#whatever is going on with the eggs i refuse to believe its as simple as them getting threatened and leaving everything behind to run into

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

why were the eggs so dirty the day before they left. why was pomme cracked. that happened BEFORE they left. they couldnt remember what happened. What the FUCK was that about

[spyoikawa]

still on that saiki k brainrot so hear me out-

metori, saiki, teruhashi, aren and hairo with an s/o who really loves to bake/cook-

no thoughts just Reader learning how to make coffee jelly for saiki (like maybe they make him a tower of coffee jelly for an anniversary or his birthday-). no thoughts just Reader cooking something for metori who pretends to not want to eat it cause it’s ‘peasant food’ but ends up really enjoying their cooking. no thoughts just cooking/baking date with teruhashi. no thoughts just teaching aren how to cook/bake and having a food trade with him, bringing him lunch/a snack to school. and no thoughts just hairo hyping Reader up while they cook/bake and making stuff for him to bring to class rep meetings-

thank you! <3

the excitement I got got I saw teruhasi- i don't see a lot of writing for her and I get happy when I get to do less than common things! Thanks!

I'm running low on creative juices, so please I hope you don't mind if I use the exact scenarios you suggested 💀

Note: some of the things I wrote felt really rude so please don't mind the tone tags in parentheses, also i have not edited this yet

Saiki, Teruhasi, Hairo, Aren, and Saiko with an S/O who can cook/bake

♡romantic♡

Saiki Kusuo (italics = saiki telepathy)

Although it was undeniably tasty, your boyfriend's obsession with coffee jelly was not only getting out of hand but also quite expensive-

I mean he spent 3,000 yen for one serving-

But yanno what it's ok, coffee jelly is easy to make, and this gives you an excuse to hang out (not that you need one)

"Ok Ku, i had an idea"

I like it, just make sure you teach me how to do it too

"Rude. I wasn't finished"

You did in your head

As endearing as it could be sometimes, Saiki's mind-reading could be a pain occasionally

You wound me.

"Good. (/j)"

After a long debate over recipes and serving sizes, there it was, in all its glory, your first batches of coffee jelly

it was heaven

You did end up sharing the recipe with him, but it still became a little tradition to make the coffee jelly together

It just tastes better that way :)

Kokomi Teruhashi

In the midst of your TV and cuddles date, Kokomi huffed and turned off the TV

But of course it was rude to just turn off the TV, so she offered to play a board game instead

You did play with her, but your curiosity was begging as to why she wanted to change the activity

"Hey Kokomi, this game is fun, don't worry... but why'd you turn off the TV so suddenly?"

"Oh, it was nothing! I just thought you would like this game, and I wanted you to enjoy yourself more!"

Now, that's the answer the most perfect girl in the world would give

But Kokomi is still human, there's gotta be something wrong

You spent a while thinking to yourself about what you were watching, you two agreed on a documentary, then after the documentary, the channel played a cooking show with a guest baker/cook Makoto Teruhashi- oh.

So that was it

At the end of the round, you stood up and offered your hand to pull up Kokomi with you.

"Hey, wanna make a bet?"

She looked up with a bit of curiosity.

"I bet you, I can make your favorite dish, far better than Makoto can"

She smiled a bit, "sure!"

Her favorite food was simple, so you taught her to cook it and added in some other things just for fun (and so she can't recreate it without your secret ingredients)

Now you guys have cooking dates often and always find ways to spice up foods (and beat Makoto at whatever he was doing on tv)

Hairo Kineshi

my thoughts and prayers go to you

we all saw what happened when he tried to make crepes

but in his mind, it was a learning opportunity

You guys were taking an after-school stroll, the weather was really nice, it would be a shame if you two just went home and did nothing. Walks like these tend to get sentimental and nostalgic, so your conversation subconsciously started to drift towards school life.

"And do you remember that time we had to get kuboyasu, kaido, and nendo to play on a baseball team? Oh my god thank god it didn't go too poorly, that one player really pulled through at the end..." you laughed out

"Haha I do remember that, I can't believe we got them to play, it really could've gone worse" He smiled as he remembered that day, but then his eyes drifted up to a bakery across the road. "Speaking of poor experiences..."

after he explained to you he and kaido's crepe disaster, you couldn't help but tease fun at him for a bit

but you did agree to teach him more about cooking and baking

he's a bit too passionate about cracking eggs, but hey, at least you can work faster

after many, many burnt crepes and pans, there it was, a fallen appart, incorrectly folded, but still a properly cooked crepe sat there in all its beauty

it kinda looked like this

Although he does learn many different things with you, crepes will be the thing he makes over and over again, even when he has it down to a science, just because it's the first thing you taught him, and he will keep that sweet memory forever (get it. sweet? Cause crepes? Im funny i swear.)

Aren Kuboyasu

He actually knows how to cook pretty well

He's not really sure when he picked up cooking, its kinda just stuck around, but he enjoys it, it makes him seem more goody

and he can treat you :)

I will die on my "aren lives for the most basic/domestic activities hill"

cooking with him is always an experience, he will play music in the background, and pull you aside to dance at random times

also does that really hot thing where he stands behind you, reaches around to hold your hands, and basically has you in a cage while showing you how to do something

it's one of those spontaneous things to do, if there's nothing else to do, might as well make something to eat

firm believer in "if you have to eat to live, you might as well eat delicious foods" so he will always try out new things with you if its healthy and tasty

"bab look at this show" you called out from where you were sitting, there was a cooking show/food documentary on, and it was showing a special food. "it says this chicken has a secret sauce they dip it in"

he walked over to the tv and watched it for a couple seconds, thinking a bit.

"...wanna figure it out?"

"yes. I'll make the chicken if you figure out the sauce?"

"deal."

will you ever know if you got the secret sause? Nope, but you did figure out a chicken recipe that is good as hell

he probably writes down all the recipes you "invented" together for safekeeping and so he can return to it later, but he refuses to show it to anyone

Saiko Metori

as much as I love him, we all saw in that one episode how picky he is while eating, and is probably a bitch to please while cooking/baking

so after a lot of convincing, you got him to sit in the kitchen with you so he can watch you bake for the two of you

in reality, all you have to do is give the dish a fancy rich-sounding name, you just have to be really careful with what you say

like this 💀

you decided to bake for him today, baking is a lot more "by the book" than cooking, so you thought he would take a bit of comfort in knowing it was done in a professional way

"alright tori, so I think I'll make a heavy pastry made with fine cacao and extracts, baked into a rich dessert for a fine sweet palette"

"you're making brownies aren't you"

"🧍‍♂️"

Told you, you have to be as specific as possible

He does eventually get interested in what you're doing though, as he never really sees his personal chef cook, and wants to help you by the end

He really did enjoy it! It quickly became one of his favorite treats

But funny enough, no matter how many bakeries he tried or how many times his chef tried, they never tasted the same

(you put in special spices as your own little mark on the treat)

so he ends up having you over for more cooking dates

Which he really does enjoy btw

as a tsundere he will look all annoyed and probably call you a plebe, but these are his favorite types of dates

[charlie-minion]

Could the same SPN finale make a little more sense with some additions/changes?

I’ve had the idea for this post stuck in my head for days now, but with every new conspiracy theory and every new eventuality in the fandom, it became difficult to cool down enough to write something less ship-related and more narrative-focused.

What Supernatural and non-SPN fans have to understand is that a lot of us have expressed disappointment and frustration after 15x20, not because of Destiel (that’s just one part of the whole problem), but because the finale doesn’t make sense. Everything was leading up to something beautifully crafted until the end of 15x19. Beyond that, it’s hard to understand what happened. The story rendered all the character growth irrelevant, invalidated the themes of free will and “family don’t end in blood”, regressed to the original brother codependency they spent 15 years trying to overcome, made a queer non-binary character in a male vessel and a deaf female character basically disposable, and kept the show’s reputation of queerbaiting and misogyny until its very last breath.

That’s not going out with a bang! At least not a positive one. We all were ready to mourn Supernatural, but we wanted to feel proud of its legacy, and somehow TPTB managed to tarnish that legacy in less than 45 minutes. What a way to ruin the other more than 13,600 minutes of story!

It doesn’t matter who is to blame (The CW, Robert Singer, Andrew Dabb). It doesn’t matter why it happened (homophobia, censorship, marketing for Walker, bad writing). What matters is that at the end of the day, the finale that aired is what we got and that’s going to hurt for a long time. It hurts even more when we realize that the same finale could have easily made more sense, even without being perfect.

That’s what I want to do in this post. I want to show you how things would have been less jarring (for the fandom), while still keeping the goal to please the general audience.

Before I begin rewriting 15x20, I have to mention that I talked to my conservative boomer sister about the finale. She hasn’t watched the second half of season 15 yet (she’s waiting for Netflix to have it), but she’s been watching the show for a long time (she introduced me to it 8 years ago). She’s the perfect example of a viewer from the general audience. Loves the show but doesn’t give a second thought to it and definitely isn’t paying attention to character development or themes. Doesn’t engage with fandom, actors, or any of the show’s social media. Pure GA! When I told her the series finale had aired, she asked me about it and I refused to give her spoilers. Because of that, she told me the ending SHE wanted. She said she would be happy with either of two possibilities: the boys retiring and finally living a normal life OR they going to heaven and finding peace at last. She saw Sam and Dean as a unit, which means: both retiring or both going to heaven. AND she saw Cas as part of that, too. She wasn’t so sure about Jack. And for her, we could use the “Eileen who?” and it wouldn’t be a joke. She didn’t remember her.

NOW IT’S TIME TO WRITE A NEW VERSION OF 15X20 (KEEPING 15X18 AND 15X19 EXACTLY THE SAME AS THEY AIRED). This will be a very long post:

The opening remains almost the same. No “Carry on my wayward son” to induce feels. Too soon and too predictable! (Reasoning: Everyone was expecting it to play right there, so it would bring more tears at the end)

In the opening, after the scene where Jack says “People won’t need to pray to me or sacrifice to me”, we also see the scene from 15x19 where he says “I won’t be hands on”. Then we see the rest of the opening as it was. (Reasoning: People needed to be reminded that Jack would NOT intervene and that’s why later on, he would NOT save Dean).

We get the same montage, but when Sam takes a break from his morning run, we see him reading a message on his phone. A simple: “Hey Sam, what’s new?” from Eileen. Sam smiles fondly and begins to type a response we don’t get to see. The next scene continues the same, Sam making breakfast. (Reasoning: A text was a very simple way to show that Eileen was alive and still in communication with Sam).

The montage slowly ends as Sam enters the library (not after he sits down). He seems to be talking on the phone but we only hear an “I’ll tell him. Bye”. As he walks towards the table, he tells Dean: “Charlie says hi. Mentioned something about Stevie’s perfect scrambled eggs we have to try.” Dean’s answer is “Awesome!” (Reasoning: Just ONE line was needed to unbury Charlie and her girlfriend. ONE LINE).

Sam sits down, opens his laptop and everything continues the same. The title card shows for the last time.

YOU SEE? In the first 4 minutes they could have acknowledged that THREE WOMEN were alive and safe: Eileen, Charlie and Stevie. It wasn’t hard! Don’t blame bad writing on Covid! Now let’s continue.

Sam and Dean arrive at the Pie Fest just the same. Dean goes to get some “damn pie” and Sam takes out his phone. He dials and when someone picks up, he says “Hey, Jody, how are ya?” We don’t hear the rest of the conversation. The scene moves to Dean coming with his 6 portions of pie. Dean sits down and Sam tells him, “Talked to Jody. The other hunters haven’t had much work lately.” “That’s good, isn’t it?”, Dean says. All we get from Sam is “Yeah.” So, Dean looks at him and asks “what’s wrong?” like it happened in the episode. (Reasoning: Again, a couple of lines to make sure the people that were killed in 15x18 are safe and remembered by the boys in 15x20. Why is this important? Because they’re family!)

The conversation about Sam’s sad face happens the same. Sam is the one that mentions Cas and Jack. (Reasoning: Because this episode was so Sam-centered, it’s obvious he was the protagonist in the finale. If we see him communicating with Eileen, Charlie, and Jody, then it’s NORMAL, even expected of him to be the one to bring up Cas and Jack). Without these additions, it’s harder for people to understand that most of the finale was NOT from Dean’s POV but from Sam’s.

Dean’s “if we don’t keep living, then all that sacrifice is gonna be for nothing” stays the same. (Reasoning: I believe it’s necessary that the show sticks to the importance of “letting go” and “what is dead should stay dead” for the first time ever because the message is “even when you lose someone you love, you can still find some form of happiness and keep living, for you and for them, because that’s what they would have wanted”. Bringing someone back means “I can’t live without you”, and that’s just more codependency. It’s how the demon deals began in the Winchester family –Mary being the first one to do it. This would explain why Dean didn’t ask Jack to bring Cas back, as he asked Chuck. He understood Jack was NOT going to interfere anymore and accepted it. Besides, when Cas saved Dean from hell, Dean thought he didn’t deserve to be saved. This time that Cas saved him, Dean finally feels worthy enough to accept that YES, HE DESERVED TO BE SAVED ALL ALONG, just as much as he deserved to be loved by that angel of the Lord. In this scene, Dean also says that the pain is not gonna go away, which means that from HIS PERPECTIVE, it still hurts that Cas is not there. The problem is that the finale is not showing his POV but Sam’s.  

Sam pies Dean on the face just the same. (Reasoning: That part was just to avoid ending the scene on a sad note).

Everything related to the case happens exactly the same. (Reasoning: At this point, people don’t really care about the MoTW, they care about Sam and Dean).

NOTE 1: The case is important to show that even when the Winchesters are finally free of Chuck’s influence, they CHOOSE to keep hunting. It isn’t something they do out of revenge or because it is their destiny anymore. Maybe they were forced into the life at first, but they’ve learned to find joy in saving people. Being hunters is who they are. However, the fact that a job application was shown on Dean’s desk is also important because it means he was willing to explore what else was there for him besides hunting. Maybe he could find a balance? Maybe he was thinking it was time to quit? We will never know! The thing is that Sam only finds out about it when he goes into Dean’s room after his brother is dead, so maybe that’s when it hits him that Dean wanted to explore his options, and Sam starts to think it’s time for him to do the same.  

NOTE 2: I believe the masks the vampires are wearing is something we can blame on covid. If they had their faces covered, it was easier to use people from the SPN crew for some scenes, instead of using more actors unnecessarily.

NOTE 3: When Sam and Dean arrive at the barn, we get 3 visuals to remember Cas in the same scene (those are for the fandom, not for the general audience): a) the barn, obviously; b) the bag that resembles Cas’ trenchcoat so much that many people thought that’s what it was; and c) two feathers hanging on Dean’s right when he opens the trunk.

The scene with the throwing star happens the same. (Reasoning: The episode is still told from Sam’s point of view, so it makes sense that he fondly sees his brother as a man child).

Jenny the vampire? Uhhh… I mean, it’s not the best piece of writing I’ve ever seen, but it’s not the worst, so okay. That stays the same. (Reasoning: There is none, but she’s not what really ruined the finale, so whatever!)

Dean still dies impaled on a rebar. (Reasoning: OK. HERE ME OUT!!! I hate as much as everyone else that Dean is killed. I think it’s lazy writing, but that’s what we got and I can’t change that in this re-write, so if killing Dean is what we have to work around, then, memes aside, death by rebar is better and here’s why. There’s no one to blame for Dean’s death: no Chuck (the boys were willingly hunting even after Chuck was defeated), no vampires (they were all killed and were no real threat, so it was impossible for Sam to begin a quest for revenge against all vampires. What was Sam going to blame? A rebar? Can you kill it? Hunt it? NO. It was an ordinary death, a stupid accident. Just like any person can die at any moment by slipping on a banana peel. Is it a good death? No, but it’s good to know he doesn’t die trying to save Sam or Cas, because Dean Winchester is NOT willing to give up his life in exchange for anyone else’s anymore.

Sam takes out his phone and says he’ll call for help, but his phone is more visible to the audience. He dials and it’s almost to his ear when Dean stops him and Sam hesitantly hangs up. (Reasoning: People have complained that Sam didn’t call an ambulance, but actually he tried to. It’s just that people missed that part, maybe?)

After Sam puts his phone back in his pocket and says “OK” to Dean, he adds, “I’ll pray to Jack”. Dean’s immediate answer is: “No hands on, remember?” “But Dean”, Sam says, and Dean interrupts him with “OK listen to me” and tells Sam what to do with the kids they rescued. (Reasoning: Jack is God now and how come Sam didn’t remember? The viewers remembered, so it was necessary to include a line that ruled the option out and that showed Dean didn’t want Jack to intervene. The rest was fine).

The lines “You knew it was always gonna end like this for me. It was supposed to end like this, right?” disappear completely from Dean’s monologue. (Reasoning: This is the most problematic part of Dean’s dying speech. He fought God and earned free will, he is no longer controlled by fate or destiny. Accepting that he is supposed to die on a hunt regresses his character development and denies his desire to keep living. This was a total mistake and should be removed).

Instead, if going to heaven is the ending TPTB wanted to give Dean, at least he should say something more empowering. Sam tells him that both of them are going to take the kids somewhere safe. Dean answers and the scene follows like this: “No. Sammy, we made our choice, didn’t we?”, he smiles with difficulty. “We were free to write our own story and we did. We decided to keep saving people, hunting things. Because it’s what we love despite the risks.” (Reasoning: If Dean’s going to die it doesn’t have to feel like it was always meant to be that way. He should die knowing that he exerted his free will until his last breath).

The rest of the dialogue between Sam and Dean happens almost the same. Except that instead of Dean saying “‘cause when it all came down to it, it was always you and me. It’s always been you and me”, he says “’cause when it all came down to it, we’ve always had each other’s backs. Always.” And instead of Sam saying “Don’t leave me”, he says “I still can try to save you.” (Reasoning: It sounds way less codependent without diminishing the importance of their love and support for each other).

Besides, let’s change Dean’s “I’m not leaving you” for “You don’t have to be alone. You’ve still got family.” The rest stays the same word by word. (Reasoning: Dean reminds Sam that “family don’t end in blood” and there are still lots of people out there who love Sam and will be with him).

“I love you so much, my baby brother” stays exactly the same. (Reasoning: Dean always had trouble to express the big L word. I always believed and said many times that before Dean could say “I love you” to Cas or any other character, he had to say it to Sam. So, this is important as part of Dean speaking his truth).

The last part when Dean insists Sam tell him that it’s okay stays the same. (Reasoning: It’s the final moment when the codependency cycle breaks. No more running in circles).

The forehead touch between them stays the same. (Reasoning: I think I would do something similar if my sister were dying. I know there are w*ncest shippers out there, but it shouldn’t matter because the moment feels appropriate for that kind of goodbye). 

See? There are changes but not too many. That’s why I’ve been saying that it was easier to get it right, yet they still managed to screw it up.

The second montage stays the same. (Reasoning: Life goes on, but of course Sam has to mourn).

The call about a case in Austin remains the same. (Reasoning: It’s the only part of the episode where someone from the found family is mentioned, so I think that Donna’s name is perfect in that moment. However, without the other additions I’ve made in this re-write, that off-hand mention feels too little. Its purpose was to tell the viewers that if Donna was alive, so were the others, but the way the episode was executed gave us an isolated Sam, incapable of having friends and a family without Dean).  

After 30 minutes of Sam’s POV, let’s finally see the last bit of Dean’s POV that we’ll ever get.

Dean arrives in Heaven and Bobby receives him. All their conversation stays almost the same, except that after mentioning Rufus and before saying “and your mom and dad…”, Bobby adds an “Ellen and Jo let me borrow their place”. (Reasoning: If you’re gonna put the man outside the Harvelle’s place, at least mention them for Jack’s sake!).

Besides, after Bobby tells Dean that Sam will be along and that time in heaven is different, Dean gives a small smile and says, “Well, there’s no rush. I want him to have a long, happy life.” Bobby answers with: “I would expect nothing less from you, boy” and tells him he got everything he could ever want, etc., just like it happened in the episode, and finishes by asking “What are you gonna do now, Dean?” (Reasoning: It’s important we know for sure that Dean is NOT codependent anymore and that he doesn’t expect to have a miserable afterlife just because his brother is not there yet).

Instead of saying “I think I’ll go for a drive” Dean says, “I think I know what I want” and walks towards baby. Bobby still tells him to have fun. (Reasoning: “Know what I want” is ambiguous enough to help us introduce the last piece of the puzzle, the one thing Dean’s wanted for many seasons and has never been able to express).

 The biggest change is coming:

Dean gets on the Impala and has a moment of silence while he contemplates the wheel. He begins to pray: “Hey, Cas, you got your ears on? I hear you’ve been busy working on this updated Heaven with Jack. You were right about him, Cas. You had faith in him and he saved us all. You could always see the best in everyone, even when they couldn’t see it themselves. Even when I couldn’t see it myself. There’s so much I want to tell you. Maybe you can visit sometime. I hope prayer’s still a thing up here.” (Reasoning: Dean’s side of the confession was unaddressed and that was terrible writing. If there was no way to get him to speak his truth textually, at least take him as close to it as possible).

We listen to a flutter of wings and a “Hello, Dean” from the back seat. We don’t see Cas, but the camera shows us Dean’s cocky smile and he says “Took you long enough.” He turns around slowly. End of scene. (Reasoning: The flutter of wings confirms that angels have their wings back and ties that loose end. The final “hello, Dean” was highly anticipated and it made sense. If Misha couldn’t be there to film, for whatever reason, or if the problem was the kind of conversation Dean and Cas would have, then don’t show it, but leave the door open. Let us know that the two characters were reunited and will talk, but whatever Dean has to say is so private that it’s not for us to hear, only for Cas.  

We finally hear “Carry on my wayward son” and get a montage that begins with Sam playing with his kid. Then we see Dean driving, super happy, and Sam living his life to the fullest. We still get Sam’s Blurry Wife, BUT… we see pictures of Eileen in the living room (not just of John, Mary, Sam, and Dean). We also see photos of Jody, Donna, Charlie, and AU!Bobby. (Reasoning: FAMILY DON’T END IN BLOOD).

The scene where Sam is wearing the party wig and looks miserable inside the Impala is cut and nobody talks about it ever again because it never existed. We get a scene of Sam teaching his son how to fix the car instead. (Reasoning: First of all, don’t give Sam a life where years later he’s still in pain. Second of all, the fucking wig was a crime).

Sam’s dying scene stays the same. The only thing is that his son signs a couple of phrases to him before actually speaking. (Reasoning: More confirmation that Dean Jr. is Eileen’s son).

We hear the final “Evanescence-like Carry on my wayward son”. Again we see the photos and there’s family other than the Winchesters there. (Reasoning: Obvious at this point).

The rest is exactly the same. The show began with two brothers and it’s okay if the last scene is with the two brothers reunited in Heaven. At this point, the other parts of the story are acceptable enough for us to feel happy that they get to see each other again after years of a happy (after)life.

Now look me in the eye and tell me this was too hard to execute. I still think that bad writing is a thing we can’t deny here, adding to the possible meddling of the Network. Maybe Dabb wanted us to hate the finale because he couldn’t get away with what he truly wanted. If that was his intention, then kudos to him. He and The CW really gave us a finale that only 30% of the fandom liked.

I hope you guys have enjoyed this and it helps to give you some peace of mind. In my heart, this was the finale we got. It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t drop the ball either.

[socialwriter]

Simp

**Gif by @rafecameron​**

Idea by @ptersparkers​: the x times rafe/jj is caught being soft and refuses to admit it and the one time he does bc i’m a sucker for that but can someone write it because i want it but i don’t wanna write it 

Part of my week of fluff

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Female Reader

TW: Soft boi Rafe 

1.5k+

Summary: 3+1 of the three times Rafe didn’t admit he was a softie (simp), and the one time he did

Requests featured: 

@anonymous0writer​: hi bubs. week of fluff: ““I know I’ve kissed you like, ten times, but just like another ten, please.” w soft rafe or topper?? ty bubs

@softstarkey​:  “Would you mind if I kissed you?” w rafe 🥰

anon:  could you maybe write something about being super cuddly with rafe? your one w pope got me🥺🥺🥺

@butgilinsky​:  cooking dinner for rafe😪 or vice versa i’m not picky. also ily💓

A/n: I am now feeling the pressure of having five people’s wants in one fic, but i shall suffer in silence, also this is my first x + 1 fic so I hope it doesn’t suck oop

You and Rafe were both lounging around, your head on his chest and his arms around you when you looked up at him and noticed something you hadn’t before. “Woah, you have long eyelashes.”

