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obriengf · 4 months

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A Gracious Gift || Mitch Rapp x Reader

Summary: Mitch had almost forgotten what it was like to be shown love until you gave him a small token to change his mind. Words: 1.4k Warnings: swearing bc it's mitch... he also has trust issues okay, pretty angsty oops Notes: the first addition to my 2023 xmas fics!

hope he's bringing me love this christmas cause i deserve you here ✩

His nose scrunched, details of exasperation etching themselves deep in the wrinkle between his brows and the frown of his lips. It was a cross between amusement and simple irritation that devoured the man as he stood resistant to the brightly coloured lights that reflected across the warm brown of his irises, arms crossed over his chest and a huff pushing past his lips. Mitch Rapp didn't do Christmas, not anymore. Neither did his ears enjoy the pretentious tunes that flooded the small living room of your safehouse or the irony they held as he stared at the decorated tree beside the small television.

"Is this a joke?" He huffed, once more, head barely turning as his voice carried to the small frame to his left. You didn't reply, his question dripping in all things rhetorical, and instead allowed a smile to curl upward into the shadow of a smirk. His pessimism is something that you're used to by now - starting beyond the tantrum he threw when you were first assigned as his partner. The Assassin grew to like you, however, after many arguments and a handful of times proving yourself. He saw honour within you and a driving force to do right by all, no matter what it took. In turn, you saw a man that hurt where his heart lay, but he used his head as a guard and determination to build up near impenetrable walls. It didn't stop you though, from trying... from showing him that there is much more to this world than Good versus Bad. And eventually, Mitch Rapp became oxygen - you breathed in his presence every single day without fault, but a part of you also desperately needed him to survive.

"Don't be such a killjoy." You eventually said, proud that you pulled together something so makeshift in such little time allowed. You chuckled at his negative outlook, avoiding the side eye he threw your way as you tentatively reached out to drag a finger across a bright blue bauble. It was hope, a much-needed light in the midst of the cruel world that you face every day. And it just so happened to appear in the form of cheap gas station decorations and an overwhelming scent of pine needles from one of the small trees next to the cabin. You drew a breath as you turned to the man, the whisky tone of his eyes already peering down at you. He was swimming in hesitation, near drowning from it if it meant that he kept himself closed off. "I just wanted to give you a reason to be happy."

Your voice was quiet, and Mitch nearly would have missed it if he wasn't pouring so much of his focus into you. He last celebrated this stupid Holiday with Katrina - when he had a reason to smile, to have hope, to bathe in that happiness that would usually come from such a joyous time. And since then, you had made him smile and he had an inkling of hope, and he had a reason to be happy once again but the pain was still so incredibly present that it continued to devour every single cell in his body until he was just a shell. And Mitch hurt. He always hurt.

You always knew when he was starting to shut down. Mitch's emotions would turn off, like a simple flick of a switch, and the robot persona that the Central Intelligence Agency craved would soon embody the man that you've grown so accustomed to. You would lose him for hours, as if he was asleep and he needed to wake. Mitch Rapp had lost hope for so long and it killed you to see how much it affected him.

Even if it took every single second you owned, you were going to help him. To show the man the love that he deserved. To finally wake him up.

Mitch scoffed and turned away from you, his large hand dragging down his cheek. Words were mumbled against the palm of his hand, "Well, you wasted your time."

"You're never a waste of time, Mitch." You replied, remaining beside the tree as you watched his head hang low. It was expected for him to walk away, but he didn't, his back still to you but his ears listening for the soft coo of your voice. A small smile tugged eagerly at your lips, "You're a lot of things, mostly a pain in my ass, but you're not a waste of time. Especially mine. I'd do anything for you, you know that."

The man exhaled, his head shaking, "You can't fix a broken man, Y/N. Not one whose as fucked as I am."

Your chest tightened. Mitch's exhaustion was wearing him down, his walls cracking, crumbling, and not in the way you thought they would. His sadness tugged at your heart and you were already beginning to second guess if your plan was the right path to take. Gently, you reached to the base of the tree, the lights flickering against the side of your face as you grasped at a small box.

"You're not broken. You're not a waste of time. And if you're fucked up Mitch, then I must be as fucked up as you because we've come from the same place. We've had the same feelings hurt. But we're here, and we're alive and okay. And I'm never letting you go, no matter how much you push me away."

Mitch turned to catch the shimmer in your eyes. He could see the emotion building up and gathering along your waterline, and he had such an overwhelming desire to catch the tears before they fell. He moved forward with large strides before he captured your cheeks within his palms, thumbs rubbing with such tenderness under the tips of your lashes. You always managed to bring him back from the edge of despair, but seeing you with such sentiment was enough to shake some sense into him. He shushed under his breath, any evidence of an Assassin disappearing, and instead a simple man was left behind.

"Please don't cry." He hummed, not daring to look away from your eyes until he felt something hard press to his abdomen. His focus broke, an eyebrow raising in question at a small white box clutched strongly within your hands. Mitch's head tilted to the side, "What's this?"

An unwanted sniffle escaped you before your gaze followed his, the box in question now lifted toward him, "I meant it when I said I'm never letting you go. You mean a lot to me, Mitch, and this is how I was going to show you... instead of crying like a child." An incredulous chuckle ended your response as you ushered the box at Mitch, shaking the small object until he took it from you.

The man was nervous, but curious, pulling lightly at the bow that adorned the top until the fabric fluttered gently to the hardwood floors. The top of the box was removed next and he froze before he picked up the item inside. Mitch's finger ran over it delicately as he peered in disbelief.

"This is for me?" He asked, voice whispered as he held his new pocket knife so gently between you both. All you could do was nod and smile as he looked at you, his own smile perking in happiness.

"Turn it over."

He did as he was told before his lips slightly parted, irises of deep brown flicking over the engraving you left on the hilt -

Always with you.

A clang was heard as he placed the knife on the table beside him, a movement so quick that you almost didn't see it happen as you were gathered in his arms. Arms of your own slid over his shoulders as the man secured your waist, his hold tight and he savoured being so close to you. It was his kick, his wake-up call. It was what he needed to know that hope was not lost. It was his future and the piece that could fill the hole in his heart.

Mitch pressed a kiss tenderly to the crown of your head, his lips then falling to your temple before they pressed again. He was sure that you could feel the thumping in his chest, but he didn't care. Not when he had you wrapped up so perfectly against his frame.

You could feel the warmth of his breath dance against your skin, "I am always with you, too."

#mitch rapp #mitch rapp x reader #american assassin #dylan o'brien #dylan o'brien x reader #american assassin x reader #dylan o'brien fic #dylan o'brien imagine #mitch rapp fic #mitch rapp imagine #obriengfchristmas

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supersonic-darling · 3 years

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Santa Baby

Pairing: Jake x Reader

Summary: based on this request: hi love! i am very much getting into the christmas spirit and was listing to santa baby... when i tell u i have THOTS‼️ that could make a *muah* blurb or something if you’re up for it (for whoever)... anyways... cold winter night (fireplace optional 😌), eartha kitt’s santa baby crackling on vinyl, tasteful xmas themed lingerie and a ~striptease~ MOTHER OF MARY this has been rattling around in my pea-brain for DAYS. if you decide to do this, THANK YOU🤍 xoxo

Word Count: 1310

Warnings: slightly NSFW but no actual smut.

A/N: I wish I was as confident as Y/N! (and GIF by @edgeofgreta )

Jake swung the door closed behind him, letting it slam into the lock. The sound made him jump but he didn’t have the energy to move more than that. He propped his guitar case in the hallway and looked around; calling out for you he noticing how quiet it was.

“I’m in here” you shouted from the living room, scooting around a corner to hide from him. Hesitantly stepping into the living-room he looked around but couldn’t find you. He did however notice that during his absence you had managed to decorate completely – warm golden lights all around and the fire going, made your home feel so warm and cosy.

Sinking into the sofa, Jake let himself relax back as he waited for you. Stretching back – legs spread and eyes closed he didn’t see you step back into the room until he heard the click of your heels. Peaking his eyes open from their rest, his jaw dropped as he saw you standing in the doorway in the long black silk robe, he’d gotten you for your first anniversary.

You bit your lip as you took in his reaction. Mustering all the confidence you could, you walked over to the record player and started it up.

Santa baby, just slip a Sable under the tree for me Been an awful good girl Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight

Jake let out a tired laugh, eyes crinkling at the sides when you made eye contact – giving a little wiggle you laughed together, both feeling the tension of the moment but also knowing this was a little bit silly.

Steeling yourself you began to sway to the rhythm of Eartha Kitt – biting your lip as you toyed with the ribbon of your robe. You began moving around the room slowly, calming your nerves as you saw the look in Jakes change. Still hooded from how tired he was – there was now an undeniable excitement in them though he shuffled nervously on the sofa, re arranging himself into a slightly more upright position.

Santa baby, a ‘54 convertible too, light blue I'll wait up for you, dear Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight

Turning your back to him, you looked over your shoulder. Nervous excitement still in his eyes he gave you a goofy grin as his hands flexed on his knees. You slipped one shoulder off of your robe, the deep red satin strap of your bra peaking out from beneath the black silk. Jake visibly swallowed, licking his bottom lip and doing his trademark lip touch, letting you know you should definitely carry on.

Think of all the fun I've missed Think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed Next year, I could be just as good If you check off my Christmas list

Jake hadn’t been completely sure whether or not you were serious about actually stripping for him in your living room but now he was. Your leg emerged from under the robe next and Jakes eyes trailed up your body to see you smirking at him from under your lashes. You retracted your leg slowly, watching with a smile as Jakes mouth hung open, the look on his face was priceless as you planned your next move. Spinning round on the spot to face him, you take a few steps towards Jake, stopping at his feet before getting his attention back on your top half by slipping the other shoulder off of your robe.

Jake sat forward on the sofa, holding his hand out to feel the soft silk as he touched your leg. You leaned forward slightly, teasing him with a peak of your cleavage and a small kiss to his plump lips as you slipped out of his grasp – letting the robe drop from your body in your wake.

Santa baby, I want a yacht, and really, that's not a lot Been an angel all year Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight

Your looked over your shoulder at him again, now sat on the edge of his seat with the end of your black silk robe in his hand – eyes slowly raking all over you, taking in the deep red burgundy of the set. The shine of the satin on the curves of your body – the fine, delicate lace that accentuated the curve of your ass. His mind ran a mile a minute as he took in what was only the back of you.

‘Wow’ Jake chuckled still unsure how he should react. This wasn’t something you’d ever discussed at all, and while it was definitely something Jake had imagined once or twice your relationship had gone well past trying to be overtly sexy with each other – but this was interesting.

Santa honey, one little thing I really need The deed to a platinum mine Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight

Jake dropped the robe in his hand as you walked back towards him, shuffling back in his seat when you came to sit yourself across his lap, legs curled up on the sofa next to you as though you were just settling in to watch a movie together. His big warm hand came to rest on your thigh, stroking up and down as you teased his with soft kisses everywhere but his lips.

Jakes restraint began to waiver when you tipped the strap of your bra off your shoulder, smiling as the simple action caused him to inhale deeply. You gently stroked one finger around the side of his face and around his jawline, flicking it off the end of his chin so that his attention was back on you.

Santa cutie, and fill my stocking with a duplex and checks Sign your "X" on the line Santa cutie, and hurry down the chimney tonight

Slipping off his lap before he could wrap his arms around you, Jake reached a hand out not wanting to let you go. You took his hand and dragged him to his feet – pushing the other strap off your shoulder as he flashed you a lazy lopsided grin. His smile made butterflies bloom in your stomach and you bit your lip to stop you grinning right back at him.

Turning to walk back to the record player – you didn’t let go of his hand, instead pulling him behind you. Jakes arms wrapped around you from behind when you came to a halt; his lips grazing the tender skin of your neck as he pressed light kisses up and down your neck, along your shoulders and back again. His touch was so tender it almost brought you to tears after so long practically separated from one another.

Come and trim my Christmas tree With some decorations bought at Tiffany's I really do believe in you Let's see if you believe in me

You turned in his arms, his warm embrace and scent surrounding you as you skimmed your arms up his chest and around his neck, smiling when his hands settle on your waist. Lost in each other you both began to sway slowly to the song - whispering the lyrics into his ear as you felt him leave more soft kisses wherever his lips could reach.

Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing A ring, I don't mean on the phone Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight Hurry down the chimney tonight

Running your fingers through his hair as he continued to lavish you, you almost forgot your mission as you sunk into him and his entire being around you. Snapping yourself out of your haze you took a hold of Jakes hand again as you lead him out of the room, slowly down the hallway to your bedroom door. With one final look back at him, you beckoned him in, closing the door behind you.

Hurry, tonight

#my writing #jake kiszka #jake kiszka imagine #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka smut #gvf #greta van fleet #gvf imagine #greta van fic #greta van fleet imagine

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atmilliways · 3 years

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On the 3rd day of Dethmas this writer gives to thee…

Dec 15 - Crossover with your favorite holiday song

The Little Drummer Boy is not actually my favorite Christmas song, but it's my dad's least favorite for some reason so it's always held a special place in my heart. 😈

Nathan/Skwisgaar/Pickles, but most of the action is Nathan/Skwisgaar and there’s some sneaky voyeurism going on while Pickles finishes recording his drum parts. Definitely Explicit.

To Lay Before the King, Pa Rum Pum Pum Pum

Before recording sessions, the Klokateers always made sure to set up whichever instruments would be needed first in the booth well in advance. Since the band had spent most of yesterday waiting for Pickles to wake up from a “little lie-down nap” and still had yet to record the last of his parts for the new album so they could be done with this shit in time for Christmas, the drum kit was already in there and ready to go by the time Nathan and Skwisgaar snuck in.

They hid beneath the window so no one would spot them from the outside. Between the two of them, they had a couple bags worth of provisions and several blankets, for padding. While they waited, backs against the wall below the window, they passed a bag of artisanal (read: full of weed) gingerbread cookies and munched in companionable silence.

Of course, they couldn’t hear what was going on outside. Their first indication that the rest of the guys had arrived wasn’t Knubbler’s nasal voice insisting for the hundredth time that this really had to get wrapped up to-day if they were going to meet the production schedule that Charles had laid out for them, or Pickles groaning at Murderface’s complaining about how unproductive they’d been the day before because someone had selfishly decided to pass out before sharing whatever he’d taken.

“Where’s Skwisgaar and Nathans?” Toki asked, taking his seat on the couch with a bounciness that everyone else in the studio resented. He was also wearing a Santa hat and the garish light-up holiday sweater any of them had ever had the misfortune to witness.

“Who the fuck cares, dood,” Pickles snapped. “They both bitched me out last night, fuck those douchebags. I don’t need ‘em here to play drums.” And then he stormed around to the booth door.

That’s when they knew it was showtime. The drum kit shielded them from sight until Pickles sat down, and even then he didn’t notice until he already had the headphones on. Plenty of time for both Skwisgaar to be making exaggerated shushing gestures and Nathan holding up a piece of paper by the time he looked at them and nearly fell off his seat.

Knubbler must have said something over the mic, because Pickles’ eyes darted briefly between his hidden boyfriends and the window. They had ripped him a new one (figuratively) over missing the stupid recording session yesterday, but. . . .

In big block letters, Nathan’s sign read:

JUST PLAY 4 A XMAS PRESENT AND U CAN JOIN WHEN U R DONE

Pickles hesitated as he thought it over. “. . . Nnnah, nothin’ man. Just, uh, missed a little, heh. Too much rum nog, tis the season. You know me.” He clapped his hands together and reached toward a back pocket for his sticks, one leg bouncing with sudden extra energy and enthusiasm. “Okay, let’s get this fuckin’ show on the road!”

Nathan flashed a grin and a thumbs up, then stopped the paper to put in his heavy duty earplugs. “You ready?” he mouthed to Skwisgaar.

Skwisgaar, who already had his earplugs in, tossed his blond hair over one shoulder. “Alsways,” he mouthed back. “Lucky yous, Merry Christmas.”

“Smug asshole,” Nathan mouthed, but was grinning as he grabbed a handful of black shirt and tugged the other third of Dethklok’s creative team into a long kiss. Skwisgaar responded by crowding him down to lay on the blankets they’d spread out on the floor, keeping his hair to his far side so that Pickles would have an unobstructed view. The only sound in the booth was the quiet smack of their lips as they got a steady rhythm going.

“. . . Christ, yeah, I’m goin’! Fuckin’ . . . now. No, just start the goddamn click track! . . . Okay. A-one, two, a-one two three—”

Between the earplugs and years of damaging their hearing with loud music, neither Nathan nor Skwisgaar heard the violent crash of percussion instruments as Pickles got going, only felt it. With the edibles just starting to kick in, it was like being wrapped in a fucking vibrator. Nathan bent a leg to brace across the floor and Skwisgaar ground eagerly against it while snaking a hand up the frontman’s t-shirt; Pickles skipped a beat and crashed to an abrupt stop.

“Shut up, I’m fine! Start it again!”

They kicked their boots off. Nathan got a hand in between their bodies and gave Skwisgaar a squeeze through his jeans, smirking into a groan that flooded into his mouth. He expertly got the belt undone (lots of practice) and tugged the jeans open, shoving them down quickly so the zipper wouldn’t catch on anything (lots of freeballing); the rest was all up to Skwisgaar as he scrambled to yank both pants and shirt off without popping up into view through the window.

Their kiss was an anchor, keeping his head down while his long arms flailed busily. Beneath him Nathan took full advantage of being on his back by only bothering to get his own jeans down to his thighs. When Skwisgaar broke the kiss to pull the shirt over his head Nathan cupped one hand to the back of his skull and helped keep him low . . . then urged him to move down.

Skwisgaar’s blue eyes flicked to meet Nathan’s green ones, and they both looked in unison towards Pickles, who immediately lost grip on one of his sticks.

“FUCKIN’. . . . No, Murderface, yer the butterfingers! Go take yer greasy mitts and go fuck yerself with ‘em!”

“Good ones,” Skwisgaar mouthed to Nathan. After all, the more Pickles screwed up, the longer they could keep doing this—and if there was anything he knew as well as playing guitar, it was drawing out pleasure. To that end, he licked his lips and slid down the other man’s mostly clothed body, a great big present all for him to unwrap, savoring the rasp of rough denim on his bare, sensitive skin. When he reached his destination and nuzzled the straining front of Nathan’s tighty whities he had the satisfaction of his hips twitching up in anticipation.

For his part, Nathan wasn’t really thinking about drawing things out. The carrot was effectively dangling in front of the horse now and Pickles clearly wanted it; motivation achieved. They’d done good. As Skwisgaar slowly exposed him to the warm air in the booth, warmer breath ghosting over his eager cock along with methodical licks and kisses and nibbles, Nathan half wanted to melt into being taken apart piece by piece and half wanted him to hurry the fuck up, wrap those plush lips around the head and swallow him down already. His big hands tangled in blond hair but couldn’t decide what to do from there, so after a moment he just started absently scratching blunt, black-painted nails against Skwisgaar’s scalp the way he liked, earning an unheard hum that just about reduced Nathan to a puddle.

Thankfully, he had Skwisgaar to lap him up.

“For the last. Fucking. Time. I do naht need a ‘Christmas snack,’ I do naht need a beer, I do naht need more cocaine, I want to hurry up and finish this fucking shit, so turn the gahddamn track back on and hit record or SO HELP ME—”

They couldn’t hear, but the vibrations around them were finally starting to carry the feeling of urgency and violence that the song called for. Skwisgaar noticed this distantly, but his pulse was racing to keep up with the beat and quickly sending more and more blood southward. Especially with the scalp massage Nathan was distractedly giving him sending waves of sensation rippling straight to his core. He licked his way up, dragging his tongue along the nearest convenient vein, savoring the taste of pre-come as he started to suck with one hand coiled around the thick base. His other hand was between his own legs, half fondling and half holding himself back from getting too excited too soon.

The sensation of Pickles’ eyes on him as he took more of Nathan into his mouth was a thrill, like being plugged into an electrical socket. If it weren’t for that hand, he might be too far gone already for concentrating on teasing the cock that throbbed against his soft palate.

It was hard to tell how much time passed as Skwisgaar drew the blowjob out until Nathan was practically weeping (not that he would ever admit it) with how much he wanted to just come already. Skwisgaar had him wrapped around his talented tongue, rendering all his brute strength useless (totally the edibles’ fault, he’d swear to it). At some point his hands had slipped from the man’s hair, one mindlessly clutching at the blankets beneath them instead while the other was crammed against his mouth to keep from making any sounds loud enough for the mic to pick up.

Pickles, meanwhile, was playing so furiously that his entire body shook with the force of it, dreads flying and sweat dripping into his eyes, and even when he blinked it away he could still see the other two going at it. The vision of them was burned onto the back of his eyelids: Nathan with his head thrown back and his back arched while Skwisgaar absolutely wrecked him. Pickles wasn’t even thinking anymore, beyond a basic recognition that this might be some of the best shit he’d ever recorded, and the silent mantra (in tempo, naturally) of soon soon soon soon soon soon—

“Done!” he yelled, after crashing to a final halt, panting from the effort for a few seconds, and then jumping to his feet. “That was . . . theat was good, right?!”

Ripping his eyes up from Skwisgaar releasing Nathan with a pop and gliding up to kiss the frontman and fondle their hard-ons together. . . . Ripping his eyes up from that, Pickles stared at Knubbler with a desperate intensity that made the producer roll back a bit in his chair.

“Oh looks,” Toki crowed in amusement in the background, nudging Murderface and pointing for him to look. “Pickle gots a boner from playings drums!”

“What’sch wrong with you, I don’t want to schee that,” Murderface protested, looking anyway.

“Tell me we’re done,” Pickles growled, eyes still boring into Knubbler’s robot ones.

“Okay, okay, we’re done,” Knubbler said hastily. “Sheesh.”

He pressed whatever buttons he needed to press to save the recording, blah blah blah, Pickles already wasn’t paying much attention anymore. He sat back down and immediately realized he was rocking slightly back and forth on his seat, trying to get some friction going. Fucking whatever. They could all think he was nuts and about to fuck his kit for all he cared, just as long as recording was done for the day and they would leave.

Murderface left first, complaining about boners. Toki was next, saying something about some game he wanted to go play. When Knubbler was finished pressing buttons and whatever, he hesitated. “Hey Pickles, are you trippin’ balls in there?”

Oh god, he was so turned on that even Knubbler’s grating voice through the headphones, saying the word balls sent a jolt through him. “Yep,” he blurted out a little too loudly. “Trippin’ so many balls. So . . . fuck off, get outta here.”

