#i made this instead of actually writing the fic

[loonysama]

I have to agree with everything above. I'm not saying the fic that made me want to stop writing was just because only 1.75% of hits got kudos, but I'd be lying if I didn't say how much that hurt, especially for imo one of the best fics I've ever written that I was already barely able to write due to such small kudos to hits ratios lately. I get that it might not have been something everyone was into, but damn. It made me feel like shit. I'm so grateful for everyone who has supported me over the last few years - especially those who have created art for my fics and read and left kudos on everything - but I think the sting of having my writing be unliked by so many people has been really hard to get over. It shot my confidence and I've had trouble writing ever since. And over the years, I have known several writers who have stopped writing altogether because of this, and even left the fandom because of it. I do not plan to do either, but to be honest, it has been a struggle not to be able to do something I really love doing because it just made me feel so bad to do it.

I wish so much that readers didn't use kudos as a measure of how much they like something. I wish so much that it meant, "Hey, it's so cool that you worked so hard on this so I could devour more content about my favorite ship without paying for it," rather than, "This was amazing, one of the most amazing things I've ever read, so I'm going to reward you with the coveted heart of approval I only use to let the most special of writers know they're the best because they deserve it more than everyone else." This can create competition amongst writers when there really shouldn't be. And more than anything, I wish I could just turn kudos off altogether, but I can't because every single kudo I get lifts my spirits just a little, and that's a really hard feeling to walk away from, even though I suspect most of them come from "guest" bots.

It is a dark truth, and writers aren't really allowed to talk about this because we are supposed to be so grateful for every single heart, and talking about this makes us come across as entitled. We provide a free service for our readers, and I consider a kudo to be a way to acknowledge that, and it costs readers absolutely nothing! In the US, we leave money in tip jars for practically everything. Kudos are tips you don't have to pay for. And it's not like anyone's keeping track and judging readers for leaving hearts for fics that might not be the pinnacle of greatness in their opinion. That's what bookmarks are for, and they can be made private. However, people do judge fics for not having that many kudos and some will skip over fics if the kudos-to-hits ratio is too low. So instead of rewarding only the very best fics with kudos, not leaving kudos actually hurts writers. Not to mention the very personal cost of putting ourselves out there and making ourselves completely vulnerable for everyone to judge us against our fellow writers. Many writers write about very personal things, and tbh, not getting kudos can feel like it's not just our writing being rejected, but ourselves.

So if anyone wants to accuse writers of feeling entitled for being upset about not getting enough kudos, please consider how entitled readers who don't leave kudos are for reading our free labor and not clicking a freaking button (that costs them absolutely nothing) in acknowledgment of the service we happily provide, and how ungrateful they are for not appreciating what we do. We don't have to post our writing. We could just "write for ourselves," but we don't; we share what we write with our readers because that give and take relationship should be rewarding for both writers and readers. But not getting kudos does more to discourage writers from writing altogether than to encourage them to provide more content. You wouldn't pay for a fancy coffee or overpriced cocktail drink without leaving a dollar in the tip jar, would you?

So at the very least, I wish people would stop making writers feel guilty for feeling this way, and I wish writers wouldn't buy into this way of thinking rather than valuing all of our hard work and countless hours that go into writing fanfic. Our feelings are valid; we're allowed to feel like shit when our hard work and vulnerability go unacknowledged for the mere reason that it was judged against someone else's work and found wanting. Wouldn't most readers feel that way if it was the other way around?

Is leaving kudos on fanfics not common courtesy anymore?

Something I've noticed on AO3 in the last two years is the lack of kudos and comments left on fanfics.

Fanfics have an increasing number of hits, but their kudos and comments remain minimal.

I understand that leaving comments is daunting, but kudos is the easiest thing you can do to show support and appreciation for an author.

Part of me wants to blame BookTok and the commercialized consumption of books.

Readers are more demanding and impatient for content, but they're quick to move on once a book is published. It's a constant demand for 'More, more, more' without appreciating and/or supporting authors. And these readers are now getting into fanfic.

I don't want to complain because it's not productive. But if you're new and getting into fanfic: Support writers.

Support means leaving kudos on AO3, and if you're able, leaving a comment. It's simple courtesy.

[starrysturnz]

where the love light gleams

pairing. vampire!matt sturniolo x human!reader

summary. matt hasn’t celebrated a holiday in decades. a lonely, unfulfilling existence is nothing to be cheerful about, in his book. but there’s something different about this particular christmas— he’s not quite so lonely anymore.

warnings. mention of the death of a parent, an unserious joke about domestic violence, somewhat sensual toward the end?? angst if you smear this fic on a glass slide and look at it through a microscope.

word count. 1k

author’s note. OKAY SO i apologize for the fact that the only fic from this countdown that was posted on time was the first one… 20% success rate :D basically i’ve learned to pre-write anything i plan to release on a specific date lol. anyways i was traveling and then i got sick sooo not ideal conditions to focus on writing. thanks for sticking with me on this tho! i hope u like this one as much as i do!! kisses :3

masterlist | taglist | starrysturnz’s christmas countdown

© starrysturnz. all rights reserved. dividers by @cafekitsune.

it was the perfect evening. firewood crackling in its hearth, the smell of half-baked cookies wafting in from the kitchen, and polar express playing on the tv as y/n lay cuddled up under her favorite fuzzy blanket with her boyfriend, matt.

his fingers toyed lazily with her (admittedly, ugly) sweater as she laid her temple against his shoulder. tilting her head up to admire his face— his strong jaw, his striking eyes— she said, “i can’t believe you’ve never seen this movie before. it’s a classic.”

his head turned slowly to face her, eyes lagging behind on the screen for a second before speaking, “just never really been into christmas movies, i guess.”

there was a hint of something hidden in his voice… amusement, maybe? like he knew something she didn’t. y/n got that vibe from him occasionally— like she was on the receiving end of an inside joke that she wasn’t a part of— but she mostly chose to ignore it. today, however, the urge to pry won her over.

“how come? your family didn’t celebrate holidays growing up or something?”

it was an innocent question, matt knew. he’d expected she might be intrigued by his utter lack of knowledge regarding common christmas traditions. this was their first big holiday together, and she was entitled to some curiosity. but he couldn’t tell her the truth… yet. it wasn’t exactly the time.

besides, the honest answer was a real mood killer— how could he tell her he’d spent the better part of the last century avoiding holiday festivities at all costs? that he didn’t see any reason to celebrate his miserable, cursed existence? way too much explaining, so not enough time. plus, it made him seem all dark and self-loathing, and while yeah, that might’ve been the case, he felt it was far too accurate to edward from the twilight franchise… and being compared to that idiot in any capacity made him want to stake himself.

so instead, he offered her his prepared answer: “no, no, it’s not that. just, i dunno… my mom passed around the holidays when i was young, and it sort of overshadowed the magic of it all, y’know?”

it was the perfect fib— just dark enough to be believable without leaving room for any follow-up questions. and it’s not like it was a total lie; matt’s mother really had died around christmas when he was a boy, and it did put a damper on his holiday spirit.

y/n’s expression softened into one of genuine empathy, and she mustered her best comforting smile. “’m sorry. that must’ve been really difficult.”

“’s okay, that was a long time ago. besides, now i get to experience all your creepy CGI movies for the first time right next to you, so it all worked ou— hey!”

matt rubbed the assaulted spot on his arm as if her little swat had actually hurt at all. (truthfully, he suspected that not even a human would’ve been bothered by her attack.)

“i’ll have you know this movie is a staple from my childhood,” she stated matter-of-factly. “so be nice, or else next halloween i’m making you watch monster house.”

⁺⁎˚

“the cookies should be ready by now, don’t y’think, love?” matt asked, nudging his girlfriend ever so gently in the ribs, making her giggle. “i might not be a christmas expert, but santa can’t visit if the place has burned down, can he?”

“yeah, yeah. i’ll go get them, you stay here,” she ordered.

moments later, y/n was padding back into the living room on her bare tiptoes— the only part her leg warmers didn’t cover— with a decorative reindeer plate full of warm strawberry jam cookies, lightly dusted with powdered sugar. she situated herself back under the blanket, setting the plate on her lap.

matt, eager to try one of the delicacies, reached for the one on the top, only to have his hand smacked away by an irritated y/n.

“ah! do i need to call the cops on you for domestic violence? because you just love hitting me today, hm?”

“only when you do stupid stuff. hands to yourself, silly.”

“but then how am i supposed to…”

his words trailed off as she lifted a cookie between two fingers, raising a brow at him expectantly.

“oh,” he grinned cutely, opening his mouth. his eyes fell shut of their own accord as the treat pushed past his lips, and he found himself savoring the taste. matt never really believed in love as an ingredient in baked goods, but he had to admit, he could taste it in y/n’s food every time.

“so?”

“they’re incredible, darling. really delicious, seriously.” his smile widened at her pleased expression, clearly happy with herself for having impressed him. not that she had to try very hard. “if i grab one of these, are you gonna hit me again?”

“mm. i guess not.”

matt’s hands reached into her lap, snagging the plate from her entirely, setting it atop his own legs.

“hey, wha—”

“sh,” he quieted her protests with a whisper, grabbing a cookie and admiring the adorable heart-shaped design for a second before his eyes flitted up to her face. the corners of his lips quirked up just barely, and then his free hand was softly gripping her jaw. “open up.”

y/n obeyed almost immediately, save for the half-second she spent processing what had just happened. then, she was chewing on the warm pastry, practically melting in matt’s grasp as his thumb swiped at the edge of her mouth to clean the powdered sugar there.

“good?” he asked after a beat. she swallowed.

“mhm.”

“told you,” he teased, now setting the plate on the coffee table and pulling the girl into his lap instead. he heard her heartbeat pick up in her chest, and he placed a soft kiss against her cheek just to hear it skip once. the movie on the tv had been long forgotten.

y/n’s arms wrapped around his shoulders securely, a happy sigh escaping her lips.

“merry christmas, matt.”

for the first time in many years, matt found himself smiling at those words. he held her tightly against his chest.

“merry christmas, darling.”

taglist: @toslayy @stylessuperwhore @sofieeeeex

[localplaguenurse]

pantalone girl dad headcannons? for ya girl with daddy issues? 🥺🥺🥺

I’ve had this very concept rattling around in my brain for a while, in part because of the brainstorming I did for the discontinued Helina fic. Honestly, if I do ever bring that back (do not hold me to that my beta reader WILL kill me), I think I’d just do the occasional one shot. I guess these will also sort of count as spoilers but again, not writing it, so it’s better to just get it out of my head here. Also, I do have another dad Pantalone one shot from when I first started writing that may be a nice read afterwards.

Okay, that’s my rambling quota for the day. I have headcanons to write!

Notes: Because most of this was from my discontinued dad Pantalone fic, it’s all focused purely on the father-daughter relationship. Other than that, mainly domestic fluff with a few references to Pantalone’s impoverished background.

Pantalone Being a Girl Dad

He never thought he’d be one of those “girl dads.” Not that he wouldn’t love a little girl of his own, but because he found the notion a bit silly. What difference does it make if it’s a little girl instead of a little boy?

In spite of that, the moment she’s placed in his arms and he sees her little face, he is absolutely smitten. She’s this tiny squealing thing with dull eyes and hardly any hair, and already he’s completely wrapped around her tiny wrinkly finger.

