#i have no clue who they are but anyone who spends four hours ranting about jews and israel needs to get a grip

[barszcz-czerwony-i-biali]

What's funny about this four hour rant video about Jews is that I instantly recognized the photo in the right hand corner

It's a picture of Jews who were recently liberated from Buchenwald arriving in Haifa

Which is a really weird picture to choose especially since I don't know how you would choose that picture and not think hmm perhaps things like Buchenwald explains why Israel is important to Jews.

[potter-imagines]

Left Waiting at The Three Broomsticks (Fred Weasley x Read)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Request: Hi! I was wondering if I could have a Fred Weasley imagine where he pisses off his gf somehow and so she gives him the silent treatment and only talks to literally everyone (including George) but him so he gets all jealous and pouty lol. Eventually he gets her to start talking to him again and then it’s all fluff etc. Hopefully this wasn’t a confusing request! Thank you!! :)

Warning: Tiny bit of sexual content towards the end, little bit of swearing, kinda angst at the beginning ?? and a lil towards the end ?? I think that's all, a lot of fluff scattered about

Word Count: 9.5k (I am so sorry I got carried away)

Two hours. Y/n had spent two hours waiting for him. Two stupid hours on a Saturday night that she could have spent elsewhere making something productive of her day but no. The last two hours Y/n had been seated in a small booth in the corner of The Three Broomsticks waiting patiently for her boyfriend, Fred Weasley.

The thing that infuriated her the most was that it was his idea in the first place! Originally, the couple had planned a stay-in date in her dorm room for the night before, Friday, but other plans came up. Fred got tangled up in a prank with George that had landed him in detention with Snape for the night. Yes, it annoyed her but what could she do? It wasn’t like Snape would excuse Fred because she tells him they have a date. If anything, Snape would hold him back longer.

When Fred and George were finally dismissed, it was nearly eleven at night and Fred was sprinting down through the dungeons to the common room. Their arrangement was for eight and he was praying to anyone listening above that she was still awake, but not furious at him.

Skipping up the transporting stairs, Fred basically shouted the secret password at the Fat Lady making her narrow her eyes at him. She swung open, not without muttering about how rude he was, and Fred jumped inside. Ten or so students were scattered around the common room, chatting amongst themselves. Hermione, Ron and Harry sat around the couch near the grand fireplace. They sent Fred a wave, which he frantically returned. The golden trio watched in curiosity as Fred darted up the stairs of the girl’s dormitory.

Hermione looked back to the group and asked,

“Wonder what that’s about- he seemed in a hurry.”

“Heard him and George got detention. They put stink-bombs in the Slytherin common room! Heard it stained some of the furniture maroon!” Ron chuckled at his brother’s antics then resumed his debate with Harry over their thoughts on the Quidditch World Cup happening every four years. Harry tried to explain the concept of the Olympics to Ron, but Ron was too focused on how amazing it would be for the World Cup to happen each year. Hermione went back to her studies, blocking out the mindless bickering of the boys.

Above the common room, Fred Weasley was scurrying to his girlfriend’s dorm room. He hoped Angelina and Alicia were out so he could be alone with her. Their time spent together had been oddly less than usual the last few weeks. Fred had no change of heart- actually, he found himself falling more in love with her every day, but their final year at Hogwarts was creeping up from the woods and he was working on a dream career behind the scenes with George that was eating up his time with her. He had shared this idea with her before- but it was just an idea then. Fred and George planned on putting their dreams to action once they finished up the next year. He wanted her to come- George did as well, but he didn’t want to mention it until it was a reality.

Reaching his destination Fred took a second to compose himself. A thin line of sweat was forming near his forehead. This was the first chance he had to take a breather since detention ended. Fixing his dark robes Fred knocked against the door, quiet enough not to startle her but loud enough to hear.

“Y/n… Y/n… love, are you awake? It’s Fred-“

Abruptly, the heavy wooden door cracked open and a weary looking girl poked her head out into the quietness.

“Darling, did I wake you up? I’m so sorry.” Fred stepped forward and wrapped the girl in a tight embrace. Y/n’s head fell against his chest out of instincts. His arms fastened around her waist as he invited himself in the room, slowly walking her back.

“Here, go back to bed, love. You look exhausted.” Fred led the sluggish girl to her familiar bed. Throwing back the covers, he readjusted her pillows so there would be room for him to fit as well. Fred then walked back to Y/n and took her hand softly. Kissing the back of her hand, Fred helped Y/n get into bed then slipped in beside her. His arms snaked around her body without thought. The naturalness of holding her in his arms made Fred feel confident in his dreams of starting a future with her. All the tension in his body collapsed when she leaned into his frame. Fred held her close and kissed the side of her cheek lovingly.

“I’m sorry about detention tonight but I promise I’ll take you out Saturday, alright? We can have a date at Hogsmeade and spend the night together, does that sound nice?”

The sleepy witch gave a tired mumble and nodded her head. She was cuddled under a stack of blankets, wearing Fred’s sweatshirt which made him smile. He’d usually crack a joke at this and tease her but, she was already asleep when he looked back to her. Fred couldn’t help but stare at her for a while. There was never a moment that went by where Fred didn’t think of Y/n as anything other than beautiful but in these moments, she looked ethereal.

Moonlight poured in from the open window and splashed across her s/c cheeks. Her hair was sprawled against the white pillowcase. Fred smiled at the sound of her light snores. Fred wouldn’t leave until he was sure she was deep asleep. It was their thing. She hated going to bed without him there.

“Okay, I love you, Y/n. Get some sleep, angel.” Fred whispered.

He pecked her forehead, then kissed her lips gently. Removing the covers, Fred tucked them back into Y/n so she could keep warm. He closed the open window then tip toed out of the room. Instead of rejoining his friends, Fred decided to head to his room. He felt too guilty for missing out on their plans to go have his own fun. Anyways he did have a Potions paper coming up and if he was going to spend the day with you Saturday, he surely wouldn’t be doing any homework.

So, the plan was confirmed the next morning, Friday. Y/n ran into Fred on her way to breakfast and they discussed where they’d meet and a time. They ate breakfast together, walked to class, then headed in different directions when six rolled around. Fred had a Quidditch match and she had a group project, so they didn’t cross paths for the rest of the night. Even though he refused to admit it, Fred absolutely hated when Y/n missed one of his games. His favorite thing to do was search for her in the stands during each game and it made him sad not to see her smiling face standing out in the crowd. Y/n entered the common room around midnight and went straight for her bed. Gryffindor had lost so there wasn’t a single housemate sitting in the common room. She could only imagine how upset Fred must be, she’d be hearing about it tomorrow. Y/n giggled to herself at the recollection of Fred’s angry rants about his teammates to you in private. She basically crawled to her bed, dreaming about the handsome, goofy, witty twin that had captured her heart.

Which would bring us to Saturday night. Fred and Y/n had made specific plans; they were to meet at The Three Broomsticks at seven then hangout for a while and spend the rest of their night sneaking around the castle with the help of The Marauder’s Map. Fred had practice at six so he was planning on meeting up with the girl at the pub. Y/n expected him to be running late- it wouldn’t be Fred if he didn’t show up a good twenty minutes late.

Only Fred never showed up at seven thirty, not at eight, and by the time nine neared, he was still nowhere in sight. The Three Broomsticks would stay open for a few more hours but the thought of sitting there alone for any longer, jumping at the sound of the door every time it opened, it made Y/n feel less than sane.

Throwing a handful of coins on the table, Y/n thanked her server then exited through the front doors. The walk back to the castle wasn’t long but being with Fred made it a lot more amusing. He’d pick her flowers, give her piggy back rides, play games, race, and hold her hand the whole walk back.

This time, Y/n walked alone hugging the material of her raincoat to her chest. A light drizzle had been pouring on and off for most of the day. Earlier, it was perfectly bearable- hardly noticeable. Although the weather had only worsened as the night grew darker. Hard rain drops crashed against Y/n coat, cascading down her covered arms and bouncing to the wet ground. Her black boots were soaked. She could feel the water rising to her socks, one of her biggest hatreds. Wet socks.

The hood of her jacket only helped so much before the pelting raindrops started to seep to her hair. Typically, Y/n loved the rain. If Fred was here, they’d be dancing right now. But he wasn’t, she had no clue where he was and that was exactly what Y/n was headed to find out.

By the time Y/n made it back to the castle and up to the Gryffindor common room, it was past ten.

Much as Y/n had expected, the common room was lively with energy and conversations. Katie, Alicia, and Angelina were all sitting in a circle with Fred, George, Lee Jordan, Seamus, and Dean. A dark bottle of Dragon Barrel brandy and Daisyroot Draught were being passed amongst them. Y/n watched as Fred leaned into his brother’s side, obviously tipsy and slurring his words while he practically shouted to their friends who were only sitting feet away.

His frame twitched with every small hiccup he let out. The whole group was smiling, they were happy. Y/n wondered to herself if Fred even noticed that she wasn’t there. She wondered if he liked it more when she wasn’t there, they were having fun and although the group was also her friends, no one was interested enough to invite her. Biting on the tender skin of her bottom lip, Y/n bundled her fist to her sides. The anger refused to simmer, only continued to boil. Her dripping clothes weren’t helpful to her sour mood.

It wasn’t the fault of her friends, no, but they were bound to get caught in the crossfires. Fred was the one who left her waiting for hours on end. Her chest was tight- livid yet sad all at once. It was an aggravating feel, unfamiliar. Y/n hated the suffocation entering her drying throat. More than anything she longed to handle situations like these in an aloof fashion. The last thing wanted was to wear her emotions on her sleeve, but she couldn’t help it. Her head screamed ‘just go to bed, ignore him’ but her heart wanted to scream at him and let him know just how bad he had hurt her. Her breathing quickened, each inhale received a choppy exhale.

For the first time, Y/n decided not to join her friends or to even say a word to Fred about how he stood her up. She was sick of it- completely exhausted and drained from his lack of care and presences in their relationship the last few weeks. If he wanted her as bad as he claimed, he’d find a way to show it. And leaving her sitting alone in a noisy pub while he partied and drank with their friends, showed her the exact opposite of his words.

Diverting her leer from the inebriated group and studied the rest of the room, hearing voices near the sitting area. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville were all staring at Y/n in mixed judgement. Harry, Ron and Neville looked concerned by the appearance of Y/n. Hermione on the other hand, she was absolutely flabbergasted, Y/n could see the pity written on her face. You had mentioned having a date night with Fred in Hogsmeade to the four the night before. Harry had invited Y/n to hangout with them and visit Hagrid, but she politely declined and informed them about the special night Fred had planned for them.

Harry and Hermione stood up at the same time ready to comfort the teary-eyed girl. They motioned her over but just as she started towards them, Angelina Johnson noticed her friend who had been absent for most of the night. Setting the bottle of brandy down, Angelina wobbled up to her feet and smiled giddily,

“Y/n! Come- come drink with us! I was wondering where you- why… why’re you all wet?”

As the words fell from her mouth, a crowd of eyes planted on Y/n. Her fists clenched, bone white knuckles visible, at her sides. Angelina scurried over to her friend and wrapped her in a tender hug. If the scenario had been different, she’d gladly join in the fun but there wasn’t an ounce in her body that desired a drink.

Y/n’s eyes found their way to the boy she had been longing for all night. Her lips quivered, the anger and sadness reaching it’s overpour. He looked so handsome, so happy, but it meant nothing to her.

Pulling back, Angelina squinted in confusion at Y/n. The lack of embrace given back had thrown her off. The group had been awaiting her arrival, no one was quite sure where she’d gone off to. Angelina scanned Y/n’s reddening face, noticing the emotions bubbling under the surface.

Moving away, the dark-skinned girl turned to her friends. No one else seemed to notice the offset of Y/n’s attitude.

“Angel, where have you been? I missed you!” Fred’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. Quickly standing up, he held his hand out to his girlfriend. Y/n shot a dangerous look to his outreach, then up to his face. Usually she’d find his toothy grin and childlike state loveable but for obvious reasons, it made her irate.

Stepping back, Y/n sternly scowled at Fred,

“Missed me? You’re the one who left me waiting all goddamn night, Fred Weasley.”

A part of Y/n felt guilty for forcing her friends to witness their unpleasant exchange. George was now to his feet standing behind Fred, just as lost as the group he had been sitting with. Despite the alcohol running in his veins, George could sense an argument budding by the second.

“Not like any of you really seemed to care where I was.” Y/n kicked herself for this cold statement.

Her friends weren’t at fault- not in the slightest. But everyone was at risk of becoming a victim to her fiery wrath. In actuality, it did hurt her a little that no one had gone searching for her. It had been hours! Tears welled in her eyes as she took in the reactions of the group. George took his arm off Alicia and nudged his twin.

“What- I don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout, love. I think you should have a drink and loosen up-“

Y/n couldn’t take it. She just couldn’t take it anymore. Scrunching her face, she used every bit of strength to force her salty tears to hide at bay. Although her emotions screamed to be heard and saw right through her façade. Sweeping her hand across her cheek, Y/n caught the stray tears that rolled down her rosy cheeks. Huffing all her emotions out at once, Y/n shook Fred away from her and hurried towards her room.

Fred stood appearing dumbfounded. He could only gawk in perplexity. Blame it on the alcohol, but Fred’s mind was drawing a blank when surveying her words. For most of the night, he was the one thinking she was leaving him waiting. No one else had a clue as to where she’d gone off to, so he assumed she was in the library or wanted some space.

“You’re an idiot, Fred.” Hermione’s sharp voice cut through the thick air. The happiness and drunken laughter was extinct. The girl’s shared an exchange, all confused as to what just happened. The glass bottles didn’t help clear their judgement. Dean and Seamus took small sips from the Daisyroot Draught. The tension was unbearable, it felt wrong for their friends to be a part of it.

George set a hand on Fred’s shoulder, pulling him back slightly. Leaning forward, George whispered to his twin,

“I reckon it’s best if we turn it in for the night.” Fred gave a tug of protest. His intoxicated fought against him though he knew he did something wrong and needed to find Y/n. In spite of his desire to chase after the girl, George couldn’t let him do that. It was obvious Fred had forgotten something and Y/n was more than upset. Sending his brother up to drunkenly apologize to his hurting girlfriend for a reason he can’t even recall, that was a recipe for disaster and would only cause a bigger mess.

“Fred, you’re going to bed. You’re too drunk to talk to Y/n right now, okay? We’re going up the boy’s stairs, not the girls, okay? You two can talk in the morning, maybe you’ll remember where you fucked up tonight by then.”

Suddenly, Fred stop moving and let out a low groan,

“Oh shit… merlin’s sake, I fucked up, George. Oh my god- Hogsmeade… shit! I told her we’d meet at Hogsmeade and I forgot-“Fred whipped around in his discombobulated state. Everything clicked at once. Fred had been so concentrated on Quidditch that once practice had wrapped up, his exhausted body dragged him back to the common room out of muscle memory. It was his typical routine; Quidditch practice, head back to his dorm, shower, change, eat, work on some possible products with George, then hangout with his friends. How could he be so neglectful?

George sent his brother a comforting look then grabbed him by the shoulders, helping aid him up the winding staircase. It came as a shock to him that Fred had forgotten about their date. All he spoke about was Y/n, it was a rare occurrence for the couple to

“So that’s where she’s been all night?” George pushed open the door to their room, looking to his twin sternly. Fred had most of his weight piled on George, trying his hardest to remain upright. Lee had decided to stay back, allowing the brothers a chance to talk.

George helped his frantic twin in the dark room, then gave him a light push towards his bed. Fred plopped down, burying his face in the fluffy pillow. Pulling off his jumper, George threw the large maroon comforter over Fred’s tall frame while he wailed,

“I’m a terrible boyfriend. I planned the bloody date too! I left her-“

“How ‘bout you get some rest? You can find her in the morning and apologize to her and… hope for the best. It’ll give you more time to think of a way to make it up to her. You’re just a rambling mess right now.” The alcohol was not wearing George down. He had been on an adrenaline high since his second shot. This was the first moment of the night where he had stepped back. His tiresome hands rubbed against his face as he made his way to his bed and collapsed on it.

Fred was still moaning on, the sound of his drunken voice making it harder for George to fight back the urge to sleep,

“She’s gonna dump my sorry ass-“

“Go to bed, Fred. It’ll be okay.”

George let out a sigh of exhaustion. The twins had been best friends with Y/n since they were just children, new to Hogwarts and unfamiliar with the power of magic. It pained him to see his brother hurt, but it also hurt to see Y/n upset. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Turning his head, George let out a breathy chuckle at the sight of his twin passed out cold. The worry that dripped from his voice was now gone as he eased into his dreamland.

George wanted to scold him, knock him upside the head for skipping out on Y/n again. He cared a lot about her, she was basically a sister, a triplet to him. If Fred was gonna win her back, it wasn’t going to be easy, George knew this. Y/n was stubborn, and the twins had witnessed this first hand for years, it was a trait they loved, when not directed towards either of them.

As George’s head hit the pillow, all he could do was pray to Godrick that the morning would bring good news.

Sunday morning arrived much faster than Y/n had hoped. A bright, loud, light interrupted her sleep as the gears in her head started to turn. Her mind was groggy, the events of last night were foggy. Warm sunlight broke through the glass stained windows. Y/n wiped her eyes and slowly sat up. Her mouth was dry, screaming for a drink of water.

For a minute, she felt calm- happy almost. The room was half empty; Angelina’s bed was bare and Alicia laid in a star-fish position, a snore sounding from her mouth. The image made Y/n laugh.

Standing up, Y/n’s hands flew above her head as she stretched. She cracked her back, a morning ritual for the girl. Just as she reached for the knob of her dresser, a wave of recollection nearly knocked her off her feet.

Fred had stood her up, of course, how could she forget? The irritated skin under her eyes and nose suddenly made sense. Leaning against the wooden cabinet, Y/n huffed. It was times like these she wished she could crawl into bed and stay there for eternity. Nothing would get better though if she didn’t at least try to fix it.

As quick as the thought came, it had evaporated once more. Why did she have to be the one to put forth the effort to fix things? There was no use in fixing their relationship if Fred wasn’t willing to try too. More than try, Y/n thought. It took a piece of her when she came back to the castle just to see him drinking with their friends, not thinking a thought of her. She needed to see that he cared. His words held no value to her anymore, not until he could prove he meant what he said.

Y/n went through her morning routine like a snail, wanting to drag out her time. Eventually, she was fully dressed and ready for the day. She liked to take advantage of the days her school robes weren’t required. The cooling weather led her to a fuzzy black sweater, and light washed jeans. Sliding her delicate wand into her back pocket, Y/n exited the room and took the stairs down to the common room.

Approaching the bottom of the steps, Y/n could hear familiar voices exchanging hush words. She stepped into the room and was surprised to see the lack of students. The only ones present were sat one the long leather couch on the left half of the massive room. All of their gazes fell on Y/n.

Fred, George, Ron, Angelina, Harry and Hermione were all relaxing- well all of them except Fred. He on the other hand was frantic- disheveled. His knee bounced in anticipation. The clock was sneaking

“Oh, uh, hey Y/n!” Ron Weasley moved his hand side to side, waving to Y/n. The temptation to admire the handsome boy at his side leaped into her heart. Using every ounce of strength, Y/n trained her eyes on Ron, not allowing a single peek at Fred.

“Hey, Y/n/n!” The voice of Angelina brought a perk to Y/n’s head.

“Hi.” She greeted the younger Weasley and her close friend back, then headed for the portrait. Before she could make it half the distance, the tall figure of her boyfriend appeared.

“Angel, how did you sleep?” Fred was by her side in an instant. He was desperately trying to read her expression, testing the waters to see her mood. He had hardly slept, he spent most of the night thinking about this exact moment, when he’d have the chance to apologize and make it up to the girl he loved. “Can we please talk? I’m really sorry for last night, honestly, I am so so sorry, darling.”

Y/n stared at him, or rather, through him. It was like she didn’t see the tall wizard in front of her.

“I’m gonna go study, I’ll meet you with you guys later.”

“Y/n, love-“ His warm hand took hold of her of her own, an action she’d typically love. The familiar grasp sent a burst of comfort in her stomach, but she ignored it.

Wiggling out of his grip, the girl shot him a look of displeasure then rushed off. Hermione chased after her, no one else brave enough to step in. Besides, Hermione was one of her closest friends. Watching the younger girl follow after her roommate, Angelina walked after them. Fred stomped like a toddler having a tantrum as the portrait swung open then closed. He knew he had to do something- anything to get her to talk to him again, and that was his plan.

For a Sunday evening, the school library was relatively empty. A majority of the students occupying the tables were studying away for their O.W.L.S. The exams weren’t for another two months but hardly anyone dared to procrastinate until the last week before opening their books. The stress of the exams was enormous, but the students still had other classes to keep in mind.

Y/n Y/n/l and George Weasley were sitting across from on another at a study table. Three hefty textbooks were open as the two discussed their Potions paper. Y/n had been stuck on hers and George had yet to start so they decided to head to the library together and get it done.

Fred was usually right by their side, his hand wrapped around Y/n’s shoulders, but she neglected an invite for him. About an hour after their exchange in the common room, Y/n had apologized to each friend she had snapped on the night prior. They were understanding, clearly seeing where her frustrations had come for. They also felt bad as she was right, no one had even checked to see where she’d gone, and George especially felt terrible for not searching for his friend.

At least three hours had passed since the two Gryffindors started their study session. Y/n was sneaking up on her last two pages while George still had three left. They collaborated every few minutes, then returned to tranquil silence, scribbling away.

Y/n was in the middle of sharing her idea for the last section of her paper when George’s eyes brighten and he interrupted her,

“Fred, how nice of you to join us.”

Turning in her chair, Y/n found her boyfriend standing behind her with a nervous smile. She hated how perfect he looked, even in the poor lighting of the library. He still managed to make her breath hitch in the back of her throat.

“Hi, Y/n. You look beautiful as always.” Fred announced himself softly. George scoffed teasingly, muttering a ‘hello’ to himself to make up for his brother ignoring him. Freds words were genuine though didn’t make much of a difference. Y/n was still hurt and a compliment wasn’t going to mend that. She needed to feel it, to see him truly show that he cared- that she meant something to him. That she was deserving of his time. Sweet comments didn’t not add up to that feeling.

George closed his textbook, then glanced up at his twin,

“Should I leave?”

Before Fred could answer, Y/n slammed her hand on top of George’s Potions book. Wide eyed and frightened, the boy gaped in shock. Even Fred was taken aback by her unexpecting movement. Leering at her friend Y/n replied,

“No. I want you to stay, we were in the middle of a conversation.”

Fred’s heart dropped at her words. It was heartbreaking to have the girl of his dreams now shunning him- brushing him off with ease. It was driving him mad. All he wanted was for her to acknowledge him, give him a little hope that he can earn his way back in her heart. He loved her, every bit of him loved her.

All he wanted was to make it up to her for his mistakes the night before. He couldn’t stop thinking about the look on her face when she saw him sitting with their friends. She was miles exceeded hurt- more devastated at his negligence than hurt alone.

Maybe it was the fear of meeting the reality that losing Y/n was a possibility, but Fred experienced a new sort of emotion when his girlfriend asked for his brother to stay. Yes, they’re friends, all three of them are. Fred had to remind himself of this like a record on repeat. He couldn’t fight the envy off though.

It made his heart twist as she stared at George. Never did he think he’d be jealous of his own twin, but Fred was livid. The seething stream of covetousness overtook his veins. Fred wanted to be the one you ran to for comfort, not his brother. His entire life he had shared everything with George, Y/n was far too meaningful to Fred for her to be shared.

Now it does take two for a turn of events like that to happen. Fred knew, clear as day, that George had no romantic feelings for Y/n and she had none for George. This was true, but for some reason, it didn’t help tame Fred’s envy.

He knew causing a jealous scene would do no good for anyone, so Fred realigned his train of thought and asked,

“Could I steal you from that conversation, please love? I really need to apologize to you.”

Fred allowed his hands to reveal themselves from their previous position hiding behind his back. When he moved them, a full bouquet of colorful flowers and small green plants of different shapes and sizes. The flowers were a display of fuchsia, pink, orange, red, and yellow. They were beautiful, so beautiful, Y/n thought to herself. She couldn’t help the gasp that slipped past her lips.

Fred had gotten her flowers their first-year dating but since the last month or so, she hadn’t received many of his heartwarming gifts. It wasn’t the monocle value of a present but the thought and attention to care that captured Y/n’s heart. Fred had always been the best at creating meaningful gifts on a tight budget. Whether it was flowers he stole from school grounds, or necklaces he made out of stones she found around the Great Lake. He’d make her perfume- proving rather excellent in the Potions department. He also asked Molly to teach him how to knit in order to make Y/n a sweater. This of course delighted Molly over the moon.

George bit on the skin of his knuckles to keep for laughing at his brother. He recognized the flowers, as did Y/n. Fred had picked them from the garden outside the castle- something that had earned him a detention before. George decided not to comment on his observation, Fred was sure to murder him in his sleep if he put his apology in any jeopardy.

Fred extended the bouquet to his flustered girlfriend. He felt a sense of accomplishment while watching her reaction. It was small to most, but for as stubborn as she was, it was big in his eyes. The girl reached forward, accepting the gift with a tiny smile rising to her lips, one she didn’t force down.

For the first time since the night before, Y/n fully saw Fred. She peered directly at him silently. George glanced between the two, stuck between a dual. Without speaking, Fred took some steps forward and pulled the chair next to Y/n out. He slipped into the seat, the couple still staring at each other. Y/n studied his demeanor, he didn’t push her anymore, but he wouldn’t leave her side. Not that she would tell him but, she was happy he joined in. She didn’t want him to leave, she had missed being around him. Tearing herself away, Y/n focused herself back on the other twin.

“As I was saying, George…”

Fred drowned out the words but accepted the fact that Y/n didn’t reject him from sitting down. She also didn’t set the flowers down for the rest of their study session. The remained clutched in her hands, resting in her lap the whole time.

Monday night came in the blink of an eye. Classes had resumed and the castle was bustling in stress. When the end of the year neared, the time spent sitting through lectures was an eternity, while the weekends flew by. Fred had always hated summer break, actually, that’s not entirely true. His dismissive of break budded around the same time his relationship with Y/n became official.

Their first two years, she would spend the holiday back home in London with her family. She loved her family but once she experienced her first holiday at the Burrow, she never wanted to miss another. Her family was a bit distant, not the warm and welcoming pure-bloods like the Weasley’s, but not as cold as the Malfoy’s. Y/n’s family had no issues with her spending breaks at the Burrow, as long as she had Molly and Arthur Weasley’s approval. Molly insisted each time that there was no need for her to even ask to stay. They accepted her with open arms, ecstatic to see Fred had found such a lovely girl.

The end of the school term was coming up and Fred needed to fix things with Y/n before that happened. She planned to spend the break at his family’s home and he feared she’d take her agreement back if things weren’t improved between them. Spending almost two days stuck in the anger of his love was two days too many. Fred was going to fix this and he planned the best idea he could think of, good thing he had their friends happily available to help.

Unbeknownst to Y/n, while she was resting up from her illness Harry, Ron, Lee and George were helping Fred create his masterplan. Hermione helped in her own way by remaining near Y/n’s dorm, sitting in as the lookout. It gave her an excuse to get her school work done so she didn’t protest.

Alicia and Angelina stayed in the room. Once Y/n started to feel better, thanks to Madam Pomfrey, the girl’s altered Hermione who passed the news along to Harry as the chain continued until it reached Fred. At the confirmation, his plan was set into action. Ron was sent to retrieve the girl after Alicia and Angelina convinced her to get some food from the dining hall.

She walked through the common room then down the moving staircase, when her redheaded friend popped up. Ron scared the girl, making her stumble back, her hand placed over her chest.

“Y/n! I’m so glad I ran into you! No one has seen you all day- Angelina said you were feeling ill this morning.” Ron rambled at a fast pace. Y/n, still surprised by his sudden arrival, took a deep inhale, nodding to the boy,

“Yeah, I saw Madam Pomfrey this morning when classes started. I just had a stomach bug and she said I’d have to wait it out but the medicine she gave me seems to be doing the trick.” Y/n gave Ron a kind smile. Ron was two years younger than her but they had always been great friends. Y/n would travel to the Burrow as a guest of the twins during the holiday breaks, so Ron and her had spent a lot of time hanging out together. It was sweet of him to ask how she was doing, but he didn’t seem that her health was the reason for their conversation.

“That’s good to hear. You wouldn’t happen to be heading anywhere, are you?”

“Just to get some food. I’m starving-“ Ron nodded eagerly, cutting his friend off in the process.

“That’s great! I mean, not great, just… well… uh, follow me please!” Scrambling like a mess, Ron clasped his hand over Y/n’s wrist and abruptly dragged her down the stone corridor. She couldn’t find the words to question him and allowed Ron to lead the way. Her curiosity was far too big to ignore his odd request.

Ron carried on for another five minutes then took a sharp turn, heading for the courtyard. Two figures ran off around the side of the castle in the darkness. Y/n swore she recognized the pair as George and Lee. What were they up to? Snapping her head to the younger boy, Y/n waited for him to fill her in on why he had dragged her halfway across the castle to the freezing courtyard.

“Okay! We’re here- I’m just gonna… head out. See ya, Y/n!” Ron rushed his farewell then ran off towards the direction George and Lee had escaped to. What in the world is going on? Left by herself without any explanation, Y/n threw her hand up in annoyance.

“What?”

Alone in the cold, Y/n wrapped the opening of her fuzzy cardigan against her body, attempting to keep warm. Although warmth entered her vein as a pair of arms snaked around her waist, snatching her backwards into a firm surface. She gasped, thrown off by her attacker and tried to turn in retaliation, but their grasp was far too firm. The familiarity of the hold made her body ease up. As much time as the spent together, she could recognize his touch anywhere. Fred.

