#i think they had a printed ticket option for more money and i should have done that

[izzy-b-hands]

jfc i miss printed regular concert tickets

[musings-from-mars]

Valet of a Ticket Machine

An original sci-fi story

Part 1

~~~

2

For the next few days, I continue on assisting Multen however he sees fit. And for the next few nights, I'm talking to Tixxy, trying to figure out how else I can help.

"I'm sorry, but I can't leave Severen."

Tixxy prints out a page in reply (I've since managed to acquire some paper that better suits its hardware):

Why can you not leave Severen?

"Well..." I look around at my room, my tiny sanctuary, the little bit of the universe that I can feel in control of. "I just can't."

Is Severen your home?

I grit my teeth and shrug. "It's where I live, and I can't exactly afford to leave."

How much money do you have?

I laugh. "None."

I can acquire money.

I pause and stare at the segment of paper sticking out of Tixxy. "How can a ticket machine acquire money?"

Tixxy takes longer than usual to respond, by at least three seconds. I soon realize why as a long segment of paper prints:

I am equipped to interface with transactional systems to render tickets for payment. I am familiar with many systems that govern digital currency and can therefore manipulate them to redirect currency to your possession. If connected via a bank machine or a market kiosk, I can manipulate ledgers to reroute funds to your account.

I read the whole thing before taking a breath. So, Tixxy has a mischievous streak then? Even with the level of sentience it has, I figure its programming should include a familiarity with common law. "Uh, Tix... That is very illegal."

It is. You will not face consequence if you are not caught.

Well, it isn’t wrong, but this printer is missing the crucial fact that I likely am not going to be good at not getting caught. "Are there other options?"

We could stow away on a cargo ship.

"Legal options?" I reiterate.

Tixxy takes a moment to think.

You acquire money through legal means.

"Not easy to do around here," I say. I refuse to slave away in smithshops and quarries for a pittance, I'm more than happy just living here.

Severen seems like a depressing place. Why do you want to stay?

"Because I'm scared," I blurt out the moment I read the words, and then stop. I grip the sheets of my bed and look at what else I had on my desk. Manuals, odds and ends, bits and bobs, and my Soulore fragment, a valuable bit of rare ore that I just stumbled upon one day. I always figured I'd sell it in a time of urgency...

I pick up the Soulore. It's pitch black, unless moved—then colors spring to life from within and fade once static again. It's roughly in the shape of a pyramid, just a chip off of what likely ended up being a much bigger find. But even a small piece like this could be enough to possibly...

But no. I can't, not now, not for a printer. I like Tixxy, but I can't uproot my whole life just to try to get her back to some cruise ship.

I look away from the Soulore and glance at Tixxy. It had printed a reply that I was just now seeing:

I am also scared.

I close my eyes and sigh. "How are you so sentient? You're a printer. How can you feel scared?"

I just am.

I grit my teeth. This isn't possible. How could the smartest printer in the galaxy just end up here where I would find it and listen to it to beg me to help? Why couldn't have someone else have found it, someone else who could help? Someone else who felt capable of helping?

More paper printed.

The Soulore you are holding weighs 532.59 units, it would have a market value of 12,450G

I freeze. Does Tixxy have visual input as well? And... "How do you know how much it weighs?"

I am equipped to detect precise Soulore deposits and their exact mass.

"Tixxy. You are a printer."

I am a printer that is equipped to detect precise Soulore deposits and their exact mass.

I stare at a wall for a moment, then laugh. I gasp, then laugh some more. I bury my face in my hand and keep laughing until I feel tears on my cheeks.

What are you laughing about?

I steady myself and let out a shaky sigh. This was all so…uncanny. Detecting Soulore? And I thought that was impossible, Soulore is valuable because it’s nearly impossible to find, other than by just digging and praying. "I'm just...surprised. You are not a normal printer."

I am not.

I set the Soulore fragment down and close my eyes. I picture space, stars. "Okay. So what if I do help you. I sell my Soulore and get you to wherever you need to go. Then what? What do I get out of it?"

You get to leave Severen.

"But then where do I go?"

Anywhere you choose.

The air in my lungs stalls as I stare at Tixxy's words, the thin text and blocky font. I feel myself doubting it, but... Tixxy has seemed very honest ever since I found her, I will give her that.

Do I want to leave Severen? Of course I do. I’ve always wanted to leave. But the problem with leaving is, there has to be some place to leave for. Some place to land after taking off. “What if I can’t choose?” I ask Tixxy. “What if there’s nowhere else I can go?”

There are thousands of Severen-sized planets in the galaxy.

I chuckle. “Right. But how do I know which one to live on?”

You could visit them.

I stare at its words. Several meters of paper is piling up beneath my desk, all with Tixxy’s words printed on it. For some reason, I don’t want to tear it.

More paper, more words print out unprompted:

You could visit them on our way to Xenet.

I hang my head forward and let out a sigh. “Tixxy, I can’t take you to Xenet. I can’t take you anywhere.”

Why not sell your Soulore?

“Because what if I need to save it for something in the future?”

Such as?

Such a snarky printer…

I lean back in my seat and stare up at the ceiling, a single light hanging from a cable leaving spots in my vision. If I had kept track, I’ve probably spent a lot of cumulative time staring at this lightbulb, feeling too lazy to get out of my bed to switch it off, having no reason to not stare at it. Sometimes I woke up the next morning with it still on.

And now I’m suddenly realizing that I haven’t seen daylight in weeks, not since the last time Multen sent me out to run errands.

Tixxy was asking a good question. What did I expect to need money for? All I do is live here rent-free, Multen feeds me, all in exchange for my assistance. Well, recently I’ve been assisting a lot less, because Multen has been acting increasingly fickle and disinterested about his work.

Maybe that was it then. Multen could just decide to move on from his scrapworking job that he was slowly growing to hate, find some other way to make money, one that wouldn’t involve me. And if I don’t work for him, he no longer has a reason to give me food, or this room…

Maybe I should just get a jump on figuring out my future before he forces me to. And if I did have to find some other place to live, I would love for it to be somewhere other than Severen.

I look back down at Tixxy. At least it’s patient; no new paper had printed out yet. “Okay. So, if I do sell my Soulore, that should get me enough money to leave Severen. How far could we go with that, with the…” I look back on Tixxy’s long roll of printed paper to check the valuation for earlier, “12,450 grains it would fetch. Wait—” I check that number again. “Twelve thousand grains?”

It would be more than enough to get us to Xenet, if we took base intersystem transport.

“How can this tiny piece of Soulore be worth that much?” I ask. I hadn’t been this struck before by the value because I was too caught up about a printer’s ability to weigh something that I was holding.

The market value has increased greatly in recent months.

“Is Soulore becoming that scarce? Also, how do you know that? Are you connected to CenCom somehow?”

Soulore is incredibly scarce due to over-mining and miner strikes. And yes, I am connected to Central Communication.

I should not be so surprised by that. Tixxy has proven how weird it is in multiple ways already. And now I’m realizing that I actually could leave. With that kind of money, I could travel to the other side of the galaxy and still have enough left over to find a new place to live, maybe find a job with the scrapworking experience I’ve gotten while working with Multen. For the first time it actually feels possible, even doable…

But the thought of actually doing it terrifies me. Just having that much money…would I even be able to make it off Severen before someone caught wind of some kid turning up with a piece of Soulore? It’s not like my options for selling it are very reputable, not here. Even the legal places to sell off ores and gadgets were just fronts for other types of business. I’d have a target on my back.

If I could somehow get somewhere else, find a way to a more secure planet, and sell it there…

But without money, the only way I could do that was…

“About stowing away…” I mutter.

Stowing away, preferably on a large freight vessel, would be the safest inexpensive option.

“It would also be the easiest way to get myself arrested, or killed,” I say, both to Tixxy, and to myself. It’s like I’m trying to talk myself out of it.

I could assist you.

“How?”

It would be simpler if I had audio capabilities. Then I could direct your every move to assure you board the ship and hide away undetected, without needing to print instructions.

“How would you be able to do that?” I just don’t get it. How can a printer be capable of so much?

I can use my ability to interface with various CenCom-connected systems to help you move undetected, and to warn you of threats.

“So it’s not just stealing money, you can also hack security cameras?”

If they are connected to CenCom, which they likely are.

I put a hand to my face. “Ugh…I’d rather avoid doing anything illegal.” But the alternative was selling the Soulore on Severen. I would also like to avoid being mugged.

The only unlawful thing you would be doing is stowing away.

I laugh. “Right. I’ll leave the rest of the unlawful things to you.”

Precisely.

I just kind of smile incredulously at Tixxy. I wonder if it can see me. It had shown no sign of any such ability, but I wouldn’t doubt it. “I just…I don’t know.”

Do you feel you can trust me?

I’m floored by that question, and it takes a while for me to answer. “I mean, you want to go home, right? I guess…” I sigh, “I guess you wouldn’t want to risk doing this if you didn’t feel confident in your abilities.”

I know how to get home. I just need a valet.

“I guess that’s me, then.” I rest my elbows on my desk, staring at Tixxy. I feel myself laughing again. “I can’t believe I’m going to just…leave. Leave and never come back, for a printer.”

It is for your own good as well, Ander.

That response empties my lungs of air like a gut punch. It really does suck here. I’m not happy here. I’m content and surviving, but not happy. Maybe Tixxy’s right, maybe I should leave, and find some place where I can be happy. Some place where I can see and feel the bright warmth of a star without needing to watch my back. Some place where I can meet people who aren’t either miserable, a member of some criminal ring, or both. I could See The Galaxy, like those starliner ads say.

My mind is made up. I’m leaving soon. When and how, I don’t know. But at least I know why.

“Okay, Tixxy.” I nod. “Let’s do it.”

Thank you, Ander.

“Thank you, too.” I look to the side, at a small box of wires and connectors, inputs and outputs. “So, audio capabilities, huh?”

Preferably formatted in such a way that only you will be able to hear me.

I get up from my chair and take Tixxy as I crouch by the box and start rummaging through it. Maybe there was a tiny speaker in here, something I could fashion into an earpiece. “I wonder what you sound like.”

So do I.

I read those three words over and over and over, and then sit down on the concrete floor. “Tixxy,” I mutter. “I don’t know what you are, or how you ended up here, but…I’m glad you did.”

I am a TIXbot. And I do not know how I ended up here. But am glad you found me, and that you will help me.

“You’re more than just a TIXbot,” I tell it as I start looking through the box again. I find a small communicator. The speaker inside it ought to be perfect.

I suppose I am also soon to become a radio.

I laugh and nod. “Yep. I just need to figure out a way to fit you with an audio input, which…might require taking you apart to some extent.”

I can give you schematics and diagrams regarding my construction, but they might look odd when printed on such narrow paper.

“If you can give me that, that would make it a million times easier.”

Very well. I will print them now.

Tixxy wasn’t kidding. The instructions did look odd printed on a long, narrow piece of paper like this. It just ended up being the same few illustrations of its insides, but repeated over and over with different annotations marked on each. But I understood them, the same way I could understand someone even if they only spoke two words every ten seconds.

It had been a long time since I had a project like this. And this one was far more exciting than anything Multen had given me. After looking over all the instructions Tixxy had given me, I figured out a plan and got to work. Sleep be damned.

“Okay.” Using the speaker from the communicator, some scraps of rubber, and a cord and audio connector, I had fashioned myself an earpiece. “I need to open you up now. Do you want to power off?”

You will reassemble me correctly, Ander?

I smile and nod. “I promise, I know what I’m doing.”

OK. I trust you.

I stare at the paper, then close my eyes. It’s just plain text, but the feeling of knowing that I mean something to this little device, being relied on like this…

“I look forward to hearing you talk to me, Tixxy,” I tell it, trying to make them feel more optimistic.

Thank you, Ander.

And then it’s blue light goes out. I sit and listen to the silence for a moment. With it powered off, it feels like Tixxy isn’t here. I feel alone, and for once, I hate it.

I get to work on outfitting Tixxy with this new cable. But first, I hold it with one hand and grab the paper with the other. In one motion, I tear the paper away, letting it all accumulate under my desk. I then sit there, staring at paperless Tixxy.

I have to lean to the side to pick up the paper again, just to see its words again. OK, I trust you. Thank you, Ander.

I close my eyes and take a shaky breath. I resist the urge to work fast; I need to do a quality job. The sooner I do it right, the sooner I can power Tixxy back on.

As I work, I find the silence is bothering me. I used to be accustomed to it, but now for some reason…

So instead, I quietly sing Tixxy’s song to myself. Much like the words it had printed out, the melody that my brain had conjured to go with the lyrics had been stuck in my head since the night I had found it. Except now, I wasn’t singing it in my head while trying to go to sleep. Now I was quietly singing it out loud to keep myself focused.

“Tixxy Tixxy Tixxy, I love my little Tixxy, Tixxy Tixxy Tixxy, I love my Tixxy bot…”

I wonder if that’s how the song actually goes. Maybe Tixxy will sing it for me once I’m finished.

[daisiesonafield-blog]

daisie do u feel like this whole holivia mess is jeopardizing your feelings towards harry? Cause i feel like it is for me a little bit :/

Hi dear,

In a sense yes. But not in a 'I don't like or support him anymore' way. I understand his position in the industry as a closeted queer person inherently limits his choices and options.

But besides that, I am very angry that his team is more than happy to use us when it's convenient for promo, to sell stadiums and overcharge tickets. To sell shitty merch to. But then in the same breath use as scapegoats and throw us under the bus as hysterical Harry Styles fangirls who are jealous of his girlfriend. And then to have Harry in print on Rolling Stone allude to the same. THAT was a massive slap in the face. Especially because he had, up until that point, fervently DEFENDED not only his fans, but fans who are women. Fangirls who are brushed off as the butt of the joke and ridiculed at every turn. He had defended us. But then comes Olivia Wilde with her made up sob story of 'poor me, his unkind jealous fans bullied me online for no reason wah wah', and he allegedly commented in support of it, going against fans? Brushing off actual criticism as 'ridiculous jealous fangirls'.

Angel Sue, H, Harold, Harry....It's a complicated relationship. I absolutely hate that Harry is pissing me off. But he is. I still love him. I'm not gonna stop loving him. I still love his music and Fine Line is forever my lifetime favorite album. BUT I am allowed to love him and be super fucking pissed with him and call him out on his bullshit. If you truly love someone this is what you do. You're not a yes person. You actually give your input and true feelings.

And I will say that his approach and his team's approach of staying quiet thru this and "standing by" Olivia is really putting a terrible taste in my mouth. Their standard approach is always to not comment or say anything, then drop some cute pics/videos of H being his adorable self and expect fans to bend over, take it and forget why they were angry. But this isn't going away.

I mean they literally called us hysterical and in the same breath said that it doesn't matter what they do to our faces, we'll still buy movie tickets and line around the block, and drop our whole month salaries on LOT. That is incredibly insulting.

The nerve to shit on us but in the same breath tell us to buy movie tickets and drop thousands for love on tour tickets. THEY'RE BLATANTLY BOASTING ABOUT USING US TO OUR FACES!!! IT'S SO INSULTING.

So naturally, yeah I'm annoyed at him right now. But I am also aware that feelings are transient and I won't feel like this forever.

I just wish him and his team were a bit less afraid to stand their ground publicly on some instances.

In this case, Olivia and DWD have absolutely harmed his image. He's now a bit of an asshole. Even for people who don't care or just vaguely read a headline or watch some gossip on the news. He went from showbiz's sweetheart to another Hollywood dickhead celeb who's always in some drama.

And FOR WHAT???? An ill advised PR stunt. A movie that has given him no leverage in Hollywood so far. And a leech of a beard who found her golden goose ticket to stardom she had only ever dreamed of. And she's full of it thinking she's the shit now. A narcissist thru and thru. Bringing everyone and herself down in her selfish quest for fame and money via a movie that should have died in pre-production. And would have, if not for Harry Styles and his legion of 'pathetic, jealous fangirls' who still buy any ticket he's selling.

Truly, this is this woman's level of narcissism:

Alright this is PURE rant. Can you tell I'm pissed? lol

Oh and btw, don't give this woman money. Don't pay to go see her movie, don't stream it on HBO. You can watch it for free on *other sites*, I'll share all the links. We're a huge fandom, we can do anything. If you *must* see it in theaters then buy a ticket to something else and sneak into dwd. Don't support her or validate her pitch for the stunt saving this movie via PR. Bc that's what it'd be doing too in addition to giving her millions $$ now and in future projects.

[hargrove-mayfields]

Memories Are Golden

The prom of ‘85 was just one week away. If you asked Steve how much involvement he would’ve have in the event, not even a month ago he would’ve guessed it to be nothing more than maybe taking a flyer home and immediately throwing it in the trash.

Because he wouldn’t be able to go anyways, him and his date didn’t exactly abide by the administration's rules, or society’s, for that matter, so he didn’t care about the whole thing, until last minute, when Nancy had successfully convinced him to be a part of the prom committee with her.

The conversation had basically been a very lengthy guilt trip, he’s well aware of that, and her whole, ‘best moments of our lives’ speech hadn’t really done much to change his mind either.

In the end, Steve had only decided he was going to do it for three reasons: he’d get extra credit in the teacher in charge of prom, the math teachers, class, he wouldn’t have to go to any of his morning classes, and Robin joined in on Nancy’s bullying him because her and Heather would be apart of the committee too.

So now for the next week leading up to the big day, Steve has to spend his mornings in the gym putting up the decorations for the grand march.

But it isn’t all bad, because their small little task force made up of the other poor souls Nancy had rallied to do this with her is all of his friends, Nancy and Barb and Robin and Heather, with the addition of one very begrudging Billy Hargrove.

The girls were all the type you’d expect to be into this thing, the crafty ones mixed in with popularity, and everyone knew Steve would do anything to show school spirit, especially if Nancy bullied him into it, but nobody actually expected Billy of all people to even show up.

He certainly looked more likely to be the one crashing the prom than hanging up little foil stars on the walls, and anyways, rumor had it he only was on the committee as an alternative to detention for smoking weed under the bleachers.

But Steve knew that had absolutely not happened, for one thing, Billy’s weed stayed tightly locked up in his bedroom, thank you very much, and for another, he was there completely willingly. Steve knew that, because he’d been the one to tell Billy to sign up.

Which, when it really got right down to it, Billy honestly was the only reason Steve was even doing this whole thing. They were used to working in a couple of very limited interactions on the court or in the few classes they shared, but with the prom committee they’d be required to spend at least four hours together every day. It was the golden opportunity, even if that wasn’t the way Nancy intended it.

So maybe Billy does show up a little late every morning on purpose, just to keep up appearances, but he’s got a smile on his face, hidden behind the styrofoam coffee cup he gets from the cafeteria as he seeks out Steve and sits beside him in the bleachers to wait for that days instruction.

“Mornin’ Bill.” Steve mumbles tiredly, used to coming in late every day and getting at least an extra hour of sleep most days.

Billy nods and hums in his throat as his only response, so Steve asks him, “You wake up on the wrong side of the bed this mornin’?”

And of course, in true Billy fashion, he flashes Steve his most shit eating grin, and says all nonchalant, “Always do when I wake up alone.”

It’s so cheesy, and very obviously meant to get to him, but Steve can’t help the blush that creeps up his neck. He’s still trying to think up an equally as flustering comeback, when the teacher in charge finally shows up.

She announces that this year’s theme was ‘under the stars’, which Steve thought sounded incredibly tacky, but there was still no way it would be any worse than the godawful ‘hollywood’ theme from the year before. Hawkins High had a reputation for a lot of things, but creativity was not one of them.

They get split up into groups, Nancy and Barb in charge of the promo, the writing up, designing, and printing of the announcements and tickets, and Robin and Heather got the delicate detail work, blowing up balloons, laying down the artificial grass squares and hanging or putting in place whatever the other groups made them.

Billy and Steve, on the other hand, were stuck with all the dirty work, the manly jobs. They’re the ones who have to paint the banner that’s going to go over the door, and carry anything that’s considered too heavy and hang anything too high (even though Barb really isn’t that much shorter than them), and set up the tents and string the electricity to the lights in the fake lamp posts.

Quite frankly, Steve doesn’t think it’s fair that they have double the workload as the girls, most of the week had been dedicated to their work, but he just can’t bring himself to complain about getting to watch Billy working every morning, still barely awake yet, his hair pulled up so it didn’t get paint or that much glitter in it.

~~~~~~~~

On their last day in the gym, all that’s left is to sort out a few last minute details, the final squares of fake grass are laid out, lights are tested and glitter is spread out on everything. It doesn’t take too awful long, so they end up with just under three hours leftover to kill.

What they’re supposed to do is report back to their morning classes and try to catch up on all the work they’ve been missing out on for the entire week, but Billy isn’t looking to worry about a bunch of school work, so he tries to convince the rest to skip those last few hours with him.

From Barb and Nancy he gets an instant no, which, he was honestly expecting that. They’re responsible girls, and he can’t blame them for giving two shits about their education. The fact of the matter is though, that he doesn’t.

What he isn’t expecting as much is for his best friend to tell him no, but Heather’s too excited about her senior prom to get in trouble the day before it, and he can respect that.

He already knows that if Heather’s not going, Robin’s not either, so he waves her off before she even bothers trying to explain herself.

That just leaves Steve, and lord knows Billy’s been a bad enough influence on him that he doesn’t even have to ask if he’s ditching, so when Mrs Mitchell and the girls leave, they follow behind until they’re out in the hallway, then duck out of the back entrance of the gym.

Most of the time when people skip they just go home considering the lack of literally anything at all to do around Hawkins, but with Steve’s house too far away for it to be worth leaving, and Billy’s stepmom still at home, that sort of wasn’t an option for them.

Usually they don’t skip for those very reasons, but today they have a handwritten excuse to be out of their classes until exactly 12:15, so in a way, it isn’t so much like skipping as it is just using their free time wisely. Or at least, that’s how Steve rationalizes it, earning from Billy, who thought it was sweet that his former bad boy felt it necessary to make excuses for skipping, a chuckle and a warm smile.

They decide to just hang out on the school grounds, nowhere in town to go but the diner and the stores downtown, and they weren’t in the mood for food nor did they have enough money to blow buying stupid shit they didn’t need, so smoking and sneaking kisses by the tree line on the practice field it was.

It’s nice, but Billy doesn’t like the quiet, furrowed brow as he plucks blades of just growing grass trying to think of something to say that would break the silence. Steve just waits patiently with a lit cigarette burning out between his fingers for Billy to speak, listening intently when he finally says, “You know, s’a shame that I can’t take you to the prom after all that work we did for it.”

“Nah, prom’s way overrated.” Steve blows him off, not wanting him to feel bad about it, personally viewing the dance as stupid anyways, in a way sort of glad he doesn’t have to go, “It’s just a way to pay for new football uniforms and make kids who piqued in highschool feel good about themselves.”

But Billy doesn’t even laugh at that, flicking the head off a dandelion to keep his hands busy as he basically mumbles, “Guess you had time to think ‘bout it already.”

“Yeah. I guess I just always thought dances were kind of dumb. Now that I’m not King Steve anymore I just don’t really see a reason to bother with ‘em.” Steve explains, sliding his hand over to Billy’s across the tips of cool blades of grass, linking their pinkies together and leaning his head against his shoulder, soft touches like these the only way Billy could tell the difference between an open conversation and an argument.

“Still, think it’d be nice to be able to show you off. Let ‘em know what they’ve been missing.” Billy admits, a shy crack of a smile, like he was afraid to bring it up, and it makes Steve smile back, looking straight into the vulnerability behind his blue eyes and saying so softly it’s almost a whisper, “S’not necessary, B. I’m all yours.”