“Okay, if you say so. . . .” Knubbler might have muttered something about Murderface being right regarding the inconsiderateness of not sharing, but he wasn’t holding the talkback button anymore and Pickles wasn’t paying attention except to make sure he left.

As soon as Knubbler was out the door Pickles ripped the headphones off so hard they hit the wall of speakers behind him. Stranglingly tight pants and underwear were shoved hastily down at least to his ankles; he sent cymbal and hi-hat crashing to the floor and kicked out the base drum in front of him in his eagerness to get to the other side of the room, tripping on it. (They were rich as hell, there were plenty of replacements available.) Then he flailed the rest of the way out of his pant legs, losing both shoes and one sock in the struggle, and finished scrambling to his destination.

The other two reacted more to the sudden flashes of movement than the sound. Nathan lolled his head around to look, and Skwisgaar looked up and blinked at him dazedly, but both smiled and reached out to welcome him in. He went for their earplugs first, specifically so he could whine “Fuckin dooshbeags” at them, then joined in for a Yuletide roll in the recording booth.

#metalocalypse #12 days of dethmas #metalocalypse fanfic #nathan/skwisgaar/pickles

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living-dead-parker · 4 years

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Day 1: Decor and Cookies - P.P (12DOC)

Summary: It’s Christmas season again, it’s finally time to decorate!

Warning: Some cussing I think, fluff, Christmas stuff

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: This will be more like ten or eleven days of Xmas thing bc I couldn’t come up w more, so there will be a gap between some updates!! I hope you guys enjoy day 1!!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Giggles fill the halls of the Avengers HQ. Those unmistakable giggles that belong to the one, and only, Morgan Stark. The giggles that awake your slumber because they're so shriek-like. It's adorable any other time when you're not sleeping. Nonetheless, much as you expected, your bedroom door silently opens and any sound disappears as the tiny girl, who's not as tiny as before, creeps into the room. Her feet quietly pad against the hard floors and you can feel Peter's grip tighten on your abdomen. Almost as if he's bracing himself. As subtly as you can, you check the time, which reads 9:30 AM.

Then suddenly, you feel tiny cold hands press against any exposed skin, and you have to hold back from flinching. Before you know it, the not-so sneaky little girl yells right into your ear, "Wake up! Christmas is coming!"

Shooting right up in your spot, you groan at the sudden loudness. You were not expecting that, at all. In fact, neither was Peter, based on how quick he shot up and covered his ears. Morgan giggles as you playfully glare at her, but then you play your favorite card against her. Your glare turns into a frown and you make your lips quiver a bit and you lean into Peter as you begin to pretend to cry.

"Morg, why would you d-do that?" you ask sadly, feeling Peter wrap his arms around as he plays along. This kid is such a traitor, you think. Morgan notices, and because she still falls for it, her devious smile turns into a slight frown. "You scared me, Morgan, and now," you state as you push yourself closer to Peter. "I'm gonna cry."

Morgan jumps up and wraps her arms around you. "I'm sorry, N/N!" she exclaims rather guiltily. As much as you love dragging on jokes, you pull the girl into a tight hug, smiling and laughing as you let her know you were just joking. "But next time, maybe don't scream in people's ears?" you ask. Morgan nods, grabbing your hand excitedly and attempting to get you to stand up.

"Daddy said we're decorating today!" Morgan chatters excitedly. The tiny girl running out of the room, her feet still loudly padding against the hard floors. Suddenly, another door slams open and you can hear Morgan yell Harley's name from the door. "Y/N said not to yell in people's ears, so I'm yelling from the door!"

A laugh rips through your lips, shooting straight from your belly in amusement over the girl's ingenuity. Peter's laughter mixes with yours as the two of you finally get up from your bed and head to the closet to grab some clothes. "Iron Man boxers?" you ask, finally looking over at Peter as he reaches for some of his clothes. At this point, he might as well just live with you. Almost all of his clothes are here in your closet. Peter's cheeks turn a bright red as you giggle.

"They were a gift from your dad," Peter says slightly flustered, as he turns around and grabs a long sleeve shirt, some black jeans, and other articles of clothing. You, on the other hand, can't help but stare at him. Taking in every inch of him, stopping to admire his arms and his butt for a few seconds longer. You bite your lip, not able to look away. "I can feel you staring," he states as he bends down to grab something. He sticks his butt out some more, doing it on purpose.

"Damn, Peter," you exclaim. "I think you got more ass than me-"

"Definitely not something I wanted to hear this morning," your father says as he enters your room and stands at the door of your closet. "Nice underoos, underoos," Tony says, nodding at Peter before turning to look at you. "This family runs on the idea of having a great ass, we will not let webs over here ruin that," he continues. "But I just came to say that all your new decorations came in and we're all getting so antsy to put them up."

"Oh sweet," you exclaim. "Give us like ten minutes and we'll be down," you say as you begin looking for some clothes of your own. Tony agrees, walking away and shutting your bedroom door. When you turn around, you see Peter staring at you this time.

"You might be right," Peter says as he stands in front of the mirror in your closet. Going between checking you and himself out. "I think I might just have more ass than you."

After 15 minutes, you and Peter head to the common room, where almost everyone is sitting around. Pepper and Morgan sit in their pajamas still, watching Elf on the large TV. Harley sits on the love seat with Rhodey. Happy and Tony walk in from the kitchen with a mug each and sit on the large couch with Pepper and Morgan. "Good morning," both you and Peter greet everyone, earning some greetings back. "Where's everyone else?"

"May and Wanda are in the kitchen making hot chocolate. Steve, Nat, Sam, and Buck are all bringing in the trees and other decorations that were in storage."

As the words leave your father's mouth, you walk over to the packages that sit stacked against the elevator wall. A total of 12 boxes. A smile makes its way across your lips as you walk over to the boxes, opening the smallest one at the top. Inside sits a medium-sized Tiffany-blue box. A few seconds later, you put the box back and join the others in watching Elf until the others return with the tree for the common room of the compound. There was also a second one, which Tony revealed was for the penthouse. You all spend half the time there, the other half in the common room.

"Let's get to it!" Tony exclaims, making everyone stand up. The movie was promptly changed to Christmas music instead. The first thing you all decided to do was put up the Christmas tree and work around it. Steve, Tony, and Pepper all worked to fluff it out. Meanwhile, Peter, Harley, and Sam worked to untangle all the lights. Bucky worked on untangling the tinsel. Morgan, Nat and yourself all worked on getting the hanging decorations to look nice or by putting the hooks on them. Rhodey and Happy were busy documenting the moment by recording on the camera Tony had just bought a couple days ago for just this.

Everyone made a game of it. Stand around the tree and everyone passes the tinsel or the lights around to wrap it around the tree. It was unnecessary, but it was fun, so why not? Finally, once the tinsel and the lights were done, the hanging decorations were up next. Everyone grabbed their favorites and just any random plain ones they could and started putting them all up on the tree. At some point, May and Wanda came out with trays of hot chocolate with marshmallows and whipped cream and trays of cookies. They decided to join in on the decorating before everyone decided to take a break for some chocolate and cookies.

"Wow, these are so good, May," Pepper states as she takes a big bite of her tree-shaped cookie. May shrugs, thanking her as she takes a bite of her own cookies. "It was a recipe that Peter and I used to make, but then times got hard. But nonetheless, it's nice to make them again," May explains, earning a smile from Peter.

"Chocolate is really good too, Wanda," you exclaim. Wanda smiles. "Trick is to use actual chopped chocolate rather than the powder. Tastes better that way."

After the short break, everyone got back to decorating. However, now that the Christmas tree was done, that meant it was time for the rest of the room to be decorated. Lights went up around the whole room's ceiling. Gel clings were placed on the inside of the windows and stockings were hung on the walls. A wreath is placed above the elevator and the pillows on the couches are replaced with matching Christmas ones. Overall, the room looks more cozy and colorful.

After that room was done, the party moved upstairs to the penthouse. Everyone decided to go help out there. Sitting in the center of the living room was a large tree, much like the one in the common room. However, it's bare and needs some fluffing. So, Pepper, Tony, and Steve get to fluffing that one out as well. You all get to untangling lights and tinsel as well as adding hooks and strings to the hanging decorations.

As everyone gathered around the tree, you smile, knowing that this is your family. No matter how fucked up you all are, how dangerous your life may be, that crazy bunch of people who are helping decorate that tree are your family and you hope it stays that way forev-

"Peter, just because you can stuff ten cookies in your mouth doesn't mean you should."

Send in feedback, requests, asks, or just come talk to me!!

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andrea-lyn · 4 years

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If you're still taking prompts, how bout Malex fall in love (xmas is their fave time of year.) Then A finds out M is a prince who is supposed to marry (it's arranged.) M doesn't want to, wants A, but A walks away because he thinks it's the right thing to do and feels unworthy of M and royalty. M tells his parents/advisers he's not going to marry who they want him to. Chases after A, convinces him he's all he wants, proposes and they marry at xmas time and A becomes a prince. It's a fairy tale!

On his fifth birthday, Prince Michael is introduced to Princess Isobel of Antar.

“One day, she’ll be your wife, son,” his father tells him and nudges him to go talk to her. Instead, Michael bursts into a fit of tears and storms off. It’s not that he doesn’t like Isobel (he does, they’ve been playmates since they were babies), but the idea of his future being handed to him at that age is too much.

He doesn’t want a wife. He’d much rather have a shiny new toy.

His parents need to drag him back towards Isobel, who doesn’t understand why her betrothed is throwing a tantrum and weeping about his lot in life.

Over the years, Michael’s anger doesn’t diminish, but he gets better at hiding it. He also learns that he’s not the only one who has reservations about the impending marriage, though it takes longer for him to find that out. They’re thirteen when Isobel tells him bluntly that she’s not sure that she could ever grow to love him like the princess does the prince in all the fairy tales.

“You’re…a brother to me,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

Clearly, she’s expecting that to be the worst news in the world to Michael, but instead he’s wildly relieved. He thought he’d been the only one to feel that way. Instead, he gets a partner in crime, someone in the exact same situation as him, and someone who feels as wary about it as he does.

When they’re sixteen, they devise a plan.

“When one of us meets someone that we really love, properly love, then we’ll go to our parents,” Isobel says, the brains behind the operation. “I know that it’ll happen. It just has to happen before we turn twenty-one and they marry us off,” she says.

With five years to go, anything could happen.

Michael’s hoping that she meets someone, because he can’t see it being him that ends up calling the wedding off because he’s met someone. He’s more invested in his experiments and his theories. Love is something that happens to the other people in their family, but not him.

He’s okay with that, too.

If he ends up marrying Isobel, he’ll make it work. He just never considered a loveless marriage as something that he’d be a part of. Still, at the start of every year, Michael goes to sleep thinking that maybe this will be the year that things change. Maybe this will be the year that Isobel meets someone and saves them both.

Or maybe, impossibly, it will be him.

When they turn eighteen, everything changes.

Michael still hates being betrothed for the principle of it and especially loathes the hoops they have to jump through in order to act the part of the happy young couple in love. Today, he and Isobel are meeting up for their first official portraits together as an engaged couple. That’s when he meets him.

“Who’s that?” Michael breathes out with awe, staring at Isobel’s cluster of guards.

Isobel glances over her shoulder. She’s nibbling on a tart and doesn’t seem interested in the fact that one of her new guards is the most beautiful man in the universe. Clearly she’s gone blind if she’s ignoring him like that. “Who? Alex?” she shakes her head. “I wish,” she says with a snort. “I tried to corner him for a little fun, but he wasn’t having it. He only likes men,” she says dismissively.

The thing is, he and Isobel don’t love one another. At least, not like that.

Given who they are, there’s a ticking time bomb looming in their future, so they’ve both decided to find fun where they can.

“He’s from Earth,” Isobel says, “his father reluctantly agreed to send him with the last batch of soldiers, and just in time for Yule.” She gives him a long sigh, her eyes fixed on his ass (and okay, so she’s definitely noticed how good he looks). “It’s a shame.”

It might be a shame for Isobel, but Michael’s much more flexible. Maybe he can get something out of this. They’re both waiting for someone to come along that they can fall for and bring to the council to demand the betrothed marriage vanishes.

Until that happens, they’re each other’s known quantity.

If Michael demands they dissolve the engagement, he could be paired with anyone, and he’s really not ready to take that risk. There are far too many planets out there who want an alliance with Antar and Michael’s met some of their sons and daughters. Isobel is the safe choice, she’s the known choice, and luckily, he knows that a marriage with her might be romantically loveless, but she’s like a sister to him.

They’d make it work.

It’s what he’s told himself for years. It’s not exactly the stuff of true love, but Michael thinks it could be worse. He could be arranged to marry one of the distant cousins who seem to view Antar only as a powerful war machine and nothing else. That doesn’t mean Michael has to enjoy any of it. He suffers through the photos and allows himself to be rearranged to make Isobel look good, letting the tailors tug on his suit and adjust his cufflinks, all while letting his gaze drift to Alex.

He doesn’t think he’s imagining it, but he swears that Alex keeps looking back at him.

When the photos are done being taken, Michael drifts over to make his introductions. “What’s a cute human like you doing on a planet like this?” is his opening gambit, with a flirty wink to go along with it. The other Antarian guards snort and drift away, willing to let Prince Michael have a go at the newbie.

Alex looks flustered and Michael is charmed by how adorable it makes him.

“You know why I’m here, you’ve been briefed.”

“I know, you’re here because your Dad sent you, but what made you want to do it? Why’d you come?”

Alex gives Michael a dubious look. “If you had an overbearing abusive dick for a father and all of a sudden the opportunity to get a galaxy away from him opened up, wouldn’t you take it?”

Michael feels a sudden burst of anger seize him as he imagines this asshole that Alex has had to deal with. “It’s still a long way to go. You could have taken a plane and found a new city a few countries away,” he points out.

“This is better,” Alex assures calmly. “It has some finality to it.”

That sounds to Michael like Alex intends on staying here on Antar for the rest of his life. He’s not sure why that makes him so pleased, but it does. At least now he knows that Alex isn’t going to flee, which means Isobel will be kept safe and Michael can still take his time looking at him. He changes the topic from there to ask what Earth is like, leading Alex over to the couches where they’d been posing for pictures earlier.

They’re still taking a few shots, mostly to check the lighting before the next round, and Michael makes a note to ask for them later, of him curled up on the couch and Alex sitting the same like a mirror image, their knees pressed together.

Alex tells him about New Mexico and Roswell, about the spaceship crash that began their alliance fifty years ago. He talks about music on earth, and fashion, and his friends, and Michael finds himself entranced both by the stories and the way Alex tells them.

When the photographers call Isobel back so that she and Michael can take another round of pictures, Michael stares forlornly after Alex as he leaves, not even realizing that Isobel has rejoined him (in a new dress) until she pinches his forearm, making Michael yelp.

“The photographers are pissed you wrinkled your suit pants,” she tells him, slyly grinning as she looks at Alex, then to Michael. “I hope it was worth the bitching you’re about to hear.”

Michael stares off to the side where Alex is talking to the other guards, adjusting his uniform and casting glances back at Michael every few moments.

“I don’t know that anything has ever been more worth it.”

The Yule party is Michael’s absolute favorite time of year.

The holiday has always been a highlight for him as a boy. It’s a time for overindulgence, whether that be in the way of affection, food, merriment, or mischief. As with all years, they annual party is approaching with speed and Michael leans into it happily, knowing that it’s the start to the season and from here, the whole planet will be suffused with the warmth of the holiday.

This year, his dresser had slicked down her hair with pomade before putting him in a sleek grey suit, handing him a dark ornate mask that covers most of his face, tied behind his ears and showing only his lips. They’ve also applied the softest of pink balms to his lips to give them a radiant shine in the twinkling white lights of the party.

He mills through the party and despite the impending arranged marriage growing closer, he still won’t let that ruin his night.

That becomes an easier task when he looks across the ballroom floor and sees Isobel with her glittering silver gown, flanked by her guards. She’s a vision, but his eyes shift to the side to something even better.

Alex is dressed in a pressed navy-blue suit that fits him like a glove, and his mask is a thin thing that covers only his eyes, making them seem to glow (and he swears there’s eyeliner on them to help). Michael feels his stomach bottom out, his fingers flexing as he itches to touch that suit. Luckily, Michael’s small cache of guards are busy drinking and it’s easy for him to slip away from them. When Isobel’s party begins to move, he stops to spare a whispered moment with her, asking for her permission.

She casts a mischievous glance over her shoulder to Alex, then nods at Michael. With a blue-lipstick tinged kiss to his cheek, she walks away, but not before she turns to Alex.

“You are officially off duty,” she says. “You’ve been doing such a good job lately; you deserve to enjoy the party.” Her eyes flick to Michael and her smile grows even wider. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

There’s a panic in Alex’s eyes, like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do. Michael can’t help his fond smile, wondering if he’s already had that sense of duty instilled in him, but he hopes to change the night.

“Dance with me?” Michael requests hopefully, extending his hand out to him after performing a sweeping bow to treat Alex more like a prince and not Isobel’s guard.

Alex looks suitably charmed by it and he reaches out to take hold of Michael’s hand, allowing himself to be led towards the floor to the tunes of an old Antarian carol for Yule, one that features the violin strings in a sweet, romantic melody that makes it easy to dance to. Even if Michael hadn’t been taught dancing for over a decade, he could manage.

He leads Alex in sweeping turns around the room, loving the way that each increase in speed elicits a breathless burst of laughter from Alex before he squeezes Michael’s shoulder, protesting, “Slow down!” and leading them into more of a gentle swaying dance than anything too choreographed.

It might be the lights and the exertion, but Alex is glowing.

They settle into an easy dance, with Alex’s cheek resting on Michael’s shoulder as they sway, closer now than before. When the orchestra dies down, Michael only tightens his hold on Alex’s hand.

“One more,” he pleads, but he doesn’t have to worry. The magic of Yule is in the air and Alex appears transfixed. He nods and they begin again to a slower beat, slowly drifting towards one another until Michael’s arms are draped around Alex’s neck and their sure steps have become lazy swaying ones.

One dance becomes three and then somehow turns into five before the band is signing off for the night, replaced by a tinny version of carols from around the universe. Through it all, Alex and Michael haven’t stopped dancing.

They don’t until Alex glances up and bashfully smiles, ducking his head down.

“What?”

“I never thought that I’d have this much fun at this party,” Alex admits, “and it’s my favorite time of year.”

“Mine too,” Michael admits, though he dreads the future when he has to come to these as Isobel’s husband, not expected to have any fun. “Listen,” he says, his voice rough from all the talking earlier to noble guests and other royal dignitaries, “do you want to get out of here?” His heart is beating faster and he thinks that maybe he might not be ready to say it out loud, but he thinks he knows in his heart that there’s something between him and Alex.

Could he be the one?

Michael knows that he has to be sure when he goes to his parents, and he’s not yet, but he thinks with every passing moment, he gets more confident.

When Alex breathes out with a little hitch, he says nothing, but he nods.

Michael leads Alex with a hand to the small of his back down to one of the back hallways that’s only used by the waitstaff. Once there, he slides his fingers up to the ribbon of Alex’s mask, intending to untie it, but then his fingers brush the soft hair at the nape of Alex’s neck and he gets distracted. He slowly walks Alex three dedicated steps backwards until Alex’s back hits the wall.

For a long moment, Michael stares at Alex’s lips, and neither of them say a word.

They breathe in tandem – when Michael inhales, Alex exhales, and they follow each other’s lead – and soon, Michael is tired of only stroking Alex’s neck with his thumb.

“Can I kiss you?”

“You didn’t even go to the trouble to find us some mistletoe,” Alex teases, glancing up (which elongates his neck in the prettiest of ways) and Michael bows his head to start pressing soft kisses to Alex’s neck, his pink balm leaving a light sheen of pale color and glitter. Alex turns back to him, giving Michael a path to his jaw, then to his lips, but he waits for permission. “We’ll make do without,” he whispers to Michael, which is all the encouragement he needs.

Michael doesn’t ask what mistletoe is, assuming it’s some Earth tradition, but he takes his time to frame Alex’s cheek with his palm, staring at his lips like the present they are.

“Yes,” says Alex. “Kiss me.”

He demands no further encouragement as he grabs Alex hard by the neck and tangles his hand in his hair so that when he backs him against the wall, Michael’s hand hits first. It’s not a gentle kiss, because those kisses had been his fantasy when he’d first met Alex. Now that he’s had time with the fantasy of him, the tenderness has bled out little by little, replaced by desperation.

Alex clearly doesn’t mind given the hungry moan he lets out, hands circling Michael’s waist and grabbing at him to yank him in, parting his lips to deepen the kiss. His mask quickly goes askew, and Michael’s fingers fix it (trembling, so nervous) as he kisses someone for the first time out of passion and need, rather than duty and responsibility.

He didn’t know that it could be so good.

Soon, he needs to breathe. He needs it, and his heart almost feels like it’ll burst from his chest because it’s beating so fast. Michael drifts back from Alex, dazed as he looks at his wet lips. He can hear someone calling Alex’s name (one of the other guards, he imagines), and he wants Alex to enjoy himself with his friends, especially when Michael is being assaulted by a thousand different thoughts at once, most of them demanding to know what Michael plans to do about this. “Go,” he encourages, leaning into the touch of Alex’s hand to his cheek, rubbing against it like an animal. “Have fun with your friends.”

“They’re not my friends.”

From the gleeful way they’re calling out Alex’s name, Michael could make an argument that he’s absolutely mistaken, but Michael steps back. “Go,” he says again, and begins walking out.

He’s back to the main party where the music is beginning to get loud again, filling his ears. He thinks maybe Alex had been saying something, but he sees the way the guards rush past him in drunken chaos in Alex’s direction and Michael laughs as he watches them go.

“You let them off the leash?” he teases Isobel as he comes to stand with her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

She gives him a proud look. “I’m a nice princess. They deserve a night of fun.” She lets her gaze slide over his lips and gives a self-assured little nod accompanied by a pleased sound. “I’m glad you found some of that yourself.”

“Yeah,” Michael agrees breathlessly. “Me too.”

That night, he’ll be dreaming of the way Alex’s lips had tasted as they kissed (of peppermint, soft with a balm and the hint of rum and egg nog on his lips). He needs another chance soon, because he’s fairly sure that now that he’s had it, he can’t live without it. Maybe Isobel’s going to get her way after all.

Luckily, Michael feels ready to withstand her smug glee, so long as it means he gets those kisses from Alex.

Isobel’s satisfaction with Michael plummets within twelve hours. It’s happened before, but never so quickly and never in such a quick turnabout.

“Michael,” Isobel hisses when she sees him. “Yesterday was supposed to be your chance!”

