#considering coming out at thanksgiving dinner out of spite

[risingscorchingsuns]

my father told me my little siblings (nine and eleven fucking years old) aren’t old enough to know about trans people, so im not allowed to come out to them during the entire ass fucking week im staying here 👍👍 welcome to deadname fucking city population me

[regrettablewritings]

Preference: Surviving the Holidays

Characters: Dewey Finn, Peter B. Parker, Tadashi Hamada, Bruce Wayne

Dewey Finn: Thanksgiving

Dewey’s relationship with Thanksgiving was wack, for lack of a better word. Really that could be said for his relationship with most holidays, but what made Thanksgiving stand out ever so slightly was just how obsessively tied to gatherings with loved ones it was when compared to other holidays: You could party for Christmas; you could party for New Years; you couldn’t really party for Thanksgiving. And given that most of his time growing up was just himself and his ma . . .Yeah, the guy wasn’t too crazy about what he considered to be a sham of a holiday. (Plus, he didn’t vibe with the parade.)

And none of that lessened as he got older, with his relationship with his mother becoming more and more strained. After a while, the most he really got from the holiday was tagging along accompanying Ned to his own family’s place. But once Patty came along, that window of opportunity closed.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t long for it. Quite the contrary, it had become sour grapes for Dewey: He could gripe and sneer about Thanksgiving being a “boring-ass” wannabe day all he wanted to; the truth simply was that deep down, he knew he wouldn’t really mind the idea of being in the presence of somebody who loved and appreciated him enough to share a meal with him. Or to be thankful that he was in their lives and wanted him to know it.

That, and he missed the option of not having to stay cooped up in the apartment he mooched off in, eating Kraft Mac straight out the pot while imagining others elsewhere eating homemade baked macaroni as a side to a much more delicious and filling meal.

You personally didn’t feel especially impassioned by the day one way or another to be frank. At least, not usually. You weren’t sure what had gotten into you -- maybe it was because the two of you had just moved in together and wanted to make a statement, or maybe the spirit of the season had finally possessed the both of you, or maybe it was because the delirium of moving in two weeks before a holiday had finally taken its hold (moving is statistically one of the most stressful events in a person’s life, after all) -- but there was a newfound determination in trying to “get this right.”

Of course, there’s nothing and no one who says that a house only becomes a home once it has been christened by a successful feast. But there was a sense of maturity that did come with the idea of holding down even a dinner for two that wasn’t picked up from the deli down the street, or delivered by some knock-kneed cyclist. And it was a maturity the both of you were far too eager to acquire.

Never mind the fact that most of your kitchenware was still lost amongst the boxes (what few of them you could fit in the glorified Fruit-By-the-Foot box you called an apartment). Or that you guys were on a budget. Or that the dinner table was an old plastic collapsible one reminiscent of the tables put up at parties held in gymnasiums. You two were adults, goddammit, and you were going to pull this off at least once! Just once, and things would go back to normal.

. . .

Like most things that tended to involve the great Dewey Finn, you had no idea how this happened.

There was no turkey, no green beans or corn on the cob or even mashed potatoes or a pumpkin pie. Instead, what cluttered the table was a plate of Bagel Bites, tater tots, a plastic case of Lofthouse cookies, and, of course, some Kraft Mac. Neither one of you said anything. At least, not out loud. But the sheepish expressions you gave one another said everything.

Time had gotten away from you both. As did proper ingredients to prepare the more traditional meals associated with the day. You supposed that, in a panicked haze, the both of you wound up grabbing and putting together whatever you could to salvage your pride efforts but you began to suspect that that might not’ve been enough.

“. . . At least we beat Snoopy’s meal,” Dewey tried. A beat passed. Then a snort.

“S-shut up!” you cried. How dare he criticize an animated beagle’s meal of popcorn and toast? Though you had to admit, he had a point: You’d take pizza-decorated bagelettes over popcorn any day -- including Thanksgiving Day, apparently.

In the end, it wasn’t the most . . . traditional situation. And it certainly wasn’t enough to change Dewey’s mind about the day. But you both had to agree: It was a feast that certainly christened your new home together as your own. And for that, you were quite thankful.

Peter B. Parker: Hanukkah

While it wasn’t the most important holiday on the Jewish calendar, Hanukkah still held a heavy level of importance in Peter’s heart. Growing up, it had served as a foundation for so many things in his life: In certain traditions, stability was established; in the togetherness it garnered, there was love; and in the activities partaken, there were memories. Memories of helping Aunt May in the kitchen and of Uncle Ben determining him to be old enough to recite the proper prayers. Of lighting the menorah and setting the room aglow with the history of a miracle . . .

It was therefore a huge regret of Peter’s when he had foregone observing both the winter holiday, as well as many others in his culture during the more recent years when his life began to slip and slide out of control. So when he reemerged from Miles’ dimension, ready and willing to take a chance on life again, it was only natural that Peter was also ready and willing to bring back more positive habits and influences – celebrating Hanukkah included.

And with you, now present in his life and curious and eager as ever, he couldn’t help but feel all the more encouraged to share it. And maybe perhaps show off. Just a little.

For example, once you removed the whole Spider-Man situation, Peter was a pretty simple guy. Especially when it came to foods: Far be it from Peter B. Parker to turn down a burger with some fries or some pizza or street food. So that’s what made it stick out all the more when, after the first night he announced his decision to attempt making challah. Followed by some latkes. Maybe a babka as well. And some sufganiyot. Never mind that he had never actually made some of these without the more experienced Aunt May taking up most of the task. But he was determined and literally and metaphorically hungry for success, and who were you to question his ambitions?

. . . Apparently somewhat saner and more aware than he was. The babka and latkes were simple enough, thankfully. But the sufganiyot? Peter couldn’t fry like that; not with the best materials money could by, when said money was provided on the budget of two people trying to make it in one of the pricier boroughs of New York. And the less said about the challah process, probably the better. . . . Though you still had plenty to say.

“You’re a spider, Peter – why is your weaving coming out so weird?” you questioned, eyeballing the tangled mess of dough. Peter huffed, trying to keep his glower on his failed efforts, rather than redirecting it at you.

“It’s not my fault the guy moves too fast,” he said, referring to the tutorial you had both played on loop. He muttered something along the lines of “for beginners, my ass.” At this rate, the real holiday miracle would be if you not only braided the challah correctly, but also if you didn’t burn down the raggedy apartment. You wanted to say that there would be no shame in calling it and just going to one of the nearby Jewish bakeries for a loaf, but your partner seemed invigorated by spite-induced determination to see this task through.

Never mind that the strands of dough flopped against one another in spite of his best efforts. At this point, it resembled less of a perfect princess braid and more like a flattened Tangela. It was pitiful, really, but you had to admit: The pout his failed efforts had earned him was cute. You didn’t want to think lightly of what he was deeming a situation, but it was quite nice seeing him like this at all. When you had first met he was quite nearly the opposite, all grumpy and aloof and wanting nothing to do with you.

Who would’ve guessed that in due time, he’d become the very man who stood before you, eager to interact with you and bond with you, sharing moments like these . . . Moments which you wish he would just go ahead and enjoy along with you.

“Hey, Peter?”

“Ye -- ” A small blast of flour collided with his crooked nose, stopping the man short. “HEY!” He cracked one eye open just enough to glare at your grinning face.

“Don’t be such a Grinch, Peeby -- ”

“Wrong holiday,” your boyfriend snarked as he wiped his face.

“Hush. Anyway, we still got a few more nights to figure this out,” you reminded. You placed a quick peck on his powdery cheek for good measure. His shoulders slumped with a sigh. As much as he didn’t want to say it, he knew you had a point. Maybe he had gotten a bit too (literally) wrapped up in getting all this right. Though he did feel his spirits lift somewhat as you placed your hand over his with assurance.

Somewhat. All that was missing was --

Pff!

“UGH! PETER!” Your hands flew to your face in an effort to wipe away the fistful of flour that now caked it. All the while, the offender himself laughed. He was probably going to have to appease you with some chocolate gelt “for damages” but as far as he was concerned, it was worth it. After all, what better way to share these important moments than with his favorite person?

Tadashi Hamada: Christmas

A local little cafe in the heart of San Fransokyo was simultaneously the best place to be for the holiday season, and the worst. The great things about it were the cute store-bought and homemade decorations that decked the cozy halls of the establishment; the seasonal baked goods and sandwich specials that made the Lucky Cat smell like cinnamon or roasted turkey; the cozy feeling that welcomed you like a hug whenever you walked in.

Alternatively, there was the whole to-do with picky or rude customers coming in from out of town; the saturation of Christmas music screeching through the speakers; and way-too-hype women taking up tables for hours at a time after spending the day shopping (and clogging the already small aisles with the bags from said shopping).

But all in all, Tadashi made it all better.

Having grown up in the Lucky Cat, he’d long since learned how to cancel out the grinchiness the holiday season brought out, and was more than happy to help you do the same using his own methods. If you focused on the little things, he figured, you could attach sweeter memories and associations to them. Especially if you veered a little off the usual path.

Sure, there was joining him in the kitchen to prepare and bake cranberry-speckled pastries and frost cookies to resemble familiar holiday characters and items. But there was also stringing popcorn garlands together (“Tadashi, you’re the youngest 70-something year-old I have ever met.” “Hush, you; I’m doing you a favor by laying my Christmas cheer all over you.” “Phrasing, ‘Dashi, geez!”). But at the end of the day, there was one thing in particular that your boyfriend did to sweeten the deal. The one thing only someone like Tadashi could do: Snowball fight a la manipulation of barometric pressure.

Following the incident with the snow machine two years ago, Tadashi had to make a promise to Aunt Cass to only use it outside. Away from the house. That suited Tadashi just fine. After all: What better way to pelt your loved one in the face using snow warfare than to do so in a wide-open space like the park? And while those fortunate (and unfortunate) enough to have come upon the unusual winter wonderland he had created, the facts still stood: This was about you and him. You vs him, diving behind mounds of snow, screeching with both joy and discomfort whenever the snow made an impact against bare skin, eyes tearing up from the cold . . .

You could’ve done this for hours, especially since you were pretty positive Tadashi was letting you win. If only he hadn’t called for an armistice.

“ ‘Armistice’? For what? You scared I’ll beat your butt again?” you taunted through chattering teeth.

“No, you ding-dong,” Tadashi shook his head. “Look at you: You’re clearly at your limit with the cold.”

“Nuh-uh!” As if to betray you, your body gave a sudden jolt; a release of shivers like a spring being let loose after coiling. As if unimpressed, the young man reached for your gloved hands and gave one a gentle squeeze.

“Does that hurt?” he questioned.

You winced. “N-no . . .”

You heard him click his tongue. “Ah. Enforced armistice.”

“No fair!” you whined.

“If you sign the treaty, I will include hot cocoa when we get back.”

. . . Well, he could make a mean hot chocolate. Not too sweet, not too bitter, it was perfectly creamy with only the slightest hint of cinnamon for kicks. It was the perfect thing to relax you, causing you to come undone as it’s warmth spread about you inside while the warmth of the kotatsu took care of you on the outside.

“Comfy?” your boyfriend asked. You purred, foregoing a more proper answer just to take another sip of the glorious hot drink. Your enthusiasm earned you a chuckle from him as he inched closer to you. Just enough to hold your hand in his. “For body heat purposes” he might’ve insisted, had you asked. Not that you minded it: It was just what the evening needed to feel complete. Not the goofy, awful ugly sweater he wore that made Rudolph’s nose blink when you pressed a certain spot; not the gentle crooning of Christmas classics sounding from the miniature stereo Tadashi had set up; not even stockings carefully lined along the makeshift mantle, or the presents glimmering beneath the lights of the twinkling tree.

Just the warm feeling of togetherness. That this beautiful man you get to call yours is so willing to share how he celebrates with you. And that you, it turn, get to celebrate with him.

“Hey, you made her cocoa?!” Hiro’s complaining ripped through the air.

And his small but nevertheless vibrant family, of course.

Bruce Wayne: New Years Eve

Let’s face it: New Years Eve sucks. All everyone wants to do is throw a party (even when they actually don’t really want to), the parties are either obnoxiously loud or awkwardly quiet (there is no in-between), there’s never any food because all people wanna do (or have been convinced to do) is drink, and the alcohol is usually crap by the time you get there because everyone already knew to tackle the good booze as soon as they arrived.

Suffice to say, you had some gripes when it came to New Years Eve. And in spite of the luxurious images that tended to come to mind, parties thrown by the wealthy weren’t any different from the average one thrown by the common man. Really, the only difference was that the alcohol was of higher quality and the gatherings were usually held at some large hall like a hotel ballroom or even at a prestigious gallery.

But even if you’d known that beforehand, you still would’ve accompanied Bruce to one such party. Bruce wasn’t fond of them himself, but he needed to at least make an appearance to save face with all the moochers and bigwigs from neighboring industries and enterprises. You were honestly just there for support, though it was just as agonizing for you as it was for him.

Well, at least you didn’t have to actually talk extensively with anyone, you mused. You’d been nursing your drink for the last half hour or so, trying to walk that thin line between going about undisturbed while also not coming across as frigid or wallflowery. Not too far off, you could see Bruce smiling at another partygoer: A buxom ginger, surely an important figure in her own right, but clearly seeing no harm in grinning coquettishly at the affluent Prince of Gotham. You felt no trace of jealousy within you, however. You knew Bruce’s real smile, and the one he was currently providing her wasn’t it in the slightest.

No, the real one was the one he flashed you when he glanced over at you to make sure that you were doing fine off and alone. A sweet, glorious smile that reached his eyes. Though, there were also traces of exhaustion. And you suspected that the smile you returned held just as much because soon after that, you watched him excuse himself from whatever conversation he’d been trying to carry before making his way over to you.

“How’re you holding up?” he inspected.

You shrugged and sighed, “It is what it is. I’m making peace with the fact that the last thing I would’ve eaten this year would’ve been an assortment of cocktail wienies, what I think might’ve been pate, and ginger ale.” You’d meant for it to come across as more humorous, but the dry tone you had delivered your words in ruined the effect.

Bruce winced and offered yet another smile: A wobbly, more sheepish one.

“You ready to go home?”

God, yes.

“No, no,” you replied. “Really, it’s fine. Besides, it’s almost midnight anyway -- it probably wouldn’t look good if Bruce Wayne ditched a party his glorious hosts have so graciously invited him to.”

You watched as your significant other raised his brow. “Honey, I’m Bruce Wayne: I’m known for ditching parties.”

“Oh,” you said simply. Fair point. To your minor relief and slight embarrassment, he huskily chuckled.

“C’mon,” he sighed, placing his hand on your lower back as guidance. “My ass is sore from all the butt-kissing. Let’s go home where it’s warm. And quiet.”

“And we can actually eat!” you chirped, a little too excitedly. Once again, your embarrassment was met with approval.

The outside was both quieter and just as noisy as the inside of the celebration. Quieter because of the muting effect the fallen snow had, but also more lively because of the surrounding restaurants and streets and bars filled with people cheering and blowing party horns and singing in slurred joy. You liked it better than the party, if you had to be honest. But maybe perhaps because as you wandered the snow-caked streets to reach where Bruce had parked the car, you felt his gloved hand wrap around your own.

Of course, it was probably just to keep your hand warm -- maybe even just to make sure you kept pace with him, or that if you wouldn’t fall if you hit a small patch of black ice. But in a little corner of your mind, you couldn’t help but romanticize it: It was like he was accompanying you into the new year in a way. Just you and him. No loud parties, no pressures, no being anywhere or with anyone you didn’t want to be.

“Thanks, by the way.” Bruce broke the silence in a puff of cold air. “I know these really aren’t your thing -- I mean, personally, they aren’t mine, either, but you really didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to. But I appreciate that you . . . that you did.”

Your cheeks burned, though not from the whipping cold of the late December air.

“Of course I did . . .” you reasoned. “I know it sounds goofy but . . . we’re in this together, y’know?” You gave his hand a small squeeze. He squeezed yours right back, but with a bit more power. The warmth of it traveled up into your chest and cheeks. You licked your chapping lips.

“Besides,” you continued, “if I had just stayed home, I would’ve been bored. And probably would’ve given my New Year’s Kiss to Alfred.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, who knows? New year, new me, right?”

You couldn’t have imagined what Bruce would’ve responded with next if it weren’t for the sudden distraction: The air, disorderly and sloppy mere seconds before, had all at once seemed to become uniform with the sounds of chanting. A count down.

You’d lived through so many New Years before, you weren’t quite sure what made this one different. There was no reason for you to pause as you did, your heart suddenly thundering in your chest at the realization of what was to come. It was just another year, right? A new year with new promises, new disappointments, new surprises both good and bad, new --

“ -- two! One! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!”

You had barely had a moment to register the words before you became distracted with registering something entirely different: A pair of warm lips pressed against your own, the feeling of large arms wrapped about your waist to pull you in close.

As he parted from you, Bruce flashed you one of his real smiles once more. One that denoted the mischief only you were truly privy to.

“Beat him to it,” he teased.

And for as shocked as you were over the exchange of the midnight kiss, you couldn’t help but blink . . . and find yourself in a giggling fit. That was why this year felt different: You had never had a boyfriend on New Years before. Scratch that: You had never had Bruce for New Years. And that made a world of difference. You didn’t want to make any assumptions but . . . it was a pretty great way to start a new year, if you did say so yourself.

[thegirlonpeetamellark]

Christmas Break - Part 1

Surprise!! After a looong time away Court returns to Everlark fic world with a little holiday treat for everyone  - enjoy! :)

Hi everyone. So 2020 has sucked. For me, the beginning of quarantine was actually a bit of a gift. Being home gave me the gift of time, something I haven’t had much of as my daughters (who were very little when I started writing in this fandom) have gotten older. While I never stopped writing, it was a struggle to find long enough chunks of time to get into a flow. I started writing again with earnest. Not all of it was my fanfiction; some of it was my original work. El keeps me posted on the humbling and kind asks she gets about my writing. I felt bad that despite my increased writing, I still wasn’t ready to update any WIPs. But I did remember a story I had started for the final holiday PiP that I was never able to get past the first page (due to lack of time that year) and to my surprise, it started flowing. I had every intention of finishing it and having El post it as a gift to this fandom. But once my school went “back” in October and hybrid learning started, that was it. My time was gone. And further, my family experienced the very sudden and non-Covid-related death of my aunt. So while I have nearly half of this story written, it’s not done. But it will be, very soon, since it is a one-shot. As with all my stories, it took on a life of its own and it needs more love. So what I have for the readers who have loyally followed me is the first part, the part that involves Christmas. It’s my hope to have a second part posted in a week or two, so that by the time that part posts, a final part is nearly done. 

Thank you for your asks and your patience, and thank you to El, one of my favorite people in this world and the best thing my time in this fandom has given me. Thank you for your encouragement. Our friendship means the world to me. 

Here’s to a better 2021. Love to you all. Court

Christmas Break

Fuck, not again, Peeta grouses as the opening notes of that insidious Mariah Carey song pipe through the loudspeaker. That’s the third time in the last two hours. He’s all for holiday spirit, but if he never hears this fucking song again it will be too soon.

Leaning his forehead against the cold pane of glass, he peers out of the fourth-story window into the darkened sky. When he had arrived at work a few hours ago, the snow had just been starting to fall; a slow, lazy tumble of flakes. Now it’s coming down in a tumultuous swirl. It figures Panem would finally see a white Christmas his first Christmas Eve on rotation in the emergency room. No doubt the weather is partially to blame for the crush of bodies crowding the waiting room tonight. 

Peeta walks away from the window and opens the cabinet where he stashes his Clif bars. The economy-sized box looks suspiciously closer to empty than it did the other day. He’s heard complaints from other doctors and nurses that snacks are pilfered on a regular basis and was warned to label his own boxes. But he had forgone the warnings. If someone needed an energy bar badly enough to steal one, what was the $20 he had spent on them at Costco. He snags one and unwraps it. 

He’s just raised it to his mouth when his Apple watch pings and his silenced cell phone pulses insistently against his thigh. Heaving a loud sigh, he sets down the energy bar and withdraws the phone from his pocket. 

“Mom, you’ve got exactly 60 seconds,” he grits out. He doesn’t even need to look at the screen to confirm it’s her. She’s called twice already tonight, calls he’s ignored with good reason, but somehow his mother thinks a phone call from her trumps any actual emergencies her doctor son could be dealing with. Which, tonight, have been nonstop since his shift began at six. 

“Please tell me you ate something,” she begins. 

“I was just about to, when you called,” he replies. “I’ve only got a couple of minutes. It’s been utter chaos for the last four hours.” 

“We missed you at dinner. I can’t remember the last Christmas Eve when I didn’t have all three of my boys together.” Peeta closes his eyes. All these years my mother has been gushing about having a doctor in the family, and yet she never stopped to consider the ramifications of actually having a doctor in the family, he thinks. Particularly its impact on holiday gatherings. She obviously hadn’t learned anything from this past Thanksgiving, as now, just a month later, she’s already dumping a fresh guilt trip on him for missing another family dinner.

She continues, “And Jackson and Maxwell were just devastated when they heard you weren’t coming, until I assured them they’d see you tomorrow. We will see you tomorrow, yes?” 

Peeta suppresses another exasperated sigh and breaks off a chunk of the Clif bar. “Yes, Mom, I’ll be there.” And though it’s childish, he crams the bar into his mouth and mumbles around it, “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” His chewing masks the sarcasm that weighs down the words. 

“Excellent. We need an updated family portrait before Everly and Rye have to leave for her parents’ house.” Placated, his mother moves to ends the call, but not before getting in a less-than-subtle comment about how much she adores his brother Rye’s fiancée and how happy she is Rye is settling down. 

Staring at the disconnected call flashing on the screen, Peeta tries not to let the remark get to him. Mostly because he knows it’s a lie. His mother has complained more than once about Everly and how she’s not good enough for Rye. Peeta knows the dig was directed at him. He hasn’t truly had a serious girlfriend since junior year of college; just a few casual relationships that barely qualified as relationships. He doesn’t know how his mother expects him to meet someone with the hours he keeps. And his father, for as close as they are, never seems willing to jump to Peeta’s defense. 

Taking a deep breath to let his irritation suffuse, he jams his phone back in his pocket and scarfs down the rest of his pathetic dinner. All three bites of it. Then he uses the restroom, dutifully washes his hand, and stalks out of the staff lounge, his short break over.

As he strides up the corridor, he hears loud shouting coming from the ER waiting room. 

“…should be asleep in her bed, waiting for Santa Claus to come, but instead, we’re still here waiting for someone to take a look at her arm! It’s been over two hours! Don’t you people have any compassion? Or is Ebenezer Freaking Scrooge running this place tonight?”

Curious, Peeta veers towards the reception desk, where his eyes land on the ranting woman. She’s young, probably no older than her mid-twenties, and in spite of the fact that her dark hair is spilling out of a messy braid and she’s not wearing any makeup, Peeta is immediately struck by her beauty. The rosy flush to her cheeks from her tirade actually makes her even prettier. She’s cradling a toddler and protectively shielding the little girl’s right arm. The toddler’s blonde head rests on her mother’s shoulder, her thumb wedged into her tiny pink mouth. Her left arm clutches a stuffed orange cat. She looks tired. Actually, both mother and daughter do. 

“Miss, I understand your frustration, I really do,” the receptionist says calmly, her eyes cutting to Peeta as he stops by her side. He reads the name on the file on top of the stack, the next patient scheduled to be seen: MCMURPHY, JOSEPH. Clearly not the little girl in front of him. 

“I don’t think you do!” the young mother cries, her eyes flashing steel. “She’s three, she’s in pain, and she’s scared. And what’s more, I’ve seen at least five people go ahead of us who came in after us!” 

“That’s not how the emergency room works, miss,” the receptionist replies. She drums her fingertips on the desk, offering the young mother a tight smile. 

“It’s Christmas Eve,” the young mother adds, an edge of desperation creeping into her tone. Discreetly, Peeta moves around the receptionist’s chair, scanning the desktop until he spies the stack of files for the patients awaiting admission. While the receptionist continues to give the young mother the run-around, he thumbs through the stack, searching. His eyes land on what he’s looking for: a date of birth. His lips tip up. Bingo. This has to be it: HAWTHORNE, IVY ANN. 

At the exact second his hand snatches Ivy’s file from the pile and slips the other one in amongst the stack, the young mother’s eyes lock on his. Her gaze narrows. He can see the exhaustion all over her beautiful face. Her full lips twitch, her countenance suspicious as they stare at one another. 

