#i'm imagining that they had no idea she was there

[abbyfmc]

Yandere Story Idea

I don´t know why, but i love the "yandere emperor" figure. So, here's my idea:

Darling(you) was originally a young woman of high society who was forcibly married to the respective king of her people when he was a prince, against her will. She had a young lover whom the king murdered (because he believed that she was unfaithful) after her family practically sold her; after this, the king mistreated her harshly as punishment for years, while her family insulted and cursed her, even when she tried to explain to them that nothing happened.

These mistreatments and depressions caused her to lose the pregnancies she had, which made her desire for revenge against her family and against that disgusting king begin. She tried to escape several times, but was always caught. It must be said that the king did not love her at all, and was constantly unfaithful, humiliating her to feel proud of himself. All this continued until Darling saved a seemingly ordinary young man who was being persecuted, without imagining that this was one of the sons of the emperor who ruled his kingdom and all the others (it was specifically the crown prince). Due to the pain of the wounds, the young man did not pay much attention to who Darling was, but her sweet voice was engraved in his head, and since then, he could not stop thinking about her.

Later, the boy recovers and sees her more clearly, realizing that she is not only gentle and kind, but she is very pretty. That is when the prince knows who he is, and although he leaves at that moment, he decides that when he takes the throne, she will be his. It is not long before the emperor in power dies and the aforementioned prince ascends; in the meantime, he dedicates himself to investigating more about her and spying on her a bit, ending up falling madly in love with her and causing him to kidnap her and without even asking the king, he annuls the marriage. This is when he becomes the yandere emperor.

Darling is initially upset and outraged, but upon seeing the affection and good treatment that the yandere emperor has (removing all his strictness), in addition to his power over all the kingdoms, including that of her ex-husband; so she decides to put together a plan of revenge since the king not only mistreated her in countless ways (physically, emotionally, sexually, etc …) and moves pieces to earn her place among the imperial court (and more so if the yandere emperor already has an empress or several consorts) and fakes even her way of breathing; she learns the rules and customs of the new palace, as well as purposely approaches the yandere emperor to further awaken his obsession.

What the Yandere Emperor didn't know at first was that Darling had bruises from his mistreatment; these were the reminder of his revenge. Darling made her husband fall even more in love with her, but she still gave him hints about her past suffering as his obsession grew, which made the Yandere Emperor start to investigate. On their wedding night, when they were getting intimate, she slowly took off her clothes and there he finally saw all the bruises; when the Yandere Emperor asked for an explanation, she told him everything.

She tells him about the contempt she experienced; how her family sold her; the forced marriage; the murder of her love; the false accusations made against her; the abuse and mistreatment… everything up until the day he came into her life. She even asked him not to throw her out, since she had nowhere else to go but the imperial palace. Then the yandere emperor promised her that under his care, NO ONE will ever lay a hand on her or insult her again.

Days later, Darling learns that the emperor murdered her family and ex-husband in cold blood, along with the former servants who tortured her. The emperor saw how this made her very happy, as her revenge was successful. Meanwhile, the emperor is also happy, as from now on she will not have to think about anyone else (According to him).

I'm kind of tired of the fact that whenever I read a "Yandere Emperor x Reader" Darling, it's always submissive. I like to think of a Darling who appears to be submissive, but is actually so evil as to use the emperor to her advantage.

[writting-stuff-sometimes]

Play with fire Pt 2- LN4 X Fem reader

Pairing: Lando x Y/n Fewtrell

Warnings: Fight

Notes: Here's the second part, it gets messy but I'm almost done with part 3, so it won't be long for it to get better. As always, feedback is really appreciated, and receiving requests.

Thanks for the love.

Part 1

_______

It was the sixth month anniversary with Lando and you had planned to spend one whole week together in Mónaco. As part of the plan, he leased a villa and invited Max, Pietra, and a couple friends to Nice for the last days of the summer break. A few days later he lied and told them he was needed back at the MTC a week early but convinced them to stay back for the remaining days, and you lied to your parents saying you were spending that week with Leah, your bff.

It was day 3 of eating junk food, watching trash TV, and having sex 24/7. You had never been more in love with the man sleeping beside you. Your head on his chest, his soft snoring so relaxing you had no idea how you would be able to fall asleep without him every night.

"Hey mate, are you here?" Your brother's voice made your heart stop. Were you dreaming? "Bob!" Yup, it was your brother.

"Lan, baby" you moved him softly enough not to scare him.

"Yaaaawww" He yawned loudly "Hi bab-"You covered his mouth. His eyes stared at you confused.

"Max is here" You whispered.

"What?"

"Lando, are you here mate? Your car is in the garage" You could see his soul leave his body.

"What is he doing here?" you asked

"No idea!"

You heard a suitcase rolling down the hallway.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck" You started panicking.

"Shh, everything is going to be ok. Stay here" he kissed your lips and stood up, putting on his boxers and joggers. "Be right back" he whispered, and walked out, closing the door behind him. You stood up, put on your pajamas, and rushed to press your ear to the door.

"Hey Mate"

"Oh hey, I thought you were at the MTC"

"Oh, yeah, we finished early"

"It's Wednesday, I thought you were staying there the whole week"

"Yeah, nah, came back this morning"

"That must be a record"

"Yeah, great results"

"Sounds like it"

"What are you doing here?" Lando was trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, but damn was he a bad actor.

"Oh, I messaged you yesterday, P, wasn't feeling well so we decided to return early. You didn't get it?"

"I...I don't even know where I left my phone"

"Oook" Your brother stared at Lando trying to figure out why he was behaving weirdly.

"So, I'm hungry. Do you want to go eat something? Do you want to go get some pizza?" Lando tried to get Max away from the house so you had enough time to figure out a plan. As much as he had been waiting and begging for you to come clean, this was not how he would like to do it.

"Nah, thanks. Actually, P is downstairs sleeping in the car. Plus, I'm not sure if I'm tired from the drive or if I've caught whatever she has; I feel weird, so I'm just taking a quick shower, and I'll spend the night over at her hotel in case she needs something."

"Oh, ok, yeah, that sounds good" You and Lando could finally breathe.

"Are you ok mate? You look flustered"

"Yeah, nah, I'm just tired, it's been quite a week"

"Yeah, I imagine. I'm going to take a quick shower and will be out of here so you can rest"

"Ok, fine, yes"

Your brother went to the guest room, Lando waited until Max's door was closed to go inside his.

"Fuck, that was scary" You whispered still worried Max could hear you from across the hall. "And you're such a terrible actor"

"Hey, I'm not that bad"

"Yeah, you are" You hugged him, placing your head against his chest as his hands caressed your hair. The sound of the shower calming your rushing hearts.

"I have to admit tho" He pushed you away lightly so you were facing him. "This was kind of hot"

"What?"

"Yeah, like this rush, it makes me almost not want to tell him and see how much we can keep sneaking around"

"You're sick" You stared at him, a half smile on your face.

"This is what you've done to me, you've made me a sick, obsessed, unsatiable man" He made a fist with your hair and pulled you to join your lips in a wild kiss.

"Mate, do you have-" Your brother knocked on Lando's door but opened it immediately, a beautiful habit he's had since childhood.

You all stared at each other in shock.

It was a scene straight out of a comedy or a horror movie, depending on who you asked.

You could see your bother's mouth trying to voice his thoughts, but there were too many. The moment you saw his jaw clench you knew you had to speak before Lando did. You loved the man but even with all the PR training, he was the worst at this kind of situation.

"Max, listen" You started in a low voice, taking a step toward him without letting go of Lando's hand. Your bother just raised his hand, one finger up signaling you to wait. "Max, everything's fine, ok?"

"No" He said, his voice so low it was almost scary

"Yes" You tried to remain calm, and so did Lando but the thigh grip he had on your hand told you he was as nervous as you.

"You're fucking my little sister?" He finally voiced the loudest thought in his head, his eyes piercing holes into Lando's.

Not that you were sensitive to the word fuck, but this time it made your skin crawl, being used by your brother to describe what you and Lando had felt just wrong.

"Mate, wait" Lando mimicked your calm voice.

"I'm not your mate!" Your brother raised his voice and you squeezed Lando's hand as a silent request to remain calm. "Mates-don't-fuck- their-mates-sisters" You could see his arms tense, his fingers white from the tight fists.

"We're not fucking" He answered.

"Oh no? Then what's happening here?" He walked in the room pacing around in a frenetic way.

"Both your clothes everywhere, the bed a fucking mess, the condom box on the nightstand? Tell me Lando, what is it that I'm seeing?"

"Max, listen" Max's eyes fixed on your intertwined fingers.

"You shut up, wait until Mom and Dad know about this"

"Don't talk to her like that" Lando tried to defend you but you placed your hand on his chest trying to hold him back.

"I'm not a child anymore Max, I'm a grown-up"

"Oh please, you're a freaking child, and fucking Lando proves it"

"Whether you like it or not, I'm an adult now, and I get to choose who I date, no matter what you or our parents have to say about it"

"Date? You're dating him?"

"Yes" You answered confidently.

"Listen, mate, I love her, ok?" His voice in a calm yet confident tone that made your heart rush with love.

"I'm going to kill you"

"Max" You could read in his body language he was about to lose it.

"I'm going to kill you, Lando"

"Max, wait, please" You tried to place yourself between them but before you knew it your brother was pushing Lando against one of the walls, his forearm pressing his neck as he pushed him hard, Lando tried to push Max away without hurting him.

"Max, wait, what the fuck?" You tried to get close to them.

"Y/n, no, stand back" Lando yelled at you when he saw you were getting closer.

"You're a fucking morron" Your brother kept pushing Lando against the wall.

You rushed to the nightstand and took your phone from the charger ringing Pietra.

"Hello?" The calm sleepy voice on the other side of the line was the complete opposite of the scene right in front of you. You felt bad for bringing her into this, but you needed help to get your bother to calm down, and she was your best option.

"P, you need to get up here, please"

"Y/n? Where are you?"

"Lando's apartment, please, get up here now!" You hung up hoping she was on her way.

"Mate, listen to me, I swear to God, this is not what you think" Lando tried to use his calmest voice possible, trying just to cover himself from the fists being thrown around by your brother.

"Max, stop it! You're behaving like an animal, stop!" You tried to get your brother off your boyfriend but he kept pushing you back.

You heard the door panel beep and then the door opened.

"Over here!" you yelled trying to lead her to the master bedroom, not that the sound of stuff being thrown around wasn't going to lead her there anyway,

"What's happening?" She stared in shock at the scene in front of her "Max, stop it" She tried to approach the fighting men but they pushed her back too.

"Maximilian, you have to calm down, now!" P's voice actually worked, getting your brother to stand back.

"P, this is between Lando and me"

"No, it's not!" You yelled back at him.

"You shut up! Grab your things, you're coming with me right away"

"No"

"Y/n, I'm not playing!"

"Neither am I, I'm not leaving with you, Max"

"Aaaahhh" Your brother screamed and squatted down covering his head with his hands. Pietra was about to walk over to him but you stopped her, asking her to let you go first.

"Max" You said softly walking over to him. Slowly you placed your hand over his shoulder "Max, please you have to listen to us, please"

"Screw you two" He stood up, took P's hand, and walked out of the apartment slamming the front door.

You sighted in defeat, at least he wasn't punching Lando anymore, but it was so painful to see your brother so hurt.

"Baby" You walked over to Lando who was walking back to the bed, holding his ribcage "Are you ok?"

"Yes, I've had worst on track"

"Let me see" You held his face inspecting it, he had a couple of red bruises here and there, but most of the damage had been done to his chest and shoulders. You started shaking.

"Baby" You hugged him, falling to your knees in front of him, tears finally flooding your eyes.

"Shhh it's ok, it will all be ok" He hugged you tightly against his chest, he could feel slight pain but soothing you was more important.

He pulled you up and placed you on the bed, holding your thigh against him.

"It will be ok" he said softly against your hair.

"I know" You answered back between sobs.

"Well, the cat's out of the bag" Lando tried to joke the tension away.

"You think we should've told him sooner?"

"He might have reacted the same, so I'm afraid any time would've led to the same result"

You remained on the bed, with many questions in your heads. Now that Max knew you had to tell your parents, he would probably do everything he could to have them on his side. What was going to happen to Quadrant? Not that Lando didn't trust he could convince Max this wasn't a bad thing, but fear lingered there.

You stood from the bed and started picking up the mess the fight had left.

"Baby come here-"

"Lan, this helps me, let me just... if I can't fix the situation I can at least fix this"

He stood up and helped you clean.

After what felt like an hour or two your phone dinged.

Pi 🌸 Max is calm now, he has agreed to go back up and talk with you guys, we'll be up in a second, but please no PDA for now!

"Lan, they're coming back up, let's go sit in the living room"

"So he can break more stuff?" You stared at Lando "Sorry, no more jokes"

"And no hand holding or kissing, or hugging"

"Are you serious?"

"Just until we get him to listen to everything we have to say"

"Fine"

You waited for your brother in the living room, sitting on opposite sides of the sofa.

You heard the lock panel and your heart rushed. Your brother opened the door letting Pietra in first, she walked all the way next to the sofa but your brother remained at the door.

"Ok, I'm here, talk" His voice was a version you had never heard before.

"Max, we're sorry we didn't come forward about this sooner, I'm sorry, I just, I had no idea how to tell you" You spoke first.

A sarcastic snort left his body as he crossed his arms.

"Love" Pietra stared at him.

"Fine, continue" He rolled his eyes.

If only your brother knew he was responsible for this happening.

______________________________

Part 1

If I missed someone on the tag list let me know, also let me know if you'd like to be added.

Tag List: @wtrmlnsgr94, @ricsaigaslec, @ironmaiden1313, @formulas-bitch, @f1fantasys

[tkwrites]

Split & Healed - A snapshot in 2 parts - Quinn Hughes x ofc

gif from @gabelandeskog

Title: Split & Healed, a Snapshot in 2 parts: Part 2 

Part 1

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Pre-established: Quinn x Sarah

Warnings: smut (18+ only), oral (f receiving)

Summary: Getting home from a road trip in the middle of the night is par for the course for Quinn, but getting home after finally getting his stitches removed means he can’t wait for morning to get his mouth on Sarah.

Word count: 1,600

Comments: Many thanks for the nonnie who sent in this inspired ask! Hope you enjoy what I came up with! 

If you enjoyed this, please let me know by commenting, reblogging or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing. 

Anonymous asked: Thinking about Quinn being so excited to give Sarah head when the stitches finally come out of his lip. He would be insatiable 

Split & Healed, a Snapshot in 2 parts: Part 2 

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot 

When Quinn arrived home in the early hours of the morning on Friday, he had no intention of a waking Sarah.

He missed her, certainly, but he'd missed her before.  He had it all planned out. He’d catch a few hours of restful sleep next to her and then spend the morning worshiping every inch of her he could get his mouth on until she had to leave for class.

After Roman removed the last of the stitches after practice in Utah, he sent Sarah a selfie. 

Does this mean we can finally kiss when you get home? 

Sure does. 

Thank God.  

It had been a cruel twist of fate to have the stitches removed and be cleared to do everything as soon as he was no longer at home. 

The entire drive from the arena, he told himself he could wait until a more reasonable hour. 

The moment he got into bed, however, everything changed. As the heady scent of her surrounded him, all of a sudden, his dick was hard and his mouth was buzzing with a need to kiss and taste her that he just couldn’t shake.

It had been torturous to resist her while the stitches were still in place. He loved putting his mouth on her, and the desire only intensified when he was told he couldn’t.

He’d even begged to go down on her, but she’d refused, point blank, telling him, “I will not be the one responsible for your lip getting infected.”  

Perhaps it was just because everything that had been haunting his dreams since his lip had been busted was in front of him.

Perhaps it was because he was presented with so much of her bare skin he hadn't been able to put his mouth on for the past week and a half.  

Perhaps it was nothing more than the simple relief of being home without seutchers sewn into his skin. 

Whatever it was - likely a combination of all three - he found he just couldn’t wait. 

“Quinn?” Sarah asked sleepily, feeling something whisper over her shoulder again. 

He mumbled into her skin. 

“Q, is that you?” It wasn’t so much that she thought it might be someone else as she wanted to make sure this wasn't just happening in her dream.

His mouth skimmed up her neck to whisper in her ear, “yeah. It’s me.” 

She made a contented little humming noise, and shifted to lean against him more. 

Taking this as an invitation to continue, Quinn kept kissing and kissing, savoring the softness of her skin, the taste of her. 

She made that same noise again, a little louder this time, and the control he’d been skimming along stretched taught, threatening to snap. 

“Can I go down on you?” he murmured, giving up on trying to talk himself out of it.  

“Hu?”  

“Can I eat you out?” There was a desperate whine to his voice when he added on, “please?” 

Though she did want it - she’d missed his mouth on her nearly as much as he had - it was the middle of the night. “Quinn, I'm too tired,” she said, words slurred with sleep. 

He knew he should let it go, but found he couldn't. The idea had gripped too much of his imagination. “I don’t want to wait to taste you now that I can.”

She pulled in a deep, sleepy breath, “I don’t know that I can…” she trailed off, gesturing vaguely, miming jerking him off. 

“You don’t need to do anything,” he rushed to assure. “Getting my mouth on you is enough.”

Murmuring his name as more heat rushed down her spine, Sarah rolled onto her back. 

He scrambled on top of her. “This is okay?”

Her eyes were still closed, lashes fanned over her cheeks, as she nodded. 

Relief and desire chased each other through his body.

Hooking his fingers into the waistband of her little purple shorts, he eased them and her underwear down, tossing them off the side of the bed before he spread her legs to find his home between them.

“Quinn,” she breathed. There was so much quiet desire in the whispered way she said his name, it made another surge of heat rush to his cock. 

He licked his lips, anxious to taste her on them, and finally (finally, finally) put his mouth on her. 

A moaned little grunt escaped her mouth and her hips tipped toward him. 

His hunch wasn't far off. One taste of her sweet nectar, and he was straining against the confines of his boxers and rutting into the mattress to get some relief. If she hadn’t been so tired, he would beg for her to touch him next, but that could wait.

God, she was perfect. She tasted so good. 

Her hand slipped down, her fingers lazily brushing into his hair. Another need raged to life inside him. 

“Pull my hair,” he practically begged. He could hear how much she liked it, but he wanted to feel it too. 

Her fingers traced over his scalp again. 

Maybe she hadn’t heard him. He pulled back so he could talk louder, “Sarah?”

“Hmm?” Her eyes were still closed, voice still sleepy. 

“Sarah, pull my hair,” there was a distinct whine in his voice now that he didn’t even try to bite back. He needed to feel it. “Please.”  

She nudged him down. He didn't need telling twice.

As he licked her perfect, sensitive pearl, her hips jumped to his mouth and her hand tightened in his curls.

“Just like that,” he groaned into her. 

“Oh my god,” Sarah breathed. This was by far the best wakeup call she’d ever received. 

Suddenly, he was insatiable, lapping and sucking at her as if he were eating his final meal. He’d missed this so much, he was never giving up the opportunity again. 

“So good, Quinn,” she moaned. 

Her praise swam straight to his cock. “Again,” he groaned into her.

“So good,” she repeated, tightening her fingers in his hair. Then, swimming with pleasure and the want to drive him over the same cliff he was pushing her toward, she found herself continuing, “such a good boy for me.”

The combination of the tingling pain from her grip on his hair and her praise hurled him over the precipice. 

With one last rock of his hips, he shot off, coating the inside of his boxers.

He grunted into her, feeling his eyes roll back. 

When he came back to himself, she was still spread out under him, her breath coming in steady, even gasps. 

She whined when he pulled back to suck in a few deep breaths. He needed to send her over the edge and needed his lungs full of air to do it. 

Sarah moaned loudly when he dove back in, snaking his tongue inside her as he nosed at her clit. 

“Quinn, oh fuck.” Her hips moved of their own volition, shamelessly grinding herself against the bridge of his nose. 

Feeling her fall apart around his tongue while he couldn't smell and taste anything but her was the fulfillment of every fantasy he’d had over the past eleven days.

Had he not already, he surely would have shot off listening to her pleasured moans and feeling her pulsing around and against his mouth. 

He kept going until she collapsed back against the mattress. 

His top lip still felt a little strange to him – too stiff where the wound was still healing – but licking her essence off of it made it feel a little more normal.

Her breathing was coming in deep gasps, one hand over her heart. “Oh my God.” 

Crunching up a little, she found him still on his stomach, languidly licking his lips as if he wanted to savor every drop. 

“That was…” she trailed off, flopping back onto the mattress. 

She could hear the smile in his voice as he teased, “worth waking up for?”

“Holy shit. Yes. I should stop you from going down on me so often if that’s going to be the result.” 

Quinn scrambled away from her. “What?” 

She opened one eye to find him kneeling between her knees, a wary look on his handsome face. She smirked, savoring his reaction for just a moment before she caved, “I’m just joking. You’re the only guy I’ve dated that actually likes going down on me. I’m not going to stop you.” 

He practically slumped over her left leg in relief. 

“What time is it?” she asked. 

“Quarter to three,” he said, glancing at the digital alarm clock across the room. 

“Can you hand me my shorts?” she asked after a few minutes. As the high of her orgasm ebbed away, fatigue settled back into her bones. 

“Yeah,” he grunted, pushing himself up.

She hummed. 

“Here.” 

Opening her eyes, she found Quinn at the end of the bed, threading her shorts and underwear over her feet so he could ease them up her legs. 

She took over at her knees and he went to the bathroom, grabbing a fresh pair of boxers on the way. 

Feeling him relax into the bed next to her, Sarah roused herself enough to ask, “did you get off?” 

He smiled, loving that even in her early morning, sleepy mind, she was thinking of him. “Yep,” he said before pulling her body flush to his and pressing a kiss to her shoulder. 

“Good,” she said quietly, leaning into him and drifting back to sleep. 

