#this was just supposed to be practice for drawing hands

[yourcutelittlegayfriend]

Chapter 2 : A New Reset, An Old Story.

Warning: low qual english + corny/cringey usage of it, lots of cursing, emotional stuff, weird hallucinations, bad editing I guess?, was someone there before?, Can someone pick me up? MC is being weird.

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How do you act when you feel like your day keeps repeating?.

Would you be content? to just go with the flow? to memorize each of your steps, actions or words?

Or, would you go crazy? lose you mind and sanity? to see red dancing on the edge of your eyes if you keep remembering the shit that keeps happening to you?

I would, especially if you went through what I did, all effort I did just gone with one bullet from a gun, from a high fall, a sword, a very bad day, or maybe even a freak accident.

Gripping my seatbelt I wait for Commissioner Gordon to open the car's door and let me out, stepping out of the police car with it's siren and lights off, I stand on the graveled road that leads to the stone steps of the old and dark mansion I knew too well.

A little scribbles pops in my vision roughly crossing the mansion as if it's giving it an evil and snarling look of a giant man eating beast.

The older man gently stir me up to the porch and I watch as he ring the doorbell - The tiny mean words and drawings floating around flew away from the sound - on the side of the giant doors as we wait for anyone to answer.

Tensing when I heard someone's familiar shoes thudding on the otherside of the closed entrance, I step back as I grabbed Gordon's coat and braced myself to put up a new face again.

'By now Alfred should open the doors and be surprised to meet us'. a little tiny voice said by my ear as they hide behind my back- peeking over my shoulder as if they were scared even though their not the one confronting them anyway.

As soon as they're guess was right, I observe the old event unfolding in front of me seeing Gordon hand Alfred a manila folder and show him what I knew was my DNA test and citizen papers and profile inside.

I stare blankly at Alfred who looked at me with slight pity and worry after he heard that Gordon personally escorted me here because I was supposed to be relocated to my biological father custody more than a few months ago.

'Would have prefer to stay there as well but the broody asshole insisted before and got my hopes up just to go back to becoming #1 fucked up dad on my list'

'Yeah! he's such an asshole!' The voice pipe up with a snort and a laugh while leaning on my shoulder.

I look back to Commissioner Gordon one last time as he drove off as I sadly wave goodbye from the door before side eyeing the butler who was already watching me.

"Would you like some tea young master?". He kneels down and hold out a hand to me.

I stare at his face as I see glimpse of scratches around the air and scribbles on his face - a crude lines to circle around his only slightly older look - a wobbly arrow to point at the small cracks of wrinkles on the edge of his eyes and a small older doodle of him from my old memories comparing his age before a glitching of halo and devil horns floated above his head.

Blinking two times suddenly everything turned back to normal as I look at him again properly and I study his white gloved hand before grabbing it in a practiced motion as I keep on with the old scrip that I memorize long ago.

Walking close to him I follow as we pass long dark hallways that was only illuminated the flashing of lightning during the current storm and a few dark oakwood doors each one seemed taller and more menacing than the last before entering a fairly large kitchen that I grew to love and spent most of my time in.

He led me to an kitchen island with a marbled top so shiny I see my face's reflection clearly along with a few stool chair with actual leather covers and I carefully climb before proceeding to watch him prepare me a tea and some of his prized cookies.

While waiting I got lost in my thoughts as I re-assess on what to do in this reset.

'What do I do now? does it even matter?'

'Do we even matter?' the small voice questioned in my ear.

I remember the times I try to use the past knowledge I have to get closer to them but........

'nothing really works for us anyway' again they lean in my shoulder and reply with a whisper.

No matter how hard I try, everything I sacrificed, anything I do nothing happens, sure there were some........... progress but I always get cut off by another death.

'We're just born to do this shit all over again' they spit out now with more anger in their voice with sharp nails digging on my skin.

If nothing else works then.......

Looking down at my bandage hand filled with little doodles from the other children in the orphanage and some cute yet old sticky cartoon bandaids, I relaxed my small hands on the flat marbled surface and breathe out.

I got nothing to lose, 2790 resets made me understand how dumb and starved I am for attention and love.

'So hungry and leaving us Starving-!' They groan and wail in pain before vanishing away.

Snapping my head up I see Alfred gently pushing a nice steaming cup of tea in front of me as well as some cookies on a plate.

I slowly reach out and take the cup before blowing on the warm tea I took a tiny sip and relish the hidden memories that this tea have brought me.

As I stare at my reflection I see it ripples as my hands shake and my body soon followed as I sniffled and hiccup, Alfred the ever gentleman that he is carefully took a hold of the tea cup as I cry finally cry out.

I cry till my eyes are puffy, I cry as let all the pain I have endured for so long, I cry out and childishly try to wipe off my snot as I asked for my mother to come back.

I cry because

I can.

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After finishing my tea and the cookies Alfred asked me if I wanted to wait for 'my father' before I go to my 'new' bedroom.

'They' shook their head and blared a large rough 'X' in the air.

"No,...... it's fine maybe tomorrow". I said looking down before turning up to Alfred and set my plan in motion.

"Mr. Alfred?". I asked as I gently tugged on his slacks making him look down to me.

"Yes young master?". He angles down to me as he put away the dried dishes.

I see 'their' wide and sharky smile behind Alfred's shoulder before going away.

"Can I stay with you?". I asked tightening my hold on him.

'From now on, nothing else matters except you.........If we can't get a family out of this shitty one then We'll make a new one' They murmur down while twirling a small baby hair on my nape.

But first-

We'll have to prepare for a little reunion.

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U I A U I A A U U I I A

Taglist later because I'm now entertaining food coma bleh *dies*

[ink-stainedkiss]

Tattoo Artist Satoru Gojo Headcannons

*Not proofread sorry I got to excited and immediately wanted to post this.*

Tattoo Artist!Gojo who is ecstatic when you walk through his shop doors. As you scan the lobby, looking at different tattoo ideas, Gojo sneakily walks over to his employee, who is mainly the receptionist, but he tells her to take a break since she’s working so hard.

Tattoo Artist!Gojo who listens very carefully to your explanation. His eyes scanning over your form to uh…get an understanding of where you want the tattoo, yeah, that’s right. He quickly perks up when you tell him you want the ink on your ribs, your hand tracing right under your breast.

Tattoo Artist!Gojo who flirts with you shamelessly while others in the room work on their clients.

“So you want it on your ribs, huh?” He asks, inspecting the reference photo you brought in for him. You hum in confirmation,”Yes, is that going to be a problem?” The artist shakes his head,”No not at all, but I’m supposed to tell you that it’s not going to feel amazing.”

Gojo watches as you start to pull up your hoodie sleeve, revealing your arm covered in gorgeous drawings,”I think I’ll handle it.” Gojo gave you a smirk, but on the inside he was still gawking at your arm. If you too were alone, he probably wouldn’t be able to help himself. He stepped back from the counter, slyly lifting his arms to “stretch”, and doesn’t mind how you peek at the slip of skin from his lifted shirt. To add the cherry on top, he catches your eyes, and gives you a flirty wink.

Tattoo Artist!Gojo who has to bite his own fist to contain any crude sounds from escaping as you walk past, telling him,”I came here to get a tattoo, pretty boy, not to be teased.”

Tattoo Artist!Gojo who trails after you like an excited puppy to the back tables. He tells you to take off your hoodie, hoping that after he can tell you to take off more. You clearly aren’t shy, because even the way you take off you jacket makes you ten times hotter.

Tattoo Artist!Gojo who believes he hit the mother load as he sees the scattered markings of tattoos across your body, since you so gratefully decided to wear a tank top to his store. As he preps the stencil, he can’t help but take glances as you hop up onto the bed. His eyes linger on your bra strap, noting the scarlet material shining through your practically transparent tank top.

Tattoo Artist!Gojo who has to keep his face neutral when he asks you to lift your top. His jaw tightens at the sight of your bare skin and he has to tell himself to be professional. It’s just so hard when you're laid out on his medical bed and looking so, so, perfect.

