#political discussions at christmas are never a good idea

[peachyscenes]

nine to five | office workers!enhypen x fem!reader

notes: SMUT!! so mdni and proceed with caution/at your own risk! porn with some plot. you 🫵, my dear reader are in fact the same person for the rest of this piece/mini-series (not sorry lol). enhypen are pervs! like freaky pervs! decelis corp is lowkey highkey a sex service company lol. you must really need this job but it's ok because same. not required, but i encourage you all to read part one and two to give them love 🫶🫶

a/n: me when my final for a class was monday the 23rd and christmas eve was tuesday and then christmas was wednesday and now new years is TODAY 😭😭

taglist!: @vixialuvs @chubbypeach2111 @jungwoosbaey

reblogs are appreciated!!

Welcome to Decelis Corporation! As the new member of the creative department, you're tasked with developing new ideas to help promote the company and bring in new investors! Though the creative department is not as big as the other departments, you and your seven teammates are just as capable and incredibly skilled! Though, no one told you just how skilled they were... And unfortunately you made the mistake of not reading the fine print when signing the contract...

All members are welcome to explore the services provided by Decelis! By signing this contract, you are consenting to every and all services at your own expense (refer to the employee handbook for the list of services)! Please note that services outside of office hours will not count as overtime unless a request has been submitted by the team leader!

Thank you for joining Decelis Corporation! We hope to have you for a while!

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII

Part III: Jake, Data Entry Clerk

There's a small part of you that can't help but feel smitten whenever Jake comes to you about something. His charms are different from your other coworkers. His smile is infectious and his eyes quite literally sparkled when he asked you to hand some files to Sunghoon before you went on break. Jake Sim is so polite and sweet that you almost never question him.

You're walking into Decelis when you notice that the elevators are down and a couple of people outside of it discussing its condition. Quickly, you seek out the front door receptionist to figure out why.

"They've been acting up since yesterday in the evening. At around 6:00pm I think. The technicians have been working on it early this morning. You'll have to take the stairs." She gives you an apologetic smile, and you can only thank her and return the gesture because at the end you know it's not anyone's fault. Thank goodness your company actually cares. Fortunately, your department is only on the third floor, so while you did have to climb a bit (and shamefully you were absolutely winded), it definitely beats being on the higher floors.

Upon entering your department, you're immediately bombarded with tasks to do (courtesy of Jongseong). You want to complain about how you just got here, but you're suddenly reminded of the last time you ran your mouth to Jay.

Your bum aches at the reminder.

You decide to just listen, so you get settled and begin to work on your files. About an hour goes by when there's a knock on your desk. You look up to be met with Jake's blinding smile.

"Working hard or hardly working?" You sigh and smile back at him.

"I wish it was the latter."

Jake snorts. "Tell me about it." He looks around the office before grabbing a nearby chair and sitting across from you. You look around too, curious as to what he was searching for. You notice that Jay's desk is empty.

"Jay's been on our asses for the last two weeks. I can't believe Heeseung threw us to the slaughter." You giggle at his dramatics. Heeseung had to extend his week for a business trip, meaning that he'd be back next week.

"It's not so bad. He hasn't scolded anyone yet."

"Yet. I bet it's gonna be Riki this time. I noticed that the coffee pot is a quarter away from being empty." You look over to the said individual's desk and lo and behold, a fresh cup next to him.

"To be fair, he, Jungwon, and Sunoo do have a presentation later this afternoon. I guess he's feeling stressed."

Jake shrugs before turning to you once again.

"Speaking of afternoon... how about you and I get lunch together? I saw that didn't bring anything."

"Isn't your lunch an hour before mine?"

Jake nods, but gives no further explanation. He simply smiled, waiting for you to answer him.

"Okay, let's get lunch together."

You never questioned Jake. He was simply charming. Not even when his staring was lingering, or when he'd accidentally brush up against you. He was polite.

It's finally your lunch break when Jake shows up at your desk. There was an email about the elevators finally working, but it's advised that the stairs keep being used. Jake, ever the persuader, said that the elevator was fine.

"Decelis hires the best of the best. Everything will be fine."

You both hadn't even made it off the third floor when there's a stutter in the elevator's movement and then a complete stop. You wait a few seconds, two minutes, when you both decide that the elevator are down. Again.

Jake had called Jongseong to let him know of the situation. You're not in immediate danger, so there's no need to rescue you both, but the wait would be long, mostly likely your whole work day.

"I'll give you both a two day extension for the work, but I would prefer if it got submitted on time." You can hear the annoyance in Jay's voice and it took everything in you to not tell him off. Jake thanks him before hanging up.

"So much for my lunch." You grumble. You lean against the elevator wall, slightly annoyed.

"I'm sorry, Doll."

What?

You whip your head up upon hearing the pet name, and you're met with something different. A smirk.

This Jake is different from your usual one. While his eyes still sparkled, they had a hint of something more mischievous. And his charming smile is replaced with a dangerous expression. One that has you hypnotized.

"It's my fault that we're in this mess. Don't you think?"

"I-I guess..."

Jake closes in on you, and due to the limited space of the elevator, he stands in front of you pretty quickly.

"What if I make it up to you. I'll buy your dinner later. And..."

"And...?" His smirk grows, and you're sure that you just fell in his trap.

"Let me eat your sweet pussy."

It doesn't take much to convince you. A couple kisses here and there and you're letting Jake take off your dress pants before he drops to his knees.

Jake kisses up from your ankle, occasionally licking and nibbling at your skin. He keeps eye contact with you as he makes his way up.

"Heeseung said your pussy is sweet. I've been fantasizing about how you taste since."

"Y-You talked about me?" You feel breathless as he passes your knee and his hair brushes the front of your mound.

"We all do. You're so pretty, how could we not?" He reaches the front of your underwear, and teasingly gives you a kiss on your clothed pussy. Jake gently brings one of your legs up to his shoulder before leaning in to inhale your cunt through your underwear. He lets out a guttural groan, biting his lip and leaning in to give you a tentative lick right above where your clit is.

You feel your heart quickening. Seeing Jake from this angle made you feel something. Something primal and his stupid, pretty doe eyes that somehow still held stars in them did not help. You wanted to see him cry so bad. You wanted big, fat tears to fall from his apple cheeks. Your hand finds its way into his hair and you pull his head back, causing his brows to shoot up and a slight blush to show on his face.

"If you wanna taste, you gotta beg Puppy."

Jake feels his stomach turn at the tone of your voice. It does something to him and he can only let out a whine at the sudden change of roles.

"Can I taste your pussy, Miss?"

"Do you deserve it Pup? You said it was your fault..." You elicit another whine from him. His voice heightens in pitch.

"I didn't know the elevator would go down-!" Another sound, this time a whimper when you tighten your grip in his hair.

"Watch your tone."

"M-M'sorry Miss! Please! Let me taste you! I promise to be good, I promise! Please let me taste your pussy!"

You don't say anything. Instead you move his head to your clothed cunt and press his face against you. He lets out a muffled 'thank you!' before lapping at your cunt, soaking the fabric of your underwear with his saliva. He keeps his hands to his side as he works his tongue on you. Your legs spread further to accommodate to his body that leans more into you. His tongue is warm and long.

You feel him lick what he can and when you look down, his eyes are staring right back at you. You moan when his tongue comes back to where you clit is. Jake slightly pulls back to throw a dollop of spit onto your clothed pussy before diving back in. His eyes roll back when he feels your own slick start to leak through.

He whimpers when you pull him back to see his work. Your folds are sticking to your underwear, making your pussy visible to him. The color of your panties do not help him. You wore white today, so the fabric almost blends in with your cunt, making every crease visible to him.

"Can I please take off your panties Miss?" Jake looks up at you pathetically and you can see his tears begin to form at his waterline.

You pretend to dwell on his question before giving him the okay. Jake's hands shoot up to the sides of your hips, ready to yank your panties down, when you stop him. You take his hands and place them on your thighs.

"M-Miss?"

You smile at him. Your hand cups his cheek, lovingly rubbing the apple of it with your thumb before running your thumb down to his mouth and opening his jaw. You slip your thumb into his mouth and Jake automatically sucks on it. You thrust your thumb into and out for a bit before taking it out. You run your thumb across his lower lip before speaking to him.

"Take them off with your teeth."

Jake doesn't hesitate, and immediately leans in to take your waistband in between his pearly whites. Jake slowly sinks down, tugging your panties off. He makes it to about your knees when you stop him. You gently tug on his hair and pull him back. He lets out another whine, and you can only giggle before leaning down to kiss him on the lips. Jake moans into you, using the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth. You thread your hand through his hair you you both kiss. His hands knead your thighs. You break the kiss to speak to him.

"That's enough. You've been so good to me Jakey."

You stand at your full height, taking off your panties before slinging them at him.

"Keep them. You're such a good boy."

You lean back against the wall of the elevator before spreading your legs. Jake immediately goes in and begins to devour you. His previous ministrations have your pussy dripping, his tongue was sliding easily between your folds. You moan when you feel his tongue circling around your clit and sucking on it. You push his face even further into you and Jake moans. His tongue doesn't miss a single inch of your pussy and you moan when you realize just how bad Jake wants you. You keep Jake in place on your cunt and let out another moan as he buries himself, his nose bumping against your clit.

"You love my pussy, right Jakey?"

Jake moans in response as his tongue laps at your hole. The raw taste of you is better than what he imagined and he doesn't think any other taste will satisfy him after this. His tongue prods at your hole, teasing it before delving into it. He thrusts his tongue in and out, feeling just how warm and sweet you were.

No wonder Heeseung and Jay like you so much.

Jake fucks you with his tongue and you feel yourself starting to lose your mind. Your moans begin to get louder and louder. Your legs want to clamp around his head and trap him, but his hands prevent you from doing so. They're rubbing at your thighs so gently, calm. The complete opposite of how his mouth is ruining you. Your chest heaves and before you realize it, you're coming on his tongue. Jake helps you ride out your orgasm, switching between sucking on your clit and licking your folds. A final touch to your clit has you whining and you have to gently push his head away from between your legs.

Your legs feel like jelly when he stands, and had it not been for the arm that wraps around your waist, you would've definitely fallen to the ground. Jake holds you close to him for a moment, basking in the afterglow of your orgasm. You're about to ask him if you could help him with his boner when you notice the wet patch at the front of his pants.

Jake looks down and a slight blush appears on his face out of embarrassment.

"I really enjoyed myself."

[hxneyfarm]

have a little father's day blurb about complicated father-son relationships. 1k. cross posted to ao3

steve's relationship with his parents has been complicated at best his entire life but it's only after he and eddie have an apartment together in chicago that his perception of of the father-son relationship shifts.

for the past decade or so, he's watched eddie's relationship with wayne and ached a little bit. because that's the kind of father-son relationship he wishes he could have had with his dad.

it wasn't always great, especially after his dad realized steve could mostly fend for himself and started leaving him alone more and more often for longer stretches of time. but it wasn't all bad either. his dad used to take him to ball games and he taught him how to ride a bike without the training wheels. he taught him how to change the oil in his beamer and how to bullshit his way through a book report.

mostly, though, he taught steve how to be lonely.

over the past couple of years, steve has slowly been trying to repair that stilted relationship with his old man. the guy isn't going to be around forever, and if nothing else he owes it to steve to leave him with some good memories after he's gone.

father's day has always been a bit of a weird day for steve, because his dad has always kept his feelings close to the vest, so steve's never had any idea how to navigate the day around him.

he thinks about the year he was thirteen; they'd gone to a cubs game together at wrigley and his dad let him have a cup of beer with his hotdog. he thinks of the year he was sixteen, before hawkins turned itself upside down; his dad was out of town at the condo in indy for some work conference the following week and he'd sighed when steve called him to wish him well, thinking there'd been something wrong at home.

this year is going to be different, steve tells himself.

he and eddie have invited both his dad and wayne to their apartment in chicago for dinner, and his dad is going to be here. steve's already bought a card for his dad, and his mom sent him her lasagna recipe, and he splurged for a good bottle of red wine.

hopefully this year will begin to repair the distance between steve and his dad.

steve finds himself hovering over the coffee maker at the kitchen counter, staring off into space while it brews, and eddie startles him a little when he comes up behind him to wrap an arm around his waist and kiss his cheek.

'you good?'

"yeah. little nervous.'

'it'll be fine. i made him laugh at christmas last year. remember?'

steve does remember. it was a good christmas.

it took steve's parents some time to accept steve and eddie as steve and eddie, but it's been so long now that it's not something that the harringtons can just ignore. if they want to be a part of their son's life, they need to get used to eddie. and this past christmas felt like a win - the harringtons had gifted them concert tickets and a fancy toaster oven for their apartment.

that night, after the sunday chores have been done and the laundry has been folded and put away, richard and wayne show up within moments of each other. steve and eddie's beagle mix, ozzy, greets them at the door, his tail thumping against the floor as he resists jumping up to beg their visitors for pets.

dinner goes really well; richard doesn't say anything offensive about their little apartment and eddie doesn't goad him into a discussion about politics. together, the four of them reminisce about steve and eddie's childhoods around the table, their plates overflowing with noodles and red sauce. wayne tells them stories about eddie that steve's never heard before, and richard tells stories that steve had completely forgotten about.

it's giving steve hope, this father's day dinner with his dad and his boyfriend and his boyfriend's uncle-dad.

until steve and richard are at the sink washing up the dinner dishes together, and everything crashes down around them.

'you're still young,' richard says. 'there's still time.'

'for what?'

'for you to come to your senses.'

'dad...'

'no, i mean it. there's always a job waiting for you at my firm. plenty of pretty girls in administrative roles there, too.'

'dad...' steve says again.

'i'm just saying, steven. it's time to stop playing house like this and settle down.'

'i am settled. we have a good life here. i love my job at the school. i love my life. i love eddie.'

'don't you want kids of your own? he can't give you that.'

steve scoffs.

'why would i want kids of my own? i didn't exactly have the best parental role models growing up. i'd fuck a kid up, just like you and mom fucked me up. besides, i have my students. that's plenty for me.'

'we gave you everything, steven.'

'everything except your presence. i needed you guys, especially as a teenager. and you guys just... didn't give a shit. why would i want to keep that cycle going?'

the silence in the kitchen is so loud.

'it's late. you should get going. eddie's got work in the morning.'

richard sighs.

'the offer stands. the firm is always there when you're ready.'

'just go. happy father's day.'

it comes out bitter. snappy. steve doesn't apologize.

richard goes. steve stays in the kitchen and tries not to think about it. he pops open a second bottle of wine - cheap, sweet, white, the kind of wine his father would mock him for drinking if he gave him half a chance.

he feels stupid for thinking his father could change, for thinking it could ever be different. people his dad's age are so stuck in their ways that there's no getting through to them. it's not easy but it's reality.

after wayne leaves, eddie comes into the kitchen to join steve and pour himself a glass of that cheap riesling steve's been working his way through. he doesn't say anything because he doesn't have to. ozzy curls up at steve's feet and the three of them sit together in a comfortable silence. eddie holds steve's hand atop the table.

at least steve isn't lonely anymore.

[vintageaurelia]

knitting club (Thomas Thorne x Reader drabble)

note: hi fellas. this is my first time writing something like this and POSTING it. I'm a little nervous ngl! But just bear with me I swear I'll improve 😊. anywho! feel free to shoot some silly little requests my way!

Also! apologies if you don't have any clue about knitting, I personally do and I based this off a singular Thomas quote LOL.

------

The club meetings Alison was hosting in the home proved to be bothersome for some of the ghosts, annoyed at how many people were visiting the house every day. Between the AA meetings and just the most random topics you could ever think of being discussed, it was something not everyone was entirely interested in. Though everyone loved to tune into the AA meeting every once in a while, for some juicy stories. 

You on the other hand? You stuck around for all the art based clubs, it reminded you of when you were alive and could do all this work with your hands.

The knitting club proved to be one that you could watch for hours, it's one of the hobbies you missed a lot. Looking around at all of the cute creations everyone was making and talking about their families and different stories they had from the day filled your soul with a sort of warmth. 

As this week's meeting began, you sat on the old beat up couch, watching all the young, old, women and men fill the seats, excited about what progress they made over the week. Unbeknownst to you though, a certain poet was walking past the room to see you sitting in there alone, with the group that had no idea you were there.

Thomas was never really fond of the knitting club, he felt it was boring and it wasn’t worth his time to sit and watch other people knit while talking about their grandkids or their in-laws. But maybe he could learn to like it? Maybe just for you?

He walked into the room silently as you were enchanted by all the people getting ready to start the meeting. “Good evening dear (Y/N),” Thomas greets you with a slight bow and a polite smile on his face. You light up and wave to him “Hi! Are you here for the knitting club? I thought you didn’t like them?” Thomas freezes up before responding with a quick agreement. “I just thought I might’ve judged them a little too hard at first, so I thought I would give them another chance,” this makes you smile and you go back to watching the group. 