His touch released a swarm of butterflies through the girl. She could feel the anger washing away as she leaned her body into his chest, having pined for his arms for two too many days than she was accustomed to.

The tall Gryffindor held her tightly. Moving forward, Fred pressed his lips against the shell of Y/n’s ear. The heat of his breath causing her to shudder as he whispered,

“I’m so happy you came, darling.”

Y/n smirked, looking up at him. The concurrent willfulness of her nature could only carry on for so long until her headstrong demeanor crumbled. A pang of chagrin still grumbled in her stomach but the sight in front of her certainly was a runner in her change of heart.

Soaking in her surroundings, Y/n realized they were just a few hundred feet outside Hargid’s hut. This explained the garden full of massive orange pumpkins. In the middle of the path was a small gazebo decorated in fairy lights and sunflowers. A small table set for two was tucked inside. Small teacup white candles line the path, creating a runway of sorts. Another candle, larger and purple, sat flickering in the breeze in the center of the neat table.

Y/n stood motionless absorbing the creation her boyfriend made- all for her. Speechlessness was not common for Y/n so Fred undoubtably began to second guess if his efforts were good enough. His fears were stomped in a matter of moments when Y/n harshly yanked at the material of his collar and placed a brisk, short kiss to his lips. Fred was startled, losing the opportunity to kiss her back but Y/n didn’t want him to. It gave her a sense of control- they still had issues they needed to work out, but she loved him nonetheless. Besides, avoiding and staying mad at Fred forever? Impossible. In two days, Y/n had to stop herself a million different times from approaching Fred and sharing a laugh with him, or kissing him, or holding his hand and giving him a hug. She didn’t want to fight off the urge anymore- and Fred couldn’t handle the distance spaced between them. Thus, being the motivation for his grand, heartfelt, date.

“I’ll assume that means you like it. I won’t take all the credit- it was my idea, but our friends are the main reason I was able to pull this off. I feel really bad and… I need to do something special for you- I don’t do that enough lately. I forget sometimes to remind you how important you are in my life and how much I love you.” Fred sheepishly smiled, nervously awaiting her reaction.

The small table was set, a new bundle of crimson red roses placed on her seat. To the side of her plate was a small box with a beautifully wrapped ribbon tied to the top. Fred had a special way of showing his love and adoration for his girlfriend, but even this was new to her. Never before had he gone so over the top to prove his feelings to her.

Y/n lifted her hand and intertwined it with Fred’s, smiling up at him,

“It’s gorgeous, Freddie.” The bashful smile made Fred’s heart melt on sight. He had prepared himself for the repetitive rejection she had been sending, so when she whispered those sweet words, his chest tightened, and his pace stopped.

Fred almost fainted in shock at the sound of her voice. He squeezed her light hand and drew it back, forcing her body into his own. Y/n couldn’t help the laugh that fell from her lips. She missed his playful ways. With the foreheads pressed against each other, Fred grinned,

“I’ve missed your voice, love.”

Although his words made her heart take flight, the reality of her hurt was still roaming. Y/n detached herself from his grasp and rested her hand on the black metal table. Her fingertips fumbled with the white cloth, it served as a distraction only for a short period of time. Fred sent her a sorrowful look. Her shift in moods was confusing to him, he only wanted to make things better.

Y/n sighed and ran her hand through her h/c locks. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply then asked,

“Why don’t you have time for me anymore, Fred?” The question of the night- or rather month. His date was beautiful, absolutely stunning. As riveting as it was, it couldn’t erase the hurt she had been experiencing.

Fred shook his head frantically, dismissing the accusation. He knew why she would think that way, he understood. It wasn’t true, though. Actions speak louder than words and Fred despised the fact that recently, his feelings for Y/n weren’t lining up with his actions. His words could only do so much. But he also knew soon, things would be different. Missing the Hogsmeade date was his fault, and he paid for it. Two days might seem minute to most, but when you spend essentially everyday attached to someone’s hip, two days of them purposely ignoring you and speaking to every soul expect you, it can feel like a lifetime. He realized a few things in this time.

Fred remembered how fun it was to act as if he was still trying to win her over. Gifts, no matter their cost, always brought a gleam to her face which never failed to make Fred grin. However, it was much more entertaining when she wasn’t upset with him and would throw the flirtatious comments right back at him. He was also reminded of how lucky he was to be with Y/n. While she ignored him, Fred found himself envious of every living being Y/n spoke to, as they were not him. When he started engulfing himself in his plans for the joke shop, his effort in his relationship had decreased and this was something he vowed to never let happen again.

“I’ll always have time for you, darling. And if I don’t, I’ll make some. I truly am sorry about this weekend- you don’t deserve that.”

“It just seems like you’re distracted, like you don’t care anymore.” Y/n batted her reddening eyes, finally throwing her worries to the air.

“No, no, Y/n, not at all. I’m so sorry I made you feel that way, love. I’m a terrible excuse of a boyfriend, I never meant to create this mess. I love you so much.” Fred’s head bowed down. It tore him up to know the way his actions made her feel, the only girl he loved.

“I love you too, Freddie. I really do but I can’t feel alone in this relationship. I let our date Friday slide, even though I was annoyed, but Saturday night? I feel like it broke me. Just knowing you forgot about me-“ Y/n fought back the burning sensation in her eyes as the tears began to brim.

The anxiety blooming inside her was clear to Fred. Suppose that was the downside to dating your best friend, they can always tell when somethings wrong. Before a tear could hit the floor, he whisked her to the iron garden chair, then kneels before her, his hands holding her face as if it was a priceless, dainty piece of china.

“I didn’t forget about you, darling, that’s impossible to do. I’ve been… well I’ve been working on something with George for when we leave school next year. It’s real important to me and I wanted to share it with you but I was scared that it might not happen but… if I have your support and you with us, I know it’ll happen.”

“What’re you rambling on about, Fred?”

“Remember how I told you that George and I wanted to open a joke shop? Well, it’s happening… I think. We’re really close, we just gotta make it through next year then we’re free! We’ll have our own joke shop and get to sell our own products and start our future.”

A silence overtook the atmosphere. Y/n’s lips were stuck open in a small ‘o’ shape, eyes glued to the floor. Was he really going to leave her all alone next year? Would they have to break up? Surely, he wouldn’t want to be in a long-distance relationship.

She was snapped from her own mind when her skin registered the touch of Fred’s lips as they traced her knuckles, kissing each finger as he did. His eyes then peered up to meet her own. She could tell he was serious by the feeling of his stare. Then he continued, making Y/n perk up,

“But none of that can happen without you… Y/n I want you to come with me. Move in with George and I, start a future with me. We want you to be a part of the shop. I want you there. You’re the only girl I want, for the rest of my life.”

Her once open mouth clamped shut in a swift motion. Ever since she met the twins, Y/n wanted a future with Fred. Everyone saw it as a childhood crush, but she always knew it was more. She never stopped loving him- never could. Even when his pranks took a step too far over the line. They always found their way back to each other and would work through it. Fights such as the most recent were rare- but Fred’s admission filled in a lot of empty spaces that had left Y/n sleepless for days. Finally, the crushing weight was lifted from her chest as she choked out a shaky breath.

Leaping forward from the chair, Y/n threw her body into her boyfriend’s body and clamped him in a koloa like hold. Fred chuckled in amusement, falling onto the near ground at her jump.

“Why do you have to be so lovable? I hate it. I should be angry with you, but I just love you too much. Besides, I think you did enough suffering.” She giggled as she pinched his round cheeks in her hands. Fred poked his tongue out at her and grabbed at her sides. Y/n swatted his hands away, giving him a stern glare saying, ‘don’t push it’.

Slowly, she leaned down and brushed her lips against Fred’s, smirking down at him. It was a change in roles. In their more adult situations, Fred was typically the one on top with Y/n pinned below him, but that’s a story for another time.

A small, almost whimper, sound came from Fred. He hated being teased- that was his job. Dragging out the moment, Y/n tugged on the skin of his bottom lip with her teeth, earning a groan of approval from Fred. She grazed over his mouth one last time before dipping her head down to meet his and interlocking their lips, still straddling his waist. Fred’s hips pushed towards her core out of instinct. Not ready to give in quite yet, Y/n lifted her body and shifted forward, entrapping Fred even more so in the heated kiss.

They parted for seconds to sneak a bit of air, then continued their needed make out. It had been a while since they proved their love to each other in this way. For the last month, it had been small kisses here and there when the couple had a chance to see each other. Y/n needed his touch- she needed him. Fred longed to have under him, pleasuring her. He desperately wanted to sink his head between her legs and really show her just how much he loved her.

The coldness of his fingertips hit Y/n’s skin as his fingers dug into the sides of her waist. As much as she longed to keep the exchange going, the last thing either of them needed was a detention.

Y/n plucked herself away, a small pout lining Fred’s lips. His hands remained tied up in her own, lying them on his stomach. The weight of his question seeped in like molasses. Opportunities like this presented themselves once in a lifetime, there was no way Y/n was going to let it slip by.

Rolling off his lap, Y/n plopped down on the ground to the side of Fred. Their heads turned simultaneously towards each other, Fred winking to Y/n.

This is what she wanted. To see him care for her, show his love. His attention. It was the one thing she had been striving for but now that the cat, or rather joke shop, was out of the bag, Fred didn’t feel the need to hide anything from her anymore and keep his work to himself. He was over the moon with excitement to have her join George and himself. It was everything he could hope for.

Coyly averting her peer, Y/n asked,

“Do you really mean it, Fred? You really want me to come with you and George?”

Kindly, Fred swiped his thumb under her chin and raised her head up so their eyes were level.

“I wouldn’t want you anywhere else in the world then with me.” The serenity in his voice didn’t go unnoticed. Y/n propped herself up to her elbows and brought Fred in a bone crushing hug. Heavy chuckles croaked from Fred as she smothered him lovingly. He managed to sneak in a tiny peck to her check and she hugged him. Placing her head on his shoulder, Y/n poked the side of Fred’s cheek, commenting,

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever, Fred, I love it!”

Throwing his arm around the elated girl, Fred just smirked.

“Duh, that’s kind the whole point of you moving in with me.” He replied in a matter-of-fact tone. The night was growing darker and the steady wind was escalating. In an hour, two if they were lucky, Filch would be surveying the grounds in search of students, mainly Fred and George, out past curfew. It was a sport to him, catching students breaking rules and getting to turn them in. It was part of his job, yes, but Y/n hated that he never took it easy on anything for the Gryffindors like he did the Slytherins. Fred looked at the scenery around them and remarked,

“Y’know, angel, as much as I’d love to spend the rest of the night laying with you in my arms, we can do that in my dorm room tonight… in an actual bed instead of dirt. I mean, we didn’t set up this whole thing for nothing! If I knew laying in the dirt would win you back, you should’ve told me!” His sarcastic words were received with a light slap.

“Smart ass.” Y/n rolled her eyes teasingly and started to sit up. Before she could get to her feet, a pair of hands planted themselves at her waist and lifted her. Fred had his moments, but he was always a gentleman to her. His teasing ways were comforting to Y/n, reminding her that they were good now, in comparison to the recent downfalls.

Fred helped Y/n to her seat, then jogged over to his own. He presented the girl with a cake he made for her. Hermione brought him to the kitchens and taught him how to make one. It took about three hours, he burnt the first, put too many eggs in the second, then forgot to add eggs to the third. Finally, on the fourth attempt, Fred created a passable cake. Hermione had no desire to spend any more time in the kitchen, so she quickly frosted it for him, not wanting him to ruin it this far in, then covered it and locked it in the fridge. Much to Y/n’s surprise, it was one of the best homemade cakes she’d ever had. Her teeth were practically chattering from the intense amount of sugar, but she had to keep in mind it was Fred who baked it.

After eating, Fred and Y/n took their sweet time strolling around the castle. Fred swung his hand back and forth, causing the same effect to Y/n’s. They laughed feverishly as Fred chased Y/n up the moving stairs as they raced to the common room. When they entered the room, they sprinted straight for Fred’s, still in a chase. Hermione, Ron, Harry, George, Angelina, and Lee all watched in amusement as the couple seemed to be reunited.

“Wonder if they’re back together. You guys think the date worked?”

Everyone shared glances at the obliviousness of Ron. There were times when social cues and context clues just didn’t exist to Ron. George scoffed at his little brother and shook his head. The rest of the group roared with laughter as Ron’s face scrunched in irritation.

“Not sure, Ron. Why don’t you go out to our room and ask them?” George smirked mischievously causing Ron to turn white as a ghost in realization. A faint ‘oh’, tumbled out of his lips and his eyes went wide.

Despite their assumption, up in the top room in the Gryffindor boy’s dormitory, Fred Weasley laid snoring in his large mattress, still in his school robes. Squished against his chest by his arms, Y/n was sound asleep, similarly dressed. The two didn’t care what they looked like or who came in, as long as they were together, that’s all that mattered.

[tobesobri]

𝒮orry for the delay in this chapter 😬but i just want to say happy birthday to the anon that said this chapter is being posted on their birthday, i hope you had the best day ever!! and yeah, i really hope you all like this one because it’s one of my favorites! 

huge massive thank you to the incredible @youresogolden-h​ for editing ❤️

CHAPTER THREE: DRUNK TO AN 80S GROOVE (3.4K)

Harry and Y/N are friends…. with benefits, but not the kinds you’re thinking of.

🥥MASTERLIST 🌃INSPO TAG 🌻ASK TAG 💃PLAYLIST 🛌

Morning came and went by the time Harry woke up. With his curtains automatically shutting in the middle of the night and all sense of time lost, the only thing he knew for certain was that Y/N was gone. 

After confirming it, reaching out to find cold sheets instead of her warm body, he let out a huff and buried his face back into his pillows. He had wanted nothing more than to wake up with her in the morning and make coffee and just talk. But thinking back on his little daydreams from last night seemed extremely dumb to him now. She had a regular job with regular hours that she couldn’t be late for.

Once he got the energy to do so, he rolled onto his other side to grab his phone from the small, circular table next to his bed. He squinted at the bright light it gave off in his otherwise dark bedroom and then narrowed his eyes even more to read her message that had been sitting on his lockscreen for the past several hours.

(Y/N, 7:52 am)

Sorry I had to get to work.

Even in her texts she was concise. He grunted and practically threw his phone onto the emptied side of the bed. With his fingers dug deep into his hair and his palms covering his eyes, he thought about what she’d said last night for possibly the hundredth time since she’d said it. He still felt the knot in his throat and the stinging in his eyes from just simply repeating her words in his head again. 

For the entire time he’d known her, which was actually a decent chunk of time, he never would have guessed she felt that way. And he definitely would never have guessed she’d be telling him anything about it. He wondered how many nights she spent like last night where she didn’t have him to hold onto and he wondered if she was more like him than he’d thought. If she cried herself to sleep until it made her eyes burn the next morning. If she had the same destructive thoughts he did. Of not being good enough for anyone to stick around. Of desperately craving someone’s touch but being far too terrified to let anyone that close. 

They had their different reasons for it, but in the grand scheme of things, they were exactly alike. 

And he felt like a clown for never noticing it.

Friday night was suddenly not like all the other nights. She came home from work and didn’t immediately crawl into bed after throwing on her worn out sleep clothes. Instead she pulled out a clean pair of sweatpants and a shirt she hadn’t worn in a long time and actually tidied up her room, instead of just tossing things into a chair or under her bed like she had for Harry when he slept over the previous week. She actually put things back where they belonged. She joined the ever-growing, untouched stack of books on her floor with the rest of them on her shelves. She gathered her dirty laundry and put away all the clean stuff that had been sitting in her hamper for weeks since she last ran a washing machine. She saw the clean, white table top of her desk for the first time in months and actually sat down to write in her planner when she was done with it all.

She’d been here before, coming out of the dark, but this time felt different. It felt like she actually had something to hold onto that made her accountable for keeping her shit together. 

And so, after a much-needed shower, she actually joined her roommates in the kitchen and ate dinner at a reasonable hour.

“Finally out of your room,” James commented while Y/N started helping herself to their overflow of Chinese takeout. Will and his girlfriend, Sasha, were already eating at their thrifted dining table with a very tired and stressed Violet sat on the opposite side from them. 

Y/N ignored him for the most part, other than to give him a mocking look, and made a plate for herself before reluctantly joining the others at the table.

“Look at this!” Violet exclaimed, pointing the screen of her phone almost right into Y/N’s face and then, before Y/N could even make out what the picture was of, Violet shoved it toward Will and Sasha. “He’s already with some other girl. It’s only been one fucking week!”

Y/N kept quiet, keeping out of that conversation completely after last Saturday when Violet had kicked her out at four-thirty in the morning because her boyfriend had broken up with her while he was getting ready for work. 

She couldn’t hold too much of a grudge, however, because if that didn’t happen, she would have never gotten into bed with Harry to begin with. On the other hand, if things hadn’t gone the way they did, she’d still have all her secrets to herself that she stupidly blurted out last night, which she’d spent the better half of her day trying to forget. She was pretty sure she trusted Harry, as much as she was able to, but telling him things like that made her remember just how much she hated anyone knowing anything about how vulnerable she could be. 

Ignoring Violet going on about her cheating boyfriend was made even easier when her own phone dinged in her pocket. Even poor Will tried to change the subject by asking who was texting her, but it was no use. Y/N shrugged him off once she saw Harry’s name on her lockscreen and Violet went right back to her rantings.

(Harry, 6:37 pm)

Can you come over again tonight?

She hated the way his text gave her butterflies. Like she was some high schooler with a big fat crush on the hot, popular jock she could never have. Still, she could not deny that him asking her to come over again made her fucking heart melt.

She ate a bit of her dinner before responding to him; just enough time to think up a believable story for her roommates. She wouldn’t get away with her coworker's place this time. She didn’t work tomorrow and had no reason to be spending the night there. So, after a moment to devise a believable plan for her roommates, she gave Harry her simple answer.

(Y/N, 6:49 pm)

Yeah.

Then she spent the rest of her time at her own apartment trying to find the right moment to squeeze into the conversation about her not staying in her own room tonight. She did eventually get it out, making up a lie that she was going over to a friend’s place. Friends she hadn’t talked to or seen since college, but Will, James, and Violet didn’t need to know that.

“I didn’t even know you were still friends with them.” Will questioned while he washed dishes and Y/N dried them. The others were in the living room after they finished putting away the leftovers.

“Well, I haven’t talked to them in a while, but yeah.”

Will just shrugged and handed her another plate to dry and put back into the cupboard overhead. “I know you hate it when I get all sappy, but I’m really glad you’re seeing your friends again and you just seem… happier.”

They all knew Y/N had really rough days and mostly tried to ignore it and let her be like she had asked them too, but Will often tried to get through to her, even if just to remind her that he cared about her and wanted nothing more than to see her happy. 

She felt guilty about lying, that he had no clue what she was really doing. And even though her sleeping with his best friend and colleague was just that, sleeping, it still made her feel a bit dirty, like they weren’t just sleeping if she felt the need to hide it from everyone. 

Telling some of her closest friends that she and Harry were friends-with-cuddle-buddy-benefits was not something she saw happening. Not any time soon. Or ever.

Once the dishes were done and she had a bag packed to take over to Harry’s, she was back on the same winding roads up to his house. This time, however, she felt a little more confident. He wanted her to be here. She wasn’t imposing on him. She’d let him see a glimpse of her true colors last night and he was still asking her to come over again.

They ended up on his couch this time instead of going straight to bed, mostly because it had only been nine o’clock when she showed up and neither of them were tired enough yet. Plus, they couldn’t exactly drown themselves in a shared bottle of whiskey in his bedroom without potentially spilling it all over his 400 thread count sheets.

Once both their brains were swimming in alcohol, Harry finally said what he’d been meaning to the second she stepped foot inside his house. What he’d been thinking about the entire time they sat together and watched multiple episodes of Whose Line Is It Anyway, but he never found the right words or moment to do so.

“You’re not ugly.”

“What?” She flipped her head over to him, staring at him like he was crazy while he laid back against the cushions, practically half passed out at this point.

His eyes travelled to meet hers and his frown became even more prominent. “You’re not ugly and no one would be stuck with you, they’d be lucky to have you.”

She stared at him for a while, not even blinking until she finally averted her gaze and let his words sink in. She knew he was just drunk and possibly talking straight out of his ass, but it still made her feel better nonetheless. 

“I’m sorry about what I said. It’s kind of hard for me to believe you know anything about loneliness.”

He still stared up at her even though she refused to look at him again. “I see so many people every day, but I still come home to this big empty house all by myself at the end of it.”

She was quiet, letting him explain all the things she didn't understand about his personal life.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but too many people, the only thing they want is an interview, a picture, a photoshoot. Whatever. All so they can make money, or get famous on the internet.” He paused and she could hear in his voice that he was tired, not necessarily physically, but mentally exhausted by what his life was truly like at the bottom line. “It’s extremely lonely when every single person you’ve let in your life like that just ends up taking advantage of you in the exact same way as everyone else.”

“What do you mean they’ve taken advantage of you?” Her voice was soft, trying her hardest not to sound as judgmental as she’d been with him last night. They both appeared to have their demons and she had no room to judge him for his. 

He sighed, picking at the front of his shirt distractedly. “My last girlfriend brought all her friends to this party I was having, but they just ended up stealing from me. They took pictures of my house, and of me when I was drunk. I felt like an idiot for trusting her the way I did… I still feel like an idiot.”

Her heart clenched in her chest listening to the way his voice cracked like he was only just breaking the surface of everything that happened in his previous relationship to make him as messed up as he was on the inside.

“So I was being a bit hypocritical when I got mad at you about not letting people in. You’re the first person I let get anywhere near me in over a year.”

“Why did you?”

He was staring at his hands in his lap when she looked over at him again. “I dunno.”

“Wow, great response, thanks,” she said sarcastically and it made him laugh at himself and come out of the hole he’d been digging himself into.

Once they were both done laughing, another risky question came to his mind, but just as he opened his mouth to get it out, she sighed and sat forward instead. “Think I’m gonna get ready for bed.”

“Okay,” he mumbled quietly before yawning at the mere thought of being passed out in his bed, “I’ll meet you up there.”

Nodding, she stood and on wobbly legs made her way upstairs where she vaguely remembered going last night. With her overnight bag in tow, she quickly found his bedroom again in the dimly lit upstairs area and flipped the lights on once she reached the bathroom. Her normal routine went a bit quicker this time, deciding one night without washing her face wouldn’t kill her.

She already knew, once she turned the bathroom light off and made her way back into his deserted bedroom, that she’d regret that decision when she woke up in the morning to new breakouts that had been waiting patiently to pop up.

Her tipsy mind didn’t care too much though and especially not when it cared a hell of a lot more about the view out his windows. So, instead of dragging her tired limbs to his bed, she went up to them, and looked out over the view of the city. At all the lights from tall buildings, other houses and traffic. It was beautiful, breathtaking and the whiskey swimming around her bloodstream couldn’t get enough of it. 

She stood there in front of the window for what felt like hours, staring off into the distance of a pretty good chunk of Los Angeles. It was a different view of the city than the ones she was used to. She usually hated it, the fake people, how expensive it was to do absolutely anything. She couldn’t even park her car at work for free. She hated how the streets always smelled like ass and the way her anxiety skyrocketed just from stepping out of her apartment building. It wasn’t a very forgiving city, but from way up here, she was in love with it.

Harry had already joined her in front of the windows by the time she realized he was there, a side effect of being in some weird drunken trance she supposed.

“This is the only thing I’ll miss about this place.” His voice was calm and quiet. Peaceful. His words weren’t so slurred and filled with disappointment as they had been earlier when he was dishing out his own confessions to her on the couch. 

She glanced over at him, lost now in the way the moonlight reflected off the high points of his face. She always thought Harry was attractive, but seeing him like this and knowing the things about him she’s sure he kept to himself most of the time, made her see him in a whole new light. Like she was meeting him for the very first time and just now realizing all the little things about him. From the way he stood with his weight off to one side and his arms folded across his chest to the way his eyes sparkled just like the city lights below them. All things she probably wouldn’t even be thinking about if she hadn’t gotten herself drunk.

“The automatic curtains are pretty cool.” He shook his head at her stupid little joke and she easily recognized the smile on his face from the shadows of his dimples. Another little thing about Harry she was just now learning to fully appreciate. As well as the way her stomach did cartwheels when he laughed at something she said. 

If she wasn’t drunk, every little feeling about Harry would be an enormous red flag telling her to slow the fuck down. That she was getting a little too carried away. 

And when he was no longer standing next to her, when he disappeared into the bathroom to get himself cleaned up for bed, she found one little thing about Harry she didn’t like. 

His absence. 

She was more at ease being the first one to crawl into Harry’s bed. She didn’t have to worry about getting too close to him right off the bat, or about pulling the covers off of him accidentally. She could get herself comfortable first and with this whole situation being so foreign to her and so new, she needed it. She needed a chance to get used to it on her own. To dip her toes into the water until she felt fully acclimated to the temperature. 

And once he finally joined her, she was. His bed slowly started to become like her own, even if she had only slept there once before. The anxiety subsided while it finally began to feel as though she belonged right there next to him. 

Even from a distance, as he left plenty of space between them, she felt the heat of his body radiating off of him and his impression in the mattress where he laid. She felt him wiggle around a little until he got comfortable. 

And then finally, she held her breath, prayed that she wouldn’t accidentally kick him, and backed up toward him until she could actually feel him. Until she bumped her shoulder into his chest and her foot against his shin. 

Only drunk Y/N would be pulling such bold moves. 

He kept his hands to himself though, and she grew anxious the longer he stayed silent. There was still a small gap between her back and his front, no more than half an inch. Space he didn’t attempt to fill for a long enough amount of time to make her overthink her actions. Like maybe she was being too forward. Maybe they were better off falling asleep apart and naturally coming together through the night. 

But, when she felt his breath on her neck, tickling loose strands of her hair against her skin, she stopped worrying so much. “S’it okay if I touch you?”

Her heart just about stopped when she heard him whisper that, because hearing him ask for permission she realized he’d been sitting there overthinking as much as she had. Wondering if he should just go for it or not. Not being sure if she’d be okay with that. 

And not that she’d ever tell him, but it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her, the way he’d asked first. Because Y/N didn’t like to be touched very much at all. It was a rarity for her to be okay with anyone putting their hands on her for whatever reason. 

But, for whatever reason, she hadn’t minded the few times Harry had done it. In fact, she’d craved his touch. It was something she never thought possible of her, but here she was breaking her own rules.

She nodded, “Yeah.”

As if in slow motion, he slipped his hand onto her side, bringing his body closer to hers as he carefully hugged his arm around her. And with her own arms crossed over her chest, cuddling into herself, he gently grabbed her wrist to hold himself into place. It took them both a couple more moments to get into comfortable positions, but it eventually worked out. He held onto her tighter once he laid his head down on his pillow, breathing in the scent of her coconut shampoo with his face practically buried in the back of her head, and he started drifting off. 

It became very clear, very quickly, that being the big spoon to his pillows was no match for Y/N. Not with how warm she made him feel or the way her breathing offset his and calmed him down. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt the way he did with her with anyone else either. It was different. Y/N had no cold spots, no ill-intentions. She couldn’t possibly want anything from him when she refused to speak to him up until a week ago. He felt free with her. As free as he had been as a child, when he didn’t care about disappointing people and when he didn’t live in a constant state of paranoia about who he could trust. When he didn’t overthink himself into insomnia or toss and turn all night from the stress of it all.

Feeling her against him, breathing her in. He was free.

Taglist: @afterstylesmadeit​ @cxnyon-moon​ @and-im-not-okay-with-it @chrryblsms​ @whydontharry​ @harryinsweatersandbandanas​ @idkthisisjustforfanfic @teddysoldbird​ @shawnsblue​ @thurhomish​ @theasstour​ @hufflepuff-always-and-forever​ @staceystoleyourheart​ @granolagrannie​ @defineharry​ @iambabyharry​ @1142590m​ @ashtondene​ @smokeinherperfume​ @cherryyharryy​ @mellamolayla​ @chrryblsms​ @cassiopeiaskies​ @sunflowerjens​ @detroitkiwis​ @brwnskin-bunnyteeth​ if you’d like to be added, go here :)

[fanficimagery]

Cheap Thrills

Summary: Imagine receiving drunk text messages from a random number. Even when you make it known you're not who the person is looking for, the texts keep coming. And it's not until you make a post about the texts, complete with screenshots, do you find out who it is.

Words: 3.9K Warnings: None that I can think of.

[From XXX-XXX-XXXX]: u awake? [From XXX-XXX-XXXX]: miss u [From XXX-XXX-XXXX]: can i come over? [From XXX-XXX-XXXX]: hello?

You read the texts, snorting at the poor unfortunate individual who typed in the wrong number. Thumbs tapping out a message of your own, you send it before getting back to your movie.

[To XXX-XXX-XXXX]: i'm sure whoever you're trying to reach misses you too? But sorry to say you have the wrong number.

The random number doesn't text you back so you continue on with your night as if nothing had happened. But the next morning, when you wake up, you find yet another text message from the random number.

[From XXX-XXX-XXXX]: i am so sorry about those texts. I was drunk.

[To XXX-XXX-XXXX]: lol it's alright. You're forgiven.

You've had random numbers text you from time to time, but never a number that texts you in a drunken stupor yet again even after you've told them they had the wrong number. So the following night, you're surprised to see the stranger's number pop up again.

[From XXX-XXX-XXXX]: what r u doin?

