#target hours new year's eve

[janeyseymour]

Christmas Traditions

it's sad girl hours and this was not edited in the slightest but i hope it doesnt suck okay i will go back into my depression pile of blankets bye

Summary: Christmas and the holiday season comes with many traditions. Melissa indulges you, but she springs a few surprises out along the way.

WC: ~4.6k

Christmas and the holiday season has always been one of your favorite times of year. From the time you were a kid all the way up until now, you’ve leaned into every single Christmas tradition that you can find and figure out. It doesn’t matter that some traditions may be a bit different here in America as opposed to the ones that you have back in Ireland- they bring you joy all the same.

This is your fourth year celebrating Christmas in Philly, but it’s your first Christmas living with your girlfriend Melissa. It’s also your first Christmas without your parents flying across the Atlantic to come and be with you. You’re elated to celebrate with the redhead, but you can’t help but be brought down in spirits at the quiet reminders that your parents won’t be joining you. So instead of letting yourself drown in your sorrows, you fully throw yourself into Christmas festivities.

“My love,” Melissa chuckles as she watches the amount of decorations that you’re putting in the cart at Target on Black Friday. “Do we really need all of this stuff?”

“Of course we do!” you reply with a kiss to her cheek. “I still can’t believe that you don’t decorate unless I’m around!”

Your girlfriend goes to say how it just isn’t worth all of the effort, but who is she to ruin your good spirits? Instead of scoffing, she just chuckles and pats your shoulder. “I was just waiting for the girl who would make it all worth it.”

You beam at her words of affection.

By the time you’re finished stocking up on decorations for the house, you’re pushing a cart, and so is Melissa. You hand your card over sheepishly without even looking at the final amount that you owe- you don’t really want to know how much you just spent.

You can only guess that it’s a ridiculous amount of money seeing the way that your girlfriend’s emerald eyes widen as big as saucers, followed by her shaking her head as she pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

“Dear God,” the redhead mumbles. “My Christmas bonus better be good this year.”

When the two of you get back to the house and unload the car, Melissa begins to unravel some of the lights. You frantically reach for the bag and begin stuffing the string that she had undone back into the plastic.

“Hun, what?” your girlfriend looks to you.

“It’s tradition that we decorate on the December 8th!” you tell her with a giggle. “I may be in America now, but I do like to keep some of my Irish traditions.”

The redhead, used to having cameras to catch her incredulous looks, turns in search of one, but comes up empty. “What other traditions are there that I haven’t been privy too for the past three years?”

Your eyes twinkle as you explain the many traditions that you followed in your home country, some that she knows you follow, others that she has yet to experience with you. You tell her of the tradition of Midnight mass on Christmas Eve (which usually isn’t actually at Midnight), to which she tells you that’s a tradition for her too. You explain how Ireland loves their Christmas markets filled with merry and bright spirits. Melissa promises she’ll take you to Christmas Village in center city, and if you really want, she’ll venture to take you out to see the various light shows and markets around Philadelphia and the suburbs of Philly. You tell her how your brother used to make you do a Christmas Day Swim with him; you let her know that you will not be participating in that tradition here. You tell her of the boxes of biscuits and how it almost always started a fight in your family because nobody wanted that last cookie to finish off the layer and be able to start the new one. You speak of how your family back in Ireland always puts a ring of Holly on the door as you point to the bag that has the wreath in it. She’s especially excited to partake in your tradition of 12 pubs- and you tell her that you think you might want to do it with the Abbott crew since your family won’t be here to do it with you this year. 

For as much as your eyes were sparkling as you speak of the traditions that you hold back in Ireland, when you reach the one that perhaps means the most to you, a sadness creeps into your eyes.

“And the reason I bought all of those candles…” you trail off quietly. “It’s an old custom, and I- I know my mam has one in each window all year round. It’s to welcome strangers and to remember those who are far from home.” You sniffle quietly. “Mam keeps them there as a reminder that we are always welcome back home.”

Your girlfriend isn’t quite sure how to respond to that, so she settles for just kissing you softly and wiping away the tear that slipped down your cheek.

You laugh just slightly bitterly. “God, this is supposed to be fun. I shouldn’t be sitting here crying.”

“It’s okay to miss your family,” your girlfriend reminds you. “That’s perfectly normal, especially around the holidays.”

“I think I’d rather just throw myself into celebrating and getting into the Christmas spirit here and at Abbott.”

And because you begin to throw yourself into the Christmas spirit to distract yourself from the blues, Melissa finds herself also participating in festivities that she usually wouldn’t do otherwise.

As soon as December hits, you have that silly little elf in your classroom and causing mayhem to entertain your students. When Melissa comes to pick her students up from your art class, her children are instantly asking why you have an elf but she doesn’t- why doesn’t Santa want them to be watched in her class? Your girlfriend sends you a huge glare; she hates that stupid elf tradition, and it will only cause her classroom to be destroyed every day with the mischief that the ‘elf’ will get into. Nevertheless, she promises her students that she knows Santa, and she’ll ask him to send one of his finest workers to her classroom.

You get a text from your lovely girlfriend mere minutes after she’s picked her students up from your class.

I hate you for this, you read.

You chuckle at your phone before typing out, No you don’t. You love me.

Just know that you’re in charge of my elf.

The next morning, her classroom has an elf, and her room has been decorated by ‘Buddy’. Her students are thrilled, and you can’t help but grin brightly when she tells you that her students love the decorations that you put up.

On December 8th, a Sunday, you wake up bright and early. Decorating is something that you have always absolutely adored doing.

“Babe!” you jump on your girlfriend with a grin that morning.

Melissa groans. “Y/N.”

“It’s December 8th! We have to start decorating!”

The redhead only responds by pulling you on top of her. She holds you tightly to her chest and presses a soft kiss to your temple. “Five more minutes.”

“That’s five minutes of time we could spend decorating!” you tell her.

Melissa peels her eyes open and glances at the alarm clock. “Hun, it’s… eight in the morning.”

“And we’re usually up at 6:30 for school,” you tell her matter of factly. “We slept in an hour and a half longer than usual!”

Green eyes roll, but she does allow you to pull her to a sit. “Do you know how lucky you are that I love you?”

“I’m the luckiest girl alive!” you giggle as you kiss her nose. “How about this? I make breakfast and coffee while you wake up, and then we can start decorating?”

When you see the beginning of a head nod, you leap out of bed and practically sprint down to the kitchen.

“Woman has damn near lost her mind,” the second grade teacher grumbles as she pulls herself out of the warm bed and follows you downstairs.

You already have bacon in the pan and the coffee brewing by the time you feel Melissa’s arms wind around your waist. Breakfast is quiet, and then you’re practically bouncing in your seat with excitement to decorate.

“Alright, mi amore,” your girlfriend chuckles. “Let’s get decorating.”

By mid-afternoon, you have just about everything decorated. The banister is wrapped with green, the Christmas tree is up and adorned with lights, tinsel and ornaments with the star sitting atop it’s tip, her flat surfaces are covered in trinkets that make you think of winter and Christmas, the holly is hung on her door. The outside is strung with lights that you know will look stunning at night. Melissa can only chuckle along and indulge in your love of the holidays.

The last thing that you have to do is put up the candles in the windows- something that you don’t necessarily want to do because you know it will bring down your spirits, but it must be done. So with a glint of sadness in your eyes, you line each window in the house with a candle. You know that across the ocean, your mother and father have already decorated, and their candles are out too- a quiet promise that home is always waiting for you when you need it.

As you look at the candle sitting in the front window somewhat longingly, your girlfriend knows what she has to do- somehow, she has to get your parents over here for Christmas. Her arms snake around your shoulders, and she pulls you close to her.

“You did a nice job, mi amore,” Melissa tells you earnestly. “It looks great.”

You lean into her affections, a sad smile on your face. “Can we watch a Christmas movie?”

“You don’t want to go to Christmas Village?” 

“Not today,” you sigh softly. “I’m kind of tired from decorating.”

“Then a Christmas movie sounds great,” your girlfriend smiles as she kisses your cheek. “Go get comfortable.”

It only takes about ten minutes for you to change into your favorite pair of flannel pajama bottoms with the Grinch on them and for the redhead to get popcorn before the two of you are settled in on the couch.

It takes about thirty minutes of laying on the couch with your girlfriend’s fingers weaving through your hair gently for you to fall asleep. Your girlfriend glances at the clock. It’s not too late to call your parents and try to orchestrate getting them here to surprise you for Christmas. She video calls them.

“Hello?” your mother answers.

“Hey,” the redhead smiles into the phone. “It’s Melissa. Listen, I was thinking… you should come join us for Christmas this year.”

Your father furrows his brow. “Is Y/N okay? Where is my girl?”

Melissa pans the camera so your parents can see that you’re sound asleep on top of her. “She’s okay, just a bit down that the two of you aren’t here. We decorated today, and she set out the candle, and it kind of upset her.”

Your mother sighs softly. “My poor girl. We just don’t have the money to fly out this year.”

“What if I offered to pay for your flights, and you can stay with us?” Melissa bargains. “We can surprise her, and I think she’ll want the two of you to be here when I give her her Christmas present.”

Both of your parents brighten at that- they know what you’re getting for Christmas from the redhead. “You think we can pull off surprising her?”

“I think so,” the second grade teacher chuckles. “I doubt she would be onto us, as long as we aren’t too obvious.”

And so, by the time you wake up from your slumber, your parents have a flight to Philly and back for the day before Christmas Eve, a hotel room to stay in for that one night, and a flight back to Ireland after the new year- not that you have any inkling of what’s going to take place.

The next weekend, Melissa takes you out to Christmas Village in center city. You spend the day drinking spiked hot cocoa and hanging off of her. It’s sweet, it’s warm, it’s cozy- it always is as long as you’re with that wonderful girlfriend of yours. Your gloved hand is somehow always in hers, or her arm is wrapped around your waist. You find little trinkets that are all too expensive but purchase them anyway in the spirit of Christmas. It helps lift your spirits, but when you get home, you see those candles again. Your heart sinks just slightly, but you have to admit that you’re quite ready to curl up with your girlfriend in yet another pair of fuzzy pajama pants and watch another Christmas movie.

It feels like December simultaneously goes by like it’s nothing and also drags on as you wait for your favorite holiday. But finally, Winter break is upon you, and you find yourself getting ready to go out for 12 pubs night with the Abbott clan.

“Thank you for doing this for me.” You kiss Melissa’s cheek as the two of you put on ugly sweaters and cozy pajama bottoms to go out in.

“I know how much you love your traditions,” your girlfriend rolls her eyes playfully. “Just know that next year, there ain’t no damn way I’m putting on a ridiculous sweater again to go out.”

“That’s not what I was talking about,” you giggle, but you nod. “I meant thank you for letting the crew come here and stay over if needed after tonight.”

“Oh,” your girlfriend sighs out. “That. I’d rather them stay safe if we’re going to get as hammered as we did last year.”

You laugh at the reminder of what happened last year- you had barely made it home in one piece, your parents hanging off of you, more drunk than you think you had ever seen them.

It isn’t long before your work friends are at your house, dropping their things in various rooms that they’ll be staying in. Jacob grins when he’s allowed to go put his things in what used to be his room before you came into the picture.

As Mr. Johnson wanders in, he makes an offhanded comment about all of your apparel.

“Never thought I’d see the day badass Melissa Schemmenti would be in the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen,” Ava comments. She turns to you. “You got her wrapped around your little finger.”

“Whipped,” Mr. Johnson grins. “As the kids would say.” He then accompanies his words with a whipping motion and sound effect, much to the displeasure of your girlfriend. 

“So,” Janine bounces on her toes in excitement. “What are the rules?”

“Well,” you smile. “Everyone already did a great job with the first rule of wearing a Christmas jumper. But, we will be going to twelve bars tonight. Each bar has it’s own rule, and if you break a rule, you have to finish off your drink in one go. Additionally, every four bars, we have to drink a pint of water so nobody actually gets hurt doing this…” You shudder at the memory (or lack thereof) of a few Christmases ago. “Finally, we can only be at each bar for thirty minutes.”

“Oh hell yeah,” Mr. Johnson fist pumps. “I was made to win this game.”

“I’m just so glad to be immersing myself in other cultures,” the history teacher smiles.

“Try to keep up boy,” Ava rolls her eyes. “You’ll be on the floor by the fourth bar.”

Janine gives Gregory a nervous glance, but he just wraps am arm around her shoulder and squeezes gently, promising that he’ll cut her off when needed.

And Barb, who somehow managed to find a Christmas sweater with pirates on it, declares that Sea Barbara is coming out tonight. 

At the first bar, you aren’t allowed to use your dominant hand for anything. Jacob forgets quickly and has to down his beer. At the second bar, there is a no swearing rule. Ava’s first word is “fuck” when she sees her ex-boyfriend. She chooses to shotgun her seltzer. At the bar where you aren’t allowed to use nicknames, Melissa calls you “babe” and she calls Barbara “Barb”. With a roll of those striking green eyes, she finishes off her drink. At the bar where nobody is allowed to use their native language, you’re forced to finish off your beer when you give up on trying to perfect your American accent. Once you’ve ordered your waters, Janine declares that she thinks she’s finished drinking for the night- to which Gregory agrees. Jacob informs the group that he believes he maybe has one or two more bars in him, and then he may have to tap out.

Once all of the pints of water are finished, your group races off to the next destination- the one where if you get there last you’ll be forced to sing a Christmas song off the rest of the group’s choosing. Poor Mr. Johnson has to give a terrible performance of “Dominic the Donkey”, complete with the animal noises. Jacob taps out after beer comes out of his nose from laughing so hard. That leaves you, your girlfriend, Barbara, Gregory, Ava, and Mr. Johnson to continue on with this challenge. At the arm pub, Sea Barbara finally comes out, and your girlfriend has to convince her to keep her shoes on because of the near freezing temperatures. Melissa holds your beer, she holds Barb’s, Barb holds Gregory’s, he holds Ava’s (much to her surprise and happiness), and the principal gets tasked with holding Mr. Johnson’s. At the no toilet pub, you all unfortunately lose that challenge, and you’re out of that bar in less than the allotted thirty minutes. Gregory taps out after that one. The eighth bar, you’re all forced to compliment a stranger. You almost lose the fiery principal at this bar because when you look away for one second, her lips are locked with a man’s. Waters are downed quickly. And then you’re onto the final four bars.

You’re drunk, Melissa is getting to the point in her drunkenness where she just wants to hang off of you. Sea Barbara has taken to speaking in an accent- if only you had gone to the accent bar once she had already hit this point. Ava and Mr. Johnson both seem to be doing quite alright though. You’re beginning to wonder if they have been drinking for the last few bars.

At bar nine, you have to take a shot. That’s an easy in and out kind of bar. At the no phone bar, Ava immediately breaks the unspoken rule of no documenting this outing as she goes live on Instagram to show the charades that the five of you are all partaking in. You choose a terrible shot- one that if Ava or Mr. Johnson don’t take, you’ll know. It’s quite clear that they are indeed drinking when you see their faces, and Ava’s voice rings through loudly.

“What the fuck is this shit?” the principal screeches. “Why would you get this for us?”

Melissa just chuckles. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“What the hell you mean that wasn’t-”

Barbara taps out after that one when she begins gagging after the shot goes down. “That was awful.”

And so, at the eleventh and twelfth bar, it’s down to you, Melissa, Ava, and Mr. Johnson.

“Can I have a pint of Heineken please, Guinness?” the four of you ask. And as luck would have it, you’re all served Guinness. Yours is downed easily, having a taste for the Irish drink. Melissa makes a face once hers is gone. Ava once again takes a video of herself drinking the beverage. Mr. Johnson shrugs, and the liquid goes down in one swallow- how he’s able to do that, you don’t think you want to know.

“And on that note,” Melissa wipes the beer that dribbled down her chin with the hem of her sleeve. “I think I’m done.”

“No!” you protest. “You almost completed the challenge! We just have to get to the last bar!”

Your girlfriend stumbles down the road with you to the last bar.

“Everyone has to get a drink at the last bar,” you tell them with a drunken smile. “I’ll even allow you all to choose your own drink so there’s no gagging.”

By some Grace of God, nobody ends up hugging the porcelain that night. The next morning, however, nobody is thrilled to be awake. The eight of you all claim that you’re never drinking again.

“Until New Years!” Ava chimes in as she rubs at her temples.

It takes until about noon for your last guest to head out, and then it’s just you and your girlfriend laying on the couch attempting to revive yourselves from these killer hangovers.

“It was fun though,” you sigh softly.

Melissa groans. “I’m gettin’ to be too old for this shit.”