Part 1

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist 

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[4milly]

girl u are FREKAYYYYY. what's life like with bd!zilla? 🙄🙄🙄🙄

i really do imagine he's the type to be so nonchalant about shit tbh. like when you two decided to co-parent your 3 year old son, from that day forth zilla's always put on this act that he never cared about shit you did. you both were single.

nothing new. he did the in the relationship. act like nothing ever mattered. you'd do things to spite him to atleast see if he cared. like doing your hair a different way when you'd drop your son off, wearing a dress too short and posting it to the gram, even sending him thirst traps on "accident".

only to get a dry ass response. barely even that, sometimes he’d just heart the message and move on.

but nothing ever seemed to phase him. you'd catch glimpses sometimes - a fleeting look in his eyes when he thought you weren't paying attention, the way his jaw would tighten ever so slightly when another man's name came up. but he'd always brush it off, act like it was nothing.

one day, you decided to really push it. you showed up to drop off your son wearing that slinky red dress he always loved, the one that hugged every curve. you made sure your makeup was flawless, your hair perfectly curled. as you handed over your giggling toddler, you casually mentioned the date you had lined up for that night.

little did he know, you didn't even have one. you purposely did all this shit so his blood pressure would raise.

for a split second, you saw it - that flash of jealousy, that hint of possessiveness in his dark eyes. but just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual cool indifference. "have fun, babygirl," he said with a wink before focusing on your son

"mama, look pretty?" your son said gleaming towards you

"she does, buddy. so very pretty." he simply stated giving you a once over, stopping at your cleavage.

you felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, at the way his eyes lingered on your body. for a moment, you forgot to breathe. then you caught yourself, plastering on a coy smile. "thanks," you said breezily, "i'm sure my date will think so too."

as you turned to head back to your car , you could feel zilla's eyes on you, burning into your back. you put an extra sway in your hips, knowing exactly how that dress moved when you walked. you heard your son's laughter fade as the door closed behind you.

later that night, after your mediocre date with some guy whose name you could barely remember, you found yourself scrolling through your phone in the bathroom. your thumb hovered over zilla's contact. before you could stop yourself, you fired off a text: "date was a bust. heading home early."

you stared at your phone, waiting for his reply. the minutes that went by were agonizing. just as you were about to toss your phone in your purse, it buzzed.

u wanna come over, mama?

you knew this was a bad idea. you only wanted to spite him — show him you still had it and what he lost. but...damn, you'd be lying if you said you didn't crave to feel that long, girth, samoan dick working inside you, and those hands using your hips bouncing you like a bitch in heat, just like an addict craves their next fix. nonetheless, you responded anyways: be there in 15.

the ride to his place felt endless. second-guessing your decision with every passing streetlight. but when you knocked on the door and saw him standing in the doorway, all doubts vanished. He looked good - too good. his white tank top clung to his muscular frame, and his sweatpants hung low on his hips.

"hey, mama," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "come in."

you stepped inside, the familiar scent of his cologne washing over you. the living room was dimly lit. as you stepped inside, the familiar scent of his cologne washing over you, you felt a surge of electricity in the air. the living room was dimly lit, casting long shadows across the walls. soft music played in the background - was that the playlist you used to make love to? baby making music as they say.

zilla closed the door behind you, his presence looming large. you could feel the heat radiating off his body as he moved closer, his scent suffocating you. "you want sum' to drink?" he asked, his voice husky.

you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. as he walked to the kitchen, your eyes followed the broad expanse of his back, remembering how it felt to dig your nails into those muscles.

He returned with two glasses of red wine - your favorite. As he handed you yours, his fingers brushed against yours, lingering just a moment too long. you took a sip, the rich flavor exploding on your tongue.

you closed your eyes for a brief moment as you glanced over the room, "so where is our little guy?" desperate to break the silence.

zilla almost didn't hear the question, to occupied in looking at your ass in the dress.

"zilla?" you said more firmly to bring his attention back towards you

"my bad, mama. we watched that paw patrol shit he like and he crashed out not too long ago," he responded before taking a sip of his wine "you look good as fuck, y'know that?"

you felt a flush creep up your neck at his words. "thanks," you murmured, taking another sip of wine to steady your nerves.

zilla moved closer, his eyes roaming over you hungrily. "you r'member first time you wore it?" his voice was low, tinged with desire. "that night at the club, when I couldn't keep my hands off you. had to take yo ass home right then."

you nodded, memories flooding back. the way he'd pressed you against the wall as soon as you got through the door, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the dress higher, pushing his hand into your panties.

before you could respond, zilla closed the distance between you, his large hand cupping your face. "lemme r'mind you," he growled, before crashing his lips against yours. the kiss was hungry, desperate, filled with years of pent-up longing.

in one fluid motion, he lifted you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. he carried you to the wall, pressing you against it as his lips trailed hot kisses down your neck. your head fell back, a soft moans escaping your lips.

"god, you so fuckin' pretty," he murmured against your skin, his hands roaming your body, reacquainting themselves with every curve. he hitched your dress up higher, his fingers tracing the edge of your lace panties. "these in the way, mama."

with a swift movement, he pushed your panties to the side exposing your wet core, "shit, i missed this pussy. she missed daddy, baby?"

zilla's fingers were replaced by his hard length, rubbing against you. you didn't remember when he got the time to take his dick out his pants, but thank the stars above. you finally were about to get what you've nearly been wishing for and more, "fuck me, zilla. i missed you so much."

he slid into you, filling you up in one long stroke. your eyes rolled back as your body stretched to accommodate him. it had been too long since you'd felt him this way, inside you, claiming you as his own. the way his dick filled you perfectly made your mind go numb. you wrapped an arm around his neck bringing his lips to your owns. you let out a strangled whine as began to stroke, your pussy still getting used to the filling of being so full again.

he started moving slowly, dragging his hips back until you were nearly empty before filling you back up letting you adjust, and repeating the process until the coarse hair at the base of his cock tickled your clit.

"zilla!" you yelped as a particular thrust made him swipe over that special spot inside of you

"shh, shh don't wake him up, mama." he replied throwing a hand over your mouth to keep you moans at bay — careful not to wake your sleeping boy down the hall. "so fuckin' pretty just taking all this dick. I should nut all up in yo pretty ass.”

your moans and screams were muffled into zilla's hand. your eyes rolling towards the back of your head. you were in complete bliss right now. zilla's hips moved with a primal rhythm, each thrust driving you higher up the wall. your dress bunched around your waist, the silky fabric sliding against your skin with every movement. your panties, pushed hastily to the side, were soaked with your arousal — same as the floor beneath you. zilla's thickness stretched and filled you completely, your walls clenching around him, trying to draw him even deeper.

"that's it, mama," he panted, his hips pounding you against the wall. "take this dick. show me how much you missed it."

you arched your back, pressing your chest against his as you sought more friction. zilla's free hand slid down to grip your ass, kneading the flesh as he lifted you slightly, changing the angle. the new position had him hitting your g-spot with every stroke, and you saw stars behind your closed eyelids. you wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, your heels digging into his lower back, urging him on. your nails raked down his muscular back, leaving small rips in his tank top. zilla dipped his head, trailing hot kisses along your collarbone and down to the swell of your breasts.

your breath hitched as your belly started to tighten around his dick. zilla let out a quiet menacing chuckle into your ear, "wassup baby? you wanna cum? keep wettin' this dick up. make that shit spit fa me."

tears pricked your eyes as you shut them tightly. the pressure built up in your stomach and cum dripped down your legs — unable to store all of it in your pussy with his dick pummeling inside of you. zilla groaned, feeling your walls clench around him. "that's it, baby," he praised, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release. "fuck, I'm gonna cum. want me to fill you up, mama?"

your eyes were crossed and your head was spent, only focusing on the feeling of cumming all over him and the pleasure radiating through your body.

he let out a groan as he released every drop of his cum into you without thinking twice. his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge. he gripped your ass, his hips bucking upwards, emptying ropes of his cum deep inside of you—filling you to the brim with his seed. some of it running down his dick, to his legs, and onto the floor. It felt too good to pull out and he wasn’t going to.

as you both came down from your high, zilla slowly removed his hand from your mouth, replacing it with a tender kiss on your bottom lip as you continued to shake and twitch in his arms. the feeling of his warm cum so deep inside you, triggering another mini orgasm. your body continued to convulse as every nerve ending in your body exploded, "yo ass happy you finally got some dick?"

❦:

@caramelcleopatraa @harmshake @msbigredmachine @luvrsluxe @uceyliyahh @angiedawn02 @amandairene88 @cyberdejos2 @queeny23 @empressdede @trentybenty @heauxvibez @whatdoeseverybodywant @shes2real @romansthrone @acknowledge-reigns @southerngirl41 @prettyfilmz @jaza23

don’t forget to like and reblog! <3 drop a comment also! i love reading those. xoxo, cleo.

(think i might make this a series tbh.)

[thewertsearch]

Ask Comp 28/12

Anonymous asked: In the same vein as the Seer of Light/Witch of Space fakeout in the human session: do you think any of the trolls seem to not fit their assigned classpects, to reject it and imitate another, or to trade classes or aspects with another troll?

It's hard to tell if a given character fits their Title, when I don't know what each Title is supposed to symbolize.

Eridan, for example, didn't originally seem to evoke Hope. When I realized his 'hope' was essentially romantic delusion, it started to make a little more sense - but I have no idea if that's actually compatible with the Aspect's true meaning. We've only seen one Hope Player, so we don't know which aspects (lol) of his story are Hope-themed, and which are just Eridan being Eridan.

@relaxxattack asked: COMPLETELY unexpected coming from me (lol); but i doubt scratch, omniscient as he is, completely misunderstands slick’s motivations. i read it that perhaps slick’s emotional investment really is preventing him from killing snowman, despite all his lip service otherwise. i mean why else would scratch resort to auspisticism, the role made for breaking apart inconvenient pitch couples? plus all the brawler-like violence and threats of death— it really seems like he does need to force slick to cooperate and kill her

I kind of like that, actually. It would be pretty fun if Slick, of all people, managed to ruin Scratch's plans - and by having a heart, to boot!

@manorinthewoods asked: Proposal for the future: Whenever a flashback occurs, you take a guess as to whether or not it is a Dream Bubble. ~LOSS (14/12/24)

Yeah, I might actually give this a shot. I feel like I could do a pretty decent job of discerning whether a flashback is a Bubble, just based on whether the characters involved are currently unconscious or dead - although I can clearly still be fooled.

Anonymous asked: If Terezi hadn't been convinced beforehand (by Gamzee somehow?!) that Vriska was killing at random and absolutely had to go, I couldn't help but imagine at the time that Terezi COULD have saved Vriska if she tried, proving luck doesn't matter… by pulling a Harvey Dent and swapping her coin for a clean double-sided scratchless one just before flipping it, which her luck-stealing couldn't possibly make land scratched. It even would have proved to Vriska that she can't account for everything.

That would be pretty crafty, and I really like her hypothetical style - but honestly, I think Vriska was too far gone to be talked down. The fact that she stole that coin's luck in every timeline makes me think it was probably impossible to make her stay.

@caliquill asked: early in the liveblog you identified a Strider Ramble as a stress ramble. so it delights me that you have finally seen a TRUE Strider Stress Ramble. everything comes full circle.

Oh, true! Man, that's a deep cut.

I should have known, really. It's a pretty consistent character trait for Dave to get less ironic as he gets stressed - we already saw that at play in Davesprite's timeline.

@martinkhall asked: A lot of people seem to miss that he found his quest bed. Reading through his posts again this time I find myself wondering between his "dear departed family" and his imps being described as "sportitive rascals" if he prototyped a dead son. That sounds like a phrase that could descibe a young boy.

Aw man, that's heartbreakingly plausible. If we don't see Fedorafreak's story concluded in-universe, I will absolutely be looking for good Fedorafics when I'm done with the comic.

@bellcarved asked: you know, with the mention of a server player, i'm now imagining somebody else watching through the build menu and sending fedorafreak messages during this whole thing. "ff, i have the code for a bottle of water, and it only costs one unit of build grist. stop drinking your urine and generally treating this like a wilderness survival show, you are going to die. ff please respond."

Our man chose 'freak' as his handle for a reason. <3

@morganwick asked: Note that when Fedorafreak combines his pants with his shirt, it produces a "useless, excessively tall pant". This was after Pantskat had already become a meme.

It's so funny that this one wonky panel became so much of a meme. You just know that if Homestuck was ten years younger, it would have turned into an Among Us joke.

Anonymous asked: I think at one point Hussie said that fedorafreak's title would be the "gent of piss" but it's rather likely that they were just being silly. I also think that the title of a hope player would befit fedorafreak :) @marinerofthestars asked: for some incomprehensible reason hussie did in fact give us canon/‘canon’ fedorafreak lore on his formspring. he has the Title Gent of Piss and his server player (who survived at least long enough to get him into the medium) is 2busy4this (iirc they don’t actually appear elsewhere in the comic. guess hussie was. too busy for them) @morganwick asked: I believe Hussie has said that Fedorafreak's title is Gent of Piss. @skelekingfeddy asked: according to hussie fedorafreaks classpect is the Gent of Piss

Disrespecting our king! I have to assume that was a joke, because FedoraFreak deserves so much better than the Piss Aspect. I like Gent, though.

I was going to say I hoped that 2busy4this was able to enter the session - but really, that just means they'll die by Tumor, rather than meteor.

@morganwick asked: It was actually Fedorafreak's appearance on page 2918 that arguably made him a meme with the fandom.

It's been fun checking in with our king as we progress through the comic. I assume his memetic status is due to drinking his own urine - hence, the 'Gent of Piss' title that Hussie apparently saddled him with.

@clueless-rarito asked: Damn when I first read it didn't really sink in how fucked up the whole derse suicide mission situation was and how heartbreaking their whole conversation about it was. It's really the kind of thing you get a lot more from seeing someone else react to it

It's so twisted, isn't it? These poor children just want to protect each other, but each of them is convinced that the only way to do so is to die. Homestuck is so fucked sometimes.

@morganwick asked: Not to be too alarmist or presumptuous, but: did you not have anything to say about pages 3918-3920, or did your post(s) on those pages get eaten or otherwise lost?

Honestly, I just didn't have any commentary about them. They really just continued to depict the gradual return of John's memories, which I'd already talked about.

Sometimes I simply don't have that much to say about a given panel, even when the current arc is as exposition-heavy as this one. They can't all be mini-essays, y'know?

@wickedsick asked: Do you think Ghost John x Davesprite would count as…. Doomed yaoi?

Ayyyyyy!

@suroboro asked: So what you're saying is… that Terezi has gone Blind with Rage? (0;

Ayyyyyyyyyy!

Anonymous asked: after you finish homestuck you should 100% check out tumblr user meraki-sunset's crow strider au - it's wildly spoilery but i think as a davesprite lover you will enjoy it

Ah, yes, I'm pretty sure I know about this one! I've also been sent some of the artist's (non-spoilery) art, which looks absolutely gorgeous. It's definitely on the list!

Anonymous asked: This whole section is one of my favorite parts of Homestuck. All the conversations are so genuine and emotional, quiet and intimate, building anticipation but also savoring the moments they have before the end… ough. I gotta say, though it's probably the aspect I've understood the least since my classpecting phase, you really do strike me as Life oriented with a lot of the things you say :P

I still really llke the idea of being a Life Player - partially because I tend to gravitate towards healing, regeneration and resurrection abilities in games. I love getting tanky as fuck in Terraria, for example.

@manorinthewoods submitted: You know who, specifically, could have prevented Perfect Jack if she'd listened to her Denizen? Vriska. Vriska made the Choice that caused Bec Noir, unwittingly. If she hadn't, and if Denizen Choices truly do allow you to alter your own fate, then Jack never would have entered the troll session. Of course, whatever choice Vriska made to ensure Bec Noir's creation must have been earlier than the Veil. Potentially even in the presession! But if she just hadn't been Vriska, then… ~LOSS (19/12/24)

Wait, does it have to be earlier than the Veil? I don't think Vriska should even know about the kids' session until the game has already ended. Did I misapprehend some aspect of that plotline?

@krixwell asked: Worth considering in light of these revelations about Denizens and Typheus in particular: the parcel pyxis system, which fairly consistently takes things where they need to be. If Typheus controls the Breeze on LoWaS, he's basically the local mailman.

Heh, I like that. Perhaps that's why the Breeze will 'carry you to where need to go' - because it's being controlled by a postman, and a postman knows the destination of every package they handle.

@ramdomartkid asked: What do you think about the theory of the kids being homeschooled? As mensioned before, John never talks ab other ppl that aren't hs characters, (and aren't his neighbors) but he also never mentions why he's not at school at the beginning (or a b-day party with classmates) Same goes 4 Dave but Bro doesn't rl have that much motivation to put Dave in school in the first place. Less time for training. Rose…idk same as John And then Jade bc it's canon But that's just a theory…a webcomic theory (sorry if there are errors in grammar, english isnt my native language)

16:13 is fairly late in the afternoon, so John might have just returned from a day at school. I do think the homeschooling theory has merit, though - particularly with Dave, for the reasons you've already stated.

And yeah, Jade sort of had to be homeschooled if she was going to have any formal education at all. It would have ended pretty early, though. :(

@corporalotherbear asked:

LMAO

I feel like an identical exchange has occurred between Rose and Mom Lalonde.

@necrowyrm asked: In the past I thought of you as "thew" due to those being the letters I typed into Tumblr to search you. Recently, Tumblr has demanded an additional letter, so you are now "Thewe" (pronounced completely differently)

From thoo to thooie. It feels like I'm going through a Pokemon evolution!

Anonymous asked: You know that dream Dave talked about? Someone decided to illustrate it and GOODDAMN did they cook!

God damn, you were not kidding. This is such a macabre interpretation of the description he gave, and I love it.

@skelekingfeddy asked: ok im finally continuing with this quadrant ask series lol. i do think theres a side of propaganda to the quadrant system, despite what ive said about it. because even though its based around biological/evolutionary impulses…so is humanity’s concept of heteronormativity. the quadrants are a rather rigid, inflexible system, which is enforced by threat of DEATH. im willing to bet that, for example, certain trolls may feel only red attraction, or only black attraction, or only concupiscent attraction, or only conciliatory attraction, or zero quadrant-based attraction at all, or feel attraction completely outside of the quadrant system. the taboo against polyamory in one quadrant, like you’ve said several times already, is another flaw with the system. the quadrants system is predicated upon biology, sure, but so is cis/heteronormativity. i dunno, this is just my analysis of the quadrants xp idk if hussie was actually thinking about any of this when he was writing hs haha……

I pretty much agree with your take on quadrant propaganda.

In my opinion, any rigid framework of relationships - be it ours, Alternia's, or another - will inevitably fail to describe the full spectrum of possible relationship dynamics. Not every human is straight, gay or bi, and not every troll wants hearts, spades, clubs and diamonds.

Anonymous asked: wanna uh, put in my input on that kismessitude thread someone else sent to you. i disagree for a lot of spoilery reasons but mostly i just want to point out some things regarding a few specific assertions "jack and the queen's romance is tragic and meant to be compared to mom and dad, and the tragedy is unrelated to their romance" yes, mom and dad getting killed by jack noir is like, completely unrelated to their romance. they were literally just vibing and they got murked, would have been the same if it was a platonic hang out and they werent flirting at all. i buy that. we can't really compare that to jack noir and the queen, though, since jack kills the queen over the harlequin costuming. jacks and black queens are constantly attacking each other (over their several incarnations at this point i think they've lost like, 3 limbs between them and an eye. and of course jack killed her too in their like, third scene together). i just don't know how we're supposed to take that as 1. tragic given that a lot of the time it's played for slapstick comedy or "lol look at how much they hate each other" or 2. unrelated from their pitch romance. the dynamic of their pitch romance is them tormenting each other and in one case it ends with jack murdering the black queen. that's not equivalent to dad & mom. also, a few other points: i don't know how we're supposed to take the tavros & vriska stuff, because while they are definitely toxic, they seem to be pursuing each other in the RED quadrant, not in pitch… and it feels like the standards for toxicity are different there. also, something really important: eridan doesn't say anything about 'kismessitudes ending in death' in that conversation on page 2343. he says "CA: you could either play along as our auspistice and do a little mediating like you wwere fuckin hatched to CA: or wwatch she and me devvolvve into fuckin full fledged kismesisses the kind like you dont get once in ten thousand swweeps". the only mention of death here is in terms of COLLATERAL damage, not of them killing each other. eridan talks about killing all landdwellers (but not his friends, because theyre not like other girls i mean lowbloods! man the writing was on the wall with him). not about killing vriska. and this tracks way more with what alternia is like, for me personally- they don't care what two individuals do to each other, but when it begins to interfere with empire on a larger scale, then they would like a mechanism to break it up. ultimately, quadrants are something that WILL come up again in homestuck (spoilers, but i feel like that's obvious, lol. you have another what, 5000 pages?), so you'll get to form your own opinion on it. i just felt really baffled about the arguments because they… felt like they were missing contexts or taking leaps, so i thought i would weigh in. no hate to the other commentator! homestuck quadrant discussion is fun to me.

Interesting thoughts here, in response to a submission about quadrants from earlier in the year.

I don't think I'd ever personally call Jack/Black Queen 'tragic' - but I wouldn't use them as a model for troll kismessitude either way. They're a different species, so they're going to have different standards.

As for Vriska/Tavros…. to be honest, I don't think you could really quadrant them in a way that makes sense. Vriska hated Tavros too much for hearts, but didn't respect him enough for spades. As for Tavros, I don't think he's ever wanted anything to do with Vriska.

Anonymous asked: You might have noticed the unique Strife artstyle in this section of the story. These sprites were created by the art team for a Strife flash that never came to fruition. Now that you've seen the content that was made in place of that flash, I believe it's not a spoiler to send Hussie's commentary on his original plans. What are your thoughts on this alternate path and do you prefer the way the story was ultimately presented? What do you feel about his discussion of pros and cons? (1/2)

Sadly, I don't think we received the second half of this submission. I have been enjoying the artstyle of the recent arc - and if you resubmit Hussie's commentary on it, I'd love to take a look!

Anonymous asked: What mystical powers would the Dave of Guy title give a player? What insane abilities would the class of 'Dave' and the aspect of 'Guy' have?. ~DJ

David means beloved, and Guy is the name of a famous revolutionary.

Therefore, I believe the Dave of Guy would be 'beloved' by the very concept of disagreement, revolution and rebellion. In other words, the Aspect would always favor them, causing situations involving it to resolve in their favor.

If they argued against you, they'd win. If they fought against an institution, that institution would crumble. As long as they were fighting against some status quo, fate would smile on them.

Anonymous asked: If stuff about voice actors blows your mind, Casey Mongillo and Kira Buckland both got their start voicing Karkat and Vriska respectively in Youtube animations. Also "The idea of a work of fiction that subverts or wholly rejects the notion of ‘canon’ is pretty interesting, and on an academic level, it would be kind of cool to analyze it." Have you heard of this little show called Doctor Who? Because "there is no canon" is the position of the brand. I can elaborate on why if you're interested.

Oh, interesting! I was actually thinking about Doctor Who while answering that ask, because the idea of a story that stopped caring about its own lore was an unwelcome reminder of Moffat's era on the show.

I'd be really interested in hearing your thoughts on Doctor Who re: canon discourse, if you're willing to send!

Anonymous asked: i think you should talk about moffat

I was very tempted to compile a full essay summarizing my thoughts on Moffat, but I don't really have the time right now. Rest assured, some day I will absolutely go off on the Moffat era of Doctor Who - and let's not even talk about Sherlock.