Billy pulls his hand away, a flush on his cheeks that wasn’t just from the warmth of the sun, overwhelmed by the affection just a bit, not uncomfortable with it, just not used to it, and bumps his shoulder into Steve’s, telling him, “God, you’re such a sap.”

“Hey, you’re the one that wanted to take me to the prom.” Steve says, barely even defensive, making Billy smile again.

There’s a break in the conversation, both of them flustered and thinking about the other, until Steve interrupts the quiet this time, leaning back on his hands in the grass and suggesting, “We could do our own prom though, you know.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Well, we can’t do the real thing, obviously, but I don’t have any other plans tomorrow. You should drop by.”

“You’re really askin’ me to be your prom date?” Billy smirks, but the vulnerable hope in his eyes gives him away, and makes Steve’s heart flutter, though he replies nonchalant, “Who else? Be there at 8:30?”

“It’s a date. See you then, pretty boy.” Billy says with a smile, leaning in to kiss Steve, but getting interrupted by his watch beeping, their break time almost up already.

Steve chuckles and kisses his nose, and says, “Guess we better get back then.” waiting for Billy to leave first so his boyfriend had a head start to get into the school before him.

Billy throws a wink over his shoulder as he retreats towards the gym doors, and suddenly the weight of what they’d just agreed to settles with Steve.

Maybe this prom thing wasn’t as overrated as he thought, because did he ever feel over the moon right now, blushing like an idiot and just standing there dazedly until he hears the bell ring inside the building.

Apparently it showed too, that butterflies in his stomach feeling he had for the rest of the day, if the fact that Robin pulled him aside in the cafeteria for an emergency meeting about why he couldn’t wipe the goofy grin off his face was any indication.

He told her some lie, something about one of the teachers he got his makeup work off of cutting him some slack, and Robin doesn’t believe that, but she knows it’s none of her business, so she lets him keep smiling.

Still, as much as Steve was looking forward to this, at the end of the day when he waved at Billy from across the parking lot, he got nervous. Like, speeding back home to Loch Nora in under ten minutes on a normally fifteen minute drive nervous.

Because he still has a lot of shit to get done between now and tomorrow night when Billy is supposed to show up.

For one thing, his house is a disaster. He almost never cleans it until it’s too late, half-assing the dishes and overloading the washing machine and hiding things in closets usually the day before his parents were supposed to get back.

Another thing is how should he dress? He had a few fancy suits of his own from outings with his parents and past dances, but he knew Billy wouldn’t. Still, wouldn’t it be rude to underdress just because he assumed Billy would be too poor to clean up?

And what did people even do at prom? Get drunk and have sex? If Billy wanted to do that he would’ve just said so. How was Steve supposed to figure out what else they were going to do? The rest of prom is just bad dancing and even worse food, was that something he was supposed to include?

What if he’d sent the wrong signal in the first place and it wasn’t just going to be them? What if Billy showed up at his door with a bunch of other losers skipping out on prom night and this wasn’t really special at all?

The thing is, he knows he’s being irrational. Billy’s not the type to care about this stuff, and even if he did he wasn’t gonna like, break things off just because their little fake prom in Steve’s living room wasn’t perfect. That’s just ridiculous.

So he tries to redirect that initial panic into productivity. Get at least something planned out and put together before he freaks all the way out and loses his motivation.

He decides to do it in small parts, tonight he’d start with the cleaning and getting everything he already had together, and tomorrow would be for shopping and decorating.

Because he’s got such a scatterbrain, he makes a list of all the things he needed to get done before 8:30 tomorrow night, and already he feels the stress start to dissipate with each thing he gets to check off, the living room cleaned until Ruthie would approve, picking out a nice sweater he’d never worn before, fancy but not too much, and tracking down all the things he already had, a record player, the fancy wine Billy said he liked, and a couple of strings of fairy lights and tinsel.

~~~~~~~~~

The next morning he goes straight to Melvald’s, with the rest of his checklist to but candles, more decorations, a boutonnière, just to do it, and maybe something other than takeout to eat for once.

He must look as nervous as he feels, dumping his purchases on the counter, because Joyce smiles that understanding smile of hers, and asks him, “Last minute jitters before prom?”

“You could say that.” He responds breathily, trying to return the smile.

“Jonathan and Nancy decided not to go, but it sounds like it’ll be fun.” Joyce says with a nod, and Steve realizes he’s given her the wrong impression, explaining, “Oh, I’m not going to the real thing either, just hanging out with a friend tonight.”

“Well that sounds nice anyways.” She says, as she rings up his stuff remarking, “You must really like this friend to go all out like this.”

“Yeah he’s-“ Steve physically shakes his head, a reminder to stop talking before he gets himself caught, backpedaling with a shaky excuse, “I-I mean, it’s not like it’s a prom date , it’s just, you know, two guys hanging out.“

Joyce puts her hand on his, that same warm smile still on her face, and tells him, looking him right in the eye as if to say, ‘I know, but it’s okay’, “I’m happy for you, Steve. Have fun tonight.”

Steve nods, a flush to his cheeks as he leaves the store with not another word than, “I… Thank you Mrs. Byers.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Billy knew absolutely jack and shit about school dances.

The first and only he’d ever been bothered to go to was way back in elementary school, and that didn’t exactly hold a candle to the fucking prom.

It helped some that it wasn’t the real thing, but Steve was talking like it might as well be, and quite frankly, he wanted it to be. This was going to be special goddamnit.

But before he can even think too much about it, he realizes none of that will matter if it turns out he can’t show, so he brings it up with his dad at dinner.

At the table is where he’s least likely to get beat if Neil said no, so that was always the time he chose to ask for things. “I know it’s, uh, kind of last minute ‘cause it’s tomorrow night, but could I go to the prom?”

Neil quirks an eyebrow, seeming mostly uninterested, “With who?”

“Nobody as a date.” Billy explains, using the cover story he’d been coming up with since the minute Steve asked him, or rather in anticipation of, “Heather has a spare ticket ‘cause her actual date ditched her last minute and she asked me if I would go with her.”

Neil nods, seemingly believing him, and asks, “When’s it start?”

“Uh, about 8, I think, so I’ll probably leave at like, 6:30 or so.” Billy throws it out nervously, tapping his fingers against the underside of the table, and freezing when Neil speaks.

But he doesn’t get yelled at, it’s just a simple, calm, “Susan, do we have anything planned that time tomorrow?”

“No, dear. Max is going with her friends at six, but other than that...” Comes her timid response without a hitch, and Billy already knows he’s in the clear before Neil gives his response, still not looking up from the table.

He agrees, but with a few conditions that Billy wouldn’t dare disobey, “If you drop your sister off first, you’ve got yourself a deal. Just don’t come home if you’re drunk, and don’t waste all my damned money on pictures.”

Billy nods, his heart racing in anticipation of something he was pretty sure at this point wasn’t going to happen, though some part of him was still waiting for the slap across the face and a never your mind as he says dutifully, “Yessir. Thank you.”

~~~~~~~~~

Billy starts getting ready six hours early for two reasons: for one thing, the sooner he’s ready, the more time he had away from Neil and to psyche himself up to knock on Steve’s door, and for another, his hair on a normal day takes at least an hour if he doesn’t want it frizzing out or losing it’s curl or getting heavy, and this was his prom, he was willing to spend a whole day on his hair for the sake of looking nice, even if there were no pictures of it.

Of course Max, being the little nuisance she is, follows him to his bedroom when he goes to get ready, holding the door open with her foot so he couldn’t slam it in her face, and earning herself a grumbly, “What do you want, Maxine?”

“I thought you told me you weren’t going to the prom.” She says it like she caught him doing something wrong, as if plans couldn’t change, and it pisses Billy off a little bit.

“I’m not-“ He starts to explain, cutting himself off when somewhere in the house Neil pops the tab on a beer can, a tiny sound Max probably hadn’t even picked up on, but if his father was out and about in the house Billy doesn’t want to admit what he’s going to in front of him. He opens his door wider and ushers his step sister in, immediately shutting it behind her and finishing what he was saying,  “I’m not going to the prom.”

She quirks an eyebrow, through Billy’s eyes maybe looking a bit too much like her step-dad when she does it, “Why’d you tell Neil you were?”

“Crashing the after party. Thought it’d look better if I said I went.” He just shrugs, half assing the lie, and, picking up on that, Max fires back smugly, “You’re lying.”

Billy snaps, no longer looking at her while he starts lining his shit up on his makeshift vanity, getting ready to get ready, “Yeah, I am. But it’s really none of your business, shitbird.”

“Are you going on a date or something?” She looks at him knowingly, if not a little surprised, and asks as it dawns on her, “Oh my god, do you have a boyfriend?”

“Maxine Nicole!” He hisses through his teeth, turning to glare at her and seeing that she’s holding his hair spray that he literally just put out, probably planning on stealing it, “Jesus, give me that.”

She lets him snatch it out of her hands and puts it back in its spot on the vanity she told him didn’t count as a vanity multiple times, rolling her eyes, “Yeesh. I’ll take that as a yes then.”

“If you’re going to tell on me Max, I swear to god-“ He starts, defensive, more vulnerability in his voice than intended, but Max insists honestly, the most not bratty she’s been since she stepped into his room, “I’m not, I wouldn’t.”

Though it doesn’t last very long, her not being a brat, because she immediately cracks a big smile and asks Billy, “Who is he though?”

“Mind your own, Max, Christ.” Billy blows her off, catching glimpse of himself in the mirror and taking note of the barely there flush to his cheeks, pointing to the door and telling his meddling step sister, “Out.”

“Awww, Billy-“ She tries to whine, but he cuts her off, “ No. Out. Of. My. Room.”

But Max offers quickly, like it’ll change his mind, “I’ll do your hair if you let me stay.”

And maybe it doesn’t immediately change his mind, but it does successfully stump him, because he’s asking her, equal parts genuine curiosity and sarcasm, “Why would I let you touch my hair?”

“No reason.” Max says, looking down at his carpet, definitely overplaying the bashfulness in bringing up her answer to appeal to Billy’s emotions, “I just thought, and maybe it’s stupid but like, most guys have their moms to fuss over them for prom, but, you know, you don’t, so I wanted to, I don’t know, be a good sister and do that for you or, whatever.“

Billy sighs, that had been exactly what he was thinking about all night last night, how his momma would be proud of him for finding a way to do this with the person, the boy he loved, and how she could’ve been there to do exactly what Max said, so he agrees, “Alright shitbird, guilt trip successful. You’re not kicked out.”

Max claps her hands together and sits on her brother's bed, getting all of Billy’s wrinkled button ups tossed at her from where they had been previously shoved, unfolded into a dresser drawer, and a command to, “Help me pick a shirt.”

She asks him while she’s unfolding all of his shirts he’d thrown at her and spreading them all out over Billy’s bed, “Are you going to button it.”

“What do you think?”

“Billy. It’s your prom.”

“Fine. One more button.”

“Two?” She tries to bargain, but he shuts it down again, making her giggle when he jokes, his tone level like it's a real threat, “One or I‘m going shirtless.”

“Then I pick.. this blue one.” Max says and puts her hand on a navy blue, quarter sleeve shirt after careful consideration of holding each button up up to Billy and thinking hard about it, but one more once over and she changes her mind, handing Billy a white shirt with snap buttons instead, “No, no, no, wait, this one with full sleeves is better. Yeah, that one for sure.”

“Sleeves it is.” Billy says taking the shirt and hanging it on the door so he’d remember to iron it, crudely shoving the rest of the button ups back into the drawer, and asking Max, “Will I need to wear like, a coat or something?”

She shrugs asking him smugly, “That depends on who it is.”

“Sensitive information.” Billy says immediately, when she looks like she’s going to argue shutting her down before she can say anything, “Which means I’m not tellin’ you.”

“Can I guess?” Max asks, making her case by reasoning with him sweetly, “Please? You wouldn’t be telling me that way.”

He genuinely considers it for a minute, and decides it’s whatever, in his head assuming there was no way Max would be able to figure it out, so he waves his hand with an eye roll, giving her the go ahead to start guessing.

Her first question is, “Okay, okay. Is it.. someone I know?”

“Yep.”

Max furrows her brow, and asks, “Do I like him?” To which Billy shrugs and responds, “Probably.”

“Um, is it…” Max snaps her fingers, an idea coming to her, “Is it Tommy?”

But again she’s shut down, because for somebody she’s supposed to probably like, she sure does a lot of complaining about Tommy, and he calls her on it, “Do you like Tommy?”

Max hums thoughtfully, taking a second guess, “I guess not. Is it Keith?”

Billy shakes his head, giving her the most confused look she’d ever seen on his face as he asks, or basically exclaims, “Who the fuck is Keith ?”

“Well excuuse me for not knowing a lot of guys around here!” Max says, defensive, making Billy roll his eyes again and turn back to digging through his drawers for a decent pair of jeans to wear with a button up, most of them stained and worn.

“Not Tommy, not Keith, who’s left?” She thinks hard then gasps, connecting something in her mind, a devious, knowing little smile on her face, “Is it Steve?”

Billy doesn’t answer her, quite frankly doesn’t know what he should say. It’s his fault, letting her guess between the only three boys his age in town she apparently knew, but now that Max knew who his mystery boyfriend was he wasn’t feeling so hot.

Honestly, some part of him is expecting Neil to come busting through the door any second, like this was some sort of run around way of finding him out, but after a few minutes of her squealing like teenage girls do, he realizes all he has to face is an excited little sister.

He flushes, and asks her over his shoulder, his forcing his tone to sound bored, “Are you done?”

“Yes.” Max says, nodding, but she smiles wide and dissolves into a fit of giggles again, covering her mouth with her hands when Billy crosses his arms, and insists, “Okay, okay, I’m done!”

“Good.” Billy says, but he can’t help cracking a smile. He angles his mirror down towards the floor and sits in front of it, telling his sister lightly to, “Help me with my hair then, shitbird.”

Max sits behind him, and runs her fingers through his hair, “You should’ve put curlers in it or something last night.”

Billy rolls his eyes, realizing as he does so for the dozen things time since Max barged in that she maybe learned that from him, deciding that doesn’t even warrant a response, and hands Max the comb and one of the many cans of hairspray off of his vanity.

She sits up on her knees, and brushes back the hairs just behind his ears that always frizz out and lose their curl, holding them at the back of his hair with a bobby pin, one of the blond ones she bought specifically for him so he could use them without immediately getting caught using ‘girly’ things, but had so far been too scared to anyways.

It looks strange on him, looks more like something Max would wear than him, but honestly he doesn’t hate it, so he lets her keep going, only frowning a little when she adds a pearl adorned hair clip, big enough it looks more like a fancy brooch, to the back of his hair.

She sprays it with so much hairspray it’s tacky, scrunching it up so his curls are tighter, and smoothing the sides so they won’t come unclipped.

When every curl is in its place and approved by Billy, who insists he’s not in the least bit emotional about what Max had said early, that thing about having nobody but her to fuss over him, she hops up, telling him to, “Wait one minute.” while she runs to her room.

She returns with her bulky pink Caboodles box, the one that has all of her mostly unused makeup in it, tapping him on the shoulder and telling him, “Alright, turn towards me.”

Her plan didn’t work though, at least he’s almost positive it was her plan to break down his defenses just so she could use him as her dress up doll anyways, but he isn’t having it, telling her quickly to “Put that shit away, Max.”

“Why? You wear makeup everyday.” Max observes simply, making Billy hiss and tell her to lower her voice, “Yeah, but never the extra strength shit that makes your eyelashes curly and your face pretty. Neil will sniff this out the second I step out of this room.”

Max just shrugs, “Then I’ll make sure he doesn’t see your face. It’s not a big deal.”

“He’ll make it into one.”

“I think your senior prom is an even bigger deal, though.”

Billy sighs, once again losing to her arguing skill, and turning to face her like she told him, “You owe me if I get caught like this.”

Max rolls her eyes and does her magic, each second that passes Billy regretting agreeing to turning the control of his appearance over to his little sister, expecting to come out of this looking like her Diva doll, fidgeting more and more the longer it takes her.

Just before he’s about to panic, Max tells him, “All done.” and lets him look in the mirror.

He blinks repeatedly at his own reflection, surprised to see he didn’t have sparkly eyeshadow up to his eyebrows or rouge on his cheeks, just a tasteful amount of lip gloss and a copper tint to his eyelids, framed by darker than usual eyelashes and the smallest bit of eyeliner.

She gets impatient after a few minutes of Billy not saying anything, and pushes his shoulders to turn him around again to look at her, staring at him until she decides what she thinks is missing.

She hurries to the upright jewelry box in her mother’s room, and brings him back a clip on pearl earring for his right ear, opposite the chain of silver stars she already picked for his left.

“Here, it’ll look better if you have earrings in both ears.” She reaches up, pushing his hair out of the way and clipping the earring on, letting him do the screw on the back himself so she didn’t make it too tight.

Billy lowers his hand and scrunches his nose, leaning in slightly towards the mirror, “They don’t match.”

“It looks nice though. You look really pretty.” She tells him honestly, not realizing the impact the simple compliment, though not so simple for somebody like him, has on her brother until he’s trying to subtly blink away tears behind mascara coated lashes, pretending like that wasn’t the case and telling her, “Whatever, it’s too late to change it now if you want to be on time.”

He does one last once over himself in the mirror, though he knows he’s going to be using his car windows for the same purpose at the last minute, and shoos Max out of his bedroom door, trying to hurry out of the house before Neil can stop him and see him all dolled up.

He’s got one hand around the door knob and his keys through his belt loop when his dad does stop him, his heart just about stopping as Neil calls from the other room, “Do you have flowers for the girl?”

“I have a corsage in the car.” Billy lies, hoping his tone is sure enough for Neil to buy it.

“Good. Just remember what I said, boy.” Neil says, still from the living room, so Billy lets his posture relax a bit and breathes out a quiet sight, saying casually, “Get Max to her friends, don’t spend any money, and don’t come home drunk, I got it, dad.”

“Watch the attitude, William.” Neil says low, the air going still for a minute until he adds, “And have fun tonight.”

“Yessir.” Billy says, ushering Max quickly out the front door, sighing when it closes behind them.

~~~~~~~

Billy drops Max off at the Wheeler’s, just driving around Hawkins until it’s time to show up at Steve’s, making sure to stop past the Holloway’s place just in case Neil went asking around wanting to know if anybody saw his car in the neighborhood.

At 8, he decides he doesn’t want to show up empty handed, buying Steve some flowers like he’d lied and said he had for Heather from Melvald’s, not understanding the knowing look the cashier lady has in her eye when he brings a dinky bouquet of flowers to the checkout counter.

He rings the doorbell at 8:30 on the dot, checking himself out one last time in Steve’s window while he waits, fifty cent roses held behind his back.

On the other side of the door, Steve stands in the dining room, now adorned with cheap party decorations that would’ve made his mother pitch a fit, waiting a whole thirty seconds before he goes to answer it, trying to collect himself first.

Billy smiles wide, and, as cheesy as it was, seeing him standing there all dressed up taking Steve’s breath away and stealing the words right off his tongue, Billy having to invite himself in because Steve was busy catching flies.

He hands him the flowers, nodding towards the silver tinsel wrapped around the banister, the stars hanging in the archway that lead into the living room that were almost identical to the ones they hung from the basketball hoops at school and saying, “Place looks nice.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Steve says, quickly adding, “You know, you look nice too.”

Billy smiles softly, looking at him with that ‘you’re an idiot Steve Harrington’ look he was so used to by now, “C’mon, Stevie, we’ve been dating for four months now, you don’t gotta be all awkward with me still.”

“I’m not, I mean it, you look really good, Billy.” Steve says, smiling now that it’s his turn to fluster Billy.

“Oh by the way, I almost forgot. Got you this just because.” He remembers, handing Billy a box with a floral pin inside, pink roses with lace, and telling him expectantly, “It’s a boutonnière.”

But Billy doesn't open it, just raises an eyebrow and says, “I thought you did corsages for prom?”

“Corsages are for the girls.”

“Ah. Got it.” He says it like he already knew that, like he was hoping maybe Steve didn’t, so Steve offers, not really understanding it, but knowing what he means all the same, “It came as a set, I still have the corsage upstairs, if you want it.”

Billy nods and pins the boutonnière to Steve’s shirt instead, explaining simply, “Just so we match.”

Steve runs upstairs and gets the corsage, giving Billy a minute to actually appreciate just how much went into decorating this place, snickering to himself when he imagines Steve having to stand on a step ladder to put the string lights so high up on the wall.

Steve tosses Billy the box from the top of the steps, letting him open it while he comes back down and ties it around his wrist, having to tie it twice because he put it on the wrong way the first time.

Billy asks him, shaking his wrist to make sure the bow is tight enough, “So what’s our official plan for tonight, Stevie?”

“Honestly I don’t really know. I’m sort of just winging it here, I don’t know what you even do at prom.”

“You never went at all?” Billy asks, surprised miss priss hadn’t dragged him along to their junior prom last year.

“Nope. Like I said, overrated.” Steve confirms, and Billy smiles wide, saying, “I’m sure I got a few ideas in mind then.”

~~~~~~~~

Billy’s idea basically consisted mainly of drinking all that fancy wine Steve had gotten out of the cellar specifically for this, shoving his tongue down Steve’s throat, and complaining about the real prom happening up at the school.

Honestly, Steve suspects things wouldn’t have been so different had they actually gone, but he can tell the fact that they weren’t able to go was still bothering Billy, judging by the sheer number of times he brings it up.

After what must be the tenth time that night Billy brought up Heather and Robin getting to go, Steve asks him, “Do you wish we were there?”

“No, that’s the thing. I couldn’t give a damn less about the whole dance, a thousand times over I’d rather just be here with you.”

“But?”

“But I wish we had the choice to go, you know? It’s just, bugging me that if we had genuinely wanted to go, we couldn’t’ve.” Billy rants, very obviously having been holding this in, “And I keep thinking about all the other gay kids who don’t have a big empty house or a safe place to do what we’re doin’.”

“Yeah, but it’s really not a big deal. Prom is pretty much all for the parents anyways, and the way I see it we, and all the other people like us, we’re so used to disappointing them, what’s it matter if we don’t go?”

“Just, I don’t care about the event or whatever, but it feels like we’re missing out on something. Like maybe we should’ve just swallowed our pride and went with Hetty and Robin anyways.”

Steve stands up abruptly, picking up their wine glasses and kicking the coffee table all the way over to the far wall to clear the floor, offering Billy his hand, “I know you feel like you���re robbing me of something by us not going, but we don’t need all of that for this to be good. I meant it when I said that’s superficial to me anyways. We can make it mean something to us.”

Billy looks up at him, still bothered deep down, but out of ways to argue about it, and accepts Steve’s hand, wrapping his arms around the back of his neck when he pulls him close by his waist.

It’s not really a slow dance as much as it is an excuse to just be close to one another, to breathe each other in and sneak kisses and be sappy, but that’s was this whole thing was about. They could’ve just hung out tonight if they wanted, and honestly they probably would’ve anyways, but they called it a prom, put that title to it that made both of their hearts pitapat.

Steve had always heard, even felt it a few times before, that when you were with the person you loved, everyone and everything else would melt away around you until it was just you, but somehow, this was different than that.

Because that would mean there were times when his world didn’t revolve around Billy, and that there was ever a moment when he could focus on anything but the boy he loved, and that just wasn’t true.

