#christmas of my life because it’s with them

[httpwintersoldier]

the way this person is talking you'd think their parents told them that santa came down the chimney and sat on their pillow, holy shit.

it's a little fun thing!! it's a fun thing for kids to do and for kids to believe in and there's no harm in it, a 5 year old doesn't need to have a realistic "worldview", what universe does this person live in? lmfao? And the "gaslighting aspect"? Someone needs to take social media away from you, ASAP.

And yes, you're the asshole for ruining a fun, harmless belief for a little kid, "you don't have a way of knowing if they're santa believers" well baby just like you don't know many things about many people, what we do is assume as to not be rude.

And let me tell you something, your parents have lied to you for your sake when you were growing up, that's a given, parents lie because there's things kids shouldn't worry about, or know about. It's a lot easier to say "santa had a lot of kids this year and couldn't get you many presents" rather than "mommy and daddy have no money this year", because a family's economic struggle is not for a CHILD to worry about.

I have no idea why this landed on my page, if there is one thing I'm going to do my whole life is protect kids' innocences and give them a fun childhood while they still have it.

It's a fun tradition, there is no gaslighting or manipulation, and if you get your kid to behave well because of Santa then bonus points. When you're of age you start realizing Santa was actually your parents and that's it, I don't get this big "YOU'VE BEEN LIED TO" uproar.

I would rather have my memories with "santa" and of all the things my parents did to keep the christmas spirit alive than just have the truth because it was a lot more fun and it created a lot more memories. Sorry I wasn't leaving milk and cookies for my parents on the 23rd.

my family celebrates christmas but my parents didn’t raise me to believe in santa, i knew of him as a fictional character basically but i knew my parents were getting presents and stuff and not santa. so i have always found it a little insane that as a christmas treat parents gaslight their children into believing in this mythical being who brings presents only if theyre good and construct all this lore and everything and keep it up for years. aside from celebrating jesus and giving presents there’s the Gaslighting Aspect of christmas. it’s so crazy to me. and if you accidentally break kids’ belief in santa YOURE the bad guy even tho a) u dont have a way of knowing if theyre santa believers b) its not real and c) their parents have been intentionally manipulating their worldview to make them Think its real. crazy to me

[sungiescheotluv]

mirror muscles ⭑.ᐟ na jaemin

pairing: na jaemin x gender neutral reader

word count: 2.7k

tags/warnings: fluff, established relationship, suggestive, gym talk(?)

summary: doing your new resolutions with jaemin has always worked in your favor, most goals ticked off your lists. however, when you mention going to gym, jaemin's enthusiasm reaches new heights.

notes: hiyaaaa! it feels like forever since i last posted (two days omg 🙄) but i do hope you pretty stars enjoy this very indulgent fic! as an aspiring gym girlie, i'd do anything for this kind of princess treatment (particularly from jaemin 😋) also, the title of this is based on the soft play song with the same name (emo jisung, lemme give u some music recs). ok, i think i'm done here. wishing u all the best, much loveeee! <3

Note to self: never, under any circumstances, tell Jaemin your New Year’s resolution. Because one peek at your ambitious list and Jaemin will pry you from your warm bed, at the ass crack of dawn (might you add) to go to the gym because ‘nothing beats a morning pump.’

If you weren’t stupidly in love with him, you would’ve dropped a dumbbell on his toe.

How you get to this point is a lot more wholesome. Since the start of your relationship, once snow trickles down for Christmas, you two sit at your dining table with your laptops opened on Pinterest and pin-point what goals you'd like to achieve the following year. This way, you’re not shouldering your ambitions alone, having each other every step of the year as you tick off box after box. So far, you’ve managed to complete most of your goals. Go traveling, learn a new language, cook more home-cooked meals, limit screen time (still working on that) and many more. Jaemin was also progressing well: dedicating more time in his photography, reducing his coffee intake, going to bed earlier and visiting his mother more. 

For this year’s moodboard, while collecting pictures of your next set of goals, fitness content shows up in your recommendations. People in pilates studios in their pastel pink gym-sets. The aesthetic draws you in, how content people feel moving their body besides getting their 10k steps a day in. More photos start showing up, people sculpting their pride in the gym, sharing personal stories of their fitness journey and how the gym has taught them so much about themselves. What they’re capable of, what they never thought they could do and what opportunities lie await now that they’re happier in themselves. It all seems promising, even more so when you reconsider how bright your best friend’s life’s become since making the choice. She’d rarely accompany you to a game of badminton and now she’s pioneering her own run-club, amassing a social media following the size of an army.

You’d have to ask her how to get started once she’s back from her influencer trip (maybe content creating is something you needed to hop on). Then again, peering over your laptop screen to Jaemin’s glowing face, you could simply ask him. He’s been consistently going to the gym for a while now, to the point where you fake-pleaded for SM to close their gym because your boyfriend's become too buff for you to function. He’s always been gorgeous, with a face that could charm a snake, but now that he’s carved like a Renaissance sculpture, you couldn’t form a coherent sentence around him. Of course, aesthetic reasons are what lured him into the space, but he relays it’s become a lot more than that for him.

“I want to be strong, not only to build my confidence but to also protect my loved ones,” he looks directly at you, a serious hue to his eyes that has you breathless. “It’s another form of self-love, is my thinking. Showing up for myself, proving I can do hard things, even when I don’t want to. That I can step out of my comfort zone, trying new things and ultimately, living a longer life. Because at the end of the day, as much as I do this for me, I also do it so I can help you carry groceries. So that I can move furniture around when we move in together, be the one that my family calls if they need something physically demanding done,”

Fondness curves his lips, a flicker of timidity dart his eyes down to the desk before they flicker back up at you, astoundingly earnest as he says, “I’d also want to keep up with our kids. Carry them when they’re tired or run after them in a park. Those are my reasons.”

Something stutters in your chest. Then, leaps. Over the course of your three year relationship, it’s only natural that topics like this are mentioned, like marriage and children. Heck, you two shared a Pinterest board of decor ideas for the shared apartment you’d been on the lookout for. So, it shouldn't phase you but it does. How far into the future he sees with you. How he shares a bit of himself so effortlessly, in a way that lacks pressure and possesses good faith. Love and promise. All prominent themes throughout your relationship, one you thank your lucky stars for.

As a consequence, you flush. Folding like the early days of your relationships. “You’re getting bold these days. We haven’t even moved in together.”

“All in good time, angel,” he grins, looking a bit lovesick. “In any case, if this is something you wanna do, I’d be more than happy to help. Go to the gym with you so you don’t feel anxious, show you how to use the machines, get you workout clothes - whatever you want.”

You could marry this man.

You extend your arm across the wooden table, hand finding his as your fingers interlace, the same song and dance you’d hope you’d spend your life doing. “Thanks, baby.”

And now? Now, divorce weighs heavily on your mind.

In an effort to avoid the New Year’s crowd, Jaemin wakes you up early in the slum of days after Christmas where time doesn’t exist, cuddling into your half-sleeping figure with a gentle voice. Coaxes you to get up, slip on the new gym clothes you’d spent on his card (his treat, he said) and somehow, here you are, stinging eyes squinting under fluorescent lights with some EDM track playing faintly in the background.

