#worse than falling through the glass. worse than her mother at the church around christmas. WORSE. in fact those things will come up. HAH.

[papercutsunset]

"why is tiff always sitting up front in the truck?" "ben's MARRIED to elton, why is tiff riding shotgun??" THIS. THIS IS WHY.

(elton keeps kissing her and she keeps "kermiting her arms")

[miracleonice87]

’tis the damn season

an Auston Matthews song fic

a/n: based on the absolute masterpiece that is ’tis the damn season by Taylor Swift from evermore. This one was not on my WIP list but came over me as soon as I heard the song when the album dropped. also have no idea how it became my longest piece yet, by far (as in 12k+ whoops). obviously, I do not own any of the music/lyrics to this song nor any other I write about.

summary: Auston Matthews and his ex-girlfriend are reunited in their hometown years after their difficult breakup.

warnings: swearing, alcohol, allusions to sex, a delicate balance of angst and fluff. a bit of a slow burn, if you want to call it that.

_____

You might have been one of the few people on the planet who disagreed with the phrase, “There’s no place like home for the holidays.” At least, for the last few years, that hadn’t exactly been your sentiment.

But, you were home anyway, after a few weeks of your mother’s guilt tripping and your father’s repeated phone calls. And, admittedly, you were enjoying your quiet time at home with your parents.

After helping your mom bake a few dozen cookies for the Christmas Eve party they were throwing tomorrow night, you wandered upstairs to your childhood bedroom to change out of your flour-covered attire and maybe squeeze in a nap. An undeniable perk of staying with your parents during the holidays — so many opportunities to sleep. As you pulled on a well-worn, long-sleeved ASU t-shirt you found hanging in your closet, your phone rang.

You groaned and swore to yourself that if it was your editor again, you were quitting. She’d already interrupted your time off at least once throughout each of your three days at home thus far — your first week of vacation in the two and a half years you’d been with the fashion magazine. You rolled your eyes and reached for the sounding device on your bed, then recoiled when you saw the contact name — or rather, initials — on the screen.

AM

Oh, god.

Even worse, the years-old contact photo popped up behind the name — a picture of the two of you lying together on the shore on your vacation four years ago, right after the draft, when you both still held onto the naive belief that nothing that had just happened in his world would change things between the two of you.

“Shit,” you whispered, covering your mouth while anxiety coursed through your veins.

You couldn’t just not answer. Right? The two of you were on decent terms, though you couldn’t quite remember the last time you’d spoken — probably seven, eight months ago. You had no good reason to ignore his call.

And after all... you were the one who had ended things.

You cleared your throat and, trying to coach yourself into mustering up some semblance of courage, quickly repeated, “Okay, okay, okay, okay.” Then, like ripping off a bandaid, you hurriedly tapped the green button and pressed the phone to your ear.

“Matthews,” you greeted curtly — tentatively.

“Kels. Come over,” Auston said abruptly, though you could hear the smile in his voice. “I know you’re home.”

You squinted and glanced around your room, racking your brain as you tried to figure out how exactly your ex-boyfriend knew your current whereabouts.

“What?” you asked, puzzled, not to mention slightly shocked that he was even interested in seeing you in person — though some part of you was, indeed, grateful for that. “How did you even know I was in Scottsdale?”

“Uh, your Instagram story, my dear,” he said, obviously amused. “You posted this morning from that new coffee shop between the Methodist church and our old school building. Remember?”

You rubbed a hand over your face, suddenly regretting adding him to your close friends list on Instagram six weeks ago after a few glasses of wine with your girlfriends.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, eliciting a chuckle from Auston.

“Yeah, don’t flatter yourself thinking I sit around and stalk you, sweetheart,” he teased. “I thought about replying but I didn’t wanna slide into your DMs and look like a fuckboy.” He paused, and you opened your mouth to make a halfhearted wisecrack that you didn’t truly mean, but before you could speak, he added, “Plus you probably get so many DMs, I’m sure mine would just get lost in the shuffle.”

Again, you rolled your eyes. “Matthews,” you repeated, whinier now.

“C’mon, Kels. Just come over,” he whined back. “I just got in last night. I’m staying at my parents’ house. My sisters nearly busted down my door when they saw you were back in town, plus I know my mom and dad would love to see you.”

Suddenly, two decades’ worth of memories that you had long ago pushed to the back of your mind flooded all at once to the forefront of your consciousness. Sleepovers watching Disney Channel movies and eating peach rings with Alex and Brey. Brian scooping you up in his arms after a nasty tumble off your bike on their street, propping you on the kitchen counter as he bandaged the scrapes on your knees, Auston never leaving your side nor letting go of your hand. Road trips with Ema to watch Auston play in countless tournaments, with you doing homework in the front seat while Ema sang along to the radio. Matthews family dinners eating Ema’s famous chicken tortilla soup. Vacations and carpool and pickup basketball games and shopping for prom dresses and just the mundane, everyday routine you had been part of for so many years.

And those were just the memories that involved his sisters, his parents. You didn’t dare let your mind uncover the buried memories of him, and him alone.

You missed them. Sometimes you missed them all so much that it made your heart physically ache and your stomach drop and your mouth go dry.

So, you drew a long, deep breath, and against your better judgment, eventually said, “Okay. Fine. But you have to send me your parents’ address. I haven’t been to the new Matthews McMansion.”

Auston huffed on the other end. “So mean to me.”

_____

It was certainly a far cry from the modest old ranch-style house where Auston had spent his childhood.

As you pulled up to the sprawling estate in the bougie part of town and cut your engine, you whispered, “What the fuck am I doing here...”

And still, after a quick check of your makeup in your rearview mirror, you got out of the car, closed your door and pushed your sunglasses to the top of your head, sighing as you took in the four vehicles parked in front of yours in the roundabout driveway, none of which you had ever seen before. Audi, Mercedes, BMW, Porsche. Well, you could guess which one was Auston’s.

You walked up the stone sidewalk and slipped your aviators into your purse — it was only then that you noticed that your hands were trembling.

You cleared your throat and exhaled sharply, willing your nerves to subside, as you arrived at the door and pressed the button on its frame, sounding an elaborate chime inside.

“I got it,” you immediately heard a familiar voice call, and you took a startled step backward as you saw his figure approaching through the decorative glass panes outlining the doorway. As he pulled open the door, the flutter you’d tried your hardest to avoid feeling for three years took flight once more in your belly.

“Matthews,” you greeted again, arms crossed in front of you in hopes of hiding your shaking hands.

“Why’d ya bother to ring the doorbell, you nutjob?” Auston asked with a broad smile.

Before you could throw a snide remark back at him, he pulled you into himself, one arm snaking around your mid-back and the other hand cradling your head to his chest. Inadvertently, you exhaled contentedly, and you swore you felt Auston tighten his grip on you then. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you let yourself relax into him for longer than you had intended. He just felt so… familiar. Broad. Strong. Comforting.

He was just… Auston. A thousand things had changed for the two of you, but the way you felt in his presence hadn’t changed since you were a little girl.

You inhaled his cologne, and you noticed that he was doing just the same — breathing in your long-worn Chanel No. 5 perfume, the same kind he used to save up all year to buy you each Christmas.

At that memory, you snapped back to reality and extricated yourself from his embrace, leaving him looking slightly disappointed, though still pleased with your greeting.

“Hi,” you spoke simply as you stared up at him, then chuckled at how stupid that sounded.

“Hi,” he mimicked, head bobbling and eyes widening, causing you both to fall into a giddy fit of nervous laughter over nothing at all.

Just then, you saw Ema’s head pop out from beneath an arched opening toward the back of the house — probably leading to the kitchen, you assumed. Ema was always in the kitchen.

“I thought I heard your laugh,” she sang. You couldn’t help but beam, and Auston smiled and moved out of your way so that you had a direct pathway to his mother. Taking advantage of that, you made a beeline for the petite woman you considered your second mom, already feeling emotion bubbling up in your throat as tears blurred your vision.

“Oh, mija,” Ema said, her voice tight as she met you in the middle of the grand entryway and gathered you into her arms. “Te extrañamos,” (we miss you) she said sincerely.

Auston cupped the back of his neck and quickly looked away then, fearful that he may just shed tears of his own.

You sniffled and murmured, “Los extrañé a todos mucho,” (I missed you all so much) into Ema’s shoulder as she smoothed her hand lovingly over the back of your head.

When you finally parted, moving past the brief sadness of the reunion, Ema still held tightly to your hands, extending her arms so that she could see you better.

“You look more beautiful than ever!” she exclaimed, and you dropped your head bashfully at her compliment. “California is treating you well.”

You nodded. “For the most part,” you remarked with a sigh. Ema glanced quickly from your face to her son’s and back again, deciding not to dwell for too long on that loaded response.

“Well,” she pivoted with a click of her tongue. “You look great. Now come, come! I know Auston’s going to want to steal you away from me, not that I blame him, but I just put on some tea, so let’s sit and have some first.”

“Ma…” Auston protested lightheartedly. Ema wagged her finger at him. “Shh! Mijo! My long lost daughter has returned. Give me ten minutes for a cup of tea with her.”

Auston’s lips parted at her use of the word “daughter,” not that he should have been surprised by it, and you tossed him an animated shrug as Ema pulled you down the hallway back from whence she came. You were right — it was the kitchen, and it was a spectacular one at that.

“Holy…” you trailed off as Ema patted one of the leather barstools at the enormous island in the center of the room. You took a seat, pulling your cross body bag from your shoulder and placing it on the island, and commented, “This kitchen is incredible, Ema. I’m sure you love spending time here.”

Ema nodded and excitedly launched into stories of using all the appliances and gadgets she had never owned before, walking back to the teakettle on the stove as Auston sat down on the nearest barstool, feeling as though he could simply be dreaming, hallucinating, that you were here, sitting with him in his parents’ kitchen. But when you noticed him taking the seat next to yours, you tossed him a classic Kelsey smile and nudged his shoulder with your own, and he felt just slightly more confident that this was reality. Unable to resist your magnetism, which hadn’t faded with time but seemed instead to have only grown stronger, he squeezed your knee beneath the countertop, just as Ema approached with a cup of tea in hand for you.

Choosing to react instead to Ema rather than her son, you grinned and thanked her, feeling Auston’s eyes on you as you lifted the mug to your lips and took small sips, Ema still prattling on happily from the other side of the kitchen. You eventually cast a sidelong glance Auston’s way, accompanied by an amused smirk, the combination of which left him beaming as he looked away from you and back toward his mother, who now approached with two more cups of tea.

“Thanks, Ma,” he said as he wrapped his hands around the mug she offered him.

“You’re welcome, mijo,” Ema replied. “Now Kelsey, honey, how long are you in town?”

“Uh, just until the day after Christmas,” you replied, swirling a finger along the ceramic rim of your mug. “This is the most time I’ve taken off since I started at the magazine,” you admitted with a hint of embarrassment.

Ema nodded. “Your mother said you haven’t made it home for a while. I know they keep you pretty busy there. Is that why you don’t visit so much?” she asked unassumingly.

Auston dropped his head and shuffled his feet awkwardly against the tile floor, and your eyes flickered to him as you racked your brain for an answer that wasn’t a complete lie but also didn’t unmask the whole truth — which was that being in a town that held so much history with your ex was simply too suffocating to bear, even for a quick visit with your parents. So, you typically just stayed in California where you could throw yourself into your work as a fashion writer at a well-known publication and operate under the illusion that you had moved on. From Scottsdale, from Auston, from your life before Los Angeles.

And especially from Toronto.

But the problem was, when the night fell and the lights all faded and you were left to face the truth, you knew in your heart that that’s really all it was — an illusion.

And from 2,500 miles away, Auston knew it, too. He knew it because he was living the same lie.

“Uh, yeah,” you replied sheepishly. “That’s the gist of it. Just, uh, just hard to get away sometimes. My parents usually come out to visit me instead since their schedules are, uh, a little more flexible.”

“Right,” Ema said skeptically as you took a long pull from your mug, despite the hot liquid singing your tongue and making your eyes water. “Well, either way, it’s so good to finally see you here,” she added warmly.

“It’s good to see you too,” you breathed, honesty dripping from that answer.

Auston finally looked at you again, giving you an understanding smile. Even that smallest of gestures made you dizzy.

“So,” you said as you moved away from the topic, sitting up a bit straighter. “Where are the girls? Where’s Brian?”

“Golfing,” Auston answered. “Like always,” he added with a chuckle.

“Why am I not surprised?” you teased, making both Ema and Auston laugh.

“They begged Auston to come with them, but he turned them down,” Ema informed you. “And now we know why.” She lifted her eyebrows and took another sip of her tea as Auston shook his head.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” he joked. “But no, they’ll be back soon. They can’t wait to see you.”

You brightened at that, not having seen the Matthews girls in nearly as long as it had been since you’d seen Auston himself, finding it easier to breathe when they weren’t nearby, reminding you of him with their every mannerism. And yet, you’d found that starving yourself of their friendship and their company ached nearly just as much.

“I can’t wait either,” you said through a distant smile.

“And Dad will probably cry more than Mom did when he sees you,” Auston predicted, lifting his mug. Ema swatted at his arm.

“Don’t start with me!” she warned. “I happened to see you choking up out there, too.”

You turned to Auston and raised an accusing brow at him. He simply chuckled into his tea and looked away, and the three of you sat in silence for a beat.

“Come on,” he finally said as he rested his mug on the island, nodding his head in the direction of the sliding glass door at the back of the house. “Lemme show you the patio.”

You nodded, knowing full well that showing off the backyard was not the real reason he was inviting you outside. Despite that knowledge, you hopped off the barstool, put your mug in the sink, and kissed Ema on the cheek as you passed her.

“Thanks for the tea, mamacita,” you said with a smile, squeezing her shoulders. “Anytime, mi amor,” she replied, sending a wink your way as you turned to follow Auston.

He slid open the door and motioned for you to step through it first. When he saw his mother watching you through the kitchen window, he gave her a knowing smirk, and she put her hands up in innocence. But as she watched you two walk out onto the patio through the glass, she breathed a silent prayer to any higher power who would listen that maybe, just maybe, you would finally come home.

Not to Scottsdale, no. Home to Auston.

Meanwhile, you were trailing your hand along the hammock near the pool, taking in the scene and trying to remember to breathe. When you heard him close the door, you turned back to Auston, your eyes floating around the backyard.

“Nice setup they’ve got back here,” you grinned, Auston chuckling with his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts.

“Yeah, it’s even nicer in the summer,” he commented. You nodded, stepping closer to the pool and lowering yourself to sit on the edge, patting the space next to you as an invitation for Auston to do the same.

“We have chairs, ya know,” he grumbled as he took a seat. “Not all of us like to sit on the floor all day doing yoga.”

You sneered at him. “Oh, yeah, that’s what I do all day long,” you said sarcastically.

“Well, you used to, anyway,” he mumbled.

You gulped as visions of him watching you do precarious yoga poses on the living room floor of his apartment flickered in your mind’s eye, and then, once again, you moved right along.

“So… how’s it going, Matthews? How’s life?” you prompted, not even sure if you truly wanted to hear the answer to your inquiry.

He stretched out his long legs so that his feet were dangling above the water as he wondered where to even begin.

“It’s… it’s good,” he said. “Overall. It’s nice to be home for a few days. Needed that. I missed it. Missed my family. Missed…” he stopped himself, “…other things,” he added under his breath.

You chewed the inside of your cheek and decided to avoid the path he was taking this down. “How’s hockey?” you asked instead.

Auston shifted noticeably at the mention of his career, still painfully aware that, despite the successes it had brought him, it had ultimately caused the demise of your relationship.

“Hockey is… hockey,” he said. “Honestly it’s good on the whole. But the team’s not having the greatest year so far, which is rough.” You nodded, knowing better than most that the Toronto media operated at a different level of intensity and scrutiny than that of nearly all other markets, especially when the Leafs were losing, and especially when new blood was added into the equation, like Auston’s had been when they drafted him.

Like yours had been when you moved there with him.

The spotlight they shone on you — and the subsequent attention you received from so-called fans who took to the internet to question your intentions and integrity — had been far more than you bargained for.

Just as you were about to ask about how the guys on the team were faring, Auston spoke again.

“I think about calling you every time we come to LA, Kels,” he said, fixing his eyes on the neighbor’s house in the distance because he was simply unable to look at you while he admitted it. With a sniff, he added, “I’m not gonna lie about that.”

“Why don’t you?” you asked after a beat, maybe unfairly, studying his familiar profile. His features were the same, of course, but he looked… more mature. Older. Wiser. All that jazz. Auston shrugged, still not capable of looking at you.

“Just didn’t think you’d want me to,” he answered dejectedly. Your heart sank into your stomach. Given the things you’d said when you left him nearly three years ago, you could hardly blame him for that one.

“Well,” you started with a sigh. “I guess we could call it even then, because I think about coming to see you play every time you come to LA. Or Anaheim. Or even Vegas. And obviously Phoenix.”

“Well why didn’t you just call me asking for free tickets then,” he said in a tone that he tried to disguise as facetious, but you heard the hurt seeping into his words. “Everybody else I know in any NHL city does.”

You felt a fierce sense of protectiveness then, clenching your jaw as you tried to calm your irate thoughts. You watched him pick at the sleeve of his black Raiders crewneck and felt deeply for him — this man you’d loved since he was a little boy.

“Do they really? Still?” you asked in monotone.

Auston nodded, squinting in the sunlight. “Yup,” he answered, popping the ‘p.’ “Every game.”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, covering your eyes with your hand and pushing into your temples. You blew out a long breath. “Fuck. I’m really sorry about that. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but I… it just sucks.”

Auston shrugged. “It’s not your fault,” he stated. “Sometimes I do it, sometimes I don’t. Kinda depends on whether the person’s actually talked to me lately.”

You nodded as he chuckled sadly, and you felt your chest tighten. “Well,” you began, clearing your throat. “I guess I wouldn’t qualify then because we haven’t talked much.”

Auston looked at you with intensity surging in his deep brown eyes, and you wanted to look away but found that you couldn’t.

“You always qualify,” he said seriously. “You’re one of the only people that qualifies.”

You bit down, hard, on your bottom lip and grappled internally with the weight of his comment. Then he said sarcastically, “Besides, I know you’re only after my money. I mean, you forced me to buy you that Louis bag the week after I got drafted.”

Your jaw dropped at his joke, and you scoffed indignantly. “Oh, yeah, the one you finally had to hide in my closet after I kept sneaking it back into your car because I wanted you to return it?” you corrected. “Yeah, ya caught me. You know me, Aus. Such a gold digger.”

Auston had started laughing halfway through your quip, but stopped suddenly. You gave him a questioning look, and he paused before answering.

“You called me Aus,” he stated with a smile he tried and failed to hide. “You went back to calling me Matthews after we broke up. But you… you just called me Aus again.”

“Yeah, well...” you grumbled, “Don’t get too excited.” You tossed him a smirk and he mirrored it, basking in the comfort of the moment.

“So whaddya think of the place? Not bad, right?” he finally asked, glancing around the property, back at the house, then settling his focus back on you.

You shrugged. “A little gaudy for my taste, but...” you began, and Auston shook his head bemusedly, knowing he set himself up for that one.

“No, it’s great. I can see how much your mom loves it. In all seriousness, I think it’s amazing, everything you’ve done for your family. Your parents. It’s pretty incredible,” you said earnestly. “I don’t think I said it enough when we were together, but, I’m really proud of you, Aus. And I don’t just mean about the hockey.”

Auston nodded soberly, turning his head to look you in the eye.

“I know you don’t,” he said quietly. “Thanks, Kels. It means a lot coming from you. More, uh… more than you know.”

And then, before you could think twice about doing so, you reached out your hand to rest atop his, feeling its familiar warmth as your fingertips grazed the raised veins there. Auston swallowed hard, blinking at where your hands now met, and slowly wrapped your fingers in his, giving them a squeeze. You exchanged long stares before you eventually slammed on the brakes in your brain and carried on.

“So, you just casually hang out with Justin Bieber now?” you asked, reaching your palms behind you and leaning back. “And the wildest shit is that I saw it first when he posted it, not you.”

Auston chuckled, looking down at his slides and — ironically — Drew socks combo. In his signature way, he halted his laughter on a dime and his face turned somber as he said dryly, “Yeah, I’m like really famous now, yanno?”

You sighed in annoyance, rolling your eyes as you looked skyward, feeling Auston’s gaze turn to you. You let it go for a few moments before shifting only your eyes toward his.

“What?” you asked accusingly. You could tell by the faraway smirk on his face that he was lost in a memory.

“Remember you had posters of him hung up all over your room in like middle school? From Tiger Beat magazine and shit? And now I play video games and mini sticks with the guy,” Auston said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, and if you ever tell him about that, I’ll end your life,” you threatened, shoving at his arm and attempting to ignore how much his biceps had grown since you last touched them. And then you were slamming the door shut on a rush of memories of having him beneath your touch — some innocent, but most intimate.

Auston saw it in your eyes — the place you went for a moment — as you dropped your hand back to the concrete beneath you. He knew where you went because, so often, he went there, too.

He held your gaze and promised, “Your secret’s safe with me. You know that.”

Only a hint of a smile graced your lips for a fleeting moment as you ran your fingers through your hair. Suddenly, you felt the heaviness of the history between the two of you closing in — smothering you, like it always did. Auston watched helplessly, wishing it didn’t have to be this hard.

And then, in a flash, like he so often did to save you from your swirling thoughts, he casually changed the topic as he commented, “Your hair’s shorter. You look like your mom. In a good way.”

Blushing, you breathed a laugh through your nose. “Thanks,” you said softly. “I think it’s the highlights, too.”

“It is,” Auston confirmed, and then — damn him — he reached out and looped a lock from the front of your face between his thumb and forefinger, the way he had done a thousand times before, usually mid-conversation, always absentmindedly. This time, you knew, as you forced your eyes to meet his, it was a bit more calculated. “I really like it,” he told you.

You nodded, searching his eyes to try and determine whether he had any idea what this — this moment, this visit, this day — really was.

“If you’re gonna ask me what we’re doing,” Auston spoke, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth for a second, “then I have to tell you I have no idea.”

Again, damn him. After all this time, it was like he still lived inside your brain and had read your every thought like the morning paper before you even had the chance to convey it. Which used to save you in a lot of ways. Now it felt kind of… intrusive. But somehow you didn’t mind.

“I had no idea what I was even gonna say when I called you. All I know,” he continued, still flipping the strand of hair around his fingers, “is that I really wanted to see you, and that I was really happy when you came, and that I’m really enjoying this time with you.”

