on your respective sides. It was a little awkward at first, both of you unsure if it was okay to move or curl up or anything really. You decided to break that barrier though, push the button and make a move because the tension was absolutely eating you alive.

You scoot over from the very edge of the bed where you are laying uncomfortably still. You turn on your side and face Shawn who looks uncomfortable as hell too. "Hey, you look like you're petrified."

"I don't know what to do."

"How do you usually sleep with other people in your bed?"

Shawn rolls onto his side and props his head up on his hand. "Well, usually I spoon them because it's someone I'm very interested in and have usually just been intimate with. Other than that I usually sleep alone."

"Uh huh. So is it the lack of intimacy before hand that's stopping you?"

His cheeks turn dark pink in the soft glow of the white lights on the tree in the corner. "I-I don't know. Maybe?"

"If you need to spoon me so you can sleep, you can. I don't mind." You lay on your back and roll so your back is to him. You pat your side, inviting him to cuddle up. It’s the worst idea you’ve ever had and your heart is threatening to burst out of your chest at the sheer thought of Shawn being pressed against you. But how else will you ever get to experience a Shawn cuddle? You would rather know and live with that knowledge for the rest of your life while you pine in silence until you find someone to settle down with, than never know and always wonder just what you may have missed. "I trust you Shawn."

The bed shifts and you can feel the heat from his body as he scoots closer, but not quite touching. "You don't think it's weird?"

"We've been in much more intimate situations I’m sure. I've seen you naked a few dozen times. This isn't a big deal. I sleep better with someone close and you do too it seems. Just cuddle me and stop being so nervous about it."

Shawn's hand rests tentatively on your hip. "You're sure you don’t mind?"

"Shawn. I swear, it's fine." You chew on your lip, voice surprisingly convincing despite your nerves.

Finally Shawn takes the plunge, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you back against his warm body. Instantly you melt, body completely turning to mush. It’s everything you imagined it would be and more. He’s just right, bigger than you, warmer, soft but not too soft. You let out a sigh and he presses his nose to your hair.

"You smell really good,” Shawn says quietly.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome, and thank you for letting me cuddle you. I hope you don't think I'm weird."

You put your hand over his against your chest. "I always think you're weird, but not because of this."

"I miss it."

"Hmm? Miss what?"

"Being affectionate like this." He adjusts himself so he is fully pressed against the length of your body, feet covering yours between the blankets.. "It's been a long time."

You close your eyes, nervous to say what you really want to. Worried he will know you're falling for him. Well...that you’ve already fallen for him. You did that a long time ago. "I don't mind if you want to do this. I mean...like, again?"

Shawn presses his hand against your chest gently, holding you back against him as if giving you a hug. "I just might have to take you up on that offer sometime."

_____________________

Morning finds you warm and cozy. There is a fire in the fireplace when you sit up and look around the otherwise empty room. Shawn isn't there, but the smell of his body wash wafts in from the bathroom that's open but dark. You look to the clock over the fireplace and it's just after eight thirty. You check your phone and you have no signal, of course.  

You stretch as you get up and go to the big windows on the far wall. It's snowing still. You doubt it has ever stopped. You grab the complimentary robe from the dresser on your side of the room and wrap up in it before heading downstairs.

In the dining area that's set up like a small restaurant would be with it's tables and chairs scattered around with families and couples sat in eating, you find Shawn alone by the fireplace sipping coffee and reading something on his phone.

"Morning," you say softly as you take a seat with your back to the fireplace. "How'd you sleep?"

"Like a baby. You?"

"Same."

Shawn puts his phone down and offers you his cup. "Coffee?"

"That's yours though?"

"Yeah but you can have some while we wait for the hostess to come by again." Shawn scoots the mug toward you. "I know you aren't sick or something."

You wrap your hands around the mug and lift it up to take a sip. Straight black coffee with a hint of sweetener. It's strong as hell and you swear you can feel it wake your senses up immediately. "This is horrible. How do you enjoy this?"

He laughs. "It's good?"

"No cream or something? It's like engine oil."

"Nuh uh." Shawn plucks his mug from your hands and takes a drink. "It's great. Oh, here comes the hostess."

You order some eggs, bacon and orange juice. Shawn asks for just some bacon and toast. You look out the window to see the snow reaching the bottom of it, drifted up from the wind no doubt. It has snowed so much you're seriously worried you may not get home for a while.

"What's wrong?"

"The snow. It keeps falling."

"Yep." Shawn turns and looks outside. "I told my parents I would be spending Christmas here. If I'm wrong, it'll be a surprise when I get home. If I'm right, they're not worried about me."

"You have signal?"

"Yeah. You don't?"

"No. Can I call my parents?"

Shawn hands you his phone and you excuse yourself to the living room where it's a little quieter. You dial your dad's cell number and lean against the wall near a tree.

"Dad? Hey it's me."

"Kiddo! Where are you? We thought you were coming home last night?"

"We had to land in Iowa. We're grounded for at least two days, but it might be longer. It's hasn't stopped snowing since last night. Did Penny have her baby?"

"Not yet. They said it could be any day now, I guess she wasn't ready."

"That's great! Well, not for Penny but I didn't miss it. Is she worried about me? Did she think I forgot?"

"No no, we figured you might have been delayed. Whose number are you calling from by the way? I didn't recognize it."

"It's Sh- the hotel's number. I'm using a landline."

"It's an out of country number? I thought you were in Iowa?"

You scrub a hand over your face and mentally kick yourself. You don't want to tell your dad it's Shawn's cell number but your lie doesn't make sense. "It's Shawn's phone. Promise me you won't give this number out."

"Shawn? You're traveling home with him?"

"Yeah, well, no."

"Honey!" You dad calls for your mom and you hear her respond in the background. "Our daughter is bringing home a guest for Christmas!"

"Dad! No! We aren't going to make it!"

"What's that dear? You're breaking up, I can barely make out your voice."

"Dad, we probably aren't going to make it for Christmas and I'm not bringing Shawn home. Dad, can you hear me?"

"You're bringing Shawn? That's okay! We'll see you soon!"

"Dad no! We aren't-" The line goes dead and you pull the phone away from your ear. The signal bars drop from three to none and you groan. Perfect...just perfect.

______________________

After breakfast you find Shawn in the living room with his guitar sitting with a little girl who has a cat piano that meows instead of playing regular piano notes. The girl is maybe five or six and you're pretty sure her grandma is the woman sitting a few feet away on her iPad. You lean against the archway that leads to the dining area and smile as Shawn let's the girl pluck a few strings on the guitar.

"You like music huh? What's your favorite?"

"I like the music from Frozen and Moana." The girl says and presses a key on her piano that makes a deep cat meowing sound. "I like Moana the best."

"Me too." Shawn smiles, playing a few chords. "I know the song How Far I’ll Go pretty well."

You shake your head as he smiles to himself. Of course he knows the song, it's one of Alessia's. Shawn looks up and sees you. He says something to the girl really quick and gets up, leaving his guitar on the floor.

"Hey, did you get to call your parents back after it dropped?"

"No, the signal keeps fading. I sent a few texts, hopefully they'll get them."

"Ah. Well...did you know you're standing under the mistletoe?"

"Huh?" You look up and sure enough there is a little sprig of green with holly berries attached to the archway. "No, I think you're under the mistletoe."

"No, it's definitely you and you know what that means."

"You're gonna kiss me?"

"Yep." Shawn leans in and kisses your cheek gently as you back up. "You're free to go now."

You roll your eyes and giggle as he steps forward and leans against the archway. "Oh no, looks like you're definitely under it now."

"Ah crap."

You stand on your tiptoes and kiss his cheek. "Looks like I was right all along."

Shawn laughs and turns away to go back into the living room. "I'll get you back for that, you lured me in."

"Uh huh. Sure you will." You head upstairs to find a movie on tv to kill time. May as well get used to it. You're going to be here a while longer.

_____________________

A little after noon Shawn finds you in the room curled up on the bed watching TV. You just got a text back from your dad saying that Penny had her baby. A boy named Lucas, eight pounds. You couldn't help but cry, disappointed you weren't there but happy that Penny had her baby okay. It sucks.

"What's wrong?" Shawn asks, sitting beside you on the bed. "Your eyes are red like you were upset."

"Penny had her baby."

"Oh! That's great, is she okay? Is the baby okay?"

You nod. "I'm just sad I couldn't be there for her. She's the first of my siblings and I to have a kid and I guess...I guess I sort of live vicariously through her."

"Oh."

"It's fine." You wipe your eyes. "Everyone is healthy. I'll get to meet the baby a little later. It's alright."