“Oh, baby. Don’t look so down, you’re in good hands,” Jaemin coos, hand squishing your cheeks under your chin before pulling you into his chest, warm and comforting. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Couldn’t this wait until,” you glance at your fitness tracker, your own treat to yourself. “Midday? No one needs to be here at 9 am.”

“Maybe, but it’s a good way to start your day. Or get it out of the way,” he chuckles, spinning you out his arms before he wiggles his eyebrows. “Plus, who doesn’t want to see my muscles first thing in the morning?”

He drives home his point by kissing his bicep, something that should make you cringe out your skin or disappear without a trace, but no. Perhaps you’re still sleepy, shielding a snicker with your hand because of how lame (said adoringly) he is.

“You said you’d usually start off with thirty minutes on the treadmill, right?” You nod your head. “Okay, I’ll go with you. I’ll run for fifteen and row until you're done. So you don’t constantly have me in your ear.”

You laugh, because as grumpy as you’d been on the way here, you could never grow tired of him. All his carefree and mischief nature, his sweet and generous manner - you couldn’t even if you tried. 

Few people populate the modern gym, near to none in the cardio section as Jaemin refreshes your memory on all the buttons before you begin. Beside you, he does sporadic sprints, no heavy breaths clouding his chatter with you. You, on the other hand, keep it relatively reserved for your first time, upping the speed when you want to challenge yourself, surprising yourself with the distance and time that flies by. Soon enough, Jaemin’s squeezing your hand and moving a few rows back where the rowing machines are, leaving you with your walking playlist.

Again, in a flash, time passes by, upbeat songs blaring in your headphones that make you dance through the next fifteen minutes, a simmer of sadness coming when you’ve reached time with a whole host of songs still in the queue.

“You can listen to them next time,” Jaemin winks before leading you into a dark, LED room dotted with mirrors and yoga mats. This is one of the rooms booked for classes, but for now, it’s your stretching area where you cycle through some stretches and Jaemin jokes about folding you like a pretzel. 

The one other person in the room - a woman in her thirties - coughs, before smirking your way, the heat of your embarrassment migrating to your cheeks as you swat at Jaemin. He simply laughs, stretching to reveal his happy trail and suddenly, you forget why you’re even mad. 

When you’re finished, he shows you different sections - an assortment of cable machines, the weights area and then to an area with more machines. There’s a few people occupying the machines, immersed in their own world with flushed cheeks and sweat seeping into their clothes. It fills you with relief, that no one’s focused on you and your sweating figure as if you had ‘gym newbie’ written across your forehead. Jaemin shows you some of the machines he uses, depending on what he wants to work out but for the most part, lets you decide what machines you’d want to use - if any.

“Why do I need to put on muscle? You putting me in a headlock is good enough.” You fake-complain, feeding off the gentle approach Jaemin’s taken in trying to convert you to a gym rat.

“And you say I’m the dirty one,” he tsks with a matching grin. “You don’t need to do anything. All I’m doing is showing you the options you have. The more things you try, the more likely you’ll find something you lik-”

“Is that the slut machine?”

Jaemin’s head jerks back, eyebrows pinching together in confusion. “What are you talking about?’

“This one,” you approach the machine closeby, pointing to the photo attached along with its actual name - hip adduction. “Isn’t this the one where people like, open their legs like crazy?”

Jaemin shakes his head, amusement in the smile he swipes with his hand. “Yes, it is. Wanna give it a go?”

“Hell yeah,” you climb into the machine in a rush, finding the experience more exciting than scary as Jaemin makes sure everything is in order. “This is gonna be hilarious.”

“I’m setting it to a low weight. If it’s too easy, we’ll move it upwards and try and find your range,” he comments, looking at you through his silver hair. “You ready?”

“Ready,” and you go, the weight moving like nothing, so much so that when it sets back to its original position, you’re more caught off guard by how far apart your legs are spread. “This is so raunchy, ohmygod.”

“Good thing it’s facing the wall,” Jaemin laughs at you shielding in between your legs. He ups the weight, the number looking a lot scarier than anticipated. “Let’s try this then. You should be able to rep 10 of these.”

You shuffle, a bit unconvinced. Taking a breath, you engage the machine, exerting more effort than before but managing to do one rep. Then two, then three all the way up to ten. Enough to challenge you, but not strain you.

Jaemin howls, pinching your cheek as he says, “Look at you go! That was great.”

“Thank you,” you huff, the tingle in your thighs somehow the source of the happiness in your chest. “That was really fun, actually.”

“Isn’t it?” Jaemin smiles, using some paper towel to wipe after the machine for you. “Usually people do about three sets of those. Reps depend on what you want to do - build endurance, muscle strength, all that. But that was really great, I’m so proud of you.”

And you feel proud of yourself too. Having tried something new, feeling unsure but leaning into the feeling. Letting yourself see how far you can extend yourself, pleasantly surprised with the distance. 

So, this was what Jaemin was on about.

You continue your morning like this, getting a personalised tutoring session in how certain machines works and what areas they work out. Jaemin runs through his leg day, since you two were on the hip adduction machine, enjoying more exercises like leg press and goblet squats. By the time you get to the hip thrust machine to try, someone’s occupying it. Jaemin suggests using the squat rack, the scary thing with a long barbell and weights attached to it. Sensing your apprehension, Jaemin lets you know he’s got you, coaching you through the exercise and any queries you may have about movement or positioning. Eventually, it’s your turn to lean against the incline bench and despite your fear, you work your way through 8 hip thrusts. You don’t nearly enjoy it as much as people online talk about it, which Jaemin says,

“That’s perfectly fine. There’s so many exercises that work the same areas. You’ll find one you prefer.” 

Finished for your session, Jaemin asks for you to hold tight while he does some deadlifts. It’s maddening watching him pick up such heavy weights, concentration knitting his eyebrows together with his exposed arms flexing under the tension. Wearing a sleeveless top for the gym in theory is great, but for your mental health? Bad, so bad. 

Because even if your body rings with exhaustion, the kind that’s refreshing and ensures a peaceful slumber, you’re about ready to jump his bone. 

Ill with lust, as you’d joke. 

Jaemin snickers, snapping his waist belt off with one hand, which shouldn’t be sexy but is. Your eyes then trail to the barbell, the memory of Jaemin’s set vivid in your mind.

“Did you wanna try it?” Jaemin asks, reading your mind. “We can start off with no weights. Just the barbell. There’s also different variations of a deadlift, let’s see which one you prefer.”

Out of the three, you pick the most conventional one to start with, teeth sinking into your bottom lip at what you’ve gotten yourself into. Particularly after Jaemin loads weights on each end when you've rehearsed with the barbell.

“Think of the barbell cutting your feet in half - not standing too close so that your shins are touching it and not too far away that you have to lean to grab it,” Jaemin coaches, your feet shuffling into the right position. “Nice. Let’s move onto the hinge movement,”

From behind you, his hands settle onto your hips, pulling them back with him. He pats them, a chuckle left in his wake as he steps to your side to demonstrate without overly being horny. 

Bastard.

“Like you just did, you’ve gotta hinge your hips backwards until you can’t hinge anymore. Then, you’ll move a little into your knees, like a squat almost so you can grab the barbell,” you follow along, the barbell cold against your hands as you blow a breath.

“Great. Keep your body tense, engage your core and glutes. No arch,” his hand hovers over the arch of your back, something teasing in his smile. “Show your chest, keep your head up straight and lift the barbell up. Remember to keep it close to your body before you lower it down with the same hinge movement and movement into your knees.”

