#I drew something else for a secret Santa I’ll be posting that later this week! (it’s GF ;))

[stariousfalls]

been trying out procreate lately and I drew a twig ;u; (I loved Hilda S2! please watch the show it’s so heartwarming 💜

#hilda the series #hilda spoilers #hilda #twig #hilda twig #stariousart #I got an ipad pro as a graduation present and I really love drawing on it aaaaa #I drew something else for a secret Santa I’ll be posting that later this week! (it’s GF ;))

[woozisnoots]

losing you | yoon jeonghan

° pairing: jeonghan x f!reader, jun x f!reader ° genre: soulmate!au, bittersweet angst ° summary: losing me is better than losing you. ° word count: 1.5k ° warnings: implied death but details aren’t explicit! i promise the fic itself isn’t bad >< ° a/n: TEEHEE @vibecheckvernon​​ SURPRISE I’M UR TCT SECRET SANTA !!!! 😌 posted this a little later for prime angst reading times :D I HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT CHRISTMAS!!! p.s. pls don’t sue me i love you <3

inspired by: @95boysbe​ ‘s fic, ‘when you love someone’ (tysm for all of you for helping me find this again! 💓 pls go check out their work as well!) + wonho’s song ‘losing you’

masterlist!

jeonghan has no intentions of going to his family’s christmas party. at least not this early. looking into his appearance in the mirror, he wraps the red checkered scarf around his neck so the ends nicely drape over his white long sleeve shirt tucked under his matching sweater vest. a festive look to hide away his disinterest buried in his “enthusiasm”.

“daddy, are you not coming with us?” jeonghan jolts by the sudden tugging of his sweater from his side, looking over, forcing his eyes to meet with his daughter’s watery orbs.

he crouches down to one knee so he’s completely eye level, tucking in the loose strands of hair behind her ear. “not yet sweetheart. daddy’s gotta pick up a few things for the party.” he opens his arms wide for the tiny human to bury herself in a bear-like embrace. 

“stay by mommy’s side at all times, okay?” the little girl steps back to face her father, her hands gripping onto jeonghan’s index finger. “promise?” he continues to persist until she sniffles a series of nods. a small melancholy smile creeps onto jeonghan’s face as he wiggles himself out of her powerful grasp and cups her cheeks, creating small circles on her soft cheekbones with his thumbs. 

“good girl. i’ll be back before you notice i’m gone.” 

the walk there is shorter than jeonghan was expecting and it almost makes him sick to his stomach. he wants the anticipation to subside by the time he gets there, yet at this rate, he would arrive with nothing but the swell of guilt weighing down inside of him. 

the winter chill makes him shiver, hiding his balled fists in his pockets. the farther he walks, this once familiar street slowly turns into the abyss as the fog erases his footsteps along with the glimmery lights surrounding him. but jeonghan is only focused on the dark pathway ahead of him. weeks after hearing the news, and an additional few months of “recovery”, his imagination has conditioned him for far worser environments than some cold weather. 

the field of clean cut grass beside him is now closed off, barred by a wired fence painted white indicating he was getting close. it was a foolish thing really. this entire time, from the moment jeonghan left the house until now, he’s been trying to find the right words to say to you. what he would say to you if you were willing to hear him out. question he desperately wants answered. jeonghan lowers his head, scoffing under his breath knowing you probably would have. even though he knew himself that he didn’t deserve it. and neither did you. 

he comes to a pause at the entrance, reaching out to maneuver the chains that lock the gateway. taking a slow deep breath in, jeonghan looks up before entering the place of the dead, only to see that you already had company. 

the hint of discomfort causes jeonghan’s body to stiffen - the sight of an tall, unfamiliar man here with you triggering his fight or flight response, his instincts urging for the first rather than late. why would he be at a place like this? and on christmas no doubt.  

jeonghan takes his time walking towards you both, eyeing his physique up and down from afar. as he got closer, he examines the man’s notable facial features. the longer he stares, the more confused jeonghan gets causing him to crease his eyebrows. neither of you know him. jeonghan shakes the thought away- no, he doesn’t know him. maybe within the time you were away, the two might have met. jeonghan keeps his mind neutral, accepting all the possibilities. 

the mysterious man dressed down in this cold december, notices jeonghan walking this way before he could stop in his tracks to presenting himself in front of you. chuckling at the grimace look on jeonghan’s face. 

as respectful as he could possibly mutter, jeonghan opens his mouth to speak, “who-”

“so you must be yoon jeonghan,” he’s quick to cut him off, knowing exactly what might be running through his mind right now. he nods his head towards him, acknowledging the new, delighted presence that fills the air. “my name’s jun.” he watches as the imaginary fumes streaming from the top of jeonghan’s head start to dissipate. “a friend of hers back in america,” he lied, not that jeonghan would ever know anyways. “she talked a lot about you. it almost got annoying. 

just like how jeonghan did, jun studies him in his entirety. a smirk forming on his lips finding that he looked exactly how you described. as well as his own description: a good for nothing low life with faltering loyalty. jun scowls at the ring wrapped around jeonghan’s finger. “talk about that red string of fate, huh,” his words protrude the thick musk that wavers around them, finally breaking jeonghan’s walls. “don’t mind me though. i’m just here to pay my respects as a friend,”jun says, his words laced with sarcasm. 

jeonghan freezes in his spot, feeling only a tingling sensation in his fingers and toes as the flood of memories of the two of you replay in the back of his mind. the entirety of your childhood, including your teenage and what was there for your college years. until the dreaded day you decided to leave. “so, you knew?” he whispers more so for his curiosity rather than looking for an actual answer. 

and from the look on jeonghan’s face, jun could tell. “yeah,” he says just enough for jeonghan to hear. “i knew a lot.” he averts his eyes away from the soft hearted gaze that now appears on jeonghan’s face. 

jun may not have known you the same amount of time as jeonghan did. but the way you wore your heart on your sleeve despite being so vulnerable even after the fact, jun can pluck out things even jeonghan probably never noticed. how jeonghan could ever leave his soulmate for someone else, jun will never fathom at the thought. 

but jun knew your side of the story, how you felt watching your soulmate drew you guys apart. no, he wasn’t your friend per say, not in his official title anyway. when you were admitted into the hospital, jun was only there as a volunteer. he had a responsibility to look after all his assigned patients as comfort companions through their clinical care, including you. 

you were the hospital’s one exception. at the point of your critical condition, doctors truly didn’t know when the time would pass. knowing no one else in the states aside from your family, jun soon became your side by side as hospital bed buddies. and hated every moment of it. 

he hated the way you smiled so brightly for him every day despite how sick you were. but stare blankly at your food whenever it came to you and end up not eating. he hated how you easily created friendships with the nurses and other caretakers at hospital, including himself. but refused to take your medication. he hated how fondly you talked about love when you weren’t feeling it. he hated hearing the sniffles that came from your room every morning after he clocked in. he hated it so much that you still smiled saying your soulmate's name even though he was doing the same thing for someone else. in the end, jun was too late to tell you all that.

fate, being the sick bastard that it is, has jun meeting the one person he actually came to hate. and he’ll do one better. just like how jeonghan never got to know about your true feelings and conditions, jun will never tell him how much he truly cared for you. how he was entirely convinced he, a person who wasn’t even destined to have a soulmate, could fill the void that jeonghan had left. 

the longer jun stands there, the small pit of anger quietly begins to boil and that was his cue to leave. he avoids eye contact as he stirs away from the flowers he left you and tries to make his exits, stopping at his tracks when jeonghan speaks once again.

“then can i ask you something? your opinion as her friend. since you know,” he hiccups, the words coming out a beat too late. his voice also shaky, not knowing if it was due to the cold or the rise of his nerves. 

jun leans on one leg, stuffing his hands in the side pockets of his leathered coat. he almost says no. he wants to say no. “shoot,” sounding unbothered. 

“do you think she’d still want to be my soulmate in a different life?” 

jeonghan’s heart churns at his own question, as does jun’s. he could have asked any other question, but out of the hundreds he accumulated in the mile walk here, jeonghan figured this was the one that jun could at least give some thought. 

jun takes a sharp inhale in, his nails forming small crescent moons into his palm. with a heavy sigh, he turns back around and scoffs at the sight of jeonghan tearing up in front of you. and with gritted teeth, he responds.

“of course she would.”

#seventeen #yoon jeonghan #caratwritersclub #seventeen angst #jeonghan angst #wen junhui #junhui angst #seventeen scenario #jeonghan scenario #junhui scenario #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #jeonghan x reader #junhui x reader

[tcrmommabear]

TCR Secret Santa 2019/2020

Alright folks, we (@catsafarithewriter and I) are coming back for another year to put this shit show together!

(I'm kidding, this is my favorite event of the year)

For the newest folks, I'll explain how this works: Secret Santa is an anonymous gift exchange! People submit their names, and a drawing is done randomly. You will get someone else's name and make a present for them, be it writing, art, music, anything you feel comfortable and confident in! We'll also make a master post with participants' wishlists, so you have a prompt to work off of, but that'll come later.

Right now, Cat and I are opening up submissions to join, which will be open to about middle-ish November. Specific date will come later! To join, simply send Cat or I a message saying "I'll join!" Or something similar, OR you can comment on this post.