Tattoo Artist!Gojo who chuckles when you let out a small squeak as he applies the cold sterile wipe on your skin, his azure eyes locking onto your for only a second, before he’s looking away. The tension in the room is thick and he loves every second of it.

Tattoo Artist!Gojo who loves seeing you flustered by his intense staring.

He tilts his head and gives you a sultry smile, asking,”Are you ready?” His mouth twisting in a lazy grin. You open your mouth to respond, but you can’t, instead you look away, a blush reaching your cheeks,”Mhm.” You hate how his small laughs make your heart flutter.

He begins to trace your tattoo, but as the needle hits your skin, you inhale sharply. Of course it’s not pleasant, but it wasn’t agonizing. Gojo flicks his eyes back and forth, checking in on you and making sure he doesn’t mess up your tattoo. As he glides the tool down, it hits a spot that makes you gasp, impulsively grabbing ahold of Gojo’s hand that rests on your stomach. He doesn’t mind, hell, he loves the fact that your using his hand as a vice. His smirk grows as you squeeze his hand each time the needle punctures your skin a bit too hard.

To soothe you, his thumb gently caresses your skin, and it seems to work.

Tattoo Artist!Gojo who praises you immensely once the tattoo is done. He finds the sparkle in your eye as you stare at the ink in the large mirror adorable. While most will say he’s just charming you, he honestly finds you stronger than most that walk in. Especially because it was a rib tattoo. He’s seen some men that have gotten the same and walk out of the shop with tear stains coating their cheeks. But you didn’t even need one break.

Tattoo Artist!Gojo who grins as you examine your new tattoo in the mirror.

“Ya know, it kinda matches mine.” Without waiting a second, Gojo is lifting his shirt, making you go beet red. His abs make their way into your vision, but the artist is turning around before you can look any longer. There on his back are beautiful marks, etching from his shoulder blacks, to the bottom of his back.And dear god, it’s gorgeous. Everything. The ink to just his figure. He’s large. You reach out a hand to feel, but you instinctively yank it back, embarrassed at your actions.

Gojo had seen it in the mirror and chuckled under his breath,”It’s alright, you can touch. I don’t bite.” He purred,”Unless you want me too.”You were speechless by his boldness. It was super hot, but you wouldn’t tell him that. You hesitated, but the tattoo was practically calling to you. Finally, your soft fingers traced over the sketches, making Gojo let out a shaky breath.

You started at his shoulders, dragging down till you hit his spine. Gojo obviously had a sensitive spot, because you were sure you heard a muffled groan.Gaining more confidence, you use both hands, massaging his sculpted back,”It's breathtaking.” That’s it. That’s all Gojo needed to snap, because in an instant he’s flipping around, stealing your lips in a hot and needy kiss.

Tattoo Artist!Gojo who makes his employees question why your tattoo is taking so long and why his room is locked…

[darksturnz]

A LITTLE LIGHT

i hope everyone who celebrates is having a great Christmas eve! it honestly doesn’t even feel like it’s christmas tho :,) anyways here’s a sappy holiday blurb!

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, Star stood on her porch, the gift she’d spent hours wrapping cradled in her arms. Across the lot, Chris’s trailer glowed faintly with the light of a single window. It was beat up, like all the trailers here, but tonight it seemed more inviting than usual. Maybe it was the thought of Evelyn being home, or Lila’s enthusiasm for the holidays, but something about it pulled her in.

Evelyn had opened the door before Star even had the chance to knock.

“Hi, sweetheart!” Evelyn greeted her with a warm smile, her voice carrying the faint rasp of someone who had been through more than her share of battles. But tonight, there was a brightness in her that matched the twinkle in her eye. “Come in, come in—it’s cold out there!”

Star smiled, stepping inside and kicking off her boots at the door. The trailer smelled like cinnamon and pine, and for a moment, she felt as though she had stepped into a scene from one of those holiday movies Madison was always trying to get her to watch.

“Ma, you’re supposed to be resting,” came Chris’s voice from the kitchen. He appeared a moment later, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. His hair was slightly messy, as though he’d been running his hands through it while working. His eyes landed on Star, softening just a fraction.

“Chris, I’ve been resting for weeks, I’m not dead yet,” Evelyn shot back, already making her way to a box of ornaments sitting by the couch. She moved carefully, but there was a stubborn determination in her every step. “If I don’t help decorate this tree, who’s going to stop Lila from putting all the ornaments in one spot?”

Chris let out a small sigh but didn’t argue. Instead, he turned to Star, his expression softening even further. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Star replied, feeling a flutter in her chest she still wasn’t used to.

“Chris, help me with the lights!” Lila’s voice rang out from somewhere near the couch. The six-year-old was already untangling a mess of string lights, her curls bouncing as she pulled on the strands with the determination of someone three times her age.

Chris glanced at Star, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “Guess you’re on ornament duty.”

The next hour was a flurry of activity. Lila darted around the room, her excitement infectious as she insisted on showing Star every ornament she pulled from the box.

“This one’s my favorite,” Lila said, holding up a glittery snowflake with a missing point. “I made it when I was little.”

“You were so much littler, huh?” Star teased, helping Lila hang the snowflake on a low branch where she could reach.

Chris worked silently but efficiently, stringing the lights around the tree with a practiced ease. Star couldn’t help but watch him from time to time, her heart softening at the sight of him crouching to adjust the lights at Lila’s height or standing back to admire his work with a faint nod of approval.

Evelyn refused to sit still. She was everywhere at once, hanging garlands, offering decorating tips, and reminiscing about Christmases past.

“Chris used to hate Christmas when he was Lila’s age,” Evelyn said with a laugh, hanging a wreath near the window. “He’d complain about the cold and the noise, but the second the gifts came out, he’d be the happiest kid in the world.”

“Ma,” Chris groaned, his ears turning pink.

Star bit back a laugh. “Sounds like he’s always been a little grinchy.”

“Not always,” Evelyn said, giving Chris a fond look. “He used to draw me Christmas cards every year—these beautiful little sketches of trees and snow. I still have them in a box somewhere.”

Chris looked away, busying himself with adjusting a strand of lights.

“Did he ever make you anything, Lila?” Star asked, smiling at the girl.

“He drew me a princess last christmas,” Lila said proudly. “But she had armor, ‘cause Chris said princesses don’t need saving.”

Star glanced at Chris, who was still pretending not to hear. She couldn’t help but smile.

As they worked, Evelyn turned to Star. “What about you, sweetheart? What does your family do for the holidays?”

Star hesitated, the warmth of the room suddenly feeling a little too close. She hadn’t expected the question, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure how to answer.

“My mom passed away a while ago,” she said finally, keeping her voice steady. “And my dad’s… away for the holidays. On a trip.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but the weight of the words hung in the air.

Evelyn’s face softened, her hand resting lightly on Star’s arm. “I’m sorry, honey. That must be hard.”

“It’s fine,” Star said quickly, forcing a small smile. 

For a moment, the room grew quiet, the cheerful buzz of activity paused. Then, Lila broke the silence.

“s’okay, Star,” she said brightly, tugging on her hand. “You can come over with us for Christmas!”

Star blinked, the sudden warmth in her chest catching her off guard. “Oh, I—”

“She’s right,” Evelyn said gently. “We’d love to have you.”

Lila leaned closer, cupping her hand to Star’s ear and whispering loudly, “Chris already got you a present anyway.”

“Bug.” Chris turned, his voice half-annoyed, half-embarrassed.

“What? It’s true!” Lila said, grinning innocently.

Star glanced at Chris, who was now very focused on untangling a nonexistent knot in the lights.

“Can’t wait to see what it is,” Star teased, her smile softening as Chris muttered something under his breath.

The trailer had transformed by the time they were done. The little tree sparkled with mismatched ornaments, glittering lights, and Lila’s signature touches—a cluster of candy canes in one spot and a crooked star on top. Garland draped over the windows, and a few candles flickered on the kitchen counter, their glow soft and warm.