He had to admit it's not as boring as he remembered, but it still wasn’t super enjoyable for him. But boy did it make him gleam seeing you get up and tell him what everyone was making and why.

By the end of the meeting, he learned one of the older women was making a blanket for her new grandson, and a young man was making a hat for his wife as a Christmas gift. Part of him wished he could do something like that for you, just because he realized how excited you get about this stuff.

“Say (Y/N), did you know how to knit when you were living? You seem to know quite a bit.” You nod, “It was a big hobby of mine. I spent a lot of time and money on blankets and hats, which now thinking about it, probably paid off. Because now my family has something handmade to remember me.” You smile, but it hurts to think about sometimes. 

Thomas reads you like a book, he realizes how emotional you are getting. He places a supportive hand on your shoulder. 

You both lock eyes, getting lost with one another. Thomas soon breaks eye contact to glance over at the people knitting mindlessly.

“I know that being stuck here isn’t ideal, and not being able to do the things you love isn’t ideal either. But isn’t it splendid you can still appreciate it? Even if you cannot do it, isn’t the true gift appreciation?” He states, so matter of factly you can’t even begin to argue. “That was actually very poetic.” Both of you smile at each other. 

“I also appreciate you, Thomas.” 

“I feel the same exact way, my dearest.”

-----

I hope you all enjoyed! Probably not the best work ever, but I thought it was cute :)

[bookmuseum]

[REVIEW] The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov

3/5 stars (★★★)

"He does not deserve the light, he deserves peace."

This was an oddly enjoyable read for the Christmas season. Before I read The Master and Margarita, I had zero idea what the book was about and 412 pages + a lot of reviews later I still can't exactly say what even happened here. The Gogolian influence was very persistent in Bulgakov's prose, so I highly recommend reading some of Nikolai Gogol's stuff before getting into TMaM. That being said, I agree with people that it's a novel that stands on its own in spite of its heavy context. I did some background research into Bulgakov's biography, the ten-ish years it took for him to write the book, Stalinist Russia, and the 25-year gap between when he finished the manuscript (which don't burn!) and the actual publication of it after his death. Critics seem to be unanimous in agreeing that the Master is a self-insert of Bulgakov himself, which I really felt to be most fitting during the scenes in the hospital where he discussed with Ivan the Homeless his philosophies on art and the current social order. I appreciated Bulgakov's harrowing criticism on Soviet Russia without actually being too grave about it; the dark humor is good because the "dark" is the adjective that informs the noun, not vice versa like a lot of "satire" plots which I feel fail in comparison. The magical realism was a good kind of wacky (although I wouldn't exactly call it magical realism, but that may be just because I'm more used to its South and Latin American literary uses). I liked Woland and all the beheading episodes. Bulgakov's tongue-in-cheek treatment of citizens "disappearing," private executions, political censorship of the Soviet intelligista, and the air of general repression felt in all people, especially artists, during the time were spot-on (though that's coming from someone who never experienced Stalinist Russia and have only done humble research into it). I think TMaM is a great testament to the political and social climate of Russia in the 20th century. Bulgakov captured everything so well whilst still retaining a sense of wonder, folkloric absurdism, and, at times, tender humanity.

Personally, I didn't like the scenes set in Yershalaim with Pontius Pilate and Yeshua Ha-Nozri, though I appreciate their symbolic meaning and narrative weight as a whole. I honestly found myself falling asleep, especially during the infamous conversation between Pilate and Jesus. That being said, I found Bulgakov's portrayal of Jesus very intriguing, as well as his decision to refer to ancient Jerusalem by an alternate transliteration from the Hebrew quite bold. It gave a sort of distancing effect to the otherwise well-known Biblical places that separated their religious (over)-associations with actual historic (and fictionalized) context. I like that Jesus became "Yeshua," with the name obviously coming from the Aramaic word for "the Lord is salvation." Bulgakov making Jesus' last name "Ha-Nozri" meaning "of Nazareth" specifically was quite beautiful to me, as it places him as coming explicitly coming from the town of Galilee (north of Palestine), which Jesus was said to have lived in before he began his ministry. Instead of "Jesus Christ" or "King of Israel," which are common ways he is referred to, Bulgakov opted to name him according to his native Palestinian roots first and foremost. There's a lot of literary analysis you can take from that, but it's inherently a very defiant decision that I appreciate Bulgakov for making, and I'm saying that as a reader in 2024. Bulgakov, amongst other subtle cultural references, also mentions the keffiyeh ("kefia") in his novel a handful of times, most strikingly in the scene when Matthew Levi essentially curses at God because he was too late saving Yeshua from crucifixion. Bulgakov here is writing almost 100 years ago from where I am with zero idea of the political climate happening now in my world (although Zionism was still obviously present in early 20th century Russia). Matthew Levi's keffiyeh was one of the book's most resonant images for me, even if Bulgakov didn't exactly intend it to be as jarring as it is since he couldn't have predicted the genocide happening in Gaza right now. However, this small link I've noticed between the past and now is just an example of literature transcending time and space by acting as a bridge for human connections. Long ago, one man from Palestine disrupted Jerusalem and Rome's established (tyrannical) order and then centuries later a writer in early 20th century Russia adapted Jesus' story to criticize the cruelties and ridiculousness of the Stalinist regime, and then I in 2024 am reading this as the mass killings are happening in Palestine. Through this one book, three generations -- three timelines -- are somehow connected.

My final comment is that TMaM, particularly that connection I've personally drawn as a modern reader, reminds me why humanities, reading, history, literature, the arts, etc. are so timelessly and universally important. I know I may sound crazy and "you're just trying to be deep," but it really honestly is the truth. Bulgakov explicitly highlighting Jesus as Palestinian in Soviet Russia as a form of political protest and me in 2024 reading this book just as Jesus' same homeland is being massacred during Christmastime ... it's so haunting. The book being finished in 1940, meaning it and Bulgakov's very Palestinian Jesus is older than the "state" of Israel is an even more damning fact in and of itself. Even though I gave the book 3/5 stars, it's surely a story I will remember. That final image of the four "horsemen" riding off into the distance just as another dawn is breaking over a dictatorial empire history knows is doomed to crumble that concludes the novel will stay with me.

[ardate]

21, 22, 23?

[Simpsons OC Ask Game]

21 – Does your OC practice a religion?

Ehhh. Yes and no. Ann-Doreen considers herself christian, but it's really more an automatism borne out of cultural expectations than anything - she doesn't really practice, doesn't really go to mass, doesn't even really believe all that much if she were to look inward - but she never asked herself those kinds of things, it's never come to her mind to have any alternative, so she doesn't question her own status quo. She was raised christian so christian she must be surely. That's how it works right?

The one christian thing she tries not to miss out on too often is the christmas mass, cuz she's on break so she actually has the time to go, and if there's one time to go to church it's this, yeah? It's only proper.

22 – What’s your OC’s stance on politics? Do they actively participate in events and advocate for change, or are they more likely to shrug it off and see what happens?

Just like in almost all other aspects of her life, Ann-Doreen is too disconnected and jaded about everything to have any sort of specific convictions.

She's kind of lukewarm and unaffiliated, thinking some lefty ideas make sense and some right wing ideas are good, wishy washy. She's very idly patriotic if you ask, because that's what was taught to her since primary school, but not all that much either. She's the kind of person to not particularly care about big overarching political discussions that don't impact her directly, cuz she has no time for that shit she's got to get to work.

In a way, she's the epitome of the average horribly overworked american, who's privileged enough not to have to ask herself questions, but who's too deeply focused on making it to the next day to have mental energy for important societal and political matters.

23 Answered [here]!

[femmmie]

THE ISLAND

Read on AO3

Chapter 15: Epilogue

Ian takes Anthony somewhere special and they discuss their future together.

Chapter word count: 1.665

Rated: general

Anthony got the text. He smiled. 

“Would you look at that, Ian. Merry Christmas,” he said, beaming at this best friend who sat across the room from him. He gestured to their window. Ian got up and watched the snow falling gently out of the sky. 

"Amazeballs," he mumbled.

"Yeah..." Anthony still couldn’t believe it. That after all those years, he finally found his best friend. And that they could witness a white Christmas. It felt like magic.

The sun was beginning to set on Christmas Eve. Anthony walked up to Ian and they looked out of the window together. The hills around them weren't white quite yet, but it looked promising. Everything looked promising, in fact. Young sprouts of pioneer plants stood hopefully, waiting for a time after winter without any fires.

Ian decided to use the opportunity to make a joke. “You know, this whole project to cool down the world does have a downside. People everywhere are now heating the shit out of their homes and offices.”

“Why is that bad?” Anthony looked at Ian. He knew he was going to pull some nonsense. He was already getting giggly.

“You’ve played right into Putin’s hand, my guy. He’s selling oil like never before.”

“Oh, so I should have let the world burn just to spite him?”

Ian shrugged. “I guess not.”

Anthony stretched himself over the couch and Ian sat down next to him.

“Aren’t you tempted to go back into politics though?”

“No, not at all! I mean, I’ll have to do some stuff like endorse the VP for the next election, but…” Ian looked into Anthony’s eyes. He seemed determined. “I’m glad that era of my life is over. I’d really like to just chill and do fun things, for as long as possible. Enjoy life a bit, you know?”

“I do,” Anthony agreed. They looked at each other just a moment too long.

“And have some bro bonding time, with my bro, bro!” Ian pushed Anthony softly against the shoulder.

“Let’s go for a joy ride tomorrow, then,” Anthony suggested.

“Sure. My TVR hasn’t seen much action lately.”

“What do you mean, ‘action’?”

“What do you want it to mean?”

Anthony burst out laughing. “Oh my god.”

“We should probably take Angela up on her invitation to the theater,” Ian suggested with an enthusiasm Anthony didn’t see often in him. There was a twinkle in his eye, like he was really digging this idea.

“Yeah, why not! I mean, we’re not acTORS, like her and Amanda and Chanse…”

“True, but we can act pretty well, I think! I mean, how hard can it be."

Ian stood up like he was going to perform. "We can’t be worse than people in like, those old tv-commercials where they were trying to sell you some shit, right,” Ian was getting more and more animated, “Like IS YOUR LIFE FRICKED UP? ARE YOU A LOSER WHO WILL NEVER SUCCEED IN LIFE? GOOD! USE OUR PRODUCT, YOU IDIOT! And it would be like, a fucking brick or some shit, AND YOU WILL BE RICH AND HOT IMMEDIATELY!”

“BUY NOW,” Anthony stood up and continued the bit, “AND GET NINE THOUSAND FREE EXPIRED CHEEZ-ITS FOR FREE!” Anthony giggled through all his words. “That over-the-top acting always gets me.”

“Not to mention the physical comedy,” Ian agreed. “They go like wuueeeeeueeeeoo”, he fake-toppled and spun around, all the while Anthony almost fell over from laughter.

The doorbell rang. Anthony went to open it.

Not two, not three but four people stood in the doorway, snow melting in their hair.

Courtney had a bob-cut even blonder than how Anthony remembered. Shayne stood right next to them, he seemed buffer.

Behind them were Tommy and Spencer. They both wore inconspicuous shades and black trench coats.

“Hmm, it seems like you're hiding the president in your house, I’m afraid I have to investigate,” Shayne joked in Spencer’s voice.

“You might want to keep your voice down or our stealth attack will get ruined,” Spencer joked back.

“HEY, don’t close the door on us, bitch,” came a dramatic voice from behind the group.

Brandon and Nicole came strutting up the street. They looked like a hippy dad and his hot daughter.

“Hurry up then, I’ve only got one SLUTTY minute!” Anthony retorted. He walked outside in his house slippers to greet and hug them. 

"I'm so happy to see you guys!" Anthony beamed.

"Aaah, there it is again! The Padilla smile! I'm blinded by its brightness," Nicole joked.

Brandon looked at her, bemused. "I thought I was the only one who was affected! I guess not," he said.

Everyone crowded into the hallway and then shuffled through to the living room. 

“Dinner will be here soon,” Ian commented after he’d greeted everyone.

“You’re not cooking yourself?” Courtney asked, looking fake-disapprovingly.

“I’m ordering myself, thank you very much.”

“That does count for something,” Anthony agreed with Ian.

“Do you at LEAST have some hard liquor?” Brandon went to search the kitchen cabinets himself. “Ah, there it is!”

Anthony and Brandon got everyone a drink.

“So, you guys are like, best friends now,” Brandon stated with a wink. But there was a slight accusatory tone to his voice as well.

“To be honest, I knew this was my homie from the moment we met,” Ian said with a glow on his face.

“How precious. You know, I also found a new best friend, Anthony.”

“Hii, how are you,” Nicole joked.

“You look really good together,” Anthony complimented them.

“Oh, we know, honey” Brandon answered as he and Nicole did some poses.

“Look at Team Rocket over there,” Shayne couldn’t help but comment.

“They’re a hot ass Team Rocket.” Courtney leaned against their husband, relaxing into his strong arms.

Ian looked around the room. “On that subject, I think we have enough controllers, right, Anth?”

“I think so.” Anthony rummaged through a box next to the television and got everyone a controller.

They played a free multiplayer Pokémon-themed game for a while. When their food arrived, they sat down at the dining table and the couch, because Ian and Anthony didn’t have enough chairs for all of them.

“So, how is married life treating you?” Ian asked Courtney and Shayne. They smiled like big goofs.

“It’s actually amazing,” Courtney said. “Shayne is my best friend. We took the leap, and also got romantic. But the friendship is still there, it’s still the foundation of our relationship.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Shayne continued. “Like, we play videogames together, we chill. And then whenever we feel like it, like now,” he said, kissing Courtney on the cheek, “we kiss.”

Everyone loved their story. But were they laying the ‘friendship’ aspect of their love on a bit thick? What point did they try to make? Ian didn’t know. "It's like my mom always says," he commented, "friendship always wins!" 

Everyone cheered to that.

Anthony leaned towards Ian, who sat next to him at the table. He inhaled slowly and sighed with a smile.

~

The next day, Ian and Anthony got into Ian’s car.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Ian said. He wore a fake mustache, shades and a cap to look inconspicuous. Anthony couldn’t wait to see what he had in store for him.

They were driving some hours and Anthony lost track of time. He just marveled at the very green surroundings along the highway.

Ian was having fun speeding. “Let’s get this baby to 80!”

“Ian, you’re still technically the president for a couple more weeks. You don’t want to get a ticket.”

Anthony couldn’t help being concerned for his best friend but at the same time, he felt joy. Seeing Ian having this much fun and being able to witness that up-close was a gift Anthony would never take for granted.

“Oh shit, oh, Ian?” Anthony sat up straight, checking the road signs. “Are we going to Sac’?”

“Almost there,” Ian grinned.

They drove all the way into the city, past cinemas they’d been to, past the river kids used to throw other kids’ school stuff into... Until they arrived at a particular playground. It was an unassuming small park, but very significant for them both.

“Dude, this is where our whole school would hang out,” Anthony remembered it all. Sitting with his fellow goths, not feeling the vibe. He’d look around for some distraction. And of course, Ian had been there, pretending to be in a band, shooting a fake music video.

“What was that song you used to always sing?” Anthony smiled as he half-remembered it.

“You mean BOX MAAAAAAANNNN?” Ian sang it to Anthony for good measure.

“Oh my god yes! That’s it, the whole school sang it with you. I thought you were really cool back then.”

“Did you, now? Do you still think I’m cool?”

“Hmm, maybe. I dare you to sing it right now,” Anthony laughed.

Ian got to it, he really performed it and gave his all.

“That was amazing,” Anthony wheezed.

“Thanks, I still got my mojo,” Ian said, a little out of breath. “I think joining Angela’s theater might actually be my next career move, you know?”

“I think that would be absolutely crazy and so much fun. But, Ian?”

“Yeah?”

“Like, WE could, you know, you and me? We could do something like that on our own? Just the two of us?”

“You’d like that?”

“Yeah! I think our humor is so compatible, and don’t get me wrong, Amanda, Angela, Chanse and all the others, they’re great! But we have this special thing, don’t you agree?”

“Yeah, I do. But we don’t have a lot of experience with this, Anthony. I think it would be a wise choice to practice with that whole fun bunch first.”

“I guess you’re right, Ian. Wow, we’re really gonna do it?”

“I would never have done anything like this, if we hadn’t met again, Anthony. It feels so special. Like, why not, right? Let’s do this.”

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

Re the discussion: (as someone who's a fan of Ze and Kvartal way before Presidency and has been to shows)

Most of the Kvartal shows were not filmed months in advance. Usually shortly (some weeks) before airing. The Christmas and New Year shows sometimes really only maybe two or three weeks before. If they filmed with a bigger gap, it was because of schedule conflicts or something like that.