Michael’s still barely awake, but he rubs the sleep out of his eyes to see Isobel standing beside his bed. He reaches behind him, but no one’s there like he’d been dreaming about. He ought to be disappointed, but he’s grinning like an idiot. He’d sent Alex off after the kiss, feeling like he could float on air. It makes Isobel’s angry presence a confusing thing.

He adjusts the heavy blankets and sits up to make room for Isobel beside him. “What are you talking about?” he asks. “We danced all night and then we kissed. I’m pretty sure as far as taking my chance goes, that’s at least an A+ effort in it.”

“It would be,” Isobel agrees sweetly, “if Alex knew who he’d been dancing with all night or if he knew who kissed him.”

Michael’s brain completely stops, struggling to restart. “I…what?” he demands.

“He came back late after the dance to rave about what an amazing time he had with this man, someone with slicked back hair and in a gorgeous suit that he doesn’t know.”

“But, my voice…” Michael protests, thinking back to the night. He’d gone hoarse fairly quickly because the music had been so loud that he’d needed to shout above it the whole time when he’d been in the midst of his diplomatic conversations through dinner. By the time he got to dancing, his voice would’ve been raspier, rougher, and not at all like himself.

“Tell him,” Isobel says sharply.

“I will,” Michael promises, even though he’s still trying to understand how they could have such a romantic and perfect night and Alex not know who he was.

Isobel shifts on the bed, smiling warmly. “Good, I’ll send him in.”

“What the fuck, Isobel!” Michael says with alarm, reaching for his shirt to yank it on in a hurry, dislodging his gelled curls and making a mess of them. “I didn’t mean right now!”

“I did,” she says. “The way he’s talking, Michael, this could be it. This could be the one.”

He knows that she’s right. They’ve only had a few conversations, but between the way they feel connected and last night, Michael knows that what he could have with Alex is enough to fight for, and that it’s the first person he’s ever met that stands a chance of him wanting to take on his parents and the advisers in the impending fight.

There’s no stopping Isobel, despite his frantic attempt to sprint out of bed and lock the door. He makes it to the door just as Isobel sticks her head out to call for Alex. “In here, please,” she says, and steps back to give Michael a pointed look. Tell him, she mouths. Michael is wearing only a loose-fitting shirt and his pajama pants, but he stumbles back to try and look suave and put together, leaning up against one of the pillars of his four-poster bed.

“Oh, hey, Alex,” he greets, rubbing his hand through his hair. “So I uh,” he keeps going, even if Isobel is already throwing him disbelieving looks, “I heard you had a great night at the party.”

The tips of Alex’s ears go pink and he looks taken aback. “I…what…?”

Michael knows the impatient look on Isobel’s face. She’s about to ruin the whole thing (though, can she really ruin it, if Michael has already done that by being so stupidly awkward?).

“Michael was your Prince Charming last night,” she says. “I’ll leave you two to discuss that.”

With that bomb dropped into the conversation, she glides away (and Michael glares at her both for shoving things along like that, but also looking as stupidly perfect as she does after a long night of drinking). Michael turns back to Alex, feeling vulnerable and nervous, because he has no idea what to expect. Alex had been so happy the night before, but then he’d left before Michael could ask him out again. He watches as Alex gently touches his lips, but then he seems to steel himself. Michael doesn’t know what to expect, but Alex approaches him cautiously.

“Your hair…?” Alex stares at his curls, like he’s recalling the night before.

“What?” Michael asks, then remembers the gel. “Shit, oh yeah. They slicked it down, said something about it being a lot better looking.”

“They were wrong,” Alex says bluntly, then looks guilty for having said so. He swallows so hard that his Adam’s apple bobs and he gives Michael a casual shrug. “I mean, you’re handsome, and you were charming, but you look…your curls are…” He stares up at the ceiling, laughing with such an empty and hollow ring to it that it tears at Michael’s heart.

Something’s wrong, but it shouldn’t be.

They’d danced under the sparkling Yule lights and Michael had felt more at home and comfortable than he has in his entire life. When they’d kissed, it felt like his eyes had been opened for the very first time.

He knows that Alex could be the one, but he wants to make sure that if he is, then Michael treats him right.

“Alex, do you want to go out with…?”

“No.”

He’s cut off before he can even finish and it knocks Michael back. He stares at Alex with a wounded look on his face, not knowing why he’s been rejected so harshly. “I…” He’s speechless, unsure what to even say because he hadn’t been expecting that, especially not after they’d had such a good night. “Why?”

“Because if I’d known, I wouldn’t have danced with you all night.” Alex looks like he’s in physical pain, but he keeps going. “It doesn’t matter how much I liked it, and it definitely doesn’t matter that kissing you felt like I was floating. You’re Isobel’s fiancé and I’m her guard, meant to keep her safe. If that means making sure that nothing happens between us…”

Michael is staring at Alex, his mouth open and his brow furrowed. It hurts so much, especially knowing that Alex had felt it too.

“Alex, please,” Michael begs.

“I can’t,” he whispers. “You’re betrothed to a princess. That means something. You can’t just run off with one of her guards because you feel like it. You have a duty and so do I. Mine is to protect Princess Isobel.” He looks absolutely crestfallen and he gives him a sad look. “This is how I can do that, by making sure I don’t steal her husband-to-be.”

Michael’s stunned, completely lost as to how it is that Alex doesn’t understand what’s going on.

“Alex!”

It’s too late. He’s already left Michael in an emotional haste to be out of the room.

“I don’t understand how you could make such a mess of this,” Isobel hisses at them when they’re at one of their standing lunch dates. Michael’s been mooning over Alex, staring at him with wide eyes and wanting to go over and talk to him again, but Alex is standing with his back to Michael, a pointed rebuff that says that he doesn’t want to talk to him.

Michael wants so badly to slide his arms around his waist, tug him back into Michael’s warmth, and plead his apologies with kisses and soft touches. He wants him so much and he’s been dreaming about him constantly.

“He won’t even talk to me,” Michael says miserably, poking at the food on his plate. “I asked him to go out with me, but he won’t because of you. And I can’t even tell him that it’s not actually a big deal, because what if it is! It’s not like I can guarantee that I could be with him.”

He lets out a wracked sobbing sound, so frustrated with the situation.

At the noise, Alex glances back like he’s curious about why Michael is sounding like that, but his quick glance isn’t enough. Michael stares at his profile and his lips, remembering what it was like to kiss them.

“Is he enough?”

“What?” Michael asks, distracting from his longing stare. “Enough for what?”

“We have three years before the impending marriage,” Isobel says. “And when that happens, you know as well as I do that divorce isn’t an option.” She reaches across the table to take Michael’s hand in hers, giving him a tender look of affection and fondness.

It’s awful, but the only thing Michael can think about is, please don’t let Alex look at this and think it’s something it’s not.

“You’re the genius, so tell me this,” Isobel begins. “Three years. We’ve been engaged for thirteen and you hadn’t met anyone in that time. Neither have I.” Of course they hadn’t, because their worlds are so narrow and confined to the palace that there’s rarely anyone to meet. The fact that Michael had met Alex at all has been a miracle. “Do you really think that three more years is going to open up a wealth of options? Or is Alex the one you’re willing to take a risk on. Even if he’s not your soulmate, even if it’s not true love, isn’t some romantic love better than nothing?”

“He won’t even talk to me, Isobel,” Michael reminds her, despondent and crushed.

“He thinks that you and I are fated, that you’d be stolen from me. Make him understand the reality of our situation, Michael,” Isobel says sharply. “You know what you have to do.”

He does, too.

“Go talk to your parents.”

It’s a daunting task that faces Michael, but for once it doesn’t feel like an undertaking that he’s afraid of. He’s been shown a sliver of a life that he can have with Alex that’s full of excitement and brightness and so much more. If it takes one good argument to his parents to convince them to let their son find happiness, then he’s ready for this fight.

It takes Michael two hours to convince his parents that this is the right choice.

“He’s a human,” is the main argument. “He’s a guard,” is a close second.

Michael helpfully points out that it would strengthen relations between Earth and Antar and might even bolster the guard program if they see one of their own at such a high level. Michael is assuming, of course, that Alex will want anything to do with him, but he can’t exactly approach his parents and say that he wants to try with Alex.

It has to be all or nothing, at least in this pitch.

“I don’t love Isobel,” Michael says firmly. “Not like that. If we marry, there won’t be children. I’ll refuse. I’ll run off the planet,” he warns, knowing that he’s close to being the petulant teenager that he is, but he needs them scared. “Let me marry Alex and strengthen our relations with a planet that I know we’re struggling with. Either way, there won’t be children, but at least with Alex, you’ll get something out of it.”

They don’t look happy about it, but his parents confer with the advisers for an hour, which is just long enough that Michael knows they’re taking this seriously, but not long enough that he’s worried it’ll be a no. Every time they glance back to him from their little huddle, he plasters on an air of confidence, like he can fake it until he makes it.

“We don’t appreciate you threatening us,” Rath says calmly, “but you’ve managed to find some sense in your emotional plea.”

“We do want you to be happy,” Mara adds, as if Michael’s ever thought otherwise. “We thought that you and Isobel got along so well, we never bothered to amend the arrangement.”

It looks like they’d done some of this to themselves by being so tight-knit, even if it had never been a prelude to a great romantic story.

“Are you saying…?”

“You can marry the earthling,” Rath says with a sigh. “We’ll discuss it as the coup it is for our relations between Antar and Earth. Isobel can find herself another suitor of her choosing, so long as it still benefits the planet.”

He feels like he’s gone deaf for a moment.

He can marry Alex. They’re letting him be with Alex.

Oh, shit, now he has to convince Alex to marry him after a night of dancing, a few conversations, and one intensely perfect kiss. His eyes widen in shock and he rushes over to hug his mother tightly, giving his father a dutiful bow of his head, getting ready to run before any of them can change their minds.

“One more thing,” he says, darting forward and getting something wildly important. “I need that in writing.”

Three minutes later, he’s running through the halls of the palace with a note in his hand that says that his marriage to Isobel is dissolved. His first stop is to Isobel’s quarters to show her the note, kissing her cheek excitedly.

“What are you wasting time with me for?” she demands, eyes wide. “Go!”

He doesn’t need telling twice. Alex isn’t far because he’s guarding Isobel, so Michael only has to run another two rooms over before he comes to a skidding stop in front of Alex. He’s panting breathlessly, staring at the other guard posted at the door. “Isobel…wants you…” he gets out between sharp breaths.

The guard glances to Alex, raising a brow.

“Just you,” Michael insists, because Alex isn’t going anywhere.

The other guard gives Alex a bewildered look, but he’s not in a position to argue with a prince, so he goes. It leaves Michael alone with Alex, which is exactly what he needs. He’s finally calmed down and he moves to stand right in front of Alex, making sure that he can’t dart away before Michael has a chance to talk to him.

“Michael,” Alex pleads quietly. “Don’t.”

He says nothing. He does nothing. It’s because Michael doesn’t need to. He proudly hands over the elegantly written card to Alex that declares his engagement over and waits as Alex studies it cautiously before taking it and flipping it open. He reads what’s inside, but then he doesn’t look up. From the look on his face, he’s not sure what to make of it.

“I don’t understand.”

“Isobel and I, we were never gonna love each other like that,” he says, knowing that it’s awful to say, but it’s the truth. “She’s like my sister. I’m her brother figure. We were arranged at five years old, Alex. Five,” he says with a scoff. “And you know what the craziest thing is? I genuinely think that if it had been you that they’d betrothed to me, it would’ve been different, because with you, I feel different. I feel connected and I know you feel the same.”

Alex has closed the card, but he’s eyeing Michael warily and he’s not saying anything.

“I don’t get to just cancel one betrothal without another,” he admits, and digs in his back pocket to find the mask that he’d been wearing at the Yule party, along with a piece of mistletoe that he’d found in the Earth section of one of their museums.

Tying them together, he gives Alex a hopeful look, handing it to him as a sort of bouquet.

“I only want you,” Michael says. “And they’ve given me permission to ask you to marry me, but that doesn’t matter. The only permission I need is yours, and not for marriage. I’m not going to make you spend eternity with me, but I want to spend every day with you, and then the next, and the one after that.” He tips his head to the side, swallowing past his nerves. “I guess what I’m saying is that the only person I want to spend the rest of my life with is you, learning about you, finding out more. Maybe it’ll fall apart,” he admits with a shrug. “But somehow, I don’t think so.”

Alex reaches out for the mask, holding it against his chest.

“Michael, are you sure? It’s one night, a few discussions, I…”

“I’m sure enough. Are you?”

Alex has this hint of hope on his face and around him that has Michael completely on edge. He thinks that he knows what’s coming, but he’s not sure he trusts his own happiness. He’s never been this lucky before, and here he is, waiting on the edge of his seat to see if Alex will give him a chance to be this happy.

“Kiss me,” Alex says.

Michael doesn’t need another demand, surging forward to grab Alex by the hips, pinning him against the doorway with a kiss that has Alex dropping the mask and mistletoe to the ground beside them. They sway – Michael on his toes, Alex back on his heels – and then reverse as Alex pushes Michael back so his balance is off-kilter, the kiss getting deeper with every passing moment.

When Michael eases back, his eyes are half-lidded and he’s staring at Alex in a daze, like he’s not sure this is real.

It better be, because when Alex says, “I’m sure,” Michael’s body flushes with warmth and he knows this is it. This is what it’s meant to be like, being in love with someone, and having your whole future ahead of you.

And fuck, but what a feeling it is.

“Now, please put your hands together for the newly married couple,” the magistrate announces from in front of the large doors they’re standing behind.

Michael grins at Alex and reaches for his hands to squeeze them both at once. He knows that he’s nervous, but he wants to make sure he’s not too worried. It’s going to be perfect because it’s them. “Hey,” he whispers, “The hard part’s over,” he guarantees. He watches as the doors are unlocked, and the guards prepare to present them to the planet. “All we’ve got now is loving one another for the rest of our lives.”

Alex turns to Michael and his eyes are soft, looking almost like they’re filled with tears. “That’s the easy part?”

“When it’s loving you,” Michael says softly. “It’s the easiest.”

“…Prince Michael and Prince Alex of Antar!” They’re announced to the planet as the doors open wide.

Michael grins as he takes Alex’s hand and leads him out towards the Yule party that’s been adapted to be a celebration of their vows as well, because Michael couldn’t imagine marrying Alex at any other time of year. This is when they fell in love and this is where they’ll dance tonight for the first time as husbands, with their family and friends watching.

Michael had never planned to be a part of a fairy tale, but now that he’s living in one with his prince, he can’t find it in him to be upset, not for a single moment.

It’s time for him to go pursue that happily ever after, with Alex at his side.

#malex #michael/alex #arranged marriage #non-romantic michael/isobel #roswell new mexico #2019 holiday gifts #prompts #fic #prince michael #royalty au #Anonymous

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inevitably-johnlocked · 5 years

Note

Heyo! Do you know of many fics where John cooks food and Sherlock has that moment of realization that he just loves John and their life together? (Or just any fic where one cooks food for the other haha)

Hi Nonny!

AHHHHH, not 100% this concept, but I do have a few food-related fics! Check it out!

COOKING, FOOD, & DINNERS

See also:

Food Sex

Johnlock & Food (Alexx’s List)

Dinner With John by Zang Bluetterfly (T, 505 w. || Friendship, Romance) – “Let’s have dinner, John.” Sherlock secretly smiled. Irene had been right: he had rejected her dinner’s invitation because he already had John by his side, even though the doctor was still clueless about Sherlock’s true feelings for him.

The Basics by wearitcounts (Sher_locked_up) (T, 611 w. || Schmoop, Fluff, Coffee, Kissing, Friends to Lovers, The Morning After) – Morning snogs, and coffee.

Easy like Sunday Morning by lbmisscharlie (G, 910 w. || Fluff, Breakfast in Bed, Epic Friendship, Platonics/Domestics) – John and Sherlock and their lazy, dysfunctional Sunday mornings in bed. In which Sherlock has difficulty sleeping and John makes lots of toast. Shameless fluff. Part 1 of No Mushrooms Please

This Isn’t About the Bathtub by cypress_tree (G, 1,142 || Marriage Proposal) – John and Sherlock go to Angelo’s for dinner. In both of their pockets are rings they are going to propose with, but the other has no idea. John proposes first, and Sherlock answers by pulling out his engagement ring.

Overtime by glow_in_the_dark (G, 1,149 w. || Fluff, Tea, Caring Sherlock) – John has worked over 80 hours this week, and will no doubt have to go into work tomorrow too. Arriving home beyond dead tired, his flatmate seems to take make it his personal mission to make John comfortable. Part 2 of Little Fluffy Oneshots

There’s Always Three of Us by Itsallfine (T, 1,765 w. || S4 Fix It Fic/Post TFP, Parentlock / Rosie, Angelo’s, First Kiss, January 29, Love Declarations) – Sherlock takes John and Rosie out to Angelo’s and gets a chance to correct the biggest mistake of his life.

Risotto by Richefic (K+, 2,153 w. || Friendship, Angst, Misunderstandings, Apologies) – The first time that John cooks dinner for Sherlock is almost the last. Fortunately, Sherlock is really quite observant. Inspired by John’s reference in “The Great Game” to there being some leftover risotto in the fridge.

Corn Dog Daddy by inevitably_johnlocked (M, 2,719 w. || Sherlock POV, Fluff and Crack, Corn Dogs, Fairgrounds, Coming In Pants, Euphemisms, Military Kink, Flirting, Sexy John, BAMF John, Smol Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Humour) – Sherlock and John wind down after a case in a small town at a county fair. Sherlock’s imagination goes awry as John’s sexiness drives him crazy. Also: John knows how to handle a meat stick. Part 2 of I-J’s Tumblr Ficlet Collection

On a Sunday Morning by SD_Ryan (G, 3,136 w. || Fluff, First Kiss, Obsessive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock) – Sherlock has a little problem. He can’t stop obsessing about John Watson. {{Note to Self: ‘Cheese Tease’}}

It Was All Right There In Front of Him (A Five Times Plus One Story) by bees_stories (T, 3,191 w. || 5+1, Protective Idiots, Grooming, Bed Sharing, Lestrade POV) – DI Greg Lestrade is a good detective. But sometimes he doesn’t trust the evidence in front of him, until there’s a compelling reason to do so.

Wish I Was In Heaven Sitting Down by standbygo (M, 3,282 w. || Post-S4, Five Plus One, Missing Scenes, Parenthood, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, Declarations of Love, Fluff, Food, John Whump) – Five times when Sherlock and John ate together, and one time they didn’t. A history of the boys, in food.

Five Times John Cooked Something with Peas and One First Kiss by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (T, 3,915 w. || 5 and Ones, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Cooking / Food, Sick Sherlock, Music, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss) – After John cooks five dinners that slowly reveal their hunger for each other, Sherlock and John finally share a first kiss.

Lingerie by Sexxica (E, 4,135 w. || Valentine’s Day, Lingerie / Women’s Underwear, Mildly Public Masturbation, Picture Texting / Sexting, Bottomlock, Body Worship, Anal Sex / Fingering, Rimming, Orgasm Delay / Denial, Est. Rel.) – It’s Valentines Day and Sherlock is taking John to Angelo’s for dinner. Sherlock also happens to be wearing a garter belt, stockings and a rather small pair of women’s underwear under his clothes. There’s no dessert at Angelo’s because John needs to get Sherlock home just as quickly as he can before they both lose their minds entirely.

See Recipe for Details by pandoras_chaos (E, 4,981 w. || Oral / Anal Sex, Food, PWP, Fingerfucking) – John knows Sherlock’s mouth will never water over the sweet smells of baking chocolate biscuits or a lovely roast chicken, but he’s watched Sherlock nick mince pies out of Mrs. Hudson’s fridge often enough to deduce that the man does have taste, albeit confusing and obscure. So John makes a list: Things Sherlock Likes

Because Blah Blah Blah Happy by cwb (E, 4,578 w. || Fluff, Cuddles, Kissing, First Kiss, Requited Love, Pining Sherlock) – John is entirely done with the milk situation and gives Sherlock a list of shit he’s pissed about. Sherlock sets out to make John happy. John is happy. Sherlock makes his own list. They are both very, very happy.

Survival Strategies for the Domesticated British Butthole by Atiki (E, 6,183 w. || Crack, Rimming, Anal Sex, Iced Lolly, Hair Removal, Depilation) – In which there’s a rimming disaster, Sherlock depilates his butt, everything goes very, very wrong and groceries are mistreated. This fic contains hair removal creme in a butthole, ice lollies in a butthole and John Watson’s penis in a butthole. You have been warned.

where the good things grow by anchors (M, 7,066 w. || Tea Shop AU || Alternate First Meeting, Magical Realism, Gardens, Tea, Friends to Lovers) – “I have a magic garden.” As come-ons go, John’s heard worse.

Bread and Wine and Curry Once a Week by cwb (E, 8,737 w. || Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Stroppy Sherlock, Love Letters, POV John) – Sherlock asks John for relationship advice. Little does he know that it’s him that Sherlock is in love with.

Fucking Cake by Random_Nexus (E, 12,965 w. || Pre-Slash, Humour/Crack, Inanimate Object Smut, Frottage, “For a Case” / “Experiment”, PWP / Kinky, Mutual Pining, Fluff) – Sherlock brings home a chocolate cake, John finds him about to have sex with said cake, then exceedingly weird hijinx ensue. Part 1 of “Fucking Baked Goods” - Sherlock BBC

Merlot by Itsallfine (E, 14,844 w. || Christmas, Pining Sherlock, Wine, Slow Burn, First Kiss / Time, Love Confessions, Wine, Holmes Family) – Sherlock and John work toward becoming something more as they prepare to host the Holmes parents at 221B for the holidays. Part of 25 Days of Fic-Mas 2015.

The White Lotuses by SilentAuror (E, 20,340 w. || Slowburn, Domestic, Romance) – One day John realises that he just isn’t where he belongs, which is back at Baker Street with Sherlock. So he goes back and Sherlock, in his own way, courts him. Romance.

A Shipless Ocean by myswordfishmind (M, 22,135 w || Post-TRF, John has a Kid) – Ten years after the fall Sherlock goes back to London to find that John no longer lives there. Instead, he resides in a seaside town, a widower, and the father of a seven year old son. Now, Sherlock must struggle with the fact that there may no longer be a place for him in this new world.