@manorinthewoods asked: You may not be able to imagine Nepeta and Eridan being pals, but all the Erinep shippers certainly could. ~LOSS (15/12/24)

Please tell me their ship name is catfish.

@bladekindeyewear submitted: Now that the clock has “landed” on Just for Vriska, I wanted to talk a bit about how a WHILE back you pointed out Terezi’s coin flip as a crucial moment of morality… to me at the time, I believed that if any moment doomed her to a Just death, it was Vriska’s actions around that coin flip, that it was more important than just a narrative performance: Terezi was begging Vriska to leave even a SHRED OF CHANCE in the hands of the trolls to have her stay instead of leave, to give the other trolls even the last of a gambler’s luck of a collective say in whether or not she pursued this course of action that endangered them, and she stole it. Made it a constant across all timelines. I think that’s what crossed the last line of moral ambiguity, that she would not allow her friends a shred of agency over how reality unfolded… except to kill her. I felt THAT is what forced it to be Just, and that injustice is indeed perhaps a matter of trampling over the rights of others.

Perhaps, perhaps.

Mind you, I don't know if it's necessarily always a good or heroic thing to allow a Sburb Player full agency over their actions, nor is it necessarily a bad thing to restrict them, in certain cases.

If Eridan, for example, had been allowed to live his truth on the Veil, no lowblood would have made it out of there alive - and I wouldn't necessarily bet on the highbloods' survival, either. Kanaya was absolutely in the right when she cleaved his agency into two roughly equal pieces.

Vriska was definitely in the wrong when she rigged the coin, but I don't think it was because she didn't allow her friends agency - it was because she was going to get everyone killed. If Vriska had rigged a game against, say, Gamzee, and stopped his rampage as a result, she'd absolutely be doing something heroic, no matter now much she was trampling on his agency to do so.

@manorinthewoods asked: I am rereading my favorite HS fanfic, Like One Sundered Star, to research for Slurb (Sally Sburb), and I have determined that it may be viable liveblogging material, at least towards the second half. Unfortunately, it's image-poor, incredibly long, has a slow and almost a bit weak beginning, is less blog-dense, and also requires a different fanfic to be read first if you want to understand what happened at the start. ~LOSS (14/12/24)

That's the one that's as long as Worm, right? I'm definitely not saying no, but I also think I'd need a lot more free time to do it.

Plus, the lack of images, I think, would throw me off. That said, I did consider liveblogging Worm itself, back when I was reading it. I do think I could liveblog an entirely text-based story, but I'd probably have to rethink my approach.

@securitycapecreature asked: John kissed rose to save her live, same with jade kissing dave, karkats shipping chart is coming true before our very eyes

For a bisexual alien, his shipping is awfully straight, isn't it? I still think Rose/Jade makes much more sense than Rose/John.

@elkian asked: Game rec for Sally: I think you'd enjoy In Stars And Time, a tragicomic timeloop game. There's a handful of Homestuck references (including in the SASASAP artbook) and the humor+gameplay concepts are reminiscent of Undertale but it stands on its own. I'd actually strongly rec playing Start Again: A Prologue first, it's about 2-ish hours and sets the stage for ISAT. Both are really funny which I didn't expect from glancing at the promos so putting that there

I saw that one trending on Tumblr recently, and I'm a sucker for time travel stories. It's on the list!

Anonymous asked: Theres been fun discussion of the way homestuck uses the word play in meta gaming sense but noone's mentioned the word act yet have they? That's not a game word, that's an THEATER word. entire narrative of Homestuck is structured like a play script: it's separated into acts, narration is stage direction, all the dialogue is PLAYER DIALOGUE bc all the characters are actors playing their roles. and if you fuck up your role you get kicked out and REPLACED. exiles arent just npcs theyre STAGEHANDS

Ooh, I like these musings. It reminds me of how the Locked Tomb short story The Unwanted Guest plays with the idea of theatre as a metaphor. Taz Muir's Homestuck phase strikes again!

@bladekindeyewear asked: As we edge ever closer toward this Act’s inevitable conclusion, you asked if for a theory recap we could compile some of the DISPROVEN theories for you— and I’m sure we’ll find a good few to run by you for fun. Though the original Homestuck forums and threads are irrecoverable so much has been lost. But one of the things troubling me is this: Homestuck’s mysteries can be DEEP, leaving much implied. What about theories we formed at the time that were NEVER fully confirmed, might still be important, and which we shouldn’t even be implying to you whether there was any more evidence later because THAT would be a spoiler in and of itself? I think that’s what’s been getting me to hound you the most about opportunities to suggest more theories about stuff from past pages and thoughts we had SOLELY based on evidence we had AT THE TIME or earlier, because sometimes there may be shit amasses circumstantial evidence so many layers deep without EVER being confirmed, because as Andrew liked to put it, “Homestuck is a story that is also a puzzle”. And this onion has some deep effin’ layers we wouldn’t have even THOUGHT we might have reached without working together for years rereading this beast. If you’re still going about it solo, I thought at the end of this act you could use some of the keys we THOUGHT we found DURING this past act that we believed were finally unlocking deeper layers to squeeze twice as much juice or more out of every page.

See, the main problem here is that if a theory was never confirmed, then knowing about it sort of implicitly spoils parts of the comic. The more I know about what won't happen, the closer I get to knowing what will happen.

Therefore, I'm going to say 'not until much later on'. The kind of meta you're talking about would be absolutely fascinating to me, but I think it'd change my perception of the comic too much while I'm still liveblogging.

Anonymous asked: Jade on the page 3946 looks like those weird worms (worm on a string) :D

It's time to come off the string, Jadesprite. Release your true power!

Anonymous asked: You probably have a hundred of these by now, but at some point, those mini-side-story banners get hover-over Alt Text, so keep an eye out for that. Anonymous asked: don't forget to look at the top panels in this section :) rockernator2 asked: Don't know if anyone else has told you this, but there is (or is going to be) alt text on the upper pictures. Anonymous asked: make sure you keep an eye on what's happening at the top of the page! Anonymous asked: You've probably gotten at least one mention of this already, but if you haven't noticed it, it's worthwhile to look at the "banner" at the top of the page starting on page 3797. @bananonbinary asked: psst in true doc scratch fashion, the top panels actually have some alt-text if you hover the mouse over them. he's gotta make you work for it. @bananonbinary asked: oh dang oh shoot oh no thats not for a little bit yet i misremembered rip sorry Cat

[probably good to know early so you can watch out for it - C]

Noted! I just took a look back through the entire Scratch Sequence, and there's been no alt-text thus far. I have been worried about missing stuff in this sequence, given that there's so much going on.

@elkian asked: The Mendicant's Mauler Monologue took me the fuck OUT xD @metroid-fusion asked: hey sally the mailbox description joke was really really funny. youre good at homestuck

Something that is both normal to want, and possible to achieve!

I think PM herself would approve, too. She loves choosing violence.

Anonymous asked: "At some point, I'll have to check if any other lands feature musical symbolism." You mean like that giant record turntable thing in LoHaC? :P @sanctferum asked: "At some point, I’ll have to check if any other Lands feature musical symbolism." I don't remember if there's anything like that on LOFAF other than like, frog croaking (and what a musical genre that is! their albums are already sold out on whatever remains of Prospit, I'm sure), but boy does LOHAC not only have a giant CD, but one that's also the session's scratch construct. Dave's destiny must be to drop the sickest mixtape of all time, while trapping the pimp within his crib like it is hot. @wickedsick asked: "At some point, I'll have to check if any other Lands feature musical symbolism."

Yeah, it's definitely a possibility. (in all seriousness, Dave manipulates the stock market through time travel the way a DJ manipulates and mixes songs (represented through vinyls)?)

fucking LOL. This is what I get for liveblogging at 2am, I guess!

@garnetduodecim asked: Technically what doomed the time line wasn’t John dying, it was Dave prototyping Lil’Cal @bladekindeyewear asked: Doomed John said if he hadn't gone to see his Denizen, Dave(sprite) wouldn't go back and fix things so they could exist… but Dave THOUGHT John's death was why he needed to rewind. So what "doomed" the timeline before John even reached his denizen? One frightening possible answer: CALSPRITE. A prototyped Lil Cal wouldn't have been sent to Alternia in the wallet to be the base for Doc Scratch and guide their universe's creation. LIL CAL'S temporal necessity may have killed the timeline!

The order of events isn't entirely clear here, but you're right - Cal might very well have been prototyped before John flew through that Gate.

Future Dave immediately prevented both events when he travelled back, so it's impossible to say for sure - but I like this theory. That damn puppet is just... inescapable.

@pineapple-temporarily-moving asked: jsyk, you seem to have misinterpreted the line about trolls' eyes changing color when they grow up! only their irises change from gray to their blood color, their sclera do stay orange. mindfang is, indeed, old Anonymous asked: Trolls' /irises/ fill in with their blood pigment as they get older, not the orange part. Mindfang probably had blue eyes, we just don't generally get to see characters' irises. @abysswarlock asked: The eye color thing Vriska was saying was that the grey irises fill in with the troll’s blood pigment color, similar to how the kids iris colors match the color they type in @elkian asked: I always read Vriska's "fill in as we age" thing refer to the irises mentioned previously, but it's kind of just interpreted however. And Homestuck has so much symbolism and stylistic choices that it's not really clear lmao. @skelekingfeddy asked: im pretty sure the ‘eyes filling in with their blood color’ refers to their irises not their whole eyes

So no red-eyed Karkat?

0/10. Literally unreadable.

@krixwell asked: You mentioned in the ask compilation you just posted that the Aspects might operate on a meta level as well as a physical. You've already covered Void, but what do you make of the other Aspects through this lens? @heliotropopause asked: "Maybe Aspects can work on a meta level, as well as a literal one. Like, perhaps Void is the aspect of author uncertainty, […]" the meta level is honestly the most interesting aspect to aspects to me, and i'd love to see you have a go at it; there's definitely some analysis to be done there. @ariamaki asked: "Maybe Aspects can work on a meta level" AN IMPORTANT LESSON WAS LEARNED THIS DAY. I would love to hear your (current) thoughts as to what this would mean when expanded out to the other Aspects, because this is something I think about a lot.

So, this is a type of meta interpretation that I do like analyzing - but to be honest, I don't have many other meta interpretations for specific Aspects. Not yet, anyway.

That said, Sburb is essentially a story that forces itself on its Players, so it would be kind of cool if the Titles were part of that forced story, in some abstract way. I have started to wonder if Time and Space might represent plot and setting, respectively - but so far, that's only a half-baked idea. I'll definitely be returning to this idea in the future, when we've seen a little more of the other Aspects.

@galaxa-13 asked: "GT: my feathers are all ruffled, and i can no longer tell my ass apart from a big orange earth vegetable!" The joke here is "I can't tell my ass from [blank]" which is a pretty common saying when you're frustrated and confused. So John is basically saying "Oh yeah, you sure trolled me good! Because that's clearly what you're doing, trolling me. I am so ruffled!" Anonymous asked: For your information, an orange is not a "big orange earth VEGETABLE". Now, try and use your deductive skills to figure out what orange vegetable is being talked about. ~DJ

I know it was referencing a pumpkin, but I've honestly never heard that saying before. Perhaps it's a lot more popular in the US - or perhaps I'm just one of today's lucky 10'000.

Anonymous asked: Based on what you like about the comic (the same stuff I like) I doubt you would like any of the homestuck sequel/continuation stuff other than [one thing]. There's not much technical stuff, and I personally was really put off by the content of the sequels. I know some people like them but homestuck and it's sequels are very different types of stories. Anonymous asked: Regarding the epilogues (and Beyond Canon) to me, they feel like an interesting story - not necessarily things I would think the characters “would ‘actually’do”, but the themes about growing up, young adulthood, and friendships really resonated with me. A lot of the talk about “canonness” went over my head until it was pointed out to me, and I think that enhanced my enjoyment of it - I related to the story being told, and sort of regarded it as less what I thought would “really” happen and more an interesting idea telling me deep truths about myself. @manorinthewoods asked: To chime in on my view of the Epilogues - honestly, I think they are not particularly good, and until James Roach takes over 2 it's not particularly good either. I don't know whether I'd be sure in saying that reading them detracts from Homestuck, but I think I'd be comfortable saying that they are a continuation of what I feel to be a slow downward swing in quality after Act 5 - and an understandable one, given how Hussie must have been going through the mother of all burnout. ~LOSS (10/12/24)

Sounds about right. We had a bit of a chat about this on the Discord, and came to the conclusion that the tie-ins are probably going to be less appealing to me than the comic proper.

I'm going to default to a 'liveblog-lite' format for them, but reserve the right to do a deeper dive if I'm enjoying myself enough to warrant it!

Anonymous asked: In order to make 'Hostess' fit 8 letters, you'd have to use a typing quirk like Mindfang did with the Expatri8. As an example, the Condesce could have named her )(ostess, assuming that all ancestors share their typing quirks with their descendants. ~DJ Anonymous asked: If the main source for the Hostess' life is Mindfang, then yeah she'd probably have an 8 letter title. Otherwise, her title can be whatever number of letters you want. People do like sticking to the 8 letter rule for OCs, but compare - do real humans not often have given names with a different number of letters than 4, and surnames with a different number of letters than 6 or 7? Almost makes you question if all trolls really have 6/6 names.

Plus, the idea that Homestuck humans all have 6/7 letter surnames is a little weak anyway.

Four-letter first names might be a rule, but is a '6/7 letter surname' hypothesis really that much more likely than the hypothesis that there is no rule, and our four surnames are just between six and seven letters long by random chance?

@armchair-factotum asked: "Like, how does Rose’s chalk relate to bringing life back to her oceans? Did Hussie have different Quest in mind for her, back then?" Well, high concentrations of chalk in soil and water raises the pH, which might make it dificult for some plants and animals to live in? The "sand" on her island was all white and potentially made of chalk after all Anonymous asked: To elaborate on how the grist types/WV's items relate to the land quests: Oil is clogging the pipes that are integral to the salamanders' culture, preventing the Breeze from freely blowing through and delivering things, and the clouds trapping the fireflies are either smog from the oil or would normally be kept dispersed by the Breeze. Most of Rose's basic grist types (chalk, lime, marble) are forms of calcium carbonate, which is mostly formed through biological processes in the ocean, particularly through the accumulation of the shells of dead sea creatures like mollusks, corals, and foraminifera; chalk is formed from the skeletons of millions of dead plankton, and other forms of limestone also often contains fossils. Her beaches are the bleached bones of what once swam in the seas. Amber and rust are gumming up the gears of Dave's land, and the winter of Jade's land is implicitly a nuclear one. Last one is kind of ironically resolved by igniting a volcano, given sufficiently powerful eruptions can in theory create a similar winter effect. Not directly relevant, but I invite everyone to look up Verneshots, fun concept related to volcanoes and meteors. I feel like in the alternate Homestuck where the land quests are more explored, Hussie might have worked those in. Even less directly relevant, the term Siberian Trap(s) refers to both a volcanic event and a chess opening, which again I think could have been a fun Battlefield element in a story more focused on Sburb mechanics. @galaxa-13 asked: Rose's chalk related to her quest of bringing life to the ocean in that it was chalk that poisoned the water to begin with. By killing enemies and collecting the chalk grist as loot she was removing the poison.

I really like the implication that the chalk the Imps were dropping actually came from LOLAR's soil - almost like the Underlings themselves were born out of the ground.

And fuck, LOFAF's a nuclear winter! That's so good!

Anonymous asked: just want to take the time to HIGHLY recommend Homestuck Made This World ("a podcast about the critical analysis and contextualization of homestuck") its done by 2 media studies guys and its really great! they end up talking about doc scratch as one of an ongoing series of author figures, starting with the narrator of the comic (obvious), then dave (literally has a conversation that is an edited version of one of hussies chatlogs), bro (shares hussies interests + some anecdotal stuff related to smuppets (listen to the pod)), then hussie the self insert (an escalation of the narrator), and now doc scratch… (spoiler it keeps hapening) Anonymous asked: If you're into podcasts and people discussing Homestuck, you should at some point check out Homestuck Made this World. A podcast by two literature PHDs, one a long time Homestuck fan and one who's never read it before, discussing the comic a couple hundred pages at a time! They have a lot of great discussions, and the longtime fan also provides a lot of context for what was going on in the fandom at the time the pages originally posted.

Noted! I might listen along to it when I finally get around to rereading Homestuck. That's what I did with We've Got Worm.

Anonymous asked: i dont think anyones mentioned yet that the "hiding in an attic from bullies with a scary-ass wolf head" is also a never-ending story reference. Specifically in that thats literally the entire meta narrative the book was built around that the movie left out. the "puking on bullies" thing is also only in the movie and not in the book. Hussie Knows his references. @pages-in-movies asked: Congrats on hitting the milestone of being introduced to the main pillars of Homestuck: Jungian shadow, Gnosticism, The Never-ending Story, and the quote "nothing new under the sun"

At some point, I'm going to need to host a NeverEnding Story movie night. That, or Con Air.

[misseviehyde]

SIMONE SAYS

You wanted to stop your boyfriend. You wanted to end this right now, but Simone had said you had to sit quietly with the ballgag in, so that's what you were doing.

He looked exactly like her now... that bitch in the mirror. You kept telling yourself she wasn't real, that this was just a game that had gotten out of hand... but the fact your boyfriend was now almost a physical copy of your imaginary friend suggested this was more than some prank. Somehow this WAS real.

She pulled the satin pants into place and reached down for the final item of clothing...

In moments there would only be Simone.

How had this all started? Well it was all your fault.

You'd always had an imaginary friend called Simone that you blamed for everything naughty you ever did growing up. A play on 'Simon says' anytime you'd ever gotten into trouble you told people Simone had told you to do it.

When you'd gotten older, it had continued. Simone got the blame for telling you to cheat on guys, be horrible to people at work and act like a bitch. If anything it was a fun game that gave you license to do whatever the fuck you wanted.

In time it even began to make you act worse. Imagine what Simone would do in this situation... how bad and evil she would act. It made you actually come up with nasty ideas and thoughts.

Your imaginary friend was the most evil, sex obsessed cruel bitch imaginable. And then you'd got your boyfriend involved too.

You'd told Gary about Simone when you'd first met - as a kind of joke. But then he'd told you it kind of turned him on when you did things she would do. So you went along with it.

Simone appatantly told you to suck his dick in public, send him nude photos at work and then even stick your finger up his ass when you were fucking. Gary loved to play 'Simone says' the rules were you had to do whatever she told you.

But then things got weird. You began seeing a beautiful woman in every mirror you passed and so did he. The two of you were astounded to find out that somehow Simone was becoming real.

Now whenever you passed a mirror her evil whispers would fill your mind and make you do things. At first you thought you were just losing your minds - but then you began to see there was more to it.

Your imaginary friend had somehow become real and was now reaching across the mirror dimension trying to get into the real world.

Simone was coming to life and she was hungry for a body. Your body.

The two of you smashed every mirror in the house and tried to escape. Maybe if you ran far enough you could escape her.

You realised your mistake when you walked into the hotel room with its huge bathroom mirror and saw Simone smirking at you.

"Simone says Gary... become me."

You realised then that it wasn't you she wanted to possess but him. As you watched him begin to put on your clothes, he started to change.

"Mmmmmh I feel so fucking good," moaned Gary as his bones shifted and his reflection began to resemble the smirking bitch in the mirror.

With each item of clothing he put on, his change into her accelerated and you watched your imaginary friend being born in the real world. The girl in the mirror laughed and exulted, her actions freakily different to the woman in front of it.

Breasts grew, hips widened, hair lengthened, skin tanned. A beautiful woman was being born and she was loving every second of it as the image in the mirror began to fade. Simon was newly real and the mirror could no longer contain her.

As Gary slid on a blouse his body finished transforming and Simone finished touching up her makeup. The mirror shimmered and suddenly cracked then Simone's ntoken reflection returned... only now just a normal reflection of a real woman. Gary was totally gone.

"Well loser, it's done. I'm finally in your world. Mmmmmh all those naughty things you've blamed me for over the years... well I can't wait to ACTUALLY do all of them.

Simone giggled as she advanced and rooting around in your suitcase found a butt plug.

"Why don't we start with a little BDSM? Simone says bend over."

As you assumed the position, you wish you'd never invented such a fucking bitch...

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Merry Christmas to you too my wonderful friend!🎄💗

Aww poor Ben. I love how we start with shading in his past Christmases compared to what he's starting to experience now with the reader. We come at it from the same angle of headcanon, that Ben's mom was the only person who truly loved him in his family. So it was such a good detail that after she died, Christmases became just more of the same toxic/apathetic atmosphere with his father, compounded by the impact of his mom's death.

Thank you! I love this headcanon and I really hope that in the prequel series "Vought Rising" that we're able to see a little more of Ben's relationship with his father and hopefully let us learn more about his mother. I know that this headcanon is a little "dean-like" but I think it also kinda plays into the "angel in the house" phenomenon that started in the mid to late 1800s. But the headcanon to me, makes sense. Ben has so many issues with his dad and I honestly don't think that if his mother was around that Ben's father would give him such a hard time or allow Ben to grow up in that kind of enviornment.

I also wanted to give Ben some "happy" memories from his childhood that he could compare what the reader was doing for him to something that was familiar and something that resonated with him😊, something about Christmas that was "familiar."

Lmfao come on, Ben. Let's not take this out on others. 🤣

He is the KING of taking it out on others LOL 😂 He also takes it out on Hughie in this fic and I felt so bad doing that to Hughie, but it is so in character for Ben 😒

Wow, that's so interesting. Taking a trip literally through Memory Lane and walking through his family's mansion. I've never thought about that before, but I imagine it would be one of those things that Ben, for the longest time, couldn't bring himself to sell, but also couldn't visit. Like a mausoleum of his old life.

I use this headcanon in my other series Madness, (same with Ben's mother), but to me it seems to make sense. That Ben would have a family mansion somewhere that is full of terrible memories from his father being a total jerk to him and never wanted to set foot inside. "Like a mausoleum of his old life" EXACTLY! It's just a big drafty old house that Ben can't go into because even though he says he's not afraid of anything, he can still feel his father's disapproval and disappointment, and going "home" to where he grew up would only make it worse.