You puff out another breath, the same fear you’ve conquered throughout the session whirring in your chest.

“Don’t worry, angel,” Jaemin smiles, moving behind you again with hovered hands around your figure. “I’ve got you. You’ve got you.” 

Again, his words dawn on you. All the power in your hands, a feeling your heart wants nothing more than to run towards as you lift up the barbell, strength personified as you wait at the top of your stance, smiling at the “Let’s fucking go, you’re doing it! You’re doing it, angel!” in your ear. You hinge backwards, the weight knocked down to the floor with no tension on your back as expected.

Once you’re upright again, Jaemin engulfs you in a backhug, lifting your figure off the floor and kissing your neck, drawing giggles out of you. Joy moves through your body like warm light at his excitement that exceeds your own, belief not setting in quite yet.

“I can’t believe you,” he coos, the mirror ahead of you capturing the embrace he holds you in, the elation in his eyes as he does nothing but adore you. Like he’s always done. “Actually, I can. You’ve got a laundry list of things you’re good at. Can you believe it?”

“Not originally,” you admit, the confession somewhat bittersweet. “But after this, I think I’d better have more faith in myself.”

Fondness finds itself in his lips again, a kiss against your cheek as he gently guides you out the way, lifting the barbell onto the rack with his gaze in the mirror directed to yours. 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

And you fall into laughter, helping him slid off the weights before flexing in the mirror like you wanted, finding a different strength in yourself with Jaemin by your side.

[gunthermunch]

Make a mercy out of me.

[Transcript and a little something under the cut]

Bluma: why is a place were memories happen so… creepy? ?: it’s not, you’re just scared of the dark Bluma: that doesn’t stop it from being super sketchy ?: we are here because you wanted answers, might as well face a fear or two. ?: and ou can just talk to me, y’know? We are literally standing on a concept and I am basically nonexistent. Bluma: I guess… Bluma: I’ve been a little worried. Things feel so strange at home Bluma: our Christmas tree is still there and dad doesn’t want it out for some reason. Mom’s pregnant again, Garry is there, and I haven’t seen uncle Wolfgang in so long… even though he promised. ?: I’m afraid I can’t tell you the why’s and how’s of it all, Bluma. ?: Yet! there are many things going on always, our life can completely change every day in every possible way. ?: this place is where change happen ?: an idea is born, and then stories, and then they become memories. ?: some of them fatal. some, beautiful. some just didn't happen. and some… didn't happen yet ?: don't look at those. Bluma: that's all still very creepy ?: but we both know you are quite the adventurous one, hm? Bluma: that's what my oma says ?: then there's nothing to worry about. Bluma: you sure? ?: of course. you're gonna be okay ?: And that christmas tree… i think your father is just waiting for a good memory to happen. be there for him. ?: and good luck Bluma wakes up and pull her stupid tooth out like an animal Bluma: yay! wicked tooth begone!

OKAY!!!!! THIS WAS MY 10K SPECIAL I AM SOOSOSOSOSOO GRATEFUL FOR ALL OF YOU. and im sorry i havent posted for like half a year. life is, like we just stated, unpredictable. so yeah! my goal is to get inmersed into posting again, because i miss munch and i miss my characters and my memories and i miss you. was this too obvious of a self insert? anyways. maybe it was. see you soon!

[chronicbeans]

I guess I'll break the mold by saying I DESPISE pumpkin pie. That good ol' Thanksgiving/Christmas dessert. I hate it, and I can tell you why.

I used to love it, because I love absolutely everything "pumpkin spice" flavored, and pumpkin pie is literally made with pumpkin spice or the spices that are named pumpkin spices. I am that guy who will drink pumpkin spice lattes all of autumn just because I KNOW I won't be able to get them during other seasons and I will miss them.

However, one Thanksgiving, I had the most WATERY, BLAND, AND DISGUSTING pumpkin pie in my life. I am big on texture, and that stuff was disturbing. Like, it was watery, lumpy, and not even flavorful? And the crust was soggy, making me creeped out that it might be raw. Then, the next year, the filling wasn't as watery, but it was still lumpy and bland.

Ever since, I've hated pumpkin pie... I just can't eat it anymore, because my stomach gets queasy. Lol

What’s a food from your culture that u HATE #hatersonly

[misstycloud]

Hey! I’m new to your blog so sorry if requests are closed 😅 I missed it if there was something that said so. But do you mind writing a second part to the yandere male harpy x reader? 😄

this is are just one of my thoughts that came to mind but imagine the reader trying to start a small fire at the entrance of the cave (away from the nest obviously) to cook the food. Just the absolute horror on the harpy’s face coming back to see fire in his cave. 😂

Anyway sorry for the ramble and thank you either way if you decide to write for it or not😄

Not super focused on the fire in this but hope it’s enjoyable anyway.

———————

The giant cave opening often brought you trouble. Through it cold winds would blow in and sometimes a bunch of leaves and twigs as well. You’d then be forced to sweep the mess with the broom you had made on your own. The handle was a long, relatively thick branch and the bristles were feathers collected from the giant bird-man hovering over you all the time. His feathers were big and strong, they also fell off. It was just like hair, you supposed.

You’d never forget the expression he made when he noticed you picking up his fallen feathers. He seemed so happy. The male harpy’s face was lit up like a child’s on Christmas Eve and he was constantly cooing happily. You wouldn’t be surprised if this meant you liked him, in his culture.

After witnessing you bringing all the feathers into you arms and searching for more scattered around the cave, the harpy felt true joy. You still hadn’t fully warmed up to him which he did not understand. Did he do something wrong? Was the nest perhaps not satisfactory? Maybe he should rebuild it in the future- with your input of course- so you’ll like it. You hardly ate anything he hunted you and reluctantly slept in his arms at night. It always took a bit of convincing for you to joint him in the nest and cuddle. Sadly, he could understand why you gave in eventually and it was not because you were simply shy, it was because of the cold winds. You waited until you couldn’t take the chill anymore and joined him. The thought stung his heart. He loved you but you hardly considered him your mate. He thought all hope was lost until you began collecting his fathers. Had he finally impressed you? If you liked his wings then he’d gladly give you more feathers. He wasn’t quite sure what you wanted them for but he didn’t care. If you wanted the feathers then doesn’t that mean by extension that you desire him too?

The harpy male made sure you didn’t have to scavenge for lost feather, instead he gave you more directly from the source. On top of that, he made sure to give you the finest and biggest ones since those were the ones you seemed most fond of. It took a lot of effort to stop him from ripping out his own feathers. If he’d continued you fear he would have ended up looking something like a mix between a plucked turkey and a human.

Now, the cave hole always gave you more pain than happiness. It did not help at all; until it did.

Your hunger strike was nearing an end. The nuts and other comfort food you had brought with you before was gone. You had finally eaten it all, there was nothing left but the empty wrappers serving as a cruel reminder of your old life. You would do anything for a spongy convenience store sandwich. This meant you no longer had the privilege of declining the meals Crow presented to you.

Crow, that was the name you’d given the overgrown bird who’d decided to kidnap you and force you to be his mate. It fit him well since he sort of did look like a crow. His hair and wings were a dark colour and he never failed to caw at you whenever you refused to give him attention. He was a bird but honestly reminded you more of a puppy.