“Ivy Hawthorne?” Peeta taps the file he had extricated. An immediate flicker of relief lights the young mother’s mercury eyes, and that lush mouth breaks into a grateful, relieved smile. The receptionist’s neck snaps up. “I’ve got this,” he adds, his tone leaving no room for her to argue with him. It’s not protocol for Peeta to take a patient directly, but it’s also not blatantly against the rules. Sure, it might mean a little more work for him, but if it means he can get this little girl home sooner on Christmas Eve, it’s worth it.

He smiles at the little girl. “Ivy, I’m Doctor Mellark. I’m going to help make you feel better, okay?” She nods once but doesn’t lift her head from her mother’s shoulder. Peeta’s arm sweeps to the side, ushering the young mother and Ivy past the desk. He scans the hallway and spies a partially drawn curtain halfway up the corridor. He leads them to the available partition and close the curtain behind them. As he turns to face them, he nearly slams into the woman. She hasn’t moved, and her luminous grey eyes fasten to his. She looks as if she’s going to say something, but several seconds pass and she’s still quiet, still watching him. The silence starts to become uncomfortable. Peeta clears his throat.  

“If you’d have a seat, please, Mrs. Hawthorne. You can hold her while I get some more information from you.” 

The young woman’s lips part slightly, again appearing as if she wants to say something, but instead she shuffles forward and Peeta waits while she settles on the edge of the hospital bed, gingerly adjusting Ivy so she’s sitting sideways across her mother’s lap. 

Peeta sinks down onto the stool and scoots towards the edge of the bed. This close he has a much better look at Ivy’s mother. She really is a beautiful young woman, and given how adorable Ivy is Peeta assumes her husband is probably also very attractive. He feels a twinge of jealousy. Lucky bastard. Pretty wife, cute kid…probably has a nice little house and a golden retriever too. Living the dream. His dream, if he allows himself to admit it to anyone but his mother. If he was being perfectly honest, he had always envisioned himself married by now. 

“How old are you, Ivy?” he ask, even though he knows from her chart and her mother’s declaration that she’s three years old. She hesitates, and still clutching the stuffed cat, manages to display three fingers. Peeta smiles at her again.

“I have a nephew who is the exact same age as you are. He told me just last week that he’s a big boy now. Are you a big girl, Ivy?” He keeps his tone gentle, hoping it will put her at ease with him. She nods, her big blue eyes lightening imperceptibly. “I thought so. Can you be a big girl and tell me what happened to your arm?” 

Her mother answers automatically, “She fell. I was only gone—” Peeta holds up his palm. He has the triage nurse’s initial assessment, so he knows Ivy’s arm is likely broken. What he doesn’t know is how the arm got broken. And those details he needs to try to get from Ivy herself. Kids her age always tell the truth when it comes to how they were injured, and unfortunately it’s part of Peeta’s job to make sure there isn’t a more sinister reason she’s in the E.R. tonight, no matter how sweet and innocent her mother appears. He’s already had a few encounters with suspected child abuse, though his gut tells him that isn’t the case with Ivy Hawthorne.

“Please. I would like Ivy to tell me how it happened.” 

Something dangerous flints in Ivy’s mother’s now stormy grey eyes.

“She. Fell.” The words are curt, enunciated coolly, but her voice is soft and Peeta can tell she’s keeping her temper in check for the benefit of her daughter. Eyes still pinned to his, she inhales deeply. A second later, her shoulders relax. “Go ahead and tell the nice doctor how you hurt your arm,” she whispers, stroking Ivy’s curls. 

“I was trying to see Santa,” Ivy replies, her tongue tripping in a lisp on the “S’s.” 

“What do you mean by that?” he prompts her. 

Ivy scrunches up her button nose. “I was trying to see up the chimney. ‘Cause the chimney at Aunt Katniss’s house is so skinny and Santa Claus is real fat and I don’t know how he’s gonna fit down it to bring me my presents!” Her blue eyes brim with tears and her lower lip starts to tremble. Peeta reaches over and pats her knee. 

“I wouldn’t worry about that, sweetheart. Santa Claus is magic. He’ll get you your presents, no matter what the chimney looks like.” He exchanges a look with her mother. 

“It was all my fault,” she says quietly. “I went in the kitchen, to get the cookies and milk—”

“And the carrots! For Rudolph and the other reindeer!” Ivy chimes in, her eyes shiny wet. 

“I never should have left her alone, not even for a second. This is my fault. It’s my fault. She wouldn’t have slipped and fallen off the hearth if I had been watching her.” Guilt chokes her words, and it sounds as if she’s close to tears. 

“Accidents happen, Mrs. Hawthorne,” Peeta says empathetically, “that’s why there are emergency rooms.” She presses her lips together, her brows knitting.  

“It’s Everdeen,” she says quietly. Peeta drops his eyes to Ivy’s chart, and furrows his brows, his gaze wandering to the young woman’s left hand. No ring. A brief thrill curls through him at the thought that she’s single. Asshole, he immediately chides himself. So not what you should be thinking about right now. He scans the chart more carefully and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, “but this lists Primrose Hawthorne as the mother, under the Parent/Guardian information, and a Rory Hawthorne as the father. I just assumed—”

She cuts him off. “Primrose Hawthorne was her mother. But I’m not Primrose Hawthorne. I’m Katniss. Katniss Everdeen. I’m her aunt. I should be listed as her primary emergency contact.” She swallows and squeezes her eyes shut briefly. When she opens them, they plead with his. Peeta glances down at Ivy, and then raises his eyes to Katniss again. The guilt that was clouding those silver irises a moment ago has dissipated, replaced with anguish. He doesn’t know what the full story is here, but he didn’t miss Katniss’s usage of the past tense in referring to Ivy’s mother. So he honors her silent appeal not to ask questions.

“Okay, Ivy, you fell, and you landed on your arm? I bet that hurt,” Peeta says to the little girl, but his gaze stays fastens on Katniss. She gives him the faintest smile and mouths, “Thank you.”

~*~*~*~

An hour later, the orthopedist informs Peeta that Ivy Hawthorne is ready for his approval to be discharged. Not wanting to keep her and her aunt waiting any later than necessary, he sets down the X-ray he had been studying, and heads back to where Ivy is. 

Standing outside the curtain, he hears quiet singing. He draws back the curtain and sees Katniss seated on the bed, with Ivy nestled in her lap. A bright pink cast safely cocoons the girl’s arm. Her blonde head rests on Katniss’s shoulder. Her eyes are closed, and her little body rises and falls with the deep breathing of sleep. 

Katniss continues to sing, unaware of Peeta’s presence. He doesn’t recognize the tune she’s singing. It’s not a Christmas carol, at least not one he’s ever heard before, but he continues to listen, captivated by her voice. It’s soft and decidedly feminine, but there’s raspy undercurrent to it that gives him chills. It’s like the first sip of a rich, smoky bourbon.

Gingerly, he tiptoes towards the bed and stands before her for several more minutes, until Katniss finally lifts her eyes. She immediately stops singing. Peeta smiles and nods towards Ivy.

“Someone is worn out,” he whispers. Katniss’s lips twitch into a chagrinned smile. 

“I’m sure the second we get home she’ll be wide awake and it’ll take forever to get her into bed. She was already amped up about Santa Claus before this.” She tips her head and gestures with her chin towards Ivy’s arm. 

“Warm milk. With a little bit of cinnamon,” he suggests. 

“Really?” Her eyes round. “Cinnamon? That really works?” Disbelief clouds her words. He shrugs sheepishly.

“I have no idea. No kids. And I’ve never had much trouble sleeping. I’m usually asleep the minute my head hits the pillow. But I’ve heard from a friend with a toddler that it does the trick.” He waits for her to say something—anything—in response, but she doesn’t. Her gaze is back on the sleeping toddler in her arms. 

Watching her stare tenderly at her niece causes something unexpected to claw at Peeta’s chest and he’s overwhelmed by a fierce compulsion to want to keep her here, to get to know more about her. It’s been a long time since he felt this kind of instant attraction to a woman. Why couldn’t he have met her under different circumstances? 

“Are we all done, doctor?” 

Peeta startles from his thoughts and offers Katniss an apologetic smile.

“Yes, sorry. You are good to go as soon as you sign here—” He holds the clipboard at an angle, to allow her to sign without having to disturb Ivy, “and here.” He flips the sheet back to the second page and she scrawls her name across the line there, too. Normally a nurse would go over discharge papers and protocol with patients, but Peeta had taken it upon himself to grab Ivy’s. He needed to spend every possible minute in Katniss’s presence. 

Once the release forms are complete, he review the plan for Ivy’s follow-up care, including how to manage any pain she has and when she’ll need to return to have the cast removed. Katniss listens attentively. 

When he’s finished, she stands up slowly, her movements tentative so as not to jostle Ivy. A sigh parts the little girl’s lips and she stirs, but she remains asleep. God, she’s cute, Peeta thinks. 

“Thank you, Dr. Mellark,” Katniss says softly. “For everything. I know what you did…” She falters. “I mean, I know we, ah, weren’t next, and ah…” Peeta waves a hand dismissively, sensing her discomfort with his hijacking of the queued patients.  

“It was my pleasure,” he replies. “Little girls should be home on Christmas Eve. Waiting for Santa.” He echoes Katniss’s earlier words. “I hope he’s good to her.” 

He doesn’t miss the forlorn expression that flits across Katniss’s face as she glances down at her sleeping niece. 

“He can’t bring her what she wants most, but he’ll try,” she murmurs and moves towards the open curtain. Just before she steps out into the hall, she pauses and turns to face Peeta.

“Merry Christmas,” she adds.  

“Merry Christmas,” he concurs. With a faint smile, she steps around the curtain. It rustles in her wake and resettles. Peeta exhales and slumps against the wall, regret washing through him, followed by a stronger wave of sadness at seeing Katniss go. If it hadn’t been for Ivy, he might have concocted some kind of delay to keep Katniss here longer, found some excuse to pry more information out of her. Like if she’s single. A surge of adrenaline spikes in his blood. He can’t let her go this easily.

He bolts out into the corridor, scanning the bustling hallway for any sign of Katniss and Ivy, but they’ve vanished. Disappointed, his shoulders slump as he trudges towards the nurses’ station to hand off Ivy’s file. 

It’s probably best, a nagging little voice inside him taunts, and he reluctantly concedes that it probably is. As much as he’d love to finally shut his mother up and find a woman that he’d want to spend more than a night with, it’s not fair to subject one to the kind of schedule he has to keep. New doctors are low-man-on-the-totem-pole. He’s had mostly graveyard shifts and he’s often on call. It’s his dream to have a pediatric practice, but he’s well aware that he’ll have to toil for a couple of years to get on track to make that dream a reality. 

A few minutes later, en route to his next examination, Peeta spies Johanna, one of the triage nurses, coming out of the room Ivy had occupied. His eyes immediately narrow when his gaze lands on her left arm.

“Was that in there?” He motions towards the vacated room and then nods towards the stuffed cat Johanna has wedged under her armpit. 

“What, the cat? Yeah. It must have fallen under the bed. I’ll take it to the station, in case someone comes back to claim it.” 

Ivy’s cherubic little face flashes in Peeta’s mind. He remember how fiercely she had been clutching that cat, and how she had reluctantly agreed to put it down when it had been time for Delly, another one of the triage nurses, to take her for X-rays. 

Peeta’s pulse quickens and he immediately thrusts his hand towards Johanna. “I’ll take it,” he says impulsively. She wrinkles her nose and cocks her head, her hazel eyes intensely scrutinizing him. Though they have a casual friendship, Johanna is far too insightful for her own good. Peeta doesn’t really need her questioning his motives for taking possession of the toy. 

“The little girl it belongs to goes to preschool with Max. I’ll make sure he takes it to her after the holiday break.” Fuck, that lie flew off his tongue so easily he almost believes it himself. Johanna shrugs and tosses Peeta the cat. 

“Suit yourself. One less thing to overflow the Lost and Found.” She strides past him and disappears into Triage 6. He stares down at the stuffed animal. His heart skips another beat and a slow smile tugs at his mouth. 

~*~*~*~

Stifling another yawn, Peeta squints at the numbers above the garage. He’s definitely in the right place. He kills the engine and sits for a moment, glancing at the clock on the navigation system. It’s quarter after nine. Early, but not obscenely so. When his shift had ended at six am, he had driven home and fought the urge to crawl into bed; instead, he grabbed a quick shower and freshened up. True, part of him hadn’t wanted to see Katniss Everdeen again looking like the bedraggled, exhausted mess he was at the end of a rotation, and also true, he was going to have to clean up before he’s due at his parents’ house at one. But he also knew he couldn’t really have shown up at Katniss’s house at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning, even if he suspects Ivy likely had her up by then. He recalls, with a wistful smile, that Christmas morning was the one morning he and his brothers were always awake before his father. It was only a question of which Mellark brother was going to be the first to rouse the others. Him being the youngest, it was usually him, he admits with a wider grin.

He quietly exits his car, careful not to slam the door, and gingerly steps across the icy driveway. He pauses at the un-shoveled front walk, where a pristine blanket of snow blocks his path. “Shit,” he whispers, gritting his teeth as he takes the first step. His foot plunges into the deep drift, up to nearly his calf. He braces himself and takes a huge step, hoping to eat up the distance in a few long strides. Fortunately, it’s not a long front walk. He reaches the also un-shoveled front steps and carefully ascends them. He contemplates ringing the doorbell, but instead raps his knuckles against the door. His breath pipes out in white plumes and he rubs his palms together for warmth as he waits. 

No one comes to the door, at least not immediately. Peeta lifts his fist again, but just before his knuckles can connect with the wood again, the front door opens a crack and he’s suddenly looking at Katniss. Those silver eyes round almost comically as recognition lights them. 

“D-Doctor Mellark? Wh-what are you….”  

“Hi. Merry Christmas,” he begins. “I thought Ivy would be missing this.” He smiles and holds up the stuffed cat. 

Katniss stares at him, her lips parting faintly, and shock and confusion war on her pretty face. But then her grey eyes darken with what Peeta can only describe as restrained fury. 

She opens the door fully and glares at him.  

“You had Ivy’s cat?” she accuses. 

“Uh…yeah…” he stammers, his own confusion welling. Why is she so angry? “My nephew…he has a bear. Otis. Can’t sleep without that thing. I thought if Ivy is anything like Max…well, she’d be missing this.” He holds the cat out to Katniss. She snatches it so violently that she stumbles backwards. Peeta is equally jarred, but his jolt is from the very brief brush of Katniss’s fingers against his when she had grabbed the toy. 

But Katniss gives him no time to revel in the feeling.

“So this is why no one at the hospital had a goddamned clue what I was talking about when I called there looking for this cat an hour ago!” she spits. 

Shit, Peeta thinks, an uneasy feeling clawing its way into his gut. 

“Why the fuck—” He can’t help but notice her slight hesitation before she lobs the obscenity at him. “—would you take my niece’s cat? Is this something normal people do?” She’s shivering visibly as she rants, a clear consequence of stepping onto her front porch wearing nothing but green plaid pajama pants and a threadbare black Henley shirt.

“I….I…” He shakes his head. He’s not even sure how to defend his actions. He can’t very well tell her his ulterior motives in bringing the stuffed cat back to her niece. Not now. He definitely fucked this up.

“I was just trying to be nice. That I’d save you a trip on Christmas morning,” he finishes lamely. 

Katniss’s nostrils flare and her jaw flexes. “Christmas morning,” she mutters, just barely audible over the clattering of her teeth. “Did it occur to you, Dr. Mellark, that I might be looking for Ivy’s cat and I might call the hospital looking for this cat?” She shakes the toy in his face. “And did it occur to you that, in spite of all the toys she had just opened, Ivy might be bawling and throwing a fit because Buttercup was missing?”

Buttercup, he has to assume, is the stuffed cat.

She pauses, as if waiting for him to defend himself, but all he can do is swallow against the lump crowding his throat.

So she continues, “They made me think I was crazy—but not until after they left me on hold for 20 minutes while I tried to calm a wailing toddler. And then they said there was no toy matching this description in the Lost and Found. And that’s because you had it!” Her eyes are a maelstrom now, but he notices that an edge of frustration has crept into her furious tone. 

“And now Ivy doesn’t have it. So thank you. Thank you very much, Dr. Mellark. Merry Christmas.” And before Peeta can release the breath he’s been holding during her outburst and plead his case, she whirls around, her disheveled braid lancing through the air like a whip, and slams the door behind her. Stunned, Peeta can only stare at the wreath on the door as he processes what just happened.  

What. The. Fuck. 

Heart pounding, gut churning, Peeta retreats to his car. He takes a few minutes to absorb the shock of his encounter with Katniss, his mind reeling through the accusations she made. He never would have expected her to react like this. So much for any shot with Katniss Everdeen. 

He finally gathers his composure and navigates out of her complex. As he drives, his mind continues replaying Katniss’s words over and over, and he finds one thing nags at him. 

And now Ivy doesn’t have it.

Those words don’t make much sense to him. He just gave the stuffed animal back to Katniss. She can give it back to Ivy. She’ll have it now. In her wrath, Katniss just wasn’t being rational, he decides. 

But her words continue to haunt him off and on for the rest of the day. Along with persistent images of Katniss that further torment him. She is never far from his conscious thoughts. As he sits down next to the fireplace in his parents’ house with a tumbler of scotch to exchange gifts with his brothers and his nephews, he finds himself wondering who Katniss is celebrating with. Ivy, obviously. But does she have other family? 

By the time the Mellarks all settle around the table for dinner, he’s conjured up the notion that Katniss may not be married, but she surely has a devoted boyfriend who is showering her with gifts at this very moment. Her mood is infinitely better than what Peeta witnessed earlier. She’s probably dressed nice for him, and he’s sitting around her dining room table with Katniss and Ivy, like a makeshift family.

His mother’s irritation is palpable when she has to command his attention twice to try and draw him into the discussion centered on Rye’s upcoming wedding. Peeta murmurs the apology he knows she expects and feigns his dutiful brotherly interest for Rye’s benefit the remainder of the meal. But a dull ache has taken up residence in the center of his chest and he realizes just how badly he wants what his brothers have. 

He just won’t be having it with Katniss Everdeen.

[evilmortys]

Have you ever talked about/drawn/ have head among about c-136’s rick? His relationship w/ his family and morty? Is her better than other ricks or worse? Etc!

i’ve  never  talked  about  rick  c-136  much  extensively  come  to  think  of  it!  so  i  hope  you  don’t  mind  if  i  use  this  ask  as  an  opportunity  to  ramble  about  him  and  their  dynamic  and  their  dimension  in  general  a  little.  it’s  quite  divergent  from  what’s  typical  for  a  rick  and  morty  dynamic  in  places,  i  think.

first  off  i  wanna  lead  with:  morty  c-136  is  sixteen!  so  his  summer  is  of  course  older  too,  and  is  now  living  away  from  home  and  attending  college.  he  misses  her  a  lot,  but  they  still  call  a  few  times  a  week  and  bitch  about  their  parents  and  what’s  going  on  in  their  lives  and  bully  each  other  a  lot.  she  comes  home  sometimes,  usually  for  holidays  such  as  thanksgiving  or  whatever.  they’re  overly  sappy  for  a  minute  max  upon  reuniting,  then  she’s  kicking  him  in  the  balls  and  he’s  calling  her  a  dumb  bitch.

his  mom  and  dad  are  divorced,  and  have  been  since  he  was  ten,  so  jerry  is  not  really  in  the  picture.  rick  is  very  relieved  about  this  and  hates  jerry  about  as  much  as  is  typical  for  bastard  grandpas.  morty  was  sad  about  their  messy  break  up,  but  very  quickly  came  to  understand  it  was  for  the  best.  there’s  a  security  system  rick  set  up  to  kick  jerry  to  the  curb  if  he  ever  comes  around,  much  to  morty’s  aggravation,  but  it’s  not  put  to  much  use  anyway.  (usually  he  walks  over  to  his  dad’s  sad  studio  apartment  of  his  own  volition  for  custody  weekend  instead  of  being  picked  up,  because  his  dad  sleeps  until  late  noon,  so.  not  exactly  a  dependable  ride.  if  he  goes  himself  he  can  shake  jerry  awake  at  a  reasonable  hour  and ...  try  to  shake  some  sense  into  him  too.  so  he  doesn’t  come  to  the  house  much.)

c-136′s rick has a complex relationship with his beth.  she’s  still  very  much  wrapped  up  in  his  opinion  of  her  and  works  to  please,  impress  and  ultimately  attain  his  attention  whenever  she  can.  an  easy  way  to  do  this  is  back  rick  up  when  morty  backtalks  him.  if  morty  angrily  says  “shut  the  fuck  up,  rick”  within  earshot  of  his  mother,  she’s  very  quick  to  fly  to  her  father’s  defence  as  apposed  to  her  son’s-  “morty,  don’t  speak  to  my  dad  like  that!”  rick  plays  off  this,  recognizing  an  opportunity  to  make  beth  feel  like  it’s  them  versus  morty,  and  says  “thank  you,  sweetie.”  the  two  then  delve  into  conversation  about  how  morty  is  “out  of  hand”  as  if  he’s  not  even  there,  which  understandably  infuriates  him  further.  

it  hurts  him  a  lot  that  his  mom  is  so  desperate  to  feel  like  her  and  her  dad  get  along,  and  for  him  to  acknowledge  her  existence,  that  she’ll  invalidate  his  feelings  and  bitch  about  his  behavior  with  rick  to  get  it.  he  very  much  feels  like  his  mom  values  having  a  positive  relationship  with  her  dad  over  him  as  a  result.  morty  continues  to  love  and  care  about  her  even  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  it  feels  largely  nonreciprocal  at  the  best  of  times,  but  can  come  across  quite  cold,  dismissive  and  clearly  subconsciously  angry  with  beth  when  talking  about  her  at  times  as  a  result.  don’t  get  me  wrong,  they  go  see  the  occasional  movie  together  and  morty  helps  her  out  preparing  dinner  very  often.  he  cares  deeply  about  his  mom  and  he  loves  her,  of  course  he  does,  but  he's  also  felt  incredibly  estranged  from  her  for  most  of  his  life.  if  nothing  else,  they  can  always  at  least  bond  over  an  eyeroll  at  one  of  his  dad's  latest  fuck  ups  or  stupid  statuses  on  facebook.  there’s  some  stuff  about  his  childhood  i  could  tack  in  here  that’s  relevant,  but  i’m  very  conscious  of  how  long  this  is  and  i  haven’t  even  talked  about  rick  and  morty’s  dynamic  yet ...  adjaskjdfaksf  sorry!

her  alcoholism  worries  morty  whereas  rick  seems  a  little  indifferent  to  it,  or  considers  it  not  a  big  deal.  likely  because  he  knows  it  invites  accusations  of  hypocrisy  if  he  calls  out  her  self  destruction  via  these  vices.  

in  the  past,  morty’s  tried  talking  with  her,  watering  down  and  pouring  out  her  alcohol  stashes,  and  even  pleaded  for  rick  try  and  make  her  see  reason-  to  no  avail.  (his  grandpa  ended  up  cracking  a  joke  about  what  a  fucking  buzzkill  morty  is,  they  laughed  it  off  together,  and  they  both  went  out  for,  you  guessed  it,  a  fucking  drink,  or  more  likely  ten  of  them,  directly  after  the  fact.)

right  now,  beth  c-136  has  been  seeing  a  bartender  for  eleven  months.  rick  seems  to  idly  approve  of  him-  at  the  very  least,  doesn’t  hate  him  like  he  did  jerry,  which  delights  beth.  her  father  deeming  anything  in  her  life  a  good  choice  means  everything  to  her  because  she  fights  so  hard  to  impress  him  while  also  trying  not  to  look  overtly  clingy  and  needy,  because  that  seems  to  repel  him.  also,  he’s  her  genius  father  who  doesn’t  like  anyone,  so  how  the  hell  can  his  judgement  be  wrong,  right?  him  approving  of  this  guy  has  locked  him  into  her  life  for  the  forseeable  future.  again,  this  pisses  morty  off,  because  this  bartender  guy  encourages  his  mom’s  worst  vice  of  daydrinking  with  his  job  and  lifestyle.  he  makes  her  happy,  but  he’s  the  fucking  worst,  and  it  makes  morty  want  to  tear  his  hair  out.  him  and  summer  frequently  snipe  about  the  guy  in  private.  sharing  distaste  for  their  parents’  prospective  partners  is  very  valid  bonding  they  think.

c-136  rick  and  morty's  relationship  is  emotionally  flexible  at  the  best  of  times.  some  days,  so  very  rarely,  they  get  along  just  great.