Ben doesn't know what a home is because of what his father did, and now the reader is slowly showing him what it means. I also low-key wanna write the fic of her and him coming back to his house and him being hesitant and her just wandering around in complete shock. 🤔

You're killin' me, friend!! 😭😭

Girl, I'm so sorry 😭😭😭 I had to 😂 It's really just pouring on the hurt and he just really loved his mom 😭

Lmaooo deeply relatable. I feel like it would be oh so funny to intentionally getting on his nerves (knowing he wouldn't hurt you). 😂

I knoooowwww. 😂 I love that about your BMD reader, that she isn't afraid to tease him and he just absolutely HATES it, but he loves her so he can't do anything about it and she knows it. I'll bet that he thinks the real problem is that she knows it LOL 😂

Oh, it's because he actually cares. 💗

He does, man is a total SIMP 😊

People want to think there aren't any good aspects to "traditional/old-fashioned" men, but for the men who are actually good men, traditional doesn't necessarily mean outdated or toxic, so thank you for including this tidbit.

Thank you! 😊 You're right, I think that there's a disconnect about the idea that a "traditional/old-fashioned" man can't be respectful and is always labeled "sexist" or "toxic." And it's wrong, because you can find a man who is respectful, forward thinking, and who has those "old-fashioned/traditional" values (CHIVALRY! 😂) that really translate into putting their girl first, being respectful of what she wants to say, trying to protect her (not because they don't think she can protect herself, but because they want to), and doing things for her (again not because they think she can't do it herself) but because they genuinely care about her. It's the difference between a man and a boy tbh 💅🏻

Her gift to him was so very sweet!! Of course she made him something heartfelt, and he appreciated it because it was a genuine "first" for him, having someone give him a hand-made gift from the heart. 💚💚💚

I know 💗, I really wanted the reader to make something for him, just so that he could again be reminded how much that she loves him and isn't staying with him just because it's convenient or because he's attractive or because she's settling. Also I like that you picked up on the "first" thing again, because that was exactly what I was trying to do lol 😊. It's hard to find firsts for a guy who's over 100 years old 😂

And his gift to her was absolutely perfect. 🥹 A keepsake from his mother? Him basically saying he wishes she could've met his girl? I'm dying of happiness from the sheer fluff. 😭💗

This one was extremely fluffy, but so fun to write! Ben getting her a gift that meant something so intimate to him that he wouldn't have given to anyone else in the past, really just made me melt when I wrote it 🥺 Because he's never wanted to share those pieces of himself with someone else and now he has the reader and I'm just *crying*😭. AND yes! Him saying that he would have brought her home to meet his mom just destroyed me 😭

This was a beautiful addition to the Take a Chance story, and kind of feels like an epilogue in a way, even though I know you're working on that one too. I loved this, friend!!

Thank you so much my wonderful talented friend! 🥰 It really does read like an epilogue and I did not notice that lol 😅

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV and Reader POV

Summary:  All Soldier Boy wants for Christmas is to find the perfect gift for you and all you want is for your boyfriend to have the best Christmas he has in forty years. Reader is a supe with plant powers. (Takes place in my Take A Chance On Me Series- 4 months after they get together, but can be read as stand alone!)

Tropes: Established Relationship, First Christmas, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 8.5K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Illusions to Sex, Fluff, Soft Soldier Boy, A little bit of self-deprecating thoughts, Soldier Boy is Mean to Hughie, Mention of drinking/drugs, Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Take A Chance On Me Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Song Inspiration: Little Things By ABBA

A/N: I know I should be working on the epilogue of "Take a Chance on Me," but @zepskies wrote a lovely Christmas fic called 'Twas the Night for Dean Winchester, and it really just got me in a mood to write some Christmas Fluff! 🥰

Soldier Boy POV

Ben frowned at the delicate necklace laid on the black velvet cloth in front of him, the 10 carat diamonds catching in the brilliant lights that lined the ceiling of the jewelry store. It was the eleventh piece of jewelry that he'd asked the woman behind the counter to remove from the display case, and it still wasn't right.

Ben had waited until the last possible moment to go Christmas shopping. It wasn't because he'd forgotten or because he'd been so busy he hadn't had time to shop or because he'd been called away on a mission, but rather Ben kept putting it off because he didn't want to think about it.

It was his first Christmas back in the U.S, and it was already proving to be one so different than the ones he'd known before.

Christmas for him in his youth when his mother was alive was filled with light and joy. Each room of his family's mansion strung with tinsel, adorned with holly and festive wreaths, and a Christmas tree so large that it put all others to shame and sent the smell of pine wafting thorough the large home. He remembered the lavish parties his mother threw with women in gorgeous gowns and men dressed in suits taking crystal glasses from silver trays, remembered the warmth in the kitchen as his mother baked and rolled fresh pastry, remembered the taste of the hot chocolate on the tip of his tongue that his mother made him before she sent him to bed on Christmas Eve, and remembered her tight embrace and the smell of her floral perfume on Christmas morning when he'd run down the stairs into the living room.

Ben's jaw tightened.

Christmas without her was different, the large mansion where he lived with his father was cold and dark. The hallways desolate and frozen in the winter months that lead into spring, the kitchen no longer heated by the warmth of the oven or infused with the smell of gingerbread, the parlor no longer tinkling with the sounds of glasses and the laughter of guests, the living room no longer housed a Christmas tree so tall that it made the Eiffel tower look like a trinket, and there were no longer Christmas parties where people danced into the wee hours of the morning and poured themselves into bed smelling of champagne and eggnog.

All that was left was the drunken stupor of his father, the harsh words that echoed down the long hallways, and the urge for Ben to find the nearest bottle and drown himself in it.

Ben spent most of his years as a supe trying to forget the years that followed his mother's death and also his Christmases as a supe washing away the memory of the ones that seemed to be infused with the magic of Christmas in his youth.

Ben spent them at Legend's Christmas party with his woman of the hour clinging to his arm, making painful small talk and waiting until the party turned into a hedonistic thrall of sweat and skin as so many others had. And the next morning when he woke up from the fog, he turned back to the little white line that promised to make him forget and the amber bottle that did little to ease the reality that started to sink in.

But this year was different, because he had you.

You who loved Christmas more than anyone he'd ever met, you who was slowly reminding him how much he used to love Christmas as a child, you who'd dragged him to go Christmas tree shopping before Thanksgiving, you who had encouraged him to help decorate the small apartment the two of you shared with so many Christmas lights it was blinding,  and you who had planned something Christmas themed every week for the past month whether it be baking Christmas cookies or watching Christmas movies while drinking hot chocolate on the couch. And in each moment, you'd found some way to include him in it.

Ben wasn't used to that.

He wasn't used to someone wanting him there with them and someone like you going out of your way to include him in everything you did.

If a person had tried to tell him in the past that he'd ended up with someone like you, someone who smiled easily, someone who always put other people first, someone who actually gave a shit about him, someone who was always so damn warm and welcoming, someone who included in him everything you did in a way that didn't make Ben feel like an old grump, and someone who tried their best to make sure that Ben remembered every day that you wanted him around, he would have laughed in that person's face.

And yet there you were.

Truth be told Ben knew that the old version of him probably wouldn't have let someone like you close to him, let alone fall in love with them.

Ben hadn't met anyone else like you in the numerous years he'd been alive and he really didn't want to fuck it up. He'd fucked up so many other things in his life and he hadn't cared, but if it involved you, he wouldn't dare.

Hence, the current dilemma of him standing in the crowded Tiffany store at 8 pm two days before Christmas with you waiting at home for him to exchange gifts. Ben wanted to pick the perfect gift for you, but nothing felt right.

He'd never given much thought to what to buy someone for Christmas. In the past usually an expensive piece of jewelry, a handbag, a dress, or a car would have made any of Ben's many escapades swoon, but not you. Ben had tried to give you jewelry before, expensive jewelry that would have made any of those other women drop to their knees, but you were different.

And as much as Ben loved that about you, it was only making this worse for him.

The one time that he'd tried to give you a gift outright, a beautiful diamond and emerald drop pendant with earrings to match, you hadn't been impressed. Sure, you'd thought that it was beautiful, but you'd told him that you liked gifts that "meant something."

Whatever the fuck that meant.

And he knew for a fact that the 10 carat diamond necklace on the velvet pillow in front of him would mean nothing to you.

"Fuck." Ben murmured under his breath, and the saleswoman stiffened.

"Still not quite right?" She asks, adjusting the sleeves of her navy blue blazer. "We have some bigger jewel-"

"It's not the fucking size." Ben snaps frustrated.

He was running late.  He knew that you were waiting at home for him to bring back dinner and to give him his present, the one that he was sure would be thoughtful and perfect for him because you were always so damn caring.

The other shoppers were pushing and shoving their way to the counters where other salespeople stood in identical navy blazers and white button down shirts, the tension and buzz of two days to Christmas electrifying the air, while Christmas music that Ben couldn't recognize played in the background.

His supe hearing made it worse. Sometimes it was a bit overwhelming and as much as Ben pretended that he didn't have PTSD, he did. Being surrounded by this many people was not helping. It was in moments like this when you were there, would hold entwine your fingertips with his and brush your thumb gently over the back of his hand to ground him as if you could sense his discomfort.

Ben hadn't ever had someone care enough to notice things like that. Another reason why he wanted to find you the perfect gift, because you put up with all his shit and didn't ask for anything in return.

"Ben?" He hears a familiar voice ask, hesitant, and he turns to see Annie standing a few feet inside the open doorway. S

he's wearing a black puffer jacket and her hair is hidden under a red stocking cap, while Hughie holds the door for her. Hughie's arms were laden down with bags while Annie's remained bare. The winter wind blew in through the space, flecking bits of snow onto the rugs that had been laid out to avoid the customers sliding through the sludge.

"Hey." Ben grunts, not quite smiling.

He wasn't good at talking to your best friend or her boyfriend. Personally he thought that Hughie was a fucking pussy and that he didn't have the balls to tell Annie no, but the one time Ben had told you that, you'd only rolled your eyes and told him that Hughie "loved Annie."

Ben loved you and he did have the balls to tell you no, but Ben thought that sometimes it was better to keep his mouth shut and do what you asked. Not to mention Ben hated saying no to you when it was something that could make you happy. Ben liked making you as happy as you made him. 

He flinched at the thought. The self-deprecating monologue was beginning to seep in, the one that told him you were turning him into a "pussy" and that he should cut and run. The same monologue that made him make a mistake and run back to Vought a few months ago when he should have run to you.

Ben shakes it off.

"What are you doing here? I thought you two were going to leave this morning for Illinois?" Annie asks in surprise used to Ben's grouchy demeanor.

Your grandmother turned Christmas into a two day extravaganza, complete with a Christmas Eve and a Christmas Day party. And although Ben and you were supposed to begin the 14 hour drive to Illinois this morning, your grandmother had insisted the two of you catch a flight first thing tomorrow.

"Decided to catch a flight tomorrow." Ben replies.

Ben was secretly happy, because flying meant that he wasn't going to have to drive 14 hours in the snow. The two of you had driven to Illinois once before, and Ben hadn't minded it. You’d been more upset with him for not letting you drive, but Ben liked driving. Driving meant that he was in control and in an emergency situation he wouldn't have to reach over the console and yank the wheel to save the two of you and driving meant that you could relax in the passenger seat and work on whatever it was you were crocheting.

"Like us!" Hughie flashes Ben a wide smile that Ben doesn't feel the need to return. “You should have told us. We could have all traveled together!”

Ben's frown deepens at the thought at being stuck in a metal tube for hours with Hughie and he knew that if you were here you would probably elbow him in the side and tell him to "be nice." If anyone had ever tried to do that to him in the past, he would have ripped their arm off, but not you.

"Last minute shopping?" Hughie asks trying again.

Ben dragged his eyes over the numerous bags hanging from Hughie's arms. "Yeah. You too?"

"Mhmm. We just finished." Annie replies. Her gaze drops to the diamond necklace on top of the display case that the saleswoman is fiddling with. "Is that for-"

"No. Of course not!" Ben says sharper than he means to, shoulders tensing. But him standing in this store when he knew that you were waiting at home for him to celebrate Christmas made him feel like Annie and Hughie had caught him red-handed. "She doesn't like jewelry." He adds referring to you as he takes a step back from the counter and the sales associate who looks confused.

“But sir-“ The woman begins to say, but Ben waves a hand to shut her up.

"Why do you think that?" Annie asks interrupting the woman.

"Because she yelled at me when I bought her that diamond and emerald necklace!" He shouts so loud that some of the other customers turn to stare at him. "This was a fucking mistake, I have to go-" Ben starts to stomp out the door and past Annie not sure where he's going, but she shifts to stand in his way. His eyes narrow in annoyance, thinking about all the ways that he could move her.

He only put up with Annie because she was your best friend and he knew that if he did anything to her then it would upset you, and Ben didn't like upsetting you.

Well, he did think that it was cute when you got angry with him. Your eyebrows scrunched together, your cheeks turned a cute shade of pink, and your eyes seemed to glow with the force of your anger. There were few people who had the courage to tell him off, but the more you did it, the more he started to like it.

But this was different, and now thinking about you only reminded him of his current dilemma.

"Ben, wait a minute." Annie says.

"What?" He snaps

He could practically feel the seconds ticking away until he had to go back to the apartment. It was the first time that he'd ever dreaded going home and seeing you and fuck he hated every single moment of it.

"She does like jewelry." Annie's mouth drops into a sympathetic smile.

Ben tried not to get more angry when he saw the pitying look in her eye. He didn't need her pity, didn't need anyone's pity! He was still Soldier Boy damnit!

"Then why the fuck did she-"

"She doesn't like this kind of jewelry." Annie clarifies. "She like vintage stuff, simple, refined. Hell, I have to practically drag her away from the display cases at Atomic Archives."

"Atomic Archives?" Ben asks hesitantly. He had no idea what Annie was talking about. You'd never mentioned that place before.

"Yeah, it's our favorite antique store. It’s about two blocks over from where the plant shop used to be.”

"Can you show me where it is?" Ben says it before he can stop himself, his heart surging with hope at the possibility of finding the perfect gift for you.

"I mean I-" Annie begins to say, but Hughie interrupts.

"Babe, didn’t you say that the owner was closed this week because she went out of town?" Hughie asks her, throwing a sympathetic look in Ben's direction that made him bristle.

"Oh, right." Annie sighs.

Ben felt the hope inside pop and deflate like a pricked balloon, but the longer he stood there in the crowded shop, with the ostentatious jewelry twinkling under the lights, the buzz of the chatter of other shoppers, and the ridiculous new-age Christmas music that grated on his ears, he began to have an idea.

"Come on." Ben might have said it as a suggestion, but it wasn’t open for debate. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he needed Annie and unfortunately that meant that Hughie was going to tag along.

"What?" Annie sputtered.

"Come the fuck on. I don’t have time for this." Ben snaps back and stomps out the doorway past Annie and Hughie into the snow.

"But what about-" Hughie begins to say and Ben whirls around to glare at him, eyes narrowing. "Okay you got it. Lead the way buddy." Hughie nods his head in agreement.

"I'm not your fucking buddy." Ben sighs under his breath.

Soldier Boy POV

"This place is really murdery." Ben hears Hughie whisper to Annie from somewhere behind him. "Do you think Ben is going to try to kill us? Should I call Butc-"

"I'm not going to fucking kill you!" Ben snaps, pulling out his keys, the jingle of the metal echoing down the long hallway. "And I guess you really can't make a decision without that British fuck can you?”

The storage unit warehouse was desolate, but that was to be expected, it was after all two days to Christmas and most were more focused on buying things to put in their storage units than moving things out. The lights along the roof of the steel gray hallway flicker and throw long shadows over the navy blue doors of the units doing little to alleviate the creepy aura.

In hindsight Ben did agree that this particular storage space was "murdery," but it was the only one that he could get close to the apartment last minute. The same apartment that Ben has been trying to convince you to move out of.

It wasn't the safest neighborhood, and Ben hated the thought that you'd lived there as long as you had, walking home at night alone before he moved in. Now it wasn't a problem because Ben never let you walk by yourself. And as hard as you'd fought him not to live in a "big fancy apartment" all Ben wanted was to live somewhere where he could imagine staying permanently. Not in a small one bedroom apartment where he had to stoop in the shower, the bed barely fit in the bedroom, and seemed too small for one person let alone two.

He knew that he was wearing you down, but he still had a long way to go.

"Why are we here then?" Hughie asks.

"You're here because your girlfriend wouldn’t come without you.” Ben rolls his eyes as he fits the key into the thick padlock.

He was getting tired of listening to Hughie’s whining. He heard enough of that when he was stuck on missions with him, but he was tolerating him, for the moment at least. He had to, because if he didn't then he was never going to be able to find the perfect gift for you.

The interior of the storage unit isn't anything special. Ben didn't have much that he wanted to keep from his old life, as a supe or from his childhood. The things inside this storage unit were the only things that Ben had left that didn't cause him to be reminded of how his father chastised him or the drafty home that Ben returned to each time he got kicked out of another boarding school.

The mansion that had been in his family for decades had sat abandoned and locked up, hidden from the main roads so it was undisturbed after Ben's father died. Ben had gone to Philadelphia a few months ago to get things in order with the bank and prepare it for sale, but had been surprised when you told him you wanted to come.

He didn't think that you'd want to be involved in something so tedious, but it was almost as if you could sense how hard it was going to be for him, and you'd insisted.

Ben had no intention of setting foot inside, but you were curious and even though it made Ben's throat tight to walk down the dusty cobwebbed halls, the wonder on your face as you walked through made the cold memories of the world he knew before he was a supe fade into the background.

And this storage unit was all that was left of that life.

Ben located the old steamer trunk with ease. It was a faded gray now, but Ben remembered the day his father bought it for his mother. When the grayed sides were a soft supple black, the metal lock and edging were a polished gold, and the rose patterned fabric that lined the inside was soft and covered in bright pink flowers.

When Ben opens the trunk, he catches the smell of the floral perfume his mother used to wear and after all these years it makes him remember the tight hugs she'd give him the moment she sent him off to bed and the tight hugs she'd given him when he rushed down the stairs on Christmas morning.

He didn't like thinking about her or talking about her, but sometimes he would think of her when he was with you. Whenever you did something caring without being asked or whenever you took the time to check in to see how he was doing. Not that you were motherly, just that Ben hadn't had anyone in a long time care about little things like that.

The only other "relationship" he'd tried to have was with Crimson Countess and she didn't do any of the things for him that you did. There wasn't any comparison between the two of you as far as Ben was concerned.

He shakes off the memory the way he always does and moves some of his mother's clothes for the cherry wood carved box that he knows is in the bottom.

He opens it slowly, extracting a small velvet box from within, one of many inside that Ben probably should have taken to the bank ages ago for safe keeping. Ben's father had a tendency to buy things for his mother whenever he "messed up" and the small velvet boxes inside were proof of that.

Ben turns back to where Annie and Hughie are watching with curiosity at the door of the storage unit. "Here."

"Here?" Annie says hesitantly looking at the velvet box in Ben's hand.

"You brought us out here for a box?" Hughie huffs.

Ben narrows his eyes. "No. And if you tell anyone about this I'll turn you inside out, ass-wipe."

"Why do you always have to be so-" Hughie begins to say, but Annie nudges him in the side.

Ben wondered briefly if Annie and Hughie also tried to tolerate him the same way that he tolerated them for you.  

"Wow." Annie says, her voice hushed and reverent when she opens the box with strands of her blonde hair falling out around the hat.

"You think she'll like it?" Ben clears his throat, trying not to wince at the question.

He hated that he was relying on Annie for this or relying on anyone in general. Ben would have rather taken a long walk off a short pier than anyone for help, but he was just so desperate to make sure that the first Christmas the two of you spent together was perfect.

You deserved that and Ben wanted to give it to you.

"She will."

"Good." Ben takes the box back, but decides to bring the wooden box with him back to the apartment just in case. His eyes narrow as he looks over at Hughie. "If you tell anyone about this, I'll shove your head up Butcher's ass. Then again, you two would probably enjoy something like that."

"You're welcome." Annie raises an eyebrow.

"Whatever." Ben mutters.

Reader POV

Ben was late and you were starting to worry.

Not that Ben was always punctual. The man was about as punctual as the White Rabbit, but rather Ben was sure to let you know when he was running late. Not to mention Ben was rarely late to things that he knew were important to you.

And tonight was special or at least you wanted it to be.

You look at your phone again to check the time, noting that it was nearing nine and Ben had told you he was going to be back at eight. You were trying not to think too much about it, busying yourself with other little things, like packing for your trip to your grandmother's home in Illinois. Something that you would have ended up doing about an hour before you had to go to the airport, but you knew that would only annoy Ben.

But you liked annoying him.

Ben's nostrils would flare, his jaw would flex, and the green of his eyes would darken in a way that sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine, but tonight you were too anxiety ridden at how late he was to care about making him annoyed.

Ben and you were supposed to leave this morning to drive the 14 hours to your hometown in Illinois, but you'd called your grandmother a few days ago and asked her if Ben and you could fly in instead.

You wanted the two of you have a Christmas alone before you dragged him back home and made him sit through the two holiday parties your grandmother threw. So you'd planned a quiet Christmas at home where the two of you could drink eggnog, watch some holiday movies, and exchange gifts before Ben was subjected to every single person you'd known since you were six.

But Ben didn’t seem to mind any of that.

Regardless, you were going all out this Christmas. It was Ben's first since he'd come back to the States and you wanted it to be perfect and it was the first Christmas the two of you were spending together as a couple.

The anxious energy that thrummed through your veins reached out into the numerous plants in your apartment, that shifted and stirred as your powers coaxed them forward. The vines that crept along the walls shook with an unnatural breeze, the Christmas tree grew an inch taller, the mistletoe hanging above the front door grew another few shimmering berries, the blackberry and raspberry vines that hung over your refrigerator fidgeted and wove together into a curtain while the tomato plant in the garden box above your sink dropped bright red fruit onto the counter, and the orange/lemon tree that sat behind your kitchen table blocking the view of the alley beyond shook it's branches for a moment. You could feel everything alive in your apartment leaning towards you as if waiting for your silent command.

Rex, the creature you'd created from broken vines and trampled leaves four months ago, flicks his eyes over to you sensing the same disturbance the rest of the plants inside could.

You bite the inside of your cheek fighting your urge to check your phone even though you know that less than a minute has passed since you'd last checked. Instead you fiddle with the ribbon on the lumpy wrapped gift that is perched on your lap.

Shopping for Ben had been difficult to say the least.

You weren't sure what to get your 104 boyfriend who'd lived as a hedonistic playboy for most of his life and you didn't like giving gift cards (you didn't think Ben would understand the concept) or giving people meaningless trinkets that they used once and then threw away (the Grinch was right about some things). You liked giving gifts that you put time and effort into that you were sure the recipient was going to love.

And you were sure that the package on your lap contained the perfect gift and you were excited to see the look on Ben's face when he unwrapped it.

Your cat Bean purrs where he sits beside you on the couch and Rex your, for lack of a better word, Dragon was watching the multicolored lights on the Christmas tree in the corner blink on and off.