This wasn’t performative, wasn’t a relationship formed on the status of being able to show off that they were better for being in love either, this was simply Billy and Steve, dancing in their tennis shoes on Ruthie's carpet, snickering when a particularly sappy song came on the radio, barely able to be separated long enough to turn to side B, falling in love all over again under the stars.

~~~~~~~

When the wine bottles are all empty and the stack of records has been spun through, Steve’s schnockered, and insisting they get a picture, searching the house for an old Polaroid camera and making Billy stand with him in front of the fairy lights strung

They only had three chances to get a good picture, no new packs of film and only a few left in the camera, so Steve took all three.

The first one was upside down and so off center he was hardly in it, Steve being maybe a little more drunk than he thought, and the second Billy closed his eyes because the flash was too bright, but it didn’t matter too much anyways because the film didn’t develop properly and the picture was nothing but reddish-yellow tinted blackness anyways.

The third one by some chance turns out fine, maybe a little blurred because he moved and still not quite centered right, but it’s a picture, something to hold onto the memory of this night forever when the hangover wore off and things got a little blurry, and that was important to the both of them, for different reasons.

As soon as it develops, a little 8 by 10 of Billy kissing his cheek, Steve runs upstairs to hang it on the cork board above his desk before it gets misplaced, dating it and doodling a little heart with a S+B inside it, hiding the picture behind a ribbon for a middle school art contest and a picture of him and his parents.

Billy hooks his chin over his shoulder, his hands traveling a bit lower than Steve’s waist this time as he watches what he’s doing. He hums and asks, when Steve stands up straighter and turns in his arms to face him, “So? What have you got planned for the after prom, Stevie?”

[thoroughlyskeptic]

“We both went to the London premiere but not together. We weren’t engaged and there was no reason to sort of show off to the world." USA Today November 18, 2014.

I'd like the Nannies to express their opinion about this please. With the full understanding that no person or persons on this side of the computer can control, sway or change Ben's mind or heart. That's not the point. The point is to understand what you believe is the psychological reasoning behind the decision to use that phrasing with his pregnant, soon to be fiancé and soon to be wife and soon to be mother of his child. According to People magazine and the Daily Mail, and those, including nannies, who said they have seen a Birth Certificate, Christopher Carlton Cumberbatch was born on June 1st.  Dislike it all you want, having a birthday makes it possible, and given human nature, likely that people will speculate on the date of conception, especially considering the facts, including the timing with regards to the Oscars and the shotgun* nature of the wedding. If it was a full term no problem pregnancy, 40 weeks, not under or over due, she was 2 and a half months pregnant when the above statement was made.

This story you nannies have built up, that Ben and Sophie have a true perfect love forever, that they never fight, how do you reconcile that with the whole unvarnished truth? Unless Sophie was totally gormless, she must have known she was pregnant. If Ben was dating her and truly in love, he would have known she was pregnant. They married three months later. He was in true love with the women he married, the woman he proposed to, whom he didn't mention by her name in interviews, and didn't want to walk down the red carpet to his movie premiere with the woman making his dreams come true, his dreams of being a father.

Now you are going to yell about things like privacy. That what he said was meant to protect Sophie and hide the pregnancy. I think anyone who is at all skeptical could answer that one. No one eager for privacy about their personal life talks to reporters, USA Today, or People magazine at all, let alone does a wedding dress spread in Vogue. I'm surprised it was in the print edition, and not the digital only. After all, maternity bridal gowns aren't really "en vogue". The long and short of it is that photo spread was well positioned and they managed to photograph her to look like she wasn't 5 1/2 months pregnant, perhaps to make that style of gown more in demand. Shotgun weddings tend to favor empire waists and lots of flounce to disguise the bump.

Now, I know the next question from the peanut gallery will be, why bring this up? They have stayed together, have two more kids together and it has been x and whatever years.

Here are several responses. Pick one or more in any combination.

1. Our feelings don't have to be right to be valid.

2. You have the option to object to our perfectly valid emotional reaction.

3. We have a right to block you from our page. You also have this right.

4. If you object to our opinions, you do not have to read our blogs or interact with us in anyway. If you are constantly feeling harassed because you see content from skeptics, BLOCK THEM, don't blame them! If the worker at Sea World handed you a poncho to protect yourself and you didn't use it, you can't blame the Shamu if you get splashed.(Sorry for the outdated and insensitive analogy but I wanted something easy to understand. I disagree whole hearted with the captivity of intelligent creatures be they aquatic or terrestrial mammals.)

5. We are valid in our own right as people. If you attack us on a personal level, we will defend ourselves and we have the right to do so.

6. As long as we do not interact with anyone,(i.e. Ben, Sophie, Karon, his management, etc) we can say whatever we want on our own blogs. The majority of us have never met him and don't want to. As far as we are concerned, Ben is an imaginary person that we are writing as a character for a long running D&D campaign.

7. However, the same does not apply to you. Many of you have gone out of your way to meet him. You believe that by sending hate to skeptics or doxxing them you will earn validation from him. I worry that some of you are on the brink and if he doesn't acknowledge you one time, or does something that you can't justify with your world view, one of you will snap. You think this about us, I know. But the nannies on the whole have much more emotional investment in Ben's personal life. (As a for instance, The skeptics call him Ben because at least one nanny has said that, "we don't know that he prefers that nickname so we should use his full name" another said "nicknames are for close friends and family and we aren't those, so we should call him by his full name or Mr. Cumberbatch." If Ben even has two thoughts about any skeptic or nanny(especially how they address him in blog posts) for the entire year I'd be surprised. Unless, of course, it when he has to think about you lot bothering him, stalking him, and generally making a nuisance of yourselves.

******

I also know you complain that the skeptics don't "love" Ben in every thing he does and don't always watch all his work. The gatekeeping within the fandom, not include how you discount and loathe the skeptics, is extreme. Fans must be all or nothing.

1. Not everyone has the money to participate fully, whether that is buying movies, theater tickets, merchandise or going to conventions to hear him speak. Disregarding fans based on their ability to participate, especially due to financial inability, is gatekeeping and it is the worst kind of gatekeeping. You are saying the only good fans are rich ones.

2. Generally the nannies viewpoint is Eurocentric as well. Some people have jobs, have children to raise, have other things that take priority over "being a fan". Being a fan requires time that poorer countries, less developed countries generally lack. Some countries censor the movies that are shown. Doctor Strange was not shown in the East the way it was in the west and unless you can afford to travel to another location,(Say the London Premiere that didn't quite happen and the nannies were upset because he didn't preform like a good little monkey in a suit for them?) you are made to feel left out by the uber fans.

3. Some people have emotional triggers. Ben's roles tend more towards the dramatic then comedic. Drama can deeply affect those who have experienced similar situations. He has been in movies dealing with Cancer, Childhood Abuse, Incest, Slavery, War, Pedophilia, have I missed any major triggers?

4. He is also in the MCU and the Hobbit movies which have flashing lights which makes them inaccessible to those who have seizures and migraines. Another oft used gatekeeping tactic in fandoms is the restriction of accessibility. In the US, there are compliancy laws for disabilities(although they aren't always obeyed) but smaller, poorer countries may not have accessible movie theaters. Fans with disabilities can not travel as easily as more abled fans. Smaller independent films Benedict made at the beginning of his career may not have captions or audio description or may be unafforable for those that have medical costs to consider.

5. There is also gender bias in the Cumberbatch fandom. One need only look at their chosen name, Cumberbitches. I can think of 15 more gender neutral terms off the top of my head but men and those who identify as male were inherently excluded from the fandom. I can think of ONE male fan. Maybe one that writes under his wife's account as to not get ridiculed. Because they would be ridiculed by the nannies, that is who they are, the "gatekeepers of the fandom", deciding who is worthy to be a Ben fan.

They have made fun of fans before. Not just skeptics. People they don't like or don't want in their little clique. So the majority of Ben's fans are middle aged rich white women. Not because that's who he's trying to reach as an audience but because that is who his uber fans allow to worship him.

If you are in need of examples of how out of control the uber fans are take the following for an example.

Someone did a nice tweet about other actors. It had nothing to do with Ben, although it did feature Tom Hiddleston and other Marvel actors. The ubers starting by saying Ben wasn't listed, then jumped into, well, a screenshot is worth a thousand words.

As they say, that escalated quickly...

*Shotgun Wedding is an American term for a marriage precipitated by the pregnancy. It comes from an American colloquialism, termed as such based on a stereotypical scenario in which the father of the pregnant bride-to-be threatens the reluctant groom with a shotgun in order to ensure that he follows through with the wedding.

[kitkat1003]

For the Love of, and Full of Hope

Wakko isn’t book smart, or social smart, not by any means, but even he isn’t dumb enough not to know that his family is worn thin.  Threadbare and dying.  They need more.

So he goes to get it.

Or: A 12 year old spends a year getting a single hay penny.  Wonder what happened there.

Warnings: Death, Violence

Edit: this is part of a series, here is the Ao3 link

@asilcorner here 

The decision to leave isn’t an easy one, and he can tell Yakko wants to argue.  Of anyone in their family, Yakko is the one least likely to mention a want, but Wakko can tell that there’s one on the tip of his tongue.

I don’t want you to go.

If Yakko said that, Wakko would stay, because Yakko works so hard, Yakko deserves his wants.  But Wakko knows, and Yakko knows, that they both want Dot to be alive far more than Yakko doesn’t want him to leave.  So he thanks the world that train fare is practically free and buys himself a ticket.

“Why do you have to go?” Dot asks, the night before he leaves.  He’s resting right next to her, and her voice sounds hoarse.  Tight.  Weak.  The reason he’s going, to make her better, cements in further.

“We need money,” He tells her, honest.  “Besides, the ticket’s already paid for.  It’d be a shame to waste it now,” he shrugs, smiling despite the ever present ache, from starvation and exhaustion and the chill.

“I wish I could go with you,” She whispers, and he sighs.

“I wish you could too,” Because if she could, he wouldn’t need to leave in the first place.

The next day is joyously morose affair.  He leaves with the hopes of everyone on his shoulders.  Yakko hugs him tight, and Wakko can feel Yakko’s hands tremble against Wakko’s back, balled up in fistfuls of his sweater.

“Stay safe,” It’s phrased more like a plead than a simple farewell, and Wakko would like to be able to make promises, but...

“I’ll try,” he says, and he means it.

“See you in a year, sis,” He ruffles Dot’s hair, and she smacks at his hands, but she’s smiling.

“Not a day late or early,” She orders, and he grins.

“You got it.”

And the train departs, and Wakko sits all by himself as the place he knew as his home for all his life gets smaller and smaller as he gets farther and farther away.

He lets himself cry when it disappears, because he’s young, and alone, and afraid.  But he has to do this.  He has to try.  Dot and Yakko need him.

It’s not hard to fall asleep.  Compared to the abandoned orphanage they live in, the train seats are far more comfortable.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up a town over, and the train offers hot food, but he declines.  He doesn’t have the money for it, even though his stomach screams for food.  He nibbles on the jerky Yakko bought for him before he left.  Wakko knows just how long he can not eat for before his body rebels against him-earlier than most people.  Yakko says he has what one would call a ‘Chronic illness.’  All Wakko knows is that it makes him more of a deadweight for Yakko to carry, because despite Yakko trying to be slick, he could see at home that his older brother was giving him bigger servings while Yakko got less.

Hopefully, now that Wakko is gone, Yakko can actually eat like a normal person.  With how Yakko is, though, Wakko expects he’ll take that extra food and give it all to Dot.

People come off and on the train at every random stop, but Wakko’s ticket is for a long ways away.  Five towns over.  He’s heard stories there, about how there are always jobs open.  He’s going to do them all.  He’ll work himself down to the bone, and come back with a fortune, and Dot will get better and everyone will be happy.

Days pass.  He gets up, on occasion, to stretch his legs, because the last thing he needs are his muscles atrophying because he couldn’t be bothered to move.  He loses his seat once or twice, but he is very adept at annoying people into moving, so he never loses it for long.  He makes the piece of jerky last, so that even on the last night before he gets off of the train he still has a quarter of a piece left.  It’s easy to not be hungry when you don’t move much.  That must be why Dot hardly has an appetite.

He’s asleep when he reaches his destination, practically thrown from the train by a conductor who holds no pity for a half starved child.  This town is prosperous, due to it’s industrious mining community.  He can see the ‘Help Wanted’ signs plastered on certain storefronts, and tries to figure out what to do.

Yakko had told him that under no circumstances was he to even think about going into the mines.  The mines are where people go to die, and Yakko told him it was better if Wakko came home empty handed than not at all.

They’d had the conversation far away from the house, where Dot couldn’t hear.  She was already near bedridden most days, looking half dead.  She didn’t need to hear about how dire things were, when part of the reason things were that is because she was so sick.  It isn’t her fault, but she wouldn’t see it that way.

He tries first, at the bakery.  He’s young, spry, and wiling to do whatever they need him to.  He’s made to be the janitor, because he doesn’t know how to bake and they don’t need anyone to learn.  When things go in the oven, he clears the work space, sweeps the floor of the spilt flour, wipes down trays, cleans dishes.  It’s not easy work, but Wakko would like to say he works well.

He does not, in fact, work well.

It was probably a bad choice to pick a place filled with food for his first job when he’s been half starved for most of his life, but it seemed a good option at the time.  He can’t help but try and sample some of the goods, so hungry it hurts, and the owner of the bakery doesn’t have time for charity cases.

He gets caught on his third day, and after getting yelled at so loud that his hands shake and his ears ring, he’s unceremoniously thrown out, sliding across cobblestone so hard his skin scrapes and he’s glad that black fur doesn’t show off blood well.  Three day’s pay is a pittance, but it’s enough to get him some food for the night.  He sleeps outside, in an alley, by the dumpsters.

The next day he goes to the general store.  It doesn’t sell food more so than it sells equipment.  A lot of its sales comes from supplying the mining sector with its equipment, and the rest is from the random items the townspeople need.

Wakko is a stocker.  It suits him fine.  He’s always been almost abnormally strong for his age, and he works hard not to mess this up.  It’s a nice routine, though his brain gets ever so slightly bored.  He’s someone who craves unpredictability, who loves chaos.  The doldrum does very little for him, mentally, but he shoves it down and keeps working.  He takes a breath every moment even though the cold air makes his lungs wince and puts his personality on the shelf and works and works and works.

He manages well for about four months.

And then, one night, he gets cornered in an alley.

“Hey, kid,” There are three men surrounding him, tall and lean.  Men is a strong word-they’re teenagers, older than Yakko but nowhere near and adult.  “Heard you’re the new stocker at the general store,” Wakko has no idea why this guy cares, but he just nods, because it seems polite.

The response he receives is having his sweater be grabbed before he is slammed into the wall, head knocking against stone.

“You think you can step in on my job while I’m out of town?  Huh?” He shakes Wakko, as if Wakko can reply when he’s still dazed from having his head knocked around.  “I own that job.  I can come and go as I please, and make money when I want.  That’s how it works here.”

And Wakko hates that.  Hates the cavalier that this teen holds, to be able to come and go as he pleases, to always have a job waiting for him.  Has this guy ever had to wonder if his sibling was going to survive the night?  Has he ever even gone hungry?

It’s the same entitlement Plotz has, and it brings out a fire Wakko didn’t know he had.

“It said help wanted,” he responds, shrugging nonchalantly.  “Not my fault that you were gone.”

That is, apparently, the wrong thing to say.  Wakko has never been good with his words, and that’s why Yakko always did the talking.  He gets a fist to his jaw, dropping to the ground.

“What a smartmouth,” The leader sneers.  “Why don’t we teach this kid a lesson?”

“Well, I’ve never been to school before,” Wakko wheezes, grinning like nothing’s wrong, and he gets a kick to his ribs for that.

He should really stop trying to be Yakko.

“Shut up,” One of the teens say, and he does.

It doesn’t stop them.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When he goes to work the next day, he has a black eye he can’t see out of and a limp.  Black fur doesn’t show off bruises, but he’s pretty sure one of his fingers is broken with how purple it is.  He shows up to work anyway.

When he does, the owner looks over him appraisingly.

“I see you met the town boys,” He says.  “The leader is the mayor’s son,” Wakko frowns-of course he is.

Wakko gets to work, but the owner follows him.

“I thought he was staying out of town for another week, figured I’d fire you then,” Wakko freezes, holding three boxes of pickaxes.  “But I can’t have the mayor down my neck.  Find somewhere else to work.”

And Wakko isn’t vindictive, not by any means, but he feels a little too good when he says “Okay,” and lets the pickaxes all drop to the floor, hearing the crash and running out before the owner can catch him.

From there, he goes through jobs like they’re candy.  He trips at the candlemaker’s and nearly burns the whole place down.  Tries the printing press, but he can’t really read well, so he can’t tell if there’s any errors, and makes too many mistakes.  Works at a family farm, but one of the animals kicks him into the fence and the family says that it’s a sign that this isn’t his place to work.

No wonder this town has so many help wanted signs , if these are the guys hiring.

His favorite job of the bunch is the inn, because they let him sleep in a spare room so long as he cleans it before he goes to work, and it doesn’t count towards his paycheck.  However, the mayor’s kid comes in one day, sees him, says something to the owner, and Wakko is back on the streets again.

He wants to break down and cry and go home.  He’s trying so hard, he’s doing what he’s supposed to.  It’s been eight months and he never has more than enough to buy dinner because he can’t save when he’s losing jobs a couple months in.

He needs something stable.  Something no one would fire him from.

He looks toward the mines.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He remembers the promise he made to Yakko, to not work there.  Knows he shouldn’t.  But he’s out of jobs, and he’s out of options.

He promised, but Yakko’s broken promises too.  When Dot first got sick, Wakko was nearly in tears with worry.  That’s his little sister, why can’t she play?  Why does she keep coughing?  What’s wrong with her?

“It’s just a cold,” Yakko had said.  “She’ll get better soon.  Promise.”

But she hadn’t, and that’s why he’s here, so if Yakko can lie to make Wakko feel better than Wakko can break a promise too, to make sure that when he comes home he’ll have something to give.  Because, as much as it would break Yakko’s heart if Wakko never came back, Wakko would rather that happen then come back with nothing and watch Dot wither away.

He goes to the mines, and puts on a hard hat, and gets to work.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The mines are a grueling place, and Wakko understands very quickly why Yakko never wanted him to work in such an environment.  Half of the time he has to stop and cough, because every breath is coal ash in his lungs, every time he moves he feels like he’s going to drop dead.  Lunch time is fifteen minutes and he doesn’t have anywhere to prepare a lunch so typically he buys some salted meats or preserved vegetables the night before and sticks it in his sweater pocket so he doesn’t starve to death.  He supposes the upside to having been poor all your life is that you’re good at eating quickly.  

You never know when the food you have could be taken away.

They get coal, and then they lug it to the minecarts to be taken out of the mine.  Rinse and repeat.  He doesn’t even have time to be zany when he’s so exhausted, so he’s just as dead eyed as the rest of the toons and men around him.

Every once in a while, there will be a rumble from above, and the whole cave will shake, and they will all freeze and hold their breath, because one wrong move could mean collapse.

One of the older men asks him, one day, “Why are you here, son?” in the soft, kind way that brings back a far faded memory, more a feeling, of a warm crackling fire, and someone large and familiar holding him, of feeling safe and full.

“I need the money,” he responds, and the older man’s eyes go soft and sympathetic.

“Don’t we all, son,” He tells him, patting him on the shoulder, and Wakko half smiles, because kindness is rare like gold and he’s dreaming of diamonds.  “Don’t we all.”

Three months in, and he’s gotten the hang of it.  Nearly made three hay pennies, because the older man, who asks him to just call him Sir, tells him about the safer tunnels, directs him to the areas least likely to collapse.  He takes Wakko under his wing, and if he finds something exemplary, he lets Wakko take the credit for it.

Sir is here because he sends the money back home to his grandkids.  His daughter’s husband ran out on them, and she’s getting ill from the stress and work.

“Don’t have much left in this world,” He says, heaving the pickaxe down against stone.  He teaches Wakko how to hit it just right, and Wakko copies his movements and wonders if this is what it’s like to have a father who is more than a few years older than you.  “But I ain’t losing them.”

“Yeah,” Wakko agrees, thinking of the small shack that is his home, five towns away, with the two people there that are his entire world, that he’s spending his days suffering and working for.

It’s nice, though, to have company.  Sir listens to Wakko’s crazy antics, claps when Wakko has the energy to sing him a song during lunch, and says “you remind me of my grandkids” one day, and Wakko doesn’t want to admit how happy that makes him.

Four months in, and Wakko is venturing into an older tunnel, with a bunch of experienced miners.  That’s the only reason Sir says that Wakko could come with, because he knows this is Wakko’s last month and a big pay off from a new mine would be really helpful.

They get to work, and an hour or so in the ever familiar, paralyzing rumble from above starts.  Only this time, the floor starts to shake, and the ceiling cracks, and rocks start to fall from above as the whole mineshaft collapses.  Wakko is jumping out of the way of debris, letting his pickaxe drop as he moves towards somewhere safe, so focused on the different falling pieces and the people running around him he misses the rock falling above him.

“Kid!” He hears Sir shout, and he’s slammed into by denim overalls and flesh and bone and hits the floor.  There’s the sound of a crack, and then he feels, hears, sees nothing at all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Wakko wakes up to the feeling of something on top of him, covered in dust and soot and something wet and sticky.  He blinks out the dizziness and realizes the thing on top of him is someone, someone he recognizes.

“Sir?” he says, asks, hopes.  Carefully, he crawls out from under the man, and looks around.

The cave is dark, and he hears groans from the other men, but he looks back at Sir, and shakes him.  A slab of stone falls to the floor with a loud thud, from Sir’s back, and neck.

Something is dripping from Sir’s mouth.  It looks suspiciously like blood, but Wakko won’t think it is, no.

“Sir?” he tries again, and he shakes him harder.  The older man drops, limp, laying face first on the ground.

Wakko.  Stares.

“Is that the kid?” One of the other men says.

“Sounds like it.  The old man must have got on top of him to save him from the rocks.”

“Poor guy,” The first one says.  “Hey, kid, c’mere,” Wakko stands, on trembling legs, and walks toward the sound of the voices.

A hand rests on his shoulder, and he flinches, and the hand disappears.

“Hey, it’s just me, kid,” He hears.  “The old man told us about you.  There’s been a cave in,” As if that wasn’t obvious.  “We’re seasoned, so they’ll look for us.  They don’t always for the newer guys.”

“Okay,” Wakko says, instead of anything else, because he can feel the wet and sticky on his cheek and it isn’t his blood, and he can’t turn around because if he does he’ll be facing it.

He can’t.  He just can’t

A hand leads him to a spot to sit, and Wakko does.

Time slips through his fingertips, and all Wakko can do is wait and breathe.

They consider making a fire, but it would waste their oxygen.  The find a miraculously non broken flashlight, and Wakko can finally see.  The cave is about half the size it was before it collapsed.  There’s a pile of rocks at the entrance, and some of the men take their pickaxes and try to hit it, but it makes the walls shake so they stop.  Wakko walks around the room, and stays away from one area.

He misses Sir.

A day passes.  He nibbles on the old, near moldy piece of jerky he has, offering it to the other men.  They rebuff him.

“You look like skin and bones, kid,” One of the guys says.  “This isn’t our first cave in,” Wakko wonders when he became their kid, but he supposes it could be worse.

It’s two days and they’re running out of air.  Wakko wheezes in thin, shallow breaths through chapped lips, and tries not to cry because he’s dehydrated enough.  He doesn’t want to die.  He has Dot and Yakko to go home to, he can’t leave them now.

Eventually, he just starts humming, because the silence hurts and he doesn’t want to think anymore.  Isn’t this whole movie supposed to be a musical?  Maybe it hasn’t started yet.

“There's always tomorrow,” It comes out wispy and small, like a a breath, but it sounds unbearably loud, in the small space, “For dreams to come true.  Believe in your dreams, come what may,” His voice cracks on the final word, and he coughs, but the men are all staring at him, a tiny shrimp of a kid way in over his head, singing because there’s nothing else he can think to do.

“There's always tomorrow,” He mumbles out the words, barely keeping up the tune, because he’s so tired. “With so much to do,”

“And so little time in a day,” One of the men finishes the line with him, and Wakko blinks.

It seems that one joining in spurs on the others, because one by one they’re all singing too.

“We all pretend the rainbow has an end,” Wakko sees some of the miners leaning on each other.  A couple of them have broken a bone of some sort, but that’s all forgotten in the ever thinning air, singing because what else is there to do, in times of despair.  

“And you’ll be there, my friend, some day,” Wakko’s eyes flick to Sir, the still body looking pale and the blood dried on the ground, and he forces himself not to cry again.

“There’s always tomorrow, for dreams to come true,” Wakko leans his head back against the stone, coughing a little.  There’s thudding in his ears, he thinks his heartbeat, growing ever louder.

“Tomorrow is not far away...,” They trail off, and then there’s a crack, from the wall behind him.  He jumps, stumbling back from the wall, and he can see light peeking through the rock wall.

Standing was a bad idea.  His legs shake, weak, and while he can see the light as he hears men from the other side calling for him there’s darkness at the edges of his vision, and before the the wall breaks he starts to fall and everything goes black to the sound of the men shouting for someone to catch him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up at the local hospital.  The mine is paying for the stay, so he gets to eat.  He’s given 10 hay pennies for his trouble-the three he’d already made were lost in the collapse, but he doesn’t care too much because he lost far more important things there, too-, with the incentive not to take legal action against the mining company.  As if he could.  He asks around, asks if Sir’s family will be getting anything.

“Likely not,” One of the men from the cave says.  “He didn’t have enough tenure for that, and his family lives far enough away and are poor enough that the mine won’t bother.”

“Do you know where he lives?” He asks, and he finds out.

He places 9 hay pennies into the envelope.  He is not good at writing, but he knows how to write ‘I’m sorry,’ and ‘he was a good man’, and ‘he protected me’, and the sentences hardly make sense with how his hands shake but that doesn’t matter.  He has one of the older men write out the address and sends it off.

It’s not enough, he thinks.  But it’s something.

He tries to go back to work for a little more money, but every time he looks into the yawning pit of the entrance to the mines he can’t breathe and he thinks of the sticky and wet and red that stained his fur until he washed it off two days later.

He knows how to get it out of his clothes, too.  Now.  He knows now.

He didn’t think he would ever need to know, but the past year has been full of learning experiences, he’s sure.

A week and a half later, he walks out of town to that same train, and like the end of a circle heads back to where he started, sitting on that same seat.  The taste of jerky as he chews makes him want to vomit, too familiar, too entrenched in memory to be anything other than unpleasant.  

He comes home, and when he arrives he sees the smiling faces of his family and town, and they don’t need the depressing tale of cruelty and hardship, so he smiles and dances on aching feet and sings about silly jobs that seem more fun than difficult and shows off his earnings and lets himself feel hope because even if it hurt it was enough, because Dot is going to be happy and healthy.

Later, when he is playing a mournful tune on a makeshift harp, he wonders if there was even a point to trying.  If he should have stayed, should have just taken his time with his sister before she was gone, because regardless of everything that happened he’s right where he started.  Except, someone is dead and he’s the reason, and his lungs ache and will spend months to get close to normal and he has to pretend because he can’t let Yakko know he lied, and he was beaten and his youth has been stolen and Dot is still dying anyway.

He’s tired of the cyclical, he needs change, and he looks up the stars and searches for something, anything, to make the hurt worth something.

The Wishing Star gives him a reply to his song, like beams of light through the rocks, like hope in the center of a blackhole of despair that refuses to be swallowed whole, and when Wakko makes the homestretch he asks for the people to get what they deserve, what is fair, what is right, and hopes the mother miles away with two kids and no father or grandfather gets something, too.

[thejostenator]

The Foxhole Cinema: Chapter Two

Read up to Chapter Fifteen on AO3

Read on Tumblr

There was no doubt about it- Kevin Day was sitting right in front of Neil, arms crossed and his mouth curled into a sneer. He wore a mint green polo shirt and dark denim jeans, with his iconic #2 stitched above his heart and on his pockets. Although anger and disappointment warred in his eyes, but there was no recognition.

“Mr. Hernandez spoke so highly of you, Josten,” Kevin said, confirming Neil’s suspicions that his disguise had worked. “And this is what I’m met with?”

“I’m sorry your highness,” Neil replied, “do you want me to curtsy?”

“No,” Kevin hissed, pointing a finger at him and wheeling himself too far into Neil’s personal space for his liking, “but I do want you to listen to Wymack’s offer before you turn it down.”

Hernandez nodded and opened his mouth as if to speak, but he stopped short when he saw the withering look Neil shot him. He raised his hands in defeat, and said meekly, “I’ll show you three to my office so you can discuss this whilst I open up for the day.”

“No,” Neil said, waving him away, “we have nothing to discuss. I’ll open up and take the tickets as usual.”

Hernandez shook his head. “I meant it when I fired you, Neil. This is all for the best.”

Neil scoffed, but Wymack cut off his next scathing remark. “Look, I don’t want to draw this out any longer than I have to. My offer is a full-time job working at the Foxhole Cinema, free access to therapy, healthcare, dentistry, whatever. Free movie tickets too.”

Neil almost laughed. Healthcare meant nothing to him. He’d spent years on the run with his Mother, and for whatever reason, she’d insisted they never go to any hospitals. Even though she’d died a year ago, Neil could still remember how to swallow his pain, stitch up his wounds, and drink himself unconscious. He could take care of anything, from a papercut to a bullet wound. He had a feeling if he said no outright though, Wymack would keep pressing. If he got them off his backs for a few hours, he could pack up and leave Millport behind. He’d clearly stayed too long if he was being sought out like this anyway.

“Can I have a few hours to think about it?” Neil asked no one in particular. He didn’t really care which of the three answered him so long as the answer was yes.

Hernandez sighed in relief, and Kevin nodded. “That’s acceptable. You have until the Millport Cinema closes at the end of today to decide.”

Wymack shot him a dirty look, “You’re not the one who’s meant to be setting out the terms,” he grunted, before turning to Neil, “but also yes, what he said.”

Hernandez sighed again and scurried over to the ticket booth, where he pulled out two tickets printed. The pale yellow paper they were printed on marked them as viewing for a 3D film, and although Neil couldn’t read the small black words on it, he could imagine it was for Raven King. “Can I offer you some free movie tickets whilst you wait?”

Wymack looked from Kevin, who had gone suspiciously pale, to the tickets in Hernandez’s hands. “Sure, but preferably not Raven King.”

Well that was curious, wasn’t it? Why wouldn’t Kevin Day want to watch his own partner’s newest movie?

Hernandez seemed to be having around the same thoughts, but unlike Neil, he was foolish enough to voice them. “Why not?”

