#still up and down but way less up and down- if that makes sense?

[safetypinxtales]

Santa baby | Azriel

summary: it's nearing solstice and you have an extensive list for your mate Santa.

words: 1.5k

warnings: fluff, a bit of seduction, Azriel is stupid in love, like absolutely whipped, reader sits in Azriel's lap, feminine reader (lipgloss, hair below shoulder-length), otherwise neutrally described reader, no use of y/n, it's an AU where everything is the same except Santa is a thing.

notes: well, it's been a while but it's Christmas and I have free time for once so why not write? I whipped this one up in like an hour whilst waiting for our guests to arrive today, and it has minimal editing, but it's something light and sweet for the holidays. Hope you enjoy and merry Christmas! 🤍

masterlist

The glass is cold in your hand as you waltz into the living room. The winter sun had already set on the quaint seaside cottage you shared with Azriel. He had surprised you with it after your mating ceremony last solstice, and as you took in the shadows dancing around on the walls, cast by dim candle light, a feeling of contentedness enveloped you. The amber liquid in the glass sloshed with each step you took, but never quite enough to spill over the rim. It was a practiced routine, bringing him a drink whenever you found your mate a little too stuck in his work.

His head lifted from the paperwork he had been going over as he sensed your presence entering the living room, the hand that had been carefully turning a leaf falling slack on the armrest.

His eyes dropped down to your hips, watching them sway with every step you took, gaze fixed as if in a trance.

You let out a low hum as you reached him, extending the glass. His eyes met yours as he put the paperwork aside and accepted your offering.

Slowly – gracefully and practiced – you slid into his lap, one arm snaking its way around his shoulder. The warmth of his hands on your waist spread all the way into your chest, making your heart beat just that little bit faster.

Grabbing his face, feeling the slight stubble of his cheek under your palm, you planted your lips on his. 

The kiss was soft and warm, and perfectly matched the feeling blooming in your chest has he murmured a low:

“Hello, my love.”

“Hello,” you hummed back and felt that slow tug in your chest that you had come to love so. 

You gave a loving tug back and felt Azriel shudder beneath you.

Letting you gaze flit over his face, you marveled at his features. 

The dark lashes framing those mesmerizing hazel eyes of his. The colour of the finest of honey, all swirling and golden. 

The constellations of freckles adorning his cheeks, like a map only you were privy to read.

His lips, currently smeared in your lipgloss and stretched into a dopey smile making him look just as lovesick as you felt inside.

“Hey, Az?” You broke the warm silence that had enveloped you.

“Yes, my love?” He murmured, his eyes flicking down to your lips briefly before finding their way back to yours.

You leaned in to give him another soft peck, only pulling away to rest your forehead against his.

“I have.. I’ve been thinking about something,” you whispered, feeling the breath from his curious yes? on your lips. “About what I want from Santa this year.”

He pulled back slightly at your words, eyebrows raised and that dopey smile still plastered on that pretty mouth of his. He knew as well as you that Santa meant Azriel himself.

“Oh, really? Please, do tell,” his curious hum sent you heart fluttering as you settled in further in his lap.

“Well, do you remember that dagger I liked so much when we visited summer? The gold one?” You purred and ran your fingers through his hair. His eyes fluttered as your nails lightly scratched his scalp.

“The one with the eye-sized ruby in the pommel?” You nodded. “My love, that blade is useless. You couldn’t even cut an apple with it, much less cause any real damage,” he scoffed, ”you’d be better off fighting someone with a cotton ball. That you could at least shove down their throat – hope they choke to death.”

His eyes gleamed at the gasp you let out. The soft swat you landed on his chest drawing out a quiet chuckle.

“I know it’s useless in combat, but it’s so pretty isn’t it? Besides, why would I need to fight when I have you to defend me?” You chirped with a flutter of lashes. 

You just managed to catch his eyes darkening before he pulled you into yet another kiss, this time firmer. Purposeful. 

Claiming.

When he pulled away his breath was heavier and his voice rougher as he swore, “I will always protect you, always defend you.”

“Even if I’m in the wrong?”

“No such thing.”

Your toes curled at his admission, and the hand that was tangled in his hair tightened its grip.

“Good answer,” you mused, and his thumbs swiped at your waist – up and down. 

“What else should Santa put on his list?”

You pretended to think for a moment, pursing your lips into a glossy pout, knowing just how crazy the act drove your mate.

And just as you could have predicted, his eyes dropped down to your mouth, his smile fading slightly, his eyelids growing heavier.

“Well you know that necklace that Feyre has? That she wore on our mating ceremony?” You asked.

He nodded in response, eyes still focused on your lips.

You let your cheeks pull into a broad smile, “well I saw that the jewellery shop by the Palace of Thread and Jewels has its twin in gold.”

“The diamond necklace you kept sighing about for weeks after the ceremony? The one that had me questioning if it was the mating bond that was making you so blue?” He questioned, his voice laced with disbelief.

“That’s the one,” you replied. Removing your hand from where it was nestled against his head, you moved to push your hair over your shoulder, exposing your décolletage.

”Wouldn’t it fit me so well?” You asked, letting your hands graze the bottom of your throat, following the curve down to the top of your chest, watching his eyes track the movement with a predatory focus.

Azriel’s throat bobbed, “It would.”

Your hand fell to his arm, giving the muscle hiding under his sweater a light squeeze. 

“Yeah, you really think so?” You gave him your best hopeful look, batting your eyelashes for added effect.

He simply nodded, too much of a lovestruck, mess of a male in your presence to form any actual words. 

“That’s good,” you hum, “now I only have one last thing on my wish list.”

Your mate didn’t verbally respond, but you took the squeeze of his hands on your hips as a sign to keep going.

“An apartment in the city.”

That seemed to bring Azriel back to life.

“An apartment? Is the cottage I got for us not enough?” He asked with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Well, no, I love the cottage – you know that. But sometimes it would be nice to have somewhere closer to go to after having spent the evening with the others, don’t you think?”

“It takes half a second to winnow from there to here,” he deadpanned, causing you to roll your eyes.

“But I think it would be nice to stay in the city sometimes. To be able to walk home, a stroll along the Sidra,” you gave him your sweetest, most innocent smile and added, “just you and me?”

You could see his resolve melting, and felt the largeness of his hand leave your waist in favour of gently stroking your thigh. 

“An apartment, huh?” His soft voice still had some reluctance hanging on to it, but you could tell he was warming up to the idea pretty quickly.

Your head bobbed up and down in confirmation, and an amused sigh left his lips.

“You must think mighty highly of yourself, dear, to think Santa would give you such special treatment,” he mused as he pulled you closer. 

“Well, I just have it on a hunch that Santa might know that my wonderful, loving mate, who – if I haven’t already mentioned – loves me so,” Azriel’s eyes crinkled at the corners as you continued, “works for the high lord.”

Amusement danced in his eyes, and a soft red glow started making its way up his cheeks.

“So maybe someone like that, like me. Like the mate of the Night court spymaster, deserves to be a little spoiled.” You leaned in to kiss his jaw, and stopped to whisper in his ear, “it sure would make her happy.”

He hummed in agreement, his thumb stroking across your thigh at a slow but steady pace.

“Besides,” you continued, leaning back to look him in the eyes, “I have been such a good girl this year.” 

Azriel’s administrations on you leg stopped, his large hand instead coming up to cup your face. 

He hummed lowly, eyes locked on your lips, eyebrows drawn together in a pensive look.

“You really have,” he murmured.

Again, he pulled you into a kiss, molding his lips to yours. You let yourself melt into him – your wonderful, loving spymaster – into the warmth radiating from his large body. Into the secure grip of his hands and the gentle softness of his lips. You let yourself melt into your mate, with no care in the world, besides kissing him back.

When you finally pulled away you leaned in close to his ear and whispered, “if Santa is very kind to me, I promise I will be just as good next year.”

“Yeah?” His voice was thick with emotion.

“Yes, maybe even better.” You promised, and leaned back to look at him. 

You cupped his jaw, the slight stubble adorning the skin scratching your hand in the most comforting way.

He shook his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Not possible.”

Want to be added to my taglist?

tags: @missussimonriley @azrielshadows1nger @anuttellaa @tele86 @aria-chikage @lilah-asteria

(since I haven't written in a while, lmk if you want to be removed)

[italiangirlcoresblog]

main masterlist \\ f1 masterlist

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"𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐤" "𝐰𝐡𝐨'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞?"

✩ : a real life christmas miracle at the hamiltons

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭. : lewis hamilton

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : comfort, fluff

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1k

✍︎ : give these babies a little love please, we need to spread the christmas cheer

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Snow fell gently outside, the world muffled under its icy embrace. Inside, the twinkling Christmas lights brought a soft glow to your living room, though their warmth still wasn’t enough to melt the cold sensation that had sunken into your chest. You sat on the couch, staring blankly at the three stockings carefully hung on the wall in front of you. Yours, your daughter’s… and Lewis’, dangling limp like a silent reminder of the promise he couldn’t keep.

“Mummy, look!” Your little one spun in her red-and-white pajamas, Roscoe right behind her as he wagged his short tail, matching her excitement in his own special way. Her dark curls bounced as she twirled to the melody of All I Want for Christmas Is You, her joyful giggles a painful contrast to the bitter aching of your heart.

You’d tried your best to be cheerful for her, keeping the holiday spirit alive and pretending like nothing was wrong. Except everything was. This Christmas was supposed to be different: Lewis had given you his word, he’d make it back in time, but when he’d called earlier in the week, his voice apologetic, you’d known the truth before he even said it. A delayed flight, last-minute obligations—it was something you understood, having to constantly balance your everyday life with his tight schedule, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Do you think Daddy remembers it’s Christmas tomorrow?” she asked, her wide eyes so much like his as she snapped you out of your thoughts once again, her hopeful tone tugging at your heart.

She’d been counting down the days with the anticipation only a five-year-old could muster, while you couldn’t even find the courage to tell her Lewis wouldn’t be at home with you in the morning. You didn’t want her to see your disappointment, so you quickly masked it with a strained smile as you picked her up from the floor and put her on your knees.

“Of course, baby,” you reassured her, softly caressing her cheek. “Daddy always remembers the important things.”

The girl beamed, satisfied with your answer, before running off to her room and basically leaping into the bed, her eyes already clenched shut when you reached her to tuck her in—“If I fall asleep now, Christmas comes early and Daddy will be here,” she’d mumbled as she started to drift off.

The lump in your throat was hard to swallow as you leaned down to give her a trembling kiss on the forehead. “Daddy’s always with you,” you whispered, the weight in your chest heavier than before when you settled yourself beside her.

The first thing you heard in the morning was the sound of hurried footsteps rushing over to your daughter’s bed—where you’d ended up sleeping the entire night—followed by a series of excited squeals.

“Mummy, he’s here!” The girl’s high-pitched voice definitively woke you up from your slumber, her words making no sense to you.

You blinked a few times, eyelids fighting to stay open as your more than confused gaze questioned the little one, who was now trying to roll you out of her bed, having already yanked the cover off your slowly freezing body.

“Who’s here, sweetheart?” you managed to ask, slurring your speech.

“Daddy! He’s in the living room!” She was getting more and more impatient, her disheveled hair bouncing around her tiny shoulders as she kept hopping on her toes.

Her words finally clicked in your mind, and you flashed her a bittersweet smile. “Oh, is he now? Did Santa bring him on the sleigh?”

“Yes, come and see!” she insisted, giving you a firm tug on the hand to pull you up.

It was only when Roscoe joined her too, his paws planted on your chest as he started licking you all over your face, that you finally decided to play along.

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, wiping off the dog’s drool from your cheeks as you let your daughter drag you toward the living room. “Let’s see what that little head of yours has come up with this time.”

The words died on your lips as you rounded the corner, your voice trailing off.

There he was.

Lewis stood by the Christmas tree, snow dusting his heavy coat and scarf, the delicate flakes tangled in his locks like a hundred pretty bows. His arms were loaded with presents, which he let fall to the ground as soon as you stepped into the room, his sweet brown eyes immediately finding yours as a heart melting smile spread across his face—and the world around you suddenly felt warm again.

“Surprise,” he said softly, though his tone had a hesitant edge to it.

“I told you he was here!” your little girl kept shrieking, running straight into her dad’s open arms when he kneeled down.

He scooped her up effortlessly, spinning her around as her delighted giggles ringed through the air, the sound better than any Christmas song you’d ever heard.

“Hey, princess. Did you miss me?” Lewis asked her, tenderness lacing his voice as she clung closer to his chest.

“Yes, but I knew you were coming back because I asked Santa to bring you home in my Christmas letter.”

You exchanged a glance over her curly head, his sheepish one meeting yours in an unspoken apology. “You said you couldn’t make it,” you then broke the silence, your almost accusing tone filled with emotion.

“I know,” he stepped closer, before reaching out and pulling you into his embrace as well, his forehead rested lightly against yours. “But I wouldn’t have missed Christmas with my girls for anything in the world.”

You couldn’t stop the tear that rolled down your cheek as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, while your daughter, totally clueless, climbed down Lewis’ side and dashed to where he’d left the presents, carefully inspecting the brightly wrapped boxes.

“So,” he whispered in your ear, his breath grazing your skin as he spoke, “am I forgiven now?”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him and gently brushed your fingertips over his dark braids, taking out a little snowflake that still hadn’t melted. “More than forgiven,” you murmured back, yanking him by the hem of his scarf until your lips crashed together.

And, for the first time in a while, everything felt complete again.

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©italiangirlcoresblog // do not copy, rewrite, or translate any of my work on any platforms

[woso-story]

The Weight Of Love And Loss - Part Six

Alexia Putellas x Reader - Part One Two Three Four Five

It had been a week since Alexia’s long-awaited return to the pitch. The roar of the crowd, the adrenaline coursing through her veins, the sheer joy of being back in her element—it all reminded her of who she was before the injury, before the pain, before everything fell apart. But after the final whistle, when the applause faded and the stadium lights dimmed, she was reminded of what she no longer had: you.

For months, Alexia had been staying with Mapi and Ingrid, their guest room a refuge from the memories that haunted her own apartment. But now, with her comeback complete, it was time to return to her space, to face the life she had to rebuild.

Moving back wasn’t easy. The first night alone was eerily quiet, the absence of your laughter, your presence, deafening. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the framed photos she had taken down but couldn’t bring herself to pack away completely. They were tucked in a drawer now, out of sight but never out of mind.

To reclaim the apartment, Alexia started rearranging things. She moved furniture, swapped out old décor, and even painted an accent wall in the living room. She told herself the changes would help her move on, that creating something new in the space you had once shared would lessen the sting of your absence.

But some things stayed the same. The coffee mugs you both loved were still in the cupboard, and she couldn’t bring herself to replace the couch where you had spent countless nights together, curled up under a shared blanket.

---

On the surface, Alexia was thriving. She was back on the field, her knee stronger than ever. Training sessions with her teammates brought back a sense of camaraderie and purpose. Her therapy sessions continued, though now they focused less on processing her injury and more on navigating her emotions.

Her psychologist encouraged her to reflect on the changes she had made—not just in her physical recovery but in how she approached life. She admitted that losing you had been a wake-up call, a painful but necessary reminder to take care of herself and the people she loved.

Alexia still attended small rehab sessions, maintaining her knee’s strength and stability, but she no longer approached them with the all-consuming intensity she once had. Balance was her new mantra—on the field, in her relationships, and in her heart.

Her teammates noticed the difference. She was more grounded, more present, and while she still pushed herself, it was clear she wasn’t running from anything anymore.

But Mapi, her closest confidant, knew better.

---

“You’re doing amazing, Ale,” Mapi said one evening after training, her tone warm but probing.

Alexia smiled, brushing her hair back. “Thanks. It feels good to be back.”

Mapi studied her, the way Alexia’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re not fooling me, you know.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“You’re better, yeah. Stronger, happier. But there’s still something missing,” Mapi said, crossing her arms. “You don’t have to say it, but I know it’s her.”

Alexia looked away, her chest tightening. “It’s not that simple, Mapi.”

“No, it’s not,” Mapi agreed. “But avoiding it doesn’t make it go away.”

Alexia didn’t respond, instead staring at the floor. She knew Mapi was right. She thought about you constantly—how things ended, the conversations you had in the café, the quiet hope she still carried in her heart. But you wanted space, and Alexia was determined to respect that.

---

Meanwhile, you had found your footing in a life without Alexia.

Your apartment was small but cozy, a space that felt entirely your own. Mylo, your Maltese puppy, brought light and joy to your days, his boundless energy pulling you out of bed even on the mornings when your heart felt heavy.

Work had become a source of fulfillment. The promotion you earned brought new challenges, and you threw yourself into projects that excited you. You were finally living for yourself again, no longer consumed by the emotional weight of your relationship’s downfall.

But despite your best efforts, Alexia was never far from your thoughts.

