#shes very fond of the whole kids eat in color stuff

[terrasu]

My cousin, who ran from generational trauma/our family/Jewishness, has a son. That cousin's girlfriend posts their son on Instagram.

Anyways, she updated her stories with a video of him eating a giant spoon of pomegranate arils from a bowl of water with the caption "eating pomegranate like cereal for breakfast!"

[eggseabutter]

Tell me anything about any AU. Empty the brain human.

In my Underground Au.

-Sonic is a half-prince (his ma and pa were not royalty) which is why after he meets Aleena again, he doesn’t stick around, because he is not required and he just feels very anxious in the castle.

-Nia is the oldest, meaning that after Aleena (HOPEFULLY) passes away she is going to be the next queen.

-Tails never knew Aleena by face ( as seen in the comic bc he did not know the queen of the Christmas Islands was Sonic’s mother)but with the glimpses of Sonic’s nightmares about an older figure getting mad at him…he suspects of her from the beginning, he never liked her.You will see that in the comic.

TW:Abuse, Body Shaming, Aleena.

-Manic and Sonia are the first ones to see Aleena again after so many years, after they meet up with her, she invents this crap of Sonic being taken away from her and asks them to try and go find their little sibling.

Why? Because the people of the islands would be VERY suspicious about the pure blooded children suddenly reappearing and the half-prince still missing, these people were very fond of Akeno and Jules, they wanted justice for their kid.

So. Manic and Nia do. They go looking for him and seek help of a detective agency. YES the Chaotix who OH SURPRISE they know what blue hedgehog they refer to!

They find him.

Sonic is…wary of them. From what he recalls of them, Aleena always talked about them as if they were dead. But Sonic doesn’t trust his memories from those years (dissociative amnesia) so he goes along with them to the Islands.

Anddddd we’ll get there in the comic.

-Aleena actually takes a whole damn time with humiliating her kids physically. It may not be ‘he r intention’ like she says (bullshit) but she does it a lot.

With Sonic, is his cheeks, she often tells him that they’re chubby and that he should stop eating like a squirrel and other stupid things. That gets him pretty badly because Shadow and Knuckles (he’s dating them in this au) often tell him that they’re adorable so he gets insecure thinking that they only lied about it.

With Manic, is about his whole color of quills, Aleena tells them to dye their hair because it looks ‘gross’ and that is always messy. She asks him A HELLA LOT to wear beanies or hats to cover it. Manic ignores her all the time, because he loves his hair, but he hates when she says it in front of other people, obviously.

With Nia, is not much because she looks a lot like Aleena so her appearance doesn’t annoy her BUT she does tell her what clothes look good on her and which ones doesn’t but like very rudely, she changes her outfits without her consent and forces her to wear stuff that often made her uncomfortable.

-Manic becomes very protective of Sonic and Tails after he gets an idea of what Aleena did to his little brother and what his tiny little brother went through. Nia is in denial about Aleena being a bad mother but she goes through her own process and at the end, stands out for her siblings.

[raibebe]

Of needles and seduction

Genre: Fluff and smut Words: 15.2k Prompt: Johnny tattoo shop AU featuring best friends Yangyang and Jaemin Warnings: contains smut, Daddy-kink, size-kink, mentions of mirror-sex

A/N: This is very self-indulgent, I’m sorry. While I do have piercings myself, I know next to nothing about tattoos, so I’m sorry if anything is inaccurate. Also I don’t advise what some characters in this are doing for yourself. Just a quick special thanks to @burtonized​ who has listened to me ramble about this story and Johnny and helped me write this by giving me ideas and support. Thank you darling! This fic is a beast, I have never written anything this long,it’s insane. If smut isn’t for you, you can stop reading after the phone call and still have a pretty decent story. If you feel like, you’ve seen this post before, you might have. I deleted the original one because tumblr decided to delete it from the tags.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You asked for what you felt was the tenth time in the past five minutes. “It’s going to be fine. The shop is clean and sanitary,” your friend Yangyang groaned while running his hands through his messy, blonde hair. It was getting way too long, hanging low into his eyes. “I’m just saying that this doesn’t seem like a safe place,” you mumbled but followed your hyper friend through a more than dubious looking side street of Itaewon. “Jaemin got his piercings done in the same shop and those healed just fine, stop being a baby,” the blonde said while rolling his eyes. He quickly checked his phone for the address of the (probably illegal) piercing and tattoo shop and took a sharp turn into an even shadier looking street. “I still don’t get while you need me to come with you when you want to get your nipples pierced for god knows what of a stupid reason.” “It’s easy,” Yangyang grinned at you, “Ten said I wouldn’t dare to do it. And I’m going to prove him wrong and you’re going to document the progress.” “Do you ever listen to yourself talk? You’re literally paying someone to stab you into your nipples to shove a piece of metal through it just to prove a point.” “It’s just one nipple though.” “How does that make it any better, Yangyang?” You deadpanned. Your friend groaned again. “I knew I should have taken Guanheng with me. He would have been supportive.” “He would also be supportive of getting ‘I love Tacos’ tattooed on your ass.” “He would,” Yangyang agreed with an exaggerated dreamy look on his face. “What a madlad.”

You sighed but couldn’t help smiling at his antics. You had befriended the hyper exchange student when you had been assigned to be partners for a group project for your mandarin class. Yangyang had only taken the class for extra credit and easy good grades while you were struggling like crazy and had seriously questioned all your life choices that had let to you taking the class. (But mostly you regretted listening to Renjun who had convinced you it would be an easy class.) The group project turned out to be rather easy when you had a native speaker as your partner and you had become fond of the younger student, staying in touch with him and helping him find his way around the big campus. If you had known that he was a package deal with a bunch of other equally hyper and questionably crazy exchange students, you might have thought a little longer about keeping in touch after the project was over. But who were you kidding, the other boys and Yangyang were incredibly dear to you and if Kun had his regular morning coffee, the others weren’t even that chaotic.

“That’s it,” Yangyang suddenly exclaimed, pointing at a small beat up looking wooden door that looked like it was ready to fall out of the doorway any second. But a little green neon sign that hang next to it flashed the word “open” onto the street indicating that a shop must be hiding behind it. Your arguably best friend quickly grabbed your hand as if he had been sensing that you were about to complain again and dragged you into the shop. A little bell jingled quietly when Yangyang closed the door behind you two. You took a deep breath to calm your nerves (hell you weren’t even the one to get stabbed with a needle) and took a look around the small room. It was small and poorly lit and every free space on the walls was plastered with drawings and photos of both freshly done and healed tattoos. You had to admit that whoever had done those had done a good job, they looked really neat. You guessed that at least two artists must be working in the shop. A good portion of the art were very neat black and white works (some looking freakishly realistic) while others were very vibrant and artistic.

With a confident bounce in his step, Yangyang went up to the counter to a man with wild bubblegum pink hair wearing a black tank top that showed off the ink on his arms and torso, all kept in black except for a deep red rose on the side of his neck. His eyes were lined with dark eyeliner, making them seem like dark bottomless orbs, and they were fixed to the screen of a laptop that was covered in stickers that were a wild mixture of cute characters and various rock and hip-hop bands. “And what brings you here?” The man asked with a surprisingly deep voice, turning his head towards your friend. “A friend of mine told me I could get pierced here,” Yangyang spoke, his hands fumbling with the loose threads of his sweater. “And if that was the case, what would you want to get pierced?” “My nipple.” At that the other man raised one of his perfectly arched eyebrows. “People usually start off with getting an earring or something.” “Go hard or go home,” Yangyang grinned, making the other man snort. “If you have 70.000 Won in cash, I can look if one of the piercers is free.” When your friend got out his worn wallet and put a couple of bills onto the counter, the other man smiled for the first time. It didn’t quite fit his whole dark punk aesthetic but you couldn’t deny that he was really good looking.

“Don’t run away now kiddo, I’ll see if someone is free,” he grinned, “I’m Taeyong by the way.” When he disappeared behind a curtain made out of pearls into the back, Yangyang turned towards you with the biggest smile on his face. “I told you it was going to be fine.” You just hummed nonchalantly, still not entirely supportive of the whole idea. “One of the guys is ready in a bit,” Taeyong said when he came back to the main room. “Are you getting anything?” He asked, looking at you. “Oh no, she’s a scaredy-cat, just here for moral support and to document that I actually did it,” your friend answered for you. Your face immediately heated up under the intense gaze of the pink haired tattoo artist. “Too bad,” he just shrugged. “So technically you need to sign stuff for legal issues and whatnot. But since this place doesn’t exactly exist on records, we’re skipping that part. You’re not on drugs or any meds, right?” “I’m not,” Yangyang shook his head, making his hair flop back into his face. “Any issues with fainting or other medical conditions?”   “Nope.”   “Great. Had a good meal before coming here?” “I had breakfast,” Yangyang shrugged. “You had a slice of cold pizza from yesterday,” you groaned. “That I ate in the morning, therefore it’s breakfast,” he argued. “Well in that case,” Taeyong interrupted your bickering and threw a granola bar into Yangyang’s hands, “Eat that and let your girlfriend treat you to some proper food afterwards.” Before the blonde could deny anything, you had already opened your mouth to tell the other man that in fact you weren’t dating.

“Sure, sorry for assuming,” he shrugged and sat back behind the counter, taking out an iPad and began drawing something, probably a tattoo design. “Nervous yet?” You asked Yangyang who was uncharacteristically quiet while munching on the granola bar. “Shit, I’m really doing this,” he replied, exhaling shakily. “You don’t actually have to, Yangyang,” you tried to comfort him. “And let Ten just get away like that? No way. I am doing this. I’m not his little baby Yangyang anymore,” he said like the stubborn child he was. You could just sigh and roll your eyes at him. “He might have just been joking, you know?” “One does not simply challenge Liu Yangyang like that and not expect consequences.” “Kun is going to actually flip and pop a vein,” you tried to reason with your friend for a last time. Kun was doing a lot of coordination work for the exchange students with a Chinese background and had taken on almost a fatherly role for the younger students that hadn’t been in Korea for long. And even though Ten wasn’t even that much younger than Kun, he almost lost his otherwise calm composure when the Thai boy had announced that he successfully had pierced his ear by himself yet again after he had convinced a poor med student to smuggle some equipment for him. And from there the situation had somehow escalated into Ten daring Yangyang to get a nipple piercing. “Well he can’t do anything about it once it’s done. We’ll just make sure he’s with someone who can call an ambulance if he ends up having an aneurism.”

“Someone still wants their nipple pierced?” A new voice interrupted your conversation and a tall man with dark inky hair came into the room, making the pearls of the curtain clink against each other. One side of his head was shaved while the longer hair on the other side framed his handsome face beautifully. He was wearing a loose black T-shirt paired with ripped jeans with almost as many holes as there was fabric that hugged his long legs perfectly, showing that he had also ink on his legs. From his lobe dangled a little silver chain and of course his arms were covered in intricate designs, one arm strictly black ink while the other sported some colorful pieces as well. In the center of his plush lower lip sat a black ring and just beneath his left eye two little silver balls were reflecting the low light. You couldn’t deny that the man looked absolutely stunning despite his unusual appearance.

“Yes, me,” Yangyang eagerly answered the man’s question and walked towards him, tugging you with him. “Too bad,” the piercer grinned cheekily and winked in your direction, making your heart flutter in your chest and heat rise to your face, before he extended a big hand to shake Yangyang’s much smaller one. “I’m Johnny,” he introduced himself before leading you both into a smaller room in the back with a simple black padded bench in the middle of the room and a desk tucked into a corner. The walls were plastered with art and photos like the main room, showing that Johnny apparently was able to pull off a bunch of different tattoo styles. He seemed to have a thing for florals and roses though. The only free space was taken up by a full body mirror at the opposite wall. Johnny sat down on the little stool that was standing by the desk and motioned for Yangyang to sit on the bench while you sat down in the only other chair in the room, made of worn looking black leather.

“Let me see your chest before we start this whole thing,” Johnny spoke to your friend after he had grabbed a pair of silver framed glasses that sat low on his elegant nose and slipped on a fresh pair of black gloves. With only slightly trembling hands, Yangyang pulled his sweater over his head, keeping his hands buried in the fabric. “Looks good to me. Left or right one?” “Ehrm, I haven’t really thought about it,” he confessed. Johnny chuckled. “Spontaneous decision to get your nipple pierced?” “He does it to prove a point to a friend,” you supplied before Yangyang had the chance to answer. “Seems like a valid reason,” the tattoo artist grinned, “You play guitar or anything where the strap could irritate the new piercing?” “Just the violin,” Yangyang supplied, demonstrating how he would hold his instrument. “Then I’d suggest we go for the left one,” Johnny concluded, grabbing a bunch of stuff he needed. “Is it going to hurt badly?” “No idea, mine aren’t pierced.” “The first one is fine,” another voice chimed into the conversation and a pink mess of hair appeared in the doorway. “My client is there and Jaehyun isn’t back from his break yet, have an open ear for the door.” Johnny just hummed but it seemed enough to satisfy Taeyong who disappeared just as quickly as he had appeared.

“You ready?” Johnny asked one last time. Yangyang took a deep but shaky breath and nodded. “You better film this so Ten knows it’s real,” he said, holding out his phone towards you. Rolling your eyes, you got up from your actually really comfortable chair and took the phone from your best friend’s hands while Johnny disinfected Yangyang’s nipple and drew two little circles where the bar would go through it before grabbing a small mirror to show him. “Let’s do this,” your best friend nodded and you pressed record. “It’ll be quick,” Johnny promised, disinfecting one last time before he grabbed a pair of tongs to hold the nipple in place and freed a needle from a foil package. “I’ll count to three and then I’ll start, alright?” “A-Alright.” “Last time to chicken out.” “No, I’m doing this,” Yangyang gritted out, closing his eyes. After that everything happened really fast: Johnny counted to three and steadily pushed the needle through Yangyang’s nipple, who bit his lip hard. He then let the needle dangle from the nipple while freeing a little barbell from another foil package to insert it through the canal he just had made. “And that’s it,” he announced when he secured the little balls on either side of the barbell. You ended the recording when Yangyang left out the breath he had been holding in. “Now no sports, especially no swimming or sexual activities for a while. Clean it well and don’t worry if it gets sore, that’s normal. It can take a while to heal, so be patient and don’t let it get infected. You can get a smaller barbell or a ring once it’s healed. Just come back to get it changed to be safe.” “Fuck I really did that,” Yangyang cursed and looked down to his chest, “I think I need a minute before I can get up.”

“Take your time, I don’t have any clients for another half an hour,” Johnny reassured him, putting the used materials into the trash. “Just please don’t vomit all over the floor or hit your head while fainting.” “That has happened before?” You asked, eyes wide. “Not on me but it’s not unheard of. You sure you don’t want anything?” he asked, turning towards you. His silver framed glasses had slid down his nose a little and you couldn’t deny that the man looked really hot, looking at you from beneath his lashes. “She’s too scared,” Yangyang teased. He couldn’t feel too bad if he still could do that then. “Too bad, I think you would really suit a little conch or something,” the piercer motioned around his own ear to indicate what piercing he meant. “A conch?” You asked, turning towards the mirror to try to imagine it. “Wait let me show you.” Johnny quickly got up to search through the drawers of his desk before he pulled out a little box with a bunch of jewelry, grabbing a small hoop. He stood behind you in front of the mirror. “Hold still for me,” he breathed and bend down to push your hair behind your ear before he carefully put the fake piercing in place. For a moment you could swear that time had stopped. You felt his breath fanning over your skin gently and could smell the intoxicating smell of his cologne. You were so close to each other, you were sure that if you turned your head, your noses would brush against each other. But before you could do anything stupid, Johnny pulled back and gently turned your head so you could see the little silver ring. “I think I could put an even smaller one if you wanted,” he said, watching you through the mirror with an intense gaze from his dark eyes. “I’ve never thought about getting a piercing,” you admitted shyly. While you did get your lobes pierced when you were a child, you never thought of it much. “It looks good. Not so much like daddy’s good girl anymore,” the piercer grinned. You almost choked on air when the words left his plush lips, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks.

“How much?” “For you I’ll do it for free, darling,” he grinned, running a hand through his thick dark hair, making his muscles shift beneath his inked skin. While your brain was still short-circuiting from the nickname, Yangyang seemed to be back to 100%, destroying whatever the atmosphere between you and the tattoo artist just was. “Are you really going to say no to a free piercing, dude?” You could just groan and roll your eyes at your best friend. “Stop calling me dude, Yangyang.” “Only if you get that piercing.” “That’s blackmailing.” “Just do it, it won’t even hurt right?” “It’s just a bit of pressure,” Johnny assured you, his lips curled into a smile. “I can always take it out if I don’t end up liking it,” you thought out aloud. “The beauty of temporary body modifications,” Johnny sighed before he stepped in front of you to take the fake piercing off again. With his face so close to yours again, your eyes traveled over the little silver balls beneath his left eye, over his elegant nose down to the black ring in his lower lip and you briefly wondered what it would feel like to kiss him. “So what will it be?” You looked over to your best friend who had put his hoodie back on and nodded his head enthusiastically, making his fluffy hair flop into his eyes. He really needed a haircut.

“Alright, let’s do this,” you decided. “That’s what I like to hear,” Johnny grinned and moved to get his stuff ready. “Need me to hold your hand?” Yangyang grinned when you took his place on the bench. “I wouldn’t want to contaminate you with girl germs,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at him. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind some girl germs if they’re coming from such a pretty girl,” Johnny cut in when he rolled back over on his stool, his glasses pushed back up his nose again. You couldn’t even fight the heat that crept onto your face at his words, he sure could feel it radiating off your cheeks from where his gloved hands were touching your skin. “I’ll do it where I placed the fake one, just with a smaller ring, alright?” He spoke softly when he disinfected your ear. You could just nod, anxiety taking over, making your heart race and skin prickle. When you heard the plastic bag that held the sterile needle rip, you pressed your eyes shut and balled your hands to fists. “Take a deep breath for me, doll,” Johnny mumbled, gently caressing your skin where he had grabbed your face to stabilize you. “In and out.” You shakily did as he asked you, his low voice comforting and calming your anxiety a lot. “Now you breathe in and let me count to three, then you gently release that breath. Can you do that for me, darling?” “Yeah,” you breathed, eyes still closed so you missed the soft smile on Johnny’s face. “Alright, deep breath in. One, two, three,” the pain of the needle piercing through your skin made you clench your fists harder, “And breathe out.” You tried your best to release the breath evenly until the pressure of the needle was just a low thudding. “You’re doing great, darling,” the handsome piercer reassured you, “I’ll just push the ring through and we’re all done here. Take another breath for me.” This time the feeling wasn’t as painful, just a really uncomfortable feeling of pressure. “All done, pretty,” Johnny concluded, clicking the ring closed. “Open your eyes.”

When you did open your eyes again, he held the little hand mirror from before in his still gloved hands so you could see the little ring that sat against your ear now. The skin was a bright red and you could feel your pulse throb around the metal but it actually fit the shape of your ear really nicely. “Thank you,” you smiled at Johnny. “It’s been a pleasure,” he winked before gathering the used needle and tissues to throw them away. “Take good care of it and try to not sleep on that side for a couple of nights and it will be healed in no time.” “Let’s go home, big baby,” Yangyang chirped in, already on his feet to leave the room. “I’m starving.” “There’s a good ramen shop a little up the street, not too expensive either,” Johnny recommended.

“Thanks for the piercings, man,” your best friend thanked the artist when he took you back to the main room. “No big deal,” Johnny shrugged and sat down where Taeyong had sat before, putting his long legs up on the counter. “Well, have a nice day, maybe we’ll come back for more some time,” Yangyang grinned, opening the door to leave the shop. “Oh I’m sure you will,” the artist replied, locking eyes with you before winking. “Take good care of that piercing, doll. You know where you have to come to if you want more.” You nodded shyly before bowing to the man. “Thank you, Johnny.” “I’ll see you again,” it wasn’t a question. Somehow you and him both knew that this wouldn’t be the last time you would step into the shady tattoo shop.

The next time that you found yourself in the shady streets of Itaewon came faster than you had thought. This time you were accompanying Jaemin to his tattoo appointment after Jeno had ditched him because he had to take over a shift at the cat café he worked at. (That poor boy had to take antihistamines before every shift because of his allergies but couldn’t resist the charm of the kittens.)   “You’re a lifesaver seriously,” the hyper boy repeated while jumping up and down excitedly, “Sitting still for hours on end is really so boring if you have no one to talk to.” “Can’t you talk to your artist?” You asked confused. “He threatened to stab me with the tattoo gun the last time when I was trying to talk to him while he worked,” Jaemin pouted. You could only imagine how irritating Jaemin and his moods could be to someone who wasn’t used to him. Ever since he had decided that he wanted to commit to what he had dubbed a soft punk look, he had been going to the shop somewhat regularly to start a collection of tattoos and piercings. It had started a year ago when he first had dyed his hair to a light blue color. Shortly after that he had first gotten his ears and then his nose pierced. The two lip rings in his lower lip were his newest addition as far as piercings went. The tattoos came a little later. After much consideration he had made the decision to start a floral piece on his arm, the center would be a hummingbird, all with black ink for now.

After a little bit of Instagram stalking you had easily identified the intricate flowers that adored Jaemin’s upper arm as Johnny’s work and the thought of seeing the handsome tattoo artist again had made your heart beat faster in your chest. Not that Jaemin needed to know that you weren’t coming with him for his sake but rather because of your desire to see the dark haired flirty man again.   You had been thinking about his dark eyes behind his silver framed glasses and how he scrunched his eyebrows when he was concentrating a lot for the last weeks. (Not that you had replayed the video of him piercing Yangyang an unhealthy amount of times or anything…) Every time you took care of your new piercing it reminded you of how his fingers felt on your skin and how his deep voice had gently guided you through everything. Not to forget how easily the pet names had rolled from his lips. And oh god his lips… His Instagram account featured a good amount of pictures of himself both casual and while working and the way his plush lips would curl into a confident smirk did things to your heart. His latest update had been the actual death of yours though. It had shown the new tattoo he had gotten recently: It was an intricate eagle that spread over his muscled chest, the feathers of the wings blending seamlessly into the other art covering his strong shoulders and biceps. Did you already mention that he was freaking shirtless in the picture? And that he was hiding a seriously ripped body beneath the wide T-Shirt he wore the last time you were at the shop? So to say that your thoughts had started to spiral after seeing that post was a little understated.

You still felt a little uneasy when you followed Jaemin through the backstreets of Itaewon but when the shabby door with the neon green ‘open’ sign came in sight, you felt the feeling disappear, only for it to be replaced with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Jaemin grinned widely when he pushed the door open and his good mood was always infectious, a smile creeping on your lips. This time a new man sat at the counter, lazily rocking back and forth on the chair with his phone in his hand. His hair was dark and hung into his eyes and he wore a dark, long sleeved hoodie, so you couldn’t see if he had as many tattoos as his colleagues but if the tattoos on his hands and neck were any indication, he must be pretty covered as well. You recognized the rose on the back of his hand from one of Johnny’s Instagram posts. When the man looked up, you saw that he didn’t only have tattoos but piercings as well: In his lower lip sat two rings right next to each other, a ring dangled from his nose and two little silver balls sat in the hollows of his dimples that showed when he smiled at Jaemin. “Back for more?” He asked with a deep, rumbling voice and got up to greet Jaemin properly, bumping their shoulders together. “Got an appointment with Johnny for my sleeve,” the blue haired boy replied. “I see the snake bites healed well.” “Done by the best piercer of the shop.” “You know it,” the man laughed, throwing an arm around Jaemin. “Brought your girlfriend?” “I’m just a friend,” you quickly corrected the piercer. (Why couldn’t you just platonically join a friend for his tattoo session?) “Alright, just a friend, I’m Jaehyun. Johnny should be ready by now. You know the way?” Jaemin nodded and pulled you with him to Johnny’s room.

When Jaemin pulled the curtain to the room open, you weren’t prepared for what you were seeing: Johnny was standing in front of the full length mirror with his black button up shirt unbuttoned, applying cream to his still tender looking eagle tattoo on his chest, making his beautiful sunkissed skin glisten. “You’re early, Jaem,” he spoke. “Jaehyun said you were already ready,” the blue haired boy shrugged and plopped down onto the black bench. “Oh you brought company,” Johnny turned around when he spotted you and grinned, “I knew you’d come back, doll. How’s your piercing healing?” You had to summon all your strength to rip your eyes from Johnny’s strong and glistening chest to meet his dark eyes. “It’s fine as far as I know, doesn’t hurt anymore,” you stumbled across your words. Couldn’t he just button his shirt back up? “Let me see.” Before you could protest he had made two big steps and was right in front of you, the intoxicating smell of his perfume filling your senses. He gently tucked your hair back to have a look at the piercing and you swore you could feel electricity buzz beneath your skin where he had touched you. “You took great care of it, darling. Not regretting it yet?” “No, I like it.” I like you. The words had laid on your tongue but you managed to swallow them back down.

“Stop flirting with her, I’m the one paying for your attention,” Jaemin whined from where he was sitting. You of course immediately felt all your blood rush to your head but Johnny just chuckled. “I haven’t seen any cash yet, boy.” The tattoo artist gave you a last wink before turning towards his actual client, buttoning his shirt back up but leaving the last two buttons unbuttoned, letting the head of the eagle just barely poke out. Taking a deep breath you sat down in the worn leather chair while Jaemin handed Johnny a bunch of bills that the taller quickly counted. “Alright, I’m all yours for the next five hours or so,” he grinned, “You saw the drafts I sent you?” Jaemin nodded while he took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeve of his T-Shirt to expose the ink on his arm. It was already beautiful even though it wasn’t even halfway done. The hummingbird was still missing its shading and he hung in the air for now, the flowers and leaves stopping above its head. “Yeah, I’m still not sure about the color though. Can’t we just do more flowers instead?” “Sure but the inner arm and near the elbow is going to hurt like a bitch. So it’s either that or you let me color that hummingbird.” Jaemin groaned dramatically, turning his arm to look into the mirror. “He does look weird just half-finished like that.” “So color it is?” Johnny asked while rolling up the sleeves of his shirt a bit, exposing his own tattoos: A snake like dragon curled around his entire right arm, kept in all black ink. “I really liked that green-blue watercolor thing you sent,” Jaemin supplied when he turned to lie down. “Right, then I’ll do some flowers directly surrounding the bird and color that thing.” He snapped his black gloves on and turned to prepare his machine and the colors.

“Come closer with that stupid chair,” Jaemin whined, making grabby hands at you. After Johnny nodded, you pushed the chair closer with great effort. “Are you going to whine for the whole time?” You groaned but smiled fondly at your friend. “Most likely,” Johnny answered instead of Jaemin and rolled over on his little stool, his silver framed glasses back on his nose and a pen between his lips. “I’ll freehand a bunch of flowers first to make sure they fit around that little guy nicely.” “And I thought you liked putting others in pain,” Jaemin joked when Johnny adjusted a little lamp and began to draw flower after flower. It was really fascinating how quick his hand drew delicate petals and leaves, filling up the space around the hummingbird. “Oh if I put others in pain, they usually like it,” he grinned, his voice dropping an octave. You almost choked on plain air and had to try to mask it as coughing but if the way Johnny’s eyes twinkled was any indication, he had seen right through it and dared to be smug about it. “Wow my third appointment and we’re already talking about kinks?” “Sorry Jaem, not interested,” the artist laughed, “I’m more into cute girls.” He leaned back to examine his drawing, throwing you another quick wink. You barely held in a squeak. He really wasn’t even trying to be subtle about his flirting anymore. “Ready for the big gun?” “Oh dick jokes now, nice,” Jaemin chuckled while you were sure your head was about to explode from how much blood was collecting in there. You covered your hot cheeks with your hands in a hopeless attempt to cool them. “Oh look Johnny, she’s getting shy already.” “I haven’t even started yet, baby.” That was it. This man was going to be the death of you. You really didn’t need to know what it sounded like when he spoke those words that were dripping with honey. “Why did I agree to come with you?” You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “Because you missed me”, Johnny said at the same time as Jaemin said: “Because you’re a good friend.”

After a beat of silence in which Johnny arranged his actual tattoo gun and Jaemin stared at you while his smile grew bigger and bigger, he asked: “Now which one is it?” “I’m not answering that,” you mumbled from beneath your fingers. “No answer is an answer as well,” Jaemin singsang but luckily the low buzzing of the tattoo machine saved you from any further embarrassment… For now…   “Now hold still or I’ll actually stab you,” Johnny warned before he dipped the needle into black ink and began to trace the lines he had just drawn on with a fine needle. “Yessir,” Jaemin joked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Johnny was unusually quiet while he worked, completely tuning out the chatter of you and Jaemin about shitty professors and assignments. You were absolutely fascinated by the confidence he radiated while dragging the needle over his client’s skin. He went back and forth between two different tattoo guns and rubbed Jaemin’s skin every now and then to get rid of excess ink. Soon Jaemin’s whole upper arm was decorated with delicate flowers and leaves and Johnny leaned back to both take a deep breath while stretching his back and to look at his work. “Let’s take a break before I do the color,” he proposed, wiping down the skin. “It looks great,” you complimented his work, taking a picture for Jaemin so he could see it himself. “Damn that pain really pays off,” your friend grinned, zooming in and out of the picture before posting it to his Instagram. “Does it hurt badly?” “You get used to it,” he shrugged, not taking his eyes from his feed, “It’s more like someone continuously scratching you.” “I can show you if you want,” Johnny chimed in from where he was cleaning his tattoo gun from the black ink. “I don’t think I’m spontaneous enough for a sudden tattoo.” “Not even if I offer it for free again?” He laughed. “I’m not mentally prepared for that,” you tried to reason. “I can still show you how it feels though. Without ink.” You shyly nodded and held out your arm for him that he quickly wiped down with disinfectant when he was done putting a fresh needle into the gun. “Just don’t flinch, darling,” he softly spoke before the buzzing of his tattoo gun filled the silence. You expected it to hurt a lot more when the needle touched your skin but it really wasn’t that bad. It was an odd kind of pain you couldn’t really describe. “It’s not that bad,” you told him, looking into his beautiful brown eyes behind his glasses. “It hurts more when it’s directly on the bone or at a more tender area,” Johnny explained and turned the gun off again, bending down to look at the slightly reddened skin of your arm before chucking the used needle into the nearby trashcan. “Let’s patch that up real quick, just treat it like any other scratch.” You nodded and let the handsome man put a band-aid over it. But before you could pull your arm back again, he leaned down to press a kiss on the cloth “For a good and quick healing,” he breathed and grinned smugly when you quickly turned your head away to hide your heated face.

“When you’re done flirting, will you finally put some color into me?” Jaemin interrupted, grinning widely. “That’s what she said,” you mumbled under your breath, making Johnny chuckle. “All you need to do is ask, darling.” Before you could even wrap your mind around what the tattoo artist had just implied, he had already rolled back over to your blue haired friend to take a look at the hummingbird. “Alright let’s do this,” he grinned before wiping down the skin once more. The buzzing of a new machine filled the room and Jaemin scrunched his eyes shut when the needle dipped in turquoise ink met his skin. “This is nasty,” he complained. “Don’t be a baby,” Johnny murmured, dragging the needle over your friend’s skin that accepted the ink quickly. “You want to hold my hand?” You giggled. What you didn’t expect was for Jaemin to actually reach out to you with his unoccupied arm, making a grabby hand. “Jeno always holds my hand,” he whined. “You’re such a big baby, Nana,” you sighed but still laced your fingers together, yelping loudly when Jaemin squeezed down hard. “You said it didn’t even hurt, you big liar,” you squeezed out between gritted teeth. “You’re not the one getting stabbed,” Jaemin argued, “That shit hurts different than the black.” “It’s a different needle,” Johnny explained, “People usually say it hurts less than outlines though.” “It’s not more or less, it’s just different.” “Well it’s going to hurt more if you keep seizing up like that, relax.” “You’re one to fucking talk,” Jaemin sounded upset. “Don’t curse at me for giving you a pretty tattoo,” Johnny just said, dipping his needle into the little pot that held the color again. “Talk him through it,” the artist said to you, looking up from behind his glasses that had slipped down his nose again.

“Hey, remember that time when Donghyuck was so drunk he wanted to jump from the roof into the pool at that frat house?” You quickly said, the silly story coming to mind first. The memory made Jaemin giggle. “Jeno and Mark had so much trouble holding him back once he managed to climb out of the window,” the blue haired boy chuckled. “They were lucky they didn’t fall off.” “That would have made for an even better story though,” Jaemin laughed. “They could have hurt themselves,” you said, scandalized, “You’re hanging out with Renjun too much.” Jaemin didn’t answer, instead he just hummed and wiggled his dark eyebrows.

“Did you ever go to college?” You asked Johnny out of curiosity even though Jaemin had said that the artist preferred to keep quiet and concentrate on his work. “Do I look like I went?” He just laughed, cocking one of his stupidly perfect eyebrows at you when he looked up. “Well, I didn’t want to assume,” you shied away under his gaze. “I dropped out of high school to learn tattooing,” Johnny shared while painting Jaemin’s skin as blue as his hair, “I wasn’t good in school anyways. So art school or something wasn’t an option either. Not that I would have had any money for that.” “What made you want to pick up tattooing then?” You asked curiously. “Art usually is very temporarily and if you make a mistake, you can just erase it or paint over it with another color. Not so much with tattoos. I like that. It’s immortal as long as you don’t start shooting lasers at it.” “I’ve never thought about it like that,” you confessed. Tattooing had never seemed like art to you but that was exactly what it was. Just not on a canvas but under your skin. “Thinking about getting one now?” Jaemin teased, squeezing your hand that he still held. “I haven’t even told my parents about the piercing,” you scoffed, “They would disown me.” “Well too bad, I know a pretty good tattoo artist,” he joked and poked his tongue out. “Do you now?” Johnny asked, a grin on his lips, wiping down Jaemin’s arm before going in with a lighter color. “Yeah, he works in this shady ass shop in Itaewon and I am pretty sure you can buy drugs there as well.” “Those are not for sale,” the artist chuckled when he saw your scandalized expression. “It’s just anesthetics for certain piercing procedures, calm down doll.” “So sadly, it turns out you can’t buy drugs at their shop but it still looks shady and I’m pretty sure they’re paying part of the mafia so the police won’t come to investigate.” “I know nothing of transactions of this sort,” Johnny commented before you could get an actual heart attack. Illegally tattooing and piercing was one thing but mingling with the mafia was a whole other thing. “Anyways, he does pretty cool tattoos and pierces as well,” Jaemin continued, a grin on his lips, “Also talking male to male here, he’s pretty ripped.” At that Johnny started grinning as well. “Wanna know his name?” Jaemin asked you when Johnny turned to clean his needle and you just rolled your eyes but nodded, wondering what he was getting out of all of this. “It’s Jaehyun.” “Excuse me?” Johnny exclaimed with wide eyes when both you and your blue haired friend started laughed at his stupid joke. “This kid,” he mumbled and shook his head before putting the needle back to Jaemin’s skin who seemed to have forgotten to whine about the pain.

The rest of the appointment was spend with you and Jaemin chatting about this and that and a short video call from a red eyed Jeno who had finished his shift at the cat café and wanted to apologize and promised to buy you two dinner after you were done. “I think that’s all I can do for today,” Johnny said after he had stared at the little hummingbird for a while, “Your skin took the color well but if I do any more, I’ll stress the skin too much. I can go in another time if I need to fix anything.” Jaemin nodded, sitting up so he could inspect the colorful hummingbird in the mirror. “Wow that looks sick,” he commented, his eyes going wide, “Totally worth the pain.” “That’s what I wanna hear,” the artist grinned, grabbing some paper towels to rub the tattoo down once more. “Let me snap a picture to post.”

After both men had taken about 20 photos each, Johnny quickly wrapped Jaemin’s arm in plastic wrap, reminding him how to take care of it. “Text me for the next session, I think we could fit some pretty roses at the bottom. Maybe add a dash of color here and there or other animals,” the artist smiled, slipping the glasses off his nose, gently placing them on the table. “I’ll think about it but first I gotta slave away behind the bar to make more money,” Jaemin sighed, shrugging his jacket back on. “And you darling?” Johnny asked, putting on his confident smile again. “When will I see you again?” You just stared at him, at a loss for an answer. Did he really want to see you again? But before you could even open your mouth, Jaemin had already pulled your phone from your grasp, unlocked it and shoved it towards Johnny. “Put your number in already,” he sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically. Laughing, Johnny did as your friend had said. “Very smooth, Jaem.” “I- I guess I’ll text you,” you stuttered when Johnny gave your phone back, your fingers tingling where his touched yours. “I’ll be waiting, darling,” he winked, raking a hand through his inky strands. “Alright, time to leave, before you start drooling,” Jaemin destroyed the intense atmosphere and grabbed your arm to pull you back to the main room and out of the parlor, leaving a laughing Johnny behind in his room.

“I wasn’t even drooling, what the fuck Jaemin,” you argued when you were outside, your phone clutched to your chest. “Stop complaining, I got you his number, you should be thankful,” he just grinned, absolutely shameless, tugging you along through the little street. “I will not thank you for embarrassing me in front of him,” you pouted, unlocking your phone to confirm that Johnny had indeed put his number into the contacts with a little black heart behind his name.

“Is it too early to text him?” You asked when you and Jaemin sat in the subway on the way to his and Jeno’s dorm to take him up on his offer for food. Your friend just laughed at you, making an elderly man scowl at the two of you, who shook his head in disapproval. Well, Jaemin’s visuals didn’t help him when he acted like this in public. But as long as he didn’t care, you wouldn’t care either. “Text him after we’ve eaten,” he advised you. “Then you don’t seem as desperate as you are,” he added, which earned him a punch to his not tattooed arm.

All through dinner, Jaemin retold every embarrassing moment that happened at the tattoo parlor, making Jeno laugh so hard that he almost choked on his rice. You really needed to find new friends. These ones were just harassing you at this point. (Aside from the fact that Jaemin had indeed managed to get you Johnny’s number, you’d thank him later when he couldn’t make fun at you.)

Later that night, you laid in bed in your own dorm room, staring at the screen of your phone. Your fingers were hovering over the keyboard but you really couldn’t think of what you should text Johnny. You didn’t want to seem weird. With how confident he was, he probably did this a lot and you were too proud to make a fool of yourself. Groaning you tossed and turned in your bed for a while, still staring at the empty chat box that by now must be mocking you for your cowardice. Sighing you typed out another short message to immediately delete it again. Should you just send him a simple ‘Hi’ or ask him if he had eaten? How the rest of his day went? In moments like this you whished you were more confident in yourself.