It was bigger for your apartment than it should be, but Ben had insisted on getting it and you couldn't complain. Not when he genuinely seemed to be happy to stand there in the snow picking out a tree with you.

And after when no Uber driver agreed to pick the two of you up because of the tree, Ben had carried it on his shoulder fifteen blocks while you begged him to let you help. When you'd tried to take some of the tree, Ben had shifted it to his other shoulder and taken your hand instead, which wasn't what you meant when you reached out towards him, but you didn't let go, not when it was cold and Ben's hand was warm.

The one jammed into the corner of your small living room didn't have a leaf out of place or any signs of decay. You'd fixed that with a flick of a finger.

You'd gone all out with decorations.

Every plant in your apartment had lights of their own and ornaments that swung just out of reach from your pets. Christmas lights were strung down the hallway and there was a wreath on your bedroom door. Strands of mistletoe hung over every doorway in your apartment and there was one taped to the wall above your bed. That one was Ben's doing, but you couldn't complain, not when it felt so damn good to kiss him.

Ben hadn't spoken about the Christmases he spent in the past, but he'd listened to you talk about your Christmases growing up when the two of you decorated the tree with ornaments you'd collected over the years.

He might not have been big on sharing, but your boyfriend was good at listening. Not just pretending to listen, but actually being quiet and wanting to learn more about what you're saying. You'd thought it was odd when you became roommates and you realized just how much Ben listened and remembered what you told him, but now it was one of the reasons that made you love your boyfriend more.

You sighed, a happy smile on your face. You didn't think that you could feel this way about anyone, let alone someone you hated for so long, but you did. Ben was changing the belief you had about what relationships should look like, and you were sure that you were doing the same for him.

You hear the jingle of keys and the fumble of the doorknob as Ben slowly opens the front door and you leap from the couch.

"You're home!" You exclaim as your body hits his full speed, but he doesn't move. It was difficult for you to produce enough force to move him, difficult for anyone really.

Ben chuckles "Miss me Petals?"

He moves the plastic bag of Chinese food to his left hand so he can hug you back, his right hand fitting comfortably over the small of your back to hold you tighter against him.

You could remember the first time you hugged him, when all he did was stand there with his hands at his sides awkwardly while you held on to him as tight as you could. This was better. Ben's embrace is warm and strong, unyielding, but full of the love that he’d had such a hard time admitting.

"Yes." You squeeze him hard, smiling into his jacket that's flecked with melting snow, cold against your skin, but the warmth of his body soaks through the chill and into you. You sigh, nuzzling further into him. "I was worried-"

"Why?" Ben's voice rumbles through his chest, against your cheek.

"Because you weren't home yet." You pull back to stare up at him. His brilliant green eyes catch in the multicolored strands of Christmas lights, strung through your apartment. There's snow caught in his dark hair, turning to water and dripping down into his face in the warmth of the apartment.

Ben frowns. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You're here now." You smile arching up to kiss him. Ben groans into your mouth, his grip on you tightening as he deepens the kiss, pressing the hand on the small of your back just a little more to secure you against his chest.

You sigh softly, content in living in this moment with him for another few precious seconds. The heat of his body transferring into you the longer you stand pressed against him, soaking through your sweatpants and chunky sweater in the best way.

You'd never felt this way about anyone in the past. There hadn't been another boyfriend who'd treated you the way Ben did, no other boyfriend who'd cared about the little things, and no other boyfriend who you were so in love with. Even your first love so long ago faded into the background, the one you thought you'd never get over, and all that was left was Ben.

You're too excited about giving Ben his gift to eat. You sit cross-legged on the plush gray couch so close to him that your knees are touching the outside of his thigh as Ben places the boxes of food onto your coffee table. The anxious energy tingling in the pit of your stomach and buzzing in your chest so much that it's difficult to sit still.

And before Ben can give you your chopsticks, you thrust the lumpy wrapped package onto his lap with a wide smile.

"You first!" You say.

Ben shakes his head. "It should be ladies first."

“I’m not a lady Ben. We both know that-“

“Sorry sweetheart that’s the way it goes.”

“Don't be so old fashioned Gramps. It's 2024.” You roll your eyes at him, laughing at the cute frown that pulls at his lips when you use the nickname. Ben never liked it, but when you'd first met, Ben hadn't told you his real name, and you'd assigned him the nickname and it had stuck when you realized how much it annoyed him.

That was when he did everything in his power to annoy you as well, so it seemed like a good fit.

In all honesty, you didn't hate how old fashioned Ben was, if anything it was a relief, a reprieve from the way the modern boys treated women. It was nice to finally be with a man who actually gave a shit about you and cared what you wanted.

"And I really want you to open yours first." You plead as you lean towards him. "Oh, and this goes with it."

You reach down behind the couch to grab the small golden barrel cactus, avoiding the sharp yellow spines, and place it on the minimal space left on the coffee table. You'd crocheted a dark green sleeve to go around the terra cotta pot.

"You got me a cactus?" Ben snorts.

"I mean, I have so many plants in here and I thought that you'd want one that was yours. Plus, you'll never have to water it." You gesture with one hand to the numerous plants around the room, the ones bathed in the multicolored lights from the Christmas Tree, the ones with bright green leaves that unfurled towards the light, the others with hanging vines that trailed to the ground so thick that you couldn't remember the color of the wall, the apple tree with ripe red fruit, and the numerous herbs in the garden box that hung over your kitchen sink. "And I gave it a sweater."

"Why did you give it a sweater?"

"It’s used to a warm climate and because I had some yarn left over."

"From?"

"You're just going to have to open your gift and find out." You shrug, but can barely contain your excitement.

Ben shakes his head at you, but a smile twitches on the corner of his lips. You knew that your boyfriend loved you because you were different than anyone he'd ever met, and you reveled in that. You liked that even though Ben was older than you,  that no matter how many other experiences he'd had in his life,  you were a first for him just as Ben was a first for you.

He rips through the paper carefully, trying hard not to ruin what was inside, the sound of crinkling and tearing blocking out the Christmas playlist for a moment that you'd put on before Ben had come home, but you can hear the ABBA song clear as day.

For a moment he stares down at the gift not quite comprehending what the lumpy mass in his lap is, but then he picks it up.

It had taken a month for you to pick out the perfect dark green yarn that was soft but not too soft, green but not too green, and another two months for you to finish it when Ben wasn't home, but you were proud of the sweater that you'd made your boyfriend.

He stares at it for another few beats, holding it up to the light, and it makes you worry that maybe you should have bought him something at the mall instead.

"You made me a sweater?" He asks, there's something on the edge of his voice that you can't place, some traces of emotion that you're not able to identify.

"Yeah. I wanted to make you something." You clear your throat, worried. "I mean- you don't have any and I know that you keep saying you run a little warm, but I figured we're going to Illinois for Christmas and it might be cold."

Ben doesn't say anything and you start to feel the self-doubt come roaring in.

Why did I make him a sweater? I should have bought him some cologne or something.

"And you complained when Butcher sent you on that mission to Alaska last month and I just thought that-“ You press your lips into a tight line, shoulders drooping. “If you don't like it I can keep it for me-" You fumble, but before you can finish, Ben yanks you into his lap.

His hands cup your cheeks as he kisses you so fiercely that it wipes any doubts from your mind. You make a surprised sound in the back of your throat, but sink into the kiss.  “Don’t you fucking dare.” Ben mutters against your lips.

Your blush burns against your face. “You like it?”

He nods. “ No one’s ever made me anything before.” His voice comes out a little bit gruff, as if he’s embarrassed to admit it, but it makes you smile.

“I figured and I wanted to change that.” Your fingertips dance over his forehead, brushing away the hair that’s fallen forward before your hand drops to cup his cheek, feeling the scratch of his beard against the palm of your hand. “But you’re sure you like it?”

Ben kisses you again, his large hands settling on your hips with an encouraging squeeze. “I do.”

“Good. Merry Christmas.” You wrap your arms around the back of his neck to hug him for a minute, sinking into his embrace with a happy smile.

"Merry Christmas doll." Ben murmurs into your hair, affection lacing his words.

Again, you send a mental thank you to your grandmother for understanding that Ben and you needed a day to be together and celebrate the way you wanted to before coming to stay. Not that you didn't like the Christmas Eve party or the Christmas day party, but you wanted to give Ben this. You noticed that Ben still had a hard time being in places with a lot of people when the PTSD came roaring back, and you wanted to show him what Christmas meant to you and hopefully show what Christmas would look like between the two of you as long as you were together.

“Sweetheart you gotta open yours now.” Ben’s voice rumbles, the warmth of his breath on your ear. It makes a pleasurable shiver thrill skate down your spine when you think of all the other times the two of you have been this close.

“It’s okay I can wait.” You hum into his throat, content, but Ben won't give in.

He pushes you back gently from his chest shaking his head. “Too bad. It's your turn."

"Fine." You start to move back to the space beside him, but Ben's hands catch on your hips to stop you.

"I didn't say I wanted you to move did I?" His smile turns more smirk.

"I-"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I like having you on top of me?" Ben purrs, kissing under your jaw, his beard scratching in a way that makes your throat tight.

"Keep doing that and the only thing I'm going to unwrap is you." You sigh in a half-moan, fingers curling into the hair at the base of his neck.

"After." Ben leans back to reach into his coat pocket and pulls out a small black velvet box that fits in the palm of your hand.

You hesitate to open it.

It wasn't that you didn't want jewelry for Christmas, it was that Ben and you had done this song and dance before after he tried to make you wear a diamond and emerald necklace with jewels bigger than your index, middle, and third finger put together. The whole time you wore it the only thing you could think about is how many groceries you could have bought with the necklace, how much you were afraid that it was going to break, and how much you feared that you were going to lose it or someone was going to try and steal it.

Maybe that was ridiculous, but extravagant gifts never appealed to you. You liked gifts that meant something, gifts that were heartfelt and thoughtful, gifts like the bookshelf Ben had gotten you months ago before you were dating because he noticed you needed one. Not to mention you loved just spending time with Ben. If he hadn't gotten you anything you would have been content with just sitting with him on the couch and watching a Christmas movie.

But you smile, because you don't want to hurt his feelings and because it's his first Christmas in forty years and you wanted it to be special.

It's Christmas and I will be thankful and happy with whatever he got me, because Ben was thinking of me when he bought it.

You think to yourself as you open the box.

The first thing you notice is that the box isn't as new as you thought, the inside of the lid is printed in ancient script that's a little faded, worn against the aged white silk that lines it. Your eyes drift to the piece of jewelry nestled on the pillow. It's a silver locket, hexagon shaped, and about the size of your thumb. The face is printed with weaving ivy leaves and roses that reach to a simple plain border.

Simple, stately, and completely you.

Ben is uncharacteristically quiet, but he breaks the silence first. "Do you-" He clears his throat, "Do you like it?"

He asks it hesitantly, as if he's afraid to hear your answer. It was unusual for Ben to look so nervous.

You can only nod, any words you had stuck in the back of your throat. Your fingernail finds the seam between the two pieces of metal and you gently unlatch the locket to see the picture inside. There's a piece of glass protecting a yellowed photo of a little boy who looks no more than five standing in a small black suit. You didn't think that they made suits for kids that small. He's smiling and one of his teeth are missing, but he looks oddly familiar.

"Who is this?" You ask. The more you look at the photo the more you think that you've seen him before.

"It's me." He says it quiet, almost a whisper.

"You? But-"

"It was my mother's." He clarifies and you inhale sharply in surprise.

"Really?"

He nods once, looking uncomfortable. By now you knew that moments like this usually made your boyfriend uncomfortable no matter how many times that you'd told him that he didn't have to be uncomfortable about being vulnerable. He was getting a little better, slowly, very slowly.

"Oh Ben I don't know if I should-" You shake your head, afraid to touch something so old.

Ben didn't often speak about his mother, but when he did, it was always reverent and respectful. You could see in his eyes how much he had loved her and how much he had cared about her. His father, Ben also didn't like talking about, but Ben never spoke of his father with the kindness that he'd spoke about his mother.

And you didn't want to take something like this away from him, something that meant so much to him, because of how much he loved his mother.

"No. I-" He clears his throat and Ben's hand tightens on your waist. "I want you to have it."

"But-" You stutter.

"What else am I going to do with it Petals? Can't exactly wear it myself." Ben chuckles, but the humor doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah, but it’s your mom’s and I-“ You trail off still looking at the photo of Ben as a little boy. He had the same mischievous twinkle in his eyes that you loved, the same unruly dark hair, but there was something different about him. He looked happier. It was the same look that Ben had when it was just the two of you together, the happiness that you wanted Ben to feel the rest of his life when he understood what it was like to be loved and cherished.

And it made you understand that the last time Ben must have felt loved and cherished was when his mother was still alive. It broke your heart to know that Ben had lived all these years without her and missed that in his life.

The locket was beautiful and the fact that Ben remembered what you said about liking gifts that “meant something” made your heart flutter.

Because this meant something. Ben taking the time to go through his mother’s jewelry and pick something out just for you that was special to him that he wanted to share with you, meant more than the emerald and diamond necklace he had tried to give you months ago.

There were tears burning behind your eyes the more you look at the photo of the little boy.

Ben is watching you. “Well-“ He shrugs. “I'm an only child. Which means I don't have any siblings who have wives to fight over this stuff so, I figured that if anyone was going to get it, it should be you. If you don't take it, it'll sit in that fucking storage unit. Seems like a shame."

You don't answer.

"And-" He hesitates, "I think my mom would have wanted you to have it. Hell, she might have given it to you, if I'd brought you home to meet her."

Your cheeks flush.

Ben studies you for another minute, before you watch his smile twitch into a frown. "Fuck, I knew I shouldn't have gotten you jewelry.  Annie said that you liked jewelry, but I told her you didn't and now the bitch is probably having a good laugh with that pussy of a boyfriend! Forget about it sweetheart, I'll go get you something else right now-" Ben tries to take the box from you, but you swat his hand away.

“Don't you fucking dare!” You shout, using the same words that he said to you when you tried to take his sweater away.

"But you don't like it-"

"I do!  And knowing how much this means to you, makes it better."

"Really?"

You nod, a wide smile wiping away any uncertainty in his gaze. "Will you help me put it on?"

"Sure." Ben says gruffly. His voice has lowered a little, and you know that it's a mixture of pride and love mingling in the tone. It made something break open deep inside and flood your ribcage with love.

You turn your neck to the side, pulling your hair away from the skin as Ben hooks the chain together at the nape of your neck.  The cool metal of the necklace against your skin and the weight are unfamiliar, but you already knew that you wouldn’t be taking it off anytime soon. "It's perfect!" You pull Ben in for a kiss, threading your fingers into his dark hair.

Ben smiles into your mouth, holding you tight against him as if he never wants to let you go and you don't want him to.

It was odd to think that you'd only been together for four months, but you couldn't imagine your life without him. It seemed ridiculous for you to think that Ben was it after such a short time, but he was. You'd never rushed into anything in your entire life, but then Ben was there shattering every expectation that you had, enough to make you throw your inhibitions to the wind and jump feet first into the unknown if it meant he was with you.

The kiss is softer than the one the two of you shared at your front door, filled with more emotion than Ben usually let the world see, but he was opening up bit by bit, learning that you wouldn't judge him for that and it made you feel sky high.

This was the relationship you'd always wanted, and you never thought that you'd have it with Ben, but now that you were here you wouldn't change a thing, because it wouldn’t have put you in his arms.

"You can change the picture." Ben murmurs into your lips.

"No way. I don't have any kid photos of you. And I'm pretty sure you'll see all of mine this week.”

“I bet you were cute.” Ben smiles, raising one of the hands from your hip to push your hair from your face. “Hard to imagine you being any other way sweetheart.” 

"Debatable." You sigh, nipping at his bottom lip in a way that makes Ben pull you back to him.

And when the kiss turns hungry, with you gripping his hair so tight you'd be sure that it would hurt anyone else, and with his fingers pushing up the bottom of your t-shirt to feel the warmth of your skin against his hands and find the dips and curves of your body that make you moan into his mouth, you can't help but think that this is the best Christmas you'd ever had.

"I do think it's later sweetheart." Ben's eyes shine with mischief, mouth pulling into the familiar smirk that makes your knees weak.

"Good. Because I have one other gift for you." You moan as Ben's mouth trails down to your jaw, his beard prickling against the sensitive skin, in a way that drives you mad.

"It's not another plant is it?" He bites just under your jaw and you tighten your hands in his hair, gasping softly.  "Fuck, I love those sounds you make baby." Ben murmurs.

"No." You've lost all ability to form sentences, not when he's so perfectly warm and the trail of his hands working up your abdomen consumes you.

"Give it to me later." Ben's eyes flash a startling green. "I want to unwrap my favorite gift right now."

"Keep going the way you are, and you're gonna find it."

Ben hesitates, before he raises his hand to feel the end of the brand new lingerie that you'd bought special for tonight, his eyes darkening with the realization. "Well then, Merry Christmas to me."

Ben's mouth falls against yours, but before he goes further, he pulls back just for a moment, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. Your eyes widen in surprise.

"Ben?" You question. 

"Merry Christmas Petals." He whispers, dragging his thumb over your cheek, and nudges his nose against yours in a gesture that warms your heart. He didn’t do things like that often, but whenever he did it always stood out to you, because it added on another layer to the man you loved with all your heart.

"Merry Christmas Ben."

A/N: I thought that they deserved a little Christmas fluff. I'm hoping that I have time to drop a follow up to this before Christmas, because I kinda want to write what happens when they go back to Illinois, but we'll see what happens! ❤️

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, Likes, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think 🥰

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[doodler16]

I'm going to play devils advocate and say all her characters aren't their skin tone but I will say maybe make the grey ones latino/Hispanic paste white Caucasian/white and people and darker grey or whatever color velvet is black and all the furries can be left to the imagination or work around the design to get a idea but of course that's how I would do it which also I do agree the designs suck you can't tell who's black hair will help distinct that but not necessarily when it comes to other race of color that don't have that type of hair which is why I say you should have certain colors representing race like paste white can also be for white asains but maybe distinct with eye shape

That makes it even unintentionally worse and confusing Anon 😂 I personally believe Vivziepop should actually have the characters somewhat reflect how they look when they were human (along with their skin tone) so none of use don’t have time to decode whose is black, Hispanic, Asian, etc with these dumb ashy colors.

I’ll use Alastor for example and will mention some minor spoiler regarding the Hazbin season 2 leaks.

The 2 images you see above is when Vivziepop made Alastor in middle school. Look at this man’s skin, it is still ashy as hell and no intentions of being black or mixed. Literally the same skin tone as series Alastor. The only difference is that middle school Alastor got that edgy ass hair cut.

Flash forward: Alastor’s new human form got curls and is looks much darker than his counterpart. Hmmm, I wonder why. Oh wait, the black community would understandably get on her ass about his original human design once they show it on Prime, Vivziepop also shot herself in the foot by adding voodoo stuff to it, and had to cover it by saying Alastor is creole.

Keep in mind, Alastor’s human form was going to look like this 💀

I know many are used to pilot designs and all that stuff but I really wished she actually redesigned the sinners to actually be at least similar to their human counterparts. It’s gives me total whiplash when I see Alastor’s new official human design then he downgrades to his obviously middle school demon form and loses all his melanin.

[cosette141]

You, Me, and Who You Used to Be | CS Fic (CSSS 2024 Gift for BelovedCreation)

Merry Christmas!!

I'm your Santa this year!! :) 🎄🎄

Using your prompts of pining, Enchanted Forest, and angst with a happy ending, I give you:

Summary: (CS movie divergence) After getting her parents back on track, Emma’s magic returns. But before she can conjure a portal home, Killian is abducted. Alone in a world she knows nothing about and with no idea how to find Killian, Emma enlists the only person—or rather, pirate—who would be as motivated to save Killian as she is. However… Killian’s past may just be what destroys the future. CS

AO3

Words (so far): 5k+

NOTE: This is currently only the first chapter of this fic - long story short, the fic I spent weeks on just was not coming together, so I last minute changed to this one. It was an idea I had written the beginning of years ago that I remembered when I was trying to find something to align with the prompts you gave me :D so I knew it would be perfect to write for your gift!! I spent the past week working super hard on this trying to get it finished for you in time, but it was getting so rushed and you do not deserve a rushed gift!! So I decided to give you the first 5k words now, and I'll be updating it with the rest over the coming weeks! :)

Chapter One (under the cut!)

A/N: Story context: This is a canon divergence of the CS movie, which begins right after Emma gets the wand from Rumplestiltskin. (He does not send him to his vault of do-not-touch things in this version tho. We’ll pretend Elsa gets to Storybrooke some other way lol. I’ll also be ignoring Marian, which, the show pretty much did when it just ended up being Zelena anyway lol. 

Emma smiled at the faintly glowing wand in her fingers, feeling the warmth of the return of her magic, lighting a glow in the vast dining room of Rumplestiltskin’s castle. 

Everything was back on track.

Including herself.

Perhaps she had been trying to take the easy way out, blocking her magic from returning so she could go back to New York with no ties left behind. 

But more than anything, it was Killian’s smile now that made the warmth inside her grow even more, and if it wasn’t her imagination, made the wand spark a little brighter.

“It works,” whispered Emma, staring at the wand in awe, eyes snapping to Killian. “My magic is back!”

“I knew you could do it, love.” said Killian softly, a relief in his eyes, like it was for both the possibility of getting back home, and for the fact that he still blamed himself for her powers being taken in the first place. 

“Ah, the Savior, of course,” murmured Rumplestiltskin from his perch on the edge of his dining table. “I should have known you would have magic of your own.”

Emma suddenly realized just how much Rumplestiltskin knew. “Is it a problem that you know…?”

“It would be,” he agreed, but lifted his hand, where a potion bottle materialized. “However, I have spent the past few hours mixing myself a Forgetting Potion.”

Emma smiled. “Good. Well, let’s do this, then.” She then lifted the wand, about to attempt to bring forth the time portal.

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Rumplestiltskin, jumping down and pushing her hand with the wand down. “Not in here. You might bring any number of my possessions with you.”

Emma winced, eyes finding the myriad of scary-looking things in the castle, wondering just how catastrophic that could be. 

She looked from Killian’s raised eyebrow to Rumplestiltskin. “So where do we—“

But not a second later, Rumplestiltskin’s castle was gone, and suddenly they were outside. Trees, greenery and blue sky replaced the walls of the Dark One’s abode. They weren’t too far from the town below, and not far off was the sea. But they were in an empty enough area of the forest that no one should see anything, and nothing should come with them.

 “Well,” said Killian, giving her another smile, “ready, there, Swan?”

Emma nodded. She lifted the wand again, concentrating on her magic, on the emotion in her chest, bright and raw. The tiny flicker of a portal, like a zipper drawn in the very fabric of the air, appeared before them. 