Sometimes, late at night, you found yourself scrolling through her Instagram. She looked radiant in her photos—her strength and confidence seemingly restored. You noticed the changes in her apartment, the little details in the background of her posts that hinted at her efforts to move forward.

You didn’t like or comment again, not since the “Proud of you” message weeks ago. But every time you saw her smiling face, a mixture of pride and longing filled your chest.

---

Luisa wasn’t convinced by your insistence that everything was fine.

“You’re doing amazing, but don’t think I don’t see it,” Luisa said during one of your park walks with Mylo.

“See what?” you asked, pretending not to know.

“You miss her,” Luisa said plainly.

You sighed, looking down at Mylo, who was tugging at his leash. “Of course I miss her. But that doesn’t mean going back is the answer.”

Luisa didn’t push further, but her knowing look stayed with you.

---

For weeks, you and Alexia lived separate lives, each trying to move forward while carrying the quiet ache of what had been.

Alexia focused on her career, her therapy, and her friendships. She was stronger than she had been in months, her confidence slowly returning. But every now and then, she’d catch herself glancing at her phone, wondering if you were thinking of her too.

You continued to build a life that felt fulfilling and free, Mylo at your side and work keeping you busy. But in the quiet moments—those rare evenings when the noise of the day faded—you wondered if Alexia had truly moved on, or if she missed you as much as you missed her.

The people around you saw it—the lingering shadows in your smiles, the way neither of you seemed quite whole.

Neither of you were ready to reach out. Neither of you were ready to let go.

And so, for now, you lived separate lives, carrying the hope that maybe, one day, your paths would cross again.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Teen Villain Alliance

Chapter 7

Jazz had been against the Teen Villain Alliance. 

As proud as she felt for Danny creating a safe place for meta teens to go, it… it was still villainy. These were still kids, broken, strong, powerful kids, and the fact that so many of them fall into lives of crime was a tragedy. So the fact that Danny was explicitly allowing and even teaching these children to commit crimes… Words had been said. Loud, angry words that shook the walls with their rage.

Words that their parents didn’t hear all the way in the basement. As always too busy with their work to pay attention to their children–

Well. At the very least she made her feelings known. 

Armed with her best psychology textbooks and two years of Stanford classes, Jazz prepared for her greatest challenge yet: infiltrating a criminal organization. Run by her baby brother. 

It hadn’t been easy. After their argument, Danny had been keen to keep her away from his “project.” And Jazz couldn’t just suddenly pretend to be onboard with crime. Despite his low self-esteem, Danny was smart and definitely would figure out that she was faking. With Danny gray-rocking her and the mental health of all the children he could help at stake, Jazz did something drastic, something no one would ever expect of her and something that would horrify Danny. 

She transferred to Amity Park Community College and moved back home. 

Stanford hadn’t understood. Her new friends didn’t understand. Danny, spitting mad and accusing her of spying on him, didn’t understand. But with her less strenuous classes, and extra income from online counseling sessions, Jazz was able to track down their meeting places and help set up the Teen Villain Alliance. 

It had taken a long time to convince Danny that she wasn’t going to turn them in to the Justice League. That was her fault; she’d reacted viscerally to Danny’s pitch for the TVA and broken his trust. For someone already as untrusting as Danny, the fact that she even had it was the result of years of being there for him instead of their parents. 

Now, she was older. She’d gone back to Stanford after the TVA took off and started making a profit and gotten her degree. She spent days in the Ghost Zone looking after the kids that ran through the halls of her brother’s haunt. She held regular individual and group therapy session and was in charge of a whole slew of children who didn’t want to commit crimes–there weren’t many, but kids often took long breaks in between missions and she chose to count them among her number. 

It wasn’t an ideal life, nor was it one she could have prepared for, but it was hers. 

Returning to her warm and inviting office in Phantom’s Haunt, Jazz checked her itinerary. She had an interview with a new teacher: Red Hood, set to teach riflery. She checked his file; there hadn’t been many interactions between the Alliance and the rogue, but most of them were neutral, and his open desire to protect children made him a shoo in for the position. Damian had brought him to her attention when discussing potential allies with Danny, and Danny had handed the list off to her without a second thought. 

Her office, designed to look like the old-timey library of her dreams, lit up red as the clock struck 3 (in the afternoon, she wasn’t a heathen) and the automatic summoning circle flared to life. A rush of light spun around the interior of the circle, spinning and flickering until it fell back down, revealing… a normal man holding groceries. He promptly dropped them and pulled a gun on her, pointing it at Jazz’s head as he demanded to know where he was.

Jazz frowned. She suppose it made sense that Red Hood wouldn’t be in uniform 24/7, but she’d hoped to catch him while ‘on the clock.’ Oh well. “You’re in my office, Mr. Red Hood. Please don’t try to shoot me; the ecto-barrier will hold, and I’d rather not replace the carpet again.”

“The fuck are you talking about!?” Red Hood barked. He didn’t lower his weapon. Jazz made a note of it on her chart. “Who are you? How did you kidnap me!?”

“I’m Jasmine, human resources director of the Teen Villain Alliance. I’ve summoned you for an interview today.”

He looked out of his depth. Jazz could understand; most of the human instructors she hired  were (and one had been enraged by the idea that a villain organization had a human resources department). “Summoned? I’m not a fucking demon! What the hell are you even interviewing me for?”

“Field teacher on projectile weapons and pyrotechnics, Mr. Al Ghul. We need more teachers who can take the kids out to the human world, and–”

“What did you just call me?” Now he looked disturbed. 

“Mr. Al Ghul? Your name?” Jazz checked her documentation again. Jason Al Ghul was listed at the top under Name. “Your younger brother, Damian Al Ghul has recently joined our organization and recommended you… Are you not the Red Hood?” She reached under her desk where she kept an ectogun charged. 

The man tucked away his gun and held up his hands, eyes locked where Jazz’s hand held her pistol. “...Yeah, that’s me. So this is where Damian ran off to?” Jazz relaxed and let go of the ectogun. Red Hood tried to walk out of the summoning circle, only to bounce off an invisible wall. “What the hell?”

“Sorry, but I’ve had interviewees try to attack me before. It’s safer to keep you in the circle until an agreement has been reached.” Jazz turned to her interview questions. “Now, before we begin, do you have any questions for me? I’m sure this has been very confusing for you.”

“Yeah. What does a villain organization need teachers for anyways?” His eyes narrowed. “Thought all of your kids were already villains.”

“Most are, but most teens… well, they end up caught quickly unless an older villain teaches them. And those villains aren’t exactly someone we’d trust not to hurt them in a training environment. Our school–”

“You have a school? Why the fuck do you have a school!?”

She sighed. “Mr. Al Ghul. If you label a child a villain and give them no way to prove otherwise, no way to grow or change, what do you think they’ll become?”

“Lady, you’re literally trying to recruit me to teach kids to shoot people. Don’t you fucking try to convince me you’re trying to help them.”

“I learned to shoot when I was 4, long before anyone called me a villain.” Admittingly, she wasn’t, and still wasn’t, a good shot, but he didn’t need to know that. “Most of our students didn’t wake up one day and decide, ‘I want to be a villain.’ They were labeled that way by society, their families, even the heroes they tried to stand up to. Here, at least, they have a place to belong.”

“Where they’re committing crimes on Phantom’s orders!”

“Less than 10% of the Alliance actively commits crimes at any given moment.” Red Hood paused. “Of those, we only take volunteers, and only those who are physically and mentally capable end up in the field. Most of the teens just live here, go to school here, recover here. It’s a safe place.”

“...Kids shouldn’t be committing crimes.”

“Kids also shouldn’t be stopping them.” His fist clenched. “Labels like 'villain' and 'hero' are meaningless when you’re dealing with teenagers who’ve already been written off by society. The TVA isn’t about teaching kids to rob banks or take over the world. It’s about giving them a place where they can survive—and maybe even thrive—without being hunted or killed for the circumstances they were born into.”

“And you’re putting ‘em in school.” He huffed a laugh. “You really think algebra and english class are gonna help them? Fix them? Put ‘em back together after the heroes shat all over ‘em?”

She shook her head. “It’s not about fixing them. It’s about giving them a second chance, and, for many? The first safe home they’ve ever had. Now–” She straightened her papers. “If you’ll content to an interview, we can get started. But if you’ve already decided to reject our job offer…”

He studied her with his narrowed green eyes and scoffed. He sounded just like Damian. “Ask your questions,” he spat. “Get ‘em over with quick, I got perishables over here.”

Jazz smiled, fangs peeking out past her lower lip.

[fushiguruuzzzz]

ALL I WANT 4 CHRISTMAS .ᐟ

What are the jjk & aot boys doing this Christmas season?

Somehow, mistletoe is left in his wake like a trail of breadcrumbs. Nobody knows exactly how he acquired all of this, but as he continues to swerve the advances of anyone else he meets under the green and red decoration, his intent grows more clear. There's also a mysterious bundle of it in his pocket, which he explains as his "just in case" backup. Before you knew it he was taking you by the hand and leading you through the house, much less subtle at scanning the doorways above than he thinks. At first you're oblivious, wondering if someone had spiked his eggnog or something of the sort, but no. When he halts abruptly and you follow his gaze upwards, every oddity of his behaviour makes much more sense.

"Would you look at that? Mistletoe. Wonder how that got there."

You can still feel his proud grin against your lips, even after he kisses you.

⤷ Satoru, Jean

He’s lounging on the sidelines, eyeing you over the rim of his mug as you enjoy the winter day, unaware of his lingering eyes. The hot chocolate sears his tongue, but he can't find it in himself to react. How could he care, when you're laughing across the room? What was so funny? What was so special about those people that prevented you from talking to him? He's got plenty of other people gabbing in his ear, they always end up flocking to him, as odd as it seems. He only feigns interest in their words, but if it were you, he'd hold on to every syllable like they were life's greatest treasure. he'd take note of every shift, of every breath you took. But for now you were across the room and all he could do was stare, frozen in place.

⤷ Suguru, Eren, Toji

Ah, yes. The personification of Christmas, your very own worker elf at your side. Clad in a ridiculously festive sweater and some reindeer antlers, Santa Claus might as well have thrown up on him. You're sure that if it weren't for you, he'd be wrapped in Christmas lights and singing carols on doorsteps. "It's holiday spirit! Don't you like Christmas?" he'd say. He makes you out to be some sort of grump, but you know deep down that he's just a total dork.

⤷ Toge, Yuji, Connie

Your boy isn't one for grand gestures, he never has been. Even around the holiday season, his love is quiet; soft. His chunky sweater wrapped around your shoulders, a steaming mug in your hands because he noticed you were chilly. A batch of sugar cookies made just for you, icing of your favourite colour decorating the tops. A pretty little box with a ribbon tied into a bow (or at least it was supposed to be) atop it, even though you made him promise not to go out of his way more than he already has. He just can't help himself. A photo snapped of you when you're looking particularly docile, just for safe keeping. He looks at his little album of you when you're apart, but he doesn't tell you that part. His affection is a collection of small sweetness, like a box of trinkets filled with the little things you hold dearest to your heart.

⤷ Yuta, Armin

He’s doing all of the sappiest things without even realizing it. Who would expect this big, beefy oaf of a man to be so whipped? “Yeah, those decorations are really pretty. I’d rather look at you, though.” “Sorry for staring, baby. You just look so pretty. If you were the only present under the tree I wouldn’t mind.” He’s buying you reindeer plushies just because they’re cute, and when he gives them to you his eyes shine with something so sweet it’s hard to believe it’s him. So you take them, you accept all of it, every little thing teetering on the fence of cute and corny, because maybe that’s what love does to you.

⤷ Reiner, Choso

You know how I said Toge, Connie, and Yuji are the personification of Christmas? Yeah, he’s the grinch. No, he doesn’t need another candy cane. No, please don’t turn up the radio, if he hears another Mariah Carey song he might implode. It would be easier to hide his disdain if you weren’t so adamant, so pushy for him to “get in the spirits.” Get that damn hat away from him, he tells you he won’t allow himself to be subjected to your childish antics. But when the festive shine in your eyes dulls ever so slightly, when you retreat with a defeated huff, he doesn’t know what changes. He doesn’t understand why, but he knows he doesn’t like it. So he tugs you back with an annoyed huff, grumbling under his breath as he falls victim to your will. He always ends up doing that, somehow. Always ends up at your mercy, even though if it were anyone else he’d have blocked them out long ago.

⤷ Megumi, Levi, Sukuna

He seems like something straight out of a hallmark movie. Okay, maybe he isn’t as cheerful as your picture perfect husband, waltzing around like Buddy the Elf. Maybe he’s got that passive expression on his face, the one that’s just barely grown easier to read over the years you’ve grown to know him. But he’s cooking you meals and massaging your back, he’s sliding you his card over the kitchen counter before he leaves for work and telling you to do something nice for yourself. He doesn’t care, as long as he gets to see the results; see how happy they make you. He trusts you, he trusts that you’re just as his as he is yours, and that means all of his work benefits him just as much as you. Because he gets to see your face light up, see the subtle curl of your lips with every act of service, and knowing he’s the only one is well enough for him.

⤷ Kento, Erwin

a/n — I wrote this randomly at 4am because one of my mutuals asked if I was doing a Christmas special. Yes apparently I am. Also Gojo fit a few of these but I decided on that one :3 I was thinking about doing more fandoms but I’m not 100% confident in my characterizations for hq, hxh (been a HOT minute since I’ve watched), etc. so aot and jjk it is <3 most people are only here for jjk anyway so

[kk095]

Xmas in the ER

*Hello there everyone, and merry Christmas to those who celebrate! As promised, here's my latest story. I hope you all enjoy the story as much as I do, and feel free to shoot me a message, comment, or leave me asks if you have any questions! I will also be posting another story sometime on New Year's Eve.*

As the old saying goes, Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year. The holiday is a great opportunity to spend time with loved ones, exchange gifts, and make lifelong memories. But for Dr Lindsay, this year’s Christmas was just another Wednesday where she was tasked with holding down the 7pm to 7am overnight shift in our ER. Naturally, Lindsay was bummed out about the idea of having to work on Christmas, but the emergency department is a 24/7 operation! Little did she know, she’d still have a holiday she’d never forget!

That night, the weather was awful. It was dark, freezing cold, and snowing heavily. Visibility was limited, and the roads were covered in a fresh coat of snow and ice. “Jeez… I bet we’ll have a couple of MVCs tonight.” Lindsay thought to herself shortly after she started driving, trying her best to carefully make her way to work through the frozen, wintery landscape. Fortunately for Lindsay, the roads were mostly empty, most people in the area opting to stay indoors. Even though the roads were empty, the conditions were less than ideal, so she felt the best move was to drive slowly.

Despite Lindsay doing everything in her power to arrive safely at the emergency department, fate had other plans for the cute, sporty tomboy doctor! On the highway about 10 minutes or so from her destination, Lindsay’s car slipped on a patch of ice on the road. The car almost immediately lost control, redirecting the doctor’s vehicle towards a cement barrier in the median of the highway. Lindsay’s heart raced as she white-knuckled the steering wheel, frantically attempting to regain control of the errant vehicle. But it all happened so fast! There was only so much Lindsay could do in those few seconds. Lindsay was unable to stop or change the trajectory of her car and slammed head on into the cement median.

CRUNCH! The windshield shattered, glass fragments flying everywhere inside the vehicle acting almost as little bits of shrapnel. Lindsay raised one arm to attempt to cover her face from the glass shards, but a few nicked her face and neck. The steering column was forced inwards, slamming Lindsay in her chest with tremendous force before being blown back a second or so later when the airbag deployed. “AHHH!” Dr Lindsay yelped, feeling something pop inside her chest. Even with the vehicle stopped after the impact, the momentum generated from the accident caused Lindsay to be thrown around a bit. Just like that, the roles were reversed, and now Lindsay found herself in need of assistance in the ER.

Upon arrival at the emergency department, Lindsay was awake, alert, and doing anything and everything she could to fight through the pain. While being wheeled in through the main entryway of the ER, she was laid out on a backboard atop a gurney with a c-collar around her neck. Lindsay was stripped barefoot, down to just her black sports bra and scrub pants. EKG electrodes and wires were stuck onto her torso, while IV lines were set up in each arm. A blood pressure cuff was wrapped around her left bicep, and a pulse oximeter was on her left index finger. The ER doc’s body was in relatively good shape, but she had some cuts and scrapes on her face and neck from the glass shards.

While being wheeled in, Dr Lindsay was experiencing a weird déjà vu of sorts. She’s walked through those same entryway doors more times than she could count, but she never saw the emergency department from that angle. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea of being brought in as a patient. Her pretty blue eyes scanned her surroundings, attempting to make sense of the nonsense. “33 year old female, blunt chest trauma, single car MVC. BP 60 over palp, heart rate’s 140 and climbing, pulse ox down to 90. Got IVs going on scene and started fluids, but her vitals aren’t looking too good.” Lindsay heard a female medic rattle off while wheeling the stretcher down the hall towards trauma room one. “Ok, thank you. Let’s get her over to trauma one. I’m gonna start her on the MTP and get a chest x ray.” A familiar voice replied to the medic. “who is that?” Lindsay thought to herself. “Dr Sarah maybe? I know she was supposed to work the day shift today.” Lindsay answered, still thinking to herself.