[To XXX-XXX-XXXX]: umm…

[From XXX-XXX-XXXX]: r u a chick or a dude lol..

You snort. Of course. It's definitely a guy texting because had it been a drunk female there's no way she'd care to find out the gender. She'd most likely just text to her heart's content before passing out without a care in the world whether it was a guy or girl listening to her rant.

[To XXX-XXX-XXXX]: chick.

[From XXX-XXX-XXXX]: yess! Boyfriend?

[To XXX-XXX-XXXX]: jesus. You're really in top form tonight, aren't you?

[From XXX-XXX-XXXX]: baby i'm in top form every night ;)

[To XXX-XXX-XXXX]: and on that note, I'm out. Don't forget to chug some water before bed, Stranger Danger.

The texts continue the following weekend, the drunken stranger flirting to his heart's content. He's funny, is definitely down to cuddle, and really wants to spend the night though he has no clue who you are. You had asked for a name, but never got an answer. You weren't too alarmed about not knowing it since he was never really serious about coming over (at least you hoped not), but your curiosity ended up getting the better of you.

So after screenshotting a couple pages, you post them to Twitter after blacking out every number but the last four with the caption: Get you a stranger who'll drunk text you even after explaining you're not who he's looking for..

You weren't really expecting the screenshots to blow up the way they did, nor for anyone to actually know your drunken stranger, but sure enough a week later you're receiving private messages from none other than David Dobrik himself.

Planning to meet David Dobrik leaves you feeling a bit anxious, but you calm when he tells you his assistant Natalie will be joining him. So after hastily making some plans, you agree on meeting in a public park where there will be others around to make you feel a bit more comfortable.

You choose a pretty shaded spot beneath a tree in clear view of everyone milling about the park, and plop down with an assortment of snacks as you wait for David and Natalie to show up. Fortunately for you, you don't have to wait long. Natalie video calls you to find exactly where you're at and when she does it's not long before you're meeting them face to face.

David's already giggling and recording when he steps up to you, and you can't help but smile in return as you stand to greet them. "Hey. So, uh, it's cool to meet you guys." You briefly hug each of them before gesturing for them to sit with you.

"Likewise," David says. He and Natalie sit, and you offer them some of your snacks which Natalie readily digs in to. "So not to be rude and rush you, but can I please see the texts?"

You chuckle. "Yeah." Bringing forth your phone, you pull up the numerous texts from the number David claims to know. As you pass him your phone, you ask, "So you gonna tell me who Stranger Danger finally is?"

Natalie's eyes widen before she swats at David's arm. "You haven't told her?!"

"Ow! What?"

"David," she sighs.

You watch them, grinning. "I mean I kind of understood why David waited, but I'm really curious as to which one of your friends is thirsty as fuck to be texting a stranger."

David laughs as he continues to read. "Did he really say I'll show you mine if you show me yours?"

You grimace. "Yeah. Even sent me a dick pic which is why I tell him that I don't wanna see the peen a few texts down."

"Oh my god," Natalie muses. "He didn't."

"He did. Now can I please know whose penis I have seared into my brain?"

Natalie facepalms as David says, "Toddy."

"Toddy?" You brow furrows as you try to recall which one Toddy is. It isn't until Natalie shows you a picture of Toddy on her own phone do your eyes widen. "Oh. Oh wow."

David snorts and Natalie winks as she puts her phone away. "So you never once asked what he looked like?" She then asks as David screenshots everything he can before airdropping the pictures to his own phone.

"I mean I didn't really care about what he looked like," you shrug. "I found amusement in the texts and it surprised me that he continued to text every time he got drunk. I asked for a name eventually, but he never gave one."

"So he doesn't know your name or what you look like?" David asks, finally looking up at you.

"Nope."

He slowly smiles and Natalie groans. "I know that look. I hate that look. What are you thinking?"

David giggles. "I'm thinking of surprising Todd." You must make a face because David's quick to finish explaining. "It'll just be us and Todd. We can all hang out at my place and if the others show up, they show up. It'll be fine."

"I- I mean.." You trail off, glancing at Natalie. "What do you think? You've got a clearer head on your shoulders."

"Hey!"

Natalie huffs a small laugh. "It could be fun," she then says with a small shrug. "Todd will definitely find it funny, especially since you exposed him on Twitter. He'll also be happy that you're cute."

You blush as they stare at you, anxiously awaiting your answer. And after taking a moment to think about it, you sigh. "What the hell. Let's do it."

David cheers and they waste no time in helping you gather your trash. David offers for Natalie to drive his car while he drives with you, and she agrees. Then on the way to his house, David records some more to get more of your story for his vlog.

He finds out you're single to which he ooh's at and casually mentions that Todd is single as well, and is quite fascinated to learn that you think his friend is hot. You laugh and end up blushing, so to make you feel a little better he mentions that you're his friend's type as well. But all too soon you're pulling up to David's house where he's instructing you to park behind the safety of his gate.

You've seen his house in several of his videos, but it still leaves you awestruck as they lead you inside. All shoes are left by the front door and you can't help but stare at the ridiculously large bean bag chair when you enter the living room.

"Dibs."

"On?" David asks, he and Natalie immediately plopping down on the couch and stretching out on opposite ends.

"The bean bag." You cautiously take a seat and let yourself sink into it, smiling at David's giggling. Once you're completely laid back and curled up, you sigh in contentment. "I definitely need to invest in one of these."

"It really is comfortable." David taps away on his phone, humming. "So Todd should be here in a couple of hours. Does anyone want to order food while we wait?"

"Food. Yes!" Natalie groans.

"Does anyone deliver a good burger? I am so down for a burger and fries," you grumble.

David turns on his TV while Natalie orders the food. Bohemian Rhapsody is on and you urgently plead for David to leave it on that. He does and you have no shame in singing along or clapping to the Queen songs. The We Will Rock You scene leads you to performing your own rendition of the song, and both David and Natalie crack up when you sing the entire song from heart.

The food eventually gets there and you all take a seat at the kitchen counters. However, not even halfway through with your food, Todd texts David that he's outside.

"Oh shit, Y/N. Hide!" David tells you.

You nearly fall off your stool to which Natalie nearly chokes on her food laughing at, but she's quick to help you into the guest bathroom that's just around the corner. She leaves you alone and rejoins David, and it's not long before a third voice enters the mix.

          ----------

Todd walks into the kitchen, yawning and ruffling his hair. He nods at Natalie as she washes a few dishes to place in the dishwasher, and then takes a seat next to David who has his camera set up across from him.

"So what's going on?" He asks, stealing a french fry from the tray in front of him.

"I called you over here because I want to hear your side of the story," David informs him, slowly grinning.

Todd freezes, nervously chuckling as Natalie smirks at him. "About?"

"About this." David pulls up tweet that went viral, showing Toddy the screenshots of his text messages.

"She didn't," Todd exclaims, laughing. "Fuck. She did!"

"You've been exposed," Natalie muses. "How does it feel?"

"How did you even find these? Or even connect them back to me," Todd then wonders. "Wait does she have a pic?"

"No," David laughs, taking back his phone. "And I know it's you because the last four digits are the exact same as yours, and when I DM'd her I confirmed that the number she had was the same one I had for you. It was a long shot really, but I'm glad I took that leap of faith."

"You talked to her?!"

"Yeah. She's really cool. I think you'd like her."

"Really?"

"Really," Natalie agrees. "And if you keep eating her food, she's going to murder you."

          ----------

"And if you keep eating her food, she’s going to murder you."

"My food?" You mumble. But then Natalie's words click and your eyes widen. You can hear Todd beginning to ask something, but you throw open the door and march out towards the kitchen. "Not another bite, Stranger Danger!"

Todd nearly falls off the stool from where he whirls around so fast and you can't help but laugh. He's surprised, but beams a moment later, and you slowly walk towards him.

"You're the- you're her?"

"Yep." You stop a few feet in front of him. "And you're him- the drunk texter."

"Holy shit." He laughs, shaking his head at David whose recording it all, and then asks you, "Can I hug you? Is that weird?"

"You've sent me a dick pic, man. There's no getting more weird than that."

The tips of Todd's ears burn red as he moves in for a hug and you embrace him briefly. When he lets go, however, he keeps one arm around your shoulders as he faces David's camera once more. "So how much of my texts have you actually seen?"

"Everything but the picture," David giggles. "Y/N deleted it."

"Y/N?" Todd then glances down at you.

"Yep. And you're Todd. It's nice to officially meet you."

"Aw. Aren't you two adorable," David teases. "Now come on. Let's move this to the living room. It's getting weird just standing around."

"Wait. Hold on." You scurry forward and grab up your half eaten burger, taking one last big bite from it before heading towards the living room.

Todd watches you go, gaze adoringly watching your every step. "Marry me."

With bulging cheeks, you wink and continue on.

David and Natalie retake their spots on the couch, and the bean bag is so large that Todd throws himself next to you after you've settled down. The problem with the bean bag, however, is that you end up sliding towards Todd since he's heavier. He winks when you bump into him and you huff a laugh, but you get settled either way and pull out your phone to give you something to do.

Todd, you find out, is an Instagram hoe and you find yourself taking numerous selfies with him- some with filters and some without. You're even in his Instastories, laughing and trying to cover your face, but it's no use. He gives no explanation as to who you are, only that you're a friend. He even posts quick little videos of David and Natalie, and you arguing with David over which movie to watch.

You have no idea how long you've been with the group, only that it feels like you've known these people for a long time, so it's no big surprise that other friends of theirs show up to hang out.

Erin and Carly show up together, followed by Zane and Matt.

"Wait. So let me get this straight," Erin exclaims. "You," she points at Todd, "have been texting her," she then points at you, "for weeks? And you had no clue what the other looked like or names and this is your first time meeting?"

From your position- Todd stretched out one way and you the other with your legs draped over his- you grin. "Yep."

"Todd!" Carly laughs. "What even- how?"

"I thought I was texting Corinna!" He defends himself, chuckling. "I deleted Corinna's number, and she and Y/N have similar numbers. Totally accidental."

Everyone glances at you and you roll your eyes. "Chill. I knew his texts were intended for the ex. I even encouraged him to text her, but his drunken self found more amusement with a stranger."

Natalie snorts. "I'll say. He asked for nudes pretty frequently."

"Todd!" Matt cackles at the same time Zane muses, "Baby, no."

"Don't worry, I never sent them. I got more respect for myself than that," you say. "Todd, on the other hand, has no shame."

"You didn't," Erin says.

"It was one time!"

"It was still a dick pic." You grin. "And come on, man, who are you trying to kid? Your texts were thirsty as fuck at times."

"I have got to see these texts," Zane says.

Smirking, you pull up the text messages on your phone and move to toss your phone to an eager Zane. But seeing what you're about to do, Todd grips your thigh just enough to make you laugh in surprise. "Y/N, don't."

Zane's still reaching for the phone so Todd rolls over you. You grunt at the added weight, wiggling just enough to roll both you and Todd off the bean bag and onto the floor. You both grunt when you land.

"Oh my god," David laughs. "This is better than two girls fighting in baby oil."

Everyone's laughing now, especially when Todd says, "There's nothing better than two girls fighting in baby oil," as he gets the upper hand and straddles your stomach.

Your phone slips out of your hand, which he's quick to grab up, but with your free hand you're free to pinch Todd's nipple through his shirt. He yelps and you're quick to buck him off, you then rolling the both of you in order to straddle his stomach before reaching towards his outstretched arm for your phone.

Todd goes oddly still before giggling and it's all too easy to reclaim your phone. "You know what, I'm not even mad about this position."

Slightly leaning up to glance between you and Todd, you huff a laugh when you see his face is practically in between your tits. "You're a dick." As you fully sit up, you pinch Todd again to which he giggles at and then toss your phone at Zane. "You have free reign to read every one of Todd's texts now. Enjoy." Zane cheers, Matt, Erin, and Carly quickly crowding him to read them as well.

Todd pokes your waist and you flinch, your waist being very ticklish, and the two of you end up slapping each other's hands as you slide off of him and back onto the beanbag. Todd's beaming smile makes your heart beat a little harder and you're grateful he can't hear it.

"You're kind of strong," Todd says as he ends up settling next to you once more.

"I should hope so. I grew up with two older brothers. You best believe they tried every wrestling move on me until I learned how to get out of it."

"They still tease you?"

"All the time." You slowly smile, chuckling at fond memories. "What about you? Any siblings you fight with?"

"Nah. I'm an only child."

"So you're an only child who still acts like a child, huh?"

"Hey!"

Todd reaches over as if he's going to tickle you and you curl up in order to protect yourself. "No! I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

He chuckles softly and reaches for you again, but he only hooks an arm under your neck and pulls you in so you're curled into his side. "How much longer can you stay?"

You hum. "Not much longer," you admit. "I live about an hour away so I should be on the road pretty soon."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Zane, Matt, Carly, and Erin are still hysterical over Todd's drunken texts, David and Natalie are in their own world, as are you and Todd. His calm demeanor puts you at ease and you suddenly find yourself wishing you could stay much longer in his presence.

"Aw. Look at them," David suddenly teases. When you and Todd look at him, David smirks. "You're welcome."

You snort. "Shut up." Todd opens up his phone to momentarily distract himself, but in doing so you see the time. "Shit," you mumble. "It's already that late? I need to go."

Todd's head snaps in your direction. "Aw. No."

"Sorry, but I need to." He frowns and your heart goes out to him for a bit. "Tell you what. Let's go grab some dinner. You take your car and I'll take mine so I can leave afterward."

"Fuck it. Let's do it." You and Todd stand up, and everyone readily stares at you. "Nope," he tells them. "None of you are invited."

As the weeks slowly pass, nothing really changes with the exception that you've made friends with several Youtubers, and Todd's taken to texting you when he's sober as well now- maybe even hanging out when he's not with everyone else. So it's really no surprise when you get a FaceTime call from David as you're scrolling through social media before you put a movie on.

Accepting the call, you squint at the too bright room on David's end. "Do you have to have all those lights on? Jesus." As you move around, you end up laying back on your pillows.

He grins. "It's not even midnight. Why are you in bed already?"

"I'm not in bed-bed." You roll your eyes. "I was just getting ready to watch a movie. It just so happens that it's more enjoyable to watch from the comfort of a bed."

"Yeah? Which movie?"

"Guess."

"Bohemian Rhapsody."

"Goddammit."

David giggles. "You have a serious problem when it comes to that kid from Jurassic Park who's all grown up now."

"Joe Mazzello went from an adorable little nerd to total daddy material. He deserves all my love."

"Jesus Christ." You grin at David's amusement. Eventually though, his laughter tapers off. "Well I'll let you get back to your movie, but I need to record something real quick. You game?"

"If it involves me leaving my bed, then no. Other than that, let's do this."

"No. This is good." David props his phone up so he can hold his camera with both hands and record the call. Then, he says, "So since I posted the video of you and Todd meeting, the viewers have gone crazy."

"Of course they have."

"Inquiring minds need to know," he smirks, "if you're still Todd's booty text or if an honest friendship has blossomed from my intervening?"

You roll your eyes, teeth digging into the bottom corner of your lip as you fight off a blush. "Why does this feel like an episode of Catfish where the host is checking in weeks later to see how I'm doing?"

"Just answer the question, Y/N."

"Fine." You sigh. "Hold on." Getting out of bed, you then make your way downstairs. Heading for the kitchen, you then flip the camera on your phone. "Does this answer your question?"

Upon hearing your voice, Todd turns around from his place at the kitchen island where he was fixing a bowl of popcorn. He smiles. "What are you doing?"

"Oh my god!"

Todd's smile falters but your wink lets him know all is good. Sidling up to his left side, you hip check him as you flip the camera back so it catches both you and Todd. "An honest friendship has blossomed," you say. "I am introducing him to my current favorite movie."

Todd chuckles as he leans closer to the screen, his expression then morphing into one of mock horror. "Help me."

"No way. Natalie owes me twenty bucks! NATALIE!" David then sets his camera aside, picking his phone back up as he starts walking around. "So how long have you guys been hanging out for behind our backs?"

"Since you introduced us face to face," Todd says. "And we weren't exactly going behind your back, we just-"

"We wanted to hang out without anyone making a big deal out of it." You shrug. "But it's been long enough and you're going to make a big deal out of it no matter what, so.."

"So if you don't mind," Todd says as he takes your phone from you, "Y/N and I got a movie to watch."

"Wait! Just answer one question," David says. Todd goes quiet, nodding. "Did you finally get Y/N to cuddle you?"

Todd and David explode with laughter at the same time, and that seems to be all David needs to hear. You take your phone back, shaking your head. "Goodbye, David. We'll text you later if you're still awake." And before he can retort, you end the call before pocketing your phone.

"I guess the cat's out of the bag," Todd muses, shrugging sheepishly.

"Well not the whole cat." You slowly smile, leaning up on the tips of your toes and pressing your lips to Todd's. "And it's going to stay that way just a little bit longer. Your fans are crazy."

"Whatever you say, babe. Now can we please go watch that movie of yours? You got me all hyped up after those Queen songs you played all afternoon long."

"Sure thing." Todd grabs the bowl of popcorn and you grab some drinks from the refrigerator. As he follows you back up the stairs, you say, "Now don't get all huffy when I eventually swoon. I adore you, but I adore Joe and Gwilym just a little bit more."

"You're a terrible girlfriend."

"And I'm afraid I don't get much better." You huff a laugh. "You signed up for this, babe. Get used to it."

[thatiranianphantom]

marry me (betty/jughead)

(the one where bughead are married af and everyone knows it and everyone mocks them)

They never realized it, until people around them started pointing it out. It seemed a little ridiculous at first.

To be fair, they realized their situation was far from typical. They were eighteen, not yet in college, living at home with their parents, who were also dating. Not normal. But they were young, still in high school.

So, yes, their friend’s whispers did seem odd.

Theirs was a happy relationship, one they had been in for many years. They struggled to remember what life was like outside their relationship, and it became the target of no small amount of mockery from their friends.

They were in sync, and they always had been. But while the romantic drama of their friends swirled around them, they kept a very even keel. It was normal. Stretching themselves, they would even call it something their friends could aspire to.

Their friends, however, called it something different. They mumbled under their breath, and Betty and Jughead only caught snatches of words like “married” and “boring.”

And by comparison to the things their relationship had been tested through, perhaps their friend’s issues did seem a little boring. So when Reggie would come to them and complain that the girl he’d known for all of ten days hadn’t texted him back in an hour, or when Veronica complained that Archie wasn’t picking up on the “very obvious” clues she had left him when she was sick ( I told him chicken soup would make me feel better. He said it probably would, and then he went to practice!) it did seem a bit…juvenile.

And that perhaps made them feel a bit…dated. Though no more so then when Cheryl was ranting to them about some perceived grievance with Toni when they were not paying the proper amount of attention.

She leaned back with a scoff and cast her eyes between them.

“You guys just don’t get it,” she scoffs. “It’s been too long for you. You’ve never felt the way I do.”

It slips out without Jughead particularly meaning it to. “Now, now,” he says in a tone he hopes is soothing, but not inviting of more complaining. “We were once young and in love as well.”

She scoffs. “Yes, perhaps a million years ago, Grandpa.”

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

It doesn’t get better from there. In fact, it gets worse. More things start getting pointed out to them, like when Betty grabs his third piece of toast out of his hand.

Archie is sitting at the island in the Cooper home and observes Jughead’s noise of protest. Betty, however, shakes her head.

“No more gluten, Jug. It bloats you, remember?”

(Even Archie bites down a laugh at that.)

Or when he tries to kiss her goodbye at Pops during exam season, and she pulls away. They had admittedly been a bit more snippy with each other than usual, and he’d heard the same complaint over and over again.

“Shave, or you’re not getting anywhere near me.”

He bites back the same response he has been saying for three days. “I am too tired to shave!”

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

There are certain things, even for the relationship veteran he now considers himself to be. Like, before living with his girlfriend, he wasn’t aware that there was a wrong way to fold the towels. Or that one could chew gum arrogantly. Or that not putting the spatula back was mainly an act of war.

Also, how many questions Betty asked him that were secretly rhetorical. More than once, she had asked him what he wanted for dinner. He had perceived it as an innocent, genuine question. He was incorrect.

There was, in fact, a correct answer, and he was expected to know it. He gleans that info from Betty, turning away as soon as he makes his dinner suggestion and informing him he is wrong.

They have their friends over for dinner that night. He eats a garlic roll, and Betty informs him that if he has any interest in kissing her that night, he will not eat it.

Perhaps he feels like she’s bluffing, or maybe he just does it to annoy her. It’s a mistake, and he learns that when he comes to bed and finds a blanket and pillow arranged on the floor for his convenience.

They spend a lot of time together, much more so than most high school couples. But he’s never gotten along with anyone better than he’s gotten along with Betty. That is the case almost all the time.

But then there are those times where they’re on their third day straight of leaning over their murder board, and he is apparently annoying her, but fears hazarding a guess at how.

She demonstrates for him by sucking a breath in and out. “That. You’re doing that, and it’s really annoying.”

He looks at her incredulously. “Breathing? My breathing is annoying you?”

She gives a sharp nod, and he huffs out an amazed breath. “Okay, I’ll stop,” he bites sarcastically.

She gives an approving nod. “Good. Do that.”

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

Looking back for both of them, perhaps moments like these were the genesis of the “married” comments, though they’re 18 and unmarried. Sometimes the married comments expand out to their friends, calling them “Grandma and Gramps” and ribbing them about mortgage investments.

It’s good-natured to a point, but when they finally get accused of being, quote, “a level of boring comparable to being 45 years old with four kids and a mortgage”, then they tend to hit back.

Betty straightens her back and glares at Archie, today’s offending comedian.

“Jughead and I have been together for 3 years. We’ve known each other for thirteen years, and we’ve moved past being recruited into mob schemes, or using sex to communicate. Also, we have single-handedly solved cases that even the police seemed to have given up on while maintaining a relationship that all you young whippersnappers are jealous of. We’re Bughead. We’re adorable.”

Jughead hums in agreement. “That’s love, bitch.”

They high five without looking, taking in their friend’s faces. Some are barely holding back laughter, Archie’s mouth has fallen open, and even FP, listening from the background, looks a little surprised.

Turning to Alice, he looks for reassurance. “Alice, I’m a good sheriff, right? You’d tell me if I wasn’t?”

[muchadorks]

I need a Howl’s Moving Castle “Much Ado about Nothing” AU

Just picture it: Sophie as Beatrice and Howl as Benedick, being little shits towards each other and dramatically denying that they feel anything for each other

- Clearly Howl will get Beatrice’s “taming my wild heart” line, but everything else stays the same

- During the disguise scene at the party, Howl is delighted at the opportunity to dress up in disguise and find out what Sophie truly thinks of him

- And Sophie realizes it’s him in two seconds flat (”I RIPPED UP THAT SUIT AND PUT IT BACK TOGETHER, HOW DUMB DO YOU THINK I AM, HOWL???”) but won’t tell him because How Dare This Asshole Try to Make Me Look Like a Fool

- And man, does she ever DRAG HIS ASS

- And Howl mopes about it to Calcifer, who just wants the tantrum over with (”STOP LOOKING LIKE YOU’RE GOING TO SLIME THE PLACE! NOT BY THE GRATES! DON’T MAKE ME CALL OVER SOPHIE, YOU FOOL!”)

- After Howl’s mope session, Calcifer tells Michael about the situation, who in turn tells Martha, who in turns grabs Lettie and gathers all four of them together

- Martha: So we’re going to trick Howl and Sophie into falling in love by making them overhear that the other has a crush on them.

- Everyone: That... sounds like something they would fall for, yes.

- How could anyone but Martha Hatter come up with such a ridiculous scheme to get Sophie and Howl together?

- And who could anyone but our favourite idiots fall for said ridiculous scheme?

- Calcifer, Michael wait until Howl is upstairs before staging their discussion

- (Calicifer’s doing it just to hopefully get some peace and quiet and attention back on him; Michael’s been dragged into it by Martha even though he’s a terrible liar)

- Of course, Howl is freaking out and, being the drama king he is, cant stop exclaiming and tries to cover it up so poorly

- “SOPHIE LIKES - oh, um, *DRAMTICALLY LOUD COUGHING FIT* ...I’m sick.”

- Martha and Lettie drag Sophie out for a walk around town, and when they have her in a shop, they sneak behind the rack she’s looking at and spill the rumours

- Sophie nearly takes down that rack and probably accidentally enchants a few items while muttering to them about how “This can’t be true, Howl would never... What do you think? You do seem like a sensible shawl, you know, but how do I react to this wonder- I mean, terrible, terrible news...”

- Clearly, Howl and Sophie won’t let their guard down completely after these conversations, but they do develop odd quirks

- Howl won’t leave Sophie the fuck alone 

- “Sophie, Sophie, did you see me cast that spell? Did it impress you? Sophie, Sophie, am I the most charming man in the world yet?”

- And Sophie is even more clumsy and flustered around him than normal, so she ends up snapping at him twice as much, furiously cleans the castle twice over with the most ridiculous determination Ingary has ever known and proceeds to enchant over half of the household’s possessions while she mutters grumpily to herself

- Sophie: “You, stool, how dare you get in the way? You ought to know not to trip people when they are trying to clean, for heaven’s sake! Now, next time you MOVE when people are coming near, you hear?”

- *the next day* Michael: “SOPHIE, WHY DOES THE STOOL KEEP MOVING WHEN I TRY TO SIT ON IT? SOPHIE, PLEASE HELP! HOWL? ANYONE???”

- No one in the castle has known peace for two weeks because of this constant madness

- (Calcifer and Michael greatly regret their participation in the matter)

- Anyway, for the matter of the whole wedding drama, let’s pretend that Fanny has set up an arranged marriage for Martha 

- (Bless Fanny’s heart, she means well, but she has no clue about Michael) 

- The same sort of marriage rejections occurs (which - even though Martha’s been trying to get away from it since the beginning - still is a huge social diss) and Sophie is OUT FOR BLOOD, LET ME TELL YOU

- And while listening to Sophie rant and rage, Howl decides that that’s the best moment to declare his undying love for her

- And ridiculousness of all ridiculousness, Sophie confesses as well but refuses to let Howl sweep her off her feet until he agrees to her revenge plot

- And while Martha’s already got two powerful witches on her side, having the Royal Wizard Pendragon on her side is never a bad thing

- It’s totally Howl’s idea to have the Hatter sisters disguise themselves (Howl’s disguise kink never dies)

- And to fake Martha’s death because he is so fucking dramatic, oh my god

- Calcifer and Michael are in charge for finding out who framed Martha and when they discover them, oh boy, does that person regret the day they were born

- Not only are they dealing with Pissed Off Hatter Sisters, but sweet innocent Michael is discovering bloodlust for the first time in his life

- It’s safe to say that witches and wizards can concoct some pretty unpleasant punishments

- So flashforward: we guilt trip this Terrible Fiancé into marrying Martha’s “double” 

- At the alter, she rips off her disguise and is like, “HAHA, YOU THOUGHT, BITCH!”

- And after dragging his ass for several minutes (it’s a Hatter trait, bless them), she declares that she’s marrying Michael (which Michael didn’t know, but it quite pleased to hear about)

- And after the dust settles, Howl proposes to Sophie in front of them crowd with probably the gaudiest, most ostentatious display of magic anyone has every witnessed

- And flustered Sophie turns him down since they’ve been keeping their romance a secret and she cannot deal with this PUBLIC HUMILIATION, HOWL, WHY???

- (and it’s not like their romance isn’t just them arguing a ton, so everyone assumes they are getting on as normal)

- Howl tries to play it off like it was just a joke anyway and NO, he did not spend FOURTEEN HOURS choreographing this magic display, how dare you infer that he’d do something like that - he is HEARTLESS HOWL, thank you very much

- But after Martha and Lettie basically drag them to the altar, do they begrudgingly admit their feelings

- And the moment after they say ‘I do’ s they immediately descend into bickering once more, but at least everyone admits the arguments are more loving

FINI

[chaoticevilbean]

I wrote An ATLA oneshot. It is Awful, but hey, I wrote it. Big ship, poly’s and Pan’s. Tell me what To improve!

“Um, Katara?”

The waterbender turned around, her pot hitting her leg as she did so. Pressed together in a group stood four of her teammates. The exact four that seemed intent on doing nothing but bothering her about family.

“What do you want to know now?”

Their sheepish looks was all she needed to know.  Toph moved forward, the most unabashed by their antics.

“What’s Snoozles favorite food?”

“He likes fire flakes and sea prunes, but we don’t have either of those, and I’m guessing you want to make something. I’d suggest making some sort of meat stew. He’ll enjoy it.” Katara set her supplies down and left, knowing they would understand. Thankfully, they did, as she heard the group picking up the pot and bags of food she’d dropped.

“Alright, so meat stew,” Suki started, staring at the fire Zuko was lighting. Right away, she discovered a problem.

“…Does anyone… know how to make stew?”

Zuko looked up from the flames, Toph turned to face her, and Jet stopped walking to get water.

“We don’t know how to cook anything.” Zuko gestured at himself and Toph. “Neither of us ever learned. We didn’t really need to.”

“I’ve never made stew before. We always roasted meat.”

“It was the same on Kyoshi. So how are we supposed to make stew if none of us know how?”

“We can’t ask Sugar Queen,” Toph pointed out. “If we annoy her anymore, she’ll stop letting us ask her stuff.”

“Well, how hard can it be?”

Very hard.

Zuko and Toph were put to work getting their ingredients since they had no cooking experience beyond cook-it-until-you-can-smell-it-burning. Jet and Suki worked on actually making the food. They assumed it was like a thicker soup, but had no idea how to go about making it.