You don’t get to say no to the dead animals anymore. No matter how much you try there’s no way you could possibly get down the mountain without dying- or complete paralysis, if you were an experienced climber. It made sense why Crow chose this cave as his home, it was inaccessible without the ability of flight.

When he returned home with a fresh kill you wasted no time. Instantly you were in front of it with your knife ready. It was gross having to cut through the raw meat(especially with all the blood pouring out)but desperate times called for desperate measures. You tried comparing it to cutting up organs in biology class.

Crow was startled when you rushed forward to seize the deer he’d caught. You had never done that before. You always stayed away from him when he ate and chose to accept food from the sack of fabric you had. He had considered taking it away in order to force you to rely on him but never went though with it since he knew how much it would hurt you.

He watched with curiosity as you dug through your belongings. You made a satisfied noise when you found what you were looking for. It was something Crow had never seen before. It was small and had a pointy corners. He doubted it was food despite having zero knowledge about it. You then went over to the nest and crudely pulled out a bunch of branches.

“Caaaaaaww!” He schreeched in alarm. Why would his mate destroy their nest? Crow rushed forward and almost didn’t dare look at the damage. A part of the large nest had now begun to disassemble and more branches were falling out. Not the beautiful nest he’d so lovingly build for his mate! He’d been proud of it too.

“Don’t look at me like that, I need these.” You rolled your eyes in irritation. It’s not like the whole nest has been destroyed or anything, only about 10%. The smallest sticks wouldn’t last your fire so you had to get the larger, sturdier branches. “You can find new twigs later, but I have to eat right now.” Your stomach decided to humour you and gave off a strong growl. “See?”

Ignoring the depressed-looking, overgrown bird who gloomily stared at his ruined work, you piled the wood together and flicked your lighter. After a few failed tries, a fire finally started. You sighed in relief. Bow was time for the grilling, you could already smell the sizzling meat. Having been forced to survive on a diet consisting of almost solely oats, you were ready to have something else.

You thought you would be able to make your food in peace with no troubles at all, but what you didn’t expect was that Crow would freak out and throw himself in the fire. You screamed as he thrashed around on the ground in obvious pain until the fire had gone out. He threw the branches in all directions and made sure to stomp out the last of it for good measure. When he was done he stared at you like you were the insane one who’d nearly burned themselves alive.

“What the fuck?” You exclaimed. What had possessed him? Despite Crow clearly being on alarm, you tried collecting new twigs since you still-because of a certain someone- hadn’t eaten and you didn’t know what else to do. This caused a similar reaction to where he ripped them from you and refused to let you get more. It ended with the two of you running around the cave and him staring intensely into your eyes when you finally gave up. He did not want you to start a fire.

Alright, it was understandable. He ate his food raw and probably didn’t have much experience with flames. But you couldn’t eat raw meat!

Would this mean you’d starve? On the long list of ways to die, it definitely was one of the worse ways. It was slow and painful. Before being kidnapped by a bird-man you were always able to eat when you wanted and even after, you had your oat-mix. But now you were really dead; the only food you had you couldn’t eat.

Crow’s intentions towards you and always been obvious so you never really feared him in that way. However, you were beginning to wonder if he’d actually grown tired of you and wanted to find a way to make you suffer to death. Maybe you should’ve accepted his courting after all? Then you wouldn’t feel so hopeless.

A gentle nudge brought you out of your despair. It was the source of your current misery. He nuzzled your hand carefully before staring up at you with concern. He didn’t know what he did wrong. Form his perspective he saw a threat and got rid of it. He was in the right. Unfortunately, it seemed this made you incredibly sad. Crow saw how you sunk down in the cave floor and refused to look up.

He had no idea what you were doing or why you’d thought it be a good idea to start a fire in your home. He had seen the destruction they cause and couldn’t fathom why you’d want to be near it, but he just wanted you to be happy. A sad mate equals a bad life. Reluctantly, he picked up some former nest-branches and pushed them in your direction.

You had a surprised expression in your face. You had not expected him to do that. Watching him with a caution, you took the wood.

Instead of throwing them away and cawing loudly, he simply continued nuzzling your hand and shivered in delight when you ran your fingers through his hair. You noticed how his feathers ruffled up in pleasure. He sure enjoyed when you petted him in any kind of way. Even when you were done preparing he still didn’t do anything to stop you. You smiled at his sudden compliance.

Perhaps you would be getting a warm meal after all.

[luvst4rc0r3]

“Mistletoe Mishchief”

Jinx x F!Reader

WC:1473

NOTE: GUYS I WANT IT TO BE CHRISTMAS AGAIN😭😭

The apartment was a disaster zone of glitter, tinsel, and tangled lights. Jinx had gotten a little too enthusiastic about the decorating process—like she did with everything else in life—and now, half the decorations were strung haphazardly around the room.

“Jinx,” you called out, holding up a strand of lights that looked like it had been through a war. “How did you manage to break this and tangle it at the same time?”

“I told you,” Jinx replied from across the room, balancing precariously on a chair while attempting to tape a paper snowflake to the ceiling. “The decorations were trying to kill me! You should be thanking me for saving your life.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin. “Sure, babe. You’re my hero. Now get down before you fall and break something—preferably not yourself.”

Jinx stuck her tongue out at you but hopped down anyway, her combat boots hitting the floor with a thud. “Where’s Isha? She’s supposed to be helping us!”

As if on cue, your six-year-old child came skittering into the living room, holding a sprig of mistletoe in her hand. Her wavy blue hair was a wild mess, and her cheeks were flushed with excitement.

She tugs on your shirt, waving the mistletoe like it was a trophy. “Look what I found!” She signs.

“Oh no,” Jinx said, her eyes narrowing. “She’s got ideas.”

You laughed, kneeling down to Isha’s level. “What are you up to, kiddo?”

Isha grinned, her gap in the front teeth making her look even more mischievous. “I’m gonna put this up and make you guys kiss!”

Jinx cackled, clapping her hands together. “I love this plan. Ten outta ten, kid. Go for it!”

“Wait—what?” you said, but it was too late.

Isha scrambled onto the couch, mistletoe clutched in one hand, and climbed onto the armrest like it was her personal jungle gym. Holding the mistletoe high above her head and squinting to make sure it was positioned just right.

“Careful!” you called out, hovering nervously nearby in case she lost her balance.

“I’m always careful!” she stops to sign back, which was the biggest lie you’d heard all day.

Jinx snorted. “She gets that from me.”

“No kidding,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Finally satisfied with her positioning, Isha beamed down at the two of you.

“Christmas rules, huh?” Jinx said, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. “Who made those up?”

Isha points to a Santa nutcracker you guys both bought a couple months ago.

Jinx looked at you, her grin so wide it was practically splitting her face in two. “Well, we can’t argue with Santa.”

You sighed, pretending to be exasperated, but the warmth in Jinx’s eyes made it impossible not to smile. “Fine. But only because I don’t want to disappoint the kid.”

“Pfft. Sure, sure,” Jinx teased, stepping closer. “Definitely not because you wanna kiss me or anything.”

Before you could retort, she grabbed you by the waist and pulled you in, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that was softer than you expected. Jinx was all chaos and sharp edges most of the time, but moments like this reminded you of the tenderness she tried so hard to hide.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were pink, and her usual cocky grin had softened into something almost shy.