He looked down at you, quirking a brow. “Do I? Huh, never noticed.”

“Yea, they just go blond at the end so you can’t see ‘em. You know...I could fix that for you.” You tell him, a devilish glint in your eyes. He furrows his brows, slightly scared as to what you had in mind. “What do you mean…”

You don’t answer his question, instead getting up out of his bed and walking into the joint bathroom, sifting through your makeup bag until eventually you find your mascara. “Aha!”

Rafe sits up, now curious as to what you were planning on doing. “Babe, what are you getting in there?”

You casually walk back into his bedroom, an excited grin plastered on your face as you crawl into bed once more and sit in his lap, wrapping your legs around his torso. “I’m gonna use mascara on you!” You exclaim, showing him the black tube.

His eyes widen, and he shakes his head violently at the very idea of wearing makeup. “Nope, there is absolutely no way I am doing that. You’re tripping babe.”

You pout, jutting out your bottom lip in the way that always got you what you wanted when it came to your boyfriend. “But baby, you’ll look so pretty and it’ll make your beautiful eyes pop even more.”

He frowned, staring at the tube of makeup. “Does it hurt?”

“Not one bit baby.” You assured him, pushing back some of the hair that had fallen in his face.

“Ok alright fine, if you want to do it I’ll do it.” 

You squeal, clapping your hands together and giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “I swear you’ll love it.” You get to work applying the makeup quickly before he has the chance to change his mind. He surprisingly doesn’t flinch much while you’re applying, but that all changes when you’re applying the last bit of mascara and Wheezie walks in.

“Hey Rafe have you seen m-oh my god.” She exclaims, an amused grin forming on her face. “What are you doing.”

“Wheezie get out of here!” He screams, unable to actually get up and push her out so of course, she stays to tease him.

“Wow, Y/n, really gotta hand it to you. You did the impossible and turned Rafe Cameron soft.” 

You giggled, resting your head on Rafe’s shoulder and kissing his jaw. “Thanks Wheezie.”

Rafe scoffs loudly, glaring at his youngest sister. “Both of you shut it! I am not soft!”

You snort in response to his words, giving him a soft kiss on the neck. “Of course not, baby.”

Wheezie giggles, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “Ok ok, you’re not soft. Whatever you say you simp.” With that she leaves Rafe’s room, shutting the door behind her.

“Y/n?”

“Mhm?”

“What does simp mean?”

“Don’t worry about it babe.”

----

“Rafe?” You asked softly, quietly walking into the bedroom of the Cameron household. Kelce and Topper were over, playing video games, but Rafe had promised you cuddles after htey left, which was supposed to be over a half hour ago. 

“Yea babe?” He asked, never tearing his gaze away from the screen. All three boys were very into whatever was happening in the game, muttering insults at each other every once in a while.

“It's getting late, are you almost done?”

“Yea babe, just 5, 10 minutes, tops.”

You pout, crossing your arms over your chest. He had said that 20 minutes ago. An idea pops into your head that if you couldn’t get him upstairs to cuddle with you, then you would have to just cuddle with him down here. You walk around the couch, crawling into his lap and latching onto him like a koala. Both Topper and Kelce glance over for a second, rolling their eyes at the unexpected PDA from the two of you. “Baby I wanna go upstairs.” You mumble against Rafe’s neck, nuzzling your head further into him. 

“I know you do baby, just give a minute to beat these guys and I’m all yours.” He tells you, earning shouts of protest from both boys sitting next to him. “Are you wearing my shirt?” He questions when he glances down at you, to which you nod in response. 

“Your shirt and nothing else babe.” You say, a smirk finding its ways to your lips. He stiffens at your words, taking an audible gulp before quickly turning of the TV

“Hey man!” “What do you think you’re doing!” “Are you serious!” 

“Ok boys, time for you to leave,” Rafe tells the other two who both get up from the couch, grumbling about their game and how they were ‘so winning’. 

“Dude, you are so soft.” Topper tells him, rolling his eyes at the older boy.

“Like seriously, what's happening to you man.” Kelce adds, grabbing his stuff from the floor of the living room. 

“I am not soft, and I suggest you leave before I make you.” Rafe growls, moving to stand up. You, however, do not like this plan, whining and clinging to him tighter, mumbling a soft ‘no’. He listens to you, earning a look from both Topper and Kelce. 

“Dude, seriously, you’re such a simp.” Topper says as both boys leave the house.

“SERIOUSLY WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN.”

----

“Rafe!” You call out for him, having your boyfriend run into the kitchen where you are a minute later. “Yeah babe, whats up?”

“Today, I’m going to teach you how to cook.” You tell him, earning a groan from him “What, why? I like everything you cook so much.”

“Flattery ain’t getting you out of this one. C’mon, we’re starting simple, it's just eggs. It would take an idiot to screw those up.” 

“Idiot at your service.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “You gotta stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” He asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Tearing yourself down. You’re not an idiot, you just never learned how to cook is all. And that’s what I’m here for, to teach you how.”

He gives you an apprehensive look but nods, accepting the fact that he was doing this whether he liked it or not. “Ok so where do you start with eggs?”

“Well, first you’re going to get the eggs.” You tell him, earning a helpless look in response. “They’re in the fridge babe.”

“Right, right, I knew that totally.” He mumbles, going over to the fridge and getting the carton the eggs stored inside. Eventually, you had gotten him through scrambling the eggs and now you were ready for the stove, which he looked at with fear in his eyes. “Babe, maybe you should take over from here.”

“Rafe, you can do this. You’re a master chef, I believe in you. Now use that oven!”

He gave you one more glance before putting the pan of yolks onto the stove you’d already turned on for him. “Make sure you turn it over so it doesn’t burn babe.”

“Can you show me how?”

You nod, grabbing a spatula and placing it in his hand before guiding him through the motions of flipping the eggs. “You’re doing great babe.”

“Yeah?” He asks, grinning at you. You nod at him right as Sarah walks into the kitchen, having to do a double take. 

“What's going on?” She questions, not really believing that her brother is actually cooking a meal.

“I’m teaching Rafe how to cook,” you inform her, turning back to the stove to make sure that you didn’t burn the eggs. 

“Um, Rafe, didn’t you once tell me that you would pay for your own personal chef before you learned how to cook for yourself?”

Rafe’s face turns a bright red as he looks down at the floor. “Well yea...but Y/n wanted me to learn how to cook so I’m doing it.”

Sarah’s mouth was left slightly ajar, shocked by the fact that a girl was able to change Rafe so much. “Wow Rafe, didn’t know you’d gone soft for your girl.”

Rafe pouts, jutting out his bottom lift. “I’m not soft, I'm just a chef.” 

Sarah snorts, raising her brows at her brother. “Sure you simp, if that helps you sleep at night.”

“Why does everyone keep calling me that?!”

----

“Y/n?” Rafe asks, tracing small circles on your hip bone. 

“Mhm?” You respond, not looking up from your phone.

“I love you.” His words cause you to look up from your phone, eyes softening when you see him looking at you with nothing but love and adoration in his eyes.

“I love you too baby.” You say, giving him a soft smile.

“Can I kiss you?” He questions, lips only centimeters away from yours. You don’t respond, instead closing the gap between the two of you and pressing a short and sweet kiss to his lips. He, however, decides that’s not enough, giving you kiss after kiss, causing you to giggle against his lips. “Rafe!”

“I know I’ve kissed you like, ten times, but just like another ten, please.” 

You laugh at his words, shaking your head. “Rafe, you really have gone soft, haven’t you?”

He shrugs his shoulders in response, giving you a grin. “Only for you baby, only for you.”

“Wow, you really are a simp.”

“Aww come on!”

Taglist: @normatural @beth-winchester21 @julialucena5  @drwstrky @brightcosmos @jiaraendgame @copper-boom @sunwardsss @starksweasley @trashmouthpogues @allielozoya @vindictive-hearts @kaitieskidmore1 @teenwaywardasgardian @diverrdown @lynniep @apoguecalledjj @dancer0614 @jjtheangel  @rafecameron @paradigmax @anonymous0writer @x-lulu @futuretaxcheat @olsenholic @jjaybank @starlightstarkey @girlsru1eboysdroo1  @Theyrealldruggy @pit-zuh @tomfreakinghollandneedsaoscar @simonsbluee @outerbongs @stfukie @yxseminx @ilovejjmaybank @abbiesthings @captain-molls-of-the-small-world @kikinuke2 @maddymfperez @pogue-writings @rudths @i-love-scott-mccall @strangerthanganfiction713 @jj-iz-bae @sguymon21 @thelocalpogue @rae131415 @goldenhanna @scandalousfemale @obx-direction-sos

Frenz: @sortagaysortahigh​ @ad-infinitums​ @butgilinsky​ @bricksatanakinswindow​ @multifixx​ @drew-starkey​ @downbytheouterbanks​

[elias-code]

Two Left Hooves [2/7] - Choice II

Choose your own adventure ~ “What’s Better than Breakfast in Bed?“

Characters: Technoblade x gn!reader, Philza

Summary: You've asked Techno whether he wants to sleep with you or not, and he makes up some excuse to join you. He cuddles with you into the night, but you're greeted with a nightmare, Dream's voice warns you of something to come, but refuses to specify what. Techno pulls you out of the dream and you sleep undisturbed until he greets you with breakfast in the morning.

Warnings: Cussing, Nightmares

IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE INTRO AND CHOSEN YOUR ROUTE, DO SO HERE: INTRO

— The Bird —

"Techno-" I said, kneeling to his level, "What do you want? I mean, you can sleep with me if you want to."

He paused, expecting a quip, but instead, I'd forced him to choose for himself.

"Seeing as you’re already cold, even with the fire..." He clicked his tongue, testing his words, "I want to keep you warm."

Holy shit that's adorable, I thought. Techno never let emotions shine through his words. When I talked to him, I had to constantly read between the lines. His monotone speech was, I supposed, a product of his repressed emotions. Ever since meeting him, I felt like it was my responsibility to dismantle the fortress he’d put around his heart.

"Excuses, excuses," I teased, “but you’re right, I’m gonna freeze without you.” I smiled at him. He let out a small huff, but his expression was unreadable.

"It's not an excuse, it's a reason," he said, turning to me, "They're desperate for me to be at the banquet, but they won't let me go alone, alright? If I let you freeze to death, it wouldn't make for great PR."

I rolled my eyes and scoffed, standing up. I offered a hand to him, to help him stand, "Thank you for not killing me so you don't have to go," I whispered.

"No problem, heh," he took my hand and stood, "I'll be back in a bit, alright?"

"Where are you going?"

"Just downstairs, get ready for bed," He said, dodging the question. He let go of my hand and awkwardly pat me on the head, leaving the room.

I didn't know how the ball was going to work out. On the one hand, Techno would go to the banquet and it'd be as awkward as it's always been between us. On the other, I'd manage to tear down his walls and reveal his emotions, changing our relationship forever.

Techno presented himself as untouchable, calling himself 'the blood god,' but I saw him hold back tears when Tommy betrayed him. I saw the destruction his wrath brought upon L'Manburg. He has compassion, but if he bottled them up any longer, there's no telling who he'd become. He couldn't keep letting everything out as anger, or we'd all pay the price.

I dressed for the night, setting his cape on the back of his chair. I chose a simple shirt and pants, the thickest ones I'd brought with me. I was still cold, but I took the opportunity to inspect his room.

He lives in the attic, a small loft with sparse decoration. What little furniture he did have was extravagant and of the highest quality. His desk chair was made of dark oak wood, the velvet red cushion was well worn. The table matched, a knife was stuck in it, too hard for me to pull out. It was dull, probably used to open letters.

His bed was made, probably just before I got there since it was only roughly put together. Next to it, there was a giant bookshelf pushed against the wall. Most of the books were unmarked and dusty, but a few of them were clean, recently put back. The Art of War, Odyssey, and the Iliad were among them. Their spines were worn and multiple bookmarks were sticking out of the top of each.

"Do you read much?" Techno asked, startling me.

"Um, oh," I stuttered, "I don't know where to get books from, so..."

"No?" He reached over and pulled The Art of War out of the bookshelf.

"I live out in the middle of nowhere," I shrugged, "The only thing I read is my mail."

"That's pretty sad," he said matter-of-factly.

"I have plenty of things to occupy my time with, Technoblade," I crossed my arms.

"Mhm," he handed me the book. Its cover was more worn than its spine, the old leather was cracking at the corners. "Take that home with you, I've read it a thousand times. Might come in handy."

"I suppose I can use it to knock intruders out," I flipped it over. It was like a brick in my hand, heavy and hard enough to break a window. "Thanks."

I yawned, realising how late it's gotten. I left my house almost a full twenty-four hours ago and I rode endlessly until I got here. I was exhausted.

I walked over to my pile of stuff and carefully placed the book in my bag. I then took a bit of a running start and jumped onto the bed, landing in a pile of furs and knitted blankets. "Don't wake me up in the morning," I muttered.

Techno came over and sat on the bed next to me. "I'll try not to," He said.

I shuffled under the blankets and shivered. The furs were enough to keep my body heat in, but I wouldn't tell Techno that. I heard him pick the covers up to join me. Soon, I felt his arms wrap around me, his chest to my back.

My cheeks flushed bright pink and I stifled a giggle. The blood god is snuggling with me... This is not what I thought was going to happen when I joined the server. I smiled and put my hand on his, wrapped around my waist. No one was going to believe this ever happened.

--- The Bird's Dream ---

He’s there, he’s right there. I need to go see him, I need to get there before it’s too late. There are so many people in the way, I’m not going to be there in time to dance. Who are all these people? They whisper about him as if they know him, as if they watch his every step and live in his mind. Left and right, they whisper things about me, about him.

“Did you hear, he’s going to the ball!”

“Oh and with that beautiful bird,”

“If only they knew. Tsk.”

Their eyes were unmoving, fixated on me. I shoved my way through the crowd, suddenly falling into the void.

“Did you really think it was going to be that simple? That you’d just seduce him with the snap of your fingers? He’s not a dog, he can’t be trained. He’s a wild animal. He’s unstable, He’ll break your heart, little bird.” Dream's voice boomed, echoing in my mind.

"Who are you?" I tried to yell, but only air came out.

"I'm the one who whitelisted you, the one who trusted you."

"What does that mean?" I was desperate to stop, to wake up, but I was falling infinitely.

"That's not for you to know, Puppet. You're here because I have a job for you, nothing more. You're the only one that can get through to him."

"What- What's my job? Why am I here?"

"You'll know soon enough-"

--- Technoblade ---

I slept soundly until I felt them stir under me. It sounded like they were having a nightmare, they muttered my name. What the hell are they dreaming about? I pulled them closer, brushing my hand through their hair. I wanted to wake them softly, so they'd forget about whatever was just racing through their mind.

They took a deep breath, signalling their waking. I continued to stroke their hair, "You ok, Bird?"

They mumbled an 'ok' and turned to face me, burying their face in my neck. I did the same and took deep breaths for them to follow. Within minutes, they were asleep in my arms. It felt right.

I didn't have the heart to admit it. If I did, I'd just have to tear it all away again, I'd be the one thing I truly hated. I'd be a traitor.

Don't get attached, Techno. We get to break hearts now, not just crush them! If you name this one, you'll regret it. Nothing screams ruin more than you do.

-

I woke up to birds chirping outside my window. The weather had finally let up, now I could finally get real work done. It took me a couple of seconds to remember the person fast asleep in my arms. A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it.

Carefully, I picked up the covers and snuck out of bed. I wanted to keep my promise not to wake them up, and so I immediately left the room, avoiding the creaky floorboards as I descended the stairs to the kitchen.

I pulled half a dozen eggs out of their box and cracked and cooked them over the fire, adding the occasional spice so it wasn't too bland. I toasted some bread and stuck it all on separate plates. Four eggs for me, two for them. I was two times their size, after all. The image of them laying on my bed flashed in my mind, making me smile. I shook it off. I couldn't get attached any more than I was now.

I pulled myself together and went back upstairs with the food. I put my plate on my desk, pulling the knife out of it and stashing it in my drawer. I walked over to the bed, placing their food on the nightstand. I reached over and gently pat them on the head, slowly waking them.

"Good morning," I whispered.

They opened their eyes and mumbled "G'morn'n,"

"I made you some eggs," I said, still petting their head, "You should eat them while they're hot,"

"Ok," they sat up and I moved back over to my desk, sitting in my chair.

They yawned and stretched, their shirt raising over their waist, exposing their belly button. I looked away and busied myself with my food.

Oh, look at them, they're so cute... so naive... so vulnerable.

I wanted to scream at the voices to shut up. They had been plaguing me ever since Phil suggested I invite them. For some reason, they had a vendetta against the bird. They wanted to see them suffer to, in turn, make me suffer. The voice's presence itself was enough to turn my hair grey, but this added a whole extra layer to my agony.

"Techno?"

"Hmm?" I didn't look up from my food.

"Did you make me breakfast in bed?"

I looked at them, hiding my embarrassment, "You told me not to wake you, but I was hungry, and I thought you'd like some too."

They blushed and shrugged. "You know me so well," they sighed.

"And I thought you'd appreciate the origin of the eggs," I added.

"Oh, and where are they from?" Their mouth was full, making them mumble a bit. They looked a bit scared.

"Well," I leaned towards them in my chair, "They're from The egg."

"Bullshit," they called, stuffing their face with more eggs. Maybe I should have given them more.

I laughed, genuinely, "They're just chicken eggs, I doubt the egg would taste very good,"

We ate and joked like nothing was wrong in the world. They were so good at making me feel at home, but the voices were eager to remind me of my past. I wouldn't let them spoil this. What we had was new to me, and I wouldn't just lay down and take the voices at their word. Gods know they aren't worth their weight.

— Philza —

“Hey, you two…” I creaked open the front door to Techno’s cabin.

The bird smiled at me from the breakfast bar, “Hey Phil, good morning!” They seemed very chipper for having just woken up. Both of them were already dressed in the day’s clothes, excluding overcoats that hung on the hooks by the door.

“Hello, Phil,” Techno nodded at me. His hair was neatly braided and they were both already dressed.

"How was your morning?"

"Techno made me breakfast!" They laughed. That was a surprise, he didn't even cook for me.

"Ooh, nice," I said, "What's better than breakfast in bed, eh?"

"Riches beyond your wildest dreams," Techno chuckled. I guess they were both in a good mood this morning.

“It’s nice to see you, mate,” I said to the bird, wandering over to join them at the breakfast bar. I sat down on a stool next to them, putting the notebook on the counter in front of me. “I’ve got something for you.”

“Ooh, what is it?” They said, sliding the notebook over to them. I reached over and opened it to the page I was referring to.

“The banquet has a dress code, and I’m assuming you don’t have anything that matches it,” Everything they wore was forest green or yellow, sometimes they had black or white clothes, but it was few and far between.

“What’s the dress code?”

“It’s blue, black, white, and gold,” I pointed to two drawings on the page, “I’m thinking either I make you a dress or a tuxedo, or I can mix the two. A tux top with a skirt. What do you think?”

They pressed their lips together, surveying their options. I tried my best to draw them, although they were rough sketches of a fancier design in my head. I could draw buildings and architecture for my blueprints, but flow-y things were not as easy.

/// UNDER CONSTRUCTION, BRRRRR ///

Choose your garment! It only affects the story slightly, I promise! There is no gender attached to them, it just changes how you’ll interact with people :)

Dress

Tux-dress

Tuxedo

[miamlfy]

Gryffindor Scum

A/N: WOOH PART THREE IS FINALLY OUT! There was so many ways I could have written this part and I actually rewrote it a few times. This part is more centered on Draco rather than the reader but I guess this series is mostly on Draco. Feel free to give me feedback/ideas!

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem! Reader

Summary: Draco has an unwelcoming experience with Blaise and Pansy. 

Warnings: Implied depression, Pansy, and a few swear words. Perhaps spelling/grammar mistakes as well. 

Word Count: 1,9k

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Enjoy!

(Not my gif, credit to whoever made it)

Draco laid wide awake on his bed, staring onto the ceiling. He spent hours tossing and turning, just wanting to fall asleep just like everyone else in the house, however, his body refused to shut down. Draco continued to glance down to Harry’s muggle alarm clock he had on his nightstand, 3:46am it read. He let out a sigh, your mum wanted everyone up by 6am. So much for a good night’s rest, he thought to himself. 

His stomach was filled with the nervous feeling, his whole life had changed for him during the summer and he knew life at Hogwarts would also change. If someone told his past self that he would be dating a half blood or better yet living amongst Gryffindors, he would’ve laughed in their faces and told them to fuck off. Draco would have never imagined that this would be his life now, not that he hated it. He loved it, every second of it. He loved being in a household which held warmth, love, and security. He loved having parental figures that asked him on the daily if he was okay but most of all, he loved having you at his side. 

You were there for him for anything he needed the minute he stepped foot into your house. At first, Draco was scared your relationship would have declined when he moved in but instead it got stronger and the love was blooming more than ever. They spent many nights together alone, talking about the present and the future. 

“If I become a professional Quidditch player and you a healer, you can help with any injuring I get.” You said while picking on the grass you were laying on. 

Draco chuckled besides you, “I’ll also be on the stands cheering you on and being the loudest there.” 

Those moments the two of you had are what kept Draco going. You were his world and his yours. He got so used to spending each day with you that he wasn’t sure if he’ll be the same spending less amounts together at school. Now, Draco wasn’t much of the clingy type but after living in the same house for almost three months only to go back to school and being separated by house rivalry but going to take its toll. 

Draco scoffed to himself, whoever created such things and made him believe them were children, he thought. House rivalry was nonsense. Draco looked over to the clock once again, not much time has passed since he last checked it. He rolled onto his side and decided to at least get some sleep to avoid being an awful mood the in the morning. 

Draco was woken up by the smell of breakfast cooking in the kitchen. He looked over to Harry’s bed to see it empty and unmade, no doubt already waiting for the delicious delights Lily was cooking.

Draco was still getting used to seeing a human cook rather than house elves. Lily wasn’t the only person who cooked in the Potter household, he also learned that you, along with Harry were taught some things. James, however, was often kicked out of the kitchen after his many, many, failed attempts on cooking. 

He got up from his bed and quickly made it along with Harry’s. Although your twin brother was fully capable of making his own bed, Draco hated a messy room and often opted into making your brothers bed. Heading downstairs, he saw your luggage packed and ready to go by the front door. Lily made the three you do it the night prior. 

“Ah, he’s up.” He heard you say, you stood on your tippy toes to place a kiss on his cheek. You always complained about your shortness to him, and how it wasn’t fair the Harry got the tall gene. 

“Come sit down, there’s pancakes, eggs, and bacon on the table already. Help yourself.” You said to him. 

Draco nodded and took an empty seat next to James. He began adding foods onto his plate, before he could start eating, James began speaking to him loud enough for him to only hear. 

“Draco as you know, the trial between your parents and us is still happening.” Draco nodded as James spoke. 

The trial was taking longer than expected and although it was unrealistic to think it would end with an agreement immediately, Draco wish it was over. Both parties refused to step down. Not that Draco wanted your parents to give up, he knew they wouldn’t. He just wished his own parents would come to terms that Draco wasn’t returning to them and to drop whatever they doing to claim themselves as the best wizarding parents out there. 

Well, he just wished his father would stop. He knew his mother couldn’t do much, she was just there to be a wife of a pureblood and a mother to heirs. Draco knew she tried to be there for him but the way she was raised proved that the only way she could try to show her love for her son was to buy him things and spoil him with anything and everything he asked for. 