After we get a total tally of names, we'll also start getting people's wishlists, and then sending out who's name you "drew", the person you'll make the gift for.

All of these events, when they happen, will happen together in about the space of a week. So, start thinking about your wishlists ahead of time!!

Now, what are wishlists?

A wishlist is a set of 3 to 5 (or more!) prompts you would like to see come into existence. They can be sentence prompts, AU's, specific ideas. Just make sure you have a good amount, and a variety!! This'll make it easier for your gifter to make a present you're happy with, and give them a chance to maybe explore something new!

Cat and I will keep everyone in the know to dates and times, and if there's any questions, don't be afraid to reach out! And if you can't join up, don't worry!!! This is supposed to be fun and relaxed, but not the end all, be all of the fandom. You're not missing out with the popular kids. More like witnessing the cats conspire in the corner XD

So, with all of that there, names will officially be taken and noted!! I hope to see you join, and I'm excited for another year!!

#tcr #tcr secret santa 2020 #the cat returns #another year has gone by folks #lets get started!

[lovely-qualms]

FMA Secret Santa 2018 Gift!!

Ahh, I’m cutting it so close, I’m so sorry I didn’t post it earlier! This is for @sassyfirealchemist (who coincidentally was also my Secret Santa!) for the Secret Santa exchange by @fmasecretsanta2018 !

I hope you like, and I’m sorry for the lateness again!

Title: Fortunes and Feelings

Rating: T+

Relationships: Roy Mustang/ Edward Elric

Tags: Historical (Victorian-ISH), Romance, Humor, Policeman!Roy, Psychic!Ed, circus

Find this fic on: FF.net and AO3

There were two things that Roy believed were working rather valiantly towards making his morning effectively terrible- well, three were he not used Hughes’ incessant early-morning ramblings. The first was the apologetic woman standing at the entrance of his favorite coffee spot who dared tell Roy the place had closed due to bankruptcy (immediately after this, a passing carriage horse had kicked a puddle directly at his boots, which did nothing to Roy’s sour mood). And, well, the young policeman and his chatty colleague currently stood in the midst of the second noisy, colorful, terrible thing.

The bloody circus.

“When I bring Elicia she’ll win every prize there is! Oh-Roy- she’s going to be so excited about that carousel! Don’t you think?” Hughes nearly squealed in delight at the thought of his daughter running around the amusements (wastes of money, in Roy’s opinion).

“Yes Hughes, I’m sure Elicia will have great fun here. Why a circus needs two policemen to keep guard in the ass crack of the morning I’m not sure.” Roy grumbled. It was currently rather cloudy and windy, and the few people actually here that weren’t staff or guard seemed to regret their forwardness of schedule.

Hughes shrugged, “You know pickpockets and drunkards love to ride the coattails of these kinds of places. Oh, look! There’re the acrobats!”

Just as Roy rolled his eyes at his friend’s behavior, a young blonde man swathed in thick brocade and fluttering silks approached them. Looking around, Roy pegged down a similarly silky tent that must belong to this man that lay to the right of them.

Roy and Hughes shook his hand (which Roy silently noted was automail) before he spoke, “Good morning, Officers. Chief Grand sent you, right? I’ll be giving you a little tour of the area, as our ringleader has a lot of last-minute preparations to take care of before the crowds really set in.”

“Do we get a name, o tour guide?” Roy asked, masking his displeasure with veiled sarcasm.

The blonde’ mouth quirked into an amused smile, “Ed. My brother and I are psychics.” Out of adherence to decorum, Roy refrained from rolling his eyes, but his skepticism must have shown through because Ed gave him an unamused look. “Let’s go see some hot spots of potential crime, shall we?“

….

They made their way slowly through the large field of gallantry and show, Ed pointing out various tents and shady areas that needed ‘special supervision’. The young man seemed incredibly familiar with the layout of the area, even though the circus hadn’t been set up for but a day or two. When asked, Ed simply explained that their layout was similar wherever they went, and he knew whose tents were whose and “all that shit”. His teasing personality got on Roy’s nerves, especially since his day hadn’t started out particularly well either.

“Those are where the drunkards like to drink and flirt with ladies and whatnot” Ed gestured to several gaps between tents sporting respectively, an ashcan and several empties liquor bottles.

“Attractive,” Roy muttered.  

Ed cast a quick, annoyed glace at Roy, “Jeez, Who spat in your breakfast?”

Roy ignored this remark, turning to Hughes instead, “I’ll patrol northern half of the grounds, you get the Southern. We can switch at noon.”

Hughes gave the teasing affirmative, “Sir, yes sir,” going as far as to offer Roy a salute before turning away to his patrol before Roy could snap back. When Roy turned around to Ed, he realized the blonde had disappeared into his nearby tent, leaving Roy alone to work.

————————————

Roy didn’t see Ed until the next week, as the circus was incredibly busy in its opening days. Between shifts patrolling the northern or southern blocks of the fairgrounds, Roy and Hughes made it their personal goals to find the most ridiculous attraction there.

Roy, in a valiant attempt to top Hughes’ sighting of “world’s hairiest man”, decided to test his luck with the fortune tellers’ tent on his break that Thursday. Surely some ridiculous prognosis of his life would override some bloke who doesn’t shave enough.

Roy easily recognized the tent- it was the reddest, most decorated tent of the lot (outside of the central Big Top of course), huge lettered sign notwithstanding. Because of the time and cool morning breeze, not many people were out yet, so Roy took the opportunity to slip through the silks hanging in the doorway and into the small room.

Inside, the tent was considerably darker than outside. The thick canvas walls blocked out the sun, and only a few candles and a dim lantern lit the inside. Ed sat on the opposite end of a small table covered in yet more silks, cards, books, and glass knick-knacks.

When Ed recognized his new customer, he smirked. “Officer, don’t you have a patrol to keep up?”

Roy sat casually in the chair across from the blonde, “I’m on my break. Decided to come check out the validity of the local psychic.”

“Well, you don’t get to check me out for free.” Ed snipped, cringing a second later when he realized how his words came out.

Roy rolled his eyes and dropped two coins into the box by the door, “Now may I check you out?”

Ed glared, “Just sit and show me your hand.”

Roy did as he was told. Ed grabbed his hand, explaining as he picked opened a large book with his free hand, “Today I’m giving palm readings. I want to switch it up every week or so, but this is a pretty simple method. Good for the start of the week.”

“You don’t really think my hand will tell me my future.” Roy stated, already not on board with Ed’s ‘methods’.

Ed looked up at Roy blandly, “Your hand’s not telling you. I’m telling you, based on how your palm lines read.”

“Well then, what do my palm lines say?”

Ed looked intently at Roy’s hand for a second, tracing down one or two larger lines, “Well this one represents your inclination towards your friends over your family, and this one here means you’ll have good luck in love….” Ed explained.

Roy snorted, “Now I know you’re phony.”

“Hey, I’m just reading what it tells me.” Ed huffed, still concentrated on the hand in his grasp. He drew a finger down Roy’s hand lightly, “Let’s see now… despite your thrilling occupation, your occupational future looks fairly calm- see, that’s this line here.” Roy refrained from rolling his eyes yet again. Ed already knew his occupation; of course, he could deduce that he lived a relatively more “thrilling” life than others.

Silence reigned for a while as Ed analyzed the finer trails of Roy’s palm, going so far as to open a reference book somewhere around the base of his thumb. The silence lasted long enough for Roy’s palm to become lightly clammy under the pressure and heat of the other’s hands before Ed broke his gaze, looking up at Roy’s face almost apologetically, “Everything else’s too vague, especially since all I’ve got is this candlelight. It sets the mood, but really messes up my vision.”

Roy, taking this admission as proof of Ed’s position as more of entertainment than of divine reading, stood, “Well, Edward, your services have been most interesting.

Ed wrinkled his nose, “My services- You make it sound like I’m a prostitute or something.”

Roy laughed, “Hey it’s you who said it.”

Ed looked exasperatedly at the policeman, “Don’t you have some drunkards to kick around or something?”

Roy, still amused, left the tent ever more intent to return.

-------------

He returned to Hughes after their shifts were over, finding the other man fawning over a large selection of goodies that, quote, his “darling Elicia would win for sure”.

“Well, you’re still winning. The psychic’s more sarcastic than he is ridiculous, not that I believe a word of that superstitious crap.” Roy sighed, leaning against the wall of a large pink booth.

“Where’s the ‘but’?” Hughes asked, knowing his colleague all too well.

“I have to make sure, so I’m going to check out his tent again next week.

Hughes’ smirk was enough to make Roy wish there hadn’t been a ‘but’, “Sure that’s why.”

----------------------

Ed intrigued the policeman, and he was a far shot easier to talk to than the stuffy women who waited outside of attractions while their children wreaked havoc inside. So, with two coins and a healthy dose of skepticism, Roy returned the next week. Instead of palm books and cards, atop the tablecloth sat a box of stones, metal nubs, and string.

Ed, who had been fiddling with a string tied around a purple stone, looked up with interest, “Officer, I didn’t think you’d turn up. Crime’s been pretty high recently.”

“I can take a small break, can’t I?” Roy responded.

“You wouldn’t be shirking your duties, would you? An upstanding police officer such as yourself?” came the rebuttal.

Roy tossed his coins into the nearby coinbox, “Well, tell me my future and maybe I can dutifully return to my post.”