The sound of an incoming message suddenly filled the room and made you jerk. When you saw Johnny’s name on the screen, your heart first stopped for a second before it started beating about three times as fast as it should. How did that happen? With shaking hands you unlocked the phone to see that you in fact didn’t delete the last message but accidentally send it. Luckily it wasn’t as embarrassing as it could have been and Johnny had just answered that he was glad that you had finally texted him. Before you could think of an answer he sent another text asking you why you were still awake this late when he expected you to be a ‘good girl’. You could practically hear his smirk and you couldn’t fight the heat that rose to your cheeks. You replied that you were already in bed and were about to sleep if he was concerned about your sleep pattern that honestly wasn’t the greatest ever since the semester had started. ‘Oh, sexting already’ he replied, making you shriek in embarrassment. Was this what your message had looked like? ‘You alone?’ He asked and with a furiously beating heart you answered with a simple yes.

A couple of seconds went by with no answer from him which definitely didn’t lower your anxiety before the loud sound of your ringtone tore through the silence, Johnny’s name on the display. You quickly answered it to not wake up anyone on your floor, pressing it tightly to your ear. “Hello?” “Good evening, miss,” you heard the rumble of Johnny’s voice, “Missed me already?” “You’re the one who called,” you argued, making the man on the other end of the line giggle. “That is true.” “Why did you call?” You asked curiously, shifting to lie down on your back, staring at the ceiling. “Just wanted some company. My last client just left and I’m cleaning up the shop for today, the others already left,” he explained. “Jaehyun and Taeyong?” “Yeah those two guys,” he sighed and you heard him rummaging in the background. “Is it just you three at the shop?” “Yeah, it was just me and Taeyong at first but Jaehyun is an incredibly quick learner once he had found someone who was willing to teach him a thing or two. So he quickly joined the two of us.” You just hummed, your fingers playing with your hair, unsure of what to say. It was somehow easier to talk to him like this when you couldn’t see his eyes twinkle in mischief or his lips curling up in that confident smirk. Like this he was just a boy who wanted company and not an insanely handsome, heavily tattooed man who flirted shamelessly. “Do you usually work this late?” You asked to fill the silence and out of curiosity as well. If the shop wasn’t legal there sure weren’t any laws regulating how long the artists were supposed to work. “I don’t,” Johnny laughed, “But thank you for your concern. I was just tattooing a friend for free after my last paying client left because he was in the area.” “You do that a lot? Offering up your services for free?” “Just for friends and special people, doll,” he chuckled, “Why? Are you considering getting inked after all?”

Well were you? You didn’t even know at this point. Whenever you had thought of tattoos you had only ever thought about big bold and very black lines, of skulls, names of exes on your skin forever and warped pictures of people’s faces. But never of delicate flowers, bright colors and intricate designs. Johnny had made it obvious that it was art that he was doing and that it wasn’t just some technical procedure to get color beneath your skin. “I- I don’t know,” you confessed, “I never thought much about tattoos until Jaemin started getting them.” “I thought so,” the artist chuckled, “But I bet I could design a pretty piece that would compliment you nicely.” “I don’t think I’m the type for it though,” you argued, thinking about the amount of ink on Johnny’s body and you hadn’t even seen half of it. (Not that you planned on doing so but you were curious to know if there was more hiding beneath his clothes.) “It doesn’t have to be an obvious one. Just something only you know about.” That really got you thinking. His tattoos were really delicate and you had seen that he could write in really pretty cursive. “I don’t want to pressure you into anything, darling. But if you ever want one, you know who to ask.”

“Yeah, thank you Johnny,” you murmured, lost in thought about how you would look like with multiple tattoos. “I like the way you say my name.” “You- what?” You stuttered when he caught you off guard like that, making him laugh. “You’re cute,” he said once he had calmed down. “Stop pouting,” he added when you weren’t answering. “How did you know I was?” Johnny chuckled again. “I just knew.” “Thank you for keeping me company,” he said when you hadn’t said anything in a while. “It’s alright. I like talking to you,” you confessed. You could hear a door closing and his deep chuckle on the other end of the line. “You probably hear that a lot…” you murmured, embarrassed at how the words had slipped past your lips. “I actually don’t,” Johnny said, “I appreciate the words, darling. I’m all done cleaning up now, thank you for keeping me company.” “It’s fine, no need to thank me.” “You should go sleep now, it’s already late. Sweet dreams, doll. Maybe I’ll even visit you.” “Goodnight, Johnny,” you squeaked. The last thing you heard before he ended the call was another chuckle and a hushed goodbye. Smiling widely you turned your face into your pillow to muffle the scream you let out. How could this man make your heart beat faster like that with just a few simple words? And why did this short phone call make you so happy? Sighing, you put your phone to your nightstand and cuddled tightly into your blanket, the thought of Johnny’s smooth voice guiding you to sleep where he indeed did visit you.

After that initial phone call, Johnny called you more and more often. Sometimes when he was on his lunch break and his colleagues were still working, sometimes later at night when your head was spinning from studying and he was cleaning up the shop. You two talked about your days, you complained about professors, deadlines and assignments and he told you about tattooing and his sometimes crazy clients. And every now and then Johnny would bring up his offer to tattoo you. Which made your thoughts spiral every single time. In class you would scroll through Johnny’s Instagram account, imagining what some of the intricate, more feminine designs would look like on your skin. After much consideration you definitely ruled out anything big or colorful. But something small wouldn’t hurt, right? Well it would, you would be giving him permission to stab you with an automated needle a bunch of times which in itself sounded really scary. But Jaemin’s tattoo looked nice. And after his skin had peeled, the hummingbird truly looked absolutely incredible and you couldn’t wait for him to visit the shop again to keep working on the sleeve.

So in a whim of bravery and with the help of the little glass of wine you had drank you told Johnny that he should tattoo you. “Are you for real?” He asked. “I am,” you giggled, “I’ve thought about it a lot the past weeks.” “I am honored, darling. What will it be?” “Something small and no colors please,” you told him. “That’s all you’re asking for?” “Yeah, I… I like the simple black stuff you do,” you stuttered, suddenly really nervous and unsure if this was actually a good idea. “I’ll design something that’ll match you perfectly,” Johnny promised, sounding very eager. You could hear some rummaging on his end of the line. “I could fit you in Friday evening after my last client. It won’t be too late and I need some time to come up with a design that’s worthy of being in your body.” You swallowed dryly. If you said yes, you couldn’t back out anymore. You would be getting inked. Secretly. Without telling anyone. Not to mention illegally. In a reasonably shady shop that was owned by the most gorgeous man you had ever met. Taking a deep breath, you nodded before you realized that he couldn’t see that. “I’ll be there,” you promised. “I’m looking forward to it, doll,” Johnny said before he wished you sweet dreams just like every time when he called you late at night.

The neon light in front of the door to the shop was already shut off when you arrived the next Friday late in the evening but the door gave away when you pushed it open with trembling hands after taking a deep breath. “I thought you weren’t going to come, darling, you left me waiting,” Johnny greeted you, jumping down from the counter he had sat on. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt with a little white rose design over his heart that fit him perfectly. His hair was elegantly swept back, exposing the freshly shaved part on the side. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, fumbling with the sleeves of your hoodie. “Don’t be nervous, I’ll take good care of you,” he promised, quickly locking the front door before taking you to his room where he motioned for you to sit on the bench. “Do you trust me?” He asked, tipping your head up so you would look into his dark eyes. “I- I think I do,” you stuttered. “I won’t tell you what you’re getting,” Johnny grinned and your eyes widened in shock. “You will like it and it’s not that big.” “I’m not sure, Johnny,” you voiced your concerns but he just pressed his index finger to your lips before you could say any more. Your breath hitched and he could definitely feel your shaky exhale against his finger. “You said you trust me, doll.” Taking another shaky breath, you nodded and a smile spread over his plush lips. “I need you to take off your shirt and lie down on your left side,” he spoke, his voice casual but you could feel something shift in the air between you. At a loss for words you just nodded again and did as Johnny asked when he turned around to gather his stuff.

“Take a couple of deep breaths for me, darling,” he instructed you when he rolled over on his little stool, his glasses sitting low on his nose and his hands already gloved. “It’s going on your ribs,” he told you so you wouldn’t flinch when he quickly dragged a razor over the area before disinfecting it. “I’ll draw a quick sketch first. I don’t want to mess it up when it’s going on your beautiful skin.”  You felt the tip of his pen meet your skin in a gentle stroke, tickling your skin so you had to giggle. “Don’t make me mess this up, baby,” Johnny scolded, playfully slapping your back. “It tickles,” you pouted. “I’m trying to be gentle with you,” he said and you could hear the smile in his voice. While he was sketching, you closed your eyes, trying to figure out what he was drawing. But all you could figure out was that it was something rather small which calmed your nerves a bit.

“All done,” the tattoo artist announced after a while and quickly pulled his little side table with his tattoo gun and ink closer. When the low buzzing noise filled the air, you pressed your eyes shut even tighter, balling your hands into fists. Technically you knew it wouldn’t hurt badly, Johnny had shown you before. But you were still getting stabbed a bunch of times and fuck, you were really doing this. Letting this man put something on your body that was going to be there forever and you didn’t even know what it was going to be. “Relax, darling. I’ll be as gentle as I can be,” he promised, running a hand up and down your back. “It’s going to be on me forever,” you said. “It is. Your own personal piece of art on your body. Just for you to have.” That was a beautiful way to see it, you thought. It’s not just some pigment stabbed into your skin but art. Something unique no one else had. And Johnny would be painting it on just you for you and you alone. “Okay, let’s do this,” you breathed. “That’s my good girl,” Johnny praised and the words made your stomach twist with a feeling you didn’t want to further explore.

The pain was bearable. It was weird at first and the ribs sure hurt more than it had on your arm and the bones somehow seemed to amplify the buzzing, making it travel through your body. You had to grit your teeth when Johnny went over what seemed to be the middle part of the tattoo, where he grazed the skin in quick successions. “That hurts.” “I know, baby. But you’re almost done. You’re doing so well for me,” he soothed and gave you a small break to breathe before he went back in.

“All done, darling,” Johnny announced a little later, turning off his machine and rubbing the tattoo down with a wet paper towel. “Can I see it now?” You asked. “In a bit, keep your eyes closed,” he spoke softly and took your hands in his now ungloved ones to first guide you into a sitting position and then off the bench and over to what you assumed to be the mirror. He turned you so your side was facing the glass and put one of his big hands on your waist. It felt hot on your exposed skin and made goosebumps break out on your skin. “Open your eyes, doll.” You did and looked directly into his dark chocolate brown eyes behind his glasses. “I’m too scared to look now, is that silly?” You asked, losing yourself in his eyes and leaning towards his body that just seemed to radiate heat. “It’s beautiful, just like you,” he assured you, squeezing your waist reassuringly. After taking a deep breath, you tore your gaze away from him and turned to look at yourself in the mirror where a delicate, black chrysanthemum was awaiting you on the skin over your ribs. It indeed looked beautiful, absolutely stunning. It was small but looked so delicate and realistic and fit well with the curves of your body. “It’s stunning,” you whispered.

“Thank you, Johnny.” “No need to thank me, darling,” he chuckled and when your eyes met again, his were dark and almost hungry. “But I think I should reward you for being so good while I tattooed you.” Before you could ask what kind of reward he was talking about, he had already connected your lips in a passionate kiss and pulled your body flush against his. You couldn’t help but sigh now that you finally knew what the metal of his lip piercing felt like against your lips. Johnny was a good kisser and you were boneless in his strong grip not long after he had slipped his tongue past your lips after you had moaned into the kiss when he had started to push you backwards to the bench again, hoisting you back up. “Let me make up for the pain I’ve caused you,” he breathed against your swollen lips when you broke apart to breathe.   “Just keep kissing me like that,” you demanded, burying your hands in his soft black locks to kiss him again. He chuckled and let you dominate the kiss for a while, toying with the black ring in his lip and exploring his mouth. Meanwhile Johnny’s hands started to wander from their place on your waist down to grope at your ass, pulling you forward against him, so you could feel his growing erection between your legs which made a spark of arousal shoot through you.

“Let me make you feel good, baby,” he breathed heavily while kissing down your neck, gently taking the skin between his teeth. “Please Johnny,” you begged, feeling the arousal simmer low in your stomach. Grinning he pulled back and raked his dark eyes over your figure before making quick work of your belt and sliding your jeans along with your panties from your legs, only shortly struggling with your shoes. “It’s not Johnny now, baby,” he rasped when he kneeled down in front of you, pulling you towards him roughly, so your glistening core was exposed to him. “It’s Daddy,” he added before licking a broad stripe through your folds and flicking his tongue at your clit. You could just mewl and throw your head back in pleasure. You didn’t know that this would be such a turn on for you. “Say it, baby,” Johnny demanded, lazily dragging his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves. “Please Daddy,” you whimpered and you could feel his low groan vibrating against your core. He wasted no time to attach his plush lips to your clit, gently sucking and grazing his teeth over the little nub, making you mewl and shiver in pleasure. He definitely knew what he was doing, altering between stimulating your clit to the point where it almost became too much before he focused on dragging his tongue through your folds, gently prodding against your entrance before it gave away. When Johnny moaned you could feel it travel straight through you, making your head swim with pleasure. Looking down to the man kneeling in front of you, you were met with his dark eyes, staring straight up into yours. Moaning, you threaded your fingers into his soft hair and pressed his face closer to your core, not even taking the chance that he could move back. “Feels so good, Daddy,” you moaned when he spread your labia with his fingers so his tongue could dive deeper into you, stimulating your velvety walls. When he hummed it send sweet vibrations through your core and you could feel your orgasm approach almost embarrassingly fast. “Mmmh, so close Daddy.” “You wanna cum, baby?” He rasped, his hot breath fanning over your clit that he was lazily rubbing with two fingers. You bit your lip and met his dark eyes, nodding furiously. “Then beg for it, doll. I could stay here for hours,” Johnny spoke before he turned his head to mouth at your thigh, gently biting and sucking at the sensitive skin until it bruised under his ministrations. “I would just keep you right on the edge for hours until you’re a shaking mess for me, begging for release.” His lips split into a wicked grin when he saw how his dirty words affected you and he slowed his fingers on your clit until it was just enough to keep you stimulated but not enough to make the knot in your stomach snap. “Please Daddy,” you whimpered. “Please what baby?” He rested his head on your thigh, looking up at you from innocent eyes as if he wasn’t driving you insane with just his fingers. “What is it beautiful?” He repeated the question, replacing his fingers with his tongue. “You wanna cum?” “Yes please,” you whined, grinding your hips against his tongue to get more friction. “Well if you ask so nicely…” Johnny immediately slipped two fingers inside you with almost no resistance from how ridiculously wet you were and began pumping them in and out of your core fast, crooking them to search for your sweet spot. “Come on baby,” he growled, locking eyes with you again when he closed his lips around your clit. Almost screaming his name, you came hard when his fingers finally found your sweet spot, rubbing at it mercilessly to help you ride out your orgasm. Your thighs were shaking and you fell back onto the bench, the leather sticking to your back where you just laid for a while, your head spinning, breathing heavily.

“You look gorgeous like that,” Johnny complimented you, when he got back up from the floor, raking his clean hand through the mess that was his hair before he shamelessly took his fingers that were covered in your essence into his mouth, sucking them clean. Through half lidded eyes you could see the way he was still straining against the fabric of his jeans and the sight made your mouth water. “You’re still hard,” you said breathless.   “I am,” he said matter of factly. You wordlessly let your thighs fall open for him, exposing your core to him. “Oh baby,” Johnny cursed, pressing the heel of his palm against his bulge, “As much as I want to fuck you right now, you still have a fresh tattoo, doll.” “Please, Johnny, I want it,” you begged. “Shh, baby,” he soothed you rubbing a hand over your thigh, “Let me dress that tattoo and then I’ll take you upstairs to fuck you on an actual bed like you deserve.” You nodded, amazed by his amount of self-control.

Johnny worked quickly and efficiently: Cleaning your tattoo one last time before putting some ointment on it to keep it moisturized. At last he gently taped down a small sheet of plastic foil to keep it safe. “All done, beautiful,” he spoke before pecking your lips, “You still want to come upstairs with me?” “Yes Daddy,” you answered and you swore you could see his eyes darken just from the word alone. “Hold on tightly,” he ordered before scooping you up into his arms, holding you up by your thighs. Squealing you quickly wrapped your arms and legs around him, holding on tightly. “I’ll get your clothes before we open up tomorrow,” he mumbled when he carried you through the back door of the shop that lead to a dusty staircase. You pressed your body closer to his, nuzzling your face into his neck where the smell of his cologne was the strongest, to have some of his warmth seep into your skin when you started to shiver from the cold air. Lazily you let your lips travel over his skin, sucking a mark next to a splash of ink.

Johnny quickly grabbed the keys to his apartment’s door from atop of the doorframe (not really safe) and unlocked his door while holding you up with just one of his arms, the display of strength making your head spin. With quick steps he crossed the way to his bed and gently laid you down on the soft sheets, immediately crawling on top of you, crowding you against the mattress. “I knew you would look good in my bed,” he rasped, kissing your neck while his hands made quick work of the bra that you were still wearing for some reason. “You’re gorgeous, doll,” he breathed after he had sat up on his knees, looking down at you with dark eyes, his big hands roaming your body. Feeling shy under all the attention and compliments he was giving you, you tried to hide your face behind your fingers but he wasn’t having any of it, quickly grabbing your wrists in one hand to pin them above your head. “Don’t hide from me baby. Daddy wants to see how much you’re enjoying yourself.” You could just nod, trying to force down the whimper that almost spilled past your lips, he hadn’t even done much yet and you were already feeling arousal pulse through your veins. “I couldn’t hear your answer,” Johnny teased, gently grabbing one of your boobs to massage the soft flesh. “Yes, Daddy.” “That’s my good girl,” he grinned, releasing your wrists to slip his T-Shirt over his head, revealing his strong chest where the eagle majestically spread its wings and the hard lines of his abs. “Like what you see?” He asked smugly, climbing off the bed to unbuckle his belt and slip his jeans off his narrow hips, revealing strong, muscled thighs. One of them was covered with the face of a growling panther while the other was decorated with a colorful koifish tattoo that disappeared beneath the fabric of his dark boxers that were doing very little to hide a prominent bulge. “Let me,” you breathed and crawled over to hook your thumbs into the waistband. But before you pulled them down, you pressed a couple of kisses to the cherry blossom branch tattoo that seemed to stretch from his back over his hipbone and further down, mingling with the koi tattoo further down. With every centimeter of skin you exposed, more ink from the blossoms became visible and you kissed every single one of the delicate flowers. When his length finally sprang free, you had to swallow dryly: His cock was huge and hung heavy between his legs. Licking your lips you looked up to him, to find him grinning down at you. “Go to town, baby.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice, you were itching to feel his heavy weight on your tongue. You pressed a sweet kiss to his tip before placing a hand at the base only to find him surprisingly soft as you experimentally pumped your hand once. “It takes a while for it to get fully hard,” he groaned when you moved your hand up and down his shaft a couple of times, feeling it pulse beneath your fingers. Damn if he wasn’t even fully hard, how big would he be if he was? Holding him at the base, you licked a broad stripe up the whole length before you swiped your tongue around the pink head, pulling another groan from Johnny’s lips. Taking a deep breath, you finally took him in your mouth and hollowed your cheeks, tasting his skin. The weight on your tongue felt just right and you couldn’t help but moan as you slowly started to take more and more of him until you felt him hit the back of your throat. Shit, you were barely able to fit half of his length in your mouth like this. “You’re so big,” you moaned when you pulled off of him with a wet pop, spreading your saliva down the shaft with both of your hands. Johnny just hummed and grabbed a handful of your hair to shove your mouth back onto his dick. He cursed when the velvety heat surrounded him again and gently began to thrust in and out your mouth. “Fuck you look so good with my cock in your mouth,” he breathed heavily. You could only moan where your lips were stretched around his length and hollow your cheeks when he pulled out, the grip he had on your hair keeping you in place while he snapped his hips. “Shit baby,” Johnny cursed when he pulled out, panting while he rested the head of his cock on your outstretched tongue. “I could cum like this.” You whined pathetically, looking up at him with pleading eyes. He chuckled and gently slapped his cock against your lips, smearing them with precum. “But you don’t want that, don’t you, baby? You want my cock inside you? Stretching you out?” “Yes Daddy, please. I need it so bad,” you blabbered, not even knowing where those words were coming from but you seemed to have said the right thing with how Johnny’s dick twitched in his hand.

“Then get on your hands and knees for me, baby. Ass up.” It was almost comically how fast you complied, baring yourself to him. “Such a good girl,” he praised, grabbing your asscheeks to knead and pull them apart. “Beautiful.” “Please Daddy,” you begged him, arching your back further. “Patience baby,” he chuckled. A frustrated groan got stuck in your throat and turned into a drawn out whine when he pushed two of his fingers inside you, pumping them quickly and curling them to find your sweet spot again. Soon two fingers became three and he had reduced you to a moaning mess with how he abused your sweet spot once he had found it again. “You think you’re ready for my cock, baby?” “Yes. Oh god, yes please,” you begged while shamelessly grinding back on his fingers that he had stilled inside of you. “Spread your cheeks for me,” he ordered while quickly grabbing a condom from his bedside table and rolling it onto his cock. Balancing your weight on your knees and shoulders, you reached around yourself to pull your asscheeks apart so Johnny could see your core clenching around nothing. “You’re such a good girl for me,” he rasped, running his palm along the curve of your body while lazily thrusting his cock through your folds, making it glisten with your essence. Finally you could feel him nudging at your entrance with the thick head of his cock. “You want it, baby?” “Yes please Daddy,” you gasped, trying hard to be good and not grind back against him. “You’re such a good girl for me,” he chuckled, “And good girls get what they want if they ask so politely.” With that he finally sank into you in one agonizingly slow thrust until you could feel his hip bones press against your skin. You had to screw your eyes shut and bite your lip to suppress a whimper. You had never felt so full before.

“Fuck baby, you’re so tight,” Johnny groaned, grabbing you by the dip of your waist with his big hands, grinding you on his cock. “I’m so full, Daddy,” you gasped when he slowly pulled out until only the head of his cock was inside you before he languidly thrust back in. “Yeah? You like that? Being stuffed full of my cock?” You could only moan and nod where your head was pressed into the sheets. His cock was so big that it seemed to press against every good spot that was inside you, setting your nerve endings on fire, the pain from being stretched like that only adding to your pleasure. “You‘re sucking me right back in baby,” he cursed and gripped your waist harder, pulling you back on his cock as he picked up the pace, low groans falling from his lips. Your moans got progressively louder and louder the faster Johnny snapped his hips. “Hands behind your back, baby,” he ordered panting and immediately grabbed both your wrists in his hands to use them as leverage so he could fuck into you faster, the change of angle and pace making you moan his name. Your head was swimming with pleasure and you could only moan and mewl beneath him, imagining how he would bite his lip while watching his dick disappear inside you over and over again, stretching out the delicate skin of your sex. “God baby, your ass looks amazing,” Johnny groaned, praise after praise falling from his lips that reduced you to a moaning mess.

With one particularly hard thrust he buried himself to the hilt inside you and draped his body over yours, his hot breath fanning over your face when he spoke, a deep rumble in his chest while grinding his dick right against your sweet spot that had you seeing colors behind your closed eyes. “Wanna see you bounce on my dick, doll. Can you do that for me?” Taking a deep breath, you nodded. Your ability to form coherent sentences had left you as soon as he had begun to fuck you in earnest. “You’re such a good girl,” he purred and gently pulled out, making you whimper from the loss. You felt the bed dip next to you and when you opened your eyes, you were met with Johnny’s pleased smirk as he leaned against the headboard of the bed, his cock resting against his hip, too heavy to properly stand up and you couldn’t stop another whimper. “Come on baby, I know you want it,” he grinned, crooking a finger in a ‘come closer’ motion. Dragging your limbs from beneath you with great effort, you climbed onto his lap, immediately claiming his lips in a messy kiss. You buried your hands in his stupidly perfect hair to mess it up and tug at the inky strands, causing Johnny to moan into the kiss. “Hmm, my baby is feisty,” he chuckled when he broke the kiss, the pupils of his dark eyes blown so wide that they seemed almost black. “But you promised me to ride my dick,” he reminded you. “And I’m gonna,” you slurred, reaching between your bodies to grab his cock, giving it a couple of strokes. “But turn around for me baby. Wanna see how much my fat cock is going to stretch you out,” he rasped, playfully biting your lips. “But I want to see you too,” you complained. “Oh you can,” he grinned and pointed over your shoulder. You reluctantly turned around before you saw what he meant. Right across from the bed was a big mirror and you gasped because of how fucked out you already looked. A couple of tears had rolled down your cheeks and messed up your makeup and your lipstick was smeared around your lips.

You carefully grabbed Johnny’s cock again and held it steady so you could sink down on him, watching yourself in the mirror until you sat snug on his lap and had to close your eyes because the feeling was so overwhelming. He felt even bigger like that. “You okay, baby?” He asked, grabbing your hips tightly to help you swivel them on his cock, making it press into your walls just how you liked it. “How does your cock feel even bigger like this?” You gasped as you leaned forward and slowly started to ride him at first to get used to his size and figure out the best angle for you. Your legs shook with the effort to keep your rhythm but the look Johnny had on his face, his eyes glued to where you two were connected, made it worth it. Suddenly a wicked grin spread on his lips and he snapped his hips up when you lowered yourself again, tearing loud moans from both of you. “Fuck, do that again,” you demanded when you raised your hips again. “What’s the magic word?” Johnny teased, holding you up so you wouldn’t drop down again. “Please, Daddy.” Groaning he started to snap his hips up every time you ground down on him, making your skin slap together with an obscene noise.

God you wanted to die on his dick. “Do you now?” Johnny laughed. Shit did you say that out loud? “Want to feel how deep it goes inside you?” He rasped, wrapping his strong arms around your waist. You went lax in his hold and mewled helplessly. Who knew that a little display of strength and a big dick were such turn ons for you that your brain was reduced to mush. Grinning he carefully pulled you up and against his chest and draped your legs over his after he had planted his feet firmly onto the mattress. “Watch, baby,” he ordered as he lifted you off of him until only the tip was barely inside you anymore before letting you drop down again. You mewled and thrashed in his hold, the feeling just on the edge of too much. Feeling him deep inside you was one thing but actually seeing it was a whole other thing and it messed with your head. Curiously you pressed your hand down on your lower stomach when Johnny had started to piston his hips up into you instead of dropping you down onto his cock every time and you swore you could feel him move inside you. A drawn out curse left your lips and you threw your head back onto his shoulder.

With the way he was snapping his hips up you could feel your orgasm approach at lightning speed and you were so far gone that you shamelessly reached between your legs to stimulate your clit. “Fuck baby, you’re so hot like this,” Johnny groaned, grinding his dick inside you as you quickly rubbed your clit, toeing right on the edge. “Please Daddy,” you cried out, not sure what you were even begging for. “You gonna cum on my cock?” He rasped, snapping his hips harshly, “Wrapped around my big cock stretching you out like this?” You nodded your head furiously, your eyes screwed shut. You were so close that you could already feel your toes curling. “Show me baby. Show Daddy how good his cock makes you feel.” That’s what pushed you over the edge, the way he was panting in your ear, his voice strained from how he was drilling into you. The coil in your stomach snapped and you almost screamed his name, your body curling inwards and thighs shivering as your orgasm washed over you, making a bunch of colors explode behind your lids. In the back of your mind you registered Johnny’s curses and how he was grinding his cock inside you to help you ride out your orgasm. “Such a good girl,” he praised when your body went lax on top of him, your chest heaving with heavy breaths. You briefly wondered if you had ever cum this hard and you couldn’t think of any other time. “Thank you Daddy,” you panted, turning your face to press a messy kiss to his plush lips that were bitten raw. He chuckled lowly when you whimpered when his still hard cock shifted when you tried to turn around.

“Will you let me fuck you for a little longer, baby?” He asked, running a hand through your sweaty hair. Instead of answering him, you lifted yourself off his dick to turn around on his lap, capturing his lips again. “Want you to ruin me,” you whispered between kisses, “Want you to ruin me for any other men. Want to only remember how you feel inside of me.” Johnny growled deep in his chest before he pushed you down onto the bed, hungrily licking into your mouth. “You’re the one who is ruining me,” he panted, rising to his knees. He quickly grabbed your legs and threw them over his shoulders before he sank into you again with a low groan. This time he didn’t waste any time with building up the pace and immediately snapped his hips harshly, chasing his own orgasm. “You’re taking me so well, baby,” he panted, folding your thighs to your chest so he could push into you even deeper, making you see stars with how he was nailing your sweet spot with the new angle. And even though you had just cum, you felt another orgasm build inside your stomach. A row of curses left Johnny’s lips when he could watch his dick slide in and out of you again and he gripped your thighs so hard you were sure you’d have bruises there tomorrow. But that was something you’d worry about later, right now your world was only made up of the handsome man with his huge cock that was currently rearranging your guts with how vigorously he was snapping his hips, making your skin slap together with lewd sounds.

“I’m gonna cum baby,” Johnny grunted, his hips losing their rhythm. “On me,” you managed to choke out, still lost in your own pleasure. Another groan left his bitten lips before he quickly pulled out and ripped the condom off, jerking his cock with quick strokes, his eyes fixed to yours. All it took was a couple of jerks before he threw his head back and you could see his abdominal muscles contract before the first burst of white hot cum spurted from his dick and covered your chest and stomach. With parted lips he stroked himself through his orgasm, milking rope after rope from his cock until he hissed with overstimulation. “Fuck,” he cursed before giggling when he saw the mess he had made of you, his cum dripping from your boobs and running down your stomach. He cursed again before claiming your lips. “You want to cum one last time, baby?” “Please Daddy,” you whined, spreading your legs further for him. “My good girl,” he sighed, sinking two fingers into your heat, quickly crooking them to stimulate your sweet spot while his thumb was putting sweet pressure on your clit, making you thrash beneath him. “You look so good covered in my cum,” he rasped before he kissed you harshly to swallow your moans and cries of pleasure. You desperately held on to his shoulders, breaking the kiss when your head was spinning from the lack of oxygen. While speeding up his fingers, Johnny began sucking bruises low on your neck and over the soft skin of your cleavage. “Shit, I’m gonna-“ you didn’t get to finish your sentence because right that moment he had sucked one of your nipples into his mouth which was just enough to send you over the edge for a third time that night, your lips parted in a silent scream of his name and your thighs shaking and closing around the handsome man kneeling between them. “That’s my good girl,” he praised breathily and gently rocked his fingers to help you ride out your orgasm before he pulled them out, instead winding his strong arms around your body, holding you to his inked chest.

For a while he just held you close, not caring that his cum was now also stuck to his chest. “Fuck that was a lot,” you chuckled, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his calming scent. “Not what you thought would happen when you get a free tattoo?” Johnny softly spoke, carding his hand through your messy hair. “Not at all.” Another question was burning inside your head but you were too scared to ask it. You didn’t want to push him and ruin the mood. “I should clean you up and see if that tattoo is still okay. Then we can cuddle, alright?” The tattoo artist said before he detangled your bodies from one another to get up from the bed. He looked around on the floor for a cloth and you could finally see where the cherry blossoms on his hip were coming from. A big samurai was stretched over half his back, surrounded by the pinkish blossoms. It seemed like it wasn’t a complete piece yet, the samurai staring at the still untouched skin of Johnny’s left shoulderblade. “Your back tattoo is really pretty,” you mumbled to fill the silence while Johnny was wiping his chest clean before he gently did the same to you, taking extra caution when looking at your still fresh tattoo. “Thank you,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead, the metal of his piercing feeling warm on your skin, “We should change that foil real quick.” You just nodded and let him do his work, exhaustion settling into your bones.

“Do you do this with all your clients?” Shit. You hadn’t meant to ask that, the question had just slipped your lips and you could feel Johnny freeze where he was dressing your tattoo again before he secured the last piece of tape. He sighed and slipped beneath the covers, pulling you against his chest, so you could listen to his heartbeat. “Not all of them,” he answered eventually, “I haven’t slept with a client in a while. It happens sometimes but usually I don’t think much about it.” “And now you do?” He just hummed nonchalantly, playing with your hair. “They usually don’t come back after I fuck them.” He paused, holding his breath. “Will you come back?” Your heart started to race and you could feel a bright smile spreading over your lips. “For more free tattoos and piercings?” “Oh, yeah, I guess,” he sounded so deflated, the confident tattoo artist suddenly gone. “You idiot,” you giggled, pillowing your head on his sternum so he could see the smile on your lips, “I like you Johnny. I’ll come back if you want me to.” Now he was also smiling, his features softening. “Don’t make jokes like that, my heart is fragile,” he joked, wrapping you up in his strong arms.  

“Which one was your first one?” You asked him when the silence between you stretched while you traced the scales of the dragon that wound around his arm. “My first tattoo?” Johnny shifted around for a while before he showed you his other arm that had all kinds of different designs on it, some in bright colors, some strictly black. “That little guy over here,” he said with a smile on his lips and pointed to a little sunflower at the bend of his elbow, “To remind me to always look at the sun, at the bright side of life.” “It’s cute,” you breathed, touching the yellow petals. “And then it went downhill from there,” he chuckled, “It’s addicting.” “Let’s hope I can stay abstinent.” “What a shame, I’d love to cover you in my art,” Johnny confessed, tilting your face up so he could claim your lips in a kiss. “Maybe one or two more,” you breathed in between kisses, making him chuckle against your lips.

[sarija]

@expectingtofly @starrynightdeancas

Here's my first ever written fanfic as a gift for @expectingtofly who never received her original gift from starrynightdeancas gift exchange. Enjoy 🙂

Words: 3657

Notes at the end of this post!

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“So I guess the question is,” Bobby asks, “What're ya gonna do now, Dean?”

Dean looks at baby, considering. He smiles back at Bobby and answers, “Well, I gotta go for a drive.”

 

 

After about ten miles, Dean pulls over. There's a lookout just a few steps from the road, and he follows the trail to the end, feeling overwhelmed by the info Bobby has given him. Cas is here. He helped Jack rebuilding Heaven. He remembers the last time he'd seen Cas. He would have given everything to see him again, to get him back, but all the efforts he and Sam had tried on Earth were useless. Now, there's a good chance he might see Cas again and he has no idea what to say to him.

At this moment, he feels the presence of someone beside him. Anxiously he turns around. For a moment, he hopes to see Cas, but instead, it's Jack and a warm feeling of relief washes over him. He doesn't know if he's ready just yet.

“Jack!” He exclaims, pulling Jack into a tight hug. “It's so good to see you, kid!”

Jack hugs him back, clapping him on the back before freeing himself. “Hey, Dean. It's good to see you too. I'm sorry I couldn't intervene...but I'm glad you are here.” Dean just shakes his head.

“You know, kid, Sam and I had an agreement of going down smashing, and this I did. I … I have no resentments over this.”

Jack offers him a short nod before saying, “Dean, I think there's someone who wants to see you. Are you ready?”

Dean then notices a figure standing way back, beside one of the bushes. He is ready. He has to be. He's been waiting so long to see him again, he can't even believe that he doubted he was ready in the first place. Dean swallows back a big lump in his throat. He walks a few steps. There he is. Just beside a big flowerbed, bees humming around busily, Dean sees him standing in the glow of the setting sun. He lets his eyes wander from the well-known boots upwards, over the hem of this trenchcoat he missed so damn much. The coat is glistening in the sunlight, it looks like it's giving off a light of itself. Over the blue tie, upwards, over the 5-o'clock beard, then those soft lips, further to these warm and blue eyes, deep like the ocean, light as a cloudless sky. And Cas is looking back at him, wondering, tilting his head just a little, the way he always did, back then when they were on Earth. Dean doesn't feel the single tear running down his cheek, he doesn't see Jack looking happily at him, he can only see Cas, standing there in the sun, looking like the most beautiful being he's ever seen in his whole life. Cas, his friend, his family, his angel and most importantly – the love of his life.

He steps forward slowly, afraid that this is just a dream, one of those damned dreams he's had over the weeks after Cas had been gone, had thrown himself into the Empty. In his dreams, Cas was there, waiting for him, but all of a sudden, he'd be gone, swallowed up by a big nothingness, or bursting out in flames and screaming in pain, or saying 'I love you, Dean' but retreating while Dean wanted to get to him, to hug him, to hold him, until his angel was gone and away.

But Cas is still there, smiling now, looking at Dean with his amazingly blue eyes. He lifts his hands and whispers “Dean” and Dean can't keep it any longer. He takes the last steps in a few fast strides and falls into Cas' arms, pulling him into a tight hug and crying silent tears onto his shoulder. Cas starts stroking his hair, softly, hushing and repeating all over “It's okay, Dean” until they both break apart. Dean doesn't want to let go of Cas, he holds his arms, looks at him over and over, but he can't find the words to describe how much this means to him. So he just stands there, breathing heavily, watching him, until he feels Cas' hand upon his cheeks, wiping away the tears on Dean's face. And all of a sudden, Dean knows there's no need to hold anything back anymore, there's no need to hide anything, because there's nothing here to threaten them. Nothing is going to take Cas away ever again.

Dean swallows, clears his throat.

“Cas... I …You ... How?” is all he manages.

Cas shakes his head. “I'll tell you later. We've got all the time in the world now.” He looks at Jack, who is still standing a little way behind them, smiling. “Now, who wants to have some dinner?”

--

They take the Impala to drive to Cas' place. While Dean is driving, he's absurdly aware of Cas sitting beside him in the passenger's  seat. He even feels the intensity of Cas' eyes upon him, until he finally blurts out, “Hey buddy, it's good to see you too but – could you please stop staring at me? I'm not a freak show, y'know?” At that, Jack snorts loudly in the back, clapping Dean on his shoulder. He doesn't say anything else, but Dean knows that he's enjoying this moment as much as he is. He sends a small smile to Jack and Cas, but Cas has turned his face away from him, looking out of the window instead, chin in his hand. For a moment, Dean worries if his words had hurt the angel. This would be the last thing he'd want to do, especially on the first day of meeting him again. He wonders if he should say something, anything, to make sure everything's fine. But what should he say? Tell him he didn't mean it? He never was a man of apologies, and Cas knows that. He just wanted him to look away, cause his staring was so freaking distracting. He wants to return his gaze, he wants to never stop looking into those amazing eyes, eyes that had seen so much, eyes that had looked so worried at times, Dean almost couldn't even bare it. He wants Cas to be happy, to smile, to forget the bad stuff he'd lived through. And now he'd said something that hurt him. Why was it so hard to just take it back? He never knew, cause right at this moment Jack spoke up.