“Trying to avoid publicity at the moment,” Wymack said when it was clear Kevin wasn’t going to answer, “It was hard enough to fly out here without the paparazzi hounding us every damn step of the way.”

Hernandez seemed to accept that excuse and shuffled away to get different tickets, but from the way Kevin bit his bottom lip, and his eyes picked up a glassy, far-away quality, Neil doubted it was the truth. Could there be more to Kevin’s injury then he let on? Neil shook his head to clear it of those thoughts- none of that mattered because he would be out of the state in a few hours, and out of the country in a few more. He’d never been to Canada before. Perhaps that could be his next destination.

Hernandez led Kevin and Wymack towards whatever showing he had lined up for them instead, before opening the doors to let the throngs in and shooing Neil away.

“You don’t work for me anymore,” Hernandez huffed, “off with you to make your choice.”

“Not much of a choice if I only have one option,” Neil grimaced.

Hernandez flashed him a grim smile, and then hurried away to hand out tickets in Neil’s stead. Neil nodded and set off running to the apartment he was currently squatting in. He’d need to get up there, and then pry up the loose floorboard in the kitchen to get his duffel bag, which contained all his fake IDs and coded coordinates leading him to his Mother’s stashes of money across the world. It also kept safe all his clothes and the money he carried with him, as well as more knives than was strictly necessary. He didn’t see any tails as he ran, but his Mother had always taught him better safe than sorry, so he took a longer route that twisted through the heart of the city, relying on the shadows in the grimy alleyways and backroads to keep him safe.

Finally, he was back at the apartment. He removed his lockpicks from the secret compartment in the sole of his shoe and fitted them into the lock, easing them back and forth until it clicked open. It felt a little looser than usual, which was strange. Neil filed that information away in his brain as he took the stairs to his floor two at a time. Keeping an eye out for any possible threat, he strode into the kitchen… only to see Lola Malcolm sitting lazily at his table.

Lola Malcolm, who was one of his Father’s top men. Lola Malcolm, who was supposed to be in jail. Lola Malcolm, who was twirling a knife in her hand, and turning to face Neil.

“Hello Junior,” she cooed.

Neil flinched at her nickname for him.

“It’s good to see you after so long.”

“You should be in jail,” Neil spat at her, fighting to stay steady on his feet. He couldn’t run- he had to get the duffel bag or running would be useless. He couldn’t go anywhere without it.

“And you should be with Daddy dearest,” Lola chirped in her infuriating sing-song voice, “but we don’t all get what we deserve, do we?”

“What do you want with me?” Neil hissed, feeling the lockpicks in his clammy palm. They were small and thin, and sharp enough to cause some damage if dug into someone’s skin.

“I want you to come back home,” she smiled, spinning the knife frighteningly fast, “Daddy will be free in about half a year, but I came to collect you early because it seems you need to be house-trained again, ready for his return.”

“Fuck off. I’m not going with you,” Neil said.

“Oh really?”

“Really.”

Neil took a deep breath, shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and lunged.

[cherryblossomstars]

II. Navy (W. Ushijima)

Taken from my AO3 series of one-shots & reposted here

Pairing: Ushijima x F!Reader

Word count: 1,446

Genre: Fluff, birthday fic

Summary: Aoba Johsai's volleyball team has never been able to defeat the Great Ushiwaka of Shiratorizawa. Their manager, however? She can bring him to his knees in mere seconds.

Or, Ushijima Wakatoshi is helplessly in love with Seijoh's Ace's twin sister, and the Aoba Johsai VBC is not appreciative of it.

Previous | Next

It's no secret that Ushijima Wakatoshi is a baby when it comes to matters of love or any emotion that comes with showing affection. His movements on the court are lithe, careful, and precise. Mistakes rarely happen when he's playing his beloved sport, and errors will almost certainly never happen if he's at his peak concentration- then he's at a completely different and untouchable level. He has a degree of grace and beauty on the court that a professional figure skater would be jealous of (not to mention his incredible stamina).

And yet, when it comes to you, he may as well be an infant struggling to walk. It's messy, he's not sure what he's doing, and sometimes he gets hurt trying to figure it out. He knows you, that much he's sure about. You've both known each other for years now. So why, why is it so hard to figure out something to do for you on your birthday?

Around the holidays and on his birthday, he would always tell you not to get him something. He's not a big fan of presents. If he needed something, he'd simply ask his family and then in 1-2 business days, bam. The item in question would be at his front door. And yet, every time, you've still found a way to give him something meaningful.

In the three years he's known you, you've given him a scrapbook, a jar of reasons you love him, and, his most favorite gift of all, a volleyball with everyone's signatures on it. Not just his team's, but other teams as well. People from the Fukurodani, Johzenji, Nekoma, Itachiyama, hell, even Karasuno and Aoba Johsai. You'd somehow managed to coerce Oikawa into signing it. When he'd asked about Oikawa, you'd simply shrug and say "he owed me one". He decided not to press any further. While some people opted to simply write their name on the ball, others wrote little messages too. Iwaizumi Hajime had written a simple happy birthday, while Tendou had to be stopped by you from practically taking up the entire damn ball, a story told to him by his teammates later on. He even cracked a small chuckle imagining your small figure trying to restrain Tendou Satori of all people. He also learned that Oikawa likes to sign his name with a star next to his signature. Ushijima thought it was tacky, but it fit his personality well. Every year you didn't have a physical present for him, you'd take him out on a date or give him one of your homemade bentos.

He was not a fan of presents, but he's certainly grown to look forward to receiving yours.

Yet, every year, he struggles to figure out what to get you. In the past years, he'd given you something simple, but nice or something you just happened to need at the time. One year it was a phone, since Oikawa had accidentally broken yours that year. Ushijima had to visit Oikawa himself and convince him not to buy you a new phone, since Ushijima would be the one handling it. After some debate, Oikawa finally gave in. Another year he'd gotten you a simple silver band, one that you keep on your index finger. He rarely sees you go out without it on, something he's found very pleasing. It brings a sense of satisfaction to his mind when he sees it on you.

Perhaps it was the weather, he rationalized, that was getting in the way of his ideas. Or maybe it was the fact that he had another practice match coming up soon, so he was also coming up with game plans in the back of his mind. He needed to focus. Ushijima was normally ahead of things when it came to plans with you, but he's been so busy with volleyball these past few weeks that he hasn't been able to buy you your gift yet. And now it was six in the evening on a Friday, and he still wasn't sure what to get you for your birthday tomorrow.

He grumbled under his breath, he'd just have to swallow his pride and ask for help. He took out his phone and called the first person he could think of- Tendou. You two were good friends, after all.

"Helloooo? What's up Wakatoshi?" Tendou sang.

"[Name]." He said.

"You're gonna have to give me more context than that." His friend pointed out.

"We're celebrating her birthday tomorrow and I'm unsure of what to get her."

"Something sweet. She's got a pretty awful sweet tooth after all."

"I want something she can keep. Something that will last."

"Oh wow. What a doting boyfriend. Hmm... Well I don't think she needs anything right now... Oh! Why don't you just give that ace from Seijoh a call?"

"...I do not have his number."

"I'll text it to you. Later." And with that, the line went dead.

Damn. He had to ignore his pride just to call Tendou, but Iwaizumi? That was a different level. He'd do it, though, because it's for you.

Ding!

Tendou: It's +81-XXX-XXXX-XXX

Tendou: good luck~ (*´ I `)ﾉﾟ(ﾉД｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡

Ushijima: Thank you.

Should he call or text? Maybe texting would be the better option. You never answered any unknown numbers, who's to say your twin wasn't the same way? He gave your brother a contact before sending a text.

Ushijima: Hello, Iwaizumi. It's Ushijima. Do you have any good gift ideas for [Name]?

Iwaizumi: dude how'd you get my number?

Ushijima: Tendou had it.

Iwaizumi: cool. follow up question: why does he have it?

Iwaizumi: nevermind. not sure I wanna know.

Ushijima couldn't help but think about how you and your brother text the same way.

Iwaizumi: dunno. she likes meaningful gifts i guess. maybe an album? or a scr:"//ad39E

He furrowed his brows in confusion. A what?

Iwaizumi: sorry. oikawa made a grab for my phone. i was gonna say maybe a scrapbook.

Ushijima: I don't know how to make those.

Iwaizumi: painting?

Ushijima: I am bad at art. What are other people getting her?

Iwaizumi: im getting her a new video game for her switch. oikawa's getting her concert tickets to that band she likes so much. yahaba and kyoutani pooled their money together and got her a bunch of new clothes. kunimi's giving her $20. the rest of team pooled their money together and got her a new tablet. i know the players from fukurodani, karasuno, johzenji, nekoma, itachiyama, and inarizaki got her stuff but i dont know what.

Iwaizumi: wait actually those twins from inarizaki got her a stuffed animal and a box of cookies from a bakery she likes

Yahaba and Kyoutani got her clothes... A lightbulb lights up in his mind.

Ushijima: Thank you. I know what to give her.

Iwaizumi: yea no problem

Ushijima went to the shopping district for no reason, then. He went back to his dorm, stepping inside and immediately opening his closet.

"Figured something out?" Tendou greeted from his bunk.

"Yes." He responded, taking one of his sweaters off from a hanger and holding it out in front of him.

Tendou raises his eyebrows in shock, "she's gonna be swimming in that."

"Yes, but she likes to take my volleyball jacket all the time. She says it smells like me, so I may as well give her this one since she can't keep the volleyball jacket." Ushijima holds in front of him a large maroon sweater with the word Shiratorizawa printed in white on it. It was bought to fit him and all his 189 centimeter glory.

"She'll love it."

"Why are you giving this back to me? I gave it to you." Ushijima tilts his head slightly.

You stood in front of him holding out the sweater he had given you for your birthday a few weeks ago, neatly folded in your hands. You felt your face grow hot in embarrassment. "It... Doesn't smell like you anymore. There's no point if it doesn't feel like I'm close to you."

He's quiet for a moment before taking the sweater from your hands. "So you are returning it?"

You can't look at him in the eye, "for now. I want it back, of course. Just... wash it or something with whatever laundry soap you use and give it back so it smells like you."

He smiles softly at you and presses a light kiss to your forehead. He doesn't look like someone who could be soft. His sheer strength on the court and his powerful spikes on the court can attest to that, but he can't help it when it came to you.

"I love you."

Fin.

[atlafan]

Take it Slow - Part Thirty-One

a/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry.

Warnings: Fluff.

Masterpost (all previous parts can be found in the masterpost)

You and Harry agreed he would move in after you got back from England. You spent most of the week helping him pack up some of the easier things he didn’t need every day. That way you wouldn’t have to do much when you got back.

You rummaged through your closet pulling out as many options for outfits you thought you’d need for your trip. You had one really big luggage bag you’d be able to get most of everything into. You decided to use your backpack as a carryon. You kept your travel toothbrush and a spare pair of clothes in there. Harry had a large luggage bag and a backpack as well.

“Think you have everything ya need? We gotta get up pretty early tomorrow.” He asks, sipping on his coffee Friday morning.

“Yup! Everything’ll be good to go. I’m leaving work around three today too. I’m hoping to go to bed early.”

“Same here. We’ll need to be up at like three in the morning, order the uber and all that. International security takes a little bit longer. Got your passport?”

“Yes, it’s on my dresser ready to go.”

“Perfect.” He kisses you on the cheek. You look down at your watch.

“Well, I better go to work. See you this afternoon.” You kiss him goodbye, and head out the door.

You were thankful it wasn’t snowing, and there were no storms in the forecast. Sarah and Rachel agreed to help take turns watching your place while you were gone, and you were so grateful for them. Niall was only working a half day today. He was taking a red eye to Ireland that night.

“Excited?” He asks, coming into your office.

“So excited! It’s going to be so much fun.”

“Won’t be weird celebrating Christmas?”

“Not at all! I’m excited to see what traditions his family has.”

“It’s quaint, quiet. Very cozy.”

“Nice change of pace from my family.”

Niall makes sure to hug you before he leaves. You wish each other safe flights. The clock moves agonizingly slow. You just want to get home to Harry. He was smart enough to just take all of Friday off. When it finally hit 2:50, you dipped out.

When you got home, Harry was making some lunch. You loved your little chef so much.

“Whatcha making?” You ask kissing him on the cheek.

“PB and J’s, sound good?”

“Sounds perfect, thank you.”

You both sit on the couch with your sandwiches, and watch a little TV.

“How was work?”

“So boring, half the office wasn’t there. Niall left at like noon, so the rest of the day just dragged on. Happy I’m home now.”

“Doesn’t your work usually have like a holiday party or somethin’?”

“Yeah, they usually do it at the end of January. It’s a lot of fun, they have it at this hotel with a big ballroom. Open bar too.”

“That’ll be fun.” He smiles. “I secretly love staying in hotels. Feels like a mini holiday.”

“We’re staying in a hotel when we go to London?”

“Actually, we’re staying at my flat.” You give him a confused look.

“You…have your own place in London?”

“I sublet it. I had done a lot work there a few years ago when I was traveling. I took the opportunity to make some money. I mostly use it on Air BnB. It’s nice to have the few times I go home. Since there are a few weeks I go home in the summer, it was just more cost effective to have my own place.”

“How do you run an Air BnB if you’re not there?”

“My sister lives in London too, so I give her a cut to help take care of things.”

“Oh nice! I’m really excited to meet her, and your mum.”

“They’re excited too.”

//

Your alarm goes off a little after two in the morning. You wipe away the sleep from your eyes, and take a really quick shower. You put on some leggings and a sweatshirt. Harry has a pair of sweats on as well, and a long sleeve shirt. You both wheel your luggage down, and he puts it into the uber. You hold his hand the entire way to the airport.

He prints both of your tickets, and sets your luggage up to be checked. He hands you your ticket, and your eyes pop out of your head.

“Harry?” You tug on his jacket.

“Yeah, love?”

“Why does this say first class? I only paid you for a commercial flight.”

“I always fly first class on these long flights. Trust me, it’s worth it.”

“But Harry…this is too expensive.”

“I had the miles babe, it’s not a big deal. C’mon, we need to go through security.”

You both get through security quickly, and head to your gate to wait. You wanted to be mad at him. You really didn’t like when he would pull these fast moves over you. When he puts his arm around you, and pulls you closer to him, you forget you’re upset. You’re too tired to even care at this point. You rest your head on his shoulder.

“What time will we get there?”

“Let’s see, if we actually take off at six? We’ll get there about eleven.”

“That’s good, we’ll still practically have the whole day.”

“Yup. I’m rentin’ a car for us too. That way we can scoot in and out when we like.”

“You think of everything, don’t you?” He chuckles.

Your flight is ready to board, and your jaw drops at the nice seats. You had never done something so extravagant.

“You want the window seat, love?” He asks, putting a carry on overhead.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. If I sit on the aisle, I can stretch my legs out easier.” You kiss him on the cheek and sit down.

You remember the dream you had a few weeks ago of being married and pregnant, traveling with Harry. Your mind wandered to how often you may end up taking this trip with him.

A stewardess comes around with hot towels and mimosas making you giggle. You buckle yourself in, and watch as Harry takes his glasses and a new book out. You take your headphones out, and plug them into the jack in the arm rest. He watches you scroll the countless movies and television shows available.

“Oh hell yeah.”

“What?”

“They have HBO on here, I can finally watch the second season of Big Little Lies.”

“You’re going to watch the whole season on this flight?”

“Probably, I am a pro at binging, or did you forget?” Harry giggles.

The flight attendants go through the safety procedures, and prepare for takeoff. You hold Harry’s hand as you take off. You switch your screen to see what music was available.

“Thought you were goin’ t’watch TV, love.”

“I will in a little while. I feel like I’m gonna drift off, and I don’t wanna miss anything. Think I’m just going to listen to music for a little while.” You smile. He takes your hand and kisses it.

“Here, I’ll grab you a blanket.” He moves to put his hand up to ask for one, but you stop him.

“Brought my own.” You reach for your backpack, and take out your baby blankets. You drape one over your legs, and keep the other bunched up at your stomach to hold onto.

“Never seen those before.”

“I keep them in a box under my bed for safe keeping. They’re not in the best shape, but I don’t like traveling long distance without them. They’re for comfort. I brought a small blanket for you too.” You pull out a fleece blanket and put it in his lap.

“Thanks. Had ‘em for a long time?”

“Yup, they’re my, um, baby blankets.” He smiles at you. “What?” Your cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

“Every time I think you couldn’t possibly get cuter, you go and do somethin’ like this.” He kisses your cheek. “Ya comfy, baby girl?” You smile.

“Very.”

You put your ear buds in and scroll through the music options. You settle on The Weeknd, and put it on shuffle. You take out your neck pillow, and get even more comfortable. You close your eyes and sigh quietly. Harry smirks at your music choice, unsure of how you could fall asleep to that kind of music, but he doesn’t question you on it.

He dives into his book, and slowly feels his eyes start to droop. Just as he feels like he’s going to fall asleep, a stewardess comes up to him.

“Sir, would you like anything to drink?”

“Coffee would be great love, and a couple of waters. She’ll be thirsty when she wakes up.”

“Of course.” She hands him the drinks and he puts them in the cup holders. “Here are the papers to fill out for your meals later. If you just want to leave them in the pocket when you’re done, I’ll come ‘round to pick ‘em up.”

“Sure thing, thanks.”

Harry looks over at you, and you look completely passed out. Your face was slightly scrunched, the way you always looked when you were having a dream. You made a slightly distressed noise.

“Oh no.” Harry knew you well enough to know by now that you were most likely having a bad dream, if not a nightmare.

He gently strokes your cheek to try to soothe you. Your breathing steadies, and a slight smile forms on your lips. Your eyes flutter open, and you look over to him through your lashes.

“Ya alright?” He coos.

“Can we snuggle?” You say still half asleep.

“Mhm.”

Harry puts your tray table down so he can stick the drinks on there. Then he lifts up the arm rest so you can scoot closer to him. He puts an arm around you while you nuzzle into his chest. He puts his book in his lap, and drifts off into sleep with you.

You wake up a couple of hours later with your head in Harry’s lap. He was watching TV, nibbling on some potato chips. His other hand was stroking the top of your head. You sit up slowly, and kiss him on the cheek.

“Hey, sleepy head.” You giggle.

“Hi.” You stretch. “Think I’m gonna use the bathroom.” He gets up so you can get out. The bathrooms were much nicer in first class.

When you sit back down you guzzle down the water he had gotten for you earlier. He passes you a small bag of chips.

“Got you a bag of crisps. Should be comin’ ‘round with a meal soon.”

“Crisps?” You giggle. “You’re going full Brit on me this week?”

“Very funny.” He sticks his tongue out at you.

About a half hour later, the stewardess comes around with two continental breakfasts. Harry passes you yours.

“You ordered kosher meals?”

“Yeah, they have to make ‘em fresh.”

“Smart.”

“Only a couple more hours now.” He gives your hand a squeeze.

You and Harry watch the same movie for the remainder of the flight. When you get off the plane you both use the bathroom. You brush your teeth and change into some jeans and a nicer top. You wanted to make a good first impression. Harry changed into some jeans as well. He grabs your luggage, and leads you to the rental car area.

Once you both are settled, you get into the car, accidentally opening the driver’s side, and laughing when you see the steering wheel.

“Wrong side, love.”

“Whoops! I’m all turned around.” You get in on the correct side. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Am I allowed to drive here?” He chuckles.

“Course.”

“Would you let me try it out at some point during the week? It’ll be cool to say I drove on the opposite side of the road.”

“We can definitely do that. We’ll find a nice parking lot for ya to practice in.”

You gaze out the window as you take in the sights around you. He steals glances of your reactions, and smiles to himself. About an hour and half later, you come close to where his mother lives. He takes his phone out to call her.

“Hi mum, yeah, we’re about twenty minutes away. Sorry, I forgot to call when we landed. Airport was hectic. Alright, see ya soon.” He puts his phone back down. “She’s got a nice lunch ready for us, you’ll love it.”

“I can’t wait.”

Harry pulls up to a small/medium sized house.

“This is beautiful.”

“S’not where I grew up. Mum moved here once I went to uni. Still feels like home though.” He takes the luggage out of the trunk, and you both wheel them up the walkway. Harry opens the door. You both take your shoes off, and leave the luggage in the front hall.

“Harry?! That you?” Anne peaks out through the kitchen. “My baby!” She runs over to him, and gives him a big hug and kiss.

“Hi mum.” He smiles. “Mum, this is my girlfriend, Y/N.” You smile shyly.

“Hello, love.” She gives you a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“Same to you, you have a lovely home.”

“Oh thanks, Harry, your sister should be here any minute. If you want the larger bedroom, I suggest you bring your things upstairs.” She looks at you. “Y/N, come to the kitchen with me while Harry does the heavy liftin’” She winks at you.

You follow her to the kitchen and see a spread of salad fixings and bread.

“Can I get you anythin’ to drink?”

“Just some water would be great, thank you.” She gets a glass and fills it with water for you. You smile as you take it.

“So, you’re the beautiful young lady my son keeps gushing about?” You blush. “He calls me once a week you know? Part of our rule for him not livin’ here anymore. He speaks so fondly of you, dear.”

“That’s sweet of you to say.” You wondered when Harry actually called his mother, because he never did it around you. Maybe when he was at work?

“I didn’t think he would ever meet someone he really loved, let alone liked.” She laughs. Harry walks back in, and sits down at the island with you.

“Oi, I hear ya talkin’, nice things to say about your only son.”

“Sorry Harry, you know how you are.” She grabs two plates. “Please, make up your plates, no need to wait for Gem, you both look famished from the flight.”

You each pile up your plates with salad. You hear someone come in through the door.

“Harry!” Gemma exclaims. He puts his plate down to give his older sister a hug.

“This is m’girlfriend, Y/N.”

“So great to meet you.” She gives you a hug. “Heard wonderful things. Don’t know why you’d wanna give this idiot the time of day, but I suppose someone had to.” She rustles Harry’s hair.

You enjoyed your lunch with the group, it was nice to see Harry interact with his family. They asked you all sorts of questions about your work and family. You listened to stories about Harry and Gemma when they were younger.

“Gem, is your boyfriend comin’ over on Christmas?” Harry asks.

“No, he’s on business right now. I’ll be leavin’ here after we do gifts to meet up with him.”

You were excited to give Harry’s mom and sister the small gifts you had picked up a couple of weeks ago. You also couldn’t wait to see the look on Harry’s face when he opens the box for the watch he’s been wanting.

“So, Y/N, does your family do anything for Christmas?” Anne asks.

“When we were younger we would wait until Christmas to do all of our Hanukkah gifts. And it was an easy day for our whole family to get together. But once we all got older and moved out, we stopped getting together. My brother and sister both have non-jewish significant others, so they spend the day with their families. We usually get together for one of the days during Hanukkah.”

“I saw some of the pictures on Facebook, can’t believe you got Harry to sit on your uncle’s knee, wish I could’ve seen that.” Gemma laughs.

“I’ll have you know, it was an initiation into her family.” He sticks his tongue out at her.

“Harry, I was thinkin’ we could all go out to eat tonight since we’ll be cookin’ a bunch tomorrow and the day after.” Anne says.

“Sounds good to me, can we go to that curry place?”

“Definitely.”

“We’ve talked your ears off, why don’t you kids go unpack a bit and relax.”

You, Harry, and Gemma all head upstairs.

“Took the bedroom with the ensuite by the way.” Harry smirks. “Snooze ya lose.” She rolls her eyes at him.

“Happy to give you two your privacy.”  You giggle and go into the room with Harry. He closes the door.

“Are you allowed to have the door closed when you have a girl in here?”

“Think it’ll be fine as long as m’sister doesn’t rat us out.” He kisses the top of your head.

You unpack your bathroom toiletries, and some of the clothes you plan to wear while in Anne’s house. Harry lays back on the bed, and waits for you to finish. You sit down next to him.

“This is a nice room. Does she often have guests?”

“Sometimes. Gem comes to visit every other weekend.”

“You’re good children.”

“My mum did a lot for us growin’ up.”

“Is your dad in the picture at all?”

“Oh sure, saw him just about every weekend growin’ up. He lives far from here now, so we won’t see him. But I plan to give him a call on Christmas.”

“Didn’t you say you had a stepdad?”

“I do..did. He passed away not too long ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“S’alright, he was a great guy.”

“I don’t wanna fall asleep. I’m nervous I won’t be able to sleep tonight if we nap.”

“Wanna go for a walk? I can show ya the neighborhood.”

“That’d be great.”

“It’s a bit chilly, so we’ll need to bundle up.”

You leave the room. Harry knocks on Gemma’s door, and invites her to come along. The three of you tell Anne you’ll be back soon. The two point out different homes to you. The architecture was exquisite.

“Have ya ever been to England before?”

“No, it’s my first time.”

“Oh how excitin’!”

“She’s been to the Middle East though, Israel.” Harry chimes in.

“Holy shit! That’s so cool. When’d you do that?”

“My senior year of college, I went on a birthright trip.”

Gemma asks you all sorts of questions about the trip, and you show her a few photos on your phone. You liked Gemma, she was nice and friendly. Her and Harry also seemed pretty close. It reminded you of how you were with your brother. But Harry and Gemma acted more like best friends, probably since they’re so close in age.

//

The restaurant Anne took you to was perfect. It was nice, but not too fancy. You greatly enjoyed watching her scold Harry and Gemma for offering to pay. When you all get back to the house you decide to play a card game before bed. You and Harry turn in early since you both were still tired from all the traveling.

You do your nightly routine, and put on a t-shirt and pajama pants. Harry slides into bed with just a pair of boxers on. He raises an eyebrow at you as you join him in the comfy bed.

“You’re awfully covered up.”

“I didn’t know how cold it would be, plus I didn’t want you thinking we were going to get into any funny business at your mother’s house.”

“So I’m not going to see an ounce of your skin for the next three days?”

“You can see plenty of my skin.” You hold your arm out to him and giggle. “You know I’m lucky me neck has completely healed up.”

“That’ll change once we’re in London, same goes for the rest of ya.” He kisses you on the lips, and turns over.

You wrap yourself around him to spoon him, a leg going between his. You both sigh and fall asleep pretty easily.

//

The next morning you and Harry get up to take a shower. You shower together, but no funny business. Other than a few soft kisses, of course. You dry your hair, and put on a pair of jeans and a sweater. Harry does the same. You both go downstairs and see that Anne and Gemma have put together a small breakfast of beans on toast.

“Um, do you we have any plain toast?” Harry asks.

“Of course! We also have jam and butter.” Anne says. “I was thinkin’ we could all decorate the Christmas tree after breakfast. Y/N, would you feel comfortable in helpin’?”

“Sure! I’d be happy to.”

After breakfast you all go into the living room to decorate the tree. Harry and Gemma reminisce over different ornaments from their childhood. You help put different lights around the tree, and Harry plugs it in.

“Oh that’ll look just lovely when the sun sets.” Anne beams. “Thank you kids.” She wraps her arms around Harry. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Me too mum.”

“What do you all usually do on Christmas eve?” You ask.

“We have dinner, and then we take a drive to look at all the lights around town. Some people really do up their houses.” Gemma explains. “Then we come back and get into our pj’s and watch holiday movies and sip on hot cocoa.”

“Do you like Christmas movies, Y/N?” Anne asks.

“Oh sure, my siblings and I used to watch The Grinch every year on Christmas Eve. The one with Jim Carey.”

“We’ll just have to add that to the list then won’t we?”

“Then on Christmas morning we all have this big breakfast, and open presents. Some friends usually come to visit for dinner, and that’s about it.” Gemma finishes.

“That all sounds wonderful.”

//

After dinner, Anne drives the three of you around the neighborhood. Gemma was right, a lot of people really go all out with their lights. Harry keeps his fingers intertwined with yours for the whole drive. When you get back you were happy you brought a festive pair of pj’s, even if they were Hanukkah themed.

Gemma made everyone hot chocolate as you all got settled in the living room. You started off watching A Year Without A Santa Clause, and all of those stop motion classics.

“Hey look, The Grinch is on Netflix, shall we watch that next?” Anne asks.

“We don’t have to watch it if you all don’t want to.” You say.

“Nonsense, it’ll be a new tradition.”

“Mum, Y/N said she’d make us all potato pancakes tomorrow with breakfast. They’re really good. Do we have everything we need?”

“Yes, I have an abundance of potatoes.”

“Mm, homemade potato pancakes, what a treat.” Gemma says.

Anne flips on The Grinch and you feel a nostalgic excitement take over. Harry pulls you closer to him on the couch, and you snuggle in. You try really hard to stifle some of your laughs. But you can’t help it, you think the movie is hilarious. Harry knew it was bound to happen, you started laughing so hard you cried when the Grinch burps in a random guy’s face on the street. You were trying to be quiet about it, but it just made it funnier. Harry, Anne, and Gemma all laugh along from your infectious laughter.

You had only been there for a couple of days, but you loved his family so much already.

[lovemesomesurveys]

Do you have any tan lines? Nope. Have you ever wished you could stop time? Yes. I’ve also wished I could speed it up. Is there any pictures on the wall you're in? Yeah, there’s several. Who was the last person who called you? My mom. Did you make any money today? No.

Have you ever fallen and twisted your ankle? No. What was the highest place you've ever jumped from? I haven’t jumped from anywhere. Have you ever gone swimming in a river? No. Ever been so unfortunate to slip on wet rocks? Nope. When was the last time you got completely soaked by rain? It’s been a long time. One of the times that comes to mind is when my mom, aunt, a former friend, and I were at an outdoor festival and we got caught in an unexpected rain storm. It just started pouring down hard and we were not prepared at all. We had to run back to our car, which was parked a good distance away and yeah we were absolutely soaked. 