You nodded, and as he pulled his hand from your face, his thumb brushed your jawline just slightly, and that touch alone sent a bolt of lightning through you. Auston smiled softly as he said barely above a whisper, “Okay, now it’s your turn to say something.”

You heaved a sigh, tipping your head back with eyes closed and soaking in the sunshine. “I don’t expect you to know, Aus,” you finally spoke. “I was just so... so shocked, I guess, that you wanted to see me. It’s been so long, I just... I didn’t know when I would see you again.”

“We’ve talked though,” Auston pointed out with a sigh to match yours, pulling a knee to his chest and wrapping his arms around his bent leg. “FaceTimed. Texted.”

You rolled your head toward him. “It’s not the same,” you reasoned softly, hesitantly reaching out your hand to tuck some of his black hair behind his ear. He licked his lips swiftly and placed a peck to your thumb before you slowly withdrew your hand.

“You’re right,” Auston conceded. “Definitely not the same.”

“Uh, sorry to interrupt...”

You were snapped out of your private moment by one person’s voice and another person’s squeal behind you.

“Oh, my god!” you yelled as you shot up from the side of the pool, Alexandria and Breyana already scampering toward you from the back door.

“It’s about goddamn time you came back to us!” Alex shrieked, wrapping her arms around you tightly. “I missed you, little sister,” she cooed, rubbing her hands across your back, and you hummed in agreement.

“I missed you, Al,” you replied, kissing her temple as you stepped back to greet the youngest of the Matthews clan.

“And you. My baby!” you exclaimed, pulling Breyana into your arms. “The true star athlete of the family,” you teased as she squeezed your waist.

“Damn straight,” Breyana giggled. “I missed you, Kels. I can’t believe you’re here!”

You pulled away, glancing behind you as you saw Auston slowly approaching out of the corner of your eye. “Me either,” you admitted, eyes widening dramatically as the girls snickered at you. “How was golf?”

“Brey smoked us, no surprise,” Alex replied. “But shut up about the golf. Tell us what’s going on with you two.”

“Alex!” Auston warned, shooting her a glare. “Please don’t.”

Alex gave him her best older sister roll of the eyes and crossed her arms over her chest as Breyana looked between the two of you.

“Nope,” Alex refused. “Not until you tell me what’s up. C’mon, spill.”

“We’re just...” you began, swiveling to look Auston’s way as he smirked down at you, happy to let you flounder in this one all on your own. “Visiting,” you finished, nodding once at Alex, pleased with your choice of verbiage.

“Honestly, you guys…” Breyana lamented.

“Visiting, huh?” Alex echoed, growing even more suspicious. “Yeah, okay. Sure. Wear protection. Anyways, uh—“

“Alex!” Auston repeated, this time through clenched teeth. “I swear to god...”

“Anyways, like I was saying,” Alex continued. “Your parents invited us all to their house tomorrow night for the Christmas party. I didn’t think you were gonna be there — does this mean you will?”

You nodded, causing Alex to clap excitedly. “I’ll be there with bells on,” you confirmed. “I already made my shortbread cookies.” All three siblings moaned in delight at the mention of your famous treats.

“Hell yeah! Plus that means we won’t be the only ones escaping to the balcony to drink,” Breyana commented.

“Brey, you’re like twelve,” Auston taunted, earning him a sharp elbow to the ribs from his younger sister. “You don’t get to drink with us.”

“Whatever,” she retorted. “Like you guys weren’t sneaking Mom and Dad’s liquor when you were younger than me.”

“Anyways,” Alex said yet again, clearing her throat. “We’re gonna go back inside now and shower, and just, uh, leave you guys to whatever it is you were doing beside the pool there. ‘Kay? ‘Kay. See ya,” she sang, spinning Breyana by the shoulders and guiding her inside, both girls whispering and giggling all the while. “Kels, I’ll call you tonight — you can tell me all about it!” Alex called over her shoulder, sliding the door closed.

You turned to see a pink tinge to Auston’s cheeks as he muttered, “Sorry,” with a dry laugh. You shook your head.

“No, don’t be,” you insisted, waving him off as you took a seat at the glass picnic table beside you, Auston following your lead. “It wouldn’t be a visit to the Matthews house without Alex torturing the both of us,” you teased.

Auston nodded. “Very true,” he said, and you knew he didn’t want to stop there, but he couldn’t seem to find what he did want to say next.

Instead, you ventured, “So what are your—”

At the very same time, he started, “Kels, would you maybe—”

You both chuckled at yourselves, locking eyes. This certainly wasn’t the first time this had happened in conversations — far from it. And usually, you were about to say the very same thing.

So, you motioned for him to speak first.

He toyed with the band of his watch as he said nervously, “I was just gonna say, uh, would you maybe wanna go to dinner with me? Tonight?”

You sat back in your chair, smirking, fully aware that you were teetering on a damn fine line.

“I was hoping you might say that.”

_____

An hour later, after reuniting with Brian (Auston was right — he cried more than the rest of his family combined when he hugged you), you headed home to change for dinner. As you pulled away from the Matthews house, you were thankful that Auston had offered to follow you in his own vehicle so that he could drive you to dinner, which in turn gave each of you a few minutes to breathe.

Surprisingly, your mother didn’t seem at all shocked to see the guest you had brought back with you. You had told her that you were going to visit the Matthews’, not specifying which member of the family had invited you, though she could venture a guess. When she watched two vehicles pull into the driveway side by side, she inhaled an excited gasp, a smile overwhelming her features as she came to meet you at the front door, just as you laughed at a lame joke Auston cracked about your driving.

Your mother nearly tackled him in a hug, which he warmly returned. He shared a similar bond with your mom to the one you shared with his, which was yet another piece that fit perfectly into the puzzle that was your relationship. So many pieces fit, and so few didn’t, but that still didn’t make things whole.

But, you ignored that thought — and so many others — as you left the two to chat, bounding up the stairs to change, now grateful that you’d brought more than one nice option to wear to the Christmas party tomorrow, considering the rest of your suitcase was filled with comfy loungewear.

How could you have ever planned for this?

After touching up your hair and makeup and putting on the more understated of the dressy outfits you’d brought, you returned to the kitchen where your mom and Auston stood huddled at the counter, near empty glasses of red wine in front of them both.

“Already boozin’, huh?” you teased as you folded your arms in front of you. They chuckled, and Auston glanced at you over his shoulder with a smile. When he laid eyes on you, though, he stood straight up and turned to face you, making no attempt to hide his stare, even in front of your mother. Without taking his gaze off of you, he threw back his final sip of wine and blew out a flustered breath. You knew you were blushing, so you walked past him to your mother, pressing your cheek to hers for an air kiss so as not to mess up your lipstick.

“Sorry to take your favorite boy away from you, but we should head out,” you announced as you looked back at Auston. He cleared his throat, walking to the other side of the countertop to hug your mom again, thanking her for the wine and something else that you didn’t quite catch.

He followed you down the hall, his hand ghosting along the small of your back as you reached for your purse on the coat rack. You looked back and blew a final kiss to your mom, who waved as she watched Auston open the passenger door of his car and help you in — both of you giggling as you crouched into the low-riding vehicle in your skirt and high heels. Like a mom of a young teen, she stood at the window and watched the two of you drive down the block and out of sight, hands clasped together wistfully as she turned back to finish placing the final decorative touches in the living room ahead of tomorrow.

Just a minute later, your dad came through the door from the grocery store, calling for her, sounding nearly breathless.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, smoothing the silk ribbon wrapped around the banister.

“Marie… did I just see Auston driving Kelsey down the road in a Porsche?” he gaped, his brow furrowed, thumb pointed over his shoulder.

She laughed, looking downward as she nodded.

“Yes, you did,” she confirmed, then looked at him as she felt tears welling. “Jack... I can’t say for sure, but I think maybe the girl is finally coming to her senses.”

A smile spread slowly across your father’s face and he came toward your mother, wrapping her in a hug.

“Well…” he began, kissing her temple. “Then maybe we’ll get our Christmas wish after all.”

“And what’s that?” your mom asked.

“For her to be happy again.”

_____

“You look amazing, Kels,” Auston said seriously from the driver’s seat. “Gorgeous.”

You gave him a coy smile and briefly inspected the outfit he’d chosen before leaving his own parents’ house.

“Thanks,” you said softly. “You don’t look half bad yourself.”

Auston grinned and decided he would take that.

Ten minutes later, he was pulling up to the restaurant you had already known he’d had in mind when he asked you to dinner, without even needing to discuss it. The same Italian restaurant where you’d celebrated infinite birthdays, anniversaries, Valentine’s Days, and other milestones. You fell into easy conversation during drinks and appetizers before Auston told a comical story about his teammates which led to an in that he knew he needed to take. 

“They miss you, you know,” Auston stated cautiously between bites of his shrimp scampi. “Mo. Mitchy. Especially Steph.”

You folded and unfolded the seams of the cloth napkin in your lap, considering your response.

“I miss them, too,” you eventually murmured. “So be real with me. You really like it there now?” you leveled with him.

His demeanor shifted — in a good way — as he replied. “It’s honestly great. I mean, you’d love it there now, Kels. I swear,” Auston said, shaking his head in wonder. “’M not just saying that. I mean, the hype is still there, yes, but it’s not at the level it was when I first started. Mitchy and Mo and Willy and I, all us guys who kinda started out together, we’ve all sort of found our groove with the media and stuff, and for the most part, it’s great. I have a feeling it’ll just keep getting better, too.”

You watched his eyes light up as he spoke about Toronto, relief and happiness washing over you. It didn’t seem so long ago that Auston was curled up on the couch, near tears, head in your lap, feeling incapable of living up to the expectations set for him — almost buckling under the immense pressure, the likes of which he had never felt before.

You let out a teary chuckle, swiping at a teardrop on your cheek that had fallen as he answered, taking you by surprise.

“You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that, Aus,” you told him, holding your hand over your heart as it soared within you.

Auston nodded slightly, and his lips twitched into a sad smile. “There’s still something that doesn’t feel right though,” he confessed, though it didn’t feel much like a secret. “Still something missing.”

“And what’s that?” you asked timidly as you lifted your wine glass, excited for and fearful of his answer at all once.

“You.”

Forcing yourself to swallow your merlot so you didn’t spray it across the table, you put your fist to your mouth, holding it there while you attempted to process his latest, and most brazen, admission.

“I mean… look, there have been a few others,” Auston continued with a mindless shrug. “But never anything serious, and never anyone that I’m not constantly comparing to you in every possible way,” he told you, rolling his fingertips on the table and focusing on his hand as he spoke. “Feel kinda bad actually, because I know they all thought it was something more than it really was, and then I was always the one to break things off. I didn’t purposely lead them on, I just... once I got into it, I realized my feelings just weren’t in it.”

You opened your mouth to speak, hands limp in your lap, and then closed your lips in a tight line as you mulled over his words. You inhaled a shuddering breath and looked down, feeling the same shame that had overcome you countless times before come back again.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered without lifting your eyes.

“Kelsey…” Auston spoke firmly. “Look at me. Please.”

You did as he asked, lips pursed, and were met with his adoring, enchanting gaze, always too forgiving of your faults and mistakes.

“It’s okay,” he promised sincerely. “I understand. Trust me on that. I’ve always understood where you were coming from, but it seemed like there was just… just nothing I could do about it. Nothing I could do to make you stay, or to bring you back. That’s what made it so hard. That’s what still makes it so hard.”

You nodded. “Well — what you’re doing right now — whatever this is… it’s working,” you divulged, knowing this was a dangerous game and no longer caring.

“Is it?” Auston asked, a full-blown smile appearing now on his lips. Those lips you missed so damn much.

“Yeah,” you giggled, both of you grinning. “God, I missed your smile, Aus.”

“My smile?” he asked incredulously, then scoffed. “Your smile fucking breaks my heart, Kelsey,” he told you in his deepest tone, biting at the inside of his cheek as if he was trying not to lean across the table and kiss you full on the mouth right then and there.

And now, as you saw that look in his eye that you knew so well, you knew two things.

One, you were fucked. And two, you were in desperate need of a minute.

“I, uh, I gotta run to the ladies’ room,” you told him, standing, feeling unsteady as you pushed in your chair. Auston nodded knowingly and said, “Take all the time you need.”

You brushed a hand over his shoulder, the other holding tightly to your crossbody bag, as you attempted to walk in a straight line toward the restrooms across the restaurant floor. You were only one glass of wine deep, yet this night was making your head feel as fuzzy as if you’d just done a row of shots. Once safely inside the bathroom, you tossed your purse on the counter and held tightly to the sink to try and settle yourself, taking deep breaths in an attempt to control your racing pulse.

Just then, you heard a toilet flush, and your sense of solitude was quickly shattered when you saw a familiar blonde figure step out of the bathroom and lean closer upon recognizing you.

“Kelsey!” she exclaimed, moving toward the sink.

“Holly! Oh, my god,” you laughed as you squeezed her upper arm.

“Here, let me wash my hands and then I’ll give you a real hug,” she promised as you both giggled.

You had been a cheerleader throughout high school, and Holly, a year your senior, had been captain the year before you took on the title. Though you two weren’t particularly close, you had always looked up to her, and you’d kept in touch for a couple of years after you graduated before mostly falling off, save for the occasional hype comment or story reply on social media.

“How are you, girl? You look gorgeous!” she said as she threw her arms around you.

“So do you! I’m doing well, thanks. Home for the holidays,” you offered as she stepped back and nodded.

“Yeah, that’s great! Me, too,” she replied, then smiled mischievously at you. “To be totally honest, uh… I saw you when you were being seated. I didn’t wanna be weird or like, intrude, or anything but… I saw you come in with Auston. Are you guys like… back together?”

“Huh? Oh, no, no,” you laughed nervously, feeling yourself blush under her questioning. “We’re not back together. Just, uh, just two old friends, uh, catching up, ya know?” you reasoned nonchalantly as you reached for your bag.

“Oh. Right. Well... ‘tis the damn season, am I right?” Holly said with a chuckle, her own cheeks slightly flushed as she feared maybe she had made you uncomfortable by addressing the elephant in the room.

“Right,” you nodded cordially, then took a step toward her and patted her hand, wanting to make sure she didn’t think you were upset by her comment. “It’s so good to see you, Hol. I’m gonna head back out there—“

“Kelsey, wait,” Holly said urgently, grasping your arm before you could turn away from her. You blinked at her several times, glancing between her grip and her face as you waited to hear what had gotten into her.

“I just have to tell you... for what it’s worth, you guys still look so happy together,” Holly said. “Even if that’s not what this is. I just... I wanted to tell you that. As someone who has known you both for a long time, Auston never smiles as much as he smiles when he’s with you. It’s just nice to see.”

You gaped at your old friend, speechless, and she scrunched her nose at you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cross the line, I just...” she trailed off.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to act casual. “No, no. Not at all. It’s okay. Thank you, for telling me. I just, I gotta run,” you said, leaning in to hug her again. “Bye, Hol. Have a merry Christmas.”

“You too, Kels. See you around,” She smiled as you moved toward the bathroom door. With one last polite nod at her, you exited and escaped to your seat.

As you reached the table, you had to physically restrain yourself from reaching out and running your hand along the back of Auston’s neck and affectionately trailing your fingertips over the short hair there, as you had done for so many years when approaching him and sidling up to him. Instead, you smoothed your hand over your dress and sighed as Auston turned his head to look at you, grinning as he watched you sit.

“You get lost?” he teased. You chuckled, throwing your hair behind your shoulders.

“Something like that,” you muttered, immediately reaching for your glass of wine, which you could tell had been refilled in your absence. Auston hummed in acknowledgement as you took a long sip, watching you all the while.

“One more glass and then we get outta here?” Auston suggested as you set the glass down. You only nodded.

_____

“Remember when you had that old truck, with the tires that were always muddy, and we used to just ride around Scottsdale all night long?” you asked Auston, both of you reminiscing about days gone by after leaving the restaurant.

Auston nodded, running his pointer finger across his upper lip, the other hand on the wheel, as he watched the memory projecting in his mind.

“‘Course I do,” he told you, and you didn’t miss the way his tone changed when he did, making you smirk.

“So, where to next?” you prodded. “Back to Casa de Matthews?”

He shrugged ambiguously, but secretly, he knew just what he wanted to do. “We could just ride around. Like we used to. If you want. I mean, there’s no real reason for us to rush back to our parents’ houses, right?” he said with a snicker.

This could get messy as the mud on the truck tires, you thought, but your response was already tumbling from your lips.

“Okay,” you said, smiling at him. “I’d say let’s go drive through the rich neighborhoods and look at Christmas lights like we used to, but that’s where you and your parents live now, so...” You clicked your tongue and Auston rolled his jaw, acting completely offended to hide how much he had missed you chirping him. The way it melted him.

“We’re still going,” he insisted, turning the wheel at the next intersection and pulling a U-turn. “We’ll just, uh, we’re just gonna maybe skip a couple neighborhoods, that’s all.”

You laughed — a real Kelsey belly laugh — and Auston watched as you lit up his world yet again. He didn’t even need to see any Christmas lights this year. He had all the light he needed right next to him.

Minutes later, he passed the usual first turn on your holiday lights tour and you furrowed your brow.

“Aus, where are you going? I wanted to see Ranchero Nuevo first. We always start there,” you reminded him.

“No, what’s the actual first thing we do when we go see Christmas lights?” Auston asked, pulling instead toward the strip mall at the next light. When you saw the green glow of the Starbucks sign up ahead, you smiled as it dawned on you.

“Get hot chocolate,” you said fondly. Instead of answering, Auston simply sent a soft smile your way. “You’re the greatest,” you lauded, igniting a pride that burned bright in Auston’s chest.

“Anything for you, babe,” he said before he could even realize what he’d just done. He snapped his head your way and saw that you were trying your damnedest not to smile.

He was completely taken aback as you quipped, “You can call me babe for the weekend.”

Auston did a double-take and then nodded once at your phone in your hands, which had just lit up with two missed calls and a particularly accusatory text from one Alex Matthews that you decided you would have to tend to later.

“Write this down,” Auston instructed curtly.

“What do you mean?” you laughed, holding your phone up curiously.

“I want proof that you just said that to me,” he deadpanned, jutting his chin toward your glowing screen and sending you into a fit of laughter.

After you’d both recovered, Auston picked up your drink — large peppermint hot chocolate, like always — and a coffee for himself, and you set off to wind your way through the same neighborhoods you had driven through countless times, admiring most of the decorations and poking fun at the gaudiness of some, laughing all the while, without a care.

As he pulled into a neighborhood you knew to be just a stone’s throw away from where he had recently purchased a house, Auston took a deep breath, fingers gripping the steering wheel rigidly, and decided to take the leap and say what had been circling through his brain since you’d stepped foot in the vehicle after dinner but had only just now worked up the nerve to say.

“What if we didn’t go back to our parents’ places tonight?” he asked abruptly, the words sounding much more jumbled and rushed than they had in his head.

You chuckled anxiously, staring straight ahead. “What do you mean?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and pressed on. “Hear me out. What if we just went to my place for the night instead? I don’t mean to like… to hook up, or anything,” he assured. “Just to be together. I just… I really fucking missed you.” 

Uh, whoops. He hadn’t exactly meant to slip that last part in there, but it was too late to turn back now.

There was a lengthy pause and the car was frighteningly silent as you weighed your options.

“Well...” you eventually said, nibbling on your bottom lip. “If it’s okay with you, then it’s okay with me.”

“Yeah?” Auston asked immediately, searching your face for confirmation that he had just heard you correctly. He couldn’t believe that this — any of this— was really happening.

You nodded.

“Yeah. And… Aus?” you spoke.

“Yes, Kelsey?” he asked softly, joy radiating from his whole being and seeping into his words.

You leaned your head back against the seat and reached to wrap your hand around his on the center console.

“I really fucking missed you, too,” you told him.

_____

“Why did you agree to come with me tonight anyway, Kelsey?”

You and Auston were each almost a full bottle of wine deep by the time he asked this, inhibitions now lowered. He’d barely finished giving you the tour before you were both so palpably overwhelmed by the reality of being alone together in his house, with so many feelings buzzing about frenetically, that you took the liberty of pulling a bottle of red from the wine fridge and asking for glasses and a corkscrew. Auston forked them over without question, and now you were deeply entrenched in the process of examining old battle wounds that had never quite healed.

“Because I missed you,” you answered truthfully. “And also because I owed it to you to accept your invitation when you took a chance by reaching out.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Kels,” he claimed, taking a swig.

You picked up your glass and passed by him as you began to pace the tile floor, unable to just be still during this exchange — this conversation that had been a long time coming.

“I do, though,” you argued. “You gave me everything. Everything. And I still left.”

Auston squeezed the stem of his wine glass so hard he feared he may just shatter it.

“I don’t want you blaming yourself for the things I put you through because of my career choice,” he said firmly, a hand splayed against his chest as he accepted the responsibility, just like he always did.

“But you didn’t choose to have the media posted up outside our apartment every day. You didn’t choose to have strangers stalking me and my family online. You didn’t choose to have them calling me a distraction and a leech and a gold digger and a wh—“

“Don’t say it,” he warned as he lifted a finger, referencing the specific instance of the smearing of your character that had left you broken enough to start packing your bags.

“Okay,” you conceded quietly, knowing just how sick that one word had made him. “But listen. Yes, you chose to play hockey. But you didn’t choose all that shit that came along with it. You didn’t know! Hell, you didn’t even get to choose where you played. But even so… honestly, I used to blame you for everything. Because back then, it was just easier for me to deal with it that way.”

Auston’s head hung between his shoulder blades as he leaned his palms against the bar, reliving the very same pain that had eaten away at him for the past three years, especially the acute ache that had come in the weeks immediately after you left.

“I know you did — blame me, that is,” he said softly. “And I understand why.”

You took slow and deliberate steps back to where he stood and rubbed your hand soothingly across his broad back, feeling the way his muscles relaxed under your touch.

“Hey… look at me, huh?” you asked, gently guiding his face toward yours with your fingers. “I don’t blame you, Aus. I don’t,” you assured, your eyes piercing into his. “Not anymore. I’ve grown. I know I did this. I know it’s my fault that we’re like this. I mean, fuck, I broke my own heart, and I know I hurt you. I just... at the time, I didn’t see a way forward on the road we were on.”

Auston’s mind was firing on all cylinders as he tried desperately to compute what he’d just heard, convinced he was gathering more from your words than you meant for him to.

“And now?” he ventured.

He watched as your pained expression turned to one of, dare he even think it, hope.