“It's the light blue house over there, Dean. Just drive up to the front, there's a parking spot for you beside Cas' car.”

Dean drives as being told, parking beside a yellow-brown-ish '78 Lincoln Continental. He recognizes it instantly, it's the same car Cas had been using whenever he wanted to get something done on his own, and Cas had always seemed pretty fond of it. It brings back a lot of memories and Dean starts smiling involuntary.

They get out of Dean's car and step up the front porch. Cas takes the lead, opening the white door for them, welcoming both into his home. Dean risks a quick glance at him before entering. Cas doesn't seem to be hurt anymore, he looks pleased and happy. And Dean thinks he understands why.

Dean enters the hallway, looking around and taking in as many details as he can. There is a kitchen to his right, with wooden fronts and very clean. Right ahead there's an arc, decorated with roses in different colours – red, white, yellow, lilac and pale blue. They are rooted in two pink flower pots, one on either side of the arc. To his left are two wooden doors. He guesses that one would probably lead to the bathroom, the other one he's got no idea. They walk through the arc, entering a really big living room, bright and clear. The windows here let the sun warm up the room just enough to feel right, and the light-colored furniture reflects rays of sunshine without blinding them. 'It's perfect', Dean thinks to himself, wondering where Cas got those pictures of them and Sam in the bunker. One of the photos shows them with their hands on one another's shoulders, smiling into the camera. Dean can see his own forced smile, dark circles under wary looking eyes. He takes the photograph of it's shelf, looking at him, Cas and Sam. Sammy. He's looking back at him out of the picture, smiling and waving and looking contend and happy.

“Dean.”

He forces himself to put the photo back on the shelf and turns around to see Cas standing in the doorway.

“You know, he's not a freak show,” Cas mimics, but Dean can see he's worried.

“Thanks, Cas. I know. It's just … I hope he's alright, I hope he's living a good life down there, but -”

“You miss him.” Cas finishes. It's not a question, it's a statement.

“Yeah, man,” is all he can answer. He turns around to wipe at something in his eyes, then turns again and asks, “When will we be eating?”

“In a few minutes. We're waiting for … someone to arrive here, it won't be much longer now.”

Just as Cas finishes his sentence, they hear a soft knock on the door and someone entering the house.

“Who is this?” Dean asks, but Cas is already on his way to the kitchen and Dean just follows.

 

–

 

Dean still can't believe it. He just finished his second helping of T-Bone-Steak, mashed potatoes and fried rice, everything as delicious as he'd hoped for (he'd left out the vegetables). His stomach is full and he leans back really satisfied. This is amazing. He hadn't given a thought to the fact that now that he was in Heaven, he might meet his mom and dad again. Seeing all of them on this table in Cas' dining room – Mary and John, Cas, Jack and Bobby – laughing, eating, smiling, talking about things they did 'down there' and things to do 'up here', it was unbelievable. Dean watches all of them closely. They look so full of joy he can't help grinning like an idiot. His mom is laughing hard from a joke of John and Dean enjoys to see her relaxed and free of worries. His dad claps her on the back, then starts to stroke her gently. He too looks unstressed, there's no trace of the old, haunted John in his face anymore. Even Bobby, though still being his grumpy self, seems pleased.

“Alright, Dean, I think it's time for a little storytime.” Cas watches him intently as he explains, “I think you wanted to know how I could escape The Empty and start my new life here.”

 

--

 

All eyes are upon Cas now. Mary puts the plates away, coming back with two six-packs of beer. She hands everyone a beer and Cas starts talking.

“As most of you know, I went with The Empty willingly, keeping my side of the deal we had made way back. Several months ago, there was a problem at hand. The Empty wanted to keep Jack. I told her to take me instead of him and she agreed to that but wanted to be sure to crush me. So she told me that she wouldn't just swap - she'd come and get me as soon as I would be truly happy. And that she did. When we talked, Dean, I had made a choice”. At this, Cas sends him the slightest smile, which makes Dean want to forgive him in an instant. “Well, as you know, this choice led to me being taken by that bitch. For a while, I lay there in nothingness, black nothing all around me, and I hoped to fall asleep, which I knew was sure to happen to everyone The Empty had swallowed. But not me. She wouldn't let me sleep because I had been an inconvenience to her. She wouldn't visit me either. I lay there until I couldn't lie anymore, I sat there for hours and hours, and finally, I stood up. There was no way to give up this easy, The Empty couldn't be invincible, right?” They all nod, fascinated by his story. Jack even has his eyes closed. Another big gulp of beer, then Cas goes on. “So I wandered around, screaming and trying to punch the Nothingness. I called her a lot of stuff just to get her attention, but it was useless. In the end, I stumbled and fell on my knees and was none-the-wiser. But that was the moment I realized it. There was nothing to be done for me alone. But there was someone who had already conquered The Empty, who had woken me up last time, who would maybe be able to do something about my situation. And even though I didn't want to involve him, I saw no other choice. So I prayed. And I was answered.”

“But I prayed too, why did I never get an answer?” Dean sputters out. Instantly, he feels the heat of shame crawling up his neck, but he still locks eyes with Jack, who has finally opened them.

“I heard you, Dean. And I am very sorry. I knew this would disappoint you, but there was no way for me to interfere down there anymore. I couldn't answer, because I couldn't bear to tell you. I am sorry.” Dean swallows hard, then Jack continues, “Then I heard Castiel. And I realized that I wasn't about to interfere down there – but The Empty was not down there, and there were several changes to be made, changes that were overdue.

I gathered up all the strength I could master. I summoned those around me who were willing to help. Gabriel was the first to respond. It might not surprise you that he had taken advantage of everyone assuming him dead, submerging into the benefits of a random gambler's life outside the radar. Yet when I called out to ask the help of every angel available, he immediately came to my side to be of assistance.

Michael was second to answer my call. He asked a lot of questions, wondering if he could trust me. He was hardest to convince – but wanted The Empty gone as much as I did. So he stayed and helped.

Most of the other living angels came to stand with us, but we still weren't enough. So I started to wake up the deceased. This was rather dangerous, as I didn't want The Empty to know something was up too soon. But Cas here did a great job – when I had awoken an angel, he'd find him and explain the matter, trying to be as quiet as possible.  Once we had gathered quite a number of angels, they took their positions, waiting for my command. First step was to lure The Empty out of her hiding place. Hannah, Anna, Gadreel and Joshua did a great job with that! They annoyed her one after the other, to the point she wanted to throw them all out. Next step was to surround and distract her. So everyone did their best to get her attention, circling her in further. Then the tricky part started. While the inside angels surrounded her, kept her encircled and disturbed, enraging her further to keep her at that spot, we on the outside started to open up a crack, getting others out of there. Gabriel took an essential part here, building up an illusion to cover our crack. As soon as we had Jane and Raphael, I knew it was time to finish it, because the inside angels were taking hit after hit.

With the help of Michael, Gabriel, Raphael and Jane, I managed to take hold of The Empty. Like Chuck did with Amara, we cast her out, chaining her up in the same lonely dimension Amara had once been held in. Michael sacrificed his powers to bear the new Mark that still was needed to have her caged.”

Jack pauses for a moment, takes a sip from his beer and watches the others. Mary and John are holding hands on the table, switching short glances now and then. Bobby looks like he's fallen asleep already, beer still clutched in his hand. Castiel seems to be entranced by Jack's story, elbows on the table, chin resting on his folded hands. A small smile playes on his lips and Dean notices how beautiful Cas' face looks when being relaxed. He doesn't know if he's even allowed to think this way, but he can't help it. He tries to focus on the story again.

“So, you cast her out. I guess the angels on the inside got out – seeing as Cas is here. But what about the other creatures this thing had held for an eternity?”

“Yes, that.” Jack answered, nodding. “I assumed it would be no good to send them all with The Empty. Instead, Jane and me enlarged the Purgatory, sent every monstrous creature down there and asked Rowena to magnify the intensity of their 'door'. In return she'd get the demon souls sent to Hell, and she willingly agreed to that.”

“Great.” Dean states, “more demons for her, no big deal.”

“Dean,” Cas whispers, obviously annoyed by this interruption.

“I don't like the idea of giving her more power, alright? It's no good. Rowena will use this somehow to do something bad, you know her, Cas!”

“Yes, Dean, I do know her. That's why Jack is keeping an eye on things. I thought you'd be happy to know that we all are safe now. I thought you'd be happy to see … me.”

All eyes are on Dean now, which makes him shift in his seat, feeling pretty uncomfortable.

“Man, you know I'm happy about … this all. I'm just wondering what this means for those left on Earth.”

“You mean Sam.”

Dean nods, not sure if he's able to answer right now.

Jack jumps in. “Don't worry, Dean. He's safe. I am sure of it – I can see it. Please believe me that no harm will come upon him as long as I'm here.”

This really does reassure him and he takes a big swig of his beer. He nods, satisfied for now. Then another thought comes to him.

“What about the angels you saved from The Empty? What exactly happened to them?”

“Oh, that's easy. Every deceased angel got a second chance. I made sure their loyalties were with me, then I sent them to work. There's a lot to do up here, and most angels are glad to be able to help. Michael is an exception though. As I said, he's had to sacrifice his powers to bear the new Mark, so he's powerless now. He's in hiding ...” Jake grins, “but I think … he'll bee alright.

With The Empty being gone, there were new rules to administer. Every monstrous creature – minus the demons - that dies from now on will find himself in purgatory. Demons that die will find themselves in Hell, but powerless. Rowena told me she's got some 'lovely tasks' for them. And every angel that meets his end will come back up here, being powerless but having a place to call home.”

Home. Dean looks around, taking in this wonderful place that Cas can now call his home. He loves this idea, and he feels quiet content with knowing all this.

After this, they switch the topic to easier stuff. Their conversation is light now, mostly about stuff to do in Mary's and John's house, like fixing a little hole in their roof, or repainting their furniture. John even asks if Dean would help him restore a '64 Ford Falcon and Dean eagerly agrees to be there tomorrow. But after a while of talking about the ups and downs of this special car, Mary stifles a wide yawn and John laughs. “It's time I guess! Thank you for this wonderful dinner and a great evening guys. Guess we'll see each other next week?”

“Same time, same place,” Cas answers grinning. “See you tomorrow, Dean,” John says and pulls him into a tight hug. Mary ruffles through his hair before hugging him, then she too says good-bye. Jack wakes up Bobby, half-pulling him out of his chair and tells him that it's time to get home. Bobby grunts, gives Dean a nod, and walks out the front door without another word, probably too tired to speak. Last to say goodnight is Jack, and he pulls both Dean and Cas into a big hug. They clap his back, and Dean thinks he can hear Cas whisper 'I'm proud of you' into Jack's ear. They all say good-night, then Jack is gone too. Closing the door behind Jack, Cas turns around to Dean, watches him closely, a slight pink shade on his cheeks.

“There's a guest room down the hall if you want to...” he leaves his sentence unfinished, but Dean understands.

He looks Cas in the eyes, feeling his heart suddenly hammering against his chest. There were words he wanted to say, but he doesn't remember. He's surprised – all those years down there, he had to hold everything back, and he has no fucking idea how he did that. Cas' eyes are still watching him, asking silent questions. Throwing cautions in the wind, Dean finally closes the distance and pulls Cas into a gentle kiss, hands on his cheeks. After a moment of surprise, Cas kisses him back, his lips soft and warm, and lays his hands around Deans waist. Their kiss seems to take an eternity, Dean has no feeling of time anymore, he just feels Cas' lips on his, and he knows that this is his happy place. His peace. His... he allows himself to think the word – his home.

Notes:

This fic is a gift for @expectingtofly on tumblr as part of the starrynightdeancas gift exchange. It's my first-ever written fanfic and I'd love to know what you think about it! I had a lot of fun writing this, creating my own kind of fix-it fiction. Also, I tried to stay canonical – with one exception, because I will never accept that the trickster was truly finished off!

Please note that I’m not a native speaker and there might be some spelling and grammar mistakes. I’m sorry! But I hope you’ll enjoy it nonetheless.

Have fun reading and leave a comment if you like <3

Not yet posted on AO3, still waiting for my invitation. I’ll have you updated as soon as I can post it there!

[petersasteria]

The Best Day - Haz Osterfield

Osterfield || Main || Taglist

Pairing: Single Dad!Haz x Step mom!Reader Requested? Nah. 2,572 words Happy Mother's Day to all x

Italics are flashbacks, bold is Christine singing, and [ ] is a 'video'. Thank you to @capwogers for telling me I should do mom!reader instead of sister!reader.

* * * *

When Harrison had his daughter, his first born, he never would’ve thought that his life was going to change. Suddenly his life was colorful and filled with laughter. Sure, it was hectic, but he loved every second of it. As if it wasn’t enough, he was blessed with a son five years later. His life was perfect.

As far as good things go, bad things happen. Harrison’s partner suddenly left. They weren’t married, but it seemed that way. They lived together and they’ve been together for a long time, but after their son’s second birthday, she decided she didn’t want to ‘play house’ anymore. It hurt him, but he knew he had to be strong for his kids.

Three years later, he met you. He was scared that his kids would scare you off, but it was the opposite. He watched as you tried to interact with them and he saw how his kids didn’t warm up to you. He frowned, but he knew that in time, they’ll like you.

Christine, his thirteen-year-old daughter, didn’t seem very fond of you. Meanwhile his eight-year-old son, Ethan, was the opposite. You two would get ice cream together and he’d always kiss your cheek whenever he’d see you. He was also the only person excited when Harrison told them that you’d move in with them.

You could still remember Christine being so mad about it. She was glaring at you and you told her, “I know I’m not your mom and I’m not trying to be her, but I want you to know that I’m here for you. I love your father and I love you guys too. No matter how mad you are at me, I won’t leave.”

And you didn’t. Harrison proposed to you after being together for three years. You both knew that you both were meant for each other and you knew it was going to be hard because you felt like Christine will never get used to you being around, but you were proved wrong when the day of your wedding came.

You got married on Mother’s Day and yours and Harrison’s mom absolutely cried so much because they claimed that it was the best gift they’ve ever received. Everyone at the reception was busy eating when the host, Tom, started talking again.

“Hi, everyone! I’m sorry to interrupt.” Tom chuckled. “But someone wanted to take this time to give their ‘special gift’.” He looked at Christine with a smile and waved her over to where he was standing.

“What’s she doing?” Harrison whispered in your ear and you just shrugged. You both watched as Tom adjusted the mic to Christine’s height and Harrison could see the fear on his daughter’s face, but when he smiled at her, her fears disappeared and she calmed down.

“I, uh, I want to say Happy Mother’s Day to everyone here.” Christine said nervously as she played with her fingers. “Most of all, I want to say Happy Mother’s Day to my dad because ever since mom left, he’s been acting as a mother and a father to me and Ethan. I also want to greet Y/N a Happy Mother’s Day too because she’s pretty cool for taking care of us when daddy’s busy.” She added as she looked at you with an innocent look on her face.

“I, uh, I have something prepared for both of you. It’s my wedding gift. I’ve been taking secret singing and guitar lessons for this.” She mentioned before looking behind her to see Tom lending her his guitar.

Tom stood back with Ethan and Christine started playing a familiar tune, “I dedicate this song to my dad and Y/N.” Then she began to sing.

I'm five years old, it's getting cold, I've got my big coat on I hear your laugh and look up smiling at you, I run and run Past the pumpkin patch and the tractor rides Look now, the sky is gold I hug your legs and fall asleep on the way home

“Nina, be careful!” Harrison shouted as he watched his little one run. Both of them were at a farm and he thought it was a good idea to spend some extra time Christine; just the two of them. Harrison knew that she won’t be five years old forever and he knew that once his son was born, he wouldn’t spend time with Christine as much anymore.

“Daddy, look at the pumpkins!” Christine stopped running and stared at the pumpkins. Harrison smiled to himself and jogged over to where she was.

“Wanna see the farm animals, love?” He asked sweetly. She looked at him with a bright smile and nodded quickly.

After a full day of spending time with farm animals and getting to pick some fresh fruits, Christine grew tired and it was then that Harrison knew it was time to go home. He carried her to his car and buckled her in her car seat.

Her eyes fluttered open slightly and smiled at him. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. We’ll be home soon.” Harrison smiled and kissed her forehead.

“I love you, daddy.” She said before drifting off to sleep. He didn’t want to tell anyone, but he cried on the drive home. Those four words were enough to make him cry and he wanted to cherish them before she grew up.

Christine sang the chorus beautifully and you could see that Harrison was crying. You held his hand and rested your head on his shoulder.

I'm thirteen now And don't know how my friends could be so mean I come home crying and you hold me tight and grab the keys And we drive and drive until we found a town far enough away And we talk and window shop 'til I've forgotten all their names

I don't know who I'm going to talk to now at school But I know I'm laughing on the car ride home with you Don't know how long it's going to take to feel okay But I know I had the best day with you today

You were feeling a bit sick and you decided it was best to stay at home. You still did work in yours and Harrison’s shared bedroom. It was only you in the house and you heard the door open and get slammed shut. Heavy footsteps were running up the stairs and straight into a room. The door was slammed shut too.

You took a deep breath and checked the time on your phone to see who was home at this time. It was Christine. Knowing that she wasn’t particularly fond of you, you braced yourself before going to her room to check up on her.

You knocked and heard a muffled ‘go away’ from her. You shook your head and knocked again and said, “It’s me, Y/N. I just wanted to check up on you. Are you okay? You sounded really mad when you came home.”

In Christine’s mind, she knew she didn’t have a choice. She needed to talk to someone and you happened to be home. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad, right? She wiped her tears and got up to open the door. You frowned at the sight and immediately pulled her in for a hug.

She hugged back and cried. She opened up to you about her mean friends and you just listened. When she was done, you wiped her tears and said, “My friends did the same thing, you know.”

“Really?” She sniffed and you nodded with a small smile on your face. “What happened?” She asked.

“We’re not friends anymore. It hurt a lot, but I got new friends and they’re way better than my old ones. We’re still friends up to this day. You’ll have new friends too, I promise you that. They’ll be better and your friendship will last.” You smiled, causing her to smile too.

“How about we go out? We can get ice cream and eat dinner. I can call your dad and tell him to pick up Ethan.” You suggested. Christine thought about it for a second and she nodded and pushed away her long blonde hair from her face.

“We can get a makeover too, if you want.” You added and she squealed excitedly.

“Daddy never allowed me to have makeovers.” Christine said. “He said I was too young.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’m not your dad.” You winked. “I’ll let you get dressed and we can go, alright?”

“Alright.” She smiled and turned to go further in her room. Before she closed the door, she called your name and you turned around. “Thank you… and call me Nina. Christine is too long.” She said with a sincere look on her face.

“It’s no problem. I’m on your side, Nina. Never forget that.” You smiled.

Later that night when you and Christine got home, the boys were on the couch and gasped when they saw you and Christine sporting your new looks. You dyed your hair while Christine had a new haircut. You even allowed her to pick out clothes that she liked and bought it for her. You never splurged, but you figured it was okay to splurge just for once.

“Why don’t you show Ethan what you got him?” You told Christine and she quickly went to the couch to show Ethan the stuff she picked for him. Harrison got up from the couch and walked over to you, “I thought you never splurged.” He joked.

“I never splurge on anything, but I made an exception. She was upset about something and I wanted to make her feel better.”

“By buying her stuff?”

“No, by making her happy and by distracting her. We window shopped first and she narrowed down what she really wanted. Then, we bought them. The things she bought Ethan came from her own money.”

Harrison nodded with a smile, “Thank you for making her happy.”

“It’s no big deal.” You shrugged. “I went through the same thing and no one was there for me. I want to be there for her.”

I have an excellent father, his strength is making me stronger

Christine saw the whole scene the night her mother left. She saw how upset and sad Harrison was while he carried her two-year-old brother. He turned around and saw Christine sitting on the steps.

He didn’t know what to say. “Darling, I-” Harrison was lost and he held back his tears.

“Are we going to be okay, daddy?” She asked as she cried.

He nodded and sat next to her with Ethan in his arms. “We’ll be fine. We’re gonna be okay, I promise you that.” Harrison smiled at her and put his arm around her shoulder. That night, Christine and Ethan slept in the same bed as Harrison, so he wasn’t lonely.

Harrison never knew, but Christine would hear him cry himself to sleep at night and she would notice the tear stains on his cheeks whenever he made breakfast. It was then that Christine realized how strong Harrison was and that she wanted to be just as strong as he was.

God smiles on my little brother, inside and out He’s better than I am

Christine took a long time to get used to you, but she noticed how Ethan immediately let you in without hesitation. He always tagged along with you wherever you went and it made Harrison a bit jealous that Ethan preferred you over him, but it made Harrison happy.

Ethan even helped you in the garden, something he never did. But Ethan’s favorite moment with you is when he would sit on the kitchen countertop and help you bake cookies for every occasion.

I grew up in a pretty house and I had space to run And I had the best days with you

Christine stopped playing and looked on the projector to play an old video of hers. Harrison was filming and he laughed when he saw the video.

“I remember that video.” He laughed as he reminisced.

[“What’re you painting, Nina?” Harrison asked as he filmed Christine painting. He smiled when she looked at him with a toothy grin, “Flowers!”

“Those are pretty flowers, baby.” Harrison complimented. “You’re beautiful like a flower as well.”

“Thank you, daddy. You’re beau’ful too.” Christine smiled at him, causing Harrison to laugh. It was silent between them, but she broke it. “Can I be a flower for Halloween?”

Harrison chuckled and said, “I’ll see what I can do. I might need your mum for some help. She knows more about flowers than I do.”

“Otay!” Christine giggled and continued painting.]

There is a video I found from back when I was three You set up a paint set in the kitchen and you’re talking to me It’s the age of princesses and pirate ships and the seven dwarves

After the video, it showed a slideshow of pictures. The first picture was her on Halloween dressed as a flower. Every other kid was a monster or a superhero, but she was different. Needless to say, she went home with more candy than any other kid.

The next picture was of her and a one-year-old Ethan and that made Ethan scrunch his nose and cover his eyes. Everyone was overjoyed to see old pictures of Christine and Harrison with Ethan’s pictures in it sometimes. Then their first family picture without her mom showed up and that made you smile at Harrison.

“You raised them well without her, you know.” You said and he nodded.

“Thank you.” He grinned.

Christine continued singing and decided to switch up the lyrics last minute, “Daddy’s smart and Y/N’s the prettiest lady in the whole wide world.”

Harrison looked at you and chuckled when he saw you crying, “Now you’re the one crying.”

“Yeah, sue me.” You sniffed and wiped your tears away.

Christine walked to where you two were and Tom quickly held the mic for her.

Now I know why all the trees change in the fall I know you were on my side even when I was wrong And I love you for giving me your eyes

Christine cried as her mother yelled at her. Harrison got mad and said, “Don’t yell at her! She’s just a kid, okay?! It’s not her fault!”

Her mom huffed and left the scene to get some air. Harrison turned to Christine and said, “What did you do?”

“I was mad at her so I got her mug and broke it.” Christine frowned and Harrison shook his head before pulling her in for a hug.

“Don’t do that again, yeah? Someone might get hurt.” He said softly before pulling away and wiping her tears away. He stared in her eyes that resembled his and smiled a bit, “Wanna watch cartoons?”

“Yeah.” Christine grinned.

“For staying back and watching me shine and I didn’t know if you knew, so I’m taking this chance to say that I had the best day with you today.” Christine ended the song with a smile. “I hope you liked it.”

Everyone clapped and Harrison got up from his seat to give her a hug, “That was amazing, darling! I loved it.”

You hugged her too and said, “It’s the best gift I’ve ever had. Thank you, sweetheart.”

She smiled at you and said, “You’re welcome, mum.”

It was the best Mother’s Day ever.

* * * *

feedback is sexy

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[worldoffanfiction2021]

{Image Sources: Dong Hua: https://daydaynews.cc/en/entertainment/419895.html Fengjiu: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/1196337391276429/}

The family of three deities had bid adieu to their relatives in Quingqui and taken the magical boat to Bihai Cangling. Dijun and Fengjiu had both managed to handle their respective duties and arranged for messengers to visit them here at their new place of residence, actually their real home, for the next few months. They were all very excited about it.

Fengjiu was remembering their last visit fondly. The last time she had been here, she had spent some magical time with Dijun.

Dijun was also remembering his last visit. But there wasn’t any fondness in those memories for him. He had been there was to build the Star Light ward. He had not expected to come back alive to this place, much less to come back alive with his wife and son. He looked at Xiaobai and marveled at her. It had been her who had saved him and saved his home. She was the best. He lovingly played with her hair.

Gungun saw that they were about to reach to a beautiful landscape, the likes of which he had never seen. “Father, your home is so beautiful. It’s even better than the Sky Kingdom!”, he exclaimed clapping excitedly.

“Gungun’s reaction to Bihai Cangling is just like yours when you came here for the first time.”, said Dijun smilingly to Xiaobai. "It's your home too, Gungun. It’s our home.", he added. He liked the sound of that very much.

Xiaobai noticed that a lot had changed since she had last visited. Row of fruit trees and vines had been planted - grapefruits, pears and grapes. There was a long corridor with an artificial hill. The hill really looked like a real rocky mountain, just smaller than a mountain. On either side of the corridor there were beautiful trees of foiling flowers. Spiritual birds danced to ‘paying homage to the Phoenix’ near by.

Then there was a pavilion overlooking a lotus pond. White and pink lotuses swayed gracefully in a cool breeze there. White sandalwood on each side of the pavilion gave the seating area a perfect cover from sun.

Xiaobai recalled her own words from the last time she had visited. Dijun had done everything she had asked for. She was transfixed.

When they walked a little further, her jaw dropped to the floor. Sitting atop a slightly raised platform was a house. Not just any house - the bamboo house she had drawn! Oh, Dijun!!!! She stood dumbfounded with tears in her eyes.

Dijun realized she had stopped walking and turned around. When he saw her face he asked with worry, “What’s wrong? Did I mess it up?” Forgetting about Gungun watching them, she ran forward and hugged him. She buried herself in his arms and said, “No, Dijun. No mess up. This is perfect. You made our home. Our home!” She choked on her emotions and couldn’t say anything else. Dijun smiled and planted a kiss on her head.

Gungun was watching all this and came running. “Mother and Father are kissing again. I want a kiss too.”, he giggled. Dijun picked him up and twirled him high. His giggles and Dijun’s laughter filled the space. And Xiaobai’s heart. They were home.

When they went inside, Xiaobai realized that all the basic things they had planned for, had been done. There was a study, a living room and a well-lit, well ventilated kitchen. The large kitchen window overlooked the fruit trees. There were two identical rooms - one for Gungun and another for his little brother/ sister, as Dijun explained, his eyes hinting mischievously. It made Gungun very excited to think that he would have a playmate. Then there were a couple guest rooms. Dijun and Xiaobai’s  room was a spacious suite with a large bed. A foiling flower tree was the headboard of that bed. They even had a nice little hot spring next to their room.

“Dijun, the house is great, but there’s still work to do. We have to set up the kitchen, the wardrobes and such.”, began Xiaobai. “If I do everything, what will you do?”, he interrupted her, pretending to be arrogant and tapped her forehead. Then he leaned in and whispered in her ears “But I have already done so much work here. You owe me big this time.  I will collect my dues from you at night.” Seeing her cheeks instantly color up pleased him.

There was a balcony behind their room. It overlooked a large playground with targets set up for practicing archery, an open space for sword plays and martial arts. On one side was another building. “That is a workshop where we can forge weapons. I have also placed all the weapons I have made or collected in a room in there. I am sure you will like it.”, said Dijun. She looked at him with pride in her eyes. Dijun felt that all his efforts had been completely worth it.

“I am so hungry, mother. When can we eat?”, asked Gungun. “You and Father can put your things in your rooms. I will quickly get food ready.”, said Xiaobai patting him. They all went their separate directions and got busy.

After some time they all got together in the dining room and ate a simple but delicious meal. Fengjiu had found that right next to the kitchen was a vegetable and herb garden. She had picked some fresh veggies to prepare rice porridge and mushrooms-vegetables stir fry. Some lentil cakes rounded up the meal. She had always been good in cooking. Her years in mortal realm had helped her perfect  the art of making do with whatever was available.

After they cleared up all the food, Fengjiu wanted to go to her room and take a nap. But Dijun insisted they go to the lotus pond and catch some fish. She almost suspected that he wanted to keep her away from their bedroom. “May be he has made a mess in there with all the stuff. I better not go in there or else I will end up cleaning everything myself.”, she thought to herself as she followed her guys to the pond. When they got there, she rested her head in Dijun’s lap and dozed off happily.

She woke up a little while later when tiny hands were trying to tap on her head. "Mom, wake up! Look I caught a fish!! My first ever fish!!!", Gungun was showing off with eyes wide with excitement. She couldn't help by smile at him. "I will make sweet and sour fish for dinner tonight with this. You both like it, don't you?" She said. Two heads full of silver hair nodded in fervent agreement. "Like father - like son", she chuckled.

She completely lost herself in cooking dinner. In addition to sweet and sour fish, she also made sticky rice and soup. "For Dijun and Gungun. They need this nourishment.", she told herself. All this was gobbled up pretty quickly between the three of them.

After dinner they took off for a long walk that led them back to the weapon forge. Dijun took them in and Fengjiu was like a kid in the candy store. She enjoyed designing and creating mechanical weapons. Among other things, this was something she and Dijun had in common. Gungun was quite curious and looked around with amazement. But he was slowly beginning to get tired and needed to get to bed. So they all returned homewards.

"You take him to his room and get him ready for bed. I will bring him a glass of milk. He will sleep well with that.", said Dijun. Fengjiu nodded and walked away holding Gungun's little hand. In his room, she helped him bathe and change. They both were happy they didn't need to dye his hair anymore. As she was settling him in his bed, Dijun came in with a glass on milk in his hand. He made sure Gungun finished it up. Then they both dimmed the candles, kissed Gungun sweet dreams and left the room.

When they reached the doorstep of their bedroom, Dijun gestured Fengjiu to stop. "What's wrong?", asked Fengjiu puzzled. "Close your eyes.", ordered Dijun. "Why should I?", replied Fengjiu more puzzled. "Please, Xiaobai. Do as you are told.", Dijun coaxed her. So she sighed and closed her eyes. "You are acting very weird tonight.", she said.

She found herself being lifted in his arms. She felt the door opening and he walking in with her.

"Can I open my eyes now?" Feng Jiu asked. "Not yet, just a little bit longer.", Dijun replied. She could feel the smile in his voice.

"What's going on? I am opening my eyes now." She nagged him anxiously as she felt herself being lowered on something extremely soft.

"Wait. Just a few more moments.", Dijun replied as he adjusted her clothes. "Okay, you can open your eyes now.", he said.

She was so not ready for what she was seeing. The room had been transformed. It looked like a bride's chamber on a wedding night. There was an altar placed for heaven worship ceremony. Gold, white and purple lanterns adorned the ceiling. Matching candles, flower arrangements and curtains hung everywhere. Every seat in the room and the whole bed was covered in foiling flower petals. She was draped in her wedding gown. And then as she turned towards Dijun she saw that he himself was looking extremely handsome in his wedding attire. Nothing in the room was nearly as mesmerizing as the sight of the regal man himself. He took her breath away and she could not help but stare at him open mouthed.

"I never gave you a proper wedding. I have regretted that very much.", he said huskily as he walked towards her with a purple veil. "Tonight, let's get married, Xiaobai.", he said softly as he came close and arranged the veil over her hair. She didn't know what to say or do. She was completely under his spell.

He led her by her hand towards the altar. They kowtowed to the heaven and earth. They remembered her parents and kowtowed for them. Then they bowed to each other. Very carefully he lifted her veil and took her hands in his.

"In all three eternities you are the only one who has moved my heart, Xiaobai. You, little fox, will always belong to me.", he looked deeply into her eyes and promised possessively.

She smiled with stars in her eyes and promised him back, "In any eternity I will bring you in my life. Because I love you the most Dijun, you will always belong to me."

He leaned in and planted kisses on her face. He kissed her hair, her forehead, her eyes, her nose and then covered her lips with his. He felt her respond to him and deepened the kiss. She trembled and moved closer in his arms. Slowly he moved to her ear. "Ever since I have had this dress made for you, I have imagined so many ways I would like to undress you from it.", he teased huskily. "Um? So you got this elaborate and extravagant dress made only so that you could undress me from it?", she asked pulling back and squinting her eyes at him. "HHmm.. ", he pursed his lips and nodded solemnly. "You are so... ", she started to say, but completely lost her train of thought under his hot, hungry gaze. He claimed her lips again and started undressing her.

[girlcarnivore]

Ok Jessica hcs hand em over

oh let’s get into it

though admittedly i’d be better versed to answer this once i have a better understanding of the lovejoy family as a whole. naturally jessica would be very influenced by her parents’ presence (or lack thereof, considering the whole boarding school thing), so i’ll probably come back and edit this as i learn more about them

but as of rn i’ve definitely got a few jessica thoughts up my sleeve to share 👁 even if she could’ve just been garnering pity, she said it herself that she acts out as a cry for attention and who’s to say that she’s totally lying about that... she likes when she gets people (particularly men) to do what she wants and that’s like textbook daddy issues, sooooo... even if her parents love her dearly and are proud of her accomplishments (and it’s obvious that they do), they also seem pretty in denial of her bad behavior and that could probably be a result from them wanting to maintain a good image for the town, as well as maybe them trying to deny the fact that they probably failed as parents somewhere along the line if their daughter turned out this terribly. whether jessica acting out came before or after their “out of sight, out of mind” style of parenting we will never know.

i could see jessica herself maintaining the good girl façade well into her teens bc it’s never really failed her, except in cases like lisa outing her or her getting expelled. rebelling via emotional manipulation, vandalism, theft, etc etc, becomes a form of catharsis from lack of parental supervision & guidance as well as religious resentment — i could see the lovejoys sending jessica to christian boarding schools and her feeling especially stifled and patronized by such orderly environments. academic expulsions become more and more common, but her parents continue to send her off anyway bc they don’t want to Deal w it firsthand and they can just talk their way into getting her into nice places. they’ve got a lot on their plate as it is. i bet she’s been to a christian correctional camp at least once, but her parents referred to it as summer camp when talking about it w others to preserve their family’s reputation. i could also see her going to juvie at some point but maybe that’s just me wanting to push her bad kid persona real far fhdkfbfkfn

as she gets older i could see her pushing the envelope in terms of the trouble she causes, doing stuff that maybe even bart would find Too Far, solely bc she wants to see if she can get away with it. people are never so quick to accuse her of anything bc she’s just so good at putting on an innocent face, and that’s where she gets the most thrills from. she likes having her cake (the affection of others) and eating it too (using others for her entertainment). when consequences finally catch up to her, she’ll just go to a new place or move onto a new person and start over. let’s just hope her reputation doesn’t precede her, though it most likely has by the time she’s like 18.

as for stuff like ... hobbies and interests.... color guard (evidenced by the baton twirling) and skateboarding are definitely included in terms of her hobbies. she seems relatively athletic (we saw her playing soccer), so maybe she also takes out her aggression on the soccer field or in gymnastics. i like to think she Enjoys the vintage cute schoolgirl chic aesthetics but with a bit of edge to it, like maybe combats boots or creepers with pleated skirts and cardigans. but i also associate the “heather chandler, cher horowitz” queen bee fashion sense to her, especially as she would get older. i like the dissonance of a well-groomed hyperfeminine daughter of a reverend doing something like, idk. busting up cars for fun. idk what she’d listen to but i have been listening to the entirety of electra heart by marina a LOT lately and it’s been giving me WAY too much jessica inspiration so make of that what you will

i also can’t help but have the smallest soft spot for bart and jessica to still have weird beef/lingering feelings towards each other even as they get older. one would think that childhood shenanigans are a thing of the past and easy to get over, but it’s clear to see that neither of them have really changed and in jessica’s case, she might have gotten worse. jessica can think bart is one of her favorite victims and have a pet fondness for him even if he Did get her in trouble, and bart can always have that begrudging “first girlfriend” sentiment towards her :’)

[zeldaelmo]

This is my contribution for the @behind-the-fic MFC contest! It's an old story (the first chapter, actually, but I figured it would work as a one-shot as well). I am working on something else, but I’m slow and the new story is very much out of my comfort zone, so who knows if I’m able to finish it to my satisfaction until 01.08.

I'm not fond of the idea of competition when it comes to my creative hobbies, so I don't want to win anything. I just like to be part of it because I was too shy to do the podcast as a non-native speaker.

But enough of me, you are here to get sad. 😉

tw: Link is an orphan in this one and the loss of his parents is mentioned as a backstory. Nothing horrible, but I want you to be aware.

Well. And warning for horrible proposals. 😆

Oh, and this story was inspired by a scene of @spacebeyonce Halloween fic ‘draw me like a magnet (to the sea)’ !

A fool such as I 

He knew he was a fool when his eyes scanned the passing sidewalk for a woman with blonde hair from the passenger's seat of Pipit’s car. 

He knew he was a fool when they entered the charity gala, and he couldn’t stop himself from looking for a pair of blue eyes. 

He knew he was a fool when a bell-like laugh made him turn around to find out if it was her.

It was not. 

It was never her. 

“Link,” Pipit nudged him in the side, rolling his eyes at him, “you are doing it again. Get yourself something to drink and enjoy the evening, for Hylia’s sake! I didn’t drag you here to look for your imaginary girlfriend!” 

Sighing in defeat, Link grabbed a glass from the tray of one of the waiters, not caring at all what fancy drink he might have gotten himself. Old habits die hard – the point wasn’t that Link didn’t know Pipit was right. It was just... he sipped his drink to distract himself and the bitter-sweet taste of the bright orange aperitif rolled on his tongue. 