to  name  one  wholesome  headcanon  before  we  Get  Into  It.  occasionally,  rick  will  pretend  to  know  absolutely  jack  shit  about  one  of  the  plants  in  morty’s  greenhouse  just  to  let  him  go  off  about  it  and  suddenly  seem  excitably  sure  of  himself  for  about  twenty  minutes  of  nonstop  infodumping.  95%  of  the  time  he  knows  absolutely  everything  about  the  plant  he’s  asking  about,  actually,  and  on  some  level  morty  is  absolutely  aware  of  it.  the  smartest  man  in  the  universe  apparently  doesn’t  know  what  a  flaxtius  olcum  is?  right.  but ...  he  still  appreciates  the  gesture  a  lot,  and  it  cheers  him  up  after  a  shitshow  adventure.

it's  not  too  clear  what  allows  these  occasions  of  treating  one  another  with  basic  respect  and  almost  fondness  to  arise-  maybe  his  grandfather's  in  an  uncommonly  gracious  mood,  maybe  they're  playing  minecraft  or  bashing  animal  crossing  together,  maybe  they're  snickering  and  exchanging  incredulous  glances  during  some  cartoonishly  evil  alien's  monologue  of  a  plan  as  it's  dictated  to  them  in  painstaking  detail …  regardless,  those  come  around  less  and  less  often,  these  days.

rick  secretly  considers  morty  to  be  very  capable  and  alarmingly  more  competent  as  of  late,  and  he's  not  sure  whether  to  feel  almost  proud  or  work  to  scramble  to  unravel  all  this progress  lest  morty  start  pulling  away  from  him  and  revelling  in  his  own  independence.  

they're  a  kickass duo  when  adventuring, very  in  sync.  morty's  less  of  a  whiny  burden  or  wide-eyed,  unremarkable  sidekick,  and  more  of  a  borderline  asset  at  this  point.  which  again,  makes  rick  feel  very  conflicted  over  how  that  skews  their  dynamic  in  a  way  that's  less  favorable  for  him,  because  morty  doesn't  need  to  lean  on  him  as  heavily  or  stick  as  close  anymore.  but  at  the  same  time,  there’s  less  inherent  risk  of  him  dying  while  they  adventure,  because  he  handles  himself  so  well.  they  can  split  up  as  needed  to  get  shit  done  faster.  morty  frequently  solo  adventures,  or  as  he  calls  it,  “runs  rick’s  goddamn  errands,  actually.”  he’s  outgrown  the  concept  of  getting  to  choose  an  adventure  and  instead  claims  the  portal  gun  every  twelve  adventures  they  have  together,  and  goes  off  for  one  of  his  own.

morty  speaks  his  mind  very  bluntly  with  rick  and  isn't  really  afraid  to  tell  him  to  get  fucked  when  he's  being  an  unreasonable  dick.  he  resents  rick  immensely  for  putting  him  down  and  pushing  him  around  all  the  time.

morty's  more  assertive,  yet  still  very  much  resigned  to  their  irrefutably  imbalanced  companionship ;  there  are  countless  factors  as  to  why.  but  primarily,  it  tends  to  boil  down  to  feeling  like  he  owes  a  lot  to  rick.  were  it  not  for  his  presence  in  his  life,  morty  knows  deep  down  that  he  wouldn't  be  half  as  interesting  or  even  marginally  as  intelligent  as  he's  capable  of  being  now.  he’d  still  be  stupid,  and  mediocre,  and  uninteresting.  unremarkable.  unworthy  of  anyone’s  attention  or  time  because  of  how  dull  he  is.

he's  at  a  point  where  (to  an  extent)  he  feels  distant  from  his  life  on  earth  at  the  best  of  times,  because  space  and  the  infinite  multiverse  has  encompassed  his  daily  life  for  so  long  and  on  some  level,  he  handles  himself  far  better  fighting  for  his  life  on  the  edge  of  the  universe  than  trapped  in  a  school  full  of  sweaty  teenagers  and  material  he  either  blitzes  through  or  can  barely  grasp.  plus,  rick  was  the  closest  thing  he  ever  had  to  a  friend  while  he  was  growing  up.  morty  cares  about  rick,  even  if  the  older  constantly  cites  reasons  as  to  why  attachment  is  moronic  and  sentiment  is  stupid,  and  he's  aware  that  rick  has  come  to  care  for  him  too-  even  if  all  his  pointed  jabs  about  not  giving  a  shit  and  aloof  front  makes  it  hard  to  believe  that  all  the  time.

the  issue  is,  once  morty  seems  to  waver  in  feeling  that  he  has  to  constantly  acquiesce  to  rick  and  falters  in  tolerating  rick  as  an  result  of  this  obligated  feeling  of  familial  love,  no  matter  how  slightly,  rick  then  begins  to  exert  control  over  their  relationship  by  other  means,  such  as  emotionally  manipulating,  gaslighting  and  outright  blackmailing  him  to  keep  him  in  line  with  what  he  wants  out  of  their  dynamic:  rick  and  morty,  a  hundred  years,  the  only  two  people  in  the  infinite  multiverse  that  truly  matter-  theretofore,  they  should  both  solely  consider  one  another  as  important,  and  worthwhile.  he's  willing  to  tarnish  any  other  connections  morty  might  form  beyond  their  duo  for  fear  of  losing  him.

he  grows  out  of  this  irrational  attachment  a  little  more  each  time  his  grandfather  lets  him  down,  disillusions  him  ever  further,  hurts  him  or  traumatizes  him  or  actively  fucking  experiments  on  him-  slowly  but  surely.  he'll  snap,  in  some  sense,  sometime.  when  exactly  can't  be  known.  what  precise  actions  he  might  take  to  pry  himself  free  of  their  codependent  dynamic  is  unclear.  but  the  way  things  are  headed,  the  two  of  them  splintering  apart  is  inevitable,  and  it's  unlikely  to  be  an  amicable  thing  at  all.  rick  often  actively  renounces  and  appears  repulsed  by  the  very  concept  of  familial  love  and  basic  attachment,  constantly  rants  and  raves  in  his  drunken  stupors  about  how  replaceable  everyone  in  his  life  is,  and  it's  hard  for  morty  to  bite  his  tongue  when  he's  behaving  like  that.

he  just  hates  that  he  feels  badly  about  himself  and  second  guesses  himself  around  rick.  strangely  enough,  when  he’s  having  to  push  through  crazy  shit  alone,  he  does  fine.  great,  even.  sure,  he’s  freaking  out,  making  everything  up  as  he  goes  along,  and  secretly  wishing  rick  was  around  to  guide  him  out  of  the  chaos  because  he  knows  in  his  heart  rick  would  probably  do  it  smarter.  but  once  he’s  with  rick,  he  feels  incapable  and  stupid  beside  him.  like,  being  apart  from  him  makes  him  feel  so  much  lighter,  allows  him  to  lean  on  the  intelligence  he  very  much  does  possess,  without  being  berated,  second  guessing  it,  and  reminded  it’ll  never  match  up  to  rick’s,  so  there’s  really  no  point  in  even  trying.

[lunaschild2016]

No Ordinary Love: Part 2 - Dangerous night

An Eric Coulter / Original Character Romance (Formerly Take Your Time)

Rated M: Explicit, Smut, Romance, Angst, Language, Implied Abuse and Addiction

Character Inspiration/Face Claims:

Eric Coulter: Jai Courtney

Lacey Matheson: Phoebe Tonkin (Hayley from Originals)

Summary: Theirs was not an ordinary love. After all, you’re not supposed to fall in love with someone you consider as family, even you don’t share the same blood. But they were in each other’s veins too deep. They only had one night together. One night to be shameless and to finally act on the feelings that had haunted them for longer than either could admit. Afterward, the only thing left to do was to pick up their pieces. Eric/OC AU No War No Divergents

[Sorry in advance if the read more glitches and shows entire post]

                                        Part 2- Dangerous Night

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

I

I am a man on fire

You

A violent desire

What a dangerous night to fall in love

Don’t know why we still hide what we’ve become

Do you wanna cross the line?

We’re running out of time

A dangerous night to fall in love

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

 Eric  

At some point over the last few years, someone within the city government had come up with a brilliant idea to bring back old traditions and celebrations that died out after the wars and disasters that brought civilization as it had been to a halt. Each faction was encouraged to take part. Sometimes this was done as interfaction events while others, each faction did their own thing and kept to themselves. 

Some of these traditions and celebrations weren’t all that bad. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter and New Year were among the most commonly recognized occasions and had already had some levels of celebration in most of the factions before they were resurrected citywide. 

Others, like Valentine's Day and Halloween, were complete nightmares and Eric cursed Max for ever agreeing to bring them back in the first place. Eric had been fully against it and voted them down when he was still just Second in Command. Max, being the Senior leader made the final decision and cast his vote for the holidays to be full of faction celebrations, with costumes and everything. Then the bastard retired and left the entire mess for Eric to deal with when he took the Senior Leader position. 

That was three years ago now and it’s been a huge damn headache for him ever since. Like Dauntless really needed a reason to act like a bunch of asses or an excuse for a night of drunken debauchery? The only difference between every other day in the faction and Halloween were the costumes everyone dressed up in.

The only good part of the damn holiday for Eric was the surprising amount of revenue it produced for Dauntless. Out of all the factions in the city, Candor and Amity decided to celebrate Halloween as well and hold separate festivities in their own factions. Because Dauntless seemed to do so well on their own costumes and decorations, those two factions put in requests to buy them. 

The costumes for Amity and Candor were a bit less scandalous than what Dauntless, or the female portion at least, leaned towards. There was a variety of  ‘sexy’  everything, from nurses to nuns. 

But it wasn’t just the adults that got to play. The kids weren’t left out and during the day the entire compound had different things set up for them, like games with prizes, trick or treating, and even a haunted house. Things wrapped up for the dependents with a special dinner held in the dining hall. As soon as the dinner wrapped up and nighttime fell, it became all about the adults. 

No dependents allowed. 

Eric had to set boundaries and enforce some rules, like no public sex or orgies, but otherwise, it wasn’t as bad as it could be. While he did attend the various celebrations he refused to dress up in any way. 

No one expected him to either, not even Lacey. Even though she always dressed up for this holiday. They had established their own traditions and she was always with him for the day, which made things much more bearable to him. Except for this year, she wasn’t and it showed in Eric’s mood. 

He did try to not be a complete dick though because there was still Wade with him. It’s his last year as a dependent so he had been excited about his last Halloween in Dauntless. They made a guys night of it. Hitting up some of the games for the older kids, the rock climbing wall, and the games that involved shooting or throwing darts and knives for prizes. They finished it off with the dinner in the dining hall that was heavy on the sweets. Then Wade went off with some of his friends where they were going to be holding their own night time party safe behind closed doors of an apartment. Eric was pretty sure someone was going to sneak in some booze but he just shrugged and told Wade he was old enough to make the choice but warned him to not overdo it if he did indulge. 

As the time got closer when all the kids would be ushered back home so the adults could have their turn, Eric’s mood started to turn even sourer. He tried not to but he couldn’t help it when he thought of why Lacey wasn’t with him like she always was. 

Because she had a fucking date. She didn’t actually say that was why she was bailing on him, but what else could it be? 

The more he thought about that the more he drank and the worse his mood became. 

He had been so sure he took care of the last guy that had been sniffing around Lacey. His name was Aaron and he worked in the armory. He was a pretty boy with blonde hair and a deep tan that just looked odd to Eric but all the girls seemed to drool over. They called it a ‘ surfer look ’. The punk had a reputation for being a charmer but wasn’t exactly a player. His thing seemed to be going after the girls that were labeled as hard to get. The ones that might not be so ready to give him the time of day, were already involved, or in Lacey’s case...a well known good girl and a rumored virgin. It was also known that she was a bit of a social hermit. Lacey was not one to go out and party much and could usually be found at home hanging out with her family or friends. 

Word got back to Eric that Aaron had his sights set on Lacey and he had been heard to say he was going to take on the ‘goliath’ of the faction. Eric almost lost it when Four, who is his Second in Command now, told him what he overheard one night. The only reason Four told him at all was that he didn’t want to see Lacey get hurt. Normally Four was the one lecturing him that Eric needed to back off and let Lacey make her own decisions about who she wanted to date. He kept reminding him that she’s an adult, at twenty years old, and the more overbearing Eric became the more likely she was to do the exact opposite of what he wanted just to spite him. It hadn’t been hard to see that at least this last part was right because there was a definite distance between them that had been growing wider this last year. 

It killed him to think it, but he knew he needed to let her go.  

Despite knowing this he couldn’t just let her be a conquest and neither could Four. So Four and he came up with a plan to intimidate him into backing off without actually threatening him or telling him outright that was what he needed to do. They executed this plan one day at lunch where they sat at the same table as Aaron. Eric was directly across from him while Four took the space beside him. 

The table got quiet when the two main leaders of the faction sat down. There was an immediate tension in the air and those at the table knew that someone must have done something to bring their attention to them, which couldn’t end well for whoever the poor soul was. It didn’t take long for others to realize who the person was, Eric’s very cold and piercing glare said it all. Aaron was obviously aware of the attention on him but Eric could tell he was fighting hard to not let his unease show. 

Four got things started for them, as planned. 

“Hey, Eric. Isn’t it about time to add fresh blood to the fence rotation?” Four asks offhandedly as if it just occurred to him.

Eric couldn’t stop the smirk that crossed his face. “Yep. It should be easy to fill in this year.”

Four smirked a little too. “Oh yeah? So we have a few victims...errr...I mean volunteers?”

Eric shrugged. “There are always a few of those. Then there are always those guys that find themselves on the fence after deciding it would be a good idea to go mess with things or people they have no business messing with. Guys that like to jerk around girls in ways that, should someone important to them find out, would think fence duty is getting off lightly.” He had started out casually but continued in a quiet menacing tone. 

Aaron got the point. Eric could tell by the subtle swallow and tense shifting. He had to give it to the punk that he didn’t up and run away immediately. Aaron sat there for a few ticks before standing and after a respectful nod towards the two leaders, he walked away leaving his still full tray on the table.

That had been that. He never heard about Aaron and Lacey again and hadn’t seen them together either. So where the fuck was she at tonight?

Eric restlessly roams around the Pit looking for her without trying to acknowledge that’s what he’s doing. He makes his rounds to the different parties being hosted by people he knows, making his customary appearance to let them all know he has his eyes on things and they better not fuck up. When that’s done he decides to head to his favorite club to have a few more drinks at the bar there. He’s actually looking forward to a special brew they were having brought in fresh from Amity. He was told it’s somewhat of a beer but is actually more of a boozy spiced apple cider. 

He orders one and licks his lips in pleasure after a few big draws from the cold glass thinking that he might want to see about getting more of it throughout the year, it’s that good. He can already tell it’s going to be the kind of drink that packs a punch that the person drinking it won’t notice because it just tastes that damn good. Eric’s one glass down when he orders another right after and realizes he might need to take his own advice and go easy if the buzzing in his blood is any indication of how potent it is. He’s in mid-drink and letting his eyes roam over the club when he realizes it’s not a drink that has his skin feeling electrified...it’s Lacey. She’s near.

She has that effect on him and has for a few years now. Just her being near and his body lights up. It’s like his blood became thick and heavy, pulsing with liquid fire and metal. Lacey was like a magnet and she pulled him towards her every time.

He narrows his eyes, scanning the crowds more thoroughly but not seeing her. At least, he wasn’t registering what he was seeing at first when his eyes locked onto one person that he just knew was her but couldn’t wrap his mind around how she looked. 

Lacey stood just across the room from him at a high top bar table with a glass of something in her hand and carrying on a conversation with some dude he couldn’t recognize because of his own costume. If he didn’t have the awareness of her that he does he would never have believed it could be her. 

Lacey always took part in dressing up for Halloween but she was never one to go with the outrageously skimpy outfits most of the other women went with. Sometimes they were outrageously nerdy, like when she crafted an entire armor set that resembled ones from a pre-war game they both liked to play called Mass Effect. Eric even helped her with it after she bribed him to. Then there was the year she and Wade decided to wear matching costumes but let Wade choose what they would be of. He picked Guardians of the Galaxy with Lacey going as Gamora and him being Starlord. They had made Eric a very small name tag that said Drax the Destroyer on it. He wore the damn thing but only because it was about the only acceptable way he would ever consider dressing up.

The point was, she never went for overtly sexy costumes. That wasn’t the point for her. It was all about having fun picking it out and making it herself and it was always something that she had an interest or love for. And Eric fucking loved that about her because it showed she hadn’t lost that side of her where she was free to be a kid at heart. He loved that she gave no fucks about what everyone else was going to think of her costume, all that mattered was if she liked it. What Lacey was in tonight was so far removed from years past it had his head spinning. 

She is in one of the almost obscenely skimpy ones that Dauntless produces and sells. It’s made up of a crop top corset with a cap-sleeved crop peasant shirt underneath and way too damn short skirt. That’s all paired with black thigh highs with intricate lace bands at the top that are clearly showing because the skirt is that short, and ends in black ankle high heeled boots. Her already long legs are showcased by the combination of bare skin and sheer black hose. 

The theme of the costume is clearly Little Red Riding Hood and it came complete with a small deep-red hooded cape. The rich red color highlighted her skin tone perfectly. She didn’t stop there with the additions to her costume though, it looked like she decided to go all out. Over her face, she wore a black lace filigree masquerade mask that did a good job obscuring her features enough that no one would instantly know it was her. Covering her deep brown hair she wore a blood-red wig that he could admit complemented her skin but still couldn’t hold a candle to the color of her own hair.

He didn’t know why she was here, what she was doing and who the hell she was with, but one thing he was certain of was that Lacey had obviously gone far out of her way to not be recognized at all. Even the fact that she was here of all places with none of her friends anywhere near hinted that this was all done with a purpose.

Lacey tilts her head back and laughs at something being said by the guy chatting her up and it hits Eric what the purpose of her entire get-up is about when he realizes she’s obviously flirting.

What the fuck! This isn’t at all like Lacey.

He’s debating how to put a stop to this when he sees the asshole she’s with gesturing to her cup and saying something. He must be asking her if she wants a refill. She hesitates for a moment, biting her lower lip in thought before she hands him the cup with a nod. Eric zeroes on the guy, watching his every move as he walks to the bar with a smile and asks for two refills. Because there’s no way he’s taking his eyes off him or letting him leave with his girl, he also watches as the guy makes a subtle movement over the top of one of the glasses and lets something drop into it before he turns and heads back to Lacey with the cups.

Oh Hell no!

Eric has to push aside the rage, knowing they need to act quickly. He taps on the bar and gives the bartender a pointed glare who recognizes it for what it means. Then Eric is flanked by the bartender as he makes his way over to Lacey where he then waits for Eric’s further instructions just a few steps away from them where they will take care of the rest after Eric makes sure Lacey is safe.

By the time Eric made it over there she’s just lifting the cup to take a drink but still hasn’t made contact yet. He reaches out and snatches it from her hands while snarling at the guy to back off. He didn’t really expect that he would get any back talk and he doesn’t. The guy might have even squeaked a little as he backed up into the waiting hands of the bar staff. “You know where to take him, make sure you get this tested too,” Eric instructs the staff after he hands over the glass.

Then Eric takes a breath before turning to face Lacey, finally.

“Do you always accept drinks from random men?” He growled out angrily.

Her eyes widen and he notices now that he’s up close she also added colored contacts. They are a solid bright green color. 

Why is she going to such lengths to disguise herself?

“I...I don't normally do any of this.” Her tone changed from the first gasped word. She changed the inflection to be deeper, husky...more seductive.

It had his jaw clenching and his nostrils flaring. Being this close to her in that state is wreaking havoc on his body and control.

“Little tip for you then, Red. Never accept open container drinks and never leave your drink unattended. Period. But especially someone you don’t know the first thing about.” He moved closer as he spoke and smirked when Lacey unconsciously moved back. She had already been practically against the wall and now her back was solidly pressed up against it.

He knew he should back off, especially given how he’s feeling right now. Seeing her with that guy and dressed the way she is fired up the possessive and jealous feelings he normally fights so hard to contain. But her pull is just too damn strong and he’s too worked up to resist allowing himself to move in closer. So damn close that his body is now crowding hers in. He lifts his arms and plants them to either side of her shoulders, blocking her in and brushing his body against hers.

He watches her throat work as she swallows nervously then she takes a breath and opens her mouth to speak..but nothing happens at first. “Mary…” She whispers shakily. Eric tilts his head and pulls back enough to look at her a bit better, frowning and not understanding what she said. “My name’s Mary.” Lacey’s voice has a bit more volume now but it’s still uncertain and has an edge to it, one he recognizes all too well when she’s being self-deprecating or sarcastic.

Eric’s eyebrows lift so high in disbelief they almost go into his hairline as he waits for her to say she’s joking or something like that, but she doesn’t. She smiles a crooked smile. He realizes just how far she’s taking this disguise by using an alias and he wonders if he should call her out on it right now. If he should tell her that there was never a chance he wasn’t going to recognize her no matter what lengths she went to. 

Something stops him from doing that...a voice in his head that starts whispering things he should ignore and fight against, but he’s just too damn tired of fighting anymore. 

He lets his eyes roam over her and not bothering to hide the appreciative way he takes her in, for once. 

Lacey is tall even without the heeled boots she’s wearing but with them on they put her at almost exactly the same height as him. Her lips are touched with the most wicked and tempting shade of red, making the natural pout and thickness even more pronounced. The swell of her breasts and her creamy skin were purposely being pushed up by the corset top and left him salivating. For once Lacey wasn’t trying to hide the curves her body developed over the last few years. Taunting and dick hardening curves that she plays down in the clothes she wears from day-to-day. There’s not a chance of that in this getup.

His perusal of her stops when he gets to her midriff that is bare. In all her efforts to disguise herself, she had forgotten the very distinctive birthmark on her right side resting on her lower abs area. It’s a faded rust-brown color in the shape of a scorpion, complete with claws, tail and a stinger that curves to the left. Maybe she thought it would like a tattoo so didn’t bother trying to hide it or maybe she didn’t think anyone would know she has something like that at all. Eric knew of it because Henley had remarked on it being something else passed on from her dad’s side of the family and he had seen it for himself one time. Just a brief glimpse but enough for him to have it burned in his memory.  

Seeing it now fully for the first time is only driving his desire for her even higher and images of him with his lips working that spot over have any thought of stopping this charade flying right out of his mind. He decides he’s not going to fight it. It’s obvious she doesn’t want him to know it’s her and he’s curious how far she’s wanting to take that.

“Mary?” He finally said in amusement when he looked back into her eyes. She shrugs with a smile playing on her lips. “So, what are you doing here?” His eyes narrowed as he searched for the answers in hers but she had stopped his ability to read things there when she put in the contacts.

Lacey licked her lips as her breathing picked up. Her chest heaved a little as she slowly reached out and put a long delicate looking hand on his arm. Right at the bulge of his bicep and where the skin was bare there.

The simple touch had the blood pounding in his ears and made his nostrils flare.

“It seemed like a good night to lose myself. Maybe become someone else. Someone that takes what she wants for a change.” Her answer was a breathy whisper.

It sent shivers down his back while at the same time anger coursing through him when he remembered her letting that dickhead chat her up. Was it her intention to give her innocence to just anyone?  

“And what exactly is it that you want, Red?” He growled out as he used his other hand to grip her waist and jerk her against him.

She gasped and gripped his arm tighter. “Well, I'm Red Riding Hood, right? What would she be without her wolf? That’s why I’m here, to find him.” She replied after a few seconds pause, her voice dropped to that husky, seductive one again.

“Just any old wolf would do, huh?” His jaw was clenched as he asked it angrily.

For a moment, even through the contacts that concealed her normally expressive eyes, he saw sadness flash in them. “No. I was hoping to catch my big bad wolf.” She replied in a tremulous whisper but her eyes held his meaningfully.

He couldn’t fucking believe it. She wasn’t here for some random hook up. There was a reason she picked his favorite club, the one she knew he would slip off to so he could have a few drinks after the madness this holiday always brought him. It was one of his fucking routines and she knew all of those by heart. 

The costume, the disguise, using another name...it was all meant for him. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

It shouldn’t surprise him. There had been signs of it for years. Looks they shared or how she reacted to him at times. The most he had been willing to admit to was that she might have a crush but that she grew out of it. He always denied them as being real signs of attraction on her part and put anything else down to him reading into things too much because he desperately wanted them to be real and not just his imagination.

He couldn’t make that mistake now. He needed to be sure this is what he thought it was.

“Did you find him?” He purred out as he ghosted his lips near her ear.

She shivered in his embrace and dug her nails into his arms. “I have. Unless it turns out he’s all bark and no bite.” She taunted playfully. 

Eric pulled back with a smirk on his lips and desire in his eyes. There was still a small part holding him back. Part of him needed to give her the out if this wasn’t what she wanted or if she had second thoughts. There was also a part of him that wanted to scare her off. Because if she backed down now, they could possibly pretend this night never happened and carry on as normal. He could go back to living in denial about his feelings for her and she could go on never knowing how fucked up he really was with all the terrible things he wants to do to her.