Ed barked out a laugh, “You’re kind of stuck up, you know that?”

Roy smirked, “So I’ve been told.” He glanced at the stones and string atop the table at which he now sat, “What’re all of these for?”

Ed’s grin grew as he drew into his element, “Pendulum reading, it’s a personal favorite of mine.”

“How does it work?”

Ed picked up a thin chain, “I’ll show you. What’s your birth month?”

“February. Why?” Roy asked.

Ed sifted through his collection on stones which all had little metal loops at their bases. He pulled out a skinny little amethyst from the depths of the box, explaining, “Your birthstone- It makes the reading clearer.” Roy hummed in acknowledgment, but let Ed focus on his work. He’d taken out various maps and calendars, and he had fixed the amethyst to a small chain. Once he was set up, Ed asked, What do you want to know? Location usually works best.”

The reading was fun enough. Roy asked a lot of trivial questions, watching the crystal swing around until it stilled over a location on the map (he was fairly certain Ed was manipulation the rock, but he didn’t comment). He liked chatting to Ed about the questions and their answers more than he did the actual reading, however.

Eventually, Roy stood up, noting his need to actually work before excusing himself from the tent.

------------------

Over the weeks, Roy saw Ed frequently through the circus grounds. They usually chatted briefly and went their separate ways. Every week, Roy also made a point to visit Ed’s tent for a reading of some sort. He had given up on trying to tell himself it was merely intrigue that brought him to Ed’s tent. He was fully aware that he wanted to be in the spirited blonde’s company.

Despite their daily meetings in the grounds, it wasn’t until two months after the circus’ arrival that Roy saw Ed outside of the grounds, in plain, civilian clothing. It was a Sunday, the one day the circus was closed, and coincidentally Roy’s day off.

He had been strolling down the city’s main line of stores, gazing into windows for a birthday present for Elicia, when he had seen the telltale flash of golden hair through a window reflection.

After the first incident, Roy began to see Ed in the marketplace rather frequently. He never bought anything, only talked to store owners and looked into the window of the now-vacant coffee spot. Roy always saw him at side-glances and in passing, so he never actually got around to talking to Ed outside of their occasional on-duty meetings until the next Sunday.

Exiting the local grocer’s, Roy nearly collided head-on with the small man he’d seen around town. Ed let out a colorful array of expletives, cursing Roy for making him drop his food without even looking up to see who he’d collided with.

Roy couldn’t help his amused smile, “For a fortune-teller, you’re not so perceptive on the streets.”

Ed, finally recognizing the recipient of his verbal attacks, snapped his gaze up at Roy, “Officer guy! You should’ve looked where you’re going.”

“I prefer ‘Roy’ off-duty, thank you.” He clipped back, moving from the doorway of the grocer’s to let passers-by through. Ed definitely looked different in plain clothing (just a button-down and some brown slacks), though Roy did notice how the button-down’s rolled-up sleeves did well to Ed’s general appearance. It showed off his masterful automail wonderfully, as well. If anything, he looked more mature than he did in his circus getup.

“Want a hand?” He added as the blonde was struggling to fit his wares into the crumpled paper grocery bags.

Ed shrugged, and Roy took it as an invitation to help. He fit the remaining containers into place and, before Ed could protest, took one of the bags in his arms with the excuse, “I’ve got nothing better to do.” In reality, Ed had become something of a fancy to Roy, and he intended to spend his valuable time seeing that fancy through. After all, the circus wouldn’t stay in Central forever.

Ed looked away, either embarrassed or frustrated, muttering, “Wouldn’t wanna damage your ego too badly by denying you, seems like you wouldn’t be too used to the concept.”

“Oh yeah, I’m never told no. The criminals simply run into the police car. In fact, they have to fight over who gets a ride; it’s simply infuriating!” Roy replied, shifting the bag a bit as they crossed a stopped road two blocks from the circus grounds.

Ed rolled his eyes but didn’t look particularly offended. He changed the subject, “That old coffee shop downtown: Why did it close?”

Roy shrugged, “The owner’s daughter said bankruptcy. It’s weird, because the location is great, and I never saw the place empty.”

Ed nodded but had fallen in a contemplative state that Roy felt uninclined to break him from. They reached the circus grounds at this point, and Ed snapped out of it to take Roy’s grocery sack and bid him adieu.

----------

The circus was packed up two days later. Roy tried to hide his indignation, but he could tell that Hughes sensed his mad mood.

“Come on, Roy, we can go back to catching the big guys now.” Hughes stated as they watched the pack of acrobats walk into the big tent with their equipment tied into large bundles.

“Yeah.” Roy stated mildly, pushing off the wall, “I’ll make a round.”

Hughes’ sigh didn’t escape Roy as he ambled through the falling tents and scattered flyers. he found himself outside of Ed’s tent before he knew where he’d walked. The fortune teller’s blonde head poked out from behind the curtain-door, “Roy, hey! You haven’t come around in the past few days.”

“Yeah, there’s been a lot of ruffians trying to get their final few crimes in before you all go off.” He shrugged, “Need any help packing?”

Ed gave Roy a rare smile, “Yeah, come on in.”

He was tasked with placing all of Ed’s fragile-looking crystals and glass relics into boxes full of hay, which was difficult when the objects were all awkward shapes and curves that didn’t fit nicely into a rectangular space. While working, Roy kept looking over at Ed, who seemed oddly peppy. He’d have thought moving around would be laborious and frustrating, but Ed smiled almost secretly to himself. When they were done with his packing, Roy turned to find Ed looking at him searchingly.

“I guess all that’s left is the tent, huh.” The policeman stated.

Ed looked around, “I guess so, but I can take that down myself. Thanks for the help.”

“It’s no problem,” Roy dismissed, not sure what to do, “Um, I guess have good luck in the next city…”

Ed rolled his eyes and stepped forwards, grabbing Roy’s arms and planting a light kiss on the other man’s lips. Roy froze, not quite comprehending what was happening. He hadn’t even considered his crush being a shared attraction. Through Roy’s stunned silence, Ed smirked, “I don’t like goodbyes. Get out of my tent, asshole, I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Roy couldn’t help his smile, “Yeah, see you around.” He left the tent with a small skip and didn’t explain to a confused Hughes how a patrol round of the grounds had so drastically changed his mood.

-----------

He didn’t see Ed around that day, unfortunately, as they were all gone the next day. Only a mess of paper and trash remained of the circus, and Roy felt all the more dejected for it. It was his day off, and he walked down the downtowns strip, trying to find some way to waste his time and, maybe, distract himself from the day before.

He left a clothing store empty-handed and looked over longingly at the closed doors of the closed coffee shop, really wanting some of their past wares at the moment. What he didn’t expect to see was the door open, and a young man with short, dirty blonde hair adjusting some tables outside. Curiously, he walked across the street to the man.

“Good Afternoon” he greeted, and the man looked up with a happy expression.

“Hello, you curious? We’ve had a lot of questions.” He replied.

Roy shrugged, “I guess I am. Not many shops here go back into business so quickly.”

The boy smiled, “My brother an I just bought the place yesterday. We were part of the circus that just left, and needed a change of pace.”

“Oh?” Roy’s interest had been effectively piqued, “What kind of store will it be?”

A voice from the doorway answered, “We’re selling oddities and psychic services.”

Roy whipped around, “Ed!”

The blonde laughed at Roy’s surprise, “I told you I’d see you around.”

“You didn’t have to be so cryptic,” Roy responded, but couldn’t hide his excitement. Ed had an equally happy quirk of a smile behind his trained natural look, “Where’s the fun in that? You don’t look like you’re working, wanna help set up instead of standing here pestering Al?”

Al protested his brother’s comment and Roy rolled his eyes, already crossing the threshold behind Ed, “I get it- you just like to use me.”

Ed feigned exasperation, “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

Roy helped Ed set up shop for the rest of the afternoon, but not without first pulling him out of Al’s sight and properly reciprocating Ed’s earlier kiss.

His day went much better than planned.

#fmasecretsanta #fmasecretsanta2018 #fma #royed #victorian #edward elric #Roy Mustang #circus

[synonym-for-life]

From Bromance to Brove

This is dedicated to (as well as inspired by) @aibidil and @lol-zeitgeistic , both fierce supporters of Roarmac. It is also sort of a thank you gift-back for Zeit’s Secret Santa Roarmac drabble that you can find here. 

My ficlet was not supposed to be this long, but Roarmac makes me very enthusiastic so this ended up being 1,6k which is why I also posted it to AO3

Roarmac aka Ron/Cormac aka Corduck McQuacken

Cormac was pacing. Up and down the length of the sitting room he strode, bouncy strides halting every now and then when a particularly difficult thought took over his mind. Ron should be home in an hour. Hopefully more, so that Cormac really had time to think.

Ron. Ron was his bro. His best bro. He was his flatmate, his gym buddy, his wingman in times of need. But this is where things got complicated. Cormac had, over the past few weeks, started realising that, lately, he hadn’t been in need of a wingman at all. In fact, he didn’t want a wingman. Especially if Ron wingmanned for him. Because, usually, when you had a wingman, you weren’t supposed to want to kiss him.

Cormac stopped rooted to the spot.

