#no holiday holds any appeal to me anymore and i could live without them

[luv-again]

my mum singing jingle bells downstairs :

my immediate visceral reaction : UUUGGGGHHHHAAAARRRGGHHH

[etherrealoblivion]

The Ones We Win

Summary: Owning a bookstore in downtown D.C. came with its fair share of downsides. You never thought that being the target of a serial killer would be one of them. Luckily, a nice FBI agent by the name of Spencer Reid is assigned to watch over you. What's the worst that could happen?

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Reader

Tags: fluff, smut, angst, friends to lovers, slow burn

Ch.1 words: 815

A/N: this is a finished fic. 17 total chapters. Updated frequently. <3

MASTERLIST

Chapter One: Prologue

It was a cold winter evening and the grandfather clock in the corner of the bookstore had just struck eleven.

The book you were reading was getting repetitive and you could barely keep your eyes open from the strain. It was a brand new one, hot off the presses, hadn’t even been released to the public yet. That was one of the upsides of owning a bookstore: getting to read books that no one else had yet.

Doesn’t do much good if the book is shit, you thought as you stretched and put the book back on the shelf — a little haphazardly — for the grand release tomorrow.

Grand releases always took a lot out of you, but thankfully, you weren’t working tomorrow, confident in your employees’ ability to handle the Saturday morning crowd.

The bookstore was shrouded in darkness, the only light emanating from the dim streetlamps just outside. It didn’t hurt your eyes to read in the dark anymore. Too many late nights with your nose in a book did that to a person. 

But your mind was still now yearning for a palate cleanser to get that dreadful writing out of your mind. After a moment of browsing the shelves, you decided on your trusty old copy of Meditations. Settling back into the overstuffed recliner, you cracked open the book and absentmindedly played with your locket.

It was easy to get sucked into a book whilst alone in the dark. Darkness was underrated. It was the only time that a person could be alone but still feel surrounded. You thought of that Emerson quote, how did it go. . .

I am not solitary whilst I read and write, though nobody is with me.

You felt this every day, the moment you set foot in the bookstore. It was cheesy, but the books on the shelves seemed to whisper and breathe, exuding life. With a touch of your fingers to the spine and a deep breath of the pages, you could feel the story behind any book.

The buzzing of the neon Open sign started to hurt your ears so you closed your book, flipped the switch off, and started to lock up.

No one came in after 10 p. m. anyway, but you stayed until closing time — eleven o’clock — every night. It was nice to feel like if someone did want to buy a book so late at night, they’d be grateful you were still here. It was a small hope but it helped you get through that extra hour that you needed on your paycheck.

Owning a bookstore in downtown D.C. practically cost more to keep up than you made in profit. But, on the bright side, anyone with a love for books knew that your place was the best in the city. And the people who loved books were your kind of people. 

You pulled on the door once you were outside, making sure it was locked up tight.

Living only a block away, it just made more sense to walk to work. Sure, there was some danger walking alone late at night, but you’d taken too many self-defense classes to be scared. Plus, holding your keys as a weapon between your knuckles gave plenty of comfort.

Owning a car was for suckers. You were home within ten minutes.

The stairs in your apartment were being repaired. It was a wonder that of all the things to break in an old apartment building, the stairs would be the first to go. Other tenants surely didn’t mind, probably preferring the elevator, but to you, the walk up to your apartment on the fifth floor was the highlight of your night.

Tonight, however, you had to take the elevator.

It was easy to get lost in thought in the harsh silence of the lift. Whatever happened to elevator music? you thought, rubbing your temples. Aurelius’ Meditations was much more thought-provoking in the original Latin. You made a mental note to not read that book again on a late night. It only caused headaches and existential thoughts that you couldn’t deal with right now.

Quietly, you kicked the door closed, locked it, and slipped off your shoes. Easy, though it would be, to fall into bed without changing and brushing your teeth, you needed the routine tonight of all nights. 

Toothpaste never tasted good. Maybe it was the minty flavor? It was supposed to be appealing but it just tasted like a bitter candy cane.

The calendar on the wall caught your eye. There were only two weeks until Christmas. Two weeks until you could take an extra day off work to do nothing at all. It wasn’t that you didn’t like the holiday, there just wasn’t anyone to spend it with.

Oh, well. It wasn’t like Christmas meant anything anyway. Jesus was born in April. Stupid pagans. 

If you weren’t so tired, you’d google the origins of Christmas. If an idea worm was planted in your head, you couldn’t sleep until you figured it out. But tonight, after a long week of studying and working, sleep was too enticing.

Your bed was particularly comfortable after such a long day. Normally it would take a few hours to fall asleep, but the moment your head hit the pillow, you were out cold. The soft sound of your breath was the only sound in your room now.

By midnight, you were in such a deep sleep that you didn’t hear the front door creaking open.

Chapter Two

[violetwolfraven]

Peace and Joy

@spot-king-of-brooklyn I’m your secret Santa! @newsies-secretsanta

You said your favorite ships are sprace and/or javid and you’re good with pretty much anything so I’m gonna write two separate vaguely holiday-related oneshots in the reincarnation AU. Don’t worry though nothing heavy, just fluff. No COVID because I’ve had enough of that dude and I say so. Enjoy! Happy Holidays!

Tw: referenced past period-typical homophobia.

...

Spot couldn’t remember being this happy... ever. Not in the early 1900s or in the early 2000s.

Well, the closest he could think of was 1902, when he and Race moved on from being newsies and from being leaders of their respective boroughs and rented that old apartment in Brooklyn together. But that had been muted by the need to be careful. They couldn’t be normal young people in love because they always had to hide.

And that was fine at the time because it was expected. It was them doing whatever it took to be together not knowing they’d ever get the chance to do it another way.

Now, in the bright, beautiful, forward-thinking 21st century, they could be safe. They could be in love without fear of the consequences. They could go out Christmas shopping together, and Spot didn’t know if that counted as a date, but it kind of felt like one as he watched his boyfriend bop a little to Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas Is You as he looked around.

He ended up having to look away before he started blushing too hard. Even if he wasn’t the King of Brooklyn this time, he still had a bit of a reputation as a stone cold badass. For all he knew, one or more of their more mischievous friends could be spying on them right now. And besides, this thrift store probably had stuff he could get the few Brooklyn kids who’d come back, too.

He was still deciding if Hotshot would think it was funny if he got him a tank top that said ‘hot stuff’ on it. The others would find it funny, but Spot honestly wasn’t sure if it would make his former second uncomfortable.

“Hey, Spottie, ya think my little brother would like this?”

Spot turned back to see Race holding up a bright purple worm on a string, but a giant version of one. One that was big enough to be a scarf.

“Knowin’ your family,” he admitted, “I think any of ‘em would be happy to get one of those.”

It was true. Honestly, the most sensible Larkin brother was the second-oldest, Crutchie, but Spot could still see him proudly wearing a worm-on-a-string-scarf to school after winter break ended.

Besides him, Medda, Race’s mom, tended to embrace whatever unique fashion choice she could find. And Jack, of course, didn’t let being the oldest of four stop him from being a theatrical little shit who liked drawing attention to himself.

And Romeo was somehow even more eccentric than Race, so he would definitely like that thing.

Race grinned, “I’m gonna get Ro a worm scarf for Christmas.”

“Your family is ridiculous.”

“Thank you. So, what’re ya gettin’ for Denton?”

Oh, shit. Spot had completely forgotten about getting anything for Denton.

He really should get something for him. After all, the teacher hadn’t even known Spot when Jack asked if he could stay with him. All he’d needed to know was that Spot needed a place to hide from his terrible parents and couldn’t stay with the Larkins, mostly because Medda had a strict rule about her boys’ partners sleeping over unless it was absolutely necessary. (it was also because Spot couldn’t think of anyone he’d want to live with less than Jack Kelly, but Denton didn’t really need to know that, did he?)

So far, Spot’s parents hadn’t shown any signs of missing him, and Spot couldn’t decide if that hurt or not, but it barely mattered anymore.

Because Denton didn’t really have any rules beyond ‘do your homework’, ‘take a shower occassionally’, and ‘if you leave the house, let me know where you’re going.’ He helped Spot pick out a Halloween costume, let him spend Thanksgiving with Race, and gave him money for Christmas shopping. He was fine with Spot being gay and having a boyfriend, even if there was an added rule with that of ‘you can’t have the door closed if you’re alone in your room with Race.’

He gave Spot space, but also made it clear that he could come to him for anything he needed help with. He never hit him, never pushed when Spot wanted to be alone, never even raised his voice unless they were in an already-loud room and he needed to get his attention.

In short, in only a few months, he’d become the best adult Spot had ever had in his life. He wasn’t his father, but he was closest thing Spot had ever gotten to a dad.

The Denton they’d known in their last life had been kind of like that, too. He’d helped as best he could whenever one of the newsies got into trouble, always being there for anyone who needed him since Kath first introduced her new reporter friend to her newsie friends. Of course, Spot hadn’t been living with Denton then, so he’d never really thought about it.

“What do you even get a middle-aged man for Christmas?”

Race shrugged, “Power tools?”

The idea of getting Denton power tools was so ridiculous that they both laughed.

“Uh... he’s a writer,” Race pointed out, “So... fancy pens?”

“Fancy pens? We’re at a thrift store, Racer.”

“Well we don’t gotta stay here forever. There’s a Barnes and Noble across the street.”

He wasn’t wrong about that, but Spot wasn’t sure about the whole ‘fancy pen’ thing. It seemed a little generic.

“Yooooo! Spot, check this out for Jack!”

He was holding up a bright blue sketchbook that said ‘Sketchy Bitch’ on the cover.

“Oh yeah, ya definitely have to get that for Cowboy.”

Spotting (no pun intended) something else on the shelf behind him, Spot grinned.

He had the perfect thing to get for the man who’d taken him in.

...

“This is gonna be so fuckin’ awesome.”

Davey snorted, “You’re way too excited ‘bout this, Jackie.”

He loved his boyfriend, but he had a tendency to get overenthusiastic about things.

Well, he loved that about Jack, too. And he loved being able to call him his boyfriend, now. That they didn’t need to hide this time.

He and Sarah had both been a little worried about their parents’ reaction, but it had turned out to be for nothing. They’d each gotten a t-shirt with their respective pride flag for the first night of Hanukkah, and Jack and Kath were always welcome to come over as long as at least one parent was home.

Davey loved Jack just as much in this lifetime as he had in his first, but it was different, not having to hide it. It was good different, but definitely different. Being able to be who they were and be in love and knowing that it was generally frowned upon to be homophobic now, at least where they lived.

And being able to do random shit that was romantic and fun as hell, but not something would even occur to most people to do.

After a sleepy conversation once Crutchie, Race, and Romeo had fallen asleep watching White Christmas (which Davey appreciated for the choreography in the dance numbers) one time about how there weren’t really any Hanukkah movies, Jack had collaborated with Kath to write a lesbian Hanukkah musical romcom to post to YouTube.

Objectively, it wasn’t that great. It was good for a movie made by a bunch of high school juniors, but they couldn’t afford good cameras or microphones or anything. Plus, it was appealing to a very niche audience, so Davey doubted this movie would get more than twenty views.

Still, it meant a lot that Jack was so excited about it, that he was working so hard on props and editing in the lighting and music for it so Kath and Saz could play Jewish lesbians fake-dating at a holiday party who fall in love. It was cute.

“It ain’t gonna win any awards,” Jack admitted, “But I think we’s got somethin’ good here!”

“We do,” Davey agreed.

Was he actually talking about the romcom starring his sister and her girlfriend? Partially. It was a pretty good movie for something produced by teenagers.

But they had something good there that wasn’t on the screen of Jack’s laptop, too.

Jack seemed to share those thoughts, with the way he was smiling.

“What’s with the look, mi amor?”

Davey rolled his eyes as the other boy put his arm around his waist.

“Like you don’t know, love,” he chuckled, “Remember the last time we did somethin’ like this? And by ‘we’ I mean ‘you.’”

“Shh,” Jack shook his head, “Nope. We don’t talk about the latkes incident.”

“You mean when you almost burned down our tiny little kitchen trying to—“

“We don’t talk about it!”

Davey laughed. It was funny, how Jack couldn’t, in any lifetime, cook anything more complicated than like... chili or stew. While he could make something edible, he couldn’t make anything that was really considered good.

“Davey, love, luz de mi vida, it was literally over a hundred years ago, so stop. Bringin’. Up. The. Latkes. Incident!”

He punctuated the sentence by hitting Davey with one of his mom’s throw pillows.

“Okay, Jackie, I get it! Stop hitting me!”

“Fine,” Jack grinned, “I ain’t almost burned down a kitchen in over a century, babe. I thinks that’s a good record to have.”

“Most people never almost burn down a kitchen,” Davey pointed out, “I know I—wait, did you just call me ‘babe’?”

Jack was definitely not meeting his eyes to try to hide how he was blushing, “Uh... is that okay?”

Davey smirked. Jack didn’t get flustered that often, but it was adorable when he did.

And even if he had almost burned down their apartment, it had been cute back then, how he’d tried so hard to try to do something nice for Davey for the holiday season. It was cute now, too.

That was one thing that hadn’t changed through the decades, he guessed.

“It’s definitely okay, babe.”

...

“Spot, is this a... ‘Best Dad In The World’ mug?”

“...if you cry, I’m outta here.”

[pearlsephoni]

When Immortal Meets Ineffable

Can also be read on AO3 

Rating: G 

Fandoms: Good Omens, The Old Guard

Pairings: Joe/Nicky, Aziraphale/Crowley (ofc)

Summary: Nicky's love for books has introduced him to many wonders, but he never anticipated meeting a pair of men whose existence seems just as impossible as his own. Or: a gay, immortal couple walks into an old bookshop owned by a gay, angel/demon couple. 

A/N:  The sign on Aziraphale's bookshop door is real, I copied the text from here lol And I owe my life to this 3D recreation of the shop Also this is my first time attempting to publish a fic on here, so pardon any formatting weirdness. More author’s notes can be found on the AO3 page!

Immortality was exhausting. It was impossible to build a normal life and settle down without sparking suspicion, so no single place could be “home” for very long. They couldn’t build a family, or climb the ladder of a career, or even build many friendships outside of their core group. 

Without the more…“standard” goals available to them, each member of the Old Guard ended up setting their own personal quests. Andy learned every language and style of martial arts she could. Booker challenged himself to try a new whiskey at every bar they visited. Joe was close to completing his goal of visiting every possible art museum in Eurasia, and would soon be expanding his scope to the world. And Nicky was determined to read as many of the world’s books as possible. 

But that wasn’t the only reason why he and Joe ended up seemingly visiting every bookshop in Europe. Living forever meant you had an infinite amount of time to lose and find things, and unfortunately for Nicky, his list of lost items included a near-first edition copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy. 

Books didn’t hold the same appeal for Joe, but he was still always willing to join his life partner in his visits to bookshops. What caused him chagrin wasn’t the visits, but the seemingly futile quest to find such a rare copy of a classic book. So when Nicky immediately tugged his jacket back on to head into London, Joe was a bit more reluctant than usual. 

“Hayati, wouldn’t we have better luck looking in museums for something so rare?” 

“I’m not just looking for La Commedia, my heart,” Nicky reminded him with a small smile. “I need a new book to read, too.” 

“Of course, and that’s why you are going to Waterstones and not another small, old bookshop?” That small smile turned guilty, and Joe couldn’t help letting out a sigh. “Do you have a destination in mind, or will you be wandering again?” 

“Why don’t you come with me and find out?” 

It wasn’t fair of Nicky to use his rare, broad smiles to win their smaller bickers, he knew it. But even a relationship with the love of his life wouldn’t have lasted almost a millennium without the occasional cheap trick. And it was so hard to feel guilty when his little tricks resulted in Joe’s hand warmly wrapped around his as they walked through London. 

As it so happened, he did have a destination in mind: A.Z. Fell & Co., an old bookshop that he remembered seeing on a random street corner in London. It had been closed the first (and last) time he tried to pay it a visit, all those years ago, and the sign on the door detailing the store hours simply raised more questions than answers for Nicky: 

Bookshop Opening Hours: 

I open the shop on most weekdays about 9:30 or perhaps 10am. While occasionally I open the shop as early as 8, I have been known not to open until 1, except on Tuesday. I tend to close about 3:30pm, or earlier if something needs tending to. However, I might occasionally keep the shop open until 8 or 9 at night, you never know when you might need some light reading. On days that I am not in, the shop will remain closed. On weekends, I will open the shop during normal hours unless I am elsewhere. Bank holidays will be treated in the usual fashion, with early closing on Wednesdays, or sometimes Fridays. (For Sundays see Tuesdays.) 

-A.Z. Fell, Bookseller 

“It’s a miracle this place is still running,” Joe muttered now, squinting at the wordy sign. Nicky was more interested in the sign hanging next to it, blissfully simpler and blessedly flipped to read, “Open.” The door was unlocked, and rang with a cheerful jingle as the immortals pushed it open. 

“Hello there! Welcome to A.Z. Fell & Co!” 

Nicky had barely been able to fully take in the warm, crowded space of the bookshop before his attention was pulled to a small, pale man dressed in a white suit. He seemingly appeared out of thin air from behind a small desk next to a bookshelf to the left. He had a bright, welcoming smile, and looked positively cherubic with his light blonde curls and rosy cheeks. “How may I help you today?” 

“Oh, I-” 

“We’re just looking,” Joe cut in, giving Nicky a gentle nudge. It was a reminder enough not to draw attention with their unusual search. “Wanted to see what we could find in such a unique shop.” 

“Lovely! Well, if you need any help at all, don’t hesitate to ask!” 

“Thank you,” Nicky replied with a smile, before wandering over to the cluster of bookshelves on their right, pulling Joe with him. 

He always lost track of time in bookshops. Even Joe, for all he insisted that Nicky was the reader, could get lost in the trinkets and random findings to be seen in an old shop. Maybe that was why, for all their battle-honed instincts and attention to detail, they didn’t realize someone else had entered the store until a new voice broke the comfortable silence.

“Angel!” 

“Ah, Crowley! What a pleasant surprise! What’re you doing here?” 

“Just wanted to see what you’ve got in stock.” 

“Really?”

“No, of course not, I was going to ask you to lunch.” 

“Oh! Well...that’s very kind of you, but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t just close my shop in the middle of the day!”

“Yes you can, it’s your shop, if anyone can, it’s you.” 

“But I have customers! Like...like these young men!” 

Nicky, with a thousand years of life behind him, never thought of himself nor Joe as “young.” No matter how ageless they were, every year weighed on them, a burden that was only bearable because they didn’t have to weather it alone. So it didn’t occur to him that they were the “young men” the shop owner referred to, until the small, pale man suddenly appeared at his elbow. “Hello there! May I help you with anything?” 

A Genovese curse flew from his lips, followed by a grunt after Joe gently pinched him. Nicky smiled apologetically at the owner. “Sorry, ah...we’re alright, just looking.” 

“Yes, well…” The shop owner had a confused tilt to his eyebrows, at odds with his kind smile. “I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to be nosy, but...was that Old Genovese you were speaking?”

“You recognize it?” Nicky blurted out before he could stop himself. It had been centuries since either of the immortals had met someone else who knew the language. 

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s been a while since I’ve heard it.” A pink tint had risen to the small blonde’s cheeks, and his eyes now had a proud glint to them. “That’s very impressive, I didn’t think anyone spoke it anymore!”  

“No...neither did we.” He glanced at Joe, and was met with eyes that looked as disconcerted as he felt. 

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Please let me know if you need help with anything!” The shop owner cheerfully strolled back to the counter, where his friend - Crowley, Nicky remembered - was staring at him and Joe with what felt like suspicion, even through his sunglasses. The redhead murmured something to the blonde that made the latter glance back at them with another smile, one that Nicky returned before he quietly urged Joe behind another bookshelf. 

“What the hell?” Joe hissed as soon as they were out of eyeline of the shop owner. 

“Language, tesoro mio.” 

Joe’s words switched to old Maghrebi, but remained just as confused and indignant. “Nico, we haven’t met anyone else who speaks Genovese in decades, maybe even centuries, if we don’t count linguists.”

“I know.” 

“So how does an owner of an old bookshop recognize it?” 

“We’ve seen some books that are much older than what we usually see in a shop like this. Maybe he recognized it from a book?” Even as he uttered the words, Nicky knew the explanation was pathetic. The look of disbelief he received from his lover let him know he wasn’t alone in thinking that. 

“He said it’s been a while since he’s heard it,” Joe reminded him. “And he recognized it as it was spoken, not written down somewhere.” 

“What are you trying to say? That he’s another immortal? One we somehow haven’t dreamed of in all this time?” 

“No, of course not...but…” Joe peered at the shop owner and his friend through a gap in the books. “Maybe there’s something different about him. Maybe immortals aren’t the only strange people in the world.” 

“Even if that were true, Yusuf, don’t you think we would have run into one before? Our abilities have been noticed before, by people who didn’t know what to look for. We of all people would have noticed if there were other powers out there.” 

“Unless they do as much as we do to stay out of notice.” 

It was Nicky’s turn to peer at the odd couple through the books, except this time, the redhead, Crowley, was looking right at him. Or at least, in their direction. He jerked away from the bookshelf and immediately moved deeper into the shop, tugging Joe with him. “We can talk with the others about it later. For now, let’s buy something and leave.”

“Still determined to find your book?”

Nicky offered a sweet smile to Joe, but didn’t bother hiding the mirth in his eyes. “Of course, my heart.” 

He didn’t end up finding the book he was looking for, much to his disappointment and Joe’s quiet amusement. But he did find an old, old Italian Bible that stirred distant memories of a classroom reciting verses, and that was enough to justify the visit. 

Satisfied in his choice, he moved towards the cashier register, only to be pulled up short by Joe. Nicky furrowed his brows in confusion - for someone who had been so reluctant to come, Joe suddenly seemed very keen on staying. He glanced back at him to find those dark eyes trained on the men behind the counter, one finger to his lips. Battle instincts kicked in, and he obediently trained his hearing to the low muttering coming from the other men. 