Christmas Eve finally comes and presents itself, and you find yourself in the midst of a chaotic as ever Schemmenti Christmas dinner. Seeing your girlfriend with your family reminds you of what you’re missing out on this year, and you have to excuse yourself for a few minutes to shed a few tears. Of course, your absence doesn’t go unnoticed by the redhead of the family.

“Mi amore?” you hear your girlfriend before you see her.

You quickly wipe at the tears threatening too escape your eyes. “I’m fine. Just missing my mam and dad right now a little more than I expected to.” Your eyes wander to the candle that’s sitting in the window above your bed.

“You’re allowed to miss them,” Melissa tells you softly as she sits on the bed next to you.

“I know,” you mumble as you lean into her. “I just didn’t think it would hit me this hard. I miss Ireland.”

“Just a few more months, and we’ll be in Dublin for Spring break with your parents,” your girlfriend offers quietly as she kisses your temple. She doesn’t reveal that you’ll be reunited with your parents tonight at Mass once your guests leave.

You hum, wipe your tears, take a steadying breath, and stand. “Alright. I’m good. Let’s get back down there.”

It’s a bit later that you’re cleaning up after the Schemmentis leave for the night. Mass starts at ten, so you have a bit of time to clean up and freshen yourself up before you have to head to your parish. 

The two of you exit the car and walk to the church hand in hand. You’re seated in your pew and chatting quietly with each other when you feel someone tap your shoulder.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” a voice asks- a voice that you know so well but aren’t expecting to hear.

In an instant, you’re whipping around to look at the person beside you, and there are your parents in the flesh. Your arms are wrapped around them tightly and happy tears flow as you truly grapple with the fact that they’re here in Philly with you for Christmas.

This year is the first and probably only year that you end up missing Christmas Eve mass.

“How- how are you here?” you ask as you practically skip down the street back to your car. “I thought you couldn’t make it work!”

“That girlfriend of yours really loves you,” your father chuckles. “Got us tickets to and from Dublin.”

You practically jump on your girlfriend, kissing her fiercely. “I can’t believe you did this for me!”

Melissa just shrugs with a laugh as she kisses you back gently. “I know what my girl wants.”

It’s a nice and warm Christmas Eve, the four of you drinking beers and catching up on life before you feel your eyes beginning to grow tired. As much as you want to keep your eyes open, you find them drifting as you continue to try to keep up with the conversation.

“Just like you’ve always been,” your mother tells you with soft eyes. “I think it’s time you head up to bed, love.”

With a quiet sigh, you heave yourself up from the couch and make your way into the kitchen. You grab a plate and set a few cookies out on it before reaching for the Heineken that you had bought a bit earlier in the day. You set it on the coffee table with a smile before making your way over to your mother and hugging her tightly.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you whisper as you kiss her cheek. “Thank you for coming.”

You reach for your father. “In case Santa wants a treat,” you tell him cheekily as you press a kiss to his cheek. “I love you guys. Goodnight.”

You’re asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow.

Come Christmas morning, you’re up bright and early with a smile on your face. You practically dance your way down the steps, and you squeal with childlike delight at the half eaten stack of cookies and finished off beer. Melissa can only chuckle at your antics.

The two of you exchange presents quietly as you wait for your parents to wake up. It’s wonderful.

When your mom and dad (finally) make their way down the steps, breakfast is served. Melissa really outdoes herself today. The meal is light and warm, and filled with cheerful conversation. And then the four of you make your way back into the living room, and you settle in your seat by the Christmas tree.

“So, I actually have one more present for you,” your girlfriend tells you.

You raise a brow. “Mel, I thought we said only two gifts each.”

“Well, I think this one is the exception,” she tells you softly.

You don’t notice that your mother had strategically set up her phone to record what is about to take place.

“Okay?” you lean forward with excitement. The redhead hands you the small box wrapped in beautiful gold paper and lined with red ribbon. 

By design, it takes you a few second to get the wrapping paper off of of the box and open it. In that time, your girlfriend subtly slips herself off of the couch, pulls the ring box out of her sweatshirt pocket, and is on one knee.

There’s an ornament in the box, and it has the inscription, “Our first Christmas engaged”.

“What?” you whisper to yourself as you thumb over the beautiful script. “Melissa.” And when you turn to face her on the couch, you don’t see her green eyes like you expect to. You lower your eyesight, and there is the second grade teacher down on her knee.

“Marry me?” she asks simply.

You just stare at her, eyes wide, with your hands clapped over your mouth. You can’t believe that she’s asking you to marry her.

“Say something!” your dad implores you to answer.

“Yes!” You tackle her on the floor in a hug, and your now fiancee can only laugh as she attempts to slip the ring on your finger.

It’s only a few hours later that your parents are asleep on the couch, and you’re laying on top of Melissa by the Christmas tree, admiring the rock that now sits on your finger perfectly.

“Good Christmas?” she asks you softly.

You nod and lean up to kiss her. “The best.”

TAGS:  (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead @schemmentits

[babejinxy]

Jinx x f!reader special new year

✨ I wasn't going to write a New Year's special, but since I'm nice and you guys wanted it, here it is!!! This is the first part, I'll post the second part soon. I hope you like it!

🌟 English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are any mistakes.

It was the last day of the year and after your behavior on Christmas Eve, your girlfriend Jinx had been watching you the whole time, waiting for you to tease her again. But the truth is that you simply didn't do anything suspicious all day. You stayed in the hideout with Jinx and while she was working on something - which by the way she didn't tell you what it was - you were lying on the bed reading a book or changing your nail polish every half hour.

That night, Jinx also had something in store for you, just as you had for her. Since what you had planned for Christmas had gone a little off the rails, you saved it for tonight. And you started putting your plan into action early on.

While your girlfriend was focused on some project of hers, you got out of bed after changing your nail polish for the fourth time and went to her. You were wearing pajamas, the short shorts showing the edge of your ass. You sat on the edge of her workbench, she noticed you, but she was too focused on her work. “Hey babe, do you like it?” you asked innocently, holding out your hands so she could see your nails, painted blue like hers. You crossed your legs in the process, your shorts riding up, revealing a lot of your legs.

She lifted her head from her work and looked straight at your nails, “You like blue huh?”. “You know I do,” you said, lowering your hands and placing them on either side of your legs, holding onto the edge of the table. “They look amazing, toots,” she said, lifting her head to reach your lips, you lowered your head a little until your lips met hers and you gave a little kiss. Jinx’s eyes wandered over your legs before she went back to work.

“What are you doing?” you asked, jumping off the workbench and wrapping an arm around her. “A little something for later today,” she said grabbing a tool. “What are you planning?” you asked, curious and worried that she was planning to blow up Piltover on the first day of the year. She looked at you, “you’ll see, love,” and then she laughed and went back to doing what she was doing.

You had no idea what your crazy girlfriend was planning this time, but it must have been something big since she had been working on it for exactly a week. What you didn't know was why she had left you out of it this time, you were always up for anything with her and she knew it. But luckily for her, you were too easy-going to insist or get upset that she wasn't involving you in whatever she was up to. So you simply shrugged it off and went to throw darts to pass the time and practice your aim.

You threw the dart a few times and only hit the target once. You were usually a good aimer, but not today. Maybe the anxiety of starting to put your plan into practice was getting in your way. You snorted when you missed for the seventh time. You picked up another dart to try again and prepared to throw it at the target. But before you could throw it, you felt Jinx's left hand on your waist while the other was on your hand that was holding the dart. She adjusted the position of your hand while kissing and lightly biting your neck. "This makes it hard for me to concentrate, babe," you said, smiling and shivering at the sensation. She let go of your neck and looked at the target hanging on the wall. With her hand still in yours, she helped you with the throw and you hit the middle of the target.

“You were putting too much force in, peach,” she said, holding your waist with both hands now and pulling you against her. You felt her lips on your jaw and then on your neck again as she squeezed you with her hands. “Are you done yet?… mhmm,” you asked, closing your eyes and resting your head on her shoulder, giving her more space to kiss and suck on your neck. “I’m almost there… but for now, how about a break, huh?”, she bit your earlobe.

You thought this would be a good time to start putting your plan into action, so you turned to face her and wrapped your arms around her neck and kissed her. Jinx deepened the kiss and squeezed your waist, her hands moving down to your hips. You tangled your fingers in her short hair and she swirled her tongue in yours, dominating the kiss. She bit and pulled your lower lip with her teeth while her hands went to your ass and she squeezed it hard over the fabric of your pajama shorts.

When Jinx walked with you towards the bed, that's when you realized things were going to heat up even more, so before she could throw you on the bed, you broke the kiss and pulled away from her. "Hey wait, what's wrong toots?", she asked with furrowed eyebrows. You just shrugged, "there's nothing wrong, we can do this another time... I don't want to be late for Vi's dinner and you haven't even finished whatever it is you're doing". You walked past her and she pulled you again by the waist, locking you in her arms.

“And why not now? I can be pretty quick baby, you know,” she said, brushing her lips against the skin of your neck. You squeezed your eyes shut and bit your bottom lip, it was hard to resist her, but you were willing to do it. You wanted to tease her, you knew it would cost you a lot later, she would be rough with you, but you wanted it, you liked it. You took her hands off your waist, “not now baby.”

You were playing with luck, you knew that if your girlfriend wanted, she would grab you at any moment and with her strength thanks to the shimmer you couldn't fight her. Fortunately Jinx was different now and she respected your decisions. Although you knew that when she finally had your consent you would be fucked as fuck, very very fucked and you could wet your panties if you kept thinking too much about what she would do to you.

You threw yourself on the bed and picked up your book while Jinx went back to her workbench to finish her invention. She turned on the music and turned up the volume, she said it helped her focus and kept her thoughts away from her troubled mind. It was hard for you to focus on the book with the music blasting in your ears, but you weren't going to ask her to turn it off or lower the volume, you knew she wouldn't do that and she would also get annoyed with you, so you tried to read anyway.

You knew your girlfriend was done with her work when she finally turned down the music. You still had your eyes on your book, but you could see her coming towards you. You felt the mattress dip as she climbed onto the bed and crawled on top of you. She took the book from your hand and threw it in a corner, “I finished my project toots, but I’m not done with you yet,” she said kissing your jaw and bringing her lips up to yours.

The kiss was slow but hot. You brought your hands to her hair while she placed her right hand on your neck and held it firmly, but not tightly, and with the other she squeezed your waist and hips. Her tongue explored every corner of your mouth and she sucked your lower lip and then pulled it with her teeth. You moaned softly between the kiss because you knew it drove her crazy.

Jinx moved her kisses down to your neck where she alternated between kissing and biting. She placed the hand that was previously on your neck on your right breast and squeezed it, making you gasp. She moved her kisses down, making a path from your neck to your belly. She lifted the top of your pajamas a little to expose the skin on your abdomen, then she placed kisses and light bites on it.

She moved back up to your lips and took them against hers once more. But this time the kiss was fiercer, wilder and you knew she was getting really fucking horny. Not that you weren’t too, but you had to stop things before it was too late. So when Jinx dragged her left hand inside your shorts, you broke the kiss and asked breathlessly with your lips brushing hers, “babe, what are you doing?” “What? I can’t fuck my girlfriend?” she said, crashing her lips against yours again.

You placed your hands on her chest trying to push her off of you, she released your lips looking at you with a confused and irritated look, “of course you can love, but not now… I need to get ready for dinner and unfortunately I'm not as fast as you”, you took her hands out of your shorts and pushing her to the side you got up from the bed.

You were making her angry and you knew it, it was what you wanted. You bit your lower lip trying not to laugh as you turned your back to her. “You’re going to regret this behavior later, you know that, right? I won’t be so patient with you toots,” she said, throwing a gear somewhere in the corner of the room. You gave her an innocent look, “Why? Is it a sin if I refuse to have sex with you?” She walked towards you and said close to your ear as she passed you, “ha! baby, sin is what I’m going to do to you…”

Part 2??? 👇🏻🤍

[serafilms]

song 25! hope ur ok (olivia rodrigo) + jason todd requested by @feralsecondchild (spotify wrapped event)

but god, i hope that you’re happier today, ‘cause i love you, and i hope that you’re okay

There was a boy you knew once when you were young.

His name was Jason, you recall. Jason Peter Todd. He was your best friend.

You first met him at ten years old. At that age, you had only just begun to grasp the idea that there were horrors in the world, so when you wandered into the wrong side of town on your way home from school, you were an easy target. Or you would have been, if a boy with jet black hair and pale blue eyes hadn’t dragged you away to his hideout. You kicked and almost screamed until he whispered his name and a promise that he was helping you.

Jason was scrawny and malnourished, but where any older or more condescending of a person might have pitied him, you were in awe. With a crowbar clutched in his hand and eyes alert, he looked brave to you. And you told him as much, vowing to bring him gifts as often as you could to show your gratitude.

He told you you were stupid, but he still escorted you out of town and was the first (and thankfully, only) one to greet you when you returned the next week. You’d snuck in an extra two fancy sandwiches your mother had mass made and put in the fridge because you thought he’d like to try some, and brought along your homework, because you needed to do your homework.

Jason was interested by both, apparently, and you decided from there on out that it was your sworn duty to bring this boy food and an education every few days. It was probably a miracle you made it out of there unscathed every time, you think now. But you loved those days.

You’d read with him, and laugh with him, and cry to him, and eventually he opened up enough to cry to you too. Your heart broke as his eyes filled with tears, and that was the first time you realised how cruel the world could sometimes be.

Then, a day after your twelfth birthday, he disappeared. Some old items remained, but his most personal belongings were gone, including the copy of a book you’d given him.

“Jason?” you whispered to the air. There was no reply, and you left with nothing in your heart but worry and disappointment.

It was a few months later when you saw him again, looking completely different but entirely the same, and his name left your lips for the first time since the night you’d found him gone.

He was here, at Gotham Academy, your school, wearing your uniform.

“Jason?”

He turned and looked afraid for a moment, but your face broke out into a smile and so did his, and he spoke your name before you ran and tackled him in a hug.

“You’re here,” you exclaimed, “but how?”

He’d been adopted by Bruce Wayne, he told you (“Bruce Wayne!” you cried, envious and excited all at once) and now he was doing better and he was enrolled at Gotham Academy.

That meant that you spent almost single day together, in much the same way you used to, but this time in a much better situation. It didn’t bother you much that Jason couldn’t stay long after school. You figured he had a lot to deal with adjusting to this new life and a new father figure.

When you got a little older, though, you started to find it strange. He was awake at odd hours of the night, but sometimes wouldn’t text you back for hours. He’d show up to school with bruises and you began to worry. He assured you he was fine and even invited you to Wayne Manor to prove it, an invitation you accepted in part to ensure your peace of mind and in part because you just really wanted to see where Bruce Wayne lived.

“You must be Y/N,” Bruce Wayne said, greeting you. He was intimidating, with a large stature and something in his eyes that told you not to mess with him, but when you shakily greeted him, he laughed and you realised that he wasn’t all that bad.

You were well received by Alfred as well, and Jason seemed very pleased by the whole afternoon, but wouldn’t tell you why.

Then at fifteen, on the eve of your 16th birthday, Jason Peter Todd was declared declared.

You cried more than you’d ever cried in your life. Your parents didn’t really know how to comfort you. They didn’t understand the depth of your connection with Jason, since you’d neglected to tell them about the two years before he joined your school. Bruce Wayne delivered the news in person, his eyes tired. His tears had dried out. When yours did eventually did, you weren’t tired, but angry.

How could this happen to him? To Jason, the best person you’d ever known? He deserved better. You couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be true.

“I held him in my arms,” Bruce told you. “He’s gone.”

That was when you decided that there was no more good in the world.

But sometimes you would dream of a boy, with a hair and face just like Jason’s, waking from a deep sleep, or wandering around, lost. He looks just like your Jason, but his eyes are darker, a startling shade of green.

You would hear a call of your name in the night, in a voice that sounded exactly like his, and look around in a panic only to find nobody there.

A manifestation of your grief, said the psychologist your parents made you see. “It’ll get better.”

It did, for the most part. You don’t hear his voice anymore, except occasionally in your dreams. You rarely dream of him, but in your sleep you sometimes see a man who looks eerily like what you imagine he’d look like now if he had lived. You tell yourself it’s just a face you’ve seen on the street, just a stranger who looks similar. Your Jason had blue eyes.

You try not to think about him as much, but sometimes, you whisper his name into the wind, just to hear it out loud and remember how the syllables feel on your tongue. You send all your well wishes and prayers along with it. You feel like you still don't know what happened to the little boy with eyes of salt, but you hope that wherever he is, he's okay.

a/n: it’s almost 3am here but i totally fixated on this fic and needed to finish it bc i love this song sm and it made me sad and i just felt so good writing this???? anyways stream hope ur ok it samples the atla avatars love song at the end and i listen to it every time i need to sleep

update: read the sequel here!!!!

