#not sure if anyone is active at this time but !!

[eowynstwin]

Ghoap x reader. Autistic reader. Christmas angst. Allusions to Ghost’s backstory. Salacious use of ribbon. Soap being inappropriate. NSFW.

Soap fidgets on the train the whole way over to the light show. You don’t notice, of course, your earplugs are in, but Ghost, hypervigilant for the season, cocks an eyebrow.

“Itches like mad,” Soap grouses. He tugs at the collar of his sweater, a ghastly thing in fuzzy green, red, and gold, with LED bulbs embroidered down the front.

Ghost scowls at him. Soap purses his lips, not chastened. You sit between them, oblivious, fingering the zipper of your purse.

There’s enough cheer on the train to make up for their collective lack. More than one person wears a dumb Santa hat, and at least every other has on something colorful and festive. It seems like everyone feels some sort of Christmas spirit but Ghost, and it makes his hackles tense up.

Your hand slips into his then, smooth like silk settling over his palm. He looks at you; your gaze is fixed steadily ahead, unfocused. He’s not sure whether you reached for him to find comfort or offer it, but he closes his fingers around yours anyway.

He looks over—Soap has your other hand. Reaching to find, then. He squeezes.

The three of you wait until the very last moment to disembark when you arrive, letting the crowd out first. Ghost’s choice. The absolute last thing he wants is to lose either you or Soap in the stream of people flowing from the train—Soap will get distracted, and you hate it when strangers crowd you. This is going to be a trial as it is.

Ghost has to admit—once they reach the grounds, the displays are something to see. Together, you walk through a tunnel of lights leading you to the beginning of the walk, rings of warm white gently shining overhead, and Ghost, despite himself, can’t help but admire how it makes both of his partners look like they’re glowing.

Then Soap tugs at his sweater again, and Ghost bites down a growl.

“Oh, hot chocolate,” you say at the end of the tunnel, looking over at a cart laden with a few big steel samovars. “I’m going to get some, either of you want any?”

“Cider,” Ghost says, softening the curtness of his tone with the tenner he hands you. “If they’ve got any.”

“Coffee for me, hen, if you don’t mind,” Soap adds with a smile. You nod, and scurry toward the drinks.

Soap eyes him. Ghost knows what he sees—his back has been ramrod straight since the bloody month started. He holds his shoulders the same way he might if he had his rifle across his chest. His jaw has been hard as a cinder block any time the market clerk tossed “happy holidays” at him when he did his best to get away as fast as he could.

“Don’t,” Ghost says.

Soap says nothing.

This is not their first Christmas together, but it is their first with you. The sergeant already knows how Ghost feels about the holiday; you do not, and Ghost wants to keep it that way for a little while longer.

Divining your feelings about anything takes a little longer than it might with anyone else, but he’s pretty sure you’re excited, in your way. Soap, for whom pine trees and glitter and the smell of snow in the air seem to activate a sleeper agent in his brain that orgasms at the mere sight of tinsel, already has a Wellington resting in their shared fridge, and artfully wrapped presents crammed under their pre-lit tree. The two of you together have flooded the flat with lights, candy-cane frippery, crocheted snowflake doilies, and ski-lodge scented candles.

Ghost, for his part, has scrolled various travel websites to figure out if assassinating Santa Claus is something actually feasible. Maybe if he defeats the final boss of Christmas he can actually sleep through the night at least once this month.

It isn’t that he hates it, exactly. It’s just that Christmas, to him, began as a hazy game of roulette, wondering if the wild animal of his father would appear to ruin the exchange of charity-shop gifts wrapped in reused paper, and then solidified as an image reflected in pools of spreading blood.

The last happy Christmas, he had to burn down. That’s no reason that he has to ruin it for everyone else, though.

You return with three paper cups held awkwardly in your two hands, and Ghost and Soap relieve you of your burden. Your cup has a peppermint stick jutting up out of it, and you use it to stir your steaming drink periodically as the three of you proceed.

The path leads through an army of glowing snowmen in mismatched sizes, life-size gingerbread houses, past multicolor balls tossed across the top of a frozen pond. Trees banded with so many strings they look like branches of lightning reaching up from the earth. Electric snowflakes dangling above your heads from netting stretched between lampposts.

Ghost keeps clenching and unclenching his fist. His cider goes rapidly cold in his other hand, untouched. He probably can’t get his money back for it, but he’s agitated enough to start a fight and try.

Meanwhile—it’s obvious, you’re enjoying yourself immensely. You don’t say much as you flit between installations, running a hand over the glowing bulbs, tilting your head this way and that like a curious little bird. You take your phone out more than once to open your camera, and Ghost knows you’re saving pictures to put together a slideshow later on.

More than once, you look back at him and Soap, and grin wide at some novelty or another. Ghost manages to nod his head at you—go on, little birdie, keep having fun.

“Jesus,” Soap mutters, trying to scratch at a spot on his back for the third time.

“Fuck’s sake, Soap, just take the fucking thing off,” Ghost snaps.

“Canna,” Soap says.

“Why the fuck not?”

Soap’s mouth slants sideways. He looks around for spectators, and, finding none within eyeshot, lifts the bottom of the sweater.

Bright, shiny, very red ribbon runs in two lines along the naked cut of his obliques—down past the waistband of his trousers.

Ghost tosses the cider out of his cup and grips Soap by the back of the neck, throws, “OY! Duckie! Bathroom!” at you, and drags his boyfriend to the nearby public loo.

It’s empty, thank god, so Ghost wastes no time yanking the closure of Soap’s trousers open. The ribbon continues downward, downward, the V narrowing and narrowing until—

It converges in a (somewhat lopsided) bow tied right around the base of Soap’s dick.

“Soap, what the fuck,” Ghost says.

The sergeant backs up, and pulls the sweater fully off. It reveals a latticework of satiny red crisscrossing his chiseled torso: lines of ribbon accenting the curves of his pectorals, his toned abdomen, highlighting the small indent of his trim waist.

Soap’s cheeks flush pink.

“Goes further down,” he mutters, not meeting Ghost’s eye.

“What the fuck,” Ghost repeats.

“Was gonna do a big reveal when we got home,” Soap says. “Start stripping when we got the door closed. That rubbish.”

Ghost, incredulously, snorts, and Soap smiles at him.

“First time you’ve laughed this month,” he says quietly. “S’ why I did it.”

Ghost steps up to him and takes Soap’s chin between thumb and forefinger. “You fucking idiot,” he says, and kisses him.

The bathroom door opens, letting in a gust of wind, and Ghost and Soap jump back from each other momentarily, before relaxing when your voice reaches them.

“There better not be a handjob happening in here without me—oh,” you say, stopping short.

Shoving the waist of his pants down further, Soap turns around to show off to you the full extent of what he’s done. It gives Ghost a good look at the pretty intersections happening overtop of the muscles of Soap’s back, and the dip of the ribbon down between the two perfect globes of Soap’s arse.

You blink several times. “There isn’t a lock on this door, Soap. If I get down to suck you off, someone is going to come in.”

Impossibly, Ghost snorts again, and then laughs for real, a full-belly guffaw that comes out a little more harsh than it should. But you grin at him, and the line of Soap’s shoulders, which Ghost suddenly realizes has been as tense as his this whole time, relaxes.

He pecks the bare swell of Soap’s bicep, and then the crown of your head as he passes you by.

“I’ll hold it closed, duckie,” he says. “Do whatever you want.”

He only leaves the door once when he hears you shriek suddenly with laughter—to find that Soap has decorated his cock with a peppermint-loop of red lipstick, all the way to the tip.

“Fucking idiot,” Ghost repeats, and cancels his trip to the North Pole then and there.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Hypothermia.

Pairing: Yandere!Winter Spirit x Reader (OC).

Word Count: 2.6k.

TW: Kidnapping, Hypothermia, Obsessive Behavior, Implied/Mentioned Death, Manipulation, Implied Stalking, and Implied Cannibalism.

You’d heard, once, that in its final stages, freezing to death could actually be quite warm.

It was called paradoxical undressing, or something similar enough to warrant the connection. First, you’d be shivering and lost, then rigid and confused, and in the final moments of your life, hypothermia would compel you to spend your last drops of energy stripping yourself of all things good and warming, ridding yourself of any barriers that might’ve saved you from its fatal touch. In the end, you’d die paralyzed, breathless, and worst of all, convinced that you were the warmest you’d ever been. It was a cruel thing to do to anyone, let alone a innocent victim of bad luck. That, or it was supposed to be a kindness, meant to make you feel just a little more at-home as you laid down and accepted what you couldn’t stave off. How you’d take it was something you couldn’t speak for just yet, but you had a feeling that would change soon enough.

So, to reiterate, you’d know you were freezing to death when you started to feel warm. Whether or not it was true, the superstition proved to be a small mercy, because you still felt pretty fucking cold.

You couldn’t feel anything below your knees. Your arms were at least somewhat protected where they were tucked against your chest, half-buried underneath the heavy flannel you’d been able to steal on your way out, but there wasn’t anything you could do about how the snow and ice sunk into the leather of your boots, how the wind seemed to cut through the paper-thin denim of your jeans. A scarf saved your nose and mouth from the worst of the chill, but in the middle of the night, miles and miles and miles away from the nearest streetlamp or flashlight, you couldn’t afford to cover your eyes. It was a miracle that you weren’t crying. You weren’t sure, but you didn’t want to find out if your tears would freeze against your cheeks.

You took another shuffling step forward, and your foot caught on a half-buried tree root, sending you crumbling to the ground. Cold bit into your hands and knees, and you choked out a miserable whine, your dignity abandoned around the time you lost the ability to move your fingers. Not for the first time, you thought about turning back. You could still taste blood on your lips, sure, could still attempt to ignore the ache in your gut where hunger should’ve been, but nothing could’ve been worse than this. At least, next time you tried to run, you could do it during the day, when the cold would be just a little more forgiving. At least, next time, you could save yourself a few hours of trouble and drown yourself in the sink, right next to the other co—

Something flashed across your peripheral – movement, light. You shambled to your feet, snapping in the direction of a dull glow just barely bright enough to cut through the dark of the forest, to prove that there were other people wandering these godforsaken woods at this unholy time of night. You were exhausted beyond sleep, hopeless beyond aid, but still, you forced yourself to stumble around trees and over snowdrifts, to blink away the haziness in your vision and believe that the silhouette of a cabin you could see through the darkness was just that – a cabin. It was a small structure, no more than a couple of rooms, and you couldn’t see any roads or cars, but the windows were lit, and smoke was rising from the chimney, and the snow had been cleared away from the porch, proving that someone was actively taking care of the property. For the first time in hours, you dragged yourself onto something other than endless sleet and for the first time in your life, found yourself thankful to be walking on perfectly solid, perfectly dry earth.

You made it onto the porch before stopping. It was a stupid thing to worry about, really – whether or not some recluse living all alone in the middle of the woods would like you. The roads were closed, iced-over, and you weren’t going to get another chance to find help, but that also meant you weren’t going to find other help. If the cabin’s owner didn’t take kindly to uninvited guests, then you might’ve been better off wandering back into the forest. There were worse things in the world than the cold.

…

Actually, on second thought, there really weren’t. Before you could hesitate again, you brought a fist to the door and knocked stiffly. It swung open in an instant.

You blinked once, then twice, before acknowledging the man standing in the now-open doorway. Saying he looked out of place would’ve been an understatement. Rather than the old, grisly, lumberjack-type you’d been expecting, he almost seemed princely – a little too tall and a little too angular, willowy in a way that made you feel smaller by comparison. His skin was bone-white, like the blood running underneath it was blue rather than red, and his shoulder-length hair was so pale, calling it any shade of blonde wouldn’t have done justice to its absolute lack of color. He was dressed for another season – his white tunic long-sleeved, but thin and open to the navel, and his pants made out of a similarly unsubstantial type of linen. His eyes were the worst part, the same pale blue as open sky or clear water. The color wasn’t damning on its own, but something about the lighting made his pupils seem nonexistent – shades of blue spiraling into themselves indefinitely. You might’ve thought he was blind if his gaze hadn’t been so tangibly fixed on you.

“My love,” he sighed, each word slightly distorted by an accent you couldn’t name. Then, with a slight gasp, “Come in, come in. Ah, poor thing, you’re already half-frozen.”

More than half, but you weren’t in a place to correct him. “…I’m sorry to bother you,” you muttered, letting yourself be swept into the cabin and all-but dropped into an armchair so close to the fireplace, it felt like the flames were licking at your knees. You shuffled that much closer and peeled off your scarf, embarrassed not to have thought to do so before knocking.

While your host fluttered around you, mumbling about hot drinks and meals, you took another stab at explaining yourself. Even if he wasn’t listening, it couldn’t hurt to make yourself seem that much more unfortunate. “I—I’m staying in another cabin a few miles up the mountain. It was me and a few friends, but the snowstorm caught us off-guard, and after losing power—”

“They always seem to,” he cut in, pausing behind you. A quilted blanket was draped over your shoulders, and you pulled it over your chest with no hesitation. “I can’t fathom why. The seasons change at the same time every year.”

You bit back a scowl, not sure whether to feel patronized or offended. “We were waiting for the roads to re-open, but there was an accident, and—”

“And you ran out of food.” Another log was thrown on the fire, sending tendrils of heat crawling up your arms and rooting into your chest. “I should make you some tea, shouldn’t I? Oh, or would you prefer something to eat?”

You should’ve been starving, but the idea of eating alone had you gagging on bile. You dropped your eyes into your lap. “…I’m alright, thank you. Just a little cold.”

There was another sigh, this one more dismissive than the first. You heard light footsteps against old wood, the sound delicate shifting, and then, he was perched on the lip of the fireplace, his chin propped on his fist and his expression wistful in a distant sort of way. Well, as much as you could see of it, anyway. You refused to let your gaze rise above his collarbones. “You’re going to be stubborn about this, aren’t you?”

The question was playful, accompanied by an airy laugh. This time, you couldn’t swallow your frown. “I’m sorry, but if we’ve met before, I don’t—”

“I suppose you wouldn’t.” He seemed to have a problem with that – coming too quickly, before you were fully prepared to move on. “I think people are still calling me Boreas, but it has been some time since I last checked. I wouldn’t mind if you chose another name.”

“Bor,” you said, more to yourself than to him. “I’m—”

“(Y/n).” You physically recoiled – crowding yourself against the back of your seat. Bor only laughed. “That’s my fault. It’s just—I’ve been so excited to meet you. There aren’t a lot of people who understand each other like we do.”

Huh.

Well, he was crazy, clearly. That was fine. It was still better than freezing to death. Probably.

“You’re scared, aren’t you?” he asked, practically grinning. “That’s alright. Winter’s a scary time, and we ought to seek refuge in one another.”

It was a sweet sentiment posed at the worst possible time. Memories of dark rooms and torn blankets flickered across your mind, but you did your best to keep them at bay. “I think I’ve had enough huddling, for a while.”

“Of course, nor would I expect otherwise. You’ll be comfortable here, I promise. We’ll knit, and embroider, and cook – there’s quite a lot of things you can cook over an open fire. It’s a shame most people never get a chance to try it.” He paused, shook his head, as if cutting himself off. “Are you sure I can’t get you something to eat? You must’ve walked an awfully long way.”

The idea of eating was still repulsive, but when you tried to reaffirm your rejection, you couldn’t quite seem to. You were starting to regain feeling in your chest again, and with it, your stomach. With the cold momentarily put aside, emptiness took precedent – exhaustion and thirst and would-be hunger forming a shell of hollowness at your core. You’d have to get out of this cabin at some point, but it wouldn’t be a bad idea to give yourself something to burn when you did.

“A cup of tea would be nice.”

Bor beamed. “I’ve already got the kettle on.”

And, just like that, he was gone, swept into another room before you could so much as mention that you preferred cream to sugar. With a deep exhale, you collapsed against the back of your chair, glancing around the cabin’s interior. It was larger than you guessed – the living room alone bigger than the entirety of its exterior would’ve suggested. Your tired eyes glanced over shelves of clutter and knickknacks, tables crowded with well-worn books and half-emptied mugs, chairs and sofas all piled high with pillows and blankets in every shape and color and form you could imagine. It would’ve been homey, under better circumstances. Even now, under circumstances that were very much not better, you found yourself slackening, shifting, closing your eyes for just a touch longer than you should’ve. By the time Bor blustered back in, a teacup in either hand, you were tracing the delicate conch shells carved into either armrest of your seat just to keep yourself awake. He waited patiently for you to pick yourself up, accept the cup, and bring it eagerly to your lips.