Shawn opens his arms and motions for you to come to him. You do, leaning forward until you're crawling into his arms. He holds you tight, rubbing up and down your back with his big soft hands. "Its okay to be upset. I understand if you're emotional about missing something clearly important to you."

You rub your nose on his shoulder. "Thank you. I'm sorry I'm crying so much."

"No, shh, you don't have to be sorry."

"But-"

Shawn squeezes you. "No buts, let it all out. You're always there for me on my bad days, I'm gonna be here for you."

_____________________

"Can I take you to dinner?"

You look up from your laptop. The inn has WiFi but it's not the best. You've just been updating schedules and trying to get any flight out of Iowa. So far everything is still grounded until the storms blow over. "Dinner?"

"Yeah. I was talking with some people in the living room earlier and they said that there is a place not too far from here that serves dinner through Christmas Eve. I thought maybe it'd get your mind off of everything."

"Sure." You close your laptop and get up to put on your coat. "Are we walking?"

"Yes. Wear your boots."

"Mmm and what are you going to wear?" You glance at his well loved chelsea boots in the corner. They're the only shoes he has with him aside from some tennis shoes made of breathable mesh.

Shawn grabs his boots and looks down at his feet, wiggling his toes in his socks. "I'll wear extra socks?"

"Mmhmm." You sit down and pull on your black leather boots that are possibly the best shoes you own. "Y'know you're a millionaire right? You can afford new boots just like those that aren't worn thin."

"I know. But these are comfortable, they're my boots."

"Right."

He groans as he sinks into the bed beside you to put on an extra pair of socks. "I promise I'll get new boots okay? But I won't get rid of these."

"Shawn, they're old."

"They're my favorite." He zips the side and stomps his foot down to adjust to the extra socks bulk. "Don't judge me."

"Alright, alright," you giggle. "I'll stop bullying you into getting new shoes. If they make you happy, that's what matters."

"They do." Shawn gets up and grabs his coat, tossing you his sweater he wore yesterday. "You might want that."

"I have a sweater?"

"The thin one that you wore yesterday? That's hardly a sweater."

"I didn't plan on being trapped in a snowglobe after leaving Brazil, a very non sweater climate. So sorry I didn't pack for a blizzard."

Shawn narrows his eyes and you narrow yours back. "I'm not going to take a human popsicle to dinner."

"Oh whatever." You snatch his sweater off the bed laughing as you pull it on. It's a little big and it smells like cinnamon and his cologne. So basically, Shawn. You used to wonder why he smelled like cinnamon, then you found out one of his primary vitamin supplements has cinnamon in it. It's supposed to help with metabolism or something. All you know is it makes him smell slightly spicy when he gets warm.

The walk to the restaurant is fairly short. It's just two blocks up from the inn. The snow is a pain to walk through and it's easier to walk in the street than it is to try and use the sidewalk. There are absolutely no cars out and about so you're pretty safe. There are a few other people in the restaurant when you step in, grateful to get out of the cold wind. You're glad you wore Shawn's sweater.

"So, if we are stuck here for Christmas, what do you want to do?" Shawn asks as soon as you're seated by the waitress.

"We're going to find a way home."

"I know you're trying but-"

You shake your head. "No, I'm going to find a way home. I missed Penny's baby. I'm not missing Christmas."

Shawn sighs softly. "Alright. We're going to find a way home. I'll get you home one way or another."

"We'll get us both home."

"Right. Enough about that though, we're supposed to be enjoying dinner and not thinking about all that." Shawn says, lifting his menu. "Look, they have a Christmas dinner option. Ham, potatoes and all the fixings. Sounds good."

You nod and try to focus on the menu. It's hard. You can't help but feel nervous as the day comes to a close. One day until Christmas. At least you're not alone.

_____________________

Just after two in the morning you wake up to a severe weather alert on your phone. The signal must have connected enough for you to get one. Shawn's phone goes off too, loudly buzzing on his dresser.

"What's going on?" Shawn asks sleepily, arm falling to your waist as you sit up.

"It's a severe weather alert." You read the message on your phone. "Blizzard warning. High winds may cause power outages across the state. Below freezing temperatures are in effect, be advised if going outdoors."

"Shit." Shawn mumbles.

"Shit is right. We're not leaving this place."

He pushes you back down and you curl up facing the windows away from him. "We'll be alright."

"This sucks."

"Mmm. I promise I'll make it up to you. It's my fault we're out here because I didn't want to leave Brazil until the last minute. I ruined Christmas." He sighs.

"Shawn, stop. You didn't ruin anything."

He cuddles you against him and presses his nose into your hair. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything."

"I still feel guilty."

You grab his hand and he threads his fingers between yours. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, but I'm not very awake."

"Do you think we were meant to be here, together for Christmas?"

"Hmm?"

"Like...never mind."

Shawn yawns and doesn't press the subject. He relaxes into you, his weight comfortable against your back. You close your eyes, really enjoying this moment despite the impending knowledge of being stuck here for the holiday. You and Shawn fit together perfectly, maybe a little too perfectly.

_____________________

Shawn is gone again when you wake up in the morning. It's after eight and you know you should get up and go get breakfast, but you aren't hungry. It's Christmas Eve. You don't want to get up.

The bedroom door opens and Shawn walks in, bundled up and carrying a bag full of wrapped gifts. "Good morning."

"Morning. What's that?" You point to the gifts and Shawn grins sheepishly.

"Presents."

"For?"

"You?"

You raise your eyebrows. "Why do you have presents for me?"

Shawn sets the bag down by the tree and unwraps his scarf from around his face. "Everyone deserves gifts on Christmas day. And since we're going to be stuck here, I figured we should make our own Christmas."

"You're not sad you can't get home?"

"I was, but I talked to my dad this morning. He said that Christmas is what you make it, whether that be with family, friends or your pets. He said that they will miss me, but he doesn't want me to fret over it. We can do Christmas whenever I get home." Shawn hangs his coat and kicks off his boots. "I'm lucky, because I have you and I'm not alone."

"I guess you're right. We are together in the same boat."

"Yep. So let's make the best of it."

"I suppose I should get up and go shop for you now huh?"

"You could. But let's have some breakfast first." Shawn holds his hand out for you. "Come on, there is cinnamon roll pancakes with your name on them."

"There is?"

"Mmm. I talked to the kitchen staff this morning. They said they would make them special since we're some of the few guests left at the inn." Shawn bites his lip. "I know they're your favorite."

"You're sweet." You curl your fingers around his hand and he lifts you up out of bed. "Too sweet."

Shawn hugs you tight. "You deserve it."

_____________________

Breakfast is amazing. The kitchen crew out did themselves with the cinnamon pancakes with sweet icing for you. Shawn ordered just eggs and bacon but they're also super good. Even the coffee is better than before.

Shawn reaches out and swipes some icing off your lip with his thumb. "Do you like me?"

"What? Of course." Your heart sinks, stomach churning. You know he doesn’t mean in a general way. "Why?"

"I mean, as more than your friend or job...whatever. I've just been thinking. The last few days have been some of the best I've had and-" He looks away, flushed. "And you and I have been kind of flirting a lot? Unless I've been reading this completely wrong."

"You like me?"

"Of course I like you." He looks back and fidgets with his fork. "You and I have had a vibe since you joined the team. I think I've been too nervous to admit it before now. I was too scared to shoot my shot."

You grab Shawn's hand and make him stop tapping his fork on the table. "Calm down. I like you a lot. A whole lot."

"Yeah?" He grins, chewing on his lip.

"Yes."

"Good, because I don't want to stop sharing a bed with you any time soon. You’ve spoiled me the last few days. I don't think I've slept this well since before the tour started." He chuckles to himself. "Remember when I promised you on the plane that as soon as we landed I'd find you a date?"

You giggle and he lines his hand up with yours on the table, palms together, his fingers curling over the top of yours slightly. "Yes?"

"Do you want to go out with me tonight?"

"But there is a blizzard warning."

Shawn looks around the dining room. "We can stay here, I can get hot cocoa and cookies from the kitchen. We can watch a movie or something." His fingers slot between yours and you squeeze his hand. "We can stay up until midnight like kids on Christmas."

"Alright." You smile softly and he looks back just as soft. "Let's do it."

_____________________

At midnight you and Shawn exchange gifts, not all of them, just one each. You had gone out and shopped at a small store in town that had all sorts of things for the holidays. You picked out a few things for Shawn, just little memorable trinkets. One is a keychain so you never forget this holiday and it says first Christmas, Iowa. It's cheesy but you don't care. The next gift you grabbed was a paracord bracelet the store had by the registers. It's black with a red stripe down the middle. You couldn't pass it up. Shawn loves his accessories and especially if they mean something or are a gift.

Shawn hands you a small box wrapped in brown paper first. "Merry Christmas."

