#this is only second to people not thinking she’s my mom

[goose-books]

The Ghost of Christmas Past shows up and you’re like, “Ohhhhh for fuck’s sake,” but you’re in your childhood bedroom so it’s kind of on you. The ghost seems offended. She crosses her arms. She looks like you used to, with the pigtails.

“No way,” you say. “Don’t start.”

“I am the—”

“The Ghost of Christmas Past, I know, I know.” Because she looks like you, and it’s Christmas Eve, so what else. Your parents used to read you the story every year. Even when you were old enough to read on your own, it was better in your dad’s voice.

“You came home for your parents,” the ghost says, solemn. “It’s time to tell them.”

“No, like, ‘when you’re ready’?”

“You are ready,” she says, “or you wouldn’t have come back.”

Which is so stupid, because you weren’t on the moon, you were at college, and it’s only been two months of shots, you don’t even have a mustache. “Fucking leave me alone,” you say, so she does the ghost thing and takes you to a ten-years-ago Christmas. The living room. Your parents. Your fledgling self on the carpet with your stocking, the one you can’t look at anymore because when you were a baby your parents patiently hand-stitched the fucking name.

“Maybe they’ll make you a new one,” says the ghost.

“You don’t know that.” Bullshit ghost powers.

“You were happier back then. When they knew you.”

“Everyone was happier back then. It was, like, 2008.”

“There was a recession,” says the ghost.

“Shut up! Shut up!” You turn over in bed. For a second you expect to roll onto child-self-you curled up next to you. Probably crush the life out of her. You got good at that. It’s her bed, her room, pink covers, cat posters.

“This is so stupid, this Dickens thing,” you say. “I’m not even Christian anymore.”

“Tell your parents that second,” the ghost suggests.

“Oh my fucking God I’m not telling them anything can’t you go bother Jeff Bezos.”

“I’m just doing my job,” says the ghost, and vanishes.

#

The Ghost of Christmas Present has an acne problem. As soon as you open your eyes you say, “Oh my God,” and they say, “Hi,” and you say, “You better not be the fucking Ghost of Christmas Present,” and the Ghost of Christmas Present says, “I am.”

Which you knew.

“Why me?” you say, pink comforter bunched around your waist. “I didn’t do anything. Scrooge was mean to orphans.”

The Ghost of Christmas Present shrugs. “It’s the job.”

“Are you gonna show me my parents now?”

That makes them look kind of embarrassed.

“Well, don’t,” you say. If your parents are talking in the other room, huddled up conferencing with the lights off, you can’t hear it over the heater buzz. But you can guess what they’re saying: you went to school with a shitty pixie cut and worse eyeliner, and you came back with a real haircut and a permanent frown and a bunch of new friends you play sentence Twister to avoid pronouning. “I know they’re nice people, I got it. I’m just not ready.”

“It’s just—you’re kind of waiting for them to ask?” says the Ghost of Christmas Present. They scratch their face, where they have spectral sideburns coming in. “Your dad thinks you have a head cold. ‘Cause of your voice. But your mom’s starting to get it.”

You pull the covers over your head. “Cool, awesome, didn’t ask.”

“She isn’t going to ask,” the ghost says. “She wants you to tell her.”

You stick your middle finger out from underneath the covers. When you check, the room is empty again.

#

The Ghost of Christmas Future doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you. You look back. You probably have bedhead. You fixed your daytime wardrobe but your pajamas are still lacy and purple.

“How come you’re a man?” you say.

He says, “I think you know.”

“Fucking—go away.”

“I have something to show you first.”

“Are we going to the goddamn graveyard?”

He doesn’t say anything but then you’re in the goddamn graveyard. Together. Looking at your headstone. The dates are close enough together to make you kind of sick.

“They went with the full name,” you say.

The ghost nods.

“Not even the nickname. My nice gender neutral nickname.”

The ghost shrugs. You kind of want to throw something at him but you’re just looking at it now. Chiseled in marble. Immovable. What’s that thing bigots on the internet say, about someone digging up your jawbone two hundred years from now? You always wanted to think you wouldn’t care.

The Ghost of Christmas Future’s pretty quiet. This is the part where Scrooge goes full breakdown. Tears, begging, promises.

“I’m not gonna cry on you,” you say.

“Okay.”

So neutral. “Man, what do you want me to say?”

“Nothing,” says the ghost. “I think you’re there.”

You can’t stop looking at the headstone. “God fucking damnit shit. You promise they’ll be cool?”

“Nothing’s promised,” the ghost says. He gestures at the graveyard. “Except for this.”

“Awesome.” Cryptic cliche philosophical ghost bullshit. Yada yada. Death and taxes. Not with that name on your headstone, though. Not with that name on your tax forms, either.

You turn to tell him that and then you’re blinking in bed. There’s still one glow-in-the-dark star stuck to your ceiling where the glue never wore out. You put those up like ten years ago. Maybe longer. The light in the room says it’s morning. You swing your lacy-pajama legs over the side of the bed and go to ruin Christmas.

[sugdenlovesdingle]

Happy Christmas @strandnreyes !! Here is your very late gift from your secret santa!

I had a plan, it was going well, and then I wrote myself into a corner and couldn't figure out how to fix it... and went with plan B at around 6PM yesterday. But I'm pretty happy with the result and I hope you are too!

written for @tarlos-santa for the prompt: roommate’s best friend AU

---

Strickland holiday special (AO3)

“December 24th, 7pm, dinner at my place. Bring yourself and your holiday spirit.” Paul announced when he sat down at Carlos’ table in the bar they’d agreed to meet for a catch up after work.

Carlos was thrown off guard for a second but then shook his head.

“Can’t. Nochebuena with the family. My mom will kill me if I miss that.”

“And you don’t want to spend the holidays with your best friend?” Paul asked, fake hurt, and took a sip from the beer Carlos had ordered for him.

“You’ve met my mother... and she likes you now… but if you keep me from coming to mass with her and the rest of the family, she’s going to put you on her naughty list for next year.” Carlos replied, only half joking. He wasn’t especially excited to spend the holidays with his entire extended family, but it usually was nice to catch up with cousins he only ever saw at birthdays and family gatherings.

Only this year he also had to avoid his sister and her interest in his love life ever since she set him up with a friend of a friend a few months ago.

“Ah but if I promise to feed her boy, even Andrea Reyes will forgive me.” Paul told him and Carlos had to admit to himself he was probably right. “Come on man, it’s just dinner with some friends. Some people from work, and you’ll get to meet Asha for real.”

“I’ve already met her!”

“Outside McDonald’s in the middle of Saturday afternoon shoppers doesn’t count.” Paul argued. “Come on, you know you want to say yes. I’ll make my famous chilli.”

“Well in that case I’m definitely not coming, you chilli heathen.” Carlos joked and Paul good naturedly rolled his eyes.

“If I allow you to assist me in the kitchen, will you come? I’ll even let you disgrace my chilli with your nachos.”

Carlos laughed.

“Ok, fine, you can be my sous chef. Maybe I’ll even let you stir something.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Reyes.” Paul replied and clinked his beer bottle against Carlos’. “Oh and my roommate can help us out too.”

“Roommate? Since when do you have a roommate?”

Paul shrugged.

“A few weeks. The new guy at work I told you about.”

Carlos frowned, trying to remember any new guy Paul had mentioned.

“Tyler. From New York. He’s not going home for the holidays and he doesn’t really know anyone in Austin yet.” Paul clarified.

“Right. And you take in strays now?”

“He was living in some shitty backpackers hostel! I couldn’t let him stay there. The place is a health hazard. And I have a spare room anyway.” He shrugged. “It’s just until he’s found a place of his own. He’s a nice guy. Cleans up after himself. A lot of wrong opinions about pizza though. Come to think about it, you two would probably get on great. You can be wrong about food together!”

“Are you trying to set me up with your new roomie?”

“No, but you might like the guy. You both could do with some new friends.”

“I have friends!” Carlos protested and pointed his bottle at Paul. “I have you.”

“And if you and Tyler hit it off you could have two friends!”

Carlos shook his head and took a sip of his drink.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Oh no. No, I know what ‘I’ll think about it’ means in Carlos Reyes speak. It means ‘no but I don’t want to say it to your face.’”

“No, it means I’ll think about it. I might have plans… with Marco.”

“Oh the boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Carlos insisted. “We’ve only been out a few times… I barely know him. Luisa set me up with him.”

Paul nodded.

“I remember. And you like him?”

Carlos pulled a face like the thought of admitting anything of the sort to Paul was causing him physical pain.

“I don’t know… He’s alright… He keeps asking about my job.”

“That’s what people do when they’re getting to know each other don’t they?”

“Well… yeah… but it’s all he talks about. I don’t even know what he does for a living.”

“So ask him.” Paul said simply and Carlos gave a huff in reply.

They spent the rest of the night talking about Paul’s party plans, and carefully avoiding the topic of Carlos’ love life. Which he was more than grateful for.

By the time the 24th came around, Carlos had struck a deal with his mother. He’d promised her he’d go to midnight mass with her and the rest of the family, and then spend the entire Christmas at the ranch with them, so he’d be able to go to Paul’s dinner party and help him cook in the afternoon.

They’d decided on a menu together, agreeing to stay away from any controversial dishes and just focusing on putting a nice meal together for their friends.

Carlos had managed to wrangle the guest list out of Paul, and he knew most people that would attend. All but one. The mysterious Tyler.

Paul had mentioned he’d be helping them prep and Carlos was curious about the guy. Apparently he’d moved to Texas after a break up, but Paul either didn’t know the details or didn’t feel like it was his place to share and hadn’t told him anything more.

Not even a last name, which meant Carlos couldn’t even casually run him through the system.

He parked his car outside of Paul’s building and grabbed the supplies he’d picked up from the backseat before making his way to the front door. He tried to shift the bags in his arms so he could ring the doorbell without dropping anything when someone jogged up to him.

“Wait, wait, wait! Let me get that for you.” The person said and reached around him to open the door with a key.

“Thanks…” Carlos mumbled and walked into the building, up to the elevator. The person followed him and pushed the button for him.

“What floor are you headed?” the guy asked when they stepped into the elevator.

“Uh four.”

“Me too. Do you need a hand with those bags? I can carry one for you.” The person offered. “I promise I won’t run off with them.”

Carlos chuckled and shifted one of the bags so the person could take it from him. He hadn’t been able to get a good look at them yet, just a flash of a silver grey jacket and brown hair, but when he moved the bag out of the way, he came face to face with easily the most beautiful man he’d ever seen.

“Thanks.” Carlos managed to say and the beautiful man smiled at him, making him even more beautiful.

“No problem. Do you live in this building too? I only moved in a couple of weeks ago, I don’t really know the neighbours yet.”

“Oh uh no… I’m just… visiting my friend.” Carlos stammered, mentally kicking himself for not being able to keep his cool around a cute guy. “He lives at number 425.”

“No way.”

“Uh…”

“You’re Carlos!” It was a statement, not a question.

“Uh…”

“I’m TK.” The beautiful man said as the elevator doors opened and they walked onto Paul’s floor. “Paul mentioned you would be coming over to help prepare for tonight.”

“I… oh… you… you work with Paul…” Carlos stammered.