“Now really, Crowley, it’s simply not possible! Even if the Almighty really did send spies after us, I would at least recognize them. I’ve never seen those men in my life!” 

“Then maybe they’re demons. We’ve always had better corporeal disguises anyway. Would explain why we don’t recognize them.” 

“Have you ever seen demons behave like that with each other?” 

“Like what?” 

“Oh come now, you must have felt it. The energy around them is downright bursting with love! It’s just like…”

“...Angel, like what?”

“W-well...like two people in love. Nothing at all like you demons behave.”

“‘You demons’? Might I remind you of who saved the most valuable books here, Aziraphale?” 

It could’ve been just another argument between an old couple, especially an old married couple. There was no mistaking the love and pure affection that drenched every bickering phrase between them. But where Nicky had thought “Angel” was a sweet nickname, the casual use of terms like “demons” and “the Almighty” stirred a deeper sense of suspicion awake in him...and a rush of exhilaration. The sensible majority of his mind told him there was no earthly way he was staring at an angel and a demon. Even if angels and demons were real, they wouldn’t own an old bookshop, or walk around dressed like a dandy or an aged member of a rock band. 

But a small part of him, the part of him that had him wandering to a church on calm Sundays and uttering panicked prayers over Joe’s body in the middle of battle, felt a thrill at the idea that he was staring at proof. Proof that his centuries of faith, his short-lived livelihood in the church, wasn’t in vain. When he finally tore his eyes away from the odd couple to look at Joe, he was met with a small smile of understanding under an unsure gaze. Of course his love understood what was running through his mind, even without a single word uttered between them. 

Nicky took a steadying breath before he finally nodded at Joe, giving his hand a light squeeze. The shop owner and his...friend (partner?) were still bickering when they approached the cashier, and Nicky caught snippets of something about a church, a bomb, a satchel of books, before the argument was cut short by their arrival at the counter. 

“Ah, gentlemen, hello again! Did you find everything alright?” the small blonde man - Azira...phale..? - greeted them with a wide smile, while Crowley simply stared at them with an unnervingly straight face. His gaze prickled at Nicky’s awareness, despite his best attempts to ignore him and return Aziraphale’s smile. 

“I didn’t find the book I was looking for, but you have many rare gems here.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry you couldn’t find it!” 

“Don’t be. We have visited almost every bookshop in Europe in search of it,” Joe snorted with a grin. “At this point it’ll take a miracle to find it.” 

Aziraphale perked up at Joe’s response, and glanced eagerly at Crowley...who returned the blonde’s hopeful smile with a stony stare. A moment of silence passed before the redhead finally muttered, “Sounds like you won’t be finding it any time soon.” 

“No, but that’s alright. Seeing all these wonderful little shops offers a special kind of joy,” Nicky murmured with a reassuring smile to Aziraphale. “You should be proud of this shop. It’s a lovely refuge in this city.” 

The owner looked a bit crestfallen, but brightened at Nicky’s smile and words. “That’s very kind of you to say! I’ve had it for quite a while, so it’s turned into a home of sorts for me. I’m so glad it feels that way to my patrons as well!” 

Crowley’s attention was back on Nicky, and even though he couldn’t see the redhead’s eyes, he didn’t feel as burdened by the scrutiny anymore. It felt somehow softer now, more of a mild annoyance as the transaction was carried out. Crowley had been so quiet throughout their visit that when he suddenly spoke up, the surprise nearly made Nicky drop the small paper bag containing his book. “Just out of curiosity...what book were you looking for?” 

“Ah...an early edition of The Divine Comedy in the original Italian. First edition, if possible.” 

“...Dante’s Divine Comedy?” Crowley repeated, skepticism practically dripping off his words. “You’re looking for a first edition from the late Middle Ages?” 

Nicky could hear the rustle of Joe straightening just behind him, ready to defend his admittedly-futile quest. He shifted just enough to hook their pinkies together in reassurance while he shot a small smile at Crowley. “More just seeing if it’s possible to find outside of a museum.” 

Crowley nodded, but he still had a small frown of disbelief on his lips as he wandered towards the bookshelves at the very back of the shop. Aziraphale watched him meander away with wariness and hope lining his eyes, a combination of emotions that made Nicky wonder what kind of history the odd couple shared to prompt that kind of response. 

“Nicolo,” Joe murmured, pulling him out of his idle curiosity. “We should be going. Andy will wonder what happened to us.” 

“Right...yes, of course.” Nicky smiled again at Aziraphale, who suddenly looked panicked at their impending departure. “Thank you again.” 

“Oh, are you leaving so soon? A-are you sure I can’t help you find anything else? I have other first editions that might interest you!” 

“Really, it’s alright-” 

“Here we are.” Crowley was suddenly back at Aziraphale’s side, tossing a book onto the countertop with a carelessness that became alarming when Nicky realized what he was staring at: an old, worn volume, the cover made of what used to be red leather, but was now faded into a dull brown. Pressed into the leather, and traced with gold flakes, were the words “La Commedia.” Nicky reached out to brush the worn cover, gingerly lifting it to reveal the title page, where he could read the publication date: 1438. “This...this is…” 

“Not quite first edition, but about as good as you’re gonna get outside of a museum.” Crowley’s voice was casual, as if he had simply found any old book. But his smirk was smug, the gravity of his achievement definitely not lost on him, especially when Aziraphale was staring at him in what could only be described as adoration. 

“How...how did you find this?” 

“Call it a little miracle. How much does a little miracle cost, angel?” 

“Oh, ah...well, the best miracles are priceless, wouldn’t you say?” 

Nicky’s gaze jerked away from the book to stare at Aziraphale in shock. “No, I’m sorry, I cannot in good faith take this without paying you.” 

“No, really-”

“Please, I insist-” 

The shopowner was strangely reluctant to give Nicky a price, but with Joe’s help, they were able to settle on an amount. By the time they left the bookshop, it was even later than they had planned on leaving, but Nicky was in such a daze of disbelief over his luck, Joe ended up being the one to call Andy. 

“Boss, we know, we’re sorry, but you’ll never believe- no, trust me, even Booker will get excited over this. We’ll be there soon, it will be worth the wait, I promise.” He laughed as he tucked his phone away, shaking his head fondly at Nicky. “Well, my heart, I hope this find is worth Andy’s wrath. She is not happy with us.” 

“Yusuf...who were those men?” Nicky was staring numbly into the bag, still not believing the impossibly old book he held in his hands. 

“What do you mean?” 

He finally looked away from his new treasure to meet Joe’s eyes. “Do you think...that maybe…” 

“What? That an angel and demon helped us find a book?” 

“Stranger things have been true.” 

“Perhaps…” Joe’s arm wrapped around Nicky’s waist, tucking him against his body to drop a kiss to his temple. “Whatever those men were, they were kind. I hope the bookshop continues to do well.” 

“Mm...thank you for coming with me.” Nicky’s smile was full of adoration, and earned him another kiss, this time on his lips. 

“Of course, hayati. Anything for you.” 

“Anything? Well, there’s another book I’ve been looking for-” 

“Buuuuut Andy and Booker might not approve.” 

After almost 1000 years, he should have been able to better resist the effect of Joe’s cheeky smile. But after almost 1000 years, Nicky wasn’t in the habit of denying himself the little joys to be found in life, especially when they came from this impossible man. 

[keiscait]

Hi! I just wanted to say from the match-ups I have seen that you are such a great writer! If it’s not too much I was wondering if I could get a living room and bedroom matchup for a male character. If both are too much, feel free to do one whichever one you feel like you can write better. I wanna do this anon so the emoji you can use for me is: <33

Info:

Pronouns: She/Hers

Personality: I am a very goal orientated person and I can become very hard on myself sometimes if I don’t achieve things as well as I wanted to. I tend to be quiet but not shy per say. I do not have trouble talking to people and making friends and I can become very outgoing but in the friend group itself I usually keep to myself. If I am comfortable with you I will make witty remarks and make fun of you in a playful friend banter kinda way but I would like to say I am a good listener so I can get serious real quick. I am really big on trust and I used to trust too easily and now I am a bit more closed off where it is a bit harder for me to trust others.

Relationships: When it comes to relationships, I believe in communication and I haven’t had a big problem with it in the past. I wouldn’t mind a small pda such as hand holding or a small kiss here and there but nothing over the top because you gotta keep the important stuff private ya know. My love language is quality time because I tend to be really busy once school starts and so making effort to see each other even through our busy schedules is really important to keep the relationship healthy.

Hobbies: I believe that you need a good balance between work and play though so some other hobbies I have are painting (acrylic and watercolor), baking, and skateboarding. I also listen to music everyday and watch like an episode before I go to sleep if I have school but binge watch on break. I also try to game a bit too like league, minecraft, and my switch. I also like hiking and runs in the mornings before class because it really clears my head and I used to be on the swim team but I don’t competitively do it anymore.

Bedroom: I believe I would be a switch that leans more submissive. However, I am really cautious to do anything because I need to trust them to be submissive. I would consider myself very open to different kinks and what not and aftercare is a must. I’m not super into degrading because I’m sensitive af. I just would want someone who is observant with me and my body as well as someone who helps me with my insecurities. Once I’m comfortable though I definitely become a brat. Just want someone who would manhandle but still tell me i’m the prettiest girl they’ve ever met hahaha.

Zodiac: Pisces (sun), Cancer (rising), and Leo (moon)

Hogwarts house: Ravenclaw

Future Plans/ Dreams: I am working to become a biomedical engineer one day to help make medical devices to help people. Right now I am leaning towards possibly doing physical therapy and making prosthetics.

Looks: I’m 5’6/5’7 and have a medium build. I am tan kinda like a honey color with black wavy/slightly curly hair that is about at my breast length. My eyes are hazel but mainly light brown and I have pretty big doe like eyes.

Sorry if it’s too much or too little but thank you so much! and I have such respect for writers so keep being you :) HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND STAY SAFE

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

Hello and welcome, my darling! So sorry for the long wait, and thank you SO MUCH for your kind words! (⌒‿⌒)❤️ Let’s get right to it then! ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

I was reading your description, and I think the person I had in mind for you also fits your bedroom matchup!

Our lovely guest keeping us company in both rooms is...

(Runner up: Ushijima Wakatoshi)

Kageyama is a very complex character. He’s one of the few characters ever who we actually see slips back into his old bad habits every now and then, but is immediately remorseful and shows signs of him knowing better. He’s always striving for progress, and he understands more than others what it’s like to dislike your past self.

- Tobio here is somehow both incredibly observant yet so fricking DENSE

- I imagine that however it is that you two meet, he’ll be super formal at first. It’ll take a little while for a romance to build because he’s not used to opening up, and he’ll need to really trust the person for him to let his walls down

- however, as soon as you guys establish a friendship, he’d be drawn to you and how goal-oriented you are, especially since he is, too

- He’d take interest in you, notice all your little quirks, and would even find himself blushing whenever you playfully tease him

- Problem is, he has no fucking clue why HAHAH

- I love him sm but boy doesn’t know what it is to like someone

- Hinata would try to explain it to him and he’d just be like cr- cru--... c-CRUSH?? ...what is that?

- Man is in desperate need of wingman someone help him

- Anyway, once his friends get Operation: Get Tobio A Girlfriend in motion, he just turns into his pouty blushy self whenever he sees you

- The other boys will probably go overboard that he’ll be forced to take matters into his own hands

- The confession would be a damn mess but in an adorable way

- He’d 100% yell his feelings at you while pouting/blushing

- You’d have to shush him TBH 

- shush him with a kiss maybe? that’s a great way to shut him up ( 　･ิω･ิ)

- Kageyama_Tobio.exe stopped responding

- anyway I think he’d just be such a soft, protective boyfriend, especially since you’re kind of quiet

- You two would understand each other so well. He’d protect you and your quiet side, while you would help him be more relatable in order to make friends. It’s also perfect that you two are both goal-oriented, because then you’d be on the same page when it comes to co-dependence/independence. One would understand the other when it comes to pressure, deadlines, and hard work, and you’d just be super supportive of each other all the time

- I think you’re better at communicating than he is, so you may have to inform him a bit on how it should work between the two of you. He’d pick up on this really fast tho so no need to worry! Kags has got you ;)

- Dates would be really productive ones. Study dates, work dates, workout dates; anything that would be beneficial to your improvement

- Early morning hikes with Kags :’( beautiful

- He really appreciates that you’re not big on PDA because that puts a lot less pressure on himself to be someone he’s not. PLUS I imagine he’s the same as you, who really treasures the private moments between the two of you because you’re both so busy

- Once you guys have some private time, he’d take it as an opportunity to release all his pent up energy and emotions. He’d be so needy and clingy when he knows others can’t see

- ( 　･ิω･ิ) ( 　･ิω･ิ) ( 　･ิω･ิ) also u kno whassup when you guys finally get some private time ( 　･ิω･ิ) ( 　･ิω･ิ)( 　･ิω･ิ)

- I don’t think Kags is the very kinky type. He’d be a dom, but I don’t think the freaky stuff would really appeal to him, especially if it’s degradation, since the man worships you?? He’s just like... why tho 

- He may get into some stuff that emphasizes his strength, mostly how he grabs you and handles your body

- Picks up on your sweet spots really quick, and I imagine he can even deduce which parts are sensitive without you having to tell him

- Apologizes if he ever makes you uncomfortable :’( he’d just be SO tender and protective

- I don’t think he knows what aftercare is, or like the specifics of it, but I think despite that, he’d just naturally want to take care of you and check in on you afterwards. He’d ask if you’re okay, if you need anything, if you’re feeling any kind of pain, if there’s anything he can improve on. And he’d definitely scan your body for any bruises.

~

You were walking home from an exhausting day at work. 

There were more than a few setbacks today - an annoying coworker took credit for your hard work, your precisely detailed schedule wasn’t honored by others, and because of this, you weren’t able to have lunch. It was now 6:30PM. The rain poured as you waited at the bus stop. You were famished, soaked, and, quite frankly, so done with this day. 

You sighed for what felt like the hundredth time. You were so out of it today that you haven’t had the chance to check on your unread messages. Your boyfriend, Tobio, had left a few missed calls over the past hour, causing some worry. He didn’t usually call, given how busy he was all the time. You texted him first to check in.

You: Everything okay, bub?

K: Yes. Sorry about all the missed calls. Where are you right now?

Y: At the bus stop near my building. Why?

K: Which one?

K: Never mind. I see you

What? You whipped your head left and right, then saw your boyfriend’s figure standing a few meters away, umbrella in hand. He was truly a sight for sore eyes right now - he wasn’t wearing anything special, juts his usual tracksuit, but he was wrapped in a scarf and held a soft expression on his face. It was just the warmth you needed right now. He jogged over to you, closing the umbrella as he made it under the roof. 

“Hi love,” you started, “what on earth are you doing here?” A huge weight seems to have been lifted off of you.

He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you, rubbing your body to give extra warmth. Pulling back, he took off his scarf so that he could wrap it around your neck. 

“It’s been raining all day but I noticed you left your umbrella at home. I was hoping to catch you before you left work so that you don’t have to walk in the rain.” You couldn’t help the smile that was erupting through the exhaustion. This felt like an all new Tobio. “I guess I was a little too late, I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “No, don’t worry about it. Thank you for thinking of me, bub.” You allowed yourself to slump onto him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You felt him loosen up, strong arms making their way around your form. You looked up at him without pulling away. Your big doe eyes stared into his blue ones, totally sinking into each other’s gaze. He planted a small kiss onto your nose. It wasn’t normal for you to be so affectionate outdoors, but right now, it seemed apt. You scrunched up your nose in response.

Had it not been for the honking of the bus, the two of you could’ve cuddled in the rain for much longer, ridding each other of the lousiness of the day.

~

I hope that was alright with you, darling! Thank you so much for trusting me with your matchup. Hope you’re having a wonderful new year so far!! Please don’t hesitate to sit and have a chat with me anytime ❤️

Thanks for stopping by! (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

[purplesurveys]

1083

surveys by chasingghosts

Just a boring word association survey inspired by one of my old ones. Say the first thing that comes to your head. Don't overthink it :)

Keyboard: Monitor.

Dog: Dalmatian.

School: Pencils.

Italy: Roman Holiday. Ahh one of my favorite movies; such a classic.

Fire: BTS, heh.

Table: Chairs.

Mask: Face mask. New normal and all.

Blanket: Weighted blankets. I still don’t get how they work and I keep imagining that a 20-lbs blanket would feel too warm...I guess I’m willing to try it for a night, but I dunno if I would want to spend 5,000 bucks on one.

Gun: That curly-haired blonde dumbass from the US who keeps bringing one around.

Soda: Fizzy. Do not like.

Man: Trash.

Beautiful: Beast. Beautiful and the Beast is the knockoff version, hahaha.

Country: Roads.

Dictionary: Thesaurus.

Play: Playgrounds.

Yoga: Mat.

Cross: Country.

Happy: Emojis.

Change: Coins.

Orange: The fruit with the same name. Also, hair dye.

Cereal: Fruity Pebbles and Lucky Charms.

Record: Vinyl records, aka what I would like to invest in eventually.

Jail: The Shawshank Redemption, even though I personally didn’t really like it lmao.

Tank: This made me think of the Elisa Lam case. It’s unfortunate what happened to her but personally, I’ll always be more disturbed by the stories of people who had to drink or bathe in that nasty contaminated water.

Plane: Travel. :(

Machine: Factories.

Empty: Outer space.

Medicine: Nasty taste. Whenever I was sick as a kid my parents/grandma always made me drink Tempra which tastes like shit and it took a lot of effort for me not to throw them back up. I hope kids these days have more better-tasting options for medicine.

Stockings: Uncomfortable. I hate stockings and always dread occasions where I’ll have to put them on. Fortunately I haven’t had to for five years now.

Curry: Spicy and aromatic.

Football: Superbowl. Or is it SuperBowl? Super Bowl? Anyway, that event.

Blonde: Jennifer Aniston, heheh.

Pink: Barbie.

Cart: Online shopping.

Bag: Herschel.

Bourbon: Breaking Bad, though I’m not sure if it was indeed bourbon that Hank/Walt regularly drank. First thing that came to mind, though.

Karaoke: Philippine parties.

Caterpillar: That chemical they release when they’re stepped on.

Wizard: Harry Potter.

Number: Queues, lol.

Tired: Myself.

Baby: Baby videos.

Beach: Moana.

Castle: The first thing I thought of is this big orange castle - that is actually an inn - that I would have to pass by every single morning on my way to school, from kinder to high school. It looked like such a pretty, magical castle as a kid and I, along with probably all of my schoolmates who went the same route, thought a real princess lived in it; it just felt that magical. But as I got older I realized most inns/hotels with outlandish gimmicks are the cheap and tacky ones, so the magic was ruined for me as the years went by, haha.

Rock: Patrick Star from Spongebob, since he lives under one.

Hotel: Top-notch hospitality and service.

Weather: Gloomy.

Beanbag:  Comfort.

Clean: Vacuum cleaners...and my mom.

Angry: Rage.

--

I was inspired to make this when I saw a similar survey on here. Answer true or false, or simply mark an 'x' for what applies to you.

Michelle:

You love anything Disney related. I mean not anything? I wouldn’t want Disney merch of every single thing that could be turned into merch; but I do love Disney movies and they have always been great at creating songs that make you feel all magical and giddy inside.

You find any excuse to go shopping. False. I haven’t created a hobby out of shopping; at least not yet, I think. But going inside H&M several times for the past month to buy gifts for my friends has definitely helped in making me see the appeal of shopping. For now, though, I’d still rather do my browsing and shopping in non-clothing stores.

You’re younger than most of your friends. False. I have older and younger friends, but most of them are also 1998 babies since most of my friends are the people I went to school with.

You have really long hair, to your waist or longer. False. It has gotten a lot longer over the past year, but it’s still only up to my upper chest.

You’re pretty antisocial. False. I don’t like throwing this term around loosely because it’s a real personality disorder. I have also gotten more comfortable with people in the last few years and I don’t prefer to be alone anymore.

You have a pet dog/cat that sleeps in your bed with you. False. Either are terrible in staying in bed.

You haven’t had your first kiss yet. False. I had it six years ago, and I have shared hundreds and probably thousands of kisses after that.

You’re Asian. We finally got one! Haha.

You’re good at cooking. Yeah, this is the biggest false statement in this category.

You have dreams of working as a chef. I can see how it’s appealing, but it was never a career dream of mine. My dad is a chef, though.

Cheyenne:

You’re blonde, but not naturally. I currently don’t have plans to dye my hair blonde.  

You always have your fingernails painted. False. I’m the complete opposite of this, but I do want to start having my nails painted professionally as a way to pamper myself from time to time.

You obsess over things easily, to the point of them taking over your life. True, I guess. I get very sensitive and I overthink and overanalyze a lot of actions and situations that aren’t meant to be more than what they actually are. Just last night and this morning I had a bunch of dreams that had to do with a work-related problem I ran into last night. When I feel anxious about something, they would undoubtedly take over my life and it would take a while to break free from them.

You spend a lot of time on the internet. For almost every single minute that I am awake, yes. Sometimes I’ll attempt to disconnect every now and then - which I’ve been better at, to be fair to myself - but it’s always only a matter of time before I will have to look something up on Google.

Your phone may as well be surgically attached to your hand. True. I will occasionally turn it completely off so that no notifications come in, especially during weekends and holidays; but it stays close to me all the same.

You use Snapchat way too much. False. Not anymore, but I definitely used too. I had Snap streaks of varying lengths with a lot of my friends back then. 

You eat a lot of fast food. True and I don’t really feel bad about it, lmao. I love food that tastes good.

You love a bit of gossip. Also true. Not my nicest trait but I do like to keep updated. I mostly receive them though; I never spread or start any myself.

You’re really good at keeping secrets. It’s not my story to tell, so yes, true. I used to share secrets only with Gabie since she was very forgetful, but obviously I don’t have that kind of person anymore.

You’ve never had a boyfriend/girlfriend. False. I’ve had one and we had two stints together.

Morgan:

You work as a receptionist. False, but my mom used to be one. This was before she made the transfer to a more corporate workspace as a secretary.

You eat a lot of food yet you’re still so thin. True. Runs in both sides of the family.