The gurney was still being wheeled towards the trauma bay. Dr Sarah leaned over, coming into Lindsay’s line of sight and lowered a stethoscope onto her chest. Sarah didn’t look down at Lindsay’s face, so she didn’t immediately realize who her next patient was. “Diminished breath sounds on the left side, we might need a chest tube.” Sarah observed, pulling her stethoscope away after a brief listen. Dr Sarah then looked down at the gurney, her eyes locking with Lindsay’s. Sarah’s eyes could be seen widening behind her glasses, absolutely stunned at what she was looking at. Sarah gasped, unable to get a word out. “Sarah….?” Lindsay whimpered, her voice weak and breathy. “OHMYGOD, Linds?! What happened?” Marveled Dr Sarah, still processing the concept of Dr Lindsay- a friend and coworker, being her next patient. Lindsay’s lip quivered, her eyes started to moisten. “my car… it just slipped… I don’t know what happened…” Lindsay explained to Sarah, her voice wobbly, now on the verge of tears. “It’s ok Linds, it’s gonna be ok! We’re gonna take a good look at you!” Consoled Sarah, gently grabbing Lindsay’s right hand, her voice a bit panicked.

Once in the trauma room, the stretcher was lined up parallel to the table, where Nurses Heather and Nancy waited. “LINDSAY?!” Heather exclaimed the instant she recognized who the patient was. “Hunny?! What happened?!” Nurse Nancy chimed in, equally surprised. Lindsay didn’t answer, but the familiar voices certainly comforted her through the terrifying uncertainty she was experiencing. “Let’s get her on the table on my count! One… Two… THREE!” Sarah barked out. The trio of beautiful ladies picked up the backboard and carefully moved their coworker onto the table while the paramedics took their stretcher back and exited the room. “Ah….” Winced Lindsay, feeling some pain inside her chest while being placed down on the table. Dr Lindsay squinted, the bright, fluorescent overhead light practically blinding her. “BPs 60 over palp and dropping. Hang 4 units of O-neg and prep Lindsay for a chest tube.” Ordered Dr Sarah, her voice urgent. “Linds? I have to put in a left chest tube. You know how bad they hurt, but be strong for me, ok? I promise I’ll be fast.” Dr Sarah kept Lindsay in the loop about her treatment. Lindsay hesitated for a moment, trying to mentally prepare for the pain she was about to endure. But the logical, doctor side of her took over, realizing that the brutal, painful procedure had to be done. Dr Lindsay’s eyes looked up at Sarah, and she nodded. “Go ahead.” Permitted Lindsay, giving Sarah the green light to begin chest tube placement.

Lindsay laid on the table in the supine position, her left arm raised above along her head. The normally calm and collected Dr Lindsay had a nervous expression on her face. The doctor turned patient’s lips were pinched tight, her forehead puckered, her icy blue-grey eyes looking in the direction of her left ribcage where the tube was to be inserted. She watched Dr Sarah insert a needle full of lidocaine to numb the skin. Lindsay felt a quick pinch, but nothing too worrisome. Sarah then sterilized the incision area with an alcohol wipe. “Ok Linds… Here we go…” The cute, nerdy redhead doctor told Lindsay, reaching for a 10 blade scalpel that sat on an equipment tray beside the trauma room table. Sarah took the scalpel and made a 1 inch cut at the intersection of the 4th intercostal space and anterior axillary line. Lindsay could feel the cold, sharp blade’s every move as it effortlessly slashed her skin apart. Lindsay saw stars, her eyes rolling back in pain. After the cut was made, Sarah attached a Kelly clamp to the proximal end of the chest tube, then bluntly inserted it into Lindsay’s chest cavity. “YAHHH!!!!” Yelped Lindsay, her eyes shooting wide open. Dr Sarah continued the procedure, guiding the tube further into Lindsay’s chest cavity into the pleural space. “AHHHH!!!” Lindsay let out a blood curdling scream, in absolute agony, her eyes tearing up, both her hands making tight fists, feeling the plastic tube forcing its way deeper inside her chest. There was a hiss of air once the tube reached the correct location from trapped air vacating Lindsay’s chest cavity. Lindsay gasped loudly and dramatically, then attempted to sit up. “whoawhoawhoa!” Nurse Heather stepped in, gently laying Lindsay back down on the table. “Stay still for us Linds. So far so good hunny.” Nancy chimed in, gently stroking Lindsay’s hair. Sarah lowered her stethoscope onto Lindsay’s chest and had a listen. “Tube’s in.” Sarah nodded.

Although Lindsay’s breathing improved following the chest tube placement, her vital signs continued to drop. Dr Sarah started another round of blood products and upped Lindsay’s meds, but that didn’t seem to be doing the trick. Lindsay began to shiver dramatically. Her long legs trembled and shook, and at the far end of the bed, her toes were scrunched up hard, showing off the white and red candy cane themed nail polish on her toes, along with the thin, wavy, prominent wrinkles that permeated the soles of the big, size 12 feet Lindsay was always so self conscious of. “Mmmmm…” Lindsay moaned. Dr Lindsay began taking rapid, shallow breaths, continuing to moan. “Shhh. It’s ok Linds. Hang in there a little longer for me…” Nurse Nancy’s calm, soothing voice told Lindsay. “I…I…” Lindsay babbled. “You what sweetie?” asked Nancy. “I just… I can’t believe I’m gonna die on Christmas…” Replied Lindsay, an impending sense of doom consuming her. The trio of caretakers in the room stood there frozen for a second, taken aback by Lindsay’s response. Nobody could believe that words like that were coming from Lindsay’s mouth. “You’re not dying hunny! We need you here New Year’s Eve! You know how we get slammed every year!” Nancy tried to encourage, her tone of voice upbeat and positive. “New Year’s Eve? Pshhh…” Lindsay scoffed, continuing to shiver. “I’m gonna be toe tagged and under a sheet in a little while…. Forget New year’s…” continued Lindsay. “No hunny, don’t say that! We’re gonna fix you up!” Nancy reassured, her voice getting a bit wobbly, upset by how Lindsay was talking about her own fate.

Before Lindsay could even answer, she started gasping loudly, taking deep, dramatic gasps. The heart monitors began beeping louder and faster, playing an almost ominous tone. “She’s crashing…” Heather announced. “linds? Stay with us hunny!” Nurse Nancy said to Lindsay, holding her right hand for a second. Again, Lindsay didn’t answer. Her frantic hyperventilating continued, her eyes WIDE open. “We need to intubate. 8.0 ET and a laryngoscope!.” Ordered Sarah, her voice roaring through the room. “Lindsay? I’m gonna intubate you, ok?” Sarah told Lindsay, moving to the head of the bed. Dr Lindsay looked up at Dr Sarah, their eyes locking for a moment. Lindsay looked like she was trying to mouth something, but couldn’t get the words out. “What’s up Linds?” asked Sarah. Lindsay didn’t answer. Her eyes shifted away from Sarah’s. Lindsay’s eyes remained wide open, but became locked at the ceiling. It was like a switch was flipped. Lindsay’s shivering and gasping came to an abrupt stop. The monitors began to alarm at that point. “V-fib! Starting compressions!!!” Nurse Heather shouted out. Heather immediately began chest compressions, pushing down on Lindsay’s chest hard and fast. Nancy swooped in, snipping off Lindsay’s sports bra, exposing her small breasts and hard nipples. At the head of the bed, Sarah got right to it, beginning rapid sequence intubation. The nerdy redheaded doctor carefully navigated the flexible plastic tube into her friend’s airway. Lindsay’s head bobbed and lolled around from the residual force of Heather’s hearty compressions, creating a moving target for Sarah- nothing that Sarah couldn’t handle! The breathing tube was navigated further into Lindsay’s airway, ending up in the correct depth and location in a matter of seconds. “I’m in!” Sarah confidently announced, taping the tube in place.

Post-intubation, the trauma team decided to shock Lindsay. The defibrillator paddles were charged to 200 joules, gelled, and pressed up against Lindsay’s bare, flat chest. “Alright! Everyone…CLEAR!” Sarah shouted, sending the first shock into the patient once everyone backed away. “MMMPH!” Lindsay moaned, as if she felt the shock. The first defibrillation didn’t do the trick, onto the second one! The defibs were recharged to 250 joules, and shock #2 was promptly delivered. “Mmm….” Moaned Lindsay, again, almost as if she knew what was being done to her. Shocks one and two didn’t do the trick, but third time’s the charm, right? The paddles were charged up to 300, and Lindsay was shocked. Her chest shot up and her back arched. She held that position for a second or two before plopping down onto the orange backboard. “Damn it, no change! Shocking again at 360. Everyone… CLEAR!” Barked Dr Sarah. KA-THUNK! Lindsay’s 6’1 frame was tossed around effortlessly by the stronger shock, but like before, v-fib persisted. With the paddles still pressed up against Lindsay’s bare chest, Sarah shocked Dr Lindsay again at 360 joules. At the far end of the table, Lindsay’s feet kicked up, slamming back down hard half a second later, wrinkling the soles of her big feet once again.

Following the fifth shock, the trauma team switched gears, giving CPR and ambu bagging another try. Heather placed the heel of her gloved hand on the middle of Lindsay’s chest and began pumping away hard and fast. Lindsay’s chest caved in, and her toned belly with abs rippled and jiggled out from the sheer force of the chest compressions. Heather felt Lindsay’s ribs break, but nonetheless, she kept up her life saving efforts. At the head of the bed, Nurse Nancy attached the ambu bag to the ET tube, puffing the light blue bag every few seconds or so, sending critically needed oxygen directly into the coding doctor’s lungs. Dr Sarah stood off to the side of the table injecting the first doses of epinephrine and atropine into Lindsay’s IV line in hopes of stimulating positive cardiac activity. While waiting for the meds to kick in, Heather kept at it, brutally going to town on her coworker (now patient’s) chest. Heather looked down at Lindsay’s face while continuing CPR. Lindsay’s head bobbed and bounced around in sync with each individual compression. Her eyes were WIDE open, her face locked in a full-blown death stare. The ET tube hung out the side of Lindsay’s mouth, taped in place, hugging her pale lips. Heather couldn’t believe a familiar face was in such dire shape. “The ones with their eyes open never make it…” Heather thought to herself. Back at the head of the table, Nancy continued ambu bagging. “You’ve got a long life ahead of you… We all love you and need you here Linds…” Nancy whispered into Lindsay’s ear, as if she was trying to convince Lindsay to not die.

Over the coming minutes, Lindsay’s chest began to take an absolute beating. A nasty bruise started to form in the center of her chest on top of the breastbone. Mid code, Lindsay’s chest tube began to drain a substantial amount of blood seemingly out of nowhere. “What the hell?...” A surprised Dr Sarah thought out loud. In the blink of an eye, a couple liters of blood drained through the tube. “She’s bleeding somewhere in her chest. Maybe a cardiac chamber or great vessel injury.” Speculated Sarah, trying to explain away what she was seeing. “I’m gonna do an echo. Let’s see what her heart’s doing. Maybe that’ll give me something to work with.” Sarah went on. With CPR ongoing, Sarah squirted a little bit of clear, conductive ultrasound gel onto Lindsay’s bare chest. She turned on the ultrasound monitor screen and lowered the wand onto the portion of Lindsay’s chest where the gel was and began moving it around for a second or two to spread it out a bit. Sarah then moved the ultrasound wand over Lindsay’s heart and eyes the monitor screen. “….oh Lord…what a mess in there…” Uttered Sarah. “Hmm?” Heather overheard. “Massive tamponade.” Sarah shook her head. “Pericardiocentesis?” asked Heather, wondering what the next step was. “I don’t think that’ll do the trick. We need to crack her chest and see what’s really going on in there. I’m gonna set up a thoracotomy tray.” Sarah explained to Nurse Heather. Nurse Heather’s eyes went wide once she heard the word “thoracotomy.” That was a last ditch effort, hail Mary procedure used in the most critical patients. Heather has seen many patients get their chest cracked during her time as a nurse in our ER, but the idea of a friend, coworker, and familiar face being the recipient of such a procedure really bothered Heather at a deeper level.

Betadine was splashed across the left half of Lindsay’s chest. The strong, chemical scent of antiseptic hit everyone’s nostrils in less than a second. Sarah picked up the scalpel, making a crude, but decisive incision. The cut started just to the left of Lindsay’s sternum, extended laterally across her chest, underneath her left nipple, and concluding just shy of her left armpit. Heather halted CPR while Sarah worked to separate the underlying tissue and muscle to make way for the rib spreader. With an adequate space created, the metal rib retractor was placed, and Lindsay’s chest was forcefully pried open. A loud popping and cracking sound echoed around the room while Sarah turned the knobs on the spreader. Upon entry to Lindsay’s chest cavity, there was a massive rush of blood. “Suction! SUCTION!” Shouted Sarah, packing handfuls of surgical sponges into the fresh incision area. Heather lowered a suction tube into Lindsay’s chest cavity and began removing the excess blood to create a good line of sight for Sarah. The suction tube made a wet slurping sound as it removed the blood. Meanwhile, Sarah incised the fibrous lining of the pericardium to relieve the tamponade and placed a vascular clamp on the descending aorta in order to redirect blood flow and quell any arterial bleeding- at least temporarily. Heather continued to apply suction every few seconds or so, the line of sight clogging up with blood like clockwork. “Starting cardiac massage.” Announced Sarah, reaching into Lindsay’s chest, beginning to vigorously massage away at Lindsay’s strong, athletic heart. Sarah’s gloved hands were wrapped firmly around the beautiful tomboy doctor’s heart, squeezing much needed blood to the rest of her body. A wet, rhythmic squishing sound was produced from Dr Sarah’s internal resus efforts. “Come on… come on Linds…” uttered Sarah under her breath.

Sarah squeezed and squeezed, but her multiple cycles of cardiac massage failed to restart Dr Lindsay’s heart. Next up, the team opted to give the internal paddles a try. The internal paddles were charged to 20 joules and lowered into Lindsay’s chest around her erratically twitching heart. THWACK! Lindsay’s heart tensed up for a second before going right back to v-fib. Sarah sighed. “No change, going again at 30. Everyone… CLEAR!” Sarah shocked again. Lindsay’s torso jolted sharply in response to the shock, but v-fib remained. “Hitting her again at 40!..... CLEAR!” Sarah’s voice surged. “Mmm….” Lindsay moaned in reaction to the shock. “she’s still in v-fib, let’s go again…. CLEAR!” Sarah yelled out passionately. A dull, wet thump was heard, however, Lindsay’s heart still couldn’t be shocked out of v-fib. “AGAIN!... CLEAR!” Yelled Sarah, lowering the blood soaked internal paddles back onto Lindsay’s cracked open chest. “Still nothing. Recharging the internal paddles to 40!” Sarah announced, her tone of voice growing more and panicked. The high pitched, electrical whirring sound of the paddles recharging bounced around the room. “Ok…. CLEAR!” Sarah defibbed Lindsay again. Almost instantly after the shock, the heart monitors flatlined. Lindsay’s heart sat completely motionless in plain sight. Dr Sarah removed the large, spoon shaped paddles and gently set them back on the crash cart. Sarah began removing her gloves and eyeing the clock on the wall. “It’s over. Time of death, 19:35.” Sarah called out, abruptly terminating the code.

The trio of caretakers stood there shell shocked for a moment while the high pitched hum of the flatlined monitors droned around the room. Nancy removed the ambu bag, a small amount of air quietly hissing out. Heather switched off the monitors, making the once loud, chaotic room eerily silent. Nobody said a word, but knew exactly what to do next. The IV lines were taken out of each arm. The EKG electrodes were disconnected. The BP cuff was taken off Lindsay’s left bicep. The pulse oximeter was taken off her left index finger. A blue surgical drape was hastily tossed on top of the thoracotomy site. Lindsay’s eyes remained wide open as her body was covered, appearing as if she watched the sheet get pulled over her head. Last but not least, a toe tag was filled out and placed on the big toe of Lindsay’s left foot. The tag dangled in front of Lindsay’s hot, wrinkly soles, serving as a harsh reminder that no Christmas miracles would be taking place that night. In this alternate reality, Lindsay was now the latest beauty who found herself toe tagged and under a sheet in our emergency department.

[bcacstuff]

From Outlander to intrepid hiker to whisky distiller, Sarah Tucker meets a warrior spirit in actor and entrepreneur Sam Heughan…

There is something of the poet adventurer in Sam Heughan, the actor best known for his eleven-year tenure as the handsome Jacobite warrior Jamie Fraser in the series Outlander, who meets and falls in love with time-travelling 20th-century nurse Claire Beauchamp, played by Caitriona Balfe.