There was also the problem that they disagreed on how to make their attempts. Things quickly escalated in volume, though their movements remained nonaggressive. None of them were willing to risk the food just to fight with each other.

It took them an hour just to get something that resembled stew, or what they assumed stew would look like. By that time, they were all four in a full-blown shouting match, Suki stirring the pot and Zuko keeping a firm grip on Toph’s shoulders.

“IT SHOULD HAVE MORE!”

“AND HOW WOULD WE DO THAT? WE CAN’T JUST DUMP IT IN!”

“IT’S STEW, YOU CAN DUMP ANYTHING IN!”

“THAT ISN’T HOW STEW WORKS!”

“YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO MAKE RICE!”

“I KNOW YOU DON’T JUST TOSS EVERYTHING INTO A POT!”

Their argument was so intense none of them, not even Toph, noticed the person approaching. Suki left the pot to start getting in Jet’s face about the right consistency of stew, while Toph interjected with her opinions and pushed against Zuko’s arms. The newcomer listened amusedly to their spitting match, moving over to the pot.

Everyone fell silent at the sound of slurping, turning back to the pot.

“You know, for people who have absolutely no clue what stew is meant to be like, you made a pretty decent version.” The group stared at Sokka in shock. “Granted, it’s nothing like true Water Tribe stew, and nowhere near as good as Gran-Gran’s, but still good for your first try.” He added a little more salt as he spoke, before tasting the food again. He seemed to not notice how the quad was looking at him, their emotions between joy that he liked it, pride at the praise he gave the stew, and embarrassment at being caught fighting over such silly things.

“So, why are you guys making stew? And why is it you four? You know Katara knows how to make stew, right?”

“Well, we know how hard you’ve been working trying to come up with some plans, so we thought we’d make you something nice,” Suki told him, recovering from her shock.

“But you’re right about none of us knowing how to make it,” Jet added. “We would’ve asked your sister, but I don’t think she’d appreciate us annoying her any more.”

“Well, you did good for not knowing. Let’s dish it up.” Five bowls were filled, with the rest of the stew put aside for the others of the team. The four who made the stew were hesitant to eat the food, but did after watching Sokka put spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. It didn’t taste too bad, but not nearly as good as they’d all hoped.

“How can you eat that so fast?” Zuko asked, staring as the Water Tribe boy scraped his bowl clean. Said boy paused, head tilted as he thought on the question.

“I guess it’s second nature. If there’s enough food, then you eat what you can before it gets cold.”

“If there’s enough food?”

“Well, I was the only hunter. Some of the women could fish okay, and some kids, too, but it was really hard for them to be quiet enough to sneak up on prey. I had to take over those duties alone, and it was hard to get enough for everyone.”

Silence followed his words, as each person processed that statement. Luckily, Sokka didn’t notice that either, as the others approached at that moment.

“We’re just here for some stew, and then we’ll be out of your hair,” Katara chirped at them, grinning at the four blushes she drew out. She helped Aang and the Fire Trio dish up their food, before all five smirked and left, diffusing the tension.

“So, you four have been hanging out a lot,” Sokka commented. He side-eyed them as he dished himself another bowl. “Anything to say about that?”

“Yeah, Snoozles, we’re dating.”

Sokka choked on air at the blunt declaration, trying to regain his breathing as he looked at the others for confirmation. Their blushes grew in strength, which assured him Toph was being a hundred percent honest.

“That’s- that’s great for y’all,” he finally managed to squeeze out. “Unexpected, if I’m telling the truth, but I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, Sokka. It means the world.” Jet patted the other’s shoulder, not moving his hand even as he quickly changed the subject to something less agonizing for the quad. He chose fighting styles, which launched everyone into a discussion, Sokka getting the deepest into it.

He was doing that to avoid focusing on the hand that hadn’t lifted.

Later that day, after they’d finished eating and the group had run out of topics to discuss, Sokka sought out his confidant. Azula saw him coming and excused herself quickly, rushing to meet him halfway and lead them towards a more secluded spot. They sat down in a small patch of grass, legs crossed and barely any space between them.

“Lay it on me.”

Sokka took a deep breath, cueing the girl in on the long rant to come.

“So I was planning on avoiding them today by hunting and making lists and schedules and plans and all that stuff, but then I smelled food and I thought Katara was making lunch. I went to go find her, but instead I found the four of them making stew, meat stew, which I just know Katara is responsible for. It was mediocre, and honestly wasn’t even that good, but I didn’t want to hurt their feelings, because they were trying so hard. So I ended up eating three bowls of it even though I think my stomach hates me. You came right before we started talking, and I’m kinda glad you did because it felt really tense, and then, after you left, Jet, heckin’ Jet, put his hand on my shoulder and didn’t move it the entire time!

And they said they were dating! The four of them are dating each other, and they decided to spend their quadruple time to make me a comfort food because they thought I was working too hard! My heart can’t take this, Lala! One of these days, I’m going to die because they’re just too dang nice! And I can’t even think of a reason why Jet would leave his hand on my shoulder for two entire hours! How the heck do I handle this‽”

With that, he fell backwards, flopping onto the ground. Azula took this as a cue to begin to rip up grass and drop the blades on his face. She looked at him in sympathy, understanding what pining could do to a person.

“Don’t worry, you still have a chance.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because you made me your wingman.”

[shon-ha-lock]

Sweater Weather (harry/niall)

It’s that time of year! I had a blast participating in this year’s 1D Secret Santa. @silveredsound i hope you like my gift! 

It was a super cheap flight, in Niall's defense. A real deal. So what if the connection was in a tiny regional airport? In Wisconsin. Three days before Christmas. In the middle of a week of record low temperatures and snowstorms. 

Okay. In retrospect, maybe he should have expected something to go wrong. 

Niall's plane is the last to touch down in Chippewa Valley before it starts rerouting its incoming flights to airports not currently being blasted by the polar vortex. This is also, of course, when it grounds its outgoing flights “indefinitely”, leaving him and around one hundred other travelers stranded.

The whole airport has just two gates, with one shared, cramped waiting area. A line has snaked itself around that entire space, leading up to the customer service desk, where everyone is waiting for a chance to yell at a single beleaguered United Airlines employee about their flights being cancelled. 

Niall contemplates joining the line, but he’s more the type to wait until he can vent his anger by giving the lowest scores possible on a ‘how did we do?’ survey. And besides, just standing near the desk for a few minutes gives him all the information he needs to know, on repeat. 

“We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience this is causing our loyal customers,” is the current opener every time someone storms up to the little old lady working the desk. Her reedy voice is placating and increasingly nervous as she assures everyone that United is “currently working with Chippewa to arrange accommodations for anyone whose flight has been delayed by the storm.” 

This is comforting until Niall realizes that this means they don’t currently have hotel rooms set up for travelers with missed connections the way larger airports do. No shuttles, no vouchers, not a goddamn thing. 

They’re only twenty minutes outside of the little city of Eau Claire, Wisconsin, which probably has at least a few hotels with vacancies, but the odds of finding an Uber driver to brave the storm and get him there are slim to none. 

Niall’s not really the type to just stand around in a crisis and twiddle his thumbs, but if he’s being honest with himself, he hasn’t a goddamn clue what to do right now. He flies relatively frequently but he’s never actually had to deal with a flight being cancelled because of the weather, and he’s struck by a childish urge to call home and ask his mother for advice about what to do. 

At the moment, it’s looking like he might actually need to call her anyway, because she’s expecting to pick him up from Albany International in five hours, and that’s definitely not happening now. God, he hopes he’ll make it back to New York at some point within the next three days. He’s never spent a Christmas away from home in his twenty six years of life, and he doesn’t want to start now. 

He’s well on his way to an anxiety spiral when he notices that there’s one other passenger besides him not angrily crowding around the service desk. He looks to be around Niall’s age, and he’s pawing through a backpack with a resigned expression on his face. After a minute, Niall figures that he must be searching for warmer clothes to put on; the man’s short sleeved shirt is well-equipped to show off all the strange tattoos on his arms, but isn’t exactly appropriate for December in Wisconsin. 

Niall, by contrast, is dressed and packed for two weeks of winter in upstate New York. He looks down at his own backpack, aware that it’s stuffed with four different Aran sweaters, and makes a decision. It’s the season for doing good deeds, after all. Making a stranger a little less miserable surely counts. 

“Hey there,” Niall says as he walks over to the man, who’s given up looking through his luggage and is now sitting forlornly on one of the waiting area’s cheap plastic benches. He looks up, and Niall’s breath -- well, it honest to God catches in his throat. This guy must be some kind of model, because he’s got just about the most gorgeous face Niall’s ever seen. Green eyes, red lips, the works. 

“Hi?” the guy ventures after a few seconds of Niall staring down at him like a lunatic. 

Niall can feel himself go red as he hurriedly unzips his backpack, feeling around until he grabs a fistful of wool.

“Here,” he says, pulling out a sweater at random and basically throwing it at the guy’s head. 

“You looked cold, so.” He shrugs. He watches this ridiculously good-looking stranger hold out the sweater to examine it, smiling widely for a second before his expression shifts to concern. 

“Oh, this is hand-knit, isn’t it? I couldn’t possibly take this,” he says, trying to hand it back to Niall, who takes a step backwards and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Really, I insist,” he says. “Seriously, you’d be doing me a favor. My grandma still thinks we live in Ireland and makes one for me every year; I’m drowning in the things.” This seems to make the guy only more determined to hand it back to him, but Niall perseveres. 

“I’d feel guilty just getting rid of them, but if I tell her I passed one on to a chilly traveler I’ll be grandson of the year, so.” 

Niall narrowly avoids pumping a fist in the air in victory when this makes the guy giggle, bite his lip, and finally, reluctantly pull the sweater on over his t-shirt. It’s a sea green that matches his eyes perfectly, which is great, because what Niall really needed was to be even more distracted by a random person’s good looks. 

“I can’t thank you enough,” he says once it’s on, his chin-length hair now attractively rumpled. “I was worried I was going to freeze solid the second I went outside.”

He holds out a hand; Niall takes it. Soft palms, manicured and painted fingernails -- this guy might really be a fashion model. 

“I’m Harry,” he says. He smiles wide enough when he says it that his cheeks dimple. Niall’s heart is in some serious trouble now. 

“I’m Niall,” he replies, letting go of Harry’s hand a second later than is probably appropriate. 

He’s not sure how, but he wants to keep the conversation going somehow, just so he has an excuse to look at Harry’s face for a little longer. Before he can come up with something, an ancient intercom crackles to life and makes them both look around.

“Attention, travelers. In two hours, the storm is expected to dissipate enough to start offering shuttles into Eau Claire. Chippewa will be providing vouchers for the following lodgings.” 

The announcer rattles off a list of local hotels before repeating the entire message over again. This announcement seems to renew the stranded travelers’ agitation, and they start swarming the service desks with complaints about the wait. Harry and Niall both stay where they are, clearly on the same page about not bullying the elderly. Harry doesn’t seem any happier than the people yelling, though.

“I didn’t manage to sleep on the plane because I was so nervous about the weather and the turbulence,” he confesses to Niall. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out before that shuttle actually gets here.” 

“Where are you coming from?” Niall asks. They’re making small talk! Success! 

“Well, I started out in Italy thirteen hours ago,” Harry says ruefully. “Then I had a connecting flight in Boston, and from there, I should have gone all the way out to LA, which is where I’m spending Christmas. But I had to book last minute, and the only flights left had an extra connection. So I took a chance on this one, and of course now I’m stuck here.” He pouts as he says it, and it should make him look immature but instead he just looks like he’s posing artfully for Covergirl or something. 

“So we’re heading in opposite directions,” Niall says. “I’m coming from LA, and I’m on my way to New York.” 

Harry’s eyes light up at this.

“Oh my god, do you live in NYC? I love spending time there, it’s one of my favorite cities in the world.”

Niall sighs and shakes his head in mock-disappointment. 

“Everyone loves NYC so much but they always forget about the actual capital of New York.”

When Harry just stares at him blankly, Niall relents and laughs out, “I’m from Albany. My whole family immigrated there from Ireland when I was six months old." 

Niall feels a bit awkward at first, talking about his life with someone he just met, but he quickly learns that Harry is the type of old soul who loves to make conversation with strangers. And by the time the shuttles start actually arriving he can't say that the two of them are strangers anymore. 

He learns that Harry's lived in LA his whole life, and so traveling anywhere that's cold knocks him off his feet. Niall's only lived in California since he started attending UCLA (at first as an undergrad and now for post-graduate work) but it turns out he and Harry have several mutual acquaintances, which delights Harry to no end, and he seems more interested in Niall's classes last semester than Niall was, asking questions about what he learned and whether the professors were cool or boring. 

He's in the middle of a rant about early morning lectures when the intercom starts announcing that they'll be able to start shuttling people into the city soon. Which of course means that the two of them are going to have to go their separate ways. 

Harry starts fussing with his luggage again, seeming almost shy now, and thanks Niall again for the sweater.

Niall scrambles for something else to say to forestall a goodbye. 

“How did you know it was hand-knit?” is the only question he comes up with, but it's effective.  

"Oh!" Harry exclaims, going all smiley again. 

"The pattern was really detailed, and I could see how tight the stitches were. Didn't seem likely that a machine made it," he says. 

"Wow, you've got a real eye. Do you work in fashion or something?" Niall asks, wondering if his initial impression was right after all. 

"Or something," Harry says, seeming embarrassed for some reason. "I um, do modelling work sometimes. Shoots for Gucci, mainly, but other brands too. It's why I was in Italy, actually." 

Holy shit. There’s an actual Gucci model wearing one of his grandma’s sweaters right now. What a thought. His mom is going to flip when he finally gets to New York and tells her all about this. 

"That's really cool," Niall tells him, scrambling to think of a segue into asking for his number that doesn't come off like he's just trying to hook up with a model.

As luck would have it, Harry provides one for him - by asking for his grandmother’s phone number.

“Or even just her mailing address,” Harry rushes on when Niall bursts out laughing. 

“I’d like to personally thank her for making such a pretty sweater that’s doing such a good job of keeping me warm.”

“Well, I’m going to be seeing her for Christmas in a few days, if the weather calms down. You could call me and I could just hand my phone over to her.” 

It’s not particularly subtle, but luckily Harry doesn’t call him out on it. In fact, his face goes a bit sly, and he looks Niall up and down for a moment.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Harry says, and then whips out an honest-to-god gel pen from nowhere to physically write his phone number on Niall’s hand. 

“Text me when you get a chance, and we’ll have each other’s numbers that way,” he says cheerily. 

A few minutes later, they go their separate ways - Niall with Harry’s phone number written in bright green ink on the back of his hand, and Harry with a signature Grandma Horan sweater to keep him warm. 

As he passes the service area, Niall cheerfully plucks a survey card from the desk. Seems like he’s going to give United a glowing review after all. 

[prorevenge]

Call Me Mean Shit AND Cheat On Your Fiancé? Here, Let Me Ruin Your Dating Life

So, first post here, kinda scared, but oh well. Also, this is kinda very long so, uh, grab your stash of candy or whatever and enjoy I guess. This also happened a few years ago so it's kinda fuzzy

First, I'll introduce you to the cast. The reason I describe their personalities and some of their looks is because it comes into play a little later. A little context is that I come from a considerably large family, with five siblings. My parents died when I was around four (or at least, I've been told), so my older brothers were my main caretakers. Mostly Lukas 'cause he had a lot of time on his hands. We are all blonde with grey/blue eyes except for my only sister, who got most of her traits from our mother.

(these are listed in order from oldest to youngest (for siblings), also, you can probably tell we're of Scandi origin so shut up any racist bastards out there)

Markus: quite tall, around 5'9, but his spiked hair adds to his height, so he really looks like he's 6'2. He is the big dummy of the family, but is still very lovable. Very loyal and it is very rare for him to betray someone. Kinda like a giant puppy or a really tall child. He's super kind and hardworking, and you can rarely see him shout, get angry, or ignore anyone. His personality is very important later

Lukas: also quite tall, around 5'9 as well, but looks hella shorter cause of Markus' goddamn hair. His most prominent feature is his eyes. This hard, cold, emotionless, and dead scary blue eyes. He could kill you with his glare if he wanted. He controls his emotions very well, and it's hard to get him to loose his temper. He's also kind of a drag queen. His personality is also very important later

Erik: on the shorter side, he acts like your insecure and awkward teen all the time. Doesn't like confrontation, and would rather spend his time studying for Uni than actually talking

Hilde: a little taller than Erik, which is embarrassing for him, brunette, hazel eyes, a slightly darker complexion. Acts like an awkward mix between Erik and Markus, her looks are important

WellInTheory: the shortest of the all ;n;, but still considerably tall compared to the average. Looks a lot like Lukas, with grey eyes instead. I have a short temper, if you know how to set it off, but otherwise, I'm pretty chill. The most important thing to note is that: I love my brothers to no end. Hell, I missed one of my Uni finals for Markus *very very very important*

EB: entitled bitch, Markus' fiancée whom I just happen to hate very, very much

Now that we've gone through introductions, let's begin, shall we?

So, here's the background information: Me, Hilde, and Erik are all in UNi. Erik in his third year while me and Hilde were in our second. Luckily, Markus and Lukas have a house so us three are staying there

Markus had come from the local bar with EB. Now, it was 3 AM at the time so none of us knew (he called a cab). In the morning, since I'm always the first to wake up to go to morning lectures, I go down for breakfast, and low and behold, there is EB, standing in the kitchen with my brothers fucking makeup on her fucking face. So naturally, I had no clue she was there and instantly panic. I grab the nearest frying pan and threaten her with it.

Me: Uhm, who the fuck are you, why do you have my brother's make up on, and why the fuck are you in our house?

EB: oh, didn't you know, you must not be very sharp then! Markus brought me home with him~ I'm EB, Markus' girlfriend~~~~~

Me: okay, that explains two questions, now answer the last

EB: what do you mean

Me: *deep inhale* I MEAN, why the fuck do you have my brother's makeup on?!

EB: it's not hissss~

Me: yes it issssssssss (me mocking her)

At this point she just ignores me and pulls her phone out of her purse, and I happen to catch a glimpse of Lukas' eyeshadow palette in it. Of course, I lunge and pull it out of her purse instead of asking for it like a normal person. EB starts shouting at me that "I stole her makeup" and that "you will pay for this!". Yea right. I just stole back something you stole originally. Just at the right time, Lukas comes down, searching for his makeup and his coffee. He notices EB and basically asks her the exact same questions, and she responds with the exact same answers. Another perfect timing, and Markus comes down. Same questions, but now:

Markus: why do you have Lukas' makeup on?

EB: oh this, this isn't his. At least, not anymore. It's not like he needs it, he's so ugly even this makeup can't cover it!~ (keep in mind my brother was constantly getting hit on by boys and girls alike, ie. he's one of the prettiest men out there (its my opinion (no I am not incest (fight me James Charles fans))))

Markus: it doesn't explain why you stole his makeup--

at this, EB cuts him off and starts throwing a fucking tantrum

EB: YOU'RE JUST SIDING WITH HIM CAUSE HE'S YOU LITTLE BOYFRIEND!!!!11!!1!!!1!1 WHEN YOU BROUGHT ME HOME I THOUGHT YOU ACTUALLY LOVED ME11!!!1!1!!111

*dead silence*

EB: whAT/!?!?11/!? oh so NOW you're scared--

Markus: Lukas is my brother...

Needless to say, she was embarrassed, but that did not stop her for ridiculing me

EB: well, that doesn't matter, that little girl shouldn't have reached into my bag, it's a violation of private property

And literally everyone in the room (except maybe Markus cause he's too nice for his own good) was literally like: no u, but in a mental or very quiet way.

Time passes, I get to witness Markus get harasses verbally daily by EB and as he drifts away from our little family.

Finally, the last semester of Uni arrives.

Over the course of multiple stressful weeks, EB just gets more and more annoying, and for some reason, she absolutely hates me and my sister, but mostly my sister. Why? cause she's a racist bitch that clearly doesn't understand genetics.

EB: WHY IS THAT UGLY BLACK BITCH EVEN LIVING WITH YOU?!?!

Markus: cause she's our sister--

EB: NO SHE ISN'T!!!1!11!!! SHE DOESN'T LOOK ANYTHING LIKE YOU!!!111!1

Markus: well thats because--

EB: I. DON'T. CARE!1111!!!!!!! JUST GET HER OUT OF MY SIGHT1!!!11

Markus: why?

EB: CAUSE SHE'S BLACK!111!! and YOU

she turns to me, who had just come through the fucking door

EB: YOU'RE JUST A NARCISSISTIC LITTLE WHORE WHO DOESN'T HAVE A FUCKING BRAIN!!!11!1!!!!

I had just come back from a particularly confusing lecture and my mind was still swimming at the new information thrown at me, and I was now being yelled at the moment I stepped through

Me: ...wha...?

It was all I could manage

EB: SEE? SEE?!?!??! SHE'S FUCKING BRAINDEAD AND USELESS!!!!! THE SLUT AND WHORE IS ONLY OUT TO GET OLDER MEN-

She's abruptly cut off as Erik, who had come down a few minutes earlier and was watching from afar, and Lukas stepped in front of me. Lukas gives his signature death glare and leads me away.

Lukas: insult us one more time and you'll be prohibited to come in contact with any of our family, you racist son of a bitch. Markus, you can follow her if you wish.

Erik: I wonder what Markus sees in you...

EB: a- wha- bu- AFAKLDAHFALHF (no really its what it sounded like)

this is surprising cause as mentioned before, Erik HATES confrontation and Lukas rarely looses his temper.

Fast forward a little, I'm hanging out with my friends at the local pub, when suddenly...

EB: AND OMGGGGGG WellInTheory IS SUCH A BITCH11!!!!1!!111!!!!!!

She continues complaining about me loudly, so naturally, I take out my phone and record the whole, goddamn thing. But I also recorded something I didn't expect.

EB, started to french kiss some guy. I don't know what this whore was thinking, but it seemed no one cared except for me. After she finished making out, she starts to complain about me and my sister loudly for another 10 mins or so before leaving.

I captured the whole thing. Markus and EB's marriage was going to happen in less than two days. You know what this means? Simple. Nuclear revenge! In the purest form, over the course of many years! :D

So I drive home as fast as I can without violating any laws, and run into our house. EB had gone home with one of those three men to do some sacrilegious acts, I would presume. I leap up the stairs and crash through Markus' door, then shove the video into his face.

...

I had to comfort him for five hours. FIVE. HOURS. He was that distraught at the video, and had either cried or hiccupped while ranting to me. Lukas, Erik, and Hilde eventually came in as well, probably to complain about the noise, only to find Markus breaking down and had to help as well.

After he had calmed down enough to form legible words, I presented my nuclear revenge plan. Everyone was in on it in some way or another, and they all loved it.

​

Fast forward, (wow there are a lot of these) and it's now the wedding day.

Markus had asked whether EB wanted him to invite his siblings, she of course, said no. But here we are, dressed in our best dresses. Erik, being the sneakiest one of all, had switched EB's wedding dress to the exact same dress me and Hilde were wearing an hour earlier. Lukas and Erik were wearing the exact same suit EB's secret boyfriend was and EB's father were wearing. When EB sees us, she goes fucking insane.

EB: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!?! I TOLD YOU NOT TO COME

Lukas: Really now...? We got invitations~ Signed by you at that

EB: WHAT?! SHOW THEM TO ME

Lukas hands over four invitations that indeed, has her signature on them. She became furious, and of course, started dumping all the blame on me and Hilde. I could clearly tell that my brothers were livid. They however, kept it all in as they waited for the plan to unfold further.

We could tell people were staring at EB, me, and Hilde because of the dresses. We had specifically chosen dresses that better suited me and Hilde's body types, and looked absolutely horrendous on EB. Some brighter people were starting to laugh as they figured out the plan to destroy the wedding. It's time for wedding vows. As request from the four of us, the officiant asked for EB's vow first.

Officiant: do you take Markus as your husband?

EB: yES~~~~

Here, is where shit went down

Officiant: Markus, do you take EB as your wife?

Markus: do I? Well, considering she hates the rest of my living family enough to deny them any access to my wedding, and considering she cheated on me with some random guy... what do you think?

Lukas: considering the points you just listed, I'd say no to this marriage. She always smelt bad, and she would always take forever in the shower anyways...

Erik: agreed. and besides, what whore french kisses a random guy in the public? and you call WellInTheory a slut... Also, the fact you denied wearing and stealing Lukas' makeup... just...

Hilde: take that you racist bitch. I hope whatever's left of your clearly broken family sobers up and disowns you forever. I hope to see you on the streets!!

Me: so I'm the slut, "just out there to get older men", eh? yea, I think not. I mean look at you! You even copied our dress! how shameful. And the fact that your secret boyfriend is here as well, wearing the same suit as my brothers... shame...

EB just stood there, with her mouth easily catching three of four flies per minute

Markus: I think... nah. I'll not marry you. My family's right, you are a disgusting bitch. Now, where's the cake?

The rest of the wedding was spent laughing at, ridiculing, or completely avoiding EB, and a cake fight happened. EB was crying over how "I THOUGHT YOU WERE LOYAL TO ME MARKUS AAAAAAAAGHHHH" or something like that, and every time she tried to rekindle their relationship, Markus would either laugh at her, throw a scalding comment at her, act like she was the black plague, or just flat out ignore her. Remember when I said Markus' personality would be important later? Yea, this was why.

​

I also stalked her on IG, Facebook, etc. Anytime she got another boyfriend, I sent the video to said boyfriend and warned them and also suggested them to check her phone. They always broke up a day later.

​

I've mostly gotten over it now, but still occasionally destroy some relationships just to remind her. After all, you mess with my brothers? I ruin your life. Mutual, I think.

(source) story by (/u/WellInTheory)

[alternativewinxcontinuity]

Don't mind me, just losing my mental sh*t

Has anyone else ever noticed it always seems to be the people who’ve never written/posted anything that leave the most unnecessary (and often meanest) comments?

Or the people who themselves write like they haven’t hit puberty yet but feel like they can comment like a professional editor by giving advice that is exactly the opposite of what they were just saying needs to be fixed?!

Not Winx Related, I just really needed to vent. I got a shit review on a non-Winx Story and as I bitch a little about that I'm finally taking the time to address a review I got on my GOT fic, which turned nasty that I want to pick apart, but not to his face because he is not the kind of reviewer who should be interacted with, so I'mma dump it here. (Rant un-beta'd.)

Like? You really want to leave a comment on chapter 2 of a part 30 chapter fic that you haven’t read saying shit like:

“I don’t see the point its basically a rewrite”

When, had you read even one chapter on, you would have begun to see the divergence that is about to slowly snowball out of control while the universe does its best to stay on track. (yes the 'its' typo is review accurate.)

Like buddy, I get it, you've never written anything in your life and you think this is okay to say to someone because, and this may surprise you: you're an asshole.

"The point" was that it was a fun idea, "the point" was that I was enjoying the crossover and figuring out how everything could go wrong by replacing a single major part, "the point" was many, many other people found it hilarious and so did I. Not "the point" but it was also a version of Harry Potter not written by a fcking TERF.

Or:

'This Character is just really out of character, you're doing a bad job of writing him.'

Okay *goes to check their fics to see how they wrote him to see if she can figure out where reviewer is coming from. they have no fics in the fandom.* 'hey reviewer, you say he's out of character, how would you go about fix him so he's more in character?'

'Oh well, he's just not very *season 1 characterisation despite the fact he's explicitly stated to be season 3 end of his character growth story arc*, you should have him do *a thing that is something he would never have done even in season 1*'

-

Or shit like (and this is a long one from 'Richard' who hid behind the Anon function):

"This is a great fic. It's surprisingly difficult for me to optimize the protagonist. So first,"

Like? excuse you? why would you need to optimize my character?

"I really hope Sansa chooses to mine the metric tonnes of valuable honey and wax from that beehive once she gets her inventory."

So I hate to admit that the honey and wax would be a good idea, and she will be getting a boon of that, but it will be because she'll be getting Bee Hives later, not because she'll think to strip mine a people in dire straights.

"Also, she has valyrian steel claws, which she now knows can dig into the rock very easily. Those crumbling ledges? She can dig new ones, she can dig a staircase. She can widen the entrance so that her soldiers come in to help mine the liquid gold. Especially since she appreciates the difference between currency and goods. Of course, maybe she'll establish diplomatic relations instead."

So I am going to look so fcking petty when I finally get the next chapter out, because I actually addressed this idea with reality. Trust me, I did some research, and while there's almost nothing easily found on how long it would take to do this sort of work by hand, what I found supported the idea that it's stupid. It takes (and I shit you not) literal days with a team of men using hand tools to carve through even a few metres of rock (the exact time depends on how hard the rock is and how large they make the opening/area).

Sansa would be literally clawing at the walls with her nails which, while yes they are Valyrian steel, are still attached to very human fingers and arms. and here's where my first hand knowledge kicks back in: I went on a mock archaeological dig when I was in high school, I spent several hours scrapping layers of compact sand to uncover artefacts, resistance levels aside, the repeated action is hell on your muscles, Sansa would spend as much time recovering as she would digging. to get all the way to the entrance would take her literal years with Richard's suggested method.

PLUS: the point of the adventures is for SANSA (and Arya) to have the spot light, to be forced to think and find ways to use the new Abilities they've been given, or to come up with new ones. It's part of my whole "Power is Earned, or it is Corrupted" mentality, if you don't work for it, you will sooner rather than later abuse it.

AND: of course she's going to use diplomatic solutions, she's Sansa, and that's what the clue of foreshadowing was saying! Literally everything you need to know to solve the Dungeons is in their individual clues!!!