Killian grinned. ���That’s it, lo—” 

He was cut off with a grunt, and Emma’s eyes snapped to him, her concentration broken and the tiny beginnings of the portal fizzled back out of existence. 

Emma’s heart stopped. 

They were no longer alone. 

A burly, muscled man had his arm around Killian’s neck in a chokehold, his other arm pinning Killian’s left arm to his side. Killian let out an angry, surprised snarl, jerking hard against the grip. 

“Hook!” cried Emma, jamming the wand in her back pocket to hide it and running toward him, only skidding to a stop when three other thugs suddenly flanked the first.

“Sw—“ began Killian, his right hand scrabbling at the hold around his neck, but his airway was quickly cut off. Red rushed to his face, and Emma’s heart froze.

“Sorry, darlin’,” said the man’s raspy voice. “We got direct orders to bring Captain Hook in. He stole from us last night, and now he gon’ pay. Pretty stupid to show yer face in the open like this, without yer crew, no less.” A dark chuckle. “Shoulda sailed away when he had the chance.” To someone behind him, he shouted, “Lucky catch, men!”

Killian struggled against them, something angry and feral, landing a blow to the man's gut. The man growled and stumbled, and Killian reared back to hit him again until the man snapped, “Stop fightin’ or the wench dies!” That made Killian freeze, staring at her with icy horror. 

For a moment, Emma and Killian stared at each other, and it felt like time stood still.

Panic rushed through Emma's chest.

Magic.

Magic.

But she had no idea how to use her magic.

And if she took even a step forward, she'd get a sword through her in seconds.

Killian grunted as a second thug grabbed him on his other side, ripping Killian's sword from his sheath.

Panic rose even sharper in Emma's chest.

Killian swallowed, eyes locked onto her. “Go—home,” Killian managed, his eyes pleading and broken, with something in them that looked like goodbye, only making Emma’s eyes burn. 

“Hook—!” breathed Emma, running for him, but froze when three swords pointed in her direction, so close to her it made her stumble back, falling to the ground.

And by the time she made it back to her feet, they were gone.

-.-.-.

Dark had fallen.

The air had chilled. 

But none of it gave her the cold dread inside her chest. 

She’d searched for hours.

But those men obviously knew this forest better than she did, and it was easy to get lost in it. 

Too easy.

She let them take him.

Emma kicked herself.

She should have done something.

She should have done something.

She should have been spending all the time back in Storybrooke learning magic instead of shoving it away.

Because now Killian was gone, and it was all her fault.

She got them stuck in the past.

She was the reason Killian stopped trying to free himself from those bastards.

She was the reason that they may never see each other again.

Emma couldn’t stop seeing his eyes. 

The resignation.

The defeat. 

The horrible, utter sadness.

She was now alone, and she’d never felt this alone in her entire life. 

It was one thing to grow up being alone. 

And it was another thing entirely to find people, to fall for people, and to have them ripped from you.

It was an entirely different thing to know what it felt like to not be alone.

And ever since meeting Killian, more or less after he decided to become a part of something , he’d been practically glued to her side. He’d voluntarily gone back to the land he hated more than anywhere, he’d given up his revenge, he’d found her in freaking New York City —an endeavor Emma still didn’t know how he managed to do—and how he managed to find her in a world he knew hardly anything about?

Emma stopped on the path, feeling the chill of the air. 

Even the air felt different in the Enchanted Forest. It felt… unearthly, which, wasn’t exactly off point. The magic in the land seemed to crackle like a charged atmosphere. The animal sounds, the nightly coos and caws were different, and all this different was unsettling and…

She really, really didn’t want to admit she was scared. 

But Emma didn’t have Mary Margaret with her this time. She didn’t have a princess squad to help her through. And, she didn’t have Hook.

Killian, who was god knew where. 

He might even already be—

No , said a firm voice in her head, trying to quell the hair that raised on the back of her neck at the thought. They wouldn’t have kidnapped him if they were going to be quick about it. 

The idea of him suffering at all…

Emma swallowed, hard, trying to shove down the rush of panic that shook her fingers.

How the hell was she supposed to find him?

She was a complete outsider. 

She not only wasn’t from this town, she wasn’t from this world , and she wasn’t from this time, not by a long shot. 

She was trapped thirty years in the past, and Killian could be anywhere. 

“Go home.”

Emma shut her eyes at Killian’s echo.

Go home.

He wanted her to go home.

He wanted her to leave him here, conjure the portal, and go home.

The very fact that he thought she would made her chest hurt, because how could he think she’d leave him here?

But…

“You really thought I’d let you drown?”

“Given our history, can you blame me for being uncertain? ”

Here she was thinking how he could possibly think she didn’t care about him, when…

“Do you even care about them? Or anyone in this town?”

He said anyone.

He meant me.

And replaying it all, how could she think he’d know she did?

All she’s done since he saved her in New York, was walk away from him.

But she did care.

She more than cared.

And now, she may never —

No.

Emma opened her eyes, ignoring the burn in them.

Determination set into her face, Emma made up her mind without hesitation. 

There was no way she was leaving here without Killian.

The thought of returning to life without him, living without him…

It felt wrong. 

Something about him in her life just made sense. Even now, she felt like something was missing, and suddenly she was wondering how she ever considered leaving her family, leaving him, to go back to New York. 

“Go home.”

She couldn’t go home when he already became her home.

But… 

How on earth—or, how in the Enchanted Forest—was she supposed to find him?

And before they did something terrible and irreversible to him?

“He stole from us last night. Now he’s gon' pay.”

Emma blinked. 

Killian didn’t steal anything from anyone; she knew he hadn’t. He’d been too concerned with messing up the time continuum.

He hadn’t stolen.

But Emma had a pretty good feeling who had.

And Killian was currently paying for his crime. 

Emma smiled grimly, a plan unfolding in her head. 

She started walking, faster this time.

She just hoped the Jolly Roger was still in port. 

-.-.-.

Emma clung to the shadows when she entered the town. 

Thanks to Rumplestiltskin returning her clothes, she was no longer wearing the ragged dress and cloak that they had stolen, and was back in her jeans and leather jacket. Something that, Killian’s voice reminded her, hasn’t come into vogue, ever. So… she had to be careful. They just fixed the timeline; they cannot ruin it all over again.

But Killian was worth that risk.

As she clung to the dark areas of town, Emma was reminded of a younger her, living on the streets, dodging shadowy corners to pitch black alleyways. It was evening, the sky blackening with an array of stars, but the town still bustled with life, mostly around the taverns. 

Emma passed the tavern she and Killian had found his past-self in, and Emma risked a look inside, but he wasn’t there. 

Her heart quickening, Emma suddenly worried he wasn’t even in town.

She picked up her pace, following the path past-Hook had led her down when he’d been her inebriated guide. 

Emma emerged from the cover of an alley, looking up to see the sea, and ships of all sizes moored at the docks. And among them—

Emma felt relief flood her. 

The Jolly Roger. 

She smiled despite herself, picking up her pace. As she got closer, she could see the crew retracting the anchor—

They were leaving. 

Her heart pounding, Emma began to sprint. 

With grunts of heaving, two members of the Jolly’s crew were lifting the gangplank.

It was halfway up when Emma got to it, flinging herself off the dock and onto it, barely making the jump. She slid down the wood, landing in a heap on the deck. 

“What in the blazes—?!”

The two men nearly dropped the gangplank, but managed to finish shutting it, faster, as if worrying that someone else was going to attempt Emma’s jump. 

Her entire body throbbing from the mistreatment, Emma slowly picked herself up from the deck. She quickly noticed at least a dozen pirates were staring at her in shock. 

But a voice broke through the din, and Emma would recognize it anywhere. 

“Well, you don’t bloody see something like that every day.”

-.-.-.

Despite her protests, Emma had been manhandled by two of the crew members and dragged into the Captain’s Quarters a moment after she’d seen him. He’d witnessed her reckless jump onto his ship, but hadn’t said a word to her yet. 

She was currently in the chair opposite his desk, two burly hands on her shoulders keeping her pinned down, and Hook was in his chair behind the desk, staring at her in silence. 

“What are you doing aboard my ship?” he said finally. 

Emma flicked her eyes to the pirate holding her down, then back to Hook. “I’ll tell you, but only you.”

Hook sighed, then flicked his eyes to the man behind her, giving a minute nod and a slight roll of his eyes. Then, when the door clicked shut, he gave her a pointed look.

Emma let out a breath, her heart beating in a frenzy. This Hook was not half as drunk as he was when they last met. His gaze on her was cold and measured and there was no trace of the softness Killian had now. It unnerved her, this air of danger he held, sitting before her. Waiting. 

But Emma swallowed, trying to remember, this is still Killian. Just… buried under two hundred years of pain and resentment. 

It didn’t make her feel better. 

“I need your help.” said Emma at last, holding his gaze. 

His brow lifted, like that was the last thing he’d expected her to say. “My help?” he echoed, lips twisting a little in amusement. “I’m a pirate captain, lass. You’ve mistaken me for someone who gives. Pirates take.”

Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the irony that all he’s done the past two years was give. 

Worry fluttered in her stomach, suddenly wondering if her Killian was all right.

And when did he start being ‘her’ Killian?

Emma let out another breath. “Yeah, that’s actually what brings me here. All I need to know,” said Emma slowly, “is who you stole from last night.” 

She’d thought it through; if she could just get the name or the place of the person who he’d stolen from, she could go find Killian without Hook ever needing to know she was from the future. 

Hook paused. 

Suspicion suddenly gleamed in his eyes. 

He stood, and rounded his desk until he was standing before her. 

The suspicion only deepened in his eyes.

Emma could feel the danger radiate off him like a cologne. 

She was trying not to shrink under his intense gaze when he leaned even closer, his face inches from hers. He searched her eyes.

“You,” he whispered. “I remember you.”

Emma’s heart skipped. “You do?” she breathed. 

She should have known it was irrational to think he meant he remembered knowing her. 

Because his eyes narrowed, coldness in the blue. “You owe me a nightcap, love.”

Emma froze. “Oh,” she said, biting her lip. “Didn’t blame the rum, huh?”

He leaned back slightly, but looked no less predatory. “I’m guessing this is from you as well,” he said, brushing the metal of his hook to his cheek where Killian had hit him. 

Emma winced. “Not exactly—“

He was suddenly in her face again, eyes narrowed, colder than ice. “You were trying to get me drunk. To get on my ship,” he muttered. “Why?”

Oops.

Emma tried to think fast. 

She did not like a version of Killian that scared her, and this one did exactly that. 

As if to prove the point, he raised his hook, tracing her jaw until the tip was underneath her chin, forcing her head up. Emma gasped reflexively, suddenly realizing how bad of an idea this had been. “Tell me,” he hissed, “or this will be rather unpleasant.”

Emma swallowed, trying to stem the rush of fear. To hell with the timeline. “I’m from the future.”

His brow rose sharply, surprise and a little confusion slipping into that cold expression. Clearly time travel was not one of the things he’d expected her to say. 

It was the second time she’d surprised him, and Emma knew he wasn’t an easily surprised man.

Before he could interrupt, she went on, wincing as the sharp tip of his hook stung. “I’m telling you the truth,” she said quickly, fear sending a shiver down her spine. “I’m from… about thirty years in the future. I think. It’s really hard to keep track with all the curses," she finished, which even to her ears sounded like she was crazy.

“Time travel is unheard of.” said Hook, dismissing her whole story.

"You spend two hundred years on an island where time doesn't even exist and this is too crazy for you to imagine?" snapped Emma exasperatedly.

He ignored her. “Now, what are you really doing on my ship? Clearly if you’d gotten what you wanted, you wouldn’t have been daft enough to return.” His eyes looked her up and down, his brow lifting when his eyes reached hers, and Emma glared at him. “And if I had gotten what I wanted, that night would not have ended with you injuring me.” A cold smile. “Well, not in the traditional way, anyway.”

Emma huffed out a breath, almost forgetting just how innuendo-clad he once was. “Look, I’m telling the truth . I need your help to—“ She gasped, the tip of his hook digging slightly deeper. 

“You will tell me what I want to know,” said Hook quietly. He removed his namesake, and Emma winced. “I’ll give you the night to think it over. Lie to me again," his voice lowering, dipping into the personification of danger as his gaze bored into hers, and she tried not to shrink under it, "you’ll be walking the plank in the morning.” He moved away from her, and Emma realized she'd forgotten how to breathe.

“Hook—“ began Emma, but Hook simply barked, “Jenkins!”

The door opened, and one of the men who had dragged her down here walked inside. 

“Take her to the brig.”

Emma’s heart pounded. “No— Hook,” she said quickly as he sat nonchalantly back at his desk. “I need—“

Emma was grabbed from behind and forced out. 

He didn’t look up as they took her. 

But when he thought she was out of sight, she saw him briefly touch his fingers to his lips, something unreadable stirring in his eyes.

-.-.-.-.

Emma waited until she was left alone, and the ship had quieted down enough to suggest the crew was asleep.

They’d bound her hands in front of her, which was their first mistake. 

Feeling a sense of deja vu, Emma felt along the ground until she found something useful. Finding something sharp and thin enough to work, she quickly got to work on the lock to the cage. 

The trouble was opening the door without it creaking, which took her plenty of precious minutes. 

Once free, she left the brig, and quietly made her way to the armory.

It was good that she was familiar with the ship after Neverland. Plenty of hours on the water had her nervous energy getting the better of herself and she’d done some extensive exploring. She’d paced the ship enough to know where its creaky boards were, so she was inside the armory in silence quickly. 

Emma grabbed the first blade she could find—a knife—and freed her hands, then took the gag from her mouth. 

Gripping the knife in her shaking hands, Emma left the armory, walking down the hallway to the door at the very end. 

The Captain’s Quarters. 

Feeling plenty of uncertainty, but needing to know where Killian was, Emma slowly reached for the door handle, glad the ridiculously loud chorus of snoring from the crew covered much of the noise she made. 

Slowly and without breathing, she opened his door. 

Emma shut it just as quietly, and the noise of the snoring was muted. 

Emma turned. 

The cabin was dark. 

And there, lying on his bed, was Hook. Asleep.

She could see him breathe beneath the blanket. 

Carefully, and avoiding every creak in the floor she knew of, Emma crept up to his bed. 

Then, she held the knife an inch from his throat, opening her mouth to wake him.

“Do I need to explain what a nightcap is to you?”

Emma jumped a mile in her skin.

Hook’s eyes were open, and he looked from the knife at his throat to Emma. A raised brow, he deadpanned, “You escaped.”

“You underestimated me.” she countered. He lifted his brow as Emma continued firmly, “I need you to help me.”

“Help me?” he echoed. His eyes flicked from the knife to her eyes. “You’re taking your life in your hands threatening me, lass.” he said dangerously.

“I’m trying to save your life!” snapped Emma.

His brow hitched higher, again flicking his eyes pointedly to the blade, then back at her. 

Emma sighed, removing the knife from his throat. 

He still didn’t move, eyeing her still suspiciously. “How is it you think you’re saving me?” he asked. 

Emma sighed shortly. “Look. I told you I was from the future. I am. I’m from your future. And I didn’t get sent to the past alone.” She took a breath, hoping telling him wouldn’t implode the timeline. But she was scared, she was alone, and without his information, she would never be able to find Killian. She could only hope that after she saved Killian, he’d still exist when they returned to their time. 

Emma sighed. “When I got sent here, you came with me.” she said finally.

Confusion kneaded his brows with honest puzzlement, and for the first time he looked almost like her Killian. “I… what?” he managed.

Emma sighed shortly. “You— future you,” clarified Emma. “You’re here, in the past, too.”

Hook looked lost in thought for a second. Then— “That was bloody real?”

“What was?” asked Emma.

He sat up, regarding her with both suspicion and shock. “The dream I thought I had of you, up until you foolishly returned.” Emma glared at him flatly as he went on, “I saw…”

“Yourself,” finished Emma impatiently. “Yeah. You punched yourself.” At his very perplexed expression, she went on, “I told him—you—it was a bad idea. So, blame yourself.” He blinked in utter confusion. But, at least, he seemed to believe her story. “Look,” said Emma, “we were on our way back to the future when some huge guys kidnapped him because they said he stole something and he needed to ‘pay for it’.” she finished in a bad facsimile of Killian’s abductor’s voice. Her eyes burning into Hook’s, she said, “What did you steal? Who are they and where did they take him?”

“You’re telling me,” said Hook slowly, “that there is a future version of me out here?”

“Yes,” said Emma through gritted teeth. “Now what did you—“

“Tell me, love,” said Hook casually enough, though the coldness in his words was back. “What is my future?”

“I can’t tell you that,” she said exasperatedly. “Already I need to get you a Forgetting Potion to make sure you get to that future.”

He stared at her for a long moment, a million things happening behind guarded eyes. But finally, his brow lifted a fraction. “And I’m just supposed to believe this?" 

Emma groaned. “What proof do you want?” she said impatiently. “Your father abandoned you and Liam; you used to be in the Royal Navy; you became a pirate after what happened to Liam in Neverland; you’re currently on a suicidal mission to kill Rumplestiltskin for taking your hand and Mila—“

“Stop!” 

Emma froze, having been angrily ticking off the trivia on her fingers, to see Hook’s eyes with more emotion than she’s seen from this version of him yet. 

“How do you know all that?” he breathed. For once, his voice lost Hook’s edge, and he sounded like Killian. The danger evaporated from him in seconds, replaced with something almost... lost. “It’s—it's been centuries since—"

“You told me.” said Emma simply. 

“I… told you,” repeated Hook flatly, words rolling off his tongue like something foreign. The edge in his voice swiftly returned as he demanded angrily, “And why the bloody hell would I do that?” 

“How should I know?” snapped Emma, her anxiety getting to her and sharpening her own tone.

He rose to his feet, and Emma did not like the feeling that he was attempting to use his height over hers to intimidate her. He leveled a look at her, with something different in his eyes, something dangerous in a new way. “Tell me one thing, lass," he began, voice casual-sounding, but underlined with something that sent a shiver down her spine, "and maybe I help you.”

“Why wouldn’t you help me?” exclaimed Emma, standing her ground. “You’d be helping you!”

“That remains to be seen.” He stepped toward her, and damn it he didn’t even need the hook to be imposing. “Tell me, lass.” Another step, and Emma felt her back hit the wall, not even realizing she’d been retreating. His gaze bored into hers. “Do I get my revenge?”

Emma swallowed, suddenly feeling a familiar sense of dread as to when the past version of Rumplestiltskin had asked about whether or not he found Neal.

When the silence spread a little too long, she whispered, “Hook—”

“Do I, or not?” he demanded, voice clipped. Cold.

Dangerous.

Emma felt paralyzed.

The Hook—the Killian —standing before her was completely hellbent on getting his revenge. He’s been at it for centuries, and the anger and pain in his eyes overpowered the blue in them, so much so it was hard to remember that Killian and Hook were the same person.

And here, Hook was his vengeance right now.

There was hardly a spark of him.

If she told him the truth, that he not only doesn’t kill his crocodile, but chooses to live peacefully in the same town as the monster? Gives up not only his quest for vengeance, but turns into a hero?

And worse yet, that he lets go of Milah?

For her?

From the amount of anger she’s eliciting from him right now, she doubted he’d be happy to know that information in particular.

So, she decided to tell him the truth.

Or…

Part of it.

“No,” she said finally, watching his brow shift dangerously. “Not yet.”

He searched her eyes, his face like stone. “Not yet?” he repeated, voice low, almost threatening.

Emma swallowed the fear slipping down her spine, hoping she was still as good of a liar as she once was. “Not yet,” she confirmed, which, still, wasn’t a complete lie. She took a breath, holding his gaze, preparing herself. 

And she lied.

“I’m helping you get your revenge in the future,” she said smoothly. “The Dark One is currently living in a realm without magic. He’s vulnerable. I’m helping you get there.” She swallowed, her entire body rigid. Hook was pin-silent as Emma finished, “We accidentally got sent to the past on our way there. That’s why I need you to help me. If you don’t, you will never get your revenge.”

Emma fell quiet, holding her head high, clinging onto confidence she didn’t feel in the slightest.

Killian could read her like an open book.

If this version of him was as perceptive as he comes to be…

If he found her lying to him…

Again …

Emma tried to ignore the fear prickling in her veins.

He held her gaze, pinning her to the spot with his eyes alone. Watching her eyes carefully, his narrowed. 

Finally, he said, “Why are you helping me?”

Emma tried not to flinch at the obvious distaste in his voice. She thought fast, and found something that held nothing but truth. “Because,” she said, “you did me a favor. I’m repaying a debt.”

His brow lifted. “Quite the debt.”

Emma felt something stir in her chest, thinking of all that Killian has done for her. “It was quite the favor,” she said quietly.

His brows kneaded with question, like he wasn’t sure why he would bother to do her a favor.

Emma was quickly becoming irritated with this version of Hook.

“How are you helping me?” he asked then, gaze boring into hers, almost as if he was trying to poke holes into her story to see if it would leak. “Why do I need you?”

It was spoken so carelessly.

And it hurt.

Emma was surprised at the sudden burn behind her eyes.

She’d brushed off Killian’s affections, his obvious devotion to her, more times than she could count. 

And here he was, looking at her like he couldn’t have cared about her less.

How could she have wasted all the time she had with him?

Getting him back now was the longest of long shots, for—and it made sharp fear race down her spine— he could already be dead.

Blinking away the emotion, Emma huffed out a breath, trying not to appear as hurt by his words as she was. “I’ve got Light Magic,” she snapped, making surprise lift his brow. “You’re trying to kill the Dark One. Do the math.”

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes narrowed, danger rolling off him in waves.

Finally, he spoke.

“I help you, and, him,” he muttered, uneasily over what to call his future self, “get back to your time,” he said slowly, “and then I will get what I want most?”

Emma felt the ghost of a smile touch her lips, for she didn’t have to lie for this one. “Yes.” 

He most definitely will. 

-.-.-.-. TBC

@belovedcreation-kitr-headcanon @cssecretsanta2020 @belovedcreation

[finchly-tintinnabulation]

- Foster Fail -

OCs: Parker Brown (baseline), Battle-Brother Mikhail (Dark Angel), Blood Claw Kári (Space Wolf). Brother-Sergeant Perseus (Ultramarine) and Battle-Brother Celeborn (Lamenter) are mentioned but don't appear yet

Tags: Space Marine Husbandry (Sentience), found family dynamics that will be elaborated on, fluffy self indulgent nonsense, Space Wolf is big doggy, gay ass space marines

This idea wormed its way into my brain after binge reading @kit-williams's Space Marine Husbandry stuff, though what I've written may not exactly be compliant with the established lore in terms of bonds. Idk I'm a silly guy who likes nontraditional found family,, ty to @daily-shenanigans784 for the beta and to my beloved Blood Angels fan for giving a seal of approval lol

The Chorus: @thisuserislilsilly

- - -

“I just don’t see myself taking on any Blood Angels in the future.” 