“Merry Christmas, toots,” she murmured

“Merry Christmas, my love,” you replied, feeling your own face heat up.

Above you, Isha let out a loud eugh! before collapsing into giggles and signing, “You guys are so gross!”

Jinx laughed, ruffling her daughter’s hair. “Oh, we’re gross? You’re the one who made us do it!”

Isha stuck her tongue out, then leapt off the couch signing, “I’m getting cookies!” bolted toward the kitchen.

“Don’t eat all of them!” you called after her.

Jinx wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you both watched your daughter disappear into the kitchen. “She’s a menace,” she said fondly.

“Wonder where she gets that from,” you teased, leaning into her.

Jinx grinned, unrepentant. “What can I say? She’s got good role models.”

The rest of the evening was a whirlwind of laughter, cookies, and Jinx attempting to turn the leftover tinsel into a scarf for Isha. The tree looked a little lopsided, and there was glitter everywhere, but as you sat together on the couch, Isha curled up between you with her head on Jinx’s lap, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect Christmas.

I miss Christmas😭

I want food

[slippinmickeys]

Keva sent me a Funfetti prompt on Bluesky, which was fun because it was just a picture. Of...you'll see.

A February day like the world cracked open, crystalline and pure. There was snow in the air, there was frost on the glass. 

“Gonna need to replace those windows,” said Mulder into his pillow, though Scully couldn’t help but admire the paisley hoar, the delicate whorl of paper thin crystals. “Item 161 on the Shit The House Needs List.”

“You’re the one who begged to buy this house, Mulder,” she reminded him, rolling toward him and shoving her feet under the warm meat of his legs. From beside the bed, the baby monitor hissed quietly.

“You agreed to it.”

“The price was right.” 

“I paid for it.”

“It’s only redeeming quality,” she said jauntily, rolling closer to him and pushing the cold tip of her nose into his neck. “And now you get to pay for its upkeep.”

The first eleven months of William’s life had been a slow merging of their individual ones, until the night of Mulder’s fortieth birthday when he wondered aloud why he was still paying for his apartment when he hadn’t set foot in it in months. Upon blowing out the candles on his Snoball, he declared the desire to buy them all a house. 

She pressed a kiss into his skin. “It’s hideous,” she murmured into him. 

“It’s got good bones.”

“It’s got zero curb appeal.”

“There are cathedrals everywhere for those with the eyes to see,” Mulder said, then rolled over quickly, pinning Scully beneath him in one slick move. 

She looked up at him with surprise. With interest. 

“I won’t sit idly by while you lay there and burgle my warmth,” he said, a sly grin creeping up one cheek. 

“I was once told that the best way to regenerate body heat was to crawl naked into a sleeping bag with somebody else who is already naked.”

Mulder smiled. “Sleeping bags aren’t necessary Scully, I intend to get lucky,” he said, lowering his mouth to the curve where her neck met her shoulder. She felt the flick of his tongue. 

And then from the baby monitor, the dulcet tones of “Dada! Dada!”

They both groaned, and Mulder thunked his head into Scully’s shoulder. 

“Well…” she said, giving his back a conciliatory rub. “Maybe tonight.”

Mulder lifted his head. 

“Here me out,” he said. “I think we have time.” He thrust himself almost experimentally against her once. 

Scully considered for a moment, turned her head so she could better hear the smaller noises William was making over the baby monitor when:

“DadadadaDADADA!”

Mulder fell to Scully’s side in defeat. 

“I’ll keep the bed warm for you,” she said, checking to make sure she didn’t need to change into a different pajama top for easier nursing. 

Mulder made a whining sound. 

“Why do I have to go when it’s you he wants?”

“He’s not calling for me,” Scully said innocently. He was one hundred percent correct. The boy would be thrilled to see his father walk into his nursery, but the second Scully came into view, he would attempt to tip himself out of his father’s arms with all the strength he could muster until he found himself in his mother’s.

“‘Dada’ is the only word he can say.”

“A fact I recall you bragging about to anyone within earshot for the better part of the last week.”

“Scully…” he whined. 

“To the victor go the spoils,” she said, and shimmied herself further under the covers. 

Knowing he was fighting a losing battle, Mulder rose from the bed and quickly donned sweats and a tee shirt, shuffling out of their bedroom in a leather pair of slippers ‘William’ had gotten him for Christmas. 

“Good morning!” Scully heard him say good-naturedly over the monitor before she leaned over and switched it off, smiling to herself. 

A few minutes later Mulder came shuffling back in carrying their son, who squealed happily upon seeing his mother. 

“Good morning, William!” she said with a happy smile. 

As they approached her side of the bed, Mulder grinned. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mom,” he said, then turned to look importantly at their son. “Want to give her her present?” 

“Da!” the baby babbled, and leaned out of Mulder’s arms and into Scully’s. 

Scully sat him on her lap briefly, and in the hand that had been tucked into Mulder’s side appeared a small red and yellow plushie that went directly into his mouth. 

“My goodness!” Scully exclaimed happily. “What’s this?” 

Mulder flopped into the bed next to them and propped himself up on an elbow.

William took the opportunity to tilt himself forward and reach for Scully’s top. 

“Breakfast first, huh?” she said, and adjusted both baby and herself so the boy could nurse. 

He waved the plushie about as he latched, and Scully finally got a good look at it. 

“Wait,” she said. “Mulder is that a…” She turned to look at him and he grinned. 

The plushie was a bee. Slightly anthropomorphized with an adorable chubby face, smile, and antenna, holding a heart that said “BEE MINE” in looping cursive. 

“You’re kidding.” She turned to Mulder, who chuckled. “Where’d you two find this?”

“The grocery store,” he answered airily.

“My Valentine’s Day gift is from the grocery store?” Mock outrage. 

“Your birthday is in nine days and I’ve got a mortgage to pay,” Mulder breezed. “Besides, he really liked it.”

“That much is apparent,” Scully said, looking down at her son who was happily suckling, his hand wrapped around the bee in a death grip. 

“You like it?” 

“It’s charming,” she answered. “And as inside jokes go, it’s very…you.” 

Mulder leaned forward to press a kiss to her cheek and then one to the side of William’s head. “I think of it less as an inside joke and more a message of devotion.” 

She quirked a look at him. 

“I’d go to the ends of the earth for you, Scully,” he said simply, then rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom, leaving her in a state of rather stunned emotional tumult. 

She sat in silence for a moment, her equilibrium shaken. Mulder chose that moment to bring her back to herself.

“Oh,” he said, reappearing in the doorway with a toothbrush sticking half out of his mouth. “Be careful. I think it’s got a lot of drool on the one antenna.”

[iprefervillains]

book club hangster?! please share more

Book club Hangster entered my mind at the start of the new year and hasn't left it yet.

Basically they both like to read and somehow this escalates from them swapping books on a carrier once to sending all kinds of random books they pick up on employment halfway across the world for the other to read.

They leave annotations and reviews for the other and sometimes spent hours skyping or emailing about the books. They read, discuss and banter. It's their thing, their way of bonding and falling in love even though they don't like each other (lie!) and aren't even in the same part of the world most of the time.