Evelyn sat on the recliner, a satisfied smile on her face. “This is the best it’s looked in years,” she said, looking around the room. “You kids did good.”

Chris shook his head, pretending to brush off the compliment, but Star caught the faint smile tugging at his lips.

“It looks perfect,” Star said, standing beside him. Her shoulder brushed his, and he didn’t move away this time.

“Yeah,” he said softly, glancing down at her. “It does.”

Evelyn watched them with a knowing look, but for once, she didn’t say anything.

They all settled down on the couch and recliner with mugs of cocoa. Lila climbed into Star’s lap, chattering away about how she’d convinced Chris to let her pick out the tree (“He said no at first, but then I looked at him like this—” she demonstrated with wide, pleading eyes—“and he said fine!”).

Chris rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, sipping his cocoa quietly.

“I remember the year Chris tried to make eggnog” Evelyn said suddenly, her eyes sparkling with laughter.

“Ma, don’t,” Chris said, groaning.

“Oh, I’m telling this one,” Evelyn said with a grin. She turned to Star. “He was about thirteen, and he decided he wanted to make Christmas special. So, he found this recipe for eggnog—except he didn’t have half the ingredients, so he just improvised.”

“It was fine,” Chris muttered.

“It was terrible,” Evelyn corrected. “It curdled! And the kitchen smelled like spoiled milk for days. But he was so proud of it, and he made me drink an entire glass.”

Star couldn’t hold back her laugh, and even Chris, despite his embarrassment, let out a low chuckle.

“Don’t let her fool you,” Chris said, shaking his head. “She told me it was the best eggnog she’d ever had.”

“I couldn’t crush your little spirit,” Evelyn said with a mock-serious tone.

The sound of their laughter filled the room, blending with the warm glow of the lights. For a moment, Star forgot about everything else—the cold, her empty trailer, the ache of her father’s absence. Here, in this small space, surrounded by this messy, imperfect family, she felt a sense of belonging she hadn’t realized she’d been missing.

Lila’s energy finally waned, and she fell asleep curled up on the couch. Chris carried her to her room, tucking her in with the kind of care that always surprised Star. He didn’t speak, but the way he smoothed her curls and pulled the blanket up to her chin said everything.

When he returned, Evelyn was already making her way to her room.

“I think I’ll turn in too,” she said, but not before stopping to kiss Chris on the cheek. “Thank you for making this a good night.”

Chris looked embarrassed, but his smile lingered even after Evelyn turned to Star.

“You’re always welcome here, sweetheart,” Evelyn said softly, squeezing Star’s hand. “Don’t be a stranger.”

As Evelyn disappeared into her room, Star made her way to the door, Chris following behind her. She turned to say goodbye, but the words caught in her throat when Evelyn’s voice rang out from down the hall.

“Oh, would you look at that!” Evelyn said, peeking her head out of her bedroom with a cheeky grin. She pointed upward. “Mistletoe!”

Star blinked, her eyes darting to the doorway. Sure enough, there it was—a tiny, fake ornament hanging crookedly above the doorframe.

Chris groaned, his hand running through his hair. “Ma,” he muttered, his ears turning pink.

Evelyn only laughed, retreating into her room. “Goodnight, you two!”

Star turned back to Chris, her heart pounding. He looked down at her, his usual guarded expression faltering into something softer.

“Well,” Star said, trying to sound casual even as her voice wavered, “it’d be sorta rude not to follow tradition huh?”

Chris hesitated for a moment, his hand twitching at his side as though he wasn’t sure what to do. Then, slowly, he stepped closer.

The kiss was soft—gentle in a way that made Star’s chest ache. Chris’s hand came up to cup her cheek, and she leaned into him, her fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. It was different from the first time—less tentative, more certain.

When they finally pulled apart, Chris rested his forehead against hers, his eyes half-closed. “She’s gonna give me hell for this,” he muttered, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips.

Star laughed softly, her breath warm against his skin. “Worth it.”

Star stepped out into the cold night air, her cheeks still flushed. She made her way across the lot, the glow of Chris’s trailer fading behind her.

“Star!”

She stopped, turning just in time to see Chris jogging toward her. His breath curled in the air, and before she could ask what he was doing, he was there, pulling her close and kissing her again.

It was rougher this time—more urgent, as though he was afraid the moment might slip away. When he pulled back, his voice was low and unsteady.

“Don’t ever think you’re not part of something,” he said, his hand lingering on her waist. “Not anymore.”

Star stared at him, her heart pounding.

“Goodnight,” he said softly, his lips quirking into a faint smile before he turned and walked back to the trailer.

Star stood there for a moment, her breath visible in the cold night air. Then, with a small, dazed smile, she turned and went inside.

AUTHORS NOTE: did you catch what i did there or… ;3

TAG LIST: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @mattsmunch @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken @mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @bluestriips @sturniolo-fann @slut4brunettes

[kayla-and-the-moon]

baby, it's cold outside-! ᥫ᭡.

❄️plot: it's christmas eve and peter just really wants you stay, is that a crime?

❄️pairing: gn! reader x tasm!peter parker <3

❄️tw! : nothing just peter being a sweetpea/ best bf ever / darling dork. (dunno if minimal smooching counts as a tw-)

"god it's storming out there."

in your defense when you'd walked over here, the snow had been light, but now it seemed like the entirety of the world behind the window was a turbulent flurry of white. you'd come here to drop off some Christmas cookies your mom had baked, the problem was what was supposed to be a quick visit had turned into a couple hours.

of course you had one person to blame for that.

peter was practically engulfing you, his arms winding around your midriff and his face burying in your shoulder. you can feel the bastard's evil little grin against your sweater before he gives a hum of faux innocence.

"geez, that's really unfortunate", he tuts, his chin propping up to look at your unimpressed roll of the eyes in the window reflection, "I guess that means you'll have to stay huh?"

"pete, my dad would murder you."

"i think he'd murder me if I let you go out in this weather. so eitherway it's a death-death outcome, sweetheart."

it's honestly unfair how the nerd could turn you to all disarmed and smiley with a simple, dopey wisecrack of his. you have to stifle a snort of laughter before you turn to him with a brow raise. peter isn't deterred, but maybe even more motivated, and only just continues to look at you like you hung the moon itself.

"what? i'm just looking out for my girlfriend" he shrugs, but the stupid grin on his face belies those innocuous brown eyes of his.

you're almost persuaded to stay, but there's that niggling pinch of responsibility at the back of your mind, and you're once again looking outside as if your stared hard enough the sky would clear. no such luck, god, you wished the universe loved you enough to put its snowy tantrum on pause.

"it's not that bad, and my mom might get worried," you try reasoning, already picturing your mother's hysteria wondering if the multiple thugs lurking in new york's alleyways had taken you prisoner ,"really I should go-"

"you'll get pneumonia," he simply states with a pointed quirk of his brows, "plus we can always call."

"you know as well as I do that the cell service is unequivocally wrecked right now."

"then we'll call in the morning, your mom probably knows you're here," he counters, his fingertips drawing a path over your arms, "plus, I think she's caught on you're Spiderman's personal favorite civilian"

this brings a chuckle to slip from you, shaking your head at him.

"you're very pushy, peter parker" you roll your eyes, your arms crossing stubbornly over your chest.

peter can see right behind your facade though, and in all truth, he's feeling giddy as ever. he thinks he's the luckiest guy on earth when you grace him with that sweet smile rivaling sunshine.

"i'd just like to call it opportunistic," peter beams, the satisfaction evident in the glimmers of golden lamplight in his gaze.