You Can Imagine the Christmas Dinners by ardenteurophile (T, 23,584 w. || Pre-Slash, Drama, Fluff & Angst, Humour, Romance) – Sherlock takes John along for Christmas dinner with Mycroft and Mummy (And “Anthea”, too). Over the course of the evening, John realises that everyone in the room - apart from him - seems to think that he and Sherlock are a couple. Part 2 of Xmas Dinners Verse

a good old-fashioned happy ending by darcylindbergh (E, 32,731 w. || Christmas, Frottage, Comfort, Est. Rel., Fluff, Insecure Sherlock, Frottage, Nightmares, Sleepy Sherlock, Marriage Proposal, Humour, Fluff, Dancing, Cooking, Happy Ending) – For Christmas this year, Sherlock wants to get John something special: something every fairytale deserves. Part 2 of things fairy tales are made of

Goodness Gives Extras by mydwynter (E, 39,629 w. || Fluff & Angst, Case Fic, Oral / Anal, Humour, First Time, Miscommunication, Snark, Christmas) – Christmas time. ‘Tis the season to settle down with a drink, some food and a present or two, and to enjoy the quiet relaxation of the holiday. Instead, there’s a case that drags them all over, missing presents, disappointed kids, angry parents, and a freak snowfall. On top of that John has to deal with Sherlock, who is being even more of a prat than usual. He really shouldn’t have expected anything different.

Bedroom Tales by Junejuly15 (M, 49,950 w. || Friends to Lovers, Through the Years, H/C, Military Kink, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Insecure Sherlock, Voyeurism, Post-TRF, Ficlets, Fluff and Angst, Fix-It Fics) – Bedroom Tales is a collection of John and Sherlock ficlets. They are set at various stages of their relationship and are in no particular order. Some are fluffy, some sexy, some angsty, there is hurt and comfort, romance and love. What unites them is that they all play in a bedroom, but not necessarily the one in 221B.

The Homecoming Series by sussexbound (M, 51,744 w. across 12 stories, WIP || Domestics, PTSD, Love Confessions, Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling, Jealousy, Family Issues, Cuddling) – Sometimes home is all you need. After three years of horror, betrayals, and crushing loss, John and Sherlock find their way back home to one another, and together find new footing in a world that has changed forever.

Guilty Secrets by Ellipsical (E, 55,086 w. || Drumsticks, First Kiss/Time, Love Confession, Self-Sexual-Discovery, Anal, Rimming, Orgasim Denial, Butt Plugs, Cooking, Furniture Sex, Bath Sex, Rimming, Double Penetration, Anal Beads, Dancing, Romance, Tantric Edging) – John has a prostate exam and discovers something surprising about himself. Experimentation follows. Sherlock wants to help. They’re in love. You know the drill.

The Book of Silence by SilentAuror (E, 60,056 w. || S4 Fix It / Post S4, Virgin Sherlock, Rosie / Parentlock, Domesticity, Fluff, Praise Kink, Sex Toys, First Person POV) – As spring blooms in London, John and Sherlock begin to take new cases and cautiously negotiate this new phase of life with John living at Baker Street again. Despite how well it’s all going, John struggles to forgive himself for the way he treated Sherlock following Mary’s death as well as trying to figure out how to finally put his long-time feelings for Sherlock into words. Part 1 of The Book of Silence/Rosa Felicia

31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 Series by distantstarlight (E, 96,540 w. across 31 stories || Prompt Ficlets, Assorted Kinks, PWP) – A collection in response to the 31 Days of Porn Challenge issued by AtlinMerrik! Thanks for doing that because this has been buttload of fun (that joke never gets old). All stories will be brief stand-alone one-shots.

Mise en Place by azriona (M, 161,004 w. || Restaurant (Kitchen Nightmares) AU || Sherlock is Gordon Ramsay / Celebrity Sherlock, Restauranteur John, Harry Plays Prominent Role, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, Cranky Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn) – John Watson had no intentions of taking over the family business, but when he returns from Afghanistan, battered and bruised, and discovers that his sister Harry has run their restaurant into the ground, he doesn’t have much choice. There’s only one thing that can save the Empire from closing for good – the celebrity star of the BBC series Restaurant Reconstructed, Chef Sherlock Holmes. Part 1 of Mise en Place

Unkissed Series by 221b_hound (T to E, 184,168 w. across 46 works || Established Relationship, Ace Sherlock) – Sherlock returned from the dead a year ago. John returned to Baker Street six months ago. They’ve been in a couple since then. or at least, not NOT a couple. For two smart men, they sure can be dumb. Luckily, an art thief tries to drown Sherlock, Sherlock has a fever dream and things are about to change.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #food fics #cooking #Anonymous #fic rec sunday

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armageddon-generation · 4 years

Text

The Big Moffat Rewrite: Series 7

Following on from my Series 5 and my Series 6 rewrites

XMAS SPECIAL The Snowmen

The Bells of Saint John

The Rings of Akhaten

Cold War

A Town Called Mercy

The Slow Invasion

Journey to the Centre of the TARDIS

Asylum of the Cybermen

Nightmare in Silver

Dinosaurs on a Spaceship

Hide

Supremacy of the Daleks

Extermination of the Daleks

The Name of the Doctor

The Snowmen

· 11 is still a recluse in Victorian London, but because in my Series 6 he left the Ponds instead of losing them, it’s because he’s convinced he’ll screw up if he travels again. After wiping himself from history he’s lying low, not helping because he’s convinced he’ll make things worse

· (also he’s totally wallowing in self-pity because of his self-imposed exile from the Ponds)

· Clara re-convinces him he can make positive change, drags him out of his self-absorption, shows him something new

CLARA’s CHARACTER

· Clara gets all of series 7. Moffat originally wanted The Time of the Doctor to be a whole series, so we can fit some of that stuff about the Silence and Trenzalore in here.

· GIVE CLARA A FUCKING ARC – the Doctor takes an ordinary girl who he thinks is special, and accidentally makes her special

· Most people seem to prefer Victorian! Clara to her in S7B anyway, so she becomes that flirty, authoritative character by the finale

· The pieces were already there – her being scared in Cold War compared to her taking charge in Nightmare in Silver, but make it explicit – the Doctor realises he is changing Clara and turning her into the person he met in Victorian London and the Cyberman Asylum

· This sets up her arcs and relationship with 12 – he brings out the liar in her, forces her to become cold and calculating. This is now already happening with 11

The Rings of Akhaten

· Introduce Trisha Lem, the head of the Church of the Silence, here. The best part of this episode is The Speech, but we could easily say that the Silence is presiding over the Long Song ceremony to appease the Old God, taking the place of those creatures hunting the little girl.

· (I imagine the Church pre-Trenzalore as a kind of Shadow Proclamation for religion - presiding over and safeguarding the religious traditions of species across the universe)

· This way Trisha and the Silence’s role as confessionals doesn’t come out of nowhere in The Time of the Doctor

· 11 and Trisha’s relationship being so flirty confuses me - as the head of the Church, 11 must associate her with all the pain the Silence caused River and the Ponds. Instead, he acts really flirty but Clara notices he’s faking it – a reflection of their own relationship?

· Trisha doesn’t understand why 11 is being elusive.

A Town Called Mercy

· Use this story’s framework – a Western where 11 is forced to protect war criminal – and insert River

· Partly bc River and Clara interacting seems super interesting

· River is angry at 11 for ‘replacing’ the Ponds. I also think she’d be competitive with Clara? As she’s scattered all over the Doctor’s timestream, Clara is the only person who really could compete with her

· As an archaeologist expert on the Doctor River knows about Clara, but can’t tell 11 exactly what she is

· Also 11 agreeing with River’s more violent methodology is really interesting and shows how they can feed into each other’s dark sides – think River’s line from The Angels Take Manhattan – “One psychopath per TARDIS, don’t you think?”

The Slow Invasion

· A version of The Power of Three told from the perspective of the Alice character who replaced Craig in S5/6. 11 pops in and out of her life with different versions of Clara

· It’s revealed that 11 has tried to travel with different versions of Clara before, tracking her down all across the universe, but she always, always dies. Our Clara doesn’t know.

· Alice is deeply critical of what 11 is doing. She acts almost as his therapist; he comes over for tea and talks to her about what’s going on.

· Instead of the cubes being alien exterminators, this is a plot buy the Great Intelligence (series 7′s big bad) inspired by the Skith from DWM comic The First and Superman villain Brainiac – i.e. the Intelligence is collecting all information it can about a thing, and then destroys it to stop that knowledge becoming commonplace and therefore losing its value. Specifically, the Intelligence is also investigating Clara (because she keeps appearing across its timeline). The Intelligence’s fascination is a dark parallel to 11’s

· Alice asks 11 what happened to the Ponds, and he reveals they still think he’s dead. Alice tells 11 to go see them (the ending scenes of The Doctor, the Widow and The Wardrobe). She also tells him to start treating Clara like a real person, not a human question mark

· 11 takes Clara to meet them. River is also there, having dinner. The episode closes with them reconnecting

Pond Life

· After The Slow Invasion launch this minisode series about life post-11, with River barging in instead of the Doctor

Journey to the Centre of the TARDIS

· Tie the TARDIS disliking Clara into the series arc – it’s because the TARDIS knows Clara is an anomaly scattered through the Doctor’s timestream. Have a scene in Journey To the Centre of the TARDIS where 11 argues with the TARDIS about it – “Do you know what she is? You do, don’t you? I miss the time when you could talk and just tell me.”

· The TARDIS went to the end of the universe to throw Jack Harkness off, and 11 abandoned Future!Amy in The Girl Who Waited because the TARDIS hates paradoxes – this is the same kind of thing, just make it clear by the finale (Clara even jumps into the time stream INSIDE the TARDIS)

· Clara remembers the events of the episode so she can be be active in the investigation of who she is, (also fixing how the episode undoes the three brothers’ arcs, but still insists they grew as people at the end)

This represents 11 opening up to her and trusting her more

Asylum of the Daleks (retitled Asylum of the Cybermen)

Roll Nightmare in Silver and Asylum into a 2-parter, because the best part of Nightmare is Mister Clever. Both episodes even have the same ‘someone’s about to destroy the planet’ ticking time bomb.

The army fighting the Cybermen kidnap 11 to get him to destroy the Asylum with a bunch of expendable grunts they can afford to lose to a suicide mission.· Clara meeting/interacting with another version of herself is really interesting, so we keep converted Oswin saving them·

Changing it to Asylum of the Cybermen makes more sense thematically

All those people, including Oswin, being converted – the Asylum’s security system is its conversion machinery – attackers become part of the security system. Instead of a nano-cloud, use the tiny upgraded Cybermats·

It would also be scarier (a haunted hospital a la World Enough and Time- botched cybermen > insane Daleks) and would add an interesting layer to Cyberman lore instead of making the Daleks look weak. It can also use old models to explain the Cybermen’s multiple backstories, touched on in The Doctor Falls (”everywhere there’s people, there’s cybermen,” 12 says)·

The ‘subtracting love’ thing makes more sense with cybermen too – instead of Amy and Rory, focus on Clara holding onto her connection with 11 – emphasising their genuine, emotion-based bond over ‘flirty quirky plot device’·

This renewed focus on the Cybermen is good because the last full-on Cyberman story was in Series 2 (in The Next Doctor they’re just kind of in the background), and Moffat is much better at writing the body-horror of the Cybermen than he is writing the Daleks.

Nightmare in Silver

· 11 deliberately lets himself be ‘infected’ by the asylum’s nanocloud and begins conversion in attempt to save the converted Oswin’s mind.

· Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the origin of Handles, the Cyberman head from The Time of The Doctor: the remains of Oswin’s cyber-converted mind downloaded into a head.

· 11 uses Mr Clever to get information about her - i.e. that she just appeared one day as a fully-formed person without any family. This sets up the other Claras being time remnants.

· It also lets Mr Clever play more psychological games with 11 and Clara – Mr Clever reveals 11 is scared of Clara, putting more strain on Clara having to hold on to her emotional attatchments

· The Cybermen are actively trying to get out. This way we dig into their primary drive – survival at all costs,

· What happens when a Cyberman’s emotional inhibitor is broken, but they don’t die? Driven insane and desperate, and fiercely intelligent.

· I like the idea of the Cybermen like the Xenomorph in Alien; blending in with thoier broken down, mechanical environment, plugging into it and using to separate and play games with the soldiers.

Dinosaurs on a Spaceship

· Replace The Crimson Horror with a version of Dinosaurs on a Spaceship with the Paternoster Gang replacing Brian, the Ponds, Nefertiti and that hunter bloke

· I just really need to see Vastra interacting with her culture OK? Seeing her be taken back to her childhood, opening up to Jenny about it. Her anger, realising what the villain Solomon has done to her people. Use this conflict to call back to and explain how she met the Doctor, how he stopped her slaughtering humans before.

· Clara and 11 go to the Paternoster Gang for help investigating her other selves

· Clara researches and finds her past selves, not only in Victorian London but also throughout the 60s and 70s, when she’s helping the past Doctors – finding this research is how the kids find out she’s a time traveller

· This is how THE DOCTOR REALISES HE’S SEEN HER MANY TIMES BEFORE, setting up The Name of the Doctor’s out-of-nowhere, un-guessable resolution.

· Dark!11 again. Matt saoid they would’ve explored a ‘meaneer’ version if he’d stayed on for series 8. Clara is the perfect way to bring that out as they lie and manipulate each other for their own ends.

DALEK CIVIL WAR STORY

· Progenitor Daleks vs the regular Time War model. Display how the Progenitor Daleks are different - each of them having a different weapon/role etc. The crux of the story is that the Progenitor Daleks are better at fighting the Doctor and come close to killing him, but the other Daleks value their ‘purity’ and survival more

· Maximum Dark!11

The Name of the Doctor

· When 11 rescues Clara she is changed – she retains bits and pieces of her time remnants’ experiences, it’s at once traumatising and exhilarating

The Time of the Doctor

· Whereas The End of Time felt stretched-out (135 minutes) this felt really rushed. Make it 2 parts.

· We see the set-up of Trenzalore and the Church of Silence in the first.

· The second part is the long siege of Trenzalore – we need to see 11 age fighting these monsters, taking his turn being left behind, the tragedy of him slowly losing his memory, focusing on his character

· We can also flesh out the citizens of Trenzalore and Christmas so their safety is important to us

· Let’s see Madame Kovarian and her splinter cell break off from the main Church of Silence and leave to try and kill the Doctor – make her a supporting character

· Then have Trisha Lem explicitly talk to the Doctor about how Kovarian blowing up the TARDIS caused the cracks in the universe in the first place, allowing the Time Lords to get their message out. Instead of a montage, have this be the moment that unites the Doctor and the Silence – they are both fighting to make up for their mistakes and the problems they caused

· We see the many races surrounding Trenzalore form the alliance from The Pandorica Opens

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oofurixmas · 5 years

Text

This time (it will be alright)

From: @ichikonohakko

To: @the-bug-witch

Soulmates and reincarnations are a given-thing, but skeptic Abe Takaya would never be a sappy believer… until he met a certain Mihashi Ren.

Merry Xmas and Happy New Year! I’m really sorry if this is a bit messy, I hit a writer’s block and this piece was pretty much my try-to-start-again piece. Your request stated you wanted AbeMiha snuggly fluff (or memes) and you like AUs… so here’s an AU with a fine spice of fluff and angst (sorry again, I’m just way better at writing angst). Please enjoy your gift!

Abe Takaya knew that the universe wasn’t so simple.

Soulmates are not predetermined, reincarnations are not real, and people around him were just screwing around with him and someday they would finally tell him that it was just one big fat joke. Shinooka wasn’t the reincarnation of some princess and Mizutani wasn’t a ronin samurai who had fallen in love with her. They didn’t ‘find each other again after so long in a destined fate’ or anything. They were just a sappy couple who loved sappy tropes.

Even his mother and father had thought that the reincarnation thing was a load of croak, but they do believe in soulmates. After all, Takaya could see the beautiful lilies blooming on his mother’s shoulder every time she and Dad were close to one another. And those lilies should have looked ridiculous on his Dad, but it wasn’t. And people are all proud to show their marks to the world or flaunting to the magazines about the previous lives they remembered. Takaya hated it and he swore that he would never ever be a sap. This world also had plenty of people who didn’t meet their soulmate and yet still got married and functions as normal members of society. Takaya expected to be one of those people.

“Oh you shouldn’t be so negative, Taka,” Shun said lightly as he stared at the small dot on his hip. “Who knows that you’re going to find someone who’s not only your soulmate, but also your lover from the past. Mom and Dad happened to not remember their past lives, but they found each other again just fine. Don’t you think that’s amazing?”

“Not really.” Takaya rolled his eyes as he got around the room, trying to prepare for morning lecture he would probably be late for if he didn’t finish up soon. “Well, whatever floats your boat, I guess. But I am going to find my soulmate someday. Just you see.” Takaya sighed as he stood up and ruffled Shun’s hair. “Sure you will. See you later, kiddo.”

Yeah, right.

ii.

Takaya’s skepticism was sort of a running joke in his current circle of friends.

And he really couldn’t blame them, because they were all already going out with their soulmates. Shinooka and Mizutani, Sakaeguchi and Suyama, even Izumi had been converted the first week of university when he was ran over by an excited Hamada, who yelled at the entire campus that he had finally found his soulmate. The only sane man in Takaya’s circle of friends was one Hanai Azusa.

The former captain of Nishiura baseball club had a healthy amount of skepticism, which was the only reason why Takaya genuinely liked the guy, but he was also open to the concept of finding his own soulmate. Unlike Takaya who actively tried to shut down any arguments regarding his own past life or soulmate, Hanai very much knew that he was a cook somewhere in Spain in his past life.

Takaya genuinely thought that their circle of friends would stay like that forever, with his friends being fools and him and Hanai being the straight-men of the world. But it all changed when a certain Tajima Yuuichirou from the veterinarian faculty came crashing down on Hanai after the other slipped off the stairs in their favorite café.

It was the first time Takaya saw it with his own eyes. The way those sunflowers bloomed on Hanai’s wrists and all the way until it covered his right arm, feverish and warm and magical as the guy who fell on him groaned and scrambled away from Hanai with identical sunflowers wrapping his left arm. “Whoa!” The stranger said loudly as he eyed Hanai from head to toe. “Are you Mariana?! You’re bald!” Hanai exploded into red when he screamed ‘SHUT UP ANTONIO’ and dragged the other to have a private conversation.

That had been three months ago, and now Tajima Yuuichirou is a part of their group and Takaya had never cursed his life more than he does right now when Tajima was the only person waiting for the others in their favorite booth by the café.

“You know, Abe,” Tajima started as he leaned towards the wall next to him. “Are you really not interested about your soulmate? Or at least what your soul-mark looks like?”

“No.”

“How about your past life? I can remember up to three lives ago perfectly, others kinda blur. But I know that I’ve only been a girl once and Hanai’s been the girl twice.”

Which was hilariously fitting and has been the topic of the group’s running joke for the two months since Tajima told them the story of Mariana the Spanish cook and Caroline the church organist. But really… “I’m not really interested at it, no.”

And unlike Hanai and Tajima, Takaya never had a dream about his own past life. He couldn’t remember them and didn’t really care to remember. He knew that sometimes people would go to hypno-therapist to find out more about themselves but Takaya was not some people.

“Well, suit yourself then,” Tajima said as he took a comic from the table and began reading. Takaya was thankful for the silence between them.

iii.

Takaya woke up feeling terribly hot and feverish, but he had a pop quiz worth forty percent of his grade today and he would not miss them.

His mother was worried and fussed over him and it made him feel nostalgic. She didn’t really fuss over him all these years, but there was someone who… would…?

What?

Takaya shook his head, dismissing his unreasonable déjà vu on his feverish state. The soul-mark on his collarbone was particularly hot, but he slapped it with some cold patch and he was out running to the nearest bus stop.

That day was a particularly blurry day for Takaya when he told the story years after, but there was always one part he could remember clearly more than any other part.

He remembered that it was a spring, and flower petals were falling around campus, and Takaya woke up to a stranger’s crying face.

“-ou o-okay?”

Nowadays when Takaya told the story, he would say that there were two things that caught his attention at that time. The first one was how beautiful the stranger was and the second one was the scattering baby breath flowers on the stranger’s neck.

But really, the first thing Takaya did was knock the stranger’s forehead with his own as he abruptly tried to sit up from the stranger’s lap.

“You’re… Mihashi Ren, right? Best pitcher of Gunma and Tajima’s former pitcher…?”

He was dressed like a typical university student, with a varsity jacket and baseball cap that seemed to hide his eyes. But he was unmistakably Tajima’s best friend, the other half of Gunma’s star-battery of Mihoshi Academy. Takaya knew him from both TV and Tajima, and yet…

It didn’t prepare him for the scattered baby breaths blooming on his collarbone and all the way to his cheek.

Mihashi Ren kept his eyes on the ground, fingers fiddling on his shirt as he struggled to give Takaya the answer to his question. His eyes flitted from the ground and to Takaya’s neck and then to the ground and anywhere but his eyes. “Well?” Takaya pushed, earning a startled garble from Mihashi Ren, who then leaped back on an instant.

“Y-y-yeah! I-I’m Mihashi… Ren…”

Takaya had a really high fever, and he also had a pop quiz worth forty percent of his grade today and he would probably miss them if he didn’t run soon. But…

But that day, Abe Takaya ended up not running to the classroom.

He ran to Mihashi instead.

iv.

When Abe Takaya woke up, he didn’t know why he felt angry that Mihashi Ren was not the first person he saw after he opened his eyes.

It was stupid and ridiculous, and horribly irrational and Takaya hated it and…!

“A-are you… awake…?”

Mihashi Ren was standing behind the curtain that separated Takaya’s bed with the other bed in the infirmary. His fingers curled at the edge of the curtain and only his face was visible. Takaya breathed in relief. He’s okay. He’s safe.

…what?

“Sorry I scared you, Mihashi…” Takaya began as he tried to calm the weird gnawing worry that just won’t leave him alone. Mihashi nodded then shook his head (it was really confusing, but Takaya figured that he just didn’t understand Mihashi) before sitting down on a chair on Takaya’s left. “You… collapsed all of a sudden…” Mihashi mumbled, eyes not meeting Takaya’s own. “I was. Worried. About you.”

“I’m sor-“

“But I always. Worry. Last time, you… didn’t make it…”

Takaya snapped his head at Mihashi, who was still staring at his own lap. His heart was ramming onto his chest, probably because of the fever, but also because of what Mihashi just said. Was this… his past life…?

“Do you remember… your past life?”

There was a nod, and for the first time since their really bizarre encounter, Mihashi stared at him with undeterred determination. Takaya noticed just how… pretty Mihashi looked. Hazel eyes, orange-ish brown hair, furrowed brows and all Takaya could think of was he was home.