“I still see it, Aus,” you said. “I still see us ending up together. I know it’s out of the blue, but…”

“It’s not though,” he said, cocking his head a bit to punctuate his point. “I know it doesn’t make much sense, any of this, but… to me, it’s not out of the blue. I’ve wanted this for so long,” he told you. “And I just need you to know that. Regardless of what happens next.”

“Auston, you and me together… that’s the only thing that makes sense. That’s all that’s ever made sense to me,” you said, clarity washing over you. “But I just, I wasn’t ready. And I got so scared that I wouldn’t be able to handle your life that I… I just ran.”

“You can run, Kelsey,” Auston said softly as he, yet again, twirled a strand of your hair around his finger. “But only so far.”

“Yeah…” you whispered. Then, without hesitation, you grasped his chin between your forefinger and thumb, turning his face to yours and studying his brown eyes just for a heartbeat before pressing your lips to his.

And for now, that was all that needed to be said.

_____

You hadn’t slept together. But you had slept together.

Too much crying and laughing and kissing and rehashing and wondering aloud had left you both emotionally drained and physically exhausted, and after dragging yourself into the master bathroom to throw on a crewneck and a pair of  Auston’s sweats, you’d promptly fallen asleep in his arms, a smile on his features even in sleep.

The next morning it occurred to you, with your cheek pressed against his bare chest and your legs entangled with his, that Auston’s bed — whether here, or in the house where he grew up, or in Toronto — was the warmest one you’d ever known. Though you could tell by the sunlight flooding the room that it was late in the morning, you couldn’t bear to move away from him. 

Soon, he, too, began to stir. As he squinted in the daylight and peered down at you, he closed his eyes once more, a peaceful grin on his lips.

“Oh, thank god that wasn’t just a dream,” he whispered. You chuckled, your fingertips lazily drawing shapes on his pecs as you nuzzled your head further into his neck.

“Nope,” you established. “This is very, very real.”

You lay in quiet thought for a moment before adding softly, “But what happens now?”

At that, Auston’s eyes opened wider this time, a slight panic visible in his face.

“Well,” he began, smoothing his hand over your head and kissing your hair. “What happens now is that we get some coffee.”

You sighed at his attempt to make light of the situation and pushed yourself to sit straight up in bed, cross-legged in front of where he lay on his side.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” you spoke, your fingers pulling anxiously at the bedsheet below. “Yesterday was like a fever dream and now... now we have to face reality.”

Slowly, Auston sat up, too, and pulled you into his lap, allowing you to rest your back against his torso as he gathered your hair at the nape of your neck in a makeshift ponytail.

“Everything that happened yesterday was reality, baby,” he insisted, kissing the crown of your head.

“Our feelings, yes,” you allowed. “But not the rest of it. I mean, fuck, we’re both leaving town in —“ you glanced at the bedside clock and were shocked by the 11:27 that stared back at you, realizing you’d practically slept in half the day — “48 hours. And then what? I go back to LA and you go back to Toronto and we just wonder about—“

“Baby, stop,” Auston begged as he turned you to face him, bringing your forehead to his lips. “Take a breath,” he said, stroking your jaw with his thumbs as he looked down at you, concern etched into his features. “We don’t have to figure all this out right this minute. In fact, we’re not going to. For right now, let’s just let this be what it is. And you have to try and stop spinning your wheels so fast. You’re gonna burn a hole in my floor,” he joked, kissing your nose.

You chuckled sadly, holding his wrists. “You’re right,” you eventually told him. “We’ll figure it out, somehow. I know we will,” you sighed, frowning. “First things first though, I have to get home and help my mom get ready for the party tonight.”

Before you could get out of bed to start gathering your things, Auston circled his arms around your hips and kept you in his lap. “Wait, gimme a smile first,” he requested.

You looked up at him and offered a tight-lipped smile, still distracted by the future of your relationship teetering precariously in the balance.

Auston shook his head. “That’s a fake Kelsey smile,” he accused, accurately. “Don’t even try me.”

With another deep sigh, you muttered, “You’re the only soul who can tell.”

“Who can tell what?” he asked, hugging you tighter.

You looked up at him for a moment, feeling more seen than you had in years. “Which smiles I’m faking,” you said quietly.

A pleased smile twitched at the corners of Auston’s lips before he pressed his mouth to yours.

_____

Auston walked into your parents’ house that night with his understated charm and a devastating ensemble of a maroon suit, white shirt with the top few buttons undone, and black loafers, looking every bit the GQ model he was once upon a time. With two bouquets of red roses and a bottle of champagne in hand, he knocked on the glass and your dad met him enthusiastically at the door.

“What’s the occasion?” your dad then chuckled, a bit puzzled. Auston glanced to where you stood near the staircase, waiting to greet him, and smiled.

“These are for your daughter,” Auston said as he grasped one bouquet. “And these are for your wife,” he said as he gestured toward the other. Your dad raised his eyebrows, looking between the two of you pensively, and let out a loud laugh. “Well, how thoughtful! And the champagne?” your dad asked as Auston stepped toward you and tucked one bunch of roses into your hold. He kissed your cheek chastely and turned back to your dad.

“Well, you never know when you’re gonna have something to celebrate,” Auston said with a smirk. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and your dad clapped Auston’s back appreciatively before leaving the two of you to your moment.

“Thank you, for the flowers,” you said softly, staring up at him. “They’re beautiful.”

“You’re welcome,” he said with a nod before your aunt and uncle suddenly appeared in the doorway, loudly greeting you and pushing their way toward you for hugs as Auston gave them their space and waited for you to become available again.

His patience lasted all of five minutes as he made vague pleasantries with the handful of guests who had already arrived, before he was approaching you again, eager to do what he really came here to do and unable to wait a moment longer. As you turned away from a brief conversation with a longtime next-door neighbor, Auston gently grasped your wrist as he said hastily, “Can I see you outside for a second?”

You didn’t have much of a choice as he led you hurriedly through the formal living room and out the French doors to the balcony, closing them behind you and backing you into a corner, hidden from view.

“Aus, what are you—“

He pressed his body into yours, nudging you back against the rail as he took your face in his hands and kissed you hungrily.

“Doing,” you whispered when he let up, completing your earlier thought as you pressed your fingertips against your swollen lips and looked up at him, your cheeks reddening.

“That,” he answered simply with a small smile. “And I wanted to give you something...”

He patted his pockets to determine where the object was, and your eyes widened.

“Auston, no!” you exclaimed, squeezing his elbows in an attempt to stop his search. “You can’t. I didn’t get you anything. I —”

“Kelsey, are you crazy? Yes, you did,” he said firmly. “Time with you. You gave me time with you. That’s all I’ve wanted for the last three years. That’s more than I could have ever asked for.”

There was nothing you could say then, nothing that sounded worthy enough to hold any significance in such an already meaningful vignette of the two of you. Auston took your silence as his opportunity to pull a mid-sized, square, red leather box from the pocket of his suit jacket, the name “Cartier” imprinted in gold script on the lid.

“Auston, stop,” you warned in a whisper, knowing what was inside and knowing that you would be rendered completely incapable of walking away from him once he offered this gift to you, knowing what it signified for both of you. He shook his head, knowing that your request was an empty one. He propped open the box and placed it on the small wrought iron table in front of you on the balcony. You couldn’t peel your eyes from it as your mind raced with questions.

“How... where... we slept until noon, Aus,” you stuttered. “All the stores were closed. Where did you even buy this?”

He pursed his lips and nodded once, then put his hands into his pockets and admitted, “I’ve had it for almost three years, Kels.”

You blinked again and again, not processing what he’d just revealed.

“I’m sorry... what?”

“I bought this for you for Valentine’s Day three years ago,” he continued. “I bought it and I hid it in my closet and I was gonna give it to you but we broke up on —“

“January 30th...” you whispered. Auston’s brows knit together in agony, and his throat constricted.  

“You remember too,” he stated quietly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I remember a little too well,” you said, sniffling as you glanced down at the box again.

Suddenly, your mind drifted back not to that fateful day in his apartment in Toronto, but instead to lying on your stomach as a kid in your family room, flipping through the pages of your favorite issue of your mom’s old Vogue magazines, as Auston used a yardstick and a Nerf ball as makeshift hockey equipment, taking shots at your couch again and again while you soaked in the photos of beautiful models, trendy clothing, and expensive jewelry, as visions of working at a fashion magazine someday twirled through your daydreams.

“Whatcha readin’?” a ten-year-old Auston inquired as he dropped next to you to take a break from his game.

“Vogue,” you answered, turning another page. “Like usual.”

Auston nodded, spotting a pretty woman in a tight black dress and commented, “Cool,” with a laugh. “If you could have anything in that book, what would you pick?”

Ever the master of sass, you rolled your eyes.

“It’s a magazine, Aus,” you corrected with venom in your voice as Auston rolled his own eyes. “But, if I had to pick... I know just what I want,” you informed him, leafing through the issue to get back to an ad in the front. When you finally found what you were seeking, you plopped the magazine down again, smacking your hand onto its glossy pages.

“That,” you said, pointing to the gold bangle. “It’s called the Love Bracelet. It says that it gets bought by somebody you love and then they have to use a screwdriver to put it on you.”

“A screwdriver?!” Auston asked incredulously. “Wouldn’t that hurt?”

You giggled. “No, silly,” you drawled. “It doesn’t hurt. But then the person who loves you is the only one who can put it on you or take it off you. You can’t do it by yourself.”

Auston nodded. “Cool,” he repeated, more seriously this time. You sighed wistfully as you gazed down at the bracelet.

“Yeah, but it’s a whole bunch of money, and my dad said he isn’t buying it. He said maybe my husband will get me one someday,” you said sadly. Auston watched your face drop, then, he got an idea.

“How about this,” he offered, nudging you with his elbow. “If I get famous for playing baseball, or hockey I guess, and I make a boatload of money, then I’ll buy you that bracelet. ‘Kay?”

You blushed, hunching your shoulders as you were slightly embarrassed by your best friend’s offer. Still, you loved Auston, and you knew he loved you. He was the only person you wanted to get that bracelet from, except for like, your mom or dad.

“Okay,” you agreed. “You promise?”

Auston dragged his index finger over the left side of his chest. “Cross my heart,” he confirmed.

This time, it was your turn to say, “Cool.”

“I asked my mom to hold onto it,” you heard him telling you now. Now that you’d become the people you’d said you’d be. Now that you both had grown into the farfetched dreams you’d shared as children. Now that you’d come back home — back to one another. Now that he was here, in front of you, again. “I just couldn’t bear to take it back, even though I honestly never thought I’d get the chance to give it to you.”

You were shaking your head endlessly, attempting to stop tears from streaking your face. “I can’t believe this...” you said, awestruck.

“I don’t have to put this on you right now,” Auston said, swallowing his own tears he felt creeping up on him. “I just want you to have it. It’s yours. You should keep it.”

With a few swipes at your undereyes, you rubbed away the wetness on your hands and then extended your left wrist to Auston. A smile flashed briefly across his lips before he set them in a straight line once more.

“Are you sure?” he asked, caution in his voice.

You pulled him in by his waist, beaming, before you answered.

“I’ve played this out basically every night since I left,” you told him. “Even when I was with somebody. I just followed the path my mind was taking me all the way to the very end, until there was no place left to go. And it always leads to you. It always leads me home.”

Auston pulled you into a searing kiss, both of you smiling into it, before he squeezed your hand and reached for the box, carefully disassembling the bracelet so that he could put it on you at last.

“All day I’ve been thinking about what I said earlier. About running,” you spoke as Auston worked on securing the bracelet. “I started running and running and it’s been such a mess since then. Nothing about the past three years made any sense to me. And then I saw you, and… it all made sense again. You and I were the only thing that ever made sense to me,” you told him, your voice wavering as he twisted the final screw into place, lifting the inside of your wrist to his lips and placing a warm, reverent kiss to the skin there, his eyes never leaving yours as he did. “So I’m done. I’m done running, Auston. I can’t run anymore.”

“You have no fucking clue how long I’ve waited to hear you say that,” Auston admitted, touching his forehead to yours before leaning back. “So, to your earlier point... what the hell are we supposed to do now?”

You ran a frazzled hand through your long hair and bit at the inside of your cheek as you formulated your response. “I mean, I have to go back, Aus. I’m working on a really big project...”

Your words put him into a tailspin of his own this time, watching the dreams he had let resurface over the last two days come crashing down in front of him all over again. You were eluding him. Again.

His ears were buzzing so loudly that he barely heard your next words.

“But maybe after that... I could come and spend some time in Toronto?”

Auston pulled his tongue away from the roof of his dry mouth and pleaded, in a voice barely above a whisper, “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t say that unless you really mean it,” he said, desperation in his tone.

“I mean, really, I don’t have a choice,” you pointed out with a breathy laugh, your fingers tracing the cold metal of the bangle around your other wrist. “I don’t see any other way that this ends. Not after this. This perfect fucking weekend. I mean... do you?”

“No,” he quickly retorted. “No, I don’t. I was just scared that you... that this was going to be it for you. That we would have this incredible time together and then it would just be another chapter in the Auston and Kelsey history book.”

You smoothed your hands over his lapels, allowing your body to fully relax into his.

“Auston, this... this is different,” you said somberly. “Before, it all just felt like too much. I got scared. We were so young, Aus. I mean, we’re still young, but we were babies. And now... I’ve realized that dealing with the press and the social media and the fans... it’s worth it to me. I’ll never like it. But I love you. And that’s enough. That will always be more than enough for me — being with you. And I’m so sorry that it’s taken me this long, that it took me finally coming back home, to realize that.”

“Don’t be sorry, Kels, please,” Auston whispered, one hand clutching at your hip, the other tangled in the hair at the back of your head as he held onto you with everything he had, knowing he was ready to do so for as long as you would let him. “Just... just say it again, baby. Please?”

“I love you, Aus,” you whispered, tears falling freely down your cheeks as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I’m never gonna stop.”

“Don’t stop,” Auston pleaded, nuzzling his nose against yours before pressing his lips to your mouth. “Don’t ever stop. Promise?” he asked, his voice gravelly.

“Cross my heart,” you whispered, drawing a pretend line across your chest before cupping his cheek and kissing him tenderly.

[kickasskody]

                          DAKOTA ‘ kody ’ PIERCE, a character study.  “just because i cannot see it, doesn’t mean i cannot believe it.” -- jack skellington

Character’s full name: dakota pierce Reason for name and/or meaning of name: kody’s parents met and fell in love in north dakota, and decided to name their son after the great state 💖 Character’s nickname: kody Reason for nickname: in middle school, kody didn’t think the name dakota was cool. but the name kody, the most generic white boy name ever , was definitely cool Birth date: december 13th, 2002. baby sagittarius 

Physical appearance Faceclaim: austin abrams Gender: cis male Height: 5″8 #shortking Build: scrawny boy body. looks like he couldn’t lift more than 30 pounds... PSYCH!!! he’s a vampire so he can actually lift several hundred pounds 🤪🤪🤪 Eye color: blue with little dark green specks Glasses or contacts?: not with that snazzy 4k vampire sight !! Distinguishing marks/scars: funny little frecklescape on his back that looks like this emoji 😦 Hair color: dirty blonde Type of hair: type 1, aka straight hair Hairstyle: gets up out of bed, looks in mirror. maybe tussles it a little bit. thats it Physical disabilities: none Mental disabilities: adhd Clothing style: sweaters sweaters sweaters. striped sweaters ( because the best time to wear one is all the time ), disney sweaters, sweaters with dogs on them. white collared shirts to go underneath most of them. denim jackets, a couple of them tattering with holes in the elbows. black skinny jeans -- like he owns four pairs of the same black skinny jeans. someone tell him that skinny jeans aren’t in style anymore. uses the same jansport backpack he’s had since the eighth grade with a sewn in epcot center patch on the front pocket. dirty checkered vans. falling apart high-top converse. it’s not that he’s poor and can’t afford new things, he just prefers all his old stuff.  Make up: has never worn any but wouldn’t be opposed to trying some !!

Personality Good personality traits: good at secret keeping, friendly and uplifting, loyal, thoughtful, great memory, cautious, playful. chaotic good energy  🥰 Bad personality traits: gullible, slightly obnoxious, constantly confused, easily distracted Mood character is most often in: cheery, happy as f, practically bouncing off the walls Sense of humor: goddamn hilarious!!! at least he thinks so lol Articulation: loud and occasionally stuttery. repeating himself pretty often. the type to get lost in the middle of conversation and have to take a second to mentally loop back and remember what exactly they were talking about. uses the word ‘ like ‘ way too much. talks with his hands a whole lot. constantly talking like he’s a kooky disney character on a mission. Character’s greatest joy in life: riding a mf’in roller coaster Character’s greatest fear: disneyworld getting blown up / physically hurting someone  Character is most at ease when: he’s curled up with his friends watching a disney movie Most ill at ease when: he’s laying in bed at night, pretending he’s sleeping since he can’t Enraged when: thinking about how there are vampires in bridgemead -- that they could turn other people, kill other people, or worse... harm his friends.  Depressed or sad when: drinking from a blood bag. watching disney pixar’s coco. thinkin’ about a disneyworld churro and how he’ll never be able to enjoy the taste of one again. Priorities: at the moment? trying not to hurt anybody.  Life philosophy: “Keep Moving Forward!” -- walt disney said that Greatest strength: his optimism / ability to take something sad or bad and turn it around! Greatest vulnerability or weakness: giving just about anyone the benefit of the doubt. 

Goals Drives and motivations: getting enough money to be able to travel the world and visit every disney park on the planet.  Immediate goals: graduating high school / helping the scooby gang solve mysteries Long term goals: roller coaster designer / engineer. create a haunted house / rollercoaster hybrid ride

Childhood Hometown: orlando, florida Type of childhood: the kind where he’s an only child, where his middle class parents live to please and spoil him, take him to whatever amusement park he wanted to go to and buy him all the best merch. the smile on his face was worth more than anything they ever could’ve purchased for themselves. kody probably would’ve had siblings, but his parents had complications getting pregnant again, and thus they lived to make sure he had the best life possible.  Pets: a cat named toulouse ( shoutout aristocats ), but he passed when kody was fifteen Most important childhood memory: waiting in line for five hours to ride harry potter and the forbidden journey at universal studios orlando. blew his little kid mind. Dream job: imagineer!! Religion: non-practicing christians. church on easter and christmas ONLY!

Present Current location: bridgemead, massachusetts Currently living with: his parents 💖 Pets: none Religion: agnostic Sexuality: currently questioning his sexuality. growing up he always felt attracted to both boys and girls, but has never been able to articulate it. he’s only ever expressed interest in women, but he has a fat crush on chris evans as captin america Politics: would be socialist if he cared enough to think about politics Occupation/education: bridgemead high school super senior Mode of transportation: his parents dark blue prius!! but only thursday - sunday

Family Parent one: marcus pierce -- drug store manager Relationship with them: kody and his dad are best buds! if it weren’t for his fathers love for rollercoasters, kody doesn’t know what his life would be like today. they used to play rollercoaster tycoon growing up and kody still cherishes those memories today. Parent two: tina pierce -- bridgemead city manager Relationship with them: kody and his mother have a very loving relationship. however, kody’s adoration for his mother dwindled when it was her job that forced them to move to bridgemead. he thinks of it as her fault that he doesn’t get to go to disneyworld anymore, and there’s a bitter part of him that thinks that if she hadn’t made them leave, he never would’ve become a vampire. he knows its wrong to attribute her to his curse, but sometimes when he’s really sad he cant help it.  Siblings: none Other important family members: his widowed aunt shirley who lives twenty minutes from disneyworld and occasionally would join them on their weekend visits to the parks. he misses her greatly 😩😩

Favorites Color: that bright electric blue color on the cinderella castle at disneyworld  Music: electronic Food: a disneyworld churro.  Film: the incredibles / scooby doo 2002 Drink: pink lemonadde mixed with sprite Form of entertainment: disney+ subscription. if that’s all he had, he’d be content. Most prized possession: a magic kingdom two day passport ticket from the 1980′s

Habits Hobbies: playing rollercoaster tycoon / designing rollercoasters on his computer. obsessively watching ghost club paranormal on youtube. bothering aj with the latest thing on his mind that she definitely doesn’t need to know about Plays a musical instrument?: nope. wishes he could though!  Plays a sport?: nope, but would be great at track now that he’s a vampire! How he would spend a rainy day: playing kingdom hearts II in his pajamas. Spending habits: great at hoarding all of his allowance! since he’s not spending it on food, he’s an excellent saver. pre-vampirism kody was not as cautious with his spending.  Smoking/drinking/drugs?: no way 🙅🏼 has yet to even try alcohol Extremely skilled at: cheering up his friends! finding the good in others and convincing them to see it too 🤗 Extremely unskilled at: stopping himself from crying when he’s sad / when he’s in the middle of crying. putting together pieces of their investigations. sure, he can find things -- but what the hell is he supposed to do with them once he’s got it?!?! Nervous tics: anxious picking at his cuticles. messing with his hair. aggressive foot tapping. scrolling through his phone without actually looking at anything.  Usual body posture: that boy has been working on rollercoaster code on his computer for YEARS. his body posture is absolutely RUINED! Mannerisms: constantly talking with his hands. bouncin’ around like tigger when something exciting happens. abbreviating things that don’t need to be abbreviated. the loudest in the room at all times.

Traits Optimist or pessimist? Introvert or extrovert? Daredevil or cautious? Logical or emotional? Leader or follower? Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat? Prefers working or relaxing? Confident or unsure of himself/herself? Animal lover? HELL YEAH.

Self-perception How do they feels about themselves?: before the year 2020, kody actually quite liked himself! he realized that he was goofy and sometimes not everyones cup of tea, but for the most part, he knew he was a good guy who was a little obnoxious! now, he has mixed feelings about himself. vampirism has elevated a lot of his emotions and more often than not now, he dislikes himself for what he’s become, or what he could become if things turn bloody.  One word the character would use to describe themselves: spunky What does the character consider their best trait?: his compassion What does the character consider their worst trait?: his gullibility  What does the character consider their best physical characteristic?: his fluffy hair !! What does the character consider their worst physical characteristic?: that he’s a short king. stream short kings anthem by tiny meat gang How does the character think others perceive them?: he’s pretty sure most people think that he’s wildly annoying, but that doesn’t stop him from being fully himself most of the time!  What would the character most like to change about himself/herself: his vampirism!! get this shit out of him just make him a normal aging boy again!!