"c'mon baby, don't make me beg here" he implores. lord, it should be forbidden for peter parker to call you that, since you have very little faith that your knees wouldn't buckle right that moment.

his hands find the curve of your waist and before you can even whisper the hint of another weak protest, he's dragged you to his bed, letting you fall on his chest with an unceremonious thump. you can't really bring yourself to tell him off, because peter has a way of making you all soft, and sticky with lovesickness. instead you just lean in to press a kiss of cinnamon sugar to his lips, and it's your turn to grin as he chases you after you pull away slightly.

your fingers toy with strands of his mousey brown hair at his nape as you give a theatrically defeated sigh, "okay fine, if you insist."

it's then you wish you could steal peter's camera just to capture the glow in his eyes, at your words, because truly you wanted to save that view forever. his palms rest on the apples of your cheeks, as he gives a low breathy laugh, his nose bumping to yours.

"that took a lot of convincing."

a/n: so this may be kinda rushed, so mind the quality, BUT i miss my tasm ! peter parker ,and i rlly rlly wanted to put out a christmas eve fic, and miss idina menzel and michael buble started this war (frank sinatra too, so blame them). eitherway, hope you liked this tiny lil fic, happy holidays ❄️🎅💕 !!

[fruitcoops]

Do They Know It's Christmas?

Happy holidays, lovelies! And most importantly, happy noot fic exchange/ secret Santa to @itsaash --you're a legend, a sweetheart, and a friend I hold near and dear to my heart. I hope everyone is staying safe and sound! You've made it through the shortest day of the year; it's only up from here! Thanks to @veryspacecowboy for coordinating the exchange and @lumosinlove for the characters!

TW for implied smut and mild Vaincre spoilers

Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus, right down Santa Claus Lane…

“Fourth line, take it left!”

…and all the fun we had last year…

“Good work, boys, remember we’re working clockwise.”

Run, run, Rudolph, Santa’s gotta make it to town…

“I know, I know, but we need to get that down before we break today.”

…come on, it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with…

“Keep those crossovers clean in the corners, Sunny!”

…the very next day, you gave it away…

Arthur frowned at his clipboard. An ache had started up along the inner corner of his eye, and not even the steady working of his thumb brought relief. The song changed to something bright and tinny with silver bells; the things he would give for a nice, quiet O, Holy Night right about now. Something soft, with minimal jangling. A saxophone would be lovely.

They had a schedule. They always had a schedule. The boys were used to rotation exercises—he had even taken pity and not added anything new or complicated to the roundup. The whole damn thing was laminated and taped to the damn glass around the damn bench on both damn sides of the goddamn rink.

Arthur’s eyes ticked typewriter-smooth down the list, but his ears alone would have told him it was a lost cause. Messy crossovers. From Sunny. Crunchy, scratchy steps from skates of perfect sharpness. Low muttering, barks of laughter, rollercoaster-arcs of chatting when they were supposed to be focusing. Cap did his best, but Harzy looked about two laps from chewing his way out through the boards.

Well. It was almost Christmas. He could be kind.

The whistle broke through Brenda Lee’s second chorus; 20 heads popped up.

“Revision!” Arthur called across the ice, drawing a steady line through the end of his list. “Bring it in.”

Their rush to the bench was the cleanest they had sounded all day.

“We’re going to finish a little early today—”

A wave of cheers cut him off, then petered out at his unimpressed glance.

“We’re finishing a little early,” he repeated when the Christmas spirit had released their souls at last, leaving only a faint ringing in the upper levels of the bleachers. “Because I’m taking off the last rotation.”

Arthur slipped his pen back into the clipboard clamp. Olli raised a tentative hand. “So…we can go…?”

Arthur frowned. “What? No, we’re going ‘til noon, if you just—guys, the schedule is right there—”

“Nooo—”

“But Coach—”

“��Christmas!—”

“I haven’t even—”

“—been here so long—”

“—like you don’t even love us—”

“—mom’s gonna kill me if I don’t—”

Unbelievable. Simply beyond words. Arthur looked over Nado’s pleading hands, hoping for an ounce of solidarity from the one person besides himself who was literally appointed for this duty, and was met with only a beleaguered, whale-eyed stare in return.

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

Sirius gazed back.

For such a large person, he could really pull off ‘sickly Victorian child begging for gruel’ when he wanted to.

“Alright,” Arthur muttered. It was lost in the sea of writhing and wailing. “Alright!”

The team (finally) fell somewhat silent.

“I am very sorry,” he began, pausing to slide his clipboard onto the bench hook. Their anticipation was delicious. “That I assumed a group of grown men playing their favorite game for millions of dollars would be able to handle one morning practice for their last competition before a holiday break.”

Pots’ eyebrows pitched as if he had been stabbed. “But Coach, it’s Christmas.”

“It is December 22nd.”

“I haven’t even found something for my dad yet!” Walker piped in.

“Sounds like a personal problem with time management.”

Pascal—the traitor—shuffled on his skates. “I was going to make holiday cookies with my children,” he said sadly. “They grow up so fast. We might not have many years of it left.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’m letting you go at noon, not locking you in here overnight. And I know you make cookies on Christmas Eve, because you put them on my doorstep every year.”

Pascal tsked, but didn’t deny it.

“You get cookies?” O’Hara perked up, craning his neck to look at Pacal. “How come we don’t get cookies?”

“Because I don’t need you to like me,” Pascal said with a smile.

“What if we need to catch flights?” Knut interrupted.

Arthur squinted at him. “Knut, we have a game tomorrow. You better not be going anywhere.”

“Well, no, but the sentiment stands.”

“No, it does n—you know what, fine, if you make it through…” Arthur leaned around the glass to squint at his beautiful, crisp schedule. “Your next two—TWO, I don’t wanna hear it—rotations before 11:30, I will let you out then.”

“And no lift tonight?” Kuny asked hopefully.

“Don’t push it.”

“Veto.”

Budding protests froze over in one collective puff of breath.

…the stars are brightly shining…

“What?” Arthur asked at last.

A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices…

Sirius licked his lips, shifting from one foot to the other. “Veto.”

Arthur opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Every eye in the room was fixed on their captain. He rested his chin on top of his hands, folded on his stick. Lupin’s gaze flickered back and forth.

“But I…” Arthur faltered, gesturing at the schedule.

“I get three.”

“It’s not even 9:30.”

“No questions asked.”

“We have a game.”

“It’s snowing outside.”

“How do you know that?” Arthur asked despairingly.

A grin skipped across his face. “I’m Canadian. I can smell it a mile off.”

“Also, Tremzy texted everyone right before practice,” O’Hara added.

“It’s snowing, have fun at practice, you fucking losers, ha-ha,” Knut recited with a grave nod.

“No, no,” Sirius corrected. “My bones are made of snow and I was born with hockey skates in one hand and a thermometer in the other.”

“That, I believe.”

Arthur waved his hands between them before the already-unbearable situation could get any worse. “Let me just…” His headache was coming back. Going home early was starting to sound less terrible by the minute. “You, as captain, get three vetoes across the span of your contract.”

“Ouais.”

“Which you can use to veto any practice you want, for any reason, with no questions asked by me or other staff.”

“That’s what I signed, yes.”

“And you’re using it on a snow day? With barely two hours left of practice? Before a game and a week off?”

Sirius smiled. “Veto.”

“Lupin.” A last-ditch effort. Perhaps a dirty play, but it was warranted. “Lupin, don’t you have anniversary plans? Birthdays? Anything else he can use this on?”

The captain’s barely-contained mischief was bad enough. Lupin’s mild bemusement was worse. “I’m sorry, Coach, but I can’t question a veto from my captain.”

Arthur scanned the crowd of hopeful faces. Sometime in the last minute and a half, Knut had slipped his phone off the bench and was doing his best to text under Winter’s elbow. Kelly Clarkson sang along to his imminent defeat. He sighed, shook his head, and opened the gate. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Nobody moved.

Arthur blinked. “Merry Christmas?”

Not a twitch.

“Ho-ho-ho, get out.”

The dispersal was the most active they had been all day, surging forward in one mass of whooping red and gold. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Moody turn the music up a notch before hustling back into his office.