“Let's cut the shit, Red. I want you but I'm not some little boy that will be nice, sweet and gentle about it. Do you know what that means? The things I’m going to do to you?” 

Even as he said the words he was also sending up silent prayers she wouldn’t back down. That he hadn’t or wouldn’t scare her off...because he wanted this. He needed this. Just one fucking night with her. He could never have more...but this...maybe he could really let her go if they had this one night together.

“Tell me, Eric. What are you going to do to me?” She replied with no fear and no hesitation. Only a slight tremble in her voice that was thick with desire.

Eric paused to gather himself and moved the arm that rested on the wall by her head to cup the back of her neck possessively. 

He leaned in so their bodies were pressed tightly together, letting her feel the clear evidence of his arousal. “If you think all that’s going to happen is me fucking you, you’re wrong, Red. I’m not just going to fuck you. I’m going to own you. Every part of you will be mine to do with as I please but I’m also going to make you come undone for me so many times you will remember nothing but my name as you scream it over and over. I’m going to ruin you for anyone else so that you will lay awake at night remembering and craving me.” He rasped, his forehead pressed against hers.

And he meant every damn word.  Especially about ruining her...just as she had already ruined him for anyone else.

He felt the gasped breath and the trembling in her body. He pulled back to see if he had scared her off with the rawness of his admission but again, he saw only desire. She shifted and tried to clench her thighs together. Her chest was heaving, pushing her breasts out even further than her top did. She licked her lips and a small moan escaped them.

It filled him with relief and resolve. 

With a smirk, he lifted his chin towards her to indicate it was her turn to answer. “Do you want that?”

She nodded her head in two tight jerky motions but Eric shook his head. That wasn’t good enough. He needed to hear her say it, say the words and tell him exactly what she wanted him to do to her. 

“Say it. Tell me what you want.” He commanded her.

She took a big breath and lifted her chin. “I want you, Eric. I want you to take me. To...to fuck me until I can't see straight, think straight. Until there is only you….nothing else.”

He groaned and buried his head in the exposed crook of her neck, tasting the flesh there. She tasted exactly like the scent she always left in her wake when she was near. Citrus and honeysuckle. He pulled himself away after eliciting whimpered moans from her. He stepped back and took a breath. 

“Last chance to run home to grandma, Red. Are you sure?”

He knew that would have her back going straight in defiance, and it did. She stepped forward, her eyes narrowed and chin squared in determination. “I'm sure,  Wolf .” Then her eyes softened a little. “No regrets.” She said in a whispered promise.

Eric nodded and took her hand in his. “No regrets” His reply was an internal, hopeful prayer that he could keep his own promise.

He pulled her close to his side, then without another word they made their way out of the bar together to his apartment.

[peterjakes]

Sam x Grizz Fanfic -  ‘Things do not change; we change’

pls don’t judge too harshly this was written in like 2 hours thanks x

also posted of ao3; https://archiveofourown.org/works/21195665

Sam had found Grizz down by the gardens, of course he was by the gardens. Sam could hardly blame him; the group had barely been back 5 minutes when they had interrupted the complete disaster of the coup. Grizz appreciated peace and quiet. He liked to be alone. This was one of the things Sam learned about him during Thanksgiving. Sam longed to go back to that night, he felt so comfortable, so real, so normal lying next to Grizz. Amongst all of the recent chaos, it was the only thing that kept him sane, thinking about the closeness between them and how they just seemed to slot together like the perfect key. Since Eden’s birth and the whole mess with Lexie and Harry, well, Sam had realised how lucky they all were before. It was the calm before the chaos, but none of them had really noticed until after.

It was obvious that Grizz could hear Sam’s footsteps down the path but made a conscious effort not to look up until the very moment Sam was standing right beside him. This wasn’t out of spite, more Grizz trying to forsake his own feelings. They hadn’t departed on bad terms, but a sort of limbo, in-between state. Not seeing or speaking to Sam for over a week had been hard. Walden had kept him occupied enough, as well as the thought of actually going back home with good news. But seeing him again, having to look at those beautiful, baby blues and face up to what had happened would be complete agony.

“Hey.” Sam was standing only 10 or so inches away from Grizz, he was almost tempted to kneel down beside him, to force him to talk to him but disregarded that thought when Grizz built up the courage to stare back up at him.

“Hey.” Grizz briefly glanced up, quickly signing, before focusing back on the plants he’d left behind, checking on them to repair any damage, not that he needed to. He didn’t want to avoid Sam, that was the last thing he wanted to do. But having to look at him, seeing Sam pitying him, he didn’t want that. Pushing these thoughts aside, he brushed his hands against each other, ridding of any dirt or soil, before pushing his body up to stand and did the thing he’d thought about ever since he and Sam last touched.

Both boys moved towards each other, and Sam himself was a little hesitant, but Grizz clasped onto Sam, as if his life depended on it, nuzzling his face into Sam’s shoulder. The smell of Sam, Sam’s own smell alone made Grizz feel more at home than he had been in a long time. Once again, Sam was required to be on his tiptoes, feeling the weight of Grizz’s warm body against his. This moment only lasted a few seconds, and once they departed Sam felt cold and alone once again. The hurt was still clear on Grizz’s face, and that antagonised Sam.

“How was it? The trip?” Sam spoke louder this time, aware that this was the only way he could communicate with Grizz; he wanted to keep his attention. But this was quite difficult considering Grizz wouldn’t look at him longer than five seconds before glancing away. He wished he’d look at him properly, but those longing, sad eyes would just make Sam feel worse. Since moving to New Ham, Sam had already seen Grizz cry quite a few times. Two of those were Sam’s own doing, which had haunted Sam since those moments. He didn’t want to ever be the culprit or reason again.

“Yeah, it was, uh, it was good. We found what we needed. So… All good.” Grizz replied, giving Sam a small but sad smile. He didn’t have much else to say. That’s what he told anyone else who asked in the past day since he and the others had come back. He hadn’t had much time to think about the farming plans. The complete and utter shit-show starring Lexie and Harry with appearances from Jason, Clark, and Luke had over clouded that. Grizz had spent the group’s first night back trying to understand how everything had gotten so messed up. Gordie had filled them in, only briefly, and that was enough to rile him up. Not that Grizz would act on it – violence was never his forte. He knew something had to be done; he had to help Allie and Will. But maybe focusing on his own mess, the ‘Sam’ mess, would be the best place to start.

“What did it look like?”

“It was beautiful.” Grizz looked up to Sam this time, signing the word ‘beautiful’ slowly and carefully, making it clear to Sam how special it was what they had found. And it was. He almost couldn’t believe what they discovered. That they were so lucky. Out of the group who went on the expedition, Grizz was the least optimistic. He desperately wanted to find something, wanted to come back with even a little glimmer of hope. They’d succeeded in that, but it almost seemed too late – as if everything had already gone wrong before they could even start mending it.

“There was a river?” Sam wanted to picture every single detail, he wanted Grizz to unload to him, all of his worries about the future, about how to farm, about what type of fish they could have for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, about anything that would bring Grizz back him.

“Yeah, with fish and everything. It was great, Sam.” For reasons unknown to himself, when Grizz spoke his name so kindly and softly, even after everything, it made Sam’s heart bounce and swell and flutter and smile the softest smile. Even with this awkwardness between them, Sam could see how proud Grizz was of their discovery. Or at least he was before they’d come back, the realisation that everything that their community had worked for in the past 6 months had been shattered to pieces in just a week may have ruined that sensation. But Sam wanted Grizz to be happy with himself, he deserved it. It was clear to Sam how hard the group tried, and how much they all wanted to give good news to everyone.

Sam nodded along, “Wow. That’s great.” Holding onto every single word that escaped Grizz’s mouth, yearning for a little more.

Grizz took a sharp intake of breath, “How’s Becca?” He knew the conversation would eventually lead to the issue, so he thought he may as well get it over with. Not that he wasn’t concerned about Becca, or the baby, but having to relive that moment when he realised… Grizz pushed that thought of his mind, genuinely wanting to hear Sam’s reply.

“She’s fine. They’re both fine.” But nothing else was fine. Everything seemed to be falling apart around Sam and he didn’t know how to stop it.

“That’s good,” Grizz sniffed, his nose scrunching slightly, a movement that made Sam smile a real smile. “Eden, right? Gordie told me. It’s a lovely name.” Which was true. Eden, delight. In all honesty, he was just glad they didn’t call the child Gareth. That would have been a nightmare.

The mention of Eden made Sam’s heart sink; not because he didn’t want to talk about her. She was honestly the most precious thing Sam had ever seen, holding her brought more joy than he could ever have imagined and seeing Becca light up and glowing made him so happy. But he knew how hard it was for Grizz to even think about the baby. He didn’t want to hurt him any further, he wanted to take all of that pain away, unload it onto himself if needed.

“I missed you.” Sam ached for Grizz from the moment he left him alone near the trees until the morning he heard the group had come back. Every single night during that lonesome week, Sam had relived those small moments between the two boys. Wondering, pondering. Maybe if he’d done things differently, been less of a coward, more assertive, faced up to what needed to be said. He’d wanted to be there, next to Grizz, just as they had been. Laughing, smiling, laying against each other, skin touching. The calmness of being in each other’s arms.

Sam still didn’t know it was possible to feel like that about someone he’d only really got to know recently. But that didn’t seem to matter; that Thanksgiving night, they spoke for hours and hours, finding out every single little detail about each other, even the ones that really didn’t matter. It was cheesy, but Sam did feel as if he’d known Grizz for so much longer. Sam remembered something he read, that the number of years didn’t define a relationship, it was about how much someone meant to you, or believed in you, or was there for you. It isn’t about months; it’s about the moments. Maybe their subconsciousness’ were trying to make up for lost time. It was clear that both had wished they’d acted a little sooner. And the events after that night proved that to Sam.

“We weren’t gone long, Sam.” Grizz himself knew this was just an outright lie. In the grand scheme of things, a week wasn’t ridiculously long. But for Grizz, it was too much. Long enough to overplay every moment he and Sam had together. Contemplate what he said, but more what was left unsaid. How did they really stand with each other? Had everything gone too fast? What did Grizz really want from Sam? But really, the whole time Grizz was away, he just wanted to be with Sam, even with everything that had happened.

Sam shook his head at that remark, Grizz was being flippant and he couldn’t blame him. But he knew very well that this specific week, was complete and utter torture, for both of them. “I know. I’m glad you’re back. We need you. I-“

“Look, Sam-“

“Everything’s fucked. When you left, it all went south.” Sam was angry, not with Grizz specifically, but with everything that had happened. He couldn’t understand how people could be so fickle, so easily led, so downright stupid.

“Yeah,” Grizz chuckled ironically, brushing his hair back into his signature bun. “Fuck happened?”

“You’re the glue.” Sam said, putting special emphasis on signing ‘glue’. It was true, Grizz was special – Sam knew that. But when he there, he seemed to have this presence. People listened to him; people liked him. He just had this way with people that Sam truly admired. But there was so much of Grizz that Sam admired. So much that he treasured.

Grizz started to shake his head, “That’s not true.” He knew Sam didn’t mean it in that way, but he didn’t want that responsibility. He just wanted to do his job. He wanted to help the best way he knew how to. Though, Sam did have a point. They’d only been gone over a week and it seemed that as soon as they left, it all went into anarchy. He’d expected it from people like Lexi and Harry, two whom were never that happy about the way things were working. And two that had been so easily manipulated by Campbell. Grizz wondered how Sam felt about that. The two hadn’t spoken much about his brother, but the night when Sam admitted to everyone about Campbell, about who he really was, Grizz understood so clearly how much Sam had struggled with him. And for what Jason and Clark were saying the night before Grizz left, well, he never imagined those idiots would actually act on it. The phrase ‘brawns before brains’ was particularly apt when thinking about those two. But it was Luke. Luke, his best friend. Luke, who always seemed level-headed, strong-willed, and generally a good guy. It was Luke who disappointed Grizz the most.

“Grizz…” Sam, whilst signing his name by crossing his arms over his chest clawing it twice, which made Grizz chuckle, stepped forward slightly, mirroring the two boys positions the day Grizz left for the expedition. This brought Grizz back to reality. He didn’t want to invade Grizz’s space, no, that was the last thing he wanted, but he wanted this moment to be very clear and to have Grizz’s complete attention.

“She’s not mine. Eden. I lied. I’m sorry.” There was a beat. Silence. Sam could see the confusion in the taller boys’ eyes, as if he was going over what Sam had just said in his mind, trying to understand, comprehend those words. The words that would seemingly change it all. Or at least that’s what Sam hoped.

“What? What are you saying, Sam?” quizzed Grizz, looking rather puzzled.

“I’m not her father. I didn’t sleep with Becca.” Sam closed his eyes and shook his head as he said this. He didn’t know what he had expected Grizz to say, how he wanted him to react. He wasn’t going to be jumping for joy. But Sam didn’t want a repeat of their conversation in Grizz’s bedroom. Sam was heartbroken when he left Grizz alone that day. He hated what he’d done and hated how he couldn’t fix it.

“You lied?”

“I had good reason to. For Becca. She’s my best friend – I love her. I should have told you … But it wouldn’t have been fair on her, to betray her trust…” Sam knew from the moment Grizz realised about the baby and Sam himself confirmed it, that he’d messed up. He wished he could have told him then and there that no, the baby wasn’t his, but he was going to be a father figure to Becca’s child and be there for his best friend. He wanted to tell him then and there that he already cared about Grizz so much and desperately liked him. But Sam was a coward. A loyal one, but still a coward.

The day Grizz and the group came back, the same day Becca moved back home with Eden, Sam told her the truth about Grizz. Why they’d spent so much time together, why they’d suddenly got so close, why Grizz looked so heartbroken when he came to the hospital, why Sam was so upset when the expedition group left, where he’d really been during Thanksgiving. Becca, as usually, had questioned every single thing but finally understood. Her almost giving her blessing, telling Sam that she loved him and would never stand in his way of true happiness was music to his ears. But her admittance that if anyone had to know the truth, she would have wanted it to be Grizz? Well, that sealed it for Sam. He had to tell him. He had to at least try to fix his mess. Otherwise, he may have lost his one chance at happiness with someone he just couldn’t let go.

“But you’re telling me now?”

“You’re too important to let go.” Echoing his previous thoughts, Sam once again moved closer to Grizz and flicked a strand away from his face, wanting to have a complete view of those puppy dog eyes, filled with the utmost sadness that Sam just wanted to rid away, even with the boy opposite him trying to avoid his gaze. This didn’t last long, Grizz couldn’t help himself, the way Sam looked at him… Grizz wouldn’t care if he never had to look at anything else.

Grizz had to take a moment, he glanced away from Sam, focusing onto the nearby trees. Once he came back to reality, the sombre look on his face was all too clear to Sam but he didn’t look angry, almost relieved. Turning back to look at the freckled boy beside him, Grizz nodded as if he finally understood.

“You could have told me. I’m pretty good at keeping secrets.” Sam couldn’t help but titter at this as it became clear to him that Grizz couldn’t be angry with him anymore.

“I’m telling you now.”

“Thank you.” Grizz only signed this, planting a kiss on his fingers before motioning towards Sam. And he was genuinely thankful for Sam. Thankful for his kindness, his understanding, his lovely face. But he was most thankful for him freeing them of the mess the two had found themselves in.

Their eyes met, but properly, this time, locking onto each other. This time it was Grizz who stepped forward, he slowly leaned down to Sam’s level, allowing their foreheads to brush against each other. Cupping Sam’s chin with his hand, Grizz slowly pushed his lips onto Sam’s, allowing them to brush against each other, softly and delicately, just long enough to inhale his breath, long enough to feel the warmth of him and the taste he’d been wanting to taste. Grizz was so tender and gentle with Sam, as if he was scared of hurting him in some way. The two boys’ bodies only moved ever so slightly against each other, and Sam moved his hands to gently caress Grizz’s sensitive cheeks. Neither wanted the moment to end, but Grizz gradually pulled away from his lips, quickly stroking Sam’s chin, giving him a weak smile. Grizz placed a strand of his hair behind his ears and opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself and instead mouthed “I missed you too”, whilst poking his chin with his index finger.

“You’re getting much better, I’m impressed.” Sam motioned towards Grizz’s hands, before taking them into his own, softly rubbing small circles in his palms.

“Learned from the best,” Grizz raised his eyebrow, to which Sam shrugged and could feel the warmth coming from Grizz. “But you’ve still got more to teach me.”

“Okay, Gareth.” Sam smirked to himself, the weight of the stress and agony Sam felt about Grizz had been lifted off his shoulders, just as the tension between the two had finally been lifted. He felt complete ease being in his company, bumping into Grizz shoulder playfully with a huge smile on his face.

Grizz teasingly pushed Sam, but quickly pulled him in for a side hug, planting a small but meaningful kiss on his forehead. Sam reciprocated; his soft lips with the slightest hint of coolness, leaving a small wet mark on Grizz’s flushed red cheeks, covering the dampness of his tears. And at that moment, Grizz was reminded of what Sam had asked in, only a week or so ago. That ‘almost everything’, was fading away. Right then and there, Grizz had exactly everything he needed.

[rwbyremnants]

WARNING: this chapter is NSFW for a very graphic demonstration.

Happy upcoming Thanksgiving to my American friends! Going to try to get out some more chaps after the holidays, maybe even finish editing some of our other fics and get those up. We have a lot of backlog haha. Enjoy!

=Chapter 7

Yang actually did show up for the study session after dinner, shocking both Weiss and Pyrrha thoroughly. Even more surprising was her outfit.

“You look… ridiculous!”

Frowning, Yang looked down at the poodle skirt and canary yellow cardigan. “What? It’s what most girls wear, right?”

“Yes, but you’ve never worn anything like that in your life, have you?” Weiss cackled, falling back on the bed. “Look at you! I’ve never seen you look this uncomfortable before!”

“Shut up!”

“Now, now, Weiss,” Pyrrha put in as she unpacked their books, though she was also smiling. “Don’t tease, it isn’t kind. She looks nice.”

“After all that teasing Yang put me through? I think it’s only fair!”

Rolling her eyes, Yang sat on the edge of the bed, watching Weiss’s legs windmilling in the air. “Goofball. You said I should look ‘less like a brute’, and I tried. And it worked, didn't it? Your parents let me right in.”

“Alright, alright,” she finally laughed, sitting back up. “For the record, you do actually look very sweet! Who knew you could be a girl if you tried?”

“I knew, you jerk!” Yang protested, folding her arms over her chest. “Wow, I think I’m being insulted here!”

“You’re very pretty,” Pyrrha put in, hoping to smooth over the bickering, even if it was playful. “A-and in your normal clothes, you’re quite… handsome? Is that alright for me to say?”

That caught Yang off guard enough that she smiled. “Really? I mean, I guess if you don’t mean it as an insult, it isn’t one.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t! Please don’t think that!” But now Weiss and Yang were laughing, so she ducked her head. “W-we should probably study…”

“Yeah, okay. Just don't be too mean; I got a head like a cinder block.”

After that, they got down to business for a good solid pair of hours. Yang wasn't the terrible pupil she claimed to be; though it took a little more work than it would with the average student, she got the basics of their history lesson quite easily. The dates were harder for her to recall but they did come to the surface of her mind eventually.

Algebra, however, didn't sink in no matter how long they took on it. Both Weiss and Yang started to get increasingly frustrated until Pyrrha called for a break.

“Just give it time,” Weiss encouraged her, petting up and down her bicep as the Dragon glared down at her books. “Believe it or not, you did make some progress tonight.”

“Just feel dumber.”

“You’re not dumb at all!” She leaned up to kiss her cheek, and Yang sighed in defeat. “This is a good start. We’ll make your mom proud yet.”

“Oh, that’s never gonna happen,” she laughed harshly. “Can’t be proud of a kid you never wanted.” When nobody responded, she glanced around to see Weiss and Pyrrha looking completely crestfallen and cracked a lopsided smile. “Hey, it’s nothing, guys. Old news. Let’s, uh… let’s get back to the books.”

Reluctantly, Weiss agreed, as did Pyrrha. They pressed on for another hour or so with their other subjects, then decided to call it a night before Weiss’s father came up to insist.

“Good work tonight,” Weiss told them outside her front door, all smiles. “And hey, don’t be so blue about that equation; it’s no picnic. You have catching up to do from before. Don’t worry about current stuff, just focus on studying from where we showed you.”

Glancing down at the book under her arm, Yang let out another weary sigh. But she was smiling slightly. “Guys… I gotta say, I almost left when you laughed at me, ‘cause that was kinda what I expected the whole time. Just laughing at how stupid I am.” While Pyrrha was wincing, she went on, “But you really surprised me by being… y’know… nice. Not just the regular kind, but about me being so behind.”

“Patient?” Weiss guessed, and she nodded. “Yeah. I mean, it doesn’t make any sense being mad at you for something you didn’t know how to do. That won’t get you to learn it any faster.”

Pyrrha chimed in, “Exactly. You’re going to be holding your own in our classes in no time! You’ll see!”

Laughing with good humour now, Yang linked arms with her, which startled the other taller girl. “C’mon, Stilts. Let’s pretend to go back to your house and get my jacket. Seriously, you two… you’re the bee’s knees.”

“W-well, I… I like to help however I can,” Pyrrha said with a bright smile, in spite of the glow in her cheeks.

Weiss waved to the both of them as they walked away. “Bye, girls! See you tomorrow!” She would have considered blowing a kiss to Yang but that would only invite trouble. Instead, she turned to head inside.

“You seem chipper,” her father grumbled from his armchair.

“Do I?”

“Who was that new friend of yours? I don’t recall seeing her around.”

Weiss had actually practiced this in her head many times. “A friend from school. She’s been having a little trouble in arithmetic, so Pyrrha and I offered to give her a few pointers. I think we did some real good today.” There; no way he could see any problem with her clear goodwill.

Except he did. “That isn’t your job to do, sweetheart. Most of those young ladies in your class will turn out to be housewives or secretaries, and nothing more. But you…”

“I have a bright future ahead of me at Schnee Communications,” she droned, able to say the line in her sleep as often as it was drilled into her.

“Yes, and you might want to show a little gratitude. In a man’s world, you’re one of the few women who have a ghost of a chance at success.”

“Of course, Father. I’ll continue to do my best; my grades are spotless, are they not?”

He pursed his lips; she could even tell from the side of his face barely visible. “You had a B-plus last semester. Ironically, in home ec. But yes, otherwise spotless.”

The jab almost made her laugh. Almost. But she wanted to be done with the conversation. “Will Mother or Whitley be joining us for the rest of the evening? Or shall I retire to my room? I thought I might bathe and turn in early tonight.”

“Very well. But don’t forget what I said; look after your own interests before you worry about those of others. No one else is going to do it for you.”

Privately disagreeing, she merely said “Yes, Father” before slipping upstairs.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Weiss did as she promised. However, what she didn’t tell her father was that after a mere hour’s nap, she dressed again and slipped out her window as silently as she could, climbing down the trellis and tiptoeing across the yard in her socked feet until she got around the corner. Then she slipped on her new black ballet flats and ran down the block to their appointed meeting spot.

“What took you so long?” Yang hissed as she hopped up behind her, sliding her arms around the muscled waist. “Ah! Ooh, one of ‘em still stings!”

“Sorry!” she whispered. “For both. I heard a noise a little while ago, had to make sure Mother didn’t get up to drink herself back into her eternal wine-nap.”

Nodding her understanding, she let the bike roll away a little before she truly took off, hoping not to alert the entire neighbourhood. Weiss felt lucky that Yang wasn’t the type to tweak the muffler so it was as noisy as possible.

As they dismounted near Shopkeeper’s, Yang slid her arm around Weiss’s back and closed her eyes. “Mmm, you smell good.”

“I bathed,” she snorted. “You ought to try it sometime.”

“Nah. I think you like my natural musk.”

“That’s disgusting,” Weiss giggled as they walked inside. “But… I guess I must, since I’m still here.”

The place was a little busier that night. Women were dancing with women to the tunes on the jukebox, and one couple was simply making out in the corner of the dance floor rather than dancing at all. At their usual table, Velvet was sitting in Coco’s lap as comfortably as if she were the chair itself while the entirety of Yang’s cadre chatted and laughed. At peace with the world.

“Hey, guys,” Yang sighed as they took two empty chairs. “Sorry we can’t stay long.”

“I wonder why,” Emerald said lewdly, and a few of the others hooted and hollered.

“Now, now, it’s not polite for a woman to kiss and tell,” Weiss said primly. However, in a marked departure from all previous discussions, she wasn’t denying anything anymore.