Your siblings are your best friends. My sister and I have a very casual relationship, and while we’re on great terms we don’t do cheesy nor sentimental. I’m not on speaking terms with my brother.

Not many people see your face without makeup. False. Everybody sees me without makeup all the time precisely because I don’t like putting makeup on.

You spend your money carelessly. I can, especially when it comes to spoiling myself or other people. But I am also equally good at saving if I have to.

You dream of living overseas one day. I can confidently tell you that a lot of Filipinos consider this because the situation here hasn’t been stable for the longest time – politically, because we’ve always been led by incompetent heads; economically, because of the Marcoses’ dictatorship and abuse of power and the country’s funds; and socially, because of all the backward, Catholic stances that my country continues to stand for. I would love to live in a place where I wouldn’t be glared at for holding a girl’s hand or where most people are educated enough to vote responsible people into office.

You have a penpal. False. Never had one, never been interested in finding one.

You’re older than most of your friends. False. I vibe the best with people my age so even if I do have some younger friends, my comfort zone are with those who are also 22.

Most of your friends live out of town. An overwhelming majority of them live in Metro Manila, yes. I live just right outside so technically I’m the one who lives ~out of town~

You swear like a sailor. Eh, not anymore. I still let out a number of swear words daily, though. Just not in every sentence.

Tom:

You have so many nicknames that it’s hard for you to keep track. False. I have a grand total of one nickname, and even that is just reserved for family. Most people just call me Robyn.

You have large feet. False as well. My feet are small and can easily slip into size 5 or 6 shoes.

Most of your friends are of the opposite sex. Can’t say this is true. I can only think of one guy friend, who is Hans. I haven’t been able to keep up with my other friends, like JM and Ed, since most of them are busy with either law or med school, and simply because Covid has kept us from seeing each other.

Romantic relationships make you shy and nervous. Getting into one does. Once settled I’m pretty comfortable, mainly because I enjoy nothing more than looking out for the people I love. I’m not looking for a relationship though; not anytime soon.

You watch reality shows religiously. Eh, I wouldn’t describe it as ‘religiously’ but I do watch my fair share of them from time to time when I just want stupid, too-easy-to-digest content.

Pop music is your favourite. One of my favorites. I used to be shy about liking Top 40 songs but the older I get the more I realized that that’s music snobs’ problem and shouldn’t be mine.

Family is very important to you. Only because I’m Asian and family being ~important comes as a default the moment I was born. I’m not emotionally close with them though and they honestly probably wouldn’t weigh so much if I had to make major decisions, like migrating to the other side of the world or having a civil wedding.

You’re the youngest child in your family. False - complete opposite. I am the eldest.

You call your mother by her first name. False. Save for others who may not have the best relationships with their mothers, why would someone do this? :/

You dream of living in a big city one day. True. Yeah, absolutely. Give me all the construction noises and busy traffic and skyscrapers. I feel like I would be the most alive I’ve ever been once I start to live in a loud and hectic big city.

Harry:

You’re determined and motivated in all aspects of your life. Not always. That sounds exhausting. I allow myself to take a breather every now and then; and if I want to be unproductive for a while, I don’t ban myself from being so.

You’re much taller than the majority of your friends. Haha, definitely false. I belong to the smaller batch. I had a massive growth spurt from ages 9-10 but then it just kinda stopped there lol.

You go to the gym at least three days a week. Not the gym, but I do work out from home with that frequency.

You care a lot about your appearance. Ehhh I’m gonna say false. Having to stay/work from home does that. I like dressing up when I get to go outside though, since I seldom get to do it.

You’re a social butterfly. Trueish. I do like being around people more and more now, yeah; but of course, it’s still a work in progress for me. One thing I’m sure if is that I’m definitely not as introverted as I used to be and I have no problem opening up in a group.

You party almost every weekend. I’d love to, but can’t do that for the meantime.

You’re very straightforward and never repeat yourself. Ideally, yes. I like to move on quickly from things and settle them as fast as I can.

You love to write and have been told you’re talented. I do like to write, just not fiction stuff. Writing is my main talent and so I’ve gotten a lot of compliments on it over the years.

You consider yourself intelligent. Booksmart, at least.

You’re a bit of a player. Like, when it comes to relationships and flirting? ...Hell no. Again, very straightforward person lmao I’m either in a relationship or not.

Zack:

You’re in a band. False. Never been and never been interested.

You’re straight-edge. HAH, remember when I claimed to be edge when I was a teenager...I will say that listening to punk throughout high school and being familiar with the straight edge scene gave me a sense of belonging for a time, and it taught me so many important mindsets like positive mental attitude. But I can admit to myself that straight edge was a commitment I failed at, and as the saying goes, “If you’re not now, you never were.” I’ll always be thankful to the movement for helping me keep going during my tough teenage years, though.

You can play two or more instruments. Will it count if I say I know how to play the recorder, maracas, and the triangle? Hahahahaha but in all seriousness, I believe I don’t deserve to bold this.

You’re an uncle/aunt. I’m a godmother, which is pretty much aunt status in the Philippines. My godson is my first cousin though, and him being my cousin takes precedence over the fact that he is my godson.

You love Doctor Who. False. Never got into it.

You’re short for your age and most of your friends tower over you. I’m shorter, thinner, and look younger for my age. Long story short, I look like I’m 16 and I’m the one who gets ID’d the most whenever I enter bars or malls. I always feel triumphant whenever I get to show my driver’s license to judgy bouncers or security guards who look at me all conceitedly, though.

You’ve been cheated on before. False. My ex is heavily against cheating, and I always trusted her.

You have a big family. Any Asian would bold this, let’s be real. My immediate family itself is small with only 5 members; but my entire family – 1st cousins, 2nd cousins, 3rd cousins (and so on), cousins-in-law, cousins of cousins, aunts- and uncles-in-law, great-aunts/uncles and all – would amount to hundreds of relatives.

You have a nap every single day, without fail. Can’t do that as I have a busy 8-hour shift each weekday and I make up for it during weekends by drinking multiple cups of coffee a day.

You’re mostly quiet, but you can be loud when the situation calls for it. Definitely true. Or when I’m with the right mix of people.

Jenny:

You’re really good with computers. False. I know most things a Gen Z-er would know about, like basic spreadsheet formulas, keyboard shortcuts, how to retrieve files that crashed – basically the stuff that would let me survive at work; but to this day, I will still ask my much-techier sister how to download fonts or open ZIPs or compress photos.

You’re shy. At first; but I no longer have a hard time warming up to new people or situations.

You underestimate yourself often. True. While I know this isn’t a very good trait of mine, I find that it’s actually helpful sometimes? Setting my expectations low helps make me proud of myself whenever I succeed or excel at a task. In the long run, I’m okay with this mindset.

You recently moved house. The last time I did this was in 2008. I’m not looking to move out any time soon either as I make far from enough to afford even just renting a place.

You have a German Shepherd. False. The only people I know who own one is Chelsea’s family, but it’s been like five years since I saw that dog.

You wear baggy clothes. False. Not my style.

You almost always wear a beanie. False. I am never seen with a beanie and I only wear one when I’m in places with a much colder climate than Manila, like Baguio.

You have long hair if you’re a boy, and short hair if you’re a girl. Also false. My hair has since gotten a lot longer, and I’m due for another trim.

You recently got out of a really long relationship. True. Not my choice, but true.

You’re in a band. Again, never been.

Emily:

You’re a really good drawer. You mean an artist? False. At 22, I can only promise you stick figures.

You can’t help but doodle on anything you see. If there’s a pen and scratch paper lying around that are free to use, I will most definitely use up the whole page. Instead of doodling, though – since I can’t draw – I write things, practice my penmanship to make sure it hasn’t gotten all rusty, and whatnot. 

You want a career in art. False. That career path has always been paved for my sister.

You’re basically a personal taxi service for your friends who can’t drive. Hahaha this was essentially me in pre-pandemic days. Driving is such a simple good deed for someone considering the shitty public transportation in my country, and I would’ve been an asshole if I didn’t do anything to help my friends out.

Jeans and band shirts are your favourite thing to wear. Mom jeans and just *t-shirts are overall a great casual combo that never gets dated; but I don’t do band shirts.

You’re always wearing a necklace and lots of wristbands/bracelets. False. I would love more jewelry, though.

You have a lot of piercings on your ears. Also false. I’m not interested in piercings.

Your hair is currently an unnatural colour. False. It’s just black.

Not many people see your loud and boisterous side. I save this for my super super close friends.

You have several friend groups which you move between often. I can think of three off the top of my head.

Jack:

You always seem to have a boyfriend/girlfriend. This was me for six yearssssss, haha. The image I held for the longest time is that I was off the market and was in a happy, fulfilling, long-term relationship; so these days, it can get kinda fun watching people fumble around, not used to seeing me single again after what feels like a lifetime.

You have a fear of being single. I used to, only because I was taken for a really long time. I didn’t know if singlehood would work out for me, or how I would handle it. It took some getting used to but I’m happy now. I’m not looking to date, much less consider jumping into another romantic relationship.

When you’re not in a relationship, you’re a big flirter. Not at all. The flirting/dating scene is just not for me.

You are really sensitive and sympathetic towards your friends. I mean...like any good friend? Lmao.

Music means a lot to you. It doesn’t keep me alive per se, but sure.

You often overdo it when you drink alcohol. I wouldn’t say so. I like chugging a lot within the first 30 minutes (which helps because I’m low-tolerance and get lit way earlier than others do lol) but because I’ve always had to drive myself home after drinking nights in college, I’ve been conditioned to still be responsible with my alcohol and to start sobering up 2 hours before I have to leave.

You have no shame and love to be silly and have fun. I do like having fun in many ways, but I am probably the most rigid among my friends. I don’t really like doing silly dares or skits or dances in public.

You’re impulsive and this isn’t always a good thing. I’m working on it and have been better at it over the last few months. Now I take more time to think about things and weigh them out before I make a decision.

You have facial hair. False. There’s some light hair above my lip, nothing super thick or recognizable.

You have a baby brother/sister. False. I have younger siblings but I call neither of them my baby sibling because they are 20 and 17, lmao.

Nicole:

You’re madly in love with your significant other. I don’t get to answer this anymore. If you met me at an earlier time I would’ve gladly said yes, though.

You want to get married when you’re young. False. I want to get married when I feel mature enough and financially capable of handling a marriage and the things that can come out of a marriage, like a house and kids.

You’re quite petite. I’m naturally petite, yes. I’ve always been on the skinny side and I’m also shorter than most of my friends.

You dye your hair regularly. False. It has stayed black all my life, but I do want to experiment with green.

It’s almost impossible for you to feel the cold. False. I’m very sensitive to the cold and will shiver easily in an air-conditioned room.

You’re really good at flattering other people. Sure, I like giving compliments and reassurances.

You’re very self-conscious. And very insecure sometimes, yeah.

You find it difficult to make new friends. Sure, but only because I like to control the people that are in my circle. I’m not desperate to have hundreds of friends so this isn’t an issue for me.

People often stereotype you as emo. I have never gotten this before.

You’ve come a long way in the past couple of years. What can I say? Been through a lot, been through hell and back, been discarded and doubted, but I’m still here.

The end.

Who were you most like? Cheyenne. Cute name, too.

[no6secretsanta]

From @origami10 for @gyrthil. Happy holidays!

Note: I’m not sure what version of the names you’re familiar with, but Nezumi=Rat and Inukashi=Dogkeeper~

----------

A chill had crept into the air outside, so Shion was nestled on the sofa with his feet tucked up for warmth, as Nezumi stirred a pot of soup on the stove.

Shion closed the hardback book he had been reading. “Nezumi. You should do this as a play at your theater!”

Nezumi didn’t bother turning away from the soup to give his dry, sarcastic reply. “And what play would that be, Mr. Director?”

“A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens. See, there used to be this holiday called ‘Christmas,’ which was all about giving things to other people instead of hoarding them all for yourself. I think it would be great if you could tell more people in West Block about it! It would be ideal if some people from No.6 could see it, because they have the most resources to share, but we could at least-“

“No.”

Nezumi had heard enough of Shion’s foolishness by now to let most of it slide in one ear and out the other, but this was beyond ridiculous. He had read A Christmas Carol, and it was a fine story, but hardly one with a moral that the residents of West Block could do anything more than jeer at.

“I’m not saying you’d need to recreate Victorian England. I think I could rewrite it and make it relevant for the people here!”

“You? Rewrite? Charles Dickens?”

“There’s no harm in trying, right? You’re always encouraging me to learn more about the world, and I think it would help me understand life in West Block to try and get in the mindset of the people who live here.”

Nezumi rolled his eyes, and kept stirring the soup. “Fine, I’m not stopping you. There’s even some scraps of paper you could use tucked back there behind that stack of books. But don’t let it make you late for work with Inukashi, or distracted when walking through town. West Block is no place for daydreaming.” He figured he’d have to trail Shion to work tomorrow, just to make sure he didn’t get lost in thought and wander into danger, as he was still prone to do.

——————

Only three short days later, when Nezumi was sitting in bed reading, Shion jumped up from the corner of the sofa where he had been madly scribbling for several hours not just tonight, but both of the previous evenings as well.

“Nezumi! It’s finished!”

Nezumi considered feigning that he had forgotten what Shion was working on, but that wouldn’t serve any purpose, and honestly he was a little interested to see if this boy from the bubble could put any semblance of creativity into words. He took the stack of papers that Shion offered him, and began to leaf through it.

The handwriting was easily legible (no surprise there), and without realizing it, Nezumi found himself lost in the story.

In place of Scrooge, a character representing No.6 itself was confronted by another character from the correctional facility, who took the place of Scrooge’s late business partner, Jacob Marley. The Marley character warned the No.6 character that unless it heeded the warnings from its past, present, and future, it would be the next to get thrown into the hell represented by the correctional facility.

Shion had used what little he knew about the land, town, and people living in West Block before No.6 was created to depict the ghosts that showed what mistakes No.6 had made in its past as it slowly shut out the people beyond the city walls.

The ghosts of the present were the current residents of West Block, some based on recognizable characters from town. They showed the No.6 character the starving children and freezing households that it ignored everyday just outside its walls.

Shion had been smart enough not to use the parasitic bees word-for-word in the story, but the ghosts of No.6’s future showed a similar kind of looming destruction if No.6 kept up its trend of looking only inward. Nezumi couldn’t help but notice that the character laughing in the face of the No.6 character about its imminent downfall wore a leather jacket and quoted some lines of Shakespeare....

Nezumi hadn’t meant to read all of what Shion had written in a single sitting, but when he reached the final curtain call, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

He shoved the pages back at Shion. “Nope. Won’t work. They’ll never put it on.” He wriggled down into bed and pulled the covers up to his nose, hoping Shion hadn’t seen the way his mouth had hung open in amazement before he had remembered to put back on his usual sneer.

“But you liked it, didn’t you?” Shion flopped on the bed and said, close to Nezumi’s ear. “I think you could be in it. How many people do you usually have to do productions at the theater? Maybe I could get Mr, Rikuga to be in it. I bet he could at least help me look for costumes.”

“Shion, for the second and last time, the theater manager is not going to put on a play written by you.”

“But don’t you think it would lift people’s spirits in the cold, dark winter? We may not have Christmas anymore, but it could give them some hope, and remind them to look out for others.”

Nezumi rolled over and turned to stare coldly at Shion. It was so hard to maintain his severity every time he looked into those warm eyes that melted his heart even now as he spoke, but he reminded himself it was for Shion’s own good. “Hope is the last thing you should be giving people here. It’ll do them the opposite of good.”

“But-“

Nezumi sighed loudly and turned back away from Shion. “Enough buts. I’m trying to get some sleep, and you should too.” He closed his eyes for emphasis.

He could feel that Shion was a little miffed at his reaction and how abruptly he had cut short the conversation, but Shion must have been getting a better read on him than Nezumi dared allow himself to believe, because Shion simply straightened the pages, left them on the table, got ready for bed, crawled in beside Nezumi, and fell asleep.

Nezumi listened to his soft breathing for a long time before he finally sank into darkness.

——————

By the time Shion awoke the next morning, Nezumi was already gone. He looked briefly at the table, in case he had to make some edits, but as he had suspected, the papers were also gone. He fixed himself some breakfast and got ready to leave the house. He’d stop by the clothing store with Mr. Rikiga on the way home.

——————

“Mommy, pick me up, I want to see!”

The theater was packed with adults with children, adults without children, and children who acted like adults. It had been Shion’s idea to have the admission charge be an item of food that would be redistributed amongst the spectators once it was time to leave. It was standing room only.

It was unlike anything Nezumi had ever seen in the theater. Not that he was nervous with all these people here, of course not. But the atmosphere was charged with something he had never felt before. Could it be-? No. Still, soon a hush came over the audience, the lights went down, and it was time for A Christmas Carol to begin. 

——————

The curtains reopened for the final group bow, and Nezumi was amazed to see that even the people who had gotten a seat were now standing up, clapping. Maybe a story about revenge on the oppressor had more appeal to the masses than he had originally cared to consider. Even so, the expression on everyone’s faces wasn’t merely anger, but... joy?

The curtains closed again, and by the time Nezumi had taken off his costume and crept around to the theater entrance, Shion, the theater manager, and the bodyguards who had been hired to protect the admission foodstuffs during the duration of the show were giving out chunks of bread and dried meat from a dwindling stack to the last of the spectators leaving the building. “Great job, Nezumi! You were fantastic!” Shion grinned and nearly threw his arms around Nezumi for a hug, before seeing his glare and thinking better of it. Still, Nezumi’s expression softened slightly, and he threw one arm around Shion’s shoulders. “All thanks to our writer. We might just have more for you, if the pay is right.” He nodded to the theater manager. Shion visibly brightened. “You mean...”

Nezumi raised his eyebrows and looked down at Shion. “All I’m saying is that there are a lot more books like the one this came from.” He grabbed some food from the pile, shoved some into Shion’s hands, and then grabbed Shion’s right hand with his left, heading into the crowd towards home. “West Block could be the birthplace for all kinds of stories yet to come.”

[bee-kathony]

“Mahalo” | Sam & Cait AU

a/n: it seems our captains have been spending some time in the nice Hawaiian sun! 

Part One - “Oahu” 

Skin dotted with freckles. Cheeks kissed pink from the sun. Soul refreshed from the Hawaiian serenity.

After Oahu, Sam and Caitriona hopped over to the Big Island for one more week of a stress free holiday. Their next oasis was at the Four Seasons Resort Hualalai. The Makaloa Villa was stunning with an even more beautiful view. As Sam and Caitriona explored their small slice of heaven on earth, Sam called out for Caitriona.

“Where are you?”

“Outside!”

Walking back through the spacious living area, Caitriona found Sam outside, his back to her and he was staring at an outdoor shower.

“Is this the only shower?” Caitriona laughed, walking up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Nah,” Sam chuckled, holding onto her arms. “There’s a huge tub upstairs, but this shower as a certain… appeal does it not?”

Sam turned his head, quirking his brow at Caitriona who only shoved his arm and walked back inside. “We only just got here, Heughan.”

“And is there a certain time I must wait until I can ravish you under that shower?”

Only winking, Caitriona left him standing there, laughing as she noticed a slight bulge in his shorts.

“I’m going to the beach, join me if you want!” She shouted back to him.

“Bloody killing me,” Sam muttered to himself and then laughed, following her to their room. The bed overlooked the ocean, the windows open and letting in a warm breeze. He was already wearing his swim trunks so all he had to do was take off his shirt. His shoulders and back were still burnt from the other day.

Caitriona grabbed her plain black bikini from her bag, holding it up as she eyed it. “I haven’t worn this one yet.”

“That’s because I haven’t let you wear it,” Sam rolled his eyes. “It barely covers anything, Balfe!”

She lifted her white t-shirt, inch by inch and Sam’s breath quickened.

“If you dinna stop that, Cait… we’ll never make it out of this room.”

“Then look away!” Caitriona laughed, letting the material drop back down.

“Hurry up,” Sam winked, grabbing the sunscreen from his bag, walking into the bathroom to apply it to all reachable areas.

Not wasting anymore time, Caitriona changed out of her t-shirt and shorts and into the bikini. When she stepped into the bathroom, Sam dropped the tube of sunscreen, splattering a bit on the ground.

“Fuck me,” he said softly.

“Not yet, babe.”

“You’re really tryin’ to kill me, Balfe,” Sam bit his bottom lip.

“Do you think you can contain yourself and rub some sunscreen on my back?” She knew she was playing with fire. That same bulge from earlier was still there when she let her eyes trail down along his body. Truth be told, she wouldn’t be mad if he just pushed her up against the wall right now, but she was having too much fun.

“I’ll try my best.”

Turning with her back to him, Caitriona sighed as his hands rubbed the sunscreen over her shoulders and down her back. A small shiver ran over her whenever his fingers touched her side, pushing firmly and tugging on the string of her swim bottoms.

“I could eat you up,” Sam said softly, his lips nibbling on her ear lobe.

“Don’t tempt me,” Caitriona breathed out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Come on, the water is waiting.”

They had their own stretch of Hawaiian beach out in front of their villa and the sun was shining high in the sky. The waves were high and as Sam and Caitriona walked out, hand in hand, a wave came crashing up to their waists.

“That bikini of yours isna going to stay on in these waves!” Sam laughed and pulled her into his arms.

“Aren’t you counting on that?” She laughed, kissing his cheek and hooking her arms around his neck. Sam pulled her legs around his waist, dipping her over so that her back touched the water.

“How long can you breathe underwater?”

“What?” Caitriona laughed as he walked in slow circles, their bodies feeling weightless in the water.

“I bet I can hold it longer than you,” Sam smirked confidently.

“Oh I bet you can!”

“Wanna bet?” Sam smirked, setting Caitriona to her feet.

“Winner gets what?”

Sam placed his finger and thumb on his chin as if he was thinking long and hard, “The winner gets to do anything they want to the loser.”

“Anything, hmm?”

“And the loser just has to accept it, whatever it is,” Sam said, his voice a bit husky now as he looked down at her. Caitriona’s stomach was already doing flips and she knew now that she would let him win.