Meeting him, albeit over a zoom call, I get the feeling this is a man who never sits still, is eternally curious about life, has boundless intellectual as well as physical energy – a  doer who enjoys getting his hands dirty.

“I don’t think Fraser would like me,” Heughan commented recently, “He would consider me a stupid actor.”  I disagree.  When Heughan speaks about his life, and work, he shows a keen sense of purpose, practicality and determination. He shows a wit and versatility which makes him resourceful. All qualities of which Jamie Fraser would approve.

Heughan’s deep-rooted passion for Scotland and all things Scottish is evident in how his face lights up when he describes the mysterious landscapes he has encountered while working on Outlander and Men in Kilts.  The images he conjures are visceral.

“My uncle, for a time, lived on the Isle of Eigg, and there’s a group of Islands, Muck, Mull, Rum, really interestingly-named places, lying south of Skye. My family would visit every summer; catch a ferry across to the Isle of Eigg and see the landscape completely differently. Once we hit the North Sea, I would feel like an explorer. The Ferry was the only way to get around before the [English] military built the roads. The clans controlled the ocean.”

From the standing stones of Clanais on the Isle of Lewis, where Outlander was filmed to the Schiehallion, one of Scotland’s most popular munros, he seems bewitched by the legends as much as the energy surrounding these places

Although he admits the final chapter on Outlander left a void in his schedule (the crew became like a family, the wrap party was held outdoors with bagpipes and a ceilidh), in December he will be in Nepal, trekking up Everest to Base Camp (the hard way) with acclaimed mountaineer Jake Norton. He met Norton while preparing for a role in a film about the explorers Stanley Irvine (1902 – 1924) and George Mallory (1886 – 1924), whose ill-fated attempt on Everest has gone down in history. Norton was on the team that found Mallory’s remains in 1999. Irvine’s partial remains were only found earlier this year.

“We will be trekking through a lesser-known valley that no one has ever been to before, which will mean reaching a 19,000-foot ridge and rappelling down into the valley, so that will be quite an experience. I’m terrified, but I have a great respect for that mountain. I am not doing this for television or film – I am just doing this for myself.”

Heughan’s voice is as smooth as his whisky. His latest venture is his multi-award-winning whisky and gin, ‘The Sassenach’, the Gaelic word for ‘outsider’. He feels he is an outsider to the industry, but the idea behind the name seems to have emerged from his mother, who is an English artist and was called ‘Sassenach’ when she arrived in New Galloway, and in Outlander, Jamie Fraser calls his wife Sassenach as s term of endearment. “The name is very special to me,” he tells me.

“Five years back, I travelled a lot, and I remember being in a bar in London.  It was a Scottish celebration of some sort – St Andrews Day or perhaps Burns Night. There was a single malt on the bar’s top shelf, and as soon as I tasted it, it reminded me of Scotland. I have an emotional reaction to it, but with other spirits, less so. It made me feel quite homesick. It is Scotland in a bottle…it is personality in a bottle.”

Watching Heughan talk about the whisky, the research which goes into it, the foibles of flavour, which leaving it outdoors, or adding water or ice to it, has on the ABV (alcohol content), it is clear he enjoys learning about the alchemy of the blending possibly even more than he does enjoy drinking the final product. He talks of the influence of the terroir and water, how he likes the taste to weigh heavy on the palate, and the influence of Asian whisky on the final blend with its balance of butterscotch, honey, crab apple, rhubarb, which reminds him of picking the fruit from his mother’s garden.

Something of the ghost of Jamie Fraser has lingered in this entrepreneur. As Heughan admits himself, he has been playing someone else for eleven years, and observing him talk about Scotland and The Sassenach brand, he appears to have captured some of that warrior spirit. Or perhaps, it is the other way round, and he injected his own spirit into the character.

Sam Heughan reached Everest based camp on Friday 20th December.

[needanaccount2readarcaneposts]

Largely agree. S2 Act 1 is... wobbly, and certainly has some missteps and/or is plagued with some of the same issues as the rest of the season (breakneck pace, montages as an excuse not to write story, Isha's existence, yeeting Ekko, Jayce, and Mel into the shadow realm because they had to erase them from existence for the rest of the plots to work, etc.). But it is, more or less, a believable escalation of events in the aftermath of the S1 finale.

Zaunites are emboldened by the Council attack; Jinx and Sevika grieve Silco; Jinx oscillates between depressed and murderous; the chem-barons start infighting over the power vacuum; Jayce hexcores Viktor in a panic; Jayce faces an actual consequence! for a whole minute! for the child he murdered!; Jayce does yet another 180 on his stance on hextech weapons; Piltover starts striking back at Zaun; Ambessa and Mel play games of politics and intrigue against one another, jockeying for influence over the direction of the city; Caitlyn crashes out after her mother's death, removes #ZaunLivesMatter from her bio and convinces Vi to help her take out Jinx and do police brutality; Ekko discovers just like Vander that 'keep your head down and do mutual aid' is ultimately doomed as a solution to oppression, because it all falls apart the second Piltover gets its knickers in a twist and/or poisons the tree you depend on for shelter, food, and air.

Check, check, and check. I might have hated some of those decisions (removing Viktor's agency; Heimer still being the fucking worst and also having zero reaction to his Council being bombed; ISHA), some of the characterisation might have been a bit iffy, etc. etc. But I could still look at the show as a whole and mmmmostly go, "Yes, this makes sense as a sequence of events; these are plausible ways these characters would be reacting to what happened in S1; the writing is much worse, but it broadly feels like a coherent continuation of the first season."

The problem was that we all thought that Act 1's problems stemmed from needing to rush to get all their pieces on the board and in position for this set-up to build into a thrilling second act and a bunch of really satisfying payoffs in the third act.

Lol.

Lmao, even.

The thing about Act 1 of season 2 is that, while in context with the rest of s2 it was bad, they actually did set up a good story and continued season 1 pretty amazingly.

There were still some problems but genuinely most of those problems stem from the rest of the Episodes not delivering and not on the first 3 setting stuff up.

Act 1 giving us the tree being sick? Really good idea, perfect set up even the connection between the hextech and it being sick? Nice as fuck. It's what they did with it (nothing) and how it didn't matter (at all) that destroys Act 1.

Caitlyn's set up was absolutely not bad, and a lot of people were praising it. It made sense for her character and it also didn't seem like they thought she was right. Not with all the other episodes after Act 1, though. Contrary to populer believe I like morally not so good (evil) characters if they make sense. Caitlyns narrative was promising to be interesting they just didn't do anything with it and acted like what she did in Act 1 was fine and excusable and alright. It wasn't. Had they actually done something with what they set up with her, well I wouldn't be standing here now.

They also promised this season being a Vi focused season and while I would say that Act 1 did actually give us a lot of Vi, in context with the other Acts... no. In hindsight there was no need to make her an Enforcer. "But the lore-" I'm gonna stop you right there, they also completely changed Viktors lore, and even Jinx' lore. So?

CaitVi was also something that, in Act 1, I was way more ready to get behind. I was a CaitVi shipper in season 1, I did like their dynamic and wanted it explored. I liked their kiss. I did not like what they did after that. Not Caitlyn hitting Vi and then getting to hit her again and never apologizing. I am a lesbian and here I am telling you: Everything that happened with them was weird.

Act 1 also gave us this genuine good found family between Isha, Sevika and Jinx. It was so moving and well done even in such short of a time (there is still stuff to criticize about it but the consensus is that it is awesome so yk I can overlook certain stuff). And then they turned around and wrote Sevika completely out of the story and killed the plot device that was Isha. When Isha should have mattered.

I didn't even originally dislike how many new characters they introduced because season 1 once mastered characters like this. Maddie seemed promising, until she wasn't. Loris seemed interesting and well thought out until he wasn't. Lest was such a good addition until she was just written out of the show completely. Don't even get me started on Steb.

Ambessas ploy in Act 1 was also something that I genuinely liked. Even Mel figuring out a mystery was good. Until they decided "well that doesn't matter anymore".

In Act 1 I did actually like the subtleties. I liked how Caitlyn saw the Violets and how, in episode 3 of s2 she saw one through her rifles lense (I have no idea what that is called, sue me haha) floating over Jinx. Because it was a nice add on and nothing that would destroy your viewing experience if not noticed, and it wasn't on the nose.

While a lot of directions they took, I was already questioning (the Smeech stuff took up way too much time) I was ready to give that a pass because it didn't destroy anything, yet.

Up until episode 4, it all seemed well enough, and while the prison scene also made me question stuff (that god damn Enforcer pants joke oh my god I will never let that go what was that) it wasn't anything too bad, yet.

The reason Act 1 doesn't work now is because of Act 2 and Act 3. Had Act 1 stood alone or had Act 2 and Act 3 delivered on Act 1, we wouldn't have that much of a problem. As it is the further Acts destroy what Act 1 seemed to carefully build up.

In the end what seemed purposefully and artistically done in Act 1 now seems like something the writers actually believe.

[bubblegumgothglados]

Aftercare should generally involve the opposite of the things a scene involved, it should balance the "negative" physical and psychological impact of the scene.

This is a fairly neat summation and simplification of a very complex and nuanced topic. But it's a good place to start if you're new and don't quite understand the concept of aftercare or if you're experienced and trying a new type of play. It's a simple framework to build upon as you learn more about your individual needs and the needs of your play partner(s).

So what are the physical and psychological impacts of a scene. (Do note we're specifically talking about those impacts we don't want to last past the end of a scene, puppies don't want to be told they're not puppies as aftercare)

I'm not going to separate these because what effects you psychologically is also going to effect you physically and vice versa. These things are not separate.

A good example on the more psychological side might be degradation which damages a submissive's self worth, self image, ego, etc. To balance this aftercare should focus on affirmation and rebuilding /healing those things. Similarly fear play damages a submissive's sense of safety/ wellbeing, aftercare for which should involve being made to feel safe, comfortable with their dominant, and st ease.

Having said that, a good example of this balance on the more physical side is replacing lost energy. Basically no matter what type if play you're engaging in you will burn a lot of energy, so to balance that you should replace that energy. I write about this in much more detail HERE.

Getting a little more complicated; sub drop. Coming 'down' from a submissive headspace, especially one that includes pain play, can be very unpleasant. The neurotransmitters released during a scene fade away, this feels something like the crash after an adrenaline spike, and can leave a submissive feeling lethargic, empty, sad, etc. To balance this aftercare should involve things the submissive enjoys to bring those neurotransmitter levels back up a little and alleviate some of the withdrawal symptoms. This can include but shouldn't be limited to; cuddles, kisses, warm snugly things like blankets and stuffies, their favourite snacks, their favourite movie or TV show, etc

"Top drop" is less a neurological thing and more of a social thing. Although the top headspace also includes it's own share of neurotransmitters which also drop off it's almost always to a much lesser extent. The most common major effect of top drop is guilt; hurting someone you care about is something deeply ingrained as bad and even if they like it, even if they're begging for it, it can still effect you really deeply. Aftercare for this should involve affirmation that the bottom isn't hurt beyond what they want to be, that they still care about and trust their dom, etc.

This is an infinitely nuanced topic, I could write until the character limit and still not cover all the ways that aftercare could go. But I have to draw a line in the sand somewhere so let me make one final point. Don't worry too much about getting this perfectly right the first few times, you'll figure out what you need and what your play partner(s) need. The most important part is the "care" half of "aftercare" show them you're willing yo put in the effort to make sure they're OK and you can't go to wrong

[castdust]

last christmas.

✩ pairing : lara raj x reader

✩ about : going to lara’s hometown might be the worse idea you’ve done.

✩ genre : angst

✩ warning : a man

✩ a/n : 669 words

Another year, another Christmas celebration. Snow fell in light drifts over the town square as the sounds of carolers echoed faintly in the distance. You hated this time of year now. The lights, the cheer, the laughter—it all felt hollow. Empty. It had been a year since Lara and you had crossed paths, though not in the way you’d ever have wanted.

It was supposed to be a peaceful Christmas for you last year. Your family’s home was too crowded, and the walls seemed too close in with the weight of festive expectations. So, you’d decided to take a quiet trip to a nearby town—Lara’s town. The decision seemed harmless enough at the time, though in hindsight, it was cruelly ironic.

You had been wandering through the town square, drawn by the warmth of the decorations and the promise of a quieter holiday spirit. That’s when you saw her. Lara. She was laughing, her head thrown back as snowflakes melted into her hair. And then you saw him.

Matthew. Your friend since high school. His arm was slung around her waist, pulling her close, his lips brushing the top of her head as though they were in a bubble no one could penetrate.

It didn’t feel real at first. Like watching a film play out in slow motion, disconnected from the ground beneath your feet. But as the moments stretched into eternity, reality crashed down, sharp and unforgiving.

They hadn’t seen you yet. You could’ve left—should’ve left—but you stayed, rooted to the spot. There was something in the way Lara looked at him, something you hadn’t seen in a long time. Not with you, at least.

A laugh bubbled up from her chest, one you knew too well, and it struck you like a physical blow. It was the same laugh she’d shared with you, in the late-night conversations where you both dared to dream about the future. The laugh that used to feel like home.

And now, here you were, an invisible bystander to a moment that wasn’t yours anymore.

What gutted you wasn’t just that Lara had moved on, but who she had moved on with. Matthew had been your confidant, your brother in all but blood. He’d been there for every milestone, every heartbreak. He knew how much she had meant to you, and yet here he was, smiling at her like she was the only star in his sky.

You turned away then, the festive lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors through unshed tears. The betrayal twisted in your chest like a knife, the edges raw and jagged. You wanted to scream, to demand an answer, to make sense of how someone you trusted so deeply could tear your world apart.

But what would be the point?

This year, the wounds felt duller but no less present. The weight of the memory lingered, hanging like frost in the air. You hadn’t spoken to either of them since that night. Lara’s laugh still haunted your dreams, and Matthew’s betrayal sat in your chest like a stone.

As the clock ticked closer to midnight, you found yourself back in the same town square. The air was cold, biting at your skin, but it was nothing compared to the cold inside. Around you, couples held hands, their faces aglow with joy and love. And for a moment, you wondered if you would ever feel that way again.

“Hey.”

The voice was soft, hesitant, and unmistakable. You turned slowly, your heart lurching in your chest. Lara stood there, bundled in a coat that couldn’t quite hide the fragility in her eyes.

“Can we talk?” she asked.

You stared at her, the past year flashing behind your eyes like a storm. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you wanted to ask, but in the end, all you could do was nod.

Perhaps this Christmas would bring closure. Or maybe it would tear open old wounds. Either way, the story wasn’t over. Not yet.

[serraphinna]

"Just once, in case I lose you..."

Synopsis; It took the two of you almost dying for Aki to realise what he wants. (spoiler warning, it's you.)

Pairing; Aki Hayakawa x fem!reader

Content warnings; fem!reader, smut, vaginal penetration, fingering, slight hair pulling (?), semi unrealistic sex, unprotected sex

A/N;  writing got lazy towards the end, literally forced myself to finish this. ( ;´ - `;) but in celebration of the movie coming out, here’s this sexy man.

Aki doesn’t think he’s ever had such a shitty mission before. 

He’s not sure what went wrong, maybe he was tired, more slow than usual. Maybe you and him just weren’t a good pair to fight that devil. Nonetheless, it’s over now—clothes torn and bloodied and bodies covered in scrapes, bruises and sweat but alive.

The drive back home is quiet, Aki shifting in the driver’s seat while you're looking out the window, both of you lost in thought. It was close, so close, the adrenaline still coursing through him, though subdued. The thrill of it all is almost gone, leaving a somber feeling. He wonders what he would’ve left behind. Dying before fulfilling his revenge, just the thought makes his mouth taste bitter.

But then his eyes drift to you, fingers tightening around the wheel ever so slightly. Beside the quiet and their thoughts, there’s something else too. A tension, always lingering in the back of his mind, charged but ignored. But after all that, after almost losing you, feeling his heart sink at every close call, it’s boiling all the way to the surface.

Aki reminds himself to focus on driving, eyes reluctantly moving from your form to stare at the road instead. The buildings mostly have their lights on, leaving just the street lights that seem to make his vision hazy. He finally affords you just one more look, convinces himself it’s to quickly check how many injuries you have and you glance at him as well, your eyes meeting for a moment.

That’s all it takes for him to know what he should do, his fingers once again curling around the steering wheel before suddenly making a turn to haphazardly park in a semi secluded parking lot, pushing his seat back.

“Come here.” 

Is all he says before he’s less than gracefully helping you get on top of him, a few muffled curses, a wince from him, a soft “sorry” from you but finally, you’re straddling his lap and finally, he’s got his hands on you.