“Yeah, and he lets me crash in his spare room until I’ve found my own place. You don’t happen to know of any apartments for rent that don’t cost a small fortune, do you?”

“No… sorry.”

“That’s too bad.” The beautiful man stopped outside of Paul’s door and put his key in the lock. “Hey, look who I ran into downstairs.” He called out to Paul when he walked into the apartment.

“Oh, great, you’ve already met. Saves me the introductions. Now let’s get to work, this meal won’t cook itself.” Paul said, clapping his hands to spur his friends on.

Carlos was put on chopping duties and did his best to focus on the task at hand. The three of them chatted a little while they worked, with mainly Paul and TK swapping work stories.

“Chicago FD could take NYFD.” Paul insisted and Carlos had no clue what they were talking about. “Hell they could take NYFD and AFD.”

TK laughed.

“Sure, sure.” He popped an olive into his mouth and Carlos was absolutely mesmerised by him. The way his eyes sparkled with mischief, the smile that never seemed to leave his face, the curve of his lips… the way they would feel against his own… the –

“Ow! Shit, shit, shit, damn it!” Carlos swore and sucked his finger into his mouth. “The knife slipped.”

TK wiped his hands on a dish towel and carefully pulled Carlos’ hand away from his mouth.

“I’m a paramedic.” He told him. “Let me see.”

“I’ll go get the first aid kit from the bathroom.” Paul announced but neither man even so much as acknowledged him.

“It’s nothing.” Carlos insisted.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” TK told him and guided him over to the sink to run his hand under the tap. “I don’t think it’s very deep.” He said after taking a closer look at the cut.” “I think a simple bandage will do.”

“Right… ok.”

“One first aid kit!” Paul said a little too loudly, dropping the box onto the kitchen table. “It cost me a small fortune so it better have everything you need.”   

TK nodded and grabbed a paper towel, pressing it to the cut in Carlos’ hand.

“Keep pressure on that while I get some gauze to wrap it up.”

“You really don’t have to go through all this trouble for me… it’s just a small cut. It’ll be fine.”

“Reyes will you just let the medic treat that damn hand instead of bleeding all over my kitchen?” Paul sighed. “Your boyfriend won’t be happy if we let you bleed out on the onions.”

Carlos winced and he saw TK freeze up for a few seconds.

Damn it.

“You have a boyfriend?” TK asked, trying to sound casual, not looking at him but digging through the med kit instead.

“No!” Carlos said, a little louder than strictly necessary.

“Oh no, we’re not allowed to use the B word.” Paul said, exasperated. “They’ve just been going on dates for like three months. That’s not boyfriend behaviour at all.”

“We broke up.” Carlos blurted out, almost desperate to see TK’s reaction.

“Oh, I’m sorry man.” Paul replied, giving him a sympathetic look.

“It’s fine. He… I… we uhm… it just wasn’t working. We wanted different things.” Carlos told them. He didn’t want to go into detail, but at the same time needed TK to know he did not have a boyfriend.

“Well at least you found out now and not during a romantic dinner with an engagement ring in your pocket.” TK said, removing the paper towel from Carlos’ hand and carefully putting a gauze pad on it.

“Y-yeah.” Carlos agreed, sensing there was a story behind TK’s comment but not wanting to pry.

TK wrapped up Carlos’ hand with the care and precision of someone treating an arterial bleed, when they both knew a simple band aid would have done the trick.

“How’s that?” he asked when he put the last piece of tape on the bandage. “Not too tight?”

“It’s perfect.”

They managed to get through the rest of the afternoon without any more injuries, and Carlos had managed to compose himself and function more or less like a normal person by the time the other guests started to arrive.

He knew most of them through work and in Nancy’s case from high school math and science. He enjoyed catching up with them but still his eyes were constantly drawn to TK.

And maybe he was imagining things, but it looked like TK was looking at him too.

“Hellooo, earth to Carlos.” Nancy waved a hand in front of his face. “I asked you a question.”

“What? Sorry… I kind of zoned out for a minute there.”

“Uhuh, I noticed. I was talking about the red vs blue baseball game.”

“What about it?”

“Are you playing? Who is on the APD team? I’m trying to scope out the competition.”

“I don’t know. It’s months away.”

“She’s got a whole file with stats on everyone on the FD team on her computer.” Marjan cut in. “And she’s trying to find out who’s playing for PD so she can put together the same kind of file for them.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being prepared! I just want to win next time.” Nancy argued. “TK, do you play baseball?”

“I was in little league. I was pretty good.” TK replied. “Well according to my mom and my step dad anyway.” He laughed a little and took a sip of his drink.

“Good enough for me. We’ll have to get you to the batting cages in the new year so I can see you play.” Nancy decided.

“Who died and made you coach of the FD team?” Paul asked and the two of them got into an argument that snowballed into a debate where somehow Paul’s girlfriend Asha ended up as some kind of referee.

Carlos however could only focus on TK. He was sitting on the other side of the table, leaning back in his chair, drink in hand and an amused look on his face. He’d gotten changed before dinner and he was wearing a dark sweater with stripes across the chest and a diamond stud in his ear.

Carlos’ mouth had gone dry at the sight of him and he’d felt severely under dressed in his simple button down shirt and jeans.

“Who wants dessert?” Asha asked the group, trying to steer the conversations to a safer topic.

“I’ll get it.” Carlos said quickly, happy to be able to escape the madness for a few minutes and get his head together.

“I’ll help.” TK said, getting up from the table too and following him to the kitchen. “How’s your hand?” he asked as Carlos started pulling bowls from the kitchen cupboard.

“Oh, it’s fine.” He flexed a few times. “I barely feel it.” He smiled. “You’re a great doctor.”

“Paramedic.” TK corrected him. “It’s not the same. But thank you.”

Carlos desperately wanted to keep talking to him but didn’t know what to say. He tried to scoop some ice cream into one of the bowls but barely managed to get anything out of the container and only ended up bending the spoon.

“I guess we should have remembered to take it out of the freezer earlier.”

“Yeah… I guess so.” TK agreed. “If you run the hot water and hold the spoon under it, it’ll be easier to scoop with.” He suggested. “Or… we could just wait.”

He stepped closer to Carlos in the tiny kitchen and his eyes flicked between the other man’s eyes and lips.

There was laughter coming from the living room and someone, probably Paul, had put on some music.

“Yeah, we could… do that. I don’t think they’re really desperate for that ice cream.”

TK smiled.

“I don’t think so either…”

The two of them stared at each other for what seemed like hours until they suddenly moved at the same time.

TK grabbed a fistful of Carlos’ shirt, while Carlos’ hands were on TK’s neck, pulling him into a desperate kiss.

He felt TK’s tongue running along his lips and Carlos happily opened his mouth for him.

They kissed, and kissed, and kissed and neither of them wanted to stop.

Carlos’ hands were firmly in TK’s hair, and TK had managed to undo some of the buttons on Carlos’ shirt. They were both breathless by the time they had to come up for air.

“I’ve wanted to do that all day.” TK admitted. “I was gutted when Paul said you had a boyfriend.”

“Don’t have one of those.” Carlos insisted. “I’m very single.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

“How would you like to change that?”

[sahrii]

¡! orbiting pluto ❞

osamu miya x fem!reader

m.list word count! 1.6k warnings! an interpretation of su!cide, no direct mentions of it, parent pressure (?).

❛I'm holding my breath with a baseball bat, though I don't know what I'm waiting for❜ - townie by mitski

and when i first saw her

my heart tugged at me a little

and whispered

she could turn your world upside down

chapter 1.00 - gravity’s collision !

YOU should forgive him, he was young and immature, is what people shouldn’t be saying about assholes. especially assholes like akio, who’s been an asshole through and through. yet again, that’s exactly what her mother just told her an hour ago, which is what led her to this abandoned bridge near campus.

“he loves you and he regrets it,” her mom said talking about her ex. her mom is a liar. a big fat liar. 

a frown was etched onto her face. her elbows were leaning against the brick railing of the bridge, which was rough. she had valleys and hills carved into the skin of her elbows because of the railing’s uneven surface. her chin was propped up in the palms of both her hands as she stared at the body of water in front of her. 

she thinks her head feels a bit heavy in her hands. she wonders if that could be attributed to the number of thoughts her brain is generating per second.

she had to go soon. she promised she’d be back in time to try and help bokuto with an assignment. and hinata. at this point she should just attend their lectures instead of them. and get their degrees instead of them. she didn’t want to leave, though. even though the thoughts in her head amplified to bewildering echoes, they felt more quieter than ever. 

maybe it was because of the hum of the wind in the drums of her ears. or the moon’s reflection on the volatile surface of the water, fracturing every now and then. or the breeze playing with the locks of her hair. or because she had the freedom to scream. 

she can scream and curse and cry. alone, and for some reason, at this very moment, loneliness never felt more liberating. she always hated it. she hated being alone, so she surrounded herself with people who will never leave her alone. 

and so, she decided to scream. but not anywhere. she decided to scream while standing at the top of the brick railing she was leaning on a few seconds ago. her elbows are no longer on the brick surface, but her hands are instead, and they’re gripping on it with sheer force as she brought her leg up, setting a foot on the railing. then the other foot. and now she was standing on the railing, nothing but two steps away from falling into water. and that feeling in itself made her a new person. 

she was about to scream. keyword: about to. but she didn’t, because someone else started screaming.

“stop!” she heard a voice yell. a deep, masculine voice. she snapped her neck towards the voice, only for the owner to be a grey-haired man.

a grey-haired man, with hot, molten silver eyes. a grey-haired man with a sweaty forehead. a grey-haired man with a rising and falling chest and breathless gasps, probably from running.

“don’t jump off—get the fuck off of the railing.” he yelled, concerned more than angry. his hand gripped on her wrist and pulled her elevated body down to his level. 

she stumbled a bit but straightened her posture right away while her hands gripped onto the railing for extra support. she wanted to speak, but the words caught up at the back of her throat. she looked at the grey of his eyes and damned herself.

“i don’t know what you’re going through—and even if i do. ending your life isn’t worth it!” he said, and she didn’t feel like crying earlier. she was never a crier, she never cried when her boyfriend broke up with her, or when her mom told her it’s her fault, or when her dad told her that he went bankrupt. she never cried. but today, maybe she was a crier.

or not. 

she swallowed the ball of fuzz in her throat, wanting to speak yet again. his grip tightened around her wrist, and she wanted to tell him that she wasn’t going to jump. she wasn’t, really. so why did she feel like crying when he told her not to? 

she didn’t speak—or couldn’t speak, because she got caught up in the silver of her eyes. it was pulling her, tugging at the frayed strings of her heart. they almost swallowed her whole. almost. but she broke free.

“uh—no. you got the wrong idea—i wasn’t about to jump,” she shook her head as she waved her free hand in front of her and smiled awkwardly. he opened his mouth slightly, wanting to speak, but didn’t.

“i—um—wanted to scream, weirdly enough. sorry, didn’t mean to make you run here like that, i must’ve looked like a maniac,” she chuckled dryly. he stared at her for a beat longer and let go of her wrist. he didn’t want to, but he also couldn’t keep holding into it.