“Fine. Start on the count of three.”

Sam nodded and counted them down, “One… Two… Three!”

Both heads dunked under water, noses plugged as they battled to see who could hold their breath the longest. Caitriona was already determined to lose, just to see what Sam would do to her, but as she popped her head up out of the water a moment later, Sam was already above the surface, breathing air just fine.

“Hey! You were supposed to win!” She hit him playfully on the arm.

“I didn’t know you had it in you, Balfe. Those lungs of steel,” Sam laughed then, hooking one arm around her waist.

“Oh, it was barely even a minute and I know for a fact you can hold your breath longer than a minute…”

“How do you know that?” Sam smirked.

Caitriona’s cheeks flushed red as she stood on her toes, her mouth a hairs breath away from his ear, “You’ve been between my legs many times for longer than a minute without coming up for air.”

“And I’ll do it again if it pleases you,” Sam said as he slid both his hands down over her arse, squeezing firmly.

“Ah, no no.” Caitriona shimmied out of his grasp. “I’m the winner and that means that I get to do anything to you.”

Sam stretched out his long arms above the water, “Give it to me, Cait.”

Biting her lip, Caitriona grabbed one of his arms, pulling it back into the water between their bodies. Before he could catch on, Cait had his hand between her legs, pushing against her pussy.

“Caitriona, that’s not—“

“You said they could do anything,” Cait moaned. “That includes making the other person do something, no?”

She kept her hand on his wrist, spreading her legs a little bit further and then Sam took charge. He pushed the small bit of material aside and ran his finger along her slit, making her squirm. Slowly, he pushed one long finger inside, feeling her warmth surround him.

“You’re so tight, Balfe,” Sam muttered as he pressed his lips against her forehead. Cait’s mouth hung slack and her eyes fluttered as he pushed his finger in further and began to pump slowly.

But before she could fully lose herself, he was gone and she felt an emptiness.

“Sam, what the fu—“ He pressed his lips against hers to shut her up and he laughed.

“I need you,” he mumbled. “And I need you now, in that damn shower.”

Caitriona mumbled something of an agreement against his lips and then they were both trudging out of the water and back onto the sand. It was hard to run in sand, and even harder when one person had a boner, straining in his swim trunks.

The moment they stepped foot in their villa, Sam had Cait pressed against the wall. His hands trailed along her side and she shivered, making goosebumps rise.

“Are you going to turn the water on?”

“Oh now you want the shower?” Sam squinted his eyes at her, but then turned and twisted the knob. A rainfall of water fell from above them, covering their already wet bodies.

“Christ,” Sam said under his breath as he looked down at her. She was all his. And he was hers. He watched her for a moment, seeing how the water cascaded down her long body and thought to himself how did he get so lucky?

Sam reached behind her, grabbing the thin strings of her top and pulled. The wet material clung to her breasts and Sam had to peel it off. Her nipples stood at attention, begging to be touched, to be sucked by him. Leaning down, Sam was immediately drenched under the water pouring over him and then placed gentle kisses to her breasts.

“Mahalo babe,” Caitriona sighed and ran her hands back through his hair. Then she moaned as he opened his mouth and took one nipple in, slowly sucking. His tongue flicked and swirled, hot to the touch. He glanced up at her and saw that her eyes were shut. Switching to the other breast, Sam moved his hands down to her bikini bottoms, tugging on the strings.

The material fell to the ground with a plop that made Caitriona laugh and then both her hands pulled Sam up to kiss her. “Your turn,” she whispered and hooked her thumbs into his swim shorts. Clothes were always harder to get off when they were soaking wet.

With a little bit of trouble, they both managed to pull of Sam’s shorts and finally came together, flesh on flesh.

“The moment I saw this shower out here,” Sam breathed against her lips, his fingers moving slowly along her sides. “I knew I wanted you, out here… under the water. You’re so beautiful, Cait.”

“You flatter me so,” Caitriona blushed and moved her hips forward, trapping his hard length between them. “We’re supposed to be getting rest on this holiday.”

“How is any man supposed to rest when he has you!?” Sam chuckled, moving his hands down to her arse and then she jumped as he lifted, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Fuck me, Sam,” Cait kissed him deeply, the water continuing to pour over them. “I need you inside of me.”

“With pleasure,” Sam moved one hand from her arse to his cock, pumping it twice before sliding it along her slit. It glided easily and then with one thrust, he was home. They both sighed of relief and held still for a moment. Then Sam took a step forward, pressing her against the wall and began to thrust forward.

He was so big, and sometimes Caitriona wondered how he ever fit inside of her. But she was made for him, and her body accepted him willingly. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and she pressed her lips against his as he found a rhythm. Grunts and moans mingled in the air as he pushed forward. His cock was throbbing inside of her, and he wanted to always be inside of her — to know this feeling.

“I can’t—“ Cait pressed her face into the crook of his neck, her hands pressing firmly against him and then in the next moment, she found herself flat on the ground, Sam still inside of her. “Please, Sam!”

“Come on babe,” Sam held her legs open wide, leaning down to kiss her neck, rubbing his scruff along the skin as he knew she liked. “Come for me.”

Whimpers left her mouth as Sam slid out and then slammed into her, hitting her g-spot. Caitriona cried out, her heels digging into the hard surface of the ground. Sam rolled his hips relentlessly, watching her come undone. Her hips flexed and he felt her tighten around his cock. Caitriona pulled him down, parting his lips with her tongue and then bit down on his bottom lip. With a final powerful thrust, Sam came, his back arching.

He lowered himself on top of her, feeling the thrum of her heartbeat against his chest. Their sighs died in the sound of the rainfall above them. Carefully, Sam pulled out of her, and then grabbed her around the waist, pulling her to sit on his lap.

“I love you,” he said softly.

“I love you, too.”

“I can’t wait to do that a thousand more times,” Sam laughed, kissing her nose.

“A thousand?!” Cait barked, “I don’t know if I can handle my back on the ground a thousand more times, it’s not exactly comfortable.”

“Then you can be on top next time,” Sam smiled.

“Fine with me,” Caitriona laughed.

Sam closed his eyes, leaned his forehead against hers and they simply sat there, letting the rain cover them for a moment longer — neither wanting to move.

“What do you say we eat a little something and then take a nap?”

“God yes, that sounds perfect,” Cait smiled and then climbed off his lap, holding her hand out to him. Sam shut the shower off and together they walked back into the house, finding a towel for them both to dry off.

They ordered room service and ate in bed, falling asleep almost as soon as they finished the meal and woke up in each other’s arms hours later, the sun setting.

Caitriona rolled over on top of Sam and his eyes opened slowly.

“What are you doing, woman?”

“I want to go for a walk on the beach,” she said softly.

“But that requires putting clothes on,” he shut one eye.

“Yes it does, but then once we get back, I’ll let you take them off me again,” she smirked.

“Undressing is always the best part.”

“The best?” Caitriona cocked a brow.

“Second best,” he rolled his eyes.

A few minutes later, Cait had thrown on a loose black wrap dress and Sam was wearing a cheesy Hawaiian shirt Cait had bought him and his swim shorts, now dry. Caitriona walked up to him, her hands on the buttons of his shirt and undid them all. “I like it better this way.”

“As you wish,” Sam smirked, kissing her.

Hand in hand, they walked out to the beach, watching as the sun set on the beautiful Hawaiian day. Sam stood behind Caitriona, his arms wrapped around her waist and sighed.

“Being with you, having you in my arms… it’s the best feeling in the world.”

Caitriona smiled, rubbing her hand over his arm. “No matter where we are, I always feel at home, but that’s because I have you.”

“You always will,” Sam kissed the top of her head. “Always.”

As the sun set, Sam and Caitriona stood, feet firmly planted in the cool sand, their bodies swaying to the sound of the wind and waves.

[oldmutyler]

I SEE MY FUTURE IN YOUR EYES ➝RYOVAN.

TAGGING ➝ Donovan Smythe, Rylan St. James..

LOCATION ➝ Rylan’s house.

TIME FRAME ➝ 12/20

WARNINGS ➝ NSFW.

NOTES ➝  We suck at discords, but hey, we actually finished one. 

RYLAN ST. JAMES

Nowadays, Rylan didn’t decorate her own home for Christmas. She used to love the holidays; she loved them before Isaac, and she loved the one Christmas she got to spend with him even more, but ever since his passing, she just hadn’t felt so festive, hadn’t felt like celebrating. She was never going to forget about him, never going to just get over losing him and move on, but she was realizing lately that she couldn’t let sadness rule her whole life. Maybe it was the perfect Thanksgiving she’d spent with Donovan that’d brought on the realization, reminded her that she needed to try to find joy in the happier things again. Whatever the reason, she’d chosen to leave work early today, and she’d dug out the old decorations, dusting them off and hanging them up, lights around the tree and all. Already, her home felt more like a home again, and despite the fact that Rylan preferred to be anywhere else, she shot Donovan a text to tell him they were staying at her place tonight, and to come there after work, rather than to the farm. She’d just changed into a moderately nice outfit—a dress; very out of character for her—when she heard the door opening, and went to greet her boyfriend with a smile. It wasn’t a bright grin or that sad smile she usually wore, it was a genuine one, and Rylan took a second to just look at him, to just appreciate him, before stepping forward to gently take ahold of his hand. “Hi,” she spoke softly, licking over her lips as she stared up at him. She motioned with her head toward the living room, before gently guiding Donovan in there, focus on all of the decorations. She gave a weak shrug of her shoulder, voice still soft. “I just figured it was about time, you know?”

DONOVAN SMYTHE

They spent almost every night at his place. It was just convenient. Donovan had all of the animals there, including Tiger, so it just made sense for them to go to his house. He really didn’t mind going over to Rylan’s though. A change of scenery was nice. As long as he was with her, he really didn’t mind where they ended up. He didn’t bother going home first. It would not have made sense to drive all the way home and then come over to her place. He was sure he had something lying around her place to change into later. After parking his car, he made his way to her front door, opening her door with the key that he had. It wasn’t sure what to expect when he walked inside, but Rylan greeting him in a dress was not one of those. He was tempted to ask her what the occasion was, but her smile caught him a little off guard. “Hey,” he greeted softly, following her lead to the living room. Another thing he hadn’t expected. She was decorating for Christmas. He knew this was a hard time of year for her. That was more than evident, so to see her embracing the Christmas spirit was a little surprising. “Yeah. It looks really great, babe,” he responded, sending her a soft smile. He leaned over to press a small kiss against her cheek, letting his lips linger there for a few extra seconds before pulling away. “Did you get everything set up? Do you need any help with anything?”

RYLAN ST. JAMES

She wasn’t intending to act so out of character, but Rylan knew it was probably weird for her to be the way she currently was. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, though. She was embracing the better things, choosing not to dwell on the bad, and Donovan was one of the former. Thanksgiving had been for them, and now Christmas was going to be, too. “You think?” She questioned, gaze scanning over the tree. It was kind of mesmerizing, seeing her living room anything but gloomy again, and she found herself staring almost in shock, though the feeling of Don’s lips against her cheek was sobering in the best way, and she turned to look up at him with that same soft, genuine smile, head shaking gently. “No, not right now. Maybe the outside lights tomorrow, but right now I kind of just want to spend time with you.” It wasn’t like Rylan to open up to anyone, not even Donovan, but maybe it was apart of embracing happiness that had her proceeding to do just that. “I don’t want to be sad anymore,” she explained in a somewhat small voice, though the conviction was there, she meant what she was saying. “I miss him.” They both knew who she was talking about, she didn’t need to say so. “And I’m always going to miss him, but I want to try being happy again. And you make me happy, Don.” How she was managing to hold eye contact was a miracle of some kind, but she was, and she had no desire to run. “Thanksgiving with you was so perfect, even though it was just takeout and movies. It made me happy, you made me happy. And I don’t want to feel guilty about that anymore.” Her eyes scanned his, wondering whether she was about to scare him off now—had it been the other way around, she would’ve been out the door, but Donovan was better at this than she was, they both knew that. “I guess I just want you to know how much I appreciate you, and I can’t wait for all of this.” Rylan motioned to the decorations. “Christmas. A happy Christmas. With you.”

DONOVAN SMYTHE

This was all a little different. Of course, Donovan had seen her in a dress before. They’d been friends for most of their lives, she’d seen her in almost everything, but it was still incredibly out of character. Still, she looked beautiful and her tree really did look nice. Don was usually pretty into the holidays, but he was sort of expecting their first Christmas to be as low key as possible just because of Rylan’s history. He nodded his head at her words, completely willing to hang up Christmas lights for her wherever and whenever she wanted him to. He liked seeing her so hopeful. As different as her disposition was, he wasn’t complaining about it. “I don’t want you to be sad anymore either,” he agreed with a soft sigh. He didn’t expect her to come out and say that she was missing Isaac. It was just one of those things he figured would always go unsaid. She didn’t need to tell him, but it meant a lot to him that she did. He wasn’t used to her opening up to him. And it felt nice. He wanted her to be happy too. With him. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel guilty about how happy they were together because of how much she missed her son. A part of him felt sad that she’d ever felt like that before, but as they stared into each other’s eyes and he could see just how genuine and hopeful she was, he didn’t feel sad at all. “I know you miss him,” he mumbled out, reaching up to cup her cheek. “I know how hard all of this is for you. And I’m just happy that you’re willing to let me in. I can’t wait to spend Christmas with you too.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to hers, before pulling away with a small smile. He dropped his hand from her cheek and wrapped both of his arms around her, pulling her into him for a hug. “I want to do whatever you want to do this Christmas. I just want to be with you.”

RYLAN ST. JAMES

There were many positives to dating your best friend, but one of them was definitely the fact that they just knew everything already. Rylan knew she could  act a little crazy, and that Donovan wouldn’t judge her. He’d just go along with it, he’d be supportive, and that wasn’t something she was ever going to take for granted. She tilted her face slightly into his hand as he cupped her cheek, taking comfort just from him being there. It was all still very strange to her, the fact that she wasn’t immediately freaking out about all of this, but maybe she was just growing more comfortable with their situation—it was about time really. If someone who hadn’t known Isaac was trying to talk about him, to comfort her about his passing, Rylan would’ve probably flipped out, but because it was Don, she appreciated it, and looked up at him with sincerity in her eyes. “I’m going to let you in,” she agreed, releasing her hold on his hand to wrap her arms in turn around his neck, lips pressing back easily to his, then pulled back with the same small smile to mirror Don’s. “It’s going to be a perfect Christmas. A perfect first Christmas for us,” she motioned between the two of them, “As this.” Okay, so maybe readily calling them boyfriend and girlfriend wasn’t one of her new changes, but she’d get there. Arm wrapping around his neck again, Rylan pulled herself closer, standing up on her tiptoes to reconnect their lips, without pulling back this time. “Let’s go upstairs,” she whispered into the kiss, arms tightening some in the process. “Pick me up.”

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Donovan felt lucky to have known Rylan’s son. She really was a great mother and he had comforted her through her pain before. Back when they were still just friends, he’d held her and wiped away her tears. Nothing different than what he was willing to do for her now. But she wasn’t crying. She actually seemed hopeful about the future. He was so used to her not wanting to even think about them having a future together that hearing her actively say that she was going to let him in, took him by surprise. He didn’t really have to ask what changed. He knew that thinking about her son was probably taking its toll on her and for some reason, she was more willing to open up to him, and he was not going to complain about that. The idea of a perfect Christmas was appealing to him, especially since he knew it was going to be perfect as long as they were together, so he nodded his head in agreeance with her. “Every day is perfect with you,” he muttered out with a small smile. If it wasn’t for her openness tonight, he was sure those words would have sent her running out of the door, but he was confident that wasn’t going to happen now. He grinned as their lips reconnected before following her instructions and lifting her off the ground. He reached down and scooped up her legs before making his way toward her stairs. He’d never felt more useful than right now while he was carrying his tiny girlfriend in his arms. Once they made it to her bedroom, he gently placed her back down on the ground, letting out a soft sigh as he returned his arms to their spot wrapped around her. He couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do more in that moment than kiss her, so he leaned forward and pressed his lips back against hers. It didn’t take long for him to deepen their kiss and bring one of his hands up to cup her cheek.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

Normally, if she hadn’t already run out the door, Rylan would’ve probably protested about how every day with her was definitely not perfect. She knew she was a brat a lot of the time, knew she definitely didn’t have the whole girlfriend thing mastered yet—far from it, in fact. But she also wasn’t going to argue, not right now, so she just shot Don an appreciative smile, arms tightening around him as he did as instructed and picked her up. As a very independent person, she hated the idea of anyone carrying her anywhere, even her boyfriend, but that clearly wasn’t an issue right now, not as her legs wrapped around his waist, safe in his arms as he carried her up to the bedroom. Her arms never moved from around him, even as he set her down on the ground, and Rylan stayed closely pressed up against him, lips meeting Don’s again with ease. She parted them slightly to deepen the kiss as he did, and finally moved her arms from around his neck, but only to slide her hands down his chest, until she could clutch onto the fabric of his scrub top to begin guiding him toward the bed, lips never leaving his. The mattress against the back of her legs stopped her from going any further, so she paused to let go, slipping her hands under the bottom of his shirt and beginning to push it upward.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Donovan was always worried about scaring Rylan off. He was completely in love with her, but he’d held off on saying that to her until she said it first. And even then, it was a total mess. He was certain that Rylan was the love of his life, but he was never going to admit that to her. She’d probably stop speaking to him and have a complete freak out, but he just knew there was no one he would rather spend his time with. As he held her in his arms, he realized that there was really no place he would have rather been. He grinned as she followed his lead and they deepened their kiss. He pulled his hands away from her, so that he could help her life his shirt up over his head. Tossing it aside, he pulled his lips away from hers and caught his breath for a moment. He put his hands on her waist and guided her to turn around, immediately finding his way to the zipper on her dress. He began to slowly pull it down, leaning forward to pepper kisses against her now exposed skin. Once her zipper was full pulled down, he pushed her dress off her shoulder and let it fall to the floor, still trailing his lips against her back and up toward her neck. He turned her back around to face him, his lips meeting hers as she pressed this body up against hers. “Ry,” he breathed out, pulling away to make eye contact with her. “I love you,” he mumbled out, resting his hands on her cheeks. “Lay down,” he instructed, taking a step back. “I want to make love to you.”

RYLAN ST. JAMES

Rylan hadn’t necessarily had this in mind when she’d been setting up her Christmas decorations and asked Don to join her. Sure, she figured they’d end up in bed together later, but there was something different and almost surprising about the way she couldn’t keep her hands to herself now. It wasn’t that urgent, desperate to climb on top of him and make him scream her name kind of feeling, it was so much softer, Rylan couldn’t fully understand it. But she also wasn’t trying to fight it, and kept her gaze on Don’s face as she lifted his shirt up, only allowing her eyes to sweep down his body once it was fully off and tossed to the side, and then he was turning her around and the feeling of her skin exposing more and more as he unfastened her dress caused her whole body to tingle, even more so underneath his lips against her back. Her eyes closed as she allowed herself to get lost in the feeling, hands instantly reaching up to slide through his hair as he turned her to face him again. Of course his words scared her, and there was probably total fear in her eyes as she looked up at him. While she didn’t respond, she also didn’t run, and instead found herself gently nodding her head as she lowered down onto the bed just like he’d asked, arms reaching out to pull him in.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

It was easy for Donovan to get lost in these moments with Rylan. Every time he would feel her fingers grazing against his bare skin, goosebumps would follow her touch. No one could make him feel the way Rylan did. And as she revealed a few moments ago, he made her happy and he wanted to continue to do that. With every swipe of their lips and touch of his hands, he wanted to make her feel good. He was thankful that his words didn’t scare her away. It was a little intense, but apparently, they were both being a little intense tonight. But no one was running. They were sticking together. She looked scared, but she wasn’t running anywhere. He grabbed her hands, letting her pull him down with her as he reconnected their lips. He guided his tongue in between the part of her lips, immediately deepening their kiss again. He grinded his hips down against her, letting her feel just how much he was enjoying all of this. He pulled his lips away from her mouth, beginning to pepper kisses against her neck. Reaching around behind her back, he found the clasp for her bra, unhooking it and making it his mission to get rid of that garment next. After tossing it to the side, he reattached his lips to her neck, slowly trailing his lips down to her breasts.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

Even after all of this time with Donovan, it was still kind of crazy to Rylan that there could be so much passion behind something that wasn’t totally messy and urgent. She wasn’t trying to tear his clothes right off and neither was he with hers; he’d unfastened her dress gently, they were kissing so softly yet still so passionately, and had she allowed herself the time to really dissect it all, she might’ve freaked out. Instead, though, she just enjoyed the feeling of Don’s lips against her own, arching her back slightly to help him with her bra, then wrapped her arms around his neck once he’d removed it, fingertips beginning to trail down the bare skin of his back. Already, her chest was rising and falling faster, even more so as he began to push kisses to her skin, lowering down toward her breasts, and Rylan’s fingers scratched down a little deeper onto his back, body moving beneath him. One hand slid back up to brush her fingers through the back of his hair, gently guiding him to her nipple, as the other slipped between the two of them, beginning to push at the edge of her panties.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

When they first got together, moments like this were all that they had since they were both a little weird about talking about their feelings. Especially when they first slept together, it was just easier to stick to showing each other how much they liked one another with how they touched each other, or how their lips met. Donovan wasn’t great at words, but he was a hell of a lot better than Rylan. He wasn’t emotionally damaged the same way that she was, even though he would never call her that to her face. The woman had clearly been through a whole lot in her life and he couldn’t really blame her if it was just easier not to express how she felt all the time. He could tell how she felt by the way she kissed him. And he knew she could tell by the way his mouth guided itself to her nipple, his tongue slowly gliding over it. His hand made its way to her panties, helping her slide them off, so they were no longer in their way. He pressed his lower body against her as he gripped her thigh, opening her legs to position himself in between them. His index finger found its way to her clit, and he let out a soft moan once he’d made contact with her wetness. It didn’t surprise him with how turned on she was, he knew that she could probably feel just how much he was as well. Using his free hand, he reached up and found the hand she had tucked into his hair and brought it down to his waistband, wanting her help in removing his pants and underwear.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

Sometimes, Rylan wished she could be better with words, better at expressing her feelings in any way that wasn’t some heated rant or through actions, but that just wasn’t her. Even the first time she and Don had told each other they loved each other, that had been amidst an argument; clearly, she just wasn’t good at the whole verbalizing her feelings thing, but she knew Don knew how she felt about him regardless. She hoped she was showing him as much through the way she kissed him, the way she needed to have her hands all over him. Her fingers clutched onto his hair as his tongue glided across her nipple, breath catching in her throat, and by the time he’d removed her panties and his finger had come into contact with her, she couldn’t help the soft whimper that rose from the back of her throat, legs parting further. She wanted more of him, so Don didn’t even need to move her hand the way he had, she would’ve reached down herself regardless, and she wasted no time in unfastening his pants to begin pushing them hurriedly down his thighs, boxers along with them, until she couldn’t reach any further and needed him to remove them the rest of the way. Her hand instantly slid back up to grip his hair between her fingers, this time to gently lift his face away from her chest, and instead to make him look at her. “I want you to,” she whispered, gaze scanning his. “That thing you said. You want to make lo—” Why couldn’t she just say it? Hopefully, he knew what she meant. She nodded as she continued. “I want you to.”