You turn it over and give him a look. "What is this?"

"Open it and see."

You tear off the brown paper and open up the box. Inside is a little sparkly rose charm on a gold chain. "This is so cute." You lift it out and it is so ornate and delicate. "Where did you get this?"

"It's a secret." He smirks.

"Mmhmm. You did not buy this here.”

“You can’t prove that.”

“Oh yeah? I have access to your bank account remember? I swore I wouldn’t use it for ill intent but...and you told me you’d never lie to me when we first met.”

“Fine, I did promise you that. I got it before we left Brazil. I was going to give it to you at the airport.”

“Thank you.” You curl your hand around it and smile. “Your turn." You hand him a tiny bag with the bracelet in it.

Shawn opens it and slips it on. "I love it."

"I thought you might. I didn’t get you something cool in Brazil....and I know it's not much but-"

Shawn leans forward and kisses you, hand resting against your neck. Your eyes go wide and he pulls back.

"W-what was that about?"

"Look up."

You tilt your head back and see there is mistletoe hanging over the area in front of the fireplace where you're sat with Shawn. It was definitely not there earlier. "When did that happen?"

"I told you I'd get you back." He smirks and it dawns on you. The other day in the living room, the mistletoe.  

"You put that there." You laugh and he cups your cheek. "You...you put that there?"

"I did." He leans in and you take a deep breath. "And I did it because I needed some Christmas magic to give me the courage to do this." He presses his lips to yours once more and you slide your hand into his hair.

"Merry Christmas Shawn."

"Merry Christmas."

End

______________________

Thank you for reading! Please reblog if you enjoyed this and reblog to support and encourage myself and fellow writers. - A

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted fics.*****

[monchikyun]

XIV. only human

It's not his fault. Gavin repeats that lie in his head like it’s some twisted mantra. He does it until the words merge together and lose all meaning.

 It's not my fault, it's not my fault, it's not my fault. 

Except it is. He can't keep blaming the circumstances for every inconsiderate decision he makes. 

Because it was none other than him who made Connor cry this time. He's supposed to make sure the android stays relatively happy and well, a job he's excellent at failing. 

So what if he loves him like no one else in this world, doesn't mean he has to burden the poor soul with this irrelevant information. They’re friends, first and foremost, even though the Connor who lives in his chest tries to convince him otherwise. It shouldn’t matter. They have each other now, despite the fact that one of them always try to get closer. Though if they ever want to go there, it will have to be a mutual decision. So he’s more than glad he didn’t let Gavin kiss him. Lucky his partner has brains. At least one of them should.

Gavin still can't quite tell whether his feelings are reciprocated or not, and at this point, he's more than terrified to find out. 

That's why he cut Connor off when was about to counterattack with his own verbal ammunition. He’s fortunate to avoid whatever his friend had in store for him, for it couldn’t have been anything good. If there’s something he can’t deal it’s being overwhelmed, feeling too many things at once. If he… if he told Gavin that he loves him too, his heart would most likely give in. And there was no time to emotionally prepare, so any outcome would have disastrous consequences, surely.

 It’s true that Gavin is beyond curious about where his friend stands in all this, but that's the one sentiment that has no say in his emotional hierarchy. Perhaps it’s best to let his affections lie low, at least for now. Easier said than done when he’s cradled in Connor’s arms like a fucking baby. The diabolic android is running his soft hands all over his back as if he’s aware of his maybe not-so-internal shivering. 

It’s too hot to breathe, and yet he can’t stop trembling from the cold. It doesn’t make sense to him for a while until he remembers that he must be running a fever. His ageing body can’t withstand anything these days, just like his disturbed mind. Sometimes he envies Connor his android nature, how he goes against everything that’s natural and still thriving, more than Gavin ever would. He won’t have to worry about getting older or ill, doesn’t have to put any effort into looking this beautiful. They live on a different time-scale, and it scares him stiff. He’s not sure if that’s the reason for his current tears, or if he’s just delirious from the high temperature his system is trying its best to deal with it. 

“Ok, let’s get you to bed.”

His attempt at refusing to move results in a soft whine coming from behind his lips, which only serves to remind him how truly pathetic he is. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” 

Of course the plastic can read his mind, he doesn’t expect anything less from him. 

Gavin knows the moment their bodies separate he’s going to freeze to death before bursting in flames and that’s just something he’s not sure how he’ll be able to handle.

He hates being sick more than he hates himself, which is a considerable amount. 

His brain is surrounded by a thick fog as he’s being lifted up and carried on the uncomfortable mattress. As he’s being laid down, their contact gets inevitably interrupted, and he has to suck in all the oxygen his lung can take before the coughing fit steals his breath away. When it’s done, he’s left heaving in pain and no one is around to make him feel better. Connor must have finally wisened up and left, good for him. 

“Here, drink this.” 

Or not. It’s just his mind tormenting him with awful scenarios, as it tends to do. 

“What is it.” He doesn’t really care but feels the need to say something, to test out whether he’s still able to speak, if nothing else. 

“Hot water.” 

“Gross,” he complains and chugs it all down like a liquid-deprived desert dweller.

He gets handed another pill which he doesn’t question and swallows in the hope it’ll immediately sort him out. Obviously, there’s no such thing as an instant cure, so he continues sweating under the blanket, utterly overpowered by whatever disease his wrecking his puny mortal body. He’s about to yield to his weakness and beg Connor to lie next to him, because to Gavin, there’s no better concept than dying in his arms. But there’s no one here again. He starts thinking that this all is just a hallucination created specifically to torture him. His eyelids get heavy and there’s nothing preventing him from letting the darkness take him under. 

“Sorry about that.” An unpleasantly wet sensation on his forehead pulls him back from the blissful oblivion, and he can just about make out the worry in Connor’s eyes as his slowly open. 

“A cold compress, it should help break the fever.” The android sounds uncertain, seeming like he’s not sure whether he’s doing everything possible to make certain this stupid old human doesn’t check out. Sweet. No wonder Gavin fell in love with him. Too bad it won’t have any follow-up. 

Another set of coughs forces their way out of his throat, making him ache all over, even more than before. 

“Maybe I should call an ambulance.” 

That alerts his warped survival instinct. He does his best to steer clear from hospitals, for fear of ending up like his mother. 

“No! No, no, please. I don’t… I wanna be here. With you.” 

Gavin tries to communicate that he needs Connor close lest he might drift away somewhere bleak and endless. He expects all sorts of things, but the android stripping his shirt as he sneaks in under the blanket and presses his half-naked front against his sure isn’t one of them. 

“I can regulate my body temperature, so this should cool you down some.” Now when he’s been explained the technical reason for why Connor is willing to be so close to him as he’s struggling to keep himself in one piece, the android truly does feel like an icicle more than anything remotely human. Just the thing he craves. He gathers his last strength and pulls him into a proper embrace, intertwining their legs together because he’ll never have enough of this. 

They fall silent for a couple of minutes or an hour, but eventually, the need to apologise becomes too unbearable to ignore. 

“Sorry.” 

A sound that is barely there, whispered into Connor’s bare chest. 

“For what?” 

Sometimes, he’s grateful that his friend has super-hearing abilities. Not tonight. His throat is firmly against him forming any and all words, but he pushes through regardless. This feels very important somehow. 

“For being such a handful.” 

“You think I care about you out of the goodness of my heart?”

Connor’s body is becoming warm again. Maybe Gavin has already absorbed all the cold and there is no more left. It’s not unpleasant. Quite the opposite, really. 

“Maybe… I don't know.” He’d rather not know. 

But Connor tightens his hold on him, just like it always does. And he can’t fight that anymore.

“You.. “, the android takes a deep, shaky breath,  “you still think I don't love you.” 

And just like that, he can’t resist the tears about to spill over from behind his squeezed eyelids anymore.

“D-do you?” 

Curiosity has ways of finding a backdoor whenever he’s stunned enough to stop paying attention, to which he’s thankful right now. 

“Of course I do, you stupid… human.”

It hurts and heals him at the same time. But the relief that washes over him is something else. It turns the whole heavy atmosphere upside down, making him want to laugh through the pain of it all.  

“Not a very smart choice, given there are many androids who would kill just to be with you.” 

The right moment to stop being serious for once. 

“And yet I decide to fall for the trashiest meatbag I could find.” 

Even their voices reflect that this is a time to be happy. 

“A man…,” Gavin corrects himself, remembering what Connor told to him earlier, “...person of terrible taste, unlike me.” 

What follows is a tiny period of calm when he isn’t sure if he’s still awake or already dreaming, until a soft whisper pulls him back from his daze.

“Get some sleep, Gavin. I promise I'll be here in the morning.” 