The herd had vanished down the tunnel in a matter of seconds. Arthur shook his head, turned his smile toward the empty rink, and pulled out his phone.

--

The locker room was a disaster.

“Don’t pull so hard!” Leo grunted as he fought to wriggle out of his jersey, hopping on one socked foot while Finn tried to help him out of his remaining skate. “I’m gonna fall, I’m gonna fall, Kasey—”

An elbow to the ribs righted him. “Yeah, no, I’m on my way out,” Kasey called over the ruckus, sandwiching his phone between his ear and shoulder. “Yeah, lemme get my shoes on. Al’s driving? Jesus, maybe I’ll just walk.”

“A tie is bad, right? That’s a bad gift?”

“T, I’m sure your dad will love anything you get him.”

“But I got him one for his birthday.”

Remus grimaced for just a moment, but it was enough. Thomas dropped his head into his hands with a groan.

“No, hey, it’s a good gift!” Remus tried, patting his shoulder. “Does he have a lot of ties?”

“He’s more of a sweater guy.”

“T.”

“I know, I know, I know.” Thomas sighed. His head fell back against his stall, then rolled toward Remus as his lip slid out in a pout. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Did Remus have to give him a minute with this one? He was a little afraid he did. “T,” he started. “Your dad likes sweaters.”

“Yeah.”

“So get him sweaters.”

“But what if he doesn’t like them?”

Remus took him by the shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. “He likes you.”

Thomas made a desperate sound and rolled his head the other way, then heaved himself upright. “I need to go outside. The cold clears my mind.”

“Way ahead of you!” Finn shouted over his shoulder, one hand clasped in Leo’s and the other on the doorknob with his skates teetering dangerously over his shoulder.

Leo hoisted their duffel bags, shuffling through the narrow doorframe with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. He gave them one last clumsy wave with a glove half-on. “Lo sends his love, even if he’ll never say it!”

“Yes, I’m coming,” Kasey laughed, presumably still to Natalie. He caught the door with his foot just as it was beginning to close; Remus grabbed the edge of it from him and waved off both his grateful look and mouthed thank you. “Yes, baby,” Kasey repeated. “Usual spot. On my way.”

It was a disaster, and then as fast as they had all tumbled in, everyone flooded out. A few of the newer guys remained, muffled by the hum of the showers. Dumo ruffled up Sirius’ hair as he passed, preoccupied by Celeste’s rapid-fire French on the phone and the hustle of his light jog. Remus was pretty sure he caught some mention of the park; there was one near their house with a pond that froze around this time of year. He was a little surprised Logan wasn’t already staking his claim on it.

Sirius’ arm was around him before he even started to sit. It made for the perfect guide and counterbalance, settling him firmly on a denim-clad thigh with a kiss to seal it in seconds. “Hey,” Sirius mumbled against his shoulder blade.

“Hi, trouble,” Remus laughed.

Sirius hummed, obviously pleased, and gave him a squeeze around the waist. “That felt good.”

“Using your powers for evil?”

“Mhm.” Another pulse, this time with a cheeky pinch to his hip. “And you.”

Remus scoffed, swatting at him, but couldn’t help leaning back into his warmth all the same. He was lucky Sirius couldn’t see the heat of his face, too preoccupied with nuzzling his way across the span of Remus’ back to leave a kiss at the top notch of his spine before burying his nose in the divot below. Odd creature, that one. Remus liked him far too much. “What are you doing?”

“You smell good.”

“I haven’t showered.”

“I noticed.”

Remus bit the inside of his cheek for a moment. He gave the room a cursory glance—the stragglers were just finishing up, too engrossed in whatever wisdom James was bestowing on them to notice the graze of Sirius’ teeth over the arch of his shoulder. “I was thinking,” Remus started, then lowered his voice. “Was thinking we could do it at home instead.”

Sirius’ smile pressed bright and devious to his skin. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Am I invited?”

“Unless I’ve started using the royal ‘we’,” Remus teased, digging his elbow lightly back into the curve of Sirius’ rib.

His laugh was soft, but the pat to Remus’ outer thigh was perfectly heavy with promise. “Get your bag.”

News of their early departure had obviously reached the ears of the rest of the training staff, because the halls were stark in their emptiness on the way out, after many goodbyes to James and promises of dinner tonight. Remus had been dying for some actual holiday time—he had planned gifts months in advance, dedicated an entire Monday to wrapping, agonized over delivery times and game schedules and delays.

But he was craving the substance of it, the literal meat and potatoes of people coming over to ooh and aah at the ornaments over dinner by the fire. Most of all, he wanted some time that was theirs. A brief moment to enjoy the lights and the smell of fir with just himself, Sirius, and the dog. It had been…three weeks? More? Since they put the wreaths and boughs up around the house. He was pretty sure that was the last time they had been able to do holiday things that didn’t involve obviously sneaking off to get gifts for each other.

Sirius seemed to feel the same. They had hardly made it past the PT room before he was pulled into an empty hallway for a kiss that melted in his mouth like butterscotch. He hummed, pushing into it, but Sirius just took him by the hips and pressed him back against the wall. Okayokayokayokayokay came the giddy whirl of the end of his thoughts.

“This.” Sirius’ mouth moved against his jaw, threatening a mark above his pulse point. “This is what I was after.”

“Cancelling practice just to kiss me,” Remus said, breathless already. His throat caught at a flash of teeth under his ear. “So irresponsible.”

Sirius’ eyes were bright and playful. “And I’d do it again.”

They got away with another minute—or five—before footsteps sounded down the other hall. Remus took him by the hand and pulled him toward the parking lot at a brisk, tumbling clip, sneakers pattering on the floors Filch was waiting to wax until they were all gone for the break. Hooligans, he called them. It echoed in Remus’ head as he kissed Sirius stupid in the hall beside the display cases. If only he could see them now.

The air bit his face as soon as they stepped outside, hot and kiss-fresh. Remus could hear voices around the corner but Sirius’ hand was sliding ever-lower and he just—“There’s people!” he hissed, fighting his grin with a blind bat backwards.

Sirius was too fast. A firm grab made him hoot, startling a laugh from both of them. “The entire world has seen us making out in a car, loup,” he snorted. “I think that’s worse.”

It was only the Cubs, after all, and half a snowman wearing a disjointed collection of gear. Leo’s oh-so-subtle text must have done the trick to summon Logan out of his holiday relaxation. He had only flown in that morning after the Rangers’ last game, but he seemed plenty awake despite the journey.

“You’re making me cold just looking at you,” he argued, adjusting his beanie over Leo’s ears while Finn finished rolling the head beside them. “You’ve lived here for years, and still you forget a hat?”

“Merci, baby.” Leo tried to sound begrudging while he obediently bent to let Logan work, but it only came off as fond. Remus could relate.

“And Fish just lets you walk out of the house like this. Unbelievable. It’s snowing.”

“It wasn’t snowing when we left,” Leo pointed out. “I seem to remember a ha-ha, losers text informing us of the change.”

Logan’s tsk was sharp as black ice while he tenderly tucked Leo’s curls under the hat’s knitted edge and kissed each of his cheeks. “Completely frozen over,” he informed Leo. “You’re welcome.”

“Now you’re going to get cold.”

Whatever disbelieving expression Logan made was lost to Remus as Sirius ushered him around the back of the car, but his scoff was plenty audible. “I’m Canadian. I don’t get cold.”

Sirius’ forehead hit the steering wheel the moment their doors closed. “I want to be home,” he complained.

“You’re in the right place to get there.”

“I don’t want to drive.”

“I can do it.”

A pathetic sigh heaved his back and shoulders. “I don’t want to wait fifteen minutes.”

Remus tugged on the back of his hat. “Not that I’ll ever say no to a little New Year’s action, but I feel like we just covered why that’s not a great idea in broad daylight.”

Sirius groaned, grumbled, and turned the car on.