“oh. no—it’s fine. i’m glad you weren’t going to jump…i just—i don’t know i panicked when i saw a figure standing on the railing and ran here.” he sighed in relief. 

“no im sorry—it’s my fault,” she shook her head, a small smile forming on her lips. she turned to back to the railing, her elbows back to where they were 10 minutes ago, and her head in the palm of her hands again. she noted that it felt slightly lighter than 10 minutes ago. her smile grew.

it was quite silent now. his body was slightly tilted towards her, but he was able to look over at the body of water and he was able to stare at her face at the same time.

the silence was comfortable, maybe even reassuring. it was the silence where words didn’t have to be spoken out loud, because their hearts did so anyway. he stepped forward a bit, wanting to sneak a glance at her face. 

she was pretty—maybe the word pretty didn’t do her justice. she was pretty and she looked like the stars and the moon and the galaxy all at once. she looked elysian under the moon’s gleam. and his heart was acting weird and wanted to pop out of his chest. he thought maybe it was his turn. his turn to feel loved and appreciated for what he was, not for what his brother was. Maybe it was a gift from the universe for enduring all these years of living in the shadows of his brother.

“you know i recognise you right?” she asked, her eyes stuck to the water. 

“you what?” he was startled and his heart swelled. 

she rolled her eyes and turned her head to meet his eyes. “why are you shocked? we go to the same uni. everyone knows the atsumu miya,” she grinned. but he didn’t.

crack.

his heart cracked—or rather, his already cracked heart cracked again. he was confused, or not. because it was always atsumu. atsumu this. atsumu that. atsumu atsumu atsumu. he loved his brother dearly, he really did. but at this very second, he carried the smallest amount of hatred towards him. 

and he thought, maybe if he’s had no luck being osamu, being atsumu for a small while wouldn’t hurt. being atsumu to her and only her wouldn’t hurt. He didn’t know what’s special about her. He wanted to keep talking to her. She looks fun. And maybe he was crazy because if it was any other girl he’d flip her off and leave. he was indeed crazy, because his heart was beating like an absolute maniac, and he didn’t like that. maybe he did like it though, but he’d never admit. 

as he was opening his mouth to respond, he closed it right away because her phone started ringing. she rummaged through her pocket and picked up the phone. her wallet fell out, but that went unnoticed.

“yes kou?,” she sighed through the phone. “i’m coming okay? i was running an errand. sure. see you. ugh you’re not my dad shut up. bye” she pulled the phone away from her ear and back into her pocket.

“i—im gonna leave. it was nice finally meeting you,” she turned to him, backing away slowly.

“i won’t ask for your number this time—but if i ended up meeting you in uni, just know that you’re not leaving my sight till your number is saved on my phone,” she waved as she yelled, the distance between them growing till she was no longer in his sight. 

It’s stupid. She wanted his number. She’s begged bokuto for atsumu’s number. But she wanted to test something. If they do meet again, maybe she should just ignore bokuto and give atsumu a chance. If they do meet again, maybe it is meant to be. 

and he just stood there dumbfounded. dumbfounded and confuzzled and warm. everything, he felt every emotion to ever exist. he sighed, leaning down to grab a pebble to chuck at the water, but while searched for a smooth, round pebble amongst the degenerate ones, he spotted her wallet and picked it up instead.

“oh she dropped her wallet,” he stated, to no one in particular. he opened it, and it was empty—well, not completely. a few yen’s were there, a couple of cards, along with a small slip of paper that said: “IF YOU FIND THIS, PLEASE CONTACT ME ON [81 xxxxxxxxxx]. THANKS” and a polaroid picture with her, bokuto and akaashi in it (which is a secret, she didn’t want to know she kept a picture of them in her wallet. she’d get teased about it until death)

he sighed again and thought that maybe it was indeed his time to shine. or maybe this will flop. he grabbed the wallet and left the bridge. He knew one thing though: he was stupid. But that won’t stop him from trying. 

[notes] akio is her ex bf! this was their first meet up, she’s gotten osamu and atsumu mixed (she doesn’t know that atsumu has a twin) and he’s obv hurt by it! i tried to make it as like natural as possible lol also i hope i didn’t forget anyone on the taglist ill cry if i did.

taglist ! [taglist is open, ask or comment to be added !]

@cherrysurf @heartmaddie @kawoala @tanuki-tanuki @brireblogs @luvfromtoni @makiglazer @jpegarchives @sagejin enjoy <3

[rocknrollsalad]

rating: gen cw: drinking/getting drunk, high society expectations, cranky steve and robin, period typical homophobia tags: no upside down au, rich kid steve au, steddie and Buckingham double date, chirstmas parties, Eddie learns whats in eggnog word count: 2412

-

written for the steddiemas prompt "eggnog" but it's a good week late, another victim of the plague I caught lol

“You better go collect your man,” Robin whispered, having appeared out of nowhere.

Steve hissed, “Stop calling him that.”

His eyes darted around the room, both to make sure he wasn’t heard. Robin was right, he hadn’t seen his boyfriend (who was definitely not his date tonight) in a while. Probably not a good sign.

“Well he is,” she scoffed.

“You are supposed to be my date, that’s the cover story. For you and for me. Doesn’t really work if you go around talking about how I really brought Eddie.”

It shut Robin up for a second, just long enough for Steve to enjoy the victory, before she said, “Tell your parents to stop being so uptight.”

Except the counter to that was the same as it always was. “And yours are so cool about it.”

Probably not the round and round Robin wanted when she walked up here on some high horse. One she had no business climbing on. She knew Steve was always a little extra stressed at these stupid dinner parties and that tonight was going to be worse. Instead of being supportive, it was almost like she was trying to sabotage things.

They could talk about it later. Right now, Steve apparently had to go find Eddie because there was no way Robin was saying that for fun. He was doing something. Probably making a run for it…which was smart. Steve could, at least, show him the best escape routes and let him know he didn’t take it personally.

Especially because it was a lot harder for Steve to make that run for it anymore. Ever since they’d brought him in from the kiddie room (which was actually the garage), his moves were tracked. Sure he wasn’t sharing one sad, toppingless pizza with a bunch of kids he didn’t know anymore but at what cost? At least the garage had video games…and no one talking about investments or how he should have gone to college.

Steve went off to find out what was going on with Eddie. Robin, in her endless helpfulness, decided to stay put and give no direction. It left Steve to go from room to room, asking everyone he could. No one had seen him. Something that was maybe a good thing? This meant he wasn’t standing on expensive furniture telling some amazing and elaborate story that would be wasted on these stuffy assholes.

Things got so desperate, Steve asked his mom if she’d seen Eddie. She always knew everything that was happening at these parties. Yet she hadn’t seen him. It seemed unlikely and a quick segue into tired reminders to not cause a scene. This one came with the bonus lecture of not ignoring his date because “no respectable woman is sidelined for a friend, dear.”

And nothing proved more that Steve’s mom didn’t see everything. Not only would he and Robin stick by each other through anything, she wasn’t even his actual date. Though, Steve did have to admit the only people in the world who believed they weren’t dating were them. Probably Chrissy and Eddie but sometimes Steve wasn’t so sure.

Moving on from his mom before he got roped into some mind-numbingly boring discussion, Steve ran into Chrissy. She was Eddie’s date who was really Robin’s date and had been folded into the group shenanigans. Which meant Steve was so ready to drag her into this quest. If he couldn’t have Robin, he could at least have help.

“We’ve lost your date,” Steve sighed, trying not to freak out yet.

“What do you mean?” she asked, instantly jumping to freaking out.

Steve linked their arms together and continued walking on, trying to think of where else he’d hide out. “Robin came up to me and told me to go collect my man. I thought he was doing something embarrassing but, like, I can’t find him. Do you think he’d leave?”

“No,” she cooed. “He’s been so worried about this night, there’s no way he’d leave you. He wouldn’t.”

Something that would have been so much more flattering if Steve had any fucking clue where the guy was.

“The garage!” Steve said, realizing the one place he hadn’t looked.

Chrissy didn’t say anything, just picked up her pace and they sped off toward the kiddie party. Of course. it was in the detached garage. Heaven forbid the kids breathed in the others, dad’s cars would lower in value at the mere thought.

So they barged through the door and onto the familiar path, still arm and arm, laser-focused on the only place it made sense for Eddie to be.

Before the door closed behind them, the soft exclamation of “Steve” was sung out and Chrissy and Steve both leaped into the grass, barely holding back screams as the voice startled them.

Steve easily moved Chrissy behind him as they both looked for the source of the voice, rather than some creepy old guy or party crasher, it was the exact person they were looking for. Both of them let out a matching, but quiet, exclamation for finding Eddie.

He was sat on a stone bench, leaning against the house, and smoking. Not only was he well hidden by shrubbery but Steve had expected to find him indoors. He needed that last glimmer of hope that Eddie was still at the party. And he hadn’t exactly left so that was…something?

“Hey man,” Eddie drawled out.

Steve’s eyes narrowed but he turned to make sure Chrissy was stable and had recovered from the little fright neither of them was going to speak about.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Chrissy said.

Resigning to her point, Steve nodded and went for the “what she said” shrug.

“I’ve been ri-ight here, baby.”

“He’s drunk,” Chrissy and Steve whispered to each other.

“Oh no!” Eddie cried out, dropping his head back. “Who told you?”

“I think you did, champ,” Chrissy laughed.

This probably wasn’t great. Steve went into panic mode immediately, ideas on what to do next sped through his mind followed by the consequences of each. A drunk Eddie was less likely to keep up the ruse, one he and Robin had organized so carefully.

It wasn’t time to come out, yet. Steve knew that time was rapidly approaching. Each and every day he had to lie about who he was with or what he was doing was another stab in the chest but at The Harrington Christmas Soiree? That was not the time. If they could just get into the new year, Steve would come clean, and probably get disowned, but at least it wouldn’t go down for “trying to steal the spotlight”.

Chrissy rubbed her hand between Steve’s shoulder blades. He had to be thinking awfully loudly right now. Where was Robin when he really needed her?

“I didn’t mean to,” Eddie pouted.

Steve watched Eddie pat around the bench and his own clothes, looking for his lighter. It was such a distinct move but it brought in this creeping feeling of normalcy with it. They’d done this before. Both drunk and sober.

As he had many times before, Steve reached into his pocket and got his lighter. Once he was close enough, he shielded the flame so Eddie could re-light his cigarette. Which he did with ease. The smoke billowed from Eddie and cleared both of their heads.

“How’s that work, though?” Steve asked. He then turned to Chrissy and leaned in a bit. “Could you go find Robin, remind her not to gloat, and maybe get a glass of water? In that order of importance.”

“She’s not going to gloat,” Chrissy said but it’s already an apology. They both know the truth. It’s part of Robin’s charm but it’s always extra annoying in moments like these.

“That’s the spirit, let's hope for Christmas miracles.”

They share a giggle that they’ve earned by being as close to Robin as they are and Chrissy disappeared back inside. Steve sat down next to Eddie and moved his hand so Steve could take a quick drag off the cigarette. He’s going to need it…or some of whatever Eddie had.

“Alright, what’s the story then?”

“Have you ever had eggnog,” Eddie asked. A question that feels wildly off topic but, again, he’s a little drunk so a coherent sentence is a great start.