DONOVAN SMYTHE

It didn’t bother him that Rylan couldn’t express herself verbally as well as he could. Well, maybe it did annoy him when the two of them were arguing about being in love with each other, but that feeling had been fleeting. Donovan was just happy that she’d eventually come out and said it. It did not surprise him that she was struggling over her words again now. He knew what she meant. He’d said it earlier. He wanted to make love to her, but she hadn’t responded them. Something else that had not surprised him. It caught him off guard that she was even trying to say it now. He nodded his head at her words, connecting his gaze with hers as he kicked the clothes covering his bottom half off the rest of the way with his feet. It was never something he thought he’d ever hear from her, and technically, he still wasn’t hearing her say it, but he knew what she meant. Pressing his lips back on hers, he used his thigh to push against her leg and further spread them apart, perfectly positioning himself at her entrance. He reached both of his hands up and took a hold of her arms, lifting them up and tucking them above her head. “Relax,” he whispered out, pulling his lips away from hers. “Just look at me. It’s just you and me.” He kept his eyes on hers as he gently guided himself inside of her, beginning to move his hips at a slow pace.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

How she wasn’t completely ruining this, Rylan truly didn’t know. Many people would’ve likely fled if their partner couldn’t even use such a normal word around them, especially in a situation like this, but apparently Donovan was much more understanding, and for that she was incredibly grateful. He knew her, he knew how she felt about him, and he knew that it was hard for her to express that; perhaps his patience with her was yet another reason they’d turned out to be so compatible. Somewhere they’d never had any problems, ever since they’d become something more, was in the bedroom, and even right now, in a much softer, gentler atmosphere than usual, Rylan was of course entirely turned on by her boyfriend, and desperate to have more of him. That much was probably obvious given how wet she was, and the way she whimpered as he pushed her legs further apart, lips pressing back eagerly against his. She liked control, but she also liked this, with Donovan taking charge, and allowed him to move her arms above her head, staring up at him with a look of longing in her eyes. The fact that she was holding eye contact with him was probably a bigger deal than if she’d told him she loved him, though she didn’t break it, even as he slid inside of her, a quiet moan rising from her throat and her hips beginning to move slowly in time with his.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Donovan was certain that this relationship could not really work for anyone else. If someone needed constant validation, then they could never date Rylan. But thankfully, he did not. He definitely did not need her fawning all over him and telling her how much she loved him all the time. He’d dated that before and he was glad that their relationship was not like that. Their relationship was perfect in every way possible anyway because it was the two of them. He really didn’t want anyone else. All he needed were moments like this. Moments when it was obvious that they were meant for each other. He really wasn’t used to being the one in charge, but it definitely felt good. A part of him felt dizzy as he rocked his hips slowly in unison with hers. It was a hard feeling to describe. The way she made him feel was kind of incredible. He slowly guided himself in and out of her, only breaking their eye contact to press a kiss to her lips. He pulled his lips slowly away from hers, letting his tongue glide against her bottom lip as he reconnected his gaze with hers. His pace began to quicken a little as a few moans escaped from his mouth. It turned him on even more, knowing that she was looking directly into his eyes, and was able to read every emotion she was making his feel. “Fuck,” he whispered out breathlessly. He wanted to say it again. How much he loved her, but he knew she could tell.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

This wasn’t their first time in bed together. In fact, Rylan couldn’t even count the amount of times they’d done this by now, but this was definitely the most intimate it had ever felt; their eyes locked on each other’s, a sense of pure love radiating around them. They didn’t need to voice it for them to know it. Rylan could feel it in the way Don moved, in the way his lips pushed against hers, and she hoped he could feel her emotions right back in the way she returned the kiss, the way her hands clutched onto him like she never wanted to let him go. Her hips rocked in time with his, back arching some the deeper he moved inside of her. Her hand trailed up to clutch onto the back of his hair, keeping him pressed tightly against her as their bodies moved together, and while it was so unlike her to do so, she couldn’t help herself as her lips pressed to his again. “Fuck, I love you,” she murmured into the kiss, her speed picking up slightly. It didn’t scare her, at least not enough to make her question it, and Rylan just picked up the speed of her hips, moaning softly against Donovan’s lips.

DONOVAN SMYTHE

Donovan didn’t have many doubts when it came to his relationship with Rylan. Most of the doubts he did have stemmed from the fact that he didn’t know if she was as ready for all of it as he was. He never doubted the way she felt about him though. He could always tell, especially now. The way she moved her lips against his and the way she gripped onto the back of his hair. There was clearly a lot of passion behind all of it. So, he did not need her to say those words to him, but it was always good to hear them anyway. His breath hitched as his pace started to naturally slow and he slowly pulled his lips away from hers, reconnecting their gazes. “I love you too,” he murmured out, leaning his forehead against hers. He could feel himself starting to near his breaking point as he moved his hips against hers. There was definitely something special about feeling so close to her as he began to edge closer to his release. They’d definitely had sec before, but he definitely wasn’t sure if they’d ever done this before. Not that he was complaining. Actually, he was loving every single second of it. “Fuck,” he breathed out as he felt himself nearing his edge.

RYLAN ST. JAMES

Considering Rylan had been sure Don was about to break up with her following their last conversation, the energy shift was definitely a noticeable one. She couldn’t help but feel so comfortable, regardless of what a strange occurrence this was to her, and as their bodies moved in time with one another’s, so in sync and connected, she found herself thinking that she really could do this; she could be in love with Donovan and she could do it without holding back. She was so sure of it, so pleasantly overwhelmed by her feelings, that as she reached her limit, walls clenching tightly around him as she came in undoubtedly the most intimate situation she’d ever been in, she knew that she wanted something more. That telling him she loved him again wasn’t even enough, so as the pace of her hips slowed and she rode out her orgasm, hands still in his hair and keeping him as close as possible, she found herself looking up at him, speaking a little breathlessly. “I don’t want to wait until after New Years,” she whispered, still trying to catch her breath. “I want this. You, always.” Rylan’s gaze broke from Don’s, but only to ghost her lips agains his. “Move in with me.”

DONOVAN SMYTHE

The last thing Donovan wanted to dwell on was the drama that went down with them the other night. He loved Rylan, so he was willing to put off talking about moving in together and children, or whatever else that their future could hold until she was ready to deal with it. He definitely was not thinking about any of that in this moment as they reached their peak together. He grinded his hips in unison with hers as he attempted to catch his breath. “What?” He breathed out, a little confused by her words. It had not been expecting any of that. He didn’t expect to have this conversation so soon again, and he definitely was not expecting to have it when he was technically still inside of her. He repositioned himself and relaxed, resting his head on the pillow next to her. “Are you sure?” He questioned, pulling his arms around her so that they were still close together. He pressed his lips against hers slightly before pulling away as he bit down on his bottom lip. “I want whatever you want,” he said with a nod. “If you’re ready then I’m ready.”

[darisu-chan]

Final Thoughts

So after digesting everything that went down in the finale, I finally decided to write a post about this show.

I found out that Star vs the Forces of Evil existed through a Tumblr post about great new cartoons featuring Gravity Falls, Wander Over Yonder and Steven Universe. You probably don’t know since I honestly didn’t post much about it, but Gravity Falls is one of my favorite cartoons ever. It’s the kind of show I always wanted to watch as a kid and I’m so happy I got to watch it as a young adult. SvtFoE falls in the same category. A quirky show about a magical princess from another dimension who comes to Earth and befriends a shy and insecure boy who’s secretly a badass and they go on adventures? That’s right up my alley. It’s the kind of thing I would’ve loved as a child, and, as such, it was exactly what I wanted to watch.

I don’t watch cartoons for the sake of watching something mindblowing and life changing. For that kind of experience, I either watch artsy and indepent type of movies or I read high literature texts. I don’t expect to find the holy grail of story telling in a kid’s cartoon, although I’ve been pleasantly surprised before (like with Avatar and Gravity Falls). I watch cartoons because they are more light hearted than any content created for adults and, even, for teens. Because they always have messages of love, friendship and hope. And for someone like me, filled with insecurities about my future, trapped in the negativity of adult life, at the end of the day, I want to watch something that will bring a smile to my face. All I want in a cartoon is to laugh, to have fun, to care about the characters, and to feel as if life can be good after all. That’s what  SvtFoE has meant to me from the very first moment I watched the show back in 2015 to yesterday, when the finale aired.

I’ve always loved the animation, specially during the first season, filled with colors and movement. The music has always been astounding. The voice acting has been near perfect, Eden Sher and Adam McArthur made a fantstic job giving life to these characters. And the plot also progressed in ways I didn’t imagine it could. The forces of evil went from representing Ludo and his classic cartoon trope of trying to steal something from the main character (and failing spectacularly) to so much more than that. Racism, discrimination, colonialism. These are hard topics to tackle in a kids’ show, but they have never been more fitting than in today’s political climate, not only in America but in several countries of this world. I hope that kids out there got the message and become more loving, respectful, tolerant and accepting of others, no matter how different they are. I hope that all the kids that have felt ostracized by others due to thier backgrounds, identities and personalities have felt that they could be themselves because there’s nothing wrong with being who you are as long as you’re compassionate, kind and caring. Hate is never the answer. Love is the answer. That’s the message I hope we all carry in our hearts for the rest of our lives. The message we will taught the kids around us, because it is something we will need in the future.

The second reason why I love this show is that it has given mee the opportunity to share something with my cousins. With over a decade of an age difference, finding interests we can share together has been tougher and tougher. I’m glad that we got to spend our holidays watching SvtFoE and sharing time together, given the fact we live so far away from each other and we hardly get to see each other. I thank this show for giving me a reason to spend time with them.

I know that many people are disappointed with the finale. I myself have been disappointed through most of season 4 and I only started liking it again during “Cornonation.” However, this doesn’t take away from the fact that the things I love about this show in the first place are still present. I have seen many, many awful endings of books and series I loved. I have lived through the pain of seeing how something I loved became garbage. I’ve decided to not be negative about this series anymore. Because love is the answer. Because I still love this show very much and I will continue rewatching it.

So here’s a list of the things I love the most about Star vs the Forces of Evil:

1. Star, our magical princess from another dimension, who went from rebelling against her future to embracing it to using her title and powers to protect others. Star is far from perfect and that’s why I love her. She’s intense. She feels too much and acts accordingly. And because of this there’s so much goodness inside of her. Someone who felt less emotions than her would have never been able to sacirfice as much as she did. Only a rebel princess would have been able to break the system, to destroy magic, and start the first steps towards unity. Always remember that she's a thunderstorm roaring through the night, she's our shooting Star, and she's lighting up the sky!

2. Marco Diaz, the safe kid who pretended to be a misunderstood bad boy, and who ended up overcoming his own insecurities to be the best version of himself, a boy who loves adventures while still being responsible. As a Mexican myself, I’ve always loved how the show embraced his Mexican heritage as part of his identity without making fun of it. But as a deeply insecure person, and one that as a teen let my fears hold me back, I’ve always felt more personally connected to Marco, when I see him I see myself ten years ago, and I’m so happy about the way he developed. Fear doesn’t hold him back anymore, and fear shouldn’t hold us back either. He’s also the most loyal person you’ll ever meet, and I think it’s his loyalty which separates him from the rest. We should all be more like Marco.

3. Star and Marco’s relationship. Through their ups and downs, through all the pain, the danger, and the difficulties they faced, they always came back stronger than ever. I started watching this show because of its quirkiness and I stayed for Star and Marco. It’s what constitutes this show. Without Star and Marco, there would be no show. It starts with these two and ends with both of them. The finale makes it clearer than anything. “With or without magic, we belong together.” I love their friendship and I love how much they love each other.

4. The magic. Although it got destroyed in the end for not only being dangerous, but being a tool to destroy and dominate others, I absolutely love Star’s strange, often hilarious, cute and bright spells, who definitely fit her. The wand was absolutely gorgeous when it was Star’s wand. I also like how it changed appearances for each wand user. Marco’s wand design complemented Star’s perfectly too.

5. The various dimensions and the different kingdoms of Mewni. The world building, particularly the effort put into creating visually appealing places is something I’ve always admired about this show. Even though expanding world building can be tricky and is often the downfall of many narratives, I believe they managed to pull it off. My favorite places in the SvtFoE universe were the Bounce Lounge, the Forest of Certain Death, the Underworld, Dimension X-103, Pixtopia, Neverzone, Plains of Time and the Realm of Magic.

6. The parents. It’s refreshing to find a show in which the adults love each other so much and are examples of healthy relationships. Moon and River. Angie and Rafael. Eclipsa and Globgor. Wrathmelior and Dave.

7. The different relaitonships between mothers and daughters. Often complicated but filled with love. Throught it all, Moon and Star became closer by learning to understand each other and, though they still have a long way to go as of the finale, they’re on the right path. Eclipsa and Meteora are another example. And that ending with Comet and Moon, and Solaria and Eclipsa. It played right in my heartstrings.

8. Tom, Janna, Eclipsa, Ludo and Buff Frog who became a few of my favorite characters due to the development they got, my boy Tom more than anyone.

9. The humor, the music, the colors that make this show special. A shout out to the animators, storyboard artists, musicians, writers and everyone else involved in the creation of SvtFoE for making it the way it is.

10. And a big thank you to Daron Nefcy, for creating this show and for fleshing out a story unlike any other, through the journey of Star Butterfly along her best friend Marco Diaz, and the rest of their family, friends, allies and even enemies. The real forces of evil we should all fight against are indifference, hate, discrimination and intolerance. I hope we all do our part in making this world a better place for the ones to come next. All it takes is someone that cares enough, and I really wish we all are like Star in our lives. I wholeheartedly believe we all possess the ability to be our own shooting starts.

Let’s all light up the sky!

[bandzrus]

Crazy Little Thing Called Love (Chapter 5)

BoRhap!Roger Taylor x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: The year is 1974, after the release of Queen II. You and your three friends have moved from Canada to England to study abroad.  Your life takes a huge turn when you finally decide to take a break from school and visit the local club and you meet the boys of Queen.  And most importantly Roger Meadows Taylor.  

Note: okay sorry for the long wait on this chapter and that it’s not very long (holidays), it’s sort of a bridge chapter.  I have at least three more chapters planned out, but after that I’m not sure where I want this story to go haha.  PLEASE feel free to send me ideas!

Words: 2210

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              You wished you could feel sorry about what you did to Mark, because maybe then your friends would give you a break.  

              “So let me get this straight,” Sharon started, taking a bite of toast. “You’ve wanted to break up with Mark since we moved here, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.”

              “I just...  I was hoping he would get the hint when I stopped calling him.”

              “But you did call him.”

              “Yes, to break up with him finally!  But he wouldn’t let me talk and next thing I know he’s flying here for my birthday and he thinks we’re finally going to… you know,” you explained exasperatedly, waving your hands at imaginary objects floating over the breakfast table.  

              “But why would you want to break up with him?  You guys were so cute together!” Sharon cooed.  

              “I know everyone thinks that, but to be completely honest with you Shar, I was bored with Mark.  I don’t want to… live my whole life as a house wife back in Vancouver.  Why do you think I suggested we come out here for school? The world is so big!  There’s so much to see!  So many people to meet!”

              “Like Roger Taylor?”

              You sighed and accepted defeat.

              “Yes,” you answered, putting your glass of milk to your lips.  

              “But did you really have to break up with him like that, Y/N?  That was awful!”  Sharon twirled a piece of red hair between her fingers.

              “Like I’ve said to you guys already, I didn’t mean for it to happen like that!  I was going to tell Mark before he went home that I wanted things to be over, but-“

              “You couldn’t have waited until AFTER Mark had gone home and you guys were finished?  You realize you cheated on him, right?”  Sharon was taking her usual nagging to a whole new level with this.  

              “Stop trying to make me feel bad about this!  I’ve said all I need to say to Mark, and it shouldn’t be your guys’ problem who I sleep with!” you snapped, slamming your glass down on the table a little harder than necessary.  

              “It’s kind of a big deal if that person is ROGER FUCKING TAYLOR!”

              You threw your hands in the air and got up from the table.  

              “I am not talking to you anymore about this,” you vowed, leaving your friend and heading to your room to get dressed.  

              You were about to leave the apartment to go for coffee when the phone rang. Sharon was in the bathroom and Patricia and Heather were already gone, so you answered it.  

              “Hello?”

              “Y/N?”

              “Speaking.”

              “It’s Roger.”

              Shit.

              “Hi,” you greeted lamely, unsure of what to say.  

              “We’re not leaving until tomorrow, care to join me and the boys for tea?” the drummer asked, voice crackly but still very appealing over the wire.

              “I was just about to head out,” you told him.  

              “You can’t make even a little time in what I’m sure is a very busy schedule for me, doll?”

              You laughed.  

              “No, I mean I’m about to head out for coffee so tea sounds greats,” you giggled into the receiver.

              “Come by the hotel then, we can all go together.”

              “Okay Rog,” you agreed.

              “And wear somethin’ nice.”

              “Oh?  What kind of place are we going to for tea?”

              “Nowhere special, I just like seeing you dressed up, especially if it’s for me.”

              You thought about your outfit from the other night.  You had worn that for Roger.  

              “Cheeky today I see.”

              “You know me too well already,” Roger chuckled.  

              “I’ll see you at the hotel in half an hour then,” you told him before hanging up the phone.  Going to your room, you began rummaging through your closet.  Though you had already changed out of your satin pajamas, what you were currently wearing wasn’t exactly anything special.  You hadn’t planned to be out much today. Flicking through a series of dressed, your eyes stopped on a black little number you had forgotten about. You changed into it and a white blouse, then headed out of the apartment to call a cab to Queen’s hotel.  

                The door swung open as soon as your first knock hit the wood.

              “Y/N!” Roger greeted you, a cheesy smile on his lips.  Mary waved from her spot on the couch next to Freddie, and Brian and John each said their hellos.

              “Hi Roger,” you said, unable to resist returning his grin.

              “My stylist is here!” the drummer announced to everyone, grabbing your hand and pulling you inside.

              “Good thing too, you’re still in your pajamas, Roger,” John chuckled, waving a hand at the blond.  Everyone laughed and Roger turned to you.

              “Care to help me pick something out?” he asked.  You nodded.  “We’ll have to go back to my room then.”  A cheeky grin sprang up from his lips and you felt yourself blush.  

              “Rog, would you please try to be polite to her?” Freddie begged.  But it was too late, the blond was already pulling you back out the door and over to the next room.  Closing the door behind you, Roger let go of your hand.  

              “So I was thinking we should match, which is why I’m still in my ‘jams,” started Roger.  Agonizingly slow, he pulled his t-shirt up over his head and tossed it to the floor, leaving him in nothing but a worn pair of boxers and a single sock.  Biting your lip, you tried not to let your eyes undress him any further.  He caught you staring anyway and chuckled.  

              “Looks like I’m not the only one who likes what they see,” he remarked. You apologized and went over to his dresser and began rooting through the drawers, averting your eyes.  

              “Where’s that white vest you wore the other night?” you asked him, redirecting the conversation.

              “This one?”  The drummer held up the white fringe vest that had been stuffed under the bed.  

              “Mhm,” you hummed.  “What about the pants?”  

              “These?”  Roger held them up before slipping them on.

              “You’re going to need a shirt too,” you said, turning back to the dresser to find something.  

              “I thought you liked me without one.”  

              You gave Roger a pointed look before throwing a white button-up shirt at him.

              “Roger it’s barely eleven o’ clock in the morning, we’re going for tea, I’m pretty sure they won’t serve you if you don’t have a shirt on,” you argued. Roger just smirked, but put the shirt on anyway.  As he shrugged the white vest over his shoulders, you situated yourself right up close between his legs and began fixing his hair.  

              “Love it when you do that,” the drummer breathed quietly into your ear as you untangled a particularly large knot of baby blond hair.  

              “You should really learn how to do this yourself,” you remarked, brushing the soft hair away from his face, letting your fingers linger a little extra long on his skin.  

              “But you’re here.”  He put his hands on your waist for a brief moment before you grabbed his hand and headed for the door.  

              “I’m sure everyone’s waiting for us,” you said.  “Let’s go.”

                The cab ride with Queen was so much fun it completely wiped the horribly awkward one with Mark out of your memory.  You were basically sitting on Roger’s lap the entire drive because there was barely room for all of you inside.  Brian’s hair was taking up valuable real-estate and Freddie was having a great laugh trying to use some of Mary’s hair pins to keep it away from him.  Mary too was sitting precariously on Freddie’s lap as the cab twisted and turned down the streets of England.  You were thankful Roger had his arm wrapped around your waist because you almost went flying through the front window when the cab driver slammed on the breaks at a light.  

              Of course your struggle was keeping the drummer’s other hand on a reasonably low part of your leg.

              “Roger, we’re literally sardined in this cab, can you please not-“ you hissed in his ear, but he cut you off.