The taste was familiar and light – peppermint, or something similarly seasonal. Rather than returning to his post by the hearth, Bor perched himself on the arm of your chair. “Isn’t that better?” And then, before your addled mind could thing to answer, “It must’ve been difficult – being all alone for so long. I’d say I can’t imagine how you must’ve felt, but I had plenty of time to imagine.”

You drained half the cup before managing to drag it far enough away from your mouth to respond. “It was only a few days.”

“Far more than you should’ve had to endure. I was tempted to send you company, but—” His smile took on a bashful lilt. “You wouldn’t have liked it. Maybe later on, if I’m ever forced to leave you on your own again.”

“You make it sound like I’m not going home.”

He was almost too quick to clarify, laughing as he strung an arm over your shoulders, pulling you close to his side. He was cold as ice, but you let him – too tired to resist. “And we’d never want you to think something like that, would we? I already feel terrible about how long you had to stay away.”

His words were sympathetic, but that was all. You could still make out the crescent moon of his smile, the glee in his voice, the satisfaction in how tightly he held you against him. Bristling, you tried to pull away, but you must’ve spent more of your strength than you realized. As soon as you drew back, a spear of pure cold bit into your arm where his hand was curled around it, then your chest, sending you shrinking and shivering into his side. Bor only hummed, raking his fingers through your hair. “Tired, darling?” You wanted to refuse, to pull yourself together, to leave, but even as you started to shake your head, you knew it just wasn’t possible. Slowly, shakily, you managed to nod, and Bor rewarded you with a ginger kiss to the top of your head. His lips were as cold as his skin. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Walking was a fantasy – as implausible as flying pigs or Christmas in July. You made no effort to protest as Bor gathered you in his arms and, with a surprising amount of strength for his lean form, carried you deeper into the cabin. The passing scenery blurred together, your mind too exhausted and your vision too fogged to hold focus. You only fully processed where he was taking you when you felt your back press into something soft – a bed, one softer and warmer than anything you’d ever felt, before.

It was nice. As if by instinct, your hands found the buttons of your borrowed flannel, fumbling for a moment before a more capable pair took over. Your shoes were done away with next, then your jeans, leaving you in just your oversized undershirt. You wouldn’t have minded if he took that, too. Anything to make you feel a little less overheated.

Eventually, his weight settled next to yours, and with your eyes shut, you curled into him – resting your head in his lap as he rubbed freezing shapes into your back. By some miracle, you found the will to speak, if only in a whisper. “I didn’t hurt anyone. It was an accident.”

“I know. No one would say that you did.”

“It’s what they would’ve wanted. Not all of us had to die.”

“My thoughts exactly. We should take care of each other, shouldn’t we?”

“I don’t want to go home.” You could still taste the iron on your tongue – raw meat tinged with ice-cold ash. “I don’t think I can.”

A chirping laugh filled the bedroom – bright and piercing and as cutting as a cold wind through tender flesh. You forced yourself to open your eyes, and by anything but your own volition, met his. “But, love,” he murmured, leaning down to press a lingering kiss into your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, then finally, your lips.

In the brief moment before he pulled away, you genuinely believed you would never feel cold again.

“You’re already here.”

[unlimitedhearts]

I want to highlight too that celebrity hate brigades can also have a detrimental psychologicalveffect to bystanding fans. Association with the thing or person being hate mobbed makes you fear that someone will hate mob you next even if its not logical.

Even back when all of this was in vogue and hating John Green was the cool thing to do - I was a teenager on tumblr who wanted to be a writer because John Green's work touched me DEEPLY. I read Paper Towns and it Changed me enough to where I still think about how I could possibly make anything as meaningful to anyone as that one book was to me. I came to tumblr with a love for John Green and his work only to be met with this horrific vitriol toward a man that, as far as I was aware, had done nothing.

That vitriol trickled into my own subconscious and I started to wonder if I was a bad person for liking John Green's work. So by the time the TFIOS movie was out - I didn't say a thing about it. I didn't talk about the book outside of one post i made of my pre order copy coming in the mail. I didn't talk about being an active member in the Nerdfighter community. I didn't even write anymore because I was afraid I would piss someone off that I didn't mean to. I felt sorry for John. He was nothing short of one of the most genuine people I'd had the pleasure to internet meet and im fairly sure both him and Hank Green were directly responsible for steering my adolescent internet journey into a good one.

Speaking of Hank... its quite disturbing to me that John got the brunt of the internets anger for daring to be Creative In The Wrong Way and Being Neurodivergent, Hank was often lauded. Both by tumblr and larger swathes of the internet I have rarely if ever seen Hank Green be treated with the same Cringe Hammer that John Green has. Is it because he does science? Is it because his Neurodivergency is closer to ADHD and therefore more acceptable than OCD and Anxiety? Is it because he didn't write YA at the turning of the tide against YA in the pop culture?

Something tells me the same cancel culture/purity culture people would have had a thing or two to say about An Absolutely Remarkable Thing and A Beautifully Foolish Endeavour if they released in the years 2012-2015. Raking him over the coals for much the same as they did John. For these perceived slights in a fictional work that had nothing to do with them. But because Hank didn't release his books during Tumblrs heyday, that never happened.

All John Green ever did was write his stories, say what he needed to say, and be openly Neurodivergent on the internet. And because everyone on tumblr couldn't stand the idea of someone being earnest on the internet, they crucified him for it. John Green deserves an apology. From the people who harassed him, from people who didn't, from everyone. He didn't deserve an iota of the shit he got for no reason.

I can't stress enough how much the John Green debacle was an early example of how cancel culture and purity culture combine to make people feel righteously justified to engage in harassment.

John Green, during his time on tumblr, committed the heinous sins of...being neurodivergent and talking openly about it, earnestly interacting with fans in a very direct and unfiltered way, and writing about teenagers navigating first love and sexuality while he himself was an adult. The worst things he ever did were be a little cringe or misspeak, for which he was always prompt to apologize (often whether he really needed to or not).

Yet despite the former two being things tumblr claimed to love and the last one being true of 99.99% of YA authors, in this case a large segment of tumblr users steeped in the early 2010s resurgence of purity culture decided that these things were suspicious and predatory, and used that as an excuse to justify some truly awful behavior.

Which is really all that cancel culture is: the normalization and even celebration of the process of misapplying morality or ethics to dehumanize someone for the express purpose of justifying whatever pain and suffering you want to inflict upon them. Basically, deciding "this person is bad, so I am exempt from affording them basic respect and human dignity, and am allowed to cross any and all otherwise uncrossable lines in order to punish them without damaging my own moral or ethical standing."

Contrary to popular tumblr lore, the infamous "cock monologue" was not the sum total of the harassment, or even the worst of it. Callout blogs issued long lists of "receipts" about how terrible John Green was, most if not all of which were either taken out of context or completely refutable. His works were torn to shreds by people who'd never read them, as evidenced by much of the criticism being obviously and blatantly counter to the actual contents of the books.

Not that it mattered. Once the John Green hate party reached a certain level of critical mass, it became less about who he actually was or what he'd done, and more about proving you were a good person by hating him. That's the natural conclusion of cancel culture, after all: virtue signalling by identifying yourself in opposition to the cancelled parties. They're bad, and I'm good, so I hate them! Or, more often: They're bad, and I hate them, so I'm good!

Before it was over with, John Green had been accused, with no evidence, of being everything from a Nazi to a pedophile and subjected to hate mail and death threats. He eventually left the site for the sake of his own mental health, and because he no longer felt comfortable engaging directly with fans in the same way he once had.

Yet even now, with the benefit of hindsight, and even among those who ostensibly reject purity culture and condem bullying and harassment, very few on tumblr take what was done to John Green as seriously as it should be taken or condemn it as thoroughly as it should be condemned. Which I think is something we need to at least consider doing, given the increasing rise of purity and cancel culture online, and given the recent influx of professional creators eager to interact with fans on a more direct level than they have on other social media.

And my concern is not purely, or even primarily, for the Mike Flanagans and Lynda Carters of the world. I'm far more concerned, actually, for the small, independent or self-published creators in this space, and how much even a very small level of visibility gives too many people a feeling of carte blanche to engage in harassment.

I myself have less than 3k followers on here, a handful of popular posts, and zero notoriety or consequence outside of tumblr whatsoever, and I've been repeatedly told to kill myself for saying such innocuous things as "I don't think censorship is the cure for the world's evils" and "maybe learning the history of communities you want to participate in would be a good idea."

Thankfully, all it took for me to stop the harassment that came my way was to block those few individuals. But there have been many instances over the years of small creators or just random tumblr users that got a bit popular being stalked, doxxed, swatted, and harassed to the point of leaving the site and dealing with serious mental health issues as a result. It has never been just John Green. John Green isn't even the worst example. And tumblr has never learned its lesson.

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

I've been watching random videos on YouTube that keep popping up and the comments and the hate on Lando is so out of proportion, controversial and hypocritical, I saw a comment that he is too active online and was liking hate comments about himself after BrazilGP so I was wondering if you could do a smau where he has a friend that has faced slvtshaming and hate and stayed soft and sweet through all her hard times, and she is always there just grounding him whenever he's too much on his head or isolating himself. Maybe she helps him with his anxiety and makes him see himself through a softer gentle light and she's just really chill and always sees the silver lining, always supports and uplifts everyone and the content that she follows is just girls that go on walks, yoga, reading nooks, shops of handmade stuff like those in cotswolds etc. I don't know if it's too much or uncomfortable for you, but I'd really like to see that if you could. Oh and maybe she's Edinburgh based? Have a nice one! X

peace ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

𓍯 ִֶ�� ln x reader ᥫ᭡

𓍯 ִֶָ smau + fluff ᥫ᭡

masterlist ☾☼

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

landonorris

liked by yourusername, mclaren, and 901,573 others

landonorris resetting. thank you for the reminder yourusername

view all 711,900 comments

yourusername Anytime, you big dummy. Did you bring the tea I packed for you? 💨☕ 

user1 y/n's the real MVP. Lando's gonna feel way too zen here! 💙 

user2 We love a supportive friendship. Keep going, mate! Ignore the noise. 🌟

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, lnfour, and 884,012 others

landonorris Not the weekend I hoped for, but we move. Thank you to everyone who sticks by me even on the tough days. 🧡

view all 902,811 comments

user5 Ignore the haters, Lando, you’re doing great!! 💪🏽

user3 How is he liking hate comments about himself? 😒 Weird behavior.

user4 Sometimes people cope in strange ways. Let’s try to give grace. ���

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

yourusername

liked by landonorris, user10, and 7,421 others

yourusername Anxiety feels like a storm, but it passes if you stay grounded. 🕊️ I remind myself that the world is still soft and beautiful.

view all 3,371 comments

user11 This is the energy I need today. Thank you. 🌱✨

landonorris What if I brought my storm to Edinburgh? Would it pass faster? 👀

yourusername Only if you let me ground you.

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

yourusername

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell, and 7,005 others

yourusername Grateful moments, little joys, and grounding souls ✨

view all 2,832 comments

user15 Okay, but Lando looks suspiciously calm in that last pic… y/n, teach us your ways! 🖤

landonorris never realised how fun pottery would be! <3

user16 she's literally my inspiration

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

landonorris

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 812,003 others

landonorris Found my peace here. 🕊️ Thanks to yourusername for reminding me the world is softer than I think.

view all 712,032 comments

user18 This is the wholesome content we need. 🧡

yourusername Storms don’t scare me anymore. 😉

landonorris You’re braver than I am.

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

hi! thank you so much for reading! i'm not sure if i love this personally, because i don't think i did this justice, but i hope you like it. this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @greantii ; @anamiad00msday ; @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @justaf1girl ; @peterholland04

[ppssession]

Change and have fun

Handsome male model Cha is eating a delicious cake received from a lovely follower.

The sweet taste of the cake makes him happy and enjoy the delicious taste he gets.

At that time, he recalled a memory from 13 years ago (Cha is now 26 years old).

13 years ago, Cha was an ordinary young man with a boring life. His face was ordinary and his works were not very outstanding in the eyes of others.

The only fun part about him is that he often lives on social media as a handsome guy, an avatar he seamlessly created using AI.

His image as a handsome man on social media makes him happy, sometimes he feels like he wants to become like the handsome man he created.

One day, he had to be alone when his parents had to work abroad for several years, leaving him alone in his life. Cha felt very lonely because of the society he encountered and the status he had on social media. Cha could only hope that one day he would become the handsome guy he created from AI on social media.

One morning, Cha woke up with a lot of symptoms like never before. He spent the whole day feeling strange pains. That evening, while Cha was standing in front of the screen, playing with his social media as a handsome guy, he felt like he wanted to be a handsome guy again. But suddenly, his body started to change. His arms suddenly became strangely muscular.

At that moment, he was shocked, but before he could stop himself, he felt that this was his chance, he quickly recalled the image of the handsome young man he had created, his figure suddenly changed even more.

His once thin body became more muscular, his chest became more prominent, and his six-pack gradually appeared on his stomach. His legs that were once as dry as wood became bigger. His once ordinary face changed into the face he wanted, becoming the handsome face he had created.

When the process was over, Cha had transformed into the handsome guy in the social network he had created. He went into the bathroom and took off all his clothes. He was shocked to find that he had transformed into the handsome guy he had created with AI.

Cha slowly used his new hands to stroke his different parts exploratively. His beautiful fingers stroked his sculpted body, his handsome face that he was sure would make anyone who saw it fall in love with, his hot neck, his chest that felt hard every time he touched it, his strong six-pack.

He stumbled and fell slowly as his fingers touched his erect nipples, causing his penis to slowly become erect, his hand slowly moved to the core of his body, tingling as the strong hands slowly worshipped it passionately. The swollen head of his cock twitched as it was touched, he wanted more, he wanted more emotion.

Suddenly his dick grew bigger and bigger as he wanted.

The action made him feel even better than before. His voice was moaning in the bathroom lustfully. For a moment, he felt like he wanted more. Suddenly, his moans sounded more manly, causing Cha to almost go crazy when he heard his own moans.

Soon, the rhythm of the tea became erratic, his hard and heavy testicles twitched, his cock trembled and released a large amount of warm white semen, filling the bathroom floor.

After the hot activity, Cha lay back, breathing heavily as a huge wave of happiness came, smiling at the good opportunity in his life.

After Cha changed his body into a hottie for a special reason, he asked his parents to let him play homeschool at home so that his grades would be better, which was not a problem. His parents allowed him on the condition that in addition to his grades being better, he had to go to school in his final year, which was not a problem at all.

In the final year of study, everyone had almost forgotten about Cha's existence. However, everyone was shocked when they met Cha in the final year, and no one knew that this Cha was the same Cha as the bland young man back then.

At that time, 13 years later, Cha was taking pictures handsomely. He was most satisfied with his current life, but what he liked most was that he could transform into a handsome man. “You should see the faces of my parents when they see me for the first time in years and know that I have become a handsome man, hahaha.”

I don't have much to excuse because I'm sooooo busy. It's strange that I should be free at the end of the year. I will definitely start updating the short stories after this, so please stay tuned.

[genderqueerdykes]

btw, as someone with hypermobile ehlers-danlos who self-injects HRT, i wanted to take the time to recommend liquid bandage to anyone else with hEDS and any other conditions that cause one to have easily damaged skin!

i use the Walmart brand but it is the same as this one here! they generally contain antiseptic as well, so it helps sterilize the injection site as well! i've included the back of the package to show the active ingredients, make sure you check just to be safe if you have allergies to certain medications. it peels off super easy, i never notice when it comes off, whereas with plastic and fabric bandages, it would pull and tear my skin too much, to the point where it would cause bleeding. this does the trick with no pain or skin damage!