(Or technically it’s her tiny wrinkly baby fist wrapped around his finger, but that’s all semantics.)

When his daughter was a little baby, he had to stop wearing his chain so she wouldn’t yank his glasses off his face. He still wore his rings, though he made sure to wear ones that were smooth or didn’t have many stones on the off chance she started gnawing on his fingers while he wasn’t looking. He’d feel awful if she cut her little gums.

Never baby talks to his daughter. He’ll coo and hum and speak softly, but no special baby talk voice. He instead speaks to her like he would anyone else. Those two would have full on (mostly one sides) conversations where his daughter would babble incoherent baby nonsense, and he’d start yapping as if she’s made some brilliant argument.

Having a chatterbox for a father results in two things, the first being that his little girl starts talking before other babies her age, and then other is that she can and often will fall asleep in the middle of him talking to her.

Best bedtime story reader, period.

Her first word was “dada” and the way Pantalone was beaming the rest of the week, you’d think his vast fortune had doubled overnight.

Loves brushing and styling his daughter’s hair. Will braid ribbons into her hair for special occasions, or if she asks nicely and he has the time. 

Whenever she gets a new dress, she makes a big show of spinning around to show off how cute she looks. Pantalone smiles and claps every time, getting a big grin from his little girl.

I headcanon Pantalone has a rather thorough skincare routine, so I like to imagine she joins him before getting ready for bed. She doesn’t need a million lotions, creams and cleansers, goodness no, so instead she just gets a good face wash, brushes her teeth and combs her hair. It’s a good way to get her settled and ready for bed, and it’s good to teach her personal hygiene early in life so she’ll know what to do when she actually needs those cleansers.

(Plus, seeing her father covered in green goo is really funny.)

Because I also headcanon Pantalone as being prone to developing tinea veriscolor, his daughter would also have it, and in that case he rubs some tea tree oil on her skin where it would be most affected, primarily the neck and shoulder areas.

He spoils her, of course, but is very careful not to spoil her rotten. While he’d love to provide his flesh and blood with a childhood he never had– one where there is always a roof over their heads, food on the table, and all the best toys and clothes money can buy– he’s spent too much time around the snotty brats his various partners and clients have (hardly) raised and he is not tolerating that sort of behaviour from his own daughter.

While he certainly buys her the best toys and clothes he can (anything for his little princess), he works to instill a sense of value in such items, the idea that you must take care of your possessions because you may not be able to truly replace them.

He’ll leave repairing any torn or stained clothes to professional tailors, he himself will take to stitching up a ripped teddy bear or doll when his daughter brings them to him. He takes them from her before wiping away the tears in her little eyes.

Unexpected perks to being a father: using your child as an excuse to not talk to that really annoying client who hasn’t taken the seven business proposal rejections as a hint already.

They have actual tea parties. It’s their designated daddy-daughter bonding time where she gets to tell him all about school or her friends or anything remotely interesting.

Yapping is a dominant gene it would appear, though his daughter has also become a rather good listener. She’s also very good at math.

Whenever Pantalone has to travel for work, he will always bring something back for his little girl. Sometimes it’s a new toy or game, or new clothes that match the style of wherever he visits, or new kinds of candy to try. When she’s older, he might even start bringing her along if he’ll be gone for extended periods of time.

He absolutely commissioned a tiny harbinger coat for her. I will not be swayed.

That said, he isn’t always perfect. There will be times where frustration gets the better of him and he snaps at her when she is misbehaving or is pestering him when he needs to focus. The guilt is instantaneous, and gets worse when he sees tears well up in her eyes. He crouches to her level and apologizes, offering a hug as well. She’ll usually take him up on it, though he’ll respect her boundaries if she wants space, even if it does break his heart a little bit.

Sometimes his rough upbringing comes up, and it’s usually in regards to food. He’s definitely had the “when I was your age I had to eat from the trash” or “there are starving children on the streets” talk whenever his daughter was picky about food. Arlecchino happened to be visiting once when he brought it up again, and she had to explain that such talk would give her a complex regarding food.

He’ll try a different approach after that talk. Maybe it’s not so much the food, but rather how it’s prepared that is the issue, or maybe some ingredients can be substituted to create an equally nutritious but more palatable meal?

When she gets sick, he tries not to let his worry show. He knows it’s a cold, he does, and he knows that a little medicine and plenty of rest will help her, but all he can think of are the sickly children he grew up alongside and how horribly ill they were before… never mind that, it’s a cold, she’ll be fine.

At the end of the day, he only wants the absolute best for his daughter. He wants to love her the way he wishes he was loved.

He sometimes doubts if he’s truly doing a good enough job of raising her, wondering if he’s too strict at times or not strict enough, or if he’s providing for her financially but not quite meeting her emotional needs. She’ll never know about those doubts, though. He won’t let her.

Still, he must be doing something right to have such a bright daughter who never forgets to say “please” and “thank you,” who is more excited to hug her dad after a long trip than open the presents he brings her, and always tells her she loves him before she dozes off to sleep.

[bring-forth-his-sac]

The Christmas Party - Finale!

summary: the Christmas Party is finally here! … and you and Negan are not on good terms

tags: Modern AU, Teacher AU, Gossip, Swearing, Pet Names, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Flirting, Kissing

word count: 7.1k

A/N: this is the final chapter! thank you to everyone who's read this and left comments!! For some reason, I always hesitated doing multi-chapter fics because I didn't think my writing was good enough to keep people captivated for more than one chapter but this has given me a serious confidence boost! and that's thank to all of you!

Merry Christmas and I hope you enjoy!!!

Negan doesn’t know if you can be pussy whipped when you’re not getting any pussy, but damn that’s exactly how he feels with you.

He’s always been a fan of temporary pleasures, quick fixes for the emptiness that gnawed at him. He wasn’t interested in long term or relationship—at least, not in the way most people understood it. Love was something people with hope clung to. 

And Negan? He had lost hope a long time ago.

He’s had women, plenty of them, but none of them have ever meant more to him than a night of fleeting connection. Negan never made a fool of himself ice skating for some pussy, nor has he ever wined and dined them.

And he would say he still hasn’t, mainly because that would mean referring to you as just another piece of pussy. And no matter how hypocritical it may be, he doesn’t like that.

He doesn’t know how you do it, how you can penetrate the walls he’s spent years putting up. You’ve never been impressed by his bravado or his flirting. 

No, instead you’re the sweet type. You like the little moments, the playfulness, the cheeky texts neither of you should be sending during work hours.

Negan’s known it for a while now. He doesn’t want you like the others. He doesn’t want a night away or a quick fix. He wants the ice skating, the banter throughout the work day, the hot chocolates and dinner dates. 

Fuck, all you’ve given him is a kiss and Negan’s smitten. 

Waking up the morning after your sweet kiss, you’re the first thing that pops into Negan’s head. More specifically, it’s you in his truck, his leather jacket over your shoulders and eyes crinkling at the corners as you laugh at some dumbass joke he made. 

He woke up alone, having gone home the night before and spent an hour on the phone to Mark Smith. 

Negan couldn’t believe he actually sat on his couch and willingly listened to his colleague talk about some upcoming market by where he’s staying in Jamaica. Negan even asked Mark how his wife and kids were doing– voluntarily!!

He didn’t recognize himself anymore. The pain, while still there, isn’t as strong. Negan can’t find the strength to harness that resentment he had at the world and himself. 

Because how could he hate himself when he’s had your sweet lips on his not even 24 hours earlier?

But his Thursday goes downhill from the get go. Negan has a pep in his step as he leaves his house, quickly locking the door behind him before heading for his truck. A part of him hopes the smell of your perfume will still be lingering in there.

Aaaand that’s the start of a very bad day. Negan never gets to his truck, instead stopping a few feet away when he sees someone else parked behind him. 

His lips twist downward in a slight sneer. It’s the kind of look that says, “I don’t like you, and I’m not hiding it” without needing to say it aloud.

Sherry has her car parked directly behind Negan, purposefully blocking him in. She stands outside, her arms crossed as she tries to keep warm. 

“Hi…” she says plainly, trying to ease into this. 

When he speaks, it’s deliberate. His voice is dry, almost bored, but the weight of his words hangs heavy. "This is private property, ya can’t park there" Negan’s tone is laced with the kind of casual authority he’s so used to. 

It’s not a request. It’s not even a command. It’s a fact, something he’s not even sure needs to be said, but he does anyway because she’s standing there like this is some kind of game. 

Starting for his truck again, he only stops when she says his name.

Sherry huffs, rolling her eyes. Of course he won’t make this easy. “Negan,” her tone is firmer now “I want to cash in that I-owe-you. Now”.

His hand rests on the truck door but he doesn’t make a move to open it yet. Instead, he turns his body slightly, pivoting so he’s facing her fully now. Negan’s posture tightens, shoulders squared. 

“And you think that means you show up to my home at…” he makes a point of bringing his wrist up to read his watch “seven forty five in the damn morning?”.

“I said whenever and wherever,” she shrugs “and I remembered where you lived, so…”. 

Now it’s Negan who rolls his eyes. Because, yes, out of everything, he needs a reminder that he brought her home once upon a time ago. 

Seeing his little cooperation is shrinking, Sherry cuts to the chase “You have a motorbike, right?”.

“Used to” he corrects her vaguely. Medical bills are a hell of a hit to the balls… and bank account.

“Ok, good,” opening the passenger door to her car, Sherry begins to walk back over to the driver's side “well, get in”.

Negan doesn’t move. “This is kidnapping” he states.

Sherry tries not to lose her patience, nibbling on her bottom lip so she doesn’t let out a string of curses. “No, it’s the favor you owe me,” she corrects “and it’s for Christmas, so c’mon”.

Despite every fiber in his being telling him not to, Negan takes a step closer. “Unless you’re gonna drop me off at the school, we’re gonna be late” be points out.

With the wave of her hand, Sherry dismisses him and gets in. “It’ll be fast” is all she says to assure him.

Glancing back to his truck one last time, Negan sighs before reluctantly getting into Sherry’s car.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

By the time Negan gets to work, he’s pissed off, late and hungry. You’d think as the head cook of the cafeteria, Sherry would’ve had some snacks hidden away in her car but nope, Negan had to starve.

Negan tries to stay positive. He reminds himself that once he knocked out a few more classes, he would have time to do something he’d been looking forward to—setting up the Christmas tree with you. 

But as the day drags on and the hours tick by, his phone remains suspiciously quiet. He sent you a few texts, nothing crazy, just simple check-ins asking when you’d be free to hang out later. 

A casual message, nothing too pushy. But now, after getting through some classes, it has been hours and there still isn’t a reply.

At first, he figures you’d just busy, maybe caught up in teaching or managing your unruly students. He knows you have a lot on your plate and he didn’t want to be that guy who expecta instant responses. 

It’s fine. He’s patient. You’d get back to him when you have the chance.

But as lunch rolls around and there’s still nothing, he can’t shake the nagging feeling that something isn’t right. It’s subtle at first, just a flicker of unease, but it grows with every passing minute. 

He finds himself glancing at his phone more often, tapping his fingers against the desk, trying to focus on his work but getting distracted.

Something is off.

Negan gives the little pumpkin statue on his desk a quick rub, as if the small gesture might bring him some kind of luck. 