And as for Ze - after 2014/15, it was well known that Ze was active in politics. There was an increase in political satirical skits in the shows and the content was much more poignant and open. He went to political talkshows and voiced his (private) opinion in public. He got involved with help for the military. They did charity concerts and he donated his own money. Because if his popularity parties tried to win him as their face or member. And such stuff.

It was well known that several politicians (before and after Maidan) tried to buy Kvartal and them being nice about them, which didn't work obviously. There were also rumours about Ze joining politics as MP, but it never happened. And this was basically the only political activity Ze also talked about in public.

With Servant of the People the people started to like the idea of Ze as President (because they hoped he would be like his character). He wasn't running and in every interview at the time he said he doesn't consider it as a possibility. Nevertheless his name appeared in polls. But he always said he's not going to do it.

Basically in the second half of 2018 the rumours started to get bigger and more and people talked more about it. But even at that time he said "no" in interviews. In the last two, three months of the year he suddenly started to no longer answer the question or in an evasive way. One half of the people assumed he was just fed up with it, the other half thought it might mean something. Maybe not necessarily President (Poroshenko was viewed as a really strong opponent and no one really thought that Ze would challenge him in a race to Presidency and just make his life miserable as a MP).

So for the majority it really was a surprise (and caused a pretty scandal because of the time of airing the message). There were also discussions afterwards that Ze was just joking or it was a really weird but good ad for the new season.

And as for the Kvartal people: I remember some of them had no clue about his announcement (I think Lenny and Sasha were some of them?!?). Mostly only the people who later were part of his campaign and Presidency team. (Rumour has it that this was also the reason why some of them didn't show any public support and just very little.)

Thank you very much for all the additional information! 🤗✌️

[g0ttal0ve101]

Christmas Special

Note: EVIOLET EDITION!! (2/4) TW: none! <3

████████████████████

Christmas at the Anderson residence was a tremendous event each year. Considering the owner of the home, Alfred Anderson was a successful entrepreneur who had connections everywhere in Woodlyn City, the party was huge and magnificently organized. Beautiful decorations hung where the eye could see, food delicacies from all across the world, and presents ranging from hundreds to thousands of dollars, the party was grand. Evelyn, however, hated every minute of it.

Considering she was Alfred’s niece who also lived at the Anderson residence, she was tied into the commotion just as much as he was. Many guests want to see and speak with her, discuss the financial situations of the company, and brag about their own successes. Evelyn could care less about all these things, of course, and would rather sleep in the attic than be bothered by such arrogant imbeciles. Nevertheless, she was forced to interact with them for the night.

“Ms. Anderson, have you thought of marriage yet?” An older woman, probably in her early forties, asked her politely. Although she had no intention of keeping the conversation very civil.

With a bit of nervous laughter, Evelyn ensured to keep her distance between the guest and herself. After all, she had no idea what kind of germs were on any of these people. “Marriage? No, ma’am. I’m only sixteen and going to school. I’d rather wait until I’m at least in my mid-twenties to get married!”

“Do you have someone in mind, at least?”

“…Why do you ask?”

“Well, I have a son who’s here at this party and would adore having you as his bride.” She chirped as if she hadn’t just put her innocent child up for grabs. It was almost sickening what people did for money. “A very kind boy, you’d love him, Ms. Anderson.”

Furrowing her eyebrows and turning away, Evelyn visibly showed her discontent with the conversation. “I’m sorry, I don’t get married to random guys I have never met. Have a good night.”

And with that, she stormed off. Perhaps it was rude, perhaps it was uncalled for, but in her heart, she understood what that lady was trying to pull. Evelyn hated it. Every year it seemed that she was offered up a man who had money, just because she was also wealthy. In reality, none of that mattered to her. All that mattered was that they were kind and clean.

Evelyn rushed into her room and locked the door tightly behind herself, letting out a sigh of relief once the eyes were off her. She set down the beverage she had in her hand on her vanity and pulled out her phone, hurriedly dialing a number. The device rang a few times but in the end, service was picked up.

“Hello?”

“Violet, are you doing anything tonight?”

On the other side of the phone was her girlfriend Violet, lying alone in bed and reading a romance novel while trying to fall asleep. “No, not at all…why? It’s Christmas Eve, so I figured you had that big party—!”

“I’m at that big party.”

“Oh! Are you having fun?”

“Not in the slightest, no. Could you come over?”

It didn’t seem like Evelyn understood that not everyone had an amazing wardrobe that could enter that kind of party. So whenever she asked this question, Violet couldn’t help but laugh to herself a little. There was no way in hell she’d be able to fit into a place like that. “Evelyn, I don’t have anything to wear…is everything alright?”

Thinking up a plan in mere seconds, Evelyn replied hurriedly. “I‘ll let you borrow one of my dresses, darling. I’ll sneak you in through the back and give you something to wear when you get here! Please, just please come over!”

Nothing in the world could possibly make her deny that voice. Violet sighed and sat up from bed, putting her glasses on before heading over to her dresser to put casual clothing on. “I’ll be over there in ten minutes. Please make sure you’ll be down there when I get there…”

“Thank you, darling. I love you.”

And with that, Violet’s head was in the clouds.

████████████████████

Once Evelyn succeeded in smuggling Violet in the back door, they remained in her room while searching for something she could wear. Purples, pinks, blues, greens, almost every shade of every color were presented before her as if they were nothing but simple complimentary items. Violet couldn’t help but feel out of place — She wasn’t used to such wealth being placed for her to choose between. Evelyn wasn’t much help either; All she wanted was to make Violet try all of them on and have a little dress show for her. And as she demanded, her girlfriend obeyed.

“Try this one on next!” Evelyn bubbled, setting out another one of her favorite dresses on the bed. “You’ll look gorgeous in it! Just gorgeous!”

“Evelyn…” she muttered, her face slightly reddened from the amount of times she nearly found herself half-naked in front of her.

Taking bubbly steps toward her nervous girlfriend, Evelyn assisted in pulling the zipper down from top to bottom. She hadn’t realized how quiet the room had gotten beforehand, feeling that the moment was more sensual than she believed it to be. Her pale skin was being revealed gradually with every passing second, Evelyn’s eyes tracing against her spine with a hue of blush dusting her face. Once the zipper reached the end of its path, she couldn’t help but notice the sleeves drooping onto her forearms rather than her shoulders. Now her face was brighter than ever.

Violet pulled down the top of the dress and at that point Evelyn couldn’t watch anymore, feeling as though she was invading her privacy by doing so. However, her heart continued to race within her chest even whenever she turned away.

“…Are you okay, Evelyn? You suddenly got really quiet.”

“H-Huh? O-Oh! No, I just got caught up in my thoughts, haha! Let’s try the next one, I think it’ll really suit you.”

Turning back to face her and hand over the dress, she tried her hardest to hide how red she was. It was no use. By the time Violet saw her, she couldn’t help but giggle. “You’re about as red as the dress I just tried on. Are you sure you’re alright?”

She nearly collapsed from embarrassment once she was called out so bluntly. “Y-Yes, I’m fine! I’m fine…” her voice drifted off once she caught sight of Violet’s eyes, instantly finding herself lost within them. That’s when her mouth started moving on its own. “Earlier tonight, a woman asked me if I would like to be married to someone when I’m older.”

With the sudden change of topics, Violet found herself more confused than anything. She laughed and slipped on the next dress, having Evelyn assist her with the lace on the back. Once she started tying it, Violet simply watched her through the reflection of the mirror. She looked so pretty whenever she was focused.

“And of course, she immediately brings up a man afterward who won many awards and has tons of money. Isn’t it just sickening how people always assume that women like men?” Evelyn scoffed, ensuring that the knot wasn’t too tight around her waist. Due to the fact that she was trying to get her mind off of things, she had completely overlooked how prominent her frame was while the fabric rested against her skin. Although, she was right. The dress looked fabulous on her. “If I had the choice to marry anyone in the world, it would be the woman standing right before me.”

Violet’s face grew hot as she revealed the entirety of the dress to her. It was what she said that really had her for a loop even if having the dress show off her body added onto it. “Out of everyone in the entire world? Evelyn, you’re beautiful! There’s no way that I could even shed light on you.”

Furrowing her eyebrows, the taller girl didn’t seem to like her implications. “Why must you say that? Why must you bring yourself down in such a way? Don’t you understand that I could not shed light on you? I have been born and raised in wealth. I have only seen things from above a regular person. I am so disconnected from the world that I must use you to guide me through it. Violet, you are more beautiful than me. Because you have had to work for where you are now and earn your spot. That makes you a hundred times prettier than me.”

For a while, all was still. It wasn’t until Violet reached her arms out to embrace Evelyn that everything suddenly seemed to come together. Instead of being nervous or fidgety with the physical affection, Evelyn calmly allowed it. With her body pressing against her own and their heat entwining with one another, all she could think about was the fact that she was so lucky to share such a bond.

After the embrace, both Evelyn and Violet went back downstairs hand-in-hand to enjoy the rest of the party to the fullest.

[forabeatofadrum]

an ask game for writers to procrastinate working on your WIP(s)

Thanks for tagging me @wellbelesbian! Better late than never, eh?

1. 🦈Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s):

Just Some Guy and Ljubili se. Those are my "active" WIPs now, because if I had to list all of them... oh boy. Although I'm working on Just Some Guy more.

2. 🍄Describe your WIP/one of your WIP(s) in the format of “___ + ___ =___”

Outsider POV + Chosen One shit = disinterest

Queer journey + long distance = chaos (I think???)

3. 🌍What tags or warnings will one of your WIP(s) need if you intend to share it?

For these two, none. I know Matt is MCD, but it stands for Matt Christopher Davis.

4. 🧭An alternative title to one of your WIP(s)?

I don't really have alternative titles, but they do have nicknames. I call Just Some Guy "MCD" because it's just funny to me and Ljubili se "Klaine in Ljubljana 2" which is ridiculous cause they're no longer in Ljubljana.

5. ⚠️Which WIP your most likely to finish or update next?

Just Some Guy. I only need to finish one more chapter and I've been updating it weekly.

6. 💾What is your document of your WIP/ a WIP called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as)

Ljubili se is in "drabbles and oneshots" and Just Some Guy in "Non-glee drabbles and oneshots" because I am chaotic and put all my writing in those two docs, unless something becomes too big, then it gets its own doc.

7. 🖍Post Any sentence(s) from your WIP.

I’ve heard stories of physical fights between them, but I kind of don’t care. Just let me play chess in peace. If they want to knock each other’s brains out, be my guest. One time I walked to class and Simon almost shoved Baz against the wall in anger, and I just passed them. I think more students are kind of used to their escalations. So, no, I don’t care. Arnold says it’s rude of me to think that way, but it’s not out of malice. It’s out of disinterest. “Really, I don’t get politics,” I sigh.

8. ♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP.

I scrapped two scenes in Just Some Guy. The whole premise of the fic is that Matt honestly doesn't care that much about what the fuck is going in with Simon Snow and entourage. Originally, the kidnapping of the Mage in the 6th year had an entire scene where he, Leslie and John discuss it. And in the 8th year, there was an entire scene where Matt and his dad learn about the Mage's death, because once again, John and Leslie show up to discuss it. But in the end, I realised that Matt just... doesn't care. And those two scenes therefore felt very forced and it dragged the chapters down. The snippets aren't bad. They're just woefully unnecessary. I was like "I need Matt to acknowledge this" and I realised I didn't. I put both of them under the cut at the end of this post.

Hey, it ain't spoilers, cause everyone who's read Carry On knows what happens to good ole Davy.

9. 🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

Unfortunately for me, my mind's already started planning for this year's Klaine Advent/December Fanworks Challenge. Why is this unfortunate? Well, I still have to finish the 2023 one, Ljubili se.

But this idea is pretty neat. It's inspired by J.M. Frey's Accidental Turn series. That's all I'm sayin.

10. 🤡How many WIPS are you actively working on?

Actively, 2. Maybe 3, since bamboo ceiling is rotating in my brain. Don't ask me about the others in my WIP Hospital.

11. 🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

I AM FUCKING STUCK ON LJUBILI SE BECAUSE JUST LIKE LJUBIM TE I JUST FIND KURT'S POV HARDER/LESS INTERESTING TO WRITE.

12. ❤️Not a question, just a second Kudos to send.

Kudos back!

I think this post has been passed around in the Snowbaz fandom, so I am passing it to the Gleeks: @thnxforknowingme @caramelcoffeeaddict @coffeegleek @quizasvivamos @bitbybitwrites @shame-is-a-wasted-emotion @rockitmans @special-bc-ur-part-of-it and whoever else!

Year 6: Mage's kidnapping

When I come home from Christmas break, something is definitely up.

“Did I miss anything?” I whisper to Leslie. We’re walking towards the Dining Hall to meet up with the others.

Leslie looks around.

“I heard this from John,” she leans in, “that the Mage got kidnapped over Christmas.”

“What?!” I exclaim.

“Shut it,” Leslie hisses. Some people are indeed staring at us. “The Coven is keeping it quiet at the Mage’s request. He cannot afford to look weak in front of the Old Families and the Dark Creatures.”

“Then how does John know?” I ask, but I think I already know the answer. John just knows stuff. And so far he’s always right. Maybe he’s a Seer, or something. Not that those are real, but damn, John is a strong contender.

And yes, Leslie tells me that John just knows.

Leslie and I enter the Dining Hall and John waves. Everyone’s already here. I look to Leslie to say something about it, but she’s already run to Sam to catch up. I shrug. Leslie can be mysterious as well.

I sit next to John and I inquire about the Mage’s disappearance.

“Yeah, Simon Snow saved him and all that jazz,” John says quietly.

“Shouldn’t the Mage be the one protecting him, not the other way around?”

“You’d think, huh?” John sighs.

I look around. I assume others know as well, but no one discusses it openly. Even the Old Family kids don’t taunt Simon Snow about his mentor allegedly being kidnapped.

“Why did you tell Leslie?” I ask.

“Because I knew she’d tell you.”

“Why is it important that I know?” I ask, “You know I don’t care about Chosen One stuff.”

I care more about the pudding that’s in front of me. Fuck yeah, pudding. Both my mum and my dad are decent cooks, but they have nothing on cook Pritchard.

John shrugs.

“I needed you to react to it for story reasons,” he says.

“… Okay,” I say and I scoop some pudding on my plate, “Did it work?”

John nods with a smile.

“Yes, it did.”

--

Year 8: Mage's death

“Okay, so, the Humdrum attacked the Pitch Manor, where Simon Snow so happened to be. The day after, it attacks Watford. Simon and the Mage are there. Simon defeats the Humdrum and lost his magic. He kills the Mage. Is that… all?”

“In a nutshell,” Leslie says.

“Why would Simon Snow kill the Mage?” my dad wonders out loud. That is indeed the most surprising part, not even the fact that the Mage killed Ebb, the goatherd.

“The investigation is still in its beginning phase,” John says, “But it sounds like the Mage maybe wasn’t a good man after all.”

“Huh,” my dad says. That’s all. But it summarises it perfectly. Look, my dad and I are just some guys. We don’t have big opinions on the status quo, so we never really questioned how things are.

“So, what now?” I ask.

“There will be an inquiry into the Mage’s death,” Leslie explains, “Mitali Bunce is interim headmistress. Rumour has it that Simon Snow’s magic hasn’t returned, so who knows if he’ll come back to school.”

Damn.

This dude just saved the world, and he has to think about school?

I mean, I do too, but I am no Chosen One.

Bruh, it must suck to be Simon Snow

[constantviewings]

The TV Show Trials - Black Mirror

Black Mirror is a British anthology television series created by Charlie Brooker. Individual episodes explore a diversity of genres, but most are set in near-future dystopias with sci-fi technology.

Is this weeks late? Yes. Do I care? No. Is it even finished? Also, no; but I will update this as I watch what’s left. For this review I decided to switch it up a little bit, I’ve watched the majority of Black Mirror before so instead of just reviewing every episode; I’m ranking them from worst to best.

The Waldo Moment

A failed comedian who voices a popular cartoon bear named Waldo finds himself mixing in politics when TV executives want Waldo to run for office.

It’s very difficult to make audiences care about fictional, local bi-elections and this episode is definitive proof of that. This episode is a major let-down not only as a season finale but being in-between the powerhouses of White Bear and White Christmas. Overall, it’s just a bad episode...

The Entire History of You

In the near future, everyone has access to a memory implant that records everything they do, see and hear. You need never forget a face again - but is that always a good thing?

While the concept is solid, and provides the baseline of technology going forward, the episode itself is too slow to justify its 50 minute runtime. While the stakes feel high, I’m not invested enough in the relationship to feel bad at its demise. Also, I think Charlie Brookers takeaway is bullshit, he thinks it’s Liam’s fault for looking for information that will upset him and that Claire just has ‘secrets’ and ‘still loves him’… she cheated on him while they were trying to have a baby! She’s just as bad as he is.