“I can’t believe I waited so long,” Aki begins, lips against yours before the two of you can really say anything else, tugging needily but not roughly. His hands fumble with your shirt, rucking it up to splay his fingers on the skin on your side. He breaks the kiss as your weight settles on him, hips bucking up against the pressure.

You’re overwhelming his senses—your warmth, your scent, the softness of your body. One of his hands moves down your side, over your hip and hooks behind your knee to tug, adjust your angle like he needs you even closer. Aki’s nose buries against the crook of your neck, earning a breathy giggle. “That tickles..” you mumble and he smirks against you before pressing a gentle kiss on your skin. “Yeah?” He teases softly, rolling his hips up against you, letting you feel every hard inch of his need for you.

“Aki..” you half sigh, his lips trailing kisses down your throat, humming in approval at the way you squirm. “I need you,”  Aki says, pulling you impossibly closer. “every single day. Let me have you, please. Before.. you know. ” he breathes over your neck and you shudder, nodding. 

“Mhm..” you finally hum, your hands on his shoulders before you’re fumbling with his tie, your ass pressed against his crotch just right. Both of your bodies are aching, but the need overpowers whatever pain would make you wince normally. Aki helps you tug his jacket off, tie loose before he’s impatiently unbuttoning your blouse, tossing it aside with little to no grace.

“You feel that?” he huffs against your lips, kissing you like a starving man. “Mm..” you hum against his lips, pressing down on his erection to let him know that *yes*. You feel it. His hands caress your sides, so gently it makes you dizzy. Then he’s unclasping your bra, one hand moving to your lower back while the other cups your breast, cold thumb circling and teasing your nipple to erect. His lips trail down your jaw to give attention to your second nipple, gently suckling, hot tongue swirling and pressing teeth grazing against the sensitive bud until it’s almost painfully erect, a thin string of saliva breaking when he pulls back and you can feel your core throb at the mere sight.

Fuckkk… he feels so hard, cock straining against his pants and poking at yourass. But he’s not done, he still wants to touch you, see more of you. The hand on your lower back trails up your spine, your nape and then his fingers tangle into your hair to tilt your head to the side before his lips are back on your neck, this time sucking, biting, desperate to leave some kind of mark. “Hn..” you shift, your hands on his upper back, your own fingers moving to tug on his hair, earning a groan from Aki’s lips. He soothes the hickey with a kiss, trailing his lips down to leave one on your breasts until he feels satisfied enough, a low hum escaping his throat.

You on the other hand are frustrated, impatient to have him touch you properly. “Aki,” you half whine, tugging on his locks ever so slightly and he simply smirks, pressing a teasing kiss on the corner of your mouth. “I know. He simply says, hands now on your hips and lips against yours before you can open your mouth again. “Mmhnm..” you whimper against his lips, his fingers hooking and pulling your pants down, helping you kick them off before you’re settling back down on him. He lets his fingers splay across your thigh, squeezing before he pries them just slightly more apart.

“Hurry already,” you can’t help but complain and he gives you this half endeared, half exasperated look that seems to scream ‘what do you think i’m doing?’ but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he lets his index and middle finger hook on your underwear, thumb brushing against your hip before he drags the already damp fabric down, his eyes locking in on your dripping pussy like waving meat in front of a starving animal. You look beautiful. Breathtakingly so—but he’s not the sentimental type, so instead of saying that, he sucks in a breath, fingers gliding over your wet slit.

“Nnh..” your juices coat his fingers, entrance throbbing each time his digits brush against your clit. You’re soaking, so much so he doesn’t need to use spit as a lubricant, instead he gathers up your juices before lathering it over your folds, index and middle finger gliding in between before he spreads them apart, your hole throbbing. Your hips buck against his palm, a satisfied sigh leaving your lips when his middle finger finally slides in. Your spongy walls hug him instantly, sloppy, warm, tightening before relaxing. He gives a few strokes, working you open enough to slide his index finger in as well, fingers curling and scissoring. You moan, grabbing his wrist out of instinct, your face burying itself into his shoulder, fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt at his chest.

Just as your core tightens, he pulls his fingers out, earning a disappointed noise from your lips he can’t help but find cute. Aki’s hands quickly move to fumble with his belt, shoving his pants and boxers down just enough to let his cock spring free, painfully hard and throbbing. A quiet gasp escapes your lips, hands finding their way onto his shoulders and hips instinctively bucking upwards to help him align the angry tip of his cock against your pussy. You let out a barely audible sound, hole throbbing as if trying to suck him in while he pushes upwards just to pull back a few times. He’s grabbing your thighs, spreading them even further, lips tickling the side of your face. “I want it,” you begin, impatiently wriggling. 

Finally, Aki’s hand finds it’s way onto your hip to push—helping you sink down. You let our half strangled gasp, fingers squeezing so hard into his shoulders, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. He groans, pausing for a moment when he’s fully bottomed out, your walls hugging his cock so tightly, almost feels like you’re trying to squeeze it right off. “Fuckk, you feel so good..” he rasps and you swallow hard, wiggling your hips up before sinking down again, your arms moving around his neck to rest your chin on his shoulder.

Aki’s grip on your tights tightens, bucking his hips upwards again and again until the only sound in the secluded car are both of your moans, a continuous sound of your flesh slapping against his, the vulgar noises between your legs every time his cock drives into your squelching pussy. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, your cute little “ah ah ah”’s getting higher, louder. His hand finds its way between your legs, pinching and rolling your clit with his thumb and index finger, your eyes rolling back, a cute little “akii..!” muffled against his skin. “I know, i’m close too.” he barely manages to say, the smooth, controlled motions of his fingers against your clit becoming messy, impatient.

Your core tightens and with a last pride shattering moan, you squirt, your body convulsing and twitching. Reaching his own orgasm, Aki swiftly pulls out, spurting ropes of warm sticky vum on your stomach and legs. Finally, you slightly let yourself limp against him to catch your breath, a bruise on your side brushing against him so you wince. You’re both sweaty, hair sticking to your foreheads and now that the desire’s worn off, you suddenly realise just how much you’re aching. “Ow.” you say dryly, earning a chuckle from Aki. “We should probably get home.” he says, easing you off of him, reaching into the compartment box to get some tissues. “And you need a shower.”

[ghost-proofbaby]

Something my family always did was qe would open presents very carefully because we had to reuse wrapping paper (we were poor) and reuse bows. We didn't get much st Christmas but it always meant something to me as a kid. There were times my parents got nothing just so me and my sister could have something.

I can see Eddie being raised the same by Wayne

i absolutely agree with this. it was harder in my household since we always bought such cheap paper that ripped if we even breathed on it, but bows? always reuse. name tags? save them. any sort of gift bags? don't even think about throwing those away.

and i just... it's nice to think about Eddie being raised that way as well? like a sense of comfort in knowing he wouldn't give us a weird glance when we still do it, even if now we're not in the same position of necessity.

also, i can so clearly picture the first christmas where wayne does this, only his second christmas with eddie. and he's just downright scared. which is weird, because why is the weight in his chest turning so heavy at the thought of letting his nephew down? just this thirteen year old boy who's gone through hell, whose standards might just be six feet under. but it's all he can think about, all he can worry about, as he's wrapping up that damn guitar so carefully. eddie's only gift that year - the only item he'd even brought up in the last six months. and wayne had spent his entire check on it, no room left for frivolous wrapping or shiny new bows. wayne is reusing last year's paper, using an insane amount of tape he'd borrowed from a neighbor to patch up any and all tears his shaking hands make in his rush to wrap the guitar in time.

and you know what? eddie would notice.

make a small comment, saying "is this last year's paper?". and i can feel wayne's heart dropping as he waits for eddie to be upset but then the boy does this easy thing, something wayne watches him do many more times over the years, where he turns it into something positive.

"sick," he'd say, with a toothy grin and buzzed head, eyes genuinely shining as he looks up at wayne, "this paper is sick. i'm so glad you found it again this year."

wayne doesn't have to tell him to carefully unwrap the gift. because eddie wasn't stupid at thirteen, and he knew had to still his shaking hands just long enough to not leave a single extra tear in that paper, just in case wayne needs it next year. he doesn't mind - he's just glad to be celebrating the holidays again with someone who cares.

but it's all over when eddie sees that guitar. wayne expected shrieking or yelping or just... he doesn't really know, just anything. but all he sees is some kid with hair that's a little bit longer this year, shoulders a little less slumped, and tears pouring down.

"son-" he'd start, not even sure how to comfort the boy but needing to.

eddie does the last thing wayne had expected. the boy had been distant since showing up at the trailer, keeping to himself quite a bit, flinching away from touch. but for the first time in over a year, eddie doesn't flinch away.

he launches himself at wayne.

hugs him through his tears, just babbling out his thanks on repeat. they both agree to never talk about it again after the tears dry, and wayne even sheds a few of his own. but something melts that night for them - jokes happen easier, awkward side hugs and messing of eddie's blooming curls as wayne leaves for his shifts are more frequent. every damn day he hears him playing on that damn guitar, even without an amp. the next christmas wayne gets him the amp, another lonely present, wrapped in the same paper (probably for the final time -- it's seen far better days and he's pretty sure eddie could see the gift through one of the torn corners two days before christmas even came) and eddie once again makes a comment about how lucky it is wayne can still find that paper in stores. they both know the truth, and neither really care.

eddie keeps that guitar for the rest of his days, adorned with the nickname of Sweetheart. and they keep reusing paper, both knowing it was more than some bit but deciding to make jokes all the same as if they were actively choosing to do so. it makes it all a bit easier.

eddie doesn't care if wayne never has another dime to spend on another present for him, or can ever wrap another gift. he'll take his damn christmas presents in paper bags if it came down to it, cause the love is there, and god, he had missed that.

[justplainwhump]

Laundry Room

At Rosa's first Christmas at her owners' house, she and Blanca are alone together.

A prequel to Pet Safety.

Content : BBU, implied conditioning, nudity, self-harm (due to conditioning), burns. Caretaking. Falling in love. F/f romance. Kissing.

Rosa's Sir and Madam spend Christmas with Madam's family in their beach house. Pets aren't allowed, Madam has said with a frown directed at Blanca. Since "the incident". The term makes Blanca's neck stiffen, Madam's jaw clench, and Sir roll his eyes. And Rosa? She doesn't know. Is not included in the dynamics that work under the surface.

It makes sense in a way, that the Romantic has intimate knowledge that the Domestic doesn't, Rosa tells herself. Blanca is special. Rosa isn't.

Rosa knows how to cook all the meals her owners like, how to set the table, clean the glasses, arrange the clothes, make the beds. She's a good pet. That's all she needs. All she ever wanted. All that a pet is meant to be.

So good, that it even confused her, when Master Cory took one of the containers of food carefully prepared by Rosa in days and nights of work out of the trunk and sneaked it back to Blanca. "For the holiday. Don't forget me, beautiful. Merry Christmas," he'd whispered into her hair, and Blanca had smiled at him so wide that the aberrant feelings hit Rosa right in the gut.

Nobody had spared a glance at her.

It's an aberrant feeling, being left out. Domestics don't feel lonely, they don't feel sad, they don't feel jealous, they don't feel sorry. They don't have friends. They function. That's all they do.

And Rosa affirms herself that she does. She's a good and functioning Domestic.

As such, she's walked down into the basement right after her owners have left, pulling the doors close behind her. She doesn't need to see Blanca smile as she waves past the car. There's a place for Blanca, and there's a place for Rosa, and they do not overlap.

-

Rosa is still ironing clothes in the utility room a while later, when Blanca strolls in. There's an easy sway to Blanca's hips, an elegance to her movements that seems unfitting for an environment like the packed, practical laundry room that smells like labor and detergent.

She's still naked, like Madam insists for her to be in the house, but even though Rosa understands it's meant to be a reminder of her lowly position, Blanca seems more regal than anyone else Rosa had ever seen.

She swallows. She isn't supposed to think that. She isn't supposed to look at Blanca's body, at her soft skin, at the beautiful curves of her hips and breasts - or at least she isn't meant to see it as anything else than a surface that is meant to be kept clean, just as are all her owners' other possessions.

Rosa focuses on the sheet in front of her, scanning it's pristine white for any creases to distract herself from any aberrant thoughts.

"You shouldn't be here," she says briskly.

Undeterred, Blanca leans in over the laundry hamper, her body a perfect curve, as she fishes for one of Master Cory's worn shirts. Rosa fixates her gaze on her own hand around the iron.

From the corner of her eyes, she sees Blanca bury her face in the shirt, take in their owner's smell.

"Why?" Blanca asks.

Rosa blinks. "Why what?"

"Why aren't I supposed to be here?"

"You're not a Domestic."

"True. I'm a Romantic. I'm supposed to be with my Master." She slips into the shirt, wraps it closely around her and shakes her hair free over the collar. "He's not here. He doesn't want me with him. So where am I supposed to be now?" There's a sadness clinging to her voice that almost stings in Rosa's heart. It doesn't. It mustn't. She has to keep things in order.

"Madam doesn't want you dressed in the house."

Blanca shrugs and pulls herself up to sit on the washing machine, crosses her long, smooth legs. Rosa feels dizzy. "And Sir likes it when I wear his clothes."

"Sir left," Rosa says, sharper than intended. Blanca shouldn't be here. They shouldn't be talking. It makes Rosa slower, less focused. It makes her a bad pet.

"So did Madam. It's just us." Blanca shrugs, leans forward, pauses, as if waiting for Rosa to meet her gaze.

Unwillingly, Rosa puts the iron down and does.

Blanca's eyes are grey. Sometimes the grey is light and shimmering, chrome and steel. Today, they're dark. Like a storm, Rosa thinks. A storm that carries away anything in its path.

"So the question should be: How would you like me, Rosa?"

On my face. The thought shoots through her, bright and short and sharp and cruel, like a lightning bolt.

Pain follows instantly. Punishment. A scream. Hers? Blanca's? Both?

The world turns black.

-

When she comes to, she's laying on the ground, bedded on crumpled laundry. Everything is cold. Her entire left sidethrobs with heavy pain, radiating from her forearm. Blanca's fingers run over it, slick with some sort of paste, carefully coating bright red blisters shaped like an iron, surrounding spots of white and black. Rosa's stomach lurches.

Bad pet, she thinks. Bad pets deserve punishment.

"Please," she whispers. "I'm bad."

"I cooled the wound for fifteen minutes," Blanca says. "You were unconscious. I called Sir. He says you'll be fine."

"Bad," Rosa whispers. "I was bad. I was... Madam will -"

"Sir won't tell her."

"Sir won't-" Rosa stares at Blanca. Her grey eyes are narrow in concentration, as she gently rubs in the salve. Spears of pain drill into Rosa's body. She doesn't flinch. "Why?"

"I begged him." Blanca's lips twist. "He likes that. I made him come over the phone."

"But I was -"

"I told him it was an accident. That I don't want Madam to hurt you for it." She smiles down at Rosa. "That if it needs to be, he can hurt me instead. It's okay. He's not cruel."

Rosa swallows. Master Cory is cruel. But they both know what Blanca meant. Madam is more cruel. So much more. "I deserve it." Rosa shivers. "I was a bad pet."

"I lied to Sir. It wasn't an accident." Blanca reaches for the bright orange first aid kit next to her. Her hair tingles on Rosa's skin. "You burned yourself. Why?"

Rosa clenches her jaw, refusing to answer the question. Focus on the pain. Not on the flutter in her stomach. "You can't lie to Sir."

"I can." Blanca smirks, as she places a bandage over the burn and begins to wrap in in place with gauze. "I love him. I belong to him. I'm made for him. But I lie to him all the time."

Rosa winces the tiniest bit, when Blanca knots the ends of the bandage. "Pets can't -"

"I tell him that I like his wife. That I like his friends. I tell him that every fuck is great, even the quick ones on the backseat of his car. I tell him that I don't mind pain." She bites her lip. "I tell him that he's the only one I could ever love."

"But..." Rosa's throat is dry. "That's... not a lie, right? Pets can't -"

Blanca leans in. She's not fidgeting for the first aid kit this time, Rosa realizes. She's leaning over Rosa, one leg nestled between hers. The white shirt is falling open from her shoulders, her beautiful breasts in front of Rosa, her hair on Rosa's neck, her breath hot on her skin.

"I can," Blanca whispers. "And I think you can, too."

Rosa's lips part, as her good hand reaches up into Blanca's hair.

Bad pet, a soft voice echoes somewhere in her mind. But then her fingers curl up in Blanca's soft hair and all voices and all pain are swept away by the storm that erupts when Blanca's lips meet hers.

[bring-forth-his-sac]

The Christmas Party - Chapter 6

summary: The Christmas Party is nearly here and while setting up decorations, Negan has other plans...

tags: Modern AU, Teacher AU, Gossip, Swearing, Pet Names, Slow Burn, Alcohol Consumption, Flirting

word count: 5.9k

check out the previous part here!