Oh. So that’s why he always got a stiffy when he spotted Ron on his squats. He liked Ron. Things were starting to make a lot more sense now, he thought and resumed his pacing.

The way he got jealous if Ron talked to other people at the gym. The way he wanted to punch that old slimy dude’s face when he leered at Ron’s crotch. To be fair, Ron did look delicious in those grey joggers and Cormac remembered he, himself, leered some, too. But he wasn’t a slimy old dude. Ron didn’t like those, but he liked Cormac.

He liked Cormac.

Cormac halted again, remembering. Remembering how Ron’s eyes often travelled up and down his body. How Ron blushed every time Cormac took off his t-shirt when they were at home. Cormac liked taking off his t-shirt. And every time he did, Ron’s composure slipped, his ears turned red and his eyes shifty and when he spoke, his voice was lower than normal, even if he was saying something trivial like ‘Your abs look so nice.’

Oh.

Well. Cormac had never thought much of those comments, but maybe they weren’t quite as trivial as he had thought. He’d always assumed Ron was just...stating the obvious. His abs did, after all, look very nice. But no. The more he pondered the more he was realizing that Ron liked liked Cormac.

They were bros, yes. But he supposed bros didn’t fall asleep holding each other’s hands during movies. Bros didn’t share cocktails, sitting opposite each other, sipping the drink through two straws that brought their faces intimately close. Faces that smiled softly, eyes that blinked languidly while staring unmovingly at each other’s lips. Lips that wanted to kiss.

Bros also didn’t press close to each other in a lift, breathing in each other’s scent even when they smelled of sweat and stale gym equipment. They probably also didn’t stroke each other’s biceps and chest admiringly. Ok, no. Regular bros did, in fact, do that. Cormac had seen plenty of it in the gym. But he was certain they didn’t stroke each other’s dicks.

He knew because he’d asked Matt.

He had to tell this to Ron. But Cormac, as much as he liked to talk, wasn’t very good with words when he was emotional. His throat closed up and he started to mumble and, usually, the exact opposite of what he wanted to say came out. One time, when Ron had ended up at St. Mungo’s a fantastic Healer fixed him up in a matter of seconds. And Cormac, grateful for her help, had hugged her and shrieked “You’re such a great bitch!” instead of ‘great witch’. So, he reasoned, he better write Ron a letter if he didn’t want to turn him away with his babbling.

He went to the kitchen, sat at the table and set to writing. Half an hour, three crossed out sentences and a half-chewed quill later the letter was done. Now, all he had to do was wait. He sat on the rather stiff chair, hands squeezed tightly in his lap, eyes fleeting from the fruit bowl to the clock on the wall. He sat and sat, watching the minutes tick by. At least he could do something productive, he decided and reached for a banana.

It had to be half an hour later that the lock on the door finally turned and he heard it open wide. Ron was here already? He looked down at the banana peels strewn across the table. Shit. That was a lot of carbs. Before he managed to even pile the peels up Ron was already stepping into the room an easy smile on his face.

“Hey mate!” Ron greeted.

“Hello!” Cormac jumped from his seat. “Hello, Ron! How was your day? No, don’t say anything!” Cormac remembered it was best not to speak so he grabbed the letter on the table and mutely thrust it out to his flatmate.

“What’s this?” Ron’s eyebrows drew together in a confused frown. As no answer was forthcoming, because Cormac only managed to wave his arms at him enigmatically, Ron started to read.

My Dear BRon,

I just realized I don’t like boobs.

I just realized I like dic-

I just realized I don’t want to be just bros with you.

I thought for a long time we were just friends. But I realized we were being friends the wrong way. I don’t think people who are just friends want to fuck each other  want to be more than just friends.

This isn’t making any sense.

Basically, I know that when you stare at my ass when I do deadlifts you’re not just assessing my form (you’re actually ASSessing haha getit?). I know that when you grab my pecs you're not just checking their firmness. I know that when you brush your hand over the nape of my neck when we watch films on the couch you’re not just - I don’t even know what you pretend you’re doing, but it’s not simply friendly .

The way you offer to do the dishes because you know I hate doing them? The way I put up with country music just because you’ve been obsessed with it lately even though it makes me want to Sectumsempra off my ears? And the way you make me tea when I’m sick? The way I always make you your favourite non-protein pancakes even if I know I’ll end up eating them too and ruining my macros? It’s not just a bro thing.

Also, you know, the way we give each other handjobs when we watch porn together. I know you said it’s something friends often do, but I asked Matt (from the gym) if he ever wanked off his mate and he just looked at me funny. I think that was a no.

So, what I want to say is that...I think we are past bromance. I think this is…I think it’s actually brove.

Your Cormac

P.S.: I’ve never been gay before so I don’t know what to do, but I will learn how to deepthroat for you ‘cause I know you like it. I just practised on a bannanna. ;)

“Banana doesn’t have that many n’s,” Ron whispered when he finished reading. The letter in his hands was shaking a bit. There was a slight incredulous smile starting at his lips.

“Who cares about bananas! I want to suck your dick!” Cormac said enthusiastically. If he was honest with himself, he couldn’t fucking wait to be gay.

“I thought you were straight.” Ron turned his bright blue eyes on Cormac.

“Me too!” Cormac laughed, overwhelmed by a jumble of emotions. ”I thought you were straight, too! Wild, huh!”

“You…” Ron hesitated, “you really didn’t realize until now?” He paused again his mouth forming a confused O. “I literally...I literally told you I wanted to sleep with you and what you did was come into my bed wearing your Pikachu onesie and you hugged me - while I was naked and already half hard  - and told me how great it was to have friends who wanted to cuddle .”

“Well…” Cormac didn’t really know what to say. It seemed kind of obvious now. “You did say sleep.”

“I told you that you were everything I ever needed and you started laughing and said in the most horrible American accent ever ‘Naw, son. You need Jesus!’”

“I…” Cormac was feeling a bit silly now, but that Jesus joke was so damn funny. “You know I’m not that smart.”

“Well, I sure didn’t know you were this dumb either,” Ron said and punched him in the shoulder full-on smiling now.

“Yeah,” Cormac laughed breathily and punched Ron back.

“So…” Ron trailed off, playfully pushing Cormac’s chest but curling his hand around his t-shirt just a second later. He pulled him in so that they were standing just inches from each other. Cormac’s hands fell onto the waist of the worn-out jeans. One sharp tug more and their noses bumped, their heads tilted instinctively and their lips met on a soft exhale. A sharp inhale and they were opening, tasting, moaning. Cormac bit Ron’s lip whose hand was now cupping the nape of Cormac’s neck as he pressed him softly against the table. Ron broke the kiss licking his swollen lips. The desire in his eyes made Cormac’s hard cock pulse.

“I think- ” Ron pressed another passionate kiss to Cormac’s lips “ - we should check how your crash course on deepthroating went.”

Cormac felt nervous laughter bubble in his chest, but he suppressed it and swiftly turned them around firmly pressing Ron into the edge of the table.

He promptly dropped to his knees. “Let’s see how I’ll do with your ba-NN-a-NN-a,” he murmured emphasising the n’s.

“Let’s,” Ron whispered as a fond smile played at his lips and Cormac couldn't think about anything else but how fucking stoked he was that he was finally being gay.

#roarmac #ron/cormac #ron x cormac #listen i know this isn't the best thing i've ever written but damn i had fun haha #SynonymWrites #SynonymPOsts #i will also pretend i didn't just spend the better part of my evening writing this #i should have been reading some course material #and i'm here writing about brove #sorry forgot to put in the keep reading thingy and occupied your dash with 1 #1.6k of roarmac babble #i fixed it now

[fizzingwizard]

Merry Digi-Christmas!

This is my Secret Santamon gift for @escapingtheirony​ who requested a post-series MimixMichael story! Happy Holidays! Hope you enjoy it.

I couldn’t help throwing in a few of my other favorite pairings as well. And I sort of went more PG than G? Hopefully it’s not too strong for you. (If it is you can tell me and I’ll edit it.) I had a lot of fun writing this. But it’s very unedited so typos galore I’m sure. I have this weird habit of just leaving entire words out sometimes?

Wishing you all a wonderful 2018.

---

Following the events of 2002, the Chosen Children’s Christmas party turned into an excuse for them to get together when circumstances otherwise kept them apart. By the time Mimi was 20 years old, it had grown into a grand tradition. Even with the whole gang scattered this way and that - the older kids attending different universities, the younger ones busy with school and clubs — during Christmas they all made what effort they could to spend time with their old friends. Getting the Digimon together was also a benefit. Though Palmon, at least, never complained if much time passed before she saw one of the other Digimon, she was always thrilled whenever Mimi penciled in a gathering on the calendar.

It was Christmas Eve towards the end of her second year of college, the night of the Christmas party, and Mimi was closing up the quirky crepe shop where she’d been employed since moving back to Japan. “Quirky” was an understatement, at least according to Taichi. They served nearly any flavor combination, from squid ink to bacon fat and jelly bean. The menu was right after Mimi’s own heart.

She was outside unplugging the colored lights they’d strung around the three foot tall passionfruit and chicken liver crepe statue to make it “festive” when a familiar voice hailed her.

“Fancy meeting you here, my dear.”

There was only one person who talked to her like a mid-century film star, and that was Michael Barton. Mimi squealed, jumping straight up in her excitement and tripped over the cord of lights. Michael grabbed her before she could swan-dive onto the sidewalk.