Relationships with others Opinion of other people in general: kody is a big ole’ ball of love, and thus so, he tries to share that with everyone. strangers are treated with compassion, acquaintances are treated as old friends, and friends are treated like family. unless kody already knows someone to be a bad person, or is wary of them, he’s genuinely one of the nicest people one could ever meet. Opinion of the Scooby Gang: talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before, unafraid to reference or not reference, put it in a blender, shit on it, vomit on it, eat it, give birth to it. Does the character hide their true opinions and emotions from others?: it depends on the topic, but for the most part, yes. when it comes to most scooby gang related endeavors, kody will share his thoughts -- if it’s something related to movies or tv, he’ll be talking your ear off for hours. if it’s something that could result in it hurting someone else, he’ll be quiet, and if his vampirism was ever to come into question, he’d be absolutely be suppressing it.  Most important person in character’s life: oh god, not to pick scooby gang favorites, but probably aj. she’s the closest thing he has to a sister, and he doesn’t know what he would do without their banter, and her support. Best friend/s: aj darke, dylan frye, & arabella byrne Dating experience: absolutely none. kissed 2 girls in the span of 2 years over 3 years ago. Romancing: kody wouldn’t know the first thing about trying to get someone to date him. all he knows is the stuff he’s seen on tv, watched in movies, or experienced around him ( such as his parents successful marriage, or his friends dating people ), but if it were to come down to him, he’d be extremely awkward. picture tom holland’s spiderman trying to talk to zendaya’s mj in far from home -- because that’s extremely accurate. kody isn’t trying to date anyone right now for a couple of reasons: one being that he’s too nervous, and not exactly looking for love, but if it were to happen... he wouldn’t run from it necessarily. but two being that his vampirism creates a bit of a problem for him, and he’s not sure if he should subject anyone to the curse he’s stuck with.

Extra Physicality: if necessary, could probably lift a car and throw it down the street. as of right now, doesn’t know how strong he really is / is more concerned about hurting his friends with this supposed strength than he is finding out how many hundreds of pounds he could lift. kody in a fight? probably losing within the first five seconds, unless bloods drawn and the instinct to pounce takes over. Species: vampire How do they feel about it?: hates it. would do anything to reverse it. wishes he had just stayed a little longer at karma cafe that night. or had never gone at all. How do they look in their supernatural form?: pretty much the same, however when he’s hungry and near blood, his eyes go all dark and bloodshot, and the veins around his eyes start to pulse ( basically just like vampire diaries ), but kody is unaware of this since he’s never seen it happen to himself or another vampire

[siribear]

‘let glory take point,’ deacon says. ‘she’s the one with the armor.’ it’s true. glory’s the only one even remotely defended, her heavy jacket modified with metal plates stitched within the padding of the tan coat. she and deacon are only dressed in their plain shirts and jeans, for lack of any other armor available at hq.

‘after you, ma’am.’ whisper gestures, falling in line behind glory.

‘don’t call me ma’am,’ glory mutters, leading them through the metro.

thankfully, they only encounter raiders during their trek. the unorganized group doesn’t stand a chance against the three trained agents. glory draws all the attention while whisper and deacon sneak around to pick off the distracted raiders.

‘nice to see that even with your sneaky shit, you haven’t lost your touch, dee.’

deacon, almost in response, finishes off a raider with a clean shot to the head. ‘i aims to please.’

whisper slings an arm across his shoulders, now that the area’s cleared. ‘it’s why i keep him around.’

glory frowns and makes to flick at her glasses. whisper flinches backward, slinking behind deacon. ‘and he made you into a deacon 2.0.’

‘i have to admit, she’s the better looking between the two of us.’

whisper turns around to call the elevator and to hide her growing blush. only made worse when glory openly agrees. the elevator dings, and an automated voice announces its arrival to bzzt floor. ‘after you, miss glory.’

‘being pretty doesn’t make that any less annoying,’ she says, but still enters, and whisper can only smile.

down in the basement, they’re greeted by the haptic sounds of gunfire. immediately, deacon and whisper duck down and behind the minuscule cover the open elevator doors provide. glory ducks, winding up her minigun. no sudden gunfire slams into the elevator, but they can still hear the gunfire, followed by screaming. the only voices they hear are human, over the unmistakable sound of laser fire.

‘more synths,’ whisper says, low. ‘sorry, glory.’

glory sighs. ‘let’s just get this over with.’

glory takes point again as they slowly make their way forward, down a short hallway that ends in a left turn. slowly, at least, until glory charges forward, whisper and deacon on her heels. a handful of raiders, whatever’s left of the group that took over the metro, faces off against a squad of synths. unfortunately, the raiders are trapped behind their makeshift wooden structures, and even with the high ground granted by their constructed lofts, they’re no match for the synth’s lasers and glory’s minigun. the synths, on the other hand, have taken advantage of the stalled subway car, peering through broken windows and metal doors.

between the sharpshooters, the synths are picked off, sparks lighting the dim subway with every one that goes down. glory ends the remaining raiders in a bloody shower of red. all in all, they did well. no injuries on their side, but the carnage turns her stomach. they probably thought the trio could help them; everyone turned against the synths - but the raiders would have turned on them right after, no doubt. some dimming part of her feels - terribly guilty.

‘what’s going through your head, partner?’ deacon asks from his crouched position, hands deep in the pockets of a dead raider. he passes her a handful of pistol ammo, the bullets tinged red with blood.

‘idealism,’ she says, softly.

‘go on.’

she groans, frustrated. ‘just - wondering how many people we can prevent from turning to raiding, you know? no lack of food, water, safety. no need to turn to chems. that sort of thing.’

deacon stares at her for a moment, silent. then, ‘watch that bleeding heart of yours. most people are content to let you bleed out.’

‘yeah, i’m figuring out that much.’ the world pre-war was by no means perfect, but it still shocks her how bad things have gotten. but maybe it’s always been this way, just under the surface, the bombs blowing away the top level of society, peeling back the layers, leaving them with this. she doesn’t take part in the looting, this time.

when the scavenging is finished, glory stands near the door that will lead them back to the surface. ‘you know, this was actually a pretty good run. you two aren’t so bad. guess i can say it was good seeing you two, but i should report back to griswold.’ on the way up, whisper quickly runs her through the updates from the day’s earlier meeting. ‘hey, you find a way back into the institute, i want to be there.’ she cracks her neck. ‘storm the place, give my last fuck you to the assholes who created me.’

‘top of my list, glory, don’t worry.’

‘and keep an eye on the brotherhood,’ she says, motioning to the sky. ‘i’ve been seeing those vertibirds flying around. who knows what they’re looking for.’

‘duly noted, mademoiselle gloire,’ whisper says with a grin. deacon chuckles.

glory isn’t as amused - or not that she’d admit. there’s definitely a smile she’s fighting. ‘and you were doing so well.’

‘what was it? i aims to please.’

glory points between the two of them. ‘i’m getting out of this pair. right now. before i strangle the both of you.’

‘you know we’ll miss you terribly, gloria.’ deacon receives a friendly middle finger in glory’s wake.

-

whisper hardly needs his help maneuvering around the city these days. it almost makes him feel useless. almost. until he stops her from walking right into mutie territory; the mutants have moved further into the city, set up their favorite, bloody decorations along the buildings like christmas lights.

but his partner likes to walk the old roads, likes to wear away the poor, centuries old pavement. ‘save some road for future generations,’ he begs her, and, bless her, she takes to a sidewalk. leave it to her to think of the future.

so, maybe that’s why he appreciates her. it’s been far too long since he’s thought of the future. can’t appreciate the seeds you’ve sewn for the future if you don’t survive the day. she makes him think there might be an end to that.

whisper stops at the entrance to goodneighbor, hand stilled on the metal door.

‘take a hit to the head back in malden? forget how to use doors?’

she spins on her heel, puts her back to the door, and all deacon can think is: uh oh. he knows the look; she wants to talk. and he’ll talk, sure, but -

‘why didn’t you tell me about the tech you picked from kellogg’s brain?’

- deacon is, unfortunately, finding it more difficult to lie to her. she’s picked out enough of his bullshit, gone along with the rest of it. the act itself isn’t difficult - deacon’s been lying for years. but there’s a little part of him that whispers (ha) don’t lie to her.

‘didn’t seem important.’

she cants her head to the side. ‘try again. you can do better.’

see, he can. but he doesn’t want to. so he gives her the truth. part of it, anyway. ‘it might have been a waste of time. i figured, between tom and carrington, they’d find out if it was a lead worth pursuing.’

he notices the tension begin to drain from her shoulders. a leak, not a release. ‘so it wasn’t because you don’t trust me?’

so that’s what this is about. carrington must have gotten to her more than she let on. ‘of course not. i trust you.’ more than he probably should, but deacon still considers himself a good judge of character.

she catches her genuine smile, turns it into a grin, and he can hear the wink in her voice when she says, ‘thought you can’t trust anyone?’

he rolls his eyes even though she’s turned her back to him to push through to goodneighbor. ‘just you, partner,’ he mumbles, low enough that she can’t hear.

-

amari looks between the two of them before pulling away from her paperwork. the memory den is empty today, likely in preparation for what they’re about to do. though, irma had apparently been told who to look out for, because she had simply waved them on to the back.

‘do you have a geiger counter?’ the doctor asks.

‘mine is in the shop,’ whisper answers dutifully. the doctor’s hands return from under her desk and away from a pistol she no doubt has hidden. deacon has taught them all so well.

‘i recognize you.’ amari nods at deacon. ‘you’re the other one?’ when whisper introduces herself, amari’s eyes widen. ‘ah, i see. h2 mentioned you.’

‘he’s why we’re here. malden center is open again for one last run. desdemona is working on another route.’

amari closes her eyes and nods. ‘i thought as much. thank you. it was getting dangerous holding him here.’ she rises from her desk. ‘i’ve kept him the back room, but we’re going to need it if we’re going to go through with this procedure.’ she holds out a note with another shorthand - different from deacon’s own - scribbled in drummer boy’s handwriting. ‘your other friend isn’t here yet. i’ll go have h2 move to another room.’

‘no!’ whisper near-shouts. ‘i’ll get him, it’s no trouble.’

‘i don’t think that’s - ‘ amari begins, but whisper is already halfway to the back. ‘is this her first?’

deacon nods. ‘they got particularly close. she took a bullet for him.’ he remembers the look in her eyes when they were sitting in the lobby in ticon. like a mother looking at her son. how it didn’t hit him then that she’s a mother - ‘she’d find out one way or another.’

he can’t protect her from this.

‘he left this for her.’ amari pulls a holotape from her pocket. ‘that’s how i knew who she was.’

-

whisper is breathless, half-skipping down the stairs to where h2 waits. she takes in that mop of brown hair, his padded blue jacket, though he’s grown a beard since the last time she saw him. he sits on a couch at the edge of the room, staring down at his hands.

‘hey - ‘

‘whoa, lady.’ it’s h2′s face, but not his voice. this man’s voice is rougher, not the soft-spoken young man she met in the church. ‘doc said i’m in quarantine. i might be contagious or something. what’re you doin’ down here?’

there’s no recognition in his eyes when he looks at her. just confusion. ‘i, uh, i work with the doctor. she said you’re clear, and we’re moving you to another room. she’s - she’s upstairs.’

‘oh, hey, cool. i was gettin’ bored down here. only so many times you can count ceiling tiles, y’know? was tempted to take a little nap in one of those pods. anyway, upstairs, you said?’

whisper’s glad for the sunglasses when he comes closer. somehow, she keeps the tears out of her voice. ‘yeah, upstairs. she’ll get you set up to leave.’

‘thanks again, lady. nice meetin’ you.’

she doesn’t turn, just listens to the sound of his retreating footsteps. ‘yeah. nice to meet you.’

it’s where deacon and nick find her moments later, standing in the middle of the room, staring at the two memory pods in front of her. the former puts a hand between her shoulders, leans around her. ‘you okay? i should have warned you - ’

‘no, i needed to find out myself. i get it.’ she’s since dried her tears.

‘this is for you.’ he takes one of her hands in his, places something cold and metal in the center. ‘from h2. before.’ it’s a small holotape with her codename written on it.

she puts it in her pocket. ‘thank you.’

nick passes by the two of them and runs a leathery hand over the glass of one of the pods. ‘from what i understand, we’re jumping into kellogg’s memories. sounds crazy, but knowing the institute - ’ he looks to her. ‘you ready?’

the pod looks like the one she stepped into two hundred years ago, though cushioned and inclined. the top half is entirely glass, with a single monitor hanging from the top. static hums on the screen.

whisper takes one step toward it, then freezes. what if it doesn’t open when it’s over? what if she’s stuck again, two hundred years - she grabs deacon’s hand without thinking, grips it like she’s holding on for dear life.

maybe she is.

‘we’ll all be right here,’ he reassures her. ‘it’s just memories. kellogg can’t hurt you in there.’ he turns to someone walking by, and she sees dr. amari has joined them downstairs. ‘he can’t hurt her somehow, right? this is just routine memory viewing?’

dr. amari sighs. ‘routine is not the word i’d use. unorthodox, yes, but no more dangerous. mr. valentine here is the only one in danger of complications.’

‘nick - ‘

‘it’s all right, doll. i agreed to this.’

she sighs heavily. deacon leads her over to the pod and doesn’t let go of her hand until it begins to close. it hisses shut, the hinges clicking as it locks. locks.

‘your heartbeat spiked. i need you to calm down or the memory sync won’t work,’ comes dr. amari’s voice from a small speaker near her head.

calm. breathe in, breathe out. count to ten. breathe in - deacon taps on the glass next to her. the closed pod muffles the sound of him dragging a chair over next to her. i’m right here, she reads his lips.

‘that’s better. this is your first time, so i have to tell you: it might feel a little strange. the static on the monitor is white noise, that’s all. you will be viewing these memories, as if you’re there. but you will be viewing them from kellogg’s perspective. okay?’

‘okay,’ whisper croaks. her voice barely sounds like her own. like h2′s didn’t sound the same -

‘no, no, calm down. we’re almost there. mr. valentine is ready when you are. are you?’

breathe out. ‘i’m ready.’

‘good. sunglasses off, close your eyes, and - ‘

whisper feels a sharp shock at the base of her skull, and the world goes black.

-

deacon watches whisper through the glass, eyes closed like she’s sleeping, but her eyes move back and forth rapidly. her breathing is even, at least. he props his chin in the palm of his hand, and waits.

-

she’s in a bedroom, looking down at child drawings on a bed, worn out crayons spread across a threadbare blanket. a woman sits next to her, smelling of cigarette smoke and something - something else, something familiar, but she can’t place it. she wants to turn her head to look at her, see why she seems so familiar, but she can’t. instead, she flinches at a loud knock on her bedroom door and a louder, male voice screaming on the other side of it.

the woman slides a gun into view, the revolver she’ll come to know, and places a hand on hers. ‘connie,’ the woman says, and finally she looks up. mousy brown hair, bruises on her face, a split lip. ‘you can’t rely on anyone else, honey. this is the only thing you can trust.’

the gun is heavy in her small hands. the man bangs on the door again. she aims the revolver at the door, hands shaking. the man screams and yells, and she doesn’t pull the trigger.

i ran away from home, kellogg’s voice is soft in her mind. i think she wanted me to kill him, but i didn’t realize until i was older and it was too late. don’t know what happened to her. maybe she got out.

oh, whisper thinks.

‘that’s not it. we’ll move on to the next memory.’

-

she’s older now, a prominent scar on her face and leather jacket reflecting in the kitchen window. she watches her wife clean up after breakfast. she has a job to get to in the afternoon, but until then - she wraps her arms around the woman’s waist, presses a kiss to the top of her head. sarah, this she knows. she remembers her, because how could she possibly forget her? her face, the sound of her voice.

and then their daughter coos from her high chair, tosses around crumbs sarah will be finding around the kitchen for months. mary. almost two years old. thank god she’s got her mother’s face. don’t know what she’d do if mary inherited this mug.

surprised to find out i had a family, once upon a time? we aren’t so different, you and i.

‘another memory, then.’

-

she stalks down a hallway like death. she’s the reaper. she’s deliverance. justice. revenge. there will be no mercy when she finds them. the revolver fits perfectly in her hand. a voice calls to her overhead: ‘they died like dogs. and you weren’t there to protect them.’ she knows this voice. she hates this voice. she’s going to tear his throat out with her teeth. she kicks down a door and fires. one, two, three, four, five, six. one was enough. two through six were for sarah and mary. it doesn’t bring them back, but it feels fucking good.

not so different.

‘getting closer.’

-

she nurses a beer. or was it a whiskey? maybe it’s rum tonight. she doesn’t know the name of the bar, but it never matters. what does matter: there’s always a drink.

this was the start of it, she remembers. remaking a name for herself. answering to no one but herself. having someone else lord over her makes them think they own you. and, well, when you have something they can take away?

she takes the job from the drifters. kill some family upriver. names don’t matter. caps do. keeps the liquor flowing.

kellogg is quiet, contemplative. all she gets is the soft buzzing in the back of her mind, and then she’s shuffled off to the next memory.

-

she stands in front of a woman in a clean, white suit. not many people like that around here, anymore. and she’s got two robots flanking her with a third hovering just over her own shoulder. she’s already calculated every way to make it out of this alive if it goes bad.

institute. boogeyman. and apparently she’s gotten on their bad side. not her fault, really, if the institute’s been pissing off people with enough caps to buy her help to get back at them. the only solution she can see: the institute pays her more than that. no more problem.

so the scientist doesn’t believe her at first, that’s fine. she believes after she single handedly takes out three of their skeleton-looking synths before any of them can get a shot off.

minutemen for you, institute for me, kellogg says. how close we were to becoming the same person.

-

‘manual override initiated. cryogenic stasis suspended.’

no. no, no, no. please, she can’t watch this again.

she stares at the faces of the people as they begin to wake up. first, the confusion. then, the panic. they don’t need to open any of these pods. just one. a man wakes, a baby held in one arm. that’s the target. the man looks at her, then past her, and when she turns, she sees - herself. the back up. the pod hisses open, and the man coughs and sputters, never letting go of the child.

cruel. she wonders what the fuck she did to the institute to deserve this job. the old man could have done this himself. not hard to steal an infant from a man whose muscles have been held in stasis for two hundred years.

she raises her revolver when he won’t let go, though, and maybe that’s why she’s-he’s here. do the hard job no one else wants to do. she pulls the trigger, and the man slumps forward. the scientist with him takes the baby who cries loud, echoing off the vault walls. she wonders if that’s what mary sounded like when they took her. oh well. that was years ago and she was a different person, then.

she looks to the woman with murder in her eyes. she grins. this woman would be her justice. her deliverance. her reaper. if only they’d let her go. as it is, she’s the back up. the other scientist down the hall puts her back to sleep. the other poor suckers stay trapped in their pods, forced to suffocate until their end.

‘are you okay? your heart rate increased again.’

‘dr. amari,’ she whispers, throat laden with tears, ‘next memory.’

-

their little house in diamond city has started to become a home. shaun has started to pin his drawings everywhere. some of her, down to her distinct scar. some of his parents he can barely seem to remember. she hasn’t had the heart to tell him what she did. because she’s rather enjoyed - this. what she could have had. shaun’s got the floor covered with his comic books now, and he knows he’ll have to clean them up before dinner.

he’s a good kid. looks like a perfect mix between his mother and father. shaun laughs at travis rambling on the radio, or maybe it’s something he’s reading in his books. she’s busy cleaning her revolver, breathing in the moment.

it ends, though, as do all things. the institute’s courser steps through the door, and everything changes. shaun is to go to the institute, for good. and she’s to hunt down virgil, hiding out in the glowing sea. shaun looks up at her with confused, but understanding eyes. she doesn’t even get to say goodbye before he and the courser disappear in a flash of blue light, teleported back to the institute.

she spins the chambers on her revolver, listens to it click and whir. with a flick of her wrist, it’s done. she’ll set up in fort hagen for now. the old man will have her house cleaned out the moment she leaves, so she packs only what she needs. her guns, ammo, armor. her favorite cigars and booze, because if she’s going to the glowing sea, she’s going to enjoy herself before setting foot in that radiation bath.

she picks up shaun’s pile of comics and stacks them neatly on the desk. maybe whatever courser that cleans her place will take them back to shaun. she laughs, realizing how stupid that sounds. so she picks up the stack herself and throws the entire thing into the trash can.

she shoulders her bag and turns off the lights, locking the door behind her. at least she had the taste of her perfect little family.

good riddance.

now get out.

-

‘that’s it!’ amari shouts, but deacon isn’t listening.

he’s watching whisper wake up slowly, electrodes at the base of her skull falling as she pulls away from the chair. she touches her cheek, follows the trail of her tears from earlier. whatever she saw bothered her. a lot. she practically jumps when the pod clicks open, and he’s there in an instant, helping her out of it and steadying her shaking legs.

‘that’s why we could never find an entrance to the institute. there isn’t one. at least not an obvious one.’

‘teleportation - that’s,’ whisper starts slowly, tries to reform words. ‘how?’

‘i assume that scientist the courser - ‘ deacon stiffens. ‘ - mentioned, virgil, will know something. he’s your best bet. the glowing sea,’ amari says to him, the only one not privy to any of this, ‘that’s where you’ll find him.’

the glowing sea. a heavily irradiated expanse of land. great.

‘where’s nick?’ whisper asks.

‘he was up before you. i’m going to check on him, make sure there’s no side effects from that procedure. then i need to get ready to move h2. excuse me.’

amari leaves in a rush, but whisper stays where she is, looking dazed. he remembers the first time he used the memory pod, and he ended up much like this after it. though reliving the memories of an institute hitman couldn’t have been easy on her.

‘whisper,’ he tries, bringing her focus back to him, instead of the chair she’s burning a hole into. ‘you okay?’

‘deacon,’ she stares up at him, eyes wide. she opens her mouth to speak, cups his face like she’s trying to see if he’s real, and then her eyes shift down, and suddenly she’s kissing him.

his hands instinctively go to her hips, but the rest of his body is two steps behind his brain that is currently short circuiting. it’s over, as quick as it was unexpected, and he has a hell of an internal war trying to convince himself that he isn’t disappointed.

she pulls away slowly, eyes half-lidded, and she whispers, ‘thank you,’ against his lips, still so close he can trace out the syllables. whisper comes back to herself, eyes back to his, bright and hopeful. ‘thank you, thank you,’ she repeats.

‘wait. what?’

she’s still grinning when she bends down to pick up her sunglasses, fallen to the floor of the memory pod, and it doesn’t fade even as she drags him back upstairs to the main floor of the memory den.