[chaotic-scraps]

All I Want For Christmas is You (Part 1)

Inspired by the song version Minor Key All I Want For Christmas is You - Kurt Hugo Schneider with original characters (no names, I'm allergic apparently).

CW: Kidnapping, gun violence

Red and green lights blinked through the window blinds. Christmas music echoed from the street below. Gloved and shaking hands pulled red yarn from tack to tack. Photographs, sticky notes, news articles, emails.

The detective stared. Head pounding. Swigged the cold and bitter coffee. Jittery. Cold.

A month. It'd been more than a month since the thief's last known activity.

It just didn't make sense.

"Where are you," he whispered.

It wasn't like they owed him anything. Not the little gifts they would leave after a heist, nor the postcards mocking him for being one step behind.

Not the flirtatious moments that just… Refused to leave his mind.

They'd given him a souvenir of the last heist, just before disappearing. A thick and heavy gear, uniquely shaped, wrapped in a box. He'd shoved it into his bottom drawer with the other odds and ends the thief brought them.

He scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes. It meant nothing, he tried to tell himself. No news was good news, right? The thief was lying low after kicking the hornet's nest.

It had only been a month. They'd turn up. They always do.

Yet the hours ate away at him. They'd… Promised to stop by on Christmas Eve. Rookie mistake. Never trust a con artist to follow through on their honeyed promises.

Yet…

The thief's last target had been none other than a mob boss. They'd been missing since shortly after the heist.

If… If the detective could find some sign, some single shred of evidence they were okay, that they were safe, he could sleep.

He tried not to think the worst.

He took a shaky breath.

He couldn't sleep. Couldn't focus. Couldn't function.

Time to call on an old family… 'friend'.

Hopefully she was in a good mood.

He pushed through the cold and crowded streets. He went down a much quieter alley to a door with a small and faded sign.

The door to the shop jangled.

"Hey! Look who the rat dragged in," the shopkeep rasped. She hacked a cough and limped over to him.

"C'mere, you!"

She pulled him into a back-cracking hug.

"Ohh! Merry Christmas, sugar plum! I haven't seen you since, what? Last year? You look thin. Have a cookie."

The detective shook his head. "I just need some information, then I'll be out of your hair."

The shopkeep pursed her lips.

"Oh. I see. I'd hate to keep you, mister important detective man. No time to visit your auntie anymore. Not even on Christmas."

"You shot at me last time."

"Warning shots. Ought to teach you not to stick your nose where it don't belong."

"…Yeah." The detective sighed heavy. "I… Speaking of that." He withdrew a photograph and slid it to her. "Recognize this face?"

The shopkeep squinted. "Oh, yeah, that thief character. Stole my favorite mug. Little beagle on the front. Said 'You're the Doggon Best' on it."

Oh. The thief gave him that mug. He used it every day.

He shifted his gaze awkwardly, opening the door to a grandfather clock pendulum.

"Have you seen anything of them recently?" He asked.

"I heard they're not going to be a problem anymore," the shopkeep sniffed. "Quit fiddling with that old clock. You'll break it."

An old and matted cat mewled and stretched, and she scratched his head. "Does Mr. Biscuits want his num nums?" She cooed.

"What does that mean," the detective hissed, stepping between the shopkeep and her cat. "What do you mean, they're not a problem anymore?"

"You get between me and Mr. Biscuits, and we'll have ourselves a problem," the shopkeep growled, pushing past them. "Your friend messed with the wrong people. Forget about them."

"You know something," the detective demanded. "That mob boss has them, right? Where are they?"

"Dead," she rasped. "Dead, as far as you're concerned."

The detective sucked in a breath.

He leaned against the glass display for support.

No. No, they couldn't be dead. If the item the thief stole was worth their life, they wouldn't do away with them until they found said item. They were currently worth more alive.

"I don't believe it. Tell me your sources"

"I don't owe you that. Believe what you want."

"Where…" The detective pulled out a notepad. "Where is the boss's last known location?"

The shopkeep's eyes went wide, nostrils flared.

"No. You're looking for a fool's end, and I want no part in it," she said, walking by and pulling him by the sleeve.

"Take this cookie and get out, you fool boy." The shopkeep pushed a gingerbread into his hands and shoved him out the door.

The streets were colder as the night grew darker. Crowds thinned and the festive lights went out. The detective found a bench to sink into.

Something began to build in his chest. A cold, sad laugh.

He was laughing.

Crying.

God, he needed to get ahold of himself.

"Hey, uh," a voice caught his attention.

The detective hastily scrubbed away his tears.

"Heard you're looking for a friend," the gaunt figure grunted. "I can help."

Their eyes flicked to the cookie, and they swallowed. "For a price."

The detective held out the cookie for them. They blinked wide-eyed, then snatched and scarfed it down. A moan of satisfaction.

"The mob boss is hosting the Christmas party in their cabin." They smacked their lips. "That's just outside of the abandoned diner, cut right after the old winery. You'll find an unmarked path with a fork, go left. Tell em you're making a delivery."

They shoved a package in his hands. Cookies.

"I can't trust myself with 'em." The stranger grinned crookedly. "God, I've been so tempted for a nibble all day. Fresh baked this morning. A special something in the butter. God, just smell that." He sniffed the box deeply. "Tell em Ol' Shakylegs sent you if they ask."

The detective reached the address long after dark. Vehicles parked back to back all the way down the driveway and across the lawn. Anyone parked farther in was stuck. What a nightmare. He parked his motorbike close to the side.

There was a side entrance where staff went in and out. He made his way over and an event planner all but snatched the parcel away.

"You're late," they barked.

"Apologies," the detective said.

"Well? Move it! Clear out!"

"Where's the restroom?"

The planner scoffed. "Second door on your right. There's a line."

The detective nodded. Then went left, towards the party. He slipped into the crowd, eyes darting around for familiar faces.

A hand grabbed his shoulder.

"You're not supposed to be here," a hefty man grunted. "Party guests only."

"I'm a detective, and I found something of interest for your boss," the detective said. He handed a photograph of the gear the thief had left them.

"This looks like junk." The man held the photograph. Squinted. "Stay right here."

The detective peered around the room. Suspicious eyes flicked back. He recognized some. Some recognized him. He waved and forced a smile.

The man returned. "Come with me," he said. He grabbed the detective by the shoulder in an iron grip and pushed him through the murmuring crowd.

He reached a private study and shoved the detective inside. A few more men blocked the door.

"I'm told you have something of mine, detective," the mob boss said, tapping the photograph of the gear. "A Christmas gift, perhaps? This isn't extortion. You're much too smart."

"I need the whereabouts of a certain thief," the detective said. "Tell me where they are, and I'll wrap that gear in a pretty little bow for you before Santa comes to town."

The boss tapped his desk. "I need the blueprints, too."

"Only they have that information." The detective wet his lips. "I can get them to talk. Let me see them."

"Afraid that's not how this is going down." The boss made a gesture and one of the grunts pulled the detective to his knees, gun barrel digging into his temple. "You bring me the gear and the blueprints or my boy's'll make like Picasso with your brains."

Silencer. Plastic wrap on the floors and furniture. Fridge-sized gift box. He wasn't joking.

"Replicating the gear will take years," the detective said, voice stronger than he felt. "You need it now. Let's be reasonable here. Only I know where it's hidden. Blueprints won't help if you don't have all the pieces."

The boss stepped around the desk like a panther stalking for the kill. He looked down at the prone man with a bloodthirsty glint in his eye.

"Do you have family, detective?" The boss asked. "You look like a family man. You have a wife? Husband?"

The detective sucked in a breath.

"No." He looked down. "No, I have no one."

"No." The boss patted his cheek. "No, of course not. You don't know what it takes to raise a family. A happy family. What the cost is."

He gripped the detective's hair and forced him to meet his eyes.

"You get between me and my livelihood, you threaten my family. Understand? You come to me the day before Christmas and you threaten my livelihood with my family just outside--"

"Tell me they're alive," the detective pleaded. "Tell me they're alive. Give me some proof they're alive. Or…"

He took a shaking breath. "Or I won't care what you do to me."

There was a shift. The boss released his grip.

"You care for them," the boss whispered in revelation.

The detective's throat bobbed.

"You came for them… Because you have feelings for them."

"They're all I have," the detective whispered.

"That's why you have the gear," the boss said, everything clicking into place. "They care for you, too."

A pang in the detective's heart. Did they?… They never really confirmed-…

"Bag him. Take him to the basement," the boss said. "I'll deal with him later."

The detective yanked himself out of the grunt's grip and dodged a swing to the back of his head. One hit the other. The boss shot at him, missed and hit the second grunt. The detective grabbed a bottle of brandy and broke it, and held the broken glass to the mob boss's neck. A bead of blood trickled from where he pressed too hard.

"I will destroy you," the mob boss hissed. "I will destroy everything you love."

"You have MORE TO LOSE," the detective roared. "You have a family? I have one person. ONE PERSON I CARE ABOUT! WHAT ELSE CAN YOU TAKE?! TRY ME!!!"

He grabbed at the boss's wrist and bit into it until he released the gun. The boss wailed.

"YOU'RE INSANE!" He screeched.

"Tell me where they are," the detective said. "Tell me where they are now."

"In the abandoned warehouse near the pier," the mob boss said. "But you will never--"

Grunts stormed in from outside. They trained their guns on him.

The detective aimed the gun towards the ceiling, and shot the light. He ducked and rolled in the ensuing chaos.

"He's escaping! Get him! GET HIM, YOU IDIOTS!"

The detective burst into the room filled with festivities and barreled through the back entrance.

"Grab him! SOMEONE GRAB HIM!"

The detective pushed a chocolate fountain over. The grunts skidded and fell behind him.

Shots fired. The staff hit the floor.

Glass shattered. A bullet grazed the detective's side. He ran out the back and mounted the motorbike.

Too many cars parked. The grunts scattered in panic, trying to work a car free.

Precious time lost for them. The detective chuckled. That was a lesson in crowd management.

It was well after midnight when he reached the pier. Someone must've phoned he was coming. Grunts all around the perimeter.

They didn't expect him to be so brazen.

He barreled through a crowd of grunts who dove away with a cry. He shot at the deadbolt, but it held firm. A waste of bullets, a waste of time.

Something hit the back of his head.

The detective came to with a bag over his head. Hands tied behind his back, feet tied to a chair.

"Detective? You awake?"

His heart fluttered.

The thief's voice.

"I… It's you," the detective was overcome with emotion. "I heard you were dead."

"You came looking for me anyway?" The thief huffed. "You… Why would you do that? For me?"

"No, I was just looking for my wallet," the detective said. "You stole it again, remember?"

Laughter. "Lot of trouble for a wallet," the thief said. "You know you can request new cards--"

The detective drew in a sharp breath.

"What? What is it?" The thief sounded worried. "Did they hurt you? What?"

"N-nothing," the detective said, voice rough. "I…"

Thought I'd never see you again, he couldn't say.

"Merry Christmas," he said instead.

The thief snorted. "Yeah. Merry Christmas."

A click.

"Touching reunion," the mob boss said. "You two seem close. Let's test that relationship."

[ladywaffles]

icemav + reckless

a discord prompt written for @sluttyhenley A sappy little Top Gun New Year's Eve prompt I forgot to post last night! Happy New Year, my friends!

In just a few hours, it will be 1996.

It will officially have been ten years since he met Maverick.

They’re all holed up in some shitty dive bar with a jukebox that predates Reagan, and the alcohol is free-flowing.

It’s probably the last time that they’ll all be together for the foreseeable future; it’s a miracle that none of them have taken promotions that have put them on desk duty.

Slider throws an arm around his shoulders, Wolfman’s got a mischievous glint in his eye.

They’re well away from base in their civvies; no one wanted to get clocked today. It’s a boys’ night out, one last hurrah for the men of ’86 before orders come down the pipeline and split them up after a scant eight weeks working together, before their careers take them out of the cockpit and ground them for good, never to fly with each other again.

“You know, Slider,” Ice muses, just loud enough that Slider can hear him. “This reminds me a lot of that first night at Top Gun.”

“You know what, Ice?” Slider plays along. “I think you’re right!”

Wolfman flashes a sharp grin, tapping Hollywood to let him know he’s heading out.

Merlin and Maverick sit at the bar, none the wiser, enjoying their beers as the NBC live coverage of Times Square plays on the TV behind them.

Slider slips over to the jukebox as Wolf darts up to the tiny stage. He passes Ice a microphone, “with the longest cord we could find!” Wolf tells him. Slider shoots him a thumbs-up above the heads of the crowd, and Ice makes his way to his target.

“Excuse me,” Hollywood says dramatically, tapping on Maverick’s shoulder. Maverick furrows his brow.

“Wood, don’t tell me you’re already wasted this early in the—”

“Is this guy bothering you?” Ice interrupts, cool as can be. Maverick stops short in the middle of his sentence, then catches on.

“Ice, don’t you dare—”

The Righteous Brothers kick up on the jukebox. “Oh, my looove,” Ice croons to Maverick, “my darling, I’ve hun-gered for your touch!”

Hollywood joins in, serenading Maverick as his face turns bright red, even under the dingy light of the bar. Somewhere in the crowd, Wolfman and Slider join in, and then the entire bar is coming along, slightly off-key, a little too loud, singing “Unchained Melody” at the top of their lungs as Maverick, larger than life and slick as can be, tries to shrink into his barstool. Merlin won’t have it, though, and he forces Maverick to stand up at the end and accept the ovations from his adoring crowd.

The boys crack a smile, and Merlin vacates his seat so Ice can slide in next to Maverick, whose cheeks are still flaming red.

“You know,” Ice says with a grin, “I’ve never seen you quite this red, even when you’ve got sunburn.” He jabs an elbow into Mav’s side, but Mav pushes him off.

“That was very reckless of you,” Maverick says lowly, intending to scold but coming off somewhat impressed. “Singing to me in the middle of a civilian bar like that.”

Ice shrugs, bolstered by his success and the alcohol already in his system. “What can I say, I’m a natural at it.”

“I bet you do this for all the girls. Does that play often work for you?” Maverick asks. Ice winks at him.

“I’ve never done it before. You’ll have to tell me how I’m doing.”

“You think it’s going well?” Maverick says. His voice is still low, but for an altogether different reason.

Ice leans in, knowing smile on his lips. “Why don’t you tell me in the morning?”

Maverick groans. “I cannot believe you just did that.”

Ice calls for another round for him and Maverick, then closes out both their tabs. “Ten years it took me to get the full story out of you, Mitchell.” He downs his vodka in one go, fully aware of Maverick’s eyes on his throat as he swallows. “You can’t have thought I was going to let you live it down that easily.”

Maverick knocks back his shot. “So then, sailor,” he looks up at Ice. There’s two hours to midnight yet. “You in town for long?”

“Not for much longer,” Ice answers truthfully. “But if you’ll have me, I’ll come back to you whenever I can.”

Maverick smiles, a big toothy grin that makes him look like that fresh-faced punk of a lieutenant he first met ten years ago. “I’d like nothing better, Ice.”

[danibee33]

Ending 2023 with thoughts of bodyguard!Simon x Reader

🩶🩶🩶

*4k+ words

+++

“Absolutely not.”

Dark eyes bore into yours through the mirror’s reflection, followed by a dismissive roll when you poke your bottom lip out, doing your very best to give the horribly broody man a believable pout,

”Pleeease?” You beg, turning to face him, “For one hour, just to see the ball drop- come on, I’ve never seen new year’s in Times Square!”

“No.”

Your pout turns downright petulant at his immutable tone, his eyes still fixed away from you- which, for whatever reason, makes you all the more upset. But the better question is, are you really still surprised?

Simon Riley had been your bodyguard for two years now, at the behest of your father, no matter how many times you tried to refuse or how many you fired, another one would just show up the next day. And never once had he been soft on you, never once had he actually entertained your spoiled demands-

But, in his defense, none of your previous bodyguards lasted for long, none of them had balls enough to actually handle you, but that was until you met Simon.

From your first meeting with him, you knew he wasn’t going to be an easy target. For the first few days he had been more like a shadow than anything, silently following you, only ever communicating through gruff, monosyllabic commands even when you goaded him relentlessly. He never took the bait, not once. That was almost reason enough to fire him in your mind, if you had to live with the man, he might as well be somewhat entertaining.

But again, maybe two months into your arrangement, he managed to surprise you-

Ok, you’ll admit, you were being particularly insufferable that day. You had to be moved again, taken to some off the grid, stupid safe house again, because there had been chatter of an attempt on your father’s life, and yours. Again.