Between salt and the morning commute, the roads were mostly clear. The familiar crunch of snow under tires pulled half of Remus’ brain from the rink; the other half followed at a sluggish pace, coaxed away by radio carols and the mindless chatter the two of them somehow managed in spite of spending eighty percent of their time together. The window was cold on the side of his head. Remus never liked freezing, but there was something about a snow day that always felt like home.

The house lights cast red and green glimmers over Sirius when they pulled in. They were working on getting decorations he liked; things he actually wanted, not just what Instagram said he should use. It wasn’t a lot yet, but it was a start. The icicle lights above the door had been a particularly good find.

They were greeted by a loud bark and the scrabble of paws. Hattie careened around the corner from the living room (she had taken to dozing under the tree) and spun herself at their feet in a few tight circles for maximum petting efficiency.

“We’re home so early!” Sirius cooed, gathering her wiggly body up in his lap like she was still tiny. “Oh, you’re so excited. Did we surprise you?”

“We were so mean to poor Coach,” Remus agreed as he dodged her lolling tongue. “Yes, baby, so mean, but now we’ll be home all day.”

Hattie keened and whined and nibbled on everything in reach for a tolerable thirty seconds, then launched herself out of Sirius’ lap and made a beeline for her toy box. She had hardly made it halfway to them when a cardinal flitted past outside—her ears spiked up, body puffing on a low bwoof. Remus barely got the screen door open before she was off like a bird-seeking missile, cutting through the snow in leaps and bounds.

They dumped their gear in the mudroom, made a snack, planned lunch, played with the dog, dried the dog, cleaned her paws, and finally—finally—they were standing in the same room, with nothing to do for another hour at least.

“Hi,” Remus said, heart kicking.

Sirius smiled. “Hello.”

Hattie’s teeth squealed on her peanut-butter-filled toy.

They wasted no time for foolishness on the stairs. A sweater on the ribbon-wrapped banister; socks in the hall. Sirius’ pants didn’t even make it across the bathroom threshold, belt clattering on the floor. Remus turned the shower on with his eyes closed because he quite simply could not be bothered to spare more than one hand.

“C’mere,” he murmured into Sirius’ mouth, even as he stepped backward under the spray. “C’mere, don’t move.”

Sirius’ response was wordless and perfect.

Steam built around them, chasing off the chill. The house was decorated. The presents were wrapped. Meals were planned, the dog was busy, and Remus was tired but he was so, so awake now, with ink-black hair wound around his fingers and a boy that held him so the hot water never left him.

Sirius rested his head on Remus’ shoulder and went lax at the drag of a soapy hand over his back. “So good.” His mouth rested at the curve of Remus’ jaw. Every word cooled his skin. “So good to me.”

“Doing my best,” Remus joked with a scritch to his nape.

Sirius raised his head, blinking sleepily around the water that spilled down his face. “I don’t remember the last time I wasn’t scrambling for gifts this time of year.”

“I do.”

“Mm?”

“Last year.” Remus smudged a few soap bubbles down the bridge of his nose. “Shopping for you.”

Sirius’ forehead wrinkled. “Me?”

“I was being cranky,” Remus assured him, running his thumbs over Sirius’ collarbones. He didn’t have a lot of soap left, but he would be shameless and greedy about touching like this. “Lily knocked some sense into me.”

“She’s good at that.”

“The best.”

“And she’s lucky to have you.” A kiss pushed the side of his hair into a cowlick; Sirius grinned as he smoothed it down with one hand. “Trop mignon.”

Hot hot hot hot hot. Remus wrapped both arms around his waist and sank his teeth into the knot of soft muscle above Sirius’ heart. Sirius’ laugh jostled him, but that was fine. He was used to it. “I love the holidays with you.” One last little kiss to his neck, to the spot he had bitten the other night and made Sirius’ leg tremble. “I love you.”

“I’m going to veto every single practice forever.”

“No,” Remus laughed, swaying them back and forth. He covered Sirius’ wicked smile with his hand and kissed the back of it. “No, non, not allowed.”

“But I get kisses and showers and I love you’s and dinner—” His hands skimmed up and down Remus’ sides, running over wet skin with the expertise of someone who knew all his soft spots. “—and you bite me and our dog loves us and we get to see James and Lily tonight—”

Remus cut him off with his lips this time. “Your perfect day,” he whispered, though it was just them in the house. “Sounds pretty close to mine.”

“Copycat.”

“Maybe we should just stick together,” Remus offered. Sirius’ fingertips found his own, lacing together all too easily. “For maximum perfect-day concentration, you know.”

“Nothing else, of course,” Sirius agreed.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“I put mistletoe above our bedroom door when we were decorating.”

“Amateur. I put it on the ceiling above our bed.”

[frozenchihuahua]

Christmas miracle! I finally added it wohoo ;_;

Chapter 2 - Battleships

The week flew by in a blur, and Friday afternoon found Simon once again standing outside Y/N’s office. Despite the passage of days, his mood hadn’t improved much since their first session. Though his hostility had lightly dulled, therapy still felt like a necessary evil rather than something helpful.

The door was slightly ajar, revealing woman seated on a couch inside, a folder of papers in her lap. She seemed lost in thought as she flipped through the pages.

Simon pushed the door open with a sour smirk under mask. “On time today, huh? Guess miracles do happen.”

She glanced up and met his teasing tone with a warm smile. “It’s not a habit of mine to be late.” she said, setting the folder aside. “Last time was an unwanted exception, and trust me, i avoid exceptions. They tend to…poorly.”

Simon’s brow lifted in mild intrigue, though he masked it with a nonchalant shrug. “End poorly?” he echoed, lowering himself into the chair opposite her.

She chuckled lightly, her tone playful. “Oh, nothing you need to worry about. Let’s just say punctuality saves lives. But enough about that, let’s dive into today’s session.” She gestured toward the table between them, where a sheet of paper and a couple of pencils lay in wait.

Simon followed her gesture and frowned. “What’s this supposed to be?”

She clasps her hands. “Today, we’re playing a game.” she announced with a sincere grin.

He blinked at her, incredulous. “A game? You’re fucking kidding me?”

“Therapy takes many forms” Y/N countered, folding her hands casually in her lap. “This time, it’s Battleship. Think of it as strategy practice, for the mind, of course.”

Simon leaned back, skepticism etched into every line of his face. “And how’s playing a game going to fix my mental health?”

Her smile deepened, her voice softening slightly. “Now it’s not about fixing you. You’ve had a rough week. Today, we’re taking the pressure off, no deep dives into feelings, no forced conversations. Just a bit of a active reset.”

He crossed his arms, his stoicism firmly in place. “And if I decide not to play?”

She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with a teasing edge. “Then you can always tell me about your feelings instead, you have a choice.” She makes blunt remark with a wink.

Despite himself, Simon smirked, shaking his head. “Alright, fine,” he muttered, grabbing a pencil. “Let’s play your damn game.”

As the game start, Simon played with an air of indifference, his pencil scratching over the paper with a mix of frustration and slow resignation. Y/N matched his pace in game, but her demeanor calm and composed, though her warm smile didn’t waver. Every so often, Simon’s frustration slipped through in the form of sharp remarks.

“So, this is therapy now? Drawing grids and guessing coordinates? You sure i didn’t walk into the wrong room?” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm as he marked a miss on his side of the grid.

Y/N chuckled softly, not rising to his bait. “It’s strategic thinking, stress relief, and maybe even a little fun, though you seem determined to avoid that last part.”

“Fun?” Simon snorted, glancing at her briefly before looking back down at the grid. “Yeah, nothing says fun like pretending we don't waste time while i get lectured by a therapist.”

She raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Who’s lecturing? I’m just sinking your battleship.”

Simon’s jaw twitched as he glanced at his paper. “You didn’t sink it yet.”

“Not yet” she agreed with a teasing grin. “But I’m getting close. B4.”

He grumbled under his breath, marking another hit. “Lucky guess.”

“Sure” she replied lightly, though her tone hinted at a playful challenge. “It’s all luck.”