Men Against Fire

Future soldiers Stripe and Raiman must protect frightened villagers from an infestation of vicious feral mutants.

While not boring, I don’t really care for action and war heavy narratives, the message redeems this episode a lot for me. The idea of war propaganda dehumanising the ‘enemy’ to make it easier to kill them or wish for their death is portrayed to its extreme here.

Be Right Back

After learning about a new service that lets people stay in touch with the deceased, a lonely, grieving Martha reconnects with her late lover.

Another slow episode, but this is better than The Entire History of You because it focuses solely on the relationship and the aftermath of Ash’s death. Hayley Atwell and Domhnall Gleeson absolutely kill it as Martha and Ash; but can we expect any less from them?

Arkangel

After nearly losing her daughter, a mother invests in a new technology that allows her to keep track of her.

I know this episode is pretty divisive and, while I don’t find it particularly entertaining, the concept and discussion that it prompts is worth having. Like, is the Arkangel moral, does some of the footage count as CP, if giving someone emergency contraception against their will a human rights violation? It’s just unfortunate that the discussion surrounding the episode is more entertaining than the episode itself.

Playtest

An American traveler short on cash signs up to test a revolutionary new gaming system, but soon can't tell where the hot game ends and reality begins.

I feel like my reviews are already getting bad, and we’re only six episodes deep… Anyway, this episode is pretty scary, so it does its job as the sole horror episode of the series.

Fifteen Million Merits

In a world where people's lives consist of riding exercise bikes to gain credits, Bing tries to help a woman get on to a singing competition show.

Okay, time to get a little controversial. I think this episode is good, but not great. Daniel Kaluuya is phenomenal, and you can really see how far he’s come while also retaining those trademarks of his performances; especially with his eyes. My problem mainly lies in that it’s only really entertaining in the last half; but I don’t know what I would cut to make it shorter…

Hated in the Nation

In near-future London, police detective Karin Parke, and her tech-savvy sidekick Blue, investigate a string of mysterious deaths with a sinister link to social media.

Once again, another good episode, it’s just too long. I think it’s done a massive disservice by simply being known as ‘the killer bee episode’ because it’s so much more than the bees; but not much more to impress me.

Hang the DJ

Paired up by a dating program that puts an expiration date on all relationships, Frank and Amy soon begin to question the system's logic.

This episode and the next one are pretty evenly matched, I just like this one slightly less. This is mostly because the episode lags in the middle compared to the beginning and end.

San Junipero

When Yorkie and Kelly visit San Junipero, a fun-loving beach town full of surf, sun and sex, their lives are changed.

It’s just a good episode… can you tell I’m getting sick of writing these reviews?

Nosedive

A woman desperate to boost her social media score hits the jackpot when she's invited to a swanky wedding, but the trip doesn't go as planned.

I think this episode is great, especially as the introduction to this ‘new’ phase of Black Mirror on Netflix. Bryce Dallas Howard knocks it out of the park and the concept is great; espacially because it isn’t too dissimilar to how we currently live.

Crocodile

An insurance agent investigates a minor traffic incident using a device that manifests peoples' memories, but one of her witnesses has something to hide.

This is just fucking grim, isn’t it? While this episode is insanely devistating, that’s one of the reasons I rank it so highly, especially because it isn’t afraid for it’s main character to just be an awful and selfish person with no redemption. It’s really great to see.

Black Museum

A woman enters the Black Museum, where the proprietor tells his stories relating to the artifacts.

Where this episode’s strength is in the way they tie each story to each other. It could come across as a slap-dash clip show to fill out the season but those connections in the form of Rolo Hayes takes it beyond into being a great episode.

USS Callister

Capt. Robert Daly presides over his crew with wisdom and courage. But a new recruit will soon discover nothing on this spaceship is what it seems.

I’m going to be completely honest and admit that I was dreading re-watching this episode as I didn’t like it the first time around; but I can confindently say my opinion has changed. It’s way funnier than I had remembered it and Cristin Milioti does a phenomenal job, a stand out scene being the one in the lake.

The National Anthem

Prime Minister Michael Callow faces a shocking dilemma when Princess Susannah, a much-loved member of the Royal Family, is kidnapped.

We all knew this was coming but I bet you weren’t expecting to see it in my top five, were you? I could go on for eons about how this (and the rest of my top five) perfectly encapsulate the soul of Black Mirror as commentary on technology, polotics, and interpersonal conflicts; but you don’t want to hear that, you want to hear my defence. I think this episode is the perfect episode to start the show with, it’s shocking and a bit gross but it hooks you so quickly that you can’t help but watch ‘til the end. And let’s be honest, it’s exactly how society would react to this situation...

White Bear

Victoria wakes up and cannot remember anything about her life. Everyone she encounters refuses to communicate with her, and they all seem to know something she doesn't. But what?

You don’t need me to tell you how good this episode is, the rest of the internet can do that for me...

White Christmas

Three interconnected tales of technology run amok during the Christmas season are told by two men at a remote outpost in a frozen wilderness.

This is another episode where the internet can tell you how great it is, so I want to focus on something different. Like The Entire History of You, I don’t agree with Brooker’s interpretation of the conflict, sure Joe doesn’t seem like the best guy but his partner cheated on him and had another man’s child while blocking him and refusing to work things out like an adult. And while he may be an unreliable narrator, when you don’t give me anything to hint at the reality, I’ve got no choice but to believe the narrator...

Shut Up and Dance

When withdrawn Kenny stumbles headlong into an online trap, he is quickly forced into an uneasy alliance with shifty Hector, both at the mercy of persons unknown.

I’m sure you saw this coming after seeing where I put The National Anthem... I love this episode and and the way it draws you in to care about Kenny until you start thinking ‘the video’s pretty bad, but surely it’s not wirth all this right?’ all the way up to dropping the bombshell on what he was actually doing. And, even on rewatch, that reveal still makes me unbeleivably nauseous.

[krillest1]

Week 16: Genre

WORK SUCKS Not sure why I've been using Blink-182 lyrics so much in these. It's been another banner week for me. I've spent quite a bit more time around people this week, which is pretty standard for the holidays. This has made me feel dumb and strange and harmful. I'm not sure of why I interact with people, and I sometimes get caught up in something like auto-speech, instead of auto-writing. While it's nice to be around people, I'm wracked by this endless sense of guilt once I've spent more than a few days with family. I've also found myself, as per usual, feeling bored and afraid, especially around work and interpersonal stuff. I don't know what to do about it, I want to drive to the Pacific Northwest and never look back and chainsmoke all the way and there and never talk or think again. This week has not been all despair. I was able to finish Stein, and get started on a Christmas book (some science fiction). I've also continued watching 'Arcane,' which is pretty good. Consumption, in short, is up. Hooray, the economy is saved. All of this consumption has me thinking about genre, and my relationship to interpretation.

CASE STUDY A year or two ago, I asked many of my acquaintances what they thought the difference between fantasy and sci-fi was. This often sparked pretty interesting discussion. I would often chum the waters by pointing out (correctly, I think) that 'Star-Wars' is more fantasy than sci-fi. The structure of the story, and the types of things it talks about, are fantastical (as in being part of fantasy). I cannot think of an analogue from a sci-fi story wrapped in fantastical elements, but I'm sure it's out there. Sci-fi, I think, is more about exteriors while fantasy is about interiors. In fantasy the hero matters more than the systems they are caught up in. We are reminded of their subjectivity, and their... goodness? Even in cases where the political is involved (think of something like WoT, maybe?) politics are interesting only in their relationship to the subject. 'The Phantom Menace' (or 'Clone Wars.' maybe) is a good example here, especially with all the senate stuff. Sci-fi, on the other hand, reminds us that the subject is not fixed. We are caught up in systems beyond our control, and our understanding of the human is a bit shakier than we would care to admit. This, at least, is the sci-fi which I like. The subject still plays a role, but more in their disappearing than in their assertion (side note: this is why I consider 'The Road' to be science fiction, generally, while other post-apocalyptic or dystopian books fall more into fantasy). Looking back on this distinction, I don't find it terribly interesting. I think that I'm wrong, and that the distinction between sci-fi and fantasy might be about the trappings, and about different approaches to speculation, or the more surface-level stuff that is more readily apparent. I don't like this idea. Still, I do like the idea of pushing and playing with genre. Too often I take a story at face value, not recognizing that tension in genre, or mis-applying genre can change interpretation as a whole. This is getting vague and unhelpful, but genre is interesting.

INTERPRETATION Note above that I primarily think of genre as being tied to interpretation. A story, in this framework, is aiming at some message or telos in general, and genre can be a short way to situate these discussions and themes. It could be that there is no difference in theme or approach in genre. There is a sort of ur-story we're all trying to tell and listen to, and we just like the trappings more of some genres than others. 'Star Wars' tells a sort of universal story that nerds like because nerds like space and Japan and women in golden bikinis. The story itself, however, the approach and the telos, would be universal. Sontag, obviously, wants to pop in and say hello here. She lays out an approach to interpretation that is less about discovering the universal, and more about recognizing the proliferation of approaches as not helpful. A Marxist interpretation to film would do away with the raw encounter with a thing, outside of interpretation. This is a shade different than everything being of the same type. Instead, art is of the same type not in its aiming at a message or structure, but in being a sort of encounter. I quite like this. I think Sontag may have referenced genre in 'Against Interpretation,' but I"m not sure, and I'm not going back to read it at the moment. Even though insistence on interpretation, via a particular approach, might do a disservice to the art in general, I think it also provides a kind of interesting approach to genre. It's less that each genre aims at something different, and more that the raw encounter with ideas/images in sci-fi text (for example) is unique to a certain approach. The churned-stomach feeling I get from body-as-object, or the weight I feel of technology as this huge, exterior, temporal thing is opened up to me through genre. Things are starting to feel a bit circular here, i.e. genre makes you feel certain things because when you feel certain things you are in genre. I like the idea of it being constructed, or something though.

I WANT TO BE GERTRUDE STEIN Text is not a thing I'm very good at. I watch videos and read articles and realize that my 'mode of interpretation', or whatever, is deficient. I am bad at picking themes out, remembering stories, or criticizing narrative decisions. When reading, I am hit with a series of encounters that are interesting and emotional but not particularly cohesive or helpful. I invoke St. Sontag's name to make it seem like my move away from interpretation through a particular lens, and a focus on encounter is grounded in thought or something, but I think it's grounded in deficiency. Stein, as per usual, provides a couple of interesting insights here. Stein, for me, evades simple categorization. I would call her work 'avant-garde', but in genre terms that just means 'the other stuff.' There are some themes we can gesture towards (sexuality, feminism (whatever that means), time, language as constructed) but this creates a network of meaning that gets convoluted quickly. Stein shows me that genre is not a super helpful approach, and (paradoxically, almost) reminds me that reading and text are encounters first and foremost. We can interpret, and interlock texts but the narrative-thing is always strange. I think interpretation, in some way, is the only way to make text make sense. Stein calls this to the fore, and reminds us that we are always interpreting. Stein also, interestingly, was a pretty early adopter of a 'genre' of painting/art (are movements the same as genre? I cannot answer this). Cubism, for example, appealed to Stein as a movement, I think. Her recognition of the 'new,' or whatever, put her at the fore of new movements and approaches. All sorts of interesting questions pop up at this point e.g. are some of these works objectively good or at least influential in a vacuum? Is this framing even fair? What, really, does the work of art do? I am interested that Stein recognized movements, and the newness. I wonder if we could draw some through-line here to genre. Not sure.

WHY DO ANYTHING I don't know why I read. At a certain point and level, someone has to do something with their time and I choose to read. It works pretty well for an alienated 20 something who's angry. Engaging with art is challenging, and I'm bad at it, and it's frustrating and it's exciting. I'm riddled with contradiction and boredom and fear. There is an approach to genre that is reductive and uninteresting, or there are genre-pieces which are trash. 'Ready Player One,' which I've never read, seems like a good example of the way that the pieces of sci-fi which are interesting can also be used to construct nostalgia-machines and, quite frankly, uninteresting ideas. It's not a new insight to 'like the low-brow', or whatever, but between the canon and within genre I think the recognition of quality is legitimate. Genre, something which wants to be a genre, is often uninteresting. Our taxonomies, when aware of themselves, become reductive. Tension as the core of art is boring, but genre as a whole needs tension to be really and truly interesting, maybe. I'm a bit of a snob, in all honesty, but I still like the low-brow. It'd be more fair to say I'm built for the low-brow, and I pretend to the high-brow.

I KNOW I don't know, this week was also rambling and uninteresting. That's alright. I haven't been sleeping recently, and things have that nice deadened hum at the moment. It makes me more volatile, but it also keeps waves of panic at bay. I should be confronting that panic, being grateful in my unknowing, and abandoning ego. I'm trying, but at this point exhaustion is just easier. I'm not sure what I'm aiming at, at the moment, and that's scary. Life is long, and I feel angry that my alienation is being used to make the rich richer, and the lonely lonelier. I may not have had a chance in a different set of material circumstances (can we separate these two things, I don't know), but I certainly can't function now. People are scary, and I spend too much time feeling scared and bored. I have tried to orient myself towards the interesting, and practice gratitude in unknowing, but it can be hard sometimes. I'm grateful for all of the interesting things, and for the people who can semi-bear me. I'm struggling, at the moment, and I'm scared things are going to get worse but I'm also committed to practicing gratitude in unknowing. Love ya :)

[sommer-girl]

Hello Father (Once More) | Self Para

Date: 8 June 2023 Featuring: Agnarr Sommers Warnings: Manipulative dad stuff :/

For context:

The Future is Calling (Again)

Anna gives her father the news.

The last time Anna and her father had discussed her future plans was Christmas. Over dessert, they'd had an awkward conversation about her internships and her potential transferrable skills. Father had suggested that there might be an opening in Arendelle's intern program, and while Anna had acted mildly interested, truthfully, it was the last thing she wanted.

Maybe she could have taken it and changed things from the inside. Maybe. But all Anna could see was the leverage her father would have over her, having gotten her this job. He had enough of that, being her father and paying for all the things he paid for and Anna still remembered crying in the stairwell because she thought her father was going to pull her out of school.

And maybe that was a sad thought, that Anna thought of it as leverage now. That their relationship was no longer just a father and a daughter, but two agents of the complicated world of Arendelle politics. Maybe it had never been so simple, Anna had only just opened her eyes to it recently.

In any event, she couldn't accept any kind of offer like that from her father. Even if she wound up in Arendelle (because she did think there was a small part of her that always ached to return to Arendelle) she was going to have to make her own way.

So she'd only given Father vague answers since then. She had opportunities lined up, Anna had assured him whenever he had asked. Nothing confirmed, but... there were things in the works. That was how she put it. Whether or not it really felt true.

(Did a part of her wish she could tell him the truth? Did a part of her want to break down and tell him everything, that she was so scared because she had no idea what she wanted to do with her life, only that she didn't want to be like him? Of course she wished that. But of course she couldn't. And she'd known this all along, but it still hurt to face).

Now, she finally had something to report. She'd thought she'd feel more triumphant about it. But that familiar anxiety was creeping in, that familiar craving for her father's approval despite hating everything he stood for.

"Dad?" Anna said in a small voice when he picked up the phone. Her hand trembled as she spoke. This call had a decidedly different tone from her triumphant one with Olaf, just minutes before.

She wished she were brave like Elsa. Elsa, who could fight with Dad and stand her ground and ice him out if she needed to. Anna had always been softer.

"Anna, this is a surprise."

"I have some news."

"Oh?" A pause. "Good news?"

"Um, yeah."

Well, it was complicated news, honestly, bittersweet, but Anna wasn't admitting that to her father. She could have that conversation with other people. Not with him. Her stomach twisted as she was confronted with this reality.

"I just accepted an offer for a job. With, um, an organization in Arendelle. It's a nonprofit. They, uh, advocate for fairy rights. It's called Fremover-"

"Yes, I'm familiar with Fremover." His tone was suddenly short, clipped, irritated. Like this was a personal insult to him. "Anna, have you really done your research about this organization? And everything they stand for?"

"Y-yes, of course-"

"Because Anna, I worry about you. You have a tendency to jump into these things, you get these notions in your head and you don't think them through. And then people take advantage of you. These people, they've caused problems for us from the beginning..."

He went on and on, long enough that the lump in Anna's throat began to subside and the tears that were pricking at her eyes were gone again. Because it dawned on her, suddenly, that it was never going to be enough for him, was it? She'd gotten into uni— not the one he wanted. She'd chosen a study program she liked�� but he thought she wouldn't keep up. She'd graduated— but he'd hardly seemed impressed. And now Anna had a job, a job she was really excited about, a job that was the culmination of everything she'd studied and learned and begun to care about these past few years— and he was telling her that she'd been hoodwinked into it.