”This is ridiculous.” You grumble, throwing your duffle bag on the ground, “The last thing I want on New Year’s fucking Eve, is to be playing Little House on the Prairie with you-” – you huff out a sigh when he breezes past you and your incessant complaining– “Does this shithole even have electricity?”

You’re promptly cut off by the kitchen light flickering to life, illuminating the cozy space around you- not that you would ever admit you think it’s cozy-

“Shocking.”

Again, he steps around you, not close enough to touch you - no, never - but close enough so that the air fills with his scent. It’s not necessarily a warm smell, you think it’s more spicy– wait, what are you saying? Ew, stop. –

He’s annoying and frustrating and the way he towers over you is also mildly a nuisance in its own right, because he just takes up so much fucking space you feel like you can’t breathe.

“Phone.” He grunts, looking down at you, only proving your point.

“Excuse me?”

“I know you have a second one. Hand it over.”

Oh.. the audacity. You cross your arms, squaring up to him- it didn’t matter that he could probably, definitely, break you in half, you really weren’t scared of him. Why would you be when you’ve seen way worse than some overgrown goth guy in a skull print balaclava? Real mature..

“Ya know..” You give him a dazzling smile, stepping just a bit closer, “If you say ‘please’, I might give it to you.”

Simon says your name, curt and gruff as always, a low warning in voice you’ve never heard before-

“Don’t.. Call me that.”

You didn’t like your name, because it reminded you of your deadbeat mother. What kind of asshole names her daughter after herself and then leaves anyway?

You’ve reiterated this time and time again, and still, time and time again, he uses it- almost like a little jab of his own, payback for all the silly names you’ve tried to get him to answer to.

“Phone.” He says again, his eyes flicking up to study the wall behind your head.

Reaching into your coat pocket, you pull out your burner, waiting for him to reach for it before jerking it away, “Ask nicely..”

This time he steps forward, his body crowding yours- he’s unnaturally warm, the expanse of his chest stretching the black long-sleeve with every calculated breath. And when he leans down, craning his neck to be at eye level, you no longer see the dismissive, unwavering indifference in his eyes as before. They’re burning, dark and bright at the same time, copper flecks glinting back at you,

“You think this is a game, Gemini?”

“I think it’s a paycheck for you, Ghost.”

You spit his old callsign with the same dripping disdain as he had said your longtime nickname, though, it’s hard to deny that you like the way it sounds in his brassy accent- Mancunian through and through.

But more than that, you think at this moment you’ve never seen so much emotion be conveyed just through another person’s eyes. They widen, his pupils constricting harshly before dilating again, a soft puff of air tickling across your face as his calm, cool facade momentarily cracks. You clench your jaw, unwilling to break eye contact first, instead watching as he collects himself, his eyelids settling lazily and the bright amber of his irises dulling-

“Yes, you are a paycheck. Is that what you want to hear?”, he’s still so close to you, his warmth becoming unbearable the longer his words burn into you, branding themselves on your skin, “You’re an entitled goddamned brat that’s gotten everything served to her on a silver platter, did you want to hear that, too? Or are you the only who gets to run your-”

Before your brain can catch up to what your body is doing, he’s already caught your wrist mid swing.

Fucking christ, were you actually going to slap him?! What’s wrong with you?

Simon’s giant hand wraps all the way around your arm, entirely unfazed by your lame attempt to retaliate. The man didn’t even flinch, didn’t have to look away from you- and for a fleeting moment, you swear you see amusement shining through his eyes,

“Careful, Gem..”, he’s almost whispering now, reaching down to pull the phone from between your fingers with his free hand, “Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish.”

You come back to the present with a smirk on your lips, thinking about how your relationship with Simon changed after the safe house. He challenged you in a way no one had dared to before, and there was something about him putting you in your place that also changed the way you saw him.

He wasn’t so much your skulking shadow now as he was an extension of you- you stopped ignoring him, stopped arguing against everything he said (ok, maybe not everything, you couldn’t make his life too easy..)

Instead, you started wanting to include him in your life, and with every firm decline from him, it drove you all the more to do exactly that. His presence comforted you, and as time went on, you noticed the imperceptible shifts in his own demeanor towards you. Now he walked closer, opting to guide you through a crowd with his hand hovering at your lower back, or if he deemed someone too close, he would gently maneuver you to his side with a wide palm on your waist-

Eventually, he even got comfortable enough to exchange in your banter, more than willing to give as good as he got.

And you know it’s silly, god, it's outrageous and horrifically cliche, but you found yourself thinking about him more and more; more often you would just watch him. Sometimes sparing a glance to see his eyes already on you, notice how they always only linger long enough to make you wonder before moving on, turning his attention to something else.

It drives you mad. But, that’s just Simon.. You might be more than a few years younger than him, but you weren’t naive. You couldn’t fool yourself into thinking he might see you romantically. That’s actually absurd-

You storm into the oversized hotel closet, pulling the doors closed with a huff when he doesn’t even blink in your direction- always so focused.

Hm.. Fine. You’ve pushed him before, might as well try your luck again.

A smile pulls at your lips at the thought. So maybe you weren’t naive, and you didn’t hate your bodyguard anymore, but you never claimed or promised to have changed your bratty ways-

—---

When you step back out into the room, you don’t see Simon right away, but you hear his voice from the next room in the suite- probably on the phone. But, that’s good, gives you time to apply your favorite lip stain, a rich wine color that compliments your skin tone beautifully, before you see him round the corner.

And for the second time in your tenure with him, you watch his eyes widen at the sight of you. Your body hugged in soft velvet, the all black mini-dress fitting more like a second skin, accentuating every single dip and curve, and the way you left it unzipped in the back gives him the most tantalizing view of your figure underneath,

“Would you mind helping me?” You ask, giving him a wide-eyed look in the mirror, “Please?”

“I told ya, we’re not goin’.”

You shrug your shoulders, straightening the diamond-studded choker that decorates your neck so prettily, “Are you going to stop me, Simon?”

He moves with steady, slow strides and you have a hard time not gawking as he closes the distance, his frame dwarfing yours in the reflection, “‘M not doin’ this with you again, Gem.”

A quiet gasp parts your lips when you feel his fingertips on your lower back, the calloused skin causing a ripple effect of hot chills to rush through you as he pulls at the zipper, “I don’t know what you’re talking about..”

The intensity behind his gaze feels tangible, the way you watch him follow the line of the dress, eyes dancing over your bare shoulder and neck, “Don’t be daft, sweetheart.. It doesn’t suit you.”

Another, breathier, sound escapes you when you feel those same fingers higher now, grazing over the smooth skin there to pull your hair out of the way. And maybe, you could convince yourself he’s just being thorough, maybe even believe that he doesn’t enjoy the goosebumps that breakout under his touch, or how the way he watches you so intently is only because you look ridiculous, staring back at him with an embarrassing mix of shock and lust and confusion-

He finishes the task, but when he doesn’t move away, and doesn’t take his eyes off you, you’re reminded so much of that night in the safe house. Locked in another agonizingly silent tug of war, both of you pushing and pulling to see who would back down first. Testing all the limits, every boundary.

“Thank you.” You hum, smoothing your hands over the rich fabric, needing to do something to break the tension without outright losing, “What do you think?”

“Wear whatever you want, Gem..” Simon shakes his head, stepping away from you like he only just realized how close he still was, “Still not goin’.”

Without missing a beat, you fluff your hair one more time, refusing to let him see the way your eyes slip shut at the lingering smell of his cologne before sauntering to the next room where your coat is hung.

“Gem.”

There it is.. You smile at the unquestionable authority in his voice, your name spoken as a warning. Maybe you should tell him how much you like it when he gets like this- no, right now, you just need to focus on grabbing your clutch and room key. Stealing glances here and there to see him holding the newest paperback novel in his hands. But, you also know he’s not reading.

So, he wants to play, too.. How perfect.

Without a word, you head straight for the door, only just getting it cracked open before it’s slammed shut, Simon’s hand splayed out over the dark wood,

“I’m not in the mood.” He grits out, refusing to meet your eyes.

“Get out of my way.”

A sinful chuckle tumbles from behind his mask, a sound that simultaneously has you clenching your thighs and seething with anger in one fell swoop,

“Or what?”

You turn to look up at him, the height difference between you still overwhelming, no matter how high your heels are-

“Or you can find another paycheck. You’re my bodyguard, Simon, you’re not in charge here and I want to go out. So, you can either do your job and keep me safe, or leave.”

His arm is still propped against the door over your head, the very corners of his eyes crinkling and the black fabric over his mouth twitching. HE’S SMILING? All right, maybe you do still hate him, or at least you can hate him right now. With both hands on his chest, you attempt to shove him back, to move him, to do something, anything. But you might as well be trying to move a brick wall for all the results your struggling gets you.

“Let. ME. OUT.”

On the last word, he moves with frightening speed to hold both of your wrists in one hand, the other wrapping around the nape of your neck, “Enough.”

Suddenly, you’re looking up at him, his fingers firmly cradling the back of your head, your chest pressed tight against his. It causes you to blank, every ounce of fight draining out of you as you grow docile in his hold,

“Why do you have to make this so fuckin’ difficult, Gemini?”

—-

Simon’s practically panting above you, his self-control teetering on the very precipice, your proximity doing absolutely nothing to quell the insatiable feelings he’s had for you.

He’s done so well, never once letting himself slip after the safe house. He always, always maintained the self-imposed professional boundaries, if anything, he’s prided himself on his unfailing dedication.

Be it in the military, or now in his retired life, where he had the most unfortunate fate of being hired by your father. He remained unshakable.

Until you.

You had tested every single limit he ever knew he had, and then some. And when he pushed back, you relented, though you never truly gave him a moment of peace. No, of course not, why on earth would you possibly make his job easy?

But then, months turned into a year, and that turned into two, and slowly, everyday, he felt parts of himself he hadn’t thought existed anymore coming back to life. Parts that he thought died with every person he loved and lost, and it scared him to experience those feelings again. And as if that weren’t bad enough, he had somehow fucked around and fallen for the one fucking person he most definitely should not have.

But, in longer than he can remember, he’s smiled again, and laughed, and the world didn’t look so gray anymore with you in it. You were a pain in his arse, you complained and griped so fucking much, and yet, he’s never met another person apart from Johnny who actively chooses to see the best in humanity. And he’s loathed himself for hoping to introduce the two of you one day-

You’re still looking up at him, with those same eyes he’s dreamed of a thousand times, and those lips so sweetly parted, fuck.. You would look so beautiful underneath him-

“Simon..”

His eyes flutter closed at the sound of his name, tongue darting out to wet his lip, the tip greeted with the thin fabric of his mask instead. He forces himself to breathe, inhale - exhale - inhale -

Fuck it.

In one smooth sequence, he releases your wrists, using the now free hand to tug the balaclava off his head entirely. And as much as you would like to fully study every feature of his face, a face you’d never seen- it’s hard to think of anything when he sweeps you into a kiss so hot and bright it steals the breath from your lungs. Your heart races, but you think you feel his doing the same- his arm circling your waist, pulling you closer, your bodies molding together like they were always meant to be that way.

“Does this mean we still can’t go?” You smile against his lips, teeth clacking when you feel him do the same, only his laugh is full of reverence and exasperation,

“Fuckin’ hell, Gem.. shut up.”

Simon leans down, wrapping his big hands under your thighs and hoists you up without so much as a heavy sigh- it’s enthralling, and something you’ve never experienced; to have a man willing and able to lift you like it’s nothing. But he does it without ever breaking your kiss, walking you blindly toward the main bedroom and savoring every moment he gets in between.

Finally, you’re forced apart when he lays you on the fluffy, white comforter- getting his wish of seeing you lying beneath him, your hair fanned out around your head, your lips kiss-swollen and your cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of pink. It’s better than his dreams and wishes and fantasies, so much more perfect than anything his broken mind could possibly conjure up.

“You’re so bloody beautiful..”

The admission seems to shock him as much as it does you, looking up at him from this angle. And for the briefest moment, it sends a wave of insecurity washing through- having him studying you so intently. But just as quick as it comes, it’s gone.

How could you ever doubt yourself when he’s looking at you like that, deep brown eyes raking over you slowly, thoroughly, the angular jaw you’ve only seen in glimpses clenching and relaxing over and over-

You sit up, scooting to the edge of the bed so you could let your hands roam languidly up the breadth of his torso, eyes following the path until they meet his again, “Please kiss me..”

That’s all he needed to push you back down into the mattress, this time nestling his hips right between your legs, his cock straining against the dark dress pants, his body desperate for stimulation, desperate to feel you-

“I’ve thought about you like this..” He coos, planting kisses over the corner of your lips, moving down your jaw and neck, “Thought about how fuckin’ gorgeous you would look under me.”

His words alone cause you to whine, biting your lip the lower he goes, “But.. you never said anything-”

You gasp when he bites the fleshy swell of your breast, laving at the tender spot until there’s an angry purple mark left behind,

“Couldn’t.”, he lifts up again, hiking the thick material of your dress up to sit around your waist, “You were just s’posed to be a job, a paycheck,” the sound of your tights ripping fills your ears, his voice growing huskier at seeing the dark spot already soaking through your underwear, “Fuck-”

A lewd moan is ripped out of you as he too quickly repositions himself, kneeling beside the bed in order to pull you right to edge, burying his nose and mouth against your cunt- tonguing at the growing wet spot like it might be the last thing he ever does.

“Mm..” He growls, looking up at you, “Can I take these off, love?”

Could you actually be dreaming? Because it sure as fuck feels too good to be true, having a gorgeous man’s face settled so perfectly between your thighs, so close to getting exactly what he wants, but he’s looking at you with those stormy, pleading eyes,

“Please?”

Your head lolls back into the blanket, “Yes! Holy fuck, Simon- yes- ah-”

Needing no more prompting from you, he has your underwear off and his mouth on your pussy with terrifying efficiency, lapping at you with deep, resonating groans- fingers digging into the fatty parts of your thighs just hard enough to feel good, just painful enough to elicit more shrill moans and whimpers from you.

“You taste like heaven, babygirl..”, he croons, slipping two thick fingers inside you with ease, “Already so wet f’me, hm? Thought about me like this a time or two, have ya?”

You nod, your hips bucking as he slowly thrusts his digits a bit deeper every time, the tip of his tongue working your clit,

“C’mon. Use your words, Gem.”

And you really want to use your words, because you have so many, very choice, words for him, though you don’t imagine any of them are what a respectable young woman should be saying- but you also never claimed to be ‘respectable’ exactly. So instead, you tangle your fingers through his honey blonde waves, tugging and pushing to get him back to that sweet spot,

“Yes.. God- yes..”

He adds a third finger, and the sting of him stretching you makes your eyes water, but the pleasure it brings afterward has the unbearable coil deep in your belly ready to snap, “Simon..”

Fucking hell. He could come for you just like this if he’s not careful..

He’s better than that though, pushing his own feverish desire aside so he could have the privilege of you coming on his face- “That’s it, baby..”, he suckles at your bundle of nerves, eyes trained on your heaving chest, lost in the way you sound, in the way you taste, the way you smell-

When you finally fall over the edge, it’s violent and drawn out, your jaw falling slack and your muscles contracting- thighs struggling to clench shut around his head until they fall limply to the side, your brain lost in a beautiful, blissful haze. Only forced back to the moment when he flattens his tongue, cleaning you up with one slow, long stripe.

He raises up, crawling over you once again, his stubbled cheeks glistening, the sight of his dimpled smile etching itself into your memory- and you can’t help it, you reach up to cup his cheek, grinning back at him,

“You’re so pretty, Si..”

The half slurred compliment makes him laugh, but it’s not a mean or condescending sound, no, it’s sweet and wonderful, and you think you’ll always crave the sound of it; crave his touch, crave him looking at you like this.

“That right?” He asks, eyebrows knitting together as he lifts you so gently, unzipping your dress so he can pull it off completely.

You tug at his belt, your senses coming back to you and your body already begging for more, “Mhmm..”, you hum, watching him unbutton his shirt to reveal a sight worthy of being put on display at a museum. He’s impeccably built, just as you always imagined, bulging muscles defined by soft lines and mouth watering swells and dips, his body carved by years of hard work, littered with scars, silvered and puffy- each one telling a different story.

And for a moment, he allows you to trace your fingers over them, over all the parts of himself he’s deemed ugly and unfit long ago- but seeing the adoration in your eyes could almost make him believe otherwise. Make him believe he wasn’t this Frankenstein’s monster of sorts, torn apart and put back together with pieces that just never seem to look quite right.