He doesn’t know why he’s so worked up. It’s not like he’s a clingy guy. But the silence between you two today? It’s not like you and it’s starting to eat at him.

First stop is the teacher’s lounge. Empty. He checks your classroom next— locked. No sign of you. Then, he heads to the sports hall, hoping you might be there, finishing something up. No luck.

Hell, he even hangs around the women’s toilets for a minute. It’s stupid, he knows, but he figures if you’re dealing with that time of the month, you might need a minute. 

He leans against the wall, trying not to look too out of place, but when Sasha passes by with a raised brow, he realizes how ridiculous he looks.

“Shit,” he mutters, pushing away from the wall.

He’s not the clingy type. He knows that. But by the time lunch comes to an end, he’s sent you a decent amount of texts. 

Negan: you ready for the tree?

Negan: it’s in the hall

Negan: u ok?

Negan: is this hide and seek? Where are you?

Negan: hellllllllooooooooooo? My messages are going through so I know you don’t have me blocked

More classes pass and Negan’s patience wears thinner with every passing minute. He yells at a group of rowdy students, his voice echoing through the sports hall as he orders them to watch out for the cheerfully decorated tables as they do their jumping jacks. 

He checks his watch, the second hand ticking a little too loudly for his liking. It’s almost the end of the school day and Negan can feel the weight of his frustration pressing down on him. 

He hasn’t heard a damn thing from you, not a single text, not even a “Hey, I’m busy.” Nothing.

And the silence? It’s driving him nuts.

By the time he’s checking the teacher’s lounge again, he’s about ready to give up… but then it happens. Just as he’s walking by Ms. Peletier’s classroom, the door clicks open.

You step out.

It’s like a moment of clarity hits him and for a second, all his frustration melts away. There you are— looking like you’re trying to escape something. 

You’re not your usual self. There’s something different about you today, something… timid. You’re not holding eye contact, your shoulders are a little hunched like you’re trying to make yourself smaller.

“Holy fucking shit,” Negan says, his voice full of relief “I was about to send out a search party, where the fuck have you been, doll?”

He expects a smile, some kind of warmth in your eyes. But instead, you tense. For a heartbeat, your body locks up, like you didn’t expect to see him. 

He watches, confused, as you quickly gather yourself. For a second, he thinks you might be walking toward him, like you’re about to talk, to explain yourself.

But then, just before he can take a step forward, you say it.

“Fuck off”.

Negan’s a man that likes to curse. He likes to throw in a few fucks, pricks, shit balls, whatever he feels in the moment. 

But this is different. 

The curse slices through the air, harsh and bitter. The venom in each syllable sticks in his chest like a jagged piece of glass. 

Negan’s stomach drops. He watches you walk past him, not even sparing him a glance and strut down the corridor without breaking stride.

For a moment, he’s frozen. The anger, the confusion— it all hits him at once. He isn’t the kind of man who gets easily thrown off, but right now? Damn right he feels uneasy.

“Woah, sweetheart, what’s that for?” Negan calls after you, confusion and hurt twisting his words. 

He takes a step forward, instinctively wanting to follow you but before he can move another inch, a voice calls his name.

“Negan.”

He turns, annoyed, ready to snap at whoever’s interrupting him but when he sees Carol standing in the doorway of her classroom, he stops dead.

“Let her go,” she says, her tone calm, but firm.

His brow furrows. What the hell is this?

“What?” He takes a few strides toward her, his voice rising. 

Carol raises a hand, palm out, silencing him before he can continue. “Let her go,” she repeats, her expression unreadable “She’s not interested”.

Negan’s chest tightens. Her words hit him like a punch to the gut but it’s the way she says them so matter-of-fact that makes him freeze in place. He opens his mouth, but the words don’t come. 

He looks at her, searching her face for some hint, some sign that this is a misunderstanding. But Carol doesn’t flinch. Instead, she just watches him, her eyes steady. 

“She’s not interested,” she repeats, softer this time, but still unyielding.

The truth stings. It settles over him like a weight, heavy and suffocating. The realization that everything he thought he knew about what was happening between you two—what he thought was real—might have only been a quick flash in the pan.

Negan stands there for a moment. The hallway around him feels too quiet, too empty. His chest tightens again and he can’t tell if it’s from anger or hurt or pure disbelief.

He looks back down the hall,  where you disappeared, then back at Carol. With a sharp exhale, Negan turns away, heading in the opposite direction without saying another word. 

What else is there to say?

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Friday feels like damnation, and not just because of the party. You purposely come in earlier than usual, not wanting to run into Negan as you set up the last remaining decorations for the gym. Even Joey isn’t in yet.

You can still feel the rush of anger, the way it surged through you when you saw them together, Negan and Sherry. You wouldn’t say you’re a jealous person but to see them arriving together, after everything?!

After Sherry warned you away from him, the dates that weren’t dates you went on with Negan… the kiss. You wonder if you didn’t move fast enough for him and if he went straight to Sherry’s after dropping you home that night. 

You’re pissed—so fucking pissed—but more than that, you’re hurt. The way he acted around you was like you were something special. It was as if maybe, there was something more between you two, more than banter and attraction. 

But now? Now it feels like a fucking joke. He’s out there, probably flirting with whoever is next on his hit list while you’re here, stewing in your own mess of feelings and sticking wreaths on to tables.

You want to punch something just to feel like you’re doing something to get rid of this ache in your chest. 

Your mind races—did they sleep together? Was it just another one-night thing for him? Did it mean nothing? 

The thought of it gnaws at you, each question digging deeper. The betrayal, the feeling of being tossed aside, his voice when he called after you yesterday, the knowing look on Carol’s face when you told her what you had seen… It's too much. 

You wish you could cry but you’re too damn mad. So you keep working, head down, fighting the sting of tears that are just waiting to break through. 

The good news is the sports hall is finally done, besides the Christmas tree that was never put up. 

The high, vaulted ceilings are draped with thick strands of sparkling tinsel in gold and silver, catching the light from the overhead fluorescent bulbs and making the whole room shimmer.

Long rows of tables are now covered in bright red and green cloths, each one bordered with tinsel and a wreath hanging off the front. Paper snowflakes some of the students made dangle from the walls, swirling like an indoor blizzard.

Around the room, there are signs that read things like “Merry Christmas!” and “Season’s Greetings!” in big, bold letters and decorated with holly.

Even the basketball hoops are dressed up, with thick, red ribbons tied in bows around the rims, and a few oversized ornaments dangling from the netting. 

Everywhere you look, there’s something to bring a smile to your face— and yet that’s the one thing you can’t do. 

“Well, hello there,” you don’t tense when you hear the masculine voice. 

It doesn’t have that deep drawl Negan’s does. Nor does it make you want to shiver and purr at the same time.

“Hi, Joey” You don’t even glance at him as you say it, your eyes fixed on the twinkling lights that are tangled up in tinsel, casting a soft glow across the sports hall. 

“The place looks great!” he says, his voice a little too bright as he walks deeper into the room, clearly trying to make conversation.

“Uh-huh,” you reply, your voice flat and distracted “It’s basically done now. Just have to run home after school to grab the drinks, and it’ll be ready”.

You don’t want to engage much more than that. The last thing you need right now is small talk or having to deal with anyone else. 

“And the food?” Joey presses, his tone a little too chipper.

You force a tight-lipped smile, your jaw set as you turn toward him briefly. “Can you let Negan know that’s his shit to sort?” you ask, trying to keep your voice neutral, though it comes out cold.

“Uh—sure! Yeah!” Joey nods quickly, probably sensing the shift in your mood but not wanting to push it. 

Without waiting for another word, you head toward the door, not bothering to look back. The last thing you want is to stick around the hall in case Negan shows up unexpectedly. 

You can feel the tension already creeping up your spine at the mere thought of seeing him, of dealing with whatever’s going on between you two.

So, you leave, eager to put some distance between yourself and the mess you’re caught up in.

The school day drags, yet somehow, it feels like it’s slipping away too fast. The hours blur together— teaching feels more like a flurry of words and half-attention from your students as they count down the minutes to the end of the day.

You try to keep them engaged but it’s obvious they’re all just as eager for the holidays as you are. 

The morning feels slow, like every minute stretches just a little too long. You try to get through your classes but every time the clock ticks, your mind drifts back to the party— back to everything that’s been weighing on you. 

By the time you hit the afternoon, you’re caught in this weird mix of excitement and dread. Each class passes, each bell that rings to signal the end of a period feels like a countdown to something you’d rather not face.

The students, for their part, are bouncing off the walls. They’re eager to get out, to be free from school and homework and whatever else hangs over them. 

You watch them, their chatter almost deafening and you can’t help but feel a sense of urgency in the air. It’s almost like the whole school is vibrating with the countdown and the seconds feel like they’re slipping through your fingers.

The lessons go by in a haze—you’re teaching, but you’re not fully there. You’re running through the motions, reciting your notes and trying to keep your class on track but you know that the closer you get to the end of the day, the closer you get to the party, to seeing Negan again, to dealing with whatever awkwardness looms between you two.

Finally, the last bell rings, the sound cutting through your thoughts like a knife. You breathe out a little too heavily, a mix of relief and frustration swirling inside you. 

It’s over.

The school day’s done. 

The holiday break is here and the party is just around the corner. You grab your things quickly, eager to get out of the classroom but the thought of facing the party, of facing him, slows your steps.

You want a moment of quiet before everything kicks off but you can only have such a luxury when you get home to quickly dress into something a little nicer and bring all the alcohol back here to the sports hall. 

The noise in the hallways is deafening, students filing out, chatting excitedly about the break. Your thoughts, though, are already on the evening ahead. 

You rush home, the quiet of your place a welcome relief after the chaos of the day. You head straight to your room, pulling off your teaching clothes and slipping into something nicer for the party—nothing too fancy, but enough to feel put-together. 

A soft sweater and dark jeans, something comfortable but still festive. You grab the bottles you’ve set aside for the party, having to make multiple trips to your car before they're all loaded.

A quick glance in the mirror tells you that you’re ready but the knot in your stomach tells you the opposite. You grab your keys and head out the door, locking it behind you before making your way back to the school. 

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

It’s almost half six when the first few people trickle in and you’re glad to see their faces. 

For the past forty minutes, it’s just been you, Joey and Negan in the hall, stealing plates and cups from the home ec room and putting all the drink on display. And in that forty… long… minutes, you and Negan exchanged a total of seven words.

“Where’s the tequila?” he basically huffed at you.

“Still in my car” you retorted, giving him the same energy.

You got a grunt in response and he yelled at Joey to go out and grab it as Negan left to get more plates.

But now the sports hall is buzzing with that awkward in-between energy—everyone’s showing up but the party hasn’t fully kicked off yet. There’s a nice hum of conversation, teachers hesitantly reaching for liquor and some commenting on the decorations.

Every time you cross paths with Negan, you veer the other way. It’s like there’s an invisible wall between you two, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. 

You’re doing your best to keep yourself busy— lining up glasses, making sure the food table’s stocked thanks to the newest light in Negan’s life, Sherry (you swear you’re not jealous)—but it’s hard to ignore the tension, the way Negan moves around you, not quite looking at you but not completely avoiding you either.

In one corner of the hall, you see Aaron head towards the large speaker that sits silently waiting.