Narcissa still sent him letters once a week, whether it was sending him money, treats, or asking a simple ‘How are you doing?’. 

Draco stared at James and nodded his head allowing James to continue. 

“Word has gotten out and it’ll most likely be in the papers soon which means people will say things to you. Don’t let them get to you and force you to pick a side, in the end it’s you who decides.” 

Draco already had a side picked but he knew Mr. Potter was right. His ‘friends’ will no doubt try to make him change his mind about everything and force him back into being the self-centered prick he was. 

Once everyone finished the very delicious breakfast and got into the muggle car Lily owned, with complaints from you for having to sit in the middle seat, the five of you headed towards the train station. 

“Harry move your bloody elbow!” You yelled out to your brother. “It’s stabbing me in the side!” 

“Maybe it’s you who should move, my elbow is fine where it is!” 

Draco slightly laughed at the interaction, leave it to the two of you to cause some sort of chaos in any given situation. He sat back in his seat and looked out the window, watching all the cars drive by. 

His stomach was getting the same feeling it had during the night. He began chewing on his lip, a habit he had of doing whenever he was nervous. Taking notice of this, you took his hand into yours. 

“Are you okay?” You asked looking at him. Concern was written all over your face as he looked at you. Looking at you is what made him more present and calmer. He loved looking at you, you were always so beautiful to him. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” He responded, giving you a genuine smile. You reciprocated the smile and leaned your head on his shoulder. 

Draco let out a yawn, his lack of sleep getting to him. Perhaps he’d be able to nap on the train. 

Arriving at the station, the three of you said goodbye to your parents. Lily was making sure everyone had everything they needed while James looked ready to cry. Regardless of this being the fifth year of doing this, he was never ready to say goodbye to his children. 

Draco noticed some Slytherins giving him weird looks as he stood with the Potters, a few gasps were heard from others when he hugged James and Lily goodbye. He didn’t care though; it was a bit amusing to see some of his peers sporting confused looks. 

“Alright kids be safe and be good, I don’t want to hear about any more pranks on teachers or students,” Lily said, looking directly at you and Harry. “Includes you now, Draco. These three gremlins can be quite the influence.” 

“Three?!” 

“Yes James, three.” 

“Now that’s not fair, Sirius should be in that list too!” James said. Lily shook her head as if her point was proven. 

Draco followed Harry and you onto the train, he saw a few first years still waving goodbye to their parents through the windows. He saw you poke your head out of one as well, he wanted to laugh at the fact that you looked no different than a first year, but he knew it was best not to as he didn’t want to make you mad. 

“Tell Uncle Moony that I say hi!” He heard James yell. You replied with a ‘will do’ and pulled your head back as the train began to move. Draco could’ve sworn he saw James wipe a few tears from his eyes. 

“Are you going to come sit with us? Harry already went with Hermione and Ron to find an empty compartment.” You asked your boyfriend. 

Draco shook his head, “It’s best if I go sit with the others, Granger and Weasley aren’t much used to having me around unlike Harry and you.” 

“Alright well if anything happens, you can come find us.” 

Draco nodded, allowing you to place a kiss on his lips as a short bye. Watching you skip as you went to find the others, Draco went on his way to find the people he calls his friends. 

The compartment in which they were in wasn’t hard to find, upon entering it Draco placed his luggage above and sat down next to Blaise. 

“Strange,” he heard Blaise say. “We didn’t think you’d be joining us.” 

“And why is that?” Draco asked turning his head to look at Blaise. 

Blaise continued to look down at the book he was reading, “It seemed to us that your alliance has changed.” 

Draco scoffed but before he could speak back, Pansy had already taken the stage. 

“You left us Draco.” She said, forcefully making herself sit in-between Draco and Blaise. She placed her arms around Draco’s neck. 

“Come back to us Draco, we know you’re still in there.” She shook him as she spoke, “We know they brainwashed you now come back.” 

Draco threw Pansy’s arms off of him with a bit of force, making her pout. “No one has brainwashed me.” 

“They clearly did, you don’t even want to be with me anymore!” She screeched. Draco rolled his eyes at her delusional self. 

Blaise closed his book and made Pansy go back to her original seat. He looked directly at Draco as he spoke. 

“We don’t want you here anymore, Draco. You made it clear to us that you no longer want to be in this friend group the minute you hugged that mudblood and her blood traitor husband. Not to mention how friendly you’ve gotten with Y/n Potter.” 

Draco felt his body becoming hot with anger as Blaise targeted the slurs towards your parents. 

“Now leave us and perhaps you’d want to change your house tie as well, seeing as you’ve become Gryffindor scum.” Blaise finished. 

Draco angrily stood up, glaring at Blaise as he grabbed his luggage and stormed out slamming the compartment door with such force. He stood there for a few seconds, taking notice that his hands were shaking as he rubbed his eyes with them.

“This is going to be one long fucking year.”

[bitchapalooza]

Some ADHD headcanons I guess (coming from someone with ADHD btw)

America:

He takes medication to help manage his ADHD however he does often forget.

More often than not, it's either a simple call or text from Canada asking if he's taken it yet or its his cool little alien roommate that shoves his meds catty into his face like "take the fucking capsule take the fucking capsule take the fuc" until he finally takes it.

America's stims are: rocking or swaying back and forth or side to side, waving his arms when excited or uncomfortable/frustrated, when incredibly anxious he uses a small beanbag he carries around to feel the beads inside as it helps him ground himself from getting overestimated.

One of his biggest, long lasting, hyperfixations is airplanes! He loves watching them take off and fly, taking them apart and studying them then putting it all back together by hand, making model planes to display, flying them himself— go ahead and ask him about airplanes, he'll get the biggest smile you've ever seen!

America didn't know, for the longest time, that what he has been experiencing is overstimulation. He simply thought he was being a brat about certain situations, what is lashing out and such. Although he understands now that doesn't mean there's any less panic, or at certain times aggression. He tries his best to push through it to get work done as he believes it'll somehow pass faster if he does so. He doesn't get it often thanks to learning how manage it better.

Hypersensitivity issues: tags in clothes, long sleeves that grasp too tightly(tight used loosely as to him tight is something like a bracelet) to his wrist, slimey or sticky things.

People who help him best: Canada, England(to his best abilities), Lithuania, Romano, and Japan.

North Italy

Vene does not take medication. He simply forgets too often and is too self conscious about telling people he takes medication, even to his own brother. He'd just like that to stay private is all. If he forgets so much to the point of the meds expiring with barely any use, he'd rather not take them all.

Instead, Vene had learned how to keep his own focus. He hangs up sticky note reminders or has a digital to-do list synced on his phone and laptop as he's always on them for work anyway. He's learned association words to go with dates and whatevers scheduled for those dates. It's not the greatest but at least he's not wasting anything that could very well go to someone else who needs it.

Vene's stims are: waving his arms or flapping his hands around, jiggling his leg up and down, humming— sometimes he'll put his hand just below his Adam's apple to feel the vibrations. He chews pencils and pens, jiggles pens and pencils between his fingers too. He'll also pass pens, pencils, straws—basically anything possible— between his fingers back and forth.

Cooking and painting/drawing are the two things he considers his biggest hyperfixations. Cooking he prefers to do on his own mostly as being crowded in one place while having so much to do makes his nerves go nuts. But he doesn't mind company when he's drawing or painting. He actually feels better with company at that point. He tends to get extremely quiet as he concentrates on his art so it gets pretty silent around by default. He likes it when people are around to fill in that space. When asked about cooking and art, he'll ramble and ramble nonstop about his favorite artists or chefs or what have you until he's tired.

Vene gets overstimulated a lot and this is due to his habit of just staying put and doing nothing about what's bothering him or not recognizing the annoyances at all. He gets very squirming, moving around a lot, when overstimulated. But still does nothing which leads to breakdowns that he still tries to ignore is happening. When asked, he'll just say he didn't get enough sleep and leave it at that. He simply doesn't want to broadcast this side of himself in case anyone thinks even lesser of him more than they may or may not do now.

Hypersensitivity issues: certains foods touching(rolls or toast CANNOT be on the same plate as his eggs or anything with sauceon it, absolutely no thank you, they'll get too soggy and v*mit inducing when even looking at it), his socks cannot have seams in them as they run the risk of touching his toes nor can the band be touching his ankles(so he normally wears knee high socks inside out as seamless seem to be hard to find). Most foods he can handle but honestly mashed potatoes give him a lot of anxiety. To him, the texture looks like it'll feel like sandpaper on his tongue. So he avoids it despite never even trying it in the first place.

People who help him best: Romano, Germany(he tries but he only understands the basic textbook definition, not Vene's personal experience; and that's really enough for Vene honestly), Seborga, Japan, and Hungary.

Sealand

He fights Sweden, Finland and England about it but he does take medication. When at Sweden's, he tends to fall on bribing him to take it while Finland has already given up 30 minutes prior. At England's, he manages to get him to take it easily by threatening to take his games away(works every time).

Sealand doesn't really like the medicine as it makes him feel..... run down. He much rather prefers to feel very active all day than to feel like a zombie. But everyone has told him its for his own good so he at least attempts to listen. Key word: ATTEMPTS.

Sealand mostly rocks on his heels, sucks his teeth repeatedly for the sound, or fiddles with the joystick of the stim toy Finland bought him when he stims. He still moves around a lot regardless but he is a kid afterall.

Sealand mostly hyperfixates on his country status, that is true. However, he's also taken a liking to puzzles and legos. He's got about 14 puzzles finished and framed, a tiger puzzle is even hanging in the kitchen(Sweden's) for everyone to see! As for legos, Sealand just really likes to build little cities out of them and pretends their a part of his country. He never uses the people pieces, instead he just collects them and occasionally swaps their hair pieces out between the figures.

He doesn't exactly get overstimulated often. In fact its pretty rare. But when it does happen it's mostly when he's in the big cities surrounded by noisy cars and too many people. He clings as close as possible to whoever he's with, which is most often England. When he's alone, which is a lot as he kind of runs off on his own despite everyone telling him not to, he simply breaks down. Thankfully he has all his contacts in order and no phone lock so its easily accessible for anyone in case of emergency.

Hypersensitivity issues: None of his food can touch so he still uses dividing plates. The textures of broccoli and rice makes him incredibly uncomfortable. He won't eat beans unless he serves his own portion just to make sure it's not TOO goopy. And lastly he refuses to let anyone pick him up— he doesn't like anyone, not even those he considers family, to touch the sides of his stomach and much less under his arms. He says there's just something about it that makes him want to curl up and get away, its incredibly uncomfortable.

People who help him best: Sweden, Finland, England*, Latvia, and Seborga.

*England has better understanding with ADHD in children than he does with adults. As childrens' ADHD tend to be more presentable than adults', England can better recognize it and feels better in helping. ADHD was not a diagnosis prior to the 1900s so England did not know that what America had when he was child was ADHD, he simply believed he was a trouble maker. After taking care of Sealand and getting his diagnosis he later realized the similarities between them both and apologized to America for the harsh berating he gave him as a child. And when America later got his own diagnosis in the early 2000s, England further apologized and offered him as much help as possible while he adjusts with his new diagnosis. He had trouble with America but he at least tries which is all that counts in the end.

[dadsbongos]

Treehouse

Movie/Game/Show: My Hero Academia Dynamic: Katsuki Bakugou/Reader (and a lot of other people) Warnings: Spoilers for bakugou’s hero name ahead!!, songfic for this song Summary: Katsuki’s grown a lot since middle school, hasn’t he? ~~~

Do Not Enter's written on the doorway. Why can’t everyone just go away? Except you. You can stay.

Katsuki looked down at the girl in his arms, eyes fluttered shut and lashes fallen over her cheeks. Lips parted ever so slightly to let out puffs of even, laxed breathing. The golden sunlight shone in her hair as it beamed through his thin curtains, soft warmth spreading over both of their bodies. His fingers carefully danced over the tender skin of her arm as he held her close. Her head over his chest and he was sure that the sound of his thunderous heartbeat would wake her eventually.

It felt nice, he concluded, to hold his love so dearly. To let his chest deflate and not have to be the best of the best. He didn’t have to be anyone. He didn’t have to be Bakugou, Katsuki - top of the class. Bakugou, Katsuki - Dynamight. Bakugou, Katsuki - Kacchan. Bakugou, Katsuki.

If he didn’t want to, he didn’t have to be anyone. She’d hold him just as close with any other persona he wanted to wear. It was his real security. His real home - right in her arms. A home he didn’t want to leave.

He wasn’t sure when it hit him. Just one of those random thoughts you never expect but deep down, you knew the entire time. Something so simple and yet so earth shattering that merely breathing it into existence seemed catastrophic. He wasn’t sure when it hit him that he was terrified of losing her. So innately terrified that the very thought was enough to send his muscles a tremor.

The feeling, it wasn’t nice. But he knew exactly what was - living the life he could with (Y/n).

What do you think of my treehouse? It's where I sit and talk really loud. Usually, I'm all by myself.

“Man, you’re really saving my ass here, Bakubro!” Eijiro grinned, exposing his unnatural shark teeth.

Katsuki huffed, “Don’t think about it, shitty hair. You’re still not passing.”

“I know, I know,” the redhead nervously grinned, eyeing the rolled up newspaper in Katsuki’s hand as he did so, “It’s just manly of you to help me is all. You’ve changed, man, it’s kinda cool.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious!” Eijiro put down his pencil, “It’s cool.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes but didn’t retort further. Whether he was ready to admit it or not, that usually would’ve gotten Kirishima, Eijiro a first-class newspaper swatting but he supposed he could let it pass. Just this once. 

I’m the captain but you can be the deputy. I'm really glad you think I'm so funny. I don't think I'm ever gonna let you leave.

Denki bit at his bottom lip in concentration, more effort going into thinking about cracking the egg in his hand than actually cracking the egg in his hand. His brows were drawn tight toward his face, contemplating how he should go about his cracking to avoid a mess. The last time he was trusted to crack eggs, he’d gotten shell in the bowl and yolk all on the counter and his fingers. The last time he was trusted to crack eggs, he felt like an utter fool. 

Looking over to the electric blond, Katsuki snarled at how little the boy had gotten done. Walking over, he took the egg still encased in its roughened shell from Denki in one hand and a bowl in the other. Tilting the porcelain bowl just right, Katsuki snapped the egg against the lip of the dish, pulling his fingers apart to hold the crack in the egg open so the yolk could drool down. Tossing out the eggshell, Katsuki watched as Denki took an egg for himself before copying exactly what the explosive teenager had done.

As two yolks drowned together in whites within their little bowl, Denki sung the praises of his dear friend, of Bakugou, Katsuki - and in Denki’s opinion, apparently, a masterchef. 

Nodding stiffly, Katsuki turned back to his own task at buttering the pan as it laid atop its burner. He let silence rule the kitchen until Denki would break it with a lame joke he would never admit he liked.

Do Not Enter's written on the doorway. Why can’t everyone just go away? Except you. You can stay.

“You have such great lid space, though,” Mina clasped her hands tighter, “I think it’d be fun!”

Katsuki grumbled under his breath before sighing and tossing his head back, “I’ll give you twenty minutes. Starting fucking now.”

Squealing, Mina hopped onto the common room couch before unzipping her makeup bag, “Thanks, Bakugou!”

“Whatever,” he rolled his eyes, barely managing to hold his underlying frustration inside, “Your damn funeral if you fuck up.”

“I won’t…” Mina pouted, “C’mon, don’t you believe in me? Just a little? You’ve seen what I can do.”

“I’ll believe for now.”

What do you think of my treehouse? It's where I sit and talk really loud. Usually, I'm all by myself.

“Oh, didn’t know the balconies were occupied,” Hanta awkwardly muttered.

Katsuki looked up from the ground below, brows furrowed and eyes stinging, “If you say anything to anyone, I’ll kill you myself.”

Putting his hands up, Hanta showed off that stupidly large, stupidly infectious grin, “Hey, man, everyone needs a good cry. I think it keeps us sane.”

Nodding silently, Katsuki stood at his railing, head hanging over and eyes clenched shut in a new effort to keep his tears in.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I’d rather die.”

“Maybe, instead of dying, you could just vent to a trusted friend who cares about you?” Hanta suggested, “You go to (L/n), right? Well, now you can come to me, too. We’re friends, Bakugou, we’re there for each other.”

I’m the captain but you can be the deputy. 

Stirring inside his mind, were the thoughts he’d been keeping to himself since that fight. His real fight with Izuku. Where Katsuki won. The successor to All Might and boy wonder was beaten by Katsuki. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

Izuku was making progress fast, far too fast. He was leaping towards the top and Katsuki could only watch on, feet trapped in the cement. The ground swallowing his body as Deku, the Quirkless one, the useless one, the crybaby, bound forward in success.

It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t enough. Bakugou, Katsuki was simply not enough.

That’s what he was beginning to believe; where he couldn’t even save himself from villains, Deku came rushing in to save him and succeeded. 

Sitting at the kitchen island, alone, in the middle of the night, that’s what Katsuki was beginning to believe.

Lights flicker on, “Kacchan?”

Closing his eyes, Katsuki pretended there was no voice. Nobody behind him. No one but him awake at this awful hour.

“You’re usually in bed by now. Way before, actually.”

There was no reply. There didn’t need to be one. Izuku sat beside Katsuki all the same, an uneven, slightly nervous, smile on his face as he did so.

Katsuki opened his eyes, looking at the other boy from the corner of his peripheral, “You’ve made the power yours.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not as useless as I thought.”

“Thanks… you know, I’ve been meaning to ask… would you- would you train with me sometime? I think that I could really improve if I fought someone like you.” 

“Someone like me? The fuck does that mean?”

“Strong. Well-versed in your Quirk. Other than Todoroki, you’re probably the best at Quirk application, so I wanted to see if I could fight you.”

“Ask daddy issues.”

“But then we couldn’t have our rematch. I still need to beat you, Kacchan, you know?”

I'm really glad you think I'm so funny.

Katsuki found himself staring at the back of Izuku’s head, brows furrowed. Anger. Frustration. Confusion. He couldn’t tell what exactly it was. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see her. (L/n), (Y/n) smiling at him softly, perfect lips tugged into a perfect grin on her perfect face. God, what he wouldn’t give to just grab her and kiss the smile off her face just to do it all over again. What he wouldn’t give to scream to the world he loved her.

“You okay? You’re tense.”

Glancing to the front, Shota still sleepily tucked in his sleeping bag in a corner of the room, Katsuki nodded, “Fucking fine. Just thinking.”

Setting her chin in the palm of her hand, (Y/n) tilted her head ever so slightly, “Wanna tell me about it?” shaking his head, the ash-blond went to refuse when she spoke up again, “Not here, if you wanna wait.”

He felt almost unworthy. Losing to Deku, killing the legacy of All Might, getting kidnapped by villains - Bakugou, Katsuki felt unworthy of his own lover’s comforts. Looking at the face of an angel would make you crazy - at least that’s what his father told him once. And so, he nodded slowly, “Sure. Later. Alone, though, I’m not talking shit in front of Raccoon Eyes and Dunce Face.”

“Whatever you need,” she murmured, giggling quietly to herself, “I’m here.”

I don't think I'm ever gonna let you leave.

“I’ll say this once.”

He burned the image of them into his brain. (Y/n) and Eijiro on either side of him on the common room couch. Denki just about ready to cut through the carrot cake Mina and Hanta slaved over despite trashing on the choice the entire time. Izuku was slightly off to the side, ready to hand off gifts to his childhood rival.

Katsuki sighed quietly, looking to his feet when a hand grabbed his, (Y/n) rubbing her thumb into his skin. He swallowed his pride before letting everything he felt about each and every person in the room manifest into the best phrase someone like him could imagine.

“Thanks. For everything.”

[sabraeal]

Traffic Lights Are Burnin’

[Read on AO3]

Written in honor of @nebluus‘s birthday! She asked for some WFB, and of the options I gave she chose the next part of our Six Flags saga...only the beginning scene of that chapter ended up ballooning out into this so...it ended up being less Amusement Park Shenanigans and more Wholesome Boys Will Be Boys Content. I’M SURE MADI WILL BE JUST FINE WITH THAT TOO 😂

“Are you making an omelette?”

English is not, functionally, Mitsuhide’s first language. Not that he thinks of it like that-- first or second, third or fourth; there’s no ranking in his life, no moment in which one language followed another. There was English with Mama and quebecois with Papa; a plan quickly scuttled by Mitsuhide being the fifth Lowen sibling. Refusing to be pigeonholed into a single language no matter how many times Mama repeated consistency is key, his brothers mostly spoke a tossed salad of both and assumed he’d understand the lettuce.

Coupled with the fact that all his cousins lived in Toronto anyway, Mitsuhide had hardly begun talking himself before it became outside quebecois and inside English. Unless they left the province, in which case it was a free-for-all that left his few monolingual aunts and uncles dizzy.

Which is to say, Mitsuhide only becomes aware of the precise inner ranking of his languages in moments like this, where gut immediately kicks out a dry ‘j’essaie.’ The translation is vetoed on the grounds that although in quebecois he’s never met a word he couldn’t steep in sarcasm and smuggle in a sacre, he prefers to keep his English so clean it squeaks.

You’ve got it all backwards, Kihal had told him as he sweltered under the San Juan sun, English is fake, you can be as much of an asshole as you want it in, it doesn’t count.

It’s true, there’s something that’s more real to him in French, that’s more real about him, but, well-- there were far fewer cousins to tattle on his potty mouth this way. And now that he knows Obi...

Well, if Kiki ever made good on her threats to teach him any of his “church swears,” he’d probably never sleep easy again. So instead, he scrolls through his mental rolodex of possible appropriate replies before settling on, “Would you like one?”

Zen glances up from his array of pamphlets, glossy paper glaring beneath the overhead lamp. It matches the way Zen is looking at him. “We don’t have time for that.”

Mitsuhide frowns, giving his eggs one last vigorous whisk before pouring them into the pan. “There’s always time for breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.”

He glances over just in time to see Zen’s grimace. “Shirayuki really could be your sister.”

There’s really no reason he has to look so horrified by the idea. His brothers may all be broad shouldered, barrel-chested giants, but plenty of his cousins made pocket money in high school through catalogue modeling. And they’re all very nice girls.

He doesn’t mention it. A conversation never ends well if you have to whip out photos of female relatives to prove your point. “Would you like one?” he repeats instead, a safer tactic overall.

Zen’s nose wrinkles beneath some dubiously drawn eyebrows. “Are you putting spinach in there?”

“Kale,” he agrees. “And chicken.”

“In a breakfast omelette?” He clucks his tongue, just the way the Wisteria’s chef would when he attempted to cook at the estate. Quel dommage, he would say, sighing over the cutting board, why would you do that to perfectly good eggs? “Why would you do that?”

Because these muscles don’t come cheap; Mitsuhide chokes down a truly staggering amount of chicken in order to keep them. Roasted, of course-- boiled is technically better for protein, but even he has to draw the line somewhere. The eggs have less, but they are calorie efficient; he’d eat more of them if he could stomach the slimy, snake-like sensation of swallowing them down hard boiled.

But explaining his diet regime usually ended with glazed eyes, so he settles for, “I could always put something different in yours. There’s ham.”

Fancy ham, Obi calls it. It’s just from the deli counter, fresh sliced from whatever quality cut’s on sale, but considering how the first time Obi saw a charcuterie board, he shouted, Oh, Lunchables!--

Well, Mitsuhide can accept that maybe they have different benchmarks for fancy. And somehow just the simple act of calling it that does make it taste better. Or at least more satisfying when it’s shoved between a Hawaiian roll and deli cheese.

There’s a soft shuffle by the kitchen door, and a wild thatch of bristle peeps around the frame. Mitsuhide shakes his head with huff. That’s a new one-- just think the devil’s name and he appears.

Obi lopes into the kitchen, all long limbs and smooth movements, blurring right into the background without any effort at all. He’d gotten Mitsuhide a few times when he’d first moved in, popping up wherever it was sure to be the most inconvenient, grinning like a cat with feathers in its teeth. But once you knew the trick of it, well-- it’s no effort to keep the kid in his sights.