They played on in a strange rhythm, Y/N’s calm, measured demeanor met with Simon’s clipped retorts and occasional cutting remarks. Every now and then, she’d glance up from her paper, her warm gaze briefly meeting his stormy one. He always looked away first, a flicker of discomfort crossing his masked face.

“How’s your week been, aside from tolerating this?” she asked casually as she marked a miss on her side.

Simon shrugged, not looking up. “Same as always.”

“And always is…?”

“Busy.” he replied shortly, his tone making it clear he wasn’t interested in elaborating. “F7.”

“Miss.” she said, jotting it down. “Busy can be good, though. Keeps the mind occupied.”

“Yeah, because that’s what I need, more distractions.” Simon muttered, his voice tinged with bitterness.

Y/N paused for a moment, her pencil hovering over the grid. “Distractions can be a double edged sword” she said carefully. “Sometimes they help, sometimes they just delay things.”

Simon snorted, a bitter edge to his laugh. “And you think this game isn’t a distraction?”

She met his gaze steadily. “Yeah it is, for steam off. Sometimes, a little distraction is the first step toward lowering the walls. We won't get anywhere if there's tension between us.”

Simon didn’t respond, turning his attention back to the grid. He called out another coordinate, his tone brusque. “C3.”

She marked a hit, her smile faint but knowing. “Nice shot.”

The game ended with a narrow victory for Simon, though his triumph was muted by his reluctance to engage. As he leaned back, arms crossed, he studied Amalia for a moment, as if trying to figure her out.

“You really think this is going to work?” he asked suddenly, his voice low but pointed.

Woman gathered up the game sheets, her expression thoughtful. “I think it’s a good start.” she said simply. “And sometimes, that’s all we need.”

[randomfoggytiger]

"No One Gets There Alone"

The X-Files and Beauty and the Beast 1987 crossover. A sequel of sorts to "I Know You. It's What I Do."

Dedicated to @amplifyme, once again (and always), for introducing me to the World Below.

*-*-*-*-*

It was a year later: cancer had taken root, and Dana Scully hadn’t thought about the significance of age thirty-two since she emerged from the New York tunnels. 

“Thirty-three,” she murmured, staring at the Apollo 11 eagle and stars twirling around and around with her keys.

“What?” Mulder turned away from the basement door, his own keys suspended mid-air as his chin tilted to match hers.

She rolled the moment away, rolled her head sideways, rolled her thumb once more over her birthday medallion before trotting forward down the hallway, coat swishing in time with his and her steps.

He caught up effortlessly and beat her to the car.

*-*-*-*-*

“Thirty-three,” Mulder said over noodles, taking a quick, wolfish breath to blow over his soup broth.

Of course he wouldn’t let this go. “What about it?”

They could have danced around the issue, takeout paper bowls heating their clammy hands as each probed and deflected further and further from the more personal, perilous nature of his request. 

“Seemed… big, back there.” 

Big: a detached, all-inclusive, non-committal catch-all. Scully appreciated the tact.

“It’s just.” She pursed her lips, lowered her increasingly stained chopsticks. “Last year, when we investigated the string of murders in in New York--”

“The deaths in Central Park?” Mulder was shifting: not just his posture-- his whole demeanor was withdrawing, drawing into himself. Odd, she thought. Another twist inline with journal peeping and birthday acknowledgements.

“We never discussed it in-depth but… the woman I told you about, Diana Bennett? She said something that I’d forgotten-- until tonight, oddly enough.” 

“What?”

“‘I was thirty-two when my life changed'. I guess what struck me is... I was thirty-two then; and she knew, somehow. She said she wanted to help me 'start my own thirty-two'." This was rapidly evolving into an important conversation; and one, Scully decided, rising to store her soup in the kitchen, that required purposed focus. She returned empty-handed, noticing her partner had set his food aside. “It didn’t…. It didn’t hit me until now that Melissa was thirty-two when I was taken against my will, and returned. And that Melissa was thirty-three when she was murdered.” 

His mouth popped open; his breaths slowed, stilled, through practiced concentration. “And that means...?” 

“I don’t know. All I know is, I'm now the same age my sister was when she died."

“When she was murdered, Scully.” The distinction between the specifics of 'murdered' and the broad generalities of ‘died’ mattered to him, then. Any other time it would matter to her, too. 

“I’m not--.” She stopped, sighed roughly through her nose. It was imperative he understood. “I’m not giving up, Mulder. I told you: I won’t let this thing beat me.” Watching his shoulders droop with relief, she added, “But….”

“You’re wondering if it means something.” 

Her partner’s eyes were a shadowy, secretive green when she looked up.

“No. It does-- mean something to me. But why?”

*-*-*-*-*

Mulder was never one to dwell long in silence: spiraling into melancholic bouts of reflection and distemper or flying off and away before those dark moments descended. It fell to either one of them to break the tension, deflect the mood, or jump on the next lead or topic. It wasn’t a surprise, then, when he looked down to flex his restless fingers-- gathering resolve, she vaguely supposed, to voice a different thought he’d flicked to. 

“Scully, did I ever tell you what happened in Central Park?” 

“No,” she confessed, poised against the shift in his tone. “You only said you’d heard the angels sing.” 

“And you wrote that in your report to Skinner.” 

“Yes. And he decided we'd possibly ingested too many sewer fumes and put us on mandatory leave. Why? You read my report.” 

“But you never mentioned Diana Bennett or her story, or Vincent or the Tunnels.” 

Scully sighed, craning her neck upward. “Mulder, for all we know Diana Bennett and whoever her cohort was overheard our conversations and decided to, to lead us through an elaborate prank. There was no proof what she’d said was true, nor that she, and whoever Vincent is, was part of the murders.” 

“So you don’t believe her?”

Mulder wouldn’t let her eyes go, and she knew she was caught. “I don’t know if I believe everything she said, but she seemed to believe it.” 

“I saw it, Scully.” 

“Saw what?”

“I saw the Tunnels, I saw Vincent. I spoke with Vincent. I saw some of where they live. I saw--” he stumbled for a word, scrunching his face for a second, “-- the Chamber of the Winds. I saw the study, I saw their patchwork existence, I saw… I heard the angels sing.” 

She didn’t know what to say. For a half second, she considered taking up Skinner’s line of reasoning. “Mulder--”

“I know what I witnessed, Scully. People live down there, good people. Outcasts, wanderers, loners-- they formed a free society. I was told children are born and grow and thrive there.” He laughed, a wheezing, deflated noise through his grinning lips. “There was a Samantha there, too. She wasn’t…. Vincent had a recording of her singing along with some kids. She leads the choir down Below.” 

“Wh….” What was there to do, or to say, to properly measure this revelation? “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Mulder shook his head, flexed his whole hand. “I don’t know. Maybe because you seemed….” 

Her voice had sunk to an involuntary whisper. “What did I seem?”

He moved closer, only a little closer, to stifle his fidgets. “Like thirty-two wasn’t your year.” 

*-*-*-*-*

“What made you believe him, Mulder?”

“Who?” 

Evasive maneuvers. But she wasn’t Skinner; and she wouldn’t be put off. “Vincent. What did he say that made you keep everything secret?” From me, she didn’t clarify; but she thought of the key chain he’d given her, and thought of her ideals of teamwork. 

There was a struggle: his cheek muscle twitched violently, his eyes darted away, his legs shifted in restless impatience. Trust won out. “He had everything, Scully, tucked away under the city. A home, a family, a shared community. Love.” Mulder recaptured her gaze. “All of it was built on a tenuous foundation of secrecy, and so constantly in danger from threat of exposure that I couldn’t betray them, to anyone. He and Diana… they were fighting for their own truth. And we Mulders,” he added, bitterly, “know how to keep secrets.” 

Scully kicked her foot at him with a one-two poke. “That’s a pretty big secret, Mulder.” 

“Yeah?” He looked unwound, exhausted. Ready to drop. The night, it would seem, was drawing to a close. 

“Yeah.” 