Is there something you really want to buy at the moment? I’d love to be able to book a beach vacation getaway. Would you ever consider culinary school? No. I’m not a cook and have no interest in trying to become one. Do you ever watch the clouds, to see if they look like objects/animals etc? I did when I was a kid sometimes. When was the last time you didn't want to get out of bed? That’s me everyday. It’s a real struggle. Are you excited for anything coming up in the near future? No. My foreseeable future consists of more doctors and appointments and struggles and spending most of my time in bed. Speaking of dancing, do you know any real dance moves? I know them, but I can’t do them. Do you save cards from your birthday/x-mas, etc? Yes. What was the last souvenir someone got you? A shirt. Do you have a favorite remix of a song? One of my favorite covers is Adele’s cover of George Michael’s “Fast Love” that she preformed at an award show in honor of him after he died. I can only describe it as hauntingly beautiful. I really wish she would have released a studio version of it. When was the last time you printed something off? I don’t recall; it’s been awhile. Are you one of those people who can learn music/songs by ear? No, I wish. There was a guy in my piano class I took my senior year in high school that could do that. It was really cool. Has the power gone out recently? No, but I have a feeling it will happen soon. It always does when we have a lot of triple digit degree weather, which is what this week has consisted of. Do you like driving at night? I don’t drive, but I like nighttime drives. Like, whenever I travel I love leaving really early when it’s still dark out. It’s a different experience. Does seeing roadkill make you sad, or just grossed out? Both. Does wearing heels make you feel sexier? I don’t wear heels. What do you think is the most saddest sounding instrument? The piano can sound that way. What day do you go back to school (if you're in school)? I’m forever done with school. When was the last time you've gone shopping with a friend? It’s been a few years. Do you ever go out to dinner with your Mom? We haven’t physically gone out to eat for dinner in quite a long time.  What is your favorite kind of salad dressing? Ranch. Have you ever bought fireworks? Not me personlly, but my dad and brother do every 4th of July. Do you really pay attention to the ratings on movies? Sometimes, but I ultimately decide if I want to see it or not. Have you ever snuck in to a theater/dance/bar etc? No. If given the chance, would you go to Ireland? Sure. Who was the last person/website to send you an email? I don’t feel like checking. Has your phone ever rang and scared you? Yeah. I’m such a jumpy person anyway. If you have a cat, does it ever "converse" with you? I don’t have a cat. If given the chance, would you ever fly in a fighter plane like the F-16? No. Are you afraid of standing on the edge of hills/skyscrapers/cliffs etc? Uh, YES. Do you have a favorite species of wild cat (tiger/lion/cougar etc)? No. Do you support the funds designed to protect endangered animals? (Like WWF). I haven’t done much myself to support them, but I’m glad they exist. What type of a drunk are you? (Obnoxious, calm, emotional, violent, etc) I was a chatty drunk. I feel like I was annoying, ha. I was also the sad drunk. Do you have an absolute favorite name (boy or girl)? I love the name Alexander. Are you good at pronouncing foreign words? Uhh, depends. If you're not already, when do you plan on getting married? I don’t want to get married. Can you tolerate the smell of cigarette smoke? Nooo. It honestly makes me sick, like I get lightheaded and dizzy, I get nauseous, and I get a really bad headache. When listening to music, do you usually tap your foot etc to the beat? I sometimes tap my fingers and hands. Have you ever literally cried on a friend's shoulder? No. Was there something that "made your day" today? It literally just turned midnight, so today is just now starting. Do you have a favorite kind of chocolate bar? White chocolate. Are you happy that it's summer? Ugh, no. It’s hot and miserable. Is there anything that you should be doing right now? I’m about to make my nightly bowl of ramen.  Has anyone had expectations that you just couldn't live up to? (finishing this a couple hours later...) That’s how I’ve been feeling. Are you currently in a relationship? If so, how long have you been dating? Nope. Would you ever consider being a DJ at a party if you were paid? Nah. Have you ever tried those electric toothbrushes? Wow, this question makes it seem like they’re so futuristic and rare lol. Yes, I use electric toothbrushes. Are you or anyone you know devoted to "being green"? Not overly so, no. When it comes election time, do you vote (if you're old enough)? Yes. What was the last movie you watched that was on TV? I watched Fear 1994 on Netflix recently if that counts. How long have you had an account on bzoink? I don’t have an account on bzoink. Do strapless bras work for you? I don’t like them. I only wear them if I have to, like with a dress. Do you have a favorite hair elastic that you use almost always? No. Has anyone told you that they wanted to marry you/ were planning on it/etc? No. When you were younger, did you have a yoyo? I did. I couldn’t do any tricks, though. What was the last video game you played, if any? Animal Crossing: New Horizons. Has anyone ever called you nerdy? Yeah. Have you ever had to call 911? Yes. Has there ever been a tornado near where you live? No, fortunately. Are you a rollercoaster addict? Noo. I’m a big scardy cat. Do you feel comfortable enough to wear short shorts? No. I’m very self-conscious about my legs. About my body in general, really. If you have iTunes, do you find the Genius recommendations helpful? I don’t even recall what that is; I haven’t used iTunes in almost 10 years. Are you quick at looking up numbers in phonebooks/ words in dictionaries? Phonebooks, wow.  I haven’t used a phonebook or actual dictionary in yearsssss thanks to the Internet/Google.  Have a favorite actor/actress from Old Hollywood? (Marilyn Munroe, etc) Lucille Ball. Out of Biology, Chemistry and Physics, which are you the best at? None of those. Is there a friend you can always talk to about anything? I don’t have any friends. Can you stand spicy foods? Not anymore. :( It’s gotta have like barely anything like McDonald’s or Taco Bell mild hot sauce type of stuff. It’s wild because I used to be obSESSED with spicy food. I put hot sauce on everything and had a high spicy tolerance. Then a few years ago I developed a sensitivity and I can’t even have red pepper flakes now. It sucks. What's your opinion on people who stretch their ears? Hey, do what you want. I’ll admit the really stretched out lobes freak me out, though. Do you think tattoos are expressive art or unattractive? To me they can be either one, it just depends. What is your school mascot? -- Do you find black and white photos to be pretty? Yeah. Food you make doesn't taste as good as food made by others, true? Sometimes. Especially foods like sandwiches for some reason. I think they’re way better when my mom or a deli makes them.  Is there a certain color that doesn't look good on you? I don’t think I look good in anything, so. Have you ever heard anything interesting about Nova Scotia, Canada? Not that I can recall. Have you ever seen a bear in the wild? No, thankfully. Do you know when you will get to see your significant other next? I’m single. What's the book you're currently reading? ”Such a Good Girl” by Willow Rose. Is your room currently a disaster? No. If going to a concert, do you prefer it to be outside or in a stadium? Definitely in a stadium.

Do you have a case for your camera? I use the camera on my phone, which I do have a case for. Can your cellphone take a beating? I’ve dropped it a few times and so far so good. Is there a month you prefer over others? October and December. Do you ever buy lottery tickets? Just a couple of times. Can you recall the most disturbing movie you've ever seen? A Clockwork Orange is one. Are you more of a tape or a glue person? Tape. Of course, it does depend on what I’m doing. In some cases, glue is the better option.  Has anyone you know gotten mono? Not that I know of. What is/or was your graduating year? I graduated UC in 2015. Have you had a weird dream lately? All my dreams are weird. Have you ever gotten an autograph from someone famous? Yes. Do you own a pair of slippers? No. Do you ever watch VHS movies anymore? No. I don’t even recall the last time. Has your computer ever decided to completely erase itself? No, but I’ve lost stuff because of viruses back in the day. :(

Only when the power goes out do we realize how much we rely on it, true? It definitely becomes quite apparent quite quickly. Have you ever picked an apple off the tree and eaten it? No. Can you say yes / no in different languages? ”Si” and “No”, ha. Are you good at styling your own hair? No. Especially not anymore since I just don’t have the motivation or energy to do anything with my hair, which is why it was always up in a bun. I finally just cut it really short and have been wearing a cute wig if I go somewhere cause that’s all I can to do right now. I am sad, though. It was so long.   Out of the traditional superheroes, which one is your favorite? The Scarlett Witch and Iron Man. What color is the shirt you're wearing right now? Black. Have you ever been lost? Physically and figuratively, yes.

[justasparkwritings]

Merry & Bright {21}: Santa Baby

Previous: I Could Care Less

Pairing: OT7

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG13

Warnings: Swearing!

Summary: Bangtan plays Secret Santa. 

            “Alright, we have to draw names,” Namjoon says, glancing from member to member.

           “Aye, why are we doing this?” Yoongi asks, sipping on his iced coffee.

           “It’s fun!” Jimin replies.

           “It’s annoying,” Yoongi mutters.

           “Well you don’t have to participate, you can get nothing for Christmas,” Seokjin says.

           “Everyone write your name on your piece of paper and fold it in half,” Namjoon sits down next to Ho-Seok, who nods, eager to play.

           “Are we doing three small gifts or one big gift?” Jimin asks.

           “One gift,” Taehyung picks.

           “Any words for three gifts?” Namjoon asks.

           “Are we doing a price limit?” Jungkook asks.

           “No?” Taehyung questions.

           “We’re only getting one member a gift, I don’t think we need a limit,” Ho-Seok responds, folding his paper.

           “I agree,” Seokjin says.

           “Nothing too extravagant,” Yoongi says.

           “Whoever Yoongi gets should prepare to be disappointed,” Seokjin says laughing.

           “Can we draw?” Namjoon says, gathering all the papers. He takes the hat of Jungkook’s head and drops the little secrets in, scrambling. “Youngest to oldest.”

           Jungkook claps his hands together, laughing at the annoyed look on Jin’s face, and Yoongi’s eye roll.

           “If you get yourself, put it back,” Yoongi says, “That’s cheating.”

           “How?” Taehyung asks as he picks his piece.

           “You can buy yourself something any day,” He explains.

           “It’s no fun if you pick yourself,” Jimin adds. He quickly picks his paper and opens his paper, smiling instantly.

           “Jiminie’s giving it away!” Seokjin yells.

           “No I’m not!” Jimin yells.

           “You are! That smile!” Jin points his finger at him.

           “I’m just happy,” He shrugs.

           “Oo!” Ho-Seok says as he reads his name.

           “Alright, everyone got a name?” Namjoon asks, sitting down to look at his.

           “When are we exchanging?” Yoongi asks.

           “After the MAMAs and MMAs, and our performance on KBS world,” Taehyung says.

           “When’s the last day we’re together?” Jungkook asks.

           “The 23rd?” Yoongi asks.

           “I think so,” Jin agrees.

           “Okay, the 23rd at the dorms,”

           “Dinner?” Seokjin suggests.

           “Yes,” They all nod, agreeing.

           Without further delay, they moved on to other matters of business and eventually rehearsal for their numerous stages.

           Yoongi was the first to find his secret Santa gift, a watch that instantly reminded him of the Namjoon. It was something Namjoon would stare at, making calculated decisions whether to buy it or not. It was a bit extravagant in its platinum face and leather band, the moon phase a touch he knew Namjoon would appreciate. Yoongi had noticed the leader’s affinity for time pieces and was sure this was going to hold a special place in his collection.

           Yoongi smugly carried the package to his apartment, hiding it away in a drawer he knew no one, meaning Jimin or any of the Maknae line, would look in. He’d opted for gift wrap, making it nearly impenetrable to their sly fingers.

           Namjoon was beyond thrilled when he pulled Ho-Seok’s name from the hat. Shopping for him would be easy, Ho-Seok was excited about all presents, and any amount of thought would go a long way with him. Taking the easy way out with gifts was never Namjoon’s style, and as he sat in his room, writing an email to Bang about what he wanted to do for Ho-Seok, he was happy to know that this thoughtfulness was being put to use. Joon wanted to get Ho-Seok a set of classes with a few different choreographers that were big in Korea and the States. He was constantly pushing himself but finding time to actually meet with a choreographer outside of their usual set was rare. Namjoon knew it would push him out of his comfort zone, and that is exactly what he wanted. That, and a new pair of sneakers for Ho-Seok to dance it, maybe with his nickname on it, in neon…

           Ho-Seok knew exactly what to get Taehyung. He’d been planning it for months, hoping that when they pulled Secret Santa names, he could enact his two-part Birthday plan. The first was a stunning Gucci coat that Taehyung had looked at, but never purchased. Its ostentatious green velvet mixed with delicate pink and brow flowers would look striking against his features, and Ho-Seok had diligently watched for his size to come in. Not only had he purchased the coat, but he’d found a seamstress who could make a matching jacket for Yeontan. Not of the same Gucci fabric, but a green velvet that coordinates. Taehyung was going to lose his mind when Ho-Seok gave him the companion on his birthday, as well as a special Vinyl of his first mixtape that he had asked Bang to make.

           Taehyung had struck gold. Who was easier to buy for than Jungkook? No one, except maybe Namjoon. The problem with Namjoon was that he had an idea for what he wanted, a level of thoughtfulness that he hoped someone would match. No matter how thoughtful, it wasn’t enough. Jungkook, though, was happy to be included, happy to feel seen, grateful that any of his hyung’s would take the time to spend money on him and take the time to find something thoughtful. Taehyung kept a list of ideas in his phone for each member’s birthdays. September-December were always rough, an ungodly number of performances and stages, and 5 birthdays, his included. It became easier to just keep a list, organized by member, which he could return to for any gift giving holiday. When he had an idea, he jotted it down, as to not forget it. This year, having drawn Jungkook, he was happy that his list of ideas for his only maknae was too long. New work out gear, his favorite Korean books in English to practice his reading skills, beginners guide to cooking, a pair of silk pajamas, a commissioned piece of art that Taehyung knew wasn’t going to be ready in time, and numerous other items. Thinking about Jungkook’s growth in the last few months, Taehyung optioned for the books and a few new pieces of work out clothing. Practical and thoughtful to match Jungkook’s sensibilities.  

           Jungkook was beyond thrilled to pull Seokjin’s name, simply because he had one too many gifts from Jin’s recent birthday, and he was blessed that he hadn’t had to go out and hunt something down in the midst of their rigid performance and rehearsal schedule. Instead, he re-wrapped the gift, a new set of cooking knives and a fancy cutting board with his initials engraved, in Christmas wrapping and set it under the tree in the dorms. Namjoon had placed labels with their names on them, which said:

To: Jin

From: Secret Santa

He had had them printed at the office, a foolproof way of ensuring no one knew who picked who and left them precut and ready to be placed on the present.

           Jungkook’s was the first gift to be placed, making the already pathetically dressed tree look a little less pathetic.

           Seokjin spent the next ten days trying to find something perfect for Jimin. What could he possibly purchase for the man who gave some of the most thoughtful gifts? He’d racked his brain for something new, exciting, that Jimin would like. A coat? A bougie sweatshirt? Tickets to an event? What possibly could he find that would appeal to Jimin’s sensibilities? Why hadn’t Namjoon requested everyone make a list? That would’ve been more helpful. A list would give him an idea, a direction to go in… Instead, Seokjin wandered the mall after hours, his team having rented space for him. It was by chance that he stumbled into the bookstore, and pure serendipity that he found a display of coffee table books. Looking through the stack, two books stood out: Revelations about the Alvin Ailey famed piece, and The Art of Movement by Deborah Ory. Jimin was a dancer first and foremost, and Jin was excited by the prospect of his reaction to these presents.

           Jimin had paid a little too much attention to Yoongi in the last nine months, not enough that Yoongi had noticed, but enough that Jimin knew the minutes he pulled his name what to get him. A new electric guitar, top of the line. Yoongi had been spending the last year or so learning acoustic, on a fairly new all black, simple, to the point, guitar. No frills, no flares, nothing. While Jimin knew Yoongi loves the guitar, he wondered if a little nudge would help him get into electric guitar. Jimin used his resources to scour the world for a perfect electric, before settling on a small batch, vintage piece from the 1950s. In good condition, strings new, the guitar was breathtaking. Jimin bought a new case for it, lined in crushed black velvet, with Yoongi’s name embossed on the side.

           As the 23rd approached and more gifts filtered under the tree, the seven men looked grateful. Grateful that they’d each taken the time to purchase something for one another, grateful that they believed in one another to find something special for them, grateful they believed in themselves and the love they shared.

Next: Golden Days

[minghaos-pet]

unusual seventeen date ideas

zoolA/N: I’m posting these to fill in the space while I finish chapters for my fics. These ideas came from a ritalin-fueled afternoon so they are NOT intended to be serious. I definitely do not see any of the members engaging in these types of activities so, again, none of this is serious

Warnings: criminal activity, theft, “”borrowing””, mentions of drugs (no drug use), pyramid schemes, some softness and fluff, brief mentions of police (acab), mentions of trash, mentions of food, heights

stealing bikes with seungcheol

seungcheol would pick you up precisely at 5am from outside your house, he would drive you through some quiet suburban neighborhoods (so romantique) and you'd pick off any bikes, trikes, and (if you're really lucky) electric scooters you find sitting outside the pristine homes of the neighborhood. Then you both would spend the whole day at the local park having fun and trading the bikes you stole to kids for their drones, ice cream cones, lunch money, whatever you want! the options are limitless when you're stealing bikes with seungcheol.

dumpster diving with jeonghan

your dates with jeonghan usually consisted of going out to fancy restaurants and getting something to eat, most definitely in multiple courses. "let's try something different," jeonghan suggested when you popped the nightly question of what do you want to eat. Much to your surprise and delight, jeonghan drove you in his 2014 white honda civic to applebee's, one of your favorite establishments. "are we getting potato skins?" "haha," he chuckled with a light behind his eyes, "something like that." he parked behind the building and opened the door for you, leading you to the dumpsters. before you could process what was going on. jeonghan had whipped the dumpster lid open and was scaling the side of the structure.  you spent the rest of the evening going from place to place, scoring new makeup palettes and other goodies. needless to say, it was amazing how many potato skins your local applebee's threw out everyday.

squatting in abandoned buildings with joshua

joshua was the sweetest, most thoughtful boyfriend you could ever ask for. he was constantly waiting on you hand and foot and taking you on lavish vacations. however, you were growing tired of trips to dubai and paris, and wanted to go on a more rugged, adventure vacation. you brought it up to him and he smiled at you, reading your mind. two weeks later, joshua surprised you with an uber ride to the nearest abandoned Kmart in your town, giddy with excitement, you found that he had already bolt-cut the padlock on the expansive automatic doors. You spent the night walking up and down the aisles before going up to the roof. unfortunately, the door to the roof locked automatically, trapping you on top of the kmart.  you and joshua spent the rest of your stay pointing out constellations and falling asleep under the stars before crafting a makeshift rope out of your own clothes to get down the building.

climbing things with jun

jun was a man of many hobbies and recreations, and climbing was one of them. every thursday and sunday night junhui would shake you out of bed and drag you to the nearest climbable structure. ladders, fences, even flights of stairs that led to god-knows-where. one sunday night, jun with excitement and anticipation coursing through his veins, he woke you up and ran out of bed so fast he barely had time to put on his shoes, not even noticing that he was wearing his old gucci slides on the wrong feet. "i have a good feeling about this one," he assured you while you ran through the night, finally approaching a cellular tower. without warning, jun began to climb and climb and climb, leaving you scrambling to get your foothold on the tower. once at the top, jun held your hand while you shivered against the wind. "y/n, look!" he shouted and pointed frantically at the ocean before you. "what is it?" "let's find out." wading through the ocean together, you struggled to keep up with his freestyle swimming towards your next target. it was an oil rig. oh junhui, you thought and smiled, what a character. you came back to the rig every thursday and sunday night, that is, before you were arrested by the coast guard, of course. classic junhui.

zoological warfare with soonyoung

it was no secret that soonyoung loved (and you mean loved) tigers. tiger stuffed animals filled your couches, bed, and dining room chairs; tiger paintings custom commissioned and worth thousands adorned your walls, and tiger videos from animal planet and other sources played night and day on your 100 inch television. Soonyoung cultivated his appreciation for the big cat by playing Zoo Tycoon on his laptop, so much that you practically had to rip the mouse out of his hand and threatened to burn the fifteen year old cd-rom. "soonyoungie," you cooed one afternoon, "i have a better idea than playing zoo tycoon..." immediately his eyes darkened, he knew exactly what you were talking about. You'd been to the zoo so many times before, but this time was different. While Soonyoung oohed and awwed at the tigers in their habitat, you reminded him of the real reason why you were at the zoo that late afternoon. Wire cutters in hand you were quick to disable the motion sensors and electric fences surrounding the enclosure. His deliciously built muscles strained while he pulled open the large fence, "you're free now," he whispered to himself. you both ran out of the habitat and back into the more populated areas of the zoo. words can't describe the elation soonyoung felt while he watched his favorite animals prance into the crowd, finally able to be their true selves.

recreating fahrenheit 451 with wonwoo

wonwoo loved his books more than anything else in his life, except, of course, you. he was halfway through his favorite book when the thought hit him like a ton of bricks. i have to recreate this with y/n, he thought to himself. He read for a couple more hours--not wanting to lose the plot of his favorite dystopian novel--before seeking you out. "y/n," he patted the top of your head lightly, "have you ever read fahrenheit 451?" "of course," you replied, smiling at your silly boyfriend, "we all had to read it in high school." not twenty minutes later were you and wonwoo elbows deep in the pile of books you had stacked in the middle of the alley by your apartment.

scalping concert tickets with jihoon

jihoon was a master producer, everyone knew it. The only thing he loved more than producing was making money, and you and your determined boyfriend were constantly jumping from one side-hustle to another. One of jihoon’s favorite side-hustles was printing fake concert tickets and selling them at the same venues he performed at. It was a two-in-one package, he used to tell you when you were hesitant about the legalities of such a practice. He’d sell tickets for hundreds, sometimes thousands, of dollars, a few hours before a performance and then he’d run inside, get ready, and perform himself! After a while, you stopped noticing the angry crowds that would gather outside the venues during shows and you let yourself enjoy the show from backstage surrounded by a heavy stack of cash. The best part was, you didn’t have to pay taxes on it!

Jihoon could do a number of jobs all at once, from starting etsy stores to mowing lawns for a couple extra dollars, but by far this was his favorite technique. With the money he made he could buy you the extravagances you deserved.

joining an MLM with seokmin

Seokmin was all about the newest, greatest thing. When Jihoon came by one day and told him all about his experience selling essential oils at house parties, seokmin was instantly hooked on the prospect. It took you a little bit of convincing, but after watching your boyfriend steal the show with suburban housewives at the parties he hosted, you knew you had to support him in every way you could. It took a second mortgage on your house and two paycheck advancements, but you were able to build up enough stock of essential oils from the headquarters to fill up your spare room. Party after party you and Seokmin gave out samples after samples, freebies galore, but you were never able to fully deplete the millions of bottles of clove oil and the blends seokmin swore would make you both rich. Even though you never broke even, you loved your new life with seokmin. You had to sell your house and live out of a mini-van you found abandoned on the highway, but it gave you and seokmin a great supply of #VanLife instagram posts.

grand theft auto with mingyu

Dating mingyu was always thrilling and there was always something exciting happening whenever you were together. Tonight was no different, as mingyu promised you that he was taking you out to get a new car. You were ecstatic, having only dated mingyu three and a half weeks, it was a little soon for such extravagant gifts like a whole car, but you weren’t one to complain and you certainly did not want to hurt his feelings.

The music blared loudly while you flew down the freeway in the new drop-top audi Mingyu got for you. You were a little worried when the car dealer insisted on coming with you for the test drive, but Mingyu’s charm and quick thinking, the dealer was nothing to worry about. Mingyu turned the radio up even higher when the sirens approached, adding to the thrill of the night.

“The lights make you look so pretty,” Mingyu fawned from the driver’s seat, “we should do this more often.”

You turned around to look behind you, the wind chapping your lips and whipping your hair, smiling. 

you’ve always wanted a police escort.

borrowing from designer stores with minghao

minghao's sense of style was unparalleled, and being his significant other, you were privy to plenty of style and fashion advice. not that you minded, of course, because minghao would usually get so fed up with your disastrous outfits that he would let you wear his own clothes to save time and hassle. "y/n," minghao sighed after watching you put layer three jackets on top of each other, "we're going shopping. I'm going to teach you how to buy clothes." the places minghao shopped were unbelievable; while you usually bought your clothes off of Wish and Aliexpress, minghao was a well-known regular at versace, hermes, louis vuitton, and every other designer you could think of. your minimum wage paycheck could in no way sponsor these purchases, so you were completely reliant on minhao for these types of shopping trips. once in gucci, minghao pulled his bucket hat lower, covering his eyes and instructing you to do the same. he swung around the large umbrella he carried with him to the shops (confusing since it was not raining), and you watched him drop item after item into the half opened umbrella. astonished and amazed, you grabbed a wallet off of the shelf and attempted to pocket it discretely, but were caught by security. You watched as minghao left the store while you were being interrogated by the mall security. Lucky for you, you were able to get away safely and caught up with minghao to grab a pretzel before leaving the mall.

hitchhiking to jeju with seungkwan

there wasn't a day that went by when seungkwan didn't miss home: the tangerine groves, the crisp sea air, and Hallasan mountain. on one of his routine pining sessions, you had the brightest idea you'd had in a very long time, it was your chance to finally go on a much needed trip with Seungkwan to the place he loved most. You whipped out yours and his favorite and most reliable tennis shoes, grabbed a bottle of water to share, and set on your way. Despite the heat and exhaustion, seungkwan was overjoyed to be on his way to Jeju, especially to be able to go there with you and show you his old stomping grounds. As you both walked, thumbs out, you found refuge in a few nice strangers' cars. Seungkwan loved the economical nature of your trip and you loved the fact that you got to spend it with him.

cult-hopping with vernon

vernon had some...interesting hobbies and past-times, but being his significant other you loved to share these moments with him, even if they were a little strange at moments. something that vernon had always, and he meant  a l w a y s wanted to do was something he called "cult-hopping" where the two of you would spend a few months to a year joining cult after cult just to understand and learn the ins-and-outs of each organization before leaving and moving onto the next one. For the first few weeks, the experience was painfully slow, but after you'd moved on to your fourth (or was it fifth?) cult, you began to develop the understand and appreciation for it that vernon always hoped you would. You drank kool-aid, had communal baths, and even shared in some unusual choices of meals. It warmed your heart t be able to spend this much needed time with vernon, and he was happy to learn more about cults.

drug trafficking with chan

airports were your absolute favorite place, something about them made you feel so comforted and at home. with chan there to hold your hand through security and sew up secret pockets in your luggage, it felt extra special. you weren't new to the drug trafficking scene, and found it as a lovely way to make some extra money when funds were tight; although chan was definitely not in need of money due to his idol career, he still loved to see what you did best. He watched a few youtube tutorials and already he was a pro at getting through security and past the drug dogs. You marveled at how chan even bent down to pet a few of the canine officers, amazed at his composure throughout the whole process. If things went well this trip, you knew that your boss would ask him to join the ranks, meaning you and chan could fly, take trains, and travel whenever and wherever you wanted.

[eryiss]

Fraxus Week 2020: Day 8 - Proposal

Summary: After a crappy post-college first year, Laxus jumped at the opportunity to leave town for a week for a road trip with his friends. He intended it just to be a week away with his friends, but when he meets an unfamiliar stranger, the vacation turns into something much more. [Fraxus Multichapter]

This is the fifth part of my Fraxus Week admissions, hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus​. This year I’ve made the prompts into a single multi-chapter fic. You can see all the chapters in the Masterpost linked below. Hope you enjoy.

You can read this on Fanfiction, Archive of our Own, and under the cut. Read the other chapters from this masterlist.

Epilogue – The Defining Term

Three Years Later

When Laxus woke up, it was in the bed he shared with Freed in their apartment. Under the covers was a mess of limbs, and Laxus had apparently chosen to use the other man's chest as an impromptu pillow. He had the mans torso wrapped up in his arms, and when he blinked up at the blurry figure above him, he saw Freed attempting to wake up with as much difficulty as he was. He smiled sleepily at the sight.

"Morning," Laxus greeted, pushing himself off his lover's chest and sitting up.

"Morning," Freed repeated. He reached over Laxus to pick up his phone and turn the blaring alarm off.

Laxus let his back rest against the cool wood of their headboard, the covers dropping from him as he ran a hand through his hair to slick it out of his eyes. He watched Freed as he rubbed his eye with the back of his hand and reached for a hair tie, pulling his hair into a messy ponytail. It was clear that the early morning was affecting Freed more than it was Laxus, and the blonde had to grin at that and nudge the other man with his knee.

"You can't be pissed off at waking up early when it's your idea," He laughed, voice a little groggy.

"I'd agree with you, but I think right now I'm proving quite clearly that I can," Freed commented, sitting up beside Laxus. "I was always led to believe that my body would adjust to waking up early. Why hasn't it?"

"Guess you're just hardwired to be cranky," Laxus teased. "We can sleep in tomorrow, I'll get ya some coffee."

Freed thanked him, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as Laxus left the warmth of their bed. He shucked on the leopard print robe – which he wore both for the comfort it brought and the annoyance it caused in Freed – and trudged out of their bedroom and into the kitchen where he had prepared coffee in the percolator the night before; Freed hadn't exaggerated his distaste for being awake in the morning, so Laxus had been cautious.

The two men had been living together for about a year and a half. Their Magnolian apartment wasn't anything special. One bedroom, a kitchen-living room, a bathroom, and a tiny balcony. It was close enough to Freed's school that he could drive there, and directly above Laxus' gym. It wasn't much, but it was good for what they needed.

He flicked on the coffee machine to reheat the drink, walking to the kitchen pantry. He shifted a few boxes of protein assistants he knew Freed never moved, to pick out a small wrapped package and a single cupcake. He picked up a birthday cake candle that went unused before returning to the countertop. He made quick work of pouring them both a large mug of coffee, placing them on a tray along with the package, a butter knife and the cupcake, candle lit.

"Feeling any more awake?" Laxus asked as he nudged the door open with his foot.

"Not particularly," Freed groaned, before looking to Laxus with confusion.

"Happy anniversary," Laxus said in explanation, grinning.

Freed smiled at that, watching as Laxus placed the tray at the foot of the bed and handed him a mug of coffee. Laxus was quick to join Freed in the bed again, their shoulders pressed against each other. He picked up the cupcake and raised the candle to Freed's mouth to blow it out, which Freed did with a fond shake of the head and smile.

"Happy anniversary," Freed said, resting against Laxus.

"I know we said we ain't doing presents," Laxus said as he picked up the package. "I know we've been saving for the trip, and we agreed not to. But I just… I don't know, I thought you'd like this. It was cheap, so you can't get mad," Freed chuckled, picking the package up.

The two of them had been planning their anniversary trip away for a year. They had discussed going away for their second anniversary, but hadn't had the money. Laxus had quit his office job so that he could put all his focus into growing his personal training career, and Freed had taken an extension on his student loan so he could continue his studying at law school; he'd changed his major after his first year and wanted to see it through. Once they had discounted the option, they had promised each other that they'd save up and go away for the next one.

There had been some discussion as to where they could go, but they eventually settled on an idea: The Grand Canyon. The fact it was in the country meant they didn't need to pay for flights, and they could use their money on a luxury hotel and good food. And it felt right, returning to the place where they got together on their anniversary.

"You really do know how to charm a man, don't you," Freed grinned as he started to unwrap the present.

"You fell for me, so I'm doin' something right," Laxus laughed.

Freed removed the paper from the gift, revealing it to be a small framed picture. It was of the two of them from three years ago, sleeping in the back of the RV in each other's arms. Their sleeping faces were content, and their foreheads were resting against each other. It was one of the many pictures that Bickslow had taken of the two the night after they'd gotten together.

Laxus glanced up at Freed to see the man smiling softly at the picture. He rested his head against Laxus' shoulder and smiled. "Thank you."

"It's nothing," Laxus shrugged but smiled. "Happy anniversary," He repeated in a whisper.

"Happy anniversary."

They moved in sync, bringing their lips together in a soft kiss. They had gotten a lot better at understanding each other's movements in the three years of being together, but the spark that ignited when they were together hadn't subsided.

Eventually, they pulled away from each other. Freed seemed a little annoyed, but Laxus took delight in reminding him that it was he who had chosen they get the early train meaning that they didn't have the time to lounge around with each other; or do something a little more… active with one another. Freed had glared at him for that, and all Laxus had done was wink and flex his bicep to further annoy the man.

Cutting the cupcake in half, they ate it in place of a real breakfast and promised each other they would eat on the train. It was a quiet moment between the two of them, a silent moment of domesticity. Laxus had grown to adore those moments after moving in with Freed, however fleeting they might have been.

"I suppose we should start waking up properly soon," He said after they'd eaten.

"We should," Freed agreed, nodding. "Thank you for the coffee, and the gift."

"Yer welcome," Laxus said with a smile.

He leant down and pressed their lips together again, this time in a chaste kiss. He pulled away with a smile, looking at his lover with adoration in his eyes.

"Love you," He murmured.

"Love you too," Freed smiled, leaning in for another kiss.