              “-do this?” his fingers pushed their way up your dress, causing you to slap his hand.  The smirk never left his face.  

              “Yes!”

              “Why, are you ticklish?” he teased, dribbling his fingers on your thigh.

              “Roger please, not here,” you whined, holding his hand still.  The drummer opened his mouth to make what you knew was going to be a lude comment, but the cab came to a stop first. Everyone squeezed out the door and John dug in his pockets for cash for the driver.

              “Here, mate,” the bassist said, passing the handful of money through the window.  With a friendly toot of the horn, the cab left the six of you on the curb outside a quaint café.  Hand in hand with Roger, you two were the last inside.  Freddie insisted on sitting next to the windows, so you all squeezed into the booth that ran underneath it.  Tucked away under the window with the sun beaming down onto your lap and Roger’s arm draped over your shoulder, you couldn’t think of another time in which you had felt so at home with people you had just met.  You realized you were starting to think of Queen (and Mary of course) as some of your close friends.  It had only been a handful of days, but watching them perform and spending the evenings with them had made you see that you had been missing out on a lot since moving from Canada.  

              “Whatcha ordering?” Roger asked you.  You let out a contented hum.

              “I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you answered, smiling back at him. You found it so easy to get enamored by his blue eyes.  Brushing a lock of baby blond hair from his forehead with light fingers, Brian’s cough interrupted your moment with Roger.  You blushed as you realized everyone was looking at the two of you.

              “Not Roger’s latest and greatest, huh?” Mary giggled.

              “I-“ you started, but didn’t know what to say.  You didn’t want to be one of Roger’s countless groupies, but it was so hard to ignore him.  You didn’t want to ignore him either.  

              “Is that what we’re calling my girlfriends these days?” Roger asked the band, cocking an eyebrow.  

              “I’d hardly call them girlfriends, Rog,” muttered John, pretending to be busy with one of the menus.  

              “Oi!” the drummer protested, kicking John under the table.

              “Do you even remember the names of the girls you brought over last week?”

              Roger made a face.

              “’Course I do,” he replied, sniffing.  The look on the bassist’s face said he didn’t believe him.  Your heart plummeted into your stomach when you realized what that meant.  You were probably just another girl to Roger, some random girl he met outside a club who let him take her virginity and brought her friends over to their hotel room for a fun evening of boozing and shenanigans.  Mary noticed your fallen face.

              “Hey, Y/N, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“ she started to apologize.

              “No, it’s okay, I should have… I should have remembered what kind of guys – excuse me,” you mumbled, getting up from the booth and heading for the bathroom. You had almost made it when you felt a hand grab your wrist.  

              “Y/N.”

              It was Roger.  Turning to face him, you wiped a tear from your cheek, hoping you weren’t ruining your makeup too badly.  

              “I’m sorry,” he started.  

              “You don’t have to be sorry, you’re just being yourself, I should have known better.”  You felt like an idiot.  Roger could have any girl he wanted, you had seen girls throwing themselves at him first hand.  You were sure you were just one of them, someone to fool around with while they were in town and soon as they left you’d be forgotten.  

              “Okay, yes, I… see a lot of girls.  But not since we met,” tried Roger again.

              “It’s been a few days, Roger.”

              “I know it’s hardly been a week, but I do like hanging out with you,” the blond promised, holding both your hands in his.  

              “I like hanging out with you and Freddie and Brian and John too, but-“

              “But what?”

              “You guys are leaving, you’re not going to remember me, I don’t know why I ever-“

              “Trust me, I am NOT going to forget the girl who broke up with her boyfriend on her birthday by shagging me behind some sleazy venue,” Roger assured you. “And it would be pretty hard to forget you if you’re along with us on tour.”

              You wiped your nose.

              “What?”

              “Do you want to come on tour with us?”

              “Are you serious?” you asked.  The blond nodded his head.

              “Dead.”

              “Like tomorrow?”

              “Yes, tomorrow.”

              You sniffled, smiled, and nodded your head.

              “Buuuut you can only come if you let me call you my girlfriend.”

              “Girlfriend,” you tested it out, nodding again.

              “That’s a yes?” he actually looked genuinely concerned that you wouldn’t say yes.  

              “Roger Taylor’s girlfriend, I think I can get used to that,” you said, giving him a big grin.  Tugging on his vest, you stood on your tip toes to kiss him.  “Want to help me pack?”          

***

Tag List: @fastnfearless

[a-taller-tale]

Mad World 

Summary: Simmons gets a mysterious message in the present. Meanwhile in the past, Grif has to explain how birthdays don't matter to an alien spark plug. No matter how time travel works, Back to the Future III will always be relevant. Notes: A @redvsbluesecretsanta gift for @creatrixanimi, who was amazingly patient when life blew up and I needed a few extra days. Also thanks to the RvB Secret Santa mods for organizing such a fun event again this year!

Also on Ao3

The Present

Nobody really celebrated things in Blood Gulch, especially not birthdays. Simmons could admit now that it was a miserable, boring, hot, pointless box canyon in the desert with nothing to do except run drills, do paperwork, patrol Red Base, and—on especially boring days–-try to see what the guys at the Blue Base were doing.

Then the rookies showed up, one Red, one Blue, and everything got a lot weirder. Besides Donut messing up Simmons’ chance at a promotion by somehow wheedling his way into Sarge’s good graces, both rookies were kind of young when they joined up, and very stupid. Neither of them seemed to understand the basic concept of being at war. And suddenly everything was a reason to celebrate.

Donut’s Daily Wine and Cheese Hour started first. Then there was Church’s Best Friend Celebration Spectacular, which Grif and Simmons had attended so they could get the food Donut made for it, and watch Church’s torment.

Sarge decided he wanted in on the action and started making up random holidays when he was bored. And then it was basically non-stop. Interventions, War-iversaries, Armistice Day (for Red and Blue movie nights), and when they couldn’t think of anything else, eventually even birthdays were a thing.

They weren’t as large an occasion as National Hot Dog Day, but they’d be as nice to the birthday guy as possible (which they usually gave up on five minutes in and dragged him more than usual). Then there’d usually be a presentation of old warthog parts wrapped up like presents so they'd have something to unwrap.

Donut always made cake, and Sarge allowed it after Donut swore up and down he wouldn’t make another one to jump out of because he didn’t want the joke to go stale.

Simmons got a party after he told everyone when his birthday was and planted hints all over the Valhalla base that no one could escape. He’d timed it perfectly too, starting a week in advance to account for how long his teammates would hold out to avoid giving him positive attention before they cracked.

“Okay! The surprise party is tomorrow!” Grif yelled. “Please no more texts about how your dad never came to your birthdays! I can’t take it anymore!”

Freckles had a birthday at Crash Site Bravo. Simmons didn’t remember a lot of it because of the blinding terror of being held hostage by a Mantis-class military assault droid and Caboose, who wasn’t famous for his leadership skills or track record of most accidental kills.

They didn’t always celebrate everyone’s birthdays every year, except for when they were on Iris. A lot of times throughout the years, they were busy with life threatening crap. There were accidents, and conspiracies, and missions to take out corrupt old white guys who were sometimes someone’s dad.

But as Simmons stares at the alert that just pinged his HUD, he has no idea how he hadn’t realized they’ve never done a birthday for Grif.

Sure, Sarge likes to joke about him being an unnatural abomination. But they had to have had one birthday thing.

After the Shizno incident was over, they came back to Iris with some pizza-to-go so they could try to have some time off again. Grif didn’t seem that happy to be back, but then again “retirement moon” had been Blood Gulch level of vacation, what with the never ending robot vs. dinosaur wars. And they had to chase some nesting dinosaur squatters out of the base before they could settle in again too.

In a moment that was still crystal clear to Simmons--despite the months of time traveling with Sarge, and then being stuck in a Blood Gulch time bubble--Grif had said he thought everyone hated him. He'd been certain of it, and weirdly calm. Not apathetic though. Resigned.

Simmons thinks it should be obvious by now that the ribbing is just the way that they talk to each other, and he'sthe one with anxiety. Even Sarge makes sure Grif is always with them now. Has been extra eagle-eyed since they got separated.

To use another manly metaphor, Grif's one of the supporting beams on Red Team. Without him they'll fall apart and Sarge would probably go crazy and try to sell everyone out to a serial killer so he could be a movie star. ...Again.

But when Simmons tried to tell Grif that, he only downgraded his importance to “hate glue.”

Simmons frowns at a cobweb clinging to the wall that he must have missed when he tricked everyone into celebrating Spring Cleaning, and realizes with his stomach slowly flipping that they never showed Grif he was important. And Grif noticed, even though he pretended not to care.

Grif thought they all hated him, could still think that, and they never gave him a reason not to. They’d been stuck together for fifteen years, had a drinking night dedicated to the anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic last week, and they never threw a party for Grif.

Simmons pulls up their personnel files. He's filled out forms for Grif, of course. Comes with the territory of carrying Red Team through bureaucracy and making sure they get their pay and also file their taxes right. So how had this date never really registered before?

May the Fourth.

Grif's right. It always comes back to Star Wars.

The Past

Huggins loved talking, and she loved people watching, and watching human movies. Like Die Hard. She and Grif got along super well really fast for her being a lens flare with knowledge supposedly beyond human comprehension.

They’d finally broken down to camp for the night after another day of walking across a country.

What Grif wouldn’t give for some methshrooms now, but he’d used up the last of his stash during the last big battle and hadn’t had the chance to restock before they walked right into more shenanigans without even a pizza break.

And now he was hiking. Something Huggins had totally tricked him into by mentioning his sister. He’d pulled a Sarge move and unloaded his gun at her, because that was dirty pool and she deserved it. But if this were a TV show, she was way better sidekick material than that reporter lady. Plus, he probably should check on his sister now that he knew she wasn't dead and buried in Blood Gulch, and just lost in time like him instead. Nothing better to do in a world without pizza.

“What are birthdays like?” Huggins chirped, interrupting his thoughts.

Grif blinked at the wood he had been kicking into a pile. Oh right, he was trying to build a fire. Not that he needed it with armor on that he was going to sleep in rather than sleeping on the ground, but when you were camping, fires were always necessary for atmosphere. And roasting marshmallows.

“Uh… I dunno,” he said. “Usually the same bullshit happens as any other day.”

“I don’t get the appeal of most other human traditions, but isn’t there cake and singing and celebration and presents? I thought that was important, since you humans don’t live so long.”

“Okay, one: Cake is always important. And B: Yeah, birthdays are a big thing, but only when you’re a kid. When you’re an adult, typically no one gives a fuck.”

Huggins flew in an anxious little circle around Grif’s head, settling into a hover in front of his visor. She had no face that he could see, but he got the impression that there were concerned eyes on him anyway. “But your friends—”

“Have their own shit going on right now, if you haven’t noticed the epic quest you’re leading me on. I’ll be happy if I can just get a slice of pizza after all this is over.”

Huggins clucked her non-existent tongue. Sentient light beings didn’t have tongues, so what made that noise? Unless she had a more alien humanoid type body and he just couldn’t see it with human eyes. Or she was extra-dimensional and the big spark was all that came through. Or—

“After I complete my mission and we defeat the Shizno, we will get pizza,” she said.

Grif cracked a smile, and he was covered by a helmet, but she always seemed to know when she got him to smile and ran with it.

“Ten pizzas!” She declared, zooming up and down dizzyingly, her light brightening. “And an Oreo cake!”

Grif scoffed, but he couldn’t hide the smile from his voice. “Make that an ice cream Oreo cake and you have yourself a deal.”

“Deal!” she yelled instantly. “I can’t wait to go to a human birthday party!”

“Hey, no one said anything about it being a birthday party.”

“It’s going to be your birthday party. And it will not be bull shit.”

“Hey, if you say so. It can be my birthday, if there’s Oreo ice cream cake on the line. And I’m getting the hint that spark plugs—”

“Sentient light beings.”

“—don’t have birthdays, huh? I guess you can share mine as long as you pay for the pizza and cake and beer. I might even let you have some of the cake.”

“Hey, I never said anything about beer. And human food is gross! You can keep it.”

Grif snickered.

The Future

Unfortunately, Huggins never got to follow through on her threat to throw Grif a birthday party.

They fixed almost everything, and came back to Iris, and they even got pizza on the way. But they couldn't save Huggins.

He’s been sleeping and bingeing TV for a few days. Almost no one's bothered him, though Kai's come in to visit and poke him a few times.

It's fine. Okay, not really fine, but it's normal. You win some, you lose some. Just like every other stupid adventure. And he's getting used to losing by now.

Grif stares at the light on the bedroom ceiling. Wonders if Huggins went out like a lightbulb, all burnt and cracked and blackened. He hopes there's an afterlife for little spotlights that talk way too much exposition.

“Hey Grif!”

How the hell does Sarge always sound like he has a megaphone when Grif knows for a fact he doesn’t know how to work the amplifier in his armor?

“What?!” Grif screams through the wall, not moving an inch from his bed. “I’m busy!”

“Get your lazy ass out here, Grif!” comes Simmons’ voice next. He's also good at projecting. If Grif didn't know better, he'd say he was a closet theater kid.

“Fuck off, Simmons!”

“Pretty please.” Grif jumps. Caboose’s voice is at a normal volume, and soft and coaxing, but right outside the door.

Goddammit, of course they sent Caboose. Cheaters.

“Ugh, fine. I’m coming.” Grif rolls out of his blanket nest, ruffling up his hair, and throwing on a semi-clean shirt he’s only worn once from the laundry pile on the floor.

The instant he opens the door, he's greeted not by Caboose, but by the smell of something extremely burnt coming from the kitchen. “Donut better not have set the base on fire again,” Grif complains as he trudges into the common area the Reds and Blues share.

“That better not have been a crack about my cooking,” Carolina says, her arms folded across her chest. Carolina's less scary now that they're kinda friends and he's seen her super baked.

Actually, nah, she's still the same amount of scary when she wants to be, but her mouth is twitching up in the corner. Joking.

“Just stating facts—“ Grif freezes mid-step as he registers the rest of the room.

There's a messy banner that was obviously half-painted by Donut in pastel shades of red, and the other half also obviously by Caboose because it says “Happy Birthday, Girff.”

“Who’s Girff?” he says automatically to cover for his shock. There are streamers, and music playing from a comically antique boom box, and a poster of Blade taped over the sink?

It's also a full house with Wash and Carolina, and also Doctor Grey and Kimball, and the mockumentary film crack team of Dylan Andrews and the guy that filmed for her. Sarge is standing with a twitchy nervous Simmons near the front, and the lieutenants are setting up board games and pizza and appetizers on the table, while Bitters leans back against the wall casually.

“Girff is you, stupid!” Kaikaina says, ambushing him from the side with a bear hug. “Happy birthday, bro!”

Donut swings in from the back where the kitchen is, twirling on one heel, holding a cake decorated with delicate swirls of peach icing and orange flowers. “I just whipped this one up quickly!”

“You made a back-up cake,” Carolina says flatly, turning a real glare on Donut.

“Of course! ” he says breezily. “Nothing can be left to chance on such an important occasion! Always use protection!”

It's really hard for Grif to act cool about this. Everything about the dumb party shows how much they know him, down to the Battlestar Galactica special edition of Clue.

Especially when Simmons shows him the message he got. It was a text alert from a post office on a remote colony that had been holding onto a parchment letter for 1000 years to give to a Dick Simmons on an exact date at an exact hour. The post office wanted some ridiculous fees for the hard copy to be delivered, but luckily they sent Simmons the transcription.

It was a note to save the date for today, and make Grif’s next birthday the party of the century.

Fucking time travel.

Grif had always wanted some ancient clever letter from a time traveler delivered to him with an auspicious warning, or a hundred billion dollars. But he's really glad he knows Huggins liked Back to the Future III now. They hadn’t gotten to those movies in their pop culture conversations yet.

Donut put sparklers in the cake, and when he lights them, the sparks shoot up and down and dance and fly around excitedly.

Surrounded by his family and friends, Grif blows out the candles.

Children waiting for the day they feel good Happy birthday Happy birthday Made to feel the way that every child should Sit and listen Sit and listen

And I find it kinda funny I find it kinda sad The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had I find it hard to tell you I find it hard to take When people run in circles It's a very very Mad world Mad world

[cecic99]

you f*cked me up...or did I?

          Falling for you wasn’t easy. At all. I hardly understand why I did in the first place. My gut instinct told me that I didn’t like you and when you spelled my name wrong, it was even more obvious why we could never be together. And yet, I wasted a good four years pining for you. Even now, sometimes I wish you’d notice me. Say something. Just acknowledge my existence so that I can show you how better off I am now without you. But, instead, I am sitting here. In a poorly painted room with awful lighting, in a different country writing this letter. I don’t know why I am. I sat down to flesh out characters of mine that have existed just as long as I have known you-maybe that’s why I’m talking to you instead.

           It’s kind of nostalgic in a way. No, melancholy-yeah, I learned how to use and pronounce that word since we last talked. Not as if you’d know it anyway. Would you? I’m trailing. It’s melancholy because it’s Christmas. Remember how I’d sit in the dark, alone and brood over the holiday? How you wouldn’t care and leave me to my own thoughts and called me over-dramatic? Did I mention that I’m very bitter and hold on to grudges, no matter how petty? I wouldn’t have to if you ever actually paid attention to who I really was. I forgot that I also have a touch of passive aggressiveness in my arsenal of emotional manipulation.

           You should know all about that though. I learned it from you. How to control people by convincing them you are the center of their little lives. Maybe you did know me somewhat. I mean, you had to have at least figured out some things from the way you could turn me into putty at the simplest command.

           My brain would just turn off around you and I became your little robot of entertainment and self-assurance. I was your number two sure, but I was the first number two. The most loyal, submissive and available.

           God, I really hate you sometimes.

           Well, I always have a foul taste for you, it’s just sometimes it’s more pungent than others.

           Moving on.

           You really ruined my life. I’m fine now, but I can’t help but blame you for breaking me down and demolishing my self-confidence. You made me believe that I am indeed, second best. That I could always try to do better, and it was my fault that no one likes me now. You never verbally told me these things, nor did you ever physically assault me. That’s why I’m still trapped in the web of self-doubt you oh so carefully wove around me. Because I’m still partially trying to defend you by saying it was my own fault for not knowing better. For taking your words so seriously even though we were kids. For trying to tell myself that what you did wasn’t intentional, and it was just you being naive and unaware of how your actions affected those around you.

           Enough.

           Even if any of what I said was half true, there is no excuse.

           There were no mistakes made here. You had to have known in the least that your treatment of not only me, but those other girls was A Grade assholism. The way you’d carefully string us along with empty promises and false words and hollow actions. It was all wrong.

           You convinced me that I deserved to be stepped on. That I had to ignore anything I was feeling in fear you’d find my emotions too demanding, insulting or god forbid boring. I’d smile for you and follow you around like an airhead. I thought I was the one leading you on a string while the entire time I was the damn fool clinging to you like a life preserver. I second guess myself because there’s no way someone like me could be ever be right. I don’t even know what it is I enjoy because I spent the period of my life dedicated to self-discovery training myself how to read your subtle cues and mirror your taste to be more appealing to you.

           You cursed me to always being seeking constant approval. I can’t live without it anymore. I’m scared of being alone now because of you.

           You ruined me.

           Even now, as I type this, and re-read what I wrote, I’m bitching at myself for being so dramatic and whiny and unhappy and hating myself more and more for feeling these things.

           Dude, I can’t even enjoy my current relationship most of the time because I’m scared I’ll terrify him with my neediness and become a ‘piece of work’ in his eyes. I feel almost certain he’ll grow bored of me and toss me away like you did. I’m so mean to him because of what you did to me. I hurt his feelings as a twisted test to assure myself he can handle me. A “if he can stand through my worst, surely he can handle my best,” kind of thing. I come up with all these horrible scenarios of him leaving me and I handling it in a brutal way because I want to be prepared for what I see as an inevitable end of us.

           Inevitable because surely, I will fail him in some way and he won’t be able to put up with me much longer.

           This is what you did to me. And there is so much more. But I don’t see the point in going any further as I can never ever tell you any of this.

           Because the sad truth is, I’m scared that you’ll roll your eyes at the first sentence and carry on your day as if this never happened. Not because I’m still hung up on you, but because I can’t bare the thought of knowing that all my suffering and pain, was for nothing because to you, those years were nothing, to you, I’m only a distant memory if anything at all.

[surveysonfleek]

1410.

How much do you weigh? i haven’t checked in months. a bit scared to actually lol.

Where do you go when you’re sad? doesn’t matter where i go, i just need to be alone.  If you are outside, what are you most likely doing? walking to my car. just walking in general. Are you happy with the person you’ve become? not at all. my younger self would be so disappointed in me. this year seems semi promising though. Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong? kinda. i won’t completely cut them off but i have the forgive but never forget mentality.

What’s the last thing you purchased? parking.