“That happy to see me?”

“Michael!” She pressed his cheeks between her winter-pink fingers until he had fish lips. “What are you doing here! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming!”

“Then it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” he answered as best he could. “Wow, Mimi, your hands are so cold.”

She dropped them to her sides. “Well, sorry about that.”

He took one back and kissed it. “I didn’t say I minded.”

“Look who’s turned into Casanova.” She found herself blushing, a thing she didn’t often do, especially not because of Michael’s dated courtship techniques. Lately things between them had… kicked up a notch, though. Where before there had only been play and youthful flirting, now there was something more serious. More grown up. She hadn’t quite decided how she felt about it, but ready or not, there it was.

“Why did you think I pestered you for your work schedule last week? Let’s go celebrate. Drink champagne — you’re legal now, right? — stay up hideously late.”

“Not that I’m not ecstatic to see you, but I wish you’d told me. I kind of have plans.” She made a pouty face. Part of her did feel bad that he’d come all this way, from America, but… still. He should have warned her.

Michael seemed at a loss for a moment. “Oh, really? What plans?” he asked with a sheepish grin.

“Christmas party with my friends.”

“Ah, I see. Well, in that case I’ll go back to my hotel. Hopefully I can see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, but — wait.” She grabbed his arms as he turned to shuffle off. “You can come with me!”

“Are you sure your friends won’t mind? I’m sure you haven’t planned for an extra mouth.”

“No, of course not, it’s just Taichi-san and the gang. And Taichi-san and Daisuke-kun are bottomless pits, so we tend to prepare more food than you’d think.”

“Ah. So you’re saying I should pick off their plates?”

“Trust me, it’ll feel like a buffet.”

They laughed, and Michael waited while Mimi finishing locking things up. Then they trudged shoulder-to-shoulder through the crisp Tokyo night.

~~~~~ (continued below)

The party was to be held at Taichi and Yamato’s apartment this year. After picking up Palmon and Betamon, Mimi and Michael headed straight over. Mimi rang the doorbell. Yamato answered. He took one look at them and let out a long groan.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, we’re already trying to cram twelve people in here and now you bring guests?”

“Just the one,” Mimi replied defensively.

Michael waved. “Hi, Yamato. Long time no see. Don’t worry, you can just perch me on top of the fridge. I’ll play the part of the Elf on the Shelf.”

Yamato shook his head, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Koushirou already took the fridge.”

“… What.”

“Don’t ask me. We —”

“Hey, who’s at the door?” Taichi suddenly materialized out of Yamato’s shadow, swinging an arm around his friend’s neck while he took a long gulp of something in a plastic cup. “Mimi-chan! And… Mitchell!”

“Michael.”

“Michael! Yeah yeah, I knew that! What’re you standing around here for? Is our welcome mat so interesting?”

Mimi and Michael glanced down. “There… isn’t a welcome mat,” Michael said slowly.

With a serious expression, Taichi nodded. “Exactly. Makes you pause for thought, doesn’t it?” He then thrust his cup into Michael’s hand. “Here you go. Stop being a wallflower and come inside. It’s like a clown car in here, watch out that you don’t end up with your nose in someone’s arm pit.”

“Taichi-san, what’s in this?” Mimi asked, peering into the cup while Michael took an experimental sniff.

“… Uh.” Taichi turned his head and yelled to someone in the kitchen area. “Miyako-chan! What’d you put in my cup!”

“Melon soda and Sprite and iced tea,” Miyako’s voice shouted back.

Taichi shrugged at them. “The brewmeister has spoken.”

“There’s no alcohol?” Michael asked.

“Nah, too many of us are still minors, so all refreshments are G-rated.” Yamato snorted at Taichi’s explanation. With a snigger, Taichi added: “’Course, later, when the babies go home, you can have a go at our private stash if you want.”

“Works for me.” Michael took a deep swallow of the mixture. He frowned thoughtfully, gazing into the depths of the cup, then let out a huge burp.

“Attractive,” Mimi deadpanned. “Just the kind of man I always dreamed of.” She snatched the cup out of his hand and wrinkled her nose in scrutiny. “Hmm… this needs gummy bears.”

Michael chuckled. “Whatever you say, toots.”

“What’s that?” Taichi asked. “Toots.”

“A terrible nickname,” Mimi sighed, sounding very put upon.

“A classic,” Michael objected.

“Oh my god, close the door!” Sora suddenly rammed through them and wrenched the door shut. “It’s like 0 degrees outside. Hi Mimi-chan, hi Michael. You two are gonna get it!” She boxed first Taichi, then Yamato about the ears.

“Hey, you all said we had to play host and invite people in!”

“Yeah, you never said anything about having to close the door!”

They ran off with Sora hot on their heels, leaving Michael and Mimi staring after them. After a pause, Michael said: “And here I thought you were the weird one of the group.”

“Who, me?”

~~~~~

Yamato’s less-than-warm-welcome was, after all, rather justified, Michael thought upon observing just tiny the apartment really was. A small living area, with an adjoining kitchenette, toilet, and bathroom that wouldn’t even have filled the entire hallway at his house in New York made up the party area. Decorations were sparse — a bit of crepe paper garland, a Snoopy doll wearing a Santa hat, and on the desk, a snowglobe that held a miniature of the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center. (“I gave them that,” Mimi informed him proudly.) Yamato and Taichi’s bedroom had been cleaned and opened up to provide more space, as it was only separated from the living room by a pair of sliding doors. In order for all thirteen people plus Digimon to fit, they all had to cram in against the walls, and pick their way carefully through a designated walking lane down the middle whenever they had to get up.

“How do two people share rooms here?” Michael asked, somewhat in awe. He drew his long knees up to keep his toes out of the walking lane.

“Oh, it’s common in Japan. Besides, there’s usually more than just two,” Takeru supplied. “Aniki’s bandmates spend a lot of time here most days.”

“Yeah, and I get banished outside,” Taichi complained.

Yamato knocked his shoulder. “Not like you’re ever here anyway.”

“College keeping you busy?” Michael asked with a smile.

Shaking his head, Taichi started passing around a bowl of chips. “College is meh. Koushirou is the reason I never sleep anymore.”

“I think you sleep plenty,” Koushirou said. (He had, indeed, claimed the fridge. It was in the living room rather than out by the kitchenette, and he’d placed his portable router on top of it, drawn up the only chair Michael could see, and was sat there typing away on his laptop. According to him, “the wifi signal craps out if I set it up anywhere else.”)

Looking confused, Michael took the chip bowl as it came to him. “Why is that?” He glanced at Taichi, then at Koushirou, tapping intently on his keyboard. “Oh, I remember — you two are dating, aren’t you?”

Taichi’s expression didn’t change, but he flushed scarlet to the tips of his ears. But Koushirou didn’t appear to have heard him. There was a loaded break in conversation while Michael struggled to figure out if he’d said something wrong. Then Miyako could take it no longer.

“How was your flight, Michael?” she burst out.

“Uneventful. There was some terrific turbulence a couple hours over the Pacific, the lady next to me dropped her glass of —”

“Agumon!” Gabumon tore across the room to the snack table, where Agumon had sneaked up dangerously close to the Christmas cake. “That’s for later! Don’t be greedy!”

“But it smells ready!” Agumon whined.

“Dinner first.” Hikari smiled. “Or you’ll spoil your appetite.”

“No I won’t.”

That was probably true, but Hikari only made a shushing noise and ushered them away.

“Man,” Jou heaved a sigh. “I wish I could just jump on a plane any time I felt like it and go visit my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend lives down the road from you,” Yamato pointed out.

“Still, I get the feeling I spend less time with her than Mimi-kun does with Michael.”

Gomamon stopped munching on the chips long enough to say: “That’s because there are so many books in your place that your girlfriend can’t find the door.”

While Jou and Gomamon wrestled, and the others were occupied with egging them on, Michael seized his chance. With caution, taking care not to be noticed, he let his hand creep across the wood-paneled floor and into Mimi’s lap, and laced his fingers with hers. Mimi glanced at him quickly, the waves of her bright, thick hair bouncing. Then she smiled, and squeezed back.

Michael couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across his face. He didn’t know how long their eyes stayed locked, only that it was long enough for someone to notice, if they hadn’t all been occupied placing bets on who had a better chance at winning a thumb war, Jou or Gomamon. (“Hello, Gomamon doesn’t even have thumbs.” “Sure but still — the other player is Jou.”)