~~~

"This is the first-class cabin," Laxus said, frowning. "We meant to be in here?"

"Of course," Freed said, stepping further into the train.

"I thought we were just getting regular seats."

Laxus looked around the cabin. It was smaller than the standard classes, and with nobody else inside of it. Each seat had a table by it, all with cloths, complimentary coffee, and a breakfast menu. Freed handed Laxus a ticket while walking to a seat near the middle of the cabin, and Laxus looked to see that they were indeed booked into first class. This hadn't been something that Laxus had been told about, and he frowned a little.

"Can we afford this?" Laxus asked, sitting opposite Freed. "I mean, it's great, and I ain't gonna complain, but I didn't know-"

"It's a thank you," Freed said with a smile. "I know that my studying and work has been making me stressed, and sometimes irritable. And you've been incredibly patient with me, especially when you've started your own business. So, although we agreed that all the tips I made wouldn't be part of the vacation savings, I made sure to save about half of them. So, fair warning, there might be a fair few surprise that you'll face throughout the week."

"You didn't need to do that," Laxus said softly, though he was flattered and couldn't help but smile.

"I didn't," Freed agreed. "But you're my boyfriend, I love you, and I fully intend to spoil you whenever the opportunity presents itself."

"Thanks," Laxus said, ducking his head in embarrassment as he often did. To recover, he gave a smirk and spoke with a mischievous tone. "Does that mean that, when you become a famous big city lawyer to millionaires that I'm going to be spoiled every day. Because if not, you're gonna have to deal with a really bitchy trophy husband."