It's mostly vibes right now but some ideas for this include:

Bradley hating thrillers and Jake picking up some weird Scandinavian psycho thriller when it is his turn some time before the mission just to be an ass. It's the real reason for the "early grave" comment, the book scared Bradley shitless.

Jake having a concussion after his air-to-air kill and Bradley calling him up to read him a new book over the phone. It helps with the boredom and the nightmares.

Bradley has a special bookshelf where he keeps all the books Jake send to him. They are scribbled full (Bradley adds his own comments even though Jake won't see them) to the point where he awkwardly purchases a second copy of a book he already owns because he doesn't want to lend Phoenix his copy.

They spent one Christmas when they are both temporarily stationed in San Diego quietly sitting on the couch in the Bradshaw bungalow, each in their own corner, silently reading a book and making notes and then swapping books the next day to do it again, before loudly discussing them on the second Christmas day.

They have soo many inside jokes, most importantly: "this could be us but you playing" noted to either the most hilariously bad romance scenes or totally unhinged conversations between characters or people killing their enemies.

Sometimes they challenge each other to only speak in quotes without anyone else noticing

Bradley ends up confessing his love for Jake by putting one of those romance novels that has a life shattering confession scenes and ends with either one or both characters dying on Jake's bed before he leaves for the mission with the confession highlighted and the words "I wish I would have been brave enough to tell you too instead of being a coward. I'm so sorry, Jake ♥". Needless to say Jake ends up totally pissed when he gets to the point in the book on the way back to shore because this is such a dick move and storms the medbay in the middle of the night to rip Bradley a new one.

Honestly I just love the idea of them having a share passion to bond over. A soft kind of love, you wouldn't expect at first, especially when you hear them loudly arguing about the right flight style.

There is more if you want @intrepidjourneys, it might take me some time to write though.

[strryhaze]

bobby & david kennedy

“There was some level on which David tapped his father’s sensitivity. You would find him walking with David or with his arm around David. David just seemed to need it.”

— chuck mcdermott.

“If his father’s death hit David harder than the others, it was because there had been a special bond between them—both were the runts of the litter, sandwiched into the middle of a large family. He was the only one in the family who hadn’t been enthusiastic about the run for the presidency. For weeks after his father’s announcement, David had been plagued by recurring nightmares about Bobby’s death. Distraught over episodes that seemed premonitory, and missing the special attention his father had given him, David had gotten in trouble for throwing rocks at cars passing by Hickory Hill. The day of the California primary, he had joined his father in Los Angeles. The two of them had been swimming and he had felt himself being carried out by the undertow when his father grabbed him, scraping his own head on the ocean floor as he reached for David’s slippery arm. With a teenager’s melodrama, David had decided that he owed his father a life and would look for an opportunity to pay him back in the years ahead. That night as he sat in front of the television set in his room in the Ambassador Hotel and watched [his father] bleeding on the floor downstairs, one of the thoughts he had was that the debt would be forever undischarged.”

“As the worst year of their young lives came to a close, they decided to surprise their mother at Christmas with a book comprised of letters about their father. David’s said: ‘Daddy was very funny in church because he would embarrass all of us by singing very loud. Daddy did not have a very good voice. There will be no more football with Daddy, no more swimming with him, no more riding and no more camping with him. But he was the best father there ever was and I would rather have him for a father for the length of time I did than any other father for a million years.”

— the kennedy’s, peter collier & david horowitz.

“David looked at himself in those pictures like they were a strange sort of mirror. He looked at them half a dozen times at least, mesmerized by them, and he kept asking me questions. There was a tremendous desire to know his father, to really know him.”

— john seigenthaler.

“David and Bobby were so close. They were inseparable. David was small, a runt like Bobby had been.” Ethel then explained to Noelle (her secretary) that David had always been a very sensitive youngster, very introverted, "not like the other boys. He and I would go and pick flowers while his brothers were killing each other with their crazy games", Ethel recalled with a smile.

— ethel kennedy.

“I think about death a lot. Time hasn’t erased the death of my father from my mind. My family thinks I’m no good and that I’ll never beat my problem. They’ve written me off. I’m trying to get it together, but it’s so difficult. I’m having a terrible time at it. And the thing I want most in the world is the approval of my family, but they want nothing to do with me. All I want is to be with my father.”

— david kennedy, april 1984.

“Like his family, his friends had all wondered at one time or another if he would kill himself; but when it finally came his death was nonetheless shocking. ‘I keep asking myself why. Why David? Why now? All I can come up with is that maybe his father was looking down from heaven and saw all the hell these people were putting him through and said, ‘Come on, You’ve suffered enough. It’s time you were up here with me.’”

— nancy narleski.

Years after David Kennedy’s death, his cousin, Patrick Kennedy recalled a haunting and heartbreaking recollection he had with his father, Teddy, sitting beside his cousin’s casket: “My father remembered Bobby telling him that, as a father, he needed to spend more time with David. He also recounted a story Uncle Bobby had told him just before his own death. On the day before the California primary, the Robert Kennedys had gone swimming in Malibu, to relax together. David had been knocked over by a wave and got caught in the undertow, and his father had come to his rescue. When Uncle Bobby told my father this story, he talked about ‘the undertow’ in broader terms, how there was an undertow in life and David, who was only then thirteen, already seemed vulnerable to it. And then, just hours later, Uncle Bobby was murdered as David watched the TV coverage in their hotel room upstairs. It was unbelievably poignant to hear my father tell this story. David was in the casket next to us. And I wasn’t that much older than David when his father worried whether he could survive the undertow.”

[flock-of-cassowaries]

Anyone else ever think about the fact that in this scene…

…Will is basically telling a real woman to fuck off after she’s (gently and reasonably) invites him to reconsider the wisdom of his continuing affection for Hannibal?

And then when she’s gone, he goes back to hanging out with his imaginary projection of Abigail Hobbs.

And his projection of Abigail very conveniently understands and endorses Will’s continued attraction to Hannibal.

Which is a little bit weird, given that the real Abigail Hobbs was terrorized, held captive, and murdered by Hannibal.

“She just gets me.” BITCH THAT’S BECAUSE YOU MADE HER UP.

Honestly, I think it’s one of Will’s ugliest moments as a character.

It’s also extremely illustrative of how much Will is willing to lie to himself, even when those lies are unconscionably self-serving, and how easily he deprioritizes other people when he really, really wants something for himself.

On the surface, it’s a weird failing for a character so defined by his empathy.

[ How does Will’s empathy just turn off? ]

But it makes sense to me when I think of Will’s relationship to empathy as being analogous to my own relationship to risk-avoidance.

I have OCD. I exist in a constant state of low-level terror that if I am not careful enough, I will die prematurely, and it will be My Fault.

But sometimes, I do things like stand on a rickety cat tree in front of a second floor picture window to put up Christmas lights. Which, objectively, is a risk most people probably wouldn’t take.

And I think it’s just that I’m so used to ignoring false-alarms of the ���THIS WILL SURELY LEAD TO YOUR DEATH!” variety that I just sometimes, subconsciously, decide ‘Fuck it’, and do whatever the fuck will get me to my goal the fastest. Because I am just so tired and frustrated and overwhelmed.

If we see Will’s empathy as a burdensome and intrusive thing - a distracting and often distressing mental process which he usually can’t turn off, and which makes his life much more painful - it kind of makes sense that under the right amount of stress (e.g. the kind he gets from thinking about Hannibal Lecter), he would be liable to just flip into emergency-override ‘Fuck it’ mode.