He stands only long enough to push his pants and boxer briefs down, but when he settles over you again, you see the hesitation in his eyes, see an uncertainty behind them that seems so out of place for him. Because you’ve never seen your bodyguard hesitate even for a second, his every move, every decision, has always been without question - exuding confidence and prowess unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed.

But for you, in this moment.. He waits. For you, he’s cautious and tender, allowing you full control-

“Simon..” You frame his face in your hands, pulling him down for a long, languid kiss, “I want you.. Please.”

—---

You watch Simon’s fingers intertwine with yours, moving slowly above you as you stay nestled against his side. It’s an idle movement, just him studying the way his hand moves with yours, comparing the size of them, his heart beat solid and strong in your ear-

“Shit-” He exclaims, leaning over to grab his phone from the nightstand, “Come on.”

Too suddenly, you lose his immense warmth- watching in confusion as he clambers out of bed, tugging on his pants,

“What?” You look around the room like you’ve maybe missed something, his hand grabbing yours again, “Simon- what’s going on?”

“Get dressed-”

“Why?!”

He leans down, capturing your lips with a smirk, “You wanted to go out, right?”

——

A small, very shallow, part of you is only slightly angry at the fact that your gorgeous dress is still laid in a heap on the hotel room floor as Simon guides you through the crowd- but, it’s quickly swept away by the feel of his arm around you, the warmth of his jacket draped over your shoulders shielding you from the chilly New York air.

You watch the towering digital clock countdown as you go, your eyes bright and your smile wide, New Year’s Eve in Times Square-

It’s just as otherworldly as you imagined, the energy of the crowd infectious, the lights and sounds, the music, the people, it’s spectacular.

Simon stops, pulling you to stand right in front of him, his arms caging you in protectively, lovingly, holding you against him as the faceted ball begins to drop. And for a split second, it’s like the world goes silent, and all there is the feel of his embrace, his scent, his voice. Him.

And you won’t know this, he won’t tell you for years to come, but he doesn’t watch the ball for a second- he doesn’t notice the people, or the lights, the music, all of it fades away when he looks down at you. No, there would never be a more glorious sight than you, your smile, your skin flushed and glowing- nothing could feel as good as your hands holding him, nothing could possibly be better than the way you look up at him as the clock strikes midnight.

Nothing will ever compare to the feeling of your lips on his, the taste of your smile, the deafening roar of the crowd, the confetti and snowflakes that catch in your hair-

“Happy New Year, Simon..”

[workersolidarity]

[ 📹 A montage of scenes from six months of Israeli siege, bombardment, blockade, and genocide in the Gaza Strip as part of "Israel's" goal of ethnically cleansing the entirety of the Gaza Strip and genociding the Palestinian population that refuses to leave their homeland.]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏘️💥🚑 🚨

ISRAELI OCCUPATION COMMITTS DEADLY MASSACRE ON THE EVE OF EID AL-FITR AS GAZA BOMBINGS RAMPS UP ONCE AGAIN

On the 187th day of "Israel's" special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed several massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of no less than 122 Palestinian civilians, mostly women and children, while another 56 others were wounded over the previous 24-hours.

In the latest Zionist massacre and atrocity, the Israeli occupation air forces bombed a residential building belonging to the Abu Youssef family, located in the Al-Nuseirat Refugee Camp, in the central Gaza Strip, largely destroying the building and killing at least 14 Palestinian civilians, the majority of which were women and children, and wounding a large number of others.

The attack targeted a residential square housing Palestinian families and comes on the eve of Eid al-Fitr, the celebrations and prayers which mark the end of the Holy month of Ramadan, and the welcoming of the month of Shawwal, a major Muslim holiday.

Similarly, occupation warplanes bombed agricultural lands in the Al-Zuhur neighborhood, north of the city of Rafah, in the southern Gaza Strip, killing at least one woman and wounding two others.

In another tragedy, a Zionist sniper shot a young Palestinian man near the Shuhada junction in central Gaza, resulting in the man's death.

At the same time, Zionist occupation forces destroyed a residential tower in the city of Al-Zahra, north of the Nuseirat Camp, in central Gaza.

In the meantime, local civil defense crews continue to recover the bodies of those murdered by the Israeli occupation in the Khan Yunis governate, in the southern Gaza Strip, after the withdrawal of the Zionist army from the area after months of ground operations, with reports that local paramedics transported the bodies of at least three citizens killed by the occupation in the southeast of Khan Yunis.

Occupation fighter jets also bombed a residential home in the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood, southeast of Gaza City, while also dropping bombs in the vicinity of the Al-Khazandar station, northwest of Gaza City.

Several Palestinian civilians were also martyred and wounded as a result of the Zionist bombing of a residential building in the eastern neighborhoods of the Jabalia Refugee Camp, in the northern Gaza Strip.

Meanwhile, as Israeli bombings slaughtered innocent families in the Gaza Strip, Zionist-extremist colonists launched an attack on the Palestinian village of Burqa, located to the east of Ramallah, in the occupied West Bank.

According to local sources, more than 30 Israeli colonial settlers launched an attack on the village of Burqa, firing automatic weapons with live bullets towards Palestinian families, injuring four civilians, including at least one 15-year-old child. The colonists also burned a barn during the attack which was used to house sheep.

The Palestinian Resistance, in particular the Mujahideen Brigades, belonging to the Palestinian Mujahideen Movement, announced today a joint operation conducted with the Al-Qassam Brigades, belonging to the Hamas Resistance movement, in which Resistance forces attacked a unit of Israeli occupation soldiers operating southwest of Gaza City using mortar shells, successfully hitting their targets.

In other news today, Irish Foreign Minister Michael Martin announced the Irish government would be submitting a proposal to the Parliament for the recognition of a Palestinian State in the next few weeks as part of "broader international discussions."

In a speech before the Irish Parliament, Martin said that "None of you has any doubt that recognition of a Palestinian state will happen," and that postponing the decision "is no longer convincing or defensible anymore."

Martin went on to slam the Israeli occupation's genocidal war in Gaza, telling Parliament that he had "no doubt that war crimes have been committed, and I strongly condemn the ongoing bombing of Palestinian citizens of Gaza," adding that the recognition of a Palestinian state could "strengthen the Arab peace initiative."

As a result of "Israel's" special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the death toll among the Palestinian population of the enclave has risen in excess of 33'482 Palestinians killed by the Israeli occupation, over 14'000 of which being children, accounting for over 44% of those killed, while another 76'049 others have been wounded since the start of the current round of Zionist aggression, beginning on October 7th, 2023.

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#videosource

@WorkerSolidarityNews

[bdsmdevil6136]

On the Fourth day of Dark-mas

I feel his pressence starting to come back to me as the days draw closer to christmas eve, Krampus. A dark spirit that over takes during the cold winter nights that secretly compells me punish all the naught Subbies of the around, be they straight or lesbo woman , fake boys and trans, all subbies get his attention as well as his twisted punishments for being so naughty through the year. He senses their need to be punished and is even more happy to comply , as i said with his own twist thoughts how.

Today Krampus has shown me his first target, the slumper part of my pet up stairs later on tonight and he know what he'd do. Why he'd become his own santa this year and make some special gifts for his vicitums. For my pet through my hands he took the VR set id been fixing up for her and made it into the perfect trap. We spent hours making the perfect programming video and added the extra touch with coloring the spirals candy cane colors. he made sure that it would be paced to keep them intranced until the program finished uploading and add headphones onto it so no other sound could reach the wearer.

The hour draws near and just before the guest start arrving, We give out pet their gift and explain as they open it that it's an earlier christmas present for them all to enjoy tonight for movies and games. But he explains that before they can start to use it then have to watch the insturction video on it first, they agree all the while not know that the insturction video was what he'd been working on for the last half of the day. He excusess him self to go to his game room and once in there sent a timer for himself on about how long it should take for each of them to put the gear on watch and pass it along.

Once his timer starts to ring a grin forms around his lips and on hushed feet slowly climbs the stairs to listen for any noise coming from her hang room but not a creature was stirring, not even his Little Mouse. He could feel his smile intense as he went for the doorknob and as he open the door he found what hes hoped. All thrm kneeling naked and blank staring into space , waiting for me to give the final phrase to follow unlock what hed done to their minds. Before saying hit he quietly inspects them enjoying this diversity before him. He sees that his thoughts where correct that they had a few beautiful trans women mixed in between mtf and ftm, as well as nice varity of different types ;).

I move to the center of them so all there blank stares are on me and i say the final phrase to complete the reprogramming , " we wish you a merry DARK-MIS." Sudden their empty stares break and all look up at me with a hungery needy begging look. I jod my head and they begin to crawl over around me , pull my pants down before my Little Mouse puts me in her mouth and begins playing blow pass. The ones that couldnt get in stood begining to make out with me as i use each hand to pleasure between the legs feel how soaked most and the precum drippabling down the little subbie who wants to be a girl as i show them kindness stroking before making one treat them with their mouth . Soon i was being crawl on top of with each finding a part of me to filled their new needy holes , while the ones waiting play wirh each other.

The krampus slumber party went into the morning and once we were down with the fun of all our new toys. He ordered them all dress as their holes still drip from fullness. Once they were all clothed he made his way to the door and befoee leaving he said the phrase to lessen their programing to go back to their normal days... for now. " and a happy SPIRAL YEAR." He slipped down quietly as they came out of it and then at the door to thank them all for coming with his pet and as the last one leaves his pet says to him , " id have willing done that if youd just askee. " with a wink from there she head to the bedroom to give exhausted body some rest.

I hope you all enjoy this extra special dark-miss post , and also dropping a little more ;). If you like the character krampus reblog this post and ill add him back into more

[thefangdomcryptid]

Eve Charactersheet

Multifandom Edition

Masterlist (Coming soon)

Character name: Eve de Lioncourt (née Eve Archidamou)

Quote: "Zeus may have healed my scars and my mangled hands, but the pain within my soul, the suffering within my very essence never allows me any respite. For over 3000 years I have relived my trauma as if it happened to me yesterday."

Race: Albino Snow Wereleopard.

Gender: Female

Orientation: Panromantic Graysexual

Pairings:

Baldur's Gate 3: Astarion/Minthara as main romances.

House of The Dragon: Aemond/Daemon Targaryen

The Originals: Klaus/Elijah Mikaelson

Age:

3000+ years old. Her human age is based on modern viewpoints meaning she became of marrying age when she was 18, and when she accepted Zeus' gift, she was 21.

Place of Residence:

Baldur's Gate

New York (pre Faerun)

Konigswald (Near the German-Swiss border, Black Forest region)

Deity: Unaligned *before that, her parents worshipped Aphrodite. After their untimely deaths and Eve's abduction, she served Hera.*

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral/True Neutral

Personality:

MBTI: ENFP (Campaigner).

Enneagram: Type 4 (The individualist)

OCEAN: 96, 62.5, 67, 44, 40

Character Archetype: Explorer

Star sign: Pisces

Jobs: Bard, Healer, Midwife.

Musical Proficiencies: Harp, flute, lute, lyre, hurdy gurdy, hand drum, violin, piano, guitar (acoustic and electric), bass guitar, drums, singing and Kulning/Jodeling.

Language Proficiencies:

Ancient tongues: Ancient Greek, Latin, Germanic, Basque, Icelandic, Gaelic, Finnish, Sanskrit, Persian.

Modern Tongues: Greek, Dutch, Flemish, French, German, Spanish, Portuguese, English, Danish, Norwegian, Swedish, Icelandic, Finnish, Russian.

Currently learning (not proficient yet): Japanese, Chinese, Arabic.

Powers and Abilities

Eve’s powers include but are not limited to:

Shapeshifting: Can shapeshift at will without needing the sun or moon, she is aware and in control when in their werecat form. In human form, they retain all the same powers they have when in cat form.

Superhuman strength: Eve possess superhuman strength sufficient to lift about 10 tons, enough force to deform a 1-inch-thick steel bar with ease. Her physical strength also extends, to a lesser degree, to powerful leg muscles allowing her to perform a standing jump of 12 feet in height.

Superhuman stealth: Ninjas have nothing on Eve. If she has your scent, and you are on the menu, you’ll never see or hear her coming, not in human form and not in cat form.

Superhuman speed: Eve could outrun a regular Cheetah if she wanted to (known to run as fast as 70 miles per hour) by speeds as high as 80 to 90 mph.

Superhuman senses: Eve’s senses are about fifteen times stronger than an average human and 7,5 times more potent than an average cat. She has no problems finding her way in the dark, seeing as well as if it were daylight. Her hearing is so acute, Eve can hear a pin drop at a range of 50 feet, even if other noises are surrounding them. Her sense of smell is highly developed; it’s easy for her to sort through various odors to follow a target’s trail. She can even tell a person is lying due to subtle scent changes in the composition of sweat. Eve’s also very acutely aware of other people’s moods.

Superhuman reflexes: Again, ninja-like reflexes, the finest athlete and warrior to ever exist.

Superhuman agility:  Her agility, balance, and bodily coordination are beyond that of even the finest athletes.

Healing ability: Due to her immortal status injuries she sustains cannot kill her and she heals immediately.

Claws: In human form, Eve has retractable claws and teeth.

Charm: Eve is the only Albino Snow Leopard in existence that can persuade human beings and animals to do her bidding with her voice, if she so chooses. Never having to pay for designer clothes for one, or always having free meals, that sort of thing.

Fireproof: Eve is immune to fire. She doesn’t burn, no matter how hot the fire is, she can’t be harmed by hot pokers, and she can’t be branded.

Bio

Eve was born in Athens to wealthy parents, also known as Aristoi, making her Greek nobility. Her parents had trouble conceiving and turned to their patron deity Aphrodite for help, who then blessed the family with a daugher that had a beauty that could rival her own.

When Eve came of marrying age, tragedy struck her family, and Eve was abducted by a wealthy brothel owner and her household decimated. For two years, the man did and let other people do unspeakable things to her, until Zeus, in the guise of a young wealthy patron paid the man a wealthy sum to hire her services as a hetaira.

When he revealed himself as Zeus, after gaining her trust, he offered her immortality and powers in exchange for her becoming one of his wives. Stuck between a God's offer and the risk of his wifes' wrath or certain death if she went back, Eve accepted his offer. Besides immortality, he gave her the ability to shapeshift into an animal he thought fit her, which was an Albino Snow Leopard, so he could sneak her into Olympus without Hera noticing. While being okay with that power, and Zeus restoring her body and hands to their original unharmed state, Eve negotiated two other powers: The ability to charm people and animals with her voice, and she wanted to be fireproof, both powers in relation to her trauma. Zeus agreed, but made it so she could only charm humans and animals. After all, he couldn't have her charming him.

Soon enough Hera showed up on her doorstep. While she was furious, she saw an opportunity to get back at her husband and to grant Eve her revenge on her previous captor. While she granted Eve superior agility, speed, reflexes, strength and better senses than her animal counterpart, she also left behind a few not so nice surprises Eve would eventually discover on her own.

After enacting her revenge, Eve stayed at Hera's side until the Greek Pantheon fell and Hera set her free so she could find her own way in the world.

Portal to the Forgotten Realms

In a desperate attempt to be together with Elijah Mikaelson and to be rid of Klaus, Eve travels to New Orleans to find anything that can help.

As she explores the French Quarter, a small shop catches her eye, tucked away between a bookstore and an antiques dealer. There was a strange energy radiating from it, and Eve notices that no one seemed to be aware of its presence there, save for her. Intrigued and drawn to it, she enters the building, the door creaking open and the ring of a little brass bell chiming through the space alerting whomever owns the shop that a new customer has arrived. When no one shows, Eve decides to browse it on her own.

The shop itself seems to be a lot more spacious on the inside than it looked on the outside, and while the outside didn’t give anything away, the inside seemed to be an art gallery of some sort, with pristine white walls covered in paintings of all shapes, sizes and subjects. There were also easels of differing sizes, displaying artworks as well.

“Klaus would love this place,” she mutters to herself, her eyes scanning the art.

As she moves through the space, a canvas set on an easel catches her eye. It’s an oil painting named “The Forgotten Realms,” and depicts a big, lively city surrounded by water. As she studies the artwork, it feels like it’s alive, as if it’s moving in front of Eve’s eyes. Fascinated, she reaches out to touch the canvas, and her fingers make contact, the surface ripples as if it’s water, its watery tendrils snaking around her hand and arm, forcefully dragging her through the surface. Eve leans back, pulling and tugging against the tendrils to break herself free, to no avail. Eve is yanked through, tossed about, twisted and turned around as if she’s in a centrifuge, and then spat out on a beach near what is known in Faerun as Wyrm’s Crossing, between Rivington and Baldur’s Gate.