After a few seconds of fumbling with the speaker, the opening chords of ‘Last Christmas’ filled the room, too loud at first, making everyone glance at each other nervously, unsure if they were meant to sing along, dance, or just pretend it wasn’t happening.

Some teachers head over to the food. Thankfully, you haven’t run into Sherry yet, nor is that something you wish to do. But to give credit where credit is due, the food smells delicious and it’s not as plain as the food usually served at the cafeteria. 

Fingers quickly grab skewers of chicken satay or tiny puff pastries as the music loops on, providing a kind of strange comfort. 

"I swear," Morgan says as he fills his plate, laughing awkwardly as he nudges a colleague "I only came for the pigs in blankets".

Everyone chuckles the first real laugh of the evening and suddenly the awkwardness seems to melt away, if only a little. Yet it’s enough to kick off the night.

As the evening stretches on, the awkwardness begins to fade into something more familiar, a sort of communal ease that only happens when you’ve spent enough time around people you mostly like, but don’t quite know how to relax with. 

You stand back and watch, nursing your drink. 

A few teachers have found their rhythm, wandering between the buffet table and the cozy clusters of conversation, laughing a little too loudly and talking shop just enough to remind themselves they’re not too far from the classroom.

Jesus walks up to you and a few others, gesturing towards one of the empty corners. “Where’s the tree I gave you guys?” he asks curiously, no annoyance in his tone.

Taking a deep breath, you struggle for an answer “We uh, ran out of time to put it up”. 

Jesus gives a quick laugh and a nod, taking your answer for what it is. “And you still have the extra baubles I donated too?” he clarifies, taking a sip of his drink.

You nod and hesitantly explain “Yeah, the tree and baubles are uh… they’re under the bleachers. We didn’t have the space in the storage room”.

Looking around at the other teachers listening, Jesus smiles “Well then, who’s game for putting up a tree?”. 

Before you have time to process that, there’s a burst of energy. 

Jesus and Morgan help bring out the tree. Tara takes the box of baubles, standing with her hands on her hips as she looks down at the box. 

Aaron, ever the optimist, picked up a string of lights and began untangling them with the patience of a saint.

You stand there with a surprised look plastered on your face. Even the people who aren’t helping, stand by and watch. Michonne snaps a few pictures before typing on her phone, no doubt sending it to her husband or Carl. 

Jesus, who has already taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, grabs the tree stand. 

“The tree’s the easy part,” he tells the crowd “the real challenge is making it look intentional when you know it’s probably just going to be… well, a mess”.

Eugene, who has been quietly inspecting the box of ornaments with Tara, looks up at the group. 

“I must admit, I find the idea of a decorated tree somewhat... quaint. But I’ll go along with the sentiment if it makes the rest of you happy,” Eugene says, picking up a candy cane ornament “Plus, I believe we can all agree—Christmas lights are critical”.

Aaron chuckles “Of course you’d have a whole theory about the importance of lights”.

With Eugene’s help, the tree is quickly set up and anchored in its stand, though it wobbles slightly, as if unsure of its purpose. 

“No, no, no, it’s leaning to the left!” Gregory tries to direct them. As you all listen to Gregory and Sasha bicker whether the tilt gives the tree character, you notice a figure lurk closer to you.

Out the corner of your eye, you see Negan. His every movement seems charged, as if he’s on the edge of saying something but never does. And you? You’re not sure what to say either. 

So instead, you both continue this dance, each of you pretending that the other isn’t right there, just a few feet away, caught in the kind of silence that screams everything without a single word being spoken.

“And where’s the tinsel?” Rosita rummages through the box of ornaments. 

“I think there’s some old tinsel in the storage room,” you call out, wanting an excuse to get away from him “I’ll go get it!”.

Negan lowers his head, watching through his lashes as you hurry off to the storage room. He suppresses a sigh, wondering if it’s really that hard for you to be around him.

Do you seriously prefer the cramped, shitty old storage room compared to him? 

This should have been fun. You two should be celebrating! Fuckin’ finally! You’ve made it and now the others are having the time of their life by willingly doing a team building exercise! 

Right now, you should both be teaming up to haggle Michonne for a raise, not barely looking at one another.

And yet Negan can’t do it. He can’t find the words to say this to you. And so he stays in his spot and listens to the others make the task of decorating a Christmas tree seem impossible.

Ten minutes pass. 

Still nothing. No you. No shitty tinsel. Just a whole lot of avoiding. 

Negan can’t believe this. You’d rather hang out in the storage room? Or quietly slip out early? All that hurt and tip toeing around each other starts to bubble in Negan, slowly reaching it’s boiling point.

With a sharp turn, he makes his way through the crowd and towards the storage room. He figures he’ll check in there first and then check the parking lot to see if your car is still here. 

His hand comes straight out as he opens the door with enough vigor to make it fly open. Not that he’s thinking about the door when he sees you, just standing there.

“Are you really gonna hide on me?” He starts, boots slamming against the messy floor as he leaves the doorway and walks deeper into the room, closer to you.

For a split second, you freeze. But as you see your opportunity for escape closing, you rush forward. 

You don’t pay any attention to his question, trying to get past him as you blurt “Wait! Stop! Don’t let the door—”.

But before either of you can reach it, the door slams shut with a resounding thud, cementing back into its frame. Negan’s anger falters when he realizes what just happened.

He doesn’t know how many times he warned you about the old storage room door being hard to open from the inside, yet here you are— and now him, victim to the heavy door.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me…” His voice drops to a low, venomous growl as he steps back to the door. He tries to yank it open once, twice, thrice! And yet it stays in place.

With the click of his tongue, Negan looks to you “You seriously got yourself locked in here?”.

You don’t appreciate the mocking tone and so you bite back “Yeah and now you have too!”.

With a sigh, Negan leans up against some of the boxes. His anger is gone and now he’s just unsure what to say to you

You step up and try the door again. You yank the handle again, twisting it violently but the door stays still. 

“Dammit!” You mutter under your breath, before you get a new idea and begin banging on the door. 

“Hey! Hello? We’re in here! Help!” you shout, your voice rising with each strike. 

Unfortunately it’s still not enough compared to the loud thumping of bass and jingle bells from the Christmas music blaring in the adjoining room.

Negan watches you with a mixture of bemusement and annoyance. He chuckles lowly, folding his arms across his chest.

“Well, that’s one hell of a performance,” he comments with a grin, the sarcasm dripping off his words. Stopping for a moment, you throw him a glare before continuing again.

“You’re bangin’ on beat with that Christmas nonsense. Hell, they won’t hear you over the jingle bells and whatever crap is playing” he points out, taking no notice of your glare.

You stop, staring at him with an annoyed look “I don’t need your commentary right now, Negan”.

He shrugs, uncaring “Just callin’ it like I see it. Looks like you’re stuck with me. Again”.

Ignoring his comments, you listen to the party outside. Laughter. Chatter too loud that it drowns out your shouts for help. The occasional cheering as they continue to decorate the tree. 

“Sounds like they’re having fun” you grumble.

Negan waits a moment before replying, his tone losing his sarcasm “So should we”.

There’s a tightness when he says that— but not the good kind. You’ve always been one to blurt things out, Negan should know that better than anyone. 

Although hearing you quietly mutter “Yeah, I’m sure you and Sherry should be having the time of your lives”, throws Negan’s head in a tailspin. 

“What? Sherry?” The edge is back in his voice as he asks, making you go quiet again. 

You shrug in response.

He narrows his eyes as you stay silent. When you don’t say a word, Negan shakes his head “Fuck, I thought we were gettin’ somewhere, and now? Now this shit?”.

Negan takes a breath before deciding to start small. “Why’re you bringing up Sherry?” he lets the question hang in the air.

Eyes flickering to the ground, your voice feels tight as you reply “I… I saw you with Sherry, arriving to work with her, and—”. You stop yourself, biting back the words. 

It doesn’t matter that you stopped anyways as Negan interjects with a slightly sarcastic laugh “You thought I’d what? Sleep with her?”.

He steps closer, trying to get you to look at him.

“Doll, she just wanted to cash in that I-owe-you,” he says before deciding you’ll need more of an explanation “she wanted to buy her boyfriend a motorbike for Christmas but she knows fuck all about bikes… I, however, have had my fair share so I went with her to get give her my expert opinion. Nothing more. I just spent the morning looking at shitty second hand bikes”.

You nod, eyes still down as you process his answer. But now it’s Negan’s turn to get some answers.

“You really think I’d kiss you, then go and sleep with someone else right after?” his voice is firm but tinged with hurt “Is that how little you think of me?”.

That makes you look up, eyes wide before they soften with regret “No! I don’t— It’s just, you didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to think. You didn’t tell me anything about her or what you were doing”.

You hesitate, realizing how much you’ve misinterpreted “I should’ve talked to you first. I’m sorry, I just… I didn’t want to make a fool of myself”.

A few hollers can be heard in the sports hall as Negan pauses, letting out a slow exhale.

“You don’t have to apologize for giving a damn. I get it, though, how that would’ve looked,” he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself “I mean, Sherry and I, that was a one time thing that neither of us want a round two of”.

You nibble on your bottom lip, unsure whether you’ll like the answer to your next question but needing to ask nonetheless. “So… what did happen? Back then, between you and Sherry?”.

His posture shifts slight as if he’s physically as well as mentally letting down his guard. 

“Sherry and her man were on a break, she wanted a distraction…” he trails off, letting you fill in the details “and then when they got back together, she had to really prove to the guy that she wasn’t interested in me anymore so she went from thinking I was good enough to fuck, to straight out hating me”.

“Huh… I kinda presumed you just cut contact with a lot of them after the deed is done” you reply, not expecting to hear that Sherry hated Negan anyways, whether or not he ghosted her.

“Oh I do sometimes, other times it just fizzles or it’s decided beforehand that it’s just a one night kinda thing” he explains “We both get something out of it”.

“A two way system” You call it.

Negan tilts his head as he thinks, “‘I wouldn’t exactly call it that. It’s just… mutual benefits.

A faint smirk ghosts his face “A two way system is you arguing with me, me arguing with you, you taking me on a date, me taking you on a date, me flirting with you, you flirting with me”.

You can’t help the smile at that, rolling your eyes teasingly, any annoyance you had for Negan melting away.

He continues, poking his tongue out of his mouth “Me kissing you.. you shoving your tongue down my throat”.

“I did not do it like that!!” You exclaim with a laugh.

He chuckles, his own annoyance gone now too. “You’re right, you’re right,” he concedes before thinking up a better way of saying it “you… oh so subtly slipping that dainty tongue of yours into my mouth all sexy like”.

“I didn’t use tongue!” You declare, throwing your hands up before the playfulness fades into a somber silence.

“I am sorry,” you reiterate ”I guess I should’ve trusted you more. I should’ve asked, instead of assuming.”

He gives you a look you can only describe as tender. 

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly the talking-about-feelings kinda guy and I kinda thought you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore,” he tells you, his voice a gentle hum “But if you’re asking— I want this. I want you. No more games, no more misunderstandings. Just… us. Alright?”.

A small, relieved smile tugs at the corners of your lips, tension easing. “I think that would be nice” you agree, trying to drown out the loud Christmas music during your intimate moment.

There’s a quiet between you both, no more words needing to be exchanged. Negan begins to move again but instead of heading towards the door, he briefly disappears to the back of the storage room.