[freudensteins-monster]

I wish you would write a fic where Loki and Sigyn try to one-up each other pranking Thor, Valkyrie and the Avengers while on Earth. (Thanks, and Happy New Year! xoxo)

Dear Anon, I know you probably don’t remember sending me this ask, considering you sent it on New Years Day - two years ago - but better later than never, right? (Set post-Ragnarok, minus Thanos)

Loki’s return to Earth had notexactly been celebrated, but the Avengers needed him on an upcoming mission so hispresence was tolerated. Eventually they reached the end of their patience andso he was sent to annoy Doctor Strange at the New York Sanctum. He had to begrudgingly admit that theircollection of magical knowledge and artifacts was impressive, though it paledin comparison to Asgard’s. And didn’t he feel that loss keenly? He’d managed tosquirrel away almost a hundred of his most treasured volumes into his personalpocket dimension during his all to brief reign as king but there were hundreds of thousandsmore that had been lost to the fires of Ragnarok.

The Sanctum also held another mysterioustreasure.

“Sigyn? Is that name supposed tomean something to me?” Loki replied with disinterest, not bothering to raisehis eyes from his latest book.

“It should,” Strange smirked.“She’s your wife reincarnated.”

At that Loki deigned to raise hiseyes, flitting from the irritating Strange to the mortified initiate besidehim. She was fair of face and hair, the latter pulled back in elaborate braidsthat fell down to her shoulder blades, and she wore thick gloves on her hands inaddition to the standard burgundy garb of any initiate of Kamar-Taj.

“Is this a reference to yourlurid mythologies?” Loki drawled. “Because in truth I have never taken a wife.Though if you wish me to take her off your hands I would require a substantialdowry, say the Axe of Angarrumus? I received Thor’s name in Stark’s wintersolstice gift giving game and such a weapon would mean I don’t have to lowermyself to visiting one of Midgard’s marketplaces.”

Rather than reply Strange huffedwith irritation and flounced out of the room (the sorcerer may have justturned, the Cape of Levitation did all the flouncing). The woman gave him acurt bow before disappearing into the rows of shelving, and Loki would haveforgotten all about her the moment she was gone from his sight if Strangehadn’t screamed his name as he stormed back into the library less than a minutelater.

Loki laughed. He couldn’t helpit. The Sorcerer Supreme was standing in the middle of the room, his dark bluerobes now emerald green and his famed cloak a blinding gold, as his face turnedan interesting shade of red. It was the best thing he’d seen since the Hulk hadthrown Thor around like a ragdoll in the arena.

“What? It wasn’t me,” Loki arguedas Strange continued to glare at him after he’d been able to stop laughing.

With one flick of his wrists thesorcerer changed his robes back to their original hue and with another he cutthe legs off Loki’s chair, causing the Asgardian to fall on his ass with athud.

Loki was dusting himself off whenthe woman, Sigyn, reappeared, a heavy tome in her arms and a small smileplaying on her lips.

“It was nice to meet you,” she saidin lightly accented English before leaving the room via a portal she’dconjured.

Loki stared at the space she hadoccupied for a long minute before smiling to himself, “Interesting.”

In the days leading up to theMidgard winter solstice celebrations Loki thought of the curious Sigyn often,and though he frequented the Sanctum he had not seen her again, and dared notask Strange as to her whereabouts and give away his interest. In the end she came to him, arriving via a portal on the balcony of Stark’stower along with Strange and two other sorcerers, a hour late for Stark’sChristmas party.

Since they had last crossed pathsSigyn had apparently completed her training, having exchanged her initiaterobes for more formal ones of grey overlayed with a dark purple sleeveless coatwith silver embroidery. She still wore gloves the same shade as her robes, andtoyed nervously with the bindings. Stark was being his obnoxious self as heintroduced the sorcerers to the rest of the superheroes, scientists, andobligatory celebrities gathered on the 68th floor, and just as Lokiwas sure that Strange was about to push Stark through a portal to the farreaches of the universe, the Man of Iron was distracted by his AI systemintroducing the newest arrivals to step off the elevator – in Latin. Their hostsufficiently distracted, the sorcerers began to mingle (Strange making for oneJane Foster, the next smartest person in the room, much to Thor’s thinly veiledannoyance), and Loki made his way over to Sigyn.

“That was a nice trick.”

“I have no idea what you’retalking about,” she replied automatically as she took a glass of somethingbubbly from a passing waiter.

“Of course you don’t,” Lokismiled. “Just as I have no idea what’s going on over there,” he said, pointingto the bar where Valkyrie was trying drink after drink, growing more frustratedas each turned to water on her tongue.

Sigyn stifled a laugh beforegazing around the room in search of her next target. The slight twitching ofher fingers was the only indication that she had made her play and it was a fewminutes before Loki understood what it was. There was a small commotion acrossthe room and the man out of time stumbled away from a group of overly affectionatedebutantes, a sprig of mistletoe followed him. If he stayed in one place forlonger than five seconds the mistletoe hovered over his head and the peopleclosest to him felt compelled to kiss him. It resulted in the good captainrunning laps of the room as he cursed Stark for inventing some sort ofmistletoe drone.

As the party guests laughed Sigynraised an eyebrow in challenge but before Loki could contemplate his next movea loud slap rang out. All eyes turned to find Doctor Strange getting chewed outby Doctor Foster before the petite brunette stormed off.

Sigyn gasped. “What did you do?”

“It wasn’t me. Itseems as though the Sorcerer Supreme is fully capable of making an ass out ofhimself without my assistance.”

They watched as Thor made tofollow Doctor Foster and the moment he caught up with her Loki sliced the airwith his arm, sending the former lovers flying into a storage closet at the endof the hall. He immediately sealed the room – no one would be able to heartheir cries for aid and for all Thor’s strength he would not be able to breakout of the room before dawn’s first light hit the tower.

“Really?” Sigyn scoffed.

“They have been tiptoeing aroundeach other for weeks. It’s been painful to watch. One way or another it endstonight.”

“Fair enough,” she mused as hersharp gazed scanned the room. With a sly smile she ran a finger around the rimof her glass and half the room fell silent before findingthemselves singing a rather passionate rendition of “Santa Claus is Comin’ ToTown”.

Loki barely had a moment to enjoythe confusion before he felt a sharp pinch between his ribs.

“That’s enough,” the widowcommanded, pressing a blade so hard against his side it pierced through hisleather vestments.

Before Loki could proclaim hisinnocence Sigyn took a sip from her glass and the chaos fizzled out intoconfused laughter and the sounds of drinks being topped up. Loki breathed asigh of relief as the blade was removed from his side.

“If you can’t behave yourself itmight be better for your health if you retired for the evening,” the widowsuggested before rejoining her friends.

“Haha,” Sigyn chortled into herdrink. “You lose.”

“How so?”

“You got caught,” Sigyn repliedas though it were obvious.

“But it wasn’t my trick.”

“It still counts.”

“It does not!”

“It does too!”

In a fit of frustration, and inan effort to best his sparring partner, Loki threw a glamour over Sigyn,ridding her of her robes and dressing her in a glittering golden gown similarto those he had seen a few models in attendance wearing. The figure-hugginggown was quite alluring on her, as was the amount of exposed flesh, until onegot to her now glove-free hands which were misshapen with leathery scars. Sigyndropped her champagne glass with an anguished scream when she realised whatLoki had done, angry tears filling her eyes when she felt the room staring ather. She turned on her heel and summoned a portal with her sling ring,disappearing in a shower of sparks.

“What did you do?” Strange sighedirritably as he appeared at Loki’s side.

“I may have taken things a steptoo far,” Loki conceded.

“You don’t say.”

“Is there any way to follow her?”

With another put upon sigh,Strange summoned a portal for him.

“If my favourite student doesn’tcome back, neither should you,” Strange warned before shoving him through.

The portal closed and Loki foundhimself face first in the snow. He righted himself and in the grey light he wasable to follow Sigyn’s footprints towards a church and the cemetery behind it.He found her seated before a headstone once again dressed in her in grey andpurple robes. Her gloves were lying on the ground beside her and her misshapenhands sat in her lap. Loki approached cautiously and when she failed to attackhim he sat down next to her, joining Sigyn in staring silently at the headstoneof one Marta Magnusson.

“Most days I can forget aboutthem,” she said without preamble, turning her scarred hands this way and that. “But thensomeone will comment on my gloves and I remember it anew. If I don’t wear them I have to put up with looks of disgust or pity. I’m notsure which is worse.”

“…How did it happen?”

“When I was but a child my fatherthrew me into the fireplace during one of his drunken rages, pushed me down bythe heel of his boot, my little hands pushing back against the burning logs asflames licked my face. It felt like hours of agony but my mother assured me itwas only seconds, either way the damage was done. Recovery was almost aspainful, and whenever I cried about it my mother would wipe away my tears andsay, “Women are defined by what they can endure, little Sigyn, so it is in allthe great stories, and you are far too strong to give up now.”

She fell silent then, content toignore her companion in favour of losing herself to long buried memories. Itstretched on long enough to make Loki fidget, a dozen empty platitude dying onhis silver tongue.

“I’m not showing you mine,” hemuttered, just loud enough to draw Sigyn’s attention.

“Hmm?”

“I’m not showing you my scars soyou’ll think us even,” he bit out petulantly. “Just know that I have them. Also,”he added with a belligerent sigh, “I’m sorry for bringing yours to light the wayI did. It was cruel.”

She accepted his apology with abrief nod but made no move to bury her past once more and leave the frozen cemetery. Loki sighed again, cursing his newfound sentimentality, and outstretcheda hand towards the headstone. Within minutes an ice sculpture formed behind itin the shape of a mother embracing her child. The child may have resembled Sigynbut, Loki realised too late, the mother was most definitely Frigga.

Sigyn’s eyes lit up inappreciation but as she turned to Loki her smiled faded. Loki followed her gazeto his outstretched hand, now azure blue. Chastened, he gave it frustratedshake as though his true heritage was something he could easily rid himself of.He crossed his arms to hide it from view until it returned to his prefershade and avoided meeting her eyes.

“Can you only manipulate ice?”she asked, surprising Loki.

“What?”

“Is it only ice you can create?”she repeated, smiling as her eyes drifted skyward to the flurries of snowflakesthat drifted past on the wind.

Loki, sensing mischief, smiledback. “What did you have in mind?”

The karaoke portion of Stark’s Christmasparty was due to begin, but as the host took the stage a blizzard developed outof thin air, pouring in from the balcony and blanketing the room with snow.Panicked and freezing guests sought to escape it but where met with icy gales thatpushed them back from the elevators and stairwells.

It disappeared as quickly as it came but left the entire floor covered in two feet of snow. Stark was thefirst to regain his senses, but before he could call for Loki’s head his ownwas struck with an icy projectile. He turned on the spot to find the SorcererSupreme smirking back at him, his cocky cloak dusting snow off whatever its equivalentto hands were.

“Oh, it’s on now, Strange.”

Loki hoisted himself up onto thebar and helped himself to an abandoned glass of champagne, laughing at thechaos before him as dozens of enhanced individuals engaged in an all-outsnowball war. Sigyn joined him moments later after quickly forming a portal withher sling ring to divert a wayward snowball down the back of Wong’s robes.

Loki beamed at his partner inmischief and pushed a drink into her gloved hand. “To what doesn’t kill us,” hetoasted.

Sigyn laughed and clinked herglass against his. “May it always make us a riot at parties.”

[szopenhauer]

Would you ever chew gum after someone else already has? noooo, yuk

Earrings or a necklace? necklace

Have you ever wished on 11:11? I do smth else/have different tradition

Have you ever listened to the Goo Goo Dolls? Iris, even recently

Have you ever watched Lost? nah

Do you have pictures of your exes? I think I deleted them

Do you have Ozzy Osbourne on your mp3 player? I don’t listen to him but I liked to watch Osbourne’s family tho

Do you read romance novels? the only one I could count as a romance was Five feet apart

Did you draw pictures for your crushes in preschool? no :o

Have you ever not asked someone out cause you were scared of rejection? yep

Have you ever liked someone just because of their appearance? had some crushes like this, especially celebs lol

Pink or green? green but pink with green looks interesting

A bracelet or a ring? depends

Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter? LOTR

By airplane or bus? bus

What’s the last thing you binge watched? She-ra

Do you watch youtube videos or tv shows more? yt videos

What are you tired of right now? everything

Have you ever gotten rid of something and then regretted it? If so, what?  several things, personal

How does your stomach feel right now? silence before the storm?...

Do you live in an apartment that has inspections? I don’t live in an apartment

Do you hate taking naps during the day? yes and no

Who in your immediate family has the best natural hair? my grandma has, she never got grey hair nor dandruff etc.

Do you know anyone who thinks they’re more talented than they are?   obvi

What is the origin of your last name? polish?

Have you ever been inside a Victorian mansion? I wish

What was the most boring field trip you ever went on? hmm...

What are your favorite types of videos to watch on youtube? music videos, thrift hauls, interiors, fashion, funny stuff...

What’s a DIY craft project you want to try? I’m not into DIY

Are you a hoarder? yep

Do you ever call yourself stupid in your head? often

If you were to start a collection, what would it be? not counting those I already have? for example - znicze

Would you ever give your daughter the middle name Marie? I could, especially if it was a boy :P as it’s legal to call him Maria if it’s the middle name lmfao

Do you have a relationship with God? some sort of it

Have you ever “fired” a doctor? could say so

Who is the prettiest Asian youtuber that you can think of? I don’t watch any Asian youtubers

What was the temperature where you live today? less than 30 Celsius but it felt colder

Is your sleep schedule all messed up? umm...

Did you wear green last St. Patrick’s Day? I don’t celebrate this 

Food: Are you adventurous or do you stick to what you know? stick 

Do you know both of your biological parents? I do

When was the last time you wrote so much your finger ached? last night

Do you store a lot of pictures you’ve taken that no one else has seen? ppl close to me saw them

When did you first start using the internet? regularly or very first time?

Do you prefer tents or staying in hotels? prefer hotels

Do you have any family traditions for certain holidays? Which? personal

Do you enjoy clowns / street performers or are they creepy to you? some I like

Have you ever had a teacher who would just babble about nothing? for example - we had a priest who was always talking about war times or his night dreams :D

Do you ever look at a word and think that it looks odd? hahaha it happens

Did you ever dream about being an animal? plenty

Which vowel occurs most in your whole name? A

What’s your favourite colour on a dog? dunno

Do you prefer Skirts or Dresses? dresses, I can use them as tunics

Have you ever been told you are fake? once :(

Can you do cartwheels? not well

Do you like the name Sara? no longer...

What’s your first name without an r, e, s or l? doesn’t change

What’s your age plus two divided by 4? 7.5

Do you know someone named after a month (April, May, June)? used to know May

Stop typing. What do you hear? someone is mowing grass as every other day ugh...

What was the last book you read that also is a film? Five feet apart

How often do you get a new purse or a new wallet? whenever I feel like it but I thrift them so it’s not like I spend lots of money

What is the most money that you have ever spent on getting your nails done? few PLN for a nail polish and done them myself lol

Does it matter to you if your girlfriend drinks? I wouldn’t date an alcoholic, someone who is drunk a lot and then do stupid stuff, pukes, have hangovers often, spend all their money on alcohol, smells like it, gross!

Has a little kid ever fallen asleep on your lap before? nah, just cat

If you heard your best friend’s significant other was cheating on them, would you tell them? Even if you couldn’t prove it? I’d mention that to them

Do you plan on having both your parents at your wedding? if they want to attend...

Have you ever stayed on a ride at a theme park to ride it again? nope

Where did your mother and father meet for the first time? in front of the church

Would you rather read books or magazines? depends

Have you ever had your cheek pinched? I hate that >.>

Do you own any plaid pants? I have a pair of plaid leggings and pajamas

Do you talk in your sleep? nah

Have you ever fallen off a horse? never been on a horse to fall

Can you pick things up with your toes? I do this often

If you are a girl, do you get bad PMS, or is it not so bad? my PMS were usually worse than my period

Would you rather have your shirt be too long or too short? too long

Are you the type of person who can shake insults off easily, or do they tend to stick around in your brain & bother you? stay forever

Do you like clothes with ruffles on them? usually not

Were you happy when you woke up today? I wasn’t

Have you used the opposite sex’s bathroom in a public place before? had to 

Do you rent movies frequently? I don’t have money for that

Do you quote movies or songs to answer survey questions? very rarely as it’s annoying

What is your name spelled backwards? Annazuz :3

How do you think the world will end? people will destroy it?

An alien ship lands at your house, and they want you. Do you go with them? 

If you were in a horror flick, would you be one of the first ones to die? I think I would survive or die saving someone

What movie has been taken WAY too far, as far as sequels go? most of them but it’s more shows’ thingy

Do you get a fake Christmas tree each year, or a real one? fake, I’m against using real ones

How long would you have to know someone before tying the knot? it’s not about length of time that much

Would you embarass yourself if you met your favorite celebrity? probably :x

If a person had a glass eye, would that scare you? no idea, hope not as I don’t wanna make them feel bad, sorry in advance

Are you a twin? am not

Do you get paranoid that someone’s looking at your through your window? my neighbor sometimes does so...

Mountains, oceans, or forests? forests

When was the last time you “de-haired” your hairbrush? recently?

Are any of your great grandparents still alive? they’re all dead

Where’s your significant other? visiting her dad

How much blankets do you sleep under? 1-2

Is a hair dryer a necessity for you? it is

If you were atop a tall building, would you throw stuff at people below? don’t do that!

Do you believe we really landed on the moon? I don’t give a shit

Name a movie everyone else thought was funny, but you couldn’t stand: majority of comedies tbh

What topping do you HATE on pizzas? same, I’m more into simple food

Got any interesting wigs? bunch

Can you resist temptation? most often

Would a credit card get you into trouble? if I lost it, I would be paranoid about it 24/7, omg I just got scared I’ve lost my ID and bus card 

Truth or dare? truth?

Which is more annoying: sequels or prequels? *shrug*

Do you use rechargeable batteries? when I did they were blowing up, didn’t charge back or smth like this so I prefer normal ones thank you very much

Describe the chair you’re sitting in. Is it comfy? it's so old there’s barely anything left to sit on but I have no cash for a new one nor can get that kind of chair anywhere so... 2 pillows under my butt have to be enough

What would you do if you thought someone was following you? try to lose them

[mercurygray]

I am sure you are SHOCKED but I would love a Henry/Emma story, or really anything Mercy Street. And hmm, perhaps with a holiday tradition like Christmas caroling or baking desserts.

@montanabohemian said:you should write some emmry! because i’m so predictable.

Anonymous said: A prompt for you if interested: Mary and Jed and a snowstorm

This was something I started before Christmas and never finished. And today’s as good as any to write about snow!

Stille Nacht - a Mercy Street Fanfic

It was unusual for a train to be this late.

But then, it was highly unusual for such a snowfall so early in the season, and when there is a foot of snow on every mile of track from the Berkshires to Boston, certain allowances have to be made, including four hour train delays. It could have been far worse; Henry Hopkins sat in his drafty train car and thanked heaven that it was only four hours and not four days, else he should have missed Christmas entirely. As it was, he would be only late to Christmas Eve, which was permissible, he thought.

It would be a welcome change, to be in Boston for the holidays. He had made the mistake of writing to Jed about his plans for the winter break between classes - a fireside and a good book and not much else - and the reply that had come back had almost been a marching order: Come to Boston or else. “Mary will not hear of your spending Christmas like a monk in a cloister, and begs me to remind you that you have not yet met Elias, who desires a new shoulder to spit up on, being exhausted of mine and his mother’s. We will not be a large party, so you may be called upon to perform grace, but apart from that,” Jed had written, in his blithe, unconcerned manner, “your primary duties will be the occupation of a hearthside chair, the consumption of Christmas pudding and port, one or two games of chess, and perhaps the entertainment of a very small child, if it can be fit in amidst your other onerous tasks.”

It was a cozy picture - and far preferable to two weeks spent alone in his drafty teacher’s lodgings with only the cat for company. Henry knew he would not be the only ‘stray’ at the Foster family Christmas table - Jed had already written of a visiting professor from Germany, and there were sure to be more.

He collected his case from the rack above as the train slowly screeched into the station, pistons and brakes hissing in the fog-filled twilight of the shed. The platform was a dizzying spectacle of humanity, porters and teamsters bustling to and fro around families trying to collect cases, wives waving their hellos and goodbyes, and a few black-coated businessman, trying to make a dash for the door. Henry made a beeline for the waiting room, the final figure of Dr. Jed Foster finally appearing near the doors, a jewel-blue scarf peeking out from his overcoat.

“Were you going to keep me waiting all night?” Jed asked, smiling irrepressibly.

“I thought about it,” Henry replied, his own smile just as free and easy. The two men shook hands and then embraced, laughing.

“Well, shall we go? I’m sure dinner’s a lost cause, but we may yet make it home for the midnight service at church, if you’re up for it.” Henry nodded, picking up his case again and following Jed towards the station’s exit and a nearby line of waiting black cabs, horses pawing at the pavement while their drivers sniffled in the cold.

Installing themselves in the nearest vehicle and letting the driver tap his horses away to Beacon Hill, Henry settled himself into what he hoped would be the last leg of his journey and took a good look at Jed. Married life and peacetime, it seemed, had changed him - there was a touch more gray around his hair, and in his beard, which was shorter than Henry remembered it at Mansion House. Was the war really two years ago now? It seemed so much less remote than that. The scarf was obviously new, and not in a color he thought Jed himself would have picked. And there was a certain…easiness in him now, a lightening of the shoulders and the spine that spoke of a willing partner to the day’s cares. “Fatherhood suits you,” he ventured.

His friend looked surprised to be found so. “Does it? I’ve been reliably informed it won’t last - in a few months the boy will forget how to sleep ten hours at a stretch and then, my friend, I think I shall be very sorry I ever clapped eyes on his mother.”

“But you like it, so far?”

Jed considered a minute, his thoughtful gaze turning, once more, to a grin. “He is…the tiniest thing, Henry. I know exactly what went into him, how he works and moves, and yet - every time I look at him I marvel.”

And Henry only smiled.

It was not a long way to Jed and Mary’s house - a flourishing practice and plenty of teaching work had left the Fosters amply supplied where their choice of lodging was concerned, and Beacon Hill was handy for the Common and the General Hospital, as well as the houses of the Boston Brahmins who formed the bulk of Jed’s private practice. There was a wreath upon the door of the Foster demesne, and in the window, one of the newfangled Christmas trees pressed its arms into the glass, the mirrored glass of its ornaments glimmering faintly in the light from the streetlamp.

“They may have already gone,” Jed offered, turning his key in the lock and letting the two of them inside. “What ho, the house!”