All except one — Sora. Whose warm brown gaze shifted over them as she stood in the opposite corner, sipping tea from a mug. Her brow raised, but when she lifted the mug he saw she was smiling.

~~~~~

The night wore on. Body heat and an electric space heater kept them warm (the apartment didn’t have an air conditioner and Taichi and Yamato claimed to be too cheap to buy one). There was some kind of hot pot for dinner that Yamato had made, to which Taichi had contributed rice, fried horse mackerel, and pickles as sides. It was a serious meal.

“Comes from so many of us being foodies,” Mimi told him.

And the food didn’t stop there. The Christmas cake was cut around eleven o’clock, Sora had brought delicate homemade matcha cookies, and Daisuke announced well after twelve that he’d also brought enough instant ramen for everyone to have a midnight snack. Of the humans, only he and Taichi ate any of it, but the Digimon were only too happy to keep right on eating.

Michael had hoped there would be mistletoe. He looked around but couldn’t find any. He decided to ask Hikari.

“Mistletoe?” She stared at him uncomprehending. Then — “Oh… the stuff that if you’re caught standing under it with another person, you have to kiss them? It’s not so popular in Japan.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Why did you want it? Do you need it to kiss Mimi-san?”

Michael’s cheeks reddened. “Well, I’d heard that people in Japan are more private about displays of affection — of course Mimi isn’t like that at all, not in New York anyway, but seeing as I’m a foreigner and guest here —”

Hikari laughed. It sounded like the tinkle of a wind chime. “Oh, you don’t have to be so careful among friends. Come on, Michael-san! Can’t you tell just by watching that we love a party?”

“Are — are you sure? I mean, I haven’t seen anyone else even holding hands, and I know a bunch of you are dating each other.”

“Yamato-san and Sora-san have been busy keeping the party running smoothly.” Hikari held up her fingers and started ticking off each couple as she spoke. “And before you got here, Daisuke-kun and Ken-kun were making out on Oniichan’s futon. To tell the truth, the only reason Takeru-kun and I weren’t in on the fun is because we feel awkward with our brothers around,” she added.

Oh, that was a good reason.

“Alright, I believe you. But what about Taichi and Koushirou? I felt like I made everyone awkward just by asking about them…”

“Well. The thing is, Oniichan and Koushirou work together — Digital World stuff. I don’t know about all of it. That’s what Oniichan meant when he said Koushirou-san keeps him busy. But as it happens…” She leaned in, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Oniichan asked Koushirou-san out a while ago, and he said yes. But the next time Oniichan mentioned it, Koushirou-san acted like he didn’t remember it happening. So things have been a little… strained, I guess? They still see each other every day, but I know Oniichan’s really confused, and wondering if Koushirou-san changed his mind and that’s why he won’t discuss it. So as of now they’ve never actually been on a date.”

“Oh — Mimi had made it sound like —”

“Yeah, I’m guessing Mimi-san got a little too over-excited. She tends to do that sometimes.”

Mmm, much as he loved her — “Yeah, she does.”

Something gleamed in Hikari’s eye. “Mistletoe wouldn’t be a bad idea. We don’t have any, but…”

She darted off. Somewhat bewildered, Michael started to stroll back to his corner with Mimi, only to find she was no longer there. There were very few places to hide, so he didn’t have to look long before he discovered her just about climbing over Ken while she strung some fallen garland around him. Daisuke was helping gleefully.

“Ah,” Michael coughed. “Do I want to know?”

“We’re decorating,” Mimi told him.

“Yes.” Daisuke nodded. “Isn’t Ken beautiful?”

Ken turned to Michael with a look of longsuffering. “I’m told I’m substituting for a Christmas tree.”

“We need a star for his head,” Mimi declared. Then she looked up at Michael, as if expecting him to produce one out of thin air.

Michael stared back at her. Perhaps long exposure had inured him to her many idiosyncrasies, or maybe she’d just matured over the years, but she didn’t often surprise him with her whims anymore. He couldn’t resist scanning the room in case any alcohol from Taichi and Yamato’s stash had been served without him noticing. “I, uh… here?”

He handed her his crumpled napkin.

Mimi’s face fell. “I’m sure Ken-kun doesn’t want your used napkin on his head.”

“It’s not used!” Michael waved his hands. “It’s not used,” he repeated to Ken, who bobbed his head reassuringly.

“Sora-san!” Mimi yelled. “We need a star for Ken!”

Sora made some reply, but Michael didn’t catch any of it but sheer exhaustion.

Mimi pouted. “Well, you’re no help.”

“Taichi-san!” Daisuke cried. “We need a star.”

Taichi pushed Yamato into his lap. Daisuke blinked down. “… I meant a star that could fit on Ken’s head.”

“TaichiImgonnamurderyou,” Yamato mumbled into his thigh.

“Are you sure there isn’t any alcohol here?” Michael whispered to Jou somewhat desperately. But he might as well not have spoken — Jou had fallen asleep with his face half-pressed against the balcony window, mouth slack and glasses askew, as several Digimon raced back and forth picking scraps off his forgotten plate.

Michael went back to his partner. “Betamon, am I having a good time?”

Betamon’s eyes shone as he looked up with his mouth full of cake. “Mmmphhggg!”

“Time for games!” Hikari announced, striding into the center of their cramped circle. Her hands were full of disposable wood chopsticks. “Let’s play Ousama Game!”

Suddenly Michael wished there was alcohol.

~~~~~

The clock struck one a.m. Everyone stared at their chopstick. In spite of the lack of heat in the room, more than one person was sweating.

“So…” Daisuke glanced around. “Who’s the first king?”

After a moment, Yamato sighed. His head dropped in his hand as he raised his chopstick.

Takeru whistled. “Nice going, big bro!”

“Shut up,” Yamato grouched.

Taichi smiled big. “What’s your command, my liege?”

Yamato seemed to think, though Michael got the impression he was more feeling sorry for himself than coming up with some great plan. “Number two and number six, finish your drinks.”

“Whaaaat,” Mimi whined. “That’s boring! Besides, all we’ve got is soft drinks!”

“When you’re the king, you can make the rules,” Yamato snapped back.

Shoulders drooping, Mimi took an unhappy glance at her cup and knocked it back. “Whatever, I’m number six.”

Koushirou said he was number two, and polished off his oolong tea without any fuss. The chopsticks were collected and drawn again. Michael laughed softly to himself, having drawn number five for the second time in a row.

“Ooooh, I’m the king!” Miyako said with excitement. “Let’s get things started! Numbers five and twelve have to kiss!”

Mimi let out a whoop. “Yeah, that’s my girl!”

“And not just a little peck on the cheek! I want to see passion!”

Ah. Now he understood Hikari’s plan, though so far it wasn’t working out quite how she’d hoped, Michael guessed. With an easygoing smile, he lifted his number five chopstick. “That’s me. Who’s the lucky number twelve?”

“That would be me.” It was Taichi who answered, laughing so hard he was barely coherent. “Oh man, Michael. I gotta apologize. My breath smells like fried fish.”

“Here.” Yamato passed him an Altoid. Taichi popped it in his mouth, then leaned forward, expressive lips puckered.

Unable to keep from grinning, Michael peeked at Mimi. She mimed dip-kissing the air. With that for encouragement, Michael put his hands on Taichi’s shoulders and kissed him full on the mouth. He heard a few of the girls cheer, and someone — Yamato, he thought — gave a hum of approval. Seeking to draw out their laughter, he kept going, climbing over Taichi until he was just about on top of him. Taichi didn’t seem to mind at all, in fact it felt as if he was shaking with silent laughter. One of his broad brown hands crept up Michael’s leg and squeezed his butt.

That sent the group into hysterics. Michael and Taichi finally broke away, both with silly grins and flushed cheeks.

“Welcome to Japan,” Taichi said when there was a break in the laughter. “What do you think of our traditional greeting?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure if I’ve mastered every nuance.” Michael frowned in mock disappointment. “Maybe we should keep practicing.”

“No, you will not.” Michael’s heart fluttered as Mimi inserted herself between his legs. She leaned towards him, breath tickling his nose. “That was fun and all, but now I’m jealous. If you plan to practice, practice with me.”

Mimi was so pretty. He never forgot how pretty she was. He’d thought so in junior high, when they’d first met, and the first seedlings of puppy love sprouted. And he’d thought so while she experimented with makeup, a new hairstyle and color every month, because she made everything seem so much fun that how could he help it?

In middle school she hadn’t taken his crush seriously. In high school she’d put off him strongly enough that he’d stopped asking, tried dating other girls. After all, he was good-lucking, and friendly, and the son of a famous actor — most girls were flattered if he paid them attention. To say Mimi’s rejection made him want her all the more would be a mischaracterization. Michael thought he was made of sterner stuff than that. It was just that he genuinely had more fun with her than with anyone else, and whenever he thought he’d got her out of his system, there’d she be again. And finally, their senior year of high school, she’d accepted his feelings and agreed to one date. The one turned into two, then three, and so on, until they found themselves celebrating their three year anniversary and unable to remember a time when it was different.

He loved her, and he thanked the heavens every day that she loved him back.

Mimi settled into his lap and drew his head down. Michael didn’t hesitate as their lips met. Her body molded against his, warm and melty, the fuzzy stuff of her sweater tickling his neck as her arms wrapped around his neck. Like he’d done so many times, he lost himself in the enticing pressure of her pink lips, her lashes butterfly soft against his jaw.

At last they parted, both breathing a little faster usual. She gazed back at him, and gave a little laugh.

He was thinking about something to say when Jou poked his arm and handed him a couple of chopsticks. “If you two are ready to join the rest of us,” Jou said with a wry smirk.

Red-faced, Michael took the chopsticks — eight and thirteen — and handed thirteen to Mimi. She seemed comfortable where she was, curling up against his chest as she inspected her number.

Iori was the new king. His decree was for numbers one and four to exchange socks for the duration of the game. This became entertaining when it turned out that one was Daisuke and four was Hikari, and Hikari’s powder blue cat-face socks in no way fit on Daisuke’s much larger feet. Hikari flat out refused to put on Daisuke’s, which were red and green and Christmassy, but more than anything smelly. They were instead draped over the TV set.