This wasn’t the first time they'd had this conversation and if Link was honest with himself, it wouldn’t be the last, either. He knew that looking for her was like looking for a needle in a haystack. His heart, however, knew not. Every time he convinced himself to give up, every time he tried to move on, his pulse thrummed against that faded scar on his palm, and he did it again. 

Like a fool. 

He had been eight when he first met her. 

It had been his mother’s last summer alive. She had been suffering from a mysterious lung disease the doctors couldn’t explain and couldn’t heal. They had sent the whole family to Skyloft, a famous climatic spa, in a last, desperate attempt to save her life. His parents hadn’t told him how severe his mother’s condition was, perhaps to spare him or perhaps to spare themselves from the truth. They just spoke about a long vacation with him, an opportunity for him to meet new friends and to stray over the little island on his own. He had loved the idea immediately. 

The girl arrived three days after him, her cheeks lacking color, her hair coiffed in two neat braids, and her proper cotton dress dancing around her knees. She was without her parents, just with her nanny – a stern-looking woman named Impa. The curious child that he was, he asked her in the following days why her parents didn’t accompany her. She shrugged and said, they were extremely busy and their jobs couldn’t afford a summer break and that was that. To him, it didn’t matter anyway, because sneaking her out was much easier this way – Impa never caught them. 

The physician had diagnosed her with general weakness and a susceptibility to illness and therefore she'd been sent to Skyloft. Link couldn’t detect anything ‘ill’ on her. Her face lit up every time she saw him in the eating room and after she winked at him over the huge bowl of pumpkin soup, he followed her in a safe distance to her room on his tiptoes. Impa, whose room was on the opposite, frightened him, so he didn’t dare to knock in case she would hear him. Instead, he bolted out of the back door and threw little pebbles on her window to get her attention. She opened the window with a wide smile, and he knew immediately that he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. 

The days flew by after that. 

They met at the Goddess statue whenever she had free time between her treatments, and she sneaked out every evening to sit with him at the little pond. Her cheeks began to grow rosier from day to day and soon her blue eyes sparkled in the summer sun. 

She hadn’t been ill – she had been lonely. 

He taught her how to catch bugs and butterflies with a butterfly net, and she taught him their correct names. They read stories from the books of the little library, she more often than him because she was already a fluent reader while he was a beginner. Later in the summer, he even showed her how to swim and when she was too frustrated with her lack of stamina, they ended up in a giant water fight until their giggles made their faces and stomachs hurt. They raced over the island together, always hand in hand, stealing apples at the market and hiding sky stag beetles under seat cushions to watch the poor owner of the cushion being pinched from their hiding place. ‘Oh, will you look at these cuties!’, the adults exclaimed when they saw them, or, ‘Ah, to be young and in love again!’ and they both blushed in the warm summer sun. 

One afternoon, after they got a large piece of pumpkin pie from one of the farmers for helping to harvest the earlier pumpkins, she even kissed him. ‘You have pumpkin on your lips, Link,” she whispered, and then she pressed her lips to his and he was sure that he would burst into tiny pieces any moment out of sheer happiness. 

Like every summer, this summer too, had to end. She sneaked out of her room for the last time to meet him at their favorite place. They sat closer together as usual, both searching for comfort in the other, instinctively unwilling to separate from each other. Their hearts heavy, not many words were spoken, at least for eight-year-old standards. When the light of the sun turned slowly in a glowing shade of orange, she took his hand and turned his palm upward, stroking a line over it with her index finger. 

“Do you have your carving knife with you?” She spoke under her breath, “I want to take an oath.” He had and so he traced the stinging, bloody cut in his palm when he watched her part with Impa the following morning, swearing to himself that he would do anything he could to keep his part of the promise. 

They would see each other again, no matter what. 

And if that made him a fool, so be it.

“Earth at Link, earth at Link, we need you down here!” Pipit waved a piece of paper in front of his face. His friend had been busy filling out the symbolic check for their donation and was obviously expecting his input. Link blinked at him. “How much do we usually give? 3000 rupees?” he asked, trying to cover his slip into the daydream before his friend would shoot him another remark. Fortunately, Pipit was used to his aversion to numbers in general and didn’t grow suspicious. Pipit was the book-keeper and planner of their little security firm, while Link stuck to the operating tasks like installing an alarm device or overlooking a festivity in addition to the regular stuff of another rich family. His job description was a mixture between bodyguard and engineer, but usually, he liked to be on the road and working with Pipit was a huge pro as well. 

His friend nodded in agreement to his question and tapped the pen at his lips. “Well, write 3500. I’ll cover the rest.” 

Pipit blew a whistle. “What’s up, Link? Feeling generous tonight?” 

“It’s for an orphanage this year, Pipit,” he sighed. “There are too many kids who don’t have the same luck I had back then.” 

And that was true. Life didn’t give him much opportunity to think of his promise at first. His mother died only weeks after their return from Skyloft and his father followed her half a year later. A broken heart, the doctor said with thin lips when he squeezed his shoulder. He ended up in an orphanage for a few months but was lucky enough to find a family who was willing to adopt him. It was very unusual that a child of his age found a family at all. His adoptive parents said that they loved his messy hair and his honest smile from the very first second, and no matter how ridiculous that sounded to him, he was immensely thankful. Of course, it took some time to grow to love each other, but they managed somehow, and he didn’t feel so lost anymore – at least regarding his family. 

A year after he had left Skyloft, his life had changed dramatically, but he hadn’t forgotten his friend at all. Dreaming of her smile warmed him inside when the grief shook him to the core and thinking of her hand in his, anchored him when he was on the verge of drifting off. His new family knew nothing about her and although they shared a robust trust after a while, he was hesitant to share this treasured piece of his old life with them. 

Instead, he secretly started to look for her whenever they were in new places. Stood on staircases to get a better look over a crowd. Glanced at all the other tables when they were eating in a restaurant. Stayed near the door of a bus to observe if she might be one of the people who hopped on or off the vehicle. 

She was never among them. 

As a teenager, he gathered his courage and made a serious attempt to find her. He had little to start - they hadn’t thought of exchanging addresses or even last names. The horizon of eight-year-old children only extends so far. So, the administration of the health resort in Skyloft was his first shot. The files of the patients were only stored for five years, and they wouldn’t give him further information anyway unless he was related to her. He scrolled through the homepage of the staff next and contacted the few faces he recognized, stumbling through his lines on the phone. Nobody remembered a blonde girl with her name.

The last hint to her was Impa. He tried to find her instead, hoping an adult would leave more traces behind than a girl would, but the internet was dead silent about a nanny named Impa. It was hopeless. He was stuck looking for her everywhere he went.

Pipit coughed in his fist beside him and nodded in the direction of a brunette a few steps in front of them, hissing, “Babe alert!” 

“You are married, Pipit.” Link rolled his eyes at his friend. “Karane won’t be lucky over the fact that you are pining after other women.” 

“I’m talking about you, you moron. Or are you still dating Peatrice?” 

Link groaned and waved his hands. “Don’t get me started on that girl. She was so clingy, horrible.” 

He had tried to like her, really. She had begged him for a date, and he had given in. They had done all this dating stuff, watching films in the cinema, dining in a restaurant, even holding hands on a walk in the park. It had always been the same, after two hours more or less, he hadn’t been able to stand her anymore. The mindless chit chat, the exaggerated admiration for him, the false lashes, everything about her had put him on edge. 

Like a clockwork, his scar had begun to itch, and he had fled from her presence. 

“She wasn’t her.” Pipit narrowed his eyes at him. “That’s why. Because you are still chasing rainbows. Link, man up and move on!” 

“She was clin-” Link stopped. 

Looked again. 

Took a few steps forward. 

“Link?” He heard Pipit asking somewhere behind him, but he was already on his way. 

Could it be? His pace quickened when the people in front of him revealed a glimpse of blonde hair once again. The beat of his heart drummed through his veins, all the way down to his fingertips and his toes, too loud, too fast, and he tried assertively to push it back into his rib cage. 

He had been wrong before. 

He was most likely wrong again, the people and the yards between them made it difficult to be sure. Her calf-length evening dress was pink, yes, but who knew if it was still her favorite color? She had been eight. 

When she turned and his desperate eyes slid over the curve of her nose, her lashes, her powdered cheeks, a stubborn thing called hope expended in this chest. The bright, powerful hope like the sun after a summer storm, not the simmering, obstinately hope like a smoldering fire which had accompanied him for so long now. 

She was talking to someone, an elegant gentleman with long white hair, and her face lit up just in time when he was near enough to confirm that her eyes were blue. And then she smiled, a polite, practiced smile only, not even reaching her eyes, but it was proof enough to let his heart skip for far too long as it should be medically explainable. 

He had found her. 

Hylia above, after all these years, he had truly, finally found her! Tiny, shaky breaths left him, in and out, which did nothing to calm his nerves, and he took her in again, just to be sure. She looked different, of course, but her eyes had still the slightest trace of sadness that they had when he had seen her for the first time. Her features had grown out of the roundness of a child and her cheeks were rouged to hide the lack of color again. 

It had to be her – his heart beat nothing but her name through his veins. He had nearly caught up to her now and raising his trembling hand, he called, “Zelda!” Her head snapped up and his chest expanded nearly painfully from joy – it was her. It was her! But before their eyes could meet, a security guard in a black suit tapped her shoulder and led her away. 

No! 

Someone on the stage announced the charity entry of the princess, but he didn’t pay anything around him mind, nearly batted the unpleasant noise away with his hands. Setting his shoulders once more and squeezing through the people, he tried to follow the way she had left. He would not lose her again, now that he had finally found her. Never again! 

The stage and the backstage area were closed off with thick red ropes, a bodyguard with a stern face on each side of the stage, who already eyed him when he gave the rope a frustrated slap. He couldn’t look for her here. 

Fretfully, he turned around only to realize that he was trapped. Every single attendant of the charity Gala had gathered around the stage and it was pointless to try to get through these people, let alone find her again. Rolling his eyes, he braced himself for the next minutes of what would probably be a boring charity speech from the princess while he was dying to be on his way to find Zelda once again. 

He had never been particularly interested in the royal family – he wasn’t even sure if he would recognize one of them beside the King on the street. The King was the figurehead of the parliamentary monarchy and gained the main interest of the journalists and the people, while the rest of the royal family lived a relatively secluded life. Every now and then one of the members would participate in a charity event much like today. 

Sure, there was some kind of gossip press, too, but Link had always believed himself having more important things to do than following ‘reports’ of people he would never see in real life anyway. In the past, he had watched the New Year's speech of the King on television every year with his adoptive family, and he still did sometimes now he lived alone to keep the tradition up. Therefore, in all honesty, his curiosity about seeing the Princess wasn’t as great as it seemed to be the case with the people around him, but now that he was standing in the first row, he might as well take a look at her. 

The moment he turned around was the moment he realized he hadn’t been only a fool. 

He had been the greatest fool of all. 

Zelda. 

Zelda was the Princess of Hyrule. 

His heart dropped in his stomach, no to the floor. Suddenly, everything made sense. Impa hadn’t been a stern nanny; she had been a bodyguard. Her parents hadn’t been able to accompany her because they were the King and the Queen. Of course, she had been pale and lonely and well educated, because she had spent so much time on becoming a perfect princess as a child. Nobody remembered a blonde girl because they all only recalled the one summer the Princess was in Skyloft. He had never seen her on the bus because she had her own chauffeur. 

His knees nearly gave out under him, the edge of his vision blurring, when he tried to process the new information. Zelda was the Princess. That changed everything. Or did it change nothing at all? How was he supposed to think straight with that soundscape here?

He quashed the urge to block his ears from the horrible sappy violin music, his eyes returning to her instinctively, searching hers in vain. She was so sweet and beautiful and familiar; he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Oh, how he had missed her! 

So, what if she was the Princess? He wouldn’t let something like that get in their way. A promise was a promise was a promise. He just had to talk to her somehow when she left the stage – then they would pick up their friendship. Perhaps, if they still clicked like all these years ago, he even dared to hope for more. 

The piece of music the fiddlers were playing reached an even more sappy height and a guy with an odd, red pompadour he hadn’t noticed before stepped up to Zelda. He nestled with something in his pocket before he dropped down to one knee. Link’s eyes widened in horror, his body frozen in place. No… No, stop it! Not now, when he had finally found her! An icy fist gripped his heart and refused to let go. This had to be a cruel joke of destiny. 

One long, wonderful moment she said nothing, and he dared to hope that – yes, what? That she looked over, realized her undying love for him, so they could ride into the sunset on his non-existing horse? 

He fled when she nodded and the idiot raised again, not hesitating to kiss her. The people in front of him barely parted, and he stumbled, tripped until he found himself breaking down on the grated steps of the emergency exit. The cold of the autumn evening crawled under his skin. Or maybe it was the cold sting of realization. If he had found her ten minutes earlier, a week earlier, a year earlier, he might have stood a chance. Now, every moment he had looked for her had been in vain, her fiancé didn’t look at all like the type who would tolerate a rival, even if they would just be friends. 

What a fool he had been! 

He pressed his palms to his eyes, casting the world out. Who was he kidding, she was the Princess. Princesses didn’t stick with orphaned country-boys running a little two-person-operation, which made barely enough to donate a little sum every year. Princesses married rich company heirs, fancy musicians, or whatever this guy was. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat with his face buried in his hands, hot tears dwelling at the corner of his eyes, unwilling to shed, when he heard the metallic click of the door. It could have been minutes. Or hours – and now Pipit had finally found him. It was time to move on anyway for him. 

A delicate hand stroked his back once, twice, before it withdrew. 

“A break-up?” A soft voice asked and when he raised his head, the tears finally fell. 

Rainbows. 

He had been chasing rainbows – she didn’t even recognize him when he was directly in front of her. 

It took him two attempts to get the words through the stinging lump in his throat. “Kind of,” he finally choked out, torturing himself by looking at her face from so close. 

She smiled that polite, meaningless smile, saying, “You’ll find someone else, eventually.” 

“I guess I have to,” he whispered and tore his gaze away, his heart shattering into a million pieces. The silence hung between them like the moon between the stars, and he waited and hoped and hated himself more for it with every passing second. 

Finally, she sighed and rubbed her arms. “I’m sure it’s a beautiful night somewhere, for someone.” 

He didn’t dare to look in her eyes again when he unwound his white-blue shawl and placed it on her shoulders. Denied himself to let his fingertips linger. To enclose her in his arms to shield her from the cold. From the world that forced her to paint her pale cheeks with rouge.

“Thank you,” she breathed, quiet, earnest. 

He looked at the moon again, taking his time to breathe in and breathe out, failing to prepare himself for a goodbye he had dreamed of as a beginning. A goodbye, he had never meant to say. 

“Congratulations on your engagement.” 

She looked at the rock on her finger, fidgeting the underside of the ring with her thumb. “Ah, yes, that. Thank you.” 

Despite himself, he took her hands in his and pressed a kiss on her knuckles, his fingers brushing her scar and hers brushing his for a terrible, perfect moment before he left. 

“Goodnight, Zelda.” His voice was as quiet as his heart was loud.

The emergency door fell shut after him with a heavy thud and the crowd of the gala swallowed him without hesitation.

She really should look happier, but it wasn’t his concern anymore. 

Perhaps it never had been. 

Psss... if you are like me and can’t stand a sad ending, check out the rest of the story here.

[pencilofawesomeness]

random NNT wip that I may or may not continue

(and if I do continue it, one day, it probably won’t look like this now that 4KOTA has given me more material to use)

More notes at the bottom, but I was going through some of my wips after thinking about this concept again on a whim, and I re-read it and I’m still happy with this scene, so I decided to post it for the kicks and giggles. It’s smack in the middle (early-mid?) of a whole story that I don’t have time to write (and 4KOTA is making me reconsidering things) so it may not make much sense, but that’s part of the fun. 

Basic premise: a Tower of God AU for the characters of Seven Deadly Sins. I thought of it / wrote this after the NNT manga ended, but before Nakaba announced 4KOTA and published the Lancelot oneshot.

--

Howzer never imagined that he would be a scout when he first decided to climb the Tower. In fact, he was rather upset when Hendrickson labeled him as a scout back on the Floor of Tests, especially when he dreamed of being a spear bearer. Of course, he knew now he was nowhere near as talented with spears as Gilthunder or even Griamore was, though he had gotten pretty good at using his lance in close combat. The point was, Howzer had underestimated the importance and even the difficulty that the position of a scout had to offer.

It was a heavy load to bear.

He panted for a moment, hands on his knees. There was a short window he had to recover from that cheap ambush before he had to keep moving. He could buy himself some more time if he hid their bodies, to hide his tracks, but he was running out of time.

The thirty-second floor was nothing less than a battlefield wrapped up in a fun little ‘game’ the test director had the audacity to call ‘hide and seek.’ Essentially, the teams had to wander through the maze and duck under the hedges to make it to the center. If anyone was out from under the cover for more than three minutes, giant fucking birds would come down and eat them. Oh, and of course, the regulars were fond of killing each other along the way in the spirit of competition.

Lighthouses weren’t immune either, only allowed out in the open for a single minute before imminent, feathery, destruction. The hedges were nigh impenetrable, forcing the teams to funnel through the maze, so the spear bearers were relegated to straight ground attacks with the fisherman, once in engagement. In short, the entire test seemed to boil down to raising hell for the scouts.

Which, as previously mentioned, was him.

Joy.

He hadn’t really wanted to kill those guys, but they were annoying and bent on doing the same to them. There wasn’t the time to make a proper decision anyway. Howzer rounded the corner and dove back under the hedge, eyeing the three seconds left on his pocket’s timer. There wasn’t time to regret anything: he had to move.

No one had reached the end yet, which was both a good and a bad thing. Good, because it wasn’t a full-on race yet; bad, because Howzer’s specialty was following people, not mazes. However, he liked to think he was getting better at this kind of stuff. It was a shame his observer could only last as long as he did out in the open—but at least they weren’t on the same timer. When Howzer ducked into the hedge, he sent the observer out.

Luckily for him, his observer was picking up no more lifeforms. Well, no more living ones. It looked like a team found the wrong path before he came and paid the price for it. However, now Howzer knew the correct path for the next few turns, and they were all clear too. “I just sent the directions,” he spoke into his device. “You guys got it?”

“Yes,” Margaret’s voice came through from her lighthouse. “Although, I don’t think ‘take a left at the bush’ is an adequate description in a…hedge maze.”

“Nah, it’s obvious when you see it.” It was a different color and everything! His teammates were so picky… “But I gave the coordinates too.”

It was away from the receiver, but he heard the sigh. Picky and judgmental… “We’re on our way.”

Howzer rolled his eyes, grateful Margaret and Guila weren’t there to notice and gang up on him. Don’t get him wrong, he was beyond happy that Margaret joined their team (especially since Griamore was terrible at being a light bearer) but sometimes there was no winning with her. Not unless you were Gilthunder. Or Guila. Or Tristan… Okay, maybe it was just him. The fated tension between light bearers and scouts, he supposed.

“Not even a thank you…” he muttered to himself before jumping back out in the open. He already stashed his observer at the destination, so he just needed to reach it, quick and easy— “AH!”

“Agh!”

Howzer collided with a body as he turned the corner into the new path. He stumbled back a few steps, and the other person was sent flying on their butt. For a moment, he stared at her, dumbfounded. His observer excelled at sensing signs of life based on their heartbeats, so unless they had some crazy technique, not even shinsu could cover it; and this girl just came out of the dead end—where everyone had appeared dead.

Although, he was pretty sure he didn’t remember seeing her in particular. She was a slight thing, but with bright pink hair with a short cut and a sweeping bang that covered one eye completely. Plus, she was wearing armor, which wasn’t all that common. Surely, he would have remembered… Unless she was in the hedge. But even then, that should have picked up on his observer.

“Sorry,” she gasped. “I was in a hurry.”

He glanced at his pocket. “No kidding.” He wouldn’t make it to his observer now. Damn, a short break then. “Come on!” Howzer yanked the girl into the nearest hedge with him. Sure, she was an enemy, but she didn’t look like she was in good shape. Her armor was scuffed, the needle on her side looked damaged, and her skin was unnaturally pale. And Howzer wasn’t gonna’ let a girl die like that—especially not to frickin’ birds.

“Thank you.” The fisherman got back on her feet. “I was just trying to get my bearings. My observer broke though.”

“You’re a scout?!” he exclaimed reflexively. Damnit, he thought he pegged her. “I thought you were a fisherman.”

She glanced down at her needle and huffed out a quiet laugh, almost like she was remembering some past joke. “Our team doesn’t have a real scout, so I multi-task.”

“Damn, that sucks.” That was beyond reckless. Not that Howzer could say much, because his team tried to function with a proper light-bearer for nearly fifteen floors before Margaret joined them.

“Yes. It does. It worked out enough, though.”

Howzer can’t help but to wonder if the slaughtered team around that bend was hers. The far off look in her eye seemed to match his suspicions, too. Worked out, huh? Not forever…

She snapped out of her daze. “I’m Liz,” she introduced, offering a hand.

Howzer took it after only a brief moment of hesitation. She didn’t look like she had the strength to take him in a fight anyway. Besides, if she wanted to kill him like that last group did, then she had the opportunity to shove him to the birds a while ago. “Howzer,” he returned. “Here, let’s hurry up around this corner. My observer is there.” He couldn’t afford a new one if it was destroyed or stolen…again.

Liz nodded, and they took off. Despite her pallor, she was fast. He had the feeling that had he not been leading the way, she could easily outrun him. Strange, that someone with the ability to move through shinsu like this would be in the position she was…

They made it to their destination without a hitch, and Liz hadn’t even broken a sweat. Still, the question bothered him. “So, where’s your team?”

The beat of silence was answer enough that his first hunch was correct. “…they died. I’m…the only one that survived.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He really was. The thought of losing a single one of his teammates was painful enough, but all of them? Howzer didn’t know if he would have the motivation to still keep going. “…What are you going to do, then? Finish the test alone?” It was nigh impossible, but for a fisherman who knew the ways of scouting…

“I don’t know.” Liz picked at her armor, looking uncomfortable. He imagined it was a sore question, but he wanted to know her motives. She seemed capable enough, so if she wanted to get out of the maze, Howzer was willing to vouch for her and absorb her into the team, at least for the test. “There’s someone… I want to see. I can’t die until I see him.” The steel in her blue eye was testament to her resolve. She had something to live for.

“Hey.” Howzer laid a hand on her shoulder. “I know we’re not your teammates, but my team can get you to the end of this test. You go find that guy you’re looking for.” He was sure his team would be sympathetic, too. Gilthunder wanted to find his missing father. Guila wanted to make it back home to her brother and her hometown to protect them as a ranker. Jericho wanted to avenge her brother. Tristan wanted to find out who his family was. Everyone had someone they wanted to look out for.

“Thank you.” Liz smiled, and Howzer thought he saw a glisten on her cheek.

There was always sorrow behind resolve.

“Who are you?!” A needle pressed itself to Liz’s back. Oh, crap.

Howzer yanked Liz forward and intercepted. “Oi! Easy there, she’s with me!”

Jericho frowned, but she sheathed her needle. “If you hormonal boys don’t stop picking up girls, I’m leaving.”

His face turned red. (But not as read as Gilthunder’s and Margaret’s, a fact he was very proud of.) “H-hey, it’s not like that! I just offered to help her clear the maze, that’s all!”

“Whatever, lover-boy.”

Liz laughed, a short and sweet but very unapologetic sound. “Oh no, it’s not like that at all. I’m far too old for him, anyway. You must be Howzer’s team, correct?”

“Y-yeah.” Gilthunder cleared his throat, recovering from Jericho’s heckling. “We are. I’m Gilthunder.”

“Liz.” She gave a short bow. “Thank you for helping me.”

At their questioning gaze, Howzer filled in. “Her team died to the birds. I offered to help her reach the end, so she can move on and find someone.” He grinned. “We’re close to the end, too. I can feel it.”

“With what?” Griamore grunted. “Your impatience?”

“Nobody asked you, big guy. Anyway!” He clapped, turning on his heel to his beloved observer. “I’ve been tracking the paths on here. They’re narrowing and getting tighter around the curves, so we must be approaching the center of the circle. A few more trips, and I bet we’ll have made it.”

“That’s…” Margaret gave a soft smile. “Actually smart.”

“…’actually’?!”

His brow twitched. Whatever. They’ll appreciate his genius one day! Maybe. Howzer turned back to his observer with a sigh, ready to send it out again, but something caught his notice.

The observer counted seven lifeforms in the vicinity, including himself.

With Liz, there should be eight.

He had assumed it was a fluke that he didn’t see Liz on his radar the first time, and because she wasn’t hostile, he hadn’t thought of the implications too hard. But she was right there, and the observer wouldn’t read her. It was possible it could be some weird shinsu trick, but she wasn’t a wave controller, and he had never seen a regular with that level of skill otherwise. Besides, there was absolutely no point in her expending energy to hide herself now that she had allies.

It seemed like Guila noticed something about her, too. Howzer noticed the black-haired wave-controller frown pensively, her eyes opened to slits in a rare moment of appraisal. Howzer couldn’t ask her what she sensed without raising suspicion, however, so he would have to wait. He could send a message by pocket once they started scouting again, when messaging wouldn’t be abnormal.

When he looked back to her, however, Liz was completed fixated on something else. Her eye was wide, and her mouth was parted; it was slight, but there was a tremble to her muscles. It looked like she was afraid, but it wasn’t the kind of fear that Howzer saw on the battlefield. Her gaze was locked…

…onto Tristan.

He wasn’t sure how long this had taken place, but Tristan just noticed, meeting her gaze like an equally spooked deer. Parallel to each other’s, their blue eyes looked similar—but there was something deeper to Liz’s than in the kid’s. Something Howzer couldn’t quite recognize, no matter how it hurt his pride as a scout.

“You…” Tristan blinked owlishly, taking one cautious step towards the woman. “Do I know…you…?”

“…no.” Liz’s voice was thick. The entire team was frozen around their encounter, as if time or the test didn’t exist outside of the two. “N-no, I’m afraid you don’t.” She matched Tristan’s hesitant step forward, her hand reaching out slowly. “But can I…?”

There was recognition in her stance, however—in her hungry, pained gaze, and in her outstretched hand. No one knew Tristan, not really, but rumors of him spread around the tower. This wouldn’t have been the first time someone hailed Tristan as some savior, whether because of his strange shinsu control or his status as an irregular. However, this seemed different. Normally, those willing to cast their hopes on a complete stranger were not the hesitant type.

“Uh…” Tristan looked as confused as ever. “I’m not sure I’m following but…”

He didn’t stop her, and Liz inched towards him like she was still afraid of something—of him, maybe. Guila looked like she was about to stop her, but she was frozen in place just like Howzer was. Maybe it was curiosity that made them useless. Maybe it was something else.

Tristan gasped. “Your heart—!” Her heart? Has Tristan figured out why Liz mysteriously didn’t show up on his radar? “It’s not… It’s not beating!”

“I know,” she whispered solemnly. What?! It wasn’t beating at all?! Then how was she even alive?! “But don’t worry about me.” Liz didn’t take her gaze off of Tristan. “It’s beating somewhere else.”

Howzer blinked. What?

“What the hell…?” Jericho whispered, echoing his thoughts perfectly.

Liz looked up sharply, forcefully tearing her gaze away from Tristan, who still looked baffled and dazed. She bowed quickly in Howzer’s direction. “Thank you for your hospitality, but I must be going.”

Before he or anyone could even respond, and with one last longing glance at Tristan, she took off faster than untrained eyes could track. The team looked to him, but Howzer could only shrug helplessly. “I don’t know if I can catch up, but wait here.”

He did see which direction she was going, but he knew her speed was greater than his unless he reinforced himself with shinsu. However, there wasn’t the need, because she was headed back to the dead end.

If she was there to get information from them, she didn’t stick with it, and he knew for a fact that she was too distracted with Tristan to ever mess with his observer. It was almost as if Tristan was the one that she was looking for—or at least a sizable distraction to her goal, based on the fixation. However, she took off without accomplishing much besides confusing them; she took off with a level of panic too. They were safe in the bush though, and there were no teams nearby.

Howzer heard her before he saw her, and he slowed his approach out of both caution and respect, hovering on the other side of the corner. Liz screamed, wailing unabashedly with pent up sorrow that he could not fathom. She would have been out of earshot of the rest of the team, but just barely. But hers was a cry that came as a deluge; there was no holding it back.

He thought about just turning around and leaving her alone. He was intruding on something delicate and personal, but, as a scout he couldn’t remove himself without a final glance. Howzer peaked around the corner, in no way prepared for what he saw.

Liz was not the one crying. She was but a body on the ground, limp and lifeless. A white entity floated above her, with long silver hair and those same blue eyes, holding her stomach in her ghostly hands as she wailed.

This time, it was hard to ignore how much she looked like Tristan.

It wasn’t a suspicion he could follow at the moment, however. The test was still running, and they couldn’t afford to lose their chance at going to the thirty-third floor. Howzer turned around and left the woman to her sorrows, with the inescapable feeling that they would see her again.

--

another A/N

The story is/was going to be about the youngins’ dream-filled trek to becoming a ranker in the Tower, with the team consisting of Howzer, Gilthunder, Griamore, Jericho, and later Margaret, who are all regulars with various aspirations and goals, along with Tristan, a young boy who met the first four on Floor 1, who was sent to the inner Tower from outside known Tower boundaries, making him an irregular. 

The main mystery was going to be finding out how Tristan came to be (which is to say, finding out what happened to his parents and the Sins) because his only memories are of a mysterious woman named Nimue caring for him, though much of his childhood was spent alone in her domain. 

I’m pretty dedicated to the HTRYDS series right now, but maybe after 4KOTA gets farther along, I’ll rework the story to incorporate the new worldbuilding tidbits and the new characters. I had wanted the main team to be the “babies” but that required using the OG children and aging them down a bit to match Tristan, though they all still would have been older than he was. 

Tbh, I had more fun comprising the backstory/alternate story that involved the sins and such than I did trying to figure out what the main group would be doing. I might just post my ideas and call it a day. Who knows.

[lovelyirony]

Hi! “If I fail, I’ll fall apart/Maybe it is all a test/because I feel like I’m the worst / so I always act like I’m the best” -Oh No! This is one of my favorite lyrics ever, and I'd really like to see what you bring out of it :) You're amazing, ily! 💞

what if maria had more of an effect on tony’s upbringing than most? howard’s still a dick but make it funny

Tony has known he was probably not the best human on earth ever since he was five and his dad made a bigger deal out of a dead man’s birthday than his own. 

At age five, you don’t really know a lot about the world yet. There were about two things that Tony didn’t know that he wishes he did know: 

1.) The word “fuck.” It would have helped with a lot of his situations. 

2.) The concept of jealousy. He probably could have gone to a child therapist or some shit, he’s not sure if those even existed back then, or if his parents would have even let him go. 

(After all, he’s supposed to be their perfect little boy, just the right amount of precocious and the other amount being something like genius or respectability.) 

It is actually his mother who takes the reins on his life. Howard has effect, he has huge effects. 

Maria is a socialite who absolutely refuses to let her son succumb to Howard’s devil-may-care attitude that he’s so infamous for. Her son is going to be well-mannered, respectable, and know exactly how to treat a lady of high social standing. 

This involves training at a young age. Six would be a fine age. 

It’s not Howard who sends him to boarding schools, it’s Maria. She ensures that he goes to the finest schools available, most abroad in Europe. She trains him out of the American accent, into something a bit more refined. 

He spends summers learning different languages and different skills. He learns how to fence by the time he’s ten, and becomes quite proficient at it. 

She quizzes him on established families, up-and-coming families, and never keeps him far from her sight. 

Anthony Stark is not going to be a wild-child, she decides. 

-

Anthony isn’t, for the most part. Sure, he usually stays up past what is acceptable for the night to work on some mechanic stuff and uses the word “damn” a bit too much for his mother’s liking, but that’s the reason make-up and apologies were invented. 

He follows rules and is known to smile like his mother and enjoy listening to quartets play out in the open air during the summer months. He travels to Europe and participates in various activities and is the talk of many socialites who eagerly await his arrival. 

He’s a portrait, holding still for all’s approval, and he’s not quite sure how to move. 

That’s troublesome, he thinks. 

The problem is this: Anthony Stark doesn’t have any interests outside what is required. He loves working on inventions, and they are necessary for the company to survive, but his father hates any robotic invention he pushes for, and mother thinks that if he tells people he’s rather fond of AC/DC then he’s a plague to society and will be shunned. 

(He doesn’t say it to her face but they haven’t shunned Sunset yet, and she’s a whole world of problems, so rock music is the least of their problems.) 

There is one thing that he pushes for: university in the United States. He’s been traveling to Europe since he was a child, and he honestly needs to do something for himself. 

Maria is not pleased. 

“So after I sacrifice so much for you, this is how you repay me?” she asks him over dinner. 

He places his fork to the correct side. 

“Yes. This is how I am repaying you. By getting a perfectly respectable college degree from a critically-acclaimed university that anyone would be lucky to attend. Not to mention it might reflect badly on Stark Industries if I don’t go to an American college. Do I not trust American institutions to run an American business?” 

“You shouldn’t.” 

Anthony laughs. 

“Mother, they cannot teach me anything that Europe can’t. Let me go to college in the United States. Please.” 

“No.” 

- 

It takes Howard to convince her, and a.) Howard doesn’t even like Anthony that much, and b.) he also doesn’t like his wife that much. 

“He’s going to a damned college here, Maria. We don’t need him to go to any more of that fancy bullshit you call school over there.” 

“Fancy bullshit, Howard?! Bullshit?! You mean what has gotten him this far in life and will make him a better man of social standing than you?” 

“My god, is social standing all that matters to you? What are your little friends going to do, choke on their silver spoons when they find out that your son is going to an American college?” 

- 

Jarvis also convinces her. 

“It will be easier to monitor his progress from a shorter distance,” he advises. “And you can visit frequently.” 

Anthony gives him a very dirty look. Apparently, he wasn’t supposed to mention that. 

Oops. 

-

But, Anthony gets his way. He’s going to MIT, and he has a roommate. 

(Okay, so mother doesn’t know that. But he supposes she will if she ever visits. Or maybe not considering if Tony can successfully convince his roommate to “disappear” for at least a day.) 

-

Rhodey does not give a singular shit about high society anything or anyone. Anthony Stark is a name he registers, but doesn’t recognize. 

“Anthony’s a mouthful,” he says a week into their cohabitation. “You have a nickname or something?” 

“Ah...no? I mean, not yet,” Anthony says. 

“How do you feel about Tony?” 

“I...I suppose that that is alright.” 

“Are you from Europe?” 

“No, from New York.” 

“Well holy shit, you sure as fuck don’t sound like it.” 

- 

Anthony--well, Tony now--learns quite a bit about American schooling and what he’s actually supposed to be doing to pass off as normal. 

Rhodey (yeah he got a nickname that ended in ‘y’ too, Tony said he wouldn’t be the only one) takes him to the thrift store and tells him to pick out some clothes. 

“...there’s a shirt that’s advertising a restaurant from Montana.” 

“And? Does it look hilarious?” 

“Is that the point of this?” 

“Fashion is supposed to make you like what you’re wearing or like yourself. I swear if you say that those boring black suits make you feel better about yourself, I will be dragging you to any therapist that will take us for at least five dollars.” 

“Five dollars?” 

“Maybe less if I can negotiate.” 

“Hey!” 

- 

Tony learns how to have fun. He loves it. 

Rhodey makes him go to record stores and find the bargain bin, and they play the warped records and laugh as voices go up and down in pitch. Tony blasts Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden until the RA begs him to go to bed and Rhodey throws all of his pillows off of his bed. 

In return, Tony teaches Rhodey how to read other’s facial expressions, dress for any occasion and be the best-looking there, as well as avoiding any sort of conflict by bringing up past embarrassments. 

“Are you serious about the color of my shoe affecting my social standing?” Rhodey asks, trying to shove his foot into a shoe that was a brown color that Tony had described as a “golden mahogany.” 

“Yes, I’m dead serious.” 

“No fucking wonder everyone says eat the rich all of you are so fucking pretentious. It’s brown, Tony.” 

“Tell that to any high society woman over fifty.” 

“I will.” 

- 

As it turns out, he ends up doing it much sooner than anticipated. 

Tony’s parents come to visit. 

They call him Anthony. Which is gross. Rhodey hasn’t used the name “Anthony” in about six months. 

“I wasn’t aware that you were his roommate,” his mother says. 

“Well, here I am,” Rhodey says. “Name’s also on the information they sent out to the parents about the living situations.” 

Tony tenses as his parents brush off the obvious comment on how little they actually know about his situation and move right into the room. 

Maria stops at the huge poster of a rock band. 

“I assume that this is...James’?” 

“No,” he says timidly. “It’s...it’s mine. Their use of movement on the guitar strings-” 

“Take it down,” Maria demands. “It’s unsightly.” 

“Oh give the kid a break,” Howard says tiredly. “For once he’s not listening to you talk about the merits of paisley prints.” 

“I’m training our son for a more successful life than yours,” Maria hisses. “Of course, you’d have to stay away from your friend Jack to understand that.” 

“Rhodey, leave,” Tony says. “Trust me, it gets messier from here.” 

He does think about it. How easy it would be to walk out and check in with a couple of his other friends and talk about how crazy Tony’s parents are. How he could check back in near dinner time and then Tony could tell him all about how terribly it went. 

But Tony already looks terrible, and he’s doing that weird thing with his hands where he wrings them and then remembers he’s not supposed to wring them and makes it worse. 

“No,” Rhodey says. “I am staying until the bitter end. Who knows? Maybe I can give your mom a heart attack when I ask her the difference between kelly and forest green.” 

Tony grins. 

“You can leave any time, it’s about to get...interesting.” 

- 

Tony’s family is quite dysfunctional. They can put on a good front in public, for what it’s worth. 

Howard is impressed that Rhodey’s planning on going into the Air Force and then talks about Captain America for a lot of the dinner. Rhodey is very uncomfortable and then asks about business and Maria rolls her eyes and orders another glass of wine. 

After Howard finishes up talking about some contract and making vague threats against businesses that Rhodey thinks might actually be in trouble, it’s Maria’s turn. 

“So, Rhodey, where is your family from?” 

“We live in the Boston area,” Rhodey answers. 

“And what do your parents do?” 

“Dad works as a consultant for a local construction company, and my mom works as a high school history teacher. They both like their jobs.” 

“Hm,” Maria remarks, and it’s so light and casual and yet so cutting. Tony can see how Rhodey squirms, and he can’t just let it stand. 