“We’re in the parlor, dear.” Henry smiled at the familiar voice, hanging up his hat, at least, and trying his best to leave most of the snow on his shoes at the door as Jed slid the pocket doors back and let Henry into the parlor.

It might have been a scene from a Christmas card - Jed in the role of Joseph, admitting one tired and slightly amazed shepherd into the stable to marvel at the newborn King, cooing in his mother’s arms as a visiting shepherdess looked on - another stray caught in for Christmas, no doubt. The room was dim, the only light a few oil tablelamps, at Mary’s elbow and on the desk, catching the spangled garland on the tree and sending flashes of light around the room. Mary looked up, smiling at Jed’s entrance, and the attendant friend did, too, and Henry’s heart skipped a beat, recognizing the face as someone who has seen a long-loved ghost.

“Miss Green!”

For so it was - the same bright eyes and slim smile, the same dark hair and trim waist that had invaded upon his thoughts so at Mansion House, all those years ago. And yet she seemed unchanged in loveliness.  

“Chaplain,” she offered, just as forthright as ever, holding out one white hand. “Or should I say Professor now?”

“Either will do,” Henry managed, taking her hand and shaking it, weaker than he wished to. It still beggared belief - her, here?

“I think my presence is a shock,” she said, smiling politely. “Perhaps Doctor Foster neglected to mention?” She looked at Jed, who looked suspiciously pleased with himself and gave a kind of apologetic shrug.

“Miss Green is studying at the Hospital,” Mary said, rising from her chair with the infant in her arms. “A somewhat unofficial course in nursing, but I expect they’ll standardize it soon, when they see the benefit that can be had from such a study. They’ve kindly agreed to let her off the ward today so she can spend the time with us. And this,” she said, turning so his head might face towards Henry, “Is Elias, who has been waiting so patiently to see you.”

“Hello there,” Henry said, glad of the distraction. “My apologies for keeping you up so late.” He offered a finger, gently stroking the infant’s cheek, and Elias stared at him in goggle-eyed wonderment, too tired or amazed to do anything else but blink and then, eyes fluttering closed, give one titanic yawn and turn his face away back to his mother’s breast.

“I think we may put him to bed before we go for the service,” Mary said judiciously, more to Jed than anyone else. “Sarah’s about, if he should wake up. But he’ll sleep, I think; he’s had a long afternoon flirting with Emma.”

The use of the word ‘flirting’ sent a frisson through the room, though whether or not it was intentional none could tell. Mary ascended the stairs to put the child to bed while the other three waited below in the hall, putting on hats and gloves to venture out into the night to church.

“Was it a long trip? From Williamstown?” Emma asked, the soul of politeness.

“Longer than it should have been,” he admitted, shrugging back into his winter clothes suddenly very self-conscious about the developing rip in one of his gloves. “May I?” He’d been  watching, transfixed, as she wrapped a muffler around her neck, at the same time reaching for her coat. She looked a little startled by the offer, but acquiesced, letting him hold the garment as she slipped her arms inside and tied her bonnet on.

Mary came back downstairs with quiet feet, letting her husband help her into her coat and shawl while Emma held her prayerbook. “He’s sleeping,” she said, to no one in particular. “He’ll be good for Sarah.”

The snow muffled the sounds of the city as they walked to church, streetlamps throwing a golden haze into the softness of the night. It was the kind of evening Henry had always pictured when the time for singing hymns like ‘Silent Night’ approached, though every good theologian could tell you Christ hadn’t been born in wintertime, nor was it likely there was a halo of snow around the manger where he’d lain. A patch of ice surprised Emma, and she gave a yelp, catching at his arm to keep from falling. “I think you’d better keep that,” he said, and her hands stayed where they were, wrapped around his coatsleeve, drawing the two of them closer together than he had  been to a woman for quite some time. Did he presume too much? Two years was long enough.

But she did not move her hands, nor was her closeness a burden to him, and in the evening chill, he felt himself grow warm again.

Ten steps behind and taking the road carefully, Mary watched the pair with bird-bright eyes and glanced pointedly at her husband. “You look like a cat who’s just gotten into the cream, dear,” she observed with a smile. “I suppose you think yourself quite clever, surprising Henry like that.”

“What, me?” Jed Foster put a face of pure innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His wife rolled her eyes. “Inviting Henry for Christmas and conveniently forgetting to tell him that Emma would be here.”

“I am entirely innocent of whatever you’re suggesting,” Doctor Foster repeated with a lofty air, though no amount of artifice could hide the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Mary nodded sagely, knowing full well what her husband was up to.

“Be gentle, Jed. That’s all I ask. They’re grown people who ought to know their own minds before someone else makes them up for them.”

They said nothing more on the subject for the rest of their walk, filing quietly into church and carefully taking their candles, four more lonely shepherds come to sing, and watch, and wait for news of the Christ-child. But Mary couldn’t deny that it made her own heart a little warmer to watch her two houseguests bend their heads over the hymnal, and smile in surprise at their shared harmony,  basking in the glow of the candles, the whole world around them warm with promise.

[hotsterfield]

Christmas - Tom Holland

Word count: 2559

Masterlist | Promptlist

A/N: Someone requested this, and it was what i had in mind for my Christmas special, so i decided to do it!

It is so heavily based on my family traditions. So to the Danes, i’m really sorry if i messed up on some of it, but I’m only an expert on my own traditions! This is kind of how i imagine it would be like, to bring a not danish guy home for Christmas! So Merry Christmas and happy New year!

“Welcome home love” You mum said as she opened the door for you and Tom. She quickly pulled you into a hug, before looking at Tom. “And Tom. It’s great to have you here”

“It’s great to be here, Mrs l/n” Tom said politely, as he also got pulled into a hug.

“Come on in! We’re about to start decorating the Christmas tree. We’ve been waiting for you two to show up” You mum hurried you into the living room, where you found your siblings. You greeted them, and Tom kept in the background. He had met your parents, but never your siblings. He wanted to make a good impression.

“So, this is the lover boy, huh? Thomas, right?” You sister greeted him, with a smug smile. If you knew your siblings right, they were going to scare him, just like you had done so many times before with your siblings’ friends.

“Yeah. And Tom is fine. I usually just use Tom. It’s a pleasure to meet you” Tom said, smiling kindly.

“So… Tom. You are dating out baby sister. I’m just pointing out, that the sentence for murder in Denmark, isn’t that long, so if you don’t take care of her, I will take care of you Your brother said dead serious, causing you to glare at him. “But welcome to the family!” Your brother said happily, as he pulled a confused Tom into a hug.

“I am. And I will. She’s the most amazing girl I’ve ever met, so I’m not going to risk losing her. Even if it means spending Christmas in Denmark” Tom answered happily, as he gave your blushing cheek a kiss.

“Before the two of you get all lovey dovely, we need to decorate the tree. Mom is making… Risengrød” Your sister commented, as she looked at Tom. “Eh, rice porridge. Pudding? Does it even have a translation?”

“I don’t think so? I think it’s pretty Danish” You said, uncertain. “It’s like a porridge, made of rice. You boil the rice in milk, and then we eat it with butter and cinnamon with sugar. We also pour this fruity drink in the bowl, when we eat it” You tried to explain to Tom, but you realised how crazy it must’ve sounded to him.

“So, is that the dessert?” Tom asked with frowned eyebrows.

“Kinda. But in our family, we eat it for dinner, on the 23rd. It’s a tradition. Just like how the air balloon is the first thing to go on the tree!” You said, grabbing the pixy in an air balloon, and putting it on the tree. It was beautifully embedded with small glass pearls.

“Is that one more special than the others?” Tom asked, as he started taking some of the other items up from the box.

“Yeah. When our parents first got this house, and they spent their first Christmas here, they didn’t have any stuff for the tree. They made everything from paper, so it was just all white. The air balloon was the first thing they got, and the first coloured thing on the tree” You explained, as you all started decorating the tree. It didn’t take long before the tree was decorated, and you stepped back as your sister put the last ornament on it.

“And then we just need the star” She said, as she gave the star to your brother. He was the tallest in the family, so he always got to put the star on the top.

“Don’t we need to turn it on as well?” Tom asked, as your brother placed the star safely on the top.

“No. We turn it on tomorrow, after dinner” You sister said, as your dad started setting the table.

“So. Tom. What do you do? What do you study?” Your dad asked. Your parents had only met Tom a couple of times, and only very briefly. You had never really told them about the fact the he was an actor, but you had hinted it a lot of times. You had even been on a couple of gossip magazines.  

“I am an actor, so I don’t study anything” Tom answered, as he started helping your dad setting the table, like the gentleman he is.

“Yeah dad. Y/n’s boyfriend is famous. How did you think she met all of those big actors? You don’t just run into Robert Downey Junior or Chris Hemsworth in London” Your sister looked at your dad surprised.

“So, you’re a successful actor then? In movies? Any movies I know of?” Your dad kept asking, making you roll your eyes.

“He plays Spider-Man. I sent you a picture of him. In his spider suit. I’ve sent you a picture, of him. In a magazine. In his spider suit!” You said with a laugh.

“I thought he just had a really good costume! Spider-Man is your favourite hero, so I thought he just had a really good costume, because you like it. But of course. If anyone is going to date their childhood crush, it has to be you” Your dad smiled, as your mom came in with the risengrød.

“Y/n, why didn’t you tell us Tom is an actor? And a big one too!” Your mother said, as everyone took their seats.

“Because you would judge him based on that. And you would interrogate him with whatever stuff google tells you! Besides, we’ve watched two of his movies. You even pointed out how one of the actors looked like Tom” You said, shaking you head in a laugh.

“And Tom. Since you’re the guest, you get to start! There’s an almond in there, and whoever finds it, gets a present” You gave the big bowl of risengrød to Tom. After he had taken a portion, you guided him through the cinnamon and butter. As he took the first spoonful, he got a strange expression on his face.

“That was not the taste I was expecting, but I think I like it. It’s very creamy” Tom commented, as he took a second spoonful.

***

“Your family is really competitive. I had no idea that you could get so competitive, and strangely enough, I think it’s kinda hot” Tom confessed, as you got into your room. You had been playing board games most of the nights, and everyone in your family always wanted to win.

“Then just wait till you meet the rest of my family. They’re much worse than me!” You laughed, as you sat down on the bed. “Do you want the bed? I don’t mind taking the mattress”

“We can just share the bed. I don’t mind being close to you” He said lovingly, as he put his arms around you.

“Tom. We usually share a king size bed. This is a single bed. You’re either going to push me off of the bed, or squash me against the wall” You shook your head, smiling at Tom.

“I’m not! I’ll have my arms around you, so if you fall, so do I” He insisted, with his puppy eyes.

“You know I can’t say no to you and your gorgeous eyes” You said, leaning in towards his lips. “But if you push me down, you can sleep on the mattress”

“Deal” Tom said, before connecting your lips.

***

The following day had been long, but you had enjoyed every moment of it. You had started the day of with a family breakfast, before you had started preparing the food for the dinner. Just after noon, you had all gone to church. Tom had tried so hard to stay focused in the church, but he didn’t understand a word that was being said, so it didn’t take long before he started entertaining the little girl in the row in front of you instead.

When you got home, everyone took their seat on the couch, as you watched the last episode of the Christmas calendars. It was another thing you needed to explain to Tom. That you in Denmark had a tv show, specially made for December, with an episode every day till Christmas.

“So the girl, Tinka, is a nisse. Like a pixy, or a leprechaun thing. She lives in the Nisse world, where they hate humans, because humans stole their Christmas star and their magic. Then she found out the she was a half human, and everyone got scared of her, so she went into the human world, where she found the boy, Lasse, who helped her find the Christmas star.

The nisse crowns prince killed his father, so he could become king. He’s a really bad person, but Tinka and Lasse found the kings other son in the human world, who also turned out to be Tinkas father. Now the evil prince is in the tower of loneliness, and they just have to do a ritual to get back the magic” You had explained to a very focused Tom. Just about every Dane knew the concept of a Christmas calendar, but Tom didn’t have a chance at understanding it without seeing it.

It was always a boy and a girl, who somehow need to save Christmas. There was always an evil person, and relatively often also a younger sister. The Christmas calendar was one of your favourite Christmas traditions, and Tom really wanted to love it with you, so he tried his hardest to understand it.

After watching Tinka, you watched the last episode of another Christmas calendar. “The Julekalender”, a show everyone knew, and the only show being aired every year. It was a lot harder to explain, and you eventually had time give up. You watched as Tom sat with a confused expression, as they started speaking a mix of Danish and English. The Julekalender was really a concept you couldn’t explain, it was just there. A part of the Danish Christmas for over 25 years.

After you finished watching the Christmas calendars, your grandmother arrived. When she was introduced to Tom, the language barrier came. She had a hard time understanding English, and Tom? Danish wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

“So your grandmother only speaks Danish?” Tom asked. He really wanted to impress your whole family.

“Well no. She’s fluent in Danish and German. She also speaks Spanish, just not English. She also speaks south Danish, but that technically doesn’t count as a language” You said, as your grandmother started talking to your siblings.

“That’s actually quite impressive. What about the rest of your family? Do they speak English?” Tom asked, suddenly nervous about meeting the rest of your family on the 25th.

“Yeah. I’m actually not sure about my grandparents on my mother’s side. My mom’s mother isn’t that great at it, but I don’t know about my grandfather. He used to be a UN peacekeeping solider, so I think he has some basic knowledge. But everyone does speak English. Even my 11-year-old cousin is pretty close to fluent” You said.

You grandmother came back to you and Tom, and you started talking to her about Tom. After a short time, the clock hit 18, and dinner was served. You all took your seats, and the food started going around.

“Y/n, I’m not sure what half of this food is” Tom said to you, in a low voice.

“Right. You know the duck, and the sauce. The boiled potatoes. Those are brown potatoes, it’s basically just caramelized potatoes. Then there’s red cabbage, and old fashioned white cabbage” You explained, as you pointed to the different items. “Oh. And that’s boiled apples with a bit of jelly on them”

“That’s a lot of cabbage. And why would you caramelize potatoes?” He looked sceptically at the brown potatoes.

“Just try it. It won’t kill you. Might ruin your diet, but I promise we’ll work out later in the week” You said, giving him a small peck on the cheek.

Tom carefully tried all of the different foods, but he was not a fan of the brown potatoes. The dinner went on nicely, with a lot of small talk, and stories. You and your siblings helped translate the conversations between Tom and your grandmother.

After having eaten most of the duck, you all just sat there, talking and laughing. After about half an hour, you cleaned up the table, before bringing in the dessert.

“are we having the. “risangroat”? Tom asked, trying hard to pronounce the word right, but not quite making it.

“No. It’s similar, but there’s chopped almonds in it, and vanilla. It’s sweeter, and it’s cold. We eat it with warm cherry sauce on” You smiled. “And if you find the whole almond, you get a present. Just like yesterday”

“I like how you turned food into a competition. It’s kind of a strange concept” Tom said, as he took a plate of risalmande. This time it was your grandmother who ended up finding the almond.

After having cleaned the table once more, everyone but your father left the living room.

“Why are we in the kitchen?” Tom asked, making you smile. This was one of your favourite parts of Christmas.

“He’s turning on the tree. When everything is lit, we go in and dance around the tree” You said in a calm tone.

“Dance? What do you mean dance?” Tom asked confused. Dancing around the tree wasn’t really something you did in most countries, so you could understand why it might seem a little strange.

“Well. We are going to make a circle around the tree, and then walk around it, while we sing Christmas carols” You explained with a smile.

“Okay. Is this something everyone does, or is it just one of your family traditions?” He asked, still a bit confused.

“Everyone does it. In Denmark, at least. I’m not sure about the rest of Scandinavia” You said, and in the same moment, your father opened the door, letting you back into the living room.

The tree was beautiful, and you looked at it in awe. There was just something about the lights from the candles and the tree, that made everything seem kind of magical. You took Toms hand, as you started singing the carols. Tom was humming along, since he knew the melodies, but not the Danish lyrics. You took a few songs in English, like jingle bells.

At the final song, a slightly faster carol, you held on tightly to Tom, as your entire family started running around the house, singing “nu er det jul igen”. Out of breath, you stopped back in the living room.

“So what happens now?” Tom asked, as everyone caught their breath.

“Now, we open the presents” Your mom smiled.

Your sister started reading the names on the presents, and handing them out. You all took turns handing out the presents, and when you were halfway, you got a present from Tom.

When you opened it, you found a beautiful jewellery set. It was silver, with blue gemstones embedded. It contained a neckless, earrings, a bracelet and a ring. The ring was absolutely gorgeous, and you carefully sat the box down, so you could give Tom a hug.

“Thank you. It’s so beautiful. You really didn’t have to” You said with your arms around him.

“Of course, I had to. Only the best is good enough for my princess” Tom said, as he gave you a quick kiss.

TAGLIST

@rock-n-roll-queens @m-sterre @exclusively-inclusive @@rock-n-roll-queens @m-sterre @exclusively-inclusive @behxndthemask @stephie-senpai @gaiasambuci 

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Teen Wolf Stranger Things AU.

Stiles is walking home from Scott’s house when he feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise. The streetlights overhead begin to flicker before the bulbs go out, immersing the street in darkness. Stiles turns around but he was too late.

He feels his legs being wrenched from beneath him, a cry tearing at his throat as he falls to the ground. He claws at the earth, his fingers raking across concrete and dirt as the creature drags him into the forest. He thrashes about and kicks himself free of the beast’s hold. He scrambles to his feet, stumbling as he ran as fast as he could away from the creature.

He feels the creature’s claws tear through his bag, pulling it from his back and tossing it aside before chasing after Stiles.

Stiles trips and falls down an incline, hitting the ground with a painful thud. He finds himself immersed in a world of darkness and decay, but he didn’t have the chance to dwell on his thoughts; the creature is closing in. He scrambles to his feet and runs.

The next morning, Claudia wakes up to find her son missing; his bed not slept in, his school books still sitting on his desk and his lacrosse gear by the door. She begins to panic and runs to the Sheriff’s office to tell them that Stiles is missing, but no one believes her because of her dementia. Sheriff Stilinski tries to calm his wife down and takes her home, promising that he’ll look for Stiles and telling her that there’s probably nothing to worry about; Stiles might have just slept over at Scott’s for the night.

Sheriff Stilinski goes to the school to look for his son, but he’s not there. He pulls Scott aside and asks him if he’s seen Stiles but Scott says he hasn’t seen him since he left to go home last night. Sheriff Stilinski begins to worry. He calls out a search party and rumours quickly spread that Stiles ran away from home. That is, until the search party stumbles upon something in the woods: Stiles’ backpack, torn and discarded.

Meanwhile, Claudia notices the lights around the house flickering as she moves between rooms. She has a haunting feeling that there’s something behind it. She clambers into the cupboard under the stairs, where Stiles used to hide when he was younger and scared, and pulls out a box full of Christmas decorations. She picks up a tangled mess of Christmas lights and holds them before her.

“Stiles,” she whispers weakly. “I don’t know what’s going on and it’s starting to scare me. The lines between reality and my waking nightmares are beginning to fade, so I’m hoping that I’m onto something here and not just losing my mind. So, if you can hear me, can you give me some sort of sign?”

For a moment, nothing happens. Claudia bows her head, her heart sinking as defeat and sorrow begins to settle in her chest. Then, suddenly, the cluster of lights burst to life.

Claudia lets out a sigh of relief but quickly composes herself. “Okay. Blink once for yes and twice for no, alright? Are you okay? Are you… alive?”

The lights blink. Once.

Her nerves begin to settle. “Do you know where you are?”

The lights blink twice.

“Hang on, I have an idea.” Claudia grabs the box of lights and pulls them into the living room, stringing them up over the walls and the roof. Colourful bulbs stream into the hallway and throughout the house. He grabs a marker and scrawls letters across the wall. Finished, she steps back and says, “Okay, Stiles, sweetie, talk to me. Tell me how I can help you. Tell me what I should do.”

The lights above the letters light up one by one. R. U. N.

Claudia’s heart skips a beat. All the lights in the room light up, strobing and buzzing with electricity.

She spins around, her eyes focused on the far wall. She’s frozen in place, watching as the plaster and wallpaper began to bubble and melt away, revealing a opaque grey barrier. Claudia creeps over to the wall, reaching out as her hand touches the flesh-like barrier.

Beyond it, she sees a figure running towards her. Stiles.

He frantically glanced over his shoulder before looking at his mum. His lips move around a word that she cannot hear, but she knows what it is.

“Run.”

Stiles takes off running, disappearing into the darkness as another figure draws near. This thing isn’t human. It throws itself at the wall, jagged claws and piercing teeth tearing through the fleshy barrier.

Claudia screams and runs out onto the street. She falls into a pair of arms, thrashing about as she tries to break free. Sheriff Stilinski holds her close, talking to her softly as he tries to calm her down enough to ask what’s wrong.

“It’s coming through the wall,” she mutters between broken sobs. “It’s coming through the wall.”

Sheriff Stilinski can’t help but feel anxious about this. He carefully ushers Claudia towards his deputy and tells him to look after her. He makes his way towards the house, pushing open then front door and stepping inside. It’s pitch black, the only light being that that seeps in through the front door. He makes his way down the hallway, his chest tight and his heart pounding against his ribs. He draws his gun and cocks it, holding his breath as he steps into the living room.

Nothing.

The walls are undamaged and the only thing that’s out of place is the mess of Christmas lights strung up around the house.

Sheriff Stilinski sighs and glances out into the front yard where his distressed wife is crying. Amidst her broken babbling and tears, he hears her say a name: “Stiles.”

Scott is beginning to worry about his friend, wanting nothing more than to be out there helping the sheriff’s department find Stiles. But Sheriff Stilinski had said that he should stay in school, just in case Stiles turned up. But that doesn’t put him at ease.

Everyone at school is staring at him and spreading rumours that Stiles has run away or, worse, that he’s dead. Scott tells them they’re wrong, but the only person who believes him is Allison.

The next day, they’re sitting together at lunch and Scott notices that the lights are flickering all over town.

“Maybe it has something to do with the electrical currents that flow through Beacon Hills,” Allison suggests.

“What?”

“Danny, Lydia and I were studying together and Danny’s writing an essay on the geographical electric currents that flow through Beacon Hills,” Allison explains.

“The lights were doing this around the time that Stiles disappeared,” Scott says. “Maybe it has something to do with it. We should ask Danny what he knows.”

Scott turns to leave when Allison catches his hand. “There’s one problem,” she says softly. “Danny’s in hospital.”

“What?”