When she thought about it in that way, Anna had to laugh to herself. All this time, she'd chased milestone after milestone trying to get her father to respect her, when in reality, there was no finish line. Maybe he wanted her to rely on him, because he wasn't ready for a world in which she made her own choices. Or maybe he just couldn't see the person she'd grown into.

Because she had grown. She'd made a lot of mistakes. She'd trusted all the wrong people, and she'd hurt all the people she loved. There were a million do-overs Anna wished she could have, and maybe Fremover would turn out to be one of them. She couldn't know for sure. And maybe that was okay. Olaf always said that there was a lesson to be learned, and Anna believed him.

So even if this was a mistake, Anna would just have to find that out for herself. And hopefully learn something. And she would have friends with her every step of the way.

It hurt to think that her father couldn't be one of them. But Anna couldn't make him be there for her. She could only tell him the truth. That she loved him, and that she also maybe needed to live her life without his input. That was what her therapist told her, anyway. What was the word she used? Boundaries?

"Dad," she said firmly, interrupting him for once. "This is my decision. And if it's a mistake, it'll be my mistake. You don't have to agree with me. But I'm an adult now. I need to be able to make my own choices." Her voice still shook, but she was proud of herself for saying it at all.

"Anna—"

"No, Dad." The more Anna spoke, the stronger her voice became, and the more sure she felt about this. "It's not a discussion. I was just calling to tell you the good news." She couldn't keep an edge of bitterness out of her tone. "I love you. Maybe we can get coffee sometime when I'm in town. I'll be there next week."

And that was it. Anna hung up the phone and stuck it in her bag and when she stepped back outside into the sunshine, she felt lighter than she'd felt in a long time. Had she really just done that? Had she really just spoken to her father like that?

Anna set off west. There was exactly one person she wanted to talk to about this— who would hopefully be much more excited about her good news, too. And best of all, they could do it over chocolate ice cream.

[amusewithaview]

In this holiday season, especially in light of the impeachment (I was not expecting a present from the government but thanks!), I vote we all put a moratorium on political discussions and come together over a topic we can all agree on:

Chris Evans Thirst

(Knives Out was awesome.)

[baeddel]

Please. Please can you tell me what a baeddel is and why people (terfs?) used it in a derogatory manner on this website for a hot minute but now no one ever uses it at all

you asked for it, fucker

[2k words; philology and drama]

baeddel is an Old English word. i have no idea where it actually occurs in the Old English written corpus, but it occurs in a few placenames. its diminuitive form, baedling, is much better documented. it appears in the (untranslated) Canons of Theodore, a penitential handbook, a sort of guidebook for priests offering advice on what penances should be recommended for which sins. in a passage devoted to sexual transgressions it gives the penances suggested for a man who sleeps with a woman, a man who sleeps with another man, and then a man who sleeps with a baedling. so you have this construction of a baedling as something other than a man or a woman. and then it gives the penance for a baedling who sleeps with another baedling (a ludicrous one-year fast). then, by way of an explaination, Theodore delivers us one of the most enigmatic phrases in the Old English corpus: "for she is soft, like an adulturess."

the -ling suffix in baedling is masculine. but Theodore uses feminine pronouns and suffixes to describe baedlings. as we said, it's also used separately from male and female. but it's also used separately from their words for intersex and it never appears in this context. all of this means that you have this word that denotes a subject who is, as Christopher Monk put it, "of problematic gender." interested historians have typically interpreted it as referring to some category of homosexual male, such as Wayne R. Dines in his two-volume Encyclopedia of Homosexuality who discusses it in the context of an Old English glossary which works a bit like an Old English-Latin dictionary, giving Old English words and their Latin counterparts. the Latin words the Anglo-Saxon lexicographer chose to correspond with baedling were effeminatus and mollis, and Lang concludes that it refers to an "effeminate homosexual" (pg 60, Anglo Saxon). this same glossary gives as an Old English synonym the word waepenwifstere which literally means "woman with a penis," and which Dines gives the approximate translation (hold on tight) male wife.

R. D. Fulk, a philologist and medievalist, made a separate analysis of the term in his study on the Canons of Theodore 'Male Homoeroticism in the Old English Canons of Theodore', collected in Sex and Sexuality in Medieval England, 2004. he analysed it as a 'sexual category' (sexual as in sexuality), owing to the context of sexual transgressions in the Canons. he decides that it refers to a man who bottoms in sexual relationships with another man. i don't have the article on hand so i'm not sure what his reasoning was, but this seems obviously inadequate given what we know from the glossary described by Dines. Latin has a word for bottom, pathica, and the lexicographer did not use this in their translation, preferring words that emphasized the baedling's femininity like effeminatus, and doesn't address the sexual context at all. Dines, however, only reading this glossary, seems to decide that it refers to a type of male homosexual too hastily, considering the Canons explicitly treat them separately. both Dines and Fulk immediately reduce the baedling to a subcategory of homosexual when neither of the sources to hand actually do so themselves.

by now it should be obvious why, seven or so years ago, we interpreted it as an equivalent to trans woman. I mean come on - a woman with a penis! these days I tend to add a bit of a caution to this understanding, which is that trans woman is the translation of baedling which seems most adequate to us, just as baedling was the translation of effeminatus that seemed most adequate to our lexicographer. but the term cannot translate perfectly; its sense was derived from some minimal context; a legal context, a doctrinal context, and so forth... the way Anglo-Saxons understood sex/gender is complicated but it has been argued that they had a 'one sex model' and didn't regard men and women as biologically separate types, which is obviously quite different from the sexual model accepted today; in any case they didn't have access to the karyotype and so on. the basic categories they used to understand gender and sexuality were different from ours. in particular, Hirschfield et al. should be understood as a particularly revolutionary moment in the genealogy of transsexuality; the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft essentially invented the concept of the 'sex change', the 'transition', conceived as a biological passage from one sex to the other. even in other contexts where (forgive me) #girlslikeus changed their bodies in some way, like the castration of the priestesses of Cybele, or those belonging to the various historical societies which we believe used premarin for feminization [disputed; see this post], there is no record that they were ever considered men at any stage or had some kind of male biology that preceded their 'gender identity.' the concept of the trans woman requires the minimal context of the coercive assignment at birth and its subsequent (civil and bio-technological) rejection. i have never encountered evidence that this has ever been true in any previous society. nonetheless, these societies still had gendered relations, and essentially wherever we find these gendered relations we also find some subject which is omitted or for whom it has been necessary to note exceptions. what is of chief interest to us is not so much that there was such a subject here or there in history (and whatever propagandistic uses this fact might have), but understanding why these regularities exist.

a very parsimonious explanation is that gender is a biological reality, and there is some particular biological subject which a whole host of words have been conjured to denote. if this were the case then we would expect that, no matter what gender/sexual system we encounter in a given society, it will inevitably find some linguistic expression. if, like me, you find this idea revolting, then you should busy yourself trying to come up with an alternative explanation which is not just plausible, but more plausible. my best guesses are outside the scope of this answer...

anyway, all of this must be very interesting to the five or six people invested in the confluence of philology and gender studies. but why on earth did it become so widely used, in so many strange and unusual contexts, in the 2010s? we're very sorry, but yes, it's our fault. you see apart from all of this, there is also a little piece of information which goes along with the word baeddel, which is that it's the root of the Modern English word bad. by way of, no less, the word baedan, 'to defile'. how this defiled historical subject came to bear responsibility for everything bad to English-speakers doesn't seem to be known from linguistic evidence. however, it makes for a very pithy little remark on transmisogyny. my dear friend [REDACTED] made a playful little post making this point and, good Lord, had we only known...

it went like this. its such a funny little idea that we all start changing our urls to include the word baeddel. in those days it was common to make puns with your url (we always did halloween and christmas ones); i was baeddelaire, a play on the French poet Baudelaire. while we all still had these urls a series of events which everyone would like to forget happened, and we became Enemies of Everyone in the Whole World. because of the url thing people started to call us "the baeddels." then there was "a cult" called "the baeddels" and so forth. this cult had various infamies attatched to it and a constellation of indefensible political positions. ultimately we faced a metric fucking shit ton of harassment, including, for some of my friends, really serious and bad irl harassment that had long-term bad awful consequences relating to stable housing and physical safety and i basically never want to talk about that part of my life ever again. and i never have to, because i've come to realize that for most people, when they use the word baeddel, they don't know about that stuff. it doesn't mean that anymore.

so what does it mean? you'll see it in a few contexts. TERFs do use it, as you guessed. i am not quite sure what they really mean by it and how it differs from other TERF barbs. i think being a baeddel invovles being politically active or at least having a political consciousness, but in a way thats distinct from just any 'TRA' or trans activist. so perhaps 'militant' trans women, but perhaps also just any trans woman with any opinions at all. how this was transmitted from tumblr/west coast tranny drama to TERF vocabulary i have no idea. but you will also find - or, could have found a few years ago - i would say 'copycat' groups who didn't know us or what we believed but heard the rumours, and established their own (generously) organizations (usually facebook groups) dedicated to putting those principles into practice. they considered themselves trans lesbian separatists and did things like doxx and harass trans women who dated cafabs. if you don't know about this, yes, there really were such groups. they mostly collapsed and disappeared because they were evildoers who based their ideology on a caricature. i knew a black trans woman who was treated very badly by one of these groups, for predictable reasons. so long-time readers: if you see people talking about their bad experiences with 'baeddels', you can't necessarily relate it to the 2014 context and assume they're carrying around old baggage. there are other dreams in the nightmare.

the most common way you'll see it today, in my experience, is in this form: people will say that it was a "slur" for trans women. they might bring up that it's the root of the word bad, and they might even think that you shouldn't use the word bad because of it, or that you shouldn't use the word baeddel because it's a slur. all of this is a silly game of internet telephone and not worth addressing. except to say that it's by no means clear that baeddel, or baedling, were slurs, or even insulting at all. while Theodore doesn't provide us with a description of how we can have sex with a baedling without sinning, and it may be the case that any sexual relations with a baedling was considered sinful, sexuality-based transgressions were not taken all that seriously in those days. there was a period where homosexuality within the Church was almost sanctioned, and it wasn't until much later that homosexuality became so harshly proscribed, to the extent that it was thought to represent a threat to society, etc. and as i mentioned, there are places in England named after baedlings. there is a little parish near Kent which is called Badlesmere, Baeddel's Lake, which was recorded in the Anglo-Saxon Domesday Book (as having a lord, a handful of villagers and a few slaves; perhaps only one or two households). it's not unheard of, but i just don't know very many places called Faggot Town or some such. it's possible that baedlings had some role in Anglo-Saxon society which we are not aware of; it could even have been a prestigious one, as it was in other societies. there is just no evidence other than a couple of passing references in the literature and we'll probably never have a complete picture.

[imtryingmybeskar]

Come Home Chapter 5

Joel Miller x F!Reader.

Angsty slow burn. Your first day in Jackson goes as well as expected. Word count 3255.

Warnings for descriptions of the effects of PTSD and battling panic attacks (these are PURELY based on my own personal experiences).

I had to split this chapter into two so Joel isn't here much, but from next chapter he will be very present. Thank you for reading and sticking with it!

Come Home

Chapter Five - Asphyxiated

Welcome warmth hits your face as the girl pushes the door of the town’s watering hole open, and you stamp your boots free of snow and slush before crossing the threshold.

The Tipsy Bison is an old fashioned, homespun kind of place. With its mix of wood panelled and stone walls, decorative antlers and soft, yellow lighting it could be straight out of an old Western - although thankfully the low level of chatter does not fall to silence as you enter. There are more than a few curious glances directed your way, though. The girl seems not to notice and makes a beeline straight for Maria who is talking with someone - presumably the barman, given that he is behind the bar and polishing glasses with a dishcloth. He is an older man with a shock of white hair and a dour expression.

“-you’ll be okay to do that, Seth?” you hear Maria ask as you approach. The barman nods once, firmly and then jerks his head extremely unsubtly toward you, clearly warning her of your approach. They were discussing something to do with you then. Or the group you came in with. It didn’t really matter. You were planning to stay well out of the politics and machinations of this place.

Maria turns to you, a tiny smile curling the edges of her mouth. “How’s it going?” she enquires, supremely unconcerned that she has been caught talking about you.

“Good. Weird. The Christmas tree. Is weird.” You sound like an idiot to your own ears, unable to form a proper sentence, but Maria takes it in her stride.

“Guess it is if you’ve not seen one in a while,” she concedes gracefully. “Have you had a look around elsewhere? Seen anywhere you might want to sleep other than the barn tonight?”

“Uh…yeah. I think. There’s those houses down near the cemetery-“

“Oh shit! That’s where I live!” interjects the girl excitedly. You can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm.

“You like it there?” you ask.

“Its ok,” she replies, tempering her early exuberance with a now-casual air. “Not too many people around. I like it that way.”

“Me too,” you confess. “So I think I’d like to take one of those houses…if that’s okay with you,” you add hastily, talking to Maria this time.

She nods. “Joel said you might be asking about a house round there-“ she begins. The girl interrupts her, speaking to you and sounding excited once more.

“You spoke to Joel?”

“She sure did.” That voice again. Deep and dark and threatening to drown you in its sin. You peer past Maria toward the end of the bar and how did you not spot him before? That imposing form was still mightily broad even when it was stood mostly out of sight behind a wooden pillar. Now that you had noticed him, you saw that half smile make an appearance again and he raised a mug of something hot in a gentle toast in your direction. “Told ya I’d put in a good word,” he grins.

So. He’s Joel. And when the girl approaches him to talk and playfully punches him on the arm in response to some quiet remark he makes, you hear him call her Ellie. Joel and Ellie. Your new neighbours. They seem to be very friendly together and you wonder if they too are family.

As promised, you’re able to get some food from the bar, though when faced with the prospect of actually drinking alcohol you swiftly go off the idea. Better to keep your wits about you, especially so soon after arriving. Everyone seems happy and well-adjusted here, but you can never really tell. When you ask Maria how you would go about paying for what you’ve eaten the discussion evolves into talking about what you would be willing to do to contribute to Jackson and what skills you can offer.

“I’m a good cook,” you shrug. “And I can knit. I’ve never farmed before, but I had quite the flourishing garden growing once upon a time. I’m not afraid to explore and map places. And I can kill infected.”

Movement catches your eye as Ellie departs, and you return her brief wave with a smile as she heads back outside into the freezing afternoon. Your eyes slide back over to Joel to find him looking pensive but happy, now sitting at the bar and staring into the depths of his mug as he swirls its contents around.

“We’ll trial you with a scouting group for now.” Maria’s voice breaks into your thoughts and your attention snaps back to her. “If all goes well you can be paired with someone and they can show you the trails we keep clear and the outposts we have. We never go out solo. Always at least two. But for now, we want you to settle in. Rest. Recuperate. Get your strength up. So eat. Please.”

You do as you’re told, savouring the steaming bowl of winter vegetable soup and thick slices of fresh bread. Appetite - as opposed to hunger - was something you thought had been cut off, left behind somewhere as you travelled across the wasteland of what once was. But in this setting you could feel yourself relax and begin to actually enjoy what was in front of you. Maybe it was just the novelty of not eating the contents of a tin for once.

As you eat, Maria continues to speak. “Once you’re done we’ll get you sorted with some fresh linen, towels, clothes, food, toiletries. The basics. I’d like for us to check in with each other once a day for the first week or so. Just to see how you’re settling in.”

To your surprise hearing this offer brings a tightening of your throat. It sounds…genuine. Like this woman actually gives a shit about your wellbeing even though she just met you. You swallow the lump away and tune back into what she’s saying. “-could just check in with Joel if you want. He’ll look out for you.”

Upon hearing his name you sneak yet another look over only to find the space vacant, the only sign he was ever there at all the mug left on the bar. A brief brush of disappointment hits you before you pull yourself together to focus on the conversation.

“He mentioned the garage,” you interject. “I mean, he mentioned someone lives in his garage. That they made it into a living space. If its possible I’d like to do something similar.”

“What you do with your house is your business,” Maria replies, and though the words are abrupt, the tone is soft. “Joel’s garage had been remodelled before everything went sideways. We just had to clean it up. If you want to remodel too, feel free. As long as it doesn’t interfere with whatever work you’re assigned.”

Your heart sinks a little at her words. Maria notices but misunderstands. “Hey, those houses are really nice,” she says, smiling encouragingly. “I’m sure you’ll be happy in whichever once you choose. And if you need a DIY project to keep you busy, there are plenty of people in this town who would be happy to help.”