“You better.” 

His flesh is sore and heavy, caging a soul that longs to soar. If he’s lucky, this will all have still happened when he wakes up.

“G’d night, tin can.” 

@a-convin-new-year 

I don’t know how active I’ll be in the next week because Christmas = busy, but I promise I will continue working on this until it’s complete //this winter// 

[tasteofshapes]

“Oh Merlin, who let the Gryffindors in,” Draco says, appalled, when he catches sight of a familiar mop of black hair. Harry turns around just in time to meet Draco’s glare, a cup of Butterbeer in his hand, and gives Draco a fearsome scowl in return. “Sound the alarm, man the doors, we have intruders!”

“Daphne’s dating one of them,” Blaise says, as if that explains everything. He catches Draco’s elbow and steers him carefully away from the Gryffindors, who, as usual, have congregated around the food like a horde of hungry wild animals.

“Greengrass? I always knew she was a weak link! It isn’t Weasley is it?” Draco yanks his arm out of Blaise’s grip and whirls around, scanning the room for the Slytherin traitor, and finds Daphne holding hands and beaming at Parvati Patil, who is stunning in a red and gold outfit.

“Marginally acceptable,” Draco allows, “but just because she’s got a love life doesn’t mean that we all have to partake in this scandal!”

“Draco, this is not your party,” Blaise reminds him, rolling his eyes. “You know the rules. We can’t just kick them out. Besides, there’s so many people in here, you’ll never notice an extra addition. Or five.”

“Remind me again why we let the Hufflepuffs host this year’s Christmas party,” Draco says, which is when Pansy pops up next to them and says, “did you see the riffraff that just walked in. Honestly, these Hufflepuffs. The one year we let another house host, and this is what we get. Can’t trust them to do anything right.”

“Don’t get Draco started, but this is all Daphne’s doing,” Blaise tells her, and as one, the three of them turn to look at where Daphne’s got her arm around Parvati now, their heads bowed close together as they talk. Parvati laughs at something, and Daphne slides her hand to tenderly cup Parvati’s cheek.

“Oh I see.” Pansy shudders, her mouth twisting into a grimace. “In love with a Gryffindor. What a disgrace.”

“I’m too sober for this,” Draco says, and leaves Blaise and Pansy behind to their gossiping.

There’s a table tucked away in the corner of the Hufflepuff common room where they’ve stashed the alcohol, and Draco comforts himself from the horror of the Gryffindors invading the Christmas party by musing over the selection. For all their faults, at least the Hufflepuffs aren’t stingy, and there’s a nice variety of alcohol lined up in colourful glass bottles.

Draco’s contemplating if he can bring himself to try a Very Berry Whiskey when a familiar voice says from behind him, “I wouldn’t, unless you enjoy tooth-achingly sweet things.”

Draco turns, both surprised and unsurprised to see Harry standing there, firelight glinting off his glasses. “Potter,” he says icily. “What do you want? Isn’t it enough that you and your fellow louts have already crashed this party? Have you also come to witness my downward spiral into alcoholism?”

“I was invited,” Harry says indignantly, “and I was told that there was an amnesty declared for the party today. Came to see if it was true.”

Draco snorts. “It’s not an amnesty, you idiot, it’s neutral ground.”

“What’s the difference?”

“As long as you’re on the grounds, I won’t poison your Butterbeer, but it doesn’t mean I won’t be rude to you.” He doesn’t add that rudeness is technically frowned upon, since the whole idea of neutral ground is to try and foster common understanding, not start a verbal riot.

“So, you’ll be your usual self then,” Harry says, looking down at his cup of Butterbeer suspiciously. He tilts it this way and then, watching the liquid slosh inside the cup, then abruptly sets it down on the table and takes a careful step away from it.

Draco snorts again. “I said I won’t poison your Butterbeer. You’re quite safe, Potter.” After a moment’s deliberation, he selects Bilshen’s Firewhiskey - aged for thirty-nine years, with a strong smoky flavour, and an aftertaste of figs and peat and smoke - and pours it into a new cup and hands it to Harry.

Harry glances into the cup, then looks up at Draco, his mouth twisted into a small smile. “Are you asking me to trust the word of a Slytherin?” He takes a swig nonetheless, deliberately holding Draco’s gaze over the rim of the cup the whole time, and suddenly the room feels hot and crowded.

Draco swallows, but holds Harry’s gaze, and is proud when his voice comes out steady. “No, you’re quite right, never trust the word of a Slytherin. But we respect the rules of neutral ground. I’m not going to spit on fifty years of tradition just to get back at you on one day when I have the rest of the entire year to do it.”

Harry blinks at him in faint surprise. “Hang on. There’s been an annual inter-house party for the last fifty years? Why is this the first time we’re here for this then?” He frowns, thinking, and Draco can see when the moment of clarity hits and his face clears.

“Oh is it your first time,” Draco says blandly, “whoops, did we forget to send the Gryffindors the invites?”

Harry snorts, draining his cup. “Apparently so. Every year, for the last several years.” He eyes Draco balefully for a moment, then reaches for the Firewhisky again and adds, “and I’m pretty sure I know who the culprit is.”

“What a horribly suspicious mind you have,” Draco murmurs, deliberately not meeting Harry’s eye. “Tell me, do you always harbour such uncharitable thoughts at Christmas time?”

Harry’s startled laugh stirs something unexpected in the pit of Draco’s stomach, and his cheeks grow warm. Draco looks past Harry to survey the crowd, because Harry’s looking at him with something almost akin to amusement instead of scorn, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with that.

In the short time that they’ve been talking, the room has filled up, and over the general noise of chatter, the soft strains of Christmas music fill the air. Across the room, Blaise catches Draco’s eye, one eyebrow arched in a query that could be interpreted as either need help? or are you close to committing murder?, and Draco gives him a slight shake of the head. Blaise shrugs indifferently, and turns away.

Draco glances at Harry, and catches Harry smiling back at Hermione across the room. She’s giving Harry the same quizzical look, head slightly tilted, and he smiles at her, warm and fond, and shakes his head and turns back to Draco.

It doesn’t escape his attention that this is the most civil that he and Harry have ever been with each other, and he’s vaguely surprised to find that he’s actually having a decent time. Distantly, he wonders what it would have been like if they had started out friends instead of enemies in different houses.

Secretly, he thinks that Harry might be wondering the same thing too. Harry keeps looking at Draco as if he’s never quite seen Draco before: surprised and amused and slightly wary all rolled into one. But they continue talking: about Quidditch; about Draco’s conspiracy theory that Professor Trelawney’s secretly a functioning alcoholic; about whether Professor Binns realises that he’s dead or whether he still tries to use the loo, and if so, how that would go - “I don’t want to think about that,” Harry says, making a face, “honestly Draco, please stop putting these ideas into my head” - and the alcohol keeps flowing, and they don’t kill each other, and when Draco looks up after countless cups of whiskey later, the room has considerably thinned, and he realises that they’re both smashed off their faces.

“Right then,” Draco says, and he’s horrified to discover that he’s wobbly on his feet.

Harry automatically reaches out and grabs his arm to steady him, and right, so they’re at that part of the evening. “You’re plastered.”

“Absolutely not! Unhand me this instance: Malfoys do not get plastered,” Draco says haughtily. Or at least he tries to, but he slurs his words and ruins the effect, and he ends up leaning into Harry all the same. Someone has clearly poisoned him because the room has started tilting. “‘I’ve been poisoned,” he says, surprised, and then shrugs philosophically and almost falls down. “Bound to happen sooner or later.”

“You’re plastered,” Harry repeats, except that he doesn’t sound quite so sure of himself as he wraps an arm around Draco’s waist to steady him and peers into Draco’s face. Their faces are so close that Draco can smell Harry’s alcohol-tinged breath on his cheek as Harry stares into his eyes and tries to decide whether he’s dying or just being dramatic.

Harry’s eyes are a bright, brilliant green, and for a wild moment Draco thinks that he actually has been poisoned when his heart begins to pound and his breath quickens. Abruptly, he’s all too aware of Harry’s large, strong hand around his waist and pulling him close, and how warm Harry feels, pressed up against him.

“You’re fine,” Harry decides after a long moment, and Draco says stupidly, “am I?” Harry blinks at him, and Draco quickly corrects himself: “I am! I’m cured! It’s a Christmas miracle!” He takes a step away, away from Harry’s warm arms and the tangled thoughts that come with them, and Harry blinks at him again, looking slightly lost with his arms now empty.

“But to be certain, you may walk me to my rooms,” Draco says, because Harry’s looking at him like he can’t understand why he’s standing there and not in his arms, and the funny feeling is back in the pit of his stomach.