“He was stabbed last night,” Allison tells him. “I mean, we can visit, but he might not be conscious.”

Scott lets out a dejected sigh. “It’s worth a shot, right?”

They go to visit Danny in hospital. He’s not conscious but Allison points out the backpack sitting by his bed. Scott crosses the room and begins to rifle through the textbooks, notebooks, and loose pieces of paper until he finds the essay.

“What are you doing?” Danny rasps, startling Scott.

He glances over his shoulder at Allison, both of them panicking.

“I’m not doing anything, Danny,” Scott replies “This is just a dream that you’re having.”

“Why are you going through my stuff?” he asks weakly.

“Right, but only in the dream,” Scott insists.

“Why would I dream about you going through my stuff?”

“I don’t know, Danny,” Scott replies. “It’s your dream. Take responsibility for it.”

Danny falls quiet again, asleep. That’s when Allison notices the gashes torn out of Derek’s stomach and arms.

“Scott, these aren’t stab wounds,” she whispers. “They’re too wide and irregular to have been made by a knife. The tearing looks more like a mauling, like he was slashed open by a bear or a wolf.”

“There hasn’t been wolves in Beacon Hills for sixty years,” Scott recited, remembering the strange fact Stiles had told him.

Their anxious suspicions begin to grow. They leave the hospital and drive back towards Scott’s house. Allison reads the essay to him as they drive and when they get to Scott’s house he prints off a map and marks out the electrical currents.

“There are points at which they converge,” Scott says. “On Church Street, heading towards the woods… That’s on the way to Stiles’ house.”

“They merge at the school too,” Allison pointed out. “That’s where Danny was last night when he was attacked.”

“So where else to they merge?” Scott asked, his eyes rolling over the picture.

“Here,” Allison points at the map.

Scott freezes. It’s Stiles’ house.

Scott and Allison rush to the Stilinski house, piecing things together. They arrive, ready for action: Scott wielding his mother’s baseball bat. They frantically try to explain everything they know to the Sheriff (Claudia’s not there, she was admitted to hospital after the earlier incident) and he begins to believe them.

Sheriff Stilinski gets a rifle, passing it to Allison as he readies himself to fight. 

They know what they have to do: they need to guard the rift or else the creature could get loose, or worse; it could catch Stiles as he tries to get out.

The rift opens and the creature breaks out. They fight back but guns don’t seem to work. The creature gets the upper hand, knocking Scott aside and pinning him to the ground.

Something else comes though the rift, grabbing Melissa’s bat as they charge forward. They swing and slam the creature over its head, stunning it.

Scott stares up at his saviour, breathing out a sigh of relief as he looks at his friend. “Stiles.”

Stiles grabs Scott’s arm and drags him to his feet, hurrying past the others and into the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of his father’s whiskey and a dish towel. He unscrews the lid and shoves the rag into the bottle until it’s partially soaked in alcohol; a make-shift Molotov cocktail. He grabs a lighter from the top draw and lights the other end of the cloth.

Stiles hurries into the other room and hurls the Molotov at the creature. The glass shatters and the liquor ignites. The creature is consumed by the roaring flames, scratching as its flesh boils away to nothing.

A strange quiet settles and it takes them a moment to realise that it’s over.

The next few days, they try to return to normality, try to pretend that Stiles never left or that they never saw the things they saw, but there’s one question that lingers in the back of their mind: Is the Stiles that came out of the rift the same Stiles that went in, or is he something different?

[hollywoodx4]

Sticking with the Schuylers (50)

It’s been too long, thank you for your patience! There’s a lot going on in these next few parts, so I’ve been hunkered down with research and re-writing (and what’s now just about 10 pages of notes and little bits of story that need a home). But this is the 50th part. shit. I know I say it a lot, but it’s genuinely amazing to me that you are still reading this-I know it’s long, but it’s my baby and I’m so glad there are people out there that love my baby too.

Anyway, sorry about that. Here’s PART 50!! YAY!! CELEBRATE!!

1  2  3  4   5   6   7   8   9   10   1112   I  13  14   15   16   17   18A  18B   18C  I19   20   21   22   23   24   25  26   27  28   29   I  30  31  32 33 34  35  36  3738  39 40  41  42 I 43  44  B  45 46  47 48 49

Tagging: @linsnavi  @workworkbae​ @adothoe @oosnavi​

Warnings: This story is pretty heavy on mentions of both physical and emotional abuse

               Her red rubber boots are heavy as they carry her through the snow; it’s another frigid day in February, falling into those last few chugging weeks that lead miserably into the promise of spring. There is a slight swell of snow which the wind picks up and tosses around in the air, patterns rising and falling and whipping themselves onto the exposed skin of her face. Eliza takes the biting winds and bitter flakes of snow with not so much as a blinking eye; there is no difference between this outdoor battle and the syncopated thrumming of her heart.

She’d only felt this particular brand of terror once before, when she was much younger. The memory plays in her mind like a scratched up record not quite able to be destroyed.  Her mother did not take a single moment of misbehavior from her daughters, not even when they were still wearing matching outfits and sitting on Santa’s lap at the Christmas tree lighting ceremony. Phillip was a bit more lenient, but only with the innocence of one of his daughter’s sparkling eyes or tiny hands in his. They got away with very little as children, but it never bothered the sisters much. They were good girls, polite and charming in public and loud and raucous at home. Peggy caused the brunt of the trouble, with her child-hearted mischief and wild temperament. Angelica’s brand of trouble followed words that grew a bit too feisty, arguments that were biting especially when she hit puberty. Eliza, the ‘sweet, quiet one,’ was known to never raise her voice. She was an adaptive child, one who’d always take the flavor of lollipop neither of her sisters wanted, or to sit squeezed tight between them in the town car. She’d only once known the sinking, harrowing physicality of getting into trouble, and the experience still makes her heart pulse irregularly.

               She’d been eight years old at the time, old enough to know the rules but just young enough for her naïve, impressionable air to take a stronger hold. If she closes her eyes on this campus, ignores the smog of her breath mixing into the air, or the bitter cold making its way through her red rubber boots and woolen socks, she can feel herself shrink down to the age of headband bows and tulle church dresses. Eight years old was young, infantile compared to Angelica’s graceful eleven. Even the word of her age seemed juvenile; everything did in this time, where her older sister was already getting excited about middle school and leaving Eliza back at the little private elementary school they’d been walking to together for three and a half years. She was excited, Angelica, early on. And in the case of this particular memory, Angelica was excited for middle school in February-the day she turned eleven.

               She’d been wearing a new dress; they all were, the sisters, but Angelica’s was the prettiest. Hers was a matte black, straight at the hips. Her tights were patterned and sheer, and on the edge of her shoes was a heel-a heel. Eliza feels her own flat boots bring her closer to choking nerves as she remembers those shoes, shiny and sleek and tucked away in her mother’s bag until they got to the restaurant. It didn’t seem fair; her flat, bow-topped Mary Janes didn’t shine the way Angelica’s new boots did. They didn’t make her tall, or elegant, or old. They just made her feel young-and even worse, without the attention of her parents.

               As tradition would have it, Angelica was tasked with choosing the place they would eat dinner, a special night out to honor her birthday. They ended up at an Italian place they’d only been a few times, before the rare and exciting nights they’d be taken to a show or a fancy exhibit, out past their bedtimes and allowed an extra sweet treat to share. Angelica chose a booth by the window, and the seat closest to the foot traffic outside. She ordered a Shirley Temple and crossed her legs underneath the table as she drank it, dainty and graceful, straight from a glass. Eliza sipped reluctantly on her milk, shifted her once crossed legs so she might sit like her older sister. The table was too high, just by the fraction of an inch that made it annoying for her to keep an elbow over-bent as she tucked into her pasta. She couldn’t sit like Angelica. She couldn’t wear high heels, or drink a Shirley Temple, and she certainly couldn’t handle herself the way her older sister did.

               Eliza never got in any real sort of trouble as a child-except two nights after this birthday that had left her feeling more upset than celebratory.

               She hadn’t been thinking-there was the first clue to her naivety. From the moment they’d gotten home from the restaurant, and Angelica had opened her presents and said her thanks…from the moment Eliza crawled into her older sister’s bed after they’d all been tucked in separately, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about those shiny black heeled shoes. And when Angelica had sighed, turned her head to come nose to nose with Eliza and stroked her moon-like cheeks, Eliza’s eight year old heart sunk.

               “I’m going to miss you when I’m in middle school, Betsy,” She’d said. “If you were old enough, we could go together.”

               The black heels had looked so nice on her; she’d twirled around in the mirror all morning, coveting the prizes as she paired them with her own flared out party dress. There in the mirror, Eliza puffed out her chest and fashioned her hair into the best rendition of a French braid her poorly trained hands could manage. And then, she’d tucked the shoes into her backpack and left for a friend’s house. She remembered the prim, popular little redhead. She remembered the way she’d stared longingly at the high heels Eliza had brought; all the girls in their party dresses had envied her, thought her old and mature to be clicking around the house during the movie star themed sleepover. She’d thought highly of herself, too, glancing in each mirrored surface at the level of those shining shoes, refusing to take them off.

               There was pizza at the party, with sauce that rolled from crust and onto the shiny shoes. She’d wiped them with a cloth and said nothing, continued on with the night. There was dancing, and a fashion show, and by the time the party was over the next morning Eliza had forgotten about the heels on her feet completely. Then, her mother had come.

               In the present day, as her woolen socks finally succumb to the cold, Eliza shudders at the memory of Catherine Schuyler’s contorted expression of horror as she looked down at her middle daughter’s feet. The shiny, coveted shoes had been ruined, scuffed and stained and played in. She’d shaken her head, made her change into her old winter boots in front of each girl at the sleepover and carry the heels between shaking fingers. Her wide eyes were brimming with unshed tears of embarrassment, her mother’s eyes on her until she got to Angelica’s bedroom door.

               “You need to own up to what you’ve done.” Catherine scolds her with a lower voice and crossed arms, knocking on Angelica’s door for her. She shrinks within herself, ducks into her shoulders with a reddened, weeping expression.

               “You need to own up to what you’ve done.” It’s the same thing James says to her years past those childhood months she worked toward buying Angelica a new pair of shoes. At eight years old the words had felt just as life-shattering as at eighteen. This time, however, there is no pair of shiny shoes. Eliza stands in front of James with her eyes narrowed in confusion. She shakes. She doesn’t understand.

               “You know I have a problem, and yet you continue to drink like it’s nothing. You’re eighteen, for fucks sake. You shouldn’t even be having alcohol in the first place.”

               “It was at Angelica’s, I stayed over. I,”

               “Don’t give me that,” He is a picture of beauty, her James. With his tanned skin and freckles, bright eyes and pearly teeth, a freeze-frame of the moment would capture nothing but each of his remarkable features. Even when he is upset, he is still a pretty picture of the beautiful thing they had built so many months ago. She is sorry. She’s sorry when his tone grows from Catherine’s low leveled voice to his own booming argument; when he rises from the couch to approach her. Her body jerks in shock, an unsolicited movement she attempts to cover with a stretch.

               “You’re getting to be crazy. You know that, right? You walk around here like you’re waiting for something bad to happen, and you sit around treating me like the bad guy. I don’t know what else I could do for you to get you to stop being such a victim every time I say something you don’t like.”

               “I’m sorry.”

               “You know, considering the fact that the whole drinking thing is hereditary, and something you know about, a good girlfriend would probably be a little more considerate than this.”

               “Are you drinking right now?”

               “Maybe I should be!” He clenches his fists, opens and shuts them and walks around the living room with the first signs of a narrow-lipped scowl cracking his beautiful features. “Now that you’ve gone out and done it, why shouldn’t I? You’re tempting me again. If I fall down this hole, think about that. All you ever do is tease me, Eliza. And then you walk around like I’m the one causing all of your problems.”

               “That’s not true.”

               “It’s not?” Eliza’s gutsy, randomly sparked confidence drives her rebuttal through shaking nerves she hides well. Even as he hears her, takes his own straightened posture and incredulous air of defense, she sucks in her breath. This time will be different. Angelica’s voice rings through her head-you need to start saying no to him. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, or what he’s saying that’s getting you so upset, but you don’t deserve this.

               “It’s not.” Her voice takes half a step up, tripping over itself before she regains her composure. “It’s not true. I’m not trying to disrespect you, that’s why I spent the night at Angelica’s.”

               “You know it makes me upset when you do that-I don’t know where you are, or if you’re safe.”

               “If I text you while I’m there and you know that I’m there, I don’t see where the problem is, James. I’m not a child. Spending the night with my sister shouldn’t be such an issue to you.”

               “So sue me for worrying!” James throws his hands up in the air, running over his buzzed hair and settling by his side. He is the release of rolling, boiling anger into a thick cloud of steam as he pulls back from himself, giving his head a slight shake. Through her peripheral vision Eliza counts the tense and release of her boyfriend’s hands as he curls them, in and out. He seems to be settling, taking a moment to collect and reconfigure himself after the raise of his voice and her recoil.

               In all of the time she has spent with him, Eliza knows that this is nothing more than a false pretense she has fallen for one too many times. In these moments, when she has frustrated James to the point of his shouting, she can count on this burning, seething steam settling through the room, enveloping her in its choking hold. His movements turn into concentrated, slight motions; the miniscule tilt of his head, the way he looks at her through eyes narrowed just enough to portray that she has done something wrong again. His posture straightens, yet he seems to be bent toward her, looming. His grassy eyes, rare and beautiful against his olive-toned skin, point down at her. She is below him; in size, in physicality...in this argument, where she feels she has done nothing wrong, Eliza has suddenly committed a series of horrible acts against James. The guilt is incredible, her heart squeezing and thrumming against her chest in protest of herself.

               Eliza recognizes these things as James takes another breath, poised to speak. Angelica’s voice is a broken record begging to be listened to. That same spontaneous spark of confidence shoots back through her gut, and Eliza raises her finger in rapid motion.

               “Stop! Just-stop speaking to me like I went and murdered someone, or did a line of coke, or robbed a bank. I went to see my sister, which I don’t need your permission to do. And whether I drank or not I still came home sober. I still haven’t talked about it, or offered you one, so don’t act like I’m trying to get you back down that hole because we both know that I’ve always been the first person here for you when you have. So stop, James. I can’t argue like this anymore!”

               The sting that spreads through her cheek is familiar-it spreads like electricity, hostile and hot as tears fill the brim of her eyes. She says nothing as he stares back at her, his lip pinched into a stiff gathering of muscles at the center of his face. It’s the same tight balloon tied expression he wears when she gives him a Warhead from her purse. In that instance, when his eyes are wide and wondrous and his body relaxed into the couch, her body convulses with laughter that has her doubled over. When his eyes are narrowed, when his hand lowers from her face with conviction, his sour face shakes her with fear.

               She does not move from her place in the kitchen when he leaves her line of vision. The mass of emotions pulse through her body like fireworks, popping and hissing and keeping her stiff and rigid. She is consumed with a fear of their escape; it keeps her rooted to the hardwood, concentrating on the way the air moves around her and waiting for the next inevitable blow. She has never spoken back to James.

               “Look what you’ve done now!” James hisses. His body is pressed against their front door, and his eye trained on the peephole when he groans. The movement of limbs when he comes back to her is elongated, rapid. He crosses the space between them before she can even register what is happening. All Eliza can decipher is from the hushed and tensed tone of his voice, his sour lemon face coming back so that he may stare at her with eyes that throw an intense, incredulous stare her way.

               “You’re so far down this victimizing little hole you’ve built yourself that the police are here! How do you feel about that? Do you feel good about yourself now? Because this is just going to look fucking great to our landlord.”

               “James,”

               The persistent knocking interrupts her speech-thankfully, because the sense of vocal direction is lost on Eliza, who stays rooted in her place in the hallway. Her bare feet dig into plush carpeting and she pushes her toes back and forth on them. A flood of unfamiliar noises enters the space; the jangling of keys, static feedback of a radio, and the new, bass-toned voice that accompanies James’s smooth words of apology. It’s a song, almost, the quiet gathering of sounds that push themselves together in one complete rhythm. And in her mind, Eliza can just hear the melody of it all; This is my chance, I can have this chance. James is wrong, I’m not making anything up. Say something.

               “Miss, I’m going to have to ask you some questions.”

               The man before her makes her breathing hitch in her throat, stops and starts her heart as her eyes catch the shine of the badge he wears. She’s not sure how her contorted face might read, but in one invisible motion of air to her lungs she attempts to collect herself the best that she can. Eliza nods.

               “We received a call from a neighbor about the level of noise coming from this apartment.” She’s not sure what he says next; her mind thrums in and out of focus, unable to catch specifics other than its masculine tone. Her body still aches, longs to release what she has bottled for her own safety. She nods and shakes her head to questions she can’t completely decipher, her eyes trained on the shadow of James’s body from where he waits in the kitchen, just around the corner. She swallows the air, thick and dizzying, and holds herself high.

               “Can you explain what happened leading up to this? There was some shouting,”

               “-We got into an argument, that’s it. I was shouting back at him, I-I was completely in the wrong, and it won’t happen again. I don’t usually shout, I’m so sorry.”

               The man shifts on his feet, writes his transcription of her words in a little notebook he holds in the palm of one hand. He is composed, gentle yet carrying an air of authority that surrounds her in an immediate sense of safety. The dissolution of this is inevitable. When he goes, she will be alone. The vision of it breaks her bubble of security immediately. And when she lets her eyes wander somewhere other than the officer’s gold badge, she catches the long black deflection of light that throws itself onto the tile. He’s leaning against the wall, he’s listening.

               Maybe it is my fault that this man is here, I was the one who lost my temper. I don’t want to be kicked out of this apartment, we just got here. What would everyone say, that I can’t handle being an adult? That we can’t just work things out for ourselves? I should be old enough by now to sort things out, and he’s never meant to do what he’s done. People lose their tempers. And the alcohol…he’s struggling, and I ignored that. It’s my fault.

               “Miss, are you alright?”

               “I’m fine. It really isn’t a big deal, I’m the one who started it all in the first place. I’m going to apologize to the neighbors, get everything squared away…”

               The officer looks at her, and for just a second, when she lets her eyes meet his, she feels herself falter. His eyes are warm, concerned. They wrap her in a sense of security that has her stuttering, flickering between what’s in her heart and what her mind is being told. The words nearly come out, questions of help and guidance, but they’re blocked by shadows and a figure that covers both figuratively and literally. She is blocked.

               “We’re fine.”

               The officer nods, reaches out to shake her hand. And in that hand she feels the press of a hard corner of cardstock, something she clutches and tucks into the pocket of her dress.  And as he leaves, he carries a piece of that opportunity with him. She could have done it; could have saved herself then. But she’d been fine-she’d convinced herself of that fact a long time ago.

               She lets herself into the big, foreboding building and shakes the snow off of her boots, kicking at the carpet until she’s sure each melted-on bit has landed there. There is a receptionist, a younger woman who stares at Eliza until she looks up from her task, clearing her throat in a way that echoes through the high-ceilinged foyer. Eliza’s face grows hot with embarrassment as she moves to the counter, her eyes shifting warily around the unfamiliar territory as she’s looked over.

               “Elizabeth Schuyler, I’m here for a meeting?”

               “With the dean, right? I’m glad you finally called back.”

               “Let’s just say he missed me the first four times.” The receptionist chuckles, and Eliza lets out a breath that had been subconsciously stuck in her throat. The response to an unplanned joke is welcomed, brings her mind to a place of distraction. “He couldn’t get a hold of me when he emailed, so it took a while to even set this up.”

               “Well whatever you’re in for, don’t sweat it-he’s a nice guy behind all of that pomp and circumstance, he really makes himself seem scarier than he is. Trust me, I work for him.”

               “Thanks.”

               “And anyway, you’re a legacy. I’m sure whatever he has to say to you will be slapped between memories of ‘the good old days.’”

               The sentiment does not leave Eliza when she’s called into the office, red boots squeaking along the floor as she holds her coat, slung over one arm, with both of her hands. The old, ornate building seems to capture each sound, replay it over and over as a march to the unknown that catches her thrumming heart and makes it work twice as hard. There’s an electronic sweeping, a break in the anxious noises that raises alarm as she scrambles to silence her phone.

               Alex: Whatever it is, good luck at your meeting. I’ll be waiting for you at home. Love you. You can do it!

               The sentiment alone is enough to raise her posture, and by the time the trek to the dean’s office has ended Eliza enters the room with a smile, a picturesque vision of confidence and poise as she shakes the aging man’s hand and introduces herself.

               “Oh, I need no introduction. Even if your father and I hadn’t gone way back, I’d still know your face from all of those magazines.” She laughs-something forced with a well-played air of humor, as if she has never heard the joke before. The man continues on his path, recounting stories of ‘Phil Schuyler’ as if they had been best friends back in the day. In reality he refers to her father often as ‘a treasured student’ or an ‘example of what Columbia truly builds.’ As she lets the man take his trip through his own memories, Eliza can hear Peggy’s unfiltered groaning in her head. She’d hate this-the way the meeting seems to drag on, the man’s dimpled eyes and lifted wrinkles creasing his forehead as he chuckles, jokes with her as if to lighten the mood.

               But I’m lucky to be here, sitting in this seat. I’m lucky to be at Columbia, and this man is just trying to make me feel less anxious.

               “And your sister, heading off to Oxford in the fall. We’re delighted to be sending one of our best students there, I bet she’s thrilled.”

               “She is, thank you.”

               “And your younger sister-a senior, right? Has she considered Columbia at all? Because the normal application period is running short on time, and I know the two of you applied as early applicants, so…”

               “She’s not sure what she’d like to do, but Columbia was on her list. We took her on our own little tour in the fall.”

               “Ah, good. It’d be a wonderful thing to have all three of you girls under our roof. Speaking of which, I’d like to move on to the reason I called you here. Enough pleasantries for now, but do tell your father that we’re still thinking about him.”

               She shifts in her chair; the elaborately carved wooden chair is uncomfortable on her back, its curled wooden dowels dig into her spine if she rests against it, but the tough material sends an ache through her butt if she distributes her weight in the wrong way. She settles for a posture that is just at a bearable level, crossing one leg over the other and leaning slightly forward in her chair. This helps to hide the shaking of her hands, which she tucks neatly onto her lap.