“Negan?” You call out.

He strolls over to one of the old boxes and starts to look through it. The musty smell of forgotten storage fills the air as he pulls out a dusty, crinkled piece of tinsel, its once-silver strands now dulled and faded with time.

“If we’re all good now…” he says as he stops and reaches down into the box “y’know what we gotta seal it with, right?”.

His mouth twitches with a hint of amusement and as he steps back toward you, dangling that goddamn piece of old mistletoe in front of you. 

His expression is half-mocking, half-playful, as if he’s trying to make light of getting stuck in here. 

You look at the mistletoe and then back up at him. “Well, it is tradition…” you tilt your head up, expecting to see that cocky expression of his but instead it gives way to something more sincere.

Before you can say anything, he’s lifting the mistletoe above your heads, positioning it just right. 

Not being one to waste time, Negan presses his lips to yours, the kiss soft at first, just a light brush but as if giving into the moment, you deepen it. 

His lips are warm and steady against yours. The taste of him lingers as it becomes more heated. Negan drops the mistletoe, both of you each other instinctively pulling closer.

His lips press more urgently against yours, like he's unable to hold back anymore. His hand slides from your waist to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, pulling you into him with a force that makes you gasp into his mouth.

That gasp seems to push him further, the heat between you intensifying. His tongue sweeps against yours in a coaxing manner. Backing away, you pull him with you until your back is flush against another stack of boxes. 

There's nothing tentative about this anymore; it's a powerful, consuming kiss, raw with hunger and desire.

Negan’s hands slide under your festive sweater, skin on skin. The contact sends a shiver down your spine, heightening every sensation. Your fingers clutch at his shirt, needing more of him, more of this. 

His body presses against you, hips aligning with yours, and the pressure builds as you feel the weight of him against you. His breathing becomes heavier, his chest rising and falling in sync with the erratic make out session.

The words around you fall on deaf ears, neither you or Negan paying attention to the Christmas music or the mumbling of Gregory outside saying “It’s in here, you say? Oh Christ!”.

Suddenly the music is clearer and another light source shines across your face. “Mm?” You question, although it’s hard to get the words out with Negan’s lips still on yours.

Pulling away, you see a look of shock and disgust on Gregory’s face.

He clears his throat, trying and failing to regain some semblance of control. “This… this is—uh—what is happening here?” his words came out in a disjointed jumble, bringing the other’s attention to the storage room.

“They’re together?!” you hear Rosita’s voice.

“You didn’t know about them?” the voice of Michonne reaches your ears “Carl told me they were a couple ages ago!”.

Suddenly you realize you’re like a deer in headlights, just frozen and watching. That is until Negan takes you hand in his and yanks you out of the storage room while the door is still open.

You follow his lead, letting him bring you out to the middle of the sports hall until he turns to face you again. His hands find their home on your back and he begins to sway to the slow Christmas song.

“Are we… dancing right now?” You question, clasping your hands around the back of his neck. 

The others stare for a few moments before carrying on with whatever it is they were doing beforehand. Some drink, some stuff their faces and chat, while others grab a partner and dance too.

Negan doesn’t answer with words, instead giving you a little spin before finding you back in his arms.

“So… you still spending Christmas alone?” Negan says it casually, though there’s a subtle trace of concern in his tone.

You inhale before replying, shifting slightly in his arms “Yeah”.

“You sure about that?” He leans in a little closer, his face now just inches from yours, as though trying to read between the lines. 

There’s a small, almost imperceptible shake of your head, showing you’ve already made peace with the decision as you sigh “I think it’s for the best I don’t change plans now and go spend it with my family”.

“Yeah, sweetheart, I was kinda trying to crash your plans, not suggest you skedaddle out of town” Negan’s grin widens, and he gives you a playful nudge

“What?”.

His smile deepens as he watches your reaction, fully aware of how bold he’s being. “Well, you’re spending Christmas alone, I’m spending Christmas alone,” he explains “we get on like a house on fire, you’re hot, I’m hot”.

“Negan!” you exclaim, a mix of embarrassment and amusement flooding your chest.

“I’ll bring the mistletoe” the offer hangs in the air, and you can feel the moment shifting, building toward something neither of you is fully ready to name, but both are undeniably feeling.

“… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you were there too” you slowly admit “but you have to bring me a present!”. 

Negan chuckles, keeping his hands on the small of your back as he looks up and pretends to think. “Hm… I might be able to do that” he says. 

He tries to act as though he’s debating the condition, as if he hasn’t already bought you things.

A cinnamon candle.

A pumpkin statue to match his own.

A winter coat that will actually keep you warm (that may have some leather accents so you’ll match his own jacket).

Some snacks he’s been picking up whenever he’s out.

And a list he’s made himself of the corniness Christmas movies he could find on the many streaming services that are around.

“Maybe I could do with that mistletoe now,” you tease, showing off your actual flirting skills.

Negan smirks down at you, one of his hands trailing up your back as you both sway to the music.

“Darlin’ I think we are way past mistletoe now,” he quips back before he leans down.

Despite being in the sports hall that made you and Negan go at each other’s throats. Despite being surrounded by your colleagues …

You kiss him.

[pansy-picnics]

Not to derail the convo too much but i want to add my own input onto this….it sucks bc there are multiple VERY clear reasons why yong and nuru are both pushed aside, but i feel like everyone is afraid to say the quiet part out loud.

- Nuru is a black girl

- Yong is an asian kid

- nuru and yong werent really pitched as main characters to begin with. Maybe they wouldve been, had the pitch been fully realized, but we can only really make educated guesses based on the little information we have. The entire story was really built around varian and hugo, fundamentally- and yeah, obviously we only have the brief outline, but said outline doesn’t really mention nuru and yong like, at all. Doesnt mention any character arcs for them, any prominent relationships, any development theyd have over the series- not even their reactions to hugos betrayal or their involvement in the final fight. its all just about varian and hugo. We can only ever assume, at any given moment, that theyre just….There. And so thats how everyone writes them- as background characters to varigo.

i dont think its wrong to build a story around one character, i mean kay and anna really just did it for fun and i dont see any problem with that- but when people try to make it into a fully realized story, it doesnt really work because there are basically only two main characters and two guys who are just There. so instead of the VAT7K Fandom we just end up getting The Varigo Fandom. i honestly do think its why so many people come and get hyperfixated on it for a few months and then leave. There just isnt really any content to work with, because there are only 4 characters and people are only fully utilizing two of them.

-Did i mention theyre a black girl and an asian kid next to a yaoi couple featuring White Boy #3567488 and Kind-Of-Racially-Ambiguous-Probably-White Onceler Jr because the implications there are Not Great.

I joke, i love them all, i promise, but it is really something that bothers me a lot, especially since ive been here for so long and i dont really consider myself “in” the fandom enough to like, get super obsessed with any of the characters and make 1000 fics and drawings of them. If anything vat7k is kind of like the tts dlc to me. Im mentally ill about varigo and i love nuru and yong to bits and have SO MANY thoughts about them but they just usually stay in my head because i dont have the energy to expel them in any efficient way LOLOLOL. At the end of the day i consider myself more of a tts fan than anything else.

bc nuru and yong never really had any substance to begin with, people cant usually get super attached to them past a surface level, and it gets REALLY frustrating.

- When it comes to nuru, im like, the whitest girl imaginable so i dont want to talk out of turn here but i do want to mention it bc nobody else seems to be willing to- the way nuru is made into either the mature “mom friend” of the group or the “sassy best friend” is something that makes my blood BOIL, because they both feel SUPER stereotypical considering that shes a 16 year old black girl!!! i’ve talked to my friend, who is black, about it a lot (Id tag him here but hes Not in the fandom so i dont want to drag him into this LMAOAOAO) but weve discussed how black girls are “adultified” by mainstream society and quite literally robbed of their childhood and innocence. they’re treated as “mature for their age” and are expected to act as such…..It makes the way people portray nuru as the “mature one” rlly gross to me 😭. and luckily i dont see that “mom friend nuru” AS often anymore, but when people dont do that, i feel like they kinda just turn her into the “sassy voice of reason” which just feels like a whole black best friend trope to me…..😭 Guh. I think just the best anyone can do is actually make her a fully realized character!!! She feels so one note so often 😭

- And yong…I feel like he so often just gets made to be the Baby of the group and the comic relief (which is DEFINITELY because hes also a fat kid but thats a Wholeee other can of worms (eye twitching)) And like that can be fun sometimes, but also i feel like the main appeal about team radical, at least to ME, is that theyre all just stupid petty teenagers who are unparented and sent on a little coming of age quest and they all probably immediately start beefing with each other like its fucking lord of the flies. Yong is Twelve Years Old guys. Have you ever met a twelve year old? Theyre at that age where theyre like weirdly edgy and think theyre the Shit and that every adult around them is a fucking idiot. Yong has the potential to be soooo fucking funny past just being the cutesy little baby of the group and i feel like people just arent really willing to explore that. And like he can still be the more emotionally open one too! I feel like he starts out a lot more silly and more of that steven universe type hes usually portrayed as, but the longer he spends with the gang he just quickly becomes equally as deranged as them LOL. Id love to see a much more mischievous yong whos sweet but also a Very insecure 12 year old and kind of a shithead. I think it’s such an untapped market.

Idk i dont think that if you just Can’t get attached to nuru or yong that you’re like…Bad or like. racist or whatever Thats not what im saying at all!!! bc i do think that kay and anna for all their amazing work on the pitch did kind of contribute to the problem bc of the way nuru and yong are shown, or, well. not shown in said pitch lol. And i also think that everyone should consider the implications these characterizations have and like…Try and challenge themselves to branch out a little more!! and i also feel like a lot of people who ARE nuru and yong fans already arent very loud in the fandom, cuz like, with how varigo centric the community is i think its just assumed by default that nobody cares….and if thats you i want to encourage you to please PLEASE speak up and make more content about them bc people DO care!!!! it is a niche that so many people are willing to invest in!!! Especially me!!! Please please please please im on my knees plea

Guys I NEED to rant about my thoughts on Nuru because i love her <3 ramblings ahead

Like I feel like in almost every fic i read, she's just like, a side character that's there to make whitty remarks to Hugo and be the levelheaded one. If she has an insecurity or problem it's usually pretty surface level and solved quickly, or only mentioned once or twice. I think there are SO many aspects of her character that are so cool.

Okay first, I think we sometimes forget that she's a nerd just like the rest of the gang. Yes, on the outside she's definetly the most 'normal' one, but I think we should concider the fact that she's the only girl in the group, and she's literal royalty. She was raised with a completely different set of standards than the other three. I don’t think I've really ever seen anyone cover that. I feel like she would get called "mature for her age" when she's only 15/16, and almost always gets critisism when she talks back with her own ideas (like her concerns about the meteor shows for example). I feel like out on her journey, she would finally get the freedom to just be herself, and be a kid and be able to rant on about her intrests with the rest of the group. It could be a struggle at first, but it would be awesome to see her getting more comfortable with the group the longer they spend together! Nerds encouraging nerdy rants lol

Since she is a kingdom figurehead, you could also argue that she always has a lot on her hands (especially since she's very proactive when it comes to science and solving problems). This could bring up a need to be productive, or always feeling like she needs to make the right decision, even for the littlest things.