“I may? How generous of you,” Harry says, teasing, and laughs. Draco would frown, because he doesn’t see what was so funny about that, except that Harry’s already pulling at his hand.

The corridors on the walk back to the dungeons is blessedly empty and quiet for once, except for the occasional creak of metal as the suits of armour shift around. Draco tells Harry how the Slytherins found Peeves trying to possess one once, and how strange it looked, with Peeves trying to make the suit dance and the suit jerkily counteracting all of Peeve’s movements and complaining all the while in its metallic, creaking voice. Harry laughs at the story, and then laughs again when Draco tries to imitate the suit dancing, all the way until they reach the dungeons.

“You’re mental,” Harry says, but smiles as he says it, and his smile is somehow warmer against the light from the sconces lining the dungeon walls.

“How dare you, I’m brilliant,” Draco says automatically. Then he remembers who he’s talking to, and says, carefully, “well, you’re not too shabby yourself, Potter. Although I think you need to work on your compliments. You’re not very good at giving them. Although I do think I am very good at receiving them.”

Harry chuckles. “Yes. Well then,” he says, knocking on the dungeon walls. “We’re here. So.”

“Yes,” Draco echoes, “so.”

“Good night Draco,” Harry says quietly, taking a step closer to Draco and looking up at him through dark lashes, the light casting shadows against his face. “And Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Potter.”

“I’ll... see you around.” Harry looks slightly uncertain as he forces the question into a statement, but Draco nods.

“You will.”

And the grin that Harry gives him then feels like a promise of a new beginning.

-

HP MASTERPOST

[2idiots]

Keep Yourself Alive

pt. 27 // pt. 28⚛ // pt. 29

NCT Frat Social Media AU // College Athlete & Fratboy Lucas x reader

Word count: 1872ish

Warning: a little angsty, mentions of chronic pain, insecurities, kinda cringey, also text pictures meshed in with writing just a heads up

It’s not that you weren’t interested in all the hell week practices that coach planned for the swim team, in fact you were fascinated by the sets your old coach was giving out.  In fact you didn’t want to be in this dark room away from everyone else out in the living room drinking, playing games, and eating all the food Johnny has painstakingly prepared. You wanted to be out there getting drunk on two cups of eggnog like Hyunjin, the friend you just barely met before leaving the swim team. But for the first time since deciding to fly across the world for college with your best friend you had to dip out of your Christmas tradition. Sure it wasn't intentional but that didn't stop the tearing feeling in the pit of your chest from blooming. You may have felt horrible physically but the mental strain of not being able to be out there performing your best attempt at normal for something that was so important was that much worse. 

Were those tears wetting your cheeks? No. Those were allergies, you couldn’t be crying. Who knew pollen was so bad in the winter?

The seconds had turned into minutes and 15 minutes later you were still laying on Johnny’s bed in the dark, feeling like someone sucker punched your heart, and other parts, curled into his sheets with only the harsh light emitting from your phone screen. You had taken one of the pain meds the doctor gave you but it had yet to kick in. You should've taken it sooner, if anyone knew your body it was you and you knew you should've take it earlier, then you could stand out there and attempt normal alongside your friends. But somewhere deep down you were hoping that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t need some painkiller to go about mingling. Yu were wrong and now you were reaping the consequences of that decision. 

But above all else, you were worried that Lucas would show up at the party while you were holed away in the fetal position in your best friend’s bed. Stupid, right? Here you were, organs cementing themselves together, and yet all you could think about was some boy you had only known for a few months. But if he showed up you knew somehow you were going to have to explain yourself, something you had been dreading since night one.

Lucas had already texted you to tell you he was running a little bit late so you had a bit of time to figure something out or get out but that was nearly 30 minutes ago; he could only be so far behind. Any minute he was bound to be walking through Johnny and Mark's front door with one of his dopey grins, scanning the room for the person who invited him and coming up empty handed.

Wow you were the worst host of all time. At least Chan and Hyunjin had each other but Lucas was on his own. Here without a host. Sure he could visit with Jaehyun or Ten but they had obviously come without him for some reason considering they all lived together.

God hold it together! If you could take exams with your survival brain activated then you could handle one boy. Too much anxiety and your brain was jumping from conclusion to conclusion, problem to problem. Organs cementing together: check. Composure melting: check.

Three sharp knocks jolted you out of your downward spiral, followed by a soft voice, “Y/n can I come in?” The soft voice that had been at the root of your anxiety. 

Wow, who knew blood pressure could skyrocket that high? 

“Y/n?” The question was followed by a quick ping from your phone. Quietly, wiping the few stray tears off your cheek, you looked back to the harsh screen. 

It only took a few moments for the door to slowly creak open, the glow from all the Christmas lights in the living room casting a soft light across Johnny's bed. In that time you managed to suck in a few deep breaths and zip up your pants, wearing jeans with this bloat was not a good idea.

He was quiet, sinking into the other half of the bed while you laying on the other side facing away. Too quiet. The silence was making you nervous.

Then there was another ping at your phone. Sending a vibration through your hand: what was he doing?

You let out a bleat of laughter, what was he doing?

There was another moment of uncomfortable silence, you smiling into your phone screen as he tried to find more ways to make you laugh again, before he finally asked, out loud this time: "Is it your thingy?" His voice wasn't too far from yours and you could tell he was still sitting from the dip in the mattress.

"My thingy?"

"You know that thing you had surgery for? Does it hurt?"

You flipped over to look at him, even though you could barely see him with the dim lighting, the only glow coming from the cracks under the door and between the curtains. "You mean my appendix? Did you already forget everything I taught you?" You laughed with a soft smile that you hoped he could hear in your tone. 

In the darkness, his eyes search the room for yours landing only on your blurry dark outline. "Yeah your aerobics."

"Appendix." You corrected, another smile cracking through your self-wallowing.

There were two ways this could go over. You could lie, say it is the appendix that in all honesty hadn't hurt much since you got it out, the doctor said something about a high pain tolerance, or you could tell the truth and face the thing you have been dreading most since spending more time with him. He deserved the truth.

"Um not quite," your tone was hesitant and slow, though it wasn't him bolting you were afraid of it, it was you. "I uh, I am in pain right now. Actually, um, I’m in pain a lot of the time." You felt a hot tear slip down your cheek, dammit not again. "And it's uh, it's why I ran away from you on Halloween and, um, it's why I have to cancel a lot of our plans."

He was quiet across from you but you could feel his hand searching across the blankets for something, maybe yours?

"I'm so sorry. You came for a Christmas party and I'm crying to you in my best friend's bed." Wow what a catch. "If you wanna leave it's ok, I understand."

"Nah, I think I'll just chill in here with you," he laid down next to you, finally finding your hand and fitting it into his. "And anyway Mark is out there yelling about a journalist turned babysitter turned tutor turned princess teaching a prince about quote true christmas spirit, so I'd rather be in here." 

"That's an iconic Christmas movie, watch your words Yukhei." You chastised playfully, wiping away your tears with the back of your hand. The warmth from his hand was eating away at some of the anxiety, though you were still trembling.

"Ah yeah, did I say boring, I meant super interesting and exciting," he grinned, replacing your hand with his own to wipe your tears. What the hell? "Watching anything with you is exciting." When did he get this smooth?

"Yeah whatever. I know for a fact you fell asleep in Mathilda too." As cheesy as he was, this tall star basketball player was making your heart race so fast it felt like it was about to escape from your chest.

"Hey I came from practice, it's not my fault coach took all our energy!" 

You swatted playfully at him as the conversation lulled, because despite the laughter and his hand, all those negative thoughts were still swirling around in the back of your head eager to rear their face. Muttering, almost too soft for him to hear you choked out, "I'm sorry I can't be what you want."

"What? Who told you that?" He rolled over to face you, even though he couldn't see you all that clearly. "I've been trying to tell you for weeks now that I like you. If only you didn't change the subject right away. Y/n I like you. I like you a lot. Honestly I liked you that first night at Halloween when you were rambling about the night sky and all your dreams. I didn't expect to actually talk to someone at that party but then there you were on the couch, critiquing Doyoung’s music but also dancing to it and enjoying yourself?"

A blush spread through your cheeks and down your neck, leaving fire in its path. "Oh God, I was really high on halloween and a little drunk. I hope I wasn't too harsh on the critiques, though I should’ve known it was Doyoung. The music was pretty run of the mill. I mean Ariana Grande remixes? Seriously, what kind of party is that?" They're was a long pause that you felt the need to cover up with a quick justification "that wasn't a rhetorical--" 

"--can I kiss you?"

He was facing you, you could tell by his soft breath and how he seemed to fold into you. "Why?" Good god if your friends could hear you right now evading again, they would smack you.