“Geez Louise,” Blake breathed, pointing at the two of them with the neck of her beer bottle. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

All Weiss said was “Maybe”, but she might as well have said “Yes” for the reaction she got. Most of them at least clapped, if not cheered; even Cinder was nodding her vague respect.

“Welcome!” Velvet said, actually reaching out to shake her hand. Weiss laughed.

“Thanks! I don’t know, I’m still really… yeah, this is crazy! But what can I say? I’d take Yang’s pin anytime.”

“Fraternity pin?” Blake asked with a snicker. “I don’t think they let women into those.”

Emerald slapped the table with mirth. “We all know she’s gonna steal six frat pins if it means getting into her precious Princess’s skirt!”

“Hey!” Yang said, though she was laughing along with them. “Maybe don’t talk about my new girl that way, alright? She’s a high-class lady.”

“Not if she’s with you,” Cinder needled, and the others cackled and poked her shoulders, eventually making her giggle some more. Weiss tried to be offended but couldn’t seem to bring herself to do anything other than smile. They were more or less good-natured jabs, after all.

After a minute or two, Vernal came by to ask about drinks. Yang ordered them two club sodas in champagne glasses, so they could at least pretend they were celebrating in a way Weiss deserved. By the time she brought them around, Weiss was cuddled close to Yang, resting her head on her collarbone.

“We were ready to cream you,” Coco admitted as she pet up and down Velvet’s stomach through her blouse, the smaller girl sighing and completely limp as a ragdoll.

“I understand,” she replied. “But I really couldn’t know how angry she would get!”

Waving a hand of dismissal, Cinder said, “You should have been smart enough to figure it out, genius. What’s the point in having someone tutor the Dragon if she’s not even bright enough to pick up on that much?”

“Enough,” Blake hissed at her. “At least she’s trying to help her with her report card; keep Raven off her back.”

“A battle that cannot be won,” Yang snorted, now leaning her face against the crown of Weiss’s head and making the both of them hum very silently so that only they could tell – feeling it rather than hearing it thanks to their close contact.

“I don’t think so. I tried to get you to study with me before, but I guess I just wasn’t sexy enough.”

Yang blinked a little. “What is that supposed to mean, Belladonna? You’ve got a classy chassis. And you know I think so.”

“Oh… I was kidding,” Blake hurriedly told her, smile a little pained. “Sorry if that didn’t sound that way. But yeah, I am serious about the offer. If those two are busy, pull up a book.”

“Noted. Thanks, I mean it.”

The night wore on. Eventually, Coco and Velvet excused themselves to the restroom, and Emerald, Blake, and Cinder all kept up their alternate teasing and flirting. At one point, Blake came back from getting another beer and sat on Weiss’s lap “by mistake”, which no one believed for a second. It was all in good fun, and against all of her expectations, the spoiled rich girl found herself more at home with a gang of hoodlums than she ever had in her own house.

Emerald and Cinder went into the bathroom once Velvet and Coco returned, the former wearing a few red marks low on her neck. Weiss gaped at this development, but Blake explained patiently.

“She’ll have a scarf on tomorrow in school. Maybe two days in a row, if it doesn’t go away.”

“That’s so scandalous!” she protested, earning her a laugh from the others and a slight blush from Velvet. “Wow… you really do love Coco. Isn’t there anything we can do to keep you from moving back?”

Her smile faded as she stared down at the table. “No. Mum and Dad want to g-go back, and…”

“Come on. Why can’t they stay here, really? I doubt it’s because of you.”

“Well…” Shrugging her shoulders, she said, “I did ask again and got some better answers. My Dad’s been having a time of it finding work after the mill laid him off last Spring. Can’t be helped, he’s really done everything he can. And worrying about me running with the ‘wrong crowd’ only makes it worse, so I think he’s ready to leave the States and be well shut of Americans.”

Weiss filed that away for later contemplation. Maybe it wouldn’t be anything she could help with after all, but she wouldn’t know until she tried.

Meanwhile, she just noticed Blake and Coco whispering back and forth. When they were through, Coco turned to ask, “So Weiss… apparently, you and Yang still haven’t progressed past the ‘making out’ stage?”

“Thanks, Belladonna,” Yang grunted with narrowed eyes. “Apparently I literally have to say ‘this is a secret’ or you’ll blab to everybody in Vale.”

Blake shrugged. “You do. I mean, you never said it was a secret…”

“Never mind that,” Coco interrupted. “I think the princess needs some tutoring of her own.”

While Blake and Velvet were giggling, Yang groaned and rolled her eyes. “You guys are terrible.”

“What?” Weiss asked softly, fingertips raising to alight on her lips. “Am… have I been doing it wrong?”

“No, no! That’s not what they’re talking about. And believe me…” Instead of finishing, Yang just bit her lip and looked away. It was hard to tell in the darkened room, but Weiss could be reasonably sure she was blushing as badly as Weiss was most days of late.

“She’s over the moon for you,” Blake finished for her while Coco was whispering in Velvet’s ear. The other girl looked a little flustered by the words, but still nodded. “Don’t worry about that.”

Pleased far beyond a level she had any right to be, Weiss said, “Oh. Then what is it we’re talking about?”

Coco rubbed her hands together as if she were about to come into a large sum of money. “You and Yang are eventually going to want to try something… beyond a kiss and a cuddle. And you look like the kind of prude who covered her ears during health class when they started talking about our bodies.”

“Psh,” Weiss scoffed, even though the statement was a hundred percent accurate.

“So we’re going to give you a quick lesson.” As she spoke, Velvet stood up from Coco’s lap, and the other two stood on either side of her. “Pay close attention, and maybe you’ll learn something.”

The girl was so trim that it didn’t take much effort from the well-toned Dragons on either side of her to lift her up and seat her on the table itself. Weiss and Yang hastily moved aside the glasses and bottles so they wouldn’t be knocked to the floor; Weiss had noticed that even though the dive was technically abandoned, they took very good care of their refuge. Nobody ever threw a bottle or knocked food into the floor on purpose.

Then she was staring down at a pair of panties and forgot about the cleanliness of gangsters.

“Wh-wha…? What are you doing?”

“Guys, I think this is a little premature,” Yang was telling them, even though she wasn’t fighting all that hard to convince them.

“I think it’s right on schedule,” Blake laughed. “We just want her to be prepared.”

One of Coco’s gloved hands trailed down Velvet’s stomach and helped to hitch her skirt up even further. For her part, the Aussie was smiling vaguely, a little shy but mostly excited. Weiss had the distinct feeling this wasn’t the first time they had done this with her, even though she still wasn’t quite sure what they were doing.

“So… you aren’t required to participate, Schnee. Just watch. But we want you to get a good look.”

“Are you going to…” Her heart shot up into her throat. “Blake! You wouldn’t!”

“Why me?” Blake laughed. “Coco and Velvet are here, too!”

“Well… I don’t know, I thought you were less… crude!”

They all laughed, even Velvet. But it wasn’t a cruel laugh, and Weiss only felt a tiny bit mortified that she had bothered speaking out at all. Were they really going to do what she thought they were? It seemed cruel in a way. At the very least, it was improper and indecent! They were in a public setting! Sure, there was no one there except for Dragons and those who loved them, such as herself and Velvet - and she knew they certainly weren’t shy. But how could Coco possibly be alright with exposing her girlfriend to not one, but three other people?

Even as she was having that thought, she heard another voice from nearby ask, “Blake, d-do you want anything from the kitchen? I know she’s your mother - don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. But I thought I could… save you a…”

When glancing up, she saw poor Ilia looking about as thunderstruck as she felt, eyes completely round as she gazed down at the mostly-exposed pelvis on the table. She was frozen as if a statue.

“No, thank you,” Blake sighed. But she wouldn’t be getting rid of her that easily.

“Good timing, Amitola,” Coco said with a little smirk. “You and the princess can be our students for today. Two for the price of one.”

Blake’s head snapped around to glare at Coco, who only grinned more widely. After a brief staring contest, she rolled her eyes in defeat. “Fine. Can’t hurt anything.”

“O-oh, I…” The girl almost seemed to change colours completely, from a light tan to a deep red. “What? Student? I don’t- what are you asking me to do?”

“Go stand over by Weiss and watch. That’s it. You don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable doing.”

And Ilia did it. Suddenly, Weiss found herself standing next to the smaller girl, intensely aware of how close she was. Ilia seemed to notice in the same moment, glancing up with a nervous smile. “U-um, hi.”

“Weiss. Nice to meet you.” They shook hands, and Yang laughed. “Hey! Just because you girls are being disgusting doesn’t mean I shouldn’t still be polite!”

“I didn’t say a word,” Yang snorted.

“Alright,” Coco said to get their attention. “I’m going to begin your lesson if you two are through being all high society over there. I’m studying to be a doctor, you know.”

Ilia and Weiss turned to lean down just a little. They both seemed to be of equal mind that they didn’t want to get too close, but also felt strange standing fully upright. Gloved fingers twitched the fabric aside-

Weiss closed her eyes. This was too strange for her. What were they doing?! Showing off someone else’s body for fun? It went against everything she had ever been told growing up, and even though she had been questioning a lot of that lately, this was too far, too suddenly. So indecent!

“Weiss,” Yang whispered. “You can tell us to stop, you know.”

“Ohhhh,” Ilia was saying on her other side. But Coco didn’t seem to be concerned with Ilia’s reactions.

“Schnee, if you’re not gonna look, there’s no point in doing this. Poor Velvet got up on this table just for you, and this is the thanks she gets?”

Grunting in annoyance, she turned to look down… and her breath caught.

Velvet Scarlatina had a lovely example of the female anatomy. She hadn’t known what she expected to see, or how she expected to feel about seeing it - this couldn’t actually be happening to her! A half-naked woman was on display for all to see, should they get curious enough to wander over to their table! Did this really happen so frequently in Shopkeeper’s that nobody cared?! Still, the delicate little pink petals were as beautiful as many flowers she had seen in nature, glistening with dew as if seen in the first light of morning. A sparse patch of brown hair above the area reminded her of dandelion fluff somehow. The temptation to lean in and inhale deeply rose within her, but she suppressed that; it definitely wouldn’t smell like an actual flower.

“Better,” Coco said, voice more seductive, and the spell was broken. When she glanced around at the others, she saw Yang was looking out of passive interest, but Blake was watching Yang instead. That was interesting. Ilia, of course, was staring at the pink folds in wonder as she herself had been doing a moment ago.

“Well?” Velvet asked with a slightly bemused smile.

“W-well, it’s a vagina,” Weiss said dismissively. “And a nice one, of course! But n-nothing I haven’t seen in an anatomy textbook.”

“I haven’t,” Ilia admitted, clearly even shyer. “I’ve never even looked at my own in the mirror.”

“Really?” Weiss asked, slightly surprised. When they glanced at each other, they both felt a little self-conscious; only now did they realise how close they were and what they were doing. “O-oh, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s alright. This is, um… not what I thought I would be doing tonight.”

“You’re telling me!” They both chuckled before turning back to look.

“Glad I have your attention,” Coco deadpanned. “Now this… is the labia majora.” One fingertip traced along the peach-hued skin around the folds themselves. Velvet shivered but that was the extent of her reaction; as Weiss suspected, she was used to this sort of treatment. “The mons pubis.” Up to the thatch of brown hairs, through them, and then all the way down below her opening completely. “The perineum.”

That one did make Velvet shiver. “Coco, I t-told you not to tease me down that far in f-front of other people…”

“I wasn’t going further,” she promised her, giving her a brief kiss on the forehead to reassure her. Weiss was completely certain she meant going down past said perineum to her anus, but that was silly. No one would bother touching anyone else there. “Now, I’ll need a volunteer.”

“Hey, you said we didn’t have to do anything!” Weiss reminded her.

“Not directly. I need someone to hold her open very slightly. You can both use one hand apiece.” Coco’s hands pressed into the skin on either side of Velvet’s opening, pulling just a little to demonstrate. “Yang, do you want the honours instead?”

“That’s alright,” she chuckled, hand gently resting against Weiss’s back. “Let the new blood have the fun.”

So Ilia and Weiss each used a hand to tug to one side. It was a strange experience, touching another woman so close to such an intimate area. Warmer than she expected somehow. Velvet sighed in distant pleasure from feeling two foreign hands on her body. Ilia gulped, glanced up at Blake as if for approval, then pointed her eyes back down when she was pointedly ignored.

“Now this… is the labia minora.” Coco’s finger caressed over the petals, and Velvet could no longer suppress a soft moan. “And contrary to popular belief, this is the vagina. Not the whole thing; just this opening here and what’s inside. The outside part is called the vulva.”

“Ohhh,” Ilia breathed. Weiss had known that much, even if she had only seen black-and-white diagrams before. “So… okay.”

Leaning over, Weiss muttered in her ear, “Can you believe we’re doing this?”

“No! But I don’t want to miss anything!”

“Ready to move on?” Coco asked, even though she was currently stroking up and down Velvet’s soft lips, prompting more little noises from her. “Alright, we’re almost done. One last thing, and this is very important.”

Two of her fingers reached down and began to gently hitch up a small fold of skin at the top. It revealed something Weiss technically knew existed but had forgotten about completely.

“OooOOOooh,” Yang cooed theatrically, as if it were the unveiling of a Christmas tree or similar.

“This is the clit,” Coco said, ignoring her.

“Clit… you mean the clitoris?” Weiss leaned a little closer. “It’s so small; I thought it was larger than that.”

Shrugging as one finger moved down to touch the clit, Coco said, “All shapes and sizes. Mine’s a little larger, but not by much.”

“Looks like mine,” Blake affirmed for them, almost as if to reassure Velvet that hers was normal. The exposed specimen did glance up at her with a slight smile, even as she was writhing slightly from the stimulation.

“Mine’s way bigger,” Yang snickered. “Everybody jokes it’s because I’m such a dick. But… yeah, everybody’s different. Not really better or worse.”

Ilia was leaning ever closer. After a few seconds, she seemed to realise, and moved to one side. “S-sorry, you probably can’t see.”

“No, I can see,” she assured her, also leaning closer as they watched the finger begin to circle around the clit. “What’s this you’re doing now?”

“Getting her off.” A brief silence. “You know… making her come?” Nothing. “Orgasm?”

“Oh.” Her cheeks coloured a bit more. “Ohhhh. Should we… leave you to it?”

“No, this is part of the lesson.” As Velvet’s hips began to squirm, she went on, “If you can do this with your tongue or finger, you’re definitely going to get your girlfriend off. Well… some girls actually get off from internal stimulation more than this, but the clit is almost always the magic button. Don’t forget about it.”

Ilia licked her lips, as if she could barely restrain herself from acting on her urges. Weiss felt no such compulsion to participate. It was definitely thrilling, and she could feel that tingle return that she had managed to suppress. But she was fine with leaving this up to Velvet’s Dragon.

“You look like you want to move to hands-on,” Coco said to Ilia.

“Huh? N-no, I didn’t… well, I’m curious, but it’s not Velvet that I…” Her eyes flicked up to Blake again, but she turned them back downward right afterward. She really was trying not to be as obvious as she was. And failing.

“I definitely don’t care,” Blake told her without any hesitation. “Of course, if Weiss wanted first crack at it…”

“Stop teasing,” Weiss sighed. “You know I’m not going to try this on Velvet.” At the last two words, Blake and Coco grinned and elbowed each other. “Or at all! Do you have to take everything I say the worst way possible?!”

“Best way, you mean,” Yang purred into her ear, and she melted completely. She was the only one who could cut through her prudishness and sense of decorum like a hot knife through butter.

Meanwhile, Ilia was touching Velvet with her other hand now. Not very much, just testing how things felt under her fingertips. Coco was still working at her clit, but she was also making a lot more of an effort to lean down and kiss Velvet’s face. Reassuring her girlfriend that she hadn’t forgotten their relationship just because they were engaged in a “group activity”.

It didn’t take much more coaxing before Ilia started going down on her. Coco and Blake gave pointers, since they could see what she was doing from their perspective, and she adapted as best she could. Weiss had to turn away several times to regain her composure; this was definitely not a normal school night.

“NNhh!” Velvet finally began to moan some minutes later. “Ilia?”

“Yes?” she asked, out of breath.

“Fingers… in?”

“Alright,” Coco encouraged her when she saw Ilia’s deer-in-the-headlights look. “So you want to insert two fingers, and you want to do it perpendicular to her thigh. Not straight down or straight up, but straight in. Want me to show you first?”

When Ilia nodded, Coco leaned far over her girlfriend and demonstrated with her index and middle fingers, sliding them into the wetness. The squelching sound made Weiss cover her eyes again for a moment, and the urge to flee the room entirely was quite strong. But the moaning and the quiet “Ohhhh” from her fellow pupil did make her look again.

“This is so wrong,” she breathed as she watched the gloved fingers sliding in and out of Velvet’s body.

“A little,” Yang admitted in a soft voice, still stroking Weiss’s back. She had noticed the hand slid down to her rear end once or twice, but had made no comment and gave no reaction. “But she’s doing it right, so at least she’s gonna make a great doctor.”

Ilia had been alternately gazing in longing, and nodding as she committed this or that aspect to her memory. Then she said, “Can I try?”

“Sure.”

Hands were traded. Velvet moaned much louder when she felt Ilia inside of her - probably because it was someone new rather than the technique being any better or worse than Coco’s. This went on for another minute of writhing and panting. Taking the initiative on her own, Ilia lowered her mouth to the clit and went back to work, doing her best to bring her more pleasure. And within a few more seconds…

“AH!” Velvet cried. “I’m… it’s g-going to…”

“Keep it up, Amitola,” Coco encouraged her as she pet along her love’s hair. “Don’t quit on us now!”

Weiss watched as everything continued. When Velvet’s back arched and she cried out in sheer pleasure, Ilia started and glanced up at them. “It’s- something’s happening! It’s grabbing my fingers!”

Laughing a little, Coco encouraged her, “Don’t stop. Just finish her off first and then I’ll explain.” She got back to work. Not long after, Velvet flopped down in a puddle of sweat, and Coco nodded. “Alright. So that was her orgasm. For some women, the inside of the vagina kind of clamps down during the finish; most of us, really. It’s totally normal, and a great sign that you were succeeding.”

“I was?” Flushed with her success and her efforts, she glanced over at Blake, who merely shrugged. Her cheeks were a tiny bit pink, but she was doing a good job of playing it cool. “Wow… I m-mean, this is good, right?”

“Very good, if you want to date women. Probably not of much use if you don’t, though you could try training a man to do it for you. Not that they’re much good at that…”

Nodding her agreement, Blake looked back up at Weiss. “So, any thoughts?”

“What thoughts am I supposed to be having? I just watched a stranger do unspeakable things to one of my friends’ girlfriends on a restaurant table!”

“Yes, but did you learn anything that could be of use?” Her head nodded toward Yang, who was shaking her head and laughing.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. But I’ll at least inform you that I’m a very good student.”

While Blake and Coco were laughing, and even Velvet was snickering slightly, Ilia withdrew her fingers and caused her laughter to turn into a quiet sigh. Then she pulled her underwear back into place over her and patted the sensitive organ through the fabric.

“Thank you,” she made sure to tell Velvet.

“Of course. I’m… I’m glad you liked it. Always kind of self-conscious when someone new is messing about down there.”

“Don’t worry, I… I liked poking down there with you,” she told her earnestly. They were definitely sharing a brief moment between them, and Coco, her actual girlfriend, didn’t mind. It was crazy.

“Your body is lovely,” Weiss made sure to tell her with a polite smile. “And… well, I can’t pretend I wasn’t at least a little stimulated from watching, even if I’m not sure any of this was necessary. I already knew where all those things were from class!”

“I didn’t,” Ilia reminded them.

“Most students don’t,” Coco told her with a friendly pat on the shoulder as Blake helped Velvet down. “Pretty normal, to be honest.”

Just then, as Ilia was looking relieved and very distantly pleased with her own efforts, Emerald and Cinder returned from the bathroom, their hair dishevelled. “What did we miss?” Emerald asked.

Everyone else burst into laughter. Even Ilia, despite being the one least welcome at that table. Maybe that could begin to change at last.

[rawresparza]

Secret Santa fic for @wellhellolazlo! You were looking for Barisi banter, NYC as a feature, and dinner dates so I hope this checks those boxes well enough, lovely. Have a beautiful holiday and I hope you enjoy it!

--

Ten minutes after checking in for their reservation at Max Brenner, Rafael starts to get impatient.

No, that’s not quite right. He just gives up on pretending he’s not impatient.

It’s exceptionally busy tonight, which is honestly to be expected considering it’s Christmas Eve, but Rafael still wrinkles his nose at the guy who shoulder checks him just to reach for one of the free chocolate malt balls being handed out as a disguised apology for the wait.

“Remember when having a reservation used to mean something?” Rafael mutters, crossing his arms over his chest, scowling when Sonny looks over to smirk at him.

“Not really. I didn’t start making reservations anywhere until I started dating you.”

“Yeah, well, you’re welcome.”

“Okay, hey, come over here.” Sonny leads him to the one empty corner of the waiting area, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the hosts aren’t calling his name before returning his full attention to his boyfriend. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been complaining about everything since we left your office.”

“That’s not true,” Rafael argues, even though it’s definitely true.

“Yes, it is. You were mad the Uber took six minutes instead of four.”

“If the app says four minutes, it should only take four minutes.”

Sonny anchors his hands over Rafael’s shoulders, squeezing gently. “Come on. It’s Christmas Eve, what’s with the Grinchy attitude?”

Rafael lowers his gaze to the ground between them, focusing on the tips of his shoes as he shifts on his feet. It’s not that he’s upset about the accusation; he’s upset Sonny is right. His cheeks flush red and hot even as Sonny runs soothing hands down his arms. Willing the knots in his stomach to fade away, Rafael finally lifts his eyes to meet Sonny’s. “I’m sorry. It’s our first Christmas together.”

They’d spent Thanksgiving Day apart so Sonny could be with his family and Rafael could be with his mother. It’d been at Sonny’s insistence that they spend this particular holiday together, their first real holiday as a couple, and even after just over six months together, Rafael still finds himself wondering when all of this will come to a screeching halt. He’s never worried so much in a relationship before; but then again, his last “relationship” hadn’t lasted longer than a few weeks and there had been absolutely no love lost there.

With Sonny, he risks losing more than he’d ever expected to gain.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Sonny asks. “I thought it would be a good thing.”

“It is,” Rafael answers, albeit weakly. His chest tightens as he watches Sonny try not to let his disappointment show through the slight downturn of his smile. “I just didn’t think we’d get this far.”

The words don’t come out the way he’d wanted and as soon as he says them, Rafael wishes he hadn’t said anything at all.

“Oh.” Sonny’s hands fall to his sides then into his pockets and he takes a slight step back, looking mildly embarrassed.

Rafael groans, shaking his head. “No, Sonny, that’s not what I--”

“--party of two! Sonny, party of two!”

“Do you still want to do dinner?” Sonny can barely meet his eyes. Rafael hates himself for it.

“Of course I do.” Rafael reaches for Sonny’s hand. “Listen, please--”

Turning on his heels, Sonny steps just out of Rafael’s reach, nodding toward the host stand. “Then we better go before we lose our spot.”

For a moment, Rafael can’t remember how to move, his hand still held out, grasping at nothing as he stares at the back of his boyfriend’s head as Sonny makes his way through the crowd to claim their table. He should have known he’d find a way to screw this up, to self-sabotage, he’s basically become an expert at that over the years. It isn’t until Sonny beckons at him to follow that Rafael takes a step forward, patting at his pocket to make sure the gift he’d brought along is still there, in spite of the fact he’s not sure he’ll be given the chance to hand it over anymore.

It’s just a misunderstanding, that’s what the voice of reason in the back of his mind whispers to him. All he needs to do is take half a minute to explain and Sonny will understand. Sonny always understands.

But Sonny doesn’t want to talk about it. Rafael’s second and last attempt to explain himself over dinner is dismissed almost immediately with talk of what the Carisi family has planned for Christmas tomorrow.

“My dad’s kind of pissed I told him I wasn’t coming this year,” Sonny admits, almost pointedly as he watches Rafael over the rim of his chocolate martini. They’d both indulged in the sweet cocktail, neither of them had been able to resist, but every sip sits heavy with Rafael; or maybe that’s just the guilt he can’t shake weighing him down.

“If you’d rather be with them tomorrow…” Rafael trails off, poking at his steak, quietly terrified of what answer he might get.

“Is that what you want?” Sonny sets his fork down, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with his napkin as he sits back in his chair. “You want me to go home for Christmas instead of doing what we planned?”

“It’s your decision, not mine.” Rafael tries not to wince when Sonny scoffs at that. He could make it so much easier on himself, it would take hardly any effort at all, but Rafael is used to putting up a fight. It’s what he’s always done, and he’s gotten better at it since being with Sonny but tonight, he can’t seem to stop putting his foot in his mouth.