“Really?” The new case worker tipped her head to Parker, clutching her clipboard and giving him a bemused look over the cafe table.

“Don’t get me wrong, my friend has a beautiful Sanguinary flock with a dreadnought they absolutely adore, so I can see the appeal. It’s more of a lifestyle thing.” Licking his lips, he brushed the last crumbs of pastry from his fingers, crumpling up his napkin to discard on his empty plate.

“You say that like you don’t have a Lamenter roosting in your barn, Mr. Brown. Clearly you know how to keep ‘em.” She tittered. Speaking to another baseline was certainly a change of pace from Ankesh, the Salamander he’d corresponded with the last few years, but so far he had no complaints about Lorraine.

Parker scoffed. “Celeborn and Percy are a bonded pair, I had no say in the matter.” Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but it was hard to imagine life without the Lamenter these days.

“Oh, Perseus? Your Ultramarine?” Lorraine’s bleach blonde hair swished as she glanced down at her clipboard.

“Mhm.”

She peered over the top of her forms, expression quizzical as he took a final swig of his coffee. “I thought you and him were bonded.”

“Hm? Why’s that?” With a raised brow, he wiped his lips on the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“Well, I’ve never seen a solitary marine follow a baseline without one before.” Her round eyes bored into him, seeking answers like she could drill them out with a stare. Okay, maybe there was something he could complain about. Way too much eye contact.

“Dunno about any of that, but Percy’s family, no matter how you slice it.” Shrugging, Parker tried to find a spot on Lorraine’s nose he could look at more comfortably.

“How long have you been…?”

“Seven years.” He stated before her inquisitive silence could stretch too long. “I’m 23, be 24 in the spring.”

Beaming, her round eyes grew even wider. “No wonder you’re the local loyalist foster, if you’ve been working with Astartes for so long.” 

“Working is a strong word.” Chuckling, Parker couldn’t help but be reminded of days crawling out his bedroom window only to be scruffed by a scowling Ultramarine. “Speaking of, you bring the file?” 

“Sure thing.” Flipping past what he assumed to be his foster record, Lorraine unclipped a few papers from the stack on her clipboard, passing them across the table as he pushed his glasses up his nose. 

In the interest of skimming the whole document, Parker removed the paperclip holding the stack together and picked out the important details. Battle-Brother Mikhail, Primaris, loyalist. His brow furrowed. Dark Angel. First-time foster. “...No brothers-in-arms with this one, Lori?”

“Nope! You said you wanted to take it easy for the holidays, so I figured you’d only want one on your hands.” Lorraine grinned, seemingly oblivious to the migraine already brewing.

Fostering the rough cases of loyalist Astartes was Parker’s bread and butter, and it was partially because he had gotten quite good at tuning into their needs. Loyalists might have seemed easier than Chaos marines or Renegades, but that was only on the surface, as they could become just as unruly and sullen. Potentially violent.

 A great many fosters that had gone through Pinkman Ranch, and the most common were those poorly adjusted to the second millennium, either through recent arrival or homes that couldn’t provide for their needs. An industrious and well behaved Ultramarine or a beautiful and artistic Blood Angel could very easily become agitated and restless with someone who expected an easy foray into the benefits of having a space marine in the household. His father had taught him that the hard way.

“You’ve worked with Dark Angels before, right?” The case worker piped up, snapping Parker out of his contemplation.

“Yup. A pair of them, last year.” He mused, remembering that they were… hard to motivate. For lack of a better word, space marines with hobbies often adjusted better to a time without the strife they were built for, giving them passions to pursue. Dark Angels ran on piety and persecution as their duties, which proved to be incredibly difficult to get past. “They aren’t exactly big talkers.”

“Which makes them perfect for a nice quiet vacation!” Lorraine forged ahead, nodding eagerly.

“Mhm.” Quiet was exactly what he was worried about. Years of familiarity had cracked Percy’s shell, Celeborn was forthcoming with his needs and had Percy to advocate, and Kári wore his emotions as plainly as wearing his armor. Without a battle-brother for support, to ease his way into a new worldview, fostering a Dark Angel could be tricky and delicate work.

“My only question is how you think your Space Wolf might interact with him.”

“Kári listens to his pack. He knows to back off.” The concern was how the foster would react to his squad, not the other way around. The Blood Claw could be rambunctious, but Parker worried how such an insular marine would warm up, especially if he was out of commission for a bit and unable to stand between them. However, that wasn’t something Lorraine needed to know about.

“Anything else you wanted to ask? I assume you already know how to contact the local base.”

Parker dragged a hand through his hair, staring down at the small photo of the Primaris attached to the document. Serious but slim face, dark hair, a proud but haunted look in his eye. Of course he could always decline, but… this was part of why he started fostering after all. Percy would always be there if things got out of hand. 

“Nope, I think we’re good to go.” He paperclipped the file back together and handed it back across the table to Lorraine. “I assume you’ll send him by tomorrow?”

-

In the cold grey light of early morning, frost covered grass crunched beneath boots and sabatons alike, padding along the fence of the property. For someone so big, Parker was continuously impressed by how quiet an enormous stack of muscle and armor like a space marine could move so quietly, the Dark Angel having fallen into step behind him. 

“Just so we understand each other, you’re here to adjust, so I only have one big rule. Stay on the property, don’t go running off into the woods.” Parker looked sidelong over the barbed wire at the dense thicket of blue spruce blanketing the mountainside. “Rocky Mountain National Park is pretty damn big, so there’s plenty of room for war bands and renegades and the like, but you can’t go running after them while I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on you. Understood?”

Looking back at the marine, Parker waited for some indication of understanding, thankfully receiving a nod. 

“Great. You can run off and hunt once we’re done, though if you can’t stand being idle that long, there’s plenty to do around here.” He smiled at the impassable helmet, hoping the Astartes felt welcome behind it. Mikhail hadn’t said a word since the local base had dropped him off, but Parker had to admit to himself he didn’t expect much else. 

“Most of the profitable work is seasonal thanks to the livestock we keep, the sheep get sheared in the spring, and we harvest honey from the bees in summer and fall, but upkeep is year round. There’s also the chickens up by the house, but they’re more like pets, and we eat the eggs more than we sell them.” Meandering towards the barn, Parker chattered away, a soft pride in his chest as he talked about what had become the last few years of his life. 

It wasn’t long before he was intercepted, a behemoth in grey armor rising from where he’d been sitting amongst the flock of sheep and jogging over with a sharp toothed grin. 

“This our fresh blood, PB?” Kári crowded into Parker’s space as usual, grabbing the baseline by the underarms and scooping him up for a hug in greeting. Though the armor was cold in the winter air, his body glove and skin radiated heat, and without his helmet Parker had free rein to run his hand through the Space Wolf’s short auburn curls. 

Parker chuckled. “Be nice, there’s no need to call him that. Kári, this is Battle-Brother Mikhail. Mikhail, Blood Claw Kári.” Twisting in the affectionate marine’s grip, he turned to smile encouragingly at Mikhail, gesturing as best he could for introductions. 

“No need to keep your helmet on, cousin. Let me see that pretty face of yours.” The Space Wolf teased, expression wolfishly playful as he nosed Parker’s cheek, ruffling his hair with warm puffs of breath. 

“Be nice, I said.” Parker groused, righting his glasses as Kári’s nuzzling had knocked them askew. “You don’t need to if you don’t want to, Brother Mikhail.”

Silent through their exchange, Parker half expected the Dark Angel to ignore Kári, but to his surprise after a moment of stillness Mikhail reached up. With a hiss of a releasing seal, his helm was removed and magnetized to his hip. 

The printed black and white thumbnail image on his file did him no justice. Wavy black hair hung down to the man’s jaw, framing oddly wide green eyes and high cheekbones. He, much like Kári, had a look of youth almost uncharacteristic of the Adeptus Astartes, but with a pale face rather than the Space Wolf’s freckled and suntanned one. 

Kári whistled appreciatively. “Oh, you are pretty! Why don’t you waste some time with me tending the sheep?“ Parker was ready to scold him when Mikhail defied his expectations once again and looked shy. A blushing Astartes was truly a sight to behold, and the baseline had to consciously keep his mouth shut so as to not gape at him. 

“That which does not serve the Emperor’s will is not anything praiseworthy.” Mikhail muttered, voice soft but oddly robotic. Blinking, Parker stared at the Dark Angel for a long moment before covering his mouth with a hand, almost certain that laughing would be seen as disrespectful.

“Seeing as he isn’t here to impose that will, I wouldn’t concern yourself.” Tipping his head at the other marine, Kári spoke flippantly. Already pushing buttons. Mikhail’s brow furrowed into a frown. 

“What he means to say,” Parker quickly interjected, “Is that nobody can find your Emperor in our time. Humanity is not united under him like in yours, so… he’s not exactly leading anything here. At the moment.”

Jaw working, Mikhail’s lips twisted as he seemed to think for a long moment, perhaps coming up with a retort as he stared intently at the baseline. It was what Parker often feared working with loyalists; they only knew to be His weapons. However, there was no way of knowing what Mikhail thought, as he once again fell silent with a brief nod of understanding. 

“How about we head back to the house? Percy and Celeborn are still baking?” Uneasy but relieved for the time being, Parker steered the conversation away from the Astartes’s past (future?) and patted Kári’s gorget in a request to be put down that was quickly obliged. 

“Lead the way.” Kári pressed his nose to the baseline’s mousy brown hair one last time before letting him go, and Parker started the trek back to the farmhouse, the two space marines following behind like a pair of very large, armored ducklings. 

[gay-casscain]

i'm sure other people have played with this idea but what makes the Desolation unique? the Dark? why should the followers of these two have such organized, religious views on their entities? i want to see a version where the eye is less academic and more religious (imagine that horror!! the idea that you're being watched by your god?). i want to see how that surveillance could be a form of control, and how that could play into jon's journey. what would an organized cult for the Vast look like - a bunch of Mike Crews or like an expanded, even more powerful group of the Fairchilds?

i'd also LOVE a religious version of the Corruption. like Jane Prentiss's statement in TMA32 Hive pretty much says she turns to the Corruption to combat her isolation. like imagine how effective the Corruption would be at recruiting its victims: people who are ill and afraid, people like Jane who feel like they can't connect with anyone outside the hive, people who are afraid to be alone. obviously the show itself started this off with the whole lovebombing episode but imagine what it would be like if they had the kind of reach that the Lightless Flame or the People's Church of the Divine Host did?

all this is to say: i drew Bug Nun Jane Prentiss

[slaymitchabernathy]

Silent Night - Alternate Version

| this is an alternate version of 'Silent Night - Part 2.' with a less...kinky ending. hope y'all enjoy ;) |

Coriolanus strides through the halls with triumph. December came and went, taking all of those frivolous decorations with it. Good, he had thought when watching the Avoxes disassemble the Christmas tree, less clutter to fill the house with.

His wife hadn't exactly shared his enthusiasm for the dismissal of the holidays but her feelings weren't really that important to him.

She was here to make him happy and give him children, not give out her opinions on how he ran his household.

"We could start here," Quintus suggests, pointing at the library, "and then move into the ballroom for the photographs."

With a new year comes new photos that need to be taken, a rather annoying task to land on his desk but Coriolanus approaches it with the same diligence he does with anything else. Finding spots to take said photographs in the cold winter has proven to be more difficult though.

"Maybe," is all he says, his attention already drawn to a white ball of fluff running towards him. His lips curl upwards into what could possibly be a smile as his wife's kitten runs up to him.

Petunia, as Soarynn named her, is a little ball of energy, constantly meowing and running around. Coriolanus is glad that he's remained firm in keeping her out of their bedroom because he can't imagine trying to sleep with her constant noise. It's bad enough that she cries from outside their bedroom door.

It had clearly broken Soarynn's heart to hear her kitten crying. She had given Coriolanus her best pouting face the first night they had her before sweetly asking if Petunia could be let in. Coriolanus had grabbed her chin and sweetly told her that she could either sleep with him in their bed, or sleep on the floor with Petunia out in the hall.

Needless to say, Soarynn hasn't asked for Petunia to be let in since.

Soarynn is right behind her kitten, wearing the pink dress he picked out for her today. She's smiling as she chases after her kitten who comes to a stop in front of Coriolanus, batting at his shoe. He steps to the side, not wanting to become a victim of those small claws, "Petunia," Soarynn calls, "Petunia come back."

Petunia has a pink ribbon wrapped around her neck today, standing out from her white fur and she looks up at Coriolanus, letting out a meow. Coriolanus stares down at her, not entirely impressed by this behavior. To her credit, Soarynn has been training her but kittens seem to have a mind of their own, unfortunately.

"I taught her new tricks," Soarynn says breathlessly once she reaches them. Quintus raises an eyebrow, "Tricks? My dear, a cat cannot be taught tricks like a dog."

Coriolanus nods in agreement, dogs are hard enough to train but cats are stubborn with ideas of their own.

But Soarynn shakes her head with a determined look on her face, "No, no she does know tricks! Let me show you. Petunia, sit."

Petunia remains standing, very interested in the laces of his leather shoes.

Soarynn huffs, "Petunia, sit."

Petunia looks up at her owner, not at all willing to listen, and leans down on her front paws, stretching.

Quintus chuckles and Coriolanus shakes his head, "I swear she just did it," Soarynn mumbles, slouching in defeat, "she knows how to sit."

Petunia runs over to Soarynn and rolls onto her back, asking to be pet. Soarynn sighs and bends down, scooping up the small kitten, "Perhaps you should focus your time on teaching her how to use the litter box instead," Coriolanus reminds her, "and maybe get her to shut up when we're trying to sleep."

Soarynn frowns but she doesn't dare say anything against his suggestions, "We should go," Quintus says, "the war department still needs us to go over the new plans."

Coriolanus hums and reaches out to grab Soarynn's chin, something he loves to do to remind her of who's in charge, "Be good while I'm gone darling," he tells her, his words laced with threats if she doesn't behave.

Soarynn swallows, eyes blown wide in fear of any reprimands, "I will be," she whispers. Coriolanus chuckles and leans down to kiss her, enjoying how she stiffens from his touch. She hasn't acted out since he locked her in the greenhouse but he's been looking for the smallest mistake ever since. There's a sick part of him that enjoys punishing Soarynn, watching those crystal tears fall from her glassy eyes.

They go their separate ways but Coriolanus keeps thinking back to the ribbon tied around Petunia's neck, how simple yet enticing it looked, and how it would look wrapped around Soarynn's neck instead.

He'll have to work on that.

꧁ ꧂

When Coriolanus returns hours later, he's slightly dismayed to find Petunia in their bedroom.

The doors are wide open and he lingers in the doorway, watching his wife play with her kitten, sitting on the floor and giggling while Petunia tries to pounce on her fingers.

He knows he's forbidden Petunia from ever sleeping in their room but it appears that he needs to be more strict, more firm in keeping her out of this sacred space. He can't fuck Soarynn if Petunia is vying for her attention every two seconds, crying and whimpering as if she's being starved to death.

Perhaps he made a mistake in bringing a cat into their home.

He clears his throat and Soarynn immediately looks up at him, those dazzling eyes wide with fear and surprise. "You're home," is all she says, no longer smiling or giggling. He nods, crossing his arms at the unwelcome sight of a feline in his bedroom, "I am," he confirms, "and I believe I made it very clear that she was not to be allowed in our bedroom."

Soarynn worries her bottom lip between her teeth, a habit she does whenever she's scared of saying the wrong thing. After that little incident in the greenhouse, her lip was raw with bite marks.

Good, she should think before she speaks, she'd save herself a lot of trouble that way.

"I...I thought you said she couldn't sleep in our bedroom," Soarynn tries, causing him to bite the inside of his cheek. It seems that they both have habits that aren't doing their mouths any favors but it's better than slapping her right across the face.

"And I thought I made it very clear that I don't like you undermining my authority," he says coldly, watching her shrink into herself, "take her out now. It's time for bed."

It's only eight o'clock but Coriolanus doesn't quite care right now. He's had a busy day and the best way to relax is to spend a few hours between Soarynn's spread legs.

Soarynn quickly grabs Petunia and stands up from her spot on the floor. He can see the dismay written all over her face, how bad she feels about leaving Petunia by herself, and how nervous she is to say the wrong thing.

She brushes by him and gently places Petunia back on the ground, "I'm sorry," she whispers to the feline and Coriolanus rolls his eyes, she acts like Petunia is a person, not a cat. "She's fine," he says, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her into their bedroom. Soarynn doesn't resist but he can tell that she wants nothing more than to sleep out in the hallway with Petunia.

Coriolanus closes the doors and he can hear a faint meowing coming from outside the doors. "Much better," he decides, looking down at Soarynn while she stares at the doors, listening to Petunia cry, "don't you think this is better darling, just the two of us?"

When Soarynn finally looks up at him there's a hint of tears in her eyes, "Yes," she says softly, "much better."

He uses his hand to cup the side of her face and leans down, pressing his lips to hers. Soarynn has never been one for affection, often shying away from it instead of embracing it but Coriolanus hasn't ever let that stop him from taking what's his.

Soarynn eventually responds to the kiss, out of duty rather than desire but he doesn't care, he married her for the same reason.

He remembers their wedding day, how pretty she looked walking down the aisle. His bride. The wedding had been formal and stiff, as was to be expected from the President of Panem and his new First Lady.

After the wedding was where the real fun took place. He still remembers the face she made when he finally slid into her, taking what was rightfully his. Soarynn might get on his nerves but her cunt makes up for it every time, so tight and just for him.

She's wearing one of her frilly little nightgowns right now, the ones she's so fond of even though he could care less about her wardrobe for bed. He really just cares about what she has under the nightgown and his other hand slides under the silk, feeling her bare, warm skin.

Soarynn gasps into the kiss when his hand comes in contact with her panties, lace of course. While Coriolanus could care less about her nightgowns, he certainly has expectations for the other things she wears. Most days he chooses her outfits for her, making sure that nothing is too provocative. He likes dresses that stop right above the knee with thin straps and low necklines that show off her collar bones and chest.

He likes it when she wears high heels, but not too high, he enjoys towering over her far too much to allow her to wear more than four inches.

For her hair he prefers for it to be worn down, showing how soft and shiny it is. He always has a say in how she gets it cut and likes layers, neat, not choppy.

When it came to her lingerie, well, he had lots of opinions. He wanted her in lace at all times, he wanted tasteful yet sensual. He enjoys little bows on her underwear and frills. He likes it when she wears matching sets, and loves messing with the straps of her bralettes, pulling them off her shoulders just to fluster her.

Soarynn is really just a doll for him to play with if he's being honest.

A doll that has yet to give him a child, something he's painfully reminded of when Petunia lets out another cry. He had hoped that by gifting her Petunia, that it would draw out some maternal instincts from Soarynn and easily welcome a child into her womb.

Looks like he's been played for a fool.

"Go sit on the bed and strip," he orders, pulling away from the kiss. Soarynn is breathless and swaying on her feet, barely nodding before she stumbles towards their bed. He's going to have to be consistent in trying for a child, for a boy more specifically. Quintus has been nagging him about producing a child more and more and the last thing he needs is for any of his advisors to sink their claws into Soarynn.

He knows her well enough to know that the idea of getting pregnant is a stressful, scary idea. He'll have to be smart in how he approaches this topic, sweet yet stern. She's bound to be much more willing to partake in sex every night if he lays on the charm.

He tugs on his tie, loosening it while thinking of how to approach her with this idea, he could outright demand it from her, as it would be his right as her husband.

But that will only end in tears and nerves.

After the greenhouse, she's been much more obedient, more willing to please and he can't let that momentum die out.

He looks at her sitting in the middle of their large bed. She looks so small, so young and vulnerable. She really does bring out the worst in him. He throws his tie on the ground and begins unbuttoning his dress shirt, he'll fuck her from behind tonight, his favorite position.

He loves fucking Soarynn hard and deep, listening to her cries and her moans while he makes her take it over and over again.

"I've been thinking," he finally says, undoing the last button, "we ought to start trying for a baby don't you think?"

Soarynn blinks up at him, confused and hesitant to answer his question, she fiddles with her fingers and he walks over to their bed, stopping at the foot of it. "Well, darling, what do you think?" He asks again, tapping his foot, "I...I think you know what's best for us," Soarynn answers, her tone soft and trained to tell him exactly what he wants to hear.

He grins, beckoning her to the edge of the bed with his finger and she crawls over to him, so innocent yet seductive and she doesn't even know it. She rests on her knees, looking up at him so eager to please him, to say and do the right things.

"It would make me so happy," he tells her, using his hands to hold her small face, "so proud if you were to carry my heir." He can see how his words affect her, how his promises of pride and happiness will lead to her doing everything she can to get pregnant for him. Soarynn is easy to manipulate now that he's learned what makes her tick.

She's pitifully desperate for acknowledgment, for praise, and attention even if she often shies away from it. If he gives her the smallest taste, then she'll bend over backward for him.

"Okay," she whispers, her lips curl up into a small smile, "I can do that."

Coriolanus leans down and kisses her forehead, so sweet and caring, such a doting husband. If he plays his cards right and keeps up this act, she'll be pregnant in no time.

"Let's start trying tonight then," he suggests, making it sound like a fun game, "who knows how long this process will take." Because he's so selfless, so willing to serve his country, Coriolanus is willing to take more time out of his busy day to fuck his pretty little wife. Maybe he'll start fucking her in the morning too and during lunch.

He wants to see her cunt constantly dripping with his cum, clear, willing property of Coriolanus Snow.

It's all a game to him and Soarynn is the prettiest token he's ever used.

꧁ ꧂

After several orgasms and a bath, Coriolanus listens to the soft sounds of Soarynn breathing.

Right before they fall asleep after having sex might be the most honest and vulnerable he is with her, petting her hair, applying lotion to any sore spots, cleaning her up head to toe.

He might not be a good, loving husband but he's not negligent. He can't have people seeing his wife walking around with bruises and matted hair.

She's pressed against his chest right now, curled up under the covers, already fast asleep. He fucked her so hard tonight, so determined to get a baby out of this encounter. It'll take a few days before she can take a test but he can wait, be patient.

He reaches over to his bedside table and turns off the lamp, encasing them in darkness. Aside from Soarynn's breathing, he doesn't hear a sound, not even from a noisy cat.

He smiles to himself.