Which is why he has a full, uninterrupted view when Obi slips right up to Zen’s elbow, and asks, “Whatcha doing, chief?”

“Wah!” Pamphlets fly up, a glittering flock of wings swooping beneath the lamp. Zen slaps them down before they can skitter off the table’s edge. “Obi! Make noise for fuck’s sake!”

“Sorry,” he sing-songs, not a sincere note in it. Two long fingers pluck a pamphlet off the wood, twisting it between them. “What’s all this? They starting to put theme parks on exams now?”

“No.” Zen scowls, snatching it out of his hands. “I’m just making today’s itinerary.”

Mitsuhide slides his omelette onto a plate, turning just in time to catch the glance Obi sends him. It somehow says is he fucking with me while also implying I’ll hold him down if we gotta send him to the doctor. “An itinerary?”

He leans a hip against the island, fishing out a fork. What was it Obi always said? Dinner tastes better with a show. Time to find out whether it extends to breakfast too.

Zen fixes Obi with a look that could have had trenches with all its affront. “You can’t go to an amusement park without a plan. How else do you get on all the coasters?”

“It’s only Six Flags New England.” A week ago, the name alone made Obi flee like a cat from a bath, but now every syllable drips with derision, like a sommelier reviewing boxed wine. “They’ve got what? Superman?”

Mitsuhide shoves a corner of his omelette in his mouth. It’s not as good as a sausage, mushroom, and cheese, but, well, it’ll do. “Bizarro.”

“Bizarro.” Obi scoffs. “See? Nothing. Besides, I thought you were the kind of guy to spring for fast passes, boss.”

Zen’s always been sensitive; the sort of kid who tended to pop off when a situation came to a simmer instead of trying to turn down the heat. When Izana had been sitting president, he’s spent half his tenure fielding tense calls, sometimes even climbing into a towncar at a moment’s notice to be taken back east. The school, he’s always say, lifting a shoulder, my brother is proving to be a challenge, and my mother is...unreachable.

He’d thought this Zen kid must be like the ones he knew on the ice, punching first and asking questions later, complaining about being put in the box. All temper and no temperance, Mama used to say when she drove him home, can’t talk when you got plastic between your teeth.

But then he’d met him, undersized and stick-limbed, living in that house with people paid to be invisible. A kid with too much on his shoulders and too many eyes to watch him stumble under it. He’s come a long way from there.

So when Zen squirms in his chair, red already starting to lick up his neck, Mitsuhide doesn’t enjoy it. On the contrary, Zen’s discomfort is his discomfort, a failure of him to keep the watchful eye on him that Izana asked him to.

But it also doesn’t stop him from adding, “Shirayuki believes that waiting in line is part of the amusement park experience.”

Obi looks as though he’s just been told it’s his birthday and Christmas, all rolled into one. “Of course she does.” His mouth sharpens to a wicked grin. “So you’ll be lowering yourself to the peasant’s lines today, huh, Your Highness?”

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbles, swatting him away. “No one’s being lowered anywhere. We won’t be running into any of them so long as we get there early and hit the coasters in the right order.”

Obi coughs. Or at least, makes it sound like he is. “Uh-huh.”

“Where is Shirayuki anyway?” Zen glares at the empty doorway, brows heaving like thunderclouds over the bridge of his nose. “I thought you said you’d get her.”

“I did.” Obi twitches his shoulders; as good as a shrug, from him. “She’s getting ready.”

“It’s been fifteen minutes.” Zen’s glare changes target to him, thunder rolling in the tone of his voice. “Shirayuki doesn’t take this long to get ready.”

When Mitsuhide glances up, chewing around another stab of egg, kale, and chicken, Obi’s eyebrows are already there to meet him. His head tilts, just the barest degree; this is your show, big guy.

Mitsuhide coughs, trying to clear his throat of leaf bits. “Girls,” he starts, the ground sinking beneath him with each word, “like to look nice. Especially when they are on, uh, dates.”

“This isn’t a date,” Zen informs him, more than a little put out. “Obi’s going.”

The sound Obi makes can only be termed as distressed. “I didn’t want to.”

For exactly this reason, is what he doesn’t say. Doesn’t even show it on his face, though it has to be lurking beneath it, considering how he--

Well, considering nothing Mitsuhide knows for sure. But certainly a few things he reasonably suspects.

“Chief.” Obi flips the chair next to him, straddling it. “You know, I really thought it couldn’t be true. I really wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. But to hear you now--” he leans in, one narrow brow raising the same time his voice drops-- “you really do chicken out when it comes to getting chummy with Doc.”

Mitsuhide nearly chokes on his chicken.

Zen’s red all over, like someone pulled him from a boiling pot and put him on a plate. “You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do,” he says, so easy. “Doc told me.”

“She said that?” His skin’s so flushed Mitsuhide’s half afraid he’ll pass out, but instead he just collapses against the ladderback, head buried in his arms. “Shirayuki?” 

“Pretty much.” Obi sighs, hands braced on the table. “I mean, is it so hard to say she looks nice when she dresses up? Or that you like her hair, or--” he stumbles, shaking his head-- “no, not the hair. Too loaded. But you know, one of her floaty little numbers. Her freckles. Something.”

“I have!”

Obi lifts a dubiously narrow eyebrow. “Like when?”

“Ah...” Whatever the answer is, it’s not helping his blood flow problem. Mitsuhide nearly opens his mouth, searching for a good way to make himself a target-- “The Big E.”

Well, there goes that plan.

Obi’s inquisition crumples into confusion. “What? When did you--”

Every word ekes into the air with the utmost resistance. “When she was wearing your hoodie.”

“When she was wearing my--?” Gold eyes round to coins. “Chief.”

For a solid minute, that’s the only reaction-- wide-eyed disbelief, earned from two sides. But Obi coughs, mouth twitching, and it’s a snort, a smirk, and--

And then Obi launches himself away from the table, both hands still gripping the edge as he falls apart utterly. The chair’s back keeps him from putting his head between his knees, but spiritually he’s there, tears tracking down his cheeks as his laughs wheeze out of him

One hand finally slaps the table, like he’s asking for a time out. Zen frowns down at him, red finally fading to a painful pink. “It’s not that funny.”

“It is,” Obi squeaks, and Mitsuhide has to shove his last bite of omelette into his mouth to stifle his own noises. It’s no good-- Zen whips around and gives him the same glare he’s been saving for Obi.

“If you don’t cut it out,” he says loftily, “I’m going to let a freshman stay in your room.”

Well, that brings Obi up. “Fine,” he coughs, voice still ragged from laughing. “But still. My hoodie.”

“The sleeves hung over her hands! It was cute.” Zen huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “Fine, if I’m so bad, why don’t you two show me how it’s done?”

There’s a pause, long and loaded; enough that Mitsuhide glances up from his plate to see just what tomfoolery he should brace himself to break up--

Only to find Zen staring at him.

Intellectually, Mitsuhide is aware that Zen is a Wisteria. He met him through Izana, after all; he’s been over to the manor, he’s even met their prodigal mother on one of her rare stopovers between vacations. But when he thinks of the name, it’s Izana who springs to mind, the gears churning behind his eyes.

It’s not often that Zen reminds him of his brother; Cookie’s always said that Izana takes after their mother with that long and lean model build, while Zen has always been Kain’s child. But now, now--

He sees it, and it sends a shiver right through him.

With a quirk of his lips, Zen says, so like Izana that if he closed his eyes he wouldn’t know any different, “You first, Mitsuhide.”

Obi’s mouth curves into a leer. “Yeah, Big Guy. Show us the skills that got you Ms Kiki.”

This probably isn’t the time to tell them that it wasn’t him who got her; Mitsuhide hadn’t been trying to do anything more than be the friend she needed, to be a person she could confide in, could trust. People like that were thin on the ground for girls like her; heiress tended to make men see dollar signs instead of personality. But Kiki--

Well, she had other ideas. Ones he’d only cottoned onto when she climbed on top of him and shoved him against the couch cushions with her mouth.

“D-Don’t look at me!” he manages, trying to busy himself with anything. But there’s only a plate to be put in the sink, and a pan to be wiped. Not enough to fake a decent amount of responsibility. “I’m not--”

“Aw, c’mon, Big Man. Don’t leave us hanging.” Obi leans back, grin so wide it practically splits his face. “Lemme paint the scene. You’re single, Doc is adorable, and she’s waiting there--” he gestures to Zen, who flutters his eyelashes in precisely the way Shirayuki doesn’t-- “for you to make your move. Go!”

He could point out he’s not single, and that he doesn’t have any plans to change that anytime soon-- but that only ends in one way: a two-pronged mockery with additional ridicule provided by the impending arrival of his better half. He could also point out that of all the people in this room, he’s the only one who hasn’t wanted to date Shirayuki, but-- well, the problems with that one were obvious.

Instead, Mitsuhide takes in a deep breath, learns on the counter, and says, “Why, Shirayuki! You’re looking beautiful this morning. Those shorts really flatter your legs.”

There is a long silence, and then to everlasting embarrassment, they burst out laughing.

“Her shorts?” Zen’s hand is pressed to his chest, like he needs support to keep upright. “That’s all you can think of? Her shorts?”

“Well, Obi said not to do her hair,” he protests. “Complimenting her dress seemed like low hanging fruit. I was trying to be unique.”

Obi doesn’t even bother to remain horizontal, sprawling himself over the long forgotten maps. “So you went for her legs?”

“There’s nothing wrong with legs!”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Zen sputters out in an effort to keep his mouth straight. “Definitely a very neutral place to comment on.”

“Definitely not known for being attached to things like asses.” Obi’s mouth twitches, as much a sign for danger as thunder rolling in the distance. “Or puss--”

“I was not trying to comment on that.” He’d felt bad for Zen earlier, but the sentiment doesn’t seem mutual. “It’s not typical, sure, but Kiki never seems to mind when I compliment--”

“Kiki?” Zen squawks. “Kiki?”

“Well, I think we’re all learning a little too much about Big Guy today,” Obi wheezes. “Mainly that it’s Ms Kiki that chased him, and not the other way around.”

“Yeah.” Zen shakes his head, long and slow and solemn, like a doctor about to give a terminal diagnosis. “No game at all.”

Mitsuhide’s not a competitive man. Sure, he was forward on the ice, the kind of player that got sent to the box before the end of the first half and slid right into the captain spot when it was vacant. Aggression is part of the game, competition laced in every turn of his skate and lift of his stick, but that’s a different situation, a different language--

But it’s that part of him that surges beneath his skin right now, that makes him want to saunter over and put both hands on that rickety, painted wood until it creaks. That makes him want to take a full minute to bend down, showing off every centimeter of his one-ninety plus, and ask real low if either of them has made a girl beg on their cock lately, but--

He puts it in its place. That sort of talk always sounded better en français anyway.

Zen waves his hand, slipping his pamphlets out from under Obi. “Anyway, enough messing around. Are you still making omelettes, Mitsuhide?”

“Ohh, omelettes?” Obi spins to him with wide eyes. “Can I get mine with fancy ham?”

Mitsuhide blinks. “Wait, aren’t you going to do your take?”

“Nah.”

Zen shrugs. “Joke’s over.”

“So I just did that for no reason--?”

“I wouldn’t say no reason,” Zen wheedles. “It was very educational.”

Obi grins. “Mainly about how Big Guy likes legs--”

“Oh,” drawls a voice that makes his body go cold and hot at the same time. When he turns, it’s Kiki leaning against the jamb, a single elegant brow raised, excusing amusement and menace in equal measure. “Am I to take it that the show is over?”

“K-kiki,” he stammers. “How long--?”

“Hm.” She saunters over to the counter, slipping onto a stool with a casual grace that still leaves his mouth dry. “Long enough. I have to admit, I was looking forward to seeing a display of Obi’s fabled moves.”

“Ms Kiki,” Obi simpers, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’d be happy to give you a personal demonstration anytime.”

Both her brows raise. “Did I say I was desperate?”

He’s saved from Obi’s answer by Shirayuki padding into the kitchen, flushed and breathless. “Oh, you were right Kiki! Everyone is already ready. Sorry to make you wait.”

There’s a hesitation in the air, and Mitsuhide can’t figure it out, not until he sees-- she’s wearing shorts.

Shirayuki blinks. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kiki hums, sending him a gaze so wicked it should be illegal outside the bedroom. “Do you have anything to say to her, Mitsuhide?”

“No!” It comes out a little too harsh, a little too loud. “I mean, I, uh...like your sandals!”

“Sandals,” Obi snickers, a sound that’s only covered by Zen’s hushed, “Shut up.”

“Oh!” She blinks down. “Thank you. I got them at Payless. I, um, don’t think they make them in your size.”

“No,” he manages mildly. “I don’t imagine they would.”

“You do look real cute, Doc,” Obi chimes in, slinking out of his seat to circle around her. “Did you dress up for today?”

Zen makes a noise, somewhere between a choke and a gasp, but even with the pink brushing her cheeks, Shirayuki’s too used to his antics to do much more than sigh.

“Of course I did, Obi.” Her fists perch high on her hips, cocked as she talks to him. “It’s the last time we’re all going to be going out together, isn’t it? What could be more special than that?”

Mitsuhide may not be a competitive man, and especially isn’t a malicious one, but when Obi’s jaw goes slack, the tips of his ears darkening just the slightest bit, well-- he does indulge in the slightest bit of schadenfreude.

“Well,” Zen says, a little sharp. “Let’s get going.”

“Aw!” Obi whips around. “What about fancy ham?”

“I don’t think you need--”

“Oh, I haven’t had breakfast either!” Shirayuki adds, eyes wide. “Do we have time?”

Zen hesitates, and then with a sigh, relents. “We’ll stop at Dunkies.”

[namjoonchronicles]

rough | sj

↳ pairing seokjin x you

↳ genre domestic, fluff, slice of life, heir!seokjin, husband!seokjin, established relationship

↳ words 2.7k

↳ summary again seokjin’s conglomerate family comes in between your marriage, but this time, seokjin will not stay silent

↳ song lauv ‘love like that’

↳ author’s note the 7-day writing challenge continues with seokjin! <3

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Blanket rustling. A hand clamored on the vibrating alarm. A silhouette of a broad shoulder of a man sat awake on the edge of the bed, clicking his neck right and left. Seokjin rubs the back of his neck. He slid the indoor slippers on, walked wobbly around the king-sized bed, leaving the striped curtain down for his wife to sleep longer. Hand on the knob to the bathroom, he splashes water on his face. With the tips of his hair wet, he brushed his teeth. The morning always begins the same way from Seokjin. He is up by 6am, he does all his morning necessities, plants a kiss on the wife’s cheek and checks out the daughter in the next room. Once he has gotten a good look and the situation is unalarming, he proceeds to the kitchen. He looked at a post-it note placed on the fridge door, and today, his wife wanted to take kimchi fried rice with egg to the office for lunch.

Easy. I can do that. He thought.

Lily, his 7 years old daughter is still asleep. Overnight yoghurt is ready for her.  For his wife, she would have something warm. So he took out a bowl and poured a cup of oats inside, meanwhile the coffee was brewing as it was set to start brewing at about 6:15am in the morning, everyday. Coffee is the most important beverage to start the day. Without it, civilization might not even exist. Seokjin thought as his lips embraced the warm hug of the energizing liquid, downing a sip, cascading down his parched throat. He let out a satisfied sigh. The curtain in the living room is drawn open even before the sun is up. The cold air of the morning had fogged the glass window but with a click of a button, it cleared. Seokjin begin fluffing the cushion on the sofa, fix the runner on the coffee table and cleared the kitchen counter ready for breakfast. It’s almost 6.45am. You’ll be up and you would wake Lily right after. But before that, you will steal his coffee mug.

“Morning to you too,” he monotonously said while you grab his mug from his hand.

“I hate Mondays…” You grumbled.

“But today is Tuesday…” he corrected you, glancing at the digital calendar on the fridge.

“A second monday is no different,” You placed the mug down, and leaned on his arm.

“What time did you sleep last night?” he asked, shaking his arm sporadically to keep you awake because it seemed that you snoozed on them.

“Late, late…” you muttered.

Because of that, Seokjin offered to wake Lily this time around. But only today. Lily is draped over her father’s able body as he walks around, getting the laundries to run so he could dry them on time before the noon drama begins. You are in the shower, still whining about having to leave for work, trashing and sighing and whatever adults do when they have to work to get the bills paid. Sitting in your bathrobe, Seokjin had your oatmeal ready. Lily is on his lap while he fed her overnight yoghurt. She has school this morning, online classes. Lily always had a soft spot for her dad. Technically, he’s mom. He’s the one at home while the mom works. He teaches vocal lessons online after the virus decided to return to the community. He doesn’t really prefer online classes, literally no one does. It’s just not the same. You on the other hand, would have preferred working at home instead. If only you could bring those machines home. The vaccine development is in its pilot state, and there are so many things to be done. Your present is required in all the meetings.

Yesterday, you were up late to decipher the most recent problem your team encountered. The DNAs are denatured when it is transferred into the carrier and no matter how much you argued, (how impossible it was to happen) since there was no presence of heat at all to have caused the denature,  it happened anyways.

“Phones off the table please, mummy…” Seokjin warned.

Typing frantically a few more sentences, your phone is taken away by your husband and set on the side table, mere an arm length away. Lily watches in silence and while you wretched in silent agony.

“What’s happened?” Seokjin asked. Telling him everything, explaining it in simple words. Your animated way of telling stories comes in beneficial today, even Lily is engaged. Then the shoulders dropped. The tone mellows and your lips begin to mumble when you hit the no-answer part of the story, the part where it leaves you stuck.

“And I don’t know what to do to fix that particular mishap…”

Seokjin pursed his lips. That’s when Lily reached her little arms out to you.

“It’s okay, mummy. You’ll find a way to do it today…” She even pats your knuckle while at it. You switched your palm upward and held her hand. Seokjin smiled proudly at her, and kissed her hard on the head. You both shared a look across the kitchen counter, and you know you both are thinking of the same thing; Lily surely is an angel. She may be 7, but she doesn’t know just how much that meant to you. You will walk the headquarters today, a lot more confident than you did yesterday, and when you are confident, you are able to look through windows that are otherwise shut. That reminds you of Seokjin truly. He just always had so much faith in you that even if you don’t have it in you, you would think you do just because he believed so.

He hands you your lunch by the door. A hug for a minute every day, therapists say, would be good for the mind, body and soul. Sometimes it drags longer than that, depending on the severity of the situation. But he smells like bed and toothpaste in the morning, with his little bed hair that you wouldn’t mind doing it for an hour. Lily leans down for a kiss on the cheek and she hands you a facemask before you leave while Seokjin hands you the car key. Usually he would drive you to work and fetch you home but since both of his classes and Lily’s are online, there’s no need to go back and forth, exposing themselves to the virus even more while being out. You would like it better if they never had to leave home. Lily waves you goodbye from the door and Seokjin watches you leave with a smile stuck on his face. And you looked back thinking, the year may have taken a number of things, but they’ve also strengthened the little family you have.

Walking in with a comfortable glide by the lounge of the already bustling office, wait… Bustling? Everyone rushed in and out pushing carts of files and trays. Even the decors are being moved about. What is going on? You tilted your head to one side and looked for a familiar face. But seeing no one you know, you opened the door to your office and dialled Yoongi, your trustee alliance in the building. He answered with a cocky huff, “You don’t know? The investors are coming in today!” Yoongi can be all kinds of things, but lying isn’t one. It was not impossible for investors to come in without a proper walkthrough towards the manufacture of the vaccine but, isn’t this way too early?

“I think they’re antsy, the economy is at its lowest this time of day and they want profit… Capitalists,” Yoongi swings in with his coffee mug.

“I thought this would be on Friday, I would have had everything ready on Friday,” you fussed, shifting papers and files, frantically typing on last modifications on the presentation you had prepared.

“That, you could blame your rookie assistant, the new boy, what’s his name,” Yoongi clicked his tongue, proceeds to think hard.

“Yeonjun?” “Yes, Yeonjun. He got the time zone all wrong…”

You shut your eyes in agony. Noticing your silence, Yoongi took a seat in front of, swivel in the chair in the behaviour of an heir to a convenient store chain, before stopping dead in front of you, voice deeper than the sea.

“Mrs. Kim,” he said, “Aren’t you afraid? “Of what?” “The investors that are coming are Astra Pharmaceutics…” “So?” “They’re linked to your in-laws medical centres… before your marriage with Kim Seokjin.”

Astra Pharma. It is a joint company orchestrated by your father-in-law, their first ever attempt to venture into the medical line. How could you forget the name of the company? Astra Pharma is owned by a powerful chaebol Kim clan, one of which Seokjin grew up with. They have a daughter that they wanted Seokjin to marry with. That was 10 years ago, which means that that daughter is going to pioneer the company now, and her name is Kim Yoojin. Every year she sends a bouquet of flowers to Seokjin’s family restaurant on New Year's. She never missed any stores that Seokjin family opens.

Yoongi searched her name on Naver for you. She is standing on the patio, giving out speeches. It most certainly didn’t help that she is elegant, stunning and charismatic. Even as she walked into the meeting room right now, with her entourage. She really wants to talk business. And you know nothing about that. Your defenses are science, your core is pharmaceutical and your strength is knowledge. If she begins a financial jargon with you, you will be making a fool out of yourself. Somehow, knowing that she is the preferred daughter-in-law, makes it even worse.

No room for mistakes.

Dial tone, and again, unanswered.

“Where could mummy be…” Seokjin hums. “A meeting probably…” Lily replied.

Seokjin gapes his mouth open to have his daughter feed him a biscuit. Lily, being a little rascal refuses to give up her biscuits.

“That’s right, that’s how I raised you, don’t share unless you get something too,” Seokjin joked around. Seokjin might have left the stove running when he answered a call from his mother. Lily was drawing on the dining table, waiting for her next online class. She is to take pictures of her drawings and send them to her teacher. Seokjin returns to the kitchen, placing the phone sandwiched between his shoulder and ear.

“Son,” she began, “Why don’t you take your wife to a resort this weekend so Lily could spend the weekend with her grandparents here in Hannam… wouldn’t that be nice?”

Seokjin squeezed his eyes, and set down that spatula.

“Mom….” he warned, “Is there something else you would like to tell me?”

After hearing what his mother had to say, Seokjin rushed out the door along with Lily, driving down the white Palisade to Hannam mansion where his mother was waiting outside. Seokjin drops Lily and rushes inside the mansion to grab a few more things. But before he leaves, he locks his eyes on his mother and says with utmost firmness, “You and I will have to talk after I get this settled.” His mother gave him a stricken smile while Lily smiled wickedly at her father. Blue Lamborghini, Aventador S engine roars as it sped out the garage door. Seokjin pulls down the window to speak to his daughter, “Behave, or else…” Lily gave out an ‘OK’ sign with her fingers.

The luxurious car then sped out into the street.

There weren’t any mistakes. Any investors coming would have been persuaded by the way you carry the presentation. The marketing strategy and pilot scale up plans are concise and rectified. The points are delivered extensively and with proper explanation. However, when you were prepared for scientific questions and whatnot, you come to realise that the CEO of Astra Pharma was interested in anything but science.

“How is Kim Seokjin?”

Everyone else in the room was taken aback by the strangely intimate question posed on a vaccine presentation. It was out of line and obviously, out of place. Even as a person as wealthy as her. Not only was it a deliberate display of her unprofessionalism, she was also bringing down her company’s image. It’s like she is ready to overturn the hard work her parents put into raising her, for a man who is married to someone else.

“He is… perfectly well, though I am not sure what’s that has got to do with our topic of discussion for today…”

You mumbled the last few words to yourself. What is she doing? What is she thinking of doing? Steal Seokjin back? If that’s her intention, then it's the worst strategy she could ever come up with. Not only would it fail her immensely, Seokjin will literally drag her and her family’s face down in the dirt for even trying to tear his family apart. You know him enough to know that he would fight the world for his wife and kids. Hence, that’s why you couldn’t understand Yoojin’s motive to bring this all up, ten years after. Is she trying to embarrass you? In the middle of a presentation filled by scientists who care nothing about the personal lives of one of their own? She is only making a fool out of herself, despite her money.