“You know what, forget it. Did I show you the picture Bella sent me of her latest ultrasound yet?”

The rest of dinner is miserable. They both laugh and smile at all the right places but Sonny doesn’t hold his hand over the table like he usually does and doesn’t try to feed him bites of their dessert, which is something Rafael always complains about because it’s embarrassing and yet, he misses it when they both take their last forkfuls of chocolate mud cake.

By the time they’ve paid their bill and are wandering through the Union Square Holiday Market with cups of hot apple cider in hand, Rafael is biting at the inside of his cheek just to distract himself from the tears of sheer frustration welling in his eyes. He could pass it off as a reaction to the cold if Sonny were to ask; but Sonny doesn’t, Sonny barely looks in his direction, instead pretending to be overly fascinated by every booth they pass even though Rafael has never once known him to care about candles or aromatherapy.

It isn’t until Sonny very nearly gets talked into buying an $85 sweater for the dog he doesn’t own that Rafael decides he can’t take it anymore.

“We’re good, thanks,” he says to the vendor, taking Sonny by the arm and pulling him along toward the row of lit trees that’s as clear of people as they’re going to get.

“What’s your problem?” Sonny asks, and it stings when he shrugs out of Rafael’s grip but Rafael squares his shoulders and lifts his chin, puffing out a burst of air as he scrambles to figure out what he wants to say.

“About earlier--”

“You don’t have to explain,” Sonny interrupts, “and I don’t think I want to hear it, anyway.”

“I do have to explain. I really do. Look, this isn’t easy for me.”

Sonny frowns. “What, being with me?”

“Yes! No. God, yes and no, Sonny, please try to understand. I haven’t let someone in like this in years. Decades, even. When I say I didn’t think we’d get this far, it’s because I thought I was done. I thought I was done with the dating thing, done being envious of people who’ve found someone to share their lives with, done with all of that. I was okay with it, I really was. Then you…”

Rafael finds he can’t quite finish his sentence, biting down hard on his bottom lip, blinking up at the bright lights of buildings above them as he waits for the hot tears pooling in the corners of his eyes to settle. Finishing that sentence means confessing what neither of them have said yet but what Rafael is certain, deep within his bones, is true for them both. Maybe that’s the scariest part.

“Me?” Sonny prompts softly, inching a step closer so they’re toe-to-toe, one gloved hand brushing against Rafael’s.

Rafael is quick to grab his hand, grateful for the contact. It gives him a surge of confidence to keep going. Sonny often does have that effect on him. “You changed things for me. You gave me a reason to want more, you even made me believe maybe I deserved it. Deserved you.” He doesn’t, Rafael knows that, he’s quite sure nobody deserves to have a man like Sonny’s love; but he’s the one who’d lucked out somehow. “I’m in love with you, okay? Deeply, deeply in love and it’s terrifying because I don’t know how this is going to end.”

Sonny’s lips part and for a moment, he’s speechless and Rafael is sure his heart has skipped approximately a hundred beats in the fifty years it takes his boyfriend to come up with a response.

“It ends with you and me, Raf,” Sonny says, his eyes wide but bright and his dimples starting to show. “It’s that simple.”

“But it’s not. You say that now. What happens when you get tired of dealing with the Grinchy attitude or realize there are so many other people out there who’d be so much better for you or--”

Sonny silences him with a kiss. Lean arms wrap tightly around Rafael’s waist and Rafael lifts himself up onto his toes, leaning into the warm of the embrace with a contented moan. When their lips part, Sonny holds Rafael in place, letting their foreheads rest against each other.

“It’s that simple,” he says again. “I love you, too. I’ve wanted to say it so many times, Rafael, and I’ll say it as many times a day as you need to hear it. I love you. It doesn’t stop, not for anything, not for anyone. You changed things for me, too. Hey, don’t give me that look, I’m serious.”

Rafael rolls his eyes but a pleased laugh escapes him. “You know I’m going to need to hear all the ways I did that, right? I hope it’s a long list, I’m very needy.”

“You don’t say,” Sonny teases, tugging lightly at Rafael’s scarf so their lips meet again. “We can do that tomorrow, spend the whole day trading all the reasons why we love each other.”

“You’re getting sappy,” Rafael says. His grins betrays his words. “Speaking of tomorrow, I have presents for you to open but I brought something to give you tonight. I wanted you to open it over dinner but I obviously messed that up.”

“Don’t,” Sonny says. “Don’t say that, we’re good. We’re so good.”

“Good,” Rafael echoes, nodding. Taking a deep breath, he reaches into his pocket to retrieve a small, flat box with a red ribbon wrapped around it, holding it out for Sonny with a slightly trembling hand. “Here. I hope you like it.”

Sonny takes the box and lifts a brow. Rafael lets out a long, dramatic sigh as Sonny shakes the box, holds it up to his ear, sniffs it. “What is it, new car?”

“Jesus, just open it, will you?”

So Sonny does, with a smile that only grows wider once he’s lifted the lid of the box to find a key nestled in tissue paper. His head snaps up, excitement flashing in his eyes, and Rafael feels a wave of warmth and affection and above all, a distinct sense of relief wash over him. “Rafael, I-- This is a key to your place?”

“Well, it’s definitely not a key to a new car.”

Sonny ignores that, returning his awed gaze to the key. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you. God, I really do love you, you know that?”

“I do know that,” Rafael says. He means it. He can’t believe he means it. “I love you, too.”

They share another kiss, share in each other’s warmth, and Rafael is certain he’s never been this happy.

“Merry Christmas, Rafael,” Sonny says, whispering the words in Rafael’s ear.

It sends a welcome shiver down his spine and Rafael lets his eyes flutter shut, basking in this moment. He’s loved, so loved, and there are gifts waiting for him at home but they only thing he wants is standing in his arms right now. How could he ever ask for more?

“Merry Christmas, Sonny.”

[justanoutlawfic]

Life Unexpected: Chapt. 9

Summary: Mary Margaret and Emma talk about their shared expierences. A familiar face returns to town. David is forced to confront his true feelings.

Also on AO3

Emma didn’t move as she watched David comfort Mary Margaret. She had almost not shown up to the office to begin with, but with him calling she knew that he obviously wasn’t upset with her. She had almost gone to Lily’s, but decided halfway through that she didn’t want Mary Margaret to be able to find her. She wandered around, not sure where she could go. Back in Boston, there were plenty of places. Storybrooke was so small, it’d be easy to find her. She might as well go to David’s office.

 A part of her wished she hadn’t. She wasn’t good when people got upset, she wasn’t very great when it came to emotions period. She wasn’t sure how to feel when it came to Mary Margaret going through what she had. A part of her wanted to track her biological grandfather down, another part of her continued to remain frozen in place.

 Luckily, she didn’t have much time to think. David gestured for her to stay put and for some reason, she felt obligated to listen. She watched as he continued to comfort Mary Margaret through her breakdown. Eventually, Mary Margaret pulled away and wiped her face, clearly trying to calm down. Her eyes drifted to the doorway and she saw Emma standing there. David helped her up and he walked over to Emma, squeezing her shoulder.

 “We’re not mad at you,” he said.

“David…”

“I am just…I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that.”

Emma saw the look in his eyes, he seemed so heartbroken. No one had ever gotten that upset on her account. “It’s okay,” she whispered.

“No, it’s not.”

“Well…you’re right. I just…I don’t know what else to say.”

“I know you’ve been through a lot and if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”

Emma nodded, forcing a small smile on her face. “Yeah. Thanks, David.”

“Anytime.” He looked back at Mary Margaret, before focusing on Emma again. “I don’t want to leave you right now, but I think that you and your mom need to talk.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I’m gonna go grab us all something to eat from the cafeteria.”

 David shut the door behind him and Emma walked further into the office. Mary Margaret had a look on her face that Emma had only seen in the mirror before. It was one of heartbreak and overall feeling like falling apart. She settled into one of the chairs in front of David’s desk and Mary Margaret sat beside her.

 “I’m sorry I didn’t come talk to you first,” Mary Margaret said, speaking first. “I was just so surprised and I didn’t understand why you didn’t tell me…not until now.”

“You could’ve come to me.”

“I know, I know. It’s just…”

“You don’t trust me.”

Mary Margaret bit her lip. “I wouldn’t say that. You haven’t done anything to make me not trust you, it’s just that we barely know each other.”

“I get that.” Emma let out a deep breath. “Astrid’s working really hard to get this stripped from my record and expunged all together, I just hate talking about it.”

“Well that, I definitely understand.”

“Your dad…”

Mary Margaret nodded. “Not many people know. Regina was the only one until today.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“And I’m sorry that it happened to you.” Mary Margaret took her hand. “I never wanted this for you. I did my research, I found you the best family that I possibly could.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I swore I would never let a child go through what I did…”

“Mary Margaret.” Finally, her biological mother looked her in the eyes. “There was nothing that you could’ve done. Even if the Swans had raised me, there was no preventing it. The only person that could was Bill.”

Mary Margaret chuckled, in spite of the fresh tears that were falling down her face. “You really are so mature.” She moved her hand from within Emma’s and touched her cheek. “You know, Ruby’s fiancé is a psychologist. I know it can be hard to talk about, but he can help you.”

“I had some counseling after I got with Astrid, but I only got so many sessions with my insurance through foster care.”

“Well, something tells me that David has a lot better coverage.”

Emma smiled a bit, this time it was genuine. “I guess it couldn’t hurt. Maybe you could go too.” Mary Margaret paused, clearly unsure. “The few sessions I had really helped, maybe it could help you.”

“I’ll think about it, alright?”

Emma nodded. “Of course.”

 Mary Margaret sighed, rubbing her own face to get rid of the tears. It was now red and her mascara had run, but Emma wasn’t about to tell her that. It was the first time she looked imperfect and maybe it was weird, but she liked it.

 There was a knock on the door, causing both of them to look up. David stood there, balancing two trays. Mary Margaret hopped up to help him, grabbing the second one. The two distributed the food and Emma watched them closely. This was the first she had really seen them get along for more than a few seconds. They were smiling at one another and David seemed to be sitting as close to Mary Margaret as possible. They clearly weren’t as over each other as they thought they were.

Over the next few weeks, Emma and Mary Margaret both started seeing Archie. Mary Margaret didn’t hear much about Emma’s sessions, but they were clearly helping her more than she expected. As for Mary Margaret herself, it was weird to tell her story to Archie, but he was giving her healthy coping mechanisms for dealing with the nightmares.

 When she told her former step-mother, Regina was really proud of her and admitted that she had seen Archie for a bit after Daniel died. It had caused her to have a breakdown and she got help for everything, from losing the love of her life to the first marriage that she had been thrust into, and the abuse she had suffered. Regina said that if not for therapy, she wasn’t sure if she would’ve been able to open her heart to Robin. Mary Margaret wasn’t sure if she’d ever let her heart open like that, she had once and it had only given her nothing but pain.

 As Thanksgiving came and went, Emma seemed to be getting a bit more comfortable around both Mary Margaret and David. She definitely wasn’t close to calling them mom and dad, but she had stopped referring to them as her biological parents. She was opening up a bit more, sharing bits of her childhood that she hadn’t previously. It wasn’t ever any of the bad, but Mary Margaret enjoyed knowing that Emma’s favorite T.V show had been Arthur and that when she was 8, she had been Peter Pan for Halloween.

 One night, the two of them were headed to Granny’s for dinner. It was getting colder, the Maine air blowing on both of them. Emma clung her coat tighter to her body and adjusted her beanie. Mary Margaret linked her arm through her daughter’s, and Emma didn’t pull away, instead smiling up at her.

 Before they could walk inside the diner, there was an even bigger gust of wind and a sound of a motorcycle behind them. Emma turned around first, a huge smile forming on her face as the person removed their helmet.

 “August!”

August grinned, parking officially and climbing off, giving her a hug. “Hey, Em.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I sort of got a job in town.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “You’re a mechanic. I didn’t think that kind of work had job transfers.”

August rolled his eyes. “The shop I was working at went under. I started looking for other jobs and found one here in town. I figured why not.”

 Mary Margaret could see how happy this news made Emma. She and August talked on the phone as often as possible, texting and e-mailing as well. Still, she knew it was hard for the two to be so far apart. They were the closest each other had to siblings.

 “Do you have a place to stay?” Mary Margaret asked.

August nodded. “I’m actually staying in your building, first floor.”

Emma’s eyes brightened at that news. “We’re going to be neighbors?” When August nodded, she hugged him tightly once again, making him laugh.

Mary Margaret smiled. “Well, this calls for a celebration. You want to join us for dinner, August?”

“I don’t want to intrude,”

“Of course you’re not, come on. You can tell us all about your travels on that death trap.”

Emma rolled her eyes as they walked inside. “I’m guessing that means you’re not going to let me on it?”

“We’ll talk about it with David.”

“Great, that’s a definite no.”

 Mary Margaret smiled, knowing she was probably right. The diner wasn’t too busy, which meant they were able to pick their table. Mary Margaret settled on their usual one in Ruby’s section. Emma slid in next to August, showing him the menu and telling him all her favorites. It warmed Mary Margaret’s heart to see that in just over a month, she clearly considered this one of her favorite places.

 Ruby walked over to the table, a smile on her face. “Hey guys.” She noticed August sitting beside Emma and raised an eyebrow. “Boyfriend?”

Emma made a face. “Ugh, gross.”

August pretended to look offended. “Gee thanks, Em, glad to know I’m out of your league.” He chuckled and held out his hand to Ruby. “August. August Booth. I was Emma’s foster brother.”

 Ruby’s face grew pale as she slowly shook hands with August. He and Emma didn’t notice it, but Mary Margaret saw that her friend was looking like he had just seen a ghost. Ruby shook it off, though she clearly wasn’t her usual self as she took drink orders. Before Mary Margaret could ask what was wrong, Ruby made a beeline to the back. Mary Margaret excused herself, not that Emma or August could hear her over exchanging inside jokes and talking about an old foster parent.

 Mary Margaret made her way to the back of the diner, hiding behind a wall as she listened to Ruby on the phone, clearly sounding upset.

 “I’m telling you, it’s him!” She let out an irritated sigh. “I know it could be a popular name, but I know it…listen, Archie, just come down here and see for yourself!” There was a pause. “Thank you.”

 Ruby hung up the phone and leaned against the wall, burying her head in her hands. It took Mary Margaret a minute to realize that her best friend was crying. She walked closer to her, putting a hand on her arm. Ruby jolted, her head snapping up.

 “Mary Margaret…I…I’m gonna get your drinks.”

“That’s the least of my concerns,” Mary Margaret said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Ruby sniffled. “I’m fine.”

“Ruby.” Mary Margaret gave her a look.

Ruby sighed, running her fingers through her long, dark hair. “There’s something I never told you, I thought you might hate me.”

“There’s nothing you could do to make me hate you, you’re my best friend.”

Ruby sniffled again. “Remember when I lived in Boston? With my mom?”

“Yeah, it’s where you met Archie.”

“Exactly, well…I got pregnant…and we tried, we really did.”

Mary Margaret frowned. This was Ruby’s big secret? She became a mom at 16? Did she really think she would judge, given her own situation? “Okay.”

“But it was just too much. Archie had a mentor at the time, Marco. We gave the baby to him and I moved back to Storybrooke.”

“I’m still lost at to what is making you so upset.” Mary Margaret put a hand each on Ruby’s arms. “Tell me, Rubes.”

“The baby’s name was August,” she whispered. “And his adoptive last name would’ve been Booth.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes widened and she glanced back at the table, where Emma and August were sat before looking back at Ruby. “You mean…”

“How much do you know about him?”

 Mary Margaret paused, trying to gather all of the information that David had told her after he confronted August back when Emma first came to town.

 “They were foster siblings, August was in the first home Emma was in after her adoption fell through. I guess it was his first foster home too. His adoptive father died…” Mary Margaret stopped, swallowing a bit. “And from what I remember David telling me, he talked about his biological parents abandoning him with an older man.”

 Ruby’s head dropped back to her hands and she let out a sob. Mary Margaret pulled her into her arms, rubbing her back soothingly. She had been in Ruby’s position over a month ago, but at least Emma knew who she was. August sat there, no idea that the woman who gave him up was in the very same building.

David sat in his home office, trying to do some research for this case. He had made the mistake of putting it off the night before when Alice came over with her girlfriend. Emma had been with him as well and he wanted to make the most of the situation, trying to avoid an incident like last time. Luckily, Emma and Alice had gotten along and there was no outright jealousy there. The night ended with hugs, not picture frames breaking. It also meant that he would most likely be pulling an all nightery with this case.

 “Dave.” David looked up and found Killian standing in the doorway. “Your mom’s in the living room.”

 For a split second, David almost told him to cut the bull. His mom hadn’t spoken to him on her own accord since she found out about him keeping Emma a secret. She saw him, but that was mainly so she could see her granddaughter. The rest of his siblings and step-mom would talk to him, but Ruth was clearly still hurt. David didn’t blame her, but it had lead to some awkward moments. Since Emma had spent Thanksgiving with Mary Margaret, Regina and the rest of their family, he had opted out of going to his mom’s. He spent the day with Killian and Alice, not wanting to deal with the awkwardness. James said that it had been the wrong move, but for once he wasn’t the black sheep of the family, what did he know? David loved his mom, but was going to give her space. There was only so much rejection he could take.

 However, Killian looked pretty sincere. David shut his laptop and walked into the living room. Low and behold, his mother was there. David cleared his throat and she looked up from the picture of Emma that he had hung up a week prior.

 “Mom,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

Ruth stepped forward. “You didn’t come to Thanksgiving.”

“I didn’t think you’d want me there.”

“That’s ridiculous, David Robert.” He cringed at the use of his middle name, he hated that he was named after his father. “Of course I wanted you there.”

“Well, you haven’t been acting like it.”

“I’ve been upset with you.”

“I understand. I just didn’t want to deal with the awkwardness.”

Ruth sighed, gnawing on her bottom lip. “I love being a grandmother, you know? I have always loved Gideon, even if he’s not my blood.”

“I know that.”

“I would’ve been so supportive of Mary Margaret and Emma.”

“I know.”

Ruth tilted her head. “I thought you didn’t want to disappoint me.”

“That was also true, but I also knew you. You loved babies, more importantly, you loved family. It’s so important to you. I knew you’d insist on helping Mary Margaret with the baby, even though there wasn’t much you could do.”

“I would’ve watched the baby so the two of you could go to school and work.”

“At the time…I didn’t want that.”

“That’s not how I raised you.”

“I know!” David watched as her eyes grew big at his explosion. He ran his hand over his face. “My thoughts were the exact opposite of how you raised both me and James. I was being a selfish, coward. I was too scared to own up to my child and be the father they deserved. I couldn’t admit that to you, not with how perfect you thought I was.”

“David…”

“I heard it my entire life, Mom. You thought I was this perfect kid who could do no wrong. And a part of me got it, because of all the trouble James got in. Still, though. You went on and on about how I was the good kid. I never gave you any trouble. You were so damn proud of me and the thought of you hating me…” He trailed off, willing himself not to cry. “I couldn’t live with that.”

Ruth stepped closer to him, reaching up to touch his face. He hated that she could make him feel things he hated. “I never would’ve hated you, David. I still don’t hate you. You’re my son, I love you so much.” David nodded, feeling a tear fall down his face. “I know I put a lot on you, but I also know that you’re human. You made a mistake, but that doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re not your father.”

 David let out a shaky breath and Ruth pulled him into her arms. He hugged her tight, allowing a few more tears to fall.

 “I wanted to tell you,” he whispered. “When I was older, when I realized the mistake I made. I just didn’t know how.”

“I understand.”

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m really sorry.”

“I know, Davey. I know.” She pulled away, tilting up his chin. “And I forgive you. The question is, have you forgiven yourself?”

 David looked down into her kind eyes, biting down on his lip. He wasn’t sure if he had the answer to that.

[lilyvandersteen]

Puppy Eyes Chapter 8

This is again from Blaine's point of view. A bit of a filler chapter, this one. The next one will be juicier :-)

Warning for a brief mention of Finn dying.

This chapter is unbetaed, because once again, I procrastinated writing it and my lovely beta @hkvoyage hasn't read it yet, seeing as I've only just finished writing the last sentence... Updating weekly is proving quite a challenge!

Thank you so much to everyone who sends me feedback - you're wonderful and you spur me on to keep writing :-)

This story is also on AO3 and on Fanfiction.net.

The other parts can be found here: Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7

Chapter 8: Thanksgiving

Blaine had been so scared of Kurt finding out his secret, but now that it was out in the open, he felt lighter and freer than he had in years.

There was no judgment from Kurt’s end whatsoever, and he knew about magic, and even about people who could break a curse, apparently. Well, that was interesting, and worth looking into. But Blaine forgot about it quickly when Kurt told him how his mother had been cursed.

As Blaine listened, it struck him how small and vulnerable Kurt looked, every inch that little boy again who missed his mom. Blaine scooted a little closer and took Kurt’s hand in his to provide some comfort. The pain in Kurt’s eyes didn’t recede, but his spine straightened, and his words came out more readily, and a bit louder.

The story ended with Kurt’s mother dying, and Kurt crumpled again. There was more than pain in his eyes now, and when he refused to look Blaine straight in the eye, it was pretty clear what the matter was. Kurt felt guilty. Guilty because a homophobic woman had cursed his mom.

Blaine took a tissue from the box on the coffee table, and dried Kurt’s tears while he reasoned with him, trying to make him see that the fault wasn’t his. Kurt nodded, but kept sobbing soundlessly. It broke Blaine’s heart to see him that way. Kurt was usually such a positive presence in his life, vibrant and unique, such a sharp contrast to the broken boy now crying his heart out next to Blaine.

What could Blaine do to make Kurt feel better? In the end, he moved in for a hug. It did not have the comforting effect he’d intended, since he was still naked, and the reminder of that shocked Kurt, but it did make Kurt stop crying, so Blaine counted it as a win.

Kurt made Blaine go put on some clothes, and after that, they went outside to walk the dogs Blaine usually joined for play time at the park. It was weird, suddenly being a human alongside Kurt, and holding one of the dogs’ leashes instead of trotting next to them and challenging Snowball to a race. Blaine liked it, though. He liked the family feel of it, as if the dogs were theirs, and they went for an evening stroll together every day.

Blaine found himself wishing this could be his reality. If things had been different, if he’d never been cursed, this was what Blaine would have liked to have. A family. Just thinking about it hit Blaine with a fierce stab of longing. He wanted this. He wanted more than a lonely existence, always worrying about when the curse would strike next. He wanted Kurt next to him, capable and comforting and so compatible with Blaine, in spite of their age difference. What was it about Kurt that made Blaine feel so at home with him?

And then it came to Blaine. Kurt was a dog-sitter now. Would he consider becoming Blaine’s dog-sitter full-time? It would be pricey, but Blaine had more money than he could spend in a lifetime anyway. But perhaps Kurt was like Trent and would shy away from Blaine in his dog form now that he knew there was a human trapped inside. Would he?

He broached the subject with Kurt, and after some deliberation, Kurt agreed to move in with him and look after him any time he turned into a dog, on the condition that he’d still get to walk other dogs. Well, that was no problem.

Happy as a clam now, Blaine threw a tennis ball for the dogs to catch and did a silly dance waiting for them to return.

Kurt snorted. “Dork!”

Blaine beamed at him. “No take-backs! You promised to stay, so you’re stuck with me now.”

Kurt’s eyes softened. “I wasn’t going to take it back. I like you being dorky. You’re never afraid to be yourself.”

Blaine nodded, crouching down to take the tennis ball from Snowball, pet the dog and throw it again. “There’s nothing more bad-ass than being yourself.”

Kurt snorted again, cuddling Titus, who made no move to chase the tennis ball but stayed close to Kurt. “You sound like this guy I know from high school. Called himself Puck.”

“You should tell me about him sometime,” Blaine said, grinning ear to ear at the thought of having Kurt to talk to every morning and every evening. “And what was that about Rachel and a curse breaking her heart?”

As soon as he’d asked, he wished he could take it back and duct-tape his mouth shut for good measure, because his question sniffed out the amused glimmer in Kurt’s eyes, and left them haunted again.

Kurt absent-mindedly stroked Titus’s fur, looking blankly ahead. “Rachel… We were in high school together, I told you. And we crushed on the same guy, have I ever told you that?”

“No. You only told me about Karofsky.”

Kurt nodded and let out a sigh that seemed to come straight from his toes. “Well… Rachel and I… We weren’t friends back then. Not really. And we both crushed on Finn.”

Blaine frowned. “As in… your stepbrother? Who died?”