All too soon you’re standing back in the cold, on the porch of a beautiful two storey house, indistinguishable from the other two storey houses in the neighbourhood except for yours has a coat of relatively fresh green paint over its timbered front. When you touch a gloved hand to it and give Maria a questioning look, she shrugs.

“Other people sometimes need DIY projects to keep busy too. Its why we have a pool of empty houses so readily available. Not everyone feels comfortable going outside the walls. So they keep busy inside them.” She opens the door and you step inside.

Its…a lot. And yet not enough. You’ve raided plenty of houses for supplies over the past twenty years. Most of them were decrepit or broken in some way, a few stood tall, layers of grime and cobwebs the only clue to the time that had passed. This one is clean and tidy, though it still smells a little like dust and disuse.

An open plan living room is to your left and you can see where the wooden floor turns to pale kitchen tile beyond. To your right and through a doorway is what was once presumably a dining room, though its table and chairs are notable by their absence. Some mismatched and basic furniture has been supplied – a peach coloured couch, two dark blue squashy looking chairs, a small wooden coffee table, a few lamps resting on various surfaces, a bookcase with some pre-chosen literature on it. An open fireplace is against one wall, a stack of chopped wood waiting next to it. Stairs directly ahead of you lead up to the next floor and you can feel the weight of the empty rooms up there, each doorway leading to a black rectangle of the unknown –

“You okay?” Maria’s question is brief but loaded with meaning. You inhale deeply and do your best to release your fears along with your breath.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m good. Its just going to take a while to get used to this again. I haven’t lived alone since…I-I mean I haven’t lived in a proper house since…” You trail off for a second time, both unwilling and unable to complete the thought paths necessary to finish your sentences.

“Joel and Ellie are right next door,” Maria says comfortingly. “Go to them if it gets difficult. You have my permission.” You were right. They are family.

“Don’t I need Joel and Ellie’s permission?” you joke weakly.

“Didn’t I tell you I was in charge?” she jokes back. “Come, look.”

She steps back on to the porch and points at the white-painted building next to yours. You had recognised the property earlier as the one Joel had emerged from when you had been exploring and would be lying to yourself if you said that the green paint was the only thing that had attracted you to this particular house. Wanting to be away from people didn’t mean you wanted to be completely alone. The four years spent with Chris had sometimes actually been fun in between the struggle for survival. Before that…well you knew you didn’t want to go back to a completely solitary existence.

“Right next door,” Maria repeats, and you nod as you try to quell the nerves in your stomach. They only get worse when she departs, holding an arm up in a farewell before she disappears back into the centre of Jackson. You close the door, but can’t seem to release the handle afterwards, standing there with your forehead pressed against the cool wood, eyes closed and trying to breathe normally.

A whole house. A real house. Of your own. Not a tiny cabin, or a barricaded room, or a tent exposed to the elements, or a hastily made camp in an old office building, or an abandoned military truck. A house.

A home?

Exhaling a shaky breath you finally turn your back to the door and slump against it as you survey your tiny kingdom. No, not a home. But a safe place to eat and sleep, and that was a good start on one. Before you step away from the door, you bolt and lock everything that can be bolted and locked. Just in case.

The pale, washed out grey of the winter afternoon sun was now struggling to pierce the gloom of the interior and though you could still just about see, the kitchen was starting to look decidedly shadowy. As if drawn by some unseen entity, your eyes once more travel upward. Where the stairs begin to reject the fading light and transmute into pure blackness…

With a shudder, you tear your gaze away and step further into the living room. Your breath is coming faster again and you realise that the darkening space around you is starting to feel suffocating and absolutely unbearable. Hurriedly, you rush to the kitchen to lock up the back door too, switching the lamps on as you go and checking every window is secure before closing the curtains against the outside world. You close the door to the dining room too, but only once you have checked inside it. It wasn’t likely that a bloater was lurking undetected, but at least now you knew for sure.

You build the fire, for something to do as much as to ward away the cold, and while its settling into the grate you make some…well tea is perhaps too strong a word for the weak brew you manage to eke out of the tiny bit of dried peppermint that you allow yourself to use from the supplies you have been gifted. But you make it on the hob, not over a fire, and the novelty of that is enough to keep the shadows at bay a little while longer.

Unpacking is another good distraction - putting the tins in the cupboards, the perishables(!) in the fridge(!!) and putting the toiletries off to one side, trying once more to ignore the stairs, the thought of a whole other floor of the house, and the inevitable time when you would have to go up there.

It loomed but somehow also lurked. The rooms. The darkness…Nope. Not going there. Not thinking about that. Just focus on the tea. The tea and the fire and a sofa and a book. Like a human being and not a cowering, broken thing.

And after a couple of hours of relative peace, once your bladder is painful and can no longer be ignored, you stand at the foot of those stairs and again stare up into the unknown. Your gun is now in its customary place at your hip. The biggest kitchen knife you could find is in your hand. The small torch you use to explore the world outside Jackson is affixed to your shirt.

A large part of you knows that this is foolish, that this house would have been cleared and checked not just once but many times over. The person who painted it, the person who ensured the plumbing and the electrics worked, the person who placed those books on the bookcase, the person who swept the dust from the floor – all of them moved through here. All of them would have noticed infected roaming around. Hell, Joel and Ellie have lived around here for a while and you doubted they would put up with neighbours like that for long.

And yet you know you won’t be able to sleep until you’ve checked every room yourself. Until you’re certain that the noises that have occasionally broken into your concentration are of the house settling and not footsteps. It is foolish. But it will hopefully bring a certain peace of mind that you desperately need.

The first creaking step up sends an unpleasant tingle across your scalp, goosebumps erupting across your skin as you force away the feeling of wrongness you’re battling. You force yourself to move. One more step. Another. You trail your fingers along the wall, the feeling of stippled paint under your fingertips the slimmest of tethers to reality. The light behind you is fading and ahead your world narrows to the powerful beam of your torch - your only guiding light. The thoughts running through your mind become clipped as you try to quell the feeling of nauseous panic that is threatening to overtake you.

A little further.

Nothing wrong.

Your house.

No one else here.

Of course, the upstairs was entirely ordinary. Old world ordinary true, but nothing was hiding in the shadows or tried to eat or shoot you. As soon as you reach the top landing you lean across to flick the light switch, noting the five doors that are now illuminated by the sickly yellow light coming from behind the ancient lampshade - three ajar, two closed.

The one directly in front of you is a bathroom – you can see the tell-tale gleam of white porcelain within. The two doors to your left lead into bedrooms where you can see carpets and beds and dressers and all the other furnishings you would expect. You explore them as thoroughly as you had the dining room and discover the hitherto unseen ensuite that resides in one of them, before drawing their curtains and closing their doors, your mind only a little less frantic than before.

That left two.

The first is easy - the set of slatted double doors gives it away. A closet with some random detritus inside – an ironing board leaning against one wall, a pathetic looking abandoned scarf draped across a hanger, some old cardboard boxes that you have no intention of looking in.

Then there was one.

Your hand hovers over that doorknob for seconds that pass to minutes.

The corridor

No.

The endless black.

No!

The thin beam of light from your torch when you flicked it on, barely even able to illuminate a halo around what is closest to you.

Nonono!

The shine. The gleam of light on the remnants of gloss paint and broken glass in the door ahead-

NO!

You wrench your shaking hand away and pound back downstairs to the merrily blazing fire, throwing yourself face first into the soft embrace of the sofa, heart racing as you stare into the orange of the crackling flames as if they could burn your memories away through your eyes. Two words run through your mind, trying to blank out the encroaching terror.

Nothingtherenothingtherenothingtherenothingthere

Eventually you control your breathing. Eventually your heart rate reduces and you don’t feel as if you might keel over at any moment, though your mind is still numbly racing. You had lived out there. With the monsters and the bandits and the cannibals and the warlords. So why did this somehow feel worse?

Distantly, as though it was coming through a barrier of water, you hear a knock at the door.

Well, it was more of a brash thumping really. As if the person had been there a while and was getting impatient with being on the wrong side of it.

You lie there, momentarily frozen in the throes of your previous fear. Who could want to see you mere hours after you’d moved in?

Another, louder, round of thumping finally snaps you free of the paralysis. Pushing yourself up to a vertical position, you manage to stand on shaky legs. You decide that its probably Maria coming to check on how you’re settling in.

The thumping starts up again but swiftly abates once you begin the process of unbolting and unlocking the door. What could you say to her? That you were fine? That you had tea and a book and were warm and that all of that was objectively wonderful? That in reality it only served to make you feel more dead inside because you were also freaking out over doors and shadows, trying desperately to stave off another panic attack? No. Tell her what she wants to hear and then…then you can think about just getting through the night.

Taglist - @thisshipwillsail316 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @elegantduckturtle @dihra-vesa @midwesternwitchery @just-here-for-the-moment @eri16 @readsalot73 @littlemisspascal @princessxkenobi @harriedandharassed @pagannightwitch @tentacruels @kirsteng42 @shirks-all-responsibilities @deadhumourist @pedrostories

As you pull the door open, you attempt to plaster a smile on your face to give credence to the lies you’re about to say. Instead it freezes into a rictus grin as you come face to face with deep brown eyes and shaggy dark waves.

Next chapter

[just-another-blog-of-fluff]

Secret Sentiments

Word count: 8900

Warnings: a whole lotta fluff

It's been a while since I wrote off-prompt, but this idea randomly came to mind and I had to get it out of my head. So, please enjoy one more Christmas-themed fic before the holidays 💚

Thanks to the anon who sent this idea that I included at the end!

It was an annual tradition. Every year, Tony organized a big Secret Santa exchange between all the tower inhabitants. You suspected he enjoyed making everyone sweat over selecting the perfect gift for their recipient – it had become something of a competition, really, with everyone trying to outdo one another with their gift selections.

You had participated in two years’ worth of Secret Santa since joining the team. The first year, you drew Peter’s name. That was pretty simple, really – the teen was easy to please. Not to mention, he’d been gushing about wanting this one specific video game for weeks on end. He nearly exploded with joy when he opened your gift, rushing immediately to pop the game into the console to start playing.

Honestly, you didn’t blame him. It was a pretty cool game.

Last year, you drew Bruce’s name. This was more complicated – the scientist was rather quiet, never openly discussing what he wanted for Christmas. It took some asking around, specifically some bribery offered to Tony, to get some idea of what he might like. Although Bruce was typically mild-mannered (except when he was, you know, his alter ego) he couldn’t hide his excitement when he opened up the beaker and flask-shaped beer glass set you’d gifted him.

The evening the name selection took place this year, you sat in the common room with the rest of the team waiting for your turn. Tony had filled his Ironman suit helmet with slips of paper containing the names of each team member. Loki sat beside you, looking sullen about having to participate in a team bonding event, but you had managed to convince him to join in with the subtle reminder that he, too, would get a gift from someone.

“Loki – can you at least try to look happy to be here?” you whispered. He turned to you, plastering the most fake-looking smile on his face you’d ever seen. It made you snort, and your hand flew to your mouth in embarrassment. At least you’d succeeded in pulling a more genuine smile out of the god, who clearly found your reaction amusing.

“If I draw my brother’s name, so help me…”

“Oh, you’ll be fine. I’ll help you pick something for him if you do.” You glanced up as Tony approached with the helmet, smiling politely. He held it out to Loki with a smirk.

“Ready to see who you’re buyin’ for, reindeer games?”

Loki rolled his eyes, shoving his hand into the helmet and drawing out a slip of paper. Tony held the helmet out to you as Loki unfolded his slip. You swirled the papers around for a moment to mix them up, pinching one between your fingers and carefully drawing it out. Tony shot you a cheeky wink and a smirk.

“Hope you got someone good this year!” he sang, wandering along to the next group. You glanced at Loki to see if he was looking over your shoulder, finding he was scowling at the paper in his hand and not paying much attention to anything else. Swiftly, you peeked inside the folded slip in your own hand.

Loki.

It took everything in you not to gasp out loud. How? Out of all the names in that helmet, how had you managed to select the one name you were most nervous to get?

You and Loki had developed a close friendship since you’d come to reside in the tower. It had been Loki who initially began gravitating toward you, surprisingly. He insisted it was because he found you “more tolerable” than the rest of the tower inhabitants, but you knew deep down he enjoyed having conversations with you. You challenged him – taking his taunts and jests in stride and throwing your own right back at him. He liked that your ego wasn’t easily bruised by his teasing. You liked that he was the first to stop treating you with the formal politeness that everyone else had when you’d first arrived, finally beginning to initiate friendly banter with you. As the others began to see you open up when Loki would involve you in friendly arguments, they, too, became more friendly and informal with you. Without even realizing it, he’d opened the door for you to become a more integral member of the team.

But you’d been harboring a secret for nearly a year, now.

You had fallen for Loki. Hard.

There was just something about him that had begun to make your heart flutter in your chest whenever he was around. Maybe it was his secret soft, gentle side that he hid from everyone but his closest friends. Or perhaps it was the passion in his eyes, in his smile, when he was discussing something he cared deeply about, like his mother. Likely, it a mix of those things and more. All you knew was that somewhere along the line, he had stopped being just a good friend of yours and became the first person you thought about when you woke up, and the last person you thought of before going to sleep.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him.

The moment you admit your feelings to him, everything about your relationship would change. It would shatter you if he didn’t reciprocate your feelings. The heartache would make it excruciatingly difficult to be around him, knowing he was just out of your reach. The humiliation of being so naïve to think you could possibly earn his affections and learn how laughably wrong you were would completely ruin your friendship. So, you kept your feelings bottled up, never once even so much as alluding to the fact that you cared for him as anything more than just a friend.

How in hell were you going to be able to choose a gift for him?

Over the last year, you’d developed the ability to suppress the urge to show your emotions on your face anytime your feelings for Loki reared their head. So, you turned to him with a curious look, asking whose name he drew that was making him scowl so much.

“Who do you think?” he grumbled.

“Ah.” Thor. Of course. You patted him sympathetically on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s not the end of the world. I’ll help you figure something out.”

“I’d appreciate it.” He glanced at the folded slip in your hand. “Who did you pull?”

“Wanda.” The name just sort of tumbled out. You weren’t sure exactly why you chose to lie to him rather than refusing to tell him any name. You supposed he would probably get suspicious if you had, so maybe it was for the best.

“That should be rather easy for you,” he muttered enviously. Wanda and Loki weren’t particularly close, though they were at least amicable with one another. He knew you had developed a close friendship with the witch. Wanda was the one you talked to about the aspects of your life that you didn’t feel comfortable talking to Loki about – mostly girl talk, of course. She was the only person you’d told about your feelings for Loki, and you tended to reach out to her when you felt as though you might explode from keeping it a secret from everyone else.

“Yeah, I got lucky,” you agreed. “Why don’t we talk about what you could get for your secret Santa, hmm?”

You steered the conversation away from your secret Santa recipient for the remainder of the evening, though it certainly didn’t leave your mind. You were careful not to even mention it until the following morning, when you finally had the chance to tell Wanda what had happened.

The pair of you sat down on the small sofa in your bedroom, sipping coffee in your pajamas and chatting away from prying ears. You couldn't risk anyone else overhearing the conversation as you explained to her everything that happened the evening before.

“You seriously told him you drew my name?” Wanda whispered, turning to sit cross-legged on the sofa to face you more directly. “How did he not know you were lying? Isn’t he supposed to be the God of Lies?”

“We’re getting off subject, here,” you interjected, placing your coffee mug on the side table next to you. “What on earth am I going to get for him??”

“Aren’t you his best friend? What do you think he’d like?”

You sighed, leaning back against the sofa. “It’s not that simple. I want to get him something he’ll really love. Something that he’ll want to keep for a long time.”

“But he doesn’t even know it’s coming from you,” Wanda argued, visibly trying not to smirk at you.

“I know! But… I’m the one who convinced him to join in, and I just really want him to get something special. Even if he never knows it’s from me.”

“You know…” Wanda grinned at you. “You could just ask him what he wants.”

You raised your eyebrows curiously, picking up your coffee mug and raising it to your lips. “Go on.”

“He doesn’t know you’re his Secret Santa, right? What if you told him you were helping his Secret Santa to find something perfect for him? Then you can just play it off as someone else’s gift.” A mischievous glint shined in her eyes. “You could even get him something that tells him how you feel about him.”

“Wanda!” You nearly spit your coffee back into the mug. “You know I can’t do that!”

“Why not? He thinks you have someone else for your Secret Santa. You don’t have to tell him it’s from you if he gets weirded out by it. Or, you know, if you chicken out.”

“Ohh… hush.” You stuck your tongue out before taking another sip of coffee, trying to suppress the heat threatening to creep into your face.

“I’ll even back you up and say you got me something if you really don’t want him to know,” she offered. “Although, I’ve told you a million times, you just need to tell him how you feel.”