Goodbyes were coming: he standing, she following; both of them casting one last glance at her tidy key bowl and shiny new key ring; she locking the door after he disappeared. It was now or never to remind him that thirty-three was a new year-- that she needed to know everything he hadn’t told her in thirty-two. 

Instead, she said, “Good night, Mulder.”

Instead, he smiled, and nodded, and led the way to the door. 

*-*-*-*-*

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic.

[wrenbird03]

wow i haven’t been active in a while huh? anyways take this art i made just in time for halloween :D

happy halloween tumblr creatures :)

[hinamie]

shhhh

[wawapiggy]

me when i witness the horrors:

transformations are very very cool :3

also this is for time week on the lu discord server

[gay-victorian-astronomer]

little dolores pencil sketch I did the other day

[afteas2003]

someone on Pinterest asked me to draw a dc character I know nothing about and it was 4 am so I said fuck it and did a quick sketch. I was tryna play with more dynamic poses and I ACCIDENTALLY TWINKIFIED THIS MANS in like, a COMPLETELY different art style than is normal for me and I just sent it to them in shame guys wtf is this

[cankersaurus]

First drawing inspo frum

[darlingofdots]

the vast majority of fanworks are bad, and that's fine, actually. they are bad for the same reason that the average number of legs for a human person to have is less than two: statistics. like with all endeavours and especially creative ones, most people who write fanfiction or draw art of their favourite characters are bad at it. if you line up all the crochet projects in the world, most of them will be, well, bad. some are bad because they're the first thing a person ever made, or the second or third or tenth, and this kind of thing takes practice. others are bad because the person who made them is just not very good at it. maybe they just learned how to make granny squares and they're perfectly happy to never expand or improve on that. most people who dance or bake or garden or braid hair are not amazing at it! and you'd never go to your kid's dance recital or eat your friend's homemade carrot cake and expect the same experience as you'd have at a professional ballet performance or award-winning bakery. And that's if we assume there is an objective measure of Good Art, which there isn't! Some art is just "bad" because you don't like it!

I think though that specifically with fanfiction, we sometimes forget that when we read a book or watch a movie, dozens of people have looked at it and given feedback and made changes and done quality control before the final product reaches our shelves or screens, and that's not counting the original writer's learning process and past experience. A published book is not anyone's first crochet project, even if it is their debut novel. But with fanfiction, the barrier to entry is so low (on purpose! this is a good thing!) that we do get to see a lot of wonky granny squares, and on sites like AO3 they're sitting on the same shelf as the hand-made silk lace wedding dress and you can't always tell just by looking at it which is which. The consequence of this is that we encounter fic that we think is unpolished, has bad punctuation, is out of character, and we are tempted to think "well, this is awful! how dare this person put this wonky granny square on the same shelf as the lace wedding dress!" But that's not how fandom is supposed to work! That wonky granny square is somebody who is really excited about this TV show they just watched and they are reaching out into the void to share their excitement with you. To scoff at them for not making a lace wedding dress is really, really rude. Even if they did make a lace wedding dress, maybe it's just really not your style, or you think they should have used a different pattern, and it's still their wedding dress. You don't have to wear the dress and you don't have to read the fic.

We all know that there is some fanfic out there that is incredible. I think it's important to talk about that! But the vast majority of people who post their writing online are just sharing their little hobby projects that they make for fun and I also think it's important to remember that.

[viktoriamagrey]

8 years of digital art

Finished this just barely on the eve of my birthday...!

[chiscaralight]

cw: shy!choso x reader, prone boning, college au. sukuna and gojo ver linked at the bottom!

college athlete!choso who’s an absolute beast on the field. everyone loves to watch him play, it’s almost like a movie every time he’s out for the game! he’s always ready to charge headfirst when it comes to his sport, and he won’t let anyone take it away from him.

college athlete!choso who doesn’t talk to anyone outside his teammates and a select few. it’s fair anyway, a lot of people only want to speak to him bc he’s deemed important, not like they want to know him.

college athlete!choso who’s also known for his aloof personality. but when you’re partnered up for an essay, you soon realize everyone is painfully wrong.

college athlete!choso who’s the most shy thing ever! it almost breaks your heart how he starts to stutter and avoid your eyes while you work out the details, just humming in agreement and you swear he almost passes out when you ask for his number.

college athlete!choso who’s practically about to fall off the edge of your bed, trying to sit as far away from you as possible. it’s like trying to coax a hostile cat to eat food you brought it, but with the way you’re looking at him, choso is sure he wouldn’t mind you putting him in your mouth just a bit.

college athlete!choso who finally warms up to you after a couple of evenings together. there’s still significant distance between the two of you, both physically and emotionally, but he’s more open now. he can actually hold a conversation with you now, and he thinks you’re the coolest! he can’t get you off his mind at all, whether he’s walking to the field hoping to spot you on his path, or secretly searching for you in this shared class.

college athlete!choso who jerks himself off to the thought of you after practice, making sure the locker room is empty as he moans out your name, wishing it was your hand wrapped around his cock instead.

college athlete!choso who forgets he’s supposed to meet up with you, cussing himself out when he sees your texts and missed calls. you’re super understanding though, and you tell him to take his time or you can reschedule if it’s better. but he assures you he can be there in less than ten minutes.

college athlete!choso who’s at your door in three minutes, panting and soaked. you can’t tell whether it’s from the shower water or if it’s sweat, but your eyes are more focused on the outline of his exposed arms and damp shirt clinging to his frame. he’s babbling, saying sorry for wasting your time, he ran because he couldn’t find his keys! but his apologies are hitting deaf ears, your mind is definitely on something else. and he notices.

college athlete!choso who’s eyes widen when you pout, shyly asking him to kiss you. this is something you’ve been trying to avoid since the first day he sat in your room, but it’s so hard to hold yourself back when he looks like this!

college athlete!choso who presses his back to the door, holding you in his arms while your tongues tangle. he’s moaning around your tongue, shamelessly feeling you up while you grind your front against his hardening bulge. he’s almost embarrassingly loud, but each sound he makes sends vibrations straight between your legs.

and you’d have to say the same for yourself, fingers dragging down his arms, around his neck, across his chest. but the real kicker is when you softly place your hand against his abs. he’s unconsciously flexing beneath your touch and it draws you in like magic. maybe he’d have good core strength? you’re the one who’s going to put college athlete!choso to the test.

college athlete!choso who passes your test in flying colors, prone boning you with an ease that has you seeing stars. you’re face first in the sheets, cries muffled by the pillow your head rests on while he slams into you like he hates you, much different from the way he asks if you’re okay after a couple of thrusts. you can’t even get your head up! and he’s getting worried but you guide his hand towards your neck, struggling to place your head in the crook of his elbow before telling him to squeeze.

college athlete!choso who gets off on the way your eyes roll back and your voice gets whinier. his hips falter just a bit when you call out his name in that voice, and if not for how good you felt, you would’ve teased him for the way his cock just twitched.

college athlete!choso who can’t face you in class the next day. you’re a little sad when you don’t see him, so you decide to check the field later in the day.

college athlete!choso who freezes up when he sees you waving from the stands. his teammates don’t miss his change in demeanor, and they start to laugh and nudge him in the side, teasing him about the cutie cheering him on from the bleachers.

college athlete!choso who comes up to you during their break, face still blazing hot from the exercise and the memories of you from last night. he says he would have hugged you but he’s insanely sweaty right now. not like you would’ve minded, that sweaty body was all up on yours last night like it was nothing!

college athlete!choso who gives you a nice long kiss before he leaves. trying to drown out the sounds of his team hollering at the two of you from a distance. you break the kiss with a laugh and tell him he can come over later if he wants.

college athlete!choso who forgets his keys and runs all the way to your place for the fourth time this week. he doesn’t mind though, he just thinks of it as prep for the calories he’s about to burn with you in a couple of minutes.

sukuna ver here!

gojo ver here!

geto ver here!

choso pt2 here!