[pickinglilahs]

Okay, let's unpack this response here

TL;DR: 'weak and surface' level is exactly how I would describe prevs "obliteration". I'm not convinced THEY read the books. Or maybe they're just another TERF, considering that's how it reads. I completely disagree with Harry naming his kid after Snape. The ONLY explanation I can think for it is that JKR has no idea what love is (which is also cannon, as far as I'm concerned)

First: idk what book this person read, but Snape's obsession with Lily was creepy to the extreme. That their friendship started by him all but stalking her and Petunia should have been red flag #1. I mean, sure, he was a traumatized kid without friends, but that doesn't absolve him of his continued obsession. He literally stood outside the Gryffindor common room, refusing to leave, until she came out to talk.

And yeah, he did switch sides out of guilt. But he canonically didn't give a damn about Harry. If he was actually trying to protect the kid, he would have done more than bully and abuse (occlumency lessons anyone?) the kid. Teaching at Hogwarts was never about redemption. It was about staying out of Azkaban. (And Dumbledore's manipulation, but he's a whole 'nother can of worms)

Second: the books actually say that Snape was 'up to his nose in the dark arts'. He was an active participant. He didn't just 'hang out' with to-be-DE, he WAS one. He joined up of his own free will. He became Voldemort's RIGHT HAND. He didn't regret calling someone a mudbl***. He regretted that it was Lily.

And Snape CANONICALLY attacked the marauders just as much as they went after him. Just because they went after him first in that ONE memory, doesn't mean he didn't instigate too.

And let's talk about the werewolf incident for a minute because i am sick and tired of Snape Apologists using this as an excuse. That was NOT planned. That was a lapse of judgement on Sirius' part alone (yeah, fucked to hell and he is fully responsible for that). At the same time though, NO ONE MADE HIM GO. Snape was given a vague instruction and he was so focused on 'getting back' at the marauders that he put HIMSELF in danger. That is just as much on him as it is on Sirius.

Then the sexual assault? This is another common thing I see and it took me forever to figure out what it was even referring to. The pantsing? You cannot tell me he was the only one that happened to. If the levitating spell was really as popular as it's stated, this incident wasn't special. I'm willing to bet Snape did it to others too.

Third: Lupin not taking the wolfsbane. Yes, serious lapse in judgement. He also just saw Peter and Sirius on the map. The argument of it being criminal and a ticking time bomb is honestly werewolf prejudice and exactly why Remus has such a hard time finding a job in the first place. Way to go. You've discovered discrimination.

Fourth: Get McGonagall's name out of your fucking mouth. She is CANONICALLY shown NOT showing prejudice and treating EVERYONE by the same standards. And, did you forget that 'Moody' here was actually a death eater in disguise? No duh he's using cruel and unusual punishments??? Full of abusive teachers my ass.

Fifth: What do you mean the kids weren't scared for life? I do believe those CHILDREN will carry that trauma with them for the rest of their lives. Saying that it didn't break them is cruel and completely dismisses the VERY REAL pain and suffering that they went through. They are real heroes because they OVERCAME their trials. Not all of us out here in the real world are so lucky.

Lastly: yes, comparing CHILDREN who DID see the error of their ways to an ADULT who had to be CONNED into doing the right thing is laughable.

And saying Regulus accomplished nothing? Disgraceful. Of course it took a catalyst for him to change his ways thats how redemption arcs work.

If you made it this far, I hope you have a good day. Believe whatever you want, obvy I'm not going to change anyone's opinion. You can't MAKE a person understand. Still, it's nice to rant and remind myself how nice it is that I live in my own little corner of the fandom where I don't have to see this bullshit on my dash

okay, hold my drink *hands u cursed ancient goblet full of mead* i gotta talk my shit for a second.

ive been seeing a lot of severus snape love recently. and this is fine, obviously, y'all can love whomever you want. but. i need to rant or i will explode. if we're talking about canon. severus snape spends his adult years, seven books of it in fact, abusing children. and his excuse for this is the girl he loved (tho not enough not to join a group actively trying to exterminate her) fell for the hot jock instead of him (a tragedy indeed, i weep 4 him, i really do). and also she died, which, admittedly is very sad.

it is simply crazy 2 me 2 look at that and think *romance* or *genuine care and affection*. LIKE. fo real. snape calls her a slur in public, apologizes in private, hangs out with dudes who commit hate crimes against her friends (CANONICALLY, she says "you've been hanging out with that douchebag Mulciber, how could you do that after what he did to Mary???" this is not a direct quote but like, it's close enough). lame. loser behaviour.

"Oh but what about regulus" i can hear you say "he loves James potter but snape doesn't love lily???" well. idk. maybe. bit different tho, innit? due to james not being the demographic regulus is attacking (which doesn't make regulus a better person but does make the dynamic between him and james different). ALSO. Regulus chooses to turn against voldemort without hope for anything in return. snape doesn't seem to give a shit about voldemort, he's just sad he's not gonna get to bang lily evans. he switches sides for that reason alone. also doesn't care about what happens to her husband or her son which like. considering lily would be pretty fucking destroyed if they died. once again points to my whole, he doesn't really give a shit about her, theory. lame. loser. behaviour.

also. im sorry. I"M SORRY. but what snape does to neville? to hermione? to harry? gross. a grown ass man out here telling an eleven year old neville he's worthless or hermione she's ugly and annoying. or spilling harry's potion and refusing to grade him for it???????????????

reg and draco are children when we see them at peak suckage and therefore they feel like they can be redeemed much more compellingly (CAN be, not SHOULD be, not HAVE to be, just narratively i think they are easier to turn into interesting, sympathetic characters). but snape? snape grows up into a garbage adult. like he doesn't get better. and again, the only real excuse we're given is his obsession with lily. not very demure. not very cutesy.

ALSO. yall remember that time he got a destitute, struggling Remus Lupin fired from the best job he ever had just because he felt like it? remember that time snape weaponized Remus's lycanthropy and people's prejudice against him just cause. like. literally just cause??? his ego was bruised after the shrieking shack incident so he was like "get wrecked Lupin I'm going to tell everyone your secret so you will be forced back out onto the streets" DO YALL REMEMBER THAT BITCH ASS MOVE????????? THAT HE DID AS A FULL ADULT.

IN CONCLUSION, this is silly and, of course, like i said at the start, everyone can have their own thoughts and feelings about characters, but i simply needed to interject here on behalf of snape haters everywhere because i feel like so much of snape's shitty behaviour as an adult during a time when he was really under no duress and was very safe and cozy, is ignored. and my hater heart just cannot let that stand.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Merry Christmas, baby.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader Rating: just a little tiny bit of smut so still +18 but it’s mostly a huge pile of angst and fluff soooo Words Count: 10669 😵‍💫 Tags: POV second person, reader wears dresses, skirts, blouses and heels, she uses make up, she’s a journalist and a writer, no physical description of her is given besides having hair, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, loss of a parent, infidelity, divorce, mention of food, alcohol consumption, both reader and Pike are bad at feelings, swearing, slurs, dirty talk, quarrels, reconciliations, funeral, sharing a bed, kissing, sad thoughts, casual encounters, mention of coffee, mention of spring break activities, geography probably a bit random (but I looked at the maps, don't jump down my throat, I did research and I've actually been to Boston many years ago, I tried my best lol), brief mention of Teresa. I hope I haven't forgotten anything, if so I'll add it immediately. A/N: Written for @pedrostories Secret Santa event, hello @letsgobarbs, I’m your Secret Santa! 🤶 Happy Christmas Eve, I hope you'll have a wonderful holiday season! 🎄 I hope you enjoy this story and I hope you find the angst, yearning and pining you wanted. Among the characters you had indicated as favorites there was Pike and I liked the idea of ​​trying to write him for the first time, he is so sweet and cute and he deserves to be happy, I hope I gave him an ending worthy of him 🥹 I apologize if you find any mistakes, English is not my first language and I don't have a beta so I did it all with just one pair of stupid and tired eyes 😵‍💫

A huge thanks goes to all the lovely people who supported me through the process while I was having a full crisis about everything in this fic 😂 @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @arcanefox207 @joelmillerisapunk I love you all, happy holidays 🥰

1990

“So what do you think?” 

“Um...you're good” You've just heard the ugliest Take on Me cover ever, but you can't tell the guy standing in front of you and looking at you with hopeful eyes. 

Marcus is your best friend, you've known him for a couple of years, since both of you were two dorky freshmen at your new school. You were looking for the literature room and wandering lost in the hallways when Marcus asked if you needed help. You bonded right away because you didn't know anyone else, you had just moved to Sacramento because of your father's job and he was from Texas, so it had seemed natural to lean on each other.

Over time you had become such good friends that he had met your parents, he would often stay for dinner, and your dad would let him use your garage to rehearse with his band. 

Marcus had put up flyers at school and enlisted two other boys, Timmy and Dave, who became the guitarist and keyboardist of Rocket Baby Doll. The name of the band was terrible, they were terrible, but you had never had the courage to tear them down in the face of Marcus's enthusiasm, he was sure that by continuing to rehearse they would make great progress. 

With his smooth talk, Marcus had managed to convince the committee to let them play at the freshmen's Christmas dance.

“You'll see that one day we'll be on the cover of Rolling Stone,” Marcus joked. Or at least you hoped he was joking because otherwise you wouldn't know how to talk him out of it. 

Marcus was a dreamer and he liked to do it big. He wanted to be a musician, or maybe an FBI agent, he told you. Two careers that had nothing to do with each other, but you knew that if anyone could afford to have ambitions it was him. Marcus was tenacious, persistent, dedicated, and never afraid to work hard to get what he wanted.  He certainly wasn't going to end up on the cover of Rolling Stone, but in your heart you were certain he was going to accomplish something important.

He was the kind of boy mothers liked, in fact yours loved him. When you needed math tutoring, he would come to your house totally for free and explain whatever you didn’t understand.

When Molly Preston wanted to exclude you from the winter dance because her ex-boyfriend, Ryder, had asked you out, he had been the one to give her a speech.

When you had a bad day Marcus would take you to get your favorite ice cream, you would talk for hours, and in the end he was the only one who could cheer you up.

Whatever problems you had, Marcus was there for you landing an helping hand. 

You knew your mother not too secretly hoped you would get together but it never happened, Marcus was your friend, just a great friend.

“Come on, my mom made cookies for everyone,” you told him as he continued to fantasize about what you might do. You would be their manager and you would both become rich and famous. He just couldn't keep his feet on the ground, even though he was a very good student and even had better grades than you.

You were 17 years old, your whole lives ahead of you, and you hoped that you will remain friends for many years to come.

_____________________________________________

1993

“What do you mean there is only one room available! We had booked two!” 

Marcus had yelled at the front desk of a motel where you stopped for the night. 

The owner, a rather creepy guy with a long scar on his right cheek, slumps in his shoulders, heedless “If you want number 12 is free, otherwise you can take your asses somewhere else for all I care.”

Marcus was fuming. 

It was spring break, any hotel was totally booked, and the possibilities were already significantly reduced given your pockets. 

You didn't even want to come; you had just broken up with Derek, your college boyfriend, and were back at your parents' house with the intention of spending your vacation there healing your wounds. Vegetating on the couch, reading books, watching movies, just relaxing. That was what you wanted to do. But Marcus had insisted, “Erik, Alice, Kate and Robert are in San Diego, let's join them!” 

You had shaken your head and declined “No way, I've seen enough wild college parties and besides, I'm not really in the mood.” 

“Oh come on, you don't want to spend Spring Break crying over that jerk,” he had said, shrugging and looking at you with his big brown puppy-dog eyes. 

“Marcus, I really don't feel like it.” 

“Come on, please do it for me! You'll see we'll have fun, they're nice!” Surrounding yourself with drunk and stoned 20-year-olds was the least of your desires. 

But on the other hand you felt you couldn't say no to him, it had been months since you had seen each other, your relationships had been reduced to long letters and phone calls telling each other about each other's schools.

You had chosen different colleges, Marcus had been accepted at Berkeley in California and you were at Boston University. You had changed coast, climate, everything. You were content but adjusting the first months had not been easy, you felt homesick and you missed your best friend. You were happy for him, you had known since your senior year that you were going to separate but that hadn't made it easy for you. 

You had only seen each other in person at Thanksgiving.

He had been forced to go to his relatives in Nevada for Christmas.

So you got dragged down to San Diego, because deep down Marcus was right, brooding all vacation about the relationship with Derek would not be good for you. You had had other guys before him but Derek had been special, until you found out he was cheating on you. You cried for hours on the phone with Marcus and he listened to you the whole time so maybe you owed him a little too.

After insisting on getting at least a room refund, Marcus had turned to you displeased “apparently we have no other choice.” 

“We'll adjust” you had smiled, but you couldn't deny that you were a little nervous. 

Once in the room he, too, seemed self-conscious. 

There was a double bed with a hideous floral bedspread in the middle of the room, brownish carpeting on the floor, dingy pictures hanging on the walls, and an old dresser on the opposite side of the bed with a rickety TV on it.

A smell of cheap deodorant with a musty undertone wafted around. It was the worst room I had ever set foot in, but at this point there was nothing you could do but make it okay. Sleeping in the car didn't seem so appealing.

You had set your bags down and looked at each other awkwardly “This room is awful,” Marcus had whispered, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand “I'm sorry, it didn't look that bad from the brochure.” 

“It's not your fault, I bet those pictures were taken at least 20 years ago” you had laughed ”it will do for one night” 

You had retrieved your pajamas from the suitcase and went to the bathroom. The light blue tiles made it look like a hospital, there was an old plastic curtain in the shower and the sink looked like it had been through a war but at least it looked clean. There was a strong smell of disinfectant that made you a little nauseous. You had changed quickly and returned to your room to Marcus who was sitting on the bed intent on calling his parents “Yes mom, everything is fine, we will be back tomorrow. Yes, sure, don't worry I'll definitely say hello to her, she's in her room now” You had noticed that he had not said anything about your misadventure, you had sat down smiling on the opposite side of the bed trying to be silent. 

Marcus had rolled his eyes closing the call “she is so old-fashioned.” 

You had laughed “I find her lovely” 

Marcus had chuckled “we'd better sleep, we have a lot of driving tomorrow. Are you okay with that side?”

“Yes, it’s fine” you had nodded ”however I'd rather get this bedspread out of the way, it gives me nightmares even when awake” 

Marcus had observed it agreeing that yes, it was rather eerie.

You had taken it off and laid it on the dresser before slipping under cold, scratchy and wrinkled sheets.

You looked at each other and burst out laughing, the situation was comical to say the least. “God, I think I won't forget this bed for a long time,” Marcus had said. 

“It feels like being in a burlap sack.” You had laughed.

“Could you not squirm like that?” 

“Sorry, I'm just looking for ways to be comfortable,” you had said, ”Mattress is lumpy.” 

You had laid on your side with your back to him and closed your eyes, trying to sleep. 

“So, did you have a good time?” you had heard Marcus whisper.

“Yes” you had replied “thank you” And it was true, his friends were really nice. You had bonded with the girls and exchanged addresses and phone numbers “you were right, I needed a vacation”

“I know, I'm always right” he had sentenced from the other end of the bed.  

You had turned to look at him "oh sure, like the other night when we ended up at that beach party and you said it was allowed and then we had to run away because the police were coming?”

“It was just a little misjudgment!” He retorted.

You had burst out laughing again “come on, sleep, Mr I know everything”

Marcus had turned off the lamp on the bedside table, next to the phone with which he had just called his mother “Hey...I need to tell you something” you had heard him say. 

“What?” the tone had suddenly changed and you felt confused, you looked over your shoulder at him in the dark. 

“I kissed Alice the other night” he seemed awkward in telling you and you didn't understand why.

“Oh. Well, good for you. She's a lovely girl” he was your friend, you were happy for him. 

If it weren't for the fact that you secretly hoped he would kiss you. You'd been thinking about it for a few days, ever since you'd seen him come out of the water while you were at the beach.

It had seemed to you that everything had started moving in slow motion, your eyes glued to his tanned skin, to his broad shoulders, to the way the water slid over his chest in little droplets that died on the waistband of his swimsuit. It was a feeling you had never experienced before in five years of knowing him. You had never seen Marcus as anything more than a friend, but in that moment, with his hair disheveled, his skin wet, a smile plastered on his face as he told you and the others that ocean was great, he had seemed like a vision, and you had felt your cheeks heat up. 

Where on earth that attraction came from you didn't know, but it had hit you hard and clear, like a bump on the head that had suddenly awakened you. You had convinced yourself that your brain was doing this to protect you from painful memories with Derek, lingering on your closest friend who had never let you down. Your trust in men was at its lowest, and Marcus had always reassured you, kept you out of trouble, and he was most reliable guy you had ever known.