"So long as you keep your legs like tree-trunks and your abs well-defined, I'll keep spoiling you," Freed teased back.

"That's all I ask of ya," Laxus laughed.

As the train started to move, Laxus looked out of the window while giving Freed a small nudge with his foot under the table; a silent sign of appreciation for what Freed had done. It had been quite quick in their relationship for them both to realise that Laxus used small physical gestures to show his appreciation for the man. Bickslow had once claimed it was a type of love language, and explained that the ways people showed affection ranged and that Laxus wasn't the type to use his words, particularly in public.

Laxus didn't particularly care for the weird social sciences behind it all. All he cared about was that Freed knew that with these small nudges, brushes against him, and tapping on his skin was his way of showing the man he loved him, and he was thinking about him.

He seemed to understand that, and nudged Laxus back in response.

The train ride was, as expected of being in a first-class cabin alone, luxurious. They were given a complimentary breakfast of bacon sausage and eggs, which had been given to them just as Laxus started to feel a sense of hunger. The coffee and juice they had been serves had been delightful, as had been the silence of the cabin. Laxus was glad he'd gotten over the slight motion sickness he got on trains, plains and boats, as he wouldn't have enjoyed this nearly enough if he was fighting off vomit.

As their empty plates were taken away, Laxus almost made a joke about how easy it would have been to get to the canyon three years ago if they'd taken the train. But then he was reminded of just how much had happened over that week, and the comment died on his tongue and he was wrapped up in the memories of their road trip.

Getting to know Freed, their shared kiss atop the RV, their date, the flirting at their stops.

All of that could have gone if they hadn't made the week into a road trip. If they had spent the day at the canyon then chances were that he and Freed wouldn't have gotten to know each other. He wouldn't be in love with the man, and instead he would be some kind of fleeting memory of a guy that Laxus had found attractive but hadn't had the balls to have a real conversation with. He would be a stranger, not a lover.

Hell, Laxus' life would have been pretty damn different. Freed had been the one to encourage him to leave his job and focus on personal training. And Laxus wouldn't have been able to keep a place of his own, so he might have still been living with Makarov. He would likely be exactly where he was three years ago; discontented, bored, and essentially alone.

But that hadn't happened. He had gotten to know the man he loved, and he was now sharing a third anniversary with him. All these hypothetical situations were entirely useless, because he was living the best life he could right now. And watching Freed's content, gorgeous face as he assessed the passing views through the window just proved it.

In retrospect, he was damn glad they hadn't taken the train.

~~~

When Freed had said that there would be a fair few surprise throughout the trip, he certainly had meant it.

After they'd arrived at the hotel, they had been guided to the most expensive and luxurious suite the place had to offer; the bellhop had even claimed it was the honeymoon suite, a fact which made Laxus blush slightly. After they'd unpacked, they had walked down to one of many restaurants and Laxus had eaten the best steak he'd ever had. When they'd returned from lunch to their room, they'd slept for a little while – Laxus had almost melted into the bed – and had been awoken by someone calling their room remining them of their couple's spa appointment. This had consisted of a few treatments, and then a class on how to massage one another. Laxus hadn't realised how many knots he had until Freed's hand had worked them out.

He was somewhat concerned about how much everything costed, but he knew that Freed wasn't the type to spend money he didn't have nor wasn't willing to lose. And even on his wage as a waiter, he always paid equally on the rent.

And Blue Pegasus did get rich customers, ones who would fall for Freed's easy charm. He was probably flirting without knowing. The thought made Laxus smile.

After completing the spa treatment, Freed claimed he had nothing else scheduled for the rest of the day; other than the evening walk to the canyon itself, but that had been planned between them both beforehand. Rather than returning to their room again, they had decided to have a coffee at one of the bars that overlooked the relatively empty pools of the complex.

"Thanks," Laxus said through the silence. "For all of this. It's really nice of ya."

"You really don't need to thank me, Laxus," Freed said with a smile. "Sometimes, I think you forget that you deserve to be treated and spoiled. You often do these things for me that mean a lot more than you might think. You downplay all the things you do for me, and I think that you don't understand what they mean to me, so I just wanted to make it clear that I more than appreciate all you do, and love you for it."

"I think you're bein' too kind," Laxus laughed, unable to take a compliment.

"I'm not," Freed denied. "The amount of time's you've come to the library with food because you knew I had to study and wasn't looking after myself, and you didn't once complain. I know it was you who organised the weekly nights out with Bix and Ever when I was getting stressed. Even the fact that you gave me that picture today; you have no idea how… loved you make me feel."

"You sound like you're describing some rom-com character," Laxus laughed, again trying to deflect.

"One day you'll be able to take a compliment without being awkward," Freed chuckled. "What I'm trying to say it, I know all the things you've been doing. I understand that these things you do are how you show affection. And that I love you so much, and that you deserve to feel the same sense of love and comfort that I do every time you do these things for me."

Laxus didn't say anything, and Freed didn't push him. They both knew that the intention of Freed's actions was understood.

They sat at the table in a comfortable silence for a little while longer, Laxus with his leg resting against Freed's. He had taken his lover's hand in his own and was gently rubbing his thumb against the calloused palm. In this gesture, Laxus was trying to show as clearly as possible how much he cared for Freed, and how he appreciated him just as much as Freed claimed.

Freed simply knocked his knee in reply, a silent message saying his meaning had been understood.

"This might sound slightly weird," Freed spoke again after a while. "But I'm always reminded of you when I think about swimming."

"You are?" Laxus asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"Yes. It was at that waterpark when I realised that I hadn't been in love before," Freed began, looking out at the empty pools with fondness. "It was on that obstacle course. You had tripped and fallen on your face, and were so determined to win that you actually grabbed by ankle and dragged me down with you. And I looked over my shoulder and you had this ridiculous grin on your face because you were so cocky about what you'd done, and it just hit me. I just understood that I could feel so strongly about you, could be so reinvigorated by you, that nothing I'd had in the past would ever come close to you."

Laxus was momentarily stunned. Freed had thought so passionately about him then, on the third day that they had known each other?

"You've never told me that," He eventually said.

"Well, I used to be embarrassed by it because I barely knew you and I considered loving you. And it hasn't really come up since, but given the mood I thought I should tell you," Freed smiled a little then. "Also, right after that, you used my momentary lapse of concentration to push me into the water. Thus making me lose a bet, which you've been gloating about ever since."

Laxus chuckled, and grinned at the man. "You shouldn't make a bet you ain't willing to play dirty to win."

"I suppose not," Freed agreed.

"I knew I'd be in love with you on that week too," Laxus confessed, blushing a little. "I had a crush on ya when I first saw ya. But by the end of the week, I just had a feeling that one day I'd be in love with ya. Guess I was right."

"I suppose you were," Freed agreed, and they shared a private, lovestruck smile.

~~~

"I believe it was exactly here where we had our first real kiss," Freed said with a grin.

Laxus chuckled. The two of them were standing in the camping spot where, three years prior, Bickslow had parked up the RV. Just like three years ago, the sky was in the mid-section between the evening and the night, creating a soft orange that illuminated the impressive landmass before them. It was just as Laxus had remembered, both moving and humbling.

The walk towards the canyon had been one of the quiet moments Laxus loved. It was just the two of them in the open, with soft wind hitting them and cooling off the summer heat that had been battering down on them for the past few weeks. They had been hand in hand as they walked, relishing each other's company.

"The exact place, huh," Laxus said with a smile. "You seem pretty confident about that."

"Of course," Freed replied. "I have a good memory and I remember the exact position of the stars from where we had been sitting. And that was right here. Furthermore, the distance from the-"

"You're just guessing, ain't ya?" Laxus asked with a smirk.

"Yes," Freed admitted, grinning.

Shaking his head, Laxus pulled the man into a kiss. It was chaste and only lasted a moment, but they pulled apart with smiles on their faces. Laxus had always thought that Freed looked beautiful in the natural light, and the evening sun hitting their faces was a testament to that. The way his almost perfect skin glowed, the reflection in his eyes, the small quirk in his lips in a smile.

"You're so beautiful," Laxus mumbled, his nose pressing against Freed's. "I love you so fuckin' much."

"I love you too," Freed reciprocated. "I'm glad we came back here."

"Me too," Laxus whispered, pulling Freed into another kiss.

Rather than continuing the walk or returning to the hotel, they decided that they would spend some time sitting at the canyon and enjoying the view together. They walked closer to the canyon, climbing atop a large boulder, sitting with their legs dangling above the large pit. Their shoulders rested against each other, and the gentle wind that cooled them also gently ruffled their hair. The slowly setting son practically silhouetted them from behind, and it felt as though they were the only two people in the world at that moment.

The romance of the situation wasn't lost on the man, and he found himself resting his head against Freed's shoulder.

Freed's words from earlier in the day were still resonating in his head. Laxus had never been the type to do big grand romantic gestures, and although he'd gotten a lot better at speaking about what he felt and talking about his feelings, he would always prefer showing his romantic side in smaller, more subtle ways. The fact that Freed knew and appreciated that was such a great feeling that Laxus could hardly understate it.

Although, he had felt that Freed had been too harsh on himself. Yeah, the man had been stressed with his final year of school, but he hadn't been nasty with that stress. He's still tried to make Laxus feel loved, even on his worse days. That was something that Laxus wasn't going to overlook.

They were lucky to have found each other, and the thought made Laxus laugh a happy laugh.

"What?" Freed asked with a smile.

"Just thinking," Laxus shook his head. "About our relationship. And the fact it took us like eight months after we started dating to actually call each other our boyfriends. Especially since we both knew we'd be in love with each other the first week we met each other. Just crap at labels I guess."

"I suppose," Freed said with chuckle. "I've never really thought that labels were all that important, so long as we cared for each other and loved each other."

"Yeah, guess so," Laxus agreed with a smile, closing his eyes contently.

"Though, I must admit that I have come around to certain labels," Freed said, somewhat mysteriously.

Laxus waited a moment, expecting to hear a continuation of whatever Freed was thinking. When there wasn't one, Laxus opened his eyes. He looked at the mans face for a moment, to see that he was looking out over the canyon still. With a frown, Laxus' gaze fell slightly to their intertwined hands on the boulder, only to see something had been placed between them both. His eyes widened when he realised what it was.

A small, black velvet box, in which held an elegant obsidian ring.

"I should apologise for lying," Freed said, grin unhindered now. "I had one more surprise left for you."

"Is that a…" Laxus began, at a loss for words as he looked down at the ring glinting in the sun. "Did you… are you… I don't actually know-"

"I understand that you wouldn't want a large speech, that it would make you uncomfortable and clam up slightly, so I'll forgo that tradition," Freed continued, looking towards Laxus now, running his fingers over Laxus' knuckles. "But I just want you to know this. The moment I met you, I knew that you'd be the man I love. That has been more than true, and it would be a great honour if you chose to become my husband."

"You wanna-" Laxus asked, voice cracking with emotion. "I mean, just to be completely sure, you're asking me to marry you?"

"Really, you truly need to get better with compliments," Freed shook his head fondly. He leant forward, and their foreheads pressed together as Freed lifted the ring. "I am asking you to marry me, Laxus."

There was a beat, and then Laxus wore the biggest most dopey smile he had ever worn.

"Yes. Of fucking course I will," Laxus said in delight.

They were kissing a moment later, Laxus wrapping the man he loved in his arms a moment later in a tight and needy embrace. Freed laughed in the kiss, showing the same amount of glee that Laxus was feeling inside. He felt a giddy sensation flow throughout him as he leant further into his lover's kiss. His future husband's kiss.

When they pulled apart, they hardly moved, and that was only so Freed could carefully remove the ring from it's box and slide it down Laxus' finger. Laxus looked down at the black-stone jewellery, and it filled him with such a feeling of completeness that it physically made him ache.

"It's beautiful," Laxus whispered, then looked up to Freed with adoration on his face. "It's so fucking…" The words wouldn't come to him, and he didn't care. "I love you so fucking much."

"I love you too," Freed whispered with a small laugh. "And I fully intend to love you for the rest of my life."

Overcome by emotion, Laxus brought their lips together again in a strong, emotional kiss. He brought Freed as close as he could, portraying everything he felt in a single, beautiful kiss.

As they kissed, enraptured in their own world, the sun set low on the canyon before them.

[storagetrailerrentalsandsa-blog1]

Storage Trailer Rentals And Sales Helped Me To Understand Fine Print

Really, Storage trailer rentals and sales helped me to read and understand Fine Print. Now I am sharing my own life real story about it. I stumbled into a man in the jamboree business one time that showed me a ton. For the most part, all that he encouraged me is of no genuine use, notwithstanding. He showed me methods for not so much violating laws however how to twist them like a pretzel. If you want to know more about rentals and sales tips, you may visit website.

It is a result of him that I have figured out how to understand contracts and additionally understand what all that implied. I understand considerably more now along these lines, will I say, a prankster. In an agreement from a significant organization, there is a great deal of mambo large that an individual truly doesn't understand. The agreements will consistently state things that an individual can without much of a stretch understand and things that they should set aside some effort to make sense of. Laws that you will break are in every case straightforward how it is composed. Laws that you can twist are constantly tangled up or written in manners that cause you to need to peruse once more.

From the outset, I got myself when perusing material that permits an individual to twist the laws, not completely understanding what is stated, and then proceeding without needing to revisit and figure. Call it apathetic or whatever. I simply accept an organization does that, therefore. Like they have a hypothesis of what you don't understand can't hurt them. At the point when I began perusing back through these misunderstandings I discovered that, obviously, they don't need me making sense of that circumstance.

I and this individual had bought a fair game tent. Carnies allude to game tents as Joints. We realized where to get squishy toys and had enough cash. We at that point needed to book this game on some show and started calling jubilees. Presently understand we didn't have an entire pack of fairs' numbers, in addition to a lot of shows would prefer not to book what we needed to place in that joint. Calling shows to book is significant telemarketing bother so he would call then I would call. I was way less experienced than he was however had the option to get us booked in some way or another.

We stacked this joint in the back and over this Chevy Reference. We needed to leave the hatchback open and slide whatever number longboards as we could as far in the vehicle as would be prudent and tie the warning on the back. It resembled I had super force directing in light of the fact that the rear of the vehicle sat so low it dropped the uber weight from the front of the vehicle. We concluded that since we were marginally unlawful to drive the 130 miles around evening time and utilize the rustic interstates. We arrived, found the shown proprietor, he gave us our area, and we set up.

Presently we needed to get two tires to toss a football through and did. We at that point utilized string to tie the tires up in our joint and took off to the plush toy distributor we were aware of, which was around 60 miles away. We had space in the Reference to get these squishy toys now. Seeing as how we currently had joint and plush toys and two tires we were never again going to have the option to drive this regularly developing, do I say, activity or business or whatever, with my Reference hatchback. We calculated that we might profit at this celebration we are presently working with our recently established organization. We weren't right as this occasion ended up being sufficiently only to live on, challenges.

I will currently clarify how we twisted a law. Prepared! We needed to lease a U-Take to place our stuff in and drive. My amigo doesn't have a legitimate ID which left me to lease it. He disclosed to me that if more terrible come to more terrible we could simply keep the U-Take until we got pulled over in it. He additionally said that they don't press any criminal accusations and that they simply take the vehicle. Well! I think he was forgetting about the part about how it incredibly influences your financial assessment however I came. We utilized that truck for around two months without giving U-Take any more money. At the point when we gave it back, it was in the night, and we left it in the parking area of a U-Take seller.

About a month later our association broke down, he got me out, and I went on my way, leaving him with this purported activity. I ran into him a year later in Mississippi and he was driving a, you realize what, U-Take. He disclosed to me that he sold the two joints we had aggregated and purchased a little concession trailer joint. At that point had leased the U-Take, the past August, to pull the trailer for the remainder of the period. He at that point left the trailer in storage in Slidell, Louisiana in November. He inquired as to whether I needed to accomplice up once more and assuming this is the case, we could assemble our cash, to get the trailer out of storage. I was in light of the fact that I didn't have anything better to do.

At some point, while riding not far off I discovered his agreement in the glove box. I read it. The joke of the agreement was that U-Take seized the truck and all material inside was held to pay the charges owed when not returned on schedule. Obviously, I needed to re-read a few sections to understand them. That equivalent year, around 5 weeks after the fact, I got pulled over in this U-Take in Georgia. The absolute first thing the cop said or asked was....does U-Take lease these things with lapsed labels?, I said I didn't have the foggiest idea. All things considered, they held onto the truck and a couple of things in it.

This left me and my collaborate with a trailer that was set up at a one-day swap meet and no real way to pull it. We got somebody at the swap meet to pull it that first day in light of the fact that the following one-day swap meet was just 26 miles. After that, we didn't figure out how to get where we were going, right to North Carolina, and from the east side of Georgia at that. We had a similar person to assist us with getting it to a storage office.

We at that point went to the bus stop to get a few tickets for North Carolina. In a similar parking garage were some Hertz trucks. We headed inside and purchased tickets and had about an hour hang tight for the transport. I required cigarettes and inquired as to whether he or his sweetheart required anything from the store, they said no. The woman salesclerk did and wasn't reluctant to request that I get a few cigarettes for her. I proceeded to get everything and in transit back I notice my companion and his young lady strolling towards the Hertz trucks. I knew immediately.

He really got this poor young lady to lease him the truck with a driver's permit number he had recorded in his note pad. She got bulldozed and we were gone to get the trailer out of storage from that point. The trailer had been put away for two hours. We head to North Carolina to work for another person despite the fact that we had our own game trailer concession.

[dabidevito]

[fic] noctuary

read on ao3

rating: G // words: 4585

summary: (n.) - the record of a single night’s events, thoughts, or dreams

An airport adventure between two sort-of strangers, in the liminal space between Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

a/n: this is a gift for @howellaf as part of @phandomficfests​ holiday exchange, which was an absolute joy to be a part of.

thanks as always to @knlalla​ for her beta work and constant encouragement. 2019 is not ready for our combined writing power ✨💛

10:21 pm, December 24th (Christmas Eve)

Phil clicks into the Virgin Atlantic app for about the hundredth time that evening, just to check that the departure time hasn’t changed in the last five minutes. He’s always been an anxious flyer. People have begun to congregate around the check-in desk, rounding up kids and various belongings in anticipation of their 10:40 pm boarding call. Phil lingers in the back corner of the gate area, where he’d been lucky enough to secure one of the few charging ports for his phone - one of the perks of being a habitually early traveler.

He bounces his leg restlessly as he waits for the app to refresh. Beyond the terminal’s foggy glass windows, the planes are beginning to accumulate a thin layer of snow. He debates switching over to the weather app on his phone, but knows if he has to look at the cataclysmic blues and purples sprawled over the radar map of New York one more time, his simmering panic will turn into a full-on spiral.

When the departures page finally loads, no thanks to JFK’s terrible WiFi, it's all of Phil's horrible traveling nightmares brought to life.

Virgin Atlantic Flight 154 to London (LHR) - CANCELLED DUE TO INCLEMENT WEATHER Please proceed to the gate agent for rebooking. We apologize for any inconvenience.

Moments later, a collective groan ripples out from the crowd as the news is spread over the loudspeaker, the cancellation now displayed in blazing red font on all the overhead screens. A desperate shuffle towards the ticket counter begins almost immediately, but Phil feels paralyzed in his dingy corner.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Filming for his studio’s latest production was supposed to wrap three days ago, and he should've been settled under a blanket with a cup of his mum's Christmas cocoa by now. Not stranded in bloody America on Christmas Eve after weeks of being away from home. But there'd been delay after delay on set, and with the holiday looming, the entire crew had worked through last night in order to get the final scenes filmed. He’s exhausted and more than a little cranky and suddenly feels totally unprepared to deal with his current worst-case scenario.

He locks his phone and closes his eyes, trying to breathe through the panic of having to book a new flight and find somewhere to stay tonight, and he's all alone in a country that isn't his and do planes even fly on Christmas? What if there's suddenly a problem with his work visa and they don't let him on the plane back to England anyway and no one at the production company will answer the phone because they're all cuddled up under blankets with cups of their mum's hot cocoa and -

"Hey."

Phil jumps as a hand comes down lightly on his shoulder, almost tilting out of his chair from the sudden jolt. The owner of the hand steadies him, fingers curling gently into the fabric of his jumper.

"You okay?" The stranger asks, except when Phil finally follows the line of the man's arm up to his face, he realizes that this person is not a stranger at all. In fact, Phil’s spent nearly every day for the last month with him in some capacity or another. The film that’s the source of his current travel predicament had been resplendent with minor speaking roles, one of which happened to be filled by a certain curly-haired actor with a posh accent. Phil’s sure that the B-roll from his set camera is overflowing with lingering shots of the man who’s currently waiting for him to get his act together and respond to a simple question.

"Oh, it's you," Phil begins, ever a beacon of eloquence. He digs around in his muddled brain for the man's name, trying to blink past the haze of panic that’s taken up residence there.

"Dan," the man supplies, retracting his hand from Phil's shoulder. "From, uh, the movie?"

Phil forces a smile onto his face. "Of course. Sorry, I was just…” He gestures vaguely around his body, not really sure what sort of excuse would play well here.

Dan offers him kind smile, one that’s more genuine than should be possible given the circumstances. “I don’t mean to bother you,” he says, “it’s just that, uh, pretty much everyone’s gotten rebooked already? I sort of - this makes me sound like a weird stalker, I swear I’m not - I just sort of noticed that you hadn’t moved since they made the announcement. And that you looked upset. But it’s really gonna be fine, I think there’s still seats on the first plane out tomorrow morning.”

Phil looks past Dan to the nearly-deserted gate area. A lone mother wrangles her son back into a buggy, various bags scattered around her. The gate agent frowns down at her computer, looking exhausted and like she’d rather be just about anywhere else. She glances wearily between two men standing in front of her desk who appear to be arguing about which flight is better. But the hundreds of other inconvenienced travelers are nowhere to be seen, making Phil feel acutely aware of just how long he’s been sitting here in silent panic. His hands feel clammy with embarrassment, that someone he kind-of-sort-of-not-really knows had to witness him being such an unfunctional, dithering failure of an adult.

“Oh! Right. Um, thank you. For, uh, saving me from sitting here and sulking all night,” Phil says as he begins to gather up his belongings and stuff them into his backpack. Dan shifts from foot to foot in front of him, scuffing his shoe against the off-white tiles.

“Right, yeah, I’m a regular old hero, huh?” Dan mumbles.

Phil glances up the long line of Dan’s body, already feeling a hundred times more at ease than he had just moments ago. “My knight in shining travel accessories,” he says, nodding at the pillow hanging around Dan’s neck and trying to suppress a laugh at his own dumb joke.

Dan flushes pink immediately at the remark, reaching up to touch the shimmery grey material of the pillow. “Oi,” he says, “if you’re gonna be hanging out with me until the bloody snowpocalypse is over, know that I won’t tolerate being made fun of for having a sense of both fashion and practicality.”

(The way his bottom lip sticks out in a little pout is illegal in about ten countries, Phil thinks. Or at least it should be.)

Phil finally gets to his feet, hoisting his backpack over his right shoulder.

"Oh, are we, uh? You want to hang out with me?" Phil honestly hadn't expected that. He'd begun to resign himself to a night alone at the airport, wandering around and lost in his own anxieties.

Dan starts reversing course immediately, much to Phil’s dismay. "Sorry, uh, we don't have to, of course, you probably want to uh, get a hotel or something. Not hang out with some guy you barely know all night. I'll just uh, see you around, or something." He's already started walking backwards and away from Phil, refusing to even meet his gaze.

"Wait, no," Phil says. "Sorry, I didn't mean - ugh." He breathes out a laugh at both of their awkwardness. Dan is looking at him with something like curiosity, or maybe hope. "Just - would you mind waiting for me? While I go see about getting on a new flight?"