“Yeah,” Kurt confirmed, accepting a tennis ball from Snowball with a murmur of praise and offering him a dog treat. “Only he wasn’t my brother yet at that point. Anyway, Rachel and Finn ended up dating, but they had this on and off kind of relationship. And during one of the off moments, she met Jesse. And fell for him. But she still had feelings for Finn, too. And she made this music video, oh God, it was bad, where the both of them sang with her. Plus Puck, but that doesn’t really matter now. And Jesse felt hurt. Like… Like Rachel had cheated on him by singing with other guys. So he broke up with her, and he shouted, ‘We’re over. There. Now you can be with Finn, like you wanted. I hope you know that you and Finn will NEVER be happy together. NEVER!’ And then he stormed out. They were quite the dramatic pair, Rachel and Jesse. Never a dull moment with them.”

“Wow,” said Blaine. That was more drama than the Warblers had ever been through, to his knowledge.

“And then about a year ago, Finn died,” Kurt continued. “And we were all devastated. We still are. But I remember Rachel, during one of our crying sessions at the loft, sitting up straight all of a sudden and going, ‘It’s Jesse! It’s all his fault! He told me we’d never be happy together! He cursed Finn!’ And I gaped at her, ‘cause it hadn’t felt like magic at all, that day in the choir room. But Rachel kept insisting it had been a curse, and even went to a curse breaker to verify it, but there were no traces of magic on her. So she said the curse must only have hit Finn. I don’t know. She could be right.”

“Wow,” Blaine repeated. A wet nose nudged him, and he looked down to see that Snowball was offering the tennis ball to him this time around. He petted the dog and then threw the ball as far as he could.

“I know, right?” Kurt sighed. “Elliott thinks magic is heaps of fun, but in my experience, it’s only ever caused bad stuff to happen.”

“My… furry problem is the only brush I’ve had with magic.”

Kurt snorted. “Furry problem? A Harry Potter nerd, are we?”

“Hey, you recognised it, so who’s the nerd here?” Blaine countered.

Bickering companionably, they called the dogs to them and went home.

K&B

Living with Kurt was easy. They both had a full schedule, but it worked out so that on days that Blaine was home late, Kurt had the time to cook in the evening, and when Kurt was at R/GA until six and had to walk dogs straight after, Blaine made sure he had dinner ready by the time Kurt came home.

On weekends, they walked the dogs together, while sharing more about their lives and family and friends. There were never any awkward silences with Kurt. They never seemed to run out of topics to talk about, and every facet of Kurt that Blaine discovered made him like Kurt more.

Still, he couldn’t help but compare this situation to living with Trent, sometimes, and it always made him feel awful that Trent had left in high dudgeon and hadn’t contacted him since. Was he still mad at Blaine?

He brought it up with Kurt, who rolled his eyes and said, “If he won’t call you, why don’t you take the initiative? It’s a two-way street. If you miss him so much, call him, go on.”

But Blaine, however often he scrolled to Trent’s name in his list of phone contacts, and however many texts he composed, always chickened out on calling or texting his friend. What if Trent didn’t want anything more to do with him? He didn’t think he could bear that.

K&B

Kurt was very close to his dad, and would call him twice a week without fail. When Kurt had moved in with Blaine, Burt had insisted on “meeting” Blaine through FaceTime, and had questioned him thoroughly.

“You’re not… taking advantage of Kurt, are you?” Burt asked.

Blaine was quick to say no. “I would never!”

“Cause the kid has a crush on you the size of Texas,” Burt explained, while Kurt, behind Blaine, hissed out an affronted “Dad!!”

“What? It’s true, kiddo, and your guy should know it, if you’re living with him.”

Kurt sighed. “Blaine does know. I told him. And he doesn’t mind, do you, Blaine?”

Blaine smiled and confirmed that it made no difference to him whatsoever, but that didn’t make Burt lighten up in the slightest. If anything, his scowl deepened.

“So why do you wanna live with my kid anyway?” Burt wanted to know, and Blaine felt like he had no other option than to tell the truth, and explained haltingly about the curse.

“So basically he’s going to be looking after you as long as he’s at Parsons?” Burt asked.

Blaine hadn’t thought so far ahead, but nodded. “I’ll be paying him!”

“You’d better,” Burt growled. “And don’t you dare lead him on and break his heart.”

Kurt had interjected here with another “Dad!!” and had taken his laptop to his bedroom, telling Burt off for scaring Blaine.

After that first FaceTime call, Burt hadn’t asked to talk to Blaine again, until in early November, Kurt came into the living room and sat down next to Blaine on the sofa, shoving his laptop half onto Blaine’s lap so that he could see Burt and his wife Carole on the screen.

“So, uhm, Blaine,” Burt said, “I wanted to ask what your plans are for Thanksgiving. Are you coming to Ohio? Kurt mentioned you’re from these parts.”

Blaine was a bit taken aback. He hadn’t discussed the holidays yet with Pam. Usually, Pam split the holidays, spending Thanksgiving with Cooper and then Christmas with Blaine, or vice versa. Cooper didn’t know about the curse, and Blaine didn’t want him to find out ever, since Coop couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. So Blaine hadn’t seen Cooper in over a decade, and he only rarely went to Ohio, his mother usually choosing to come to NYC and shop.

“I don’t know yet, sir, I need to ask my mom.”

“Well, we’d love to have you here for Thanksgiving. And you can bring your mom, if you like. The more the merrier.”

Carole nodded enthusiastically. “I’m looking forward to meeting you for real. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Blaine promised to discuss it with his mother, and Kurt went to his bedroom again for the rest of his conversation with his parents.

When Kurt came back to the living room, he sank down on the sofa with a sigh.

“What’s wrong?” Blaine asked.

Kurt shrugged. “My dad wants me home for both Thanksgiving and Christmas, like the previous years. The thing is, I already splurged to fly to Ohio this summer, and I’m taking all these extra classes now, so I don’t have any money to spare for plane tickets. So either I’m going to have to take on extra dog walking assignments, and then I’ll fall behind with my schoolwork, or I’m going to have to drive to Ohio instead of flying, which is exhausting and leaves me less time with my family.”

“I’ll pay for the plane tickets,” Blaine said. “It’s the least I can do now that your dad has invited me over for the holidays. No, no, don’t protest. Let me do this for you, please, in return for you looking after me whenever I turn into a dog.”

“You’re paying me for that already!” Kurt protested.

“Well, consider it your holiday bonus, then,” Blaine suggested.

Kurt shook his head, but made no more objections, a small smile playing on his lips. “It will be nice to go home. You can stay in Finn’s room. And help me and Carole make Thanksgiving dinner.”

Blaine beamed at Kurt. “That sounds great.”

When Blaine called his mother about her holiday plans, she was very interested to hear Kurt’s family had invited him for Thanksgiving. “Are you dating this Kurt now? I thought he was a student of yours? That you payed to dog-sit?”

Blaine rolled his eyes at his mom and said there was nothing going on between him and Kurt. He had a feeling he’d be telling her that often.

Pam had no objection to Blaine coming to Ohio. “I’m in LA with Cooper for Thanksgiving, but I’ll be back by Saturday. If you stay the whole weekend, you and Kurt could come over for dinner on Sunday, before you fly back to New York.”

So that was Thanksgiving sorted out. Blaine booked their plane tickets and consulted Kurt about the perfect hostess gift for Carole. “Belgian chocolates, maybe? There’s this shop that sells not just Neuhaus, but also The Chocolate Line and even Sweertvaegher. Or maybe an assortment of delicacies? Or, you said Carole loves to cook, so maybe a kitchen accessory she doesn’t already have?”

Kurt just shrugged and told Blaine not to sweat it. “Carole’s not expecting anything. So whatever you bring will be a lovely surprise for her.”

Kurt was quite right about that. When they arrived at Kurt’s childhood home and Blaine offered his hostess gift to Carole, her eyes went wide, and she took out each item he’d bought her at the delicatessen with so much reverence and awe that he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Blaine, you shouldn’t have,” she whispered. “This is too much.”

“Seeing as I’ll be staying here for the entire weekend, I’d say it’s not enough,” Blaine countered. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“Oh, you’re very welcome, honey. Any friend of Kurt’s is always welcome here, and you’re more than just a friend, aren’t you?”

Blaine didn’t quite know how to answer that question, but Kurt swooped in to hug Carole and told her to stop fishing. “We’re not together, I told you that. Treat Blaine like he’s… Sam. Or Mike.”

“Haven’t you had crushes on the both of them, too?” Burt asked slyly, and Kurt groaned.

“My point is that they’re friends of mine,” Kurt explained. “Just friends, and never going to be more than friends, ‘cause they’re straight.”

“But Blaine is gay, isn’t he?” Burt pressed on.

Blaine nodded. “I’m gay.”

“See?” Burt crowed.

Kurt rolled his eyes and hissed at Blaine, “Not. Helping!”

To his dad, he said, “Yes, he’s gay. That doesn’t mean he’s into me. Gay men can be just friends.”

Blaine smiled at him.

Burt fixed the both of them with a piercing look. “Hmmpf. We’ll see.”

Kurt moaned about his dad embarrassing him a million more times that weekend, but Pam proved to be just as bad on Sunday, showing Kurt Blaine’s baby pictures and telling him all sorts of anecdotes about Blaine as a child.

“And I was pouring Mrs Islington more tea when Blaine came storming in, dressed only in a cape he’d made from his comforter, and screaming at the top of his lungs that our house was on fire and that we all had to get out. And all the ladies panicked and hurried out of the dining room before I could tell them that my son was only playing Superman. Well, you can imagine I wasn’t too pleased with our little streaker here. So he had to do without television and without dessert for two weeks.”

“Moooom…”

But one look at Kurt, giggling his head off, his grin wide enough to show all his teeth, shut Blaine up and made him smile right back at Kurt.

Pam brought them to the airport that afternoon, and they were having coffee at Starbucks waiting for the boarding to start when Blaine felt a tell-tale skin prickle. “Oh, no! It’s starting again! I need to get to the restroom!”

Minutes later, he heard a knock on the cubicle he was hiding in. “Blaine? I’m here.”

Blaine stopped blocking the door and trotted out. Kurt picked up Blaine’s clothes and shoes and put them in a canvas bag.

“Come here, sweetie, I need to put your collar on,” Kurt whispered, and quick as a flash, he fastened the collar around Blaine’s neck and then attached a leash to it, leading Blaine out of the restroom.

“We’re not going to be able to fly home,” Kurt continued, louder now. “I’m going to rent a car instead.”

Blaine stopped short. Driving to New York City? That would take eight hours at the very least! And Blaine couldn’t take over halfway!

Kurt crouched down and hugged Blaine. “Don’t panic, sweetheart. I’ve done this before. I don’t really like driving that far, but I can do it. No worries. I’m just glad you didn’t transform on the plane. That would have been hard to explain. Has that ever happened before?”

Blaine shook his head. He’d never even thought of that, travelling by plane without a care in the world. But in hindsight, yes, transforming mid-flight had always been a distinct possibility. And he wasn’t a tiny dog that could be hidden in Kurt’s backpack. He shuddered to think of how the flight attendants might react to a stowaway dog in the cabin, and felt Kurt’s embrace tighten in response.

“We really need to break this curse,” Kurt sighed. “I asked my dad to make appointments with the curse breakers he took my mom to, so that we can go see them during our Christmas break.”

Blaine looked up at Kurt in surprise. In all the years that Trent had looked after him, he’d only ever devised ways of dealing with the consequences of the curse. Trent seemed resigned to the curse. Kurt clearly wasn’t. He seemed determined to break it. Would he succeed? Was there hope for a normal life for Blaine?

Kurt rubbed Blaine behind the ears. “We’ll sort this out. I promise you. Come, let’s go rent a car and go home. We both have class tomorrow.”

Blaine felt his tail wag like mad as he followed Kurt, new hope blooming in his heart and new nerves fluttering in his belly. Would Alexei have left a loophole in the curse? Or would he crack down hard on Blaine and anyone helping him to break it?

[rearadmiralanarchy]

Have a Gio/Mis Oneshot

Because I don’t know how vacations work :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14469108

Some good old meme-inspired family fun

Giorno loved his father.

Honestly, he really did, in mostly complete disregard to the multitude of what he would consider grievous shortcomings. His father was selfishly ambitious, ruthlessly cunning, heartlessly driven, and was overall charismatic and way too smart for his own good. But Dio Brando was his father and Giorno loved him regardless, as sons often do. However, he really needed his father to back off from doing that thing he always did.

The controlling and manipulative thing where he said it was for 'your own good GioGio, honest,' but it was kind of an obvious ploy to get you to do what he wanted. Signing him up for rugby (rugby!) without his knowledge was the last straw. It had taken thirty-five minutes to get his name removed from the roster and the coach was still sending him desperate emails, hopeful he would be a star just like his dear old dad and like his father. The only sport he had been interested in was tennis, scoffed at by his father, which would have been enough spiteful fuel to keep at it if only it weren't so much effort.

He was old enough now, with a stable income, almost finished with his degree, and was tired of his father trying to control every aspect of his life like he was a miniature version of himself.

Which is why Giorno was on Craigslist.

He needed something... dramatic, something shocking that would- well it would be impossible to break his father's will- but at least make him chalk him up as a lost cause (like his other three half-brothers).

Hopefully.

The best case scenario would be causing his father to give up on trying to live vicariously through him, the worst case would be Dio pouring all of his considerable resources into a reclamation effort. Giorno had a plan though, requiring just a single last cog in the wheel. Thanksgiving was a week away, and with the holiday came a traditional family meal.

'Family' in the Brando household included all four children, Dio, Uncle Diego, a few business associates, and Dio's two lovers/companions: a priest and whoever Vanilla was. This would be the perfect time to make a debacle of things, which wasn't really something he did, but if his father brought up arranged marriages one more time- this plan had to work.

He just needed to find the right person to do it with.

Hence, his excursion to the personals section, to find the right dinner guest. He'd already told his father he'd be bringing his fiance and had come up with a whole list of things sure to get his father out of his hair. After several hours of reading through posts one finally caught his eye:

"Hi my name is Mista here to offer my services this thanksgiving holiday. Do you have a family member you want to annoy? Maybe you need to come out to a parent or you just want to fuck around with your family. Whatever the reason Im your guy! For the price of one homecooked meal and twenty bucks I can:

*pick a fight with one or more family members

*beat the shit out of one or more family members indoors or outdoors

*get into a political debate (I know nothing about politics but will try)

*pretend to get smashed or pretend like Im high

*pretend we are married/engaged/pregnant

*hit on other members of your family in front of your parents

*propose in front of everyone

I am a 28 year old convicted felon with several years of jail time who can benchpress 145kg. I have nothing above a ged I got in jail and drive a loud as hell motorcycle that will make your dad both nostalgic and pull out a shotgun. I am open to both genders and am covered in tattoos and piercings. So if you need an entirely platonic person to ruin your nice family dinner Im your guy!"

He was perfect.

Giorno immediately sent an email briefly expressing his situation and requirements. As well as the kicker. Dio Brando had maybe an inkling of his persuasion towards the same sex, but still held firm that he would find a nice woman or few, maybe settle down with one for a time, and crank out a few grandchildren for him to influence since his other three actual kids didn't even inherit his hair color let alone anything else of note.

So Giorno was going to come out during the family dinner and maybe even break out the f(iance)-word to really mess with his father and his irrational fear of intimacy. He hoped the man from the posting was cute or handsome, but supposed a burly type of person would be more suitable anyway.

He didn't receive a reply until twenty minutes into his lecture the next day, surreptitiously checking his phone while the professors back was turned, to the delight of it not being spam. He requested a picture to make sure the offer wasn't a fake, which was easy and fair enough, a more detailed list of requests as well as what would be allowable in terms of what he could say and do. It was surprisingly thoughtful, Giorno assumed maybe he had done this before. As for the limitations... he really just needed his father to step back from his life, so shock value and commitment was key, he had to make his father believe he was beyond help and reason.

A picture and no limitations sent out and Giorno eagerly awaited Thanksgiving. Mista's appearance was still a mystery but he at least gleaned some semblance of what his personality was like through e-mail correspondence. He seemed like a very laid back and open sort of person, taking everything in stride.

The day before Thanksgiving, Giorno finalized his plans by buying a cheap fake engagement ring and helping Mista chose an outfit (how one man could own so much animal print was beyond him). It was exciting and nerve-wrecking all at once, and by the time the family dinner started he was ready to explode with curiosity.

Mista arrived right on schedule fifteen minutes late, a brief trio of knocks at the door and a text with 'showtime ;)'. Giorno was the one to open the door to... a tanned skin, muscled man his height and unlike anything his imagination had worked up the past week or so.

He did indeed have a few piercings along his earlobes, eyebrows, snakebites on his lips, the peeking image of a tattoo under a leather jacket and... the most gaudy clothing. A leather jacket and white and blue diamond sweater-vest over a bright orange polo, with tiger stripe pants and high white boots.

But he was handsome in a very masculine way; hard muscles and broad shoulders, short and styled hair as dark as his eyes, high cheekbones and a chiseled jaw...

He was a fashion disaster.

He was exactly Giorno's type.

Giorno was awestruck- fortunately Mista picked up the slack in time for Dio to come down the hallway in time for a "sorry I'm late babe," and for the no-longer mysterious guest with the gorgeous voice to tilt his head and plant a kiss right on the blond's lips.

Giorno could hear a faint 'wry' in the background but was able to collect himself with the kiss. Bringing his hands up to thread through surprisingly soft hair, Giorno deepened the kiss, getting a hum of approval and a higher octave 'wry'.

"I'm glad you could make it, Mista," stealthily sliding the ring box into a pocket of the leather jacket with a wink- earning a smirk in response.

Giorno turned to his father, arm wrapped around his guest, who threw an arm over his shoulder, "father, this is my fiance, Mista."

"I can see where he gets his good looks," Mista winked, unabashedly eyeing Dio up and down, "Guido Mista, you got a nice place here, pops."

He was good, Dio looked caught in a cornucopia of emotions ranging from murderous, disgusted, furious, disappointed, with a little bit of hope thrown in- he probably had a few ideas on how to split them apart. That certainly wouldn't do, and wouldn't happen, not if he had any say in it.

"Now that Mista is here, we should move on with dinner, right father?"

Dio's face twisted in a look that screamed how much he'd rather not, "yes. Let's."

As soon as Dio had turned the corner, Mista dropped his arm and quietly asked "was that all okay?"

It was so sweet, "it was perfectly fine. You are very good at this."

"Really? This is the first time I've done something like this," lightly blushing as he scratched the back of his neck.

Cute, but unfortunately he collected himself and asked "you have anything special in mind for me to do at dinner?"

"How terrible of a conversationalist can you be?"

"I've been told I range from disgusting to disturbing."

"Perfect."

Giorno and Mista sat side by side much to the annoyed eyebrow twitch of Dio and collective looks of confusion from everyone else. Father Pucci looked visibly disturbed, but it was clearly a front. Vanilla's face was unchanging.

True to his word, Mista was a force to be reckoned with at the dinner table: shamelessly flirting with Giorno's half-brother's, discussing his theory of cannibalism loudly and enthusiastically, making embarrassing noises as he fed Giorno spoonfuls of various sides (whatever matched his plate).

A part of him was caught in the sick satisfaction of watching Dio's face, the other part was relishing the attention Mista was giving him. He was incredibly observant, having quickly picked up on his facial expressions- faster than some of his family had- and able to read the room and conversation with ease. Although his topics were exaggerated and purposefully off-putting, Giorno actually found himself joining in and interjecting his own unabashed opinions, earning a pierced smile every time.

He really liked his guest, liked the way he talked and thought, liked the danger and intrigue, liked how different he was. Giorno's life was a rigid series of routines under Dio's thumb and Mista was an alluring spark that had Giorno flushing every time he was spoon-fed and cooed at, with every smile and name-drop.

He kind of really liked Mista.

He- oh right, this was platonic, wasn't it? It was all too easy and very appealing to forget that they weren't really engaged, but he might as well indulge while he could, right? So he fed Mista sometimes too, nudged his feet, held his hand, called him sweet names he'd probably never call- had never called anyone before. He was met with such positive reactions that it made him a little braver than normal, glimmers of things that made him think that maybe Mista wanted this to be real too.

As soon as dessert was served, Mista gave him a subtle wink before sliding the ring box out of his pocket.

"Giorno I- I have something to ask you," he was good, "I know I'm uneducated," Dio knew something was wrong, "and an ex-convict," but he was too desensitized, "but I... will you marry me?"

He had gotten out of his chair, on one knee, offering the ring up as everyone gaped and stared.

"Guido," smiling at the warmth in his chest and cheeks," I would love to."

Dio immediately spluttered, appalled and appealing to Giorno's rationality, Pucci loudly invoking the name of God, Diego cackling like a madman as the brother panicked. Vanilla was un-moving but seemed ready to toss Mista out on the street. If he wasn't already smitten maybe it would have worked. His pretend-fiance inhaled the dessert as Dio raged on, before eventually being escorted to the door. Giorno followed, closing the door in Vanilla's impassive face to turn to Mista.

"How'd I do? Pretty good, huh?"

Giorno couldn't help smiling, "you were the best. Absolutely perfect."

His former guest was standing very close, sliding the ring box into the blond's hands, "I really enjoyed it, doing that for you."

This was his chance, pushing the box back to tan hands (it did have his money in it after all), "would you be willing to do it again? For real this time?"

Mista looked surprised, cheeks flushing a bit, "you wanna... go on a date with me? Like, an actual date- with me?"

Giorno frowned lightly, "do you not want to?"

"No, no-I mean I- yes, I really, really want to, I just can't believe you'd want me?"

So sweet, "Mista, I'd been thinking about it all night."

"Oh... you really uh-?"

"Yes, so will you go out with me?"

"Hell yeah, uh, same time next week?"

"It's a date."

[langluke32563]

POTATO RICER

Potato ricers are an incredible device to have in the kitchen. We utilize our own constantly, particularly during the special seasons when we are making smooth pureed potatoes or yams at family get-togethers. I like having these devices in our kitchen so our kids can help cook nourishments with us and still remain safe. We'll heat up the potatoes for 15 minutes or something like that and afterward let the children put them through the ricer.

 It takes some solidarity to crush the pieces of potato through the openings in the plate. I actually like thick pureed potatoes now and again, yet the ricer proves to be useful more often than not. You can likewise go through it to crush turnips, carrots, and parsnips. The texure and consistency of the vegetables change enough that you can make various dishes.

Pretty much every potato ricer we saw is made with hardened steel and they are rock solid looking. Some are even advertised as "rock solid" like the one from Bethany. Positively in the event that you work in a soup kitchen or eatery where you are experiencing pounds and pounds of potatoes, at that point locate a quality potato ricer that can deal with hefty use. The Oxo Good Grips Potato Ricer is the #1 selling model  and you can discover it in stores like Target, Walmart, and Sur La Table. 

The top brands are Oxo, Bethany, MIU, Chef'n, Endurance, and Cuisinox. Avoid any that are made with plastic handles and those could undoubtedly break after some time with the pressure put them on while ricing potatoes. Potato ricer surveys Includes some quality, top to bottom proprietor audits of potato ricers.obviously, is maybe your smartest choice in discovering many free surveys with criticism and remarks from real proprietors. It's consistently a smart thought to shop in a store like Sur La Table where their sales reps are commonly learned pretty much a wide range of kitchen devices and they can fill you in on the best brands and what to search for. 

Oxo Good Grips comes up in many discussions since their potato ricer is anything but difficult to utilize and easy to clean. My direct experience would uphold the surveys you find online that Oxo makes a strong item that performs uncommon well over long periods of utilization.

We state the Oxo Good Grips Potato Ricer is unquestionably one to consider at under $20. A few clients notice they use it for infant food arrangement too. Numerous customers remark on the delicate handles that help assimilate pressure when squeezing potatoes through the openings. Pureed potatoes never tasted any better and toughness of the Oxo is never being referred to per audits we read. I discover I can just barely get through around 8 potatoes in around 2 minutes when utilizing this. It has helped accelerate our readiness of bigger dinners. Yam pie is a family most loved at Thanksgiving and Christmas - the ricer is the thing that makes it simple to plan.

While looking for audits, we discovered extremely sure criticism from home cooks and expert gourmet specialists for the Browne Cuisipro Stainless-Steel Potato Ricer. It accompanies 3 plates so you can make diverse finished pureed potatoes by changing out the squeezing circle. Works immensely well on turnips carrots, sweet potatoes, yams and then some. The extreme 18/10 hardened steel holds up well and makes it worth the additional cash for the Cuisipro. Proprietors state the handle is ergonomically intended to give you the most influence of any potato ricer available. The Cuisipro potato ricer has clients making statements like "astonishing" and "makes the best natively constructed pureed potatoes". It merits a look, in spite of the fact that at $55 a few people say it's an excessive amount of cash.