He said he would do something and he always, unfailingly did it. You could not say the same about Derek or any other guy you had ever been with.

You had tried to chase that feeling away, burying it in the corner of your mind for all the following days; you didn't want to ruin the friendship between you, and you were pretty sure he didn't feel the same way about you.

Sure, you thought you kissed him on your 18s birthday while you were drunk, but the next morning you were so ashamed that you hadn't even told him about it, pretended you didn't remember anything and that it had never happened. Marcus had done the same, and everything had ended there. Two years had passed since that night, you had gone to college, you had both had more or less long relationships.

That one kiss was now so far away that you had listed it among “once-in-a-lifetime mistakes.”

"I wanted to tell you, that's it. Friends tell each other everything, right?"

“Yes, of course, you can tell me anything, I’m happy for you” you replied 

You had listened to Marcus talk about the girls he liked dozens of times and you had never cared, you would have certainly forgotten it, it was just a passing crush, you told yourself. That annoyance you felt, that bitter taste in your throat, would disappear after a night's sleep. Your friendship was more important, you wouldn't have ruined it just because your brain had thought it interesting to make it something more.

Yet when you had tried to sleep all you had seen was Marcus kissing Alice. You had not seen them, fortunately, but it was not a hard scene to imagine, and unfortunately it was now implanted in your brain. His strong arms holding her, his soft lips resting on hers, her surrounding his neck with her arms, her pelvis rubbing against his. Suddenly you couldn't stand it. You had narrowed your eyes, cursing your creative mind, grunting in frustration. 

“Hey, is everything okay?” had asked Marcus from the other side of the bed.

You had lied, of course, but you had kept brooding until you fell asleep exhausted by the workings of your brain.

In the morning you had woken up confused, not at all rested, and in his arms.

Your face was resting on his chest next to your hand. How had you ended up there like that? You didn't know. You felt like you didn't know anything anymore. 

He was blissfully asleep. He seemed unaware of anything as your throat was dry, your head ached, and your pussy throbbed. Yes, throbbing, desperately. The warmth of his body, the scent of his skin, that knowledge you felt inside that this was exactly what you wanted and you couldn't even quantify how long you had wanted it.

And the panic that had seized you immediately afterward. You were convinced it was a mistake, the most terrible mistake you could make. So why did it feel so right? Why did his body feel like it was made for you? Oh no, no you couldn't allow that. Certainly he had no idea whatsoever about the situation, there was no way he was aware and let you do it, it was all your fault. 

You were going to ruin everything, your friendship, your relationship with the one man who really seemed to understand and support you. And for what? To fuck him once? It wasn't going to work between you romantically. You were going to have to spend two more years away seeing each other only during the holidays to begin with, and then you were both stubborn, too proud...no, it was wrong, you didn't care what your body told you, you had to let your brain prevail.

You slowly slipped away, back to your side of the bed, practically holding your breath, cursing yourself and your heart that wouldn't stop hammering in the middle of your chest.

He had woken up shortly after, acted as usual, getting up, stretching in his T-shirt and basketball shorts, mumbled good morning to you and locked himself in the bathroom. 

Your eyes had slid lasciviously over his body, stealing glances of his exposed skin between his T-shirt and shorts, of his broad shoulders stretching the fabric, of his thighs...

All while you wanted to sink into a black hole and disappear forever. You sank your face into the pillow to keep yourself from screaming. 

And what was worse was that you had to carry the burden of what you felt alone because the person you would normally talk to about it was the one you were longing for. Wonderful, a wonderful situation. 

When he had come out of the bathroom, with his beautiful smile and that rough voice that he always had early in the morning you almost lost control. You were about to beg him to join you in bed. Ugh, your 20s, uncontrollable, stupid, senseless hormones.

“What are you waiting for? Come on, go get dressed, we have to leave,” he had told you, in the same friendly and vaguely mocking tone as always. 

“Oh. yes, thank you, I promise I will be quick.” You had stammered.

You got up, grabbed some random clothes from your suitcase, your beauty case and went to the bathroom to shower and change. He would be ready in 10 minutes at most so he would always let you go to the bathroom first, to give you time to do your makeup and fix your hair. Marcus knew that about you, too, and he was okay with that. 

You closed the door behind you, feeling the tears stinging your eyes. You had managed to hold them back until that moment, but in the shower, covered by his of the water, they had flowed copiously and salty down your cheeks. 

____________________________________________

2000

“Hey! How are you! My goodness, long time no see!” 

You had met him at the supermarket, as you were going around the shelves intent on shopping for your mother. 

You were back at your parents' house for Thanksgiving with your husband, John. 

The last person you thought you would see was him. 

“Marcus!” you had squeaked.

“I am fine! How are you? And Danielle?” 

Your mother had taken it upon herself to inform you that he had also married, had no children, and had become a detective. 

“Danielle is just fine, she is right there down the aisle picking potatoes according to my mother's exact instructions,” he had rolled his eyes, chuckling.

Damn, you had thought, he's breathtakingly handsome. 

You hoped that in all the years you had lost touch with each other he would have lost at least some of his hair like his father, but apparently he had not inherited that gene. His hair was thick and healthy as usual, he wore a gray T-shirt under a black leather jacket and a pair of dark blue jeans. You hated the way he could put on two random things and look so damn perfect while you felt like you had spent your whole life in front of your closet wondering what to wear. And even more you hated his smile, so friendly and sweet, that it hadn't changed at all. 

He seemed genuinely glad to see you. 

You had lost touch with each other after graduation, despite the advent of cell phones, computers, and email. Your friendship had survived handwritten letters, postcards, prepaid phone cards but still crumbled eventually. You were on the opposite coast, intent on your master's degree, dreaming of becoming a writer; he was hooked on a career in law enforcement. 

The letters had become fewer and fewer, as had the phone calls, and eventually what was there had simply slipped away as the months passed, the commitments increased, and each of you tried to become the adult you had dreamed of being.

You had thought it was much better this way, you had stifled your feelings for him for another four years before accepting that nothing would ever happen. You had dated other guys in the meantime, but Marcus had always remained in your mind as the perfect guy you could never have. It was only when you had met John that you had allowed yourself to think that maybe it could work with someone who was not your old friend. He was understanding, sweet, supportive, present and caring with you. John was a really good guy and so you had finally decided to marry him. He had asked you one spring day at the Public Garden, while you were eating a lobster sandwich under a tree in front of the pond, watching the swans. Your offices were close by, so you tried to spend your lunch break together as often as you could. You had gotten a job at the Boston Globe, were in charge of the wedding column, and wrote romance novels in your spare time, sending manuscripts left and right in the hope that some editor would notice them. John was a stockbroker, pragmatic, punctual and very thorough in his work as much as he was sweet and attentive with you. 

“How about we get married?” he simply had said to you, with his mouth full. You had laughed, thought he was joking, until you noticed his serious and hopeful look and exclaimed “oh my God, yes!” throwing your sandwich in the air and wrapping your arms around his neck. That was all you wished for. You had moved in together in a beautiful house downtown, not very big but lovely, you had fallen in love with it as soon as you saw it. It was bright and warm, the right place to start your life with John.

You had, of course, sent an invitation to Marcus as well, but he had declined, saying he was very busy with work. You had kind of tied it on your finger and so you had decided that he might as well get out of your life after all. Times change, people change, all I can do is move on and try to forget how I feel about him by devoting myself to my relationship with John, you thought.

Now that you had him in front of you again though, he looked the same as he always did, only grown. And your heart had skipped a beat the instant you recognized his voice greeting you.

“How long do you plan to stay?” you had asked out of pure courtesy. 

“About a week, we were able to take a few days to relax a bit. We're always working like crazy, you know, we both needed to get away for a while. How about you?” 

“Yes, us too, by the way if you remember Sunday is my father's birthday and my mother really wanted us to be there.” 

“I guess. By the way, I'm sorry. My mother told me when we arrived.” 

Your father had been ill for several months and unfortunately there was little left to do at that point. He was slowly fading away and it would probably be the last Thanksgiving you would spend together.

“I thank you. Oh here's John. John this is Marcus, an old friend of mine. Marcus, this is John, my husband.”

“Nice to meet you, Marcus,” John had said, shaking his hand. 

“Honey, I'm done, shall we go?” had chirped Danielle's voice as she approached you. 

“Yes love, but first let me introduce you to an old friend of mine and her husband” Marcus had told her softly. 

“Oh it's you! Marcus has told me several times about you! It's nice to finally meet you in person.”

Danielle was beautiful, dark hair, blue eyes and delicate features, a little nose that looked as if it had been drawn by an artist, full lips, high cheekbones and a well-proportioned chin. Her voice was melodious and sweet and she looked at you with an excited and surprised expression, " He didn't tell me you were so pretty!" 

“Oh, thank you, you are too,” you had said, slightly embarrassed by such kindness. At that point John had held you proudly, as if you were his greatest prize. His arm had wrapped around your waist, and his eyes looked at you lovingly "didn't she? I'm lucky that she married me." 

Danielle had laughed graciously and shook his hand introducing herself, while you and Marcus looked at each other almost studying each other, as if you were both trying to figure out how happy you actually were in your marriages.

That habit of worrying about each other had not gone away; after all, you had been close friends for quite a few years, and your friendship had faded not because of a quarrel, but because of distance and becoming busy adults. And because you had to get over the crush you had on him, of course, but you had never told him that. 

“Well, we have to go now, anyway come and see us if you can. My mother would love to see you again,” Marcus had said before offering to push the cart full of food that his wife had left beside you and start toward the checkouts. 

“We'll try, thank you,” you had nodded. You definitely should have helped your mother, tried to soothe her at least a little from the strain of caring for your father 24/7; you didn't know how much more time would be left for other things. 

You had watched them walk off together from behind, down the canned food aisle where you had retrieved the ready-made cranberry sauce you would never have time to prepare. 

They were a good-looking couple, really, attractive, well-dressed, Danielle looking impeccable in a pair of jeans that bandaged her while highlighting her curves, a red blouse that matched her complexion, and a pair of vertiginous heels on which you didn't even know how to walk. She seemed to do it without any problem. 

“We should go too, honey” John's voice had brought you back down to earth. 

_________________________________________

Once home John had announced to your mother that you had met your old friend at the supermarket, and of course she was thrilled, “Oh, he's such a nice guy, I saw him and his wife the other day walking downtown, they are such a nice couple, aren't they?” 

John had agreed, taking a beer from the fridge “really” 

“Well, like you, of course” your mother had added, looking at you softly. 

And it was true, you were fine with John, he was a good person, a hard worker, he treated you like a princess. What more could you want? 

Yet since you had seen him again, Marcus's face had made room in your mind. The intrigued way he had looked at you, as if trying to understand everything that had happened to you in the years you had not been in touch, the way his arms were reaching out to embrace you when John had arrived, a barely imperceptible movement that only you had noticed because you knew him better than the palm of your hand, the dimple that had popped up on his cheek as he smiled at you, the usual one you had grown to love so much.

You had pinched the bridge of your nose as you tried to drive it from your mind “Are you okay love?” had asked John immediately. 

“Yes, I just have a little headache, I'll get something later,” you had lied, hurrying to put away the rest of the groceries. 

What annoyed you the most was that it seemed like not a single day had passed since you were in your twenties and you had woken up hugging him in the bed of that dingy motel. It was absurd. You had worked so hard to move on and now it felt like you were back where you started. 

You couldn't let that happen, you wouldn't let your marriage be disrupted by a casual 10-minute meeting with him. 

You would not have gone to his house, no matter how much you would have liked to see his mother who had always been so kind to you. 

You had other things to think about anyway; your father was stuck in a hospital bed that you had managed to get him to be more comfortable. He had been put in the guest room on the ground floor, next to the bathroom, he couldn't do the stairs, and it was also easier for your mother to accompany him. The strong and generous man he had been was wearing out before your eyes, and it was a terribly painful image. You knew he had little time left, and you didn't want to waste it chasing the ghosts of the past when you had a husband who was helping you and hugging you every night trying to lessen your pain. 

Your Thanksgiving dinner had been unique to say the least, each of you shuttling from the dining room to your father's to spend some time with him, making sure he had everything he needed, helping him eat and drink. You had marveled at how gentle and patient John was with your dad, the big man you had married, one with two shoulders like a football player, feeding your father fruit jelly almost more gracefully than you. 

You knew how fond he was of your dad, they had hit it off right away, but you didn't know how much he was willing to sacrifice for him. You were moved.

___________________________________________

Your father was gone four days later. You and John were supposed to leave for Boston the next morning instead you had to call in to work, cancel your flight, call your trusty neighbor Marge to ask her to look at your house, pick up your mail, and water your plants. 

You were crushed and at the same time overwhelmed with bureaucracy so you couldn't stop. You had forgotten to eat breakfast that morning, got dressed in a hurry to go to the funeral home to deliver the suit with which you had decided to bury your father, then went to do some paperwork with the insurance company and finally to the church to arrange with the pastor the time of the service and the proceedings. When you left the church you felt an emptiness in your stomach, your head was spinning, you had eaten barely a sandwich in the last two days. 

You knew you were about to collapse, saw a café across the street from the church, and went inside to get a croissant and cappuccino to go. 

When you came out you found yourself in front of Danielle. She was so sorry, of course your mother had informed Marcus's mother and they would be attending the funeral. Danielle hugged you as if you were her sister, telling you that she understood you because she too had lost her father a few years earlier and even though you didn't know each other well you could have called her if you needed anything. 

You had thanked her and headed for the car, locked yourself in and took a couple of minutes to chug your croissant and drink your cappuccino. At least partially regenerated from the late breakfast you had headed back home, where John and your mother were waiting for you.

In the car you had been thinking about how kind Danielle had been and how lucky Marcus was to be with her.

The next day you had put on a sober black suit that you used for the office and probably wouldn't be able to wear again after that day, put on just enough makeup, helped John put on his tie, and headed for church with him and your mom. 

All three of you were exhausted, grieving, trying to hold the pieces together as best you could with each other's help but your dad's absence was hard to bear. You wished you could have woken up and found it had been just a nightmare, you wished you could have hugged him and talked to him and he, as he had always done, would have found the words you needed most.

There was only one other person who could soothe your worries in the same way your dad could, and that person was Marcus. 

John had been able to be there for you anyway, with actions more than words, taking tasks to take away from you, relieving you of burdens you could not carry alone, and for that you were infinitely grateful. He was a good husband. 

After the service, under his arm, you left the church behind your mother. You had lost count of the number of people who had come to hug you, faces you had never seen, work colleagues of your father's whom you had never met, old childhood friends, the church was full of people who had come to remember him fondly. This pleased you, but it was strange to you at the same time. You wished you had some time to yourself, alone, to try to catch your breath and rationalize at least some of what had happened, that blender of emotions that had shaken and sucked you in. 

You had made your way to the cemetery, walking along the path that led to the family grave where your grandparents were buried you had felt like you were in a muffled bubble where everything moved in slow motion, barely sensing John's presence beside you. 

When you had arrived, you had looked up for only a moment and before you had seen Marcus's. You had not noticed his presence in the church, busy as you were with hugging and greeting, you had seen only his mother but he had remained in the background, respecting your grief. Just as you wished others had done. There was nothing more to be said, he always knew what you needed, no matter how many years had passed, he could still read you like an open book just like when at 18 he had realized that your highest aspiration was to become a writer without even the need to make it explicit in words. 

His eyes were swollen and reddened; it was obvious that he was moved. Beside him was Danielle with a pair of dark glasses covering her face, clutching his arm elegantly and dignifiedly. 

You had smiled weakly at him, thanking him with your eyes, and he had smiled back, looking at you with the sweetest, sorriest eyes I had seen that day. 

___________________________________________

You had stayed behind to watch the final burial operations, while John had driven your mother back to the car, who had burst into convulsive tears, crushed by the realization that she had lost forever the man she had loved most in the world. 

You had felt a hand barely graze your shoulder, you had turned around and saw Marcus standing there on the grass “hey” As soon as you had seen him the impulse to hug him had come to you spontaneously, he had welcomed you into his arms, stroking your head, wrapping you against his chest, trying to comfort you. 