It’s one thing for Maria to cut her own son down until he’s nothing. Still fucked up, but Tony can handle it. He’s been handling it for years. 

“Rhodey, how did your mom come to want to know she liked teaching?” Tony asks. “That sounds like it could be really hard to figure out.” 

“Oh, well it all started when she was in high school and wanted to change how one of her teachers treated students. It was a really inspiring moment for her.” 

“That sounds really cool,” Tony says. “What does she like most about her job?” 

“Probably the kids,” Rhodey says. 

The conversation carries on about Rhodey’s family until their dinner arrives and his mother manages to cut in with more questions. 

“So, what else does your mother do?” 

“She volunteers at the local food kitchen and helps some of the younger kids at the after-school program,” Rhodey answers. ��She also makes a mean Thanksgiving turkey.” 

“Would you look at that,” Tony says. “Mrs. Rhodes sounds like a fine cook, I wish I could say the same for you, mother.” 

“Oh?” 

Howard actually laughs at that as he signs for the bill. 

“The kid is right, Maria. At some points I think your kitchen is only used for decoration.” 

“Oh, and you know how to cook, Mr. Stark?” Maria asks, raising her eyebrows. “I’d love to see you make anything other than coffee.” 

“I’ll make toast.” 

Rhodey laughs, and so does Tony. 

“Ready to go?” Tony asks, and part of it is a way to get away from an isolated conversation, and part of it is to make his parents leave for their hotel room sooner. 

“Tony, I want to have a talk with you before we retire for the night,” Maria says, and Tony tenses up. 

Rhodey can’t protect him from that, and he squeezes Tony’s hand as they walk behind his parents. 

“It’ll be okay,” he whispers. 

“Maybe,” Tony says. “Maybe.” 

- 

Rhodey goes into their building, and Howard waits in the car. He nods to Tony on his way out. 

“You’ve...changed,” mother says. 

“Well, that’s how humanity goes,” Tony says dryly, looking anywhere but her eyes. 

“Rock music? These snappish remarks towards your own mother? I don’t know if this college was such a good idea.” 

“It is,” Tony says. “I just...learned new things and incorporated it into my life. Nothing the matter with that.” 

“Nothing wrong with that?” Maria reiterates, surprised look on her face. “Rock music is for other people, you know things that others don’t know! You can perform violin and piano, you don’t have to listen to the personal manifestation of a headache!” 

“And if I like that headache?!” Tony asks. “If I like something that’s outside of what you approve, why so angry about it? Is it because you finally can’t control every single aspect about my identity? Is it because I’m not like your perfect little toy that you can make walk and talk how you like?” 

“You know it’s not that.” 

“Isn’t it?” Tony asks. “Because you want me to change every single interest that I’ve found I like by myself. I bet you want me to listen to Bach for fun.” 

“I do not want you to change from who you are,” Maria says. “You have eaten at the finest restaurants in the world and now you brag about making something called ramen in a microwave. A microwave?!” 

“A surprising amount of families in America have them,” Tony says. “And I’m a college student! I’m supposed to eat crappy food and then laugh about it in twenty years!” 

Maria turns red, and her lips screw up into a tight line. 

“I don’t think you should be here,” Maria says. “You’re forgetting your place. Your roommate is...” 

“My roommate is what,” Tony starts, glaring at her. “My roommate is what, mother? You want to honestly finish that sentence?” 

“He’s not good enough!” she yells at him. “You are a Stark!” 

Tony stares at her for a moment. And then another moment. 

“Leave,” he says. “Get the hell out of here.” 

“You don’t tell me-” 

“I do,” Tony says, using his full height to his advantage. “You can tell me how many times I’ve fucked up as many times as you want, but you never talk about James that way ever again.” 

He twists on his heel, forcefully opening the door to the dormitory and not once looking back. 

- 

Rhodey finds Tony back in his room when he gets back from getting ready for the night, and Tony is clutching a pillow and laying face down on the bed. 

“You know, you’ll have to turn over eventually to get some fresh air.” 

“Leave me to die, Rhodey. Oh my god.” 

“That bad?” 

“That bad. She’s probably going to try and put me in a prestigious college or some shit.” 

“Oof. Wanna fake your death and run away?” 

“Please.” 

“Well, too bad. I have a test next week, and you need to do your poetry notes.” 

“But poetry sucks.” 

“It only sucks because you don’t like modern poetry, suck it up and pull it out of your ass or something.” 

“Ugh, fine.” 

- 

Maria is trying very hard to get her son away from MIT and towards a fancy school in Europe. She doesn’t even care where, just away from his roommate and his classic rock posters and the dormitory. Anthony needs an environment where he can focus on networking, meeting more people. 

Howard says no. 

He can’t even bother to remember her son’s birthday, and he says “no.” 

“We need Anthony to go to an American school, and nothing is better besides maybe Cal Tech, and he’ll have to finish another year of college and Hammer Industries can use that as a sign of an unsteady heir.” 

“Well then get rid of his roommate.” 

“I’m not doing that, you’re asking for a PR death sentence.” 

“He’s a bad influence.” 

“No he’s not,” Howard says tiredly. “The kid is finally standing up for himself, and you hate that.” 

“I don’t hate that he can be his own person.” 

“You just wish he were his own person under your specifications,” Howard drawls. “He’s staying at MIT, that’s final.” 

“Hmph.” 

Howard rolls his eyes. 

“Go back to planning whatever charity gala you’re hosting this week, honey. I’m sure things will be fine.” 

Maria doesn’t speak against her husband, just fumes and decides she’s going to try to get Jarvis’ opinion. 

-

Edwin is also a flat no. 

“He will not forgive you if you do this,” he says, pouring her tea and adding in one sugar cube. “He loves his school, he talks about it all the time.” 

“And what, he calls you?” 

Edwin Jarvis realizes he shouldn’t have mentioned this. 

“At times, madam. At times. Will that be all?” 

“...that will be all.” 

Jarvis does bring up a good point. Besides her, of course, he knows Anthony best, even if he does keep calling him Tony. Anthony will grow out of that nickname soon enough. 

She has hope for her boy. He will most likely grow out of this silly little phase in life and finally appreciate her lessons. 

- 

Tony Stark doesn’t. 

Well, he learns her lessons. Can appreciate some of them and how much he hates that he uses them. 

But he learns a far more important lesson from Rhodey, and it shapes everything: 

“You’re your own person, and you’re far better as your own person,” Rhodey says. “I wanted to kick the shit out of you when we first lived together.” 

“You did?” 

“Of course I did!” Rhodey explains, gesturing with his coffee mug and getting yet another stain on the pillow. (Laundry again. Ugh.) “You talked like you were from a movie from the forties, it sucked.” 

“Oh, you mean the transatlantic accent?” 

“It’s pretentious, just ditch it. You’re interesting enough to listen to on your own. I listen to you talk about how much you hate Picasso sculpture, don’t I?” 

“You do,” Tony admits. 

“So then be yourself. Use what your mom taught you sometimes, but otherwise don’t.” 

“You sure?” 

“Of course I’m sure, I’m a fucking genius.” 

Tony snorts. 

“Okay, Mr. ‘I Forgot to Run the Dishes Again.’”

“I already said I was sorry!” 

-

Tony takes Rhodey’s advice into account when he walks into any board room. He wears the worst possible shoes with every single suit, usually uses all sorts of cultural references that fly over the old board members’ heads. 

He does things his way. It’s unconventional, it’s unpredictable, and it earns him a reputation. 

He’s in an interview in a suit and patterned tie (patterned with tiny robots), and the woman is smiling in a plastic way on the other side. 

“Now, a lot of people are saying you’re taking the business world by storm with your unconventional methods and personality. What helped you formulate this, your father?” 

“Oh god no,” Tony says, laughing. “He’d probably curse me to hell and back for even wearing this tie. My mother would drag me back down to hell again for this.” 

“Then who helped you with this?” 

“Rhodey, who else?” Tony asks. “He always gives the best advice, even if I’ll deny that about fifteen minutes later. He really is the reason that I’m who I am today.” 

“Seems like a great guy.” 

“He is. He always is,” Tony says with a grin. “Except, of course, when he doesn’t fold his laundry, that bastard.” 

The interviewer laughs and moves on, but Tony smiles to himself. 

He doesn’t have to be the best, he just has to be Rhodey’s. That’s all that matters. 

[darknessisafriend]

Hi! Can I ask for hcs' about almost every Joaquin character (y'know, Joe, Theo, Arthur, Ray, and many more) when they're on Christmas with you? Going to a party, with your family, staying at home, in a shopping, gettting presents, taking you to a café or a restaurant, putting on christmas decorations at home, what you eat with them or how you enjoy the night and fireworks, stuff like that. Thank you! Love your imagines!

Hiii I wrote and before Christmas so I’m really happy! (I literally spend my days writing it from morning to late in the night) so I hope you will like it!! 

Following HCs with: Arthur/Joker, Commodus, Joe, Abbe, Charlie, Bobby, Bruno, Willie, Max, Theodore, Merrill, Freddie, Ray

Arthur/Joker

-        Christmas is Arthur’s and Joker favorite day of the year after Mardi Gras. It is a day where he can be fully himself, wear one of those ‘ugly’ knitted sweaters, listen to oldies Christmas songs. He feels people more relaxed in the streets, it must be Christmas spirit softening them a little, even in Gotham. And usually you would manage to convince Joker not to make too much trouble and stay by your side all day instead.

 -        You would be staying home together on Christmas Eve. It would be a very simple day because you didn’t have a lot of money but what is important is to be together, and it’s what you would remind to Arthur, no need for something big or fancy, just to be together in Christmas spirit.  

 -        You would buy a few decorations, but you would mostly create them yourself, spending the weekends of December making them with Arthur as you drank hot chocolate. Your flat would be colorful, filled with red and white tinsels and candy canes; you both went to a park and discreetly cut a few pine trees branches to decorate the appartement.

 -        Of course, Arthur would make the surprise to buy a Christmas tree, not too big, but it was more than enough to make you smile with happiness. And you would decorate it with anything that was shiny and candy canes too of course.

 -        For dinner you would not buy anything expensive, but luckily you and Artie were pretty good in cooking and you could manage to make delicious dishes with basic ingredients, roasted potatoes with bacon wrapped turkey and red wine gravy, and you would drink the other half of the bottle while eating. And of course, your favorite part, an apple cake topped with cinnamon and sugar.

 -        You want the night to be as relaxing as possible, you would cook with Arthur while listening to music, exchanging kisses and giggling. Then, after dinner, you two would settle in the sofa, and watch Disney Christmas cartoons while drinking hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows.

 -        The next morning, Arthur or Joker would be the first awake, excited like a kid and eager to open his gift. Yes, usually with Arthur it would be one or two gifts for each of you. Arthur would have worked extra hours and saved as much money as he could to be able to buy you something nice, he bought those cute earrings you had seen once in a store front. Joker would get you more gifts and would get a bit extravagant, but it was really fun. You would get a nice suit or piece of accessories for Joker. For Arthur you would get a warm sweater or scarf so that he wouldn’t get cold when he is outside.

 -        As soon as the gifts were open and breakfast with nice pastries taken; you and Arthur would head to your grandparents’ home where you would be reunited with your parents and cousins as well. Arthur was always a bit nervous about it but once they all greeted him with a hug, he would be smiling all along, hugging back your family and playing with your cousins and nephews. He never had a family but now he had one. Joker had promised you he would never come out on Christmas, it was always sweet Arthur, otherwise your parents would have freaked out.

Commodus

-        Saturnalia was always an amazing holiday. For whole a week the whole Empire would celebrate in honor of the god Saturn. It was a very special day where the People would be pampered by their Emperor and where even slaves would be provided by table service and dining with their masters, all would party and share. Many offerings were made to the god but also to the people.

-         

-        Commodus was always particularly joyful on that holiday. The first day, he always had a hard time not working but then, the next day, the real Commodus was back, joyful and relaxed. He would dedicate his days entirely to you, his nephew and the rest of the family.

-         

-        Commodus would be dressed colorfully, wear red and gold togas and you would usually wear matching clothes, except on Saturnalia eve where you would wear purple and gold, an outfit especially made for that night. You both loved beautiful clothes and it was the occasion to shine even more.

 -        He would make sure that Lucius gets chosen as the Saturnalicius princeps, the Lord of Misrule for the whole week. And Lucius loved it, he was able to prank everyone and especially his dear uncle who at first regretted it, and then you would find him pranking back Lucius or even you, those two were children.  

 -        The whole week, Commodus would offer chariot racing in the grand arena, the greatest charioteer gathered for the most exciting races and with great rewards, as well as gifts for the public. You both enjoyed it, no blood, no deaths, pure entertainment for all.

-         

-        It would be a huge party in the streets of Rome, people singing in the streets naked, drinking and gambling. With the Senate, Commodus would make sure to have a delicious public buffet offered to the people at the Temple of Saturn. He wants everyone to enjoy this holiday. And at night on the eve of Saturnalia, Commodus would organize a big party in the palace, where he would completely let himself go and enjoy the moment.

 -        For dinner, he would get you the finest foods from the whole Empire and even from far beyond, exotic dancers, magicians and entertainers would be invited as well to make this night unforgettable. He would make sure you smile and laugh, that you simply feel home, and it really were.

 -        “Io Saturnalia my love!” he would cheer, all tipsy, a big goofy grin on his face, coming to wrap his arms around you, almost spilling his cup of wine on you as he starts trying to dance, he wouldn’t care if he looked ridiculous, he wanted to hold you in his arms and kiss you. To be honest, drunk Commodus was probably the most adorable thing you ever saw.

 -        Commodus would be very nervous about the presents, he wants the best for you and he wants to impress you even if he knows he doesn’t have to but Commodus feels this need to constantly prove himself and his love for you.

 -        Early in the morning the day before, he would go out in the city in disguise to get your gifts, he doesn’t trust anyone else to get the best for you and choosing your gifts himself is very important to him, he wants something true, something that truly reflects how he feels for you. He would have a ring especially forged for you, with a blue gemstone incrusted in the center of it, reminding you of his gorgeous blue outfit that you loved so much. And for his nephew, his first real sword to train with him. As for you, you would get him a very fine wine from Greece and then a rather…sensual that you would were in your bedroom that night, you would be his gift in a way; and it would made him even crazier for you.

 -        After this long night of celebration, you and Commodus would take your time and just sleep as long as you could, it was the last day before getting back to work and you wanted him fully rested and ready to take care of the Empire as ardently as before. You had opened your gifts at midnight so there was nothing waiting to be done, except perhaps Lucius who was eager to take his first lesson from his uncle, but the boy was clever and let you enjoy your husband a few hours more….Io Saturnalia.

Joe 

-        Christmas with Joe would be quiet, something peaceful at home, it would mean a moment of full relaxion for Joe and perhaps the only moment where he feels like he doesn’t have to be on his guard all the time.

 -        You would spend Christmas Eve’s afternoon in an animal shelter with Joe, you two would pamper the pets and take them on a walk outside. You had discovered Joe rather enjoyed spending time with animals, especially dogs, it seemed to sooth him and you were thinking of adopting one of the dogs as his Christmas gift. So, this moment would be a good occasion as well to see which one he preferred.

 -        You would usually spend Christmas eve and Christmas day with your family, just your parents. It did good to Joe to be with other people. And your parents loved him, your father was a veteran and they understood each other. And then your mother just loved him and always offered him more cookies.

 -        You would do part of the shopping with Joe, especially to buy ingredients to cook for him and your family and then buy a few decorations. Joe would shop separately for your gift of course. And he would be in charge to get the Christmas tree and somehow he always ended up picking one that was too tall to fully fit in the living room, so he would have to climb on the stepladder and shorten the top of the trunk  and you couldn’t help but laugh. Poor Joe, he always picked up the biggest and most beautiful trees.

 -        This year Joe got you a few books, fantasy and sci-fi stories. It wasn’t his genre at all, but he knew you enjoyed it, and he hoped he had chosen well, he had made a research on internet to see which were better. As for you, well, you had gotten him the dog he was fond of at the shelter.

 -        You and Joe would cook with your parents, you would take care of the dessert with your dad while Joe and your mother did the rest. It wouldn’t be anything too complicated but there were many dishes to fill in everyone and especially Joe’s great appetite. As your mother said, a big man like him needed strength to carry on. And he truly managed to eat everything she was serving him, which you never thought was possible.

 -        As for the Christmas decoration of your house, it would be discreet but enough to remind of the Christmas spirit. The Christmas tree, a few tinsels on the walls or the banister and that was it. For everything, Joe liked to remain discreet. Still, you managed to get him to wear a Christmas sweater at home and with your family and he was the most adorable like that.

 -        The night would be spent taking your time dinning with your family, and then they would light a fire in the chimney, and drink mulled wine while talking about the many things that happened during the year. Then, your dad would put on some vinyl, oldies Christmas song; and you couldn’t resist but to get Joe to dance with, a slow dance, pressed against each other as you listened to the music.

 -        The next morning, you were the first one awake, excited to open your gifts. Well, you thought you were the first one awake, but you would soon realize Joe wasn’t sleeping by your side, maybe he was eager too. However, when you reached downstairs, you found him cooking a marvelous breakfast and not just for you but your parents as well, already wearing the Christmas sweater you had gotten him.

Abbe de Coulmier 

-        Christmas was obviously a very important day for the Abbe, the birth of the Christ and a day of love. Which meant a lot of work for him, he was a priest after all, and he wanted to give love to people around him and the people in need. And he also wanted to make this day special for his patients, many had been abandoned by their families, and he wanted to make them feel at home, celebrating this important day together.

 -        He would encourage his patients to create decorations, some patients even crafting wood, others picking up pine tree branches to ornate the doors of their cells. Then, you and Madeleine would spend the day cooking for the dinner, the Abbe as always had managed the finances excellently and you had extra money to buy more food and ingredients and cook something more sophisticated for this day and even Yule logs for everyone. You would even convince him to cook biscuits with the patients, it made them very happy and also seeing him covered in flour was adorable, you couldn’t stop giggling and teasing him.

 -        Then, towards the end of the afternoon you would help him greet homeless and poor for the evening and night, distributing blankets to them, and sharing a warm dinner with them and a shelter for the night. So, this was a very big day for him and slightly exhausting, but the Abbe was a workaholic, he lived for other people and he loved helping.

 -        Charenton had become his family so there was no reason for him to come out of the Asylum. And also, you were there, by his side. And he loved you, even if he knew he shouldn’t but he couldn’t resist the temptation you were, and he wanted to make this day special for you too.

 -        He had very little money, but he had still managed to go in town, and buy you a beautiful blue scarf to keep you warm in the corridors of Charenton.  As for you, you had saved as much money as you could to buy him this beautiful chain with a little golden cross, he could wear it around his neck all day along, underneath his cassock.

 -        It would be a very heartwarming night where everyone would be reunited in the canteen, a beautiful fire lit in the chimney. Everyone would sit close to it and listen to the Marquis, standing in front of it, telling funny stories and also Christmas stories which he had agreed to tell after the irresistible request from his favorite priest. As the Marquis was getting everyone’s attention, you felt the Abbe discreetly brush his fingers against yours, to finally entwine your hands, making you blush, you would exchange a look full of love, tonight he would spend the night in your bed.

 -        To end the night, he would celebrate the midnight mass, patients and employees gathered and singing songs celebrating the day of the birth of Jesus Christ. It would be a great moment to remind everyone the values of Christmas, compassion, sharing, kindness and love.

 -        The next morning you would both be awakened by the excited cheering of the patients, eager to open their gifts. He couldn’t help but chuckle, it seems you two won’t be able to make love again this morning, but he would find another way, probably request you to his office for some reason. It wouldn’t stop him from filling your face with kisses before getting up and putting his cassock on. As you both opened your gifts with everyone else, you would know which one was his gift and he would know which one is yours; the look he would give you would be more powerful than words and you would smile in return, you felt blessed.

 Charlie 

-        Charlie wasn’t a Christmas guy, not all. Mostly because he kept bad memories from it, his father made it hell for him and his brother, and his mother too. Even if she had always tried to make them smile, making them eggnog, discreetly slipping a gift in their bed in the morning.

 -        Naturally as an adult, he wasn’t really down for it, except getting drunk in a Saloon. But you were there to teach him another way to celebrate Christmas, and it would be a way he would surely enjoy; and he would end up with Christmas spirit.

 -        So, obviously you would spend the day with his family, his brother and his mother. And Charlie wouldn’t be so opposed to it; at first, he might complain and say he doesn’t feel like going. But as soon as he sees his family, he smiles and greet them with a hug, he would never admit it out loud but he missed them and Christmas would be the perfect occasion to spend time together.

 -        You would have to accompany Charlie to the different stores for Christmas shopping, he always played tough guys and now he didn’t want to go shopping alone, it made you retain a laugh, your man was dumb sometimes.  Of course, once he finds something that could be a great gift for you, he would do his best to hide it behind his back, and most of the time pretend he didn’t find anything, you would roll your eyes, you knew his lying face but it was adorable. For his mother, he would some embroidered hankies, another scarf for his brother, just to tease him and for you, an expensive perfume from San Francisco. As for him, you would spend a lot of time and money with specialist to have a prosthetic arm designed for him, he still had a hard time with it and perhaps it would help him feel better and for when he rides again.

 -        You and his mother would cook, both men were terrible at cooking anything else than beans. So, out of question that they came into the kitchen, especially since last time where Charlie managed to eat half of the cookies you had made. You would also cook apples pies, and a roasted turkey that the two men had hunted earlier.

 -        As for decorations, the two men had managed to cut a pine tree that resembles a Christmas tree. You would all together decorate the tree, thanks to their mother pushing them to participate. It would be filled with red ribbons, berries, paper strings, yarn, and other homemade decoration Eli had brought. You would even hang a few cookies in the tree.

 -        When the night came, a fire was lit to keep everyone warm, after all the winter was extremely cold in this part of the country. You would eat joyfully, the boys telling their most epic and finniest anecdotes. Obviously, alcohol would be part of the night, though you tried to keep Charlie just tipsy, except if you were drunk too and joined him in messing around. You would end the night singing joyful Christmas songs together.

 -        The next morning, Charlie would be the one waking up everyone, he would even try to guess what his gifts were while everyone was still asleep. “But Charlie it’s 7 am…on Christmas.” you yawned, you couldn’t believe he was excited like a child for it, but in a way your understood him, Charlie had never celebrated Christmas and soon his brother was up as well, eager to unwrap his gifts. Charlie would be left speechless as he unwraps his gift and discovers the prosthetic arm, the only thing he would do is to hug you tightly, burying his head in your neck, and placing a kiss on your skin, before letting you put the prosthetic on him.

Bobby Green 

-        Christmas for Bobby had become another mean to party, not as much as for New Year though. He just loved to enjoy life to the fullest unlike his family meetings where everyone was more uptight than the others.

-        So obviously, Bobby would much prefer to spend Christmas just with you, not even with his friends from El Caribe. Though, later in the evening, after dinner, you two might head to the club a little but not to work, simply dance and have fun.  

 -        You would do Christmas decorations shopping together trying to find which color would fit the best for this year; obviously you had a thing for red because it was a color that went well with Bobby too and you picked up gold as a second color; yes, this would be perfect. The very same day, arms full of bags, you would get a Christmas tree, a big fluffy one which would proudly wear the decorations you had bought.  

 -        Then, another day, Bobby would spend quite some time shopping, thanks to his job, money wasn’t a problem, but the problem was finding something perfect for you. Bobby would get you gold earrings with a little diamond on each, and the design would perfectly match with your face and he would also buy some sexy lingerie for you both to enjoy. You would get him an earring as well, the coincidence was rather funny, but it was a detail you particularly loved about him.

 -        As the evening comes, Bobby would bring you to a nice restaurant in the city center, it was a rather fancy one but not too much to avoid uptight people who couldn’t bear a laugh. It was fancy enough to fix the event in your memories. And you would enjoy a classic feast, and even Foie gras and dishes with truffles. Obviously, you would drink champagne, it would be a night of ‘excess and pleasure’ as Bobby said, and you loved this intensity.

 -        The decorations would mostly be on the Christmas tree, then you would spread little decorations everywhere, on cupboards and counters and then add many glitters which would be hell to clean up afterwards but you recognized Bobby’s great taste in decorations, he knew how to make it joyful and give a party atmosphere to a place.

 -        After the restaurant, you would head to El Caribe, at least you knew it was the best place to party in all safety. You and Bobby would just go wild, dancing pressed against each other, exchanging kisses and getting horny in no time; to the point that you would soon go back home to make love right away. Then, late in the night you couldn’t resist but open your gifts, giggling like children. So, there wouldn’t be really a Christmas morning for you, just sleeping late in each other’s arms, and it would be the best morning ever.

Bruno Weiss 

-        For Bruno, Christmas was like any other day. He was Jewish but not practicing so he wasn’t really celebrating in any way. And he was often alone on Christmas, his girls always finding a gentleman or another way to celebrate without him. And he had expected you spend Christmas away, with your family in San Francisco; but you surprised when you asked him what he would like to do with you for Christmas, it had made him so happy that you thought about him, even surrounded by his girls, he had always been a lonely man.

 -        Bruno would spoil you during this day, actually he would dedicate his time entirely to you and that starting from the morning. He wasn’t great at cooking breakfast but at least he tried, and that only made you happy. And you were even more when he announced you that he would spend the whole day with you to prepare Christmas.

 -        He would rather enjoy shopping with you, his woman, walking hands in hands from shop to shop, his arms getting fuller of bags each time. Once again, he would spoil you, trying to fulfil you every desires, though Bruno wasn’t a rich man either; so, when you showed him an item that was too expensive, you would see it instantly, the way, he avoided your gaze, an embarrassed look on his face, he wished he could buy you anything you desired. “Hey darling, you know what? I don’t need it, it’s all good, don’t worry.” You would reassure him, tenderly kissing him on the lips. He swore to himself he would make you feel like the luckiest women in the world when you would open your gifts.

 -        You would buy many items to put in the Christmas tree and a few garlands but the most important purchase had been this new thing, electric light garlands, you had not doubts it would look perfect on the tree, and what better than to have the latest modern house items? And about that, Bruno completely agreed.

 -        Bruno would get you a new dress and makeup as well; it was one of his favorite things, to watch you put on your makeup, making yourself even more beautiful than you already were and that view was only for him. And you would buy him a new pocket watch, not one he bought on the black market for nothing, one with a beautiful design and your initials engraved inside the watch cover, so there would always be a bit of you with him.

 -        On Christmas Eve, you would stay home together, you would cook dinner and he would try to help. However, Bruno doesn’t have much patience so his help would be rather limited, and you would soon tell him to sit down and just keep you company. You would cook a roasted chicken, cookies and a fruit cake. However, on Christmas day, for lunch he would bring you to a restaurant, fancier than the usual restaurant he goes to; you would get smoked salmon and cocktails with champagne. And he had to admit, it was nice to have celebrations from time to time, and Christmas spirit was perhaps starting to grow on him.

 -        For the night, Bruno was more inclined to just stay home, but you wanted to show him something more, and you managed to convince him to go to a jazz club, at least to listen to the Christmas songs recreated with jazz stylings. After a while, you saw your boyfriend relaxed, so you put your hand on his, gently stroking it and by the look in your eyes, he would understand and accept to dance with you, a slow dance, embracing each other.

 -        The next morning; the air was rather chill, the both of you waking up slowly, caressed by the warm rays of the sun, snuggling a bit more in his embrace as you felt the air cooler than usual, it had snowed. You would happily open your gifts as you shared a coffee, wrapped in your warm bathrobe, a soft smile was on Bruno’s face, this peace, warmth; Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.

Willie Gutirrez 

-        Willie absolutely loved Christmas and didn’t hide it. It was a great occasion to spend time with you and your family and everyone knew Wille was a family man. He wasn’t the most churchgoing man, but this day would have a religious meaning for him as well. And actually, he would make sure the apartment you shared would be decorated for the 1st of December and he would get an advent calendar with chocolates, he loves it and you would have never thought that about Willie but it was really cute.

 -        That meant that you would spend Christmas holidays at your parents’ home. It was nice to travel a bit and change of air. And your parents just loved Willie, this hard-working young man who satisfied your every desires and who was kind and funny, to them he was perfect; and to you too of course, after all you were madly in love.

 -        Obviously, you would shop together, for everything: decorations, gifts for you and your family, food and chocolates. You would tease each other, trying to guess the gift hidden in the bag of the other, and you would have to wait Christmas morning to know which was even more exciting.  

 -        The apartment would be perfectly decorated, as if a home stylist had done it, silver and gold, the Christmas tree big and fluffy and perfectly decorated, the nativity scene underneath it. You were very proud of your decorations.

 -        Before joining your parents’ house, you and Willie would make cookies. But it would be hard to focus for you, Willie was really sexy, wearing an apron, a comfy sweater and a Christmas hat just to tease you because he knew the effect it had on you. Obviously, you would end up having sex on the counter between Christmas cookies. Once you would have joined your parents Willie would insist on helping out your mother, which would make her fall for him even more, and he would drink a glass of whisky with your father the same time while talking politics; yes, he had completely seduced them, to your greatest pleasure.

 -        Willie would also surprise you all by taking out an expensive bottle of champagne one of his acquaintances would have gifted him. Other than that, you would eat a rather classic Christmas feast, braised pork, vegetables and a few canapés.

 -        After dinner, you would all settle in the sofas in the living room, you snuggled against Willie, drinking hot spiced apple cider as your parents told your boyfriend memories of your childhood, some rather embarrassing actually but it made him laugh and he loved knowing those things about you. Your parents would be the first to head to bed; you and Willie would stay a bit more, exchanging slow and tender kisses until it was time to sleep and let the magic of Christmas happen.

 -        The next morning, you would be awakened by more kisses from Willie, feather-like kisses on your face, his fingers gently pushing away the strands of hair on your face. “Don’t you want to find out what Santa got you?” he’d tease you. And you would truly hesitate between considering him your Santa gift and getting up, and he knew it. And after a little you would both finally get up, happily opening your gifts. Willie would be smiling all the time, he  had family who loved him now.

Max California 

-        Max celebrates Christmas but not in the typical way to do it. For him it is an overrated celebration, with a lot of fuss with all these decorations and Christmas movies on TV all day along and the whole picking up Christmas tree imperative. Also, Max doesn’t blend in very well with Christmas atmosphere with his look that he keeps all year along. People tend to look at him in a strange way when Christmas comes, seeing a guy all dressed in black with piercings and tattoos.

 -        It would be really fun when you boyfriend would realize that you are used to celebrate Christmas and that you rather enjoy the atmosphere. You would spare him Christmas songs and put on your headphones though you wouldn’t sometimes, just to embarrass him.

 -        You would celebrate Christmas just the two of you, you preferred to take baby steps with him, family gatherings on those type of celebrations made him uneasy because people were no fun, he couldn’t make his usual sex jokes or talk about the funniest things that happened back at the sex shop.

 -        You would manage to convince him to get a Christmas tree, and he got one in a pot so that you could plant it somewhere later. And you would accept that he chooses the decorations for it and thankfully you had no guests because this was hilarious and outrageous. Bulbs that looks like boobs, leather collars and other kinky stuff he had gotten at the shop; at least it was unique and very much Max California.

 -        As gifts, you would buy him more clothes that would perfectly match his style and you would get him a new sound system for his guitar, you didn’t want him to renounce to his passion and his dream of being a successful musician one day. As for Max well…. he would get you a few sexy things and also makeup that would perfectly match your face and look, you always loved when he did that, he was better than you at picking up those products, he really had great taste.

 -        For Christmas eve dinner you would order delivery but something out of the ordinary, something a bit fancy, your kitchen wasn’t the best to cook anyway, small and poorly equipped. And actually, you and Max would go for one of the most expensive Japanese restaurants of LA, and damn that was worth it, exotic and unique for this special night.

 -        You would move the little table to the window and open it, giving you a little view on the city. Since you two had moved from his rather questionable flat, you lived in a much better and beautiful neighborhood. After dinner you would head outside for a walk hand in hand by the beach, sharing a cigarette under the cool air and watching a few decorated store fronts; Max always finding ways to make a dirty joke.

 -        The next morning, you would wake up in your favorite way, Max tracing kisses along your thighs, that rascal never forgot his priorities, you thought, giggling sleepily and well, Christmas could wait a little more.  Obviously, after this little morning fun, you would go open your gifts under the tree while Facetiming with your parents “Oh my God Max!” you burst out laughing, you couldn’t show this gift to your parents “But baby it was a limited Christmas edition!” he’d reply, making everyone laugh even more.

 Theodore Twombly

-        Knowing how romantic and old-fashioned Theodore is, he absolutely loved Christmas. It had been a rough period for when he was single and without anyone to celebrate Christmas with but Amy. Celebrating with a friend is much different than with your lover and family. So, he was more than excited to celebrate it with you.

 -        With Theodore you would get up before sunrise and take the car to drive to his chalet in the mountains. That already put you in the full Christmas atmosphere, it was sunny and full of snow, so much that for a while you thought you wouldn’t be able to access the chalet.

 -        You would spend Christmas eve and the next day together, just the two of you, in his chalet, lost in the mountains, it would become your little heaven frozen in time where only what you felt for each other mattered.

 -        Theodore would have shopped for your gifts the whole year, but he would have wrapped them a few days before Christmas, to keep the magic of the celebration. He would have gotten you all sorts of gifts, from an artisanal wooden carved object, to the latest video game you wanted. And you would have gotten a game too but what people call now old-fashioned one, a board game. Those were rather expensive today because people much preferred immersive virtual games now, but you were sure he would love it.

 -        Theodore would have already all the decorations you could possibly need, ready in boxes in the basement, you were honestly surprised by the choice in colors he had. You would both decorate the whole chalet, inside and outside with classic garlands and electrical garlands to, it was so much more beautiful than the holographic ones. This year, you would go for blue and white and also add candy canes in the tree because it was just too good not to put them. Speaking of the Christmas tree you would go get it in a pine tree nursery nearby.  And the great thing was that you could chose it and cut it yourself, though you left that task to Theodore, despite several tries you couldn’t manage to hit the same spot each time; it was physical but you both really had fun.

 -        You would cook Christmas eve dinner together, already dressed in your warm and comfy pajamas; the fire lit in the chimney. You would make tons of different cookies with hot chocolate and marshmallows. Theodore was vegetarian and you too so you would cook a wonderful vegetarian dinner, something simple and delicious that wasn’t too complicated to make so that you could spend the day enjoying other things as well.

 -        You would have dinner with candle lights while listening to oldies Christmas songs, it would be super romantic and you couldn’t stop smiling all the time and Theodore felt the same, it was a perfect Christmas.  Then, you would go on the balcony, wrapped in a warm blanket, Theodore hugging you from behind as you looked at the stars, the sky was clear and it was a stunning view. Actually, you don’t know how much time you stayed there, despite the cold, you both couldn’t stop looking. Though after a while it would be really cold and you would run inside to snuggle in front of the TV and watch Christmas movies, you barely payed attention to it, too busy exchanging tender kisses until you felt it was time to go to sleep.

 -        The following morning, after opening your gifts, the both of you were overjoyed with what you had gotten. And soon, your parents would join you and Theodore for a few days and they would also take you cross-country skiing, to the great joy of Theodore….he wasn’t a sport guy at all but he would follow you anywhere in the world.

Merrill Hess

-        Christmas for Merill meant family time, he already spent a significant amount of time with his nephews and brother but less since you had moved together in a house farther down the neighborhood. And also, he was often away since he had integrated one of the best baseball team of the country. So, Christmas was a great way to be reunited all together.

-        You would spend the whole day in family, playing the snow with your nephews, obviously Merill would start a snowball fight, and he was the best at it, great aim and great strength especially when you received it right in the face. And you, on your side struggled to reach your target, and you couldn’t even run after him to get closer, he ran damn fast! At least your nephews laughed a lot at this. Afterwards, you would make a snowman competition, you and Abigail against Merill and Morgan, and Graham, would decide of the winners and it was your team who won, and the price was extra cookies.  

 -        Merill and Graham would go shopping while you watched after the children, who didn’t know at all that Santa was shopping. And in the meantime, with your nephews you would get the many boxes of decoration out of the basement and decorate the whole house so that that they would have the surprise when they come back. Though you would leave the nativity scene to Graham and his children, it was very important for them.

 -        In the meantime, the two brothers would not only buy the gifts but also food for the dinner, a menu that everyone had composed together. You had already your gift for Merill, a sled and a few DVDs of his favorite movies, as for him he would get you a tartan rug and the finest chocolates he could find, he knew how much you loved chocolate so he didn’t look at the price.

 -        For the Christmas tree you would all go together to pick it up, the children wanted the biggest one and Merill was always part of the children when it came to the Christmas tree. You and Graham would be more rational and manage to calm them down a bit and get them to chose one that would fit in the living room and 6’7 wasn’t bad at all.

 -        After playing a while outside and being frozen now, you would get to cooking, a great way to warm up again. Of course, the children were learning to cook so they participated in the elaboration of the dinner, it was a joyful moment where everyone had their importance and helped. Stuffed turkey, carrots, potatoes and an apple pie for dessert and everything in big portions because of the two growing up and the sportsman that was Merill.

 -        The night would be full of laughter and joy, after dinner you would settle by the fire and you tell Christmas tales with Graham while the three others were sitting crossed legged and listening to you, the little ones snuggled against their uncle. And then, all together you would watch Disney Christmas cartoons, there was nothing better to relax and dream of the wonderful gifts you would get tomorrow. After putting your nephews to bed, you and Merill would sleep back in his old room, reminding you of good memories, when you had started dating and your first time making love with him, it was very nice to spend Christmas here and you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

 -        The next morning, you would be awakened by your nephews, running in the corridor and shouting that Santa had come and that many gifts were waiting to be unwrapped. You chuckled, thinking of Graham who had waited for them to be asleep to put the gifts underneath the tree. You wouldn’t take breakfast first, they were too impatient, and they didn’t seem very hungry, preferring to test their gifts together, including Merill with his sled, he could finally compete with his nephews as the big child he could be. But before you would convince them to eat their giant breakfast so they could play for hours in the snow.

Freddie Quell 

-        It’s not that Freddie didn’t like Christmas, but he never celebrated it in a normal way, from his terrible childhood to Christmas in the army which was mostly a lot of drinking and sex. So, in a way, this would be his first real Christmas, with you and his family-in-law.