[cherikyassss]

To call it a farce would be a bit of an understatement.

All Charles wanted was a nice Thanksgiving- the first he’d hosted himself since he moved to America when he was a child. There was supposed to be roast turkey and yams and three different kinds of pie. Instead, there was burnt potatoes, liquid soap in the cranberry sauce, and a powerful mutant leader tied up in Charles’ bathtub.

How had it come to this?

Naturally, Charles blamed Raven. It had been his sister’s idea for Charles to host Thanksgiving, in spite of the fact that he couldn’t cook to save his life, and she’d been so infectious in her enthusiasm that Charles just couldn’t help going along with her ideas. Of course, Charles could never have predicted that, on the morning when the dinner was due to take place, he would be walking back from the university he taught at only to come across the leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants- Magneto- dressed up in his customary extravagant garb, taunting the police officers that surrounded him by beating them with their own guns. Charles wasn’t one for violence, so stopping the fuchsia fiend was somewhat of a given. Kidnapping him, though? Well, that was another matter entirely…

“You can’t keep me here!” Magneto protested, looking beyond ridiculous as he glared up at Charles from the bathtub, arms bound by thick black cord, cape laid out beneath him making the entire bath look like it was full of magenta water. “This is… this is unconstitutional!”

Charles pulled a face. “I think you lost your right at ‘constitutional’ when you used your powers of iron manipulation on the New York Police Department to send all of their blood distinctly southwards… I’d heard you were somewhat of an unusual character, but I haven’t heard of many villains who disable their foes by way of mass erections”.

Magneto sniffed disapprovingly. “They always come at me with guns… It gets so boring disabling them so easily- sometimes I like to have a little more fun”.

“Mm, I bet you do…” Charles replied, shaking his head. “Well, you’ve had enough fun for now- I have a very important dinner to host, so you need to stay in here and remain quiet until I’m done. I’ve disabled your powers with my telepathy, so don’t try anything fancy. In fact, don’t try anything at all. If I hear so much as the slightest peep out of you I will use my powers in an entirely more alarming way, and it won’t be to give you an erection- I can assure you of that”.

“Don’t be so sure…”

Charles paused, looking down at the bathtub, eyebrows raising at the hint of a smile just forming at the corner of Magneto’s mouth. Wait, what?? What was going on here? Magneto wasn’t actually flirting with his captor, was he?

“Oh, I, um…” Charles trailed off, realising in an instant how flustered he was becoming as he felt a certain blush begin to colour his cheeks. “Just… behave, okay Magneto?” he finished, rather unconvincingly.

“Erik…” came the response, delivered with a smirk from behind lowered eyelashes. “Please, call me Erik”.

“Erik…” Charles said softly, enjoying the taste of the word. “Alright then, Erik…”

Charles was still thinking about ‘Erik’ later that afternoon, when he was sat at a large table surrounded by guests, all of which were eagerly chowing down on mouthfuls of food. Despite some earlier wobbles in the kitchen Charles had managed to put on a fairly impressive spread, and everyone seemed happy with Charles’ efforts. Well, almost everyone…

“What is it, Erik?” Charles asked sometime later when he’d stolen a moment away from his invited guests to deal with his rather less invited guest- one who would just not fucking stop prodding at Charles’ mind for attention, exhibiting remarkable control for someone who claimed they’d never met a telepath before.

“I’m hungry…” Erik grumbled, shifting slightly uncomfortably in the bathtub. “All that food you’ve made smells so wonderful, can I not just have a bit?”

Charles’ brows drew together in a frown. “You’re my prisoner, Erik… Why would I feed you?”

“Ahh, human rights?”

“You’re not a human, you’re a mutant- as you gleefully pointed out when you were fighting with those policemen earlier”.

“True… Well, mutant rights, then. Come on, Charles- you don’t want me to starve, do you?”

“Not if you’re going to keep moaning about it…” Charles muttered, trying to ignore the smug look of victory on Erik’s face as he watched Charles turn away and leave the room, returning later with a hastily prepared plate of food.

“You’re going to have to help me eat that, you know?” Erik said, exacerbating the ridiculousness of the situation as Charles rolled his eyes and positioned himself on the edge of the bathtub, picking up a fork and carefully offering it to Erik. Erik ate the forkful of mashed potato eagerly, his tongue darting out to chase up the remnants smeared on his lips, and Charles suddenly found himself fighting to control a surge of arousal at the sight.

“You’re blushing, professor…” Erik murmured.

“Am not…” Charles muttered in response, knowing he was lying, knowing the rush of blood to his groin was likely nothing to do with Erik’s powers, and everything to do with Erik’s steely eyes and defined jaw and broad shoulders and impossibly slim waist. “It’s just, um… hot in here”, Charles finished lamely.

Erik grinned, the look of a predator that had just caught its kill. “I think that’s just you, Liebling”.

Well, fuck.

Later, Charles was sitting once more in his dining room, listening to excited chatter and laughter from around the table, and trying to ignore the six-foot distraction he knew was currently sprawled in his bathtub- the distraction that had said with some glee: “I’ll see you for dessert!”

Dessert was a strawberry cream pie, and Charles could already imagine how sinful Erik would look with strawberry sauce on his lips. It’s for that reason that Charles decided to give Erik something else entirely…

“A granola bar?” Erik huffed, looking at the offering in Charles’ hand in disgust. “Really?”

“You’re a prisoner, remember Erik? Prisoners get basic rations”.

“Yeah, basic rations usually means food, not compressed sawdust…”

Charles sighed. “Erik, do you want this or not?”

“I suppose…” Erik sulked.

The granola bar ended up not being as good an idea as Charles had hoped… Erik devoured it eagerly, and Charles tried not to tremble every time Erik’s tempting lips closed around the length of the bar, particularly when he was sure there were moments when Erik would just hold it in his mouth, nibbling slowly on the end…

“You’re ridiculous”, Charles said eventually, reaching to wipe a crumb from the corner of Erik’s mouth and immediately jumping when Erik’s tongue darted out to lick the pad of Charles’ thumb.

“Hey, you’re the one who’s running around kidnapping people…”

“I don’t kidnap people all the time!” Charles protested, popping the last of the granola bar in Erik’s mouth. “This is a special, one-off, unprecedented event”.

“Oh, so you’re saying that normally you don’t take hostages, but I was just so unbelievably irresistible that you couldn’t stop yourself from tying me up and taking me home”.

Charles scowled. “I’m definitely not saying that…”

“It’s okay, Charles”, Erik grinned. “Believe me, this is unusual for me too. Normally when people try to stop me I disable them with a mere flick of my fingers, but you just looked so cute I found that I didn’t want to fight back”.

“So, what? You’re now claiming that you allowed yourself to be kidnapped?”

“Over a decade of leading the Brotherhood and this is my first capture. What do you think, Charles?”

“I think you’re going to have to get out of my bathtub soon…” Charles sighed, standing up and moving towards the door. “Because I’m going to need to have a shower and go to bed before long…”

Erik’s smirk grew wider. “Well, don’t let me stop you…”

This was stupid. Charles knew it was stupid enough kidnapping the leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants in the first place, but actually starting to like the man? Flirting with him? Completely fucking ridiculous.

The only problem was, as Charles stood at his doorway saying goodbye to guest after guest, for once he found that the logical part of his brain didn’t seem to be working. Erik was a villain, a criminal, an ostentatiously-dressed egomaniac. He just also happened to be pretty much the most attractive person Charles had ever met. And Charles wanted him.

But in spite, of that, Charles wasn’t going to have him. This had gone on for too long already, and there was only one thing to do now- Charles would have to let Erik go.

Charles burst into the bathroom, fixing Erik with a determined look that faded a little in the wake of the sight of Erik sitting there, legs spread apart, arms folded behind his head (as best as possible considering his wrists were still bound), an unbelievably compelling grin on his face.

“I’m letting you go…” Charles said, eyes trailing down Erik’s body and honing in on the impressive-looking bulge in his trousers. “…In the morning”.

“Normally I’m not one for celebrating this stupid American holiday, but suddenly I find myself feeling incredibly thankful…” Erik smirked.

“Well, you can show me how thankful you are just as soon as I untie you…” Charles replied, crossing the room towards the bathtub, and sitting down on the side of it.

“Are you sure you want to do that? I might attempt to escape. Maybe you should just tie me up somewhere more suitable, like the bedroom…”

Charles paused, looking down at Erik and feeling a pulse of desire run through his body like electricity.

“Happy fucking Thanksgiving, indeed…” Charles replied, before reaching for Erik.

The next morning Charles awoke alone- a slightly troubling realisation, but understandably preferable to waking up to find you’ve been dismembered by an egomaniac mutant. Charles pulled on some clothing and shuffled sleepily downstairs, getting as far as the bathroom door before he paused briefly at the sight of light coming from inside.

Pushing open the door, Charles looked inside to find Erik lying in the bathtub, a cup of tea clutched in his hands as he smiled up at Charles.

“Erik… What the fuck are you doing?” Charles asked in confusion.

“Well, I enjoyed our little bathtub rendezvous last night so much I thought I might like to repeat the experience, only this time you can join me in here”.

Charles smiled. “Do you not remember how I said I wanted to have a shower sometime soon? I’m not sure I can do that with you lying fully clothed in the bath…”

“Ah, but of course…” Erik replied, placing the cup of tea on the bathroom floor and reaching down to swiftly peel off the t-shirt that Charles recognised as his own, and after a moment removing his underwear too.

“Much better”, Charles replied once Erik was fully undressed, crossing the room towards Erik’s open arms. Of course, Erik became rather less welcoming when Charles quickly turned on the shower, dousing him with cold water. But within seconds he had wrestled Charles into the bathtub with himself, using Charles’ body heat to warm himself up.

“I’m so thankful that you kidnapped me…” Erik murmured, lips brushing against Charles’ own.

Charles beamed. “Me too, darling”, he replied, before leaning in for another kiss.

Many thanks to @pinkoptics for flailing with me about this idea!

[through-an-ass-darkly]

“September— I remember, a love once new has now grown old.” A cluster of thoughts on THE GRADUATE (‘67).

Just going to type my fingers down to bloody, pulpy stubs as my old noodle cranks out this sudden realization (realizationS? plural?) about THE GRADUATE (1967). Okay, here goes. My brain is wired on some Speedy Gonzales, quick-fix antihistamines that haven’t kicked in just yet, so bear with me as this may be dumber than Lloyd Christmas and Gomer Pyle trying to screw in a lightbulb. So, isn’t that movie really about that weird, uncomfortable, universal, I-just-dug-myself-into-debt-for-a-useless-education-and-now-I’m-aimless-and-without-a-f*cking-clue-in-a-world-with-so-many-expectations-dumped-on-me feeling that befalls so many post-graduation, specifically post-college graduation? I mean, this is obvious. It’s in the title. It’s about a graduate. But, isn’t it more about graduating from one version of yourself to another? He starts out a meek, bummed out kid, still wet behind the ears with all his parents’ friends and relatives telling him how he should live his life and interrogating him mercilessly. (And he winds up pretty much the same, but he does the whole youthful rebellion against the older generation thing. Living life on your own terms and separating from parents is a big step in adulthood.) Then, against his better judgment, he gets involved with an older, manipulative, insecure woman. Two insecure, bored people releasing pent-up tension by coming together for trysts every now and then. It’s just something to do. A distraction from the stress of graduating to adulthood. Not demanding of him or his intelligence, not stressful or a burden. A way to blow off some steam. If anything, maybe exciting at first. Just make sure to maintain that facade of respectability, Benjamin. Not a soul must ever know. Then, that middle class ennui creeps in from both parties, and they kind of get sick of each other. To further confuse Ben, it gets complicated when he starts falling for the cougar’s daughter. Of course, in the end, the secrets get spilled, and Ben must choose his own future for himself. F*ck everyone else. But, is a future with Elaine really what he wants, or is he just thumbing his nose at the adults that tried to meddle in his life? Is he just seeking a momentary thrill? Will it be worth the later regret? I feel like this movie is all about how badly you can screw yourself up and how, in spite of all your whiffs, you will eventually graduate to a mildly better version of yourself, and then you’ll mess up royally again and again and again. Life is just a never-ending cycle of f*cking up, especially if you don’t put in the effort to better yourself or don’t maintain a real interest in living your best life. This movie just makes me feel that back-to-school September depression. Kind of a dead leaves melancholy. School never dies, until we do. Life is an education. Learning from past mistakes is a difficult lesson to absorb. Anyway, haven’t seen this movie in years. (Is that not obvious?) It’s been on my DVD rack for a while collecting dust mites, so I’ll bust it out soon and give it a re-watch. I’m in the mood for baby-faced Dusty Hoffman.

Edit: (This is about two minutes post-watch.) Wow. What a manipulative bitch. So many good moments in this movie that I never paid enough attention to. I’d say the anxiety of Benjamin is so intense, it’s like it ricocheted off him and hit everyone else around him, too. Did you notice how sweaty EVERYONE is?? Not Mrs. Robinson so much (maybe because she is a reptilian devil woman, pretty much unaffected by human emotions), but everybody else is so sweaty. Maybe I’m being too harsh on Mrs. Robinson, after all I’d be pretty t.o.’d if the kid that was holding all of my insecurities and secrets suddenly wanted to start seeing my daughter. (That wasn’t initially his fault. He was pushed into that, of course, by his parents.) I do think that proclaiming you’re in love with someone after one date is pretty overzealous though. And that ending kind of confirms that the whole rebellious buzz of it all was what was so alive between them. And once again, you have to ask, “What now?” at that ending. “What are you going to do with your future?” “What are your plans?” “Have you got any ideas at all?”

Edit #2: I think maybe I was too harsh on Mrs. Robinson. I feel like maybe she is a woman whose own rebellious streak got her knocked up and forced into a loveless marriage. And she longs for a taste of rebellion and control for the first time in years, and she finds that in Benjamin— a young, eye-catching, well-rounded, albeit woefully unhappy and twitchy lad with time to kill. She may have manipulated her way into his pants and was always coldly detached and uninterested in any real connection with Ben as a person, but she at least stirs something in Ben that works to catalyze his own rebellion. And yeah, you can understand why she gets so huffy when he mentions dating Elaine. She doesn’t want them to fall into the same trap she fell into. Freedom seems so appealing, but having freedom also means having a lot of responsibility. It becomes necessary to think things through, to have a course of action, to consider the consequences before diving head-first into a major mistake. She made her mistakes; she doesn’t want that for her daughter. And then beyond that, how in the hell do you expect to maintain a serious, long-term romantic relationship with a girl whose mother you banged for a whole summer? Did you really think that was a good romance to pursue? Say goodbye to Thanksgiving. You’re not going to be able to comfortably eat pecan pie at that family dinner table.

[jetrafied]

Okay so there's a good chance that they're setting up J*fael happening again, judging by how much it was talked about last night and the whole "love begets love" thing BUT my Jetra loving butt can't think about that without considering that the jtv writers love surprises. Let's consider the facts, Jane and Petra have been through a lot together (both good and bad): Jane was inseminated with Petra's husband's sperm and got pregnant, Jane fell in love with Petra's husband, Petra did bad things to both Jane and Rafael out of spite, fast forward, Petra Inseminated herself to attempt to get her husband back (didn't work) and was terrified of having a baby (babies) but Jane comforted her, Jane also invited Petra in for Thanksgiving dinner and Petra was so happy, then when Petra gave birth, Jane was there. Petra financed a freaking house for Jane and I'm sorry but if Rafael did that it would definitely be seen as romantic. And anytime Jane was angry or disappointed with Petra, Petra looked absolutely heartbroken. Also they have brunch every week. Anyway my point is, what if they keep talking about how love can bloom out of nowhere, second chances, and they make it seem like they're talking about Rafael because obviously second chances would mean Rafael right? No. Second chance doesn't mean a second chance at love, it means a second chance at their friendship and love begetting love out of that. It means something developing slowly, quietly, and then suddenly it's there and it makes sense. The scene between Jane and Rafael near the end didn't strike me as romantic. To me it sounded like two people who used to love each other and were now enjoying their friendship. There was no lingering glances, nothing. Two friends. I personally thing Jane and Rafael getting together would be last writing. As for Petra, she's in that ridiculous relationship. I'm happy she's happy (well was happy) but she does deserve better, even if she doesn't think so. I've said she should date a woman and I still think that and the woman could be anyone, but ideally, I think I'd like that to somehow develop into Jetra. I just think about how amazing it would be if we started to see the little pieces falling into place, little hints that it was the direction they're going. Somebody (probably Alba or Rogelio) is making a speech about love coming from unexpected places (I don't know the context don't worry about it) and Jane happens to glance at Petra and Jane is shown to have a weird look on her face as she looks at Petra. And Petra stares back and Jane looks away and Petra can't really tell but is Jane blushing? Petra can't tell for Jane but Jane definitely can tell for Petra, who's suddenly blushing extra hard and Jane's wondering if she caused that. It's little things, little clues. Very subtle stuff because the show loves its surprises. An alternative is Jane and Petra somehow wind up having sex together and it's not subtle at all idk

[rechief]

Queenie McMason (Carolina) Character Questionnaire

1. What color is your character’s hair?

The color of spun gold.

2. What color are your character’s eyes?

Bright blue.

3. What color is your character’s skin?

Queenie has a light tan from hosting backyard parties, tubing, and doing all manner of wholesome Southern activities.

4. What special aesthetic characteristics does your character have?

Queenie has a six-inch scar on her stomach from a defensive wound she received early on in her “career” -- before she was an accomplished serial murderess. Because going to a hospital could have led to her being caught, she sutured the wound herself using a sewing needle and thread, pouring bourbon onto it as a makeshift antiseptic.

During beauty pageants, she covers the scar up with makeup.

5. Does your character have any piercings? Tattoos?

Queenie’s ears are pierced.

6. What’s the sexiest physical characteristic of your character?

Queenie is the, well, queen of sultry, eyelash-batting stares.

7. What’s the ugliest physical characteristic of your character?

Probably the aforementioned scar.

BONUS: What element of their appearance is your character most insecure about?

Queenie is pretty confident about her physical appearance -- she’s attractive and she knows it.

8. What does your character wear?

Queenie’s outfits are many and varied to suit the situation -- an evening gown for cotillion, a sundress for a backyard barbecue, a button-down and jeans for muddin’. The possibilities are endless!

9. When your character smiles, what does their smile look like?

Queenie’s smiles are dainty and sincere on first glance, but they never quite reach her cold, blue eyes.

10. What does your character’s laugh sound like?

Queenie’s laugh is more of an elegant titter most of the time; it becomes rather more maniacal when her true personality is revealed.

BONUS: What sort of things would make your character laugh?

Queenie fake-laughs at lots of things, but only genuinely laughs when she’s reveling in a devious and deadly scheme.

11. What is your character’s normal style of speech?

Queenie speaks in a soft and sultry sort of tone that always seems to have a note of self-amusement to it. When she’s on the hunt, her voice becomes noticeably more sinister.

BONUS: What are some memorable things your character has said that showcase their unique voice?

"I’m votin’ Hope -- and you just try and kill me.”

12. How does your character express/handle anger?

The maxim, “Revenge is a dish best served cold,” hasn’t applied to anyone better since Julius Caesar.

13. Does your character cry?

Queenie fake-cries often enough, especially when she’s won some competition or another, but she genuinely cries very rarely.

BONUS: What sorts of things would make them cry?

If something were to happen to Fujita, Queenie would be very upset.

14. How easy is it for other people to read your character’s emotions?

Queenie is pretty good at putting up a false front.

15. Is your character religious?

Queenie is an atheist who pretends to be a Southern Baptist.

16. How does your character view those of other faiths?

Queenie finds genuine religious belief to be rather foolish. After all, what kind of merciful and just God would create her?

17. What are your character’s core values?

Queenie believes that the end always justifies the means -- or at least she did in the beginning.

18. How willing is your character to fight for those values?

Queenie has committed murder, dozens of times, to prove her point.

19. What is your character’s favorite food?

Even though she is an accomplished and excellent cook of all kinds of fancy Southern cuisine, Queenie’s favorite comfort food is a hearty spoonful of pimento cheese slathered between two thickly-sliced hunks of bread.

20. What is your character’s favorite color?

Red.

21. What are your character’s sleeping preferences?

Queenie is one of those rare people who can wake up, fully-rested, after four hours of sleep.

BONUS: What position does your character typically sleep in?

Irrespective of how Queenie sleeps, she always looks graceful doing it.

22. What is your character’s sexual identity?

Queenie is cisgendered.

23. What are your character’s sexual preferences?

Queenie is bisexual, but outwardly, she pretends to be straight.

BONUS: What sexual experiences or choices does your character feel especially good or bad about?

Queenie once seduced a straight girl (good), but then she had to kill her to preserve her wholesome image (bad).

24. What type of music does your character like?

Queenie is fond of classical music.

BONUS: Does your character have a song that is “their song”?

Ravel’s La Valse.

25. What is your character’s birthday?

November 23rd -- the Thanksgiving Day of the year she was born.

BONUS: Does their astrological sign seem to fit them?

Queenie is a Sagittarius -- while this sign suits her outward personality rather well, it doesn’t suit her true self in the slightest.

26. What family structure did your character have growing up?

Queenie grew up in an upper-class home. She is the only child of two doting, caring parents.

27. How well did your character get along with their family?

Queenie has a lot of genuine affection for her parents, who both have no idea that she could be the encyclopedia entry for “bad seed”.

28. What is the worst thing your character has ever done?

Queenie has murdered literally dozens of people.

29. What is the best thing your character has ever done?

Queenie helped create a reality in which the American Tragedy never happened.

30. What is the most significant romantic encounter of your character’s past?

Queenie had a “boyfriend” for a good six months with whom she pretended to be very loving and affectionate for the sake of publicity, but she never actually had feelings for him. She broke things off when it became clear that the public’s interest in her relationship had waned, and she’d get more media coverage for being available. He was crushed.

31. Has your character ever been in love?

Yes, with Fujita.

32. Has your character ever been in lust?

Yes, with Fujita.

33. What is your character’s level of sexual experience?

In spite of her purity ring token, Queenie has about as much sexual experience as your average, warm-blooded American eighteen-year-old.

34. What is your character’s most embarrassing moment?

Being vigilante-murdered by Fujita.

35. What is your character’s biggest goal in life?

To succeed at whatever she wants, whatever the cost.

36. What does your character believe is their greatest virtue?

Even though much of her outward personality is fake, Queenie genuinely enjoys providing for others -- feeding them, making them comfortable, taking care of them.

37. What does your character believe is their greatest vice?

Even though Queenie is undoubtedly a serial murderer, and she absolutely enjoys serial murdering, she is cognizant of the fact that it’s wrong and is aware of the pain she’s caused multitudinous families. If she could push a button and rid herself of her compulsion to kill, she would.

38. What motivates your character most?

A desire to come out on top.

39. Is your character objective-oriented?

Absolutely. Everything Queenie does is carefully and meticulously planned out.

40. Would your character rather be a great person or a good person?

Queenie would rather be a great person than a good person.

41. Would your character rather be hated for being who they are or loved for pretending to be someone else?

Queenie would rather be loved for pretending to be someone else -- it is, after all, what she does every day.

42. Is your character an introvert, extrovert, or ambivert?

Queenie is very extroverted.

43. Is your character creatively expressive?

To a degree, yes. She doesn’t paint or write or compose music, but she does carefully consider how to plate and set out food when she makes dinner, she often sews her own clothes by hand, and she’s been decorating her parents’ plantation home since she knew what decorating was.

44. What’s your character’s disorder?

Queenie is a sociopath, but she’s awfully good at hiding it.

45. What is your character’s standard emotional state?

Outwardly, Queenie displays a myriad emotions, but inwardly, her brain is constantly in apex predator mode -- sizing people up, figuring out who she could overpower in a struggle, scanning the room for potential weapons, seeking out escape routes and places to hide if things go sour. When she’s alone with a potential victim, fighting the urge to make use of all those advantages and opportunities is very difficult.

46. Is your character materialistic?

Not especially. She covets attention more than material goods.

BONUS: What are some of your character’s prized possessions?

See above.

47. What is your character’s major learning style?

Queenie is sharp as a tack, and capable of learning via a variety of methods.

48. What question isn’t on this questionnaire that your character is just burning to answer?

Nothing is coming to mind right now. Maybe I’ll answer this one later!

49. I am a _________. How would your character complete that sentence?

“I am a belle.”

50. Life is an act of _________ing. What verb would your character use to complete that sentence?

“Life is an act of aggressively grasping at any opportunity that comes your way, sinking in your fangs, and never letting go -- just kidding! Ahaha. Want some biscuits? I just made ‘em.”