Being close to him still felt like home, his warmth immediately made you feel calmer, less alone, and not that John couldn't do that but with Marcus it was different. He had always been different in a way that was impossible to explain but that you felt hammering hard in your heart.

“Thank you,” you had whispered, with the tears you had finally allowed yourself to shed wetting your cheeks and his shirt. 

“Don't mention it,” he had whispered, continuing to hold you close. 

You had lingered a little longer in his embrace before pulling away and asking where Danielle was. 

"She went home with my mom. I stayed in case you needed anything.” 

“It's okay, thank you, there was no need,” you stammered lyingly. Yes you needed him, now more than ever, and he knew it well. 

“Your mother and John?” 

“Aunt Maggie drove them home, they left my mom's car with me.”

“Do you want me to drive?” she had asked and all you could do was nod ”please. But then how are you going to get back?” 

“I'll call Danielle, don't worry” he had encircled your waist with an arm as he walked you to the car. He had opened the door and helped you get in, even buckled your seat belt no matter how hard you had tried to insist you could do it yourself. 

Marcus did not spare himself when it came to caring for others. 

He had climbed up on the driver's side and in a rush had hugged you back, there, inside the car, whispering, “You don't know how sorry I am, baby. Your father was a great man.” 

You had looked at him gratefully, amid tears that had begun to flow profusely again "thank you" 

He had kissed you, right after that. And the instant his lips had rested on yours, you had felt that you could not help yourself no matter how hard you had tried to bury your feelings all those years. There was something inexplicable that united you, a way of understanding each other that needed no words, as if you were made to recognize each other, to see inside each other's souls. You had read in his eyes that day in the supermarket how much he had missed you, and he had read the same in yours, and just before that you had felt the same need to have him near, in spite of John, Danielle, and anything else that told you it was wrong. Deep inside you had always known it was right, you had felt it from the moment you first met him. You had been crowing for years about people talking about soul mates, meetings of destiny, and things like that. But now you knew you had felt it. His soft lips on yours were like honey to your soul, you wished you could sink into that feeling, drown in that sea and never rise again.

You couldn't leave John though. Not after you had built a life together in Boston, not after he had supported and cared for you all those days. Not after all he had done for you. 

As much as it hurt to do so, you pulled away from his lips. “I’ve always thought about you, all these years,” he said. “I’m sorry, you know, I didn’t realize it before, that maybe we could be something more. I never told you, but I remembered that kiss we shared when we were 18 very well.” Marcus was a torrent of words and was saying everything you’d always wanted to hear. “And I remember the night in that motel, too, how you held me in your sleep. I…” You knew he was about to say something like “I love you” “I’ve always loved you,” and so you cut him off. “Marcus.” He paused, his mouth half open as he looked at you in shock. “It’s too late. We can’t. Maybe there was a chance a few years ago, but now? We’re both married, we have responsibilities, we have to be realistic. It’s not fair to Danielle and John. And I have a job and a life in Boston, I can’t just leave everything all of a sudden.”

“But I…” and you knew he was about to say those words again. “Please don’t say that. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

Marcus had fallen silent, looking down at his hands draped over his lap, and then said sadly, “I understand.”

You had just lost your father and now you were losing him too. It wasn’t fair, but it was the only thing to do. “Take me home, please.” He would have started the car without saying anything, driving to your house without looking at you again, perhaps afraid that he wouldn’t be able to let you go if he ever laid eyes on you again. 

You got out of the car just saying thank you, without hugging him because you knew it would have hurt even more.

____________________________________

2008

When John had told you that you should move to Washington DC, you had not taken it well. You did not want to leave Boston, the bright home where you had begun to build your new life, that city that had welcomed you. Starting all over again somewhere else, in a city you had never been to, seemed too much. 

In the end, however, you had accepted it; leaving John seemed even worse. And he had continued to be a good husband, so you saw no reason to part with him.

After all, he had received a good promotion, he had rented a house where you had found a familiar light again, it had big windows, high ceilings, big rooms. John made good money and had tried to accommodate you in everything. 

He had made it worth it all the way.

You had been struggling a bit to fit into the editorial staff of the new newspaper you had found work for. You were aiming for the Washington Post, but they had totally bounced you, which had been no small disappointment to digest. 

However, after all, your life had regained some meaning. 

It was now six months since you had moved, you hadn't heard from Marcus in eight years. And this time it was not because of distance, but because it had really hurt you to find out that he felt something too but it never seemed to be the right time for you. It would have been in 1993 perhaps, if you had had courage, if you had taken the risk of exploring your feelings together. He hadn't had the guts to tell you anything, you were too afraid, and when you had found common ground it had immediately collapsed. 

John had noticed that something was wrong, even he knew you well enough to know that it pained you not to hear from your friend again, and at times he had even urged you to call him. You had told him that he had said something unpleasant about Danielle while you were in the car and you had felt sorry for her, from there you had started to argue. It was a really boorish excuse and you were pretty sure John hadn't bought it but had played it off for the sake of quiet life. 

“Can you stop by the bank to deposit this check this morning?” he had told you that morning before leaving the house. You were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and enjoying your day off. 

“Sure,” you had answered him, ”I'll go there before I go to the laundry to pick up my dress for tonight.” 

“Mmm the burgundy dress with that dizzying neckline?” he had told you as he leaned over to give you a kiss 

“Just that one” you had smiled as you returned the kiss and caressed his cheek ”you like it huh?”

“I'm looking forward to tonight” he had chuckled before leaving the house with his briefcase ”I'll be home at 7 o'clock okay?”

“Perfect, I'll be ready” you had thrown him a kiss and then curled up in your chair, finishing your coffee and admiring the view of the waking city outside. 

It was your anniversary, and he was going to take you to dinner at a French restaurant you had heard about in enthusiastic tones from your discerning colleague who was a food and wine critic. 

You had dressed quietly, gone out to do your chores, had a manicure appointment, then gone to pick up your dress at the dry cleaners and finally to the bank. 

As soon as you had left the bank you had bumped into a guy. 

You had looked up and been stunned. 

Marcus.

How was that possible? 

“Oh shit,” he had exclaimed.

His hair was slightly longer, he had grown a mustache and a beard but it was him, there was no doubt about it, you would have recognized him in a thousand. 

"What are you doing here?" you had asked him, widening your eyes, without a hello or how are you or anything else, you were too shocked. 

He was the last person you expected to see on your anniversary. 

Marcus had brushed his hand behind his neck, the gesture he always made when he was embarrassed “I got a big promotion” in a tone as if to apologize for existing in the same state as you, in the same city as you, for coexisting in the same environment as you.

“Whatever...I have to go, anyway, have a nice life,” you had tried to say quickly, to disengage yourself from that surreal situation. 

You had already turned your back on him when you heard him say “no wait...please...would you like to have a cup of coffee?”

You had turned silently to look at him. He couldn't have been serious. Yet he was.

And looking into those big brown pleading eyes, for some reason you had not been able to say no.

“All right,” you had replied with a shrug, ”I'll give you half an hour, then I'll have to go home.”

You went to sit in a café around the corner and ordered a cappuccino.

"So how are you?" you asked absentmindedly. 

“Danielle and I broke up last spring.” 

“Oh. I'm sorry.” It was like a blade through the chest to hear his voice again, to hear him say that he was single again and that his marriage was over. Somehow it made you feel guilty even though after eight years it was unlikely that the main reason for their breakup was you. 

“Yeah...she wanted children and for a while we tried but...” 

“Marcus please, I don't care, it's your business because it's over,” you cut off. 

You didn't have to get involved again. When you had thought back to your father's death and how he had confessed right afterwards you had been angry with him. Why had he done it at that time when you were so particularly vulnerable? It wasn't fair. 

"Sorry I-" he had babbled.  

“Never mind, never mind,” you had interrupted him again with a hand gesture. “Look, let's talk straight once and for all” you didn't know where all that aggression was coming from but it was growing inside you inexorably, like an infection ”why the hell are we here?” 

He had lowered his gaze to his cappuccino, then brought it back to you and stared at you in a way that made you feel naked and helpless. He still had an effect on you, and it pissed you off. “I miss you,” he had admitted under his breath, ”I miss talking to you and I miss having you around. I miss everything about you. When I saw you I couldn't believe it. But I know I can't let you leave without clearing things up.” 

“There's nothing left to clear up. It's over Marcus, can't you see that? There was never a right time for us.” 

“That's not true, I-” 

“Stop it! Look, I'm trying to live my life, you do it too,” you had screeched

“But-” 

“No 'buts'... Marcus, I'm tired. I'm tired of this running into each other and don't tell me it's fate because it's just pure randomness. John was transferred for work, now we live here, end of story. I'm still with him, okay? And I'm happy, so please leave me alone.” 

You could see his clenched fist on the coffee table, his eyes glazed with tears, his Adam's apple jumping as you mentioned John. He looked devastated. It was no longer your business anyway, so you had gotten up and made to leave, leaving a bill on the coffee table. “Don't look for me anymore.” 

Marcus had jumped up, his chair had fallen back crashing onto the pavement, and he didn't even seem to notice as he tried to stop you.

“Please” he had grabbed you by the sleeve of his jacket ”please.” 

You had turned back to him and looking into his eyes you had seen the little boy who asked you if he would ever be famous, the one who helped you with your homework, the 20-year-old who had involved you in the craziest vacation of your life, and then the adult who had broken your heart. 

“No.” you had whispered, ”no fucking way.” 

Marcus' face was a grimace of pain, as if in physical pain from your rejection, his shoulders hunched and his hand not letting go of you. He was pathetic and sweet at the same time.

His eyes were fixed in yours as he told you loud and clear, “I love you.”

I love you. 

You had longed to hear it come from his lips for so long that now it was like a lash that burned against your skin. You had stopped feeling like you were glued to the sidewalk, unable to take a step forward “What the hell! Did you have to tell me that? Was it necessary after I told you that I am still with my husband? Fuck, your timing is the worst thing ever. Do you know what day it is today? My wedding anniversary.” you had thrown up words at him angrily, feeling a knot in your stomach that nauseated you. 

“I don't want anything from you,” he had replied, his voice trembling, ”I just wanted you to know.”

“And now that I know according to you what have we solved? What have we gained? I'll tell you, absolutely nothing Marcus.” 

You had turned around and left, yelling at him, “I'll tell you again, don't ever look for me.” 

You had come home and taken a long hot bath, cried your last tears for him, and then decided it was John you had to think about, your special day. Marcus wasn't going to ruin it for you. You had prepared yourself carefully, put on the dress he liked so much, your favorite perfume, and waited for John. When he had come home you had driven out to a restaurant, had had a delicious dinner, sex as soon as you got home, and fallen asleep in his arms feeling that it was right. 

___________________________________

2010

“Love don't wait up for me, I'll be back late. I am so sorry, I love you.” 

It was already the fourth time in a week that he sent you such a message, by now John spent more time in the office than anywhere else. He had been given another promotion and was now mainly in charge of foreign exchanges, so he went to the office at impossible hours, came back later and later, and you barely saw him in the morning getting out of bed to jump in the shower. You hadn't had sex for at least a month, in those days you had talked more often with the mailman than with your husband.

Finally a publishing house had noticed you and they had published your book, you had gotten a chance to continue working for the newspaper by writing your articles from home so you could work on your second novel. 

You had huffed, looking at the screen, by now you were going to your friends' dinners alone, in those two years you had bonded with some couples in your neighborhood, and with a colleague from the newspaper and her husband. Every time you had been invited in the last three months John had declined, saying he had to work. 

You were beginning to feel really alone in your marriage, but you knew you had to try something. You still cared about John; you didn't want everything you had built together to be ruined. Sure, since he was earning more money he was showering you with unexpected and expensive gifts that certainly didn't make up for his absence, though. You had never been a materialistic person, no matter how beautiful the diamond bracelets and pearl necklaces and expensive shoes were, you missed falling asleep cuddled with your husband, feeling his caresses, having breakfast with him in the morning, spending a weekend together on the couch watching TV cuddling, simply spending time with him. For the past few weeks you had failed to write a word, you had hastily completed articles for the newspaper just to meet deadlines but your novel had stalled. You were busy cleaning to take your mind off things, you had joined the gym to force yourself to leave the house but then you would go back and find yourself spending entire evenings lounging around, not knowing what else to do. 

You had decided that night that you had to take matters into your own hands, put on a pretty dress, fixed your hair and make-up thoroughly, and then went out with the intention of surprising him. You were going to bring him his favorite dishes from your favorite Chinese restaurant to the office. 

When you had arrived at his workplace, you had looked up from the car window and seen the light on in his office. 

You had come down loaded with Chinese noodles and dumplings, and as you walked toward the entrance you had noticed his car parked not far away. 

You had taken the elevator with your heart in your throat, looking forward to seeing his happy face as he enjoyed a hot meal. The elevator had opened on the floor and you had started down the hallway leading to his office. There was no one there, everything was quiet and still, but the closer you got to his office the more you heard strange noises. Bellowing, hushed voices. 

The door was pulled over, you had pushed it slightly, and the scene that unfolded before your eyes was unsettling. 

Veronica, a married colleague of him whom you had met at the firm's Christmas party a few months earlier, was bent over John's desk, her skirt up, her panties down, her long legs covered by black hold-ups, her stilettos sinking into the Persian carpet under John's desk. And your husband holding her hips and sinking into her from behind. 

His shirt was hanging off his shoulders, his hair was disheveled, his neck tense and sweaty, as he stood there with his cool wool pants down, fucking his colleague. 

He grunted some words that you had never heard him say when you were having sex “Yeah, bitch, you like that huh? You like getting pounded by my cock huh? You're such a dirty slut, do you feel how wet you are for me?" 

You couldn't believe your eyes. Your sweet husband, the one who had stood by you so devotedly…where had that man gone? 

You dropped the bag with the Chinese dinner on the floor, the boxes had opened, and the noodles had spread all over the hardwood floor. “What the fuck?!”

John had turned around shocked, still with his cock inside his coworker “Oh shit. No, wait, honey I-” he had stepped out of her and tried to pull up his pants awkwardly ”please-fuck-I can explain.” 

“There's nothing to explain, you piece of shit!” you had yelled at him as he approached trying to stammer out some stupid excuse and had slapped him open-handed across the face as soon as he got in front of you ‘don't bother coming home’ you had added contemptuously.

“But love I-” he had pranced rubbing his cheek ”please-” 

“NO!” You had yelled “No, I don't want to hear your bullshit excuses, I don't want anything more to do with you, you disgust me!”

Veronica was standing in the corner buttoning her blouse and pulling down her skirt without meeting your gaze, her face hot and guilty.

Everything that you had sacrificed for that relationship, how you had followed him and reinvented your life for him, adapting to his needs, trying to build a happy nest for the two of you in Washington, all had been swept away. He had stomped on your marriage, your trust, your heart. 

You had driven home crying, risking missing a red light, had nailed down at the last moment with your heart bouncing inside your chest like a jackhammer. You had walked into the house throwing your purse and coat on the floor, throwing your shoes in the middle of the hallway and throwing yourself on the bed, hiding your face in the pillow with your head bursting, a sense of helplessness and defeat enveloping your temples, your chest, your stomach. 

It was over.

John had never come home, you had learned through his lawyer that he had rented an apartment near his office, and a week later he sent three big guys from a moving company to pick up his things.

You couldn't stay in that house anymore. Everything reminded you of him, the lies he had been telling you for months and what was even worse, all the happy moments you had lived in there in spite of yourself. 

You were dragging yourself from room to room without strength, you hadn't written anything anymore, you had told the editor of the newspaper that you were sick to have an excuse to delay the deadlines for your articles. 

You were tired, you were angry, you lacked the will to do anything, after three days without seeing you leave the house your friend Denise, who lived across the street had called you alarmed to see if you were all right, and hearing your dejected, fading voice had decided to use the keys you had given her in case of an emergency to come and check on you in person. 

You had not been able to lie to her; you had burst into tears and told her everything as soon as she asked you where John was. 

From that day she had been by every day bringing you dinner, making sure you ate, forcing you to shower, tidying up. You didn't know what you had done to deserve Denise in your life but you were incredibly grateful that she was there. 

Gradually you had forced yourself to take charge of your life again, started going out again pushed by your friends and even moved house, encouraged by them. You couldn't turn over a new leaf without getting out of there. 