"Because I like you!" When you tried to protest, he just tutted and repeated, "I like you, even if you are in pain."

Oh that's why you were so nervous, hearing that. Also you could feel the soft outline of his lips lightly brushing yours, combine that with the fact that the tether to your pain seemed to be loosening up as the painkillers kicked in. You would never feel perfect but this did give you enough of a confidence boost to close the gap, kissing him like your very life depended on it. This boy, those lips, these feelings; they would be the death of you. 

Pulling away to catch your breath, unable to form the words you wanted too, you knew you weren't done explaining yourself. There was more to your pain, more to apologize for how you let your fear dictate your time with him. "I need to tell you first, when I say I'm in pain I don't mean like some achy broad pain. I ran away on Halloween because a lot of the time sex hurts and my high was fading and I knew I couldn't stay. It was already a bad decision but I just wanted to feel like a regular kid and you were so nice, a little dopey with that fake blonde wig but still really hot. What I'm trying to say is: it's not just my head or my stomach,  it's those parts too. The parts that we started with. And those are important to people. And I like you, I like you so much but I'm not some normal girl. There are going to be days when I can't leave the bed or can't go out with you or be, um, intimate with you and there might be a lot of those days. I have some baggage that's a little more physical so if you wanna bolt I get it. You probably want someone who can do everything you want, so this is me showing you the door." You made a broad gesture to sweep to the door. These were your fears laying out for him to see if he looked close enough. Maybe you weren't enough for him or anyone for that matter. 

"Nah, I think I'll stay here. Maybe I can ask Johnny if he's got Mathilda around here so I can finally watch it all."

Keep Yourself Alive

pt. 27 // pt. 28⚛ // pt. 29

NCT Frat Social Media AU // College Athlete & Fratboy Lucas x reader

summary: College is hard enough, right? Coursework, two jobs, a social life, and the state of your mental health. As if that was enough now the school’s no.1 athlete won’t leave you alone after a one night stand. And maybe you like him back but you have a tendency to run when life gets too difficult especially now that undiagnosed chronic pain just seems to be getting worse with each passing month.

(I am not to happy with this chapter so I might come back and edit and revise. It just feels too gloom and doom for me. Let me know what you think. That’s for waiting for the update! And thanks for reading. There is only like one or two more actual chapters and then an epilogue.)

Taglist: @princeofshenzhenuwus @hannahdinse8 @wongassride ​ @cowward @sakura-uji

[candied-peach]

ao3: “snowed in” rating: T warnings: food, sympathetic deceit, sympathetic remus, anxloceitmus/analodemus genre: fluff description: Remus might have made a mistake. (prompt: “snowed in”)

"Oops," Remus says sheepishly, peering out the window.

"Why oops?" Deceit asks, suspicious, curled up in a cocoon of blankets. Remus and Roman have turned the Imagination into a picture perfect winter wonderland, so how could Deceit argue when Remus begged him, Virgil, and Logan to come with him to a brand new cabin? Just for the four of them. He should have known something would go wrong.

"I um, forgot about the snow," Remus confesses, scratching his head. "We might be snowed in."

"What do you mean, snowed in?!" Virgil demands. He sounds like his breathing is starting to speed up, so Deceit reaches out an ungloved hand, tapping out the rhythm of Virgil's breathing exercise on the inside of one of Virgil's wrists. Virgil shoots him a grateful look.

"We can't leave," Remus states plainly. "Not until I work on the snow."

"And we can't sink out since we are in the Imagination, is that correct?" Logan asks. He sounds remarkably unruffled. Deceit envies him.

"Yeah," Remus says. "I think if Thomas needs you, you could, but otherwise..." He trails off, shrugging glumly. "Sorry, Lo Lo."

"It's quite all right, Remus," Logan says. "This cabin is very well constructed. It is not an ideal situation, but it isn't like we are trapped out there." He waves a hand toward the stout wooden door, still firmly latched.

"That's true," Remus says, brightening up a bit. "Hey, there's hot cocoa in the kitchen, I got the ingredients from Patton. I didn't even add anything." He beams, proud. Deceit can't help but smile back at him. Remus's eyes glitter green as Logan disappears into the small kitchen, the clank of pots and pans emerging soon afterwards.

"You could always blame it on Roman," Virgil suggests, a smirk playing around his lips. "The snow, I mean."

"It's probably both our faults," Remus admits. "But Roman's definitely more at fault."

"Remus!" Deceit scolds, but it's ruined by the laughter bubbling up. Virgil scoots closer to him on the sofa, black-smudged eyes wordlessly begging to be let in to Deceit's haven of blankets. Deceit acquiesces immediately, ending up with an armful of cuddly emo. Virgil rests his head on Deceit's shoulder, closing his eyes and heaving a nearly silent sigh.

"Here we go," Logan announces, returning with a tray of hot cocoa. He's added the works, from mini marshmallows to mini chocolate curls, and a peppermint stick to stir it with.

"It's nearly Christmas," he mumbles, when he notices Deceit's surprised stare. "Treats such as these aren't illogical-"

"You just want a good hot cocoa," Virgil mutters. Logan's ears turn red.

"Perhaps," he says.

The taste of chocolate is sweet and perfect on Deceit's tongue and he sighs in pleasure, wrapping his hands around the warm mug and sipping slowly. Logan and Remus also retreat to the sofa (big enough for all of them), and Deceit finds himself sandwiched between Virgil and Remus.

"You know what's missing?" Remus asks, after a little while. "Nuts roasting on an open fire."

"Please tell me you mean chestnuts," Virgil says, nearly pleading. Remus grins.

"Nope!" He says, and giggles. Deceit can't help but snicker.

"Just drink your hot cocoa, Remus," Logan says. Deceit cuddles closer to Remus and sighs.

Maybe being snowed in isn't so bad, after all.

tag list: @k9cat @i-wanna-be-m-e @paravigilant-virgil @croftersgamer @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @airiervessel @bexxbeauty

[beanfic]

Told You So...

Pairing: Josh Dun x reader

Word Count: 2086

Warnings: there may or may not be a kiss scene. 

Author’s note: Some spicy joshua for y’all :) I hope you enjoy! This one ended up being a little bit longer than I was expecting! Y/F/N = your friend’s name! 

“Josh is going to be there, you know,” your best friend, Y/F/N, explained as you were busy trying to figure out an outfit to wear to the party tonight. You had a couple of options laying on the bed, but you were trying to see if you missed anything else hiding in your closet. 

“I heard,” you mumbled. “What about this shirt?” You turned around and help it up for Y/F/N to see. They shook their head and scrunched their nose to show their disgust in the specific shirt you were holding. 

“I like the black one! It’s simple but nice, especially with those jeans! Anyways, don’t distract from the subject of Joshua.” 

You groaned, “Y/F/N, I love you, but I do not like talking about my ex!” 

“He is barely your ex! Every time you guys get together at a party you end up kissing him or worse! Like that one time, he took you home and you guys sle-”

“Stop!” You cut them off before they could bring back that memory. “It’s not my fault! I just get too distracted by those chocolate eyes, and those soft lips, and his smile, and the way he laughs, and the softness of his hands.”

“Y/N.”

“Yes?” You looked over at your friend who had their arms crossed and were shooting you a glare.

“You’re in love with him still!”

“And? It takes a while to get over an ex!” You started to change into the black shirt that had been decided as the outfit. 

“Josh broke up with you over a year ago.”

You scoffed, “I broke up with him and it was mutual! We just grew apart as a couple and wanted to focus on ourselves, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t love him!”

“I guess that’s true, it’s just I want us to have fun tonight at this party and I don’t want you getting distracted by your ex-boyfriend again.”

“I won’t, Y/F/N! I promise.”

“Pinky promise?” They stood up and walked over to you. You both locked pinkies and shooked on it.

“Pinky promise” you responded back. 

“You look good in that outfit! I told you the black shirt was the way to go!” Y/F/N clapped excitedly.

“Thanks! You look good too! What did you get Tyler for his birthday?” you wondered. That was what you two were going to tonight. Tyler had been a friend of yours and Y/F/N for a while now, which is how you met Josh since they were best friends. This also meant any friend hangout Tyler hosted meant that your ex would be there. 

“I got him a banana costume as a joke, and notebook to write songs in, and a Nike rainjacket!”

“Oh my goodness.” You giggled at the banana costume as a joke. “I got him a box of red bull, socks with skeletons on them, and a hat that says daddy on it.”

“He is going to hate that hat!”

“Exactly!” You winked over at Y/F/N. “We should probably get going, right?”

“Yeah, I don’t want to be too fashionably late!”

You two headed over to Tyler’s home which had tons of balloons decorated to the trees on the outside. There were even arrows on the ground drawn with chalk to show to go through the back gate. 