               He opens the conversation with something about academics, which she hadn’t been expecting. Eliza isn’t sure what she’d thought this meeting would be about, but the way he brandishes a manila folder, one with her name on a printed label, closes her throat. Her mind flashes back to elementary school, to coming home with her first real report cards and being unsure of the few B’s it displayed. Angelica’s, always on the fridge, displayed an array of A’s every single time. Hers varied; sometimes, the subject matter wouldn’t capture her, or she’d stumble on particularly hard scientific concepts. As middle school approached, she maintained rows of A’s with only ‘sometimes B’s,’ which attributed to things like teachers that didn’t click, or time spent studying that seemed to  go to waste. In high school, the playing field was the same; Angelica graduating with a 4.0, Eliza just out of her reach. She was not a bad student-still is not-but there is clearly something wrong by the way the dean’s words come through a tone of certainty.

               “We’ve looked everywhere, and this document is not in our records. It’s unfortunate, because looking at your files from last year everything else seems to be in order. There are even bits and pieces from this particular assignment, but no final paper.”

               “I’m sorry, which assignment are you missing?”

               “One from your freshman year, your observational thesis. We have proof of each observation, we have written drafts, but the key to this assignment is what you’ve learned as a whole. It’s thoroughly explained in the syllabus that this assignment is crucial not only to passing the class but to add to your growing portfolio, which I’m sure you’re aware is a requirement of completing the degree program. I’m not sure how this was overlooked, but I’m sure you remember this assignment?”

               All Eliza can manage is a nod. She combs her hair over one shoulder with her fingers, occupying them from their stilled state. Her blink is held a moment too long; when her eyes are closed, she can see the lines of writing on the screen of her laptop. Back when she had the spacious balcony of a townhouse to work from, she’d hide away there to do her work. It was an easy place to escape to, with the rush of the city below her to drown everything else out. She’d even brought a big chair out there; John had helped her with the task, the lifting and assembling. Her happy place had been a glorious escape, and she reveled in it. Even in January, when they first moved in, she found the rush of the bitter outside air to be more relaxing than the loneliness of their new home. With the city below her, Eliza always had company. Today, in the closed-off pseudo-sanctuary of the dean’s office, all that is present is silence as she sorts through her memory.

The assignment had been due on March 1st, a Tuesday shrouded in clouds that never broke to rain. The document was on her computer, waiting for submission, but she’d been busy that morning with cooking; with chores and work that kept her occupied. She’d been busy waiting.

March 1st was the day James left early for work-a rarity in that time, where his schedule was so widely dependent on the amount of private time he did not want to allow her. It was a day of only one class, a seven a.m which came and went faster than expected. She’d kissed him at the door that morning promising updates of her day. Her first text, just after class got out, was habitual, mechanical. She watched the other students pour out of the room from behind her, chatting and laughing, making spontaneous plans. She said no; she always said no. There was no room for spontaneity back then.

Her heart had felt strange that day, loose and brimming with a chaos she could no longer control. A switch had been set; kissing James at their front door felt false, her sweet and docile mannerisms harder to keep up with each passing conversation. His grassy eyes no longer charmed her, for she’d found the snake hiding within their depths long ago. She’d been living in a hell she’d only just woken up in, and March 1st found her writhing to get out.

Her consideration came without speaking to anybody; not Angelica, or her friends from class…especially not her parents, although in this case she wasn’t sure where she’d go or how she would explain her sudden need for a home so quickly. These were trivial things, facts and figures that would only matter later on. Her mind was occupied with plans-codes and keys and ways to get around the walls he’d built to keep her in.

She didn’t make dinner. She didn’t text to tell him she’d gotten home safely.

After that 7 a.m, Eliza shoved her laptop, photos, fifteen outfits and a good pair of shoes into a hard-worked and heavy duffle. She bought a subway ticket with cash she’d been keeping in the pockets of a dress in the back of the closet. The city went by in a blur of emotions that hit too quickly, that made her stumble over herself as she fought the crowd to street-level. And in the unknown part of the city, with a dress not comfortable enough for travel and a duffle that kept it riding up farther than needed, she sucked in her nerves and plopped herself down at a café table.

“Moving?”

She jumped in her seat, the voice unexpectedly close as a male form took the empty spot next to her. He handed her a paper cup brimming with heat and she placed it on the table, refusing to make even the slightest bit of contact. I was this voice that brought that current of electric nerve back into her system, and Eliza frowned and kept her gaze down at her feet, shaking her head. At first, she thinks that might be enough-that the simple gesture is going to send the guy away and make him forget he’d ever seen her. After all, the city was a big place; she’s not sure how her luck became so skewed in the first place to warrant this visit after only ten minutes of travel outside of her usual routine.

“You sure? Because the bag,”

“-The bag is nothing, just some clothes I wanted to give away.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good. Hey, want me to get a hold of James? We can turn this into a little morning coffee date.”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, trouble in paradise?”

“Everything’s fine.”

It’s the second time she’d said the phrase that day; the first had been to herself in the mirror, just before she’d shut the apartment door with the cash she’d saved radiating hope, a way out. Then, at the hole-in-the-wall café, the weight of her decision carried itself in those dollar bills, a secret that made her feel dirty, and wrong.

“You know, Eliza, I get it. James can be an asshole.” She opened her mouth to protest but the man was faster, shushing her with the raise of one finger on his oversized hand and the blinking of his murky grey eyes. “You don’t have to defend him. I know he’s your boyfriend, but even you have had to see some of his bad side.”

She shrugged, silent. But her hand met the heat of the paper cup James’s friend had brought to her, and she drew it to her lips in a wordless agreement. Taking the cup meant peace.

But taking the cup had also meant taking the bait.

She tenses in the dean’s chair as she remembers the moment; the heat of bitter, over-sweetened coffee burnt her lips as his friend’s eyes looked over her shoulder. For a brief second she lets herself remember that false security, the way this guy had been trying to help, to understand and discuss her problems without her having to say a single word. She’d thought he was such a nice guy, such an unexpected light to begin her day. But that security had turned to fear when the guy waved, pulled another stool to their table as a hand met her shoulder.

“I thought you were hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

Again; the phrase came out barely spoken, through a hushed voice that strained through her fear-tightened throat. He seemed to be in a pleasant enough mood-sipped from his cup and smiled between her and his friend. She knew better than this, though. He kept one hand on the back of her chair, rooting her in place without making physical contact. He didn’t need to. The way his voice had dripped from his full and smiling lips was saccharine, hauntingly dressed for a show that would be over as soon as his friend left the shop.

On March 1st, she kept his friend there as long as possible. She asked an array of personal questions, listened to stories about the failed high school lacrosse career this friend treasured at an Olympic standard. She bought them all a second round of coffee with her card, felt the cash weigh with an even heavier upset as she attempted to keep it hidden. She ‘d kept her mind off of what would happen when they got home, when her sanctuary was infiltrated with questions she wasn’t prepared to answer. This had been her first attempt at leaving. This had also been her first time the consequences of her actions had caused her to be ‘too sick’ to leave the house.

The world, in Eliza’s head, did not need to see the blacks and blues that were a fault of her own poor planning. As she hid in the bathroom that evening, let the shower run far longer than needed, she felt every fleeting hope escape her-even the dress pocket full of cash couldn’t overshadow the new hues that now served as her own scarlet letter. She’d been stupid to think that a duffle bag and a hope would be enough to get out. Stupid…

“I have the assignment done on my computer.” Eliza blinks herself out of the flashback that’d had her silent, straightens in her chair as she remembers the things she’d meant to get done on the day of her first attempt of escape. She’d been submitting the research when she’d decided to leave. It had never gone through.

Her words are rambling, arduous as she attempts to arrange her thoughts into a coherent string of sentences. She’s not sure which side of the coin to land on; guilt and an overwhelming feeling of distress hit her both at once, fighting a tumultuous battle over which will take the primary place of settlement in her gut.

“It was done that day, I went to submit it and it just-it never went through. I know that’s no consolation, I know there’s no way you can really verify that, and I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me. Is there anything I can do to make this right? It’s entirely my fault, I shouldn’t even be asking, but I really want to stay in this program and I,”

“-Elizabeth, take a breath.” She follows the instruction although it is tasking, taking in minute amounts of air as her lungs will allow. The dean furrows his wrinkled brow at her for just a moment, just long enough for her to shake in her chair. The uncertainty is crushing, and along with it comes a barrage of plans that cross her mind in incoherent paths. There are other schools that could use her; maybe they’d take my credits, maybe I could still graduate on time. But where would she go-what would she tell her father, who had been so prideful in seeing another daughter attend his alma-mater?

“I know your family well; you come from a long line of people who never give up. You Schuylers are always trying to upstage the others, to set boundaries that are impossible for your fellow classmates to keep up with. Some of the most beautiful recommendation letters I have on-file are those that were written for you, from teachers you observed or professors you had classes with. Not to mention the very deep, very real love the public has for you,”

“-please don’t mention that.”

“It’s true, but I’ll note that. Turn in the assignment when you’re ready, I’m sure it got lost in submission. Cyber space, right?”

Eliza chuckles, a forced noise that comes more from confusion than humor. He shakes her hand then, lets the smile reach his dimpled eyes as he walks her from his office. The wrinkled, humored old man stops to chat with the friendly receptionist, who leaves her with the same sort of wide-eyed grin that has become a common occurrence. But as she walks back to her apartment, the dean’s initial words repeat themselves in her head, covering up the relieving news that her problem can now be solved so easily; “We’re missing an assignment…a requirement of completing the degree program…I’d still know your face from all of those magazines.”

She says nothing when she gets back to the apartment, kicking off her boots and loading her laptop. The assignment is still in its designated folder, labeled and organized right next to March 1st in small, digital documentation. Eliza is silent as she watches it load into her portfolio, sent away to a professor who’d long past graded the others. And as Alex approaches her, cautious and calm, the sinking pit in her stomach grows large and looming, brimming with a strange cocktail of guilt that has been laced with the one word she and her sisters loathed more than anything; Privilege.

[cheezlogerratum]

The Grand Slam

           Eddie Baxter is dreaming right about now, about what is up in the air. He's sleeping right now, 8PM, a little strange for a boy at 16. It's a Thursday night, too, on the eve of Christmas Eve, and his mother is even deeper in slumber than he, also kinda strange. At night the house becomes a decoy of something quiet. Everyone in this neighborhood is asleep. You could only describe this place in the night as a ghost town where the ghouls' mortal forms haven't passed on yet, so a neighborhood of lingering presence, and that's all we know.

           Christmas Eve! And it's a Friday, and school is still in session for some twisted reason. Cars line up the side of Golden Lantern, starting and stopping into kids and jaywalkers hustling to class. Eddie is taking the sidewalk, surrounded front and back by parties of twos and threes, and they're walking so, so mercilessly slow, and he can't brush past without the chance of falling into the street... but he's feeling reasonably groggy today, so he takes the chance with little regard. "...uled by an intergalactic government run by John Travol..." And now the pace picks up. The crossguard gives her usual double-take of the traffic and steps into the street with her whistle and reflective octagon with a handle, and with this comes the definitive feeling of death to kick off the day...

           Eddie catches himself dozing off in Gov and eyes the room he's in and swears he wasn't here a second ago. He spots Samir up in the front writing on the board and wonders, "what the fuck". Samir stops writing at the other end of the board, strikes a pose, and walks back to his desk buddied up beside Eddie. "What were we talking about?" Again with the what the fuck, and now Eddie's foot is bouncing.

           "I don't even know."

           "Why're you so tired? Didn't you go to bed at like 9?"

           "... I dunno."

           It's lunch now, and Eddie downs some mac 'n cheese as kids pour in from entrances and stairwells on all sides of the cafeteria. He's looking around at the noise and eventually makes off to the parking lot. He looks over at the front office to see ungodly amounts of kids faking stomach flus and parents faking scheduled dentist appointments to enjoy Xmas Eve how it ought to be enjoyed, and the quasi-nurses figure they don't get paid enough for this and play along with their schemes, almost in spite. Eddie does a 360 peering through windshields and fences and walks out the back gate, and the air feels crisp further down the hill.

           The score is 3-1 and Eddie's attention fades to the doorbell, followed by a rhythmic knock. Eddie goes AFK, opens the front door, and whaddya know... "I brought it over is that alright?" Samir plops his G3 in the kitchen before helping himself to a drink: OJ, extra pulp. Samir looks up from his glass and Eddie's gone. "... Eeeddiee!"

           "WAIT."

           Samir follows the voice upstairs and finds Eddie utterly glued. He reclines on Eddie's bed and watches... which turns out to be the worst seat in the house. He gets up and half-sits on the hamper. He's only getting an angular view of the screen, but he's tired of moving around and settles the best he can, and waits.

           Come night time as the cul-de-sac settles back into ghost-mode, Ms. Baxter, or as some still mistakenly refer to her as Mrs. Baxter, opens the garage door. Both the boys' stomachs sink with a shot of adrenaline, and the mechanical hum whizzes on for what might as well be days. Samir's body flips through fight or flight and, as always, chooses flight and unplugs his Mac mid-game, his player model disappears just as quickly as he does. He somehow miraculously escapes parental confrontation and lugs the computer and himself back home under the lights strung on trees on the sides of the streets. Eddie, bracing for impact, scrambles to shut down the system. Once it obeys, he rips open his backpack and finds some vague scholarly-looking notes he took half-lucid in class to give off the appearance of hardwork. The front door sounds up to Eddie's room at the same time visceral taps of high-heels walk into the house, shutting the door. Holy shit. Holy shit.

           It turns out, luck of the draw perhaps, that Ms. Baxter never checked in on Eddie. In fact, this was almost worse, not only because he couldn't sleep due to Xmas Eve jitters, but also in anticipation of a motherly barge-in that never ever came. Thank God? And his mind wouldn't shut up, so Eddie logs back on and sees what's new in the news. Not much else other than a church shooting in Oregon... "and a happy new year!" He thinks, followed by a tinge of shame. Eddie connects to a Quake III server, where he's "auto-balanced" onto Red Team, alone, against two players on Blue. He spawns and picks up a shotgun, and out of fucking nowhere gets fragged. Now he's just pissed, so he logs off and walks downstairs to the eerie serenity of the Christmas tree, fake mind you. It takes him a minute or two of rumination to realize there are no presents under the tree... Oh mother. Eddie, desperate for slumber at this point, nukes some milk in the microwave. He tries chugging but never succeeds, so he takes his time sipping his warm milk looking up at the gray sky out the window. A nimbus of gray parts and reveals what Eddie thinks is an airplane but is really venus twinkling through the smog, which he later realizes on the fence of consciousness and slumber.

           Feliz Navidad by Jose Feliciano blasts Eddie back into reality, a song he always seems to forget plays on repeat on the radio almost all Christmas Day every damn year... but he's not complaining, necessarily. Eddie's body gravitates to his Gateway and logs in almost by autopilot. His mind drifting off around his room and out the door while his fingers check his e-mail and clicks around some images he found online a while back... what the... when did this...? Eddie doesn't even wanna know and just goes downstairs for Christmas time and... jesus christ. No presents, no relatives, no mother. He peeks around some corners and employs some half-assed investigation tactics such as leaning in a little bit towards a mug in the sink and considering how ajar a door is than usual in hopes of a lead revealing itself, but his mind comes back to his mother once his body starts climbing the stairs towards her room. What is going on? Why can't I be somewhere else? He asks. The sheets on her side of the bed are dog-eared and the lamp is still on, not illuminating much now. Eddie gets that supernatural feeling of being in your parents' bedroom, which he finds exhilerating, actually. The closet's open, the bathroom's open, a drawer's open, and her purse isn't where it should be. Eddie's heart starts pounding, but it'll take him a few minutes to catch on to that.

           Eddie's out on the sidewalk again and it's something like 90 degrees outside. His legs just sorta follow the path and adjust to the divets as he attends to matters in his mind which seem to be foggy. He's thinking and doesn't even know it. There's not a single soul out on the street except the occasional sudan racing either to their family, the hospital, or worse, work. He looks up for a moment and notices the white, searing glare of the ocean, and if he looks long enough he sees tiny individual glares appearing and disappearing at once, and he's okay. He's looking off to his right as he passes houses with families post-gift exchange hanging out inside. After ten minutes or so, Eddie just so happens to witness the moment when a little kid unwraps a Dreamcast, nearly ripping apart the whole package itself. Eddie couldn't see the kid's parents, probably behind the tree, undoubtedly real mind you, but he imagined how happy they were. Eddie's now nearing an intersection and notices the absence of clouds aboveohshit... is that...? That's his Mom. She's at the light oh fuck. Is she on the phone? Eddie turns around and brisk-walks up the hill... he thinks he saw her crying... he doesn't know necessarily why he's walking back to the house but he can't help it. Why does this happen, Eddie thought. His Mom's car catches up to his periphery and vanishes over the hill, but it's like she's waiting there. Why do I do this, Eddie thought. I don't know, Eddie.

           Eddie's almost home now and he hasn't looked up the entire way. He knows what's about to come but can't calm down no matter how much he convinces himself he can do it. Only four houses away and he just wants to explode so his body can stop flipping out. Now he's three houses away and starts to breathe-in breathe-out, since he figures he's been walking for a good half-hour but probably because he can't keep it in any longer. Two houses left and he's feeling primal and lightheaded at this point. One house to go and a car skids past him. He looks behind him and around a truck parked on the street and sees his Mom heeding no speed bump in sight. Eddie doesn't know if he's releived or even more afraid. One thing's for sure, he's gotta take a shit.

           In Eddie's absence from cyberspace, he received an e-mail from jefferymbax62@firstcontact.com. It reads:

Merry Christmas ed man!!!! i'm missing you buddy.. i'd love to see you today if you can? i also need to give you your gift i think you'll like it! let me know where you want to eat and i'll be free around 11:30ish. love you eddie, we're so proud of you! :)

Jeffery M. Baxter Marketing, FirstContact Fax: (949) 555-1448

A new species of fear took over Eddie, but it was much less menacing than the kind he felt at home. It was subdued somewhere in his body, but he responded quickly and left for the Denny's down by Doheny Beach.

The place was literally overflowing, so much so you couldn't even see the framed print of Java Dreams on the wall nor hear Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree blasting throughout the joint. Luckily, using a combination of tippy-toes and craned neck to look above the line, Eddie spotted his father sitting over in the back corner of the restaurant by the kitchen. Making any progress down the aisle whilst dodging waiters balancing pounds of various slams and specials on their fingers was a feat worth mentioning, and mentioned it was, "Aaaand HE'S SAFE!" with the umpire pose and all. Eddie chuckled a little and sat in the booth holding off the eye contact for as long as he could, which ended up being barely two seconds. His Dad started, "... Well!? What's this? Doesn't look like Christmas to me!"

"Heh, I'm sorry."

"It's okay it's okay. Well how goes it? You walk?"

"Yeah."

"That's a nice walk. Good to see ya, buddy... OH! Why didn't you remind me?"

His father pulled out a gift from what seemed like thin air and gave it to Eddie. He didn't realize how weak his hands felt until he started unwrapping it. A few trembles later and there it was, a framed photograph of Eddie and Jeffery in a bowling alley two or so years ago. Eddie didn't know what he was feeling or even thinking, he just kept looking at it with the tape hanging off the sides of the frame.

"Remember that?"

"Uh huh."

"Found that one a few weeks ago in one of the boxes in storage and thought you'd get a kick out of it."

"Yeah yeah, for sure. Thank you."

"Yeah no problem!"

"I'm sorry I didn't get you anything."

"Nah I don't need anything, don't worry about it!"

"Okay, thanks Dad."

And everything was wrong. His father started up again, "I gotta use the can, but-"

"Hey there! What can I start you guys off with?"

"Well there you go! I'll have a Coke to drink and... can we order now?"

"Absolutely!"

"Okay I'll get the uhh Grand Slam, eggs overeasy, and how about you Eddie?"

"Uh I'll just get the same I think."

"Two Grand Slams and two Cokes, is that all for you guys?"

"That does it!"

"If you need anything else just holler!"

"Well, ma'am, if you don't mind I'd rather hoot!"

He laughs back and forth at Eddie and the waitress who's laughing along with him, Eddie smiles a bit. Jeffery's still laughing, "Alright I'll be right back." The noise in the place came back to Eddie as he realized they were playing Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer through the speakers. Eddie doesn't know what to do. All he can do is feel his fingers which are still holding onto the picture frame as his legs bring him out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk.

Mom still isn't home, and Eddie supposes Samir's Xmas festivities are wrapping up right about now, so he heads on over. By the time he arrives the sky is orange and gently shining through windows and rooms of neighboring houses, which feels weirdly comforting. Samir's family has one of those fancy melodic doorbells, which was almost immediately answered by a tall man with a hell of a beard. He eyes Eddie for a second then turns to the mass of chatter coming from the entire house, "SAMIR!" Somehow Eddie heard Samir's footsteps stomping through the house and could make out exactly where he was. Eddie thanked the man and Samir took over door duty to sneak his buddy inside. Eddie took a look around and saw dozens of relatives talking around and watching movies and cooking dinner and playing cards and taking pictures and cracking jokes and... "Oh man". Samir's room upstairs was filled with six or seven cousins all chatting and drinking and paying no attention to Eddie much at all.

"So what do you wanna do?"

"Let's go down there!"

"Nononono we can't you'll get kicked out, we could play something up here if you want."

"No one would even notice me?"

"C'mon dude I don't wanna get in trouble."

"... I don't even have my computer."

"You can use my sister's probably."

"... Alright... alright. I gotta go to the bathroom though."

"NO I don't trust you, I'm coming with."

Eddie just wanted another look. Now there was music and dancing and kids running around and babies around their Mom's shoulders trying to process what's even happening, and he felt okay. Eddie bent over with elbows on knees while on the toilet and looked down at the tile floor and ruminated towards the indented corners. A knock on the door snatched Eddie from his head and got him wiping, washing, and proceeded to open the door to yet another tall man, wider this time. It wasn't until this man spoke that Eddie recognized this man was Samir's father, "What are you doing Eddie?"

"I just needed to-"

"You need to go."

"I didn't-"

"Please."

Eddie hesitated for a second then sprinted into Samir's closet spilling some beers in the process, "HEY WHAT THE oh" and Samir's father came in and grabbed Eddie from his hidey-hole and pulled him out of the room, leading him with an armpit grip down the stairs, and out the house, people staring and everything. Now the sky was really fading, and Eddie, feeling that fizzy bodily sort of sadness all around, picked himself up and walked home, never looking up.

The house was as it was except everything seemed to have a buzzing fog around it. Eddie logged onto his computer and booted up Quake to find servers full again, and he played through the night until he conked out drooling into the keys and kicked from the server. He woke up in his bed for a second all disgruntled and lost. Eddie's body shuffled around under the sheets until it hit the right spot then fell deeper into sleep, eventually noticing waves coming up ahead of him and the silhouette of Catalina blocking the last of the Sun.