“Yeah, it’s disgusting.”

“No-ooooooooo. No. Look, listen, I mean. It’s not. You’re wrong. Wayne makes it all the time,” Eddie leaned in closer, a hand cupped over his mouth as he whispered. “Every year.”

“Yeah, my parents do too. It’s nasty. The one in the punch bowl is the one you want.”

“Au contraire, that one has alcohol in it and I’m supposed to behave,” Eddie has his finger raised, wagging in the air like a cartoon teaching valuable life lessons.

“And so’s the eggnog.”

“Mmmmmm, no. I think I’d know that.”

“I…actually, yeah. I’d have thought you knew that too. Wait, so how– you know you’re drunk now, right?”

“Yeah but, ya know, we’re not telling Steve. He’s going to make me sleep on the couch for a whole week.”

“Sure,” Steve pressed his lips together and nodded. This was ridiculous and he kind of wished Eddie was just giving some rambunctious nerd speech. “But how’d you get drunk then?”

“Sabotage, obviously. The Harrington’s don’t want the heir to their throne with a commoner like me.”

“So they spiked your drink?”

“Totally.”

“Somehow complimentary you think they’d waste liquor on that,” Steve shrugged and he snatched Eddie’s pack of cigarettes to light one for himself.

“So it was Robin!”

“More believable actually. No, it was the eggnog.”

“There’s not alcohol in eggnog, Wayne wouldn’t give me it if there was.”

“Because you have to put it in, which my parents do.”

In a different situation, this would be funny. Steve might even find a way to laugh about it later but the guilt simmering in his chest for not teaching Eddie about which drinks had liquor is too strong to enjoy the laughable way his boyfriend accidentally got drunk.

All the solutions Steve had run through didn’t fit the situation anymore. They were likely both going to have to leave. Or worse, Eddie and Chrissy were and that’d ruin so many people’s nights.

Before he could think of a way to save everyone’s good time, Chrissy returned. Robin right behind her. Steve quickly stamped out the cigarette like Robin wouldn’t see and stood to talk to them.

He filled them in on the whole eggnog situation. It earned the appropriate level of laughter but once it subsided, they started trying to actually solve the problem. Eddie sat content on the bench, watching them adoringly as they worked out his fate. Steve had to give it to him, he was a very happy drunk.

“Hey, psst, hey. Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” Eddie said as they were finalizing some plans to get him upstairs to Steve’s room and full of coffee.

“Oh my god,” Robin said, trying to shut him up.

Steve walked over, leaning into his space so he wasn’t towering over him. “Yeah, man. What’s up?”

“I just need you to know-”

“Oh boy.”

“I came in with a smoking hot blonde but she’s not really my date.”

With all the patience in his body, Steve let out a sigh that was every bitchy comeback he had rolled into one sound, and said “Yup.”

“You’re way better.”

“You didn’t even commit to that. At least hit on me. Ugh. Can you just be cool for like two more minutes?”

“Cool? Yeah? Yeah! I can be cool for so many minutes. Two, ten, six, eighty. I’m good at it.”

“You’re not, so we better do something quick.”

“We should fool around is what we should do. This place has to have so many rooms. I didn’t even peek in half of them.”

Steve turned around and looked at the girls, “I think we gotta leave.”

“You can’t leave your own family Christmas party,” Robin said.

“I’ve done it so many times. Chrissy and Eddie have to go because Eddie’s sick. You and me can work something else out.”

Eddie stood up and leaned on Steve. “You should have some of that eggnog. I guess they make it with alcohol here.”

“Will you stop acting like we don’t know each other!” Steve scrubbed his hand over his face.

Robin sucked her teeth, “Might be for the best, he won’t blow anyone’s cover that way.”

“But he’s being so obnoxious about it,” Steve groaned.

“Good thing he’s the only one being obnoxious,” Robin said, crossing her arms over her chest.

A pose Steve mirrored, “What do you suggest then?”

“Let him sleep it off. He’s right, there’s plenty of rooms here and all we have to do is tell the truth for once. He didn’t know there was alcohol in the eggnog.”

“I didn’t know. I gotta tell Wayne though, it’s way better this way.”

“Who doesn’t know,” Steve groaned. Not frustrated at Eddie for not knowing, not really, but stressed out by the situation and that had to go somewhere.

“What if,” Chrissy said with her shoulders pulled up to her ears. The meek injection spoke to her nervousness but she got everyone’s attention. “We joined Eddie?”

Eddie, who was draped on Steve’s back with an arm over his shoulder and idly rubbing Steve’s chest, hummed in approval. The comfort of Eddie’s weight had Steve forgetting everything they were supposed to be hiding as he melted into the comfort and contact.

Still, he and Robin voiced matching sounds of confusion.

“It’s not embarrassing if the ‘kids’ got drunk. It’s our first time here, they almost expect us to overdo it so…let’s overdo it. Eddie won’t be the one who didn’t know this or that, we’ll all just be young adults doing what’s expected of us.”

Steve pondered the plan. “We couldn’t go wild.”

“It’s not a frat house,” Robin said for Chrissy.

Eddie gave a soft “Yeah” that Steve knew was meant to mock Robin but came out like agreement.

“It could work.”

“It could be fun!” Chrissy cooed, jumping up and down a few times. Maybe they all needed to take the edge off here.

The hand that was on Steve’s chest now held his cheek as Eddie kissed the other one.

“Alright, alright. Let’s go have some fun,” Steve groaned, doing his best to act like he hated this.

“Finally!”

[charminglilly]

A Second Chance at Christmas

Vi Arcane x fem!reader

Summary: a first Christmas spend with Vi (and her siblings)

a/n: TYSM for all the support on my other post!! I was suppose nervous and didn’t think anyone would like it but I’m so glad you guys did! Here is a rlly quick fic abt Christmas with Vi, I low key didn’t know what to write and might make a pt 2. Let me know! Not proofread…😛

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Now playing: Christmas lights by Coldplay

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Growing up, vi never celebrated any of the holidays other than a quick “merry Christmas” or “happy holidays!” But beyond that, the holidays never meant something to her since she grew up in a poorer area with people who couldn’t afford to celebrate much. That was until she met you.

When she met you, you introduced her to all your family’s traditions even outside of the holidays. Vi began to value them more and more, soon adding her own twists to them and sharing them with her sister.

The holidays were nearing and Vi couldn’t be more excited. You had invited her to go back home with you for the holidays and spend it together with your family. Vi squealed and thanked you, imedeatly asking if she could invite her sister and Isha. You happily agreed claiming “the more the merrier.” From that moment on, Vi knew that this year, she would get a real chance at celebrating the holidays.

On the car ride back to your home town, Jinx and Isha were sat in the back playing random games and bobbing along to the music peacefully flowing from the speakers. You and Vi had been switching between driving and being the passenger. Vi insisted on driving all the way until about halfway when her vision started to get blurry from looking at the snow covered roads and bright neon colored road signs. Currently, Vi was cozied up in the passenger seat with a blanket draped over her. She obviously had her hand intertwined with yours, claiming that it was “emotional support” for driving. Not like you minded anyways.

Soon enough, and after Jinx kept asking how much longer repeatedly, you pulled into a large driveway hitting bumps that jolted the two in the back awake. Once the car came to a full stop Jinx jumped out of the car and stretched, letting out a long sigh of relief.

“Finally, my gosh I thought we would driving forever.” The exclaimed as Isha climbed out of the car, copying Jinx’s actions. You and Vi only chuckled, stepping out of the car and rounding to the back to get the bags out of the trunk. Before you guys finished unloading, the door creaked open and a shouting sound rippled through the air,

“YOU GUYS MADE IT!! Oh my gosh I am so happy!!” Your mom exclaimed running across the porch, down the steps, and across the lawn. She quickly ran up to you and gave you a big hug, squeezing you so tightly that the air in your lungs felt stuck.

Chuckling you hugged your mom back exchanging little “I missed you!” While Vi unpacked the car with the little help of Jinx who was more focused on admiring the house. You wouldn’t call yourself rich, but you had a nice two story house that fit you and each of your whole family comfortably.

Your mom helped everyone bring their bags up the porch and inside the house.

“____, show the guests around the house and their rooms. I’ll get some snacks ready.” Your mom said, making her way to the kitchen. Nodding, you told everyone to follow you up the stairs.

The inside of the house wasn’t anything to special to you, but to the three guests trailing close behind you, it was like nothing they have ever seen before. The hallways were full of pictures from your childhood and different achievements, the carpets on the floor were actually clean and smelled like lavender. Isha couldn’t stop pointing at things, tugging on Jinx’s arm while they both looked in awe adding comments. Vi kept nudging them in the arm, hoping to tell them to shut up and be respectful without you hearing.

“This room is my brother’s, he’ll be arriving tomorrow. He’s not interesting anyways” you said as you passed by a door that was open halfway. One by one, the three peaked their heads in to get a sneak peek before following you again.

“This here is the bathroom and this…. This one is mine” you said, pushing open your bedroom door and stepping in. They all walked in and immediately started to inspect each crevice and item in your room.

“Holy shit this is your room?!” Vi called out, far gone from the respect she was trying to hold just a few moments ago. You chuckled and nodded, glancing around your own room as if it was your first time seeing it. There were posters and Polaroids scattered across the wall from, some clutter on the shelf’s and your dresser. It had been a while since you last decorated it, the most recent being high school.

“Yeah, I guess. It’s nothing special-“

“Nothing special!!! This is so cute!” Jinx exclaimed, cutting you off. Fair lights were hung lazily across the wall behind your bed. Speaking of your bed, you spent a good about of money on it, making sure it looked as comfy as possible.

“Alright, enough of my room. Let me show you the guest bedroom” you walked out of your room and down the hall to the guest bedroom. Inside held two twin beds, one for Isha and the other for Jinx. They both instantly ran to pick their beds, plopping down on the fluffy white comforter.

“Vi you can stay in my room or here if you want.” You say turning to face your pink-haired girlfriend. She gives you a knowing smile, the one where her eyes wrinkle and her pearly whites shine.

“Babe, I think you know the answer to that” you chuckle at her words, leaning in to plant a kiss on her cheek.

“I’ll bring your bags up, just get comfy and make yourself at home.” You say before turning to leave the room.

—————-

After a few hours everyone is finally settled in and cozied on the couch. Each with a warm mug of steaming hot chocolate filling the air with a nostalgic feel. Large blankets are thrown across everyone lazily, you and Vi curled up under one in the corner of the couch. Which you and your brother fought over since apparently it is the “best spot.” A old Christmas movie was playing softly from the tv, but it was long forgotten as everyone would much rather chat amongst each other about the year.

Throughout all of Vi’s years on the earth, and all the holidays she spent at work or alone with her sister and a sad excuse of a Christmas tree, she never could have pictured spending it like this, surrounded by people she loves and who loves her back. Sudden laughter interrupted her thoughts as she snapped back into reality. She quickly looked over at you, smiling when she saw how happy you were. You looked over at her and your face softened, a welcoming smile lighting up your face.

“You good babe?” You asked leaning closer to her. It was that moment where she realized her eyes were watering. You lifted a hand to softly caress her face.