 -        He would let you completely guide him through Christmas eve and day. He was a bit grumpy at first because he was frustrated; he wanted to fit in and understand how to do things right. He wanted you to be happy with your man.

 -        So, it would be best if you spent Christmas eve, just the two of you; Take baby steps with Freddie and tomorrow spend Christmas with your family where he would have to bear the shitty jokes of your uncle. You would take him outside to walk hands in hands a look at the store fronts especially decorated for Christmas, just to show him the colors and decorations, the joy of the adults and children looking at it, in short introduce him to the Christmas atmosphere. You wouldn’t stay for too long because you knew he couldn’t stand still and had a limited patience but still, you were pleasantly surprised by how calm he was, a boyish smile forming on his lips sometimes, it was great step forward and you were eager to spend this day with him.  

 -        He would be the first to suggest going inside the shops and buy a few decorations for your house. Though, once inside he would be a bit overwhelmed by the crowd but also the crazy choice there was. He wouldn’t let go of your hand as you took him through the various alleys, he would be rather undecided about the color to pick, so you went for blue and gold, and he help you to pick up the shape and designs of the garlands and bulbs. And he was happy to carry out all the bags.  

 -        “Do you need to go to another shop for a gift?” you asked him once outside of that shop “No, I actually have it already.” He replied looking away, he had his gifts for you for a while because he had taken great care to choose something that would fit, he had gotten you a dress and expensive perfume. You would look at him excitedly, the way he took care of you was always very attractive to you “Well, Mister Quell if you could wait for me in the car, I have one more thing to buy…” your murmured giving him a sensual kiss on the lips, he would chuckle already knowing how it would end once at home but also happy that you were about to buy his gift, a nice kit to make cocktails and expensive alcohol that he would savor with you, reasonably.  

 -        You would stay home, you thought he would want to go to the restaurant but actually he preferred to be alone with you and have no distractions. You would decorate the house together, while he actually sang the Christmas songs everyone sang on the vessel, it was joyful songs and it was nice hear Freddie sing, it was an aspect of him you encouraged to come out. And while he finished decorating you cooked the fabulous dinner you would share, and which remained classic. Though soon you would feel his arms wrap around your waist and his lips tracing kisses along you neck; he couldn’t help it, whatever you did, you were sexy.

 -        Freddie was an unpredictable man and full of surprises. When you thought you would spend the evening in his arms at home, he would actually take you to the rooftop of a building and you didn’t understand why until a firework started and he had brought you where you would have the best view on it. Your eyes were shining all along and you snuggled in Freddie’s arms as you watch the show with him. And you would conclude the night by making love there, at the risk of getting a cold, but you didn’t care. In the end, it was Freddie who guided you through an amazing Christmas.

Ray Elwood

-        Ray wouldn’t get a long permission for Christmas holidays, but at least he got a few days because you two were engaged. He was excited to spend Christmas outside of the base and with you, he had missed you so much, so much time away from you, only able to write to you or call you without being able to see you or hold you in his arms; he had missed you terribly and that was more important to him than celebrating Christmas.

 -        When you reached Germany, you had no idea of how your holidays with Ray would go, it was your first time in Europe and he had given you absolutely no indications of the program, if there was one. And that’s because he had a big surprise for you. You don’t know how much time it lasted when you embraced each other at the airport but to feel his warmth, his scent wrapped around you, his lips on yours, it was the best Christmas gift you could ever receive. After that, he would bring you to the base to introduce you to his friends and also to his boss, who had become a friend in a way, but a friend he also used to do his little business. After, he hadn’t been sent here for nothing but what could you do? You couldn’t stop loving him, and as far as you knew, he didn’t kill anyone, so that was good.

 -        And he would be really proud to show his beautiful fiancée to everyone, showing that you were real and a real knockout who was engaged to him. And his buddies were really nice and fun, they made you feel comfortable in this place full of men. However, once you two were alone again, he took out of his jacket two plane tickets for Paris “Spoiler alert, that’s your Christmas gift, a couple of days together in Paris.” He revealed to you, he had more than enough money for it and he wanted to spoil you, and he knew Paris was one of your dreams. You would be speechless, what a wonderful surprise “I prefer to tell you that my gift won’t be so crazy.” You chuckled, your eyes wet with emotion “Don’t worry baby, you are my gift.” He would reassure you, filling your face with kisses.

 -        And once in Paris, you realized Ray had really gone crazy, a superb hotel room, already decorated and even with Christmas tree in it, and gifts from the hotel like chocolates and perfumes. Though, you didn’t visit the city first, as soon as the door of the bedroom was closed and that the effect of surprise had passed, you literally jumped on Ray, the both ending making love passionately, again and again until you were satisfied, actually it didn’t change much from previous Christmas, there was always a lot of sex involved, for your greatest pleasure.

 -        And to make up for lost time, Ray would have the great idea to book a table on a barge on the Seine, it would enable the both of you to see the most beautiful monuments of the city, beautifully lit during the night and while you ate a typical French Christmas dinner and of course with great wine and champagne.

 -        After dinner, you would get off the boat and go watch the beautiful and famous store fronts of the Gallerie Lafayette incredibly decorated for Christmas, Paris was just amazingly decorated and the Christmas atmosphere was very present, it was perfect. Then, you would manage to convince Ray to go Ice skating with you, and after a few kisses and puppy eyes, he wouldn’t be able to resist and would just agree. The truth is that he was really bad at it and fell all the time on his behind, you were pretty much the same, but that’s where the fun was, trying to skate decently without falling. And the both of you would end up laughing a lot, clinging onto each other and ending up falling on each other.  

 -        The day had been exhausting but worth it, it was the best Christmas holidays you ever had, and it was only starting, you still had a few days more with your fiancée. And despite exhaustion you would make love again, the Christmas atmosphere in the bedroom making it even more magical. And Ray had to admit that it really gave him the Christmas spirit and with you he was really enjoying this celebration.  And even more so when he woke up the next morning and found underneath the Christmas tree a gift for him, he picked it up and went back in the bed to open it next to you. It wasn’t something big and flashy but it had more value to his eyes, you had made a photo album of you and him, all the pictures you took together since you were together and at the end of it you had included sexy pictures of you that you had made just for him; he would have a big smile, he was loving Christmas.

Also you my dear readers, tell me with which of these characters you would prefer to celebrate Christmas with!!

Tag list: @hopelessdisasterr @skaravile @lyoongx @weirdflecksbutok @beautifulyoungprospect @stellargirlie @rosebloodstuffandthangss @clowndaddyfleck @jaylovesbats @niniitah-ah @dreamingmaria @sagyunaro @just-a-fucking-comedy @spaceinvader @radio-hoo-ha @lady-carnivals-stuff @sierraclegane @legojorny @lemondedeniname @hvproductions @syvellsworld @charlie-sisters @papercut-paranoia @jokerflecker @cigznvalentines @help-i-am-obssessed @arthurfleckjoker2019 @theartistdetective @soulsdontbreaktheybeeend @fleckcmscott @obssessedandthirsty @ridiculousnerd @stardancerluv @sgtsavoytruffle @welcometomyhiddlesfandom @sanguinandoscrivo @valentina15 @phoenixbaby88 @captain-el-writes @thedamchii @ninathefandomcollector @kiddastle @lovesickforjoaqvin @joaquins-angel @alexsportello @ohcarlesmycarles @rajacero @bring-your-holy-water   @rajacero @morrisonmercuryphoenix @fly-like-a-phoenix @the-joaq-is-extra

[tcsauaskblog]

*twiddles fingers* I was toying with the idea of doing some fanart for tcs because I'm so in love with the au. Did Donald ever give Daisy like a necklace or jewelry of any kind that she'd keep forever? I have this whole sappy scene in my head after they reconnect in their 30's and she still has it/wears it.

OhhhhhhhhHHHHH I always love some good fanart! Donald couldn’t really afford to give Daisy any material gifts when they were together, like jewelry or love letters or stuff like that, but what he DID do, was give her flowers. Lots of flowers. And I’m not talking about store-bought bouquets. Nah nah nah, I’m talking about wild purple lupines in the spring, and Calisota buttercups and poppies. Morning glories and tidy tips and blue-eyed grass he’d find growing on the side of the road, Donald would pick these flowers, make tiny little bouquets tied together with bluestem grass, and give them to her whenever he’d visit. And it was hardly some grand gesture or show of affection. It was simply that he saw something pretty, and thought “Daisy would like this too” and would share his little treasure and bring her a tiny handful, and Daisy thought it was the most romantic thing in the world. So much so that she’d keep a single flower from each bouquet, and press them into one of her diaries, so that she’d always remember the little things. The tiny little moments that meant that absolute world to her. 

And for the first time in a long time, she thinks of the once young duck that used to make her laugh with that crooked grin of his, his blue eyes flashing with something brilliant and electric and heart-catching, and wonders with a fondness that is grown and mature, how he’s doing. 

She kept that diary even long after they had broken up, and sometimes, after a long work trip or day, she’d sit down in her pajamas, put on some old bluegrass song she used to listen to on repeat a forgotten amount of summer nights ago, and flip through the tiny diary from her teen years, and let the memories wash over her. 

She remembers every flower, even if some of their smells or colors have faded away over time, and it does something funny to her heart. Looking at the book now, after almost 15 years after their breakup, doesn’t bring out the same hurt like it used to. When she was 23, and was so sure she was gonna spend the rest of her life with his wild-haired, blue-eyed country duck from the boonies. When she was 23, and so in love, when that same country duck broke her heart and left her devastated and inconsolable for days. 23, and thinking she was never gonna find real love like that again, so she doesn’t even try, as she wipes her eyes and locks up her heart with steel chains and pours her whole self into her work, so that she can forget about all the pain and heartache and misery and how much she truly, truly, loved that little diary filled with pressed flowers and pressed memories.

Well, she’s not 23 anymore. Her heart is still locked up, but the chains are slack and rusted, and the tension in her once stiff shoulders ease when she flips through the pages with the utmost care. She has on more than one occasion thought to burn or throw away the book altogether in her once young and spiteful rage. She’s glad she never went through with it. Losing the memories behind the wild lupines and morning glories would have probably made her sadder than the break up ever did. 

If he’s eating well. Sleeping well. If he talks to his uncle. If he ever made up with his uncle after what happened to Della.

Della. And her boys.

He figured she deserved more than that. It was because he loved her. And because he loved her, he let her go. 

It took many years before Daisy realized why Donald had broken up with her. Too many years, to piece together all the signs behind the impromptu separation, that neither of them wanted. Because of COURSE, Donald didn’t want to break up with her. He was just in love with her as much as she was with him. Daisy was sure of that, despite everything else. She was sure that Donald loved her.

And it was because he loved that he broke up with her.

Her career was taking off. Finishing college with top marks in design and fashion, a job opportunity had sprung up in Paris, her dream city, for a position in marketing and showing off her products. It was a dream come true. A one and a million chance. She knew it was.

And she also knew that she couldn’t take it. Because that would mean leaving Donald. And she couldn’t do that. Not ever. Donald knew it too.

Donald, who was 23 too, and had never gone to college. Donald, who was working two minimum wage jobs, living in a rundown houseboat he could barely afford, and now the sole guardian of three baby ducklings he had no idea how to raise. He was overwhelmed and overtired and way in over his head always.

Daisy had an opportunity to soar above and beyond the stars. Donald saw that, and saw that he wasn’t going anywhere. Not to the stars. Not to Paris. Not with three kids. Not with no money and no education and certainly not with anymore more than what he had on him. Which was only the shirt on his back and the love in his heart. Donald had always thought Daisy deserved the sun and moon and all the stars in the night sky. He couldn’t ever give her anything more than his heart.

And it was so stupid when Daisy had figured it out. He had been so vague about the whole thing. Just made it a dirty breakup, without explaining himself other than they couldn’t be together anymore, that they were through. Made himself seem like the biggest jerk and coward in the world, and Daisy had called him one. Called him a hundred other worse names too. She was so angry, and hurt, and confused, and took it out on him, and he took it silently. Not meeting her eyes. Not even arguing back.

She figured he’d wanted it that way. Figured it might have been easier on her if she took it all out on him, made him the big bad guy, and be able to move on with her life without someone like him in it. 

It took Daisy years to figure out that he was probably hurting much more than she ever did. His heart was breaking long before hers ever would. 

Pulling out one of the pressed nightshades and smelling it, she wonders about him. About the young duck that used to bring her wild spring flowers, and hopes he’s doing well. She hopes that his heart stopped breaking at the thought of her, of them, like hers did. 

And she hopes he’s happy. Happy with the life he created for himself. Happy in the wonderful life he deserves. And she hopes he’s loved, by whoever is in his life right now. Loved for all his worth. Loved as much as she had loved him. He deserved that much. He’s always deserved at the very least, that much.

[yungidreamer]

Generosity

Summary:  The Christmas holidays come and San joins her and her family for the holiday celebrations. He is made to feel like one of the family while Yunho and Mingi have their own celebrations at home. After the big day, Mingi is invited over to Yunho's so he can get away from his family and the boys plan a naughty show for their girl.

word count: 9.5k

Content warnings: Warm family stuff, mourning the things you wish you had, car sex, anal sex, a little bit of consensual exhibitionism and voyeurism, and a little bit of angst about not always having the love and the family that everyone deserves to have.

“Honey, it’s time to get up!” Her mother’s voice drifted through the door to her sleepy ears. It had taken her so long to fall asleep last night. Really, there wasn’t a good reason for it. She had even gone to bed early. It was Christmas Eve and she was actually looking forward to Christmas. San was staying over, finally agreeing when her father insisted that he come when his dad, again, went out of town over the holiday period.

It had been fun to have him around, not only because he was fun to hang around with in general, but because he was actually really good with her brother. Jacob was in that weird teenage period of his life where everyone in the family was just too uncool and none of them could possibly understand the things he liked and the things they liked, well, he would never give them a chance. But somehow, San could be cool. Jacob liked San. He liked having him there and seemed to think that they were on the same team. Really, it was fucking adorable.

In the couple of days before he came over she and her mother had gone shopping for a few things to put under the tree for him. Her mother had picked out a few items of clothing of the same sort that she had gotten for her own kids, as well as some things for school like a nice pen and a day planner. She had gotten him a tub of that bubbly face mask and a couple of sheet masks for him to use when he was back at school by himself. She also bought him a gift card for a music service and an IOU for a bus ticket to visit them sometime next semester. Her father had gotten him a new leather wallet, saying it was the sort of thing all adult men should really have.

She spent the evening before he arrived making sure that it was all wrapped and properly tagged. The thing from her father she put his name on, the clothes came from Santa as they always did, school supplies from mom, and the facemask, IOU, and gift card were from her. The presents were tucked in alongside all the others to be put out under the tree after everyone went to bed on Christmas Eve.

San arrived on the day before Christmas Eve and was immediately understood where she had gotten her instinct for cozy places. It was very apparent they were a Christmas sort of people. Their house had been warm and welcoming over Thanksgiving, with a nice atmosphere and plenty of food to be had, but the house itself had just looked like, well, a nice house. Between now and then it felt a little like elves had stopped by to make every corner just a little more festive. Christmas knick knacks were put on every shelf and sill and a massive Christmas tree had been put in front of the big picture window at the front of the house, making it visible to anyone who passed by.

It was really the small details that hit him though. If you didn’t look too closely, it looked like one of those pleasant cottagey sorts of homes that were picture perfect in their homey mismatched decor, but when he looked a little closer, it was far more authentic than that description would credit. On the hearth were an assortment of figures, small and made from porcelain, each different from each other. One was a little bassinet on a sled with the words Baby’s First Christmas. When he picked it up he could see her birth year on the back and a small chip on the base on one side. There was another Baby’s First Christmas from a few years later, obviously for Jacob’s first Christmas. A third was Our First Christmas. They were all mementos of important years, important moments in their lives.

The large fake tree they had was covered with a hodgepodge of ornaments that were everything from enamel baubles, to stained glass pieces, to popular characters, to animated scenes that encapsulated holiday moments or stories. As he looked through them he could see that they were all dated and named and had been collected over the course of the last couple of decades. 

It was interesting, he could see the personalities of each of the members come out in their choices. Her mother liked things that were beautiful and artistic. Her ornaments included a sparkling star of stained glass, a large three dimensional heart made of enamel which was decorated with a wreath of holly around its middle, and something that looked like a hollow sugar egg filled with a sparkling winter scene.

Her father seemed to like somewhat simple and straightforward ornaments. His included a globe shaped ball of wood, covered with an inlaid design of the star and the three wise men. Another was a small wreath decorated with small balls of various colors that reflected the lights of the tree when it was set in its branches. Perhaps San’s favorite  of his was the bubble-like iridescent glass ball that had three smaller glass balls set inside of it. It was just eye catching, how it caught the light, when you finally noticed it.

Jacob’s ornaments were mostly reflective of his likes, full of super heroes, book characters, and animals. They were expressive and lively, much like the kid himself. Really, his were probably the easiest to pick out as almost all of them were only incidentally Christmasy: Superman carrying a wreath, a puppy ripping open some presents, Harry Potter on a broom with his wand out. He was clearly following the family tradition, but not because of a special like of the holiday which seemed apparent in the choices made by everyone else.

She seemed to love things that were animated, seasonal, and nostalgically captured moments. There were a number of ornaments with little moving parts like a mouse on the pendulum inside of a little clock or a kitten that rocked as it played with an ornament near a hearth. She also loved little lit scenes like a gingerbread like house that had windows that lit up with bright orangey light from the inside. So many of them were little places and little moments you wanted to step inside and live in their coziness.

He loved it and it was all just so...them. Christmas had always been fun and warm at home but a little more formal, planned, and stilted. They had their traditions and way of doing things, but, he supposed, thinking back at it now, his parents had been in a world of their own and he had happily been along for the ride. It was probably what had made the loss of his mother so hard for his father. They had their world, their way of doing things, their household. It hurt a little to confront but he couldn’t change it. He could, however, do better himself when he found someone and had kids of his own. He wanted to make a place where everyone felt loved and welcome, like her family had done for him.

On Christmas Eve, the whole family, San included, had gathered in the living room to watch their favorite Christmas movie. Their dad put in the DVD of A Muppet Christmas Carol, while her mom got out the large tub of flavored popcorns they always got from the school fundraiser. She recommended the caramel kettle corn to San and he had been right, it was pretty good, as was the cheesy version which her brother was very fond of. They watched the movie, singing along with the songs, and it was apparent that all of them had watched it many, many times and would happily do so in years to come. When the movie was over, they had all gone to bed to let Santa come and so that everyone could get up bright and early to start Christmas.

San had curled up in his bed in the study and fallen asleep quickly in the warm comfort of the house. Jacob was happy to go to his room, but spent a few hours reading before he actually went to sleep. Her parents were quick and efficient in their preparations, laying out all the presents and setting out the stuff that would just make the morning go faster when it came. She, on the other hand, tried to go to sleep, but instead tossed and turned, feeling lonely without the arms of the boys there to hold her as she was going to sleep. She did finally fall asleep after a few hours, but still slept fitfully as she still reached for them even in her sleep.

When morning came and her mother roused her from her bed, she climbed out and headed to the living room to join the rest of her family. She ran into San in the hallway along the way and they walked down the hallway arm in arm to the dining room table. Everyone picked up their portion of sticky buns and a cup of cider or coffee and headed into the living room to eat around the tree. While her mom had warmed up the baked goods in the oven, her father had laid a fire in the fireplace, turned on the tree, and put on some quiet Christmas music to make the mood.

It was the best Christmas morning San could have hoped for. He sat himself beside her, laughing and chatting with her as they ate the little morning snack for breakfast. She looked tired and her hair was still a little bit of a mess, having come out without having done her hair to join the family for the homey holiday morning. He gave her a hug with one arm around her shoulders and mussed her hair affectionately.

“Hey, I’m already looking messed up enough, I don’t need any help with it,” she joked, lightly smacking his hands away.

“You look cute,” San assured her. “I should take a picture for the boys. I bet they would love it.”

“No need,” she laughed. “They get to see this all the time. Tired me, looking like a mess.”

“I doubt they have gotten tired of it or something,” San assured her. “One sec, I’ll be right back.” San got up and made his way back to his room, getting his phone before coming back out. He wanted to get pictures and he wanted to share this Christmas experience with his friends and her lovers. He took a couple of photos of the breakfast buns that were left in the pan in case anyone wanted another before he headed into the living room again. Before she noticed, San snapped a couple of pictures of her on the floor near the tree as she ate and sipped her coffee. She looked cute and small, sitting cross legged on the floor near the tree not far from her parents. Her brother was stretched out on the couch behind their parents.

“Okay everyone,” Her mom sat forward, setting aside her cup of coffee. “Let’s open presents.” She reached under the tree and started sifting through the packages there and pulling something out for everyone, San included, much to his surprise.

“You didn’t think we’d forget about you, did you?” She said, elbowing him playfully as he drew up beside her.

“You didn’t have to, you know,” He said softly, bumping his head into hers gently.

“Merry Christmas, bub,” she told him, pulling him into a real hug. “Just remember, you’re the oldest kid here now.”

“Of course,” San gave a sudden and heartfelt laugh. “I hope you’re ready to have an overprotective brother.”

“Uh-oh, I take it back,” she chuckled as she pulled back.

“Nope, too late,” San shook his head as mischief sparkled in his eyes, that’s what it was, definitely not tears, that was for sure.

“Okay Jacob, you can open first,” her mother said, starting the process that allowed everyone to take turns as they opened presents and thanked the giver for what they had received. The turns went for as many rounds as there were presents left for people to open. The numbers of presents were pretty even all around, with her and Jacob being the last two who had a couple of extra things they went through quickly.

San looked at the little pile of presents in front of him and felt a rush of gratitude and a poignant spike of admiration for the people who had invited him into their closest moments. Nothing there was particularly expensive, except maybe the wallet, but he really couldn’t tell, however, it was the sort of basic necessities or fun things family got for each other to make sure you had what you needed and could have fun now and again too. He hadn’t really had time to get them anything before he came over and it also hadn’t crossed his mind. It probably should have, he told himself with an internal sigh. If he comes again another year, he promised himself, he will definitely get some next time.

With presents opened, it was time for everyone to throw themselves into the project of Christmas dinner. There was a lot to be done, but between mom and dad’s co-delegation of the work to everyone, all the jobs were started that would get dinner on the table by around three in the afternoon. Everyone had a job or two they needed to do and had a place to start. Not everything needed to be done at the same time, but most things could be done ahead, even if they couldn’t be cooked until later.

With everyone working and cheery holiday instrumentals playing on speakers through the house, it was actually fun to take part in and San felt like he could at least be useful. He stood with her at the counter, peeling potatoes then chopping them up to be boiled in a couple of hours.

“How did your mom know what size I wear,” San poked at her as they worked.

“I did your laundry, remember,” she teased. “I know all of your sizes now.”

“Sneaky,” he admitted. “I’ll remember this and treat any interest you have in me and my stuff with the deepest suspicion.” He gave her an over dramatic suspicious look that sent her into a fit of snickers that drew looks from everyone else in the kitchen.

“What’s so funny,” her father asked, coming up behind them and checking on their progress.

“He’s going to be suspicious of me and my detective skills from now on since I remembered his clothing sizes from doing his laundry,” she told him with a note of pride.

“That’s my girl,” he said kissing the top of his daughter’s head. “Too smart of all of our good.”

“I’m guessing she got that from somewhere,” San gave him a suspicious look as her father took the large pot of potatoes.

“Don’t look at me for that,” her father advised. “Her mother is terrifying in how she remembers the strangest things.”

“Only because no one else in this house remembers where they leave anything,” her mother joined the conversation and gave all the other members of her family an expressive glare.

“Hey, I’ve gotten way better at all of that stuff,” she protested her mother’s characterization.

“I’m sure looking after those two boys has contributed to that,” her mother put a hand on her hip.

“I...say nothing,” she settled on as an answer, not  wanting to give her the satisfaction of admitting she might be right. San bit his lip at the scene and wondered if Yunho and Mingi might have objected to the characterization.

“Can I come over tomorrow?” Mingi asked Yunho when he called him late on Christmas night, after everyone in his house had gone to bed.

“I...I think so,” Yunho sat up a little straighter in bed at Mingi’s tight voice. “Is everything okay?”

“I just hate everything here,” he stood near the window in his room wishing that he was back at their home, even if he had to be there alone. “My dad can’t not pick at things and he keeps asking me why I only got B’s in two classes on my midterms. Never mind the three A’s I got.”

“Don’t let it get to you,” Yunho told him, knowing that it was easier said than done. “I’m proud of you, love. You’re so smart and you work hard. It’s one of the many things I love about you.”

“I love you, too,” Mingi said in a small voice. “I miss you. And I miss her. I miss home.”

“I wish you could just have spent Christmas here with me,” Yunho sighed. “Mom asked about you. She was wondering how both of you are doing. I told her you did so well and that you studied so hard. She was proud of you.”

“I’ll remember to thank her when I see her,” Mingi gave a half laugh. “You’re so lucky to have your mom.”

“I know,” Yunho admitted, casting a glance in the direction of her room where he knew she was sleeping. “My mom has always been good at making sure I knew she loved me even if she isn’t always good at loving herself enough.”

“What did you get for Christmas, anyway?” Mingi asked him, thinking of a happier direction for their conversation.

“Mostly clothes,” Yunho shrugged. “But I also got a new laptop for classes. She was worried that the old one wasn’t working so well and had gotten too slow.”

“Oh I got a new laptop, too,” Mingi responded. “But they also got me a new console, a new phone, and some gift cards for games as well as all the clothes and stuff.”

“Wow, you made bank,” Yunho gave a low whistle.

“Yeah,” Mingi admitted. “I usually get a lot of stuff, but I don’t know… it’s never anything that I really ask for.”

“I wanted to thank you again for the suit,” Yunho told him warmly. “Mom really loves it. I wore it for Christmas dinner even though it was just me and Mom. You would have loved to see her face. I can’t wait to give you what I got you for Christmas.”

“I wish we had had more time with just us,” Mingi admitted. “I wish we had gotten to do our own Christmas before we headed home.”

“Yeah, but it was also really nice having our friends around, even if the reason they ended up over was kind of weird,” Yunho pointed out.

“Yeah,” Ming agreed with a smile. “It was really fun to have all of them over. Did San send you all the pictures he took of their Christmas, too?”

“He did and it looks like he had so much fun,” Yunho giggled. “I’m honestly a little jealous. He got to have so much fun with our girl. I wish it could have been us. At least San shared it with us.”

“Yeah and I am glad he isn’t alone,” Mingi shrugged, having felt closer to being alone than he really wanted to admit.

“I’ll tell mom you are coming over in the morning when I get up,” Yunho told him. “Come by in the afternoon when you can.”

“Okay,” Mingi sighed. “Just call me if she isn’t okay with me coming over or something.”

“She’ll be so glad to see you,” Yunho assured him. “I can’t wait to see you.”

“I...I love you,” Mingi cast an eye to his bedroom door, suddenly self conscious. “See you tomorrow.”

“Love you and sleep well,” Yunho told him gently.

“Night.”

“Night.”

The day after Christmas Mingi found himself on Yunho’s doorstep, standing nervously holding the little gift he had gotten for Yunho’s mom. He had actually gotten it when he bought Yunho’s gift himself, running across a holiday kiosk shop with all sorts of little things. He had spotted the small snow globe with the polar bear chorus inside and somehow he had thought of her. Inside was a trio of them, holding sheet music in books, with little red and white scarves wrapped around their necks. It had made him smile and seemed sweet like the little woman who had somehow given birth to the giant that Yunho had grown into.

She answered the door, pulling Mingi inside with a warm hug and happy greetings. Her home was small and a little worn but always warm. She helped him hang up his coat and stow his boots on the mat near the door.

“Oh you look so handsome,” she cooed, keeping him slightly hunched from his hug so she could get a good look at his face.

“Thank you, Ms. Jeong,” Mingi beamed at her.

“Oh honey, you can just call me mom,” she corrected. “I’m so happy to see you. Come and tell me about how you have been doing. How was school? Are you seeing anyone?”

“Mom, I already told you all of that,” Yunho sighed and shook his head at his mother.

“Well maybe you don’t know everything,” she waved her finger at her son. “Maybe I also just want to hear it from him, too.” Mingi happily took a seat with her on the old, worn corduroy couch and answered her questions about how he was and what it was that he had been doing since she had seen him last. She was happy to see him looking healthy, though she wasn’t sure he was eating enough.

“I’m sure that both of you have gotten at least an inch taller and two inches skinner since Thanksgiving,” she shook her head as she looked Mingi up and down. 

“I actually think I’m gaining weight,” Mingi said, his hands going to his stomach he was sure was getting a little pooch to it.

“No,” she dismissed. “You are still such an adorable skinny boy like my Yunho.”

“Mom, we are fine and we are eating plenty,” Yunho hugged her from behind. “In fact, you can see us eat plenty now if we pull out some leftovers.”

“Oh yes,” she nodded, getting up and heading to the kitchen. Christmas in the Jeong household was less extravagant than at the Song household, but the heart and soul that went into her food always was apparent. She took the time to score and baste the ham and always made a gravy with the drippings that came off. Her yams were always sweet and the marshmallows on top were always perfectly toasted. Mingi was pretty sure that her stuffing was his favorite dish. It was always perfectly spiced and fluffy with just the right amount of walnut crunch mixed in.

They piled leftovers on their plates and stuck them in the microwave to reheat everything before they sat around the small round table in the dining room. She kept the warm conversation going as they ate, listening to the boys talk about school, their interests, the food, and anything else. She loved the smile that her son always got when he joked with Mingi. It was when he seemed happiest. Well with him or her or, better yet, the both of them. Her son had always been a little quiet, a little shy and that had made it a little hard for him to make friends over the years. He had found some and lost some and had never been alone, but the way she had seen him flourish with their friendship had made her so happy and proud. He had gotten so confident and so comfortable in his own skin in a way she had only hoped he would be someday. She hoped that it would just last, even if they all went different ways. After all, it was so easy to think that life as it was now, at their age, would always stay the same.

When they were done, the boys volunteered to wash the dishes and let her relax a little, but she took the chance to pull out the little present she had been saving for Mingi. He usually came by over the breaks and, even if he hadn’t, she could have always sent Yunho back with the little thing. That was probably what she would have to do with her gift for her. She didn’t take it personally that their girl didn’t make it every holiday. Her family was much more serious about spending the time together and her family was also much more...pleasant (she said diplomatically even in her head) to be around. She knew what the two boys meant to her and she was always lovely when she did find the time to come by.

When she came back out, the boys were just finishing with the dishes, drying the last two plates before putting them back in the cabinets. She waited for them to be done before she beckoned them both back into the living room. Sitting down in the seat nearest the glow of the lights on the tree, she patted the seat next to her, inviting the boy to sit beside her.

“Oh, one second,” he said when he saw the little gift in her lap. He took big loping steps back to where his coat hung and fished into one of the pockets to pull out his small gift for her. The proud and happy smile on his face as he came back carrying that little package meant more than anything that could be inside it. She loved to see Mingi when he was filled with joy and confidence, especially when she thought of the awkward anxious boy she had first met. He thought he had hid it so well with the way he squared his shoulders, jutted out his chin, and would make boasts. But the boy here, on her couch was brimming with confidence by comparison and she couldn’t have been more proud.

“Here, I got this for you, too,” he handed her the box before accepting her gift.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” she scolded, patting his knee with affection.

“I know, but I thought of you when I saw it,” he shrugged, giving her a shy look as his eyes traveled down to the gift from her in his lap.

“Open it,” she encouraged. Mingi nodded and ripped into the paper eagerly. Inside was a little graphic novel he recognised as the latest volume of one of his favorite series. He hadn’t been keeping up with it since he had gone off to school with as much as he had been focusing on classes.

“I thought you might have gotten it for yourself so there is a gift receipt inside and you can get something else if you have it or if you are tired of this series,” she explained anxiously. “I just remember you used to read these and this one only came out a couple of months ago.”

“I don’t have it yet, and thank you,” he leaned over and pulled her into a hug. “I love it but I hadn’t even realized this was out yet.”

“I’m so glad you like it,” she glowed at him, patting the arms that embraced her. “Merry Christmas, my dear.”

“You should open yours,” Mingi said excitedly, pulling back again.

“Oh, of course,” she looked at the box in her lap. It was heavier than she would have guessed for the size and was actually curious what he had gotten her. She opened the paper carefully, picking at the tape so that she could save the pretty paper that he had put on her gift. Under the paper she found a plain cardboard box which she turned over until she found a side that looked like the top, thanks to the little divot on one side where the top tucked in. Finally she peered inside to find a fist sized glass globe. She slid it out of the box and smiled as she finally got a good look at it.

“Oh Mingi, I love it,” she said softly.

“Look, it also plays music,” Mingi took it from her hands and turned the little key set in the base. He wound it until it couldn’t any more and then turned it right before letting it go. Faint strains of I’ll Be Home for Christmas as little flecks of glitter swirled in the liquid around the little polar bears inside.

“A perfect song,” She grinned up at him. “And you thought of me when you saw it. I am so touched, sweetie.”

“You like it?” He asked, his whole face lighting up with his smile.

“It’s wonderful,” she assured him, giving the globe another swish to stir up the glitter again. “Thank you so much. I’ll treasure it.”

“I’m...I’m so happy you like it,” Mingi said as he watched her wind it one more time, before putting it in a safe place on the entertainment center.

“I’ll see it there,” she decided. “I’ll keep it safe with the other Christmas decorations when I put them away. But I already can’t wait to get it out again next year.”

Be in bed by 11, we have a surprise for you 💞

The message came through to her phone not long before dinner. A little piece of her hated them for sending the message then. Now she had to wait for hours to find out what they had planned for her. Curiosity niggled at her the whole evening, leaving her distracted over dinner and not following the conversation unless someone said her name.

“Everything okay?” San asked quietly, after having to nudge her to bring her attention back to the conversation happening around her.

“Yeah, just distracted,” she gave him an apologetic smile, making him laugh and shake his head. San could guess, especially by the way she kept checking her phone, just who was on her mind. He had sympathy for her but he still couldn’t help finding it funny. He honestly couldn’t help but wonder what her parents would think if they knew the arrangement. They’d probably get over eventually but it would be a battle. Their sense of how things ought to be would be a hurdle to their acceptance.

By 10:30 she was checking her watch and giving exaggerated yawns as she set the stage to go to bed more than an hour before she would have usually, given that it was very much still a holiday and she could still sleep late and while away the day doing whatever relaxing thing she wanted. So far she had read three books she had been meaning to read and watched half a drama with San, who was a master at snappy commentary about the story and characters. They would definitely be able to finish it before they went back and she was having lots of fun with it. San had actually made being at home without the boys way easier than it would have been otherwise.

“I’m gonna head to bed,” she stretched as she stood up and made her announcement to the room casually. “I’ll probably read a little before I actually sleep, but I’m going to go ahead and lie down.”

“Okay honey,” her mother said, looking up from her cross stitching she had in her hands. “See you in the morning.”

“Sleep well,” her father said lightly.

“I think I’ll head to bed, too,” San said, standing up from his seat near her.

“Have a good night,” her mother said to San. He nodded to both of them before following her back towards their rooms.

“Tell the boys I say hi,” San said playfully just before he ducked into the guest room. She flashed him a warning glare mixed with humor as she watched him before she slipped into her own room. Locking her door, just to be safe, she changed into her pajamas and got into bed with her phone and headphones.

I’m in bed, she messaged, biting her lip in anticipation as she sent it. Expecting to wait for a little while, she closed the app and turned on some music to listen to while she tried to stay busy. The video call that interrupted her after only about thirty seconds surprised her, though perhaps it shouldn’t have, after all, she wasn’t the only one who had been looking forward to this for hours.

“Hi babe,” Mingi said, his face taking up half the screen next to Yunho’s, both peering at her from a dark space she couldn’t place.

“Hey loves,” she said quietly, making sure her voice wouldn’t carry outside of her room. “What are you two doing together?”

“I visited Yunho today,” Mingi confessed, casting a grateful look to the other boy. “He invited me over so that I could get out of the house.”

“That was sweet,” She gave them both warm smiles. “But you aren’t still there. Where are you two?”

“In the car,” Yunho chuckled, turning the camera around so she could see they were parked somewhere secluded, surrounded mostly by snow.

“What are you doing out there?” She questioned with a giggle. “Why are you out there in the cold?”

“We wanted to do something...give you a little show,” Mingi replied mischievously, coming close to the camera as he spoke.

“A show?” She repeated, feeling a blush rising on her cheeks at the thought.

“Have you been missing us?” Yunho looked into the camera flirtatiously. 

“Of course,” she sighed, feeling a little tingle rising in her stomach.

“We’ve missed you,” Yunho continued, slipping an arm around Mingi’s shoulders. “Should we give her a little taste of the love we want to show her?”

“Yeah,” Mingi agreed, melting a little into Yunho’s embrace. “I want her to watch.”

“You want her to see me take you?” Yunho asked, changing position to move Mingi to sit between his legs, coaxing him to lean against his chest. Mingi nodded in response, making himself a little smaller as he leaned back.

“Give our lovely Mingi a kiss,” she prompted, her heart speeding up as she did.

Mingi turned his head and looked up to Yunho behind him. The two shared a look for a second before they came together, lips meeting in a soft brush of skin on skin. Yunho reached up a hand to caress Mingi’s cheek, helping him angle his face. Yunho controlled the speed of their kiss, keeping it agonizingly slow and light as their lips moved. His thumb brushed over the corner of Mingi’s mouth, coaxing him to open his mouth slightly. Mingi huffed slightly and opened to allow the kiss to deepen. 

As she watched the two of them she could feel a thrill of excitement move through her, tensing her stomach muscles and moisture starting to build between her legs. They looked so beautiful together. The sharp lines of their jaws and the way their fine features seemed to match and compliment each other. Her eyes focused on the perfect shape of Yunho’s Cupid’s bow lips as they moved in profile. They looked too perfect, too ideally shaped as they touched Mingi’s.

Mingi’s lips were largely hidden between Yunho’s lips and hand but her eyes moved along the line of his jaw and down the line of his long throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed with his nervous swallows as he kissed the boy behind him. There was a sort of softness that came over his angular features as they touched.

“Did you like that, too?” Yunho asked after he pulled back from the kiss, still continuing to hold Mingi against him.

“Yes,” she said softly, sinking further into the bed, eyes locked on the screen.