Have you ever sat in the back of a police car? nope. Have you ever had to call the cops on someone? no. Are your parents divorced? yes. Do you think you can love someone without trusting them? i think you can but it’d be pure infatuation. i don’t think you can be in love with someone and expect a future with them if you don’t trust them. Does the idea of snowpeaked mountains and a large lake sound appealing? of course. Have you ever lost your luggage at an airport? yes!!!! once. thankfully they found it and they delivered straight to my house. What’s your opinion on people who go hunting for sport? i don’t really have an opinion. i think hunters who hunt species that are endangered are scum though. Have you ever been on a rollercoaster that actually scared you? yeah only coz i hit my head pretty hard on it. Do you know anyone who can fluently speak more than two languages? yes. The last person who texted you, have you ever fought with them? oh yes. Do you have a fairly fast or slow internet connection? it’s in the middle. Have you ever gone in a sauna? yes. not a huge fan tbh. Out of these colors, which appeals most to you: orange, blue, or green? blue. Have you celebrated your birthday yet this year? nope. it’s in december. Is there anything you’re saving up for? a holiday and just savings in general. Are you taller than most of your friends? no. i’m about average height. my friends are all either taller or shorter. Know anyone with a really annoying laugh? me. lol. Have you ever punched someone and broke their nose? nope. What is the longest time you have gone without sleep? over 24 hours. never doing that again. Have you ever been someplace tropical? yes. You see an ant on the ground, do you squish it? no. Have you ever baked a pie? i don’t think i have actually. What is your favorite social networking site? instagram i guess. i’m scrolling through it the most. Who was the last person to call you? my boyfriend i think. Do you believe in finders keepers in most situations? haha i hardly ever find anything in the first place. Is there a war memorial where you live? no. Has anyone in your family fought in any of the wars? not that i know of. Would you make any changes to your current bedroom? yes. i’d redo the entire thing tbh.  Has a stray dog ever tried to bite you? no. When riding a bus, do you prefer to sit up front, down back or the middle? back or middle. Have you ever been on a cross-country train ride? yes i have haha. london to paris. Are you normally a person to tell people off? only if i feel strongly about the situation. Do you currently have any bugbites? nope. Is there currently any caffeine in your system? no. Look around, are things organized? yes. Is there any TV show that ended that you wish hadn’t? the office. it probably ended at a good time but as a loyal fan i would’ve kept watching it even if it turned trash. Know what you’re planning to do after this? another survey perhaps. How would you spend a lazy afternoon? netflix and food. How often do you update your Facebook status? never anymore. What’s the first thing you’d want to see if you visited New York City? flat iron building. don’t think i’ve seen it properly. When you feel stressed, do you take things out on the wrong people? i try not to. Do you even wear any jeans other than skinny anymore? nope. Do you shop at Plato’s Closet? no. Are you sensitive to caffeine? yes. i hardly drink it, that’s why. Have you ever been ice-blocking? no. Would you rather live in Austin, Boulder, Brooklyn or Portland? no idea. i’d have to learn more about each of them. How do you usually get around? car. Which languages do you wish you could speak fluently in? anything and everything. i think it’s such a valuable skill. Have you ever been accused of being too clingy? no. Have you ever tried yoga? i have. it was so boring. Do you like Vitamin Water? nope. What do you think about Kim Kardashian? she was so beautiful before all the work. don’t really have an opinion on her otherwise. Can you speak any French? very very basic stuff. Do you think too little or too much? too much. Have you ever read anything by Shakespeare? yes. Do you know anyone with the last name Green? i can think of one person. Favorite yogurt flavor? vanilla. boring, i know. Are you creative? yes. What are you listening to? i’m watching sex education on netflix while doing this. What are you doing this weekend? beach, bbq, catching up with my dad etc. Are you a neat freak? i like things organized but i don’t think i’m a neat freak. Does your phone ring or vibrate? rings when on loud vibrates when on silent. Have you ever gone to see a movie just to make fun of it? no. Is the fear of butterflies a common fear? i don’t know anyone personally that’s scared of them. Last place you went besides your house? work. Is your phone a touch screen? yes. When you listen to a new song, do you usually play it over and over? haha no. i used to as a kid.  How do you take your coffee or tea? two sugars with a dash of milk for both. Ever been to a REAL metal show? no. Do you listen to songs more for the lyrics or the sound? both. Have you ever cut your own hair and been satisfied with the outcome? haha i have and it sucked. never again. Do you multitask well? kinda. When was the last time you couldn’t stop smiling? when i finished work yesterday. ten hours of bullshit!

Do you like making up nicknames for people? no. Leather or lace? leather. Isn’t cracking your back the best feeling ever? yeah it feels good. What’s a country you’d love to visit? japan. How much money do you have in your wallet right now? $0. i never carry cash. How much time do you spend on the computer? an hour a night i guess.

[what-the-hekate]

The Becoming

There’s a lot I want to do with this blog, and I’m still putting it together in my head. I do know that I want to use it as a space to share my thoughts on witchcraft and related subjects, some of it centered around research into particular topics, and some of it just what I’ve been thinking about.

Right now, I have a lot of stray thoughts that aren’t ready to be developed into posts of their own. As I sat down to type some of them out and see where they went, I ended up running pretty far with a piece about my personal journey into witchcraft. And that seems as good a place as any to start.

I suppose I’ve always been attracted to the strange and supernatural, but I didn’t think of myself a witch (or even consider it) until I was a teenager. This was during the teen witch craze of the 1990s, when the movie The Craft and the TV series Charmed reintroduced the idea of witchcraft as something appealing and empowering to young women. I don’t remember which of my friends first got the idea to dabble in witchcraft; maybe it was me, maybe not. I do remember that someone got hold of a copy of a Silver RavenWolf book, probably Teen Witch, and that we had to pass it around because the girl who actually owned it was afraid her parents would find it in her room.

Looking back, I have mixed feelings about those books. I feel lucky that I was the right age at the right time to have that option offered to me—that I was a teenage girl in the 90s listening to Tori Amos and Liz Phair and Ani DiFranco and Paula Cole and Alanis Morissette, and that Buffy the Vampire Slayer was on TV, and that pop culture in general was telling me I had power at the point in my life when I could’ve felt the most powerless.

Which Witch? A wordgame

At the same time, I wish there had been a greater variety of voices to hear about witchcraft from. Silver RavenWolf may have been a driving force behind a generation’s interest in witchcraft and Wicca, but her books were also full of bad information and skewed heavily towards one version of witchcraft. She doesn’t clearly distinguish between “witch” and “Wiccan”, and I think the passage in To Ride a Silver Broomstick about her associations with those two words explains why, but I also think it’s important to be clear that they aren’t wholly interchangeable. You can be a witch and not be a Wiccan; her books are about how to be a Wiccan. That’s what I tried to be as a teenager, and ultimately it’s why I drifted away from witchcraft in general over the next few years.

(Let me go ahead and say: Wicca is right for some people, and that’s fine. It’s not right for me.)

Some of my aversion to the Wiccan version of being a witch is instinctual and was pinged early on. when I was reading those Silver RavenWolf books. For me, being a witch was about female empowerment and independence, so I was confused when I got to the bit about worshiping a dual deity, the Goddess and the God. I never gelled with the Horned God on any level. It wasn’t to do with the similarity to the Christian devil; I wasn’t raised religious and I had no particularly strong feelings about anything in the Christian universe. I just didn’t feel at all compelled to adopt a central deity (or two) in general, and I really wasn’t interested in a male one.

Nor did I really care for the heterosexual duality of the Goddess/God, and all the binary sexual symbolism of things like the Great Rite and chalices and athames. At the time, I wasn’t consciously aware that I was queer (probably because it just wasn’t a possibility that I was exposed to very much). But I reacted to this whole Goddess/God thing turning up in my magical female empowerment pretty much the same way I reacted to a romance subplot suddenly taking center stage in a book I was enjoying. It wasn’t a dealbreaker, but I couldn’t help being annoyed that it was distracting from the stuff I was really there for.

Honestly, what probably played the biggest overt role in my move away from Wicca was simply that it was a religion. I’m just not cut out for religions. I find them interesting, and there are pieces of them that work for me sometimes, but on the whole it’s just not something that’s ever going to be a part of my life. Wicca is a very demanding religion. It’s highly ritualized, from the major holidays (the eight sabbats, plus the 12-13 esbats) down to the daily practices of spellwork. There is just a lot to do, and a lot of specificity about when and how to do it. I have enough trouble disciplining myself to do the other things I’m obligated to do in my life, like work and school and errands and keeping my house reasonably tidy and eating a vegetable on a regular basis. I was way worse at this at 14 or 15 years old. I got tired of rituals fast.

So TL;DR, I did not end up being a Wiccan. And because I’d gotten the idea that, in real life, witch = Wiccan, I didn’t think of myself as a witch anymore, either. If I have any lasting bitterness toward that segment of my path, that’s it. The identity of “witch” was an empowering, beautiful thing that I wish I’d been able to keep in my life even after my dalliance with Wicca was over. There were definitely times I could’ve used it.

In the years after that, I kept on being a little spooky and magical and all the things I’d been that had drawn me to witchcraft in the first place, just without a central identity to pin it all to. It’s interesting how things drift in and out of focus and concreteness depending on whether they have a name. The witch fad gave way to something else the way fads do, Buffy and Charmed eventually ended, and I didn’t think much about witches again until recently.

There’s a lot to delve into about why witchcraft has its resurgences when it has them; probably there are already a lot of essays on the subject. But generally, I think you tend to find women thinking witchy thoughts at times when they’re particularly under threat.

Much of my early/middle-early adult life coincided with the Obama administration. I’d only become really aware of politics toward the end of the Bush era. When 9/11 happened, I was in the middle of an unrelated nervous breakdown and just did not have the spoons to think critically about political issues; I was also 16 years old. I didn’t realize how fucked up things like the PATRIOT Act were until years down the line. I was in the dark in more ways than one, dealing with undiagnosed depression and anxiety and having to claw my way up out of its depths without even medication to give me a boost.

A Musical Interlude: What does this have to do with witchcraft...?

Two things kept me just this side of insane when I was in the depths: writing and listening to music. Of the latter, I still had the female artists who’d taught me how to be a woman, thank fucking god for them. And as I was trying to find a foothold in the long slow climb out of my depressive pit, I’d come across a Finnish band called HIM; for whatever reason, their particular brand of gothy romantic macabre intellectual music was exactly what my soul resonated with at that moment. I realized that I could vibe with men sometimes, provided they were the type of men who wrote poetry and wore eyeliner and a lot of black. This is probably how I ended up listening to Nine Inch Nails.

I was aware of NIN, as anyone who experienced the 90s was; even if that wasn’t your particular scene, you heard “Closer”. A lot of women around my age credit David Bowie in Labyrinth for their early confusing sexuality-related experience; mine was probably the “Closer” video. I think this explains a lot about me. But besides that, I hadn’t paid much attention to NIN until I ran into them again in 2007 or so, when they were doing this crazy metafictional thing called Year Zero around their latest album. I don’t remember exactly how I found it; maybe via Lost, which had its own thing like that and led me to the niche narrative medium of alternate reality games. Anyway, it was highly political, which was not what I remembered NIN being about, and as I was listening through the band’s back catalog and reading a bazillion interviews with brooding, sarcastic, witty, thoughtful Trent Reznor (look, I’m not completely gay), I got sucked into this thing.

I don’t remember whether I read this while I was diving into Year Zero or after, but in some interview or other I found out that Trent had just come out of his own darkness. He’d struggled with drugs and depression and nearly died, and when he finally got his shit together, he realized how much he’d been oblivious to, in his own life and in the world around him. Year Zero was political because he’d woken up, and it woke me up.

It’s interesting to me now to think that female music and male music acted like an alternating current in my life, one then the other driving me forward, yet I got absolutely zilch out of the hetero-duality of Wicca. I don’t know what to tell you. It’s also interesting that the avatars of that dynamic in my life were Tori Amos and Trent Reznor, since they had an important impact on each others’ lives too (that I didn’t know about till much later). There’s a bit in Tori’s book Piece By Piece where she talks about reconciling with the angry masculine energies she was drawn to at points in her life (I can’t remember if she specifically mentions Trent in that part, but I assume it’s at least somewhat about him), and her realization that she had a need to tap into energy like that sometimes. If anyone is the embodiment of feminine power to me it’s Tori, and reading her words about needing to channel masculine rage did and does resonate with me about the time in my life when male artists’ energies were what I needed to survive and evolve.

So anyway, back on the path: my dark times led me to Nine Inch Nails which, while the music was also helping me heal my soul, also focused my brain on the world I’d been ignoring. I became aware of, and pissed off about, politics in no time flat. I devoured Naomi Wolf’s The End of America: Letter of Warning to a Young Patriot. I watched C-SPAN of my own volition. In short, I realized that the system is fucked up. I realized that the things happening in America were literally insane, and I knew insanity. I learned the word “patriarchy”, but I’d known the thing it named for a long, long time. This was also the point when I realized I’d exhausted my lifetime stores of patience for bullshit and being fucked with; they have not, to this day, been replenished.

And then, like a lot of people, I thought the Obama years meant everything was okay forever. I mean, god, I sure felt like I deserved a break. There were ups and downs even then, but I really had no idea how fast and how far we could plummet down again until 2016.

Witch 2: The Rewitchening

I don’t believe you can be a woman and be aware of what’s going on in the world and not be angry. As I write this, my home state of Alabama has just passed an amendment (which may be useless; we do have the longest mess of a constitution in the world) aimed at undermining women’s right to an abortion. We have a president who says the most vile things about women on a regular basis, and a new Supreme Court Justice who is a rapist. There are a lot of rapists. There are a lot of men who beat up their wives and girlfriends and then go on to shoot up a school or a nightclub or a shopping mall, and we keep acting surprised, and we keep forcing women to share custody with their abusers and berating them for being abused. Women, everywhere, are under attack.

If there’s a single predominant reason I came back to witchcraft now, and why I think a lot of women are coming to witchcraft now, this is it. We are threatened, and that idea of female empowerment and strength and the potential to be feared by those who would harm us and to be fearless... it is as potent and attractive to us now as it was in the 90s, and the 60s, and probably so many times before.

I am a witch. I don’t belong to a religion, and I don’t feel obligated to be a witch according to anyone’s definition but my own. My witchery is a product of the path I’ve taken to this point, and is highly focused around female empowerment; that said, I recognize that other people’s witchery has a different shape, and different (or no) gender, and is religious or isn’t, and I acknowledge and respect that, too. I have zero interest in telling anyone else how to be a witch, or whether they can be.

I started this blog because I need to express myself, but also because I want to contribute to a diversity of voices about witchcraft that wasn’t available to me as a teenager. I want to put things out there in case someone else needs them. Honestly, I’m writing and gathering all the things that will eventually be here for a hypothetical, imaginary-but-maybe-real young witch who is maybe just a ghost of my teenage past, to tell her the things I wish I could’ve heard, and just to remind her that no one can tell you how to be a witch, and no one should try, and that there are so many different ideas and beliefs and voices and experiences out there for her to learn from, including the ones inside herself.

That’s my origin story.

[wilderwestqueen]

How To Survive Christmas: A Guide By Hiccup Haddock

Summary: The Christmas season is difficult enough with your father messing with your love life. When Astrid gets invited over for Christmas, Hiccup becomes obsessed with making it the best Christmas ever. 

Words: 6082 

(ao3) (fanfic.net)

How To Survive Christmas: A Guide By Hiccup Haddock

Hiccup loved winter.

As November crawled into December, and the world became dark at four o’clock, Hiccup found himself spending every evening curled up in an armchair by the fire, a book in hand and his cat at his feet. Those long evenings that started early and ended late were Hiccup’s favourite, warm and comfortable, utterly bliss, if it wasn’t for the holiday coming up.

Hiccup may have loved winter, but Christmas was a different ball game.

It wasn’t that he hated the holiday, not really. It just seemed like an awful lot of effort for what usually ended in passionate political arguments at the table between his family, a needless amount of stress over presents that would be forgotten about in a few weeks, and a terrible amount of washing up.  

Also, there were only so many times you could listen that Mariah Carey song.  

He remembered loving the holiday when he was younger, but as he’d grown older, the whole thing had lost its appeal. Perhaps that was just what happened when you became an adult – Christmas loses all of its magic. For Hiccup, December had become less about celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ as it had about surviving the holiday season without decapitating a plastic reindeer.  

He’d already begun thinking about his plan for survival when his father had dropped a bomb on him that sent all of his plans for a quiet, uneventful Christmas out the window.

“I think we should invite the Hoffersons over to join the celebrations on Christmas Day.”

Hiccup spat out his tea.

They’d been sitting in comfortable silence for the past half an hour, the fire flickering away while Hiccup was curled up with a book and a mug of tea, his father opposite, newspaper open on the crossword.

“The Hoffersons? As in, the Hoffersons who live next door? As in, Astrid and her mother?” Hiccup gabbled, wiping the spit off of his face.

His father, Stoick, glanced up from his newspaper. “Yes, as in those Hoffersons. Who else?”

“No,” Hiccup said, quickly. “You can’t invite them. You always said Christmas was for family and family only.”

“I said that so you would stop bringing in stray cats and demanding that we feed them dinner.”  

“Point still stands.”

Stoick raised an eyebrow. “What have you got against me inviting them over? I thought you liked Astrid. You two haven’t been fighting, have you?”  

Hiccup sighed and shrank back into his chair. “No.”

“You two were the best of friends once. Why don’t I see her around anymore?”

He couldn’t explain high school politics to his father. He wouldn’t understand that there were hierarchies; Hiccup Haddock and Astrid Hofferson were on completely different levels, and they ran in different circles. They had been as close as close could be once, but by the time they started secondary school, they’d drifted apart. They still talked occasionally, and she was always nice to him, but they were hardly best friends anymore. Barely even acquaintances, honestly.

“School got busy,” was the answer Hiccup went with.

His father folded his newspaper and set it down on the table. “You know this time of year is difficult for them.”

Hiccup sighed again, guilt worming its way into his gut. “I know.”

“After the incident-”

“I know.”

The incident.

Boxing Day two years prior had been eventful. Everyone on the street had heard Mrs. Hofferson’s howling. They’d run outside just in time to see her throwing suitcases out of the upstairs window, Mr. Hofferson standing feebly out in the snow.  

“It’s neighbourly to at least invite them.”  

Hiccup sighed for a third time. The guilt had settled in the bottom of his stomach. “You’re right,” he said. “Invite them.”

On the inside though, he prayed that they’d refuse, or else he was going to have to figure out how he was going to survive spending Christmas with the girl he’d been in love with for years.

Six Days Until Christmas

Of course, they said yes.

Mrs. Hofferson was delighted by the invitation, promising to bring over Christmas cake and asking if there was anything she could do to help. Hiccup had been shoved out the door – “go and buy some proper decorations, for goodness sake, and stop acting like such a Grinch,” his father had said – leaving adults on the porch to gossip.  

The shopping centre was hell on Earth.

The place was teeming with people, all packed in tight into a space that felt like it was too small to hold everyone, and everybody there was in such a rush. Hiccup ducked into the first shop he came to, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible.  

He found himself dragging himself up one aisle, pushing the cheapest decorations he could find into the shopping trolley, while Mariah Carey blasted loud and tinny through the speakers.

God, he hated Mariah Carey.  

As he got to the end of the aisle, after passing a terrifying Santa mask with a semi-realistic face that looked like it had come straight out of horror movie set, Hiccup bent over the handle of the trolley and groaned.

“Hiccup?”

That voice was familiar.  

He jolted up out of his position and stood up straight, his beanie flying off his head as he did so. “Astrid!” He dropped to the floor and grabbed his hat, sliding it back onto his head in one quick motion. “Hi! Hey, Astrid. Hi.”

She laughed. “Hi, Hiccup.”

“So,” he said, attempting to lean casually on the shopping trolley, “how’s it going?”

It was unfair how cute she looked, all bundled up in a duffle coat, with a hat and scarf. Her hair was down for once, cascading in blonde waves down her back, strands of it still fluttering in front of her face after being outside in the wind and cold.  

“It’s good,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Last minute Christmas shopping?”

He watched as she peered curiously into his trolley, and he felt the urge to cover up his purchases, almost embarrassed by how little thought he’d put into them.  

“Dad sent me out to get some extra stuff.”

Astrid nodded. “Right,” she said, and then brushed her fringe out of her face. “Hey, Hiccup, I just wanted to let you know how grateful I am that you invited me and Mum over for Christmas.”

Hiccup blinked. “You are?”

“Yeah,” she said, and then her expression fell a little. “We didn’t really bother with Christmas last year.”

“I know,” he said, softly.

The Hofferson house, usually so bright and vibrant every year, with lights and decorations to rival everyone on the street, had been dark and silent the year before.  

“Do you still see your dad at all?” he asked, and then kicked himself.

This was the first proper conversation they’d had in months, and he was asking about that? Foot, meet mouth.  

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ve seen him around with his new family,” she said, dully. “They seem really happy.”  

“Hey,” he said gently, brushing her hand with his. “Do you want me to toilet paper his house for you?”  

Astrid spluttered, her hands covering her mouth as she let out a giggle. Hiccup’s heart soared.

“Because I will,” he said. “For you.”  

She let out another laugh, and then sighed. “I’m really happy I have someone to spend Christmas with this year. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yeah, later,” Hiccup mumbled, eloquently.

He watched as she scurried off, and then stared down at his shopping trolley. Guilt was settling in his stomach again, as he looked down at his half-assed attempt at buying directions.

For one moment, he hovered in the aisle, and then he pushed his trolley back to the entrance of the store.

“How much stuff did you buy?”  

His father was thumbing through the purchases Hiccup had left on the coffee table, while he busied himself arranging Christmas cards on the mantlepiece.

“You asked me to get some good decorations.”

“I didn’t expect you to go all out,” Stoick said. “What even is this?”  

Hiccup turned to see his father looking down, confused at a white spray can.

“Fake snow,” Hiccup said, wandering towards the table, and pulling an armful of tinsel out of one of the bags. “I thought we could spray it on the windows, y’know, to make it look all wintery and festive.”  

Hiccup left his father staring down at the fake snow and headed towards the tree. It looked rather sparse in the corner, small and unimposing.

“Why do we have the same plastic tree every year?”

Stoick stared at him. “You what?”

“We’ve had this tree for years,” Hiccup said. “It’s probably older than me. Why don’t we ever get a real one?”  

His father looked incredulous. “I ask you every year if you want to get a real tree, and you can never be bothered!”

Hiccup frowned. Why hadn’t he ever noticed how mediocre this tree was? “Maybe this year we should bother.”

Stoick put a hand on his son’s shoulder and spun him around to look at him. “What’s got into you?”  

“What’s got into me?”  

“For months you’ve been grumbling about Christmas, and now you’re hanging tinsel everywhere and asking for a real tree?”

Hiccup sighed. “I just thought that since we have non-family guests this year, we should make an effort.”  

“Riiiight.”

“And, y’know, seeing as the Hoffersons haven’t really had a good family Christmas in a few years and Astrid was saying-”

Stoick’s face lit up in understanding. “Oh, now I see.”

“You see what?”  

“Nothing,” his father said, his eyes glittering. “We’ll get you your tree, don’t you worry, son.”

Then he ruffled Hiccup’s hair and headed for the door, a knowing smile on his face.

Five Days Until Christmas  

He kept his promise.  