Dan smiles, looking immensely relieved. "Yeah. 'Course. There's one that departs around 8 am, that's what I've got."

The gate area is well and truly deserted now as Phil makes his way over to the desk. He manages to get the final seat on the morning flight, and he shoots Dan a smile and a thumbs up as the gate agent prints out his new ticket. Phil pockets the slip of glossy paper and thanks her profusely, wishing her a happy holiday before wandering back over to where Dan's sat typing something into his phone.

He looks up as Phil approaches, locking his phone and getting to his feet. "Hey," Dan says. "Fancy a coffee? There's a Starbucks in Terminal 5 that's open til 1 am."

"Now you really are my knight in shining armor," Phil says, grinning. "C'mon, if I have to stare out at the snow-covered planes any longer, I'll go mental." He bumps his shoulder lightly into Dan's, nudging him towards some promising-looking directional signs.

  11:47 pm

Dan presses some of America's weird green paper money into Phil’s hand as they enter the Starbucks, waving away Phil's protestations before they can even leave his mouth.

"I'll get us a table. Surprise me," Dan says, nodding towards the festively-patterned menu hanging above the counter before disappearing in the direction of an empty corner table. Phil stares up at the options, racking his brain for a memory of watching Dan fill a paper coffee cup from the catering table on set. There'd been a bottle of caramel syrup, staunchly ignored by the rest of the cast and crew, that he’d noticed Dan drain into his own cup day after day.

The barista coughs pointedly to get Phil's attention. "What can I get for you, sir?" she asks.

"Um, two grande caramel macchiatos and two of whatever pastries you've got left. Surprise me," Phil says, deciding to take a page out of Dan's book. He's pretty sure the barista rolls her eyes at him, but she produces two chocolate croissants from the case anyway and starts on preparing the drinks. Phil drops some stray American coins from his pocket into her tip jar. It's Christmas, and he (hopefully) won't have any use for them after tonight anyway.  

Dan is staring out the window at the runway as Phil makes his way over to the table he's claimed. Stupid planes. Part of the glass has fogged over from the temperature difference, and Dan's drawn a frowny face into the condensation.

"Draw a Christmas tree at least," Phil says lightly as he sets down their feast and pulls out the opposite chair for himself. Dan begrudgingly obliges him, dragging his left pointer finger against the glass again. He smiles at Phil when he's finished, a dimple appearing in his cheek.

"Better?"

"Now our Christmas celebrations can really begin," Phil says with a laugh, pushing one of the red cups towards Dan. "Cheers."      

Just then, Phil's phone screen lights up from with a text from his mum. Merry Christmas darling, see you soon. We all miss you xx, it reads. His lockscreen mocks him with the time in large white font: 12:01 am. Despite the winter weather and the cheery Christmas tunes playing softly over the speakers, his heart feels heavy in his chest. He wasn't supposed to spend Christmas like this.

When he glances across the table, Dan is looking down at his phone as well, frowning. Phil wonders what his text says, if it's from his own mum too. It makes his heart ache even more, to see Dan's dimple disappear into sadness. Under the table, he nudges his foot gently into Dan's.

Dan glances up, thumbs still poised over his phone. "Hey," Phil says softly, "Merry Christmas?" He's not sure why it comes out as a question.

Dan tilts his head a bit but offers him a small smile. "Yeah," he says. "Merry Christmas, Phil." He stretches his leg out under the table and leans it fully into Phil's, warmth seeping in even through two layers of denim.

  1:05 am, December 25th (Christmas Day)

The Starbucks employees kick them out at precisely one o'clock.

They wander aimlessly through the terminal, past closed shops and a handful of weary travelers. Phil's always thought that airports exist in another dimension, one where nothing is quite right and anything is possible.

Here, a pretty boy who Phil's camera lingered on for too long takes giant, caffeine-fueled strides forward on the skywalk only to make a show of running back towards Phil against the direction of the moving walkway. He finally makes it after a few missteps, giggling as he trips and falls against the railing. Phil's laughing too, taking Dan by the arm and guiding them both off the end of the conveyor belt. In a fit of bravery (or maybe stupidity), Phil doesn't let go once they're on solid ground; instead, he links his arm through Dan's and leans minutely into his side. Phil watches a small rosy patch bloom on Dan's cheek as they keep walking, Dan tugging him closer with every step.

  1:13 am   

There's only a few open establishments in their terminal at this hour, one of which is a small tiki-themed bar complete with gaudy straw decorations and a lone bartender polishing some pineapple-shaped glasses. Phil immediately drags Dan over to two of the many open barstools - he feels like they deserve a drink after all they've been through tonight. Dan doesn't put up much of fight, just drops his backpack next to Phil's and takes a seat.

"What can I get ya, fellas?" The bartender asks them in a thick Texan accent. Or maybe Phil just thinks all American accents sound Texan. Phil swivels in his stool to face Dan. "What d'ya drink, mate?" He asks.

Dan leans onto the bartop, propping his head up in his right hand. "You look like a piña colada kind of guy," he says to Phil.

"Oi, what gave me away?" Phil says, laughing and turning back to Mr. Maybe-Texan. "Two of those, please."

Two turns into four turns into six, until they're both hunched over Phil's phone laughing at the absurdity of his Instagram explore page. Dan's curls are wild from the way he keeps pushing them out of his eyes, and the alcohol has given his face a pink flush that spreads down and under the collar of his shirt. Phil's about three coconut-infused sips away from saying something incredibly stupid like you're so fucking pretty or I'm glad I got stuck here with you or a slew of even more problematic things like do you live in London? I'd love to see you sometime.

"Alright, last call boys," says their bartender, startling Phil out of his rum-induced daydreams. Dan wrestles Phil's phone fully out of his hands, squinting down at the time.

"'S'not even three yet!" He exclaims, clumsily getting to his feet and leaning fully over Phil’s lap to protest more directly at Mr. Definitely-Not-Texan, who’s stood at the other end of the bar. He steadies himself with a hand pressed directly onto Phil's thigh, the other splayed across the bartop. Phil's piña colada brain knows that it only makes logical sense for him to wrap an arm around Dan's waist, to hold him close so that he won't topple over. Dan seems to comply with this genius plan, leaning even further into Phil's side and continuing his lament.

"There's not - d’ya know, it can't be last call because, because. Because! You haven't - we haven't even had any pizza yet! Phil, Phil, tell 'em, everyone knows you can't have last call until there's pizza! Isn't that - this bloody country has no good laws, I'm telling ya, pizza is the law! Phil - " Dan accentuates his point by poking Phil in the chest. "Tell me I'm right. You know I'm right. We need pizza."

"We need pizza," Phil confirms, nodding his head solemnly at Dan who is so close, so close and soft and warm against him, and -

"You're out of luck there," the bartender says. "Most everything's shut down for the night. You'll have to sleep it off instead, but you can't do it here. Sorry boys."

Phil has the distinct sense that Dan's about to turn up the dramatics to method-actor levels based on the deep inhale he takes. Regretfully, he nudges Dan out of his lap in order to sign the check, effectively cutting off his inevitable rant, and Dan sits back on his own stool to pout.

3:02 am

With nowhere else to go, they wander back towards their new plane's gate. At least, Phil's pretty sure they're headed in the right direction. Mostly he's just been following Dan.

It feels like they walk for ages, the buzz of the alcohol steadily wearing off and being replaced with a wave of exhaustion. Phil lags behind Dan for long enough that he finally stops and turns around, holding out his hand and waiting for Phil to catch up.

Phil stops too, admiring the way Dan looks like this. A bit hazy around the edges from the outdated prescription of his spare glasses, smiling and asking without words for Phil to hold his hand. It's a good image. Probably the best he could've asked for, given the circumstances. It's more than enough to motivate him to drag his heavy feet across the floor and slip his hand into Dan's. In this moment, he’d happily miss another plane just to keep Dan looking at him the way he is right now.

They walk for another eternity before reaching their gate, where a handful of people are slouched awkwardly in the small chairs. Some are asleep, some are illuminated by a blue electronic glow, and some are just simply staring off into space. Phil spots a lone outlet in a corner, but there aren't any chairs near it. He tugs Dan towards it anyway, knowing that both of their phones are low on power.

The carpet's not pristine but it looks clean enough, so they both collapse happily against the wall.

Dan digs around in his bag awkwardly for his phone charger with his right hand, still holding onto Phil's with his left. Dan's hand is warm and soft in his, and Phil takes the opportunity to examine it in more detail, holding it up in front of his face in the dim light.

"Oi, do you have some weird hand fetish you haven't told me about?" Dan’s got a laugh behind his eyes and that damn rosy patch in bloom on his cheek again and Phil is so, so done for.  

Phil folds the limb in question under both of his own hands, clutching it protectively to his chest. “Hands are the best part of a person!” He asserts. “I won’t be kinkshamed in public, Daniel.”

“How about in private, then?”

Surely Phil hasn’t heard that correctly. He’s got rum and coconut sloshing around in his veins and surely Dan hasn’t just insinuated that he and Phil might see each other after this whole travel fiasco is finished. He opens his mouth to reply but can’t find any words to properly express just how much he’d like the opportunity to do just that.  

Dan’s fingers tap out a quick rhythm against Phil’s t-shirt. “Your heart’s racing.”

“You make me nervous,” Phil replies, finally. Maybe he’s still got some of that liquid courage left.

Dan pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth, considering. “Good nervous?”

“Yeah,” Phil laughs. “Good nervous.”

  4:38 am

Even in the middle of the night, airports are never truly quiet. But in the little corner they’ve settled into here, Phil feels the calmest he’s been in a good long while.

Dan’s head is a warm, solid weight on his shoulder, soft brown curls tickling at his jaw. The pair of earbuds split between them plays something unfocused and dreamy and instrumental from Dan’s phone, lulling Phil into a weird sort of 4 am trance as he stares out at the darkness of the runway. It’s not the kind of music Phil would ever pick for himself, but he kind of likes the way it lets him drift to thinking about other things. Like Dan’s long, slow, half-asleep breaths. The way he curls the fabric of his hoodie over his knuckles.

They’re still a good three hours from sunrise but he knows that the airport will wake up painfully soon, that people will begin to arrive in short order and drag themselves onto the first early morning flights and they’ll be swept up in the rush of it all. He and Dan will board the same plane but sit twenty rows apart on opposite sides of the aisle, and that just feels so fundamentally wrong in a way he can’t understand.

Dan shifts against him and blinks open his eyes, straightening up and dragging a hand over his face. “Mmpft. Sorry. Think I dozed off for a minute there.”

He looks over at Phil, sleepy and fond. An intrusive thoughts worms its way into Phil’s brain, of seventy-five more Christmases of seeing Dan like this.

“You should sleep a bit longer,” he says softly, “before it gets too loud in here.” There’s already more and more people walking past their gate every minute. Phil tugs gently on the sleeve of Dan’s hoodie, and Dan comes easily, reaching for his phone and skipping through a few songs before settling back down against Phil. He wedges Phil’s arm out from between their bodies, draping it across his shoulders instead. “Need coffee,” he grumbles, already sounding half-asleep again.

“We just had coffee,” he tells Dan’s hair. Hadn’t they? It sort of feels like an entire lifetime has transpired between now and then.

“Ugh, that was ages ago. Need something festive this time, it’s Christmas now.”

Phil makes a little noise of agreement. Perhaps the festive beverage ranking he’s been working on could use a second opinion. He sets an alarm for an hour on his own phone, tapping slowly and awkwardly with his left hand, before returning to staring out the window. There’s a small army of snow ploughs clearing the area around the parked planes, and Phil can see a few stray snowflakes still falling in the glow of the floodlights.

He makes sure that their backpacks are still tucked in securely between his body and the wall and that the boy he’d fancied from afar just 24 hours ago is resting soundly at his other side before letting his own eyes drift closed.      

  5:54 am

It’s a different barista than the one who’d politely kicked them out five hours ago, but they still manage to claim the same corner table in Terminal 5’s Starbucks, condensation issues and all. A ghost of Dan’s Christmas tree still lingers in the morning fog.

Phil shows Dan the festive ranking in his Notes app, which Dan is more than happy to tear apart and completely rearrange. The destruction is worth it for the way Dan’s dimple keeps appearing in his cheek each time he moves anything with white chocolate further down the list. Phil stretches his legs fully into Dan’s space under the table and stubbornly refuses to look at the clock.

  6:28 am

There’s nothing to do besides talk, which is just fine by Phil. He’s never been one to overshare but he likes hearing Dan’s voice, likes hearing about his life. About how he technically works as a law consultant but only really finds joy in acting, even though he’ll probably never land enough roles to quit his day job. About how missing out on extra time spent petting his family’s dog is the true tragedy of Christmas. About how he doesn’t usually make a habit of flirting with his cameramen, thank you very much, but he might just make an exception for ones who let him sleep on their shoulder all night.     

Maybe it’s fine that the clock keeps ticking, that they’re now within an hour of their boarding call. New York’s been pretty good to him, but he has a feeling that being back home in London is going to be even better.

  7:31 am

They find actual chairs to sit in at their gate this time, despite the crowd that’s gathered there. Dan’s talking on the phone with someone, presumably his mum by the way his entire side of the conversation is yeah and mhmm and I know. He’s sat cross-legged in his chair, long limbs somehow tucked up neatly under his ` body, one knee overlapping casually with Phil’s thigh. Phil traces shapes into the denim of his jeans there, stars and squiggles and something that he imagines would be a cross between a chinchilla and an armadillo if he could actually see it.

“Attention passengers, in just a few moments we will begin boarding for British Airways Flight BA178 to London, currently on time for an 8:05 am departure. At this time we’d like the begin pre-boarding for customers with...”

“Yeah, okay mum, listen, I gotta go, we’re boarding now. Okay. Yeah. Love you too, see you soon. Mhmm. Okay. Bye.” Dan ends the call, glancing around at the hectic departure scene before turning to Phil with a small smile. He takes Phil’s restless fingers and slots them between his own, a gesture that Phil is already fully addicted to.

Dan nods down at the boarding pass clutched in Phil’s other hand. “What number are you?” he asks.

“Four. You?”

Dan scrunches up his nose. “Five. How were you literally the last person to get a seat on this plane but still able to end up boarding before me?”

Phil can’t help his grin. “Guess I’ve just been lucky recently, hmm?”

  8:01 am

Phil leans as far into the window as he can, watching the last few suitcases get loaded onto the plane. His brain has finally slipped into overtired and cranky mode, and he really has no desire to be in close proximity to any grumpy stranger sat next to him right now.

Well. Maybe there’s one grumpy sort-of-stranger that he wouldn't mind.

The man in the aisle seat makes a disgruntled noise as someone stops to hover over him, but Phil keeps his eyes trained out on the runway. Probably it’s just the flight attendant closing up the overhead compartments.

“Hey, I’ve got a seat up in 21B that I’ll trade you for,” says a decidedly not-flight attendant voice. “It’s first off after business class, and the guy in the window’s already asleep. Won’t be any trouble for you, unlike this one.” He nods at Phil, smiling his stupid dimpled smile like this is the best plan anyone’s ever executed in all of airplane history.

(It kind of is, in Phil’s opinion.)

The actual flight attendant comes up the aisle behind Dan. “Sir, I really need you to sit down now.”

“C’mon mate,” Dan says, as though the swap is already a done deal. Mr. Grumpy McGrumpFace looks between him and Phil before unbuckling his seatbelt and brushing past them towards the front of the plane. The flight attendant sighs and turns to follow him, and Dan swings his bag up top before slouching down dramatically next to Phil.

“Hello,” Dan says, cheeky smile still on his face.

Phil just shakes his head fondly, trying unsuccessfully to hide how pleased he is at this turn of events. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Hm. Guess that’s something you’ll just have to get used to.”

The plane rumbles to life under them, someone speaking too softly over the tinny intercom. Dan produces his phone from his pocket, unraveling his headphones once again and handing one to Phil. “Your turn to sleep this time,” he says, reaching across to pull the windowshade down against the morning sun.

“Only if you play music that will give me Christmassy dreams.”

Dan just laughs and tugs Phil closer, typing ‘Mariah Carey’ into the search bar as they start to lift into the sky.

[frozencharisma]

So you *really* want to plan a trip to Japan?

After years of talking about how much we wanted to visit Japan, my friends and I are finally taking the plunge.

Similar to many others, the biggest concerns we had were budget, taking enough time off of work, and not really having any idea how to approach it.

I have spent an exorbitant amount researching the interwebs and scouring reviews so if it helps anyone else, I am putting together several guides of what I thought was important to know with a focus on how to be budget-friendly.

*Please keep in mind this is for a group of friends visiting together from the US, so certain things may not be as applicable to solo or couple travelers or other countries, but many things should cross over.

GENERAL CHECKLIST with TIMELINE (links to more detailed posts on each topic to come)

~One year before

Decide on a general season/month that the group wants to go

Start figuring out who is fairly committed to going (you don’t need a final headcount yet but want to start narrowing it down)

Start SAVING (a dedicated Japan fund with 100 to 150 dollars per month can help ease the strain off big purchases you may need to make later on)

It’s not for everyone, but signing up for a good international travel credit card can help save some money

Expenses at this stage: none (you should be saving instead!)

~6-7 months before

Decide on a very basic itinerary. By this I mean an estimate of about how many cities you want to go and how much time you want to spend in Japan overall. This is necessary for the most important step, which is picking a flight

We chose a 14-day trip, and knew that we wanted to split our time between Tokyo and Kyoto/Osaka

Keep an eye on airline prices the general month/season you want to go

Follow-up post on tips for cheap airfare to come but the highlights include: being flexible with the exact dates, setting up a price alert, going off-season, using travel rewards from a credit card

I did a lot of research on whether or not to fly into one city and fly out of the other but ultimately decided that the most cost-effective thing to do was fly in and out of Tokyo and use a JR pass to go back and forth between Kyoto/Osaka and Tokyo

Although it may be cheaper to fly mid-week, in the end it was a better use of our work PTO to fly out on Saturday and come back on the weekend. This also helps cushion the trip for travel time and jet lag

FINALIZE DATES AND A FLIGHT AND STICK TO THEM

A significant amount of planning for Japan depends on which dates you are going so you can’t keep switching them around

Most flights will be non-refundable and you don’t want to waste money having to change them around

An oft forgotten tip, CHECK YOUR PASSPORT NOW and make sure it is not expiring in the 6 months after your flight to Japan. If it is going to expire (as was the case for my BF), start getting your docs together and submit a renewal sooner rather than later

Expenses at this stage:

Airfare: ~$1000 (this varies widely but coming from the US, but this was our budget. We ended up getting it a lot cheaper using AA points)

IF you need to renew your passport, about $150 for passport photos, fees, and shipping

3 to 6 months before

Once you have your dates and your flights, you can really get the ball rolling. You will also start to finalize your true headcount now as people start buying tickets

Build out a slightly more detailed itinerary (not what you’ll be doing every day, but just in general what cities you want to spend each day in). We had a few restraints that helped us pin down our itinerary:

I wanted to save money by only doing a 7-day JR pass. Even though we were going to be in Japan for 14 days, the JR pass is really only cost-effective when you’re using it on long trips. So that means that we would activate our JR pass on the day we were planning to travel to Kyoto from Tokyo. From then, it would be active for 7 days, and we would need to get on a bullet train back from Osaka to Tokyo on the 7th day. So we knew we would be spending 7 days in Kyoto and Osaka and 7 days in Tokyo.

Specific events/festivals. For example, a couple people in our group wanted to attend a concert on a specific day in Osaka

If you are going during cherry blossom season, this will also affect which dates you spend in which cities

Pick where to stay (do not delay on this)

This was one of the most stressful and difficult things for me, to be honest. Balancing budget vs location vs amenities and space is really difficult. The good thing is there are a lot of good guides out there depending on where your budget is

In general, your options are hostels, low-budget hotels, very nice hotels, and airBnB

Ultimately airBnB seemed like the best pick for our group. The hotels seemed to be relatively tiny in Japan and we wanted to be able to stay somewhat nicely for a cheap price so an airbnb allowed us to all split the costs at one place.

Even after deciding on airBnB, we spent HOURS and DAYS choosing which one. If you are going during a hot season, airBnBs will get booked like hot cakes! As soon as you find a good one, you need to put a reservation in very quickly.

What helped us narrow it down was that we knew we wanted 2 bathrooms for the 6 of us. We also stuck to a budget of about $40-70/night/person. Being near a train station was important to us as well. I focused on keeping costs low here since we wouldn’t be spending much time in the place

I used google maps to make sure that the location we were choosing wouldn’t be too far away from major destinations we wanted to hit using public transportation (~40 mins or less)

Expenses at this stage:

Lodging: As mentioned, we had set our budget at about ~$55/night/per person which comes out to $715 for 13 nights. We scored some good thrifty deals and ended up at less than $600/per person for this.

1 to 3 months before

If there are any tours or tickets to events you want to do, I’d recommend booking them around 3 months out, especially if it’s going to be a busy season. I saw a lot of tours get sold out before I could get to them

We read stellar reviews for Mario go-karting around Japan and picked a date far in advance for this as we did not want to miss it. Will update on how it is once we go!

If you want to do the mario go kart, you will also need to get an International Driving Permit before you leave for Japan (you can get it for $25 at the AAA in the US)

We also booked a couple ‘experiences’ through Airbnb

If you haven’t yet, purchase your 7-day JR pass (this needs be done before you leave for Japan as well and shipped to you)

Purchase either a Wi-Fi hotspot or SIM card

This is when you want to start really doing your research and picking out generally which areas of town you want to spend each day in.

Though I am a bit OCD, I did not want to pack my schedule or plan every detail as I think that takes the fun out of traveling. I just picked big spots I did not want to miss and tried to figure out the most efficient ways to group them together. I really didn’t want to waste precious time in Japan figuring out things we could have researched before

This can take a lot longer than you expect!

Start familiarizing yourself with Japanese language and commuting

As mentioned, I wanted to make sure I had a basic understanding of things to minimize getting lost and other hassles

I used Youtube a lot and also took this time to download Google’s amazing google translate app

Expenses at this stage:

Tours/Experiences: These range between $40-$100. How many you do will depend on your budget and your time.

If doing mario go-kart, it cost us $95 for the longest time slot and an additional $25 for the international driving permit. 

Wifi Hot Spot: ~$50/for 7 days

JR pass: ~$270 for a 7-day pass, ~$455 for 14-days

Less than 1 month

Aside from being super excited, now’s the time to start making sure you have all the items you’ll need in Japan

Some things I made sure I got were a GoPro, a pretty backpack to take around that would fit the items I need, any outfits, an external battery pack, a universal adapter (confirm first if your electronics run on 110 v or not)

Keep researching/learning Japanese

Keep print outs on hand of important documents (passports, addresses, maps) in case your phone dies

Do some research on exactly what you need to do when you get off the plane. I realized that I had no idea where we would need to go to take the bullet train from the Narita airport to Kyoto. This will make your first hours in Japan less stressful

Exchange dollars for yen (A surprising amount of places do not accept credit card in Japan so I wanted to have about 50,000 Yen on hand in case of emergencies, and also wanted to limit how many times I needed to pull from ATMs to avoid the fees)

Confirm with your bank account/credit card company that you will be out of the country. Try to make sure you use a credit card that does not have foreign transaction fees

Expenses at this stage vary depending on how much you’ve traveled in the past and how many new things you may need to purchase.

Oof, that was a huge word dump, but that should cover at least the necessities (unless I missed something which I’m sure I did). We haven’t actually gone to Japan yet so it will be exciting to see what works out as planned and what goes totally the opposite. Once I make more detailed posts, I will link to those within here and remove all the details from here.