With no clue where she landed and no knowledge of the customs, religion or the people, she wanders into Rivington. Her attire earns her some strange looks, so with her ability to charm people, she gets herself some clothes, money and food. She finds her way into the city, securing herself a place to stay, and while she tries to find a way home, earns her keep as a bard, until she is abducted by a Nautiloid, waking up on the beach near Emerald Grove soon after.

Dark urge

The Dark Urge in my version of the game is dead, murdered by Orin in her chambers. When Eve lands in Westeros, with her bloodlust, Bhaal senses her presence, and knows her to be his true heir, even though she is not from the same plane of existence, and she is immortal, which Bhaal cannot change. That of course, doesn’t matter to the God, because he wants her all the same, given that she who travels between dimensions could make his grand plan even grander.

At first, Eve doesn’t feel any different, until she kills for the first time to sate her urge, and it isn’t enough, as if her desires have been amplified, voices in her head whispering to her to kill, to spill blood.

There’s two ways this can go: Eve resists the urge, breaking free from Bhaal’s plan for her, or she is seduced by his darkness and embraces her future of bloodlust.

Targaryen Chronicles ( Werecat AU)

Instead of going to New Orleans, Eve puts her trust in Elijah, who is working tirelessly for them to be together. When he chooses to save Klaus during the sun and moon ritual in Mystic Falls, Eve, feeling heartbroken and betrayed decides to leave, wearing an amulet made by Bonnie to ensure no one can use magical means to find her.

For about a year, Eve travels the world, and then settles down in Konigswald, a small city in the Black Forest near the German Swiss border. This is where she meets the Targaryen family (mainly Aemond, Daemon and Aegon) for the first time. They're immortal like her, chosen by their God to serve back in the day, and natural born Albino Snow Wereleopards.

[ayshaley]

Here are the stores that are open and closed on New Year's Eve 2024

Read More: Link 1

Read More: Link 2

[corneille-but-not-the-author]

New Year's Eve part 17

I'm not used to...

This.

Dating.

Seeing each other regularly, even though work has resumed.

Spending the night in each other's arms.

Smiling when they do the stupidest thing ever.

Letting her cry when she has one of thos panick attacks.

It's strange.

Not bad. Strange.

She asked if we could go out. Said my beauty was not reserved to her. I felt nervous. Can I really get out dressed like this ?

Slut, shameful, what are you supposed to be ? All those words I hear at the function every day, what will I do when they target me ? I am not supposed to be like this.

It's not how the Lord made you, Mother would say.

It's not how a Warsowar should behave, Father would say.

We lost our lives for you. It's the only thing grandma says anymore.

But I accepted.

Because she was smiling and said nobody would recognize me.

Make-up. All the clothes possible to hide my lack of chest. A long, flowy dress to go with warmer temperatures. A lot of layers, to keep warm. Anything to hide the slightest amount of skin.

It took a lot of courage to go through the door.

What if a colleague saw me ?

I guess Amandine wouldn't be a problem, but the others ?

Domhildr told me everything would be alright.

Just a little walk.

I felt worse than naked. The shame, hard to bear. But we carried on.

Now, we're at a café. Domhildr is all giddy. I feel nauseous. Did i overdo it ? She looks like she doesn't see me.

She sees what she wants me to be.

But I'm not brave enough.

A few hours later, night is about to fall upon us.

A strange mixture of sounds and lights.

That's when I recognize him.

Father. In the middle of the street, waiting for the bus while talking with an old grandma. I hear her praise his work. He has a slight smile.

He's so close.

"Domhildr."

"Mh ?"

"We need to go."

"Why ? Is everything all right ?"

A few meters and he'll see me. And he'll hate me. And...

"Excuse me, young ladies ?"

He's here. With a tiny smile. Sarovar Warsowar, most influencial citizen in this city, it's mayor, my father.

We look quite similar, when I'm not like this.

He's not that tall. One hundred and sixty-five centimeters at most. But he is strong. Slender. His smile is one of his biggest assets, because it compliments his face, the way his fifty years old make him look like thirty. His long hair make him unusual to see, a shade of hazelnut, just like mine.

The worst are his eyes. Two blue piecing eyes that look like they are staring right in your soul.

I cannot escape.

"Yes ?" asks Domhildr.

I don't know if she understands who is in front of us.

I have never wanted to run more than that.

He's going to-

"I have lost my glasses around here. Would you wind lending me a hand in finding them ?"

His glasses.

He does not have his glasses.

An Sarovar Warsowar is almost blind.

"Of course !" Domhildr says.

One hour later, Domhildr gives back his glasses to my father, bolstering a pretty large smile.

We wave goodbye.

I have not spoken a word.

I'm paler than usual.

I need...

I need to drink a bit, i think.

"Domhildr ? Can we drink a bit at your place ?"

"Well, of course !" she says with the biggest smile.

"Thank you."

I like how my father is more frigthening to me than a kidnapping.

But, after all, I'm just a fucked up kid i guess.

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Jonathan Feldstein

Israel’s war against Hamas has triggered widespread public disruptions by terrorist supporters around the world. Calling them terrorist supporters is not rhetoric but fact. Even before the bodies of the 1200 people massacred by Hamas terrorists on October 7 had been identified, massive public protests took place.  Shockingly, astoundingly, the protests were not against Hamas’ atrocities and war crimes but against Israel: the victim.  

The world and millions of Hamas terrorist supporters turned a blind eye. They deny that Hamas committed such atrocities: that families were bound by metal wires and incinerated alive, women gang-raped and executed in the most violent ways, babies were beheaded, children were murdered before their parents’ eyes, and parents murdered before their children’s eyes, tens of thousands of rockets that were fired at Israeli communities by the terrorists, or when the terrorists’ own rockets fell short and killed Palestinian Arabs in Gaza.

And as they denied that these crimes took place, even saying that Israel fabricated the videos that the terrorists made themselves documenting their inhuman slaughter, they blamed Israel for the massacre.  And then blamed Israel for its response.   

Sadly, this kind of behavior and manufacturing of lies is all too expected from Hamas and its terrorist supporters. Now, however, we’ve seen them raise the bar on their incivility by shouting down and threatening others and hijacking the public space over and over. They have effectively opened countless fronts of this terrorist war, not just against Israel but against the West, with particular disdain for Jews and Christians.  

This has taken place in many forms and venues.  Pro-Hamas protesters disrupted the annual lighting of the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center in New York, winning this year’s award for the biggest Grinch to steal Christmas. During the Christmas holiday travel season, pro-Hamas demonstrators blocked roads leading to major US airports as if somehow doing so was going to “free Palestine.”  On Christmas day, a friend in Chicago tried to get to her parents, only to be rerouted for hours by pro-Hamas protesters blocking more roads. They blocked all the entrances/exits of the Freedom Tower, the site of another massive terrorist attack that you may have heard about on 9/11. New York Mayor Adams has warned that the annual New Year's Eve celebration in Times Square will certainly become the target of pro-Hamas protesters, ushering in a new year of hate.

All over the world, thousands of cruel, heartless people tore down and defaced pictures of the 250 hostages kidnapped by Hamas on October 7, as if somehow showing human compassion for civilians held hostage in Gaza was an evil worse than that of the terrorists’ massacre.

[carewyncromwell]

Day 2 (Second Wizarding War) for @hphm-ship-week

"There is no life I know To compare with pure imagination: Living there, you'll be free If you truly wish to be --

Somewhere out there, If love can see us through, Then we'll be together... Somewhere out there, Out where dreams come true..."

~"Neverland Medley" by Kenny Loggins

x~x~x~x

The Second Wizarding War was a scary time. Many people throughout Wizarding Britain went into hiding, while still others were forced to cower in place, trying desperately to hold onto some stability for themselves and their loved ones in the midst of Voldemort and the Death Eaters' reign of terror.

One of those people in hiding was the Montrose Magpies' Captain and Star Chaser, Orion Amari, and his infant daughter, Eos.

Orion had become a single father on the eve of all-out War, when his girlfriend and Eos's mother Delilah Flint left them in favor of the safety of her pureblood family's home. Because Orion was an orphan with no concrete knowledge of his ancestry, he was inevitably going to be a target, and since he refused to put up little Eos for adoption, he ultimately had to find his own way into hiding with Eos on his own. Fortunately Orion must've had some kind of guardian angel watching over him, because even when he was caught by the Muggle-Born Registration Commission and he and Eos were dragged to the Ministry, he was smuggled out by several resistance members -- including a red-haired young woman he hadn't seen in person in six years...

Orion and Eos spent the remainder of their time in hiding at the home of an elderly Squib named Arabella Figg. It wasn't exactly a comfortable arrangement. The house was rather stuffy with ugly mustard-colored carpet and flower-patterned furniture; everything smelled strongly of cabbage thanks to the many anti-arthritis tonics brewed in the kitchen; and Orion and Eos had to share a small room with Eos sleeping in a padded dresser drawer in place of a crib. But fortunately Mrs. Figg had a collection of cat/kneazle hybrids living with her, all of which immediately took to Orion and would sit on his lap for hours, if he let them. They also seemed to sense that Eos was a "human kitten" in need of protection -- the oldest of them, a black-and-gray one named Tibbles, would often let Eos sit next to him on the floor and grab lightly at clumps of his fur while she watched Mrs. Figg's television.

On Boxing Day 1998, Eos had been sitting with Tibbles on the floor in front of the television, absently watching a car crash on the evening news, when Orion picked up the remote and switched the channel.

"Something a bit more peaceful, perhaps, little Mooncalf," he said, giving his daughter's head a light pat.

He flipped the channel, moving past a boxing match and a family sitcom, before landing on what looked like a fairy, hovering over a crying baby.

Orion couldn't help but pause. The baby crying on the television interested Tibbles -- the cat's ears perked up and his pupils became slits as he listened. Eos was rather oblivious: she'd started chewing on the binky in her mouth.

"Tink..." a man spoke in voice-over. "You came and you saved me. You brought me to Neverland. You taught me to fly..."

Orion slowly eased himself down onto the sofa, watching as the fairy on the television led the baby away through the sky.

The thing on television, it turned out, was an American film called Hook, a retelling of the story of Peter Pan, from the perspective of an adult Peter going back to Neverland to save his children from his old nemesis Captain Hook. Orion watched the movie with more interest even than Eos did, his black eyes softening as Peter moved to give the sleeping Moira a kiss and even more so when he saw the older Tink, with her red hair cut rather like that young woman he hadn't seen since Hogwarts, but who saved them from the Death Eater-controlled Ministry.

"I can see why you have trouble finding a happy thought...so many sad memories, Peter..."

"…Do you…not have a family, Orion?"

That girl who would become that woman's eyes had also been so sad, realizing this. As if she'd taken Orion's whole life into her own chest and felt the loneliness collected over eleven whole years all at once, in that one moment. As if for however much sadness she herself might've known, the thought of not having a family was so horrible to her, she could hardly fathom it...

"What's this that's playing?" asked Mrs. Figg as she came into the room with a tea service. After watching a bit, she smiled. "Oh, that's Robin Williams, isn't it? I remember him -- he was on that one episode of Happy Days, playing the alien. He's a funny Muggle..."

Orion nodded without really paying much mind. He was too focused on the television, and on the happy family scene of Peter holding his baby son Jack for the first time.

For a moment, he was back in that Healers' ward, holding Eos for the first time. Cradling a little bundle of sunshine he was terrified of holding wrong, but who somehow made him feel braver and stronger than he knew anyone could feel.

"I know why I came back -- I know why I grew up. ...I wanted to be a father..."

With a smile, Orion brought a hand up to wipe the moisture from his eyes before he leaned forward, scooping up Eos so he could bring her into his lap. He watched the rest of Hook with his infant daughter in his lap, a smile on his face and -- at least one more time, when all of the Lost Boys, Peter's children, and especially Tinker Bell spoke of their belief in Peter -- some more traces of tears.

"…Maybe you can’t believe in yourself yet…but I hope you know just how many people do believe in you."

Something about Tink in this movie really reminded Orion of her.

By the time the movie was finally over, Eos had fallen asleep in her father's lap. Orion picked up the remote and turned off the television, before scooping Eos up into his arms and heading to their room to lay her down for a nap in her comfy little dresser drawer bed.

Upon his return, Mrs. Figg poured Orion a cup of tea and the two talked a bit more seriously.

"I've not received much word at all from the outside," Mrs. Figg admitted somberly. "Save for some notes hidden in my usual package of baked goods...I really do hope I'll have the chance to thank Miss Flume for her kindness..."

"She sustains us with good food as well as news, and for that, we must be grateful," Orion agreed.

He glanced at the window. The blinds were just about always drawn these days -- Orion suspected Mrs. Figg was afraid her Muggle neighbors would catch wind of her and Eos staying there.

Mrs. Figg sipped her tea. "Yes...Miss Flume said that it has been difficult for her to obtain news about Hogwarts, but fortunately it sounds like her contact at the Ministry is still intact."

Orion perked up, interested. "At the Ministry? Do you mean Carewyn Cromwell?"

"Cromwell?" said Mrs. Figg, startled. "No, no — I believe it’s a Potterwatch correspondent, though I forget which one..."

"Ah, yes. Of course."

Orion wished he didn't feel quite so disappointed. He feigned nonchalance as he took another sip of his tea.

"I've heard of the name Carewyn Cromwell, though,” Mrs. Figg said thoughtfully. "I think Professor Dumbledore mentioned she was a lawyer at the Ministry..."

Orion nodded. "Carewyn Cromwell was meant to be an advocate. Since we first met, her thought has always been to support and help others…whether to replace an injured player on the pitch or to break curses plaguing a school."

Even if Carewyn would've undoubtedly been happier living a calmer, more peaceful life, she'd always placed others' needs first. Much like that red-haired fairy who loved the boy she'd rescued so much that she was willing to say goodbye to him forever, if it meant he and his family would be happy…

"Sounds like you greatly esteem her," Mrs. Figg said with a raised eyebrow.

Orion looked away to obscure his smile. "It'd be hard not to."

Tufty the cat "made biscuits" on Orion’s thigh as she settled into his lap. Orion gave the yellow Kneazle cat a light scratch under the chin.

"Arabella," Orion said after a long moment, "would it be possible for you to send a message back with Miss Flume, when she sends along her next package?"

Mrs. Figg blinked. "Well, I — I suppose." Her lips turned up knowingly. "…Do you wish to give her something to send along for Miss Cromwell?"

"There's nothing in particular I want to send," Orion said noncommittally. "I merely was contemplating the feasibility of the matter."

Mrs. Figg looked a bit skeptical as she rested down her empty cup down on her saucer.

"Yes, well, if you…change your mind on that, I daresay Miss Flume's contact would send something along, if you wanted. Goodness knows we all have felt a bit disconnected from the ones we love as of late…"

She got up from the sofa and headed to the kitchen with the remnants of her tea service, leaving Orion alone to finish his tea. Putting down his own cup, he glanced at the blind-covered window again, his hand absently ruffling the fur beside the purring Tufty’s ears.

It would be silly to reach out to Carewyn just because he was thinking of her, Orion told himself. He didn’t really know what he’d want to say, really — "I saw this character in this Muggle movie tonight and she made me think of you" seemed like a rather trite sentiment under the circumstances. If all it took was sending Carewyn an owl, then he would've thought nothing of it, but it was risky enough for Miss Flume and her contacts to send any messages at all, let alone for non-emergencies.

Still Orion couldn’t fully put the thought away as he sat alone in the living room, petting Tufty the Kneazle cat and sipping his tea.

x~x~x~x

That next week Talbott Winger dropped off a croissant wrapped in a napkin and a coffee on his friend Carewyn’s desk at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Inside the napkin was scrawled a doodle that resembled the Reparifarge wand movement.

When Carewyn closed her office door and unTransfigured the napkin, she was left with a small piece of yellow, flower-printed note paper with two short lines of messy, loopy handwriting on it.

I believe in you. Orion

Carewyn read it twice, and then a third time. Finally she took a heavy breath, and her red lips spread into a strained, emotional smile as she gently folded the note and tucked it away safely in her purse.

After a whole week of having to sit in on Umbridge's sham trials and not being able to stop them, knowing that there were people out there, even in hiding, who still had faith in her was a comfort Carewyn could hardly put into words.

[lacrymatoryao3]

Redemption Was Just The Beginning

Chapter 7: New Year’s Eve, 1899 and Day, 1900

[1][2][3][4][5][6]

To the world, Arthur Morgan is dead. As he tries to face the idea, in a lush valley in Ambarino he comes face to face with a woman from his past, and they must reckon with an era long gone. Especially when she has secrets of her own.