I also feel like a lot of the time she's potrayed as the "right" one, who is 100% right when it comes to stuff like arguing with Hugo. Since they're opposites when it comes to class, they often are compared through that lense. I think it's cool just having Nuru tell Hugo off for judging a book by its cover, but I feel like they have a lot more in common than they realize. I think it would be interesting to see Nuru judging a book by its cover too. Maybe not to the degree that Hugo does, but I feel like calling out both their judging would not only call out character flaws, but it also enforces that even though they hate eachother and would never want to be like the other, they have a lot of the same flaws.

Also, being sheltered in a palace her whole life, I think she might think kind of black and white sometimes, and while she knows when people are just being mean as an act, she might struggle when it comes to people like reformed criminals.

Maybe she's able to be meaner to Hugo because she justifies it by telling herself he's criminal, and therefore bad, possibly glossing over the reasons he might be like that (maybe it crosses her mind, but she tells herself it's not a good enough reason, because stealing is still stealing, and he literally steals EVERYTHING. Even little trinkets and stuff he definitely doesn't need!). When they find out about Varian's criminal history, maybe she reexamines her views on morality and how she used to see people, because by her standards, Varian is a 'bad guy' who's caused harm to SO many people, but he's also the kind, caring, helpful friend that she's been traveling with who would never willingly hurt anyone.

Moving on to Amber x Nuru, I honestly never find myself liking the ship because Amber isn't developed enough which is fine. I don't think every character has to be a magnificent work of art. Side characters are side characters, but their romance is usually written like: "wow that girl is cute! I have a crush now!" Which is cool, but then that's about as far as it gets, then timeskip! Or offscreen they're a couple now. I know it's a side couple so it won't have as much devlopment as something like Varigo, but I never really see their dynamic play out in different situations. Like I don't know how to explain it, but it feels like they solely exist to be a couple? Amber sometimes just feels like an extention of Nuru, and their relationship feels surface level a lot of the time.

I feel like too often she's just watered down to the nice, smart, grounded friend, and I don't know I just think there’s so much more to explore with her. She’s not just some side character. She's literally part of the main cast! Even in fanart I feel like she doesn't really get a lot of stuff besides funny art and just like, pictures meant to look pretty. Unlike something you get a lot with characters like Varian or Hugo.

And honestly I get it. Some characters you just don't take an intrest in. I know I find Varian, Hugo, and Nuru more relatable than I find Yong, but I feel like part of that is developing their characters rather than just seeing them on a surface level. Ofc there are exceptions and there are some stories that dive deeper into Nuru's character out there! I just happen to see this A LOT.

Wow i said "surface level" a lot didn't I 😭😭

Anyway thank you for reading my rant i wanna know what you guys think!!

[atoriv-art]

Heeyyy so sorry if this has been asked before buuuttttt.. What are ur thoughts on the sand siblings?

this made me realize i didnt include their rs in the chart i posted REST ASSURED I LOVE THEM. anyway hehehe :3

a lot of my takes on them are headcanon-based (like even more than the hyugas id say) But i assume thats what people r here for anyway. Sooooo

i really like the suna siblings bc their relationship pre-chunin exams is very, like… dysfunctional, but at the same time stable? temari and kankuro are obviously afraid of their brother, and gaara is deeply unhappy around them, but they've all clearly found a "safe" position to exist in yk?

my read on those positions is that temari actually feels more conflicted about gaara than you would think — she's the oldest and therefore the one most aware of how 'wrong' their family is — but she puts her and kankuro's safety first, therefore she resorts to appeasing gaara and generally staying out of his way. kankuro is more of a show-off and while he is afraid of gaara, it's in a more grounded way, if that makes sense? he taunts him like one might taunt an angry dog, he's afraid of him because of what he can do, vs temari who dreads being around him because she's aware of what gaara carries on his shoulders and Represents

i actually 👉👈 have a suna family-centered fic i've been slowly working on 👉👈 that ive been too shy to mention on main LMAO but since we are on topic here u go [link]. it's yashamaru-focused (my WIFE) but it brushes upon the entire family :3 it'll be slow to update since i've been busy with things but if u don't mind that. i mention it here since i use the extrapolations im mentioning here to write it….

aaaanyway. the kids' relationship with rasa isn't very defined (esp for kankuro and temari) but i interpret their situation as the classic… yk, father lost his soul after the mother died sort of thing. it's a bit cliche but it makes sense LOL while the only kid we know for sure rasa was cruel towards is gaara i don't find it a stretch to expand it towards the other two, even if it wasn't as extreme.

so, with that in mind: my personal interpretation is that temari — in addition to getting the usual heir responsibilities — got put into a caretaker role for kankuro, pushing her towards cynicism and self-preservation above all else (she's also the one most likely to remember their mom, and an early loss like that can push one into hyper-independence), while kankuro was left with a bit less pressure but as a tradeoff grew hungry for acknowledgement, eventually feeding into him becoming a bit of a bully as he gets older. i think he was the one with the most... "normal" relationship with their father, but i wouldn't necessarily say that's a good thing lol

gaara is in a unique position because he was not fully raised by rasa, and his relationship with him is a lot more shallow and extreme as a result. instead gaara ended up being built into who he is almost exclusively through yashamaru's kindness and subsequent betrayal — and this is only accentuated imo by the fact that gaara does not (iirc?) at any point willingly bring up yashamaru. he badmouths his father and blames him for who he is, but the formative moments of gaara's childhood that we see are of him with his uncle. isn't that interesting? to me it reads like that's still a wound so deep he can't even bear to acknowledge it; rasa treats him like a monster so gaara is free to spit poison back at him in return, but gaara did wholeheartedly believe his uncle loved him at a point, and the idea that he did not was so world-shattering that he can't even bring himself to acknowledge his existence

all that being said, gaara as we meet him in the exams treats his siblings like strangers and i can't fully blame him for that; while the compounded traumas of 1. losing their mother and 2. the shift in rasa's disposition, cannot be understated, i think what truly "broke" the siblings' dynamic is the way gaara was likely forced into kankuro and temari's lives after yashamaru died. while they'd certainly met before, there's a world of difference between knowing you have a distant, troubled younger brother vs having that brother violently placed into your home in his most vulnerable state after another familial loss.

(yashamaru's rs with his other niblings is never really touched upon but i do think about it often. he was so close to their mom i doubt they had no relationship at all! but that's. you know. what the fic i mentioned is for.)

it inherently puts the kids into an adversarial position, especially with how rasa doesn't try to argue for gaara's humanity. so gaara, freshly traumatized and distrusting, is met with siblings who are terrified of him and a father who he knows wants him dead. to make things worse, yashamaru (my king.) made sure to crush whatever goodwill gaara still had towards the world before he died, so there's no part of him willing to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. no one has any interest in fixing this situation so this is the dynamic they settle into.

yet! they are still family and there are certainly glimpses of that. one of my favorite moments is temari looking out for gaara for, in our pov, the first time

it's really simple but it always gets an emotion out of me, it's why i think their relationship bothered her the most… one of my biggest gripes with the suna siblings is honestly that we just don't get a lot of them after a point! i would have loved to see them getting closer after gaara takes the first step in closing the distance.

kazekage retrieval arc is easily one of my favorite arcs in naruto it's soooo sweet to see kankuro and temari fighting so so hard for their baby :( i really like the quiet moments where you can tell there's still a lot of guilt over how things were, i wish we got to sit with it a little more because part of the reason i like their bond so much is because of those moments of doubt, you know? i think it's far more powerful for gaara to wonder if he's been fully forgiven, for temari to grapple with the guilt of not having been a good sister to him, than for them to easily slip into a healthy and stable dynamic as a trio.

how do they feel about their father? their mother? how do they feel about their uncle? they are three different people with similar but not identical experiences with all of them, and it makes you wonder how they might navigate unpacking all of that while not jeopardizing their fledgling bond. for example i'm personally a huge fan of gaara coming to view his uncle in an imperfect but ultimately empathetic light, while his siblings see little reason to extend him so much grace.

their personalities in shippuden make a lot of sense to me taking their upbringings into account too; kankuro and temari are predominantly rasa's children, and therefore have rougher edges and are way more averse to earnest displays of affection. gaara meanwhile had yashamaru's influence in his formative years; he knows how to articulate his emotions and acknowledges the importance of sincerity and kindness. i dunno if this was intentional but i think it's a neat detail!

soo much of the suna family follows this pattern of love breeding resentment (rasa's love towards karura breeding resentment against gaara, yashamaru's love towards karura breeding resentment against gaara and rasa, gaara's love towards his uncle being twisted into hatred against the world, the siblings' love for each other being corrupted then saved) it's sooo. chef's kiss. again my only complaint is that we don't see more of them. literally who cares about konoha i want to be in suna forever

[onegianthotmess]

“Hey, it’s cold outside, yeah? Stay a bit longer…”

Synopsis: When they’d first arrived and settled into their room in the home of Finnian and his spouse, Leona was quite annoyed at how cold he was and was fairly jealous that Morel had adjusted so easily. It seemed that even Gardenia, who was only a year old and much more fragile, somehow adjusted better than her father. But, after a few nights, Leona completely changed his mind since the cold meant Morel snuggled up to him even more in bed and they were covered with even more blankets, making everything ten times more comfortable. This also made Leona ten times more difficult to drag out of bed, but at least it made him ten times cuter…

A/N: I’ve been feeling the cold cozies lately (what I call feeling extra snuggly inside while it’s cold enough to freeze hell over outside during winter) and I wanted to write something that allowed me to describe the lovely feeling of being perfectly snuggled up in your bed during winter but also slightly Christmas-y since that’s what me and my family celebrate during the holiday season. If the title didn’t give it away, I took inspiration from the song Baby, It’s Cold Outside and basically used it as an excuse to write clingy Leona trying to keep Morel in bed. Such is the dynamic of chronic napper/one who always sleeps x early bird/one who never sleeps enough. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this little fic and are having a good holiday season so far!!!

Lions—and lion beastmen by extension—weren’t built for the cold. They were built for being the apex predators of the savanna, to live in hot conditions that taught them the absolute joys of enjoying a lovely rest in the shade and near a nice and cool water source. The blistering heat of the unfairly breathtaking savanna was their ideal habitat.

That was the environment Leona Kingscholar was built for. Not the fucking winter wonderland that was his father-in-law’s home.

When Morel had proposed spending the Christmas holiday with her side of the family—namely her father, stepparent, and two half brothers—Leona didn’t see much of a problem with it. After all, Gardenia was now a year old and could handle a two week stay somewhere without getting sick or causing too much of a fuss. And it was a bit unfair that Finnian always had to come to them to see his precious little granddaughter. The fact that it would be the first time Gardenia would be seeing snow was also a cute added bonus to the trip.

He’d dealt with the winters at Night Raven College a few times instead of going home to his family for the holidays, excusing that the unfamiliar climate had gotten him a bit sick. All of it was bullshit, he really just didn’t want to go home and Crowley was too busy with his head being sixty-five feet up his own ass that Leona probably could’ve stayed over the summer as well as the winter holiday and Crowley wouldn’t have cared.

So, with that past experience, Leona figured that he could live with a bit of cold and snow after suffering through NRC’s winters that were arctic compared to the warmth of Sunset Savana.