“I’m better than good, promise.” She says smiling. You only reply by smiling back and pulling her in for a soft kiss. You can taste not only the hot chocolate oh her lips but also the hope for a new beginning, a chance to start a fresh new life with you full of happy memories.

“Ewww guys not in front of Isha!” Jinx calls out from the other side of the couch, reaching for Isha and covering her eyes. You and Vi pull away before bursting out in laughter, everyone else following. She leans her head in the crook of your neck and you wrap your arms around her

You can tell that this will be one of many Christmases spent together.

———————-

[strayheartless]

Zakkura Headcanons: HOLIDAY EDITION

Cloud is not all that festive a person. He’s not a grinch (well, no he kinda is by definition) but he doesn’t really get “ready” for Yule like everyone else. He doesn’t decorate; you couldn’t pay him to wear a holidays sweater; he stopped believing in Santa at age four; and he certainly doesn’t go out of his way to buy people gifts. Mostly because he’s never had friends to buy for, but he’s convinced himself it’s because he believes it’s stupid.

Zack. Loves. Yule. It’s his favourite holiday ever because of course it is! How can you not love Yule?! He loved “helping” his mom with baking and getting under his dad fee- I mean helping his dad decorate. Gift buying is the only thing he’s ever prepared for because he basically spends all year thinking about what to get people he likes.

Imagine Zack’s horror when he realises his best friend and crush isn’t bothered by the sights and smells of holiday cheer…

He immediately determines himself to making Cloud enjoy Yule. He’s a little neurotic about it actually -not that he lets Cloud know that, because Clouds suppose to be having fun FuN FUN! Angeal and Kunzel are both subjected to Zack’s ranting and frantic Christmas prep as he tries his absolute best to make sure Cloud has a good experience.

He invites Cloud around to Bake; drags him out in the cold to pick a tree; buys him festive drinks; drags him out AGAIN to Yule markets. Cloud for the most part silently puts up with it all, and even more privately enjoys the attention Zack gives him as the taller man tugs Clouds scarf up to cover his nose, holding his hands to warm them up.

Zack buys Cloud festive PJ’s for yules eve and basically wrestles him into them before making him park his butt on the couch to drink hot chocolate and cud- watch movies.

If Cloud falls asleep because he feels warm and safe then that’s a happy coincidence. If Zack takes advantage of his sleeping in order to tuck him into bed while Zack does some last minute wrapping and stocking stuffing then that is his business.

Cloud does have some traditions during the holidays. Namely on the actual day he will call his mom and ask if she got her present. He will stay on the phone for a while as he makes his lunch and assure her he’s fine. Yes he’s eating enough, no he doesn’t have plans today, no he’s not being bullied, yes he’s sure. It’s the same most years.

This year however when he calls her she is delighted to know that he’s spending the day with Zack. She chats animatedly with Zack about their family traditions and gushes over this “older boy looking after my baby”.

Zack keeps glancing giddily at Cloud who’s got a… hell, it’s a really fond look on his face. Clouds mom likes him! Clouds mom promised to send him mittens!

Zack wants to tell Cloud how he feels but He’s too busy making sure Cloud has a good day. Calling his own parents has Zack standing in the kitchen with a turkey baster having a mini panic attack while his mother over explains cooking times and stuffing. Then, like a guardian angel, Cloud takes the baster from him and preps the turkey like it’s something he always does.

Zack is struck with the domesticity of it all and desperately wants to blurt out “I’m so in love with you” but he doesn’t.

He had plans to tell him he swears. He’d boobie trapped the entire apartment with mistletoe and everything, but he’s so preoccupied with trying to make Cloud happy that he kind of puts it’s on the back burner.

Cloud however, beats him to it. It’s at the end of the night, when they are warm and full and cozy. They’d been playing chocobo racer, pushing at each other teasingly trying to put the other off, and then Zack had shoved Cloud a tiny bit harder than he ment too. Cloud -never one to go down without a hell of a fight- pulls Zack with him as he goes down.

They kind of just lay there for a second on their sides, Zack having rolled so he didn’t Crush his crush. And then Cloud gently leans in to Kiss Zack softly whispering a heartfelt “thank you” against his lips. Zack doesn’t have to ask what for, he knows he means the day, but he wants another kiss so he rolls Cloud on top of him, locks his arms around the smaller, and steals a couple more.

“Hey so will you be my boyfriend for Yule?”

“Just for Yule?”

“Or forever, Forever works for me if it works for you”

“Yeah that works for me…”

“Hey Cloud?”

“Mmhm?”

“I’m kinda stupidly in love with you.”

Cloud goes an adorable shade of red as he mumbles “me too” into Zack’s chest.

[astronicht]

we talk in the fandom so much about if marc got amnesia (waking up with broken a broken body and SEVERAL broken personal and professional relationships) but i often think about what an insane well of drama it would be for vale to have amnesia. would marc just SHOW UP with all his insane person confidence like well this time i can just do it better….

I’m answering these both at once because oh mein gott dot meme. I angled more towards the second one i think?? I also played a liiiittle fast and loose with the usual type of amnesia in the trope. The core trope tenants are still there!

“It’s like,” someone says, “Like when you should always agree with dementia patients.”

“And psychosis,” says Marc, smiling.

“What?” says Uccio.

“Psychosis,” says Marc, very slowly, in very clear Italian. It’s the same word in Italian and Spanish, almost, so no one can be misunderstanding him. Still, he bites down on each S, sharp as glass.

“Oh, okay.”

Yeah, okay, thinks Marc. You try dealing with it, then.

What no one in this house knows, excepting possibly Valentino, is that Marc has kept this successfully quiet for a week. It was a tour de force. The only thing he didn’t succeed at was getting Valentino to the Marc’s neuro specialist, because Marc, deep down, did not want to know. Wanted Valentino here, with him, saying yes yes if it makes you feel better before he made it real with a doctor.

Valentino does, sort of, remember the concept of Marc Marquez, because he remembers up to about 2010. Marc was fighting for the 125cc championship that year. He lost a baby tooth, and his mom told him not to tell anyone about it, because people fighting for the world championship shouldn’t be losing baby teeth. He had understood, and tried not to smile too wide. Fifteen was sort of old for that. But he’d been a late bloomer. Hadn’t been able to properly jerk off till the year before, either.

“He thinks I am Marc Marquez’s older brother,” Marc tells one of Vale’s assistants, perfectly calm, furiously even. She’s the one woman in the room. Her name is Laura, and she looks like any woman who has been working in racing all her life: straightened hair, weathered face, tight expression.

She’s the one who gets Uccio out of the room and two hours up the road by telling him someone needs to fill in for Valentino at the meeting with Ducati in Bologna tomorrow. Marc, cold, realizes he doesn’t know for sure what Vale has missed.

He doesn’t particularly like Laura, even though she got Uccio out. That doesn’t mean much, just that she knows that to handle Marc she must first handle Uccio.

And she has to handle Marc, because they ended up at Vale’s neuro guy, not Marc’s and he said to reduce confusion. Yes, like how you agree with dementia patients. Vale thinking Marc is Marc’s older brother — some fabled first son, some larger creature, who can have Vale when the younger Marc he remembers or has made up cannot yet — is not making the neuro guy happy.

They make Marc point out all of the things that are Marc’s. Marc pulls it out for them, but leaves it in piles on the floor. They can put it away.

*

“Marc,” says Valentino down the shitty phone line. Marc wants to sit down and scream. He is at the grocery store. He is in Madrid. Valentino is not better, because fifteen minutes ago one of his assistants was texting Marc to ask where Vale might have put the pill box they gave him for all the vitamin supplements, to help his brain recover.

Marc had texted back, Try the coffee cabinet, knowing with absolute clarity that Valentino would have thrown it out. Valentino hates pill boxes. Marc sometimes has to use one, and Valentino can’t even stand to have it on the counter. Marc keeps it under the bathroom sink, along with his migraine meds.

“Hi,” Marc says. He doesn’t say Valentino’s name because he is in the pasta and rice aisle of a Mercadona. His hand shakes on the phone.

“Hello, hello, ah. You’ve moved my black t-shirts.”

Marc’s number is no longer in Valentino’s phone, for Valentino’s own neurological health. Did Vale remember the number? How? Did he get the contact from somewhere?

“Your black tshirts?” Marc repeats. They are, Marc realizes with a jolt, speaking Spanish. Marc can speak Spanish and usually Catalan to Valentino anytime, who understands perfectly, but Valentino never speaks in Spanish. Never. Except that he just did.

“Yes, my black tshirts, and my favorite sweats. Are they in the laundry? I need them today.”

The Spanish is throwing Marc off. Whole sections of Marc’s life exist in Italian. Work, for example. And, largely, Valentino.

He overthinks it, tangles. Says, “You don’t own black tshirts, do you?” in Italian. A woman walks around him and sighs and says, “Fucking tourists.”

Valentino, if he were here, if he really were on this phone line, would find this very funny.

“No, no, I’m certain. Did you send them to get washed? All, today?”

Valentino is wrenching them back to Spanish. He’s harder to read like this, but suddenly Marc hears the panic under his tone, the high tight paranoia. There are other people in Valentino’s house. He does not trust them. He has found a way to call Marc.

Marc drops his shopping basket on the floor. “I’ll come look,” he tells Valentino, still in Spanish, smooth now. “The cleaner must have moved stuff again.”

Valentino, plaintive, relieved: “Yes, yes come look. I’ll go complain at someone for you.”

“Good,” says Marc, with tightly controlled, bloody-mouthed fury. The tshirts aren’t even with Marc. He has another full closet at the house in Madrid. Why take them? “But ah, I’m out at a few appointments I can’t get out of, so it will be a few hours,” Marc says. The flight to Bologna is two hours and twenty minutes.

He pulls his phone away from his ear to start texting, and sees that he has a text from Valentino’s assistant. He swipes it away unread. No point when he already has Valentino on the line.

His phone says, “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” says Marc, already out of the grocery, on the hot street. A car is going to pull up for him very soon. “Yes, I can stay on the line.”

“Hm,” is all Valentino says, and a TV switches on. But when Valentino sighs into the phone, Marc can hear the relief. Marc wants to lay down on the hot sidewalk and not get up.

The car comes. Marc gets in. He cries perfectly silently in the backseat. Eventually, and with no obvious reason, Vale says, “Okay, I’m going to go now,” and Marc pulls his phone away from his ear, damp with sweat. The heat wavers on the cars taking the airport exit. The driver sighs.

Marc thumbs open the text from Valentino’s assistant, the one he ignored earlier. It reads, Found his pill box, thank you! It was in the cabinet under the master bath sink, with his migraine meds.

Marc smiles, sharp and awful. Above the car, a plane screams across the street through the smoggy air.

[maudie-duan]

Summary: What happens when the man you've loved since childhood decides he's ready to settle down, but it turns out you are no longer his forever. How would you cope with the sudden engagement? For Blair, it's a hard pill to swallow, knowing that the beautiful girl smiling in all his pictures will get her forever. I guess it's a blue Christmas this year.

A/N: I have to make a confession: I hate Christmas music, but the first time I heard Sabrina Carpenter's 'Cindy Lou Who' I knew this was my kind of Christmas song. I love a sad song, and this song feeds my "angsty soul," So please give it a listen before you read. This whole story is my interpretation of the song. Hope you like it. Happy Holidays enjoy!!!!