“I-I should probably get going. It’s. Weird. I mean, you clearly don’t remember? So…”

Somehow, the notion of Mihashi not being with him ticked him very much. So Takaya grabbed the other’s wrist so hard he could have left a bruise if Mihashi wasn’t wearing a jacket. “Please, stay. I don’t really get it but I don’t like the feeling of you not being with me.” Mihashi stared at him, shocked and scared and relieved all at the same time. It confused Takaya, but he just knew that he had to make Mihashi stay.

“S-sorry…” Mihashi said as he sat on Takaya’s bed, his eyes glued on the baby breath scattered on Takaya’s neck. “I-I don’t think I’ve caught your name…?”

“I’m Abe. Abe Takaya,” now Takaya didn’t know why he cried or why he went on to hug the star baseball player of Gunma whom he knew nothing about, but it felt right and it didn’t feel sappy.

It felt just right.

Tajima Yuuichirou was the first person to scream when Takaya brought Mihashi to his favorite booth at the café.

“SEE?! I TOLD YOU THAT ABE IS PROBABLY YOUR SOULMATE!”

It was deafeningly loud, but Mihashi laughed and it was all that mattered.

(And yes, Takaya knew that he sounded like a lovestruck sap. But it was for Mihashi, so…)

Bonus

Mihashi Ren always loved to sleep in.

It reminded him—grounded him—to the fact that he was not living in his past life when things could go wrong at any time anymore. He was not sleeping in the barracks, where he had to be extra careful not to let anyone knew that they were sharing a blanket together. He was… here.

“Ren… stop wiggling…”

He stilled at the sound, reflexes from his previous life still somehow there. Unlike most people who remembered their past life as something like a dull memory, everything felt too real to him to the point that he had trouble differentiating between his memories and reality. He lost count of the time he broke down and cried whenever the explosion happened and ripped them both apart, only to have his mother and doctor calming and reminding him that nothing was happening to him…

But here he was, Mihashi Ren, sleeping in the arms of Abe Takaya on a lazy Sunday morning. He ran his fingers on Abe-kun’s cheek, slowly noting the peaceful look on his usually-grumpy face, down to the baby breaths scattered around his neck and chest only to converge on a spot on his collarbone…

“Are your perving on me, Ren?”

Ren startled, but Abe-kun pulled his waist until they were even closer than before. “I don’t mind though. You should perv on me some more.” Abe-kun put his face on the crook of Ren’s shoulder and slept.

It was alright. Everything was fine.

This time, they are together.

#oofuri #oofurixmas2018 #the-bug-witch #ichikonohakko #abemiha #abe takaya

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trade-baby-blues · 5 years

Text

Ghost of Christmas Past

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (if you squint)

Word Count: 2270

Warnings: ANGST, character death, mention of possible suicide

A/N: Nothing says Merry Christmas like some good ol’ fashioned angst!! Based (loosely) off the prompt “Character A returns to their birth-town for the holidays. Character B is their estranged childhood best friend” requested by @during-a-starry-sky for my Xmas Challenge. Sorry it took so long! Sorry it’s so angsty! Hope you all enjoy!

The wind whispered warnings as you looked over your childhood playground, reminiscing of sandcastles and the pine cone monsters that attacked them. Every second you stood in the cold was another second your heart broke. You could still feel the sand between your fingers and hear the boys’ laughter. Together you made up your own band of three misfit musketeers.

Steve was always the leader, despite being five foot nothing and skinnier than a twig. He more than made up for it with his personality - always picking fights and standing up for the little guys (though there wasn't much standing up when his head barely cleared the other guy’s chest). But that's why he had Bucky.

Bucky was the opposite of Steve in almost every way. Tall, suave, devout pacifist, unless you or Stevie were in trouble. Then he was a force to be reckoned with. He could tap into some deep well of inner rage and send even the biggest bullies packing. One night in the middle of summer, as the three of you stared up at the night sky, Bucky admitted that it scared him sometimes.

Which is where you came in: the nurturer, the peacekeeper. You were the happy medium between Steve’s reckless courage and Bucky’s ruthless brawn. It was your unspoken duty to keep everyone calm, happy, and safe. You weren't quite sure where that went wrong.

The wind ran its cold fingers through your hair, sending a shiver down your spine like an electric shock. How long had you been standing there, a statue guarding what few precious memories you had left? Maybe it was a mistake coming back after all.

Ten years didn't seem like such a long time, just enough for everything to fall apart. Enough for the pain to feel less desperate, no longer the ravenous animal clawing at your chest and ripping your heart to pieces but a dull growl in your ear when you tried to fall asleep, saying you could have been more, could have done more, done something. Instead you ran like Steve ran. Like Bucky always dreamed of running.

Suddenly, as if propelled by the ghost of a pain you never could quite shake, you were standing there again: the corner of Maple and Evergreen. The only bus stop out of town. You stood next to Steve, weighed down by bags almost as big as he was. The air between you was thick and stagnant and you wondered, not for the first time that day, how things had come to this. Steve leaving. You unable to even look him in the eye but also unable to let him wait alone. There were so many things you were bursting to tell him but every ounce of fire in you was smother by the time it reached your throat, so the two of you stood in silence until the bus came roaring up the hill to claim Steve. In that moment, it was scarier than any monster that had ever lived under your bed, and, as you watched Steve get on without looking back, it left you twice as lonely.

You fought past the burning in your throat, bringing yourself back to reality. There was no use reminiscing. It wouldn't bring either of them back. You straightened your back and closed your eyes, as if you didn't still see them every time you blinked. As if you didn't see Steve’s smile in every streetlight or hear Bucky’s laughter on a warm wind. Every inch of this town breathed with them, which is why you felt like you were suffocating.

You loosened the top button of your jacket and kept your eyes trained firmly on the ground, dragging your feet to stir up the snow. You could almost feel it dripping down every patch of exposed skin as you, Bucky, and Steve wrapped up yet another snowball fight. You and Buck always let Steve win. After all, victory didn't matter much when the three of you spent the rest of the afternoon curled up next to each other with cocoa and movies.

Steve would fall asleep first, head in your lap while you stroked his hair. You and Bucky would stay up a little longer talking about everything and nothing. What you wanted to do after high school. What kind of fruit you thought you would be. Most often, you'd talk about leaving. Finally getting out of this dead end town.

The plan was New York. Steve wanted to be an artist and there wasn't a better school in his eyes than NYU. It was perfect, because you had your sights set on Columbia. Bucky, on the other hand, wasn't sure yet what he wanted to do. Maybe architecture. Maybe culinary school. The only thing he was sure of was that he would follow you and Steve to the ends of the earth if he had to, and more than anything you wanted him to. It would have made those first semester easier.

You reached into your pocket, pulling out the small die cast Statue of Liberty you’d picked up at the airport. You could almost hear Bucky’s voice teasing you, saying, “You went all the way to New York and this is all I get?” But you knew he would have put it on his bookshelf as soon as he got home. He had a shrine of souvenirs just like this, reminding him that there was a whole world outside this town. A world with more than one traffic light and paved driveways.

The snow was starting to sting your knees, but you couldn't bring yourself to care as you set the model down in front of you. It was a bright pop of green against the white earth and brown flowers. You ran your fingers over the stone, hoping that maybe now, after ten years, it would somehow feel real but it still felt like a dream. You could see your fingers move but the feeling was far away, as if it was someone else’s hand caressing the inscription:

James Buchanan Barnes. 1982-1998.

Suddenly, you were seventeen again, laying in your bed in the dead of night. Something woke you up, but you couldn't remember what. A dream? No, a noise. Knocking. Then, a door opening. Floor boards creaking. A chair scraping against the floor. Whispering words you couldn't make out but in a tone that made your heart leap to your throat. You crept out of your room to hear better.

“We’ll need to talk to her.” A voice you didn't recognize.

“I’m not sure she’ll be in any state to talk when she finds out…” Your mother, voice catching on the brink of tears.

“I can tell her. It’s my job.” You saw the glint of a sheriff’s star catching the kitchen light.

“Tell me what?” Every eye in the room snapped to you standing in the doorway, a picture of youthful innocence in bare feet and dinosaur print pajamas.

Your father stood, placing a hand on your mother’s shoulder. She pinched her eyes shut and you saw a tear fall. “There’s been an accident,” your father said, voice steadier than his hands.

“What kind of accident?”

The officer stood. “At the quarry. A body was found. We don't know what happened, exactly, but it, um….It was Bucky.”

You watched the officer’s mouth move but every word he said was drowned by the buzzing in your ears, in your head, in every nerve in your body. You felt like you were on fire and frozen all at once. It was like your spirit left your body, flying over the town to the quarry, to the spot you knew Bucky liked to sit and watch the stars. The rocks stretched out before you like the blanket he kept hidden there and you could see every star reflected in his eyes. A sinister voice slithered through your mind, casting every memory you had with Bucky into shadow: did he fall or did he jump?

Without warning, you bolted from the house. You heard your parents calling after you but didn't dare stop, as if running would keep your thoughts from catching up. Your bare feet slammed against the gravel of the driveway but the pain was far away. There was only one thing that mattered now: Steve.

The blinking lights of the cop car made every shadow dance mournfully across the lawn. The door flew open as Steve tore out of it like a devil out of the gates of Hell. He didn't have far to run as you rounded the corner and the two of you curled around each other, pulling each other close enough you could almost pretend you didn't feel the empty space where Bucky’s arms would be.

Then, you were in a police car, both still in pajamas, on your way to the station. Then you were in a morgue, shivering less from cold than from fear, looking at the face of your best friend. Then, you were 18, throwing off the covers in your bed as you gasped for air, still able to picture the way Bucky’s arm stuck out at odd angles even under the sheet, the way his eyes stared not at you but through you to the emptiest parts of your mind and you wondered if the nightmares would ever stop. If you really wanted them to, since it was the only way you could see Bucky now.

“How long have you been sitting here?” A voice asked, soft and sad but without pity.

You wiped your eyes hurriedly and loosed a hollow laugh. “I don't know actually. I just got lost in thought.” You stood, but your knees buckled beneath you and the weight of your grief. A pair of strong arms reached out to grab you before you hit the ground. You shook as much snow off yourself as you could, mumbling a thank you before looking up at the stranger and time seemed to stop.

You could hardly believe it was Steve. He was twice the size, all muscle and height now, and, yet, when you looked in his eyes you saw the same world-weary gaze of a man who knew too much pain. He smiled the same goofy half grin he only ever gave you and Bucky and, even if you didn't know how, you knew it was Steve.

“Come on, it's cold out. Why don't we go get some coffee?” You nodded and he threw an arm around your shoulder, shielding you from most of the wind.

The diner was almost empty, and the Christmas music coming from the jukebox in the corner made the silence between you and Steve more painful. You poked half-heartedly at the plate of waffles in the middle of the table while Steve looked out the window, hoping maybe he'd find something to say.

Finally, you dropped the fork along with your pretenses and looked at Steve. “Why are you here?”

Steve looked down at his coffee, the fluorescent lights highlighting the bags under his eyes. “Why are you here?”

“I have family here still.”

“I have family here, too.” He looked at you, then, and you felt the pieces of your heart swell for a moment.

In your head, your voice was confident but when it came out it sounded more like a lost child: “You left.” It was your turn to avoid eye contact.

Steve reached across the table for your hand but you pulled away, hiding your hands in your lap. He sighed, fidgeting with the corner of a napkin instead. “I had to. Everywhere I look I just….”

“See Bucky,” you finished. You looked up and Steve nodded. You watched him tear at the napkin edges and noticed the roughness of his hands. You reached out and took them in yours, wondering when they stopped being so soft.

“You didn't go to NYU.”

“No, I went to Brooklyn. Joined the Army.”

“And a gym by the looks of it.”

Steve laughed. You’d missed the sound. “Yeah, Stark’s Gym. I work there now, actually.” Steve turned your hands over, tracing a finger along your palm. “What about you?”

“Columbia. Like we always talked about. I wanted to invite you to graduation, but I…,” you but your bottom lip, pulling your hands back again. You took a breath to steady yourself and looked out the window. “I haven't heard from you in years, Stevie. You could've been dead too, and I never would have known.”

“I know, I-”

“Do you? You were in Brooklyn this whole time. That's a 45 minute trip to upper Manhattan and you never once made it.

“And I want to make up for that. If you'll let me.” Steve reached across the table, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His thumb brushed your cheek and, despite your anger, you let yourself melt into his touch. “Come on, kid. Whaddya say?”

“Just because you grew a few inches doesn't mean you get to call me kid.”

“No? How about being born two days before you?”

You rolled your eyes, mouth pulling up into a smile you weren’t sure you could make anymore. “Shut up, grandpa.”

Steve laughed the same deep-bellied laugh you’ve missed, and, for a second, you saw the same impish glint in Steve’s eyes that always signalled trouble when you were kids. You smiled back and suggested you go see a movie, not wanting to part ways just yet. The two of you slid out of the booth leaving a third mug of cocoa sitting on the table untouched.

Tags:

@during-a-starry-sky @ wefracturedmotivation (Idk if you want to just be tagged in Tony stuff or all marvel stuff but lmk and I’ll update it!! Idk if/when I’ll have more Tony stuff coming)

A/N part 2: Sorry I haven’t updated in so long!! I had to finish writing a script for my producer and then I was crazy depressed the last few days so I didn’t have any energy to write, but!! I think I’m back in the groove of things!! And I intend to finish all the fics even if it’s after Christmas !!

#marvel imagine #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #christmas follower celebration #my fics #I truly did not imagine my first Steve fic would be so angsty.....

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pappycat89 · 5 years

Text

So, talking about early life and some of the things that im pretty sure fucked me up for adult life. under a cut cos boy will it be long and poorly written *finger guns*

i was gonna do this as like a timeline of things that happened, with explanations and shit, but instead im just gonna do a highlight reel, cos why not

My brother and i used to share a room for years, including when my younger brother and sister were born, grew up, and then got their own rooms while luke and i had to share a room into our teens. we fought, a lot, because we were kids and also stupid

when we were sharing a room it would become a huge mess, mostly because we were preteens and why would we put away the toys we were always playing with? anyways, our stepdad would often give us an hour to clean our rooms, which would have been plenty of time if we didnt get distracted by out toys, as kids do. if we didnt get it cleaned in time (which we pretty much never did) we would get flogged. not like a gentle smack to enforce we’d done something wrong (like how you might smack a friends arm when they say something wrong or offensive) but full on belting, often with some kind of tool. he broke a couple duster over our backsides. we would sob for ages afterwards, and often rush around or hide when we heard him coming because we were afraid

i was afraid of him physically hurting me even after i was an adult. i think i was 20 before i had had enough and decided if he ever touched me again i’d fight back. when i was 16 i wanted my eyebrow pierced. he told me if i ever did he would tear it from my face. i got it done when i moved out at 19, and had a panic attack the first time i had to go home because i was 100% convinced he would. my mum had to pull me aside after dinner to tell me he wouldn’t, but to be honest i didnt really believe her

i have two younger step siblings, who were treated as angels, while my brother and i were treated like shit constantly. When my step-brother threw a tantrum and threatened my brother and me with a knife, he got a ‘talking to’, but not before my brother and me were screamed at for being shitty brothers (his temper tantrum was because we kept telling him he had to clean his room before our parents got him. he never did clean it)

once, my step brother was given 3 days to clean his room. days after the deadline, my mum told put her foot down. My girlfirend and i (i had moved out at this point) were visiting and helping get the place ready for xmas. My step brother refused to clean, screamed at me when i reminded him he only had today to do it, literally went crying to mum when she got home from work. I got yelled at,, by both mum and my step dad, until my grilfriend stepped in to defend me. apparently my step brother had told them i hit him, yelled at him and locked him in his room. at this point in my life, i literally couldnt give a shit whether he cleaned his room or not as i didnt live there, so all i did was remind him and let it go

for a few months when i was 18 i worked with my stepdad at a steel mill (the pay was almost worth deal with his bullshit). i had made plans a week in advance to go out with friends, and asked my stepdad multiple times to warn me in advance if i had to work the next day. the day of going out came, i told him that if i had to work to let me know by 10pm, because i would have enough time to come home and be functional for work. He never got in contact, so i stayed out all night and crashed at a friends place. 5am comes around and i get an angry phone call from my mum. my stepdad was pissed that i was out and wasnt ready for work. She knew that i had asked to be told by 10pm, but they both had ‘forgot’, and it was my fault, because i should have come home anyway. this was not the last time they would forget to tell me my shifts (my stepdad literally gave everyone their shifts, he had no excuse). i ended up getting picked up and dragged to work (i was too afraid of him to say no at this point) and went to work very hungover, which was very dangerous at a steel mill, but i was so afraid of him beating me that i put up with it

During my preteens i was part of an athletics club. i liked it, and enjoyed the field events far more then the track events. i hated running, because i would get really bad shin splints. no one believed me, and mum thought i was just lazy. i got into the regional championships for discus and high jump, and state for javelin. everyone was excited for me to go, but when i didnt place no one talked about it again. i felt so guilty over failing i stopped trying as hard. i did well at the weekly events, but never well enough to compete again.

i played soccer for years until mum got a weekend job and couldnt take us. my teammates thought i was useless and would never let me have the ball. one day, when we were short people, i got placed as a forward. i kept up with the others, and even scored a few goals. i got cheered for that game, and finally thought i would be accepted and make friends, but then the next week was back on the bench

similar happened when is started playing basketball instead of soccer (it ran on weeknights instead of weekends). i almost gave up until one of my teammates pulled me aside and actually tested me. when he found i could play, he started including me in games, passing to me and teaching me better techniques. i crushed on him so hard before i even knew what that meant. i never saw him again after that season, so when the next season came with an almost all new team, mixed with the emotional strain of school, i gave up on sports

school was very hard for me growing up. i got bullied alot through both primary and high school (even university, but by that point it didnt bother me as much)

i was a very sensitive child. i would cry whenever i felt too much of any emotion, including happiness. People told me for years to ‘suck it up’, to stop crying, or better, that they’d ‘give me something to cry about’. this lead to me bottling my emotions and literally beating myself whenever i would cry that i physically couldnt shed a tear for over a decade.

i felt so disconnected from everyone in my life that when i was around 12 i decided to try to kill myself. being a stupid kid i thought i could hold my breath until i died. i tried 3 times over about 6 months. it never clicked that it wouldnt work, i just became more scared of death then i did of my bullies.

i ran away from school twice in the same year. the first time one of my bullies set off a cap gun next to me, then started yelling about how i did it. i was so afraid of getting in trouble, not just by my teacher, but by my parents that i just ran. i ended up coming back to the school 30 mins later, after both my parents and the police had been called. no one wanted to hear why i had done it, they just wanted to be angry that i left school grounds.

i dont remember why i did it the second time, but i was gone maybe 5 mins before i came back, fearing not only my parents but the police this time. i knew i would be in worse trouble, but i just couldnt be in the school anymore.

one time, when we had a sex education class, i explained to a ‘friend’ that i didnt like talking about this stuff, cos it made me feel weird (not in a sexual way, but like, grossed out weird) he told everyone i got an erection in class, and people called me boner boy for months. that was actually not long before i tried to commit suicide for the first time

i thought things would be better in high school because i went to a different school then everyone i knew (i missed my friends, but i figured id get a new start). instead i got bullied from day one. the jockish kids in my class saw i was an easy target because at this point i still cried at the drop of a hat. some of those bullies from day one bullied me all the way through to senior year.

as i hit puberty i stopped being so emotional (well, i bottle it up more) and instead became angry at everything. i would lash out at everyone, and when i couldnt lash out at people i hit things. i split my knuckles on walls and doors many times

once, in the library, one of my bullies stole my wallet. he took all the money out, then threw the empty wallet at me and laughed. i snapped and threw the chair i was sitting on at him. i missed, but he dropped the money. i got sent to the vice principals office, where i explained what happened. he called in the other boy, who denied it all. no one else had seen, so i got in trouble and he got off

it was in highschool that i learnt that pain could help clear the bad feelings from my head, and started to self harm. i hated the feeling of cutting, so i burned myself, or scratched mosquito bites and small cuts until that got so bad they would scar

i used to try really hard in to be a good student in high school. i was in the ‘gifted and talented’ classes in primary school, so whenever i didnt do well (i never failed, just was never top of my class) i got told i had ‘so much potential’. no one ever saw the effort i did put in. When the school sent a letter home one time to congratulate me on getting the second top score in a test, i heard nothing of it. i found the letter a few weeks after it had been sent, opened. neither my mum nor stepdad had said anything about it. soon after i decided there was no point in trying if people only ever cared when i failed

i got into a fist fight one day at school. they didnt call my folks, so my mum found out when i got home with a black eye. we got into a fight about it, because i didnt want to talk to her about what happened. when confronted i broke down, and told her that i wanted to die. she yelled at me about being selfish while smacking me across the face multiple times. i decided not to talk to her about how i felt anymore, because i couldnt understand how you could beat someone who just said they wanted to die. to this day everytime i try to talk to her about any serious emotional stuff i start to break down and just cant do it

i to bullied about being gay for so many years that when i started to have feelings for other men i buried them and tried not to think about it. i spent years being scared that i might be gay, worried about what would happen to me if i was. When i started to think about my gender ( i didnt understand gender at the time) and how i wished i had been born a woman, i buried that and just assumed it was puberty hormones fucking with me. i still cant think about it without almost having an anxiety attack. i have so many years of self hatred, of poor body images and of people telling me i was ugly/fat/gross that i cant see myself as anything but

i finally calmed down emotionally around 17/18. senior year. at this point i tried my best to ignore my bullies and the voices in my head. i just wanted school to end so i could run away somewhere. i wanted to go to university to study forensic science. i had two different teachers tell me i wasnt smart enough, and that i would never get into uni. i ended up failing my HSC and having to do a bridging course to get into uni. the course was so good, in both how they taught in the environment (it was held at the univeristy) that i more then doubled my ATAR and got accepted into the two top forensic science courses (in hindsight i chose the worse of the two, but i didnt know at the time)

university was mixed years. i made some amazing friends and learnt some great stuff, but also had to deal with some absolute dickheads. It was a small country town where the only things to do outside study was to drink and play football. id given up on playing sports years before hand, and 9 out of 10 of the football players were super racist and homophobic. One of them raped a friend of mine and the university defended him. thats when my friends and i decided we had to leave campus. add to that that i found out at the end of my third year i had been doing the wrong course for the job i wanted, i quit uni and left

TL:DR - theres a lot of shit that fucked me up, but typing it all out i cant tell if it actually fucked me up or if im just whining about normal shit. ahh well. better to get it out then keep it in

Tune in next time folks! Same Bat-time! same Bat-channel!

#personal #long post #like its seriously long #just airing dirty laundry #is that the right term?