Early in the morning, with his cousin Snotlout in tow, Hiccup and his father went out to pick a tree. Snotlout and his father were the muscle; Hiccup, arms too much like limp noodles to be of any use, supervised, examining every tree.

“Will you just hurry up and pick one?!” Snotlout groaned, while Hiccup stood in front of the sixth tree, stroking his chin in deep thought. “I’m freezing my balls off here!”

“Snotlout! What would your father say?” Stoick said, slapping his nephew across the head. Snotlout grumbled something rude under his breath. “But do hurry up, son, it’s getting pretty cold.”

“Why do you care so much about this? Don’t you usually have a plastic one?”

Stoick leaned over towards Snotlout, conspiratorially. “He’s trying to impress someone.”

“What?!” Hiccup stood up, staring at them both. “No, I’m not.”

“We invited the Hoffersons over to join us on Christmas, and he’s been all flustered about it since.”

Oh hell no.

Hiccup shook his head, vehemently. “That’s not true!” he hedged. “I’m just – trying to be polite!”

His father was grinning now, eyes shining. “He wasn’t looking forward to Christmas until he found out Astrid was going to be there.”

“Wait, Astrid’s going to be there?” Snotlout said. “Now it all makes sense!”

“Snotlout, don’t,” Hiccup said, but it was no use. His cousin was already jeering at him.

“You should see the way he looks at her,” Snotlout said, addressing Stoick. “He’s like a lost puppy.  

“I have seen it,” Stoick joined in, “I see it every time they wait for the school bus.”

Hiccup felt his face burn.  

“Hiccup loves Astrid! Hiccup loves Astrid! Hiccup loves Astrid!” Snotlout began to hoot.  

Hiccup didn’t say another word, he just turned on his heel and stormed off.

Four Days Until Christmas

That morning, Stoick stumbled down the stairs to fetch a cup of coffee, only to find his son struggling to heave a huge evergreen tree through the front door. He gave a guilty smile, and then pulled the end of the tree up into his hands, effortlessly hauling it into the living room.

“I had it,” Hiccup grumbled to himself.

“Just trying to help,” Stoick said, and smiled sweetly down at his son. “You want it in the corner there?”

“Yeah, where the old one was,” Hiccup said, although his was still pouting.

Stoick set the tree down, and then took Hiccup by the shoulders, sitting him down on the sofa.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” Stoick said, joining him in the seat.

“Thought you’d already figured it all out,” Hiccup said, sourly. He stuck his lower lip out, and hunched down in the sofa.

It was childish, he knew, but his pride was still smarting after the way his father and his cousin had spoke to him the day before. It was another reason he dreaded Christmas; somehow, when the whole family was together, it became of game of who could bully Hiccup the most.

“It’s all in good fun!” they’d say when he complained.

All in good fun, his left foot.  

“I’m sorry for teasing you yesterday,” Stoick said, although Hiccup noticed the way his mouth was twitching. “Why don’t you tell what’s going on?”

Hiccup sighed, but he sat back up in his seat. “When we were kids, Astrid loved big Christmas trees,” he said. “She used to try and climb the big one in the town centre. One time, she actually did, and she got half way up there before they managed to stop her.” Halfway through his speech he realised he was grinning, and he did his best to smother it. “But they never had a real tree themselves. She always used to complain about the plastic one they had.”

The corners of Stoick’s mouth crinkled. “I’m sure she wouldn’t be offended by our old plastic one.”

“It’s not that,” Hiccup said. “Astrid... Astrid loves Christmas. She loves everything about it. The magic didn’t go for her. She loves snow, she loves presents, and she really, really loved family, until her dad had to go and ruin it.” He wrinkled his nose. “Last year she didn’t even celebrate Christmas at all. This year, I wanted to make sure it was perfect.”

Stoick stared at his son for a few long moments, and then leapt to his feet. “Alright,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Where do we start?”

They started by heaving the large tree into a pot that Hiccup had designated for it into the corner, wrapping a set of rainbow lights around.

“We’re going for a silver and purple colour scheme,” Hiccup said.  

The wrapping paper they’d used had been silver with a purple ribbon, and he wanted to make everything colour co-ordinated.  

“Right, of course,” Stoick said, nodding seriously while he hid a smile behind his hand.  

They curled tinsel around the curtain rods, hung baubles from ribbon, and sprinkled fake snow on every available surface.  

Stoick went around and hung mistletoe in every doorway, whistling innocently as he did so. Hiccup went around and methodically took them all down.

“You think it looks okay?” Hiccup said at the end of the day, when he and his father had flopped down exhausted, nursing mugs of hot chocolate while the fireplace crackled.

Stoick grinned down at Hiccup, and ruffled his hair. “She’ll love it.”

Three Days Until Christmas  

“Bloody hell, it’s like Christmas threw up in here!”

Hiccup heard the voice from upstairs, and followed it down to find Cami standing the middle of his living room.

“What’s happened to you?” she said, in lieu of a hello, looking Hiccup up and down. “Are you ill? Did Father Christmas threaten you at gunpoint to get into the Christmas spirit?”

“Why did you let her in?” Hiccup addressed his father, deadpan.

“She came in before I could stop her,” Stoick said, but he was hiding his smile again. He looked over at their guest. “He’s freaking out because a certain Christmas-loving young lady is joining our celebration this year.”

“Ah, it’s an Astrid thing,” Cami said, grinning knowingly.

“Right!” Hiccup said, linking his arms through hers and forcefully pulling her out the door. “We’re leaving now! Bye, Dad!”

“Lovely to see you again, Cami!” they heard Stoick call with a twinkle in his voice, before Hiccup slammed the front door.

That morning, Hiccup had woken in a panic, realising that there was one very important thing that he’d forgotten.

What a horrible Christmas it would be to watch everyone unwrapping gift after gift, when there was nothing for you. He’d sent a quick text to Cami, Astrid’s cousin, and Hiccup’s official Astrid confidant, and she’d been more than happy to help. Far too eager, if you asked Hiccup, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.  

They hurried off into town, ready to find Astrid the perfect gift.

Last minute shopping was the worst.

The mall had been busy before, but now it was atrocious, hundreds and hundreds of people all packed in together, pushing and shoving so that they could get the last one of whatever they were trying to buy.

And that Mariah Carey song was playing again.

Hiccup and Cami had to link arms tight to keep track of each other, and they found themselves sighing with relief when they ducked into the first shop they came to, able to breathe away from the crowds.

“What are you looking for, then?” Cami said, as she strolled down an aisle, examining a loud, electronic singing snowman, with uncomfortable interest.

“Something personal,” Hiccup said. “Something thoughtful. Something that she’ll like, but also something that she wouldn’t have thought of.”

“Great, so, not asking for the world or anything.” She flicked a bobble-head Santa. “See anything you like?”

Hiccup wrinkled his nose. “Christmas-themed Christmas presents can only be used once a year. I want her to have something she can keep forever.”

Cami sighed loudly. “Why don’t you just give her a betrothal gift and officially invite her into the family?”

Hiccup scowled. “No,” he said. “That’s dumb.”

She laughed at the expression on his face. “I don’t know why you brought me here, you’re much better at me than gifts,” she said. “I just got Astrid chocolate. I got everybody chocolate.”

“You’re good company,” Hiccup admitted.

Cami beamed.

They looked through shop after shop, looking on shelf after shelf, but there was nothing that Hiccup deemed worthy of giving Astrid.  

Cami’s cheerful demeanour dipped after a few hours, and she began to drag her feet, whining about how much her legs hurt.

“Can’t you just pick something?” she moaned. “We’ve been here for houuurs.”

Hiccup didn’t want to admit it, but he was starting to feel fed up too. As much as he’d managed to get himself into the Christmas spirit for Astrid’s sake, he still didn’t love the holiday. That Mariah Carey song had been playing constantly, and the constant crowds were playing havoc on his anxiety. His introverted self was begging for a chance to get home and not be around people anymore.  

It made him grumpy, a little bit miserable, and maybe a little too snarky.

“Excuse me,” he said to a bewildered shopping assistant. “What would you recommend getting for a girl you’ve been pining after from afar for years, that says ‘hey, I know we haven’t talked in a while, but, y’know what, I’m actually super in love with you’?”

Cami burst into laughter.

In the end, they came home empty handed.

“Don’t worry too much about it,” Cami said, as she nursed her aching feet. “She’s not going to expect anything from you. Trust me, she’s already thrilled that you invited her at all, she isn’t going to expect gifts.”

Hiccup frowned. Truth or not, he still felt like a failure. He should have been able to find her something good.

Some perfect Christmas this was turning out to be.

Two Days Until Christmas  

The eve of Christmas Eve brought Astrid Hofferson herself to the Haddock front door.

“Astrid!” Stoick said. “What can I do for you this morning?”  

Her arms were kept firmly behind her back. “Morning, Mr. Haddock,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Is Hiccup in?”

“Hiccup!” he called up the stairs. “Young lady here for you!”

“Aaaaastrid,” he said with a grin, leaning against the doorframe in a way that wasn’t quite casual. “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if I could take you up on that offer,” she said, her eyes tracking Hiccup’s father as he made himself scarce. Then she produced a roll of toilet paper from behind her back, and revealed a bag full of them.

Hiccup grinned.

He joined her out in the cold, bundled up in a coat and hat to match hers.

Astrid waited for him out on the doorstep, hunched over for warmth, her mouth hidden by a scarf. Her nose was bright red, poking through the gap in the wool.  

She was impossibly cute.

“Not that I’m gonna stop you or anything,” Hiccup said, as they walked through the suburbs, frost on the ground crunching underfoot. He’d taken the bag of loo roll from her, and was cradling it in his arms. “But what brought this on?”  

“I went to see Dad.”

“Ah.”  

“I got all angry, you see,” she said, her jaw set on edge. “I started thinking about how unfair it was that he’s done this to us, and how it wasn’t fair that he doesn’t even seem to want to see me anymore, and I was so worked up that I went to his house.”

Hiccup winced. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, no, indeed,” Astrid said, and smiled without any mirth. “His new wife opened it. She gave me such a blank look, and then called her kids in, like I was looking for trouble. I told her that I was his husband’s daughter, and she damn near slammed the door on my face.”

His mouth dropped open. “She didn’t know who you were?”

“Not a clue. Then Dad came out and started spinning a story about how I was a neighbourhood kid playing a prank, and then he grabbed me by the elbow, dragged me out into the garden and told me that he didn’t want to see me and that if he saw me here again, he’d call the police,” she said bitterly, clutching her arm. “Merry fucking Christmas to me.”

Hiccup felt a surge of anger hot in his chest. “What an asshole,” he said.  

“Too right,” Astrid said. “The worst thing is that I still want him to come home and say that he made a mistake, even after everything he’s done. At least, I want him to do it so that I can slam the door in his face.”

“Well, my lady,” Hiccup said, brandishing the bag of bog roll on high, “I can’t promise you that, but I can promise you that their front lawn will be white as snow by noon.”

Astrid grinned.

When they got to Astrid’s father’s new home, they wasted no time pulling the toilet roll out and letting it unfurl across the lawn.

“Make it raaaain!” Astrid cawed, as she pelted through the grass, white tails trailing behind her.  

Hiccup busied himself with draping toilet paper over a Santa statue that was taking up space next to the pathway. It really was an ugly Santa statue, its knobbly face glaring up at Hiccup underneath toilet paper hair.  

“They should thank us,” Hiccup remarked as he admired his handiwork. “It’s like discount snow.”

Soon, the front garden was a veritable sea of toilet paper. It hung from the tree, it was tangled in the hedge, and Astrid had even managed to get some on the roof of the house.

Just as they were about to leave, a car pulled into the driveway. Astrid’s father’s new wife was red and spitting behind the wheel.

“What on Earth do you think you’re doing?” she spat.

“Ma’am,” Hiccup said, stepping forward. “It’s my unfortunate duty to let you know that your husband is an asshole. Merry Christmas!”

Then he took Astrid’s hand and ran.

They were still giggling when they made it back to Hiccup’s room, lying on his floorboards and clutching their stomachs.

“That added years onto my life,” Astrid said, wiping a tear from her eye. “Years.”

“I still can’t get over her face,” Hiccup said. “And did you see her kids?”

At the very last moment before they’d run away, her children had jumped out of the car and danced in the loo roll, jumping up and down and throwing it in the air, giggling madly. They’d heard her screaming at them to stop even while they’d been running away.

“This is the best thing anyone has ever done for me,” she said, with a grin, and then she turned to look at Hiccup, giggles stopping for a moment as her eyes scanned his face. “I’ve missed you.”

Hiccup felt his cheeks go hot. “I’ve missed you too.”  

“I miss when we were kids, everything was simpler back before high school got in the way,” she said.

“It still could be,” Hiccup said, and realised he’d been staring at her. “Simple, I mean. It could still be simple.”

“We were as close as anything once,” she said. “You gave me a charm bracelet once and said that it was a sign that we were going to be best friends for life. I don’t know what happened.”

“Life just got in the way,” Hiccup said.

“I wish it hadn’t,” she whispered.  

Then she glanced at the clock on the wall and shot up. Hiccup blinked in surprise.

“Sorry!” she said. “I promised Mum I’d be home before four.”

Hiccup pulled himself up off the floor. “Let me walk you out.”  

He took her down to the front hallway and watched as she put her coat and scarf on.

Before she left, she put a hand on Hiccup’s shoulder. “Thanks,” she said. “For everything.”

“It was nothing.”

When she was halfway down the driveway, he had an idea.

“Hey, Astrid?” he called, standing on the doorway.

She turned back.

“Do you still have that bracelet you were talking about?”

Her forehead creased up. “No,” she said. “I think I lost it.”

 Christmas Eve

Stoick awoke on Christmas Eve to his son stressing over place names.

Every year Hiccup made little card place names to put on the dinner table, so people would know where to sit. He’d been writing the name and drawing a little picture next to it, and hadn’t noticed that he’d absentmindedly doodled hearts all around Astrid’s name.  

He screwed it up and started again.

Stoick kneeled down beside his son and put a hand on his shoulder. “You know there’s only so much more that you can do.”

“I just really want it to be perfect.”

“You really care about her, don’t you?” his father said, softly.

“I do.”

Christmas Day

After all the fuss and panic that had characterised the past week, Christmas Day dawned surprisingly calm. Hiccup woke to find his stocking at the end of his bed filled with goods, and he spent an hour that morning in his pyjamas, shelling out silly gifts from their paper home.

When the clock struck a reasonable time, Hiccup padded downstairs, to find his father already awake and wrestling with a raw turkey.

“Need any help?”  

“I’ve got this covered, son, don’t you worry,” he said. “Why don’t you put some nibbles out and set the table?”

There was a routine to Christmas that Hiccup had always liked, even if in recent years the holiday had fallen out of favour. Nibbles, Christmas lunch, presents, and then games. That was how Christmas went, and that was how Hiccup liked it.

It wasn’t until the doorbell rang that Hiccup started to panic again.

The Hoffersons were the first to arrive, and Astrid greeted Hiccup with a hug that made his chest pound.

Since their little excursion to her father’s house and their subsequent talk in Hiccup’s room, he’d found himself even further gone for her than he could have imagined. It was a struggle not to get flustered with her this close, especially with her looking as good as she did.

She was wearing an oversized Christmas sweater, sleeves covering her hands, and her hair was down, and she looked so positively cute that Hiccup wanted to kiss her right then and there.

“Merry Christmas, Hiccup,” she said, with a smile so bright that it lit up the room. 

Gradually, more and more of Hiccup’s family flooded into the house and filled up their home with noise and laughter. Snotlout arrived and greeted Astrid with a nod and not-so-subtle nudge of his elbow into Hiccup’s side. Hiccup scowled at him.

Astrid wasn’t a stranger to a lot of his relatives. Astrid had been a constant in Hiccup’s childhood, and as they’d grown apart, he’d endured dozens of questions about her absence. Everyone was delighted to see her again, and Hiccup was struck by the notion that Astrid fit in extremely well with his family.

Then he pushed that thought aside, and ordered everyone into the dining room for dinner.

Christmas dinner in the Haddock household was an experience like no other.

The room was crowded, dozens of chairs squeezed into a small space, around a table that was groaning with the spread of food.

They ate, and ate, and ate until their stomachs were bursting and their plates were picked clean. They pulled crackers, told jokes, played with the silly little toys inside them. Everyone was in a wonderful mood. Astrid’s smile was brighter than Hiccup had ever seen it, a purple paper cracker crown on her head, making her look like a princess.

Okay, Hiccup told himself. Enough of the princess talk.

But she did look pretty.  

They had just flopped back down into the living room, full to bursting and utterly content, when they heard the shouting outside.

It was distant at first, but then it got louder and louder, until it was right outside the front door.

Astrid and Hiccup both realised at the same time that it was Astrid’s mother and another male voice. They both shot a look at each other.

Bertha Hofferson, who had just nipped back over to her house to get something, had found the last person she expected waiting on her doorstep.  

She burst into the living room. “Astrid, I’m sorry,” she said. “I tried to keep him out, I tried, but he wouldn’t—”

“YOU!”  

Astrid rose out of her seat, dread pooling in her stomach as her father stormed into the room, pointing his finger at her. Hiccup had risen too, standing shoulder to shoulder with Astrid.  

“David, stop!” Bertha screamed, attempting to pull Astrid’s father out of the room. “Not here. Not now!”

The whole room had gone silent, everyone staring stunned at the scene in front of them. Hiccup took hold of Astrid’s hand.

“What are you doing here?” Astrid said, her voice stony.

That seemed to enrage him. “Do you realise what you’ve done?” her father screamed, spraying spittle everywhere.  

“No,” she said, calmly. “What have I done?”

“After your little stunt,” he spat, “my wife wanted to know who you were. She found out that I was married while we were dating and now she’s leaving me. On Christmas. You’ve ruined everything.”  

There was a ripple of disgusted noises through the room.

Stoick stepped in, staring down at the man with dark, dangerous eyes. “I think you better leave.”

“No,” he snapped. “Not until I’ve talked to my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” Astrid said, incredulously. “Your daughter?!”

She slipped her hand out of Hiccup’s and took a step towards her father. “I stopped being your daughter the day you walked out on me and Mum for another woman. I stopped being your daughter when you decided to pretend I didn’t exist. Make all the accusations that you want, throw any insults you like, but if anyone has ruined Christmas for you, it’s you. I won’t let you ruin it for me.”  

There was a long, stagnant pause, and then he lunged at her. Hiccup jumped in front of Astrid, and he wasn’t the only one. Half the adults in the room had jumped out of their seats, either to get in front of Astrid or to pull her father back.

Stoick was the closest, and the strongest. He slammed two meaty hands onto her father’s shoulders.

“Leave now,” he said, stern.

“But—”

“Get out of my house,” Stoick said. Every word was venom.

He looked as if he was going to argue, but Stoick stood firmly, arms crossed. Astrid’s father scurried away, the front door slamming behind him.

Astrid immediately got up and left the room.

Hiccup hurried after her, and found her sitting on the bottom of the stairs, staring at her feet. Her eyes flickered up when she heard him come in.

“Hiccup, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean for him to spoil your party.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said, sinking down onto the step next to her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m mad as hell, but I’m fine.”

“He’s an asshole,” Hiccup said.

Astrid scoffed. “Understatement.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Hiccup said quietly, his fingers brushing against hers.

She looped her fingers through his, so they were holding hands. Hiccup cursed his heart for speeding up so much.

“I’m fine. I’m just sad that he had to come ruin the fun. You put so much effort into all of this,” she said.

Hiccup scratched the back of his head. “I wanted it to be perfect,” he mumbled, and then as an afterthought, he added, “for you.”

Astrid blinked. “For me?”

“Y’know, you always used to talk about how much you loved Christmas,” he said, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably. “And I couldn’t bear to see you so upset about your father, and not having Christmas last year, so I, uh, did all of this.”

“All of this was for me?”

“Well, yeah,” he said. “Actually, there’s one thing I’ve forgotten. Hang on a sec.”

Hiccup left a bewildered Astrid on the stairs as he disappeared into the living room. He reappeared a few moments later with a silver covered gift.  

“Here you go,” he said, handing it to her. “Happy Christmas.”

“This is for me?”

“Yeah.”

Astrid’s brow furrowed. “But I didn’t get you anything!”

“That’s okay,” Hiccup said, with a soft smile. “I wasn’t expecting anything back. Go on, open it.”

She did, opening the present with care so that none of the paper ripped. Inside was a small velvet box. Astrid opened it, carefully.

Inside was a shiny, silver charm bracelet, with two charms already attached, one a small cat, the other, a heart.  Astrid stared at it, her mouth dropping open.

“The cat’s me,” Hiccup explained. “The heart’s you. I thought it could be about new beginnings. Start a new bracelet, with new charms to remind you of happier things, instead of thinking about the bad stuff from before.”

Astrid still hadn’t said anything.  

“Uh, if you don’t like it, that’s fine, I can—”

“Hiccup,” she said, and he stopped talking. “I was wrong before.”

“You were?”

“This is the best thing anyone has ever done for me.”

Hiccup flushed, a dorky smile spreading across his face. “It was nothing. I just wanted to see you happy.”  

“God, Hiccup, how are you so perfect?” she said.

Hiccup ducked his head, staring at the floor. His smile was so big, his cheeks were aching. There was a long pause, while the two of them stared at their feet, both unable to stop themselves from grinning. Astrid slipped the bracelet onto her wrist.

“But, it’s not the real question,” she said, casually.

Hiccup blinked at her confused. “What’s the real question?”

“Did you notice?”

“Notice what?”

Her eyes flickered upwards, the corners of her mouth twisting. His eyes followed hers.

“Mistletoe.”

Damn his father.

Before he could register what was happening, Astrid had pulled him close, eyes sliding shut as their lips brushed together, her hand sliding up to cup his cheek. Their foreheads brushed, and Hiccup ran his fingers through her hair. When they came up for air, both of them looked at each other in the eye and giggled.

“Well,” Hiccup said. “I think Christmas might be my new favourite holiday.”  

Astrid laughed, and then kissed him again.

And again.

And again.

Fin.