Requests: Here

Word Count: 6K

Warning: Mentions of Sex, Strong Angst and Laungue, Family Dynamics, Mentions of Pregnancy, Heartbreak.

I don’t think sneaking my ex-boyfriend out of my parent’s house is the best look for anyone on Christmas morning, but technically, it’s still Christmas Eve if you haven’t gone to sleep yet, right?—To be fair, he was the one knocking on my window, stumbling his way to my bed. Casually, bringing up the past, circling back to things I thought I had already unpacked with my best friend after I scrolled his girlfriend’s social media, backtracking five years, to be honest, she had me broader line obsessed.

He made his way to my bed and in between my legs, touching place and sharing space in the best way we knew how, and that’s the funny thing about having history with someone—sometimes it makes it harder to say no when it’s knowingly what you want the second they step foot into a place that once served as a sanctuary to you both—a garden where words weaved trust, that turned into secrets, carving out a space of our very own; a world that we created and while he wasn’t my first kiss he was everything else.

I’ve lost track of how many times our words of forever were passed between our mouths, tangled in shared breaths of “I swear until the day I die, I’m yours.” When you’re young, you believe it because it’s all you have—and we took that with us when we thought we were ready for the world—two foolish kids on an endeavor to forge these grown-up dreams of a grand gesture without a second thought, only relying on the word “love,” like love could weather any storm.

The hardest lesson we learned was that love isn’t always enough. Sometimes, you can love someone with all your being and forget that they’re not a possession—but a person. Was that our mistake? I don’t know, but we wanted to be our own people at some point and find ourselves outside of only identifying as “we.” 

Let me tell you, that’s a hard pill to swallow, and from time to time, I still find myself choking on it, especially when it is obvious we still click—we didn’t need sex to know that we still worked, fit together like a puzzle that had been forgotten, and dusted off, only to find that you still had every single piece. Still, when Harry tried to kiss me goodbye, I pulled away.

“Hey—what is it…tell me?” he asks

“Nothing…it’s just late. You know how my mom is about Christmas morning.” I lie because the reality of his leaving is starting to sink in. I’m not ready for him to leave, but we both knew that there would be an ending to this.

He laughs, attempting to shrug his jacket on, and I glimpse the joy of the familiar memory dance across his features, “Yeah, she can be kind of crazy, right?”

“Yeah—but not any crazier than your mom,” I laugh. 

“Hey now—actually…you know they kind of feed off each others crazy…” He says, fighting to find the sleeve of his jacket, and when I reach to help, something falls from his pocket, a loud thud clashing against the hardwood floor. I look down, thinking he knocked something off my shelf, but then I see it.

We both stare at the ground, a small box lying in the space between us, “You shouldn’t have…” I declare, bending down—Looking back now, I don’t know what I was thinking—You know this tends to happen when you rely on your wit to get you out of awkward situations. I thought it would be cute and clever. I would open the box, and it wouldn’t be exactly what I knew it was—a ring, but not just any ring—the ring.

“Hey—hey—hey…give me that,” He jokes, trying to turn it into a game, but I’m in too deep to give it up. I can only focus on getting a peek at the ring, which is now a broken promise, and right this second, I’m desperate enough to open this box—basque in the feeling of the “what if” this was mine.

I turn away, shoving his hand out of the way, compulsively straining to get a look at this ring, immediately getting aggressive when he tries to reach over my shoulder. “Stop Harry—” I urge.

“Come on, Blair—this isn’t funny…” He says, unamused, but he’s too late, and as I shove my elbow into his ribs, the box is flipping open, the glint of the diamond catching the light of the moon shining through the window. He stops then because what’s the use, right? Here it is—the ring—perfect, everything I would have wanted. It’s almost like a slap in the face, like he looked back on one of the many pictures I sent over the years, thinking one day this would be me. 

The ring is stunningly beautiful. There is so little light yet it’s drawn to every facet; immaculate, precise cuts creating the perfect sparkle. There is nothing humble about it, but nothing seems to be humble about him anymore, including his life choices—and here I am, holding my breath, afraid to move, listening to his flustered exhale when I slam the box closed, a loud clap shut. 

Without a word, I nudge him away from me, “Blair, listen—I was going to tell you…”

“When—? Before or after we had sex, Harry…Is that what this was?” I yell.

He panics and cups a hand over my mouth. It’s not hard, but it annoys the hell out of me, and I wrench his arm away, forcing him toward the window, “Don’t you fucking do that—you don’t get to do that—”

“I’m sorry—but seriously, Blair, let’s not wake your family,”

I let out a dry laugh, “Oh—trust me, they would understand—” I seeth.

“Oh, for fucks sake, Blair, that’s not fair—I don’t know what this was…I just really wanted to see you—” he says, raking a hand through his hair, a deep crease forming between his brows, and he licks his lips, running a hand down his face as he turns away.

“What do you want me to do? This is the way it’s supposed to work out. You know my family …I don’t really have a say. You know that—”

“Please—Harry—you’re almost 30 years old. You don’t think you have any say in your life?”

He turns around, a condescending laugh filling the space, “You of all people should understand…”

“Well—I thought I did…but I don’t think I do anymore. It just doesn’t make sense…none of this seems to make sense anymore. I don’t understand how we could be perfectly fine one day, and as soon as your dad put you on the path to be a partner at his firm—which we both knew would happen—” I start.

He shakes his head, pinching his lower lip between his thumb and index finger, contemplating my words, “Help me make it; make sense. When we knew all along what the path was going to be. Were did “WE” get lost because I did nothing but support you, and then you went away on that trip with your family—”

“And you’re on about this again…” he interrupts, words cutting like knives because this was the theme of some of our biggest arguments.

I’m shaking my head this time, confusion inching through my brain, straining to grasp for details I thought I packed away. “Now that’s not fair…” I force, my throat burning with the effort of biting back tears. 

“Listen—this is my fault—” he says, reaching for the box, “I shouldn’t have come. I knew this would be a bad idea, but I just—”

I grasp onto the box, wanting to catch his eyes. I want to see the regret, “Tell me, does it hurt you, hurting me…I could have waited for your mom’s Facebook post…I know she’s over the moon with her…just fucking smitten that’s she’s everything and more—”

“I should go,” he says, his eyes darting to the window before he slides the box into his pocket. He opens the window, and the cold breeze flits into the dark room, reminding me of how little I have on. My eyes float to the bed, already mourning us like a fading memory—disappointment crawling up my spine, the sick twist of regret already tearing at my emotions as tears fill my eyes.

“Yeah, this was a bad idea…” I tell him, choking on the words, and I can feel my body starting to tremble. I want him gone, forever, to leave and be with his girlfriend, who will get him in the daylight. Who will kiss the mouth of the man I love for the rest of her life—and I’m sick—sick with the thought of them—and damn—This was easier when there was distance when I could pretend he didn’t exist.

“I’m sorry, bee—” He whispers, a slight trimmer in his voice as he reaches out to me, and let him because if this is all that is left. I want that last kiss. I want a kiss from the lips that were once mine, but when he pulls me in, I reach for his face, and he interjects, grasping my hands in his, denying me my one last wish.

“Harry…” I whisper, hot tears burning my eyes, “It’s just you and me right now…” I plead because he has that look of goodbye in his eyes; the reality setting in, like me standing here in his old tee-shirt, is too real for him—The cold draft of the air brings the world in with it. Yes, I feel it too, but his hands are so warm, his face is so sweet and kind, and I know what he’s about to do.

“Bee—” He tries, swallowing hard, like the words are stuck in his throat, tears drawing in his eyes, and he rubs his lips together, shaking his head as his eyes dart to our hands, and I grip his hands harder because he’s going to leave—he’s going to leave, and I’m never going to get his back; This man—the love of my life. There’s never a time he hasn’t had me, and he’s going to leave, he’s going to move on, and he will still have me because I could never let him go.

And when the tears spill over and fall down his cheeks, my body aches with a longing that’s so deep in my bone it hurts—my love for him hurts so fucking bad that I don’t think I’ll ever not love him or not want to be with him. He’s standing here breaking my heart all over again, and I still love him. I still want him always and forever like he fucking promised me because he did promise, and now she gets him; she gets to have my always and forever.

Now he’s pulling away, and I won’t let him go; I can’t let him go. “Bee…please…” he begs softly.

“I love you,” I cry out, “I love you so much, H—” and he pulls me into his body, letting me sob into his chest, my hot breath seeping into his body, and I breathe him in, trying to memorize our scent, but it there like muscle memory something I could never forget.

“You know I love you, Bee…” he breathes, pressing a warm kiss to the top of my head, “You know I will always love you, but you know that we can never do this again…”

His words slice through my pain, filling me with rage, and he’s right. We can’t do this ever again; he doesn’t get to have me like this and go back to her—and I’m so fucking mad at myself for falling into his trap because I’ve been so good. I can’t even remember the last time I talked to him. He knew what would happen when he knocked on my window, and I was so stupid to let him—yet here he is still wielding his power. 

“You have to go,” I tell him, trying to force myself from his arms, and Harry’s grip tightens.

“I’m sorry, Bee—”

“No—this was wrong—this was all wrong, and you shouldn’t have done this…we shouldn’t have done this—”

I push him toward the window, angry adrenaline a trimmer in my fingertips when I bring a shaky hand up to tuck my hair behind my ear, “You did this to us…” I tell him.

“I’m—” he starts, and I know he’s just going to try and apologize, but that will never be enough, not when I know what happens next—and what? Did he use me? Did he feel sad and come looking for my sympathy?

“Leave—” I spit.

“Bee…come on—”

“Leave!” I say louder, loud enough to send an echo through the room. He stiffens, his panic reaching his face, and I cross my arms over my chest.

“Fine—” he hisses, his hair falling into his face as he bends his body halfway through the window. Harry doesn’t even look back; he doesn’t even give me a tiny morsel of hope, and I don’t know what I was expecting. Then Harry is out the window, and I slam it shut, swiping the curtains closed.

“Merry fucking Christmas, you Asshole…” I breathe, falling onto the bed to cry. 

…

Here’s the thing about Christmas in my house: we wake up and celebrate, and nothing else is allowed. It’s the one time of the year when my mom is allowed to live in the delusion that everything is merry and bright. There’s no space to be sad. She’s up with the rising sun, her hair perfectly manicured, her make-up set for pictures, wrapped in a festive robe she just “rolled out of bed” in, and then she’s on to two more outfit changes. 

So this morning, when I woke, ready to welcome her joyful cheer, I was surprised to see none. I found her standing at the sink, my dad leaning against the counter like I had just interrupted a fight, maybe some disagreement they didn’t want me part of. My first thought was that they knew. They saw Harry leaving, or maybe my voice had carried, and they heard me arguing with him.

It was like being a teenager all over again as I walked toward the coffee maker to pour myself a cup. Without fail, the clink of the dish against the stone countertop ricochets through the thick silence in the room, making me jumpy; the slurp of the pour is interrupted when my mom speaks. “All I’m going to say is let’s get through this day. I don’t want to talk about it. We can call all touch base once everyone is gone—Bee, will you stay longer this time or not?” 