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k-i-s-m-e-t · 6 years

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Secret Santa

TianShan Xmas Event: Presents (Day 2) Fandom: 19 days Rating: Mature Status: 1/2 Warnings: None Pairing: TianShan Words: 4,102

Summary: Based on this freaking hilarious & amazing prompt!! I hope you don’t mind that I ran with it. I’m not sure this is what you expected but hey lol enjoy!

When Mo took the volunteer job at the mall, he had done so begrudgingly. It was punishment after all, brought about by boiled-over frustration that had fueled the language he’d used to respond to his teacher’s inquiries about his tardiness. It was the third time that week he’d been late. Put on the spot, he didn’t know how to explain that money was always tight around the holidays and he’d been walking to and from school each morning in lieu of the train.

He was monopolizing any place he could cut some corners to save a few dollars. The allowance he got wasn’t much, but he saved as much of it as possible. This year he’d told himself he’d get his mom something good for Christmas. He hated seeing that overjoyed look on her face when she opened his handmade or cheap gifts. Like the “Mom of the Year” plaque he’d made in shop class last year that she boasted about having on her desk at the hospital, or the cheap earrings he’d bought at a stand she still wore proudly several times a week. A person like her deserved better, she deserved the world, and it frustrated him that he was just a broke high school student.

Getting a job was, “Completely out of the question!” she’d barked when he had off-handedly mentioned it. It was her duty to provide for him, not the other way around. If they needed to make ends meet, she’d work double shifts, he couldn’t afford to slack off on his studies.

Seeing his taken-aback expression, she’d softened instantly. “I know you mean well honey,” she’d said a hand cupping his cheek, “but we’re doing fine.”

The command to, “See me after class!” had been given on the spot and when the bell rang Mo hung back, dread setting in. He waited until the room cleared before even considering approaching his teacher’s desk.

Taking a breath, he stood and gathered his belongings, packing them up slowly, stalling for time. Sweat from his palms smeared along the cover of his history textbook as he fumbled with it, slick fingers shoving it into his bag. He nearly yanked the zipper off his bag when his name is called.

The walk to the front from his back-row seat seemed infinite, blood pulsing in his ears, each step forward magnified in the now empty classroom. But then he was there, hanging back a few steps as if proximity could diminish his impending punishment. He figured this slip-up would earn him a few days minimum in detention.

“What?” Mo spat standing uncomfortably in front of the teacher’s desk. Agitation amounting from anticipation.

The man looked up with a raised eyebrow.

“Watch your tone with me, that little outburst you had this morning coupled with your tardiness has you looking at a week-long suspension right now.”

“What the fuck!” Mo exploded.

The man slammed his open palm down on the desk. “Language!”

Mo flinched.

He pointed a finger level with Mo’s chest. “One more offense like that and we can finish this conversation in the principal’s office.”

Mo clenched his fists, seething, he could feel his temper flaring but he nodded. A week long fucking suspension? His mom was going to kill him.

“As of today you have been tardy 13 times! 13! And you don’t just show up five minutes late, oh no! Sometimes you stroll in here 20 to 30 minutes late. I need an explanation for this, it’s completely unacceptable!”

When Mo remained silent the man rubbed at his temples, trying to ease the tension gathered there, then sighed.

“Look Guan Shan, I’ve seen a significant amount of improvement in your schoolwork and behavior this year. I’m proud of you. I don’t want to see you start backsliding, got it?”

“Got it,” Mo mumbled.

“Look, let’s make a deal: The Humanitarian Club, which I lead, needs a few more volunteers for our Santa’s Workshop at the mall. We desperately need a photographer as our current one recently got sick with the flu and I know one of your electives this year was photography. I’ve seen your work and I’m pretty confident in your ability. You’d just have to take photos of the kids sitting on Santa’s lap.”

“I..” Mo hesitated.

“Don’t feel pressured to do it but.. I’ll be frank with you, it’s either this or suspension. At least this won’t show up on your record. Also, I’d need you to be able to commit to doing it for two weeks, just until our photographer gets better.”

An image of his mother’s disappointed face flashed through his mind, he sighed… but two weeks?

“Ok, when do I start?”

His teacher smiled, glasses glinting. “Today.”

That afternoon Mo found himself at the local mall, and as the automatic doors slid open he was immediately engulfed in a retail wonderland, Christmas style. He wandered around for a bit, window shopping, eyes drinking in the season’s assortment of clothing and trainers in his favorite shop’s windows.

Truth be told, he wasn’t exactly sure where he was supposed to meet for this volunteer job, he hadn’t really paid attention to the details. He been too relieved that he wouldn’t have to explain to his mother his suspension and could instead spin the situation in his favor, as doing some community service out of the goodness of his own heart, having caught the holiday spirit. Yeah… she was going to see right through that lie.

In the food court he made his rounds, filling up on free samples to stave off his hunger until dinner. As he exited the half circle of vendors he could see a Santa’s Workshop display near the children’s play area. Tossing the toothpick the last sample had been on, he shouldered his backpack and headed over.

The site was bustling and he could recognize plenty of familiar faces from school. A few eyed him warily given his delinquent reputation, but most were absorbed in their duties.

Amid the group he spied Zhan and felt his body relax, not realizing how much tension had built up. This might not be so bad after all, he thought. Zhan barely talked but neither did he, at least he knew someone here.

“You too?” He inquired as he approached, bumping Zhan’s outstretched fist.

“In a way, my mom’s part of the PTA,” he stated as if that explained everything. “Apparently they never get enough volunteers.”

“Where’s Jian Yi?”

“Why do you assume he’d be here? We don’t do everything together.”

Mo waited.

Zhan sighed. “He had clean-up duty after school & caught a later train, he should be here in a few.”

“Alright everyone,” a bespectacled girl addressed the group. Movement halted as everyone paused giving her their full attention.

“Last week was great and we had an amazing turn out!” Many in the group clapped and whistled.

“Let’s try to do even better this week,” she laughed. “You know your positions, if you have any questions don’t hesitate to talk to me. Let’s go out there and spread some holiday cheer!” A few whooped in response, Mo rolled his eyes.

They all drifted to their respective roles, and as the crowd thinned the girl’s eyes fell on him.

“Oh, it’s you,” she sighed in annoyance. Mo recognized her as his class rep from middle school. The same one that had demanded he stop playing cards on school time.

“Pleasure to see you too,” he quipped.

“Save it, come on so we can get you set up and out of my hair.”

Off to the side there was a trolley parked with several suitcases stacked on top, she pulled off the topmost one, resting it gently on the floor and unzipped it. Nestled between foam cushioning laid the nicest camera Mo had ever seen, let alone touched. She removed it from its casing and held it out to him.

“You’ll be shooting with this.”

Taking it gingerly from her, he cradled it carefully in both hands. The DSLR was a larger model, a Nikon D series, he tested its weight, pleased that it was nice and solid, felt good in his hands. He ran his fingers along the textured gripping on the side. The lens he could tell came standard but the depth it could shoot was still considerable. He’d be able to get plenty of clear, close up shots. Damn he was in love, he would in a few words, totally fuck this camera. It was sexy as hell and sensitive to the touch. Bringing it up to his face, he aligned the eyepiece carefully along the curve of his cheek and brow, lightly pressed the shutter release. The smooth click of the shutter opening and closing was music to his ears, like the purr on a nice sports car. He thumbed at the playback button to review the photo. It was displayed on the screen in crisp quality; a Christmas tree in a store front effortlessly preserved in time.

“Nice,” Mo breathed.

“The photos you take will save automatically & transfer immediately to that computer station,” she pointed “where we display them to allow parents to pick their favorite. There’s a tripod in that bag too that you’ll shoot from, you just need to set up in front of Santa’s chair. All I ask is, that at the end of the night you box everything up just how you found it.”

“Sounds easy enough, so all I have to do is take the pictures.”

“Yea, try not to fuck it up. Oh, also ruin that camera and I’ll kill you.”

“Noted.”

“Oh, one more thing.” She unfolded an elf hat, and held it out to him. “I need you to wear this.”

“I’m not wearing that,” Mo said dismissively.

A hand clutched his forearm and she looked up into his face, light obscuring her eyes behind thick frames, “Yes, you are.”

“Okay, okay!” Mo exclaimed. What the hell was wrong with these people??

To their left a child bounded down the roped off line, dragging his mother behind him.

She patted his arm. “You’re on.”

Once Mo set up the camera and tripod, which he would admit he struggled with, just a tad, things ran smoothly.

The first few kids, though excited, followed his instructions to smile and say cheese. The student playing Santa he was sure helped facilitate the process, the guy was really good with kids. He greeted them in a cheery manner and made them feel comfortable. He even calmed a watery-eyed little girl, wiped her tear streaked cheeks and got her to smile wide for the camera.

Mo couldn’t help but find himself chuckling at some of the jokes he could hear exchanged or Santa’s reactions to their wish lists. It softened his mood and he found himself greeting the parents and kids in similar pleasant manner. He was almost disappointed when 7:30 rolls around and they close-up shop for the day. Almost. Gathering up the camera and tripod he carried them both back to the trolley; unzipped the travel bag and folded up the tripod stowing it neatly in its compartment. Before packing up the camera he pressed the playback button, cycling through the images he’d taken over the past few hours, mentally making notes of where he’d succeeded and how he could improve.

“Nice work today,” a voice said and he was ashamed of the brief scream he emitted.

“Could you announce yourself.”

The class rep leaned back, a smirk on her face. “Where’s the fun in that? Anyways, I saw the shots you took, good thing your stay is only temporary or our current photographer would be out of a job.”

“I…”

“You’re talented, glad to have you on the team. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she clasped his shoulder briefly before walking away.

Mo soaked in her words, a newfound vigor guiding his actions as he popped out the camera’s battery and stuck it into a portable charger to power-up overnight. I’m… talented.

The words carried him afloat as he left, waving an honest goodbye to the few stragglers. Zhan was still hanging around the set and Mo moved to see if wanted to walk home together but the other politely declined. Mo could see Jian Yi cleaning up the and he gets it. No explanation needed.

The high got him through the sliding doors of the mall exit only to be knocked flat on his ass.

He was blinded for a few seconds as the stupid elf hat he forgot to take off is knocked askew covering his eyes. Rage ensued.

“Who in the mother fuck is looking for death?!”

He ripped the hat off and was met with an outstretched hand in his face. Genuinely confused he looked up as the owner of the hand chuckled.

Fucking He Tian, of course.

“Don’t you have a graveyard to lurk in?” Mo bit out irritably, and smacked away the offered hand.

“Are you implying that I’m the grim reaper? I like that,” He Tian purred.

“That wasn’t a compliment.” Mo got gingerly to his feet, dusted his pants.

“Why are you even here? The mall’s closed.”

“I was doing some shopping,” he gestured to the small bag dangling from his wrist.

Mo could tell by the bag’s logo it was from some pricey jewelry store. He rolled his eyes. “Fancy gift for one of your admirers, I’m sure.”

“Not quite,” He Tian said but didn’t offer an explanation.

“Anyways, I gotta get going so are we done here?”

“I can’t lie you look pretty cute in that get-up,” He Tian said, looking him up and down. “Why don’t you come sit on my lap.”

“Yeah, you’re about the 5th guy to spit that line today,” Mo remarked pushing past him. “Try again.”

“Hmm okay, you know you’re pretty cute when you’re wrapped up in your own little world.”

“The hell kind of comment is that?”

“I saw you walking, you looked content with yourself. A nice change from your usual mad at the world persona.”

“And for this you chose to knock me on my ass.”

“You bumped into me, actually.”

“Right.”

“Why don’t you let me walk you home?”

“How ‘bout no?” Mo said stalking off. Body tensed in anticipation of the strong arm he knew would swing around his shoulders and drag him off anyways but nothing came.

He glanced over his shoulder but He Tian was gone. Weird.

The next day wasn’t as easy as the first. It was, in short, mild chaos.

Mo bounced a screaming baby on his hip as the mother and Santa tried to console its twin. He looked down into her ruddy face, eyes squeezed shut, tiny fists balled as she opened her mouth, silent for a few seconds catching her breath, little body vibrating with the subdued rage she planned to unleash. Mo sighed steeling himself for another round of screaming.

‘Why are you crying? You have no real problems, fuck I should be crying.’

“Say cheese,” he dead panned as the mother finally stepped out of the frame, the other child momentarily consoled.

The baby looked surprised in the picture but at least he wasn’t crying. Good enough. Handing over twin number two to Santa, he glanced at the endless line of parents and toddlers.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Click!

The daily 15-minute breaks were heaven sent and he executed his usual system of hitting up the food court, stopping at every food place offering free samples. By the time he had reached the end, his appetite was comfortably sated. There was still about ten minutes left before he was due for the second half of his shift so he sat on a bench nearby, pulled out his phone to review his finances. The amount he’d saved up so far gave him enough bandwidth to explore several options but he still had no clue what to buy his mom for Christmas. After making this much effort it had to be good, memorable, but what do you get the woman that claimed she had everything she’d ever wanted. He rested his chin in his hand in defeat. Ughh, this shouldn’t be so hard. The bench jostled and he glanced to his left, surprised to see Santa sitting next to him.

“Hey.” the guy offered, voice muffled by the giant white beard that obscured most of his face. One hand shifted his belly so he could sit comfortably.

“Hey..” Mo returned.

“Nice job out there today, I didn’t know you were so good with kids.”

“Likewise man, today was.. something else.”

Santa cracked open a bottle of water, taking a few gulps. “Yeah we have days like that but it’s generally smooth sailing.”

They sat in silence for a bit, the soft murmur of the bustling mall and crinkling of the water bottle drifted between them.

“You.. can’t take the costume of?” Mo asked, breaking the silence.

“Nah, can’t risk one of the kids seeing me and realizing Santa’s not a chubby jolly old white dude. Imagine if they found out he isn’t only not real but a high-schooler.

Mo laughed. “They’ll find out sooner or later.”

“That’s cold man,” Santa said but his grey eyes twinkled behind the spectacles.

Mo shrugged, checked his phone. “Crap, breaks up. I’ll see you back at the workshop.”

Santa raised an arm in farewell. “See you.”

Mo jogged the short distance back, but couldn’t shake the odd feeling that he knew Santa. He couldn’t place why exactly, but the costume restrictions made it difficult to see what he looked like and his voice didn’t sound familiar. Whatever, he would ask him his name next time he had a chance.

As soon as he stepped back on site the class rep ushered him back to the camera, scolding him about tardiness being why he was here in the first place.

Face breaking into a scowl, all previous thoughts vanished from his mind as he double-checked the camera battery supply and adjusted the lighting. He’d just finished tidying up around Santa’s chair when the guy returned from break. Mo resumed his place at the camera as the line reopened and mildly subdued chaos ensued.

Two days down. A week and a half to go.

“Who the fuck are you supposed to be? Rudolph?” Mo addressed Jian Yi as he unpacked the camera and tripod for his shift.

“No,” Jian Yi sniffled, wiping at his vividly red nose. “I’m sick. I think I caught something from one of these brats.” He sneezed, open mouthed of course, snot and drool dripping.

“Gross dude, cover your mouth, you aren’t five,” Mo muttered hastily gathering his supplies so he could vacate the area asap.

Every day that passed without coming to a decision on what to get his mom was making him more and more irritable. Walking out to the set, camera at the ready, the sounds of crying increased the closer he got, an opposing battle cry.

Please, just take me now.

When his break came around, he found himself anticipating the arrival of Santa. It’s not like Mo was looking for the guy or anything. Yet meeting up had become almost an unspoken ritual, in the same vein as Mo forgetting to ask for his name.

The question was always at the forefront of his mind but the guy was hilarious and Mo became easily swept up in the conversation, usually not realizing he had again forgotten to ask until he arrived home that night.

This time the guy showed up with dumplings that keep Mo’s mouth occupied the majority of the conversation, as pickings were light in the free sample area. A few of the vendors had caught on to his scheme and conveniently weren’t handing out samples when he came by.

“Can you believe that last kid spat up on me? I’m never having kids,” Santa declared shaking his head in disbelief.

“Yeah sucks to be you,” Mo chewed thoughtfully. They were quiet for a bit.. “Hey,” Mo started “This is kind of random but what’s your name? I didn’t catch it the first time we talked.”

Santa paused, swallowed. “It’s uh Li Jie,” he said slowly.

“Oh.” Unfamiliar. “I guess I don’t know you after all, I know pretty much everyone at school.”

“I tend to blend with the crowd,” he shrugged, eyes focused on the waning dumplings.

“That’s cool,” Mo said, popping another piece into his mouth. “Me too.”

The week ended and casually spilled into the next. Mo had gotten used to the ebb and flow of the volunteer job, and could proudly say his photography skills had improved considerably. Li Jie and he were becoming good friends but there was something off about never actually having seen the guy out of costume, which Mo joked about. Actors like Li Jie, along with a few others who played Santa’s elves had to get dressed in the mall restroom or come already in garb. Li Jie had a habit of disappearing by the time Mo had finished packing up the camera equipment for the night. He had even invited the guy over for dinner one day but Li Jie had politely declined claiming he was behind on his schoolwork. Understandable, given the fact that they spent three hours after school at the workshop. He had promised to come by once the job ended, a week after Mo’s punishment. Mo had even vented to him about his struggles in finding his mother the perfect Christmas gift, asking him what he should get her.

“You know your mom best,” he had said. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate any gift you give her. Just remember it’s not about the price but the meaning behind it. If the effort comes from a good place, which I know it does, she’ll love it.”

It had brightened his mood at the time but he still wasn’t sure what to get her.

As much as Mo thought he understood life and might even be one step ahead, it had a way of knocking him back ten feet when he least expected it.

“10-4, we gotta brat,” Jian Yi muttered off to his left, pretending to be occupied with adjusting decorations on the set’s Christmas tree.

Mo twisted on his stool, turned his attention to the line, eyes widening as he watched a mother wrangle her screaming daughter into her arms and walk up to Santa’s chair. The girl had a handful of her Mother’s hair and was yelling for all she was worth, limbs flailing.

“Man,” Zhan whispered, “my sister was bad but never like this. “I hope this guy can handle her.”

Mo watched for a reaction from said Santa but it was hard to gauge anything given how much of his face the beard obscured.

The mother looked embarrassed and nervous as she handed the screaming child over to Santa. Mo had to give it to him, the guy was composed, bouncing the girl on his knee, cooing to her, easily calming the crocodile tears. The mother beamed at the turn of events, whipping out her phone to snap a few tear-streaked pictures.

Mo relaxed, relieved to see the situation easily diffused, his heart bloomed a bit in pride for his friend, which he quelled, brain cycling through the mental gymnastics of why he doesn’t actually really care.

Mo had to give it to the guy, he was really good, he watched as Santa leaned in, beard tickling the little girl in his lap, she giggled in response. At this point the lines were rehearsed and Mo could imagine him asking her what she wanted for Christmas. She pondered, tiny face scrunched up in clearly serious thought, then suddenly a tiny fist shot out and she yanked his bread down around his chin.

Mo was on his feet instantly, because no, no way, this couldn’t be happening.

“Ah shit,” he heard Zhan mutter off to his left.

Mo turned on him.

“You knew,” his voice cracked. Zhan looked pained.

“10-4 He Tian is fucking Santa!” Jian Yi whispered loudly behind them. “He’s fucking Santa, are you guys seeing this!”

“Who’s fucking Santa?” another student offered with a snicker.

“Guan Shan..” Zhan said, but Mo doesn’t want to hear it. He felt nauseous and too hot, his hands shaking, felt like couldn’t breathe as if all the air had been sucked out of the space. Mo bolted because fuck this, he would rather have suspension. He can’t believe how stupid he was, how oblivious he’d been, everyone must have known but him. What a fool.

Sorry not sorry to leave y’all on a cliff hanger but part two will come out on Day 5, so if you enjoyed this stay tuned, resolution come soon ;D

As always thanks for reading, your comments & tags give me life x

#19 days #tianshanchristmasevent #tianshan #he tian #mo guan shan #my writing #kis writes

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tracyfance · 3 years

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New Post has been published on Tracy Fance

New Post has been published on https://tracyfance.com/new-year-new-me/

New Year, New Me!

It’s that time of year when people decide to make those life changing New Year Resolutions, but in reality, only about 8% of people actually stick to them! I thought I’d help you to achieve yours using my coaching knowledge so that you are in the 8% who succeed, not the 92% who don’t.

The biggest resolution is usually weight-loss, the first thing here is that fad diets such as the Cabbage Soup Diet, Cambridge Diet etc, are not sustainable, there needs to be a lifestyle change, one that will stick, easy to say not so easy to do! Here’s some tips:

Decide what your goal is going to be.

Don’t take on half a dozen goals, get going with one and add in another if you really have to, once the first goal is going to plan, if you take on too much you’ll just overwhelm yourself.

Be realistic with your goal, i.e. 3 stone in a week or just eating dinner are not realistic or sustainable, think instead of less or no booze if that is your weak point, lower alcohol content wines or spirits with low calorie mixers etc will make the calories less but you still get a drink so no sacrifice is there psychologically. In our house, unless it is a special occasion, we don’t drink during the week.

What triggers you to eat/drink? Boredom, emotional need, anger? Because it is there? So find ways to keep busy, mentally and physically! If it is emotional, deal with the emotion, journal, talk to a friend, talk to your phone’s voice memo then delete it! (I recommend doing it somewhere private like the car or bathroom!). If it is because it is there in the cupboard, just don’t buy it! If it is already in the cupboard from Xmas, give it away or bin it which seems wasteful or use a food bank as long as the food is within date.

Try using a reward system to incentivise you to do the things you don’t like doing such as a walk or yoga or eating the healthier foods such as greens or fruit. Don’t get carried away!

Simply find some movement you do like, such as dancing round the kitchen to the radio.

If you plan to drink or eat less then set a target such as ‘I cannot drink/eat XYZ before 8pm’

Don’t become obsessed with the scales, instead find a photo of you in that fab outfit that no longer fits or a picture of something you really want to fit such as a wedding dress or suit that is a size or two smaller than you are now. Try on the clothes that have become too small for you and see them fit as the weight loss happens.

Make yourself accountable; have a diet or booze buddy like they do in AA. The reason schemes like Slimming World & WeightWatchers work is because you have to check in with an audience every week! Create a Facebook or WhatsApp group if you have friends doing the same as you so you have support.

Set yourself small challenges such as walking a set distance each day or 10,000 steps etc. Take the stairs where possible, park the far side of the supermarket car park or gym car park or better still if you can walk there, do so! You can always ask the other half to pick you up if you plan to do a big shop.