Oh, how wrong the Second Prince was.

Not only was he very wrong, but he was also very unprepared for just how cold his father-in-law’s homeland would be. The temperatures were well below zero when Leona and Morel arrived with Gardenia and Leona was shocked at the sheer amount of snow. In some places, snow drifts were likely about up to his shoulder, and the top of Morel’s head was maybe only an inch above that without her heels on. On top of all of the snow, the wind was so cold that it felt like pins and needles against his face and he could almost feel it through the hat—that Morel made just for him so that it would cover his ears snugly but comfortably—on his head.

Leona was actually extremely almost jealous of Gardenia at that moment because not only was she completely bundled up thanks to Morel’s maternal anxiety, the cub was also snuggly wrapped against Morel’s chest in a baby sling that was specifically bought for the trip so ensure that she wouldn’t get too cold or sick. It didn’t help that she was also sleeping soundly in the thing as well, the wind providing the perfect amount of white noise that was muffled through the thick hat on her head.

Leona had never been more grateful to be inside in his life once they’d actually made it to Finnian’s home and he let them in. Luckily the beastman was able to hold it together until he, Morel, and Gardenia, who was sleeping in what used to be Morel’s crib, were all settled into the guest room. Morel had only turned around to lay their cub down to finish her little nap when Leona had instantly wrapped himself in every last blanket on the bed, trying to warm himself up as best he could.

“Really, Cubby?” Morel asked, laughing a bit as her husband began to pout.

“I grew up on the savanna! I’m not built for this!” Leona hissed, no bite to his words whatsoever.

“Oh, poor baby,” Morel cooed, using her baby voice as she crawled onto the bed and wrapped her arms around Leona—as best as she could, given the mountain of blankets he wrapped himself in compared to her small size. “Do you need to be wrapped and swaddled up like Gardenia, Cubby!?”

“You’re lucky you’re my mate, or I’d claw out your tongue,” Leona threatened emptily, leaning into his wife’s embrace. Though it was subtle thanks to the layers of blankets, he could feet her body heat and it made him feel even warmer.

Throughout the first few nights, Leona wasn’t very happy. Even inside, he was still chilled to the bone and sat the closest to the fireplace he could, often holding his napping daughter while idle chatter or the chaos of a competitive board game filled the space.

But, as they reached the middle of their first week in Finnian’s home, Leona realized something amazing about the cold.

Not only was it an excuse to lovingly smother Morel with cuddles in bed as they slept, but Leona had more leverage to keep her in bed with him due to the warmth and comfort of both the blankets and his embrace, especially since Morel’s small size meant she got cold much quicker than he did. This revelation made him even clingier, holding onto Morel with a gentle but firm grip and trying every way he knew how to keep her laying in bed with him even for just a few more minutes.

Which brings us to the morning towards the end of their first week.

Nothing was planned for the household today. Since going outside and letting Gardenia see the snow for the first time in person yesterday, everyone silently decided to just stay inside for the day since it was still snowing quite heavily. Though they had extra blankets and each other’s body heat, Leona could still feel the cold of the room around his head, especially around his sensitive ears. He’d planned to stay in bed with his wife until noon, but said wife’s father had different plans.

Plans that started at six thirty in the morning.

“Morel?” Finnian asked softly as he gently tapped on the door a few times before poking his head inside. Leona was still asleep like the dead, but Morel murmured and sat up to face her father as he said her name. Even as an infant she was a light sleeper, a trait that unfortunately contributed to her being an early bird. “I’m sorry I woke you up, but I was wondering if you three would be out for breakfast?”

Morel yawned a bit, rubbing one of her eyes with her hand before she answered, “Possibly. But, given Leona’s sleeping habits, don’t count on it.”

“Alright, my dear,” Finnian nodded. “Have a good morning.”

Morel sleepily waved after her father as he left, gently shutting the door and walking down the hall to the kitchen. The white haired woman was about to go back to sleep for a bit—she was especially tired after Gardenia was up so late last night thanks to Morel’s half-brothers playing with her—but she felt her bladder press inside of her. Morel groaned, feeling too cozy to want to leave her bed with her husband, but also not in the mood to hold it and possibly piss in the bed if she did fall back asleep.

But—and she should’ve seen this coming—just as Morel moved to get up and leave the bed, Leona’s arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back down. With a small “oof” she was back to being snuggled up to her husband’s chest.

“Leona, let me go, I have to get up,” Morel laughed sleepily, trying to remain quiet so she wouldn’t wake Gardenia up. Though the cub slept like a corps much like her father most of the time, she could also sleep lightly just like her mother.

“No,” Leona replied simply, planting a small but firm kiss on his wife’s forehead. “Stay in bed with me, Herbivore.”

“Kitty, I know you’re cozy, but it’ll just be for a few minutes at most,” Morel sighed, trying to squirm out of Leona’s grip.

“No, it can wait,” Leona murmured, gently pulling Morel closer to him. “It can wait until about noon.”

“It really can’t, Kitty. I need you to let me go,” Morel sighed, still attempting to escape her clingy husband. She loved him and cuddling with him, but she’d rather not do that on urine soaked sheets and possibly piss on him as well.

With a huff, Leona pulled his wife on top of him before murmuring, “Hey, it’s cold outside, yeah? Stay a bit longer, Herbivore.”

“I would love to, but I wouldn’t love pissing all over you and the sheets,” Morel replied, earning a groan and a pit from Leona. With a laugh, the white hearted woman kissed her husband’s cheek with a smile. “If I give you a good enough deal, will you let me go?”

“How good are we talkin’, Morel?” Leona queried, raising an eyebrow.

“If you let me go to the bathroom and get Gardenia some breakfast, and you change Gardenia, you can stay in bed with us until lunch around one,” Morel offered with a smile, watching Leona think as the cogs and gears turned in his mind. “Do we have a deal, Cubby?”

“As long as you quit it with that stupid name, we sure as hell do,” Leona replied after a moment, giving his wife a peck on the forehead before releasing her.

Morel gave Leona a kiss on the cheek as a small show of gratitude before she left the room. She hadn’t realized how badly she needed to pee until the need his her like a truck halfway to the bathroom and the poor woman ended up cutting off her younger half-brother just so she wouldn’t piss herself.

“Really, Ellie?” he asked, more so playfully than actually upset.

“If you wanted me to piss right outside your bedroom, I would’ve done it!” Morel retorted playfully from inside the bathroom, letting out a much-needed sigh of relief. “I may be an adult and a mother, but I’m also the pettiest woman you’ll ever meet in your entire life!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” her half-brother quickly stated with a small laugh before he very nervously continued, “please don’t piss outside of my bedroom.”

Morel chuckled as she finished washing and drying her hands and opened the bathroom door, “Be nice to me and I won’t.”

“Fine, fi- Hey!” the younger boy quickly protested as Morel pat him on the head two times before walking back down the hall, blinding towards the kitchen.

The white haired woman smiled as she rounded the corner into the kitchen where Finnian was busying himself with making breakfast and reminding his daughter where she got her love of cooking from.

“Papa, do you have a small plate I can take for Dena to eat?” Morel asked as she took a couple of water bottles from the fridge. “I’ve made a deal with Leona that will require all three of us to stay in bed until around lunchtime.”

“I figured you’d say something like that when you eventually came out, so the answer is yes, there’s a plate for the baby,” Finnian replied, gesturing to the island. There was a tiny plate with some eggs and cut up bits of sausage on it, a tiny baby spoon sitting next to it.

“Thank you, Papa,” Morel smiled, hugging her father, who quickly moved to reciprocate the gesture. “You are so sweet. I love you.”

“I love you more, my darling Clementine,” Finnian sighed, patting his daughter’s head once they both pulled away from each other. “And you don’t have to thank me. I would never deprive a sweet baby of her right to eat, much less my own granddaughter. What kind of opa do you think I am?”

“A very good one,” Morel replied as she took the plate and spoon from the island, holding the bottles of water with her arm. “I’ll see you around lunch, Papa.”

“Make sure you and Leona eat at some point today, Morel,” Finnian smiled after his daughter, watching her turn the corner to exit the kitchen before calmly going back to preparing breakfast for everyone else in the house.

Meanwhile, Morel had made her way back down the hall and quietly entered the room her and her family were using for their trip, trying to not disturb anyone else in the house. The white haired woman quietly shut the door behind her before she turned around and stopped once she noticed Leona and Gardenia staring at her.

“Finally, I thought you’d run off or something, Herbivore,” Leona grumbled, not bite to his words whatsoever. He was too soft around his wife and daughter to ever actually have any sort of bite to his words at all.

Gardenia seemed to have been impatiently waiting for her mother as well, making grabby hands at her as she babbled, “Mama! Mama! Mama!”

Morel smiled at her daughter before she tossed a bottle of water to Leona, who expertly caught it thanks to his cat reflexes, before making her way to her side of the bed. The short woman set down her own water bottle and the plate of food on the nightstand before she crawled onto the bed, shuffling until she was under the covers and finally a bit more warm. But, she didn’t have long to get too comfortable, however. Leona quickly pulled his wife towards him and just as quickly maneuvered himself, Morel, Gardenia, and even the blankets to create a perfect nest of blankets wrapped around the three of the in the middle of the bed.

“Well, hello to you, too,” Morel chuckled as she gently took Gardenia into her arms. “Did I make my kitty wait too long?”

“Damn fuckin’ straight,” Leona sighed, burying his face into the crook of his wife’s neck as she hissed at him to watch his language in front of their very young and impressionable daughter. “I love Nina, but she isn’t big enough to fully cuddle with and use as a nice and soft pillow.”

“Well, you could, but you’d crush her,” Morel laughed lightly, Leona pouting and bumping her shoulder blade with his head.

“Papa! Papa!” Gardenia babbled, making grabby hands at her father as she saw his ears.

Leona let out a laugh through his nose, resting his chin on Morel’s shoulder as he raised an eyebrow at his daughter with a grin, “What do you want, brat?”

“Papa!” Gardenia repeated, leaning towards him and wiggling her little body as she puffed out her chubby cheeks in a pout. “Papa!”

“I think someone wants her papa’s ears,” Morel giggled playfully, moving one of her hands to gently tug on one of Leona’s soft ears.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Leona sighed, gently pulling Morel’s hand away from his ear before giving his hand to his daughter, who happily took it and began to gnaw on his pointer finger. “She can have my hand to use as a teething toy instead.”

“Stingy,” Morel hummed playfully, no actual bite to her words other than soft sarcasm, as she kissed Leona’s cheek and leaned her head against his.

It was cold outside. But, within their tiny nest of blankets on the bed, it was rather warm. And no one planned to leave for quite a while, especially after Leona and Gardenia fell asleep again while Morel simply smiled and gently pet both of her sleepy kitties.

A/N: HELL, YEAH, GOT IT DONE BEFORE CHRISTMAS EVE! I hope all of you enjoyed this little fic of Leona and Morel’s first holiday season as parents with Gardenia and have a wonderful rest of your holiday season! Especially since I’ve got one more piece planned that may or may not come out tomorrow!