"Secondly, medieval people already had long-lasting torches which burned for hours and hours instead of 5-10 minutes. Each torch looked like a pillar or stupidly elongated torch that was carried with the tip lit and burning down like a candle. They also didn't use candles as those were too expensive. They used rushes soaked in fat which could be made by the dozens to hundreds with a few hours' work. There's a youtube video on this subject entitled medieval misconceptions: torches and candles."

Oh. My. God. Such. Valuable. Information. If . Only. I had. Known. This. When. I wrote. about. reed candles. in this. very fic.

Literally of the four times I used the word candle, twice it was explicitly 'reed candles' (and guess what other name rushes go by?) and once it was a metaphor specifically about the smoke and not the candle.

As for the pillar candles, the ones that burn for hours are too heavy for someone of Sansa's size and arm strength and the hour candles, (if you've ever seen Avatar Last Airbender, the candles they used in the Secret Tunnel) are unwieldy and aren't so good for putting down in a way that doesn't risk them going out. (Putting them far enough into a wall sconce that it won't topple back out makes it very tricky to remove it.)

Which, why even bother with torches that are more effort to obtain when Sansa's powers make the 'advantage' obsolete anyway!? Not to mention: Displayed Content! If a show uses something even in the background, it exists in that world. Wax candles aren't that rare. (Also side note, because I do my fcking research: the majority of hives which supply the honey and wax to Westeros are owned by the Maesters of old town.)

"I don't really care about those things though. The latter is a mistake literally everyone makes and I didn't know was a mistake until a month ago. Which goes into my third point, how Sansa could optimize things."

Then why bring it up, especially since I didn't technically make said mistake??

"At this point she knows she needs people and she's already given her powers to someone trustworthy. She also knows that healing is a power she can give. And she knows they're going to need this at least as much as medics. And there are indeed people she trusts whom she hasn't approached with an offer of power. Ned Stark, Catelyn Stark, Lyra Mormont of Bear Island, and Tyrion Lannister. Tyrion Lannister can wait but not forever. Lyra should be approached as soon as possible."

NO. Arya was the exception, not the rule, Sansa isn't going to just go off and give her god-blessed powers to anyone else. I was hesitant to give it to Arya as it was, and only let myself because I could use the 'Arya's God is Death, there's more stakes than you thought' to fully justify it.

Tyrion as he is can't be trusted, and future Tyrion chose Dany over Sansa, neither Sansa nor Arya know how his story ended, so as far as they are concerned he's a good ally, but not actually trust worthy enough for this.

For those of you confused, Lyra Mormont is one of the daughters of the Lady Maege Mormont, and one of Lyanna's sisters. Lyra got maybe two mentions in the books and nothing in the tv series so I can only assume Richard meant Lyanna, who is currently 2 years old! But we'll come back to this, because Richard sure did!!!

As for the medic thing, I really hope Richard meant he was fcking off for good in his final word, because if he comes back, I really don't want him to think he's responsible for the medic corps that I've been planning and attempting to foreshadow with Sansa approaching Luwin, and Beth and Jeyne following Sansa's lead with archery.

Like, oh hey, guess which unfortunate field medic bride of a Stark might find her way to Winterfell if she hears about young women being trained in some basic healing to help Maester Luwin deal with any cases of over flow of patients. That's right, I'm planning for triage nurses! No magical powers required. 

"I assume she's going to get glass from Lys through the Tapestry of Doors. For that she's going to need tokens. She's going to need tokens for everything, and she already knows it. So collecting and hoarding tokens should be a big priority for her. And that means going places where there are tokens to be got. Places she hasn't gone to yet, like The Wall and Bear Island. Just to get tokens."

No. Again, just NO! Sansa already stated that Tokens and relying on them were a thing that would come back to bite her, she'll horde them as she finds them, but she's not going out of her way to find them because she has things to do! Also: the Tapestry of Doors was a piece of Flavour text for way late in the fic if it ever came back, and like a Stargate, requires one at each end, so someone would have to travel to Lys anyway, which is dumb when Sansa now has a Loom which can copy any 'raw' material, and the ability to convert that 'raw' material' into any object she has the blueprint for, which she can get by 'scanning' with her console.

She just has to put 2 and 2 together!!

"She also knows there are dungeons in each place, and that she needs to get to them. And that it's better if she gets in with people. Like people Lyra trusts to whatever dungeon is in Bear Island."

The thing about the Dungeons is that the whole thing is for Sansa, some of them will have special requirements, but very few of them are crucial, they're just there so Sansa has a place and a trial to obtain Unique Items of game breaking power or ability.

"The last way to optimise her powers is one I don't think she'll take even though it has a lot of benefits. Going with a squad of soldiers into the Dreadfort's dungeon in order to confront the walking dead, with hit and run tactics slowly draining the population there. The main benefit and reason to do this is to harden and blood the soldiers to prepare them for the Long Night, so she should have the soldiers on rotation in order to expose as many as possible to the horrors to come."

Problem is the undead in the Dreadfort Dungeon aren't the same as the Wights and White Walkers, they can just be killed in the same ways. The idea of these kinds of fics is that by the time the Long Night Comes, Sansa and Arya can do most if the heavy lifting. You are right that Sansa wouldn't risk her people for some EXP though.

Sansa will be going back though, there's a pair of Shears and Needle in there.

"Also, the loot should be great. Perhaps another loom. But I would do it even for more bobbins. Or nothing at all."

Literally the Loom is a one off item. It is super powerful with what it can do in the context, so having more than one would ruin the power balance I've been trying to keep between Power Fantasy and OP Bullshit.

-

Someone of course pointed out that (Richard said Lyra, but responder said Lynna) Lyanna was currently literally 2 or 3 years old, she can't do shit. (they also brought up that 2 (actually 3) characters had already declined the super powers, because it included bad timeline memory downloads.) Guess how Richard took that?!

If you guessed "not well" you get a cookie!

Seriously, I was kind of annoyed at his review because^^^ reasons he was wrong about stuff, but also the arrogance of 'telling me how to optimize my character' was just, icky, so I was just going to ignore him.

But then he went (in response to the other reviewer):

"(snort) I think you need to recall what Lyanna Mormont is like at 10 years of age. She is a force and she is in charge. And what exactly is your objection, that Sansa needs consent or is preserving innocence?"

No moron, the objection is that she's literally 2 or 3 years old, what the fck is she going to do in her tiny little body? But yes, now that you mention it, Sansa (was assaulted and lost her bodily autonomy, she) would place a huge amount of importance on consent, it's one of the reasons she was so upset by Arya taking advantage of her sleepy state to get her to agree.

"Lyanna Mormont wouldn't care. Jon and Robb care, that's why their sister cares. Lyanna would never thank Sansa for trying to preserve her innocence, keep her ignorant, or keep her weak. She would be insulted."

Lyanna is literally 2 or 3 years old, she doesn't know enough to care or be insulted by not being told that she's lost the chance to remember several years of horrific shit before being violently murdered.

Also I notice you didn't say anything about the name correction. Got it wrong the first time did you?

"Which leaves only respecting Lyanna's will. Or her mother's will maybe. Or at least informing them of what she's decided to do before she does it so they can prepare. But Sansa gains nothing by not asking."

And what would she gain by asking? also nothing. Lyanna is 2 or 3 years old. Also the fic isn't about her. Why would Sansa even trust her? The child who thought she could judge Sansa for being unable to stab her way out of some horrible places? who scorned Sansa because she was femme? Because Sansa's strength isn't the same as hers so Lynna decided Sansa didn't have any?

Lynna chose Jon to lead the North over Sansa who had a better claim to the throne, Jon, who spent the entire 8th season saying how much he doesn't want to be king, Jon who legit just tried to walk away from the Command of the Nights Watch.

"And this brings up another issue, the fact Sansa never decided FOR Jon and Robb cuts both ways. She informed them of their choice and she let them make it."

"Sansa didn't keep them in the dark without informing them of the decision she was making for them, as you seem to want to do, since that definitely isn't the right thing to do. Mushroom management is a shit heap."

The boys were already aware that something was up, Sansa had nothing to gain by lying, and she made the offer before she realised the memories were a thing.

"The question to ask a toddler is "do you want to grow up?" it's not a difficult question to ask and it does have a meaningful answer. And that's the problem you have, because you already know Lyanna Mormont would say yes and you want her to say no. That's why you want the question never asked."

"You want to pretend that Lyanna Mormont, DEFINITELY in charge of bear island at 10 years of age, is a gormless wimp like 25 year old Jon Snow who refused to be king and refused to even THINK whether or not Daenerys would be a good queen by constantly uttering the refrain "she is my queen"."

Laynna was in charge because she was the last of her family, everyone else was lost fighting someone else's war. More importantly: she's not even part of the equation? Why would Sansa travel to Bear Island to ask a 2 or 3 year old if she wants to become an angry and traumatised 10 year old in a 2 or 3 year old body which will feel like a prison because she's not as tall or fast as she used to be, because she can't lift or climb or jump or ride or fight like she used to.

And for what? a few super powers she has to ask Sansa for? For mental trauma her family and friends cannot comprehend?

But no, have a look at the part where Richard really started to cross the line:

"No, Lyanna Mormont wants power, wants to grow up, that is obvious. And you're an obstacle in her way. She would hurt you for standing in her way, probably smashing a mace in your knees. And you're so weak that yes you would in fact be hurt by a 2 or 3 year old toddler. She killed a giant and she would have no problem killing you for daring to think you're a giant."

"Stand aside little man and let Lyanna Mormont have her glory."

Now I don't know what this guy's obsession is with Lyanna, but that sounded like a threat to me. Like, who tells people that a fiction character would physically maim or murder a real person just for pointing out said fictional character is 2 or 3 years old?

Lyanna doesn't want power? She's not that kind of person, even if she is fictional? More importantly:

Neither I nor the reviewer were 'standing in her way' because she's a fictional character who's not even in this fic!!!

But his behaviour was pretty shit, so I told him to knock it off or I was going to turn the review filters on.

That went about as well as you might expect.

So I was All:

[I don't know what you think you mean by 'optimize the character' but half of your assumptions are wrong, the rest run counter to my pre-existing plans and I don't care for your overall demeanour. I was prepared to leave your post be, but your recent reply is inappropriate and uses language which runs VERY close to sounding like a death threat, which I DO NOT APPRECIATE. I don't want to be 'that bitch', but I am going to ask you to please be respectful, or I will be turning on the comment filters.]

Because I don't Know if you know this but AO3 has three filters in the privacy tab of every story posted:

1] “Only show your work to registered users”

this means that you MUST be logged in to an AO3 account to even find it let alone read it

2] Disable Anonymous Comments

you Must be logged in to leave a comment

3] Enable Comment Moderation

doesn't matter what you say, with out Author OK, your review will not be showing up in the comment section.

(… tumblr just did that thing again where it refreshes in the middle of my thousands of words of text and loses all my stuff, it is literally making me want to kill myself. Because I have to retype all the responses from the next fcking section. It's my own fault for not just using a word document, but also: fck tumblr? For being stupid?)

So, from here Richard had three options:

1- Apologise and move one

2- say nothing and pretend it hadn't happened and move on

3- He went with this:

“Your Sansa Stark is weaker than canon Sansa Stark. It's true your Sansa Stark has a strictly higher level of ambition than Sansa Stark. But what she uses in order to achieve her goals, her resources, is weaker.”

“She uses actions, capabilities and skills. She uses embroidery, archery, learning (archery), she uses the people she already knows but not strangers. She uses and manipulates the people she can interact with, learn from, act upon. The level of people that is directly equal to skills.”“

She doesn't use language, nor does she use strangers. Strangers are the level of people that don't require interaction but DO require language to deal with. And your Sansa Stark's language is too weak. When she manipulates the maid in the Dreadfort, it's entirely accidentally and unintentionally.”

Sansa has seen what power does to people, she's seen what lies ahead for the manipulators of the world, she's been taught at the side of Cersei and Petyr, and she does not want to become them. For all the horrific things she's gone through, Sansa came out the other side with her compassion intact, possibly even stronger than before.

“She talks to Domeric only because she's already interacted with him, she's been healing him for days by that point. She fakes Green Dreaming to her father because she knows her language is inadequate and will achieve nothing. The way her father and mother treat her, they know mere words would be inadequate. And they would dismiss any words she said. "Haven't we told our children dreams can't hurt you?"”

She doesn't want to interact with Domeric, he looks like the man who violated her repeatedly, killed her brother and sacked her home. She wants to be as far away from him as possible. When she does end up interacting with him, despite being so sleep deprived it's a wonder she hadn't started hallucinating, she manages to win him over pretty easily.

She fakes Green Dreaming because “a god made me time travel” is not only a ridiculous concept but a foreign one as well. Why would Sansa tell her parents that when it would mean admitting to going through some horrific shit, to letting her family down and being let down by her family when Green Dreams are a known thing which explains her knowledge. It's not inadequacy, it's efficiency and an attempt to hide horrible things.

I need to point out that “Haven't we told our children that dreams can't hurt you?” is said by Catelyn in self-recrimination afterwards, and is said specifically to reference the reason Sansa might not have felt she could go to them with her problem was because it was based on dreams. Because what parent would take dreams as a serious threat unless they were a Nightmare on Elm Street survivor, especially since Green Seers have become so rare they've been relegated back to myths and stories by the time Jojen and Bran show up.

“Language requires actions such as mouthing, shouting, tonguing, but actions will never add up to language. Actions are necessary but NOT SUFFICIENT for language. This is why you can't write a single damned sentence with only actions. Try it, you won't be able to.”

I can't take this paragraph seriously if only because of the use of the word 'tonguing'. FFS, he sounds like a small child trying to convince people he's got a PhD. 'If I throw out some big words and phrase them right they'll sound 'academic' and I'll look smarter!

'I know this probably isn't what Richard meant but: Sign Language? Is literally all actions?

(Obviously real language requires thoughts and concepts to be communicated to be a language, but even the most primitive of body movements can express something: I'm hot, I'm hungry, I'm angry, etc. It might not be true language, but it is communication, which is the basis of language, the reason we made language in the first place.)

“Canon Sansa Stark had dreams, plans, and designs on what others have. She wanted to wed a prince, she had designs on the princess position. She wanted out of King's Landing. She wanted Winterfell. She wanted the Knights of the Vale to fight ... FOR HER.”

“People who had never met canon Sansa Stark in their entire lives fought and died for canon Sansa Stark's benefit. For the designs of a (her words) stupid girl. And sure, her initial designs were stupid. And they only rose up to being pathetic. But they were designs, they were dreams, they were plans.”

I need to talk about my interpretation of Sansa for a minute, because that's what I've been writing: my interpretation of Sansa.

Sansa was raised with an idea of how the world should be, not how it was. She was raised loved and protected and surrounded by men of honour. Fed stories of heroes, brave knights and valiant princes, where good always triumphed, or was romantically defeated and beautifully tragic.

She wasn't raised to expect dishonourable men and hidden motives, she wasn't raised expecting a (metaphorical) dagger in her back.

She didn't want the crown, she didn't want the throne, she wanted “the prince” from her stories, who would cherish her and care for her and give her a family filled with love. And yes the pretty dresses and the shiny jewels and the adoration and praise. But she never wanted power, that came later.

Later after she'd seen the cracks in the world and the grime beneath the gilding, when she'd learned friend and foe were often the same, that people with power would hurt her, use her, that she was nothing but a trophy to them.

Sansa wanted power because “if I'm the one with the power, then they can't hurt me any more, if I have the power I'll be safe, if I have the power then I can protect people, if I have the power I can stop people like that.”

But Sansa has never had power, it was always borrowed, an illusion that could vanish at one misstep. She had no money of her own, her blood made her valuable to others as a trade commodity, but gave her no personal power.

When people fought for her, it was never really about her.

Petyr gave her armies so he could win favour so he could use her as a proxy for her dead mother. Brienne fought to fulfil an oath to Sansa's dead mother.

The Men of the North fought for Winterfell, to get revenge on the Boltons. The Wildings followed Jon Snow. And when it was over, it was Jon who was crowned king, not Sansa the one who had to talk him into getting back their home in the first place.

Her parents and Robb fought for her, but their armies fought for House Stark, for the insult Sansa and Arya's capture and Ned's death presented.

“Your Sansa Stark has no plans, has no dreams, and certainly has no designs. She doesn't use language, because her language is too weak and has no power. She doesn't use her emotions or feelings because they are brittle and far too weak to be used. Weaker even than the emotions and feelings of a stupid girl. She doesn't use her mind or intellect because she doesn't cogitate. She uses skills and ONLY skills. To try to fake everything else.”

It's odd that he says this when he started off this response by saying my Sansa was more ambitious than canon Sansa.

First of all: I thought I was making it fairly clear that her goals were: save her family, save the North, stop the White Walkers.

Her dreams are to never be beholden to another man ever again.

Sansa wants her family alive, she wants to be safe and she wants to be free of all the political manipulations she had to sit through in the first timeline.

Second of all: Richard has clearly never been assaulted in his life in any way and I am so fcking happy for him. Really.

Look, people who suffer long term trauma, (or short term, it doesn't matter how long really) are not magically okay afterwards. The idea that sexual assault makes femme women strong is disgusting and so toxically prevalent in movies and shows and books these days its... horrific. You'll notice butch women like Arya aren't typically assaulted to be strong, because they're already so 'manly'. It was a genuine surprise when they tried to have Brienne assaulted, but that was more about showing how much of a 'good guy' Jaime was than Brienne.

You can really tell in several places that the tv series had non-con fetishists on staff.

Sansa is so brittle now, because she feels safe enough to let herself feel the fear she wasn't able to earlier, to work through the panic and the anger and all the emotions she couldn't before.

“Your Sansa Stark plans to use skills in order to change the world. And since it's obvious the world isn't run by woodcutters or farmers or archers or anyone else defined by their SKILLS, she will fail. She will fail abysmally, totally and catastrophically. She hasn't got the slightest sliver of a chance.”

Quick tally: Sansa has managed to convince her parents she had knowledge of the future, put them on track to realising Petyr Baelish was stealing from the Crown, got Stannis curious in Dragonstone, came up with a plan to gain favour for the North by helping to pay of part of the Crown's debt and has begun working on a plan to ensure more food is available for the Northerners when Winter arrives.

Not to mention, (and you'd easily miss this): Sansa has begun influencing a shift in the young women of the North who had previously been influenced by the South.

The thing is, Richard seems convinced its about the looting and the grinding, 'kill enough stuff and you become a God!' but it's not.

“So you stacked the deck in her favor. You put a high tier deity on her side. Now Sansa has a slim chance to squeak out a win, using the power she's borrowing. But here's the thing, it will never be HER win because it isn't HER power, it isn't HER plans. Your Sansa Stark has no plans, but her deity does, even if they're stupid plans of puerile amusement-seeking. So IF there is a victory at the end, it will never be Sansa Stark's victory, it will be her deity's. Because she is only a pawn, a tool, a peon, a minion.”

Richard doesn't seem to understand what the introduction of Arya's God means for the lore. The amount of death from the wars is causing Bad Things in the back ground of the original timeline.

Sansa isn't the Being's pawn, she's their start player, the Being is a sponsor who's giving Sansa the chance and resources to be greater than she was. It's not about 'puerile amusement-seeking', but how do you tell a young woman who's gone through what Sansa's gone through that the fate of the entire human race is in her hands, that if she fails it won't just be her family that falls.

If Sansa thinks the Being just wants amusement, then Sansa will act as she pleases and hope it's good enough, which puts her closer in line with saving the world than if she's actually trying to save the world, because that is a much bigger task than 'stop the issues that got my family killed'.

The Being is only victorious if Sansa is, it's their shared victory.

Now up until this point Richard has been an arrogant tool, but it might almost seem like he's being reasonable. This is where he loses the plot and just starts back on his favourite fall back: threatening people with violence.

“Now generally, when an author writes a protagonist who is a pawn, a tool, a peon and a minion of a higher power, when they write a protagonist who is WEAK, it's because they themselves are weak. Generally doesn't mean universally however, so I had to know. And now I do. You are weak Jasper.”

“You want to convince me of something Jasper. You want to convince me that I'm wrong, that my opinion is wrong, that my position is wrong, you want me to change my mind, you want me to know my plans and judgment are wrong. Because they're in conflict with yours. But how do you achieve this? By threatening me with your borrowed power. Exactly like your Sansa Stark.”

Did he have to google the list of synonyms there?

I don't know what it is about being referred to by name, but it bugs me that he chose to use only a portion of my pen-name like we were somehow familiar, rather than not using my name or referring to me as OP or something along those lines.

Also I really have to disagree that only weak people write about people being weak, but I don't think his opinions of weak and strong match with mine either. 

He is wrong, but more importantly: he threatened someone with violence for daring to correct him.

I wasn't threatening him, I was warning him to stop being an asshole or I would disable anonymous commenting.

“You do this because you're weak. And what do we call weak people who complain about strong people's actions when they are the bitches of higher powers? We call them exactly what you "don't want to be", we call them bitches. You are a bitch to higher powers and you bitch about higher powers like me. You bitch about people who can use their intellects. And for a good reason too.”

“You fear my attitude because I am the bitch slapper. I slap little bitches like you all fucking day long every single day. It doesn't matter to me who it is, whether it's my own friends who are bitching, I slap them for it. And you will never ever convince me that you're right. Because you're weak. And because I don't respect bitches.”

Look, I've seen enough therapists of different varieties to pull off some impressive psych 101 bullshit so I can tell you right now: Richard is a man who has never held any real authority in his life, he has mediocre skills at best and often feels talked down to because he feels more entitled than he is and no one treats him like a god for breathing. He refuses to back down when wrong even in the face of evidence and then he pouts because the world didn't shift to match his delusions.

The worst part is I know this, and I know I shouldn't let this bother me. But it does. But it shouldn't and I can tell him to his 'face' via review reply why he's wrong, or he'll know it bothers me, then he'll feel validated, even though he's wrong. And he'll probably threaten someone with more violence and then I really will have to disable anon comments and effectively punish some readers who did nothing wrong.

“So what are you going to do to me that I care about? Stop me from reading your fic? You don't have that power. Stop writing it so that I can no longer learn how your mind works, my ulterior motive? That would be cutting your nose to spite your face. You would suffer far out of proportion to me. I would just move on to some other author. Report me? Go ahead, I don't care. Really, we're done here, so have a nice life.”

Yes I do, literally the first of the privacy filters would stop you from reading, but that would hurt my other readers who don't have an account.

'Ulterior motive'? Buddy, you apparently don't understand how any mind works.

Again: if you don't care why bring it up?

Are you really leaving though? Do you promise?!

“The only thing you could ever do to me is surprise me by ceasing to be a weak little bitch. Or even resolving to not be one. This would invalidate all of my predictions by rising to my implied challenge. That's what I like, win-win. (lol) I'm not holding my breath though.”

I don't have anything to prove to this douche tool and it bothers me that this is bothering me so much!!!! The worst part is, this review came at a time when my attention for the fic was flagging, so I'll never know if it was really this review or not that made me stop writing for the past few months?

Those of you with an AO3 account who drop by my profile to see if I wrote anything interesting may have noticed my recent 'for archive users only' locked fic. I can confirm that yes: to mental detox this review I went and watched a Chinese Xianxia drama that has become my new hyper-focus. Almost 100 plot bunnies are being posted into the locked fic in an effort to purge it rom my brain so I can get back to what I was doing. It seems to be working. I wrote about 1000 words for Episode: Sisterhood this week, so the chapter is almost done. At last!

[official-mr-saxobeat]

N e way it has been 728 days since I last saw/had any communication from my older brother (and longer for my little brother, but I don't know the exact date bc I wasn't fucking PAYING ATTENTION.)

And you know what? I remember the day. 7-14-17. He told me he'd text me the next day and see me the next week. You wanna know how many times he's contacted me? Zero. He's also blocked me. All because his fucking CUNT parents (can you say: DIS-GUS-TENG) decided for some fucking UNKNOWN reason that our mom, sister, and I needed to be cut off completely. Literal family, disowned with absolutely no explanation. He and I were closer than ANYONE and ALWAYS told each other we were more important than anyone else to each other. He has had so, so many opportunities to contact me. Literally just sending a fucking letter could've worked. Just, "Hey, it's Tyler. Simon and I are ok. We miss you a ton. Don't send anything back." But would you guess what? Nope. Nothing. One of his friends said that he misses me, and is apparently going to text me once he's 18. But a mutual friend of ours (who's closer to him than the other one) said more recently that he hates me now! Neat. Great. Good. Wonderful. Our sister lived in a much, MUCH more dangerous house than his, and yet wouldn't you know it! She has contacted me every single time she's had the opportunity, and risked a lot for it too. Even if she couldn't carry on a conversation, she'd let me know that she was at least safe or ok. And wow! Now that she has a phone again, she texts me all the time! Almost like...if you put in the effort to contact someone you care about, you absolutely can! She's planning to drive down and visit me! (If you're reading this Pauline I love you SO HECKING MUCH HOE ASS HOE!!!!)

I even believe that our little brother would have contacted me if he knew how. He was fucking six the last time I saw him. He's turning nine this August. Of COURSE he can't contact me, he doesn't have a phone or know my address to send a letter.

Anyway. I don't know if I'll ever hear from him again. Lots of people have told me to just give up.

....

Don't they get it...? I can't ever give up. He was my everything. Absolutely everything to me. He was there, always, no matter what.

He has no idea how many times I've cried, sobbed myself to sleep over losing him. He has no idea how much sleep I've lost over him, whether it be from nightmares where he finds me and tells me he hates me and hopes I kill myself, or from not being able to sleep because I had an unexplainable feeling that he might, just maybe, come see me, and I didn't want to go to sleep for fear of not hearing a knock or the doorbell. I'd already gone through that with our sister. He has no idea how many times I've come so, so close to just texting him, telling him how much I miss him, telling him I've changed, how much I wish he'd come back. How much I wish I could just hear his voice. See his face. Hear his laugh.

I don't know what I did. I have absolutely no clue. Neither does Pauline. Or our mom. Not an inkling. I found a letter the other day from them when I was going through boxes. A birthday card. There were long messages from both of them (the cunts) inside, telling me how much they loved me, how proud they were of me and the young man I was growing into, how much they loved having me as a part of their family, etc, etc. Who knew that in less than a year and a half from then, they'd be telling me I shouldn't ever ask about going on a family trip to the beach. But not for the same reason it used to be. It used to be, "Don't ever ask if you can come with us on a family trip, you're OBVIOUSLY coming! Why wouldn't you? You are family, after all!"

Then it was, "You're so selfish. Don't EVER ask something like that. Why would you think you could just invite yourself on a trip with us? How DARE you be so disrespectful!? You should be ashamed of yourself."

I hadn't even asked to go. I had been on every single beach trip EVER with them. They were family, after all. Tyler told me they were going to Santa Monica and asked if I was coming. I said no. I hadn't even known anything about it. So I texted CUNT BITCH (CB) and she didn't respond. All I said was, "Hey, Tyler told me you're going on a beach trip on Monday and Tuesday, did you forget to invite me or should I just not come?"

She didn't respond for over four hours. Which was really fucking weird. Because she always responded to me. So I texted again. "It's totally fine if I can't come, I'd just appreciate it if you could tell me instead of leaving me on read please."

Wow! Would you guess what. CUNT FUCK (CF) (her husband) texted me ALMOST IMMEDIATELY from her phone. The message read something like (I don't have the original texts anymore),

"How could you be so selfish. Inviting yourself on a trip that's for FAMILY ONLY. (Insert rant about how I'm a terrible person and caused CB to have a "panic attack") (and yes, I know putting panic attack in quotations seems really bad, but she faked panic attacks the entire time I knew her, aka my whole life. And they got SO much worse in those last couple months.) You hurt CB so much. You know how much she cares about you, and yet you accused her of ignoring you. How could you. I'm disappointed in the amount of disrespect you are showing right now." (Side note, I went over to his house back in June, CB opened the door, didn't recognize me at first, then said, "Nope, get out!" And slammed the door in my face.)

Tyler came over the next day, we hung out, he left. When he hugged me goodbye he said he'd talk to his parents about bringing me on the beach trip, he didn't know why they hadn't asked me.

And that was the last I heard from him. Friday, July fourteenth, 2017. Never again. I don't know if he hates me. But it certainly seems like he does.

I don't know, maybe one day he'll contact me again. Maybe he won't. Maybe I'll live the rest of my life wondering what I did and why he and his parents hate me. Maybe he will contact me, just to tell me what a terrible person I am and how glad he is he was separated from me.

I don't know.

I just want to talk to him again. I want to tell him how sorry I am for being a bossy prick. For beating him up when we were little (but I mean we're fucking brothers, and that's just what we fucking did back then). For not being there on his 14th birthday. For getting angry when he won games. For being angsty all the time when I was older. For lecturing him about Homestuck all the time. For being in the hospital so much when I was younger (see: being angsty all the time). For spending more time with s/o's than him sometimes. For waking him up at 0100 in the morning in 7th grade. For being so flamboyant about my sexuality for a few years (god, that was bad). For saying TRIGGERED every two seconds. For hurting myself even after I promised I wouldn't. For not being good enough at the piano to play the Animal Crossing: City Folk museum theme with him. For not waking up early when he was over. For not making enough (or good enough) homemade gifts for him. For not having enough random gift days. For not listening to him when he said things I was doing were edgy. For making him listen to annoying music.

For not being a good enough brother.

I miss him so much. I miss Simon so much. I miss Pauline so much too, obviously, but it's different because I've been able to talk with her all the time. I know she loves and misses me. I also have a feeling that Simon loves and misses me too. He always liked/loved me more than anyone else. He hated his parents. He told me so. I was the only one that respected him. I feel like no matter the amount of brainwashing his parents did to him, he'd know the truth. I just hope he knows I didn't abandon him. That I love him so much. And that it hurts so, so much, every day. And especially on Christmas and his birthday. And Halloween. We loved Halloween.