It’s strange how much can change in just a week. Seven days ago, the mere sight of Negan was enough to make your stomach turn. Everything about him annoyed you. From his smirk to his little quips, to how his eyes would follow you. Everything!  

And from the way he had abandoned you at that Target parking lot, it was clear he felt the same. But here you are now, a week later, and things are just… different.

Wednesday morning goes by in a flash. When you aren’t trying to get your students to focus, you’re jotting down decoration ideas for the sports hall or texting Negan to arrange times to meet.

Only on professional business, per usual.

Although you have so much sorted for the party, everything still feels like a frantic blur. Other teachers talk to you about last minute presents they can’t track down. Meanwhile, the kids are practically counting down the minutes, each one trying to power through the day just to get a little closer to the holiday break. 

No one wants to be here and yet you’re all stuck in school for a few more days; one last push before freedom.

A rhythmic knock echoes at the classroom door, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Without waiting for a response, Carol pokes her head in, a bright smile on her face. Some kids meet her look with big grins of their own, completely buying into her happy-go-lucky persona.

You give her a smile too but you know when she’s putting up a front.

You have most of your students writing stories, giving them a page quota and letting their imaginations run wild. None of them are doing it though, too busy chatting with friends, sneakily going on their phones and asking you to play Christmas music.

“Hi!” Carol greets you, throwing a quick glance behind her to make sure the students are too busy chatting to pay attention. 

Clearing her throat, she hovers by the edge of your desk and whispers “I see you didn’t take my advice”.

Your eyebrows knit together and you pull your chair closer to her. “What? What advice?” You question, tone full of curiosity. 

“When I told you to keep your head down and just plan the party, I didn’t mean put your head down on Negan’s thing!”.

You almost blurt out a string of “What’s,” “No’s,” and “As if’s,” but you catch yourself just in time, not wanting to draw the attention of your students. Instead your mouth just opens, a strangled sound of what could be a scoff coming out. 

“I haven’t been anywhere near his thing!” You quietly protest “Negan and I are just working on the party, nothing more, nothing less!”.

The look on her face says she doesn’t believe you. “So you just like sending each other pictures? Nothing physical?” Carol asks pointedly, making you feel like a student getting reprimanded. 

As subtly as you can, you throw your hands up “Ok, so this is all coming from Sherry and the dick pic rumor?”.

Jingle Bell Rock starts playing down the other side of the class and you have to quickly remind Enid not to play it too loud before turning back to Carol. 

She looks at you with her arms crossed “Yes, Sherry mentioned pictures but also, it’s a little obvious with how Negan’s acting”.

You raise your eyebrows at that, waiting for her to continue.

“Do you know what I walked into today when I went into the teacher's lounge?” she asks, her voice taking on a dramatic tone “Negan, laughing with Eugene”.

She lets the words hang in the air, revealing it like the twist in a horror story, expecting you to react the way she clearly wants.

“I don’t think I follow…” you admit truthfully.

Carol sighs, looking like she’s about to pick up a book and try to knock some sense into you. “Negan was laughing with Eugene,” she repeats “not laughing at Eugene, like he normally does”.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the smirk that’s desperate to break free. “Maybe he’s finally found the meaning of Christmas?” you suggest, offering up an explanation.

Carol doesn’t appreciate the joke. 

“He’s different, I’ll give you that,” she says, her gaze locking with yours. It’s not a glare, but an intense stare that makes you feel like she’s trying to drill her words into you, as if she needs you to understand now more than ever. 

“But he’s still Negan. And Negan will do what he always does, chase skirts and try to get laid” she continues.

You purse your lips, torn. You don’t want to defend Negan, especially when Carol is technically right. But you also know there’s more to him than what she sees. You opt to stay quiet.

“If you show him interest then he’ll sniff around you for a while but he’ll get bored or realise you’re not interested in doing things at his pace, and that’s when he’ll vanish,” Carol gives you the harsh truth “He’s not going to chase after you when you rebuff him or eventually give into him. Either way, you’re not winning”.

It almost makes your mood falter, the harsh reality check of who Negan is. But then you remind this is just her perspective, shaped by the rumors she’s heard and the small glimpses she’s caught.

Carol hasn’t seen him getting dodgeballs hurled at him or witnessed Negan falling on his ass while ice skating. There’s a different side to him that you’re more privy to.

And so you shrug nonchalantly “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind”.

“Keep it in mind?” Carol repeats, her voice laced with a thin edge of disbelief. She has a talent for making every answer you give sound like the wrong one.

With a sigh, she adds “Oh, he has you wrapped around his finger and you don’t even know it”.

Sticking to your story, you calmly reply “Negan’s just a friend, that’s it. I get that he has this… charisma but that doesn’t mean I’m interested in him”.

Carol keeps her face neutral, her eyes studying you like she can detect if you’re lying. “Sure, if you say so,” she cautiously concedes “but that’s not the impression everyone else is getting”.

You let out a long groan, putting your head in your hands.

“But I’ll drop it,” she quickly says as you groan “…but if something happens, I called it first”.

“Carol!” You exclaim before looking around at the busy students “Um, I mean, Ms Peletier!”.

She chuckles at your quick correction. With a final glance, she heads toward the door. “I’m just looking out for you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you” her words hang in the air and before you can respond, she disappears out the door.

As your classes go on, Carol’s words echo in your head. No matter how much you try to push it away or deem it ridiculous, it lingers. 

You know Negan. You’ve been on his good side and his bad side and yet, you’re still here. You’ve got it all under control.

There’s no crush, no hidden feelings lurking in the corners of your mind and most definitely no secret hook ups or nudes being sent. 

By the time you get to visit Negan, your lingering thoughts are replaced by nervous fretting about the party. 

You already gave him the heads up that you wanted him up a ladder and putting up the tinsel and lights you had bought. But in true Negan fashion, by the time you get to visit the sports hall, he isn’t the one up a ladder.

“Carl, I know you’re just fucking with me now,” he has his hands on his hips, not even holding the ladder “just tape the lights up there! It doesn’t have to look all fancy!”.

“I know,” the tense voice of his student retorts.

“You know? Then why the fuck are you doing a ‘will they, won’t they’ routine with lights and tinsel?” Negan barks out before remembering how an essential part of hand-eye coordination just so happens to be eyesight. 

“Y’know what, just come down and I’ll get my own ass up there” he sighs, practically slapping his hand off his forehead. 

“Looks like I came just in time,” you speak up, alerting Negan to your presence. He looks back with a smile, sizing you up and down. 

Gesturing to the ladder, he asks “Why, you gonna volunteer?”.

“Nope but I’ll hold the ladder for you,” you offer. Walking over, you wait until Carl’s feet touch the ground before giving him a grateful smile for trying. 

Negan steps up next, turning back to his class and ordering them to start moving some tables in here and to pretty them up with tinsel.

“Hope ya don’t mind I got started without ya,” Negan grunts as he begins his ascent up, lights wrapped around one arm and tape in the other.

You hold the ladder steady, purposefully not looking up. 

“It’s fine,” you reply “but won’t the decorations get in the way of your classes tomorrow?”. 

Glancing around, you see Negan’s class fully focused on the mission at hand; some are following his orders and lifting in tables, two are racing up and down as they sweep the floors, others make paper chains and snowflakes with what they can find, hanging them up on the walls.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Negan steadies himself at the top of the ladder “if the weather’s fine tomorrow, I’ll have them run laps outside”.

Through a series of huffs and grunts, you can only assume Negan is getting the lights and tinsel to stay. You hear strips of tape being tore off, the rustling of the tinsel and then… whistling?

You look up. How could you not look up when he’s deciding now is a great time to whistle?

But it’s a trap. 

Grinning down at you, Negan lets out a dark chuckle. “Look at you appreciating the view” he teases. Instantly averting your eyes, you make an act of putting your hand up to shield him from your view. 

“Asshole” you mumble just loud enough for only him to hear. You get a chuckle in response before Negan goes back to work.

“So if the hall’s going to be done by the end of the day, what’re we supposed to do tomorrow?” You ask.

“We got a special job tomorrow,” Negan says vaguely “we’re getting domestic”.

He purposely makes you wait until he’s done taping up the lights and tinsel before revealing more “Dear ol’Jesus— the school counselor, not the other one, has made a donation to our cause”.

“Is that so?” You allow yourself to look up at him once he starts his descent down, meeting him with a skeptical look when he’s off the ladder.

“Yup,” he smirks, tongue peeking out of his mouth as he revels in your reaction “we got a Christmas tree to put up!”.

“What?!” Is the only thing you can manage to say, your brain struggling to catch up with the absurdity of the situation.

Negan nods “He gave us a tree, balls to hang off it, a fuckin’ star for the top”.

You blink at him in disbelief. “First off, they’re called baubles, not balls,” you correct him, but even as you say it, you’re still trying to process the entire scenario “And second… just— what?”.

Negan tilts his head, his smirk never fading “I know but balls are better, and I raise your what to a what the fuck”.

“Well, why don’t we put it up now? Or after school if you’re free” you suggest, trying to keep the momentum going.

Negan sighs, shaking his head slowly. “Sorry, doll. I got plans… and so do you.”

You furrow your brow. “I do?” you ask.

“Yeah, duh,” he says, his tone impossibly casual, as if the answer should be obvious “it’s my turn to take you on a date”.

You laugh, shaking your head despite appreciating the gesture “Negan, no, you don’t have to do that”.

He raises an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. “Oh, c’mon. You took me out, and you didn’t even expect me to put out,” he winks mischievously “it’s my turn to wine and dine you”.

You hesitate, clearly torn. You want to accept and Negan’s offer is tempting in ways you’re not willing to admit, but you’re not about to let yourself get swept up in whatever this is. 

Carol’s words from early ring out in your head. 

“Well…” you start, fidgeting with your fingers as if the words are stuck in your throat “I don’t think another round of ice skating would be a good idea”.

Negan raises an eyebrow, a sly grin spreading across his face “Who mentioned that? No, no, no, I’m going all out this time”.

You try to keep your voice even, but there’s a part of you that’s already imagining whatever plan he has. You swallow the feeling down, just barely. 

“So… what did you have in mind?”

He leans back, eyes gleaming as he watches you “You said you haven’t been to the Kingdom yet, right?”.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The second you walk through the heavy wooden doors of the Kingdom, you're met with the rich scent of roasted meats and herbs.

The dim lighting casts a golden glow over the room, with flickering candlelight atop sturdy wooden tables, each surrounded by plush velvet chairs.

The walls, lined with dark oak panels, are adorned with tapestries depicting medieval scenes; knights on horseback, feasts in great halls, ancient forests.

As the server leads you through the restaurant, he brings you and Negan to a table near the back. Close by, a stone fireplace crackles softly, the flames dancing in the hearth. 

“Negan, how did you even get a booking here so close to Christmas?” you ask once you’re both alone and left with the menus.

He lets out a stiff laugh “Between you and me, the place had plumbing issues a few years back and I don’t think its reputation ever recovered”.

Your face says it all but Negan quickly reassures you “It’s all sorted now so don’t worry if you need to use the shitter”.

With a playful scoff, you pick up your menu “You can’t say ladies room? Or bathroom?”.

“Oh, well I would be nice and polite if this was a date,” he says it so brazenly with that perfect white smile of his “so, doll, is this a date?”.

You open your mouth to answer when the server comes back over “My dude and dudette! Have we decided on food? Or some drinks to start you off?”.

Giving Negan a quick, playful glare, you turn to the menu and decide on which drinks to have.

The candlelight flickers gently on the table as you order drinks. Since Negan has insisted on driving tonight, you’ve decided to treat yourself to a cocktail, the house special to be exact. Shiva a lá Tigress. 

The buzz of quiet conversations act as background noise, merely there to set the mood.

Negan’s shoulders relax as he leans back in his chair, the deep lines of his face softened by the warm glow of the table. He’s wearing a smile tonight but you don’t doubt that it could become a mischievous smirk within seconds. 

You can’t help but notice the leather jacket that clings to his broad shoulders, the worn material perfectly shaped to his frame. As much as you’re reluctant to admit it, the jacket makes Negan look effortlessly handsome, a perfect combination of rugged and rebellious. 

The conversation flows non-stop, especially since you have your cocktail in front of you. He talks with that charmingly cocky confidence that used to irk you endless but since then, you’ve grown accustomed to it. 

For dinner, you keep your order simple, while Negan goes all out with steak and roasted vegetables. He’s always been partial to something he can sink his teeth into and tonight's no different. 

“So, you heading back home for the holidays?” Negan asks before clarifying “I mean, family home”.

You go to shrug but stop yourself, the question throwing you off guard to the point that you can’t pretend to be nonchalant. “Actually, I was going to stay here for Christmas” you take a sip of your cocktail to distract yourself. 

Negan raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your answer. His smirk softens into something more thoughtful, though it’s hard to tell if he's surprised or just curious.

"Staying here for Christmas, huh?" he repeats, his tone warm but carrying that edge of skepticism only he can manage "No family to visit? No friends back home?".

You can feel his gaze lingering on you, a mix of curiosity and maybe just a hint of concern—though it could just be him enjoying the chance to poke at something unexpected. He swirls his glass of Coke before taking a sip as you debate what to say.

For once, the man is patient.

You can feel the weight of the question. It's not one you expected and that's only one of the reasons it makes you uneasy. Shrugging, you steal a small roast potato off of his plate. 

“I just want some space, I guess,” you bite into the potato before you continue “I want a nice, relaxed Christmas and this is the first time I have an actual excuse not to go back home for Christmas”.

Negan watches you swipe the potato, his lips twitching into an amused grin, but he doesn’t say anything right away.

Instead, he thinks it over, eyes narrowing slightly as he processes your words. When you finish speaking, he lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

"First time with an excuse, huh?" he murmurs, the tone half-wistful, half-knowing. 

"Well, sometimes the holidays aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, you know? Family’s great and all, but... sometimes you just need a break from all the noise” Negan taps the side of his glass thoughtfully "I get that. Hell, I’ve skipped a few of those big family gatherings myself".

He shrugs, his eyes flickering to the plate but you can see he’s not really focused on the food anymore “So, you’re not used to relaxed Christmas’?”. 

You glance up from his plate, finding the question oddly direct but it’s clear he’s genuinely curious now. You take another bite of the potato, chewing slowly before setting it down.

“I don’t think anyone in my family knows how to have a ‘relaxed’ Christmas,” you say with a dry laugh, shrugging “It’s always... loud, busy, everyone trying to outdo each other. Or if it’s not that, it’s just a whole lot of awkward silences and forced smiles”.

You take another bite, letting the quiet settle in for a moment. “I don’t even know if I’d know what to do with myself if I had one of those perfect, calm Christmases you see in movies. Maybe that's why it feels like the right time to just... take a break. For once” you try to explain.

Negan gives a low, thoughtful hum “Yeah, I get that. Sometimes it's easier to just step back, take a breath. No noise, no expectations”.

He leans back in his chair, a little more relaxed now "Maybe that's what Christmas is supposed to be, huh? Just... doing what feels right".

There’s something in his voice—maybe the quiet understanding—that feels like he's speaking from experience, not just making small talk.

“So, what’s Ms. Goody Two-Shoes’s idea of a perfect Christmas?” Negan asks, his grin widening as he throws the playful jab your way.

You giggle at the nickname, shaking your head a little. You pause for a moment, thinking about it. What would a perfect Christmas look like for you? You’re not sure, but one thing’s for sure—it wouldn’t be like the ones from your past. 

“Hmm,” you murmur, tilting your head as you contemplate the question. “Lazing around all day, eating whatever I feel like, and watching Christmas movies on repeat. Sounds like heaven to me”.

Negan raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “The Hallmark ones?” he teases, smirking at the thought of you glued to the TV watching all the over the top, feel good holiday rom-coms.

You laugh again, shaking your head. “No, no. Whatever ones I come across. Doesn’t matter if they’re cheesy or weird or action packed. I’m not picky”.

You take a moment to think about it, the image of you sprawled out in front of a TV playing reruns of Christmas movies filling your mind. “Honestly, I think I just want something... low-key. No pressure to impress anyone, no forced cheer. Just me, snacks and maybe an ugly Christmas sweater”.

Negan’s smile softens, studying you for a second "Yeah, I can see that. No expectations, no drama. Just... doing whatever feels right in the moment. Not a bad way to spend the holidays". 

You can feel the weight of his words and for a second, it almost feels like you’ve stumbled into a little unspoken understanding between you two. But then you remember that this is just two friends having dinner.

There’s nothing more to it. You’re not about to get tangled up in whatever attraction this is. It’s not like Negan is the type of person who does relationships or anything more than a hookup. 

As Carol’s warning from early ring in your head again, you take another sip of cocktail. 

You try to rid your mind of his laugh— genuine and deep, or the glint in his eyes whenever your gaze meet. No, that warmth that makes you want to melt isn’t important. That’s just how everyone feels when they look at their friends! 