(Rated explicit simply because eventually there’s smut in this.)

Tag: @photo1030

4,410 Words (AO3 Link)

“Gettin’ real good at that.” Arthur said sitting on an old barrel, watching Arthur Francisco blow the bottles apart off the nails hammered into the beaten and pellet scarred section of fence. Now and again he would pull out his pistol, taking a shot from his hip to impress the boy despite his fingers starting to go numb even in gloves after a couple of hours in the cold.

Ana had given Arthur Francisco some instruction. He was better for his age than he imagined most boys were. Like his mother his focus was incredible. His stance was solid, his feet apart to match his shoulders and his left foot slightly ahead of his right with its knee facing the targets. He had a decent grip on the rifle, the stock at his dominant shoulder but far enough so it wouldn’t strike his collarbone. He knew not to hold his finger on the trigger unless he was ready to fire. He aligned the barrel with the eyesight and checked it with the attached scope. Arthur made some minor corrections with him over the past week. He had gotten comfortable enough rather quickly.

Arthur remembered an instance when his father tried to teach him to shoot. It didn’t go well. In fact, none of the memories he had of Lyle Morgan were positive except when he died. It wasn’t long after his mother was buried, Lyle trying to give him some semblance of survival kills. He wasn’t going to live forever, after all. A fact Arthur began to savor at one point. In the end, like any time he tried to be a parent, it ended with his hand striking the back of Arthur’s head and the young boy shedding hidden tears after. The only thing he learned from the miserable son of a bitch was using violence to stay alive.

Then he met Dutch and Hosea. It was the first time men had shown him any sort of care, rather than tolerance. The marksmanship he came to depend upon came from their patience. They didn’t lambaste him when he didn’t hit the target, they didn’t lay a hand on him when he needed more instruction, they just kept at it until he was good to handle it on his own.

He had made a promise to himself when Isaac was born and he saw the baby for the first time. He was going to be the opposite of what his father was to him. He tried to balance his two lives, one with the family that had accepted him and gave him love he didn’t have after his mother was gone, and the one consequence thrust upon him to build until it was torn away from him at the cost of two innocent people’s lives.

Looking back, he wasn’t the father he could have been. He’d show up every three months or so, stay a week, and ride back off leaving Eliza to fend for herself with whatever support he could give to her. Though he was always happy to see him, Isaac barely knew him and Arthur didn’t learn enough about him either. Somehow, for some twisted reason, he was given the chance to try again. He could be the father he pledged to be the first time, without the responsibilities of a gang to distract him.

He didn’t know this one either… At all. He didn’t get the glimpses of him as he grew. Arthur Francisco had no idea about him in return, or the fact Arthur was the father he asked about. It had never come up for anyone. Arthur and Ana hadn’t spoken about if or when or how to tell him, and his namesake never said anything. As it stood, this man that suddenly appeared in his life was just a friend of his mother’s from a long time ago. Arthur wondered if he had some sort of inkling. It wasn’t impossible to put the pieces together. They had the same first name, the same color of eyes… Whatever he thought, he was keeping it to himself.

Ana had only given her son a small ration of ammunition to practice with. It was even smaller on New Year’s Eve. There was a schedule they had to follow. Once it had ran out they started walking back to the nice, warm house where Arthur talked the boy through how to use gun oil. Arthur Francisco got most of it on the rag and as a result on the rifle, but his hands were still coated in the greasy fluid when it it got put away. It took him several tries to wash it off.

“What you thinkin’ about huntin’ anyway?” Arthur asked, holding his hands over the stove to take the chill out of them.

“I’m not sure yet,” Arthur Francisco said, “I’d like to at least get a deer. If I’m lucky maybe an elk or moose someday.”

“Ever hunted them before?”

“I’ve tracked them. Couldn’t shoot them. Only animals I’ve killed have been rabbits and turkeys.”

Arthur Francisco began to explain the movements of several deer in the area. He knew exactly where they grazed depending on the season and snow cover. He learned one herds schedule so well he looked at the clock in the kitchen and told Arthur where they were. He also knew the general territories of the elk and moose in the mountains up north according to the roving hunters and trappers who would come and go from Canada. The boy was on his way to being an expert hunter, something Arthur never felt he’d been. He improved a bit after Charles showed him the methods he used. He never was able to master a bow and arrows until then, though he had to admit he still preferred a gun. Either way he hoped he’d be a little bit useful. He had taken down plenty of deer, a few elk, a couple of moose, and other animals in his time. Pearson never went without meat, at least. Arthur used the opportunity to tell the story of the one thing he was proud of: killing that massive and nasty, scarred and half blind grizzly bear above O’Creagh’s run awhile after he and Hosea practically ran from it.

As the time ticked by Ana had finally appeared from upstairs, carrying a the overnight bag she packed for Arthur Francisco. She had been running around the house all day. She cleaned the house top to bottom, mopped the floors with cinnamon and water, made everyone bathe, she put a candle on a white plate surrounded by grains and spices to burn out and buried the waxy remains. On the stove for dinner she had a stew with salted codfish and olives. In the oven was two pans of Mexican styled cornbread, one for them and the other for the Liang family who Arthur Francisco was going to spend the night with since Mrs. O’Hogan was expected to give birth any day.

They finished dinner with a spoonful of lentils. Something that apparently a token of good luck for the coming year. After cleaning up Arthur and Ana accompanied Arthur Francisco to the inn, along with the corn bread. As soon as they went back to the house, Ana disappeared upstairs again to get ready for the party.

She envied men at times. The ordeal getting dressed for any formal occasion was less time consuming for them. They didn’t have the expectation to be as beautiful as possible. Just her hair was a time consuming process. She split the layers in half, braiding the top much like she normally did but more elaborately and higher onto her head. She left the bottom loose and flowing, allowing it to curl in its natural profusion. To think other women envied her for that thick mop she had to care for. She wasn’t a whore anymore, and hadn’t been for over 16 years. If it wasn’t so socially unacceptable she would have cut at least half of it off years and years ago once she had escaped.

One thing it had taught her was how to do her face up without making it too obvious she had product on. She massaged her face, neck, and chest with a soothing cream that was intended to keep her complexion youthful and even… well, as possible. She was getting old and there was only so much she could do about it. When it dried and absorbed she covered it with a fine powder that she had to mix with cocoa and cinnamon to match her skin tone. She covered her eyelids with a subtle dusting of charcoal, then wetted a tiny brush from one of her son’s old paint sets to apply a darker line along her eyelashes. She added some blush to her cheeks and stained her lips with a waxy rouge.

Ana removed her robe and stepped toward the clothing laid out on her neatly made bed. Her stockings and the Combination – an assemblage of the top of a thin strapped chemise sewn to the drawers which made the waist less clumsy – was a heavy knit wool for the cold weather. She slid the low heeled pumps that matched the color of her dress onto her feet, then put on her corset. It was much more rigid and slightly tighter than her normal one, partially for vanity and making the gown’s bodice fit better. She covered it with a ruffled front camisole. The idea was it would keep the dress from being too tight around the breasts, but it really only seemed to give the illusion that they were bigger than they really were. One petticoat was heavy, lined with glazed cotton quilted into black satin. The second petticoat was much finer, a sheer underskirt to cover a back padding that supported the dress’s train… or make her ass bigger, she didn’t really question American fashion anymore.

“You almost done there, Anie?” She heard Arthur’s voice on the other side of her door after a soft knock. Perfect timing.

She opened the door and motioned him inside, “Good! Can you help me with the back of this?”

Arthur had seen women in various states of undress. Whether it was the women in camp, the working girls in whatever town he was in, he’d seen her in a lot less layers than she had on. Yet, he still couldn’t be casual about it. It still felt indecent of him to be there. He obliged, of course, standing behind Ana and focusing of fastening the back buttons of her gown’s bodice and only that. He turned away from her to let her put on the skirt, a shy attempt at maintaining her modesty around him.

Ana shook her head, muffling her laugh with a smirk. She put on her gloves and a set of pearl jewelry she received as a wedding gift before ending the charade, “Well? I think you can look at me now.”

She didn’t look like the same woman. She was regal in her champagne yellow gown with irises draping down the fabric in delicate golden silk threads. The train made her appear smaller, delicate, the most feminine she had ever looked. Her rigid stance still dripped with the same wild pride she had since he met her.

Arthur smiled, one of the few genuine ones he could recall over the last few years, “Almost don’t recognize you. Didn’t think you could seem dainty.”

“Oh, I could still take you down if I needed to.” She replied keenly.

It made him laugh. The girl he knew was still in there. Just waiting for the moment to resurface.

Ana folded her jacket over her arm, a closely matching black opera coat overlaid with yellow lace and lined with black fur. Arthur held the door open for her, “I have no doubts you could.”

The Grange hall was a nondescript structure, built like an oversized double shotgun house. It could have been easily passed by, even with the sign hanging from the porch roof that wasn’t readable until they were right in front of it. The entryway had a strong scent of oak from the wall panels. Arthur underestimated the population of the town. People came flooding into the hall with them in droves to the point it started to make him nervous.

A young man who was a member of the Grange fellowship took their coats. They entered the main meeting hall to join the throng of people. It certainly wasn’t a high class affair like the ball that wretch Bronte held in Saint Denis. It was much looser, less focus on formalities and more on the locals having fun. What people wore ranged from simple evening wear they could afford, to just what they put on when going to church on Sundays. On the stage was a volunteer brass band. It was immediate that they weren’t professionals, but while they didn’t play well it was enough to dance to without being grating.

Lounging at the end of one of the benches that spanned the walls underneath the windows was a man. He was about as tall and built similar to Arthur, though clearly several years older. His face was much more weathered, with a default expression of solemnity and seriousness. His heavy horseshoe shaped mustache and eyebrows where an ashen white, as was most of his hair except his long muttonchops and ends swept behind his ears that reached his shoulders which still retained traces of auburn. He seemed to be studying everyone who crossed the gaze of his oddly piercing dull gray-green eyes. The simpleness of his wool blue-black suit stuck out or the occasion, until Arthur noticed the overly polished brass six pointed star sheriff badge pinned to his chest.

Ana approached nonchalantly him, “Good evening, Sheriff! Even working on a night like this?”

Seeing her, his eyes lit up and he stood to greet her, “Ah! Mrs. Gardener! It’s good to see you! You look lovely as you always do!”

Something about how they talked didn’t sit well with Arthur. He couldn’t entirely place why, but there was a twinge in his chest. Maybe the fact he was the Sheriff that caused it, or how suddenly warm he became to her. He quietly reminded himself, regardless of what once was, she was no longer his. It didn’t stop the simmering instinct to get her away from him, protect her from whatever he was eyeing her for.

Ana motioned to Arthur to join them, delicately leading him by the arm, “Sheriff Strange, this is Mr. Arthur Callahan. He’s been staying and working with me for a few months now. Arthur, this is Sam Strange, Cain Valley’s sheriff. Mr. O’Hogan told you about him if you were interested in maybe helping with some bounties or whatever else.”

“Sir.” Arthur acknowledged gruffly.

The Sheriff looked him over, “You look tough enough. Could use more strong men in these parts. Especially once the thaw starts. With the lower states pushing back against ‘em, we’ve been getting a lot of gentlemen hoping to cause mischief like they used to. If Mrs. Gardener can give you the time, stop by the station.”

A few more pleasantries were exchanged before they moved on to the banquet table in front of the stage. The centerpiece was a large crystal bowl of spiced punched that had cherries and orange slices floating in it. Behind it were bottles of rather cheap wine and champagne and carefully arranged glasses. On plates to the side were dainty snack foods like crackers and cheese, small fruit tartlets, and different kinds of finger sandwiches. Ana poured Arthur and herself some wine. She identified the eligible women in attendance. Many of them she knew and she narrowed them down to an acceptable age.

“Have you seen anyone you think you’d like?” Ana asked innocently.

Arthur had forgotten about Ana’s plans on finding him a woman, “Can’t say I’ve been paying much attention.”

Ana started subtly pointing out she settled upon, “The really tall blond lady over there in the pink dress? That’s Ingrid Svensson. Her sister Astrid is the school teacher, because of that she’s not permitted to attend events like this. Astrid is 25, Ingrid is 27… Over on the other end, the two women chatting in the corner in red and green? One is Nina Weimann. She’s also 27. Her father is the barber. The other one, her friend, is Zofia Grabowski. She’s 28, came here from Poland to marry a miner. He apparently died before she arrived and she wandered up here. She works as a milk maid and a laundress… The woman next to Sheriff Strange is his daughter, Louise. She’s 30 and her surname is still technically Covey. She was married for a while, but moved to Nevada for a year and got a divorce… Just walking in, in that bright purple is Margot Lambert. She’s a bit more closer to your age, 33. Her grandfather was a French trapper to staked a mine claim here. Even after it dried up they remained. They’re good people. Run the bank now. Just… Pick out whoever you like and I’ll introduce you. Or all them, we can make a circuit.”

Arthur followed her gesture. There was nothing about any of the women, not that they weren’t attractive and he was sure they were nice, that piqued his interest.

“What makes you think I’m keen in any of them?” He muttered.

Ana playfully poked his back, “Oh come on, Arthur.”

Arthur jumped away from her and laughed, “Why you so determined to get rid of me?”

“I’m not trying to get rid of you!” She defended, “But you need someone. My god, when was the last time you even bedded anyone?”

His eyes widened in surprise at the question, sputtering out in reply, “When was the last time you did?!”

Ana swallowed down the last of her wine and poured another, “Too goddamn long, that’s when.”

Arthur sat down on one of the long benches as Ana joined the Contra group dance. Just watching it overstimulated him. For one so fast paced he’d have made a complete clown of himself if he had tried. Ana stuck out, a jewel among them in her rich dress. Her skirts billowing about as she glided from one partner to another. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, striking a match with the sole of his shoe. He took a few hard puffs. Jealousy reared itself in his emotions again, especially with the men who became her momentary partner. Being unable to quell it was further frustrating him. What the hell did he want? Even more, what the hell did she want?

Ana had much more to drink by the time she rejoined him. Her face was rosier with the amount of alcohol in her blood, her eyes sparkling, and a wide smile on her face. She dropped beside him heavily and joyfully wrapped her arms around him.

“Don’t sit there with such a sour face!” She teasingly chided, “You used to know how to have fun! Come on, the next dance we have!”

She led him hand in hand to the floor. Her steps weren’t as graceful as they were at the beginning of the party. Arthur himself had a bit to drink, but he didn’t indulge as heavily as Ana did. He had to be on his best behavior, after all.

When the waltz began Ana had brought herself closer to him than the usual. She led at first, a comical sight for a woman whose head only reached his chest. Once he was refamiliar with the movements she let him. She sighed and laid her head on him. In her deep brown eyes was a deep affection that was always in the background of her gaze towards him. Something that came to the surface once her inhibitions were thoroughly suppressed. He hadn’t seen it in so long. It was pure and unconditional, unashamed and not awkward or close to ashamed like he had with Mary the last few times she and Arthur had crossed paths.

He didn’t know how deep it went for her. How safe she felt with his arm around her, his hand resting on her back. It was the same when they were young, like his presence was where she felt the most right and where she belonged. If she could tell him, she would. Instead she simply savored the brief moment, rather than the endless ideas of what could have been.

The champagne began being passed around as it grew closer to midnight. The band stopped when another member of the Grange came onto the stage. With his watch in hand he began announcing the minutes to midnight. Once 10 seconds were left the crowd joined in, counting down from 9 until the new year finally arrived.

It was 1900. A new century. Everyone was cheering. The church bell began to toll in celebration and the band played Auld Lang Syne with some singing loudly along and other throwing small pieces of food or coins at the door to the entry hall, a superstition to prevent hunger or poverty in the coming months. There was another tradition Ana had wanted to fulfill, one that caught Arthur off guard. She turned to him, standing as tall as she could and kissed him on his cheek.

It lingered on him on the way home. He didn’t understand the messages she was sending him. One moment she was trying to find him a bride… The next she was pressed against him and she had her lips on his face. He was considerably less drunk than Ana was, who spend the time gushing about their shared memories, but he was enough for the contradictions to annoy him.

Ana felt his mood shift. His energy was always so strong when his mood changed, comparable to the air when a sudden storm rolled in. Another thing her son had in common with him. It sucked the mirth inside her, replacing it with cold and anxiety. She waited until they were inside where it was warm to confront him about it.

“What’s bothering you now, Arthur?”

“It’s just…” Arthur grunted, pausing and slamming his fist on the capped post at the bottom of the bannister, “What you want from me, Ana?”

She blinked, his image swayed in her foggy vision, “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Bullshit!” He barked, “You get all nice and cozy to me, then you act like you don’t want me!”