“You must have been so confused… as to why I brought up your husband in this…” she stood up in her Swarovski studded heels. She made her way to you around the table, enticing everyone in the room with her walk and her words.

“No, I am confused as to why a company like yours is interested in investing in the same exact study your own university is working on. It’s like buying the exact same cows doing the exact same thing, producing the exact type of product with twice the price,” you tracted.

“I guess that’s why he liked you,” she looks down to the floor and up the ceiling with a cunning smile, “You’re a sheep in the pack of wolves.” She locked her hyena-like eyes to you. The hair in the back of your neck stood up. You have no idea what she meant by that.

“I am investing for you to stop. Your formula is bound to fail anyways. So before the company suffers any more losses due to your incompetence, I suggest you halt all activity and let the high rollers play the game. This field is not for amateurs.”

“I think you might have forgotten that I am a scientist, not a businesswomen. Your concern is not mine to worry. My job is to get to my vaccines and make sure it works, and that’s what I’m paid to do. Whether or not you invested, is none of my concerns.”

You collected your things on the desk. And she smiled wickedly,

“Well then, you leave me no choice, I will have to sue you for forging the templates my company has patented…” “How do you sue me for fraud if I don’t do any forging?”

“You’re surely a meek girl… Seokjin will have to cushion the blow with an expensive legal fee now don’t he?”

Was there a mole in the company? Yoongi walks in. Along with Seokjin.

“Tell them what you did,” Seokjin said, and then, “Tell them what you did!” He thundered.

Yoongi confessed to stealing the documents and making it seem like it was forged. He also sent the emails and had them edited so the dates were wrong. He was paid handsomely by Astra Pharma to send all updates on the formula which then led the pharma company to imitate the make-ups protein-by-protein. He used the friendship he had established with you to gain all access to your files. He also confessed that he refused to continue doing it and when he decided to pull the plugs from Astra Pharma, Astra Pharma threatened him. He had no choice but to abide to the play Yoojin wanted orchestrated. When it was clear what Yoojin actually wanted (to spill dirt on your name so she could feel above you for once in her life after she lost Seokjin), Yoongi decided to come clean. He came to Seokjin’s mother and begged for forgiveness, because it was through her that he had gotten a job in your pharma company.

. . .

Seokjin leans on his blue lamborghini, waiting for you to come outside. He has his Raybans on and a black bomber jacket over a white tee.

“Are you mad at my family?” “Won’t you be?”

The car door lifts up and you climb in.

“You should have just married her and this all could have been avoided.” “Where’s the fun in that?”

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Copyright © january 5th, 2021 namjoonchronicles do not repost, and thank you for reading!

[humans4vampires]

Mistletoe

Request: Anon - “Tell me more about human bella’s christmas with the cullens, I need the details asap”

Merry Christmas, anon - and a happy holidays to all of you xo

READ PART ONE HERE

“Bella!” Charlie’s voice was loud and his footsteps pounding down the hall were even louder. I sat up in my bed in a futile attempt to warn Edward. It was a silly and needless instinct. My eyes were still adjusting as Charlie swung open my door and came flying into my room. He didn’t bother looking at me as he continued to the window.

“Bella, look!” He said, an awe to his tone I’d never heard before. “There’s so much snow I can barely open the front door!”

It was oddly bright in my room, I thought. I stumbled over the bed to join Charlie at the window and looked out over the frosted scene. I had to squint to take it in, and not because I was still groggy; the mountains of white covering the yard were glistening in the rare morning sunlight. There was an even blanket on our street, on the neighbor’s houses and on their cars and fences. Their Christmas lights, still on since the morning was in its very early hours, were casting faint colors across the pristine snowfall. Charlie was muttering something to himself about not hearing about a snowstorm when I realized what he was really going on about. My eyes finally settled on our yard and I instantly caught the drastic difference.

My truck was completely hidden by a thick mountain of snow and only the red and blue lights atop Charlie’s cruiser were poking out of a matching pile. The pavement and grass were completely forgotten, covered with an immeasurable amount of snowfall. I was sure the entire house was coated. It was too much. Much too much. I grumbled Alice’s name under my breath and Charlie turned to me.

“What?” His eyes had a childlike intensity. It was an unfamiliar excitement I’d never seen on Charlie. For a moment, I felt like I was looking at the man my mother had known.

I shook my head, coloring my words with disbelief. “Amazing,” I answered.

He nodded and looked back out the window. “Sure is.”

A warm feeling washed over me as I watched Charlie look out over the snow, a smile crossing his face where a smile hadn’t been for some time. The guilt I felt for being the reason for his worries didn’t cloud me now.

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” I said.

“Merry Christmas, Bells.”

Charlie crossed his arms then and looked at me. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to drag you out of bed this early.”

I shook my head, “No, it’s okay. I’ll come down in a minute and get breakfast started.”

He nodded and started for the door. I waited for Charlie’s last steps at the bottom of the stairs before I shut my bedroom door and turned back.

Edward was sitting in my rocking chair, idly rocking as though he had been there the whole time. A coy smile spread on his lips as he opened his arms to me. I rushed across the room and sat in his lap quickly. He continued to rock as I clung to him tightly, his cold skin sending a shiver through me.

He chuckled lightly, “I wasn’t far.”

“Still,” I sighed. “I’d rather you were in my arms.”

He squeezed me tighter for a moment and hummed in agreement. We were both still recovering from the months apart and my heart ached whenever I was reminded of his absence. No matter how brief any moment of separation was brought between us, that pain began to creep back. His touch was the only relief for it now. I moved to face him and his golden eyes glistened with that same childlike glint I’d seen in Charlie’s. Edward’s skin wasn’t sparkling exactly, but the reflection of the white snow bounced off his skin in a gentle glow. His beauty stunned me —dazzled me— when he smiled my favorite crooked smile. My heart stuttered and he chuckled again, bending his head down to kiss me.

He brought one cool hand to cup my face as he brought our lips together. I was in a frenzy immediately. I locked my hands locked in his bronze hair. My body curved to his and Edward laughed on my lips, “Bella…”

I shook my head, refusing to move, soaking in the last seconds of pure pleasure before he removed me from himself. He continued to laugh lightly as I struggled to catch my breath. When I finally did, I let out a long sigh. He cradled me closer to him and I rested my head on his chest. We rocked for a bit as he stroked my hair.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered gently.

I smiled. “Merry Christmas.”

I snapped my head up then to look at him, a serious expression crossing my face. “You know, if you’re trying to pull off this whole ‘we’re all regular humans, nothing to see here’ routine, you might want to stop Alice from decorating my house with unbelievable amounts of snow. One of these days, someone is going to catch on.”

Edward bit his lip, fighting a smile. “Bella, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I cocked my head to the side and rolled my eyes. “Please, Edward.”

He smiled, but didn’t reply, running a hand through his tousled hair. I wasn’t in the mood to coax the truth out of him, anyway. I was still enjoying the glimmer in his eye. I liked the way the holiday seemed to lighten his mood. I had never really felt that ‘Christmas morning’ feeling before. My mother did try for a few years to keep up the Santa charade, but her terrible planning skills and lack of outside childcare meant that I was often shopping with her for the gifts that would be under the tree – if we had gotten a tree at all. By the time I was older, we had a fake tree that plugged in and we usually managed to get it up by Christmas Eve. The desert climate of Arizona never helped build up my Christmas spirit, either.

“Charlie is waiting for you,” Edward said quietly, motioning his head toward the door.

I nodded, but didn’t make any moves to leave. “What time will you be back?”

He smiled, “Eleven.”

I counted the hours in my head. They were going to be difficult, but not impossible. I would be busy with Charlie. Edward stood me up and kissed me quickly before ducking out my window. I didn’t bother dressing since Charlie had gone down in his pajamas. I figured we were playing it by ear, making our own Christmas morning traditions as we went.

I put the biscuits in the oven that I had laid out the night before —Grandma Swan’s recipe— and made eggs and bacon. Charlie and I sat in the living room, eating at the coffee table to enjoy the fire he had made. Our small tree in the corner had a few small presents wrapped below it. Charlie put the radio on to a Christmas classics station and it murmured softly in the background as we carried on light conversation. I was surprised at how simple it was to spend time together like this.

When we had finished, I carried the dishes to the kitchen and Charlie followed me. I washed the dishes while he clamored around behind me. He finished making us hot chocolate by the time I had finished the dishes. I tried to keep myself composed when he asked me if I wanted little marshmallows in mine. I was still not used to being looked after; I knew he was traditionally supposed to be the one doing the nurturing, but all my years at home with my mother had my priorities mixed up.

“Alright,” Charlie said, handing me my mug. “Present time.”

I followed him into the living room again and sat on the floor by the hearth of the fireplace. We both grabbed a gift from under the tree and exchanged them.

“This one is from your mom,” he said, passing me a poorly wrapped square. “I think it got smashed in the mail.”

I chuckled, knowing it hadn’t. Mom had never been great with gift wrap.

Opening gifts didn’t take very long between the two of us. Charlie was excited about his new fly-fishing set that Edward helped me pick out —having a boyfriend with mind-reading capabilities came in handy around Christmas. And because I had gotten a decent employee discount on it from Newton’s, I was still able to afford the ridiculously expensive down jacket that Alice insisted he would love. From what I could tell from his reaction, he did.

My mom sent me a rather eclectic set of wind chimes constructed of sea glass and shells, and Phil sent along a couple of CDs he thought I’d like. Charlie gave me a knit scarf and pair of bean boots, which I knew were rather expensive. Had he noticed my rain boots were looking weathered? He also gave me some cash with the hope that I’d get myself a couple new books. Again, I fought to beat back the emotions I knew both Charlie and I were not comfortable sharing.

We sat in the living room for awhile, both admiring our new gifts, until the clock chimed at ten. I got up from the floor then and excused myself to get dressed. I took a quick shower and dried my hair, trying to put myself together for whatever was going to be happening at the Cullens. I was sure it was going to be completely different from my morning with Charlie.

I was dressed in a white turtleneck, jeans, and my new boots by the time Edward was at the door promptly at eleven. Charlie was already dressed and at the door before I could get down the stairs.

“Merry Christmas, Charlie,” Edward smiled brightly. He was dressed in a soft beige sweater, the kind with a small zipper at the neck, the collar standing up. The collar of a white button-up was peaking through and he had a hand tucked into the pocket of his dark jeans. I was beginning to believe in Christmas miracles.

“Merry Christmas, Edward,” Charlie grumbled back. Charlie was still entirely against the idea of Edward being around, and I was still very much grounded for running out on Charlie for the second time for an Edward related incident. But we were still following the rules of my curfew, even on Christmas. To be fair, Charlie was being very gracious about me spending part of the day with the Cullens – and allowing Edward to join Charlie and I for dinner. I also knew that Charlie would be going out to La Push to see Billy while I was gone, and that was a place I wasn’t entirely comfortable going at the present moment.

Edward and I faked our greetings as we followed Charlie into the living room. Edward took his usual seat in the armchair, forcing Charlie and I to sit together on the sofa. We all made small-talk for awhile until I broke it up. Edward gave Charlie a small package as we got up to leave.

“It’s a gift from my family and myself,” Edward said.

Charlie eyed the box in his hands suspiciously. Edward was trying to keep his expression composed. Charlie’s eyes were wide when he finally lifted the lid. “Uh,” Charlie scratched his head, “I don’t know, Edward. This is too much.”

“You’d really be doing Carlisle a favor by going,” Edward shrugged. “It was a raffle item Carlisle won at the hospital benefit this year. He won’t be able to use it since he’s covering for Dr. Snow during the holidays.”

I had no idea what they were talking about. “What is it?” I asked.

Charlie looked little annoyed. “A four-day cruise to Alaska.”

My eyes bulged, “Wow, uh – that’s really nice…”

Charlie shook his head, “Are you sure about this?”

Edward smiled earnestly, “Of course. My parents are hopeful that you and Bella will enjoy the vacation together.”

Four days? Four days alone on a ship with Charlie? Four days alone on a ship with Charlie without Edward? “What? No,” I said.

But it was too late, Edward had already sold Charlie. “Well, geez, Edward. Thank your parents for me, will you?”

“Dad, I can’t just go –“

Edward cut me off, “We won’t have classes the rest of the week, Bella. You’ll be home before New Years.”

“Before New Years?” I gawked. “What? We’re leaving tomorrow?”

Charlie laughed, “Yeah, this will be great!” The childlike enthusiasm from the morning had returned. “I’ll get to try out my new fishing gear – and the jacket, Bells.”

I gave Edward a dirty look from the corner of my eye and pushed again for us to leave. We said our goodbyes to Charlie and then Edward helped me through the avalanche of snow to his car. The heater was already melting the snow dust on my clothes when I spoke.

“You know, I really hate that,” I huffed.

Edward looked at me.  “What?”

“Why did you set me up to go on a trip with Charlie?” I complained. “Four days?”

“Bella,” he chuckled, “You and Charlie are going to have a fine time together. And you’ve never seen Alaska.”

“Edward, I can’t leave you for four days.” It sounded as dramatic out loud as it had in my head. I hoped he didn’t think me as pathetic as I found myself to be.

He gave me an apathetic look. “I’ll be nearby,” he said softly.

I thought about that for a moment. “So you’ll be there?”

“It hurts me too, you know,” he said, even more gently. “I can’t be away from you either. I’ll be there if you need me, but I won’t get in the way.”

“Edward –“

“Bella, Charlie will have the memories of this trip to carry with him the rest of his life,” he said. “It’s the least I can do to share you with him now when I intend to keep you for an eternity.”

His words soaked in my mind and I surrendered. Of course, Edward was right. I supposed it wouldn’t be so bad spending some time with Charlie outside of the house and our regular routine. And if Edward was there, hidden out of sight, how terrible could it be? Four days? I mulled it over in my head as we turned up the long drive to the Cullens’.

The house looked as it had since December first; every eave, railing, and windowsill on the Cullens’ home was perfectly twinkling with crisp, white string lights. The bulbs were reminiscent of a more classic shape – the kind where the glass was more of a pointed, almond shaped-bulb. Every window and door had an elegant draping of evergreen garland with red ribbons and winterberry clusters, each with their own large wreath to match. The large tree in their living room was prominently glowing through the large windows at the front of the house. Even now, in the middle of the day, the house gleamed its bright light across the flat, even snow. The clouds had returned and there was a light sprinkling of snowfall dusting my shoulders as we walked to the door.

The house smelled even more delicious than it usually did, the scent of fresh gingerbread and pine in the air. A gentle thrumming of the grand piano filled the house with a Christmas song I hadn’t heard before. Rosalie was there, her delicate fingers moving across the keys, Emmett at her side on the bench. She didn’t turn her head as Emmett did to greet us.

“Hey, Bella!” He waved enthusiastically. “Merry Christmas!”

Edward lingered behind me as I moved toward the piano. “Merry Christmas, Emmett,” I smiled. “Rosalie.”

Rosalie nodded, but kept her eyes down, pretending to need the focus to play.

“That’s beautiful,” I complimented.

If I hadn’t been looking hard enough, I would have missed the small, smug smile that tugged on the edges of her lips. It was there and gone in an instant, almost too quickly for my human eyes. Emmett wrapped one arm around Rosalie’s waist as she continued to play, giving her a playful squeeze. She smiled fully then and began to transition to a new melody.

Edward took my hand and led me toward the kitchen. When we turned the corner, a gentle laugh escaped his lips.

“Ah, Bella!” Esme clapped her hands together, sending a small puff of flour dust into the air. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart!”

She and Carlisle turned to one another and laughed, pulling each other into a gentle hug. They were both lightly dusted in flour, patches of white on their faces; on Esme’s nose, Carlisle’s cheek, dusted across their foreheads and their hair. Their aprons were coated in white, too, matching the kitchen island that was covered with thick brown dough and piles of gingerbread cookies.

“Merry Christmas, Bella,” Carlisle laughed. “It seems our baking skills could use a bit more practice.”

There were burnt gingerbread men scattered about the others that were expertly decorated with intricate designs, as if crafted by expert bakers. There had to be over two-hundred cookies. “I think you’re doing a great job,” I laughed.

Edward pulled me closer to him, laughing over my head at his parents. Alice and Jasper appeared then from the staircase. Jasper had huge wrapped boxes piled in his arms as he moved into the living room, wishing me a ‘Merry Christmas’ as he passed. Alice expertly tugged me out of Edward’s arms and into hers, pulling me in for a hug.

“Merry Christmas, Bella,” she said excitedly, squeezing me tightly.

“Merry Christmas, Alice,” I chuckled.

She looked over to Carlisle and Esme, “Come on! It’s time for gifts!”

Carlisle and Esme were working to clean themselves up as Alice dragged me behind her to the living room. Rosalie was still playing at the piano and Emmett was helping Jasper arrange the surmounting pile around the towering Christmas tree. Each gift was wrapped elegantly in different hues of metallic paper. Alice plopped me down on the edge of the sofa closest to the roaring fireplace. Edward swooped me up faster than I could follow and suddenly he was under me and I was perched in his lap. He still had that excitement in his expression that made my heart stutter. He gave me a slight glance, an eyebrow raised, at the sound of it.

“Don’t worry,” Edward soothed. “I followed your rules.”

He had mistaken my heart wrenching happiness for fear. I nodded quickly, as he moved his hand delicately to tuck my hair behind my ear. He kissed my cheekbone gently as I blushed.

“Alright,” Alice complained. “Come, sit.” She ordered to the others.

Esme came to sit beside Edward and I on the long, white sofa. Carlisle sat down beside her. He was still dusting flour from her shoulders. Rosalie stopped her playing and moved to sit beside Emmett in one of the armchairs by the fire as Alice set a vinyl record on an antique player. Bing Crosby’s Christmas album started with White Christmas.

Jasper took a seat on the floor beside Carlisle’s feet and we all watched as Alice danced around the tree in a graceful blur. Her gaze was peering into the future as her hands floated over each box. She was picking the order in which the gifts would garner the best reactions. As she made her decisions, the boxes began disappearing from under the tree, reappearing in everyone’s hands. Alice begrudgingly went at a human pace to hand me mine. I sat contentedly in Edward’s lap, watching the others as they joyfully exchanged their gifts.

Jasper gifted Carlisle an antique revolver and the two were engrossed in conversation over the details; it sounded like they were interested in the history of it, rather than the use. Emmett gave Rosalie some kind of car, what kind I wasn’t sure, but it sounded fast. Rosalie was asking Emmett and Edward excitedly about the engine as she twirled the keys in her hands. Alice had given everyone clothes, of course, and she and Esme were fawning over the satin on a long skirt Alice had picked for her. Edward’s arms wrapped around me to open his gift from Carlisle and Esme; he graciously received a new leather-bound notebook, giving Esme a kiss on the cheek.

“Here,” Edward said, reaching down to pick up a gift of mine, “I’ll help you.”

There was a smirk on his lips as he exchanged a passing glance at Jasper. Emmett laughed, “Where’s the fun in that?”

I gave Emmett a dirty look as I blushed and Edward handed me something soft. I unfolded a deep blue sweater, definitely cashmere, with a plunging V neckline. My blush deepened and Edward smiled.

“It looks great on you, Bella,” Alice said reassuringly.

“Mmm,” Edward hummed, seeing whatever image Alice had in her head.

I nodded, still weary. “Thanks, Alice.”

She rolled her eyes in response. We continued like that for awhile; Edward opened all my gifts for me and handed them to me one-by-one. I was mostly engrossed with what everyone else was doing.

Rosalie and Esme sat on the couch beside us, combing through a photo album Rosalie had put together for Esme with photos of the family throughout the decades. Esme would share all of the photos of Edward with me as she came across them. Edward gave Alice her yellow Porsche, as promised, from our trip to Italy in the summer. I felt a fleeting pass of dread remembering the trip. The feeling disappeared as quickly as it had come and I gave Jasper an appreciative glance.

Carlisle gifted Esme some property in Northern Idaho with a promise to visit soon to plan her next building project. Emmett was gleefully going through his assortment of fireworks; Esme was exchanging looks with Edward, probably checking to make sure Emmett wasn’t going to get overly excited and start setting them off in the house. Alice had hand-drawn scenes of the London of Carlisle’s youth, and the two were sitting by the fire admiring the large framed sketches. Jasper was reading the backs of the piles of CDs Edward and I had given him, along with a large and expensive looking CD player. Edward was chatting with Rosalie about her gift to him; something about a new engine and some other car stuff that went over my head.

Alice looked over to me, “Bella, did you want to give Edward your gift?”

I had forgotten in all the chaos of paper, the gentle whisper of Bing Crosby, the fluttering of snow falling outside, the glow of the Christmas tree, the crackle of the fire, and the hum of everyone’s happy conversation, that I had a gift I was actually excited to give to Edward.

“Oh,” I said, moving to stand. Edward held me in my place. Alice was there then, my gift for Edward in her hands. I reached out to take it from her, placing it in Edward’s hands. I settled into his lap so that I could see his face.

“I’ve been careful not to think about it around him,” Alice promised, biting her lip in anticipation.

I felt everyone’s eyes on us both as Edward began to tear at the paper. I had been getting his gift ready long before I even realized it. Each time we had taken trips to our meadow, I had been pressing flowers in the pages of whatever book I had carried along. It had been a long time since we had visited in the warm summer months. I didn’t have a use for the flowers in mind when I began collecting them, but there was something about bringing a piece of our refuge home that always felt right. I had worried about what to give Edward for Christmas until I remembered my hoard.

Edward held the delicate frame in his hands, an expression on his face I didn’t recognize. Alice had helped me with the matting and framing, but I managed to arrange the dried flowers into a neat array myself. It did look a bit feminine, now that I was looking at it in his hands.

He suddenly stunned me, flashing his perfect teeth in a wide, exultant grin. Edward brought a hand to cup my cheek tenderly.

“I love you,” he said proudly.

I blushed. “I love you.”

Edward kissed me gently, bringing a brighter blush to my expression. I kept my eyes on my hands when he moved his lips from mine to continue examining his gift.

He turned to me again, “Am I allowed to give you my gift?”

A new dread washed over me. “That depends,” my tone was serious now.

The others in the room laughed lightly with him. Edward reached behind the couch then, handing me a small wrapped package. I weighed it in my hands for a moment. It had a weight to it that seemed solid. I looked at him with questioning eyes.

“I mentioned I’d followed your rules, didn’t I?” He said grinning.

I didn’t fully believe he’d followed the rules. Something about his tone, his expression made me question him. I had made it very clear that if I was to spend Christmas with the Cullens, that I would not be accepting any exorbitant gifts from anyone, especially Edward. We had set a limit on what was reasonable and what was not. Property, vacations, vehicles and anything with more than two zeroes tagged on to the end of the price tag were out of bounds. And I had to really negotiate down to the two zeroes.

I sighed, defeated by the bright expression in his golden eyes. “Okay.”

I heard a quick tear and the paper was removed from the box I held in my hands. Edward tried to control his coy grin as he shrugged. “Just in case.”

I rolled my eyes and lifted the lid on the small box. At first, I felt relieved to find a single book inside. It looked very old and the cover seemed to have a few light cracks. I looked at Edward for reassurance as I went to pick it up. He nodded in encouragement. I picked it up gently, turning it to its spine to read the title. It felt very old, too. Of course it was Wuthering Heights.

I gingerly opened the cover to find out just how old it was. My eyes caught the author, Ellis Bell, and my eyes bulged. I started to get angry; I saw Edward’s eyes flicker to Jasper and back.

“Edward,” I scolded. “You definitely did not follow the rules!”

Edward chuckled, “Of course I did, Bella. Truly, the box it’s in cost me more.”

I shook my head vigorously. “This is – this is – what is this?” I scanned the inside cover again for the publishing date. “1847?” I said too loudly.

Everyone was chuckling again, even Rosalie.

“Honestly, Bella,” Edward ran a hand through his hair, “I simply asked Carlisle if he would part with it.”

I flashed an accusatory look at Carlisle. He nodded in agreement.