I’m in the midst of taking a sip, and the hot liquid hits my top lip, burning me as my eyes move from my dad to my mom in question, confused by whatever this is that I walked in on, “I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stay longer…I have a project—”

“Can you—?” she asks flatly like you better say “yes.” 

I look to my dad, who raises his brows, eyes widening, and he blows out a breath, his lip puffing as he brings his coffee to his mouth, “Fine.” I answer because it doesn’t seem like there’s any other option.

And that was it—She switched up her mood as quickly as the conversation ended. I stood there sipping my coffee, mentally preparing, and that’s how we carried on, pushing it under the rug.

It started with presents, each gift given its proper praise, mom all smiles, dad snapping pictures, my sister nudging my shoulder as a constant reminder to keep up the show, and it was perfect—it was— but every time the camera flashed. I could feel myself drifting to the thought of all the pictures that would greet me when I opened my phone—How her red lips and long dark hair would steal my breath, her beauty outshining us all. 

She became the jealous quake in my bones at the thought of Harry down on one knee, entrancing my thoughts, repeatedly threatening to pull me out of the moment—and now my mom is shouting from across the room, bidding for my attention, as I try and swallow the persistent lump burning a hole in my throat, making every word a battle of will to say the most straight-forward sentence—and it wasn’t fair; It wasn’t fair that I got to sit with it all day—a reel of memories cascading through my mind, always the slightest reminder to remind me of the past.

The smallest gestures, a deep-seeded pain strangling my insides; all my dad had to do was glance down at his watch. The watch Harry gave him when he turned forty or every time my mom tucked her behind her ear, I caught sight of the diamond earrings he got her and his mom, making them both laugh the last Christmas we all shared because that was our thing—it almost doesn’t seem real that our moms used to be best friends, nowadays it feels like a lifetime since they even shared one word, my mom growing bitter the day Harry broke my heart.

A sudden breakup can wreck anyone, and inherently, our families became the collateral damage, causing a complicated ripple through our families, a rigid divide that none of us knew how to address, let alone manage any semblance of a relationship; maybe that was our fault. I couldn’t be his friend. It hurt too much to try and mask my feelings, to manipulate them into something they weren’t, like right now—how I’m torturing myself, scrolling through social media, almost hoping I’ll see the pictures I know his mom will post. Perhaps it will be what I need; to rip the bandaid off, the right push I need to fucking move on because I don’t know how much longer I can live in the misery of what was and wasn’t.

Dissasoiating—the word of the day—a single word that could describe my whole day because somehow it’s dinner, and I’m sitting around the table trying to piece together the lapse in time I’ve lost. All it takes is one look at my mom to straighten up and be present. I don’t even know what they’re talking about, nor do I care, but when my cousin Jenny asks me to pass the potatoes, and the light captures the glint of her new engagement ring, my stomach drops, the hideous ache of jealousy climbing up my spine, and I’m sick again, my stomach turning at the thought, that maybe he’s already done it, maybe he’s asked her and she’s wearing his ring on her finger, and they’re sitting around the table; and every time she takes a bite it reflects the light from the chandler, everyone smiling because what a happy time, what a perfect day; what a bright fucking future they have.

This time, I can’t control it; it’s all too much, and I’m scraping the chair back, politely excusing myself, then bounding to the upstairs bathroom, yanking my phone from my pocket—and without a passing thought, I’m doing it—I’m calling Harry—by the first ring, I’m in panic mode, pacing back and forth, willing myself to end the call, trying to keep the phone from sliding down my sweaty palm.

I’m all adrenaline as I force the phone against my ear, the ring getting louder, and each time it rings, a gnarled knot of guilt builds in the depth of my belly. I keep looking to the toilet on the verge of falling to my knees and heaving anything that made its way to my stomach—then Harry forwards the fucking call to voicemail, and tears are spilling over my lids, my whole body hot, like maybe I’ll combust right here, explode with the fury of heat rising in my body.

I’m surprising myself when I press his name again, bringing the phone back to my ear, and I hold my breath, waiting for the first ring. It rings and then rings again, and by the third ring, I think I might get through—and it’s all a joke because yeah fucking right—By the fifth ring, I’m second-guessing myself again, shame eating away at my flesh, and then he’s forwarding the call again—my shame flying out the window.

Okay, yes, maybe this is the part where I tell you I should be embarrassed—but fuck it, I’m calling again, losing myself a little more each time he forwards my call. By the 8th call, I’m tormenting myself, a pitiful excuse of a human on the ground so caught up in my own grief that I don’t even hear my sister knocking on the door. The knock sounds, making my heart leap in my chest, the fear of being caught ripping through like an earth quack, and I’m up, catching sight of my reflection in the mirror, not even recognizing the person looking back at me. 

I haven’t felt this desperate since we broke up, like an anxious tick buzzing under my skin. The humiliation of it all is a time bomb, counting down the seconds until it ignites inside me—and I’m there. I ignore the steady stream of knocks and crouch down like the monster I’ve become because I can’t look at myself and do what I know I’m about to do—it’s my one last stance, and I shoot Harry a text:

“Your a fucking coward!” I send and then realize I used the wrong fucking “your,” and my pride won’t let me go out like this. I send a quick “you’re” to fix my mistake and watch the screen, knowing he is now more aware of his than before. When the line changes from “delivered” to “read,” I watch the tiny dots collect in the corner of the screen, awaiting his reply—they appear and disappear several times until it finally stops altogether, and he leaves me on read.

Just as I’m about to send “fuck you!” my sister opens the door, pushing the bobby pin she used to pick the lock back into her hair, and closes the door behind her. “Dude, whatever is going on right now—you need to get it together—it’s one fucking day, okay…that’s all mom asks for, and she’s down there growing impatient. So seriously…if you’re up here freaking out about another dude you met on a dating app—like this isn’t the time—”

“I had sex with Harry—” I confess right then and there because I know this will be the only thing that will make her understand.

“No—” she says, pulling a handful of toilet paper from the roll, “We’re not doing this right now…” She wipes the tears from my face and forces me out of the bathroom and into my room.

“You have two minutes to get your shit together. I need Mom to be in a good mood today…listen, I have big shit going on too, but you don’t see me up here crying—” and she’s right. I saw her pregnancy test in our shared bathroom trash. She must have been panicked when she half-assed her wrapping job on her test. I know I taught her better than that, but this was what I needed to pull myself back up.

I came down the stairs with a smile. Everyone in the sitting room was having coffee and dessert; this was the last stretch. This is all we had left, and then I can check my phone that my sister made me leave upstairs—and so I would drone on keeping up with conversations, tossing out witty remakes, bringing laughter and joy to everyone around, and when my mom sent me a genuine smile, I felt myself smiling back, enjoying the company of my family; and when dad slipped me the “good” eggnog I realized that there’s nothing better at taking the edge off then alcohol.

Four eggnogs in on an empty stomach, and I was working the room, exaggerating about my life and all the projects I’ve taken on at work, dodging questions about my dating life, and when my grandma brought up Harry four times, dammit, I didn’t even flinch, I just kept the conversation moving, filter out the emotions coursing through me like a breeze on a sunny day, right before a summer storm sets in. I even kept it cute and classy when cousin Jen took her engagement ring on a tour around the room, gutting me like a fish when she said, “I never thought I would get married before you…you know…like you and Harry were like “it” you know—” and I’m smiling again, getting a nod of approval from mom when she hears me congratulate Jen again, admiring her beautiful ring.

By eggnog five, I’m switching to “what he’s having,” I shout to my dad as I watched him pour, maybe whisky over the rocks, a shallow pour, but it packed a punch. I knew it was time to dial it back when I found myself leaning over Jenny, who was flipping between her social platforms, landing on Facebook, where I know for a fact Harry’s mom would be posting, taking care to tag everyone in each photo—which brings me back to the time when dear ole’ cousin Jenny started following Harry. It was Christmas break, we had just turned fifteen, and I could tell she had a crush on him. She spent all Christmas break following us around, cornering him anytime she could get him alone; I had to share my bed with her that Christmas, and I remember how miserable I was without the gift of Harry crawling through my window on Christmas Eve.

It’s wild to think of how feeble my grasp on time was when we were young, how a couple of weeks could feel like an eternity; it’s been less than a day since I saw him last. How am I supposed to go a lifetime of never hearing his voice again, to look into those green eyes that have seen me through so many changes, not to feel those hands that have cradled me like a child, held me like a lover, squeezing and pulling me into shapes that fit him; arms that carried and lifted me to heights that I could never have reached on my own—and maybe I speaking figuratively because no one has carried me at my worst or lifted me at my best until I was the best version of myself, but isn’t funny how the people that bring out our best know exactly how to rally the worst parts of us.

Mom taps her dessert spoon to her glass, grabbing everyone’s attention. It’s time for her big send-off speech. My eyes dart to my sister leaning against the fireplace, rolling her eyes, “I just want to start by saying I’m so thrilled that you’ve all chosen to spend this joyous holiday with us…you all know this is my absolute favorite holiday and every year I look forward to spending it with each and every one of you—” she tells us raising her glass, and everyone knows what’s coming next and as she starts her final lines— the same lines she uses every year—my sister sends me a wink mouthing the lines in unison with our mother.

“There’s no time like Christmas to let you know how appreciated you are. I feel honored to call you family…” and her hook, line, and sinker is, “May the light of Christmas warm your hearts this holiday season and remember love is the true spirit of Christmas—” 

My throat burns as she finishes, “And always know how much I love you and always will…so before I start getting too emotional, I better cut myself off—” she laughs, wiping a tear from her eye, and as much as I hate how crazy she gets about Christmas, she really is amazing at being so selfless; to give everyone such a beautiful day, and I’m so grateful for her and my family, and then the doorbell rings taken everyone by surprise. We all freeze, eyes moving around the room because we’re all here, and no one is expecting anyone.

“Fred—” my mom calls to my dad. “Are we expecting anyone else?” 

My dad’s reaction is slow, but he launches himself from the chair and excuses himself. When he comes back, he looks bewildered, half-tipsy as he shrugs his shoulder to tell us no one was there—and that was that. No one blinked an eye—yet my first thought was Harry, and I felt myself slipping because the whole day had passed; certainly, theirs was over by now, and the thought had me breaking my own heart, picturing her in his old bed, the whole family tucked away in their rooms, still riding out the high of such a magically joyful day.

And she’ll kiss his lip and say, “I love you.” He’ll lay her down in the bed I gave myself to him in, and he’ll make love to her like he loved me last night, and there is no end; there’s no end to the torture of it all because how can one person fuse themselves to every fiber of my being—and more importantly how could I still allow it?

As the last guest passed our threshold, Mom, being the gracious host she was, sent them off with candies and cookies, and I stood there wishing I was more like her, like my sister, who could always pretend, who knew how to wear “the smile” like a badge of honor. I wondered why this all had to be so hard. Why is love all or nothing? Why can’t we flip a switch and “poof,” it’s gone?