Knowing him, how easily he felt rejected, made what he said painfully sear through her. Her instincts to hide weakness made her straighten, to fight the regretful tears starting to string her eyes, “It’s… It’s not that I don’t want you.”

That only further agitated him, “THEN WHAT THE HELL IS IT?!”

“BECAUSE I WILL NEVER BE MARY!” Ana shouted back. She covered her face. The dam had burst and she couldn’t allow him to see it. She softened her voice, “I accepted, ten years ago, that you would never love me the same level as I loved you.”

She started to laugh at how ludicrous she sounded, “That’s it! The truest form of love I can show you is a path where you can actually enjoy life. It doesn’t matter if it involves me. I’ve had a good life, I want the same thing for you.”

No matter what she said the result was still the same. While Arthur’s anger was gone, the self loathing that haunted him filled every fiber of him. He just stared at her, remorse etching the lines in his face deeper. He reached out to her, “Anie…”

“No. I just can’t…” She stumbled passed him up the stairs.

He heard the door slam. He just stood there. He’d rather she had just called him names, confirmed what he already knew about himself. What did happen made him feel worse. Something clicked as his silent chastisement paralyzed him. He didn’t know what it was, but it was enough for him to follow. Ana was probably undressed by now, in her nightwear. He just hoped he didn’t totally miss the chance to make something right. He hesitated at her door. From the other side were her muffled sobs.

He didn’t knock. Ana didn’t react to him entering and softly closing the door behind him. He sat next to her on the bed, only able to muster a weak “Ana…”.

“Will you at least try?” She said weakly, staring at him with red and watery eyes, “For me? For our child?”

Arthur rested his palms of Ana’s cheeks, using his thumbs to wipe away the tears that stained her face, “Yeah. I can try.”

He pulled down the blankets of her bed. She wearily obeyed, allowing him to help her lay down and tuck her in, “But, for now, you need to rest. You had a lot to drink tonight.”

He lowered the flame in the kerosene lamp on the side table to a dim glow. Once he was satisfied that she would be okay, he got up. Before he could get too far away from her, Ana grabbed his wrist.

“Please don’t leave me…”

Her hold on him was strong, desperate. Ana knew it shouldn’t be. She was the one who left him. She was no more worthy of it than any common whore. In her state, she just couldn’t be alone, away from him.

Arthur couldn’t say no, not with her despondent mood and woeful expression of heartbreak. He nodded. He did, however, instruct her to let him undress. She closed her eyes as he quietly stripped himself of his confining clothing, making sure his union suit didn’t show too much. The innocence of it aside, he did have some apprehensions sharing a bed with her. He hadn’t done anything of the sort in years, to the point he couldn’t really remember exactly when. Still, he crawled in on the empty side next to her. He put his arm around her, where she instinctively rested her head and hand on his chest.

“Since the party didn’t seem to go well,” Ana whispered as sleep came, “Do you want help finding Mary? I’m still willing.”

Arthur pulled her closer, covering her more, “You don’t need to worry about her no more.”

[musingmemories]

@anunkindncss sent: « ✈ — [sender] and [receiver] count down to midnight » (for the NERDS) Peter x Yelena

Location: Times Square, NYC.

Date: New Year’s Eve.

Time: Countdown to Midnight.

While Yelena would’ve otherwise enjoyed draining several bottles of champagne than be out and about during the insanity that was New York City during New Year’s Eve flooded by both tourist and resident alike, she was unfortunately stalking a target. Skyscrapers were the best vantage point. Binoculars able to scan through the crowd that’d been gathering since before sunrise to secure their spots in Times Square for the ball drop. No sign of them yet.

Hours she waited, knowing this was the spot. If there was a difference in the routine they’d stuck with, Yelena would’ve been informed. If they left the city, she would know. And with only minutes to midnight, Yelena groaned loudly, huffs visible in the crisp, biting wind. Spotted. Now clearly not going into the restaurant she’d dragged this big ass gun to use, but becoming one with the masses. Yelena thrived on destruction being the perfect distraction for a getaway… but there was something about a New Year approaching that made her reconsider, the city already chaotic enough without her adding to it with a sniper shot through a window at this point of the night.

“дрисня. Of course. Couldn’t make my job easy, could you, мудак? And now, I have to go all the way down there — with all the people— to take care of you. I haven’t even had a drink...” Frustrations were audible, ringing off the surrounding structures as Yelena furiously yanked off her coat to flip it inside out, revealing a green peacoat concealing a dressy, skimpy jumpsuit beneath (for her celebration after she’d completed her mission) and put it back on. She then stormed over to the ledge and free fell backward to the ground, utility belt attached to the top of the roof slowing her fall gracefully landing in the below alleyway. Target acquired, a beeline was made through the people, seamlessly blending with their current before shoulders harshly nudged her way through, the scent of alcohol clinging to the air and confetti floating all around them. Twenty seconds counting down. Picturesque.

Only when she caught up to her target… Yelena found “Peter Parker…” also standing there directly by his side, her heart going still. No association, just pure circumstance, there like a pinpoint on her moral compass. “Are you following me~?” There for her to make the right choice. In another world, another timeline, maybe they’d be here together like this, with the rest of the people giddy with excitement for a clean slate and promises for the future. Wouldn’t that be nice? “Ten seconds!” Someone shrieked and bounced up and down, having Yelena bump into him. And in gazing up at him did she completely forgot about the mission, about being a Black Widow, an assassin with red on her ledger. “This is so lame. Very lame. All of these people, resolutions and all that… I have no need, I am already perfect.” All she wanted… was to be Yelena, here with Peter, and to kiss him at midnight. “If you don’t have a New Year’s kiss, I suppose I can make an exception~” Deflecting, she hoped, from Peter asking for her true reason for being there, peripheral catching her target starting to move on. Oh well. “Time’s running out, Peter Parker. Five… four… three… two… one~”

[kuichihimei]

“Valentine's Day

We decided we would do the whole damn thing

But I played to an empty gym in Iowa State

I guess I owe you that too...”

0:41───•─────── 04:46

             ↻      ◁ II ▷     ↺

Looking back, freshman year was one hell of a ride, considering the frequent monster attacks and killer robots that terrorize Norrisville High.

Sophomore year is no different.

Killer robots still attack the school like, every other week, compared to every other day, and while yes, Randy DID get rid of the Sorcerer for good, there's still the Sorceress running about wreaking havoc around Norrisville.

The Sorcereress, better known for her human disguise as Amanda Levay, still manages to blend in with the crowd, despite almost every student in Norrisville High knowing who she truly is and what she's done.

We don't know much about her just yet, but based on the monsters Randy had to fight these past few weeks, she primarily targets female victims.

There's also been a spike in the amount of stanked kids during the weeks leading to February 14, and when Feb 14 rolled around, multiple people were getting stanked left and right, which lasted all morning long.

The teachers had to cancel our morning classes and made us evacuate the school so the Ninja could fight the monsters properly and we wouldn't get hurt.

Then, during the afternoon, when it all quieted down, Randy was nowhere to be found.

I tried asking Howard, and he said something along the lines of how the Ninja found the Sorcereress' lair, it was underneath the school in the old abandoned gym, and that he might not be able to make it in time for Valentine's Day since he had to destroy the Sorcereress for good while she was still close by, and that he'll make it up to me next year, along with a bunch of apologies that were conveniently recorded inside a tape recorder so Howard didn't have to recite it all.

After receiving the news, I thanked Howard and walked myself to Mr. Bannister's class, hoping that I could bury my disappointment in schoolwork.

It didn't help that the seatwork he made us do was write an essay about someone/something we love and why we love them so much.

I spent the rest of the afternoon watching couples in our school being all lovey-dovey with each other. Heck, you could even say I got jealous of Mrs. Driscoll, atleast she had her husband's skeleton to accompany her on Valentine's Day.

By the time the last bell rang and school was over I was all alone... I couldn't even have a Galentine's with Heidi or Debbie! Heidi had a date and Debbie was busy hosting a couple's event for Valentine's Day for the NHGTTWDPC online edition.

It's safe to say I was quite disappointed... And I felt really pathetic too, since I had a boyfriend, but was celebrating Feb 14 all alone...

I felt like I was on the verge of getting stanked myself, maybe then I could spend time with Randy... Sighing, I sat down on the very same I spot that I sat on during New Year's Eve.

Of all the days the Ninja could've had a fully-booked schedule, it just had to be on Valentines Day... Not to mention this was also supposed to be our very FIRST Valentine's Day together as a couple...

Don't get me wrong, I find it a HUGE honor that I am dating the Ninja, and an even bigger honor that he trusts me enough to reveal his secret identity to me. I just feel a little dejected whenever he misses out on a major event that we should be experiencing together during the course of our budding relationship.

The time was 4:53 in the afternoon, everyone (atleast those who had a date), already left the school about half an hour ago. If Randy didn't show up within the next 15 minutes, I was going home.

5 Minutes Pass... No signs of Randy...

‘I'm sure he'll show up soon...’

10 Minutes Pass... Still no signs of Randy.

‘Maybe I should wait a little longer, he's probably wrapping up the fight right now.’

25 MINUTES PASS! AND THERE IS NOT A SINGLE SIGN OF RANDALL HONKING CUNNINGHAM OR THE NINJA ANYWHERE!!!

THE SUN IS ABOUT TO FRIGGIN' SET AND HE'S NOWHERE TO BE FOUND! THAT'S IT I AM GOING HOME! Standing up, I marched towards the nearest bus stop.

Fortunately for me, there was already a bus nearby so I immediately got a ride home.

When I got to my house, I locked myself in my room, bawled my eyes out and went to bed, even though it was only 6:03 in the afternoon. I just wanted Valentine's Day to end at this point, I'm just done with everything today.

Meanwhile somewhere else in Norrisville:

“What do you mean you're all out⁈” An exasperated Randy yells.

“Sorry kid, but I can't help you. All of my flowers have been sold out this morning, it's Valentine's Day after all...”

“It's fine sir, thanks anyways...” The younger boy turns, walking away, feeling defeated.

All of the sudden a young girl who looks about six approaches him.

“Did you find anything?”

“Nothing... Chocolates, flowers, not even a honkin' stuffed animal, it's all sold out...”

“Well, we can still steal some Tulips from the park if you're that desperate...”

“Aira, I won't steal Tulips from the park, and neither of our parents taught us to steal— Who taught you that?”

“Well, you want to make it up to Ate 'Reese right? And she also likes Tulips right?”

“But still— Oh who am I kidding, let's go.”

“Ha—”

“But stealing is still wrong, don't get used to it. You can't always steal the things that you want, ok?”

“Ok Kuya!”

Fast forward almost 5 hours later, the time was 10:13 at night and the ninja could be seen outside the Fowler household watching from a tree.

Everyone in the neighborhood was fast asleep, which meant Randy couldn't call Theresa from her front yard, since he might wake up the whole household if he did so, he couldn't call her from the backyard either since... That's where they kept their chicken coops...

He was pinned between two bad options:

Wait it out 'til tomorrow so he could give her the flowers, but miss Valentine's Day and face a disappointed Theresa, or try entering her room through the window as the Ninja, so he could give her the flowers and she could be happy and have a gift for Valentine's Day, but face the consequences of being seen as a creep since y'know, he's breaking into her room through the honkin' window!

‘Was this what the Nomicon meant about choosing between the greater good and the lesser evil?’

After some careful consideration, he chooses the latter of the two options, which was to break in. He didn't want to disappoint Theresa more than he already did today, this was his chance to try and make it up to her.

This was one of those go big or go home moments. One slip-up, and it might be over  for the both of them.

The plan was simple: try to enter the window that was facing the tree in her backyard, fiddle with the lock, place the flowers on her nightstand and leave, simple right?

‘What could possibly go wrong?’

Everything. Everything went wrong from the get-go. The moment he lost his footing on the ledge of her window and fell into one of her family's chicken coops, was the moment he knew, he was done for.

Theresa was woken up by a loud thud, she immediately went to open her window to see what was going on. She was quite shocked to see her boyfriend all suited-up and highkey panicking at all the chickens that were waking up and surrounding him.

“Randy! What the juice are you doing here⁈” Theresa whisper-yelled from the second floor.

“H-hey Theresa! Nothing, just passing by!” Randy replies, trying to play it cool, even though he was about to pass out from all the chickens that were surrounding him.

“It looks like you can't move, did you hurt yourself?”

“No, I didn't!”

“Wait— Are you afraid of the chickens?”

“Wh-what?”

“I said, are you afraid of the chickens? Because Aira told me you had a fear of them when I babysat her last week.”

“Well that little—”

“Hang in there, I'll come and get you!”

Theresa went downstairs and came into the backyard, she threw some corn kernels to divert the chickens away from her boyfriend, who was shaking like a pair of maracas.

“Thanks for saving me 'Reese, I owe you big time, again...”

“Why are you here Randall?” Theresa asked, helping him up.

“I uh— I wanted to—”

“Actually, save it for later, come inside, you must be exhausted. Don't worry, Howard told me everything.”

“Uh, won't your parents/brothers mind?”

“Well you can stay in my room, we just have to be sneaky about iiiiiiiiii—” Theresa's mind went blank for a second.‘Oh shoot— Guy, guy in my room. I AM LITERALY INVITING A GUY INTO MY ROOM!’

‘Girl, room, sneak— A GIRL WANTS TO SNEAK ME INTO HER ROOM?! IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING I—’

Cue internal screaming from the both of them.

After that predicament was quickly settled, Theresa led a now de-suited Randy upstairs to her room and gave him a bowl of instant noodles and a spork.

“Look, I know it ain't much, but I have a feeling you've most likely never ate anything since this morning. I didn't even see you during lunch.”

“Thanks for the noodles 'Reese, I really appreciate it.” Randy said, before slurping the noodles.

“Why did you come here this late? It's like, 10:54 at night!”

“Wait, hold on—” Swallowing the noodles, before answering. “I wanted to give you this.” As Randy presents a small bouquet of pink and yellow Tulips, handing it to Theresa.

“I know, it's not much either, you won't believe how we got that bouquet.” Taking another gulp of broth. “Aira suggested we should steal it at first and I was like— bla blah bla blah...” Randy continues to blabber on and on, while Theresa spaces out after receiving the gift.

‘He didn't forget about you. He even got you the same flowers he used to de-stank you back in freshman year, how sweet...’

“Theresa? You okay?”

“Yeah... I'm great. Thanks for the gift Randy...”

“Well I'm glad you like it 'Reese! Happy Valentine's Day!” Randy said with a smile on his face.

“Happy Valentine's Day too, Randy...” Theresa smiles back.

“Where's your kitchen by the way? So I can wash the bowl and spork in the sink.”

“No need for any of that, you can just leave it here!”

“Really? Here? It's kinda rude if I leave the bowl lying around. Are you sure? It's just one bowl, I can wash it.”

“It's ok, you can leave it here, and like you've said it's just one bowl...”

“Okay then... Well, I've gotta go now! It's getting late and we have school tomorrow.” Randy said, placing the bowl on the nightstand and heading towards the window.

“Wait— Before you go, did you manage catch the Sorceress?”

He comes to a halt. “No, I didn't catch her. She wasn't even in the old abandoned gym... I got baited...”

“Oh...”

“Yeah, I'm sorry Theresa, I missed Valentine's Day and didn't even catch the Sorceress...”

“It's ok Randy, I understand, but you didn't miss Valentine's Day! Atleast you still tried to make it, most guys just give up at this point!”

“But still, I feel really stupid for not choosing to spend time with you today. I'm really sorry for that, I'll make it up to you next year, I promise.” He was startled when Theresa hugged him all of the sudden.

“Like I said, it's OK. I understand.”

“I'm still very new to this whole boyfriend thing... I'm sorry if I'm doing anything wrong...” Hugging her back.

“It's ok, you're doing your best and that's enough... I'm pretty new to this girlfriend ordeal as well.”

They were hugging for like, 2 minutes until Theresa lets go.

“It's really late, you should get going.”

“Oh yeah, What time is it by the way?”

“11:23 p.m.”

“Yup, I am definitely gonna sleep through first period tomorrow, I've gotta go!”

“Ok Randy, take care!”

“See ya at school tomorrow 'Reese! Goodnight, I love you!” Bidding his girlfriend goodbye while jumping out of the window mid-transformation.

“I love you too Randy, Goodnight!”

What a nice evening... If only Randy knew the Sorceress was under his nose the whole time...

❈ Sidenote: Ate and Kuya are used by younger children to refer to someone who's older than them in the Philippines. ‘Ate’ is the term for older sister, while ‘Kuya’ is the term for older brother.

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