“It’s something I’ve had in my collection,” Carlisle laughed lightly, “I promise you, Bella.”

I tenderly closed the book and placed it back in the box, holding my hands up. I shook my head, “This is too much – is this a first edition?”

Edward shrugged, “The American first edition.”

I didn’t know the history of the Brontë sisters perfectly or Emily in particular. I tried to figure out the math in my head. I was overwhelmed.

Edward looked at me inquisitively. “Do you like it?”

I was in shock. I just stared at it motionless. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“She likes it,” Jasper said, reading my emotions.

Edward held me tightly, planting a kiss on my neck below my ear, bringing me out of my momentary lapse of motor function. I thanked him breathlessly, later thanking Carlisle for releasing this priceless piece from his collection for me. I was only slightly suspicious that they were all in on a lie. I chose to go along with it. In truth, I did love it. And I made a deal with Edward that I would accept the gift under the condition that I left it at the Cullens for safe keeping.

We all sat in the living room for a long while, chatting about our gifts and admiring the thought behind each one. The gift exchange between the Cullens was a bit less extravagant than I’d imagined it to be – though only slightly less. Each gift seemed to have meaning behind it. After all, no one here needed anything.

I only moved from Edward’s lap when Esme asked him to play at the piano. Rosalie joined him at the bench and sang along softly. When Edward transitioned to a very flourished rendition of Jingle Bells Emmett chimed in voraciously and the angelic whisper of Rosalie’s voice was quickly lost. With pleasant laughter, everyone slowly dispersed throughout the room; Alice and Rosalie collected all the paper and ribbons, Carlisle tended the fire, and Jasper and Emmett joined Edward at the piano for more loud Christmas caroling. Esme joined me at the tree and shared the history of each ornament as I pointed them out to her. Eventually, Alice and Rosalie made their way out to the garage to view their shiny new gifts.

Suddenly the piano and singing stopped and Edward, Jasper, Carlisle, and Emmett were gone. Esme laughed loudly, taking my hand softly and guiding me towards the front window.

“I think it’s best that we stay inside,” she patted my back, smiling to herself as we looked into the front yard.

It was difficult for my eyes to catch any of it, but I could certainly hear the impact of snow and ice exploding against the tall cedars, making them quake. I could see one of them, every now and then, stopping abruptly to change course, launching another snowball. They were all dashing across the open field, laughing and calling loudly to one another. I could barely follow along. I thought back to the baseball game in the clearing as my heart swelled with joy. Esme and I watched from the window, delighted laughter spilling from our lips.

Esme turned to me, taking my hand in both of hers.

“Sweet, Bella,” she cooed. “You have given us the greatest gift. You may not see the changes we see in our Edward, but you have truly brought him to life.”

The look in her eyes burned with elation. I had to look away; her words filled me with an overwhelming urge to cry. Esme pulled me close to her side as we continued to look out the window. I saw Edward then, dashing through the snow with a triumphant smile. I had never seen anything so enchanting.

Esme had to break up the war eventually; she and Rosalie were going to deliver cookies and Christmas dinners to families in Seattle. Carlisle was filling in for Dr. Snow at the hospital as promised, and left after he’d changed into dry clothes. Jasper, Alice, and Emmett had made plans to hunt; apparently it was a good time to go since most people were home instead of on the trails on Christmas Day. I was disappointed when the house was empty and Edward was making invisible trips to the car to fill it with my Christmas gifts, but I had to be back at Charlie’s by four.

I was surprised that we had made it back to the house before him; Charlie must have been having a nice time in La Push. Edward unloaded the car after he carried me through the thick tundra Alice had left on my lawn. I was getting my small Christmas dinner ready for Charlie, myself, and Edward­ –who would politely pretend to eat with us– when Edward came into the kitchen.

I heard him behind me and turned to face him. He was closer than I thought he would be; his lips were only inches from mine. His sweet aroma brought me closer to him. I barely noticed he had his arm stretched above our heads.

“No Christmas is complete without mistletoe, I hear,” he said, his voice velvet.

I glanced up. He was holding a small bushel above us.

“Mmm,” I murmured, pulling myself to him, reaching my arms to wrap them around his neck.

Edward wrapped one strong arm around me, lifting my feet off the floor. I was pressed to his body; it felt like I was melting into snow. A shiver ran through me and I twisted my fingers in his hair. Our lips met, silk to stone, as we kissed under the mistletoe.

____

This story is from a set of shorts, which you can find here:

READ PART ONE HERE

READ PART TWO HERE

[anthonyed]

The Kennedy Question (SamBucky)

There's a... hypothesis. It's circulating around their tower and Sam just got to make sure. He needs a theory and for that, he needs data.

It's pretty straight forward actually. He just has to ask the right question to the right person.

He spots his subject - already on his fifth cup of coffee, sweat dampened hair tied up in a half-bun and he's unnaturally happy. Good. Doesn't matter why he's happy but the point is he is. Which means, this is the right time to strike.

Flexing his biceps for an extra load of umph, Sam tilts his chin up and walks towards their resident centenarians.

"Hiya, Sam," Steve greets, face split into a smile, clearly happy that his moody half is looking cheery today.

"Hiya," Sam waves, pulling up a chair next to his target.

Half an egg and a sip of orange juice later, Sam looks at Steve who's whistling a tune, doing dishes and decides this is the right time to strike.

He turns to his target. And he fires the shot.

"Did you kill John F. Kennedy?"

He'd carefully lowered his voice so Steve wouldn't hear it over the running water and it works. Of course it works. Sam has hung out with Steve and Co. for a very long time, he knows how to gossip behind super-soldiers back by now.

All of his preps pointed towards positive results. A warranted reply. Except of course, Sam forgot to consider the fact that Barnes likes to be an ass around him just for the sake of it.

Hence, the reply he receives is: "You focus on stuffing your face or you're gonna be next."

-

The thing is, it's not a clear yes or no. It's not enough to confirm or reject the hypothesis. The very mystery of it drives Sam insane.

-

"Did you -," he ducks, blocking a jab. Hops to the left, avoiding a kick. Bloody Barnes is out for his blood.

But Sam knows how to handle him.

He gets the guy in a headlock the very next second after Steve yelled "Bucky, chill out!"

"Did you kill him?"

Barnes tries to elbow but Sam knows his stuff, oooh, he knows his stuff bloody well. He'd trained the lot - teenagers running wild with hormone committing truancies and petty crimes, all the prison breakers - name them, Sam has got all under his wing.

He fucking knows his stuffs. So, it's no surprise to anyone but Barnes when he gets the man on his knees. Head-lock still standing and the momentary shock gives Sam the chance to ask again, "Did you?"

Barnes coughs, splutters and taps on his hand so Sam loosens his grip. "What you gonna do? Report it?" He snarls, spitting fire like he actually believed Sam would.

The sheer absurdity of that doubt makes Sam let go of him; drop him like a hot-pocket. "The fuck would I do that for?"

Barnes, red-faced and sweat slick skin, hair falling over his face, glowers at Sam.

Sam stares at him right back. Dunno what he's asking/searching, but Sam's not afraid. He meets that glare with his own steady stare.

"You honestly think I'd sell you out." He states. Doesn't ask. Because that isn't a question.

He doesn't know what to think that Barnes thought of him that way.

"Wouldn't have helped Steve save you, if that was the case, you know."

-

"Why d'ya wanna know?" Barnes asks.

He was the only one in the communal floor when Sam had walked in; channel surfing and Sam had nabbed the remote to his disgruntled protest before settling on Animal Planet. Humans are exhausting for a Tuesday evening.

Now, after half an hour of watching Giant Squid hunting with no Giant Squid sighting, Barnes ends the silence with a frankly, vague as fuck question.

Sam squints at him for a good minute before it clicks and he straightens up in his seat. "Curiosity?" He shrugs.

Barnes looks at him flatly.

Sam glances at the screen, still no Giant Squid (just making sure), then back at Barnes. "Really, I just want to know. Barton's been spreading rumours."

Barnes doesn't say it, but it's there. The universal 'stupid Barton' look that everyone in the tower has at least once, worn.

"Tell me about it," Sam chuckles, slumping in his side of the couch. Barnes is not gonna give an answer. At least not today. That much is certain so, Sam returns to the screen.

A while after, the commentators are getting hyped up, the background music is building in anticipation and they're about to do the big reveal when the channel switches to a bunch of blonde bimbos.

"Barnes!" Sam aims a kick because there is no other way -

Barnes is predictably, two seats away, smirking into his hoodie and clicks away at the buttons.

"I'm spiking your dinner with ghost pepper. You won't know until it hits you - Oooh, you're so gonna regret this. I fucking hate you!"

-

Sam does yoga. It's for his mental health. Dealing with Veterans and delinquents need constant maintenance of his mind palace and he gives that through yoga.

Sometimes, he does it alone but usually it's with Wanda and Vision. Tends to get incredibly awkward sometimes (who knew Androids have sexual frustrations) but hey, it gets the job done.

Occasionally, Dr Banner joins them. Rarely, he drags Tony along just to make the man suffer for promised science experiments or whatever it is geniuses do. Natasha has her sessions after them, something about "Not needing all these stupidity for my clarity", whatever, prissy ass she-assassin.

Steve, Steve's pal and Barton don't do it. They just don't. (Steve once mentioned something about biceps getting in his way or another and Sam stopped paying attention. Barton is just a lazy human.)

Thus why, Sam gawks when he sees Steve's pal, the other Steve or more specifically, Bucky Barnes in a dog pose next to Wanda.

First thought; what the fuck?

Second thought; nice ass.

Third thought; the fucking fuck is that fuck - what!?

Fourth thought; "That's my spot."

Two heads turn to Sam, one head's body waves while another grins.

"Hi, Sam," Wanda beams.

"Hullo, Sam," Vision stops waving only when Sam waves back.

But Sam's eyes are still fixed on that nice pair of ass no!

"That's my spot." He points at where Barnes is ignoring him; flowing through his Surya Namaskar like he was born doing it until he stands, facing Sam and he looks straight into Sam's eyes.

There's something dangerous glinting in them and Sam wastes too many seconds distracting his thoughts from how fucking gorgeous that flow was that he only realises, once Barnes is already in Savasana, just what that glint was about.

"Fuck you, Barnes," he spits, walking towards him, not a pause as he steps onto the mat, then right on top of Barnes's stupid hard chest and over to the other side of Wanda.

Vision graciously makes room for Sam and no. Sam is not letting Bucky fucking Barnes ruin his mind-palace maintenance today.

-

Sam doesn't hate the guy. He honestly doesn't. He just, doesn't know the guy that well.

So, when he sees Barnes fidgeting under the island counter, long sleeves drawn out to bury his fingers while Steve and Tony lash out at each other in the kitchen (no privacy respect, those two. No, never. Almost everyone knows about that by now but Barnes, maybe cause he's still new here.) Sam gently elbows at his side and jerks his head towards the exit.

"They're always like that," he tells the guy solemnly. Hot aroma of coffee wafting in the air and Sam breathes it in deeply.

"Always?"

"Uh, huh."

He takes a sip of his cappuccino, watching Barnes stare at his black coffee gloomily.

Ten seconds later, Barnes asks, "If Stark hates Steve, then why is he letting him live in his place?" Letting me live in his place? Is the unasked question.

Sam takes a long sip before he replies. "Stark doesn't hate Steve," he observes the way Barnes' forehead wrinkle into a frown before it quickly flattened out. Erasing evidence. From everywhere except his eyes.

Sam doesn't know how he knows that nor is he going to analyse said matter, so he distracts himself by elaborating his answer.

"Stark never hated Steve. As a matter of fact, I think Stark likes Steve a little too much for his convenience."

This time, the frown stays and deepens. Sam grabs a napkin and shreds a strip out of its edge.

"You mean, he fancies Stevie?" Barnes mumbles his question towards his untouched coffee. Face contorting fifty ways different and Sam curses himself for even saying a thing in the first place. He can preach to many but he's not having the gay rights talk with a homophobic. That's where he officially draws his line.

To his surprise however, Barnes starts laughing.

It starts as a snort then grows into a chuckle and later a full-blown beautiful laughter. Fuck, dammit, Sam has got to stop thinking like that of this man.

But the steam from his still hot cappuccino swirling under the dim light of the cafe with its dark red background and velvety purple overthrows and cushions and Barnes in the mainframe with all those in the backdrop -

He's beautiful. There is no denying it. Happiness looks gorgeous on everyone and it especially looks stunning on Bucky Barnes.

"Never thought I'd see a day someone go ape-shit over Stevie, but here I am," Barnes chuckles, crinkled eyes, glazed with mirth swirling and molten grey. He's fucking gorgeous and Sam's heart restarts with a new rhythm.

Indeed, "Here you are."

-

Sam sits, and he thinks. 

All he ever wanted was an answer to a simple question. That’s it. He didn’t ask for the moon or dream of fucking Captain America like Tony Stark and yet here he is. Four months after his first time asking the question; from not knowing the guy at all to somehow tolerating him and surprise, surprise, now he’s in a sticky crush situation with the guy. 

Hell, no wonder Tony is the way he is with Steve. This whole crushing on super-soldiers is frustrating as fuck and Sam hates it.

In fact, he doesn’t even deserve it.

All he wanted was an answer. To a single simple question. Sam refuses to pine after Bucky Barnes for the price of solving Kennedy’s murder. He’s better than that. He can solve the mystery without selling his heart. 

Sam decides this is the final straw and he isn’t having it anymore. He’s going to end it all.

-

“Did you or did you not kill John F. Kennedy?”

“Good afternoon to you too, Sammie,” Bucky Barnes grins, black hoodie and black pants, sitting cross-legged on the couch as he tosses an unopened bag of chips for Sam to catch. “Mario kart or are you finally brave enough to play The Last of Us Part 2?”

“Don’t call me that,” Sam grumbles, marching his way to the empty spot next to Barnes and plopping down. “It’s not about bravery. The reviews aren’t so good -,”

“I read them all. General opinion is still positive. You better hurry up, I’m running out of ways to stop Barton from spoiling it.”

The thought that Barnes is waiting for Sam to start on something is disconcerting. In a warm, fuzzy, heart palpitating way. So, Sam pops the chips’ bag open and stuffs a handful into his mouth in an attempt to drown out the feels with an obnoxiously loud CRUNCH.

“Is that why you throttled him last night?”

“No,” Barnes drawls lazily, leaning into Sam’s space to fish out a chip and pops it into his mouth. “That’s because he ate the last brownie.”

“Bruce’s?”

Barnes nods, wiping his finger over his pants and continuing to fiddle with the remote. 

“Fair enough,” Sam declares. Then an idea pops up. “I’ll play that game if you answer my question.”

Barnes seems to know which one. His shoulders tense, squaring up and he seems to curl inwards, shrinking into his hoodie and Sam hates himself for causing this. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he blurts out. Anything to draw Barnes out of that state.

Shamefully, he wonders if this is what they meant by ‘simping’. God, he’s weak for this man and that’s ridiculously unfair.

Regardless, his words seem to work their miracle because Barnes relaxes, shoulders sagging and Sam feels his own tension bleed. The silence stretches uncomfortably for a while until all Sam could think is to not flex his fingers because that would crinkle the plastic bag and it would be loud and that would win the Guinness World Awkward Award. 

Then, Barnes speaks. He’s still facing away, at the TV, and he scratches the back of his head through the hoodie as he asks quietly, “Can I ask you a question in return?”

Sam blinks. He minces his reflexive ‘You just asked’ and shrugs, “Sure.”

Exactly thirteen heartbeats after, Barnes asks, “Do you fancy men, Sammie?”

Sam’s throat goes dry. Something clenches in his chest, warning him about his own thoughts in the Cafe about not willing to explaining gay-rights to a homophobic. But he also remembers Barnes’ reaction to finding out Tony liking Steve like that. Especially Barnes’ laughter.

“Yeah,” Sam says, “I like both women and men.”

“A bisexual,” Barnes nods into his hoodie. As if he’s recalling something he read only yesterday. He probably is. 

Sam pulls in a breath and sinks into his seat. He pulls out a chip and pops it into his mouth. “Anything else?”

He’s not ready when Barnes turns towards him. He’s mid-munch, chips still sharp shards that poke at his tongue when he meets grey eyes full of intent. But he swallows them anyway. Barnes’ unabashed and fearless, staring straight into Sam’s eyes as he pops the question that makes Sam’s palms and soles tickle. 

“Do you wanna step out with me?”

Sam is 100% sure he croaks when he opens his mouth to say, “I’ll only say yes if you tell me whether you killed Kennedy or not.”

Barnes’ lips wobble and he ducks his head. Shoulders shaking when he looks up again with a beatific grin split across his face; gorgeous fucker. And he answers, “I don’t know, I don’t remember.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sam mutters, already grabbing him by his nape and he pulls him in to kiss that gorgeous happiness on his face. “Don’t care.” Another kiss, “Who cares?” Another “Dude’s dead anyway.” 

Barnes laughs, head tipping back, body leaning to fall and Sam goes down with him gladly.

[tisfan]

Terrible Things (You’ve Done)

for @gilajames 1000 - 1500 words

I would adore some fluffy Tony Stark/Victor von Doom werewolf/shifter fic. (With or without Doom still being a villain and doing what he *thinks* is fluffy, but requited love regardless.)

Title: Terrible Things (You’ve Done) Written by: @tisfan Square: G1 - Restricted Dog Breeds Rating: Teen Pairing: Tony Stark/Victor Von Doom Triggers/warnings: none Tags: werewolf AU, dubious sense of humor, first time shapeshift Created for: @bannedtogetherbingo2020 Word count: 1362 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24530134

Summary: Tony Stark is out of time... and he’s done terrible things... Restricted Dog Breeds: the piece that was banned for this discussed information about the dog in question, which are illegal in that township. I thought it would be a cute tongue-in-cheek if this pertained to lycanthropy, which would probably be illegal if anyone believed in werewolves.

Twenty seven days and twelve hours later.

“You can’t be serious, Tones,” Rhodey said. He wasn’t quite blocking the door, but it was getting close to that. He meant well, Tony was sure of that, because Rhodey always meant well, but just this one time--

“Honeybunches, you gotta trust me,” Tony said. “Contrary to what everyone thinks, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“You have no clue what you’re doing,” Rhodey muttered, but at least he got out of the way. Which was good, Tony could feel in his bones that he didn’t have much time left.

He was out of options.

Von Doom was his only hope, and that was terrifying. And yet, the alternative was worse.

“Let me go with you,” Rhodey said, catching his elbow. “If-- Tones, I don’t trust this guy, you can’t trust him.”

“I know,” Tony said. “But if it all goes wrong, I don’t want you anywhere near that shit show. Tell Pepper I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you gonna be sorry,” Rhodey said, dragging Tony into a bone-crushing hug. Or it would have been, Tony thought, if he hadn’t been changed. If there wasn’t something else new and alien inside his body, just waiting for its chance. He could smell Rhodey’s human odor, the way his skin felt under the press of Tony’s face, the way his heart beat. Enhanced, animal senses; he was a predator in a herd of sheep.

It was utterly terrifying.

And yet, Tony knew the longing to shed his clothes and run free.

Run with me.

“Gotta go, prickly pear,” Tony said. 

The motorcar was already started in the drive, Jarvis would have seen to that, turned the crank and made sure the steam engine was fully pressurized. Tony had discovered only a few weeks back that a horse would have nothing to do with him, now. He’d nearly caused an accident the first time, the horses panicking and nearly killing his driver, Happy, in the process of rearing and kicking until the carriage wasn’t much use for anything aside from kindling.

The way was smooth, at least.

Von Doom was many things, probably more myth than man these days, but one of them was a lover of progress.

The roads were paved all the way from the city below to his castle.

That said, the motorcar wasn’t made to drive up a mountain, and it took Tony hours to get there.

The sun was setting and Tony was panting for breath, fighting with everything in him not to-- whatever it was that he was going to do.

He barely remembered the parking brake, dashing from the motorcar to the front entrance of Von Doom’s castle.

Maybe he was expected; the door opened under his hand, and Doom was there, green cloak swirling in the evening breeze, that steel mask showing nothing of the man underneath, no emotion, no surprise, no nothing.

No mercy.

The moon peeked out from the horizon, and Tony felt the change shift in his blood.

There was no time.

*

When Tony woke up the next morning, he felt only moderately horrible. A three of ten on the hangover scale. The room was dimly lit, which was good, and he was laying on something that rather resembled a large dog bed, and he assumed that was bad.

He wasn’t dressed, either, which was pretty uncomfortable.

Despite his expectations, his hands weren’t drenched in blood -- although he did have a few feathers clinging to his skin, and his fingers and toes were filthy. 

He shivered again, trying to figure out where the hell he was.

Scrubbed his hands over his face; fingers came back flecked with dried blood. And there was a heavy, leather collar around his neck.

Right. This was really, really bad.

A moment later, the door opened and he caught a glimpse of a metal sabaton, pushing a basket into the room. The door closed with a boom.

His nose, still wolf-sharp and sensitive, told him there was food in that basket. Eggs and toast and sausage and bacon and steak and berries. His stomach, not really caring all that much about his emotional state, growled.

He edged forward cautiously. He wasn’t sure what he was being careful of. That someone would come in and attack him, or that he would attack someone else.

He didn’t feel crazy, but he also couldn’t remember what had happened, the night before.

There were clothes, too. Soft, clean. Tony pulled them on. At this point, anything was better than being naked and vulnerable.

At someone else’s mercy.

He was just settling in for breakfast when the door opened again.

This time, Doom swept in, a few of his identically clad servants behind him, one carrying a bucket  and some towels, the other carrying a chair, which he sat in front of Tony and then Doom sat down in it.

“You’ve done terrible things, Mr. Stark,” Doom intoned.

Tony looked down at his hands. “Just tell me,” he said.

“First, you were completely disorderly, and got into the chicken coop. You’re just lucky that the rooster chased you out before you could eat more than two of my best layers, otherwise I couldn’t have any eggs for breakfast,” Doom said, and he flipped up his metal mask, looking at Tony with the same disapproval that people reserved for misbehaving children. 

Well, somewhat less disapproving than Howard had, since Doom didn’t really look ready to take a fresh-peeled switch to Tony’s backside.

“And you chewed up my best leather slippers, I’m quite put out. Also, you shed all over the sofa. Do you ever brush your hair? Further, you got into the midden heap. Trash, everywhere! What am I supposed to do with you, Stark? You’re like a badly trained puppy. It’s disgraceful.”

Tony’s mouth dropped open, all the muscles in his jaw refused to work.

Finally-- “What?”

“What did you expect,” Doom continued. “You don’t even know who bit you, it’s not like you’ve been initiated. Can’t expect perfect behavior out of your wolf when he’s got paws the first time. It was smart, coming here. I didn’t expect that, but I approve.”

“I didn’t hurt anyone?”

Von Doom rolled his eyes. It was surprising, really, how attractive Doom was. Tony’d heard the legends his whole life of how the man had gotten a trifling cut on his face when he was a boy and sealed the metal mask over it, still hot, to hide from the world.

There was only the thinnest scar on one cheek, and it didn’t make him ugly. As a matter of fact, he was quite handsome, with silvering hair and amber colored eyes. 

“They’re still telling that ridiculous story?” Von Doom said. “No, werewolves don’t eat people. They don’t track down their loved ones to rip out their intestines, and they don’t become mindless monsters.”

Tony held out his arm where the bite -- now a simple pink impression of teeth, fading. Soon it would be gone, he thought -- had been. “And then how do people become werewolves?”

“Bad luck, usually,” Doom said. “Look, don’t let me keep you from breakfast and then I’ll let you have a bath. Tonight, you’ll meet the were who made you, have your initiation. Meet your pack. It’ll be easier, after that.”

“Who made me?”

“He didn’t mean to,” Von Doom said, not meeting Tony’s eyes. “He was hunting, and you struck a creature with your carriage. Do you remember?”

“I thought it was a--” Tony blinked. He’d thought he’d hit a man, at first, that had staggered, drunk, into the road.

The thing in the ditch was no man, and had lashed out violently.

“You thought it was a man,” Von Doom said. “And so it was.”