“And I’ve told you a million times, that’s not gonna happen,” you countered. “Although, it would be pretty interesting to see how he’d react if he got something sentimental…”

“This is the only time you’ll be able to find out and still have a way out if you get too scared to tell him it’s from you.”

“Hmm… I’ll think about it.” You drained the rest of your coffee, setting the empty mug on the table. "Promise you'll help me figure this out?"

"What kind of friend would be if I didn't?" she confirmed with a smile, squeezing your knee affectionately.

* * *

A few days later, you joined Loki for a stroll in the city to help him choose a gift for his brother. He at least seemed to be glowering less about it today, but he seemed no less stressed than he did the night he pulled his brother's name.

"So... what sort of gift are you aiming for here?" you asked as the pair of you crossed a busy street.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked in confusion.

"Well, you know... are you looking for something funny... something sentimental... something fun..."

"What would you suggest?"

You sighed exasperatedly. "That depends. Why was it you were so upset about pulling your brother's name?"

Loki was silent for a moment. "I suppose... we only recently started to actually get along," he explained. "It's been literal centuries since we've given gifts to one another for any sort of occasion."

"So what? You've never given a gift to any of the other members of the team either," you countered.

"Yes, but I'm not related to the others," he argued with a scowl.

"Ahh... so you do care what he thinks about your gift?"

Loki stopped walking, turning to look at you in the middle of the sidewalk. "I beg your pardon?"

"You're nervous because you care about your brother and you want to give him something he'll love, you just don't want to admit it," you elaborated with a smirk. He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"That's preposterous. I'm not nervous."

"But you do care about Thor."

"... On occasion, he is an... acceptable family member."

"Wow. Just gushing with love there, aren't you?" you chuckled, continuing to walk. Loki followed suit, taking one long stride for every two of your normal ones. "Look - you don't have to openly admit to me that you care what you give to Thor. But, I suggest you get him something more sentimental. I think he'd like that."

"Fine. I suppose I can work with that."

The city was decorated already for the holidays, with Christmas lights draped from the roofs of buildings and across wider alleyways. The streets were packed with pedestrians wandering between shops trying to choose their last-minute Christmas gifts. Still, they tended to give the pair of you a wide berth when they saw the tall, regal, former-villainous Asgardian walking at your side. He didn't say anything, but you saw how his jaw clenched anytime someone gave him a more obvious wary look. You slipped your gloved hand around his elbow, walking just a little closer to him to show you weren't afraid. He glanced at you in confusion.

"Just thought this might help get people off your back," you whispered. He nodded slightly, returning his gaze to look straight ahead where he was walking. You saw the corner of his mouth turn upward slightly in a smile. It made your heart flutter, knowing you had been the one to put it on his face.

You steered Loki toward a smaller shop that sold Christmas decorations, ignoring his skeptical glare as you stepped inside. A little bell over the door rang as it swung open, the rambunctious bustling of the city disappearing as it shut again behind the two of you. You welcomed the thick silence inside the shop, broken only by the soft Christmas music playing overhead.

"Come on. Let's go look at the ornaments." You tugged gently on Loki's elbow where your hand was still slotted between his arm and his side, leading him to the shelves of tree ornaments.

"What makes you think he'd want one of those?" he asked, his voice hushed to avoid jarringly cutting through the gentle silence of the shop.

"If you'd been listening to your brother lately, you'd know he's completely obsessed with the idea of a Christmas tree," you explained, pausing in front of the first shelf and scanning the options displayed. "He would be ecstatic if you got him an ornament to hang on his little tree that he put up in his bedroom."

"He has a Christmas tree in his bedroom?"

"Yes. He's been ranting about it for days." You let out a breathy laugh. "Honestly, Loki. What would you do without me?"

He reached over and pinched your side ticklishly, making you jump and shoot him a half-hearted glare. "Don't go getting a big head, now, darling."

Rolling your eyes, you returned your focus to the shelves of ornaments in front of you. Your eyes scanned over the various figurines and glass baubles, grinning as one caught your eye.

"Oh, how about this one?" you asked, holding it up for Loki to read. His eyes scrolled over the text, then rolled up to the ceiling.

"'Best brother ever.' I think not."

"I'm kidding!" You replaced it on the shelf, continuing to view the other options. You snorted out loud when your eyes landed on a series of ornaments meant to depict the Avengers. "Ooh!! Here we go!" You picked up the Thor figurine and held it out for Loki to see. His eyebrows lifted as he shot you an exasperated look.

"No."

"Oh, come on! It's cute!"

"No."

You sighed. "Fiiine..." Replacing it on the shelf, another ornament caught your eye. At first glance, it was just a small depiction of Thor's hammer. When you turned it around, you saw there was an inscription on one side.

You're still worthy.

"Wait, this one is actually not cheesy, look," you insisted, tugging on Loki's sleeve and handing him the ornament. He scrutinized it for a moment, his face softening as he read the inscription.

"He... I think he'd like this," he stated, nodding. You smiled warmly.

"I think so too."

The two of you made your way to the register to purchase the ornament, then headed back out onto the cold, bustling street. Without really thinking, you slipped your hand around Loki's elbow once again as you walked back to the tower.

"Have you selected a gift for Wanda?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah I did," you replied quickly. The conversation you had with Wanda the other day popped into your mind suddenly. "Actually... I may have found out who pulled your name."

"Oh, is that right?" he asked in surprise. "And who might that be?"

"I can't tell you that! It's supposed to be a secret!" You pondered for a moment while Loki grumbled at your unwillingness to tell him. "I did sort of promise them I'd help figure out what to get you though... so... what is it you want for Christmas?"

"I don't want anything for Christmas."

"Loki! Not helpful!"

"It's the truth!"

"Well, if you had to receive a Christmas present, what would it be?"

"A dagger."

You snorted. "Be serious, Loki!!"

"I am being serious!!" He glanced over at you with his best serious expression. "You are well aware of my affinity for sharp objects."

"That's not a healthy obsession, Loki."

"I beg to differ." The pair of you crossed the street to reach the front door of the tower. "If you won't believe me that that's what I would want, then I'm not sure what to tell you."

"Ugh. Fine. I'll tell them you want a dagger for Christmas," you sighed, rolling your eyes in exasperation.

"Thank you."

You headed to Loki's bedroom to help him wrap his gift for Thor, though your mind was elsewhere. Did he honestly want a dagger? Who wants a dagger for their Christmas present?

Loki would, you supposed.

The gears were turning in your head as you read the inscription on Thor's ornament while you wrapped it. Maybe you could make it sentimental? Something more special than his average daggers that he used to literally murder people. You weren't about to give him a dagger he would intend to use as an actual weapon for Christmas. You had to make it something more decorative.

Yes, that could work.

That evening, after you left Loki's room while he hid away his fully wrapped gift for his brother, you went back out shopping yourself to find Loki's gift. You happened to know of a shop that sold ornamental knives and daggers, but it was a little bit of a drive out from the city. You knew, at least, that it was highly unlikely you'd run into anyone you knew there, particularly anyone else from the team.

The dagger you selected was exactly what you envisioned for him. A polished, straight silver blade emerged from a black hilt, bejeweled with emerald green stones and gold decorative trim. You brought it home to your room, hidden inside your backpack along with the wrapping paper you'd selected that didn't match any of the other gifts you'd already wrapped to avoid suspicion from your perceptive friend.

You stayed up late that evening seated at your desk with a small engraving laser you'd 'borrowed' from Tony's lab without his knowledge. With great care, you engraved a phrase along the length of the blade on one side in calligraphic-style writing:

My heart will always be yours.

It was a bold statement - bolder than you'd originally intended to be in your gift to him. Something about it just felt right. Even if he was completely repulsed by it, at least he would always know there was someone out there who would always care for him. And in any case, if he didn't like it, you'd never have to tell him.

* * *

The night before Christmas Eve was the evening you were all to place your Secret Santa gifts under the large Christmas tree in the tower lounge. You made certain you brought yours early, during a time you knew nobody else would be around to see which one was yours. Tony would be passing out the gifts to their recipients once they were all placed under the tree so that nobody would need to try to hide their reactions while sitting in the room with their gift recipient opening their gift.

You steered clear of the common areas of the tower for the evening, heart racing at the thought that Loki could be opening your gift to him at any moment. All the different possible outcomes kept running through your mind as you sat reading in your bedroom. If you saw him again today, knowing he had opened your gift, you thought you might explode with nervous energy. No, it was best to wait until tomorrow.

"Ho-ho-ho!" A knock at your door accompanied by Tony's awful Santa impression alerted you to his presence. You opened the door and he shoved a box wrapped in silver wrapping paper into your hand. "Merry Christmas from your Secret Santa!"

"Thanks, Tony!" you replied, trying to sound enthused when really you were radiating with anxiety. Once he'd left, you opened up your gift while sitting on the edge of your bed. Inside was a silver necklace with a single emerald-colored stone hanging from the delicate chain. It was accompanied by a note.

So you can think of him, even if you refuse to tell him the truth.

- Wanda

You laughed under your breath, shaking your head at your friend's cheeky note as you hung the necklace around your neck. The emerald stone laid directly over your heart. You texted her a thank you, promising you'd see her on Christmas Eve the next day.

* * *

The next morning, you finally felt like you could rein in your nervous energy enough to keep it contained. You wandered out to the kitchen to eat some breakfast and have some coffee, taking a seat at the kitchen island and scrolling through the 'Merry Christmas Eve' messages you were receiving from friends and family alike.

“Who was it?”

You tried not to appear startled by the familiar baritone voice in the doorway. Glancing up from your phone on the counter, you grinned at the frazzled-looking Asgardian.

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Come on, now. I know you are the only person who knows who pulled my name from that helmet. I need to know.” Loki paced over to the kitchen island, leaning with one palm pressed against the granite surface.

“Why do you need to know so badly? What did they get you?” you asked innocently. With a wave of his hand, the inscribed dagger appeared in a flash of green light. He set it gently down on the countertop in front of you with the inscription facing you to read. You made a show of it, squinting your eyes and leaning closer to read what you, yourself, had carved into the blade. Flitting your eyes back up to meet his, you grinned slyly at him. “Someone has a crush on you, hmm?”

“This is not the writings of some silly Midgardian who has taken a fancy to me,” he argued. “It’s deeper than that.”

“Loki, are you blushing?”

“I… that’s not…” His face was, indeed, changing from his usual pale complexion to a somewhat pink tinted hue. Collecting himself, he straightened his posture and took the dagger back, making it vanish as quickly as he’d conjured it. “Tell me who it was.”

“I told you! I can’t tell you that! It’s supposed to be ‘secret’ Santa, remember?” You were teasing him now, thoroughly enjoying the fact that he was growing so uncharacteristically flustered before your eyes.

Loki sighed exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re maddening. Honestly.”

“I’m sorry!” You were beginning to laugh a little now, partially out of nerves and partially at his reaction to not having the answers. “I’m sworn to secrecy!”

“Oh, are you? What about being honest with your best friend, hmm? Does that not matter to you?” A grin was tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his scolding. He was frustrated, of course, but not angry with you for keeping this secret. That wasn’t going to stop him from trying to pry it out of you, however.

“I was honest with Wanda,” you responded cheekily. His jaw slackened a bit at your sass, brows shooting up his forehead in surprise.

“Ouch. You wound me, darling.”

“The truth hurts sometimes, I suppose - wait, what are you doing?” You straightened up as Loki began pacing around behind where you sat on your stool.

“Just giving you some incentive to tell me,” he replied casually.

“Wha- EEP hehey!!” You squeaked as his fingers dug into your sides from behind, tickling you. “Loki! Thahat isn’t fair!!”

“All is fair in love and war, darling,” he sang, increasing the speed of his kneading fingers. You arched your back away from him, sliding off the stool and slamming your feet down on the floor. Loki leaned over the stool to keep his grasp on your sides for a moment, until you spun around to face him, breaking his hold. You slowly backed away, holding your hands out protectively in front of yourself as he side-stepped around the stool and began advancing upon you.

“L-Loki, this is r-ridiculous - you c-can’t just… just… tickle it out of me!”

He glanced around, returning his gaze to you with a smirk. “I don’t see anyone stopping me.”

You let out a whine of desperation, stepping around the other side of the kitchen island to put a barrier between the two of you. He merely chuckled, leaning both hands on the countertop with that damned sly grin on his face.

“Do you honestly think that will prevent me from getting to you?” Loki rounded the island, picking up the pace of his strides as you shrieked and turned to run. He caught you around the waist with one arm, halting your forward momentum and dragging you back against his chest.

You could feel your face starting to burn at your situation. While the two of you were close, Loki wasn’t exactly the physically affectionate type - perhaps because he hadn’t experienced much of it growing up in Asgard. To have him pinning you to his chest in a sort of one-armed hug was incredibly flustering.

Luckily, you didn’t have much time to dwell on it, as his free hand made its way to your belly and scribbled into the sensitive skin just under where his arm rested around your ribs.

With a screech, you folded in on yourself and burst into surprised giggles. Loki let out a startled laugh of his own as you suddenly began thrashing violently to free yourself from his grasp.

“Oh, my. I knew you were ticklish but I didn’t realize it was this severe,” he teased in your ear, tightening his grip around your waist and deftly evading your swatting hands to scratch at the spot below your navel. “Perhaps I should have tried this sooner.”

“Lohoki!! Let mehe GOHOHO!” you demanded, somehow managing to twist your torso hard enough to break his hold on you. You darted around the other side of the island, backing away quickly this time while continuing to giggle at the absurdity of the situation you’d found yourself in. Loki’s eyes flashed mischievously as he strode powerfully toward you, a bright grin on his face to prove that he, too, was enjoying this playfulness.

“I suggest you run, darling. If I catch you again, I won’t be releasing you this time until you provide me the answer I’m looking for.”

“Wha- wait! Nohoho way!!” You spun on your heel and took off running through the doorway and down the hall, making a beeline for your bedroom. Your laughter echoed through the hallway as you sprinted, and there was a pounding in your ears that you weren’t certain was your footsteps or your heartbeat. The moment you reached your door, you swung it open and ducked inside, whirling around to slam it shut before he could get to you and locking it.

You knew it wouldn't take him long at all to get it unlocked with his magic, so you did the only thing your completely flustered brain could think to do and dove under your desk to hide. It was so incredibly obvious, but you didn't have any time to rethink your decision as the door handle began to turn. The best you could do was grab a pillow off your bed nearby and lean it against your knees where they were pressed to your chest, trying to conceal your body from view.

The door burst open, and you heard Loki's heavy footfalls step inside. He paused for a moment, presumably scanning the room, then chuckled pityingly before making steps toward your position. You peeked around the side of the pillow and shrieked when you met his eye, holding the pillow up as a shield in front of yourself.

"I'm almost ashamed to call you my friend. This has got to be the most awful hiding place I've ever seen," he taunted, his deep voice wavering with the effort of withholding his laughter at your absurdity. You gasped in mock indignance, peeking around the pillow to scowl at him where he knelt in front of your desk.

"RUDE!"

"No, rude is you not telling me who sent me that gift," he argued, his hands closing around the pillow in your hands. The moment you saw his fingertips wrap around the pillowcase, you tensed and tightened your grip, preparing for a tug-of-war.

"NO! Lohohoki!! You cahan't have it!!" you whined, holding fast as he began tugging it from your hands. He gave it one hard yank, pulling it from your grasp to reveal you huddled under the desk with an anxious grin on your face.

"Hello, darling," he greeted you teasingly, shooting you a wink as he slowly tossed the pillow aside. You burst into giggles yet again, wrapping your arms around your shins and scooting as far back against the underside of the desk as you possibly could.

"Wahahahait!! No wait, Loki, you cahan't... I won't..." You shook your head wildly, shying away from him as he reached for you under the desk.

“Tell me who it was,” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous, hands only inches away from where you sat.

“No!”

"Have it your way, then." His hands suddenly closed around your ankles, dragging you out of your hiding place with a mighty tug. You shrieked in surprise, immediately rolling over onto your stomach and leaping to your feet the second he released your ankles. Whirling around to face him, you held your hands out protectively as he, too, rose to his feet. You side-stepped swiftly as he made a lunge for you, barely evading his grasp. He shook his head, chuckling.

“You can’t evade me forever, darling. I will make you break. Might as well make this easier on yourself.”

Your face flushed with a fresh wave of heat. “N-no way! I promised I wouldn’t tell, and I’m not going to.” You leapt backward as he reached for you again, pulling your wrist out of the path of his hand just in time.

“Then I suppose I will have to tickle it out of you.”

“Not if you can’t catch me!” You suddenly made a dive for the door, grasping the handle and yanking with all your might. The door didn’t budge. You whipped your head around to look wildly at Loki, just barely catching the last of the green flash of light emanating from his hand. “NOHOHO!! That’s not FAHAIR! No MAGIC!!”

“There are no rules to this little game, love.”