It's 0606 now. There's 41 hours and 54 minutes until it's been two whole years.

I wonder if he remembers the day...?

I don't know.

I wonder if he'll read this one day. Probably not. But if he does I hope he knows how much I love him and how much I miss him and how much I miss our driveway talks in the middle of the night and Mario kart races and pool games and water pool games and snowmen and sledding and writing stories together and drawing maps together and listening to pop songs while making fun of them and playing the undertale song game and playing minecraft and watching markiplier and fighting and cheating at board games in each other's favor and sorting candy after Halloween and collecting shit money from a camel in that Indiana Jones lego Wii game and making characters in that star wars lego Wii game and screaming badgers at the top of our lungs and spinning in circles to the hamster dance and walking home from elementary school and learning Japanese and OPERATIONTWENTYFOURHUNDRED and Sliced and making house tour videos and other fucking stupid home videos and building legos and rebuilding legos bc of simon and REREBUILDING LEGOS BC OF SIMON and planning midnight snacks that never happened and going to the waterpark and going to the park and finally being allowed to go places on our own and practicing singing to you and seeing you at all my concerts and playing Kirby's Return to Dreamland to 100% together and making really disgusting food creations when we were really little and playing with your hotwheels and cleaning my (DIS-GUS-TENG) room together and having random gift days and all your birthdays and all my birthdays and your AMAZING peanut butter fudge banana smoothie (which I,,, still have yet to perfect) and you being absolutely blunt and truthful towards me (except about my drawing skills/drawings which you absolutely loved even though they were terrible) and going through the undertale files to try and hack the end credits so we could get through the mysterious door and having tea parties together with that FUCKING TINY tea set (I have a big one now though) and giving you fashion shows with fucking stupid clothes that were really bad and playing Wii ski together and Super Mario Galaxy together while you were Mario and I froze enemies and collected stars and playing HMTOT and playing Animal Crossing and you selling everything you caught and all your furniture (besides mario stuff, obviously) so I could buy the Gracie Grace stuff (god, I was a cunt) and EOU (YOU'RE AS BLIND AS A WORM) and essentially having our own language and reading jack and annie books when we were really little and just. There's 20,000 more things plus some but I could never list them all. Everything we've ever done together I miss.

I don't know your views on a lot of things now. I don't know what you think about gay people. I've heard that you've called me they instead of he ever since we stopped talking. That's understandable, though. I dressed like a girl and wore makeup and stuff. I was confused. I thought that's what you were supposed to do, as a gay dude. Obviously not. I'm way less out there about my sexuality now. It's not something I talk about. It's not my whole fucking personality anymore. Which is really good.

I've changed so much since I last talked to you. I'm not edgy anymore. I fucking finally hit puberty (GODDAMN IT WAS FUCKING LATE) and my voice is really deep and I've been growing quite a bit of facial hair, which is nice. I don't look like a fucking girl anymore because I stopped dressing like one and wearing makeup and stuff. I realized that being mistaken for a girl felt like shit and tumblr was shit for encouraging that, just because I'm gay. I haven't hurt myself since September 4th, 2017. So that's also good. I've seen the bad things in mom that I couldn't see before. (Even though there's literally. Nothing that should have made your fucking cunt mother and father disown Pauline and mom and I.) I've made more friends and lost a lot too. I've done more writing, but nothing too edgy. I got my shit together in school and I'm going to CCCC starting in the fall. I almost have my driver's license. One of my best friend's moms is the manager at Starbucks and I talked to her about hiring me, so I'm getting a job soon, too. I started learning the piano again, for the first time in 12 years. Since the last time your mom taught it to me. I started cooking more, and have made some pretty amazing dishes, if I do say so myself. Mom and I sent you and Simon birthday and Christmas presents every year. They always were sent back. Except for your 16th birthday. I bought you a pineapple pizza club pin and an orange dad hat with an orange on it. Those are the only things that ever haven't been sent back. I sent a note with them too. Did you read it? I hope so.

I brag about you all the time. Mostly about how smart you are. "My brother essentially taught himself pre-calculus in 10th grade, and STILL passed the class," I say. I then go on to explain that you were homeschooled and your math teacher almost never showed up to the online classes.

I've wondered often about what college you're going to go to, or even if you are going. We used to plan to go to one together. I can't even remember what I wanted as a career the last time we talked. I remember that you had no idea, though. I remember you being really good at coding. Maybe you're majoring in computer sciences? I don't know.

I really miss you a ton. Before she kicked me out, mom used to encourage me to send you a letter. I never did. I was scared. Scared of getting a letter back like the one I sent to Simon on his eighth birthday, or the Christmas package we sent in 2017. Both came back to our house with "RETURN TO SENDER!!!!!!!" written in thick black sharpie on the front. Even worse, I imagined a letter back in your handwriting. I would've been so, so ecstatic. Beyond thrilled. Then upon opening it, finding a handwritten letter from you saying that you never wanted to hear from me again and that you hated me.

It was selfish of me. To not send you a letter. I'm sorry. I texted you twice. You blocked me the second time. It was too scary to me. I should've been brave. For you. Just so you knew I was thinking of you. I'm so sorry. I love you so much. I miss you so much.

After I moved back to our hometown, I thought about going to your house. I texted one of your friends. He said that he could text you for me. He said that you said you miss me. And that you'd text me as soon as you turned 18. Tyler, you don't even know my number. I don't know if the guy was lying or not, but I don't think so. He doesn't seem like the type. He said that you wouldn't have him communicate for us. I don't know why.

I don't know why your parents hate me. I don't know what I did. For the longest time, my therapist and mom and Pauline told me that I didn't do anything, it had to have been something between mom and your mom. I didn't believe that at all. If it was just mom, why did they cut Pauline and I off...? But eventually I started to believe them. That was clearly a mistake, seeing how your mom treated me when I saw her. I wonder if she told you about that. She literally slammed the door in my face. In her own son's face. Who she always told would always have a home with her. Who she always told would always have a place in her heart, no matter what happened between mom and her. So clearly I did do something. I have no idea what. Could it really be that I asked about if I had been forgotten for a trip...? Was 15 years of raising a child completely disregarded because I was curious and confused? Again, I have no clue. I doubt I ever will. But if that is the case. If that's why specifically /I/ was cut off (because I know there was something else between mom and your mom that she literally never explained. Literally all mom and Pauline and I know is that apparently mom was "abusive" for years towards your mom, despite nobody ever seeing it, her never mentioning it before I went to Oak Grove, and her saying that she "knew it happened, but didn't know what it was"), then I doubt that your parents ever really loved me. If a simple question erases a lifetime of care and love and bonds and family, then all of those things were never really there.

It's 0737. Yeah, I still use military time. Also, I wanted to do a speech (in my speech class) on why a time system based on 10's would be better for the world. Remember? You wanted that. I couldn't remember the details, though. Anyway. It's 0738. There's 40 hours and 22 minutes until it's been two years since I've seen you.

I often wonder if you think about me. I think about you all the time. Have I faded from your memory? What am I to you now? Am I your brother, your closest confidant, your best friend, and your <>? Am I nothing? Just a faint thought, a distant memory? Or am I your worst enemy? Have your parents convicted you that I'm a horrible person? I desperately hope not. I hope you remember everything. And I hope that you realize that it's been a long time, and we both have matured a ton. Going from an edgy 10th grader who thinks dressing like a girl, screaming "GAY," and looking up undertale AU's are the coolest things ever to a college freshman who finally realized that sexuality shouldn't be a personality trait, being an edgy cunt isn't cool, and responsibilities are actually important is a big difference. I'm sure you've had some huge changes too. You're almost 18. As of today, there's 2 months and 2 days until your birthday. I've been waiting for it for so, so long. An eternity, it feels like. I'm so scared. I don't know if you hate me or not. I'm going to text you. I'm not sure on what, but something. I'll tell you happy birthday. Just so you know how to contact me in case you want to talk. I have no idea if you'll just block me right off the bat. I'm hoping so, so much that Nathanael wasn't saying you hate me.

It's 0756. There's 40 hours and 4 minutes until it's been two years since I've seen you. Error 404 means...something not found, right? I don't know. It doesn't matter.

I miss you. I love you.

Please come back soon.

- E. Nikolas B.

[wellhellotragic]

Dreaming of a Pink Christmas

Summary: Emma Swan despises the pink christmas tree currently living in her apartment. It's nothing short of an abomination. But when Emma decides to replace it with a freshly chopped tree of her own, Her bug gets stuck in a storm, and she'd forced to call the last person she ever wanted to see again. The man that broke her heart. Also on AO3.

Rating: Mature (there’s smut)

A/N: Imagine signing up for the CSSecretSanta and waiting patiently for a name to be assigned you, and when it finally come you're just like crap. Not because you've been assigned a person you don't care for, but you've been given someone who is just leaps and bounds above the cut in fiction writing. Someone whose work everyone in the fandom loves an adores. And then you realize that you have to write a fic for them. Ya, no pressure there.

So with that said, this is my CSSS gift for the lovely @alexandralyman. (Surprise!) She asked for angst and I hope I've delivered. There's a bit of humor tossed in too. I wasn't able to fit in forced bed sharing like you'd mention, but there is force cohabitation and definite bed sharing. I hope you like it Alex, and Merry Christmas!

I was mostly joking when I told people that this was going to be 10K, but apparently I have no self-control and it just kept growing and growing.  

(P.S. If you've never seen Sandra Lee's Kawanzaa cake, you might want to check it out on youtube before reading this fic!)

Another A/N: I also want to thank @best-left-hook-jones​ first and foremost for kindly helping me polish this bad boy over. I had this vague idea of Emma hating on MM's princess themed tree that was inspired by a conversation we had on different types of Christmas trees. There were pink ones, white ones, upside down ones. There are even ones that look like dresses on mannequins. Then after talking to Alex, everything seemed to fall into place. 10K later, Best-left saved this fic from being tossed in the garbage.

I'd also like to thank @optomisticgirl​ and @distant-rose​ for helping me brainstorm. I've never been to a tree farm or to a tree chopping so I had no clue what I was talking about. Boston isn't exactly the prime spot for me to have set this story, as there aren't any actually forests with evergreen trees near by, but if A&E can throw logic out the window, so can I!

Have a Merry Christmas everyone (or whatever holiday you celebrate!)

Word Count: 10K+

                    Dreaming of a Pink Christmas

Emma lay in bed, waiting until the she heard the roaring of David’s engine fading down the street. As much as she loved her roommate, and even her roommate’s boyfriend, there was only so much of the sickeningly sweet couple she could take. On a normal day, Mary Margaret was someone who Emma felt completely comfortable around, but the holidays brought out the monstrously sappy side in her best friend, and with it an overly motherly quality.

Emma, I have this friend who would be perfect for you.

Emma, I can’t just let you spend the holidays alone.

Emma, there’s somebody out there for you. I just know it!

So when David invited Mary Margaret to come home with him to meet his mother, and Mary Margaret systematically invited Emma to tag along, Emma quickly came up with an excuse to remain in Boston. Family had never really been her thing - not that she’d ever had enough experience with them to really know. Her knowledge base came from watching her friends. The sentimentality of missing them in complete conflict with the reality of being trapped in a house for a week, tense dinners, arguing. None of it was her.

No. Instead she told Mary Margaret that she’d picked up some extra shifts at the stations so that a few of her colleagues could spend time with their families. Technically speaking, she’d offered, but her captain had told her that she had enough man power. Still, Emma had insisted on them leaving her on the oncall list if something came up.

And that’s how Emma Swan found herself hiding out in her room Christmas Eve morning like a coward. Once she was sure that not only were they gone, but also far enough out of town to not pop back in for something forgotten, she forced herself out of bed.

What greeted her downstairs was an abomination. There was no other term fitting for the montorous pink christmas tree Mary Margaret had purchased for their apartment that year. There had been mention of how it reminded her of a tree fit for a princess. Emma just thought it looked like someone had soaked it in pepto bismol. Standing at seven feet tall, it dwarfed the room, and no matter where she stood, it seemed to taunt her from it’s spot near the door.

She hated it. Plain and simple. Four more days. She just need to ignore it for four more days and then Mary Margaret would be home again dismantling the atrocity and preparing for the next holiday. Originally, Mary Margaret had wanted to keep it up through the New Years, but Emma had been adamant that it shouldn’t be there at all. As a compromise, David had promised that he would make sure it was down before their New Year’s party. For Emma’s part, she just had to let it stay in the apartment.

Frustrated, Emma marched into the kitchen, digging out a bowl and spoon for her morning cereal. She sat at the bar, facing away from the tree. If she couldn’t see it, it didn’t exist. But as she sat there, eating her second bowl of lucky charms, her disdain for the tree grew.

Screw it.

She’d promised to let the tree stay in the apartment, not that she’d let it stay in the living room. It was a wonder that the bowl didn’t break when she tossed it into the sink. Pausing in front of the tree, hands on her hips, Emma took a moment to ready herself. It was a big tree and was going to take a lot of effort to move.

Her roommate had already strung lights  and ornaments in the tree, so taking the tree apart and moving it in sections was out of the question. Instead, she walked to the backside of the pink monstrosity and began pushing it towards Mary Margaret’s room. It was heavier than she’d expected, and the stupid tree base may or may not have made a gouge in the old wooden floors. She’d have to remember to cover that up with a rug before anyone saw it.

She took a break halfway through to regain her breath. Her arms were scratched from the fake leaves, which only reignited her fury towards the beast. Refocused, she pushed it to the threshold of Mary Margaret’s room, where it quickly became stuck in the door jam. Try as hard as she might, she couldn’t get the whole thing across the metal lip, and after an intense battle, she conceded defeat. The pink tree would remain in sight, but Emma was content with it being much less prominent.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t realized just how accustomed she had become to the imposing pink presence, and the gap left behind was just a bit unsettling. It was another reminder of a holiday she had never been able to have as a child. Growing up in foster homes and group homes normally meant that Emma was shuffled around a lot. There was something about the holidays that made people want to spend time with their families - just their families - and she’d get shipped back before any presents could be wrapped with her name on them. There was never a tree, never a stocking, and never a santa. Just a sad lonely little girl.

Damn it.

She was almost thirty years old, and while there may not be some mystical grey haired man bringing her presents at midnight, she at least deserved to have a tree. A normal green freshly cut tree.

She quickly got bundled up in her warmest outfit and headed to her bug. It gave a groan of protest as she started it up, the engine sputtering loudly. It was only a matter of time before the damn thing gave up on her completely, but she wasn’t ready to part with it just yet. Once the dial on the dashboard had finally moved up enough to signal that the engine was warm enough to drive around without dying she set off for the hardware store.

The first one was a small mom-and-pop type store three blocks from her place. It was only after she’d parked and walked up to the door to find the shop locked down with all of the lights out that she remembered it was Christmas Eve and nearly every store was going to be closed. She ran back to the bug, willing the heater to work, and pulled up a search for ‘hardware stores’ on her phone. Luck was on her side; one of the larger chains was staying open until six for last minute shoppers, and it was on the way to the tree farm she’d read about at work the other day.

The hardware store was packed. She’d largely underestimated the number of people buying toolboxes, new appliances, and whatever else significant others gave each other to say ‘I love you’. It took her twenty minutes of rummaging around the store to find the saw, rope, and tree stand she needed, and another thirty minutes of standing in line before she was able to check out. The day was slowly slipping away. Not that she minded. She didn’t exactly have a schedule to keep.

According to the flier pinned up to the corkboard in the police station break room, the ‘Happily Evergreen After’ tree farm, was just ten miles from her place. With any luck she’d be home in less than an hour.

But, of course, Emma Swan wasn’t exactly a beacon for luck, and what the flier hadn’t advertised was that people had to pay $65 to chop down their own trees.

“You can’t be serious,” she exclaimed, staring at the sign posted at the lot entrance. “I’m the one doing all the work!”

The owner of the farm, a man dressed like a medieval Robin Hood, hadn’t taken kindly to Emma’s ranting, and as Emma got in her care to make a show of leaving, she’d mumbled under her breath that they should be arrested for highway robbery.

Totally vexed by the con that were tree farms, Emma found herself on auto pilot out of the city. If she were going to do all of the work of cutting down the tree and tying it up to her bug, she wasn’t going to pay some astronomical amount.

It wasn’t until almost an hour later that Emma found herself coming to a stop on the side of the road. Off to the right was a forest, the perfect place to find the perfect tree - especially one that didn’t cost a bloody $65 to cut down. She parked her bug in the grassy area, as close as possible so she wouldn’t need to drag her tree too far.

As she wandered through the wooded area, she couldn’t help but think that this wasn’t what it was supposed to be like, at least, that’s what it was like in the movies. Instead, she found her boots sinking into deep pockets of snow, and she was sure she was spending more time struggling to stay upright than actually walking.

When she stumbled on the six foot evergreen, she knew it was perfect. It was taller than her, but not so wide that it would get stuck coming through the door. She may not have any experience with Christmas trees, but she was no Clark Griswold. Setting down the rope, she gripped the small saw she had purchased as started working on the base of the tree. Another thing she hadn’t anticipated; tree bases were not easy to cut through. The saw kept getting stuck and her hands were freezing cold. By the time the tree was finished, the temperature had started to drop and the sun was much lower than it had been when she set out.

It didn’t help that she’d made more than a few turns while searching for the tree and getting back to the bug wasn’t exactly a straight path. Not to mention the fact that the tree was deceptively heavy, and it was only due to the combination of ropes and police training that she managed to drag the tree along at all.

By the time she’d managed to get the tree up on top of her bug, the sun had begun to set dangerously low on the horizon. The snow fall had begun to pick up as well, and she knew that time was running out if she wanted to get home before the storm hit. She tied the tree down using the entire length of the rope, fastening it to the roof of the car in a way that prevented her from rolling the windows up all the way. She knew getting home with it was going to be miserable, but she’d been through worse.The bug groaned as it came to life, and once again she waited for it to warm up before she tried to pull back out onto the road.

Mother nature had other ideas though.

As her tires spun out she realized that it had been just warm enough during the day to melt some of the snow, but as the day drew to an end, ice had form in its wake, and she was stuck.She gunned the engine one more time, but the bug only slid around. Emma started to worry. There was no way she was going to make it home in the bug, and she didn’t have enough gas to keep the heater running all night.

Her options were limited, given that most of her friends had left town to visit family. In fact, she didn’t actually know if anyone was still in Massachussetts, let alone close enough to Boston to help her.

Pulling out her phone, she found Mary Margaret’s number and hit dial.

“Hey Emma.”

Her friend’s chirpy, optimistic side was the last thing she wanted to deal with in her frustration.

“Hey, I’m in a hurry, but do you know anyone who might still be in Boston right now?”

There was a pause, her friend obviously contemplating the answer.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I know Ruby is but she’s working the night shift right now. Have you tried Liam? I think he said he and Elsa weren’t heading out to Anna’s until tomorrow.”

Liam. Not her first pick, but there were certainly people further down the list.

“Okay, thanks. I’ll try him.”

Emma hit end on the phone before her roommate could ask what was wrong - or worse yet, suggest calling a different Jones.

Looking through her phone, she realised she didn’t have Liam’s number. Odd, since they’d been friends - or at least acquaintances - for years now. She did, however, have his fiancee’s number.

“Hello,” came a male voice. “Elsa’s phone.” Damn, she was really hoping her friend would answer instead.

“Hey Liam.” She hesitated. Clearly she needed help, but she had never been very good at asking for it. “Are you in town by any chance?”

There was a sigh.

“Sorry, lass, but we left early this morning. Elsa was worried about the storm blocking our path to Anna’s house. Why?”

“Um, it’s nothing really. Do you know of anyone else who might be staying local this weekend?”

Please don’t let it be him. Please God.

“You’re not going to like it,” No. “but the only one I know of is Killian. He was supposed to come with us but something came up at work and he had to stay behind.”

Killian Jones. The man that had broken her heart one year ago. The man she had vowed never to speak to again.

“And there’s no one else?”

“Afraid not.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

She’d deleted his number from her phone in hopes of  avoiding any drunken temptations to call him, but there was still one text message she couldn’t ever bring herself to delete, and with it, seven digits burned into her phone, unassigned.

One ring. Two rings.

“Swan?”

He sounded worried.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, I just- you never call. I figured it was an emergency or something.”

True. She hadn’t dialed that number in over a year, having cut off all communication with him.

“Ya, well. Um- Are you still in Boston?”

She explained the situation and, without any of his usual teasing, he asked her to send him her GPS location and informed her that he’d be there as soon as he could.

As she sat in the bug, her traitorous thoughts drifted to him and that night. The night when everything had gone wrong. Killian and Emma had become close since he’d moved to Boston two years earlier. He’d finished up his degree in mechanical engineering at Stanford before taking a position at a local maritime company that designed boats. When a position had become available in Boston, he’d jumped at the opportunity to live near his brother.

Quickly, Killian had become a fixture in their group of misfits, and had become Emma’s best friend. The problem was that she’d fallen for  him almost immediately, a fact that only grew more depressing as it slowly became clear that her feelings would not be returned.  With his inky black hair and piercing blue eyes, he was beyond attractive. Women flocked to him in droves at the bar, and he was never lacking for companionship options. Emma would always make an excuse to leave before she had to watch him leave arm and arm with the newest flavor of the week, but judging from the way Victor Whale spoke, Killian had bedded half of Boston in their first year.

He was a flirt, she’d known that from the beginning, but after a while, she started to hope that maybe there was a chance that they could be more, that he’d see her as more. His eyes would linger on hers just a little bit longer each time the saw each other. He’d always wrap his arm around her waist as they’d wait for their turn at the pool table. And the night before the previous Christmas party, they’d nearly kissed. Ruby had interrupted them, and though neither had ever acknowledged what had almost happened, it had been enough to give Emma hope.

He was quicker than she’d expected, which could have only meant that he’d driven faster than what would have been deemed safe given the weather. He probably had other plans to get back to, someone else to get back to. That idea was enough to make her stomach twist.

As they worked silently in tandem removing the rope from Emma’s bug, she became hyper aware of his presence, of every accidental touch of hands and brush of shoulders. Together, they shifted the tree into the back of his truck and he re-tied it down in the bed while she grabbed the tree stand out of her back seat.

“I’m afraid the bug may be a lost cause tonight, but we can try to come back for it tomorrow if you’d like. Or I’m sure Ruby could bring you out if you’d prefer.”

It was the only thing he said as they both crawled into the cab of his truck. He started it up and shifted the truck into four wheel drive mode, easily moving back onto the street towards Boston. A few minutes later, Emma began to feel warmer than she had all night, only just noticing that he had turned her seat warmer on for him. They remained quiet the rest of the way back to her apartment as she replayed that night in her head.

Emma Swan was not a baker. She could cook enough to get by, but anything that required more than four ingredients was generally considered a lost cause on her end. So when she had come across a festive cake recipe online that was labeled as “semi-homemade” she’d jumped at the opportunity to try it. If she played her cards right, she might even be able to impress everyone at their annual Friendsmas party. Sure, the cake was considered a harvest cake, but it seemed festive and easy enough.

Killian had showed up early, halfway through her working on her cake. She’d paused the demonstration video just past the instructions on how to mix the icing. Killian had joined her in the kitchen and had narrowed his eyes as he’d watched her place the tan colored icing in and around the angel food cake.

It wasn’t until she had been opening a can of pie filling that Killian had seemed to take more interest in the cake, asking her what it was. She’d explained that she’d found it online and that it had over six thousand ‘thumbs ups’.

“Swan, are you sure about this?”

“Of course. Look at it. There’s almost two million hits on this thing. It’s like ‘the thing to make’ this season or something.”

She’d heard him mumble ‘or something’, but kept going, adding the acorns and pumpkin seeds, although her acorns looked different from the video, but she’d just chalked that up to using a different brand.

She had been just adding the last candle to the top of her cake when the doorbell had rung. She’d called out for Mary Margaret to answer it, but her friend had still been in the shower.

“Killian, can you grab the cake and move it onto the dessert table while I get the door?”

She hadn’t waited for his answer as she’d run to the door to greet Ruby. But when she’d heard the clatter of tin hitting hardwood, she’d come back to find the cake she’d been so proud of all over the floor. Her eyes had glanced up to Killian to see an apology on the tip of his tongue. But it hadn’t been real. He had been lying when he’d said it had been an accident.

“I’m sorry Swan. The candles set the balance off and I couldn’t catch it in time.”

He’d held his fake hand out as evidence, but Emma was unconvinced. She’d seen him do plenty with his prosthetic, and knew that he was more than capable with or without it. No, he’d done it on purpose. That much she was sure of. She just didn’t know why.

It didn’t matter, though. The damage had been done and her best friend had just lied to her face.

There had been an argument, words had been said, and in a tantrum, Emma had left the apartment, making sure not to return until she had been certain he’d left. It was the last time she spoken to him, the last time she’d heard his voice.

It was completely dark out as they returned to her apartment. The street lights in front of Emma’s apartment were out, just as they had been for the last three weeks - Boston wasn’t exactly know for keeping up with public works during the winter time - so Killian insisted on leaving his truck lights on so they could see where they were going. Together they hauled the tree inside the loft style building. Emma and Mary Margaret's apartment was mostly situated on the third floor of the building, but Emma’s room ran up to the fourth floor, and as with many older buildings, their wasn’t an elevator.

“Where did you want it?”

He’d taken the heavier end of the tree, and was clearly a bit tired from trying to finagle up to her floor.

“Hold on.”

Emma pulled the tree stand out of her bag and set it on the floor, moving it just slightly in every direction until she felt it was perfectly centered on the wall.

“There.”

While she’d been playing with the tree stand, he’d removed his coat, revealing his favorite red t-shirt over a green long sleeved henley. The shirt had come from his alma-mater - a graduation gift from Liam - and Killian always wore it proudly, especially at Christmas time. Stanford’s mascot was a worse for the wear tree of some sort that he said looked festive. She’d loved him in that shirt.

He lifted the tree and placed it in the stand, asking her to hold it steady as he screwed the trunk in place. She couldn’t help but notice the way his back muscles flexed as he worked, and she mentally chastised herself for noticing. There was no point in going down that road, not anymore.

“Okay, well you should be all set now.”

She should have thanked him, offered him something to drink. That’s what polite company would have done, but Emma was a mess. Memories had turned her into an emotional wreck and she just needed him out of her apartment as soon as possible.

“So I guess I’ll just get going.”

She simply nodded and when he left she locked the door behind him, hoping her longing for him would follow. The snow had picked up, not quite yet a blizzard, but she knew he’d have a hard time seeing more than three foot in front of him. The eighteen blocks to his apartment would probably take an hour. She’d text him and make sure he got home later. It was the polite thing to do she told herself, ignoring the part of her that wasn’t quite as ready to let him go again as she had wished.

She was startled from her thoughts a few minutes later when a knock came from the door. Karma. That’s the only word she could come up with with the man stood before her once more.

“I’m sorry to put you out like this lo- lass, but my truck battery seems to be dead. Is there any way I could crash in Mary Margaret’s room. I’ll be out of your hair first thing in the morning and you won’t even notice I’m here.”

Yup. Karma. All of that no good deed goes unpunished crap. She just wasn't’ sure if it was hers or his karma at work. As much as she didn’t want him to stay, as much as she worried what she’d do if she was around him for too long, she knew she couldn’t send him back out to freeze to death.

She opened the door wider and ushered him in.

“Mary Margaret’s room is just down the hallway.”

Idiot. Of course he knew where her room was. He’d been there countless times. She was just at a complete loss as to what to say.

He nodded back and headed down the hallway to keep his word of hiding away. But that damn pink tree had struck again.

“Uh, Swan. This tree seems to be stuck. As in, stuck stuck. It’s really wedged in there.”

She’d forgotten about that. Damn.

“Oh right. Sorry. I guess you’ll have to take the couch. I’ll go grab you some sheets.”

He thanked her and she bolted up the stairs to her room, needing a few minutes to pull herself back together. She couldn’t avoid him forever though, not this time, and with all of the courage she could muster, she made her way back down stairs, handing a spare set of sheets. His hand grazed her slightly as he took them from her and sparks blazed across her fingers where their skin had touched.

He set to making up the pullout couch while Emma started wrapping lights around her newly acquired tree. Even if the situation had changed slightly, Emma was determined to wake up to a decorated Christmas tree. The lights she’d found had been a few extra strand in years passed. Some of the bulbs were burnt out, and only half of them twinkled anymore but it would have to do as all of the other lights were trapped in Mary Margaret’s doorway.

Killian was quiet, but she could feel him behind her, feel his eyes on her. When she’d finished stringing the lights she plugged them in and stood back, taking stock of her tree.

“It’s lovely.”

She hummed to herself in response.

It was awkward. Being around Killian, but not speaking to him. No playful banter. It left her unsettled.

“It’s still early. Would you like to find a movie to watch?”

A tiny grin flitted across his face but disappeared just as quickly. They both understood the offer for what is was. A temporary truce forced on the from circumstance.

“Sure thing.”

She left him with the remote to find something on netflix as she went to the kitchen to grab some snacks. She had a bottle of his favorite rum stashed away above the fridge, the christmas gift she’d never given him, but even now, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It would have been too much like them, and they were them, not any more.

She grabbed two beers from David’s stash instead and made some popcorn. When she joined Killian again he had the tv paused on the title screen for Die Hard. An old inside joke at Liam’s expense. It was too much. “Um, can we watch something else instead?

“As you wish.”