And you had especially realized that you could walk with your head held high; you were not the one who had to be ashamed. 

And looking back on it, you had really overcome a lot in the last few years. The loss of your father, Marcus, your husband. All the men who had meant something to you in your life. 

You could have been proud that you did your best to stay on your feet. 

________________________________________________________

2011 

It had been a year since you had discovered John screwing his colleague.

You had tried dating men, without success, but things were going very well professionally. You had finally managed to finish your second book, and the publisher had been extremely pleased, so much so that he had arranged a series of meetings for you at bookstores around the country.  You had just returned from Ohio when you got a call from your mother inviting you for Christmas.

You had no desire to return to Sacramento, but how could you say no to your mom? She was left alone and it had not been easy for her. Your aunt and uncle lived nearby and took care of her but she had said she missed you a lot.

And she was so proud of you, she had asked you for copies of your books to give to all her friends, she was your biggest fan. You were happy to see her and spend time with her. 

And so, there you were at the airport, with a big suitcase, ready to get on yet another plane and fly across the country. 

You had just gotten an upgrade to business class and were in the private lounge of the area airline ordering yourself a martini when you heard a familiar voice behind you calling your name. 

Marcus. Again. 

“I swear I'm not following you,” he had raised his hands in surrender. 

“I know. I haven't seen you in three years, and we live in the same town.”

You had smiled; it wasn't bad to see his face again after all. 

“Martini?” He had asked pointing to your glass 

“Yeah. Can you please make another one?” You had said turning toward the bartender. 

You had sat at a small table with your cocktails “Are you going to see your mother?”

You had nodded, “You too?” 

“Yes, my parents were very insistent. Where is John?” 

“I have no idea,” you had squeezed into your shoulders taking a sip of your martini. 

“Oh, did you break up? I'm sorry, he seemed like a good man,” he had said.

“Apparently he wasn't since he was cheating on me with one of his colleagues.” 

“You should have better judgment anyway, aren't you a detective?” you had asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at him wryly 

Marcus had burst out laughing, “You're right, I should.”

And he had told you about the time he had fallen in love with someone named Teresa, a colleague of his, and had been left like a poor idiot the previous year, without realizing that she was in love with someone else. 

“It wasn't your fault, you know,” you told him sweetly, ”I know how you get when you have a crush.” 

“How do I become?” he had asked you with a sigh.

And you had replied with a smirk “Well, if you must know...naive, head in the clouds, like you live in a world of unicorns and fairies” 

“Really? A ridiculous clown? Is that what I become?” he had chuckled and then turned serious again ”Not with you, I hope”

You had laughed, you could have laughed at that point. Or maybe it was just the martini clouding your mind. 

“Whatever,” you had rolled your eyes. 

“Well, I'm sorry,” he had muttered.

“It's okay” you had smiled ”Really.”

At that moment they had announced boarding for your flight, so you had hurried to the gate together. 

You were both in business, so eventually you had sat next to each other and continued chatting. 

And it was nice, really nice. You were both single, more aware, you had reached an age where you could be honest with yourselves and you could joke about your dramas. 

“So you had noticed that I had hugged you that night huh?” 

“Sure. You pounced on me in my sleep and woke me up. I didn't want to embarrass you so I played it cool” she had smiled ”I thought you were sleepwalking and dreaming of hugging Keanu Reeves or whatever.” 

You had burst out in the loudest laugh you had had in years and then covered your mouth embarrassed that you had disturbed the other passengers. Fortunately those in your vicinity all had headphones on and were watching a movie. 

“Oh, come on” you had tapped his shoulder and then taken by you don't know what courage-probably the second martini you were downing-you had said ”the only one I dreamed of hugging was you.” 

“I didn't realize this until later...Now is there anyone you would like to hug by any chance?” he had whispered in your ear.

“Actually...yes” 

And there, in that plane, you kissed. For the first time without hindrance, without remorse, without drama, without fear. “I love you” he had whispered on your lips, and you had responded, finally free to say it ”I love you too.”

“So we'll try this time?” he had caressed your cheek, sliding his hand down your neck. 

“Yes” You had said ”definitely yes.”

“Your mother will be delighted” he had smiled, kissing you again “it's going to be a great Christmas.”

“Well, Merry Christman then” you whispered as your mouth moved down his neck.

“Merry Christmas, baby”

[starrieangel]

🎄❤️Mouthwashing Crew on Christmas💚🎁

Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday ♡ Here's my present to you all: more headcanons!!

Features: Curly x Reader, Anya x Reader, Daisuke x Reader, Jimmy x Reader

rb's appreciated! 💚❤️

Curly☃️

I think Curly would love surprising you..!

He's up before you, already has the coffee (or hot chocolate or tea) ready for you when you wake up. 

When you finally get out of bed, there's extra presents under the tree, and the tree is even more festive and beautiful than how you left it!!

(Is Curly Santa..??)

He's not materialistic in the slightest, but a good gift means a lot to Curly if it shows you put a lot of thought into it..! It makes him feel special that you are thinking about him ^u^

He's a good gift giver, but bad at wrapping them XD He's trying his best ok !!!

After opening presents, you guys cuddle and watch your favorite goofy christmas movie while cuddled up in your new sweaters/socks/blankets :)

His favorite part of Christmas is Christmas dinner tho, and you guys whip up a big feast and invite all your friends and family !!! 

He’s the classic “my boyfriend only cooks meat” stereotype, like he cant cook but he will fuck up a christmas ham or a thanksgiving turkey or a barbecue.. let him cook fr

Bonus: Curly is definitely the Santa at the office Christmas party..!! Maybe you get to sit on Santa's lap ;D 

Anya❄️

Panicking because she's bad at getting gifts..!! 

She gets to the store and.. oh no there's too many choices

“I'm not sure what candy Y/N likes... I'll just get one of each.. oh dear..”

She would try making handmade gifts like sewing or knitting or crochet but she doesn't get them done til the last minute...

She dang near cries when you see the itchy, raggedy sweater she made you and you beam at her “I love it!!!” and you do! because she made it ♡

I feel like she likes peppermints and candy canes... just her vibe

You two make a gingerbread house together !!

Yes it falls apart a little, but it doesn't matter because you both had so much fun making it :) (and decorating it with all that candy she bought !!)

Bonus: She is a based eggnog drinker. And maybe she does spike her and Daisuke's eggnog at the office Christmas party ;D

Daisuke🎁

Ugly Christmas Sweater Party Winner 3 years in a row

(I like the popular headcannon that Daisuke likes thrifting, so) He loves going to the thrift to find ugly christmas sweaters (so you can match) and even finding cool antiques/retro items to give as gifts!

Always gives at least one prank gift, but otherwise he is pretty thoughtful! 

He doesn't get you a present unless it really reminds him of you! I feel like he gifts thrifted vinyls and jewelry, secondhand designer, like his gifts are honestly peak and they're always perfect for you

He's in charge of the Christmas party!! and he's committed to packing as many christmas themed activities into it as possible

Dedicated Christmas Movie Showing, gotta watch all the classics!

Hot chocolate bar, christmas cookie buffet, pin the nose on the reindeer, ALL OF IT 

Strategically ties mistletoe to ensure highest occurrence of Kissing You ;3 “Uh, oh, Y/N! Looks like we're caught under the mistletoe.. again! How unlucky.. guess we'll have to.. you knowww..” >:3c

Bonus: He would get tipsy at the office christmas party and would try to hug you or kiss you the whole time, and you’re like “plz ur embarrassing me”

Jimmy🎄

Jimmy is actually really good at getting gifts. Like, really good. Like, you mentioned this thing in passing 6 months ago, and he either remembered it or bought it for you and hid it for 6 months. He knows exactly what to get you!

He's not really a huge fan of the holidays

That being said: He enforces Mistletoe rules like it's his job

Everyone thinks he's a grinch, so he doesn't usually get the best presents from others. It doesn't help that he never makes a christmas list or tell anyone what he wants 

(mostly because he doesn't want to be disappointed when he asks for something and doesn't get it, or he's afraid to ask for something “dorky” that he actually really wants)

When you ask him what he wants for christmas, he just kind of shrugs and says he'll like whatever you get him

So it's extra special when you return the favor and get him a gift just as thoughtful as he gave you :) You get him the video game or album or band tee (idk what men like) that he offhandedly mentioned weeks ago :) He can't hold in his surprise that you remembered!

“Woah, babe! I can't believe you remembered.. This is perfect, thank you baby” And then he wraps you into a tight hug!

Bonus: Yea, Jimmy had to fill in as Santa one year when Curly was busy/sick....... He made a kid cry.

Hope you enjoyed! Let me know in the replies what you think, send an ask if you have a request, and rb if u liked! Thanks for reading!💚❤️

Merry Christmas!! ☃️💚🎄❤️❄️❤️🎄💚🎁☃️❄️❤️❄️❤️🎄💚

[thankyoudanielfest]

Thank you, Daniel! Fest – Second wave roundup post.

Here is the first wave roundup post.

With this, we'd like to wrap up Thank you, Daniel! Fest. As promised, a roundup of more incredible works made by even more incredible people!

Fics:

Google Translate What Does This Mean? by @ararararo

Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, 1,5k words (chapter 1/2)

Google Translate couldn't possibly be lying to him but Max couldn't possibly be lying to him either. There's no way his younger teammate has been teaching him to how to say 'Impregnate Me' and 'Cum in Me' in Dutch, made him repeat it every time they were together under false pretence that they were confidence boosting sentences. It must be Google Translate that's lying to him, because his Maxy could never... right?

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The Final Part in the Unlimited Kiss Coupon Universe by @saapphicx

Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, 1.7k words (complete)

The season is over and Daniel is home for Christmas. But he’s not alone. Max has made good on the offer Daniel gave him, and has packed himself up to the farm for the winter break. Maybe it’s time for Daniel to finally get what he’s wanted since the first day he received that coupon. Maybe it’s time for him to be brave.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Feeling like I'm on a Hook by @naanima

Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, 12k words (complete)

He knew he should talk this out with Blake, contact his lawyers, and make sure the rest of his team wasn't asking questions they shouldn't. But he couldn't, because the first thing you learned as a rookie on a F1 team was that you don't fucking ever talk about the free use clause with anyone that wasn't your team principal, the head of HR of your team, and the two FIA representatives - the medical specialist and the monitor who inspected both drivers after each “incident” on FIA premise. And of course the other party involved in the free use clause. Agents were viewed with disdain. (The free use clause is activated in Daniel's contract post Singapore).

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Ain’t That Kind of Movie by @annebd

Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, 2k words (chapter 1/2)

Daniel is the two-time World Drivers' Champion, and at the FIA Awards ceremony, he meets Max, who is charming and funny and gorgeous. And an escort.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

surrender my heart by @f1thememp3

Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, 1.9k words (chapter 1/4)

There weren’t any subs in formula 1. not for a long time, and at least not publicly. Statistically speaking there were likely quite a few somewhere along the line, but the general perception that subs were far too fragile to handle the demands of the sport kept them fully in the dark. You either fit the mold or got out of the car.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Last by @flawlessassholes

Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, 3.8k words (complete)

Ten years after Max's first time is Daniel's last.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Love Blind by @mvlionheart

Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, 3,2k words (chapter 1/12)

“What are we going to do?” Danny ventures asking, voice a thinly veiled attempt at composure. This was their moment, it was all coming together. The years of hard work, the pay-out just around the corner. He couldn’t stomach thinking about letting everything slip through their fingers. “Open auditions?” Noah replies. OR When Danny's band Enchanté loses their drummer right before a big show, they have to find a last-minute replacement. It's a good thing the bass player's sister knows a guy. It's a bad thing, for Danny at least, that the guy is a hot, young, drum prodigy who really knows how to work his sticks.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Stranded by @mvpanda1

Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, 5,8k words (complete)

Daniel is having the time of his life. Shining sun, clear calm waters, a yacht full of the best friends a guy could ask for, and the love of his life. Max. It’s hard to believe they are here together now. Out in the open. No longer sneaking into empty rooms or dark corners. They have been inseparable the entire trip—two becoming one in every way possible. His friends don’t care, they’re just happy Daniel finally feels comfortable enough to be himself. OR Daniel is having the time of his life until he isn't.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Edits and creations:

enjoy the butterflies by @thebirdsareafterme

Daniel and butterflies piece by @avida-heidia-5

Cute Daniel edit by @mango-yoyo

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Please show some love to everyone who participated! All of the people above have done an incredible job. This wouldn't be possible without each and every one of you who participated and we cannot thank you enough for dedicating time to show some love towards Daniel.

Right now, we're giving you all a big, warm hug... but do keep an eye out for something perhaps coming in January ;)

with love, mods <3

[hanjisungslag]

christmas party with attack on titan characters 🧣 modern! au

the annual christmas work party is just around the corner & you and your partner need to bring something to this work party whether it be food, gifts or an activity for everyone to do - you’ve all got to bring something! the only question is.. what?

｡･:*:･ﾟ★

you and eren jaeger could not figure out what to bring to this work party for the LIFE of you. you guys were the last ones figuring your shit out and everything you thought of, that was relatively fun, had been taken already. what were you guys gonna do?!

but then suddenly.. eren remembered how you guys had ice skating booked for the next day, after the chrismtas party, although it was meant to be for hits the two of you, you were running out of options.

you both sat in silence, scraping your brains for any good ideas and that’s when eren breaks the silence.

“hey, y/n..” he looked at you mischievously

you raised an eyebrow at his expression “oh god, what now?”

“you know how we’re going ice skating tomorrow?”

your jaw dropped, “BUT ERENNN” you pouted “that’s supposed to be our day outtt, ughhhh”

“ITS OUR ONLY OPTION, Y/N” he yelled dramatically

you sighed deeply “i suppose you’re right. god”

“imagine everyone trying to ice skate while hungover though.” eren said lightening the mood

you burst out laughing “OH MY GOD. they’re all gonna be wrecks!”

so you guys called up the ice skating rink and asked for an extra ELEVEN.. people to be added onto your time slot, safe to say the workers were in shock and horror when you said that but, it was all booked now!

eventually when the party rolled around and it was your guys’ turn to say or bring out your surprise, you both looked at each other and blurted “WE’RE GOING ICE SKATING!” some reactions were better than others.. aha. sasha and connie were supperrr excited and reiner was so confident that he’d be great at it. levi.. erm. he’ll go on! he just needs a little push (quite literally).

“right. mikasa.” you looked at her dead in the eyes,

“what activity should we do at the party?”

“we’re doing an activity?” she questioned

“yes! why not? it’s probably easier to think of one rather than bring something.” you said.

“should we just search something up..?” she asked

“yeah, honestly, good idea!” you pull out your phone and get googling.

you both sat in silence as you scrolled.

mikasa looked at you and asked, “christmas charades?”

your face lit up and you giggled, “YES! oh my god, yes.”

you gasped and jumped out of your chair “i just thought of the BEST IDEA!!”

“we should write down a bunch of christmas themed charades, put them in a hat and then it’s completely random!”

mikasa smiles widely “hahaha, oh my god, y/n- you’re a genius!”

your guys’ idea was a HOOT at the party. it was super fun and everyone got so competitive, so fast. (connie ended up winning btw)

you and armin already had this planned out for a while, you knew about this months ago and wanted to prepare something really nice for everyone to do :).

you bought paints, accessories and many chrismtas baubles for everyone to decorate!! you made sure to buy extras in case anyone wanted to do a few for themselves, for the others or family.

as you laid out all the equipment on the table, you heard awe’s and sweet cheers from everyone,

“guys!! this is sooo precious” historia said as she pouted from the cuteness of such an idea.

you chuckled “oh, it’s nothing really. thank armin not me, anyways, he came up with the whole thing.”

armin strolled out as you said that “no no,” he waved his finger around “no time for saying who said what, let’s get decorating!!”

he was the most excited about his own idea, bless. safe to say, he made the most beautiful christmas bauble anyone had laid eyes on, the same cannot be said for reiner, annie or levi aha… art is not their strong point.

what’s something that you can make with your co workers but eat afterwards? gingerbread houses. OBVIOUSLY you and sasha brought this! it was her idea, of course, and everyone ate this tf up!! it also may have slightly turned into a competition..

you guys were strolling through your local super market, doing your usual rounds of grocery shopping etc. but you made sure to keep an eye out for anything you can bring to the work party later that month.

you two usually split and meet up in some random aisle and when you did, sasha was holding a gingerbread house.