A strange, sudden knowing filled Tony’s chest. “Who?”

Von Doom swallowed and looked at him. “I would have thought you’d have guessed. He’s me.” 

[things2mustdo]

I doubt anyone needs to be reminded that the media is rotten to the core; even the most reluctant and closed-minded people are accepting this as a given now. But despite the media being widely condemned nowadays (my special thanks to Germans for bringing the word “Lügenpresse” back), few people know or understand what’s really going on in the journalistic kitchens, where the foul slop of lies that people are fed every day is cooked up. However, there is always a way in—through purposeful infiltration or, in my case, by accident.

I have an old friend—let’s call him Sven—whom I always knew as a kind-hearted and sincere man. However, these traits are also coupled with always assuming the best of people and being rather naive. Due to this, he keeps ending up in awkward and sometimes dangerous situations. One of them turned out to be a short stint as a journalist for a popular online newspaper. He barely maintained contact during his employment and eventually went completely off the grid. In about a month, he resurfaced a changed man, and not for the better. As he explained, he quit the job and then shut himself in for a while, armed with nothing but alcohol, to cope with the depression working as a journalist gave him.

Now, this probably sounds very soft to many of you, including myself. Men don’t sink into depressions or try to drink themselves out of problems. While I granted my friend the clemency of explaining his failures to him, I also recognized the usefulness of his experience and started questioning him about what he saw and heard at the job. I will relay his findings below; however, I will not disclose his true name or the name of his employer—given the “free” country we live in, this can land him in very hot water.

Whoever pays you, owns you

Sven joined the ranks of journalists to tell people the truth. To his credit, he believed he would be doing exactly that. His first assignment sounded so simple, after all—talk to a person, record the conversation, write an article, publish it. The reality turned out to be diametrically different—after our fresh-baked journalist returned from his first interview, he was immediately ordered to transcribe the recording and email it to the content manager. Half an hour later Sven received a heavily edited version of the transcript, with the parts he considered most crucial replaced with meaningless buzzwords or removed completely. When he went to the manager to voice his indignation, the manager simply replied: “This man did not pay us for an article that would disparage him. Get back to your desk.”

This was far from the only case of Sven witnessing how much pull money has in journalism. His numerous colleagues almost never produced independent content—they were too busy publishing one paid article after another. When Sven asked whether these articles should be marked as sponsored, the only reply he got was a bitter laugh. Very often the content manager would come over to his desk and say something along the lines of “Do you know the guy you are writing about is a close friend of our boss? Do not screw this article up.” Sven was also surprised to see that many interviewees (usually politicians) would not even bother to talk to him, instead referring him to their secretaries or assistants. One of them even went as far as to hand him a pre-written speech, tell him to work with it and walk away.

However, our Sven also happens to possess a burning sense of justice, which has several times led him to ignore the “recommendations” his content manager gave him, deviate from the official story and allow small snippets of truth to make their way into public view. For each of such occurrences he was called to the manager’s room, given a strict admonishment and had his paycheck for the month reduced. Any “unsanctioned” things that he wrote were quickly edited away afterwards—even if the article had already been read by thousands of people. And his was supposed to be a “neutral and objective” media outlet!

Standards? Never heard of ’em.

It was a big shock for Sven when he finally realized that his employers were beings without conscience who whored themselves out to the highest bidder. It was an even bigger shock when he discovered how nonchalantly his colleagues treated their responsibilities. Investigative journalists relied on information they got from Google searches and Twitter posts, editors and sub-editors used rumors and hearsay to write scathing op-eds, website managers just posted any content that caught their fancy as long as they could come up with a flashy enough headline for it to attract people. Fact-checking was almost unheard of, unless someone specifically paid for it.

When it came to choosing topics and writing articles, the guideline for the entire establishment was simple: do not make the people angry. Not the regular people, mind you—those were not even considered human beings, just a faceless mass that one threw articles at and got pageviews and money in return. No, the label “people” was reserved for people who mattered. This included representatives of the powers that be, well-known public figures, moneybags with fingers in the political pie and, of course, personal buddies of the outlet’s owner.

These were to be protected, coddled and praised at all costs, while everyone else was fair game. Needless to say, politics held as much sway in the outlet as money did—whenever something noteworthy happened, “protectors of truth and objectivity” immediately went to work spinning the events in a way desirable for those holding their leashes. Hit pieces against political opponents and undesirables were churned out, smokescreens were cast, facts were omitted, denied and misinterpreted. Sven confessed to me later that the day his outlet covered the parliamentary elections was the first day in his life when he spent the entire evening drinking. Journalistic ethics, a term that the media loves throwing left and right, turned out to be nothing but hot air.

In the media omelet, you are an egg

The title says it all. For top dogs in the media business, a rank-and-file worker is not just a pawn—he is a condom. Contrary to what many people think, a typical journalist’s existence is quite pathetic: underpaid, undervalued, thankless and constantly bossed around. Staff turnover in the “kitchen” is very high, and not because people are getting promoted. In this field, the term “veteran employee” frequently means a poor sod who has no alternatives and cannot quit.

According to Sven, plenty of his colleagues worked only for the sake of getting their paycheck, which explains their negligence. Grey faces, pinched mouths, shifty eyes and sour attitudes—whatever it takes to get through the day. In addition, the higher-ups avoided any responsibility for the published content: whenever an angry reader called the office and complained about an article, the guy who wrote it was immediately thrown under the bus, even if his work was reviewed and approved by the management before publication. After all, what does it take to find another office drone with half-decent writing skills?

However, Sven also describes those of his coworkers who enjoyed their job. They arrived at the office with a spring in their step, a smile snaking across their faces and a mischievous glint in their eyes. These were the “talented” favorites of the outlet’s boss—unfeeling, cold assholes who would sell their own mothers for a juicy piece of gossip that they would later smear all over the website. Whenever they got a chance to write a hit piece, spread a nasty rumor or ruin someone’s life, one could almost see them light up from within. Remember all these smug, holier-than-thou, oh-so-intellectual articles churned out by rags like Salon, Dagens Nyheter and Huffington Post? You can bet your pinky finger they were (and are) written by these people. Which brings us to the next topic.

No wrongthink allowed

As you have probably noticed long ago, the media field is a huge and accommodating Petri dish for all varieties of Kulturbolschewismus. In Sven’s case, it wasn’t just a fear-based company policy of snitching and self-censorship, but an actual agenda at work. He told me there was a flowchart hanging in the newsroom explaining what to do when reporting crimes and incidents. It went something like this: “Was the perpetrator native (white)? Y = report in detail, amplify, N = gloss the details over, downplay.”

Sven wrote an article about a national holiday once, but his content manager refused to approve it for publishing due to it being “too patriotic,” advising him instead to “write more inclusively about minorities’ participation in the festival.” Anything praising the country and its indigenous inhabitants was undesirable and omitted whenever possible, while any piece that brimmed with self-hate, praised inhabitants of other (read: African and Muslim) countries or attacked the natives and their way of life was a big hit and flew through approval like a bird.

Needless to say, the outlet’s newsroom was crammed full of women, their pet cucks and, of course, Jews. The former enjoyed absolute power regardless of their position—a simple complaint to HR was enough to fire anyone, no proof required. The cucks, represented by twig-armed, piercing-laden, wispy-bearded creatures in Che Guevara shirts, were very pleased with the way things were going, sipping lattes and snitching to HR on those who expressed ideas incompatible with the narrative. Jews were in their native element in the newsroom, doing their usual “arrogant intellectual” schtick and getting promotions out of nowhere. The majority of articles bashing natives, their culture and values came from them, as later study of the newspaper’s website showed me.

Liars for hire

So, to sum it all up: the media is not composed of good but misguided people, as many still think. On the contrary, it is a very purposeful and self-aware entity that positions itself somewhere between an unscrupulous opportunist and a loyal lapdog of the state. At best, it is faux-patriotic (“such a wonderful country we have, let’s invite more immigrants!”), while at worst, it is openly hostile towards the indigenous population of the country it exists in.

Moreover, it allows for consolidation and self-affirmation of globalist forces—the traitorous governments, the world Jewry, the multinationals, the entertainment industry and the like—against the increasingly disenfranchised and declining native population. And last but not least, the media is complicit in crimes committed in the West by non-White immigrants due to purposeful obfuscation of them and, if that fails, rabble-rousing to pressure the courts into letting the criminals off scot-free. To me, the latter reason alone is enough to send all the journalists and their owners to the gibbet.

The bottom line is to always remember that the media is not your friend in any way, shape or form, even if its lowest tier operatives fit the description of hapless victims rather than nation-wrecking enemies. The media must be opposed, exposed and boycotted at every turn until it starts bleeding money and choking on its own venom.

Read More: Is Washington Post Writer Adam Taylor A Shill Or Part Of Something Larger?

While reading  Roosh’s article about Adam Taylor and the Washington Post, I noticed quite a few things I would like to share with people here. The direct link between Adam Taylor and the Radio Free excerpt is an anomaly. Such blatant copying is a very rare thing to occur because it gives away a possible collusion between entities.

Looking for these open relationships is long and hard. The better way to analyze  the relations and motivations of certain publishers, policy makers and other manipulators  is to study the various themes they put out and where these themes repeat. While Roosh  might assume that Adam Taylor is the paid shill by himself, I’ve noticed that his writing changes to whoever publishes it. Therefore the Washington Post Worldviews section may be the one that is parroting US State Department themes not just Adam Taylor.

As is shown in Roosh’s article, the similarities between Adam Taylor’s piece and Radio Free Europe are quite telling. It is a possibility that it is a coincidence but a small one. People that try to influence public opinion go to great lengths to ensure things like this do not happen which is why I’m assuming that Adam Taylor is  part of larger machine and not a shill by himself.

Looking back at Adam Taylor’s writing for the Huffington Post, he wrote fluff pieces about gay dogs and other mass consumption items for that audience. His writing about geopolitical intrigue only takes the current form when he begins writing for the Washington Post. All his articles are the Who’s Who of what the US State Department doesn’t like. The roster includes Russia, China, Venezuela, Syria, and Zimbabwe. He writes nothing critical of any American allies.

Could this mean that his change in format indicate that someone turned him? I doubt it. Compare his work at the Washington Post to the rest of the “world views” section there, his writing is merely a contribution to a giant echo chamber and not unique to him.

As I said earlier, it’s very rare for open evidence of collusion such as the similar quotations to present themselves. A better technique to discern propaganda and collusion is to analyze trends and themes.You should look for such things as what the work attempts to convey, does it try to get you to think or act in a certain way, and does it try to get you to disregard other things.

In the Adam Taylor case, the pattern changes significantly from the Huffington Post to the Washington Post. You can also apply this trend analysis to pretty much any author. You can even apply to the contributors here at  Return of Kings and see what you get. Do the trends indicate that the publisher may dictate what the writers write about? Do the trends indicate whether or not the writers have freedom to write about whatever they want? To help you readers out on this exercise I’ll inform you there were two articles I did at the direction of the publisher. They were my article for fat shaming week and my article for #backtothekitchen.  Feel free to comment on any other trends you might notice and if they do not line up with the “about” page.

[faewhump]

Unseelie Pet: 8. Chapter

The book of poems Malachi gifted Alex turns out to be of even more insidious nature than previously thought, but then Malachi unknowingly presents Alex with an opportunity he cannot resist.

Previous  Masterlist Next

Content warnings: dehumanisation, non-consensual touching (not sexual), general creepiness, captivity

Tagging: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @whumpsideblog @frnkieroismydaddy @slaintetowhump @thewhiteraven73

Alex felt comfortably warm and well-rested when he woke up. He turned around with a yawn, ready to happily snuggle back into the incredibly soft bedding, when he noticed an unfamiliar pressure against his neck. Confused he slid one hand up to his throat to feel for the cause of the discomfort. Metal. His eyes flew open as the memories of the day before came rushing back to him, the collar Malachi had forced on him, the mirror he’d broken and the subsequent punishment… as well as the warm bath. Heat rose to his cheeks thinking of how humiliating it had been.

Malachi had seen him naked, washed him and brought him to bed like a child, but that wasn’t the worst part by far. Sure, those things had been embarrassing, and he hated that he’d been unable to stop any of it. He was mortified by how he had behaved; he hadn’t acted like himself at all and had just let Malachi do whatever he wanted. But that also wasn’t the worst part.

No, the worst part was that, on some level, he had actually enjoyed the treatment. Somehow it had felt so good to be taken care of, like he didn’t have to worry about a thing and could just relax. And Malachi had been so kind to him, his touches had been nothing but gentle, and the soothing way he’d talked to him had been so calming…

See how nice this is? So much better than when you’re obstinate, isn’t it? Why aren’t you always this sweet and pliant, hmm? You want to be my good pet, don’t you?

Alex shivered. He definitely did not want to be the Fae’s good pet, thank you very much. He couldn’t allow his control to slip like that again. To be fair, it wasn’t as if he’d been completely lucid at the time, the faerie food had definitely played a part in that. Speaking of faerie food… Alex got out of bed, picked up the breakfast tray from the table and resolutely marched over to the open window. After confirming that the coast was clear he tossed the fried eggs and sausages into the courtyard without a second thought.

Sufficiently assured that the helpful crows would take care of the evidence again, he sat the tray back down and coated the cutlery in the remaining grease on the plate to uphold the illusion that he’d actually used them. No, today he wouldn’t give in the way he had yesterday, and despite his growing hunger he didn’t regret skipping breakfast one bit. Later on he probably wouldn’t be able to refuse being fed by Malachi again, if the Fae decided to keep up the humiliating tradition.

He still wore nothing but the extremely fluffy bathrobe and the detested collar, but there were new clothes laid out for him on a chair. It was a soft pair of leggings and a simple yet elegant tunic again, this time in a shade of forest green that complimented both his brown eyes and the band of gold around his neck. The fabric was much finer and luxurious than anything Alex had worn in the human world, but at the same time he couldn’t help but notice that it was nothing that would keep him warm or protected. He also hadn’t been given any shoes, and while being barefoot in the thickly carpeted room wasn’t an issue, it would definitely slow him down out in the forest.

He didn’t know how much time he had until Malachi would come to see him. On the one hand he really didn’t want to spend any more time with the Fae, so far their interactions had always ended in him getting hurt or humiliated, but on the other the dreading anticipation was almost as bad. The book of poems he’d thrown yesterday had been placed upon the table again. Reluctantly he picked it up and settled on the sofa to read, maybe there was an answer in the book to why Malachi had chosen it specifically. And besides, it wasn’t as if he’d had anything else to do.

Love poetry generally wasn’t something Alex considered himself to be well-versed in, but even he was able to recognise the flow and wording of the poems to be perfectly judged and quite elegant. Another thing he quickly noticed was that the book didn’t just contain generic love poems. No, there also was quite a number clearly written from the perspective of a Fae to their human pet, reminiscing about how wilful they used to be and how much sweeter and adorable they have become, while others praised their beloved pet’s beauty, obedience and submission.

The poems that Alex hated the most, however, were the ones written by the presumptive pets themselves. They spoke of happiness and love, some remembering times when they were scared and confused, remarking on how perfect everything was now in comparison, how kind, generous and perfect their master was and how much they adored him… Alex was about to throw the book again.

He took a deep breath, shut the book with more force than necessary and put it back down on the table. Well, at least he now understood what Malachi had meant when he’d wrote that he hoped for Alex to find this book inspiring. He laughed bitterly, if Malachi thought that he’d change his mind because of what some creepy faeries and some poor, brainwashed humans had written, he’d definitely thought wrong. If anything, this reminded Alex even further of why he had to get out of the Fae’s grasp as soon as possible.

Sooner than he’d anticipated there was a polite knock on the door before it swung open and Malachi entered.

“Good morning, little human,” he greeted with a friendly smile. “I hope you slept well? You were so tired last night, no surprise after the way you exhausted yourself crawling all over the floor.”

Warily Alex stood up from the couch to face him, noting with unease that the Fae carried a medium seized box, which he put down on the table. His eyes fell on the book.

“Have you come around to reading it yet?” Malachi asked.

“Yes, I read it,” Alex replied tensely.

“Well done,” Malachi cooed. “Tell me, pet, which poem was your favourite?”

Alex huffed. “The one in which the poet loved someone very much,” he said sarcastically, well aware that that description applied to all of them.

Malachi chuckled. “I understand why you might have had difficulties choosing, this classical collection certainly is one of the very best out there. Nevertheless, Goldfinch has been the one that I have preferred for most of the last century.”

To Alex’s horror Malachi flipped the book open and began to read said poem to him. Admittedly, it sounded quite beautiful in the Fae’s smooth, silvery voice, but that didn’t make up for the repelling content. The poet flowerily compared their human pet to a revered songbird kept in a cage, talking of how they fell in love with their sweet goldfinch the moment they first heard its beautiful song, deciding to keep it safe from harm and in comfort for the rest of its life, and lamenting the inevitable heartbreak their beloved pet’s death would bring. By the time Malachi finished reading Alex was beet-red, almost shaking with suppressed anger.

“Well, what do you think?” Malachi asked and put the book down. “It is quite lyrical and romantic.”

“It’s not romantic!” Alex protested. “None of these poems are, they’re just ridiculous and really creepy!”

Malachi laughed. “Of course, you still are a difficult, obstinate thing,” he mused. “But do not fret, my little bird, soon you will understand. Soon you will be flattered to have such lovely poems read to you, and will do nothing but blush and smile sweetly, adorably asking to hear more.”

“Never!” Alex hissed.

“What did I say about that word? Never is a horribly long time and therefore a word that shouldn't be used,” Malachi reminded him, stepping closer, and slowly stroked over his cheek. “We’ll get there, eventually. And I will enjoy every step on the way.”

The Fae’s smile sent a shiver over Alex’s back. He wanted to object and argue, but the words stayed stuck in his throat. What scared him the most was the fact that faeries couldn’t lie. Everything Malachi said sounded so wrong to him, but he knew that the Fae had to be speaking the truth. Or at least what he genuinely believed to be the truth. Alex took a deep breath to calm himself, it was alright, none of these things were actually true, Malachi was simply delusional.

“Anyways, you were very good yesterday evening, which is why I decided to prepone this particular reward,” Malachi said and gestured towards the box he’d brought. “Go ahead, open it.”

Warily Alex did as asked, expecting a ‘gift’ of a same kind as the collar had been, and was surprised to instead find a pair of soft slippers inside.

“Try them on,” Malachi encouraged him, and he obeyed. They fit perfectly, just like the clothes he’d gotten before.

“Why?”

Malachi smiled. “Because we are going out today. It isn’t healthy for humans to stay inside all the time, and I would never want for you to become sick.”

“Really?” Alex asked, unable to hide the excitement in his voice.

“Yes, really,” Malachi confirmed, smiling at his joy. “You will stay close to me, won’t stray from my side and won’t talk to others we might come across. Is that understood?”

“Yes, I’ll stay with you and won’t talk to anyone,” Alex promised readily.

Malachi nodded once. “Very well.” With that he turned towards the door and gestured for Alex to follow him.

Alex was overjoyed to go outside, he’d been stuck in that room for days, trying to play nice, waiting for this opportunity. Finally, finally he could try to get away. He obediently followed a step to the side and behind Malachi as he led him through the palace, trying to ignore the faeries that crossed their path, most of whom merely bowed to their Lord, and only few dared to vocally greet him.

Eventually they reached a magnificent entrance hall, and on Malachi’s sign the stationed guards opened the large portal for them. Alex couldn’t help but smile widely when he stepped outside, it felt so good to be under the open sky again. He stayed close to Malachi’s side, waiting for the perfect moment to slip away. So close to the Court there were many paths that led through the beautiful woods, and Alex wondered whether the lush vegetation and landscape were all natural or if they had at least partially been shaped by the faeries.

At first it didn’t seem like Malachi would become distracted enough to allow for an escape, and Alex was close to giving up, when on their way back to the palace a dark-skinned High Fae called out to them.

“Lord Malachi,” she said and inclined her head politely.

“Lady Shona,” Malachi greeted back.

“A word with you?”

“Of course.” He bowed his head as well.

“A word in private, if you’d please.” Lady Shona threw Alex a pointed look.

Malachi looked at Alex as well, calculating. Alex met his eyes calmly, trying to give the impression of a placid and well-behaved pet.

“Kieran, stay right here until I come back,” Malachi ordered, infusing his voice with power.

Of course, Malachi still thought he could control him with his supposed true name. Alex nodded, making sure not to let any of his excitement show. Malachi gave him one last stern look before he followed Lady Shona around the bend of the path ahead. Alex waited until their steps left earshot and a couple of moments longer for a good measure. Then, he turned around and ran.

[an-ambivalent]

Word Count: 5.7K 

Warnings: This work deals with yandere themes, symptoms of depression such as hopelessness, and other types of distorting thoughts that may be triggering or uncomfortable to read. Read at your own risk. I do not condone this behaviour, nor do I believe any of the mentioned members would display this type of behaviour in real life. 

Beauty lost, and love stripped away;  Deep scars were carved in the flesh of her heart.  With the destined one’s torn apart, and new tensions,  Look out for all the devils with evil obscure intentions.

Another day, and another load of struggles that had begun. 

 At the outskirts of the city, in the suburbs of the east, a new story was going to unfold. There were only very few places that were going to be relevant to the plot of this story; the main setting begins with two houses that were right beside one another. The distance between the houses was so minimal that the resident of one house, could easily catch a glimpse of what was happening in the house next door. 

 While it was true that in life, everyone had a plate of their own burdens and problems to bear, undoubtedly, daily challenges in one person’s life can be worse than another’s. This was the case for [Name] [Surname]. 

 There were so many unexpressed emotions, unprocessed feelings and thoughts, untold stories -- [Name] did not even know where to begin. The scars -- physical, mental, and emotional were like broken pieces of glass digging into her very being. Slowly hurting her, and killing her, because she had never taken the moment to get rid off its pain, and attempt to heal from it. It was all buried away -- her trauma, screams, and hurt -- she had repressed it until it became nothing. Blank, seemingly non-existent. She thought it was best to become numb to all of it, until the pain simply felt like a permanent part of her. 

 [Name] believed that this was for the best -- the past was the past and she could not let it become her present, or define her future. She could not afford the luxury of seeing the best in everyone else anymore, not when her actions now, would not only hurt her, but her child as well. 

 For Ha-neul, who was the result, the very reminder of the man she wanted to forget with all of her, but never could, [Name] had to push through. She could not afford to spare time on herself, because she was broken beyond repair -- she could not be fixed, she had no hope. 

 But Ha-neul, she was still just a young girl, an innocent blossoming flower who could prosper. [Name] needed to do her best to make sure her daughter got to live a fulfilling life where she would be happy -- where she would have everything [Name] could never have; someone to love, someone to look after her, someone to create memories and bonds with. She really hoped that out of everything, Ha-neul would retain her innocent spark, achieve her dreams, and be bright and loved. Everything that [Name] used to be, but had lost. And now, there was nothing but darkness shrouding her. 

 The sound of eggs sizzling on the pan was audible, and the smell of toasted bread, appearing to be crispy, brought a delightful warm aura in the room. [Name] was never really a cook. In between the two of them, even though it did not seem like it, Taehyung was the one who always prepared their meals. ‘A disaster’ is what he would call her everytime she tried to make something, because it always ended up in exactly what his nickname for her implied -- a disaster. However, Taehyung was not here, not anymore. She was alone, left with more responsibility than she was capable of handling. And this thought alone, like her, was enough to bring tears to her eyes. It was either that, or her eyes were watery -- the type of wetness that’s there when they feel quite dry and painful due to a lack of sleep. Dark eyebags covered [Name]’s under eyes because she had slept for only four hours once again. She had to work extremely long shifts these days, so she could earn enough money to meet the need’s ends. 

 She had become more independent than she ever wanted to be, and that showed in her cooking too. Once considered a disaster, after more than enough practice because she was the only one who could do this for Ha-neul, she had become a rather skilled cook.  Just like how she had no one but her daughter, her daughter had no one but her. 

 [Name] would have liked to say they were close, and they were, but there were still some tensions that rose every so often. 