[ Abigail, Molly, and Will’s resentment of the perceived expectation of masculinity ]

I also think it’s really interesting to compare the lie he tells himself about Abigail (“the girl Hannibal literally murdered would want him and I to be happy together”) to Will’s other big lie (“She knows enough”).

Both Abigail and Molly are women who Will feels a sense of duty to, and who make him feel like he has to perform a stereotypically cis-het neurotypical masculine role - Abigail, as a father, and Molly, as a husband and step-father.

I think it’s possible to read Will as resenting both the duty, and the (perceived) pressure to perform cis-het neurotypical masculinity. And if we read him this way, I think it’s possible to extrapolate that his resentment of the “burdens” associated to these women for Will also made it easier for him to subconsciously justify lying about / to them.

[causenessus]

human things in my life recently . . . ✦ . ⁺

(this is going to be a long list! i'll probably keep thinking of things as I write others down. and that's probably because that's the human experience :) )

i was talking to my director about wishing other kids could see him how I did, as a person, not just some silly guy who will let them slack off or do whatever they ask him to and I said "sometimes I wish I could project my brain onto others" and he laughed and said, "isn't that what it means to be human? wanting to share your thoughts with others, make them feel what you feel and think?"

i later told him i wanted to be there for our upcoming play which is stressing us both out and I told him, "I just feel like I see you. as a human. not as just a teacher, or some adult, or a figure. but a human." and he said, "thank you, I needed to hear that."

i wrote a christmas card to my manager and thanked her for treating me like a human and she said that my card was the best gift she received that year

we are all humans. why is it such a heartfelt compliment to tell someone you see them as such?

last december, sitting on the stage of my theatre on the last day before break with my tech director talking about growing up. what I will always remember from that day is watching the kid who will be taking over a lot of my responsibilities next year skipping down the stairs as he and I talked. i told him, "there have been so many deaths this year, and that scares me. i didn't think i'd start experiencing so much of this at 18, I thought it would be something in my late 20s. is this what growing up is?" and he said, "yes, but it's also about life. it's about watching new lives be created just as much as it is about seeing people off for the last time." and while currently, I think there's even more to growing up than just these two things, it was a nice reminder. growing up also means more life.

a post i saw online, about how depressing this Christmas felt, and someone's realization that it's because Christmas is a holiday your parents work hard to make feel magical. as you grow older, then it's up to you to make it magical for others, and that's how the magic of Christmas is kept

an except from my sociology final exam research paper on the fear of growing up from December: "While the definition of what it means to be an adult may vary between people, many at least hold within them an optimism that they will reach the place of adulthood at some point. Being an adult means to many being independent and responsible, which some acknowledge to be a heavy burden, but one that they are happy to carry...I am left with one closing thought: perhaps everyone is more prepared for the future than they thought."

telling my father on his birthday that he's the strongest person I know, not just physically, but mentally. even if we disagree on a lot of things and don't always get along, i can take one look around my room and house and realize how much he's done for me despite all of our arguments and how much he hurts everyday

something my therapist said that i'd come to the conclusion to while trying to decide if I should drop a class that was giving me a lot of anxiety or not, "do it. there's a stigma in society nowadays to just 'suck it up' whenever your facing something hard, but if you have the ability to change your surroundings when you're uncomfortable, why wouldn't you?"

my friend a few years younger than me that will text me and ask if she can be with me for lunch because she wants to be around someone she feels comfortable with

this same friend asking me for help on an assignment to find ten things that inspired her, and I told her "why don't you think about the future? somewhere you want to travel? your dream home, when you finally get to move out? what keeps you motivated?"

the fact that scientists don't yet understand the human brain. the fact that every single person on this earth is unique in how they form perceptions, what they experience who they meet, who they decide to love, what they believe in, what foods they like, how different the chemistry inside each of them is. how flawed we all are. everything that makes us human. and there's beauty in those imperfections, not things to be hidden.

[odetolovers]

hello 💃

[stormysprite]

I used to! I downsized a lot when we moved several years back. I still have a few I love v much, especially my plushie armadillo named Gertie

SO. MUCH. Christmas trees are the best imo because of the extra chocolaty edges, but all the holiday Reese’s shapes just hit different. I can and will eat all the peanut butter placed in my vicinity

kiiind of, but not really? I’m a very friendly person, but when it comes to talking about myself or my interests, I’m pretty reserved until I know the other person is truly interested in my thoughts. It’s something I’m working on 🤷‍♀️ But once I get going about something I love, I can gush. And go DEEP. LU’s actually been good for me with this, I try to nudge everyone who’s ever heard of LoZ toward the comic and do a tiny little gush about how gorgeous the art is and how incredibly well-written the characters are

so, so, SO much. It’s close, but I think I have the highest spice tolerance in my family. I have Opinions on which hot sauces should go on which food

completely. utterly. totally. my entire life. (If you ever need an onslaught of random animal facts and hands-on stories, I’m your gal!) I love them all. Have beef with squirrels and salamanders (they started it), but I still love them

boomeranging back at you!

super into any branch of science?

deep connection to nature?

calls the fizzy stuff “soda”?

prefers a warm climate?

alarmingly sneaky when needed?

Hey, Faith! I saw you liked Emmie and my Are We Clones game, and I was wondering if you’d like to play too? nbd if not!

winter birthday?

cold cereal is a viable dessert? (I’m partial to Reese’s Puffs myself)

big reader? (I kinda figured from your username🤣)

chosen tumblr nickname means something special to you/has a fun story behind it?

loves dogs?

I'd love to play!

1. No, I have a summer birthday :)

2. Yes! I eat cereal (especially Reece's puffs) as a dessert all the time!

3. Whaaaaaaat???? That's a crazy question. Why would you even think that? /jk I LOVE reading. Definitely a big inspiration for my username lol 😂 Also, random thing, sometimes I actually forget that my username is readingismyhobby24 lol 🤣

4. It's more of a silly story lol. When I first got Tumblr (in April) I literally didn't think that I was going to get any followers or mutuals, so I just chose a random name to be my nickname. I really liked the name Faith, so I just chose that, and it's stuck lol 😂 At first it was really weird to be called Faith (because it was literally so random lol) all the time, but now I'm used to it, and I really like it :)

5. YES. ABSOLUTELY. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH OMG

Now for the questions for you!!!!

1. Has a large collection of plushies?

2. Absolutely LOVES Reece's cups (especially the holiday edition ones)

3. When you get a new obsession (or just even one you've had for a while) you literally yap to anyone, and I mean anyone, about it as much as you can?

4. Likes spicy food a lot?

5. Really really really really really really really really really really likes animals? (Like, obsessed with them)

[floccinaucinihilipilificationa]

[writerfae]

I think what I struggle with most is that whole “each character has a different voice” thing.

Because in my head and when I write, for me personally, I do think my characters have different voices when talking or like being pov character.

But then I’m thinking ‘but do they really?’

Because I never actively given them different voices. Like I’m aware of some of their quirks but even those I don’t build in knowingly but more instinctively.

I write them without paying much attention to their voice, not actively that is.

So whenever I try to do pay attention and ask myself do their voices sound different or like try to actively make them talk different it feels so off.