…right?

Both your phones go off at the same time, a sharp ping cutting through your drifting thoughts. For a split second, neither of you react, the phones interrupting the nice moment.

Before you can pull your phone out, Negan already has his on the table. The screen glows bright and he glances down, fingers tapping quickly to unlock it.

You’re unsure whether you should look or not but without saying a word, Negan tilts the phone so you can see the group chat from his phone. 

Gregory: staff party friday can only go on until 11! Everyone needs to leave the premises by then

You can't help but groan. "Ugh... We don’t have to stay the whole time, right? Like, we’re not obligated or anything?"

Negan chuckles, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. "As far as I’m concerned, the second that party kicks off, it’s no longer our problem".

You’re about to take another drink when Negan leaves the group chat messages and goes back on to his list of messages with his various contacts.

You were at the top of the list due to Negan and you messaging during school about your dinner dat– … dinner meeting, but Gregory’s message into the group chat has knocked you into second place.

You catch a glimpse of your name sitting by the top and a confused look shadows your face. Yes, it technically is your name but the brackets after it is what throws you off guard.

You lean in, squinting to get a better look, and read aloud “Good ass, great throw?”. 

The words hang in the air, your voice wavering slightly as you glance up at Negan. His expression shifts instantly, that sly grin fading into something closer to a deer in the headlights moment.

Without missing a beat, he swipes his phone off and locks it, a little too quickly. 

"Uh..." he starts, but his usual confidence is nowhere to be found now. He shifts, looking anywhere but at you "You... didn’t just see that". 

You raise an eyebrow, trying to suppress a grin. "Good ass, great throw, huh?" you repeat, drawing the words out “that’s all you have to say about me?”.

Negan clears his throat, looking a little flustered for once. "Yeah, well, uh, I mean it is the truth, doll”.

“Uh huh,” you respond, waiting a few beats before playfully slapping his arm “you’re weird”.

He laughs at your brief assessment, relaxing now that you’re not storming out. “Well, it used to say good ass, weird at flirting”.

You blink in mock outrage “I am not weird at flirting!”

Negan gives you a slow, calculating look, his grin widening like he’s about to watch some sort of show “Alright, then. Prove it to me”.

You raise an eyebrow, instantly skeptical “Prove what, exactly?”.

“Flirt with me! Show me you actually got some game,” he laughs at your innocent question.

You take a slow breath, a bit taken aback but determined to play along.

You lean forward slightly, meeting his gaze with a playful smirk. "You want me to flirt with you?" you say, your voice laced with a quiet challenge "I mean, I’m not sure you’re worth the effort but I guess I can make an exception".

Negan raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. His smirk widens “Oh, so we're starting with the sass, huh? I like it”.

You giggle, running a finger along the rim of your drink, eyes never leaving his. "I’m not being sassy, just honest," you continue, gesturing to the leather jacket "Like I can be honest and tell you that I’m liking the whole ‘Rebel Without a Cause’ thing you got going on”.

His eyes glint with amusement and he shifts slightly, clearly enjoying the game. “Well, well, look at you, getting all bold. You think you can handle a guy like me?”.

You laugh softly, your tone low and teasing “I don’t know, it would be a tight fit”. To make sure he gets what you’re saying, you give him a slow once-over, letting your eyes roam down his chest… then down his torso… to where the table blocks your view. 

Negan’s smirk falters as he lets out a low groan, his expression shifting. “You want to get out of here?” His voice is gruff and there’s something in it that makes you think he’s serious.

“I think we’ll have to,” you agree before you break your act and nod towards the approaching waiter “here comes the bill”.

Reluctantly, Negan pulls his gaze away from you, his eyes flicking toward the waiter. He lets out a heavy sigh, then shoots you a playful glare, clearly not thrilled about the interruption. 

Before he can say anything else, the waiter arrives at the table, ready to settle the score.

Negan pays the bill without even asking if you’d like to split it, putting a couple of bills down on the table and nodding to the waiter.

You both stand and he gestures for you to head out first, the tension between you still palpable despite the evening winding down.

As you both step out of the restaurant, the sharp winter air hits you immediately, biting through your clothes. You’re just about to pull your coat tighter when you feel the warmth of Negan’s leather jacket settle over your shoulders, his actions wordless. 

The smooth, worn leather feels surprisingly comforting against the chill, and for a moment it’s as if the cold doesn’t exist. You glance up at him, but he’s already heading towards his truck.

You follow, trying to will yourself not to smell his scent from the jacket.

The drive back is quiet at first, the only sounds are the hum of the engine and the occasional flick of a turn signal. The soft glow of streetlights flickers through the windows, casting shadows that seem to accentuate the unspoken energy between you. 

Every now and then, you’ll give him a direction back to yours. Considering you’ve had your cocktail, all you can do is accept the ride home from your friend. You can feel his eyes on you, how he always turns to look your way whenever he doesn’t need to be paying attention to the road.

“And Negan will do what he always does, chase skirts and try to get laid”.

The car moves smoothly through the night but the air feels charged, thick with the remnants of your banter from dinner.

It’s calm, almost intimate, but you can’t ignore the underlying tension— like the quiet before a storm, neither of you know how it’ll break but it will, eventually.

When he pulls up outside your home, you take a deep breath and say what you’ve been debating the whole ride home.

“I’m not inviting you in,” you make clear, despite the hesitancy in your eyes “we know where that would lead…”.

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he turns to you, his voice soft but laced with amusement.

“I wasn’t expecting you to,” he replies, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary.

“If you show him interest then he’ll sniff around you for a while but he’ll get bored or realise you’re not interested in doing things at his pace, and that’s when he’ll vanish”.

“I’ve had a really good night, though,” you add quickly, wanting him to know you’re not brushing off the evening entirely. You unbuckle your seatbelt slowly, taking a moment to gather your thoughts before you slip his leather jacket off your shoulders. 

You hand it back to him but Negan doesn’t take it. Instead, his hand moves in a fluid motion, past the jacket and gently cupping your wrist before you can pull away.

The quiet hum of the engine fills the space between you, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the contours of your hand. The air in the car feels thicker now, charged with something deeper, something neither of you can put into words. 

His eyes stay on you as if nothing could pull his gaze away from you now. Negan shifts slightly, his posture more serious.

“I gotta ask,” he starts, his voice low but steady, “are you gonna keep on pretending these aren’t dates?”.

It’s tempting to play it off, to keep it light and avoid the question altogether but the truth is, you know it too. There’s more to this— more to the connection between you than just a night out or playful teasing while planning the party.

Yeah,” you admit, your voice soft “I guess these are dates.” 

The truth feels strange coming out, but the moment you say it, you feel something inside you shift. It’s like a door has opened and suddenly, everything is laid bare between you.

You lean in just a little, your breath mingling with his, and for a heartbeat, you almost forget to breathe. His lips are so close and the moment feels so right, you can’t resist anymore.

“He’s not going to chase after you when you rebuff him or eventually give into him”.

Negan’s grin widens but it’s softer now, like he’s relieved. He leans in closer, the air between you crackling with a mix of excitement and anticipation.

“Took you long enough,” he murmurs, his lips brushing just a hair’s breadth from yours.

And then, the tension breaks.

Without another word, Negan leans in and the space between you closes in an instant. His lips meet yours with a quiet, urgent tenderness, as if all the teasing, all the moments leading up to this, have been building to this one perfect kiss.

Time slows as you kiss him back, the world outside reduced to nothing more than the heat of his lips and the fluttering of your heart.

It’s slow at first as if you’re both savoring the simple act, but soon it deepens— more pressing, more urgent, as if neither of you wants to let the moment slip away.

When the kiss finally breaks, you both pull back just enough to catch your breath, foreheads touching and a quiet laugh is shared between you. The air is still thick with desire, but now there’s a warmth, a certainty, that wasn’t there before.

“Either way, you’re not winning”.

“You’re still not coming inside” you murmur, grinning up at him before you rethink what you’ve just said. “My apartment!” you clarify “You’re not coming inside my apartment!”.

“Fair but don’t think this’ll be the last time I’m taking you out” his words carry a promise but there’s something deeper in his tone, a kind of vulnerability you didn’t expect from the infamous womanizer.

“Goodnight, Negan,” You give him one last lingering glance then slowly slide the truck door open.

He watches you for a beat longer, a half-smile still playing on his lips. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” he responds, his voice carrying something more than the usual casual goodbye.

As you make your way up the path to your door, you can’t help but feel a sense of giddiness, like you’re walking on air.

It’s baffling to think Carol was so wrong about him but you can only assume that’s the result of so many people brushing Negan off as an asshole.

You don’t know what the future holds, but tonight, something changed, and you can’t wait to see where it goes.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Thursday. Just today, classes tomorrow and then it’s on. Party time. 

You rush around the school, genuinely panicked that it’s already midday and you still haven’t located Sherry.

You need to know the details; what food specifically will she be making for the party? Will she only prepare it and you have to cook it before or will it be ready to go? How much food is she making? Does she seriously believe Negan’s dick pic story?

To make matters worse, you haven’t seen Negan all morning too, setting back your plans to decorate the Christmas tree. 

Like a beggar, you stay in the stoop of your classroom, unable to leave your students unattended but yearning to track down the cafeteria worker. Whenever a colleague passes by your classroom, you barrage them with questions, hoping someone else might know what you so evidently don’t.

“Have you seen Sherry today?” is the question you start with.

Morgan, or, Mr Jones to the kids, keeps walking as he replies “I’ve been clearing the corridors all morning and I haven’t seen her once”.

Next, you ask Eugene, who gives you the most unhelpfully detailed answer. “Well, uh, truth be told, I don’t exactly have that particular piece of information in my possession,” he starts “if I did, I would certainly share it. But as of now, I am, regrettably, not privy to her current whereabouts”.

Carol thankfully didn’t stop either when you asked her, knowing she’d be able to read your face and know that something happened between you and Negan.

“Maybe she just isn’t in yet?” she suggests before going off to her own class.

Rosita, on the other hand, simply says “No”.

It’s only during the short break between classes are you able to quickly do a lap of the school, peering into the cafeteria and staff room as you go. But once again, no luck.

Walking back to your next class, who are no doubt going crazy now that they’re teacher is late, you catch a glimpse of a certain brunette out the window. 

In the teacher’s parking lot, Sherry huffs as she gets out of her car. You see her mouth move, as if she’s talking before shutting the car door. Not seeing anyone else around, you assume she’s on the phone and decide to wait until later to bombard her with questions.

But then the passenger’s door of her car opens. You recognise the tall frame, the slicked back hair and the greying stubble.

Negan. Arriving to work with Sherry. In her car. Together.

Your throat tightens and you’re not sure if you want to cry or punch something. Turning on your heels your feet go into autopilot as they bring you back to your classroom.

“Either way, you’re not winning”.

[charleslee-valentine]