 Feeling somewhat tired already, [Name] finished setting up breakfast for herself and Ha-neul; two pieces of bread and eggs for each person, with an entire glass of their favourite beverage. As [Name] walked to set the food on their dining table, Ha-neul was already seated there -- dressed in her school uniform. 

 She smiled innocently at [Name], with the corner of her eyes widening slightly as she did. Her expressions of joy were always etched with a particular innocence that was almost a bit too like Jungkook. However, unlike Jungkook, Ha-neul’s smile did not scare her because whatever Jungkook had to have experienced to make him behave the way he had, Ha-neul had an innocent smile. And everytime she smiled, [Name] could not help but return it. 

 “Thank you for the food mum,” Ha-neul greeted, and she could feel her mouth watering in hunger. Really, there were many children her age who were picky, and would put up a fight with the food they were given. But Ha-neul never protested with the type of food she was given, or the life she lived. She was an incredibly smart girl, much more mature and wise for someone her years. She was aware, and understanding of the struggles [Name] encountered as a single mother, who had to look after her, work, and had many other responsibilities. She was grateful for how much her mother did for, and never allowed her to feel poor despite the fact that their financial crisis could be devastating at times. 

Ha-neul did her best to support her mother in helping her with chores, or making her own lunch whenever she could, and tried to not to ask for anything to lessen her burden. There was only one thing that Ha-neul wanted from [Name], and it was only one simple truth. It really wasn’t much, at least, it did not seem like a big deal for Ha-neul. However, unbeknownst to her, the very truth, the only thing that Ha-neul sought desperately from her mother, was the very cruel reality [Name] never wanted to reminiscent in or think about ever again. This was the underlying cause of all of their fights, and their tension -- it was the only struggle Ha-neul was not smart enough to understand. Ha-neul decided that she would push her luck at dinner once again, and ask her mother about the truth. 

 “I got it,” Ha-neul proclaimed brightly, as she grabbed the empty dishes before [Name] could, and walked to the sink to wash them. Momentarily, in response, [Name]’s eyes had widened. However, her expression soon changed into a gentle smile, and she ruffled Ha-neul’s hair lovingly.

 “My sweet baby,” [Name] said in endearment. Referring to Ha-neul with such nicknames were her way of saying thank you, and teasing her daughter at the same time. Jokingly, Ha-neul scowled at her, but still wore a bright smile on her face. 

 “You’re dropping me off to school as a thank you,” Ha-neul said in a mockingly demanding tone, and [Name] grinned at her. 

 “I would drop you off to school regardless,” she countered, in the same tone as Ha-neul, as she picked up her keys, and walked towards the garage. “You know where to come once you’re done.” 

 Ha-neul nodded as she set the last of the washed dishes on the drying rack beside the sink. Once she finished cleaning the shelf, washing and drying her hands, she picked up her school bag and walked in the direction [Name] had gone in. She hoped that by doing the dishes, and keeping her mother in a happy mood, it would prompt her to tell Ha-neul the truth she wanted to know. 

 As Ha-neul entered the garage, she expected her mother’s car to be parked outside, and for her mother to be waiting in the car so Ha-neul would close the garage door before they departed. Only one of those expected things had happened: [Name]’s car was indeed parked just outside the garage. However, she was struggling to close the garage door. This was evident in the expression she wore, and the loud rackty noises that the garage door was making, while refusing to shut down fully. 

 [Name]’s eyebrows furrowed, and within the creases between them, there were signs of tension. She gritted her teeth as she tried to close the damn door for the fifth time. 

 “Ugh, you stupid machine shut close! Please shut close, I can’t afford any unnecessary expenses at the moment,” she pleaded out-loud, desperately hoping to whatever higher power there was, that by some miracle, the door would magically fix itself and start working again. 

 Although there was no higher power, [Name] did hear the sound of a mellifluous angel. Her cheeks felt warm, and feeling flustered, [Name] turned her head towards the person who was giving her a small shy smile. 

 Her eyes widened. She gasped out-loud in surprise due to the person’s presence, and how beautiful he was. 

 “I-I, w-what? W-Who are you?” she stammered in shock, and clumsily fell back against the wall behind her. 

 The man before her reached out and grabbed onto her to stabilize her balance. The sensation of his gentle and warm touch burnt against her skin, and it caused [Name] to freeze. 

 “Are you okay?” he asked, leaning closer to her face to examine it, since her face was beginning to lose its colour. 

 His warm breath fanned her cheeks, causing her to feel more flustered. And after much difficulty, [Name] finally realised the proximity of his face being merely inches away from hers, and how he was touching her. Such a normal action, caused her heart to skip a beat because she realised the sad reality:  she had not experienced a man’s touch in a long time. 

 Ha-neul who was observing the interaction, raised an eyebrow, questioning her mother’s rather strange behaviour. She spoke in response to the question [Name] had asked initially. 

 “Mom, this is Jimin, he’s our new neighbour. He introduced himself like just a few minutes ago and offered to help us with the garage door,” Ha-neul answered simply, and [Name] felt her embarrassment increase in realisation.

 “R-Right, sorry. N-Nice to meet you J-Jimin,” [Name] stammered, feeling red, as she nervously and awkwardly held out a hand to greet him with. 

 For a mere second, Jimin stared at [Name] oddly, with a gaze that seemed to question her sanity. The embarrassment from this prompted the release of metaphorical steam out of her ears. Then, he chuckled, as he gently released his hold onto her. Once he made sure she was stabilized on her own feet, he shook her hand. He could not help but let his thumb brush the skin at the back of her hand; he perceived the sensation of holding her hand in finer detail and realised that while the palm of her hands felt a bit rough -- a sign of hard work, her skin still felt soft and smooth. Her touch was cosy, and he did not want to let go. 

 Both [Name] and Jimin seem to share one brain cell, since neither made an effort to end the ‘hand-shake’ and were staring at each other with a stare that held a mutual understanding. However, unlike them, Ha-neul did not have time to waste the whole day, and she was starting to run late to school. Her eye twitched, and now, impatience was fixed in her voice. 

 “Mum! We need to get going or I’ll be late!” she snapped, breaking [Name] and Jimin out of whatever trance they had found themselves in. Both of them looked like a deer caught in head-lights, and immediately, released their hold on each other. 

 [Name] turned her eyes towards Ha-neul and smiled sheepishly. 

 “Sorry sweetie,” she began in an apology, before she turned towards Jimin. “I… Need to drop Ha-neul off to school and the garage doesn’t seem to be closing. This isn’t a bad neighbourhood or anything but I still just don’t want to leave our house open to any chances for burglary. This is a lot to ask, and you’re new, this is our first time meeting, and I’m pushing the limits and making a bad impression by asking this but--” [Name] rambled, but Jimin cut her off. 

 He shook his head and smiled at her. 

 “It’s alright, I understand. You aren’t making a bad impression or pushing any limits. I’m not doing much anyway. I’d be happy to guard your place, and since I offered to fix it, I might as well get started right now,” Jimin said. Then, his eyes flickered towards Ha-neul, who was standing beside him, and pouting, because barely anyone was focused on her. Jimin found his smile widening at her adorableness in endearment, and similarly to what [Name] had done earlier, he ruffled her hair. 

 “Besides, I understand having too much to juggle,” he acknowledged, gesturing to her. It took a few moments for the implication of his words to register in her mind. The young girl found her cheeks reddening in embarrassment, all the while, [Name] giggled at Jimin’s teasing. 

 Once her giggling ceased, [Name] was grinning, and Jimin could not help but notice how much prettier she looked with a much more radiant and happier face. Somewhere within the pit of his stomach, he felt one or two pairs of butterfly wings beginning to flutter, and he wondered…  Could she be his one? 

 “You have kids of your own?” [Name] asked, feeling somewhat shocked. 

 “No, I live alone but--” 

 “MOM! SCHOOL! You can chat with Jimin LATER!” Ha-neul snapped, as she grabbed onto her mother’s arm, and started dragging her away towards the car. 

 “Oh right, sorry! Thanks for helping me out Jimin! Please let me repay you through a nice dinner! Come over tonight!” [Name] proclaimed, as she was dragged away. 

 Jimin wanted to refuse because he didn’t want to intrude on their family time. But… he didn’t have one of his own. The thought of sharing a home-cooked meal with someone once more, instead of having cold takeaways that were not made of love, after such a long time -- the thought was too much and he did not want to say no. 

 And maybe, just maybe, their family would have room for one more. After all, there did not seem to be a father around. 

 So, after such thoughts overwhelming him emotionally, Jimin easily accepted [Name]’s offer with a nod. He waved them off with a smile. 

 “Sure, I’d love that. See you tonight,” he said. As they left, the way Ha-neul narrowed her eyes at him, as if he was definitely intruding on something, did not go unnoticed by him. 

To say that the atmosphere around the dining table was awkward, could potentially be the biggest understatement of the century. 

Ha-neul and Jimin were sitting opposite one another, awkwardly staring at the table before them in order to avoid making eye-contact with each other. Meanwhile, [Name] was finishing the last touches and preparation of the dinner dishes. Admittedly, in excitement for finally having someone else to cook for once, [Name] had gotten a bit carried away. She ended up making more food, and more variety of it than necessary. As she settled the aromatic, and mouth-watering dinner on the table, both Ha-neul’s and Jimin’s eyes had widened. 

[Name] sat in the seat next to Ha-neul, the one that was actually directly opposite of Jimin. Both of the people she had cooked for, had an opinion to contribute. 

“You didn’t need to make all of this for me,” Jimin protested. Despite this, there were slight hints of evident redness forming at the tips of his ears. This, combined with the small smile that was starting to light up his face, were more than enough signs for [Name] to know that while she indeed did not need to make all of this for him, he loved that she had put in so much effort for him, and was incredibly happy about it. 

“I didn’t need to, but I did because you helped me and seeing that expression on yours face made it worth it,” she responded cheekily, smirking. 

Ha-neul was not happy about this. 

“Mom! This is so unfair! You haven’t cooked like this for me before!” she whined, and glared at [Name]. Instead of taking her complaint seriously the way Ha-neul wanted her to do so, [Name] grinned at her. 

“You’ve never fixed the garage for me before,” [Name] joked, before she brushed Ha-neul off easily. Afterwards, she returned to her seemingly much more important and fun conversation with Jimin. 

Second turned into single minutes, and single minutes turned into double digit minutes. All the while, Ha-neul did nothing but watch [Name] and Jimin talk and flirt with each other as if they were the only ones in the room. Ha-neul had not even started on her dinner yet, and [Name] did not even notice! Besides, how could her own mother treat a complete stranger better than she treated her? Here she was, making him so much food, laughing genuinely, and talking to him about her problems, and about herself. Ha-neul was her daughter, and no matter what she did, how hard she tried, [Name] never laughed like that with her, or ever vented to her. To Ha-neul, it  was like despite [Name]’s actions and her words of ‘I love you,’ something about Ha-neul always seemed to upset her; it felt like that somewhere deep within her, she resented Ha-neul and wished that she never existed. 

These thoughts caused a few tears to well up in the corner of Ha-neul’s eyes. Before anyone knew what was happening, the sounds of soft sobs were heard throughout the room, and with a broken voice, Ha-neul murmured. 

“What about dad?” 

The words were barely whispered, but audible enough that [Name] froze amidst her conversation with Jimin. Then, when Ha-neul let out another sob, that was when both of the adults had turned their attention fully on her. However, since she received no verbal response, Ha-neul continued. Only this time, her patience with [Name] had finally vanquished, and she wanted answers, and she wanted them NOW. 

“WHAT ABOUT DAD?! HOW CAN YOU EVEN THINK TO BRING SOMEONE ELSE HERE WHEN MY DAD ISN’T HERE AND I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HIM?!” she screamed in frustration, and threw the cutlery in her hands, and whatever food was in it, on the ground. 

Panic was written across [Name]’s face, and timidly, she reached out to Ha-neul in hopes to attempt her to calm down. 

“Sweetie, this isn’t the right time to talk about this--” [Name] tried to reason, and for a moment, her words had caused Ha-neul to still completely. However, just as she quickly as she had frozen, she jumped back into action; her emotions and misery returning to her ten times more intense than before. 

Her eyes held the most hateful look one could imagine, as she slapped [Name]’s hand away in disgust.

“That’s what you always say, you never tell me the truth. I’m sick of it! I don’t want to talk to you or see you ever again. I hate you!” Ha-neul snarled coldly. Then, before anyone could respond to her, she ran towards her room, with tears streaming down her eyes. The sound of Ha-neul harshly shutting the door of her room resonated throughout the now sombre atmosphere of the household. 

Weakly, [Name] fell back in her chair, and with her own tears prickling the corner of her eyes, she covered her face in shame. 

“What am I doing?” she weakly muttered, and swallowed the painful lump of cries that threatened to slip past her lips. All the while, she had forgotten that Jimin was there until she felt him embracing her, and gently patting the top of her head. Such an innocently intimate action would have left [Name] flustered, however, right now, this was what she needed. She could not recall the last time she had been hugged like this, the last time she was touched in the way where she felt supported, where instead of being the pillar, she had a pillar to prevent her from crashing into the ground during such vulnerable times. 

“I’m sorry,” [Name] mumbled, as she grabbed Jimin’s arms with her hands, and nuzzled her face into them. 

They were muscular, strong, and sturdy -- the stability she wished she had in her life. 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Jimin reassured. “You just need to look after yourself, and you need to look after Ha-neul.” 

[Name] let out a tearful broken laugh. 

 “That’s easier said than done,” she responded somewhat humorously, but her words had caused Jimin to frown.

 “It is hard, I’m not denying that. But it's also not impossible. You should make amends with your daughter and respect her as a human while she still gives you the chance. Children are smarter, more sensitive, and understanding than what we give them credit for. If you don’t value her now, then there will be a time where she’ll come to stop valuing you too,” Jimin murmured, with hints of bitterness, and somewhat of a strange understanding lingering in his words; it was almost as if he knew exactly what Ha-neul was going through. The cold reality of his words caused [Name]’s eyes to widen. She looked up and was about to question him, when he released his embrace, and stepped back from her. Suddenly, she felt cold, and she wanted to return in his warm arms again. As if he could read her mind, Jimin had the tingest hint of a teasing ghost smile on his lips.  

“The whole father thing… Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. While he questioned this, his voice was a few pitches higher. This was because fear was laced in his voice; he was afraid of the answer [Name] was going to share. Unbeknownst to [Name], despite the question he had asked, Jimin did not want to know the answer because he feared that what he might be told, could somehow jeopardize his chances with [Name]. 

“Her father, he’s…He’s no longer with us,” [Name] muttered softly, and her words were barely audible because she did not want Ha-neul to hear. 

Jimin’s eyes widened in surprise. He could not think of what to say, so his only response was a simple “Oh.” 

“But… The situation, this situation around Ha-neul is really… Complicated to say the least. It’s, it’s a long story that, that I, I d-don’t think I can share yet. I-I’m sorry, maybe another time,” [Name] stuttered, and looked away from Jimin in order to avoid eye contact. 

He narrowed his eyes at her, not particularly feeling happy about being left in the dark. But for now, he decided to not push this matter any further. Now, it was [Name]’s turn to question him. 

“That whole ‘she’ll stop valuing you if you don’t value her, and children are more understanding than we think’ talk, that was from experience wasn’t it? Do you want to talk about it?” [Name] asked, and Jimin sighed. 

“My mother… she, well, firstly, she’s no longer with me either,” Jimin started in similar tone akin to how [Name] had spoken. “Our relationship was messed up. It’s really… complicated. Maybe, I’ll tell you another time? Perhaps when you tell me your story?” 

[Name]’s eyebrow twitched. 

“You’re devious,” she noted, and Jimin merely smirked in response. Then, he began to walk towards the direction Ha-neul had gone towards. 

“Where are you going?” [Name] asked, furrowing her eyebrows. 

“To go talk with Ha-neul. I’ve pep talked you, and now it's her turn,” Jimin responded grinning, and [Name]’s eyes widened. 

As he disappeared from her line of sight, and went closer towards Ha-neul’s room, [Name]’s cheeks felt warm, and her heart was pounding loudly against her chest. 

For the first time in a long time, it felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and she no longer felt alone. The darkness she had lost herself in, there was finally a peak of light that was beginning to shine in the distance -- it was hope. 

[Name] hugged herself and she smiled. Thank you Jimin.

 Jimin had knocked on the door of Ha-neul’s room a few times. He was waiting for a bit, hoping he would receive a response from her. When he did not get a response, but instead heard the soft sounds of her quiet wails, he decided to enter.

At the moment, Jimin knew more than anyone that Ha-neul was in a very vulnerable state. She already seemed to dislike him, and in hopes to help her, increasing her distrust in him was the last thing that he wanted. He knew he needed to approach her with much caution, especially if he wanted her to listen to him. So, he made sure he announced what he was doing loud and clear to prevent himself from treading on any boundaries that could upset Ha-neul any further.

“Ha-neul, I’m coming in,” Jimin said loudly, as he knocked on the door once more. When he did not hear any protests, he entered, and gently shut the door behind him.

The room was dark as it was night-time, and Ha-neul had not turned on the lights in her room. She was sitting on her bed, in the furthest corner of her room. Her legs were brought to her chest, and she was hugging them tightly. Her face was buried in her knees and her loose hair strands fell over her face and knees messily. Jimin was unable to see her expression, but the way she continued to cry silently to herself, made it clear that she was upset. 

Jimin quietly sat on the chair beside her bed, that was part of her study table. For the next few minutes, it was silence amongst them, as he observed Ha-neul. She was either too caught up in her sorrow to notice him, or was simply choosing to ignore him. Jimin did not care too much about the details of this rude action because in the moment, all that mattered was Ha-neul. She needed to know that someone understood her, that her feelings were valid, and she was not alone. He needed to make her feel okay.

“You know, you’re very lucky to have a caring mother like [Name],” he began softly, and she froze at the sound of his voice. “She cares a lot about you. It might not seem like it at times, but she loves you a lot.”

Ha-neul felt angered by his words.

“If she loved me so much, then why won’t she tell me the truth?! Why won’t she rely on me instead of sharing everything with a stranger like you?! She literally just met you today and seems to care about you more than me!” she snapped, turning her head towards him, and glaring at him through her tear-stained face.

“Sometimes it’s easier for us to share our burdens with a stranger than a loved one. Like you’re doing so right now. You’ve shared your frustration towards your mother with me despite that you only met me today as well. But you haven’t shared these feelings with [Name]. Why?” Jimin challenged, and his words caused Ha-neul’s eyes to widen. She pressed her lips in a straight line and did not reply. Jimin took this as an indication to continue.

“You didn’t want to burden her, right? You felt like she already has so much going on that it’s best to keep your feelings to yourself so she wouldn’t worry more than she already does,” Jimin stated, and Ha-neul nodded quietly.

He smiled at her.

“I can tell you that that’s probably how [Name] feels. You’re so young, and she doesn’t want to worry you too much so she kept it to herself. As for your father, I can’t say. But sometimes, we can’t talk about something because the past is too painful to remember. It makes us relive the pain we don’t want to remember,” he explained in a low voice. Subsequently to this, Ha-neul stayed quiet for a few minutes, before she sniffled and shifted closer towards the edge of the bed, and closer towards Jimin.

“So does that mean my dad was a bad man and hurt my mom?” she mumbled, looking up to Jimin with more tears forming in her eyes. By now, with how much she had cried already, Ha-neul’s eyes were red and beginning to swell. 

He felt his heart break at her expression. He reached out, and gently patted her head.

“I... don’t know. But, what I do know is that your father is a very sensitive topic to your mum. I know you want to know the truth, and you deserve to know the truth. But it’s not worth pursuing it if all it does is pains your mum, and causes fights between you two. You’re all that she has, and she is all that you have. Focus more on your current family, and give your mother the space she needs. She’s a person like you. She feels hurt, confused and sad like you do too. Be nice to her, and wait until she’s ready to tell you herself. You’re a very lucky girl Ha-neul, not everyone’s mothers love them the way your mother loves you,” he explained with a bittersweet smile.

Ha-neul pondered over his words for a few moments, before she nodded. Then, she wiped away her tears with the sleeve of her shirt, and stood up from her bed. Quickly, in embarrassment, she gave Jimin a quick hug as a ‘thank you’ before hurriedly pulling away.

Jimin chuckled, and then teasingly ruffled her hair.

“You owe your mum an apology kiddo,” Jimin said, and he held out his hand for her to take. A small blush coated Ha-neul’s cheeks. She grabbed onto Jimin’s hand with her own smaller one, and he led her out of her room and into the living room. There, [Name] was in the middle of cleaning up the mess Ha-neul had made earlier.

“Mom,” Ha-neul called out timidly, and as [Name] turned towards them, she was immediately hugged by Ha-neul.

“Huh? Ha-neul? What’s—” [Name] began in surprise, but was interrupted as her daughter cried a few more sobs. Ha-neul clutched onto [Name]’s clothes tightly, clinging onto her as if she was her entire world.

“I’m sorry! I’m so so so sorry for everything and saying such horrible things to you. Please forgive me,” she begged, and almost instantly, [Name]’s gaze had softened. She returned her embrace, before she bent down to Ha-neul’s height, and kissed her forehead.

“I’m sorry too, my baby. I’m sorry for not trying to understand you and brushing you aside. I was being unfair and I shouldn’t have done that. About your father—” [Name] said, but Ha-neul shook her head.

“You don’t have to tell me. If you aren’t able to talk about it then that must mean it hurts you right? Dad did something horrible to you,” Ha-neul murmured, and lowered her gaze. The thought of her mother being hurt in whatever way she had been, caused more waterworks in her eyes.

[Name]’s eyes widened slightly, and her lip quivered. For a moment, all of the traumatising experiences with Jungkook flashed before her eyes. She wanted to scream, and she felt a desperate suffocating urge to cry and spill everything out to Ha-neul about how a part of her loathed her because Ha-neul continued to remind her of Jungkook; but she refocused back into reality. 

In the moment, she saw Ha-neul’s big innocent eyes filled with concern for her well-being staring back at her. It reminded her that while Ha-neul did have a part of Jungkook in her genes, she was far from being such a monster. She was an innocent child that [Name] had chosen to bring to life because Ha-neul also had parts of her. She was the one who had raised her, not Jungkook, not Taehyung. If anything, Ha-neul was exactly like her. For that very reason, [Name] needed to be stronger to support both of them, and make sure Ha-neul would never experience the pain she did.

Afterwards, no words were exchanged. Instead, there was a mutual understanding between Ha-neul and [Name]. The elephant that often weighed upon them and kept up that uneasiness, had finally been addressed, and lifted. It felt like they could finally breathe in each other’s presence. They smiled at each other, and [Name] pulled Ha-neul into another hug.

Jimin watched from a few foot-steps away as [Name] and Ha-neul stayed in their warm and loving embrace. His own lips stretched into a smile, and he felt incredibly happy at seeing them happy, and knowing he was the reason behind their smiles. That was when a thought occurred to him, and his eyes widened in surprise.

Suddenly, things banded together and a whole picture that made sense to him was captured. Jimin realised that they were both happy because of him. They had both sorted out their conflict because he understood both of them, and because he helped them. Without him, they would not have come to an understanding, and they would not be happy like they were right now.

[Name] was strong, but clearly Ha-neul was  too much for her. [Name] needed Jimin to be there for her. 

One thought lead to another, and he conjured up one thought that sent shivers of ecstasy down his spine; both [Name] and Ha-neul needed him to survive. Without him, they would fall apart, and someone could easily take advantage of them.

Therefore, after such reflection, Jimin decided right then and there, that he was a part of their family; and he was going to do whatever it took for him to protect them.

A/N: Firstly, special thanks to @chikinika for proof-reading this for me and giving me reassurance. I love you for always supporting me, and helping me. Secondly, this is a sequel to Oath of Desires. I hope you guys will enjoy this! This is the first part. The second, and the last part will be released soon. Thank you for reading, and I put a lot of blood, sweat and tears (haha, get it?) into this, so please do share your feedback, it would mean a lot.