“Tyler really went all out, huh?” Y/F/N teased as they parked against the sidewalk. It didn’t like too many people were here, but enough people so you didn’t have to be one on one with Josh and Tyler. 

“Of course he does! He doesn’t care about anybody’s birthday except his!” 

“True that!” You both followed the chalk arrows towards the back. You could hear music playing from a stereo and the chattering of voices.

“The party has arrived!” Y/F/N shouted as they walked through the gate, holding up Tyler’s birthday present. You blushed as everyone quickly turned their heads to look over at the two of you.

“Y/F/N! Y/N! My two favorite people!” Tyler walked towards you guys and greeted you both with a hug. 

“Happy birthday Tyjo!” you snickered.

“Thanks! I’m an old man now!”

“Old man my butt.” You shoved his shoulder slightly.

“Hey! Don’t harass the birthday boy!” a familiar voice spoke. You looked over to see Josh heading over towards you guys. 

“Hey, Josh!” Y/F/N said before you got a chance to. “Y/N, let’s go set the presents down inside! We will catch up with you later, Ty!” They grabbed your hand and pulled you straight into the house. 

“Y/F/N! That was rude! You didn’t even let me say hello!” Your voice had a hint of anger in it.

“Because I know you, Y/N. He was going to hug you and that familiar scent of his cologne would you pull you right in. You know, I think he only wears that cologne when you are around.”

“You’re crazy.”

“No, I’m correct!”

You rolled your eyes, “Whatever.” You walked over to the kitchen and started to snack on the appetizers that were laid out. You recognized a few of the people in the living room from Tyler’s other parties so you decided to go talk to them.

“Hey, Y/N!” one person said. They had medium blond hair length.

“You’re Jenna, right?” you asked and they nodded. You two started to get talking and soon Y/F/N joined in on the conversation as well. Once they both were involved in a serious topic, you decided you excuse yourself so you could go catch up with Tyler more. 

You noticed that he was outside with his brothers playing bean bag toss so you started to walk towards the back door but someone grabbed your arm from behind, making you spin around. 

“Josh! You scared me!” Josh stood behind you, hand still around your arm, smiling at you. 

“Sorry! I just wanted to say hi since I didn’t get a chance earlier!” He let go out your hand and shoved it into his jean pocket.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Y/F/N wanted to get going I guess?”

“She never has been a big fan of me, huh?”

“Josh, it’s not that!”

“I’m kidding, Y/N! Can I get my hug now? I haven’t seen you in like two months!”

“Three to be exact,” you giggled. You embraced Josh and his arms wrapped around your body. His cologne filled your nose, and Y/F/N was right. It did bring you right back to those days when you two were dating. 

“I didn’t realize you were counting,” he teased as he pulled away. “You look so good by the way.”

You could feel your cheeks blush, “Thank you, Josh. You look pretty snazzy yourself.”

“Snazzy? Not sexy?”

“Joshua Dun!” You groaned. “You are something else.”

“That’s why you love me.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled at you.

“You got me there.” You crossed your arms and shrugged your shoulders. 

“Want to go get a drink?” he asked and you nodded. You followed him to the kitchen, which was now empty because most of the appetizers had been devoured. It was a good thing Tyler’s Dad was busy outside grilling hot dogs and burgers.

“Does he have root beer?” you asked as Josh looked in the fridge. He pulled out a can of root beer and popped it open before handing it to you.

“One root beer!” 

“Why thank you!” you couldn’t help to smile like an idiot when Josh’s fingers brushed against yours as he handed you the drink. He got himself an actual alcoholic beer, and he popped off the cop on the counter. 

“So how have you been?” he asked. 

“Pretty good, I guess! I am just excited about Christmas.”

“Oh man, me too! Do you remember that one year we had a Christmas tree and you set it on fire?”

“I didn’t know the candle was right next to it okay! I also didn’t know tinsel was that flammable.”

“That was crazy,” Josh took a sip of his beer. He leaned against the counter as you stood next to him. 

“It really was.”

Josh looked down at you and you could feel his gaze so you looked up at him. “Why are you staring at me?”

“You’re just so beautiful, Y/N.” 

“Stop,” you bowed your head and pinched your lips together.

“You’re blushing.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” You were still looking down at your shoes but you could feel Josh’s hand graze under your chin as he pulled your head up so that you were looking at him. Your heart started to race in your chest, and you were sure that if he was any closer to you that he would have been able to hear. 

“Y/N, do you miss me?” his eyes sparkled.

“Of course.” you reached your hand over so that it hit his, trying to signal to him that you wanted to hold his hand. He got the message and intertwined his fingers with his. 

“How much do you miss me?” Josh took a step towards you so that there was no longer any space between you. 

“Let me show you,” you whispered, feeling brave. 

Josh smirked, “Can I show you something in the garage?” 

“The garage?”

“I think there is something really special in there,” he said sarcastically. 

“Ohh, yeah, show me!” You followed closely behind Josh as he headed to the garage. It was dark and filled with random boxes but it was a perfect place to get caught up with Josh. 

“See? I told you it was special,” Josh murmured into your ear as he grabbed your waist and pulled you close to him. You looked up at him and you watched him run his tongue over his lips. 

“So special,” you giggled back. Josh’s lips quickly attached to yours and you grabbed his hair so you were able to have more control. Even though it had been a while since you had kissed Josh, you two were always able to act like no time was gone. 

It was a primal desire. You two need each other. You both fought over dominance and Josh’s fingers would graze against your neck making you shiver with goosebumps. You wrapped your hands around Josh’s neck and his hands grabbed your thighs as he pulled you so he was holding you. Your legs were wrapped around his torso as you continued to devour his lips, but suddenly the garage door burst open, causing Josh to nearly drop you. 

“Sorry! I didn’t realize you two were in here!” Tyler squealed as he caught you two. 

“Is Y/N and Josh in there?” a voice shouted from inside the house. Tyler opened his mouth to say something but before he could you watched as Y/F/N peeked around the corner. “I knew it!”

“Josh was just showing me something!” you whined.

“Is that true, Tyler?” They asked, turning towards Tyler. His eyes got wide as he looked over you and Josh, and then back to them. He couldn’t lie.

“They were making out.”

“Ty-LER!” you let out an exasperated sigh. 

“I’m sorry!” 

You pouted as you stormed back into the house, going right past Y/F/N. You were upset that you two had gotten interrupted, but you were mostly angry that they had this smug look on their face as Tyler threw you two under the bus. 

“Hey, Y/N!” Y/F/N caught up to you right as you walked outside.

“I need some fresh air,” you muttered.

“Yeah, I bet.”

“Can you stop, Y/F/N? Nothing is wrong with Josh and I kissing, okay?”

“Why don’t you guys just get back together?”

“Because I am not in the mental place for a committed relationship right now. If we are meant to be then it will happen when we are ready, but can you please stop making me feel bad about it?” You didn’t mean to snap at them, but you were upset.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that it meant that much to you. You know I want to support you! I promise I won’t make you feel bad, okay?”

“Thanks, Y/F/N.” They wrapped their arm around you and pulled you in for a tiny side hug. 

“Can I say one thing though?”

“Yeah?”

“Told you so,” they chuckled.

[bpro-cardstories]

Miroku Shingari SR

2019 ー Holiday Gift [ホリデーギフト]

“This year, I caused a lot of trouble for Tsubasa. Both the summer vacation and Halloween, during the recent work as well…..”

『Event: The Promised Christmas (19th - 26th December 2019) 』

Part 1

Miroku: ‘ーーAkane, there is something I have to ask you, are you free?’

Akane: ‘Hm, I am but….. Something to ask, did something happen?’ 

Miroku: ‘No, it’s….. Christmas is soon, right.’ 

Akane: ‘You’re right! I’m really looking forward to the Eve of BPro’s live!’ 

Miroku: ‘Yeah. That’s that….’ 

Miroku: ‘This year, I caused a lot of trouble for Tsubasa. Both the summer vacation and Halloween, during the recent work as well…..’ 

Akane: ‘Ahaha, if you say it like that then a lot of things happened this year, huh. I think Tsubasa-chan surely doesn’t mind.’ 

Miroku: ‘Yeah. But….. I have no doubt that I caused her to take extra care of me. That’s why I want to apologize to her.’ 

Akane: ‘In other words, you want to give Tsubasa-chan a Christmas present that includes your feelings of sorry and thank you?’ 

Miroku: ‘Exactly that, I feel like it sounds a bit too good.’ 

Akane: ‘That’s not true! Isn’t it fine, a Christmas present ♪ If she is told I’m sorry she will feel a bit regretful but won’t she accept it with pleasure if it’s a present.’ 