Finally, a silent night.

| Part 2. | Final Part |

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

| taglist: @strawberriicakes @wonderlandbound111 @kickmybark @villiansarehottest @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead @melodyoflovee @erensrealgf |

[bunpiry]

I'm in episode 36, and so far, the DnD campaign had me on a chokehold. I created these posters for fun and they're based off of the Arcane posters.

The first one is based on the Vi and Powder poster in the first season. Those 2 are my OCs, the one hugging in Malachite and the one who's getting hugged is my new oc, Bismuth, Malachite's daughter.

The second one is Gricko hugging Hootsie, also based on the Vi n Powder poster, but tweaked out a little bit. Hootsie looks at the viewer with her big ol pretty eyes curiously. Gricko isn't facing the viewer, but take a closer look, and you'll see that he's holding her for dear life like he's going to lose her again.

The 3rd poster is based off... my imagination! Torbek is facing front, but his eyes are drifting somewhere else, out of fear? Concern? Maybe? Who knows, but it looks like he's looking at something! And behind him is the Other or Gorbek yall call him. Looking at the viewer with wide eyes and a finger close to his lips, making a hushing motion.

The 4th one is poorly made sadly (I was on the verge of tweaking the hell out and losing ideas) BUT here is Gideon, standing there in the middle with a cigar out or maybe his hair is on fire, you decided! And there's Kremy's shadow behind Gideon on the floor.

Now thats all out of the way....

I'll show you a bit 2 of my ocs!

Now meet Malachite! I gave her a small redesign. Her afro hair is now on the side rather than the entire thing. The very first top where she got hit by something, and then faces at the person who hit her with half of her face shattered, oh but wait. It looks like she's bleeding? That's funny bc did you know Gemivians DONT BLEED? So how come she's bleeding?... How strange... Is it blood? Or is it something else?..

NEXT UP IS BISMUTH! As I mentioned before, she is Malachite's daughter! And she was apparently not on my ideas list until 2 days ago, and here we are. She is based on a bird called black backed dwarf kingfisher. For her personality, she's shy and sweet, but that doesn't mean she's a pushover. She can be rough and tough like her mother told her to be.

And there's more! But I'll explain it in the next post!

[mama-qwerty]

oh i had a thought btw and i wanted to share in the chat we're in but i got no access at the time i'm typing this BUT I FIGURED I COULD SAY IT TO YOU

me and my roommate after seeing the movie had a thought about what Shadow would do next after the events of the movie and the scene at the end credits of him surviving.

we imagined like...what if he just tries to wander the earth, slightly aimless but also trying to take stuff in. he had spent so long here and most of his exposure was through Maria and doing things with her. And that was it. 50 years he was locked away, and when he got out he just went straight into mission mode and even after saving the earth, it occurred to him he probably hadn't seen much of it.

and the idea of him somehow being found my sonic and the gang and them offering to house him but him declining, thinking he caused them too much trouble and it'd be best to keep his distance... even though he wouldn't know where to go and where's a safe place for him to not be bothered by gun agents or humans likely after them, him especially. Heck, Sonic even offering to show him around some places, not even Green Hills but just in places he knows off the top of his head. Lil bonding moment, nice moment between the two despite Shadow not knowing what the hell Sonic is talking about with his ramblings.

And then the final piece of Sonic realising that Shadow could maybe stay in his old cave, it served as his safe spot for so long so maybe it can serve as Shadows. Shadow even seeing Sonic's little drawing on the wall and him saying he drew it the first night he came here, just showing he did have someone he loved and lost. And my roommate even said the idea of him choosing the stay and even draw a picture of him and Maria (maybe not the doctor after all that happened but maybe so, who knows how he feels about him now).

and then just him very very possible occasionally maybe hanging out with the boys... or at least the offer is there. and getting slowly introduced and catching up on things he's missed these last 50 years...

ANYWHO I'LL STOP HAHA

I can totally see Shadow roaming for a while. Learning about the world, people watching.

He had never left the facility before, and this was all completely new to him. Maybe Maria told him about things while they were together, movies she'd seen, places she'd like to visit when she was older and could strike out on her own.

And maybe he visited them, thinking about how Maria would have loved this, or hated that, or been so excited by this other thing. It would hurt so much that he was seeing these places alone. That she hadn't had a chance to travel and see or do everything she'd dreamed of.

And maybe when it hurts too much, when he can't take the heartache of not sharing these experiences with the one person he loved, he would return to Green Hills. He wouldn't specifically seek out Sonic and crew. He'd formed an alliance with the blue hedgehog during a time of war, and he wasn't sure if that friendship extended any further than that. But he could sense the chaos energy within Sonic, and Knuckles, and from the Master Emerald. And that was comforting.

But maybe Tails has some antennas posted around town. (Or he hacked into GUN's satellites.) And maybe he gets a blip when a spike of chaos energy appears. Sonic goes to check it out and finds Shadow, sitting alone on a cliff overlooking the town.

They talk. Sonic tries to invite Shadow to the house, but he refuses. He'd injured Tom, he doesn't deserve their kindness. Sonic tries to argue, but Shadow is stubborn and makes to teleport away, when Sonic calls out to wait, he knows the perfect place Shadow can hide away when he needs someplace quiet.

And he leads Shadow to his old cave.

"It ain't the Ritz," Sonic quips, before catching himself. "Wait. Do you know about the Ritz?"

Shadow turns to him with an eyebrow raised. "The crackers?"

Sonic snickers. "Right. Nevermind. Anyway, it can get a little damp when it rains, and a little cold when it snows, and a little dark when it's night . . . but it was my home before I found my family."

Shadow stops before the crayon mural on the wall. He stares at it for a long time.

"It will do."

Sonic smiles. "Wow, high praise from the Ultimate Lifeform. Okay, well, I can bring you some food and comics and stuff to keep you entertained--"

"I don't need your handouts."

The blue hedgehog nods with a sigh. "Right. Mr. I'm So Edgy can take care of himself."

"That's right."

Sonic doesn't say anything for a moment, and when he does, his voice is softer, the joking lilt gone. "Listen, as one formerly lonely hedgehog to another, it's nice to have people care about you. Worry about you. So just . . . don't turn your back on people who want to help, okay?"

Shadow stands quietly for a moment. "Fine."

And Shadow isn't always in the cave (heaven forbid we say he lives in it, amirite SEGA?) but Sonic leaves him things anyway. Cans of food, books he thinks Shadow would like, lots of blankets.

And maybe Sonic tells the family about Shadow taking shelter in his old cave, and the next time Shadow reappears there, it's better weather sealed and more comfortable and homey. The opening is covered with an actual door, one that keeps animals and rain out.

And maybe there's a note left. One that tells Shadow they don't blame him for what he did to Tom. They understand he was stressed and confused and hurting. They forgive him. And their home is always open for him, if he were hurt, or hungry, or just wanted some company.

And maybe, one night, when the family is sitting down for supper, a flash of light appears in the backyard. Ozzy runs to the door, barking at the sudden intruder in his territory, Knuckles close behind.

And there in the middle of the yard, stands Shadow. Looking very uncomfortable. Looking like he's second guessing his presence. Looking like he's just about to teleport away.

The family stands in the doorway, looking out at the black and red hedgehog. Without a word, they turn and head back to the supper table, but leave the kitchen door open.

The choice is his. Join them. Or leave.

He stands there for a long few moments, watching as they sit down, dishing out the food. Maddie moves to the cabinet and brings another plate to the table, placing it between her and Sonic. Silverware joins it. And a glass of water.

Shadow is frozen.

He takes a step forward. And another.

And takes his place at the table.

He doesn't move in with the Wachowskis. He's not there all the time. But they always make sure to have plenty of food to go around if he chose to join them.

There's always a place at their table for a lonely hedgehog.

[just-zy]

Some life she hoped

pairing: Jenna Ortega x Fem Reader!

summary: Meeting again after so long wasn't really on your bucket list, neither did you receiving an apology.

A/N: Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! I apologize for the inactivity, I've been losing motivation on writing lately and ik this doesn't make up for it but I hope it does something to you 😞, the imagines are rotting in my drafts. Anyways, cheers to another year!

Warnings!: kind of angsty, mostly.. but that's about it!

Masterlist

There was always this nagging feeling keeping me from loving again, these past months I've been feeling nothing but grief. What once was love I couldn't stop giving, turned into something I threw all away after finally leaving my first love.

A year passed by and still, I would look for her at places I hoped she'd be in, for a mere coincidence I might get a glimpse of her, somehow, some way I wish I did. But then, I met Naveen, in a way our love felt so different. She wanted me to be hers, I gave her a chance, more than a few. It all felt like it wouldn't work out, but this last chance I gave her, I held on for dear life for it to actually be true. But it all felt like I was toying with myself more than I do her.

So I let her go, not for me, but for Naveen to find someone more worthy of her love.

.

A place I didn't hope to see her, but there she was, looking flawless as ever. How she looked under the night's gaze, and the stars reflecting on her eyes.

"Y/N?"

Jenna.

"What are you doing here?"

The same reason why you're here.

"Why can't I be? Better yet, what are you doing here?" I chuckled lightly while I felt my heart ache in a bittersweet dream.

She huffs, "I don't know, I just had the idea to... chill here for a bit and dip."

This place, a view of the beach while we're up on a hill with a singular bench. This was where we used to hide away from everyone, from the cruel world.

I quietly made my way towards her, "Mind if I?", she scoots a little further, I sat down with my hands on my pockets.

Winter was our favourite season, we loved watching the beach while listening to the waves and spouting out nonsense. A part of me hoped we didn't end the way we did, I had so much more to tell her that I can't speak about now.

"How are you?" She quips while still having her sight on the beach. I blew out the breath I didn't know I was holding. "I'm good, all's well. How about you?"

"He broke up with me."

He was no good for you anyways.

"How are you holding up?" I cautiously asked while I started rubbing my hands together, it was getting too cold. "I realized, I really needed this, even when we were together it all just felt too suffocating. I didn't need him anyway."

Then why did you disregard me for him just like that?

I hummed with a disdain. But she doesn't need to know that.

"That's good, knowing you're finally... freeing yourself—"

"I'm sorry, Y/N."

I—

"I know what I did to you was wrong, so wrong but I still did it anyway. I wasn't the perfect girlfriend for you, and I know you knew that too."

But, I needed you the most. I wish you at least had the time to think about me, about us. The moment you let go of me, a piece of my heart shattered with you.

"You know, I really meant when I said I hoped we were together in another life. I wish I'm better for you there, when then wasn't enough, I hope it's more than enough all the way on a multiverse."

...

I walked mindlessly in the library my friend worked in, I heard footsteps making it's way to my direction, I glance to my right, getting a good look at River, "Did you know? NASA actually finds out that there's more than just one world? I mean- there's this multiverse that's living like us but, in reverse, do you get it?" She looked really excited to share the story with me, and of course it caught my attention.

I chuckled at the thought, walking back to Jenna's place. I walked up to her door and gently knocked. With a click and a swift open of the door, there Jenna stood in her pajamas.

"I have a fact you might like to know."

She giggles at the story I had just told her, "Well if that were true, I hope we lived together in a mansion with millions of animals."

...

"Y- Yeah.."

Tucking my hair, my breathing went rigid as it suddenly felt too hot for me to think. I got up, bidding Jenna a good night's rest.

"Y/N– I... I hope you're doing okay."

I didn't dare spare her another glance. I knew I had moved on from her, but why is it that whenever I think about her, it all feels so heavy?

If I hadn't met you, I probably would have had more love to give.

A/N: this was shit but okay ig, I hope y'all enjoyed this more than I did. I did this in one sitting, so ik it's bad.

[hsfan94]

Letters to Santa

AN: This is a bit late because I've had wifi problems. I'm also not totally happy with the execution of the idea but I hope you like it. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!

Dear Santa,

My name is Harry, I'm 30 years old and all I want for Christmas is my best friend, Y/n. (For the seventh year in a row.)

Harry had just finished filling in the blanks on his letter and was looking down at it thoughtfully, when Niall spoke up behind him.

“Come on lad, this was meant to be fun and you’ve gone and made it sad.”

They had been out doing their Christmas shopping when they came across a station for kids to write letters to Santa. Niall pulled him over to it enthusiastically, insisting they write one.

“Well, what did you wish for then?” Harry turned to him pointedly.

Niall cleared his throat and then read, “Dear Santa, My name is Niall, I’m 31 years old and all I want for Christmas is a nerf gun. I never had one growing up and they look like so much fun.”

“Noted,” Harry said, rethinking his idea for Niall’s gift. “Alright let’s drop them in and get going.”

All throughout lunch with Niall, his mind wandered to his request of Santa. Was it too much? Had he wanted it for too long? Should he move on? Niall would never judge him, he just always encouraged him to move on, but Harry couldn’t.

Harry and Y/n met when she was fresh out of Uni. They became instant friends and decided to live together. Harry didn’t expect it to be so easy to fall in love with someone when you see them every day and know all of their worst habits. He’d tell anyone who would listen that Y/n didn’t really have any bad habits, but they’d just shake their head and say things like “you’ve got on rose colored lenses”. He denied that he felt more than platonically for her for so long. But then, one day she brought someone home for the first time.

Harry could hear sounds in the hallway. He realized it was y/n giggling and trying to unlock the door. He can only imagine what her date was doing. He imagines that, at least if it was him, that he’d have his hands on her waist and be kissing her neck from behind while she worked the door open. They finally entered and didn’t see him sitting on the couch. It was as if someone had shoved knives into every crevice of his body when the unidentified stranger closed the door and then pressed her up against it, pushing his tongue in her mouth. Harry sat there frozen for a minute, maybe an hour, before clearing his throat loudly. 

Y/n had flushed a scarlet red. 

“Harry, I-” She pushed the man off her so fast. “I’m so sorry I- I thought you’d be out with Camille.” 

Maybe he was being delusional, but she had seemed like she felt guilty. His heart clenched again at the mention of his now exe girlfriend. They had a date tonight, but she had called this afternoon and said she wanted space. He asked why and she responded that she felt they both had feelings for other people. It stung at the time but sitting on the couch now he realizes she was right.

“We um…” He couldn’t tell her everything in front of this stranger, so he just settled on “Rescheduled for this weekend.”

“Oh,” she said, dragging the stranger toward the hall as she spoke. “Well, we will just be… going to my room then.” 

Harry couldn’t sleep that night.

He never dated anyone seriously after the realization sunk in. He had tried but no one could take Y/n’s place. He would always just be on dates and wishing he was at home watching movies with her instead.

He tried not to let the all-consuming love he had for her interfere with everyday life, but it was rough around the holidays. Especially the last two years. She’d been seeing this bloke, Johnny he thinks his name is, and he doesn’t mean to be a Grinch, but it really puts a damper on his holiday cheer to think about her spending the day with someone else.

So here he is unintentionally moping about the holidays when Y/n comes bursting through the door.

“Harry? Are you home?”

He figured she knew he was and was asking rhetorically but he answers anyway, “In the kitchen, love.”

He’d been baking some of her favorite Christmas treats.

She stumbles in looking a bit forlorn.

“What’s wrong, lovie,” he says as she climbs up onto one of the stools.

“Oh,” she says, sighing, “Just, Johnny and I broke up.”

Harry feels a cheek splitting grin form on his face and he has to really try hard to push it away.

“That’s a shame, what happened?”

She looks up at him just as he feels his face go back to normal.

“We just realized we wanted different things, well he realized anyway.”

He rounds the island to give her a bone-crushing hug and says, “I’m sorry. But I’ve got some of your favorite Christmas treats ready to cheer you up.”

She peers up at him resting her chin on his chest.

“You’re too good to me.”

He walks over to the oven to pull out the tartlets, the last of the baked goods, and while his back is to her, she speaks again.

“Let’s make a deal, let’s do Christmas eve just the two of us, yeah? We’ll bake cookies, sing Christmas songs, and do a gift exchange. It’ll be just like our first Christmas together.”

His heart clenches at her use of the word together but he powers through. Turning around to face her, he replies “Sounds wonderful, love, I can’t wait.”

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

Y/n had proposed the Letters to Santa charity drive to her boss in June. Early, she knows, but she knew there would be a substantial amount of work that would go into the buying and giving the presents part. She had seen a few of them growing up and she thought it was so kind of the community to come together for kids in need at Christmas. Due to its placement in the mall though, it got a lot of stragglers’ attention and so Y/n had to tack on extra hours to weed out the “in need” letters from the ones that were just people getting into the holiday cheer.

She hadn’t accounted for the possibility of her friends walking through the mall and dropping letters in.

After seeing Harry and Niall drop in letters, she felt so giddy to go through the box that day. She was excited to tease them about whatever they put down. But when she found Harry’s, it was no longer a laughing matter. He asked Santa for her and he clarified that that’s all he’d wanted for seven years. She felt tears brimming at her eyes. She genuinely had no idea he felt that way otherwise they might have gotten together sooner. 

So, that night, when she had a date planned with Johnny, she ended things with him. She bounded through the door of her and Harry’s flat, giddy to tell him. But before she could get too carried away an idea struck her. He asked for her for Christmas. So, she should wait to reveal that she knew and then actually give him what he wanted for Christmas. That was the whole point of the Letters to Santa anyway. So instead of telling him everything she just told him they broke up. She didn’t miss the smile that took over his face for just one second before he went into nurturing friend mode, but she pretended she did.

But after her plan had been set in motion and all she had to do was wait, Y/n realized this was going to be the longest week of her life.

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

Maybe he is too optimistic, but Harry had done some decorating while Y/n was at work today and he strategically placed mistletoe in a few places. It wasn’t too obvious, just there as a decoration and if the opportunity didn’t present itself that was perfectly fine with him. 

When she gets home, a Christmas envelope with his name on it in her hand (which he thinks is strange because there is already a gift wrapped under the tree for him), she oohs and awes at the decor. 

“Harry, it looks so lovely!” She does a dramatic spin around the room to look at everything. “You did all this yourself? For me?” She turns to face him, expression set in a soft glow. 

“Yes. Do you like it?” He feels a blush creep up his cheeks, slightly embarrassed at the effort he went to for a quiet night between friends.

She surprises him by bounding up to him, stretching up on her tip toes and placing a kiss to his cheek.

“I love it!” She pulls back and looks at him brightly. “Do you want to do gifts first?”

He simply nods because it seems like she wants to do gifts first and she can have everything she wants.

She grabs him by the wrist and drags him over to the tree, where they have big, soft floor pillows set up for this exact reason. She plops down first on the green one, so he takes the red.

“Here!” She thrusts the Christmas envelope at him.

He takes it and looks at it.

“What’s this, love? You already have something under the tree with my name on it. I told you not to spend too much.”

She sighs dramatically.

“I can spoil you if I want to. Besides, I did my shopping too early, and a better idea came to me last week.”

A mischievous grin takes over her face, allowing for the slightest bit of worry to settle in his stomach. Is she going to prank him on Christmas?

Harry carefully opens the envelope and pulls out its contents. The worry is quickly replaced with immense dread at the sight of his letter to Santa.

“Y/n…” he starts, shaking his head, “I—” He really has no idea what to say and instead he goes to stand up.

Panic flashes across her face and she’s quick to plant him right back on the floor.

“No, wait, Harry, there’s more. You have to flip it over.”

Confused, he does just that and there is writing on the back.

Dear Santa,

My name is Y/n, I’m 28 and all I’ve wanted for the last seven years is to be able to tell my best friend, Harry, that I’m madly in love with him.

Harry re-reads it at least four times before it sinks in. A giant grin takes over his face before he is flinging himself at her, tackling her to the ground.

He presses kisses all over her face.

“You,” kiss, “little” kiss “shit.” Kiss.

He pulls back just enough to look her in the eyes. “You’ve been keeping this from me for a week?”

“Well, I wanted to tell you that day but, you asked for me for Christmas, so I thought I’d give you what you wanted.” She’s smiling brightly too.

“I would’ve taken you a week early too.”

He feels her shiver at his words, and he feels excitement course through him as the thought washes over him too (even though he hadn’t meant it that way).

“I know, and it was a hard choice, especially when I saw how happy you were when I told you I broke up with Johnny,” she says carding her fingers through his hair, “But like, we only get one opportunity for our first time saying ‘I love you’ and isn’t on Christmas better than a week early.”

“Good point,” he says. Then he leans down and connects their lips for the first time ever and it is complete magic. Harry feels his toes curl when she slides her tongue in his mouth. Before they can get carried away though he pulls back once more. “I love you, so much.”

She giggles and his heart soars.

“I know,” she says, “I love you too, so much. I wish we had told each other sooner, but I’m so thankful that Niall made you do a letter.”

“Wait a minute…” Harry sits up completely. “You saw us fill them out too?”

“Yeah, it was kind of my big project, I’ve been working on it since June. I just happened to be on my way to restock the supplies when you guys went over and then that afternoon, when I read yours, I—” she starts to tear up again remembering how she felt. “I couldn’t break up with Johnny fast enough.”

It’s Harry’s turn to laugh brightly.

“Come here,” he says gesturing towards his lap.

She wastes no time climbing into the crook of his legs.

“It’s your turn to open mine, but fair warning it probably won’t beat this.”

She leans forward to grab it from under the tree and his arms snake around her waist to hold her close.

She pulls the package up onto her lap and when she settles back against him, he presses delicate kisses to the side of her head.

She peels the wrapping paper off too slowly for his liking but when she finally has it open, she starts to deflate. It’s a copy of her favorite poetry collection, one she already has.

“Harry—” She flips through the pages just a bit and discovers the real meaning behind the gift.

“I bought it earlier this year and annotated it as I read. When you announced your breakup, I went back over the things that reminded me of you in red ink, so you’d get the hint too. However, your idea was way cuter, so I understand if—”

He’s cut off by her lips on his again. She drops the book on the floor and rotates herself so she’s straddling him. His hands come up to her back and he pushes her closer.

When she pulls away tears are streaming down her face.

“This is,” she says picking the book back up, “the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. You are just the absolute best and I love you so much.”

“Don’t cry sweet thing,” he says. He runs his thumbs under her eyes to wipe at the tears. “I’m glad you like it, it felt kind of cheesy. I originally got you a new collection of hers but when I realized I could make a move I did this too and then I started to worry it was stupid.”

She shakes her head aggressively.

“Not stupid at all. I love it so much,” she says kissing him again.

After a moment she comes up for air again and starts to stand up.

“Where are you going?” Harry says, eyes trained on her.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to make some cookies!” She looks around the room and spots the mistletoe placed above the arch of the kitchen. “Better yet,” she says, grabbing his hand and pulling him up too, “let’s cross off something on my Christmas bucket list on our way to the kitchen.”

Harry smiles fondly at the memory from their first Christmas together when they made festive bucket lists. Y/n had put “kiss under mistletoe” pretty high on it.

He stands up and follows after her excitedly. He has a feeling this will be the best Christmas yet.