You turned back to the door and tugged desperately at it, shrieking when you felt Loki’s arms wrap around your waist and lift you off the ground slightly to pull you away from the door. It was difficult to pretend you were actually upset with this turn of events when you couldn’t stop the stream of giggles pouring from your lips.

“Lo-haha-Loki plehehease!! I cahan’t tell you, I CAHAN’T TELL YOHOU!” You scrambled to gain traction with your feet the moment he set you down again, once he’d dragged you to the middle of the room away from the door.

“You can tell me, and you will tell me,” he insisted, splaying his fingers threateningly across your ribs on both sides and tightening his arms around your waist. Just the sensation of his fingertips pressing against your ribs made your laughter pitch up and caused you to squirm in his arms. “Oh dear. I shudder to think how devastatingly ticklish you must be here if you’re already in hysterics.”

“Dohon’t dohoho it!! Loki! I swehehear I WON’T tell yohou-AHAHAH NOHOHO!!” Hearing your continued refusal, he began digging his fingertips into your ribcage where they rested, scratching and vibrating into any space and crevice he could reach. Your knees buckled underneath you, but Loki prevented you from collapsing to the floor, lowering you down carefully while continuing to torment your ribs.

“I should think a few minutes of this will get you talking, don't you?" You twisted hard and nearly broke away again, but he caught hold of you before you could get very far, resuming his attack on your ribs.

"I-hi WIHILL NOHOT TALK!" You desperately pried at his hands to remove them from your ribs, but your laughter had already weakened you significantly, and he was simply unrelenting in his vicious attack. He didn't respond verbally this time, instead digging his fingertips in harder and faster into your ribcage. The ticklish shocks wracking your body were beginning to make your brain go a bit hazy.

You couldn't lie to yourself and say you weren't enjoying every second of this. The playfulness, the closeness... hell, even the teasing remarks he was making were sort of fun. But, deep down, you were also terrified of telling him the truth. And judging by how this fiasco had gone so far, he was being serious when he said he wasn't going to release you until you gave him the information he was looking for. But how could you tell him? It was always meant to remain a secret.

"I must admit, I am somewhat impressed by your resolve," Loki observed, interrupting your panicked thoughts as he paused to let you breathe. "I wonder if you're more ticklish somewhere else?"

"N-nope!" you responded immediately, shaking your head. "No, I'm not, you may as well give up."

"Oh, come now. Do you honestly expect me to believe you?" His hands suddenly shot up underneath your arms, clawing into the soft spaces. Clamping your arms immediately to your sides, you exploded into hysterics and once again began violently fighting for your freedom. "Lying again, I see?"

"LOHOKIHI I CAHAN'T TAKE IHIT!!" You leaned sideways, and he allowed you to tip over onto the floor, following you down and continuing his assault on your uppermost ribs.

"You know how to make it stop," he sang.

"N-AHAH-NOHOHO!" It was difficult to get much else out of your mouth at this point through your frantic laughter. Loki seemed to take notice, pinching and kneading his way down your ribcage to your sides where your laughter died down to more airy giggles.

"I can do this all evening," Loki warned, leaning over your shoulder to smirk at you. "Why don't you spare yourself some torment and tell me who it was?"

"Ihi tohohold you a million tihimes! I cahahan't!!"

Loki tutted at you, ceasing his attack on your sides. You jumped at the opportunity, diving forward to scramble away from him. The damned trickster had obviously been planning for you to do just that, suddenly grabbing hold of your ankles just before you'd gotten out of his reach and yanking you back toward him across the floor of your bedroom. Your arms flailed instinctively to try to stop your momentum, knocking over the bag on the floor by your bed in the process. The contents spilled across the floor, including the wrapping paper you'd used to wrap Loki's gift.

It was almost as though time stopped for a moment. Loki's hands were still clasped tightly around your ankles, but he made no move to do anything else for a moment. You lay there on your stomach for just a moment, wondering how on earth you were going to explain away this one. Then, you realized that if you were acting normal, you'd be trying to get away still. You rolled over onto your back, propping yourself up on your forearms and chancing a glance at Loki.

Clearly he'd noticed something was up. His eyebrows had shot halfway up his forehead, jaw hanging slightly open in surprise. But his eyes were the most striking. Those vivid, blue-green eyes, still shimmering with a hint of mischief as they often did, were filled with another emotion that you couldn't put your finger on. You felt the heat creeping from your neck up into your face, opting to begin trying to scramble away once again to give yourself an excuse to turn your face.

Your resumed struggle for your escape seemed to snap him out of his daze, and he tugged on your ankles once again to pull you closer. With a surprised squeak, you began to protest as he shifted to sit on your shins and hold you in place. He gazed down at you with a knowing smirk, that same poignant emotion still shimmering in his eyes.

"Something you'd like to tell me, darling?" he drawled.

"N-nope." You shook your head, eyes widening when his hands moved to rest on the muscle just above your kneecaps. Your reaction only served to broaden his smirk.

"Very well, then. I suppose I must continue."

His fingertips kneaded into your quad muscles, and you let out a shrill screech before dissolving into hysterics. Looking pleased with himself at discovering this wonderful spot, he pinched and squeezed at the wretched muscle rapidly, shifting his grip slightly to prod around and find the spot that would truly make you break.

And find it, he did.

His thumbs pressed into the skin about an inch up from your knees on your inner thighs, and you yelped and jolted harshly. Grinning fiendishly, he toggled circles into the spot with his thumbs, driving your laughter to a whole new squeaky octave. But by far the worst was when he turned his wrists to scratch at the spot with five fingers on each hand. You practically howled at that, rapidly dissolving into silent, shaking laughter.

"Are you going to tell me now?" he urged, lightening his touch slightly to try to ease up, but finding it was no less ticklish than before, so he just paused altogether. Chest heaving, you sucked in desperate breaths as you gazed at him wide-eyed.

"I won't-"

"I need to hear you say it!"

Suddenly his tone was much more intense than before, those glowing blue-green eyes wide and earnest as he silently begged you for a response. Your jaw went slack, unsure what to say, how to react. He cleared his throat, shifting to rest his hands on the floor by your hips.

"I... need you to say it. I think I know. But... I need to hear it from you."

Your mouth went dry, cheeks blazing with heat. He knew. That damned wrapping paper gave it away. It was almost impossible to know what was going through his head based on his expression. Regardless, it was too late to try to lie to him any longer.

So, you took a steadying breath, swallowed thickly, and nodded.

"It... it was me. I was your secret Santa."

Loki's eyes softened then, a relieved smile spreading across his face. "Thank gods it was you." He crawled forward a bit to hover over you, supporting his weight on his hands against the floor by your shoulders.

Then, he kissed you.

It was desperate and sweet, passionate and gentle all at once. His mouth moved against yours like he'd been waiting a lifetime to taste your lips against his. You kissed him back fervently, drinking him in as though he were the water you needed to survive. One hand sliding around his waist, the other around his neck, you tugged him down closer, throwing him off balance as he dropped down onto his elbows. He shifted a hand up to cup your cheek, running his fingers through your hair and sending pleasant chills down your neck and spine.

He pulled away first, recognizing you were becoming breathless given you were still coming down from your laughing fit. With a chuckle, he grinned down at you.

"Breathe, love. You're mortal, you know."

Your chest rose and fell with each deep breath, tears of mirth and happiness blurring your vision as you gazed up at Loki. Instinctively, you reached up and tucked a loose strand of his hair behind his ear to push it out of his face. A breathy laugh escaped his nose, and he pressed his forehead to yours with pure adoration in his eyes.

"You're not weirded out by my gift?" you asked timidly. Laughing out loud, he reached down and dug his fingers into your ribs playfully for a moment, relishing in your squeaky giggles.

"I'm relieved it was you. I wanted it to be you. It simply had to be." He sat up then, taking your hand in his to pull you to sit up as well. "Why did you tell me you pulled Wanda's name?"

"I don't know, it just sort of slipped out," you responded sheepishly. Teasingly, you added, "Maybe your propensity to lie is rubbing off on me?"

He growled playfully, giving your side a squeeze. "If I didn't think you were already completely exhausted, I would absolutely get you back for that sort of cheek."

You giggled, hooking your fingers gently around his to pry his hand off your side. He allowed his fingers to slip between yours, intertwining your hands. His skin was pleasantly cool against your palm, his grasp firm but gentle. Strong. Safe.

"Shouldn't we be getting ready to join the others?" you asked. "It is Christmas Eve."

Loki grumbled, shaking his head. "Who needs them? The only person I need is you."

"Lo- mmph!" The mischievous god cut off your protesting with his lips, kissing you fiercely. You allowed yourself to melt into his kiss for a moment, then gently pulled away, pressing a finger to his lips. "As much as I adore kissing you, we really do need to get ready for the party."

Sighing defeatedly, he rose to his feet, pulling you up off the floor to stand beside him. Ducking down to steal one last chaste kiss, he bade you goodbye for the moment so he could go get himself ready for the evening. The moment the door shut, you threw yourself down on top of your bed with a blissful grin on your face, unable to believe that all of that had just happened.

* * *

You spent a little extra time and care getting ready for the evening. The Christmas Eve party was informal, just the team enjoying one another's company for the holiday. Still, you wanted to look your best now that you'd be attending the party on the arm of a regal otherworldly prince. Not to mention, you were excited to see how he reacted when he saw you with your hair done up and a little makeup on.

As you were finishing up putting on a little bit of lipstick, there was a knock on your bedroom door. You took one last quick glance at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your hair down and straightening your blouse before opening the door, smiling at Loki standing in your doorway. His eyes lit up when he saw you, his hand finding yours and lifting it to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles. A wave of heat flushed through your face.

"You look absolutely ravishing this evening," he hummed, gazing reverently at you. You turned your head to hide the color blossoming in your cheeks.

"Thanks," you mumbled sheepishly. You felt the back of his hand brush your shoulder.

"What's this?" You felt your earring shift a bit as he lifted the dangling charm delicately with his fingers.

"My holiday earrings," you replied, grinning. "I thought they were cute, little mistletoe charms."

"Hmm." He lowered his hand, and you turned your head to look at him quizzically. "Doesn't that mean I'm supposed to kiss you?"

"Well... technically, I suppose, yes..." The heat in your cheeks intensified. With an impish smirk, he ducked down and pressed his lips to the side of your neck just below your ear. You squeaked and giggled, shrugging your shoulder instinctively. "Lohoki!"

"Ticklish here, too? It really is a wonder I never knew how severe your human affliction was until tonight," he teased in your ear, placing a few more feather-light kisses along the length of your neck as you shoved half-heartedly at his shoulder.

"Alrihight, enough of that, we have to goho!" He finally relented, stepping back and leading you by your hand in his through your doorway into the hall. You shut the door behind you, glancing down at your intertwined fingers. "Shall we?"

"Lead the way, darling."

Hand in hand, the two of you headed to the tower lounge to join the others for the party. Most of your teammates were already present, mulling around chatting and sipping their alcoholic beverages while bobbing to the holiday tunes playing in the background. The large Christmas tree was the focal point of the room - nearly two stories tall, it was completely decked out in silver, red, and gold baubles and white Christmas lights, topped with a huge silver star. The glow emanating from the tree set such a warm, welcoming ambiance.

The moment some of the others began to notice your presence, their attention began turning to the obvious new development in your and Loki's relationship, as evidenced by your fingers laced through his. At first, a couple people began whispering quietly, until Bucky decided to ease the tension.

"It's about goddamn time!!" he hollered across the room. You laughed shyly, turning and burying your burning face in Loki's shoulder as he slid an arm around your waist to pull you closer. The rest of the team was completely focused on the pair of you now, whooping and cheering just to embarrass you further. But you truly didn't mind - you were elated to be able to share with the team that the two of you were now an item.

Loki led you toward the bar with a hand pressed against the small of your back. There, Thor was the first to approach the pair of you as you poured a couple glasses of wine for the pair of you.

"Brother! I couldn't be more excited to see you've finally admitted your feelings for the young maiden," Thor boomed, patting Loki hard on the shoulder. He nearly lost his balance from the sudden heavy hand, but caught himself before he stumbled.

"Yes, I can see you're quite thrilled about it," Loki replied, trying to sound sarcastic as he usually did with his brother but unable to prevent the small smile from crossing his face. Thor turned to you as you passed Loki his glass, wrapping you in a bear hug and nearly spilling your wine in the process.

"I'm so glad he's finally seen reason and told you the truth!" Thor exclaimed, squeezing you tight before releasing you as you gasped for breath.

"A-actually... I was the one who admitted it first," you corrected.

"Admitted it?" Loki snorted. "Darling, I would hardly say you came out and openly admitted your feelings for me. You required quite a bit of persuasion." He wriggled his fingers threateningly toward you, making your face flush.

"That doesn't mean I didn't admit it in the end!" you argued. Looking to Thor, you decided to change the subject. "Did you like your Secret Santa gift?"

"It was wonderful! I've hung it on the tree in my room already!" he boasted, pulling out his phone and clumsily thumbing through his few photos to show you the picture he snapped of the ornament hanging on his little tree. "Was it you who gave it to me?"

"Me? Oh, no. I had Loki as my Secret Santa recipient," you replied, glancing at the suddenly sheepish-looking younger sibling. "But I did help Loki pick it out."

Thor's eyes widened in surprise for a moment, flitting to meet his brother's. His expression softened, eyes sparkling with emotion as he pulled his brother into a hug.

"Thank you, brother," he stated, his voice cracking with the weight of his happiness. Loki stood awkwardly, stiffly, for a moment, then wrapped his free arm around his brother in return.

"You're welcome. I thought you might like it."

You and Loki mingled with the team for a while, munching on the many snacks available for eating and sipping your drinks. Wanda caught up to you early in the evening, pulling you aside for just a moment.

"I see you finally stopped being stubborn," she teased.

"Yeah, yeah... you were right," you waved her off, grinning. "Thank you for the necklace, by the way. It's beautiful." You glanced down to where you held the little emerald stone between your thumb and forefinger, the gem sparkling in the lights from the Christmas tree.

You're welcome. I'm glad you like it." You pulled your friend into a hug, squeezing her close for a moment. When she stepped back, she nodded toward where Loki stood alone. "Looks like your man is pretty lonely - you should go keep him company."

"As should you," you countered, seeing Vision approaching from behind her. You stepped away as Vision wrapped an arm around her waist, kissing her cheek delicately with a smile. It warmed your heart to see her so happy.

Wandering over to Loki, you slipped your hand in his, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. He squeezed your hand in return, looking at you earnestly.

"Dance with me, darling?"

"Dance? Nobody else is dancing," you replied in surprise.

"Then perhaps we'll start a trend," he retorted, lifting your hand over your head and spinning you around before capturing you in his arms, one hand around your waist while the other clasped your hand. You swayed gently to the music, gazing into his eyes as they sparkled with the reflection of the lights. A flash of mischief shone in his eyes, and he ducked down to press his lips to your neck once again, earning a ticklish giggle.

"Lohokihi!!"

"I'm sorry, darling - as I recall, Midgardian social construct dictates that I must kiss you when there is mistletoe present." He tightened his grip around your waist, suddenly dipping you backward, and you shrieked and laughed in surprise. A few more strategically-placed kisses along your neck had you bubbling with giggles and half-hearted protests. Tilting his head back to grin at you while he still held you in a dip, he leaned forward and slanted his lips across yours instead. Your knees went weak as you returned his kiss, drinking in the sweet taste of his lips, mixed with just a hint of red wine.

As the evening grew later, you bade the team goodnight and headed back to your room to get some much-needed sleep. You leaned on Loki's arm, feeling only slightly buzzed from the wine you'd drank, a pleasant drowsiness overtaking you.

He walked you to your room, pausing in front of your door. You turned to look at him, giving him a pouting look.

"I don't want to leave you yet," you whined, pressing your forehead into his chest. A rumbling laugh vibrated against your forehead.

“Can’t get enough of me, hmm?” he teased. You nodded against his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Stay with me tonight?” The words left your mouth before you thought twice. It wasn’t all that unusual, given how long you’d been such close friends before tonight, but your intentions were pure. Fumbling, you added, “I just… I want to fall asleep in your arms, is all. I want to wake up next to you on Christmas morning.”

He lifted your chin with his finger, smiling as he kissed your lips sweetly. “How can I say no?”

And so, the two of you climbed into your bed, settling down to go to sleep. You settled into Loki’s embrace, feeling incredibly safe and warm in his arms. It felt new and familiar all at once.

As you drifted off to sleep, your heartbeat slowed in your chest, beating to match Loki's strong and steady heartbeat thrumming against your back where his body pressed against yours. It reminded you that you'd offered him your heart, and he'd accepted it with open arms, offering his to you in return. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you finally fell into a deep slumber.

Your heart would always belong to him.