“pleeassseee can we get it, y/n?!” she begged as she squeezed the box tightly

“it would be super cute and coupley of us!” she fluttered her eyelashes.

you stare at her, god those fluttering eyelashes get you every time😡!

“okay fine! those dammed eyelashes of yours.”

“YIPPEEEE” she cheered but then, that’s when it hit you.

“babe…” you said ominously

“what?” sasha asked, confused

“buy another like 10 of those boxes”

“TEN?! REALLY? i thought that was overboard but, im so glad you agree—”

“NOT FOR US GIRL.”

at the actual party, everyone turned into a huge competition. houses were built poorly, amazingly or they were smashed by competitors *cough, cough* eren, jean and connie.. but, reiner ended up ‘winning’ because his gingerbread house was the only one left standing. what can i say, the mans good at defending.

now, although it was a christmas work party, you had this incredible idea of bringing the karaoke machine you got connie for his birthday a couple years back.

you drag the karaoke machine across the carpet of your apartment harrowingly as connie sits on the couch and watches with an eyebrow raised.

eventually, when you’re done struggling, you slap the top of it and say,

“this is what we’re bringing to the christmas party.”

connie’s eyes light up.

“REALLY??” he jumps off from the couch, grabs your shoulders and starts shaking you aggressively.

“THATS AN INCREDIBLE IDEA!” he jumps up and down like an excited child on christmas. you giggle and smile at his adorable-ness🥲.

it was literally the perfect thing. LET ME TELL YOU! everyone LOOVVEEDD it. especially when you all got drunk, everyone would be standing up, dancing, singing along to all these christmas songs while very drunk on wine. the drunk singing duets were impeccable, safe to say you’ll be seeing those in the work group chat in the morning.

my man, jean knows his goddamn wine. so you best believe he went out and bought the most scrumptious wine everrr.

“let’s hear it, what’ve you got?” you say, intrigued by why he’s been out for so long.

“okay so.” he begins and claps his hand together, “everyone is bringing boring ol’ drinks like beer” he gags slightly at the word of it, “vodka, cider and whatever. but, i’ve got some incredible stuff” that’s when he whips out a huge bag full of wine.

“i got wine. and not just any wine, THE best!”

your jaw drops “that’s a lot of wine, babe.”

“i know but, it’ll be kinda like a game, people can try different wines see which one they like best, maybe do a guessing game of which is most expensive”

you think about it for a minute then, you look proudly at him, “honestly, you’re so smart.. THIS IS GONNA BE GREAT”

you guys high five in celebration.

everyone loved the wine and you did play loads of guessing games (jean excluded at some points because goddamn that boy knows his wine) and jean was showered in compliments for his impeccable taste in wine and partners ;).

reiner had this idea for a while, to be honest, he knew a few co workers who were bringing their kids only for the first half while everyone was still sober and what not so, what better thing to do than dress up as santa?! the kids get to meet santa claus and the whole work place gets a laugh out of reiner literally being dressed up as st. nick himself.

you knew this was reiners idea of an ‘activity’ but you hadn’t got a chance to see him in the full get up yet and just as you were about to leave, he was putting on the costume.

as you wait outside the bedroom door, you hear it creak.. the door slowly opens and out comes reiner claus. oh my god. you burst out laughing at the sight of your boyfriend in a SANTA COSTUME, beard and all😭.

“ohhh, this is gonna be a goooddd party.” you say wiping away your tears.

“what?! do you not like it?” reiner says as he starts posing.

you grab onto his arm while you’re kneeling over, grabbing your stomach with other arm.

“pleas— stop it.” you laughed so hard, you couldn’t breathe.

after you had your laughing fit, you guys were off to the party! everyone ATE UP this santa outfit. the kids loved having santa at their parents boring old work party and after the kids left, the drunk adults LOVED IT.

everyone was sitting on his lap taking photos, asking him what they wanted for christmas. but, this wasn’t even the best part. reiner whipped out something for levi……

a fucking elf costume.

the whole party burst out into laughter and tears when they saw what he had but levi.. did not take this lightly. this little joke went up in FLAMES.

levi started chasing reiner around the whole place whacking him with his own santa beard anddd next week, reiner definitely got given a lot more work to do😊.

bert does a little photography on the side here and there and what better way to practice than with all your co workers? so, he brings this very professional photography camera just to take the silliest and goofiest photos of everyone😭.

everyone lines the flip up to get their photos taken, they all thought it was a super fun and cute idea from bert. he take candid photos, ones with silly props and most importantly ones of everyone sitting on santa (reiner)’s lap!

bert really loved taking candid photos of everyone having a good time, playing games and chit chatting - he’s definitely the type of guy to shed a tear at a wholesome candid he just took. but, one thing that was so frustrating was connie and sasha would not STOP pestering him😭.

they wanted pictures of the dumbest things, literally anything they thought was somewhat worthy of a photo they were like “bert! bert! get a picture of this” while he was in the middle of taking pictures for eren and the gang like… he really felt like a tired father in these moments.

mostly importantly… the drunk candids WENT CRAZYY. even when this man is off his rocker, he still took some incredible pictures and some… not so incredible.. maybe even blurry and slightly shit photos but, you just know they’re the best ones.

annie whipped out the BIG GUNS for this. she whipped out her most precious collection aka her christmas film collection - she has been collecting since she was a teenage and has never stopped and what better time to whip them out than at a christmas party?!

now, annie keeps this collection that’s very near and dear to her heart, a secret. it’s a silly tradition her dad started where every christmas, annie would pick out a new film for them to watch and seeing as the options to what you could bring to the christmas party were limited… this was her last option.

everyone was so surprised that annie had this strange but also very cute hobby. everyone loved it! the movies were being played on rotate, one after another, in a more quiet room for when people just wanted to chill out and a watch a film! at one point as well, everyone gathered in there to watch a film together and although it took about 30 minutes of discussion to decide what film everyone wanted to watch, it was so worth it because it truly felt like everyone was a family.

annie stood by the door as she watched reiner and bertolt,

“what you doing, annie?” you creep a hand on her shoulder

she jumps “w-what?”

“are you watching reiner and bert?” you question her

“well…” she smiles warmly “it’s just nice to see.”

then you burst into giggles, glitter and sunshine because she’s so cute when she turns sweet.

oh what’s that? everyone is feeling parched and wants a hot, sweet treat?? well levi ackerman has got you covered! you have nooo idea what kind of shit this man puts in the hot coco he makes but it’s SOO good & with marshmallows? holy fucking shit.

you guys build your own little lemonade stand but, obviously make it hot coco. AND LET ME TELL YOU… if you guys had charged for this stuff, you could’ve retired early because everyone was looovinngg it. levi has truly mastered the art that is making hot chocolate.

obviously, everyone was absolutely obsessed with this hot chocolate and some lactose intolerant people (armin) even decided to ignore their intolerance just because levi’s stuff was soo good. although, safe to say i’m sure he regretted ignoring this vital part of his life. anyways, you did try to get levi into a cute barista outfit… but he said no. (😔)

“absolutely not.” levi said with his arms crossed

you stood with the barista costume in hand, disheartened by his response.

“but, levi it adds to the whole thing—”

“nope. i am not a barista, i am there to just make my spectacular hot chocolate.” there was no way you are getting him into the costume, i fear.

little did this poor man know, you trying to get him into a barista costume was not the last time someone tried to get him into a costume that day.

we got a chef in the house and his name is erwin smith. obviously being the manager of your workplace, he had to bring something goooddd so he brought his good ass food.

he wanted to do something else, something better since in his words, his food ‘isn’t that good’ - a good cook and humble😩. however, you begged and PLEADED with him to cook and he can never say no to you (he also didn’t have any other ideas).

“erwin please! you’re such a good chef, i don’t understand—”

“it would just be better to get a caterer!” he argued back

you cross your arms “what other ideas have you got, then?”

he stared at you blankly “well- i…” he coughs awkwardly

“exactly…” you say as you slowly walk to grab your keys, you guys were going food shopping.

YAY YOU GOT YOUE WAY! he was in the back, apron on that obviously said ‘kiss the chef’… and you did. a lot. ANYWAYS, he cheffed up the most scrumptious, gorgeous, mouth-watering christmas meal you can imagine.

everyone cheered and clapped as he brought out the banquet of food, and oh my god, everyone LOVED it. everyone asked for seconds! sasha obviously asked for thirds… and fourths… and someone please make sure she doesn’t throw up.

of course, hange would be the one to bring the most random activity ever, this mf loves a treasure hunt and wanted to do one but just make it christmas themed…

“how about…” they pause for dramatic effect “a christmas treasure hunt!” they jump with joy, doing weird jazz hands.

your eyes widen, how odd.. “oh wow! a-and how is that going to work?”

“i’m glad you asked!” they beamed, suddenly pulling out a large notebook filled with all the information you needed. and they will word vomit the whole thing to you.

now when it came to actually conducting this, you guys had to show up to the place that was booked out for the work party early of course, to hide the prizes and clues and such. hange had you working like a DOG, they had everything planned out and needed it to be that exact way.

the day of might have been the most exciting day of hange’s life /srs. they gathered everyone around and informed them of what was to come, they genuinely looked like they were going to explode with christmas joy at any given moment.

and everyone was off! it was actually super fun and enjoyable for everyone, even if SOME people tried to cheat… connie & ymir… i’m looking at you. unfortunately, hange hadn’t thought of the fact they weren’t allowed to partake, which sadden them but, it was all worth it seeing all of their coworkers have such an amazing time. (levi won btw)

[bluerasbunny]

My go to request: Unhinged Sun

Lol. Or unhinged anyone really. Just make 'em fucked up.

OH BOY TIME TO SHARE MY ROLESWAP AU

the ultimate sunhinged!! infodump on AU below the cut;

sun isnt obsessed with playing or games- he's obsessed with perfection. everyone in the daycare must be doing exactly what sun says, and they must be doing it PERFECTLY or it'll drive him up the wall with frustration and rage, because how are you messing up such a simple task? it only has 5 extremely complex steps you have to do exactly as he shew you, it's not rocket science! as an example; the in game mechanic would be something like the player having to do arts and crafts with sun, but you have to do it EXACTLY correct in a short time frame or else sun's patience will run out and he'll attack!! sun gets increasingly more aggressive the longer you take, and immediately attacks if you get something wrong!! things like that!! the Entire daycare zone has been closed off ever since the incident. sun's never been known to be so aggressive, especially not with something as trivial as coloring barely an inch outside of the lines or cutting paper just one degree off of his demanded angle. pizzaplex staff have no clue what's wrong with him and they can't get close enough to see if anythings wrong without sun yanking them into an activity that Definitely ends in someone getting hurt!! so. the best thing to do is close it down.

moon is acting perfectly as intended, though! a soft-spoken, gentle animatronic with an edge of sillyness that just wants the best for the children under his care. he has NO idea what's wrong with sun either, and the employees that have managed to get a discussion with moon have learned as much from moon himself (they've also learned that moon can no longer communicate with sun. there's nothing but static). moon also has his own problems to be completely fair- just as in your personal space as sun, though in a more overbearing parent type of way!! he cares in a way that he's constantly fretting over people to the point that it's Too Much (humans are so fragile. he's seen it with his own eyes, from sun's aggression. he Has to make sure the fragile ones are okay and safe).

[fairymischief]

I have never seen a description of the Divine feminine/masculine that wasn't disgustingly regressive, and both disempowering to women while excusing men from doing things that every human being ought to do - especially in relationships. It's basically setting a one-size-fits-all personality type for both men and women. For example:

This makes it seem like being a leader, being rational and logical, being assertive, and generally taking charge of your life in a proactive way is a male thing. "Let things come to you, let them flow." Let yourself be a pawn in a man's world, moved hither and thither by THEIR desires, THEIR plans. Oh, and don't forget to "be open to change," because your life is supposed to be open to changing any time and any way your man wants it to. He's the active element; you're just expected to go with it.

Meanwhile, it makes it seem like being caring and nurturing is a female thing (which is a convenient way to unload the entire burden of caring for EVERYONE else on the woman) and it suggests that men shouldn't be expected to have emotional intelligence. So it makes men feel justified to be cavemen who understand nothing about the feelings of others and don't need to understand, nor lift a finger to help anyone in a way that would be considered "nurturing."

It's just so silly, and it doesn't even make sense; for example, it says that "receptivity" is a female thing. Um, I'm pretty sure that when a man is sitting on his ass doing nothing and having everything done for him by his woman, that that's him being pretty damn "receptive." It's like these qualities only apply when it's convenient, sort of like how "the kitchen is a woman's domain" until its in a professional setting; THEN the kitchen is a man's domain. And are we going to say that all the male innovators, writers, artists and musicians are in their "feminine energy" by being creative?

I could go on and on, but I think it's easy to see how sexist and gross this whole concept is. 🤮

@hyacinthsgrimoire

[softspeirs]

I've Got Dreams (But I Can't Make Myself Believe Them)

Pairing: Lewis Nixon x Original Female Character Summary: Henrietta Murray keeps showing up at the most inopportune times, surely, Lewis Nixon thinks, just to drive him insane. Author's Note: Merry Christmas, @quillandink22! I'm your Secret Santa! I've had so much fun over the last month messaging you and getting to know more about you. I hope you enjoy this and have a wonderful week! Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Henrietta and the plot. Title comes from Homesick by Noah Kahan. I wrote some of this on my phone so please excuse any spelling mistakes!

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The thing about Lewis Nixon is that he is not a humble person. He's good at his job, and he knows it. He takes pride in the fact that other people know he's good at his job.

His rank and his position are things he's worked hard at, things he's earned, which he's not ashamed to say isn't the norm for him. While he's sure his last name and his upbringing helped him get through OCS relatively unscathed, there was no one there to pave the way or line anyone's pockets. He did it with nothing but his intelligence and his aptitude behind him, and he was proud of that.

That's why it makes him so infuriated when he's questioned - not even because he doesn't think he could ever be wrong, he's not that egotistical - but because the woman standing in front of him, hands on her hips and eyes narrowed, has never, ever taken him at his word.

Henrietta Murray has a habit of breezing in and out of active combat zones like she's going on a picnic, and that alone drives him absolutely crazy. She also has a habit of listening to what he has to say, and then, in a blase tone, saying "interesting", like it's so cute that he thinks he knows what he's talking about.

One of these days, he's going to say something to her that he'll regret, so he fights every instinct in him, every punch to his ego she dishes out, and shoves the reports into her hands.

"The details are all there. All the reports we have from the other battalions say--'

"Captain Nixon, I'm sure your reports are correct. We don't need to go over the details. Local intelligence is important to consider. That's why I'm here."

Yes. That's why she's here. Tossed around between the OSS and the SOE for months, she has seemed to land here with the Airborne as liaison, and while she has got them out of some scrapes, he's not convinced that they wouldn't have figured it out on their own.

It's unfathomable to him that she's here, in the middle of the godforsaken Ardennes forest, too-big helmet askew on her head like she's not going to get shelled at any second. The anticipation of the next fight is buzzing under his skin, and the thought of her stuck here when it happens - because it's not if, it's when - makes him want to vomit (he also doesn't want to dissect that reaction too closely).

"Why they signed off on you trudging in here, I have no idea." He grumbles, stamping his feet to try to get his circulation moving.

"It's been bad." She says. It's not a question, but her brow furrows.

"That's one word for it."

The heat seems to leave her eyes, and he thinks he sees a glimpse of fear take its place. It’s the first time he’s ever seen anything but confidence in her expression, and it unsettles him.

“I’m sorry.” She says.

He frowns. “What are you sorry for? You’re not the one firing at us.”

Something in her expression seems to signal defeat. She sits on an overturned crate in the CP and he realizes suddenly that she’s just as tired as the rest of them.

"You know--" She starts, "In town, they're just as terrified of us as they are of the Germans."

Nixon makes a face, but she continues before he can say anything.

"The kids... war is the only thing they've ever known. The color of the uniform doesn't matter. All they know is that as long as we're here, the bombs will keep falling. The shelling will continue."

The tone of her voice is different than anything he's heard come out of her before. It takes a little bit of the fight out of him.