I watched my mom close the door, my siblings dispersing, and my dad already making his way back to his chair, but my mom just stood there. She let out a heavy sigh, her once perfect posture decompressing as she held on to the doorknob, “Oh Bee—” she said, eventually turning around to face me, and suddenly it looked like the weight of the day had finally caught up to her beautiful features, now tired—a mournful pinch between her brows, pursuing her lip while her eyes roamed my face. I’m trying my hardest to keep it together because there is something about that look a mom can give, that “I can fix everything with a hug” look.

“Do you need anything…I didn’t sleep very well last night. I was thinking of calling it early. if that’s okay?” I ask

“Oh honey, don’t worry about it…it’s been a long day for everyone,” she states, unbuttoning the first two buttons of her silk blouse, that mourful look still lacing her features.

“Let’s just deal with the clean up tomorrow…sound good, baby?” she tells me, slinging an arm around my shoulder, “I know today was hard for you…Thank you for being such a good sport. I’m so proud of the way you handled yourself. You did a beautiful job, sweetie.”  Her words catch me off guard, and I turn to face her, my throat burning at the thought that she knows everything.

I swallow hard, opening my mouth to let out the words building up, but I can only manage a small whimper. “Listen, honey,” Mom starts, and I’m already a puddle in her arms, wanting my mommy to make it all better.

“I’m not going to lie and say it gets better, but one day, it’s not going to hurt as bad as it hurts right now, and eventually, when you find someone new—” 

I gasped out a sob then, her words hitting every sore spot on my body, “Shhh—Shh—I know baby, I know—but listen,” She said, cradling my face in her hands, “I know that this isn’t what you want to hear—”

“But one day you will find someone new, and they’ll be just enough to get you over that last slump of pain, and maybe if you’re lucky enough…which I know you are…Harry will become a pleasant memory of the past, baby, because both of you were so lucky to have what you had. Not everyone will get to say they had a love like the two of you shared, and that is so so special, honey, so special—”

The tears are rolling down my cheeks faster than my mom can swipe them away, and it’s taking every ounce of strength I have to keep myself upright, “I love him so much—” I push past the sob, shuttering through me.

“I know, honey, I know—one of the hardest lessons we can learn is to let the people we love go, let them go so they can be free, and if it’s meant to be, they’ll come back—”

“I can’t, Mom, I can’t do it,” I cry, trying to bury my face into her shoulder, but she has a firm grip on it. Blair Marie, you are so strong, honey, and we are all here for you. You can do this, okay?” she says, nodding her head up and down.

“Okay?” She asks again, and I nod in agreement, “Listen—between you and me, we’re going to have our hands full anyway, right? Don’t think I don’t know about your sister—she’s next.”

I’m stunned into silence. “Yeah, I know. That’s how I felt at first. Honey, I love you. I am here for you. Now go get some rest…” she says, pushing me toward the stairs.

“Oh—and hopefully, we aren’t expecting any unexpected guests this evening….”

I shake my head, “I—” 

“Yeah, slamming your window at the crack of dawn is a dead give away—”

Somehow, she manages to get a smile out of me, and I roll my eyes, ready to make my way up the stairs, “Hey, Mom, thank you for making today so beautiful…it really was beautiful.” I tell her.

“Oh—! And Mom, thank you for those kind words. I love you.” she smiles, placing a hand over her heart, and we share a look of knowing—and without a doubt, that woman managed to lift my spirits—again. She’s too good at that; she is father fucking Christmas.

And while my heart still felt heavy, I felt like I could get through this night. I would march into my room, head straight for my phone, and turn it off; there would be no doomsday scrolling. I would take a shower, hell maybe even take a hot bath to rid myself of this day—Maybe I would even start packing away everything in my childhood room that reminded me of him, set myself up for the next year, and seriously, it was amazing how quickly the motivation surged up my chest; almost bursting at the seams with the very thought of it.

So by the time I turned my knob, I was ready, so fucking ready—But as the door clicked open, a cold chill grazed over my wrist. All I saw was my curtains billowing back and forth with the breeze flowing in and out of my window, and I rushed over to shut the damn window because I didn’t remember opening it, but maybe my sister opened it while I was fixing my make up earlier and that’s when I hear it:

“Bee—” 

I slam the window shut, panic rushing through me, every limb of my body shaking with it as I turn toward the sound. And there he is, the love of my life, sitting on the edge of my bed, hunched over with his face buried in his hands, and when he looks up. I can tell he’s been crying, and he pulls a small box from his pocket and places it on the nightstand, right next to the very same box that held his future, and all he says is, “I couldn’t do it—”

[mjbarrosart]

My Dragon Prince Boards season 7, episode 705, part 1

It's time to talk about my boards for episode 705 of the last season of The Dragon Prince. I did a lot of stuff in this episode, so instead of going in order, I'll divide my work differently for this one, we will talk by group of sequences and not in order of appearance.

Let's start with the sunfire elf side of the plot. As a lot of you know, most of my work in this show was related to the Sunfire elves, and to be honest Janai and Amaya are two of my favorite characters of the show, so every chance to work with them is always a bless.

I did all the scenes of Karim talking with Amaya in this episode. It is hard to explain how I feel about Karim, he is such an idiot, but I am also kinda fond of him because I spent so many hours working on him thinking about his mannerism and motivations. I am fond of him, but I also hate him, hahahaha.

There is not a lot to say about this sequences, they are pretty straight forward. While I can understand why Karim hates humans so much, that doesn't mean he is right about it, and this hate is starting to feel like pettiness, and well fits him, he is a really petty man.

Let! Green! Say! Ass! hahahaha. Its always funny to board this kind of little jokes. I love Green and Amaya dynamics, they are such good friends, and I love how Green is always making sure that Amaya's bluntness is not coming out as "rude". But sometimes I feel he should just translate directly what Amaya is saying, because I don't think Karim deserves special considerations, haha.

That little speech Karim does about how he and Amaya are not the same was interesting to board for me. I wanted him to feel aggressive and menacing, even if his hands were tied. Like he was trying to intimidate Amaya, but she will not bend, she can see thru his BS. I wanted him to trespass into Amaya's personal space, portrait him as the bully he is. He says that his faith comes from knowledge, while the truth is that he leads using fear. Such a pathetic little man.

Another instance where is wish the rigs where able to translate between the expressions from the boards. I wanted him to spit his words trough his teeth when he says "humans are vermin, a plague", like his mouth is full of poison and hate.

But the Amaya, who is mostly motivated by making sure that Janai doesn't regrets the decision of killing her brother, does the right thing and reminds him of the fact that Miyana is pregnant, that there is a future worth to live for. Karim shows some doubts, so Amaya leaves and Miyana enters the stage.

I feel kinda bad for Miyana. I mean she deserves the punishment she got, at the end of the day she betrayed her people. But I feel bad for her, because I think that she honestly loves Karim. Imagine loving such a foolish man. And Karim can not learn a lesson, he keeps being an idiot. He is offered a second chance to be with his family, but the only thing he can see in Miyana is that she is carrying "his heir", and Miyana is right of being offended by that. But she wants to believe that he will made the right choice. And maybe for a minute Karim ponders it. I wanted him to loot vulnerable and maybe open in the final shot, so I made him kneel close to Miyana, laying his head on her belly, close to his child. We know how this will end for him, but for a moment there is maybe hope that he will change... no?

My next scene in this episode is one I am really fond of. Is the one when Terry says that the only person who can stop Claudia is her mom, and Soren is really against that idea.

First, is always fun to have a moment with Terry. I have really small ones during my work in the show, so this one was a blast. Second, I got to have another emotional Soren moment, and that is always nice, because Sores in my boy.

The back and forth of this conversation is pretty straight forward too. What was important for me was what will be the moment that will make Soren change his mind, and support the idea. So I decided to use Corvus for this.

Soren is struggling with the idea of bringing her mother back, even if that means they will have a real shot making Claudia stop. Corvus see his pain, and touch his shoulder. We talked before on how touching is a love language between this two, they don't need tons of words. Corvus is saying "I know that it's hard, but I am here with you". On my boards I had him giving Soren a little nod, they removed that for the final shot, and I think is ok. The nod is not necessary, Soren understand what Corvus means. With his support Soren can do it.

So he gathers strength and gives the drawing to Ezran. I like that in the animation stage they kept Corvus hand all the time on his shoulder. For Soren the idea of facing his mom is one full of pain and conflicted feelings, but he doesn't need to face it alone, he has Corvus at his side (as a partner, friend, soulmate, brother, whatever you see them being).

I love them so much...

The second part of this post is about the last sequence I did for this episode, it is a small one, but one that you could say... brings a "surprise"!

I will posted right away, so stay tuned!

[heyyallitssatan]

I thought tumblr would enjoy this

So recently my mother and a very good friend of hers went to a soft ball game together

This is totally normal behavior however

They went on the inauguration day for the new “lovers field”

My mother, the poster child for bisexuality, and her friend, who looks like if lesbianism had a spokesperson, went to a softball game together on the inauguration day for lovers field

My mother didn’t understand at first just how gay they looked, and apparently more than one person, in particular several older ladies and gentlemen, commented how cute they were together

I love my mother dearly but she can be a bit oblivious

[narutotravesties]

Sometimes you glimpse a character who barely shows up but has such tantalizing implications and possibility of depth that it haunts you forever

[musubiki]

recently thinking about the tcwg episode where mochis mob spell finally starts running out. apparently its maximum possible usage is 10 years (which they find out from pom) and appearently tiramisu put it on her too soon,,... when they ask her she says "Oh...you were such a cute kid I didn't want to wait too long!!" while pinching her cheeks, and suddenly theres a few more people at school who are like "Hey...I never really noticed but...Mochi is kinda pretty, huh?"

for the people who start to notice, they chalk it up to "Maybe she hit puberty late...?" or something, but regardless she has 1 or 2 more people actually ask her out, and lime starts to realize how much it bothers him

[keeps-ache]

buttered noodles 💫💛🍜

[tavina-writes]

Hello friends, I have been debating buying a hotpot to make hotpot. Unfortunately, I've never actually made hotpot myself before. (I mostly used to eat it at restaurants and at my one auntie's house) so idk like, what to put in it that would be good.

What are your favorite hotpot recipes and things to put in the hotpot?

Also: if you make your own hotpot soup bases instead of going out to buy them, are there any good recipes for that?

[theophagie]

Kairi's unresponsiveness during the final battle in KH3 is so infuriating and so many of the excuses people make for it are utter crap to me... I don't think it should slide, but at least I can concede that she may have done nothing when Terranort attacked her because of her past with him, but not fighting back at all when Xemnas grabbed her? Bruh... literally all they did was say "we have Got to shove this girl in the fridge no matter what". Lea went through the same training as her and got his ass handed to him as well, but at least he had multiple things to fall back on when that failed (reuniting with Roxas and Xion, his whole deal with Isa). Kairi didn't even have that...........

[flufflecat]

anyone else finding it really, really personally nauseating that the pjo show would remove gabes entire character and replace him with someone less abusive to make sally a Strong Female Character. like wow, im sure glad that youve proven that women who are abused are the REAL threat to feminism, and they should just try talking back more!! what a good message to send to abused kids. sorry, kid. i guess you just didnt argue hard enough and #Own your abuser into seeing how cool and strong you are. what do you mean that arguing with an abuser will only make them hurt you more? but look how snappy and cool and feminist sally is now!!! youre clearly just being abused wrong.