“What do you want to see?” Mingi asked, looking up at the camera through his lashes.

“Can you undress each other?” She decided after a brief pause. “I want to see you both.”

“Should I start with unwrapping our beautiful boy, here?” Yunho teased, running his fingers over Mingi’s still clothed chest.

“Yes please,” she agreed eagerly. “He’s so beautiful.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Yunho looked at the other boy, admiring the blush that spread over his cheeks and the tips of his ears at the compliments. Yunho’s hands reached around to the front of Mingi’s body. They found the fastenings on the front of his hoodie, working them open, making sure she could see his fingers as they did.

They watched her eyes glued to the screen of her phone. She was rapt in her attention. Yunho could feel the heat in her eyes as she watched them and he loved that feeling. He liked the control of focusing her attention with his movements. The expressions that flowed across her face as she followed his gestures gave him a burst of confidence.

Mingi could feel the touch of her gaze through the screen of the phone they had attached to the back of the front seat. When they had come up with the idea while they had a moment alone at Yunho’s place, Mingi had liked the idea of letting her see them, teasing her, while they did something since they hadn’t been able to invite her. Often he was on the other side. He so often got too impatient to tease either of them. It wasn’t really his fault, by the time he got them alone, he often felt like he had been waiting for them all day. By that point he just wanted them. He wanted to touch them, he wanted to taste them, to have them in his arms.

Yunho slipped the hoodie off Mingi’s shoulders taking his time and making a show of it. Underneath Mingi wore a black shirt with a wide neckline that showed off his collarbones and upper chest. After he threw the hoodie to the side, Yunho’s fingers went to the skin exposed there. His fingertips danced over the line of his collarbone and slid his shirt down off one shoulder. It was an irresistibly beautiful stretch of skin to them both. Yunho leaned forward and pressed a kiss there. He licked, kissed and nibbled a line from the tip of his shoulder and up his neck.

“Our Mingi is so handsome,” she sighed, looking at them through the screen as she turned onto her side.

“He’s beautiful,” Yunho observed. He nuzzled the skin below Mingi’s ear and left the ghost of a kiss.

“I want to see more of him,” she whispered to them. “Please.”

“Should I help him take off his shirt?” Yunho offered, his hands traveling down the front of Mingi’s chest and stomach.

“If it's not too cold,” she said after a moment’s thought.

“The car is nice and warm,” Yunho smiled. Of course she thought of that, of course that would cross her mind. His hands went to the hem of Mingi’s shirt and lifted it off over his head, baring the expanse of his white chest. Mingi shivered at the warmth in her gaze as her eyes took in the sight.

“You look so pretty, baby,” she cooed to him on the other side of the screen. “I wish I could show you how pretty you are to me.”

“Isn’t he so pretty to look at?” Yunho put his hands on Mingi’s ribs and let them trail down to his waist.

“What about you?” she pushed playfully, letting out a suppressed chuckle. “I want to see you, too.”

“You want to see me?” Yunho teased, ducking slightly further behind Mingi’s body. “Even when you have this to look at?” Yunho ran his hands down Mingi’s arms, making him shiver at the sensation.

“He’ll look even better in your arms,” she pointed out with a grin.

“Ahhh, I see,” Yunho nodded and pressed his lips together to try and stop the grin from spreading across his face. Mingi half turned in his seat to look back at the other boy. His eyes were bright and playful chocolate pools set in his glowing face. His blond hair had grown so that the fringe reached past his eyebrows now, allowing him to give them flirtatious glances through the curtain of his hair. Mingi brushed the hair out of his eyes and leaned over to kiss his temple on one side. He put one hand on Yunho’s shoulder, covered by the white knit cardigan he was wearing. His hand caressed down his arm as he moved his kisses down along his cheek until he was kissing the dip of the corner of his lips.

“Can I help you take it off?” Mingi offered, pressing his forehead against the side of his face. Yunho nodded. Mingi’s fingers went to the large wooden buttons and started to undo them. Yunho lifted his hands to hold Mingi’s as they slipped the buttons through the buttonholes. With all the buttons undone, Mingi parted the sides like he was drawing back curtains. Yunho shrugged off the cardigan and tossed it into the seat beside them. Mingi leaned down and licked one of Yunho’s exposed nipples, tasting it like it was a dollop of fallen dessert. Yunho sucked in a breath at the sensation.

“How does he taste, Mingi, my love?” She asked in a harsh whisper.

“As delicious as always,” Mingi gave her a wide grin. “Should...should I mark him so he remembers this?”

“Yes, over his heart,” she agreed, enjoying the idea. Mingi sunk down, finding a somewhat awkward position that brought his mouth more comfortably down to Yunho’s nipple level. He brushed his pillowy lips over the one nearest to him, giving it a soft suck and lick as it hardened under his touch. Moving closer to the center of his chest, just to the left, he pressed his lips against him, feeling the beat of his heart under them. Yunho brought his hand up to run his fingers through Mingi’s hair, caressing his scalp as he looked down at him.

Mingi closed his eyes and let his lips part, latching onto the skin under them. He breathed in the smell of Yunho’s skin, salty and musky. He sucked it enough to draw it into his mouth, allowing him nip lightly with his teeth. Yunho let out a light moan and his fingers tightened in Mingi’s hair, pulling it lightly.

She saw the look of pleasure bubble up on Yunho’s face, like a spring escaping through the fissure in a rock. It slipped out and spread across his body like a trickle. Mingi’s head moved as he sucked and worried Yunho’s skin until he was satisfied, letting it go with a pop and giving it a parting kiss.

“Let me see,” she asked, hiding the lower half of her face behind her hand. She could feel that a hot flush had developed on her face as she had watched them. Mingi sat up and leaned out of the way to let her see what he had done. He ran his fingers over it lightly, admiring the reddish mark he knew would mellow into purple soon enough.

“Now you’ll remember this,” Mingi said with satisfaction.

“As if I would forget any moment I have with you, with both of you,” Yunho scolded before he pulled Mingi into a hungry kiss. He let himself dive into the sensation and the taste of him, let the intoxication of passion fill him. She watched them silently, not wanting to break the haze of desire that was surrounding them. She loved seeing when they let go, when they lost the rest of the world in their love. She held her breath and watched as their mouths played and clashed. They were beautiful when they were with each other.

“Can I?” Yunho broke the kiss and brought his hands down to the waistband of Mingi’s jeans. Mingi nodded and leaned back a little to allow him to fumble at the button and zipper on his pants. Yunho unfastened them and slipped his fingers inside the waistband on his hips. He touched his skin there, enjoying the simple intrusion of touching the skin beneath. Mingi rocked forward, silently asking him to pull them down further, to take the next step.

“Impatient,” Yunho teased, unable to hide his smile as he spoke to Mingi.

“I’ve missed you,” Mingi whined. “When I...just by myself, it isn’t the same.”

“I know,” Yunho was sympathetic and couldn’t have agreed more. Taking pity on him, Yunho helped him to pull off his pants and underwear after they both cast a quick look around to make sure their spot had not been intruded upon by anyone. The snow cover of the city made it easier to spot anyone that might have made their way there against the bright backdrop of the snow. Assured they were still alone, they both stripped the last of their clothes off.

“Love, I know you can’t be here, can’t be with us but,” Yunho leaned close to the phone that connected them with her. “Will you touch yourself for us?” She nodded and set the phone down to strip herself naked as well. When she was finished she lay down on top of the covers and let the camera pan down her naked body.

“You look pretty,” Mingi complemented, looking intently at the screen. “Are you wet already?” She nodded, switching the phone to one hand and letting the other slip between her legs and gather a little on her fingertips. She brought them back up, letting them see the evidence of her wetness before she brought them to her lips and sucked them clean.

“Good,” Yunho palmed himself, slightly below the view of the camera, but the movement was clear. Mingi let his hand tease along the inside of his own leg, working closer to his erection but not yet touching it. Yunho dug into the little bag he had brought with him from home and pulled out the little tube of lube he had snuck out with him. He turned in his seat to lean against the car door and stretched his legs out over the back seat. Mingi straddled his thighs and looked down at Yunho’s deep brown eyes which looked up at him with such love.

Mingi leaned over putting his hands on the door beside Yunho’s shoulders, bringing his lips to the other boys. Their erections pressed together and Yunho wrapped them both with one of his large hands. He played with them both as they fell into a deep kiss. Mingi rutted into his hand as he used his own to hold Yunho’s face, angling it just right to fit with his.

“Here, come a little forward,” Yunho coaxed Mingi’s hips until he was straddling higher, near his waist. His hands caressed along his lower back and the curve of his butt. “Is it okay if I start getting you ready for me?”

“Please,” Mingi nodded, arching his back a little to make it easier for him to reach. Yunho put a little lube on his fingers. He slipped his fingers between his cheeks to the small, puckered hole and began making slow circles. Mingi slowly relaxed under his touch, letting out a breathy sigh at the feel of his fingers.

“Does it feel good?” Yunho asked in the quiet of the car.

“Yeah,” Mingi let out a huffing whine. “Faster, I want you in me.”

“Patience, love,” Yunho soothed. “I want it to feel good.”

“It does, it always does,” Mingi insisted.

“Kiss me,” Yunho suggested. “Show our girl how much you want it.” Mingi leaned forward and brought his lips to Yunho’s, licking and nibbling at them eagerly. He moved in time with the sweep of Yunho’s fingers, mirroring them in his eagerness. Yunho slowly worked in one finger and then two, slowly opening him. Mingi protested against his lips when he removed his fingers.

“Shhhh, you’re finally getting your wish,” Yunho chuckled at his pout. He reached for the lube again and spread it on himself, wiping a little of the excess on Mingi before cleaning his hands on the little towel he had thought ahead to bring as well. He positioned himself at Mingi’s entrance and let the other boy sink down his length as fast as he felt comfortable.

When Mingi had taken him completely, they both turned their attention to the screen to look at their girl. Her room was dim but they could still see her face looking at them in the dim light. She noticed their eyes on her and she flashed them a smile and blew them a kiss.

“You’ve been quiet, love, are you okay?” Yunho asked.

“I just heard someone in the hall so I have to be careful,” she whispered. “I think everyone is finally going to bed.”

Mingi let out a moan and felt himself flutter around Yunho inside him. He wanted to move but he wanted to be sure she was with them, that she was there and enjoying this as much they were. He rocked slightly and managed to ask. “Are you still with us?”

“I’m here,” she assured him. “I want to see you. Please.”

“Can you ride me?” Yunho asked, running his palms up Mingi’s strong thighs. Mingi nodded, moving slowly at first, the friction giving him slow waves of pleasure as he did. Yunho let him set a steady pace before bringing one of his hands to Mingi’s hard length where it jutted between them. He matched the movements of his hand to Mingi’s rhythm. Mingi let himself go and started moving faster, hunching forward to avoid hitting his head as he moved.

“So good,” Yunho praised, caressing Mingi’s waist as he stroked him. “You feel so good around me.”

“Fuck,” Mingi panted as he looked down at the other boy. “I’m not gonna last like this.”

“I want you to come on me,” Yunho encouraged, his breathing tense. “Make a mess for me.”

“Keep going,” Mingi entreated, closing his eyes and letting himself focus on the pleasure Yunho’s body was giving him. He let all of the stress of being home, the stress of missing them, the stress of having to stand alone against a relentless barrage of criticism and dismissal melt away. He let the love Yunho gave with his body fill him. He heard Yunho’s breaths growing harsher and more ragged as her faint, suppressed moans traveled through the phone to him. He opened his eyes to see the face that matched those sounds, his eyes going to the small screen hanging off the back of the front seat. Her face was soft and pink as she watched, her lips parted as she panted quietly.

“Are you close, too?” He asked her.

“Yeah,” She whispered back. “But I want to see you cum...and I want to see Yunho fill you. I want to hear you both.”

“Come for her, love,” Yunho urged, his fingers digging into Mingi’s hips as he felt his own pleasure building. “Just let go.” He sped up the movement of his hand and watched Mingi’s face take on a slack look he so often slipped into just before he reached his orgasm. Mingi’s rhythm faltered slightly as sensations bubbled up inside him. Everything felt good. His skin tingled and he could feel the coolness of the air clinging to him as a fine sheen of sweat started to to cover him.

“I’m gonna cum,” he panted, grounding himself down on Yunho and let him continue to work his hand on him in the last few seconds before his orgasm washed over him. Yunho’s hand continued to stroke him as thick ropes of cum spurted out across Yunho’s chest. Mingi panted and his cock twitched, letting the pleasure subsume him like a wave.

“You look so pretty like that,” Yunho praised him as he finally let go of his spent length, his hands moving to hold his hips now. “Lean forward just a little, love.” Mingi nodded, leaning on his hands where he rested them on either side of Yunho’s head. A weakness suffused his limbs, but he held himself as Yunho thrust up into him, chasing his own pleasure now. Mingi’s eyes returned to the screen at the sound of her panting as it joined Yunho’s in the quiet of the car. Her gaze was hooded and her eyes hazy as she watched them.

“Is our girl close, too?” Yunho asked, not taking his eyes from where his body moved in and out of Mingi.

“Yes,” Mingi replied breathlessly. “She’s so pretty like that.”

“Our girl is beautiful when she cums,” Yunho panted. “And it’s for us; only for us.” He heard as she gave a faint strangled noise then lapsed into just heavy breathing. Yunho tore his gaze away from Mingi and looked at her. Only her face was on the screen, focusing on the blissful expression she wore, eyes closed and her jaw clenched.

Yunho pulled Mingi down on him harshly as his own orgasm hit him suddenly. He had been so focused on them, on making sure this lasted enough to be good for both of them, that he had pushed his pleasure to the side. When it finally burst over it, it was like the breaking of a dam as a single crack finally caused it to fail. Blinding white filled his vision and a tingling rippled out over his skin with an almost painful intensity.

Mingi watched as Yunho came beneath him. He looked almost surprised as it overtook him and he squeezed his eyes shut. If he hadn’t known any better, Mingi might have thought he was in pain as the other boy released himself in his body. Yunho’s hands gripped his hips almost painfully and Mingi was sure he would have bruises from it. He didn’t mind, in fact he would be glad to see them over the coming days when he had no choice but to be alone with his parents. When he saw them or felt them, they would remind him of this, of the people who loved him for himself; of their shared generosity of everything that made them who they were.

When they had all taken a moment to recover, they said their good nights and hung up, leaving Mingi and Yunho in the car to clean up. They were careful to leave no traces on the car or themselves and Yunho hid the tube and towel under the seat before redressing. Mingi pulled his own clothes on, focusing on that to avoid thinking about how soon he would be alone again.

“We’ll hang out again before the holiday is over,” Yunho promised, caressing Mingi’s cheek when he saw the sad look he couldn’t keep from his face.

“Of course,” Mingi looked at him and forced himself to smile.

“No, I mean it,” Yunho took Mingi by the chin and made him look him in the eyes. “I won’t leave you alone there very long. And even when I’m not there, when we aren’t there, we’re here,” he put his other hand over Mingi’s heart. “And we aren’t that far. If you need me, just call. I’ll always pick up and if I need to come get you, I will always come.”

“I love you,” Mingi held the wrist of the hand on his chest. “Knowing that you love me too, makes it survivable.”

“New Year’s isn’t really important to my mom, not like Christmas is anyways,” Yunho began. “Maybe we can spend it with San and our girl at her parents.”

“Lucky San getting to spend the whole holiday there,” Mingi sighed.

“Yeah,” Yunho gave him a laugh and a smile. “I can’t really envy him too much, but then again, I still have my mom at least and I am sure he would happily trade being there for having his family again.”

“Yeah,” Mingi agreed, San might be lucky to have been accepted into the arms of her loving family, but no generosity of spirit on the part of her family could erase the sadness of the rejection of his father after the loss of his mother. Yunho pulled Mingi into a hug, warm and reassuring, just holding him.

“Ready to go home?” Yunho asked him after a moment.

“I’m ready,” Mingi nodded and pulled back. They both got out and moved to the front seat, letting silence settle on them as they pulled out of their secluded refuge to return to the real world. It won’t have to be for very long, Yunho promised himself, hoping that Mingi could feel the promise he couldn’t bring himself to voice.

Masterlist

[lilquill]

On Representation, Diversity, and “have characters of color just don’t write about the experience of being a person of color”

Alright. I’m gonna piss a bunch of people off and also confuse a bunch of well-intentioned white people because I don’t think that you can write about a character of color without talking about the experience of being a person of color of a certain culture.

Seriously. There’s so many conversations celebrating how people have narratives where it “doesn’t matter” that one of their characters is a person of color and that their characters’ identity as a person of color “doesn’t affect the storyline” or whatever.

I’m going to cut right to the chase here: as a reader and storyteller of color, I’m not a fan of narratives where race doesn’t affect the story.

My race and culture and ethnicity ABSOLUTELY impact the way I perceive the world around me! For instance, many South Asian families bond with lively debates and discussions and lovingly roasting their family members. The way that I develop positive relationships, often with a solid dose of conflict and loudness and argument, is therefore fundamentally different from the way a white person would develop relationships; in fact, many white people are intimidated by how loud South Asians like myself are. We’re dramatic and loud and love jokes with wordplay! That’s just how it is and it means I form bonds with people differently.

I also have different values. White people are often more individualistic in culture, with more weird distant formal bonds with their parents (shit like referring to their parents by first name or, on the other end of the spectrum, calling their dads “sir”???) as opposed to the more comfortable and closer bond I have with my parents, where my family is all up in my shit literally all the time LMAO.

Literally white families are SO DISTANT to the point where white people consider practices like co-sleeping with your young child, something very common in South Asian families, to be child abuse?? Like, as if keeping your baby in a crib in another room where they’re not close to you and it’s harder to hear them isn’t dangerous but apparently suffocating a child while sleeping (which is very rare especially since co-sleeping is a practice that has gone on for MILLENNIA) is the bigger threat here??

White kids might perceive that as invasive or a violation of their privacy; I don’t perceive it that way because of the way South Asian families are structured. There’s a stronger emphasis on closeness with family. Of course, there are situations of kids being estranged or difficult family relationships or child abuse in South Asian families as well, but family is more valued in my culture.

The plants I put in my garden are different because of my identity; flowers like bela (Arabian jasmine) and bougainvillea and roses and gladiolus and marigolds and such things are what I’m fond of because of biases based on what my parents and grandparents like. I even once grew nenua (a type of squash). (I’m gonna get my hands on a raat ki rani soon I hope!!) And, of course, not every South Asian is partial to these flowers, but there’s definitely a cultural aspect as to why I personally like them!

The colors and patterns I gravitate towards are also different! I’m not a big fan of western “neutrals” and I find bright colors more appealing, especially because hey, those vibrant shades look better on brown skin! And GUESS WHAT, part of why the western world gravitates towards neutral colors in formalwear is because of colonialism and a disdain for the vibrant colors and dyes that colonized countries used. I love wearing jhumka earrings and statement necklaces and bright, vibrant jewelry as well. Now, obviously, this isn’t the case with every South Asian, but there is certainly some level of impact on these choices from my culture and upbringing.

Hell, even the food I eat is different! I drink chai in the evenings. I gravitate towards spicier dishes and better seasoning. I don’t eat meat other than fish/seafood and chicken and occasionally turkey because of cultural stuff, though ofc lots of South Asians are vegetarian and on the flip side lots of South Asians DO eat red meat and stuff.

And this isn’t even universal to ALL South Asians by any means, because my parents are specifically Hindu and from northeastern India and I’ve grown up in California! And there’s so many other details I could go into but for the sake of not writing a twelve-page essay I’m stopping here. 

Basically, my point is, I don’t want representation where race “doesn’t matter” to the story. Race impacts so many aspects of my life and how I perceive and interact with the world around me.

It’s ridiculous to me how so much “representation” is basically just starting with a default of a white character, making her brown, avoiding the stereotypes, and that’s....it. It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel authentic to take away cultural impacts on your characters. People start with white western archetypes and tropes and try to mold them to fit characters of color, instead of starting off with an authentic character of color, and it really, really shows.

Especially because Tumblr and writeblr are such white spaces, and also because culture is usually picked up from the environment as opposed to online, the conversations centered around “representation” are always about “don’t do x stereotypes” as opposed to how to actually learn about other cultures and actually....write a character of color. So many of y’all only know how to NOT write a character of color as opposed to how to ACTUALLY write a character of color.

I see so many lists of tropes and things to not include in stories, and not enough things about values and family structures and food and fashion and ways of developing relationships and all that fun stuff that will shape who you are as a person.

And some of y’all don’t even TRY to, I dunno, engage with the culture of your character of color to actually write them. For instance, if you’re writing a South Asian character, go explore South Asian cinema! Go make South Asian friends who can tell you little details about their lives as they, y’know, exist and are your friend! In general, explore the movies and literature and music and dance types and food and drink and whatnot of the culture your character is from! Form relationships with people of those cultures; it’s the internet! I know this is a super white space but there’s PLENTY of poc on here! Make an effort, not just to avoid harmful stereotypes, but to write a character of color whose identity actually MATTERS.

When I’m reading escapist fantasy/sci-fi/romcom/etc. literature where characters aren’t being hurt by racism, I don’t want a story where RACE doesn’t exist, I want a story where RACISM doesn’t exist. I want cultural understanding, empathy, and compassion!

I don’t want a role a white character would play just switched out with a character of color.

For instance, in the movie To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, Lara Jean’s identity as East Asian is reflected in her fashion choices; book author Jenny Han lent inspiration for this. The Yakult drinks she likes, inspired by Korean tastebuds, plays a role in the story, too. These are details that don’t necessarily heavily impact the plot; it’s a fake-dating high school romcom. But they make a more real, fleshed-out character. They’re little details, little in-jokes and references, showing that the character’s race and culture actually MATTER to the story.

There’s a part in Pacific Rim where Raleigh Beckett, a white man, is frustrated with Mako Mori, a Japanese woman, for not going against the wishes of her father figure, Pentecost. When he tells her she doesn’t have to obey him, she responds, “It’s not obedience, Mr. Beckett. It’s respect.” This depicts her cultural understanding of family and respect; her relationships and her responses to things are impacted by her culture.

This is what I’m talking about! In order to write an actual character of color, you MUST write about their experiences to a certain extent. Of course, don’t make your characters of a certain culture a monolith in terms of personalities and responses and all that, but understand how they may be similarly impacted by their identities.

Now, don’t write a whole damn novel about a character coming to terms with their racial identity and coping with racism, but you absolutely MUST holistically incorporate their identity into your narrative.

Otherwise, it’s not actually representation. It’s you essentially writing a racebent white character. It’s you using a white default and trying to adapt it to totally different experiences.

[joonkorre]

its crazy late but

@drarrymicrofic prompt: blanket fort

(there’s no plot. none. just dudes being guys, guys being pals)

(caution: not very micro, more like a one shot. a whole lot of anecdotes. i’m writing this under a blanket with snow beating at my window, so of course this has to be very soft and warm. you have been warned)

“Hello?” Harry says into the dark. He’s just gotten home and instead of seeing the familiar orange hue of their beetle-shaped lamp (a gift from Luna, of course), there’s a single sliver of moonlight slipping through the curtains. Nothing else seems to exist in the living room but the echo of Harry’s greeting. Tangerine and sage drift into his nose, followed by the bitter tang of smoke. The scent of Draco’s favorite candle, newly extinguished.

Draco just left. Discovered a breakthrough in his research and fled to the Ministry lab, maybe.

Harry sighs. Unlaces his boots and hangs up his coat absentmindedly only for it to crumple onto the floor. Another sigh. He bends and retrieves it, deciding instead to throw it in the laundry bin. Might as well; he’s been trudging around in Dayhound mucus for hours and neither his dragonhide boots nor coat were spared. 

Walking into the kitchen, Harry grabs a glass from the drying rack and pours himself water from the pitcher in the fridge. It’s ridiculous how a simple act like this can drain his energy so, but it does. Curse breaking isn’t a walk in the park; even walking hurts, considering the amount of magic he expends on shite like a 500-year-old wailing locket on a day to day basis. Exposure to different kinds of magic - dark, Old Magick, elemental, countlessly and endlessly more- for 8 hours straight more often than not result in a fierce ringing in his temples and pinpricks on his skin.

After years of doing it, he can scarcely tolerate one Portkey trip from wherever he’s assigned to back to the main headquarter before getting uncontrollable shivers. Another 30 minutes on the metro, then a 10-minute walk home. In addition, Harry has to sleep for at least 8 hours every night to replenish his energy. Morning comes, he wakes up, Apparates to the headquarter, and the cycle continues.

Why does he even stick with curse breaking at this point? Right, a wry grin graces Harry’s lips, Draco thinks the uniform is hot. Oh, and can’t forget the job benefits, insurance, whole nine yards.

With the glass now rinsed and settled once more on the drying rack, Harry drags his feet to the bedroom. The clock - an antique Draco stole from his cheating ex - hits 7:18 PM, but getting ready to go to sleep sure sounds like a decent idea. Harry palms the back of his aching neck and winces. He’d go shower, scrub the dirt and tension off his limbs, and maybe heat up the leftovers from two days-

“There you are. I was wondering how much longer drinking water could take.”

Harry looks up from his slippered feet to see Draco. Or, more specifically, Draco’s silhouette. Behind some kind of white cloth. A white cloth that’s conveniently placed where the focus of the bedroom should’ve been. 

The relief at seeing his husband evaporates.

“What,” Harry says, “where’s our bed.”

Draco’s silhouette crawls to the opening of the cloth… tent-shaped thing. Pewter grey eyes peer at him behind strands of near-platinum blonde, its icy color soothed by the orange tint of… ah, so he’s brought the bug lamp in here. Neat.

“I,” Draco answers. Pauses. “Might have brought it somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else.”

“Yes.”

Harry shakes his head. An exasperated chuckle escapes his lips.

“Is ‘somewhere else’ the recycling center?”

“Why,” Draco flops down on the floor, appearing tired of holding himself up on his elbows for more than 10 seconds. It’s peculiar to see, the gesture a bit ungraceful for someone like him. Harry is helplessly in love amused. “Do my ears deceive me? Am I being confronted, cornered, accosted for being a good husband? Were the 5 minutes it took to Shrink and Levitate the wretched old thing away from our safe haven worth your condescension, dear lover?”

“I guess I did say I hate-”

“Correct!”

“-the headboard. Nothing but the headboard. Yesterday. While I’m half asleep. Baby.”

“Oh, pish posh, I hate it too! In fact, I’m doing us both a favor disposing of the entire thing altogether.”

“God, however can I thank you? I mean, you did rid us of our bed where we sleep on.”

“You can thank me by taking off those horrid gears faster and come here,” with that, Draco crawls back to where he was sitting before.

“You love these gears,” Harry says, hanging his harnesses and tool belt in the closet and walking into the bathroom for a quick shower, “you love them against your ba-”

“Put a lock on that filthy mouth, Potter, what will the Daily Prophet think?” Draco’s yell almost drowns out the shower spray. Harry laughs, his stomach hurting for the right reason at last.

When he re-enters the bedroom, Draco is leaning out from the tent thing.

“Come, get in, get in,” he beckons with a hasty wave.

Harry points to his wet hair with the hand holding his towel. Draco clicks his tongue and waves his hand more aggressively.

His husband’s level of theatrics is directly proportional to how slow Harry is at doing what he says, so he nods, fondness overflowing, and obeys.

“What’s all this?” He crouches and crawls in, eyeing the collection of pillows and quilts surrounding Draco and what would be Harry’s seat. It seems that he had also lugged in the chairs from their dining room to provide some structural support for the tent.

“A blanket fort, lover,” Draco says, his gaze tender. Harry’s finger tips tingle with every touch of cotton, linen, silk, as he gets situated. It’s been years and years and years and years, and Harry can never get used to, can never take for granted, the weight of his husband’s undivided attention.

“Huh,” he says, sitting down with an ‘oof’, “isn’t this for kids?”

“A blanket fort is a blanket fort,” Draco takes the towel from Harry’s arm and puts the throw pillow Ron knitted in his lap. He hits a button on the laptop in front of them, and Harry’s favorite jazz collection plays. He blinks. He thought Draco would play his questionable atmospheric-white-noise-POV-you’re-having-tea-in-a-gothic-vampire-library playlist, the weirdo.

Velvety smooth sax flows through the air. Harry exhales, easy and content, and lets Draco tilt his head. He towels Harry’s hair, massaging unhurried circles on his scalp and varying the degree of pressure. In no time, his head lolls forward, eyes closed, chin a breath away from his well-worn shirt. A slender, pale hand cups his cheek and holds his head up and steady. Meanwhile, the hand’s owner leans out of the blanket fort to get something.

“Ow.” A grunt. Harry smiles; most likely a cramp from all the leaning.

Then, his husband reseats himself, this time with a smell. A mouth-watering, delicious smell, tickling the back of Harry’s nose. He opens his eyes to see Draco lifting off the lid of a ceramic bowl perched on a tray, steam floating out and fogging Harry’s glasses. It’s purple yam soup, topped with chopped up shrimp and ground beef.

“Your usual order from the Viet place nearby whenever Pepper-up isn’t sufficient,” Draco murmurs, placing a spoon in Harry’s hand, his words warm against Harry’s temple. Huh, he didn’t think Draco would notice. “You said today you’d deal with those disgusting booby traps you showed me, thus I reckoned I should put the yams on our counter into good use.”

Harry stares at the soup, stunned. Draco must have taken his expression as something else.

“Oh, right,” he says, “I heated it up on the stove, but you were taking atrociously long so I casted a Heating charm. Let me take it off, okay?”

Draco flicks his hawthorn wand, a hand squeezing Harry’s shoulder as if he could see the prickling running up Harry’s nape.

He turns to look at his husband. When Harry’s career was starting to take its toll on his magical core, Draco didn’t hesitate to dive headfirst into Muggle living. Easier said than done, and it took months for him to stop frowning at the “absolutely bizarre, Potter, bizarre” appliances, but he got there in the end. Despite his constant bitching about everything, Draco not once raised a word about the drastic switch, effortlessly guiding Narcissa to gossip about the Albescu clan’s abhorrent matriarch when she asks about how he’s faring.

“Gosh, I,” Harry says. Mumbles, really, into Draco’s collarbone, filling his brain with the woodsy aroma of potion making that no amount of expensive body products can mask, “that’s lovely, baby, thank you.”

“Eat,” Draco says, rubbing his chin on the top of Harry still-damp hair and messaging his tense neck. Harry knows he’s breathing him in too. “Or I’ll have to heat it up in the kitchen again, and forgive me but I’d rather stay here for the next 12 hours, at least.”

“Lazy arse.”

Draco laughs, a momentary rumble of his chest, then moves forward to click something on the laptop. Harry’s on his fifth spoonful of pure comfort when the jazz music stops, and on the blank wall opposite from their blanket fort is the title card of a movie. Strange, Harry didn’t even notice the mini projector. He squints.

“Why is there Korean subtitles?”

“Lover,” Draco tosses a napkin at Harry’s crossed legs, “what is watching movies online without the occasional bout of piracy?”

“Pira- piracy,” Harry chokes, the hot soup stinging his palate, “we have a Netflix subscription.”

“You can’t find shite like this on Netflix.”

“Of course we can. Baby, we don’t know anyone who’s good at computer stuff and can deal with the viruses.”

“There’s no virus here, I checked.”

“How,” Harry stresses, “and again, piracy.”

“Sometimes,” Draco says, lowering the speaker volume, “not doing crimes… is worse.”

“What the fuck,” the main character, a square-faced woman with a python around her neck, has a monologue in a completely different language. “What the fuck? Is that Italian?”

“Yes, but I’m French.”

“And?”

“And they’re both Romance languages. I can understand certain words and translate it for you.”

No, he can’t.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Keep eating,” Draco settles amid the pillows, long hair settled on his satin-clad chest, white against emerald. Harry sneers at him - an unfortunate habit he’s gotten from Draco - and turns to watch the movie.

True to his words, Draco translates every dialogue and mimics the characters’ voices with zeal, contradicting his stoic expression and somber, interlaced hands, looking like a cranky judge having to deal with reckless teenagers on their anti-authority phase. Harry can tell that he doesn’t understand a thing, and soon enough he’s woven a story about how the thriller-mystery they’re watching is actually a vicious custody battle over a duck. For each of Harry’s occasional snicker at the absurdity Draco has thought up is a playful kick at his ribs.

Minutes pass. With Harry’s bowl now emptied, he puts it on a chair and goes to wash up. 

The moment he sits back down, Draco’s big toe pokes at his spine. Getting the memo, Harry grins and reclines on the pillows. His left side is flushed against Draco’s right, the kinks in his neck eased off from the angle. They, as per usual, gradually get closer to one another, and at some point, Draco lays his head on Harry’s chest and ear on his beating heart. It’s calming to him, Draco had said when Harry asked, on the third night of their honeymoon. With the war long behind them, there was nothing to fear. Only the constellations existed as their witnesses.

“You died, Harry,” he had whispered, full and tipsy. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen, despite all the shite I made you go through.

“You were so far away in Hagrid’s arms, I couldn’t see your face,” the night had been blinding, but his eyes had found Draco’s anyway. “It felt like my heart died with you.”

Harry had kissed his forehead and hugged him close. His heart had always been there for Draco to take.

“What’s up with the blanket fort?”

He has a lapful of Draco, a lungful of peach and cedar scented shampoo, and the sleepy timbre of his husband’s voice against his chest. The Italian movie is the last thing on Harry’s mind. 

“I wasn’t aware of its existence growing up,” Draco says. “Having anything other than an immaculate bed when one wasn’t sleeping was uncouth, see, so you could imagine my surprise when Teddy demanded to play in something as messy as a fort so often.”

Harry doesn’t need to imagine it; he had witnessed it himself. Draco, freshly released from a two-year sentence in Azkaban, mellowed and tentative, yet determined to reconnect with his mother’s sister and his nephew. Harry had been wary too, standing in the corner of Teddy’s bedroom, staring at the fuzz of blonde on Draco’s shorn head and his weak gait. Teddy, the darling boy with his clumsy hold on Draco’s thigh, afraid that the haggard man would trip without help, had led him to his play area.

“Fort, fort,” the boy had screamed in Draco’s ear, but he hadn’t flinched. He had nodded and gone along with Teddy’s babbled directions, then sat back on his heels and fixed a wide-eyed stare at the monstrosity Teddy had called a fort (his designing skills were, unsurprisingly, underdeveloped at the mere age of two). 

Swiveling his head, he had gawked at Harry, who had still been standing in the corner with his arms crossed, confusion and hysteria in the arch of his aristocratic brows.

It had been the first time he had looked at Harry in the eye for years. In seconds, it was 6th Year all over again, with him watching Draco pushing his food around with a fork from across the room, unable to look away. Obsession, a voice unlike Hermione’s helpfully defined, had slithered up and under his skin. It had remained there for years, stubborn and ardent, an emotion he had tried to leave behind time and time again. He’d never succeeded.

It’s Draco, after all.

“He never let anyone but him enter the fort, remember? Back when he’s still making us build it for him?” Draco’s fingers tap a random rhythm on Harry’s stomach. Harry tightens his arm around him, shifts a bit. “So many forts and I still didn’t know what it’s like to be in one.”

Somebody downs a shot in the movie. Harry doesn’t quite register it. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a proper one either until now. Didn’t have enough space in the cupboard. Plus, the hanging around the beds at Hogwarts felt pretty cozy by themselves.”

Draco hums. “Mhmm, I say. Another ‘first’ for us.”

Harry glances at the crown of his head. The man doesn’t sound surprised; Harry wagers that he already knows and decided to make one for the both of them today.

They continue to watch the movie in silence, whites and blues and purples flooding his sight, until Draco yawns and Harry blinks his eyes shut for far too long.

“Baby.”

“Hmm?”

“Sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Where, then? We have no bed.”

“I still maintain that I made the right choice”

“Jesus Christ, you’re so rash for an academic.”

“Well, in my professional opinion, sleeping in a blanket fort every blue moon does wonders for one’s quality of sleep,” Draco gets up on his elbow to smirk at Harry, “we can look at other beds tomorrow, can’t we? Now hush. Rest.”

“Ha,” Harry says, at least 5 more words to follow up on that just on the tip of his tongue. But then Draco runs a gentle hand through Harry’s hair, taking his time with it, the remaining hints of Harry’s migraine from work fading with every curl of hair carefully unknotted. He mumbles this and that, silly, insignificant things, engrossed in his task, and Harry listens carefully as his eyelids lower.

Draco takes off his gold-rimmed glasses (so sweet and soft Harry can barely feel it), cleans them and puts them on a chair. Through half-lidded eyes, Harry watches him cover them both with a quilt and return to Harry’s chest, curling up like a cat. Draco’s arm is around his midriff, peach and cedar pervading his senses anew, and Harry forgets whatever he was going to say.

Cold ankles pressed against bare calves, Harry is already deep asleep when the credits roll.

[anthropwashere]

deadfic: Get Out, Get Gone

Yet more deadfic for @goodintentionswipfest! And also another giftfic I never finished, because that’s just who I am as a person! \o/ 

@ghostfiish did this truly excellent art of Danny’s transformation rings as a galaxy way back when that I promptly lost my whole entire shit over, and also took it as an opportunity to get some kind of manic with the writing style. That, combined with my sort-of accidental, sort-of intentional smashing yet more rad headcanons into it until the whole thing collapsed under its own weight. Still, I remain very fond of this one and what I was trying to do back in 2014, so here we are. 8.7k’s nothing to sneeze at, at least.

Oh, and! While we're at it, have an old Danny playlist I never got around to sharing that fits the mood this fic is going for. Title comes from To Kill a King's "Bloody Shirt (Bastille Remix)," which is unfortunately not included on the Spotify playlist.

=

There’s a weight to you now that wasn’t there before. You’d think with your powers—

(and doesn’t it feel strange to call them that, when you shake and shiver at the sight of your bones under your meat, when you walk down the stairs and your feet don’t touch anything at all)

—you’d weigh less, be less. A thing of smoke, and ectoplasm, and all that awful electricity arcing through your nerves. But that's not what happened. 

You remember that day with a surreal nightmare quality, memories fuzzing and skittering like white noise in your skull. Pain and green light and being so, so certain that had been it. Zap! That’s all she wrote. But it wasn't, and here you are, hovering three inches off the grass and praying no one will see, that no one will know.