"You've been in there too long." He says, blunt.

Her eyes flash. "You think I need to be pulled out?"

He shrugs. "Maybe if you get a break, when you come back you won't argue with me so much," he offers, smirking.

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t argue with you.”

Nixon’s mouth drops open, incredulous. “All you do is argue with me—“

A loud, high-pitched whistle overhead interrupts him. Murray’s eyes fly to his, their gazes locking as the color drains from her cheeks.

“Get up.” His tone is harsh.

Yards away, the bombardment begins, the sky turning bright before everything explodes.

“Now!” He shouts, and he’s shoving her towards a foxhole before he can think about what he’s doing. “In. In, get in.” He says. He realizes she probably can’t even hear him, but his heart is pounding so hard at the thought of her being caught out in the open that his words are more for himself than for her.

He jumps in after her, ducking down when a shell explodes what feels like only mere feet away. Her eyes are shut tight as she curls in on herself, as if she can wish all of this away.

He doesn’t say another word as he crouches at her side, sinking as low into the earth as he can, and he drags her with him. She goes willingly, her body trembling with fear against him, and he takes a minute to say a prayer to anyone listening that she’ll make it through this.

Somehow the thought of her fire, her light being snuffed out as quickly and meaninglessly as this— it feels impossible.

“It’ll be alright.” He says in her ear. He has no idea if she can hear him. “Just hang on.”

It feels like hours go by but it’s likely only a few minutes before the shelling stops. The sudden silence around them is chilling, and he has a terrifying feeling that the worst has happened. He has nightmares about this - that he crawls out of his foxhole to find he’s the only one left.

Soon, Dick’s solid form is above them, brows pinched in worry. “Nix?” He calls.

Nixon feels half deaf. “I’m all right.”

“Murray?”

She’s still shaking like a leaf.

“Henrietta.” Lewis says her name firmly. She would never forgive him if he treated her like a wilting flower.

She blinks rapidly, seemingly coming back to herself. “I’m—“ she looks around, down at herself, and back up at Winters. “I’m okay.”

He nods. “Need to check the lines. Don’t go far - that might not be the only barrage. We’ll call for your transport as soon as we can.”

Nixon realizes he still has a tight grip on her shoulders, and he backs away slowly, giving her some space. The sight of her wide, terrified eyes makes something ache inside of him, but he pushes the feeling away.

“You need to get out of here.” He says quietly.

“That’s not up to you. Or me.” She replies. Her voice is steady now and he sees the familiar fire return to her eyes as she gears up for another argument.

“At least do me a favor and stop showing up here unannounced.”

She smiles. “Don’t like knowing there are things you don’t know, is that right, Captain?”

Yes, it sets his teeth on edge that the nature of her work is partially a secret. Yes, it makes him furious when she shows up whenever the whim strikes her (though he knows that’s not a fair assessment- she has intel when she has intel. It doesn’t run on a schedule) and usually the whim strikes her whenever things are about to go to hell.

“I wish you’d just get the reports via courier like everyone else. What do you need a hand delivery for?” He grumbles.

“Maybe I just like your company, Nix. That sunny disposition.”

They sit in silence for awhile longer, both of them trying to calm their racing nerves and hoping the other one doesn't notice.

"It's Christmas Eve." She says suddenly, voice morose. "Everyone in town was hoping for a ceasefire."

Nixon snorts. "It'll come an hour too late." He gestures around them. "Who feels like celebrating Christmas at a time like this?"

He's very aware of her calculating gaze on his face. He doesn't like it. She sees too much - it's why she's good at her job, though he'll never tell her that.

She reaches into her pack that, somehow, wasn't blown to bits as they had flung themselves headfirst into the foxhole. She rummages around for a second and then thrusts a small package at him.

"What's this?"

"What does it look like?" She asks, impatient.

"I don't know, that's why I'm--"

"Jesus Christ, Lewis, will you just take the goddamn present?" She asks, voice rising.

He stares at her, uncomprehending. "What?"

"Do you not celebrate Christmas? I thought for sure--"

"No, I mean-- what-- when did you have time to think about this?" About getting something for me?

"I just saw it and it made me think of you and how much you love when I show up and talk your ear off, so--"

"I didn't get you anything." He says, stupidly, as if they're having a normal Christmas shopping conversation.

She tilts her head, bemused. "I figured. That's not the point. Open it."

Inside the hastily wrapped package is a small, leather-bound notebook. Pocket-sized. It's the perfect size to shove in his jacket and he runs his fingertips over the cover, trying to understand why it feels like the world is shifting under his feet.

"There's a man in town who makes leather goods." She pauses, frowning. "Used to. I-- well, anyway. He gave me a good deal and I felt bad showing up all the time for messages. God knows what would happen to him and his family if they're caught." She's rambling, but it makes him smile, so he lets her.

"Don't look at me like that." She says, eyes narrowing as she catches his expression. "I just figured--" She huffs, cheeks reddening, embarrassed as his smile grows. "You're always forgetting important details, so now you can write them down." She says heatedly.

He laughs. "Thanks, Murray."

She ends up staying there through the night. It's too dangerous to move and if the ceasefire for Christmas does come, she can get out then.

He watches her sleep. He doesn't mean to, but he can't help it. She looks softer, younger in her sleep. He wonders how long she's been here. Wonders how many of her civilian contacts she's gotten close to before she learned not to get attached. Wonders how and why she ended up here, in this job.

He wonders why he's wondering about her so much.

Shoving the thoughts away, he closes his eyes. He can hear the Germans singing. It sounds like Christmas music.

He falls asleep to the sound of her breathing.

[teecupangel]

Little Idea I had!

Desmond ends up in Kassandra/Alexios’s time

The difference between eagle vision and actual seeing through an eagles eyes would be a fun thing to explore. They could be related? Desmond and Kassandra/Alexios, not sure what side of the family they’d be on

How would Socrates and the other Philosophers react to Desmond? A man(?) with knowledge so far in the future. How would it affect Kassandra/Alexios knowing their family lasted so long?

As far as we know (if we take canon in consideration which we totally don’t have to), Kassandra’s only known descendant is Aya and Aya never had any other children after Khemu’s death.

So I propose we go down the Alexios as Deimos route for this one.

Just a one night stand that Alexios doesn’t even remember. They don’t even realize they’re related until some POE springs up and only Alexios (as Deimos) should be able to use it but Desmond can use it too. A member of the Order of the Ancients gave the downlow and explain that they must share the same blood.

And Kassandra not being able to activate it meant that it’s a more complicated blood ties between Alexios and Desmond. Desmond immediately realized that it’s probably because Alexios is his ancestor but he’s not going to tell anyone that.

As for the philosophers… to be honest, they’d probably wonder if Desmond is an oracle of one of the gods, perhaps even Apollo.

Desmond snarks that, if he was going to be an oracle, it would be of Athena (he was sarcastically talking about his connection to Minerva).

Unfortunately for him, this leads people (not really the philosophers but the other people who heard him) into thinking that he’s an oracle of Athena.

And that’s how Desmond gets suckered into the political landscape of Athens, much to his displeasure.

It doesn’t help that he didn’t exactly know any concrete events that will happen around this time to cement the rumors that he can see the future.

The Farm never considered the history of Ancient Greece as important considering Abstergo was a more looming danger in their daily lives.

Hell, the only thing he actually remembers about Ancient Greece is the movie 300 and that event (even if it’s not that accurate to the real thing) was already ‘done’.

But what makes Desmond a possible oracle is his ideas.

Inventions he cannot describe in detail and speaking in riddles like every damn oracle out there (he’s not speaking in riddles, he’s using words that doesn’t exist yet so he has to improvise his explanations) but the ideas he gives are ones that no one would have thought of before.

And that is why Desmond might be the oracle of Athena.

[k3nz1ekorn]

Jayvik actor au

A short fic about if Jayce and Viktor were actors Joel and Vladamir in another univers. Author's note: credits are at the bottom of the post. I'll be writing more for this au as it comes to me ig.

“Let us do this once again…as partners!”

The silence fills the room as ‘Viktor’ grins down at ‘Jayce', his heart beats once, then twice, and he bursts into a fit of laughter, forehead falling onto his counterpart’s. Joel lets out a deep sigh from below him, and Viktor pulls back to give him a wide grin before turning his head to face the rest of the room. He raises a hand in apology, looking a little sheepish in his fits of laughter “Pfft- Sorry! Sorry everyone! Are we sure this is meant to be a fight scene?” As his laughter subsides he untangles his legs from where they are around Joel and leans himself back onto the table, careful to avoid jostling the green morph suit he’s donned in. The back of his hand coming up to try to stifle his laughter. It’s through barely open eyes that he sees Joel push himself up as well, giving a light stretch to his back after the uncomfortable position he was just held in. He shuffles around to face Vlad from the floor, looking up at him with a face he unfortunately knows all too well at this point.

“CUT!” The director yells, letting out an exasperated sigh. They break their shared look to give the man their full attention as he walks onto the set, “Alright let’s take a break and meet back in ten!” Turning to them he gives a pointed look, “Vlad, please be ready to actually finish the scene this time, hmm?” A bell rings and the room buzzes to life, people putting down equipment, conversations starting up, and Vlad finally looking back towards Joel, who looks wholly unamused by the situation. The director turns to walk away, intentionally ignoring the words that follow.

“I’m literally wrapped around him, like we all see that right?” Vlad says, hand gesturing lazily over to his…coworker. Yeah. Let's go with that. He shifts to accept a bottle of water from a staff member, mumbling a quick thank you before bringing his good leg up onto the table he sat on and resting an arm over his knee. His eyes fall back to Joel as he takes a drink of water. The other man is still sitting on the floor, now lazily leaning back onto his arms.

“V, if you keep this up they’re gonna get us an intimacy coordinator. And I don’t think I need to tell you that we do not need an intimacy coordinator.” He let a hand come up to rub his eyes in frustration at the thought. They’d been dating since the end of the first season, in private might he add, and the idea of having to tell anyone about their status because of this just felt like a hassle. “I get you’re giddy at the idea of more…touchy feely scenes, but you need to get it together here yeah?” He lifted his hand to look back at his partner, exasperation clear on his face. Truth be told he didn’t hate having to reshoot this scene, but the growing frustration of the rest of the cast and crew was not lost on him. Especially with this being the third or fourth try today alone. It was getting ridiculous to say the least.

“I know Joel I’m sorry, it’s just different! We were touchy in the first season, sure, but this is a lot different! The producer keeps telling us it’s platonic, brotherly and shit,” Vlad actively let a look of disgust come over his face as a light shiver went down his spine. “but I can’t act platonically with these scenes they're giving us.” He accentuates with a wave of his hand, spilling from his still open bottle before recaps it and sets it down beside him. “Plus I’m not ‘Giddy’ as you say,” he quotes the word with some playfulness, “I just think the relationship isn’t going to come off how they think, is all. It feels like I should lean into the romance, y'know?”

 Joel nods in understanding at that, while in the first season it was more up in the air for how they were meant play their characters, it definitely felt like a line had been crossed with the new scripting, all the love and banter of the first season with a new aura of…something more. Something that he personally would describe as romantic. He says his next words with a hint of a smile. “Then lean into it. If they don’t like it they’ll make us reshoot it and we’ll know that’s not the vision they want, end of story. If they don’t?” he shrugs and raises an eyebrow. He knows his partner understands what he’s getting at, he’s being extremely obvious after all. “No harm in just eh…testing a theory?” The last line gets him a light chuckle and grin from Vlad, who looks back at him with fondness and amusement. Vlad says his next words with a light shake of his head.

“I suppose you’re right, and isn’t that what got us cast in the first place? Playing the characters how we interpreted them?” He takes another sip from his water and gives his legs a quick stretch. Their break is almost over after all, it’ll be time to get back to it. “Besides, they don’t have to know that’s how I’m playing it, right? Those that get it will get it and those that don’t…are hopefully the executive producer.” He starts to slide off the table, the thin fabric doing little to keep the cold of the floor from reaching his feet. Joel moves to stand and takes the bottle from Vlad, quickly getting it off the set before the director calls them back. 

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Filming had wrapped up for the day, thankfully for both of them, and they were now on their way back home for the night. Or to Vlad’s home specifically. Joel’s driver had put up the privacy curtain not long after the trip had started, it was routine. About as routine as taking the turns he had grown accustomed to over the last…however long it had been, 10 months? A year? They’d only been together a year and a half but this had become regular quite a while before that, during the second half of their filming for season one actually. They hadn’t seen a reason for Joel to keep renting a place out here for filming when Vlad had an apartment so close to set. They could commute together to and from work, make sure the other ate proper meals off set, and even run lines. At least that’s what Vlad had said when he suggested it back then, in fact it’s still the excuse they use when people question them on why they take the same car to and from nearly all the same places every day. That it’s just more convenient. Most don’t believe that, but they don’t mind the speculation. The car ride is comfortable after the long day they’d had, especially once Vlad had gotten it together in the ‘fight’ scene they had. 

Joel was leant up against the door, head in his hand as he watched Vlad talk from his seat in the car. And oh boy was he talking. The corner of his mouth curled slightly as he listened intently, watching the others hands fly about as he went on.

“I can’t believe none of them picked up on the tone change. None! My mood, my facial expression, the way I was wrapped around you and still nothing!” Vlad had indeed decided to lean into the romantic tone they’d talked about previously for the scene, and as predicted it went off without a hitch. The rest of their scenes together that day had been only a few takes, including mess ups from other cast and crew. Joel easily caught one of his waving hands to gingerly bring it to his lips before placing it between them. Vlad instinctively closed his hand around the others, giving a gentle squeeze unknowingly. Joel gave his partner a blank stare.

“I hardly think nobody could tell. Did you see Viola? She was practically in the end frame on that last take, probably would have been if Cathrin wasn’t holding her back. She’s been waiting for us to start giving into the romantic angle more.” He paused to give a chuckle as the other man’s head turned to watch him speak, “And I do mean waiting, you remember during season one? The ‘crank it’ scene? Or when we were filming the opening scene for the season? We had to redo it three times because you could hear her outbursts in the background every time I so much as looked at you!” He let a smile creep up his face as he remembered. When they had initially gotten together they had of course told a few of their on screen friends, knowing it would be hard to keep something like this from them. Naturally a few of them had pushed for the men to let their off screen romance bleed into the way they portrayed their characters. 

“Yes yes yes, but the director? The producers? The ones who kept telling me to tone it down, dial it back? Them? No idea!” Vlad said in excitement. It was also true that in previous scenes they’d made it a bit too obvious that their intentions were to make the relationship romantic and a few of the wrong people had caught on. But how else were they meant to interpret it? ‘It was affection that held us together’? Really? Joel let out a small chuckle at the memory before turning his attention back to his counterpart. 

“I suppose so V, though I don’t think it’s too hard to fool them. Especially given how they literally wrote the damn thing with zero idea of how romantic it actually was.” he gazed at the other man from his seat opposite to him. Vlad, noticing the silence, also turned to look back. He gave a wide smile, eyes crinkling as he squeezed their hands tighter. The driver was close to his complex now. Joel blinked as another thought crossed his mind, “Although I must say, for a fight scene it was very…suggestive. I can’t say we haven’t been in positions quite similar to that.” a slightly darker tone overtaking him as he leaned in a bit. Vlad easily caught onto what the other was suggesting, and he moved his head closer to whisper back.

 “I must say I don’t know what you mean by that.” He smirked, eyes darting down to the others lips before moving back up to his eyes, his head tilting ever so slightly, “Though I wouldn’t be against a…reminder? Or two perhaps, hmm?” Joel moved his unoccupied hand to take his partner’s jaw in his fingers, bringing them together for a firm kiss. Their lips slotted together in a practiced ease, a light sigh leaving Vlad as Joel’s tongue flicked against his lower lip. The car stopped. The finger under Vlad’s jaw didn’t move as they broke apart, and a knowing, wanton look was shared between them as Joel leaned back and undid his seatbelt, Vlad breaking their contact to do the same.

“I’d be delighted to give a refresher.” They exited the car.

Inspo for this was from art by boopfq on tiktok and MessRedds on Twitter. I haven't written fanfiction (or anything) in like 5 years so if this seems meh don't worry about it. This is self indulgent bc these two are ruining my entire life and I need an outlet. I literally made a playlist it's getting so bad