Save Some Christmas Cheer

warnings: physical and emotional abuse, hitting, cruelty, drayton sawyer as a warning, one very mild sex joke.

~~~~~~~

Every December, Drayton drives a dinky evergreen out to the gas station and ties it to the sign post, lets the twins come down and fancy it up with some thrifted ornaments and tinsel. Gotta make the place lively.

Thought that would appease their appetite for the festivity afterall. They wasn’t raised with it, not even he had experienced it when they still had Grandpa’s income to throw a holiday off of, so he never figured the boys would be all that interested. Their grandparents thought it best to raise ‘em without that kind of luxury, too much of makin’ spoilt ‘n greedy kids all over. But, them younger brothers of his been growin’ up in the age of radio and now seein’ the rise of television. No hidin’ the spirit from them now.

It’s Nubbins, crouched by the annual gas station tree as he digs through what little they got to adorn it with, evidently disappointed by it, that asks him first, “W-Why can’t we does Chrim-sis a-at home?”

“Used to. Can’t afford it.” Is the simplified brunt Drayton gives him. He’s busy puffin’ on a cigarette and attemptin’ to contain the mess his brothers is makin’ ‘fore it might affect the station’s appearance.

That ain’t satisfactory. Them boys is curious as cats, but with even less sense. Nubbins tilts his head sideways, “How come?”

Drayton flicks the cigarette butt at him and watches it bounce off of Nubbins bony back, leavin’ little glowin’ ashes in its wake. It’s himself who brushes it off ‘fore those can leave burn puckers on the boy’s good jacket, despite the paint and mud on it. But that quick act of caution turns to a whack on the back of his head and a scold quickly, “‘Cause you lot are expensive enough without gettin’ presents or some big fancy meal!!”

“But y-you does it here.” Bobby chimes in for his silenced twin from the other side of the tree. Ornery bastards finishin’ each other’s complaints even.

Drayton straightens himself out when a car drives past, in the case it’d stop, but it whips right past so he marches over to Bobby, “Can’t have my customers thinkin’ I ain’t an honest Christian business man!”

‘Course, Bobby ain’t as punched down as his brothers, or just ain’t well behaved. He snorts at Drayton’s remark, “You ain’t one.”

“I am!” Drayton draws his hand back to swing at Bobby’s face, but Nubbins interrupts with a shout.

“Since when! Y-You doesn’t go to church!”

Now he’s caught in between them and just frozen up with balled fists. Can’t beat ‘em both at once, so he concedes, somewhat, “Don’t need to. The Lord and I handle our business privately.”

Bobby cackles a laugh at somethin’ that ain’t immediately clear, ‘til he shares the joke that lived in his flighty head, “‘Way you said that m-makes it sound like you and J-Jesus is been bumpin’ nasties!”

A year in the service was plenty enough to break down the values Drayton instilled in his kid brothers, exposin’ horrible nerves he hoped would never have to be plucked with ‘em. They was all to be kept in the dark of certain ways, but then them military boys taught Robert all the sins in the book, and he just had to come home and share the news. Lucky they don’t got a clue what the hell he's talkin’ when he starts up, but as Drayton would like to keep it that way, despite the hiccups, that’s one matter that ain’t never go unpunished.

Bobby gets a sharp whack across his face, and another to his back when he hunches over, “Watch your mouth around your brother, damn it!!”

“Owww!” He whines all overplayed and obnoxious. Givin’ Drayton a damned headache already. So he gets a kick to his calf and falls to that knee.

“Then behave yourself!” Drayton warns, looming over, “Actin’ like none of you ever grew up! If there were such a thing as Christmas in this family, you boys wouldn’t deserve a damn thing!”

Nubbins scrunches his face, confusion and judgement and frustration tied together, “Why would we b-be good if we ain’t go-gonna get presents a-anyway?”

Bobby, rubbin’ the hand mark that’s making its way to his pale cheek, slowly rising to his feet again, agrees, always agrees with Nubbins, “Yeah! I-I-If you was ever nice to us, we'd be- be good!”

That one sentence sits heavy in Drayton’s bones all day and night. For the next week it just plays over and over in his head, thinkin’ ‘bout how he’d failed them kids. Christmas be damned, all year round, for the last forty some years they been here, he ain’t never been kind. Their mama was his lousy mama and their papa walked out. He had to be the parent all along.

To his knowledge, it wasn’t natural to be soft on ‘em. Gotta raise ‘em with a firm hand and all. And Bobby’s right he ain’t no church goin’ man, but he knows you ain’t s’posed to spare the rod. Nobody ever spared him none, pickin’ switches out the bushes and takin’ his beatins.

So then, why’s guilt stickin’ to him so bad just cause the boys said they act out ‘cause of his choices. Why’s he know it’s right, that they ain’t been showed enough mercy and kindness to practice it.

They cut into another corpse at supper, and he knows this is all his fault, and suddenly the meat tastes a lot less like pork, and a lot more like an elderly couple or a mother down the road. Lord, he’s damned them all to Hell. No guardin’ them from sin could change that, ‘cause they was born to it, raised with blood under their nails before they even knew what love was. Somethin’ they prob’ly still don’t know.

He’s gone quiet again, though he tries to focus on workin’ ‘stead of thinkin’, peelin’ potatoes to go with roast school teacher out in the kitchen, when he gets ambushed. Confronted again by the reality he caused.

“Hey! H-Hey cook, what’chya cook?” It’s an innocent question from Bobby, but Drayton’s so deep in his own remorse he can’t gather an intelligible response.

With Drayton being so tense lately, the boys have caught on. Nubbins catches up to his twin and immediately scolds him for bein’ a bother, “Bobby, ya stupid, d-don’t call ‘im cook no more!”

“Oh yeh. F-Forgot he won’t feed us n-no more ‘til we p-‘preciate ‘im.” Bobby repeats Drayton’s reasoning for the last beating they got, with monotone sarcasm, and a whispered comment tacked on the end, rolls his eyes and pouts, “Stupid rule if ya ask me.”

“N-Nobody did asked you!!” Nubbins counters, the hunch of his shoulders anxious but the crone of his voice angry. All on edge.

They make to start a slapping fight, drawing back and all, Bobby yelling after a second to stew on his answer, “Shut up!”

All the ruckus is more than familiar in this house, but when the boys accidentally smash into the kitchen door, banging the brass knob into the plaster, it causes Drayton to startle. The knife in his hand slips across his fingertips and suddenly he’s bleedin’ all over the potatoes m.

“That’s enough!” He shouts his throat raw on just the one command, both twins whipping their heads around to stare with wide eyes. With their attention, he gives them another order. A heavy sigh out of his nose and he’s able to speak a little more clearly to bark the next order, “Go set the damn table.”

Both boys are trippin’ over each other to get the dishes and glasses for supper, before splittin’ up to do different tasks. Drayton meanwhile has to either salvage what’s left of the non-bloody potatoes or forget about it entirely. Guess it wouldn’t be such a big deal to feed ‘em contaminated food, but lord only knows what’s in his blood after all these years. Might end up givin’ the boys a nicotine addiction like himself.

He scraps it all instead. Trashes good food. If he weren’t so out of his mind with regret he’d be beatin’ them twins within an inch of their lives. Lord knows they deserve it.

And yet, he sits down to half a supper and murmurs in good spirits, “Been thinkin’.”

The twins, Nubbins next to him and Bobby at the end of the table, exchange a look. Nubbins snickers, “Th-That ain’t n-never good.”

Drayton does his best not to boil over with anger already, glaring with disappointment at them, “Guess you don’t wanna hear the good news then?”

“You lyin’. You don’t never got g-good news.” Bobby snarks, givin’ another heavy eye roll.

“Since y’all was askin’ up on Christmas I just thought- but oh, no.. no. You’re right, this cain’t possibly be good news.” Giving a dramatic sigh, Drayton plays the manipulation game to get them on their best behavior, in part so his frustration can cool off.

“What?” Nubbins probes, but Drayton stays firm and just shakes his head. So he presses again, fiddling with his hands, “W-What? Tell us!”

Both twins start chanting asking to be told, rallying their little brother into their obnoxious repetition,

“Bubba you tell ‘im too!”

Now Bubba is squealing like a downright hog, too much noise at the supper table that ain’t caused by some wailing stranger. Drayton covers his ears.

“I’ll change my mind!” That threat makes them all go quiet, so dead set on hearing the good news they aren’t willing to risk the chance. Drayton sighs and shrinks down, “Figured there wouldn’t be no hurt in ‘llowin’ y’all to make pretend like it’s Christmas. Don’t think y’all gonna get nothin’ special now, but I ain’t past lettin’ y’all put up a tree or two in the fields.”

“And l-let us watch a Christmas movie?” Bobby demands.

Drayton is skeptical, narrowing his eyes, “How the hell you gonna do that when we ain’t got a television? You fixin’ to pay for it?”

Bobby shakes his head, long wig hairs flying side to side over his face, “Nah. B-But I still knows how to drive. I-I can take us to a real theater.”

That sounds like his own worst nightmare. Drayton scolds the thought, slamming a hand down, “Hell no! I ain’t lettin’ you run off in charge of your brothers!”

That seems to have been counted on, actually, ‘cause Bobby elbows Nubbins next to him enthusiastically, and smiles all wide, “Then y-you gotta take us. And we get to- to bake stuff and wear funny outfits.”

“How the hell you know so much ‘bout this holiday anyhow?” Drayton narrows his eyes at his brother, don’t see why he’s demandin’ so much.

“Uh, I listen to the radio. D-Duh!” Bobby’s tone implies all kinds of things he ain’t ‘llowed to think, mostly that he finds his older brother dumb and annoying.

He does get punished for that outburst. Might’ve got off easy for the mess in the kitchen, but Drayton won’t ‘llow that kind of back talk ‘round the house. Gave up enough control to let them have a holiday at all, can’t just abandon all order ‘n let the boys behave however they’d like. Would be livin’ in ruin.

And it’s a damn good thing, ‘cause then they’re all three on their best behavior ‘til the 25th, goin’ through Bobby’s informed checklists about how to go along with the big day. Ain’t acted out majorly once.

Only he don’t know that’s ‘cause they’re savin’ up for one big mess up.

In the upstairs hallway, hunched together by the window that starts the nook where Drayton’s room hides, the twins conspire on Christmas morning.

“Who’s gonna do it?” Bobby whispers it, catching up on the plan they made, but maybe just a little nervous.

Nubbins looks at his brother like he said somethin’ in gibberish, “Ain’t you?”

Dragging his brother by the sleeve of his shirt down away from Drayton’s room, Bobby raises his voice, “Hell no, man! H-He gonna kick my ass if I do it!”

“I don’t want b-beat up neither!” Nubbins squeaks back in equal defense.

“You won’t, h-he ain’t mad a-at you yet!” Bobby counters, but his tone ain’t so sure. Can’t hide a thing from his twin.

For all the fighting they do, lookin’ out for each other is the half of it. Pushin’ when the other don’t think it’s a good idea, back ‘n forth ‘til they come up with somethin’ better. Their plan usually ends up shoulderin’ the blame onto someone else.

It’s Nubbins that puts it into motion, “Bubba could- he could do it.”

Bobby thinks hard on it, passing his tongue over his teeth a few times in thought, “That- That’s good. Yeh, cook don’t get m-mad at Bubba so much ‘less he’s really bad.”

His brother agreein’ to his plan makes Nubbins smile big, but it falls fast when a thought occurs to him, “Is wakin’ big brother up counts as r-really bad?”

“We gonna find out!” Bobby slaps his twins’ shoulder excitedly, bolting down to the half-way point on the nearest set of steps and calling down, more than adjusted by now to the amount of noise he can get away with makin’, “Hey, Leatherface! G-Get up here!”

They hear him comin’ ‘fore they see ‘im, bumbling steps creaking each floorboard and stair. Bubba tries to walk on his toes to be quiet, but he’s so big and the house so old there ain’t much hope. Lucky their big brother can sleep through at least some volume.

Nubbins coaxes him up closer, so they can talk quiet, “Bubba, hey, y-you like Chrim-sis too, right?”

‘Course Bubba gets a crooked smile and shakes his head up and down. Been excited as hell every night since big brother announced they was allowed, the only one that ain’t participated in fancyin’ up the gas station for Christmas. Can’t really bring him ‘round there with his masks and all.

They take advantage of that excitement to get him to go along with their scheme, Bobby coaxing, “Right. S-So you wants to give big brother th-the presents we made ‘im?”

Bubba nods again, but it’s less excited. No matter what the twins think, he knows they’re putting him up to somethin’. It’s just a matter of what they’re gonna make him do. But he still doesn’t make a peep when the twins walk him down the hall, though the closer they get to Drayton’s shut door, the fidgetier he gets with his hands.

Right outside, Nubbins yanks the door open and Bobby gives Bubba a hearty shove and an order, “Then get on in there!”

They weren’t strong enough to move their baby brother an inch further into that room with a push, but their persuasion and the Christmas spirit alone could do the task.

Ain’t sure exactly how Bubba chooses to do it, but the twins hear all hell start to break loose and take off running. That’s a part of their plan too. Didn’t figure the old man would wake up too peacefully, so they’s gonna let Bubba lead chase for their little Christmas morning surprise.

Admittedly, they do feel kinda bad ‘bout the few whacks they hear impacting their baby brother on the way, but that’s how it goes. At least Bubba’s size means he’s a hell of a lot faster’n Drayton in stride, makin’ it to the back sittin’ room where they got permission to put the tree up and hidin’ behind the twins long before their red-faced, heavin’ big brother makes it ‘round the corner.

Seeing them all three huddled together, Drayton knows they’re up to something, skidding to a sudden stop, “What the hell is all this now?”

“It’s y-your merry Chrim-sis!” Nubbins informs him while his brothers produce their gift and hand it over.

Drayton turns the gift over and over in his hands but doesn’t say a word. Starts gettin’ the boys a little nervous.

Bobby prompts, sorta anxious and mostly bubbling with excitement, “Ya like it?”

Looking up from the gift like he’s just remembered there’s somebody who give it to him, Drayton’s face shifts from surprise to frustration. “Well let’s see now. It’s a uh… You boys gonna hafta give me a hint here-“

Bobby snatches their gift out of Drayton’s hands so he can hold it out the right way and show Drayton. He explains, “It’s a new suit jacket!! B-Bubba sewded it, ‘an Nubbins got its fabric ‘and buttons and s-stuffs, ‘a-‘an I picked the pattern!”

Understanding, Drayton snatches it back and holds it out for himself, considering the homemade garment plenty before he decides to slip it on. It’s bulky and stiff and one sleeve is a little longer than the other, but once he wears it a few times, it’ll get better. Though he does have one concern, “This made of someone?”

“O-On the inside yeh, b-b-but the outside is a-all sheepy yarn so.. s-so nobody gonna know!” Nubbins explains with all the excitement in the world.

Can’t take the suspense anymore, Bobby asks him again, more loudly, “You-You like it?”

“S’pose I do.” Drayton answers this time, a look of pride in his face as he smoothes the buttons on his new jacket down, “You boys done good.”

Both twins bounce up on the balls of their feet and spin in celebratory circles. One of ‘em or maybe both is gigglin’ their head off, the noise inspiring Bubba to do some excited whining too. They all three clasp hands for a second, confirming their idea was a good one and they did a good job.

It’s Nubbins that pulls away from the celebration because he remembers, “We ain’t in t-trouble for wakin’ you up?”

Drayton gives a sigh, and knows better. Can’t crush their spirits already, on their very first holiday. He lets them off the hook with a false warning, barely any bite to his words, “Not this time- But just this once, now. Y’all know better’n that.”

Maybe it’s old age changin’ him, or maybe the revelation that the boys have so much interest outside of the home these days, in a world so different from the technology void he grew up in. Now they’re full grown and it ain’t the same keepin’ them on a short leash, cain't barely get them to listen. Got him extra quick to beat any kind of acting out clean out of ‘em, knowin’ he can’t handle their rebellion if it grew, but that’s the issue, ain’t it. Outright said themselves that they was actin’ so bad ‘cause he’s been extra cruel to them. Things is gonna change.

Drayton wears the present they made him and lets them have their merry Christmas. Would be a shame to punish ‘em when they already ran to open presents they made or found for one another now, wrapped in tidy little animal hides under the tree. It feels disturbingly normal, to sit on a bone sofa and watch them unveil a skull bone with a watch face stuck in the eye, or a new leather mask painted to resemble an iconic prefered blonde.

There’s no changin’ their ways or the damage of violence he sowed over the last few decades in them, but maybe he can give up a little bit of control to let ‘em have their fun. Just enough. Won’t live in no lawless household, but a happy one wouldn’t be so bad.

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

Hi! can i request of a reader who falls into Home?

a bit late, anon. sorry about that! but i hope it was worth it~

if anyone else wants to request something, click here for info.

I don’t remember much from the Before. There’s only bits and pieces, flashes of arbitrary images that I can’t really make sense of—a shattered puzzle that I’ll probably struggle to put back together for a long, long, long time. But what I do remember is the smoke entering my nostrils, filling my lungs. The struggle to move, to break free. And then, something even stranger.

A spiral. This endless loop of white spinning and spinning and spinning into a black void that seemed to carry this Hunger. For what, I didn’t know. Still don’t.

But there was no other way out. No way to escape.

So, through the difficulty to breathe, through the tears streaming from my eyes, through the pain entering my limbs and trying to shut my body down, I reached my hand out towards it.

And that, I can only assume, was enough.

.

.

.

“…Oh my gosh!”

“Are they okay…?!”

“Where’d they come from?”

Oh my god, can anyone tell them to shut up?! Some people are trying to sleep here. 

Well, if you can call this sleep, really. Now that I’m actually a bit conscious, I can actually feel the agony weighing on me. Every inch of my body is crying out in the sort of pain that will leave bruises and scars and aches for days. Either I’m having the hangover of a century or I got hit by a semi, and neither seem appealing.

A groan leaves me at the thought, my eyes moving behind eyelids. I need to get up at some point. Get to my phone. Call my—

“…Hey, I think they’re comin’ round,” a deep Southern drawl above my head. 

“Step back!” Another voice, nasally and anxious. “Give them some air!”

The shuffle of many feet makes me feel a little less stifled. With a deep breath, I force myself up on my elbows. Then grasp my forehead, feeling pain pain pain, god, ow! Feels like I was run over by a truck, shit. Did I drink anything last night…? 

Actually, what did I do last night? 

Blinking, I keep trying to remember…but it just makes no sense. I came home from work, pet my cat, went into the bedroom to greet you, and then—nothing. Nothing except the memory of smelling smoke.

All my focus returns when a huge hand lands on my shoulder. I blink again and look over to see that it’s blue and…fuzzy. 

What the hell…?

My eyes follow the length of the arm to see a huge, huge blue dog staring down at me. His brows are furrowed and his eyes seem to hold worry. And even worse, in a way that disturbs me right to my bones, his mouth parts and a voice comes out.

“Hey, buddy,” he says softly, almost comforting. “Ya good?”

A ringing starts through my ears.

(Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.)

Immediately, I push away from him and scramble to my feet. I look around, seeing all the bright colors—too bright. Doesn’t look real. The grass, the trees, the flowers, and even the houses—none of it look real. Looks too bright, too colorful. And the…the people.

Wait, no. Not people. Not with those eyes, and that…that skin? Grayish-purple, orange, y-yellow…is that a bird? A sun? And omigod, what the hell is that?

(—Not human!)

“Whoa, they, uh. They don’t look too good, Barn,” says the big green one with too many arms to the big blue dog, his eyes narrowing slightly. 

“P-perhaps we can bring them some tea,” says the huge red bird, a fucking bird, her eyes soft and full of worry.

“Maybe they just need to lie down,” says a huge one with orange skin, wearing a hat. A mailman? His mouth spreads into a gentle smile as he walks over to me, his hand lifting, possibly to calm me down. “Hey pardner, just relax. Everythin’ is okay…”

(DON’T TRUST THEM.) 

And despite my heart pounding so hard it feels like it’ll burst out, despite my lungs pinched from a lack of air, I look around at all of them and scream.

“Get the hell away from me…! Who are you? Where am I? What…?”

As I lift a hand to point, I pause. A dread creeps over me, coats my back in a cold sweat. My gaze falls to my hands, my arms. My fingers are spread as I spin my hands palm up. Then they curl to stroke over each other, to touch, to feel.

(No skin. No skin, no skin, what the hell happened to my skin? It’s just. Just—)

Again, I can’t seem to breathe, my heart hammering so loud I can hear it. But then again, do I even have a heart anymore? Lungs? My hands go to my face, feel the fuzz there and a sob starts to tremble from me. Impossibly so, water flows from my eyes and down my cheeks, making my gaze blurry. Noise happens around me, like yelling but not, just voices full of worry and confusion.

And then, yellow hands grasp my own and it all goes silent.

“Neighbor…?”

That…that voice. I know it. I know him. But how? From where?

“Jamie?”

How does he know my name?

“Jamie, look at me.”

Despite everything, my eyes lift from where he’s holding my hands and meet with his.

You’d think that it was his hair that would catch my attention first, with how blue it is and how it seems to curl in on itself  in a pompadour. But no, it’s actually his eyes. They are huge in how open they are, pupils too wide, and black like the void as they stare into my own. The smile he wears is too wide, it should be splitting his face apart, and yet I kind of know it’s not with anything malicious. He’s excited that I’m here, like he’s been…waiting for me. 

I’m both unnerved, yet drawn to the gaze, despite all the alarms going off inside my skull. Like he is slowly sucking me in—

But then in a blink, his eyes look—normal. Neutral? 

“There we go. Are you all right, Neighbor?” he asks me, his smile not as wide, but still holding warmth…I think. “That was quite a fall.”

I blink. “Fall? F-from where…?”

His eyes dart pointedly upwards, silently coaxing me to follow his gaze. For a split second, high up in the clear blue sky above us—almost too high to see—there’s a black hole with a spiral of white. But then, just as quick as I see it, it closes up and blinks out of existence. I blink again and then start actually looking around me, feeling a sickening thud through my chest. 

What…what is this place?

“I…what…who…” 

Groaning suddenly, I squeeze my eyes closed and let my head fall slightly forward, the nausea making my stomach twist. Fuck, it hurts! But why does it…?

But then he squeezes my hands again, grounding me.

“Of course not, that was a dumb question,” he says in a monotone, but still somehow sounds warm and welcoming. “Come, let me take you to Home. You can have tea there, and we can talk.”

“I’ll come with!” the huge blue dog adds with a grin, and then a grin. “Walls and I can show you ‘round afterwards.”

“That’s a great idea, Barnaby! He’s really good at explaining things, much better than I am.”

At this point, I feel so numb. I can only stare into the slightly shorter man’s dark eyes. Finally, after a beat, I dare to ask:

“Who are you?”

His expression goes blank for a moment. And then, he smiles wide.

“Wally,” he says. “Wally Darling.”