Next Ken drew king, and set numbers twelve and three (Takeru and Miyako) in a competition to see who could recite “Jugemu Jugemu” all the way through the fastest. Neither could remember all the words, so it ended in a draw.

Sora challenged numbers ten and eleven (Daisuke and Yamato) to name as many animals in English as they could. Yamato beat Daisuke soundly. Daisuke implored Michael for help, but perhaps having imbibed a bit too much of the social culture here, Michael responded: “Sorry, I like to watch you suffer.”

Daisuke got his chance for revenge the very next turn, savagely declaring, “Numbers seven has to give number two a piggyback ride!” But seven turned out to Taichi, and two was Hikari, so in the end it was a pretty poor attempt at vengeance.

They played a few more rounds, until most everyone had had a go at being king. Taichi held the record for taking the most commands. Only Mimi had yet to be King, so for the last round, it was decided that the king stick would go to her regardless. As the other chopsticks were being redistributed, Mimi stretched and climbed out of Michael’s lap, announcing that she had to take a bathroom break.

“You can’t wait until your turn is over?” Sora asked.

“I’ll be quick.”

She was, in fact, quick — too quick. How she’d had time to do anything more than open and close the bathroom door was anyone’s guess. Michael watched her with narrowed eyes as she made her return, visiting around the circle before she finally sat down next to him. There was a glint in her eye that spelled danger. But before Michael could quiz her, Mimi had picked up her king stick and straightened.

“Her royal highness Princess Mimi decrees —” She flourished the stick theatrically, leveling an imperious gaze on her gathered friends “— that numbers five and nine must kiss.”

Yamato stuck a finger in the air. “We already did that one. No repeats.”

“Since when?”

“Since now.”

Mimi’s lips scrunched to the side. “No, you can’t just make up rules.”

“Yamato, it’s cool.” Taichi covered up a yawn as he spoke. Many of the paty guests were flagging by this time, their Digimon partners already passed out in their laps. “I’m five. This is like, the eighty-fifth command I’ve got tonight. What’s one more kiss?”

Mimi smirked at Yamato in triumph. Yamato rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Who’s nine?” Taichi asked, blinking sleepily around the group.

At first no one answered. Michael watched heads back and forth. Number nine did not come forth.

“Aw, come on.” Mimi stuck out her lower lip. “It’s the last round! Who’s going to give up in the last round?”

No one answered. A grin splitting his lips, Taichi scratched behind his ear. “I guess whoever’s number five really doesn’t want to kiss me,” he quipped.

“Me,” mumbled Koushirou.

It took a minute for it to register that he had spoken. Then they were all looking at him at once. “What’d you say?” Taichi asked, but already the heat was climbing in his face.

Slowly Koushirou raised his chopstick: number five. “It’s me.” His dark eyes were unreadable.

Taichi licked his chapped lips. “Y-You don’t have to. It’s just a game.” He gave an awkward laugh. “Right, Mimi-chan?”

Mimi looked like she might protest, so Michael put a placating hand on her knee. She peered up at him, and sighed. “Right,” she said reluctantly.

There were no doubts in Michael’s mind that Mimi’s “bathroom break” had been more about sneaking a peek at what numbers Taichi and Koushirou pulled so she could play matchmaker with her turn as king. For all her many wonderful qualities, she did have a penchant for meddling. At least, he thought, she did it mostly when she felt she could make all those involved happier, and not for vindictive purposes.

But Koushirou had yet to respond, and as the pause in the festivities stretched out longer, Taichi’s usual happy-go-lucky expression crumpled into disappointment, and then further into something like shame. He stood up, muttering something about putting the dishes in the sink.

“Koushirou,” he said before leaving, “don’t worry about it, ’kay? Honestly, it’s just a game, it’s not supposed to make you uncomfortable. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

He picked his way between Yamato and Sora to get to the door that led to the kitchen, and had just opened it when Koushirou found his voice:

“I want to.” Koushirou’s whole face was cherry red. He didn’t seem able to look anyone in the eye.

Taichi stared at him with a look like a dead fish. Koushirou raised his head, voice wavering but clearly mustering all his courage to repeat: “I want to.”

In an instant, Taichi grabbed him by the elbow and hauled him out into the hall, closing the door behind them.

Mimi turned to Michael, a smug look on her face. Michael did his best to look stern. “You shouldn’t have done that, missy.”

She had the gall to look offended. “Done what? Show them how stupid they’re both being?”

“Mimi-chan, you’re not supposed to know who has what numbers in this game,” Sora sighed. Clearly she’d noticed what Mimi was up to as well.

“Oh, like I’m the bad guy here! Haven’t we been watching them pine for each other for way too long?” Her arms flew up in a gesture of exasperation. “It’s like a soap opera! The kind where no one admits their feelings until someone’s lying half-dead on a gurney!”

“Mimi-kun,” Jou groaned.

“At least, this way, they finally have to talk it out, am I right?”

“The idea that those two will figure it out on their own does seem kinda hopeless,” Miyako put in with a shrug. Beside her, Daisuke and Takeru nodded in agreement.

Yamato pointed, rather rudely, in Mimi’s direction. “Do me a favor and don’t chase a career in relationship counseling.”

“Shortcake,” Agumon mumbled in his sleep.