He handed her the remote and she scrolled through the Christmas section until she landed on Love Actually. Everything else reminded her of him, of sitting on that couch together watching Christmas Movie marathons. She needed something they’d never seen together before.

The credits played and they both settled in to opposite ends of the now bedlike couch. They drank their beers, pausing midway for new ones. Once or twice they both reached for the popcorn at the same time, Killian always insisting that she go first. If it had been a year ago, she would have thought it perfect.

As the movie progressed, and scene with the necklace played, Emma’s thoughts returned to that fight.

She’d been an idiot. She knew that. She’d completely overreacted. Sometimes she forgot that she wasn’t in the system anymore, that not everyone was out to get her. It was just her stubborn pride that had kept her out so late. She couldn’t apologize to him in front of everyone. Not when she had made such a big scene.

So she waited. She waited for him to leave. She waited until she woke up. And then she waited as she stood in line as the coffee shop picking up his beverage of choice and his beloved healthy bagels as an apology.

And then she waited some more for him to answer the door, but he never did. It was Tink who greeted her, Tink who was wearing his blue button up from the night before. A shirt Emma had purchased for his birthday.

“Emma?”

“Hi. Uh- Is Killian here?”

Tink looked behind her for a second before shutting the door a bit more.

“He’s in the shower right now. I was about to-”

She didn’t finished, but Emma didn’t need her to. Tink was about to join him. Because they’d slept together.

He’d lied to her, broken her trust, and shattered her heart. And she’d let it happen. Let herself believe that she was somehow special to him. But she didn’t. She was just like every other girl. Just another notch on the bedpost.

“No, um. It’s fine. It’s nothing. You don’t even need to bother telling him I stopped by.”

Tink closed the door and Emma threw the coffee and breakfast out into the nearest trash can. It had been a miracle that she’d kept it together long enough to drive back to her apartment. But once she was safely behind the closed door of her bedroom, she let it all out. She wept for her stupidity, she wept for the friend she’d lost, and she wept for the loss of hope.

She ignored his texts and calls for three days. When he didn’t get the hint, she sent him back one last message.

Go to hell.

“Swan?”

“Hmm?”

“I asked if you’d like another beer?”

She must have zoned out for longer than she had realized.

“No, that’s okay.”

She was worried that if she drank to much she do something stupid, like tell him that even after all that time she was still in love with him.

He nodded and stayed in his seat, toying with the label of his empty beer bottle.

“Careful, love. If you tune out like that again I might get ideas of what your daydreaming about over there.”

Her eyes snapped up to him, caught off guard by his brazenness. That was the old Killian. That was before.

“And what would that be?”

“Well, you did choose the movie. A slightly romantic one.”

She wasn’t sure where it had come from, but wanted to wipe the smug grin off of his face.

“Oh, that. I just thought you could relate to Alan Rickman’s character.”

She looked over just in time to see his jaw clench and a haze cloudy over his face. His eyes never left the floor, and in that instant she realized she’d gone too far. A small smile tugged at his lips, but Emma recognized it for what is was.

Defeat.

In the past, she’d always believed it to be some sort of smug smirk. Something that told the world to fuck off because he was better than everyone else. But thinking back, it had been a defense mechanism. The same look he got when Liam was chastising him for something, the look he got when he spoke of Milah, and the look he got when she’d told him to go to hell that night.

It was the look of a man who’d lost all hope.

And she was the one that put it there.

He was off the couch and grabbing his coat before she could even swallow the lump that had formed in her throat.

“It looks like it’s died down a bit,” he started, gesturing towards the window.

The snow fall had died down but there was atleast a solid two foot of snow littering the sidewalks.

“I think I should be able to get home now so I won’t keep you any longer.”

“Killian-” She had to cut off her own words as she nearly stumbled trying to remove her legs from the tangle of blankets.

“Really, Swan. It’s getting late and I’m sure you have more important things to do than to entertain me.”

He was halfway out of the loft before she was able to catch him, wrapping her hand around his blunted wrist. He stilled, the muscles in his arm tensing beneath her touch.

“Killian, I didn’t mean you had to leave-”

“It’s not that far. I’ll be fine.”

God. How had this all turned around in her. Five minutes earlier she was seething over the memory of seeing him with Tink. Five minutes ago she was just hoping to get through the night without any more awkwardness.

“Is that really how you see me?”

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“What?”

“Is that how you see me? As an adulterous letch who only cares about himself?”

Milah.

How could she had been so stupid. When she made the off hand remark about Killian relating to Alan Rickman’s character she’d been referring to Tink, and how she thought that she and Killian had something, but all along he had his eyes set on someone else. She was bitter and spoke without thinking, and as inadvertent as it was, she’d knocked him over with a low blow.

Milah had always been a sore spot for him, but she’d just assumed it was because she chose to go back to her husband, that she hadn’t picked him. A bullet to his ego. But maybe there was more to it.

“Killian, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how do you see me, Swan? Because a year ago I thought things between us were great and then you suddenly just cut me out of your life.”

Her stomach sunk and the pleading in his voice.

“It’s complicated.”

“Emma,” he never called her by her first name. “Please, just tell me what I did to make you hate me.”

She wanted to run, but her hand was frozen in place, still gripping fiercely to his wrist, just above where the brace for his prosthetic hand rested.

“It’s not- I can’t-”

“Just tell me, please.”

“The cake.”

Yes, it was a complete cop out, but it was safer than the truth. A half truth that wouldn’t mean exposing her heart to him. Not again.

“The cake. This whole time it’s been about that bloody cake?”

His voice had risen and she’d never heard him speak with such anger, at least not directed towards her. She released his arm and took a step back. She could feel her own rage building inside her. He had no right to be mad at her. She was the one that had her heart broken by him. She was the one who felt like a fool.

“You did it on purpose and then didn’t even have to decency to feel bad about it!”

“I apologized multiple times that night. And how was I to know those candles would throw the balance off so badly?”

“You apologized? You know I can tell when people are lying to me and their wasn’t an ounce of sincerity in a single one of those apologies.”

It was the truth. He told her sorry over and over when it happened, but not once did he look truley regretful. His words were nothing more than a way to placate her, like a child trying to get out of being grounded.

“What’s with you and this bloody cake? Swan, did you even look at the comments on that blasted video you were playing?”

He had the audacity to look affronted, and from somewhere deep inside the fire rose, and Emma refused to back down.

“I told you Killian, it had over a million hits and six thousand thumbs up. People loved it. You know I’m not much of a cook, and I was proud of myself, but for some reason you saw fit to destroy it.” She had to stop herself before she added on just like everything else.

From her battle stance, with both arms crossed over her chest, she watched as Killian brought up his one good hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly. It was what he did when he was trying to calm himself, trying not to let his anger get the best of him. She wasn’t ready to give up the fight though.

He didn’t say anything. Not at first. He simple reached down and pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapping away with his thumb until he found whatever her was searching for. Then he held it out, facing her.

“Will you please just read what people said?”

It was a genuine request, his voice calm and steady as he asked.

Emma jerked the device out of his hand and started scanning the comment section, noting for the first time what Killian had meant.

Guilmon4703: Mmmmmm, a cake that looks like someone took a big shit on your plate.

FijiUnited: Clearly the decades of alcohol consumption have rendered her tastebuds withered and useless.

Maria Kazakopi: I...I...am...dumbfounded by this culinary blasphemy. It must've been during one of her 'Cocktail Times' that she came up with this shitty cake. This is really HORRIBLE!

G Hayes: I'm usually pretty open minded when I see cooking shows. There's a lot of people who like a lot of different foods across the world. But this cake looks so awful I want to barf. Angel food cake? Fine. Everything else is a magnificently disgusting combination. When she stuck those huuuuuge candles in the cake I thought I was going to pee I laughed so hard. Poor Sandra. She never stood a chance with this one. 

Fuck.

When Emma turned back to look at Killian, she finally saw the sincerity in his eyes that she had been looking for that night, and a part of her walls started to crumble.

“Swan, I couldn’t let you present that cake to people.” He took a step closer. “I care about you too much to let you be humiliated in front of our friends, especially not when I knew that your heart was in the right place. I thought it would be easier if you were just mad at me for a little while, and that it would spare your feelings.”

There was something there, something in the way that he looked at her, just a glimmer that gave her hope of more. Hope that maybe he cared about her as more than just a friend. But she was just being stupid.

Damn him.

She could feel tears starting to well in her eyes, but she could let him see her cry. She couldn’t let him see how much he affected her, so she slammed her walls back up just as high as ever.

“If you cared about me so much, then how did you just move on? How did our falling out not have any affect on you?”

“Where’d you get that foolish idea? This last year has been hell for me!”

“Obviously.”

She hadn’t meant for him to hear that part as she mumbled it under her breath.

“Swan?”

She turned and started to walk away, not ready to have that particular conversation. Not now, not ever. But this time it was his turn to stop her.

“You know what. You’re right, the snow has let up. You should be fine getting home now.”

She saw him waiver briefly, debating what to do. He made his way back the door, and although it was exactly what she had wanted him to do, it wasn’t really. Not when the sight of him walking away from her caused her heart to constrict. Unable to breath, she was helpless to do anything but watch the door close behind him.

There. She’d really done it that time. She ruined their relationship, or whatever was left of it at that point, beyond any point of salvation. Finally, she allowed the tears to begin falling. God. She was an idiot.

“No.” She hadn’t even noticed the door open again through the curtain blurring her vision.

“You don’t get to do that again. You don’t get to just decided everything and not even give me the courtesy of knowing why!”

He was shouting and she couldn’t even bring herself to care, couldn’t force her walls up any higher, because he’d come back. He’d always come back, and it didn’t make any sense. Nothing about them made any sense to her anymore.

“You really want me to leave?”

She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t even move her head to nod yes or no.

“Then tell me. Tell me why you really just brushed me off and told me to go to hell, because there’s no way this about a stupid cake. Emma, what did I do to you that was so terrible that you assigned me the role of villain in this little story of yours?”

Against her will, the word slipped past her lips.

“Tink.”

“What?” His head tilted to the side, but he didn’t try to come any closer, didn’t try to bridge the gap that had formed between them.

“You want to know what you did? You did her!”

Her voice was nearly broken and she hated herself for it.

“Swan, I didn’t-”

“Stop. I saw her.” She swiped her hand under her eyes, trying to erase all of the evidence of how much she’d let him affect her. “Killian, I saw her there in your apartment, wearing your shirt.”

“I don’t-”

No. It wasn’t his turn to speak. He didn’t get to try and turn it all around on her. He’d broken her heart, and if he really wanted to know why she was so upset, she’d make damn sure he knew.

“You almost kissed me, and then we had that stupid fight over the cake. I came by the next morning and she was there, in your shirt and nothing else. You kissed me and then slept with her. God, Killian. I felt so stupid. I thought-”

She let the words die off. She’d already said too much. Revealed too much. Now he knew, and there was no taking it back. There was no going back to the friendship she’d so desperately missed over the last year.

“Swan.”

“Killian, please just go.”

She turned away again, walking to the window, waiting to hear the door click behind him. But it never did.

“Emma, I don’t know what you saw, or what you think you saw, but nothing happened.”

She snickered. Like hell it hadn't. Later that month Tink had practically been living with him.

“That’s crap and you know it. You guys were living together!”

“Swan-”

“No. I don’t want to hear it.”

Something snapped in him. She saw a storm brewing deep in his ocean blue eyes. A storm so fierce it was reflected in the window pane.

“And if we had slept together? What would it have been to you? You made it perfectly clear where we stood the last time we spoke.”

She tried to run, to hide in her room waiting for him to give up, but he was faster, using his body to block the stairway.

“Ah no you don’t. Why did it matter what I did or who I was with?”

His voice was eerily calm and it terrified her. Even more so than when she’d seen Tink after their fight, more than when Neal had abandoned her, more than any foster home she’d ever been in.

She was broken, and with it, her walls started crumbling around her.

“You almost kissed me, and I thought-” Her voice cracked. “And then Tink was there and I realized that I’d built this whole thing up in my head. That I was no different than all of the other girls who fawned over you.”

“Oh, Emma.”

He was standing so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“And I couldn’t stand seeing you and her, or you and anyone. I couldn't get over my own pride, and I know it’s my problem, but-”

He cut her off, taking one more step in her direction, their chests almost touching. His right hand came up to cup her cheek as his thumb swiped away the tears that were still falling.”

“Swan, I have no idea what I ever did to make you think you were ever just another anything to me. You’ve never been “just” anything to me.”

“But Tink.”

God. She hated how pathetic she sounded.

“Aye, Tink was there, but not as anything more than a friend. That night, after our fight I attempted to drown my sorrows in the bottom of Dave’s bottom of rum. Tink took me home and stayed over to make sure I didn’t choke on my own sick. Some of which unfortunately got on her so she borrowed a shirt from me.”

Realization hit like a punch to the gut. She’d misunderstood it all.

“And then I pushed you away and right into her arms.”

Her heart fell.

If she’d just talked to him, answered any of his text messages, returned any of his voicemails, she wouldn’t have just lost the last year with him.

“Yes and no. I’ll not lie. You avoiding me hurt, but I didn’t find solace by shacking up with anyone.”

But they were living together. She saw the boxes.

It had been about two months since their fight. She still hadn’t spoken to him, and while he messaged her occasional, the messages had become few and far inbetween. In fact, it had been three weeks since his last one and she’d nearly given up hope that he was still trying. Silly as it was, given she’d been the one to shut him out, it hurt to know he’d finally given up on her.

It was for the best though. She couldn’t go through it anymore. Allowing herself to be strung along by a man who would never want her as anything beyond a bed mate, not that he’d even wanted that much.

It was getting easier not to think of him anyway. She’d buried herself in work, taking on extra cases. Anything to avoid going home to Mary Margaret and her constant questions. Anything to avoid their group gatherings where he’d likely be in attendance. It was easy to not return people’s phone calls when she was on a stake out.

But it wasn’t that easy, because his phone number was still sitting in her phone taunting her. More than once she’d had to give her phone to Graham while they were out drinking after a hard case. She new that if she’d held on to it, she’d call him somewhere around drink number four.

Graham was sweet enough, listening to her drunk ramblings about Killian and her broken heart. He tried to give her advice about moving on, and a few times she saw something in his eyes that suggested he wanted to be the one she moved on with. She always ignored it though. Even if she had felt something for him, which she didn’t, she refused to put herself out there again. She’d been wrong before, and wouldn’t let her heart fool her again.

Eventually August Booth, the newest detective, started joining them at the bar. It helped Emma feel less like she was on a date, and the guy was damn good at his job. And he didn’t beat around the bush the way Graham had.

“You know there’s an easier fix than giving us your phone every night right?”

Before she could process what he’d said, he was handing her phone back to her, with one less contact, and one less text thread. Her last link to Killian had been severed and she thought maybe she was free.

Three more weeks passed. Three uneventful weeks, and the pain was starting to fade. But then, as she drifted off to sleep she heard her phone chirp. She checked it to make sure it wasn’t work related, and seven little number stared at her. Seven numbers she’d once new by heart, but not anymore.

I miss you.

She tossed and turned that night, unable to get him off her mind.

The next day, she decided to stop by his place after work, if nothing else than just to hear him out, but when she got there her heart was ripped apart. Killian was helping Tink move boxes into his apartment. Boxes labeled sheets, pictures, clothes.

She’d let him break her again.

Sensing her confusion he continued.

“The lady Belle and Will Scarlett had just started dating, and new love and all can be quite loud when you have paper thin walls. Tink asked if she could crash in my guest room while she looked for a new place. She wanted to give them space, and keep some sanity in the process.”

“But.”

“But what?”

“But when I talked to her, she implied that you were together.”

“Ah, that. Yes, I gathered that she had a slight crush on me when she tried to kiss me. I told her that I didn’t share her feelings and suggested that perhaps it was time for her to find a new living arrangement. Needless to say she wasn’t happy about it.”

It made sense. Whatever had happened between them had been messy, with Tink saying some less than pleasant things about him, and while at the time she thought his lack of response was due to guilt, she now knew that he was just too much of a gentleman to say anything.

“Emma. Did you ever see us do anything affectionate like holding hands or kissing? Have you ever seen me that way with anyone?”

Admittedly she hadn’t. Her brain had told her that he was just smart enough to keep his affairs private. She shook her head no.

“I haven’t been with anyone since I moved to Boston. I haven’t been with anyone since the moment I met you, because it’s only ever been you, Emma. It’s always been you.”

There was no hesitation that time. No pulling back. When her hands found the lapels of his coat she yanked hard, pulling his body flush with hers. And when their lips finally met, it was as if  the world had finally righted itself. After twenty nine years of giving her nothing but pain and suffering, it was finally giving her hope.

Everything happened so fast after that. The kiss deepened and on instinct, Emma felt herself pulling him up the stairs with her, never parting her lips from his. Once in her room, clothes began to litter the floor as they both hurried to explore each other.

She felt him gently press her to the bed, his chest hair tickling the tips of her breasts. His weight settled into her further as he nibbled at her pulse point. Something he’d quickly picked up drove her mad with want. His body shifted, lips moving down her torso, his tongue following the curve of her breast. Instinctively her back arched.

“Killian.” She whined, trying to implore him to hurry.

A year was long enough. Tired of waiting, she reached down, wrapping her hand around him, gently squeezing it as she twisted her hand.

“Love, all in good time.”

He had the audacity to chuckle at her. Moving even lower he peppered her stomach with kisses. Finally he slid from the foot of the bed, kneeling before her.

“Killian, I need-”

“Shhh, now. It’s come to my attention that in the past I’ve not succeeded in showing you just how much I want you, and only you. I’ll be damned if you leave this bed without me recifiying such an egregious error.”

His lilt left her a quivering mess, and if she hadn’t been so enraptured by the lust in his eyes, she might have let herself feel nervous at how exposed she was before him.

Then something changed. A shy smile replaced the smug smirk.

“Is this okay, Emma?”

There it was again. He’d said her name more times in the last ten minutes than in the entire time they’d known each other, and she understood what it meant. No more dancing around each other or playing hard to get. The time for games was over. He wanted her to know, to feel how much she meant to him. She’d been such a fool that past year.

Unable to say anything, she nodded her head, and it was all he needed. His prosthetic hand splayed out over her stomach, trying to keep her still as his lips and fingers toyed with her, bringing her to the verge of her release, but never letting her fall.

“So perfect. So bloody perfect.”

It was a whisper punctuated with kiss to her thigh.

When his thumb finally brushed circles of the place she needed him most, the one that finally gave her the release she’d so desperately needed, it was like time stood still. The explosion of light behind her eyes seemed to last for an eternity, stealing her breath away.

Eventually, she came back to herself, feeling Killian’s lips tracing their way back up to the hollow of her throat. Her hands cupped the sides of his face and pulled him to her. She tasted herself on his tongue, not minding when his tongue twisted just so.

“Killian. I need you inside me.”

She expected him to lunge, to push her legs wider apart, to do anything really. What she hadn’t expected was for his face to fall. Had she misread everything?

“Swan, I- Uh-”

“What?” She asked cautiously. There was nowhere to run.

“I wasn’t exactly expecting this turn of events when you called me this afternoon. I didn’t really come prepared for such an occasion.”

I’m always a gentleman.

Of course.

“Table drawer.”

She lifted her chin and nodded towards the nightstand to her left. He reached out, shifting his body so that it laid almost parallel next to hers. Her teeth found his earlobe and she gently gave it a tugged, hoping he’d feel as impatient as she did, but instead he pulled away a little. Her eyes followed his line of site, the the very full drawer.

It should have been simple. He just needed to grab a packet and rip it open. He’d been so eager before, so why was he suddenly apprehensive?

“Hey,” She started. “What’s wrong?”

He gave her a small smile, one that didn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s nothing, Swan. Really.”

“Don’t do that. Please, Killian.” She hoped her used of his first name would have the same impact on him that it had her. “What is it.”

“I-” He paused. “I’ll sound like a fool.”

She let the back of her fingers caress his face.

“Never.”

He tried to smile again, but his eyes wouldn’t meet hers.

“I just- I know that we weren’t on speaking terms, and I have no right to feel this way, but seeing that drawer only reminds me of all that I missed. It reminds me that you’ve probably not been devoid of company in this bed of the past year. I told you, love. I sound like a bloody git.”

Her eyes fell back to the drawer and it all clicked. He’d been jealous of her using them with other men. He hadn’t known that she’d been just as gone for him as he was her, even during their fight.

“Killian, I-” He still wasn’t looking at her so she grabbed his chin, tilting it so that he couldn’t not face her. “I bought those last year, the morning of the Christmas party. We’d almost kissed the day before, and I thought that if I could just muster the damn courage to tell you how I felt, that maybe we’d get some use out of them.”

His face fell again, obviously upset at himself for allowing the misunderstanding. She was horrible at this.

“But if you were to count them, you’d find that they are all still there.” Well, except for the one Mary Margaret had pilfered the week before when she and David had run out. “I haven’t used any of them.”

His mouth came down over hers with such an intense force that she shrieked in surprise.

They’d ended up using three of the foil packets that night before they passed out from sheer exhaustion. He was warm curled up next to her, and had it not been from the rustling noise downstairs, she’d have been content to stay in their little cocoon forever. Unfortunately, the noise from downstairs continued, and as the groggy haze faded she realized that there were people in her apartment. Uninvited people. Her gun and badge had been left in her bug. Rookie mistake, she chastised herself.

As quietly as possible, she extracted herself from the covers, and Killian’s embrace, but it wasn’t quiet enough to not wake him.

“Swan?”

“Shh, I think someone is downstairs.” She whispered as she grabbed his shirt to cover whatever bit of modesty she could. Tackling a burglar while naked wasn’t high on her list of ways to spend Christmas morning. “Just stay here.”

Of course her words fell across deaf ears. He muddled around searching for his boxers, which had somehow landed on the window sill. Slowly they creeped down the stairs, Emma clutching a curtain rod and Killian holding plunger from the bathroom. Emma was really going to need to rethink apartment safety when this was all over. Just before they came to the exposed part of the stairs they heard hushed whispers. There were at least two of them and suddenly Emma was grateful that Killian had ignored her command to stay upstairs.

She moved down two more steps trying to get a look around the corner at the intruders when she heard a crash.

“What the hell is the tree doing in here?”

David?

Emma flipped the hallway switch that controlled the living room, illuminating a very confused and weary looking roommate.

“Emma? Did we wake you?”

“What the hell guys? I thought you were burglars! What are you doing back so soon?”

Emma relaxed, setting the curtain rod down in a corner, stepping fully into the large open space.

“We tried to call you but you didn’t answer. About thirty minutes after I talked to you the small snow storm turned into a full on blizzard. We got stuck in bumper to bumper traffic until the snow plows could clear the road enough for us to move. Ruth said that the roads leading into Storybrooke were all closed so we had to turn back.”

“Oh.” Emma flushed, looking around for her phone. It was still on the coffee table where she had left it.

“Emma?” David tilted his head. “What are you wearing?”

Shit. “Oh, this? I- Uh-”

She turned back to find Killian still hidden from her friends on the stairs, waiting for her lead.

Before she could decide either way she heard Mary Margaret gasp.

“That shirt! I can only think of one person who went to Stanford...”

David smiled, something closely resembling Ruby’s wolfish grin that signified he had something up his sleeve.

“Oh, honey. Do share with the class.”

“Guys.” Emma grumbled out, clearly embarrassed.

“Killian?” Mary Margaret called out.

Finally he slinked down the stairs, finger scratching just behind his ear. “Guilty.”

Mary Margaret just hummed in response.

“Well guys. It’s been a long day and we’re exhausted.” David looked like he was about to argue the opposite but the pint sized pixie elbowed him in the side. “I think we’re going to hit the sack now. David, remind me to tell Liam he owes me twenty dollars when he comes over later today.”

“Wait. Later today? Liam’s out of town.”

“Pardon?”

“Um, I may have called and told him to tell you that so you’d be forced to call Killian.”

“He bet Mary Margaret that you’d chicken out again and not tell Emma how you felt.” David added for Killian’s benefit.

Emma glanced over at him to find his face beat red.

“Oh and Emma.” Emma snapped her head back to her roommate. “Tomorrow you’re going to have to explain to me why there’s a scratch in the floor.”

Quickly Mary Margaret grabbed David’s arm and dragged him into her room, shutting the door behind him. The tree no longer in view. David must have been able to push it the rest of the way into the room.

“Swan?” He was holding a hand out to her. “If you’ll follow me, it’s officially Christmas Morning, and I believe there’s another present upstairs that needs unwrapping.”

His brows rose and he gave her a salacious grin. As she raced him up the steps she couldn’t help but think about that damned pink tree, and how maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

[kisathemistress]

Some South Park Headcanons I have

(Because I’m falling for the series again!)

The four main characters:

Kyle Broflovski: 

His personality makes it almost impossible for him to let things go, if it means making someone (other than Cartman) upset or sad. He just want as many people as possible to be happy around him, because if they aren’t he feels like he has failed them. 

This comes from his strict upbringing his parents gave him and from studying/knowing everything (including religious various beliefs) thus he lives his life by the golden rule: “Do not do unto others, that you do not want done to you.”

He believes highly in karma as well, especially the Wiccan belief of karma. Where if you do something kind you will be rewarded with 3 times the kindness, but if you do something hurtful you will be punished with 3 times the misfortune.

Despite being Jewish and claiming his pride with the religion, Kyle doesn’t follow any of the practices most Jewish people do. He willingly eats pork and sometimes attends/helps the local Roman Catholic church (but this could be do to the town only having one church and most of his friends go there.)

Unlike Scott, Kyle’s diabetes isn’t as serious and he can get away with eating something with extra sugars in it without going into diabetic shock. Though he does carry emergency insulin just incase.

Kyle is aromantic and bisexual. He doesn’t know how to react to intimacy or pick up clues that someone likes him “in that way”, he just assumes all positive contact with him is platonic in nature. He has to be directly told that someone is in love with him for him to understand why they are being overly nice to him.

Since he is only an 9/10 year old, he isn’t aware full of his own sexuality, thus acts the way he thinks a “normal boy” should behave. Despite constantly giving away that he isn’t “normal” by his own definition.

Also he still has his pet Elephant, but it has been moved to a Zoo for a breeding program. He goes to visit it him occasionally and is a junior Zookeeper at the park. He’s going to be officially hired to work there part-time once he’s in high school.

Stan Marsh:

He still does drink, but not to the extent that his father does nor does he get blackout drunk anymore. He’s cut back a lot thanks to going to AA, but is struggling with the 12 step program do to his father leaving alcohol in his reach, and offering him alcohol. He’s also the kid that pulls drinks for his friends and for parties, as both his father and uncle Jimbo will buy it for him if he asks.

Stan tries his best to be vegetarian but has no problem with eating meat as long as he doesn’t witness the slaughter and preparation of the animal. (Including fish.) Blood makes him squeamish, and he becomes overly emotional when he sees an animal in distress.

Even though Stan is straight, when he’s drunk he’ll sleep with anybody. Drunk Stan also believes Kyle is his boyfriend and will run to him for comfort. This normally confuses Kyle, especially when Stan rejects everything when he is sober. It part of the reason Wendy decided that she is genderfluid and created Wendyl, thinking it will keep Stan from “wandering” away from her.

Stan is very proud of his gay dog Sparky. He willingly takes him to gay pride parades and events, and voices his support for his dog. 

He still owns that poodle he bought, which he found out was a toy poodle.

If his parents didn’t limit Stan to only 2 dogs, he would have a pack of at least 6, that he’d have follow him everywhere. He instantly can become friends with any dog he meets and feels heartbroken when he can’t take them home.

Stan knows different wolf howls and behaviors, he can almost instantly tell you what a wolf or a dog is trying to tell you. If he ever gets lost in the forest around town. he knows how to find the local wolf/coyote pack to keep himself company.

Out of all the boys, Stan would be the first to go feral if they were abandoned by their parents/society.

Kenny McCormick:

Is literally an Elder God, but only is aware of his immortality. He can’t remember what other powers he has or how to activate them. His real father is Cthulhu, and he hates him.

Kenny cares very deeply for his little sister Karen and older brother Kevin. When he has extra money, he will always buy them something nice. Like a new doll for Karen or powdered doughnuts from the convenience store to share with Kevin, because it’s their favorite treat.

Even though he will do nearly anything for money, he draws the line at eating Hot Rods. (Unless of course eating them would bring his family out of poverty or something...)

Kenny is genderfluid and pansexual. Mostly because he doesn’t care who he sleeps with, especially if their is money involved. Also wearing girl clothing occasionally was at first so he could had it down to Karen, but now he’d proudly admits he does like the look and feel of women’s clothing on him.

He has had pet rats, a pet possum, and raccoon. Currently he’s raising a baby flying squirrel he found abandoned in his yard, and nursing a robin who has a broken wing.

He wants to be a veterinarian when he grows up.

Eric Cartman:

Never thinks things through, and always pays for his schemes one way or another.

Still has a horde of stuffies he keeps in his room and sleeps with. Even having tea parties with them, when his “friends” don’t want to play.

Is an asshole towards Kyle, because he has unrequited feelings for him, but doesn’t want Kyle to know. Most of his plans fall through, because he really doesn’t want to hurt or push Kyle away.

Knows that he should watch his weight and eat better, but subconsciously wants to get diabetes from his obesity so he can be just like Kyle and Scott. He hates that they get special attention to their medical problems at school and thus don’t have to participate in certain exercises in gym.

Cartman is sex repulsed, but is secretly gay. He can’t stand the thought of actually having sex with anyone and believes all intimate contact is rape. 

He once broke up Craig and Tweek when he spotted them kissing at Stark’s Pond, then went on a rant of how Craig was taking advantage of his boyfriend, scaring Tweek into thinking he got all of the STDs.