[shesmore-shoebill]

oh dang okay i see there have been some developments since i made this post.

i appreciate everyone being considerate and sharing advice here! All that said, i feel i should say im. not actually, personally worried about/in distress about the idea of smosh cast discovering my fics. Like i wouldnt be THRILLED about direct confirmation of them reading it/them directly trawling through AO3 or very active in the smosh rpf AO3, but that has more to do with my general feelings on "its beneficial to have fan spaces in which the creators/actors/etc are not expected to be active/participating/monitoring", moreso for fandom/content in which the content is, in some form, a live persons persona/life. Like I would die a little inside but I am not actually in distress about it. I post everything I've written with the understanding that it's posted publically and with filtering/placement such that anyone can see it if they so wish, they won't if they don't want to, and if they do, they can, and it's out of my hands at that point. If I'm truly uncomfortable about it being seen by certain parties, I wouldnt post it, or would put more effort into filtering access. And in general I support this as an approach! 👍

That said, I am mostly having fun/leaning into hyberbole here. I do appreciate people trying to be helpful, and in that vein for other folks sincerely worried:

I definitely want to reiterate some of what is being said, particularly re: everyone involved/the subjects here are adults with some familiarity navigating online presence and notoriety; they are all adults experienced with and ideally capable of curating their own online experience. And while I would argue it is to everyone's benefit to think about your conduct online and be considerate with what you say and how you act, the biggest element, if you are worried about causing harm, is making sure your conduct gives them the option to not see what you're saying. I post RPF fic and tag it appropriately here and on AO3. I'm probably not ever going to go and fuck around with RPF/speculative commentary in the comment sections of the cast's unrelated posts. If I am curating an environment or a mindset I am uncomfortable with persisting outside of my intended space, I want to be aware of that. But in general, all of the Smosh casts are adults with the means and agency to faciliate and take care of themselves and curate their spaces/make their own choices, and it's a disservice to both me and them to disregard that. If someone expressed extreme discomfort about RPF fic about them- as would be their right, I probably wouldnt write about them! But as a personal choice, and less because I don't think they'd be able to avoid it the way I post it.

This whole discussion can spiral out into a bajillion discussions about fan conduct in fan spaces and moderation and etc that I. dont really want to get into. But. In general I'll say that it's very fair to not want the cast to see what you're writing about them. But also I'd recommend everyone to treat the internet as it is- aka, a place where folks can and will do what they want to do when they can, and your biggest responsibility is more ensuring that you do what you can to curate your space and actions, instead of pre-empting everything that other people, with agency, might do.

Anyway i might have lost the plot here a little. point being. Im not existentially concerned about it, although Amanda lurking on ao3 Does Instill Me With Deep Horror, and I hope folks who are can figure out a method or model of thinking that works for them, and thank you to folks trying to be helpful. 👍

also on a lighter note i disagree with the tumblr vs ao3 bit but only in a joking way because tumblr search, for me, historically. is a menace. yes even with the search hacks. ah well. 🫡

i know ive made my stance on "i need the smosh cast to Not See My RPF Fic Ever and if they do i think i need to leave" clear. But, actually. I think we need to get Amanda on AO3. Yes I would need to evacuate and possibly torch all my fics in a panic and etc etc. But it would be worth it so we could be blessed with more of Amanda's crack fics. I think it would be worth it.

[allgremlinart]

Jet and Zuko meet on the ferry is TIRED. Jet and Zuko meet after S2E7 "Zuko Alone" is WIRED

[nenoname]

stan twins the canon cptsd brothers i will always think about all your unaddressed issues that would make perfect plot fuel for your spinoff

and also the whole 'stan getting that poem by bill via a website which contrasts with bill getting one from the axolotl via a website' foreshadowing thing

like idk i would love something like su future but like more optimistic, aka not an accumulated breakdown that has to be mostly resolved off screen at the end :/// but something thats being kinda addressed throughout? (although would love to see one of them turn into a monster thats always fun lol)

stan having severe issues from his dad and those years of being homeless that we keep on getting more info on but never really getting confronted on (the drifter catalogue and tijuana incident...), him being completely alone for like twenty years when running the shack before soos comes along to the point that 1998 is noted as his low point, and him not really learning about bill+what he did to ford until ages after he killed him if he ever did get the full context

while i think amnesia and everyone seeing him as a hero actually helped with stan's 'i'm a worse version of my brother' thing its still a lingering issue too and we now got him being insecure over his own hands

ford being immediately thrown from 'being tortured by bill' to 'being stuck in the multiverse and being chased by bounty hunters constantly', him fully expecting himself to die when destroying bill, and him only now being safe for the first time in 30 years ....relatively safe, he's still in constant danger because of course he is

idk in the end the series wants them to be happy and they deserve it, its why i wasn't too worried about the book being like 'ooh bill is back!! and the book is haunting ford' thing cos i knew they'll be ok

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Actually writing a HWINEBHABWNAJCAHOWEEATOWEUB AU fic with a solid story line because there's too much stuff going on in this goddamn AU and I need to organize it a little!!

[i-may-be-an-emu]

hi apparently my latest brainrot is two side characters who barely interact so here you go bon appetite :D

flash + movement warning

audio credit: “I wanna feel calm” by bears in trees

video credit: shoot from the hip (@shootimpro) improvised play #22 - The Milkman

[choccy-milky]

BRUH i played around with the sebastian AI bot (as clora) and HOW DID IT GET THEIR DYNAMIC SO RIGHT??? LMAOO. I DIDNT EVEN PROMPT IT TO START DOING THE DRAMATIC BOW/PRINCESS SHIT IT JUST PICKED UP ON THE VIBES BAHAHA. conspiracy that this ai has read my fanfic, what an honour, i hope it liked it and left kudos🙌

[piromina]

huge props to marinette for spinning up that lie so fast and on the spot, too. I thought I was good but damn. of course she must have had a general idea of what she was going to say to adrien beforehand going off of gabriel's "make me look good" and her own love telling her that the truth would hurt adrien even more, but that's just a very vague idea. she could not have possibly spun up that entire story of a lie in her head beforehand with all that was going on - dealing with all the truths coming in one after the other, the crying, the emotional trauma, getting the kwamis back -

and of course, there's adrien. he is one of the highest things on her list of priorities, his safety being the first thing she needs to take care of. the problem is, she doesn't know how. the only thing she can do in that situation is lie. a small lie. just one to make it better for now and then she can make it a long-term lie later. make sure no one else finds out.

and once she started telling the lie, once the first words were out of the mouth, it was all improvisation. her next words showed up in her head as she was going, spinning up a believable story, just good enough to be taken as the truth. she rambled - a rookie mistake for liars - but you couldn't blame her. she's a professional liar, almost, with her superhero identity, but this one is different. just one hour after learning the truth she had to cover up all this with no warning beforehand.

she couldn't tell adrien the truth. but she couldn't do much to comfort him either. ladybug couldn't tell him something only marinette knows.

she had to lie. she had to come up with something on the spot. those words would haunt her for the rest of her life - that lie was all she could think about for the next couple of months because she had to make it work. she had to keep the truth and make everything work out. it wasn't a big deal. she just had to tell adrien something, anything that would comfort him! what would comfort him about his father? what would convince him that he was a good guy this whole time? that he was a, a, a hero! yes, she would tell him that. it was a white lie! she wasn't a bad person! she just had to tell adrien that his father was a hero so that he would never have to know the truth and suffer like she did. he was a hero.

was.

once that word came out of her mouth, there was no going back.

[aroacechillzone]

pros of writing fanfic with aro themes: spreading the aromantic swag agenda, connecting with other aros in the fandom

cons of writing fanfic with aro themes: sometimes allos miss the entire point and comment the weirdest shit ever

[go6jo]

saw this tweet and my brain immediately thought of your characterization geto……..

YESSSS honestly, to me, geto is just the perfect character for the whole slowburn, fated lovers narrative!! he's so patient when it comes to love, treats it as something so delicate and if he loves someone i truly believe he sees them as someone worth waiting (and fighting) for, no matter what! what if he meets you when he's still so young he can hardly grasp the meaning of what it is that he's feeling. he sees you sitting lonely on a swing one afternoon, kicking your little legs in an attempt to get it to move but failing miserably, you're alone and you ask him if he can help you, if he'll push you and you promise to push him too, afterwards. he falls in love with your laugh first, your braids are dancing in the air and you only laugh harder the higher you get. he's only a child and he's made aware of just that because his arms are too thin, too weak and they're hurting so bad yet still he makes an effort to push through the pain, to keep on pushing you even though his arms are starting to give out on him because he wishes to keep on hearing you laugh, even if his arms fall off as a consequence. you never fullfill your promise to him, however, because your mom eventually arrives and drags you home by the arm despite all your protests. it's okay, he thinks - you'll return. he's twelve at the time and when he arrives back home his mother is setting the dinner table and he runs up to her to help her carry the heavy platter in her hands, she tries to shoo him away but his small hands still reach for the platter anyways "i need to get stronger, you know?".

the next day, he returns to the park but you're not there. he visits the place every day for a whole year yet you never show up and he gives up. he doesn't hear anything from you for the next ten years until he moves to tokyo and spots you sitting on a coffee shop with your friends and you still have that same childish laugh that makes him melt, that distinct sound - so lively and pure, like that of a little girl he met years ago and fell in love with as a boy. that beautiful, cherubic sound which reminds him of how rotten and tainted he has become throughout the years, the innocence of the boy he once was, the boy he had been with you, left behind. much has changed yet, still, he watches you though the window as you get up and leave, waving goodbye to your friends and walking towards the nearby empty playground before taking the vacant seat on the swing, typing away in your phone and to him, suddenly, it is a if nothing has changed, and it fills him with courage. he gets up and he exits the coffee shop but not before leaving a couple bills on his table to cover the breakfast expenses. his feet are carrying him in your direction, he's not thinking much, just allowing them to lead the way as if they've gained a will of their own.

"i'm still waiting on you to follow through on your promise from back then."

you look up from your phone and take in the image of the mysterious man seated on the swing next to you - tall and handsome, so self assured in the way in which he speaks, a strinkingly enticing demeanor as he smiles gently at you, almost as if he has known you for years. its a particularly chilly day and he brushes away a few strands of hair that are blown out of place by a gust of wind and suddenly, it clicks. he still has that long silky, lovely dark hair that'd you'd been so envious of as a little girl, it'd been strangely long at the time and you had teased him about it, saying he looked like a girl as you weaved it into two braids while he blushed shyly, bashful at your words - and gesture. he'd been smaller at the time, thinner and his hair, that even though didn't reach past his scrawny shoulders, seemed to swallow his entire frame. he had looked awkward. but he's twenty-two now, almost twenty three (it's december. february is only two months away, you remember.) and though his hair has long since grown past his shoulders and is longer that ever before, he wears it well, suits him and it makes him look so handsome, somehow manly even, more mature. he's become strong, too, you conclude as you let your eyes roam over his figure, his features sharper, shoulders broader and muscles bulkier and noticeable even under the loose material of the long sleeve shirt he's wearing. he's certainly not the boy you had met all those years ago anymore still, you've made a promise to him, one you must uphold.

you only smile and move to stand behind him on the swing, your hands on his back as he braces himself for the ride. and maybe he doesn't really believe in fate but you make him want to believe in it - that he's meant for you and you're meant for him. he wants to believe you were put on this earth for him and him alone, why else would he cross paths with you after such a long time, if not for you to fulfill the promise you'd made to him? you're bound to be, no matter what you'd always find each other. there's nobody else for him but you.