Use an app such as MyFitnessPal which is free or I love www.nutracheck.co.uk my partner and I lost 3 stone each on this! It is calories in and calories burned, sounds boring but it does work. Did you know many people don’t eat ENOUGH? Really! My partner was playing golf 3 times per week but only eating 1400 Kcal per day, at almost 6ft, that is nowhere near enough with that level of exercise! Our bodies need a minimum level of calories to exist, even if we laid in bed all day doing nothing! Not enough calories can be as bad as too many!

Look at your journal and see where the calories are going; Did you know that latte is 150 kcal or that hazelnut syrup coffee is 500 kcal? Did you realise that your sandwich from the local shop is a minimum of 500 kcal, was it worth it? That wine is 200 kcal! Did you know a standard KFC meal is 1400 kcal, that is my WHOLE allowance for one day in ONE meal!!! I’d rather have a couple of glasses of wine instead which is less than 300 kcals!

As a smoker, do you smoke absentmindedly? Make it conscious, write down each time you have one and why, is it because your partner or colleague just decided to have one?

Don’t ‘supersize’ your McDonalds, KFC etc. Don’t do the Meal Deal at lunch time, take lunch with you as much as possible.

Think about your ‘why’, what is your motivation? Are you wanting change for you or because your partner/parent/kids nagged you into it?

What is your inner dialogue saying? Is one part saying ‘I need to lose weight/stop smoking/quit drinking’ but another part is saying ‘I don’t want to be hungry’ or ‘I don’t want to stop drinking when my partner/friends are having a drink’ or ‘If I give up smoking, I can’t hang out with the smoking group at work/pub’? If so, that conflict can sabotage you. Your personal history will also come into play and so you may need professional help to change your belief system to stop it sabotaging you.

PLAN! Clear the cupboards, get rid of the cigarettes, clear the drinks cabinet! Whatever your habit change is, plan to make it happen rather than having tools and triggers around you that will sabotage your plans.

Don’t spend vast sums of money on gym membership, running clothes, diet foods etc, you can achieve what you need for free! Look at Joe Wicks and other reputable personal trainers, use household items such as bags of sugar as weights, put on jeans and a jumper to go for a walk or jogging trousers and a t-shirt and go for a run, a £100 top is not going to make you better at running or help you lose weight! A good pair of running shoes are quite important and as a runner I’d recommend a ‘gait test’ to make sure you buy the right shoes for YOU!

Use free exercise apps such as C25K which gets you from being a couch potato to being a 5K, 10K or Marathon runner. As a not very athletic person, I can tell you that I could not run for a minute before having to walk but after doing C25K I could do a 5K, I’m never going to win any races but a) I can do a 5K or 10K now b) I’ve lost weight c) I’m fitter and d) It’s quicker than having to go for a long walk when I don’t have time e) It’s free! f) I can go when it suits me, I’m not dictated by class times or availability g) There is a huge online community to get support or solve issues you may have h) Drag the kids/partner/dog with you for company or go alone and get peace & quiet!

Keep a journal of what you eat, drink and weigh, just so you can see how far you’ve come plus it will help you to identify any issues you may be having such as certain food that bloats you. If you are quitting smoking, you can see when/where you feel the biggest desire to have a cigarette.

If you plan to lose weight, batch cook and freeze things so rather than snacking when you get in from work you can cook a nutritious, tasty meal quickly.

Plan your lunches for the week. If you work in an office this will help you to not go buy a sandwich that is rammed with naughty fillings, to impulse buy that chocolate bar for the afternoon or that creamy latte you love! If you are working from home like many people, it is easy to get to lunch time, to be ravenous and eat too much, not to mention, all the wrong things.

Snacking; If you feel yourself heading to the fridge mid morning or afternoon, ask yourself if you are really hungry, if yes, look at the apples, do you REALLY want the food because you are hungry? I’ll bet you look at the apple and turn your nose up! So you have to ask yourself if it is true hunger or just psychological! Also when we are dehydrated we can feel ‘hungry’ so drink some water, give it 10 mins and then ask yourself again about whether to eat.

Portion control; Use a smaller plate, cook less and ensure your meat or proteins is ? of the plate with the rest being vegetables etc. If you are a smoker, leave X amount of cigarettes in the pack, don’t carry a pack of 20, when they are gone, that’s it for you. Same with drinking, limit yourself to 25ml of spirits or 175ml wine, don’t pour generous ‘house measure’ at home or take up the offers in bars. Another great idea is smaller glasses, leaving the bottle in the other room, instead of by your seat, if you have to go up and get it, you will be more aware of your consumption!

Be careful not to replace one vice with another i.e. you stop smoking but eat chocolate instead or turn to vaping!

As I write this, I have lost over a stone, using most of the tips above, I love my food, have a partner who is an amazing cook and I love a glass of vino or a G&T or two (not necessarily all in one night) so I like you have to make a conscious effort to eat & drink better, I am not a stick insect and I refuse to go out for dinner (when we can) and just eat a salad or even not go out because I know it will be high in calories and fat. The key thing to keep in mind is moderation, it is virtually impossible for most people to eat and drink whatever they fancy without putting on weight, becoming diabetic or having some effects from the excess.

I would always say ask your doctor if you are not sure, use professional advice such as a Nutritionist, Hypnotherapist, Life Coach, Personal Trainer etc, don’t take the advice of your mate down the pub (their life and history as well as their needs may be very different to you) and there is a great deal of mis-information on the internet, most of it conflicts with each other too.

#Healing #health #Health & Wellbeing #personal development

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lexosaurus · 6 years

Text

Xmas Truce 2017

This one’s for @phantomfighter724. Happy holidays!

Danny hunched over the toilet, his body cleansing itself of everything it didn't like. His breakfast, bile—it all pooled in the murky water below.

He leaned his head down against the porcelain seat. He gave a halfhearted attempt at shifting his arms to support his sweaty face before giving up. His entire body felt like lead. His brain was clouded. He was a mess.

His stomach growled and he let out a whine of frustration. "What the hell," he muttered under his breath. What the hell was happening to him?

Out of the corner of his eye his phone lit up, and for a second he wondered why it was thrown haphazardly against the corner of the wall before he recalled tossing it out of his hand in his blind panic to reach the toilet on time. He winced, and braced himself for the worst. Fortunately, after a brief inspection, he found no additional cracks in his screen other than the small one in the corner he got from one of Skulker's brilliantly-failed attempts at kidnapping him.

A new message from Valerie popped up on the screen, and despite his situation he could help but grin a little. Befriending Valerie after she discovered his secret—connecting Dani's halfa status to his a little too easily—was a long, strenuous process. At first, it even seemed impossible, if their blatant disregard for the other's existence in school was anything to go by. But pent-up teenage emotion coupled with the constant necessity of teamwork during field-work eventually lead to an explosive argument. Valerie's hurt, Danny's insecurities, both of their mistrust in each other, everything came to light. It was violent, even if no blood was shed, and they walked away having said too many things they couldn't take back. Danny thought they were through.

They were, for a time. The silence didn't let up, but something shifted. Instead of angry silence, the air around them was uncomfortable. It was awkward, weird. Danny had never felt so unsure of how to act since his first day walking into Casper High two years ago. He was fourteen, and he had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do.

It was Valerie who broke the silence first, sending him a text reading, “I can’t do this anymore. Let’s meet up for coffee after my shift ends today.”

That conversation was different. They actually listened rather than spewing out the first thing they could think of through their red-tinted eyesight. And while the duo spoke with blunt honesty, they were delicate with their words. Respectful of the situation.

At some point after that, Valerie joined him on his nightly patrols. Danny wasn't sure why, but he chose not to question it. At first they wouldn't talk other than the obligatory, "Ghost of there," or "Watch out," but it was a step. A tiny step, but a step nonetheless.

After about a week of this, however, Danny thought he was going to lose his mind over the stupid tension. So he choked out the first thing he could think of, "So...the weather."

It was by far the worst conversation starter in the book, and he could have sworn he saw Valerie nearly lose her balance on her hoverboard. His own face burned green, and he ducked down a few feet under her in a brilliant attempt to hide his embarrassment. Valerie definitely noticed, but for some reason she chose to go along with it.

So they talked. Their first conversation was nothing but superficial, the kind of small-talk one would have when dragged along to a dinner-party with their parents, but it marked the beginning of a budding friendship between the duo. Eventually, those nightly patrols turned into after-school homework sessions and then just Friday night hangouts. While all of their problems didn't disappear overnight, they worked through them. As friends. And then, eventually...

Received: 11:24am

Val: Hey, how you feeling?<3

Danny shook his head, as if attempting to clear the fog, and typed back a response.

Danny: not sure...i think it's getting worse

Val: Want me to come over?

Danny: don't bother i can handle it

Val: Ok I'm coming over.

Danny: seriously it's prob nothing bad

Val: Do you like tomato soup or chicken noodle better?

Danny: val it's a ghost thing u don't have to worry it'll probably pass soon

Val: Ok I'm bring both I'll be there in 10

Danny: ...ok

As stubborn as Danny could be, Valerie was worse. Danny wasn’t even sure why he still resisted her kindness, even if they were dating. Maybe it was his pride? Maybe he didn’t want to get her sick? Maybe he was still insecure about himself and felt less-than and unworthy of any amount of affection? Who knew, really.

Another pang of hunger swept through his body and he sighed, leaning against the wall for support. He closed his eyes and let the dizziness sweep over him. It was probably just a ghost flu, right? It had to pass soon, didn't it?

Ever since a particularly bad fight against Vortex, he's felt off. At first, he was just a little lightheaded. Ok, no big deal, he just had to drink water. Powerade. And for a time, that worked okay. Not great, but it put a band-aid over the issue for a bit.

That was, until the hunger-pains started. He woke up one day hungry. His body clenched up as if he hadn't eaten in days, despite having a large dinner the night before. He wolfed down his morning cereal, ignoring his mom's comments about his appetite, and took off for school. Instead of feeling ready to start the school day, he felt awful. His stomach still was cramped, and waves of nausea washed over him. A few days into this cycle later, his body finally gave up and he found himself hunched over a toilet halfway through first period.

Sam all but dragged him to the nurses office that day, forcing him to get a note to go home. He slept for the rest of that day—or tried his best—but whatever was wrong with him, it didn't pass. The next day he woke up, his hunger even stronger than the day before. He tried to force himself to eat something, but he couldn't. Even though his body screamed at him for anything goddamnit, his morning cereal looked...unappetizing. Gross.

Of course, Danny hadn't gotten so much as a cold since gaining his ghostly half. Sam had a theory that the ectoplasm coursing through his blood burned off any unwanted bacteria or viruses in his body. That theory, as uneducated of a guess as it was, was more likely true than not. It would also explain the lack of infections Danny's gotten, even though his blood has been exposed to the air too many times to be healthy for a normal human.

Ah well, just another thing to add to the never ending list of everything that separated him from other humans.

That didn't mean he hasn't gotten sick, though. As rare as they were, ghostly viruses did exist in the Ghost Zone. Danny managed to contract the ghostly flu last year, which made his powers glitch as bad as the first month after the portal accident. Tucker being Tucker found it absolutely hysterical, and made sure to stock up on as much blackmail material as he could over the duration of his illness. Although that wasn't Danny's first time being an internet meme, the gif of him inexplicably falling from the sky and crashing into a tree was possibly his most embarrassing publicly documented moment to date.

A knock on the door broke Danny out of his thoughts.

“Come in,” he said weakly.

"Hey Danny," Val pushed her way in the door, a plastic shopping bag hanging off of one of her arms.

Danny struggled up in a feeble attempt to sit a bit straighter. He was vaguely aware of the distinct odor coming from the toilet beside him. He was lucky Valerie has seen him in worse conditions before.

She sat down next to him. "How you feeling?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, all false bravado flying out the window.

She quietly surveyed the scene before her. Danny's pale, sickly face beaded with sweat. Purple circles laid under his sunken-in eyes. He clutched the hem of his shirt and averted his gaze to the side.

She pursed her lips, "Danny, you look like shit."

Danny snorted. "I feel like shit."

"I can see why Jazz forced you to stay home from patrol this week."

At the mention of patrol, Danny’s eyes lit up. “How are the ghosts this week? Have you been okay on your own? Has the Box Ghost been bothering you too much? Do you need any help tonight?”

A light smile touched Valerie’s lips. Even though it was an unspoken rule not to mention Danny’s obsession outright, she still found other ways to poke fun at him for it. “Danny, you can barely stand. Chill.”

A blush crept on Danny’s cheeks, and he rolled his eyes as another wave of nausea hit him at once. Before Valerie could so much as blink, Danny had lunged at the toilet bowl, dry heaving up any molecules still left in his stomach.

A pang of worry shot through Valerie. She frowned and reached over to gently rub his back, “This is getting worse.”

“I...know...” Danny ground out between coughs.

“I know you don’t want to...but I think we should call Vlad.”

He froze.

“He might know what’s going on,” Valerie said.

“Val, no. We can’t trust him,” Danny said, his voice cold.

Valerie crossed her arms and huffed. "Come on, don’t be thick. You’re a halfa, Vlad’s a halfa. Whatever you think about him—fine. But this has been going on for over a month now and it’s only getting worse. You need help, Fenton. You need someone’s help who actually understands halfa biology. Vlad’s the man for that, whether you like it or not.”

Danny slumped his shoulders. “Okay, you have a point.”

“Thank you,” Valerie said under her breath as she took out her phone. She scrolled through her contacts till she got to Vlad’s name, and hesitated. She hadn’t contacted him in months. After the whole debacle with Dani, she kept her contact with him at a minimum. When Vlad realized she knew Danny’s secret and by default, his, he stopped contacting her altogether. Interestingly enough, packages of replacement/upgraded weapons occasionally appear at her doorstep. She knew Danny noticed when broken equipment was suddenly replaced or she got a new gun, but he was kind enough to leave it alone.

Another retch from her boyfriend beside her was all she needed to finally push down on the button. She put the phone on speaker. After only two rings, the voice of an older man appeared on the other end of the line.

“Valerie, dear. To what do I owe the pleasure? Is your equipment working fine?”

Danny tensed at Vlad’s silky tone. He opened his mouth to respond with a biting comment, but his stomach had another idea.

Worry creased Vlad’s next words. “Valerie? What’s happening? Is everything alright?”

“Fine—I’m fine, Mr. Masters,” Valerie said, her eyes not leaving Danny’s figure. “Uh, it’s Danny.”

“Daniel? What’s wrong with him?”

“We’re, um, not sure. He can’t stop throwing up. He doesn’t...Halfas can’t get human illnesses, right?”

“Right...” Vlad muttered. “Valerie, I’m presuming I’m on speaker phone?”

“Yeah,” Valerie said.

“Alright then. Daniel?” Vlad called out.

“What.” Danny said flatly.

“Can you describe your symptoms to me please?” Vlad asked.

Danny closed his eyes and said, “Uh, I can’t...I can’t hold anything down. Every time I try to eat something it comes back up. I’m really dizzy and...I guess...I mean, I’ve had these stomach pains for a few weeks now. And headaches too. I’m sure it’s nothing but Valerie—”

“This has been going on for a month and it’s not getting any better, Vlad. We’re not sure what to do.”

“I’m glad you called me,” Vlad said, his tone much more serious than a minute ago.

“What is it?” Danny asked at the same time Valerie demanded, “Is everything going to be okay?”

There was a pause.

“Valerie, do you mind stepping out of the room for a second?”

Danny, despite his weak state, managed to push himself away from the toilet and grab the phone out of Valerie’s hands with inhuman speed. “What is it, fruitloop? Just spit it out.”

“Daniel, I know this may come as a shock to you but I do care about you,” Vlad said. “You know, this may not be a good conversation to have over the phone. Give me a minute. Daniel, I presume you’re in the bathroom upstairs?”

“...Yes.”

“Perfect.”

The phone line went dead and Danny slumped against the wall. He glanced over to the toilet and wrinkled his nose at the smell of his own stomach acid. With an abnormal amount of effort, he managed to flush the toilet.

“Sorry,” he glanced over to Valerie. “Sorry to drag you into this mess.”

“Danny, stop,” Valerie clipped, kissing his forehead lightly. “You’re my boyfriend and you’re ill. I’m not going to leave you to deal with this by yourself. I know you won’t let Sam or Tucker over but I’m not a pushover, okay?”

Danny rolled his eyes to counter the blush that tinted his cheeks. “Yeah, okay. I still...I know this ghost stuff can make you uncomfortable and I don’t want to ever put you in a position where you—”

“Oh my god, Fenton,” Valerie groaned. “Keep that up and this stupid bug isn’t going to be the only thing that’s gonna kill you.”

The room temperature dropped a few degrees. Danny and Valerie’s heads whipped over to the door where Vlad Masters walked through, dropping his invisibility.

"Mr. Masters!”

“Vlad.”

“Is everything alright with Danny?”

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Vlad said.

Valerie would have breathed a sigh of relief if not for the grave look on his face as he surveyed the scene. “My my, you’ve let this get worse than I thought. I’m not sure if I have enough here for you...”

“Enough of what?” Danny asked.

Vlad sighed. “Daniel, are you sure you don’t want Valerie to leave?”

Danny glared up at him. “We’re a team, Vlad.”

"I can handle whatever you throw at us,” Valerie confirmed, letting her chest swell out in pride at Danny’s affirmation. Regardless of any of her past prejudices, she loved Danny. She didn’t care whatever ghostly-illness he had, she was going to get through this with him.

“Okay, it’s...not for the faint of heart though, Little Badger,” Vlad said, closing his eyes.

Something in Danny clicked, and he felt his eyes soften. Whatever this was...it was really bothering Vlad. “It’s okay, Vlad,” he said softly. “I can handle this.”

“Alright then,” Vlad nodded. “Daniel, you know you have a ghost core. It’s responsible for regulating and replenishing ectoplasm in your body.”

“I know this,” Danny said, looking quizzically up at Vlad. “I have an ice core.”

“Right,” Vlad said. “In normal ghosts, this is enough and they can live an eternity with their cores working fine. This isn’t quite the case with halfas though.”

“What do you mean?”

“As you know, Daniel, you’re more powerful than most ghosts. But you’re not a full-ghost. Scientifically speaking, we’re anomalies. Scientific paradoxes. We shouldn’t exist, and our cores know this.”

Alarms blared through Valerie’s brain. “You mean his core is trying to kill him?”

“Not quite,” Vlad said steadily. “But his core cannot keep up with his body’s demands. Halfa cores have to regulate not just ectoplasm, but how the ectoplasm interacts with the living aspects of the human in such a way that it won’t kill you. On top of that, you frequently expelling ectoplasm in forms like powerful ghost-rays puts more pressure on your already overworked core. Your core simply doesn’t have enough energy to do what you demand of it.”

“Hence the hunger,” Danny said, his blue eyes looking down.

“Exactly.”

Valerie ran a hand through her hair. “What’s the solution?”

Vlad reached into his pockets and pulled out a few vials filled with a familiar looking green substance. “Listen to your body, Little Badger. Your body is craving ectoplasm. You need to drink it.”

Realization hit Danny like a ton of bricks. “But isn’t that...that’s...”

“Low-level ecto-puses I took from Skulker’s care last week,” Vlad confirmed. “Purified ecto-plasm. You start developing a need for this once your halfa body solidifies its core. Think of it like a ghostly-puberty, if you will.”

“No...”

“Danny,” Valerie reached out and took Danny’s hand gently. “You’re starving yourself.”

“No, Val, you don’t understand—”

“I do,” Valerie looked at him, her gaze strong. “You said earlier that you didn’t want me to be uncomfortable around the ghostly-aspects of your life. Well, I’m not. There’s no other option, Danny. You’re going to die if you don’t drink the vials. You need to do this.”

Danny shook his head. “I—I can’t.”

Valerie wrapped her hands around Danny’s shoulders and leaned in, kissing him. It was gentle, reassuring, and comforting. Danny relished her touch.

“You can do this,” Valerie said, breaking it off. “You’re strong, Danny. You can do this.”

“Okay,” Danny took the vials.

“Little Badger,” Vlad said, meeting Danny’s eyes. “I’ve been doing this for a while now, you know. I...I can give you the vials if you want. Your moral compass is, well it’s different than mine. I know this is hard for you. It will get easier but, if you would like, you can just let me know when you need vials and I’ll give them to you.”

Danny breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Vlad. It means a lot.”

Vlad nodded, a rare kind smile dotting his lips.

Danny’s glanced one more time at his girlfriend before slowly opening the first vial. The metallic smell of ectoplasm tickled his nose and he found himself raising the vial to his lips.

#christmas truce #xmas truce #danny phantom #dp #fanfic

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charliedayofficial · 7 years

Note

do you have any fics that are JH and after s8 where they like get back together?

Hi, anon! Sorry for taking so long to respond but I’ve been scouring all of my previously read fics and the ones in my TBR folder to see what I can recommend to you. While I haven’t read all of these, I've skimmed them all enough to the point where they’re written in a style I like(I’m not big on script format or first person fics). Anyway, here is what I was able to dig up for you!

Nowhere But Lost by Zenkindoflove

Author Summary: Hyde is cynical, depressed, alone, and would really like to keep it that way. But what happens when something inside of him resurfaces and is more than unhappy about his current living arrangements? JH, ED COMPLETE!

My Thoughts: This is seriously one of my all-time favorites. Characterization is great, the plot is great, JH is so fucking cute, and there isn’t much to complain about when it comes to the writing. While this plot isn’t THAT unique, it really doesn’t matter. PLEASE READ!

Outside Looking In by rebeldivaluv

Author Summary: Interconnected vignettes telling key moments in Jackie and Hyde’s relationship, as viewed by the people who know them best.

My Thoughts: Out of all the fics I’ve read, this seriously might be my absolute favorite. The characterization is really spot on, the characters are funny, the writing/story is amazing, and I get everything I want to see with JH. This one is pretty fluffy, which I can’t complain about. I’m really impressed that the author was able to craft a fluffy fic where JH have to get back together, but there’s no angst that makes your heart hurt. I really enjoy reading from other characters perspectives and how they see JH interact in different situations. Cannot recommend enough!