So idk I hope that the way my ocs have different voices in my head when I write them translates good enough into my writing because I can’t actively try and make them sound different.

[astracora]

A Mandated Holiday Break - Chapter 7

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc (poly lads)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1554

Written: 22nd December 2024

Notes: Post-relationship Sylus/MC-centric but poly LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

Masterlist AO3

He's been relegated to picking up supplies. You'd thrust a list at him that morning, and he'd almost seen a tail behind you, flicking and curling like a question mark.

It isn't the first time you've had him wrapped around your finger, requesting his assistance. Normally you only ask when you're sick, desperate for supplies and he's available. (He'll always be available.)

Still, this time you've handed him a list for crafts, shoved him from his own base, and you peppered his face in kisses before he can even respond or argue. 

Not that he would, but he wishes you would at least come shopping with him. He's found himself enjoying the domesticity of you puttering around aisles while he pushes a trolley. If he takes his eyes off you, you'll steal the trolley and go skidding down an empty aisle.

Which is how he stands now, in the living room of his base, hands full of arts and crafts supplies, while he stares at a tree he doesn't remember buying.

It's twinkling with lights half done, but otherwise it bears no decoration. The twins are balancing on each other's shoulders trying to throw the multicoloured flashing lights up towards the top of it. You're there underneath, ready to catch them if them.

He's pretty sure someone's going to end up with a broken bone. (Which he does not want to explain to the doctor.)

With a flick of his finger, black and red swirling mist quickly remove lights from hands and twist them around the top of the tree. Gently, and carefully.

He's only slightly smug, smirk in full, when you turn to him in surprise. He's even more smug when your face instantly warms, eyes twinkling at him.

If he were really a crow, his feathers would poof up and he'd preen. Instead he wipes his hand on his shirt collar and extends the bags he's holding, "For you, kitten."

Your whirlwind of activity rushes over, the twins wobbling before they manage to detangle themselves, grabbing at the bag and pulling them to the floor. Separating things out.

He watches absently, but you're focused and tapping on your chin as you think, so he abandons you to your considerations to make himself useful. Warm drinks in hand before he returns to you.

Sylus finds you showing the twins how to fold and make ornaments with coloured paper. He hesitates at the door, if you had wanted ornaments, why did you not just ask for them? He could have ordered any number. Any colour. Anything you wanted.

He's again unsettled by a strange uncomfortable dissatisfaction, you do not make it easy to provide for you. To satisfy every desire. He wonders how you became someone who holds them so close to the chest, scared to want, all over again. He offers hot chocolate to the twins, and frothed coffee to you, (the smell never gets better), before sitting next to you on the floor, cross legged and curious.

You look over and grin, and for a second he sees ears tilting forwards in mischief, pupils blown and ready to pounce. "We didn't have a lot growing up, so me and Caleb would make ornaments for the tree with Gran. The twins wanted to try..." there's a question there that you want to ask but you can't quite... get the words out.

He can read you well enough to know the hesitation, and he leans in, voice low, fingers brushing your cheek, "Show me."

Sylus prides himself on learning, he's good at picking up skills, but he cannot be said to be creative. He is, however, good at following steps. He does, however, enjoy trying.

It's not a new skill that will be useful for anything other than moments like this, but truthfully if he only ever learned skills for moments like this, he'd be a happier fiend than he has any right to.

The twins decide to get pens and decorate the shapes he folds, while you sit nearby fretting over a new challenge. He finds himself looking over and peering but you catch him and point at his hands in an unspoken order. Focus.

He chuckles, only you would dare to order him about, and only you would gain his obedience as he follows your orders.

As they end up with a pile of... he's not sure he'd call anything he and the twins have made art, the fish would surely have something to say if he tried, he already dreads the upcoming conversation, but you're thrilled and excited as you come over to look. Picking up paper baubles and stars that the twins have drawn silly faces on.

There's a happy flush to Luke and Kieran's face as you wholeheartedly approve, and he swallows a lump in his throat that he doesn't really understand. Yet he wants to cry, he thinks, and he's not really sure why. Or what caused it.

He doesn't linger, doesn't have time, as you're pushing him towards the tree, "You get the top, Luke, middle, Kieran, bottom." Then you're running off.

He's starting to think the holidays are a little too much trouble... (Warm, vibrant, comforting.) That lilting voice that sounds like yours again.

Your soul is always so noisy, he muses, warmed and placated.

They're almost done when you come back, this time you're not as energetic. There's waves coming off you, nerves and anxiety rippling under skin. He pauses, where he's about to hang a star, and looks down  at you. As soon as he does you swallow, shoving a cardboard box into his arms.

Not a box? It has numbers on it?

"We-" you swallow past the nerves and push on. Ever ready to fight a monster. Even if the monster is yourself, "also used to make calendars for each other. It's late, so it's only twelve days." He catches your hand before it scratches at your arm, smoothing his thumb over your fingers and then rubbing circles into your palm. He blinks down at the thing, and sees today. He drops the star he's holding unceremoniously and presses the little cardboard flap open.

The calendar is decorated with a picture of a crow surrounded by presents. He remembers the fish encouraging your artistic pursuits, and while he's not sure if it's good, he never seems to be sure if it's good... he knows he likes it.

Inside is a hand wrapped chocolate and a small note.

Day one - A reminder that I love you, and appreciate you always, thank you Sylus.

You're still fidgeting, and at this point the twins have peeked their heads over to stare at his bounty. The longer he stares, the more he realises he has to speak, has to respond but his throat feels closed and his chest is so tight. It hurts. It hurts.

"If it's stupid you don't have to-"

He drops his calendar and he presses you into his chest. He's sure if he were better practiced in his emotions he'd cry. Instead he just encompasses you in his body, squeezing and holding and drowning in you. He nips at your cheek, hand squeezing your face, he wants to bite and chew and claw and scratch.

He can't understand and he doesn't want to hurt, but he breathes you in. Relieved he has no tail to betray him, wagging furiously. You're giggling at his reaction, trying to pull away from his rough handling, calling his name out like knives in his heart, and he finally kisses you. Over and over and over. Tasting his name on your lips and your love in his heart.

Then he startles, pulling away quickly to see that thankfully the twins had caught his gift, the note and the chocolate. Placing it on the side. They're giving him a look like he's a fool, he might be, because he has an evol that can move things for him. Instead his foolish body betrayed him.

"Hunter! Do we get one?" Luke calls, pouting, and you keep a hold on Sylus' hand. Grounding him as he looks at your note over and over, pressing your thumb into his wrist, and smoothing his rapid uneven heartbeat there.

Still you extend a makeshift calendar to the twins, one each, identical except for the names. He can tell that you'd been careful to match every line. "Of course."

He absently notes that you've left four more on the side. The fish, the doctor, the prince and an untouched one for your family. The note is finally placed in his pocket, right over his heart, where he knows he'll keep it until it's worn and unreadable. Not that it matters, because he'll remember it always.

As you watch him smooth his fingers over it, you laugh, "You know there's eleven more days of those right?" Your nerves are still simmering, he can tell, but you're thrilled for his reaction and eased with his earnestness and joy. He lets your words settle and then darts to the calendar on the side, he hears the twins opening theirs but barely cares.

You panic when you realise he's going to just tear the thing open for more of your feelings recorded in pretty stationary paper, before you throw yourself at his back, "Sylus! No! They're for other days!"