Kyle has force Cartman to clean up “Zaron” all by himself before, after Cartman broke too many rules they came up with after the Stick of Truth was thrown in Stark’s Pond. Although, Cartman made Butters do it for him instead, when Kyle went home.

Four other boys:

Tweek Tweak:

Wasn’t aware his parent’s put meth and other drugs in his coffee to test the blends into being their customers addicted, until Craig discovered what Mr. Tweak was doing. Though Tweek is too scared to report his parents, Craig has used it as a threat to get Tweek expensive things, like videogames and new brand named clothes.

Tweek is a wonderful cook and baker. He wants to change the Tweak Bros. Coffee, into a restaurant kind of like Tim Hortons, where they serve both coffee and homemade food. Though he is too scared to ask his father to put in a proper kitchen in the back of the store, for him to use. Instead he has convinced his mother to sell his famous cupcakes, he bakes at home.

Even without the coffee and drugs, Tweek would still have his twitching tick. It only acts up when he is stressed out. When he is calm, it’s barely noticeable.

Before he bought Stripe #4 for Craig, he was terrified of rodents, after he fell in love with Guinea Pigs and occasionally will discuss proper rodent care with Kenny. 

Though now he fears that Craig might eat Stripe one day, do to Guinea Pigs being a delicacy in Peru and not knowing what happened to the other three Guinea Pigs Craig has had before Stripe #4. That’s why Stripe is kept over at his house on weekends and not a Craig’s 24/7.

Tweek has a parrot named “Coffee Crisp”, because it’s his favorite snack and the first words the parrot learned. His parent’s bought Tweek Coffee Crisp, to help keep his paranoia in check. 

Coffee Crisp will repeat goverment conspiracy theories do to that fact Tweek listens to them on the radio in his room at night. Coffee Crisp also knows the name of over 150 different types of coffee related products.

Craig gave Tweek a hand knitted Chullo and shall that matched his own, but in green, for his birthday. Tweek is afraid he will ruin them if he wears them, so he only wore the outfit for a day before permanently hanging it up in his closet.

Tweek was questioning his sexuality, but has always been gay. He was just too paranoid about other things to focus long enough to realize this.

Craig Tucker:

Although he behaves like he doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything, he cares deeply on the inside for his friends. He believes showing emotion is weakness and prefers to internalize everything.

He has broken down in front of only two people ever in his life. The first being Clyde after Strip #2 had died, and the second being Tweek.

Craig is aware he is adopted and his native homeland is in Peru. He’s half white and half Peruvian native, and was sent to the US for adoption after people started trying to worship him as the Guinea God.

He’s also aware that he is a god and has god-like abilities. He just doesn’t like to use them and prefers to live a “normal” mortal life. He is aware of Kenny being an Elder God and his immortality. He’s willing to teach Kenny how to be responsible with his powers if he ever find out how to use them.

Craig has eaten Cavy and knows how to make traditional Peruvian dishes that use it, do to being a deity in his homeland. He likes it on occasion, but would never eat a Guinea Pig that he intends to keep as a pet and has buried his previous Guinea Pigs in the back garden of his home. He even had little funerals for them where his friends attended.

Craig likes to knit and will spend hours in his room listening to music and knitting. He hides this from his dad, because it’s not a “manly” hobby. Though every christmas he gives his family handmade sweaters, scarves, mittens, and socks, as gifts.

He doesn’t like coffee like Tweek, but his favorite drink is French Vanilla Cappuccinos. Which he has with whipped cream added, do to his sweet tooth.

Craig can’t dance, but tries to at parties and has fun regardless at his failed attempts. It makes Tweek laugh anyway.

Finally like Tweek’s twitching, flipping people off is a tick Craig had developed. Do to internalizing all of his thoughts and feelings, he automatically flips the bird when he feels upset or angry over someone or thing.

Clyde Donovan

Is just as pervy as Kenny, but is straight. 

He has problems with over expressing his emotions and is always crying about something. He uses Craig as his emotional support constantly, and sometimes will sit eating ice cream and watching romance movies alone.

He is embarrassed by his colostomy bag and only his friends (and Mr. Macky) know about it. He has one do to surviving rectal cancer when he was five.

He wants to own his own mexican themed restaurant when he is older or a Taco Bell. He was very disappointed when the government canceled building a giant Taco Bell during the events of the Stick of Truth.

His favorite Raisins girl is Lexus and always request her to be his host when he eats there. He wants to ask her out, but is too scared she will reject him.

When the kids play “The Kingdom of Zaron” now, Clyde remains as a separate third faction and the main “antagonist” of the game, when the humans and elves aren’t fighting each other. He rules over all the kids that want to be “monsters” or non-human or non-elf. Humans and elves can join his side if they proved to be “evil” enough.

Clyde has worn women's clothing for fun before. He likes flowy skirts and dresses. He wants to go to prom one day in a dress and maybe convince his future wife to let him wear the bride’s gown to their wedding.

Whenever he hears that Tweek is having a “backing meltdown” he gets excited, since Tweek makes too much and usually shares by giving him three boxes of baking. He hides this from his dad who want him to be careful of his weight.

Token Black:

Likes to buy expensive things for Nicole and his friends. He has no idea the value of money and genuinely gets confused when his friend say they or their parents can’t afford something.

Kenny McCormick creeps him out, and he thinks his family just chooses to live in a garbage dump. Though he does get along with Karen McCormick and had bought her lunch a few times, since he thinks it’s cruel for her parents to not give her money or food for school.

He is the second person Clyde will run to when he is upset, though unlike Craig, he dosen’t really know how to react or comfort Clyde. He normally just stands there with Clyde crying in his shoulder, awkwardly patting his back saying “there, there...” until Clyde feels better.

Contrary to belief (and Cartman) Token doesn’t like listening to Beyonce or hip hop type music. He actually likes listening to old folk music and polkas. 

Weird Al Yankovic is his favorite entertainer and “Just Eat it” is his favorite song by him.

Token sometimes says racist things against his white friends by accident. After which he profusely apologizes if he catches himself or someone calls him out on it.

He rather play chess than play football or basketball.

[oldguy56-world]

Driving Miss Daisy

I have lived in 10 cities and 5 provinces so far in my life, and have also been to every city in the country with a population of 50,000 or greater. In each of these places the locals tell me the same thing: We have the worst drivers here. Well guess who is correct. ALL OF THEM! Yes, without a doubt, we are a country populated by people who should never get behind the wheel of a car.

My first day driving home in my current city, I pulled up to a 4 way stop just before our driveway. (don’t get me going on 4 way stops. That could fill 4 blogs. Suffice it to say most people have no clue how they work. Roundabouts either, but that is another story for another day) Because I have to turn right about 100 feet after the intersection, I am in the far right lane. A car pulls up beside me in the left hand lane. We are the only people at the intersection. As I start to pull ahead, the driver guns it and takes a hard right cutting in front of me. As they pass, all four occupants (including 2 kids in the back seat) flip me the bird. If you know me I am seldom speechless, but this day I was. My transgression seems to be driving a car???

I have lots of stories like these, but will not go into them. Instead I will share with you the top ten types of drivers I personally can do without. I am not going to mention the driver/texters as they will be covered in an upcoming blog about technology. (That is known as a teaser, and you will have to tingle with anticipation waiting for it to come out).

Before I list the top ten, I want to mention something that happened a couple of weeks ago that doesn’t really come under bad driving. Have you ever been behind a car and you swear there is no driver? When I pulled up beside it there was a woman so tiny she had to look at the road by peeking between the steering wheel and dashboard. Not sure how much she can see, but she was driving well.

For the sake of transparency I have to tell you all that my wife does not drive. This gives me the bravery to mention the following pet peeves because she does not, can not, fall into any of the categories.

1) The Indy driver. You know this guy (yes usually men) who weave in and out of traffic down the highway. Usually 10 minutes later you see they are still only 2-3 cars ahead. When I get back up beside them I always smile and wave. They will give a puzzled look, and spend the rest of their trip trying to remember where they know me from. Good luck with that.

2) The ‘I can’t be behind you guy even for a second’. Yes usually another male driver. You will be in the far right lane, and they are behind you. Suddenly they swing out, pass you, then cut back in front only to take the very next exit off of the highway. The only rational explanation is a sudden bout of diarrhea has hit them. The only fitting punishment: no seat covers and they hit every red light on the way home.

3) Drivers coming out of a side street who wait and wait and wait until you are almost there then pull out in front of you going 20. Ladies, this one is yours. (you didn’t think I was going to let you off the hook did you?). This indecision I like to call the shoe shopping syndrome. (don’t bother sending a note about this. I won’t bother reading it)

4) Similar to #4, but in this case you are behind them waiting to turn onto a street, and they will not move until no other vehicle is coming in either direction at all. Usually this is either your brand new driver, or your real old driver who may have nodded off, or it took several minutes for their brain to tell their foot to move from the brake to the gas pedal.

5) The backer-inner. No matter how many empty spaces are available they choose to take one where they have to back in. Not a problem if they know how to do it, but sometimes it is a 5 minute exercise while cars get backed up waiting to get to another spot. The truly incredible thing about this is the new cars that have the rear cameras. This doesn’t seem to help. No specific gender or age group. Idiots come in all shapes and sizes.

6) Lines are just a suggestion, either when driving or parking. The first is dangerous, the second is either arrogant (I don’t want anyone near my car) or rude (they have parked and don’t care how many spaces they take up). Here is a tip at the grocery store. If you encounter the multiple spot parkers, behind them is a great place to leave your empty cart. It is worth the 25 cents you will lose, especially if you hang around to watch their head explode. (Make sure your windows are up to avoid splatter. Crack them a bit to hear the language)

7) People who don’t know what the signal light is for. It is of no help to put your signal on after you have changed lanes. You might as well just put your wipers on or your car stereo for all the good it does. Also, putting your signal light on is not designed to get people to stop and let you in. It is an alert you are changing lanes. See #8 as to why you shouldn’t just make the change.

8) People who won’t let you in. There is usually a reason (I say usually as some people think it is a sport) to change lanes.  I will put my signal on and when I see a gap start to change lanes. If I had a nickel for every time some yahoo sped up to stop me from changing I could have retired a year earlier, and this would be blog #57. I envision it is a guy (yes a man thing again) who is tired of either his boss or wife telling him what to do. He is not going to let some stranger in a car dictate his actions. Karma here is that the second of power will be greeted with a lot more home or work grief. (yes I have a petty side)

9) A truck that passes another truck only going 1 km per hour faster. This event usually takes 5-6 minutes. I am not concerned for myself as I have infinite patience. (that’s what I tell myself). It is the other drivers that fall into some of the aforementioned categories that worry me, and the longer they wait, the more agitated they get and the stupider they become.

10) The on-ramp merger. You will see them come flying down the ramp at about 100 already. They pass several openings to merge to get as far to the front of the line (which has no front by the way) as possible. They run out of lane then give you a dirty look if you are maintaining your speed. I will let them in because I have a new car. Give me an 88 Pontiac and might be a different story.

The comedian Gallagher had a solution for all of this. He wants to have each car equipped with a suction dart device. If someone pulls a bone head move on the road, you zap him with a dart that says ‘idiot’. (darts cannot be removed) Once a car has 5 of these darts attached to them the police have the right to arrest them for being a moron.

So that is it. I guess you can call it a semi-rant. You had to know one was coming.

Until we meet again

THOUGHT OF THE WEEK: No matter where you go, there you are.

[fuck-customers]

Just a typical rant

Right okay, I just need to rant.

TLDR; typical 'work used to be cool and chilled out and then everything went upside fucking down'

From winter 2015 until around two months ago (May 2017) we had a pretty sturdy workforce. I

n 2016, only three people left. One was fired for being bigoted towards a customer which was good because he was an incompetent ass who had been working the job for over six months and didn't know what he was doing; someone left because they saved up enough pennies to travel the world and another left as they got a job in their degree field.

During this time we hired five people, too (excluding the bigot). We got a new supervisor, who, used to work for the company a few years ago in a senior sales role but quit to manage a concessions store. The pay at my work is phenomenal for retail and as a supervisor he earned more for doing less and because of previous experience with the company, he fitted right in. When we were first short my boss asked us if we knew if anyone needed a job, so, someone's cousin came to work for us, we then had three amazing seasonal who were so amazing we kept them on.

Work wasn't amazing, I mean, is it ever? However, I felt like myself and the other staff at my work were fortunate in that we had a great management team and that everyone got on reasonably well.

As someone who suffers from mental illness, which got "worse" at the beginning of 2016 resulting in my schedule being a bit upside down due to therapy sessions and doctors appointments - my work has been more than supportive. I can name people I have and will always dislike at work, people who have came and gone, and I'm sure there's people who dislike me, but, it's never been overly personal.

Work always felt like a place I could go and get stuck into something and somewhat switch my mind off - regardless if it would be serving a customer; tidying a section time and time again or compiling a weekly trade report - even during the horrors of sale and Christmas time things never felt too terrible as there was a great team to share the stress with.

I'd say issues started in the new year. Something changed with our manager and I still can't pinpoint what it is. The main thing was that scheduling got real sloppy. I was scheduled in on Monday mornings, when I go to therapy - I swapped it the first few times and told him it was because I was going to therapy yet he kept scheduling me in. The issue wasn't just related to me - it happened to a few of us. One guy can't work Saturday's because he volunteers in the morning and babysits in the evenings - guess who was scheduled Saturday's?

He then stopped briefing us on shifts - normally he opened whilst other managers came in for closing, so, it would take us until midday normally to find out our targets.

Our region shares a big Facebook group that they like people to be in but it's not mandatory, however, I'd say about two-thirds of us are in it. SO, our district manager will post stuff like: "Hey guys, check with your manager about the factsheet on this product you will be tested about it in brief." and we'll go in and the factsheet will be locked away in the office and brief will be absent and then someone will come in asking about this product that we have NO FUCKING CLUE about because we're missing training. 

We're also due 1-to-1's every three months. Everyone (apart from the seasonals for obvious reasons) got one in October - and was due one at the start of the year - it had now been four months and he hadn't even mentioned them. People asked the ASM about these, as sometimes he did them and he himself wasn't even sure as my manager hasn't even wrote out any profiles yet.

In all, things stop getting done due to the lack of strong management.

Everyone assumes our manager is slacking because he's gonna leave. At the time he used to help his mum with her business - a quirky 'lil handmade candle business that starting really lifting off, we just assumed he'd be wanting to go full time there now she established quite a lot of presence. Someone asked him about this and he flat out denies it, telling us he's not going and that he's just been a little bit stressed about x, y and z - the candle business included buuuut he's working on getting back on the right track. 

There's then the "staff night out" that I'll leave at that. I recall going home early because of how terrible it was. This was around mid-March. Due to all the shift swaps and lack of management I think everyone started to rub each other the wrong way. This, added in with alcohol, just lead to a lot of fights. My manager then held a meeting post-night-out and made us all "resolve our issues" - a lot of grinding him for obvious reasons. We made this cheesy-as strategy plan to get things back on track - I mean, by this point this were getting back on track but getting it in writing felt so good. 

Work goes back to normal, or at least for a month or so. 

Then, out of nowhere, one our supervisor leaves. She's offered a job as an ASM at the other end of town. Her replacement is meant to be someone in senior sales from the store just outside of town but this person is offered the same role at her own store and doesn't leave. We struggle with less management, however, most of us (at least those that have been there for over 12 months) know how to do everything - apart from cash up/down and to open and close but my manager trains the merchandiser in this so he can come in early on weekdays to set up and open. Somehow, this causes tension as another full-time staff member demands they get shown and given a set of keys and... my manager complies... this person becomes senior sales and basically takes on a supervisory role as we fill in the position. But, she SUCKS at it. The tills are never working, the lights are never on, AGAIN THERE'S NO BRIEF. This is brought up to our manager with a 'hey let the merchandiser do all this as he is actually competent' suggestion which is brushed off because my manager doesn't want to take the power away.

Meanwhile, this 'keyholder', has started cyberbullying one of our part-timers. A really good friend of mine, actually. She keeps it to herself at first, bless, but, after a while it gets too much. She confronts our ASM who kinda shrugs it off because he and the keyholder are really good friends. Suggestions like "block her:))))" are given - that, in theory work but in practice just make things more awkward for work. As you can imagine, this girl leaves because she has to, basically, for her own health. She contacts HR and shows me the email "we will tell management to keep an eye on ____, call (number) if things get more serious" HOWEVER this is after she's left. 

Working with our 'keyholder' becomes a problem for not only myself but other staff. This power trip or whatever, isn't good, and management don't understand why we hate it fully. 

Two other people leave - one of which is for a job in their degree field and another is because of them being generally unhappy with how things are ran. 

Then FUCK we're down so many staff and have to hire. We get new staff and they're TERRIBLE. Okay okay, I lie - one girl is good, if a bit shy, but, the others are just... bad? One guy keeps going on his phone and texting and the other called out sick for every shift but his opening (when he got his £50 uniform spend) and then quit. We then hire, again, and get someone whose okay - potential to improve, I guess. 

This then strikes this old v new mentality where older staff (12/18 months + although I try and stay out of this one) just go against the newer staff and blame then for all the fuckups. It becomes a problem and again, managers don't see it. They even encourage it as anytime bigger tasks need to be done they assign an "older" worker to make sure it gets done. THEN HOW WILL THINGS GET LEARNED? AND WHAT WHEN OTHER PEOPLE LEAVE?

This went on longer than expected buuuut that's basically been my 2017. I'd leave if I could but the pay is too good and I get full time hours that work around my mental health - something a lot of places will fail to offer. 

[bryanjfc-blog]

bars and burgers || bryan & adonai (pt. 1)

the one where bryan asks addy out for drinks and has a burger before crashing on addy’s couch

when: 30th august 2017

where: bar, diner

warnings: mentions of boys

Bryan chewed at his lip and watched his watch, waiting for the hour to pass by. He was looking forward to spending some time with Addy, even though he had no clue where the night would end up. By the time the hour was done, Bryan had already had three cups of rum and coke. "Hey, hot stuff. Let's go." Bryan didn't say much on the walk to the next bar, which he did prefer compared to where Addy worked. "You're right. That bar you work at is a shithole." He chuckled and took a seat at the bar and ordered two drinks. "So -- how'd you end up working at that bar anyway?"

Addy was already exhausted by this night and was subtly wishing he could just fly back to New York already. He knew this wasn't a good idea and, quite frankly, wished to pull it off like a bandaid. While it was true that he didn't actively hate Bryan anymore, it was also true that he still didn't have the highest opinion of the man, and rather would've like to just avoid the situation entirely. Another case of his classic can't-see-you-can't-see-me tactic. "It's a mess without me," he said, scoffing at the question, "It's down the street from a very busy corner. Busk in the morning, work at noon until nine, busk in the evening, sleep, repeat."

Bryan "No, I mean -- how did you ... end up bartending? I mean, that wasn't your major. What gave you a change of heart?" Bryan put his chin in his hand, resting his elbow on the bar as he watched Addy. "It's just .... surprising, I guess. Didn't seem like something you'd do." Bryan wondered what other surprises Addy had up his sleeve. Getting older really did change some people.

Addy blinked at him. "Mostly get to pick your own hours, at the bar I work at back home, I practically run the joint, and bars are usually near or are the busy place on any given street." He tucked his hair behind his ear and shrugged. "Simple, really, just a matter of where I'm the most likely to be heard." He thanked the woman for the drinks and took a sip, licking his lips after and rubbing a hand over his jaw. "What about you?"

Bryan "I'm a firefighter." That was nowhere close to Bryan's major either. But he couldn't possibly mix singing and wanting to be an artist with a little girl. So he chose her. A normal childhood for her. He didn't regret it one bit. Sure, he didn't really have much time for himself, but Diana was happy and that was all that mattered. "Have been for the last four years. It's ... tiring, but I love it. More than I thought I would, actually." Bryan watched the way Addy licked his lips and glanced away, downing his entire glass before he asked for another. "And Diana boasts me about all the time, so it's a win-win.”

Addy nodded slowly. "Heroic," he noted, a little startled, but nowhere near shocked. It wasn't a shock that Bryan had become basically the poster guy for nobility and valor. Addy had always thought a life of honor and truth suited who he was on the inside. The deep-down Bryan, the real Bryan, the one that Addy had loved all those years ago? He was a hero. He was the firefighter, even back then. So while the risky-business side of that job was startling, the deeper psychology behind it wasn't. He hummed slightly. There was a metaphor hidden inside of that; something that screamed that the Bryan everyone thought he was--a dick, rogue-ish, a playboy, unbothered and entirely too invested--was the fire. Addy could sit here and analyze the meaning behind it all, but he didn't need to. He watched Bryan down his drink and he raised an eyebrow. "Diana. How old is she now?"

Bryan "She's eight." She was in the third grade, a tiny little genius. She was at the top of her class, along side children who were older than she was. Bryan was completely head over heels for her. Bryan took out his wallet and showed Addy a photo of her. "There's my little princess. She's starting to look like Savannah each day but she has my eyes though. Savannah's her mom, though. In case you didn't know that. S'not really involved with Diana, though. I mean, a few years back she was convinced she wanted custody and took me to court but -- it's obvious how that turned out." Bryan closed the wallet and pushed it back into his pockets. He finished his drink again and ordered another.

Addy smiled slightly at the picture of the little girl. He listened to everything Bryan had to say about her, glad she was still the sole love of his life. If anyone deserved that, it was her. "I can't imagine someone trying to take you to court over her. You've been the one raising her, that's a bit ridiculous, no?" He sipped his drink again, resting his elbows on the table. "I don't have much to share, if I'm honest. I don't have any interesting children."

Bryan "Mm, I know, right? Judge probably thought that too. Doesn't really matter though. That's all in the past." Bryan chuckled at what Addy said and took a sip of his drink. "Yeah. Not yet though, anyway. Right? I mean -- do you think you'd want to have children sometime in the near future?" Bryan took a second sip of his drink, a tad bit longer than the first. He didn't want to get too plastered. As much as he would have liked to, considering his week. "Or no?"

Addy shrugged. "Probably, but I don't know." He ran his finger around the rim of his glass. "What the fuck happened to your face, dude?" he asked, looking at Bryan's eye, "I meant to ask earlier, but now it's more pronounced in this light." He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, by the way, I met a friend of yours. Asher, I think he said his name was. Really awesome guy, honestly."

Bryan frowned. When the hell did Addy get this straightforward. Or was he always this straightforward? Bryan didn't want to talk about anyone besides the man who was sitting across from him. He pouted his lips then said, "Someone punched me in the face. I said something, he took it to heart and took a swing at me. And no, I didn't hit him back. Not worth it." Bryan shrugged, finished what was left in his glass and sighed. "Yeah .... he's pretty awesome .." Bryan trailed off, waving the bartender over. "More rum, less coke, yeah?" Bryan shifted in his seat and brought his gaze back to Addy. "What'd he say?"

Addy realized it as it soon as he said it. The second guy in the story. "Mm, his husband, right?" he nodded sagely and shrugged, "He just said you weren't a dick anymore." He smirked at him slightly and took another sip. "Drowning yourself in alcohol, hm? Your liver is screeching at you." He laughed softly, shaking his head. "Guess some things never change, huh? That's okay--you're endearing when drunk, if I know you at all. Anyway, yeah, he is awesome. Gave me a contact and everything, it was chill."

Bryan looked at Addy curiously. Didn't he and Asher just meet? They were sharing their life story already? Geez. "Um, yeah. His husband... " Well, that probably meant that Addy know Asher wasn't just Bryan's friend. He wondered just how much he did know now. Bryan let out a loud sigh, hating the way their conversation had been going. "I'm not ... drowning myself in alcohol ... " He rolled his eyes at how easy Addy seemed to read him. Ugh. Damn him. "I'm not ... drunk." Bryan frowned, "And .. what? Gave him your number for what reason?"

Addy almost laughed at how in just a few minutes, he'd put Bryan on the defensive, but he didn't. He hummed softly. "How stupid was whatever you said? I don't care about what it was, but it's almost funny that you got punched. Almost. I'd be an asshole to say it is, but it's almost." He smiled, and for a second, there was a flash of Addy in college hiding in his eyes. Addy had changed. "Sure seems you're working on getting there," he said, "But you do you, dude." He cocked his head to the side at the question. "He apparently knows some people at a studio, so he was nice enough to offer a way in. Nice guy, honestly. I gave him my number because he needs someone to rant to, or something. Which, you know, I enjoy listening to people."

Bryan "I told him .. well I asked him how he felt sleeping in bed alone when his husband was out with his ex boyfriend." Bryan took a sip of his drink. "I'd punch me if I said that to me." Another sip. "I'm not. .... " Pouting, Bryan watched Addy as he brought the cup to his lips and took a longer third sip. "Oh? He needs someone to rant to?" Was this before or after Bryan told him he needed a day away from him. Maybe. But why would Asher need someone to rant to if he had Bryan. Hell, he had Brad. "Oh. Well .... that's good, and yeah. That was your major. Well, Psychology, anyway. Still interested in doing that?"

Addy couldn't hold back the laugh anymore. "Oh my God, you what?" He was incredulous, holding his hand over his mouth to keep it all contained. "I know that's really not funny because you got punched, but, like, from my outside perspective? It's fucking hilarious. I'm so sorry." He said, shaking his head. "Yeah, I think he just needed someone who wasn't involved in his life, you know? Um, you know, I'm more interested in music, but I have certification to do therapy if that bombs horribly." He shrugged again.

Bryan frowned at hearing Addy laugh. It was a pleasant sound though, but still -- he was laughing at Bryan's pain. "Shut up." Bryan stuck his tongue out at the man, emptied his glass and left it on the bar counter. "Well, that makes sense. I mean, it's nice to have an outside ear and an outside voice. It's good for you." Sighing, Bryan wet his lips before he continued, "You could talk to Naomi, she's into the music thing. She works with a record label, I think."

Addy grinned at him. "C'mon. It's a little funny." He smirked at the placement of the glass and nodded. "Means I don't have to talk about shit," he said, pulling his hair back into a low ponytail. "No idea who the hell that is, but I'm sure she's real nice." It was deep sarcasm.

Bryan watched Addy pull his hair back and he had no idea that something as simple and as subconscious as that could seem so enticing. It was the alcohol. Definitely the alcohol. "I mean, maybe funny to you but .... whatever. It's happened. I'm over it. Completely over it." Bryan shook his head and avoided any further drinks for the rest of the time he and Addy spoke at the bar. He wasn't sure for how long though, and Bryan suddenly didn't know what to say or what to do. "So um," Bryan stood up from the bar stool, a bit wobbly as he tried to stand up still, "shit -- that fucking rum really knows how to swing your head... " Bryan rubbed at the back of his neck. "Where to, Lillis?"

Addy shook his head. "Doesn't seem like you're over it," he said, scratching his neck. He snorted when Bryan stood. "I told you," he said, "We can go to the park--it's nice at this time." He shrugged, pulling on a stray piece of his hair before tucking it back into the ponytail. "You good, mate? Also, why do you keep calling me by my last name? It's kinda weird, dude."

Bryan "I'm over it." Bryan practically growled the words. Was Addy going to fucking drop it or not? He just wouldn't shut the hell up about it. "You know, you're a .. little .... bitchy tonight, aren't you? Like, you grew two more balls the past five years or something. I've no complaints though. I wouldn't mind seeing 'em either." Bryan rubbed at his neck again, paid the bartender and made his way to the bar's exit. "Sorry, Adonai, my bad. I'll call you whatever you want me to call you. Addy, Adonai .. baby, sweetie ... just tell me. What? The park?" Bryan's eyes narrowed momentarily, "Fine."

Addy nodded slowly and walked out with him. "Mm, sounds like drunk Bryan has joined the party. You wanna get a burger?" he asked, already heading in the direction of such. He scratched his eyebrow and stuck his hands in his pockets. "I actually have twelve balls now, as a matter of fact, and I'm sure you would, I'm a scientific miracle." He chuckled softly at his own words and kept nodding as Bryan rambled. "Yep, you can technically do what you want." He was smiling to himself, trying very hard not to laugh at this clear display of intoxication.

Bryan scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Fuck me, Addy. Come on, make up your mind. Are we getting a burger or are we going to the park? Don't toy with me, mister." Bryan pointed his fingers at the man and scoffed. "I want a burger though, so we should go get that." Bryan wasn't sure how long they walked for, but he was grateful to be sitting in the booth when he got there. The waitress came over and they made their orders, and Bryan groaned as he rested his forehead on his arm on the table. "Geez, good thing I didn't have anymore to drink. Ugh ---"

Addy shook his head. "Now is a good time for I told you so, I think," he said, patting Bryan's head lightly. "Poor Bryan, gonna have a hangover tomorrow probably." He laughed softly, watching eagerly as his chicken salad was brought to him. He started eating immediately, forgetting about how hungry was. "This is damn good, though," he noticed, nodding in appreciation.

Bryan "Fuck off, Addy." Bryan pouted, grateful when the food finally came to their table. He ate in happy silence, save for when he stuck his tongue out at Addy and asked him when he'd pulled his hair up. Bryan washed his burger down with water and groaned when he stood up again. "Fuck, I can't go back to the apartment like this." Bryan rubbed at his eyes. "Can I crash on your couch tonight? Please, please. I'll be out of there before you wake up in the morning."

Addy raised an eyebrow and kept ignoring, mostly ignoring the other man. He paid, thanking the waitress as he started for the door. "Sure," he said, shrugging slightly, "Although, it might be the shittiest couch you'll ever experience." He smirked as he walked out of the little diner, heading down the street towards his apartment complex, fishing his keys out of his back pocket. "Also, the air is broken, so I've got fans going, if that shit bothers you."