Steven Who? by kezztip

Author Summary: Set just after Misfire Season 8 – Jackie’s world tumbles in on her when she realizes it is really over for her and Hyde and seeks to escape how awful her reality has become. The method of that escape is pure Jackie

My Thoughts: A perfect mix of angsty, funny, and sweet. kezztip is the queen of writing season 8 fics

Come Clarity by Zenkindoflove

Author Summary: Twenty years is a long time to stay gone…

My Thoughts: I personally find this to be the most accurate post season 8 fic where more than 3 years have passed. I’ve never found it believable in other post-season 8 fics where Hyde has a significant other that isn’t Jackie. Jackie changed the game for him so I don’t see him able to fully/truly commit to someone else. This fic is beautiful, cute, funny, and JH is in their purest form. I also enjoy that the author didn’t have the story focus on them talking through their issues from their last breakup, it was more so on reconciliation and finding each other. I wouldn’t say this fic is fluff, but I also wouldn’t say that it’s angsty. Please read it though lol

20 Questions by ShanghaiLily

Author Summary: Just after New Year’s day in 1980, Jackie Burkhart decides to disappear from the basement to save her sanity. When Xmas rolls around and the Formans beg Jackie to attend their party, she ends up involved in an elaborate game of 20 Questions with Hyde that could change both of their lives. T-rated w/ some M chapters. Story is COMPLETE! This one is for the Zennies who hate Season 8!

My Thoughts: This story is really enjoyable, but not perfect. This author tends to be really hit or miss with the characterization of the characters so it can be slightly irritating. Even though how JH and their relationship is described can be frustrating, the story is good enough to look past it. This story just has a really creative way of getting JH back together

The Morning After by ShanghaiLily

Author Summary: Jackie goes to Las Vegas for Fez’s wedding, drinks a little too much, and then wakes up in married to the last person she ever thought would commit to her. This is what happens the morning after.

My Thoughts: Like I mentioned earlier, this author really has hit-or-miss characterization. I really like this fic though because I’m a sucker for Hyde not only being a complete sap over Jackie, but it’s nice to see him kiss her ass. Let’s be real, we all deserve it after the travesty of season 8

That’s My Baby by kezztip

Author Summary: This is a JH story with a twist instead of the wedding and baby being the happy ending, it’s going to be the rocky start. All of you who love to watch Jackie outzen Hyde will be on board with this one.

My Thoughts: This is definitely my favorite kezztip fic. Jackie is so strong in this fic, which I can never get enough of. The author really has Donna grovel to Jackie as well because Donna is TERRIBLE to her in season 8. The writing and characterization are just so well done in this story. I seriously cannot stress that enough! I find it to be the most realistic JH reunion fic post-season 8 because of Jackie’s attitudes towards the gang, her new life/job, and her new outlook on life. After Fez, I can really see her shutting down her hopeless romantic side so she can focus on something she can control; like work. The middle of the fic kind of drags because it’s very clear what the author intends to do, but it quickly picks back up once that part of the story is resolved. This is a must read, especially with what you’re looking for!

The Right Road Lost by zpplnchick

Author Summary: After a car accident, Hyde wakes up to a twisted version of reality he comes to find is actual hell and with no memory of how he got there, a hell that Jackie’s been living in for the past few months. Set during Season 8, shortly after “Sweet Lady”.

My Thoughts: A more detailed, drawn-out, and angstier version of “Nowhere But Lost”

The Tough Get Going by kezztip

Author Summary: What if Jackie went back to her job in Chicago instead of sticking around Point Place to take Hyde’s crap? Say hello again to the strong, determined Jackie we saw glimpses of in Season 7 as she finds a new love but then is pursued by her old love JH AU

My Thoughts: !STRONG JACKIE! and the plot kind of reminds me of a rom-com

Made Bare by mistymountainhop

Author Summary: A heartbroken Hyde considers his relationship with Jackie kaput. Too bad Jackie sees it differently. She intends to get a proper resolution with him, but breaking through his hostility—and getting past his wife—may well prove impossible

My Thoughts: Noone understands JH better. Period.

November Rain by luvcali76

Author Summary: JH Post Season 8. A torrid encounter on Halloween night, 1984, leads ex-couple, Jackie and Hyde, to spend the next month reevaluating their past.

My Thoughts: *sigh* I really hesitate adding this to my list because I really hate this fic. The only thing I like about it is the last chapter, but even that is eh. This is a really popular fic in the fandom, but it’s definitely not for me. I find it too angsty, I don’t buy Hyde in another serious romantic relationship, and I don’t buy Jackie cheating. There’s a trend in some JH fics where they have Jackie cheat on whoever she’s with so she can have these one-night-stands with Hyde. It’s not in Jackie to cheat, no matter who it’s with. It bothers me and the plot isn’t good enough for me to look past it. It’s super angsty too, which also aren’t my favorite so maybe that’s why I don’t like it so much. I’m adding it to the list though because many people do like it, and you may be one of them!

Imagine by heatherlea75

Author Summary: 1980 has been a lousy year for the entire gang, particularly Hyde and Jackie. When a beloved cultural icon dies, the two take an impulsive trip to New York, together. While there, they remember old impressions of one another and discover new things about themselves

My Thoughts: While this is a JH classic in the fandom and a ton of people love it, I’m not the biggest fan. One of the main problems I had with it was I found Jackie acting way too desperate to appease Hyde after all he had done to her in season 8. It is important to note that the writing is solid and there were parts of the story that I did enjoy. While it may not be my cup of tea, you may like it!

Chasing the Time by pastelpink

Author Summary: Everything was different apart from one thing: Jackie still loved Hyde. (Set during Season 8)

Cliches and Things They Say by heatherlea75

Author Summary: Jackie is looking forward to the new direction her life has taken. Hyde is happy with the same old, same old of his. But when once faces a familiar and seemingly inevitable situation, and the other an unexpected dressing down, both reevaluate their lives.

My Thoughts: I’m surprised that I haven’t read this yet, but I found it buried down deep in my TBR folder. The writing is solid, there’s definite angst, and you’ll definitely get the ending you’re looking for!

Misguided Ghosts by JoyfulHeartEO

Author Summary: The gang has left, Jackie and Hyde are the only ones left. But after Sam left they stopped talking. When something happens to Jackie will Hyde be there for her? Or will he be selfish and only help himself. Its time to grow up, but will he?

My Thoughts: While this fic is incomplete and not the best written, there’s a super sweet Hyde in it which is always a fun thing

Life As A House by kezztip

Author Summary: A Crossover with the movie - Jackie’s Uncle George invites her to spend the summer with him to help with a ‘special project’. She agees but she will get more than she bargained for when she finds out the real reason behind her Uncle’s invitation.

My Thoughts: kezztip is one of my favorite fanfic authors for season 8 related fics. She usually crafts a strong Jackie who stands up for herself, something that we didn’t get to see in season 8. While this isn’t the best fic she’s written, it’s still worth a read!

Friends or Lovers? by JoyfulHeartEO

Author Summary: N/A

My Thoughts: This fic is super long and the author is known for their sugary sweet fics. From what I’ve skimmed, this looks to be her attempt at an angsty fic. This could be a hit-or-miss, but it should be pretty decent

Pain Without Love by YouLivexYouDie

Author Summary: Three-shot. Jackie Burkhart is about to experience something life changing. She will never be the same afterward nor will the people who love her. Eventual JH

My Thoughts: This actually looks really good! The writing looks pretty well done and what I’ve seen has definitely intrigued me. While this place during season 8, it’s still basically what you’re looking for

Happy Holidays by YouLivexYouDie

Author Summary: Three-shot. Jackie planned on spending the holidays alone, that was until Eric Forman decided to come back from Africa early. JE friendship, eventual JH.

My Thoughts: I love fics with Jackie and Eric friendship, especially when Eric helps JH and their relationship. This also takes place during season 8 instead of after

All It Takes Is Love by SwanseaGurl

Author Summary: Jackie Hyde post season 8, two shot

My Thoughts: Also takes place during season 8(Sam is still there so it’s season 8 no matter what the author says) and it’s pretty short. Regardless, I think it’s one of the better short season 8 fics that I’ve read

For Her Sake by heatherlea75

Author Summary: Jackie and Hyde’s final break up is brutal, though all is not as it seems. When his involvement in certain activities forces Hyde to take drastic action, the fate of his complicated relationship with Jackie appears doomed. But is it?

My Thoughts: This is such a good fic! There’s romance, crime, mystery, and plenty of drama! I’m really picky about season 8 fics, especially if Sam is in it. The author was really creative with this story, so I highly recommend!

Let me know if y’all want any other fic recs

#Bridget answers things #jackie x hyde #hyde x jackie #JH #otp: I'm the bitch and you love me #otp: I thought it might cheer you up #Jackie and Hyde #hyde and jackie #That '70s Show #fanfic recs

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aprito · 7 years

Text

SasoSaku Xmas Collab

notes modern college au bc im a sucker for cute couple holidays and cringy refs to social media. sasori and sakura have a 2 yr age difference. collab with the amazingly talented and super sweet friend YakumoDT!! you can find them on Pixiv and Twitter and they are definitely worth checking out!!!

AO3 || FFnet

…

“Wait, keep the door open!” Sakura shouts from the other side of the subway entrance towards an elderly man planning to enter the transport, dragging a very, very out-of-breath Sasori behind her. She enters into a sprint, and successfully manages to close in on the door before it could close in on them.

Sakura quickly thanks the man before sitting down in the relatively empty wagon, and Sasori plops into the seat beside her, struggling to breathe properly through the stitches he must undoubtedly be suffering through right now. Looking around, Sasori concludes that no one of knowledge was around to see him in - what he loved to say - this despicable state, and he lays his head on her shoulder to continue his recovery from near death.

“We wouldn’t have to run if you had told me earlier you wanted to go to the park, y’kno.” Sakura crosses one of her legs over the other, taking out her smartphone in a course of habit. The startup sound is loud, and she briefly flinches at the echo in the wagon. Damn, forgot the headphones, again. “It’s on the other side of the bridge, after all.”

Sasori doesn’t reply through his irregular breathing – but he probably would if he could.

Sakura was feeling less exhausted than she should, considering they’ve been walking around the city for hours now, stuffed to the brim with dinner and the cakes after, and she hasn’t visited the gym in a good while this season.

Sasori, well–

Let’s just say that Sasori wasn’t enthusiastic about any sport clubs at their University.

“I mean,” Sakura punches the password combination in with one hand while Sasori worms his hand around her other, his eyes glued to a poster about a famous drama stuck to the wall across from the duo. “I wouldn’t have guessed you to be so spontaneous twice in the span of-” A brief calculation of the time between the end of November and today. ”Three weeks.”

In fact, Sasori was the exact opposite of spontaneous, planning all of his projects and events so thoroughly in advance it even kind of helped Sakura improve on her procrastination habits; not that she was all that bad on waiting for deadlines, but she snuck in breaks more often than she likes to admit here and there. Needless to say, she was surprised when he brought up the idea of a date around Christmas, right after she informed him of such event.

The only sound cutting through the quiet was the intercom, informing them that they’re five stops away from their destination, and Sakura opts for silence for the rest of the ride. It wasn’t that she particularly enjoyed the peace - especially when she was around friends; her need to fill empty spaces with new bits of conversation was an equally stubborn habit of hers -, but the streets of Tokyo just loved to blast whatever fits the mood in this season as loudly as they can over speakers – and on a long term, sometimes a free day at home alone was a needed luxury. The subway in comparison is almost like a liminal space, save for the occasional robotic announcements and opening of doors.

Sasori doesn’t seem to mind either – but that was expected of his person, anyways.

He nudges her shoulder when their respective stop is announced, and the station is completely devoid of any living souls when they exit the Subway, no doubt that everyone was to be found on the other side of the bridge. Sakura takes the time to shoot a picture of the ghost scenery, and Sasori scoffs.

“Instagram?”

“Duh.”

The park isn’t any better in that regards, but the few streetlights and beautiful scenery of the city across from the river they were near at make up for it.

“Thank you for the dinner, by the way. That was really sweet of you.” Sakura says, scrolling through her social media feed not touched in approximately two days. Pictures of her friends amongst cakes and pets, some choosing to stay inside while others were spending time with their significant others. “Will you let me brag?”

“I don’t even look as presentable as you do in this state.” Sasori huffs beside her, puffs of air disappearing into the dark night, his face reddening from the biting frost. He’s always been more prone to colder temperatures than her, which was no surprise when you knew the south was currently sporting 20°C and above in December. “So, no.”

“Aw, you think I look good.” Sakura doesn’t look up from her phone, but she can clearly imagine the frown adorning her boyfriend’s face.

“Quiet.” His gloved hand around her tightens, and she smiles. Her humor is short lived, however, when Sasori grabs her pink beanie in a swift moment of distraction.

“Hey-” she cuts in, being surprised at all, but her complaint is muted when she sees how utterly ridiculous it looks poorly adjusted on his head, seeing as he was only using one hand to put it on. She huffs, putting her phone away to help him put the beanie on, properly. They’re nearly the same height to begin with, so it poses less of a problem.

Sasori’s warm breath fans against her face, and she’s aware that protesting his theft is futile. “Pink really suits you. You’re cute.”

“I’m cold.” Sasori corrects when she pats her hand on his head, beanie successfully covering those red ears of his. She can make out vague mutterings of ‘didn’t bring mine’ when they close their hands back together, and she rolls her eyes at his antics.

“You mean you keep forgetting to bring the ones you stole from me.”

“That is such a harsh wording.” His lips twitch into what almost passes for a smile. “I borrowed them because pink looks good on me, obviously. I fail to understand your lack of empathy in that situation.”

“Uh-huh.” Her tone is laced with sarcasm, but his silly reply makes her smile all the same. “I can’t believe you’re already graduating in a few months with that attitude.”

“And I-” He nods towards a path that lead a bit astray from the riverside, and they continue their walk into that direction. “Cannot fathom how you still have two years ahead of you.”

Far more if she decided to specialise further, but for now becoming a surgeon was a pretty good plan to accomplish within six years. She squeezes his hand, and he turns his head to look at her.

“Well, if you hadn’t quit medical school.” And didn’t need the money to from tutoring freshmen, like me. “We probably wouldn’t have met in the first place.”

Sasori hums, but his expression doesn’t seem all that regretful. “It just wasn’t the thing for me.”

“I still remember the campus headline about the star student who poisoned cadavers and openly shit-talked my professor in front of everyone just to get kicked off the program. I still wonder who that was?”

Knowing Sasori for a good while now, the culprit didn’t seem to be that far off the mark. She laughs as he shoves her half-heartedly to the side, him being banned from her campus surely a fine reminder of his stint. That didn’t stop him from picking her up once in a while, of course.

“I have to admit, if my mother ever found out I quit medical school for art, she’d surely kick me out of the house. Remember how horrified she was when you admitted it to her?”

“She called me a low life and a freeloader.” His face turns grim at the memory, and she can’t blame him for it, the utter hostility her mother radiated at the dinner table a sight in itself.

“Mom barely missed you with the butter knife, too.”

Sasori shrugs, and Sakura wishes the memory of that humiliating evening would eventually escape her mind as quickly as possible. But hey, at least Dad likes him and his tragically bad puns.

They come to stop before a bench that seemed to not have been used at all, today, and Sasori uses his foot to kick the powdery snow off the surface. It remains as quiet as when they entered the park, streetlamps being the only source of light, and the absence of any curious glances feels vaguely foreign to her.

“To be fair” Sasori begins, their hands still clasped together, their bodies squished close for a tiny bit of shared warmth. “I didn’t expect us to work out either, at the beginning.”

His comment completely throws her out of the loop, and she’s ready to question his line of logic, when he cuts into her own thought before it can escape her mouth. “I’m not ungrateful, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I don’t think we didn’t turn out to be that different from each other, if that’s what you assumed.” She replies, her eyes focused on a streetlamp in front of her instead of the man beside her, but she can see the brief confusion crossing his face, out of the corner of her eye. “I mean, you rubbed off on me a lot, too. Take the sarcasm, for example.”

Sasori snorts. “Bad example.”

“You’re right, we’re also both prone to get cold feet whenever I suggest love hotels.”

“That is even worse.”

“You’re right, how about that one time Deidara nearly walked in on us and we-”

“How did I survive this for four years, again?”

She moves to tap his nose, and he sticks out the tip of his tongue in response. “You deserve four medals of honor, soldier.”

“I deserve a lifetime supply of medals.” He mimics her movements, but opts to pinch her cheek instead, and when he draws his hand back, there’s small chunks of highlighter on his dark gloves. So much for that wonder setting spray.

The past few months flash before her, and as if on cue, she feels oddly melancholic.

“It’s been nearly four years already, huh.” She rests her head on his shoulder, knowing that the mere thought of it shouldn’t be making her depressed, but here it is, crawling it’s way into her mind on restless nights. “I can’t believe you’re going to New York, after this. I always wanted to go there.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to see it, someday.” Sasori is tracing her gloved knuckles with his fingers, but he doesn’t look at her.

She would love to punch herself for her moods, sometimes.

“Promise me you’ll call me at least once a day.” A beat. “Facetime. On Skype.”

“Is American Internet even good enough to sustain the distance?” Sasori’s tone is light, and she’s tempted to box him just for that horrible implication.

She’s glad that he isn’t able to see her from this angle, but she can feel the familiar sting of tears swelling her eyes. Shit.

“I’ll miss you.”

“Sakura, are you crying?” He’s probably heard the irregularity in her voice, damn it.

“I’m just” She separates their hands to wipe her eyes before they can expose her any further. “I’m just really happy for you, that’s all.”

“Ah, about that, actually.” Sasori’s blank expression is mostly in place, of course, but he avoids her gaze, and she’s rarely seen him nervous around her. “I contacted my manager the other day, and called the deal off.”

Sakura’s eyes widen, and she’s utterly dumbfounded at the statement.

…

“What?!” She has to get up just to process her thoughts, because she can’t believe what she just heard. “Why?!”

Sasori looks equally caught off by her reaction, and he buries his hand in the pockets of his outer coat, his body leaning against the bench, relaxed. “I didn’t want to do it.”

It’s not sadness that’s ruling the forefront of her mind right now, but indignation.

“What are you, 12?!” She says, her nails digging into her palms, her loud voice cutting sharp through the quiet, empty environment. “You can’t just call off your future!”

“The decisions mine to make, Sakura.” A beat. “I’m an adult as much as you are.”

She’s not angry at his attitude – tries not to be – but it’s hard when Sasori looks so completely detached from it. He grabs her wrist, suddenly, and she’s back on the bench, fuming.

“I just turned 24.” He begins, brushing a strand of pink hair that’s hanging flat in front of her face to the side. “I have a good amount of sponsors and commissioners in Japan to begin with. Throwing that away would be just as pointless. Besides” He meets her gaze, and his eyes are devoid of any hesitance. “I wouldn’t want to go where you can’t follow.”

A sense of guilt washes over her anger, and she breaks the eye contact to watch the fresh fall of snow.

He can’t leave because I’m stuck here.

“But…didn’t you say yourself how hard these opportunities were to even come by?”

“They’ll come by again.” He huffs. “You’re more important than my paycheck.”

A drag. You’re a drag, Sakura.

“Why don’t you just break up with me then?” She can’t believe she’s even blurted that out now, but her mouth has always it’s way of getting her into regretful decisions. “That way you don’t have to-” She’s getting teary again. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Sasori doesn’t seem stunned by her suggestion, however, and the thing’s said faster than her ability to jump into worse confessions. “I believe a proposal would be the complete opposite intention, though.”

“You can call your manager and- wait-”

Did he just-

“What?”

Sasori’s answer is just as elegant as her’s. “Uh, yeah. I-” He seems to fumble for words, almost as if he was flustered. “I want to get married. To you.” He tacks on, like she required a clarification.

The snowflakes are uncaring to the deafening silence around them, and several catch in strands of red hair that poke out of his beanie. Sasori’s pretty brown eyes are glued to her, and she’s sure he’s actually waiting for some sort of response.

Sakura’s face feels warm, and she’s sure that she must be looking like a tomato. The tears she’s been holding back, however, flow freely, grazing her chin and ending in her scarf.

“I hate you so much, right now.” She sniffs, her vision blurring. That’s the last thing she expected to happen, god.

Sasori’s regarding her with worry, and his hands freeze in mid-air, unsure if he should grant her comfort or distance; but her tears weren’t rooted in anger, or sadness, not at all.

“I….I guess if you don’t want to-”

But before he knows it, Sakura buries her face into the crook of his neck and wraps her arms around his shoulders, her voice coming out muffled.

“Of course I want to.”

Arms rest around her torso, and she feels his breath tickling her ear. When she’s calmed her own breathing, he speaks. “Let’s do this properly, then.”

Sasori moves to stand before her while she blows her nose with a tissue, and when he feels that she’s fully back on track, he coughs into his hand to get her attention. Her eyes are straining to keep themselves open in the biting cold, but something inside of her cracking and bleeding warmth is making her even more jittery.

Sakura hasn’t been this nervous since entering medical school.

Slowly, in all his grace, Sasori – the ever so bashful, arrogant, proud Sasori – lowers his legs until he’s kneeling front of her, one foot propped on the ground to give him balance in the snow, resembling nothing less but a prince from a distant kingdom wishing to whisk her away in the dead of the night.

He takes her gloved hand with both of his, gently, and she blushes.

“Will you, Sakura Haruno, marry me?” he says, and the words are melodic to her ears – this was her fairytale story.

“A thousand times” She surely must look awful, her makeup smeared and her smile reaching from ear to ear, but there wasn’t anything in this world that would ruin her mood. “Yes.”

He gestures her not to move, fumbling for something in the pockets of his coat, and she patiently waits in anticipation, her hands propped on her knees. He narrows his eyes as he pats around his body impatiently, before realisation finally hits him. He swears quietly, and she’s already knowing what must have happened.

“I… left the ring in the wrong coat, in my Apartment. We have to go back right n-” Sasori is interrupted as Sakura tackles him into the snow, effectively knocking all air out of his lungs. Sakura doesn’t let him collect his bearings as she moves on her own accord, lowering her face until their lips touch. He hugs her, and they embrace each other, there, in the snow, without a care in the world. It’s not until they run out of air that they part, and she speaks.

“I truly hate you so much, right now.”

There are no fireworks, no grande festival, no masses to share this moment with, but Sasori’s smiling at her, and she wouldn’t trade this view for anything else in this life.

“And I love you, you absolute mess.”

She laughs, teary, and sweeps in for another kiss.

When they’re back on the subway, having caught the last train, Sakura stares at the red string tied around her finger, Sasori’s temporary alternative, said hand intertwined back with Sasori’s and she’s longing to squish the last of her doubts.

“Is this really okay? Not going abroad, I mean.”

“Hey, I surely won’t starve if I were to marry the brilliant future doctor and show-off, Sakura Haruno.”

“Oh, shush you.”

#sasosaku #noni writes #sasori n sakura are so cute i love them :(#sakura's emotions are all over the place bc she's an aries but also a mess. my daughter #so many thanks to yakumo the sweetest gal and long time jpn mutual #i wanted to draw 4 this but i had to work during break rip #if its not late is it really from me

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