After that the conversation turned to other things.

~~~~~

By the time everyone went home, it was three in the morning.

“Thanks for letting me join you guys.” Michael accepted the bag of leftover matcha cookies as he said his good-byes. “I had a lot of fun.”

“No problem,” Yamato said. “Sorry our party ruined your date night.”

“Oh, no.”

“Next year we should do something that’s actually Christmas-related,” Mimi suggested. Michael laughed.

Leaning against the door jamb, Yamato quirked his brow at her. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Snowball fight?”

“Right, because it snows in December in Tokyo so often.”

“Well, baking cookies or… I don’t know, Michael, what’s a good Christmas activity?”

Michael blinked. “Uh… maybe Christmas carols?”

“Oh, that’s a good one! Yamato-san can play the guitar! And I can sing!”

“And the rest of us?” Sora asked, smiling.

“Eh, you can play the spoons.”

“I’ll spend next year practicing.”

Mimi grinned, and Michael tightened his grip around her shoulders. “Are Taichi-san and Koushirou-kun not going to come say good-bye?” Mimi asked.

“I’ll ask.” Yamato stuck his head into the adjacent room. “Mimi wants to know if you’re going to say good-bye.”

“Bye, Mimi,” Taichi’s voice shouted.

“See you,” Koushirou added. Neither seemed about to leave the position Mimi had last seen them, leaning side-bye-side against the fridge, Koushirou explaining some new MMORPG he was into and Taichi stealing every chance he could to plant kisses on the top of his head. She allowed herself a secret grin. Alright, so maybe her meddling had been out of line. But who was going to complain at this point?

Sora was planning to spend the night (chances were Koushirou would stay over too). Mimi and Michael were the last to leave, cradling Palmon and Betamon in their arms as their partners slept away. In the elevator, Michael bent over and kissed Mimi’s forehead.

“What was that for?” she asked, eyes sparkling.

He shrugged one shoulder. “Just because.”

“I like that reason.” They reached the first floor. “I’d return the sentiment but you’re rather taller than me.”

“Another time, then.”

“Tomorrow?”

“If you so desire.”

“I do so desire.” Her arms were full of Palmon so she couldn’t hold his hand, but she walked as closely as she could, bumping shoulders every other step. “I hope you had fun tonight.”

“Oh, I did. Your friends are a riot. And Betamon loved the chance to spend time with your partners.”

“I think he loved the food, mostly.”

“That too.”

The road they were on was well-lit with street lamps and fluorescent signs. Even at this hour, there were a fair number of cars rolling by. Michael wondered if Tokyo ever slept. New York City never got any true silence either, he reflected. Maybe, for that reason, he liked that he and Mimi could walk home together like this, not saying a word. Just being together.

They reached her apartment. “I’m not sure if I should invite you up,” she said. “Seems like a waste since you booked a hotel and all.”

“I’ll go to the hotel tonight. We can… talk tomorrow.” He chewed his lip a moment. “I noticed you guys didn’t exchange gifts.”

“Oh, yeah, we don’t do that so much on Christmas here.”

“Well, I brought you something, but I think I’ll give it to you tomorrow.” His heart thumped in his chest.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have! I don’t have anything for you.” She looked crestfallen for a half a second. Then she pumped her fist. “Come early tomorrow, I’ll make you breakfast!”

“Alright.” His throat felt dry. “Tomorrow, then.”

“It’s a date. Good-night, Michael.”

“Good-night, Mimi…”

Feelings of elation mixed with fear as he walked to the hotel alone. Love, he figured, was like that — the very height of emotion. More than any other earthly thing capable of creation or destruction and difficult to predict which. He fingered the little velvet box that had remained in his coat pocket all evening. Tomorrow — he’d wait until tomorrow. He’d wait a hundred years for love, and tomorrow, he’d make sure she knew it.

#digimonsecretsanta2017 #digimon #fizz writes

[jads1000]

Steroline Appreciation Week 2017 (#scaw17) The Snow Globe: An Origin Story

What do you do when you can gif for toffee and your photoshop skills are woeful, but you want to still appreciate your OTP?

This story has been buzzing about in my mind for a while so I decided to write it down. It’s set some time in S1, Lexi is dead, Grams is alive.

Thank you to @lightninginmyeyes for the encouragement (you’re my writing inspiration!) and @mediocreplayweight for all the crazy fic ideas we have come up (one day I might actually finish something). This is dedicated to you two.

***

"Take a name!" Caroline waved the envelope aggressively under Stefan's nose.

"I'm sorry?" He replied, confused.

"Don't be." She snapped. "Take a name."

As Caroline Forbes was a force of nature, he decided to do as she said and meekly drew a slip of paper from the envelope. He unfolded it, taking in the name written in neat cursive hand.

"Don't tell me. It's meant to be a secret as in SECRET Santa. Didn't they have that in whatever podunk place you were living before? Whatever. It's a $15 limit.” She waved a hand dismissively and sauntered off.

Used to her hostility, partly due to his rejection of her advances and partly because Damon was his brother, he wondered how the hell he was supposed to buy something half way decent for so little money.

***

It was T minus two hours to the Secret Santa gift exchange. Stefan felt a bit of a heel leaving it so damn late, but he had had to order something from eBay and the seller had been slow to post. Fortunately, he just about had time to sort it. Stefan had decided to get creative; his room, full of nick knacks, was a treasure trove of cool stuff carefully collected over 150 years.

Sat at his desk, his fingers brushed over the vintage Disney snow globe. He remembered buying it in Florida with Lexi who had told him he was the biggest cheese ball ever and he needed to get over himself. It still hurt to think about his best friend. The tale of Peter Pan, the boy who never grew up, had spoken to him since the 1900s when he had read J M Barrie's first edition. The globe contained his favourite character from the film and was the absolute best fit for the recipient of the gift. She had had a hard time recently and deserved something special.

Unfortunately, being nearly 40 years old, the contents had turned murky with slime so Stefan had carefully levered it open, emptied and cleaned the glass globe and just needed to refill it with a concoction of glycerine and glitter. He grinned as he slid the bung back into bottom, his task complete. The globe was the good as the day he had bought it.

"For pity's sake, Stefan." A sneery voice echoed from across the room. Why did he constantly forget to shut his door? "You're a vampire, not an eight-year-old girl."

"Well, brother. You wouldn't know a classic tale if it smacked you in the face." He snarked back. "What do you want?"

"Aside from ensuring your eternity of misery continues, I wanted to find out how far you had got with the Bennett witches. Have you found the grimoire?"

"No." He half lied. "Not yet."

"I don't believe you." Damon's lips twitched nastily. "You never were a good liar, Stefan." He vamped into the room and snatched the snow globe from his brother's hands. "I'll ask you again. Where is the grimoire?"

"I. Don't. Know." He replied trying to keep the tremble from his voice as he attempted to swipe back the globe.

"Tut tut. You know it does work like that. You have something I want and I have something you want. Care to trade?"

"For the last time, I don't know where the grimoire is. Now give that back." Stefan growled.

Damon smirked, knowing he had him. "Too bad. I'll just have to hold onto this..." He tossed the ornament up into the air. Stefan took his chance and flew in trying to grab it, but Damon was quicker and he batted Stefan away. It fell to the floor shattering into a thousand pieces.

"Oh dear." Damon smirked, over his shoulder as he left. "Someone's not getting their Secret Santa gift. Remember, I know everything. You don't want to cross me."

The threat still lingering in the air, Stefan attempted to clean up the mess while frantically wondering where he was going to get a new gift from at this late stage.

***

Caroline kept a tight ship when it came to event planning. She expected perfection both from herself and everyone else involved. She had eye rolled when Elena had suggested including the boys in this year's Secret Santa exchange. Caroline had made sure that her friend hadn't pulled Stefan's name and vice versa. Other than that, she had no idea who had who. For her, finding out who the identity of the mystery gift giver was as exciting as receiving the gift itself.

So, she was beyond pissed that, Tyler, Jeremy, Elena and Stefan were all late.

"Quit stressing, babe. They'll get here when they get here." A pair of arms wrapped around her waist. She found it more irritating than comforting.

"It's just..." She sighed. "Why can't people follow instructions?"

Matt didn't bother answering as Tyler walked into the Mystic Grill and he obviously felt bro hugging him was more important.

"Sorry, Care. I'm sure Stefan, Elena and Jer are on their way." Bonnie was trying to placate her, but at least, she was being kindly about it.

"Thanks Bon. How are you...." Her question was interrupted by Elena and Jeremy. Everyone gathered round the Gilberts greeting them warmly.

"Where's Stefan?" Caroline huffed, desperate to get the show on the road.

Elena tossed her hair. "He called me earlier to say there's been some sort of emergency." She replied vaguely.

"Well, if he's not here in five minutes, we'll have to start without him."

Elena blinked her big doe eyes and cocked her head to one side. "But surely that will just ruin everything."

Caroline seethed. Elena was right, but that didn't mean she had to like it. Bonnie, scenting drama, quickly stepped in. "How about we order some chilli cheese fries and play some pool while we wait for Stefan?"

"Good idea, Bon. He won't be long." Elena breezed off to the bar to order, all self-assurance and annoying perfection.

Caroline felt her face twist sourly, but she kept her true feelings at bay. This was supposed to be fun. So why didn't it feel that way?

***

Half an hour later, Bonnie was crowned the undisputed pool champion. Tyler had vowed to 'go easy on her' so Caroline had her suspicions about just exactly how Bonnie had won, but she kept it to herself. Finally, Stefan appeared and dropped an attractively wrapped gift into the box Caroline had prepared to aid anonymity. Clapping her hands, she gathered the reluctant participants around and started to dole out the gifts,

As the present pile got smaller, Caroline's hope that Stefan would be the one who bought her gift started to rise. She was excited, he was great at that kind of thing, thoughtful and sweet. The other boys had gone jokey. Matt had bought Tyler a mankini and a bottle of lube, what Tyler bought Elena should never be talked about in polite company, even Jeremy who had the unenviable task of buying for the guy who has everything bought Stefan a joke book to go with the latest John Grisham. Caroline, however, couldn't imagine Stefan not taking this seriously.

"Last but not least." She squealed as she picked out her gift, even if the rest of the table had since lost interest. Eagerly, she opened the box and started to root around in the shredded tissue paper. It wasn’t easy to locate, but her fingers finally located something round and plastic-y. She frowned a little, but gamely persevered lifting out the object.

It was a key chain.

A snow globe key chain.

Of Mystic Fucking Falls.

"Oh dude." She heard Tyler say.

"Cheers Stefan. You just made my life so much easier, setting the Christmas present buying bar that low!" She could hear the smirk in Matt's voice.

She composed herself. "Thank you, Stefan." She said tightly. "At least, it's useful." She let out a tinkly laugh, hiding her humiliation. "Who's up for another game of pool?" She heard whoops and hollers and felt Matt press a distracted kiss to her cheek.

"I love my bracelet. Thanks again. Are you okay?" Bonnie asked, the only one left behind.

"Of course." More tinkly laughter. "Why wouldn't I be? Go on, Bon. You have a title to defend."

When everyone was gone, she picked up and twirled the snow globe. Her mom would probably say 'you don't give to receive', but that didn't make this feel any less shit. As no one was looking, she decided to get some air. As soon as she left the Grill, the mask cracked, she buried her head in her hands and let the tears roll unchecked down her face. She had had such high hopes for junior year. Where the hell did it go so wrong?

"Caroline?"

Oh fuck. The one person she did not want to see was stood directly in front of her. She kept her hands to her face hoping he would take a hint and sling his hook.

He didn't.

In fact, he put his hand on her forearm and said her name again.

She looked up.

"I'm sorry. Look, I screwed up. I had another gift and I misplaced it. Quick Stop aren't the best for last minute gifts." He smiled apologetically.

"It's alright." Being mad at Stefan was hard work.

"No, it really isn't.” He said earnestly. “So, I bought you this as well, but it was a bit over the limit and I didn't want to embarrass anyone." He seemed to magic a huge box of her and her mother's favourite chocolates out of thin air. She imagined the two of them sitting down together watching Dancing with the Stars while passing the box back and forth. "The snow globe was a bad idea?"

Surprised to see the offending item still in her hand, she held it up. "I mean maybe if it was from London or Stockholm or Rio de Janerio, it might have been cooler."

"But Caroline." He fixed her with his serious look. "In 18 months’ time, high school will be over and you'll be leaving Mystic Falls, off to college, travelling or just taking on the world. I guess I thought this way you could take a bit of home with you."

She looked up at him and they locked eyes for a second. Her heart fluttered under the warmth of his gaze. Looking at Stefan Salvatore should not feel this good. He was out of bounds and she had a boyfriend.

"It's still a shit gift!" She exclaimed, breaking the tension.

He chuckled. "Come on, it's cold out here. Let's go and watch Bonnie kick Tyler’s ass again. Her talent is almost supernatural." He winked at her. And despite the chilly in the air, Caroline felt warmer than she had in a while.

AN: I have an idea for a second part. Let me know if you guys are interested.

#Steroline #scaw17 #steroline fanfic #Stefan Salvatore #caroline forbes