Miroku: ‘Indeed….. . Then, a present…. I want to give.’ 

Akane: ‘Yep!’ 

Miroku: ‘Frankly speaking, I can’t think of something that she can receive and pleases her. Hence why I wanted to hear Akane’s opinion.’ 

Akane: ‘Hmm, let’s see….. Not something too expensive. It seems like that will trouble her.’ 

Miroku: ‘Yeah. I thought about food or flowers. Though this time I want to make something a bit more earnest. Above all, I want Tsubasa to be happy to receive it.’ 

Akane: ‘Mumumuh…… Something Tsubasa-chan is happy to receive….’ 

Miroku: ‘Or, a Christmas-like thing….?’ 

Akane: ‘Ah! In that case, how about you do a『Christmas Coffret』!?’ 

Miroku: ‘A Christmas Coffret you say….. Was it the cosmetics exclusively released for Christmas.’

Akane: ‘Yep! That’s what Tsubasa-chan said last year. Every time she thinks that she wants it, it’s sold out!’ 

Miroku: ‘I see. If it’s that, it may please her to receive…..’ 

Miroku: ‘I should quickly go take a look tomorrow.’ 

Akane: ‘Then I’ll come with you.’ 

Miroku: ‘You sure?’ 

Akane: ‘I mean, the cosmetics department’s sales floor is a bit discouraging, right? But if it’s us two, it will be alright! Ehehe, it would be nice to find a nice present.’ 

Miroku: ‘Yeah…. You’re right. Thanks, Akane.’ 

Part 2

It is the next day. Akane and Miroku try their best to get through the overwhelming cosmetics department together. 

Miroku: ‘Ooh….. So many adults. It’s only natural, and a lot of women as well.’ 

Akane: ‘Last year, when I came to take a glance it was also like this.’ 

Miroku: ‘I see….. Won’t we be in the way if we both go in?’ 

Akane: ‘N-No way…...right. Maybe….. Eh….. Maybe they scold us!?’ 

Miroku: ‘That won’t happen I think…..’ 

Clerk: ‘Welcome to our shop. Are you looking for something?’ 

Miroku: ‘Ah, ehm….. Well, I want to buy a Christmas coffret for an older woman.’ 

Clerk: ‘In this case, here we have our samples.’

Miroku: ‘Ah…...Thank you very much.’ 

Akane: ‘Awesome, there are all types of them! Moreover, all of them are really cute…..!’ 

Clerk: ‘Fufu, that is true. This year we are selling two kinds of sets, an especially big make-up set, and a skincare set. Either one is popular so I do not know if we will have them in stock until tomorrow.’ 

Akane: ‘I see…..! Good that we came in time, Miroku!’ 

Miroku: ‘Yeah. But….. Even with the two types, there are many different colours and different designs.’ 

Clerk: ‘That is correct. There is also a difference in the feeling when using the skincare set…. The make-up set here, its package design and palette shades have three patterns.’ 

Miroku: ‘......She probably is using skincare ones right now. If I give her something, then the make-up one, huh. Then, I have this sparkling package, please.’ 

Akane: ‘Eh, a prompt decision!?’ 

Miroku: ‘Yeah, I like the design. Besides, don’t you think the colour of the blush as well suits Tsubasa?’ 

Akane: ‘Now that you say it, I see it, indeed the calming shade may be very much like Tsubasa-chan!’

Miroku: ‘Uhm, is it possible that you wrap it as a gift?’ 

Clerk: ‘Of course. Well then, I will go to prepare the gift. Please wait a minute.’ 

Miroku: ‘Thank you very much.’ 

Akane: ‘Ooh……! I’m glad we bought it without problems!’ 

Miroku: ‘Yeah. It was right of Akane to accompany me. If I was alone, I may haven’t approached the store…..’ 

Akane: ‘Ahaha, I know this feeling! But coming in to look is fun. I don’t know much about make-up but the overflowing glitter is exciting!!’ 

Miroku: ‘True. Hm….?’ 

Akane: ‘Miroku…..? What’s wrong?’ 

Miroku: ‘No, I was just thinking that this is a cool design…. It’s the limited edition glitter mascara.’

Akane: ‘Mascara is the one you put on the eyelashes, right?’ 

Clerk: ‘Ah, it is a popular product right now. When you apply it on your eyelashes, the glitter shimmers like an illumination.’ 

Akane: ‘Heeー!’ 

Miroku: ‘How interesting.’ 

Clerk: ‘Fufu, would you like to try applying it?’ 

Miroku: ‘Eh, me?’ 

Akane: ‘Miroku, it will suit you! Do it!’ 

Clerk: ‘If you would like to, please take a seat here.’ 

Akane: ‘Come on, Miroku, sit down, sit down!’ 

Miroku: ‘Uwah….. Wait, Akane.’ 

Clerk: ‘Well then if you would excuse me. Drop your gaze down a bit.’ 

Miroku: ‘Y-Yes…..’ 

Akane: ‘Uwaah, awesome! The already long eyelashes got even longer!’ 

Clerk: ‘This mascara’s glitter is not only cute. You can neatly lengthen the eyelashes. And its charm lies with the ability to take it off with hot water because it is a film type.’ 

Miroku: ‘I-I see……?’ 

Akane: ‘Waahー! Each time you blink it sparkles! It really looks like illuminations!’

Clerk: ‘Yes, very cute!’ 

Even the stoic Miroku has to blush because of all the compliments. 

Miroku: ‘.......Ehm….. That’s, thank you.’ 

????: ‘Oh…..’ 

Miroku: ‘Hm?’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Eh…...Miroku-kun….?’

Miroku: ‘Whー......Tsubasa!?’ 

Part 3

Tsubasa: ‘Miroku-kun, those eyelashes…..’ 

Miroku: ‘T-That’s…… It’s not what it looks like. How to say, there are circumstances why…..’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Waah….. Each time you move they sparkle, it is wonderful! Miroku-kun, it suits you.’ 

Miroku: ‘Eh.’

Tsubasa: ‘Fufu, please do not be shy. I think male make-up is also beautiful.’ 

Miroku: ‘Ah, no, I also agree with this. But this time is really different….!’ 

Akane: ‘Ah~, I’m more or less back-up but it’s like Miroku says. Because I said that it seems to be interesting, it’s my fault. It’s only like this!’ 

Miroku: ‘Akane….’ 

While Miroku is touched by his childhood friend’s words, the next minute it is the opposite feeling.

Akane: ‘We came here to buy Tsubasa-chan a present!!’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Eh?’ 

Miroku: ‘Akane……’ 

Akane: ‘......Ah! Sorry!’ 

Clerk: ‘I brought the present, I am sorry to have made you wait.’ 

Akane: ‘Ah, ah~.....’ 

Miroku: ‘......Thank you very much.’ 

Miroku: ‘The truth is, I was going to give it to you on Christmas….. It’s hard to hide now after all.’ 

Miroku: ‘Here, Tsubasa.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Eh…..W-Why? I am happy about your thoughts but there is no reason to…..!’ 

 Miroku: ‘There are reasons. It’s an apology because I caused you all sorts of trouble.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘No way, you did not cause me any trouble atーー’ 

Miroku: ‘It’s not only this. Tsubasa, no matter when, you were always by my side and encouraged me. In fact, it was very supportive of you. That’s why I thought I wanted to express my gratitude for Tsubasa.’ 

Miroku: ‘Really, thank you for everything. I would be happy if you accept my feelings of gratitude.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Miroku-kun…..’ 

Tsubasa: ‘......I am very happy about your feelings. I will take your present. Thank you very much.’ 

Miroku: ‘It’s me who should say so.’ 

Akane: ‘Ehehe, it went well, how good~’ 

Clerk: ‘Fufu. To get Christmas cosmetics as a present, what a lovely boyfriend.’ 

Miroku & Tsubasa: ‘Eh…..!?’ 

Miroku: ‘N-No, we don’t have this kind of relationship.’ 

Tsubasa: ‘That is true, it is a misunderstanding…..!’ 

Clerk: ‘Fufu.’ 

Akane: ‘Ah, the clerk is watching with a pleasing smile! She’s not believing you….’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Ehh!?’ 

Miroku has to blush once again. The whole situation is too embarrassing for the young boy.

Miroku: ‘Uh…..Let’s go, you two! Uhm, thank you very much!’  _____

Tsubasa: ‘Wahh…..M-Miroku-kun…..!’ 

Clerk: ‘Please come back together again~’ 

Miroku: ‘Tsubasa, Akane! Walk faster!!’ 

Tsubasa: ‘Even faster!?’ 

Akane: ‘Waah, Miroku!? Wait, I can walk without you pulling me~!’ 

END