You aren’t less for all that’s changed, for all that’s changed in you. Tucker and Sam haven’t said anything about it, and it’s clear they don’t have a clue. Your first—

(disastrous, embarrassing)

—fight against the Lunch Lady knocked you right out. They had to carry you all the way home from school after you failed to stop her. It’s a wonder nobody stopped them, dragging your sorry carcass across town. If either of them had noticed, if either of them could have noticed, they would have told you. Or worse, they wouldn’t have managed to get you home at all.

You noticed it when you changed. Not the first time, in the shadowed, silver throat of the Portal—

(electricity cooking you from the inside out, the Portal writhing, burning, tearing itself into existence, a physical hole ripped so cleanly between realities even your parents don’t understand it and they built the damn framework, boiling ectoplasm splashing on you, over you, inside you, changing you forever)

—but after. Changing back and forth without any control, cringing behind dumpsters and hedges, tossing desperate prayers skyward that nobody had seen the light, that nobody had seen you change from kid to freak. So much of you changes when this strange, alien light stretches across you, not just your clothes and eyes and hair, no, you’re different now down to your cells, down to the very structure of your DNA. You know, you’ve checked. So much of you is different, it’s a wonder you didn’t figure it out sooner.

When you change, you’re heavier. Heavier. Not like ten pounds or something any normal kid might stress over. You become the kind of heavy that leaves brushstroke smears in asphalt, reduces sturdy brick walls to dusty rubble, punches craters through solid ground. It hurts when you fall, god does it hurt. But your bones never shatter. Your guts never liquefy. Your brain never dribbles out your ears. How? How can you possibly survive the beatings every new ghost is so eager to give you? 

Ah, but there's never any time to think about it though, not really. No time for anything but a raw, thready panic and clumsily scrawled homework copied five minutes before the bell. Your chance to tell your parents came and went, and now there’s always another ghost attacking the city.

Mom and Dad are so happy now. You’ve never seen them happier than this, with the stuff of your grade school nightmares on the rampage. It’s proof they aren’t crazy, proof they haven’t wasted their whole lives on a pipe dream, proof that everybody who ever called them quacks were wrong. Good for them, you guess. Meanwhile you’re picking yourself out of the wreckage of another storefront, glass needled all down your spine, and you can’t help but marvel at the damage your body has done. Can do. Will do.

Because you’re stronger, you’re getting stronger every day. The weight in you that your Sam and Tucker don’t—

(can’t)

—notice grows more noticeable, and after a few fights you're quicker, too. And perhaps you're changing still, perhaps the accident isn't done with you yet, because one day there’s sickly green light at your fingertips, and in no time at all you can manipulate the energy buzzing inside you—

(the electricity and hot ectoplasm from the accident screaming through you, out from your palms and striking down the things that used to scare you as a little kid, back when door knobs and faucets were out of reach of your tiny fingers and there was so much dark in your big big house, and now your hands trail light like after images from staring at the sun too long, now you can patch your hurts up by the light of your own blood, now you're learning that you don’t need to be afraid of what hides in the dark anymore)

—in ways you never thought possible. Sure, lots of what you do is learned the hard way, mid-battle against sizzling green things with teeth like hunting knives, running on instinct and adrenaline and terror all tangled up in your throat. Lots more is later, when it’s quiet and safe again, practicing things you’ve seen other ghosts do again and again and again until you can mimic it, improve it, make it yours.

But no ghost you fight has the same heaviness as you do. No improbable weight that defies the logical mass of their ectoplasm. If it’s big, it’s heavy. If it’s small, it’s light. Unexpected logic from creatures that defy logic in every other way. 

There’s a lesson you learn the hard way, testing the strength of these invaders against your bruised and splitting knuckles. You learn caution. You learn restraint. If you punch them hard enough, some ghosts, the little formless ones your parents have captured once or twice now, burst like water balloons—a hard pop of searing green, an overwhelming smell-taste of citrus and hot pennies. Too much of your supernatural strength pressed into the soft hide of a monster and the end result is a glowing puddle where someone used to be. 

You learn this lesson quickly. You learn that even when you’re fighting for your life, you’ve got to hold back. You defend, you protect. Death scares you too much to risk killing—

(is it killing when it’s already dead, where does a ghost go when it dies, is there something more to the Ghost Zone than what you’ve glimpsed with your own eyes or is that it, is that all, have you erased someone from reality forever, these are the questions that make your stomach hurt, that make it hard to breathe, that make it hard to fake a smile when Jazz asks if something’s wrong)

—something so much like yourself. Even if it’s got teeth like hunting knives.

You think you’re an anomaly, a freak, the only one stupid enough to walk into a Ghost Portal and zap yourself full of juice that by rights should have killed you—

(and a little part of you wonders if that isn’t just what happened, if you’re just a dead thing walking around in your body, wearing it like a meatsuit and waiting for the rot to show, but it’s been a month, it’s been months, and you eat more and you sleep less, not because you don’t need it but because there’s never any time, and you’ve grown another inch and there’s new definition to your muscles, and that all must mean you’ll be okay, that you are okay, it has to)

—until Wisconsin. Until Vlad.

He’s in the same boat as you, plus twenty years of experience and enough self-made loneliness to turn him bitter and crazy and dangerous. He wants Dad dead and Mom his, like she’s some kind of carnival prize he can win if he throws his weight around enough. Swing the mallet, hit the bell, and congratulations! The woman you haven't spoken to in twenty years who has made her own life without you is now yours to take home! Ugh.

But god, he can hit hard. Lightning, real lightning, nothing like the weak little zaps of electricity inside you, rattles at his fingertips like a living thing, furious burning strikes of pain, and he knocks you aside like he’s bored. You have a thousand questions, but he won't give you a single answer unless you concede defeat or whatever he wants, so it looks like you’ll just have to beat the answers out of him instead. Who cares if he’s got twenty years on you? He’s not out most nights pummeling wayward ghosts back into the Ghost Zone. He’s not out most days saving people from ghosts with bloodthirsty, power-hungry vendettas. What you lack for in time and experience you make up in rooftop fistfights and stolen first-aid kits. 

Sure you managed to outwit him—

(barely, hardly at all, he just wanted to save face in front of Mom, if he hadn’t cared about that, if he’d just tried overshadowing Mom instead it all could have turned out so differently, and doesn’t that thought make it hard to sleep the first few nights back home)

—but you can’t stop thinking of what it had been like to fight him, of what it was like to see another person do all that you can and so much more. You remember every second of each fight, like it’s been burned across your eyelids. You replay it all every time you blink for days, for weeks. It’s easy as thought to recall the light arcing around his waist as he’d transformed. Just like yours, and yet nothing like yours. The color, sure, that had been the obvious difference. When you change it’s a white light, sharp and searing enough to leave stars in your eyes if you look at it. His transformation—

(black like cave darkness, black like a power outage, black like the vastness between stars, sucking in light like a hungry thing, like it’d swallow you whole if it had had the chance)

—had been like a punch to the gut even before he’d buried his fist in your gut. You’d known without words, known in some primitive bit of brain that still looked up at the night sky and thought magic before science, you had known. You and Vlad were made out of the same mess, but maybe, just maybe, those twenty years were stacked against him.

Trouble is, the transformation is so quick you can’t make much out but the light/non-light of yours and his, and luckily—

(unluckily?)

—he’s all the way in Wisconsin so you don’t have many opportunities for a closer look at his. You ask Sam and Tucker to take pictures and videos, change back and forth so often you almost forget which side of you is which, but the quality is never good enough to see what you know is there—

(but can’t explain, not with words, even though you try for the benefit of your friends because they’re the ones there for you when everything else has gone topsy-turvy, but you’re just a kid who leaks green when dead people hit you too hard, just a kid with bad grades and a lot of questions to evade, and what you’re trying to pinpoint frame by frame is something so beyond your vocabulary you can only shrug, can only say you want to know more about your powers and hope this is one of those white lies nobody catches you in the act of)

—so you stop.

Do you give up? No, but there are more important things to focus on. It isn’t shelving your questions so much as putting them on the backburner. There are ghosts to deal with. Ghosts that want to hurt you, ghosts that want to hurt humans, more and more ghosts with strange and terrifying abilities pouring out from the Portal all the time. Closing the Portal doesn’t slow them any, which doesn’t make any sense to you. Then again, Dad was up to his elbows in most of the Portal’s guts and wiring, so applying logic to any inch of it is pretty pointless. You’ve learned not to ask too many questions about anything with a Fenton sticker slapped on it.

You’re busy now, busy all the time, bruised and burned and even stitched up all the time. Super strength is only so good when you’re fighting things with teeth like hunting knives. But it’s whatever, it’s no big deal, really. Because you’re keeping people safe. You’re learning more about the Ghost Zone and the things that inhabit it. You’re learning more about yourself; your powers, your weaknesses, how quick you can be with a snarky quip. Yeah, your parents are aiming guns and questions at you. Yeah, teachers with red pens and detention slips are hounding after you. And yeah, you’re fourteen years old bare-knuckle fighting monsters and no one ever says thanks because they think you’re just like every other ghost out there or maybe that you’re some human-loving freak—

(and when you think of your life like this, in lists of who wants answers and who wants to see you bleed, it sounds so bad, it sounds like you should be one inch away from a complete breakdown, but is it weird to say you’re happy, is it weird to say you couldn’t imagine your life any other way)

—yet you grin through a mouthful of red-and-green and keep going. Elated? Maybe, sometimes. Scared? Absolutely, sometimes. You’re just a kid with eyes that flare like headlights when somebody’s pissed you off. 

It’s only right to be scared, sometimes.

Still, it’s the weight of you that keeps you grounded, keeps you human when you need to be. Sit in a chair, walk across a bridge, it all makes the same creak under you as it would for Sam and Tucker. But take one of Skulker’s shoulder rockets to the face, you leave a crater in Central Park so big they decide to just turn it into another duck pond. A permanent new addition to the park, and all your face gets is a nasty bruise Dash takes the credit for. You let him, because Lancer overhears. Dash is the one getting detention for once, and there’s a nasty satisfaction to be found there.

You and Jazz share a bathroom, and she’s got a scale she keeps in the towel cupboard. Curious, you take it out one day after school and try to weigh yourself. Last time you checked, you were somewhere near 120, puberty stretching you faster than your appetite can keep up. This time, the numbers whirl past 280 pounds before the scale makes a metallic groan and crumples like tissue paper under your sneakers. Sheer reflex launches you into the air, and you bounce off the ceiling with your knees hugged so tight to your chest you can hear tendons creak, your heart a thundering jackhammer in your chest. Thank god you’re home alone, because you hover there for who-knows how long, too scared the floor will crack under your illogical, impossible weight, too scared you’ll plummet straight down to the hard steel of the lab if you try to stand, too scared you might plummet even further.

When you finally do scrounge up the courage to touch down, an air bubble in the old linoleum crackles under your heel and you damn near jump out of your skin. After that, all you can do is laugh and laugh until your sides hurt. You throw Jazz’s scale out in a dumpster a block away and never tell her what happened to it.

What does this mean? Is the weight of you optional? If you think about it too hard, does it become real? What about when you’re fighting, causing all that property damage the city hates you for? You’re not thinking of the strangeness of your mass during a brawl, you’re thinking in terms of survivability. Punch this hard to win, get punched this hard to lose. What about when you’re thinking about it at school? Why don’t you break your desk, or the floor, or the stairs?

You don’t know. Your parents might be able to figure it out if you told them, but you don’t. Knowing about you, about what you really are—

(a freak, a monster, an accident, an anomaly bleeding out energy with every burst of green light you bury into the spiny hides of other monsters, who knows how long until your white rings burn black, if one day you’ll look in the mirror and be no different than Vlad, not because you didn’t try your hardest but because there was never any biological choice, what kind of choice can a species of two even make)

—would just scare them. It’s easier, keeping them in the dark, even if it means they’re trying to hunt you down and take you apart molecule by molecule any time you’ve got white hair.

But it’s not just flying and invisibility and energy you can summon with a thought—

(ray or bolt or fire, you don’t know what to call your power, you never really did pay attention when your parents got going even before you had to worry about all their blinking tech going nuts around you, but sometimes your green light is cool and wispy and other times it's hot and sizzling, sometimes you know which one will bloom between your fingers and sometimes it’s a surprise, sometimes it’s almost like your body knows what to do in a fight better than you, sometimes it’s easier to stop thinking and just let it happen, to just be the freak that you are, to burn white-hot and damn the consequences)

—you have to worry about. You’re stronger every day, stranger everyday too. You feel a little bit more at ease as a ghost as time goes on. It stops being a strain and starts being an ease, even a comfort, and some days you dread the thought of going to school because a ghost might not attack and you’ll be stuck as a human all day. 

That kind of thinking should worry you, probably. 

But so what? You could sneak into your parents’ lab in the middle of the night and try more tests, more experiments, but really, what would that do? You’re a freak, plain and simple. You and Vlad poked your noses in places you shouldn’t have and paid the price, and that’s that. 

Eventually you get sick of worrying and just let it be. You’re a freak who can walk through walls, disappear, and fly. You’re the freak protecting a town full of people who pretty much hate you. Really, what can you do? The same old same old, that’s what. Try and get a little more sleep outside the classroom, maybe. As for the townsfolk? Well, you can’t always avoid the property damages, but you can at least save a few lives along the way.

People even start to say thank you, even if it’s from a distance, even if they think you're some crazed vigilante ghost, and doesn’t that make this whole superhero thing worth it?

But then of course something has to come along and ruin even that much, ruin this budding chance at gratitude, at finally feeling like a real life superhero. And it isn’t a ghost this time. It’s a human. You hadn't ever considered humans to be dangerous the way a ghost can be.

Freakshow happens, and all that hard work is undone in just a few short days. Days you can’t remember with any clarity, just blurs of color and noise, your hands full of stolen money and no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t let go, you couldn’t stop. Attacking the cops when they pursued, terrorizing any humans that got too close, puppeted by that grinning, painted maniac who treated you and the other ghosts like animals, like slaves—

(minions, he’d called you all, and he didn’t even bother to learn your name before he sunk his fingers into your brain, and you never did find out who any of those other ghosts were, what their names were or who they had been before that crystal ball had pulled them under, and they were gone before there was a chance to even ask)

—and tanked Invis-o-Bill’s reputation to a whole new low. Trashing nearly every car the Amity Park Police Department has and robbing the city blind at the behest of a psychotic ringmaster would have done that even if you’d been considered the hero you try so hard to be. Oh well. At least nobody was hurt in all that, unless you bothered counting Mr. Lancer getting left in the custodial closet for a weekend. You mostly don’t feel guilty about that. Mostly.

Sam says you ought to count yourself too, but you try not to think about any of what happened—

(all that time spent exhausted and hungry, he never let you rest, not once, because ghosts don’t need sleep, ghosts don’t get tired, ghosts don’t need friends, but it’s over, it’s all over now, you don’t have to hear yourself laugh as the little humans scream below, you’ll never have to watch Sam fall and wonder if your body will listen to you in time, you’re yourself again, you’re in control again, everything’s alright, you’re alright, you’re safe, you’re home, you’re yourself again)

—and try to pass yourself off as fine afterwards instead, just confused, just tired, just sorry for everything that’s happened.

For weeks after the police shoved Freakshow into the back of a car, your dreams are red. Not with blood, thank god for that. No, it’s like a filter. A stain. Strawberry candy red, saturated fire engine red, the color Sam said your eyes were when you were under his control. It doesn’t matter if you’re having nightmares—

(more common than you’d like, but you’ve never been one to shout after a bad dream and you don’t intend to start now)

—or regular old brain dump dreams. It doesn’t matter if you’re dreaming of broken bones and monsters or forgetting to study for a test; it’s all filtered through that darkroom shade of red.

What does it mean? You don’t know. You don’t bring it up to Sam or Tucker. They’d just worry, and they worry about you enough as it is. Besides, you’re fine. The Circus Gothica billboard is up for two weeks after Freakshow’s arrest, and it doesn’t do anything to you, not like before. You don’t lose time, you don’t say anything creepy. Your eyes stay blue or green, depending on whether or not there’s a ghost in need of wrangling nearby.

It’s just a weird, harmless after effect, that’s your best conclusion. Then you do your best to stop thinking about it. Who you were under Freakshow’s control wasn’t you. It wasn’t. You tell yourself that until you almost believe it. Eventually, you dreams return to their factory settings. Huzzah.

Meanwhile everywhere you go, people badmouth Invis-o-Bill like they’re getting paid to do it. They call him—

(you)

—thief and monster and dangerous, they call him—

(you)

—a menace and a bad influence on the children. A liar. Traitor. Conspiring with other ghosts to earn the trust of humans to terrorize Amity Park all the better. Kids at school spread awful stories about Invis-o-Bill, say he—

(you)

—was probably the ghost of a troubled teen who got in too deep with bad people and paid the price, and now he—

(you)

—spends his afterlife seeking revenge on humans and ghosts alike. They say a lot of bad things about you, for a while. You try not to pay much attention. You’re getting pretty good at that.

After Freakshow, there’s a lull. That doesn’t mean ghosts don’t stop attacking or causing havoc, it just means that, for a handful of weeks, it’s just the little ones. Hungry animals and disoriented blobs and the Box Ghost. Easy stuff. You actually have time to unwind, time to let the tension bleed from your bones, time to catch up on all your late homework and even squeak your grades up to passable. It’s nice. You’d almost call it relaxing.

Of course, the lulls never last. You know this, you’ve learned this, they made you understand this from your very first—

(disastrous, embarrassing)

—fight with the Lunch Lady. You have one fight with Sam the wrong ghost overhears, and everything that’s happened is wished away. You are wished away. For a couple of days, you never walked into your parents’ ghost portal. You were never torn apart and melted back together by heat and light and pain. You were never Phantom at all. Worse still, you have no memory of your erased past, not so much as the slightest disquiet to niggle in the back of your brain when Sam walks up to your locker and starts going on about imaginary monsters like they're real. 

Sam Manson—

(a stranger, a total stranger, just a bottle-black pretty girl you stare at because you’re fourteen and desperate for a connection you’ve never had and don’t understand, she’s nobody else, she’s nothing else to you but a chance at your first kiss and later you will hate yourself for thinking of her like that, not as a girl because of course she is that, but as a prize you might earn, and who cared if she was crazy because she just might have kissed you for some unfathomable reason, and Sam is so much more than the sum of her body, Sam is worth so much more than that, Sam is worth so much)

—is the vehement Goth girl who's in half your classes and is [unfinished]

=

In those stumbling, halting days of dismissal followed by doubt followed by a desperate curiosity to believe that there might be more to life than growing up and settling for less, that movies haven’t lied and there really is something beyond the disappointment growing up has been for you so far. Sam’s purple mouth is a thin, grim line of—

(worry, guilt, fear, shame, envy, panic, uncertainty)

—complicated emotions you can’t parse as you zip up the jumpsuit your parents got you for your birthday. You’ve never worn it before, the fabric stiff and reluctant to bend at your joints. You don’t know how they’re comfortable wearing theirs all the time [unfinished]

=

Sometimes after a fight wears you out, leaves you bruised and smeared with shining green, you don’t fight the transformation. Not because you can’t, but because it feels good to have that fake pulse vanish, to hear real blood pounding in your ears. The weight of you shifts too, and even though you’re so much weaker when you’re human, it’s easier to sink your fingers into the dirt, to haul your meat out of the mess your ghost left behind, easier to duck out of sight before the news vans and curious bystanders get too close. Nobody ever sees you. Nobody ever puts your bruises and Band-Aids and the trashed Dunkin’ Donuts together. It helps that nobody’s ever heard of a half-ghost, that Vlad was cunning enough to hide his powers. Everybody’s heard of the Wisconsin Ghost, but Wisconsin is a big damn state and unlike you, Vlad and Plasmius hardly look like the same man.

Everybody at school just thinks you’re the football team’s personal punching bag, which is definitely true. Thing is, after spending a couple months fighting ghosts, a gut-punch from a junior is kind of a joke. You’re getting ganged up by a bunch of guys in letter jackets behind the auto shop and you have to mime pain to get them to leave you alone. 

Is this real life? Yup, and it’s hilarious.

Time passes, as it does. You get stronger, faster, heavier. You hone your powers. You stop losing control, mostly. New ghosts terrorize the streets. Old ghosts do too, they’re just smarter about it. They all know who you are by now. Hell, a whole other plane of reality knows your name by this point, knows who Danny Fenton really is. Funny though, none of them ever spill the beans to any humans. What better way to take down the one person standing in their way of world domination or an army of hypnotized teens or whatever they’re trying to score than to oust his secret identity?

You don’t ask. Maybe they haven’t caught on that humans have no idea you’re trying to keep a secret. Maybe there’s some kind of code among ghosts; don’t spill a guy’s weakness, even if you hate his ectoplasm. Maybe especially if you hate his ectoplasm?

You’ve had a couple more run-ins with Vlad too. Each time he changes, transforms, you breath hitches, because you can almost see it. Whatever makes up the both of you, piecing the mystery together through the differences—

(light and dark and it’s cliché as anything, it’s so transparently Star Wars, but maybe there’s something to clichés, because you might be the one wearing mostly black but he’s the one with a sucking core, a void, something more horrific for its absence, like he used to be full of stark white light too but it’s all been burned up and whatever’s left is just playing through the motions, pretending at being something else, who knows what it means but you know that it scares the hell out of you)

—between you and him. He goes on and on about how you’re more like him every day, but he’s wrong. He’s so wrong. You’ll never be like him, and it isn’t just a matter of morals.

What you are, down to the complex disaster of your DNA, is different than what makes up Vlad, and you don’t need to slide a piece of him under a microscope to see that. You thought differently once, but now you know better. A glance is all you need. What you are and what he is, has become—

(powerful yes, but ugly and hating and cruel, the rings that flash at his waist are just shadows reflecting light, trying to hide a black mouth brimming with hungry teeth)

—well, you might as well be different species.

Vlad’s crazy and Vlad’s a jerk, but he is right about one thing. There’s so much about the Ghost Zone you don’t understand, and it’s this ignorance that just might get you—

(or somebody else, and isn’t that an old favorite in the nightmares)

—killed. You don’t know if it was fate or a simple coincidence that your parents were working on the Ecto-Skeleton when Pariah Dark woke up. You’re fourteen years old and you can shoot lasers out of your fingers; you don’t have the wherewithal for philosophical theology. You’re just glad they got it functioning in time to stop the King of All Ghosts from overrunning the city, even if the stupid thing nearly kills you.

You don’t fret much about the Ecto-Skeleton vanishing after you pass out. You do, however, remember Pariah’s nasty grin—

(having that much power, it’s a burden, isn’t it child)

—when you stumbled under the strain. You don’t know if he meant what the suit enabled you to do or if he meant the power in your own two hands. Either way, you remember those words, like they’re branded onto your brain, and you don’t have a choice but to hear it over and over every time you try to sleep. They rang in your head like bells in the days after you’d pushed him back into that sarcophagus, stuck in bed aching and weaker than you’ve ever felt in your life.

Because it is a burden. Everybody hates and fears you, but at the same time they happily expect you to protect them from hordes of skeletal ghosts. Sometimes you panic, so aware of how young you are, of how little comic books and video games have prepared you for a life like this, hiding bruises and spinning bold-face lies to everybody from your parents to the U.S. government. Teenagers are supposed to rebel, sure, but if you ever come clean you’d be thrown in a cell and they’d never, ever let you go. Not just because you’re a criminal—

(and you are, thanks to Freakshow and thanks to dozens of ghosts, and you’ve left an imprint of your tiny, impossibly heavy body all over the city, and you’ve done your best to protect everybody but you leave rubble and shrapnel wherever you go, ambulance sirens wail through the streets every day, and everybody’s just as scared as you are, just as fascinated as you are, and yet so many students and teachers have left Casper High, so many faces you used to see everyday in the hallways have vanished, so many business and restaurants and homes sit empty, gathering dust and graffiti, and it’s your fault, if you hadn’t walked into the Ghost Portal none of this would be happening, none of this would ever have happened at all, and you’re too much of a coward to show your face, to tell anyone but your best friends what kind of a monster you really are)

—but because you can phase through solid objects, you’re considered a monster with less rights than a dog.

Sometimes you wish Sam wasn’t a budding ghost-rights activist. You’d probably have an easier time studying if she didn’t rattle off all these statistics and news articles, stories of government agents in white suits quarantining whole city blocks to purge the ghosts inhabiting them, of ghost attacks stopping all at once in little towns after strange men with guns and knives and felonies like grave robbing and murder slunk through in the night. Ghosts are dangerous, there’s no questioning that. But so are bears. So are people. Just because something is dangerous doesn’t mean it should be destroyed.

Maybe that’s why the ghosts have never spilled your secret. You’ve never tried to kill them. You just want them to leave Amity Park alone. Who knows for sure though? You don’t have the guts to risk asking any of them.

Still, this whole mess is worth it. It is. You can fly, for god’s sake. If you’re careful you could juggle minivans, mimic all your favorite action movies and outdo even the craziest Hollywood stunts. What kid hasn’t dreamed of doing any of that? But you’re not being selfish. You’re not. It’s like Dad says; you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. Progress is a disaster when you’re living it, when it isn’t past tense, when it isn’t all tidied up in a few short paragraphs in a high school history book. What’s happening now is worth it, for the future.

If you ever do tell Mom and Dad—

(you’re not afraid of what they’ll think, you’ve never worried about that, not really, they’re your parents before they’re scientists, and any experiment or test would be to ensure your safety and your health, because that’s what parents do, that’s what good people do, and they’re the best people you’ve ever known)

—you know they’d be able to break down your powers into reams of clinical data in no time. They’d figure out how you survived the accident, how your abilities generate and develop in power, maybe even pinpoint the how of your strange, mutable weight. They’d tell you what that light is, when you change, that light that reminds you so strongly of the stars. After all, just because they’re too oblivious to realize their son is the infamous Ghost Kid doesn’t mean they don’t know what they’re doing. They aren’t known as the leading scientists, engineers and weapon smiths in the paranatural fields for nothing. Mom’s practically got more letters after her name than there are in the alphabet, and while Dad may only have a fraction of that he thinks like nobody else out there. Most Fenton tech are his designs, wild and absurd and covered with stickers of his beaming face, and Mom’s the one who works out the bugs with fond exasperation.

Still, they have to get their knowledge from somewhere, and you’ve seen what they do down in the lab to the formless, red-eyed ghosts, the ones too weak to do much more than snarl wetly. Sometimes they snare something bigger and stronger, something fond of curling prickly tendrils around the nearest human and squeezing. More often than not it’s Dad that’s the unlucky one, always so eager to parse the secrets hidden in each fanged little beastie they’ve fished out of the Ghost Zone. He’s got nearly as many as bruises as you do, some weeks, but he’s never happier than when he’s holding a bag of frozen peas to his head.

After a good wrestle with something that wailed and whistled like a boiling kettle, Dad’ll limp up to the kitchen and settle heavily into a chair, grinning and running his mouth nonstop, talking about how much progress they’ve made today—

(wait ‘til the boys over at the GIW hear about that one, he’ll say with a bray of laughter, makes the piddly little Class Threes look darn near cuddly, didn’t it Mads, why Danny you should’ve seen the fangs on this fella, nearly bit through the exam table in one bite, y’oughta come down to the lab more often, Danny, seeing these spooks up close and personal’d be a great way to help you get over that silly fear of ‘em, and there you are, smiling meekly and holding up your hands and making up any excuse you can think of off the top of your head to keep you out of the lab when your parents have all their equipment up and humming, just in case, aw Dad I dunno, I’ve got this essay due, not today Dad I’ve got like six pages of algebra I haven’t even started yet, sorry Dad I’m sleeping over at Tucker’s tonight and his mom insisted I come early for dinner)

—and every time, Mom will smile indulgently, like she’s falling in love with Dad all over again. She’ll push him back into the seat and tell him to quit fidgeting so she can clean up the nasty cut behind his ear, and every time you smile behind your hand and think, how could Vlad ever hope to break your parents up? They only thing they might love more than each other would be you and Jazz and ghosts, and you’re all so much of their lives they can’t help but love you all completely. How they love each other and their kids and the ghosts they’ve studied all their lives, well, that’s like saying they love breathing. They love each other because without each other, they wouldn’t be themselves. It’s sappy as hell and like any kid you hate seeing your parents get all lovey-dovey, but you can’t help that secret smile as you walk out of the kitchen to give them a little privacy.

Seeing Mom and Dad so hard at work, so happy at work, is why you don’t tell them. They think you’re slacking off, they think you’re getting bullied, and they’re worried about you sure, but better they think their son’s lazy than a freak. If they knew what you did, what you could do, if they knew you were the one facing up against ghosts that made the ones they picked apart in their lab look like kittens, if they knew you’d heard all the awful things they want to do to Phantom once they finally nab him—

(you know they wouldn’t say it if they knew you and him were one and the same, you know you know you know, but sometimes you can’t help but be hurt anyway, to see all that fierce dedication focused on seeing whether or not Danny Phantom has bones, and if he does, how much pressure could they withstand before breaking)

—they wouldn’t know what to do or say or think. They’d be so eaten up with guilt, why hadn’t they known, why hadn’t they realized, what if they’d finally gotten a lucky shot in, what if one of all those cruel ghosts had gotten a luck shot in, what if what if what if—

(and you’ve pictured it a hundred times, it’s so easy to imagine the looks on their faces, the horror the shame the fear, and you know they’d love you all the same, you know this like you know the distance between the Sun and every planet, even little Pluto they just declared wasn’t a planet at all, but you’re young and selfish and definitely some kind of stupid because sometimes you can’t help but feel they’d shun you for the freak you are, turn you over to the GIW because they couldn’t bear to look on the thing their son’s become, and you know that couldn’t ever ever ever happen but still, it’s so easy to imagine)

—and you couldn’t do that to them. You won’t do that to them, no matter how many times Sam or Tucker try to convince you otherwise. How it is now, secrets and lies and detention slips and broken curfews, can’t last forever. You know that. But until then, it’ll have to do, and you’ll have to parse all your growing weirdness without all of Mom and Dad’s knowledge or experience, fingers crossed that their ticking and glowing machines won’t reveal your secret before you’re ready to do it yourself.

=

But you’re turning out stranger in ways you can’t even recognize, and for all that Sam and Tucker are by your side to help you as you change and burn brighter and hotter and faster and heavier, they don’t see it either. Jazz is the one who points it out, one day not long after the Spectra… thing, all out of the blue. She’s been noticing lots of things lately, and acting so strange, like she might have pieced it together. But she can’t have, of course not, you’re so careful, you are always so careful. Jazz is just clever, Jazz got all the brains and you got the leftovers. Everybody knows that. Even you know that.

She comes into the kitchen one morning with a curious little spin to her step, craning her head around and around like she’s running late for school and can’t find her keys, but it’s a Saturday. You’re there by the fridge, cobbling together something that might resemble an edible breakfast, moving slow because you’ve got a bruise all down your right side that makes it hurt to do more than breathe shallowly or raise your arm more than a couple inches. You sniff the milk and instantly regret this decision, and while you’re pouring the lumpy mess down the sink Jazz asks if the kitchen’s always been on the second floor.

You stare at her, too tired and baffled to give her the proper what the hell a question like that deserves, but she drags you over to the kitchen door and pushes it open, and since when has there been a door to the kitchen and oh my god the kitchen is on the second floor.

She gapes at you and you gape right back, and the rest of that morning is spent going over every inch of the house and seeing what else has changed compared to your shared memories.

Everything has, in some way or another. Doorknobs have shifted, cupboards have lowered, doors moved from one part of a room to another. Even chairs have changed their heights. There’s a whole new door neither of you can remember ever existing before connecting the upstairs bathroom directly to your room. Thinking back—

(staggering through your open window, mouth thick with the hot penny burn of ectoplasm and blood, your right hand pressed against the throb all down your side, and aren’t you grateful for your weight, your sturdiness, because before you finally peeled the faceguard off of Skulker’s exoskeleton and sucked that little jerk into a Thermos he got a good shot in with a rocket that hit you hard right in the ribs, and if you’d been normal there would have just been a dark wet hole where your torso used to be but lucky you, you’re every inch the creepy little freak Spectra called you, so you get to limp home and clean up as best you can on your own since it’s four in the morning and no way are you gonna wake Sam or Tucker up again, and you have to be quiet, you have to be so quiet, biting down pain, you can’t make a sound or Jazz might hear, grabbing the first-aid kid from your underwear drawer and slipping into the bathroom, and for once the hinges didn’t squeak, thank god, you think, thank god)

—you hadn’t even noticed last night or even this morning that a door had sprung up where there’d just been NASA and Nat Geo posters before. And your windows have moved, and your bed has moved, and you and Jazz just stare and stare. Why had neither of you noticed any of this until now? Why haven’t your parents? How long has this been going on? 

What could cause something like this?

It takes half an hour to convince your mom that something’s off about the house, and even longer to get your dad to grasp what you both are trying to say. Their eyes just keep glazing over the differences, even something as huge as the kitchen being on the wrong floor. Once they finally do see though, it’s a whole other story. After the initial shock, they drop all their experiments and spend the next week measuring and scanning every inch of the house.

Their conclusion, a week and some change later? The Ghost Portal leaks. 

Even with the huge steel door locked up tight, it seems there’s enough residual energy slipping through to warp, literally warp, the house. Somehow. The way your mom’s lips thin as she says all this means she’s not satisfied with this conclusion, but she puts on a wide smile when Jazz asks if you’re all in any danger. A smart question, one you think you might’ve asked yourself. Y’know, if you still needed to worry about something like exposure. Your dad just laughs big and loud and says not to worry about it, says if there were going to be any creepy side effects they would have manifested by now. Everything’s fine, they assure you both, but you look at the crease between your mom’s eyebrows and you wonder.

Later, when they’re out taking readings from the ectoplasm-damp wreck you and the Lunch Lady made of a McDonald’s and Jazz is studying at the library, you creep down to the lab and pull up all their documentation of the house. Most of it is dry as dirt; neatly typed spreadsheets and tidy, color-coded graphs (clearly your mom’s handiwork), but there’s also nearly a gigabyte’s worth of photos. Clicking through them, you can see Dad’s sloppy angles and the occasional square pinkie slipping into the frame. Most of the first hundred photos have been untouched, but the two hundreds have been filtered all to hell, like Mom and Dad went through the house a second time, trying to find something the human eye can’t see. Just shy of 300, the photos turn a dusty black and white, splattered in places with an all-too-familiar starkly glowing green.

No. Not splattered. A few spins of the scroll wheel zooms in on a crooked picture of the kitchen. There’s green all over everything; the fridge, the microwave, the drawers and cupboards, cluttered thickly at the kitchen table. These aren’t splatters. They’re handprints, slapped in layers and layers over themselves, like somebody dipped their hands in neon paint and went to town.

Every photo taken in that black and white filter shows the same thing. Handprints on doorknobs and railings, footprints on tile and carpet, green smeared and stamped everywhere, tracking the movements of something—

(somebody)

—for what must be as long as the Portal’s been active.

Why didn’t Mom and Dad say anything about this? Why haven’t you sensed it? There’s a ghost, an entity, some thing lurking around your house like it has every right to be there! Green gathered on the couch, on every table and sink, even the upstairs shower and your room and—

(the pictures of jazz’s room are nearly clean, the pictures of Mom and Dad’s room are spotless, but your room is practically bathed in green from floor to ceiling, your bed and desk nearly washed out by a poisonous haze, and no wonder Mom had looked so worried and no wonder Dad had laughed so loud, they know something’s wrong with you, they’ve always known you were messed up thanks to the accident but now here’s irrefutable proof, how can you lie your way out of photographic evidence, how can they look at you and not see you for the freak you are)

—oh.

You close the files, power down the computer, and walk quietly out of the lab. That’s… that’s all you can really do. Sooner or later your parents will knock gently on your door and ask you to come downstairs. Just a few tests, they’ll say. It’s for your own good, they’ll say. We’re worried about you, they’ll say.

But they’ll find out. They’ll find out what you are, and it’ll go one of two ways. They’ll either accept you as the freak you are, or hate you for the freak you are. Either way, there will be no more hiding. It’s… it’s almost a relief, to know the other shoe is finally going to drop.

Except it never does.

You wait, quietly, patiently, expectantly. They don’t treat you any different. They never say a word. When they call you down to the lab, it’s just to show off the latest in Fenton ghost hunting technology. Why? Why don’t they ask? Why don’t they administer tests, if not on you than on the house and the Portal? Why does nothing change?

=

They’re wrong on nearly every count, sure, but you’ve got hurts aplenty to hide. Sam and Tucker have seen the lightning splashed across your skin dozens of times by now, and when they hear the A-listers spreading this bad joke of a ghost story and see you laugh, they laugh too. There wasn’t much chance of hiding it for long from them, after all, when it’s so much easier to patch up the nastier cuts when you’re bleeding sluggish ectoplasm instead of blood pumped by a heart full of adrenaline.

The first time Sam had insisted on unzipping your suit to get a good look at the slash on one shoulder, Tucker cracking a half-hearted attempt at a dirty joke with hands shaking so bad the first aid kit rattled like a live thing, they’d both stopped cold. For ten long seconds, they just stared, pinning you down with matching expressions of horror. It was the longest ten seconds of your life. You’d been scared before, of being found out for the freak you are, of being overwhelmed by powerful ghosts, but this, you’re pretty sure, was the first time you were ever terrified.

But then Sam hugged you, and Tucker had smiled and squeezed your good shoulder, and that had been enough. There wasn’t anything to worry about after all.

They understand now why you gasp when your ghost sense goes off—

(shock like plunging feet first into a frozen lake, shock like drowning with a chest full of dead air, shock like electricity buzzing hot and cold and terrible through your nerves, leaving you breathless and tingling, your fists clenched so tight your knuckles burn white, teeth clenched and grinding as you dart for the nearest lonely corner to gather up your heaviness and summon the starlight in your heart)

—and they know why it took you so long to realize you don’t have a heartbeat when you’re a ghost. The first few times you changed, you’d felt it, felt it like a rush of blood flow to a sleeping limb, but it took weeks to put it together. To realize the stinging, cool pulse radiating from your hand to your chest wasn’t your heart but something else altogether. All that star-bright scar tissue pulses. Involuntary, but without any reaction to how much energy you exert. A constant, steady [unfinished]

=

Breathing is optional too, when you’re a ghost. You’d found that one out the hard way, choking on mud in that stupid duck pond and tangled in one of Skulker’s nets.